A/N: So I know it's been a bit, buuuuut hear me out, this chapter is a long one. It's also the last chapter before Dean and Dad come to pick up Sam.

Warnings: Bleeped swear words and child abuse.

Mark woke Sam up at six the next morning, a small reprieve for his difficulties the day before. To Sam's slight annoyance, Mark gave him no recognition for the work he had done.. Already used to Mark's system, Sam followed every rule to a T. He stood at the table and asked for permission to sit. He asked permission to grab food, asked how much food was his, and waited for Mark to take the first bite before biting into his own portion.

The morning's training took place in an inground pool. One mercy was that the pool was heated, so at least he wasn't freezing the whole time. Chlorine on his many cuts? Not so nice, but at least Mark waterproofed his chest wound.

Honestly, the hardest part of the training, at least at first, was Mark's harsh judgments. He swam too slow, splashed too much, and he should really get his hair cut because it was only going to get in his way as a hunter. Sam flinched a little at that last one.

His hair was the one and only battle with his father that he had ever managed to win. When he was very young, he had been made fun of for having large ears, and so he decided that he would have long hair to keep them covered. That worked for a while, until one weekend during his sixth-grade year, his dad decided he'd finally had enough and cut Sam's hair to a 'decent' length. He came home Monday afternoon with red ears and the remnants of tears on his cheeks. Some eighth-graders had cornered him and laughed at his 'elephant ears'. Their words were emphasized by tugging on his ears. Dad never questioned Sam's hairstyle choices again, and although the man said nothing, Sam found a beanie waiting by his coat the next morning. He left his gratitude as unspoken as his father's apology, but things were much calmer between them for a while after that.

"Take ten," Mark instructed Sam after about an hour of swimming. He was more than happy to oblige, not that he had any fight left in him to disagree with any of the man's orders. As he sat at the edge of the pool, Mark walked over to a cabinet in the pool room and began to pull out some equipment.

"Do you need me to do anything, sir?" Sam felt obligated to ask.

"Just rest," Mark finalized. "Trust me, you're going to need it. Here, eat this while you wait." An apple flew in Sam's direction, and somehow he caught it, biting in immediately and savoring it's sweet, crisp flavor.

"You got something you want to say to me about that apple, Sam?"

"Yes, sir," Sam frantically corrected himself. "Thank you, sir."

"Gratitude is one of life's many virtues," Mark nodded, as if in agreement with himself. Sam resisted the deep-seated teenage urge to roll his eyes. Ten minutes of nothing should have felt like an eternity, but to Sam, it felt too short.

"Put this on," Mark tossed a life vest in Sam's direction. He obeyed, creasing his eyebrows when he realized that the vest wasn't actually created for buoyancy, but was weighted, likely created for lifeguard training or something similar. "Swim ten laps wearing the vest. Each time you reach the deep end, I want you to dive to the bottom, retrieve a ring, and bring it up with you, setting it on the side of the pool. No time limit for this exercise, but no stopping for breaks either."

"Yes, sir," Sam swallowed a bit uneasily, but dove into the water nonetheless. The first couple of laps went pretty smoothly, leaving Sam only moderately tired, but by lap six, his strength was waning. He kept swimming though, unwilling to show defeat, and by the end of lap eight, he felt a second wind. He took advantage of the small burst of energy, knocking out laps eight and nine rather quickly.

It was the dive at the end of lap ten that almost killed him. Literally. In order to conserve energy, he took a deep breath and allowed the weight of his vest to draw him to the bottom. He had the ring in his hands and was swimming back up to the surface, when his left leg cramped. One useless leg, paired with his exhaustion, and the extra weight pulling on his shoulders, made it nearly impossible for him to get anywhere near the surface. Mark watched him thrash, gazing into the water emotionlessly. Lack of oxygen caused Sam to panic, and open his mouth for a breath. Obviously his brain didn't get the memo of hey, we're underwater, and no, we can't breathe like a fish. He thrashed more wildly, a fear-induced fog limiting his rational brain. It was as his eyes were drifting closed that he saw a hand reaching through the water towards him. His eyelids slid closed, but rather than the darkness he expected to see, there was a white light. It seemed to pull him in, and although part of his subconscious, that sounded strangely like Dean, was screaming that he stay away and fight it, he gave in, too enraptured by the calming glow and warmth.

A sweet voice was ringing out, seeming to come from all around Sam. He strained to hear the humming better, and recognized it as a tune he had heard Dean humming often. Hey Jude. The Beatles. Dean never chose to listen to the Beatles, preferring other genres. Bands like Metallica, Led Zeppelin, and Motorhead. Hey Jude was the one exception. Sam had asked him once why he liked the song so much. All he would say was that it made him feel better.

Now, an angelic voice, one nothing like his brother's, was humming the song. In a way, Sam wanted to feel betrayed. How dare an angel steal his brother's song? All thoughts faded away, when he caught sight of the angel, or was it a ghost? A light shone all around the figure, but her face was unmistakable.

"Mom?" Sam whispered.

"Sammy," she replied softly. "My Sammy. My beautiful boy."

"A-am I dead?" Sam questioned.

"Not exactly," her smile faded. "You are on the road. Technically, if you continued down this path," she gestured to a road running behind her. "You would die. You don't have to, though, you still have the ability to go back the way you came." Sam gazed behind him to see that the road continued on in both directions. She walked closer to him, opening her arms. He entered them hesitantly, unsure of how to react to affection from someone he barely knew. Her touch was gentle, but firm, and Sam melted into it immediately, inhaling deeply. She smelled of lavender and fresh laundry. Tears pooled in Sam's eyes.

"I wish you hadn't left," he cleared his throat. "Dad and Dean both miss you a lot. Dad, he, he doesn't hide it well. I can tell by the way he hunts; obsessively, sometimes. And how he drinks more than usual around the beginning of November. Dean tries his best to hide it. He tries to put up a strong front around me and Dad. Tries not to let his pain show, but I can tell when he's hurting.

"I've never told anybody this," he adds quieter. "But I miss you too. I know it's stupid, that I miss someone I've never really met, and I guess I don't miss you specifically, but I miss my mom. I miss having a mom. Mother's days at school are always awkward, because they want us to do projects for our moms, and I don't have a mom to make anything for. I usually just make stuff for Dean instead, and write 'Happy Brother's Day' on them. I get made fun of for it, but that's okay. I'll take any kind of ridicule if it means I can show Dean at least a little how much he means to me," Sam was crying now.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Mary consoled him. "I know you've had it rough. It wasn't fair that I was taken from you all so early, but you all have each other. I know your father isn't always around like he should be, and that Dean ends up being father and mother to you half the time. That's not fair, but Sam, you should know, he loves you unconditionally, and he loves taking care of you. He talks to me a lot at night, and while I can't respond, I listen. He's always so proud of you, and so blessed to have you around. Every time he's away from you, he misses you, and worries about you. He once told me that if he was given the choice between you and anything else in the world, he would choose you, always." Sam was struck speechless. "You have a decision to make, now, Sammy. Which way will you walk down this path?"

"Can't I just stay here with you a little longer?" Sam mumbled.

"The longer you stay here, the path to the living world grows dim," Mary explained. "Soon, it will go completely dark, and you will be trapped forever, left with only the choices of moving on to the afterlife, or becoming a spirit."

"Will I ever see you again?" Sam wondered.

"I hope that you never have to see me again in this life, Sammy," she wiped tears from his cheeks. "But years from now, when you've lived a good, long life, and you're old and grey, we'll find each other again, I promise. And we'll be together, a family. A complete family, although I don't see how I could ever be a better mother to you than Dean has been." She smiled, genuinely, just like the picture that Sam had gazed at many times before.

"C-can I, um, do you have a message I can bring back to Dean and Dad?" Sam asked earnestly.

"I wish I could send you away with something, baby," she touched his face tenderly. "But once you reenter the world of the living, you won't remember any of this. The exit is closing, sweetheart," she urged. "You have to go now." She released her hold on him, and he walked down the path, back to where he knew consciousness was waiting. Right at the edge of the pathway, he paused, turning to look at her one last time.

"I love you, mom."

"I love you more, my angel boy." He took a deep breath and stepped off the path.

Sam was falling, although he couldn't figure out why. He also couldn't figure out why everything was dark. He hit the ground suddenly, gasping for air. The next thing he knew, he was coughing harshly, expelling water from his lungs as Mark held his body sideways to ensure none of the water would reenter his lungs. He remembered seeing nothing but a bright light, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could hear an angelic voice singing.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

After his near-death experience, Sam had been nearly carried back to the house, dressed warmly, and sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot coffee. In a way, this was more dangerous for Sam than harsh punishment, or reprimand. All it managed to do was to solidify in Sam's mind that Mark was not a monster. That all that the hunter had done throughout the week had been to help Sam. Sam found himself beginning to believe the lies that had been spouted all week. The basic summary went as follows: Samuel Winchester is a disrespectful, disobedient, little brat. Disrespect deserves punishment. The greater the crime the greater the punishment, but all punishment ought to be severe enough to really teach him a lesson.

"You've improved greatly since you got here," Mark commented. "Both in your abilities, and your good behavior. I almost don't want to tell your father about the amount you had to be punished." Sam furrowed his brows in confusion. He had already been planning to tell his dad and Dean the extent of his punishments because he had felt he was being mistreated. His thoughts got no further when Mark continued. "Knowing your father, he would be so disappointed if he knew how much you have been disciplined this week. He wouldn't be able to see past that to the progress you made." Sam thought about Mark's claims. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Mark was correct. "I suppose I could just tell him in vague terms what happened. Then I could emphasize the positives of your stay here. What do you think of that, Sam? Does that sound fair to you?"

"Yes, sir," Sam agreed. "That sounds fair, sir." If Dean, with full knowledge of the week's events, had heard the exchange that had just taken place, he would have most definitely flipped out. Dean, unfortunately, was not here, and Sam was young and naive. All week Mark's words had been like weeds, invasive and quick spreading. And just like weeds, they were doing their best to choke out any of the truth in Sam.

"After lunch, we'll complete your training," Mark explained to Sam. "I'll do what I do with all of my trainees at the end of their stay here- we'll go over what you learned, as kind of a final rehearsal, or conclusion if you will. I have a test put together, specialized just for what you learned this week. Yours will all be verbal response testing. Your father had you well-trained physically when you got here, so most of what I taught you was really just to be more respectful. Any questions about the testing, Sam?" Mark wondered.

"No, sir."

"Good, let's head into the dining room for some lunch."

Lunch was extra special, consisting of pork roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, garden fresh green beans, and apple pie. Mark filled his plate twice, and gave him a generous slice of pie. The pie, Sam had trouble enjoying, mostly because all he could think about while eating it was that he wished Dean were there to enjoy it. At the end of the meal, he sat at the table waiting for instruction.

"Alright, let's begin your test." Mark decided once he had stacked dishes in the center of the table. "The rules are simple. I ask the questions and you answer them. For every question you get right, you get a point. For every question you get wrong, you get no points. The score is out of fifty. You need to get at least seventy-five percent of the questions correct in order to pass the test. If you fail, I will need to talk to your father about some re-training. Basically, what that means is that you would stay here another week, and I would find new, unique ways to help you remember everything. We'll start easy. Recite the basic exorcism."

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta-" despite being nervous, Sam had no trouble with his recitation.

"Too slow," Mark took notes on a sheet of paper.

"I didn't know that speed counted, sir," Sam defended himself.

"For backtalk, you lose another point automatically,"

"Please, sir, this isn't fair," Sam pleaded.

"Not fair?" Mark raised his eyebrows. "Samuel, life itself is 'not fair'.Do you think that some demon is going to look at you and go 'oh, sorry, I'll slow down so that you have enough time to recite your exorcism. It wouldn't be fair if I used full power right now.'?"

"That isn't what I meant," Sam sighed in exasperation. "I just meant that I deserve to know the rules of a test and the stipulations for getting questions correct."

"Samuel," Mark warned.

"I deserve more instructions," Sam had been trying so hard recently to avoid getting on Mark's bad side, but now he had started down a road he couldn't get away from. "You've done nothing but treat me like s**t all week! I do everything you tell me to. I get up at insane hours in the morning, after little sleep. I've been surviving off of bird food! You literally set loose a live wendigo on my a**. I could have died!"

"Are you finished, Samuel?" Mark waited until Sam took a moment to breathe. His calm voice was a stark contrast to Sam's wild one. Sam deflated instantly.

"Yes, sir," he responded stiffly.

"It would, unfortunately, appear that you have not learned what I tried to teach you all week," Mark took notes onto a piece of paper. "I will talk to your father tomorrow about a week of re-training.

"Please, sir," Sam pleaded. "It was an honest mistake. I shouldn't have argued with you. And I definitely shouldn't have raised my voice at you. I'm very sorry, sir. I won't let it happen again."

"My training program turns out some of the best hunters, Sam," Mark colored his tone condescendingly. "I can't have a subpar trainee going out and sullying my reputation."

"Yes, sir," Sam tried not to think too hard about his family's reaction to the news that he had failed. Dad would be frustrated. He would probably yell and curse a lot, and his reaction would hurt, but not as much as Dean's. The hurt in his eyes. The 'Sammy' he would get, with that tone of voice that says 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed.'

"You did, however, apologize without prompting," Mark continued. "A feat that is admirable, and for that, I am willing to give you a second chance."

"Thank you, sir. I'll try not to let you down this time, sir," Sam wasn't about to let this opportunity pass him up.

"I am still going to have to punish you for your actions, of course," he clarified.

"Yes, sir," Sam agreed with him readily. Testing the second time around went much smoother. A lot of the test consisted of questions where he would be provided a scenario and asked what his response ought to be in the situation. If your father asks you to clean the weapons, but you have an important test to study for, and an essay to write, how do you respond, and what course of action do you take? Who eats the first bite at meals? But it was the final question, that Sam missed.

"Alright Samuel, last question," Mark took a drink of water, clearing his throat after. "You're on a hunt with Dean and your father. You take care of the monster, but a civilian has been turned. They haven't hurt anyone yet, and they swear they won't. Your dad says take no chances, kill the thing before it starts killing. Dean says give it the benefit of the doubt. How do you respond?"

"I would say we should give it the benefit of the doubt," Sam ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Incorrect," Mark declared. "The correct answer would have been to say nothing. Unless someone asks for your opinion, they don't need to hear it. Your father and brother will be able to find the best course of action together. If they want your opinion, they will ask for it."

"Yes sir," Sam held back a smart retort.

"Congratulations, on passing your final test, Samuel," Mark's face was lit up with almost a fatherly pride, but it felt off, like it didn't belong on his face, or that it was fake. Sam decided not to question it too harshly, though. Any appreciation or pride was better than none at all. Maybe it was selfish, but he found himself longing for someone to compliment him on his hard work. He hadn't realized until they were apart for so long how much he relied on Dean. His dad was never much for compliments, but Dean believed in borderline aggressive support. Even if it was just an A on a math worksheet, Dean made sure he knew that his accomplishments were seen and that he was proud of him.

"Thank you, sir," Sam blinked away moisture that had gathered at the corners of his eyes at the thought of his brother. He could deal with homesickness for a few more hours. He would see his brother soon.

"Now, let's go ahead and take care of your discipline for your disrespect earlier, how does that sound?"

"Thank you, sir," Sam stood straight. Mark began to remove his belt, and Sam inhaled sharply. He tried to focus his thoughts on what Dean would do if he were in the same position. Dean would stand tall.

"Shirt off." He would take his shirt off swiftly and silently. The belt was doubled up. He wouldn't tremble. Snap. He wouldn't make- snap- a sound. Snap. Snap. He wouldn't cry. Snap.

Something inside of Sam broke a little, as failure washed over his consciousness. He had failed Dean almost immediately. Already he was bent at the waist under the heavy blows, a stubborn tear trailing down his cheek. Try as he might, he couldn't contain the hiss of breath each strike pulled from his lips or the slight tremor of his muscles that betrayed his fears.

Finally, Mark finished. Sam stood as still as possible, quivering in pain, awaiting instructions.

"At ease, Samuel," Mark's voice was disconcertingly pleasant. "You've learned well this week. You have the rest of today to relax and spend as you please. You're welcome to check out my library. I have a rather large selection of fiction works in addition to the lore and reference books. You will also probably want to start packing, since you leave tomorrow. I'll be in the study if you need me."

"Thank you, sir." Sam headed up to his room, to pack his meager belongings in his duffle bag, and then decided to check out the library. It wasn't long after that, that he was lost in another world, one that, if he was being honest, seemed a lot better than the one he was living in. If only magic wardrobes and doors to other worlds existed. Of course, knowing his family's line of work, they probably do. The "Narnia" they lead to is probably dark and twisted. If his family discovered one, they would probably go in, gank the witch of the world, and then leave without saying goodbye. Just like they did anywhere they went.

That's what his dad believes is best for everyone, and for the first time in his life, Sam agrees with him. Because even if he would rather say goodbye to the good people he meets along the way, or maybe even stay a week or two, his dad knows best. Mark made sure that week that if Sam learned nothing else, at least he learned to follow his authority's instructions no matter what. To put his head down, and deliver 'yes, sirs' promptly and humbly. His dad had spanked him before, but he had never had a reason to beat him like Mark had. Sam hoped to keep it that way.

Sam didn't eat much for dinner that night. His stomach was slightly upset with nervousness. His dad and Dean returned tomorrow. Which was a good thing. As long as Mark held up his end of the bargain to brush over how much he had had to punish Sam throughout the week. Sam wasn't sure if he could bear the disappointment from both Dean and Dad if Mark told them just how difficult he had been to train. Thankfully, Mark chose not to mention his lack of appetite, and dinner was a silent affair. After washing the dishes and being excused, Sam went up to his room and lay on his bed, staring at shapes on the ceiling, dreaming of a new life. One he would create for himself.

See, Sam had a plan. A few cases ago, he'd had a teacher who asked him to come to her classroom during lunch. What she'd had to say had changed his outlook of the future. She wondered what he wanted to do with his life, and told him to forget about his family and what they wanted for him and focus only on his own dream. After a moment he had confessed his desire to go to college. Law school, specifically. As luck would have it, she had been a Stanford alum. He went home that day with his backpack weighed down with a Stanford application, a shining letter of recommendation, and a solid brick of guilt that he was even dreaming of leaving Dean. Or his father for that matter.

He had plans for his future, though. He wasn't going to live like his family did. He was going to meet someone, and they were going to get married and start a family of their own. He was going to be normal, and have a normal life.

And yeah, it would hurt a h*** of a lot to leave Dean. And it would probably hurt Dean, too. But more than not being able to bear the thought of leaving his family, Sam couldn't bear the thought of staying.

He had four years left. He would cherish them as best he could. He would be respectful, and careful to obey his dad, and he would spend as much time as possible with Dean.

Tears filled his eyes at the thought of Dean. In just about fourteen hours, they would be together again. Fourteen more hours, and Dean would be here. His arms would open immediately and he would hold Sam tightly in them for as long as Sam wanted.

For now, Sam laid back, and stared at shapes on the ceiling, waiting for sleep to make the time pass quicker.

Waiting for morning.

Waiting for Dean.