A/N: The last chapter is here! Truly appreciate each and every one of you that devoted some time to review!
Enjoy!

I realized I never mentioned this before, but even as this story works just fine on its own, in my head, it's in the same universe as WTWTA & WTWHG. So we're basically seeing a snapshot of Dean and Sam about 16 years before Amber came into their lives (Sam is 18 in this fic, so we're 4 years before the show started).

Chapter 3

Munching on his sandwich, Dean stared out the windshield at the starry sky. Metallica played in the background, providing the only other sound filling the Impala.

Dean had taken Sam to a nearby motel as his dorm wasn't an ideal option for tonight or tomorrow. Not with everything they needed to talk about. He had checked them in and stayed with Sam for two hours to ensure he wouldn't vomit in his sleep.

Once he felt more at ease leaving Sam's side, he went for a quick drive to grab some coffee and food. The fatigue from the late-night driving, combined with his worry over his little brother, hit him like a ton of bricks. Sleep was out of the question. He couldn't sleep even if he wanted to.

Lightly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Dean allowed himself a few more minutes of solitude. He glanced at the time. It was close to 8 am by now.

He wondered how long it would take Sam to wake up. He also wondered if their father would remain preoccupied for a few more days, following yet another lead on the damn demon he was so obsessed with finding. Briefly contemplating waking Sammy up and getting things over with while he still had the chance, he decided against it. John would most likely lay low for a few more days.

And Dean wanted to take his sweet time with killing Sam. Slowly. Well, yeah, okay... maybe not kill him.

With that thought in mind, he turned off the engine, crumpled up the last piece of his sandwich's paper bag, and tossed it onto the passenger side. Grabbing his cup of coffee and a small bag containing a box of toast and eggs for Sam to eat later, Dean stepped out of the car and locked it.

Entering their room, Dean quietly placed everything on the small table next to the door. The room was dark, and the only sound was Sam's light snoring. Dean walked closer to his brother, a smile tugging at his lips as he saw him sleeping peacefully. Sam's face still held traces of that dorky little kid who meant the world to Dean. For better or worse.

Lounging on the empty bed, his upper body propped against the headboard, Dean gazed at the ceiling as his mind started considering all the scenarios surrounding this incident. Some parts were clear and certain. Sam had gotten wasted. Again. Sam had smoked pot. Sam would face the consequences. But what worried Dean the most was everything that was beyond his control.

The campus police officer had informed Dean that Sam was officially reported to the university for illegal substance use. And that this report could lead to disciplinary measures. When Dean asked if Sam's scholarship was at risk, the man simply nodded. Dean knew that if something like that happened, Sam would be devastated. And he honestly doubted that Sam would come back to Dean and John to figure out his next steps in life. Not that Dean blamed him. If he were in Sam's shoes, he wouldn't go back to John either.

Dean's eyes shifted to his brother's sleeping form, and he shook his head. Sam had worked his ass off to get here. Dean wouldn't let him mess it all up for something as pointless as college partying. Part of him wished things were different, and Sam could have the carefree college years he had always dreamed of. But that was just a fantasy. And right now, Sam needed a serious wake-up call.

Grabbing the remote from the bedside table, Dean turned on the TV to pass the time.

It was nearly 1 pm when Sam's eyes fluttered open. He attempted to sit up, instantly on high alert upon not recognizing his surroundings. However, as soon as he moved, a pitiful moan escaped him, his head immediately exploding with pain.

"Rise and shine, bitchy beauty," Dean called out loudly from somewhere on his left.

Sam, his hair a disheveled mess, winced at the volume of his brother's voice.

"Headache, Dean," he managed to groan.

"It's called a hangover, Sam," came Dean's unimpressed response.

Sam brought his hands up to cradle his face, searching for the energy to move his body. He watched as Dean walked towards the small table near the door and flicked on the light switch.

The sudden onslaught of light attacked Sam's eyes, intensifying the throbbing in his head eliciting a small whine.

"Here," Dean said after a moment.

Looking up, Sam saw his brother holding out a glass of water and two white capsules in his open palm. Following the unspoken instruction, Sam took the pain relievers and gulped them down, his eyes lowering as Dean came into close proximity.

"I'm gonna be my usual cool self and give you one hour. The meds will kick in, you'll shower, you'll eat the food I got you, and then we'll talk."

Dean's voice was measured, but Sam knew him well enough to see right through it. Dean was pissed. Sam felt his face flush at the last words that left his brother's lips. That was a talk he definitely didn't look forward to having.

Not knowing what else to do with himself, Sam got up and walked to the bathroom. Stepping in, the door closing behind him, he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, lips dry, eyes looking smaller and redder than usual. A ghost of himself. Lowering near the sink, he splashed some water on his face and felt his eyes prickling with tears that threatened to fall.

It was a good forty minutes later when he stepped out of the bathroom. His hair still wet, he was dressed in the only clothes he had with him, the ones he wore the night before. Sam plopped down on his bed, avoiding any eye contact with Dean.

"You need to eat something," Dean stated from his spot on his own bed, his steely green gaze following Sam's movements.

"I can't."

Dean contemplated making Sammy have at least the toast. But he knew from first-hand experience how uninviting food was right before an ass-handing. Nodding, he got to his feet and walked to stand over Sam, arms crossed.

"So, we're gonna get the party started early, then."

"Dean…" Sam tried, stealing a glance at his brother, but Dean's booming voice stopped him in his tracks.

"What the HELL were you thinking, Sam?"

"Look, I just wanted to kick back, a bit! I swear, I wasn't planning for things to escalate as they did…"

"Oh yeah? Just like you weren't planning for things to escalate not two months ago?" Dean cut him off, his words punctuated with angry gestures.

"That was different," Sam tried weakly. Because, even as he'd never admit it to Dean, he knew it wasn't really different at all. He had a soft spot for escapism and the sweet release of losing control.

"Right. You kicked it up a notch and decided to get high, too!" Dean was pacing, now, in front of the bed where Sam was sitting, his heavy boots thudding menacingly against the carpeted floor.

"We had talked on the phone, what? A few hours before you went out? Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid? Didn't I specifically tell you not to get drunk again?" Dean asked next, now pausing his pacing to pin Sam with his steely glare.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly.

"Weren't we in a very similar position two months ago, Sam?"

"Yeah…"

"Was I unclear about the freaking dangers of losing control like that? Huh?"

Sam shook his head, eyes still drilled into the floor.

"What if you were attacked? What if something or someone came at you while you were in this state?" At his brother's silence, Dean barked, "Answer me!"

"I don't know, Dean, okay?" Sam snapped, his eyes finally able to hold Dean's scathing gaze. Sam could feel his own temper rising a little. He knew he had messed up, he did. But he hated how Dean only seemed to care about the supernatural.

"All I know is that ever since I left you and dad, not a single thing has happened. No freaking ghosts, no creatures, nothing! You might be unable to get your brain to think about anything besides what dad wants you to, but not everything in this damn world revolves around the supernatural!"

"Like your scholarship?" Dean asked, his words exploding in the room leaving Sam speechless. "Like the six hundred bucks I had to pay and need to return before dad knows they're gone?"

Sam opened his mouth to retort but found no words. Closing it again, he gulped uneasily.

"What's up, Sammy? Nothing more to add?" Dean's voice had grown ominous now, taking a step closer to Sam.

"You listen to me, and you listen to me well, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once! You fucked up to a level unknown to man last night! You risked your safety, your life, and your goddamn future! You've worked your ass off, year after year, against all odds! You got into one of the schools you always dreamt of, and you didn't let Dad hold you back, only to what? Huh? Come here and fuck it all up over getting wasted?"

Dean's biting words felt like a punch in the gut. A knot formed in Sam's throat, realizing that Dean not only knew about the possibility of him losing the scholarship but also cared about it.

"Are you seriously coming at me about school?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean's face hardened, and his voice gained volume, Sam's attitude aggravating him more and more by the second.

"I told you on the phone, and I'm telling you again. Like it or not, you're not just a stupid college kid who can't see beyond his ass! You got me, sure, but I can do so much to help, Sammy! There's no rich influential daddy to make things like this disappear! You can't afford to attend Stanford if you lose your scholarship!"

"I know! I know, okay? I know, and I'm sorry I'm not fucking perfect," Sam yelled back. His own guilt was eating at him, and Dean was making it more and more difficult for him to avoid thinking about what he might have brought on himself.

"Perfect? Perfect? Do I strike you as the guy who gives a shit about perfect? I wouldn't give a shit about any of this, hadn't it been YOUR damn dream!"

"There's no pillow to fall back on unless you plan to get back to our glorious family business. Is that what you want?"

"No," Sam whispered, stray tears already escaping his eyes.

"Then you'd better pull it together! Stand up!"

At the sudden order, Sam's watery eyes turned to look at Dean alarmed. They enlarged as he saw him taking his belt off.

"Dean, please, I swear it'll never happen again…"

"No, it won't!" Dean confirmed as he pointed with the belt at the single chair in the room. "Drop 'em and bend over the back. Don't make me say it again, Sammy!"

Sam, his palms sweating, slowly got up to follow the order. His face flushed red, he turned his back to his brother as he bared himself from the waist down and bent over the back of the chair. His palms had barely grabbed the seat when the first lick landed on the center of his bare ass. Letting out a hiss, Sam gripped the chair's seat tightly, willing himself to take this as stoically as he could.

Dean raised the doubled piece of leather above his shoulder and brought it down hard and fast, targeting the same spot twice before moving to the next. He'd be damned if he let his kid brother so foolishly throw everything out the window.

Sam's hisses soon turned into yelps and even sooner to full-on crying. It wasn't the first time his brother spanked him. It wasn't even the first time he did it with a belt. But it definitely was the worst he'd ever gotten from Dean. The belt kept falling, lighting an inferno in his ass.

Dean watched closely for the color shifts. When Sam's cheeks went from dark pink to well-punished red, Dean simply shifted his aim to the pale white thighs that had received zero attention up to now. When the first lick landed there, Sam cried out surprised, eyes bulging at the pain.

"Dean, I'm sorry! Please! I swear, never again!" He begged through his sobs, legs attempting to kick up but finding resistance from his pooled jeans, each time the belt found its target.

"Never again what, Sammy?"

"I won't drink so much again!" Sam yelled, desperately.

"What else?" Dean asked, his belt starting the second round on the already pinked-up thighs.

"Pot! Never again smoking it. Didn't even like it! Ah!"

"And?" Dean asked, aiming a lick on the unsuspecting ass cheeks he hadn't smacked in the last minute.

"Not risking losing control!" Sam sobbed out, dancing under the unrelenting strip of leather.

"Why?" Dean prompted, returning his attention to the thighs.

"Because it's dangerous!"

"And what about your school, Sammy?"

"I'll pull it together! I swear!"

Dean nodded and finally landed one final lick, aiming it at Sam's cherry red sit spot. He could tell by the color of his brother's entire sitting region and his trembling legs that the lesson had been thorough and would stay with the kid for the next few days. An uncomfortable reminder, every time Sam attempted to sit.

Putting his belt back on, Dean stepped close to Sammy, who was still draped over the chair, crying his eyes out. Dean felt bad for the kid on some level, but not guilty at all. This lesson was needed. He had made his peace with the fact that, for better or worse, he was the one that had to fill this role for his brother. Crouching down, he redressed Sam, grimacing at the hiss his brother let out when his boxers and jeans rubbed over his punished bottom.

Sam managed to slowly stand up, buttoning his pants, his shoulders heaving. Slowly turning towards Dean, he was immediately pulled into his arms in a strong embrace. Burying his face in Dean's shoulder, Sam absorbed the comfort and let out the last of his tears.

"I get it must be hard, kid. I do. But you can't risk everything you've worked so hard for like this. And you can't risk your safety like this either."

"I know," Sam whispered.

"Booze and drugs are all fun and games right until it isn't. Slippery slope, Sammy!"

"I know," Sam nodded again.

Breaking their embrace, Dean continued, "If you feel it's getting too much, call me. I'll send you some money. It won't be much, but you can drop a few shifts and catch your breath. You can't burn yourself out like this, you hear me?"

"I don't want to burden you with my stuff," Sam shook his head. "This is my choice. My dream. You shouldn't have to spend your money on me."

"And making sure you're alive and functional is my dream, you got it, twerp?" Dean's words came out a bit more sharply. "Promise you'll ask for more help when you need it from now on!"

Sam sniffed and looked at his brother with an expression that combined relief and guilt. "I promise."

Dean offered a small smile and a nod.

"Good. And you'd better make sure you don't break that promise, you hear me?"

"I won't," Sam immediately shook his head. "And Dean, I'm gonna pay you back for the…"

"No, you won't. You have to work hard enough as it is. Forget it. I'll figure it out."

"But dad…"

"Is my problem. Not yours. Now, chick-flick moment over. Go fix your face, and let's get out of here. You need some real food in you; the toast won't cut it."

Sam grimaced and almost whimpered at the idea of using his ass so soon and in its current state. Not a first, but definitely not something to look forward to.

After paying for the room, the two brothers climbed into the car - one far more gingerly than the other - and drove off, Metallica blaring from the speakers.

The end

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