We got to the final chapter, yay! To everyone reading this, you're great. Thank you for sticking with this story. I'm so grateful to know there are people out there reading and enjoying this fic. It means a lot.

"See? Told you the view was amazing from up here," Dean said and handed his brother a soda can. No beer tonight – not because Sam was a minor or anything, hell, that hadn't bothered Dad or either of them in a long time. But they were both still on painkillers (with good reason – Dean still ached everywhere, not that he'd ever tell Sam). Better not mess with those.

"Not quite Magdalena Ridge, but yeah. It's nice." Sam accepted the soda and leaned back against the mountain of pillows Dean had hauled up to the roof of their trailer.

That had been quite a feat, what with Dean's busted leg, but so worth it. Getting Sam up the rickety ladder when he could only use one arm hadn't been easy either. But some groaning and cursing later, they had both made it. Sam wasn't quite wrong. Clear skies and almost no light pollution made this area a popular site for several major astronomical observatories, including the Apache Point Observatory, the Very Large Array, and of course the Magdalena Ridge Observatory. But as usual, those things were pricey and on top of that too far away to reach by foot – none of them would be driving for a while. That, and the boys were officially on lockdown. Even if they wanted to, they couldn't even go to The Chicken Coop nearby. No saying goodbye to that feisty waitress Marla. Didn't mean they weren't allowed to have fun, right? So of course Dean, genius that he was, came up with the fantastic idea of stargazing from the roof of their trailer.

Dean gently elbowed his brother in the side and readjusted his position against the pillows. "Are you kidding me? Dude, when have you ever seen a star-spattered sky like this?"

Sam's gaze lingered on the brilliant white speckles on midnight-blue canvas above them for another second. His face was gently illuminated by the faint-blue glow of the bug zapper they had, ahem, borrowed from Erin to place on the roof of the trailer. The fading scratches still stood out against the eerie blue shadows under his cheek bone. Sam turned slightly towards Dean, a faint impression of a bitch-face on display. "How about three nights ago?"

"Duh." Dean semi-successfully hid a wince by rolling his eyes. "But we couldn't exactly enjoy the view then, now could we?"

Sam huffed. "Not exactly." At the reminder of their most recent, very painful hunting adventure, Dean feared an emotional breakdown or some other typical brooding-teenage-Sam-reaction, but his little brother surprised him and broke into a grin. "Okay, you win. This is great. Thanks, Dean."

"I know. I'm awesome!" Dean felt a little lighter already. "Who knows, maybe we'll even get to see those Persians you've been so crazy about."

"Dude, it's Perseids," Sam cackled.

Whether or not Dean had purposefully misnamed the meteor shower Sam had been babbling about ever since he found out it was going to hit tonight, he kept to himself. His little brother's goofy smile was enough for Dean to maintain his own, er, reputation. "Whatever, nerd," Dean settled on, grinning.

Sam laughed and didn't even roll his eyes (much). Dean couldn't help but smile at his brother. Yeah, the starlit sky and the occasional shooting star were nice to look at. What was even better was a (mostly) healthy, happy little brother by his side. He'd forever deny it, but Dean didn't quite believe himself that they had actually made it out of this mess. How exactly that had happened was still a little fuzzy. But here they were. Even when Sam had first woken up in the hospital, and the weight of the world had been taken off Dean's mind, he'd played it cool in front of his brother. Sammy didn't need to be burdened with how damn scared Dean had been for his life. How absolutely freaking terrified he'd been. Dean eyed his brother again, getting visual confirmation that Sam was right here. He drew in a deep breath.

They were okay now. No need to dwell on what could have been.

The brothers fell silent over the next few minutes. They listened to the cicadas' chirping. The night air was still warm but not smothering, and it smelled of dust and herbs and, in a way, like summer. Every now and then, a bug would be entranced by the zapper's glow wires and instantly sizzle out of existence. Sam kept sipping his soda and marveling at the stars. Dean kept stealing glances at his brother. And that's how he noticed when Sam's expression slightly changed. The kid was clearly stewing over something.

"What is it, Sam?" Dean probed carefully.

Sam set his soda can down, his lips thinned. His one mobile hand curled around his sweatpants-clad knee. "That was way too close."

Obviously, Sam disagreed with Dean's secret plan to pretend their near-death experience never happened. Dean fumbled with his hands and pulled on a loose thread in the soft fabric of his pants. Sensing exactly what Sam meant, he asked anyway, "What do you mean?"

"The hunt, Dean. We could've died."

Way to be blunt, kid. Sam was right, though. Dwelling it was. And the mere thought that Dean could've lost his little brother forever still crushed him. If Sam had died, Dean wouldn't even have wanted to survive – something he'd never told a living soul. Not even Dad. He didn't want to talk about this, not ever. The words kept coming anyway. "But we didn't," he said around a growing lump in his throat.

Sam made a small, disapproving sound. "This time."

"Sam… I know things went a little sideways, but we still did good," Dean tried to reason, but even to his own ears, his words sounded hollow. "We killed two monsters. They can't hurt anyone any more. People get to live because of us."

Sam averted his gaze. "Yeah."

This conversation was headed in a direction Dean didn't like at all. Saving people was important, and he couldn't deny the ecstatic thrill hunting gave him, but if it meant losing one another… No. Dean physically forced himself to stop that particular train of thought. He took a deep breath. It was time to end this. Quickly. Dean slightly bumped his elbow into Sam's side, careful not to jostle him too much. "And you gotta admit that it was pretty damn fun, too," he said as cheerfully as he could muster. "All that research, the interviews, the putting together what we're dealing with… not to mention getting to gank those fuglies."

"I guess," Sam said flatly and tilted his head upwards again to watch the stars.

Dean knew his brother. He knew him like no one else. He could tell that this wasn't Sam's usual teenage brooding. This was different, deeper, more profound. He remembered their conversation in the desert, their brief talk about taking a vacation, or even moving someplace nice permanently. Sam had carried a kind of melancholia with him for a long time. Hoping it would simply go away, Dean mostly ignored his brother's constant sadness that sometimes showed as anger, even when it killed him inside. He just wanted what was best for Sam. Which was being with his family and hunting. It was glaringly obvious to Dean. But the kid didn't see it that way, didn't want this life, and not even all the fun Dean had mentioned would change anything about that.

Dean got it, or he thought he did. He himself sometimes had doubts about whether or not their lifestyle was what he wanted, especially after coming way too close to losing his little brother, once again. But Sam was torn between reality and a fantasy. Because there was no other way. Maybe that was something the brothers had in common. Dean himself loved the hunt, he loved his family, and he'd do anything for them. But playing mediator between Dad and Sam all the time threatened to cut him in half. Why couldn't Sam just do what Dad said? Why couldn't he hunt with the same passion as Dean? Why couldn't this all be easy?

All those questions remained unasked. Instead, Dean joined his brother in watching the stars again as he pushed his dark thoughts far away. "We really made a good team, Sammy," was all he said.

When Dean turned his gaze towards Sam, the white glow of a shooting star was reflected in his little brother's eyes. For all his earlier excitement, Sam's face held no wonder.

The night's silence settled over them.

Sam couldn't wait to get out of here.

The time for their departure had finally come the very next morning. Dad hadn't even noticed that Sam and Dean had spent the evening before on the roof of the trailer. By the time he and Bobby came back, they were back inside and had already packed all their meager belongings. More or less well-rested, the boys got up before sunrise and, after secretly returning Erin's bug zapper to her front yard, cleaned the entire trailer of any trace that they had ever been here. When they were finished, Dad nodded approvingly and left a wad of cash on the kitchen table.

"You boys keep outta trouble," Bobby said as he got into John's truck. Dad had asked him to take the car to his salvage yard to do some work on the paint job. He'd ride with his boys and pick it up later that month. Sam was pretty sure that was an excuse though – the paint job looked fine to him.

Sam waved Bobby goodbye and already regretted that their friend would be leaving them so soon. He recognized in their surrogate uncle's face that Bobby was struggling with himself too, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't quite. Sam knew that feeling all too well.

"And boys? You need sumthin'," Bobby added, his eyes firmly on Dean then Sam. "Anything – you call me, alright?"

Then he was gone, and so were the Winchesters five minutes later.

The trailer park that had been their home for the past few weeks became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until it was nothing but a bunch of indistinguishable dots in the distance. Sam slouched in the backseat of the Impala, his forehead pressed against the still somewhat cool glass of the window. The early morning desert landscape flew by as streaks of pink and orange. Where they were going, he had no idea, and he didn't care. His body was still sore, but at least he hadn't run out of hospital-grade painkillers yet. Silver lining. The familiar tune of 70s rock music floated over him, the rumble of the engine a welcome lullaby. He was so tired. Tired of it all. How Dean was already so energetic and excited again after what they'd been through was beyond him. His brother, sitting shotgun, was humming and tapping his fingers to the music happily.

Not even realizing he had closed them, Sam opened his eyes. Only to find his father's gaze fixed on him in the rearview mirror.

"Sammy, you okay?" John's eyes drifted from the rearview mirror to the road and back.

Sam swallowed and sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, sure."

There was a pause. John fumbled with the radio. When the music was turned down a notch, Dean protested audibly but cut himself off quickly in light of his father's glare.

"Sam," John said. His piercing eyes were in the mirror again. "I know that I've been putting you two through a lot. It's too much sometimes, I see that."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He frowned.

"But look how you dealt with those Chupacabras. That was… I'm proud of you. Both of you," Dad said.

For a second, Sam thought he was dreaming. His father was praising them both. Praising him? Wonders never ceased. "Thanks," he mumbled, unsure of what to do with Dad's compliment. He watched as Dean briefly turned around and grinned at Sam. Obviously, Dean was basking in Dad's praise. Sam? Not so much.

Wasn't that what he'd always wanted to hear? Sam wanted nothing more than for Dad to be proud of him. To smile at him and tell him he did good. That he was good. But not like this. Not for killing monsters. Sam wanted recognition for his achievements in school, for being a good person, for making friends, for winning a damn soccer trophy – things normal parents would be proud of.

Unnoticed by both Dad and Dean, Sam's eyes darkened.

"I keep treating you like a child sometimes, Sam," Dad continued, his eyes now back on the road. "But you're almost grown up and can take care of yourself. You're a true hunter."

That was the last straw. Something cracked inside Sam.

"What if I don't want to be a hunter?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Dad's eyes were back, fierce and dark. "Why would you say that? Why now? Haven't we been over this before?"

"Dad—" Dean tried to interject from the passenger seat, but this wasn't his fight. Dad silenced him with a single look.

"No, Dad," Sam said, his voice shaking from anger. "You're over it. For me, things haven't changed. Don't you see how freaking dangerous our lifestyle is? Dean and I, we almost died. Hell, you could've died in Mexico, too, and made us both orphans. Is that what you want?"

He almost asked, "Is that the life Mom pictured for us?" but decided against it at the last second.

Maybe he shouldn't have picked that particular fight in a moving vehicle, Sam realized belatedly. But anger and frustration were simmering in his veins and they needed to go somewhere.

Again, cue Dean the mediator. "Sam, just—"

"Quiet, Dean," Dad shushed him, and the good little soldier Dean was, he obeyed. Dad, from whom Sam had no doubt inherited that kind of temper, clenched both the steering wheel and his jaw hard. "Of course not, Sam. Of course I don't want that," Dad barked into the rearview mirror, thunderous and almost as terrifying as being faced with a Chupacabra's maw. "But you know what's out there. And it's people like us who gotta protect this world from evil."

Sam had already screwed the pooch and rained on Dad's parade, so why not keep going? "Why us? Why me?"

"'Cause there's no one else," Dad ground out. "Do you want people to die at the hands of monsters, huh? Do you want other families to go through the same thing as—"

"No," Sam cut him off. That's the last thing he wanted. Other people being forced on that same dark path as his family. Other moms dying. Other kids being pressured into a life they despised with all their heart.

"Good. End of discussion."

Sam pressed his lips together and averted his eyes from the rearview mirror. He had a lot to say, but talking to a brick wall was useless. The air in the car was heated, tense. No one said anything for a long time. Not even Dean, though his twitching and careful fumbling with the radio was a clear sign that he was not at all comfortable with the situation. Sam was still seething inside, but with Dad, he'd only talk himself blue in the face. Dad would never understand Sam's point of view. So he kept quiet, raging only inside.

A few hours and three awkwardly silent stops at greasy Gas'n'Sips later, they had traversed Arizona and were crossing into California. Dean had shot Sam careful, probing looks every now and then (You okay, Sammy?), but even his big brother would never fully, completely understand. And if Dean didn't understand, no one would. Sam's anger had simmered down to a degree, but it wasn't gone. He wasn't sure it would ever be gone. Anger was his constant companion.

Just one more year, Sam thought as the California landscape drifted by. The sky was crystal blue again, the heat still there but a little less oppressing. He'd always liked the weather around these parts. And as they drove further and further north, it only got better. They were passing Bakersfield when Sam noticed, for the first time, a sign on the side of the road. It might as well have been a sign for him.

Stanford 257 mi.

Sam leaned his forehead against the now warm glass, trying to soothe the headache building behind his eyes. Maybe this really was a sign. He'd done his research. It was a good school. Who was he kidding? It was a great school. So great that he would never ever get in. And of course there was Dad. And a million other obstacles.

And Dean.

His big brother, the one person in the world he depended on the most. And gosh, just the thought of causing him pain hurt something fierce. Not as much as the thought of losing him to the hunt forever, though. His chest tightened.

Sam's gaze drifted to the side and settled on the back of his brother's head for a moment. Dean was currently busy picking the next cassette tape from their limited collection of ancient rock music and… more ancient rock music. By now, Dean seemed to be at ease again, relaxed. This was exactly where Dean was most comfortable. The Impala, speeding down clear roads, the soundtrack of his choice blaring from the car's open windows as loudly as the stereo allowed. The freedom of a life on the road, never knowing where the hunt would take him next. Finding purpose in doing good in a world that was shrouded in darkness.

Maybe Dean would be okay.

Maybe Dean would find it in himself to forgive Sam. Eventually.

Sam exhaled slowly, the invisible band around his chest loosening just a little. He closed his eyes.

The prospect of getting out was a beacon, bright and full of hope. Maybe, just maybe, if Sam went the extra mile in his senior year, if he planned very carefully, if he managed to balance studying and his, uh, extracurricular activities and if he kept quiet about it all… this might work. Perhaps he could even trick his father into taking a detour so they would drive by and he could see what it was like. It was then that a rather random thought crossed his mind. With how close it was to the ocean, he might actually have to buy swim trunks. Or even shorts. First things first. He needed a permanent address if he really considered applying. Maybe he'd take Bobby up on his offer. Anything, he'd said. Dad would be none the wiser.

With that thought in mind, his heart still heavy but his spirit invigorated, Sam allowed himself to hope.

Just one more year.

The end

That's it! The boys got out of the desert, safe and sound – physically, that is. I'm sorry for the not-quite-happy ending. This is set pre-Stanford, after all. Maybe some of you have already guessed it: this story was inspired by episode 11.10 The Devil in the Details. Young Sam tells a girl how his dad took him to Mexico and whether she's heard of a Chupacabra. This fic is about the "working vacation" he refers to. I tweaked it a little, so it mostly takes place in the US. I hope you don't mind that I had the boys hunting on their own turf.

Last but not least: shout out to my friend shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod who has been a huge help with this fic, you're amazing! And thank you so much to everyone for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. If you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this :)