Archive of Our Own

Sam has never had a mailing address. Sure they have P.O. Boxes all over the US, have to have somewhere to get scammed credit cards, but it’s not the same. For important school stuff, Sam’s always given Uncle Bobby’s address, but for this, well, he needed to make sure the mail got to him quickly.

Luckily Sam had put his foot down about moving, and for once Dean actually backed him up. With only 2 months left of his senior year, Sam refused to leave. Surprisingly, John had agreed. He’d found an old truck for sale on the side of the road, handed the Impala keys to Dean and left for parts unknown.

“You going to open it or what?” Ruby asks leaping onto the table in the form of a sleek serval.

Sam taps his fingers across the table and the stark white envelope embossed with a red seal. “I mean I know I didn’t get in, it’s fucking Stanford. I don’t know why I even applied. I already got into KU. That was a miracle already, I can’t believe they managed to get through all of the transcripts.”

“Sam,” Ruby shifts into a lemur, and slaps him. “Open the envelope.”

“Right, right, yeah,” Sam takes a deep breath and picks up the envelope. His thumb is just slipping under the flap when the door slams open.

“Happy Birthdayyyy, Happy Birthdayyyy, dear Sammyyyy,” Dean bangs into the room, singing at the top of his lungs. Benny is only a step behind him.

“Christ Dean keep it down,” Sam grumbles, quickly shoving the letter into his back pocket before Dean can spot it.

“What?” Dean grins, hefting up the bags in his arms,” I can’t celebrate my little brother becoming a man? Eighteen Sammy, it’s a big one.”

“So maybe you can finally call me Sam then.”

“Naw,” Dean winks, setting the bags down with a thump.

There is the heavy scent of burgers and fries, Sam can see the grease on the side of one of the bags. “Ahh Dean, come on.”

“No, no,” Dean tuts, pulling out a different bag and handing it over. “You don’t think I’ve gotten the hint by now?”

Inside is what is possibly the nicest salad Sam has ever seen. Bright mixed greens with vibrant cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, shredded carrots, fire roasted corn, black beans, and grilled chicken. In little containers on the side is a cilantro cream salad dressing. Sam might actually cry. “Dean…”

“Alright you big girl, it’s just some damn rabbit food,” Dean grumbles. He messes with something in another bag and after a moment holds up a snowball with a little candle sticking out the top. “Tada,” he grins, lighting the candle with an exaggerated flourish.

Sam snorts, “Really Dean?” He reaches over and carefully takes the snowball, it’s a little squished on one side, pink dyed coconut sprinkles across the table.

“What?” Dean smirks, “It’s your favorite.”

“Yeah when I was five,” Sam shakes his head, chuckling. Dean always tried to get snowballs for him when they were younger, but they were hard to find in some gas stations. They became a special treat in their youth until stores seemed to just stop carrying them. Sam closes his eyes for a second, a tentative wish in mind, before he blows out the candle.

He opens his eyes to find Dean giving him a really weird look. “Ahh thanks man,” Sam says, trying to break the silence. He puts the cake to the side to eat later and pulls the salad over.

“Yeah it’s whatever, Happy Birthday Sammy,” Dean shrugs sitting and pulling out his own burger and fries. They eat in silence, both of them enjoying their meals.

“Ugg I ate too much,” Sam grins slumping back in his chair, arm curled over his stomach. “That was fantastic.”

“I don’t know where I went wrong,” Dean shakes his head.

“Ahh, he’s not so bad,” Benny chuckles, bumping into Sam’s side with an earthquake purr.

“Thanks Benny,” Sam huffs, running his fingers over his fur. He knows he’s getting too old to be touching his brother’s daemon, but the course fur has been a constant source of comfort in his life.

Of course it’s when he’s shifting to better handle Benny leaning into him that the envelope falls out of his pocket.

“What’s that,” Benny asks, taking the paper between his fangs.

“Ahh nothing! It’s nothing,” Sam shouts, and he could just kick himself, because that immediately draws Dean’s attention.

“Oooh, did you get a love letter or something,” Dean grins, snatching up the envelope from Benny. He doesn’t even glance at the heading before he’s tearing it open and pulling out the papers inside. He’s grinning as he holds it up, “Dear Samuel Winchester we are pleased to offer you…” he grin falls, surprise overtaking his face. “A seat at Stanford University Freshman class of 2001,” he finishes with a whisper.

Dean collapses into his chair, the letter falling limp to the table.

“You ass, he hadn’t seen it yet,” Rudy snarls, grabbing the letter up and hopping over to Sam.

Sam takes it with shaking fingers. He can’t even process that he got in. He was going to tell Dean - eventually. But he had wanted to lead up to it, butter him up a little, not just…

“You, you got into Stanford,” Dean says, voice unreadable.

“Yeah, uh, I guess so, that surprises me too actually, I don’t know what made me apply, or why they let me in.”

Dean looks up with a glare, “Of course they let you in, you’re a fucking genius!”

Sam huffs, “Not really, but thanks for that. You’re not...ah..mad?”

“Mad? What, fuck no, Sammy I’m proud. I’m so damn proud!”

“But, I, I don’t want to hunt Dean, I want to go to college,” Sam says. He can’t understand how Dean is so calm about this.

“Dude, duh, you’ve been shouting about the family business since you were 8, why do you think I was so pissed when you got that job last year. You needed to focus on your studies.”

Sam got a job last year to save money to apply to college and to try and help out. Dean had been pissed and tried to make him quit. It had been a hell of an argument. Dean won when they moved and Sam lost his job, but he did end up showing Sam how to hustle pool.

“Sammy, you’re too smart to be a grunt like me, I always expected you to go off and do bigger better things,” Dean huffed, giving that self-deprecating grin that drives Sam crazy.

“You’re not a grunt Dean,” Sam snaps. It’s an old argument, Sam’s constant fight against Dean’s shitty self-esteem, but it’s an uphill battle.

Dean shrugs, quickly changing the subject. “Seriously though, why Cali? Though I guess with that hippie hair you have going on you’ll fit right in.”

Sam sighs, because Dean has been making fun of his hair since the 7th grade. He doesn’t point out that because they can’t afford to get haircuts, there is an old set of army clippers Dean has been using to give them haircuts since he was 5. Unfortunately, Dean only knows the one cut. Sam had refused to let him anywhere near him with those clippers since he hit middle school.

“Stanford has one of the best law schools in the country,” he answers.

Dean’s whole face scrunches up like he bit into a lemon. “Law?! You want to be a lawyer.” He sounds like a scandalized housewife.

Sam rolls his eyes, “Yeah man. I enjoy researching and there is a lot of history and precedent to law that I find really fascinating.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” Dean says with an exaggerated shake of his head.

“You’re really not mad though?” Sam asks, because he has to make sure.

“No man,” Dean says, straightening up and giving him an intense stare. “I meant it, I’m proud of you, even if you want to be the legal sort of blood sucker.” He finishes with a cheeky grin that lets Sam know that everything is alright.

***

Sam only has a week left of school after his birthday and it flies by in a flash of finals. His graduation is the week after that, but Sam hadn’t planned on walking. It seems like a waste for a school he only spent a few months in, but Dean surprises him with a cap and gown. (Look Samantha, a dress that actually comes in size gigantor.)

John doesn’t show up, no surprise there, but when they call his name, second to last, Dean kicks up a hell of a fuss, shooting off a god forsaken confetti canon. They have a celebratory dinner of burgers and salad and illegal beer, and it’s one of the best months Sam has ever had, so of course that’s when John finally comes home.

Sam’s been packed and ready for Stanford since finals. Everything he owns fits into a duffle bag, it’s not that hard. The only true problem is whether he takes a bus out to Palo Alto or Dean drives him. Sam points out that he’s a big boy and can take the bus all by himself and everything, but Dean looks so hurt that he backs down pretty quickly. So they debate routes and with school not starting until the fall Dean makes a surprisingly passionate argument for driving by the Grand Canyon.

It’s the night before they leave, when the old truck pulls in front of their hotel room. John barges in a moment later, not bothering to knock. “Boys,” he grunts,inspecting the room. Colt slips in behind him like a shadow, sniffing along the salt perimeter and checking on Benny and Ruby with military precision.

“Dad,” Dean greets, excited, but nervous. He jumps up and goes to him, hesitating at what to do, because John isn’t someone you hug. Instead he veres off to their little kitchenette like that had always been his intention and grabs a beer out of the fridge to hand over.

John takes it without a word, drinking down the whole thing in a few swallows. “There is a werewolf pack in Minnesota we need to take care of. Pack up and we can be there by morning.”

Sam has spent most of his life angry. Some days it’s all he can do not to punch holes in the wall, but no one can bring out his anger like John Winchester. “No,” Sam says firmly.

Dean glances over, wide-eyed and ready to play mediator as usual.

“You will pack up and you will get in that car Sam, that was an order. There is a pack of werewolves killing civilians,” John growls, rounding on him.

“And I said no,” Sam snaps, stepping into John’s space. “I’m really sorry about those people, I am, but we are not soldiers and we do not follow your orders. I’m leaving for college in the morning. I’m done. No more hunting.”

“You would turn your back on your family?” John steps further into Sam’s space, Colt stepping with him.

“Family?! What family? The only family here is Dean and I, you’re never here. You never have been. Dean’s more of a father than you have ever been!” Sam shouts.

“Whoa, hey,” Dean tries to interrupt, tries to step between them like he always does, but they don’t let him.

Ruby leaps to Sam’s side, shifting into a mountain lion with a blood curdling scream.

John sneers, looking at Ruby like something he found under his shoe. “Look at her, your daemon still shifts like a child. You’re a grown man, it’s time to start acting like it.”

“I am, by making my own choices and going to college. I’m done with hunting.”

“You would disgrace your mothe…”

“Don’t,” Sam snaps, “Don’t you dare bring mom into this. I don’t remember her, but I sure as hell bet she wouldn’t have wanted you training us to be soldiers in this mad war instead of raising us to be your sons.”

John lunges forward, fist raised, but Ruby leaps between them, her already large shape growing as she throws John to the ground. She’s in the shape of a tiger, her fur a more muted color than Benny’s but just as impressive. She roars in John’s face, spittle flying.

Colt tries to interfere, but Benny takes him down with ease, pinning him beneath massive paws.

“Go Sammy, go,” Dean urges, handing Sam his duffle, a fistful of cash, and the keys to the impala.

“If you leave, you better stay gone,” John seethes, still pinned beneath Ruby, but unfazed.

Sam takes the bag and the cash but pushes the keys back. “Come with me.”

“I can’t Sam, that world, it’s not for me,” Dean looks torn. It’s the closest Sam thinks he’s ever seen his big brother come to tears.

He wants to push, wants to make Dean agree to come with him, but he’s not sure Dean will ever be able to leave John’s war, so he shoulders his bag and darts out the door. Ruby hot on his heels.

John doesn’t follow, though Sam doesn’t know if that’s because Dean stopped him or not. Still they book it to the bus station and buy the first ticket getting them in even remotely the right direction.

Its not until Sam has stored his bag and taken one of the specialty seats for people with large daemons, that he finally gets a chance to look at Ruby. She’s a lighter orange than Benny, almost honey colored with reddish orange stripes and more white along her paws and belly. Sam knows from doing a school project on tigers in elementary school that she’s a golden tiger.

“Are you...?” He asks, but he already knows the answer.

Ruby gives a curt nod.

“You’re beautiful,” Sam runs his hand through her soft fur and marvels at the knowledge that it will never change again.