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The fight had been worse than Sam could have guessed. He’d expected anger and shouting, even threats. But he hadn't expected it to end with his father telling him that if he stepped out that door, he could never come back.
That was it. Tears stinging his eyes, Sam couldn't look at his father. He couldn't look at Dean either. He just stormed to his room, grabbed the duffel bag he’s packed days ago, walked back through the living room. The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. But the silence… it was like a rope around his neck.
This time, Sam did spare his brother a look, but Dean was looking down. His misery was palpable. He wanted to say something to Dean, but instead, he just walked out the door, letting the screen bang shut.
Head bowed, shoulders hunched, he walked down the street as fast as he could. The knot in his stomach was bigger than the one he’d had years ago, the last time he’d run away. But his will was also stronger, and he had a destination - Stanford. Nothing, and no one, would stop him this time.
Dean would understand, he told himself. One day, he would. He had to.
~*~
Dean felt hollow. He stared resolutely at the floor as the door slammed, taking his center of gravity right along with it.
Sam left. All the screaming matches, the resentment, the fucking questioning of their father, it was all just the warning signs for this. Signs he had done his best to ignore because he had thought- stupidly, so damn stupid- that if he could just mediate, could just try to be the bridge between his father and brother and keep them both happy as best he could that things would pan out. That Sam would see Dad’s side of things, that John would cut Sam some slack.
He was an idiot. He was such a goddamn idiot and now Sam was gone.
Sam was gone.
A searing flash of panic made his heart stop for a moment, made his whole body jerk and suddenly he was moving, fumbling for the Impala keys and shaking.
"Where the fuck do you think you’re going?" John barked, and Dean just shook his head, over and over as he finally grasped his keys in his hand.
"I gotta talk to him," he forced himself to say, "I gotta talk to him, Dad, I can’t just let him walk away, I need-"
His mouth closed with an audible click as his father gripped his shoulder tightly, his face a dark storm cloud of anger.
"I have to do this!" Dean almost shouted before his father could say anything, the panic in his chest escalating and making his breathing rapid and shallow, "I have to try! Dad!"
He hated the way his voice broke, pleading and pathetic but he didn't fucking care. Whatever got him out that door past his father.
John’s expression darkened, but he let go, turning his back to his eldest son without a word and picking up the whiskey bottle on the table instead.
Dean didn't waste a moment, all but flinging himself out the door. He only just managed to keep himself from flat-out running after Sam, heart still pounding and breath shaky.
"Sammy!"
~*~
Sam heard the door slam a second time. And then he heard Dean shout his name.
He should keep walking right on. He should run. Every cell in his body told him that. Because if there was one person in the world who could change his mind, who’d changed his mind before, it was Dean. He was the biggest, the only threat, to Sam’s plans.
Run.
Images carded through his mind. All the skinned knees his brother had kissed better. All the tears he’d wiped away. All the times he’d let Sam throw himself into Dean’s arms, even though Dean wasn't keen on long hugs, or talks, or touchy feely moments. But he’d endure them, for Sam.
A lump rose in Sam’s throat. He didn't want to think about what he was doing to Dean. How this would affect him. He knew.
Taking a deep breath, he stopped and turned around. Seeing his brother’s stricken expression, his stomach churned.
Taking long strides, he walked back, dropped the bag and put his arms around Dean, hugging him for a moments. ”This is not about you Dean, you know that,” he whispered. ”I gotta do this.”
~*~
Dean nearly lost what little shreds of dignity he had left when Sam turned and wrapped his arms around him, whispering quietly, "This is not about you Dean, you know that. I gotta do this."
The worst part was, Dean did know. Sam wasn't like him, wasn't a pathetic high school drop out, wasn't married to this life, The Job. Sam could be so much more, and more than that, he deserved it.
"Please, Sammy," he couldn't stop himself from begging anyway, the horrible, painful truth digging daggers inside his chest. Sammy deserved better, Dean knew this with every fiber of his being, but he also knew how lost he would be without his baby brother, "Please, I need you here, man, you can’t just leave."
He pulled back, looking in Sam’s eyes pleadingly, “You and me against the world, remember?”
He look a breath, tried to gentle his tone, “Who am I gonna watch westerns with, huh?” He tried to tease, hating the way his throat was tightening up as he looked at his brother’s face.
~*~
Dean told you what to do. He gave his opinions. He could ride roughshod over you when you stood against him. But he didn't beg. He never ever begged.
Hearing him plead now crushed Sam’s heart. It wasn't only the fact that Dean was begging him. It was the fact that every word Dean spoke was true. Dean needed him. Dean might have a million other things going on in his life. Hunts, girlfriends to juggle, bar brawls, whatever. But all those things came second to Sam, when push came to shove. Unlike their father, nothing ever kept Dean from being there for him on birthdays and holidays, or whenever he needed Dean. He really was the center of his brother’s world.
"I remember. You and me against the world," Sam echoes, his voice husky with emotion. Could he really do this to Dean? Was he so hard-hearted that he could watch the brother who’d spent his life puffing him up, deflate in front of his eyes?
Though they’d parted, he kept his hands on Dean. "We've been here before, haven’t we?" he asked softly, blinking to keep his tears in check. “Come with me. We can get an apartment near school. You can take classes if you like, or get a job. Think about all the California girls,” he choked, knowing Dean felt stuck, and that there was nothing Sam could say to break him free. "Please Dean, I need you too. You know I do."
~*~
Dean looked away from Sam at his brother’s plead to come with him, his heart twisting in pain.
"Don’t ask me to do that, Sammy," Dean replied miserably. The idea of going with Sam, of watching his baby brother go to college, listening to him talk about his classes at the end of the day, dragging him to frat parties… It would be a dream come true. A dream Dean could not permit himself to have.
"You know I can’t," he tried to keep his tears in check, twisting his hands into the front of Sam’s shirt, "I can’t, Sammy."
~*~
Sam could see his brother’s heart breaking, shattering right along with his own. They’d been under the same roof practically every night of their lives, except for the time Dean had gone to summer camp or something, the few times he’d been with dad on a hunt that went overnight, and the first time Sam ran away. Other than that… yeah, Sam was used to going to sleep to the sound of his brother’s breathing.
His gaze fell to Dean’s hands, wringing his shirt, is brother’s way of clinging to him even when there was space between them. He lifted his face, and saw only misery in Dean’s eyes.
"Dean." He swallowed, and gripped his brother’s arms. "Everyone grows up. They leave home. They come back. I don’t mean me, Dean. I mean you. You’re not stuck here. It’s in your head, it’s… you can’t be the good son forever. You have to live your life."
He drew Dean into his arms, mostly because he couldn't bear to look at the anguish in Dean’s eyes. ”Come with me. What’s the worst that could happen? You hate it, or you miss the hunting, you come back.” Somehow he doubted their father would give Dean the same ultimatum. ”But if you find you like it, you build the life you want.”
Tears started to roll down in his cheeks. He couldn't hold them in check anymore. ”You held me up all these years, man. I swear, I swear Dean, if you come with me, I’ll hold you up. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
~*~
"Everyone grows up. They leave home. They come back. I don’t mean me, Dean. I mean you. You’re not stuck here. It’s in your head, it’s… you can’t be the good son forever. You have to live your life."
Dean let Sam draw him back in, fighting the growing weight of despair in his chest.
"Come with me. What’s the worst that could happen? You hate it, or you miss the hunting, you come back."
This. This is why Sam never understood. It wasn't about the hunting. It was about them. The three of them, him and Sam and Dad. What’s the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen is that Dad never forgives him, never lets him come back. Severs their family even more than Sam’s already doing now.
"You held me up all these years, man. I swear, I swear Dean, if you come with me, I’ll hold you up. I’ll do whatever it takes."
"No, you won’t, Sammy," Dean whispered quietly, grief laying thick and strangling in his heart. He pulled back, hating every tear coming from Sam’s face, but knowing that neither of them would break on this. Sam would leave for California, and Dean would remain with John, he saw that now with horrible clarity.
He swallowed hard at the effort it took to hold Sam at arm’s length, wishing so badly for his brother to understand what he was doing. By leaving, by asking Dean to come with him, for refusing to see what this was going to do to all of them.
Hard-headed. Always was, probably always would be. Just like John, though Dean knew better than to ever say that.
"This isn't about the hunting. This isn't about being a good son. It’s about helping your family. About sticking out the tough stuff with them," Dean said softly, "If I can’t make you understand that, Sammy…"
Dean trudged up his next words, hating every one of them as he pulled them up from the hardest part of his heart. He would hurt Sam with them, he knew that. But Sam was hurting him too, ”…then maybe you should leave. Cut loose the weight that’s holding you down.”
~*~
Sam cocked his head when his brother whispered that Sam would not go the mile for him. Didn't he know he’d do almost anything for Dean? That he’d throw himself in front of his brother in the face of danger? That if Dean were hurt, Sam would leave everything to care for him? That he’d find a way to keep a roof over their heads while he went to college, and after?
Then Dean started talking about family, and sounding just like their dad. Dad had done a job on him, brainwashing him. Making him see things from a point of that only made sense in their family. That the rest of the world would see through as nuts.
His jaw tightened. ”This isn't about sticking out tough stuff Dean. ‘Tough stuff’ is when you can’t afford shit, you lose your house because you lose a job. This… it’s a freakin' choice. Dad chooses to hunt—”
But he was wasting his breath, and he knew it. His dad didn't get it. And Dean didn't get it. He didn't want to, or couldn't, because it would mean their whole lives had been a lie. It would shine a light on the fact that Dean had been forced to give up a lot of his childhood to care for his younger brother, when he should never have been in that position in the first place.
Still, Sam would have tried to reason with Dean again. He would have begged, and pleaded, but he was caught off guard by Dean’s brutal words, almost, but not quite, echoing his father’s demand that he leave and not return.
He blanched, staring at his brother in disbelief. He swallowed, tried to accept the words. Tried to tell himself they’d been spoken in the heat o the moment. That Dean didn't mean them.
But he did. A certain hardness had entered Dean’s eyes, and Sam could see that. He blinked, then used the heels of his hand to wipe his tears. Somehow, he hardened his own heart, his resolve. Maybe he was doing what he always did, emulating Dean.
"If you change your mind," he said, using his sleeve to wipe his nose. "You know where I’ll be."
Slowly turning around, he picked up his bag, and started walking away, his shoulder hunch more pronounced than when he’d left the house. His brother’s words echoing in his mind, over and over, each time deepening the cuts across Sam’s broken heart.
~*~
It tore up Dean’s heart when Sam picked up his bag and began to walk away, the hunch of his shoulders defeated and hurt and Dean never hated himself more.
"Wait!" he said, pushing himself forward to grab Sam’s shoulder, stopping him and swallowing hard, "Get in the car. I’ll take you wherever you need to go."
This was it. Their last night together for god knew how long, maybe ever, and he was going to steal every last moment he could. Even if he had to drive Sam to California personally, there was no way he was going to just let Sam disappear into the night.
He tightened his hand on Sam’s shoulder, looking at him pleadingly and pulling his keys from his pocket. Sam had to give him this, let him steal just a little more time.
~*~
Sam stopped, but didn't turn around. His heart was fucking shattering, and the only person on earth who could do that to him, who did that to him, wasn't letting go. Did he want another chance to finish the job? Sam wasn't sure he could take any more, not today, not before he had a chance to lick his wounds and regroup.
He took a couple breaths and tried to pull away, but Dean’s grip only tightened on him. When he turned, he saw the keys in Dean’s hand.
"Why?" he asked. So you can tell me again I’m selfish. That I don’t care enough? That this isn't hurting me as badly as it’s hurting you? So you can pile more guilt on my shoulders just for wanting to go to school?
But when he lifted his chin, none of those words aimed to hurt Dean back came out. All he saw was his brother’s stricken face, and he knew the pain they were inflicting on each other had to stop.
~*~
"Because I’m not letting my little brother disappear into the middle of the night. Just… let me get you safely to the airport or the bus station or whatever it is you have a ticket for," Dean insisted, "Hell, I’ll drive you to Stanford myself if I have to, ok?"
Dean stepped around to stand in front of Sam, both metaphorically and physically digging his heels in, “Come on. Get in the car.”
~*~
He was just making this harder on the both of them. Didn't he see that? But before Sam could point that out, Dean was standing in front of him. His brother wasn't gonna move on this, and there was that tone, when he said ‘get in the car.’ The one that meant business. The one that Sam was used to obeying, usually without question.
He could have rebelled against it, back then and now. But somehow, it never riled him as much as when dad was ordering him around.
"Okay," he shook his head. He didn't want to disappear into the night either. Not this time. "Okay, Dean," he said. "Gray Hound station." They exchanged looks, and then Sam headed back to the car. One last ride with Dean, until who knew when.
~*~
The ride to the bus station was silent. There was nothing left to say, all the spite and the pleas already thrown at each other like daggers.
So Dean listened instead. Listened to the sound of Sam’s breathing; a sound he would have said was memorized after eighteen years, but now was terrified of losing.
He wanted to hear Sam talk, about stupid things that didn't matter. About his summer reading, or that documentary he saw on PBS, or how Dean should floss his teeth. Anything, everything. He wanted so badly, but pride or fear, he wasn't sure which, kept his jaw wired shut.
Soon, way too soon, he was pulling up to the station and sliding Baby into park. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel, listening to the slow click of the engine for a moment before finally opening his door and getting out.
"When’s your bus?" he asked Sam gruffly as his brother got out as well, looking so painfully young and thin in the dull lighting around the station.
~*~
Any silence between them was usually comfortable. Not today. Today, each second, each mile, was a heavy reminder that this could be the last time. Last time they talked. Last time they drove together. Last time they saw each other.
The lump in Sam’s throat grew painfully hard. He swallowed around it, but he told himself he was done crying. Done with the tears. They’d both gotten it out of their system already, and now… now he just had to walk away.
They got out of the car at the same time, ones actions echoed by the other. Sam stood in front of Dean, searching his brother’s face. Dean was hiding his emotions better now, but Sam knew he was breaking on the inside.
"Soon," he lied. There was nothing to be gained by drawing this out. It was just pain without purpose. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving. "I guess this is it, man," he said, spreading his hands, then letting them drop.
An instant later, he stepped forward and pulled Dean into a hug. ”I love you, you know that.” He closed his eyes for a moment, memorizing how Dean felt. The next time he fell down, or messed up, he couldn't run into his big brother’s arms for comfort. He slapped Dean on the back, reluctant to let go just yet, but knowing he had to.
~*~
Dean returned the hug, feeling sort of numb.
"I’m staying until your bus leaves," he said, choosing to circumvent the "I love you"s for now. He wasn't ready, he needed more time to process this.
"This isn't like summer camp, Sam," he said curtly before Sam could argue, pulling back and glaring, "I don’t get to pick you up in a couple of weeks and hear archery stories. You’re leaving, and I am damn well making sure my baby brother gets on his bus safely, got it?”
Dean glared some more, daring Sam to challenge him on it. They’d been down this little road before, of Sam not wanting Dean’s concern. Dean had been getting better about backing off, of letting Sam have some room to make a few small mistakes and get a little messy, but not now. He refused, in any way, to give up the small (so insufficiently minuscule) amount of time he had left tonight to look out for his brother. Even if it was just buying him a vending machine coffee or giving him a shoulder to rest his head on to nap while they waited.
~*~
Sam had been about to argue, but between Dean’s comments about not seeing him in a couple weeks, and the stubborn angle of his jaw as he laid down the law, changed his mind. He even didn't correct Dean when his brother called him his ‘baby brother.’ Deep down, he knew, that’s what he would always be, whether they were kids, teens or senior citizens. If Dean ever reached old age — if he stayed a hunter, chances were slim.
Those thoughts had him reaching for Dean again, his hand slipped down his brother’s chest, then he then grabbed a handful off the material. Nodding, he met Dean’s eyes. ”Alright. My bus comes in a few hours. You wanna…” he nodded toward the vending machines, and the tables and benches at the station.
~*~
Dean nodded solemnly, turning to lock Baby’s doors and walking in step with Sam toward the station.
It was all but abandoned at this time of night, for which Dean was extremely grateful. He made a beeline for the coffee vending machine, pulling his wallet out and shuffling through the handful of bills in there.
"Is it a straight-through trip, or are you changing buses somewhere?" he asked as the machine worked on dispensing their cheap, weak coffee.
The wheels were in motion, he had to accept that. Sam was going, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only thing he could do right now, standing here, was to make sure he knew about every step in Sam’s journey; his paranoid, hunter brain inevitably thinking of all the things that could happen to his little brother between here and Palo Alto.
~*~
"There’s one change in buses," Sam answered, pulling his ticket out as Dean got their coffee. There were several copies of the ticket, so he tore one out, folded it, and put it into the front pocket of Dean’s shirt. It would make Dean feel better, knowing the details of his trip. That didn't stop Sam from smiling, and saying, "control freak."
Taking his cup, Sam realized how often they stood around vending machines at motels. It was stupid, but he’d miss it. Arguing about what soda they wanted, or beating a machine up because it swallowed their change.
"You know there are lots of roads to Palo Alto," he said. "I mean, you could come visit. There’ll be down time, between hunts." He wasn't so sure about that. Now that he was gone, dad might take Dean out with him all the time, whereas before, he left him behind a lot to watch Sam.
~*~
"Shut up," Dean scoffed at Sam’s "control freak" comment, but couldn't deny the comfort having that paper in his pocket brought. He brought his coffee cup to his lips, blowing on it briefly before taking a careful sip. It was weak and kind of awful, but at least it was something to keep his hands occupied.
"You know there are lots of roads to Palo Alto. I mean, you could come visit. There’ll be down time, between hunts."
Dean clenched his jaw and turned away, taking another sip at the pathetic coffee.
"Yeah, guess we’ll see," he murmured. He honestly didn't know. With Sam picking up and leaving like this and Dad undoubtedly furious for the months to come, he had no idea if he could justify getting anywhere near California.
He found a bench and took a seat, knee bouncing uneasily.
"Sit, will ya?" he sighed, nodding to the spot beside him.
~*~
Sam searched his face and was reluctant to sit. ”I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then?” he asked softly. It wasn't what Dean said, but the other tells. The tensing of his jaw, the refusal to meet his eyes. Then the wishy-washy answer on top of it all.
Quietly, he sat down and stared into his own cup. He’d really thought Dean would visit. For someone who was panicking so much over his leaving, you’d think he’d have said ‘yes, absolutely.’ And if dad hadn't thrown him out of the house, Sam would definitely have gone home during vacations. He’d thought the need to see each other ran two ways.
~*~
"Sammy, no," Dean huffed, frustrated. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed heavily. Why couldn't Sam see how complicated this was?
"I want to see you, idiot, come on," he glared into his cup, anxiety and frustration twisting in his guts, "But you know dad. You know how he’s gonna be about all this, I’ll be lucky if I can text you without him getting all pissy."
He risked a glance to the side at his brother and his heart panged with pain at how completely dejected he looked.
"Hey, come on," he said gruffly, reaching out and hooking his arm around the back of Sam’s neck. He pulled him closer, tilting his head until his forehead touched Sam’s temple, and Dean tightened his arm briefly in a pseudo-hug, "We’ll figure it out, alright? We will."
~*~
What Dean wanted to do, and what he did, were two different things. He might want to come to Stanford with Sam, but he stayed. He might want to talk to him, to see him, but he’d do what made dad happy, not what made Dean happy. Or Sam.
The lump was back in his throat, and though he allowed Dean to pull him into the brief hug, for once, he didn't close his own arm around his brother, or slap him on the back. He just waited for Dean to let go, and then gave a nod. ”Sure we will,” he said woodenly.
Lifting the cup to his mouth, he took a drink. For the first time in forever, he was sitting there with his big brother, but feeling like he was all alone. ”He wins,” Sam said softly, before he even know he’d spoken the words out loud. Feeling the weight of Dean’s gaze, he looked up. ”It’s always been you in the middle, dad tugging you own way, me the other in a game of tug of war.” Sam gave a resigned sigh. He wasn't fighting anymore.
~*~
Dean didn't know what to say. He wanted to deny it, to tell Sam he was being ridiculous, but… he was right. Ever since Sam was old enough to know what Dad did, the hows and the whys of their way of life, he had been trying to get out. And he had been trying to get Dean to come with him, even as their father pulled him deeper and deeper.
Dean knew what he was. He was a hunter. He felt good with a gun in his hand, he got an adrenaline rush with every monster he put down, every ghost he lit up. And maybe he’d been living with the hope that if he tried hard enough, Sam would feel that way too.
But now they were here, at a station in the middle of the night, waiting for a bus that would pull Dean’s life apart.
Dean looked away and put the coffee cup to his lips, barely tasting the bitter black liquid as it slid down his throat.
There was nothing to say to that. Because Sam was right, but not entirely. Dad may have succeeded in keeping his eldest son in The Life, but Sam was getting to go to college. He was getting to live his dream of normalcy.
Dean was the only true loser. Not just because he was losing Sam to college, but because no matter what he said, no matter what he did, no one was going to be happy with him.
Dad would blame him for Sam’s abandonment, and Sam would blame him for staying.
Dean put his head down, weary and miserable as all of this circled through his head.
Sam’s leg was pressed against his as they sat on the bench. His brother’s leg was warm, even through their denim. Sam always ran so damn hot all of the time. And because they were all too fucking proud, it might be the last time Dean ever felt it.
~*~
They didn't talk much after that. Not verbally at least. They just exchanged looks, their eyes dull with misery, and glistening with unshed tears. They sat in each others’ space, Bodies touching. Sometimes even gripping, or patting each others’ shoulder.
The hours slipped away, both too slow and too fast at the same time. The bus pulled up to the sidewalk, and Sam didn't make a move to get up. Not until they announced its destination and called all passengers. Getting up, he left his cup on the table.
"Goodbye Dean," he whispered, his voice shaking. They ought to hug, Sam wanted to, but he was afraid he’d never let go. That he’d hang onto Dean until the bus drove away.
He walked backwards a few feet, then turned around, ducked his head down and lengthened his strides. He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing. But Dean’s stricken look… God help him, Sam didn't know anymore.
~*~
Dean watched Sam walk away, with nothing but his brother’s quiet, "Goodbye, Dean," echoing in his ears.
This was it, Sam was really leaving. The rumble of the bus’s engine was painfully loud in the otherwise quiet station, and Sam was walking out of his life.
He watched him get all the way to the bus’s stairs, his brother waiting patiently for the other passengers to finish leaving the bus before entering himself. Then Dean was on his feet and running to Sam before he could even catch up with his body’s decision to do so.
"Sam," he breathed, desperately grabbing Sam’s arm and pushing him around to wrap his arms around his little brother. Dean scrunched his eyes shut, breathing fast and scared as he held on as tightly as he possibly could.
"I love you," he whispered, "I love you, Sammy. You need to be safe, ok? God, just- be careful, call me, please, just let me know you’re ok. I need to know when you reach California. Alright? Just… just do that for me?”
~*~
No. Not again. Sam couldn't do this again. His heart had already broken a dozen times. He was out of pleas. Out of tears. And Dean was forcing him to face the same demons again.
He held his brother, mostly concentrating on not crying again. Then Dean whispered he loved him, and Sam almost fell apart. His fingers bit into Dean’s shoulder. He nodded. ”Yeah, yes, ok. I will. I will Dean.” They were the only ones left out there.
Giving Dean one last hug, Sam kissed him on the cheek, near his ear. ”I love you, Dean,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotions. He tore himself away, and grabbed the back he’d dropped. Looking into Dean’s eyes one last time, he silently plead with him to come.
Then Sam turned around and went up the stairs of the bus. The lump in his throat was damned painful, but nowhere near the pain in his heard. He found a window seat, then used his forearm to wipe the window and looked out, his eyes on the brother he’d miss every fucking day of his life.
~*~
Dean watched Sam as long as he could, standing alone in the station until the bus had faded completely out of sight.
That was it, then. Sam was gone, and it was just him and dad now, fighting the good fight.
Dean felt numb. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, rooted to the spot, but when he finally moved, it felt like his whole body ached.
He pulled out his phone as he walked back to the car, sending his father a brief update. Things were going to be so much worse after this. He could feel it like the crackle of electricity before a storm.
Sammy’s gone.
It was all his blank mind could come up with to think, and he desperately grabbed the box of tapes from under the seat, sticking one in at random and turning the volume up loud.
Sammy’s gone…
The End