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Dean's not home the night of the fight when Sam finally takes off.
Normally he sticks around and does his damndest to keep the calm, keep the peace, keep their cool but he's not there for the fight to end all fights. Just one beer he'd justified to himself as he sat atop the cooling lid of the Impala, watching the clouds roll across the darkened hazy night sky, stars blotted out by their backlit watery forms. Just one beer couldn't hurt.
He pulls into the parking lot of whatever motel they're currently staying at, feeling the thrum buzz of the alcohol in his blood and the kind of animal pressure feeling of an oncoming storm, can feel the static electricity building in the air, but all of these signs do nothing to prepare him from the violence and noise pouring from behind their motel door to spill across the neon lit parking lot. Raised voices and hurled insults harmonize with the sound of cheap chairs turned over and the shatter of the bulb in the lamp making contact with one of the walls.
Dad, Dean thinks, he's always the first one to physically throw things, Sam's sharp tongue does enough damage without having to hurl things at their father. His hand hesitates at the turn of the doorknob forehead pressed against the door, tension in every line of his body as his eyes cut back across at the sleek body of the impala where she sits, sin incarnate with her temptations of just taking him away from here without ever looking back. Not without Sammy but that immovable reason means that he can’t not go into the room and do his best to diffuse the tension for at least another night.
He pushes his way into the room ducking as the coffee pot goes flying over his head, his dad can shoot wings off a fly half a field away while black out drunk but his hands shake like crazy when he's emotional and nothing gets his pressure up like the cutting words of his youngest son. It's hard to find a way to yell at your kids when one always answers with a blank yes sir, Sammy on the other hand knows how to push all of johns buttons like he was born for it.
“I cant fucking believe were moving again! We've been here less than two months,” He pushes out, voice too big and booming for his lanky frame. Sam may be eighteen now but his body's
muscles and bulk hasn't caught up with the aspirations his height has for him.
“Watch your damn mouth,” John bursts out, Sam’s voice may carry some power now but he had to learn from somewhere, "it would do you some good if you could learn some respect. You know what we're doing here."
"Do I dad?! I know that we've spent almost fifteen years doing this and what have we got to show for it? A hundred thousand miles and an expertise in being the new kid. Well I'm sick of it. I want some stability in my life because I want to be normal and I know that I'm never going to be able to get it by staying in this family."
Neither of them notice as Dean slips into the room nearly tripping over an overfilled duffle bag sitting by the door as he moves to try and stand out of both of their ways but still on hand ready to step in if the fight escalates back into throwing territory again. Sam sighs harshly breath puffing out of his nose like an angered bull as his fists clench, shaking in how hard he's white knuckling them.
"I don't wanna do it anymore, it's not worth it." John raises his finger and from across the room Dean can see how hard his hands are shaking, knees swaying as he tries not to fall over. Dad's anger while he's drunk battles within him and his exhaustion and the bubbling rage he feels is the only thing currently holding up. The last hunt was hard, they hadn't been as prepared as they should have been and Dean took a swipe across the stomach for it, the monster they had been hunting's sharp clawing scratching across his stomach, shredding the secondhand shirt and the skin underneath. Dean felt a twinge of phantom pain run through his midsection as he thought about the barely-healed wound.
"Sam," his dad grits out between clenched teeth.
"You know why we're doing this, we're getting close and as soon as we've got that monster then we can finally settle down and be-"
"Normal dad?" Sam cuts in,
"You think if, and that's a big if, if we catch this thing that means we're done? No more of this? Dad we can't just be normal that's not how this works; there's not being in this life and being normal. I want to be normal. I want to not have to hunt monsters and loot corpses and deal with the constantly moving and the lying. I want to be able to have friends over and go to the movies, it's ridiculous. I just want to be able to live my life."
Dean watches the tension and anger that had been held in his form drain out of him, shoulders dropping and the hair that he'll never let Dean cut hanging down to conceal his face.
"Mom wouldn't want us to live like this."
Dean can feel his blood run cold the way that his eyes widen as he darts a look from the slumped figure of his younger brother to the now vibrating and stiff form of his father, wide eye expression matching the one on Dean's face. Both Dean and his father watch as Sam turns to face the door that Dean's left ajar in his failed attempts to get into the room before the fight had escalated any further. He leans down to pick up the duffel that Dean almost tripped over on his way in, slinging it over his lanky shoulder as he keeps his back to his brother and his father, hand on the doorknob, hesitating in the way Dean had standing on the other side of that door what seems like a lifetime ago but must be less than ten minutes. Dean can hear the small quick breaths that Sam pulls in doing his best to calm his anger from the white-hot fire that burns in his young body, in contrast to the heavy breaths his father is breathing out into the room thickening the atmosphere. Outside Dean can hear the first hints of rumbling thunder beginning the storm he felt brewing as he came into the motel finally spilling over. John's voice rings clear and true throughout the room, the command of an officer and the grief of a dying man.
"If you walk out that door, don't you dare to come back."
Dean has a view of Sam's profile as he watches his father's words hit Sam like a stab to the back; he sees the wince and hurt play out on his brother's face his one quick look to the side, regret and determination playing tug of war before his face hardens unknowingly mirroring the expression currently dominating their father.
Sam pulls the door open and tosses, "Fine by me," over his shoulder as he leaves and pulls the door closed behind him.
The tension in the room breaks and outside the rain begins.
Dean watches as his father sweeps his arms across the small kitchenette table tossing old burger wrappers, library lore printouts and half disassembled weapons all over the floor of the motel room before he rubs his hand harshly down his face and walks into the small ensuite bathroom slamming the door behind him. Dean slips out of the room. Standing outside their door he can see Sam standing at the edge of the motel awning peering through the rain and looking back and forth, Dean pulls the keys to the Impala from his jacket pocket and jogs his way to the car getting in. Once there, he turns the keys in the ignition and pulls the car from its parking spot to where Sam is standing looking at all the kid he actually is.
"Get in,"
His words are gruff and Dean can see the relief on his brother's face as he pulls open the passenger door and quickly gets in. Dean peels out of the motel lot and drives through the small middle of nowhere town until he gets to the bus depot at the edge of town. He parks and turns off the car but doesn't move to get out
"Sam-" he starts,
"No Dean." his brother cuts him off,
"No, if I stay any longer I'm going to get stuck and I just can't do it anymore, I have to get out, I can't."
His brother turns and makes eye contact with him and Dean can see every fight and new school and skeevy motel play out in his puppy dog eyes. Dean just nods before moving to get out of the car, hearing Sam do the same. Sam gets his ticket and he and Dean walk to where it sits waiting for final boarding. Dean shoves his hands in his pocket and watches the way the rain is soaking into the material of his jeans.
"I'll call, I promise," Sam says as he clutches at his duffel, first hints of fear beginning to show on his face. Dean takes a deep breath, feeling the ache of over-filling his lung as he breathes in the wet concrete smell then pulls out his wallet, an old worn leather thing and pulls out all the cash he has on him, shoving it into Sam's hand.
"You take care of yourself." Dean takes a step back and squares his shoulders. Sam squares his too in response to the determination returning to his face in response to the belief in him his older brother has. He turns and begins to board the steps into the bus hitching his duffel higher on his shoulder and looking at Dean.
"Dean-" he starts,
"No chick flick moments Sammy."
Dean cuts him off before he can continue. Sam lets out a huff of a laugh at his response, a small smile flashing onto his face as his brother sticks to his guns on the no mushy emotional moments rule.
"Bye Dean."
Sam gets onto the bus quickly finding a seat and collapsing his too long limbs into his chair and turns to look at Dean through the window, where Dean gives him a nod. Sam gives him a small smile and wave and the bus begins to pull its way out of its parking space.
"Sam," he whispers.
"Sam," he repeats a little louder. He's yelling now but he doesn't feel his feet moving until he notices that he's running after the bus as it begins to pick up speed.
"Sammy!"
He repeats his little brother's name.
"Sammy!!" He screams as he runs after the bus currently carrying his heart away from him, he can feel the burn in his lungs as the bus just pulls further and further away, he's running full out now interspersed with yells of Sammy’s name as he watches it get smaller and smaller, chasing it for who knows how long until it finally disappears from his vision. he stumbles over the uneven ground, the slickness of the rain making it harder to keep his feet on the ground and his heart in his chest as loses speed finally slowing and stopping as his hands come up to fist in his hair. The pain in his scalp tries to ground him and he can feel the sting of the tears welling up in his eyes but he's not aware enough to tell if they spill over or if they stay in his eyes frozen like every other part of him as he feels his stomach drop out from underneath him. The rain continues to pour.
He gets back into the Impala soaked through. He chased after the bus long after he could no longer see it. The rain stopped in the length of time it took him to get back to his car but he hasn't yet begun to dry from the torrential downpour. He pants into the stuffy interior of the car and puts the keys into the ignition but doesn't turn them as he buries his face into his hands as he tries to calm his breathing. The windows of the car fog up from the leftover humidity of the rain. Outside the night is quiet in that damp silence that comes after a rainstorm, the clouds that Dean had been watching earlier have departed and the stars shine down clear and cold, twinkling a thousand miles away.