Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam was shooting curious glances at Dean.

The older brother still hadn't said a single word. He hadn't even complained about the huge, dusty book Sam had open on the bed, even though Dean always complained about the books Sam read.

He hadn't even insisted that they go out to celebrate the last day before their father returned from his hunt, both knowing that they would have to move the exact moment John entered the motel’s room.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” Sam asked, ignoring the book and staring openly at his brother.

Dean nodded. “Everything is perfect .”

“Are you sure?” Sam insisted.

He knew his brother. If there was one person in this world who could claim to know Dean Winchester , it was Sam.

He had been observing him since he was four years old.

No one should really be surprised that his first word was Dean .

“I… you received an email, do you know that?” Dean asked, pointing to Sam's open computer that Dean had been using for personal research .

Sam hadn't wanted to ask, he had only requested that Dean delete any history he could have left and not download any bugs onto his computer.

“Oh, really?” Sam said, before standing up and pulling the computer towards him.

Then, he froze, reading the email still open on the computer, which had arrived at least half an hour ago.

The same amount of time Dean had remained frozen in that same position.

Dear Mr. Sam Winchester, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Stanford University…

Sam stopped reading after those two lines.

He had won a full scholarship, and he decided to apply to Stanford.

Partly on a whim, partly because he really wanted to become legal. The lawyer would also have allowed him to continue following Dean.

Many of their cases involved relatives who could sue major companies.

Sam could have helped those people, made a career in law, and stopped risking getting arrested for the credit card scam.

He would have preferred to stop hunting altogether, but he knew Dean would never stop.

This was his way of finding a compromise between his own desire of a safe life and Dean's need to faithfully follow their father everywhere he went.

Then, Sam remembered that Dean had read that email.

“Dean…” Sam began to speak, unsure of how to continue his sentence.

Should he have apologized for not discussing it sooner? He should have asked his brother for help to discuss it with their father? Would Dean be mad at Sam? Was he hurt? Or just confused, wondering how Sam had kept this from him until that moment?

"Why?" Dean asked, cutting Sam off before Sam could even decide how to continue that sentence.

Part of Sam was grateful, the other slightly annoyed.

“Why what ?” Sam retorted, keeping his brother's expressions in check. “Why did I apply to Stanford?”

“Yes, Sam, why did you apply to Stanford ?” Dean asked, his voice sounding terribly cold.

Sam swallowed. Every time Dean had that tone of voice, he felt guilty. He didn't want to hurt or disappoint Dean, he was just trying to do something honest.

“I was curious.” Sam admitted. “I wanted to see if they would take me.”

And they had. The only thing better would have been to get into Harvard.

“Well, they accepted you.” Dean concluded. “You satisfied that curiosity of yours.”

“Dean, please, just… listen to me for a moment.” Sam prayed, knowing he was begging his brother to understand.

“Sam, Sammy ,” Dean closed his eyes for a moment, before saying, “look, I get it, you like this nerdy stuff, it's okay! Nobody says you can't like it, but you can't just leave us!”

“Why can't I, Dean?” Sam asked. “Did you at least read the email? I can protect myself even at Stanford..."

The slamming door startled both brothers, and they turned towards the door.

“What are you saying, boy ?”

The hunt must have ended a day before, Sam realized, feeling a thread of anxiety wrap around him.

He felt Dean pull him back, shielding him slightly with his body from his father.

“Dad, he…” Dean started to answer, but John stopped him with a dry look. “I wasn't talking to you, Dean. I'm talking to your brother . Do not answer unless asked."

“Yes, sir.” Dean bowed his head slightly towards his father, and Sam took a deep breath.

He felt Dean squeeze his arm, a sign of comfort, and that gave him the courage to say. “I'm talking about the answer I got from Stanford.” 

“What answer?” John asked, a rhetorical question because they both knew what Stanford was, and they both knew what that phrase meant.

“I applied to Stanford, thanks to the scholarship I won.” Sam spoke slowly. “And they accepted me.”

John gave Dean a stern look. “Did you know?”

“No, he didn't know.” Sam answered for Dean, lifting his chin when John narrowed his eyes at him. “I didn't tell anyone.”

John remained silent.

Sam knew he wouldn't get congratulations for getting into Stanford. He knew it was just crazy to think of receiving compliments for the scholarship he had won to attend university.

“You won't go.” John said, walking forward and placing his bag on one of the beds. “Pack your bags, guys, we're leaving.”

Dean was quick to obey, but Sam didn't move from his spot near the table.

It was the only thing he wanted to do, continue to attend school, go to university.

It was the only thing he had asked for .

Sam remembered when John had had no intention of having Sam hunt with them, leaving him alone in the motels they went to, maybe doing research for them, maybe just studying.

And now that he wanted to study, his father wanted to keep him hunting?

He didn't notice that Dean had started packing Sam's suitcase too, but he noticed the stiffening of his father's shoulders and the way the man turned towards Sam. “Are there any problems, boy?”

“Yes, there are problems.” Sam replied, feeling his own anger start to go up. “ Why can't I go?”

“It's none of your business!” The father screamed. “I said no ! You're not going there, end of discussion! I said pack your bags, son, go pack your bags !”

" No !" Sam exclaimed. “Not until you give me a damn answer to a simple question!”

“Sam…” Dean murmured, suddenly cautious, glancing at his father.

But neither of them even looked at him.

“I have no intention of helping you delude yourself into a life that will never be yours.” John spoke, his voice still shaking with anger. “So, go pack your bags. I gave you an order .”

“And whose fault is that my life will never be like that?” Sam exclaimed. “Who raised his children to fight and endanger their lives, always and continuously?”

“ Boy… ” John hissed, growled, a clear warning to stop talking before he completely ruined his chances.

“You can't dictate every single second of our lives and not expect questions or protests!” Sam exclaimed. “We are no longer children! You can't be a commander with a stick and that's it!”

“I have no intention of making you go!” The father screamed. “That's not the way I raised you!”

“You raised me to be a damn soldier !” Sam screamed. “This is no way to raise a child! And you don't know a damn thing about raising or protecting your children, or we wouldn't be living this life !”

“Do you want to go? Go !” John yelled, pointing to the door. “But if you go, never come back ! Do you understand me? Get out that door, get out forever !”

Sam clenched his jaw.

“Sammy.” Dean called him. “Sam, let's go…”

"Okay." Sam said.

John turned his back on him, and Dean's shoulders relaxed.

And Sam knew that they had misunderstood what Sam really meant.

With a few strides, Sam made it to his bed, where he packed his laptop and his books, with the last of his clothes in his bag, and then headed for the door.

“Where are you going, boy?” John told him, showing that he had kept tabs on his son's movements.

“At Stanford.” Sam replied.

Dean gasped, and Sam saw him shift his gaze between him and his father.

“Leave and never come back.” John hissed.

"Perfect." Sam repeated. “See you never again.”

And he slammed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

The bus lurched toward California, the seats hard beneath him, the air conditioning too cold to be truly comforting. Sam stared out the window, but he couldn't see the landscape.

His mind was stuck back. In that motel room.

Where he'd left Dean . Leaving him behind had been like tearing a piece of his soul out.

Sam pulled his jacket tighter, as if it could cover the emptiness that was hollowing out his sternum. It hadn't been goodbye. Not really. No tears. No hug. Just John's sharp voice, his gaze full of disappointment and anger, and Dean, who hadn't said a word until the very end.

Sam still felt it, even though Dean had never said it. Not out loud. But those eyes—that pain he tried to mask with a grimace—screamed it.

He didn't want to leave him. Christ, he didn't want to leave his brother.

But staying meant choosing a life he'd never had the chance to truly accept. A life of orders, of violence, of half-answers. A life where his questions had no place. Where being himself was a crime.

And John had left him no choice.

Not after that " If you walk out that door, never come back. "

And yet, the only voice Sam could hear now wasn't his father's. It was Dean . Dean, who hadn't asked for anything, who hadn't ordered him to stay, but who had begged him with all his might. But who looked at him as if he was leaving him forever.

And maybe Dean was right. After all, he'd always known him far better than Sam knew himself.

Sam put a hand to his mouth. He'd made the right choice. He had to believe it.

And yet. ..

Every mile the bus traveled took him further from Dean . From his brother. From his best friend. And Sam felt emptier with every second.

Stanford would be freedom. A new life.

But that night, as the bus raced toward the future, Sam didn't feel free.

He felt like an orphan.

***

Dean was clutching Sam's gift.

He still remembered the look on Sam's face, his Sammy , as he gave him the amulet. A gift between brothers. Where John had failed, Dean had succeeded , in Sammy's eyes.

And then, he'd left him behind.

Stanford.

Dean knew Sam didn't love their life. He knew that every time they moved, Sam fought harder than before to stay, to live the life John was taking away from him.

Many times, Dean intervened, trying to stop Sam, holding him back.

This time, he hadn't been fast enough.

He hadn't realized what Sam was about to do until he'd done it. And even if Sam had changed his mind, John would have been unbearable.

Sam knew it; Dean denied it.

Sam had chosen himself, and Dean was proud of him.

His heart was just breaking because he wasn't included in Sam's choice.