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“You walk out that door, Sam, don’t bother coming back.”
Sam stood there, locked eyes with John, fists tightly clenched at his sides.
He heard the same speech five months ago. It’s not like he had every word on repeat since then. He thought John would’ve changed his mind by now, or Dean would’ve talked some real sense into him.
But Sam knew him all too well, deep down, he knows that his old man was too fucking stubborn for change, of any kind.
He didn’t speak. Just giving a solemn nod to John, before glancing at Dean, hoping that he’d back him up in some way.
Dean just looked away. Turned his head and faced the floor.
Sam stomped up the stairs and all the way to his room, the only little private space he’s had in the past few days. It wasn’t the best safe house John owned, but it had three rooms and clean running water, so it was enough for Sam.
He didn’t waste any time packing, already working on a mental timer, as he threw whatever he had laying around into his duffle and backpack. Just a few loose clothing, some fancy knife made from pure silver that Bobby got him, and a walkman with some cassettes tapes that Dean got him for his 18th birthday last year. His prized possession.
“Y’know it’s a two hour drive to the nearest bus station,” Dean grumbles. Even with his back faced to his brother, Sam knew Dean was pouting, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame.
“I can walk fine,” Sam mumbles, closing his duffle with a loud zzzzzzzip! Though something Sam couldn’t stand about this particular safe house was that it’s in the middle of nowhere. A few hours outside of New York City, the safe house sat practically all alone with just miles of road ahead of it.
“What, so you’re just gonna… let some creep in a freaky ass van take you? You’re not gonna walk all the way there, Sammy, you won’t make it.” Dean retorted, and with his back still turned, Sam could make out the scrunched up, disappointed look on Deans face
“Okay, so what then, Dean?” Sam didn’t mean to snap like that. He practically shouted, whipping his body around to face Dean, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. All of this was already so complicated as it was. He didn’t need Dean riding him like this. “What the hell are you suggesting?”
It was quiet for a few beats. Sams chest heaving as he stares down his older brother. Deans arms still crossed over his chest, the bags under his eyes looking especially dark this evening. And for a moment, Sam realizes how much taller he is than Dean. But he still feels so damn small.
“Meet me outside and wait by the car.” Dean says, almost a mumble that made his voice rasp.
“What?” Sam asks, taken aback by this… request? Demand? Yeah, Dean won’t stand up for his baby brother when he’s getting yelled at and kicked out by their father just moments prior, but sure, he’ll give him a final ride to a bus station where they’ll undoubtedly abandon each other.
“Go outside. And meet me in the damn car. I’ll talk to dad,” Dean says, pointing a finger at Sam, before leaving the room. The heavy sound of Deans boots hitting the creaky floorboards and stairs almost made Sam flinch.
He sighs and follows Deans orders. It’s the least he can do, he figures. Best not fight about it.
~
Sam perks up, looking up from his Walkman as Dean walks out of the house, noisy door closing behind him. From the windows, Sam could make out Johns figure, arms crossed and back straight. Sam could feel the shadow just staring holes into him.
They’re too much alike, Dean and John, Sam realizes. But so is himself and John. They all mirror each other, in some weird way. Sam shakes his head and swallows down the lump in his throat before clearing it. “So, what then?”
Dean pulls his hand out of his jacket pocket, holding up the keys to their beloved impala. Sam just flashes a grin for a moment, before opening the car door and sliding into the passengers seat, fiddling with his headphone wires as Dean jumps in soon after and starts her up.
What took Sam by surprise was when Dean turned down the radio. Phantom Lord played uncharacteristically softly as Dean backed up and drove down the road. Then began the two hour ride into the nearest town, into the nearest bus stop, so Sam could jump onto the closest bus that could take him to Stanford. It’s nothing short of a big deal. It’s fine.
Sam huffs and he hums.
He pats on his thighs and looks upon the dashboard.
Their initials, a crooked S.W and D.W, catching his eye.
Sam grins to himself.
Dean’s practically owned this car since he could drive. Always took care of it, often treating her like she was a damn actual lady. In almost every solo car ride he’s had with Dean, the music was always blasting. Sometimes greasy, inexpensive food sat between them, stinking up the car. A lot of the time, Dean would be screaming to whatever song was playing, egging Sam on to join him. Night Moves was their go-to ‘karaoke’ song. Sams Night Moves cassette being one of the most used for that reason alone.
He chuckles and looks at Dean, mouth open, ready to ramble on about whatever was on his mind. ‘Think this has to be the most quiet I’ve ever heard you in this damn car, Dean.’
But Dean’s knuckles are almost white as he grips the steering wheel. His lips are pursed and eyes are glued on the road. His jaw tight, to the point where it almost looks painful to Sam.
Sam flinches and closes his mouth. Almost as if Dean yelled at him. Felt like he had. He turns his head and looks down on his lap, hands clasped around his Walkman. Quiet trip it is then.
He sighs.
Sam looked out the window, out into the Thursday evening sky, trying to focus on anything other than his own breathing and Dean’s intense stare.
That’s another thing they both inherit from their father. His anger. How loud and visible it can be, even when nothing is ever said.
It’s his fault, Sam knows. He blames himself for almost everything as it is. He’s only nineteen and he feels as if hes about to lose everything. But he needs this, he wants this, he wants Stanford. And if he could, he’d bring Dean.
With Deans grades and only scrapping by with a GED, he probably wouldn’t actually get into Stanford… but he could apply for winter term in a nearby community college. They could work real jobs, rent a little apartment together…
Sam slowly breathes out, “Dean…”
“What, Sam?” Dean speaks, almost authoritative and straight. He doesn’t look Sams way, not even a glance.
Sam sighs and slouches in his seat, “Dean, you know dad’s whole mission is just… a slow motion suicide… he won’t stop until whatever killed mom, and more, are all dead and gone.”
“Yeah, and?”
Sam scoffs. “You… he’s been dragging us along for years! Since we were kids! What, don’t you think we deserve something better?! All dad cares about is himself! He-He treats us like soldiers, and me specifically like crap! And-and if you just think that I-!”
Sam was gonna go on. He would’ve kept going. Rambling and screaming about how their dad, the doomed mission, about how no matter how hard he tries, he’s always the damn screw up. But Dean turned his head. Gave him some look, a mixture of disappointment, anger, and just… sadness, melancholy. And Sam swallowed his words, slouched back in his seat and stared down the coming road.
“I’m not doing this to hurt you, Dean,” he says softly, after a few minutes. “You or dad. I’m just… tired. I’m tired and I’m done, Dean. I cant.” His throat feels tight and his voice is raspy. Dean doesn’t say anything after that. Sam sighs and drops his chin to his chest and closes his eyes.
~
“Hey, Sammy.”
Sam moaned as his eyes blinked open, particularly hard rib nudges waking him.
“We’re here.” Dean says, almost in a flat tone, still staring out in front of him.
Sam huffs out an ‘alright’ and swings out the passenger side, quickly patting his jacket pockets to make sure both his wallet, walkman and flip phone were present and nodded to himself as everything was called for. He pulled out his bags from the back and walked to the drivers side of Baby, leaning down and smiling sadly at Dean through the window.
“I’ll, uh…” Sam clears his throat, but Dean beat him to it.
“You’ll call, right Sammy? Every once in a while?”
Sams eyes widened for a moment, mouth open with not a peep coming through. He swallows and nods, eventually whispering, “Yeah, Dean… promise.”
For the first time, Dean looks up at Sam, eyes all glossy, smile soft but tight, and hands still gripping onto that damned steering wheel like it was his life line. Sam feels guilty all over again.
“Dean, I-“ he tried. But then Dean looked down and put Baby into drive and started to back up, leaving Sam to stumble backwards before his foot got ran over or something. Sam stood there, almost under a trance as Dean backs up and drives away. He doesn’t take another breath until the impala is well out of view. Even then, Sam just stands there, frozen, for a few more minutes, as everything finally hits him.
He’s nineteen. He just graduated high school last week. And he’s lost everything. He could make a new beginning, true. But that was his family. The only thing he felt like he could rely on.
Sam drops his bag and without thinking, sits on top of it and holds his head in his hands. He doesn’t care if he’s sitting here, just inches away from the station, just barely sitting on the road, with people coming and going.
His throat is burning and his eyes are shut tight.
He lost everything. And he can’t go back.