Notes: jakefan asked for something about school, and CaptialC12 suggested John not caring how Sam felt about moving schools. Thank you very much to the both of you! I hope you like it. :)

Sam was completely distraught; more than usual, actually. In one hand he was gripping the strap of his backpack with white-knuckled fingers, and his other hand was holding tight to the door handle, threatening to open it up with small turns every so often. His face was distorted with upset and angry creases, and his eyes were wet and red-rimmed. Across from him, John stood with his legs apart, a stance Dean had seen far too often. The two of them looked like they were squaring off for a fight, each ready to draw their gun and shoot.

Well, Dean thought, they sort of were.

Dean had been packing his things when the altercation started. His brother announced that he wasn't going to leave, not this time. John, of course, told him to shut up and start packing. That's when Sam grabbed his school things and started shouting, and their dad started shouting back. Now Dean was silently sitting on the bed, watching the two of them yell and refuse to listen.

"Put your bag down and get ready," John ordered, pointing a finger. "We're leaving in ten minutes." If anything, Sam gripped his backpack tighter, his fist shaking with the effort. Actually, his whole body was shaking. He looked like he would either snap and kill someone, or break down sobbing on the floor. Dean didn't want either of them to happen.

"I'm not leaving," his little brother screamed, and by the sound of his voice, he meant it. "I finally found a school where I'm not a freak. I have friends for the first time in my life, and I don't want to leave them." Dean wanted to leap from the bed and hold Sam. At every school they had gone to recently, he had been bullied. If this school had people who didn't mock him and shove him into lockers… Dean could see why he wanted to stay.

"You are in eighth grade, Sam," John spat with a harsh laugh. "You won't even remember this school when you're older. You'll be in a new school next week, and you can make new friends there. Get over it and get packed." He turned around and grabbed a duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

"You don't get it," Sam shouted, dropping his backpack with a loud thump. He stepped away from the door and toward their dad, balling his fists up. "I'm not a freak at this school because no one knows who my family is. Wherever we go, you always show up and make me look bad. Nobody here knows that my dad carries shotguns in the backseat, or that my brother puts salt in his backpack instead of books. Nobody here has seen the devil's traps you carved into our shoes. Nobody here has seen the fucking mess our family is, and I actually want to keep it that way!"

"Watch your mouth!" John dropped his duffel bag with an even louder thump and took a step forward, pointing a finger at his son.

"Why? Why should I? So we can look normal? So we can sound normal?" Sam, seemingly unaware of his surroundings other than his dad, kept raising his voice louder and louder, and Dean was afraid someone in a bordering room would call the cops or something. He wanted to calm his brother down, but he wasn't sure anything would do that at the moment.

"We're not normal," John replied. "We're never going to be normal. Stop pretending you can be anything but what we are, Sam."

"Why can't I? Leave me here, and maybe I'd have a chance. Go, please," he stepped to the side and gestured to the door. "I know how to take care of myself. I don't need you." He looked down a grumbled to himself.

"What did you just say?" John took a few steps toward his son, bending down as if to listen. There was no need, though. Sam's head snapped up and he screamed his reply.

"I said you're never here anyway! You're always out hunting weird shit, so it's not like I'd miss you if you were gone."

"You're a brat," their dad hissed, his face severe. "You'd die before we even got out of the state." He paused a moment before adding, "And maybe we wouldn't come back for your corpse." John returned and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he stormed out of the motel to the car, leaving his two boys gaping.

Dean stood from his spot on the bed and closed the gap between him and his brother at the same time that Sam started to curl in on himself. His face twisted and the tears in his eyes slid down his cheeks, soaking his brother's clothes. Dean didn't mind, though. He just held his brother tighter and watched out the window to make sure John wasn't returning.

"I-I'm sorry," Sam sputtered into his chest wetly. "It's not you I w-wanted to leave."

"I know, Sammy," Dean mumbled, trying to keep his voice even. "It's okay." He shushed his brother and rubbed his back, letting him cry through his shirt. He would have done the same even if his brother had told him outright he was the reason for the tears. He just wanted his brother to be happy. And if that meant not putting salt in his backpack, then… Well, he could put it in his pockets or something. He still needed to protect his brother. He wouldn't apologize for that.