Dean wakes to the sound of someone moving around the room. Sammy, his mind notes immediately. He can recognize his brother's sounds even without looking, just by hearing the long strides and the quiet huffing of his breath and the vvvvvpppp of zippers closing. Sam's the only one in the Winchester family who's really neat about his stuff, not only his weapons but also his clothes, books, bags. Dean rolls onto his back but pretends to still be asleep, cracking open one eye when Sam's back is turned, then closing it hurredly again. Sam moves, springs creak as he sits on his bed, then Dean can hear the sound of a pen scratching across paper. He sighs, and finally gives in to the realization that sleep is beyond his reach now. Sam looks up as Dean opens his eyes and stretches his arms, accidentally whacking his elbow on the wall behind his pillow.

"What're you doing?" Dean's voice is rough, and Sam rummages in his duffle bag to pull out a water bottle, which he tosses to Dean. Mother hen.

"Not much, just getting my stuff together in case we have to move out again."

Dean raises himself up on one elbow. "This isn't about Stanford, is it? You clashing with Dad again?"

"Dean, you know what it's like. I just...I just want to get an education, live a normal life, ok? Get away from hunting for a while, maybe forever. Not dangle my life on a stick everyday, not-not take part in a literal game of kill or be killed? And I can't make Dad understand, just can't. He doesn't get it, doesn't see any point in going to college; he can't let me go, Dean. I want to go, and he won't let me, even with a scholarship. A scholarship, man! It's such a good opportunity right here, right here in front of me, and all I need is a little money to get me going. Couple hundred dollars, that's it, just until I work everything out. With Dad, you'd think I was asking for his life savings. Jeez, this is messed up."

"Hey. Sam. Look at me. Hey. It's going to be fine, ok? Dad loves you, you know, he just wants to do what he thinks is right. He really does think this is the right thing, and believe me, I know this life isn't a piece of cake, but it's what we do, you know? This is what we do, what we've always done. Family business, dude. This is important, we're saving lives here, killing the enemy-I'm not saying college isn't important, but don't you think that this is pretty important too?"

Sam doesn't answer, just drops his head into his hands and remains silent. Dean rolls over so his back is to Sam, and closes his eyes. It hurts to see Sam so despairing, but really, he'll get over it soon enough. In a couple hours they'll go have a couple of burgers and a few cheap beers, and Dean'll flirt with the waitress while Sam laughs at him until Dean teases him about his solitary life. Then Sam'll turn on the puppy eyes that Dean never could resist, still can't, and he'll ruffle Sam's hair until Sam squawks and pushes him playfully away.

And that's what they do. Dean wakes up to Sam tapping away at the computer, a brave and almost unbroken smile on his face when Dean drags him out of the motel and towards the closest diner. They're both a little drunk and very full when they return to their room, and Dad's still not back, so they each pick a bed and flop down to enjoy a couple hours of TV and brotherly bickering. Life isn't so bad after all.

Until it is.

Three weeks and several big Sam-Dad fights later, Dean again wakes up in a motel room. Dad's out having a drink with an old acquaintance, that he knows, but even before he opens his eyes Dean is aware that he is alone. Years of hunting and danger have honed his senses to the extent that, even as he sits up and calls Sam's name, he knows beyond any doubt that Sam isn't here.

His eyes dart back and forth, searching for a clue, heart hammering as he notes that all Sam's things are gone, his bed is made, and the floor clear of debris. A slip of paper catches his eye, and he leans forward, pulling it out from under it's anchor of Sam's pillow.

An envelope, blank except for Dean written on it in blue pen and in Sam's neat, square handwriting. His fingers can't help trembling a little as he opens it, breath catching in his throat as he pulls out a folded piece of paper and begins to read.

Dean,

By the time you read this, I'll already be gone.

I'm sorry to leave you, and I'm sorry to leave Dad, but this needs to be done. I want to live a normal life, Dean, I don't want to be a freak any more. If Dad won't lend me some money for college, I'm going to have to do something else. I can't stay there anymore, not even for you. You and Dad do better on your own anyway, without me pulling you down and holding you back.

It's better this way. Funny how I imagined my escape from this life and death existence would be college, but turns out I'm just moving to another kind of life and death existence. That's the Winchester luck for you. Ironic and stupid, seems like some kind of horrible joke.

This may not be what I want to do, but it's what I need to do. It's my only option for a change, and I certainly feel prepared for it, what with Dad's training and all this experience in hunting and killing and trying to stay alive. That's how I've grown up, it's basically all I know, so I think I'll be an asset to this cause and be doing something to help this country. You're already doing your part, you and Dad-you were right, what you said those weeks ago. We do save lives and kill the enemy. I'm just doing it another way, now.

I won't give you too much detail about where I'm going because I don't want you to try and track me down. I'm joining the military. That's all you need to know, and I'll write to Bobby so that you can get my letters from him.

Take care of Dad, Dean. And, please-take care of yourself, if you can manage to do such a thing. I know you hate sappy chick-flick moments, but I think this one is unavoidable.

I'm aware of the risks. Hunting is dangerous in any form, and this is just another path of hunting. I might not come out of this. Ever. I might come out of it a different person, physically and emotionally and mentally. If this is the last time I'll ever be able to communicate with you, I want you to know that you're an awesome big brother and I love you. Stay strong.

Sammy

Dean closes his eyes as needles prick behind his eyelids and force hot, wet tears to fall and stain Sam's letter. His shoulders shake but he makes no sound as the torrent flows, even as he lips pull back in a silent howl of despair and grief and anger and his chest heaves with the weight of his problems.

For once, he doesn't have Sam's back.

But he will. He swears to god, he's going to get Sam home no matter what.

A/N: So! Good, bad, okay? Sam's joined the army...the question is, will he come out, when will he come out, and how will he come out? If you liked it, PLEASE review. If you hated it, PLEASE review. I'll only write more if I get some feedback, but I'd like to continue this story and see where it plays out.