Disclaimer: Sadly, I hold no rights to Supernatural, nor its characters.

A/N: Though I've been reading fanfiction for quite some time now, this is my first story. Please read and review, advice is always welcome. Enjoy.

When Roads Diverge

10 Years Ago

It didn't take long for Sam to realize that he didn't have what you would consider a "normal" family.

He understood that most kids had a permanent home.

Not a motel room that held the must of previous occupants, or a car with a grumbling thunder that could put you to sleep in minutes.

He understood that most kids had a mom who gently woke them in the morning; a mom who made a nice breakfast before sending them off to school.

Not a brother on the cusp of adulthood. Not a brother who raided the cabinets for a box of Lucky Charms and a cup of milk. That is, if there was any left.

Did he need to spend a night out at the pool hall? Or a poker game?

He understood that most kids had a dad who worked from nine to five. One that left around dawn, but returned before dusk.

Not a father who left with a note on the counter, twenty dollars alongside, that read: "Gone on business. Back in a few days," with a phone number scrawled beneath. But most importantly, Sam always knew that having a family that hunted the supernatural, the things that go bump in the night, the things of nightmares, was not what most would call "normal".

Especially when they came home bloody and battered.

They'd stumble in before any rooster would dare crow. The moon wasn't ready to say farewell; the sun wasn't ready to face the day.

With bumps that would soon mottle with the coloring of dark bruising, and cuts that were too deep for a band-aid.

Sam understood this wasn't normal. The training, the moving, the hunting, the illegalities.

Unlike Dad and Dean, he was cut out for things beyond silver bullets and holy water.

As much as Sam appreciated and loved Dean for all he'd done for him, he didn't want to become him. Eating the diner special morning, noon, and night and hooking up with wayward women in roadside bars wasn't he'd been planning for.

What he had been planning on was deep within his duffle. With the papers hidden like a needle in a haystack, was his admissions package and guidelines for Stanford.

Stanford.

He understood that with an opportunity like this, for someone like him, and he couldn't deny himself. It was every hope and dream wrapped up into one. After all of the portfolios and testing, and he had finally done it. He was going to college; going to earn a degree; going to live Dean's idea of an 'apple pie life'. Not living a life with Feds on your six or stitching up knife wounds in rusted out shacks.

He understood that this, right here, right now, was happening. With or without his family, Sam was leaving the family business.

"Simple salt and burn, Sam. Nothing more, nothing less," John muttered.

He sat on the worn bed, the mattress dipping beneath his large stature. Bent over, he laced his boots up quickly, efficiently knotting them only the way a man of the military could. The precision he applied to tying shoes was equivalent to any factor that could effect the result of a hunt. Every piece mattered in the puzzle.

The tension in the room was palpable. A string drawn taught, waiting for the inevitable 'snip' that would break it in two.

It seemed to be a regular occurrence these days.

If John wasn't stepping on Sam's heels, then Sam was breathing down the back of John's neck.

Tonight was a combination of both.

John's eyes whipped up to meet Sam's.

Hard as granite, he held his gaze.

"I said move out. That's an order Sam," John barked, what little patience having quickly evaporated. Rocking slightly onto the balls of his feet, he rose to his full height.

"Sir, yes sir," Sam muttered sarcastically. His gangling form rose, grabbing his packed bags and marched out the door. The tension could be felt thinning with every step he took out the door, away from John.

John moved across the room, his callused hands tightly grasping the handle of his faded duffle. It showed its age well, having been through more adventures than the usual bag called for. Being dragged from hunt to hunt was more than most bags went through. The deep stretch marks and faint tears were worn with pride from each victory, no matter how small.

The past couple of months had shortened John's temper, the needle on the gage pushing past the 'WARNING' level, heading towards 'EXPLOSIVE'.

After years of research, John was finally making headway in the hunt for Mary's killer. And nothing was going to stop him from achieving the goal he had set all those years ago. He was going to end it once and for all. Maybe not today, but soon.

But his patience had already ran as thin as the shitty rest stop toilet paper.

With two grown boys along for the ride, frustrations ran high.

Sam, as any typical teenager, spent his time constantly testing John's limits. Whether they were picking the diner for dinner, or having to move towns for a new hunt (therefore the school, too), everything set the other off.

As for Dean, he was the constant barrier that kept the needle from pushing over into 'EXPLOSIVE'. Always doing his best to follow in his father's footsteps, John's irritation was building towards Dean as well. He turned around, and Dean was there. He woke up, and Dean was first to start conversation, keeping a line of questions coming, even before coffee had been dispensed. At twenty-one years old, John was beginning to realize Dean had no plans of leaving without a shove. A hard one at that.

Emotions were high, and everyone needed a break.

But there was nothing about breaks in John Winchester's book, not until the breaking point was hit.

Shoving the key into the lock and turning, Dean pushed his way through the motel room door. It'd been a painstakingly long drive back to the motel from Louisville.

The hunt itself was fairly simple, and hadn't required much time. He'd been damn surprised when John said he could fly solo. It was a rarity for Dean to hunt alone, and he sure as hell would take any chance to prove his skills as a hunter to his father. Any sort of approval from John was like winning an Olympic medal, something to be down right proud of.

The only downfall was leaving Sam and John along together. You might as well be locking God and Lucifer in a cage together. They were like oil and water, always in disagreement, never blending together. Though Dean hated being in the middle- God, how he hated it- it was where he placed himself. For the safety of both Sam and Dad.

Sam was a great kid, in all the right kind of ways, he just saw their lives in a different perspective than himself and John. Sam didn't want to be one of 'Dad's soldiers' like pointed Dean out as. The hero-worship he received from Sam was quickly dwindling down to it's last thread. He wasn't the cool big brother who got the chicks and drove that metal beast of a car. He was now delegated to the brother who was a dropout, fishing around for witty remarks and some spectacular nothing in an empty pond.

What was forgotten was that he was the brother who had given his life for those around him instead. He was the one who took up the role of father in Sam's case, helping him finish science projects and packing his lunch. He was the one who made sure John made it into bed when he had too much of a good time with Jack and Jim. But as long as Sam was safe, his dad, too, he was alright with that. If they were happy, he'd damn well try to be, too.

With blood shot eyes and shaky hands, Dean assessed the bleak motel room. To his confusion, he tossed his duffle onto the nearest bed and turned about.

Instead of an assortment of John and Sam's belongings scattered around, the room was practically empty. Though there were empty plastic coffee cups, and leftover pizza boxes, not a single personal belonging was in the room.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Dean crossed the room with heavy steps to the small desk. Only one thing had been left behind.

The white notebook paper contrasted harshly with the cheaply stained wood. On the single sheet of paper, was a letter:

Dean,

Sam's gone- left for Stanford. Don't try and contact him.

I've picked up a trail of information relating to your mother; I'll be gone for a while.

There's a case up in North Dakota to check out.

Motel room is payed for the next two days.

Be safe.

Dad

With green eyes made vibrant by the gloss of unshed tears, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels, absorbing the few words left for him. As the rivulets of tears rolled down his face, and the small cracks engraved themselves into his heart, he understood.

He understood things were no longer going to be "normal".