Dean- 21-22

Sam-17-18

Sam's beginning senior year in this one.

…

(June, End of Junior Year)

"Well, Sam, there are plenty of Pre-Law schools you can choose from. Baylor, Brigham Young, Florida State, Stanford; the list goes on and on. But you really should make a choice soon. Most colleges don't accept applications past July."

"Yeah, I know, Ms. Hughes. But I'm really looking at location too. I want to go somewhere really far away with cheap housing." Sam sighed. He already knew he wanted to go to college, and he excelled in school: his counselor said that he was eligible for many scholarships, and he'd already applied for most of them. But he was having a little trouble deciding where to go.

"Well, all I can do for you is give you these pamphlets," She reached behind her and grabbed an ungodly number of brochures, each to different schools, "and tell you to get back to me before the year ends. You got it?"

Sam sighed again. "Yes ma'am." He took the pamphlets and headed out of the office, not exactly ready to get back to his American History class. After History was Physics, and then he had to go home.

Sam decided he'd as Dean for advice on colleges. He was definitely nervous about confronting his brother on the issue, especially since Dean had given up a chance to go to college to keep his little brother safe, but he wasn't about to make plans for the future without his brother.

Sam didn't mind going home as much anymore, since his father had gotten a job that required him to work late. Sam was home alone for about four hours after school. Dean came home at 6:00, and John arrived at 8:00, if he didn't stop at the bar after work. Unfortunately, the youngest Winchester was left home, bored out of his mind, for most of his free time. He wasn't able to get a job, mainly for lack of transportation and flexibility, but sometimes stopped by the local library for a couple hours on his way home from school.

He was supposed to take the bus, at least, Dean and Dad both thought he did, but he ignored the unwritten rule and walked home nearly every day, unless they were living somewhere where the house was too far from the school, which was usually only in rural towns.

"Hey bro," Dean greeted as he walked in the door at 6:47. His hands were full of grocery bags. "There's still more groceries in the car, do you mind helping me?"

Sam sighed and placed his copy of the book Beowulf down on the table and stood. "How many groceries did you buy if you can't get them all up here in one trip?"

"Well I spent about ¼ of my paycheck on them I can tell you that. It's not like anyone else is going to buy any food." Practically yelled after him as Sam started down the apartment stairs.

When he returned with the groceries, Sam continued the conversation as if he'd never left. "Well, I would help pay for the groceries if I had a job, but that's pretty much impossible isn't it?" He opened the fridge to put the milk in.

Dean shrugged. "It's not like you'd ever have any time to work anyway. You have to go to school during the week and I doubt Dad would let you miss a hunt on the weekend just because you have to WORK."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "Dude, what is wrong with you?"

Sam was quiet for a while. He really did need to talk to Dean, but he wasn't sure how.

Dean scrutinized his brother. The poor kid look distressed. "Sam?" He asked. Sam didn't respond; he seemed to be deep in thought. Dean put his hand on the adolescent's shoulder and Sam looked up at him.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" Dean was good at knowing when Sam needed someone to talk to. He knew that the boy tended to bottle things up if he didn't have someone to talk to, and that was probably the most dangerous thing he could do, so it was Dean's job to provide an outlet for his brother.

Sam saw that his brother was giving a chance and he jumped for it. "Well, Dean, you know, I'm turning 18 next year."

"Yeah…"

"And so, legally, I'll be an adult."

"Sam, where is this leading to?" Okay, just because Dean was willing to be Sam's outlet didn't mean he was going to be patient with the teenager.

"I want to go to college."

Dean looked at him, startled. "Oh. I see." Sam watched his brother carefully, and began to think that his brother might be disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Dean. It's just, I NEED to get away from here-"

"No, Sam, it's fine. I completely understand. Do you know what college you want to go to yet?" Sam shook his head.

"Well, then, tell you what – you pick out a place with a ton of hot babes and I might even go with you. We could blow this joint, get a cheap apartment near the school, and split the rent."

Now Sam was surprised. It took him a moment register what his brother was saying, but when it finally sunk in, the boy gave his brother a grin about a mile wide.

"Please tell me you have some colleges in mind though, bro."

Sam took out the brochures Ms. Hughes had given him and handed them over to his brother. Dean did a good job of narrowing down some of his choices by immediately throwing out all the ones that were placed in locations 'without enough hot girls'.

The Winchester brothers spent the rest of their time looking through the rest of the pamphlets, rushing to hide them as they heard John's pickup truck pull into their parking space outside.

The next day at school, Sam returned to Ms. Hughes' office. The woman looked surprised to see him. "Already back, Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes ma'am." Sam responded, politely.

"Have you chosen a school then?"

"Well, I have it down to Brigham Young – Hawaii," He started, grinning as he remembered how Dean reacted when he heard they had a college in Hawaii, "or Stanford University." Apparently California dished out some top-notch babes as well.

"Perhaps you should apply to both of them and that way if you don't get accepted into one of them at least you have a back up. Not that I think you'll have any trouble getting into either of them – you're a smart kid, Samuel, and you're college applications are going to look pretty good despite the fact that you never seem to settle in one place for very long."

Sam blushed at the compliment, not used to getting praised by an adult, and quite unsure how to react.

Fortunately, he didn't have to give a response as Ms. Hughes reached into one of her drawers and took out two papers. "Here are some applications, Sam. How about you go and fill them out now and I'll take care of mailing them to the Schools, okay?"

Sam nodded and did as he was told, quickly filling the forms out and handing them to the counselor, thanking her for her help before he headed back to class.

…

(December, Senior Year)

"Sam! You got some mail!" Dean shouted as he entered the house. "Though how they got it to you is a good question. We tend to be pretty damn hard for the mailman to keep up with, huh, little brother?"

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched the envelope away from his older sibling. He took one look down at the packet and gawked at it. "Oh. My. God."

Dean looked over his shoulder from where he had already planted himself on the couch in front of the crappy barely-functional television set. "What is it?"

"It's from Stanford." Sam quite nearly whispered. Dean's interest instantly perked and he actually hauled himself off the couch to grab the letter back from his brother and stare at it himself.

"Well?" Dean looked over at the teen. "Are you going to open it or just look at it all day?"

Sam didn't move. "What if I got rejected? What if neither of them accept me and we're stuck here with Dad for the rest of our lives?" His breathing became shallow as he started to hyperventilate.

Dean noticed his brother's panic and immediately rushed over to calm him down. "It's okay, Sammy, take deep breaths now." Dean took deep breaths himself and soon Sam began to match his brother's breathing pattern. "That's right, bro, just like that. Now listen: even if both of the colleges reject you, which I'm sure they didn't because they'd have to be pretty damn stupid to do so, but if they did, you're still turning 18 and you're still going to be a legal adult, and we'll still get the hell away from here, okay?"

It took a while, but Sam slowly began to agree with what his brother was saying. Even without school, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. A way out. A path to freedom.

"Yeah. Okay, Dean."

Dean grinned. "Good boy!" Sam glared and Dean merely shrugged.

"How about you open that letter then?"

They both looked back down at the letter. Slowly, Sam turned it over and carefully broke the seal. He took the letter out and read the top line.

Congratulations.

He instantly blew a breath of relief and was overwhelmed with the happiness that suddenly flooded him because no rejection letter began with the word 'Congratulations'.

…

(March)

The Winchesters had just moved onto a new gig, over on the east coast, once again. John had been out looking for a job all day, but John had found himself bored, tired, and a little frustrated with all the damn interviews. Dean was still looking for a job of his own, and Sammy was still in school.

John headed over to the local bar and ordered a bottle of Jack Daniels. Whiskey always eased his frustrations. A couple glasses later, John found himself at ease, and headed back home. He wasn't even drunk – maybe a little tipsy, but certainly not drunk.

Back at their new apartment, John was intent on going straight to his bedroom and taking a short catnap before his sons got home, but found himself distracted as he passed the boys' room.

Everything looked normal – Sam's bed was neatly made as always, with his duffle bag already unpacked, while Dean's side was messier and his duffle was sitting in the corner, with everything still in it. That wasn't the strange part. The strange part was something out of place, sitting on top of Sam's neatly made sheets, which usually had nothing on it.

John walked into the room and recognized the object as a piece of paper. Now, usually John would just dismiss this right away, seeing as Sam left schoolwork in all sorts of places, much to his father's annoyance, bur John's curiosity was peaked and he walked over to see what his son had left lying there.

STANFORD UNIVERSITY

To: Samuel Winchester

From: John L. Hennessy, President of Stanford University

Subject: Your Application to Stanford University

Congratulations!

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Stanford University, upon starting attendance in fall semester of the year 2000.

We need to know if you will be able to attend that semester, so please fill out the attached forms before Thursday, June 1, 2000. We need you're final High School transcript by Tuesday, August 1, 2000, along with an automatic admission fee of 200.00 that will take care of any current financial problems we may run into regarding your acceptance at Stanford University.

On-campus Housing is not required, though is preferred from our freshman, especially if you plan to attend on a scholarship. Meals for those living on campus are provided by our café, which is open from 5:00 A.M. until 12:00 P.M.

Freshman Orientation is on Monday, August 14, 2000, in the Stanford Activities Center.

We are looking forward to seeing you this upcoming year!

John L. Hennessy

John took a moment to look at the paper in shock. When the hell had his son applied for a college? Why hadn't he told John? Was he just going to get up and leave?

Suddenly, John was furious. He felt like he was ready to smash a hole in the wall. And he really needed something to take the edge off.

Walking into the small kitchen area, John looked through the fridge. No, a Jack Daniels wasn't going to cut it this time – he needed something stronger. Opening some cabinets, John came up with a full bottle of SKYY vodka, unopened. This would do the trick…

"Did you get a job yet?" Sam asked Dean as soon as he got in the car. Dean was picking Sam up from school today, as he usually did when he wasn't busy working.

Dean shrugged. "I interviewed at an Auto Shop that seems promising. They haven't offered me a job yet, but they said they'd call. How was this school?"

"They're kind of behind. I've already learned all the stuff that we went over in most of my classes. Sad thing was that a lot of the kids still weren't getting it." Dean snorted at that.

"That's just because you're a geek and understand EVERYTHING the first time the teacher explains it." He teased as he pulled up to their apartment residence.

"Just because I'm one of the few kids in class who actually listens in class when the teacher explains the information the first time around does not make me a geek – it makes me attentive." Sam defended himself as he got out of the car.

"Call it what you want; you're still a geek." Dean taunted as they walked up the apartment stairs.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're so immature, you know that?"

Dean gave the teen his best shit-eating grin as he fumbled with his keys. "I know." He replied as he opened the door.

Both brothers were startled to see their father sitting in the living room, a bottle of vodka in one hand, a piece of paper in the other, and an angry glint in his eye.

But John's voice was calm, slightly slurred, but calm nonetheless. "Samuel."

"Yes sir?" Sam's voice was cautious and weak.

"What is this?" John held the piece of paper up, and turned it around so Sam could see exactly what it was.

Oh shit.

Dean saw the letter and quickly placed himself between his father and his brother. If John wanted to hurt Sam, he'd have to get through Dean first.

"Um… it's a letter from Stanford University, sir."

"Wow, good job. Now let's see if you can answer the next question with such surprising accuracy," John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but not yelling yet, which was a good sign. Right? "Why the hell was it sitting on your bed this morning?"

Sam didn't answer, not really knowing what his father was expecting him to say.

Now, his dad was yelling. "ANSWER ME!" Sam flinched. "WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS LETTER, SAMUEL?" John took one advancing step toward his son, and Dean pushed his brother further back.

John's attention was suddenly on Dean – his only obstacle blocking the way between him and Sam, who was in desperate need of punishment.

"Get out of the way Dean. You can't coddle him forever."

Dean glared right back. "I'm not coddling him. I'm protecting him. I'm saving him."

"Well you're doing a pretty crummy job at it then." And with that, John grabbed his oldest son by the front of his shirt, shoving the boy against the wall and slamming his head backwards into the wood several times before throwing the young man to the floor in one swift movement.

Dean could barely see through the blinding pain, but that didn't stop him from trying to protect both Sam and himself. He reached out blindly in the direction he thought that his father was, grabbing a hold of one of the man's legs and latched himself upon John's leg firmly, bringing the drunken older man crashing to the ground.

Unfortunately, John was able to get out of his son's grip and immediately administered a strong kick right to the face and then another one to the boy's ribcage, before bringing his boot down on the younger man's head once again, administering the final knock out blow.

He then turned to face the youngest.

"Now Sam, wouldn'cha say you've been a very naughty boy?" The slurred question was rhetorical, and they both knew it, but John still got upset with the kid's lack of response. The teen hadn't said one word since he'd walked through that door!

"What? You think you're too good to talk to me? Just because you got accepted to Stanford, all of a sudden you're too good for us? Is that how it is?" John had backed Sam into a corner, with a strong grip on his son's shirt and his body blocking all escape routes that the boy might use.

Sam still didn't respond. Damn it, this kid was starting to piss John off with his silence! He easily lifted his hand and backhanded the boy firmly.

Sam stifled a yelp of pain as his father slapped his hard. He felt blood start to trickle down his face from a busted lip. He'd certainly have a nice bruise that would be fun to explain in school tomorrow.

"Listen to me, you little fuck," John was all up in his face now. He was really drunk, but not drunk enough to just leave his son alone or pass out on the living room floor. Too bad. "You're not going to some god damn college, you're going to stay here and help me and help you're brother. There is no way in fuck's name that you're going to fucking abandon us for some 'higher education' shit!"

Sam was scared of his father – of course he was, he'd suffered at this man's hand for 18 years! – But at the moment, his anger was close to passing that fear.

"You're not going."

"Yes I am!" John's eyes grew wide. Sam had never talked back to this openly before. Dean had, sure, but mainly to use as a distraction. But Sam had never out right defied him.

"Maybe you didn't hear me right. You're NOT GOING." John glared at Sam, challenging him to try to defy him again.

Sam pushed back his fear and natural instincts he'd grown into over the years while dealing with this man. He was not going to let John take this one away from him. Not a chance.

"I turn 18 in 2 months. There is no way you can stop me. I AM going, Dad."

John didn't even open his mouth to argue this time; he let his fist do the talking. He had his 17-year-old son trapped against the wall with no escape and a mountain of fury the size of Mt. Everest.

He felt some of the boy's ribs give way as he punched him a few too many times in the chest, which had the teen gasping for air, but John could honestly say that he didn't give a fuck at the moment. All he could think about was his son's insolence and how he deserved to be punished. That's it. This was exactly what he deserved; Sam had brought this upon himself.

Finally, John felt himself grow weary, and though he felt that Sam's punishment was not yet over, decided that he could wait until after John took a nap. The oldest Winchester stumbled over to the couch and plopped down on it, closing his eyes. He could hear his son struggling to stand, but simply tuned him out and went straight to sleep.

Sam's breaths were shallow and his ribs protested with each breath he took. He closed his eyes and wished for it all to go away. He wanted it all to go away so bad that this desire nearly brought him to tears. Not long after John fell asleep on the couch – or maybe it was long? Sam had no idea of time passage, as he didn't move from his spot in the corner – Dean regained consciousness, immediately bringing his hand up to his pounding head that was caked with dry blood.

Dean slowly scanned the room, not moving from his spot on the floor; not really wanting to move, as his muscles were sore and his body was bruised from the fight with this father. God, he was fucking 22 years old! He shouldn't have to deal with this shit!

He soon caught sight of his little brother, curled up in a corner of the room, a complete broken mess, and only semi-conscious. He looked around for John, but guessed he was either on the couch, which was out of his view, or in his room.

Dean stifled a groan of pain as he pulled himself up off the floor. He walked over to his kid brother.

"Sam. Sam, can you hear me?" He whispered. If his father was on the couch, he didn't want to risk the chance of waking the older man up.

Sam eyelids opened slightly. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. How are you doing?"

"Dean, I don't think I can get up…"

That had Dean worried. John rarely beat them so badly that one of them required a hospital visit, but Dean was thinking that Sam might need it this time. His ribs looked kind of caved in and he was sure that at least a few of them were broken, not to mention that the broken ribs might've done some internal damage.

He gently scooped his brother into his arms, letting a few curses out as he stumbled under his brother's entire body weight.

Now came the biggest challenge: Getting Sam al the way down the stairs and into the car, without too many questions from the neighbors.

Thank God it was 12am, or he would have never made it without getting stopped. He nearly ran into the elderly man who lived below them, except Dean heard the old man's cackle just before he rushed down the steps, and waited a few moments while the old man and some old lady made it into the apartment. Dean didn't even want to think of what they were doing in there: old people sex…. Ew!

He raced down the feeder road at 90 mph, not even bothering to get on the freeway – that would only take more time. Sammy had already lost all consciousness by the time they reached the hospital, and Dean carried the younger man into the ER by himself.

The young man holding the teenager in his arms caused quite a commotion in the ER. There stood a man, who was in pretty bad shape himself, with a big bruise on his face and dry blood layering his head, but the youngster that he carried in his arms was even worse: a busted lip, a bruise on the face, dried blood trickling down from his mouth, a crushed chest cavity, his right arm twisted at an odd angle, and shallow breathing.

All the nurses immediately jumped into action, calling doctors to the front immediately to take care of these two. Dean didn't want to go with the doctors, but they insisted at least looking at him and as soon as he was done he could see Sam. Seeing as he was actually conscious, he had been given some forms to fill out while he was waiting on his own results. He signed himself down as Sam's legal guardian and put his cell phone number where it asked for a home phone. He didn't want them contacting John at all.

A while later, the doctors came back with his results and informed him that he had a concussion from that "nasty blow to the head" and promised to let him see Sam as soon as he told them what had happened.

Dean was a little pissed that they suddenly pulled a loop on him, because they told him that they'd let him see Sam as soon as they checked him out first, and now they were still keeping his brother away.

"We were just out for a stroll. We had headed out around 8pm. Anyway, we ran into this gang, and I don't know, I guess they wanted to pick a fight. One of the big guys knocked me out right away. I really don't know how long I was out for, but when I woke up, Sammy was pretty beaten, and his breathing was really shallow, so I brought him here as fast as I could."

It was kind of the truth. Except the 'gang' was really his dad….

"Can I see my brother now?"

The doctor nodded and led Dean to Sam's room.

"This is Dean Winchester. The kid's brother." The nurse that brought Dean there informed Sam's doctor.

"Hello Mr. Winchester. I'm Dr. Chambers. I understand you have full custody of your brother?" The doctor was a woman; a little old for Dean's taste - maybe in her thirties - with dark brown hair tied back in a bun and green smocks.

"Yes ma'am. Is he okay?"

"Well, you're brother took some serious blows to the chest and to the head. He has a concussion, and 3 of his ribs have been broken. One of his ribs penetrated his right lung, so he has some internal damage and we will have to intubate him. We're going to move him up to the ICU in a few minutes and you can stay with him in his room up there. We're going to keep him overnight, and usually we don't allow family members to stay past visiting hours, we're going to let you stay here since Samuel here was admitted so late tonight."

Dean sat there in shock for a few moments before swallowing hard, and nodding. They were going to intubate Sammy? The very thought of a machine breathing for Sam made him sick.

"Damn you John." He cursed under his breath and vowed to one day get his revenge on his father.