Don't Ask Me to Stay, Supernatural, R (for theme)
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Don't Ask Me to Stay
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam, John.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2925
Summary: John disappeared and Dean is left to take care of Sam. When Dean gets himself into big trouble with a bad guy, it's up to Sam to bail him out, but the consequences that follow spiral out of control when John shows back up. This is the sequel to Don't Go Out Tonight and Don't Say No, and Don't Say You're Sorry, and Don't Leave Me
A/Ns & Warnings: This is Hooker!fic. Dean is hooking to make money for him and Sam to live on. This is pimp!fic, in that Dean has to give Sam to the guy who he owes money. It is underage (Sam is 17). There is no real sex in this, only the implication that it happened. This is very dark and angsty. Apparently this has also sort of spawned a verse...because everytime I think I reached the end, I realize there's more story to tell.
He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but between the broken ribs and the way his back was carved up, comfortable wasn’t happening. At least his father had finally left the room.
The doctors said they would release him in the next day or so, but he’d be restricted to bed rest for at least another week.
Dean was gone. By now Sam knew that their father had kicked him out…that their father had found out about Mosley and told Dean to leave. Sam had tried once, just the once, to explain it to John, but the look on his face…the disgust and fury, it had stopped Sam cold.
They hadn’t really talked since. Seven days and they hadn’t said more than a handful of words. It was right after the police came. Sam had been fuming over Dean leaving, angry because it was his fault and no one would listen.
Sam held up his hand to stop the officer mid sentence. “It wasn’t rape.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The report says-“
“It’s wrong.” Sam shook his head and tried to sit up more. The stitches in his back stung and stretched and his side ached. “It…” He sighed and wouldn’t look at his father in the corner of the room. “They paid for it, okay?”
The female officer looked at her partner, then back at Sam. “Are you sure?”
Sam nodded miserably. “Yes. I’m sure. I was there.” He gave up trying to sit up to look more dignified and sighed. “They didn’t pay enough for the privilege of nearly killing me though.”
“Sam.” His father’s voice was low, a rumbling force of barely constrained anger.
“Dad, stay out of it. You’re usually pretty good at that.”
“How many of them were there?”
Sam looked at the male officer and shook his head. “Honestly? I’m not sure. When I first went into the alley there were five…but it…felt like more. I couldn’t really see after my face got smashed into the wall.”
“Mr. Winchester, did you know the men who attacked you?”
Sam could feel his father’s eyes. “No…No I didn’t know them.”
He could tell they didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. Not at all. He had plans to deal with them himself. One on one, they weren’t so tough.
His father had walked them out. When he came back in, his face was hard and set. “You should have told them the truth.”
Sam wouldn’t look at him. “I told them what they needed to know.”
“Why did you tell them it wasn’t…”
Sam turned then, fixed his one unbandaged eye on his father. “Rape? You can say the word, Dad.”
“Why?” he insisted and Sam sighed.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sam, you’re not some….cheap goddamn whore.”
“No, Dad. I’m not cheap.” He bit off the bitterness. He’d averaged $500 a fuck or so with Mosely. Hadn’t gotten to count the money the boys threw at him as they finished with him. Dean had left it laying in the alley.
“What you brother did-“
Sam cut him off with a glare. “Dean didn’t do anything. Nothing I didn’t ask him to do. I was the one who went to Mosely, Dad. Me. I was the one who negotiated. I did it to keep Dean alive. Mosely would have killed him.”
John shook his head. “No. No. I saw.”
Sam froze and turned to look at him. “You what?”
The misery and fury dripped from his father’s eyes and he turned away. “Get some rest. I’ll be back.”
He hadn’t come back, not for hours. Sam had no idea where he went, and quite frankly didn’t care. He was stuck in his bed and alone. Dean gone. His father disgusted.
Everyday he came and sat in Sam’s room until neither of them could stand it anymore. Then he’d leave for a while. Sometimes he came back. Sometimes he didn’t.
It was late afternoon, Sam could tell because Nurse Mandy was on the floor. She always smiled when she brought him his meds and took his vitals. She didn’t say much, but her touch was soothing.
A shadow filled the door and Sam didn’t look. So it was one of the days that the guilt drove the old man back.
“I heard you were in a bad way.”
Sam’s whole body stiffened. He swallowed down the panic and looked up. “Get out.” He said it through clenched teeth but Mosely only chuckled, holding up a clear trash bag.
“You and your brother left this in hooker alley. Figured I’d hold on to it for you, so no one stole it.”
He’d seen the whole thing. Probably orchestrated it. “I said get out.” Sam managed to sit up, hiding his bandaged back and pulling the thin hospital blanket closer around him.
“Now, now Sweetcheeks, no need to get testy. I’m here to help.”
“I think I’ve had just about enough of your help.” Sam said. He was shaking, but he didn’t want Mosely to see it.
Mosely smiled. “Come on now, you and I both now that if you’re gonna whore on these streets you need some protection, so you don’t get jacked up like this.” He put the trash bag on the bed. “I’m offering you my protection.”
Sam wanted to scream at him that he wasn’t a whore, that he didn’t want it, that it was all Mosely’s fault…but there was a part of him that knew that wasn’t true. Not completely.
He’d gone to Mosely freely. He’d let Mosely fuck him for money…or in place of money, which was the same thing, really.
“Don’t you worry about the hospital. I’ve taken care of the bill. You just get well, and when you’re on your feet again, you come see me. We’ll come to an…agreement.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t want your money. I-“
There was the sound of a gun cocking and Mosely raised his hands.
“I should kill you.” His father’s voice was cold, hard. Sam swallowed and almost wished he would. Just kill him.
“I was just offering the boy some help.” Mosely said.
“I believe he told you he didn’t need your help.” John stepped closer, forcing Mosely to turn. “Now get your ass out of my son’s room or so help me God, you won’t be walking out of this hospital.”
“Son?” Mosely turned to look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “I didn’t know you had a Daddy, Sweetcheeks.”
Sam’s face was flaming red. “Lot of things you don’t know Mosely.”
“All right, I can see that I don’t belong up in this family reunion. I meant what I said though, Sammy. You come see me. Or I’ll be seeing you.”
Mosely left the room and Sam sagged against the pillows, not looking up at his father.
“What’s this?” John asked, poking the trash bag with the end of the gun.
Sam shook his head. “My paycheck.”
John opened it and cussed. “Holy fuck Sam.”
“Just…leave it.” Sam said. “We’re going to need it to pay the hospital with.” Because Sam had no doubt that Mosely would expect payment…and the more they managed to pay themselves, the less Sam would have to worry about Mosely.
“-tomorrow.”
Sam realized his father had been talking to him and looked up. “What?”
“They’re sending you home tomorrow.” John rubbed a hand over his face, then tucked the gun back into his pants. “You can’t travel for a few days though. So we’ll hole up here until you’re ready. Head out to Bobby’s.”
“I need to finish school.” Sam said, though the argument was more for the sake of arguing than out of any real conviction. “I’ve only got a few more weeks.”
“I got us into a new place. Figure the old one probably isn’t safe.” John seemed to be ignoring Sam all together.
“Never was safe.” Sam muttered, crossing his arms. He sighed. “Dad, did you hear me. School.”
John made a face and shook his head. “You’re old enough now Sam, no one’s going to chase us down if you miss a few weeks of school.”
“Do you even realize I’m graduating?” Sam asked, anger flushing through him. “Do you even care?”
His father looked stricken, hurt. “Of course I care.”
“Right, that’s why you were gone for nearly a year.” Sam huffed and shook his head. “I’m tired.” He laid down on his good side and closed his eyes, hoping his father took the hint. After a few minutes, he heard John leave. It was just easier when he wasn’t there.
John knew that his boy was angry, and he had every right it. Maybe he hadn’t been around. Maybe he shared some of the blame. But Sam didn’t know what had kept him away. Sam wouldn’t ever know.
He left the hospital and climbed into the Impala, headed for the motel where he’d moved their things. He couldn’t be in that apartment. And Dean was right. He had paid for the place. John had learned how he’d paid for it when the landlord came for the next month’s rent.
Dean hadn’t left town. John knew it. He could sense him. Dean was hunting.
He’d hit one of the boys involved in Sam’s beating and rape. Rape. Because there was no doubt in John’s mind that’s what it all was. Right from the first time with Mosely. The boy had been found naked, drugged, a condom filled with his own come shoved up his ass.
John sank wearily onto the bed. He should seek out his older son, help with the clean up. He just wasn’t sure he could look Dean in the fact, not knowing what he’d become, what he’d made Sam.
He massaged down the bad leg, the one that would probably never be whole again and sighed. There were still things he could protect them from. Even if it meant that they hated him.
There were voices coming from Sam’s room when he arrived, and John listened for a minute, half hoping it was Mosely again so he could kick the bastard’s ass into the parking lot.
Sam’s laugh was strained, but not forced. John sipped at his coffee as he entered the room. Sam looked at him, a grimace on his face. Beside the bed a man about John’s age was standing, his hand on a pile of books he’d set on the bed next to Sam.
“You must be Mr. Winchester,” the man said, holding out his hand.
John took it slowly. “John.”
The man smiled.
“Dad, this is Mr. Glenn, my history teacher. He brought me my homework and stuff. So I can get caught up.”
John looked at Sam, then at Mr. Glenn. “Mighty nice of you…but Sam’s not coming back.”
“Yes, I am.” Sam said quietly.
“Those boys who did this go to that school Sam. You are not going back there.”
“Sam’s very well liked at school. The boys who did this are being dealt with.”
Sam frowned at the teacher then looked back at John. “I’m going back to school.”
“Well talk about this later.” John ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll see about getting you out of here.”
He left the room, but the teacher followed. “Mr. Winchester…if I could have a word.”
John stopped and stared at him.
“I realize how you must be feeling.” He shook his head. “Actually, no I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I know that I feel sick about this. I really shouldn’t have let Sam go alone after the trouble.” He sighed.
“Did you want something?”
“Sam to finish school. He’s very close and he has the best grades in school. Don’t throw his future away.”
“His future is with his family, Mr. Glenn. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Has he told you about Stanford?”
John stopped in his walking away. Stopped and turned. “Stanford?”
Glenn nodded. “He got accepted at Stanford with a full scholarship. That’s the kind of thing that changes lives. It could change his life.”
Stanford. College. They had never discussed college.
John took two steps back. “Sam applied to colleges?”
Glenn swallowed and nodded. “Got into a number of them, I’ll bet. It was Stanford he brought to me though. Not many get a chance like that.”
No, he didn’t suppose they did.
“Thank you for telling me.” John walked away, headed for the administration office. More than ever he wanted to get Sam out of that hospital.
Sam let his father support him into the motel room, because the effort of getting out of the car and anywhere near the door had wiped him out, made his head pound and his lungs ache.
They inched into the room and John lowered Sam to the bed.
“You want anything?” John asked as he went to the dresser for a bottle of water, bringing it and Sam’s pain pills back to the nightstand.
Sam held up his hand and shook his head. “Just…my books and some quiet.”
His father was too much. Too overwhelming. He hadn’t left Sam alone since Mr. Glenn left. He kept talking, about nothing, about everything but what was important and Sam felt stifled.
“I’m going to go out and get some food.” John swung the keys around in his hand. “You going to be okay alone?”
“I’m not a baby, Dad.” He wanted to add that John sending Dean away was the reason he would be alone, but he didn’t. “I’m fine.”
“Won’t be an hour.”
“Take your time.”
His father dropped his book bag on the bed before he left. Sam sighed in relief when the door closed and reached for the book bag. He fished out his phone. He’d already left Dean a half dozen messages…but Dean wouldn’t know where to find him. He dialed the number and wasn’t surprised when it dumped straight to voice mail.
“Hey Dean. Dad’s moved us to the Island Inn Motel on 8th and Grand. Room 18. Um…I’m good. Stitches came out this morning. Can’t go back to school until next week. Okay…call me.”
He wouldn’t. Sam knew that. Dad had ordered him away. Dean wouldn’t cross him. Not when he was angry like that. Like nothing Sam had ever seen.
Sam emptied the books out onto the bed, sorting through them until his hand fell on the envelope. It was thick and creamy, not like the usual envelopes. It was his ticket out. His chance to escape the life he was stuck in.
Stanford.
All he had to do now was graduate. Graduate and get to California.
Dean looked down at his phone and sighed. Sam. Again. He picked up the binoculars and checked. Sam was getting dressed, pulling on the suit coat.
He had stayed away, mostly. Kept an eye on them from a distance. Dealt with everyone but Mosely. Kept his father from getting killed by Mosely’s men once or twice. Man had no sense of subtlety.
Dean wasn’t sure how Sam had talked their father into staying long enough to finish the year. Probably guilt. Guilt he should be feeling.
Dean certainly felt it. This had gone from bad to worse. But today would make up for a lot. Sam was graduating, and they were leaving town.
He looked down at his graduation gift for his brother. Talk about not subtle. Mosely would pay. He had it timed beautifully. The bomb would detonate while Sam was on stage getting his diploma.
Bye bye Mosely.
He checked through the binoculars again. Sam had his cap and gown and was headed for the door, his father with him. Time to get this show on the road.
Sam stood with his class, on the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd for his brother. Once he thought he saw him, near the back of the auditorium, but he disappeared.
They were packed, ready to leave town. Their whole lives were in the Impala, pointed east. His father had a line on some haunting or something.
Sam held his diploma and smiled for the cameras. He’d never felt so phony in his life. Then they were finally filing off the stage and out into the lawn. He tried to hold down the panic as he was pushed and pulled and turned, then Dean was just there. Right there, pulling Sam in to hug.
“So proud of you.”
There was an envelope in his hands, Dean’s kiss on his cheek and then Sam was alone again. Alone and breathless, looking at the envelope in his hand.
“Sam?”
He turned away from his father’s voice, opening the envelope. There was a bus ticket to Palo Alto, California, some cash and a note. “Don’t let him stop you. Dean.”
Sam wiped at tears and shoved the whole thing into his pants, turning to his father.
“You ready?”
Sam nodded, following his father to the car, waving to friends as he went. When they got to the car, Sam stopped. It was now or never. He opened the back door and pulled out his bag.
“Sam?”
He didn’t look at his father. “Don’t ask me to stay with you.” Sam said. “I’m going to Stanford.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Sam shook his head. “Take care of yourself.” He shouldered his bag and started walking away. The bus depot was only a few miles away.
“Samuel Winchester!” He didn’t turn around. He didn’t stop walking.
His father didn’t come after him.
A mile or so later, Sam was alone.
Title: Don't Ask Me to Stay
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam, John.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2925
Summary: John disappeared and Dean is left to take care of Sam. When Dean gets himself into big trouble with a bad guy, it's up to Sam to bail him out, but the consequences that follow spiral out of control when John shows back up. This is the sequel to Don't Go Out Tonight and Don't Say No, and Don't Say You're Sorry, and Don't Leave Me
A/Ns & Warnings: This is Hooker!fic. Dean is hooking to make money for him and Sam to live on. This is pimp!fic, in that Dean has to give Sam to the guy who he owes money. It is underage (Sam is 17). There is no real sex in this, only the implication that it happened. This is very dark and angsty. Apparently this has also sort of spawned a verse...because everytime I think I reached the end, I realize there's more story to tell.
He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but between the broken ribs and the way his back was carved up, comfortable wasn’t happening. At least his father had finally left the room.
The doctors said they would release him in the next day or so, but he’d be restricted to bed rest for at least another week.
Dean was gone. By now Sam knew that their father had kicked him out…that their father had found out about Mosley and told Dean to leave. Sam had tried once, just the once, to explain it to John, but the look on his face…the disgust and fury, it had stopped Sam cold.
They hadn’t really talked since. Seven days and they hadn’t said more than a handful of words. It was right after the police came. Sam had been fuming over Dean leaving, angry because it was his fault and no one would listen.
Sam held up his hand to stop the officer mid sentence. “It wasn’t rape.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The report says-“
“It’s wrong.” Sam shook his head and tried to sit up more. The stitches in his back stung and stretched and his side ached. “It…” He sighed and wouldn’t look at his father in the corner of the room. “They paid for it, okay?”
The female officer looked at her partner, then back at Sam. “Are you sure?”
Sam nodded miserably. “Yes. I’m sure. I was there.” He gave up trying to sit up to look more dignified and sighed. “They didn’t pay enough for the privilege of nearly killing me though.”
“Sam.” His father’s voice was low, a rumbling force of barely constrained anger.
“Dad, stay out of it. You’re usually pretty good at that.”
“How many of them were there?”
Sam looked at the male officer and shook his head. “Honestly? I’m not sure. When I first went into the alley there were five…but it…felt like more. I couldn’t really see after my face got smashed into the wall.”
“Mr. Winchester, did you know the men who attacked you?”
Sam could feel his father’s eyes. “No…No I didn’t know them.”
He could tell they didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. Not at all. He had plans to deal with them himself. One on one, they weren’t so tough.
His father had walked them out. When he came back in, his face was hard and set. “You should have told them the truth.”
Sam wouldn’t look at him. “I told them what they needed to know.”
“Why did you tell them it wasn’t…”
Sam turned then, fixed his one unbandaged eye on his father. “Rape? You can say the word, Dad.”
“Why?” he insisted and Sam sighed.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sam, you’re not some….cheap goddamn whore.”
“No, Dad. I’m not cheap.” He bit off the bitterness. He’d averaged $500 a fuck or so with Mosely. Hadn’t gotten to count the money the boys threw at him as they finished with him. Dean had left it laying in the alley.
“What you brother did-“
Sam cut him off with a glare. “Dean didn’t do anything. Nothing I didn’t ask him to do. I was the one who went to Mosely, Dad. Me. I was the one who negotiated. I did it to keep Dean alive. Mosely would have killed him.”
John shook his head. “No. No. I saw.”
Sam froze and turned to look at him. “You what?”
The misery and fury dripped from his father’s eyes and he turned away. “Get some rest. I’ll be back.”
He hadn’t come back, not for hours. Sam had no idea where he went, and quite frankly didn’t care. He was stuck in his bed and alone. Dean gone. His father disgusted.
Everyday he came and sat in Sam’s room until neither of them could stand it anymore. Then he’d leave for a while. Sometimes he came back. Sometimes he didn’t.
It was late afternoon, Sam could tell because Nurse Mandy was on the floor. She always smiled when she brought him his meds and took his vitals. She didn’t say much, but her touch was soothing.
A shadow filled the door and Sam didn’t look. So it was one of the days that the guilt drove the old man back.
“I heard you were in a bad way.”
Sam’s whole body stiffened. He swallowed down the panic and looked up. “Get out.” He said it through clenched teeth but Mosely only chuckled, holding up a clear trash bag.
“You and your brother left this in hooker alley. Figured I’d hold on to it for you, so no one stole it.”
He’d seen the whole thing. Probably orchestrated it. “I said get out.” Sam managed to sit up, hiding his bandaged back and pulling the thin hospital blanket closer around him.
“Now, now Sweetcheeks, no need to get testy. I’m here to help.”
“I think I’ve had just about enough of your help.” Sam said. He was shaking, but he didn’t want Mosely to see it.
Mosely smiled. “Come on now, you and I both now that if you’re gonna whore on these streets you need some protection, so you don’t get jacked up like this.” He put the trash bag on the bed. “I’m offering you my protection.”
Sam wanted to scream at him that he wasn’t a whore, that he didn’t want it, that it was all Mosely’s fault…but there was a part of him that knew that wasn’t true. Not completely.
He’d gone to Mosely freely. He’d let Mosely fuck him for money…or in place of money, which was the same thing, really.
“Don’t you worry about the hospital. I’ve taken care of the bill. You just get well, and when you’re on your feet again, you come see me. We’ll come to an…agreement.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t want your money. I-“
There was the sound of a gun cocking and Mosely raised his hands.
“I should kill you.” His father’s voice was cold, hard. Sam swallowed and almost wished he would. Just kill him.
“I was just offering the boy some help.” Mosely said.
“I believe he told you he didn’t need your help.” John stepped closer, forcing Mosely to turn. “Now get your ass out of my son’s room or so help me God, you won’t be walking out of this hospital.”
“Son?” Mosely turned to look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “I didn’t know you had a Daddy, Sweetcheeks.”
Sam’s face was flaming red. “Lot of things you don’t know Mosely.”
“All right, I can see that I don’t belong up in this family reunion. I meant what I said though, Sammy. You come see me. Or I’ll be seeing you.”
Mosely left the room and Sam sagged against the pillows, not looking up at his father.
“What’s this?” John asked, poking the trash bag with the end of the gun.
Sam shook his head. “My paycheck.”
John opened it and cussed. “Holy fuck Sam.”
“Just…leave it.” Sam said. “We’re going to need it to pay the hospital with.” Because Sam had no doubt that Mosely would expect payment…and the more they managed to pay themselves, the less Sam would have to worry about Mosely.
“-tomorrow.”
Sam realized his father had been talking to him and looked up. “What?”
“They’re sending you home tomorrow.” John rubbed a hand over his face, then tucked the gun back into his pants. “You can’t travel for a few days though. So we’ll hole up here until you’re ready. Head out to Bobby’s.”
“I need to finish school.” Sam said, though the argument was more for the sake of arguing than out of any real conviction. “I’ve only got a few more weeks.”
“I got us into a new place. Figure the old one probably isn’t safe.” John seemed to be ignoring Sam all together.
“Never was safe.” Sam muttered, crossing his arms. He sighed. “Dad, did you hear me. School.”
John made a face and shook his head. “You’re old enough now Sam, no one’s going to chase us down if you miss a few weeks of school.”
“Do you even realize I’m graduating?” Sam asked, anger flushing through him. “Do you even care?”
His father looked stricken, hurt. “Of course I care.”
“Right, that’s why you were gone for nearly a year.” Sam huffed and shook his head. “I’m tired.” He laid down on his good side and closed his eyes, hoping his father took the hint. After a few minutes, he heard John leave. It was just easier when he wasn’t there.
John knew that his boy was angry, and he had every right it. Maybe he hadn’t been around. Maybe he shared some of the blame. But Sam didn’t know what had kept him away. Sam wouldn’t ever know.
He left the hospital and climbed into the Impala, headed for the motel where he’d moved their things. He couldn’t be in that apartment. And Dean was right. He had paid for the place. John had learned how he’d paid for it when the landlord came for the next month’s rent.
Dean hadn’t left town. John knew it. He could sense him. Dean was hunting.
He’d hit one of the boys involved in Sam’s beating and rape. Rape. Because there was no doubt in John’s mind that’s what it all was. Right from the first time with Mosely. The boy had been found naked, drugged, a condom filled with his own come shoved up his ass.
John sank wearily onto the bed. He should seek out his older son, help with the clean up. He just wasn’t sure he could look Dean in the fact, not knowing what he’d become, what he’d made Sam.
He massaged down the bad leg, the one that would probably never be whole again and sighed. There were still things he could protect them from. Even if it meant that they hated him.
There were voices coming from Sam’s room when he arrived, and John listened for a minute, half hoping it was Mosely again so he could kick the bastard’s ass into the parking lot.
Sam’s laugh was strained, but not forced. John sipped at his coffee as he entered the room. Sam looked at him, a grimace on his face. Beside the bed a man about John’s age was standing, his hand on a pile of books he’d set on the bed next to Sam.
“You must be Mr. Winchester,” the man said, holding out his hand.
John took it slowly. “John.”
The man smiled.
“Dad, this is Mr. Glenn, my history teacher. He brought me my homework and stuff. So I can get caught up.”
John looked at Sam, then at Mr. Glenn. “Mighty nice of you…but Sam’s not coming back.”
“Yes, I am.” Sam said quietly.
“Those boys who did this go to that school Sam. You are not going back there.”
“Sam’s very well liked at school. The boys who did this are being dealt with.”
Sam frowned at the teacher then looked back at John. “I’m going back to school.”
“Well talk about this later.” John ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll see about getting you out of here.”
He left the room, but the teacher followed. “Mr. Winchester…if I could have a word.”
John stopped and stared at him.
“I realize how you must be feeling.” He shook his head. “Actually, no I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I know that I feel sick about this. I really shouldn’t have let Sam go alone after the trouble.” He sighed.
“Did you want something?”
“Sam to finish school. He’s very close and he has the best grades in school. Don’t throw his future away.”
“His future is with his family, Mr. Glenn. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Has he told you about Stanford?”
John stopped in his walking away. Stopped and turned. “Stanford?”
Glenn nodded. “He got accepted at Stanford with a full scholarship. That’s the kind of thing that changes lives. It could change his life.”
Stanford. College. They had never discussed college.
John took two steps back. “Sam applied to colleges?”
Glenn swallowed and nodded. “Got into a number of them, I’ll bet. It was Stanford he brought to me though. Not many get a chance like that.”
No, he didn’t suppose they did.
“Thank you for telling me.” John walked away, headed for the administration office. More than ever he wanted to get Sam out of that hospital.
Sam let his father support him into the motel room, because the effort of getting out of the car and anywhere near the door had wiped him out, made his head pound and his lungs ache.
They inched into the room and John lowered Sam to the bed.
“You want anything?” John asked as he went to the dresser for a bottle of water, bringing it and Sam’s pain pills back to the nightstand.
Sam held up his hand and shook his head. “Just…my books and some quiet.”
His father was too much. Too overwhelming. He hadn’t left Sam alone since Mr. Glenn left. He kept talking, about nothing, about everything but what was important and Sam felt stifled.
“I’m going to go out and get some food.” John swung the keys around in his hand. “You going to be okay alone?”
“I’m not a baby, Dad.” He wanted to add that John sending Dean away was the reason he would be alone, but he didn’t. “I’m fine.”
“Won’t be an hour.”
“Take your time.”
His father dropped his book bag on the bed before he left. Sam sighed in relief when the door closed and reached for the book bag. He fished out his phone. He’d already left Dean a half dozen messages…but Dean wouldn’t know where to find him. He dialed the number and wasn’t surprised when it dumped straight to voice mail.
“Hey Dean. Dad’s moved us to the Island Inn Motel on 8th and Grand. Room 18. Um…I’m good. Stitches came out this morning. Can’t go back to school until next week. Okay…call me.”
He wouldn’t. Sam knew that. Dad had ordered him away. Dean wouldn’t cross him. Not when he was angry like that. Like nothing Sam had ever seen.
Sam emptied the books out onto the bed, sorting through them until his hand fell on the envelope. It was thick and creamy, not like the usual envelopes. It was his ticket out. His chance to escape the life he was stuck in.
Stanford.
All he had to do now was graduate. Graduate and get to California.
Dean looked down at his phone and sighed. Sam. Again. He picked up the binoculars and checked. Sam was getting dressed, pulling on the suit coat.
He had stayed away, mostly. Kept an eye on them from a distance. Dealt with everyone but Mosely. Kept his father from getting killed by Mosely’s men once or twice. Man had no sense of subtlety.
Dean wasn’t sure how Sam had talked their father into staying long enough to finish the year. Probably guilt. Guilt he should be feeling.
Dean certainly felt it. This had gone from bad to worse. But today would make up for a lot. Sam was graduating, and they were leaving town.
He looked down at his graduation gift for his brother. Talk about not subtle. Mosely would pay. He had it timed beautifully. The bomb would detonate while Sam was on stage getting his diploma.
Bye bye Mosely.
He checked through the binoculars again. Sam had his cap and gown and was headed for the door, his father with him. Time to get this show on the road.
Sam stood with his class, on the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd for his brother. Once he thought he saw him, near the back of the auditorium, but he disappeared.
They were packed, ready to leave town. Their whole lives were in the Impala, pointed east. His father had a line on some haunting or something.
Sam held his diploma and smiled for the cameras. He’d never felt so phony in his life. Then they were finally filing off the stage and out into the lawn. He tried to hold down the panic as he was pushed and pulled and turned, then Dean was just there. Right there, pulling Sam in to hug.
“So proud of you.”
There was an envelope in his hands, Dean’s kiss on his cheek and then Sam was alone again. Alone and breathless, looking at the envelope in his hand.
“Sam?”
He turned away from his father’s voice, opening the envelope. There was a bus ticket to Palo Alto, California, some cash and a note. “Don’t let him stop you. Dean.”
Sam wiped at tears and shoved the whole thing into his pants, turning to his father.
“You ready?”
Sam nodded, following his father to the car, waving to friends as he went. When they got to the car, Sam stopped. It was now or never. He opened the back door and pulled out his bag.
“Sam?”
He didn’t look at his father. “Don’t ask me to stay with you.” Sam said. “I’m going to Stanford.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Sam shook his head. “Take care of yourself.” He shouldered his bag and started walking away. The bus depot was only a few miles away.
“Samuel Winchester!” He didn’t turn around. He didn’t stop walking.
His father didn’t come after him.
A mile or so later, Sam was alone.