Based off an idea I had a while ago for a fic!
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The screen door slammed against the frame as Sam stormed down the cracked front steps, backpack hanging heavy on his shoulder. His boots hit the gravel hard, each step sharp with finality. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it wasn’t enough to calm the fire boiling in his chest.
“Hey!” Dean’s voice cut through the night, sharp and urgent. “Hey! Jesus Christ, Sammy, can’t you just slow down a second?”
Dean jogged after him, finally catching Sam by the arm. He spun him around with more force than he meant to, the motion jerking Sam back against his chest. Sam yanked his arm away like he’d been burned, his face flushed pink and his eyes bright with tears he refused to let fall.
“No, Dean. I can’t.” Sam’s voice cracked with exhaustion, with frustration, with years of swallowed words finally clawing their way out. He shoved his fingers into his mess of brown hair, greasy from another day on the road, and tugged hard. “You don’t understand. I can’t live with that man anymore. I can’t just sit there and pretend we’re some normal family. I can’t act like what we do isn’t wrong.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. He took a step closer, his face shadowed by the porch light still spilling from the house. “That man? You mean Dad? The man who’s given up everything his home, his life for us? For strangers?”
Sam let out a harsh laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “You can’t be serious. Dean, that man’s a killer. He’s no better than the people—”
“People?” Dean cut him off, voice low and dangerous. He shoved a finger at Sam’s chest. “Oh, so that’s what we’re calling them now?”
“Yes, Dean. People.” Sam’s voice shook, but he stood his ground.
Dean’s nostrils flared, his whole body vibrating with a fury Sam recognized but never shared. “No, Sammy. Not people. Things. Monsters. Never people.”
“No, you listen!” Dean’s voice cracked, raw, his throat tight. “Don’t forget what those things did. Don’t forget that they killed Mom.”
Sam swallowed hard, guilt and anger fighting for space in his chest. “Dean… that was one person. One killer.”
“One killer who escaped!” Dean shouted, taking another step forward, closing the space between them until Sam could see the glint of wetness in his brother’s eyes. “He killed Mom, Sammy. And God only knows how many others.”
Sam’s fists curled tight at his sides. “The justice system in this country is broken, Dean. You know it. You’ve seen it. But that doesn’t mean we take the law into our own hands. That doesn’t mean we turn into killers too.”
Dean let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe you can, Sam. Matter of fact, I know you can. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You could probably fix this broken system…”
The door creaked open behind them, and John stepped out onto the porch. His shadow stretched long over the gravel. “C’mon, Dean,” he called, his voice like gravel itself. “Get inside so we can lock up. If that traitor wants to leave his family, let him.”
Sam’s throat tightened at the word. Traitor. He turned back to Dean, desperate, searching his face for something anything that might break.
“Dean,” he pleaded, voice softer now, almost a whisper. “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll find a small place near campus. You can work at some mechanic’s shop nearby, I’ll study… we could have a real life. A life where you don’t have to do this anymore.”
Dean looked at him like he’d spoken in another language. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, Sammy. I can’t.” His voice was heavy with something final, like chains dragging across stone. “It’s too late for me. Once a man spills blood… it’s something you can’t ever come back from.”
“But it’s not too late,” Sam pressed, reaching out, fingers trembling. “People can change. You can change. Come with me now, and I promise you’ll never have to kill again.”
From the porch, John’s voice roared, sharper than a whip: “Dean. Now.”
Dean flinched, but didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on Sam’s, torn and burning.
“Please, Dean,” Sam whispered. “Don’t make me do this alone.”
Dean swallowed, his throat bobbing hard. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sammy.”
The words landed heavier than a punch. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Dean turned, shoulders stiff, and walked back toward the house.
Sam stood rooted in the gravel, chest aching, as the door slammed shut between them.
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