John Winchester let out an audible sigh when they finally arrived in Canaan, Vermont. Soon enough it would be just Dean and him again- like when Sam was at Stanford- and he wouldn't have to worry about his youngest son again.

Peering at the young man in the rearview mirror, John saw that Sam was still asleep, face tilted into his shoulder.

Dean had been reluctant but when they'd stopped for lunch, John had convinced him that they should give Sam at least a half a clonazepam to help with his anxiety. John knew Sam didn't want to be left behind but it was really for his own good. It was too dangerous for them to take Sam on hunts; he could get himself or them hurt or worse.

"We're almost there," John muttered to Dean.

His eldest son sat up straighter in his and peered over the bench seat at his brother, before reaching back.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, "Rise and shine, we're nearly there."

Sam lifted his head slowly. Dean saw his brother's eyes were unfocused- the drug making him groggy- and forced himself to smile.

"Where are we?" Sam mumbled as he sat up, brushing his bangs away from his face.

"Canaan, Vermont," Dean replied, turning back around.

"Why? Is there a case here?" Sam asked.

"I have a friend here," John said, "We're going to see him."

"You're going to stay with him for a little while, Sammy," Dean added.

"What?" Sam asked, "Why?"

John's jaw tightened and he glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye.

"We can't take you on hunts with us right now," Dean told his brother gently.

"I don't want to," Sam whined, "Don't make me."

"Sammy-" Dean began but John interrupted.

"You don't have a choice in the matter, Sam! You can't stay with us! You're staying here! End of story!"

Sam didn't say anything but John heard him sniffling in the backseat and Dean glared daggers at him.

"He's an adult, Dean," John growled, "I refuse to sugarcoat everything for him."

Sam wasn't a child anymore. He needed to realize he wouldn't always get what he wanted, head injury or no head injury. It was that very trauma that had landed them in this mess in the first place. If John had realized what his youngest son would be like as a result of the swelling in his brain following the accident, he would have driven him directly to a friend's place for safekeeping. Now, John wasn't going to be swayed by Sam's pouting. He was a danger to himself and a liability for them. There was no way they could keep him with them. He wished it didn't have to be like this; he wished he could have his youngest son with them but things didn't always turn out that way.

"It'll be okay," Dean was assuring his brother, "It'll be like when we used to sleep over at Bobby's place in Sioux Falls; you remember that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted, "But Dean, you were with me."

"I know, Sammy," Dean agreed, "I'm sorry. We'll come back really soon, okay?"

John turned the Impala down an old residential road where the houses were quite spaced out from one another, old and rambling, many built just after the Second World War.

Dean peered out the window, watching the houses pass by. They looked mature, sturdy, safe. John pulled up to the curb of a house that was a little more decrepit than the others but still pleasant-looking. It had a large front lawn that needed a cutting and an overgrown garden where many of the flowers had gone to see. A sidewalk path cut through the yard and led to a porch with a white railing.

"This place doesn't look too bad, eh Sammy?" Dean asked but Sam didn't reply.

John climbed out of the car and stretched. They day had started out nice- bright and sunny- but now it was overcast, with a cold breeze. Without waiting for his sons, John zipped up his jacket and crossed the yard, walking up the porch and rapping on the door.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Dean was standing at the rear passenger's side of the Impala, speaking softly to his brother.

John returned his attention to the door when he heard footsteps approach and pause. He looked directly at the peephole he knew the other man was peering through.

The door was opened, revealing Rufus Turner scowling at him.

"What the hell do you want, Winchester?" the other hunter growled.

"I need a favour," John began but Rufus shook his head, "No way, I ain't doing you no favours no more."

"Oh come on," John ran a hand through his hair, "You're not still mad at me for what happened in Miami, are you?"

Rufus crossed his arms across his chest; "I should take a leaf outta Bobby Singer's book and fill you with buckshot."

John opened his mouth to reply when Dean's voice spoke from behind him.

"I thought you said he was a friend, Dad."

Rufus looked at John in disbelief, "Friend? We're not friends."

John sighed, "Listen, Rufus, I really need you to do this for me."

"What?" the other man growled, eyeing John suspiciously.

John took a step back and ushered his sons forward, "These are my sons, Dean and Sam. I need you to watch Sam for a little while."

Sam gazed at Rufus warily, one hand holding his duffle, the other holding onto Dean's arm, his finger white.

"I'm not a babysitting service, Winchester! Besides, the boy looks old enough to take care of himself!" Rufus argued.

John started backing up; "I'll let Dean explain it to you."

His eldest son turned to look at him, surprised that his father would put him in the position to drop Sam off when this had been John's idea in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized, speaking quickly before Rufus decided to go back inside, "But Sam can't hunt with us- he was in a car accident- he hit his head and has memory issues."

Rufus stared at Dean as though he were speaking Greek.

"I ain't doing this," he argued.

"C'mon, Dean!" John shouted, already sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, window rolled down.

"I know you might not like my Dad, but please," Dean begged, "We can't leave Sam on his own."

Rufus shook his head as Dean pried his brother's fingers off his arm.

John honked the Impala's horn, growing increasingly impatient.

Dean fished in the pockets of his coat and pulled out Sam's pills, "These ones are for seizures, these are for anxiety, and these ones are for pain…"

Rufus stared down at the orange plastic bottles Dean shoved into his hands and then back at the youngest Winchester.

"DEAN!" John shouted.

Dean paused, gave his brother a quick one-armed squeeze and jogged down the path to the boulevard. He could practically feel his brother's eyes boring into his back as he left him on Rufus Turner's porch. Dean pointedly avoided looking up at the house as he climbed into the car and John pulled away from the curb. At the end of the street, he chanced a look in the rear window but didn't see his brother.

"This is what's best for all of us," John told him, "It's what's best for Sam."

Dean sat back in his seat, "Than why do I feel like a piece of shit for leaving him?"

Author's Note:

Thanks to sunbeamsam, jensensgirl3, reannablue, whatnosheep, nightrider67, elliereynolds777, Mama's Stories, maxandkiz, Kas3y, mandancie, TweetyRulz and Guests for reviewing.

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