A/N: This is my first Supernatural Fan Fiction. Please review. I have no beta, so all mistake are my own, although I had my editor (after a kindly lecture on working on this when other things needed to be done) read for continuity and errors spell check doesn't catch.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, just stopping by to play.

They were arguing again. By Dean's count it was somewhere in the neighborhood of the 7,488th time they had argued. For the last couple of weeks they had exchanged less than happy words at nearly every turn. Where to eat, what to hunt, where to sleep. Everything became an argument.

"You're just an insensitive jerk sometimes," Sam was saying, he was still on Dean's case about the end of the last hunt. Shut up Sam, Dean thought and clenched his jaw, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, wondering how much tension the wheel could take before it snapped off in his hands.

"I'm not insensitive, I'm practical," he said, very reasonably he thought.

That didn't help. "Practicality doesn't always carry you through you know. Feelings help," Sam kept going.

"Sam, I need to concentrate. I'm a little tired and need to focus on the road."

"See, you could have let me drive. I could have helped a little, but no," the belligerent tone was getting worse, if anything Sam was getting bitchier.

"What is your trip? Is it that time of the month or something, man?"

"What did you say?

"You heard me."

"You just don't get it." Sam said sitting up absolutely straight, his head brushed the roof of the car. "Let me out."

"What? No. We're almost back to the motel, I have some errands to run, you can ditch me then."

"Dean, if you don't stop, I will jump out of the damn car."

Dean pulled the car over on to the shoulder. "Fine, walk, I'll see you back at the motel."

"Fine" Sam said getting out of the car. "See you later."

Dean pulled away. Well, he needed to get rid of Sam for a bit, but that didn't go as planned, he thought as he checked the rearview to make sure Sam was headed the right way. He drove into town and made the stops he had planned and turned back towards the motel. When he pulled up he noticed the room was still dark, Sam must not be back yet. Good, he thought as he pulled the bags out of the car.

The thing was he was pretty sure he knew exactly what Sam's trip was. If things had been different, if Dean had never gone to Stanford in October, if Jessica had never been killed, today would be Sam's graduation day from university. Dean knew that Sam hoped to return to school someday, to finish what he started, but that didn't change today and what Sam didn't know was his brother had been looking forward to his graduation nearly as much as Sam had been.

Dean had pinned a lot of hope on that day--hope that his brother could have the life he wanted, hope that they all could have a future, hope that the family could be mended. No, strike that he thought, hope that the gap between his brother and himself could be bridged. That chasm hurt Dean, more than Sam leaving, more than the fights he had with his father about Sam.

And fight they had. The first one had come on the heels of Sam's leaving home. Dean drove him to the bus and when he got back his father was still fuming. He had never expected Sam to walk out when he told him to go, never expected that he would not come back. John Winchester had been pacing back and forth when Dean arrived back at their hotel and then told Dean he was going to the bus to "Drag your brother's ass back here where he belongs."

"I don't think he belongs here, right now Dad. He's not like us, he never has been."

"He's family Dean, and we stick together. We take care of each other. We are strong together. We need Sam."

"I don't think he needs us," Dean said.

"What does that mean?"

"He needs to be away from the hunt, from this life, he needs normal. What other people think is normal."

"He can't have it. He needs to be here." John Winchester headed towards the door.

Dean grabbed his arm, "Dad, aren't you even a little proud of Sammy? He got a full fucking ride to STANFORD. That's doesn't happen to just anyone you know."

"I don't care."

"I do, and you cannot, will not, go get him. He needs this, even if he never comes home," oh, god, he said it--his worst fear realized, Sam gone.

"You can't stop me Dean."

"Yes, I can Dad, and I will. Sammy gets this, no matter what."

John looked at his son, at the determination in his face and knew that this time he could not order Dean out of the way. "Let me go, I'm leaving. There is a Sasquatch up north. I'll be back in a few weeks." Dean let go and his father walked out the same door Sam had gone out of not three hours before. Dean was alone.

Dean carried the bags into the motel room. He wasn't so sure this was as good of an idea as he had been. He had been planning something like this for months, actually years, almost two years. Those two years of silence when Sam had stopped calling, when Sam didn't answer the phone when Dean called. When Sam never came home for holidays. So Dean had launched "The Big Plan" show up on graduation day, make amends for everything, get his baby brother back, be a family again. He carried the present he had purchased with him as a token, a charm, something to remind him that one day soon he would see his brother again. The whole thing had assumed a chick-flick of Cecil B DeMille proportions feel, and Dean was completely unashamed of the fact, not that he would admit it to Sam, he could barely admit it to himself.

Those last two years had been the hardest. He and Dad had stopped talking about Sam. The final straw had come when Dean discovered his father was secretly dropping by Stanford to make sure Sam was ok.

"Why don't you just go see him? Tell him you're sorry, tell him you are proud of him? " Dean said, knowing full well that words like "Sorry" and "proud of you" were not part of the Winchester lexicon.

"He could call me, he hasn't even tried. I know he's called you once or twice but he could have called me." John said and that was the last time he had even mentioned Sam.

Dean had the same sort of conversation with Sam a few days later.

"Call Dad, Sam."

"Why Dean? So he can chew my ass out again? Tell me I'm an idiot? That nothing matters except the hunt. Fuck that."

"Maybe it could be different this time," Dean said.

"Stop defending him Dean. Why don't you try standing up for me sometime?"

That was unfair. "Sammy…"

"It's Sam now, Dean. Goodbye." And that was the last time he spoke to his brother before he went and got him two years later.

Dean put the cake on the motel table. He grabbed the ice bucket and wandered down to the ice machine. Still no Sam. He was getting a little worried, but tamped down the urge to go find his brother. He had managed find two real glass champagne flutes at the grocery store and some choice goodies, too. The final things he put out on the table were a card and a small package.

The card's envelope was looking a little worse for wear, he had bought it nearly a year ago, and had been carrying it around every since. The package he had had even longer. Yeah, he thought, he had been planning this for a long time.

He settled back on the bed to wait, worry nagging him a little, but if something was wrong Sam would call. He flipped the TV on and found "Heavy, the Story of Metal" running on VH1. He leaned back to watch.

He must have fallen asleep, the sound of the key in the lock woke him. The room was dark except for the light from the TV. Sam paused on the threshold.

"Hey," Dean said.

"Hey," Sam came into the room and closed the door. He stood in the dark, hesitating at the door. "I've been a real dick today," he said then laughed a little bitterly, "and yesterday and the day before and the day before."

"And the day before," Dean said.

"Yeah, sorry dude. It's just, well, you probably won't understand…"

"Understand what Sammy?"

"What my trip is."

"You might be surprised," Dean paused, he felt a little stupid…what should he say, "ta-da look what I did?" Should he turn on the light? Yell "surprise"?

Sam solved the problem, he slipped over to the bed and turned the light on the nightstand on. "I don't want to talk with just the TV on. And I think we need to…" He stopped as he caught sight of the table. Sam walked over, and looked down at the items arranged carefully around the top. Deli meats, the ubiquitous M&Ms, an ice bucket holding a couple bottles of champagne, a cake "Congrats to the Grad."

Sam's back was to Dean, but Dean saw his brother reach a hand out for the card in its grubby envelope. He opened it and laughed a little. He reached for the package and held it in his hands for a minute before tearing the paper off. He opened the presentation box inside. Dean knew what was there, an engraved sterling pen set (that's what you buy graduates right?) and the box embossed "To Sammy on his graduation from Stanford." Sam put the box carefully on the table. He hadn't turned around.

Oh, I blew it, Dean thought. Next time you get a brilliant idea like this, just forget it. He ran his hands through his hair. What do I say to fix this monumental screw up? "Sam," no reaction. "Sammy." Sam still didn't turn around, his head was hanging down and his hands hung limply at his sides. Dean felt a lump in his throat, stood up and walked uncertainly towards his brother, stopping just behind him, not quite making contact "Sam? I'm sorry, I blew it, didn't I?"

"You remembered," the smallest whisper, as if Dean hadn't spoken. Sam turned to his brother, his face wet with tears. He leaned forward a little, tears flowing, Dean felt answering tears in his eyes his as he pulled Sam into a tight hug. "You remembered."

"Of course I did, Sammy. Are you kidding?"

"I thought you hated my going to college, hated everything about it…"

"I hated that you were gone. I think I was jealous at that slice of normal you had a shot at," Dean paused, well hell, the chick-flick was already rolling so why not go for it? "But do you know how proud I was of you for getting in? For sticking with it? For honors and everything else? I was so proud of you. I know it wasn't easy. I didn't help that, I know. I probably made it harder. But Sam," he pulled back so he could look his brother in the eye, so Sam would know what it meant to Dean, what Sam meant to Dean. "I am proud of you, little brother." Sam pulled Dean back into the embrace.

Dean cleared his throat, "Shall we open the champagne and get just a little drunk?"

Sam laughed and pulled away, wiping his eyes. "More than a little drunk, I think." He looked down at the pen set and the card ("You'll have to watch out for zombies they'll be after that big college brain"). "These weren't spur of the moment, you've had them for awhile."

"Only a year or two." Dean said, with a gentle laugh. He pulled the champagne bottles out of the ice flopped back on the bed. Sam sat beside him, his shoulder leaning against him. Dean opened one bottle and handed it to Sam, he opened the other for himself.

"A toast," Dean said. "To my baby brother, geek-boy." Sam smiled and they clinked the bottles together.

"It only took you twenty-two years to say you were proud of me," Sam said nudging Dean.

"Well, don't let it go to your head," Dean said.

"Don't worry, I won't. My head doesn't swell like yours does with a little praise."

"Dude, don't be gross." Dean smiled at the look on Sam's face--the "can you turn everything into a dirty joke" look. His smile said yes, of course. "There is some educational TV coming on…I saw the first part but fell asleep. Maybe you could learn something."

"What is it?"

"Heavy, the Story of Metal. There are gaps in your education, college boy."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam leaned against him. "Thanks, Dean."

"Anytime, Sam." And Dean realized that one thing he had planned on in his life had actually come true. Maybe not exactly as he has foreseen it, but the plan had come together. He and Sam were brothers again, and that was what mattered, he drank more champagne and put his arm around his little brother. "Happy Graduation Day."