Disclaimer - See chapter one.

Well, here is the finale part. First, shout-out to my reviewers, who happen to be some of my all-time favourite authors, so your words were extra special.

Also, I am a Canadian who has never written the SATs, so my knowledge comes from what I've seen on TV. If I am off in my scoring, please let me know and I will make the necessary changes. I hope you enjoy it, though I've angsted it up pretty good, I think.

Here were go...

The next morning found Sam muttering under his breath about self-absorbed jerks as he rummaged around in the trunk of the Impala, searching for a clean sweater. The air had taken on a chill in the night and, having plans for breakfast with his buddies, Sam was up early. He didn't know why he was still mad at Dean. His brother had even apologized to him. Oh yeah, that's what it was. Something so uncharacteristically Dean and it had thrown the world into a tailspin. Dean was unapologetic. He was cocky, self-assured and unapologetic. So what the hell had happened last night?

Puffing out air when his search for a clean sweater left him empty handed, Sam turned on a heel and headed back into the motel room. Maybe he could find something in Dean's bag.

Hearing the shower running, Sam made quick work of rifling through his brother's things. Fingers finally curling around some sort of long sleeve that smelled clean, Sam gave a good tug. God, his brother was such a slob. Along with several other items, the sweater pulled loose and as the water turned off Sam rushed to scoop everything up and shove it back as it had been. But something iced his motion.

A well-worn formally-white envelope. A group of them, actually. The first had a university logo on it. Sam frowned. Why would Dean have kept Sam's university acceptance letters? The name on the envelope had him frowning deeper. Still crouched on the floor over his brother's strewn things, Sam jammed a finger into the jagged mouth and withdrew an equally worn paper.

"What the hell are you doing?" Startled, Sam looked up from his reading to see Dean standing over him, towel around his neck and undone jeans adorning his hips. Snarling, Dean snatched his papers out of Sam's hand and proceeded to gather all the clothes (including the long-sought after sweater) back into his bag.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…I was looking for a sweater. Mine are dirty." This resulted in the aforementioned article being flung haphazardly at his head with a guttural "here."

"Dude, those were college logos and I think I saw an SAT results letter. I didn't even know you wrote them. Why-"

"Don't Sam. Just don't." Violently pushing things into his bag, Dean snatched a T-shirt from the pile and pulled it over his head. The silver writing stretched across his torso and informed all that he was Back in Black.

It had been four days since his last meal when Dean snuck out of the house on that dewy Saturday morning. Their father was working a job and had run over a week longer than predicted. Dean had told Sam he was doing some pick-up work at the school garage for a bit of cash. His brother, fourteen and perpetually moody about something, had replied "So? I don't care. I don't need you here."

Reaching his destination, he pushed open the heavy metal doors and found his way to a rickety desk. Pulling a calculator and half-a-dozen pencils from his pocket, Dean was ready. When the proctor finished reading the instructions and called Start, he carefully tore the paper latch and opened the pristine white booklet to the first page. Methodically, he bubbled in his responses. Double checked. Triple checked.

All the while, repeating over and over to himself, "I'm not stupid."

Some hours later, with his gut moaning in emptiness, Dean Winchester finished his SATs.

The room was silent after Sam departed. He was off to have breakfast with his friends. In an olive-branch moment, he'd asked Dean to join him but got a scoffing snort in return. Fine then, Sam had huffed before slamming the door behind him.

Dean was miserable. He wanted to move on from this stupid little not-even-on-the-map town. They were only supposed to crash here for a night. But then Sam's friends had shown up and his brother obviously had no interest in leaving anytime soon. He passed his day watching old movies on the grainy television, surfing Sam's laptop for their next gig. Eventually, he grew tired of the monotony of the room and headed off, back to the pub down the way.

An old Kansas song played on the Juke Box and with a cold beer half way gone, Dean felt his mood improving. Of course, that was when things crashed back down for him in the form of his brother's large paw clapping down on Dean's shoulder. Sure, he'd known Sammy and co had come into the pub, but he'd been hoping they'd leave him be. Not the case. Sam insisted Dean come sit with them, the afternoon with his friends apparently causing amnesia of their earlier spat. Fine with Dean. Sammy was happy, that was what mattered, after all.

After some time, the group had taken to telling stories and remember-whens. First it had just been people in the immediate group, then branching out into "I can top that, just wait 'til you hear what my cousin/uncle/grandmother/neighbour" did tales. Of course, Sam had to throw in his as well. Unfortunately, his were all about Dean. Dean sat to Sam's left, fighting to keep his fake-grin at full power as the group howled over Sam's latest tale. He could've told some whoppers about Sammy, but his heart just wasn't in the evening.

"Oh Sam," Lucy crowed between gasping breathes, lips stretched wide in perpetual laugh, "Your brother sure is cute, but he's kind of a lunk eh?"

There wasn't really any malice behind her statement, but when Sam piped in, "don't I know it" leading to more laughs, white hot shame bubbled in Dean's chest. Swallowing the rest of his beer, he managed to slip from the group unnoticed as they turned to watch something or other on the bar TV.

Back at the motel, Dean perched carefully on the edge of his bed and withdrew a crumpled white paper that he'd jammed into his pocket that morning. Unrolling it and smoothing the wrinkled against his denim thigh, he read it over and over, until he eyes burned and he flung backwards onto the bed, paper drifting to the floor near his feet. And that was how Sam found him some thirty minutes later.

"Dean, man, what happened to you? I looked up and you were gone. You didn't even say anything." As Sam sat on his own bed, across from his unmoving, silent brother, the paper caught his eye and he snatched it up. Blue orbs doubled in size.

"My God, Dean." The incredulity in his voice was enough to pull Dean upright and this time when he tried to reef the page back, Sam held it out of reach.

"This-how, I don't understand. When did you write the SATs? These scores are…God, Dean." The page, with careful black type, boasted a proud total score of 1585.

"What, you think I was too stupid? I'm just big, dumb lunk-headed Dean who eats too much. Did you ever go hungry when we were kids, huh?"

Because I did hung unspoken between them.

"No, you didn't. I made sure. I took care of things." Dean rose violently, unable to reign in his hurt anymore. "I'm not stupid!" Tears burned in his throat but he choked them back as he spun to face a now standing Sam, worry splashed across his delicate features.

"I never thought you were." Dean snorted. "Dude, what's this about? With you had scores like this, you could have gone to college anywhere, probably with a full ride. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"It doesn't matter, Sam. I made a choice and it was the right one. I wasn't right for college. I just wanted…" His voice was quiet as he trailed off and Sam waited.

"Wanted what?" Sam probbed gently,

"To prove that I wasn't stupid. That I could be the smart one, for a change, instead of just some atomoton who follows orders." Sam had never seen his brother look more like a child than in this moment and he was at a loss for words.

"Dean, I know you're not… you're one of the smartest guys I know. I don't know where you got this idea, but, dude, you aren't stupid okay? And I've never thought that." Suddenly, Dean's upset over the other night at the pub made sense, now Sam could see the slighted comments and digs at Dean lack of college background from his friends. And he'd done nothing. He'd defended them. Shame burned his cheeks red.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Deflated, his brother nodded and an awkwardness fell over the room.

"Let's get out of here okay? Drive for a couple hours, find our next job. Yeah?" A peace offering. A life raft. Dean dove for it.

"Yeah."

Dean Winchester was eighteen years old when he slunk out the front door and into the raining night. He made his way onto the motel room roof, two envelopes, now sodden, crushed in his hand. It was his SAT scores, in one and the logo from MIT bleeding from wet paper on the other. Opening the first carefully, he closed his eyes in happiness at the score it boasted. He basked for a moment then carefully put the pieces back together and moved to the second envelope.

MIT wanted him. He was eighteen and he could have a future. Again he closed his eyes, this time in pain. The voices of his father and brother carried from beneath him and he fought to block out world war three, four, five, whatever they were up to now. What would happen to them, if he left? Who would take care of them?

Dean Winchester was eighteen years old when he bowed his head with rain sluicing over him. He was eighteen years old when, for the first time in a long time. the in him soldier took leave and the boy Dean wept, grieving for the person he could never realize.

The End.

Thanks for reading. Please R&R!

-Elle