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Sam couldn’t wait for the chaos of orientation week to end. Tours, lunches, open houses, clubs, planning, meeting staff and students and faculty and roommates. It was everything Sam had wanted. And yet, he still felt untethered, a weather balloon caught up in the storm, just waiting for the moment he would inevitably pop and crash back down to earth.
Most people around him had families to help move them in, friends they came to Stanford with, or people they had quickly bonded to during the last few days. Sam had a cell phone with four contacts shoved into the bottom of a duffle bag that had been packed with such haste that Sam himself had been surprised when he had finally opened it on his dorm bed. At least he had remembered his favorite sweatshirt. The only pair of sweatpants he owned—used to own—were probably still at the motel, left behind after the fight.
He wondered for a fleeting second what Dean and Dad would do with them. It would be a shame to have them go to waste when a simple wash would do. But would they want the reminder?
Sam focused back in on the introductory question and answer session about the on-campus jobs offered for the upcoming semester. His scholarship provided for everything he would need at the university financially, but it was never a bad idea to understand his options before he had his back against a wall.
The session wasn’t as busy as Sam had expected it to be, but then again, everyone else was probably relaxing and settling in. Things would settle for Sam when he got into a routine. He had changed schools more times than he cared to count and knew from experience that it took a few weeks to establish a new routine.
Never mind that for the first time, this routine wouldn’t include Dean asking how his classes went and how many cute girls he was sitting with at lunch. Dean wouldn’t rib him for studying too hard or make fun of Sam when he asked Dean to turn the volume on the action movie down so he could concentrate.
Dad wouldn’t be ignoring his aced calculus test in favor of asking if the research for the hunt in the area had been done.
Sam hoped he’d be too busy with his full course load to even notice the bits of his prior routine that were no longer there.
His dorm room was surprisingly, and blessedly, quiet. He had only met his roommate, Jonathan, once, during their initial move-in. He was on one of the sports teams. Between that and his plans to “live it up”, as he had told Sam while flashing him a peace sign, it didn’t seem like they’d be seeing much of each other. Sam didn’t necessarily mind.
He’d make friends some other way.
Before he went to bed each night, he made sure the ringer on his cell phone was turned up. Just in case.
By the end of September, Sam had gotten into a rhythm. October flew by as clouds became more present overhead. He spent Halloween at a party—he liked to think Dean would’ve been proud—with two friends he’d made in his introductory Latin course. Brady was pre-med and looking to fill in his language requirement with something outside the ordinary, and Marcus was an English major. Lucky them that Sam’s previous life experience had him sitting in Latin with them instead of in Spanish, which may have been more helpful in the long run with his pre-law track.
They studied together most days after class, and had lunch when their schedules allowed. Brady would come bother Sam at his part-time job shelving books in the school’s library. It was comfortable. Sam had a lifetime of experience pretending to be annoyed while secretly appreciating the company.
Sam tried not to think about how much Brady sounded like Dean every time he admonished Sam for spending too much time in the library, stressing over an exam he was sure to ace.
He helped his friends with their studies, and in return the two California natives taught him about the state that he had spent surprisingly little time in considering how many times his family had crisscrossed the country in just his first eighteen years. Brady had a car, which he would graciously use to bring Sam and Marcus around town, traffic be damned. They had been to the California Academy of Sciences and seen the Golden Gate Bridge and spent a day in the Pacific’s cold waters.
It was nice of Brady to show him around. But Sam still found himself missing two-lane highways bordered by corn and wheat and The Allman Brothers playing on the speakers. No matter how much he had convinced himself that he had settled into life at Stanford, there was always a piece missing.
He had a job and good grades and a few friends he got along well with. But he didn’t have anyone reminding him of the time they watched a meteor shower from Bobby’s scrapyard, metal from the derelict cars digging into their backs even through the blanket they had laid on the hood. No one knew how he had gotten the scar on his left elbow, so he could tell each person who asked a new story. His friends didn’t make fun of the salads he sometimes got in the dining hall. It was both a relief and something he wondered if he would ever get used to.
Brady knew he had a brother that travelled for work and that their relationship had its ups and downs. That was all Sam could bear having known when he didn’t even know himself if Dean was still—
Sam would’ve heard if Dean wasn’t. He was sure of that.
Since his brain was hardwired to aim for the worst-case scenario, when his cell phone buzzed with an incoming message in mid-November, Sam jolted. Then his heart fell into his stomach. He hadn’t been expecting anyone from his family to reach out on the anniversary, but…he didn’t even know. It had been the first time that he didn’t have to walk on eggshells on November 2nd, and it felt like a betrayal.
Why would they be contacting him now, of all times?
He was out of his bed and rifling through his duffle in the next instant. He only had four contacts: Dad, Dean, Bobby, and Pastor Jim. It sure as hell wouldn’t be Dad. Not unless—
Sam cut off that train of thought before it could go anywhere.
He was entirely unsurprised and wholeheartedly relieved to see that it was Dean.
Is your weather as crap as it is in Oroville?
Sam had to blink and read the message a few times. No contact for months and then, out of the blue, Dean is reaching out about the weather? He wanted to get back on speaking terms with Sam and this was the nonchalant way he opened?
Sam was tempted for half a second to not even reply. His fingers were frozen over the keyboard. Did he even want to reply? Barring the knowledge that Dean would absolutely worry if he didn’t, Sam found that he wanted to. It had never been Dean specifically that Sam had wanted to get away from, after all.
It was never just about the weather with Dean. Had they been face-to-face, Sam would’ve been able to see everything Dean wasn’t saying just by the look on his face. The pinch to his brow that conveyed worry, a slight displeased downturn in his lips. Or maybe he was smirking ever so slightly, proud of himself for needling Sam.
Sam took a breath. He’d just have to infer without the visual information. He’d had a lifetime of reading his big brother, after all.
Crap weather. Dean could be bringing it up as a veiled question into Sam’s safety. But how could Dean even guess at what the weather was currently doing in Palo Alto? He probably couldn’t, not unless he was in the vicinity.
“Hey,” Sam said across the room to Brady. They had been studying for an upcoming midterm when Sam’s phone had gone off, and Brady had done a horrible job of hiding his surprise at Sam’s reaction.
“What’s up? Everything good?” Brady asked.
“Yeah, fine. You ever hear of a town called Oroville?”
Brady nodded slowly. “Sure. Never been though. I think it’s got the tallest dam in the country or something. You looking for tourism recommendations?”
Sam ignored the last question. “How far is it from here?”
Brady blew out a breath and frowned as he thought. “Two hundred miles north, give or take? Time depends on traffic.”
Sam had learned that last bit well in only a few months at Stanford. Nothing made him miss desolate highways more than being stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic that made a fifteen-mile trip take an hour.
“Thanks,” Sam said quietly. He turned his attention back to the cell phone in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Brady watching him for a few more seconds before he returned to taking notes.
Sam was surprised Brady couldn’t hear the crashing of his heart in the quiet room. It was all Sam could hear, even over the squeak of the radiator.
If Dean was in Oroville, he was only two hundred miles away. For the amount of driving they did, that was nothing.
That’s your opening line? he first typed out, then deleted. Too snarky, too hurt, too true.
What are you doing in Oroville? he wanted to ask. His fingers began typing out the question before his brain even registered it. He deleted the letters one by one. Sam took a breath and looked out the window. It had been windy the last few days, but the sky for the most part had remained clear after the morning fog had burned off.
Windy, was all he sent in the first message. Clear skies though. I have you beat? he added, cursing himself for sounding like an awkward weatherman.
Dean didn’t immediately reply. Sam stared at the phone for a few minutes, willing a message to come through, before finally putting it down and returning to his book. He read over the same page several times, not actually retaining any of the information. When his phone buzzed again, he picked it up before it had stopped vibrating.
Sounds like. This is giving OKC a run for its money.
Sam remembered the wind just outside of Oklahoma City several years ago that Dean was talking about. It had been windy for days, with gusts so forceful they rattled the windows and shook the thin walls of the apartment they had found themselves in.
He wanted to tell Dean to keep warm and watch out for felled trees in the road. He wanted to tell his brother to be sure he was watching his own back since Sam wasn’t there to do it anymore. Since Sam had left.
He wanted to ask why Dean hadn’t had his back when he needed it the most.
You stuck up there long? Sam asked instead.
Long enough. Dean’s reply came immediately that time, like he had been waiting for Sam’s response with his phone in his hand. Job’s done. Leaving tomorrow.
Sam stared at the message for a minute, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Two hundred miles. The ache of proximity was a physical pang in his chest. He could do college on his own, he was doing it on his own, and he had signed up for this. But none of that meant that it wouldn’t be a relief to see his brother, even with their last angry conversation still floating like a poltergeist in the dark corners of his mind. One of the only people in the entire world that truly knew him, maybe the only one, was a stone’s throw away.
And yet, Sam’s fingers hesitated. He couldn’t be the one to give in and ask. Not after the fight. Not after he had left, after Dean had seen and let him leave and not pushed back against Dad’s demands.
Sam was fine with how things were working out. He had to be.
Be safe, was what he sent.
You could stop by? was what he didn’t.
He spent the next few minutes staring at his phone.
Always am, came the reply. It was so far from the I could swing by on my way to the next place? that Sam had secretly been hoping for.
And with that, the conversation died.
Sam lost count over the number of times he started typing a message to Dean before he stopped himself and deleted it. Weeks passed like this and the back and forth carried him through the end of finals into the beginning of winter break.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Brady checked for the third time as he finished packing his bag. He was driving down to spend the holidays with his family in Santa Barbara and had invited Sam on many occasions after hearing that he would be spending break alone on campus. “My folks would love to meet you.”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, but maybe next year,” he said, and was surprised to find himself meaning it. “I think the quiet may do me some good.” Also not a lie. Even though Jonathan was seldom in their shared room, the chaos of finals the bustling campus and dorms had left him craving space. He had a few books he’d like to read, movies he’d missed. Boring things Dean would’ve made fun of him for.
Maybe he would’ve seen the movies with Sam. Maybe.
Brady looked up from his bag, studied Sam for a moment and nodded. “If you change your mind, you know the Amtrak can get you most of the way and I can pick you up at the station.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sam walked Brady out of his room, down to his car, and watched as he pulled out of the residents’ parking lot. He stood for a few minutes, watching other students leave in a similar fashion. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and breathed in the cool December air. Christmas was only a few days away. They had never celebrated much to begin with, but still Sam found himself wondering what his family would be doing.
As if on cue, the phone he kept on his person or close by at all times began buzzing. This time, it wasn’t the short vibration of an incoming message, but a lingering buzzing that signaled a call. The relief he felt at seeing Dean’s name on the caller ID was twofold: he was okay, and he was again the one reaching out.
Sam only let it buzz one more time before he picked up. “Dean?”
“College boy!” Dean’s voice was overly chipper, but Sam wasn’t about to call him out on it. He’d never gone so long without hearing Dean’s voice; he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize hearing it now. “How did finals treat you?”
Sam paused for a second, wondering how Dean could have known Stanford’s schedule. Had he guessed? Had he taken the time to actually find the information somewhere? “Hard, but I think I did okay,” he said and didn’t ask any of the questions plaguing his mind.
“Just okay? Bet you knocked ‘em dead, Sammy.”
The endearment made Sam bristle for a split second. “Latin was easy. The others, I’ll see when the grades are released on Friday.”
Dean made a low whistling noise. “Latin, huh? Keeping those muscles sharp. What level do you have to be to learn an exorcism?”
Sam pursed his lips. He had studied Latin for research, sure, but he had also studied it for his SAT, part of the reason why he got into Stanford with a full ride. He could read the serious yet joking tone in Dean’s voice. He was needling Sam, as usual. “Why are you calling?” And then, because that sounded confrontational even to his own ears and he did not want the first time he spoke to Dean after the fight to end in another one, he added, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Can’t a guy just call to check up on his little brother?”
Normal guys, sure. But that wasn’t what they were; they never had been, despite Sam’s attempt to change that for himself now. “I guess. Where are you?”
Dean sighed and shifted. Sam could hear the tell-tale sounds of starched, scratchy motel sheets on the other end of the line. “Outside Dallas. Dad’s running down a lead. I’m stuck inside doing the geek work.”
Sam nodded to himself.
When the silence stretched a few seconds too long, Dean broke it. “Not gonna ask how the case is? What we’re after?”
The thing was, Sam wanted to know. He wanted to make sure they had all the information they needed and they were going about it the right way. But he couldn’t offer that, not now, not when it would again shackle him to the life he was trying to escape. He let his silence do the talking, and hoped Dean would understand.
Dean let out a humorless laugh. “How’s your new life going, then? Any roommate trouble?”
“I hardly see him, so no,” Sam said automatically. He gave Dean a brief rundown of his classes and the few friends he had made. There were a few times when it sounded like Dean was about to say something, probably snarky. There was an intake of breath, and then no words followed. Dean was holding his tongue. Probably for the best, in the long run. Sam couldn’t keep up the conversation if Dean annoyed him into a fight.
By the time twenty minutes were up, Sam’s chest felt inexplicably lighter.
“I should run, have something to show Dad when he gets back,” Dean said after a pause in their conversation.
Sam sighed. Dad and his demands, still coming between them even now. Dean probably heard it over the phone, but he didn’t say anything. “Yeah. Be safe.”
He could picture Dean’s smirk. At least, Sam hoped he was smirking. “Always am. Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“You too,” Sam replied, voice quieter than he had intended it to be. He’d have the room to himself for winter break, with Jonathan gone. Dean could stay, or at least visit. The few seconds of silence before Dean hung up wasn’t enough time for Sam to work out the logistics of getting to Stanford from Texas and how he would even broach the subject.
The rest of the year continued in a similar fashion. Sporadic texts, a few phone calls. Eventually, Sam reached out on his own accord to check on Dean when he hadn’t heard anything in a few weeks. They never talked longer than half an hour, and as far as Sam could tell, never when Dean was in the same room as their father. Dean was careful to not bring up Dad too much and not ask Sam what good college actually was, even though Sam could hear the question simmering under the surface a few times they talked.
It was nice, talking to someone that knew him, all of him. Brady had turned into his best friend over the course of the year, but Sam would always have to keep too many secrets from him. He’d never be able to shed that part of his old life, he knew, and at times he lamented how that fact would impact every single one of his relationships going forward, no matter how many years removed from the hunting life he got.
The scar on his elbow would always be from a jungle gym, or falling off a bike, not from getting nicked by a werewolf deep in an Oregon forest.
Summer brought with it a temporary job and Dean complaining about being broiled alive in Arizona. With fall came Brady replacing Jonathan as Sam’s roommate. The classes increased in intensity, but Sam matched it with hard work.
Then came Thanksgiving break, or really, what came after. Brady had done a complete one-eighty in the span of the week-long break. He switched majors from pre-med, which he had loved, to communications. He started leaving to party, which he had seldom done the previous year. He’d also let Sam know that their dorm room would be “in use” and that he should steer clear if he didn’t want to be mentally scarred, something Brady had never done.
No amount of talking or pleading or trying to get Brady to open up about whatever had happened over break worked. Sam tried to hold onto his best friend so hard that he began to get dragged into the downward spiral with him. His other fledgling friendships evaporated and even Marcus distanced himself from Brady’s train wreck.
By the time winter break rolled around and Brady returned home to Santa Barbara, it was a relief. Sam felt guilty about it, but relieved nonetheless. He was exhausted from finals and the constant battle to keep his friend’s grades at a passing level. Maybe being back with his family would help more than Sam could.
He was dozing off in his dorm room that was finally quiet, with the vast majority of the building’s students having cleared out for the holiday break, when his phone rang. He kept it on the table in between the two twin beds and only had to reach out his arm to grab it. He was unsurprised to see Dean’s name on it.
Sam was glad to hear from him, but he didn’t know if he had the energy to balance what he should say with what he wanted to say and everything he knew Dean wasn’t saying. He took a breath and picked up a few rings later.
“He answers! Getting slow in your old age, are ya, Sammy?” Dean’s voice rang out loud in the quiet room.
“Something like that,” Sam said, not taking the bait. He got comfortable in the bed again and slung his free arm over his eyes. They ached inside his skull. He didn’t know if he would ever catch up from all the sleep he’d missed the last few weeks. He had gotten used to getting at least a solid six hours most nights, something he once considered a luxury. Dean would probably laugh at the bags under his eyes. “Where are you?”
“Carson City,” Dean answered. “Dad made me run clear out here to pick up something from one of his storage units.”
It was the most annoyance he had heard in Dean’s voice when talking about Dad in a long time. He registered that first, and then the fact that Dean was once again only a few hours away, just past the state line into Nevada
“He stash a Christmas present for you there?” Sam said, going for levity to try and dispel the emotions the two facts had stirred up in his chest.
“If the present is a curse box with some old dude’s bony finger inside, then yeah.”
Sam smiled a little at Dean’s disgust and stopped himself from asking what Dad even needed something like that for. “Merry Christmas indeed.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. What’s up on your end? You sound wiped.”
Of course Dean would be able to hear it, just like Sam was parsing out Dean’s emotions only seconds before. “Just finals. I was helping Brady study.” That was the absolute bare bones of it. He didn’t think he had the energy to explain further. He definitely didn’t have the energy to get into Brady’s situation and how Dean would doubtless do his best to belittle it compared to the hunting lifestyle.
“Good old apple pie stress,” Dean said. Sam couldn’t tell if it sounded mocking or not. In part, probably, but completely? He wished he could have seen Dean’s face. He was always wishing that, especially with so much time having passed since they had last seen each other.
It’s exactly what you signed up for went unsaid, but Sam heard it all the same. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Any holiday plans?” he asked, trying to divert Dean’s mocking frustration. He didn’t want to fight, not tonight, not like what some of their conversations devolved into.
“Aside from driving this thing back across the country? Nada.”
“Sounds fun,” Sam said quietly.
“Count on it,” Dean muttered.
Silence stretched between them for a few moments. It was usually the kind of silence that Dean would use to beg off the phone, but Sam didn’t want to stop talking, not yet. Later, he would blame his fatigue and headache for the lack of filter as he suggested, “You could swing by here on your way?” It was hopeful and out of the ordinary and not something Sam should want, because he had been the one to leave in the first place. He cringed almost as soon as the question left his mouth.
The silence on the other end was telling, even before Dean spoke. “It’s, like, four hours the wrong direction, Sam.”
At least Sam wasn’t the only one keeping track of how much distance separated them on these phone calls. “Yeah, no, I know.”
“And I gotta get this thing to New Orleans, pronto. Dad’s counting on it.”
Sam grit his teeth. If Dad needed it so badly, maybe he should have driven to get it himself, instead of sending Dean all the way across the country. “Of course he is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean’s voice grew colder.
Sam removed his arm from over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Just that, I don’t know—“
“It’s the holidays and he should lay off?” Dean guessed correctly. “Last I checked, Sam, monsters don’t take vacation days.” Sam could hear their father behind the words. He’d heard them from the man himself no less than four times. He never wanted to hear them again.
“Well, maybe you should, Dean, once in a while!” Sam snapped. “It would do you some good!”
“Oh, what, like it’s doing for you?”
“Honestly?”
Dean huffed on the other end of the line. “Yeah, Sam, how about honestly?”
It was the closest they had come to addressing anything emotional directly related to his leaving for Stanford and current living situation. They were both masters of skirting around the truth to maintain some tenuous connection to what their relationship had been before.
But Sam was tired. It had been over a year since he had seen his brother, yes, but it had also been over a year since he’d feared for his life, gained another scar, or stayed up all night with the weight of an innocent person’s life on his shoulders.
“It is doing me good,” Sam affirmed. The silence he heard felt accusatory. “There’s more to life than the next job and wondering if the next bad hunt will be the one to end it all. If you’d get out from under Dad’s thumb, you’d see that.”
“And what, a couple of days with you in college land is supposed to fix my worldview? Is that it?”
“No, but—“
“But what?” Dean fumed. “This relic is the only thing that can save a mom and her two kids from dying bloody. We don’t all have time to sit back and smell the roses. People’s lives are at stake.”
“But it doesn’t all have to be on you!”
“I’m aware of it, so it’s on me. Maybe all the good college is doing you is just ignorance. Sorry for popping your bubble, Sam. I won’t bother your peace with this again.” Dean didn’t even give Sam a chance to reply before the line went dead.
Sam kept holding the phone to his ear and listening to the silent air. They had argued over the phone before, but something about this time felt…different. Final. Between Dean’s pre-existing annoyance, Sam’s current fatigue, their father, and the situation as a whole, he honestly shouldn’t have been surprised that things had devolved to this point.
Dad and hunting coming between them. Again.
Figured.
Even all the way out here, the black hole that was the hunting life did its best to suck him in and steal his light.
Sam let out a shaky breath and dropped the phone back onto the nightstand. Maybe the fight hadn’t been that bad. Dean would simmer and he’d call in a few weeks or months like he had been doing.
Or he wouldn’t. And if he didn’t, then fine. He knew where Sam would be.
Dean didn’t reach out. Neither did Sam. It stung at first. The sense of being unmoored once again reared its ugly head, despite Sam’s best efforts. It was almost a relief when school started back up again—at least then he could focus on his classes and keeping Brady in line.
Brady seemed a modicum improved from his state a few weeks ago, and Sam would take what he could get. He was just glad his friend was sleeping through some nights now instead of none of them.
It was late January when he dragged Sam to an off-campus party. Sam had been to a few during his time at Stanford—he didn’t spend all his time in the library, Dean—but this was the first one that Brady absolutely insisted he go to.
“I’m telling you, Sam, you just gotta meet her,” Brady was saying with a big grin stretched across his face. He was completely sober, and Sam hadn’t seen that smile on his face while he was in such a mental state in a long time. That fact alone had been enough to make Sam toss up his hands and tag along after all Brady’s insisting.
“And you know her how, again?” Sam asked and raised an eyebrow. Music was pounding from a house up the street.
Brady made a show of stepping on a crunchy leaf on the sidewalk, his smile unmoving. “From one of my communications lectures. Class is a total bore, but she’s a freaking bombshell. Makes it worth going to.”
Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. “So she already rejected you and now you’re, what? My wingman?”
“Sam I’m offended you think I get rejected by anyone,” Brady said with a scoff. “You’re also dead wrong. Girl’s whip-smart, I’m telling ya. Brain like that needs…stimulation. More than I can provide, anyways.”
He waggled his eyebrows and Sam pushed his shoulder.
“Just talk to her,” Brady said, a sudden note of seriousness in his voice. “I have a feeling you two will hit it off.”
Sam shrugged and continued following Brady into the house. The music inside was near deafening and the amount of people made Sam wonder how they were even supposed to find Brady’s mystery girl. They acquired beers from one of the main rooms downstairs and zigzagged their way around throngs of dancing and conversing people.
Thankfully, it was only a few minutes later that Brady pointed to a group of girls in the back corner and beckoned Sam forward.
“Jessica!” Sam heard Brady yell over the music. “This is Sam, the guy I was telling you about!”
A tall young woman with golden curls looked towards Brady and then immediately locked eyes with Sam. When she smiled, it was wide and genuine. The red and blue dance lights reflected off her face. She stuck out her hand that wasn’t holding a drink. “I’m Jessica, nice to meet you!” she said loud enough to be heard.
Sam took her soft hand in his and she shook it with a surprisingly strong grip. “Nice to meet you too,” he returned, definitely too quiet, but her smile widened all the same. Sam watched the lights sparkle in her eyes and had the sense that maybe, just maybe, Brady had been right.