Title: The Stanford Years
Author: Jinni (email@example.com)
Rated: Pg13 (overall NC17)
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al. All things AtS belong to Joss Whedon, et al.
Pairing: Sam/Connor (eventually)
Notes: AU for Sam’s Stanford years. Pre-series, obviously.
Notes: For , who seemed really excited by this idea.
Summary: Sam’s years at Stanford are very different from what he imagined they’d be.
For a boy that had grown up on the road, going to whatever rundown, middle America high school that he was near long enough to even bother with classes, Stanford was an entirely new experience. The only time he’d been on a college campus before this was to watch while Dad had exorcised a spirit from a campus chapel at a school in the northeast.
Sam glanced down at the paper map in his hand, on top of the rest of the papers he’d picked up when he’d checked in. His duffel was at his feet, another bag slung over his shoulder. He abhorred credit card fraud, but he’d be perpetrating just a little to make sure he had what he needed. Some new clothes. Maybe a laptop. Dean thought he’d misplaced the cards that Sam planned on using. He’d have a shit fit if he ever realized that Sam had taken them. Not to mention the part where he would never, ever live it down.If Dean ever spoke to him again, that was
Besides, Sam continued on despite the pain that insight gave to him, once he was settled he’d get some kind of part time job to give him cash to supplement his scholarship, which paid for almost
everything he needed anyway.
He looked back up at the building he was in front of, the key to his dorm room feeling both like freedom and despair. This was what he had wanted: a normal life. He just hadn’t thought that would mean losing his family. Dad, yes. Dean? Never. The look his brother had given him before he got on the bus had been as cold as any Sam had ever seen. ”You do this, Sammy, and that’s it.”
Sam swallowed thickly around his grief and started up the sidewalk to the building. Other students – freshmen like him, he assumed – were unloading their things from cars, wishing parents and loved ones sometimes teary farewells. It was only a reminder of what he didn’t have, of what he had given up, and he wanted to be in his room and away from it all.
Hefting his bag more securely on his shoulder, he pushed open the doors of the dorm. Inside was just as much of a madhouse as the outside had been. Students carrying things in from outside, faces flushed with exertion in some cases for those who had brought their entire lives with them.
Not that Sam hadn’t done that himself. It was just that his entire life could fit stuffed into one very large, heavy duffel.
He took the stairs two at a time, dodging fellow students as they came down to gather more of their things from the waiting vehicles outside or just laughing and joking with the friends they had already made. Would it be that easy for him to make friends? He could hope. It wasn’t as if he’d had much practice with it. Apart from his senior year of high school, Dad had never kept them in one place long enough for him to make many friends, and none of them the kind that he would have ever called ‘good friends’ or ‘best friends.’ Dean was the closest thing he’d ever had to that.
His room was on the third floor, at the end of the hall farthest from the stairs. Again Sam found himself playing dodge-the-student, but he did get one or two smiles and a ‘hello’ from a sweet-looking brunette that turned out to be two doors down from his own. Lean and lanky, a lot like Sam himself. The guy was friendly enough, too; always a plus to find out your ‘neighbors’ were nice people when you didn’t really know anyone. So, okay, maybe this college thing wouldn’t be completely
The room behind his door was empty save the matching furniture on either side. Bed, dresser, desk, and a trashcan. Two of each. One for him, one for whatever guy that ended up being his roommate. So far, it didn’t look like he’d shown up yet, whoever he was.
Sam wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to having a roommate or not. On one hand, if he and the other guy got along – great. One new friend, easily made. Someone to talk with at night after classes when they were both stuck in their room studying. On the other hand – if they didn’t like each other, which was perfectly possible, things would seriously suck.
Then there was the fact that he was bisexual. Not something he was going to go and just announce to the guy up front, of course. It was bound to come out eventually, though. And then what? Awkwardness, if his roommate couldn’t handle it.
Sam dropped his duffel on one of the beds, glad that he’d nicked a sheet and pillowcase from one of the motels they’d stayed at, after he’d decided to leave. Still, he’d need to go buy an actual pillow
before that would be useful. And a blanket. He began to make a mental note of just what he was going to need. School supplies were covered with his scholarship, he just had to go by the financial aid office sometime today or tomorrow to get the credit applied to his student id card, then he could shop in the bookstore for everything that he needed school-wise.
He unzipped his duffel and started pulling out his belongings, refusing to be embarrassed about the meager contents even though, yeah, it stung that he didn’t have as much as normal
kids would have when they started college. That was why he had the cards, though. He would have to be careful and take a bus a couple towns over to make extra sure the cards weren’t linked to him, but when all was said and done no one would be able to tell on the surface that he wasn’t like any other incoming freshman.
Clothes went into the dresser, the sheet onto the bed, and the pillowcase pushed aside for the time being. One by one his belongings disappeared from his duffel until all he was left with were the items at the very bottom.
Seeing the knife laying there in its sheath brought a fresh wave of painhurtlonging
ricocheting through Sam. He bit the inside of his cheek and ignored the prick of tears in his eyes. The knife had been a present from Dean on his fifteenth birthday and was prized in a way nothing else Sam owned would or could ever be. That knife had tasted blood on a hunt; it had helped save his ass at least half a dozen times when Dad had been more worried about what they were hunting than whether or not he and Dean were safe
. That, and the small journal he had kept since he was twelve with all of his own notes from their hunting trips, was all that he had brought with him from that part of his previous life.
Giving the knife one more lingering look, Sam zipped the duffel back up and slid it all the way under his bed, until it was against the wall and out of sight.
That part of him was dead. He wouldn’t need it anymore.
Knuckle to his eyes, Sam wiped away the tears in the corners, sighing loudly. Did he want to go out now and get what he needed or just make do for the night? One glance at the bed and Sam was sure that he didn’t want to try sleeping without a pillow. Wouldn’t be the most uncomfortable place he’d ever slept. But why even do it if he didn’t have to? There was nothing else he needed to be doing at that moment. Might as well get on with things.
And at least if he was moving and doing
something, he was less likely to think about that last time he’d seen Dean and what goodbye
had meant when his brother muttered it and walked away.
The door opened behind Sam, and he turned too quickly, years of hunting making him jumpy even now when he knew he didn’t have to be. The guy coming in didn’t seem to notice, though.
Shaggy brown hair, and he was shorter than Sam, but that didn’t really say much. Almost everyone was shorter than him. This guy was even shorter than Dean, though.
“Hey,” the other guy said, noticing Sam almost immediately. He gave him a crooked, friendly smile. Then he was stepping forward. “I’m Connor.”
“Sam,” he introduced himself, shaking the hand that was held out to him. Huh. Strong hands.
“So – you just get here?” Connor asked, setting down the two bags he’d brought up with him.
“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding. He winced when he realized how overeager he felt to get this guy’s approval. To make sure that they’d be friends. God. Dean was so much better at making friends than he’d ever been. His chest ached for a brief, painful second.
Okay. No more thinking about Dean or Dad.
“I was actually just about to go out. To a store. I didn’t bring much with me. Just sort of took what I could carry,” the lie slid past his lips so easily that he almost believed it himself.
“That eager to get away?” Connor joked.
Sam shrugged. “Something like that.” He shoved his hands down into the pocket of his hoodie.
“You got a car?” Connor asked, already rifling through his bags. He opened one, frowned down into it for some reason that Sam couldn’t immediately figure out, then shut it just as quickly, dropping it to the floor with a soft ‘clank’. He kicked it under the bed and turned to face Sam.
“No, no car. I was gonna try and get a cab.”
Connor’s eyebrows went up. “Huh. Okay. I can give you a lift if you want.”
Sam was sure he’d like not having to blow some of his cash on a taxi, but there were too many things that could go wrong if he had Connor with him. Like getting caught using stolen credit cards.
He shook his head and gave Connor a tiny smile. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. It was nice to meet you.”
As he did what basically felt like running away, Sam found himself hoping his abruptness hadn’t already ruined what friendship he might have hoped to have with his roommate. Day one, and already he was acting weird. Sam snorted. He wouldn’t blame the guy at all if he brushed him off after this.