Supernatural - We Were Merely Freshmen (1/1) - General
Title: We Were Merely Freshmen
Author:
_fullofgrace
Rating: PG
Timeline: pre-series
Word Count: 2412
Summary: The first year at Stanford was a difficult year for both brothers in different ways.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
Freshman year was the first year since sixth grade that Sam could remember not having to carry a weapon concealed in his schoolbag. It had been habit through middle and high school to carry something in his bag-- even if it was simply his favorite blade tucked between his worn library copy of “The Red Badge of Courage” and his Anatomy and Physiology book.
The first morning of classes at Stanford, Sam woke hours before his roommate. Freshly showered and dressed, he checked his bag to make sure he had everything before heading out the door. Schedule. Blank notebook. Planner. Binder. Blade…. His hand instinctively continued to search for the sheathed item before he remembered that he hadn’t packed it in his bag the night before.
He didn’t pack it because he didn’t need it.
Normal people didn’t just carry around weapons during class. Normal people packed pens and binders and occasionally a book or two. They didn’t pack knives and Bibles and vials of salt and holy water.
And Sam wanted to be normal.
And even as his gut yelled at him to pack his knife just in case, Sam left that first day with the necessities and nothing more.
Feeling naked and exposed without that security blanket of protection at the ready, Sam accepted the feeling if it meant that he could be normal.
Because that’s what Sam wanted.
Normal.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
It took him exactly three months and eight days to stop sleeping with a weapon under his pillow, a habit he had unconsciously picked up from Dean over the years.
Since before Sam could remember, Dean always slept with a weapon readily available if something had the nerve to attack in the middle of the night. When they were younger, Dean would sometimes sleep with a baseball bat wedged under his pillow, his fingers tightly wrapped around the base of the bat as he slept. By middle school, the baseball bat had been replaced by a much deadlier knife.
Every night they pulled into a cheap motel with their dad, Sam would watch his brother out of the corner of his eye as he got ready for bed. Dean never made any fuss about his sleeping habit. In fact, it seemed part of his normal routine. Shower, put on his pajamas, grab his knife, go to bed. His head would never touch the cheap motel pillow until a weapon rested in his fingers.
Dean’s habit.
Dean’s security blanket.
But somewhere around high school, when Sam and Dean would sometimes run smaller, less deadly hunts on their own while their dad chased bigger and badder demons, Sam began following his brother’s lead.
A relatively new habit, but a hard one to break nonetheless.
Three months and eight days.
The first night he broke the habit, he slept light.
The second night he broke the habit, he slept lighter.
The third night he broke the habit, he slept because of exhaustion.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
He never had a home as a kid. Once upon a time, he had, but it was a home he only knew from pictures stolen from his dad’s old sock drawer. By the time he could remember a true home, home for him was the road. And when home wasn’t hot asphalt under the wheels of the Impala, it was Pastor Jim’s or other friends of their dad or motels in the middle of nowhere in between hunts.
But not having a home didn’t mean he couldn’t get even a little homesick.
On many occasions, he considered picking up the phone and calling Dean. His anger with his dad still fresh and bleeding, Sam never thought to call him. Only Dean.
Because even though he annoyed the shit out of him, especially when it came to Dean’s blind faith in their dad, he was still Sam’s big brother. And all those years before the arguments started about Stanford and living life the way he wanted, it had been just them.
Dean and Sam.
Sam and Dean.
The one day that Sam finally pushed send on his cell had been on January 24th.
Dean’s birthday.
Birthdays had never been big events in the Winchester home. Sometimes, they were celebrated in the backseat of the Impala-- a cake from a local bakery (if they were lucky enough to be in a town that actually had one) or a package of cupcakes shared between the birthday boy and his brother as their dad drove. Sometimes, in those rare moments in school, they were celebrated by classmates who were required to celebrate everyone’s birthday as it came around. And sometimes, they were completely ignored, lost in all the chaos of their lives.
But on the first birthday away from his brother, Sam felt an obligation to at least call on this day, even if he didn’t pick up the phone any other day of the year.
Dean didn’t answer the call, Sam not particularly shocked when his brother’s voicemail kicked in after the fifth ring. In traditional Winchester manner, Sam could only imagine Dean was out on his birthday either killing something that needed to be killed or getting hammered at some local bar in the middle of Nowhere, USA, hustling even drunker men at pool.
The message Sam left was simple, concise.
“Dean, it’s Sam. Don’t panic. Nothing’s wrong or anything. Just calling to say happy birthday. So, uh, I guess I’ll talk to you later….”
He hesitated. The words “take care of yourself, alright?” on the tip of his tongue. But he swallowed down those words as he could see Dean rolling his eyes at the phone after hearing such a thing.
A simple “Bye, Dean”, and the call was over.
The birthday celebration of Dean Winchester officially complete for another year.
That May, Jess made him cupcakes for his birthday. And in the back of his mind, he thought about Dean and split packages of Hostess cupcakes in the backseat of the Impala.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Dean always felt stuck in the middle between his dad and Sam, always the referee when they went toe to toe. He’d never admit it, but he actually admired that side of his baby brother-- his rebelliousness, his ability to stand up to authority. He just wished he’d focus that talent on a force less explosive than their dad.
He was the oldest. It was his job to keep Sam safe, to keep Sam in line. But even Dean couldn’t compete with Sam’s need for normalcy. Hell, he tried. Again and again, he tried. He tried hardest when that simple white envelope from Stanford arrived in their local post office box. But Sam’s stubbornness had a tendency to give Dean’s a run for its money.
Dean leaned in a doorway, arms crossed over his chest, as he watched them go, each yelling accusations at the other. Dean almost stepped in, almost put a stop to it like he always did, until his father beat him to the punch.
“Don’t you even think of coming back here, you hear me?”
And that was it.
Dad stormed out of Pastor Jim’s house, yanking on his jacket as he left. Sam cursed loudly and stormed past Dean and up the stairs to the room that had been considered theirs since before Sam could even go to school. Dean stood alone in the empty room for a moment longer before leaving himself, ready to get away for a few hours while everything cooled down.
Because everything always cooled down, and things went back to normal after Sam got over himself and Dad had time to burn off his anger.
But everything didn’t cool down this time.
The next morning, Dean drove Sam to the bus terminal. They didn’t speak the entire ride up, Sam’s gaze focused out the window and Dean’s focused on the road ahead. As they pulled into the unloading area, they finally acknowledged each other’s presence in the car with a silent glance.
Sam reached into the backseat and gathered his two lone bags--enough to hold what little possessions he had--and frowned as his fingers curled around the door handle.
“Dad’ll be better now that I’m not around,” he said.
Dean raised an eyebrow at him before shrugging. As much as Sam had wanted that to sound like truth, they both knew that Sam leaving wouldn’t make their dad better. It would just keep him good and pissed for the next few weeks. Hell, maybe even the next few months.
And then Dean would be left to deal with him.
To play referee again.
Even when his brother and his dad would be thousands of miles apart.
“No tearful goodbyes, Sammy. Get your ass on that bus cause if you miss it? I’m sure as hell not driving you back up here.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked upwards. “Take care, Dean.”
Dean simply nodded in acknowledgement as Sam stepped out of the car, bags in hand.
Dean frowned as he watched his baby brother board the bus. Pulling away, he gave the bus one final glance in his rearview mirror.
“You too, Sammy.”
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Dean didn’t realize how much he missed having Sam along for the ride until he did hunts on his own.
By the time Sam hit high school, Dean was old enough where their dad trusted him to take his brother out on the tamer hunts. Sometimes, Dean would even pick Sam up from school, both he and the car ready for a bit of adventure without Dad. Sam, on the other hand, would bitch and moan about missing crucial notes if he missed too many days. Dean would simply crank up the radio and drown out his little brother’s complaining until Sam surrendered to the ride.
On his first hunt alone, Dean stopped in a crappy motel that looked exactly like every other motel he had ever seen since the age of eight. Out of singles, he had been given a double room. Dropping his bag and tossing his jacket haphazardly into a chair in the corner, he flopped back onto one of the beds.
The bed closest to the door.
Out of instinct.
As kids, on those rare occasions when they had a room separate from their dad, Dean would make a fuss about liking the bed by the door, but in actuality, he really didn’t. Sleeping closest to the door just meant if something tried to come in, it’d have to go through him first.
Even when he and Sam shared beds, their dad in the actual bed nearest to the door, Dean always placed himself on the side closest to the door. Dean could sleep better knowing there was at least one obstacle, albeit his own body, between Sam and the things in the dark.
That night on his first lone hunt, he slept light. His fingers clenched the handle of the blade under his pillow as he opened one eye to peer at the empty bed across the darkness.
His pulse skipped for a moment until he remembered that he came on this hunt alone.
Sam wasn’t missing because some demon had snatched him from the motel bed in the middle of the night.
Sam was missing because he wanted to be missing.
And that hurt more than any demon attack Dean could think of.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Though he still had moments of anger over Sam abandoning their family--and even occasional bitterness over not having the same opportunity because someone had to be the one to keep this family glued together--he still thought about contacting Sam.
The first few months, he drove through the area with Dad, but they never made contact with Sam. The trips were never about contact, just about making sure Sam was alive and happy.
Sam called once during that first year away, and though he didn’t know it at the time, it would be the last time Dean would hear his brother’s voice for a few more years.
The call came on his birthday.
Dean had just finished killing a werewolf that had been terrorizing a small town in the middle of Kansas. He’d showered and returned to his stiff motel bed, being careful not to lay on his injured right arm. On the nightstand, his cell flashed to let him know he had missed a call.
“SAM” the phone display read when he flipped it open, and Dean’s pulse quickened, panic starting to settle in the pit of his stomach.
Sam had been gone for months without a single word. Not a postcard. Not a letter. Not a call. Nothing. So a random phone call did nothing but put Dean on edge.
“Dean, it’s Sam. Don’t panic. Nothing’s wrong or anything. Just calling to say happy birthday. So, uh, I guess I’ll talk to you later….”
Dean couldn’t help but smile, feeling like an idiot for thinking the worst had happened and even forgetting his own damn birthday in the process.
“….Bye, Dean.”
The smile waned at the hesitation in the message. Dean could almost see his brother now. Sitting in some dorm lounge debating whether or not to end on a “be careful” or “take care of yourself” or god forbid a “love you.”
And as his baby brother decided to have a chick flick moment, this would be the point where Dean would smack him upside the head, ending the awkward hallmark moment before it even had a chance to begin.
But he couldn’t slap his brother over the phone.
So the silence said everything Sam couldn’t stand to say and Dean couldn’t stand to hear.
Be careful.
Take care of yourself.
Love you.
Dean stared at the phone for a full hour before finally returning it to its spot on the nightstand. He wouldn’t call tonight.
But maybe he’d return the favor on Sam’s birthday.
Dean checked his bandaged arm one last time before hitting the lamp beside his bed. He closed his eyes and hoped that Sammy would finally get to have a real birthday this year.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Author:
_fullofgraceRating: PG
Timeline: pre-series
Word Count: 2412
Summary: The first year at Stanford was a difficult year for both brothers in different ways.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
Freshman year was the first year since sixth grade that Sam could remember not having to carry a weapon concealed in his schoolbag. It had been habit through middle and high school to carry something in his bag-- even if it was simply his favorite blade tucked between his worn library copy of “The Red Badge of Courage” and his Anatomy and Physiology book.
The first morning of classes at Stanford, Sam woke hours before his roommate. Freshly showered and dressed, he checked his bag to make sure he had everything before heading out the door. Schedule. Blank notebook. Planner. Binder. Blade…. His hand instinctively continued to search for the sheathed item before he remembered that he hadn’t packed it in his bag the night before.
He didn’t pack it because he didn’t need it.
Normal people didn’t just carry around weapons during class. Normal people packed pens and binders and occasionally a book or two. They didn’t pack knives and Bibles and vials of salt and holy water.
And Sam wanted to be normal.
And even as his gut yelled at him to pack his knife just in case, Sam left that first day with the necessities and nothing more.
Feeling naked and exposed without that security blanket of protection at the ready, Sam accepted the feeling if it meant that he could be normal.
Because that’s what Sam wanted.
Normal.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
It took him exactly three months and eight days to stop sleeping with a weapon under his pillow, a habit he had unconsciously picked up from Dean over the years.
Since before Sam could remember, Dean always slept with a weapon readily available if something had the nerve to attack in the middle of the night. When they were younger, Dean would sometimes sleep with a baseball bat wedged under his pillow, his fingers tightly wrapped around the base of the bat as he slept. By middle school, the baseball bat had been replaced by a much deadlier knife.
Every night they pulled into a cheap motel with their dad, Sam would watch his brother out of the corner of his eye as he got ready for bed. Dean never made any fuss about his sleeping habit. In fact, it seemed part of his normal routine. Shower, put on his pajamas, grab his knife, go to bed. His head would never touch the cheap motel pillow until a weapon rested in his fingers.
Dean’s habit.
Dean’s security blanket.
But somewhere around high school, when Sam and Dean would sometimes run smaller, less deadly hunts on their own while their dad chased bigger and badder demons, Sam began following his brother’s lead.
A relatively new habit, but a hard one to break nonetheless.
Three months and eight days.
The first night he broke the habit, he slept light.
The second night he broke the habit, he slept lighter.
The third night he broke the habit, he slept because of exhaustion.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
He never had a home as a kid. Once upon a time, he had, but it was a home he only knew from pictures stolen from his dad’s old sock drawer. By the time he could remember a true home, home for him was the road. And when home wasn’t hot asphalt under the wheels of the Impala, it was Pastor Jim’s or other friends of their dad or motels in the middle of nowhere in between hunts.
But not having a home didn’t mean he couldn’t get even a little homesick.
On many occasions, he considered picking up the phone and calling Dean. His anger with his dad still fresh and bleeding, Sam never thought to call him. Only Dean.
Because even though he annoyed the shit out of him, especially when it came to Dean’s blind faith in their dad, he was still Sam’s big brother. And all those years before the arguments started about Stanford and living life the way he wanted, it had been just them.
Dean and Sam.
Sam and Dean.
The one day that Sam finally pushed send on his cell had been on January 24th.
Dean’s birthday.
Birthdays had never been big events in the Winchester home. Sometimes, they were celebrated in the backseat of the Impala-- a cake from a local bakery (if they were lucky enough to be in a town that actually had one) or a package of cupcakes shared between the birthday boy and his brother as their dad drove. Sometimes, in those rare moments in school, they were celebrated by classmates who were required to celebrate everyone’s birthday as it came around. And sometimes, they were completely ignored, lost in all the chaos of their lives.
But on the first birthday away from his brother, Sam felt an obligation to at least call on this day, even if he didn’t pick up the phone any other day of the year.
Dean didn’t answer the call, Sam not particularly shocked when his brother’s voicemail kicked in after the fifth ring. In traditional Winchester manner, Sam could only imagine Dean was out on his birthday either killing something that needed to be killed or getting hammered at some local bar in the middle of Nowhere, USA, hustling even drunker men at pool.
The message Sam left was simple, concise.
“Dean, it’s Sam. Don’t panic. Nothing’s wrong or anything. Just calling to say happy birthday. So, uh, I guess I’ll talk to you later….”
He hesitated. The words “take care of yourself, alright?” on the tip of his tongue. But he swallowed down those words as he could see Dean rolling his eyes at the phone after hearing such a thing.
A simple “Bye, Dean”, and the call was over.
The birthday celebration of Dean Winchester officially complete for another year.
That May, Jess made him cupcakes for his birthday. And in the back of his mind, he thought about Dean and split packages of Hostess cupcakes in the backseat of the Impala.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Sam.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Dean always felt stuck in the middle between his dad and Sam, always the referee when they went toe to toe. He’d never admit it, but he actually admired that side of his baby brother-- his rebelliousness, his ability to stand up to authority. He just wished he’d focus that talent on a force less explosive than their dad.
He was the oldest. It was his job to keep Sam safe, to keep Sam in line. But even Dean couldn’t compete with Sam’s need for normalcy. Hell, he tried. Again and again, he tried. He tried hardest when that simple white envelope from Stanford arrived in their local post office box. But Sam’s stubbornness had a tendency to give Dean’s a run for its money.
Dean leaned in a doorway, arms crossed over his chest, as he watched them go, each yelling accusations at the other. Dean almost stepped in, almost put a stop to it like he always did, until his father beat him to the punch.
“Don’t you even think of coming back here, you hear me?”
And that was it.
Dad stormed out of Pastor Jim’s house, yanking on his jacket as he left. Sam cursed loudly and stormed past Dean and up the stairs to the room that had been considered theirs since before Sam could even go to school. Dean stood alone in the empty room for a moment longer before leaving himself, ready to get away for a few hours while everything cooled down.
Because everything always cooled down, and things went back to normal after Sam got over himself and Dad had time to burn off his anger.
But everything didn’t cool down this time.
The next morning, Dean drove Sam to the bus terminal. They didn’t speak the entire ride up, Sam’s gaze focused out the window and Dean’s focused on the road ahead. As they pulled into the unloading area, they finally acknowledged each other’s presence in the car with a silent glance.
Sam reached into the backseat and gathered his two lone bags--enough to hold what little possessions he had--and frowned as his fingers curled around the door handle.
“Dad’ll be better now that I’m not around,” he said.
Dean raised an eyebrow at him before shrugging. As much as Sam had wanted that to sound like truth, they both knew that Sam leaving wouldn’t make their dad better. It would just keep him good and pissed for the next few weeks. Hell, maybe even the next few months.
And then Dean would be left to deal with him.
To play referee again.
Even when his brother and his dad would be thousands of miles apart.
“No tearful goodbyes, Sammy. Get your ass on that bus cause if you miss it? I’m sure as hell not driving you back up here.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked upwards. “Take care, Dean.”
Dean simply nodded in acknowledgement as Sam stepped out of the car, bags in hand.
Dean frowned as he watched his baby brother board the bus. Pulling away, he gave the bus one final glance in his rearview mirror.
“You too, Sammy.”
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Dean didn’t realize how much he missed having Sam along for the ride until he did hunts on his own.
By the time Sam hit high school, Dean was old enough where their dad trusted him to take his brother out on the tamer hunts. Sometimes, Dean would even pick Sam up from school, both he and the car ready for a bit of adventure without Dad. Sam, on the other hand, would bitch and moan about missing crucial notes if he missed too many days. Dean would simply crank up the radio and drown out his little brother’s complaining until Sam surrendered to the ride.
On his first hunt alone, Dean stopped in a crappy motel that looked exactly like every other motel he had ever seen since the age of eight. Out of singles, he had been given a double room. Dropping his bag and tossing his jacket haphazardly into a chair in the corner, he flopped back onto one of the beds.
The bed closest to the door.
Out of instinct.
As kids, on those rare occasions when they had a room separate from their dad, Dean would make a fuss about liking the bed by the door, but in actuality, he really didn’t. Sleeping closest to the door just meant if something tried to come in, it’d have to go through him first.
Even when he and Sam shared beds, their dad in the actual bed nearest to the door, Dean always placed himself on the side closest to the door. Dean could sleep better knowing there was at least one obstacle, albeit his own body, between Sam and the things in the dark.
That night on his first lone hunt, he slept light. His fingers clenched the handle of the blade under his pillow as he opened one eye to peer at the empty bed across the darkness.
His pulse skipped for a moment until he remembered that he came on this hunt alone.
Sam wasn’t missing because some demon had snatched him from the motel bed in the middle of the night.
Sam was missing because he wanted to be missing.
And that hurt more than any demon attack Dean could think of.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*
Though he still had moments of anger over Sam abandoning their family--and even occasional bitterness over not having the same opportunity because someone had to be the one to keep this family glued together--he still thought about contacting Sam.
The first few months, he drove through the area with Dad, but they never made contact with Sam. The trips were never about contact, just about making sure Sam was alive and happy.
Sam called once during that first year away, and though he didn’t know it at the time, it would be the last time Dean would hear his brother’s voice for a few more years.
The call came on his birthday.
Dean had just finished killing a werewolf that had been terrorizing a small town in the middle of Kansas. He’d showered and returned to his stiff motel bed, being careful not to lay on his injured right arm. On the nightstand, his cell flashed to let him know he had missed a call.
“SAM” the phone display read when he flipped it open, and Dean’s pulse quickened, panic starting to settle in the pit of his stomach.
Sam had been gone for months without a single word. Not a postcard. Not a letter. Not a call. Nothing. So a random phone call did nothing but put Dean on edge.
“Dean, it’s Sam. Don’t panic. Nothing’s wrong or anything. Just calling to say happy birthday. So, uh, I guess I’ll talk to you later….”
Dean couldn’t help but smile, feeling like an idiot for thinking the worst had happened and even forgetting his own damn birthday in the process.
“….Bye, Dean.”
The smile waned at the hesitation in the message. Dean could almost see his brother now. Sitting in some dorm lounge debating whether or not to end on a “be careful” or “take care of yourself” or god forbid a “love you.”
And as his baby brother decided to have a chick flick moment, this would be the point where Dean would smack him upside the head, ending the awkward hallmark moment before it even had a chance to begin.
But he couldn’t slap his brother over the phone.
So the silence said everything Sam couldn’t stand to say and Dean couldn’t stand to hear.
Be careful.
Take care of yourself.
Love you.
Dean stared at the phone for a full hour before finally returning it to its spot on the nightstand. He wouldn’t call tonight.
But maybe he’d return the favor on Sam’s birthday.
Dean checked his bandaged arm one last time before hitting the lamp beside his bed. He closed his eyes and hoped that Sammy would finally get to have a real birthday this year.
*
Freshman year was a difficult year for Dean.
*