Title: The Smell Of Home And Family
Author: Moi
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Warnings/Notes: PG-13 for angstiness. Gen ficlet, pre-series. No spoilers. 2,166 words.
Summary: First night at Stanford and Sam wishes he was back with his family.
A/N: Lots of cookies and Dean wrapped in nothing but a red bow for pheebs1 who did an awesome beta job here.
Disclaimer: None of the characters and places are mine.
Feedback: Makes me bounce in circles :-)



The Smell Of Home And Family
by Steffi

The first night in Stanford Sam feels terribly alone, lonely even, despite the fact that his room mate is snoring and sleeping soundly just across the room. Sam hears him breathe heavily because the guy’s got a cold. Every now and then a pitiful cough will slip out, and Sam always gets the urge to wake the guy up and tell him to just be quiet. It’s selfish, but somehow being here in the dark with someone in the other bed that’s not Dean or John makes him feel uncomfortable. It’d be easier if everything was just still, because Dean is a quiet sleeper, rarely ever snorts or shifts. Unlike Sam’s new room mate.

His name is Tim or Tom or something else starting with “T”. Or ending with “m”. Sam didn’t really pay attention when the guy introduced himself. Heck, he wanted to but he just couldn’t, because this whole going-to-college-issue was overstraining him a bit. He felt like those psychotic people he’d seen on television who were too overwhelmed by noises and smells and sights. Who suddenly saw everything in reds, heard every scratch on the floor, every rain drop falling on the roof twice or thrice as loud. He was overwhelmed by the situation.

The room seemed big and small at the same time. It smelled like both freedom and danger.

Freedom because he was all on his own now. Danger because he was all on his own now.

He had never been on a campus before, and he’s quite sure he’d have been lost forever if that blonde girl hadn’t asked him if she could help him because he looked like a lost little puppy. He smiled at the remark but replied something awkard. Unlike Dean he’s not had much experience with girls and the whole flirting issue.

Sam can read Latin and bits and pieces of other ancient languages, but deciphering the numbering of the buildings proved to be too difficult. The girl, who introduced herself as Jessica, had guided him safely through the clutter of other lost freshmen, regular students, and professors, to the dormitory. He’s here now, in the dorm, in the room that’ll be his home in the months to come; and he’s tossing and turning because he can’t find any sleep.

He’s not sure he’ll ever find his way back to the main building for his classes. Sam imagines himself wandering through the dorm but never making it to the door outside, the corridors forming one big labyrinth with himself caught in the middle. He could be haunting this place after he’s starved to death, because he will probably also never find the cafeteria.

When he wandered across campus with the girl by his side, he wondered whether they knew. Could they, the other students, tell that he isn’t quite like them? Did they look at him and see right through him, see that he’s nothing but a fake? That he pretends to be normal, from a normal suburban family with a Golden Retriever, two gold fishes and a cat? That he, in fact, had to work harder than most of them to get here? Would they point at him someday and whisper “That’s him, the one I told you about.”?

He never expected beginning this new life would be quite so hard. He never expected he would feel so out of place.

TimTom next to him is still breathing like he’s about to suffocate. Sam doesn’t care. He shifts and tosses until he’s eventually lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, and staring at the ceiling. The bedcovers and pillow cases scratch a little on his skin because they’re so new. He bought them yesterday. How he’ll ever be able to fall asleep is beyond him, he’s used to sleeping in whatever bedcovers the motels offer, he’s never actually slept in his own. At home, wherever that is right now, he usually shares them with John and Dean. The pillow cases and bedcovers are not actually his but family property. Right now, Sam wishes he had taken a pair of those bedcovers with him. It’d be like a piece of home.

Yesterday he left home. Left his Dad and Dean, they were home. It’s not that long ago yet already far away, like a childhood dream.

Angers piles up when Sam remembers John’s words, uttered in their silly fight. Why will he never understand him? He’s used to John not being understanding but demanding, he’s a marine and will always be. It’s what he is. It’s what keeps him going. And Sam’s just as stubborn as his father, a big fight was inevitable and Sam had been mentally prepared for it. John’s words had made him angry, they still do, yet they don’t hurt him.

But Dean’s do.

They were words of reproach and accusation, and Sam even thinks he heard a hint of begging in them. Dean was upset, almost furious and he just wouldn’t understand which was a first since until then, Dean had always, always been on his brother’s side. Dean had always protected him, looked out for him and often enough taken his side when Dad and he, Sam, were fighting again. And he’d always understood Sam.

So Sam had assumed Dean would understand why he wanted, no, needed to leave. He’d relied on that, he’d counted on Dean to be on his side, but Dean hadn’t been. It had come as a shock first which had quickly turned into anger. Sam had shouted things at Dean he now regrets and Sam is quite certain he’ll never forget the disappointed, hurt look in Dean’s eyes. Never.

“Why Sam, why do you want to leave?” Dean had asked, and Sam had barked: “Because I’m not going to fuckin’ waste my life like you!”

They were the last words they exchanged.

Sam sighs and turns around yet again. Voices on the floor, dim and quiet, mingle with the sound of rain pouring against the window. It’s already 3am and he hasn’t had a minute of sleep.

He never thought that something could hurt Dean. It’s like a paradox that just cannot exist. Most of all, he never expected he could hurt Dean. That he could say or do something his older brother might not forgive as easily as he usually does. It frightens Sam a little, to realise what power he holds over Dean. To realise he could break him if he wanted. To realise Dean is not invulnerable.

Thinking back, Sam remembers the day Dean graduated from high school. He was more excited that day than Dean. To think that his brother was free now, free to go wherever he wanted. That the world was now open to him, that he could break his chains and do whatever he wanted. But being Dean, he did none of this. He acknowledged his graduation, seemingly unimpressed, and carried on like he always had. It was only later that Sam accidentally found the shreds of several admission letters from universities and colleges in the dustbin.

It had been beyond Sam that Dean could just throw his future away like that. His motives remained unclear to Sam, and to a certain point they still are. Dean clings to his Dad, he likes to be with his family. But to throw a chance like that away? After all, it’s not like you’re no longer part of a family if you leave it.

Sam grins at the irony of the thought. He’s still a Winchester and always will be, no matter how hard he tries not to.

Even if his Dad doesn’t want him to come back. Even if he hurt his brother so much he doesn’t want to see him anymore. Even if Sam would rather cut his tongue out now than return to them.

Only, that isn’t entirely true. For the first time in as long as he can think back, he’s actually scared of the dark. Scared of what lies ahead. Scared that he must go on through it all by himself, with no backup from Dad or Dean. That if he fails and falls no one will be there to catch him. Part of him wants to just turn and run and go back to his old life. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t unpacked yet, just in case.

He wonders what they’re doing right now, where they are. Have they already moved on and taken on some new job? Are they playing poker again, just for the fun of it, or watching some old war film on the television? Or are they creeping around some haunted house, risking their ass? Suddenly he feels like he should be with them.

“Stupid,” Sam tells himself. “You’re where you always wanted to be. Now shut up and be happy.”

Outside dawn is breaking and dim grey light fills the room. Sam’s never much liked twilight and he still doesn’t. He prefers things to be clear and distinguishable. Maybe because after all those years of hunting he’s learned that you need to see things clearly to survive. Miss a target and you may have forfeited your life.

Birds begin to chirp merrily as Sam turns over yet again. Half past four in the morning. Thankfully classes don’t start until the day after this one, still, he’d really like to get some sleep. There’s a big chance he wouldn’t feel so sick of the insomnia if it was a result of sheer excitement – but of fear? That’s just plainly unacceptable. What if he can’t do it? What if he’s doomed to live the life of his brother and father? What if Dean never talks to him again? The questions keep popping up and spinning in his head until Sam feels dizzy.

Finally he sits up and rubs his back, between his shoulders, with his right hand. He glances over to TomTim and sighs, will he ever come to like this guy? Or will he spend the next years sharing a room with someone he cannot stand?

He bends over, reaching under the bed till his fingers grab the handle of his bag and close around it, then he heaves it onto the bed. He digs into the bag and finds boxers and trousers and shirts and socks and more stuff, but when his fingers find the bottom of the leather bag they meet something else. Sam smiles to himself as he grabs the fleecy bundle and carefully pulls it out.

It’s a little stuffed bobtail. At least that’s what it used to be, but years of children’s nightmares and tears from clearly undeserved penalties (where a five year old Sam couldn’t understand that playing with a lighter was wrong ) have turned it into a grey fleecy something. The eyes are missing and the white spots of the bobtail’s fur are just as grey as the actual grey parts. The fur is sticky from drool and tears and juice.

Once it belonged to Dean, until at the age of seven or eight he gave it to Sam. Sammy thinks he must have been crying that night, he can’t remember why, but he remembers Dean suddenly standing by his bed and putting his dear beloved stuffed bobtail into Sammy’s arms. “There,” he’d said. “I don’t need it no longer, but you can keep it, it’s gonna take care of you; keep away the nightmares. It won’t let anything evil near you.”

Dean doesn’t know Sam’s kept it all these years. Sam never told him and he never will, he really doesn’t need to hear his brother telling him what a wuss he is. It’s been well-hid, between his shirts or jeans, he’s not taken it out since he turned twelve. But tonight Sam does, because he doesn’t mind feeling like a four-year old who knows his father and brother are nearby to protect him for once.

He puts back the bag and carefully envelopes the stuffed animal in a hug, before he lies down again. The fleece ball smells quite peculiar, like old orange juice and coke but Sam doesn’t mind, because it smells like home and family. He closes his eyes and he’s with Dean and John again, and a couple of minutes later he’s dozed off.

Later he will tell himself that he’s glad he got rid of his messed-up family. That Dean’s Daddy’s little soldier who just likes to boss his younger brother around. That Dean’s so much like his father Sam could never get along with him. That every little thing his brother does is annoying and unnerving, and that neither ever understood Sam. That John’s disappointed in his youngest son because he’s sick of the fighting and the crusade. That their father always preferred Dean, that John regards Sam as the black sheep of the family anyway. And he will tell himself these things until he believes them.

Later Sam will convince himself he doesn’t need his family.

-fin-