SPN fic: Handprints 1/1
Title: Handprints
Author: jennytork
Artist: electriclita
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam/Jess
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: It's Christmas, 2004, and Sam stumbles onto a case at Stanford: tiny handprints appearing in the glass at a residence hall that used to be exclusively for women. He falls back on his training both as a hunter and a researcher to find the cause, using Jess as information and listening ear. And all along, he can't help wishing Dean was there.
Notes: Written for the sammybigbang. Art post found here -- go give her some love! It's beautiful!
If it was a Friday night, there was a party somewhere on campus. That was the unwritten law of any college that was as large as Stanford. And now that the calendar said December, the parties had taken on a holiday theme.
Tonight, the first Friday of the month, there was a holiday party at Roble Hall. As his girlfriend Jess had lived at Roble for a semester, Sam Winchester was invited with her. He decided he was, instead, going to stay home and work on his report for Legal History.
At least, that had been the plan until Jess had come home from work and picked up the mail. "Clear your schedule for tomorrow night, hon," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "We've got a party to go to."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Not me, I've got a paper."
"Yes, you! Come on, Sam, we go through this every time a party's scheduled! We were invited and it's free food!"
"Dirty pool," Sam groaned, standing up and hugging her. "Fine, fine. But if my paper's late, I'm blaming you."
She grinned against his lips and whispered, "I'll take that gladly - if it will get you out of this apartment and into the party."
"Dirty pool," he repeated with a chuckle before he lost himself in her kisses.
~*~
Friday night at eight found the couple walking into Roble Hall and greeting everyone as their jackets were hung up, before they made a bee-line to the food tables.
It was terrible manners, Jess knew, but she'd long ago given up on trying to get Sam away from the food first thing. It was as if he'd had a stretch or two in his childhood where food had been scarce and precious, and now he was determined to eat everything he could before he mingled.
She chalked it up as part of her boyfriend's intriguing personality and followed him, chatting pleasantly with friends as she loaded her plate behind his - and if she happened to steal a pig in a blanket or two off his plate, he didn't say anything.
Sam was having a great time chatting with Jess and Luis - and Brady, though his was more of a stoner's mumble and it was almost a relief when he wandered away - and Becky and her brother. This was normal and it felt wonderful to be just another student in just another class.
He stood to refill his plate, kissing Jess as he passed her, and dawdled his way down the tables, taking in everything with silent joy. He reached the end of the table and rounded it, absently glancing up at the glass doors leading out of the hall.
Sam froze, his smile flickering like a badly projected movie.
There were three of them, two at eye level and one over his head. Perfect handprints in the glass.
Sam slowly set his plate on the table and wandered over, careful to seem as if he was idly sauntering. In reality, every nerve was singing, every muscle was tight, and his heart was pounding in his ears to the tune of No-no-no, this is not happening here.
Careful not to touch the glass, he spread one of his hands next to the lowest of the prints. It was barely half the size of his hand.
A child's handprint.
Where there were no children around.
Sam frowned, his brain whirling - fixing on possibilities and discarding them at rapid speed - so lost that when someone touched his shoulder he gasped and literally whirled into a defensive crouch.
Jess raised an eyebrow at his reddening face as he stood up. "O-kay, then. That was not the reaction I was expecting."
"Sorry, Jess. I was just--"
"Lost in your own head. I know the signs by now." She smiled and held out his forgotten plate. "Hungry?"
"Not any more," he admitted, turning without his conscious control back to the doorway.
Now there were five handprints adorning the glass.
Jess followed his gaze, and swallowed. "Oh."
Sam's head snapped around so fast that his hair bounced against his forehead. "'Oh'?" he said softly. "You've seen this before?"
"Never seen it, but I've heard of it. Every Roble resident's heard the story."
"Can I hear it?"
"Sam, it's just a stupid urban legend--" she began, but he raised an eyebrow and eloquently swung a hand toward the door and its small handprints. She sighed. "Okay. But then can we go back to the party and forget about it?"
"Answer me this first," Sam whispered. "Is it dangerous? Have people been hurt?"
"What?" she gasped. "No, nobody's ever been hurt. It's just handprints."
"Then yes," Sam nodded. "Yes, after you tell me the story, we can go back to the party."
"Come on, then." She took his hand and led him through the strange doors, out onto the patio.
Neither of them mentioned that he had not promised to forget about it.
They sat on a bench under the arches on the courtyard, their knees touching and bodies slightly turned toward each other. Jess took one of Sam's hands in both of hers and began: "You know the story of Roble Hall, right?"
Sam shook his head.
"Okay. It was one of the first women's dorms on campus, built in the nineteen-teens or something like that. Well, given the givens, there's women who get pregnant and they lose the babies. Some say that the children never leave Roble Hall, but they don't want to punish anyone. They just want to be acknowledged, known that they were once here."
"They do that by leaving handprints?" At Jess's nod, he asks, "And they've never hurt anyone?"
"Not on purpose, no. There is a tale that one resident was so badly startled she broke her ankle trying to get away and the handprints appeared constantly around her window till she was better. Almost like they were apologising." She chuckled. "When they stopped, she said she almost missed them."
Sam nodded thoughtfully, and Jess jostled his arm. "Curiosity satisfied?" she asked. "Can we go back in now? I'm gettin' cold, here."
He smiled and helped her to her feet, hugging her for warmth as they walked back into the hall. Sam allowed himself to be drawn back into the party, and the warmth of his friends.
But he kept stealing glances at the doors all night. The handprints stopped appearing at seven, and as the minutes ticked by, they faded away one by one until the door was just a blank sheet of glass again.
They did not reappear.
By the time they headed home, Jess was slightly tipsy and feeling very content to be with her boyfriend.
Sam was stone-cold sober and feeling a little bit unsettled. It seemed no matter where he went, he couldn't escape ghosts and urban legends that turned out to be all too true.
There were times he truly felt cursed.
~*~
Sam went to his classes for the last few weeks before Christmas break. He went to a few more parties. He went on a date or two with Jess. He tried to keep everything as normal as he could.
But he would lay awake at night with the image of those handprints at Roble Hall embedding themselves into his mental vision.
With nobody being hurt - on purpose - even in story, he knew he had some time. This wasn't life or death, this was just .... just...
Sam couldn't really put into words what it was. He simply knew he couldn't let it go.
Jess packed for them to go to her parents' house for Christmas break, and Sam asked if he couldn't stay on campus this time. After a discussion threatened to become a rare argument, Jess got on the phone to her family and a compromise was reached.
So long as they were at the Moore home for Christmas Eve through the 26th, the rest of the holiday was theirs.
Sam left the packing to her and retreated to the library the last day it was open before break. He was there till it closed and his growling stomach reminded him he had forgotten to eat. Jess picked him up and took him out for Chinese food, and asked him what he had been doing in the library for hours and hours on end.
"I was looking over the history of Roble Hall," Sam admitted in between bites of egg roll.
Jess froze and slowly put her chopsticks down. "It's only a legend, Sam."
"Sometimes legends have a kernel of truth," he replied. "There was a legend that the first emporer of China was seeking immortality, and they found an entire army of terra-cotta warriors near his tomb, guarding him for eternity. The legend of Santa Claus was inspired by a real bishop named Nicholas from Turkey. There was a legend that the dogwood was used to make the cross of Christ, based on the fact that the edges of the petals are tinged rust-red like blood. There was a legend that--"
Chuckling, Jess held up her hand. "I concede the point, Mister Lawyer! No need to cite me chapter and verse and case number!"
Sam blinked, then shook his head as he laughed. "Yeah, sorry. Guess I kind'a slipped into lecture mode there."
"Kind of?" Jess laughed softly. "I'm almost afraid to ask if you found anything, cause you might go back into lecture mode!"
"I'll do my best," he said, grinning.
They made a few more inroads into the buffet, chatting about anything and everything, before Jess asked, "So....Roble Hall."
"Right," Sam nodded. "Well, I found out that it's the oldest dorm on campus still being used as a dorm - built in 1917 as a woman's residence hall."
She grinned. "I knew it was a teen-built building. Just couldn't remember the exact year."
Sam grinned and went on, "It went co-ed in the late sixties and was renovated before the 1989 earthquake. It's also the second hall to carry the name Roble."
Jess raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? I didn't know that detail - what happened to the first Roble Hall?"
"Well, it was built crazily fast in the 1890s to house the first women to attend Stanford. After it survived the 1906 earthquake--"
"-I'm seeing a pattern here," Jess grinned.
Sam grinned in return. "What do you expect, we live in California...." She laughed and when she calmed, he finished, "That Roble Hall was renamed Sequoia Hall and used as a men's dorm till the fifties - and why are you shaking your head?"
"Because Sequoia Hall is the Stats Department. It was never a dorm!"
"Right, that Sequoia Hall never was. But it was built next to the first Sequoia Hall - which was also the first Roble Hall - which was torn down in the nineties."
Jess sighed and took out her wallet. "You are scary smart sometimes, Sam." She kissed him lightly and went to settle the bill.
Sam smiled as he watched her walk. He had distinctly heard pride in her voice, and that made him very proud.
He hadn't told her the best part, though - and wasn't sure he would.
He had found out part of the story behind the urban legend. Now he had to put the pieces together, go over his notes and find out exactly what he was dealing with.
For perhaps the fiftieth time since he left his family, Sam wished that Dean was beside him, dealing with this sudden weird twist Stanford had thrown at him.
Before that thought could take hold enough to make his heart hurt, Jess was back. "Hey," she said, sliding her arm around his shoulders. "You look like you swallowed a lemon, seeds and all."
Sam sighed and mustered a smile. "Thanks for listening. I know I've been slightly obsessed with Roble since the party--"
"No, Sam. This was a little bit more than slightly obsessed. But have you got all that you need to ease that? Do you know what you set out to learn?"
"No. But I'm very close."
Her arm tightened. "Close enough to take a Christmas break?"
Sam stood and took her in his arms. "Close enough to take a Christmas break," he confirmed.
"Good. I was thinking I'd have to hide your notes."
"Jess!" he laughed as they left the restaurant.
~*~
Christmas at the Winchester household had been a time of scattered makeshift or homemade decorations that lasted one year only. They never had a tree, but sometimes had wreaths if Dad could remember - one memorable year they had one made from beer cans. Presents had been whatever they could scrape together, sporadic and far between. One very memorable year, Dean had stolen presents that turned out to be for a girl, and Sam had made him take them back.
The worst part, though, had been Dad. It was a crap shoot if he would even be home or, if he was there, if he would be sober.
Christmas at the Moore household startled Sam in its contrast. The only thing his brain could come up with for a few seconds after he walked into the large house was a mental snark in what sounded suspiciously like Dean's voice, wondering if a Christmas store had thrown up all over the house.
Greenery and poinsettas were everywhere - all fake, since Jess's mother was allergic - and fully a quarter of the living room was taken up with a gigantic artificial tree adorned with garlands and tinsel and homemade and storebought ornaments. Cards were taped to the walls and a cardboard Santa and reindeer were taking off from the picture window in the living room. It looked almost as if Santa was going to hit the tree.
In the dining room was an old-time pedal organ with Christmas music on the stand. Beside it was a tall table that housed a handpainted porcelain Nativity scene, flanked on either side by artificial candles made out of beads. Beside that was a lower, longer table on which rested a Victorian style Christmas village, complete with tiny carolers, also made from handpainted porcelain.
Jess noticed Sam's dropped jaw as he stared at those, and smiled. "Yeah, my grandmother had a friend who did those for us. They're heirlooms now and we love them."
Mister Moore chuckled as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. "I take it your family wasn't big on the fripperies of Christmas?"
"No, sir," Sam smiled. "My dad had a job that took us all around, so we never really settled long enough to go all out like this."
Mister Moore shook his head. "I hear that. I'd be happy to scale it back, myself, but the missus - it's the one time of year that she turns into Martha Stewart. She loves it, and I'm at least grateful that she hasn't gone to extremes on the lights. At least she confines them to the tree and the bannister garland instead of making our house blinding to the rest of the neighbourhood and driving our electric bill to the stratosphere."
Sam couldn't help the chuckle, and Jess's father smiled. "Anyway, come on, let's get you fed! You're too skinny! Jess, what are they feeding you at that college? This boy's skin and bones!"
Rolling his eyes, Sam let himself be pulled into the chaos of the Moore's Christmas.
But after the meal was consumed and put away, Sam found himself on the porch, turning his phone over and over in his hands. He felt almost compelled to call Dean, to wish him a merry Christmas. He opened and closed it twice, then put it in his pocket sharply as he turned to face the door opening behind him. "Hey."
"Hey," Jess said as she closed the door behind her and walked out. She kissed him and then nodded toward the phone in his hand. "So how is he?"
"Who?"
"Your brother, silly. Didn't you come out here and call him?"
Sam sighed deeply and turned his phone over again. "......I'm still trying to work up the nerve."
"Sam." She cupped her hand over his. "I don't know what happened - why you don't talk - and I'm not asking you to forgive him or him to forgive you. I'm just saying it's Christmas. That's all."
He studied her face and smiled, kissing her forehead. "What would I do without you?"
"Crash and burn," she grinned, hugging him tight. "Call. Even if it's just to leave a message - at least call." At his nod, she pulled away and kissed him lightly. "See you inside."
"See you inside," he echoed, watching her go. He sighed, looking down at the phone again. He turned it end over end a couple more times, then he swiftly dialed Dean's number and held the phone to his ear.
It rang three times, then picked up. "Hello, you have reached my answering machine. If this is you-know-who, let me know you're okay. If this is in regard to 11-2-83, leave a number."
Sam smiled. "Hey, this is you-know-who. I'm okay. Thinking about you a little more than usual. Must be the holiday. Have a good one, stay safe." He hung up quickly and pocketed the phone.
Sam looked at the stars for a long moment more before he turned to the house - just as his phone roared to life, vibrating in his pocket like it was trying to shake it off his jeans. Surprised, Sam pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. "....no way....." He answered it. "Dean?"
"Merry Christmas, bitch," the rough voice held a smile. "So what's up?"
"Just called to wish my jerk of a brother a good holiday," Sam smiled right back. "Am I not allowed to do that?"
"You're such a girl. Got any plans?"
"Nah, just -- you know - hangin' around campus. Doing research and papers. Typical college stuff." Chasing ghosts. Again.
"We're in Sacramento. Could slide down one day while Dad's doing his own research and go for a drink."
Sam grinned. "No, but thanks for the offer. Just wanted you to know I'm doin' okay." And back in the business and could use your insight.
"Okay, what aren't you tellin' me?"
"See you later, Dean." Sam hung up, knowing if he held on the line one more minute, he'd be spilling it all. And he couldn't. He just couldn't.
Dean would tease him mercilessly if he knew he'd been sucked back into the life. Even on such a small scale. No, best to let him think Sam was living the college joe life, uncomplicated by the supernatural.
Sam heaved a deep sigh and walked back into the house, where Jess met him and smiled into his eyes. "So? How'd it go?"
"He's good. We're good," Sam smiled, kissing her forehead. "Jess, would you mind driving me home tomorrow after lunch? I just need to be alone for a day or two."
She tilted her head. "This isn't about Roble Hall, is it?"
Sam took a deep breath and lied through his teeth. "Nope. This is me needing to recover from all the stress that obsession put on me."
Jess nodded, patting his chest. "I can see that. You have been kind'a crazy about it. Okay, but not till after lunch." She kissed him and went to track down her father and tell him about the change in plans.
Sam sighed deeply, running a hand across his forehead. Suddenly he felt very, very tired.
~*~
Once Jess drove away the next afternoon, Sam locked the door and set to work. He cleared a section of his desk and sat down, writing out on sticky notes what he knew about the ghosts of Roble Hall.
The ghosts manifested almost exclusively as handprints on glass. There were never more than seven, and they were all tiny. As if they were children. Roble Hall had been created as a women's dormitory and the story went that these were the spirits of the unborn children that the women living there had lost.
Sam had found the origin of the story and the first date of the handprints appearing. The original Roble Hall, as he had told Jess, had been built in haste to house female students. The handprints had begun to appear after the 1906 earthquake that had rattled the area and decimated San Francisco.
Many, many people had died in that earthquake. A great many of those had been children.
The overall feeling that Sam had gotten from seeing the handprints seemed to be the same as that he had found from others who saw the handprints. There was nothing malicious there. Nothing angry or bitter. There was a sense of loneliness and just wanting to be seen, and delight over having been noticed.
And except for that one girl Jess had mentioned - who Sam had tracked down and found that she had lived in Roble Hall in the forties - nobody had ever been hurt or threatened. In her case, she had been so badly startled she had stumbled and fallen, landing on her ankle and fracturing it. Now, she remembered the handprints with fondness, stating that they seemed to be very attentive and apologetic.
Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, studying his notes. His father would go into Roble Hall with a banishing spell of some kind, guns metaphorically blazing. Because these were supernatural occurrences, and that meant that they were automatically evil.
Sam.... Well, Sam wasn't so sure that was the best approach, in this case.
When he went to bed that night, he still wasn't sure what the best approach was. He was hoping he would be able to figure it out before Jess came back to pick him up for New Year's Eve.
~*~
Looking back on it, Sam really shouldn't have been surprised to have been woken up at nine AM the day after Christmas by the covers being pulled off and being shoved off the bed. He shouldn't have been surprised to look up over the side of the bed and see his big brother sitting on the other side of the bed smirking at him.
After the way he'd ended that phone call, he really should have known that would have been enough to trip Dean's persistent 'something's up with Sammy' meter to the point where he'd have to come check it out in person. Sam really shouldn't have been surprised.
But his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders yet, so the first words out of his mouth were predictable. "......what are you doing here?"
"Hit the shower, Stinky," was Dean's reply. "We're going out for breakfast." Sam opened his mouth and Dean held up a hand. "Seriously. Go. You smell like a Christmas kitchen puked all over you."
"I knew you'd say that," Sam growled as he got his feet and wove his way into the shower. "That's just so... so you."
Dean's reply was a blast of laughter that made Sam smile brightly despite himself.
Sam came out of the shower to find an outfit - down to the underwear - laid out on the bed and the warm smell of coffee brewing wafting from his kitchen. He dressed quickly and came into the kitchen, almost colliding with the mug of coffee Dean held out to him. He took it and drank deeply. "So...." he began once he felt the soothing burn of the caffeine lighting up his brain and waking him up enough to reconnect with reality.
"So do you want to hit a diner or order in?" Dean asked. "Up to you. We're going to talk, either way."
Sam looked at Dean as if he'd suddenly sprouted a tail or begun speaking in tongues. "You? Talk?"
"Nope," Dean shot back. "You. Talk. Namely, what that phone call was all about night before last."
Sighing, Sam lost himself in the coffee for a second, then he frowned as he looked back up. "Wait, where's Dad?"
"On his way to Oregon. He thinks I'm headed to Texas to visit with Caleb after he finishes up a job."
Sam hook his head. "You lied to Dad?"
"Nope. I am headed to Texas. Just decided to take a little detour on the way. So.... that phone call...."
"It was Christmas Eve, man. I was just... missin' you, that's all."
Dean smiled and said, "Just order the food, bitch."
"Jerk," was Sam's automatic reply even as he reached for the phone.
When the food arrived, they ate in companionable silence. Then Dean drifted over to Sam's desk. ".......you're on a hunt?"
"Didn't go looking for one. It showed up at a party and my head wouldn't let it go."
Dean hummed as he sat down, studying the notes. Sam returned to the chair, watching him. When Dean started jotting down notes, he raised an eyebrow. The only time Sam stopped him was when he picked up a book and opened it. "That's not relevant to the case."
"Then what's it doing on your desk?"
"It's for my class, Dean. Legal history."
Dean flipped through it anyway - just to be annoying, Sam figured - before setting it aside. "Anyway, good job, Sammy. These things seem to be benign."
Sam felt air go out of him in a slow exhale. "Does that mean we don't have to stop them?"
"They ain't done anything, yet," Dean pointed out. "The one recorded case seems to have been a legitimate accident. What's your gut tellin' you?"
"That they're harmless and to leave them alone," Sam said without hesitation. "But my training...."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dean sighed. "They're supernatural, and that means they're something we have to take care of."
Sam's shoulders slumped. "....yeah."
"So." Dean stood up. "Let's go take care of it."
"Dean, we don't know who any of them are, where they're buried---"
"There are other ways to take care of spirits if you want to warn them off, not destroy them. Remember?"
"Vaguely," Sam chuckled. "Dad wasn't too big on warning off."
Dean broke into a shared grin. "Dad's not here."
"What did you have in mind?"
"We've got time to figure that out. We can't do anything till dark and it's only eleven in the morning." His grin grew and he clapped his hands, rubbing the palms together. "So? Give me the grand tour." At Sam's confused expression, he said, "Come on, Sammy! I wanna see this place! Show me where you go to class, where you pick up girls, where the frat parties are held, that sort of thing!"
"Jerk," Sam growled as he stood up. "Just for that, I ought to lock you in the closet." Dean started to laugh, and Sam couldn't help but grin in reply.
He might always be angry with his father for the way their last fight went - but he had truly missed his brother. He hadn't known how much until Dean was suddenly with him again.
~*~
Sam took Dean all around Stanford. There was something about rolling through those familiar streets in a car so familiar it could only be called "home" - Sam had doubts that English had the vocabulary to describe that feeling.
But when he mentioned it like that to Dean, his older brother suggested buying him some porn to get the flowery descriptions out of his head. Sam recognised it for the tease it was, but still glared at him on principle.
Lunch was from a fast-food drive through, and they parked in front of Roble Hall to eat. "That's her?" Dean asked.
"That's her, yeah," Sam nodded. "Roble Hall."
"So any ideas?" When Sam shook his head, Dean grinned. "Think I might have one."
"Lay it on me."
"We know that spirits follow a rigid set of rules, right?" Sam nodded and Dean went on, "And these - seven, you said? -- these seven kids seem locked into manifesting as handprints. They don't seem to be able to harm anybody themselves, just show up."
"So?"
"So, Mister Lawyer, see if you can find a way to lock them further into that."
Sam finished his meal and sat, looking at Roble Hall, while Dean ate. If someone didn't know him well, they would have thought Sam was zoned out. But Dean knew that his brother's quick mind was forming and discarding plans.
And Dean caught the exact instant when Sam locked onto one. He watched his little brother's lips tug upward and he began to load the meal's debris back into a bag. "Come on," Sam said. "We need some supplies."
Dean grinned in return and started the Impala, backing smoothly out of the lot and letting his brother navigate.
~*~
At exactly midnight, two tall figures slid into the basement of Roble Hall and set up flashlights so they could see what they were doing. Sam and Dean looked at each other, and Dean nodded. "Go for it."
Sam nodded. "Hello!" he called. "I saw you at the party and I know what you are. My brother and I, we hunt spirits." They felt the temperature start to fall.
"But!" Sam went on. "We want you to know that we know that you are harmless! We know that you are young and only cause your handprints! We know that you just want someone to see you! We see you and we make you this deal!"
Dean crouched by the wall, using his knife to prise the lid off of a small can of paint while Sam finished, "My brother and I agree to leave you alone, to spread the word for others of our kind to leave you alone! And in return, you agree to never harm a living soul on purpose! If you agree, we ask you to leave your mark beside ours!"
Dean put his left hand into the paint and pressed it into the wall. When he pulled away, his handprint remained. Sam walked over and did the same, his slightly longer-fingered left hand below his brothers.
They stepped away from the wall and cleaned off their hands - and waited.
After a few moments, a tiny right handprint formed beside theirs, in the same colour paint as they had used. Moments later, a second formed. Then a third.
When all seven handprints rested there, Sam stepped forward again. "Thank you!" he called. "We will hold you to this. Good night!"
They left the paint can where it was, figuring the nine handprints had pretty well drained it. They also knew that one or the other of the spirits would make sure the prints would reappear no matter how many times they were painted over, to show the agreement was binding. That was just the way they had learned spirits operated.
Neither brother noticed the eighth right handprint that formed under the seven in the darkness - the larger print of an adult.
~*~
Sam wasn't surprised when Dean was gone the next morning. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. His brother had an appointment to meet Caleb in Texas, after all.
At least this time there hadn't been the awful arguing that had impacted the last time they were face to face. They seemed to get along much better without Sam fighting with their father and Dean forced into the middle.
Dean even called Sam once he stopped for the night in New Mexico, letting him know he was safe. They didn't know when they would talk again, but Sam felt lighter than he had in months.
He called Jess to come pick him up - said that the Roble Hall obsession was well and truly over now. He'd fully satisfied his curiosity.
She came and got him, and they spent a wonderful New Year's eve and day together. They began the next semester with nothing but the usual stresses of college on their minds.
Sam was convinced that it had been an aberration, that 2005 would bring nothing from his old life back into the normalcy that he was building with Jess. His and Dean's phone calls grew farther and farther apart.
And then Dean broke into his apartment the Friday before his Law School interview with the news that their father had gone missing.
END
Author: jennytork
Artist: electriclita
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam/Jess
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: It's Christmas, 2004, and Sam stumbles onto a case at Stanford: tiny handprints appearing in the glass at a residence hall that used to be exclusively for women. He falls back on his training both as a hunter and a researcher to find the cause, using Jess as information and listening ear. And all along, he can't help wishing Dean was there.
Notes: Written for the sammybigbang. Art post found here -- go give her some love! It's beautiful!
If it was a Friday night, there was a party somewhere on campus. That was the unwritten law of any college that was as large as Stanford. And now that the calendar said December, the parties had taken on a holiday theme.
Tonight, the first Friday of the month, there was a holiday party at Roble Hall. As his girlfriend Jess had lived at Roble for a semester, Sam Winchester was invited with her. He decided he was, instead, going to stay home and work on his report for Legal History.
At least, that had been the plan until Jess had come home from work and picked up the mail. "Clear your schedule for tomorrow night, hon," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "We've got a party to go to."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Not me, I've got a paper."
"Yes, you! Come on, Sam, we go through this every time a party's scheduled! We were invited and it's free food!"
"Dirty pool," Sam groaned, standing up and hugging her. "Fine, fine. But if my paper's late, I'm blaming you."
She grinned against his lips and whispered, "I'll take that gladly - if it will get you out of this apartment and into the party."
"Dirty pool," he repeated with a chuckle before he lost himself in her kisses.
~*~
Friday night at eight found the couple walking into Roble Hall and greeting everyone as their jackets were hung up, before they made a bee-line to the food tables.
It was terrible manners, Jess knew, but she'd long ago given up on trying to get Sam away from the food first thing. It was as if he'd had a stretch or two in his childhood where food had been scarce and precious, and now he was determined to eat everything he could before he mingled.
She chalked it up as part of her boyfriend's intriguing personality and followed him, chatting pleasantly with friends as she loaded her plate behind his - and if she happened to steal a pig in a blanket or two off his plate, he didn't say anything.
Sam was having a great time chatting with Jess and Luis - and Brady, though his was more of a stoner's mumble and it was almost a relief when he wandered away - and Becky and her brother. This was normal and it felt wonderful to be just another student in just another class.
He stood to refill his plate, kissing Jess as he passed her, and dawdled his way down the tables, taking in everything with silent joy. He reached the end of the table and rounded it, absently glancing up at the glass doors leading out of the hall.
Sam froze, his smile flickering like a badly projected movie.
There were three of them, two at eye level and one over his head. Perfect handprints in the glass.
Sam slowly set his plate on the table and wandered over, careful to seem as if he was idly sauntering. In reality, every nerve was singing, every muscle was tight, and his heart was pounding in his ears to the tune of No-no-no, this is not happening here.
Careful not to touch the glass, he spread one of his hands next to the lowest of the prints. It was barely half the size of his hand.
A child's handprint.
Where there were no children around.
Sam frowned, his brain whirling - fixing on possibilities and discarding them at rapid speed - so lost that when someone touched his shoulder he gasped and literally whirled into a defensive crouch.
Jess raised an eyebrow at his reddening face as he stood up. "O-kay, then. That was not the reaction I was expecting."
"Sorry, Jess. I was just--"
"Lost in your own head. I know the signs by now." She smiled and held out his forgotten plate. "Hungry?"
"Not any more," he admitted, turning without his conscious control back to the doorway.
Now there were five handprints adorning the glass.
Jess followed his gaze, and swallowed. "Oh."
Sam's head snapped around so fast that his hair bounced against his forehead. "'Oh'?" he said softly. "You've seen this before?"
"Never seen it, but I've heard of it. Every Roble resident's heard the story."
"Can I hear it?"
"Sam, it's just a stupid urban legend--" she began, but he raised an eyebrow and eloquently swung a hand toward the door and its small handprints. She sighed. "Okay. But then can we go back to the party and forget about it?"
"Answer me this first," Sam whispered. "Is it dangerous? Have people been hurt?"
"What?" she gasped. "No, nobody's ever been hurt. It's just handprints."
"Then yes," Sam nodded. "Yes, after you tell me the story, we can go back to the party."
"Come on, then." She took his hand and led him through the strange doors, out onto the patio.
Neither of them mentioned that he had not promised to forget about it.
They sat on a bench under the arches on the courtyard, their knees touching and bodies slightly turned toward each other. Jess took one of Sam's hands in both of hers and began: "You know the story of Roble Hall, right?"
Sam shook his head.
"Okay. It was one of the first women's dorms on campus, built in the nineteen-teens or something like that. Well, given the givens, there's women who get pregnant and they lose the babies. Some say that the children never leave Roble Hall, but they don't want to punish anyone. They just want to be acknowledged, known that they were once here."
"They do that by leaving handprints?" At Jess's nod, he asks, "And they've never hurt anyone?"
"Not on purpose, no. There is a tale that one resident was so badly startled she broke her ankle trying to get away and the handprints appeared constantly around her window till she was better. Almost like they were apologising." She chuckled. "When they stopped, she said she almost missed them."
Sam nodded thoughtfully, and Jess jostled his arm. "Curiosity satisfied?" she asked. "Can we go back in now? I'm gettin' cold, here."
He smiled and helped her to her feet, hugging her for warmth as they walked back into the hall. Sam allowed himself to be drawn back into the party, and the warmth of his friends.
But he kept stealing glances at the doors all night. The handprints stopped appearing at seven, and as the minutes ticked by, they faded away one by one until the door was just a blank sheet of glass again.
They did not reappear.
By the time they headed home, Jess was slightly tipsy and feeling very content to be with her boyfriend.
Sam was stone-cold sober and feeling a little bit unsettled. It seemed no matter where he went, he couldn't escape ghosts and urban legends that turned out to be all too true.
There were times he truly felt cursed.
~*~
Sam went to his classes for the last few weeks before Christmas break. He went to a few more parties. He went on a date or two with Jess. He tried to keep everything as normal as he could.
But he would lay awake at night with the image of those handprints at Roble Hall embedding themselves into his mental vision.
With nobody being hurt - on purpose - even in story, he knew he had some time. This wasn't life or death, this was just .... just...
Sam couldn't really put into words what it was. He simply knew he couldn't let it go.
Jess packed for them to go to her parents' house for Christmas break, and Sam asked if he couldn't stay on campus this time. After a discussion threatened to become a rare argument, Jess got on the phone to her family and a compromise was reached.
So long as they were at the Moore home for Christmas Eve through the 26th, the rest of the holiday was theirs.
Sam left the packing to her and retreated to the library the last day it was open before break. He was there till it closed and his growling stomach reminded him he had forgotten to eat. Jess picked him up and took him out for Chinese food, and asked him what he had been doing in the library for hours and hours on end.
"I was looking over the history of Roble Hall," Sam admitted in between bites of egg roll.
Jess froze and slowly put her chopsticks down. "It's only a legend, Sam."
"Sometimes legends have a kernel of truth," he replied. "There was a legend that the first emporer of China was seeking immortality, and they found an entire army of terra-cotta warriors near his tomb, guarding him for eternity. The legend of Santa Claus was inspired by a real bishop named Nicholas from Turkey. There was a legend that the dogwood was used to make the cross of Christ, based on the fact that the edges of the petals are tinged rust-red like blood. There was a legend that--"
Chuckling, Jess held up her hand. "I concede the point, Mister Lawyer! No need to cite me chapter and verse and case number!"
Sam blinked, then shook his head as he laughed. "Yeah, sorry. Guess I kind'a slipped into lecture mode there."
"Kind of?" Jess laughed softly. "I'm almost afraid to ask if you found anything, cause you might go back into lecture mode!"
"I'll do my best," he said, grinning.
They made a few more inroads into the buffet, chatting about anything and everything, before Jess asked, "So....Roble Hall."
"Right," Sam nodded. "Well, I found out that it's the oldest dorm on campus still being used as a dorm - built in 1917 as a woman's residence hall."
She grinned. "I knew it was a teen-built building. Just couldn't remember the exact year."
Sam grinned and went on, "It went co-ed in the late sixties and was renovated before the 1989 earthquake. It's also the second hall to carry the name Roble."
Jess raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? I didn't know that detail - what happened to the first Roble Hall?"
"Well, it was built crazily fast in the 1890s to house the first women to attend Stanford. After it survived the 1906 earthquake--"
"-I'm seeing a pattern here," Jess grinned.
Sam grinned in return. "What do you expect, we live in California...." She laughed and when she calmed, he finished, "That Roble Hall was renamed Sequoia Hall and used as a men's dorm till the fifties - and why are you shaking your head?"
"Because Sequoia Hall is the Stats Department. It was never a dorm!"
"Right, that Sequoia Hall never was. But it was built next to the first Sequoia Hall - which was also the first Roble Hall - which was torn down in the nineties."
Jess sighed and took out her wallet. "You are scary smart sometimes, Sam." She kissed him lightly and went to settle the bill.
Sam smiled as he watched her walk. He had distinctly heard pride in her voice, and that made him very proud.
He hadn't told her the best part, though - and wasn't sure he would.
He had found out part of the story behind the urban legend. Now he had to put the pieces together, go over his notes and find out exactly what he was dealing with.
For perhaps the fiftieth time since he left his family, Sam wished that Dean was beside him, dealing with this sudden weird twist Stanford had thrown at him.
Before that thought could take hold enough to make his heart hurt, Jess was back. "Hey," she said, sliding her arm around his shoulders. "You look like you swallowed a lemon, seeds and all."
Sam sighed and mustered a smile. "Thanks for listening. I know I've been slightly obsessed with Roble since the party--"
"No, Sam. This was a little bit more than slightly obsessed. But have you got all that you need to ease that? Do you know what you set out to learn?"
"No. But I'm very close."
Her arm tightened. "Close enough to take a Christmas break?"
Sam stood and took her in his arms. "Close enough to take a Christmas break," he confirmed.
"Good. I was thinking I'd have to hide your notes."
"Jess!" he laughed as they left the restaurant.
~*~
Christmas at the Winchester household had been a time of scattered makeshift or homemade decorations that lasted one year only. They never had a tree, but sometimes had wreaths if Dad could remember - one memorable year they had one made from beer cans. Presents had been whatever they could scrape together, sporadic and far between. One very memorable year, Dean had stolen presents that turned out to be for a girl, and Sam had made him take them back.
The worst part, though, had been Dad. It was a crap shoot if he would even be home or, if he was there, if he would be sober.
Christmas at the Moore household startled Sam in its contrast. The only thing his brain could come up with for a few seconds after he walked into the large house was a mental snark in what sounded suspiciously like Dean's voice, wondering if a Christmas store had thrown up all over the house.
Greenery and poinsettas were everywhere - all fake, since Jess's mother was allergic - and fully a quarter of the living room was taken up with a gigantic artificial tree adorned with garlands and tinsel and homemade and storebought ornaments. Cards were taped to the walls and a cardboard Santa and reindeer were taking off from the picture window in the living room. It looked almost as if Santa was going to hit the tree.
In the dining room was an old-time pedal organ with Christmas music on the stand. Beside it was a tall table that housed a handpainted porcelain Nativity scene, flanked on either side by artificial candles made out of beads. Beside that was a lower, longer table on which rested a Victorian style Christmas village, complete with tiny carolers, also made from handpainted porcelain.
Jess noticed Sam's dropped jaw as he stared at those, and smiled. "Yeah, my grandmother had a friend who did those for us. They're heirlooms now and we love them."
Mister Moore chuckled as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. "I take it your family wasn't big on the fripperies of Christmas?"
"No, sir," Sam smiled. "My dad had a job that took us all around, so we never really settled long enough to go all out like this."
Mister Moore shook his head. "I hear that. I'd be happy to scale it back, myself, but the missus - it's the one time of year that she turns into Martha Stewart. She loves it, and I'm at least grateful that she hasn't gone to extremes on the lights. At least she confines them to the tree and the bannister garland instead of making our house blinding to the rest of the neighbourhood and driving our electric bill to the stratosphere."
Sam couldn't help the chuckle, and Jess's father smiled. "Anyway, come on, let's get you fed! You're too skinny! Jess, what are they feeding you at that college? This boy's skin and bones!"
Rolling his eyes, Sam let himself be pulled into the chaos of the Moore's Christmas.
But after the meal was consumed and put away, Sam found himself on the porch, turning his phone over and over in his hands. He felt almost compelled to call Dean, to wish him a merry Christmas. He opened and closed it twice, then put it in his pocket sharply as he turned to face the door opening behind him. "Hey."
"Hey," Jess said as she closed the door behind her and walked out. She kissed him and then nodded toward the phone in his hand. "So how is he?"
"Who?"
"Your brother, silly. Didn't you come out here and call him?"
Sam sighed deeply and turned his phone over again. "......I'm still trying to work up the nerve."
"Sam." She cupped her hand over his. "I don't know what happened - why you don't talk - and I'm not asking you to forgive him or him to forgive you. I'm just saying it's Christmas. That's all."
He studied her face and smiled, kissing her forehead. "What would I do without you?"
"Crash and burn," she grinned, hugging him tight. "Call. Even if it's just to leave a message - at least call." At his nod, she pulled away and kissed him lightly. "See you inside."
"See you inside," he echoed, watching her go. He sighed, looking down at the phone again. He turned it end over end a couple more times, then he swiftly dialed Dean's number and held the phone to his ear.
It rang three times, then picked up. "Hello, you have reached my answering machine. If this is you-know-who, let me know you're okay. If this is in regard to 11-2-83, leave a number."
Sam smiled. "Hey, this is you-know-who. I'm okay. Thinking about you a little more than usual. Must be the holiday. Have a good one, stay safe." He hung up quickly and pocketed the phone.
Sam looked at the stars for a long moment more before he turned to the house - just as his phone roared to life, vibrating in his pocket like it was trying to shake it off his jeans. Surprised, Sam pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. "....no way....." He answered it. "Dean?"
"Merry Christmas, bitch," the rough voice held a smile. "So what's up?"
"Just called to wish my jerk of a brother a good holiday," Sam smiled right back. "Am I not allowed to do that?"
"You're such a girl. Got any plans?"
"Nah, just -- you know - hangin' around campus. Doing research and papers. Typical college stuff." Chasing ghosts. Again.
"We're in Sacramento. Could slide down one day while Dad's doing his own research and go for a drink."
Sam grinned. "No, but thanks for the offer. Just wanted you to know I'm doin' okay." And back in the business and could use your insight.
"Okay, what aren't you tellin' me?"
"See you later, Dean." Sam hung up, knowing if he held on the line one more minute, he'd be spilling it all. And he couldn't. He just couldn't.
Dean would tease him mercilessly if he knew he'd been sucked back into the life. Even on such a small scale. No, best to let him think Sam was living the college joe life, uncomplicated by the supernatural.
Sam heaved a deep sigh and walked back into the house, where Jess met him and smiled into his eyes. "So? How'd it go?"
"He's good. We're good," Sam smiled, kissing her forehead. "Jess, would you mind driving me home tomorrow after lunch? I just need to be alone for a day or two."
She tilted her head. "This isn't about Roble Hall, is it?"
Sam took a deep breath and lied through his teeth. "Nope. This is me needing to recover from all the stress that obsession put on me."
Jess nodded, patting his chest. "I can see that. You have been kind'a crazy about it. Okay, but not till after lunch." She kissed him and went to track down her father and tell him about the change in plans.
Sam sighed deeply, running a hand across his forehead. Suddenly he felt very, very tired.
~*~
Once Jess drove away the next afternoon, Sam locked the door and set to work. He cleared a section of his desk and sat down, writing out on sticky notes what he knew about the ghosts of Roble Hall.
The ghosts manifested almost exclusively as handprints on glass. There were never more than seven, and they were all tiny. As if they were children. Roble Hall had been created as a women's dormitory and the story went that these were the spirits of the unborn children that the women living there had lost.
Sam had found the origin of the story and the first date of the handprints appearing. The original Roble Hall, as he had told Jess, had been built in haste to house female students. The handprints had begun to appear after the 1906 earthquake that had rattled the area and decimated San Francisco.
Many, many people had died in that earthquake. A great many of those had been children.
The overall feeling that Sam had gotten from seeing the handprints seemed to be the same as that he had found from others who saw the handprints. There was nothing malicious there. Nothing angry or bitter. There was a sense of loneliness and just wanting to be seen, and delight over having been noticed.
And except for that one girl Jess had mentioned - who Sam had tracked down and found that she had lived in Roble Hall in the forties - nobody had ever been hurt or threatened. In her case, she had been so badly startled she had stumbled and fallen, landing on her ankle and fracturing it. Now, she remembered the handprints with fondness, stating that they seemed to be very attentive and apologetic.
Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, studying his notes. His father would go into Roble Hall with a banishing spell of some kind, guns metaphorically blazing. Because these were supernatural occurrences, and that meant that they were automatically evil.
Sam.... Well, Sam wasn't so sure that was the best approach, in this case.
When he went to bed that night, he still wasn't sure what the best approach was. He was hoping he would be able to figure it out before Jess came back to pick him up for New Year's Eve.
~*~
Looking back on it, Sam really shouldn't have been surprised to have been woken up at nine AM the day after Christmas by the covers being pulled off and being shoved off the bed. He shouldn't have been surprised to look up over the side of the bed and see his big brother sitting on the other side of the bed smirking at him.
After the way he'd ended that phone call, he really should have known that would have been enough to trip Dean's persistent 'something's up with Sammy' meter to the point where he'd have to come check it out in person. Sam really shouldn't have been surprised.
But his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders yet, so the first words out of his mouth were predictable. "......what are you doing here?"
"Hit the shower, Stinky," was Dean's reply. "We're going out for breakfast." Sam opened his mouth and Dean held up a hand. "Seriously. Go. You smell like a Christmas kitchen puked all over you."
"I knew you'd say that," Sam growled as he got his feet and wove his way into the shower. "That's just so... so you."
Dean's reply was a blast of laughter that made Sam smile brightly despite himself.
Sam came out of the shower to find an outfit - down to the underwear - laid out on the bed and the warm smell of coffee brewing wafting from his kitchen. He dressed quickly and came into the kitchen, almost colliding with the mug of coffee Dean held out to him. He took it and drank deeply. "So...." he began once he felt the soothing burn of the caffeine lighting up his brain and waking him up enough to reconnect with reality.
"So do you want to hit a diner or order in?" Dean asked. "Up to you. We're going to talk, either way."
Sam looked at Dean as if he'd suddenly sprouted a tail or begun speaking in tongues. "You? Talk?"
"Nope," Dean shot back. "You. Talk. Namely, what that phone call was all about night before last."
Sighing, Sam lost himself in the coffee for a second, then he frowned as he looked back up. "Wait, where's Dad?"
"On his way to Oregon. He thinks I'm headed to Texas to visit with Caleb after he finishes up a job."
Sam hook his head. "You lied to Dad?"
"Nope. I am headed to Texas. Just decided to take a little detour on the way. So.... that phone call...."
"It was Christmas Eve, man. I was just... missin' you, that's all."
Dean smiled and said, "Just order the food, bitch."
"Jerk," was Sam's automatic reply even as he reached for the phone.
When the food arrived, they ate in companionable silence. Then Dean drifted over to Sam's desk. ".......you're on a hunt?"
"Didn't go looking for one. It showed up at a party and my head wouldn't let it go."
Dean hummed as he sat down, studying the notes. Sam returned to the chair, watching him. When Dean started jotting down notes, he raised an eyebrow. The only time Sam stopped him was when he picked up a book and opened it. "That's not relevant to the case."
"Then what's it doing on your desk?"
"It's for my class, Dean. Legal history."
Dean flipped through it anyway - just to be annoying, Sam figured - before setting it aside. "Anyway, good job, Sammy. These things seem to be benign."
Sam felt air go out of him in a slow exhale. "Does that mean we don't have to stop them?"
"They ain't done anything, yet," Dean pointed out. "The one recorded case seems to have been a legitimate accident. What's your gut tellin' you?"
"That they're harmless and to leave them alone," Sam said without hesitation. "But my training...."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dean sighed. "They're supernatural, and that means they're something we have to take care of."
Sam's shoulders slumped. "....yeah."
"So." Dean stood up. "Let's go take care of it."
"Dean, we don't know who any of them are, where they're buried---"
"There are other ways to take care of spirits if you want to warn them off, not destroy them. Remember?"
"Vaguely," Sam chuckled. "Dad wasn't too big on warning off."
Dean broke into a shared grin. "Dad's not here."
"What did you have in mind?"
"We've got time to figure that out. We can't do anything till dark and it's only eleven in the morning." His grin grew and he clapped his hands, rubbing the palms together. "So? Give me the grand tour." At Sam's confused expression, he said, "Come on, Sammy! I wanna see this place! Show me where you go to class, where you pick up girls, where the frat parties are held, that sort of thing!"
"Jerk," Sam growled as he stood up. "Just for that, I ought to lock you in the closet." Dean started to laugh, and Sam couldn't help but grin in reply.
He might always be angry with his father for the way their last fight went - but he had truly missed his brother. He hadn't known how much until Dean was suddenly with him again.
~*~
Sam took Dean all around Stanford. There was something about rolling through those familiar streets in a car so familiar it could only be called "home" - Sam had doubts that English had the vocabulary to describe that feeling.
But when he mentioned it like that to Dean, his older brother suggested buying him some porn to get the flowery descriptions out of his head. Sam recognised it for the tease it was, but still glared at him on principle.
Lunch was from a fast-food drive through, and they parked in front of Roble Hall to eat. "That's her?" Dean asked.
"That's her, yeah," Sam nodded. "Roble Hall."
"So any ideas?" When Sam shook his head, Dean grinned. "Think I might have one."
"Lay it on me."
"We know that spirits follow a rigid set of rules, right?" Sam nodded and Dean went on, "And these - seven, you said? -- these seven kids seem locked into manifesting as handprints. They don't seem to be able to harm anybody themselves, just show up."
"So?"
"So, Mister Lawyer, see if you can find a way to lock them further into that."
Sam finished his meal and sat, looking at Roble Hall, while Dean ate. If someone didn't know him well, they would have thought Sam was zoned out. But Dean knew that his brother's quick mind was forming and discarding plans.
And Dean caught the exact instant when Sam locked onto one. He watched his little brother's lips tug upward and he began to load the meal's debris back into a bag. "Come on," Sam said. "We need some supplies."
Dean grinned in return and started the Impala, backing smoothly out of the lot and letting his brother navigate.
~*~
At exactly midnight, two tall figures slid into the basement of Roble Hall and set up flashlights so they could see what they were doing. Sam and Dean looked at each other, and Dean nodded. "Go for it."
Sam nodded. "Hello!" he called. "I saw you at the party and I know what you are. My brother and I, we hunt spirits." They felt the temperature start to fall.
"But!" Sam went on. "We want you to know that we know that you are harmless! We know that you are young and only cause your handprints! We know that you just want someone to see you! We see you and we make you this deal!"
Dean crouched by the wall, using his knife to prise the lid off of a small can of paint while Sam finished, "My brother and I agree to leave you alone, to spread the word for others of our kind to leave you alone! And in return, you agree to never harm a living soul on purpose! If you agree, we ask you to leave your mark beside ours!"
Dean put his left hand into the paint and pressed it into the wall. When he pulled away, his handprint remained. Sam walked over and did the same, his slightly longer-fingered left hand below his brothers.
They stepped away from the wall and cleaned off their hands - and waited.
After a few moments, a tiny right handprint formed beside theirs, in the same colour paint as they had used. Moments later, a second formed. Then a third.
When all seven handprints rested there, Sam stepped forward again. "Thank you!" he called. "We will hold you to this. Good night!"
They left the paint can where it was, figuring the nine handprints had pretty well drained it. They also knew that one or the other of the spirits would make sure the prints would reappear no matter how many times they were painted over, to show the agreement was binding. That was just the way they had learned spirits operated.
Neither brother noticed the eighth right handprint that formed under the seven in the darkness - the larger print of an adult.
~*~
Sam wasn't surprised when Dean was gone the next morning. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. His brother had an appointment to meet Caleb in Texas, after all.
At least this time there hadn't been the awful arguing that had impacted the last time they were face to face. They seemed to get along much better without Sam fighting with their father and Dean forced into the middle.
Dean even called Sam once he stopped for the night in New Mexico, letting him know he was safe. They didn't know when they would talk again, but Sam felt lighter than he had in months.
He called Jess to come pick him up - said that the Roble Hall obsession was well and truly over now. He'd fully satisfied his curiosity.
She came and got him, and they spent a wonderful New Year's eve and day together. They began the next semester with nothing but the usual stresses of college on their minds.
Sam was convinced that it had been an aberration, that 2005 would bring nothing from his old life back into the normalcy that he was building with Jess. His and Dean's phone calls grew farther and farther apart.
And then Dean broke into his apartment the Friday before his Law School interview with the news that their father had gone missing.
END