Fic: Playing the Field (SPN)
Because apparently when I have more work than I know what to do with, that's when the muse refuses to Just. Shut. Up. *g* Still with Supernatural, but this time it's Sam's turn...
Title: Playing the Field
Fandom: Supernatural
Word count: 672 words.
Spoilers: None. This is a pre-series, Sam-at-Stanford ficlet.
Warnings: Implied het, but only in the vaguest of terms. Angst. Feedback is always welcome :-)
Four months on campus and Sam’s methodically working his way through Stanford, and it’s not just the classes. Every woman who glances his way gets the puppy dog eyes - charm turned up to the max, just as Dean taught him. It’s deceived a thousand cops over the years, convinced dozens of fearful, grieving widows and got them past barely-cracked-open doors, but this is the first time Sam’s ever found himself using it to get laid.
His brother would be so proud, if only he were here to see it, and that stray thought, when it hits, is enough to put Sam off his game for a few days, until his new life crowds round him once again, allowing him to put his history - his family - out of his mind.
It’s not like he’d planned this. He’s not like Dean, never will be, and Sam’s never before been the one to find comfort in the arms of a succession of oh-so-willing women. But this is the first time he’s ever been allowed to be normal, just another guy among thousands, with nothing to distinguish him but his height. He’s not the freak or the new kid, no longer defined as Dean’s younger brother, and that precious freedom has opened up possibilities that Sam never imagined could have existed.
He’s careful, of course. That’s another thing that Dean taught him well; that he learned from his brother in lieu of his father, and Sam was always a quick study. Nor does he deceive anyone. The women always know their time together for what it is - a one-night stand - not a declaration of love. Sam has learned the true value of having a good reputation, and Stanford is the one place he never wants to have to run from.
He’s all too well aware of the irony in his behaviour. Sam’s doing exactly what he always sneered at Dean for - whoring around without much thought or care. But coming to Stanford is all about reinventing himself, doing all the things that he could never do under his father’s roof, and this is just about as far away from the old-Sam as he is ever going to get.
Here, everything is different. All he has to worry about are his grades and his classes; keeping enough money in his pocket so that he can eat and buy the books he needs. Finding the cash is surprisingly easy - the scholarship covers most of it, and Winchesters have always been good at making a little go a long way. As a last resort, there’s always a beer and a pool table nearby, complete with a mark that doesn’t realise he’s playing against someone who’s been hustling since before he was big enough to reach the table. The puppy-dog eyes and innocent, boyish expressions have all kinds of uses.
So he plays pool and drinks beer, safe in the knowledge that he can get drunk and have a little fun with as many women as he likes, and apart from the odd hangover he’ll never have any cause to regret it. He’s never again going to come home after a heavy night out to find one of his family bleeding out on the floor. He’ll never have to worry about finding himself too drunk to drive the Impala in an emergency, or not fit to back them up on a hunt when a hunt goes sour.
Finally, after all these years, Sam’s only responsibility is to himself, and there’s a wild freedom in that knowledge that Sam could only ever have dreamed of.
Every companion helps take his mind off the loneliness, somehow making him that little bit closer to his brother, as if he can finally understand in absentia what he could never comprehend when they were together. And if, for just a moment, it distracts him from the knowledge that his family are out there alone, hunting and fighting against increasingly bad odds every single night, then deep down, at least he’s only fooling himself.