FIC: On Taking It Like A Bitch And Ten Other Ways to Say I Love You
No, I don't know why I do these things. But in my defense I wrote most of this while extremely bored at work, so um. It's my work's fault? Yeah.
On Taking It Like A Bitch And Ten Other Ways to Say I Love You
Supernatural/The O.C. STFU, it's awesome.
Dean, Seth/Ryan, Sam, little bit of Sam/Jess
Rating: R-ish
Disclaimer: I don't own them. And yes, the timelines are fucked. Deal with it. Adam Brodie is way too old to play 18. And pretty.
Warnings: Recreational drug use.
1.
Sam still remembers the look on his brother's face the day he left-heartbroken and angry and betrayed all at once, like somehow wanting to have a normal life was the worst kind of sin. Dad yelled, a lot, and that was almost better, preferable, because at least Sam knew where he stood. "If you go, stay gone." Pretty fucking clear, actually, and Sam knows he will never understand his family, his dad. Mom wouldn't have wanted this for him. Mom would've been proud.
But Dean, he just stood there and watched them yell with that look on his face, like Sam had just announced he was going to become a witch and start sacrificing babies and puppies in the name of evil. Sometimes Sam thinks Dean would've preferred that, because at least going evil is just a perversion of being a hunter, but this other thing-this wanting to be normal-is so completely out of Dean's scope that he couldn't even find the words to express himself. Not that he ever could-express himself, that is-but Dean always had something to say, except for the day he left.
And so they didn't say good-bye. Dean stood in the doorway of their motel room and watched him pack. He didn't say a word, but when Sam unpacked his things later, in California, he found a bottle of holy water, a couple stakes, and a short silver knife. Dean's version of 'take care of yourself.'
2.
Sam meets Seth that first day, even though his bus breaks down in New Mexico and he's about twelve hours late for the first day of orientation, but according to his schedule he missed move in day and some sort of welcome dinner thing, so he's not too put out. He doesn't have anything to move in anyway, just his duffels and his books, so when he sneaks into his dorm room after midnight that night, he just sets his shit down by the empty bed. He's slept on bare mattresses too many times to count, and this one's liable to be far cleaner than anything that ever touched Dean's body, and at least he doesn't have to share it.
Then a light flicks on and Sam flinches, automatically reaching for a weapon he doesn't have. "Dude. You're here. That's awesome. I was worried that it was gonna to be one of those things where I didn't have a roommate and then all the other freshmen mock me for my lameness, or else maybe it works the other way, because it seems like-and stop me if I'm wrong here-but it seems like having a room to yourself would be prime opportunity for some major partying. Not that I'm a partier. I mean I enjoy the occasional soiree, don't get me wrong, but parties always seem to end up with someone getting beaten up on the beach, or else shot, or floating in the pool, so you know-"
"I'm Sam," Sam interrupts, but he can feel his lips twitching into a smile. The kid across the room runs his fingers through his hair, which really doesn't help matters because it's already like Harry Potter on crack-and nods sleepily. If this is his roommate just woken up, Sam's not sure he wants to know what the kid is like fully alert.
"I know. I mean, someone put a sign on the door with our names on it. Sam Winchester, like the rifle. Guns are so of the past though, you know? I mean, you don't see Wolverine pulling out an Uzi, am I right? Oooh, you're not like, from one of those rural towns in Washington state where owning fewer than five firearms, while not exactly illegal, gets you shunned from like, all the barn raisings and hoe downs, are you?"
"No?" Sam says helplessly. "I mean I-well the thing is-never mind. What's your name?"
"Oh right, that might like, help with the whole getting to know you introductions spiel if I actually did that thing where I introduce myself. Seth. Seth Cohen. Uh, shaken, not stirred, and all that. So listen. I know you just got here and all, and you probably want to unpack-" here Seth's eyes drift to his bags, but the fact that Sam must only have about a week's worth of clothes doesn't seem to phase him, "-but I'm awake now and I was sort of planning on blowing off the orientation schmoozing tomorrow because, you know, how many times do we really need to hear the safety talk, don't give out your bank account number, blah blah, am I right?"
"Uh, sure?"
"Exactly. So here's what I was thinking. Playstation. And then maybe comics. I can already tell you are severely lacking in comic knowledge, but lucky for you, I'm a master and have trained many nubile young apprentices in my time."
"Am I nubile?"
"Not exactly, no. But in the past I have trained-I think you're missing the point. Which is Playstation, then comics. Yes?"
Sam shrugs. "What games do you have?" Not that he'll recognize any of the titles. He played some when he was in high school, the few times they stayed in a town long enough for him to make friends of the playstation owning variety. He remembers something about driving around in cars and beating up hookers with bats.
Seth scrambles out of bed and falls to his knees in front of the television, pulling a shoebox out from beneath the television stand. "Sorry man, Ryan took all the good games. I mean, I don't even know why he bothers because it's not like he's going to play. He's like a study fiend, he should not have gone to Berkeley alone, because he will never leave his room. So what'll it be? Soul Caliber? Pro Skater? Demon Hunters?"
"Demon Hunters, huh?" Sam says with a grin. "That sounds good."
"Okay, but I have to warn you, I kick ass at this game. You might want to start saying your farewells to that little thing we like to call dignity."
Sam just grins. Demon Hunters. Right. "Oh, I think you'll find I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"It's going to take more than just tricks, my friend. What you need are skills. The kind with the 'z', if you know what I mean."
"No, not really," Sam says, but he sits cross-legged next to Seth and picks up a controller anyway. "Now, what do these buttons do again?"
3.
Sam loves school. He loves everything about it. He loves classes and reading and making friends that he doesn't have to leave the following week. He loves his work study job at the library, where he can just listen to the iPod Seth gave him ("Hey man, you want this? I'm getting a nano, way cooler, and this one still has tons of space on it, not that you own like, any music to add on, or um, a computer to upload more. So like, this rock you grew up under, it really didn't have Death Cab? Because I could've sworn they are totally doing gigs there now.") and shelve books and be completely mindless. It's a far cry from hunting, that's for sure, and Sam loves it.
On weekends he and Seth hang out with some kids from their floor, mostly freshmen, a few sophomores. They play video games or watch movies (Seth has decided that Sam needs re-educating in all forms of fun-having, but most importantly pop culture, which seems to consist of comic books and comic book-related movies). They get drunk in Seth and Sam's room because it's farthest from the R.A., and sometimes Seth comes home with a bag of weed and they stay high until Sunday afternoon, when it's time to start crash studying for classes the next day.
The first time this happens, Sam stares at the baggie of pot, at Seth calmly rolling joints from the floor between their beds, and then proceeds to freak the fuck out.
"What are you doing? Seth. Seth! This isn't okay, man. It's not right. Drugs? Are you out of your mind?"
"Some have mentioned the possibility in passing," Seth says, examining a finished joint, "but I like to believe that none of them meant it with any amount of seriousness. Look man, it's just pot. What's the big deal? My dad smoked up in college. My dad, man. And he's like, old. And not cool. He's a lawyer, dude."
"Is that true? No-never mind, don't answer that. Look Seth. It's just… it slows your reflexes." So you can't hunt demons. "And… and fucks your concentration." So you can't hunt demons. "And… completely ruins hand-eye coordination." So you can't hunt demons.
"Sam. Dude. That's the whole point. And anyway I challenge those who say pot ruins hand-eye coordination to a friendly game of playstation, because I am a killer on Grand Tourismo when pot is involved. Believe me, I've experimented with these claims many times. For scientific purposes."
It's against his training. His father would be mad as hell if he knew, and Dean-Dean would call him an idiot who doesn't care about the cause. Which is sort of why when Seth offers him a lighted joint, Sam sits down on the floor next to him and takes it.
There's a lot of coughing, and Seth laughing and bemoaning the lack of appropriate snack foods in their room, but after a while Sam starts to feel pretty good, like he could just sit here all day leaning against his bed with Seth pressed against his right side, looking at comic books and feeling the scratch of the carpet beneath his feet. He misses Dean, and he can't help but think about him now, think about how much Dean would like this. He's such a physical person, Dean, and he would love this feeling, like every particle is buzzing on the surface of his skin, all slow and drowsy and nice.
Making out with Seth seems like the most natural thing in the world at the moment, so when Seth leans in Sam just kisses him back, and it's nice, Seth has nice lips, all soft and slow, and the act of kissing is nice because Sam hasn't really done much of it before. He didn't have time for regular friends much less girlfriends, and he's pretty sure accidentally making out with a siren doesn't count. But he doesn't have any desire to do more, and Sam's not sure what that means, if he just doesn't really go for guys, or it's the pot, or it's Seth.
"This is nice and all," Seth says, laying his head on Sam's shoulder, "but you're not Ryan."
"You're not Dean."
"Dude, isn't Dean like, you're brother or something?"
"Isn't Ryan yours?"
"Well yeah. But not in a related way. I mean, we don't share a gene pool. Ryan's like that stray puppy your mom never let you keep. Only I got to keep him. He's from Chino, man. Do you know what that place is like? I couldn't let him go back there. So when I say 'brother' I don't mean it, you know, literally, because that would be gross, wanting to make out with my brother."
"I don't want to make out with Dean," Sam mumbles. "I just… miss him."
"I know what you mean, man." Seth pats Sam's knee consolingly. And maybe it's the pot, but it actually helps a little, the patting. Because Seth does sort of know what he means, about family and missing it but not being able to go back because that would be going back and you should never go backwards, only forwards, because backwards is the path of the dark side. Or maybe he's been reading too many comic books, but either way, he feels a little better.
4.
By the time Seth drags Sam to Newport for winter break, Sam has started to say 'dude' and 'man' a lot, for which he entirely blames Seth.
"Dude, I don't know about this," Sam says as their bus pulls into the Newport station, which resembles less of a bus station and more of an Italian villa. "This is a family thing. I don't want to intrude."
"Believe me, the Cohens are all about intrusion. My dad especially enjoys poking his sneaky nose into every detail of everyone's lives. And lucky for us, because otherwise I would never have known that Ryan's ex-girlfriend is actually my grandfather's bastard love child, and Ryan's mom would probably still be in jail or, you know, boozing it up in Vegas until she forgot how to count cards and then got thrown in jail. Huh, I wonder why all these things seem to end up with Ryan's mom in jail?"
During this rambling speech Seth manages to usher Sam off the bus and grabs their duffels from the belly. Before Sam knows up from down, he's being introduced to Seth's parents with a lot of handshaking, and Seth's mom hugs him which is kind of weird but also nice, and phrases like, "We’ve heard so much about you" and "It's so nice to finally meet the famous Sam Winchester" are tossed around, like they really are glad he's there.
"Where's Ryan?" Seth asks, shouldering his bag as they cross the station to the parking lot. "He in town yet? He never replies to my emails. Did you guys get him a new laptop, because I think the old one is broken, and you know Ryan won't ask for anything, so there better be something under the Chrismakah tree in the shape of an iBook or possibly a ThinkPad. Do you think Ryan's a Mac man, or does he prefer PCs?"
"An age old question," Seth's dad-Sandy-says with a grin. "Ryan's catching a ride with Summer, they'll be in later tonight."
"Now that is a road trip. I'd love to be the fly on the window during those three hours. I hope Ryan is making her listen to Journey. If there's justice in the world…"
"You're not still upset about Summer?" Seth's mom asks. Sam has already forgotten her name, so she's going to have to be Mrs. Cohen until she corrects him the way that laid back parents do.
"Nah. It's fire under the bridge. But Ryan will be home for the first night of Christmakah, right?"
"Christmakah?" Sam asks as Sandy takes his duffel and tosses it in the back of a large Range Rover.
Seth just smiles.
5.
Ryan is a surprise. For one thing, he's short, which sort of weirds Sam out because, well, from the way Seth talks about him, Sam was expecting some god-like Adonis figure, or at least a Clark Kent type, mild-mannered with bones of steel or whatever, but Ryan's just a normal looking guy. And short.
"Hey man," Seth nods from the couch where he and Sam are playing one of the many incarnations of Grande Theft Auto while they wait for his parents to come back with food, which apparently they never cook, only order.
"Hey." Ryan jerks his chin up in a nod, like he's one of those cool guys that says more with an expression than words. Like Dean, actually, only short. And vaguely blonde. And apparently enjoys Journey instead of Metallica. Sam thinks it might be an improvement.
Ryan drops his bag by the couch and sits down next to Sam with a curious look at Seth, who's too busy trying to decide which haircut the barber should give his character to notice Ryan's inquisitive looks. Or at least that's what he's pretending, but Sam knows the second Ryan walked into the room all Seth's attention was centered on him. Seth's knee jitters nervously up and down and his fingers slip on the buttons until Sam rests his fingers on Seth's knee and nudges him with his shoulder. Sam's always been good at that, good with people, making them feel safe and comfortable. Dean called it Sam's mojo and liked to mock the fact that it never seemed to get him laid, and back when he was hunting-but no. He doesn't think about hunting anymore, or Dean, or his dad. He has a life now, one that he's made for himself, and he's just doing what his dad wanted-staying gone.
Ryan's eyes follow Sam's hand, but he just gives Sam a small, humorless smile before looking away again. "Who's this?"
"Ryan, Sam. Sam, Ryan." Seth doesn't look away from his game, and Sam has the bizarre urge to laugh because seriously, he's playing this way too cool. But Ryan doesn't seem to notice, just nods again and stares at the screen.
"This San Andreas?"
"Yup."
"I've been looking for this one."
"Whatever dude. I bet you haven't played since your first day of classes."
"I've played. But some of us also have to study. We can't all be liberal arts majors, Seth."
"You're just jealous you're not a genius like me."
"Yeah, that's it. You got me." Ryan's voice drips with sarcasm, but he's smiling, and Seth is smiling, and then there's some banter about alcoholism and people Sam's never heard of, and Sam wonders if this is normal. This family, this way of being-if his mom hadn’t been killed by an unspeakably evil thing, would it have been he and Dean playing video games and joking about some girl called Marissa who's apparently been on something called a 'slut spiral' for almost a year?
Then again, Sam thinks Dean probably knows several girls like that. Or possibly only girls like that. But at least it's something.
6.
Sam doesn't mean to eavesdrop, it's just this thing that sort of happens with him, where he just so happens to be in the right place at the right time to hear things that are probably none of his business. So maybe it's more about being in the wrong place, etcetera, but either way he ends up with an earful of crap he'd rather not know, and Seth and Ryan's discussion the next morning is no different.
But really, it's their own fault. Who comes out to their adopted brother/object of affection at eight in the morning over bagels and coffee in the kitchen of their childhood home? Only Seth, really, and Sam disclaims all responsibility for hearing any of it. The kid is weird, it's just his way, and Sam is sure that to Seth, this seems like the perfect opportunity to make things happen.
"So what-you're suddenly gay now?" Ryan asks, chewing a piece of bagel thoughtfully.
"Come on, Ryan. I think we both know that I've always been a little gay." Seth sips his coffee like it's nothing, like they have this sort of conversation everyday.
"And Sam is…?"
"Sam is my roommate. He's a good guy, Ryan. A little strange, because I mean, who grows up having never read a comic book or seen like, any of the Star Wars movies or knowing anything about Superman, not to mention X Men or the Green Lantern? It's just weird, you know?"
"Seth. You're avoiding the question."
"You noticed that, did you?" Ryan just raises one eyebrow in an expression that clearly says, "I am not amused." Sam envies that ability to convey entire sentences with a look, but he's more interested in what Seth will tell him. There's the truth-that sometimes they get high and make out, but they're both thinking about their brothers at the time so it never goes anywhere, which sounds really bad in an Appalachian being your own uncle sort of way, but it's not really like that. Not really.
"Fine. Look. Okay yes, there has been some making out. And possibly pot was involved. But that's it. Kissing Sam is like kissing my brother. My much taller, prettier brother."
"So, it's like kissing me then?"
"What? No. You're not my brother, Ryan. We are in no way related. There is no gene pool share-age, because that would be unnatural and gross."
"There's no… share-age… with Sam, either." Ryan's logic is too logical.
"It's an expression, Ryan. Besides, I don't think Sam is gay."
"But he makes out with you?"
"Did you hear the part where we were really high? Look, is this going to be a problem for you, Ry?"
"I don't know, Seth. They say marijuana is a gateway drug. We both know what happened to Marissa. In fact, I got to hear all about Summer's slut spiral theory on the drive home yesterday."
"This is about me, Ryan. Stop about Marissa, oh my god. Even when something is legitimately about me and has nothing to do with her, you still manage to make it about saving Marissa. And I think I'm justified in saying that in the current situation, I am the damsel in distress here."
"So what-you want me to save you from being gay?"
Seth just gives him a look over the lid of his coffee cup. "Screw you."
Ryan smiles.
7.
Sam hates parties. Well, maybe hate is a strong word for it-he just feels extremely uncomfortable, especially at events like this that involve attempting to look nice, making polite conversation, and drinking champagne in moderation, because someone's parents are watching and he can't just get plastered. There are people-so many people-and Seth keeps introducing him, which means people keep ogling him, especially Seth's ex-girlfriend, who stares with eyes narrowed looking like something out of one of Seth's mangas, all huge eyes and dark hair and tiny, but still like she could totally kick your ass if you gave her lip.
Sam doesn't. He smiles, and tries to be charming, and she just stands there with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side, all suspicious like Sam's trying to pull something over on her. And when Seth abandons him to stand by Ryan, who seems to be doing his best to hide behind the living room curtains, Summer just flits her eyes back and forth, from Seth and Ryan to him, like she's figuring out the answers to life, the universe, and everything, all the while tapping her overly-manicured fingers on her crossed arms.
"Well as lovely and exciting as this is," she says finally, with a sarcastic little smile that says nothing and everything all at once, "I need to find Marissa. She cannot spend another Christmakah all hooched out on vodka and pain killers."
By the time Sam works out what Summer's just said she's gone, twisting her way through the throng and leaving him standing at the edge of the crowd alone like an idiot. Sam downs his champagne because maybe getting drunk in front of Seth's parents isn't such a bad thing after all. Sam wonders about this Marissa girl because he sort of knows how she feels-if he had to live in a place like this, he'd probably spend most of his life drunk, too.
8.
When Sam wanders out to the pool house in hopes of finding Seth, he can't really claim to be surprised to find him. Finding him pressed up against the glass door with Ryan's tongue in his mouth and his thigh between Seth's legs-not that comes as something of a shocker.
Although not really, because if Sam is honest with himself, he always knew this was the entire point of Seth inviting him home for winter break. Well that and he felt sorry for Sam for not having a family and being pathetically alone, but mostly it was to get Ryan, and now he has.
And Sam, he doesn't like it. He knows that this is what Seth wants-Ryan is what Seth wants-but somehow it doesn't seem fair that Seth actually gets to have it. Things aren't supposed to work out this way, perfect and right and how you'd expect. They say you can't go home, but apparently Seth defies all colloquialisms, and Sam-he never had a home to begin with.
"Sick, isn't it?" Summer says from beside him.
"No. I mean, it's not… it's…"
"Not the gay thing, you idiot. The whole, 'they've wanted each other so long and denied their love for years and now they're finally giving in' thing."
"Oh. Yeah. Well, sort of. It's good though, right? Seth deserves this."
"Cohen deserves a kick in the balls, not making out with the love of his life. A hard kick. Right in the balls." Summer glances at him out of the corner of her eye, all sly and assessing, like she's only just noticed him now. "I wouldn't normally do this, but I'm a little drunk and all the guys at Berkeley are total skeezes. You wanna make out?"
Sam shrugs. "Yeah, okay."
9
When Seth decides to transfer to Berkeley next semester, Sam isn't surprised. He helps Seth pack, and when they're done the room looks empty, bare, like all the personality has been leached out of it. Sam's not sure what that says about him, but he knows it can't be good. Too many years on the road, too many years with nothing but a couple changes of clothes and some good boots.
He doesn't need things like other people, he's not a collector, but when Seth leaves Sam starts keeping the empty bottles from their parties-Jack and Jose and Jim Beam-all lined up in a row on what used to be Seth's bookcase, like a memorial. Sometimes Seth FedExes him pot, which is illegal in so many ways, but Sam smokes it anyway and leaves long, rambling messages on Seth's voicemail about the nature of the beast and Dean and staying gone. He doesn't tell Seth about hunting, about his mom and what killed her, about his dad and what's slowly but surely killing him, but when Seth calls back, Sam thinks he hears understanding in his voice.
Because Seth lives in a fantasy world of his own creation people with heroes and mutants and wolf-men. To him it's all a metaphor, but it's still real, and Sam has another person to miss. And then he meets Jess.
10.
The night that he and Jess hook up starts like any other Saturday night. John from the third floor scores a bottle of Skol and they end up in Sam's room, which now has the added benefit of being nearly empty since Seth left. At first it's just a few of them, but like always, someone tells someone else who tells someone else, and soon they've jimmied open the connecting doors between Sam's room and the girls next door. A junior shows up with more booze, and before Sam knows it he's being pulled into the bathroom next door to take shots.
"Come on!" the girl laughs, dragging him behind her like he's not at least a foot taller than she is, but damn if she isn't gorgeous, all long blonde hair and big blue eyes and her hand is fucking tiny in his. Tiny.
She looks small and fragile but she takes vodka shots like they're water, slamming two in the blink of an eye, one right after another, forcing Sam to keep up until he feels the room spinning and spinning and spinning. And then she's locking the bathroom door and crowding Sam into the bathtub, stripping off her halter as she goes and giving him this look, this fucking look like, I'm going to use you now, and you don't get a say one way or another.
Not that Sam's in a mood to argue, sitting in the tub with a beautiful girl straddling his thighs, topless and licking at his neck, her tiny hands yanking his shirt up and off so she can lick at his stomach instead. If he wasn't so drunk he'd probably already be coming, right in his fucking pants, because he's not good with girls, not like this, and there's only ever been Seth and, well, that wasn't really anything when all he could think about was how much he missed Dean.
He doesn't miss Dean now, especially not when she unzips his jeans and wraps her hand, so hot and small and perfect, around his dick with a smile. "I'm Jess, by the way," she says, and leans down to swallow his dick.
11.
If you're going, stay gone.
The words echo in Sam's head as he stares at his brother. Dean. Dean. He looks different, older, and more tired than Sam has ever seen him, but he can't say that he's surprised. He's been having the dreams, about mom-but-Jess, and somehow or other he knew that it was only a matter of time before this happened. He's just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and now it has.
Jess doesn't get it, why he has to go, and Sam isn't about to explain it to her. It's not about Dad, or family, or hunting. It's about Dean, about that look in his eyes, like it's killing him to admit that he needs Sam. Not just that-that he wants Sam. It's Dean, and no matter how much he wants to stay and go to his interview and have a normal life and ignore all the fucked up shit going on around him, Sam can't say no to Dean. Not now.
But he's angry and they don't speak as Dean pulls onto the interstate, the silence between them louder than anything Sam could say, any apologies Dean could make, not that he ever would. When they stop for the night Sam steps outside their motel room and calls Seth, because if there's one person who can understand this thing about brothers, it's him.
"Sam! I was just thinking about you the other day, and I finally decided that if you were a comic book character, you'd totally be Peter Parker like, before the whole radiation spider thing happened and James Franco put the moves on your girl. Speaking of girls, how's Jess? She still sleeping with you, or did she realize you're too pretty to be straight?"
"Shut up, Seth," Sam laughs, even though he doesn't want to. He wants to be angry. He wants to tell Seth exactly what he means about brothers and family and taking vengeance on the unspeakable demon that murdered your mom, but talking to Seth makes that all seem so unreal, so much a part of the past that he barely recognizes it as his own life anymore. All those hours on the road, never having real friends, fighting and hunting and killing and being as unnormal as humanly possible-all that fades to grey while Seth babbles in his ear, and Sam just smiles and listens while Dean watches him from the window, shaking his head.
Dean would say you can't go back. You can never go home. And in some ways Sam thinks he's right-time moves forward and so should he, but that doesn't mean the two have to be mutually exclusive.
12.
Maybe Dean's right, and you can never go home, especially if you never had one to begin with. Normal isn't real, it's not a thing that anyone can have, but especially not Sam because the universe seems determined to fuck with him and fuck him over until he just lays down and takes it like a bitch. Except that he has Dean now, who shoots anything that even resembles something that would make him take it, and Sam guesses Dean has finally found his words.
Sometimes they're fuck you or don't be stupid, but once they're don't go, and somehow Sam always knew that staying gone was never an option. Because they're brothers, and that means something so bone-deep that it is completely undeniable to Sam. Even when he wishes Dean were dead, and him who made it happen.
On Taking It Like A Bitch And Ten Other Ways to Say I Love You
Supernatural/The O.C. STFU, it's awesome.
Dean, Seth/Ryan, Sam, little bit of Sam/Jess
Rating: R-ish
Disclaimer: I don't own them. And yes, the timelines are fucked. Deal with it. Adam Brodie is way too old to play 18. And pretty.
Warnings: Recreational drug use.
1.
Sam still remembers the look on his brother's face the day he left-heartbroken and angry and betrayed all at once, like somehow wanting to have a normal life was the worst kind of sin. Dad yelled, a lot, and that was almost better, preferable, because at least Sam knew where he stood. "If you go, stay gone." Pretty fucking clear, actually, and Sam knows he will never understand his family, his dad. Mom wouldn't have wanted this for him. Mom would've been proud.
But Dean, he just stood there and watched them yell with that look on his face, like Sam had just announced he was going to become a witch and start sacrificing babies and puppies in the name of evil. Sometimes Sam thinks Dean would've preferred that, because at least going evil is just a perversion of being a hunter, but this other thing-this wanting to be normal-is so completely out of Dean's scope that he couldn't even find the words to express himself. Not that he ever could-express himself, that is-but Dean always had something to say, except for the day he left.
And so they didn't say good-bye. Dean stood in the doorway of their motel room and watched him pack. He didn't say a word, but when Sam unpacked his things later, in California, he found a bottle of holy water, a couple stakes, and a short silver knife. Dean's version of 'take care of yourself.'
2.
Sam meets Seth that first day, even though his bus breaks down in New Mexico and he's about twelve hours late for the first day of orientation, but according to his schedule he missed move in day and some sort of welcome dinner thing, so he's not too put out. He doesn't have anything to move in anyway, just his duffels and his books, so when he sneaks into his dorm room after midnight that night, he just sets his shit down by the empty bed. He's slept on bare mattresses too many times to count, and this one's liable to be far cleaner than anything that ever touched Dean's body, and at least he doesn't have to share it.
Then a light flicks on and Sam flinches, automatically reaching for a weapon he doesn't have. "Dude. You're here. That's awesome. I was worried that it was gonna to be one of those things where I didn't have a roommate and then all the other freshmen mock me for my lameness, or else maybe it works the other way, because it seems like-and stop me if I'm wrong here-but it seems like having a room to yourself would be prime opportunity for some major partying. Not that I'm a partier. I mean I enjoy the occasional soiree, don't get me wrong, but parties always seem to end up with someone getting beaten up on the beach, or else shot, or floating in the pool, so you know-"
"I'm Sam," Sam interrupts, but he can feel his lips twitching into a smile. The kid across the room runs his fingers through his hair, which really doesn't help matters because it's already like Harry Potter on crack-and nods sleepily. If this is his roommate just woken up, Sam's not sure he wants to know what the kid is like fully alert.
"I know. I mean, someone put a sign on the door with our names on it. Sam Winchester, like the rifle. Guns are so of the past though, you know? I mean, you don't see Wolverine pulling out an Uzi, am I right? Oooh, you're not like, from one of those rural towns in Washington state where owning fewer than five firearms, while not exactly illegal, gets you shunned from like, all the barn raisings and hoe downs, are you?"
"No?" Sam says helplessly. "I mean I-well the thing is-never mind. What's your name?"
"Oh right, that might like, help with the whole getting to know you introductions spiel if I actually did that thing where I introduce myself. Seth. Seth Cohen. Uh, shaken, not stirred, and all that. So listen. I know you just got here and all, and you probably want to unpack-" here Seth's eyes drift to his bags, but the fact that Sam must only have about a week's worth of clothes doesn't seem to phase him, "-but I'm awake now and I was sort of planning on blowing off the orientation schmoozing tomorrow because, you know, how many times do we really need to hear the safety talk, don't give out your bank account number, blah blah, am I right?"
"Uh, sure?"
"Exactly. So here's what I was thinking. Playstation. And then maybe comics. I can already tell you are severely lacking in comic knowledge, but lucky for you, I'm a master and have trained many nubile young apprentices in my time."
"Am I nubile?"
"Not exactly, no. But in the past I have trained-I think you're missing the point. Which is Playstation, then comics. Yes?"
Sam shrugs. "What games do you have?" Not that he'll recognize any of the titles. He played some when he was in high school, the few times they stayed in a town long enough for him to make friends of the playstation owning variety. He remembers something about driving around in cars and beating up hookers with bats.
Seth scrambles out of bed and falls to his knees in front of the television, pulling a shoebox out from beneath the television stand. "Sorry man, Ryan took all the good games. I mean, I don't even know why he bothers because it's not like he's going to play. He's like a study fiend, he should not have gone to Berkeley alone, because he will never leave his room. So what'll it be? Soul Caliber? Pro Skater? Demon Hunters?"
"Demon Hunters, huh?" Sam says with a grin. "That sounds good."
"Okay, but I have to warn you, I kick ass at this game. You might want to start saying your farewells to that little thing we like to call dignity."
Sam just grins. Demon Hunters. Right. "Oh, I think you'll find I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"It's going to take more than just tricks, my friend. What you need are skills. The kind with the 'z', if you know what I mean."
"No, not really," Sam says, but he sits cross-legged next to Seth and picks up a controller anyway. "Now, what do these buttons do again?"
3.
Sam loves school. He loves everything about it. He loves classes and reading and making friends that he doesn't have to leave the following week. He loves his work study job at the library, where he can just listen to the iPod Seth gave him ("Hey man, you want this? I'm getting a nano, way cooler, and this one still has tons of space on it, not that you own like, any music to add on, or um, a computer to upload more. So like, this rock you grew up under, it really didn't have Death Cab? Because I could've sworn they are totally doing gigs there now.") and shelve books and be completely mindless. It's a far cry from hunting, that's for sure, and Sam loves it.
On weekends he and Seth hang out with some kids from their floor, mostly freshmen, a few sophomores. They play video games or watch movies (Seth has decided that Sam needs re-educating in all forms of fun-having, but most importantly pop culture, which seems to consist of comic books and comic book-related movies). They get drunk in Seth and Sam's room because it's farthest from the R.A., and sometimes Seth comes home with a bag of weed and they stay high until Sunday afternoon, when it's time to start crash studying for classes the next day.
The first time this happens, Sam stares at the baggie of pot, at Seth calmly rolling joints from the floor between their beds, and then proceeds to freak the fuck out.
"What are you doing? Seth. Seth! This isn't okay, man. It's not right. Drugs? Are you out of your mind?"
"Some have mentioned the possibility in passing," Seth says, examining a finished joint, "but I like to believe that none of them meant it with any amount of seriousness. Look man, it's just pot. What's the big deal? My dad smoked up in college. My dad, man. And he's like, old. And not cool. He's a lawyer, dude."
"Is that true? No-never mind, don't answer that. Look Seth. It's just… it slows your reflexes." So you can't hunt demons. "And… and fucks your concentration." So you can't hunt demons. "And… completely ruins hand-eye coordination." So you can't hunt demons.
"Sam. Dude. That's the whole point. And anyway I challenge those who say pot ruins hand-eye coordination to a friendly game of playstation, because I am a killer on Grand Tourismo when pot is involved. Believe me, I've experimented with these claims many times. For scientific purposes."
It's against his training. His father would be mad as hell if he knew, and Dean-Dean would call him an idiot who doesn't care about the cause. Which is sort of why when Seth offers him a lighted joint, Sam sits down on the floor next to him and takes it.
There's a lot of coughing, and Seth laughing and bemoaning the lack of appropriate snack foods in their room, but after a while Sam starts to feel pretty good, like he could just sit here all day leaning against his bed with Seth pressed against his right side, looking at comic books and feeling the scratch of the carpet beneath his feet. He misses Dean, and he can't help but think about him now, think about how much Dean would like this. He's such a physical person, Dean, and he would love this feeling, like every particle is buzzing on the surface of his skin, all slow and drowsy and nice.
Making out with Seth seems like the most natural thing in the world at the moment, so when Seth leans in Sam just kisses him back, and it's nice, Seth has nice lips, all soft and slow, and the act of kissing is nice because Sam hasn't really done much of it before. He didn't have time for regular friends much less girlfriends, and he's pretty sure accidentally making out with a siren doesn't count. But he doesn't have any desire to do more, and Sam's not sure what that means, if he just doesn't really go for guys, or it's the pot, or it's Seth.
"This is nice and all," Seth says, laying his head on Sam's shoulder, "but you're not Ryan."
"You're not Dean."
"Dude, isn't Dean like, you're brother or something?"
"Isn't Ryan yours?"
"Well yeah. But not in a related way. I mean, we don't share a gene pool. Ryan's like that stray puppy your mom never let you keep. Only I got to keep him. He's from Chino, man. Do you know what that place is like? I couldn't let him go back there. So when I say 'brother' I don't mean it, you know, literally, because that would be gross, wanting to make out with my brother."
"I don't want to make out with Dean," Sam mumbles. "I just… miss him."
"I know what you mean, man." Seth pats Sam's knee consolingly. And maybe it's the pot, but it actually helps a little, the patting. Because Seth does sort of know what he means, about family and missing it but not being able to go back because that would be going back and you should never go backwards, only forwards, because backwards is the path of the dark side. Or maybe he's been reading too many comic books, but either way, he feels a little better.
4.
By the time Seth drags Sam to Newport for winter break, Sam has started to say 'dude' and 'man' a lot, for which he entirely blames Seth.
"Dude, I don't know about this," Sam says as their bus pulls into the Newport station, which resembles less of a bus station and more of an Italian villa. "This is a family thing. I don't want to intrude."
"Believe me, the Cohens are all about intrusion. My dad especially enjoys poking his sneaky nose into every detail of everyone's lives. And lucky for us, because otherwise I would never have known that Ryan's ex-girlfriend is actually my grandfather's bastard love child, and Ryan's mom would probably still be in jail or, you know, boozing it up in Vegas until she forgot how to count cards and then got thrown in jail. Huh, I wonder why all these things seem to end up with Ryan's mom in jail?"
During this rambling speech Seth manages to usher Sam off the bus and grabs their duffels from the belly. Before Sam knows up from down, he's being introduced to Seth's parents with a lot of handshaking, and Seth's mom hugs him which is kind of weird but also nice, and phrases like, "We’ve heard so much about you" and "It's so nice to finally meet the famous Sam Winchester" are tossed around, like they really are glad he's there.
"Where's Ryan?" Seth asks, shouldering his bag as they cross the station to the parking lot. "He in town yet? He never replies to my emails. Did you guys get him a new laptop, because I think the old one is broken, and you know Ryan won't ask for anything, so there better be something under the Chrismakah tree in the shape of an iBook or possibly a ThinkPad. Do you think Ryan's a Mac man, or does he prefer PCs?"
"An age old question," Seth's dad-Sandy-says with a grin. "Ryan's catching a ride with Summer, they'll be in later tonight."
"Now that is a road trip. I'd love to be the fly on the window during those three hours. I hope Ryan is making her listen to Journey. If there's justice in the world…"
"You're not still upset about Summer?" Seth's mom asks. Sam has already forgotten her name, so she's going to have to be Mrs. Cohen until she corrects him the way that laid back parents do.
"Nah. It's fire under the bridge. But Ryan will be home for the first night of Christmakah, right?"
"Christmakah?" Sam asks as Sandy takes his duffel and tosses it in the back of a large Range Rover.
Seth just smiles.
5.
Ryan is a surprise. For one thing, he's short, which sort of weirds Sam out because, well, from the way Seth talks about him, Sam was expecting some god-like Adonis figure, or at least a Clark Kent type, mild-mannered with bones of steel or whatever, but Ryan's just a normal looking guy. And short.
"Hey man," Seth nods from the couch where he and Sam are playing one of the many incarnations of Grande Theft Auto while they wait for his parents to come back with food, which apparently they never cook, only order.
"Hey." Ryan jerks his chin up in a nod, like he's one of those cool guys that says more with an expression than words. Like Dean, actually, only short. And vaguely blonde. And apparently enjoys Journey instead of Metallica. Sam thinks it might be an improvement.
Ryan drops his bag by the couch and sits down next to Sam with a curious look at Seth, who's too busy trying to decide which haircut the barber should give his character to notice Ryan's inquisitive looks. Or at least that's what he's pretending, but Sam knows the second Ryan walked into the room all Seth's attention was centered on him. Seth's knee jitters nervously up and down and his fingers slip on the buttons until Sam rests his fingers on Seth's knee and nudges him with his shoulder. Sam's always been good at that, good with people, making them feel safe and comfortable. Dean called it Sam's mojo and liked to mock the fact that it never seemed to get him laid, and back when he was hunting-but no. He doesn't think about hunting anymore, or Dean, or his dad. He has a life now, one that he's made for himself, and he's just doing what his dad wanted-staying gone.
Ryan's eyes follow Sam's hand, but he just gives Sam a small, humorless smile before looking away again. "Who's this?"
"Ryan, Sam. Sam, Ryan." Seth doesn't look away from his game, and Sam has the bizarre urge to laugh because seriously, he's playing this way too cool. But Ryan doesn't seem to notice, just nods again and stares at the screen.
"This San Andreas?"
"Yup."
"I've been looking for this one."
"Whatever dude. I bet you haven't played since your first day of classes."
"I've played. But some of us also have to study. We can't all be liberal arts majors, Seth."
"You're just jealous you're not a genius like me."
"Yeah, that's it. You got me." Ryan's voice drips with sarcasm, but he's smiling, and Seth is smiling, and then there's some banter about alcoholism and people Sam's never heard of, and Sam wonders if this is normal. This family, this way of being-if his mom hadn’t been killed by an unspeakably evil thing, would it have been he and Dean playing video games and joking about some girl called Marissa who's apparently been on something called a 'slut spiral' for almost a year?
Then again, Sam thinks Dean probably knows several girls like that. Or possibly only girls like that. But at least it's something.
6.
Sam doesn't mean to eavesdrop, it's just this thing that sort of happens with him, where he just so happens to be in the right place at the right time to hear things that are probably none of his business. So maybe it's more about being in the wrong place, etcetera, but either way he ends up with an earful of crap he'd rather not know, and Seth and Ryan's discussion the next morning is no different.
But really, it's their own fault. Who comes out to their adopted brother/object of affection at eight in the morning over bagels and coffee in the kitchen of their childhood home? Only Seth, really, and Sam disclaims all responsibility for hearing any of it. The kid is weird, it's just his way, and Sam is sure that to Seth, this seems like the perfect opportunity to make things happen.
"So what-you're suddenly gay now?" Ryan asks, chewing a piece of bagel thoughtfully.
"Come on, Ryan. I think we both know that I've always been a little gay." Seth sips his coffee like it's nothing, like they have this sort of conversation everyday.
"And Sam is…?"
"Sam is my roommate. He's a good guy, Ryan. A little strange, because I mean, who grows up having never read a comic book or seen like, any of the Star Wars movies or knowing anything about Superman, not to mention X Men or the Green Lantern? It's just weird, you know?"
"Seth. You're avoiding the question."
"You noticed that, did you?" Ryan just raises one eyebrow in an expression that clearly says, "I am not amused." Sam envies that ability to convey entire sentences with a look, but he's more interested in what Seth will tell him. There's the truth-that sometimes they get high and make out, but they're both thinking about their brothers at the time so it never goes anywhere, which sounds really bad in an Appalachian being your own uncle sort of way, but it's not really like that. Not really.
"Fine. Look. Okay yes, there has been some making out. And possibly pot was involved. But that's it. Kissing Sam is like kissing my brother. My much taller, prettier brother."
"So, it's like kissing me then?"
"What? No. You're not my brother, Ryan. We are in no way related. There is no gene pool share-age, because that would be unnatural and gross."
"There's no… share-age… with Sam, either." Ryan's logic is too logical.
"It's an expression, Ryan. Besides, I don't think Sam is gay."
"But he makes out with you?"
"Did you hear the part where we were really high? Look, is this going to be a problem for you, Ry?"
"I don't know, Seth. They say marijuana is a gateway drug. We both know what happened to Marissa. In fact, I got to hear all about Summer's slut spiral theory on the drive home yesterday."
"This is about me, Ryan. Stop about Marissa, oh my god. Even when something is legitimately about me and has nothing to do with her, you still manage to make it about saving Marissa. And I think I'm justified in saying that in the current situation, I am the damsel in distress here."
"So what-you want me to save you from being gay?"
Seth just gives him a look over the lid of his coffee cup. "Screw you."
Ryan smiles.
7.
Sam hates parties. Well, maybe hate is a strong word for it-he just feels extremely uncomfortable, especially at events like this that involve attempting to look nice, making polite conversation, and drinking champagne in moderation, because someone's parents are watching and he can't just get plastered. There are people-so many people-and Seth keeps introducing him, which means people keep ogling him, especially Seth's ex-girlfriend, who stares with eyes narrowed looking like something out of one of Seth's mangas, all huge eyes and dark hair and tiny, but still like she could totally kick your ass if you gave her lip.
Sam doesn't. He smiles, and tries to be charming, and she just stands there with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side, all suspicious like Sam's trying to pull something over on her. And when Seth abandons him to stand by Ryan, who seems to be doing his best to hide behind the living room curtains, Summer just flits her eyes back and forth, from Seth and Ryan to him, like she's figuring out the answers to life, the universe, and everything, all the while tapping her overly-manicured fingers on her crossed arms.
"Well as lovely and exciting as this is," she says finally, with a sarcastic little smile that says nothing and everything all at once, "I need to find Marissa. She cannot spend another Christmakah all hooched out on vodka and pain killers."
By the time Sam works out what Summer's just said she's gone, twisting her way through the throng and leaving him standing at the edge of the crowd alone like an idiot. Sam downs his champagne because maybe getting drunk in front of Seth's parents isn't such a bad thing after all. Sam wonders about this Marissa girl because he sort of knows how she feels-if he had to live in a place like this, he'd probably spend most of his life drunk, too.
8.
When Sam wanders out to the pool house in hopes of finding Seth, he can't really claim to be surprised to find him. Finding him pressed up against the glass door with Ryan's tongue in his mouth and his thigh between Seth's legs-not that comes as something of a shocker.
Although not really, because if Sam is honest with himself, he always knew this was the entire point of Seth inviting him home for winter break. Well that and he felt sorry for Sam for not having a family and being pathetically alone, but mostly it was to get Ryan, and now he has.
And Sam, he doesn't like it. He knows that this is what Seth wants-Ryan is what Seth wants-but somehow it doesn't seem fair that Seth actually gets to have it. Things aren't supposed to work out this way, perfect and right and how you'd expect. They say you can't go home, but apparently Seth defies all colloquialisms, and Sam-he never had a home to begin with.
"Sick, isn't it?" Summer says from beside him.
"No. I mean, it's not… it's…"
"Not the gay thing, you idiot. The whole, 'they've wanted each other so long and denied their love for years and now they're finally giving in' thing."
"Oh. Yeah. Well, sort of. It's good though, right? Seth deserves this."
"Cohen deserves a kick in the balls, not making out with the love of his life. A hard kick. Right in the balls." Summer glances at him out of the corner of her eye, all sly and assessing, like she's only just noticed him now. "I wouldn't normally do this, but I'm a little drunk and all the guys at Berkeley are total skeezes. You wanna make out?"
Sam shrugs. "Yeah, okay."
9
When Seth decides to transfer to Berkeley next semester, Sam isn't surprised. He helps Seth pack, and when they're done the room looks empty, bare, like all the personality has been leached out of it. Sam's not sure what that says about him, but he knows it can't be good. Too many years on the road, too many years with nothing but a couple changes of clothes and some good boots.
He doesn't need things like other people, he's not a collector, but when Seth leaves Sam starts keeping the empty bottles from their parties-Jack and Jose and Jim Beam-all lined up in a row on what used to be Seth's bookcase, like a memorial. Sometimes Seth FedExes him pot, which is illegal in so many ways, but Sam smokes it anyway and leaves long, rambling messages on Seth's voicemail about the nature of the beast and Dean and staying gone. He doesn't tell Seth about hunting, about his mom and what killed her, about his dad and what's slowly but surely killing him, but when Seth calls back, Sam thinks he hears understanding in his voice.
Because Seth lives in a fantasy world of his own creation people with heroes and mutants and wolf-men. To him it's all a metaphor, but it's still real, and Sam has another person to miss. And then he meets Jess.
10.
The night that he and Jess hook up starts like any other Saturday night. John from the third floor scores a bottle of Skol and they end up in Sam's room, which now has the added benefit of being nearly empty since Seth left. At first it's just a few of them, but like always, someone tells someone else who tells someone else, and soon they've jimmied open the connecting doors between Sam's room and the girls next door. A junior shows up with more booze, and before Sam knows it he's being pulled into the bathroom next door to take shots.
"Come on!" the girl laughs, dragging him behind her like he's not at least a foot taller than she is, but damn if she isn't gorgeous, all long blonde hair and big blue eyes and her hand is fucking tiny in his. Tiny.
She looks small and fragile but she takes vodka shots like they're water, slamming two in the blink of an eye, one right after another, forcing Sam to keep up until he feels the room spinning and spinning and spinning. And then she's locking the bathroom door and crowding Sam into the bathtub, stripping off her halter as she goes and giving him this look, this fucking look like, I'm going to use you now, and you don't get a say one way or another.
Not that Sam's in a mood to argue, sitting in the tub with a beautiful girl straddling his thighs, topless and licking at his neck, her tiny hands yanking his shirt up and off so she can lick at his stomach instead. If he wasn't so drunk he'd probably already be coming, right in his fucking pants, because he's not good with girls, not like this, and there's only ever been Seth and, well, that wasn't really anything when all he could think about was how much he missed Dean.
He doesn't miss Dean now, especially not when she unzips his jeans and wraps her hand, so hot and small and perfect, around his dick with a smile. "I'm Jess, by the way," she says, and leans down to swallow his dick.
11.
If you're going, stay gone.
The words echo in Sam's head as he stares at his brother. Dean. Dean. He looks different, older, and more tired than Sam has ever seen him, but he can't say that he's surprised. He's been having the dreams, about mom-but-Jess, and somehow or other he knew that it was only a matter of time before this happened. He's just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and now it has.
Jess doesn't get it, why he has to go, and Sam isn't about to explain it to her. It's not about Dad, or family, or hunting. It's about Dean, about that look in his eyes, like it's killing him to admit that he needs Sam. Not just that-that he wants Sam. It's Dean, and no matter how much he wants to stay and go to his interview and have a normal life and ignore all the fucked up shit going on around him, Sam can't say no to Dean. Not now.
But he's angry and they don't speak as Dean pulls onto the interstate, the silence between them louder than anything Sam could say, any apologies Dean could make, not that he ever would. When they stop for the night Sam steps outside their motel room and calls Seth, because if there's one person who can understand this thing about brothers, it's him.
"Sam! I was just thinking about you the other day, and I finally decided that if you were a comic book character, you'd totally be Peter Parker like, before the whole radiation spider thing happened and James Franco put the moves on your girl. Speaking of girls, how's Jess? She still sleeping with you, or did she realize you're too pretty to be straight?"
"Shut up, Seth," Sam laughs, even though he doesn't want to. He wants to be angry. He wants to tell Seth exactly what he means about brothers and family and taking vengeance on the unspeakable demon that murdered your mom, but talking to Seth makes that all seem so unreal, so much a part of the past that he barely recognizes it as his own life anymore. All those hours on the road, never having real friends, fighting and hunting and killing and being as unnormal as humanly possible-all that fades to grey while Seth babbles in his ear, and Sam just smiles and listens while Dean watches him from the window, shaking his head.
Dean would say you can't go back. You can never go home. And in some ways Sam thinks he's right-time moves forward and so should he, but that doesn't mean the two have to be mutually exclusive.
12.
Maybe Dean's right, and you can never go home, especially if you never had one to begin with. Normal isn't real, it's not a thing that anyone can have, but especially not Sam because the universe seems determined to fuck with him and fuck him over until he just lays down and takes it like a bitch. Except that he has Dean now, who shoots anything that even resembles something that would make him take it, and Sam guesses Dean has finally found his words.
Sometimes they're fuck you or don't be stupid, but once they're don't go, and somehow Sam always knew that staying gone was never an option. Because they're brothers, and that means something so bone-deep that it is completely undeniable to Sam. Even when he wishes Dean were dead, and him who made it happen.