A Cardinal Affair - Chapter 1: You Don't Know You're Beautiful (1/2)

[shinigami_yumi]

Sam's eyes were still a little puffy when he arrived in Palo Alto, but he justified it with having rubbed them too much on the bus and the sudden glare of warm California sunshine. He supposed he'd expected Dean to take his side, even after all the initial fighting, but in the end, his brother had only stood by in silent grief as he slammed the door on his family and ran to the bus station without looking back. In hindsight, he should have known better: Dean had never stood up to their father before; why would he start now? He’d been really upset when he first heard of Sam’s plans to leave, too. Once registrations were complete though, he felt cheered. Stanford is beautiful as he walks through it, all sandstone and red tile, oak trees and wide open spaces, bustling with students moving in and families helping out.

He catches himself.

No, he can do this on his own. He‘ll get his law degree and prove to them that they can have something outside the family business. There's more to life than hunting and revenge, and they can have that if they choose, but he wants something better, and he's going to show Dean it's possible.

Armed with a map of campus, he finds Lagunita Court easily enough. It’s a lovely complex overlooking Lake Lagunita, which still has some water in it. By the time he reaches his small room on the second floor of Granada, it appears that his roommate has already arrived, if the boxes scattered about the floor are any indication. The guy himself is nowhere to be found, however, so Sam sets to unpacking his few belongings from his knapsack and duffle bag into the wardrobe chosen for him before flopping back on the mattress tiredly.

Just then, the key turns in the lock, and it takes some effort to sit up calmly like a normal person instead of jumping for a weapon. The newcomer, presumably his roommate for the year, pauses in surprise as he sees Sam, then quickly breaks into a friendly smile.

"My new roommate, I gather?" he opens, shifting the box in his arms to lock the door behind him. "Hi. I'm Misha." He sets the box down and offers his hand.

"Yup. That's me." Sam shakes it. "I‘m Sam."

"Any idea what you're studying yet?"

"I’m not sure yet, but I was thinking of law school, so probably public policy."

"Yeah?" Misha grins; he has a lovely smile and the bluest eyes Sam's ever seen. "Me too, but sociology." He still hasn't let go after the earlier handshake; he has nice hands, and his shoulder-length chestnut hair is tied up in a ponytail with a tacky pink rubber band. "And I was just wondering how to loft my bed by myself, but now that you're here, how about we work on both our beds together? I just got the materials from Housing."

"Oh, uh... I'd rather not loft mine. It's not like I have much stuff, and I don't like the climb."

Misha visibly deflates, as if he expects Sam to refuse to help simply because he doesn't also benefit, and Sam realizes at once that it feels a lot like letting down the favorite toddler nephew he never had.

"But I'll help you with yours," he adds quickly, standing. "I don't know how though."

The other brightens enough to proverbially light up the room. "Great! I do, so no worries. Just follow my instructions, and we'll get it done in no time." They set to work dismantling the bed frame, and Misha asks, "Is your family dropping by tomorrow with the rest of your stuff?"

Sam smiles thinly and hesitates before answering, "No, I've got everything. No one's coming."

Fortunately, Misha is too busy working on the bed frame to notice his expression and continues talking. "Oh. And here I was thinking I’d be the only one here that came alone. My mother really wanted to come, but she couldn't get off work, and she can't afford to not work all the shifts and hours she can get anyway. Okay, now we need to join these two pieces." They do, and then Misha has Sam hold the pieces in place as he puts in the screws. "Also, she wasn't so happy that she barely saw me over the last few months because I got that grant to spend it on this volunteer program in Nepal and Tibet, which was really cool. I had trouble breathing the first few days, but fortunately, I got used to it." Misha moves to the other side to continue working. "Anyway, people live such simple lives there. It made me feel so thankful for all the things we take for granted, though. And we learned that tourism and handicrafts were huge contributors to their economy, so I felt bad that I couldn't afford to buy more souvenirs, but..." He pauses to clamber over to a well-worn bag and dig out a wooden box. "I did get this set of eight tsaklis and these little Nepalese puppets. And two rugs that I'll show you later."

The box is painted blue with red geometric shapes on it and tied shut with a yellow braided cord. "Did it come with the box?" Sam asks as he unwinds the cord and opens it to find eight Buddhist paintings on small pieces of cloth affixed to little wooden sticks. Secretly, he's a bit worried that they may be cursed, but probably not if they're mass-produced for souvenir shops. The puppets are tiny, but made with heartfelt attention to detail, and there are a dozen of them, all wearing what look to be traditional costumes.

"Ah, no, I had to make the box myself because it didn't seem right for them not to have their own box."

He shuts the lid to take a better look at the wooden box. It's very well made. "You made this?" He looks up at his roommate, astonished.

Misha moves to put the screws into a different joint. "Yeah, I apprenticed with a carpenter throughout high school. It covered my expenses, and I learned a lot. I just got a job working part-time at a company nearby. The owner is a friend of my last boss, so he got me the job when he heard I was moving out here."

"Oh wow, that's really cool. It's a very nice box."

"T-Thanks. Um. Now we need to move these into position."

Sam puts the box back into the bag before going over to help.

"Yes. Right here. Now, if you'd just hold this...?" Misha continues talking as he works. "Anyway, I caught a glimpse of the Dalai Lama too as I was walking through Lhasa one day, but I didn't get to meet him. Did you know Tibet’s the most underdeveloped area in China? They're dependent on the Chinese government for ninety percent of their expenditure. And then in Kathmandu, as we’re walking around, these kids would run up to you and ask for alms, only they weren’t asking for money; they wanted things they could use like pencils and notebooks. And I just... Someday, I want to start some huge charity drive for them. I spent every spare moment at the monasteries. I find meditation very restorative. You should try it someday. The food's mostly okay, very Indian in Nepal if you’ve had that, but did you know they drink tea with salt and yak butter in Tibet?" Misha makes a face. "Doesn't sit well with my stomach. The first time I tried it, I was in the bathroom for hours and- Oops." He stops, turning to look at Sam sheepishly. "Sorry. People tell me I overshare. Hope I haven't made you uncomfortable."

"What?" Sam blinks. "Oh, no, no." It must be nice, being able to talk so freely about oneself without being declared delusional. "Keep going. I don't mind at all. You're very interesting."

"Oh. Oh good. I guess that's one way of putting it."

"What's the other way of putting it?" Sam asks as they move on to joining the next two pieces.

Misha smiles, almost shyly, and it's impossibly charming. "I believe the accepted vernacular is weird."

Sam squares his shoulders. "Well, I think you're a great person, and maybe people just don't like that you make them feel worse about themselves in comparison," he declares firmly.

Misha laughs, blue eyes twinkling. "Defending me already?" His expression grows fond. "You remind me of Vicki, my best friend. She said something like that too. Only she's pretty wacky herself, so I'd say her benchmarks are all biased, yeah?" He grins again. "Anyway, residential dining hasn't started yet, so when we're done here, let's go grab dinner. Where did you say you were from again?"

"I didn't. Lawrence, Kansas."

"Boston, Massachusetts. Well, I‘m sure you'll like that café anyway. Everything they serve is good. And you can tell me all about yourself, so I don't feel like I'm always the only one talking."

Sam chuckles nervously. "Nah, my story's pretty boring in comparison." What I can tell you of it, anyway. If Misha is weird, then Sam is quite sure his own life is batshit fucking insane.

"Well, tell me anyway and let me be the judge. And if you're done before dinner's over, we can always move on to ground rules."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, smiling. Stanford is going to be great. Normal is going to be great. He can feel it. And he already has the coolest roommate in the world. It's going to be an amazing four years.

~*~

As it turns out, Misha has a car, a blue sedan with a grey upholstered interior he’s had since he started driving. It’s nothing Dean would swoon over, even had he place in his heart for any car besides the Impala, but it’s well maintained and has good mileage for its age. Sam thinks it could have come right out of Singer Salvage.

“When I can afford it, I’d like to switch to a hybrid. More eco-friendly and better mileage,” Misha says as they get in. When he realized that Sam had been completely serious about having nothing he hadn’t already unpacked, Misha insisted on making a supply run to the nearest Target. “Most of the stuff will probably be somewhat cheaper at Wal-Mart, but we shouldn’t buy from them. They support all the wrong things,” he adds by way of explanation over the fifteen-minute drive.

They make it to the cashier, soon to be about two hundred dollars poorer, and while standing in line, Sam digs into the side pocket of his knapsack for the extra cash he’d been saving up for when he got here. Finding it, he slips it into his wallet, pulling out two Benjamins before pocketing it.

“Hey, I think you dropped this,” Misha says beside him, reaching under the cart to pick something up.

When the other stands, Sam sees it’s his old rosary. He’s surprised by the relief he feels when the silver cross doesn’t burn where it touches Misha’s skin. He hadn’t even realized he’d suspected his roommate of being any number of non-humans in disguise.

“Are you religious?” the other asks, running his thumb over the effigies with what seems like fondness.

He pauses to think before answering. While he does pray every night, he’s no churchgoer, and he certainly doesn’t know any part of Scripture that doesn’t help in slaying evil beings. “Not particularly,” he decides at last. Not in the traditional sense of the word, at least. “It’s a gift from an old family friend.” Pastor Jim gave it to him long ago, and he doesn’t even use it to pray; he kept it around for making holy water.

“Yeah, me neither,” Misha says as they reach their turn. “I think it doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you’re kind to everyone.”

“Yeah, I can get behind that,” their cashier -Rachael, says the nametag- chimes in with a smile as she rings them up. “If only more people lived by that philosophy.”

Sam smiles as he pays, while Misha begins bagging their purchases in the reusable shopping bags he brought, and wonders how he ever thought his roommate might be a monster. He needs to stop thinking like that, like a paranoid hunter. Like Dad. He shakes himself. This is normal. He needs to start acting like it.

~*~

Like any new Stanfordite, Misha had no idea who his roommate would be until he returned from his trip to check out lofting materials. He’d never minded being too weird for most of his peers, but he’d also never had to live with any of them, and he had to admit that not knowing what to expect made him a little nervous. He certainly, however, hadn’t expected a giant puppy -for that was the only word he could think of to describe Sam’s combination of pettably messy hair, dewy olive green eyes and endearing, shy smile- much less one who liked him from the start. Not tolerated, not accepted, but actually, honestly liked him.

As vague details of the story came out over dinner, (he didn’t press much because Sam obviously didn’t really want to talk about it) he figured out that Stanford was Sam’s home now, for better or worse, since his father said not to come back if he left. Sam’s family also moved around a lot, so he’d never really lived in Lawrence, and a family friend’s salvage yard in South Dakota was the closest thing he knew of to a home. He had to say he was surprised the sasquatch wasn’t at Stanford under the athletics program for basketball and also impressed that Sam had gotten a full ride here after a lifetime of moving from school to school. He didn’t know what the family business was, or why Sam seemed constantly worried that someone or something might jump out of nowhere to attack him at any moment, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t handle a family that would disown him for wanting to choose his own path in life. He’s really close to his mother, and she’d always been a fount of unconventional ideas and unconditional love in his life.

Now, at the end of orientation, he’s also positive Sam is his new favorite person - sob story, secrets and all. Stepping out takes courage, getting into Stanford takes brains, but above all, Sam is kind, and it shows in his every action - no matter his own situation, Sam will always try to help someone else in need. Add that to the way he tries make their room feel like home, which it now is to him, and Sam’s the Emerald City to Misha’s yellow brick road in finding the ideal person to live with. It’s obvious from how often the name ‘Dean’ pops up that Sam was very close to his older brother and misses him terribly. But Dean not taking his side in the final family drama is also clearly still a sore point, so Misha chooses not to point out that there’s this thing called a phone.

They’re back in their room now that he’s owned Sam at Twister after being soundly defeated at Cranium, when he decides to bring one last thing up. “Oh, just so there are no surprises, I should probably mention that I’m pansexual.”

Sam rinses his mouth as he finishes brushing his teeth at the sink and spits the water out before answering, “Well, you do seem the type,” with a grin.

Misha scowls. “Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Laughing as he wipes his face with a towel, Sam jokes, “Unusual people have unusual tastes?”

“Oh, so you do think I’m weird!” He pokes Sam in the chest with a finger. “I’ll have you know-”

“That you won’t be bringing any creepers home?” Sam continues teasing, catching hold of Misha’s hands.

“That they’re not creepers, you ass.”

Despite that, it’s clear Sam is unfazed, and Misha doesn’t expect the relief that washes over him. He’s not used to caring what others think of that, and he wasn’t expecting Sam to mind, even if the sasquatch does come off pretty all-American hetero, from the way he was checking out only the girls earlier, but... it’s nice not even needing to explain it for once.

He twists his hands out of Sam’s grip and finally gives in to his weeklong temptation to vigorously ruffle the other’s soft brown hair like he would the fur of a particularly shaggy dog. And when Sam picks him up after he’s ignored the other’s repeated protests and threatens to throw him out the window, it feels like everything is right with the world, and Misha thinks it’s the perfect start to a great year.

~*~

"Hey," Misha greets Sam from his desk as Sam walks into their room.

Sam smiles tiredly as he drops his bag and flops back on his bed. "Hey." He has barely seen his roommate all week, between classes and work, and he's starting to doubt he can really do this many units at once.

"You up for dinner, or do you want me to grab you something?"

Misha really is every bit the sweetheart Sam met that first day, however, and after the slew of roommate horror stories he’s heard, he's truly glad to have found a good friend in his. He sits up.

"Yeah, I'll come with you. I haven't seen you since classes started."

Fighting his exhaustion is worth it for the way Misha lights up. "Great! Just at Lakeside, nice and near. How many units are you doing this quarter anyway?"

"Eighteen," he answers as they start walking down.

"Oh God, you are crazy." Misha slaps him on the shoulder, and he jumps a little because no one but Dean has ever been so physically affectionate with him. He’s noticed that Misha is a very tactile person. He doesn’t mind though; it just takes a little getting used to. "Guess it's up to me to remind you that there's a life out there, huh? Actually, I might even have to keep you alive."

Sam smiles gratefully. “I’m starting to think the reality is just going to be you bringing me coffee every night."

Misha grins as they step out into the cool evening air. "I can do that."

~*~

Sam has made some new friends in his classes, and true to Misha’s word, Brady, Aaron and Sandra all think his roommate is pretty weird. They did laugh at Misha’s comical impressions of his professors’ antics in various very accurate accents though. Misha doesn’t like Brady, and the feeling might be mutual. On the other hand, Sam’s also met Vicki, Erin and Toby, and he doesn’t like Erin, so he figures they’re even. He also sprinkled holy water on them all before sharply reminding himself that he doesn’t have to do that here, that he really needs to stop doing that here. Normal, he tells himself, starts with you.

As he walks out of class into the early afternoon sun, he takes out his cell phone to call Misha. He has about an hour and a half before his next class. The dinner was two weeks ago, and he hasn’t seen his roommate since. Whenever he gets back from work, group meetings or class, Misha is always either out or already asleep.

“Sam!” Misha’s voice is cheery over the line. “What’s up?”

“Want to get lunch? I have ninety minutes.”

“You have no idea how much I’d rather be having lunch with you than waiting for my turn in this hall.”

“Your turn for?”

“Auditions. TAPS plays. I tried my hand at acting once before I moved here, and it was fun, so I thought I’d try some stage. I heard it’s really different, and I could use the practice and experience.”

Acting? He’s starting to wonder if there’s anything Misha doesn’t do. “Where are they?”

“The Nitery.” That’s not far.

“Well, have you eaten? I could grab sandwiches and come meet you.”

“Oh, Sam!” Misha gasps in an overly dramatic impression of a love-struck teenager. “You must be an angel!”

It takes some effort to stop laughing long enough to ask, “Okay, okay, what do you want?”

“Roast chicken and bacon, pepper jack cheese, all the vegetables and honey mustard. Could you have them toast my peppers and onions too? Oh, and get one for Vicki? She’s here keeping me sane. The same but in a spinach wrap with no bacon and Italian dressing instead.”

When he’s gotten the three sandwiches, he makes his way over to the Nitery to find a crowd waiting outside the theater doors. Misha waves him over excitedly and makes a kissy face at him when he hands over the sandwich. He also passes Vicki her wrap, and she thanks him before returning her attention to her gender studies book. He’s barely sat down beside Misha when a thin blonde steps out of the theater and calls for a “Mister... Dmitri Tippens Krushnic?”

Vicki slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles, and he blinks as everyone looks around the room.

“Wow,” he remarks quietly, taking out his own sandwich. “That name exists? Dmitri Krushnic? No, wait, Tippens Krushnic? Really?”

Vicki dissolves into more hysterical giggling even as Misha stands up.

“Misha Collins, damn it,” he corrects sullenly, dropping his unopened sandwich in Sam’s lap before picking his way across the room. “I am changing it on all official records as soon as this quarter is over. Vicki, stop laughing.”

Sam turns to Vicki. “Seriously?”

She’s laughing too hard to do much more than nod in reply. Misha. Dmitri Tippens Krushnic. He bursts out laughing too, and Misha turns to glare at him. It only makes him laugh more.

“Don’t worry,” Vicki says breathlessly when she can finally speak again. “Just... distract him with llamas.”

~*~

Sam likes working in the library. It’s quiet, the hours are nice, and he can study when it’s slow, as he’s doing now. If the rest of his shift goes on like this, he’ll be done with the week’s assigned reading for his Law and Public Policy class by the end of it, and then he can turn in early and feel more energized for his biweekly morning run with Misha. It’s an easy way to both work out and spend time together, and they usually end it with some fountain hopping and breakfast. Just as he’s wishing he’ll be left relatively undisturbed for the next two hours, someone comes up to the desk.

“Hey there, big boy~”

He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s his best friend, here to troll him in a rare visit to the library. When he does look up, he takes in Misha’s cheery outfit -jeans paired with a navy hoodie over a bright orange T-shirt and equally bright orange tennis shoes- and plays along with his best saucy grin.

“And just how may I help you today, handsome?”

His roommate leans in closer to whisper conspiratorially, “Well, see, I’ve got this crush on one of the librarians working here? He’s really hot and about yay tall;” he indicates approximately six inches taller than him with one hand, “and really smart;” he bats his eyelashes flirtatiously, “and I was just wondering if you knew when his shift ends so I could stalk him to his room?”

Sam snorts and swats Misha on the shoulder. “Now that’s just creepy. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Flirting with the hot librarian in hopes he’ll locate my research materials for me?” Blue eyes turn hopeful.

Sam rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. “Give me the list.”

Misha’s grin widens with delight as he hands over the crumpled note. “Oh, you are the best.”

Once he’s looked up all the materials on the system, Sam stands. “So you want to come with or wait here?”

Misha falls into step beside him. “Seriously, what time do you get done here tonight?”

“Ten,” he replies, turning left as he reaches the right row of shelves to find the first book.

“I should be done with these around then too. Come find me in the reading room when you’re done?”

He grins. “Sure. Let’s grab a bite at TAP on the way back too. I didn’t have time for dinner earlier.”

“You sure you’ll last that long?”

“Yup.” He hands Misha a hefty tome on the list. “Because you’re doing the heavy lifting.”

Burgers, salads and smoothies later, they’re walking back to West Lag when they hear a boy apologizing profusely. “Look, guys, I’m so sorry I forgot. It’s just... been a long week, okay? I’m sorry! I swear I’ll make it up to you. It’s just one quiz. Prof says he’ll drop two. I won’t forget again, I swear!”

“That’s supposed to be for the two lowest that aren’t zeroes, you ninny. What do we have you for?” One of the two bigger guys pulls his fist back, and Sam catches his wrist before he can punch.

“How about you two do your own work for a change?” It’s hard to believe there are still Dirks and Barrys at a place like Stanford, but maybe not everyone grows up by the time they reach university.

“And what’s it to you?” the other bully asks as both brutes round on him.

Sam squares his shoulders and straightens; at his full height, he has about two inches on them both. They’re bulkier, but he’s going to bet they haven’t been raised fighting superhuman monsters. “Just can’t stand the sight of you lazy jerks trying to ditch classes by making someone else do the hard work.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I just can’t stand the sight of your face.”

The first guy takes a swipe, but Sam ducks and elbows him in the gut before dodging the second guy’s punch and sending him sprawling with a kick to the back of the knees. The first backs away, doubled over, as the second picks himself up. Realizing they are well and truly outmatched, they take off, shouting over their shoulders that they’ll remember this. Once he’s made sure they’re most definitely not coming back, Sam turns to find Misha coming over with the other kid.

“You’re a ninja, aren’t you? Secretly?” Misha demands, blue eyes glinting.

Sam laughs. “What? No. Come on, Mish. This?” He indicates his full 6’4” stature. “Not stealthy at all.”

“Hey, um...” The other kid is a few inches shorter than Misha and somewhat mousy. “Thanks for that.”

“Hey, no problem. Can’t let people get away with this.”

“Sometimes people really suck.” Misha pulls a face somewhere between a pout and a grimace, but then reaches up to wrap an arm around Sam’s shoulders and cheers up. “I still think you’re a ninja. And I was just telling your homeboy here that he should come hang with us. Isn’t that right, Ed?”

“Um, yeah. You guys live halfway across campus from me though. I’m in Branner. Classics major. Don’t think we’ll run into each other much.” Ed laughs nervously.

“Hey! I read dead languages too,” Sam protests. “And two of my Thinking Matters classes this quarter are from your department.”

“Really?” Both Ed and Misha turn to look at him.

“Which?” Ed asks. “Sorry, I mean the dead languages,” he clarifies, adjusting his glasses.

“Um... Some Latin, a bit of Greek and a bit of Aramaic?”

“What are you, Templar? Illuminati?” Misha asks with exaggerated suspicion. “Wait, I know; you’re in SHIELD, aren’t you?”

Ed actually rolls his eyes before turning back to Sam. “Wow, first time I’ve met someone who knows Aramaic. That’s really cool. Well, I guess I’ll see you around then. But now, I gotta get back. Oh, um... I’m Edwin Broderick, by the way.” He holds out his hand.

Sam shakes it. “Sam Winchester.”

“Right. Glad I ran into you. Again, thanks so much for earlier. Uh... Night, guys.”

Misha and Sam watch Edwin walk away for several moments before they too start heading back.

“Think he’ll be okay?”

“I hope so.” Sam shoots a look back over his shoulder. “Should we have offered to walk him back?”

“You mean to ask if we should have tried to make him feel more awkward than he already did, which was... pretty fucking awkward. Is that the question? Yeah, no, probably not,” Misha admits.

Sam hums in agreement as they turn onto Santa Teresa Street. Misha slips an arm through his, and really, Misha is about a hundred times more physically affectionate than Dean would likely ever be.

“Well, I still think you’re in some badass secret society, and you’d better tell me all about it one day and initiate me,” he insists petulantly. “Wait, that’s it!” He snaps his fingers. “This is the Matrix, and you’re awake in the real world, right? Come on, give me the red pill too!”

Sam buries his face in his hands. In some ways, Misha is an even bigger geek than Dean. “I’m not- This isn’t-” He sighs. “Misha, you’re confusing fantasy and reality again.”

“That’s what they all say when they’re trying to keep their superhero identities a secret.”

Despite the context, it’s uncomfortably close to the truth, so Sam doesn’t reply. Sometimes, he wishes it were all as glamorous as fiction makes it out to be, but that’s so far from the gritty reality he grew up with.

“But... I’m proud that we’re friends,” Misha adds out of the blue, growing serious. “Sometimes, I wonder why people can’t all be kind to each other. But yeah, you did a grand thing back there. Not a lot of people would have done it, you know?” His grip on Sam’s arm tightens a little. “Some wouldn’t dare, and some wouldn’t care. He was a complete stranger, and yet... Maybe we can’t stop every bad thing in the world from happening, but... just tonight? We changed something for the better. And maybe it’s small, or maybe it’s life altering, but it matters. I've always believed that all you need is one good man to make a difference. So um... Thanks. For uh... having more good in you than you know.”

Sam ducks his head to hide a blush. “Did you... just quote both Captain America and The Hobbit?”

Misha punches him in the arm. “Couldn’t you have said ‘you’re welcome’ or something and left it at that?”

He pulls the orange scrunchy off and musses Misha’s light brown hair as they climb the stairs. His roommate’s “Hey!!” of protest dissolves quickly into giggles, and by the time they reach their room, Sam’s quite sure a few of their neighbors will be less than pleased at breakfast. It’s not his fault Misha has a distinctive giggle.

~*~

It’s hot. There’s fire everywhere, it’s searing his skin where he stands, and the stench of burning flesh is overwhelming. He’s in a bathroom, and a girl lies dead in the flames, sprawled in unnatural angles over the toilet seat, her clothing ripped to shreds burning up in curling tendrils. She looks kinda familiar, but he can’t place her. There’s blood in the toilet, on the floor, splattered on the walls, and he tries to back out of the cubicle, but he can’t - something’s rooting him to the spot.

Pieces of flesh melt off the girl’s bones, and he claps his hands over his mouth - he’s going to be sick, he can feel it rising in his throat, and he can’t-

Sam sits up with a gasp and manages to fight the gagging long enough to make it to the sink in the faint light of dawn. It’s mostly bile that comes up, not much food left in his stomach, but the acrid aftertaste it leaves in his throat despite brushing his teeth is foul, and he can practically taste the smoke and burning flesh under the mint of the toothpaste.

“Sam?”

He rinses his mouth one last time and washes his face before turning to his roommate. With his sleep-mussed chestnut hair sticking out in odd places, bleary blue eyes and the languid way he stretches as he yawns, Misha looks like a giant kitten that just rolled out of its basket, and in spite of the nightmare, Sam finds himself smiling. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to flick at a few stray locks of hair by Misha’s ear with the tips of his fingers, and the other even reacts just like a cat would, tilting his head into the contact even as he moves out of reach. It is the most adorable thing Sam has ever seen. “Morning, kitty,” he adds with a grin.

“Hey,” Misha protests, swatting his shoulder as he slips past. “Not a kitten. I’m... I’m a she-llama.”

“A she-llama?” Sam bursts out laughing and feels better for it. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Misha shrugs as he picks up his orange toothbrush. “What are you doing up so early, anyway?”

Not wanting to think about the dream, Sam evades with “I just... woke up.”

“Mm, join me for breakfast?”

He’s too awake to return to bed, so he runs a hand through his hair and goes to change. “Yeah, sure.”

They walk through the crisp morning air over to Lakeside in companionable silence. It’s not too crowded at this hour, so it’s easy to find a quiet table to sit at with their waffles, fruit salad, eggs and bacon. Misha digs into his breakfast with gusto, but Sam can’t seem to get the taste of bile out of his mouth, and not even the syrup on the waffles sits well on his tongue. He manages about a quarter of the waffle and half the fruit before he can’t anymore, and even the sight and smell of the bacon and eggs make him queasy.

“I’m done,” he says sitting back and pushing his plate away. He’ll probably be hungry later, but he doubts he’ll have the appetite. Even the food he’s already eaten is churning uncomfortably i- “Ow!”

Misha thwacked his arm with a spoon hard enough to bruise. “Don’t waste food,” he chides with a frown. “There are people starving out there.”

Sam rubs his sore arm. “I know.” He remembers, clearly, the time Dean looked longingly at the last can of spaghetti-O’s before giving it to him, not knowing whether or not Dad would be back the next day with money for more food, remembers wondering just how many times before -when he was younger and didn’t notice things like these- Dean had done exactly the same thing and given him the last of their food, remembers insisting on sharing because he knew better now. “I know. I just...” He catches another whiff of bacon and eggs and has to clamp a hand over his mouth as he nearly gags, pushing his chair further back from the table.

His roommate’s face instantly clouds with worry. “Hey.” Misha is on his feet and by his side in an instant, a grounding hand on his shoulder, and the spicy scent of Misha’s cinnamon aftershave seems to settle his protesting stomach a little. “Sam? You okay?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little queasy.”

“I’m sorry I hit you with a spoon,” Misha mumbles guiltily, rubbing around the darkening spot on Sam’s arm in a likely futile attempt to keep it from bruising too badly.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Yes, and I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

He covers Misha’s hand with his own and smiles up reassuringly. “Mish, it’s okay.”

“Get some tea?” Misha suggests, tentative. “Or PowerAde? Might help settle your stomach.”

He nods, standing. “I’ll do that. Tea sounds good.”

“Try peppermint or ginger. It’s good for nausea.”

When he returns with a steaming cup of ginger spice tea, Misha has started on his half-eaten food, and he’s reminded of Dean; his brother never left food on the table either -it was either finish it or pack it to go- and he wonders if maybe Misha has been there too - hungry, not knowing whether he’ll have food that day. The thought haunts him as he sips at his tea and makes him reach for a piece of melon. It goes down all right, so he pulls the bowl over. Concerned blue eyes flick to him in question.

“I think I can manage the rest of the fruit,” he offers, and Misha smiles sunnily around a mouthful of waffle.

~ Navigation ~
Chapter 1: Part One | Part Two
Chapter 2: Part One | Part Two
Chapter 3: Part One | Part Two
Chapter 4: Part One | Part Two
Epilogue