Misadventures in Hunting, for semirah
Title: Misadventures in Hunting
Recipient: Semirah (*heart eyes*)
Rating: Teen + a few R rated curse words
Word Count: 2,525 words
Warnings: some cursing, talk of Sam’s less than stellar childhood, minor violence Summary: Sam takes on a hunt while at Stanford plus some Sam and Brady buddy bonding.
--
Sam Winchester, by all accounts, was more than a little strange.
Evidence Brady would like to provide:
1) No one that tall should eat as little as Sam Winchester does and continue to grow. The kid must photosynthesize, Brady thinks, because otherwise he appears to subsist off of lettuce and coffee alone. (Brady hasn't gotten up the courage to talk to him about eating disorders yet and part of him feels like a coward for it. He has a little sister. He knows about these things and it scares the shit out of him.)
2) No 18 year old kid should be this much of a workaholic. You'd think the kid's life depended on him getting an A on every test and every paper the way he studies. Sure, Brady's dedicated, but Sam is a whole different story. If Brady wasn't there to remind Sam to take care of himself Brady's honestly not sure if the kid would've lived through finals.
3) Another thing; the kid was charming (he could out charm Prince Charming in a charming contest) and yet his social life was... complicated. Sam had friends. Sam had a lot of friends. Everyone liked Sam. And with those dimples, who could blame them? But Sam was... he was guarded. He laughed and smiled, but Brady had a feeling no one really knew the real Sam Winchester. Sometimes, Brady didn't think he did either, but he liked to think he was closer than most.
4) He put salt??? Across the window and door??? Brady tried not to think too much about it honestly and didn't even want to ask. Everyone had their quirks.
5) Brady was pretty sure no one should have a smile that bright. It should actually be made illegal.
Don't get Brady wrong, he loved Sam. He was probably Sam's closest friend, all things considered. But sometimes something happened to remind Brady that maybe he doesn't know Sam as well as he thinks he does. Some things just force a change in perspective and one of those things is your mild mannered roommate coming back to the dorms bleeding out.
Three Days Earlier:
Sam was done hunting. He was done. He was out of that life. No more motel rooms and a new town every week. No more grave robbery in the middle of the night or silver bullets. Just this: a dorm room, a weekly schedule, and a campus with security guards. Safety.
That didn’t mean Sam was oblivious, despite what his family might think.
When hikers starting showing up dead near Palo Alto, Sam took notice. Because Sam wasn’t stupid, no matter what his family thought, and he knew what was out there. He wasn’t going to forget the dangers of the world. Sam was looking for safe and that meant keeping himself protected, educated, and up to date on threats to his new home.
A few short months and Sam was already starting to think of Stanford as home. It was the longest he had been able to stay in one place before and Sam let himself relish in the feeling of being able to lock a door from the inside, knowing no one would barge in and demand unquestioning obedience because “people are dying,” knowing that Sam’s desire to study and to learn was protected here.
There were things Sam missed. He missed Dean. The way his brother laughed, his sarcastic comments and stupid jokes. But he didn’t miss stitching his brother up in the middle of the night in a motel bathroom with dental floss and a bottle of jack. He missed some of the teasing, sometimes he even missed sparring practice with Dean when it was a competition rather than life or death. He didn’t miss long drives with no end in sight, changing schools every other week, and never, ever knowing the meaning of stability.
Sam was beginning to feel more comfortable in his skin than he ever had before. Sure, he was still a freak. He was the scholarship kid that showed up with a duffle bag and a black eye. He was the kid with no family, no place to go, and no one to miss him. Sam was a poor kid amid some of the world’s best, brightest, and richest.
Sam was the type of kid that noticed a pattern when hikers started dying and wondered why. Because no matter how comfortable Sam was becoming with his own skin, it had only been a few months. There was an ache deep in his bones urging him to fight. John’s voice was still loud in the back of Sam’s head, shouting: People are dying, you selfish, useless, bastard, and you want to sit on your ass and read?! Sam, as a matter of survival, had stopped caring what his father thought of him. That didn’t mean the words didn’t hurt.
Sam was sitting at his desk, laptop out in front of him, thinking about the latest victims - Linda Michaels and Ginny Marks - when Brady sauntered into the room. People like Brady sauntered. The blonde was almost as tall as Sam, confident, and brilliant, with the world’s most blinding smile.
“Hey Big Brain,” Brady said. “You coming to Becky’s party tonight? Come on, it’s a long weekend, you got A plus plus plus on our last world history exam, and I know for a fact that your theology paper isn’t due until Wednesday. So come on, live a little Sam.”
“How can you even think about going to a party right now, dude? That calculus test kicked. My. Ass.” Sam tried to grin over at his roommate, turning around in his chair and closing his laptop gently.
“Sam,” Brady said, voice going all serious. “You did fine. And to celebrate that fact you should come to Becky’s party with me tonight.”
Sam just shook his head. “No party for me. I’m going to, like, actually sleep for more than three hours. It’s going to be fantastic.”
Brady just rolled his eyes, leaning forwards from where he had draped himself against one of the beds to ruffle Sam’s hair. For a split second instinct kicked in - fight, live, run, die - but Sam made himself relax. This was Brady, not an angry spirit, and certainly not John Winchester.
“Fine. One of these days I am going to get you to have some fun, Winchester,” Brady said, grinning with a promise.
~~~
Two days later and Sam was fairly certain he knew what he was dealing with and, theoretically, it should be easy. Of course, Sam really should've known better. There’s no such thing as an easy hunt really. It’s all in perspective.
In a different life, where Sam didn’t leave for Stanford and stayed in the family business, a simple vengeful spirit hunt would be no big deal in comparison to black dogs and wendigos. But it this life, the life where Sam was just another college freshman still trying to find his footing, deciding to take a hunt over the long weekend was a very, very bad decision.
Of course, Sam reflected as he got on the bus back to Stanford, the decision had already been made, he was still alive, it could’ve been worse, and he was never, ever doing it again. One of Sam’s comforts as he thought about trying to bandage his own most likely broken ribs was the fact that Brady was supposed to be at a party with Janice and Ryan from Sociology tonight. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant night, not at all, but at least Sam would’ve have to worry about why he looked like he had lost a bar brawl to his roommate.
In the end Sam really did have wonder how fucktastic his luck could really be when he staggered into the room and came face to face with Brady.
Well, more like came face to shoulder with Brady as Sam almost collapsed and his loyal roommate lunged forward to catch him before hitting the ground.
“Holy shit. Sam. Sam!”
Sam groaned, trying to get himself back up on his own two feet. Brady didn’t need to deal with all this. Not when it was Sam’s stupid decision that caused this.
“I’m okay,” he tried to say but regretted it almost immediately. Brady flinched back at the sound of Sam’s voice heavy with pain.
“Oh my god, Sam. What happened? I thought- god, nevermind. You need a hospital. Do you need a hospital? I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Sam shook his head, stumbling backwards until he found his desk chair. Sitting down was painful but much less so than standing up was. He considered it a fair trade.
“I’m fine, Brady. Really. Just-” he paused to take a ragged breath and tried to ignore the way his lungs screamed at him. “I went for a walk. Mugging.”
“Shit. Shit,” Brady said, pacing back and forth across the small room. “You need a hospital. I’m taking you to the hospital. Shit, what did they do to you?”
Sam shook his head. “No hospitals. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. No hospitals.”
“You’re shitting me Sam. You’re barely breathing. What if you punctured a lung? What if- I don’t know what if you pulled something or broke something or… or something!”
“That’s very technical, Mr. Medical Major,” Sam said, twisting his lips up what he hoped passed as a smile. It was probably more like a grimace but still. Sam appreciated Brady’s worry. It was refreshing after a childhood of being told to suck it up, take a shot of cheap whiskey and keep moving because people are dying.“Brady, just listen please. You know I don’t have money for medical bills and I’m not letting you foot my bill,” Sam said, trying to level Brady with his best ‘I’m fine’ stare. Brady just rolled his eyes, clearly disbelieving.
“And I’m not letting you bleed out internally,” Brady shot back. “Seriously Sam. Give me a reason. A real reason. Not a monetary one.” When Sam remained silent Brady let out a sigh, dragging his own desk chair over so he could sit in front of Sam. Brady was the first to break the silence.
“Okay. No hospitals. But! But you have to let me look you over and if I think you’re like dying on something I’m calling in reinforcements to corral you to the hospital. Deal?”
Sam nodded quickly, not able to hide his relief. Hospitals weren’t safe. They asked too many questions. They didn’t have the money or the time. People were dying. Sam shook his head, trying to derail that train of thought. That wasn’t his life anymore. If anything tonight did nothing more than drive home that point. Still- he’d rather answer Brady’s questions instead of a nurse’s worried inquiries. At least Sam knew how to deflect and redirect with Brady. Plus there was always the hope that he couldn’t tell the difference between a knife wound and simple tom-foolery induced injuries.
That didn’t mean he was looking forward to this…
“I’ve got a first aid kit under my bed,” Sam offered and Brady nodded. He clenched his hands into fists for a few seconds to try and stop their shaking before shrugging off his jacket and peeling off his sweat covered shirt. Sam hated feeling exposed like this. He knew what Brady would think but that didn’t make his friend’s horrified expression any easier to stomach when Brady surfaced with the first aid kit.
“Holy shit, Sam,” Brady said quietly. Sam just shrugged uncomfortably, all too aware of the fact that he had nowhere to hide while Brady took in the bruises already forming across his abdomen. It was obvious that wasn’t what was scaring his friend. Brady stared at Sam like he was lost as he took in the map of scars.
“I was a clumsy kid, Ty,” Sam says softly. It at least managed to snap Brady out of his stupefied funk.
“Sam. Hey- hey- Sam, look at me. Please. Just look at me.” Brady searched desperately to meet his friend’s avoiding gaze. “This isn’t clumsy kid shit. This is… this is cruel. My Ma had scars like this from a life of trying to split up bad bar fights that got ugly and trying to keep our rent paid.” Except his mom had never been shot. Or torn apart by vicious attack dogs, by the look of those deep scars and sharp bite marks. What the fuck had happened to this kid?
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Brady,” Sam said, shaking his head like this was fine. Brady wanted to press the issue. He wanted to know who the hell had hurt Sam like this and why. He wanted to know how old he was when he got his first scar. He wanted to know if Sam had fought back, if that’s how Sam had gotten here. He wanted to know if whoever did this to his best friend was still a free man or if Brady needed to hunt them down himself.
“Brady,” Sam said again, laying a gentle hand on his roommate like Sam wasn’t the traumatized one here. “It’s over now. I’m safe here. Just some scrapes and maybe some cracked ribs. Easy fix, right Mr. Medical Major?”
Brady nodded, shaking his head to snap out of it while he went to go get a fresh washcloth from the sink. Sam felt his own ribs for any broken bones or fractures and Brady helped him wrap them before getting Sam back into a shirt and then starting on his arms. Brady was painfully aware of every noise Sam made as he cleaned out the scrapes with alcohol wipes. His roommate barely made a sound. As Brady finished putting on the last band-aid Sam’s hand shot out of gently grab Brady’s own.
Brady looked back at Sam, barely feeling like he knew the kid and burning with fierce anger and confusion.
“I’m still the same kid. Just a little more broken than you thought I was. Still the same guy. I’m out of that life, Ty. Out from under my father’s thumb and everything that life brought. I’m safe here. I’m safe now because I am never going back,” Sam said, meeting Brady’s eyes with a bone deep determination and a sharp need for understanding.
Brady forced a grin and nodded. “Of course you’re still the same guy Winchester. Pain in my ass but I love ya.”
“You only love me for my sociology notes,” Sam said with a familiar eye roll, if only a little more desperate. Brady felt the moment slipping past and knew he needed to grab onto it while he still had the chance.
“And Sam? If you… you ever need to talk? I’m here,” Brady said and he meant it. When Sam smiled back at Brady, Brady thought Sam might even take him up on the offer someday.
Sam might be a weird kid, a kid who’s been through way more than any kid deserved, but he was still Brady’s best friend. Brady wasn’t planning on letting Sam face this world alone anymore.
Recipient: Semirah (*heart eyes*)
Rating: Teen + a few R rated curse words
Word Count: 2,525 words
Warnings: some cursing, talk of Sam’s less than stellar childhood, minor violence Summary: Sam takes on a hunt while at Stanford plus some Sam and Brady buddy bonding.
--
Sam Winchester, by all accounts, was more than a little strange.
Evidence Brady would like to provide:
1) No one that tall should eat as little as Sam Winchester does and continue to grow. The kid must photosynthesize, Brady thinks, because otherwise he appears to subsist off of lettuce and coffee alone. (Brady hasn't gotten up the courage to talk to him about eating disorders yet and part of him feels like a coward for it. He has a little sister. He knows about these things and it scares the shit out of him.)
2) No 18 year old kid should be this much of a workaholic. You'd think the kid's life depended on him getting an A on every test and every paper the way he studies. Sure, Brady's dedicated, but Sam is a whole different story. If Brady wasn't there to remind Sam to take care of himself Brady's honestly not sure if the kid would've lived through finals.
3) Another thing; the kid was charming (he could out charm Prince Charming in a charming contest) and yet his social life was... complicated. Sam had friends. Sam had a lot of friends. Everyone liked Sam. And with those dimples, who could blame them? But Sam was... he was guarded. He laughed and smiled, but Brady had a feeling no one really knew the real Sam Winchester. Sometimes, Brady didn't think he did either, but he liked to think he was closer than most.
4) He put salt??? Across the window and door??? Brady tried not to think too much about it honestly and didn't even want to ask. Everyone had their quirks.
5) Brady was pretty sure no one should have a smile that bright. It should actually be made illegal.
Don't get Brady wrong, he loved Sam. He was probably Sam's closest friend, all things considered. But sometimes something happened to remind Brady that maybe he doesn't know Sam as well as he thinks he does. Some things just force a change in perspective and one of those things is your mild mannered roommate coming back to the dorms bleeding out.
Three Days Earlier:
Sam was done hunting. He was done. He was out of that life. No more motel rooms and a new town every week. No more grave robbery in the middle of the night or silver bullets. Just this: a dorm room, a weekly schedule, and a campus with security guards. Safety.
That didn’t mean Sam was oblivious, despite what his family might think.
When hikers starting showing up dead near Palo Alto, Sam took notice. Because Sam wasn’t stupid, no matter what his family thought, and he knew what was out there. He wasn’t going to forget the dangers of the world. Sam was looking for safe and that meant keeping himself protected, educated, and up to date on threats to his new home.
A few short months and Sam was already starting to think of Stanford as home. It was the longest he had been able to stay in one place before and Sam let himself relish in the feeling of being able to lock a door from the inside, knowing no one would barge in and demand unquestioning obedience because “people are dying,” knowing that Sam’s desire to study and to learn was protected here.
There were things Sam missed. He missed Dean. The way his brother laughed, his sarcastic comments and stupid jokes. But he didn’t miss stitching his brother up in the middle of the night in a motel bathroom with dental floss and a bottle of jack. He missed some of the teasing, sometimes he even missed sparring practice with Dean when it was a competition rather than life or death. He didn’t miss long drives with no end in sight, changing schools every other week, and never, ever knowing the meaning of stability.
Sam was beginning to feel more comfortable in his skin than he ever had before. Sure, he was still a freak. He was the scholarship kid that showed up with a duffle bag and a black eye. He was the kid with no family, no place to go, and no one to miss him. Sam was a poor kid amid some of the world’s best, brightest, and richest.
Sam was the type of kid that noticed a pattern when hikers started dying and wondered why. Because no matter how comfortable Sam was becoming with his own skin, it had only been a few months. There was an ache deep in his bones urging him to fight. John’s voice was still loud in the back of Sam’s head, shouting: People are dying, you selfish, useless, bastard, and you want to sit on your ass and read?! Sam, as a matter of survival, had stopped caring what his father thought of him. That didn’t mean the words didn’t hurt.
Sam was sitting at his desk, laptop out in front of him, thinking about the latest victims - Linda Michaels and Ginny Marks - when Brady sauntered into the room. People like Brady sauntered. The blonde was almost as tall as Sam, confident, and brilliant, with the world’s most blinding smile.
“Hey Big Brain,” Brady said. “You coming to Becky’s party tonight? Come on, it’s a long weekend, you got A plus plus plus on our last world history exam, and I know for a fact that your theology paper isn’t due until Wednesday. So come on, live a little Sam.”
“How can you even think about going to a party right now, dude? That calculus test kicked. My. Ass.” Sam tried to grin over at his roommate, turning around in his chair and closing his laptop gently.
“Sam,” Brady said, voice going all serious. “You did fine. And to celebrate that fact you should come to Becky’s party with me tonight.”
Sam just shook his head. “No party for me. I’m going to, like, actually sleep for more than three hours. It’s going to be fantastic.”
Brady just rolled his eyes, leaning forwards from where he had draped himself against one of the beds to ruffle Sam’s hair. For a split second instinct kicked in - fight, live, run, die - but Sam made himself relax. This was Brady, not an angry spirit, and certainly not John Winchester.
“Fine. One of these days I am going to get you to have some fun, Winchester,” Brady said, grinning with a promise.
~~~
Two days later and Sam was fairly certain he knew what he was dealing with and, theoretically, it should be easy. Of course, Sam really should've known better. There’s no such thing as an easy hunt really. It’s all in perspective.
In a different life, where Sam didn’t leave for Stanford and stayed in the family business, a simple vengeful spirit hunt would be no big deal in comparison to black dogs and wendigos. But it this life, the life where Sam was just another college freshman still trying to find his footing, deciding to take a hunt over the long weekend was a very, very bad decision.
Of course, Sam reflected as he got on the bus back to Stanford, the decision had already been made, he was still alive, it could’ve been worse, and he was never, ever doing it again. One of Sam’s comforts as he thought about trying to bandage his own most likely broken ribs was the fact that Brady was supposed to be at a party with Janice and Ryan from Sociology tonight. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant night, not at all, but at least Sam would’ve have to worry about why he looked like he had lost a bar brawl to his roommate.
In the end Sam really did have wonder how fucktastic his luck could really be when he staggered into the room and came face to face with Brady.
Well, more like came face to shoulder with Brady as Sam almost collapsed and his loyal roommate lunged forward to catch him before hitting the ground.
“Holy shit. Sam. Sam!”
Sam groaned, trying to get himself back up on his own two feet. Brady didn’t need to deal with all this. Not when it was Sam’s stupid decision that caused this.
“I’m okay,” he tried to say but regretted it almost immediately. Brady flinched back at the sound of Sam’s voice heavy with pain.
“Oh my god, Sam. What happened? I thought- god, nevermind. You need a hospital. Do you need a hospital? I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Sam shook his head, stumbling backwards until he found his desk chair. Sitting down was painful but much less so than standing up was. He considered it a fair trade.
“I’m fine, Brady. Really. Just-” he paused to take a ragged breath and tried to ignore the way his lungs screamed at him. “I went for a walk. Mugging.”
“Shit. Shit,” Brady said, pacing back and forth across the small room. “You need a hospital. I’m taking you to the hospital. Shit, what did they do to you?”
Sam shook his head. “No hospitals. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. No hospitals.”
“You’re shitting me Sam. You’re barely breathing. What if you punctured a lung? What if- I don’t know what if you pulled something or broke something or… or something!”
“That’s very technical, Mr. Medical Major,” Sam said, twisting his lips up what he hoped passed as a smile. It was probably more like a grimace but still. Sam appreciated Brady’s worry. It was refreshing after a childhood of being told to suck it up, take a shot of cheap whiskey and keep moving because people are dying.“Brady, just listen please. You know I don’t have money for medical bills and I’m not letting you foot my bill,” Sam said, trying to level Brady with his best ‘I’m fine’ stare. Brady just rolled his eyes, clearly disbelieving.
“And I’m not letting you bleed out internally,” Brady shot back. “Seriously Sam. Give me a reason. A real reason. Not a monetary one.” When Sam remained silent Brady let out a sigh, dragging his own desk chair over so he could sit in front of Sam. Brady was the first to break the silence.
“Okay. No hospitals. But! But you have to let me look you over and if I think you’re like dying on something I’m calling in reinforcements to corral you to the hospital. Deal?”
Sam nodded quickly, not able to hide his relief. Hospitals weren’t safe. They asked too many questions. They didn’t have the money or the time. People were dying. Sam shook his head, trying to derail that train of thought. That wasn’t his life anymore. If anything tonight did nothing more than drive home that point. Still- he’d rather answer Brady’s questions instead of a nurse’s worried inquiries. At least Sam knew how to deflect and redirect with Brady. Plus there was always the hope that he couldn’t tell the difference between a knife wound and simple tom-foolery induced injuries.
That didn’t mean he was looking forward to this…
“I’ve got a first aid kit under my bed,” Sam offered and Brady nodded. He clenched his hands into fists for a few seconds to try and stop their shaking before shrugging off his jacket and peeling off his sweat covered shirt. Sam hated feeling exposed like this. He knew what Brady would think but that didn’t make his friend’s horrified expression any easier to stomach when Brady surfaced with the first aid kit.
“Holy shit, Sam,” Brady said quietly. Sam just shrugged uncomfortably, all too aware of the fact that he had nowhere to hide while Brady took in the bruises already forming across his abdomen. It was obvious that wasn’t what was scaring his friend. Brady stared at Sam like he was lost as he took in the map of scars.
“I was a clumsy kid, Ty,” Sam says softly. It at least managed to snap Brady out of his stupefied funk.
“Sam. Hey- hey- Sam, look at me. Please. Just look at me.” Brady searched desperately to meet his friend’s avoiding gaze. “This isn’t clumsy kid shit. This is… this is cruel. My Ma had scars like this from a life of trying to split up bad bar fights that got ugly and trying to keep our rent paid.” Except his mom had never been shot. Or torn apart by vicious attack dogs, by the look of those deep scars and sharp bite marks. What the fuck had happened to this kid?
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Brady,” Sam said, shaking his head like this was fine. Brady wanted to press the issue. He wanted to know who the hell had hurt Sam like this and why. He wanted to know how old he was when he got his first scar. He wanted to know if Sam had fought back, if that’s how Sam had gotten here. He wanted to know if whoever did this to his best friend was still a free man or if Brady needed to hunt them down himself.
“Brady,” Sam said again, laying a gentle hand on his roommate like Sam wasn’t the traumatized one here. “It’s over now. I’m safe here. Just some scrapes and maybe some cracked ribs. Easy fix, right Mr. Medical Major?”
Brady nodded, shaking his head to snap out of it while he went to go get a fresh washcloth from the sink. Sam felt his own ribs for any broken bones or fractures and Brady helped him wrap them before getting Sam back into a shirt and then starting on his arms. Brady was painfully aware of every noise Sam made as he cleaned out the scrapes with alcohol wipes. His roommate barely made a sound. As Brady finished putting on the last band-aid Sam’s hand shot out of gently grab Brady’s own.
Brady looked back at Sam, barely feeling like he knew the kid and burning with fierce anger and confusion.
“I’m still the same kid. Just a little more broken than you thought I was. Still the same guy. I’m out of that life, Ty. Out from under my father’s thumb and everything that life brought. I’m safe here. I’m safe now because I am never going back,” Sam said, meeting Brady’s eyes with a bone deep determination and a sharp need for understanding.
Brady forced a grin and nodded. “Of course you’re still the same guy Winchester. Pain in my ass but I love ya.”
“You only love me for my sociology notes,” Sam said with a familiar eye roll, if only a little more desperate. Brady felt the moment slipping past and knew he needed to grab onto it while he still had the chance.
“And Sam? If you… you ever need to talk? I’m here,” Brady said and he meant it. When Sam smiled back at Brady, Brady thought Sam might even take him up on the offer someday.
Sam might be a weird kid, a kid who’s been through way more than any kid deserved, but he was still Brady’s best friend. Brady wasn’t planning on letting Sam face this world alone anymore.