The Beginning is the End is the Beginning (SPN, Gen, PG)

[starrylizard]

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Title: The Beginning is the End is the Beginning
Author: starrylizard
Rating: PG, set pre-series, gen
Warnings: None really. Very mild swearing.
Recipient: miko_jasmine
Word Count: ~2150
Prompts: Prompt 1. included weechesters, but otherwise I haven’t used it. 2. Teenchesters - Where Sam & Dean just transferred to a new high school and what Sam goes through. 3. Stanford Era (pre-Jess) - Where Sam has trouble adjusting to his new "normal" life and dealing with missing Dean.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to caffienekitty for discussions, suggestions, an incredibly thorough fic-bashing with her beta!stick (that's a good thing, I swear) and general awesomeness. Also, thank you to anniehow and rinkle for discussion, beta and cheerleading. All much appreciated. Any grammar irregularities or other errors still present are entirely my own and can be pointed out at will. Finally, hi miko_jasmine, I hope you like it!

Summary: New beginnings are always hard, but this time Sam is determined to be perfectly normal.



The Beginning is the End is the Beginning


The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning.
~ Ivy Baker Priest


Elementary school had been easy or at least a hell of a lot easier than the later years of school. Back then, the first day usually started with introductions, like: ‘Hi, I’m Sam.’ The other kid would introduce themselves ‘Hi, I’m James.’ and ask something inane like: ‘Do you like jelly beans?’ and if you answered correctly, you had a best friend in no time. Easy. The only kids immediately on the out cried all the time or had bad breath or something else that made little kids uneasy.

Those other kids also didn’t have a big brother like Dean.

In the playground, Sam’s feet kicked in the air as he sat on a bench chewing on sweet, delicious candy. James carefully shared out his packet of jelly beans, giving Sam the black and the yellow ones that he declared tasted weird, but that Sam was more than happy to eat. Sam found his eyes wandering to the big kids’ playground where he easily spotted the one person he was looking for. It frustrated Sam sometimes, having Dean hovering nearby until they settled, like he couldn’t figure it out for himself after so many schools. But it was a constant too.

Sam made eye contact with his brother and carefully held up a jelly bean between thumb and forefinger. He slowly ate it, all the while grinning deliberately at his brother. He rubbed his belly and mouthed the word “yum.” Dean made an overly hurt face from his side of the playground fence and then made a dramatic show of falling down dead of hunger. Apparently it took a while to die from hunger and it involved a lot of choking and convulsing. It set Sam and his new friend to giggling.

“Who’s that?” James asked.

“That’s my brother.” Sam smiled, taking another black jelly bean as it was offered.

“Cool!”

Sam grinned, legs swinging faster as his feet smacked rhythmically into the bench. He sat straighter, puffed a little in pride. When he looked back up, Dean was gone.

*

Stanford
Sam rattled into Stanford University on a Monday afternoon. The free shuttle rumbled to a stop and he was jostled off by the other passengers, carried down the aisle of the bus and out into the throng of people. A single duffle bag was thrown over his shoulder.

He stood on the lawn for a few moments taking everything in. The cool midday air smelled of freshly mowed grass, the students passing by walked or rode bikes, their faces smiling and happy, and all around him there was an eclectic mixture of buildings that seemed to represent something he wanted for once. A grin played on Sam’s lips and made his dimples show. He felt like his eyes were finally open to the real world here, the life everyone else got to live while he was left to watch from a distance. Not this time though. The thought gave him a thrill that was a mixture of exhilaration and sheer terror.

This time was going to be different.

This time, he didn’t have to pack up and leave when his father decided it was time to move on. This time, he didn’t have to fear for his life or do push-ups in the rain or leave his friends behind when he moved to the next shitty town.

This time.

With a slight sinking feeling he realised he’d been unconsciously scanning the faces in the crowd, looking for someone. He shook his head and let out a small sad laugh. Dean wasn’t here this time.

*

High school was a completely different matter to Elementary School.

Over the last ten school changes, much to Dean’s horror, Sam had made himself a list and started to work up some statistics. Using this carefully collected data, he’d come to realise that high school was all about the first impression. The very first few moments you stepped toward the school were make or break.

For instance, according to his analyses, he was much more likely to be bullied at a new school if he took the bus on his first day, than if he arrived in a black muscle car with a cool-looking older brother at the wheel.

Since he mentioned his findings, Dean had made sure to drive Sam to his first day at each new school. Sam hadn’t taken the bus once.

*

Stanford
The food wasn’t half bad in the cafeteria, despite the usual campus rumours of crazed kitchen staff, rats in storerooms and out-of-date ingredients. It tasted better than it looked and didn’t even look too bad when you compared it to some of the items that had formed part of his staple diet as a kid. Stuff like cans of Spaghetti-O’s and stale cereal.

Eating, however, in a hall filled with loudly-yapping people, set him on edge. Random people kept passing behind him; bags and hands touched his exposed back and made him jump.

“Relax, dude. You’d think there was a ghost.”

Clive, whose dorm room was three doors down from Sam’s, played football and studied Fine Arts. He gave Sam a wolfish grin around a spoonful of green jello.

Sam grimaced, managed to turn the expression into a tight smile, and concentrated on the surprisingly tasty meatloaf before him.

*

The kitchen was barely that, more like a kitchenette. Sam hunched over his homework at the small table there, angrily scribbling notes for an English essay on Hamlet. It was coming along easily, especially given that the last school he’d come from had covered the same book already. Sometimes it felt as if he were repeating the same semester of the eighth grade over and over again.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

“There’s Lucky Charms.”

“Aren’t we too old for lucky charms? I’m sick of Lucky Charms.”

“Dad will be home soon.”

“No, he won’t.” Sam paused in his writing, throwing his pen down in disgust.

Dean sighed, closing the near empty fridge and leaning back against the kitchen counter. This was not a new argument.

“Sam, he said he’ll be home soon. If he’s not, it’s for a good reason. We’ll just have to make do. If you want money for the diner, try that old couple across the street. I’m sure they’d pay you to do some chores.”

Sam sighed, picked up his pen and started to write once more in silence. Dean was right of course, but it still sucked.

“Bitch!” Dean said it so quietly, it was clearly a taunt.

An eraser hit Sam in the back of the head.

“Hey!” Sam reached up, rubbing his head in disgust, but there was a grin creeping onto the corners of his mouth. “Jerk,” Sam cried and he pounced into action.

He stood up fast enough to knock over the chair he was sitting in, but Dean was ready, both laughing as they tussled like cavemen on the living room floor.

*

Stanford
The dorm room was much like the ones he’d seen on various television shows: small and dusty, a little moldy. The bed was too short and the whole place had a distinctive smell to it, like mac and cheese with a tinge of old sock.

Sam loved it.

His roommate, Todd, on the other hand, spent the first two days complaining. The room was smaller than his room at home, there wasn’t enough space for the many random things he felt needed to be squished into it, couldn’t Sam smell something funky, and the bathroom was too public and just plain unclean.

Sam told him to buy some flip flops and suck it up.

Todd took it upon himself to try to draft Sam into the ad hoc basketball team that competed in the inter-dorm challenge.

Sam realised, for the first time ever, he could make a friend without knowing he was leaving soon and would therefore never see them again.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah, Todd?”

“I think the housekeeping is a little weird. There’s salt everywhere.”

*

“Salt the doors and windows; don’t open the door to anyone…”

“…but you. I know,” Sam finished for his Dad, his hands clenching at his side with frustration. They were too damn old to still be getting the same lecture every time John decided to leave them for a hunt.

“Don’t be a smart-ass, Sam.” John glared back at Sam his own fists clenched.

“Hey, it’s cool. We got it covered, Dad.” Dean stepped into the fray, as he always did, a hand on Sam’s chest, the other on their father’s arm. “We got it.”

*

Stanford
Sam waited until Todd was asleep, his roommate's breathing coming in a constant, wheezing, nasal snore that he didn’t think he’d ever quite get used to.

Pulling back the covers, Sam sat up and reached beneath the bed for the canister of salt. He retrieved his cell phone from his bedside table and flipped it open, standing quietly at the window. The blue glow of the LCD screen showed there were no new messages.

It was at night he missed them the most. He missed the quiet drone of the television on low, and even the sounds of his father pacing in the other room or outside the motel door. He missed the snuffling sounds that Dean only made when things were good and it was safe to really pass out and sleep. In these dark, quiet moments in this new life, he became aware that there was a feeling of security he’d had growing up that was gone.

Sam raised the salt canister now, turning it in his hands. The cleaner had given up on completely removing the salt lines, but she still swept most of them into the trash, effectively ruining any protective value. Tonight, Sam found himself reluctant to open the new canister and pour the line of salt as he’d done so, ritualistically, for most of his life.

He glanced once more at his phone, No new messages.

To call would be giving in. This was his chance to be normal.

When he slid back under the covers a few moments later, the salt canister was unopened and stowed once again beneath the bed. He didn’t sleep at all that night.

*

Sam stepped out of the Impala, swung his backpack onto his shoulder and began to trudge up to the steps of his latest new school. Behind him, the Impala’s engine rumbled and Sam turned to see the slick black car leaving the parking lot. As he did so, he tripped and landed heavily on his hands and knees.

“Hey, new kid, nice moves.” The voice rang out across the grounds, followed by an assortment of giggles, pointing and laughter.

Sam sighed, picked himself up and ran a nervous hand through his bangs. His knee was scraped and it stung, but there was no way he was going to make a fuss over that in public. With a deep breath, he continued walking, trying to act as if he hadn’t heard the jeering.

Behind him, the Impala had paused in the parking lot and only continued on as Sam entered the front doors without further incident.

School number eleven was definitely going to be a bust.

*

Stanford
“Sam!” Todd called out a warning, before passing the ball across court; Sam jumped up to take the catch, but felt a sharp pain near his ribs that made him fumble it. He came down coughing, but pushed the pain easily aside, turned and hip-checked the girl who’d just elbowed him. With a cheeky war whoop, he took back possession of the ball. The girl – a blonde almost as tall as Sam himself – didn’t get angry, nor did she give up.

“Did I hurt you?” Her mocking tone followed him down the length of the court.

“Barely felt it,” Sam called back.

“Oh, you’re so brave and strong.”

Sam laughed, perfectly comfortable with conversations grounded in sarcasm.

She chased after him down the court, a wild gleam in her eyes.

After the game, she linked arms with Sam as if they were already old friends. He breathed in the soapy scent of her deodorant mixed with sweat and found himself looking down on a blindingly white smile.

"Hi, I'm Jess."

"Sam." He smiled, suddenly coy.

"Do you like coffee?"

"Live on it."

"Me too. Come on." Jess, slid her arm from Sam’s, shoved him playfully off balance and cried “race you to the Nexus Cafe.”

It was as easy as that.

Jess was studying to be an accountant. She had a mother and father both alive and well, a younger brother, a Labrador retriever named Max and an extended family, all of which she talked about over her vanilla hazelnut frappachino.

In other words, she was perfect.

Now, when Sam scanned a crowd searching for a familiar face, it was Jess, smiling and waving, who was there.