This is a snippet I wrote while on a very long car ride to another state WAY across the U.S. Yeah, long ride. I don't know how Sam and Dean do it.

Summary: The Winchester family legacy of hunting isn't an easy thing to get rid of no matter how normal a college one might attend. A snapshot into Sam's thinking during his stay at Stanford.

Rating: K+ for some very mild language. Nothing big.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and everything attached to it belongs not to me, but to a team of highly talented individuals. I am making no money off of this story.

Normal

Sam breathed deeply as he relaxed his grip on the bar, letting it settle safely over his head. His arms dropped to his sides as he sat up, a thin layer of sweat coating his arms and face. With a swipe at his forehead, he stood and walked over to the treadmill and climbed on. Hooking the safety line to his t-shirt, Sam flipped the speed up nearly to the max and took off, flying down the stationary path. He ran flat out for five minutes before slowing to a more comfortable speed, unsure of why he was so desperate to put on more speed today. He jogged easily at six miles per hour, glancing at a TV relaying recent news.

"Damn, Winchester," said a voice to his left. Sam looked over and saw Jim, a friend from his Anthropology class.

"Hey, Jim," Sam said, slowing his pace even more.

"You always work out like that?" Jim asked, raising his eyebrows. He stood in a slightly slack stance of surprise as he eyed Sam.

"Uh…yeah," Sam said, wiping his towel over his brow, "I guess I do." He quickly shut the treadmill off and turned to face Jim, feeling inexplicably antsy at his friend's question.

"Geez, you looked like you're training for the freaking marine core," Jim said, shaking his head, "Saw you running at like fifteen miles an hour a couple minutes ago. Where'd you learn to run like that?"

"My family's kind of into the whole fitness thing," Sam said, stepping off the treadmill and reaching for his water. He took a swig and tried to look busy, feeling uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.

"Your family in the military or something?"

"Kind of," Sam said.

Jim shook his head. "Wish I could take off like that. I'd break a leg or worse," he said with a laugh. "You want to go running sometime? Not that I'll be able to keep up, but hey."

"Um, yeah, maybe sometime," Sam replied noncommittally.

"OK, so I'll see you later, man," he said, "Don't forget study group tomorrow at eight." Sam assured him that he would not forget. And with a wave, he was gone.

Sam leaned against a plaster pillar of the school gym and took another drink of water. He stared unseeingly out the window and out onto the green campus, his mind far away. Why was he so dedicated to staying in shape? He wasn't hunting anymore; there was no reason to be in a shape fit enough to track monsters for days. Then there was his lingering obsession with studies in arcane knowledge, something that was unusual for anyone, let alone a pre-law student. He knew more about ghosts, ghouls, demons and pagan gods than some professors majoring in the subject.

He briefly recalled Jessica's teasing that he sometimes spoke in Latin when he dreamed, a language that he was still studying. Yet another remnant from his screwed up childhood; Latin and target practice instead of spelling and arithmetic. Sam took another drink of water, unable to stop his meandering mind. He also couldn't totally justify his classes in computers and research, nor why he seemed to hang out with guys who could show him every hack and slice for computer systems. Sometimes he even caught himself speculating on how a particular skill would have made hunting so much easer… There was no reason for any of that to have stuck after he had left home.

And yet he couldn't shake the part of him that insisted on being prepared in case disaster came screaming in. Scowling, Sam tried to convince himself that nothing bad would happen. He was far away from the rest of the Winchesters and trouble wouldn't follow him to Stanford, the staple of normalness.

Replacing the cap on his water bottle, Sam tossed it aside and got back on the treadmill but didn't turn the thing on. He felt that familiar feeling niggling at the back of his brain, telling him to watch his back, to prepare for the worst situation. Once again he tried to force it away, but the feeling would not budge, sticking as though it was a part of him.

And perhaps it was, he thought bitterly; perhaps he hadn't left soon enough to avoid going Winchester-crazy like Dean and Dad. His heart jerked at the thought of his family, especially Dean, who had been blindsided by Sam's decision to leave for college. He knew Dean still drove by sometimes to check on him; once in a while he swore he could hear the growl of the Impala's engine outside his dorm room. Irritation flared in him at the thought that they still didn't believe he was capable enough to take care of himself. He was twenty-two, for god's sake. And yet… to know his brother was trying to make sure Sam was safe was a strange comfort. He'd never wanted to hurt Dean, just to be somewhere safe and normal for once in his life.

No, there was absolutely no reason to continue training. Sam could stand to take a while off of working out, get in some study time maybe. Once again his eyes flickered to the news, his subconscious mind seeking something he wanted to avoid; any indication that something had gone unnaturally wrong in the area. Just as he was about to turn away, a headline caught his attention. Mysterious death: Young girl found drowned in her bed late last night, details to follow.

Sam's throat clenched painfully; it could just be a regular case of foul play, he reasoned. And yet his instinct told him it was something more, something more sinister and supernatural. Even if it was something strange, there was no reason for Sam to look into it. He had enough to do. Maybe he would let Dad and Dean know there was something going on. But no, then they would insist on sticking around to protect him. That was one thing Sam didn't want.

He should just let the authorities deal with it. That's what normal college students did, right? Just let someone else deal with it. It wasn't his job anymore to make sure that people were saved from their nightmares. Only, if it was his kind of problem—no, not his anymore—they wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. Just scratch their heads, shrug, and let the case sit unsolved, more murders occurring with no one to check them.

Sam muttered a curse.

With a frown, he flipped on the power to the treadmill and built his way up to top speed once again, feeling the blood pound through his system as his legs pumped faster.

Thanks, that's it.