Author's note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.
"What are you going to take next year?"
Author note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.That was the big question on campus, so Sam shouldn't have been surprised when one of his classmates asked him. He just wasn't quite prepared to make small talk that morning. With finals approaching he was coming up on the one year anniversary of Jessica's death. Normally, he was quiet in class, but recently he'd barely talked at all. He didn't want to risk making one more friend to lose.
Despite his best efforts there were three other 1Ls who always ended up sitting by him in classes or when he found himself waiting in the student lounge. Part of their not-quite friendship was almost certainly because he shared his notes and outlines. He knew there was a grading curve and his scholarship depended on maintaining a 3.75 or higher GPA, but even the unspoken adversarial culture wasn't enough to make him turn his back on someone in need.
He hadn't thought in depth about the fall semester. There was still a lot of studying to do for the classes he was already buried in. It was a good question though. The enrollment window opened in two days and he had barely glanced at the course listings. It was going to be his second year, which meant that unlike his first year he could pick his own classes.
Criminal Law had been an even worse experience than he'd expected. The beginning of each case in the textbook contained a summary of some brutal set of facts. Too frequently he'd envision the events in a painful amount of detail. It was easy for his classmates to joke about The Queen v. Dudley and Stephens, but he knew exactly how messy a partially eaten human was.
Torts was less visceral since it consisted of lawsuits between individuals and more often than not didn't involve acts of violence, but he worried that his minor tells would be noticed by his classmates. He could feel himself turn pink every time they talked about trespassing or fraud. While studying false imprisonment he couldn't help but tally up all the times dad had technically restrained someone while questioning them.
Contracts had strangely reminded him of Dean. The class was all about codependent relationships and how to make things right if they went badly. The entire section on reliance sent him into a week-long depression. Even though Dean hadn't returned his calls since he'd refused to help him look for their dad, Sam had made another round of attempts to reestablish contact. Back when Dean asked for his help he hadn't thought that Dean needed him - was relying on him. Dean and his dad hadn't spoken to him in almost four years; Dean's self-sufficiency was more than established. Afterwards it had taken a month for Sam to swallow his pride enough to try making it right, but apparently his change of heart had come too late.
Property was a minefield of memories too. Various flavors of theft, squatting - more recently intestate succession. Not that many of Jessica and his belongings survived the fire. But it had still been an ordeal to separate the joint bank account they kept for living expenses. Her parents hadn't even known they were living together…. If he'd had any other source of funds he probably would have just let her parents take his portion of the account too, but his scholarship had expired the month after the fire. It was an absolute nightmare.
Civil Procedure wasn't so bad. It was about the rules that keep the system running rather than the tragedies that dragged a person into the system. In many ways he liked the subject, but it too hit a sore spot. The rules were rigid, couldn't be argued against, and frequently enough didn't make sense. Trying to parse the rationale behind the California and federal regulations had often felt like trying to decipher Dad's instructions. For eighteen years his life he had been ruled by "because I say so" and he wasn't going to endure that throughout his career.
Constitutional Law had shaken him more than he'd expected, but it wasn't related to his past. Early in the first semester he'd embarrassed himself and he hadn't quite recovered. Before class he'd had another one of those stress-induced hallucinatory headache things. Splashing some water on his face had helped, though he was still shaking when the professor called on him. Most of the question sounded like static, but the word "powers" rattled in his head. He'd parroted it back in an uncertain daze. As the professor was restating the question in exasperation, he felt another headache coming on and tried to leave the classroom. In his haste, Sam knocked over his coffee and tripped on the classroom's threshold. If anyone had seen the nosebleed he'd suffered with that headache, then maybe they would've spared him the reputation of class klutz.
He wanted a future that was safe and simple, away from anything that might remind him of Dean and his dad. Some sanctuary of reason, preferably steeped in a rich history. Others might call his ambitions boring - criminal and intellectual property law were what all the popular students were specializing in, but he didn't want that kind of drama in his life anymore. He didn't need to be popular. He would happily take the classes that elicited eye rolls in exchange for some peace and quiet.
"Mostly taxes," Sam responded with a polite smile.
Dad never had enough income to file a tax return - not that hunting came with a 1099 or W2. Taxes were something he could really throw himself into without reopening old wounds. It was something that could give him the stability he desperately needed. The campus clinic said that stability would help with the headaches and nightmares. Things were gonna start looking up, he knew it.