Disclaimer:
I own nothing pertaining to Supernatural except my deepest admiration and gratitude to the talented creators - writers, directors, producers, actors, technical crew - who have made such a wonderful story. And a few fantasies, but we won't talk about those.
-X-X-X-X-X-
Show me the boy of seven, and I will show you the man.
The Jesuits, much as Sam Winchester hated to admit it, were right. Though he'd left his childhood behind with his father and brother when he got a full scholarship to Stanford, those early influences lingered. He'd given in to the inner voice that whispered, "Know your enemy. Know what you hunt," and signed up for the class, "Demonology and Possession in Western Thought."
His father would be proud, Sam thought sourly, but at least it would be an easy A. He found a seat near the back of the room for the first class. He told himself he didn't want to block anyone else's view of the instructor, but deep down, he knew it was as much hunter's instincts as courtesy that prompted him to choose a seat where he could observe the entire classroom.
He observed not just the room, but also the students as they arrived, singly or in small friend-groups. Habit honed by a life spent hunting had him evaluating and classifying everyone who came in, from the football jock who tried to give off a "just folks" air to a girl who crept to a seat and therefore drew more of the attention that she didn't want than she would have had she simply walked in.
"Is that seat taken?"
Startled, Sam looked up to see a girl standing beside him. How had she gotten that close without his noticing? When he remained silent too long - really just a few seconds - she raised an eyebrow and nodded to the desk next to his.
"Sorry," he said.
She slipped past him and into the empty chair. "It is now."
Sam took the moment to study her. She was about his age, a freshman or a sophomore, most likely, and attractive enough that sitting beside her all quarter wouldn't be any sort of hardship. She had a quiet air about her, almost as if she were broadcasting a "don't notice me" signal.
"Sam," he said when she was settled into the seat.
"Michelle," she replied, and then opened her notebook and began to label the page with far more attention than the task needed.
Clearly, she didn't want to talk. Sam took the hint and opened his own notebook. Still, he couldn't help glancing at her again. Something told him there was more to her than met the eye.
-X-
Two weeks into the term, Sam wondered if his instincts had been wrong. Aside from being one of the quieter people he'd ever known, Michelle seemed to be completely normal. Maybe, he thought once, that was why she set off his hunter's instincts - he'd so rarely encountered anyone normal.
Michelle kept to herself, though she was friendly to him and to others in class when they noticed her. No boyfriend that he'd observed, nor girlfriend, either, though she had said something about a roommate, once.
Just now, Michelle frowned at something Professor Lemieux was saying. Sam focused on the lecture once more.
"… claimed not to remember anything that happened while they were possessed," Lemieux was saying.
"I have to disagree with that, Dr. Lemieux," Michelle said. "You're talking as if this was all some kind of fantasy on these people's parts."
"Surely you're not suggesting that possession is real." Lemieux frowned at her, but Sam thought it was more from lack of recognition than disapproval of what she'd said.
"Whether it's objectively 'real' or not," Michelle said, "it was real to them."
There was a conviction in her tone Sam hadn't heard before, and his instincts screamed to life, taunting him for doubting them.
Lemieux gave her a tolerant smile. "So - what? We know the mind can play tricks on the body. What difference does it make if they honestly believed they were possessed or not?"
"Maybe none," Michelle admitted. "But if it happened to me, I'd want to think that people who studied my experience, wanted to learn from it, might treat me and what I'd gone through with a little respect."
Sam didn't pay attention to Lemieux's response. His instincts had sharpened into certainty. It had happened to Michelle - whether she'd been possessed, or had known someone who was possessed, or had some other encounter with the things that went bump in the night, something had happened that gave her sympathy for others who'd had similar experiences.
He wanted to talk to her. Though he'd left that part of his life behind, some part of him wanted to talk to someone who, unlike his father or his brother, might actually understand some of his conflicted feelings about it.
That wouldn't happen today, though. He'd been so caught up in his desire to be understood that he'd missed Lemieux dismissing class early. He'd even missed Michelle's departure.
Sam gathered his books and started for the door, his mind turning the puzzle that was Michelle in different directions. Was the "don't notice me" vibe the result of some protective spell? It made sense, he thought, though he'd never heard of a spell that worked quite that way before. Where was a class in spellcraft and ritual when he needed one?
-X-
Despite Sam's resolve, another two weeks passed without his actually speaking to Michelle. Either he'd miss her arrival or her departure or both, and even when he did notice, he never thought to ask her out for coffee. He wondered if that was a side-effect of whatever spell she had, and if so, how he could counter it.
Finally, he summoned all his willpower one morning, focused it on the classroom door where she'd be arriving, intending to stay focused on her until he talked to her.
Of course that was the one day she wasn't in class.
That was also the last class meeting of the week, so he'd have to cool his frustration until Monday. He'd had lots of practice waiting.
In the meantime, Sam planned to take advantage of a rare weekend without a ton of homework or papers due on Monday to clean his apartment and stock his fridge. He didn't know when he'd have another chance, and while he wasn't a neat freak like some people, he did prefer not to live in what his father had once called "trailer trash squalor."
By Saturday afternoon, he had the apartment clean, the fridge emptied of incubating science projects, and the last load of laundry done. The only thing left to do was buy food.
Unlike many of his classmates, Sam didn't shop at the convenience store near campus. He'd earned a full scholarship, but there was precious little room in his budget, and the market two miles away had better prices.
He saw Michelle in the produce department, inspecting Golden Delicious apples. No time like the present, Sam thought as he crossed to her.
"Hey, Michelle."
She looked up, and he saw lines of fatigue around her eyes. "Sam. What are you doing here?"
He nodded at his shopping cart. "Groceries. Despite what they say, college students can't exist just on cafeteria food."
Michelle glanced at his cart, and when she looked at him again, there was a hint of humor beneath the fatigue. "I'm not sure TV dinners are much of an improvement."
"Better than me trying to cook." Sam summoned his resolve. "Missed you in class Friday."
"Let me guess - he assigned a huge paper, due next week?"
"No. I just - missed you." Aware that he sounded more like a lover than an almost-friend, he added, "I mean, you're the nicest seat mate I have this term."
Michelle studied him for a long moment, an appraising look, and he forced himself to meet her gaze openly when he wanted to duck his head and fidget. He hadn't felt this awkward around a girl since junior high. The flush was just beginning to creep above his shirt collar when she said, "My son was sick."
Son? Michelle had a child? Sam tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Even more, he tried not to let his disappointment show. If she were with someone, she wouldn't have any interest in him, not even as a friend.
"Nothing serious, I hope," he managed finally.
"Ear infection. It just kept him - and me - up all night until the drops kicked in."
"Couldn't his father help you?" The question was out before Sam thought, but as soon as it was, he was glad he'd asked.
Michelle's expression hardened, and for a moment Sam thought he'd dared too much. Then she shrugged. "I haven't seen his father since the night we made him. I was young, and caught up in the moment, and - well, now there's Seth. What?"
Sam realized he was staring and shook his head. "Just - surprised. You don't seem -" he broke off, unsure how to continue.
"I don't seem like the type for a one-night stand?"
"Something like that."
"I used to be a bit of a wild child. Not anymore."
And that, Sam thought, was the end of that line of questioning. Better to stick to safer topics. "What about your roommate? Couldn't she help?"
"Jess went away for the weekend." Michelle frowned suddenly. "I never tell anyone this much about me."
"I don't open up easily, either. Where's Seth now?"
"Home. I left him with my landlady just long enough for this trip."
"Don't take this wrong, but you look like you're about to pass out on your feet. Why don't I watch Seth while you take a nap?"
And just why had he made that offer? You could fit everything he knew about kids onto the head of a pin and still have room for a lot of angels to dance. But the answer was obvious. It might be the only chance he'd have of getting to know her a little better.
Hope flared in Michelle's eyes for the briefest instant, but then she shook her head. "You must have more interesting things to do on a Saturday night than babysit."
"I can skip one night of studying. Besides, it'll be fun. We'll play a little ball, shoot some hoops…"
"He's a little too young to play ball, and a lot too short to shoot hoops." Michelle bit her lip and looked up at him - not as far as most people had to look, he noted. She was probably five foot nine, maybe five-ten.
"So I move to plan B," Sam said casually. "Keep him happy and quiet, so you can sleep."
Michelle's expression was still hesitant, but she nodded slowly. "If you're sure."
-X-
Seth wasn't just a little too young to play ball, Sam decided. He was too young even to say the word "ball." Sam guessed the boy hadn't had his second birthday yet. But he recognized his mother immediately and stretched toward her, almost wriggling out of the landlady's grasp.
Michelle thanked the woman, and nodded at Sam to follow her. He did, carrying both their groceries so Michelle could focus on her son.
"He needs to be changed. I'll be right back," Michelle said once the door had closed behind them, and she started down a hallway to, presumably, her bedroom.
Sam stowed the perishables in her fridge, and turned to study the ground-floor apartment. It was as nondescript as the vibes Michelle herself gave off, and Sam found himself checking for other protections on the apartment - salt spilled across entrances, hex signs, and the like - but saw none.
Still, he thought, any demon looking for a target would likely slip right past this place and the people within it without even noticing. It took hiding in plain sight to whole new levels of hidden.
"He might still be a little cranky, but I changed him, and I fed him before I went to the store."
Sam turned at the sound of Michelle's voice. "So all I have to do is lull him to sleep."
"We'll see," Michelle said. "He's a little shy with strangers, sometimes."
"I'm not a stranger, am I, Seth?" Sam moved closer to them, looked down at the baby resting in Michelle's arms. "I'm your mom's friend, Sam."
"Well, not a friend yet," Michelle said. Sam thought she was trying to tease, but her expression was serious.
"Classmate," Sam corrected, then looked at Michelle. "I'd like to be a friend."
Michelle leaned down toward her son and asked, "What do you think, Seth? Can Sam be a friend?"
She held the baby out to him, and Sam cradled the bundle in his arms, the weight unfamiliar but somehow comfortable. "Hey, Seth. You're not going to cry, are you?"
Sam held his breath. He'd asked the question in jest, but even as he had, he'd had the fleeting thought that if Seth screamed, Michelle would kick him out and likely never speak to him again. The thought bothered him for reasons he wasn't yet willing to name, and he waited for Seth's verdict, trying not to let his body tense with his thoughts.
Seth didn't scream. He looked up Sam with wide hazel eyes, then gurgled a smile and waved a hand in the air. Sam smiled back and let Seth grab onto his little finger.
"That's some grip you've got, Seth," Sam told his tiny charge. "Better be careful as you get older, or you'll crush somebody's hand in a handshake."
Michelle watched with a shocked expression. "He's never been that relaxed with a stranger before."
"So maybe you'll relax enough to get some sleep," Sam said. "We'll be fine."
When she hesitated, he said, "Go on. You won't do Seth any good if you're too tired to care for him."
She took a step down the hall, then turned back. "Wake me up if you need anything - I mean anything."
"Good night, Michelle." He angled his head toward the hallway with a mock-stern expression.
This time, she got halfway down the hall before turning back. "There are bottles in the fridge, you just need to heat them for a minute."
"Don't make me carry you." He kept his tone light, but gave her a menacing look.
The look she gave him back was a challenge, almost a dare, and in answer, he took a step toward her. Her eyes widened before she turned and fled down the hall. He heard a door close firmly.
"Well, that wasn't too bad," he told Seth. "Now let's see about getting you to sleep."