I Don't Believe in Silence
A nearby clock strummed midnight as the cold air flittered through the glossy green leaves on the trees that lined the road. The entire street just seemed to be hushed and almost afraid of making any form of noise. Somewhere overhead a small owl hooted indignantly only to fly away in a flurry of wings as the sound of an engine reverberated loudly from its place in the drive way of a small apartment. The car pulled out of the curved driveway and gradually became nothing but a dot on the horizon. A young man stared out the window of the two story apartment and shook his head before he turned back to the bed that sat in the middle of the room.
He passed the photographs that he kept on his bedside table. Framed in gold and silver sat the memories that he had held onto. He paused and looked down to the one closest to his bed, the one that he said goodnight to every night- the picture of his girlfriend. It had seemed so long ago that she had been torn away from him, sending him spiralling back into the world he had sought to escape in the first place. He ran a finger over the engraving he had placed at the bottom; November 2, 2005. He gave a soft smile and turned away from them, crawling into the bed and between the grey sheets. He gazed at the blank grey ceiling for a few short moments before he rolled over and shut his eyes.
For Sam Winchester, life had been anything but normal. All through his childhood he had been shuffled around from state to state, school to school as his father hunted for the thing that killed his mother. Sometimes he left for days on end, leaving his older brother to watch over the youngest Winchester. He tossed over in his sleep, mouth open slightly against his pillow. For Sam Winchester, making a life for himself outside the world his father had created had taken him years. Finally, he had managed to get into something bigger than himself, University. And so off he had gone to Stanford. His father hadn't been thrilled; in fact part of the reason Sam so desperately wanted to leave.
He still remembered the fight, the yelling, the threats and curses and finally the slamming of the door behind him. He remembered his father's livid face but the one that had stung the most was the look of betrayal from Dean. He had walked away from the door, duffel slung over his shoulder as he paved his way to something better but the memory of Dean's face lingered in his mind. He could still hear the words ringing in his mind late at nights when every light in the town had been switched off and the only company he had was with himself.
"Sammy, you can't leave. C'mon, who needs more school anyway?"
"Dean, I don't want to be part of this. I just want to have a normal life without Dad and his revenge always moving me around."
"And you think you'll find this at Stanford?"
"I hope I do Dean. Listen, Dad's the one who wants me gone ok. I'm just going to University. Anyway, I have to go, class is about to start soon."
That was one of the last times Sam had even talked to his older brother before he had appeared years later with news of their father. That moment had destroyed every part of his new life that he had fought so hard to protect from the things he had left behind. He still saw Jessica's face peering at him through the window of their apartment as they pulled away in the black '67 Chevy Impala that Dean owned and wished he hadn't been going. All Sam had left of her now besides photographs were the dreams in which he took comfort in.
The alarm clock blared angrily in the morning sun and began to move towards the edge of the bedside table. A hand fumbled out from under the pillow and began to hit wildly in the general direction of the offending sound, more often than not colliding with the wrong object. Finally it hit the mark; the alarm cut off half way and remained quiet. Muffled cursing floated out from underneath the pillow and a large mop of unruly brown hair appeared from the covers. Sam Winchester rubbed irritably at his eyes and wrenched the covers from his bed in his haste to get ready. It was the first week back at Stanford since he had left and already he was going to be late.
He winced as his bare feet hit the tiles of the bathroom floor and he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He ran a quick hand through his hair and rubbed the remaining sleep from his brown eyes before he grabbed his toothbrush and began his familiar ritual. He looked over to the clock and cursed again, rolling his eyes as he rinsed and raced back into the bedroom grabbing the first items of clothing that he spied. Dean would probably have made some wiseass comment about his style- or lack thereof- but Sam just shrugged and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He stuck a hand in his jeans pocket and felt the cool metal of his house keys resting just beneath his fingertips, making the whole sensation of owning something more real to him. He turned and locked the door, but not before he looked down the street.
He could see his University from his apartment, and already dozens of cars were parked in the spaces and students of all description mingled on the lawns. He grinned down at his hands and stuck his keys back into his pocket, making his way toward the campus. He had been thrilled that he had managed to score a home so close to the school, dreading any thoughts of living in close proximity to so many other students. It wasn't that he was anti-social he had been popular enough when he had first started, but the fact that he was so different from them. The old woman who lived on the corner waved and smiled her usual morning greeting to him and Sam gave an amused wave back. It was so strange being able to just take in how perfect everything seemed to be.
He scuffed his sneakers against the ground and gave a wide smile as he spied the backs of his new friends. His old college buddies had graduated by the time he had returned and although he occasionally got into contact with them he had been forced to make new ones. The mixed group of men and women turned when they heard the familiar voice of their friend and parted at the middle to let him join in. They fell into an easy routine and conversation once Sam had finally been updated, talking about the most recent horror movie to come out and how well the actors had done it. Sam had never really enjoyed watching horror movies, they tended to be lacking in background knowledge and Sam usually ended up yelling at the screen that they had the wrong weapon.
His eyes followed the footpath, scanning along the road as cars trundled past. It had seemed only yesterday that his brother had once again dropped him off at Stanford only this time he was here to stay.
A/N: I hadn't actually planned to post this story here. But y'know, I finally did. I am well aware that I now have 3 in progess stories (working on Shifter's first since I posted on Everything last) but I'll get around to posting on all of them. I figured you'd want something soonish after my month long absence. Tis good to be back.