Title: Patterns of a Lifetime
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Nothing and nobody is mine. Pity, really.
Recipient: starrylizzard
Author's Note: I want to say thank you to my wonderful beta blueeyedliz. You're awesome. Yet remaining mistakes are homegrown, hehe.
Prompt: Sam at Stanford and there's a ghost on campus.
Come all the way down
And watch me burn
I won't let it show that I'm not always flying
So on the way down
I'll watch you burn
---
'Burn' by Three Days Grace
Chapter 1
The Stanford library wasn't so different from all the other libraries Sam Winchester had visited. And he had visited a lot of them in his years. Always researching something or someone. He loved the ambience, the deep stillness. Felt safe and secure, as if the books were his home, not the walls around him. When he was a kid he liked to imagine, the only reason for having to whisper in a library was because the books collected his spoken words to engrave them on unblemished white sheets of paper. Of course, Dean had always told him, that the books where like monsters, sucking the words from him like an elixir of life. The resulting nightmares he had wisely chosen to keep to himself. Still, more than once he expected to open a book and find his own words written down on them, his own thoughts and feelings. That was one of the reasons he liked to keep his mouth shut when he found himself in the presence of books.
The other one was: He didn't want to talk.
He tended to visit the less crowded areas of the library, just because he could sweep his fingers in a careful, unobserved gesture along the spines of the books, could feel their dusty covers under his fingertips and close his eyes and imagine he was researching some ghost or evil night-bumpy thing. He could imagine his big brother calling for him to get back to work, to research, to evil-hunting.
Hushed footsteps echoed in the high-ceiling hallways and Sam woke from his trance-like state. His hair fell in his eyes and he didn't brush it away, wanted to hide behind it, vanish unseen. Be invisible.
"Sam?" The voice belonged to Brad, his room mate, the 180 pounds football player who earned his scholarship by hitting balls that weren't even round. And definitely the last person Sam wanted to be found by during a melancholic one-to-one with a bunch of mouldy books. Not answering, he hid in the back of the aisle, a dark corner in which the light bulb had broken decades ago and no one had felt obliged to replace it since then.
"Sam?" This time it was Becky's voice and Sam almost answered, feeling strangely bad for ignoring his friends like that. "We're going to the coffee shop, you coming?"
After all, it was Friday night. The exams were over and a general feeling of carelessness and high spirits seized the university. Sam could hear laughter, loud shouts of "See you next semester" and "Tell your Mom to do the laundry. Your clothes stink!" all the way through the halls and aisles.
This is what he had wanted, right? To be a student. Dutiful, eager to learn, ready to fill his head with knowledge he probably wouldn't need again, ever. To have friends, normal friends who went to the coffee shop to hang out and just talk. Friends, who didn't keep a knife under their pillows and who laughed about Sam's ridiculous stock of salt.
"What? I need my minerals."
When he had arrived in Stanford three years ago he had still carried this illusion of a new, normal life. As if opening one new book would automatically mean the previous could be closed forever. Which was stupid, of course. Even though he was able to find his place, he never really seemed to fill it out properly, like a part of him that was never really there. "If his head weren't attached to his body, it would be floating somewhere near the stratosphere," Zack, Becky's brother, used to say before giving him a friendly pat on his shoulder.
His gaze wandered to his shirt pocket, not expecting a steady blink that informed him about a missed call or message. Just an annoying habit he had started to develop and another one of those things that his friends liked to joke about. Sam didn't mind. It made him feel welcome. Because having fun made of him was exactly how he had grown up. His older brother teasing and taunting, which didn't mean anything but "I'll take care of you. I got you. I love you."
"Sam?" Another call from Becky and Sam bit his lips, not wanting to give away his presence and he could almost hear her shrug her shoulders. Then, a little bit quieter, probably directed towards Brad: "I'll give him a call later. Let's go."
She and Brad turned and left, their steps fading away. Another leaving train, whose departure Sam had missed. After waiting some more minutes he left his hiding place, took a deep breath and glanced at the dusty book he held clamped against his chest.
"Mojave Desert – Ghost Apparitions along the Route 66"
He sat down with it without opening. Wasn't this what he'd tried to avoid? Tried to leave behind? Now...
His hands were shaking when he opened the book, part curious, part disgusted. Staring at it. Then he started reading, taking notes along the way.
You know, just in case.
oOoOo
The library had gone quiet long ago, no students in their right mind still in close range with anything that had to with their studies.
Beating a steady drum with the butt of his pencil, Sam turned on page over, flying over the text. The pile of books was growing rapidly and swayed slightly when finally he put the last one on top of it.
His neck had noticeably stiffened from long hours of bending over the pages and he rotated it a few times, getting a satisfying crack as a result and he winced. Maybe he should call it a night. The library would be closing soon anyway and if he had luck, he'd still have some time to meet Becky and the others before heading home.
The absolute silence made him pause and he closed his eyes, chuckling mildly when he felt taken back into his childhood, waiting for the books to whisper their secrets for him. They didn't. Not now, not never. Secrets were to be found by searching for them.
"You need help with that?"
A yelp escaped between his lips and he felt himself blush... badly.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
Taking a peek around the swaying book tower Sam found a girl standing there, smiling apologetically and amused at the same time and hiding her twitching lips behind slender fingers.
"Oh no, that's okay," Sam replied, still a little surprised, and held a hand out to stop the pile from toppling over. "I just... didn't hear you coming in, that's all." Yeah, sure. Who was he kidding? Tsk, spooked by a blonde freshman. Dean would make jokes of it for the rest of Sam's sorry life.
She cocked her head, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder and she nodded. "Yeah, I know. My sneakers are sneaky bastards."
She made a motion down and he followed her gaze towards her feet.
"True," he finally replied and a sudden awkwardness filled the space between them.
She licked her lips, then bit on them them, looking like she still wanted to say something but couldn't find the right approach.
"I'll just..." She began and took a careful step backwards, making Sam frown. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."
"Hey", he cut her off and gave his voice a soothing undertone, afraid he had scared her of. "It's okay. I'm not... I'm Sam, by the way."
"I know." Which really wasn't what Sam had expected to hear. Actually, it was kinda creepy and he looked at her, surprised and slightly abashed. On the other hand, it wasn't like the 5'5 feet girl, who weighed less than Sam used to lift in ninth grade, could do him any harm.
"Oh, uhm... charming, I guess," He mumbled with a lopsided smile and started sorting his pencils and notes into his bag. "I was about to... uhm... leave."
"Oh..." She smoothed away some non-existent wrinkles of her dress, fumbling her fingers nervously and finally turned her head to listen for something. "I gotta go. My boyfriend. He's … calling."
Sam frowned, pretty sure he hadn't heard anything that'd count as someone calling.
"Guess you'll have to do this by yourself, then." She motioned towards the books, which were waiting to be sorted back into their respective shelves and smiled apologetically.
"That's okay, uhm... what was your name again?"
Her smile lit up even brighter but never reached her eyes. Tiredly, she met Sam's gaze, unblinking and he could have sworn she wanted to tell him something with those dark depths, wanted him to read in them like he did in the books.
"Jessica, my name is Jessica."
She waited another second, shifting her head to the other side and her hair fell over her shoulder down over her décolleté. The stupid phone chose this very moment to ring hotly in his breast pocked and he jumped, surprised by his own completely untypical jumpiness and when his hand left its securing state at the top of the book tower some of the books lost their precarious battle with gravity. With a surprised "Whoa!" Sam reached for them, before they could drag along the rest of the books, too.
When he looked up, she was gone and when he saw the caller ID Sam couldn't help but be strangely pissed at the bad timing of Becky's well-intended providence.
oOoOo
He didn't see Jess again. Not the day after. Not even a week after. Actually, he forgot about her after three weeks time. Just a stranger on a large campus filled with hundreds of strangers. Thousands even. At least after the terms begun.
During the summer breaks, however, the Stanford campus was eerily silent and even though it somehow managed to freak him out every single holiday Sam enjoyed the quiet time he had. The old, distinguished buildings almost like a ghost city. Only the occasional janitors and the administration staff. Administration obviously never ceased.
"Good evening, Ms. Robster," Sam greeted the old lady sitting lonely at the information desk and she winked at him, not even taking her eyes off the book she was reading. She was always reading. Always had her eyes locked on a book (probably Nora Roberts again because the old lady always had a fondness for those kind of novels) and sometimes Sam felt a stab of jealousy. What wouldn't he give for the ability to drown himself in a book. In ink and words and fantasy and in the hope of a happy ending.
He smiled knowingly and hoisted the books about Corporate Acquisitions from under one arm to the other before leaning against the imposing entrance door. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared for next semester.
For a door as big as this one, the hinges were surprisingly well cared for and it opened easily, not even making a sound. The Californian afternoon sun was already peeking low over the mansard on his right and he shielded his free hand against the white-hot light, relentless after the everlasting twilight in the world of books.
"Sam!" A voice, familiar enough to make him stop immediately, echoed from somewhere below the stairs and he had to strain his eyes to see the figures coming closer. "Hello stranger," Becky greeted him while Zack clapped him on his shoulder strong enough so he had to put his chin on his book to keep them from sliding off.
"Wait for me, guys?" Zack announced and vanished where Sam had just come from.
"Zack? In a library?" Sam couldn't avoid the unbelieving look crossing over his face. "During summer break?"
"Yeah, I know." Becky chuckled in an amused way. "The sky will fall upon us any minute now." With a portentous lift of her eyebrow she explained. "Naah, just pays his fees. The usual."
"Ah," nodded Sam. "So?" He went on after the silence turned uncomfortable. "How was your visit at your parents? Got clean clothes again?"
She laughed and rolled her eyes. "That'd make me unemployed and terribly bored." Playfully, she slapped against his shoulder. "So, tell! What'd you do?" She looked at him with a reproachful gaze. "Don't tell me you've been studying all the time."
"I... no. Not at all."
She sighed. "You're a bad, bad liar, Sam Winchester."
She had sat down on the stairs, heated by the fleeting sun, which had now entirely vanished behind the post office building, and he followed her example, putting the books down next to him on the grey stones.
Some people on bikes were passing by, carefully avoiding the flock of birds that were searching the pavement for leftover bread crumbs, chips and chocolate bar wrappers. They scattered with loud flapping noises in a moment of confusion, when a muffled, far away scream came from the building behind them and, swiftly followed by Becky, Sam had shot up, moving the short distance in three wide steps until he ripped the door open and got inside.
The coolness seemed even more accentuated than when he'd left the building only minutes ago. Whether it was just by his short stay in the August heat or whether it was something else, he hadn't enough time to think it through.
"Zack?" Becky yelled behind him, and he searched the area for anything suspicious. "Zack, where are you?"
Another scream ("No! Please!") banged of the walls, echoing hundredfold in the long hallways and corners and high ceiling so it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.
Though it was pretty clear it didn't came from Zack because they had barely come to a halt when he stumbled out of the public restrooms to their right and looked around. Plus, the voice had sounded definitely female. It was followed by a dull thump, a body hitting hard floor.
"Did you guys hear that?" He asked, zipping his pants up.
"Did you wash your hands, at all?" Becky hissed (obviously his friends did not have his skilled hearing... lucky them) but Sam indicated with a sharp movement of his hand to be quiet. A small call for help, more a whispered groan of pain than a real request reached them and Sam had started running before Zack and Becky had even processed the sound.
Taking up the three steps Sam reached the hallway leading right and left to the library's wings and he looked first in one, then the other direction and could make a form lying on the ground just below the steps leading to the first floor.
"Ms Robster!" He called out, recognizing her immediately. Weakly, she lifted her hand, winked at him, uncoordinated, aimless, and a strangled noise escaped her quivering lips.
"He... was so angry." She stuttered, confused, when Sam knelt down next to her, checking her for obvious injuries. He couldn't see any. Not that you needed to see blood when your insides where bleeding.
"Don't move!" he ordered, keeping his voice as soothing as possible and when she reached for him, he took her hand in his. It was cold and sweaty. Her eyes were wide open, scared, staring up at him with an air of finality behind the glassy orbs.
He didn't hear him coming but all of a sudden Zack was standing beside him, looking down at the injured woman as if he had never seen anything so strange before. "Beck... Becky is calling an ambulance!" he stuttered, helplessly and Sam knew exactly how he felt... because he was feeling the same.
"He was so angry!" She whispered, her breath gurgling wetly in her throat and the wrinkly skin on her throat was trembling with the efforts of getting air into her lung, that was slowly filling with blood and liquid. He knelt down closer to her mouth which was still moving and moving as if she wanted to talk a mile a minute before she wouldn't be able to do so any more. Recite one more book before it was too late.
"You're going to be okay", Sam assured – and boy, he really was a fucking baaaad liar – squeezing her hands and her lips stilled, widening into a little smile which ceased and turned into a terrified grimace. Her eyes now stared up, towards the landing that divided the staircase in two parts and Sam followed their direction, searching for anything that could have been responsible for the terror he had seen in her eyes.
He knew terror. Had it seen in so many eyes that he could make out nuances. The scared shit-less terror, the frozen terror – the ridiculous terror of having to get under a cold shower because someone's younger brother had accidently used all the hot water – the terror that vanished with the last sigh leaving a dying body.
Her eyes glazed over but her hand was still gripping hard, like even in death she wanted to hold onto something.
A shiver ran down Sam' body, cold and cruel and surprisingly unexpected. He had seen enough people die, couldn't even count their numbers on two hands, but this was different. This was supposed to be the "safe world", the one with the happy ending. But at the same time he knew, this was the same world he was born into... just blinder.
"Oh fuck!" Zack groaned and Sam could hear him vomit, right where he was standing. And when he slowly turned his head to throw one last look at the landing a few feet above, he could have sworn he saw the fading image of two eyes staring back.