A random oneshot. Inspired by a stray thought about Sam and his Stanford days.
Sam still slept with a knife underneath his pillow. It was a habit so ingrained in his mind that he knew he would never rid himself of it.
Sam still kept two guns in his dorm room. One full of salt pellets and one full of regular bullets. He would never feel safe without them.
Sam still lightly salted his windows and doors whenever he heard of any unsolved murders in the area. He only hoped that no one would notice.
Sam still practiced his Latin chanting whenever he could. He knew that if he were to forget it, it may one day have devastating effects.
Sam still ran 5 miles each day. Sometimes more. His physical fitness may one day save his life, as it had so many times before.
Sam still thought of his family. He wondered where they were and how they were doing. He knew that they would be off on a hunt at that moment, and he prayed for their safety, to an uncaring deity.
Sam knew that he could never be normal. He could pretend with all his might to be like the other students, but when he heard a creak outside his dorm and jumped in apprehension, he knew. He would never be normal.
Written in 5 minutes. Literally. So if its got problems, just tell me or something.