I know that many of you, like me, normally avoid Stanford fics. I really appreciate those of you who have stuck with this story and continued to read and review these chapters where the boys aren't together. The next two chapters will cover Sam's final year at Stanford, this one showing Sam's POV and the next one showing Dean's. After that, the boys will be reunited—never fear, lots more brotherly interaction is in store!
Thanksgiving, Winchester Style or, The Importance of Pie
The Stanford Years: The Last, Moore Residence
It was the Thanksgiving Sam had always dreamed of, right out of a TV special. A large family gathered around a table that groaned under the weight of the bounty piled atop it. A beautiful woman who loved him at his side. A table set with gleaming china and glassware, linen napkins, candles, and an elegant centerpiece. A warm home, laughter, sweet smells.
And it was great, it was. Everything he'd ever thought he wanted…but there was something missing. Something that left an emptiness inside him that grew like a black hole as dinner progressed, consuming every bit of happiness he should have felt in its wake.
Though he and Jess had only been together six months, Sam loved her already. She was perfect for him, and he knew—in that way you just know sometimes—that she was The One. Maybe when the lease on his apartment was up in the spring, they'd even get a place of their own. They were always together anyway, at her place or his. Right from the beginning, they'd just fit.
So Sam tried to push the emptiness aside, to soldier on. Because Jess…she really was wonderful. And her family was great…warm, loving, accepting. And this…this was normal. A normal Thanksgiving and it was what he'd always imagined it would be, with laughter and conversation and inside jokes, and it was perfect—friggin' perfect—and what was wrong with him that it just wasn't enough?
But when he looked at the elegant centerpiece, constructed of candles and fall leaves, pine cones and acorns, all he could see was an art-class turkey sculpture that had been given a place of honor because he had made it himself. And when he looked across the shining mahogany table, there was no brother with an impish smile, no bright green eyes that shone with pride and unconditional love. And Sam felt an ache so deep it seemed to pierce through bone and marrow to steal his breath.
And when Jess's mom asked them to go around the table and tell something they were each thankful for, Sam's throat closed up entirely until he was sure he was suffocating and he knew he wouldn't be able to speak when his turn came; so he grabbed Jess's hand and squeezed hard and when she looked at him in surprise, he shook his head minutely and she saw the desperation in his eyes and loudly asked him to go get the bag she'd left out in the car because she needed it right now; and even though her mother gave her a baffled, scolding look, Sam escaped out into the cold night air with a sigh of relief. He just stood on the porch for a long minute, gasping for breath and willing back tears and looking up at the hard and distant stars, wondering where in this large country his brother was spending Thanksgiving, and if he was alone, if he was okay, if he was looking at the same stars Sam could see blurring through his tears.
He could tell from her confused gaze that Jess hadn't understood why he'd needed to leave, but Sam knew—just knew—that he couldn't have sat there and listened to everyone sharing what they were thankful for. That was his one Thanksgiving memory of his mom—and a third-hand one at that—and he just couldn't have it replaced with the memory of strangers, even ones as nice as these.
So he went to the car to get Jess's bag and he stood there in the drive for a moment, just watching the happy family he could see through the bay window in the dining room. Glittering light spilled out into the frigid, dark night and the sounds of tinkling silverware and warm laughter seeped from the house like heat into cold bones. It drew him as much as it repelled him. He wondered if he would always feel like this—an outsider looking in, even when he was an invited guest. Wondered if his life with Jess would ever feel real and not a dream he was scared to wake from.
And then he thought of a cozy diner out in the middle of nowhere, classic rock playing on the jukebox and his dad and brother's voices rough with fatigue and cold, but filled with laughter and affection and the satisfaction of a job well-done. Thought of homemade pumpkin pie—at once both savory and sweet, delicate crust seeming to melt on the tongue—eaten in a red vinyl booth and steaming aromatic coffee warming their insides; of being frosty and tired but bone-deep content, knowing that the day's work had been important—had helped people, maybe even saved lives. He held still, hardly breathing, and thought of that moment flash-frozen in time when he'd been able to just be himself—no secrets, no dark past to try and hide. Just Sam, his whole world in one small room, all of them sitting and enjoying each other and the simple pleasures of a life on the road.
When he looked down, his cell phone was in his hand and he stared at it for a long minute…then two…then three…willing it to ring. Needing it to ring as much as he needed to draw air. Tonight he was weak—he would answer if it did. A large part of him hoped that it would. Prayed that it would. Making the deal with himself, with God, that if it rang, he would answer.
Because much as he yearned to talk to his brother, he couldn't be the one to call—couldn't chance that it would be seen as regret or a desire to return to that life. He liked his life now and he didn't want to go back. He just wished with an aching sorrow that he'd brought some of that life forward with him. That the two could merge, just a little.
In the interminable years he'd been gone, Sam had gotten pretty good at putting that life out of his mind, not dwelling on what—who—he'd left behind. Survival had dictated it. But on those rare nights like tonight, when memories threatened to drown him at every turn, he wished things could've been different. Wished there was some way to merge his two lives. To merge the two halves of himself. He had rejected the life he'd been raised in, and yet…he was the only one in his new life who knew about the things that lurked out there in the dark. It set him apart, made him different. Made him feel different, never quite fit in, never quite belong. So he did his best to forget what was out there, to forget the things he'd seen, to just be College Sam and not Sam the Hunter. Sometimes he felt like this new life was a play he was starring in, in hopes that if he pretended long enough and hard enough it would become real and that other life would be the dream that faded upon waking.
In some ways he felt like he was in limbo, stuck between the shadowy past and the too-bright future. The present was murky in ways he couldn't explain and inexplicably lonely. Some days all he wanted was a few minutes where he didn't have to hide away or try to forget part of himself. Where he could talk openly about whatever came into his mind without always having to guard against saying too much. An hour or two of complete, unrestrained honesty, with anyone. Better yet, a few minutes with his brother, to ease the empty spots his absence had left behind.
But it was easier now that he had Jess. She filled a lot of the empty places inside him. And if she didn't fill them all—well, that was the choice Sam had made and he just had to deal with it as best he could. Maybe over time—a lot more time—those empty places would fill with work and law school and marriage and kids until there was only a small, hidden part of his soul that screamed out for the brother who'd been everything—friend, family, teacher, protector—for as long as he'd been alive. Already its shrieking was less than when he'd first left and Sam knew that if he just continued to ignore it, eventually it would die down completely. That was his hope anyway. Until then—there was school, and Jess, and that more than made up for any murkiness. All except on nights like tonight when all he wanted was a little clarity, a little bit of home that he could cling to.
Sam didn't know how long he stood in the driveway clutching his cell phone in chilled white fingers, gazing at the festivities inside and feeling so old and alone in ways he'd never been before leaving home, until the front door opened and Jess's head poked out, wavy blond hair stirring in the slight breeze. Seeing him standing there with her bag on his shoulder and the cell in his hand, she stepped out onto the porch and looked at him with blue eyes wide with concern. The breeze blew again, more strongly this time, causing her to shiver in her thin black holiday dress.
With a last glance at it, Sam shoved the too-quiet phone in his pocket and quickly went to meet her on the porch.
She watched him approach, eyes studying him as if the right detail would tell her what was wrong. "Everything okay, baby?" she asked, worried.
Sam flashed his dimples at her and if the smile he gave her didn't go all the way to his eyes, she was perceptive enough not to comment on it just then, perhaps sensing he was teetering on an edge he couldn't afford to go over. "Yeah, it's fine. Let's get back inside, you must be freezing." He wrapped his arm around her and guided her back in, banishing thoughts of family from his mind as firmly as any ghost.
But when the dishes were all cleared and they brought out dessert, Sam was quick to shake his head at the offer of pie, claiming to be full. He thought of his first year at school, of pie that had burned like betrayal in his gut. Much as he might like to pretend otherwise, all was not right in his world. No way he could sit there on Thanksgiving and eat pie. Not without his brother. It would have been a deception even he couldn't stomach.