Book Two

Of Planning and Pool Cues

CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Sam's back at the start of his time at Stanford, against all odds and the Winchester Luck. Now he has four unexpected years to plan for, so he better get started.

Stanford was… the same.

It seemed different. For a while, Sam kept trying to figure out what had changed. It took him a few days to realize nothing had. Stanford was the same. He was different.

He wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that.

On the one hand, he was glad to be back. Not just for the chance to go through and make sure the thing with the apocalypse didn't go the same as it had the last time, but also because there was so much he could do differently here . He had never expected, not in his wildest imaginings, that he would end up this far back. Not just in Stanford , either, but at the start of it.

He hadn't even had his first class, yet. Students were still moving in and class wouldn't start for another two weeks. Sam, himself, hadn't been situated in a dorm, yet. He was still living in the small apartment he had rented for a couple weeks when he arrived to Stanford a month before term began. If memory served (and things stayed the same), he would be getting an email with details of where he would be living for the next year.

Of course, it was possible things would have changed. Sam had already set things into motion that would make his time here very different from his first time living it. He'd had reasons for choosing to pursue a law degree that first time, in part because he knew he would be able to assist hunters who were caught by the police while working a job. And he'd be able to do it without having to hurt anyone.

There was also the fact that Law required a lot of mental activity. It would be challenging, but not like hunting was challenging. Hunting required him to determine what a creature was and find a way to defeat it - to kill it. Law would be even more challenging because Sam wouldn't be using a wooden stake to take out the problem. He'd be using his knowledge and wits, and he'd be arguing a side, making his point to a jury who would listen to him when he spoke.

The listening part? That was big for him.

Sam had tried to argue his side before to his father, but anything that suggested against killing every non-human creature that stepped in their path was furiously beaten down by John. Not-human meant they deserved to die and Sam… he just, he didn't like that. He never had.

There were monsters, sure, and they'd dealt with their fair share over the years, taking out rugarus who were going after children or vampires who killed women on the streets at night. Saving people, Sam could get behind.

It was hearing of someone who did magic and hunting them because "all witches deserved to burn" that Sam couldn't understand. He wasn't an idiot. He knew there were witches out there who had sold their souls for magic, for power. But Sam also spent most of his time doing research and he'd learned things over the years. Things that suggested that there were witches who were born with magic, or who fell into it over the years without any demonic assistance. Hunting down a woman who performed scrying spells to find lost pets? That wasn't something Sam had wanted to be a part of.

He'd run for a lot of reasons. Some he remembered because they were ingrained in him - his disbelief that everything nonhuman was a monster, his need to be able to use his mind to do good , his desperate desire to understand what a normal life would be like.

He was sure there were other reasons, ones he didn't recall, things that, during the fight, had made it easier to leave. But he wondered, a little, unsure, if he hadn't sensed something about himself all those years ago. He'd always felt… unclean in a way he never could have explained. And while his younger self had never understood that the demon blood he was forced to ingest was the cause of that, Sam wondered if part of him hadn't recognized the powers he held. If he'd run for a lot of reasons, but if one hadn't been to save himself from becoming a hunt for John.

Knowing now what he did about that night so many years ago, and about the final words John spoke to Dean, Sam didn't have a lot of faith in John's sense of paternal obligation preventing him from turning a gun on Sam if he understood the magnitude of Sam's powers.

Or what he was meant for.

If John Winchester knew that Sam was meant to be Lucifer's vessel, Sam didn't think his father would hesitate to put a bullet in his brain.

Sam sighed into the paper cup he held, glancing down at the dribble of coffee that always lingered in the bottom, unattainable. Like peace. Or hope.

You're sitting in front of a fountain at Stanford, in your nineteen-year-old body, he told himself. If that's not hope, then you need to find a dictionary. And some alcohol.

He did have hope. He was back here, against all odds, and his brother was only a phone call away if Sam really wanted to talk to him. Granted, it would be an awkward phone call and this Dean would be very different from the one Sam had left, but it would still be Dean.

He'd thought about it. Thought about calling, or just texting, but it had only been a few weeks since he left, since the fight, and this Dean would still be his father's little soldier. No matter that Dean had ultimately let Sam go to Stanford (reluctantly and hurt, but Dean had let him go). Part of Sam wanted to tell Dean everything, to have his brother fully there by his side, but he knew that it wouldn't happen now. Not with John still calling the shots. Calling for shots, and putting bullets in anything that looked funny.

Sam understood the man was still grieving the loss of Mary in some ways, but he'd let revenge consume him and let it take over his whole life. Even Dean and Sam had taken a backseat to John's need to hunt. The man only seemed to act like a father to-

"Adam," Sam gasped, dropping his cup. The paper cup bounced off his shoe and landed on the ground, the last dribble of coffee dripping from its edge, but Sam paid it no mind.

Adam was still alive in this life. Still alive and… Sam did a quick calculation in his head. Roughly around twelve currently.

Sam dug his fingers into his hair and pulled. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about Adam, but…

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His thoughts were whirling, a thousand ideas rushing through him, from go get Adam right now and protect him to pray to an angel to protect them to call Dad and tell him he's a fucking asshole. That last one had a lot of promise but Sam didn't think it would go over well. Besides, how would he explain being aware of his half-brother? And god, Dean would be ruined by the knowledge. He still believed their father was a saint.

Sam sighed and rubbed his face. Okay.

Okay.

He couldn't show up at their door with no warning and explain the supernatural to them. That would be unkind and lead to all sorts of trouble. He had time. Adam didn't come into the picture of their lives until much later. Sam would need to keep an eye out, in case his changing things had an adverse effect, but he didn't need to jump into action right this instant. He had time to think.

Thank god, because he didn't know where to start.

Making a plan sounds good.

Dean, Cas, and Crowley had helped him to come up with a plan but they had been working with the idea that Sam would arrive back sometime within the first or second year with Dean, if Fate was kind. Except, Fate had been more than kind, and now there were four years that they hadn't accounted for in front of Sam, no plan in sight beyond the barest of ideas.

Standing up from the stone boundary of the fountain, Sam scooped up his coffee cup and threw it in a nearby trash can. He slung his bag over his shoulder and started to walk.

His apartment was paid up through the next two weeks - long enough for him to move into a dorm room. He had a couple hundred dollars and, if he was lucky, the landlord of his apartment would refund him the pay for the week he didn't live there like he had the first time Sam moved out early.

He needed to pick up some supplies, but first, he needed to make sure his funds were a little steadier.

Sam headed back toward his apartment to get a few hours of sleep. He'd be spending some time at a bar that night. Easiest way to make some quick cash - hustle some guys at pool. Sometimes his brother did know what he was talking about.