A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-8)
Word count: 4.8K
Pairing: Sam X Reader AU
Warnings: fluff, feels, cute stuff ;)
Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.
A/N: Aha! Here it is! The part a lot of you have been waiting for ;)
The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)
Beta: @deanssweetheart23 I love you, Athina <3
A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist
“Someone had an interesting night,” Meg commented salaciously as you entered the apartment, eyeing the grey coat you were clutching tightly against your body.
Why she was up at two-thirty in the morning was a question you had stopped asking. It was how things were. She camped out in the living room most nights.
It had been a long night consisting of overthinking and multiple efforts to not break-down in the middle of a library. Now, your head was hurting from it.
“That looks expensive,” she whistled, eager for your reply.
She did not get one.
Tonight, you did not have the strength to explain anything.
“Meg,” you said heavily. “Is it okay if I sleep on the couch, tonight? I- I don’t think I can fall asleep by myself.”
“Sure.” She got up to make space for you, dragging her books with her on the carpet.
You removed your shoes and fell onto the sofa, rolling on one side and hugging your knees.
The coat had mostly stopped smelling like him, except for those faint traces and you clung to those forcefully.
Meg had a habit of reading out loud when she was memorising text. You had once challenged her to read without moving her lips and she had failed miserably at it. Kevin still made it a point to bring it up every now and then to tease.
Her lulling voice, soft in the background was very comforting to you as you closed your eyes. Tomorrow would bring more questions than answers, you knew that. For now, you didn’t want to think about any of it.
********************************
27th August 2008
There was a certain trepidation as you stood on the porch of his house, hand raised towards the bell. What were you even doing? So Sam and you had been out for a couple more dates, that didn’t obligate him to spend every other day with you. So what if Ellen wasn’t home and Jo had a date. You could be by yourself for one evening, right? Restlessness shouldn’t be a motivator to land you in front of Sam’s house at seven in the evening.
No, it was extremely impolite to barge into someone’s house without calling first. You fisted your raised, about to put it down, when the door opened. Dean Winchester stood on the other side, in his classic leather jacket, hands closed around the keys of his beloved car.
“Y/N!” He looked surprised at your unexpected appearance. Not that you blamed him.
You waved awkwardly. “I made muffins- remember, I promised I’d get you some on the day of the picnic?- and some apple pie. I was feeling keyed up and I thought I’d pay Sam a visit. I’m so sorry for showing up without notice, I know it’s not- “
“Y/N,” Dean cut you off. “Why’re you saying sorry? C’mon in!” He stepped aside to let you in, then grinned at you. “You had me at pie.”
The hallway was comfortably lit and paneled in dark wood, without any of those nonsense peony wallpapers that were a fad.”
“Aren’t you coming in as well?”
Dean shook his head. “I got a date with your cousin.”
Right. How stupid of you. You knew Jo was going out for a date… obviously it wouldn’t be by herself.
“Sam’s in the living room, straight and left,” he said. “He can have all the muffins, but don’t let him touch that pie.” He winked at you before leaving.
You stared at the closed door, then at the basket in your hand. How had you managed to get yourself alone with Sam Winchester? There was still time for you to turn around and make a run for it, but the butterflies in your stomach kept pulling you towards the living room.
Sam was sitting cross legged on the sofa, bare feet, in a grey t-shirt and old jeans. Books were splayed around him, a laptop balanced on his right knee, eyes intently focused on the screen. From where you stood, you could only see his side profile and boy did he look handsome. The opportunity was too good to let go. You walked around quietly, placing the basket lightly on the floor and softly treaded to the back of the sofa. Slowly, you placed your hand on his eyes from behind. Sam jumped, the laptop almost crashing to the floor. His hand shot out reflexively to catch it, the other coming to rest over yours.
“I’d recognise your hand anywhere,” he said.
“Dang it!”
He took hold of your wrist and pulled you around to the front, then tugged so you fell into his lap, the laptop lightly toppling on the sofa next to him.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He whispered, one hand going around your waist, the other weaving into your cascading hair. You caught hold of his shoulders and dipped down to press your lips against his. The kiss was hot, passionate, as well as tender. Wherever his skin touched yours, the nerves were set on fire. Soon, you were gasping for breath.
“The pleasure-” you breathed out, breaking the kiss, “- is all mine.”
Sam pecked the side of your face again, lips wet still.
“I was literally just thinking about you,” he said, eyes staring at you in wonderment. “What’re you? A mind reader or something?”
You slid down slightly, so you were more comfortably seated in his lap. “Not a mind reader. I just missed you. I think I interrupted something important.”
He glanced at the ignored laptop. “Nevermind that. I was at wits end anyway.”
Normally, you would have jumped out of his lap. It felt so intimate to be sitting like this. However, Sam was snuggled so close to you, and so obviously unwilling to let go of you, that you didn’t make a move.
“What’re you up to?” You looked up at him.
“Remember when I told you I had to fly to New York, a few weeks back?”
“Yeah.”
“It was for an interview at this bigshot firm.”
You sat up. “Really? That’s great! How did it go?”
He frowned. “It went well enough. I heard from them yesterday. They are interested in hiring me as a junior associate.”
“But?” You could sense it was coming from the way his forehead furrowed.
“But, I don’t understand why they would wait for me to clear the bar and then join them. It’ll be a couple of months at least. It would have been easier to just reject me. I went for the interview because a senior from college set it up for me. I didn’t expect anything to come out of it.”
It was hard to believe that after everything he had achieved in life, he still had such self doubts. You attempting to tell him how exceptional he was would seem patronising, so you didn’t.
“Tell me something.” You snuggled closer and Sam automatically adjusted himself so accommodate you comfortably. “Do you want to work at this place?”
He looked at you and hesitated just for a second. In that moment you saw through him. It wasn’t the bar that was worrying him. He didn’t think that he couldn’t clear it. It wasn’t self doubt that was holding him back. It was reluctance.
“It would be a good thing for my career.”
You decided not to push him on it.
“Then that’s that.” Reluctantly, you got up from his lap and straightened the laptop. “I have something for you.”
Sam perked right up.
You pulled out the muffins from the basket and handed him one, eagerly waiting for his response.
Sam moaned after the first bite. “These are delicious!”
Your gran was amazing at this, and you had taken up baking in your spare time now. It relaxed you to be around that aroma.
“Where’s the kitchen? I can put this in and leave, so you can continue with studying.”
Sam looked horrified. “No, no, don’t leave. Please!”
His eyes were wide, eyebrows just a little scrunched and lips almost moulded in a pout. The expression held some surprising power. It could crumble hearts.
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you… are you giving me puppy dog eyes?”
“Is it working?” He countered, a hint of teasing in his voice.
Like a frigging charm. You didn’t tell him that.
“Fine. I’ll stay, but you still gotta study, okay?”
Sam batted his eyelashes and you burst out laughing. “Now you’re just overdoing it. I’m just gonna put these in!”
You wandered in the direction which he had pointed towards, wondering about how somehow that tall and built like a runway model could pull such an innocent expression. You put the pie in the fridge and the muffins in a box over the oven. The kitchen like the rest of the house was cozy and comfortable.
On your way out you paid more attention to the rest of the room. At the far end there was a grand piano and behind it, a bookshelf in the same wood that panelled the hallway. You gravitated towards it. The piano looked polished, the keys slightly yellowed as if it was well played. The bookshelf was full of a crazy collection of books, from Kurt Vonnegut to Plato. Running your fingers over the spines, they stopped over a title. You pulled the book out.
“Sam?” You asked hopefully, returning to the sofa. “Can I borrow this book, please? My copy is still at Gran’s place and it’s my favourite. I swear I’ll treat it well.”
He flicked your wrist over to see which book it was, then shook his head indulgently. “Should have figured. Of course you can borrow it.”
“Thanks,” you smiled, flicking through the pages of the copy of To kill a mockingbird. “I was thirteen, I think, the first time I read it. Fell in love with Atticus.”
“I don’t think there’s a better fictional lawyer,” Sam mused. “It’s hard to live up to him.”
“Mhmm.”
Sam suddenly got up. “Where are my manners? Can I get you something? Coffee?”
You took hold of his hand and dragged him down again. “I’m having trouble sleeping lately. Caffeine won’t help.”
His brow furrowed, however, he didn’t press you for a reason.
“How about I read to you from the NY Civil Code. That is interesting enough to put you to sleep for at least a week straight.”
You laughed. “It does look plenty interesting. You mind if I take a look at your notes?”
Sam spread his arms. “Knock yourself out.”
It was like being a child in a candy store, as you flipped through his books and notes. The text was complicated and the legal language seemed bafflingly difficult. There were bundles of notes in Sam’s thin, pointy handwriting. They looked very systematic even though you didn’t understand much.
“It’s the basics of types of legal actions,” Sam supplied. “Difference between a plaint, suit, petition and a litigation.”
“What is it? What’s the difference?”
Sam eyed you with some amusement. “You really want to know?”
“Mhmm.” This was something you had always wanted to talk about, but never had anyone to talk to. Of course you wanted to know more.
Sam flipped the pages of his book, till he found the one he was looking for.
“Alright,” he said, eyes bright with interest. “The easiest and most basic of all is a litigation. It simply means the process of taking any legal action. So, everything else, your suits, petitions, plaints and complaints, invariably everything falls under a broadly classified litigation. Now, a petition is a litigation filed to seek remedy in respect of any infringement of a constitutional right of the individual. The one who files it is the petitioner and the one it is filed against is the respondent. You with me so far?”
You nodded quickly.
Sam smiled. “Next one- and this is the one that’s going to make me money- is a suit or a lawsuit. The affected person files a suit in order to seek justice in respect of any civil right or claim they are entitled to. Here, the person who files the suit is referred to as the plaintiff and the persons against whom it has been filed is the defendant or the defendants, depending on the number of parties,” he cleared with a tilt of his neck.
Sam went on to tell you about the general magnitude of impact that both of them had once filed.
“So, a petition can be filed only against a government body, right? Because… only they can harm your constitutional right, cause they’re the ones who execute it.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re kinda right. Petitions; specifically writ petitions are filed against public bodies, yeah. And suits against private parties. You’re really quick, aren’t you? I’m impressed.”
You bit your lip. “It’s not like that, you’re just a really good teacher.”
“Am I now?”
The way he said it and the way he was looking at you, reminded you once more that you were alone in the house with him.
“You should consider teaching,” you said, wiggling your hands in your lap. “You’d make an awesome professor.” God help the poor students who would have to concentrate on his words while looking at him. You surely would never be able to manage that.
Looking up, you saw that Sam blushing furiously.
He was so bad at taking compliments! It made you fall deeper in love with him.
You jerked back at that thought. Love? Did you love Sam Winchester?
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, There’s also Public Interest Litigations…”
The words were lost on you now, as you reeled in the realisation. Was this how it felt to be in love? To have those butterflies constantly assault your stomach, to have your breath taken away from you each time he so much as even looked at you? As intense as it all felt, it wasn’t a bad feeling. Not at all.
“... so no one really cares about them in the Supreme Court.”
“Uhh… yeah.”
“You’re sleepy, aren’t you?” Sam asked dubiously. “I did bore you with all the legal talk.”
“No… no,” you denied, but at the same time you yawned.
Sam laughed. “That’s alright. You can just lie down here and rest.”
You tried to protest but Sam cut you off. “When Dean comes back, I can drive you home.”
You were sleepy, sure. but it wasn’t because the subject was boring. It was because of how relaxed you felt around him.
Finally, you gave in, leaning into the sofa. Sam adjusted himself so that your head rested in his lap.
“Earlier when you asked about NY, I wasn’t being completely honest with you,” Sam said after a while. “I’m not sure about this job, Y/N. I thought it was what I wanted, but that was before.”
“What do you mean?”
His hand came to rest on your head, his fingers absently carding through your hair.
“I thought a good job would make me happy. Coming back to Lawrence… It was like a wake-up call. It made me realise that the job would mean moving away from Dean for good. I mean with the way things are going with Jo, I’ll have to get my own place sooner or later anyway.”
You giggled. They did seem nauseatingly in love. It was all very cute.
“... then there’s you.” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose what we have. I know you’ll be moving to a University soon, but you’ll return to Lawrence for your vacations, to your family, and I don’t want to lose out on that.”
You caught hold of his hand that was in your hair and brought it to your lips, kissing his palm. You noted with shyness that goosebumps erupted on his skin on the back of his hand..
“Sam, do you think I’ll want to visit Jo and aunt El, and not want to see you? I’ve been so winded all day today- because I hadn’t seen you for two days- that I had to barge into your house. We can make this work. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course, I trust you. It sure is a novel feeling. I’ve never had the reason to trust anyone because I wasn’t afraid to lose them. I feel like I’ve opened myself up to you in pieces and now I can’t put them all back.”
Strange. He was rendering words to the exact emotion of your heart.
“It’s settled then. You prepare for the bar and who knows I just might land a college on the east coast. Maybe we’ll be closer than we think.”
He sighed wistfully. “Maybe.”
You let go of his hand. After lingering for a few seconds over your lips, then your cheek, his fingers went back to your hair.
It was a lovely feeling, the scrapping of his knuckles against the base of your hair.
“Read to me?”
“Civil procedure?” He chuckled.
“Sure,” you smiled snuggling against his side. When he started reading, it wasn’t the civil code.
“Chapter one,” Sam read. “When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury....”
You smiled to yourself, listening to your favourite book being read out loud. Sam’s voice was deep, husky, and you closed your eyes, taking in the words till they lost their meaning, and only his voice remained, soft and comforting.
“Who plays the piano?” You remembered asking sleepily.
“I do,” he replied, after a pause, then went back to reading.
You were long removed from consciousness and the voices must have been part of your dream, or just part of your imagination.
“At least carry her upstairs,” Dean was saying.
“No, she might wake up,” Sam said. “I’ll just get my pillow and sleep on the floor here. Will you let Jo know that she’ll be staying over?”
“Sure.”
It could have been seconds later or maybe hours; you felt a soft pressure against your temple, and a whispered prayer. “I love you.”
********************************
Your alarm woke you up at seven am sharp. Meg was nowhere to be seen in the living room and the door to her room was closed. However, a soft blanket- one that you didn’t recognise- was pulled over your body. You were touched by the gesture.
It might have been a dreamless sleep, but having spent the night on the sofa had sure taken a toll on your back, the stiff clothes leaving imprints on your body. You looked down at the coat you were still wearing. What were you going to do with it?
You were definitely more level headed now about what had happened last night; were able to look at it more objectively without your emotions wrecking you apart. This had to have happened just when you had somewhat accepted the fact that Sam didn’t care for you. It hurt; it hurt each time he averted his gaze from you, but you had learned to live with it, live around it.
Now you didn’t know how to live with even an ounce of affection he showed you. How pathetic was that? You had gone back and forth with yourself last night over whether you were mistaken about whose coat it could be. Each time you found yourself arriving at the same conclusion. It was definitely Sam. The color, the scent, it was all him.
The next question that arose was what to do with the coat. You couldn’t keep it after making sure that you had almost nothing left from that life. Hell, you’d never be able to concentrate on anything except the coat if it stayed with you. You couldn’t throw it away. Even the thought caused you pain. That left you with only one option- returning it to Sam, which was a whole new matter… and raised so many mind boggling questions of its own.
How were you going to return it? How were you going to bring yourself up to look him in the eye and talk to him after everything that had happened? And even if you managed to do all those things, what if he outright refused to acknowledge that the coat was his? You didn’t think you could live through that. To guess his harshness was one thing, but to be proven of it by facing him was another.
He had steadfastly refused to look at you all this while, and so far it had worked out for you. What if he looked at you with such hatred that it erased every memory of his loving eyes. Could you live through that?
You put your head in your hands, feeling a hollow in your stomach. One thing was clear to you, the coat had to go, and it had to go today.
It was with a subdued but determined face that you took a seat in Sam’s lecture. As was the norm, he ignored you completely. When the lecture ended you hurriedly got up, clutching your satchel to your chest. It was bulging full.
“Y/N,” Madison called. “The next lecture is cancelled, where are you going?”
“I… er… I had some work,” you said. It was good enough for Madison, but not so much for the girls behind her, particularly Rebecca.
“You’re coming for the party, right?” Rebecca asked, too sweetly. “You know, Maddy’s birthday party.”
Shit. It had completely slipped your mind that the party was this weekend. You had promised Madison you’d go. The idea didn’t appeal to you one bit, though. You’d rather just hang out with the apartment gang, especially since you weren’t working this weekend.
“Of course she’s coming,” Madison said confidently. “Aren’t you, Y/N?”
“Yeah.” No way you could get out of it without hurting Madison. She had been nothing but kind to you. You had to pay it back somehow.
Madison gave you a charming smile. “We’ll have so much fun.”
You doubted that to the highest degree, but now was not the time to dwell over that. You waved and left the room quickly, before anyone could ask you where you were headed.
With a trepidation that made you feel like you were existing outside your body, you walked towards where you knew Sam’s office was. You could feel your every heartbeat individually as if it was being hammered onto your ribcage. Something was painfully lodged in your throat. It hurt to swallow. At every step you wanted to turn around and run away. Too soon you were in front of his glazed glass door. In silver etched letters, it read:
Prof. Samuel Winchester, J.D.
You knocked on the glass panel. Three quick raps. The ball of nervousness in your stomach made you want to throw up, but you held still.
“Come in,” came his voice from inside.
With shaking fingers, you pushed the door and stepped inside. The door closed behind you. Sam was writing something, a hand held up apologetically, asking for a moment. With a flourish, he finished the sentence and looked up with expectant eyes. It lasted for a split second before they widened in shock. The exact expression from your first day at Stanford, the same one that had haunted you ever since. Pure shock.
What would you even call him? Professor Winchester? Sam? You weren’t sure if you still had that right on him.
He stood up, the chair scraping across the linoleum behind him. The sounds echoed even in the small room. The distance of a few feet felt like miles to conquer.
Mutely you pulled out the coat from your bag. It was unwashed and wrinkled. You walked up to his desk and offered it to him, eyes trained on the table.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
For a horrified moment you thought he wouldn’t take it, but then he reached for it, gripping the fabric tightly and you let go, still looking down.
You wanted to say something, anything because this silence, his silence was agonising. No words came to you, though. There was too much to be said, and no sentence seemed enough.
His desk was organised; books neatly stacked on one side, papers arranged along a single edge. Two frames stood on his desk with their backs to you, and you wondered if someone you recognised was in one of those frames, if they were the same ones that he used to keep on his bedside. A smiling picture of him and Dean. The pang returned at the thought of Dean, and everything that you had left behind.
Slowly, you turned your back to the desk and the man standing behind it, certain that he wanted nothing to do with you. The coat had been a lapse of judgement, a moment of pity for someone he used to know, but didn’t care for anymore. He was just a very kind person. That was all it had been. All your upheaval since, had been for nothing.
You grabbed the handle and twisted it.
“Y/N.”
You would have cried. You would have let go of that handle, slid to the ground and broken down in that moment.
For years you had beaten yourself down to accept that this would never happen. You would never hear Sam speak your name ever again. Now, it was happening. What was more? there was no anger in his voice, no hint of disgust.
You dropped your hand and turned, his voice, your name still reverberating in your ears.
Sam looked as taken aback by his words as you. As if they had left his lips without his conscious consent. His eyes were clear, brow slightly furrowed. There was no harshness in his expression and none of that sharpness or hate.
He bowed his head a bit, like he was acknowledging some kind of defeat. Then, he spoke, voice as comforting as the warmth of your favourite rug on a stormy evening. “How are you?”
Like I haven’t truly breathed before this moment. Like the last six years without you, were a special torture created just for me. Like the very sight of you is a miracle and you saying my name a talisman against every misery I’ve ever lived. Like I haven’t been okay up until this very moment.
All the words that couldn’t be said.
You merely shrugged, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from showing.
Sam dipped his chin and gave you a look that seemed to stare right into your soul, the side of his lips curving into a sad smile.
Impossible.
“H-how are you?” You whispered through a thick throat.
He shrugged, too, the smile still in place. It broke your heart to see a look of such profound sadness on his face.
You took a subconscious step ahead, wanting to run to him and throw your arms around him. What’s the worst that could happen? He would push you back? It still wouldn’t hurt as much as not being able to feel him right now.
You took a deep breath, almost taking a step-
The door to the office opened and you jumped, almost crashing into the stand.
Professor Mills looked at you in surprise, then at Sam.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were busy,” she said.
Sam shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts; still said dazedly, “No, it’s nothing like that.”
“I was just leaving,” you mumbled, catching your breath.
She looked at you curiously. “You’re from the first year, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re the one who wrote the paper on semantics in legal writing. Y/L/N, was it?”
“Yes, Y/N Y/L/N.”
“She’s the one we were talking about, remember?” She asked Sam. “The one whose style reminded me of you.”
Sam nodded curtly, the tips of his ears turning red.
“That was a good paper,” she said. “Very impressive.”
“Thank you, professor,” you replied. “I’ll get going then.”
You gave Sam a nod, “Professor.” And hurried out of the room as fast as you could. The hot air outside cleared your head and you stumbled into one of cement seating in the spill out space outside the offices. Had you really been about to throw yourself at Sam?
Most of you wanted to pass out from the intensity of that interaction, but a small part of you wondered if it really would have been that awful if you had actually followed your insane instinct and done it anyway. You sat there till your breathing returned to normal and you could feel your legs again.
You took the first steps towards home.
Y/N.
How are you?
He had called out to you and looked at you with the absolute certainty that only came from knowing the depth of someone’s soul. He didn’t hate you. As you walked, you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off of your shoulders. You could pick your feet up and they wouldn’t touch the ground again. It felt like being set free.
*******************************
A/N 2: So at least the ‘not talking’ and ignoring is out of the way ;) Once you start, it is difficult to stop talking, I suppose. Especially when there are clearly still feelings involved ;)
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