Supernatural: Stanford: Ritual
Title: Stanford: Ritual
Author: morelenmir
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Sam, mention of Dean, Chuck Bartowski; gen
Wordcount: 200
Summary: It's New Year's. Sam always gets a phone call.
Author notes: Chuck, in my head, is Chuck Bartowski. Their mutual computery geekness couldn't keep Sam and Chuck apart. Set in the second year at Stanford.
Something’s screaming in Sam’s ear. Above him, Chuck is cursing at the chalkboard howl, epithets muffled by the pillow pulled over his head. Sam’s blindly swinging one hand to locate the source of the unholy shrieking while trying to understand why Chuck’s in his dorm.
Glowing green numerals waver before his eyes. 3:16. Early and…oh. His clock is red. Not his room. He’s at Chuck’s. Sam’s hand closes on his cellphone and briefly mutilates its buttons before silencing it. A groan slithers weakly through dry lips as he answers.
“’Lo?”
Nothing. Maybe there’s someone breathing on the other end; he’s not quite certain. Or maybe he can’t really hear anymore. All he can remember is a blur of bright lights, a curvy blonde-or was she a brunette?-and enthusiastically supplying an entire college bar with drinks. He groans again. Chuck, the responsible one, must’ve dragged him here afterwards.
“Whooz ths?” he slurs.
There, definitely someone there. He made out the fluttery intake this time.
Eyes closed, Sam’s eyebrows are drawn so tightly, they’re warring with each other. Then it clicks. New Year’s Day.
“Hey,” he makes an effort at legibility, “Happy New Year, Dean.”
Click.
“Stay safe,” he murmurs.
I think Dean would've called, just to hear Sam answer, and they both would know that the other was at least alive.
Author: morelenmir
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Sam, mention of Dean, Chuck Bartowski; gen
Wordcount: 200
Summary: It's New Year's. Sam always gets a phone call.
Author notes: Chuck, in my head, is Chuck Bartowski. Their mutual computery geekness couldn't keep Sam and Chuck apart. Set in the second year at Stanford.
Something’s screaming in Sam’s ear. Above him, Chuck is cursing at the chalkboard howl, epithets muffled by the pillow pulled over his head. Sam’s blindly swinging one hand to locate the source of the unholy shrieking while trying to understand why Chuck’s in his dorm.
Glowing green numerals waver before his eyes. 3:16. Early and…oh. His clock is red. Not his room. He’s at Chuck’s. Sam’s hand closes on his cellphone and briefly mutilates its buttons before silencing it. A groan slithers weakly through dry lips as he answers.
“’Lo?”
Nothing. Maybe there’s someone breathing on the other end; he’s not quite certain. Or maybe he can’t really hear anymore. All he can remember is a blur of bright lights, a curvy blonde-or was she a brunette?-and enthusiastically supplying an entire college bar with drinks. He groans again. Chuck, the responsible one, must’ve dragged him here afterwards.
“Whooz ths?” he slurs.
There, definitely someone there. He made out the fluttery intake this time.
Eyes closed, Sam’s eyebrows are drawn so tightly, they’re warring with each other. Then it clicks. New Year’s Day.
“Hey,” he makes an effort at legibility, “Happy New Year, Dean.”
Click.
“Stay safe,” he murmurs.
I think Dean would've called, just to hear Sam answer, and they both would know that the other was at least alive.