For Sam, the California sun felt like a betrayal.

It warmed the streets that he and Dean walked through, packed with the other students. Their ‘transfer student’ disguise seemed to be working. At least for now. He remembered that light, how it bounced off the glass windows in the university buildings where he once had classes. He remembered the feeling of the grass beneath his palms as he leaned back on the campus lawns, listening to Jess laugh at a stupid joke he had said. God, he remembered her laugh.

“Would you relax?” Dean’s voice was a low rumble against the roar of cheerful, hopeful young adults surrounding them, a stark contrast to the emotions swirling deep in Sam’s gut. For Dean, the California sun felt like a typical Tuesday for hunting life. Completely at ease. His eyes darted to a group of giggling sorority girls as they passed the pair of brothers, flashing them a wink and his signature smirk. Worked like a charm every time.

“We stick out like sore thumbs,” Sam said softly after a few beats of silence, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his worn jeans in an attempt (that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, though he didn’t comment on it) to hide his clenched fists. Everything reminded him of her.

Dean just snorted, shaking his head. He was about to open his mouth to reply back (probably with a sarcastic remark), when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, making Sam pause with him. “Dean? What is it?” Sam asked, following Dean’s gaze to where, or who, he was staring at.

He saw a girl.

She was standing at the steps of the main campus building, one earbud connected to a MP3 player in her ear. She was in all black–black clothes, black makeup, even a smidge of black ink peeking out from under the sleeve of her top. Her expression was unreadable, from both the extreme makeup and from being so far away from her. She didn’t look like she belonged at Stanford. Not really, not with the pastel colors and smiles surrounding her. If they weren’t there to investigate a ghost, he would’ve probably thought she was a damn witch.

Sam glanced over at his older brother. Dean’s pupils were widened, his mouth slightly agape. He just… stared at her. It was surprising, really. She wasn’t his usual type, not the group of blonde, rail thin girls that’s laughs seemed faker than their personalities he always went for. “Dean, no way.”

Dean just tilted his head towards him at the sound of his words, his smirk returning to his lips. “Way.”

With that, he turned on his heels, creating his own path in the cowards towards this mysterious woman. Sam, shaking his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, just reluctantly followed after him.