“You ready?” You ask, looking up at the nervous Winchester beside you, wringing his hand around the strap of his raggedy book bag. A crumpled paper with the schedule and logistics for orientation in his other hand.

It was move in day at Stanford. You offered to help him get settled in since John certainly wasn’t going to. John was a sour topic right now. Most parents were proud when their kid got a full ride to an ivy league school. Not John. John was pissed he couldn’t control Sam anymore.

Sam doesn’t dwell on it. This is a new chapter in his life. The anger is smothered by excitement and anticipation of a future. The prospect of a nine-to-five lawyer job.

Sam has approximately three changes of clothes, a measly half filled bottle of water that may or may not be full of holy water, a busted up bible from one of the pews at Pastor Jim’s church, a gun (just in case), and a law 101 textbook he snatched off a highschool kid.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m…ready.” He says, unconvincing, but you know as ‘un-ready’ as he may be, he’s still excited.

You nod for him to follow since he appeared to be stuck at the entrance, he falls into step behind you. Towards his new dormitory, passing normal university students, running off caffeine and dreams. So normal. Everything he ever wanted.

Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it up. He tells himself as he walks down the hall and stops behind you in front of his dorm room. He has the key.