Three times Sam didn't tell Sam about Stanford and one time that he did (SPN)

[SexualOddity]

John had waited years to get his sons into hunting full time. It was hard work, probably, getting them enrolled in a School at every new place they visited. But Sam suspected there was a little more than that behind his Dad’s enthusiasm when he greeted him outside the gates on his final day of High School. He’d taken Sam’s bag and flung it in the trunk with the kind of grin that Sam hadn’t seen since he put down his first Black Dog. Sam was under no illusion, as far as John was concerned, he was slamming shut a chapter of Sam’s life. Sam had had the audacity to show an interest in his education, and John didn’t approve of pursuits outside of the family.

Sam had had different ideas, of course, even then. And when he finally got his word about his College place he knew his Father couldn’t know. Not until he was ready to step on a bus to California, or at least to support himself in a motel until his dorm room came available. John had spent years planning and waiting and training to bring Sam into the hunter fold, and Sam wanted to put a rocket under the whole thing at the eleventh hour. John would throw him out on his ass if he knew what he was planning. Or worse, he’d engineer some strategy to keep him in the life. No. Sam would let his Dad in on the secret when it was too late for anyone to stand in his way.

Dean was a little different, however. Dean had helped Sam scrape a little off the pool winnings to pay for his high school textbooks, even if he had called him a weirdo geek while he was doing it, he even faked a concussion to nix a hunt so that Sam could take his SATS. He never got it exactly, and he certainly wouldn’t understand walking out on them to get a college education, but Sam couldn’t turn his back without giving him at least a little warning.

Even after that realisation, for a while, Sam did nothing at all, and it was kind of nice. The information he’d had, he’d been able to file away mentally, gratifying and secret and his. Lately though, things had been hotting up. He’d registered for his first semester, he’d read an online list of stuff he was supposed to bring with him, wondering how on Earth he was supposed to get hold of most of it, he’d looked up the travel links to California, and then he’d decided it was about time he said something to Dean.

They were about to set off for their annual camping trip - the same one they’d taken for the past six years. It had sounded okay when Bobby first suggested it, a regular opportunity for the three of them to get some quality time together out of the shadow of their mother’s death and far away from the nearest thing that wanted to split their guts open. Of course, with his Dad in charge, the thing descended into a week of monster-lore quizzes and training drills before the tents were even pitched on their first visit. Still, it would probably give Sam a lot of time alone with Dean in the middle of nowhere, and if Dean needed to blow off a little anger after he told him about Stanford; well, he’d get a chance to do it without their Dad finding out.

Once they arrived, their Dad left the pair of them pitching up while he drove off in search of a local shop, probably looking for whiskey and Explorer maps. Once the tent was erect, Sam thought he ought to take his opportunity.

“Hey Dean...”

“Mmhm?”

Sam coughed.

“I wanted to...”

He cleared his throat and then coughed again. Fucking immune system.

Since he’d woken up that morning, he’d been feeling like he had a cold coming on. It was annoying, but hardly unexpected. Every year on this trip Dean would get rugged and outdoorsy, their Dad would get drunk, and Sam would get sick – it was almost as much of a tradition as the camping itself. It drove their Dad to distraction, Sam knew. Probably, he took it as another act of rebellion, a way to resist all of the practice and the training that he thought were so important. Sam couldn’t help it though, something about taking a break and packing up from hunting and school for a week seemed to prompt his immune system to pack up right along with them.

He peered into the tent after his brother. “There’s something I...”

“One sec. I’m gonna hit the light.”

Ever since a slightly hairy moment with a loaded weapon, John had imposed a new arrangement. Sam would warn Dean before he sneezed, usually suddenly and loudly and at just the wrong time. In return, Dean would warn Sam before he flicked on the lights that would set him off in the first place. Dean tended to have more success at holding up his end of the bargain. At any rate, Sam didn’t think he had much to fear from the little camping lamp, so he crawled into the living space without another thought.

Sam’s nose had been feeling vaguely tickly and sensitive with his emerging cold, and he realised that he probably should have given that a little more consideration, because the minute the dim light filled the tent, an itch overwhelmed his sinuses.

“Uh... Shit. I’m gonna-hah! HhhUrRhUHTchTCHew!”

“Sneeze? Yeah, I got that one. I thought you were okay as long as I told you about the...”

“HuhhSHUH! Ugh. Yeah, I am. Usua... Hah...HUhhhHASH’SHYEW!” He cleared his throat. “Usually. EHH’HUuUSHHAH!” Sam rubbed at his nose but couldn’t get rid of the tingly feeling. He sniffed hard. “So, I... uh... I wanted to...Fuck. I uh... m’gonna-HuhISHH! HuhHHISHH! HuhhUHSHshyew! HuhhhISHHhh!”

“You wanted to what?”

“Huh?”

“It doesn’t matter. Bless you.” Dean pulled a bandana out of his jacket and handed it over.

Sam took the fabric hurriedly and pressed it to his face. “Hehh...HEHK’KshHHSHYEW! HuHTSHEW! HuhhAHSHSHyew! HuhhESHH!” He blew his nose, but it tickled maddeningly, and he realised with grim annoyance that having started sneezing, he probably wasn’t going to stop. “Ehh...Hehh...Huh’HuuhhAHhSHhyew!

“God Sammy, what is up with your nose? No way this is all from the li...”

“HehhUhhTiSHHSHYEW!”

“Oh.”

“HuhSCHHUH!”

“Of course.” Dean sighed. “Even worth asking if you’re allergic to something?”

It wasn’t. When he’d woken up that morning feeling crappy, he had hoped it was just a final stand from his hayfever, but his throat was sore rather than irritated and his eyes weren’t itching. Plus the thumping that had started up behind his eyes seemed like more than just a sinus thing. He shook his head.

“Figured. Dad’s gonna lose it. I can’t believe you’re sick on this trip again.” It couldn’t have been that much of a surprise though, because he opened up his bag and it was full of two big boxes of Kleenex and a ton of cold medicine. “Normally I’d give you Nyquil ‘cause I think we’ll have an early start, but Dad’s making barbeque beans later and no one wants to sleep through that.”

“Wait, Dean I... AhHSHH! I... HEH’ASHHhh! Sniff! I wanted to tuh... to tell you sombething... HEHK’TCHYEW!”

“Is it that you’re going for some kind of sneezing record, because I’m pretty sure you already...”

“HAHR’USHHhhAHhh!”

“Never mind.”

“Deand! Sniff! I’m serious about this.”

“Okay, okay, I’m listening.”

“Okay.” Sam pressed his nose hard into Dean’s bandana, hoping to hold off another sneeze. “It’s about schhuhhh... Sniff! Schhuh! Ehhh!”

“About what?”

“HHhESHHshhhAH!”

“Sammy...”

“No l’uhh... let me... Huh’TESHHSHYEW! Hp’PTCHchyew! HuhhISHHSHYEW! HahISHHH! Duhh’Dabmdnit! HuhTCHYEW! H’ETCHtchyew!”

“Okay, listen kiddo.” Dean tossed him a box of Kleenex. “How ‘bout you take some of this medicine. Twenty minutes for it to kick in, and if it does what is says it’s supposed to, you’ll be able to tell me whatever you want.”

“But...”

“What’s the hurry? I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re not, Sam thought, but he let the moment pass.

--

Just as Dean had hoped, Sam’s sneezing eased off considerably once the medicine started working. John had returned by that time though, and Sam didn’t get another opportunity to talk to Dean until the following day.

Apparently his sleeping body had incubated his cold nicely because he woke up feeling as though his head and chest were weighed down by about six tons of congestion and crap. John was predictably unsympathetic and sent them both out for a run. Naturally, it rained.

For the first quarter of the route, Sam was too annoyed to even think about broaching the subject of College. He just pulled his hood over his ears, shoved his hands in his pockets and stewed in his own misery. Pretty soon after that though, his coughing changed from occasional to incessant and, not wanting a repeat of the day before, he thought he probably ought to say something while he still had sufficient air in his lungs.

“Deeehh...Huh...” He gave a staccato groan, breath shuddering. “Ugh. Ghuh... God. I’m gondda Huh! Uhh! Sndeeze. Huhhehhh... Mbaybe.” He sighed. “Probab’heh...Probably dot. Huhh’hahhh... HEH... Ugh. For fugk’s sagke!”

“You don’t have to keep warning me every time kiddo,” Dean chuckled, feet pounding against the rough ground as he ran. “Trust me, if this sneeze ever happens it won’t be a surprise.”

Sam rubbed roughly at his nose with his sodden sleeve and coughed hard. He’d been trying to sneeze the same damn sneeze for about twenty minutes straight. His face was absolutely buzzing, a mass of tickling caught up behind about three feet of congestion. He brushed the rain out of his eyes and tried again to talk.

“Deand, you rebember yestderday,” he coughed, “I wandtedd to talgk to you?”

“Yeah I do. That cough’s sounding worse Sammy.”

“Idt’s fidne. I jusdt... Shidt. Hah... Huh’Holdd ond.”

Sam tilted his head back, breathing irregularly, the tickling in his nose agonising. “Huh...ehh... Oh God.” He squeezed his eyes shut, just wanting the whole thing over with. “Huhhh... Ehhhh’Hhhuhh...HhUHhKHH’SHhUHh! Ugh! Shit!”

As he snapped forward into a sneeze, the side of his foot slipped into a ditch and he flopped right over his feet onto the rough ground.

“Aw crap, Sam.”

“Fugk.”

He’d landed in a Goddamn puddle. Rainwater was soaking into his jeans, making him shiver, and his ankle felt awkwardly numb and uncomfortable.

“Fugk, fugk, fuuuuhh’hhhuhh...”

That, and he was going to sneeze.

“Huhhh... ehh...”

He brought up his hands to his face only to find them skinned and bloody from where they had scraped across the ground.

“Hahhh...” He twisted hurriedly to drive it into his shoulder. “AhHISHHSHYEW! HahhISHHSHyew! Huhhh-uh-Huh! HAhhHISHH’SHAH!”

“Okay buddy, come on. Let’s get you up.”

Dean wrapped his hands under Sam’s armpits and hoisted. Little cautionary twinges pressed at Sam’s ankle as they moved. When they’d straightened up, he shifted his weight experimentally and pain spread instantly right across the joint. He gasped and grabbed out at Dean, not wanting to wind up back in the puddle.

“What’s up?” Dean reached out automatically to hold him steady. “Sammy? Are you hurt?”

Sam just nodded stiffly. “Mby andkle.”

“Fuck. Uh... okay. Can you move it?”

It was rigid and resistant and it hurt like a bastard, but, leaning heavily on Dean’s shoulder, Sam traced a tight little circle with the tip of his shoe.

“Okay that’s good.” Dean looped his arm around his brother’s chest. “How ‘bout we walk a little?”

Sam stepped forward obediently, but when he shifted his weight, the respondent ache was enough to turn his stomach.

“Okay, we’re done buddy, it’s fine.” Guiding Sam back onto his good leg, Dean pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and wiped it clear of raindrops.

“He’s prob’ly passed oudt drudk,” Sam grumbled, after Dean had stood silently with the phone to his ear for a good minute, getting nothing but wetter.

Dean huffed. “Oh great, let’s start bitching. That’ll make everything better.” He softened though, when Sam started coughing again. “You reckon you could lean on my back? Sounds like you need an express ride to some cough syrup.”

With a little shaky manoeuvring, Sam wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck and they began a stumbling, halting trek in the direction of the campsite.

“Hey Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you want to tell me?”

Sam considered it for a moment as they shuffled along. Rain dripped from his hair over his neck, under his collar and right down his back.

“ Ndever bind. Ledt’s jusdt gedt bagk to the sleepidg bags.”

**

By the time Sam’s third opportunity showed up, he was crashed out in an actual bed in an actual room in an out-of-the-way motel. They’d arrived at the campsite to find the tents flooded and their Dad in a whiskey-fuelled fury.

Sam was absolutely fucking spent. His head pounded, his lungs burned, even his stomach muscles were tight and aching from coughing and sneezing so damn hard all the way back to the camp. For all that though, the bed felt good. Really damn good. Solid and soft and comforting. He buried his head deeper into his pillow.

The door clicked open.

“Ah ah ah... Not yet, buddy. I got big plans for you in the medicine and dry clothes department.”

Sam groaned when Dean whipped back the covers, and coughed into the back of his wrist.

“I know, I know, I’m an asshole. What you gonna do?” He took a hold of Sam by the shoulders, eased him up and tugged his t-shirt over his head. Tossing the wet fabric onto the floor, he pressed the back of his free hand against Sam’s forehead. “How you feeling?”

“Umb...” Sam’s brain worked sluggishly as he considered this. “Bad.” He concluded, eventually.

“Yeah, you’re pretty warm.” Dean sighed, handing over a dry t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for Sam to wriggle into. “Dunno why I’m surprised. You just walked for three hours in the rain.”

“I hadte Dad.”

Dean stopped inspecting Sam’s ankle and looked at him seriously. “Yeah, I know. I do too sometimes.”

Sam blinked at that.

“What? I’m not blind. I know he’s been out of it this whole trip, it’s just...” Dean’s fingers stilled as he rolled up Sam’s sweatpants up his leg. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but I had a call from Caleb. Apparently their last hunt didn’t wind up too great. I get the feeling they lost a couple of people.”

“I dod’t care.” Sam snapped, and felt guilty immediately afterwards.

“I know you don’t. I just... I guess I wanted to tell you, that’s all. Okay, brace yourself kiddo, this probably won’t do a whole lot for your fever.” He snapped a cold pack and laid it out over Sam’s ankle. Tingling chills spread immediately across his skin. He shivered convulsively.

“Oh shit Sammy, I’m sorry.”

Dean bit on his thumbnail for a moment, watching Sam. Suddenly, he reached over to drag the blanket off his bed and began to wrap it around his brother.

“Dno...” Sam coughed. “Dno you dodn’t have to do thadt.”

“Yeah I do. It’s a rule. It’s in the big brother manual. Page one.” He sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Sorry about the ice. I gotta bring down the swelling.”

“Uh, Dean I... Huh... I nduhh’huh... ndeed to...”

“Don’t have to warn me Sam. Save your voice.” He held up his hands. “No weapons, I promise.”

Sam nodded mutely, and squinted at the ceiling, still shivering and feeling so suddenly and desperately sneezy that tears pricked in his eyes.

Dean offered him the box of tissues, but Sam shook his head and sighed. “Idt’s dot habpending.” He slumped against the bedroom wall, his whole arm wrapped across his face, pressing hard at his nose.

“You okay there buddy?”

Sam rubbed at his face roughly. “Ibm so idtchy.”

“It might settle once we’ve drugged you up ,” Dean suggested, reaching for the duffle bag.

Sam made a grab at Dean, missing the tissue box and catching his sleeve instead. Too far gone for a second attempt, he made a last-ditch twist over his shoulder and sneezed violently at the bedspread. “HuUrRrHESHSHshyew! UhhhHUSHHSHYEW! Ahhh...IYYISHHHAH!”

“Gesundheit. Jesus.” He set the box of Kleenex on Sam’s lap. “Uh...that feel any better?”

Sam nodded, lifting a tissue shakily to his face as another sneeze built powerfully. “Hhhhhuh... EYyyYUSHHhhAH!”

“Well good. You keep going then, I guess.”

“Haah’AAAHISHHHAH! HuHHH’HUSHHAH! HhhHUSHHAH! HUHh’SHUH!”

“Wow. Twenty years and you’ve never been this obedient. You gonna let me drown you in cough medicine?”

Sam nodded “HuhhhUSHHhhah!”

“Huh. Two for two. Should I ask you to help me work on the car while I’m at it?” When there was a pause between the sneezing, Dean handed over a capful of cough syrup. “You want anything before we knock you out on Nyquil? Tea? Soup?”

Sam shook his head.

“You... uh... wanna talk?”

“Huh?”

“I dunno, you keep trying to tell me something. Dad’s right down the corridor – only room he could get. He can’t hear us here, not even through shitty motel room walls.” Dean reached over and collected the used Kleenex from the bedspread.

“Are your clodthes sdtill wedt?” Sam asked, realising for the first time.

“Are you changing the subject?”

“Deand...”

“I’ll sort myself out after, don’t worry. You gonna tell me what’s been up with you?”

“I...”

But he was in an actual bed, wrapped almost up to his shoulders in his brother’s blanket, and surrounded by every medicine he could ever think to wish for. Suddenly he couldn’t get the words out. He shuffled on the mattress, ashamed of his plans for the first time and afraid that Dean would somehow read them in his eyes.

“I’bm sorry for beindg a jerk.” He was so conscious of Dean waiting for a response that the words just came out of him. It felt right, though. “Half the timbe I’bm so busy mboandindg aboudt how crappy our life is, I dodn’t see how hard you worgk to mbake idt bedtter.”

Dean said nothing for a moment, and Sam wondered if he was actually moved. Then he burst out laughing.

“Well that’s gotta be the fever talking.” He poured out a capful of Nyquil. “Here, take this kiddo. It sounds like you need it.”

--

Sam felt a little better when he woke. His head has stopped aching, and even though his nose tingled and ran the second he sat up, at least he could get a little air through it. His ice pack – room temperature now – had been unwrapped and laid out on the nightstand, and across the room, Dean’s bed was empty. Tucking the box of Kleenex under his arm, Sam hobbled out into the corridor to find his family.

He heard their voices before he reached the door.

It was an argument, he realised. Not a screaming, shouting, door-slamming argument, but there was a terse frustration in Dean’s tone, and his Dad’s voice had a sloppy, over-loud quality that told Sam instantly that he was still drunk.

Sam stopped in the corridor and clamped his nose between finger and thumb, conscious of a burgeoning need to sneeze and wanting to listen undetected for a while longer.

“I’ve told you, you make too many allowances.” John’s voice sounded insistent through the wood-panelled door. “He’s not a kid anymore.”

“He’s sick, Dad. And his ankle looks like a fricking melon.”

“Funny how he’s always sick when I want to teach him something.”

“You don’t seriously think he’s faking?” Dean protested. “He was sneezing his ass off when you came back yesterday. You can’t fake that.”

“Sam could. He has allergies.”

“This is fucking stupid.”

Dean’s words were spoken at barely a mutter, and Sam had to strain his ears to hear them. The silence that followed tied knots in Sam’s stomach. For a moment, he thought maybe John hadn’t realised what his brother had said.

“What did you say to me?”

Sam’s stomach sank.

“It doesn’t matter.”

There was a hollow ’clink’ of glass against a table top and Sam imagined his Father slamming his drink down in anger. In the corridor, Sam rubbed his nose roughly against the back of his wrist.

“Yes it does matter,” John growled. “It’s about damn time you boys started showing some damn respect.”

A chair screeched against the tile floor. Sam shrank back into the corridor, preparing for his Dad’s yell and fully expecting angry motel guests to storm out of the room and bang on the doors. He sniffed and pressed his lips closed as his breath threatened to hitch.

“You’re not children any more. You’re hunters. And the next time I ask you to do something. You step to it. No hesitation, no excuses.”

Sam pressed at his nose desperately with the heels of his hands, unable to keep his breath from quickening.

“You’re in this family or you’re out of it, Dean. What’s it gonna be?”

Sam’s lungs were working independently now, forcing hot breaths faster and faster into his body. He clenched his stomach, trying at least to keep the panting soft and shallow, but his nose was twitching, tingling, quivering....

“But Sam...”

“I don’t want to hear about Sam!” John’s shout was followed by a thump, and the unmistakable clatter of broken glass against the floor.

“HUHhNKKkTCHtchyew!” Sam’s palms flew straight to his face, but he couldn’t squash the sneeze into silence. He knew immediately that the sound would have carried into his Dad’s room, but realised just as quickly that he didn’t care. His eyes already shutting with another looming sneeze, he pressed back the door and hobbled inside.

“HUHTCHchuh! HEPT’CHUSHHuhh! HEHT’CHUSHH!”

He pulled a bunch a Kleenex from his box and crushed them up against his face, willing his nose to stop running at least long enough for him to make a point.

“I’m out.” He said, simply. “I just wanted you to know.”

John was stood behind his desk, arms folded and face like thunder. “You’re what?”

“I’m ouhh... ErrR’USHhYEW! I’m out.” He sniffed hard.

“Sam, don’t.” Dean was at the far wall, shards of glass and a puddle of whiskey at his feet.

“No. I need to say this.” Sam quieted his brother with a wave of his hand. Shaking, in spite of himself, he stepped right up to his Dad, some tangential part of his brain noticing for the first time that he’d outgrown him. “I’m sick of the way that you talk to us. It’s always ‘my way or the highway’ and once in a while, maybe I want to think for myself. I’m sick of not being able to catch a frigging cold without it being taken as some kind of act of rebellion. And, you know what, I’m sick of Dean getting a fucking glass thrown at his head when he tries to look out for me.”

“Not at my head, Sammy,” Dean urged. “At the wall.”

Sam shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done.”

“Oh you’re done, are you?” John’s expression was stony, but there was a tension in his neck that made Sam’s palms sweat. “You think you could do better?”

“Maybe.” Sam swallowed, trying to settle his stomach. “I’m going to college.”

“You’re doing what?”

“Stanford. I have my acceptance letter, scholarship, everything,” Sam told him, trying to resist the urge to shuffle where he stood. “I start in three weeks.”

His words suddenly seemed to echo as all the other noises in the room fell away. He risked a glance at Dean, who just stared openly. Sam wondered whether he ought to try to say something, when Dean’s face crumpled and he turned his back.

“HPpTCHuh! HHPpUshhah! HPpShuh!”

It was quiet and quick and squashed against his hand, but Sam knew instantly that Dean was getting sick. He felt the air go out of him. He should have seen it coming. They’d shared a tent while Sam was coughing and sneezing all night, they’d shuffled through the rain together when Sam couldn’t walk back from their run, Dean had even hung around in dripping wet clothes so that he could focus on sorting out Sam’s medication. After everything Dean had done to make him feel better it would have been nice to return the favour. But the words were out. It was too late to suck them back down his throat.

“No.” John said, snapping Sam out of his thoughts.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“It’s not an option, Sammy, I’m sorry. You know the kind of life we have, and you have a role here.”

Sam scoffed. “What? Hunting?”

“If we don’t do what we do, Sam, then people die.”

“They die anyway,” Sam shot back, frustrated. “Half the time we lead them to it. You should know that better than anyone.”

He’d gone too far. He knew it before the words were even fully out of his mouth. His Dad’s eyes hardened, and for a moment Sam almost thought he was about to slap him right across the face. Instead he just stood, still and silent, watching. It was enough to make Sam want to take the whole thing back and cancel his plans on the spot. Maybe he would have done, if it’d have been any other plan.

When John finally spoke, his voice was tight and pinched, as if it were the only way it could escape while he stemmed back the tidal wave of everything else he was really thinking.

“You know what, if you want to go, then go,” he told Sam. “But don’t you think for a minute you’re walking back in that door.”

Sam stood still for a second, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. He’d thought about this moment so many times that he couldn’t comprehend being actually in it. Still, he knew what he was going to do.

He didn’t look back at Dean. Perhaps he was too afraid he might change his mind.

He did think about it, when he pulled his bag out from under his bed and bundled up his wet clothes from the floor. It seemed like it should have been so easy, just to say something to his brother. Amazing, how suddenly he could see a million opportunities, where just an hour before he would have said he’d been thwarted at every turn. For the first time of a great many to come, he wondered how it might have gone differently.

But it was too late for that, so he just stepped out into the moonlight.

[Mustang]

Way to throw me on a roller coaster of feelings. You captured their voices perfectly. I love how Sam is so respectful to Dean, and isn't afraid to stand up to John, even though he's sick. Awesome work.

[Always-a-Ginger]

This was amazing...not sure what else to say.

It was so in character and well balanced.

And I loved it -the ending was so beautifully sad...

[AngelEyes]

Whimper. That. was. amazing. Such a rush of pure emotion.

[Sass]

Loved this story! Love how Sam always has a cold on their anual camping trip and Dean is like "Again? really?" Love ho caring they are of each other. Kind of dying for a follow up of Sam turing up in Stanford all sick and sneezy and alone and not knowing how the real world works.

[SexualOddity]

Thank you for the lovely comments guys. Reading your feedback is the best.

Kind of dying for a follow up of Sam turing up in Stanford all sick and sneezy and alone and not knowing how the real world works.

I did think about doing that actually. Except I set this three weeks before he was due to start so I would have to just kinda conveniently forget that (I didn't want it to be right before he went because then he would have had no choice but to say something- this way he has more to regret). Also, I find Stanford fics haaaard because there's no Dean but a load of OCs that I may not be able to make you give a damn about. But still... it's a possibility.

[HPG]

Too many feelings right now for an adequate response. I'll write another tomorrow, but wow. Just, wow.

[HPG]

Right, so...

This was totally awesome. I loved the way that you wrote Sam and Dean and I thought it sounded a lot like what might have been in an episode. Sam having sneezing fits so long that Dean was getting semi-concerned is adorable, and Dean trying to defend Sam from John was really sweet. The story was interesting, and if you're up for it I too would love a sequel.

Anyhow, you're amazing, fantastic, and you seem to be a lovely person, so have a wonderful day.

[gingerdean]

This was fantastic. I love fics that explore Sam's frame of mind in the days leading up to him leaving for Stanford.

And the sneezes. guh. And Sam getting interrupted with his sneezing fits every time he tries to tell Dean about school, and the BUILDUPS, and the sudden, urgent ones, and Sam trying to warn Dean before he sneezes (and not always succeeding), and the photic thing, and the commentary from Dean when Sam can't stop sneezing... Then Dean starting to catch Sam's cold at the end, which is AWESOME but also so sad, knowing that Sam won't be around to help Dean when he gets sick.

Awesome job on this!!!

[27jj]

Wow. Wow wow wow. Beautiful.

[sierraplaid]

So wonderful, and so sad. You really captured the mood of what that time would have been like in all their lives. I loved how you conveyed Dean's conflicted feelings about Sam's education, with him helping pay for textbooks and making excuses so he could take the SAT, but still not fully "getting it"--I think this is right on point. And JOHN. John, John, John, what are we to do with you. Your John voice is amazingly well written, like, scary good.

Basically, I'm a puddle of Sam-n-Dean-n-John feels right now, so thanks.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Holy moher of Cas!

Sweet Jesus, hi story was absolutely perfect on all angles!

Beutifully writen and in character, marvelous detail, and overall pure amazing.

[sneezysammy345]

Ok, this story was so good that if it was possible, I would be doing this right now:It's soo cute, and so in character.

[anna]

Ugh poor Sammy