In relation to your laptop post, I’m also a ‘99 baby and at my high school, they started giving the freshmen iPads the year we were sophomores but instead of having us be the only grade without them senior year, the retroactively decided to give us the shitty old teacher iPads so the teachers could get new ones and then we seniors all hated them because they were outdated and didn’t work
((referencing this post))
My school had a few "class sets" of chromebooks that we could use in some classes during that class but everyone hated them cause you couldn't download any Microsoft office programs. The teachers would be like "only use word to write your papers" then gave us chrome books that don't have Microsoft office like what
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Just remembered my headcanon that Brady helped Sam through all the anxiety that came from leaving Dean and the hunting lifestyle at Stanford (that’s why he took longer than 4 years there!) and their relationship ended up being Sam’s first with a guy and the one that helped him realize his orientation.
hello im so sorry for replying to this so late. it just seemed like,, such a good fic idea ily payton <3
sam takes a deep breath in, and breathes it out through his nose but it doesn’t work as well as it should have. his chest still feels tight and he still feels like screaming, but he can’t because he’ll wake brady up. he bites down on his wrist again to resist the urge and chokes on a sob.
maybe he shouldn’t have ever left. he’s probably gonna fucking fail all his classes anyway. maybe becoming complacent and just hunting for the rest of his life would’ve been a better idea.
and he misses him, fuck. he misses dean.
he thinks he hears a noise and winces because he probably failed in his attempt at staying quiet and then the door handle rattles and brady’s soft voice breaks through (yet another) hazy existential crisis.
“sam? are you okay?”
sam drags his hands through his hair and shrugs even though brady can’t see him. which is actually great. brady seeing him right now doesn’t seem ideal. “ye–yeah, i’m fine. just can’t sleep. need to uh….. wash my face.”
there’s quiet and sam very slowly gets to his feet and turns on the faucet.
“i…. i thought i heard you crying, sam.”
sam spills water on his shirt. “wha–what? no, i just…. it was probably the water. the sink. the faucet.”
“right.” he doesn’t sound remotely convinced. he sounds almost as unconvinced as sam does. “……you really think you’re okay?”
sam chokes out an awkward, strangled, tear soaked laugh at that as he dries his face, which with how gentle and caring brady’s voice is, isn’t going to stay dry for long.
brady laughs too, but it seems shakier and more concerned. “do you mind opening the door?”
sam puts his hand on the handle and leans his forehead against the frame. “can you give me just two seconds?”
the response sounds like a yes.
a full, silent two minutes passes until sam’s fingers fumble with the lock and he lets the door swing open. “i’m okay, man,” he whispers.
brady huffs out another laugh and this time it’s vaguely incredulous. “you don’t have to say that, winchester.” his hand tentatively brushes against sam’s jaw.
he instantly leans into it, which probably surprises both of them, and brady bites his lip. “can i…. do you want a hug?”
sam just kinda falls against him when he says that and they stand there for seconds or minutes or half an hour. they just stand there, with sam silently crying against brady’s neck and shoulder.
he pulls away though, feeling uncomfortably annoying and slides down the wall to the hallway carpet. brady follows him.
“i’m so sorry,” sam mumbles, and he’s not sure he even said it loudly enough for brady to hear. “before you ask, i can’t even tell you what’s wrong. i’m just…. tired, i guess? i’m super worried i’m gonna fail my classes and g-d i miss my brother, dean. and now you even found me sobbing in the fucking bathroom.” he snorts out an awkward laugh. “and, uh, washing my face.”
“not exactly your best excuse, huh?” brady smiles. “and you don’t have to apologize, sam. i got you.”
Summary: Death is not always final. It is not always a choice. It cannot always be orchestrated by his weary hands—not when Lucifer can still reach him. Sam knows. Written for SPN Summergen for @interstellarstorms .
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He just looks so scared here. He’s in over his head, and he knows it. And it probably felt good to give in to it, for a moment, as the devil used his body to do hellish justice, but Sam is good. He’s so freaking good. He’s absolutely horrified, and he’s feeling pretty helpless, trapped within his own mind, unable to even take control of his own body, but he’s not surrendering. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Sam is amazing.
