SPN FIC: Makes You Wanna Believe (Sam/Jess)

[snowdarkred]

Title: Makes You Wanna Believe
Author: snowdarkred
Word Count: 663
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Jess
Rating/Warnings: G, none
Spoilers: None, unless you were wondering who that Jess chick was.
Author's Note: I'm probably not going to really get involved in the main fandom for this series (it's rather intimidating) but I can't stop myself from writing things. Also, I've always been fascinated by Jess and Sam's time at Stanford. So I wrote a snippet. X-posted no where. This story really doesn't have a point.

Summery: Stanford era. He watches her, but then, she watches him. They meet in McGael's English class, but that part's not important. None of it is.

Makes You Wanna Believe

 

He doesn't really understand why she comes to class. She never takes any notes. He doesn't notice at first, because he actually is trying to pay attention to the English professor, but by the third class it's obvious to everyone but the old man teaching. She turns heads, a tall blonde with impossibly long legs and a pretty face. People pay attention to her, like she's a magnet that draws their eyes. The only one who doesn't seem to notice is Professor McGael, who's no doubt seen dozens of pretty faces come and go over the years.

 

Everyday, she comes in, sits down, arranges her possessions around her, and pulls out her laptop. He can see it out of the corner of his eye when he watches the professor's rather dry slide-show. She opens an internet browser, the white of the loading screen outlining her in the dimness of the lecture room. It opens on Facebook, but she never stays there for more than a second. She immediately moves on, clicking on icons and typing rapidly into search bars. She moves from one web page to the next, barely pausing, and he can't quite see what sites she's on. He's rather curious.

 

He realizes that he's also rather creepy, so he stops. He switches seats so that he's now sitting slightly in front of and across from her. His center of gravity shifts with the change, but he tells himself that that doesn't mean anything.

 

Of course, after he moves so that he can't see her or her computer, he starts to feel a prickling on the back of his neck. He turns, casually, just like his brother taught him, but all he catches is the swift movement of long blonde hair and the glitter of what might be computer light reflected in blue eyes. She's looking at him, just like he used to look at her. It makes him feel less creepy about before.

 

He still doesn't do anything though, since there are old rules hammering about his head, not yet buried under his new environment. They're not supposed to get closed to anyone, and he continues to live by this rule up until he realizes that he's not a part of they anymore.

 

He finally just goes to her. There's still a few minutes before the lecture starts, long enough for him to slump in the seat next to hers and introduce himself.

 

“Hi,” he says. “I'm Sam.”

 

“Hey,” she smiles. “I'm Jess.”

 

He watches as she pops open her laptop and turns it on, her fingers smooth and fluid over the keys as she types in her password. She glances at him, staring at him as openly as he's staring at her. She glances at the front of the lecture hall, where tMcGael is setting up for his oft-repeated presentation on Shakespeare. She glances at Sam. She flips her laptop closed, cutting off the softly glowing screen.

 

She leans into him, and he can smell honey. Honey and chocolate, with a faint undertone of flour and sweat in the late summer heat. “Let's get out of here,” she whispers.

 

He really shouldn't. He should stay, take notes and record whatever life-changing information the professor thinks he's about to depart. He's on a scholarship; he can't just leave. But that's what he finds himself doing. He shoves his notebook back into his faded gray bag. He follows Jess as she gets up and leaves.

 

They go out for coffee, and six months later, after they're both fed up with the university housing department and campus life in general, they move into an apartment together. They even have a little plaque made, smooth wood engraved with their names. They hang it on the door, and Sam doesn't tell her about the protective symbols he etched into the back.

 

Samuel Winchester & Jessica Lee Moore.

 

The symbols don't work anyway, and he doesn't want to think about why.

 

 

---