Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Blue Oyster Cult's Fire of Unknown Origin.
Mr. Wyatt didn't understand. He didn't understand why Samuel Winchester wasn't at Stanford. He was twenty-eight minutes late. He had coincidentally been visiting Stanford when he had heard someone say Sam Winchester's name. It had taken him a little while to remember, but once he had, he had asked to wait for Sam. He had gotten permission but he didn't know where Sam was. He had just disappeared one day, just like he had in 1997.
Where was Samuel Winchester?
A police officer pulled the man Sam was supposed to be meeting away for a moment. The man returned to Mr. Wyatt with a frown on his face.
"His girlfriend just died last night,"
After a few weeks with a few random thoughts of Sam Winchester, Mr. Wyatt didn't think of Sam Winchester for almost four years but right now, that's a little too far into the story.
A few weeks later is where Sam was the last time Mr. Wyatt thought of him for four years.
There were a few bad things about traveling with Dean again. One, his girlfriend had just died a few weeks ago. Two, motels had uncomfortable beds and horrible showers. Three, most of the food establishments they went to had unhealthy food.
But the worst was that Dean played the same music over and over and over.
Don't get him wrong, Sam was still torn up about Jess's death but when you had nothing to do, you listen to the songs that are played. Of course, there were songs that hit hard on Sam's heart. So Sam, to escape from the music played over and over and over and over again decided to take a nap. He slept a lot lately. He didn't want to think about Jess or her death or anything or listen to Dean's music. Dean must have noticed Sam's sleeping habits but he didn't mention them.
"A fire of unknown origin took my baby away!" Dean said, turning the music on louder. Sam burst awake and sat up, spitting out the spoon. Dean drummed his hands on the steering wheel to match the music. Sam turned down the volume.
"Haha, very funny," Sam grumbled and Dean chuckled.
"Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in east Texas, you kind of gotta make your own," Dean said with a laugh.
"Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not gonna start that crap up again," Sam warned.
"Start what up?" Dean asked.
"That prank stuff—it's stupid, and it always escalates," Sam said.
"Oh, what's the matter, Sammy, you afraid you're gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?" Dean asked.
"All right. Just remember, you started it," Sam warned.
"Oh, bring it on, Baldy," Dean grinned.
"Where are we, anyway?" Sam asked.
"Few hours outside of Richardson," Dean said.
Sam knocked on the door, "Uh, Mr. Wyatt?"
"Yes," the teacher said, looking up at Sam.
"You probably don't remember me, um, but my name is Sam Winchester, and I just wanted to thank you," Sam said.
"For?" Mr. Wyatt asked.
"I was a student here, and a, you gave me some advice once," Sam said.
"Winchester, right. Right. Yeah. You, uh- you wrote that horror story," Mr. Wyatt said.
"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Yeah, it's kind of all been one long horror story," Sam winced.
"What do you mean?" Mr. Wyatt frowned.
"Nothing. Sorry," Sam said.
"So, what was this advice? I might need to plagiarize myself down the line," Mr. Wyatt said.
"You told me that I didn't have to go into the family business. You said I should make my own choices," Sam said.
"So you've managed to do your own thing, then, huh?" Mr. Wyatt smiled.
"Yeah, for a while, yeah. And I think I went to college because of you. But, you know, people grow up," Sam shrugged.
"Yeah," Mr. Wyatt said.
"Responsibilities. But still, um...you took an interest in me when no one else did. That matters, so thank you," Sam said.
"Well, you know, the only thing that really matters is that you're happy. Are you happy, Sam?" Mr. Wyatt asked. His past student didn't answer him and it was only until after Sam left, that Mr. Wyatt remembered where Sam had been four years ago.
"Full scholarship? Who is this kid?" Mr. Wyatt asked.
"His name's Sam Winchester,"
"Winchester? That's sounds familiar,"
"Who knows? Maybe he was a student of yours,"