Chapter Text
Sam stared at Dean as he pulled him to his feet; in comparison to his father Dean had been downright clingy, but clingy for him consisted of the occasional text to make sure he was still alive, an envelope of cash shoved under his door every birthday, and he was also relatively certain he had caught glimpses of the Impala on campus once or twice, but he hadn’t seen him in person in years now. By his smile he looked the same, that was if Dean had always had that scar on his chin, and the dark circles under his eyes.
“You’re getting rusty.” Dean clapped his shoulder.
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by the bedroom door opening.
“Sam?” Spencer’s voice was thick, wiping sleep from his eyes as he stepped out of their room.
Sam’s flannel was slipping off one shoulder, mis-buttoned down the front to give a glimpse of his flat stomach, borrowed boxers, long bare legs, and mismatched socks. His long hair was in disarray, swooped over to one side like he had just run his fingers through it. Sleepy eyes found Dean, blinking a few times, and a soft pink blush setting on his face.
“Spence, this is my brother Dean,” Sam said.
“Oh. I’ll find pants.”
“Don’t bother for my sake,” Dean’s eyes roved over him.
Sam smacked the back of his head. “Don’t ogle my boyfriend.”
Dean’s eyes widened, glancing between them. “Boyfriend? I- that’s a dude?”
Sam glared.
“Uh, no offense, you’ve just… you’ve got, um…” Dean gestured to most of him.
“I’m aware of the androgynous quality of my appearance due to my physicality and age,” Spencer said easily.
“…right,” Dean said. “Uh, anyways, sorry to wake you, but I just need a few minutes to talk to my brother, so if you could…”
Dean made a sort of dismissive gesture.
“Whatever you want to say to me you can say in front of Spencer,” Sam said.
Dean raised an eyebrow, but Sam crossed his arms.
Dean clicked his tongue. “Alright, Dad went on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been back in a few days.”
Sam’s stomach dropped, swallowing hard. “Spencer, can you…”
“Pants. Coffee. Not listening,” Spencer said, disappearing back into their bedroom.
Sam pulled Dean out of the apartment to talk, his head reeling as Dean caught him up, asked him to come with him, and despite his interview on Monday he couldn’t stop himself from agreeing. Making his way back up to the apartment he found Spencer in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, and two more mugs sitting on the stove, one made to Sam’s specifications, and the other black.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, my dad… Dean can’t get a hold of him so we’re gonna track him down, he’s probably holed up somewhere sleeping off a bottle of Jack.”
Spencer followed him as he made his way towards the bedroom, grabbing a duffle.
“You’re leaving now?”
“Sooner I find him, sooner I’m back.”
“Your interview is Monday,” Spencer said.
“I’ll be back in time,” Sam said, more of a promise to himself than to Spencer.
“…I’ll put the coffee in travel mugs.”
Sam’s heart squeezed, catching Spencer’s arm to turn him back to face him. Spencer made a questioning noise, but Sam just kissed him softly in response. Spencer blinked up at him as he pulled back, still soft from sleep, but his eyes bright.
“What was that for?”
“Just… just because.”
“You’ll tell me what you’re not telling me when you get back?” Spencer asked.
Sam swallowed. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”
Spencer stepped back. “Does Dean take cream and sugar?”
“Not as much as you do, but yeah,” Sam smiled.
Spencer flipped him off as he left the room. Packing only took Sam about three minutes, well practiced at a quick exit, and Spencer had two travel mugs ready for him at the door. Sam kissed him a little more thoroughly, one hand cupping his face, the other holding his duffle. Spencer leaned into the kiss, but his hands were occupied with the coffees.
“Call me?” Spencer asked a little tentatively as he handed over the coffees.
“Of course,” Sam said. “It’s just gonna be a few days, alright?”
Spencer nodded, tugging at his sleeves, and not meeting his eyes.
“I’ll be back Monday,” Sam said, kissing him again. “Promise.”
Spencer opened the door for him, and Sam waited until he could hear the deadbolt sliding shut after him before he made his way down the stairs. Dean raised his eyebrows at the coffee Sam handed him as he got in the passenger side of the Impala.
“Spencer made them, so shut up and drink it.”
“Spencer made them,” Dean repeated, taking a sip as he pulled away from the curb. “Just how serious is this guy?”
“Very.”
Dean drummed his fingers against the wheel.
“Problem?”
“No,” Dean shook his head. “No, man, no problem… Are you going to tell dad?”
“I’ve barely seen dad in the past four years, I’m not really sure it’s any of his business,” Sam sniffed.
“That’s, uh, that’s probably for the best,” Dean said quietly.
Sam remembered a few of his very vocal arguments with their father about certain choice words that remained in his vocabulary, while Dean had always just brushed them off, and told him not to let it get to him. While Sam had never actually told Dean he was bisexual, he was relatively certain it wasn’t much of a surprise. One of the only fights he had ever heard Dean have with their father was when one of Sam’s arguments had escalated and John had called him a slur. Whatever Dean’s personal feelings on the matter, he never let anyone get away with putting Sam down, their father included.
Dean took a deep breath. “How did you meet?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You really want to hear this?”
“It’s what I’d ask if Spencer were a chick, so, yeah, let’s hear it,” Dean said.
“We met in the library…”
Working in the library didn’t pay great, but it was one of the few jobs that allowed Sam to study for the LSATs at the same time. Multi-tasking had however made it so that he hadn’t notice a waif of a boy climbing one of the rolling ladders in the back to reach one of the higher shelves. Even at a prestigious university like Stanford there were plenty of twenty year old shenanigans one of which had gotten students banned from using the rolling ladders, if they wanted a book they couldn’t reach, they had to ask staff to grab it for them. Capping his highlighter, Sam left the desk, making his way towards the back.
“Hey,” Sam called, intending to finish the sentence with ‘you’re not allowed on the ladder’, but apparently his greeting was startling enough.
The boy wobbled, one arm full of books, and the other slipping from the ladder in his surprise. With a yelp, he toppled from the ladder. Instinctively, Sam moved to catch him, ending up with an armful of what was probably the most beautiful boy he had ever seen, in spite of the grandfather-esque sweater he wore. Slender and long-limbed he was shockingly light in his arms, his brown hair long enough to brush his shoulders and fall into big brown eyes, which were staring up at him in surprise through wayfarer glasses. Somehow, he hadn’t dropped any of the books.
“Staff only on the ladders,” Sam said.
“Right,” he squeaked. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Sam said.
The boy swallowed. “You could, um, you could put me down now?”
“Oh! Yeah, right, sorry, um… are you okay?” Sam set him on his feet.
“Fine. Um, thanks, I doubt a concussion would have been conducive to working on my psych essay.”
“What’s it about?” Sam asked.
He glanced down at his books. “Um, well, it was supposed to be on the psychology behind the increased probability of shoplifting in youth, but I got, um, a little side tracked.”
The titles were all in Latin.
“Just a little?” Sam said.
The boy flushed, opening his mouth to reply, but one of Sam’s friend’s called his name and he turned to find Becky holding up her hand a few paces away. When he looked back, the boy was gone, books and all. Sam made his way over.
“Were you just talking to Spencer Reid?”
“Uh, maybe?”
“Rumor has it, he’s like a total genius, that he graduated high school at like sixteen or something,” Becky said.
Sam’s eyes widened. “Really? I mean, he looked pretty young, but I thought he was just a freshman or something.”
“That’s the genius part, he already got a degree from Cal-tech before coming here."
“There’s no way, he can’t be more than nineteen."
Becky held up her hands. “I’m just telling you what I heard. Anyways, are you coming out with us tonight?”
“Studying.”
“You’re always studying.”
“I hear that’s how you pass the LSATs.”
Becky rolled her eyes. “It’s just one night, Sam, your textbooks won’t run away.”
“Some other time.”
“You suck.”
“Bye, Becky.”
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he caught a glimpse of Spencer, it was closing in on midnight, and he was once again, on the rolling ladders. Sam stepped up behind him, hand hovering over his back before he spoke.
“Didn’t I already give you a warning about this?”
Spencer jumped, but Sam steadied him as the boy turned to look at him with big brown eyes.
“I-I have permission!”
“From?”
“Professor Daniels,” Spencer said.
“Yeah, well, he should have made you sign a waver saying you won’t sue once you get a concussion.” Sam took the books from his hands, and Spencer climbed down.
“How did you psych essay come along?”
“Uh, fine?”
Sam looked over the titles in his arms, it looked like he was compiling the history of American Sign Language.
“What class is this for?”
“…it’s not.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
Spencer took the books back, holding them close to his chest. “Stanford offers Spanish, French, Latin, German, and Russian.”
“Just for fun then?”
Spencer fiddled with the books. “I mean, in class we talked about analyzing speech patterns and body language, but no one even mentioned how to analyze sign language for either category, so…”
“I think I know a little sign, um…” Sam tried to finger spell his name.
Spencer watched the motion. “I don’t know any, but I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out what that means in an hour or so.”
“Just an hour?”
“It’s an estimate based on my reading speed and ability to comprehend new material.”
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but apparently Spencer had decided their conversation was over, and walked away with his armful of books. Sam wasn’t sure if he felt amused or irritated by the brush off, but either way, it didn’t stop him from giving him a little wave as the boy exited the library. Spencer waved goodbye, and finger spelled his name. ‘Goodbye, Sam.’ Sam smiled, apparently Spencer had only needed an hour.
He started tuning into the rumors on campus a little when he heard Spencer’s name came up. A couple people claimed he already had a doctorate, that he was being recruited by the NSA, or even the CIA though that one had mostly earned laughs. Considering Spencer was a buck-twenty soaking wet, nineteen at most, and couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes in a single conversation they had, he doubted the validity of the CIA rumor. He caught glimpses of Spencer in the library, but the boy always had his head down, and disappeared into the shelfs.
Sam was abundantly curious but he only found his opening on a night where he was at the library to study rather than work and study. Spencer had three different books open in front of him while he scratched notes down in his notebook. Sam stepped up to the seat opposite him, despite the other open tables, backpack over his shoulder, and textbook under one arm.
“Mind if I join you?”
Spencer’s eyes flicked up, his hand paused, and shoulders tensing. “Why?”
“To study?” Sam held up his textbook.
Spencer stared at him for a long minute before slowly pulling his books closer to him to free up some table space.
Sam smiled. “Thanks.”
Sitting down across from him, Sam opened up his textbook, and uncapped his highlighter. Popping his earbuds in, Sam got to work, though he did take the occasional study break to look at the boy across from him. Spencer didn’t notice. His attention was completely focused on the essay he appeared to be writing by hand. There were pen-marks on the back of his hand and smudged down his wrist from writing before the ink had dried. His hand writing was scrawled and looping and impossible to read upside down. The books before him were all on sociology and psychology, but Sam swore his eyes moved too quickly across the pages for him to actually be reading anything at all. Despite the fact that he had a hair elastic on his wrist, he continued to let his overgrown hair fall into his face as he worked, only to tuck it behind his ears every few minutes or so. There was a slight curl to it where it brushed his shoulders, and looked silky-soft when Spencer’s fingers ran through it without catching.
“If you find staring at me more interesting than Kent v United States I think that bodes poorly for your career ambitions,” Spencer said without looking up.
Or maybe he had noticed.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sam said. “You’re pretty interesting.”
“I find the only people who say that to me want to bend my intelligence to their own desires. Look for entertainment elsewhere.”
“I did hear you’re a genius.”
“Intelligence cannot truly be measured as it comes in various forms so while my IQ may be above average my EQ is often considered below, but not many people care about the weight that EQ carries, only if I can write their papers for them.”
Sam bit back a laugh. “Well you can rest easy, all I want from you is fifty percent of the table space.”
Spencer lifted his eyes from his notebook, and very seriously said, “I can give you forty-one percent.”
Sam pretended to think about it. “Hm, deal.”
Spencer returned his focus to his work, and Sam did the same. The next time Sam found Spencer in the library, the boy shifted his books to give him 41% but didn’t bother to give him a hello. Sam smiled as he sat down. Trying to befriend Spencer felt a little like coaxing a stray cat out from under a dumpster. While willing to share his table, he was less willing to share conversation, though Sam had gotten half a lecture on Irish mythology before Spencer caught himself and buried his face back in his notebook for the rest of the evening.
Sam stretched his arms over his head, trying not to let the late hour get to him, while across from him Spencer opened a Twix bar and took a bite, apparently also taking a break as his glasses were sitting on top of the page of his book.
“Do you want to grab dinner?”
Spencer frowned at him, holding up his candy bar like that was an answer.
“Is that what you consider dinner?” Sam asked incredulously.
“It has calories.”
“It’s pure sugar, you’re going to crash in an hour,” Sam said.
Spencer wiggled his coffee cup in argument.
“No, no way, you need real food, c’mon, I bet something’s still open.” Sam rose from his seat.
Spencer slouched down. “Not hungry.”
“What have you eaten today? Candy and coffee aside?”
Spencer crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin. “And you feel entitled to this information because?”
“Because I care about you?”
“We’re not friends.”
Sam grimaced. “Ouch.”
Spencer picked at a loose thread on his sweater. “I don’t… I don’t make friends, so don’t take it as commentary on your social skills or personality.”
“Too smart for the rest of us mere mortals?” Sam asked.
“I just don’t see the point in putting effort into a relationship that has an expiration date. If the end result is always the same, then why keep trying? Isn’t that just a recipe for madness?” Spencer had his eyes cast off to the side, hair falling in his face like a curtain.
“I moved around a lot as a kid, like sometimes I wouldn’t be at a school for more than a week a lot, so after awhile I kind of gave up on trying to make friends. What was the point if I was going to keep moving? Except then I realized, that’s a pretty lonely way to live. I think the point of making friends is that you enjoy the time you have with them.”
“I don’t make friends,” Spencer repeated.
“Well, I do, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam said, picking up his bag, and making his way out of the library.