It's weird, being away from the people who know him, but still being in the same city. Sam is careful who he talks to on campus, in case word of him somehow reaches Mike and Karen. It doesn't take long for Sam to slip into lying about the little things, slowly changing his past, twisting it to fit whatever image he wants people to perceive.

He learns how to twist false sympathy from some people, make them think one thing about him, and then turn around and make other people think something completely different. If ever they met and talked about him, they'd never think they were talking about the same person. He doesn't feel bad about it, doesn't feel bad manipulating their feelings and emotions.

The first time he gets asked out by a guy, it’s near the end of Sam’s freshman year and it doesn't even occur to him to say "no". Instead he turns on the charm, grins and says sure, leaning into the friendly, casual touch on his arm, turning it into something more intimate.

His name is Adrian. He's shorter than Sam, but not by much; lean, with a swimmer's body, sandy blond hair and pale green eyes. Sam becomes enamored with the spray of freckles across Adrian's nose and his deep, throaty laugh. He's surprised when he realizes that he really likes Adrian. They're a good fit; they play well off each other - or at least Adrian plays well off the personality that Sam has chosen to use when he’s around him.
--
Sam is over at Dean's apartment for pizza and the game, three months into his - relationship, he supposes - with Adrian, when he has a sudden harsh realization. Dean laughs at something one of the commentators says, and the deep sound causes goose bumps to pimple up across Sam's skin. His brother turns his head, grin easy and eyes hazy with alcohol, and Sam sees the familiar spray of freckles across Dean's nose, the similar color of his eyes. Dean and Adrian look exactly the same. Sam can feel something hot and tight coiling in his stomach and his body goes stiff.

As soon as the game ends, Sam scrambles to get his stuff together, making a lame excuse to Dean about a paper that he has to write, even though Sam’s finished his finals and is essentially done for the year. Dean just gives him a look, nodding his head like Sam is some kind of mentally challenged puppy and lets him go. Sam doesn't breathe again until he's three blocks away at a red light, street deserted around him. "Oh my God," he breathes.

When he gets back to campus, he locks himself in his dorm, turns off his cell and unplugs the land line.

He gets worried messages from Adrian on his voice mail when he hasn't called or seen him for three days. When the one week mark passes, the messages turn from worried to angry. Adrian tells Sam that he's pathetic and a pussy if this is his way of breaking up with him. Sam closes his eyes, chest tight, as he listens to Adrian say that Sam isn’t the man he thought he was.

A week after the messages from Adrian, Sam begins to gets messages from Dean. He's worried, but not in the same kind of panicked way that Adrian had been. He ends them with a casual, "Call me. This is ridiculous."
--
Three weeks into his first semester of his second year, Sam meets Jessica. He's at the bar on campus, alone. He's cruising, not sure what exactly he's looking for, but when she sidles up to him, leans forward on her elbows and lets Sam take a good long look at her cleavage, eyebrow raised speculatively, he definitely feels interest in this brazen girl.

When he looks up and meets her eyes, her stare is playful, and the corner of her mouth quirks slightly. "Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants." she deadpans, and Sam laughs, caught off guard at the cheesy line.

“Hi,” Sam says once their laughter has subsided.

"Hi,” Jessica answers, and her eyes are still amused. “I’m Jessica,” she tells him.

“Sam.”

“Are you new to this fine establishment? I’ve never seen you here before.”

Sam shrugs. “I’ve been in a few times, but I don’t come very often.”

They banter for a few minutes, simple small-talk. Jessica raises her arm to gesture for the bartender. The glass in her hand that Sam originally hadn’t noticed is empty.

It's a few minutes before the bartender makes their way down to their end of the bar. It's pretty obvious from the way that Jessica is leaning into him and touching him so casually that she's flirting with him, and Sam isn't deflecting her interest in any way. She learns that he's the younger of two boys and that he hopes to major in law.

She's in the middle of asking what Sam's favourite food is, and why, when the bartender clears their throat. "What can I get you for you, Jess?"

Jess gives him an enigmatic smile. "I’ll have a gin and tonic," she says. "And Sam will have..." she turns to him and Sam flounders.

"Just a beer," he replies lamely and Jess shakes her head.

“No. Now, I’m not usually against anyone ordering just a beer, but you need to have something a bit more exciting." She studies him for a moment before declaring, "Can we get Sam here an Axe Murderer? And how about a couple shots of Jaggermeister, hmm?"

"Gin and tonic, and axe murderer and two shots of jagger. Comin' up."

Sam shakes his head, amused and surprised. "I've never had jaggermeister in anything besides a jaggerbomb."

"You haven't lived until you've done a straight shot of jagger." She winks. "It'll put some hair on your chest."

"Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

The bartender sets the two shot glasses down between the two of them and fills them with jagger, Sam’s drink set at his elbow and Jessica’s next to hers.

“Uh, we should probably start with the jagger,” she says with a laugh. They lift their glasses together and Jessica counts to three before knocking hers back and slamming the glass down onto the bar top.

When Sam puts his shot glass down, his face is twisted, and she shakes his head. “Holy Jesus,” he says and Jessica laughs. He takes a sip of his drink to help ease the burn of alcohol only to come up coughing. “What is even in this?” he asks.

Jessica shrugs a shoulder. “Little bit of everything, more or less.” She sips innocently at her gin and tonic.

They continue talking, nothing serious, a little game of getting-to-know-you. Then, so sudden in Sam’s intoxicated state, Jess leans in close and whispers, "How drunk do I have to get you, Sam Winchester, to get you to come back to my room and screw me senseless?"

Sam swallows. This crazy, beautiful, incredibly forward girl has him completely thrown off balance. She slips off her seat and starts making her way through the crowd that's managed to fit themselves inside the small confines of the bar. Sam only has a few seconds to decide before Jessica slips out of sight. He makes a knee jerk decision and slams the rest of the beer that he's drinking before pressing through the crush of bodies after her.

Once outside, he's sure that he's lost her, casting around from side to side, trying to see where she might have gone. There's an amused laugh from behind him, and Sam spins on his heel to see her leaning against the side of the building. "Wasn't sure if you were going to leave me hanging or not, Sam. Glad to see you didn't disappoint me."

Her look turns smoky and she bites her lip, stepping into his personal space as she presses her lips, wet with saliva, against Sam's own slack lips, dry and a little cracked. "Kiss me back," she whispers against Sam's mouth, and he does; He lifts a hand and slides his fingers through the heavy silk strands of her blond hair, tilting her head and kissing the corner of her mouth, the Cupid’s bow, before kissing her full bottom lip. She leans into it, but Sam pulls away, runs his nose down the strong line of her jaw and breathes in, pressing a kiss just under her ear.

"Jesus Christ, Sam," she breathes and Sam smiles, pulls away, and he can feel the smug smirk on his face - satisfied with the reaction he elicited. "But I swear to God, Sam - you do something like that again and we're going to get arrested for indecent exposure."

"Lead the way," he answers, kissing the corner of her mouth again, softly.

Jessica growls as she fists her hand in the front of Sam's shirt, pulling him back towards the dorms.

--
Sam doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. The first and only girl he'd ever been with was Laura Coffey in his senior year, and he isn't even sure that really counts. He chalks all of his kissing expertise to Adrian. He hates that things ended the way that they did, Sam being a coward, but things were too weird after he realized that Adrian looked almost exactly like his brother, and what that implicated about Sam.

Jessica though, she's completely different from Laura. She's adventurous in the bedroom, constantly looking things up on the internet, coercing Sam into trying this and that. He discovers a lot about himself during his time with Jessica.

It's pretty vanilla - for the most part. Handcuffs, using ties as restraints and blindfolds; Sam uses toys on Jessica when she asks - dildos and vibrators. She's essentially in charge the whole time, telling Sam how fast and where to move his hand to get a better angle.

It's when Jessica does things to him that Sam realizes that there are kinks buried deep, deep down.

He asks her cut him, once, during sex, and she hesitates. "Are you sure?" she asks quietly, and Sam nods, tells her that he trusts here. She's still unsure, but a week or so later, she brings out a knife - a dagger, really - that she bought specifically for the occasion.

"Please tell me you're sure about this, Sam." She's serious, mouth a thin line. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, opening them slowly and looking her straight on. "I trust you."

She swallows, but throws her leg over Sam's hips and settles in, dagger cradled in her right hand. At first she merely traces the flat side of the blade across Sam's chest and down his sides, the blade shaking slightly with nerves whenever Sam breathes and the sharp edge presses against his skin. After several minutes, however, she tips the knife at an angle, dragging the sharp edge in a quick line from Sam's right side down towards his hip. It's maybe three inches long, more of a shallow scratch, but Sam hisses at the feeling, and Jessica watches with wide, curious eyes as the blood bubbles up and oozes down Sam's side in slow, sluggish lines.

"Okay?" she whispers, and Sam mm-hmm's contentedly, stretching his torso and causing a fresh burst of blood to rush out.

Jessica continues to make small, shallow cuts across Sam's chest and sides, becoming so bold as to hold the knife pressed against Sam's neck as she leans forward and kisses him - desperate kisses laced with fear.

When the knife is laid aside and Sam finally fucks up into the warm wetness of Jess, the stinging burn of the cuts on his body send little shocks through his body, and he comes hard. Harder than he's ever come when they've been in bed together.

"Thank you," he says when they're laying together, sweaty and stuck together. Jess runs fingers through the dried, flaking blood on Sam's chest, but says nothing.

Dean calls again, and Sam resigns himself to the fact that if he doesn't call Dean back, Dean will come and find him. When he answers the phone, Dean doesn't even say hi, just tells him, "Be at the apartment by six thirty. No excuses." He leaves a note for Jess on her door.

Change of plans. Sorry. Will make it up to you. Don't wait up. :)

He knows he'll get shit for it when he gets back, but he thinks dealing with Jessica's short bursts of anger is easier than dealing with Dean's.
--
The door is open when he gets there. The TV is off, and Dean is no where to be seen. "Dean?" Sam calls into the seemingly empty apartment. He gets a muffled response from the bedroom and takes comfort in the fact that his brother is actually home. He gets a beer from the fridge and sits down to wait.

"Drinking age is still twenty one, squirt," Dean calls at the foaming hiss of a beer can opening.

"Ha ha," Sam calls back. "Like you care."

A second later, Dean comes into the kitchen, takes the beer out of Sam's hand and takes a pull. "Ahh, but that's where you are wrong, young padawan. I do care." He grins cheekily. "Ready to go?"

"Didn't even know we were going somewhere."

"That means your ready. Come on, let's go."

Somewhere turns out to little diner a few blocks down the road, tucked in between a Laundromat and paint store. It's nearly empty for the time of day, but Dean doesn't seem to notice, heading straight to the back and sliding into a booth. Sam follows, sliding in across from him and picking up one of the double-sided laminated menus tucked behind the condiments.

"Hey there, boys," greets their waitress only moments after they sit down. She's middle-aged, lines around her mouth and eyes, but she has a kind face, and for some reason, Sam instantly likes her. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Coffee. Black, please," Dean answers and waits while Sam mulls over the options listed.

"Strawberry milkshake," he decides eventually, and she smiles down at them.

"No problem. Back in a jiff."

They sit in silence as they read the menu. Sam's long since decided what he wants to order, but he's using the menu as something to keep his hands busy and his eyes from watching Dean who is watching Sam unabashedly across the table.

Sam clenches his jaw and lowers the menu, looking at Dean expectantly. "Something I can do for you?"

"Oh, I'm just waiting for an explanation. That's all."

Sam is confused for a moment. Then realization dawns on him and he can feel heat flood his cheeks. "It's stupid." he mumbles.

Dean lifts a shoulder, indifferent. "Then it shouldn't be hard to tell me what the hell happened then, hmm?"

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

Sam sighs. "Because it'll weird you out. And it already freaks me out."

Dean frowns, trying to figure out what the hell his brother is talking about. "It can't be that bad, Sam. Spit it out already. I'm tired of us dancing around the elephant in the room. And it's fucking retarded that I haven't hung out with my brother for nearly three months. And it's also really fucking retarded that you aren't taking my phone calls."

"Well," Sam starts, "maybe you'd be kind of reluctant too if you realized suddenly that your brother and your boyfriend looked almost the exact fucking same, and really what the hell does that say about you?"

"Boyfriend?" Dean says, surprised.

Their waitress arrives at that exact moment, easing the tension slightly. They say polite thank yous as she drops of Sam's milkshake and a hot cup of coffee for Dean. Dean dumps three packs of sugar into his coffee before either of them speaks.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" he asks after he's stirred the sugar into his coffee, and quite possibly the enamel right off the bottom of the cup.

"Because."

"Hmm." Dean sips at his coffee, eyes distant over Sam's shoulder. "Are you still together?"

"No."

"Are you dating anyone at all right now?"

"Maybe - What is this, twenty questions?"

Dean frowns again, annoyed. "Just trying to catch up on your life, Sammy. No need to get defensive."

"Sorry," Sam mutters, wiping whipped cream off the top of his milkshake and sucking it into his mouth.

"So..." Dean prompts. Sam feigns confusion. "Guy or girl? Where did you meet? Is it serious?"

Sam takes a few sips of his milkshake, rolling the cool mixture around in his mouth. "Girl. A bar on campus. I guess it's serious. I mean, I'm not dating anyone else."

"What's her name?"

"Jessica."

Their waitress comes back to check on them and they place their order. Now that it's all out in the open, the atmosphere is more relaxed, although Sam is still dreading Dean asking certain questions pertaining to Adrian.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, sipping at their drinks and just enjoying each others company. Then Dean's posture shifts and Sam is already anticipating what's coming. "What was his name?"

"Adrian," Sam chokes out. It feels weird saying his name to his brother. Saying it out loud at all after how it all went down.

"He looks like me, huh?"

"I didn't even realize," Sam admits, "until that night, and all you did was turn and look at me and it was just so obvious. It was like a kick to the gut that I'd subconsciously hooked up with this guy, who looked just like you. I mean, I was fucking this guy, Dean. I mean, isn't there something Freudian about that?"

"Don't ask me college boy. Unless you're trying to tell me something. In which case, we need to be having a much different conversation."

Sam's mouth drops open. "I - I don't really know what I'm trying to tell you, Dean."

"Look, it's okay. Freudian or not, it's not like you actually want to fuck me. Right?"

Sam snorts. "Of course not." Dean was his brother. Of course not. Right?

--
It's a week before mid-terms and everyone is on edge, snapping at the smallest things and feeling the pinch as exams creep closer and closer. Jess, being a natural student, spends most of her time hanging out in the library pretending to study. Sam sits across from her at the table, hi-lighting and scribbling notes every so often.

"Sam, I'm bored," she says, reaching across the table to flip through the pages that Sam isn't presently reading.

"Jess, please."

She sighs and sits back in her chair, turning the page to a different one in her own text book but not reading anything on it. "This is ridiculous, Sam. Why are we in the library studying when we could be back in my dorm - or yours - fucking the stress away. You know that you're going to do fine. You're am-a-zing." She draws the word out and Sam clenches his jaw, the muscle twitching. He's trying to be patient with her.

"Jess," he says sharply. "I'm sorry that you're bored. But I'm trying to study, and if you don't want to be here, no one is forcing you to be here. I'll catch up with you later, okay?" he adds, trying to soften the harshness of his previous statement.

Jess pushes away from the table abruptly, closing her books with a slam and standing. "Fine," she says curtly. "I guess I'll see you later." She storms out of the library muttering under her breath and drawing the attention of the students studying. They cast varying glances in his direction - everything from surprised to worried to outright annoyed.

When Sam gets back to his dorm a few hours later, the door is unlocked and the lights are off. Turning on the lights reveals Jess, dressed in a short pink slip, a roughly fashioned noose of ties around her neck.

"How was studying?" she asks, but her tone is sarcastic, and her eyes are sharp.
"Good." Sam shifts his weight from foot to foot, dropping his bag to the floor. "Uh, what's all this?"

"All this," Jess gestures down the length of her body, "is going to get shared with the entire floor if you don't close the door."

The sound of the door clicking shut was startling in the quiet of the room.

"Why don't you come join me, hmm?"

“What’s the occasion?” Sam asks hesitantly as he moves further into the room.

Jess pouts. “I just hate it when you’re mad at me, Sam. So I’m going to make it up to you.”

Sam slips off his jacket and throws it over the back of his desk chair. He pulls the flannel that he's wearing underneath off and drops it somewhere on the floor.

He crawls onto the bed, long legs encasing Jessica’s hips between his knees. She’s smiling up at him, triumphant that she’s gotten what she wanted in the end. Sam reaches out and pulls gently on the tie around her neck, pulls until it tightens across her esophagus and she lets out a soft intake of breath.

Raising a speculative eyebrow, he does it again, watches the way that Jessica’s pupils dilate at the pressure. He leans in close, breathes his words against her ear, “you like that, hmm? Like the way that I’m in control, baby?” Sam’s voice is dark and he tugs a bit tighter, and Jessica’s hand flies to his bicep, gripping but not pushing him away.

“Don’t forget the safe word,” she reminds him breathlessly.

Sam thinks about the safe word they decided on – cheese¬ – and how for nearly two weeks Sam couldn’t look at or eat cheese without get hard.

They don’t move for a minute, looking at each other, gauging the other’s next move. Jess moves her hand slowly down Sam’s arm, tracing over his back and creeping under the top of his jeans. There’s a question in her eyes, and Sam answers it by shift his hips gently against her thigh. She smiles quickly before trailing her finger along Sam’s side and flicking the button and pulling the zipper down. She uses her feet to pull Sam’s jeans down, pressing up into the pressure against her throat.

“Gonna fuck you,” Sam tells her. His breath comes quick and his eyes are dark. “Gonna hold you just like this and give you what you want.”

Jess licks her lips, closes her eyes and breathes the best that she can against the restraint.

Using his other hand, Sam brushes his fingers along the inside of Jessica’s thigh; He’s not surprised to find that she’s not wearing anything under the flimsy excuse for a nightgown. She’s already wet, cunt sucking at his fingers as he presses them teasingly against it with the tips.

“Come on,” Jess gasps and Sam smirks.

Without warning, he’s pressing in – hard – a quick jerk of the hips that has Jessica clutching at Sam’s back and the tie pulling tight around her neck as she inhales sharply.

“Ready?” Sam asks. He twists the tie around his hand and Jessica’s eyes widen, air supply completely cut off. Sam pulls back and plows right back in, tie pressing a white line into the tan skin of Jessica’s neck. The hand that was clutching at Sam’s shoulder turns to scrabbling, scratching finger nails as Jessica fights to breathe. “If you trust me, you’ll stop fighting,” Sam warns and Jessica goes still, eyes still wide and frightened.

Her legs hitch up around his hips, tightening and loosening to let Sam know how she’s doing. He smiles down at her, toothy and predatory. He watches the way her throat tightens as she swallows, but he pushes down the urge to wrap the tie just that much tighter around his hand.

“Fuck,” Sam grunts, rhythm stuttering. “I’m gonna come.” His grip tightens and Jess is choking, scratching her nails down Sam’s back as he comes, eyes clenched tight. When his eyes flutter open, a satisfied smile playing at his lips, Jessica is staring up at him unblinking, eyes scared and panicked; her mouth is parted in what Sam can only assume was the safe word, something he had completely forgotten about.

“Oh my God.” He climbs off the bed; his hand releases the end of the tie like it’s alive. “Shit. Shitshit. Shit.” He pulls on his boxers and shoves his fingers through his hair, trying to remember how to breathe. “Call nine-one-one you idiot!” he tells himself, but when he picks up the phone and starts to dial, he pauses.

“What the fuck am I going to tell them?” His finger hovers over the send button before moving to end and dialing a different number instead.

“Sam?”

“Dean,” Sam says quietly. “Shit, man. I need your help.”

Dean is instantly worried. “Sam? What happened?”

“I killed her, Dean. Oh God, I fucking killed her!”

“Sam, calm down. What are you talking about?”

The more time it takes for Dean to agree to help him, the more Sam begins to panic. “We were – and I was – and then – fuck. Can you just get here, please? I need your help.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says softly. “I’m on my way. Are you in your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

When Dean finally arrives, Sam is pacing, shirt ripped at the shoulder – he never did take it off – and his jeans hang loose around his hips, only half fastened. Dean’s eyes go right to Sam once the door opens, then right to Jessica, laying on the bed.

“Holy shit!” Dean says, closing the door quickly behind him.

“I know! Fuck, Dean. What do we do?”

“Call a fucking ambulance, that’s what! Jesus!”

“I was going to, and then I thought, how am I going to explain this?”

Dean starts pacing the small area of Sam’s dorm room. “We are so fucked. You not calling this in only makes it that much worse. Fuck.”

Sam clears his throat. “Well, I was thinking –“

Dean stops pacing. “What?”

“Well, what if we waited until, uh, later, and then just… got rid of the body?”

Dean’s mouth drops open. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“If you’ve got any better ideas, I’d like to hear them. Please. You have the floor!”

“Keep your voice down,” Dean hisses. “The last thing we need is your entire building knowing that you’ve got a dead girl in your room.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air and they both let out frustrated sighs. “Fine,” Dean agrees after several tense minutes. “You got any ideas as to where?”

They wait until it’s almost midnight, wrapping the corpse up in Sam’s bed sheet and carefully carrying her out of the dorm. There’s a cemetery on the west campus, just off Irving Hill Road by the marching band practice fields. Dean pitches a fit about having a fucking dead body in his car, but Sam begs him to shut the fuck up and assures him that he’ll make it up to him.

The cemetery is locked, so it takes some work to get the body over the wall. They find an open grave and, looking at each other skeptically, drop the body in. It makes a sickening thunk when it hits the bottom. They cover it with a layer of grave dirt and hope that no one will notice her in the morning.

“Own your fucking soul for this, Sam,” Dean says as they get the hell out of dodge. “Fucking dead bodies. What the fuck.”

They don’t go back to campus, instead opting to go back to Dean’s apartment. Dean tells Sam that they’ve got to work out a good alibi, because someone is going to notice that Jessica is missing sooner rather than later. She is a college student – popular and well liked, and smart. Also, it’s mid-terms, and missing your mid-terms unexcused rarely goes unnoticed.

--
At Dean’s apartment, Sam collapses on the couch and immediately breaks into giggles that quickly turn into roaring guffaws. “Dude, what the hell?”

“We – Oh my god, Dean!” The adrenalin is still running, causing Sam to jump to his feet, grabbing Dean’s face and with a manic grin and a crazed look in his eyes declare “We fucking got away with it!” He pauses for a minute and then presses his lips against Dean’s.

They stay like that for a moment before Sam jumps away, a completely different look on his face and he turns and walks as far across the room way from Dean as he can.

Dean’s fingers are touching the corner of his mouth, eyes directed at the floor, and Sam is verily vibrating where he stands; the only reaction to this can be bad.

“Oh my god, Dean. I didn’t mean – It was just the adrenalin and –“

“Sam, shut up.”

Sam falls silent and instead casts his eyes around the room, taking in the familiar shape and furniture, the color of the walls, anything to keep his mind occupied.

“You’ve never even thought about it?” Dean asks after a moment. It’s a casual question; far too casual for the weight of the meaning behind it.

He considers the question being asked. Has he ever thought about it? Not seriously, no. Maybe not even actively. But what about what happened with Adrian? Surely that wasn’t simply a reaction to their appearance. Sam had nearly said as much that night at the diner; Besides, it hadn’t been until that night, when Dean had looked at him with hazy eyes and an easy smile that Sam had seen the similarities, felt the same kind of affection.

“Maybe not never,” Sam admits quietly, and when he looks back at Dean, Dean is watching him carefully.

“Ever since what you said,” Dean confesses just as quiet, “I’ve thought about it a lot. More than a lot, maybe. Can’t stop thinking about it.”

Sam swallows. “Did you like it?”

“Didn’t hate it.”

“It wasn’t weird?”

“Did it feel weird to you?”

“No.” A whisper. A confession.

Dean clears his throat. “Come over here.”

Sam crosses the room, stopping in front of his brother who looks up at him, a soft, affectionate smile on his face. “When did you get so tall?” he asks as he slips a hand into Sam’s hair.

“When you weren’t looking,” Sam answers just before their lips touch for the second time.

--
There’s an investigation into Jessica’s disappearance a week after the end of mid-terms. A detective comes knocking on Sam’s door one afternoon, and Sam is ready for the questions.

They’re standard questions: where were you the night of, between the hours of such and such; is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts; how long had you and Jessica been dating; do you have a history of violence, etcetera.

He and Dean had worked out the details, Sam already safe in the knowledge that he’d been in the library studying for most of the afternoon and into the evening, surrounded by fellow students to corroborate his story; they’d witnessed the argument that he’d had with Jess just before she left. As far as Sam was aware, no one else knew that Jess had been in his room, and then the rest of the night he’d been with Dean. It was airtight. Just about.

Detective Hendrickson took more notes than Sam thought was suitable, but he wasn’t a cop, so he kept his mouth shut.

Just as they were finishing up, Detective Hendrickson looks at Sam speculative. “I talked to a few other students before you, Sam. There were several references to an argument that you and your girlfriend had the evening that that she went missing.”

“It wasn’t really a fight. She was keeping me company in the library while I was studying for my mid-terms, and being kind of a distraction. I just… I kind of snapped at her.”

Detective Hendrickson makes another note in his book and nods. “Okay. We’ll be in touch, Mr. Winchester. Don’t leave town any time soon.”

“Of course, detective,” Sam said as he held the door. “Anything I can do to help along the investigation.”
--
The body never does get discovered, covered with a coffin and a ton of dirt somewhere on the west side of campus. The police conclude that Jessica was likely abducted, and if she is still alive, out of the county or the state already. They announce to the press that there is little they can do without further tips to go on, and encourage the public to come forward if they have any information regarding the disappearance of the up and coming sophomore student.

The student union holds a memorial service cum vigil for her a few days later, pictures friends donated for use and the lighting of candles. Sam doesn’t go – says he’s grieving – and spends the night at Dean’s.

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