Oh, how the young like to party.

Sam heard everyone's excited buzz all throughout high school. When I get to college...

It was mostly the constant partying that had that allure about it. That, and finally getting away from your parents.

Sam couldn't give two shits about the partying. He just wanted out. He wanted away. He wanted normal.

Sam's roommate was one of the party kids—Parker Lowe. Undeclared major, light brown hair with frosted tips, rushing a fraternity. Sam only agreed to go along with him that first night to get his mind off of the image of Dean trying not to cry as he left earlier that day.

Eighteen years together had a funny way of making a guy emotional. Sam wouldn't know until years later that Dean stuck around a few days to make sure he was okay before he went back to their father, where he got the tongue-lashing to end all tongue-lashings.

Sam didn't even know how Parker Lowe, a lowly freshman like himself, knew about this party. It was off campus in a single-story house that didn't look any different from the others on the street, except college kids were crawling all over the property.

Sam figured out that night he didn't care too much about the parties. He'd rather be at home...sleeping.

So at eleven, he left. He didn't even know if Parker made it back to campus that night, but he saw him the next evening when he was ready to rage all over again.

There was something a little disheartening about coming back to an empty dorm every night. Sam always had the same internal debate. This is what you've always wanted. Go out, have fun, make friends. He'd spent so long in solitude in solidarity with his brother that being truly alone just felt...lonely. No one to watch movies with, no one to talk about school with.

As it turns out, hopping schools every couple of months put a damper on the friend-making ability.

Come October, Sam didn't see very much of Parker at all.

Halloween was never his thing. After the year Dean ate half of his candy—which in total was about five pieces—he didn't see the point. Kids had fun in dressing up, going door to door with their pillow cases open and demanding a trick or a treat.

No one in motels expects trick or treaters. Sam always got those crumbly soft mints, the kind he hated, some butterscotch candy from a motel clerk, or the strawberry candy every old lady seemed to have in her purse. He didn't care for those too much either.

Halloween was particularly unnerving because he knew what was really out there, lurking in the dark and preying on innocent people.

It just didn't seem that fun anymore, though Dean offered to take him year after year.

One year, Dean woke him up by wearing a clown mask.

This Halloween, he's reminiscing Halloweens past in one of the numerous libraries on Stanford's campus, subconsciously tapping his pen on a blank page in his notebook to a tune being hummed a table away.

Then he recognizes it, and his eyes lift from the college-ruled notebook in search of the hummer.

A girl wearing a bleached Metallica t-shirt is sitting at the table adjacent to his. She's humming that same song Dean always did, hunched over a book with a walkman beside her and a bottle of water between her hands. If he listens close enough, he can hear her music.

Hold my breath as I wish for death

Oh please, God, wake me—

"What's funny?"

Sam is startled as her eyes shift to his, framed with a curiously raised eyebrow. He didn't realize she only had one earbud in.

She has sandy brown hair and fair skin that's losing its late summer glow, light eyes, maybe blue, framed with long eyebrows that have a slight arch to them. Her jaw is square, and her mouth is full, nose is neither long nor short, but it's rounded at the end. All he's getting is a calmly quizzical look.

He laughs again, and then she smiles. "What?" She presses. "You know what they say about people who laugh to themselves."

"What's that?"

"That they're crazy." She quirks an eyebrow at him. "So should I get outta here and warn the front desk?"

"Dark," Sam muses.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," the girl sighs, pulling her other headphone from her ear, and rests her chin in the palm of her hand. "I'm Quinn."

"Sam Winchester."

"Nice to meet ya, Sam."

He smiles a little. "I was just thinking about my brother," Sam tells her. "He, uh...he pulled this prank on me once on Halloween...now that I think about it, it wasn't really a prank, he was just being an older brother."

Quinn smiles a little. "You homesick, too?"

Sam thinks about it for a moment. "Not particularly," he says. "But I do miss him. It's funny, I was thinking about him and then I heard your music. He's big into Metallica." Sam grins. "He sang it to keep him calm."

Quinn chuckles. "He sounds awesome."

Sam stares at her.

"So I take it you're not into Halloween?" Quinn asks.

"Not really, no," Sam shakes his head. "You?"

Quinn shrugs. "At this point, I'm just in it for the candy." She twirls her earbud around her finger. "So you're not a Metallica hummer, I'm guessing."

"No," Sam scoffs. "How can you listen to that when you're studying?"

Quinn grins and shrugs again. "Same way you can sit in complete and utter silence," she easily replies.

"Yeah, but...I mean, how can you focus when you're hearing words at the same time you're trying to read?"

"I dunno, I just kinda get into a little groove," Quinn hums. "You sure are judgy."

"Sorry."

"No, no." Quinn holds her hands up. "To each his own." He smiles a little. "Well, Mister Anti-Halloween." She smiles. "If you're not terribly interested in what looks like Introduction to Criminal Justice, I'm throwing an Anti-Halloween Party at my place."

"How'd you know what I was reading?" She stands her book up on its end—she's reading the same one. "Oh, no way. Who do you have it with?"

"Morrison."

"Tuesday, Thursdays, at one?"

"Yeah." Quinn grins, and so does Sam. Sounds like a new friend.

"So you were talking about an Anti-Halloween Party."

"Yeah." Quinn nods. "I didn't feel like dressing up as Risky Business or a slutty cat, so I'm watching slasher movies."

"Doesn't sound very anti-Halloween."

"But it is because I'm not dressing up." She points at him.

"Ooooh."

"Ooooh," Quinn choruses. "I went out and bought all the candy I could find, and while I know I can eat it all myself, I seriously shouldn't." She closes her book. "And I want to hear more about why you're so against Halloween, so...you're coming with me."

Sam smiles. "Are you always this pushy?"

"When I find something I want," Quinn admits, tucking her book into her bag, and Sam's eyebrows shoot up.

"Can I take a rain check?" He requests. "I've got a test tomorrow."

"We have a test tomorrow," Quinn reminds him. "And I'll take the rain check, because it's not a glaring rejection."

Sam laughs a little. "All right. Give me your phone." So she passes it to him and he programs himself into her contacts book. A moment later, his phone beeps with a text. "Nice to meet you, Quinn Anderson." He hums.

She clicks her tongue at him and gets up from her table. "Don't strain yourself, Winchester." She nods to the textbooks as she tucks her earbuds back and starts away from him.

All of his classmates—friends—are moaning and groaning as they show up to their table about how ridiculous it is to be locked in the library on Halloween. By nine, no one is in the mood to study. Trina and Nicole are amped up about some sorority function they're going to, leaving Sam and Kelly tossing bits of eraser at each other.

"There's a party at Delta Tau," Kelly finally says. "My buddy is a member, we can get in no problem."

"It's late, though," Sam protests.

"It's only nine thirty."

Sam sits up and heaves out a sigh, staring down at his criminal justice 101 textbook. He's read this chapter twice already. He knows he's set for the exam tomorrow.

What kind of professor schedules an exam for a Friday? Let alone the day after Halloween.

"We won't stay out late," Kelly promises. Sam sighs at him. "Come on, man. Everyone's out tonight. Maybe you'll meet someone." Kelly shrugs.

"I'm not dressing up," Sam deadpans.

"Hey, say less," Kelly says, already packing his things up. "We can roll there right now. Right now!"

And they did. And the last person he expected to see sitting up on the countertop and talking to one of her friends was Quinn Anderson. She saw him the moment he saw her, and mirror grins spread over their faces.

"What happened to the Anti-Halloween Party?!" Sam calls over the music.

"It sucked!" Quinn shouts. Sitting up on the counter, she's about eye level with him. "And you're a liar!"

"What?! No! No, I promise he dragged me out!" Sam yanks Kelly forward, jamming a finger into his chest.

"I did!" Kelly nods and points to Quinn's cup. "What are you drinking?"

"Jungle juice." Quinn points to the orange cooler on the other counter. "Claire, this is Sam. He's the one from the library." She leans for Sam and points to the dark-haired girl on her left. "Sam, this is my roommate Claire," she says in his ear.

"I'm 'the one from the library' huh?" Sam asks. Quinn smiles and shrugs as she looks back down at her cup. The guys at the pong table over in the living room are in uproar.

"That's the third win they've got on a balls back," Quinn informs Sam. "I swear they're magic or somethin'."

"Magic, huh?" Sam muses. "So why'd your party suck?"

"It was just me." Quinn shrugs. "Turns out, scary movies aren't so fun to watch by yourself."

Kelly bumps Sam and passes him a drink. "Kel, this is Quinn."

"Library girl!" Kelly shouts.

Quinn grins. "Library girl?" Sam smiles and shrugs as he looks down at his cup. Quinn is still smiling at him as he looks away from her.

Out on the front lawn is quieter. There are warped plastic beach chairs underneath the palm tree.

"So, Sam," Quinn sighs. "Where are you from?"

"Kansas."

She blinks at him in surprise. "Interesting," she hums. "I can't say I've ever met someone from Kansas. What's it like? Corn fields everywhere?"

"Um...some places, yeah," he nods. "What's San Francisco like?"

"Busy," Quinn sighs. "Crowded. But very pretty in the summer." She smiles. "What's your major?"

"Poly Sci. Are you?"

"Nope. Architecture." Sam raises an eyebrow. "Hey. Don't give me that look. I could be designing your house one day." He chuckles. "Actually, I just picked it 'cause I grew up around it, you know?" Quinn shrugs. "Mom's an architect. We moved from New York when I was twelve."

"What's your dad do?"

"He was a police officer," Quinn answers. Sam doesn't know how to proceed. There's a look on her face that screams at him: CAUTION! TURN BACK NOW!

"Um...long career?"

"Ten years," Quinn hums. "He died in the Trade Center last month."

"Oh my God." I'm an idiot. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah." She smiles a little and looks down at her cup. "Cue drunk tears. Oh, God."

"No, wait! No crying! Please! I'm really, really sorry."

"We're just gonna have to wait it out," Quinn sniffs, turning her eyes to the sky, and fans her face. "Ugh!"

Sam sits back in his chair and waits.

"Wow. Embarrassing."

"No it isn't," he says.

Quinn sniffs again and looks at him. "Okay. Okay, I'm cool." She nods. "So. What do your parents do?" She takes a long pull of her drink.

Sam sighs inwardly. Nobody else cared what his parents did. "My dad's a mechanic. And my mom...died when I was a baby, so...I don't know what she did." Sam shrugs.

"I'm sorry," Quinn murmurs. "How much older is your brother?"

"Four years," Sam replies.

Quinn winces. "Prime age gap for torment."

"Right?" Sam chuckles. "You have siblings?"

"Nope." Big smile. She liked being the center of attention. "So what was that prank-slash-not-prank your brother pulled on you?"

"Huh?"

"You were laughing about it earlier, in the library." Quinn shrugs. "If you don't have an answer, I'm gonna assume you were laughing at me, and then we simply cannot be friends."

Sam grins. "He woke me up that morning wearing a clown mask."

Quinn snorts. "A clown mask," she sighs. "What, you hate clowns?"

"Oh yeah. What's to like?"

"I agree," Quinn hums. "Clowns are creepy. Ever seen It?"

"That is exactly the reason I hate them," Sam pronounces. The more she smiles, the more he mirrors her. It's Gauchais Reaction in action. Mirroring. She smiles, he smiles. She leans to the right, and so does he. And then neither of them know what time it is.

"Ah, shit."

"What?" He turns to look over his shoulder, where her gaze is settled on two approaching police cruisers.

"Come on." She leans over and grabs his hand before she pulls him towards the darkness of the house and around the side towards the back yard. She walks quickly towards the shadows before breaking into a sprint.

"Shouldn't we tell the others?" Sam asks.

Quinn barks out a laugh. "It's every man for himself."

They run to the other side of the neighborhood before slowing back to a walk. Kelly calls Sam to find out where he's at—he's taking Claire home.

"You cold?" Sam asks.

"Ah," Quinn scoffs through chattering teeth. "I'm from New York. We don't get cold."

Sam grins. "Says your red nose. Here." He shrugs out of his jacket and drops it over her shoulders. Nice and warm. It smells warm, too, almost like cinnamon. And not quite like soap, but just...clean.

Quinn smiles a little and shoves her arms through the sleeves. "Thanks." She gives him a salute, but the sleeves have swallowed her arms, and he laughs as she giggles.

It was a ten minute brisk walk back to her dorm, where Kelly and Claire have already laid claim to the room for the night, hollering incoherencies at the other two.

"Well..." Sam turns to Quinn as they stand in front of her door. Quinn blinks at the wood. "We can crash back at my place."

"We have a test in eight hours," she reminds him.

Sam shrugs. "I'll wake you up at six."

"You got some sweats I can borrow?" Quinn asks, squinting up at him in the fluorescent corridor light. "I, uh...can't sleep in jeans."

"Yeah." Sam nods. "Yeah, come on."

And so the two walked back to his dorm, the giddy smiles having settled into giddy silence and rock-kicking.