Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Look, we’re kinda out of options here, man. You’re just gonna have to stay put for the next few weeks.”

Sam sighed. For the first time in months (well, about a century by his internal timeline), he was free of Lucifer. Sam was mentally clear and easily the healthiest he’d ever been, emotionally. But now he had broken his foot and Dean was side-lining him.

“Email check-ins, daily,” he scolded in his bossy-brother voice, “I don’t wanna haul ass halfway across the country just to find out you were too lazy to answer me. I’ll plan to come back in about a week, week and a half, so don’t go too Beautiful Mind in there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam pouted.

“And text me your 20s if you get into anything. I want to know where you’re at in case you get stuck somewhere.”

“Stuck somewhere?! I’m stuck here!” Sam shouted as Dean drove off in the stolen car of the week. 

Sam turned to look at his new temporary base. A small motel in some shitty little suburb in Colorado. It wasn’t being left behind that bothered Sam, it wasn’t even really that Dean was still treating him with kid gloves.

It was that even though Sam had been in a full-blown psychiatric break for nearly a year, it was Dean who had bottomed out. Sam had never seen his brother so depressed, so alcohol-dependent, and so utterly hopeless. Even when Dean got back from hell, even when he’d decided he would let Michael possess him–even then, Dean had some kind of warped version of hope. Now there was nothing. Just grief, and pain, and emptiness shaped like revenge. And it was bound to be ten times worse now that Castiel had resurfaced. Sam hated that Dean would have weeks alone to stalk Dick Roman, hunt random monsters, and drink himself into oblivion. 

But Sam’s foot was busted and Frank swore there was a mountain of valuable research in this town. Specifically in their local college library. So, here he was. 

Sam grabbed his crutches and hobbled to his hatchback station wagon, anonymous and under the radar, like Frank insisted. The town was beautiful and Sam took in the scenery, appreciative of the silence in his mind. No Lucifer with a snarky, running commentary. Sam could just notice things for once. He could breathe. 

After a short drive, Sam pulled into the school parking lot and looked up at the sign. Greendale Community College. He did a double-take at their school flag, which was unmistakably an anus. He wondered if maybe it was a symbol that he was unfamiliar with but decided, no, it was definitely an anus. Had to be a prank from some of the students. 

He headed toward the library, taking in the different groups as he went. Students were mingling, reading, playing music, playing hacky sack, he even saw a positively ancient man (Leonard, someone called him) playing frisbee with a group of young women. It was odd, but sort of endearing.

Sam made it to the library and just as he took a step toward the door a short security guard slammed his nightstick across the entrance, blocking Sam’s path.

“Hold it,” the man said.

He turned to face the guy and was surprised to see an intense man swinging his baton around. Sam had at least a foot of height on him, yet the man looked like he was not only ready to bust his head, but actually wanted to. Sam diagnosed him as a wanna-be cop with an attitude problem.

“Yes?” Sam said, as calmly and politely as he could.

“You’re new,” the man took a bite of an apple–no, Sam corrected himself, that is a raw beet. What the fuck?! 

“Uhh–” Sam was distracted for a moment but caught himself, “yeah, new to town, just wanted to talk to the librarian about getting a non-student, resident library card.”

The man chewed his beet slowly and tapped the door twice more with his nightstick. 

“You gotta go to administration for that,” he jerked his head and let chunks of beet fall out of his mouth, “that way.”

“Uh, okay, thanks,” Sam said.

“What’s your name, sonny?”

“It’s Sam, Sam Smith,” Sam wondered if the guard had recognized him from his doppelganger's cross-country killing spree earlier that year, but the man just continued to chew his beet thoughtfully.

“Okay, Smith, well I’m Chang. And I run this school. Professor, student, paintball runner-uper, and now head of security. So you remember that before you try anything, got it?”

“Um, yes sir,” Sam decided this guy was just unhinged. He’d give Chang a wide berth and just play along when he needed to.

Sam crossed back across the quad, pausing only for a moment when he realized the elderly Leonard was heckling him.

“Fresh meat! Fresh meat! Tell Winger there’s a new beauty queen!”  

Sam gave the man a quizzical look and then just chalked it up to the cognitive decline of old age. 

A few moments later he was asking a bored and angry woman about whether he could apply for a resident library card. Before she could answer a man came rushing out of the dean’s office.

“Brenda, I’m still waiting on the delivery of my new dalmatian curtains, did you get my-my-my GOD!” 

The man stopped short as he caught sight of Sam but his feet continued another step or two, giving the impression like he hit a wall mid-air. He let out a sort of strangled cry before rushing forward with his hand out.

“Well, hi there! I’m Dean Pelton, and you are new!”

Sam gave a small smile, “Uh, yeah. I was just telling Brenda here, I’ll be in town a month or two for work. I was hoping to get a library card, even though I’m not a student.”

“Ohhhh,” the dean said, sounding disappointed and concerned, “and believe-you-me we would all just LOVE to see your exquisite form hulking around the library, Jeffrey’s insecurities notwithstanding, but since we’re currently at an elevated riot risk–orange–the school’s bylaws forbid non-students access to any educational and therefore potentially radicalizing materials on campus.”

“Umm–” Sam genuinely had no idea how to respond. It was a lot of insane information to process.

“But IF you’re interested, registering for a class will give you unlimited access to everything–and uh,” the dean lowered his voice, “everyone,” he raised his eyebrows to slam home his meaning, “here on campus!”

“Umm,” Sam repeated. 

He looked around, half expecting to see Lucifer smirking at him from the corner. He even pressed on his scar until the pain twinged, but nothing changed. No, this odd little man really was hitting on Sam with a cartoonish level of confidence. It was like the ninth weird thing to happen since he set foot on campus and the whole thing put him ill at-ease. 

Sam reminded himself that there were some very valuable books stored away in their library.

“I guess I’ll take a look at the class listings, then.”

Twenty minutes later Sam was registered for something called Ladders which the dean assured him was a stroke of good luck. He insisted on accompanying Sam to give him his student ID and a tour of campus. Sam, who generally had a sharp instinct for how to handle odd situations, found himself completely at a loss here.

Sam used his crutches to follow the dean around campus as the man named every single student they passed and whispered inscrutable details about their lives (someone named Magnitude sacrificed himself in the paintball war against City College? A Dr. Rich had been instrumental in treating everyone for a “mass roofie-ing event” at a Halloween party?! The elderly Leonard had been a combatant for the North Korean army and had a habit of digging tunnels around the quad??). 

Finally, Dean Pelton led Sam into the library.

“And to conclude this little tour, let’s see if Greendale’s favorite study group is in!”

“Hi, gang!” the dean shouted as he burst directly into study room

“I just wanted to pop in and introduce our tallest–and hunkiest–new student, Sam Smith! I’m giving him a little tour of our beautiful and partially accredited school!”

The absurdity of the situation was starting to wear off and Sam was disliking this more and more.

“Wow,” a thin, young man said, “you’re extremely good looking, network TV good looking, even.”

“Shh!” the dean whispered frantically, “Oh, Abed, don’t make him uncomfortable!”

“No, no, A-bed is right! He’s tall with a strong jawline, reminds me of me in my youth,” an older man added.

“Pierce, Abed, Dean–give the man some breathing room, there’s only so much Greendale a guy can take before his brain shuts off.” 

“Uh, thanks?” Sam said. 

“I’m Jeff,” the man said, “this is Britta, Abed, Troy, Pierce, Shirley, and Annie.”

“Hi, nice to meet you all,” Sam said.

“Hellooooo,” Shirley chirped and gave a small wave.

“Are you joining Biology?” Annie asked

“Uh, no, I’m uh, I’m not really sure why I’m in here, I’m not looking to join a study group—”

“I find it can help accelerate one’s place in our community if you get entangled in some of the Study Group’s goings-on early in your tenure here,” the dean said, “And, let’s face it, you are simply too good looking to fade into the background! But don’t take it as a threat, Jeffrey, plenty of room for everyone to shine!” 

Sam blinked, he wondered how he could disengage and go search through the allegedly helpful books this school had.

“I did get him into Ladders for the rest of the semester though!” the dean announced to an eruption of congratulatory celebration. 

Sam caught snatches of the comments, something about riding as high as Eartha Kitt, and Britta capped it all of by saying it was lucky the whole History of Ice Cream class was poisoned.

“Okay, okay, I think I’ve done enough to incite some happenings around school, now I’ve got some administrate-y things to do. Good luck, Sam!” 

The dean raised his arms up above his head and marched out, leaving Sam staring at the study group. Sam blinked a few more times and checked around again for sight of Lucifer. Annie and Shirley smiled up at him and Abed began furiously scribbling away in his notebook. 

Sam noticed the three women eyeing him with an unusual level of aggression and turned to the men instead. Jeff eyed Sam coolly, like he was sizing up what kind of guy he was.

“Well…” Sam said, intending to make an excuse to leave, but Jeff interrupted him.

“Sam Smith, huh? Kind of an odd name,” Jeff’s expression was friendly and his tone was neutral, but Sam knew a dismissal when he heard one.

“Pretty common name, actually.”

“Yeah but odd how common it is, isn’t it?”

“Careful, Jeff,” Abed warned, “we don’t need another Pottery situation.”

“I just want to get to know our new fellow Human Being! So, new to town?” Jeff asked, this time with open hostility.

“Uhh, yeah. I usually travel for work but I'm kinda laid up,” Sam nodded toward his crutches, “so I’m here the next month or so. Just looking to do some research, maybe take a few classes to pass time.”

“Oh well, if you’re interested in Biology, I’m sure Professor Kane would be open to letting you audit!” Annie offered.

“Annie, that class is full,” Jeff said through a gritted smile.

“Okay, well it was really nice to meet you all, but I’m just gonna be off in the background, I guess.” 

Sam gave a little wave and backed out of the room slowly. What the fuck is wrong with this place!?

“Frank wasn’t wrong, there’s mountains of lore in their library. I mean tons of really rare books, super obscure stuff,” Sam said into the phone as he thumbed through a book on summoning entities from the fairy realm.

“Anything to help with the Leviathan?” Dean asked.

“Not yet. Some of the lore references The Old Ones, but it seems more fairy-related. And I don’t think we want to get fairies in the mix.”

“Yeah, it’d be best if we could avoid those rapey little Tinkerbells.”

“I’ll tell you though, there’s lots of black magic how-to stuff in here, this stuff should be burned or locked up. I’ll probably end up swiping half the library just to get it out of there,” Sam said.  

“Yeah, better than falling into the wrong hands, I guess.”

“Dude, these people? Fucking nutso.”

“Like necromancy and black magic nutso?” Dean asked, sounding intrigued.

“No, more like, theater kid energy on crack or something. Everyone was doing a bit…I think. It’s honestly hard to tell.”

Dean laughed, “Maybe you just forget what it’s like to be around normal people who like each other.”

“No, this is more than just a change from your alcoholism and disposition, these people are clinically insane.”

“Well now you know how it feels to be around you,” Dean said, “I dunno, man, dweebs are gonna dweeb, just enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

Sam’s Ladders class was the most surreal thing he’d ever experienced, and that included the time he’d been transported to an alternate dimension where he only existed as a fictional character and the version of him in that universe was an actor playing the role of Sam Winchester. His professor started class by climbing a ladder and making odd and vague statements about the history and function of ladders as both tools and metaphors. Then he read Shel Silverstein poems aloud for the rest of the class.

“Dude,” Sam said, leaving his brother yet another message after the class, “this has got to be our kind of thing. I don’t know how yet, but there’s just something off. Most of the books here focused on fairy lore, so I’m gonna start there. See if I can find any altars or offerings. Shit is crazy. I’ll text you my locations.”

Sam searched the school top to bottom, but had to continuously duck and shake Jeff Winger, who had taken an uncomfortable level of interest in him. Winger pretended to be casually lurking or reading nearby, but he was keeping a sharp eye on what Sam was up to. Sam would have wondered if this guy was a witch or something except that it was evident Jeff’s vanity was the cause. When Sam tried to speak briefly with Annie about some faintly painted symbols he found in the hallway, Winger nearly sprinted to them, putting his arm around Annie and redirecting her attention toward their yam project. Luckily a middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt who introduced himself as “Koogler” said they were black light paintings for the raves that Dean Pelton hosted on the weekends.

Hours later, Sam was forced to text Dean that there didn’t seem to be any kind of altars or offerings. There was no EMF, no hex bags, no cold spots, no mysterious deaths or disappearances. Sam talked with some of the students and the closest thing to a disappearance was that some Finnish student named Gary had transferred at the end of last year to the delight of everyone. 

One or two people mentioned the “Ass Crack Bandit,” a prankster who would put coins down people’s underwear when their buttcrack was exposed. Sam tried to ask Shirley about it but Winger once again stepped in to mark his territory. Sam didn’t think he had the patience to deal with this. Defeated, he returned to the library where he continued to find deeply dangerous books on magic.

“Why are you investigating our campus?” Abed asked by way of greeting.

“Uh,” Sam considered denying it but since Winger had been trying to catch him at it all day anyway he decided to offer a reasonably truthful explanation, “because it’s the strangest place I’ve ever been in my entire life and I want to make sure I haven’t gone insane.”

“Oh, okay, then.”

Abed sipped his soda and continued to watch Sam with a sort of detached appraisal. 

“Seriously, what the hell is Ladders ? How is that a class? Is this a real school?”

“Ladders is an elegant example of the sort of experience you get at Greendale. The non-standard courses offer little academic content but do help foster a group sense of identity. Most people end up accepting the way things are done at Greendale, they grow to love it. Some can’t quite commit and transfer to more traditional schools. Others try to understand Greendale but inevitably flame out. I suggest you give in to the madness and enjoy.”

Sam eyed him carefully. If he was going to go along with Greendale’s crazy, he’d see if Abed would go along with his.

“Have you ever seen any demonic figures that seem to be able to manipulate time and reality?”

“Ah, going with flame out, huh? Nope, never seen any demonic figures but my best friend Troy was recently inducted into a secret fraternity of air conditioner repairmen who uphold an ancient tradition of service and comfort. I guess they take it pretty seriously, Troy always talks about space paninis with Black Hitler. Also, a pen may have fallen into the hands of a ghost or time traveler, once.”

Sam decided to walk away instead of respond. 

“I have to get out of this town. I’m going to go insane if I stay here,” he said to no one.

“Holy shit, Sammy, are you alright? You're not going guano on me, are you?” Dean had finally returned his calls.

“I don’t know, but I’m not hallucinating. I’ve been here a week and there have been three school dances. This isn’t normal! Something is making these people deranged!”

“Uh-huh…but no deaths? No missing persons? No maimings?”

“No,” Sam admitted, “but the whole vibe is just off. ”

It was tough to explain to Dean how odd the lore about campus was. When he tried to explain their tradition of paintball, Dean said it sounded fun. Sam insisted, again, that it was something very sinister. It just wasn’t clear what.

“Alright, man,” Dean relented, “I believe you. But if no one’s hurting it’s gotta wait, I’m neck-deep in Leviathan lore. Keep digging but stay under the radar. Maybe play along, go to some western themed dances or whatever the hell. I’ll make my way to you in another week or two and we can look into it together.”

“Thanks," Sam said, "I’ll talk to Troy and Abed about space paninis and Black Hitler and see if there's anything worth uncovering there.”

There was about forty seconds of silence on the line.

“Alright, I won’t be more than four days. Try not to go completely insane.”

According to the lore, doors to the fairy realm could lower inhibitions and make people giddy. Sam suspected there may be a portal or door somewhere that was the cause of all the zany hijinks. He’d already searched most of campus for fairy sigils and had resorted to pulling up carpet in the far corner of the library.

“Trying to figure out why Greendale is so insane?” Jeff Winger, catching Sam a bit off guard, stood at the door, with Annie beside him.

“Oh uh, no, I thought I saw a cockroach, just trying to get it before it burrows in,” Sam answered, standing up. 

Annie blinked, smiling coyly at Sam. He gave an uncomfortable smile in response. What was she, sixteen? Sam noticed that Jeff stood a bit straighter, trying to match Sam’s height.

“So how are you liking the Ladders class? I’ve been trying to get in since I started but it always fills up right away,” Annie offered.

“Uh, yeah, it’s interesting. But what exactly is the point of it?”

“I know, right?” Annie giggled while twirling her hair, “I’m off, gotta go chart our yam’s growth!” 

Jeff puffed his chest a bit more as Annie walked away.

“Smith,” he clapped Sam’s arm and handed him his crutches, “”walk with me. I’m gonna let you in on a secret: this place defies logic. It defies reason. Nearly everyone is here because of a wrong turn or misstep at some point in their life and we’ve all retreated into some sort of adolescence together. It’s a group delusion, is what it is.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you because I’ve had one or two mental breaks myself since arriving, this place will drive you insane if you try to logically sort it out. Look out at the quad, what do you see?”

“Students? I see picnics and people reading, just normal people doing normal things…”

“Right, and at the end of last year I saw a Gatling gun rigged to shoot paintballs mounted in a rival community college’s van parked right there. Not a month ago we had a full on pillow war on campus that lasted days. People stay overnight, take the weekend off, it just sort of takes on a life of its own.”

“And you don’t think there’s anything strange about that?”

“Oh there’s plenty strange about that,” Winger said, “but it’s also fun. Look, I used to be a lawyer, I had money, I had the lifestyle, I had success…and now I’m here. It’s stupid, and it’s weird, but there’s a reason we cling to it. Why are you here?”

“I’m just here to–”

“To use our second best community library in town for some extra curricular research? Yeah, I heard the cover story, but I’m not buying it. No, I think with that jawline, with that chest, with that injury, I think you’ve got a story. I don’t know what it is. Addiction, sex work, something equally disqualifying as a love interest, but there’s some reason you’ve been waylaid here.”

“Ummm,” Sam truly had so few responses to the people in this school. Nothing made any sense!

“It doesn’t matter what your individual experience was, the reason you’re here is the same reason we’re all here…because you’ve got nowhere else to be. It’s a scary thought, it’s a sobering thought, but as long as you avoid the Changs and the Leonards of the world, you can carve yourself a nice community out of what’s here in Greendale. So, Welcome! Welcome to the madhouse, Sam Smith. No matter what anyone says, no matter what kind of jealousy I throw your way, we’re glad to have you.”

Sam blinked a few times.

“Also,” Winger added, “can you let me know what you do for chest and arms? I’m just not getting that kind of definition despite best efforts.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll email you. But seriously, this is, what? Just fun? People go insane but just briefly and then they’re fine? No one ever hurts someone? No one ever talks about sacrifices or gods or anything like that? I just…it’s weird, man.”

“Yeah, it’s insane, but that’s Greendale!” Jeff smiled, then it faltered, “Although now that you mention it, the Glee Club coach did go crazy and cut the brakeline to the bus, killing them all. But that was like, a year ago…” 

“I didn’t see anything in the news about that!” Sam said, “I saw something about the Study Group covering the holiday musical performance but nothing about–”

“--about the deaths of a dozen people and an Glee Club instructor who later admitted it then ran off? That is a bit odd, now that you mention it.”

“Okay, any other weird things you can think of? Outbursts of violence?”

“I mean,” Jeff frowned as if the information wasn’t relevant, “a 90-year old anthropology professor once tried to kill me in front of the whole class? She was put on leave though, so I doubt that counts. Oh, and Britta recently did a personality test and the results were, well, we sort of agreed not to think about it too much. Welcome to Greendale, Sam!”

Jeff clapped Sam’s arm and walked off, seemingly completely undisturbed.

“Hey, Britta, right?” 

Sam fell into stride with her, leaning on his crutches as he walked to her next class. 

“Sam Smith. How goes the investigation?”

“Investigation?” he scoffed, a little caught off guard.

“Yeah, Abed and Jeff say you’re trying to figure out why Greendale is, well, Greendale.”

“Oh yeah, it’s just…kinda mind blowing, isn’t it? I mean I travel around a lot for work and I’ve never been any place like this. I half-thought that maybe I was on a prank show, or something.”

“Yeah, you get used to it sooner or later, then you kinda give in to it. Either that or you self-implode and go insane. Abed can talk you through either option, though.”

“Right, well, I think I’m learning to enjoy the insanity. I was kind of curious about how you all have adjusted to this. Jeff told me you’re a psych major? And you’ve looked into personality changes?”

“Well, I started to, but the results were, I thought it was best to just move past it.” 

“Oh, well, it sounds really interesting,” Sam decided to lay it on thick. He did his half-smile, eye-bat, “I thought maybe you could tell me more about it? The dean is having a musical themed dance tonight, maybe I could meet you after class, walk over together?”

She looked at him mournfully, touched his face and actually said, “I’m sorry, Sam. You’re crazy, crazy hot, but I just had my heart broken by Subway, a Corpohumanoid student, and I’m just not ready for anything else yet.”

She stepped into her class as Sam whispered, “What the fuck??”

It turned out that Britta’s Subway heartbreak wasn’t as limiting as she’d led him to believe. She actually tracked him down after her psych class and said that she didn’t want to go to the dance but was interested in connecting on a purely physical level. Against his better judgement, Sam let Britta lead him into an empty classroom where they began to make out, heavily. 

She’d even managed to get his shirt off before a professor, painted to match the green of the chalkboard and the blue wall below it, jumped out and told them to stop. Eleven students also stepped forward, disguised as desks, plants, curtains, and a world map. Britta had accidentally led Sam into the mid-term of Classroom Camouflage. Instead of being angry about the near sex crime that just happened, the professor was elated that the entire class had evaded detection and awarded everyone an A, thanking Sam and Britta for their unwitting contribution.

Sam stood up, well past his breaking point.

“Okay, is one of you like a trickster god? Or something? Maybe a fairy trapped in this realm? What the fuck is happening at this school???”

At that point three more students came forward and the whole class followed the professor’s lead in applauding Sam. 

Just then, the dean burst into the room and took a small half-bow, as though the applause was for him. 

“Oh, thank you, thank you, all,” he applauded back, “you students, you’re the ones! And let’s give another round of applause for Mr. Smith’s chest!”

The camouflaged students and professor left the classroom and began to meld into the background of the hallway. Sam stood there and pulled his shirt back on.

“I was actually just looking for you, Mr. Smith! There’s been some discussion of an alleged yam murder–”

“Alleged? Oh, our yam was MURDERED!” Britta added

“--so I’m putting together a hearing with me, Professor Kane, and hopefully YOU as the judges? I mean, you have the broad shoulders to fill out my judges robes and I think Professor Kane would appreciate another newcomer to Greendale joining him on the bench, he's also having trouble adjust to our culture. Also, just as an aside, we’re NOT going with the powdered wigs, I worry it will be too evocative of a time in our nation’s history when we weren’t so enlightened on things like, you know, slavery. So, whattya say, Mr. Smith? Will you round out our three-way?”

Sam stared for a moment.

“I might have to burn it down,” he said to himself as he walked away, buttoning his shirt, “I might have to burn this whole place down.”

“Oh, he’s definitely gonna crash out,” Britta said.

“So he likes fire," the dean said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "…I wonder how he feels about dalmatians,” 

“Dude, I’m not kidding,” Sam left another message as he tossed his duffel into the passenger seat. “I’m going to that school right now. I’m ready to kill anything we’ve ever heard of. Gods, demons, witches, fairies, vampires, angels, I don’t give a shit what it is, I’m ending it. Tonight. I will burn it down if I can’t find anything.”

As he pulled up to the commuter parking lot, a voice echoed all around him. It wasn’t otherworldly or powerful, it sounded drunk and jolly.

“Sam Winchester…would you be willing to speak with us?”

“I’m burning it to the ground,” he shouted out to whatever it was that was speaking to him. He reached into the back seat and pulled out a canister of gasoline. He took three or four steps toward the quad, digging out his lighter. 

“It wouldn’t even be the first fire this school year, and it certainly wouldn’t limit us. Just relax, Sam, take a seat, we can talk,” a second disembodied voice added.

“I don’t know what the hell you are but I will stop you!”

“Why? We haven’t hurt anyone, haven’t killed anyone. We bring nothing but happiness and fun to this community.”

“Haven’t hurt anyone?! You killed an entire Glee Club!” Sam shouted, all anger and bristle.

“No, we’d never have! That was the coach! We’re not responsible for every outburst by our students and staff. Did you look him up? He would have killed someone sooner or later!”

The voice had a point. Sam had done a cursory look into Corey Radison's background and he’d done time in a juvenile mental institution after setting a litter of puppies on fire. Maybe Greendale had nothing to do with it. 

“Show me your faces!” 

Suddenly two men stood before Sam. They were middle aged white men, one taller and heavier than the other. They both wore cheap suits and stood as though they were drunk. They weren’t demonic, and the powers on display didn’t align with witches. Maybe fairies, but in Sam’s gut he knew what they were.

“So, trickster gods, is it?” Sam said, as he limped toward them.

“Guilty!” the taller one said, “Back in the day we were seen as mischievous twins, but round here they just call us Carl and Richie."

"We’re on the school board!”

“So, what’s the play? Push people’s buttons and when they inevitably snap and kill people you take those sacrifices?”

“Oh no! No, no, no, no, no!” Richie said, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Yeah,” Carl chimed in, “we don’t seek worship through anything as gross as human sacrifice! We don’t even reap after natural deaths, and there are PLENTY of those, this campus is run by an idiot. It’s very unsafe.”

“We much prefer to eat at the Rusty Bucket! Chicken wings? Unbelievable. Plus, yard-long margaritas!”

“Yard Margs!” Carl echoed. 

“So if you’re not killing and eating humans what the hell are you doing here?” 

“We’ve looked into you, Sam Winchester,” Richie said, taking a sip of a suddenly materialized yard-long margarita, “Your name came up back during the apocalypse, of course, thanks for derailing that, by the way.”

“Yeah, we really owe you one! Lucifer would have made this whole place suuuuuuch a drag. That’s why we want to make this peace offering. I mean, your reputation precedes you, you probably could kill us if you really set out to do it...but I don't think you know what your in for. You’ve never gone up against gods like us.”

“How’s that? I’ve killed angels, and gods, and alphas, I think my brother and I can handle some demi-tricksters.” 

Sam was angry.

“See, I told you he was big time!” Richie pushed Carl, who had his own yard-Marg now.

“No, Sam, you’ve mostly dealt with gods that get their power by kidnapping a victim a few times a year. Maybe they get some local worshipers or something, but we’ve got this alllllll sorted out. This is a, well, a symbiotic sorta thing, and we have got juice you’ve never seen.”

“Yeah, we provide fun and frivolity, and the students pour their love and adoration into Greendale. Which we then siphon for ourselves.”

“You’re trapping these people here,” Sam said, “they don’t have a choice to leave, do they?”

“Of course they do! But why would they want to? Who wants to worry about bills, and cheating spouses, and failure to launch, when they can have a pillow fort civil war?”

“We’re doing this Law and Order thing with yams right now, everyone loves it! And we're building up to a doppelganger-Napoleon takeover for the end of the semester, it’s really gonna up our game, I think,” Richie added.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Carl whispered, “We know what you did with Lucifer and the angels. Top notch stuff. We know you and your brother are working on the Leviathan and we’re sure you’re gonna deliver a great performance there too. We don’t want to fight you, we don’t want to work against you, but we definitely don’t want to die so if you go against us we’ll be forced to kill you.”

“Come on,” Richie handed Sam a yard long margarita, “just relax. We’ll heal up your leg and let you go on your way.”

He waved his hand and Sam’s leg was healed. Cast and bandages off, pain gone. They really were rather powerful gods, Sam thought, he hadn’t seen anyone other than Gabriel with these kinds of abilities. 

“I can’t let you keep these people here like this, locked in a weird fantasy world for your entertainment and empowerment,” Sam said.

“Okay, on the level? We don’t trap anyone here exactly, but it’s kinda like drawing a moth to a flame, or a mom to Angry Birds. What if we offer to loosen the reins? No one will feel that compulsion to participate. We’ve done it before, we ease up and let everyone get on their way, get some new blood in. And if Sam Winchester, hero of the Judeo-Christian apocalypse wants, we’ll leave the reins off forever.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because, sure, some people will go but, most people will decide to stay put. They like it here, Sam.”

Sam turned that over in his mind. They weren’t wrong. Paintball and debate club and Ass Crack Bandits were a lot more alluring than working at a nine-to-five and barely squeezing out a mortgage. And it was a hell of a lot more tempting than Leviathan, and werewolves, and angelic wars. So who was Sam to tell Abed and Britta and a class full of people disguised as walls and chairs that they had to go back to reality? Reality was bleak. Reality was bloody. Greendale was something else completely.

“I want all the books on magic. Every last one of them.”

“Fy-uhhhn,” Carl snapped and mountains of books appeared in Sam’s backseat, “not a single student ever used those to necromance or anything, you know. We placed that there from the start, thought we’d have zombies every other week but it was at total waste of magical knowledge. Besides, people have plenty of fun without those books--even had a zombie outbreak without necromancy! Now, you have what you want, all we ask is that you leave, and keep your hunter friends away.”

“I’m not in control of other hunters,” Sam said.

“Well, we stay under the radar, so if no one is snitching, we should be well and dandy!”

It was a good deal. Or seemed like one anyway. 

“What can you tell me about the Leviathan?” Sam asked, wanting to sweeten the deal.

“So you’re really just gonna let them go?” Dean asked.

He'd finally come back, only to find Sam healed, packed, and ready to get the hell out of town.

“We’ve done it before, Dean. They’re not hurting anyone. Plus they gave us information on Leviathan. These are some spells and charms that will weaken them. Not for long, but it’s something.” 

“Yeah, I guess. I mean it all sounds kinda nice, if you take them at their word.”

“Nice? Dean it was certif-fucking-fiable.”

“Mmm, potato-potay-to, but at this point any kind of normalcy is going to seem certifiable to us. I mean, paint guns? Smashed yams? School dances? Hell, last week we had to get shit-faced to kill a ghost that ripped apart multiple children. I mean, ripped young kids to shreds, and that was like, kind of a fun week for us? I’d take a pillow and blanket war over that shit, any day, man.”

“Maybe, but it isn’t real, Dean. It’s just a way for the gods to make people feel good so they give a form of worship. It’s smoke and mirrors.”

“Everyone pays a price somewhere though, is that so terrible as long as they have friends and family?”

Sam watched the road disappear beneath the car. Dean wasn’t exactly wrong. There was something kind and wholesome about the idea of community and support. Even if it all hinged on something darker, and possessive, and power-hungry. 

He absentmindedly scanned through his email and opened one from Dean Craig Pelton:

Dear Mr. Sam Smith, 

We were so sad to see our newest and dreamiest Ladders student ride off into the sunset this week! I hope that you are on to big and bright things, but please remember, once a member of the Greendale Community College community, always a member! You are a Human Being for life and we’re here for you if you ever want to come home! Hope to see you at some of our dances, festivals, or memorializing funerals, parenthesis sadly, Star Burns died in a meth lab explosion this week end parenthesis. New paragraph I’ve attached a course listing here, highlighting some of our exciting online courses in case you want to continue your academic journey with us. Well wishes from all your fellow Human Beings!

Sincerely, your friend,
Dean Craig Pelton

Send email. 

I will miss those shoulders around the library, but I suppose it’s best to keep him away from the memorial services what with his fixation on fire. Oooohh, this one will add a pop of color. 
BRENDA! What’s the riot threat level going into the Memorial service? I like this color but it won’t work without heels and I cannot do another riot in heels…yes, this one? Here, I’ll come to you.

Sam laughed. It was nice to know there was an open invitation. He hoped the funeral service and the inevitable riot were fun. He hoped that anyone who no longer enjoyed Greendale would be allowed to leave, and that the Napoleon scheme worked out for the tricksters. 

“What, what’s funny?” Dean asked.

“Just Greendale. Maybe if we kill Dick Roman we can take a ride back some time. They have a space shuttle simulator from KFC, you know...could be fun.”