Three dollars and some change

Zoned
A Supernatural/Gilmore Girls crossover
by mhalachaiswords

Summary: What Max can't figure out is why Dean Forrester is sitting in his Stanford Shakespeare course, across the country from Star's Hollow.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. Funnily enough, Gilmore Girls belong to the CW too, them and whoever took over after Amy Sherman-Palladino left. No profit has been made from this fic.
Character etc.: Gen, Sam Winchester and Max Medina
Rating: PG
Words: 700
Setting: Pre-series for Supernatural, early season three for Gilmore Girls.
Note: I'll put this in the same 'verse as "Outskirts of Normal". If Max was teaching at Stanford in 2003, that matches up with Sam being in his second or third year of college. One day I may get bored of writing these... but not today.

~~~~~~

Max tossed the remaining copies of the syllabus into his briefcase, keeping his poker face on but jumping up and down inside. He'd done it. Taught his very first college class. At Stanford. He was going to go to his rented apartment and crack a beer in celebration. All alone.

He sighed, good mood deflated like a balloon. The whole amazing 'teaching at Stanford' thing was tinged slightly with bitterness. He was running away, he had to admit that, and it stung like a bitch.

Not just from Lorelai, although that was a large part of it. Chilton was strangling him slowly, his parents were starting to bother him about looking for another woman... but that wasn't the real problem. He was trying to run from himself, from what his life had become, and--

"Dean?" Max said to himself.

What was Dean Forrester doing in Max's 200-level Comparative Shakespeare class, across the country from Star's Hollow? Shouldn't Dean be in the middle of his senior year of high school?

The boy, who had been sitting at the back of the room, stared at his notes. Leaving his briefcase on the desk, Max headed up the lecture hall steps. He had to know what Dean was doing in Stanford.

"Hey, Dean?"

The boy shot out of his chair as if he'd been shot, whipping around to scan the room. Then he spun around to stare at Max. "I-- I'm sorry, what?" he stammered.

Up close like this, Max frowned. If this was Dean, he looked like hell. Skinny and stretched as a rail, messy hair, in clothes that looked like he'd found them in the Goodwill cast-off bin.

"Mr. Medina, right?" the boy said as he gathered up his books. As long and gangly as he might look, he had an economy of movement that Dean Forester never had. "Is there something you want?"

Now Max was confused. This boy looked like Dean, but... But. "You were sitting right at the back of the room, I wanted to make sure you got everything... I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Sam," the boy supplied. "I signed up for the course last week, I hope that's okay."

"It's fine." Max couldn't take his eyes off Sam. It was implausible, how much this boy looked like Dean, even having some of the same mannerisms. Screw implausible; it was moving straight onto the Twilight Zone. "Just feel free to come talk to me if you need any help with the material."

Sam-not-Dean quirked up the corner of his mouth. "I sat in on a comparative Shakespeare course last semester," he said. "I think I'll be okay. But thanks."

Last semester? How old was this kid? He didn't look any older than Dean. Max glanced away, realized that students for the next class were trickling into the room. "I should let you get to your next class," he said.

"No more classes today, just work," Sam said, shoving his books into his worn backpack. "Landscaping just off campus."

"Isn't it too hot for landscaping?" Max was still getting used to the Palo Alto heat, after spending his whole life in New England. It was the second week of September, and it was blazing outside.

Sam shrugged and straightened up to his full height. "I'm used to it," he said. "I used to do it all the time with--" He cut himself off abruptly, the smile sliding from his face. "I need to go."

"Sure," Max said, ducking to the side to avoid an intent student. "I'll see you on Friday."

Sam didn't move. "Why did you say Dean? Before?"

"Dean," Max repeated. "You, um, look like someone I know."

"And this someone you know who looks like me is ...Dean."

"Yes," Max said. He didn't know why the kid look so spooked.

"Okay." Sam nodded once, sharp. "Okay. Um, bye."

Max watched as Sam loped up the steps, three at a time before heading back to his briefcase. Something about the name Dean had really spooked the kid, and it made Max curious.

Well, he had all semester to figure out what was going on with... Max picked up the class list. With Sam Winchester.

end