Chapter Text
Sansa comes downstairs to the sound of her mum saying, “Now, Robb, you’ll take care of your sister?”
“Of course, Mum,” Robb replies, sounding almost offended that their mother would think he could do anything but take care of her. “Jon, you too, yeah?”
“Of course, Aunt Cat,” Jon repeats, sounding very serious.
“I don’t need either of you taking care of me,” she grumbles as she walks into the kitchen, stalking across the room for the teapot; Mum has already mixed up her mug just the way she likes it by the time Sansa reaches her. “I can take care of myself, you know.” She turns around to see Robb and Jon exchanging a meaningful glance. “I can!”
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Mum says, though her tone is placating, and Sansa doesn’t believe a word of it. “Do you want a muffin, Sansa?”
“Sure,” she sighs, making a face even though she loves Mum’s baking. “Oh, are they lemon poppyseed?” she gasps when Mum holds one out to her. Mum smiles and pulls her into a side hug.
“Just for you, sweetheart,” she says. Sansa’s love of all things lemon is well-known, having been established when she was very young - younger than she can really remember, to be honest.
Smiling now, Sansa pulls Mum into a tight hug before taking a large bite of her muffin. “Thanks, Mum,” she says with a grin.
“There’s some of those in your lunch, too,” Mum tells her. “And some of those little cheeses you like.”
“You’re the best, Mum!” Sansa all but sings, practically skipping from the room, her mother’s conversation with Robb completely forgotten.
“Arya! Bran! Rickon!” Mum calls up the stairs after her as she runs back upstairs for her backpack.
All three of her younger siblings are sitting at the kitchen counter when she gets back downstairs, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Ugh, you’re wearing makeup,” Arya groans, as if it’s a mortal sin to want to look nice for the first day of school. Sansa narrows her eyes at her sister but says nothing, just turning away and rolling her eyes instead.
“You’re sure you’re fine going with Robb and Jon?” Mum asks, setting a hand on Sansa’s shoulder.
“I’m sure, Mum,” she says. In all honesty, she’s been looking forward to this all summer. In all honesty, she’s been looking forward to this since Robb got his car, towards the beginning of when she was still in eighth grade.
“All right,” Mum says with a kiss to the back of Sansa’s head. “Your hair looks lovely, sweetheart.”
“Coming, wolflet?” Robb calls from the door, one hand on Jon’s shoulder.
She bounds over to them, too excited to worry about appearing overeager, and grins up at her brother. “Of course, Robb,” she says sweetly. As they walk out to the car together, Robb’s arm thrown around her shoulders, she tilts her head sideways to look up at him. “This year is going to be amazing,” she says with confidence. (She’s learned that saying things like they are already true helps them to become so, like the way she tells herself she’ll wake up to her alarm clock, even though she’s always been a night owl, for as long as she can remember.)
“It absolutely will, wolflet,” Robb agrees, kissing the side of her head, where she has her hair pulled back into two Dutch braids that merge into a single braid at the nape of her neck. The long braid curls around the side of her neck, and its end falls below her breasts. It’s longer than anyone else’s hair that she knows, so she’s sure her hairstyle will stand out today.
She’s always braided her hair, for as long as she can remember. Mum did it when she was little, and she learned to braid on Arya, who hated sitting still for it - she’s had a pixie cut since the end of grade school - so switching to braiding her own hair was almost easier than doing her wiggly little sister’s. For the last three years, she’s been getting into more and more complex braiding styles, until over the summer she learned about Ancient Valyrian hairstyling - on YouTube, because apparently there’s such a thing as a hairstyling archaeologist, and she posts how-to videos - which she can’t do on herself, as it requires sewing the hair in place. She’s tried out several styles on Mum and Aunt Lya, but neither of them has returned the favor. Maybe she can convince Mum to do one of the beautiful, complex styles for a school dance?
“Hey, where’d you go, wolflet?” Robb asks, looking at her in the rearview mirror as he drives down their - very - long driveway, toward the gates that open automatically at his approach.
“Oh, I was just thinking about the Ancient Valyrian stuff that I was learning over the summer,” she says, exchanging a quick glance with Jon as Robb pulls out onto the street. Robb doesn’t know that what she learned over the summer was about braiding; he thinks she became interested in history overnight. Jon, on the other hand, found her watching one of the videos over the summer.
She doesn’t know how long he watched her before she noticed him, but he was stifling laughter when she did. She’d paused the video, glaring at him. “What?” she’d asked, feeling prickly at the thought of him laughing at her.
“You were making these little-” Jon had gestured to her hands, which she realized had been mimicking the motions from the screen. “What are you watching?” he’d asked, actually sounding interested, though still highly amused.
“Ancient Valyrian hairdressing,” she’d admitted, ready for him to burst out laughing and call her a silly little girl. But he didn’t. He’d asked her more about it, even watching the whole video from the start with her, just to see what she was so interested in. It hadn’t helped her get over the stupid crush she’s had on him forever, not one bit, because every time they had spoken for the rest of the summer, her insides cried out, see, he likes you! He wants to know about things you like! And when Robb had thought she was talking about history, she hadn’t corrected him, wondering a little bit if Jon would give it away.
Only he didn’t. He’d just shrugged and asked Robb about their favorite sports team, distracting him. Robb had teased her about a newfound interest in history for weeks, until Jon had said, “So what if she likes history? It’ll help her with her classes.” It wouldn’t, but Robb wasn’t to know that. And he had stopped teasing her about it after that.
“OK, what on earth was it that you learned about, wolflet?” Robb demands as he turns right. “I’ve never seen you this interested in history, unless it was about princess stories.”
“I’m interested in family history, too,” she says innocently, thinking back to all the times she’d asked Dad about their ancestor Bran the Builder, who built the original Winterfell. Their house - more of a mansion, really - is half the stones and structure of the old Winterfell and half new construction - and about a quarter the size of the original building, which really was more like a castle.
Robb huffs a sigh. “Yeah, but…”
“So it’s not possible for me to be interested in history?” she demands, sounding offended. Jon turns his head to look back at her, and she winks at him, hardly believing her daring. “Robb, that’s just mean.”
His shoulders slump. “Sorry, wolflet. Of course you can be interested in history - it just surprised me, is all.” He sounds so contrite that she can’t help breaking into laughter. “What? What’s so funny?” Robb demands.
“She was messing with you, man,” Jon snorts.
Robb sighs and gives her a look via the rearview that has her sinking back into her seat for the rest of the ride.
“Thanks, Robby,” she says when they get out of the car, stretching up and hugging him tightly. They’ve always been close, despite their age difference, and though she practically considered Jon another brother when she was little, the birth of Bran - her real brother - made her reconsider that idea. Since then, she’s been not exactly guarded, but certainly a little more distant with him than she is with Robb. So Robb is as close to her as he is to Jon, though in vastly different ways.
“Sansa!” she hears from the front steps of the school. Her head snaps around - as does Robb’s, she notes with not a little amusement - and she grins widely, waving madly at her best friend.
“Cella!” she cries back, throwing caution to the winds and running pell-mell across the parking lot. She hasn’t seen her best friend all summer - even though their fathers are friends, Cella’s mother hates both of Sansa’s parents, especially her mother. Sansa has no idea why, and frankly she’d rather not learn. It’s sure to be something boring from when they were all kids. But she doesn’t let Cella come over to Winterfell, and she’s kept Cella either insanely busy or away in the Westerlands for the whole summer.
“Sansa, watch out!” Robb shouts from behind her as she pelts towards Cella. She pulls back immediately, and avoids getting hit by someone’s huge pickup truck by approximately a hair. Adrenaline floods her veins, and she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest, where her heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of her ribcage.
“Oh my Gods, Sansa, are you OK?” Cella cries, her own hands covering her mouth.
Still gasping a bit, Sansa lets herself be pulled into Robb’s arms. “She’ll be all right, Myrcella,” her brother says, holding her tight, rubbing a hand between her shoulderblades.
“Yeah, I’m just a bit… shaken up,” she says, pulling back from Robb with a rueful look, looking both ways very deliberately before crossing to Cella and throwing her arms around the other girl. “I’m fine, Cella,” she says, because as soon as she’s in her best friend’s arms - as soon as she’s been hugged by both Robb and Cella, her two favorite people in the world - it’s true.
“Are you sure, Sans?” Cella asks, holding a hand to Sansa’s cheek as she pulls back from their hug, one arm still around her waist. “It would be all right if you weren’t fine - I mean, you just almost got hit by a car!” Cella lets out a little hysterical laugh that turns into a sob halfway through. Sansa just pulls Cella back in for another hug, knowing that it is what will comfort, will calm her best friend the best right now.
“Hey, Myrcella,” Robb says from behind them, a hand on Sansa’s back, sliding around her shoulders and squeezing her to his side for a quick moment when she and Cella part again.
“Hey, Robb,” says, shoulders still shaking a little.
Sansa elbows her brother. “Just hug her, you idiot!” she hisses just as Jon reaches them, face white and furious.
He pulls her away from Robb and Cella, who have awkwardly slid into a hug that both are relaxing into more and more as the seconds pass. His eyes burn down into hers for a long moment before he growls, “What on earth were you thinking, Sansa? Running across a parking lot? You could have died!” He is all but shouting at the end, hands on her shoulders, squeezing so tightly that she thinks they may go numb.
“Whoa,” Robb says, approaching them with his hands out in front of him. “Man, what’s going on?”
“Your sister is an idiot, that’s what’s going on,” Jon snaps, fingers biting into her shoulders even more.
Robb and Cella exchange a glance. “She’s fine, Jon,” Robb says softly, oblivious to the way Sansa’s breath has completely left her. Is that what Jon really thinks of her? That she’s an idiot?
She brings her hands up between his arms and snaps them both out to the sides, breaking his hold on her shoulders. Whirling around, she lets herself be pulled, shaking slightly, into Cella’s arms and walked up the steps to the front of the school. People are staring, she knows, but for the first time in years, she doesn’t care. “You’ll be fine,” Cella whispers into her ear. “He didn’t mean it, Sansa.”
“Yes he did,” she says tonelessly, as they walk to their first class together, Westerosi History. “He meant it. He thinks I’m just a stupid little girl.”
“He does not,” Cella insists, though when Sansa shoots her a hard look, she subsides. “OK, Sansa. Are you excited for History?”
Sansa snorts, starts giggling, and ends up laughing so hard that she has to wrap her arms around her belly.
“What did I say?” Cella asks, looking between Sansa and Robb, who is walking up to them with Jon. “What’s so funny?”
“History-” Sansa gasps out, looking up at Jon, who is no longer scowling at her; his lips, curled into a tiny smile, twitch before he, too, snorts.
“What is it about history?” Robb demands again, looking between them. “What’s so funny, guys?” Rolling his eyes when neither will answer him, he says to Cella, “They’ve been doing this for half the summer.”
“Oh, have they?” Cella says, looking with renewed interest at Sansa and Jon. “Come on, Sans, spill. What’s so funny?”
Still getting her breath back, letting out little snorts every few seconds, Sansa smirks. “I’ll tell you when we get to class.”
“Oh, come on!” Robb complains, making a betrayed face. “Why can’t I know?”
“Because it’s too funny to watch you be so confused about it,” she replies, lips twitching as she glances quickly at Jon, who is smirking behind Robb’s back. “And we need to get to class now, Robby. I want to get good seats.”
“OK, wolflet,” Robb sighs. “Where are we meeting for lunch?”
Sansa rolls her eyes. They already went over this at home; why does he need to ask her again? “The statue of Visenya, by the library.”
“Good. I’ll see you then, Sans.” Robb takes her face between his hands and presses a long kiss to her forehead. “Do great things, wolflet.” It’s what he’s always said to her instead of goodbye, and she has no idea where he got it - but she loves it all the same.
“Have the best day, Robby,” she says in reply. “First day of your senior year!”
“Gah, don’t remind me,” Robb groans, turning to leave.
“Wait!” Cella exclaims. “Let me take a picture of you two - finally at the same school for the first time in years!” She waggles her fingers at Sansa, who hands over her phone without a word.
“I’ll text them to you, Robby,” Sansa promises. “Just do it; she won’t stop complaining at me all day if you don’t.” She knows Robb is hardly likely to refuse anyways - he’s been absolutely goofy about Cella since they were kids - but she wants to make sure. She holds out a hand, grinning when he takes it, pulling him to her side. They stand in the light-filled hallway, grinning first at each other, then at Cella.
“Hey, let’s get another with Jon,” Robb suggests. “Jon, get over here! You know you’re an honorary Stark.”
Jon sighs but acquiesces, coming around to stand beside Robb, but Cella shakes her head. “No, stand on Sansa’s other side, Jon. It’ll balance the pictures better.” Making a face, Jon comes to stand beside her, sliding an arm around her waist, like the way Robb’s arm holds her shoulders. Only it’s completely different, because it’s not Robb. It’s Jon. She shivers a little at the thrill that goes up and down her spine from the place Jon’s arm touches it. “Perfect,” she hears Cella murmur, and she can’t help but agree. “OK, all done,” Cella says.
“No, no, not all done!” Sansa rebuts. “Robby, take pictures of me and Cella.”
“Don’t you have to get to class?” Robb mutters, already taking the phone from Cella, who bounds towards Sansa and slides an arm around her waist. Hugging her back, Sansa grins, feeling like she can finally relax a little in her best friend’s arms.
“Thanks so so so much Robby!” Sansa says brightly, taking her phone back from Robb as she and Cella all but skip off together, down the hall to their first-period class.