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The winter air is bitter cold and she curses and picks up her pace towards the school. It's an hour earlier than she was supposed to be here – Rickon was supposed to wait in aftercare until she got off work, but the call had come in and she'd had to excuse herself to her boss (he was not thrilled) and run all the way down here – and for what?
Don't worry, sweetheart, mom had said. Rickon's always calmer after the holidays, he gets all his energy out then.
And yet here she is, not even a full day back in school and Rickon's already in trouble.
As she reaches the main doors to the building, she curses her parents and their second honeymoon (why do they even need a second honeymoon? Rickon is proof enough that they're still going at it like rabbits after all these years), and she curses too-swamped-with-work-Robb and suddenly-won't-answer-her-phone-Arya and smokes-too-much-pot-Bran, because of course that leaves her to take care of Rickon while they're away.
Does she want kids someday? Sure. Yes, obviously. But right now she is twenty five and trying to focus on her career, not ditching work early for her feral little brother.
She makes her way to the principal's office and at the desk outside sits old Ms Mordane, who takes a moment before smiling at her.
“Sansa Stark,” she greets and waves her back into Principal Mormont's office.
She expects to see Principal Mormont. She expects to see Rickon. What she does not expect, though, is to see Rickon sitting on the floor and a man she's never seen before standing near the windows.
Oh gods, is her first thought. Rickon's been in a fight. This must be the other parent, the dad. Please, please, please tell me Rickon didn't hit someone.
“Ah, Miss Sansa,” Principal Mormont greets with a smile and she feels a wave of relief – he doesn't seem angry, which is a good sign. “I was hoping not to have to call you, that we could clear this up ourselves, but it's getting towards the end of the day and we've had no luck.”
She's about to ask with what when Rickon comes bounding over on all fours and sits at her feet and leans into her leg.
“You see,” Mormont says with a stern look that just barely contains his amusement, “Rickon has decided that he's a wolf.”
She looks down and Rickon looks up, grins, then butts his head into her leg and makes a growling noise and... there are no words.
“We think it's because of this,” the unknown man says and turns from the window with a piece of paper in his hands and seven save her do they normally make dads this hot? And young? Is he young? Maybe he's her age? Still young to have an eight year old (though look at her own parents, who started popping out kids at eighteen and just never stopped).
“Ah, Sansa, this is Mr. Snow. Mr. Snow, Rickon's sister, Sansa. She used to go here, perfect attendance, if I recall.”
Mr. Snow?
This is Mr. Snow? She's heard Rickon talk about his teacher, with enthusiasm, and even mom had raved once that he was the only teacher to get Rickon to behave, but Sansa had assumed he'd be... old? Some graying, jovial professor type. Not...
She snaps herself out of it in time to take the paper from his hands and when she looks down, she sees, in Rickon's scrawl: my new years resolution is to be a wolf because wolfs don't have to do homework. Under that is a drawing of what she thinks is supposed to be a wolf and just... well, she resists the urge to correct his spelling, that can wait until later. Right now she has bigger problems. She thinks for a moment before speaking.
“So, I guess I have a wolf now instead of a little brother?” she asks Rickon, who only growls and headbutts her leg again. She sighs. “Alright, we'll have to stop at the store and pick up some kibble,” she looks up thoughtfully and taps her finger on her lips. “And a dog bed? I don't need you shedding on my couch.”
At the word kibble, Rickon had looked up at her with a little furrow between his eyebrows.
“Well, wolves can't eat people food,” she tells him in her most Sansa-is-right voice. “Which is a shame, because I was going to take you to McDonald's tonight and I guess now I'll have to eat all those brownies myself...”
Rickon lets out a whine and she resists the urge to smile – Rickon's sweet tooth rivals her own. She knows this. She exploits this. She's walking a fine line here – Rickon isn't stupid, if she's obvious, he'll realize she's trying to manipulate him and then dig himself deeper into his wolf game. Luckily, food is his blind spot.
“Brownies?” Mr. Snow says, “they sound great.”
She looks up at Mr. it-should-be-illegal-to-be-that-hot-and-a-teacher Snow and she can see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he plays along.
“I made them with extra chocolate chips,” she nods. “Maybe I'll give them all to Arya-”
“No!” Rickon cries and then he's suddenly on his feet.
Gods her siblings are so easy.
She pretends she doesn't see Mormont or Mr. Snow trying to hide their smiles as she leads Rickon out of the room and promises the two men that Rickon will be doing his homework that night.
So what if she wraps up an extra brownie in Rickon's lunch the next day and tells him to give it to Mr. Snow as an apology? That's just her being polite. Mr. Snow sending a thank you note back in Rickon's homework folder? Also polite.
And, in a few months when Rickon's school play comes up, if she tags along with mom and dad to come see it and ends up flirting with Mr. Snow in the hallway while all the eight year olds sing showtunes in the auditorium?
Well that's... less polite.