Come all the way down
And watch me burn
I won't let it show that I'm not always flying
So on the way down
I'll watch you burn
---
'Burn' by Three Days Grace
Chapter 1
The Stanford library wasn't so different from all the other libraries Sam Winchester had visited. And he had visited a lot of them in his years. Always researching something or someone. He loved the ambience, the deep stillness. Felt safe and secure, as if the books were his home, not the walls around him. When he was a kid he liked to imagine, the only reason for having to whisper in a library was because the books collected his spoken words to engrave them on unblemished white sheets of paper. Of course, Dean had always told him, that the books where like monsters, sucking the words from him like an elixir of life. The resulting nightmares he had wisely chosen to keep to himself. Still, more than once he expected to open a book and find his own words written down on them, his own thoughts and feelings. That was one of the reasons he liked to keep his mouth shut when he found himself in the presence of books.
The other one was: He didn't want to talk.
He tended to visit the less crowded areas of the library, just because he could sweep his fingers in a careful, unobserved gesture along the spines of the books, could feel their dusty covers under his fingertips and close his eyes and imagine he was researching some ghost or evil night-bumpy thing. He could imagine his big brother calling for him to get back to work, to research, to evil-hunting.
Hushed footsteps echoed in the high-ceiling hallways and Sam woke from his trance-like state. His hair fell in his eyes and he didn't brush it away, wanted to hide behind it, vanish unseen. Be invisible.
“Sam?” The voice belonged to Brad, his room mate, the 180 pounds football player who earned his scholarship by hitting balls that weren't even round. And definitely the last person Sam wanted to be found by during a melancholic one-to-one with a bunch of mouldy books. Not answering, he hid in the back of the aisle, a dark corner in which the light bulb had broken decades ago and no one had felt obliged to replace it since then.
“Sam?” This time it was Becky's voice and Sam almost answered, feeling strangely bad for ignoring his friends like that. “We're going to the coffee shop, you coming?”
After all, it was Friday night. The exams were over and a general feeling of carelessness and high spirits seized the university. Sam could hear laughter, loud shouts of “See you next semester” and “Tell your Mom to do the laundry. Your clothes stink!” all the way through the halls and aisles.
This is what he had wanted, right? To be a student. Dutiful, eager to learn, ready to fill his head with knowledge he probably wouldn't need again, ever. To have friends, normal friends who went to the coffee shop to hang out and just talk. Friends, who didn't keep a knife under their pillows and who laughed about Sam's ridiculous stock of salt.
“What? I need my minerals.”
When he had arrived in Stanford two years ago he had still carried this illusion of a new, normal life. As if opening one new book would automatically mean the previous could be closed forever. Which was stupid, of course. Even though he was able to find his place, he never really seemed to fill it out properly, like a part of him that was never really there. “If his head weren't attached to his body, it would be floating somewhere near the stratosphere,” Zack, Becky's brother, used to say before giving him a friendly pat on his shoulder.
His gaze wandered to his shirt pocket, not expecting a steady blink that informed him about a missed call or message. Just an annoying habit he had started to develop and another one of those things that his friends liked to joke about. Sam didn't mind. It made him feel welcome. Because having fun made of him was exactly how he had grown up. His older brother teasing and taunting, which didn't mean anything but “I'll take care of you. I got you. I love you.”
“Sam?” Another call from Becky and Sam bit his lips, not wanting to give away his presence and he could almost hear her shrug her shoulders. Then, a little bit quieter, probably directed towards Brad: “I'll give him a call later. Let's go.”
She and Brad turned and left, their steps fading away. Another leaving train, whose departure Sam had missed. After waiting some more minutes he left his hiding place, took a deep breath and glanced at the dusty book he held clamped against his chest.
“Mojave Desert – Ghost Apparitions along the Route 66”
He sat down with it without opening. Wasn't this what he'd tried to avoid? Tried to leave behind? Now...
His hands were shaking when he opened the book, part curious, part disgusted. Staring at it. Then he started reading, taking notes along the way.
You know, just in case.
oOoOo
The library had gone quiet long ago, no students in their right mind still in close range with anything that had to with their studies.
Beating a steady drum with the butt of his pencil, Sam turned on page over, flying over the text. The pile of books was growing rapidly and swayed slightly when finally he put the last one on top of it.
His neck had noticeably stiffened from long hours of bending over the pages and he rotated it a few times, getting a satisfying crack as a result and he winced. Maybe he should call it a night. The library would be closing soon anyway and if he had luck, he'd still have some time to meet Becky and the others before heading home.
The absolute silence made him pause and he closed his eyes, chuckling mildly when he felt taken back into his childhood, waiting for the books to whisper their secrets for him. They didn't. Not now, not never. Secrets were to be found by searching for them.
“You need help with that?”
A yelp escaped between his lips and he felt himself blush... badly.
“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”
Taking a peek around the swaying book tower Sam found a girl standing there, smiling apologetically and amused at the same time and hiding her twitching lips behind slender fingers.
“Oh no, that's okay,” Sam replied, still a little surprised, and held a hand out to stop the pile from toppling over. “I just... didn't hear you coming in, that's all.” Yeah, sure. Who was he kidding? Tsk, spooked by a blonde freshman. Dean would make jokes of it for the rest of Sam's sorry life.
She cocked her head, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder and she nodded. “Yeah, I know. My sneakers are sneaky bastards.”
She made a motion down and he followed her gaze towards her feet.
“True,” he finally replied and a sudden awkwardness filled the space between them.
She licked her lips, then bit on them them, looking like she still wanted to say something but couldn't find the right approach.
“I'll just...” She began and took a careful step backwards, making Sam frown. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...”
“Hey”, he cut her off and gave his voice a soothing undertone, afraid he had scared her of. “It's okay. I'm not... I'm Sam, by the way.”
“I know.” Which really wasn't what Sam had expected to hear. Actually, it was kinda creepy and he looked at her, surprised and slightly abashed. On the other hand, it wasn't like the 5'5 feet girl, who weighed less than Sam used to lift in ninth grade, could do him any harm.
“Oh, uhm... charming, I guess,” He mumbled with a lopsided smile and started sorting his pencils and notes into his bag. “I was about to... uhm... leave.”
“Oh...” She smoothed away some non-existent wrinkles of her dress, fumbling her fingers nervously and finally turned her head to listen for something. “I gotta go. My boyfriend. He's … calling.”
Sam frowned, pretty sure he hadn't heard anything that'd count as someone calling.
“Guess you'll have to do this by yourself, then.” She motioned towards the books, which were waiting to be sorted back into their respective shelves and smiled apologetically.
“That's okay, uhm... what was your name again?”
Her smile lit up even brighter but never reached her eyes. Tiredly, she met Sam's gaze, unblinking and he could have sworn she wanted to tell him something with those dark depths, wanted him to read in them like he did in the books.
“Jessica, my name is Jessica.”
She waited another second, shifting her head to the other side and her hair fell over her shoulder down over her décolleté. The stupid phone chose this very moment to ring hotly in his breast pocked and he jumped, surprised by his own completely untypical jumpiness and when his hand left its securing state at the top of the book tower some of the books lost their precarious battle with gravity. With a surprised “Whoa!” Sam reached for them, before they could drag along the rest of the books, too.
When he looked up, she was gone and when he saw the caller ID Sam couldn't help but be strangely pissed at the bad timing of Becky's well-intended providence.
oOoOo
He didn't see Jess again. Not the day after. Not even a week after. Actually, he forgot about her after three weeks time. Just a stranger on a large campus filled with hundreds of strangers. Thousands even. At least after the terms begun.
During the summer breaks, however, the Stanford campus was eerily silent and even though it somehow managed to freak him out every single holiday Sam enjoyed the quiet time he had. The old, distinguished buildings almost like a ghost city. Only the occasional janitors and the administration staff. Administration obviously never ceased.
“Good evening, Ms. Robster,” Sam greeted the old lady sitting lonely at the information desk and she winked at him, not even taking her eyes off the book she was reading. She was always reading. Always had her eyes locked on a book (probably Nora Roberts again because the old lady always had a fondness for those kind of novels) and sometimes Sam felt a stab of jealousy. What wouldn't he give for the ability to drown himself in a book. In ink and words and fantasy and in the hope of a happy ending.
He smiled knowingly and hoisted the books about Corporate Acquisitions from under one arm to the other before leaning against the imposing entrance door. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared for next semester.
For a door as big as this one, the hinges were surprisingly well cared for and it opened easily, not even making a sound. The Californian afternoon sun was already peeking low over the mansard on his right and he shielded his free hand against the white-hot light, relentless after the everlasting twilight in the world of books.
“Sam!” A voice, familiar enough to make him stop immediately, echoed from somewhere below the stairs and he had to strain his eyes to see the figures coming closer. “Hello stranger,” Becky greeted him while Zack clapped him on his shoulder strong enough so he had to put his chin on his book to keep them from sliding off.
“Wait for me, guys?” Zack announced and vanished where Sam had just come from.
“Zack? In a library?” Sam couldn't avoid the unbelieving look crossing over his face. “During summer break?”
“Yeah, I know.” Becky chuckled in an amused way. “The sky will fall upon us any minute now.” With a portentous lift of her eyebrow she explained. “Naah, just pays his fees. The usual.”
“Ah,” nodded Sam. “So?” He went on after the silence turned uncomfortable. “How was your visit at your parents? Got clean clothes again?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “That'd make me unemployed and terribly bored.” Playfully, she slapped against his shoulder. “So, tell! What'd you do?” She looked at him with a reproachful gaze. “Don't tell me you've been studying all the time.”
“I... no. Not at all.”
She sighed. “You're a bad, bad liar, Sam Winchester.”
She had sat down on the stairs, heated by the fleeting sun, which had now entirely vanished behind the post office building, and he followed her example, putting the books down next to him on the grey stones.
Some people on bikes were passing by, carefully avoiding the flock of birds that were searching the pavement for leftover bread crumbs, chips and chocolate bar wrappers. They scattered with loud flapping noises in a moment of confusion, when a muffled, far away scream came from the building behind them and, swiftly followed by Becky, Sam had shot up, moving the short distance in three wide steps until he ripped the door open and got inside.
The coolness seemed even more accentuated than when he'd left the building only minutes ago. Whether it was just by his short stay in the August heat or whether it was something else, he hadn't enough time to think it through.
“Zack?” Becky yelled behind him, and he searched the area for anything suspicious. “Zack, where are you?”
Another scream (“No! Please!”) banged of the walls, echoing hundredfold in the long hallways and corners and high ceiling so it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.
Though it was pretty clear it didn't came from Zack because they had barely come to a halt when he stumbled out of the public restrooms to their right and looked around. Plus, the voice had sounded definitely female. It was followed by a dull thump, a body hitting hard floor.
“Did you guys hear that?” He asked, zipping his pants up.
“Did you wash your hands, at all?” Becky hissed (obviously his friends did not have his skilled hearing... lucky them) but Sam indicated with a sharp movement of his hand to be quiet. A small call for help, more a whispered groan of pain than a real request reached them and Sam had started running before Zack and Becky had even processed the sound.
Taking up the three steps Sam reached the hallway leading right and left to the library's wings and he looked first in one, then the other direction and could make a form lying on the ground just below the steps leading to the first floor.
“Ms Robster!” He called out, recognizing her immediately. Weakly, she lifted her hand, winked at him, uncoordinated, aimless, and a strangled noise escaped her quivering lips.
“He... was so angry.” She stuttered, confused, when Sam knelt down next to her, checking her for obvious injuries. He couldn't see any. Not that you needed to see blood when your insides where bleeding.
“Don't move!” he ordered, keeping his voice as soothing as possible and when she reached for him, he took her hand in his. It was cold and sweaty. Her eyes were wide open, scared, staring up at him with an air of finality behind the glassy orbs.
He didn't hear him coming but all of a sudden Zack was standing beside him, looking down at the injured woman as if he had never seen anything so strange before. “Beck... Becky is calling an ambulance!” he stuttered, helplessly and Sam knew exactly how he felt... because he was feeling the same.
“He was so angry!” She whispered, her breath gurgling wetly in her throat and the wrinkly skin on her throat was trembling with the efforts of getting air into her lung, that was slowly filling with blood and liquid. He knelt down closer to her mouth which was still moving and moving as if she wanted to talk a mile a minute before she wouldn't be able to do so any more. Recite one more book before it was too late.
“You're going to be okay”, Sam assured – and boy, he really was a fucking baaaad liar – squeezing her hands and her lips stilled, widening into a little smile which ceased and turned into a terrified grimace. Her eyes now stared up, towards the landing that divided the staircase in two parts and Sam followed their direction, searching for anything that could have been responsible for the terror he had seen in her eyes.
He knew terror. Had it seen in so many eyes that he could make out nuances. The scared shit-less terror, the frozen terror – the ridiculous terror of having to get under a cold shower because someone's younger brother had accidently used all the hot water – the terror that vanished with the last sigh leaving a dying body.
Her eyes glazed over but her hand was still gripping hard, like even in death she wanted to hold onto something.
A shiver ran down Sam' body, cold and cruel and surprisingly unexpected. He had seen enough people die, couldn't even count their numbers on two hands, but this was different. This was supposed to be the “safe world”, the one with the happy ending. But at the same time he knew, this was the same world he was born into... just blinder.
“Oh fuck!” Zack groaned and Sam could hear him vomit, right where he was standing. And when he slowly turned his head to throw one last look at the landing a few feet above, he could have sworn he saw the fading image of two eyes staring back.
Chapter Two
The room was as familiar as it was alien. A large bed, covered with one large blanket. Two pillows, as though two persons were supposed to sleep in it, two night stands, one with a framed picture he couldn't make out clearly. It seemed inviting and cosy, as if it was just waiting for him to lie down and sleep. He felt like he was a visitor in his own dream – Goldilocks in the bears' house – which was strange enough but at the same time it felt, like he was dreaming after all. One of those dreams in which you knew you were dreaming but couldn't do anything about it. You want to wake up or at least find the meaning of it but everything it does confuses you more and more until you wake up, your thoughts all scrambled and your body tense and covered in sweat.
That's what it felt like when Sam entered the room.
He glanced around, looked at the poster just above the head board and chuckled. Kittens, of course it was kittens. Women loved kittens. It was like an unwritten law or something. And since Sam studied law, he really should know about law, right?
His eyelids felt heavy and pleasantly tired like after a long, satisfying day of work and he let himself fall backwards onto the bed, facing the empty ceiling.
And he stared.
Something was not right.
A feeling, deep inside his body. So deep, it actually felt like universes away but at the same time, so close he could taste it on his tongue, feel it under his skin, hear it without listening. And he could see.
A fire, hot and unyielding. It started above his head, widening in circles and in the middle of it he swore, he could see the shape of a body, a delicate face, eyes open in unspeakable terror and framed by golden curls of long hair.
He screamed.
Actually, it was more like a gasp. At least that's what he hoped in this moment when Sam found himself sitting in his bed, his blanket draped around his legs like manacles. Breathlessly he struggled them away from him, crawling backwards until his back hit against the metal frame of his bed.
Taking deep breaths to control his violently beating heart he scrambled out of the bed. Since sleep wouldn't come back anytime soon he'd have enough time to get some more research done. Ever since the accident, which had been more than three days ago, he had tried to avoid digging in deeper. It had been a trick of light. And Mrs Robster had fallen down the stairs, that's what it had been. Nothing more.
Yeah, sure.
Switching on his computer he settled his tired body on the chair and watched the operating system screen boot while contemplating over the statement he had given the police then. It wasn't really unusual the police had been informed about the incident. Sam knew Campus policy. Every accident was meticulously documented and extensively investigated. But that didn't explain the questions he had been asked. Did you see anyone leave the place? Did you hear anything that could have been a dispute? Did you see any apparent sign of a struggle?
The laptop screen came alive showing the usual windows background, green hills and a blue sky, and he clicked a few buttons to connect with the campus wi-fi. Only seconds later the Google site opened and he started his usual searching routine, typing in the words 'library', 'stanford' and 'death' which got him about seventy million entries about dead poets whose books were stored in the Stanford library. The next try got him about sixty trillions more car accidents on the campus area.
A few hours later he had come up with over a dozen deaths occurring within the building over the last 25 years. Rubbing his gritty eyes he leaned back and stretched his aching neck. One look out the window told him he had been sitting in front of his desk for a few hours already. The distant chirping of birds accompanied the brightening sky and the first sounds of passing cars on their way to bring their owners to work. His head was thrumming with a dull ache he only just started to feel consciously and for just a moment he debated taking something against it, condemning the thought rather fast when his stomach grumbled viciously.
“Breakfast first,” he decided and packed up his laptop and notes.
Since the day promised to be nice and warm – as did about 99% of Southern Californian days – he settled for walking and got himself a latte with soy milk to go at the nearest Deli (he absolutely could hear his older brother wince at his choice of drink and chuckled under his breath). A sharp feeling of longing filled him, for just a second, but it was quickly replaced by something even more painful. Resentment, anger and hurt.
Two years. It had been two years since he'd last seen Dean. Even three years since he'd last seen his father. His fingers curled around his paper cup and he startled when the pressure of his fingers let some of the hot liquid gush out of the small drinking hole.
“Crap!” he murmured and wiped the stain quickly away before it could spread. Great way to start the day. A Headache, bad memories and coffee stains.
When he finally reached the library it was way past nine already when he entered the large hall to find a young woman sitting on the chair that merely three days ago had been occupied by the now very dead Ms Robster.
“Good morning,” Sam greeted her and she looked at him in panic.
“'morning”, she replied, her eyes round as saucers.
“Uhm, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”
“No, it's okay.” The young woman straightened her back and sat up straight. “I'm new and... in case you want to ask me anything regarding books or... you know... where to find them...” She motioned towards the general direction of the book departments and simultaneously shrugged her shoulder and shook her head. “I won't be of any help, I gotta admit.”
“No, don't worry.” Sam smiled encouragingly. “I know my way around.”
“Oh,” she replied smiling sheepishly. “So in case of questions...”
“You can find me in the media microtext center.”
She quipped her eyebrow. “We got a media microtext center?”
In response, Sam offered another smile and was about to walk away when she stopped him.
“Oh... uhm, the only rule I know so far: No coffee allowed.” Her eyes locked on the lukewarm cup of coffee.
“I'll be extra careful. Promise!”
Reluctantly, she nodded again. “Okay. But if someone's asking, you hid it pretty well.”
“Deal!”
With his cooling coffee he made his way to the pompous stairwell and climbed into the third floor. The rooms were smaller and with barely any daylight to make up for the bad quality of the screens. It smelled different from where the books were and he almost regretted his decision to do some deeper research. While the internet proved to be a valid and reliable source of information he never had gotten the hang of those creepy machines that presented you the newspaper of the past on those antique monitors large enough to slay you with their weight. The whirring sound made his hair in the neck stand up and his fingers on the control stick were sweating after only seconds.
Still, the available categories were much better organized and within just twenty minutes he had found out much more about the history of the building. It never hurt to be informed. It was a lesson he had learned by himself. Winchesters normally shot first and got their information later. That's how things were done and Dean and John Winchester lived the philosophy like Catholics lived the bible. One more thing that distinguished him from his family.
Thanks to his morose thoughts he had stopped seeing what was on screen until the picture of a young man appeared. “Young man dies in library fire.”
It was just a small paragraph. Sam could remember the incident clearly and to freshen up his memory he swiftly browsed the article.
“Steve Benton, rising star of the Stanford Cardinals, was killed yesterday in a fire in the local library. The cause has not yet been established but it is assumed that an electric charge is responsible for the unnaturally high operating temperature. According to friends and family he was in company of his girlfriend, whose remains have not been found.”
The article was suspiciously little detailed, which, of course, made Sam's alarm bells ring even louder.
Steve Benton.
The date of the fire was only two months ago and the repair works had supposedly lasted ever since though Sam could not remember meeting any workmen in the house during that time. Maybe they were faster than he had thought and any evidence of the calamity was long gone. Still, he'd have to ask for the exact spot.
The coffee cup, now cold, still stood next to the screen and Sam sighed soundlessly. He definitely hadn't changed a bit since his arrival. Lost in his investigation he usually forgot everything around him and if his brother hadn't reminded him once in a while of eating or drinking or even sleeping, Sam would have probably died of “dehydration by extensive reading” a long time ago. Of course, now that his brother wasn't around any more...
Another soundless sigh and he rubbed over his eyes that hadn't lost their grittiness a bit since morning. Well, no surprise here. Blinking owlishly, he opened them again and sat straight up when the silhouette of a person, sharp against the hallway light, was reflected on the pitch black monitor and Sam spun around, taking the coffee with him.
The cap exploded from the paper cup and the milky brown liquid formed an ugly puddle but Sam was more surprised by the person, who, he could have sworn, had first looked like the large male build of a footballer. Now though, Sam saw nothing but the young woman, who was leaning against the door frame, smiling.
“You know that coffee in the library is strictly prohibited, right?” It didn't sound accusing, more amused and when she came closer, her gaze wandered to the traitorous speck of coffee he had gotten on his t-shirt this morning. “Books or t-shirts could get hurt.”
“It's you.” Yeah, clever answer, Sam thought and felt his cheeks flush... again.
“Obviously.”
“How come, every time I see you, you make me blush like a tomato,” he wanted to know with a friendly smile and leaned down to soak up the coffee with a few tissues.
“I don't know.” She shrugged her slender shoulder and walked towards him.
Glancing at his notes she leaned down and tried to decipher the hieroglyphs of Sam's illegible handwriting. Dean used to say, Sam should become a doctor, it'd make his signature right. “So, you're a budding journalist?”
“What?” Confused for a moment Sam dabbed at the last remains of the mess he had made and straightened back up again, making a grimace at the wet, sloppy ball of kleenex between his fingers. “No, just... natural curiosity.”
“Ahhh...” she made an understanding sound, then tipped her finger against her chin. “Never heard of the phrase curiosity killed the cat?”
“Good for me I'm not a cat, huh?”
She smiled again, flashing dimples in the delighted expression and Sam had the weirdest sense of deja vu. A large poster of two playing kitten over a large ball of wool, hanging of the head end of a strange bed.
“I guess.” She pondered. “Though cats are royal creatures. And they have nine lives. So their curiosity is well fitted.”
Silence ensued, while Sam stuffed his notes in his bag and switched off the monitor.
“You're leaving?”
The question came out of the blue and Sam felt stupid. He felt like he had ignored her, that maybe he should be ignoring her. The way she looked at him, her hands hanging loosely at her side, made her look lost. Like a little girl in a huge shopping mall that had lost the safety of her mother's warm fingers wrapped around her hand.
“Jessica.”
“Yes?” Her eyes shone hopefully and if Sam hadn't know better he'd have sworn they glinted wetly beneath her eyelashes. But it could have been a trick of light. It was dark in the room – Sam had already switched off the small desk light that decorated most of the tables in this library – and the bright intensity of the outer lights was forming tiny halos of silver bursts around her head like fresh snow flakes in the winter sun.
“Your name, Jessica. I only just remembered.”
Her face fell and Sam could have kicked himself for being such a cold hearted bastard.
“How charming, Mr Sensitive.”
“I'm sorry, normally I'm not that rude. I just... didn't sleep very well. And... I didn't expect anyone. I'm really sorry.”
It took a moment for her to regain her former cheerfulness even though Sam could feel a sudden distance between them. He hadn't meant to burst out her name so stupidly, it just... it had nagged him. The memory of her had come back so forcefully... like a dream he suddenly remembered once again.
“It's okay,” she began and leaned her head to one side, looking like she was telling herself jokes about him. “You're a guy.”
“Hey!”, he feigned hurt and it made her smile once again. And Sam decided, he liked her smile. A lot. “Doesn't mean I can't be nice for a change.” Raising the empty coffee cup in which he had stuffed the wet garbage he asked. “Coffee? It's on me.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don't drink coffee.”
It was then that Sam remembered another detail of his former encounter with her.
“I suppose your boyfriend wouldn't be so happy about me buying you coffee, either.”
She smiled again, though this time it was sad and Sam knew felt like an intruder. As if he had asked her something very private. Something, she didn't want to share with others, especially not some rude bastard who had the sensitivity of white bread.
“He's... not around very often any more.”
“Oh. I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. It's okay.” She winked her hand. “It's just...”
She stopped in mid-sentence, so abrupt it almost made Sam stretch out his hands out of fear she was fainting or worse... dissipating.
“I gotta go.” Her long blond hair formed an elegant arc when she turned around and she was fast enough that Sam missed her upper arm by inches.
“Wait, Jessica. I wanted...” His feet slipped on the slippery ground and mildly cursing he grabbed for the table edge to regain his balance. But when he had finally found it, she was gone.
Meetings with Jessica obviously had their own agenda. They always started with him being startled and ended with her vanishing like she had never been there in the beginning. Not even the sounds of her footsteps were audible.
Chapter 3
“So?”
The Cashmere Cafe was bustling with students, tanned and carefree after their return from their holiday. Dinnerware was clinking hectically, the waitresses were scurrying between the tables, placing hamburger and cafe lattes and green salads. Some new freshmen were hiding in the back corners, looking around like the forlorn little kitten they were. It was like a little world in itself with its own circadian rhythm. A circle, never changing, never beginning and never ending. Amazing! Character studies should be held in student bars, really.
“Hey!” A slap against his upper arm and Sam shook himself out of his reverie. “Are you with us, Winchester?”
“What?”
Zack and his sister shared a “look”. “So, what have you been up to?” Zack wanted to know. “Did the police get back to you again?”
“No.” Sam shook his head. “I don't think they're investigating any further. An accident, I suppose.”
Zack nodded thoughtfully, taking a small sip of his beer and returned to staring into the half empty glass again.
“Wow, how to dampen spirits in one second or less,” Becky moaned and looked between the two men. “Finally we're back at Stanford and the only topic you manage to come up with is the death of the poor woman? It's been over a month. Can't you be like other students and gossip about girls and cupsizes?” At least Zack looked mildly ashamed whereas Sam refrained to stare at his untouched glass of Schweppes.
“Sam, come on. Give a girl some input.” Her voice back to cheerful again. “What've you been up to?”
“Nothing.” Shrugging his shoulder his mind wandered back to his meeting with Jessica earlier that day and, hoping it sounded casual enough, he added. “Met a girl.”
Becky's face lit like a Christmas tree and Sam was only too happy she didn't start clapping her hands in delight. “Really? That's wonderful!” Why did it have to sound like he was a small dyslexic boy who just read out loud his first self-written poem? “Where? What's her name...?”
“Why don't you ask him if you can announce their wedding date right away?”, Zack quipped which got him a slap against his upper arm, too.
It was nice to be sitting in the company of friends after staying alone for so many weeks again. Becky and Zack had only just returned and they – or more Becky – had decided to celebrate the start of the new semester. Lectures would start in two days and Sam felt oddly relieved to be surrounded by students again. It felt less lonely, though more crowded.
“I met her in the library.” Becky rolled her eyes, mouthing “where else”. “She's... really nice.”
“Really nice?” Now she sounded almost offended. “That's not exactly what I expected to hear. What's her name?”
“Jessica.”
“Jessica,” she repeated interested and leaned forward on her elbows, her hair almost swinging into her banana shake. “Is she a student? What's she studying?”
Zack laughed heartily. “Is she ugly, or what?” Another slap, harder this time, from his sister.
“Zack! You're an ass.”
“'m not. I'm just wondering what pretty person would waste time in the library...” He paused, pondered and then acted sympathetically. “Oh, I'm talking to Sam “reading is breathing” Winchester here,” he laughed and Sam couldn't help the smile creeping from behind his thoughtful mask of indifference. Zack and Becky had always known how to draw him out.
The rest of the evening passed fast and with much laughing and – on Becky's side – giggling. The beer was good, the pretzels delicious and before he knew it the bar was emptying. Only a few obstinate rookies in the far corner and a young pair of lovers still sharing deep kisses dripping with goo.
The bar was emptying and Sam was surprised time had gone by so fast when he glimpsed at the neo-modern clock on the wall. Already way past midnight and besides him, Zack and Becky only a fewer others were left in the bar. Subtle as a car accident the waitress started wiping surfaces and putting the chair on the tables.
They paid, giving much more tip than the young woman deserved and left together. Keeping Zack steady was easier said than but finally they managed to get him into the backseat of a taxi, while he was singing “Row your boat” loud and enthusiastically.
“Thanks, Sam,” Becky grunted and motioned to the waiting vehicle. “You wanna take a ride with us? We could make a little detour.”
“No,” Sam replied, smiling. “I want to walk, get my head clear.” He grinned. “Plus, I'd like to avoid Brad.”
He was expecting Brad, his room mate, back and he hoped to avoid him as long as possible. May be, if he took a little detour himself, Brad would already be sleeping, giving Sam the chance to control the salt lines and sigils before going to bed.
His dorm room was only a few blocks away and the night was warm enough for crickets to give an extra concert, even though he was in the middle of Palo Alto. The air was fresh and smelled a little like rain even though the sky was clear and encrusted with stars. Again and again his gaze found his way up and, for just a tiny second, Sam was wondering where Dean was. Whether his brother was looking at the same stars. The echo of his steps bounced back from the high walls of the surrounding buildings, sound asleep like silent sentinels watching his every move and he willed his steps to slow when an unpleasant feeling of being watched started to blossom at the base of his neck. A cold shiver ran over his back and he stopped completely, listening intently for anything that wasn't his breath or the adrenaline spiked blood rushing in his ears.
That's when it hit.
It did not come fast or surprising, more like a Tsunami. One he could already see in the far distance, rolling towards him with untameable power. A pain, rolling slowly against his temples, pressing against the outer walls of his skull, like it demanded entry into his head until the bones seemed to crackle beneath it. Sam felt something crash against his knee only partly aware that it was the other way around and it was actually his knee crashing into the concrete. His head was splitting, it was the only explanation for the unbearable agony and when he tried to open his eyes find something to lean against... he found Jessica standing a few feet away from him.
His movements felt sluggish, like he was underwater and he was afraid of drowning when he opened his mouth to call her by her name.
What was she doing here? She was saying something and he tried so hard to understand, so hard he swore he could feel his ears bleeding.
Suddenly, a wave of heat swallowed the pains of his tortured body and there was nothing but read and fiery flames, eating away at the peeling wallpaper and dripping the glowing pieces on the neatly made-up bed, nibbling on the thin edges of the kitten poster. He wanted to scream when he saw her in the middle of it, her face, round as her eyes that were open so wide he was afraid they would be falling out of her face. When he finally found back the coordination of his tongue, he opened his mouth to scream her name but before he even had the chance to voice flames were shooting down his throat, burning their way through flesh and tissue and oesophagus and lung. Hacking coughs wrecked his body and before he mercifully lost consciousness, her fingers reached his skin, caressing gently, and he could hear her whisper faintly...
“Find me!”
oOoOo
When he came around, it was neither quickly nor comfortably.
“He's starting to wake,” a familiar voice said and he wanted to tell it to stop screaming so freaking loudly.
“Maybe we shouldn't have moved him,” another voice said. Opening his eyes was tricky with the harsh light of the lantern hanging above him like the moon had fallen and he closed them again, when spikes of pain seemed to enter his skull right through his eyes.
“Sam? Sam? Can you hear me?” A hand was touching his shoulder and for just a tiny moment he thought it must have been Jessica.
“Are you okay?” The second voice asked and Sam finally put two and two together, recognizing the siblings.
“If he's okay?” Becky hissed unbelievingly. “What kind of a question is that?” Blessedly she had lowered her voice when she could see the pain in Sam mirrored in his grimace.
“I'm okay,” Sam managed to croak hoarsely even though his head still felt like a harness racing track during a race.
Zack actually cackled amused. “See?”
“You're not okay. It's four in the morning and you're lying in the middle of the street.”
Gently, she pressed against his shoulder, probably just to keep him lying still since he struggled to get his body upright.
“We'll call an ambulance. You should...”
“No!” It came out harsher than he had intended and immediately he felt guilty when she looked at him troubled. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just... I'm okay, honestly.” To assure her he showed her his hands, indicating that he could already sit on his own. “Just give me a minute.” Minute was good. Sitting wasn't the problem. Getting up on the other hand, proved to be a little bit more complicated.
His head was spinning like mad and if he puked the feeble contents of his stomach in front of his friend's shoes he'd have a hard time claiming to be fine. Not that it was easy without the puking.
“Are you sure?” Becky wanted to know, her hand still supportingly on his biceps.
“Give the man some space.” Zack sounded a little peeved now. “Maybe he just had too much beer?”
“He had three Schweppes and a Summer Salad, for fucks sake.”
“I'd get sick after that much crap, too.”
“Hey!” On shaky legs and with the help of Becky he got back on his feet. “I'm really glad I'm the reason for your affectionate disagreement here but...” He swallowed, hoping his face wasn't as green as it should be by the dizziness he felt. “I'm really okay. And I'd like to get home now.”
“We'll bring you home,” Zack stated and it was obvious neither nor Becky would allow any objections.
Since he didn't trust his voice, Sam just nodded, regretting it at once when the headache felt like his brain was being shaken in his skull like the olive in a Martini. He must have swayed again because a second later Zack and Becky where on each his sides, steadying him when his knees thought it was funny to buckle for a change.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Sam wondered after he had taken a few steps without wanting to die.
“Brad lost his keys and wanted to know where you were,” explained Becky. “When you didn't get home after one more hour we decided to look for you.”
“Nice.” Sam smiled, feeling utterly embarrassed and grateful at the same time. “Sorry for that.”
“Are you kidding?” Her tone was disbelieving. “Stop saying sorry, dumbass. That's what friends are for.” When she realized she had said something really cheesy she added sheepishly. “Maybe you really should start drinking beer. Then, at least, you'd have a reason to drop dead and not want a doctor.
The fresh air and the slow walk made his head clear up a little even though the headache was still raging furiously. He wanted nothing more than a bed, some aspirin and three days of sleep.
They had almost reached the street his was living in when Becky asked the question he was thinking about the whole time.
“Can you tell us what happened? Were you... attacked or something?”
He shook his head, which... bad move by the way. “No, I must have tripped or something.”
Zack snorted “Of course, man.” and clapped him on his back when they finally climbed the step of the staircase. “Tell us all you want but don't be mad with us when you drop dead with a brain tumour or something.”
“Zack!”
“What? It happens.”
“It's not a brain tumour!” Becky replied heatedly. Then, turning towards Sam while steering him gently through the dark hallway: “You don't have a brain tumour, do you?”
It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. “No! No tumour.” Carefully, his fingers were searching for the keys in his pocket when he produced the notes he was carrying about with him. It fell on the floor and while Sam finally found the keys to open the door, Becky leaned down to pick up the printed sheet of paper.
“What's this?” Before Sam could take it from her hands she had unfolded it and read through the notes, resting on the grainy picture of Steve Benton. “Did you know him?”
“No.” He had some difficulties finding the hole for the keys and resisted leaning his forehead against the cool, wooden door. “Just a... project of mine.”
Finally, the door gave way and he stumbled inside, followed by Zack and Becky. Flinching, he covered his eyes when the blonde switched on the light and quickly mumbled “Sorry” before turning it off again.
“It's okay. I'm just tired.” The room was dark except for the dim light of the outside lanterns. The greyish gleaming though was enough to show him the direct path to his bed where he collapsed in an exhausted heap on the unmade covers.
“Okay, Sam.” Becky had come closer again and, thoughtful as she was, put the cordless phone next to his head on the bedside table. “Call if you need anything, got it?”
Sam wanted to say another sorry or thank you but his tongue had gone ahead and was evidently already sleeping. For a moment, he felt like panicking, because he couldn't move, his limbs heavy like they were attached to lead. A tired sensation washed over him and he was even to tired to moan when another wave of pain made his head spin. The door was closing behind Becky and he could hear her talking in the hallway, her voice getting further and further away while another sensation was calling for his attention.
It was pure willpower that made him turn on his back and he stared straight at the ceiling – grey and desolate – and the small body of a blonde girl with the cutest dimples pinned against it.
Chapter 4
Sunday morning woke him late with loud irregular snoring. With a moan he unsuccessfully tried to suppress he sat up and put his aching head between his hands.
First, some aspirin. Second, glass of water. Third,...
Another snore made him cringe and he discovered Brad lying in the bed across the room, arms and legs flung wildly around him like he wanted to cover as much space as possible. Quietly, as not to disturb his room mate, he went to the bathroom to splash some cold water in his face, banishing the last fuzzy thread of sleep from his mind. It felt wonderful and he promptly stuck his whole head beneath the cold jet of water, relishing in its refreshing quality even though it was not able to banish the memories of the strange dream that still clung to his waking mind like limpets.
Something with a girl... Jessica. Jessica and fire and...
His thinking process was abruptly interrupted by a careful knocking and a female voice.
“Sam? You awake?”
Becky. Groaning, Sam straightened up and hurried to open the unlocked door (Dean would have his head for this one) before she could wake up Brad, whose booming voice was not something Sam wanted to be confronted with on a fucked up morning like this.
“I'm coming,” Sam hastened to say before Becky could worry and scream for the national guard when he didn't reply immediately.
“Hey,” She greeted him with a sheepish, guilty smile as if she had guessed she was not that welcome so early in the morning. “Sorry, I was just worried you had died of an aneurysm in your sleep.” She blushed, badly, and Sam had to grin despite his aching head and the bad mood he found himself into. Part of it was because she was carrying cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a greasy bag probably filled with doughnuts in the other.
“It's alright,” He assured. “Just gimme a minute and I'm coming out.”
Understanding, she nodded her head and stepped away from the door before Sam closed it again to quickly gather some fresh clothes (he still was wearing the ones from last night) and putting them on.
Grateful, he took the cup of coffee from her hands when he came out again and together they stepped on the pavement, silence between them while they sipped on their coffees deep in thoughts.
“You okay?” Becky asked finally and startled Sam out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, why?”
“How can you be so smart and still ask these stupid questions?”
Sam grinned a little lopsided and hid his face behind the Styrofoam.
“Sorry.” He added. “I'm alright, honestly. No need to worry. Just a ...migraine or something.”
“Look, maybe...”
“Don't worry,” he interrupted her speech which he knew would at some point turn into a “I'm older than you and my Mom is a doctor” tirade which he so had no desire to listen to. He had too much experience with it and even though he really appreciated the concern of his friend, he felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
For a Sunday morning it was still pretty early and they did not encounter anyone else except for a few young teenagers who were earning a little additional pocket money by distributing the local Sunday Post. The heat was already beginning to rise and heat waves were visible over the small puddles of water that used to gather during the nights.
“I appreciate your concern, really, I do,” Sam begun. “But fainting is embarrassing enough. No need to rub salt in it, okay?”
He was glad he had made her smile.
“I was thinking about the guy,” Becky started to say and Sam gave her a look.
“Don't tell me you want to share girl-stories with me here. I know I have long hair and I really regret having read Pride and Prejudices but...”
The slap on his biceps was expected and he felt oddly pleased afterwards.
“Sam Winchester, you're such an idiot sometimes, you know that?” The meaning of this was pretty obvious but at the least the whole issue was settled for the near future. “I'm talking about the picture of this guy you had in your pocket last night.”
For a moment Sam had a hard time remembering anything from the night before he realized she was talking about the dead quarterback in the library.
“Steve Benton?”
“The one and only.” They had to step aside when the bell of a bike rang out behind them and they were passed by a young boy, not older than 14 with a stack of newspaper on his luggage rack.
She lowered her voice a little when she spoke on.
“I knew him.”
“You did?”
This time, his curiosity was real. “How so?”
Before she replied, she puffed her breath against her coffee even though it was nearly cold already.
“I knew his girlfriend, Jess.”
Jess? He almost chocked on a mouthful of coffee and coughed hoarsely to stem the scratch in his throat.
“Jess? As in Jessica?”
“Well, yeah? Why?”
If there was something Sam didn't believe in, it was coincidence. But Jessica was a common name. Common enough to meet another mysterious girl by the name of Jessica in the library. The one, Steve Benton died in a fire in.
“Uhm...” He stumbled over his words. “What ... did she look like?”
“Why?” Becky grinned mischievously. “You want to date her?”
“Just curious.” He shrugged his shoulder, seemingly unburdened.
“She was pretty, I guess. Blond. Really nice and always smiling. I liked her a lot.”
They rounded a corner, the pavement now a little more busy since they were nearing the centre of Palo Alto.
“What do you mean? You liked her?”
The words of the article came into his mind: According to friends and family he was in company of his girlfriend, whose remains have not been found.
But this was impossible. He had seen her, spoken to her. Or maybe not. Maybe it really was just another blond girl by the name Jess who happened to visit the library a lot. That was a good explanation. It had to be. Because the Jessica he had met was real. She was as real as he was, vivid and funny and the way her hair sparkled in the light... Had he touched her? Had felt the heartbeat beneath his fingers? He couldn't recall it but it didn't have to mean anything.
“Find me!” Her challenging voice rang clearly in his memories and he shook his head, as if trying to put his thoughts in their right places but it was impossible to shake of the apprehension.
It was illogical, his mind one lump of muddled thoughts. It was impossible. Period.
Jessica was alive.
“Actually, no one knows? She disappeared the night Steve was killed in the fire.”
Becky seemed slightly troubled by this fact and Sam could hear it in her voice, feeling the same confusion and uncertainty. She must have cared about her even if it was just a distant friendship connecting the two woman.
“I'm sure she's okay.” He tried to reassure her even though he had trouble convincing himself. “Maybe... she just needs time and took of. He was her boyfriend after all?”
His tactic proved to be successful. He'd always had a knack for talking with people, taking away their anger and pain and giving them hope. He wondered how Dean and his father were faring without him in this matter. Presumably, they either angered the victims or scared them even further into a state of shock. Both of them were really useful if it was about killing or burning something. As long as it didn't involve talking, they were fine.
They had to sidestep one of the teenagers bikes which the parked across the walking line and Sam's gaze fell on the headline. The paper still smelled sharply like printing ink and the words: “Another mysterious Fire in the Stanford Library – Fire Department has trouble keeping it under control”
Putting the almost empty cup of coffee aside on a staircase railing he grabbed for the topmost sheet and ripped it from its secure hold. The boy yelled something behind his back which Sam ignored as much as Becky's questioning “Sam? What's wrong?”
“We gotta go to the library.”
“What? Sam, it's Sunday. The library is closed.” Irritated, she took the newspaper from his hands and quickly noticed what had Sam so agitated when the headline sprang into her line of view.
“A fire?” She asked to no one in particular. “That's … odd.”
Understatement of the year. There were no such things as oddities in the life of a Winchester, only self-heralding catastrophes. For just a second he closed his eyes to calm his nerves but apart from the ruthless return of his headaches all he could see was Jessica, swimming in an ocean of flames.
“Sam!” He could feel her hand against his biceps and when he opened his eyes again, he saw himself confronted with his friend's worried face. “Sam, you're scaring me. Is it your head? Should I...” Already she was fumbling for her mobile phone when Sam pushed away her steadying hand.
“No, I'm okay. I just … really need to get to the library. I know, you don't have to understand this but it might be important.”
He did not look back to see if she was following him when his long steps carried him into the direction they had just come from.
Already from a distance the hustle and bustle from the still working firemen was audible and when they finally could see the large entrance hall it was widely roped in by a screaming red-yellow plastic band. A few people were standing on along the fenced area, busily clicking their handys and black berrys. Some of them obviously came from news channels and with serious faces and professional clothes they were talking vividly into the cameras.
“... the night guard seems to have survived without any further injuries...” A young woman, who was looking much older than she really was with all the make up in her face, addressed to the camera. “According to his statement, someone left the scene but a thorough search did not produce any evidence for a fire accelerant. The police is still searching for the source of the fire. All we know, it started exactly at the same place, where another fire, barely three months ago, took the life a young student, Steve Benton. As soon as we get new information, we'll be the one to give it to you. This is KC-TV, I'm Belinda Rom...”
“You think someone was hurt again?” Becky asked quietly.
“I don't know.” Sam replied, trying to get as much information as possible out of the scenario.
Three ambulances were standing within the fenced area, the paramedics were standing in little groups, obviously not needed momentarily. Firemen and a few policemen, plain-clothed and in uniform where pouring in and out of the building. Wads of smoke were still rising lazily into the air from at least a dozen windows in the left wing of the building, which Sam remembered had been under renovation for at least a few months now.
“I have to get in there,” Sam stated matter of factly and a rush of adrenaline shot through his veins, reminding him of good times, dangerous times... lost times.
“You have to … what?” She hissed, lowering her voice at the last word. “Are you insane?”
It was as if he hadn't even heard her question and without waiting for her reaction he walked away, slowly. His hands hidden in his pocket, his head bowed to look as unsuspicious as possible... which was easier said than done when you were more than 6'' tall and followed by an almost hysterical young woman trying to hold you back and thereby as successful as a children's tricycle trying to stop an oncoming train.
“Sam! Wait!”
Already around the next corner she had to run to jog up with him and tried to hold him back by hanging herself on his arms. He turned his head, his eyes widening in surprise and he finally realized she was still there.
“You don't understand,” He begun, shaking off her fingers. “I...” He halted abruptly, his eyes locked on one the windows, from which smoke was coming in thick, dark clouds. The smell was much more noticeable on this side of the building due to the wind sending it their way.
“Sam...” She followed his gaze and... “Jess?”
Even though the windows were barely visible, a figure was prone behind the billowing dirt rising high. A blonde girl, seemingly undisturbed by the chaos around her.
“Jess!” Becky screamed horrified and looked around for help, any kind of help. But apparently every action was at the main entrance of the building and except for some firemen who where busy extinguishing some left over flames through a lower window no one was even aware of her waving arms hysterically.
Sam, though, had already stormed away, snaking his way through the bustling firemen who weren't fast enough to hold him back.
“Stop!” One of them screamed. Another scream followed and finally Becky's feet moved.
“Hey! You can't go in there!” A muffled voice shouted next to her but she ignored it, until one of the men managed to wrap his arms around her stomach, holding her back. She struggled, arm and legs flailing and all she could see was the black hole Sam had disappeared into.
“There was someone in there!” Her own words sounded strange, like she was watching herself in a tv-show. “There's someone in there!” She repeated, voice cracking , pointing towards the window where she had seen Jess. “Jess! She was in there. Sam? Sam...!”
Her struggles were getting weaker, her mind trying to accommodate to the situation that had so fast and so drastically changed.
“Sam,” she whispered numbly. “No.”
oOoOo
He entered another world.
Leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the firemen he had stepped over the threshold into a bubble of smoke and heat and burning. Immediately, his eyes began to water. His throat hurt after the first breath and he lifted his shirt over his mouth to ease the scratchy sensation.
Squinting against the murky quality of sight he felt his way along the scalding walls. The wallpaper was crumbling under his fingertips and he stumbled when his right foot hit the bottom step, groping blindly for the handrail. He found it and started pulling himself upwards, the thought of Jessica driving him forwards.
Once, he tried to call out her name but it felt as if flames were shooting down his throat and he coughed. Muted voices reached him, strangers, probably firemen who were trying to save what could be saved in the ruins of the wing. They evidently could not see him through the thick smoke, otherwise they'd have grabbed him long ago and dragged him out of here.
It was stupid, it was insane, suicidal even. Dean would have his head if he ever found out. Deep inside he knew it. However, deep inside he also knew, he had to do it. Jess was here and somehow... she had called to him.
It felt like hours until he finally reached the top of the stairs and with his eyes closed he conjured the path he had taken until now, trying to figure out in which direction the room would be he had seen Jess in. Whether it was the sun outside or something else that penetrated the smother he didn't know but since his orientation was lost on him, he walked towards it, right arm stretched out in front of him while the other pressed against the cloth over his mouth. Every breath sent spikes of down pain down his throat now and he held his breath until the pressure in his chest was too much and he doubled over, coughing and gagging.
“Jess!” He yelled between two breaths. His hand met nothing and he seemed to have reached another room. The door, oddly hanging in its hinges, was flung aside and he finally could make out the outlines of a window. Hopefully the one where...
“Sam.” Her voice, clear and melodic as church bells on springy Sunday morning sounded close to his ear and he spun around, black dots dancing in front of his eyes. A dizzy spell almost sent him to his knees.
“We have to... get... out?”
His sight blurred, eyes tearing and he was afraid of just fainting.
“You found me?” she sighed, as if she was surprised and pleased at the same time. A comfortable feeling, cool and soothing on his sizzling skin engulfed him when she reached out for him. Her fingers on his cheek. He could feel soot clogging his nostrils but all he notices was the scent of her shampoo, lavender and strawberry … and then there was something else, like rotten eggs and burning flesh and … sulphur.
A tinnitus filled his head, almost drowning her words. He could feel his pain and panic shrivel away like snowflakes in the sun and a light-headedness was finally taking away all his awareness. With it the image of Jess standing in front of him, burning up...
“This is how it was supposed to end. Crash and burn,” She whispered and her voice filled his mind, pushed the rest of the world into a far distance. “This is where you travel another road.”
… and she was smiling, full of love, while the skin in her face was blistering, shivelling and peeling like the wallpaper he had ripped from the walls on his way to save her.
“No! Jess!” There was nothing left in him and his vocal cords denied their service. She was gone. And when smoke lifted like fog in an autumn morning his gaze fell on blackened bones and scorched ground.
He felt like floating... or falling. And gagging his lungs out at the same time. He couldn't decide. There were hands on his face, strong ones, wearing rough gloves. He could hear someone shout his name and it wasn't Jess, couldn't be, not anymore. Even though it was muffled, like spoken behind a mask, it was booming, accusing and endlessly annoying.
He tried to push the hands away.
“Stop it, Sammy! It's me. I'm getting you out of here.”
“Jess?” He wanted to say it out loud but was pretty sure his lips had not moved.
Someone hoisted him upwards but his knees buckled, unable to hold his weight.
“Help, someone help!”
Epilogue
Waking up was an art Sam had never really brought to perfection. He tended to wake up slowly, cautiously, carefully. One step after the other. Unlike Dean and his father. No “flip the switch and the light is on”. At first his thoughts hung behind as if they still weren't awake enough to keep up with his conscience. Their toes still dipped into a dream that was fading like a cloud on a windy day. He remembered Jess and cookies and a fire. And a strange man with yellow eyes.
Dull voices floated around his head like mosquitoes but it seemed too much effort to wave them away. He knew them, the voices. Knew them well enough to feel safe and he let himself fall back into the darkness.
The next time he woke it was either caused by the pain in his chest or by the voice. He wasn't so sure but in his state of mind it was pretty unimportant, anyway. An unpleasant phlegm lay upon him, making his thoughts process slow and lethargic and it took him a while to realize that his eyes were open.
“Look who's gracing us with his presence?”
A face leaned into his line of view, smiling shyly, and for a moment it looked like Jess but it quickly turned into Becky, who was hastily blinking away the tears in her eyes. When Sam lifted his left hand to unconsciously wipe them away she chuckled mildly and held his fingers between her palms.
“You're such an idiot, Sam Winchester,” she said lovingly.
“Hey, that's my line.” It was the voice that made the last cobwebs in Sam's mind disappear and he struggled to lift his head and look at the person standing in the background, looking casual on the outside but Sam could see deeper. Could read the unnumbered layers of one Dean Winchester who was wrapped more tightly than an onion. The small crest between his eyebrows, the slightly pinched tension in his lips. The worried look in his eyes.
“Don't talk!” Becky ordered when Sam opened his mouth. “The doctor said you inhaled a lot of smoke.” Her eyes widened a little and she glanced at Dean, who had come nearer, his hand now on the rail of the bed. “I should go get the doctor.”
Dean nodded and waited until she had left the room before pulling up a chair and sitting on it, elbows resting next to Sam's left arm.
“You're such an idiot, Sammy,” he said ... and smiled. “What were you thinking?”
Sam licked his lips, wanted to give his voice another try but Dean stopped him.
“What's there not to understand with “Don't talk”! What the hell have they been teaching you in that freaking college?”
He reached for the night stand and presented a small spoon with ice chips for which Sam could have kissed his brother. They tasted like truffles, Sam decided. Of course he had never eaten truffles before but it was the most delicious thing ever. They melted on his tongue so fast he was afraid he was still caught in a fire.
He parted his lips and mouthed one word. Jess.
“Jess? As in Jessica Moore?” Dean asked and when Sam's eyes widened the corner of his mouth twitched. “Your friend, Becky, told me.” Uncomfortably, he made a pause before asking. “You knew her?”
Past. As in Simple Past. Scary, how grammar could make his blood pressure go to the roof. The steady beeping of his heart monitor spiked for a few seconds and Dean was gently laying one hand against Sam's lower arm.
Then he shook his head. No, he hadn't known Jessica Moore. Had never met her and still remembered her smile, her sneaky sneakers, the way the light was forming little halos around her head.
Cookies and love and sulphur and death.
No, he hadn't known her and never would. Someone had made sure of that and still she had found a way to tell him something. To look for her, to find her.
Dean seemed to understand even though there was no chance in hell this all fucked up situation was making any sense, neither to him nor to his brother who had magically appeared out of nowhere to rescue his stupid ass. The thought must have been written all over his face because Dean's expression turned serious. Not that it was not serious before. Sam furrowed his brows. What? What is it?
“Nothing. Just get better, okay?”
Sam nodded but he couldn't rest. Not yet, there was something else... Turning his head he looked around the hospital room. It was a double and the other bed was not occupied for the moment even though it looked like someone had slept in it. Probably Dean.
“I found the notes,” Dean said conversationally. “You had them in you pocket.” Reaching for his back pocket he produced the folded paper, the one with Sam's notes and the news article about the dead footballer. Dean was a hunter, he had always know what he should be looking for.
“I've taken care of him,” he added, almost as a side note. “Stubborn son of bitch, that one.”
Dean was here and everything seemed to fall into places, everything seemed to get easier, the breathing, the thinking.
His eyelids drooped and he tried to keep them open. Didn't want to stop looking at Dean because if he fell asleep and woke again then maybe Dean would be gone. Maybe this was all just a weird dream. To make sure he turned to the ceiling, expecting to see flames and blond hair and a scared o-shaped mouth that he had never kissed. However, he was greeted by stark white walls, bleached, clean. Just a hospital.
“Sleep, Sammy!” It was an order and Sam followed.
oOoOo
The next time he woke it was easier and less fuzzy, even though his throat still hurt like the mother of all sore throats. Even before he was really awake, Becky told him in a rush “Dean has gone to get changed. He'll be back in an hour, tops” as if she had been instructed to assure him first thing that Dean would be back.
He blinked tiredly and Becky took it as understanding because a little bit calmer now she leaned back into her chair, putting away the book she had obviously been reading until now.
“How are you feeling?” She wanted to know but didn't come closer, hugging herself instead.
Sam just shrugged his shoulder a little, regretting it immediately when his sore chest complained with cramping.
“Stupid question, huh?”
Something was wrong, Sam could hear it in her voice, could read her body language and he stared at her, trying with all his might to ask with his eyes what his tongue could not.
“I'm sorry, Sam,” she finally sighed, quietly. “They found her. In the library.” She swallowed, as if trying to push down something bulky in her throat. “Steve and she must both have been in the library when the fire... They sometimes met there to... you know.” She smiled knowingly. “But... She was long dead when you... found her. Had been there for months and no one had known that she was even there. They just hadn't... searched thoroughly enough, I suppose.” Really, she was pretty good with it, sympathizing, delivering bad news that Sam had already known. Had known for a while without realizing it.
He blinked. It's okay.
“No, it's not. Jess is dead.” She sounded incredulous and he remembered, she had seen her too, standing in the window, waiting for him to come and get her.
There's so much he wanted to tell Becky, wanted to explain. But even if he had had the voice to do so he doubted the words would have passed his lips. So he remained mute and did not let his sorrow show, face impassive. They looked at each other, all the unsaid things between them like the smoke from the library. When Dean entered half an hour later he brought another kind of urgency with him and Sam had had enough from his secrecy.
“What's going on?” he croaked, using his voice for the first time and fuck, it hurt.
“You are not supposed to talk,” his brother mumbled but his heart wasn't in it. Something else was bothering him and in order to not irritate him anymore Sam looked at him pleadingly, which Dean replied with a meaningful glance at Becky, who was watching their exchange with growing agitation.
Sam, pursed his lips, meaning to say Whatever you wanna say you can say it in front of her.
To his surprise, Dean cleared his throat with much fussing. „Okay. Um…dad hasn’t been home in a few days... “
“And if your heart should melt away
No matter, I'll find you anyway”
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'A heart to hold you' by Keane