Hmm, I'm really into Supernatural at the minute, and I've had this in my head since August, when I finally got round to watching it x I really love Jess, so I wanted to write something about her x This'll probably be a two-shot so please read and review to tell me what you think and how I can improve for the next chapter x
At first, Jess had thought that there was nothing at all abnormal about Sam Winchester, except his height. She'd heard nothing but good things about him from everyone and when the opportunity for a conversation arose between them, she took it. She found that everyone had been right, and that to top it all off Sam was gorgeous and clearly interested in every word she said, in a way that was more than slightly flattering. Sure, guys had shown an interest in her before, but that was because she was blonde and a cheerleader and only seemed to accept dates from the ones that were more trouble than they were worth.
Sam Winchester, however, seemed like a pretty good guy.
So she asked to see him again later that night.
For a minute he looked shocked, as though it had never really happened before, but as good-looking as Sam was, that couldn't be true. It just didn't happen.
Either way, he agreed to meet her later at the pub.
(Later that night, she knew that she must've been wrong - he was the best date she'd ever had. In fact she was worried about how much practice he must've had, especially looking like that.)
When they'd started dating she'd noticed some endearing habits that she hadn't noticed before, and some that weren't quite so endearing.
Some she hardly noticed at all, like the way that his eyes would flick over a room and they way that he always ended up in a seat with his back to the wall and one eye on the door. The way that he walked, too silent.
The first time that she had jokingly barked out an order, he'd stiffened and his chin had lifted sharply before she felt the tension radiating from his body ebb away until he gave a small laugh and her a kiss on the cheek before walking away.
(She never told him that she'd noticed and she'd already worked out that he had some history of the military in his family.)
Sam never talked about his family, not even when the rest of the students were sitting in the common room sharing tales of the time that Zoë's brother had tripped into the Christmas tree or the birthday trip that he gone so horribly wrong because of James's mum's sense of direction. Sam never had a story like that to share, keeping his mouth firmly shut on all matter concerning relatives and family holidays.
Instead she treasured the brief slips in his guard, the time at Christmas that he'd smiled softly and told her that Dean would love this. She squirreled it away to find out who that name belonged to.
She pretended that the next time they kissed that his mouth didn't taste like the name.
The first time that they sleep with each other it's much like she'd thought it would be - they're getting a bit too carried away, but both of them are sober. She drags his shirt over his chest and feels him unbuttoning her blouse, is fingers brushing against skin like she is amde of glass, like she might break if he touches her for too long.
When she drags her fingernails up her chest she can feel the scars. Her hands pause slightly, over his chest, and she feels his spine straightening, so she rakes her nails further upwards and traces her tongue across the bullet wound in his shoulder.
She knows that he can be scary, having seen the darkness in his eyes when someone had attempted to mug the two of them when they'd been walking home after a date. He had been unarmed, and yet seemed far more dangerous than the cocky youth pointing the gun at them, and proved it as well.
It had only taken another incident like that, only this one in front of several of their college friends, to get the point across that the gentle giant was in no way gentle if provoked or threatened.
But Jess had never felt threatened, feeling the hands that she knows can hurt and feeling them holding her tighter until she feels like she could break, until she wishes she could.
It's not long after she works out that she loves him that they move in together. But no matter how much she loves him, the constant drawing of things she's never seen before on the wooden panels of the floor and the knives that she finds hidden under the bed and under the false bottoms of the bedside cabinet worry her, even if she reasons them away as protection and superstition.
She can't explain the way that he brings home whole bags of salt and lines them in the pantry or the way that she always finds traces of it on the floors when she hovers. It doesn't explain how he can speak perfect Latin, even though it's a dead language and no one speaks it anymore (she finds that out when she catches the title of one of his books, are attempts to open it and can't read more than the chapter titles). There is so much about Sam Winchester that is still a mystery, so much hidden under the surface. It is like looking into a lagoon, with all the shades of blue and getting lost in the depths.
Maybe that is why she likes him so much, that even though she still has layers of him to unwrap she still sees so much more than anyone else.