Sam sighs. Maybe he should tell Dean about his dreams. Not the ones he was having after Jessica died. Those have stopped since the last job, since they destroyed Bloody Mary. He still misses her, he still keeps his eyes closed a second after he wakes up to imagine that he's at home in his apartment, and she's lying next to him or already up and in the shower. He still aches every time he hears her favorite song on the radio. And part of him, he guesses, still feels guilty, like he should have warned her at least, but he knows really there was nothing he could have done. Dean was right about that. How could he have known that his dreams about Jess were going to come true? How could he have stopped them if he did?
Since he's accepted that, since he's seen how Charlie let the secret about her boyfriend's death eat her alive and almost kill her, Sam thinks that Jessica, at least, would want him to let go. She would want him to smile and get some sleep, and stop blaming himself for something he doesn't understand. It's not a coincidence, and it's definitely probably whatever killed Mom, back again. He's probably tied up in it too, somehow, but it's what they've known his whole life. It's not a lot more complicated.
Sam turns over in bed. He doesn't have to tell Dean. This will be something he keeps to himself. Seeing one vision of someone close to you die doesn't mean anything is inherently supernatural about you. Sam knows that much for sure. Dean would only freak out if Sam told him. They would probably go right back to California, and Sam is ready to leave that behind him, at least for now. Sam sighs again and he falls asleep.
He doesn't dream of Jess anymore, but he doesn't exactly sleep well either. He wakes up in the middle of the night, in their shitty little motel room, and rolls over to check the time. 3:56 am. Sam sighs. He sits up and rubs his eyes, glancing over at Dean, asleep on top of the covers, his mouth hanging open, his hand clasped tight around the knife he keeps under his pillow. He's definitely drooling a little, fast asleep, dreaming about whatever it is that Dean dreamt about. Probably burgers and girls or something. Sam runs a hand through his hair and stands up to use the bathroom. He tries to shut the door as quietly as possible behind him, but the hinges are old and squeak loudly as he closes the bathroom door.
When he comes out of the bathroom, Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, completely disgruntled, staring at the green lights on the clock. He looks up blearily at Sam as he comes back into the room.
"Dude," Dean yawns. "What're you doing awake?"
"Had to pee," Sam grunts, sitting on his bed, facing Dean. Their knees are almost touching.
Dean yawns again and nods. He lays back down, burying his face in the pillow.
"Hey, Dean," Sam says suddenly. Dean grumbles into his pillow. "Um…I think I want to tell you about Jessica," he says. Dean doesn't say anything. He might already be asleep, but Sam isn't sure. Sam isn't even sure if he wants to tell Dean, and he doesn't even know where to start.
Finally Dean picks his head up and glares at Sam. "You gonna tell me or what, Sammy?" He drops his head back down, and it makes a thud when it hits the knife under the pillow.
"Uh…" Sam clears his throat. "Well. I just…you said you wanted to know. It's no big deal, but I…I was having dreams about Jessica."
Dean chuckles. "Me too," Sam thinks he hears from the pillow.
"Ew." Dean laughs harder. "Be serious, Dean." Dean stops laughing. Sam sighs. "I mean about her death."
"I know that, Sammy," Dean growls. "Who'd ya think was sharin' a room with you all this time?"
"No," Sam says. His mouth is suddenly very dry. "I mean…before it happened."
The air in the room goes suddenly very still. Sam is very interested in some questionable stains in the carpet, and a few loose threads on Dean's comforter. Very slowly, Dean pushes himself back up to a sitting position and looks Sam in the eye.
"That's spooky," he says seriously. He cracks a smile. The air in the room starts moving. "It's spooky, but it's over now, huh? You haven't had any other visions, have you? In your whole life? It sucks, but it was just because it was Jessica, and because it was Mom. It's not because you're spooky."
Sam sighs. "I guess."
"Is that your big secret?" Dean asks. He's already laying down again. He's already mostly asleep. "That's not a big secret. A big secret would be like if you knew exactly who was gonna kill her and you didn't stick a knife in their gut before they could do it. And not based off of something as dumb as bad dreams. C'mon, Sammy, you know better."
Sam sighs. He lays down too, facing towards Dean's bed. "I guess," he agrees, closing his eyes. "I guess."
4:12 am. Sam falls asleep. He doesn't wake up until Dean shakes him awake the next morning. He doesn't dream of Jessica.
A/N: A fic? On time ? From moi ?