Title: Beautiful Nightmare
Author: twilight
Rated: R
Summary: If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what mom looked like.
Notes: Originally written for the Summer of Sammy Love 2010 Challenge. I chose the Pilot episode.
Feedback: Always welcome
Hey, it's me. It's about 10:20, Saturday night. I just wanted to check in and make sure you're doing okay…you know I just worry about you, babe. It's just, you left so suddenly and I…well I'm worried is all. So call soon, ok? I love you.
The sweet sound of Jess' soft voice slowly faded away from his subconscious, as early morning light pressed against his closed eyes and Sam drew a deep and even breath in through his nose, while stretching out his long legs, feeling the beginnings of a slight pounding behind his right eye. He suddenly turned onto his back, bed springs creaking, reaching over to feel the empty spot beside him in his and Jess' bed.
His eyes popped open as he automatically scanned the room, finally landing on the bedside clock when he found no threat.
Eight-ten in the morning and Jess was already up.
He could hear her puttering around in the bathroom; hear her humming softly to herself as the shower came on. So he closed his eyes again, settling into the warm blankets, snuggling deeper, knowing that neither of them had any classes this morning or anywhere to be. Nothing more pressing to do but to make coffee and pancakes and see if the results of his law school admission test were in…but he didn't want to think about that yet, not when he could, not when he could go…back…to…
The water was still running; he could hear it pounding in the background, or maybe that was his head, he wasn't sure. It was dark, or maybe his eyes were closed, but he didn't think he could open them if they were. He listened for a minute, trying to figure out where he was and what was happening.
He couldn't hear Jess humming anymore, or feel the warm blankets around him, even though he was hot and his chest felt tight, like someone was sitting on him and the stench of smoke filled his nostrils.
Something was dripping on him, hitting his face, wet and warm and he tried to turn away, to wipe it off and then his eyes were opening and he knew that he was laying in his bed, in his and Jess' bed and the shower was on, but Jess wasn't in there.
She was on the ceiling, right above him, blond hair fanned out around her head. Her pure white night gown was torn and stained crimson where her blood flowed freely, dripping from her belly and splattering him and the bed clothes below, one leg bent to the side at her knee.
Her mouth was parted and her pale lips moved, but he couldn't hear her, no words left her mouth and he would know because the room was so deathly silent he couldn't even hear his own air in his lungs, but maybe that was because he wasn't breathing. He wanted to scream out his denial, wanted to yell out her name, but he couldn't even pull any oxygen into his lungs.
Then he saw her eyes. There was something not right about her eyes, but Sam couldn't think or do or act.
He knew what was coming next.
This was how his mom had died. Dad had told him…not in so many words, but Dean had…eventually.
And Sam knew, in that moment, he was dreaming.
Jess was in the shower and he had fallen back to sleep and any minute now he would wake up.
He tried to close his eyes, to take in a deep breath, to turn away, but he stayed rooted to the spot, helpless as hell fire spawned to life, licking at the ceiling, then consuming Jess' flesh in an inferno and then Sam was moving. Moving and screaming out his denial, heart beating so hard in his chest it hurt and then all at once he was enclosed in arms, embraced in gentle touches and soothing kisses and Jess was there, wet body pressed tight against his heaving back.
Minutes later, when he finally opened his eyes, he was sitting up on their bed, twisted in the blankets and sheets, sweat pouring from his hair, dripping down his back and chest in rivets and he was shaking so hard Jess had to keep adjusting her hold around him, but she was there, right there with him and he reached out and pulled her close, not caring that she was only wrapped in a towel and her hair was dripping wet.
She was still mumbling or humming, just whispering nonsense to him until he felt like he could let her go a little, until his heart stop beating so hard and he could breathe. "I'm sorry," he said, not really sure why.
"Don't be," she told him and he squeezed her again, loving her even more. Because she knew, knew that Sam had lost his mom when he was a baby and in a few days that anniversary would be rolling around, even if he never really talked about it or his family…that didn't matter to Jess. "Come on," she pulled on his arm, untangling him from the sheets, kissing his forehead and wiping his damp cheeks, hugging him close to her. "It's only ten till nine. Plenty of time for you to make me pancakes."
His laugh was still a little fragile, but the heaviness in his chest was getting better. And she only said it because she knew it would make him laugh.
He might be good at a lot of things, but cooking wasn't one of them. On one of their first dates a few years ago he tried to make her meatloaf and mashed potatoes with red gravy from an old recipe card he had found tucked in a pocket of his dad's wallet. He carried it around with him for awhile before finally making a photocopy and putting the original back. He never knew whose recipe it was, even though he suspected it was his mom's and maybe even passed down from hers, but he never really quite ever worked up the nerve to ask.
Too bad he burned it around the edges and the mashed potatoes were so thick they could have spackled the walls with them, but Jess…she ate it anyway and the next weekend, she asked for the recipe and made it for Sam and now, when Sam's nervous about something or feeling down or it's a special occasion, she makes him meatloaf from a recipe that may or may not be his mom's, but that doesn't matter. What matters is she does it because she loved Sam.
Jess finally pushed back from him as his heart finally settled, sliding off the bed and rewrapping the towel around her, giving him a quick glimpse at something else he loved about her. She scooped a smaller towel up off the floor that was probably wrapped around her head and for the first time Sam sees the puddles of water and wet footprints leading from the bathroom. She used the smaller towel to mop up the mess and his heart does a little flutter-flip when he thinks about what she must have been thinking when she heard him scream her name, how she must have been scared when she ran from the shower, leaving it on, barely taking the time to grab a towel and then finding him hysterical on the bed, yet he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed.
She pulled on some boy shorts and one of his old tees, using her bath towel to briskly dry her wet and tangled hair. "I picked some fresh blueberries up at Pete's Pecks…or do you want chocolate chip?"
Sam watched as she sat in front of her thrift store found vanity and began to pick out the knots in her hair, the nightmare fading as fast as the tangles on her beautiful head. When he didn't answer her she frowned at him in the mirror. "You okay, babe?"
He nodded, knowing that he would be. He had his whole life before him and he knew he wanted Jess to be apart of it forever. So what was he waiting for? Today, after breakfast he was going to call Brady and they were going to Cutler's to look at rings.
"Never better," he told her and he meant it. Sliding off the bed, he dropped a kiss on her damp hair before heading to the bathroom for his own shower, the nightmare almost forgotten.
He missed not having a mom, but not his mom, because he never really even knew her. If he didn't have the picture of his mom and dad on his dresser, he wouldn't even know what she looked like.
When he was little, he would cry and ask why he didn't have a mommy and when he got older he stopped asking and just hated being different. When he was old enough to be told what really happened, after he found out what was really out there in the dark, he was just scared.
Scared for his dad and scared for Dean, but mostly scared for him.
Not for his safety, like with his dad and brother, but with relationships. Dean never had a problem finding girls and then losing them again, but that's not what he wanted.
Sam wanted to find not just someone, but the one.
And when Brady had introduced him to Jess, he worried that he might do or say something to screw it up.
Then once they had been together for awhile he worried that she would realize she could do better.
When they got a little more serious, he worried that he would somehow hurt her.
What if she found out about what he used to be?
What if she asked too many questions he couldn't answer?
And when they moved in together a couple years ago he really started to worry.
What if she asked about things he couldn't explain? What if she found the knife or any other small weapons he had stashed around the house and what if…what if the time came that he couldn't protect her?
His dad couldn't protect his mom…so maybe he wouldn't be able to protect the woman he really loved either.
Those were usually the thoughts that chased him down to sleep, so he wasn't surprised when he jerked awake, gulping for air, looking around the living room for Jess.
He could hear her in the bedroom and relief shuddered through him, even though he couldn't really remember much of what he was dreaming. Only a strange tightness in his chest and the stench of smoke in his nose lingered and a strong sense of sadness suddenly overcame him, tears pressed at his eyes until Jess yelled, "Sam? Come on, babe…get ready."
Ready?
He looked down at himself, wiping at his eyes, getting more then sleep from the creases.
He was fully dressed, sitting on the sofa, but at first he couldn't remember why he would be getting ready. Lifting his arm and checking his watch, he saw that it was only ten after eight and then he remembered. They were invited to Becky and Zach's Halloween party.
"Sam…get a move on, will ya…"
Jess knew he didn't like Halloween, but not really why.
"We were supposed to be there like fifteen minutes ago."
And he never intended to tell her.
"Sam, you coming or what?"
He pulled himself up off the couch, shaking off the half remembered dream, finding Jess in their bedroom dressed like a naughty nurse, so maybe he didn't hate ieverything/i about Halloween.
But he tried to get out of it anyway, asking "Do I have to?"
"Yes," she smirked, probably knowing exactly what he was thinking. "It'll be fun. And where's your costume?"
It was a running joke because Jess could be a naughty nurse or Raggedy Ann or Sam's favorite, an angel, but Sam was always Sam, no costumes, no monsters, no masks.
The party was loud and the booze was flowing and things seemed off somehow. Jess was still Jess and Bryan was still plying Sam and Jess with shots and talking about 80's sitcoms, but Sam's chest hurt, his heart felt funny and beat weird in his chest for a few minutes.
Jess was telling him how proud she was of him and that he was going to get a full ride next year, because he had an interview on Monday…
All right, I'll go…I'll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here.
"Crash and Burn." Jess said, smiling at him, leaning in for a kiss.
And then he jerked awake.
Jess was lying next to him, mumbling softly in her sleep and Sam's heart was beating way to fast.
He looked around their room, but saw nothing out of place, didn't know what had woken him or what he had been dreaming about but knew that his head hurt.
Something shuffled and bumped in the other room, putting all his senses on high alert. He crept from the bed, sliding around the doorframe with his back to the bedroom, noting the open window that he knew was closed and locked when he had gone to bed.
A strange foreboding swept over him and he had a strong urge to get back into his bed, but he moved forward when he saw a shadow sweep across the living room doorway.
With each step he took, the pounding in his chest increased, his heart fluttered against his rib cage and sputtered like it might decide to stop until he finally reached the doorway.
He waited at the threshold, waited to see what might await him if he chose not to cross into the other room and then he heard someone talking.
"Sam?" Jess called, turning on a light switch in the other room.
That got him moving, but then he found himself answering from the living room, "Jess, hey…Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."
He didn't know how he had gotten there, or why he was out of breath.
His knees trembled and he felt like he might pass out as Dean ogled his girlfriend, but next he looked up, he was packing the blade his dad had given him for his fourteenth birthday into his overnight bag and Jess was asking him why he was willing to spend a weekend with the family he was barely even willing to talk about.
I swore I was done hunting for good.
Come on, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad.
Yeah, when I told dad I was scared of that thing in my closet, he gave me a .45.
Well, what was he supposed to do?
I was nine years old. He was supposed to say, 'don't be afraid of the dark'.
Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark…you know what's out there.
Back in his bedroom, Jess perched on the edge of their bed and asked, "what about the interview?" Sam turned from his packing to look at her, to reassure her that he would make it back in time. He and Dean would go find their dad and he would be back Sunday night by the latest, only she wasn't there.
He was sitting in the front seat of the Impala with a map spread out on his lap and his dad's journal, holding a flashlight with his chin. His finger was tracing the latitude of the coordinates their dad had left them and he had found where they should be heading next.
"Okay," he told Dean. "Here's where dad went. It's called Black Water Ridge, Colorado."
He glanced at Dean who nodded, "sounds charming, how far?"
"About six hundred miles."
Dean's smile was easy, relaxed. "If we shag ass, we can make it by morning."
Sam wanted to find their dad, and as much as he loved his family, there was someone else he loved just as much. "Dean, I um…"
"You're not going?"
"The interviews in like ten hours, I got to be their."
"Yeah…yeah, whatever. I'll take ya home."
Sam didn't remember the rest of the ride back to his home, but he felt faintly dizzy when the car pulled up to his street, his heart doing that strange little flutter thing again.
He pushed opened the door, feeling better once he was out and on his feet. "You'll call me if you find him…maybe I can meet up with ya later, huh?"
Dean nodded and as Sam turned away from his old life, his brother called him back. "Sam, you know we made a hell of a team back there?"
"Yeah."
You think mom would have wanted this for us? The weapon training and the melting silver into bullets? Man, Dean…we were raised like warriors.
So what are you going to do? You just going to live some normal, apple pie life…is that it?
No, not normal…safe.
The apartment was dark and quiet when he unlocked the door, calling out for Jess.
He found the cookies she had made for him along with the hand written note of her love.
The shower just came on in the bathroom as he moved into the bedroom, munching on homemade oatmeal raisin. He dumped his bag and sat on the edge of their bed, thinking about his upcoming interview and the jewelry store that was holding the ring he had picked out with Brady's help.
He had his brother back in his life and his father was out there somewhere doing what he always did.
He sighed and leaned back, feeling content and relaxed, knowing that his girl would be done in the bathroom soon and then they had some time before either one of them had to be anywhere.
Something wet and warm dropped onto his forehead and he turned his face away, opening his eyes to see Jess' body pressed against the ceiling. She was bleeding and her mouth was open and as he was screaming her name the ceiling burst into flames.
The curtains and wallpaper burned bright and cloying smoke quickly filled the room, but even before he could get off the bed, strong arms were pulling him away from her.
He fought against them, twisting his body, beating against the chest of the man that held him back and then push him out of his bedroom.
He knew he was still screaming her name, but Dean didn't relent, just kept manhandling him out of his apartment until he broke loose and ran back into the bedroom.
The whole room was aflame now and Sam couldn't see anything. He choked on the fumes and held his breath the best he could until hands pulled at his shirt and he was free of the apartment, clinging to his brother, choking with each breath.
At the curb, Dean dumped him, but didn't let go.
People were running around and he could hear sirens in the distance. Someone nudged his chin and he looked up to see Dean holding a bottle of water.
He took a swig and tried to rinse the taste of ash from his mouth, but then his stomach twisted and whatever he had for dinner along with the sweet oatmeal and raisin cookie splashed to the pavement.
Dean dabbed at his mouth when he was done and offered him another drink, but he shook his head, leaning forward to rest it on his knees.
Jessica was gone.
"I'm sorry, Sammy…just…I'm so sorry."
He shook his head again, because he couldn't…not now…not here.
A fire truck screeched to a halt and firemen went to work.
At some point, paramedics arrived and Dean insisted Sam be looked over, so he sat still while the guy took his blood pressure and listened to his heart and lungs.
"You got a little rasp," the guy was saying. "Any idea where this bruise came from?"
Sam tuned him out. Dean took over, just like he always did and it was good to know that some things never really changed. He caught parts of what was being said and the story that Dean made up about the bruise on his chest.
It wasn't like they could tell the truth about a ghost trying to reach through his chest to squeeze his heart out and kill him because she thought he was a cheating scumbag that deserved to die.
Oh God…He didn't protect Jessica…just like his dad didn't protect his mom.
You're serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer, marry your girl?
Maybe, why not?
Does Jessica know the truth about you…I mean does she know some of the things you have done?
No, and she's not ever going to know.
Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later, you're gonna have to face up to who you really are.
And who's that?
You're one of us.
No, I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.
Well, you have a responsibility.
To dad…and his crusade? If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what mom looks like. And what difference does it make? Even if we do find the thing that kills her, mom's gone and she isn't coming back.
Sam found himself holding a shotgun loaded with salt rounds as Dean walked up.
His chest still felt tight and his heart pounded at a strange rhythm and the taste of ash was on his lips, but all he could think about was revenge. For the mom he never knew and for the woman he loved most.
Dean looked at him and it was almost his undoing. He hadn't cried yet and he wouldn't until he could find somewhere private to grieve. But the look of understanding was the confirmation he needed, so he tossed the gun into the trunk and said, "we have work to do."
And as he slammed the trunk his eyes jerked opened.
This time he knew he was really awake.
The pillow under his head smelt faintly of mildew and cigarette smoke and the covers over him were scratchy, not soft like his own and the mattress was thin and lumpy and if he turned over the presence he felt behind him on the bed wouldn't be Jess.
Jess was gone.
Yesterday her family had laid her to rest and Sam quietly sat grave side, on the front row, with her mom and her sister as they cried.
He listened to the priest talk about a young life cut tragically short and how unpredictable life could be.
Afterward he shook hands and endured hugs and was silently coming out of his skin, because he just wanted to be alone with her one more time.
He needed to tell her that he was sorry.
He needed to explain…
He didn't know when he started to shiver, but he felt Dean's leg press along his back as he shifted next to him on the bed, pulling on the covers he sat on. His brother was leaning against the headboard next to him, with the TV on, the volume turned down low, so Sam could sleep…not that Sam could sleep.
His nights were plagued with dreams of Jess, fragmented images of their last few days together and her burning.
Every time he closed his eyes he could see her burning and now he could understand his father's obsession.
"You need a drink?" Dean asked from behind him, but he shook his head.
He wasn't thirsty, wasn't hungry, he wasn't feeling much of anything.
His chest still hurt a little, but the arrhythmia was better, he only felt it occasionally when he lay down. The paramedic said that the stress of the fire probably brought it on, to have it checked out in a few weeks if it didn't go back into a more normal rhythm on its own, but Dean thought it was more likely courtesy of Constance Welsh.
The bruise over his heart was changing colors, yellowing, but he knew it would take a lot longer for the hurt on the inside to fade.
Dean shifted again, and then got up. "Since you're up, you wanna hit the road?"
He didn't really want to leave the bed, but he knew he had to. It had been a week and there was no sign of the thing that had killed Jess.
They were gonna have to find their dad first.
It didn't take long to pack his bag. He lost just about everything in the fire. Somehow Dean had managed to snag the overnight bag he had taken with him when he went to look for his dad, but beside that, nothing else made it and that really hadn't sunk in yet.
Dad still had most of their old house and him and Dean, but Sam had lost his whole life in that fire...at least the life he knew for the last four years.
Some friend's had collected some of their own photos they had taken of him and Jess, so at least he had them. And then it hit him again...Jess was gone and he would only ever have pictures of Jessica, just like he had only ever had pictures of his mom.
He slid out from under the covers when Dean took some stuff out to the car and made his way to the shower. He thought maybe now the tears would come, he was finally alone in the room, but they didn't and he thought he knew why. He needed to do something before he could grieve.
Dean already had the car packed by the time he was done in the bathroom. "What time is it?" he asked, stuffing some dirty clothes into his duffle.
Dean looked at his watch, then frowned and pulled out his cell phone. "It's 8:10. You want to stop for breakfast before we get on the road, make any stops to say goodbye to friends?"
He shook his head because he had told Brady, Becky and Zack that he was going out of town with Dean, taking a break from school and knew that they would tell anyone else that inquired.
But he did want to make a stop.
Dean waited in the car as he ran up to the florist shop. The door was locked, but when he checked the time on his phone, he saw that he only had a few minute wait and then he saw the message icon on his phone.
He took a deep breath and then punched in his code for his messages. He heard Jess' voice say, 'Hey it's me…'
A woman came toward the door with a key and was unlocking it, smiling as Sam ducked in, moving toward the cases along the wall. "Roses?" she asked and he shook his head.
"Mixed bouquet," he told her. "Whatever you have is fine."
'So call soon, ok? I love you.'
"Roses are lame." Sam whispered, pressing the saved message button. Today he would tell Jess how sorry he was, today he would let himself grieve and then he was going to find the thing that killed her…if it was the last thing he ever did.
The End