Title: The Darker Side of Heaven
Chapter 1: Dragonfly
Maybe the sky's falling down around the babies. Maybe the world is going to spin out of control. I don't care anymore- Dragonfly by Shaman's Harvest
The sun was shining and that alone felt like an affront to Jessica's memory. It would have felt more appropriate if there had been a storm. A hurricane. Something to express how Sam Winchester felt on the outside for the world to see. Something that showed that the entire world was falling apart instead of just the small fraction he called his own.
Maybe if he had been a bit more cynical, he would have saw the bright sunshine, so out of season for November, as an omen. Maybe he should have saw the insane amount of traffic a reason to turn around and go home to mourn Jessica's death his own way instead of going to the actual funeral. Maybe he should have listened to the numbness he felt as he walked up the steps to the Funeral Home and never walked inside. All of these things he felt he should have done because going to the funeral was one of the worst things he had ever done, but one of the best things he could of hoped for at the same time.
Life is all about timing, the thing they don't tell you about timing is that it is a bitch and throws you curve balls at just the wrong time just to trip you up to watch you fall on your face.
The Funeral Home was packed with Jessica's mourners. Friends and family who had come to say their goodbyes to the picture sitting on top of the closed casket and to reminisce about what a beautiful person inside and out she had been in a way that only happened when you were dead.
As Sam made polite conversation with the other mourners he tried to smile or to cry but couldn't force himself to and just trying seemed to drain him of what little energy he had left.
It was during the eulogies that Sam first laid eyes on the man that would turn his world inside out and upside down. He stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. It was hard not to notice him because everyone else had at least attempted to dress up for the occasion while he was wearing ripped and worn jeans, a black t-shirt under a flannel over-shirt. Sunglasses were perched on top of his head. He stood out like a sore thumb.
Sam tried to listen to the men and women who stood up to speak about Jessica, he honestly tried to, but his attention kept being diverted to the man at the back of the room who seemed to be bored. Who was he and what was he doing there? How did he know Jessica? Or perhaps he was the type of man who hung out at funerals and weddings hoping to find some poor girl to pick up for a few hours. It was difficult to tell but all Sam knew was that the man got under his skin.
The eulogies seemed to take forever. All Sam wanted to do was go home with a bottle of whiskey and drown his sorrows in her memory, the Winchester way. He did not want to be there anymore with all of the strangers who did not seem to feel the same Earth shattering numbness he felt. He almost sighed with relief when the pallbearers grabbed the closed casket and began their decent out to the hearse so that they would be able to transport it to the grave site. At least then, Sam would have a few minutes to himself as he drove to the cemetery in the long procession behind the crawling hearse.
Alone in the Impala, Sam allowed himself to breathe. Somehow the confines of the vehicle was not as claustrophobic as the funeral home had been, not that he was thinking too much about it. He was trying not to think about anything.
That is, until he noticed who was behind him in line. Sam could not hear the growl of the motorcycle over the roar of the Impala but he found himself unwilling to look away when he noticed who was sitting on top of the bike.
As they crawled slowly to the cemetery, he found it difficult to keep his eyes on the road and more than once almost ran into the little old lady driving in front of him.
"Get it together, Sam." He scolded himself, gripping the steering wheel tighter and forcing himself to look ahead and not in any of the rear-view mirrors. The task seemed to be more difficult than he had originally anticipated because it felt as if he had to constantly check himself from looking back.
"He's just some random guy," Sam told himself through gritted teeth. "It does not matter who he is or what he is doing." Any hopes of having a peaceful drive was shattered.
By time they had actually made it to the cemetery, Sam was on edge. This was a day for Jessica, to mourn her death and say his final goodbyes but here he was obsessing over some guy for no reason other than he had dressed differently than everyone else there. That was not a good enough reason for his thoughts to be anywhere other than on his dead girlfriend. What was wrong with him? He wished he had an answer, but he came up with nothing.
The ceremony was beautiful and everyone was in tears by the time Jessica was lowered into the ground, Sam included, and the tears seemed to lift a weight he had not been aware he had been carrying.
When everything was done and over with, Sam felt lost. What was he supposed to do now? Go home, he supposed. Spend the rest of the alone in his room with the bottle of whiskey he had promised himself that morning. Everything felt anti-climatic and now Sam was unsure what to do. He didn't want to go home, but where would he go? Out to some local dive to drink his pain away along with all of the other poor unfortunate souls drinking at noon on a Wednesday.
With a heavy sigh, Sam got in line to talk to Jessica's parents so that he would be able to leave. He couldn't bring himself not to say something to them, after all he did feel responsible for her death in the first place. If he had been home maybe he could have prevented the fire that had killed her. Instead he had been at the library. He couldn't help but feeling guilty and they guilt only grew thanks to the fact he could not stop thinking about the man with the motorcycle.
The line took forever but eventually he found himself at the front of the line and gave her parents each a hug in turn.
"I'm so sorry," Sam began, a wave of fresh tears beginning to fall. Jessica's mother held him tighter, crying herself.
"Oh, Sam. Thank you so much for coming." She sobbed into his shoulder.
"Nick, what a surprise." Her father said, obviously surprised. "I'm glad you could make it."
"Of course. Jess was a dear friend." A low voice said from behind him.
"It's been a long time." Jessica's father continued, getting his wife's attention.
"Nick?" She choked out, letting go of Sam to wrap her arms around the man with the motorcycle.
"Hello, Rachel."
Sam couldn't pay attention to the rest of their conversation. It was as if his brain had completely shut down. All he knew was that he had to get out of there.
Saying his hasty goodbyes, he all but ran back to the safety of the Impala where at least Nick could not fallow him. He was not so lucky with the thoughts of him, but by this point he was just happy he could not see him.