Warning(s) for this chapter: pretty gory, like right at the very beginning, yowza. Also Stupid Sexy Flanders!Jess sneaking in some Sam/Jess when I TOLD HER not to. Also swearing. Also Sam fuckin' jinxin' it.

FFN Notes: Crossposted to my AO3 account SouCalSweetM_e_lissa. The first two chapters are already done there and being crossposted here, with same-day uploading to both accounts in the future!

Also, just a side-note since I'm thinkin' it and I want to mention it while the mentioning's hot - unlike the AO3 version, this FFN version will be one long multichaptered fic and not a series with multiple installments, so any fic I deem noncanon to girl!Sam's adventures will be posted separate from this fic on FFN (unlike on AO3, where it will also be marked noncanon but still posted under the "Take the Long Way Home" umbrella). So noncanon will be noncanon either way, but appear differently between different accounts. You dig? /end unnecessary explanation

The bed is wet and warm on her back, and in her sharp little gasp she realizes she can smell it too, hot and coppery and thick, all around her.

Half a heartbeat before she looks up, she knows what she will see before she sees it.

She looks up, and even in the dark, she sees him in an instant. His ashen face looking back at her with fear and pleading Sam has never seen before on it. The blood from throat to belly, and the opened ribcage, the insides starting to spill outside.

She sees the fire that blooms from his head like a halo.

Smoke pours all the way down to her lungs, but she doesn't cough. Her eyes, her throat, her chest all burn, but she doesn't cough. She stares helpless into the fire, into Brady's agony-filled eyes, watching the face she loves so well blister red and black and run down his cheeks like candlewax, like tears. Sam is screaming and reaching to grab him, pull him down and save him (he was still alive, she will think later, all that blood in the bed but he was alive, how long was he still alive?) even though they both know she came back too late.

Brady's lips move like a puppet's, his eyes dark sockets of animal pain, and despite the ruin of his throat, his melting face, he seems to whisper and it is all Sam can hear over the fire, the quiet, aching betrayal in his voice, Why, Sam?

"Sam?" she hears Brady mumble in that same low voice from her nightmare. He shifts next to her, clumsy with sleep, and a hand paws at her side. "Wake up, baby."

"I'm awake," Sam croaks. Her throat is rough and raw as if from smoke and screams, and she is sitting upright like she was in the dream. But the bed is dry. There's nothing on the ceiling. And Brady is beside her, safe. Perfectly safe.

Of course he is. That kind of crap is over now. She's okay. He's okay.

Her hand drops into her lap and she exhales, almost sobs, quiet and scared but so freaking relieved.

"Sorry for waking you up."

"Nah, you didn't wake me up," he says groggily. "I was getting up anyway. Gotta take a leak."

He's trying to make her laugh, he always is, but she's nowhere close to laughing. Her heart still racing, she rubs her goose-pimpled arms, remembering how Brady's flesh had melted off. Though it's cool enough in the room to make her shiver, she's sweating. That heat. Like being locked into a crematorium oven. Fucking Christ, even now it felt so vivid. It felt more real than this does.

Brady sits up beside her in the dark, his arms around her. Warm and safe and alive, nothing like the horror on the ceiling she'd seen. "More bad dreams, huh?"

She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. She didn't want him to know just how bad. "Yeah." More fucking awful dreams, but this one tops the others. Every time she has it, she wakes up in a total panic, full of grief and guilt, convinced she'd just seen Brady die. Sam is no stranger to nightmares - hell, you want a real nightmare, take a look at the first 18 years of her life - but this one scares the crap out of her.

Brady hums sympathetically and nuzzles into the crook of her neck. Sam first flinches at the unexpectedness of it and then sighs. Her arms go around his, clasping him tightly. Fiercely.

"Ow. Must've been a good one," he says. "What was it about?"

No. Tell him and freak him out? Tell him she dreamed him gutted like a fish with his face melting off in a fire? Tell him she dreamed of him dying? Make him scared of her and her messed-up head for coming up with this sick, twisted crap?

No. No, she's never going to scare him. She's never going to see that look in his face in real-life.

She touches the ring on her finger, feels its cool solidity against her skin, and the world rights itself. Because Brady is safe, and she is safe, and all that crap before is behind them now, done and gone, locked away. The dream was just frayed nerves and bad memories cooked together; but this ring is real, it's proof and a promise. They're about to begin the best part of their lives together. It's finally, really happening and for the first time, Sam can't wait to see what her future has in store.

So Sam Winchester decides to say, "I... don't really remember. It's fading now."

"Well, okay. That's good, right? Sounds like you're better off that way." He yawns while trying to hide it against her shoulder, which makes Sam yawn. And also twist up with guilt for poor Brady. Maybe she should start sleeping on the couch. "Anyway, seeing as it's 3 AM, want to try going back to sleep?"

Not really. She sighs, but she has to admit, she does feel pretty tired. These short nights are taking a lot out of her. "Yeah. Didn't you have to take a leak?"

"Jesus, it sounds so crude when you say it," Brady mutters, and Sam finally cracks a smile.

"My eternal curse," she says wryly, which sends him off to the bathroom with a snicker. And that's something, at least.

Still, she doesn't relax until she feels him slip back into bed with her. With his arm draped over her waist, she lies completely still, staring at the ceiling, up into blackness, and listens to his breathing until she finally falls back asleep herself.

(That part of her life is over. So when does she get to put it behind her?)

"Sam! Get up! Come on, you were supposed to already be ready by now!"

Sam's eyes shoot open, bloodshot, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. Or who the curly-headed blonde shaking her awake is, though fresh from her last dream, another name is on her lips.

"Jess?" she says instead, bemused. "What is it?" She blinks and realizes that for... whatever reason, her friend is dressed like a nurse. If the hospital cared more about cleavage than sanitation. Maybe this is another dream. She half-expects Dean to show up next as a doctor or something.

Jess grins. "You overslept so I, the handsome prince, have come to awaken you," she quips.

"Charming. Though if you were looking for a kiss, I'm already engaged," Sam quips back, thankfully permanently switched into Auto Snark no matter her current level of awakeness.

"Ah, true, but Prince Charming out there was all ready to let you keep sleeping and let you miss the festivities, forcing my hand in rescuing my dear friend from her bad sleep patterns."

"Okay, okay, time-out on the fairy tale stuff, it's too early and you're a nurse." Self-conscious about being caught in bed, even by her old roommate and especially by her very beautiful old roommate in a sexy outfit, Sam clutches the blanket to her chest and tries to smooth her hair down with her fingers a bit. "Wait, what time is it?"

This is apparently the question Jessica has been waiting for her to ask, because she leans forward and widens her eyes, trilling, "Five o'clock!"

With a curse, Sam jumps out of bed, wrapping her blanket around her as she goes. It isn't like she's naked, she has a nightshirt on, but it shows her legs and she doesn't want Jess catching her looking like she just rolled out of bed (which she did) in nothing but a nightshirt when Jess is all glammed up. Sam flees to the bathroom and closes the door. "I'll be ten minutes!" she promises, appraising herself in the mirror with a grimace.

"Don't forget your costume!" her friends calls out, before she hears the bedroom door reopen and close; Jessica giving her some privacy.

"Not wearing a Halloween costume," she says quietly, already tired again. Which isn't great when she's late and supposed to be hurrying getting dressed. But she doesn't want to disappoint her friends or be a downer. They're doing this for her. So she runs a quick comb through her hair and hops in the shower, more to splash as much water in her tired eyes than anything else.

After a lightning-round of makeup and pulling-on of clothes, she slips out into the living room, where Brady and Jessica are watching TV - Brady sprawled out on the couch and Jessica leaning on an armchair arm. They turn to look at her and Brady gives his approval with a wolf whistle.

Sam flushes, but she's pleased that his eyes are all for her. She doesn't think she's that ugly but she bears her insecurities like old wounds, sore and ready to reopen at any small prod. After all, she's only one quiet, moody, awkward girl with way more baggage and scars and secrets than money, next to the thousands of pretty, fun, well-off girls of Stanford... and sometimes she can't help but wonder why Brady chose her.

But right now, the way he's looking at her, she's beautiful. (She's worth it.)

"You look really good, Sam," Jess says. "Seriously, you look awesome. I love that lipstick on you. But, uh... since it's Halloween, didn't you maybe want to wear a costume instead? I'm sure you guys have something we can add to-"

"No." It come out too harsh, too quick, and the change in their expressions hit Sam like a whip. She forces a quick smile to prove she isn't being a total bitch about it - but is unable to shake the feeling that she's being one anyway. "I mean, I just don't really want to do it. You guys know I don't do Halloween," she says, and refrains from adding that she barely wants to even do this. She doesn't just not do Halloween; she actually kind of hates it.

"All right, doll, whatever you want," Brady slides in with an easygoing, encouraging smile. "It's your night. Right, Jess?"

"Oh yeah, totally! Do whatever you want! I mean, we're not going trick-or-treating or anything," she says, her smile apologetic and warm. Sam still can't really believe her luck in finding these people.

Brady glances at the cable box. "Anyway, you girls better get a move on if you're going to round up the whole gang."

"Wait, you're not coming?" Jessica asks, glancing between him and Sam with a faint frown.

"Someone has to fork over candy to the little twerps running amok," Brady sighs. "Might as well be the guy who swore off the drinking."

Sam is half-relieved, half-disappointed at his words, same as she was when he first decided to stay home. He has worked so hard to claw his way back up from the death spiral he'd been in in sophomore year, and she loves and admires him more than she can say. All the same, she feels guilty for leaving him here when she's out partying.

She hesitates and again she thinks of changing venues to someplace else - maybe a restaurant instead of a bar, no alcohol involved, so Brady can come with. And yeah, maybe the others would be put out, but they'd understand. "Sure you don't want to come? We don't have to drink," she says.

"Come on, Sammy, have you met Luis? I love the guy, but he's more Jell-O shot than human. He'll find a way to get trashed. Better not risk it." Brady waves a dismissive hand at the girls. "Go on, get out of here, go have fun. A Hellraiser marathon's starting soon and I don't want you delicate ladies to get scared."

The delicate ladies snort in unison. If only you knew, Sam thinks with a wry smile. Brady loves gory horror movies to death, and she has a creeping suspicion he's taking his self-imposed exclusion from the group's activities so well because of the marathons running all night.

Ironic he ends up with someone who'd lived horror movies. Sam doesn't like them nearly as much.

"Responsible man," Jess says, giving his shoulders a hearty pat as she leaves. "Have fun with the trick-or-treaters!"

"Oh, sure will!" Brady says with a smirk that makes Sam give him a light slap to the shoulder before she bends to drop a light kiss on his cheek. More gently, he says, "Really, I will. Don't worry about me. Cut loose and have fun, baby. You deserve it."

Sam cups his cheeks and looks adoringly down at him, her heart swelling up with more love than she can handle, and her tone matches his as she says, "You too, Brady. I'm really proud of you." Quickly, in case Jess doubles back, she moves in for a deeper kiss on his lips and Brady pulls her down closer - pulls her onto her tip-toes - as he kisses her back.

Brady makes a pleased sound. "Better go before I lock Jess out and have my way with you," he whispers in her ear, chuckling.

"Oh my God, don't tempt me," she says feverishly. She grabs a jacket as she heads out into the dying California sunlight to meet up with Jessica, grinning like an idiot despite the holiday and of course, Jessica teases her mercilessly for it.

Sam made it out, whole and alive, and she is safe. She's got the man of her dreams, more friends than the lonely, crying girl in a million motel rooms could've imagined, and - fingers crossed - she just might have a shot at finishing school right here in the best school in the country, all tuition paid, before her wedding.

Sam isn't a superstitious person, but there's change in the air and being as lighthearted in love as she is, she thinks it's a good change. Growth, healing, whatever you want to call it. Everything is working itself out even more perfectly she could've hoped for, so maybe it's time to stop letting her past haunt her. It's time to just move on.

Maybe tonight will be the night.