Sam watched his father's body burn, the finality of the situation really sinking in. He knew there was something strange surrounding John's death, but he hadn't yet been able to process the whole thing well enough to figure out what it could be. His last words with his father continued to haunt him: nearly starting another fight, but then sent off for coffee. Thinking back on it, the way John spoke, the way he asked to stop the fighting, John knew something. He must have known what was about to happen.
Sam sniffed and squeezed Jen's hand. She squeezed his back. Bobby had lit up the body and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Sam and Dean with their father. Jen had silently taken a place between the two boys. Sam only noticed her as she slipped her hand into his. He glanced at Dean and noticed that he held her other hand.
Other than that, Dean was barely moving, showed little expression, and had barely said two words since they got to Bobby's. Sam, on the other hand, couldn't seem to stop crying, except perhaps to worry about his brother's lack of emotion. All Dean had been focused on for the last nine months was finding John, and when they finally did, they lost him again, for good this time. Dean should be reacting.
Sam's thoughts drifted back again to his father's look the last time he saw him. Sam wondered for a moment if he was sent away for coffee for a reason, maybe, just maybe there was an explanation that Dean was able to hear. Maybe that would explain his stoicism.
Sam turned toward his brother. "Before he … before … did he say anything to you about anything." Sam gripped Jen's hand tighter yet again.
"No. Nothing." Dean's voice was emotionless. Sam did finally see though, or at least he thought he saw, a tear slip out of Dean's eye and fall down his cheek. Sam felt slightly better about Dean.
He didn't feel better about anything else.
As John's body slowly disintegrated, Sam found it too difficult to watch any longer. He let go of Jen's hand and turned toward her, wrapping his arms around her as a quiet sob shook his shoulders. She wrapped one arm around him. Dean still had a grip on her other hand.
The trio remained connected until the flames finally burned themselves out.
Jen was the one who pulled them away from the ashes, not forcefully, but in her subtle, way. Back at the house, Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey and plopped down in front of the tv. Sam was too tired to even try and consider what to do about Dean tonight, and he knew Jen could tell because without speaking she had led him down the hall to Bobby's back bedroom.
Sam looked around the room. He had stayed there quite a few times as a kid. Him in one bed, Dean in the other across the room, and Dad on a mattress between them. It was one of the few places his father felt secure enough not to sleep between his boys and the door.
The tears from before hadn't even fully cleared, and yet new ones were trying to break through at the memories. Sam sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands.
"This sucks," Sam couldn't say more. Just as he was beginning to really get over Jess's death, he was hit hard with another one. Only now, he had no idea what to do or where to go to after the demon. Before, it had been simple, find Dad, find the demon. But now, lost, with nothing. Sam didn't know how much of this he could take.
Jen sat beside Sam, putting her arm around his shoulders yet again.
"Lay down and try to sleep, Sam." She whispered up into his ear. Sam couldn't deny that he was tired, and his eyes were suddenly quite heavy. He lay down and rolled onto his side. He turned his head back toward Jen. He hated putting her out, but …
She responded to his thought, knowing, as she always seemed to, what he was going to ask.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The next day seemed like mostly a blur to Sam. Dean spent some time helping to shuffle through their Dad's stuff, but quickly decided to go work on the Impala instead. The more sense Sam tried to make of it all, the less sense it all made. Still, he had nothing else to do but push through.
Jen forced food upon him a couple of times, but he only ate a few bites. After nearly falling asleep into one of Bobby's books in the early evening, Jen also forced him to bed. Sam was surprised at how quickly he fell asleep.
He was less than surprised when he woke up in the middle of the night. Dean was out cold on the bed across from him. He had probably been drinking. It was Dean's MO in tough times.
Jen was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, Sam wondered where she was. She had barely left Sam's side in two days, except to check on Dean, at least as far as Sam could tell. She must have camped out in the bedroom with them last night, because each time Sam woke up she was right there beside him. Tonight though, the room was still and her spot was empty.
Her spot. Funny. She had only been with them for what, nine months. Well, she had lived with Sam for six months before that, but they had separate lives. But now, Sam noticed every time she was or wasn't around.
Actually, Sam was a little concerned that she wasn't right there. Where was she? Could something have happened to her?
Sam sat up suddenly. His heart was pounding as panic rushed through him. Bobby's house was pretty safe, but what if Jen decided to take a walk or sit on the porch? Anything could get her. She seemed confident, but Sam had never seen her fight, so he had no idea what would happen if … well …
Sam scrambled out of bed and walked down the hall. The light was on in one of Bobby's side rooms. Sam slowed and so did his heart rate. He didn't fully relax though until he actually saw Jen sitting on the couch reading calmly. She didn't look up and Sam watched her for a moment. Suddenly, the real fear of the possibility of losing Jen too began to overtake him. Considering the people he had lost recently, the fear of losing his best friend to the dangerous life she had agreed to be part of was all too real. Sam wanted her around more than he could imagine, but suddenly realized that he couldn't ask her to put herself in any more danger, not for him.
With a new determination, Sam entered the room and sat on the opposite side of the couch from Jen. This time she noticed him and slowly put down her book. She looked up at Sam. He avoided her eyes, looking straight ahead.
"I think that tomorrow you should leave. We have no leads, no plans, and I don't know how long we're going to be here. You shouldn't put your life on hold for me." Sam spoke quickly, but focused on keeping his voice steady and calm.
Jen raised her eyebrows at Sam. He continued to look away. "Oh?" She responded with an almost amused tone.
Sam was slightly angered by her response. What did she think? This was a joke? He had to be more convincing.
"It's not safe here. It's not safe with us." Sam made it through the statement, but had to take a deep breath and coax the lump in his throat down immediately afterward. She had to understand that, right?
Jen quickly became rather serious. "Are you suggesting that I can't take care of myself?"
Sam bit his lip. He hadn't really expected a fight. Jen was usually so easy-going and logical. He thought that she would see his point.
"Well, we thought Dad could take care of himself, but he couldn't. People around me seem to die, Mom, Dad, Jess." This time the words caught and he knew Jen could hear it. He blinked hard as tears began to invade his eyes. He hadn't mentioned Jess out loud in weeks, and wasn't expecting the impact of hearing her name. Still, Sam pulled himself together. He had to. Jen wouldn't agree to leave if he fell apart again.
Sam continued. "It's not safe. You should be somewhere safe."
Jen was still watching Sam. Sam was still avoiding her gaze. She quietly shifted on the couch right next to Sam, as close as she could be without touching him. She turned to look outward, matching Sam's position. When she spoke, it was nearly a whisper.
"You mean that you don't want to lose me either."
That may have been exactly what was on Sam's mind, but hearing her say it was like a smack in his gut. He started to shake, trying to hold back the tears that were again threatening to fall. Jen turned back to him and spoke again.
"Sam, look at me."
Sam didn't want to. He held off for a bit, but Jen put her hand on his crossed arms, and he finally gave in to the request. As he expected, the tears in his eyes gave way as he looked into hers. He tried to maintain what composure he could. Jen began speaking again.
"I know the danger. Do you think I don't know what's out there? Do you think I haven't lost loved ones to this life? I have. I know more than you can imagine and more than I can tell. You're hurt and scared, and with good reason, I can see that. But asking me to leave just to spare yourself more possible pain isn't something you should do. You shouldn't push me away when you need me the most."
Sam nodded. He knew she was right about his motives. He took in a deep breath that caught in silent sob. Jen picked up her hand and brushed Sam's hair back from his eyes.
"Do you really want me to leave?" Jen asked simply.
Sam shook his head as he collapsed onto Jen's shoulder in sobs squeezing her tightly. He still felt conflicted. Was she really safe with them? Her voice echoed in his ear, or at least, he thought it must be her.
"I will be okay, Sam. I will always be okay."
Somehow, Sam believed her. He had to.
Bobby didn't mind having the trio of youngsters camping out at his place. Dean seemed intent to rebuild the Impala, and the lot was the perfect place for that. Sam had nearly taken up residence in Bobby's book room. Bobby had always tried to call it his library, but Jen had retorted, "Library implies shelves." Bobby decided not to argue with that.
Jen was the most interesting of the three so far. She seemed to barely sleep, but yet was always wide awake. She was up first nearly every morning, and had taken to cooking breakfast. Bobby was thrilled, although the other two barely ate more than a few bites. She could carry on a conversation about nearly anything, yet never talked about herself.
Jen spent most of her time trying to help Sam find a lead of some kind. Although, Bobby was convinced that Jen was really just trying to keep Sam from collapsing, and more or less succeeding. Sam was joining back into conversation, eating lunch with Jen and Bobby, even smiling once in a while. Although, Bobby did walk past the book room on more than one occasion to find Sam in tears and Jen at his side. That's when Bobby was most thankful Jen was there.
Dean was another matter. He spent his days working on the car, and his nights pouring over John's research and drinking whiskey. Bobby could tell that he was specifically avoiding Jen, even though she occasionally would try to talk to him. Dean was avoiding Sam, too, which wasn't helping anything, and seemed to be making Sam angry as well.
Bobby's opinion of Jen was growing by the minute watching her maneuver these two during this impossible time. This was more than a close friendship, and Bobby sure didn't know what it was, but he couldn't stop thinking about her as some kind of guardian angel. However, she was still losing against Dean, and even though on the surface she seemed to have infinite patience, Bobby could see hints of frustrations with Dean's forced seclusion.
Dean sat at the desk one evening reading though something of John's with a beer in hand. Sam was already in bed, and Jen and Bobby were watching some sitcom on the television.
"Freakin' cryptic bastard." Dean mumbled to himself as he slammed the book shut.
Bobby and Jen exchanged a glance. Neither of them liked the combination of pent up anger and alcohol. Dean stood up.
"Okay, I'm too tired to read anymore of this shit." Dean drank down his remaining half bottle of beer and headed toward the bedroom. Jen jumped off the couch and quickly stood in his path. Bobby slipped off in the direction of the kitchen, but stood just at the doorway to see if Jen could finally score a win.
"Dean, you know I'm here, right? I can help you." Jen was still being careful. Bobby knew that she didn't want to push Dean.
Dean shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Dad's notes never make sense." Dean smiled half-heartedly at Jen, then he looked a little sad, then he looked away. Jen reached toward his hand and he shifted just out of her reach. "Ok, that bed is calling my name." Dean sidestepped Jen and kept going down the hallway.
Jen looked over at Bobby. She can be hard to read, but this time the frustration in her eyes was unmistakable. She sighed and slowly walked over to the kitchen. Bobby handed her a beer as she sat on a stool. She sipped looking thoughtful.
"So, he's still giving you the big ol' brush-off, huh?"
"Yeah." Jen nodded. "He's never been this bad before. I'm not sure what to do."
Bobby huffed. "At least he hasn't done anything stupid, yet."
Jen sighed. "That's what I'm worried about. If I can't get through to him soon, who knows what might happen. He's already snapping at Sam. I can't imagine how he'll be when they start hunting again."
"What that idjit needs a good hard smack." Bobby replied drinking his beer. Then Bobby paused, put the bottle down and looked at Jen still clearly trying to work out a solution to her problem. He realized that Jen was one of those people who thought about everyone else before herself, and he didn't need three problems on his hands. He pointed his beer bottle at Jen.
"And what you need is a break."
Jen looked up at him. Her eyes looked puzzled for a moment, and then she softened, relaxed, and tried to smile.
"No, really, I'm fine, Bobby. They need me." Jen protested. Bobby knew that she was wrong, even if she believed otherwise.
"Bullshit. You know, I say let the two of them go on the next hunt without you. Make them deal with each other. Maybe Sam will get to Dean in a way that you can't. With any luck, they won't beat each other silly in the process."
Jen thought about that for a moment. Then she smiled. "You are a smart man, Bobby. Maybe you're right. Maybe I have to let them figure part of this out alone."
"They ain't never gonna learn to swim if you keep throwing 'em lifelines."
Jen chuckled. "Are you sure you weren't a philosophy major once?"
"Young lady, I've been everything at least once."
Sam and Dean returned from the Roadhouse with quite a story, although, they both did an excellent job of leaving out their blowouts about John.
Dean could tell that Jen knew something happened. She was giving both Sam and Dean knowing looks all evening. Dean didn't like it. It made him nervous. Jen always seemed to get to him in ways that no one else could. He had so far managed to avoid her for the past couple of weeks, but it wasn't for her lack of trying.
Still, things had changed just a bit after this last trip. Sam was pulling this perfect son crap which was making Dean crazy. Dean still didn't know what to think about the whole situation. How Dad died, what Dad told him, the missing Colt, if Dean tried to think about it, it made his head spin. So, Dean avoided it. Sam couldn't do it though. Sam couldn't just let things be and leave Dean alone. Nope, Sam had to butt in and bring shit up. Dean understood. He knew Sam felt awful, and he knew Sam worried about him. Man, did Sam piss him off though, and when that happened, Dean struck back. "Too little, too late." Dean felt terrible after he said that, but what could he do? He didn't know how to help Sam. He didn't know how to help himself.
They didn't talk about it that night. The next day, Dean went out to work on the car, like he had been. He figured maybe it was over. Maybe Sam was going to let it drop.
He was wrong.
Dean supposed that Sam thought it would help to tell Dean how awful he felt. It didn't. What could Dean do? It was practically his fault that Dad was dead: his fault that Sam was left feeling guilty, and him who had to deal with it all.
It wasn't fair.
It simply wasn't fucking fair.
Anger clouded Dean's mind. He gripped the crowbar in his hand, barely remembering that he had picked it up. He needed to break something. Without thinking, he swung hard and smashed the window of the junk car next to him.
Not good enough. He looked forward at the Impala. Goddamn car, got them into this mess. Dean lifted the crowbar up and slammed it into the front of the Impala.
That felt better. Slightly.
Dad's car. Dad's fault. Fuck Dad.
Dean hit the hood again and again and again.
Finally, his arms gave out and the crowbar slipped from his hand onto the ground. Dean expected to feel better, but he didn't. Still felt like shit. Tears stung at the back his eyes. It was the first time they had been this close to the surface since the night they burned the body.
He saw her out of the corner of his eye, slowly walking toward him, her long, tan skirt brushing against her ankles with the breeze. She was the last person he wanted here, especially now, after that. He was too tired to defend himself against her. His eyebrows knitted together and he shook his head sharply.
"I do NOT want to talk about this."
He was clear. He was certain, but she wasn't backing off. She came up beside him.
"We don't have to talk."
She slipped her hand into his. Almost as if by habit he squeezed her hand tightly. The tears filled his eyes now at her touch. He knew that he didn't want to do this. Dean Winchester doesn't act this way. It was her fault, damn it. She was the one who did this to him.
"I hate you. You know that."
Dean's voice was nearly a whisper. Jen's response matched Dean's tone.
"Only as much as you hate John."
He hated it when she was right. Dean wanted to hate his father for leaving him, for leaving Sam, and for leaving Dean with responsibilities he didn't want. Still, he couldn't hate his father, which meant the only emotion left was the sadness he had been ignoring for the last two weeks.
The tears finally broke the surface and slid down Dean's cheeks. Soon, Jen had Dean enveloped in her arms and he gave in, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing his face against her shoulder trying in vain to muffle the sobs that he found he could no longer control.
She kept her word and remained silent, allowing Dean to simply fall apart while she held the pieces together tightly in her arms. Dean didn't know he could cry that long or that hard. Jen never wavered, and even minutes past the final sobs she held on until Dean finally picked himself back up.
Dean ran a hand down his face to wipe it off, and then pulled up a corner of his mouth in as much of a smile as he could managed as he gave Jen an apologetic shrug. She looked at him. She remained expressionless, but her eyes shone in that way that Dean had learned was a smile.
Dean looked over at the Impala.
"Shit." He ran his hand gently over the hood. "I'm sorry, baby. I'll fix it. I promise."
This time Jen did actually smile. She put a hand on Dean's shoulder just before turning away.
"I'm sure you will."
Dean was pretty sure she was talking about more than the car.
