Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" nor the Winchester boys.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the reviews guys! I'm thrilled you're enjoying it. This chapter came along a little long because well, it was time for a little more Jess; just a little though-- it's always all about the boys. ;)

As always, massive thanks to Lembas7 for beta'ing and then re-beta'ing this chapter for me! Any remaining errors are all mine.

"Sam?"

"Let him go," he repeated, the words muffled by the end of his t-shirt that Jess had shoved in his face.

"Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Do we need to go to a hospital?"

He almost laughed, had to clamp his jaw tight to not smile. A hospital? Jeez. Dean had barely touched him.

"No," he said softly.

"What the hell was that?" Doug asked, for what seemed like the tenth time. "Why were you - I mean, dude..." he trailed off.

Sam looked up at them then, they were standing around him in a semi-circle. Trying to hide just exactly how freaked out they were – which was a lot.

"Does it hurt?" Kerrie asked, softly.

"Of course it does," Lacey answered for him. "He's bleeding."

It did hurt. In a place that wasn't at all physical. He should have left the first time Dean told him to; it would have saved them both this pain.

"You guys were fighting. Like fighting," Mike declared, waving his arms around. "Actual fighting -"

"With fists," Jake inserted.

That almost made him laugh too.

"Sam, say something." Jess's quiet request broke through his haze. He lowered the t-shirt and started wiping his hands on it; tentatively touching his nose – not broken.

"It's okay," he told her, meeting her eyes. She didn't believe him for one second.

"Sam, Dean just decked you," she responded skeptically.

A breathy laugh escaped him this time, because if Dean had decked him, he might actually have needed a hospital.

They stared at him incredulously, Jess leaned back to look at him askance, eyes wide in a too pale face.

"Maybe he has a concussion," Kerrie offered.

"He's clearly insane." Lacey continued, "They both are."

"That was – I mean that was, that was vicious," Mike said seriously.

"And I thought you two and sports were bad!" Jake added, voice high.

"Yeah, seriously!" Doug continued for him, "I'm never playing anything against you guys."

It hadn't been play. He didn't know what they'd just seen had been – it hadn't been real, not really, but still, it had been something more than play.

"Sam!" Jess's voice was sharp now and he jumped, startled.

"Sorry... I'm fine, it's fine," he said. "Just... stuff. Sometimes things get... it's fine. Nothing to worry about," he stammered, doing nothing whatsoever to reassure them.

She blinked at him. "Nothing to worry about?" The words were doubtful and he honestly couldn't blame her.

"What was that?" Doug asked again, "I mean... it was like some kind of martial arts or something..."

"And why -"

Sam started standing up. He didn't want to sit here and answer questions. He didn't want to sit here with them.

Especially when he could feel so much anger bubbling inside of him; anger at Dean for being so stubborn and himself for not remembering to understand and their Dad for fucking taking off right now and at them, his friends, for just being here, for seeing that.

A piece of his life that didn't fit, that he didn't want to explain.

Jess stood too, Lacey took a few steps back, her eyes still studying him.

"You okay?" Jess asked him when he finished standing.

"I'm fine," he answered automatically, avoiding her gaze.

Kerrie snorted, "The blood on your hands and all over your shirt says different."

"We should get out of here," he said, ignoring Kerrie, turning back in the direction he and Dean had come from – the one Dean had stormed off in.

His stomach hurt at the thought of Dean leaving like this, with things like this between them. He should have known better, he did know better. Tears stung his eyes as he started walking, on November 2nd it wasn't fair. He knew that things, emotions, were volatile with Dean and their Dad.

He should have left when Dean had told him to.

"Shouldn't we find Dean or something?" Doug asked in general.

Sam stopped moving and turned back around. No one had moved. They were looking at each other now.

Jake shook his head. "He looked pretty pissed..."

"Yeah man, no way am I going near him when he -"

"Let's go," Sam cut in, his voice a bit harder. They all jumped a little, frowning.

"We're just gonna leave?" Mike asked, "Don't you want to talk to Dea -"

"What I want is to go." Sam snapped, before he could stop himself.

"Whoa. Chill there! S'not our fault you and Dean had a spat."

"Yeah, do we at least get to know what it was about?"

"There's never been actual bloodshed before..."

Sam's vision was starting to haze over red, a sure sign that his temper was very near snapping. Every word they said was setting off a burst of anger through him.

They didn't know, he tried to remind himself. They had no idea how deep things ran, no idea that Dean never snapped like that, never took it out on Sammy...

They were being themselves. Of the bunch only Lacey, and occasionally Mike, had a discreet bone in their bodies. His friends were a loud, rowdy group; they weren't subtle, they said what they thought and asked what they wanted to know-- it's why he liked them. They were without pretense.

"There was blood that time we played soccer in the summer..." Jake continued, thoughtful. "Maybe there's always blood."

"Is there always blood?"

"Naw, we've played football a coupla times and no blood -"

"Yea, true."

Sam said nothing, jaw clenched, hands fisted, he grappled with the right words; words that wouldn't sever the friendships he'd spent over four years cultivating.

"There shouldn't be, if there is. It isn't safe." Lacey added reprovingly.

"What part of that looked safe to you?" Kerrie asked, then set her gaze on him, "What was that about?"

"Yeah man, you and Dean never -"

They didn't know him and Dean.

"It isn't any of your business," he practically snarled, "Drop it. And. Let's. Go."

They blinked at him, it took them all a moment to realize he wasn't kidding; smiles melted away and bright eyes faded a moment later, though. He watched as the mood visibly darkened and wished the sky would be as accommodating.

He turned away again and this time felt as they moved in behind him.

They'd made it to the park exit before he turned to look behind him-- not everyone had followed him out.

"Where'd she go?" he asked them all.

"Oh. Is that our business?" Kerrie snarled back, eyes angry.

"Kerrie -"

"Shut up, Sam. I don't like you much right now."

"Head back the way we came," Doug offered calmly, a hand on Kerrie's arm.

Sam ducked his head, the anger draining and guilt taking its place. "Thanks... look man, I just..."

"We should go." Lacey interrupted, "It's what Sam wants." She added, shooting him a scathing look.

He swallowed hard, not meeting her gaze.

Instead, he turned away and headed back into the park.

Jess was walking slowly towards the exit. A look on her face that Sam knew didn't bode well for him. It wasn't angry at all.

"We need to go. Everyone's heading back to the motel," he said, as soon as they were standing face to face; trying to head off any conversation.

He wasn't in the mood to get into it with Jess. He didn't have enough control left over for that.

Jess said nothing, just met his gaze. A moment later she arched her eyebrows at him and just like that, he was instinctively on the defensive. He wasn't steady enough to argue with her, to explain himself.

He'd say things, wrong things, he knew it – knew that if she demanded something of him right now neither one would escape unscathed.

"I want to know what's going on," she stated, her voice was calm and even.

Sam swallowed hard. There was something bubbling just underneath the surface of his thin control, an emotion he hadn't paused to identify yet; something he didn't want Jess to see.

"Jess -"

"Dean disappears from our wedding, that little weekend camping trip – that turned into half a week, now this. I want to know what's going on."

He drew in a deep breath, "Nothing important -"

"Looked important," she interrupted, blue eyes telling him not to lie to her.

"Well -"

"Or is it none of my business either?"

He clenched his jaw, the urge to tell her just that rising to his lips.

A silent moment passed and he spoke. "Sometimes Dean and I get upset with each other," he stated, pushing the words out through his clenched teeth.

"Sure. I always body slam Jilly when I get upset at her. Of course."

"I don't need to -"

"You do," she cut him off, eyes narrowed. "I'm your wife."

Yes, she was and he loved her; but this was about Dad and fire and the hunt...

He said nothing.

"Sam -"

"You don't have to worry about it," he repeated, hoping that if he said it enough he could make her believe it.

"But I do!" she yelled, the calm cracking as she took a step forward. A breeze ruffled her hair - a tiny relief in this dry heat. It was too beautiful a day for . . . today.

"I do worry," she continued. "How can I not after seeing something like this?" Her hand waved towards the area around them. Sam followed its movement for a moment, before bringing his gaze back up to hers.

She was worried.

It struck him, how similar this conversation was to his and Dean's. Only he was on the other end now.

Both sides sucked.

"It wasn't a big deal," he tried, "It's just... the way we are... it's--" he cut himself off, "Let's just go... it's hot and... there's nothing," he stammered, "Let's just go."

"No." She said instantly, "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on."

He scowled and opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he even began. "I've tried waiting and being patient and understanding with you. I've tried not pushing and letting you come to me. I've tried being discreet and being quiet about it - and you know that is not me, but I've tried. I really have, because you are the most PRIVATE person I have ever met and I love you, so I respect that. And God -"

Jess stopped, looking around with a disbelieving expression on her face and Sam wondered if she could hear the frantic beating of his heart, because suddenly he couldn't breathe. But instead she just released a soft, sad laugh, "That was your appeal at first, did you know that? All my friends, my family - we're just . . . so out there with everything. Everything is just there with us. But with you - you were a mystery, something I could discover piece by piece and that - I thought that - it drew me to you. But GODDAMIT Sam! I'm TIRED of the mystery!"

She was yelling, near tears. Sam felt the prickling of his own behind his eyes, a burning sensation he tried to ignore; he wasn't steady enough for this. Not today.

"Jess..."

"Just tell me, Sam! Why is that so HARD? Why can't you trust -"

"I do! I swear Jess, it's not like that! It's not that I don't trust you -"

"Than what? You don't think I can't handle it?"

"No, that's not it!"

"Are you sure?! Because it's one or the other, Sam! Either you don't trust me or you don't think that I can handle -"

"Dammit, Jess! I don't want you to HAVE to handle it!" He roared, stepping forward. "Why the hell can't you just let it go!?"

"Because that's not how this marriage is going to work! I'm not going to be one of those wives that turns a blind eye to everything and is miserable and alone and ends up committing suicide in a motel room!"

"Jesus," he breathed, that image raising goosebumps along his arms.

"Whatever is going on, whatever you have to HANDLE then let me help you! That's what a MARRIAGE is about! And we ARE married!"

"Yeah, okay -"

"No, NOT okay, because you don't behave like it! You won't let me help you--"

"You CAN'T help! There's nothing--"

"You don't know that! You can't! Not if you won't even let me try! Let me try -"

He felt the hold slip, felt the world tip - he wasn't steady enough for this. He took two steps forward bringing him a breath away from her face as that something he couldn't identify boiled over. It was dark and nasty and wanted to shred her trying to pieces.

"Fine. You want to help. Okay then: twenty-three-years ago today our mother was killed," he growled at her, splattering that truth all over her good intentions, "At our house - in my room, my nursery. And Dean was there, he was four and he was right there – so go ahead, Jess. Help," he sneered, venom tainting each word.

The anger had vanished from her face. She was looking at him with wide eyes.

"What? Nothing to say? Come on, Jess! Try! Help!" he taunted.

She shook her head, her gaze dropping.

"Say something!" he roared.

Her gaze lifted. "No, you said," the words were whispered and trailed off shakily.

Sam took a step to the side, clenching his hands to keep from reaching out for her. Stopthis, stopthis, stopthis, a voice warned, but he couldn't, not now. It was spilling out; splashing all over the place - there was nothing to hold onto.

"I said what?" he asked, all control gone. "What!?"

"You said it-- it was a fire," she choked out; he could see tears gathered in her eyes. He was making her cry.

"Well what the hell's a murder if you don't light the place on fire afterwards, right?" he snapped, a sick gratification rising up in him when she flinched. "Are you happy now?" He hissed, "Now you can handle it with us. That's what you wanted right? 'Cause you know there's plenty of shit to handle - like the killer who got away, and our Dad on some fuckin' endless quest to - to avenge her or something; and Dean backing him a fuckin' full hundred percent on that - like it isn't completely USELESS, like it hasn't been DECADES, like it hasn't been my entire LIFE! And me! Me not caring - not knowing - me not -"

Sam stopped; words weren't enough for what had just bubbled to the surface. Jess was looking at him with a stricken expression on her face. Horrified. He'd put that horror there.

"Dammit," he choked out, turning away from her. "Dammit."

He just needed to get away; he needed to get away right now. He didn't say anything more, didn't look back, just walked away.

He walked fast, through the walkway, past the trees and benches, sunlight glimmering around him like diamonds through the haze of his tears.

He walked until he reached the chain-link fence signifying the end of the park and then he stared at it, at the road across from it; letting the tears fall.

... not remembering her.

He sat down, hid his face in his hands. Sam didn't remember Mom. Dad and Dean would give their lives for her memory and he didn't remember at all. It wasn't his fault, he knew that. He'd been too young; there was no way he could remember. But that didn't mean much on the November 2nd's of his life.

It didn't mean much when he watched them grieve and hurt over something he couldn't know, not really. He could understand, though. He tried to understand the moods, the anger . . .

And sometimes when their grief, their pain was so raw he could feel its echo wash over him, he would wish with every cell inside him that he could remember her, could feel just one impression of her. He longed for it with everything he was, to know her, so he could feel what they felt, so he could know.

So he could help.

Jess wanted to help

His tears were trailing off, his breathing was slowing down, he could feel himself losing the edge of hysteria that had swept over him while standing in front of her, faced with that desire to help, to try.

He lifted his head a little, took a deep breath. The sun was lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees all around him. Still bright though, still hot; a gentle breeze slid across his face as if defying that assessment.

The day was beautiful .

It washed over him then, the realization that there was someone sitting a few inches away from him. He turned his head to look at her. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, her head laid on top of them, facing him; eyes wet and watching him.

He'd been cruel.

He made noise in the back of his throat, wiping at his face roughly as he grasped what he'd said to her. Fresh tears slipped from his eyes and he rubbed at his eyes harder. At least there had been nothing supernatural in what he'd said.

It didn't matter.

For the first time he realized how gruesome, how appalling their story really was. Even in the light of day, without the supernatural involved, it was horrific, and he never should have dumped it on Jess.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice caught, hoarse after so many tears and silent, pent-up sobs.

She lifted her head, kept her gaze steady on his. "I'm sorry more," she whispered back.

Jess was moving then, sitting right next to him, her body touching his, leaning into him. Blonde hair rested on his shoulder, her arm intertwining with his, hand finding his and linking with it.

Sam turned his head into her hair, felt her turn into him, felt her sigh; he sighed back. He inhaled her scent, felt her warmth and felt the venom, the darkness trickling away.

"We should move," he murmured after several long moments, her hair muffling his words.

It surprised him a moment later when she didn't.

"Jess?" he asked, suddenly worried. Was she angry at him?

Still no response.

"You didn't fall asleep did you?" Sam prodded, forcing a light tone into a voice, nudging her with his shoulder.

"No," she whispered and her voice was oddly hoarse.

It took him a moment to realize why and when he did, he leaned his head back against the fence. "You're still crying," he stated, letting his eyes slide shut against the vision of branches overhead.

She was silent again.

"I'm sorry," he repeated after a beat. "I didn't mean to yell like that . . ." Sam took a deep breath and shifted towards her, opening his eyes. "I just . . . I don't know," he sighed. He'd really yelled at her. "I'm so sorry."

She pulled back then, blue eyes wide. "Jeez, Sam," Jess whispered.

Her eyes were red, lashes clumped together and he realized that she'd been crying the whole time.

"I'm sorry," she corrected. "So sorry . . ." the words were soft and trailed off almost brokenly.

He frowned. He didn't think Jess had ever apologized for being stubborn.

"For your Mom," she added quietly, still watching him.

Oh.

"Oh."

She wasn't over that yet.

It was the benefit of being raised Winchester; compartmentalization was an art form they'd perfected. Sure, sometimes there might be the occasional emotional hemorrhage/psychotic break, but overall John Winchester had trained his sons to gather everything that hurt and dump it in a steel-reinforced lock-box.

He always forgot that not everyone did that.

She swallowed hard, "Sam -"

"I don't -" he interrupted, his throat closing up suddenly at the thought of having to pry that lock-box open. "I don't talk about that, Jess," he finished tightly.

She just looked at him. He swallowed, automatically inching away from her; but her grip tightened suddenly and she nodded, "Okay."

Sam blinked. "Okay?"

Jess nodded, moving her head back to his shoulder. "Okay," she said again and Sam made himself not hear the 'for now' ringing in the air.

"It's not something -"

"Shhhh," she cut him off, burying her face against him. "Okay, it's okay."

He felt the vibration of the murmur, her warm breath as she said the words; and the unspoken for now still loomed hazily in the future, but Jess was quiet and understanding, huddled up against him and he closed his eyes against it.

They sat like that for longer than Sam kept track of; eventually the sun began to set and he dimly recognized that November 2nd would be over soon. It didn't bring the measure of relief it usually did. Dean was upset, upset and on his own-- because Dad had left him. Sam's throat tightened at the thought, he couldn't let this day end like this.

"We should move," he said again, opening his eyes, inflecting his voice with a touch of humor for her sake. He prayed Jess was over it, that she'd go along with him even if she wasn't, that she'd let him pretend nothing he had happened because right now-- he could offer he nothing more. He'd confessed all he could. He needed to pretend nothing had happened.

Sam needed to pretend nothing had happened.

"I think my butt's asleep," Jess snorted after a moment's silence.

Sam released a surprised laugh.

She lifted her head, offering him a small smile. "No, really." There wasn't as much light in her gaze as usual, but she was trying and that was what he needed right now.

They pulled each other up off the ground, dusting off and maybe fondling a little. Jess giggled and Sam let himself grin.

"We should get back to the motel," she told him, reaching for his hand.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. Make sure they have left without us, which considering, they might have."

"They didn't," she comforted tugging him along. "They wouldn't."

Sam shrugged, "Couldn't blame them, I was -"

"It's okay," she repeated and this time there was no qualification with the words. And looking at her in the setting sun, the warmth in her eyes, the feel of her hand in his, Sam believed her. It was okay.

"You're the back-roads expert anyway," she teased lightly, "Better than any GPS." Her smile wasn't quite as big as usual and there was too much cheer in the tone, but he appreciated it more than he'd ever be able to say. He needed her to pretend with him, to let this go, because right now, he couldn't deal with anything more-- right now he was focused on not letting the day end like this.

"Better believe it, baby," he replied, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead, hoping she understood it as the thank you it was.

He had to find Dean, he couldn't let this day like this.