It Makes a Fiery Ring
"Sam. Sam…"
She said his name teasingly, almost in a sing-song way. He kept his eyes shut. He really did not need this right now.
"Come on, Sam," she laughed, lightly hitting his shoulder.
Her laugh was what made him give in. He opened his eyes and there she was. Not on the ceiling, but right here, in front of him. Sitting on the bed.
This wasn't a memory. This was something new.
"Jess," he said her name so quietly, so softly.
"I'm here," she said quietly, a small smile on her face. "I'm right here, Sam."
Her hand was on his arm. He took it, held it. It felt so warm, so real. "I was going to ask you to marry me," he said quietly, "I was looking at rings. Thinking…thinking about if you'd say 'yes'."
She stroked his hair. "I know."
He raised his eyes to her. "Why are you here?" he asked. His voice was strange; suspicious and sad. He wanted this to end.
Jess gave a small frown and put her other hand over his. "I'll always be here, Sam."
Sam shook his head, fighting back tears. "No. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I…" His voice started to crack. "I moved on Jess. I'm after the thing that murdered you, I'm going to kill it. And I love you, but…" He swallowed and held her hands. "But you need to go."
She let go, pulled her hands away. Her face went blank. "You want me to go?"
"You can't stay here," Sam said, letting his tears start to flow. "You can't stay with me. I'm sorry." She couldn't haunt him like this. He couldn't take it. And if it came to having to burn Jessica's bones… Sam knew he just might stop hunting for good, the Demon and the war be damned.
Jessica smiled and reached forward, holding his face in her hands. Sam closed his eyes, bringing his own hand up to hers to try to pull them away. But he couldn't. God, if she would just stop touching him.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "I knew it was coming. I knew what would happen, but I didn't believe it. I could've stopped it…"
"Shh…" she whispered, stroking his tears away with her thumb.
She leaned forward and kissed him. It was so real, so familiar, so missed. Sam wanted to kiss her back, wanted to push her away, wanted to scream. But he didn't, couldn't. He stayed still.
"It's okay," she soothed quietly. She looked into his eyes. Smiled. "I got in the way."
Sam frowned and felt a pressure building in his chest. 'Got in the way'…
"What?"
She was gone. Everything was black.
---
Sam woke up with his face pressed up against the Impala glass, ACDC on the stereo, but not blasting as usual. Sam realized Dean must've turned in down more than usual so he could keep sleeping. Sam sat up in his seat, feeling ill. They were headed to Last Chance still. They weren't yet in Colorado, but Dean had sworn to make good time. And they had, considering that Dean had miraculously cut the 1,525 mile drive down to a 16 hour drive.
"So," Dean said from his seat, his eyes on the road, "Are we starting to learn why we leave heavy drinking to big brother? Huh?" He shot Sam a glance and frowned. "You okay, dude? Look a little green."
"Fine," Sam brushed off. He closed his eyes. Breathe. Breathe. Anything to get Jessica out of his head.
"Sure?" Dean asked uncertainly, keeping his eyes glued forward.
Sam caught Dean's jumpy demeanor. "Did I say something while I was sleeping, Dean?"
"No," Dean said a little too quickly, "Why? Worried I overheard you talking dirty to Lara Croft or something?" Dean forced a short laugh at his own joke. Sam stayed quiet.
"I dreamed about Jess, Dean," Sam stated evenly.
"Did ya…" Dean said quietly, biting his lip. It was supposed to be a question, but it wasn't.
"Yeah," Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. He had to stop falling asleep in the car; his head was killing him, probably from leaning it against the window for a couple of hours.
"You…you wanna talk about it?" Dean offered, trying to keep his tone casual. He shifted in his seat and moved his gaze to his side window. Sam spotted his fingers gripping the wheel rather tight.
"You hate talking about stuff," Sam pointed out.
Dean looked at his brother. "Figure I'd make an exception, if you, ya know, wanna-"
"No," Sam cut off, turning back to the window. "It's okay."
Dean didn't believe his brother for a second. Talking was Sam's thing. He always forced his sappy sharing attitude on Dean. Why wasn't he jumping at the offer like chick offered chocolate?
"You sure?"
"Yeah," Sam insisted. He didn't want to talk about Jess, think about Jess, or dream about Jess. Only two of those things could he really control.
---
After a solid day of driving, the Winchesters finally pulled into a motel once they'd crossed the state border into Colorado. They'd get to Last Chance in the morning. Sam had said that if the situation couldn't have waited, he would be made aware of it. Since he didn't feel the sort of pull to get there immediately like he had in the past, he felt whatever waited for them in Last Chance was not an emergency. Yet.
"Just kind of weird, isn't it?" Dean said after they'd settled in the room. He was sharpening his knives and daggers on the bed.
"What is?" Sam asked. He was cleaning the guns.
The brothers had agreed on the necessity of preparation on this one, since they didn't really know what to expect. They also were subconsciously psyching themselves up. The period of dull, mindless traveling had really started to wear on them.
"Just sayin', I mean, you getting a vision for Colorado all the way in North Carolina," Dean explained, "Real long distance call, isn't it?"
Sam shrugged. He'd wondered about that too. "I dunno. Maybe it's really important we get there. Maybe with nothing else really going on it showed up on my psychic radar more than something else."
Dean nodded but didn't really seem convinced. He didn't say anymore though; he kept to his work.
-----
Sam woke up later that night, for no real reason. He hadn't dreamed of Jess (thank god) or had another vision. He'd just opened his eyes and there he was. He glanced at the nightstand clock. Midnight. He'd only gotten to sleep two hours ago.
His gaze moved to the other bed. Dean's bed. Which was empty. Sam stared confusedly at the ruffled comfort and sheets. Where the hell was Dean?
The sound of running water and the light beyond the closed bathroom door answered him. Sam breathed in relief. For a second there he'd been a little paranoid. He could just hear Dean if he told him how worried he'd been at first.
'What, Sammy,' Dean would say, 'You gonna check under the beds and closet every time we stop at a motel now? In case you haven't been paying attention, I'm the one saving your ass all the time.'
Sam gave a quiet laugh to pretend-Dean's remarks and settled himself back under the covers.
---------
Something warm and wet was dripping down on him. Then again and again.
Sam swallowed. "I thought we went over this," he grumbled to himself, trying to pull a Dean and use humor to mask the fear. Couldn't he go one night without this? Without seeing Jess on that ceiling?
He had to open his eyes sometime. With another drop of blood falling on his cheek, the dream seemed to agree, egging him on. The sooner he saw it, the sooner the dream would end, the sooner he could get on with his day.
So Sam opened his eyes.
But Jess wasn't the one on the ceiling. Instead, it was Dean's unseeing eyes, Dean's open mouth. Dean's blood dripping on him.
Sam just sat there in shock for a moment, staring at his brother's dead, mutilated and burning body. Then he started to scream. No words, just screaming on and on as the flames spread over the ceiling. He gradually moved to words. 'No' over and over and over. Then Dean's name.
But he stayed put. Screaming and crying, he stayed put as the flames washed over the motel room and licked at his back.
"Dean! DEAN!"
---
Sam burst into consciousness, leapt out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom. He didn't look anywhere near the ceiling or his brother's bed. He couldn't stand to. He just sprinted to the small little bathroom , skidded to his knees, and emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl, tears streaming down his face. When he couldn't vomit up anything more, he dry heaved, mumbling, "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"
When he was completely drained of energy, he forced himself to stop. He rested his head on the cool edge of the toilet seat, having already thrown up enough to ignore being ill at the thought of it. He took in air in short quick gasps. If he gulped in air he'd only get sicker. He ignored the wet salty streaks on his face. He didn't care. The vision of Dean nailed to the ceiling would not leave his mind.
"Sammy, what the hell?"
Sam startled and slid backward on the tile floor at his brother's voice and his hand on his back. Dean stared down at his brother, seriously freaked by this behavior.
"Sam, it's me, it's Dean," he assured, "It's your brother."
Dean had awoken a few minutes ago to the sounds of his brother having another nightmare. Such a situation was all too familiar for him at this point. He'd stayed put, just listening to his brothers mumbles and slight writhing. He'd actually gotten up when Sam had suddenly bolted for the bathroom. He didn't have a fucking clue what the hell was going on. This wasn't normal with Sam's typical PTSD episodes or visions. This was different. He just knew something had scared the shit out of his brother, and really, that and how to stop it were all that mattered.
Sam sat with his back flat against the wall, feeling dazed and panicked. He tried to talk but couldn't find words, and ended up sort of babbling before he took a deep breath to try and calm himself. Jesus, he probably seemed like a lunatic to Dean.
"Sam," Dean said slowly but definitely worried, "You okay?" Well that was a stupid question if there ever was one. "What happened? What'd you see?"
Sam didn't say anything, he just buried his face in his hands, trying to get the tears to stop, trying to blot out the image of the vision. This was his worst nightmare. Seeing Dean on the ceiling. He'd always feared it since Jessica's death, since finding out that his visions came true. And now it had finally happened.
For Dean, his brother curling in on himself more when he tried to talk to him was not a good sign. He crouched down in front of his brother and yanked his arms away from his face.
"Sam! Listen to me, dammit!" he shouted, trying to get his brother to snap out of it.
Sam kept his eyes closed. He breathed. Then he opened his eyes, looked into Dean's.
"This is real," he stated, though it ended almost in a question.
"Yeah," Dean said, his tone softening, "Yeah. This is real, Sam."
Sam smiled crazily, giving an odd combination of a laugh, a sob, and a sigh. He relaxed. Dean released him. His arms limply fell down to his sides. The brothers just sat there for a minute, Sam breathing and Dean silently observing Sam, just in case he'd hurt himself somehow.
"Sam," Dean said after a few minutes, "What the fuck happened?"
His voice wasn't angry, but stern. He didn't want Sam bullshitting him this time about being 'fine'.
Sam swallowed a sob, pushing it back down, trying to drown his panic. "I saw you…" He looked away, fixing on a random tile on the floor. "I saw you on the ceiling, Dean."
Dean visibly stilled, his back straightening with the significance of his brother's statement.
Sam didn't go into much detail, but he outlined the dream. How disturbingly similar it was to the way Jessica had died. He didn't puke or cry again, and actually managed to stay pretty calm. Dean hardly believed he was able to, but then again he himself kept his face blank for most of it.
"But I'm fine," Dean said, more to assure his brother than to make an observation, "I'm all right, Sam."
"For now," Sam stated quietly.
"Yeah, Sam, being cynical's really gonna sort this out," Dean scoffed as he started pulling on his jeans.
Sam frowned at his brother's actions. "Where're you going? It's three in the morning."
Dean gave a nod to assert that he did indeed know the time. "Way I figure it, there's no way in hell either of us is getting anymore sleep." He started pulling on his shoes, resolutely tying the laces. "So, I have a pretty novel idea."
Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, fatigue starting to wash over him. "Cow tipping?"
Dean's brow furrowed at that. He gave Sam a weird look. "Dude. Why are you so anxious to knock some cows around?" He gave a shake of the head as Sam smirked. "No, man, we are going to the smokiest, smelliest, dirtiest hole in the wall we can find…" He finished the other shoe and stood up straight, as if to announce a grand master plan. He grinned, then gave his declaration. "And we are getting smashed."
Sam sighed and fell back across the mattress the wrong way, his feet flat on the floor. "Yes, because before you get set in fire, one should always be sure to soak their body tissue in scotch."
Dean had to laugh at that one. Still, he lightly hit Sam's foot. "Come on; the schnapps are calling our names!"
Sam just shook his head. "No."
Dean frowned. "No?"
"Nope."
"Sam, you just saw my pretty face get burned up. Not so great for you and really really not so fantastic for me. Sounds to me like an ideal time to go out and drown ourselves under the table," Dean reasoned.
Sam shook his head. "Can't. We're on a mission. Can't play superheroes if we're hung over," he pointed out.
Dean gave a frustrated huff as he pulled his jacket off and flopped back onto his own bed. "You're such a dork."
"Shut up," Sam handed back in a half-hearted breath.
"Don't be a bitch," Dean grunted back.
Sam smiled to himself. "Yeah, and together we're the McGillicuties."
---
