Arms of an Angel Chapter 4, a supernatural fanfic

A/N: Here's the final chapter. Many, many thanks to all of you who have commented on this fic. I'm so behind in responding, but please know that I really appreciate all your encouragement.

Arms of an Angel (4/4)

By Sunrize83

"You could have told me."

He's lying on his back in their big bed; she's propped on one elbow and pressed along his side. Her hair is caught back in a loose ponytail, stubborn wisps breaking free to curl around her face. She's wearing the ridiculous Smurf shirt and blue bikini underpants, and he thinks it would be impossible to love someone more.

Her words wrap around his heart and squeeze.

"I know." He levers himself up, wanting so badly to make it right. Knowing that's impossible. "I'm so damn sorry, Jess. It should've been me. I wish it had been."

She pushes him into the pillow with a firm hand on his chest. "Shhh. Don't, Sam. You'll make the headache worse."

And just like that he realizes his head does hurt, throbbing persistently over his right eye. Jess smoothes her fingers across his forehead, trailing them down his cheek.

"Sam, don't say that ever again. Don't even think it," she says, her voice steel. "I don't want that. I never could."

He nuzzles her soft hand, his eyes stinging. "You said it yourself. I should have told you."

"Hey." She doesn't let him hide, guiding his face until he meets her gaze. "I said you could have told me." She strokes his cheek with her thumb. "Did you really think it would make a difference?"

"It did make a difference--to me. I didn't want you to think I was some kind of freak."

"You are a freak." She chuckles, but there's deep affection beneath the mirth. "Sam, you had a knife that looked like something straight out of a horror movie hidden in your drawer, a thing for pouring salt in strange places, and the weirdest taste in reading material I'd ever seen." She kisses him, slow and deep, and rests her forehead against his. "I loved you, freakiness and all."

He lifts an unsteady hand to cup her cheek. "What about now?"

She presses a kiss into his palm and lies down, drawing his head onto her chest. "I'll always love you. But it's time for you to let me go."

He feels the phantom warmth of her skin, listens to a heart whose beat he knows has stilled. It's only a dream. But oh, God, he wants it to be real. "I'm not sure I can."

"You can. I want you to be happy, Sam."

He relaxes into the rhythmic stroking of her fingers through his hair and the low, soothing timbre of her voice. "I miss you, Jess," he slurs, eyelids growing heavy. "So much."

"I'll be here." Her fingertips skim his temple. "And here." Her palm presses against his heart, the touch like a brand. "I promise."

"'S not the same."

"Shh. Sleep now. You'll feel better when you wake up."

He fights to stay awake, to hang on to this moment. He wants to memorize everything about her, from the feel of her arms to the smell of her skin. But it all begins to blur, colors fading, edges growing indistinct, and eventually, without even realizing it, he's let go.

Sam was dreaming.

Dean leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and watched his brother's eyes dart back and forth behind closed lids. He waited for the inevitable signs of distress--restless movements, rapid breathing, perspiration--prepared to calm Sam before the nightmare got out of hand. Considering all the tubes and wires his brother was hooked up to, the last thing he needed right now was to wake disoriented and in a panic.

But minutes ticked by, and eventually Sam slipped into a deeper sleep. Dean leaned back in his chair, not sure whether to be pleased or worried. He'd like to believe that after the encounter with Mary, Sam was finally getting off the guilt trip he'd been on since Jessica's death. But his brother's incoherent ramblings just before the seizure didn't seem to back that theory.

With a sigh, Dean ran a hand down his face and around to massage the back of his painfully stiff neck. It'd been a helluva long night. Though he'd managed to grab a few z's, his hunter's reflexes woke him every time Donna stopped by to monitor Sam's vitals. Not to mention the damn chair must have been designed by the Marquis de Sade.

What he needed was a jumbo-sized cup of coffee and a chance to stretch his legs, but the last time she'd checked, Donna had been optimistic that Sam would surface soon. Though Sam had opened his eyes a few times during the night, he'd never really been coherent. No way was Dean going to risk him waking alone in a hospital.

He heard footsteps, and a moment later Dr. DePaola slouched into the cubicle. "Dean. How's it shaking?" He frowned as he moved to the opposite side of Sam's bed. "Dude, you look worse than some of my patients."

Dean stood, grimacing when his back muscles complained. "I'm hurt. I thought we really had something last night."

DePaola grinned as he flipped through the chart in his hands and scanned readouts. "Your brother's looking good. Meds seem to be working. Pressure's dropped and his vitals are all stable. I'm going to get one more CT scan, but if it looks good I'm shipping him down to a regular room."

At DePaola's words a stray knot deep in Dean's chest unraveled. "Guess that means you can hang up your drill, huh?"

"Looks like. Damn, I hate it when that happens." He scribbled a note on the chart and tucked the pen behind his ear. "I've got to finish my rounds, but I'll be down to see Sam once he's settled, and we can discuss his recovery."

DePaola had been gone nearly half an hour, and Dean was seriously considering making a coffee run, when the heart monitor sped up and Sam's fingers twitched.

"Sam?" Dean stood and leaned over the rail, intently watching his brother's face. "Open your eyes, Sammy."

Sam furrowed his brow, lashes fluttering as he blinked, then slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey. 'Bout time you decided to wake up, Princess." Dean chased his brother's unfocused gaze, smiling when it sharpened.

"Dean." Sam's voice was a dry croak. He turned his head to take in the various machines. "What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam licked his lips. "Headache. Got sick and--" He tensed, scanning the room as if looking for something. After a moment, he relaxed. "Still don't get why I'm here."

"That headache? Wasn't just a headache. Turned out to be a lovely parting gift from your girlfriend Mary."

"Mary?"

It was obvious Sam wasn't firing on all cylinders. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Dean took a deep breath. "You were bleeding into your brain, man. Sound familiar?"

His brother's jaw dropped. "I... You okay?"

"Other than having the crap scared out of me? Yeah, I'm fine."

Sam grimaced. "Head still hurts."

"Doc said it would for a while, but you'll be fine. And don't worry about your hair. I'm sure it'll grow back in no time."

"My hair--" Sam's hand flew to his head and he scowled. "Asshole."

"Bitch."

As Dean watched, Sam searched the room again. But before he could question his brother, Sam's eyes slid shut. Dean was surprised by the flare of panic that sizzled through him.

"Sammy!"

His brother jerked awake. "Huh?"

Feeling a little guilty and a lot foolish, Dean fumbled for something to say. "Uh..." His gaze landed on a pitcher of water. Donna had said Sam might want some when he woke. "You thirsty?"

Sam blinked, thinking about it for too long before he nodded. "Yeah."

Dean was helping him sip from a paper cup when Donna materialized at his side. Damn crepe-soled shoes let her sneak up on him every time.

"Look who's awake. Hi, Sam, I'm Donna. I've been taking care of you," she said cheerfully, then narrowed her eyes at Dean. "You were supposed to call me."

"I forgot. Sorry." And he really was. Donna had been great to him last night, letting him stay with Sam when the rules said he should be kicked out. He owed her, big time.

She slipped the blood pressure cuff around Sam's arm, sending Dean a wink that said all was forgiven. "How are you feeling, sweetie?" she asked Sam.

"Okay." When she raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Well, my head hurts. And I feel a little...hazy."

"It's the Dilantin." She pressed her stethoscope to the crook of his elbow. "We'll be able to cut that back once we're certain you're not going to have another seizure."

"Seizure?" Sam looked wide-eyed at Dean, who shoved his hands in his pockets and evaded his gaze, turning to Donna instead.

"Doc said something about a CT scan."

"Someone will be by to take him down to diagnostic imaging in a few minutes." She patted Sam's leg. "You're doing well, Sam, much better than last night. You gave your brother quite a scare."

"When can I get out of here?" Sam addressed the question to Donna, but his gaze was on Dean.

Donna chuckled. "How about we concentrate on getting you down to a regular room first? Doctor DePaola can give you a better prognosis once he sees the results of the scan. Until then, you just rest. Right now, that's the best thing for you." She gave Dean's arm a reassuring squeeze and returned to the nurses' station.

Dean fiddled with the I.V. tubing to be sure it wasn't kinked, checked the wall clock--6:52 a.m and still no coffee, no wonder he felt like crap, and checked to be sure he'd put the bogus insurance card back in his wallet.

And damn it, Sam was still looking at him.

"What?" It came out harsher than he wanted, but the gentle sympathy in Sam's gaze made his throat feel tight.

"You didn't say anything about a seizure."

"Yeah, well, it's not going in my scrapbook of happy memories."

Sam snickered, then groaned and pressed a hand to his temple.

"Dude, take it easy," Dean growled. "What's so damn funny?"

"I was just picturing what would make it into that scrapbook. 'Dear Diary--today I banished a crazy psycho bitch ghost with anger-management issues back to hell.' Life is good."

Dean looked sharply at Sam when he giggled. "You are such a little girl."

Sam's laughter turned into a yawn and his eyes drooped. "You're the one with the scrapbook."

"Whatever." Dean sat in the chair and propped his feet on the bed.

Sam went quiet, his eyes shut and breathing steady, and Dean was certain he'd drifted back to sleep. He gazed at the brightening patch of sunlight from the lone window. Looked like it was going to be a nice day.

"Dean?" Sam's voice, slow and drowsy, startled him.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry for scaring the crap outta you."

"Go to sleep, Sammy. I'll be here."

No matter how hard he squinted, the letters wanted to blur together. Sam snapped the book shut and dropped it on the bed table with a sigh. Reading was only making his head hurt, anyway.

He turned on the television and flipped through the channels: soap, soap, Dr. Phil, soap, Judge Judy. Daytime TV sucked. With a disgusted growl, he shut it off.

After a little squirming, he finally found a comfortable position that eased the throbbing in his head. Dean was due back any minute, hopefully rested and bearing the milkshake Sam had requested with the kicked-puppy expression he'd been using on his brother since they were kids.

Silence pressed in on him, and for the first time he missed his roommate, who had gotten his get-out-of-jail-free card yesterday afternoon. Though the guy had done nothing but complain, now it felt too quiet. He missed Dean reading him excerpts from The National Enquirer, providing running commentary on the talk shows, and generally making a pain in the ass of himself.

Too easy to think.

Sam popped open eyes he hadn't realized he'd shut, glancing carefully around the room. No splash of gold. No flicker of blue or wisp of shimmering white.

No Jess.

He wished he knew how he felt about that. There was a piece of him that longed for her, that sought any hint of her presence like a flower unfurling toward the sun.

That would accept any crumb from her, even blame and accusations, if it meant he could just see her face.

Sam closed stinging eyes. Jess had been there as he lay dying on the bathroom floor. Watching. Waiting. The implications of that curled sickly in his stomach and wrapped like an iron band around his chest.

He heard footsteps and smelled a mixture of leather, cologne, and fresh air. "Hey, you awake?

Sam sniffed and swiped a hand under his nose, opening his eyes. "If I wasn't, I would be now."

With a flourish, Dean set a large Styrofoam cup on the table. "There you go, your highness. One strawberry shake. Enjoy, 'cause I had to stand in a friggin' line for ten minutes to get it."

Sam took a sip and mustered a smile. "Thanks. You didn't have to."

"Right. Like I had a choice after you whined like a little bitch." Dean narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." When Dean looked skeptical, Sam insisted, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, well, excuse me for doubting you, but the last time you told me that you wound up going all 911 on me."

Choosing not to answer, Sam drank his shake and let his gaze wander around the room.

"You're doing it again."

Sam frowned at Dean, puzzled. "Doing what?"

"Looking around the room. You've been doing it off and on ever since you woke up. It's like you're expecting to find something." Dean sat on the edge of the bed and was watching Sam's face intently. "Or someone."

His hands suddenly icy, Sam looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. You know, you asked me a strange question right before the seizure. You said, 'If she doesn't hate me, why is she following me?'" Dean paused. When Sam didn't respond he continued, his voice soft. "Level with me, Sammy. You've been seeing Jessica."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. "Dean, don't--"

"You want to know how I know? Sam, look at me."

He couldn't resist Dean when he was like this--brother and parent, firm and oh-so-gentle. Dean was watching him with such affection Sam's gaze blurred.

"I saw her, too."

It was the last thing Sam had expected to hear, and it stole all his breath. "You... When?"

"First at the grocery store, and then again in the car. Nearly drove up the ass of the guy in front of me."

Sam bit his lip. "On a street corner in Toledo. And in the hotel room." He shivered. No way was he telling Dean about the dreams where Jessica accused him of causing her death, then burst into flames.

His brother nodded slowly. "I can guess what's going on in that freaky brain of yours. You think she's angry with you. That she blames you for her death."

Eyes flooding, Sam tipped his chin up and forced words out his constricted throat. "It's not like she doesn't have a reason."

With a sigh, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not even going there, because you already know how I feel about that. I just want you to think about something. If she was trying to hurt you, why appear to me?"

Though he tried hard to come up with an answer, Sam couldn't think of one. Jess barely even knew Dean. That she'd seek him out made no sense.

"I'll tell you what I think," Dean said. "I think she knew what Mary had done to you, sensed you were dying. I think she was trying to warn you. And when that didn't work, she came to me."

Shell-shocked, Sam shook his head. "I...I don't--"

"Listen to me, Sammy. The paramedics said another ten minutes, and I'd've been too late. If I hadn't seen Jessica, I might have taken longer at the store, and it's for damn sure I'd've stopped for gas." He leaned in closer. "She doesn't hate you. She saved you."

Flashes of a forgotten dream hit, hazy and indistinct:

"I'll always love you. But it's time for you to let me go."

"I'm not sure I can."

"You can. I want you to be happy, Sam."

"I'll be here." Her fingertips skim his temple. "And here." Her palm presses against his heart, the touch like a brand. "I promise."

"Sammy?" Dean was studying him, his expression wary.

"I'm okay."

"You sure? 'Cause the doc did mention the high probability of brain damage. 'Course, I told him that might be pretty damn hard to detect."

"Shut up." But he laughed in spite of himself.

With a smirk, Dean picked up the remote for the television and settled himself in a chair. "Hey! Jerry Springer's on."

Sam stared at the screen. "'My Man Is a Woman.' Huh. Now that's scary," he muttered.

"Dude, I told you. Monsters, I get. People are crazy."

Sam settled back against his pillows, content just to listen as Dean heckled the show. For the first time since Jess's death, he felt a small measure of peace.

It wasn't over. The demon was still out there, somewhere, and killing it wasn't going to bring Jess back. Or erase his part in her death. But just the possibility that she might have forgiven him was worth something.

Sam wasn't sure he could accept the idea of Jess as his guardian angel. Wasn't sure he was worthy. But he desperately wanted to be.

End

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don't make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

Angel by Sarah McLachlan