As always, not mine, don't own, save Mrs. Blevins and a few potted plants. My thanks to Fanpire101 for all of her beta reader greatness. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
I appreciate the comments from Book girl fan, otp-fandomfeels, MarbleWolf, Fanpire101, and Guest on the previous chapter. My thanks to everyone who has followed or favorited this story. I have chapter 7 half-finished, and I think I'll need at least ten chapters total to round things out. But we shall see! This was supposed to be a one-shot. :)
Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.
The door to the surgical wing opened with a clunk. Jess jerked forward in her seat, startled out of her rapidly spiraling negative thoughts, as Sam shuffled into the waiting area. Broad shoulders slumped, the tall man didn't appear to see her. Sam moved forward slowly, as if his feet were mired in wet cement. She tried to read his expression, but his chestnut bangs hid his downturned face. After he collapsed into the nearest chair, Sam curled into himself and covered his eyes with one large hand.
Jess's heart began to pound. She'd never seen Sam look so defeated, not even after a full week of finals at Stanford. She rushed to stand by him. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she squeezed lightly and asked, "Hey, Baby. How is he?"
Sam jerked at the touch, but when he realized it was Jess, he sat up properly and raised his head to meet her gaze. She swallowed hard at his unguarded expression. His hazel eyes reflected a depth of pain that she couldn't begin to understand.
Her own eyes filled with sympathy tears. "He's not-"
Sam blinked. "No," he replied, wiping his damp cheeks with the back of one wrist. "He's good, Jess. Dean's gonna be fine." He drew her small hand into his. "They just took him back for surgery."
Sam's cat-like eyes narrowed further as they swept around the small waiting area. It was empty now apart from the two of them and the elderly receptionist manning the desk. Jess watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed in response before he pulled away from her.
"Dad left," he bit out. It wasn't a question.
Jess nodded. "He said to tell you good-bye and that he'd touch base with Dean in a week or two."
Sam chuckled quietly, his laughter hollow and forced. "Of course, he did."
Her fiancé - or maybe he's just my boyfriend now, based on what he told his father? - stood and began to pace around the lobby. Sam clenched and unclenched his fists as he stormed about, swearing under his breath. Jess caught "never there when you need him" and "asshole" before he stalked over to an aged vending machine and punched it so hard that the clear plastic cover cracked.
His palpable anger made Jess wonder at the man she had agreed to marry. Who is Sam Winchester, anyway? The quiet, polite, pre-law student I met in a painting class? Or a violent former criminal, on the run from his family of thieving murderers? Jess thought of the grisly, bloodstained weapons she'd caught a glimpse of beneath the false trunk of the Impala, and gulped. Maybe a combination of the two?
The truly frightening part was that, without Dean dropping unexpectedly into their lives, Jess might never have seen this side of Sam. She could have walked down the aisle never knowing about his ability to compartmentalize his life. That thought scared her more than she dared to admit.
Sam hid his anger about his family all this time and I never suspected. I thought he'd put his past behind him, but clearly, that isn't the case.
She glanced over to where Sam stood cradling his fist. He leaned on the damaged vending machine, seemingly staring with intent at a row of unpurchased candy bars. Tears glistened in his eyes. Jess felt a wrenching tug at her heart.
It isn't fair to judge Sam based on his family, is it? After all, he's gotten away from them. He's put himself through school for the last three years without any contact.
Jess thought about her alcoholic brother. Would I want Sam to think I was just like James? Drinking daily, driving while intoxicated, barely able to avoid jail, unable to hold a job, in and out of rehab? Wouldn't I be angry if James just showed up out of the blue and demanded my attention?
"Sam," Jess called as she walked toward her boyfriend. "We need to talk."
Of course, we need to talk, Sam thought bitterly. He fought back the urge to punch the vending machine again, his right knuckles still stinging. He scrubbed at his temples with his left hand in an attempt to rid himself of a rapidly brewing headache. Sighing deeply, he dropped into the nearest chair.
Jess knows. She's seen too much, she knows how screwed up I am. She's never gonna want to be a Winchester now. This is it. She's gonna break up with me. I can't even blame her. This craziness is why I left for Stanford in the first place.
Sam steeled his features and waited for Jess to deliver the final blow. When she walked up to him and placed both palms flat against his chest without speaking, Sam was caught off-guard. With him seated and Jess standing, they were nearly eye to eye.
He met her gaze, expecting pity or contempt. But he read neither in her wide blue-grey eyes. Without a word, Jess managed to convey equal measures of compassion and worry, along with the expected doses of confusion and fear. She slid her hands across his pectoral muscles and grabbed tight to both arms.
"I love you, Sam Winchester, and I want to be here for you. But you have to tell me what's going on." Jess lowered her voice and leaned closer. "Why does your brother have a bloody machete in his trunk? Does your father commit medical insurance fraud? Is that why you left home? I need to know the truth about your family."
Sam lowered his eyes and sighed. "We do need to talk. But not here." He glanced meaningfully across the room to the receptionist, who appeared to be engrossed in a large-print edition of Readers' Digest.
Jess grabbed his hand and Sam winced and jerked his fingers back. "Sorry," she said, reaching for his hand more gently. Sam allowed her to inspect his reddened knuckles. Holding his large hand between her two smaller ones, Jess gently manipulated his fingers. "I know you don't want to talk about this here, but this is about as private as we're going to get this summer. Mrs. Blevins over there is hard of hearing anyway."
Sam nodded. The old lady hadn't even flinched when he'd attacked the helpless vending machine. They walked together, Sam's right hand still cradled in Jessica's delicate fingers, over to the side of the room furthest from the desk. Large potted ferns dominated the corners of the room. A long wooden table ran along the wall, holding a coffee maker, a few mismatched and chipped mugs, packets of sweetener, and a plate of stale cookies. The air smelled of burnt coffee.
Jess and Sam sat side-by-side, close to a bank of windows. The young blond woman carefully inspected Sam's swollen knuckles a second time. "I don't think you've broken anything, despite your best efforts." She gave him a small grin and dropped his hand. He responded with a forced smile. "But I'm going to get you a wrap and some ice just in case."
Before Sam could protest that he was fine, Jess had darted over to Mrs. Blevins and started to sweet-talk her out of an ice pack and a compression wrap. As Sam watched, he tried to think of the best way to explain to Jess about the family business. He'd told her vague stories in the past about Dean and his vagabond lifestyle, his brother's penchant for hustling pool, and his ability to charm women, but he'd left out the salient parts about hunting monsters, breaking and entering, desecrating graves, and committing credit card fraud. He hadn't even mentioned Dad apart from saying that he was estranged from his father and that he really didn't want to talk about it. Jess had respected his boundaries and never pried, even though he knew she was curious.
Sam looked longingly at his beautiful girlfriend. She stood impatiently at the reception desk in her tank top and jeans, long blond waves bouncing as she fidgeted foot to foot. She looked back over her shoulder at him and winked, giving him a saucy grin to cheer him up.
It isn't fair. She deserves the truth. Anger welled within him. But I've given up so much! I shouldn't have to give up the one good thing in my life. The thought of losing Jess made Sam sick to his stomach.
Jess was still smiling at him as she walked back. Sam found himself blinking again at the sudden wetness in his eyes.
Gone soft, boy. He could hear John Winchester's gruff voice in his head. The man's sudden appearance had shaken forth scores of suppressed memories about Sam's life before Stanford: training exercises at dawn, cold meals in the car, head lice from filthy bedding, second-hand clothes that smelled musty and never quite fit right...
Sam didn't realize that he was shaking until Jess stilled his arms by wrapping herself around him where he sat. "Sam. It's gonna be okay," she whispered.
He shook his head as she sat down next to him and began to wrap his sore hand. "I don't even know where to begin," he admitted. She fastened the end of the elastic wrap and placed the cold gel pack over his covered knuckles.
Jessica took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tell me why your brother carries all of those illegal weapons in his trunk. You said he was a hunter. What is he hunting?"
"Monsters," Sam replied softly. At her startled look, he repeated himself. "My family hunts monsters, Jess. That's the family business."