Chapter 14

Dean managed to find his way back to Jessie's house without getting lost, which he was pleased about. Sam had slept during the ride to the old man's house, so he wouldn't have been able to help on the journey back. And Jessie had dozed off shortly after they'd left. It was dark by the time they arrived.

Jessie's attitude was quiet and subdued once she was in the house. She'd handed the book the old man had given her over to Sam to read, while she cooked dinner for all of them. She didn't make anything elaborate, but Dean was still happy to have home cooked food.

After they were finished eating, Dean sat in front of the TV while having a beer, Sam began to do some research on Jessie's computer, while she sat in a recliner reading through the book the old man had given her.

Jessie stayed up late reading, later than Dean stayed up, who headed to bed shortly after midnight. Sam was still researching on her computer, which she didn't mind, but after one a.m., she just wished he would go to bed. She wanted to be alone.

It was almost two a.m., when Sam finally walked out of the computer room, rubbing his eyes. He found Jessie dozing off in the recliner, still holding on to the book.

He wasn't going to disturb her, but to him, she looked very uncomfortable the way she'd fallen asleep. Her head was propped up in one arm, her neck wrenched far to the side as she leaned on her arm, the other hand grasping the book.

First, he took the book, sliding it out of her hand gently, setting it on the coffee table. She didn't moved or wake while he did that, so he risked her wrath, gently lifting her up into his arms. She made a few sounds as he did, but she didn't wake. So he continued to carry her up the stairs and into her bedroom. He laid her gently into the bed, which hadn't been made that morning, and pulled the sheets up around her.

He stood beside her bed for a minute, watching to make sure she would stay asleep. As her breathing slowed and became rythmic, he knew she was sound asleep. He stood a few seconds longer just to watch her sleep, before he went to his own bedroom and turned in for the night.

When Jessie woke up in the morning, the sun had already completely risen and was shining in through her window. Her eyes had barely fluttered open before she darted into a sitting position, wondering how she'd made it into her bed. She noticed she was still fully dressed, which she was grateful for.

After a quick shower, she walked downstairs and found Dean sitting on the couch watching the morning news. She nodded as she passed him on the way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, she found Sam sitting at the table drinking coffee. She nodded as she walked to the coffeemaker, pouring herself a large cup.

"Good morning, Jessie," Sam chimed.

She stuck her index finger up as if she wanted him to wait, then added sugar and cream to her coffee. It was then, she sat down at the table beside Sam, taking a very long sip of her coffee.

"Good morning, Sam," she greeted with the slightest hint of a smile.

"I forgot you don't like to talk before coffee."

She nodded with a grin. "Do you know how I made it into my bed, Sam?"

He looked at her uncomfortably for a moment. "I, uh, carried you up to bed."

She raised an eyebrow in curious surprise. "And I didn't wake?"

"No," he said in a hushed tone.

She shook her head lightly in disbelief for a moment, before grinning at him in a teasing way. "You thought I was going to tear your head off, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah. The thought did cross my mind."

"Well, I suppose I should be, but..." she replied, thinking carefully about what she wanted to say. She was a little more angry than she was letting on. Although it had been a gesture of kindness on his part, she felt a little violated. She knew it was silly to feel that way, but she was still trying to adjust to having people around her. And after what had happened with Dean, she was still feeling a bit touchy about any sort of intimate situation. "Thank you. At least I'm not suffering from a stiff neck this morning."

Sam nodded, smiling, then stood up from the table to get himself another cup of coffee.

"But," she said as he was pouring coffee into his cup. "If there's a next time, just wake me up."

"Definitely," he replied as he sat back down at the table.

They sat in silence for a few minutes drinking coffee, before Jessie got up from the table to look for something to eat. She rummaged through the cupboards and the fridge for a bit, before deciding she wasn't happy with anything.

"I'll be back in about ten minutes," she said to Sam as she walked out of the kitchen. She grabbed her purse off one of the end tables, dug out her keys, then slid some slip on shoes onto her feet. She was about to walk out the door, when Dean asked her where she was going.

"I'm going down the road for something," she answered then walked out of the door before he could ask her anything more.

She jumped into her car, driving about five minutes down the road, stopping at a farm she was familiar with. After a very quick conversation with the owner, she purchased a basket of strawberries, freshly picked early that morning. The smell of them was so sweet and fragrant, they made her so hungry she was almost salivating.

After arriving back home, she immediately headed straight into the kitchen and began to clean, hull and slice the strawberries. Sam had remained sitting in the kitchen while she was out, but now Dean had followed her in and was now sitting at the table with his brother. He was hungry—as always—and very eager to see what Jessie was making for breakfast.

When she was finished with the strawberries, she turned around, narrowing her eyes warningly at the brothers. "Out. Both of you."

"Why?" Dean asked innocently.

"When breakfast is done I'll call you."

He looked like he was about to protest, but he rolled his eyes while glancing at his brother before leaving, with Sam right behind him.

Jessie grabbed a medium sized glass bowl and a set of beaters and placed them in the freezer above the fridge. She took out a small binder, flipping the lined pages gingerly, looking for a particular recipe. When she found it, she flopped it open on the counter, grabbed a large bowl and began adding ingredients into the bowl. After mixing it thoroughly, she retrieved a waffle iron from a cupboard full of various gadgets and began making waffles from the mix in the bowl.

When she was finished making waffles—making sure she made extra for Dean—she took the bowl and beaters from the freezer, poured a large amount of whipping cream, which she'd removed from the fridge. She then added a small amount of sugar and a very small amount of vanilla extract, then beat it until the whipping cream was fluffy and voluminous.

She set three plates out, placing a fresh waffle on each, spooned a generous amount of strawberries on top then a generous amount of whipped cream on that. She added a little extra on Dean's plate.

She smiled as she placed the plates on the table, making sure each plate was in the right spot. She found it a little strange how both brothers had already chosen a seat at the table that each of them called their own. It made her really appreciate how well they really knew each other and how close they are.

After setting a fork, knife and napkin in each spot, she sat down in her own seat then called on the brothers.

Dean ran into the kitchen, dashing for his seat as if he'd been late, or someone was going to steal his food, making Jessie laugh out loud. His eyes were wide with delight as he sat down and picked up the silverware.

Sam had followed behind his brother at a regular walking pace. He smiled in amusement as he watched his brother's excitement over breakfast, sitting down beside him.

"Looks delicious," Sam said with smile.

"It's excellent," Dean mumbled with a mouthful of food.

Jessie smiled as she ate while watching the brothers enjoy their food. Dean finished his breakfast first, asking for seconds, which she made for him. And when everyone was finished eating, she cleaned up their plates, setting them in the sink. She had just turned on the water to rinse everything, when she heard Dean quietly joke with his brother.

"You need to marry that woman."

She noticed Sam didn't reply. She imagined he was feeling as awkward as she felt, but she assumed neither of them had realized she'd heard his remark. She wanted to turn around, but she didn't dare. She was afraid of what she might see. So she continued to rinse the dishes, then filled the sink so she could wash them.

"Why don't you let me wash them?" Sam said as he walked up next to her. "It's the least I can do since you cooked."

She turned around to glance at him and noticed Dean walking out of the kitchen. She figured he was trying to get out of helping his brother.

"You can dry if you want to help."

He smiled. "Sure."

She began to wash the dishes from breakfast, and from dinner the night before, while Sam dried them. She was surprised that he already seemed to know where most of them went in the cupboards. They were almost finished with them when she dropped a coffee cup on the floor, which broke into several pieces.

"Dammit!" she cried with dismay.

"It's okay," Sam said. "Where's your broom and dustpan?"

She showed him where the broom closet was, then finished the dishes while he was cleaning up the mess. She had begun to dry the dishes when he came to stand next to her and put them away. As she moved to put away a plate, Sam reached for it at the same time and their hands touched for an instant. She pulled hers away quickly, trying her best not to look upset.

"You heard what Dean said earlier, didn't you?" he asked knowingly.

She glanced away, ignoring his question.

"You do know he was joking, right?" he asked. "I think he was just high on good food."

She laughed lightly, turning back to face him. "I know he was, Sam."

"Good," he said with relief. "I was afraid you might have read more into his remark."

She studied him for a moment looking more serious. "I'd rather discuss something else if we can, Sam." He nodded his head. "How far did you get with the book Harold gave me?"

"Not too far, why?"

She sighed loudly. "I was kinda hoping you would be able to tell me I didn't read what I think I read last night. That maybe I was so tired I imagined some of the things I'd read."

He looked at her curiously. "What did you read?"

"Let's go in the livingroom," she said, immediately walking out of the kitchen.

Sam watched her walk out of the kitchen before he followed her. She was already sitting on the recliner she'd been sitting in last night to read. His brother was on the couch, so he went and sat beside him, waiting.

She looked at Dean, who had a curious look on his face, but as she looked at Sam, his face seemed to be more comforting and supportive.

"I know this is going to be hard to believe, but what I'm about to tell you is true," she began tenatively. "If this werewolf is the first one, then he's gonna be a lot harder to kill."

"Why is that?" Dean asked skeptically.

She narrowed her eyes about to chastise him, but Sam beat her to it. "Just let her talk, Dean."

He gave his brother an irritated look, but didn't say another word.

When she was positive Dean wasn't going to interrupt again, she continued. "The first werewolf was a witch who was heavily into alchemy. Somehow he turned himself into a werewolf with some spell or something. The book is rather vague with that particular detail." She paused for a minute to think about what she wanted to say next. "This first werewolf can change into his werewolf form any night and he keeps his memory of his human life and vice versa."

"Are you saying he's aware of being a werewolf and knows exactly what he's doing?" Sam interrupted.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Sam," she replied. "That's why he's so dangerous. And that's how he's survived all of these years."

"How many years exactly?" Dean asked.

She sighed. "The book is rather vague on that too, but, before recent recorded time."

"So he's older than 2000 years?" Sam asked.

"I'm afraid so."

The brothers looked at each other with shock, dismay and disbelief. Neither of them wanted to believe it was possible.

"Everyone who's ever went after him has been killed," she said sadly. "That's why my parents and grandparents were killed."

"But why did he kill your sister?" Dean asked. "Surely she wasn't hunting him."

"Your guess is as good as mine, Dean."

"Wait a minute," Sam said suspiciously. "You said your grandparents were killed by him. But I thought you said you didn't know how your grandmother died?"

"I never said that," she replied quickly. "Maybe Bobby did."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You're hiding something." It wasn't a question.

She glared at Sam angrily at first, but it eased quickly. She wasn't really angry, just upset. She had a secret. A secret she'd never told anyone else. She'd kept it to herself for nearly fifteen years and she wasn't sure if she was ready to let go of it just yet.

"Let it go, Sam"

"No, I don't think I will," he replied.

She glanced quickly at Dean, who was looking confused. "Fine," she replied in defeat, looking down. "But I've never told this to anyone. No one."

"We're not going to judge you."

"I know that, Sam. That's not what I'm worried about," she replied, fighting back tears. She didn't want to cry. That's what she was worried about. She knew it was going to happen. She'd never been able to tell anyone the truth before. She could barely even think about it without wanting to break down.

"My grandmother was killed by that werewolf. I was the one who found her, but, but–" she couldn't help but allow a single tear to fall from her eye, which she wiped away automatically. "I was going to fetch her. It was getting late and she hadn't finished supper yet. When I came upon her, she was lying dead on the ground in a pool of blood. A hole in her chest." She put her hands to her face, unable to go on.

"How did you know it was that werewolf, Jessie?" Sam prodded gently.

She nodded with her hands still on her face, before removing her hands. She gazed at him with eyes so deep with sorrow, it made him want to hold her. "When I was walking towards my grandmother, it was walking away. It turned to look at me, sneering. I'll never forget his face. I ran home and hid in my bedroom. I guess I cried myself to sleep. The next thing I remember is my grandfather waking me up and telling me she was dead." She paused for a moment, tears falling from both eyes. "He told me she had a heart attack. And I never told him I knew. At the time I didn't know what that thing was, but I knew it was the same thing that killed my parents. I remembered that much."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

She looked at Sam sadly. It was a question she'd been asking herself for so long and she wasn't quite sure of the answer. "Honestly, I think I was afraid. I don't think I really wanted to know what that thing was."

Everyone was quiet with their own thoughts for a few minutes, not sure what to say. Until Jessie became too uncomfortable with the silence.

"We need a plan to kill this bastard, once and for all."

"How do we kill him?" Dean asked.

"The same way you kill any other werewolf," she replied.

"Then how did he get away from you last time?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea, Dean."

"Maybe we should go see Bobby before we go hunting this thing," Sam said. "He might know something."

She was pretty sure Bobby didn't know anything more than he'd already told her, but she wanted to see him. She owed him a lot and she was afraid she'd never get to tell him how much she'd appreciated it, even if she seemed ungrateful. She was determined to kill this werewolf once and for all. And if she died to make that happen, she was fine with that. As long as the Winchesters made it out alive, it didn't matter to her.

"There's something I gotta do first," she blurted out suddenly as she stood up from her chair. She put on her slip on shoes, then ran out the door quickly, before either of the brothers could say anything more.

She stepped outside to a May sky that was gray, dull and full of dark clouds. She didn't stop to consider the weather. She ran down the porch stairs and turned right, walking around the house, ignoring the cold drizzle that was falling from the sky. It made her shiver—she'd forgotten her coat—but she kept on walking past the chainlink fence that ran around 100 square feet of the backyard that used to house her grandparent's old dog, Fink. She continued walking until she reached a small orchard with five apple trees. Three of the trees were old, and produced very few apples any longer. One was a little younger, but not as young as the fifth one, which was still in it's apple producing prime. She flopped to the ground on her knees in front of the trees, ignoring the damp, muddy ground. She stared at the five crosses that were planted in front of the trees, then broke out in a full cry.

Her mind was full of memories she tried hard to forget, but never could. Her grandfather planted the first tree for her sister, then buried her ashes below it. He had told her she would watch over the tree, just as the tree would watch over her. She hadn't believed her grandfather, even though she was only ten at the time. But the tree had always bloomed magnificently, even from the first year. The second and third trees were planted for her parents. She remembered helping her grandfather bury the ashes below their trees. The fourth tree had been planted for her grandmother. She felt a twinge of guilt as her eyes glanced at her cross. The fifth tree was the most recent and the most memorable of them all. It was the tree she had planted for her grandfather, after she'd killed him and burned his remains. She'd buried his ashes below his tree, just as he'd done for the rest of her family. She took great pride in that particular tree. Always making sure it was looked after. Pruning it. Spraying it. And fertilizing it. While she was sad to think of his passing and how it had happened, she always smiled as she looked upon the tree. She knew her grandfather would have been proud of her.

She was kneeling on the ground crying when the rain picked up. It was no longer just drizzle, but a constant steady late spring rain. She wasn't thinking about the rain, or how cold she was though. She was too busy feeling guilty. She knew it couldn't possibly be her fault, but she often wondered if she had told her grandfather she'd found her grandmother, if things would have turned out differently. Maybe he would have taught her then about hunting. Maybe she wouldn't have gone to university. Maybe she wouldn't have spent a year rebelling against him because he hadn't told her the truth. Maybe she wouldn't have met her boyfriend and he wouldn't have died because of her. And maybe her grandfather wouldn't be dead.

She was too busy feeling guilty and worrying about 'what ifs' to notice when someone walked up behind her, sloshing through the mud. That is, until he placed her jacket around her shoulders.

She was startled, but she didn't move. Not until she saw the feet of the man who'd come to make sure she was okay. She knew who it was before she looked up into his thoughtful and concerned eyes.

"Thank you, Sam," she said as he helped her to her feet.

"You're most welcome," he said, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. It was as much to comfort her as it was to warm her. It was cold and wet and all she was wearing was a wet t-shirt. He was even cold in his jacket.

"You didn't have to come find me."

"Really?" he asked with surprise. "It's cold out here and you're soaked. You're gonna get sick."

She pulled back, loosening his grip slightly. "Don't worry about me, Sam. It takes a bit more than being sick to keep me down."

"I believe that," he said with a grin.

She leaned in close, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "But, thank you," she said with a smile.

He smiled back, brushing stray hairs from her face. "My pleasure," he replied, moving in to kiss her. He let his lips gently touch hers, kissing them very lightly.

Her eyes had closed and she held her breath the instant his lips touched hers, but she wanted more. She reached her arms around him, grasping him tightly. It seemed to be the signal Sam had been waiting for, as he kissed her much more deeply.

Their lips were locked in a deep kiss for a couple of minutes, before Sam pulled away, smiling brightly. "I think I should get you inside. You're shivering."

"Are you sure that's your motivation, or are you scared?" she asked with a teasing grin.

"Both."

She smiled, releasing her grip from him. "I am cold."

"That's what I thought," he said, putting an arm around her, leading her towards the house. "And you look like crap."

She stopped, slapping him playfully on the chest. "Yeah, thanks a lot."

"The wet and muddy look suits you though," he teased.

She turned around, stuck a foot behind his, then pushed him with both arms. He fell backwards into a muddy puddle. "It suits you too," she laughed.

He laughed as she helped him up to his feet. "I guess I deserved that."

"That and some," she giggled. "But I think we both better hurry inside, before we get sick."

He smiled, nodding knowingly. "Let's."

A/N: I finally decided on where exactly in relation to the show this story is happening; This would be after season 6, but with an entirely different ending. Cass broke the realtionship off with Crowley, thinking he'd beat Raphael with the souls from purgatory, but he fails opening it. (so thankfully no leviathans) However, Cass does manage to defeat Raphael, barely, and is now in heaven trying to get the angels to once again do the jobs they were assigned. Things between Cass and the Winchesters are still tenative, and its been a long time since they've actually spoken. Sam has learned to deal with the problems he had when the wall in his head came down. If I think of anything I left out, I'll let you know. But you needed to know this for what's going to happen later on.

Thanks for reading!