Story Summary: After her husband, Sam, is brutally murdered, Jessica struggles with just getting out of bed in the morning. When a mysterious stranger knocks on her door, he makes her question everything she knew about her husband, but he also gives her hope that maybe Sam didn't leave her all alone in the world after all.
Dean has been gone for weeks now.
Back on the road in his beast of a car with a list of self-care instructions, a cooler filled with healthy snacks she forced on him, and a promise to text at least every couple of days, to call once a week, and to come back for a visit in at least a couple months. Jessica had a hard time keeping her hands from shaking as she watched him load his brand new duffle in the trunk. It was inevitable, she knew, that Dean would leave and get back on the road. Back to saving people and hunting things, the family business, or so he'd explained to her.
Knowing something is inevitable and watching as the last connection to her dead husband and the only company she's had for the last few weeks getting ready to leave her were two different things.
As it was, when Dean turned back for one last quiz on any number of safety precautions he insisted on before he could get back on the road and leave her to fend for herself, Jessica thought, "Screw it." The look of shock on his face as she yanked him into a tight clutching hug was almost funny. If Jessica wasn't already fighting tears from the thought of being left alone in the house she'd shared with her dead husband again.
The long moment it took for Dean to reciprocate, to raise his arms and embrace her back was awkward, but worth it when Jessica felt, for the first time that morning since she'd woken up to Dean's things packed and ready to go, like she could breathe. He tightened his hold on her as she let out a relieved sigh. She was sure her shirt would be wrinkled and stretched where his hands fisted the cloth white-knuckled and secure, but she didn't care.
She didn't care, not when a warm feeling of security and companionship was sweeping away the cold that had settled into her bones at the thought of him leaving.
"You'll come back if you get injured, right?" she asked as she squeezed her eyes shut, her arms still tight and unyielding around his shoulders. "Or if you get hungry. Either one. Doesn't matter."
Dean huffed a quiet laugh over her shoulder and flexed his arms around her chest. "And you'll call if you see anything. Anything strange happens or you think something's wrong."
"Yeah," Jessica nodded jerkily against his shoulder. "You're on my speed dial." Speed dial number three, because she wasn't quite ready yet to delete Sam's cell from number two.
"Okay," Dean started gruffly, "enough of this chick flick moment." He released her and gently untangled them from their almost painful hug. "I gotta hit the road, daylight's wasting."
"Yeah, okay," Jessica reluctantly let him go and surreptitiously swiped at her cheeks to make sure she wasn't doing something embarrassing like cry. "Careful driving and hunt safely."
Chuckling, Dean flashed her a grin, "Pretty sure that's an oxymoron."
Rolling her eyes, she propped her fists on her hips. "Well, if you don't I'll make you nothing, but spinach and calf's liver when you come back."
"You wouldn't," Dean gasped scandalized, but the mirth glinting in his green eyes reflected the humor in Jessica's.
"Show up bleeding on my doorstep again and just see if I don't," she shot back challengingly drawing a rusty growling laugh out of Dean as he pulled the Impala's driver's side door open and slid in the seat.
Slamming the door closed behind him, Dean turned the ignition over filling the quiet morning air with the thundering rumble of his Baby's engine. Turning to look at his brother's widow one last time, he spoke to her out the open window.
"Thank you, Jessica," he said with a solemn sincere expression, "for patching me up, feeding me, letting me stay and everything else."
"No," Jessica returned with an equally solemn, but gentle smile. "Thank you, Dean. For killing the thing that killed Sam, and for me," she said, reaching in the window and giving his arm a squeeze, "for taking care of me, too."
They held each other's dark, saddened, but at the same time relieved gazes for a long moment. Brought together by their shared –though different- love and grief for the same man and their renewed purpose in caring for each other. Then they broke their connection, Jessica stepped back from the Impala, and Dean put the car in gear and rolled away down the drive and then down the road.
That was eight, almost nine weeks ago and since then, true to Dean's word – and Jessica's threats- she received a text message confirming his health and wellbeing every couple of days or so and a phone call once a week, give or take a day or two.
Jessica wasn't near as lonely as she had been before Dean collapsed on her welcome mat, but she couldn't claim that her life was a barrel of excitement either. Well, a little bit of excitement.
After about a week of the house being too quiet and dinner being too lonely, Jessica had scrolled through the names Dean made her add into her phone and memorize and made a decision. And it was one of the best decisions she'd made, because Bobby Singer was amazing. When Dean had described the cantankerous old man as a supernatural expert he hadn't been exaggerating one bit.
Once she'd proved who she was to the paranoid old man's satisfaction he was more than happy to give her a hand. He supplied her with reference books and other materials, assisted her in redesigning and drawing up plans for renovating her house and property to make it as supernaturally secure as possible. And he indulged her with hilariously embarrassing stories about Sam and Dean when they were kids and would spend months on end with him at his salvage yard.
He also didn't mind just chatting a bit with her, listening to her stories about Sam as a grown, caring, and generous man, her worries about Dean and the dangerous life he lead, or her almost never ending questions about the new world she'd been exposed –however distantly- to.
Jessica would forever be thankful to Bobby for his patient, kind listening ear, but more so for the help he'd given her in making her home as safe and inviting to Dean as possible. She'd started the project out of curiosity and ended up finishing it for almost the express purpose of having a safe haven for Dean to return to and stay. She knew, no matter how much she wanted him to stay, Dean would always have one foot out the door and a constant ball of tension in his gut with worry for her, if he couldn't be absolutely sure that her home was one of the safest places against the supernatural next to Bobby Singer's own panic room.
The remodeling plans were finalized and Jessica had already put in some calls to contractors, so she was excited for Dean to eventually show back up on her doorstep again. She almost couldn't wait to show him the plans and get his approval, but to also show how devoted she was to the idea that her house would become one of Dean's very few port of calls, homes away from home, one of his safe havens.
She'd accomplished a lot in just eight weeks if she did say so herself.
Eight weeks turned into nine turned into eleven turned into almost four months and Dean still hadn't come back. Jessica knew hunting took time, she remembered Dean's stories of sitting around on his butt for the right phase of the moon or turn of an equinox or whatever, so truly she wouldn't have been so worried. If only the phone calls and texts hadn't stopped three weeks ago.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jessica was worrying herself sick that Dean was dead in a ditch somewhere. Torn apart by a skinwalker or eaten by a pagan god or possessed by a demon, she didn't know and she tried not to think about it. She mostly failed at that.
She had nightmares. Ever since Sam had died and Dean had shown up on her door step. They used to be fairly simple. Sam would be attacked by a shadow creature and torn apart while he screamed for Jessica to help save him. Now that she knew what had really killed her husband, that she knew what really went bump in the night, her nightmares got worse. Sam would reach for her frantically as a tree god ate his intestines, he'd show up at her door with black eyes and an evil smile, he'd stand on the sidewalk staring sightlessly while a ghostly hand reached into his chest and tore his heart out. She'd always wake up with a gasp, a shout, a yelp of shock and there wouldn't be anyone to sooth her fear or tell her it was all a horrible dream.
They used to be fairly simple. She hadn't heard from Dean in almost a month and Jessica's nightmares took a turn.
It would start with Sam getting jumped by a Lon Chaney Jr.–esque werewolf, but after the first horrific rending of flesh Sam's terrified face would morph into Dean's and it would end with Dean dead and torn apart with his heart missing in Sam's place.
This new and awful turn to her nightmares made them probably worse than the ones with just Sam. Jessica had already lost Sam, she was familiar with that terrible grief. But Dean was another matter. He'd come to her when she most needed him and even though she'd patched him up on her living room floor with his blood smeared up to her elbows there was just something about him that seemed invincible. The thought that he was dead out there somewhere and she was once again alone in the world, made Jessica's heart pound in her chest and her stomach sink into her shoes. It was almost unfathomable that he would leave her just like Sam did.
Almost unfathomable, but Jessica was a nurse and a realist. She knew just how dangerous Dean's job was. She'd stitched his injuries after he'd killed the werewolf that killed Sam. No matter how much she wanted to deny it she knew there was a very good possibility that Dean wasn't in contact because he was in trouble if not dead. And he would have to be to break his promise of communicating with her. Jessica hadn't known him for more than seventy-two hours before she knew that when Dean made a promise he meant to keep it.
Which was why one Thursday night, after almost four weeks without word from him, Jessica was sitting in her living room staring at her phone debating whether she should give Dean another day or if she should just call Bobby and demand he mount a search. She already tried calling Dean herself, at least twice a day for the past week and all she'd gotten was straight to voicemail.
"Hey, you've reached Dean's other-other cell. If you're calling this number it better be an emergency because-"
Hissing in frustration Jessica hit "end" before the message finished and tossed her cell onto the coffee table in frustration. That was the third time she's called him today, once in the morning before breakfast, once on her lunch break, and now it was nearing 9:30 at night and he still had yet to either pick up the phone or return her calls. She'd tried to tell herself she was over reacting, but the prospect of once again being completely alone in the world was making her panic a little bit.
"Screw it," Jessica muttered to the empty room. "I'm calling Bobby." Reaching for her cell once again, she'd just brushed the dark screen with her fingers when there was a loud knock on her front door.
Startling at the sudden sound, Jessica pressed a hand to her skipping heart for a second until it steadied again. It was too late for a surprise visitor, or a delivery, or Mrs. Havisham from down the street being nosey, Jessica thought. The last time someone had knocked on her door this late at night, she'd ended up dragging her bleeding long lost brother-in-law into her living room.
A flare of hope lit up inside of her and Jessica jumped up from the couch and darted toward the front door, skidding in her socks on the hardwood floor.
Reaching the entranceway Jessica hurriedly snapped the porch light on and peeked through the window at the top of the door. The sight on the other side had her heaving a deep breath of relief. Then a wave of anger rose inside her as all the worry and fear of the past few weeks ebbed away.
Twisting the deadbolt unlocked, Jessica pulled open her front door and fixed the figure standing on her new welcome mat with a stern scowl.
The silence hung over them. Jessica with her arms crossed over his chest and an unimpressed expression on her face and Dean with a tired sheepish smirk that quickly started to fade under the heat of her look.
After a long awkward moment, Dean finally sighed in defeat. "Alright, look. I know I told you I'd call, but there was this rugaru and my phone dropped in the swamp. Then before I could get another one I caught a ghost at the state line and by the time I'd salted and burned it I was only about three hours out and I figured it wasn't worth it to go buy a phone when I was already so close. Thought you might appreciate seeing me with your own eyes after so long, anyhow."
All through Dean's long rambled explanation, Jessica had been studying him. She saw the purpling bruise on his jaw, the raw scrapes on his knuckles, the exhausted circles under his eyes –not as dark as when they'd first met, but darker than when they'd parted-, and the suspicious stains on his dirty weather-beaten clothes.
By the time he'd finished, Jessica was still angry, but she was also so, so relieved. Sure he could have taken the hour to hunt down a replacement phone to give her a call, but he could have just as easily died in a muggy swamp or in a decrepit graveyard as well. And Dean was right about one thing, she did appreciate seeing him with her own eyes, seeing that he was in fact still alive and breathing.
For the second time that evening Jessica thought, "Screw it," and went with her instincts.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and yanked him to her in a hard unyielding grip. Pressing her body against his she buried her face in his neck and took a deep slightly shaky breath. He didn't smell all that pleasant, sweat and dirt and things still clinging to his clothes and skin, but he was warm and there was no denying the jolt of his chest against hers when he let out a surprised grunt.
"I'm still angry at you," Jessica mumbled into his collar as she curled her fists in the back of his shirts. "But I'm so happy you're not dead."
Dean's tension eased out of his body and he finally wrapped his own arms around Jessica, squeezing her tight to his chest and taking comfort in the feel of her heart beating against his.
"I'm alright, Jessica," he murmured as he pressed his nose into her shoulder and took a silent inhale of her scent, fading perfume and detergent and the natural smell of her. "Sorry I worried you."
Scoffing, Jessica gently knocked her head against his jaw in punishment. "And you should be. I have half a mind to feed you liver and spinach for all the worrying I did for you."
"No," Dean whined and lifted his head to give Jessica a beseeching look as she pulled back from their hug. "Don't do that. I'm here now, aren't I?"
She gave him an unimpressed hum as she scrutinized his pleading expression. Stepping back, she dropped her arms from his shoulders and put her fists on her hips. "Fine. No liver, but," she pointed a stern finger at him, "you're not getting out of the spinach."
Dean flashed her a grin. "I can live with that."
Rolling her eyes, Jessica snatched up his hand, hissed unhappily at the scrapes across his skin and pulled him off the welcome mat and over the threshold. He barely had time to grab his duffle from the ground near his feet before the door slammed behind him.
"Come on, I have a couple chicken breasts in the fridge. You go take a shower, while I go get dinner ready." She cast him a look over shoulder as she towed him through the house and shoved him toward the guest bathroom. "I'm assuming there wasn't time to bathe between the rugaru and the ghost," she commented dryly.
Huffing a laugh, Dean nodded his head conceding. "Barely had time to breathe, much less find a motel to clean up in."
Jessica paused, and turned to look at him fully, her blue eyes softer and her slight smile genuine. "I really am glad you're okay, Dean. I don't-" she swallowed thickly and averted her eyes for a moment before looking back at him with sadness and worry in her gaze. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't come back."
Turning his hand over in hers, Dean twined their fingers together and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "It'll take a hell of a lot more than that to keep me from coming back to you, Jessica. I promise I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."
Sucking in a shuddering breath, Jessica held his dark determined green eyes and nodded, finally letting go of the last edges of tension still clinging inside her. She knew this was a promise Dean was going keep, come hell or high water, she knew Dean would fight like crazy to come back to her.
Releasing her hold of Dean's hand, their fingers slowly slipped away from each other. Jessica pushed him by the shoulder toward the bathroom again, her mood and her expression lightening once more. "Now go get in the shower," she ordered smirking at him. "You stink."
Chuckling, Dean put up no protest and good naturedly followed her prodding, trudging down the hall. As he got to the bathroom door he paused and looked back to see Jessica still standing at the end of the hallway watching him with a light, happy smile on her face before she turned and started into the kitchen.
Not for the first time, Dean thought how beautiful she was. An old, almost forgotten feeling started to well up inside him. It pulled at the deeply buried memories from his childhood. Standing the cool house, the smell of dinner just starting to waft through the air, the sound of her absent humming, and the scent of her perfume still clinging to him, Dean knew what that feeling was.
Home, he felt like he was home.
End.