Title: Twenty cannot make him drink
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti.
Warnings: spoilers for pilot
Pairings: Sam/Jessica
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 575
Point of view: third
She had the first dream the night before she met Sam. She was in a dark room, an insubstantial observer, watching a young man—twenty-three or twenty-four—have a minor freak-out. He banged on the room's only door, kicked the walls, and cursed—fluently, emphatically, and loudly.
Jessica couldn't make out much of his features, but he moved like he was hurt. He shifted into the scant light filtering in through the tiny window high up on the wall, which lit up his hazel eyes—and she woke.
-
The second dream came five months later, after the first time she and Sam made love.
The man was bleeding in another room, this one old and musty. He was barely conscious, quickly fading; Jessica knelt beside him, unsure of what she could actually do, if anything.
It was just a dream, after all. The man wasn't real, couldn't be.
His eyes opened to merely a slit, focused on her. "… angel?" he gasped out and she woke up.
-
She had the third a year after. She was curled up in Sam's arms, happy with the world. She had forgotten the man since the last dream, but now the memories came streaming back at the pain on his face, held in the lines of his body. He was limping up a flight of stairs, tears coursing down his cheeks, his left arm clenched tightly to his chest. He looked defeated, and the expression hurt her.
He collapsed, there on the stairs, no one to help but her. She moved over to him, knelt beside him. "C'mon," she said, touching his shoulder. "Get up."
He didn't react. She gripped his shoulder. "I said," she growled, "get up."
His eyes opened. He minutely turned his head, trying to focus on her. "'g'way," he muttered. "'m'tired."
She glared at him. "If you don't get up these stairs, you'll die."
"'m'tired," he repeated.
Jessica stood and reached down, placing her hands in his armpits, lifting. He barely moved but it was enough: he got the idea and forced his feet under him.
"Bitch," he said, and she laughed.
She helped him to the landing, where a door stood open. A bag was abandoned on the other side.
"'m'phone," he gasped, sliding down the wall.
She dug in the knapsack till she found his cell, pressed it into his hand. His fingers clutched at it, but it slipped to the floor. Jessica picked his phone up and scrolled through his numbers till she found one labeled Dad. As she called it, she wondered why she didn't dial nine-one-one instead.
"Dean?" a deep voice answered and Jessica fell back into her body.
That's when she knew they were more than dreams. This Dean, whoever he was, was just as real as her and Sam. And somehow, she'd traveled to wherever he was, helped him when he needed it. But she couldn't figure out why.
And she couldn't talk to anyone about him. Not even Sam.
-
The fourth and final dream happened the night Sam left. It wasn't even much of one, just a flash of Dean in a car, driving down a dark highway.
Jessica woke alone in bed, to the sound of a tussle down the hall. She flicked on the den light and discovered that her dream-Dean was, in fact, Sam's brother.
There was no recognition on his face, in his eyes. And that hurt almost as much as Sam's goodbye.