Chapter Five

"NO!"

Dean had heard his younger brother cry out on more occasions than he would care to admit, usually when Dean was under the grip of some sort of monster or spirit. He'd recognize the panic bubbling to the surface, terror that under normal circumstances Sam was able to (relatively) control. To be a hunter meant to keep a level head, even in times of crisis. But when it came to family, most bets were off when it came to making rational decisions, or controlling rising panic. All three Winchesters were guilty of that one; it was a family curse. In fact, it actually rather surprised Dean how Sam had been able to deal with his cancer and near death. If the shoe had been on the other foot, there was no way to be sure Dean would have handled the situation.

But this… seeing the agony on Sam's face as Jessica's lifeless body slid to the floor in a heap… and able to do nothing about it. The demon had lifted the gag on Sam's speech, but both Winchesters were still pinned to the wall, helpless to stop the attack. At the demon's feet, Jessica clutched at her wound, blood soaking through her shirt and staining her hands, gasping for breath. And seconds later, he was sliding to the floor again as the demon smoked out, its vessel dropping to the ground with a soft thud.

In seconds Sam was at her side, crying Jess' name over and over, pulling off his button down in hopes of stopping some of the bleeding. Dean was at his side, keys to the Impala in hand. "We gotta go, Sammy," he muttered. She needs a hospital. Sam knew that, and had it been anyone else, would have likely fired back with a slightly sarcastic "no kidding." But this was Jess… his Jessica, the woman he was going to marry. Am still going to marry. But he could only nod in agreement as he scooped the woman in his arms and hurried to the Impala behind his brother. Jess, still conscious, was moaning in pain, fighting off the desire to slip into merciful unconsciousness. Sensing that, Sam muttered, "No way, Jess. You're not passing out on me, got it? Stay awake for me, babe." Jess nodded weakly, coughing faintly.

Dean slid behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam settling in the back with Jess beside him. The blood seeping from the wound was growing larger, and the young man paled. This looked really bad. She could die from this. I could lose her. She's dying.

Shut the fuck up, Winchester. There was no time for self-pity, not now. Beside him, Jess was still breathing, but more harried. Focus on that. She's still breathing. She's still alive. It will be ok. Everything's going to be ok.

Sam hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until he heard a faint voice in response. "Ok…" Another cough and chortled gasp for breath and Sam realized in horror that the knife had more than likely penetrated the diaphragm. "Dean, you need to hurry. She's having trouble breathing." In response, Dean pressed his foot even more on the gas pedal. "Hospital is half an hour away, Sammy."

"I don't know if she has that long. You gotta hurry!"

"S'm." In a voice so faint, slurred, Sam had almost missed it.

"Don't talk, Jess. Save your strength. Everything is going to be ok, it's gonna be fine."

"I.. love you, S'm."

"Stop talking like that." But Sam could feel the tears pooling in his eyes, and he blinked them back. He couldn't let her see him cry. "We'll get you to the hospital, patch you up…" but Jess squeezed his hand faintly. "Bullshit," she whispered. "You always….were… a bad…liar." To this, Sam had no answer. So he held her hand, talked to her of other things. Of graduation, his hopes of law school, wedding plans. The last was more than a little macabre, but he wanted Jessica to stay awake, and if that meant talking about a wedding that could very likely not even happen, then so be it. When the Impala finally pulled to a stop at the ER, Sam had never been more relieved. Jess was still awake (though barely), and in moments, was whisked away by doctors to the OR. Sam could only stand in stunned silence, Dean by his side, as the doors to the operating theatre closed with a soft thud behind them.

XXX

Jessica Moore was in a wedding gown.

She couldn't understand. One minute she was in a cabin in Vermont, and now she was in Oceanside, California, in her old childhood bedroom. She was dressed in complete bridal regalia, right down to the blue garter on her thigh. Confused, she looked at her refection in the vanity mirror and saw a gorgeous ball gown, strapless, with a sweetheart neckline and full, ruffled skirt, her face shrouded by a misty veil. Not typically the gown she would have chosen, she was more into sexy and sleek rather than the stereotypical princess type. But she remembered how her mother had oogled over this particular gown when the two had browsed through bridal magazines before Sam had even proposed. On the dresser beside her was a beautiful bouquet of pink, white, and red tulips. Because roses are lame, she thought with a smile. She could hear Sam's voice in her head saying those very words, and for some reason she couldn't understand, she choked up.

Outside her window, the rain poured in torrents, heavy sheets almost pounding against the glass. The wind howled in the trees outside, scratching at the pain like a creature from a horror movie. Funny. I always thought it was good luck to rain on your wedding day. But it looks like a hurricane out there. Cautiously, she pulled back the lace curtains and peered out into the back yard. Sure enough, gale force winds were practically bending the palm trees outside in half. The sea which had lulled her to sleep as a child, even on stormy nights, was suddenly ominous and very threatening. Jessica shuddered, pulling the curtains closed again. Silently, she reached for the bouquet and left the bedroom, walking along the hallway to the stairs. The house, normally filled with noise on any typical day, let alone one of the Moore girls' wedding day, was eerily silent. No smell of breakfast on the stove or of coffee brewing; no giggles from her two younger sisters running around in the living room, bare feet muffled on the carpet; no barking of the family dog, Odie, or her father's annoyed snapping of him to "shuddup or I'll put you outside." Her dad had never been a dog person, unlike her fiancé. It was her mom who had convinced him to adopt him as a puppy from the local shelter.

Quietly, almost anxiously, Jess made her way downstairs, high heels digging slightly into the thick carpet. As expected, the living room was deserted, so she made her way to the kitchen, heart pounding in her chest. As expected, there was no sign of her family… but standing near the back door, covered in blood, stood Sam, a young blonde woman in his arms. And as the girl in his arms turned her head, Jessica Moore realized to her horror that the dying woman in Sam's arms was herself…

XXX

Sam hated waiting rooms. As hunter's kids, he and Dean had found themselves sitting on those uncomfortable chairs on more occasions than either would care to remember. In early years, it was with Bobby Singer, waiting on word whether or not their father would make it from a hunt gone south. Once they got older, Sam or Dean themselves would find themselves hospitalized a time or two because of the job; and there were the typical kid issues too, like pneumonia, Dean's acute appendicitis. And there was the last time, not all that long ago, when he had come so close to losing Dean. And now, not even a year later, he was in another waiting room, waiting to hear if his fiancée would live or die. Exhausted, Sam leaned back in his seat, head buried in his hands. Beside him, Dean was trying his best to be comforting, occasionally patting his brother gently on the knee. Showing affection was a rare occurrence for either Winchester, and Dean wasn't sure if a firm hug would be appropriate at the moment. So instead he continued with the occasional taps, alternating between the shoulder and knee, hoping that these simple gestures were at least providing some comfort. And after a while, they did calm his freakishly tall younger brother, to the point where the shaking in his broad shoulders began to slightly relax.

But when fifteen minutes later, when the doctor announced that Jess, his beautiful Jessica, had died on the table, he didn't push away when Dean pulled his brother in for a hug. Dean held his brother like a child, rubbing his back in small circles as he had done when his kid brother was little, as Sam sobbed into his chest. It was like that for a few minutes, with one Winchester crying his eyes out while the other tried to provide as much comfort as he could. And when a moment later, an embarrassed Sam pulled away and left the room, Dean didn't follow. He wanted to, but knew that his sibling needed space. Sam had had his moment of what he would no doubt call weakness, and now wanted the comfort of solitude. He couldn't blame him; he'd want the same thing should it have been, god forbid, Sam who had died. So Dean waited, sitting with his head in his hands in a room full of strangers, struggling to control his own emotions. He didn't love Jess like Sam had, there was no doubt of that. And the kid must be going through hell now; but he had loved his brother's fiancée like a sister. She'd opened her heart and home to him when he'd been dying, had loved Sam with all her heart. She'd been a friend.

And it's my fault. Dean knew it wasn't time for self-pity, but the thought popped into his mind before he could control himself. Of course this was all his fault. If he hadn't suggested hiding out in the cabin (which he had insisted would be safe); if he'd kept his mouth shut about the supernatural; if he'd not gone back to Sam's place after learning about his father….fuck, if he'd not bothered Sam in the first place and just died alone. Yeah, it would have been hard, but watching his brother's fiancée die before him… because of his actions. It was no contest.

But as much as he wanted to indulge in his self-loathing, Dean knew he had to think of Sam. The kid needed his help a lot more at the moment, and the last thing Sam needed as to see his older brother break down. With a sigh, he rose from his chair and headed outside. He knew without even really thinking that he'd find Sam in the Impala; the old car had practically been his home growing up. It had been within its four doors where Sam had shared his first tale of rejection as a fifteen-year-old, when Amanda Hawking had stood him up for his first date; where Dean had taught that same teenager how to drive. It was where he sometimes came to calm down after a major fight with their father. And so it was definitely no surprise when Dean found his younger brother sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, staring blankly ahead. For a moment, Dean said nothing, not really wanting to interrupt. But after a while, the hunter slid in the driver's seat; he sat there, not bothering to even start her up, and Sam responded with his continued silence, eyes still red from crying. The two sat there for several minutes in a quiet which was somehow not awkward, but comforting.

It was Sam who had finally broken the stillness; Dean watched as his brother turned toward him, a look of anger in his hazel eyes.

"We've got work to do," Sam said.