Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" or any of its characters.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your feedback! It's wonderful to hear what you think.

Chapter 3 is rather quiet, a mood setter, so to speak. And to address some quick concerns: Jess's PoV will be ending in chapter 4, then someone else will take over. I know the story is short on brother moments, what with Dean in a coma and all, but no worries, there are a few to come! ;)

As always, thanks to the lovely Lembas7 for beta'ing! Any remaining errors are all mine, since I tend to do a second run through before posting! :P I hope you enjoy!

"Sam! SAM!"

Jess yelled his name; didn't care that they were just outside the hospital, didn't care that people stopped and stared, didn't care that she had suddenly become that person – the hysterical, sleep-deprived one that nobody wanted to make eye contact with. She didn't care, because for the second time Sam was leaving her in this hospital with no explanation.

He stopped, turned towards her. "Jess, please -"

"Where the hell could you possibly be going?!" She yelled that too. In fact, she knew she was a hair's breadth away from yelling curse words – real curse words, the kind she made an effort to avoid because she could still see her mother's frown and hear her saying, ladies shouldn't have mouths likes sailors unless they are sailors, Jessica.

And she wasn't a sailor, she was grad student.

But Dean had coded – his heart had stopped beating, they'd had to resuscitate him, to bring him back; he'd been gone, dead . . . Dean had been dead.

And Sam was leaving.

He was standing in front of her now, gently holding her by the forearms, peering into her face, like he could see that she was about to become a sailor.

"Trust me," he said. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand to avoid raking them down the side of his face.

Jess shook her head, stepped back, out of his hold, away from him.

"Where are you going - how can you -" The words stumbled over each other, her thoughts skittering away before she could process them.

"Jess, please – not right now. I know I ask a lot of you… I know that." Sam drew in a deep breath, but didn't come any closer.

A distant part of her applauded that, was pleased that he knew her that well. Most of her was attuned to his words though, waiting to see what it was he knew right now.

"I know you're overdue for a meltdown."

Goddammit.

The way his eyes widened told her she'd become a sailor. Jess narrowed her eyes and took a step closer to him. Might as well say it again, in that case. "Goddammit, Sam!" She hissed, pent up worry morphing into full blown anger.

"I am notoverdue for a fucking meltdown! I am overdue for fucking explanation is what I'm OVERDUE for! What is going on?! You already left this morning! And came back storming into your Dad's room like someone lit a damn fire in your pants! And you slam things and yell at him and ARGUE! In a HOSPITAL, Sam! And what the hell was that about anyway?! A plan for what?! And Dean is -" The words vanished, her voice faltered, but she had enough steam to keep going without them. "You go off checking on the Impala and running errands for your Dad and Dean -" She shook her head, giving up on that particular sentence. "WHAT is happening here?!"

Sam didn't say anything, only stared at her with those wide red-rimmed eyes and she felt the burn of shame creep in despite her flash of anger. He didn't need this from her.

He released a puff of air, expression caught oddly somewhere between frustration and regret. "I'm sorry, but you – you wouldn't understand," he said softly, the words coming slowly. "And I don't – I don't have time for this, Jess. Not now, I know we - you're right, you are, but not now . . . please, don't do this now."

He meant it, every word; each one a plea in and of itself. Jess swallowed hard, nodded, looked away. Bit back the anger, tucked it away for another place and time.

"I'm going to get something for Dean, to help him," Sam offered a beat later; his olive branch to her.

The tip of the iceberg, she knew, but she didn't push. Nodded again, accepting the proffered peace, and tuned backed towards the hospital.

She managed one step away when the image of Sam standing alone in the hospital hallway, staring dazedly through the doorway into Dean's room, rose unexpectedly into her mind. He had been in his Dad's room, shouting so loudly she could hear him from the waiting room, and then the alarms had gone off. A horrifying sound that signaled the end of a world. Jess had made it to the opening of the hallway and then frozen, watching Sam watch Dean. He'd watched the fight to bring Dean back, watched them almost lose, saw them barely succeed.

Jess whirled around, breathing a rushed "Sam,"even as she ran towards him. He caught her against his chest, accepting the embrace she needed to give. The hug was hard and quick, a burst of love she needed to express or choke on. He got that, Sam always got the important things she couldn't say – she was trying to learn to do the same.

"I'll hurry," he whispered.

A moment later he was gone, long strides carrying him across the hospital entryway and towards the parking lot.

She brought a shaky hand to her face, rubbing at it wearily as she whispered sincerely, "I'll be here," to the empty space where Sam had just been.

"Her long tresses of gleaming black hair glistened under the moonlight. In the dim, glowing light he was able to study her stunning profile. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sheer overwhelming beauty he found in her. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and taste the sweetness of her lips against his. If only his lady would offer some sign of returning his affections he would not hesitate to make known his intentions."

Jess frowned at the book and then looked up. "Whaddaya think? Not much of a doer, this guy, huh?" She closed it and set it atop the reject pile.

"Hospital taste in brain candy books is really sad. There are standards you know." She told him, voice much softer than the last time she'd explained the standards to him. "The girl has to be spunky and down-to-earth or sweet and humble or rich and misunderstood."

The whirring and beeping of the machines kept up a steady rhythm of background noise. Sam had been gone for close to hour, and she expected him back at any moment. In the meantime, Jess had spent a small fortune by buying crappy romance novels from the hospital gift shop.

She was reading passages aloud to Dean, just in case it was even remotely possible to wake someone up from a coma by provoking massive amounts of sheer irritation.

Jess cleared her throat; it was developing a habit of closing up on her. "This would be the part where you insert that she has to be hot too – and that there are a lot of kinds of hot."

She paused, memories of Dean describing shy-hot and sexy-hot to her almost making her smile. "And yeah, you're right, she does. There are standards for the guy too," she continued. "The guy has to be . . . honorable, even when he's not. And he has to be . . . " she trailed off; thoughts scattering as her eyes dropped to the scratches on his hands.

She reached into the plastic bag, searching for another small paperback. The one she pulled out displayed a pair of stocking-feet dangling on the cover – right above discarded lacy underwear. Jess opened it, started to make a joke about the cover being classy, and then just . . . couldn't.

Five books ago, she might have been able to pull it off. But almost an hour alone with Dean so silent, so still . . . dying, and she was starting to forget her loop. Because stable wasn't good enough, not nearly good enough; because she needed joking and smiling and teasing; because it was seeping in, chilling every atom of her body – the realization that Dean might never have that conversation with her again, and sitting here pretending was the same as sitting here wasting time.

The book slipped from her hands. It made an oddly loud thumping sound in the almost silent room.

She listened to the machines keep Dean breathing, keep him alive. When she spoke, her voice sounded young and scared even to her own ears, but she couldn't help it – was focused mostly on keeping it from quavering.

"Don't -" Tears filled her eyes, but Jess was alone with Dean and if anything, this was her best excuse to cry in front of him. "Do not make me get all… mushy with you when I won't – won't even get to see you squirm; that's the best part, you know."

The hum of the machines was her only response.

Jess swallowed hard, touched his hand lightly, skimming her fingers over the cuts. "Be okay, Dean. Please. I've never had a brother before and I – I like it."

TBC.