Heart Weary
By Spense
Chapter Three
Sam was warm. And comfortable. It didn't connect that that he probably shouldn't be all that comfortable until the memory of all that had happened came flooding back. Warm, yes. The pit was supposed to be downright hot. But comfortable? No. Must be that demon blood. Sam opened his eyes expecting the worst.
He did not expect to be looking directly at Jess. But there she was, smurf pajamas and all, lying next to him on their bed at their apartment at Stanford. She was propped up on her elbow, smiling at him.
"Surprise!"
Her grin was as unexpected as the welcome. "Jess?" he mumbled stupidly.
"In the flesh. Or . . . what passes for it now, I guess." She was openly laughing at him now, as he continued to gaze idiotically at her. "What? You didn't think you'd see me?"
"What are you doing in Hell?" He still wasn't processing.
"You idiot," she laughed as she hugged him. "You aren't in Hell."
"I'm not?" He asked stupidly.
"You know, for such a smart guy, you can be a really stupid sometimes," she mumbled as she kissed him.
Sam luxuriated in the feel of her skin, in her scent, in her just 'being' Jess. Then, he began to wake up. "How . . .?"
She pulled back and sat up cross-legged, looking at him with that direct gaze he remembered so well. He just drunk in her face.
"First, none of this was your fault."
Sam's eyes widened as he remember. Jess pinned on the ceiling, the fire . . .
"It wasn't," she insisted, clearly aware of what he was thinking. "Let me finish," she commanded as his mouth opened.
"Not my dying in the fire, not Dean's dying, or your dads. Not your Mom's either. You're a victim just as much as anybody else in all this."
Sam felt the same despair wash over him. She didn't get it. And he was too tired to try to explain. Now he couldn't even die right.
"No, Sam! For one thing, you aren't dead. Close, but not quite. I'm here because I volunteered. I wanted to see you and talk to you."
"I'm glad," Sam said simply, propping his elbow on the pillow and resting his head in his hand. "I've missed you so much."
"I know. I've missed you too. But we'll see each other again, and you still have work to do." She said it with such assurance that it very near took his breath away.
"How can you be so sure?" he asked quietly. "You don't know what I've done."
"Of course I do," she said matter of factly. "I know all of it. And you don't have anything to be sorry about."
"But Dean said that Castiel told him that if Dean didn't stop me, the angels would. And the angels don't like me much."
"No," Jess corrected. "Castiel said that the angels didn't know where that path would lead, so they didn't want you on it. Nobody, not angel, not demon, not person, can know the future. Only God does, and he's not telling. So you could have been right."
Sam's brow furrowed at that, thinking that through. "But Dean . . . "
"Dean doesn't know everything," she said tartly. "Besides, he was an idiot for leaving, and he knows it, too." She sounded so much like his older brother that he had to smile. And that turned into a pang of regret. He missed Dean. A lot.
Jess smiled gently, as though she knew what he was thinking. Who knows, maybe she did.
"I'm so tired, Jess," he finally said on a sigh, flopping back to look at the ceiling. That brought back bad memories and he shut his eyes. He put an arm over his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the ceiling that Jess had died on.
His arm was tugged away, and when he opened his eyes, Jess's smiling face blocked the view of the ceiling.
"I know, Sam. You don't have to go back yet."
"I don't want to go back, Jess. Everything I touch is tainted."
"No it's not. You're just tired. It's making your view of things skewed."
Sam just sighed; a heavy sigh of bone tired exhaustion and closed his eyes. Her feather light kiss on his eyes relaxed him.
"Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake up."
And she was. Gradually the despair faded, as she coaxed him out into the sun. They walked, and rode bikes, and had picnics in the grass under the bright California sun. It was all the wonderful times that Sam remembered, with none of the stress of class, or wondering if the supernatural would catch up with him. And they talked. About Dean. About John. About Sam's feelings about where he fit in. About the angels and God. And the angels disdain for him. Jess was exactly as Sam remembered. Funny, intuitive, and caring. She helped him work through his despair and exhaustion. She was as mad at him as Dean would have been about his suicidal attack on the demons.
Gradually Sam began to feel less raw. He wasn't whole, not by any means. He was hurt too deep for that. And he was still heart weary. He probably always would be. The betrayals and losses had taken their toll. Plus, the hurt of Dean's abandonment would never leave. That ache was deep and abiding. Dean had been the one person besides Jess that he thought would never turn on him. To have that happen was shattering. But at least his time with Jess put to rest his feelings of guilt over her death, and soothed some of the edges of his splintered soul. So now at least he could function. Enough as a demon killing machine at least. Jess was a healing balm that he treasured. And each day in the sunshine with her was a gift that he wouldn't turn away.