A quiet tranquility laced the air—an innocent, gentle stillness. Birdsong danced through the leaves, each chord as soft as a sweet whisper and proud as a trumpet horn. The earthy tones of freshly shorn grass colored the air, twisted in the fragrance of the plethora of flowers adorning the lush gardens. Behind a quilt of white-grey clouds, the steadfast, pale blue sky above admired the land below.
Thin, white curtains billowed out of open windows in the occasional breeze, which carried the sporadic hum of laughter and life. Rocking chairs waited on porches like the oldest of friends, creaking beneath the wind as though to complain of a new ache. The warm, rich scent of a home barbeque wove along the neighborhood, practically inviting the entire street to partake in what could only be a feast. Here, worries could disappear like dew beneath the rising sun.
Sam inhaled deeply, then slowly released his breath, smiling at the world he knew he'd find upon opening his eyes. At the heaven that surrounded him. Because that's what this must be, wasn't it? He forced the thought away—it didn't matter.
Sam's gaze traveled downward, and, somewhat experimentally, he stretched to test his range of motion. Nothing—he felt nothing. He prodded at the once-gaping spot on his abdomen. It was hardly even tender. It was like it hadn't even happened. It. It? How… how was he injured again? His fingers clenched. No… it didn't matter.
He released another breath and refocused on the tool in his hands. The tool. A paint roller. That was right. Jessica had wanted to give the house a fresh coat of paint—make it new, make it theirs. He smiled at the word. She wasn't thrilled with him taking on the task so soon after his injury, but obviously he was fine.
Sam dipped the roller into the pan of paint. White. Stark white. Like snow. Like a lamb. Like purity. Like a pearl. He might have had a few objections—surely any blemishes or dirt would be all the more evident against such a bare color. But he was wiser than to voice them—if Jess wanted it, it didn't matter.
"It's a nice place you've established."
He glanced over his shoulder, nearly dropping the paint roller at the sight. He stared in shock, his mind struggling to reconcile as he blinked, "Adam?"
His half-brother's mouth curled in a faint, almost bemused smile.
"It's good to see you," Sam set the roller down into the paint, wiping his hands on his jeans as he approached, "How have you been?"
Adam tilted his head, scanning over Sam, "Our circumstances are far from ideal. But… I assure you, your brother is safe, Samuel."
"Dean?" Sam's brow furrowed, his concern immediately escalating, "What happened to Dean?"
Adam paused, "Nothing. To my knowledge, he should be fine."
Confusion still swarmed Sam's skull, but he forced an awkward smile, "Okay… um… great." He left a question in his tone, a request for an explanation, but Adam didn't seem to catch it.
"I know we've had our… disagreements in the past." Adam began slowly, carefully considering each word, "But... upon reflection, I realize now I may have allowed my wrath to overcome me prematurely. And… despite what you are and what you've done… no creature deserves the things that have been done to you."
Sam winced. Adam knew about the demon, then? About the memory loss? But… what was he talking about what Sam was and what he's done? Sam wasn't sure what kind of relationship he had with Adam here—maybe he'd ask Dean. Maybe he'd know what Adam was referring to. To Sam's memory, he'd barely spent any time with his half-brother—he'd spent more time with the ghoul who'd eaten him.
Adam again seemed not to notice Sam's troubled expression, merely glancing around the property before finally nodding in something not far from approval, "It looks much like Father's."
"Thanks," Sam replied slowly. He wondered what his parent's house looked like, or where it even was—he'd have to visit, sometime. "Jess thought it was time for some change."
Adam squinted at him, then toward the house, "I see." He studied the color for a moment before finally remarking, "Interesting choice."
Sam followed his gaze, eyes skating back to the unfinished paint job. He couldn't help but agree—it was an interesting choice. Red. Like roses. Like cherries. Like blood. Like rubies. It was a deep shade, but not deep enough. Bold, and somewhat jarring. But if it was what Jess wanted, it didn't matter.
"So, what brought you over?" Sam asked with a glance down the street. He didn't see a car—Adam must have walked. He must live nearby, then.
"Curiosity. It has been some time since I'd seen you last, and I was curious what my brother was up to."
Sam smiled, "Just some housework. Trying to take it easy, these past few days."
Adam's expression furrowed somewhat, as though Sam's response hadn't been what he was looking for. With narrowed eyes, Adam observed, "You don't seem well, Samuel."
"Well, thanks, man," Sam rubbed the back of his head with a soft chuckle, his eyes skating downward as though to verify that the wound in his abdomen hadn't decided to rupture. He didn't feel anything abnormal, so he must be fine, but when had so much paint gotten on his clothes?
Adam's gaze was unrelenting, his tone serious, but sincere, "I could finish it, if you'd like."
Sam's mouth parted again in a grateful, chuckling smile, "No, it's—thank you, but I'm fine. I've got it." It was a kind offer, but he could finish painting the house.
Adam's expression twinged in sorrow, in skepticism. He paused, as though pondering the question himself before voicing it, "Do you regret it, Samuel?"
"Repainting the house?" Sam chuckled, brow furrowed, "No. And please—it's Sam."
Adam shook his head, "No, I mean—"
"Hey, you!" Jessica's sudden voice at Sam's side made him flinch. Her arm wound around Sam's, her fingers easily intertwining with his, as though they were made to fit together.
Adam glanced her over, then waved a hand generally, "Was this your idea?"
She smiled, "Actually it was Sam's initially, but he can't take all the credit." She nudged him—a motion that sent a shiver racing across his skin. "I might have taken over a bit. But it's been fun—it's good to switch things up. Isn't that right, babe?"
Sam gazed down into her light, beaming, perfect face, and broke his smile only to kiss her softly in answer. When their lips finally parted, Jessica's wide, easy grin returned, and she squeezed his hand as she returned her attention to Adam.
"Hey," she brightened as though just realizing something, tapping Adam's arm with her free hand, "I guess happy anniversary to you too. Can you believe it's been five years since we all moved here?"
Adam nodded once—so he did live nearby—but he didn't seem overly pleased.
"Thanks to you, baby." Jessica remarked sweetly, resting her head against Sam's arm. Her gaze must have flitted over the house, "I think this might just be our forever home."
Sam rested his head against hers in turn, "Guess I better get it painted then, huh?"
She chuckled lightly, but Adam's posture remained rigid, prompting Jessica to ask, "So what brought you over to our humble abode?" Her expression shifted to mock worry, "I hope you didn't come to try to steal Sammy away."
Adam shook his head decisively, "No. He's all yours."
"Is that so?" Jessica turned to face Sam, her brow furrowed amusedly, almost as though she was teasingly testing him.
"Completely." He agreed, and she cocked an eyebrow as though to say oh? So he added words that came easy, "Body, mind, and soul," and she rewarded him with another kiss, like a winter fire.
Still hanging from Sam's arm, Jessica again seemed to recall Adam's presence, "Do you want to come in for a drink? I've got an excellent vintage on the way. One of Sam's favorites."
As Sam glanced down in curiosity—he didn't exactly have a favorite vintage, to his knowledge; if it was cold and came in a bottle, it did the trick—Adam's lip curled, "That vile poison is repulsive. I don't know how you can bear it."
The sudden, bitter reaction caused Sam's expression to crease in bemused amusement, "What's your poison, then? We probably have something."
Adam's gaze was steady, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he expected Sam to already know—which, in fairness, perhaps he should have. "I don't drink."
Well, he was only half Winchester.
"Are you sure? You never know—you might just like it," Jessica prodded, but Adam refused to budge.
"No. What would Fa—" He cut himself off, and Sam frowned. It took Adam a few seconds to recompose, though his movements remained stiff, "I'll take my leave, then. Though, brother, I doubt it'll be long before we see each other again."
"Hey, sounds good. It was good seeing you, Adam," Sam stretched out a hand. His half-brother's eyes fell to the proffered handshake, but he didn't move, perhaps discouraged by the paint smeared across Sam's hands or his apparent extensive disgust toward alcohol.
"We'll be here," Jessica added in farewell, and Adam departed down the street without a single hesitation or glance back.
When he was far enough out of earshot, Sam noted, "I didn't realize he lived so close."
"He used to spend a lot more time with us, but maybe we started boring him." Jessica shrugged, "We never see Adam."
"Too bad," Sam remarked. They'd have to invite him over more.
"So," Jessica gazed up toward Sam somewhat mischievously, "What do you say you take a break? Since we're not having company, we might as well take our drinks upstairs…"
He returned her playful smile, "Let me clean some of this paint off, and I'll be right up."
A flash of teeth in a knowing grin, and she disappeared inside.
Sam moved to grab the paint roller and pan, then stepped back to evaluate his work. It might take another coat to set the depths of the dark tone, but he'd made a lot of progress. It was an unusual color, to be sure, but there was something familiar, almost comforting about it.
Black. Like coal. Like a raven. Like his soul. Like the night sky.
Of course, the dark color might turn out to be a poor decision when the sun bore down with billows of heat, but lately, with the chill in the air and the clouds in the sky, that hadn't seemed to be a problem. Yet, at least. Regardless—if it was what Jessica wanted, it didn't matter.