Dealing With It
"Why are you still here?"
"Why are you in my room?"
"Dean's room."
Jane scoffed, not looking away from the ceiling. They had buried Dean. Bobby had wanted to burn the body, as was tradition but Sam wouldn't allow it. It was one of the few things he had said since Dean had… died, been brutally murdered, ripped to shreds right in front of them. Actually, now that she thought about it, this was the second time Sam had said something. The first was to tell Bobby they would bury Dean so he had a body to return to… this was the second time.
It was her room, it had been her room since she had "moved" in. Dean had just started sharing the damn room with her. She knew she could, should, leave now. She was a widow. A widow who still had her own last name and no lingering ties to her dead husband. No ties to the "family" she had inherited via marriage and horrible circumstance. Other than the fact that Bobby had muttered that she was still welcome to stay.
So she had stayed. She had stayed pretty much up here in her room, venturing out around suppertime to throw something together that no one really bothered to eat. Drinking was par for the course right now.
She raised her head of the pillow, unfolding her hands which had been laced under her neck, when she felt Sam's weight causing the mattress to dip. "What, Sam?"
"Why are you still here?" He demanded, staring down at her.
Jane took a long moment to study him. He looked so wild. He looked sad, but his eyes were wild. From grief, she suspected. He hadn't shaved and it looked like he had worn the same jeans and shirt for a few days now. He also stank. "You're ripe Sam, go shower." She muttered, rolling away from him and onto her side, presenting him with her back.
"That's his shirt."
Yes it was. One of Dean's Henley's, and it hadn't been washed, which may or may not have been gross but it was comforting. Being able to smell him, and the lingering scent of his cologne. She would wash the damn thing tomorrow, and then put it away with the rest of his stuff in the dresser they shared. Had shared. "Shower, Sam."
She felt him moving off the bed and let out a soft sigh, feeling relieved he was leaving. She adored Sam, but he was acting downright creepy and slightly hostile.
A second later she was rolling back over and staring at the adjacent bathroom in shock. Sam hadn't bothered closing the door all the way, so she could somewhat see him divesting himself of his clothing and she clamped a hand over her mouth.
He had lost his damn mind. That or his way of dealing with it was a hell of a lot different from hers.
By the time Sam emerged from her bathroom, Jane had fallen into a half-doze on top of the covers. She groggily cracked one eye open at the light pouring from the open door and blinked a few times, able to make out that he had shaved off the growth that had taken up residence on his face. "Better." She mumbled after a yawn, letting her eyes close again.
They flew open when the mattress dipped –again.
"What're you doing?" She demanded, attempting to push herself up only to find Sam pulling her back down with him. Her entire body tensed as he rolled her over until her back was against his chest. Her brother-in-law was spooning with her.
"Let me stay, Jane." He whispered roughly, his face pressing into her washed but unbrushed hair. "I can't… I- Just… please."
He missed Dean, she knew this. She did too. Sighing, Jane just nodded and adjusted herself so she wasn't completely in spoon position, her ass could stay away from his hips. If it was comfort he needed, then she'd be there for him. The moment he started getting mean again, he was gone.
"Where's Sam?"
"Upstairs, still asleep." Jane mumbled, catching the bread when her apple green toaster shot them into the air. Made sense, Dean was dead, time for the appliances he had bought her to start fritzing. Why not? She set the slices down on a plate, mechanically reaching for the butter.
"In uh, in your room?"
She nodded.
Bobby cleared his throat. "Jane, I'm not one to tell someone how to grieve but-"
"Nothing happened Bobby. He was just… looking for comfort, and not in that way." She interrupted, a bite in her tone. She wasn't interested in Sam that way, and she sure as hell wasn't interested in sharing her still warm bed with someone. Especially Sam.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Jane, I didn't… I stuck my foot in my mouth."
Damn right he had. Jane slapped the now jellied pieces of toast back on the plate and then hesitated, staring at the slices. "Damn it!"
"What?" He rushed over to stand behind her, not about to admit it but the sudden shaking of her shoulders were an indicator of tears and a woman crying disturbed him. providing she wasn't some hell beast, then he manned it up. "What's wrong?"
"Dean likes the current jam." She whispered.
Aw hell.
"Leaving, Sam?"
It had been three days since he decided to shack up in her room and he only left it to get books. All he did was sit there in the middle of her bed, reading and taking notes, obviously trying to find a way to bring Dean back. Jane was torn on this plan. She missed Dean, she wanted him back. But, at the same time, she was afraid of what the consequences could be. Would he come back right if Sam managed to pull it off?
He ate in her bed, he used her bathroom and shower, and at night, he slept curled up against her back. She figured he was the reason she didn't cry so much anymore. It was almost impossible to cry in front of Sam, she was a bit worried of setting off the grief and rage that simmered under the surface.
Sam finished buttoning his shirt, his eyes fastened on hers. "I'm not finding much in those books, I've got to go out and look. There's got to be someone who knows how to bring Dean back."
"You're not going to visit a demon, are you Sam?"
He shrugged.
"Dean won't like it if you do, he'd be pretty pissed."
"He's not here, is he?"
That hurt and she bit her lower lip at the venom. "Don't be a dick, Sam."
"Why are you still here, Jane? You never answered me."
"Bobby let me stay."
"Cheap answer."
She shook her head. "I have nowhere else to go, Sam. My life is here."
"Was here." He corrected. "With Dean."
She nodded.
"But he's dead."
She flinched visibly. "Why are you being so cruel? What's wrong with you?"
He snorted, rolling his eyes. "You should've been able to stop him Jane, you should've been enough to keep him from making that damn deal."
"Wait… you think I'm to blame for… for Dean being stupid?" Her voice cracked with her anger. "I had nothing to do with that you idiot! I asked him NOT to do something rash, and because it's Dean, he didn't listen to anyone! He was worried about you, he wanted you back. This is your fault, not mine!" She didn't really mean it, but he had royally pissed her off.
His hands, his rather large hands, formed fists and Sam found himself taking a step towards her. He was trembling from head to toe at her words. She had said what he had been thinking since Dean had died. That it was his fault. Not hers. His.
"Sam, you're angry, and grieving, I get it." She took a deep, calming breath. "I miss him too, but damn it, I'm not going to let you use me as a mental beating post."
"Not a problem, I'm leaving."
"That your way of dealing with it?"
"That's my way of dealing with it."
