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Jess awakes to the sounds of crashing in the apartment. Jumping out from her bed (which feels half-empty without Sam), she listens at the door. Several loud grunts and shouts are audible. Then, a crash, which draws her out of her room. She can hear two voices.
“Woah! Easy, tiger.” She hears a gruff voice order.
“Dean?!” That’s her boyfriend, Sam, panting. The other voice, clearly ‘Dean’, gives a chuckle, as if he gets thrills from frightening Sam. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“That’s cuz you’re outta practice.” Dean responds, just as Jess peaks her head around to see a dark shadow pining Sam (who’s bathed in moonlight streaming in, as juxtaposition to the shadow) to the floor. Jess frowns at the words. Out of practice? Of what?
This remains unanswered, as very soon, she sees the two bodies tumbling again, ending with Sam on top. Dean chuckles again.
“Or not.” He says. “Get off me.” Standing up, Sam helps the other man (who’s noticeably shorter than him) to his feet.
“Dean, what the Hell are you doing here?” Sam demands, panting slightly.
“I was lookin’ for a beer.” Dean says, with a snort.
“What the hell are you doing here.” Her boyfriend repeats, his voice lacking humor.
“Ok, alright.” The other voice becomes less layered in humor. “We gotta talk.”
“Uh, the phone?” Jess smiles to herself. Despite his sweet personality, Sam has the tendency to favor sarcasm.
“If I’da called, would you’d’ve picked up?” This sounds almost accusatory, a way of blaming Sam for Dean breaking in. Jess decides at this time to flip the switch on the light in their living room.
“Sam?” Instantly, the two faces jerk towards her. Beneath the illumination is her boyfriend, in his intimidating, looming, lanky body, but with a face and doe-eyes innocent enough to break your heart (and it does, every time. For Jess, at least). Next to him is an older, rugged-looking guy, about a half a head shorter than him, with imposing features and spiky blond-brown hair.
“Jess.” Sam says, almost too quickly, as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. “Hey.” Jess stares uncomfortably at the other guy, Dean (is it her or does that sound familiar?), who seems to be staring at her like she’s a girl out of a Casa Erotica film. Or maybe a juicy burger. Unsure of herself, she begins to walk closer. “Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.”
Almost simultaneously, Jess winces inwardly at the use of her full name, feels filled with pride as Sam assertively introduces her as his girlfriend, wishes Dean would stop staring at her, and curses herself as her brain catches up with her. She suddenly remembers why she’s heard the name ‘Dean’ before
“Wait, your brother, Dean?” She smiles, happy to meet one of the other Winchesters, despite the fact she’d like to have strong words with them about how they treat their cute, sensitive, humble, braniac-level boy.
“I love the smurfs.” Dean says with a shit-eating grin, gesturing at her nightshirt. She looks to the side, uncomfortable with a guy she just met staring at her breasts. He moves closer to her, thankfully looking at her eyes. His own are greenish-blue, and have a jeering aspect about them. They have all the friendliness of Sam’s hazel eyes (which shift colors so many goddamn times she’s given up at keeping track), but none of the love. They seem very shallow, which, she inwardly notes, matches their owner’s personality. “You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely outta my brother’s league.”
Maybe it’s the feminist club talking, but damn it if she doesn’t feel objectified. Not to mention how Dean just completely invalidated Sam. Sure, it might be what guys do to tease, especially brothers, but Sam’s a sensitive one. He seems downcast by the comment, as if he believes his brother when he practically says Sam’s not worthy of her. She hates this whole league thing, and she’s heard it a thousand times, mostly by drunk guys or assholes (or some combination of the two) and mostly right in front of Sam’s face. It gives her a thrill every time to tell the douche hitting on her that her boyfriend’s being a Human Tripod with an insatiable sex drive more than makes up for the fact that he’s “not in her league.” Partly because the douche in question leaves with a sour look on his face, but mostly because Sam’s own face becomes a mixture of embarrassment and pride that the fact that he’s good for something.
“Just let me put something on.” She says, except Dean’s still leering at her, in a way that’s completely inappropriate for a guy looking at his brother’s girlfriend. It’s douchey enough when it’s a guy who you know has a girlfriend. Doing it to your little brother’s girlfriend, when your brother’s in the room, but you’re acting like he’s not, is Super-Ultra-Douchey.
“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it. Seriously.” She rolls her eyes, because he sounds anything but serious. She’s barely met him, and he’s pretty much acting like she should stand there for his viewing enjoyment, while his little brother watches and says nothing. “Anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business, but, uh, Nice meetin’ you.” She frowns again. He’s dismissing her, and treating Sam like a kind of possession. Maybe it’s just language, but she knows Sam takes phrasing seriously, and removing his autonomy is something he has a huge problem with.
“No. No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it front of her.” Sam says, moving across the room over to her side. She fills with pride again. Sam is choosing to be honest about his family, which he has a major problem with. He’s opening up to her, which shows her he cares. Dean is evidently unimpressed with this choice.
“Okay, Um, Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.” A few days? If her parents didn’t notify her that they were going to be out after 2 A.M, she would have the C.I.A, F.B.I, the Secret Service, and James Bond on their tail.
“So he’s working overtime on a Miller Time shift, He’ll stumble back in sooner or later.” The blatant way Sam throws out his father’s alcoholism stings. The fact that he’s unfazed by his father being missing for more than 24 hours just verifies her suspicions of his neglect. Dean nods to himself, smug, as if he suspected his brother would be dismissive about their father’s absence.
“Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.” She looks to her boyfriend at this rephrasing. While his expression remains the same, she can see his eyes harden.
“Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside.” She frowns.
“No.” Both Winchesters blink.
“Come again?” Dean asks, grunting. She gives him a pointed look.
“You break in, during the middle of the night, practically attack my boyfriend, then try to find blame in him for it. You leer at me like a piece of meat, comment how I’m too pretty for him, and invalidate him. Plus, you’re talking in a fricken’ mafia code, because no one would be more worried if their father hadn’t been home in a few days while being on a hunting trip than while not.” She pulls Sam closer, staring at him intensely. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”
“Sorry, beauty, this is above your pay grade.” Dean smirks. “I know your big, entitled, Stanford brain might not understand this, but it’s a private conversation. Between family.” She cocks an eyebrow
“Family which disowned Sam for getting accepted to one of the most prestigious colleges in the world.” Dean’s face hardens, and beside her, her boyfriend shifts uncomfortably.
“Well, I guess we didn’t take too kindly to him walking out on us.” The older brother snarls. It takes all the patience she possesses not to kick him in the balls.
“Here’s the thing, though. Normally, going to college does not mean walking out on your family. It means getting an education, and getting support from your family, and coming back to them.” Dean smiles widely, but it’s completely fake.
“We ain’t normal, babe.” She huffs.
“Clearly. And if someone knows they have to choose between college and their family, and they choose college? That’s usually a sign that their family’s abusive, and they’d rather not be around them.” She’s getting the clear impression that Dean Winchester has a temper issue.
“Dean,” Sam interjects, trying to mediate. “I’m not coming with you just so you can drive me as far away from here as possible, and never bring me back.” Dean cocks an eyebrow.
“We’re family.” He points out with a growl. “And you make taking you away from this dump sound like a bad thing.” Sam gives a groan.
“Yeah, I don’t see family the same way as you do, Dean. I’ve been on the road as long as I can remember, so I don’t have the memories you do of Mom, and Dad when he was normal. You’re my brother, and Dad’s….dad, but……we’re just not a ‘family’ to me.” Dean looks affronted by this.
“The Hell’s that supposed to mean?” He growls. Sam looks nervously to his feet, and Jess tightens her grip on his shoulder, as a sign of comfort.
“I don’t see family as doing what we do to each other, Dean. We weren’t a family, we were a military unit. Never question Dad’s orders, always moving around, never having any friends, any connections. In normal family, the parents may ask their kids to respect them, but there’s at least some degree of freedom. To Dad we were dispensable grunts, not worthy of any affection, from him or some outside force. We were outsiders, everywhere. And there was always huge double-standard in the way we were treated by Dad.” Dean frowned.
“There isn’t any double standard. What the hell are you talking about?” The taller, younger brother sighs.
“Dad made you grow up too fast. He had you watch me, and you had virtually no childhood, which is completely unfair to you.” The older Winchester shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “But I was never made to feel like an adult by you. Dad, meanwhile barely made me feel human. He gave you driving lessons. He gave you haircuts. He let you pick the music and the movies we watched. He would buy a cake for you on your birthday, whereas mine would just pass him by like it didn’t exist. He would just look at me and expect me to follow orders, while he pretty much told you everything. I was kept in the dark, like a kid. The first time he caught you having sex with a girl…..when you were fifteen, by the way, he bought you a beer. When he saw me kissing my prom date, at seventeen, he pretty much reacted in utter horror. Threw the girl out, told me we were leaving, that I was never going to do that kind of thing again.” Jess thinks to herself that this might explain Sam’s shy, virgin-like tendencies or his initial guilt about having sex, and his utter ferocity during the act itself. Being completely repressed, like that, is in no way healthy. Especially when your father let your other brother have sex at fifteen years old.
“So Dad was a little bit unfair, sure, but what can you expect? A General doesn’t treat his soldiers the same way, especially if one has more experience than others.”
“Were you not listening to a word he just said?” Jess spits, anger flaring in her chest. “He wasn’t your commanding officer. He was your dad.” She points out, her voice hard. Dean shoots her an ugly look.
“Sammy here abandoned his duty, sister. Don’t know where you get off talking like he’s some kind of valiant warrior.” She holds in the growl she so wants to unleash.
“How do I say this in a way that makes it go through your thick head?” She wonders aloud. “Kids. Are not. Supposed. To have. Duties. They’re kids, dumbass. They’re supposed to have fun, and live life, and pursue a future. Putting a duty on a kid to do is far too much pressure, and it limits their freedom, and they are, eventually, going to run away.”
“I didn’t.” The older Winchester growls. He looks to Sam, angry look on his face. “And you know why? Cause I’m a good son.” Jess feels the hand that Sam has around her shoulder tighten.
“That doesn’t mean much, considering Dad was a shitty Father.” Sam says coldly. Dean nods. It’s not a nod that shows he’s agreeing with Sam. Not at all.
She barely has time to blink before Sam goes sprawling backwards, as Dean’s fist makes contact with his face. And then again. And again. And again. Almost instantly, she’s shrieking for him to stop, attempting to pull the jackass off her boyfriend.
By the time Dean finally does pull off Sam, her boyfriend’s nose and mouth are bleeding, both eyes in various degrees of being sealed. The older brother’s face is cold as anything, and even shows, to some extent, hatred and anger.
“Get out.” She spits, sealing her arms protectively around her boyfriend, anger boiling in her heart. “Before I call the police.” Dean gives an ugly jeer, and makes his way towards the door.
“Fine. Not like I need the little bitch.”
The door slams loudly, and she turns to Sam. He appears almost guilty, as if he somehow incited his brother beating him up.
“I’m sorry,” He mutters, trying to wipe the blood off his face. “I should’ve-”
“Don’t be stupid.” She orders, kissing his forehead, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
By the time they leave the Hospital, it’s November 2nd. Sam has two black eyes and a beaten face, and is taking enough medication to drop an Elephant. The hospital, police and Jess herself have tried, and failed, to convince Sam to identify his assailant. Jess would normally go behind his back and confess to the police anyways, but she knows he’s too ashamed to have people know this is the kind of life he grew up in, and unlike others in Sam’s life, she respects his opinion.
He doesn’t seem worried that his father is missing. Nor that his brother beat the shit out of him.
No, the giant dork is worried that his appearance will affect his interview with Stanford Law on Monday.
“I’m sure it wouldn’t, if you just admitted that you got beaten up by your jackass of a brother rather than let them assume you’re in a fight club of some kind.” Sam sighs, cuddling closer to her on the couch.
“He’s my brother, Jess.” He says. “I knew better than to provoke him.”
“Still doesn’t make it right.” She grumbles, giving him a kiss on the cheek that’s less bruised. He smiles widely.
“What would I do without you?” He wonders aloud, stroking her hair. Her grin matches his, and she nuzzles into his shoulder.
“Crash and Burn.” She reminds him. There’s an awkward silence, as Sam continues to stroke her hair, and she rests a hand on his thigh (not inward enough to be sexual, but not outward enough to be at all platonic.) “Did your Dad really ignore your birthdays?” She feels him grow stiff and cold, but she doesn’t pull away.
“My Mom died today.” Sam explains. “Twenty two years ago, today, six months to the date after I was born, she died.” An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. “I understand that it was never a happy day, and the fact that my birthday is so similarly matched to it, I guess he just shut down. But it always felt like he loved my Mom much more than he’d ever love me.” The quiet punctuates again. “I’ve always wanted to make November 2nd a much happier day. So I wouldn’t hate Halloween as much. So I wouldn’t hate my birthday, or myself, as much.” She pauses again. This is Sam Winchester. The same boy who volunteers at homeless shelters, and tutors kids (for free) in his spare time. The one who stood her up on their second date because Becky Warren got drunk after her asshole boyfriend cheated on her with that slut in Jess’ Lit Class (and he called and apologized profusely and pretty much paid solid for the next thirty dates). The one who would rush to help an old lady cross the street (even when on dates, including her birthday dinner, Valentine’s, the third date, and their one year anniversary). He shouldn’t have to feel so worthless. Sam forgives everyone, even his asshole father. Except himself, it would seem.
“What exactly could you do to make it a better day?” She wonders aloud, stroking his leg. Sam begins to shake, and doesn’t meet her face. He wordlessly pulls out a small silver band, hands still shaking, and places it in her palm.
She blinks.
It’s not expensive, nor flashy, not that it matters to her. The only thing about it that seems at all special is that the place where the crystal is contained seems to be bisected, into two halves: one part is a deep red, almost purple, while the other is green.
“It’s garnet and emerald.” Sam comments lamely. Her breath hitches in the realization that the two crystals are their respective birthstones. Sam sometimes teases her about her obsession with astrology, and numerology, just like she teases him about some of his more superstitious traits. But the fact that he deliberately chose something to represent an ideology important to her, and that is symbolic of both of them, to signify their unity brings tears to her eyes.
She wants nothing more than to tackle him and have him any which way she desires, but she knows his face (and body) is brutally sore, so she has to make herself content with pushing him back on the couch and kissing him passionately.
“Well, well, well.” Her heart almost stops, and she looks up to see a familiar muscular blond guy standing in front of the TV.
“Brady?” The former biology student, who had fallen so far from where he began, gives a shit-eating grin. “How’d you get in here?” Jess actually knows it shouldn’t be physically possible, because she knows he wasn’t even near their vicinity when she went in to kiss Sam. He shrugs.
“I have my ways.” He looks at each of his friends, chuckling and shaking his head. “Gotta say, Sam, you really do defy expectations. You were supposed to bend to Dean’s demands. And you were definitely not supposed to be able to propose to Jess.”
“The hell does that mean?” Jess demands, as Sam shifts her behind him. Brady leers at her.
“Sammy here was supposed to go with Dean, and come home today. Find you burning and bleeding on the ceiling, same way Daddy found Mommy.”
“You’re the thing that killed my mom.” Sam says, his voice becoming shaky. Jess feels his temperature drop, as he flips her beneath him on the couch, and rising to his feet to shield her completely. Brady laughs, shaking his head again.
“Nope.” His eyes turn pure black, sclera and all, and Jess holds in a scream. “Just an assistant.” Sam shudders.
“Were you ever my friend?” He asks, his voice pained. Brady’s eyes return to normal, and he gives another chuckle.
“Oh, Brady, here,” Tyson gestures to his body. “Was always your friend, Sam.” He bites his lips in a way that would seem flirtatious, but just comes off as depraved. “In fact, you and him both know you were more than that.”
This is not really a shock to Jess. The way Sam and Jess grew close was trying to pull their mutual friend out of his spiral during sophomore year. The effort Sam put in might’ve seemed platonic at first, but she saw that what hurt him most was the endless lines of girls Brady was screwing. She just remained silent through it, and could at least confirm that Sam was not gay by the time they grew close enough.
“So, what, you’re just using him?” Sam declares. The creature nods.
“Yeah. Since Thanksgiving break during Sophomore year. Believe me, he’s kicking and screaming all the way.” It gives a careless shrug. “You were supposed to watch, but not from the beginning. Doesn’t matter, though. You’ll watch all the same.”
With a sudden jerk, Sam’s blown off the couch and into the wall. Jess barely has time to react to this before she’s tossed up onto the ceiling. She tries screaming, but no sound comes out.
“Jess!” Sam shouts, like he’s about to cry. She feels a sharp pain in her stomach, and a warmth spreads across her nightgown. She feels fire blossom around her, and watches as Sam struggles to his feet, only to get blown back again.
She cries inwardly. It’s November the 2nd, and she’s about to die, in front of Sam, who just proposed to her to make this a better day. She’s going to die, in front of him, and it will just make it worse. And then Sam will have no one else.
“WAIT!” Around her, the flames avoid licking her flesh. She sees Brady looking at Sam, who’s on his knees, crying. “Please.” He begs, voice cracked and dry. “Please, just take me. Jess and Ty don’t know anything, just take me instead. For whatever it is you want.” She wants to scream, wants to beg whatever that’s in Brady to not listen, but she can’t. The creature arches an eyebrow.
“We want you to be training, Sam.” It says. “With your brother. No way you’d be hunting if you had Jess or Tyson. You wouldn’t be hunting at all, if you didn’t have someone to avenge.” Jess vaguely recalls Sam’s brother, Dean, use the word hunting in context of some kind of code two nights before.
“I won’t hunt at all.” Sam croaks. “You either take me and leave Jess and my friends alone, or hurt them and end up having me kill myself to ruin your plans.” Brady snarls.
“You’re stubborn.” The thing complains. After a moment’s pause, it’s face softens. “Then again, He’s also stubborn. If you refuse to do what you’re told, we can’t force you, and we can’t rely on you.” It looks around nervously, then up at Jess, tilting it’s head as if she’s something of interest. “Fine.” The creature concedes. “I don’t kill the American Girl Doll here, no demons lay a hand on your other friends, and you come with me.” Sam pauses.
“You’re a demon?” He whispers softly. Brady’s eyes flicker black again, and he nods, with that same grin.
“Do we have a deal?” The demon says. Sam pauses again, shaking his head.
“No. I’m not that stupid. You could always get another demon to kill Jess.” He looks up at the ceiling, into Jess’ eyes. “And you clearly don’t need to lay a hand on humans to harm them.” Brady gives a huff of frustration.
“Fucking Lawyer in the makings.” The demon grumbles. “Shame you were screwed from the beginning. We could’ve had you on our side.” Sam shrugs, saying nothing. “So, what are the terms?”
“Jess and Tyson are given immunity from any supernatural harm. All of my friends are to be left alone by demons. I go with you.” The demon gives an irritated half-smile, clearly not pleased with how this turned out.
“Fine. I take you to Azazel, and you and him take a permanent trip Downstairs.”
“Azazel?” Sam says, face scrunching in confusion. Brady’s demon sneers.
“The demon who bagged Mommy dearest. Head Honcho of the whole operation.” The boy gives a shiver. After thinking for a few moments, he comes to what seems to be a horrifying revelation.
“ ‘Downstairs’..” He chokes out, whole body shaking.
“-is exactly what you think it is.” The demon arches an eyebrow. “Deal?” Sam’s eyes are brimming. He looks up at Jess, and then back down to his feet.
“Deal.” The demon laughs, teleporting over to Sam in the blink of an eye.
“Care for a smooch?”
“You’re joking, right?” Sam asks, voice broken. The demon shrugs.
“Come on, Sammy. There’s only one way to make a demon deal.” It gives another laugh. “It’s not like you haven’t done this with Brady before.” She sees Sam’s jaw tighten, tears streaming down his face. He forces his mouth against Brady’s. Jess comes crashing down onto the couch, stomach bleeding.
“Sam!” She cries weakly, tears streaming down her face as she extends a hand out to her boyfriend. He’s crying almost as much, and tries to avoid her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Jess.” Sam and the demon disappear, the ceiling above them consumed by the flames, which had resumed their process.
Their neighbor from down stairs bursts in. He drags her out, ignoring her kicking and screaming and protests of ‘SAM!’, as the ceiling of their living room is engulfed in fire.
Sam barely has time to register that the demon has taken him to a field, before he blinks to see a being with yellow eyes in front of them.
“Sammy.” He purrs. The way he says it is sickening, and makes Sam’s skin crawl. Seeing the hunter up and down, the demon makes a tsk of annoyance. “Boy, are they going to be unhappy with you. A candidate for the Vessel of our creator throwing away his own life for the two humans you love. So pitiful, and pathetic. You're more like Mommy than I thought.”
“You have me, isn’t that enough?” He asks, trying not to blink at the fact that Azazel just mentioned his mother. The Yellow-Eyed Demon shakes his head.
“We wanted you to play your role. You were doing so well, too. What with abandoning your family, and trying to be normal, and all while we were pulling the strings, whether in a friend, or a prom date or a teacher.”
“Well, sorry it didn’t work out for you.” Sam says flatly, trying to ignore the fact that they just admitted that his prom date had been possessed into going with him. Azazel nods.
“I’m sorry, too.” And he genuinely seems to be.
“Fine then. Let Brady go.” He asks. Azazel and the demon in Brady both laugh.
“No, no, no. He’s free from supernatural harm safe inside me, and he’s already possessed, so the deal doesn’t apply to him. Besides, he’ll just end up killing himself anyways, when he realizes what he’s done to his ex-lover.” Sam shifts, not entirely comfortable with the knowledge that they knew how he and Brady interacted.
“You’re going to have a hard time in the Pit, Sammy Boy.” The thing in Brady drawls. “We’ve never had a piece of flesh still kicking. And a hunter who gave himself up for two people?” It leans into his ear. “You’ll never be given a sign of mercy.”
“Big Boss is waiting Sammy. He’s dying to see so much of you. You’ll get 365 billion times the opportunity that you normally would. New modifications, just for you.”
As the older demon takes a hold of him, he feels a tighteness in his chest grow. He registers it as fear. He shuts himself down, trying not to cry. After all, he did it for Jess and Brady. He was selfish enough to drag them into this, so he has no right to continue being selfish and cry. “Come on, Sammy. The whole crew’s dying to see you.”
Dean’s phone rings in the diner, as he and Caleb make plans on searching for his father. He’s unimpressed that the number he sees is Sam’s, and he shuts it off almost immediately. The brat said what he said, he shouldn’t try to shove toothpaste back in the tube.
It’s around the third time when Caleb raises an eyebrow, and asks if he wants to pick that up.
He doesn’t, really, but he can’t look like an ass in front of Caleb. He gives a fake smile to his friend, as he answers the call.
“Hiya, Sammy. Change your mind about what you said?” The line is quiet for a minute.
“This is Jess. We met earlier.” Right, Jess. The stuck-up blond bitch who made Sam a bit too big for his britches.
“Well, even better. What’s the problem, sweetheart? Boyfriend abandoned you just like he did us?” He shouldn’t be a dick, but he can’t help it. He’s too angry. Sam basically pushed him away, and he didn’t bother trying to come with Dean to save their dad. And for what? A stupid little school? It doesn’t even register to him that she sounds like she’s been crying, and if he has any thoughts about it, he pushes them to the back of his mind.
“Sam’s been taken.” The words close around his heart, and he blinks.
“What?”
“Something was in our friend. It tried to kill me. It said it worked for the thing that killed your mother.” Dean’s barely listening, his entire body frozen. “It said it was a demon, Sam made a deal with it, if it let me go.”
“A demon?” He asks weakly. He doesn’t know the first thing to do about demons. He’s used to the lower ranking things. Vengeful spirits. Wendigo. Vetala. Werewolves. Selkies (particularly the one Sam almost banged in Scotland). Pagans. The girl gives a huff.
“Yes, a demon. Can you help?”
“I don’t know the first thing about demons.” He says, and he feels the words burn him alive, because he failed his one job. Protect Sam. “I can’t help you, Jess.”
“Could you at least try?” She snarls. “You’re his brother, aren’t you supposed to care about him?” The words cut him open. Of course he cares.
“I wouldn’t know how. It’s too late for him, the demons won’t keep him alive for long.” He shouldn’t be talking about Sammy like he’s already dead, but he practically is. “This friend, did he give you a name for the guy he work for?” He can almost feel her frown.
“Azazel, but-”
“Thanks. Look, Jess, I’m sorry about Sam. I really am. But no one can help him now. I know it sucks you got messed up into our lives. If it’s any consolation, I know Sam was happy with you. Just…try and stay as far away from this as possible, and hope it passes you over. ”
Caleb looks a little shocked that Dean was so dismissive about his brother, but he can’t say much. This demon has his little brother, God knows where. Sammy made his choice. He was stupid enough to throw his life away for some girl he had the hots for, one he barely knew, but not his family. Dean wouldn’t do that. Dad wouldn’t do that. And he may have not known her that well, but he knows for a fact that Mary Winchester would probably never do something that stupid.
But he has a name to match the face of his father’s 22-year quest for vengeance. Once he finds Dad, they can start on the path to bringing this ‘Azazel’ down, and avenge his Mom.
Avenge Sammy.
Jess’ privileged family is of little comfort when they finally arrive at the hospital. They originally try to talk to her about how ‘That Winchester boy was nothing but trouble’, but when she explains that Sam got abducted trying to save her, they immediately switch gears and try to assure her how he’ll be alright.
She can’t exactly share the details, but she knows if she refuses to talk, she’ll look guilty, despite the cut above her stomach. She originally thinks to say how it’s Brady’s fault, but from what Sam says, the demon in Brady was responsible, and blaming him is unfair.
She instead gives the sketch artist enough details to draw someone with a vague resemblance to Dean Winchester, and another few details has a sketch that is spot-on for Sam’s Dad. Sure, it’s petty as anything, but she doesn’t feel for him the same way she feels for Brady.
The story’s easy enough to sell. She uses the truth from the night two before Sam was taken from her, of how the older brother broke into their apartment. How Dean was the one to beat Sam up, how Sam said nothing because he didn’t want to get his older brother in trouble. How the two were speaking in code, and how the younger brother was afraid to go with his brother.
With these small acrylics of truth, she paints a broad lie of how Dean and John (she knows vaguely what he looks like, from the photo Sam has of him and his mom) came in two nights after, and stabbed her, and had a flamethrower, threatening to nail her to the ceiling and burn her. How Sam begged them not to kill her.
With this, the police make connections that are probably relevant. Mary Winchester, who died 22 years previous, to the date, died in a nursery fire, but her body was never found. John Winchester was a former Veteran of the Vietnam war, abandoned by his own father. His wife’s parents died mysteriously almost 10 years before that. The Winchesters had been across the country, never staying in one place long. There had been several reported killings that sounded similar to Mary’s, in the same year as her death. Childhood nursery fires, almost 6 months after the child was born.
It’s a trail that’s unlikely to lead anywhere, except to John and Dean Winchester spending the rest of their lives behind bars, unable to dismiss the connections made by the police. John Winchester will die on record as a serial killer, his elder son being a willing accomplice while the younger being a person who tried to escape his past, only to be abducted for trying to save his girlfriend.
When the police bring her Sam’s phone, she searches through his contacts. They have every single contact written, but the only one that matters is a ‘Bobby Singer’. She vaguely remembers Sam mentioning an Uncle Bobby with great fondness. Almost as great a fondness as his older brother.
Hopefully, this is much more successful than asking Dean. She clicks ‘call’, and only has to wait two rings before it’s picked up.
“Damn it, boy, don’t you know I got work to do?” A gruff voice answers. She pauses for a second, before answering.
“This is Jess.” The line’s quiet, and the voice answers again.
“Where’s Sam?”
“Gone.” She cries quietly, letting the tears spill freely from her cheeks. “He’s….he’s gone.”
“Balls.” Bobby swears silently. “What took him?”
“Demon. Said it was taking him ‘Downstairs’.” There’s more static, before she feels her heart drop, recalling vaguely from the depths of her mind the geography of Christian Theology, and what supposedly lies beneath the Earth. “It didn’t mean-”
“I don’t know.” Bobby admits. “Did you call his brother?” Anger boils up inside her.
“Yeah.” She snorts. “He also broke in on us two nights ago, to let Sam know their Dad was missing. Didn’t really like what Sam had to say.” Bobby gives a huff.
“Well, their Daddy’s a selfish bastard at the best of times. Pushed Sam away, and is surprised that it happened when you consider all that Sam’s endured from him. But I can’t believe Dean would turn on his baby brother like that.”
“Believe it.” She spits. “He basically said that it’s out of his hands, that Sam made his own choice. He’s more concerned with finding the demon that killed his mom than saving his little brother.”
“Well, I’ll try to dig up as much as much as I can. In the meantime, lay low. Sam won’t ever forgive me if someone gets hurt trying to save him.” Again, she feels anger. Like she’s being underestimated. Like with her family, and her counselors, and her friends. Everyone’s underestimated her, because of her looks and her behavior, except for Sam.
“Sam’s not here.” She challenges. “And I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could to get my fiancé back.” She’s never seen this Bobby, but she can almost picture a paunchy, middle-aged man in a baseball cap and beard, eyebrows raised.
“Damn, you’re a feisty one.” He comments. “Sam’s lucky to have you. ‘Kay, then, I’ll pick you up. Where are you?”
“Stanford Medical Center. Pasteur Drive.” She says.
“Well, Jess, it’ll be about a day’s drive, but I’ll get there as soon as I can.” She silently nods, though she wants to scream that they don’t have time. She can’t afford to waste time, because every second wasted is another second Sam’s in hell, at the mercy of these demons.
Closing the phone, she stares determinedly at the wall.
She’s going to be in for a long, hard journey, but it’s worth it for Sam.
Anything is worth it for Sam.