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A reoccurring dream. A nightly loop of the same nightmare. It’s begins so peaceful. Closed eyes, lying on soft bedsheets. Finally home, the shower running quietly in the other room assuring Jess is home. The bed smells of her, like it always does. The gentle aroma of her body lotion combined with the natural smell of her skin and sweat. Sam never thought he’d truly find comfort in the lingering scent of another on a bed spread, but Jess wasn’t just anybody.
Jess was everything. She was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Just looking at her made his heart start hammering behind his ribs, every kind word, every reassurance, every time she glanced his way it felt ready to explode. Dean would definitely laugh at him if he could hear these ‘chick-flick’ thoughts, but honestly? Sam didn’t give a shit. He loves her. Fuck, he really loves her. And she loves him. But nothing good ever lasts, does it? Not in this life. Especially not for a Winchester.
One warm drop hits his forehead. It makes him flinch, sends a shock through his system. Another, seconds after the first, and he opens his eyes.
Jess.
Her stomach is sliced open, deep crimson blood blooming across her chemise, marring the light silk garishly. Her leg is bent unnaturally, her body plastered against the ceiling in a sick display. And her face. Her jaw is dropped, quivering, terror impairing her ability to make even the smallest sound. Her eyes, usually so bright and charming, are dull and bloodshot. He opens his mouth to scream her name, to do something, anything to save her. Sweet Jess, his Jess, the girl that made him truly believe he could have a life beyond the family business, the family curse. The girl he met when he was alone for the first time in his life, scared shitless but so goddamn hopeful. The girl who had shown him the light, shown him the true beauty of a normal, simple, apple-pie life, the life he had always wanted but was always denied. A life he wanted only with her. And he was so, so close.
The last thing he sees is fire.
He wakes, panting and sweating, tears in his eyes as his body shakes. But it wasn’t real. It was just a bullshit nightmare his traumatised brain couldn’t shake. So just like the night before, and the night before that, he rolls over in bed. He pressed his tear-streaked face into the back of Jess’ neck, breathes in the smell of her hair and closes his eyes. Because it was just a dream. It wasn’t real, and it never would be.