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Lately, Sam tried not to think.
He dulled his life with gunshots and swinging knives and panting, panting, panting. Filled his head with images of bright red blood splatter, the hot pain of broken bones, and the warm hum of the Impala; relished in the way the window vibrated hard against his forehead and cleared his mind.
Sam spent his days hunting, scouring the news for any sign of Lilith, training his powers, and doing it all at full speed, refusing to think about what he was actually doing. If he played his cards right, he could stamp down all the real thoughts, all the feelings, until they couldn’t reach him anymore. And when another popped up, screaming and biting and begging for attention, he just cocked another gun, exorcized another demon—pushed it all away.
Needless to say, he had a pretty tight handle on things.
But it was Valentine’s Day, and even though he was on his way to Ruby’s, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about Jess.
Jessica—sweet, tough Jessica—with her icy eyes that stopped Sam in his tracks no matter what he was doing. Who looked so good in pink it should be illegal. Who subconsciously swung their intertwined hands in time with her hips, a perfect vision of nonchalance. Who laughed with her whole body, diaphragm spasming and shoulders bouncing, facing splitting into a breathtaking, toothy smile that gave Sam butterflies like he was a middle school girl.
He was going to marry her—could see the whole thing in his head. Jess would’ve looked stunning in a white princess gown, elegant and beautiful, with her wild waves fanning out underneath a long veil. She wanted colorful flowers, she told him one night, and Sam would’ve pulled out whatever illegal credit card tricks he could to give her the biggest, brightest bouquets on the West Coast.
She mentioned children once, offhandedly, as a goal for a distant future, after law school and official jobs and a proper house had been figured out. They were such a real dream, and Sam loved to imagine them—tiny, squealing children toddling around on stubby legs, ready to receive happy lives, ones that weren’t drenched in shame and fear. He had said yes—would always say yes to anything Jess wanted—but proposed a dog in the meantime. She had agreed—because she was the same, if it would make him happy—and went on a tangent about matching Halloween costumes, maybe Scooby Doo if that wasn’t too overdone, or would it be better go out of the box and make up their own theme? Sam didn’t care one way or the other, but he nodded along as he twirled a piece of her hair through his fingers, adding small hums and quips to the conversation.
Jessica, the only person who Sam would never be able to stop loving, and the only one he could never have again.
The bitter wind stung Sam’s face as he walked. Ruby had texted him an address with no further information, and it had taken him half a day to drive there. He didn't know if she was holed up in the motel, waiting for him, or if she had some other business to attend to, but he knew she didn’t like staying in one spot for too long. There was a chance that she would be gone by the time he got there.
Sam picked up the pace.
He was in a small town on the edge of New York, nearer to Lake Erie than cases usually led him, and unprepared for a lake-effected February. Sam found himself missing the warm breeze of Palo Alto, where even the coldest days were mild. Everything was peaceful there—even exam week, when he and Jess spent most of their time in a corner of the library, surrounded by long-empty coffee cups and mountains of books, stressed beyond belief. They found solace in throwing paper airplanes made of discarded notes, in Jess’ mandatory snack breaks and soothing shoulder rubs. It was the last time he’d felt that kind of calm.
Regrettably, Sam had left the Impala back at his own motel. Ruby's location wasn’t too far, and a brisk walk had seemed like a good idea at the time. Apparently, he’d forgotten why he used to like walks and why he hadn’t gone on one alone in a very long time. In the past, walks gave him space to breathe, something he didn’t usually have, and some much-needed time to think.
Now, walks directly contradicted his new golden rule: avoid all thoughts.
The car keys jingled when he stuffed his hand into his jacket pocket. Sam huffed in irritation. As much as he wanted to turn back, grab the car, and redo this whole afternoon the smart way, he was already too far. To turn back now would be overkill. He wrapped his fist around the keys, only gripping harder when they cut into his palm, and imagined himself in the Impala, cruising down the highway straight out of New York, windows up to ward off his harsh chills.
Jessica would’ve loved driving up the coast in the summertime. Sam could picture her in the passenger seat: head thrown back, long legs crossed, superstar sunglasses hiding her crinkling eyes, silk bandana tied in her hair, happily singing off-key to whatever was on the radio. That vision had never been real—the Impala wasn’t Sam’s, still wasn’t, really—but it made his heart ache all the same.
His boots beat against the concrete, each step bringing him closer to Ruby, closer to what he had to do. The dream of Jess in the Impala slid out of focus, replaced by recent memories. Sam saw deep, intense eyes inches from his, haloed by the shadow of the ceiling and dark, coiling hair. He felt a body with impossible strength holding him down, sharp nails running up and down his skin, heavy kisses interrupted by animalistic teeth ripping him open.
He smelled fresh metal and tripped, stuck in a world between reality and evocation, where thick blood filled his mouth until he was choking on it while that body stayed pressed against his. Sam's knees hit the ground and he doubled over, gritting his teeth to get through the feeling of blood and weight and heat and panting, panting, panting.
A cold tear slipped down Sam's cheek, shocking him back into his body. He swiped desperately at his face, expecting his knuckles to come back red, but they were only wet, almost shimmering under the glinting sun.
With a sniffle, Sam got back to his feet. He shook his head, blinked back his tears, and reminded himself that he made these choices. Ruby was helping him. It would all be worth it in the end.
Sam forced himself to keep walking. He picked up his pace and lightened his steps until they sounded natural and less like he was marching to death row. The motel was in sight, just about a block ahead. All he had to do was get there, and then it would all be in Ruby’s hands.
Sam continued forward and ignored the nausea crawling up his throat as the details of the motel came into view. It had splotchy tinted windows with spiderweb cracks and peeling siding that clearly used to be bright red but had elapsed into a pale, ugly pink that reminded Sam of spilled organs. There was one thin awning stretched over an unwelcoming front door, complete with a short set of rickety wooden steps covered in ice.
Ruby hadn’t given him a room number, just an address and the unspoken order to meet her there ASAP to get his next hit. He wanted it; craved that feeling of strength coursing through him. Demon blood made Sam better. His mind and movements were sharper, he was easier to talk to—less apprehensive and flighty—and his anxieties dissolved enough for him to pull air into his lungs. Ruby said it gave him an edge, made him more dangerous, and that she liked that side of him more than anything. The blood was necessary, she said, because he was sexy on his own, but it was the only thing that made him vicious.
It would be worth it in the end. When he finally killed Lilith, he would be one step closer to atoning for all the death on his hands, and Ruby was the only way to get him there. He was choosing this. He wanted this.
Sam took a quick look around, looping to the side of the building and peering through a few windows, though the whole place seemed practically abandoned. Ruby was nowhere to be found.
He could’ve gone inside, but he didn’t want to. If she really wanted to see him, she would find him. Sam rubbed the ball of his shoe against the stairs, finding the driest spot while also ensuring that it wasn’t likely to fall through, and sat down.
He wondered if Ruby knew it was Valentine’s Day, or if it was an unlucky coincidence. Love was a taboo subject between them, but Sam didn’t mind.
Sam knew love. Love was coffee in bed, pressed together beneath heavy blankets, soft kisses on collarbones and tiny, secret laughs. Love was date ideas scribbled in the margins of lecture notes, quick mistyped texts between classes, and the sound of a front door shutting at the end of a long day. It was mimicking bird calls together in the park and watching the sunrise together on the solstice and wanting to be together constantly, no matter the time or place or disaster. Love was coming home to each other, over and over and over.
Love was Jessica Moore.
Sam sat until the sky mellowed into a dusky gray, then pushed himself off the motel steps and headed back the way he came. The wind was to his back, forcing his hood over his head and propelling him forward. It gave him a lightness he hadn’t felt in years.
His phone vibrated. There was a text from Ruby, another address on the other side of the state with no further explanation. He stared at the screen, rolling over the idea of grabbing his stuff from the motel and leaving right then. Hypothetically, he could get to Ruby's new location before daybreak and, hopefully, before she ditched. He would get his fix and she would get hers, and he would lose the tremors running through his hands and the ache slowly building in his temple. It would all work out.
Jess would tell him no, would throw his phone across the room and give him a stern look that said we’re going to have a real talk about this.
The thought made him laugh softly. No matter where he was or what he was doing, it would always come back to her. For Sam, she was it. She was everything. It was Jessica forever, until the world caved in and he got sucked down to Hell, left to rot and dream of her in Heaven.
Sam thought he could stand that. As long as her memory lived in his mind, he could stand anything.
Before he could think twice, Sam closed Ruby’s text without saving the location, then turned his phone off and tucked it into his back pocket. Eventually, he would have to go back—her blood was sweeter than any other poison he could find—but not tonight.
It was Valentine’s Day, and Sam was going to spend it getting a full night’s sleep in a half-decent motel room, with warm thoughts of Jessica to chase away his withdrawals.