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He noticed her before she noticed him. Then again, everyone knew at least of her. Over half of the students at Stanford receive some sort of financial aid, but usually it's not noticeable. Everyone blends in with everyone else; a sea of upper-middle to wealthy students. Who rolled in to campus with a u-haul and glassy eyed family.
So when rumors began to spread, Jesse became curious.
Apparently this girl “showed up solo, dirty, with nothing but an old, well loved (to put it politely) military duffle. The thing was full of ratty clothes that you could tell were that way from wear. Ya know, not the type of jeans that come torn up.”
This tid bit wasn't nearly as interesting as the next: “her roommate swore that she stashed a “giant fucking knife under her pillow, and gave the most bewildered expression when the other girl screamed. Like she couldn't grasp why for a minute.”
No one knew if this was actually true or not, and her original roommate wasn't really talking about it.
Not that Jesse dug into the subject, and asked around, or anything. He was still trying to make it work with his high school sweetheart, after all.
By the time he actually met her, she looked normal enough. Her wavy brown hair was pulled into a thick braid down her back. Her jeans were lacking of holes. Of course her shirt matched everyone else’s at the bar and grill.
“Hi, my name is Sam and I'll be your waitress tonight. Can I start you guys off with something to drink?”
Really the only notable thing about her, sans the height, was how her hazel eyes sparkled when she smiled.
The Warren siblings had an Arnold Palmer and a beer. Samantha examined Zach’s driver’s license for barely a second. She glanced at the card and handed it back to him.
“Sam Adam’s Boston Lager.” Jesse said as he fished out his own license.
His card got even less attention. The moment he handed it over to Samantha, her features changed. As if she could tell it was a fake just the the lamination. With what the thing cost, this shouldn't be an issue.
Would he have done better using his older brother’s one instead? They looked similar enough except Jesse’s hair was a little darker blonde. To be honest, at that moment he couldn't remember if their eye color was the same either. Height probably wouldn't matter since he was sitting.
“How about an iced tea.” Samantha said, putting the I.D. face down on the round high top, like it offended her. A ghost of an emotion he couldn't quite place danced around her eyes before it was gone. “This ain't gonna work.”
“Can't blame a guy for trying.”
Thankfully, she seemed to have forgotten by the time Brady introduced them almost two years later.
They hit it off almost immediately, or perhaps she was just drunk enough to take his suggestion to “get out of this frat house.” Samantha shrugged and stumbled out the door. If she hadn't have glanced back to see if he were following, he wouldn't have assumed.
They made it as far as a makeshift swing, strung up on a sassafras tree. At first she merely examined the item: made from glow in the dark paracord and a haphazardly drilled piece of rectangular wood. Her long fingers trailed across the bare material, assessing its smoothness. Once the knots were determined to be sound, she plopped down. The momentary sobriety vanished.
Samantha leaned her head on the rope and muttered. “I hate him.”
“Well you've chosen the perfect revenge. Mainlining tequila.” Jesse responded, putting his back against the bark.
“Well you know what they say!” She quoted, smiling.
“No. What do they say.”
“Dean loves this movie.”
He didn't understand the reference, and then it clicked. “Is he the guy?” Jesse wasn't sure he wanted the answer, and yet he inquired anyhow.
“Who?”
“Dean.”
“You know my brother?” She asked, astonished. Samantha twisted the seat to stare at him. “Weird.”
“No. I don't.” Jesse laughed. “What's he like?”
“An overprotective asshole.”
“He’s not too fond of you being away in school by yourself, I take it?”
“I don't know. He hasn't called. Not even today. Not that I really expected him to...” She bent back, and Jesse tensed to catch her if she fell, but she never did. “Always figured he'd pick the old man over me.”
“What's today?” Jesse asked, unsure if the conversation made him uncomfortable or not. People talked about their family. Samantha made it feel too personal though, like the simple mention of a name was a giant secret revealed.
“My birthday.”
“Well. Happy birthday. Or unbirthday.” He glanced at his watch. “It's 12:05.”
“Thanks.” She paused. He thought the silence was less awkward than her admissions. Companionable. Jesse imagined it wasn't the alcohol that caused her to just zone out and admire the stars. “You don't have to walk me home by the way. I'm capable of taking care of myself.” She said after some time.
So that's what she thought he meant.
“I'm not having sex with you either.” His face must have given him away. She kicked at the dirt. It was too dark to see how deep her blush went. “Haven't.”
“Me either.” He confessed. “My ex was real religious and I respected that.”
“Ah. I've just never been close to anyone.”
Funny that the first time he talked to her (because ordering drinks and food didn't count) was the most she'd ever opened up to him. Sure, after dating for over a year and a half they moved in together. Sex came shortly after: it was nerve wracking and humiliating. The act itself. After was worse.
He stopped her from rushing off to put clothes on. Sam wasn't modest, not in the same way as his ex. In the dim lighting of the bedroom he couldn't tell, but once that random car drove past, headlights illuminating the room; he figured it out.
Initially he thought she had some sort of bone disorder, but never asked. The first time they held hands her joints felt off. He couldn't place why. Sam’s crazy flexibility made him think it was just double jointedness.
Where clothes covered skin, and a California tan didn't heal wounds, a plethora of scars littered her form.
Maybe it wasn't natural. Maybe her bones were off from being broken too many times.
“Sam?” He began.
“Don't. Just. Don't.” She sighed and ran her hands through her messy hair. “I'm sorry Jess. I just can't talk about it.”
“Your family?” He felt white hot anger sear his stomach and burn into his body.
She visibly struggled for an answer. “Yes, but not the way you think. We uh. Moved around a lot, like I said. In bad areas a lot of the time. I got in fights.”
He knew she was lying, at least partially, but didn't pry. Part of his criminal justice degree was learning to tell when someone wasn't telling the whole truth. Usually none of the signs worked with Sam though.
He got up from the bed and wrapped his arms around her chilled naked body. She folded into his embrace and he noted how long it had been since a silence had felt painful.
A part of him wanted to reach into the back pocket zipper (somewhere Sam would never look) of his messenger bag right then and there. He no longer felt like he needed to track down Mr. Winchester out of respect. Jesse didn't need to worry about her family, and hoped to God he never met them. Still, he didn't want to throw out months of planning.
Barely a week later, he heard an altercation in the apartment. Jesse reached over. Sam was gone. Someone just got thrown against the floor. He gulped, and quickly grabbed the closest “weapon” he could find: his baseball bat. He forgot to pick it up after Brady and the rest of the guys invited him out for a game.
His heart pounded in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of voices. Sam. Sam was in the other room with whoever broke in.
“Dean?” She asked, out of breath. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“That's ‘cause you're out of practice.” Another voice lightly scolded. A thump. Jesse cringed and fought the urge to race in the main room. Hadn't he heard that name before? “Or not.” The voice laughed. “Get off me.”
Jesse turned on the light just in time to see Sam untangle herself from a man. Her legs were wrapped around him in a way that didn't require equal or greater weight to pin. Her elbow at the person’s throat. She moved, jumped off him faster than Jesse could blink.
“Jess. Hey.” She said, sheepish. “Dean his is my boyfriend, Jesse.”
“Sam, what's ---”
“Whoa there! Big man with a baseball bat!” Dean sneered. “Louisville Slugger too! Wanna feel fancy for a fight, man?”
Jesse glared and gripped the bat tighter.
“Dean…” Sam said, drawing out each letter.
It clicked.
“Wait. Your brother Dean?” Jesse asked, finally lowering his weapon.
“Yeah.” The siblings said in unison.
Jesse felt his palm start to sweat as Dean sized him up. “And if you think you can protect Sammy with that crapass posture of yours, man you are in for a hell of a surprise. My girl could kick. Your. Ass.” Dean laughed. “But uh, let’s save this little chat for later, slugger. I gotta borrow your girlfriend here. Talk about some family business. But I'll be seeing you.”
Jesse was too shocked to speak.
“No.” Sam said, finally moving from where she rooted herself to the floorboards. She pushed herself under jesse’s arm. His shoulder stretched to accommodate, considering she was of identical height. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of him.”
Dean scowled.
His green eyes darkened, and there was the resemblance. Him and Sam, they had the same eyes. The same mystery locked behind them. Even if their mannerisms weren't similar, or the facial structure; Jesse would have recognized the connection from that single “leave it alone,” expression.
“Ok.” Dean turned, letting his whole body relax into a cocky stance. “Dad hasn't been home for a few days.”
“So he's been working overtime on the miller time shift. I'm sure he'll stumble back in sooner or later.”
Dean chuckled, and shot Jesse a look the student couldn't quite place. He dropped his head in a mock nod and pursed his lips. “Fine. Dad’s on a hunting trip, and hasn't been home in a few days.”
Jesse wasn't to keen to let Sam walk out the door with her estranged brother. Then again, he didn't let Sam do anything; she was a grown women. Who, according to her brother, was more lethal than he knew.
The relief Jesse felt when she came back from her short family reunion didn't last long. Sam began packing a bag, jaw tight and with a mechanical precision. Lost in her own world, moving based on muscle memory, she almost didn't notice him.
“Jesse.” She acknowledged, and shoved something shiny in her old army duffle.
Several things in the bedroom were or of place, all in one corner. The patch of drywall that Sam insisted they didn't need to get the landlord in to fix (apparently she had a job a handyman once) looked disturbed.
“So. You're just taking off.” He announced. It wasn't a question. “Is it about your Dad? Is he all right?” As much as Jesse decided he disliked the guy, he couldn't keep himself from caring.
“Yeah.” Sam zipped the duffle and looked at him. “Just some family drama.” She shrugged.
He sat on their bed. Sam took the duffel and moved over to the dresser. Jesse watched her pull out a “high impact” sport bras she used for running along with some other essentials. His brow furrowed and he couldn't help but inspect everything that went in the bag. Whatever created the glint of metal earlier became sufficiently buried.
“But your brother said he was on some kind of hunting trip.”
“Uh. Yeah. He's just deer hunting up at the cabin. And he's probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose with him. We're just going to go and bring him back.”
A part of Jesse wanted to mention that this is the most they've ever talked about her family sober. He thought better of it. “What about the interview?” He pointed out instead.
“I'll make the interview.” Sam responded automatically. She wasn't really listening. Sure, her answers were spot on but something was different. “It's only for a couple of days.”
“Sam wait.” He rushed up from the bed and grabbed her arm. She tensed and that look returned. The one that flashed whenever someone made a sudden movement she didn't expect. “I want to go with you.”
“What? No.” She scoffed. “You hate hiking and it's like five miles out. Don't worry about it.”
“I'm worried about you.” He admitted. “I mean you've mentioned your brother all of four times since we've met. Your dad only to say he was a drunk who wasn't around much… And now you're just going off for some weekend?”
That didn't come out how he wanted. Jesse should have said something along the lines of how he was excited to finally meet them. She would know he was lying then. As much as Jesse couldn't read Sam, he was an open book to her.
“Don't be. I'm a big girl. I'll be fine.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she walked out the door.
He worried for two days. Finally the tension in his back and shoulders became unbearable. Jesse popped a headache pill and decided to stay in a hot shower until she came back. Thankfully, Sam had left a voicemail saying that would be this evening.
After checking his phone one last time, he padded towards the bathroom, shrugging off his shirt. The article didn't make it past his arms. Jesse slammed against the wall via some invisible force. The air left his lungs in an audible “whoosh.”
For a moment the only sound was the shower. He tried moving to no avail. What the hell was going on? Footsteps came towards him and Jesse breathed a sigh of relief to see his best friend.
“Brady. Look man. I think someone played a practical joke on me and switched out the ibuprofen.”
“What makes you say that?” Brady replied once he was in the bedroom.
“Uh. I. Uh.” This was embarrassing. “I can't move.” Jesse struggled for emphasis.
“Oh! I can explain that.”
Brady blinked and his eyes turned black.
That explained nothing.
Jesse was officially freaked the fuck out.
“What the --” he yelled.
“You know.” Brady interrupted. “I never understood...why you?” He walked over to the closet, and opened up Jesse’s book bag, fishing out a small satin covered black box.”I mean sure I set you guys up. But that doesn't mean I liked it. I was just following orders. The big man thought you two would work out well and he was right.”
Brady opened the box and examined the contents. “I was so pissed when you showed me this.” He held up the opened box for Jesse to see, the massive diamond solitaire gleamed in the lamplight. “I mean. You don't even know Samantha!” He picked up the engagement ring, and twirled it around his fingers.
“That's the problem with you rich kids. Yeah if Sam became a lawyer --”
“When.” Jesse gasped.
“Excuse me?”
“Sam’s the smartest person I know. She'll nail that interview and get the full ride.”
“Not really. Anyway. If Sam became a lawyer, yeah you two would have money. You wouldn't be living in this hole in the wall so that she could satiate her need to contribute equally. But do you really think she'd feel comfortable wearing this? Flawless. Colorless. Gotta be at least two carats. This ring probably cost more money than her family lived off of in a year -- minus gas and ammo.”
He placed it on the nightstand and turned on the lamp.
“Ammo? For hunting?”
“Yeah but not deer or whatever story Sam sold to you.” Brady sighed and flicked his wrist and Jesse felt his feet lift from the floor. “It should have been me, ya know? I could have prepped her so much better than you. Then again, maybe she needed those sympathetic eyes towards all her scars.”
“What the hell?!”
“Oh. I'm from there. You don't even know. Azazel ordered me to kill you like mommy dearest though. And I don't mind.”
Brady started humming.
Jesse found it increasingly hard to breathe. His body somehow kept on rising towards the ceiling. He wailed when he hit the corner and continued traveling towards the bed. inhales became increasingly hard. He was hyperventilating.
Brady sang.
“Jessie is a friend, yeah,
"I know he's been a good friend of mine.
"But lately something's changed that ain't hard to define.
"Jessie's got himself a girl and I want to make her mine.” .
Jesse felt the warmth first. Like he spilled coffee on his shirt and it seeped down onto his stomach. Except it burnt more. Actually it stung. The worst wound he ever experienced was when he was in eighth grade and he was horsing around with the scalpel during biology.
He sliced his hand open.
It required stitches.
In his mind he knew this was worse. He looked back to Brady who snuck into the shadows.
“ And she's watching him with those eyes.
"And she's loving him with that body, I just know it.
"Yeah 'n' he's holding her in his arms late, late at night.”
The door opened.
“Jess? You home?!” Sam yelled.
He wished he could respond but his voice didn't work. His eyes threatened to roll back into his head and everything seemed to play in slow motion.
Sam stopped on the middle of the bedroom, right under him, right where Brady used to be. She stared at the ring eyes wide and mouth agape. After looking at the bathroom with more love in her expression than Jesse could bear, she flopped down on the bed, and closed her eyes. She reached over and grabbed the box at the same moment the first drop hit her forehead.
The blood had finally soaked into his shirt enough that it began to drool down. Odd that he didn't realize what the warm liquid was until he saw the deep red on his soon-to-be financé’s face. In some surreal fashion it didn't register. He was bleeding to death because of a gash in his stomach, while pinned against the ceiling.
Someone definitely drugged him.
“Jess!” Sam screamed.
The warmth intensified. He saw red flames and heard the sound of hot dogs bubbling over the fire. Sam had them go primitive camping for their first anniversary. He hated it but the sound of her laugh when he bit into the questionable meat made it all worth it.
“Jess!” She screamed again.
By now everything was red. He couldn't hear what happened next. Everything faded besides the rest of the chorus. Brady got that damn song stuck in his head.
“You know, I wish that I had Jessie's girl!
"I wish that I had Jessie's girl!
"Where can I find a woman like that!”