Five Kisses
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: SamxJessica
Rating: PG-13 (I tried for PG. It's a mix but being safe)
Word Count: 6529
Summary: "Sam, I know if you're reading this, something happened to us. But it's Valentine's day, and I'm just thinking of what we'll be in twenty years and I can't imagine that far because everyone around us is falling apart. I have five beautiful roses in front of me and I was just thinking… can you remember five really special kisses we've shared? I love you, no matter what happened. Always have, always will. Jessica."
Warnings: Fluff ahoy. Because someone watched the pilot ep again.
Betas: ruffianblitz and toestastegood
Author's Notes: -gulp- First SPN fanfic ever. And it's SamxJess, and flashbacks that I made up. Don't kill me. Also, sorry about the letter having like, smilies in it. It was my intention to write a letter in script and have the picture be here for the letter but then I realized my script sucks.
Dean would definitely be laughing right then, Sam knows, if he could see him. It wasn't every day that he misplaced his laptop. Well, correction. Misplaced means it will eventually be found. Sam, somehow, knows he hopelessly lost it. It's a fate worse than death, too, because it's how all his research is done, how he communicates with his friends, how he looks at old pictures of Jess... Dean never loses his cigarettes or his car keys, so he has to wonder why he's special - or stupid - enough to lose his laptop, especially since it's a hundred times the size.
A search of first the usual spots - the beds, the dresser, the nightstands, the chair - had turned up nothing. Then one of the uncommon places - under the bed, the bathroom, in the dressers, under the big pile of clothes that somehow appeared within the span of seventeen hours - ended up fruitless also. Now, he's panicking. There's no laptop. Behind the dresser, there's an old, dirty condom but no laptop. Behind the bed, there's a random needle but no laptop. In the closet, there's a shirt that looks like it's from the eighties but still no laptop.
Finally he becomes so desperate that he looks in his bag. Shuffling to the bottom, a place he never goes anymore because he's too scared of dirty laundry Dean - or he, truthfully - might've thrown at the bottom, he stops when he finds a very worn, crinkled, manila envelope.
"Huh." After taking it out, he realizes faintly that it blends almost perfectly with the bag's bottom, and moves to sit on the bed. Turning it over, he sees the name 'Sam' written out neatly in cursive, and recognizes the handwriting immediately.
Some dread falls over him as he opens it, breaking the seal slowly. A bit of dust comes out and that doesn't make sense; it's not like anyone's been living in there. As he looks inside, he finds out why. There's one crisped, dried out rose inside, so old that he's surprised it's even holding together. Taking it out, he places it on the bed. Next, out comes a letter, and just as he goes to place the envelope on the bed, he tilts it enough for a ring to fall out.
Her high school ring. He'd realized it was missing from her finger one day and she'd made a big deal about it, because she'd loved it. "She lost it," he whispers to himself, so bewildered now. This was not how he was planning to spend his day.
He definitely doesn't mind it, though.
Picking up the ring, he fingers it slowly before slipping it as far down as he can on his pinky. Not surprisingly, it goes as far as halfway down the finger before it stops and he grins a bit. Then he looks at the letter and starts to read it out loud, not afraid of Dean overhearing. "Thank god he's getting gas," he whispers but it's been thirty minutes. Probably gas and a quick fuck. Like he cares.
"Sam,
I know if you're reading this, something happened to us. This sounds so stupid but I got worried a week ago when Marissa and Rob broke up; you remember that they were together since ninth grade, or so they say? That's eight years and they broke up. I have to wonder what's going to happen to us."
Sam knows right away that this letter isn't going to be a good one. His eyes slowly sweep the contents, feeling sick.
"I really hope you don't randomly find this. That would suck, because I didn't know where to put it in case you randomly run off. I mean, what if you take a trip? Then, I'm an idiot."
A grin slowly comes to his face from just four sentences, and he loves how random she used to be. She always had the maturity of a fifteen year old; he's ashamed to say that's what attracted him to her, as it almost makes him sound like a pedophile. Most of the girls in college with a good average are stuffy and don't give a damn. She did.
"But it's Valentine's day, and I'm just thinking of what we'll be in twenty years and I can't imagine that far because everyone around us is falling apart. You remember what you got me, though? Six roses, because you spent all your money on the new semester and you didn't have any money left over and you were all upset. But you made me the cutest card. I mean, made with hearts and arrows and just the dumbest, corniest stuff I'd ever seen. And there's a Smurf.
I really love you sometimes."
A quick laugh and Sam grins, remembering the card. The Smurf had looked more like a muffin, yeah, but he'd drawn it. He's still proud of himself.
"I put in one of the roses. I hope it'll stay together. I'm not putting in all of them, because they're mine, and I love them too much. And I'm not putting in the card because it's mine, even if we break up or something. I love your drawings since you barely ever draw anything."
Grinning wide now, he fingers the rose delicately, looking at it. There's no scent left and it has a few specks of dust on it, but he doesn't think he can smile any wider all the same.
"So I've been rambling. You always say (said?) I do that when I talk. I just realized I do that in letters. Maybe you're right. I'll try and stop. (No I won't. It was a nice thought.)"
"I wondered why you stopped for a day," he whispers to himself as if afraid to cut off his own reading of the letter. "It was weird to hear you randomly cutting yourself off."
"What are we like? Did it work? Do we have kids? I want three, you know. I've told you that so many times. Christian, after my dad, and Mary after your mom and… I don't know. I just like the number three. Watch. We'll have two kids and then a set of twins. We'll have to kill one. Sam, look what you made me say! I'm going to have to yell at you now and you won't know why. (:"
She hadn't, but she had punched him in the arm, hard that day when she was getting into bed. He'd wondered what it was for and when he'd asked, she'd just grinned and said she loved him. He still thinks she punches harder than Dean ever can hope to. But the questions make him frown, because they'd been trying. It was a stupid plan, but with him entering law school, she was going to take a bit of time off and they'd wanted a kid so bad. They'd never gotten that far.
"So are you off with your brother? I know you said he does paranormal stuff, like ghost hunting or something? I think we were a bit drunk that night. It sounds fun, though. I always believed in it. My house used to have doors open and close by itself. I think my Nana used to haunt it because it started after she died in it. But you said stuff about vampires and… things. That I don't believe in. You need to show me one of those."
So he lied. He's lied about a lot of stuff to Dean, just like Dean lied about a lot of stuff to him. He isn't sure why, but there isn't much trust between them lately. Maybe because Dean figures that he had to have told Jess, and he's not far off. He told her everything, explaining the hunting, the death, anything he could remember. Except he was so drunk that day that he's surprised she remembers, because she was matching him beer for beer at a party - another thing he lied to Dean about not doing.
"You never got along well with him. I've heard you talking on the phone with him. I had this nasty habit of listening on conversations with the mute on, mostly because you talk so damn long. I'm the woman in the relationship, aren't I? I want to use the phone sometimes. ): You never let me. When you got on the phone, you never got off."
Oh, damn. That's not good, considering the stuff she could've heard. He knows he should've felt angry, but just feels a bit upset that she never told him he talked too much. He would've talked less. And he wouldn't have yelled at Dean so much either.
"I've sort of forgotten the purpose of this letter. Sorry. I do that a lot. I'm only passing with an A- average because of you and your great 'tutoring' skills. But the flowers are beautiful and that was it!
So it's Valentine's Day, and I'm taking time away from my man (don't laugh at me. If this is a fluke reading, I'll make you sleep on the couch like last Halloween because you wouldn't dress as Tarzan so I could be Jane. You're mean) to write this. I have five beautiful roses in front of me and I was just thinking… can you remember five really special kisses we've shared? Don't laugh at how stupid it sounds. Really.
I know I can. They're written on the back. Don't look until you think of five, please?"
He immediately knows he can remember more than five, but stops to read the last two sentences which make him smile more than he has in quite some time.
"I love you, no matter what happened. Always have, always will.
Love,
Jessica
February 14th, 2005"
Laying back, he lets the rose rest on his chest, holds the letter in his hand, then obeys as he focuses on five special times. He knows they have to be on or before the fourteenth of February too, as he wants to get the same ones as her.
* * *
It was only their second date, and before they'd even gotten together she had stated she wasn't that type of girl. On the crumpled out history test he'd taken from his bag (considering he used a laptop to take down all his notes and wouldn't dream of having a notebook), he'd scrawled out the words, "do you want to go out and get something to eat with me later?" He'd underlined the two words purposely so she wouldn't think it was friend wise; he thought she was hot, and still had been believing a bit in Dean's way back then of treating women. The three F rule was nearly tattooed on his forehead - find them, fuck them, forget them. In his mind, as they'd hung out a lot, he needed to prove it wasn't a buddy thing like they'd done in the past.
It'd taken a few minutes to get back in neat cursive script, "Sure, but I'm not the kind of girl to kiss on the first date. Or anything before the fifth. And don't even think about touching my pants because I can see it in your eyes."
The meal had gone great, and two nights later they'd gone to a movie. Walking her home normally was the most awkward thing, as Dean told him that was the point that he had to get into the girl's pants through "suave handling." He wasn't even sure what the hell that meant.
Hands crammed into his pockets, he walked beside her in a path someone had made through the snow. January weather, and they were walking through the park. He knew it was dumb, but he didn't care because his coat kept him warm, but as he glanced towards her, he noted she was shivering some. What the hell did she expect with a coat that was made for the fall and for fashion?
He took off his without thinking, and slid it over her shoulders. A surprised look came to her face as she placed her arms inside, not refusing. Of course not - it was too cold. "What are you going to use?" she finally asked.
"You could be a lady and offer me your coat," he said with a joking look.
"Yeah, because you'd fit into it."
An offended look came onto his features before he looked down at himself. "Maybe I am a size too big..." At the quiet snort of air she gave, he finally decided he'd had enough. He'd been raised in the woods, in the snow, in the cold, wearing nothing but a long-sleeved shirts some nights if one of them got wounded and needed the heat. This was nothing. Jessica on the other hand...
He made a quick snowball and threw it at her, startling her as it hit her in the neck. Damn, his aim really was off. He'd been hoping for her face; he used to be able to get it the first time when he and Dean joked around, and Dean wouldn't stand still.
"Samuel Winchester!"
"My name isn't Samuel," he said quickly as a grin came across his face and he started running backwards, glancing behind him quickly. This would be easy, if he wanted it that way. It was dark out; he could slink away into the night, run back to his room, and hide there. But he didn't want it easy. She'd never been trained; he had. Anyway, it was fun just to mess around with her.
A smirk came to her face as she took off his jacket and dropped it to the ground, making him stop immediately. "Yes it is. Admit it or I'll jump on your coat and destroy it."
"But-"
"I'm wearing high heels."
"Jess, it's my favorite coat! And it's expensive!"
"Then admit it!"
"Fine! It's Samuel! Just call me Sam, or even Sammy for all I care. Not fuckin' Samuel!" He noted his accent, something he was working so hard to get rid - after all, a southern lawyer who sounded like a redneck was not very comforting - came forth more than he liked.
She picked it up and gently brushed it off, then put it back on. Slowly she walked over to him, before he began to run again. She didn't look too happy, and he wasn't going to deal with that.
He got three steps before she tackled him to the ground and rolled him over, somehow managing to manhandle a 6'4" muscled man onto his back. He watched as she straddled his waist, and blinked up at her. This was awkward.
It wasn't so much as she leaned down, her then short-hair brushing against his face, and brushed their lips together. It was just a light graze, and as soon as she'd begun it, it was over, but it still happened.
Then she was picking up snow and shoving it in his face as he tried to figure out what was going on.
The bitch.
* * *
"Sam, I don't want to come out!"
"Come on. It can't be that bad of a hair color." He knew it had to be, because she was sobbing loudly but it had to be fine. It was just a nice dark red color, one that she had opted to do herself so she could save them some money. Going to a hair dresser would cost a good hundred dollars that they didn't have.
They had only been living together for a week, and he had already gone through getting shocked when he didn't realize her hair dryer was still plugged in, deciding he never wanted to go under the sink because that was where the tampons were, and getting dared by a friend to taste a bit of her perfume because it smelled like strawberries. Apparently, that didn't mean it tasted like it. It didn't help that they'd been drunk.
He now stayed clear of the bathroom as much as he could, because all he needed was his comb, his toothbrush, the shower, the toilet and the sink and he was good. The rest was all hers. He didn't understand how one person could have so much. And the fact that she didn't seem to get privacy was still something he liked… Well, he wouldn't ever go into that one with anyone.
As he placed the back of his head against the door, he tried to think of a way to get her out. "Come on. Let me see, please?"
"We've only been dating for three months and two days. You'll find me horrible looking and run off with… with… Brittany from down the hall!" Another sob and he had to wonder, faintly, how she knew the days exactly. Did he miss a three month anniversary? Was there even one?
'Focus, Sammy!' a voice yelled in his head that sounded too much like Dean and he blinked before he moved to let his forehead this time drop against the door with a small thud. That got him to focus.
"Jess, come on," he spoke quietly as he poked the door, pressing it a bit into the door frame before letting it go so she knew he was right there. He wondered if she could even hear him. "I want to help. I won't leave even if you shaved all your hair off like Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. Remember we saw that movie last week? Sucked ass. But I bet you didn't do what she did, even if you have the same last name as her. Maybe every Moore should save their head. There'd be a few baldies on campus. I wonder if that's even a word. Baldies."
He was rambling so much, something he never did unless drunk, but it worked as she unlocked the door. He moved to open it slowly and walked inside, looking up at her.
Okay. He'd been warned. He needed to act nice. But he could once remember a demon having this color hair. He stared for a second before he ran his hand through it, and looked at her. "You look like a fire hydrant."
"Sam!" she sobbed.
"But a hot one," he corrected and how the hell did that slip out in the first place? Dean needed to stay out of his head. He hadn't even spoken to him in months.
She covered her face to start crying again, and he ended up pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her. He'd long since learned the soft shushing noise didn't work on her, so he lightly rubbed her back and looked at her hair, careful not to touch it with his face. He didn't want it bright reddish-orange.
"How about this? We skip classes tomorrow, and I'll take you to the hair dresser, okay?" He ignored the startled look on her face, because they never had the money for anything. They went on dates during matinees, ate at fast food places… Stanford wasn't cheap. Jessica's parents were paying for it, but didn't give her much money on the side. And with him paying for it himself, it was expensive. Over forty thousand a year for tuition, books, room and board… It didn't leave a lot to live on.
He just knew he'd have to pull an old trick or two. It wasn't that hard to nick a wallet off someone; considering how drunk they were all the time, it'd be easy even. He looked down at her to smile. "I got some extra money coming in tonight. I just have to pick it up. We'll get anything you want done, alright? And go anywhere you want to eat afterwards."
A lawyer-to-be, stealing. He felt sick, but as she leaned up to kiss him on the lips, deep and loving, he knew she deserved it for putting up with so much lying.
* * *
"Who were the presidents that were in office during the Cold War?"
"Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Carter, Reagan... and Bush?"
Glancing down at the thirty page study sheet Sam had written out, Jess added, "You forgot Gerald Ford."
"He didn't do anything anyway," Sam muttered, obviously reaching his limits. The final was in two days and he was absolutely cramming. He'd been studying lately more than ever, but that didn't mean he knew a lot about the "History of the US After 1940" or so his course guide said.
"I know. In what year did the Senate pass what that imposed sanctions on Iraq? It was refused by the House, if you need it."
Sam grinned, because he knew this one. He actually knew one. "It's the Prevention of Genocide Act of 1988, in that year." She looked ready to start talking, but he cut her off before it could begin. "It addressed the chemical weapons on the Kurds by Saddam Hussein."
Smiling, Jess nodded, obviously taking his word for it. They both knew she was horrible at history - she was an English major and a business minor, the latter to please her parents. She wouldn't know anything like this, so she looked back at the paper. "How many Americans were wounded and killed during Vietnam? Don't give me abouts either."
Aw, shit. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "57,500 dead and 150,750 wounded." He knew it was somewhere around there, and couldn't overshoot it. If he underestimated it in papers, then he wasn't penalized as badly as overestimating it.
Immediately she shook her head. "58,209 and 153,303. Alright. Let's stay on Vietnam." She looked for numbers or dates - he could explain things perfectly if there weren't numbers. Numbers messed him up so badly, and it was so lucky for him that he wasn't a math major. Dates though weren't that bad. "How many were killed in the rescue operation known as the Mayaguez incident and when?"
"Mayagüez."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just... not pronouncing it right." He shook his head, and tried to remember. He could do this. "May... 16th, and 17."
"No."
Shit. He pulled the hood of the hoodie he was wearing up over his head and sunk into the couch. "What is it?"
Jess moved forward to straddle and watch him, her eyes showing worry instead of the normal desire. It couldn't be sexual - he was obviously getting stressed. "15th and 18. How much did Graham Martin plead with the government to send for aid to South Vietnam but it didn't happen?"
Immediately his eyes lit up, because he knew this one and it was about Vietnam. Finally! "Six hundred million." But the frown Jess gave made his heart drop a bit, and he slowly just placed his face to her shoulder, panicking. "I got it wrong." She nodded against him, and he gave a shuddering sigh. "I'm going to fail."
"No you're not," she whispered and began to slowly rub his back, but it was clear he'd reached his limit. "Calm down. You'll do fine. You're stressing. Classes are over, and you only need to study."
Sam groaned and he clung to her, going over the facts in his head. His eyes traveled to the paper in her hand as she moved to rest it on the couch and looked at the facts. 2,750,000 tons of bombs were dropped during fourteen months because of Nixon. "Study stuff I'm going to fail," he whispered as he continued to read. U.S. troops reduced to 196,700... 45,000 were removed by February 1972.... January 15th, 1973 Nixon announced suspension of offensive action against North Vietnam to be followed by unilateral withdrawal of U.S.--
He glanced up sharply as Jess moved the paper, and met her eyes with a confused look. But she shook her head, not happy. "No. You're not allowed. You keep studying and you'll panic."
"But I'll fail!"
"No you won't."
"Yes I will! Then I'm going to end up not getting enough credits and not passing and taking another year and you'll be in another college in a year and you'll leave me because you'll see some hot guy there and we'll be separated and then you'll get pregnant by the guy because you'll love him and you won't ever speak to me because you have this great family now and it'll all be because I didn't get this one damn final passed and finished and I don't even know what I'm fucking saying!"
Jess blinked, obviously confused. Sam met her eyes and appeared confused too, but also extremely upset, because he was terrified now. In his eyes, his whole future rode on this. She finally gave a laugh though, as that had been /funny/. A bit weird, but funny. Leaning forward, she placed her forehead against his and whispered, "Calm down, Sam. I'm here, and I won't ever sleep with anyone else, ever, okay?"
He gave a tiny nod, just a slight movement of the head, but he was calmed down some.
"Good. Now. I'm going to kiss you so stop freaking out." It was spoken playfully, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, making him give a quiet sigh as he relaxed. His hands had released her shirt and her arms moved around his neck as the kiss deepened, slow but romantic.
Then he broke it to state quietly, "It's okay to occasionally sleep with girls." Dean had instilled that trait in him at an early age; it was never leaving, not even as she swatted at his head.
* * *
As soon as his hips were straddled, he knew that this wouldn't be good. It was just a month before their two year anniversary, and something had to be up. He tried to ignore it to hold onto her hips so she won't fall off - she looked a bit tipsy. Truthfully, her drinking had been scaring him a bit lately. Maybe he'd been away from his family for too long. Two years was a while. Still, once a week to get completely drunk and occasionally tipsy in-between is a lot.
"Sam," she whispered as she leaned forwards, nipping at his ear and the tone wasn't sexy but scared. He knew right away she wants something; she never spoke like this unless she wanted something badly. "Sam…"
"Yeah?"
"I've been thinking. We've been together almost two years, and we're inseparable, right?"
A quiet snort of air was given, because he wouldn't call them that when she tried to get away a lot of the time to get with her friends. But he nodded, knowing a 'no' would upset her. "Yeah. Why?"
"Don't 'why' me, Sam." She poked his cheek before kissing him quickly, the kiss over before it even began. "I want a baby and I always get what I want, right?"
"Jess, that's when you want a slushie and it's a dollar. This is a lot more than a dollar." He rubbed her hips though, thinking it over. "How much do you want one?" His mind was screaming no, but his heart was screaming yes. Jessica always got what she wanted.
She smiled wide at that. "More than you can imagine. Like… I have wanted one since I was three. Have you wanted anything since you were three?"
A part of him was tempted to say 'no' but this was a truthful conversation, even a terrifying one, so he nodded. "Before I was three too. My mom."
Frowning, she ran her hands through his hair, obviously confused as she'd only heard a little about her. He never spoke about her, never told more than she had died. He'd never revealed when or how and definitely not why. Now, he'd revealed it was before he was three. "Imagine getting what you wanted since then. That's what's happening with me. Please?"
He was so conflicted though, because this was a major thing. She was young, and if she ended up not wanting the child, then something bad could happen. They could break up, put the child up for adoption, she could end up aborting it… All the same, he thought it over, because he knew this was something she had her heart set on, and this was something he really wanted.
Most of the other guys he knew would panic about this. The last thing they wanted was a child. But to see one of him running around, especially when in just a few years he'd be getting a great job… Plus he knew next year, there was a very high chance of him getting a full scholarship back to Stanford. So he met her eyes while a hand went up her shirt to rub her back.
"If you promise me a few things," he spoke quietly, not dumb enough to just say yes right away. He didn't want to end up a statistic, having thrown away all his college experience. When he knew he had her attention, he said, "If you take the last trimester off, and stop drinking as soon as we start trying. I don't want to see a drink in your hand, ever. Not a beer, not a single shot. I'll give it up, too, alright?"
Immediately she pouted. "Sam," she whined, not liking that. "What if it takes a few months? We'll test a lot and it's only continuous alcohol use that hurts a baby. I'll tone it down, okay? Just parties and stuff?"
He contemplated it before nodding. Really, if it took six months, that was unfair to her. "Alright. But as soon as you find out, nothing, or I swear I'll lock you in a closet for the whole nine months." A grin came to her face but he wasn't joking, so it quickly disappeared. "Also, you have to take at least four semesters off. By then, I'll hopefully have some good job and be on my way to getting a law degree and we'll have a lot of money. I just don't want you going to school and the baby being here with a nanny or something."
She didn't look happy, but she nodded. This was his choice. "Alright. What else?"
A few moments of silence and he shrugged. "That's it."
"Really?"
"Really."
A large grin and she moved forward to hug him, before kissing him on the lips deeply. Several seconds passed until she pulled back. "I love you so damn much, Sam Winchester. Now we just have to think of names."
A pause was given before Sam said, "Jess? Names?"
"Well. I want three kids, you know." She smiled as Sam sunk low into the couch, but suddenly she grinned. "Hey! It's like you want to try now!"
She was definitely tipsy, and he'd just agreed. Great.
* * *
He was so dead.
That was all there was to it.
He hadn't had a clue roses would cost five fucking dollars each on Valentines day, not including the vase, the pretty little extra decorations and a card. With forty on him, it'd just covered half a dozen, an arrangement in a vase, and tax. Now, he had nice roses too, not the wilted ones that most of the customers were getting.
For some reason, people seemed to like him more when he was freaking out about prices than not. Jess said it was cute. Maybe she would find this cute instead. He doubted it.
Now he had no card. It wasn't even his fault. With tuition just paid, he had no money on him, and definitely wasn't going to run a scam to get it. There was no way. He'd given that up after the hair incident when he'd heard Martin Michaels had found out about the credit card one, had tried to trace it, and nearly caught "the slimy bastard but he slipped from my fingers, probably off to Mexico."
He rushed up the stairs to his apartment as soon as he got to the building, taking two at a time. He knew she was supposed to be home around four from her classes but it was already 3:45, and sometimes they let out early. He didn't have a lot of time.
After opening it, he ran around to find paper, markers, then lastly a book as a hard surface and ran to the bathroom and locked himself inside of it. Putting down the lids, he soon was using the toilet as a seat as he folded the paper into a card shape.
He'd had a dollar left over but the only cards for less than a dollar were the ones that sucked, that said, "I love you because you're my sweet heart," and were written by men who lived in their mother's basements. Now he wished he had bought one, just as a backup.
Slowly, he drew a heart on the front with an arrow, having no clue what he was doing. The words 'I love you' were written and it looked so cheesy that he knew he had to do something else.
Opening it, on the inside he soon did something different. A Smurf was slowly drawn as it seemed all she did was wear Smurfs, but as he continued to draw it, he realized he didn't know what he was drawing. Normally when he looked at her shirt, he was thinking about other things.
When he finished, the Smurf looked almost like a muffin, making him scowl. "Damn it," he whispered and was tempted to write a note next to it about the quality (or therefore lack of) but just continued on, writing more sappy stuff and finally a few comedic things. The card made no sense, but he didn't care as he signed 'Love, Sam' at the bottom.
"There. Finished."
It took but seconds to bring the roses to the kitchen counter and to the card in front of the vase nicely. As soon as he began to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - some habits of a hunter would never change. Compare a PB&J sandwich to a gourmet meal, and the sandwich always won - the door opened.
Looking away from the bread, he quickly ran off, wanting it to be a surprise. Into the bedroom he went, first thinking about the closet but one too many puns came to mind of things Dean had called him in the past.
He could hear Jessica moving through the kitchen, and as the rustle of roses came about, he knew she had to be touching the flowers or looking at the card. A soft, "Sam?" got his attention because by then, she would've looked at the card to be calling his name.
He waited as she checked the rooms, listening to the slow steps of her high heels. As they came towards the bedroom, he waited, heart thudding. She was going to be angry. Angry, angry, angry…
As the door opened slowly, she was crying, but a large smile was on her face. "Sam?" she asked quietly while one rose and the card was grasped between her fingers. "You… I love you." A second later, he had a heap full of Jessica Lee Moore as she placed her arms around her arms around his neck while being careful of the items, and sat on his lap. "These are amazing."
Just as he went to kiss her, he felt her wince and heard a hiss. Looking at her, he rose a brow and watched as she pulled back her hand, with the rose, one of the fingers pricked and bleeding. Oh.
Taking the rose from her, he placed the finger between his lips and sucked on it lightly, making her laugh. It always surprised her that he wasn't squeamish around blood, that he would actually kiss her wounds like a child, that he didn't mind the taste - though he wasn't exactly fond of it. He'd just tasted it enough to not hate it, that he wouldn't even wince when he cut himself cooking even if he could barely cut the crusts off of a sandwich. She knew about the hunter side of him, but it still surprised her as he knew she didn't believe it. He needed to take her to a hunting range one day, where it was just random shooting at a target. She would find it fun.
"Aw, thanks," she whispered. A moment later, she kissed him on the nose and watched as he let the finger fall from his lips. Then, she moved down to kiss him and moved her lips slowly over his, afraid to deepen it any - while blood didn't freak him out, she was terrified of it. Her father was a doctor, and she'd seen one too many disgusting things, heard of one too many ailments.
This was perfect though, slow and nice, as he held the rose and she held the card. Then he lightly moved the rose under her chin, making her just about scream in shock as she jumped back a bit, his hands jumping to hold her or else she would've fallen. "Don't!" she yelled, too ticklish for him to do so. "Bastard. You're so sleeping on the couch."
"Even with my six beautiful roses that could do so many things to you?"
"…Maybe I'll join you."
"That's more like it."
* * *
As Sam's eyes open, he is smiling because that was too good for words. He'd almost forgotten how much he missed her, between random hunts that led to crushes and random flirts and Dean always being around him, distracting him. His eyes stay on the ceiling for several long seconds until he remembers the back.
Sitting up, he flips it over and looked at it. In the same cursive script were words that makes him grin wide:
January 3rd, 2003 - the snowball fight that you so started during our second date
April 5th, 2003 - the hair dye incident that I still dread. Blond is what I'm definitely sticking with. And, F.Y.I., I know you stole money from Martin Michaels for the money. I don't care though. He tried to force me to have sex once and I only got away when I slammed his head into a wall so he deserved a lot more than a few hundred dollars being stolen
December 13th, 2003 - you freaking out over the final for US History after 1940 or something. Such a dumb class. I can't believe you took it. Only passed because of me
December 1st, 2004 - me wanting a baby. I'm so glad you agreed
February 15th, 2005 - my six roses and card. I love you
The April incident is a bit daunting, but everything else leaves him feeling relieved. He matches her perfectly. He isn't losing his touch in knowing what she's thinking, even after her death.
As he lies back, keeping the letter and the rose close to himself still, he thinks about her. Long minutes pass and he knows Dean's going to be back soon, but he doesn't care. He got a letter from her, spoke to her even after she died.
He doesn't think he could be happier.
Pairing: SamxJessica
Rating: PG-13 (I tried for PG. It's a mix but being safe)
Word Count: 6529
Summary: "Sam, I know if you're reading this, something happened to us. But it's Valentine's day, and I'm just thinking of what we'll be in twenty years and I can't imagine that far because everyone around us is falling apart. I have five beautiful roses in front of me and I was just thinking… can you remember five really special kisses we've shared? I love you, no matter what happened. Always have, always will. Jessica."
Warnings: Fluff ahoy. Because someone watched the pilot ep again.
Betas: ruffianblitz and toestastegood
Author's Notes: -gulp- First SPN fanfic ever. And it's SamxJess, and flashbacks that I made up. Don't kill me. Also, sorry about the letter having like, smilies in it. It was my intention to write a letter in script and have the picture be here for the letter but then I realized my script sucks.
Dean would definitely be laughing right then, Sam knows, if he could see him. It wasn't every day that he misplaced his laptop. Well, correction. Misplaced means it will eventually be found. Sam, somehow, knows he hopelessly lost it. It's a fate worse than death, too, because it's how all his research is done, how he communicates with his friends, how he looks at old pictures of Jess... Dean never loses his cigarettes or his car keys, so he has to wonder why he's special - or stupid - enough to lose his laptop, especially since it's a hundred times the size.
A search of first the usual spots - the beds, the dresser, the nightstands, the chair - had turned up nothing. Then one of the uncommon places - under the bed, the bathroom, in the dressers, under the big pile of clothes that somehow appeared within the span of seventeen hours - ended up fruitless also. Now, he's panicking. There's no laptop. Behind the dresser, there's an old, dirty condom but no laptop. Behind the bed, there's a random needle but no laptop. In the closet, there's a shirt that looks like it's from the eighties but still no laptop.
Finally he becomes so desperate that he looks in his bag. Shuffling to the bottom, a place he never goes anymore because he's too scared of dirty laundry Dean - or he, truthfully - might've thrown at the bottom, he stops when he finds a very worn, crinkled, manila envelope.
"Huh." After taking it out, he realizes faintly that it blends almost perfectly with the bag's bottom, and moves to sit on the bed. Turning it over, he sees the name 'Sam' written out neatly in cursive, and recognizes the handwriting immediately.
Some dread falls over him as he opens it, breaking the seal slowly. A bit of dust comes out and that doesn't make sense; it's not like anyone's been living in there. As he looks inside, he finds out why. There's one crisped, dried out rose inside, so old that he's surprised it's even holding together. Taking it out, he places it on the bed. Next, out comes a letter, and just as he goes to place the envelope on the bed, he tilts it enough for a ring to fall out.
Her high school ring. He'd realized it was missing from her finger one day and she'd made a big deal about it, because she'd loved it. "She lost it," he whispers to himself, so bewildered now. This was not how he was planning to spend his day.
He definitely doesn't mind it, though.
Picking up the ring, he fingers it slowly before slipping it as far down as he can on his pinky. Not surprisingly, it goes as far as halfway down the finger before it stops and he grins a bit. Then he looks at the letter and starts to read it out loud, not afraid of Dean overhearing. "Thank god he's getting gas," he whispers but it's been thirty minutes. Probably gas and a quick fuck. Like he cares.
"Sam,
I know if you're reading this, something happened to us. This sounds so stupid but I got worried a week ago when Marissa and Rob broke up; you remember that they were together since ninth grade, or so they say? That's eight years and they broke up. I have to wonder what's going to happen to us."
Sam knows right away that this letter isn't going to be a good one. His eyes slowly sweep the contents, feeling sick.
"I really hope you don't randomly find this. That would suck, because I didn't know where to put it in case you randomly run off. I mean, what if you take a trip? Then, I'm an idiot."
A grin slowly comes to his face from just four sentences, and he loves how random she used to be. She always had the maturity of a fifteen year old; he's ashamed to say that's what attracted him to her, as it almost makes him sound like a pedophile. Most of the girls in college with a good average are stuffy and don't give a damn. She did.
"But it's Valentine's day, and I'm just thinking of what we'll be in twenty years and I can't imagine that far because everyone around us is falling apart. You remember what you got me, though? Six roses, because you spent all your money on the new semester and you didn't have any money left over and you were all upset. But you made me the cutest card. I mean, made with hearts and arrows and just the dumbest, corniest stuff I'd ever seen. And there's a Smurf.
I really love you sometimes."
A quick laugh and Sam grins, remembering the card. The Smurf had looked more like a muffin, yeah, but he'd drawn it. He's still proud of himself.
"I put in one of the roses. I hope it'll stay together. I'm not putting in all of them, because they're mine, and I love them too much. And I'm not putting in the card because it's mine, even if we break up or something. I love your drawings since you barely ever draw anything."
Grinning wide now, he fingers the rose delicately, looking at it. There's no scent left and it has a few specks of dust on it, but he doesn't think he can smile any wider all the same.
"So I've been rambling. You always say (said?) I do that when I talk. I just realized I do that in letters. Maybe you're right. I'll try and stop. (No I won't. It was a nice thought.)"
"I wondered why you stopped for a day," he whispers to himself as if afraid to cut off his own reading of the letter. "It was weird to hear you randomly cutting yourself off."
"What are we like? Did it work? Do we have kids? I want three, you know. I've told you that so many times. Christian, after my dad, and Mary after your mom and… I don't know. I just like the number three. Watch. We'll have two kids and then a set of twins. We'll have to kill one. Sam, look what you made me say! I'm going to have to yell at you now and you won't know why. (:"
She hadn't, but she had punched him in the arm, hard that day when she was getting into bed. He'd wondered what it was for and when he'd asked, she'd just grinned and said she loved him. He still thinks she punches harder than Dean ever can hope to. But the questions make him frown, because they'd been trying. It was a stupid plan, but with him entering law school, she was going to take a bit of time off and they'd wanted a kid so bad. They'd never gotten that far.
"So are you off with your brother? I know you said he does paranormal stuff, like ghost hunting or something? I think we were a bit drunk that night. It sounds fun, though. I always believed in it. My house used to have doors open and close by itself. I think my Nana used to haunt it because it started after she died in it. But you said stuff about vampires and… things. That I don't believe in. You need to show me one of those."
So he lied. He's lied about a lot of stuff to Dean, just like Dean lied about a lot of stuff to him. He isn't sure why, but there isn't much trust between them lately. Maybe because Dean figures that he had to have told Jess, and he's not far off. He told her everything, explaining the hunting, the death, anything he could remember. Except he was so drunk that day that he's surprised she remembers, because she was matching him beer for beer at a party - another thing he lied to Dean about not doing.
"You never got along well with him. I've heard you talking on the phone with him. I had this nasty habit of listening on conversations with the mute on, mostly because you talk so damn long. I'm the woman in the relationship, aren't I? I want to use the phone sometimes. ): You never let me. When you got on the phone, you never got off."
Oh, damn. That's not good, considering the stuff she could've heard. He knows he should've felt angry, but just feels a bit upset that she never told him he talked too much. He would've talked less. And he wouldn't have yelled at Dean so much either.
"I've sort of forgotten the purpose of this letter. Sorry. I do that a lot. I'm only passing with an A- average because of you and your great 'tutoring' skills. But the flowers are beautiful and that was it!
So it's Valentine's Day, and I'm taking time away from my man (don't laugh at me. If this is a fluke reading, I'll make you sleep on the couch like last Halloween because you wouldn't dress as Tarzan so I could be Jane. You're mean) to write this. I have five beautiful roses in front of me and I was just thinking… can you remember five really special kisses we've shared? Don't laugh at how stupid it sounds. Really.
I know I can. They're written on the back. Don't look until you think of five, please?"
He immediately knows he can remember more than five, but stops to read the last two sentences which make him smile more than he has in quite some time.
"I love you, no matter what happened. Always have, always will.
Love,
Jessica
February 14th, 2005"
Laying back, he lets the rose rest on his chest, holds the letter in his hand, then obeys as he focuses on five special times. He knows they have to be on or before the fourteenth of February too, as he wants to get the same ones as her.
* * *
It was only their second date, and before they'd even gotten together she had stated she wasn't that type of girl. On the crumpled out history test he'd taken from his bag (considering he used a laptop to take down all his notes and wouldn't dream of having a notebook), he'd scrawled out the words, "do you want to go out and get something to eat with me later?" He'd underlined the two words purposely so she wouldn't think it was friend wise; he thought she was hot, and still had been believing a bit in Dean's way back then of treating women. The three F rule was nearly tattooed on his forehead - find them, fuck them, forget them. In his mind, as they'd hung out a lot, he needed to prove it wasn't a buddy thing like they'd done in the past.
It'd taken a few minutes to get back in neat cursive script, "Sure, but I'm not the kind of girl to kiss on the first date. Or anything before the fifth. And don't even think about touching my pants because I can see it in your eyes."
The meal had gone great, and two nights later they'd gone to a movie. Walking her home normally was the most awkward thing, as Dean told him that was the point that he had to get into the girl's pants through "suave handling." He wasn't even sure what the hell that meant.
Hands crammed into his pockets, he walked beside her in a path someone had made through the snow. January weather, and they were walking through the park. He knew it was dumb, but he didn't care because his coat kept him warm, but as he glanced towards her, he noted she was shivering some. What the hell did she expect with a coat that was made for the fall and for fashion?
He took off his without thinking, and slid it over her shoulders. A surprised look came to her face as she placed her arms inside, not refusing. Of course not - it was too cold. "What are you going to use?" she finally asked.
"You could be a lady and offer me your coat," he said with a joking look.
"Yeah, because you'd fit into it."
An offended look came onto his features before he looked down at himself. "Maybe I am a size too big..." At the quiet snort of air she gave, he finally decided he'd had enough. He'd been raised in the woods, in the snow, in the cold, wearing nothing but a long-sleeved shirts some nights if one of them got wounded and needed the heat. This was nothing. Jessica on the other hand...
He made a quick snowball and threw it at her, startling her as it hit her in the neck. Damn, his aim really was off. He'd been hoping for her face; he used to be able to get it the first time when he and Dean joked around, and Dean wouldn't stand still.
"Samuel Winchester!"
"My name isn't Samuel," he said quickly as a grin came across his face and he started running backwards, glancing behind him quickly. This would be easy, if he wanted it that way. It was dark out; he could slink away into the night, run back to his room, and hide there. But he didn't want it easy. She'd never been trained; he had. Anyway, it was fun just to mess around with her.
A smirk came to her face as she took off his jacket and dropped it to the ground, making him stop immediately. "Yes it is. Admit it or I'll jump on your coat and destroy it."
"But-"
"I'm wearing high heels."
"Jess, it's my favorite coat! And it's expensive!"
"Then admit it!"
"Fine! It's Samuel! Just call me Sam, or even Sammy for all I care. Not fuckin' Samuel!" He noted his accent, something he was working so hard to get rid - after all, a southern lawyer who sounded like a redneck was not very comforting - came forth more than he liked.
She picked it up and gently brushed it off, then put it back on. Slowly she walked over to him, before he began to run again. She didn't look too happy, and he wasn't going to deal with that.
He got three steps before she tackled him to the ground and rolled him over, somehow managing to manhandle a 6'4" muscled man onto his back. He watched as she straddled his waist, and blinked up at her. This was awkward.
It wasn't so much as she leaned down, her then short-hair brushing against his face, and brushed their lips together. It was just a light graze, and as soon as she'd begun it, it was over, but it still happened.
Then she was picking up snow and shoving it in his face as he tried to figure out what was going on.
The bitch.
* * *
"Sam, I don't want to come out!"
"Come on. It can't be that bad of a hair color." He knew it had to be, because she was sobbing loudly but it had to be fine. It was just a nice dark red color, one that she had opted to do herself so she could save them some money. Going to a hair dresser would cost a good hundred dollars that they didn't have.
They had only been living together for a week, and he had already gone through getting shocked when he didn't realize her hair dryer was still plugged in, deciding he never wanted to go under the sink because that was where the tampons were, and getting dared by a friend to taste a bit of her perfume because it smelled like strawberries. Apparently, that didn't mean it tasted like it. It didn't help that they'd been drunk.
He now stayed clear of the bathroom as much as he could, because all he needed was his comb, his toothbrush, the shower, the toilet and the sink and he was good. The rest was all hers. He didn't understand how one person could have so much. And the fact that she didn't seem to get privacy was still something he liked… Well, he wouldn't ever go into that one with anyone.
As he placed the back of his head against the door, he tried to think of a way to get her out. "Come on. Let me see, please?"
"We've only been dating for three months and two days. You'll find me horrible looking and run off with… with… Brittany from down the hall!" Another sob and he had to wonder, faintly, how she knew the days exactly. Did he miss a three month anniversary? Was there even one?
'Focus, Sammy!' a voice yelled in his head that sounded too much like Dean and he blinked before he moved to let his forehead this time drop against the door with a small thud. That got him to focus.
"Jess, come on," he spoke quietly as he poked the door, pressing it a bit into the door frame before letting it go so she knew he was right there. He wondered if she could even hear him. "I want to help. I won't leave even if you shaved all your hair off like Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. Remember we saw that movie last week? Sucked ass. But I bet you didn't do what she did, even if you have the same last name as her. Maybe every Moore should save their head. There'd be a few baldies on campus. I wonder if that's even a word. Baldies."
He was rambling so much, something he never did unless drunk, but it worked as she unlocked the door. He moved to open it slowly and walked inside, looking up at her.
Okay. He'd been warned. He needed to act nice. But he could once remember a demon having this color hair. He stared for a second before he ran his hand through it, and looked at her. "You look like a fire hydrant."
"Sam!" she sobbed.
"But a hot one," he corrected and how the hell did that slip out in the first place? Dean needed to stay out of his head. He hadn't even spoken to him in months.
She covered her face to start crying again, and he ended up pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her. He'd long since learned the soft shushing noise didn't work on her, so he lightly rubbed her back and looked at her hair, careful not to touch it with his face. He didn't want it bright reddish-orange.
"How about this? We skip classes tomorrow, and I'll take you to the hair dresser, okay?" He ignored the startled look on her face, because they never had the money for anything. They went on dates during matinees, ate at fast food places… Stanford wasn't cheap. Jessica's parents were paying for it, but didn't give her much money on the side. And with him paying for it himself, it was expensive. Over forty thousand a year for tuition, books, room and board… It didn't leave a lot to live on.
He just knew he'd have to pull an old trick or two. It wasn't that hard to nick a wallet off someone; considering how drunk they were all the time, it'd be easy even. He looked down at her to smile. "I got some extra money coming in tonight. I just have to pick it up. We'll get anything you want done, alright? And go anywhere you want to eat afterwards."
A lawyer-to-be, stealing. He felt sick, but as she leaned up to kiss him on the lips, deep and loving, he knew she deserved it for putting up with so much lying.
* * *
"Who were the presidents that were in office during the Cold War?"
"Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Carter, Reagan... and Bush?"
Glancing down at the thirty page study sheet Sam had written out, Jess added, "You forgot Gerald Ford."
"He didn't do anything anyway," Sam muttered, obviously reaching his limits. The final was in two days and he was absolutely cramming. He'd been studying lately more than ever, but that didn't mean he knew a lot about the "History of the US After 1940" or so his course guide said.
"I know. In what year did the Senate pass what that imposed sanctions on Iraq? It was refused by the House, if you need it."
Sam grinned, because he knew this one. He actually knew one. "It's the Prevention of Genocide Act of 1988, in that year." She looked ready to start talking, but he cut her off before it could begin. "It addressed the chemical weapons on the Kurds by Saddam Hussein."
Smiling, Jess nodded, obviously taking his word for it. They both knew she was horrible at history - she was an English major and a business minor, the latter to please her parents. She wouldn't know anything like this, so she looked back at the paper. "How many Americans were wounded and killed during Vietnam? Don't give me abouts either."
Aw, shit. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "57,500 dead and 150,750 wounded." He knew it was somewhere around there, and couldn't overshoot it. If he underestimated it in papers, then he wasn't penalized as badly as overestimating it.
Immediately she shook her head. "58,209 and 153,303. Alright. Let's stay on Vietnam." She looked for numbers or dates - he could explain things perfectly if there weren't numbers. Numbers messed him up so badly, and it was so lucky for him that he wasn't a math major. Dates though weren't that bad. "How many were killed in the rescue operation known as the Mayaguez incident and when?"
"Mayagüez."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just... not pronouncing it right." He shook his head, and tried to remember. He could do this. "May... 16th, and 17."
"No."
Shit. He pulled the hood of the hoodie he was wearing up over his head and sunk into the couch. "What is it?"
Jess moved forward to straddle and watch him, her eyes showing worry instead of the normal desire. It couldn't be sexual - he was obviously getting stressed. "15th and 18. How much did Graham Martin plead with the government to send for aid to South Vietnam but it didn't happen?"
Immediately his eyes lit up, because he knew this one and it was about Vietnam. Finally! "Six hundred million." But the frown Jess gave made his heart drop a bit, and he slowly just placed his face to her shoulder, panicking. "I got it wrong." She nodded against him, and he gave a shuddering sigh. "I'm going to fail."
"No you're not," she whispered and began to slowly rub his back, but it was clear he'd reached his limit. "Calm down. You'll do fine. You're stressing. Classes are over, and you only need to study."
Sam groaned and he clung to her, going over the facts in his head. His eyes traveled to the paper in her hand as she moved to rest it on the couch and looked at the facts. 2,750,000 tons of bombs were dropped during fourteen months because of Nixon. "Study stuff I'm going to fail," he whispered as he continued to read. U.S. troops reduced to 196,700... 45,000 were removed by February 1972.... January 15th, 1973 Nixon announced suspension of offensive action against North Vietnam to be followed by unilateral withdrawal of U.S.--
He glanced up sharply as Jess moved the paper, and met her eyes with a confused look. But she shook her head, not happy. "No. You're not allowed. You keep studying and you'll panic."
"But I'll fail!"
"No you won't."
"Yes I will! Then I'm going to end up not getting enough credits and not passing and taking another year and you'll be in another college in a year and you'll leave me because you'll see some hot guy there and we'll be separated and then you'll get pregnant by the guy because you'll love him and you won't ever speak to me because you have this great family now and it'll all be because I didn't get this one damn final passed and finished and I don't even know what I'm fucking saying!"
Jess blinked, obviously confused. Sam met her eyes and appeared confused too, but also extremely upset, because he was terrified now. In his eyes, his whole future rode on this. She finally gave a laugh though, as that had been /funny/. A bit weird, but funny. Leaning forward, she placed her forehead against his and whispered, "Calm down, Sam. I'm here, and I won't ever sleep with anyone else, ever, okay?"
He gave a tiny nod, just a slight movement of the head, but he was calmed down some.
"Good. Now. I'm going to kiss you so stop freaking out." It was spoken playfully, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, making him give a quiet sigh as he relaxed. His hands had released her shirt and her arms moved around his neck as the kiss deepened, slow but romantic.
Then he broke it to state quietly, "It's okay to occasionally sleep with girls." Dean had instilled that trait in him at an early age; it was never leaving, not even as she swatted at his head.
* * *
As soon as his hips were straddled, he knew that this wouldn't be good. It was just a month before their two year anniversary, and something had to be up. He tried to ignore it to hold onto her hips so she won't fall off - she looked a bit tipsy. Truthfully, her drinking had been scaring him a bit lately. Maybe he'd been away from his family for too long. Two years was a while. Still, once a week to get completely drunk and occasionally tipsy in-between is a lot.
"Sam," she whispered as she leaned forwards, nipping at his ear and the tone wasn't sexy but scared. He knew right away she wants something; she never spoke like this unless she wanted something badly. "Sam…"
"Yeah?"
"I've been thinking. We've been together almost two years, and we're inseparable, right?"
A quiet snort of air was given, because he wouldn't call them that when she tried to get away a lot of the time to get with her friends. But he nodded, knowing a 'no' would upset her. "Yeah. Why?"
"Don't 'why' me, Sam." She poked his cheek before kissing him quickly, the kiss over before it even began. "I want a baby and I always get what I want, right?"
"Jess, that's when you want a slushie and it's a dollar. This is a lot more than a dollar." He rubbed her hips though, thinking it over. "How much do you want one?" His mind was screaming no, but his heart was screaming yes. Jessica always got what she wanted.
She smiled wide at that. "More than you can imagine. Like… I have wanted one since I was three. Have you wanted anything since you were three?"
A part of him was tempted to say 'no' but this was a truthful conversation, even a terrifying one, so he nodded. "Before I was three too. My mom."
Frowning, she ran her hands through his hair, obviously confused as she'd only heard a little about her. He never spoke about her, never told more than she had died. He'd never revealed when or how and definitely not why. Now, he'd revealed it was before he was three. "Imagine getting what you wanted since then. That's what's happening with me. Please?"
He was so conflicted though, because this was a major thing. She was young, and if she ended up not wanting the child, then something bad could happen. They could break up, put the child up for adoption, she could end up aborting it… All the same, he thought it over, because he knew this was something she had her heart set on, and this was something he really wanted.
Most of the other guys he knew would panic about this. The last thing they wanted was a child. But to see one of him running around, especially when in just a few years he'd be getting a great job… Plus he knew next year, there was a very high chance of him getting a full scholarship back to Stanford. So he met her eyes while a hand went up her shirt to rub her back.
"If you promise me a few things," he spoke quietly, not dumb enough to just say yes right away. He didn't want to end up a statistic, having thrown away all his college experience. When he knew he had her attention, he said, "If you take the last trimester off, and stop drinking as soon as we start trying. I don't want to see a drink in your hand, ever. Not a beer, not a single shot. I'll give it up, too, alright?"
Immediately she pouted. "Sam," she whined, not liking that. "What if it takes a few months? We'll test a lot and it's only continuous alcohol use that hurts a baby. I'll tone it down, okay? Just parties and stuff?"
He contemplated it before nodding. Really, if it took six months, that was unfair to her. "Alright. But as soon as you find out, nothing, or I swear I'll lock you in a closet for the whole nine months." A grin came to her face but he wasn't joking, so it quickly disappeared. "Also, you have to take at least four semesters off. By then, I'll hopefully have some good job and be on my way to getting a law degree and we'll have a lot of money. I just don't want you going to school and the baby being here with a nanny or something."
She didn't look happy, but she nodded. This was his choice. "Alright. What else?"
A few moments of silence and he shrugged. "That's it."
"Really?"
"Really."
A large grin and she moved forward to hug him, before kissing him on the lips deeply. Several seconds passed until she pulled back. "I love you so damn much, Sam Winchester. Now we just have to think of names."
A pause was given before Sam said, "Jess? Names?"
"Well. I want three kids, you know." She smiled as Sam sunk low into the couch, but suddenly she grinned. "Hey! It's like you want to try now!"
She was definitely tipsy, and he'd just agreed. Great.
* * *
He was so dead.
That was all there was to it.
He hadn't had a clue roses would cost five fucking dollars each on Valentines day, not including the vase, the pretty little extra decorations and a card. With forty on him, it'd just covered half a dozen, an arrangement in a vase, and tax. Now, he had nice roses too, not the wilted ones that most of the customers were getting.
For some reason, people seemed to like him more when he was freaking out about prices than not. Jess said it was cute. Maybe she would find this cute instead. He doubted it.
Now he had no card. It wasn't even his fault. With tuition just paid, he had no money on him, and definitely wasn't going to run a scam to get it. There was no way. He'd given that up after the hair incident when he'd heard Martin Michaels had found out about the credit card one, had tried to trace it, and nearly caught "the slimy bastard but he slipped from my fingers, probably off to Mexico."
He rushed up the stairs to his apartment as soon as he got to the building, taking two at a time. He knew she was supposed to be home around four from her classes but it was already 3:45, and sometimes they let out early. He didn't have a lot of time.
After opening it, he ran around to find paper, markers, then lastly a book as a hard surface and ran to the bathroom and locked himself inside of it. Putting down the lids, he soon was using the toilet as a seat as he folded the paper into a card shape.
He'd had a dollar left over but the only cards for less than a dollar were the ones that sucked, that said, "I love you because you're my sweet heart," and were written by men who lived in their mother's basements. Now he wished he had bought one, just as a backup.
Slowly, he drew a heart on the front with an arrow, having no clue what he was doing. The words 'I love you' were written and it looked so cheesy that he knew he had to do something else.
Opening it, on the inside he soon did something different. A Smurf was slowly drawn as it seemed all she did was wear Smurfs, but as he continued to draw it, he realized he didn't know what he was drawing. Normally when he looked at her shirt, he was thinking about other things.
When he finished, the Smurf looked almost like a muffin, making him scowl. "Damn it," he whispered and was tempted to write a note next to it about the quality (or therefore lack of) but just continued on, writing more sappy stuff and finally a few comedic things. The card made no sense, but he didn't care as he signed 'Love, Sam' at the bottom.
"There. Finished."
It took but seconds to bring the roses to the kitchen counter and to the card in front of the vase nicely. As soon as he began to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - some habits of a hunter would never change. Compare a PB&J sandwich to a gourmet meal, and the sandwich always won - the door opened.
Looking away from the bread, he quickly ran off, wanting it to be a surprise. Into the bedroom he went, first thinking about the closet but one too many puns came to mind of things Dean had called him in the past.
He could hear Jessica moving through the kitchen, and as the rustle of roses came about, he knew she had to be touching the flowers or looking at the card. A soft, "Sam?" got his attention because by then, she would've looked at the card to be calling his name.
He waited as she checked the rooms, listening to the slow steps of her high heels. As they came towards the bedroom, he waited, heart thudding. She was going to be angry. Angry, angry, angry…
As the door opened slowly, she was crying, but a large smile was on her face. "Sam?" she asked quietly while one rose and the card was grasped between her fingers. "You… I love you." A second later, he had a heap full of Jessica Lee Moore as she placed her arms around her arms around his neck while being careful of the items, and sat on his lap. "These are amazing."
Just as he went to kiss her, he felt her wince and heard a hiss. Looking at her, he rose a brow and watched as she pulled back her hand, with the rose, one of the fingers pricked and bleeding. Oh.
Taking the rose from her, he placed the finger between his lips and sucked on it lightly, making her laugh. It always surprised her that he wasn't squeamish around blood, that he would actually kiss her wounds like a child, that he didn't mind the taste - though he wasn't exactly fond of it. He'd just tasted it enough to not hate it, that he wouldn't even wince when he cut himself cooking even if he could barely cut the crusts off of a sandwich. She knew about the hunter side of him, but it still surprised her as he knew she didn't believe it. He needed to take her to a hunting range one day, where it was just random shooting at a target. She would find it fun.
"Aw, thanks," she whispered. A moment later, she kissed him on the nose and watched as he let the finger fall from his lips. Then, she moved down to kiss him and moved her lips slowly over his, afraid to deepen it any - while blood didn't freak him out, she was terrified of it. Her father was a doctor, and she'd seen one too many disgusting things, heard of one too many ailments.
This was perfect though, slow and nice, as he held the rose and she held the card. Then he lightly moved the rose under her chin, making her just about scream in shock as she jumped back a bit, his hands jumping to hold her or else she would've fallen. "Don't!" she yelled, too ticklish for him to do so. "Bastard. You're so sleeping on the couch."
"Even with my six beautiful roses that could do so many things to you?"
"…Maybe I'll join you."
"That's more like it."
* * *
As Sam's eyes open, he is smiling because that was too good for words. He'd almost forgotten how much he missed her, between random hunts that led to crushes and random flirts and Dean always being around him, distracting him. His eyes stay on the ceiling for several long seconds until he remembers the back.
Sitting up, he flips it over and looked at it. In the same cursive script were words that makes him grin wide:
January 3rd, 2003 - the snowball fight that you so started during our second date
April 5th, 2003 - the hair dye incident that I still dread. Blond is what I'm definitely sticking with. And, F.Y.I., I know you stole money from Martin Michaels for the money. I don't care though. He tried to force me to have sex once and I only got away when I slammed his head into a wall so he deserved a lot more than a few hundred dollars being stolen
December 13th, 2003 - you freaking out over the final for US History after 1940 or something. Such a dumb class. I can't believe you took it. Only passed because of me
December 1st, 2004 - me wanting a baby. I'm so glad you agreed
February 15th, 2005 - my six roses and card. I love you
The April incident is a bit daunting, but everything else leaves him feeling relieved. He matches her perfectly. He isn't losing his touch in knowing what she's thinking, even after her death.
As he lies back, keeping the letter and the rose close to himself still, he thinks about her. Long minutes pass and he knows Dean's going to be back soon, but he doesn't care. He got a letter from her, spoke to her even after she died.
He doesn't think he could be happier.