SPN ficlet: yours (Sam/Jess, PG-13)
For Erin ♥, who wanted Sam/Jess and instead gets mostly Sam with a hint of Jess. I tried, but to be honest, I find Jess intimidating. Also, I couldn't squish it into a drabble, though many thanks to affabletoaster for making it less wordy (believe it or not). 743 words, rated PG-13.
yours
She let him go.
That’s what Sam remembers, after.
He loves her so fiercely that night. Loves showing her off to Dean, curl of fire in his chest as he watches her walk away in her baby doll pajamas, watches Dean watching her walk. She’s his, and she’s something Dean would value and yet exactly what Dean can’t handle, and she loves Sam in a way that nobody else ever has.
She’d withdrawn quietly when he asked her to, gone back to keep their bed warm. When he came to her, she listened to what he said, and to what he couldn’t say. And she let him go, trusting, knowing, he’d come back.
He left lots of other people behind over the years. Most of them, he couldn’t care less about, nor they him. A few people stand out in memory. Old Miss Williams, across the street when he was five, used to call him and Dean into the yard for molasses cookies and real lemonade; she’d tell them easy stories, made them laugh, never asked hard questions, never made the motherless boys feel pitied.
When he was ten, he made a friend. Mark liked the same books, agreed that Donatello was the best Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and knew the woods beyond the town limit like the back of his hand. They built a tree fort and spent a long summer there, reading comics and scrambling through branches that dipped dangerously beneath their combined weight. Sometimes they’d talk about the crazy things they’d do when they grew up. Mark wanted to be an astronaut, or a computer game designer; he thought Sam’s idea of being an architect was boring. Sam couldn’t explain that being anything other than a ‘detective’ like his dad was a crazy, beautiful, impossible thought. When Dean told him, mid-September, that they were moving on, Sam spent the afternoon in the treehouse staring at the sky and thinking about the black out beyond the blue. He told Mark he’d write, send postcards. He never did.
The first time he had sex, it was Sarah’s first time too; it was awkward, and painful at first, and so very necessary. After, she curled into his chest and breathed slowly and wonderingly, and told him she loved him. Dad pulled them out of town the following week. Sam’s never been able to love ‘em and leave ‘em, like Dean can, not since the look of betrayal in Sarah’s eyes as she cried and hit his chest with her balled fists and accused him of only wanting one thing. The day they left, Dean skipped on riding shotgun in the Impala, sat in the back with Sam and occasionally knocked their knees together as Sam glared at the back of Dad’s head.
All through senior year, through the talks with guidance counselors, the applications posted in secret, the acceptance letters intercepted, he thought it was about the life. He wanted to get away, away from cheap motels and canned food and laundromats and Dad’s obsession. It wasn’t until much later he admitted to himself he’d needed to get away from a love so intense and suffocating it would rip him to shreds.
Nothing willing or easy in that leaving. No grace.
Like pulling out of quicksand, leaving your boots behind. Like amputating a limb. No farewells or see you soon or don’t forget to write. From Dad, ultimatums and fists. From Dean, silence and a ride to the bus station and a crushing hug that almost, almost made him stay. Until Dean abruptly let go and walked away without a word, got in the Impala and drove away without ever looking back.
Jess, though. Jess sat cross-legged on the bed watching him pack his duffel, fishing through the basket of clean laundry they hadn’t put away and pulling out socks, tucking them into neat balls for him. She stood up and hugged him, warmly but not desperately, nuzzling her nose into his dimple, and then she kissed him and wished him luck and smiled as he walked out the door.
Nobody else has ever done that for him.
She let him go because she loved him, and he came back. Came back to warm cookies and clean sheets and Jess bleeding down on him. Dean dragged him away from her, out of the fire, Sam fighting him all the way. Another leaving.
She won’t be coming back, and he can’t let her go.
yours
She let him go.
That’s what Sam remembers, after.
He loves her so fiercely that night. Loves showing her off to Dean, curl of fire in his chest as he watches her walk away in her baby doll pajamas, watches Dean watching her walk. She’s his, and she’s something Dean would value and yet exactly what Dean can’t handle, and she loves Sam in a way that nobody else ever has.
She’d withdrawn quietly when he asked her to, gone back to keep their bed warm. When he came to her, she listened to what he said, and to what he couldn’t say. And she let him go, trusting, knowing, he’d come back.
He left lots of other people behind over the years. Most of them, he couldn’t care less about, nor they him. A few people stand out in memory. Old Miss Williams, across the street when he was five, used to call him and Dean into the yard for molasses cookies and real lemonade; she’d tell them easy stories, made them laugh, never asked hard questions, never made the motherless boys feel pitied.
When he was ten, he made a friend. Mark liked the same books, agreed that Donatello was the best Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and knew the woods beyond the town limit like the back of his hand. They built a tree fort and spent a long summer there, reading comics and scrambling through branches that dipped dangerously beneath their combined weight. Sometimes they’d talk about the crazy things they’d do when they grew up. Mark wanted to be an astronaut, or a computer game designer; he thought Sam’s idea of being an architect was boring. Sam couldn’t explain that being anything other than a ‘detective’ like his dad was a crazy, beautiful, impossible thought. When Dean told him, mid-September, that they were moving on, Sam spent the afternoon in the treehouse staring at the sky and thinking about the black out beyond the blue. He told Mark he’d write, send postcards. He never did.
The first time he had sex, it was Sarah’s first time too; it was awkward, and painful at first, and so very necessary. After, she curled into his chest and breathed slowly and wonderingly, and told him she loved him. Dad pulled them out of town the following week. Sam’s never been able to love ‘em and leave ‘em, like Dean can, not since the look of betrayal in Sarah’s eyes as she cried and hit his chest with her balled fists and accused him of only wanting one thing. The day they left, Dean skipped on riding shotgun in the Impala, sat in the back with Sam and occasionally knocked their knees together as Sam glared at the back of Dad’s head.
All through senior year, through the talks with guidance counselors, the applications posted in secret, the acceptance letters intercepted, he thought it was about the life. He wanted to get away, away from cheap motels and canned food and laundromats and Dad’s obsession. It wasn’t until much later he admitted to himself he’d needed to get away from a love so intense and suffocating it would rip him to shreds.
Nothing willing or easy in that leaving. No grace.
Like pulling out of quicksand, leaving your boots behind. Like amputating a limb. No farewells or see you soon or don’t forget to write. From Dad, ultimatums and fists. From Dean, silence and a ride to the bus station and a crushing hug that almost, almost made him stay. Until Dean abruptly let go and walked away without a word, got in the Impala and drove away without ever looking back.
Jess, though. Jess sat cross-legged on the bed watching him pack his duffel, fishing through the basket of clean laundry they hadn’t put away and pulling out socks, tucking them into neat balls for him. She stood up and hugged him, warmly but not desperately, nuzzling her nose into his dimple, and then she kissed him and wished him luck and smiled as he walked out the door.
Nobody else has ever done that for him.
She let him go because she loved him, and he came back. Came back to warm cookies and clean sheets and Jess bleeding down on him. Dean dragged him away from her, out of the fire, Sam fighting him all the way. Another leaving.
She won’t be coming back, and he can’t let her go.