SPN FIC - This Kiss
Thanks to Panera Bread and their free WiFi (because my connection at home is all frakked up), let's look at Hookman.
He and Jess had made no promises. And Jess’s life was over.
Characters: Sam, Lori Sorenson
Genre: Het
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Hookman
Length: 696 words
THIS KISS
By Carol Davis
He and Jess had never made any promises. Not out loud, at least. There were understandings, things that were implied, yes.
But no promises.
She would have wanted him to live his life - to be happy. If anyone had asked her, pinned her down, demanded that she express aloud her wishes for him, she would not have said, “I want you to mourn for me forever.” Jess loved him, and she would have wanted him to find someone else to share…everything.
But if anyone had asked her, whatever she said, whatever answer she gave, would have been a hypothetical.
IF you die…
Jess was twenty-one years old. Three months short of turning twenty-two. She’d had no idea she was going to die that night, and certainly not the way it happened. If anyone had asked her, she would certainly have said she wanted to (and expected to) live to be an old woman. Then, when she finally died, she would want Sam - a white-haired, arthritic, half-blind Sam - to find someone else. Someone to play checkers with, to remind him where he’d left his glasses.
She would not have said, “Find another blonde, Sam. Four months is long enough to wait.”
The night air was mild and sweet when Lori Sorenson leaned toward him. All she wanted was comfort, a way to forget the terrible turn her life had taken during the past few days, a way to forget the deaths of her boyfriend and her roommate. She wanted comfort, nothing more, and comfort was easy enough to give. Dad and Dean had always turned that part of the job over to him, because Dean felt uneasy being emotionally open with strangers and Dad never had the time for it. For Sam it was second nature: the empathy, the willingness to provide a shoulder to cry on, to offer a few quiet words.
That was all Lori wanted.
He let her lean in to him, there in the dark outside her house, outside her father’s church. Let her touch him.
He had not kissed anyone since the night he said goodbye to Jess, the night Dean took him to Jericho.
It felt the same, but different, of course. Lori was a different girl, in a different place. For a minute it was what it was supposed to be: comfort, yes, but more, a suggestion of other things, other possibilities. A reminder that he still had a life to live.
He and Jess had made no promises. And Jess’s life was over.
His was not.
Lori was there, so close. Willing. Wanting. No one had wanted him since the night Jess died, not this way. They were outside Lori’s house, outside the church, within easy view of anyone who might pass by, but it would be easy enough to find a private place, somewhere they could be together for a couple of hours, or the rest of the night.
His body began to respond, shift into gear. Even if they didn’t take it that far, if comfort didn’t mean that, he still could have “fun,” Dean’s version of fun, find some comfort, a release, a way to forget what had been happening the last few months, that he’d lost what he’d spent three years building, lost his chance at a career, an honest place in the community, lost his home, his belongings.
He could forget that he couldn’t find his father.
That he had no answers for questions that kept him awake on a lot of nights like this.
He could do that, do what Dean did so well, so easily.
If he had been Dean.
Gently, he moved away from Lori and told her no.
He had made no promise to Jess, not really, not aloud. He had taken no vow that said ‘Til death do us part. But he had made a promise to her memory: to find the thing that had killed her, and to make it pay for what it had done.
How long that would take, he had no idea.
But it didn’t matter; it would take as long as it took.
“No,” he told Lori. “I can’t.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He and Jess had made no promises. And Jess’s life was over.
Characters: Sam, Lori Sorenson
Genre: Het
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Hookman
Length: 696 words
THIS KISS
By Carol Davis
He and Jess had never made any promises. Not out loud, at least. There were understandings, things that were implied, yes.
But no promises.
She would have wanted him to live his life - to be happy. If anyone had asked her, pinned her down, demanded that she express aloud her wishes for him, she would not have said, “I want you to mourn for me forever.” Jess loved him, and she would have wanted him to find someone else to share…everything.
But if anyone had asked her, whatever she said, whatever answer she gave, would have been a hypothetical.
IF you die…
Jess was twenty-one years old. Three months short of turning twenty-two. She’d had no idea she was going to die that night, and certainly not the way it happened. If anyone had asked her, she would certainly have said she wanted to (and expected to) live to be an old woman. Then, when she finally died, she would want Sam - a white-haired, arthritic, half-blind Sam - to find someone else. Someone to play checkers with, to remind him where he’d left his glasses.
She would not have said, “Find another blonde, Sam. Four months is long enough to wait.”
The night air was mild and sweet when Lori Sorenson leaned toward him. All she wanted was comfort, a way to forget the terrible turn her life had taken during the past few days, a way to forget the deaths of her boyfriend and her roommate. She wanted comfort, nothing more, and comfort was easy enough to give. Dad and Dean had always turned that part of the job over to him, because Dean felt uneasy being emotionally open with strangers and Dad never had the time for it. For Sam it was second nature: the empathy, the willingness to provide a shoulder to cry on, to offer a few quiet words.
That was all Lori wanted.
He let her lean in to him, there in the dark outside her house, outside her father’s church. Let her touch him.
He had not kissed anyone since the night he said goodbye to Jess, the night Dean took him to Jericho.
It felt the same, but different, of course. Lori was a different girl, in a different place. For a minute it was what it was supposed to be: comfort, yes, but more, a suggestion of other things, other possibilities. A reminder that he still had a life to live.
He and Jess had made no promises. And Jess’s life was over.
His was not.
Lori was there, so close. Willing. Wanting. No one had wanted him since the night Jess died, not this way. They were outside Lori’s house, outside the church, within easy view of anyone who might pass by, but it would be easy enough to find a private place, somewhere they could be together for a couple of hours, or the rest of the night.
His body began to respond, shift into gear. Even if they didn’t take it that far, if comfort didn’t mean that, he still could have “fun,” Dean’s version of fun, find some comfort, a release, a way to forget what had been happening the last few months, that he’d lost what he’d spent three years building, lost his chance at a career, an honest place in the community, lost his home, his belongings.
He could forget that he couldn’t find his father.
That he had no answers for questions that kept him awake on a lot of nights like this.
He could do that, do what Dean did so well, so easily.
If he had been Dean.
Gently, he moved away from Lori and told her no.
He had made no promise to Jess, not really, not aloud. He had taken no vow that said ‘Til death do us part. But he had made a promise to her memory: to find the thing that had killed her, and to make it pay for what it had done.
How long that would take, he had no idea.
But it didn’t matter; it would take as long as it took.
“No,” he told Lori. “I can’t.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~