SPN FIC - To Have Loved and Lost (7.14)
CHARACTERS: Sam and Halluci!Jess (but you know what? It's about Dean)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: 7.14
LENGTH: 720 words
She looks at the object he holds in cupped hands and her cheek quirks into half a smile. "Kind of girly, don't you think? The colors."
TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST
By Carol Davis
"You know what he means, don't you?" she asks, and Sam smiles at the sound of her voice. She's not there, of course - hasn't been there for more than six years now - but her voice lives on. Her smile.
The way she was always there to listen.
"Sure," he says. "Of course."
"Do you?"
"It's not that hard to figure out, Jess. I took Psych 101."
"Which provided the 'why' behind every tiny peculiarity of human behavior."
"It was enough."
She looks at the object he holds in cupped hands and her cheek quirks into half a smile. "Kind of girly, don't you think? The colors."
There's an extra layer to what he sees around him, most of the time. More often than not, it includes Lucifer, particularly if he's stressed. But once in a while, when his heart rate's low, when there's nothing chasing him - when he's not chasing himself - the companion who lingers at the very edge of his vision is the one who's here now.
"All those remarks," she says on a sigh. "The little gibes about how big you are. Calling you names."
"I know."
"Of course you know. I'm a manifestation of you."
The good part of me, he thinks. If there is one.
"He didn't want you to grow up," she says. "He's upset that you're grown. When you were his baby brother…he could be four. He could always be four. If you're a 'ginormatron' - what does that make him?"
The pranks, Sam thinks. The junk food. The awkward jokes.
It's part of why the Lisa-and-Ben thing didn't work out. Could never have worked out. Ben's not a little boy. Barely was, when Dean first met him. Ben's a young man now, one who needs - needed - Dean to be an adult, a father.
Not a playmate.
"He's thirty-three years old," Sam says, looking down at the object in his hands. "And he wants this."
"That's only part of what he wants."
"It's the only part of it he can have."
"But if it was up to you -"
Maybe the Heaven he and Dean explored was nothing more than a construct, a way for the angels to mess with the two of them. But, Sam thinks, parts of it were on the money: that loving, white-muzzled dog. His first "real Thanksgiving." The field where he and Dean set off a boxful of stolen fireworks.
Doesn't it follow that what he saw of Dean's childhood was legitimate, too?
A sandwich with the crusts cut off. A small racetrack and a set of cars. A set of G.I. Joes, a miniature baseball glove, a pair of well-scuffed sneakers. A cozy bed, neatly made. A blue t-shirt with the legend I WUV HUGS. All of it gone, all of it irretrievable. Not simply left behind, but torn away.
"Don't," Jess says.
"Don't what?"
"Don't reduce it to 'tis better to have loved and lost. It's not as simple as that. You know it's not."
He can't quite see her. Can't, because she's not really there. Is never there as clearly as Lucifer is, which probably means that he gives the tormented part of him a lot more power than he ought to.
He can't jam his thumb into his palm because his hands are full of multicolored plastic.
It's a good thing, then, that he doesn't need to.
He smiles fondly, wistfully, at the love he lost. Feels the brush of a kiss against his cheek, feather-light, lasting no more than a second.
It means something to him - means more than he can bear to examine - that the last words he heard her say to him were I love you.
It is better, he thinks.
To have had this. To still have this.
"Take your brother his toy," she says.
"If it was up to me, I'd give him all of it," Sam murmurs.
"I know you would."
"I miss you, Jess."
She's silent for a moment. Then she says in a whisper, "She knows."
He's got no answer for that. At least, not one that wouldn't result in his needing to grind his thumb into his palm, so he responds in the only way he can: by tucking the giant, multicolored Slinky deep into his pocket and striding off toward the door to find his brother.
* * * * *
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: 7.14
LENGTH: 720 words
She looks at the object he holds in cupped hands and her cheek quirks into half a smile. "Kind of girly, don't you think? The colors."
TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST
By Carol Davis
"You know what he means, don't you?" she asks, and Sam smiles at the sound of her voice. She's not there, of course - hasn't been there for more than six years now - but her voice lives on. Her smile.
The way she was always there to listen.
"Sure," he says. "Of course."
"Do you?"
"It's not that hard to figure out, Jess. I took Psych 101."
"Which provided the 'why' behind every tiny peculiarity of human behavior."
"It was enough."
She looks at the object he holds in cupped hands and her cheek quirks into half a smile. "Kind of girly, don't you think? The colors."
There's an extra layer to what he sees around him, most of the time. More often than not, it includes Lucifer, particularly if he's stressed. But once in a while, when his heart rate's low, when there's nothing chasing him - when he's not chasing himself - the companion who lingers at the very edge of his vision is the one who's here now.
"All those remarks," she says on a sigh. "The little gibes about how big you are. Calling you names."
"I know."
"Of course you know. I'm a manifestation of you."
The good part of me, he thinks. If there is one.
"He didn't want you to grow up," she says. "He's upset that you're grown. When you were his baby brother…he could be four. He could always be four. If you're a 'ginormatron' - what does that make him?"
The pranks, Sam thinks. The junk food. The awkward jokes.
It's part of why the Lisa-and-Ben thing didn't work out. Could never have worked out. Ben's not a little boy. Barely was, when Dean first met him. Ben's a young man now, one who needs - needed - Dean to be an adult, a father.
Not a playmate.
"He's thirty-three years old," Sam says, looking down at the object in his hands. "And he wants this."
"That's only part of what he wants."
"It's the only part of it he can have."
"But if it was up to you -"
Maybe the Heaven he and Dean explored was nothing more than a construct, a way for the angels to mess with the two of them. But, Sam thinks, parts of it were on the money: that loving, white-muzzled dog. His first "real Thanksgiving." The field where he and Dean set off a boxful of stolen fireworks.
Doesn't it follow that what he saw of Dean's childhood was legitimate, too?
A sandwich with the crusts cut off. A small racetrack and a set of cars. A set of G.I. Joes, a miniature baseball glove, a pair of well-scuffed sneakers. A cozy bed, neatly made. A blue t-shirt with the legend I WUV HUGS. All of it gone, all of it irretrievable. Not simply left behind, but torn away.
"Don't," Jess says.
"Don't what?"
"Don't reduce it to 'tis better to have loved and lost. It's not as simple as that. You know it's not."
He can't quite see her. Can't, because she's not really there. Is never there as clearly as Lucifer is, which probably means that he gives the tormented part of him a lot more power than he ought to.
He can't jam his thumb into his palm because his hands are full of multicolored plastic.
It's a good thing, then, that he doesn't need to.
He smiles fondly, wistfully, at the love he lost. Feels the brush of a kiss against his cheek, feather-light, lasting no more than a second.
It means something to him - means more than he can bear to examine - that the last words he heard her say to him were I love you.
It is better, he thinks.
To have had this. To still have this.
"Take your brother his toy," she says.
"If it was up to me, I'd give him all of it," Sam murmurs.
"I know you would."
"I miss you, Jess."
She's silent for a moment. Then she says in a whisper, "She knows."
He's got no answer for that. At least, not one that wouldn't result in his needing to grind his thumb into his palm, so he responds in the only way he can: by tucking the giant, multicolored Slinky deep into his pocket and striding off toward the door to find his brother.
* * * * *