Wendigo - fic per spn episode
Title: Wendigo
Series: Fic Per SPN Episode
Rating: G
Pairings: Sam/Jess
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,022
Summary: Sam thinks about his current dreams of Jess compared to the ones he had shortly before her death.
Notes: I've decided to do a thing where I write a fanfic per episode of SPN, which is why this is titled as such.
The section of the woods they’d decided to make camp in were as silent as they’d been when they’d first walked into them. Sam dug the stick he’d found by the log he was sitting on into the dirt, occasionally glancing at the journal whose outline he could see only by the light of the fire a few yards away. Dean was talking to Haley and Ben, trying to reassure them, even though that wasn’t something either one of them could do, now that they’d told them what it was that had taken their brother. Sam would be concerned the wendigo had taken his brother and he knew how to fight and defeat it.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment and pushed thoughts of the danger of the wendigo, the stick in his hand, the forest around him, and the fire nearby out of his head, and focused on what had been troubling him for the past two weeks.
The dreams he’d been having about Jess.
They were almost like the ones he’d had before her death. There were only a few discrepancies that let him know the event had already happened, the main one being that Jess would breathe in and startle Sam into opening his eyes, instead of the drops of blood hitting his forehead. Then her voice would fill the room as she asked, over and over again, sounding angrier each time, “Why, Sam?” After that, she’d catch on fire and Sam would wake up, sitting bolt-upright in bed, gasping for air, covered in a cold-sweat that no amount of warm water from any showerhead could cure.
He opened his eyes and glanced towards Dean again. His brother was the only reason he was currently alive. The more he thought about it, the more he played that night back in his mind, the more he realized that if Dean hadn’t come back, hadn’t dragged him out of his apartment, he would’ve let the flames consume him, too. Even as it was, Dean’d had to force him back from the burning building and press him up against the impala, while telling him over and over again that she was gone and he couldn’t go back in and save her. For a while, Sam had struggled against him, said some things he didn’t remember - and didn’t really want to either - before he’d finally calmed down and collapsed against his brother, sobbing. It wasn’t until later, when the firemen arrived and he was staying as far away from the building as he could without getting in the impala and taking off without Dean, that he remembered:
He’d seen this all happen before.
Starting a few weeks before his brother had broken into his apartment and destroyed, not only the lock on his apartment’s front door, but his chances at a normal life as well, he’d had dreams of Jess dying the way his mother had. He’d just supposed they were nightmares - long overdue nightmares - of the night his mother had been pinned to the ceiling by some unknown creature and set aflame. He figured it was some sort of repressed memory thing, though he wasn’t sure how he could even have memories of that night, seeing as he’d only been six months old when it happened. Still, he never suspected that what he was seeing when he closed his eyes was the future instead of the past.
And now look at you, a voice in his mind hissed. You’ve lost the love of your life, you’re giving up on college, and you’re doing the one thing you swore you’d never do again.
How could I do anything else? Sam countered. Jess is dead and I have to avenge her.
That shut the voice up, but Sam only scoffed. The reason he was sitting in these woods with Dean and two strangers instead of a dorm room at Stanford had more to do with the fact he couldn’t be where Jess wasn’t and never would be again than he wanted to find the thing that had killed her. He did want to avenge her. He did want to be part of the war that the creature had started twenty-two years ago when he’d murdered his mother, but he physically could not be at Stanford right now.
He couldn’t sit down in his History class and know that Jess should be sitting behind him. He couldn’t walk into the coffee shop down the street and know that Jess should be holding onto his arm, laughing at something he said that he hadn’t meant to be funny. He couldn’t walk into his apartment and know that Jess had been there when he picked it out because it had been theirs and it had been the one place that he’d truly lived in and hadn’t had to leave after a few weeks when he was just getting used to it.
He couldn’t do it.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Sam loved Dean more than he would love anyone else, but he’d loved Jess, too. He still loved her. And the thought of having to be where she wasn’t pulled at his heartstrings so violently that he dropped the stick he’d been holding and clutched at his chest.
“Sam, are you okay?”
The voice belonged to Dean and it wasn’t until that moment that Sam realized he’d had a pained expression on his face to match the pain was coursing through his heart. He thought about trying to force a smile, but, considering it was Jess he’d been thinking about, he didn’t think he could muster one up, so he just uncurled his fingers from their spot on his chest and lowered them, saying softly, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Dean didn’t believe him. Sam didn’t even believe himself. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t sure he would ever be okay again. Jess was dead and gone and he was alone.
You’re not alone, a kinder voice reminded him. You have Dean.
This time Sam did smile. Because the voice was right.
He had Dean.
And as long as he had Dean nothing would ever really be that bad.
( dead in the water)
Series: Fic Per SPN Episode
Rating: G
Pairings: Sam/Jess
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,022
Summary: Sam thinks about his current dreams of Jess compared to the ones he had shortly before her death.
Notes: I've decided to do a thing where I write a fanfic per episode of SPN, which is why this is titled as such.
The section of the woods they’d decided to make camp in were as silent as they’d been when they’d first walked into them. Sam dug the stick he’d found by the log he was sitting on into the dirt, occasionally glancing at the journal whose outline he could see only by the light of the fire a few yards away. Dean was talking to Haley and Ben, trying to reassure them, even though that wasn’t something either one of them could do, now that they’d told them what it was that had taken their brother. Sam would be concerned the wendigo had taken his brother and he knew how to fight and defeat it.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment and pushed thoughts of the danger of the wendigo, the stick in his hand, the forest around him, and the fire nearby out of his head, and focused on what had been troubling him for the past two weeks.
The dreams he’d been having about Jess.
They were almost like the ones he’d had before her death. There were only a few discrepancies that let him know the event had already happened, the main one being that Jess would breathe in and startle Sam into opening his eyes, instead of the drops of blood hitting his forehead. Then her voice would fill the room as she asked, over and over again, sounding angrier each time, “Why, Sam?” After that, she’d catch on fire and Sam would wake up, sitting bolt-upright in bed, gasping for air, covered in a cold-sweat that no amount of warm water from any showerhead could cure.
He opened his eyes and glanced towards Dean again. His brother was the only reason he was currently alive. The more he thought about it, the more he played that night back in his mind, the more he realized that if Dean hadn’t come back, hadn’t dragged him out of his apartment, he would’ve let the flames consume him, too. Even as it was, Dean’d had to force him back from the burning building and press him up against the impala, while telling him over and over again that she was gone and he couldn’t go back in and save her. For a while, Sam had struggled against him, said some things he didn’t remember - and didn’t really want to either - before he’d finally calmed down and collapsed against his brother, sobbing. It wasn’t until later, when the firemen arrived and he was staying as far away from the building as he could without getting in the impala and taking off without Dean, that he remembered:
He’d seen this all happen before.
Starting a few weeks before his brother had broken into his apartment and destroyed, not only the lock on his apartment’s front door, but his chances at a normal life as well, he’d had dreams of Jess dying the way his mother had. He’d just supposed they were nightmares - long overdue nightmares - of the night his mother had been pinned to the ceiling by some unknown creature and set aflame. He figured it was some sort of repressed memory thing, though he wasn’t sure how he could even have memories of that night, seeing as he’d only been six months old when it happened. Still, he never suspected that what he was seeing when he closed his eyes was the future instead of the past.
And now look at you, a voice in his mind hissed. You’ve lost the love of your life, you’re giving up on college, and you’re doing the one thing you swore you’d never do again.
How could I do anything else? Sam countered. Jess is dead and I have to avenge her.
That shut the voice up, but Sam only scoffed. The reason he was sitting in these woods with Dean and two strangers instead of a dorm room at Stanford had more to do with the fact he couldn’t be where Jess wasn’t and never would be again than he wanted to find the thing that had killed her. He did want to avenge her. He did want to be part of the war that the creature had started twenty-two years ago when he’d murdered his mother, but he physically could not be at Stanford right now.
He couldn’t sit down in his History class and know that Jess should be sitting behind him. He couldn’t walk into the coffee shop down the street and know that Jess should be holding onto his arm, laughing at something he said that he hadn’t meant to be funny. He couldn’t walk into his apartment and know that Jess had been there when he picked it out because it had been theirs and it had been the one place that he’d truly lived in and hadn’t had to leave after a few weeks when he was just getting used to it.
He couldn’t do it.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Sam loved Dean more than he would love anyone else, but he’d loved Jess, too. He still loved her. And the thought of having to be where she wasn’t pulled at his heartstrings so violently that he dropped the stick he’d been holding and clutched at his chest.
“Sam, are you okay?”
The voice belonged to Dean and it wasn’t until that moment that Sam realized he’d had a pained expression on his face to match the pain was coursing through his heart. He thought about trying to force a smile, but, considering it was Jess he’d been thinking about, he didn’t think he could muster one up, so he just uncurled his fingers from their spot on his chest and lowered them, saying softly, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Dean didn’t believe him. Sam didn’t even believe himself. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t sure he would ever be okay again. Jess was dead and gone and he was alone.
You’re not alone, a kinder voice reminded him. You have Dean.
This time Sam did smile. Because the voice was right.
He had Dean.
And as long as he had Dean nothing would ever really be that bad.
( dead in the water)