fic: Quicker Than Greyhounds and Swifter Than Light (Supernatural; Sam/Dean/Jess)
Quicker Than Greyhounds and Swifter Than Light
Supernatural; Sam/Dean/Jess; AU; adult; spoilers through AHBL2; 1,770 words
They're her boys, and she loves them, and she'll do whatever it takes to keep them alive.
Thanks to mousapelli for the lightning quick turnaround. All errors are mine. Written for destina on the occasion of her birthday. Title from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.
~*~
Quicker Than Greyhounds and Swifter Than Light
Jess knows she should be dead. She can see it in everyone's faces, hear it in the doctors' voices when they stand over her bed and talk about skin grafts and scarring. There's a lot of talk about how lucky she is, and Sam's fingers tighten around hers every time someone else says it, his eyes going dark with the anger she sometimes forgets lives simmering under his skin.
The first day she's aware enough to know he's there, she asks him what happened, and he breaks down, presses his face to her injured belly and cries with great hitching sobs while she strokes his hair. She gives Dean a look that's half curiosity, half fear, and he tells her all the secrets Sam's been keeping, all about the things that lurk in the dark. About this thing in particular, that tried to kill her, that did kill their mother.
He can't sit still, is obviously impatient to be off chasing their father, who is apparently chasing this thing, but he won't leave without Sam. And she plans to make sure Sam won't leave without her.
Dean's not happy about it, but he doesn't say no when she slides into the backseat of his car, pretending the walk from the hospital doors to the curb wasn't painful and exhausting.
Sam hovers like a mother hen, making sure she takes her medications, rubbing vitamin E lotion on the angry red scars that cover her skin, fingers as gentle as a summer rain, every touch another promise to take care of her, catch the thing that did this to her, to them.
As soon as she's able to stand without hunching in pain, Dean puts a gun in her hand, teaches her to shoot. At first, her hands shake and she flinches at the sound, but he's patient, almost gentle with her, though he won't be moved when Sam argues with him about it. The sound of their arguing becomes familiar--she's soon able to tell when Dean will give and when he won't, how Sam works at him like water wearing at rock, when they're playing and when they're serious. It's comforting in the way few things are anymore, the rhythm lulling her like music, like the sound of the car's tires on the road through the night. It almost starts to feel like home.
She makes Sam teach her other things, asks him to read to her from their father's journal so she can learn everything they grew up knowing. The same energy she put into learning the capitals of all fifty states and the conjugations of irregular French verbs she now gives to methods of defeating angry spirits and wendigoes, to separating truth from fiction in urban legends and myths.
They fall into a rhythm that's only occasionally uncomfortable. She and Sam usually wait for Dean to go out before they have sex, but once in a while, they do it while he's pretending to be asleep in the next bed. Jess knows he's awake though, caught him watching once, the intent look in his eyes for her or Sam or the two of them together--she's not sure.
At first she thinks it's only fair that she has this with Sam, because Dean has so much of him that she never will--they still often speak in their own shorthand of glances and shrugs and half-articulated sentences, whole conversations contained in the exchange of each other's names--but she soon realizes that without him, she'd lose Sam, too.
The next time she catches Dean watching while Sam fucks her, something hot and sweet uncurls in her belly, and she comes quickly, unexpectedly, pleasure washing through her in waves as Dean stares in shock, eyes wide and dark, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Sam murmurs, Shh, Jess, gonna wake him, and Dean's eyes snap shut, and he rolls away, embarrassed, but she presses a kiss to Sam's jaw and laughs.
Now when Dean touches her, she feels that same down low quiver Sam inspires--it's more than lust, and she's not sure how to handle it, imagines the damage could be catastrophic if she fucks it up, or even if she doesn't.
When Dean's lying in the hospital bed, his skin gray and sickly, eyes ringed in purple bruises, after the doctor's told them his heart is failing (his heart, she thinks in shock, not understanding how something so strong could suddenly be so weak), he says, Take care of Sammy when I'm gone.
Of course, Dean, I will.
I mean it, Jess. I will haunt your ass if you let anything happen to him.
She takes his hand, brings it to her lips, and forces herself not to cry. She's as determined as Sam to save him, and like Sam, she realizes she doesn't really care what it will cost.
After he's healed, Sam wants to celebrate, drags them out to the nearest bar, buys rounds of shots to chase that haunted look from Dean's eyes. He's supposed to be dead and he's alive, and she knows how that feels, wants to let him know how much they need him, how much they care.
When Dean gets up to go to the men's room, Jess leans over and kisses Sam, licking the taste of lime and tequila from his mouth.
I almost lost him, Sam murmurs against her hair.
We almost lost him, she answers sharply, and he pulls back, gaze holding hers, searching.
Yeah, he finally says. We did.
When Dean comes back to the table, she drapes herself over him, rests her head on his shoulder, her hand on the hard plane of his chest, over his heart, which beats now as if it had never been damaged at all. He starts under the touch, and for a moment she thinks he's going to push her away, but all he does is brush his fingers through her hair.
Sam wears that same intent look she's seen on Dean's face, and she feels the same low heat build in her belly, desire rushing wet and wild between her legs.
When they get back to the motel room, she turns in Sam's arms, looped loosely around her waist, and pulls Dean close, kisses him.
He stumbles back, shocked, and she reaches out, cups his cheek, says, Dean, like it can answer all the questions in his eyes.
His gaze flits above her head, to Sam, who says, It's okay, man. It's okay.
Together, they get Dean out of his clothes, push him down onto the bed.
Sam? he asks, and again when she joins him on the bed, Sam?
It's okay, Sam answers, leaning back and watching. He keeps repeating it, and finally Dean stops asking, lets her move over him, mouth and hands learning the taste and feel of his skin. She can't say she ever expected this, but she can't say she's surprised, either.
We nearly lost you, she whispers into his mouth, fingers stroking over his face, down his chest as she slides up and down on his cock. Don't do that again.
I won't, he says, a promise she know he'll try to keep, for her, yeah, but most of all, for Sam.
She looks over to see Sam watching, long fingers lazily stroking his dick, and he smiles at her, the same blinding smile that made her fall in love with him in the first place.
She comes with a soft cry, pleasure pulsing through her whole body, and buries her face against Dean's neck. He wraps his arms around her, holds on tight, comes himself with short sharp jerks of his hips up into hers, a whispered, God on his lips.
When he's done, Sam takes his place between her legs, and she comes again quickly, long slow waves of heat rolling through her as he fucks her. Dean watches with a surprised look on his face, and she falls asleep curled against Sam, one hand resting on Dean's hip, keeping him from leaving the bed.
Sam wants to talk about it; Dean wants to pretend it's not happening except when it is; and Jess finally snaps one day and says, I love you. I love you both, and you love each other, and that's what matters.
Sam wraps his arms around her and says, I love you, too, Jess. And he looks at Dean and says, And you, too. Jerk.
Dean laughs, says, Yeah, okay, bitch, and she wants to lick and nip at the crinkles around his eyes.
It's only a matter of time, after that, for them to act on what she knows is already there between them. She dares them one night, laughing, and they don't recoil in shock or shame, used to touching each other now, with her in between.
She knows Sam, at least, has experimented with guys, watches as he leans in, puts his mouth on Dean's, hands cupping Dean's face like it's the most delicate thing in the world. She knows how gentle Sam can be, and how fierce, and she's learned the same about Dean in the past ten months she's traveled with them, and now she watches them relearn it about each other, from this new perspective--hands and lips, teeth and tongues, the concentration on Sam's face as he strokes Dean's cock, the wonder on Dean's the first time he sucks Sam off.
After their father dies, she and Sam try to keep Dean from falling apart.
I'm supposed to be dead, he says, but I'm alive. How is that not fucked up?
She and Sam cradle him between them, telling him with feather light touches and whisper soft kisses how much they need him, how much they love him. How it was worth the cost. She can never tell him that, because she knows how he'd respond, but she knows Sam feels the same.
When he makes the same deal for Sam, she's angry only because he didn't let her try first, took off while she was still broken with grief, crying over Sam's body in that dusty old shack where they'd laid him out.
Later, after the demon is dead and Dean is finally asleep, Sam says to her, low and determined, I'll do anything to keep him alive.
She smiles and cups his cheek. Anything, she agrees, wondering if this time, she'll be the one to pay the cost. It doesn't matter, though. She'll do it if she has to. They're her boys, and she loves them, and she'll do whatever it takes to keep them alive.
End
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June 13, 2007
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Feedback is always appreciated.
~*~
Supernatural; Sam/Dean/Jess; AU; adult; spoilers through AHBL2; 1,770 words
They're her boys, and she loves them, and she'll do whatever it takes to keep them alive.
Thanks to mousapelli for the lightning quick turnaround. All errors are mine. Written for destina on the occasion of her birthday. Title from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.
~*~
Quicker Than Greyhounds and Swifter Than Light
Jess knows she should be dead. She can see it in everyone's faces, hear it in the doctors' voices when they stand over her bed and talk about skin grafts and scarring. There's a lot of talk about how lucky she is, and Sam's fingers tighten around hers every time someone else says it, his eyes going dark with the anger she sometimes forgets lives simmering under his skin.
The first day she's aware enough to know he's there, she asks him what happened, and he breaks down, presses his face to her injured belly and cries with great hitching sobs while she strokes his hair. She gives Dean a look that's half curiosity, half fear, and he tells her all the secrets Sam's been keeping, all about the things that lurk in the dark. About this thing in particular, that tried to kill her, that did kill their mother.
He can't sit still, is obviously impatient to be off chasing their father, who is apparently chasing this thing, but he won't leave without Sam. And she plans to make sure Sam won't leave without her.
Dean's not happy about it, but he doesn't say no when she slides into the backseat of his car, pretending the walk from the hospital doors to the curb wasn't painful and exhausting.
Sam hovers like a mother hen, making sure she takes her medications, rubbing vitamin E lotion on the angry red scars that cover her skin, fingers as gentle as a summer rain, every touch another promise to take care of her, catch the thing that did this to her, to them.
As soon as she's able to stand without hunching in pain, Dean puts a gun in her hand, teaches her to shoot. At first, her hands shake and she flinches at the sound, but he's patient, almost gentle with her, though he won't be moved when Sam argues with him about it. The sound of their arguing becomes familiar--she's soon able to tell when Dean will give and when he won't, how Sam works at him like water wearing at rock, when they're playing and when they're serious. It's comforting in the way few things are anymore, the rhythm lulling her like music, like the sound of the car's tires on the road through the night. It almost starts to feel like home.
She makes Sam teach her other things, asks him to read to her from their father's journal so she can learn everything they grew up knowing. The same energy she put into learning the capitals of all fifty states and the conjugations of irregular French verbs she now gives to methods of defeating angry spirits and wendigoes, to separating truth from fiction in urban legends and myths.
They fall into a rhythm that's only occasionally uncomfortable. She and Sam usually wait for Dean to go out before they have sex, but once in a while, they do it while he's pretending to be asleep in the next bed. Jess knows he's awake though, caught him watching once, the intent look in his eyes for her or Sam or the two of them together--she's not sure.
At first she thinks it's only fair that she has this with Sam, because Dean has so much of him that she never will--they still often speak in their own shorthand of glances and shrugs and half-articulated sentences, whole conversations contained in the exchange of each other's names--but she soon realizes that without him, she'd lose Sam, too.
The next time she catches Dean watching while Sam fucks her, something hot and sweet uncurls in her belly, and she comes quickly, unexpectedly, pleasure washing through her in waves as Dean stares in shock, eyes wide and dark, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Sam murmurs, Shh, Jess, gonna wake him, and Dean's eyes snap shut, and he rolls away, embarrassed, but she presses a kiss to Sam's jaw and laughs.
Now when Dean touches her, she feels that same down low quiver Sam inspires--it's more than lust, and she's not sure how to handle it, imagines the damage could be catastrophic if she fucks it up, or even if she doesn't.
When Dean's lying in the hospital bed, his skin gray and sickly, eyes ringed in purple bruises, after the doctor's told them his heart is failing (his heart, she thinks in shock, not understanding how something so strong could suddenly be so weak), he says, Take care of Sammy when I'm gone.
Of course, Dean, I will.
I mean it, Jess. I will haunt your ass if you let anything happen to him.
She takes his hand, brings it to her lips, and forces herself not to cry. She's as determined as Sam to save him, and like Sam, she realizes she doesn't really care what it will cost.
After he's healed, Sam wants to celebrate, drags them out to the nearest bar, buys rounds of shots to chase that haunted look from Dean's eyes. He's supposed to be dead and he's alive, and she knows how that feels, wants to let him know how much they need him, how much they care.
When Dean gets up to go to the men's room, Jess leans over and kisses Sam, licking the taste of lime and tequila from his mouth.
I almost lost him, Sam murmurs against her hair.
We almost lost him, she answers sharply, and he pulls back, gaze holding hers, searching.
Yeah, he finally says. We did.
When Dean comes back to the table, she drapes herself over him, rests her head on his shoulder, her hand on the hard plane of his chest, over his heart, which beats now as if it had never been damaged at all. He starts under the touch, and for a moment she thinks he's going to push her away, but all he does is brush his fingers through her hair.
Sam wears that same intent look she's seen on Dean's face, and she feels the same low heat build in her belly, desire rushing wet and wild between her legs.
When they get back to the motel room, she turns in Sam's arms, looped loosely around her waist, and pulls Dean close, kisses him.
He stumbles back, shocked, and she reaches out, cups his cheek, says, Dean, like it can answer all the questions in his eyes.
His gaze flits above her head, to Sam, who says, It's okay, man. It's okay.
Together, they get Dean out of his clothes, push him down onto the bed.
Sam? he asks, and again when she joins him on the bed, Sam?
It's okay, Sam answers, leaning back and watching. He keeps repeating it, and finally Dean stops asking, lets her move over him, mouth and hands learning the taste and feel of his skin. She can't say she ever expected this, but she can't say she's surprised, either.
We nearly lost you, she whispers into his mouth, fingers stroking over his face, down his chest as she slides up and down on his cock. Don't do that again.
I won't, he says, a promise she know he'll try to keep, for her, yeah, but most of all, for Sam.
She looks over to see Sam watching, long fingers lazily stroking his dick, and he smiles at her, the same blinding smile that made her fall in love with him in the first place.
She comes with a soft cry, pleasure pulsing through her whole body, and buries her face against Dean's neck. He wraps his arms around her, holds on tight, comes himself with short sharp jerks of his hips up into hers, a whispered, God on his lips.
When he's done, Sam takes his place between her legs, and she comes again quickly, long slow waves of heat rolling through her as he fucks her. Dean watches with a surprised look on his face, and she falls asleep curled against Sam, one hand resting on Dean's hip, keeping him from leaving the bed.
Sam wants to talk about it; Dean wants to pretend it's not happening except when it is; and Jess finally snaps one day and says, I love you. I love you both, and you love each other, and that's what matters.
Sam wraps his arms around her and says, I love you, too, Jess. And he looks at Dean and says, And you, too. Jerk.
Dean laughs, says, Yeah, okay, bitch, and she wants to lick and nip at the crinkles around his eyes.
It's only a matter of time, after that, for them to act on what she knows is already there between them. She dares them one night, laughing, and they don't recoil in shock or shame, used to touching each other now, with her in between.
She knows Sam, at least, has experimented with guys, watches as he leans in, puts his mouth on Dean's, hands cupping Dean's face like it's the most delicate thing in the world. She knows how gentle Sam can be, and how fierce, and she's learned the same about Dean in the past ten months she's traveled with them, and now she watches them relearn it about each other, from this new perspective--hands and lips, teeth and tongues, the concentration on Sam's face as he strokes Dean's cock, the wonder on Dean's the first time he sucks Sam off.
After their father dies, she and Sam try to keep Dean from falling apart.
I'm supposed to be dead, he says, but I'm alive. How is that not fucked up?
She and Sam cradle him between them, telling him with feather light touches and whisper soft kisses how much they need him, how much they love him. How it was worth the cost. She can never tell him that, because she knows how he'd respond, but she knows Sam feels the same.
When he makes the same deal for Sam, she's angry only because he didn't let her try first, took off while she was still broken with grief, crying over Sam's body in that dusty old shack where they'd laid him out.
Later, after the demon is dead and Dean is finally asleep, Sam says to her, low and determined, I'll do anything to keep him alive.
She smiles and cups his cheek. Anything, she agrees, wondering if this time, she'll be the one to pay the cost. It doesn't matter, though. She'll do it if she has to. They're her boys, and she loves them, and she'll do whatever it takes to keep them alive.
End
~*~
June 13, 2007
~*~
Feedback is always appreciated.
~*~