#8 - Linger
linger
Sometimes, Sam still thought that he could smell her perfume.
Jess hadn’t been like most girls that Sam had met at college; Emily had shelves and shelves of ornate little perfume bottles, a different smell for every occasion, but Jess had only ever had the one little bottle. She’d told him once, curled up together in their bed and enjoying the silence, that it was the same one that her mother had worn when she was alive.
It was a fresh scent, and though the bottle said Indian Night Jasmine, all Sam could ever pick out was the faint smell of summer. It reminded him of long days and short nights spent tangled up together, left him feeling heartsick and weak at the knees, and he felt tears in his eyes every morning he woke up and couldn’t smell it on his pillow.
*
When Sam first packed up his stuff and headed for Stanford, he was miserable. He’d expected some kind of relief at finally escaping from underneath his father’s thumb, some kind of joy at the knowledge that he was finally living the dream - he’d done what few others his age could ever hope to do and scored himself a full ride at an Ivy League college and he should have been happy.
Instead, all he’d felt was homesick.
The last thing he’d been expecting was to miss the long string of motel rooms and diner booths that had coloured his childhood; to silently long for the cool leather of the Impala, the long stretch of the backseat that he’d claimed as his own, cultivated into a nest of well-worn blankets and tattered books. Perhaps the most glaring absence had been that of his brother; the even breaths in the bed next to his and the warm voice that had pulled him from more nightmares than he could count.
He’d thrown himself into his classes, turned to books instead of making friends, because every smiling face had felt like a betrayal to the cocky grin that he’d left behind. And then had stumbled into his life, with her beautiful blonde hair and her radiant smile, and Sam’s willpower had faltered in the wake of her easy humour.
Within days, she’d wound herself so tightly into his life that it felt like she’d always been a part of it. Nobody would ever come close to that hole that he’d created when he’d walked out of a small, run-down house and promised himself that he’d never go back, but Jess mad him forget. Around her, he felt more normal than he ever had before - felt more like the people that he’d always watched with envy, had always longed to be.
For the first time in his life, Sam had been truly happy.
And then came the fire.
*
Looking back, Sam thought that the moment that it really sunk in that she was really gone was the moment that he’d walked through the gap where their front door used to be, and seen the devastation with his own eyes for the very first time. At first, it had seemed like nothing had survived - that all of the worldly possessions that had made their house their home had been reduced to nothing but dust and smoke.
It was Dean that had started digging, sifting through the rubble as best as he could, face set into an expression of grim determination. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known Jessica, that he’d never have the chance to learn that her eyes turned green in the sunlight and her laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world, because he knew what this pain felt like. He’d witnessed his father go through the same thing, witnessed him find refuge in a bottle and leave his four year old son to slowly come to the realisation that mommy was never coming back.
Sam had done his best to pull himself together, crouched down and pressed his hand to a charred piece of wood that could have been their bed, or their wardrobe. Could even have been the easel that Jess had left tucked in the corner of the room, pulled out on the rare occasion that something caught her sight and she felt the need to drag out her oil paints and capture it forever.
He tugged it aside, reached out for the next one, and tried to establish some kind of rhythm. Some sense of purpose to keep him moving… to stop him thinking. It was monotonous, and Sam was beginning to wonder when they’d ever find anything when his hands encountered the soft material of clothing; frowning, he tugged aside a few more pieces of wood, and felt something lodge in his throat when he caught sight of what lay underneath.
Smeared with soot and dirt, the pink sweatshirt was barely more than a few scraps of cloth; there was no trace of the bold STANFORD lettering that had once been embroidered across the back, or the neat stitching of Jessica’s name that had once sat above her heart. Underneath it, the lockbox that Sam had kept tucked under the bed sat untouched.
It was smoke-smeared and dirty, but the lock came loose with a quiet click when Sam entered the code with trembling fingers, and when he tugged it open it was to find its contents in exactly the same condition as they’d been when he’d last opened it.
The top drawer was filled with photographs; Sam and Jess on the quad, at the beach, at her father’s house in Miami. Their friends laughing and joking around a bonfire, tossing a football back and forth between them, and - underneath them all - the few pictures of John and Dean that Sam had tucked into his duffel the night that he’d left home.
Underneath were the things that signified a life that Sam had wanted to leave but could never forget; a rosary and a bible, handed to him by Pastor Jim when he was no more than fourteen. A canister of holy water and a large container of salt; a small book of exorcisms, and a lock-picking set that had been a present from his brother. Three knives, elegantly crafted and with runes etched into the blade. His trusty handgun, that had saved his life more times than he’d care to admit.
And a small, blue box, containing the most important thing that Sam had ever bought. The tears fell down his face, unbidden, as he took in the sight of it and realised that it was useless, now. He’d never get to see the look on Jess’ face when she’d seen it; would never know whether or not she was the kind of girl that would cry, when he lowered himself to one knee and showed her the engagement ring that he’d worked so hard to afford.
He’d never know whether or not she would have said yes.
*
The field was still and silent, save for the faint roar of fast-moving cars on the distant highway. It was the kind of place that Jess would have loved - the kind of place that they’d spent plenty a weekend, hiding themselves from the rest of the world, reading or studying or just enjoying each other’s company.
Dean hadn’t said anything when he’d taken the turning, just pulled the Impala to the edge of it and turned the engine off, kicked back in his seat and turned his head away. He hadn’t said anything when Sam had climbed out, wandered aimlessly a few feet away and lowered himself to the ground, giving Sam the space that he’d never found the words the ask for.
Above him, the stars winked and the moon hung high in the sky, full and round. He wondered if Jess was up there, somewhere, watching over him like they said in the stories. If she was happy.
The faint smell of Jasmine drifted on the wind, and for a second he imagined that he could see her face; those wide blue eyes, the freckles that coloured the bridge of her nose. The smile that had never failed to make his day, straight white teeth and happiness that stretched all the way to his eyes; she was happy, blonde hair dancing silver in the light of the moon, and Sam thought that she looked beautiful.
A streak of gold darted across the sky, a shooting star marking the moment, and in the hidden spaces between blades of grass, the crickets began to stir. Sam would never forget her, would never want to, but he was starting to think that maybe - one day - he might be able to let go.
Eyes following the star as it carved its way across the night sky, he smiled.
***
So, I kind of figured that we were long overdue a 100 themes fic. The first draft of mine and AJ's wincest big bangs are complete, so I figured that I'd put my downtime to good use! This little piece was inspired by the tripleplay prompts by rainylemons over on ohsam:
1.) somewhere beneath the stars with the sound of a thousand cicadas, chirping crickets, and frogs
2.) the shade of Jessica Moore
3.) letting go (of life, Jess, whatever floats your boat)
Hope it works for you! Comments are love <3