This boy was brought up in a time of blood and dying and never questioned a bit of it...
Ah me. This one has been killing me for at least a month. sangga - now i'm done, i can focus entirely on and your little dog too. good news, yes?
Title: Still fire in your tombs
Author: Niz4
Email: nimitz4@iinet.net.au
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: And you loved her then, effortless and pure, extending warm and syrupy, out from the centre of your chest.
Rating: R (Wincest)
Word count: 4068
Characters: Dean / Jess
Timeline: AU - from Pilot
Disclaimer: SN is not mine. I only get to play with them late at night, under the shadows of my imagination.
Feedback: goes well with choclate
Authors note: The title is a line from Pablo Neruda’s poem A Song of Despair : …this was my destiny, and in it was the voyage of my longing, and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank…
Still fire in your tombs
1.
When she was little you had a special talent for sending her into giggle loops, leaving her giddy, all warm-pink, weak knees. It was your favorite form of entertainment.
You’d lie on the back seat, sleeping as he drove after a hunt. On the road again because he’s always moving - this endless hunt - and she’d sit in the front, in your seat.
Long blonde hair rising up around her face, anemone like, drifting in the breeze through her window. Clear sky eyes watching the world unfolding before her.
And you loved her then, effortless and pure, extending warm and syrupy, out from the centre of your chest.
You loved her.
2.
You’re in your positions. You up front, staring out through the windshield, her in the back, sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo across the wide expanse of her seat.
It’s a hot day, and you both suck on straws, make slow sips of slurpee chill, watching the heat undulate, rising up from the hood of the car, trying to escape into the heavy air above.
Good luck…
She sighs around her drink, says Shit, it’s hot.
You make a slow nod of agreement studying this part of the town. Small movements, conserving energy, minimizing body heat, trying to ignore the way your shirt sticks to your skin, the seat.
He’s been inside the store for ages. And you resent the absence of air delivered by the car on the open road. Even dry air is better than no air.
You tilt your chin at one of the kids hanging outside the store. He’s a tall lanky red head. There’s a bunch of them - looking bored, directionless. Stale lives.
You bite on your straw, make a grin and say, There’s your future husband. Mr Blood Nuts…
Jess snickers behind you, Don’t you mean Ginger Nuts? And you better be polite to him otherwise he’ll never help you fix the car.
Her eyes track the group, cutting them up in her head. She sucks hard, swallows and says, What about the brunette? She’s your type isn’t she? No panties…
Stare at the girl, all tight t-shirt, short skirt, dirty eyes. You glance back at your sister, raise an eyebrow and smile.
-Do your worst kiddo.
And she does, let’s forth a litany of foulness that makes your smile stretch wide, splitting across your teeth - town bike, cum bucket, fuck puppet, ass pony - and you join in, the two of you tossing these words back and forth, over the back of the seat. And there’s something endlessly amusing about this.
Hearing her soft tongue conjure this abuse.
Your sister is always much better at this than you, and this time is no different. Making up something typically revolting that sends you giggling, snorting cherry cola out your nose.
Cough, fighting to get your breath back, and you lean back against the vinyl, defeated, wipe the tears away from your eyes. Sniggering, flick her an admiring look and you say, Fuck you’re a dirty bitch, you know that?
Jess stares at you over her drink. Your sister makes an angelic smile and says nothing.
3.
He drops you off on the dirt road leading up to the house, and you limp around the front of the truck, stiff through your hips, back, neck. Rifle slung over your shoulder.
Your father watches you, smiling in sympathy. He says, You goin’ to be okay there, Old Man?
It makes you grin, attempt a shrug and fail - muscles cramping high on the right - so you have to settle instead with slapping your palm against the metal.
-Yeah, it’s good. Nothing a hot bath won’t fix.
He studies you, assessing the damage. Elbow up on his window, leaning out, he waits and then seems to come to a decision. He says, C’mon son, get back in, I’m taking you home. It’s just a card game, ain’t like they only happen once in a blue moon.
But that’s exactly what it’s like, and so you back away from the truck, shaking your head at him. Your father doesn’t do much of anything outside of the Hunt, so the fact that he even considered going in the first place was a minor miracle. You want him to go - smoke some, laugh a little, drink a lot.
Put a smile back on his face for a couple of months, like the last one did.
You make your voice firm, and you say, Hell no. I’m good. Get going - and say ‘hey’ to Teddy for me. Tell him he still owes me twenty bucks. I didn’t forget.
His smile widens and he reaches down, shifts it back into gear. He says, Well, okay then, I’m going. And tell that sister of yours that i’ll be checking her homework later. It better be done, she’s not getting a free pass for tonight…
Nod and watch him turn, take off down the road. Make your way, slowly, back up to the house.
You reach the half way point and you can make out the shadow of the car beside the house. Frown, because you can guess who it belongs to. And it’s just typical.
Looks like you weren’t the only one busting your butt tonight.
Make your way up to the car door on silent feet, moving with the night, taking your time. Lean against the metal, dip your head close to the window, watching the action within for a bit. He’s a dark shifting shape above your sister, the both of them moaning, wet mouth kisses loud in this small space. Notice how one of her legs is bent wide, knee up, with his hand between her thighs, working her over.
Clear your throat, and watch them scatter like rabbits.
You fix him with a cold hard look, make an ugly smile at the way he can’t meet your eye, and your voice is quiet, stern. You say, Evening Junior, you done fucking my sister yet?
And then laugh on the inside at the way his words stumble out of his mouth, his tongue tangled up in all those Yes Sir, No Sir’s, as he tries to do up his fly. Meanwhile your sister doesn’t bother rearranging her skirt, just sits up, tousled and pissed off, giving you a look that could strip a wall clean.
She’s all vinegar tongue when she asks, How long have you been standing there?
Shrug despite the pain, give them both a smug look as you push away from the metal, and you lie. You say, You owe me Jessie - Dad’s on his way. Junior-boy, that means you’ll want to be leaving soon.
You don’t look back as you make your way up the front steps, navigate your way through the fly-screen. You don’t need to, to know that now they’ll both be making their farewells.
You head to the kitchen, dump your gun on the table, reach for the loaf of bread and you hear the engine of his car start up.
Sneer at the wall closest to the sound. Good riddance…
She stalks into the kitchen, slouches against the bench arms crossed over her chest, watching you with dark eyes.
And you pretend to ignore her, concentrate on applying a thick coat of peanut butter on several slices. Lick the knife clean before adding a layer of J.
She says, How long were you watching us?
And it annoys you for some reason, you can’t shake it. The idea of her, with him. She deserves better…not that you want to tell her that.
Glance over at her, licking the jam off.
You say, So did you get any work done tonight? Or were you too busy exercising something other than your brain?
Jess stares at you, pushes away from the bench with her hip, pads over to stop beside you, nudges the table with her hipbone. She asks in her quiet voice, What’s it to you?
She’s so close you can smell her - rich and heady - she smells like heavy petting, heat and need. And it makes your mouth dry.
You don’t get her anymore, this weird woman-child she’s becoming. It confuses you, makes you clumsy, when before none of that mattered.
You liked it better when you could rough house her, fling her up onto your shoulders, carry her high above the world.
Jess pokes you with her finger, makes a sly smile. She prompts, Why do you care so much?
Swallow the dust away from your throat. Pretend to ignore her, crushing two slices together, making a sandwich that oozes filing. Take a big bite and it makes a mess against your lips, PB&J down your mouth.
Try to talk around the mouthful, making sure she can see the food inside because she hates that, and you manage to say, I’m your brother. That’s my job.
She purses her lips, says nothing for a moment, considers you, and then she reaches around, picks up one of your other slices.
Takes her time folding it in half, licks at the sticky sweet ooze that runs around the edges, with her pink darting tongue. She acts like this conversation never happened, changes topic altogether.
Asks you how the hunt went, prods you for all the details, and you tell her. You take your time to set the story, create the layers of detail, fill in the scenes.
Jess watches your face, with large eyes. She laughs as you tell her about your fall. Tells you you always did have two left feet.
She hitches up to sit on the edge of the table, eats your other sandwich and asks you about the new incantation, the one from Pastor Jim.
This is the best part of these nights. The return home; to her.
Jess drops off the table, makes coffee for you both. Scoots back with full mugs, and you hold her around her waist, lift her back up to sit on the table in front of you. And you’re laughing at something she says, when she reaches up, wipes some butter off the edge of your mouth.
And the laughter evaporates between you, and you stop. Eyes tracking the movement of her slim hand. Stare, wide-eyed and warm in the sudden quiet of this room.
Watching, heavy and still, as she slides this finger into her mouth, licks it clean, her eyes rising up to meet yours.
Dark slate studies you and her voice is soft, low, as she asks, Dad’s not coming home is he? He went to the card game…
It’s really not a question, she’s just stating a fact, something that you both know.
Clear your throat, force out the words across this thick tongue, and you admit to your lie.
-Yeah. He’s with Teddy and the others, over at the Wilson boy’s place.
Jess makes a slow nod, studies the neck of your shirt, the dirt on your skin. Your kid sister rests her hand on your shoulder, cool and light as a fresh snow and your skin is hot underneath, it burns. She makes a new dawn smile at you, all warm and full of promise and she says, Good…
4.
And this is a mistake, you know it is, but you can’t stop. It goes on for almost a year, the two of you - alley-catting - behind his back.
You try to be discrete, and most of the time you are, careful with your eyes, your hands. Cautious about the way you look at her, how you reach for her skin.
She’s the worst. Your girl is a natural born risk taker, gets a buzz from it, the hot thrill of almost getting caught.
One morning you’re in the shower, when you hear the door creak open, think nothing of it, expecting her to clean her teeth in the basin, take a slash. Instead you feel her warm hands sliding around your waist, wrapping around your cock.
Yelp with surprise, slipping on the ceramic bath, and she sniggers, tightens her fingers around you, five firm bands, squeezing your dick.
You panic, try to disentangle yourself, hissing, Are you fucking insane? Dad’s in the kitchen.
And her eyes shine into yours, a dancing blue. Jess giggles, and makes a slow stroke with her hand, skin teasing skin, and she says, I know…God, you’re half hard.
Bat her away, growling out, Jesus Jess. Get out! He’ll kill me first and you second!
It only makes her laugh harder, and she fights with your fingers, slides her palm across the smooth skin of your belly. Gives you a wicked look.
Your sister, glances back at the door, shouts out, Dad…Dean won’t get out of the shower!
And you grab for her, making her squeal, covering her mouth with your hand, you pull her against you - belly, hips, breasts - and turn, pushing her under the water.
You hiss, You fucking bitch! And she’s giggling under the water, watching you wrap a towel around your hips. She makes a low begging, her tongue tugs on your ear, she says, Don’t be angry with me, Dean. C’mon…kiss me.
You stare at her beautiful face, the bright button eyes, these lips that you’ve known for the longest time.
She cups her breasts, light finger strokes across the dusky rose of her nipples, makes them tight. Jess makes a hot whisper, C’mon, Kansas. Kiss me…
And you do. Leaning into the shower, water hitting your face, you make wide, open mouth kisses. Bite her, fierce and hot, cupping her face with your hands.
5.
She works hard at her last year of high school, and your father lets her take on more responsibility with each of the hunts, starts to let her hold her own.
And she’s good at it. On these nights you watch her out of the corner of your eye, treasuring the way she moves through this world - all clean action, neat and smooth. She is Tuesday’s child your sister; full of grace. She always has been.
On the last hunt she catches you looking, smiles, and you feel it, a rich warm happiness, thick as molasses spreading through your heart, your gut, and you make a mirror smile to go with hers.
A matched pair…
And in the quiet times, you spend those moments together, like you always have - reading, hanging, watching bad horror movies. Fucking.
She studies, and you research your cases.
Jess pesters you for stories about your mother, wants details, anything you can remember, and you try to fill the gaps in for her with the little you have.
You tell her about the way she used to dance with your father, singing loud and out of tune to that song by Bowie, Oh shadow love was quick and clean, life's a well-thumbed machine…Oh John, I’m only dancing, I’m only dancing…
Describe the midnight feasts, fresh baking. The way she’d shriek and pretend to be disgusted when he came home from the garage, grabbing her with his dark stained hands, smelling of oil. And how she’d lean into him, into his kiss.
You tell her about him, how he was then. How she made him smile.
He was happy once.
Your sister smiles at these tales you weave just for her, she stares at you with her open face, and she asks, Do I look like her?
And you brush her wheat hair back from her face - your mother’s hair - twisting it round your hand, your fingers, you make a slow nod at her, and you whisper, Yeah, Jess. You do…
6.
She gets accepted into a good college; shows you the letter.
And you hold it in your hands. Staring at these printed words, rubbing your thumb over the official header on the stationary. Your heart pulsing high in your throat.
You ask her, So? Are you going to go?
Jess watches your face, frowns, reaching over to tug the paper free. She shakes her head and she says, No. Why would I go? Why would I leave you?
Your sister slides her fingers into yours, and you feel the world steady around you, relief flooding through your chest. And you can’t ever imagine feeling this grateful for anything else, ever again.
7.
You’re in the kitchen, frying bacon as she poaches eggs, the water’s on, boiling for the coffee. She’s laughing at you again, betting you that she’ll soon be so good with her aim she deserves the better gun.
Argues that you should just save yourself the humiliation, and give it to her now, before she takes it from you.
You tell her she’s full of shit, throw small chunks of bacon fat at her, making her scream. Hear the front door go, slamming hard in it’s frame, as he comes in.
Turn towards the sound of his boots on the floor, he’s coming towards you and you’re telling him to back you up when he hits you - so fucking hard - a half sucker punch, on the side of your face up near your ear.
Jess screams, drops the metal spoon she was holding, and you hit the floor, blinking in shock, bleeding from your cheek.
Sprawl, stunned, trying to shake your head clear. Your father leans down over you, grabs the front of your shirt, lifting you up towards him and he hits you again. Equally hard. His fist is like a fucking jack hammer on your face. Gets you again with his wide paw, this time right in the mouth, and you feel your teeth rock in your jaw, your lip split.
Spit blood, try to remember to breath through the pain.
He’s furious, red-faced and bellowing, spitting out the words. He says, Jesus Christ, Dean! Jesus Christ! What were you thinking?!
Raises his arm up again, gets set to split your other lip, and Jess moves towards him, grabs for his hand, she’s shouting, Stop it! You’ll kill him…Daddy! Stop...
He shakes her off off him, his eyes fixed on yours and he tells her to get to her room. Your father grits out, Go to your goddamn room, Jessie! I can’t even look at you right now!
And he’s never spoken to her like this before. Ever.
It makes her stop, shocked and blinking, hands holding her face, she whispers over and over, in confusion and shock, she says, Daddy?
Your father ignores her, leans down, hands clenched around your shirt. White knuckles. You can tell he wants to hit you again, but he’s pacing this. So he shakes you instead, violent and hard, until you feel sick, your teeth chattering.
Your father pulls your head back by your hair, gets his face in real close, so you can see him properly through all your blood. He’s all dangerous eyes, bared teeth, and just for a moment you think that he might actually kill you.
He growls out, all low fury, he says, She’s. Your. Sister. Dean - your sister!
And now you realize why this is happening and you go cold. Jess must too, because she makes a sick animal moan behind you both, covers her mouth with her hands.
He continues, Somebody saw you. Kissing! The two of you!
-So help me, Dean! You better tell me that that’s all it was. You fucking tell me that it went no further than that!
You can’t breath, face aching where he got you, hiccupping with shock. But you manage to shake your head, No. See his eyes well up now, these tears forming.
And this hurts more than the punches. Seeing your father cry…
You stammer out through the mess of your mouth, you say, That’s all it was. I promise. I promise…
He’s breathing hard, panting. Your father watches you, weighing up these words, and you see the moment he chooses to accept this lie from you.
Staggers to his feet, releases your shirt, and you drop back down upon this wood. Your father stands over you, and the look that he gives you, it cuts out your heart as it beats in your chest.
His voice is rough, razor sharp when he says, Christ, Dean. We hunt monsters, we don’t become them…
Glance across at your sister and she looks terrible, like she’s been through a tornado, Jess holds onto the table, sobbing, starring at the two of you.
Your father turns his back on the both of you, he faces the door. Tall frame shaking. Your father points a finger back in her direction and his voice blows, cold and empty, he says, You’re going to that college, Jessie. You better pack your things, because you need to be away from here.
And hearing these words it’s like swallowing stone, cold and hard, it plummets to the well of your gut. It steels your strength away from you and you can’t get up for the longest time. You lie on the floor, in this wreck of your home, listening to the sound of your sister cry.
8.
It’s months before she leaves, and you hate it, this waiting. You dread the day, feel it drawing closer, a sickness in your blood.
He watches you both like a hawk and you are especially careful. Resume the role of older brother, nothing more, nothing less.
You keep your distance from her, avoid even the innocent gestures you once made - helping her up when she fell, tugging her hair, a casual arm slung around her shoulders.
You do none of these things. Until the day before she leaves.
He has to go over to Teddy’s for something, and this time he goes alone. And you don’t want to think about whether this is a deliberate action or not. It’s too painful to think about these things.
You head out the back, and she finds you there. Jess scrambles over the back fence, moves beside you to kick at the lumps of clay-dirt, the knotted dry grass in this empty lot.
You don’t want to have this conversation but you know it’s a long time due. Tilt your face up, to stare at this late afternoon sky stretching out above. The torn clouds bleeding into the pale grey-blue in such a way that you can’t tell where sky and cloud begin or end - just one wide sheet of empty color - and you wait.
Feel her fingers slide across yours, her hand in yours, and she says, I won’t be back, Dean.
Squeeze your fingers tight around hers, your throat tears up around your breath, and you whisper, Don’t say that.
Jess stares up at the sky above and she says, I can’t come back to this…to him, Dean. You saw how he looked at me. At you…
You shake your head and your heart is coming apart in your chest, you say, It doesn’t matter, Jess.
Your sister crushes your hand in hers and she says, It does, Dean. It matters to me. I won’t have him look at you like that again. Not ever…
Jess kisses you with wet cheeks; makes a long goodbye that hurts forever. Your sister kisses you, and shakes your hand free.
And you watch her go. Walking back into the house, away from this place, this town and you.
9.
The next time you see her two years have passed, and Jess watches you with cautious eyes. Her arm slung low and proud across this guy’s hip, and your eyes work like a camera, capture this scene forever in your mind - their skin touching like this.
You try not to think about what his smooth scholarly hands do with her when the lights go out at night.
Jess watches you, watching him, and she shifts on her feet, fingers tightening around his long frame. Your sister speaks with a curious new tone, protective and measured, she says, Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Sam.
And watching them together like this, it hurts your eyes.
Take a moment, look away from his hands curling across the curve of her hip, clear your throat and deliver the message that brought you here.
You look at your girl and you say, Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he’s been missing for a few days…
And you watch the light come on in her eyes...
Title: Still fire in your tombs
Author: Niz4
Email: nimitz4@iinet.net.au
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: And you loved her then, effortless and pure, extending warm and syrupy, out from the centre of your chest.
Rating: R (Wincest)
Word count: 4068
Characters: Dean / Jess
Timeline: AU - from Pilot
Disclaimer: SN is not mine. I only get to play with them late at night, under the shadows of my imagination.
Feedback: goes well with choclate
Authors note: The title is a line from Pablo Neruda’s poem A Song of Despair : …this was my destiny, and in it was the voyage of my longing, and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank…
Still fire in your tombs
1.
When she was little you had a special talent for sending her into giggle loops, leaving her giddy, all warm-pink, weak knees. It was your favorite form of entertainment.
You’d lie on the back seat, sleeping as he drove after a hunt. On the road again because he’s always moving - this endless hunt - and she’d sit in the front, in your seat.
Long blonde hair rising up around her face, anemone like, drifting in the breeze through her window. Clear sky eyes watching the world unfolding before her.
And you loved her then, effortless and pure, extending warm and syrupy, out from the centre of your chest.
You loved her.
2.
You’re in your positions. You up front, staring out through the windshield, her in the back, sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo across the wide expanse of her seat.
It’s a hot day, and you both suck on straws, make slow sips of slurpee chill, watching the heat undulate, rising up from the hood of the car, trying to escape into the heavy air above.
Good luck…
She sighs around her drink, says Shit, it’s hot.
You make a slow nod of agreement studying this part of the town. Small movements, conserving energy, minimizing body heat, trying to ignore the way your shirt sticks to your skin, the seat.
He’s been inside the store for ages. And you resent the absence of air delivered by the car on the open road. Even dry air is better than no air.
You tilt your chin at one of the kids hanging outside the store. He’s a tall lanky red head. There’s a bunch of them - looking bored, directionless. Stale lives.
You bite on your straw, make a grin and say, There’s your future husband. Mr Blood Nuts…
Jess snickers behind you, Don’t you mean Ginger Nuts? And you better be polite to him otherwise he’ll never help you fix the car.
Her eyes track the group, cutting them up in her head. She sucks hard, swallows and says, What about the brunette? She’s your type isn’t she? No panties…
Stare at the girl, all tight t-shirt, short skirt, dirty eyes. You glance back at your sister, raise an eyebrow and smile.
-Do your worst kiddo.
And she does, let’s forth a litany of foulness that makes your smile stretch wide, splitting across your teeth - town bike, cum bucket, fuck puppet, ass pony - and you join in, the two of you tossing these words back and forth, over the back of the seat. And there’s something endlessly amusing about this.
Hearing her soft tongue conjure this abuse.
Your sister is always much better at this than you, and this time is no different. Making up something typically revolting that sends you giggling, snorting cherry cola out your nose.
Cough, fighting to get your breath back, and you lean back against the vinyl, defeated, wipe the tears away from your eyes. Sniggering, flick her an admiring look and you say, Fuck you’re a dirty bitch, you know that?
Jess stares at you over her drink. Your sister makes an angelic smile and says nothing.
3.
He drops you off on the dirt road leading up to the house, and you limp around the front of the truck, stiff through your hips, back, neck. Rifle slung over your shoulder.
Your father watches you, smiling in sympathy. He says, You goin’ to be okay there, Old Man?
It makes you grin, attempt a shrug and fail - muscles cramping high on the right - so you have to settle instead with slapping your palm against the metal.
-Yeah, it’s good. Nothing a hot bath won’t fix.
He studies you, assessing the damage. Elbow up on his window, leaning out, he waits and then seems to come to a decision. He says, C’mon son, get back in, I’m taking you home. It’s just a card game, ain’t like they only happen once in a blue moon.
But that’s exactly what it’s like, and so you back away from the truck, shaking your head at him. Your father doesn’t do much of anything outside of the Hunt, so the fact that he even considered going in the first place was a minor miracle. You want him to go - smoke some, laugh a little, drink a lot.
Put a smile back on his face for a couple of months, like the last one did.
You make your voice firm, and you say, Hell no. I’m good. Get going - and say ‘hey’ to Teddy for me. Tell him he still owes me twenty bucks. I didn’t forget.
His smile widens and he reaches down, shifts it back into gear. He says, Well, okay then, I’m going. And tell that sister of yours that i’ll be checking her homework later. It better be done, she’s not getting a free pass for tonight…
Nod and watch him turn, take off down the road. Make your way, slowly, back up to the house.
You reach the half way point and you can make out the shadow of the car beside the house. Frown, because you can guess who it belongs to. And it’s just typical.
Looks like you weren’t the only one busting your butt tonight.
Make your way up to the car door on silent feet, moving with the night, taking your time. Lean against the metal, dip your head close to the window, watching the action within for a bit. He’s a dark shifting shape above your sister, the both of them moaning, wet mouth kisses loud in this small space. Notice how one of her legs is bent wide, knee up, with his hand between her thighs, working her over.
Clear your throat, and watch them scatter like rabbits.
You fix him with a cold hard look, make an ugly smile at the way he can’t meet your eye, and your voice is quiet, stern. You say, Evening Junior, you done fucking my sister yet?
And then laugh on the inside at the way his words stumble out of his mouth, his tongue tangled up in all those Yes Sir, No Sir’s, as he tries to do up his fly. Meanwhile your sister doesn’t bother rearranging her skirt, just sits up, tousled and pissed off, giving you a look that could strip a wall clean.
She’s all vinegar tongue when she asks, How long have you been standing there?
Shrug despite the pain, give them both a smug look as you push away from the metal, and you lie. You say, You owe me Jessie - Dad’s on his way. Junior-boy, that means you’ll want to be leaving soon.
You don’t look back as you make your way up the front steps, navigate your way through the fly-screen. You don’t need to, to know that now they’ll both be making their farewells.
You head to the kitchen, dump your gun on the table, reach for the loaf of bread and you hear the engine of his car start up.
Sneer at the wall closest to the sound. Good riddance…
She stalks into the kitchen, slouches against the bench arms crossed over her chest, watching you with dark eyes.
And you pretend to ignore her, concentrate on applying a thick coat of peanut butter on several slices. Lick the knife clean before adding a layer of J.
She says, How long were you watching us?
And it annoys you for some reason, you can’t shake it. The idea of her, with him. She deserves better…not that you want to tell her that.
Glance over at her, licking the jam off.
You say, So did you get any work done tonight? Or were you too busy exercising something other than your brain?
Jess stares at you, pushes away from the bench with her hip, pads over to stop beside you, nudges the table with her hipbone. She asks in her quiet voice, What’s it to you?
She’s so close you can smell her - rich and heady - she smells like heavy petting, heat and need. And it makes your mouth dry.
You don’t get her anymore, this weird woman-child she’s becoming. It confuses you, makes you clumsy, when before none of that mattered.
You liked it better when you could rough house her, fling her up onto your shoulders, carry her high above the world.
Jess pokes you with her finger, makes a sly smile. She prompts, Why do you care so much?
Swallow the dust away from your throat. Pretend to ignore her, crushing two slices together, making a sandwich that oozes filing. Take a big bite and it makes a mess against your lips, PB&J down your mouth.
Try to talk around the mouthful, making sure she can see the food inside because she hates that, and you manage to say, I’m your brother. That’s my job.
She purses her lips, says nothing for a moment, considers you, and then she reaches around, picks up one of your other slices.
Takes her time folding it in half, licks at the sticky sweet ooze that runs around the edges, with her pink darting tongue. She acts like this conversation never happened, changes topic altogether.
Asks you how the hunt went, prods you for all the details, and you tell her. You take your time to set the story, create the layers of detail, fill in the scenes.
Jess watches your face, with large eyes. She laughs as you tell her about your fall. Tells you you always did have two left feet.
She hitches up to sit on the edge of the table, eats your other sandwich and asks you about the new incantation, the one from Pastor Jim.
This is the best part of these nights. The return home; to her.
Jess drops off the table, makes coffee for you both. Scoots back with full mugs, and you hold her around her waist, lift her back up to sit on the table in front of you. And you’re laughing at something she says, when she reaches up, wipes some butter off the edge of your mouth.
And the laughter evaporates between you, and you stop. Eyes tracking the movement of her slim hand. Stare, wide-eyed and warm in the sudden quiet of this room.
Watching, heavy and still, as she slides this finger into her mouth, licks it clean, her eyes rising up to meet yours.
Dark slate studies you and her voice is soft, low, as she asks, Dad’s not coming home is he? He went to the card game…
It’s really not a question, she’s just stating a fact, something that you both know.
Clear your throat, force out the words across this thick tongue, and you admit to your lie.
-Yeah. He’s with Teddy and the others, over at the Wilson boy’s place.
Jess makes a slow nod, studies the neck of your shirt, the dirt on your skin. Your kid sister rests her hand on your shoulder, cool and light as a fresh snow and your skin is hot underneath, it burns. She makes a new dawn smile at you, all warm and full of promise and she says, Good…
4.
And this is a mistake, you know it is, but you can’t stop. It goes on for almost a year, the two of you - alley-catting - behind his back.
You try to be discrete, and most of the time you are, careful with your eyes, your hands. Cautious about the way you look at her, how you reach for her skin.
She’s the worst. Your girl is a natural born risk taker, gets a buzz from it, the hot thrill of almost getting caught.
One morning you’re in the shower, when you hear the door creak open, think nothing of it, expecting her to clean her teeth in the basin, take a slash. Instead you feel her warm hands sliding around your waist, wrapping around your cock.
Yelp with surprise, slipping on the ceramic bath, and she sniggers, tightens her fingers around you, five firm bands, squeezing your dick.
You panic, try to disentangle yourself, hissing, Are you fucking insane? Dad’s in the kitchen.
And her eyes shine into yours, a dancing blue. Jess giggles, and makes a slow stroke with her hand, skin teasing skin, and she says, I know…God, you’re half hard.
Bat her away, growling out, Jesus Jess. Get out! He’ll kill me first and you second!
It only makes her laugh harder, and she fights with your fingers, slides her palm across the smooth skin of your belly. Gives you a wicked look.
Your sister, glances back at the door, shouts out, Dad…Dean won’t get out of the shower!
And you grab for her, making her squeal, covering her mouth with your hand, you pull her against you - belly, hips, breasts - and turn, pushing her under the water.
You hiss, You fucking bitch! And she’s giggling under the water, watching you wrap a towel around your hips. She makes a low begging, her tongue tugs on your ear, she says, Don’t be angry with me, Dean. C’mon…kiss me.
You stare at her beautiful face, the bright button eyes, these lips that you’ve known for the longest time.
She cups her breasts, light finger strokes across the dusky rose of her nipples, makes them tight. Jess makes a hot whisper, C’mon, Kansas. Kiss me…
And you do. Leaning into the shower, water hitting your face, you make wide, open mouth kisses. Bite her, fierce and hot, cupping her face with your hands.
5.
She works hard at her last year of high school, and your father lets her take on more responsibility with each of the hunts, starts to let her hold her own.
And she’s good at it. On these nights you watch her out of the corner of your eye, treasuring the way she moves through this world - all clean action, neat and smooth. She is Tuesday’s child your sister; full of grace. She always has been.
On the last hunt she catches you looking, smiles, and you feel it, a rich warm happiness, thick as molasses spreading through your heart, your gut, and you make a mirror smile to go with hers.
A matched pair…
And in the quiet times, you spend those moments together, like you always have - reading, hanging, watching bad horror movies. Fucking.
She studies, and you research your cases.
Jess pesters you for stories about your mother, wants details, anything you can remember, and you try to fill the gaps in for her with the little you have.
You tell her about the way she used to dance with your father, singing loud and out of tune to that song by Bowie, Oh shadow love was quick and clean, life's a well-thumbed machine…Oh John, I’m only dancing, I’m only dancing…
Describe the midnight feasts, fresh baking. The way she’d shriek and pretend to be disgusted when he came home from the garage, grabbing her with his dark stained hands, smelling of oil. And how she’d lean into him, into his kiss.
You tell her about him, how he was then. How she made him smile.
He was happy once.
Your sister smiles at these tales you weave just for her, she stares at you with her open face, and she asks, Do I look like her?
And you brush her wheat hair back from her face - your mother’s hair - twisting it round your hand, your fingers, you make a slow nod at her, and you whisper, Yeah, Jess. You do…
6.
She gets accepted into a good college; shows you the letter.
And you hold it in your hands. Staring at these printed words, rubbing your thumb over the official header on the stationary. Your heart pulsing high in your throat.
You ask her, So? Are you going to go?
Jess watches your face, frowns, reaching over to tug the paper free. She shakes her head and she says, No. Why would I go? Why would I leave you?
Your sister slides her fingers into yours, and you feel the world steady around you, relief flooding through your chest. And you can’t ever imagine feeling this grateful for anything else, ever again.
7.
You’re in the kitchen, frying bacon as she poaches eggs, the water’s on, boiling for the coffee. She’s laughing at you again, betting you that she’ll soon be so good with her aim she deserves the better gun.
Argues that you should just save yourself the humiliation, and give it to her now, before she takes it from you.
You tell her she’s full of shit, throw small chunks of bacon fat at her, making her scream. Hear the front door go, slamming hard in it’s frame, as he comes in.
Turn towards the sound of his boots on the floor, he’s coming towards you and you’re telling him to back you up when he hits you - so fucking hard - a half sucker punch, on the side of your face up near your ear.
Jess screams, drops the metal spoon she was holding, and you hit the floor, blinking in shock, bleeding from your cheek.
Sprawl, stunned, trying to shake your head clear. Your father leans down over you, grabs the front of your shirt, lifting you up towards him and he hits you again. Equally hard. His fist is like a fucking jack hammer on your face. Gets you again with his wide paw, this time right in the mouth, and you feel your teeth rock in your jaw, your lip split.
Spit blood, try to remember to breath through the pain.
He’s furious, red-faced and bellowing, spitting out the words. He says, Jesus Christ, Dean! Jesus Christ! What were you thinking?!
Raises his arm up again, gets set to split your other lip, and Jess moves towards him, grabs for his hand, she’s shouting, Stop it! You’ll kill him…Daddy! Stop...
He shakes her off off him, his eyes fixed on yours and he tells her to get to her room. Your father grits out, Go to your goddamn room, Jessie! I can’t even look at you right now!
And he’s never spoken to her like this before. Ever.
It makes her stop, shocked and blinking, hands holding her face, she whispers over and over, in confusion and shock, she says, Daddy?
Your father ignores her, leans down, hands clenched around your shirt. White knuckles. You can tell he wants to hit you again, but he’s pacing this. So he shakes you instead, violent and hard, until you feel sick, your teeth chattering.
Your father pulls your head back by your hair, gets his face in real close, so you can see him properly through all your blood. He’s all dangerous eyes, bared teeth, and just for a moment you think that he might actually kill you.
He growls out, all low fury, he says, She’s. Your. Sister. Dean - your sister!
And now you realize why this is happening and you go cold. Jess must too, because she makes a sick animal moan behind you both, covers her mouth with her hands.
He continues, Somebody saw you. Kissing! The two of you!
-So help me, Dean! You better tell me that that’s all it was. You fucking tell me that it went no further than that!
You can’t breath, face aching where he got you, hiccupping with shock. But you manage to shake your head, No. See his eyes well up now, these tears forming.
And this hurts more than the punches. Seeing your father cry…
You stammer out through the mess of your mouth, you say, That’s all it was. I promise. I promise…
He’s breathing hard, panting. Your father watches you, weighing up these words, and you see the moment he chooses to accept this lie from you.
Staggers to his feet, releases your shirt, and you drop back down upon this wood. Your father stands over you, and the look that he gives you, it cuts out your heart as it beats in your chest.
His voice is rough, razor sharp when he says, Christ, Dean. We hunt monsters, we don’t become them…
Glance across at your sister and she looks terrible, like she’s been through a tornado, Jess holds onto the table, sobbing, starring at the two of you.
Your father turns his back on the both of you, he faces the door. Tall frame shaking. Your father points a finger back in her direction and his voice blows, cold and empty, he says, You’re going to that college, Jessie. You better pack your things, because you need to be away from here.
And hearing these words it’s like swallowing stone, cold and hard, it plummets to the well of your gut. It steels your strength away from you and you can’t get up for the longest time. You lie on the floor, in this wreck of your home, listening to the sound of your sister cry.
8.
It’s months before she leaves, and you hate it, this waiting. You dread the day, feel it drawing closer, a sickness in your blood.
He watches you both like a hawk and you are especially careful. Resume the role of older brother, nothing more, nothing less.
You keep your distance from her, avoid even the innocent gestures you once made - helping her up when she fell, tugging her hair, a casual arm slung around her shoulders.
You do none of these things. Until the day before she leaves.
He has to go over to Teddy’s for something, and this time he goes alone. And you don’t want to think about whether this is a deliberate action or not. It’s too painful to think about these things.
You head out the back, and she finds you there. Jess scrambles over the back fence, moves beside you to kick at the lumps of clay-dirt, the knotted dry grass in this empty lot.
You don’t want to have this conversation but you know it’s a long time due. Tilt your face up, to stare at this late afternoon sky stretching out above. The torn clouds bleeding into the pale grey-blue in such a way that you can’t tell where sky and cloud begin or end - just one wide sheet of empty color - and you wait.
Feel her fingers slide across yours, her hand in yours, and she says, I won’t be back, Dean.
Squeeze your fingers tight around hers, your throat tears up around your breath, and you whisper, Don’t say that.
Jess stares up at the sky above and she says, I can’t come back to this…to him, Dean. You saw how he looked at me. At you…
You shake your head and your heart is coming apart in your chest, you say, It doesn’t matter, Jess.
Your sister crushes your hand in hers and she says, It does, Dean. It matters to me. I won’t have him look at you like that again. Not ever…
Jess kisses you with wet cheeks; makes a long goodbye that hurts forever. Your sister kisses you, and shakes your hand free.
And you watch her go. Walking back into the house, away from this place, this town and you.
9.
The next time you see her two years have passed, and Jess watches you with cautious eyes. Her arm slung low and proud across this guy’s hip, and your eyes work like a camera, capture this scene forever in your mind - their skin touching like this.
You try not to think about what his smooth scholarly hands do with her when the lights go out at night.
Jess watches you, watching him, and she shifts on her feet, fingers tightening around his long frame. Your sister speaks with a curious new tone, protective and measured, she says, Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Sam.
And watching them together like this, it hurts your eyes.
Take a moment, look away from his hands curling across the curve of her hip, clear your throat and deliver the message that brought you here.
You look at your girl and you say, Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he’s been missing for a few days…
And you watch the light come on in her eyes...