[ July 17 - Sam's disappearance ]
The other side of the bed was cold when Jess slid her arm across it, looking for Sam's broad back, or his arm, or - as on one memorable occasion - his calf. But there was nothing, just the cool of fresh, unwrinkled sheets, a bed that hadn't been slept in. She blinked her eyes open and pushed herself up on her elbow and looked around the house, but there was no sign of Sam. Not in the bed, not anywhere. Not only no sign of Sam, but no sign he'd even been there to begin with. No dirty clothes discarded on the chair. No door left slightly ajar when he went out on a morning run. Just... nothing.
She felt a chill go through her, and before she knew it she was out of the bed, rummaging for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and leaving the door wide open as she crossed the lawn to another of the houses in their little community, banging hard on the door with her fist.
"Dean!" she said, not even thinking about whether he was up yet or not. "Dean!"
He was, but barely. Dean stumbled to the door, only just pulling on a shirt himself but spurred by the urgency of the pounding. He wasn't awake enough yet to name it, but there was a thread of something there in her voice that scared him.
"Jess?" he said, yanking the door open, arms out to catch her when she fell over the threshold.
She grabbed hold of both his forearms and clutched them tight, then looked up and met his eyes. "Dean," she said. "Have you seen Sam?"
She didn't think those words had ever been spoken quite so intensely as in that moment.
For a long moment, Dean just looked at her. Her body was warm and rumpled from sleep, her eyes too wide but not red. It struck him, then, that there hadn't even been time yet to cry.
Dean clamped down hard on that tiny fissure, not yet ready to let it be blown wide into realization that Sam might be gone.
It was inconceivable. Dean had left his own world and come here, and Sam had been waiting for him, there for him the way Dean had spent a lifetime longing for him to be, and now it was over?
No.
"No." The repetition fell stupidly from his mouth. "Jess, just take a breath."
"I can't," she said, and clutched him tighter.
Angua came out of the bedroom, hurriedly dressed and solemn. She'd heard the knocking and the urgency in Jess's voice, and the look on her face sealed it.
"What happened?" she asked them both, heart speeding up with the possibilities.
"Sam," said Jess, choking on any words that might have come after that name for a few moments. "He's... and all his things... I thought he might be here." She didn't, not really, but she had to hope that. She had to.
With every word Dean's blood ran a little colder, but his arms didn't waver for a moment. "This happens," he said, guiding her to sit at the table. He didn't let himself think about the fact that on a job, this is the role Sam would take.
He'd give anything for this to be just another job. Anything but what it was.
"People get moved around. It doesn't have to mean that." Nevermind that neither of them had said it yet.
Angua stared at Dean while Jess spoke, unable to move from the shock. It could be, there was a chance, but the sound of Jess's voice? Jess had to know, even if she couldn't accept it yet, there was a feeling that went along with disappearance.
"Dean's right. We'll look, all of us," came tumbling out of her mouth anyway.
"It happens sometimes," said Jess after swallowing a few times, finding her voice again. "I've read about it, I read all that stuff. I read everything about the paranormal on the island. It happens. People get stuck with the dinosaurs. Or... it could be anywhere. He could be anywhere. We have to find him."
Not just look, they had to find him. They had to.
"We'll go right now." Dean turned for his weapons chest as he said it, eyes firmly on the lid and not on Angua as he passed. Maybe he'd feel guilty about that later - she loved Sam, too - but right now there was no room for anything but the dread threatening to spill over in his gut.
He yanked the chest open, rifling through its meagre contents and eventually selecting them all. It wasn't until he tucked the gun into his waistband that he realized what he'd become.
The scrubs Dean would have donned lay abandoned in the drawer, and there Dean stood, a knife in both boots and a loaded shotgun in his hands. His fingers shook as the checked the chamber.
"I'm getting Dad."
Angua could hardly think of anything beyond Dean. The rest would come later, but this scared her more than anything, what it would do to him. "Let me just get pants, and some food for us," she said, trying to stay level-headed, practical. She looked from Dean to Jess and back. "I'll tell Roger and O-Ren and catch up, okay?"
Jess pulled her shoulders back, stood up to her full height, and held out her hand to Dean, clearly expecting to be handed a weapon. "All right," she said, her voice even, and definitely forced. "I can do this. Let's do this."
Dean handed her a .45 as he passed, knowing damn well that she could use it, and would.
The short journey to his father's hut was a strange one. The day was stupidly gorgeous, soft morning sun and green leaves all around him, and Dean wanted nothing more than to put his head between his legs.
The words he'd spoken to John just over a year ago came floating back to him.
I screwed up.
He'd let Sam die, and now he'd let him disappear. He screwed up, and no deal was going to fix it this time.
Dean didn't give the ugly bubble of despair that came surging from his lungs release. He put one foot in front of the other and knocked on John's door, a sudden, sickening hope rising within him.
Growing up, Dean had thought his father was a superhero. There was still a part of him that did, and that part was holding out that somehow, now that he was here with Dean again, John could make this right.
She felt a chill go through her, and before she knew it she was out of the bed, rummaging for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and leaving the door wide open as she crossed the lawn to another of the houses in their little community, banging hard on the door with her fist.
"Dean!" she said, not even thinking about whether he was up yet or not. "Dean!"
He was, but barely. Dean stumbled to the door, only just pulling on a shirt himself but spurred by the urgency of the pounding. He wasn't awake enough yet to name it, but there was a thread of something there in her voice that scared him.
"Jess?" he said, yanking the door open, arms out to catch her when she fell over the threshold.
She grabbed hold of both his forearms and clutched them tight, then looked up and met his eyes. "Dean," she said. "Have you seen Sam?"
She didn't think those words had ever been spoken quite so intensely as in that moment.
For a long moment, Dean just looked at her. Her body was warm and rumpled from sleep, her eyes too wide but not red. It struck him, then, that there hadn't even been time yet to cry.
Dean clamped down hard on that tiny fissure, not yet ready to let it be blown wide into realization that Sam might be gone.
It was inconceivable. Dean had left his own world and come here, and Sam had been waiting for him, there for him the way Dean had spent a lifetime longing for him to be, and now it was over?
No.
"No." The repetition fell stupidly from his mouth. "Jess, just take a breath."
"I can't," she said, and clutched him tighter.
Angua came out of the bedroom, hurriedly dressed and solemn. She'd heard the knocking and the urgency in Jess's voice, and the look on her face sealed it.
"What happened?" she asked them both, heart speeding up with the possibilities.
"Sam," said Jess, choking on any words that might have come after that name for a few moments. "He's... and all his things... I thought he might be here." She didn't, not really, but she had to hope that. She had to.
With every word Dean's blood ran a little colder, but his arms didn't waver for a moment. "This happens," he said, guiding her to sit at the table. He didn't let himself think about the fact that on a job, this is the role Sam would take.
He'd give anything for this to be just another job. Anything but what it was.
"People get moved around. It doesn't have to mean that." Nevermind that neither of them had said it yet.
Angua stared at Dean while Jess spoke, unable to move from the shock. It could be, there was a chance, but the sound of Jess's voice? Jess had to know, even if she couldn't accept it yet, there was a feeling that went along with disappearance.
"Dean's right. We'll look, all of us," came tumbling out of her mouth anyway.
"It happens sometimes," said Jess after swallowing a few times, finding her voice again. "I've read about it, I read all that stuff. I read everything about the paranormal on the island. It happens. People get stuck with the dinosaurs. Or... it could be anywhere. He could be anywhere. We have to find him."
Not just look, they had to find him. They had to.
"We'll go right now." Dean turned for his weapons chest as he said it, eyes firmly on the lid and not on Angua as he passed. Maybe he'd feel guilty about that later - she loved Sam, too - but right now there was no room for anything but the dread threatening to spill over in his gut.
He yanked the chest open, rifling through its meagre contents and eventually selecting them all. It wasn't until he tucked the gun into his waistband that he realized what he'd become.
The scrubs Dean would have donned lay abandoned in the drawer, and there Dean stood, a knife in both boots and a loaded shotgun in his hands. His fingers shook as the checked the chamber.
"I'm getting Dad."
Angua could hardly think of anything beyond Dean. The rest would come later, but this scared her more than anything, what it would do to him. "Let me just get pants, and some food for us," she said, trying to stay level-headed, practical. She looked from Dean to Jess and back. "I'll tell Roger and O-Ren and catch up, okay?"
Jess pulled her shoulders back, stood up to her full height, and held out her hand to Dean, clearly expecting to be handed a weapon. "All right," she said, her voice even, and definitely forced. "I can do this. Let's do this."
Dean handed her a .45 as he passed, knowing damn well that she could use it, and would.
The short journey to his father's hut was a strange one. The day was stupidly gorgeous, soft morning sun and green leaves all around him, and Dean wanted nothing more than to put his head between his legs.
The words he'd spoken to John just over a year ago came floating back to him.
I screwed up.
He'd let Sam die, and now he'd let him disappear. He screwed up, and no deal was going to fix it this time.
Dean didn't give the ugly bubble of despair that came surging from his lungs release. He put one foot in front of the other and knocked on John's door, a sudden, sickening hope rising within him.
Growing up, Dean had thought his father was a superhero. There was still a part of him that did, and that part was holding out that somehow, now that he was here with Dean again, John could make this right.