And We Are Ashes: Chapter 1, Part 3
Nov. 2nd, 2006 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecatevariI'm not sure how I feel about the ending of this scene. I feel like I was rushing it a bit (Well, I was).
"Is she gone?" Jess asks, sitting up when she sees him in the doorway. She peels one iPod ear bud out and then the other before dropping the whole shebang between her crossed legs.
Sam goes to the closet and grabs his duffle from the high shelf that only he can reach without assistance. It's not that he doesn't trust Jess, exactly, but he's gratified to see the little thread he taped over the zipper to see if the bag's been opened is intact. "She's waiting for me downstairs."
"Waiting for you?" Jess echoes. She scoots to the edge of the bed, long legs sprawling akimbo. "Is this about your…about Dean?" He hears her verbally fumble for the name and he's struck again by that double-edged guilt. "Is he really missing? Do you think something happened to him? Like…serious? Hasn't your mom called the police?"
Sam scratches the back of his neck, shuffling scenarios and lies like a bad hand of cards he's trying to make the best of. What can I say? What, that she'll believe? Believe enough to stop asking and that won't bite me in the ass later? "The police… They're not going to waste their time looking for Dean. Not… Well. We've got a kind of history, you know?" There. Better she thinks of them as some kind of brawling white trash than anything approximating the truth. He grabs a double handful of tee-shirts from the organizer. Hunting is dirty work.
"But…" Jess gestures helplessly. "It's the middle of the night! I mean, why don't you guys at least stay 'til morning, get an early start? I've only got the one class tomorrow morning; I could blow it off, come with you…"
"No." Sam turns quickly and knows his voice came out sharper and harsher than he intended. Jess looks startled. A second later, she looks hurt. Sam drops the bag with a thud and goes to her, kneeling between those long, smooth thighs. He cups her hips. "Jess, I…"
"No." She shakes her head dully, expression shuttered. "I get it," she says. "You've always been real clear that you don't want to talk about your family, keep them…private." Secret, he hears behind it. Her eyes come up and she splays one hand across his jaw, leaning in close so he can't see anything but her earnest, clear eyes. "But baby… I love you. I love…whoever you are. And that means your family too."
"I know," he says, wretched and hides his face on her shoulder.
Jess's fingers twine through his hair, short nails scraping lightly across his scalp and sending shudders through him. "And if you—or they—are in trouble, then I want to help."
Sam sighs and draws back, his thumbs sweeping soft arcs in the hollow of her hips. "I know," he agrees, making it heartfelt. He wishes it didn't feel so much like one of their cons. (C'mon, Sammy, give 'em the puppy-dog eyes, you know it makes their panties melt.) "I know, Jess. But Dean… Some of the stuff he gets involved in… I don't want you anywhere near that. Hell, I don't want to be anywhere near it."
Jess's nose and forehead wrinkle. "Sam. You're not going to be in any kind of danger, are you?"
God, I hope not. "No," Sam says firmly. "I just… I'd feel better if you were here, away from…all that craziness. Okay?"
"Keeping the home fires burning?" she asks with a small, wry twist of her lips.
"Something like that." He darts in for a kiss and feels her mouth soften and yield. "Except, you know, more feminist and empowered and stuff. With cookies."
She bats him in the shoulder, but there's no heat to it and she tugs him close again to meld their mouths together a second time, deeper and longer than the previous kiss. Sam groans softly, wrapping both hands in her long, coarse hair. She's not really a petite girl, or delicate, but in his hands she always seems like she is and something about that turns him right the fuck on as much as it makes him worry about hurting her, breaking her.
"I'm not made of china," she said, the first time they had sex, "and I swear to God if you don't fucking stick that thing in me like it's got a purpose, I'll get someone who can."
He kind of wishes the kiss could go on forever. Scratch that; he wishes he could push her back onto the mattress and make her scream his name a couple dozen times. But. "Jess," he groans, pulling back by an act of will that he thinks should earn him a canonization. As a minor saint, if nothing else. "Jess, I gotta go. She's waiting."
"Okay." Jess's fingers hook over his, still cradling her head. Her tongue dabs at his bottom lip again, like a taste, before she sucks on it lightly, distractingly.
"Jess."
She smiles across his lips. "Okay."
She pushes on his shoulders, easing him away from her and Sam gets to his feet and starts throwing crap at random in the back, well aware his mother is perfectly capable of breaking back in and dragging him out by his ear.
Jess comes across the room to him her arms full of his toiletries—she likes to kid him about how his shampoo costs more than hers—and he tugs her in for another fast kiss. "I love you, you know," he says earnestly and this time it sounds like nothing but God's honest truth.
Jess's eyes light up and he sees some of the hurt melt out of them. "Well, yeah," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm pretty fucking wonderful."
"That you are." He holds the bag wide for her to dump the shampoo and deodorant and stuff right in. He's zipping up the bag and putting on some socks and real shoes when she goes to the dresser and then comes back again to stand on tiptoe and loop something around his neck.
He wriggles, trying to see it and she thumps his shoulder. "Hold still."
"What are you doing?" After a moment, he sees it's a simple silver chain with some kind of pendant. She tucks it under his tee and pats his chest.
"I want you to wear this," she tells him, the stern, serious expression on her face. "It's very important to me. You don't want me to go with you, and that's fine," she says as he feels his face twist into old lines of protest and guilt, "but I want you to at least take a piece of me with you, okay? I know…I know there's more to this than you're telling me, but…okay, whatever. I'll miss you."
"Miss you like crazy," Sam agrees, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off her feet. "But I'll be back before you know it."
"Better be," Jess mumbles, muffled by his neck.
"Is she gone?" Jess asks, sitting up when she sees him in the doorway. She peels one iPod ear bud out and then the other before dropping the whole shebang between her crossed legs.
Sam goes to the closet and grabs his duffle from the high shelf that only he can reach without assistance. It's not that he doesn't trust Jess, exactly, but he's gratified to see the little thread he taped over the zipper to see if the bag's been opened is intact. "She's waiting for me downstairs."
"Waiting for you?" Jess echoes. She scoots to the edge of the bed, long legs sprawling akimbo. "Is this about your…about Dean?" He hears her verbally fumble for the name and he's struck again by that double-edged guilt. "Is he really missing? Do you think something happened to him? Like…serious? Hasn't your mom called the police?"
Sam scratches the back of his neck, shuffling scenarios and lies like a bad hand of cards he's trying to make the best of. What can I say? What, that she'll believe? Believe enough to stop asking and that won't bite me in the ass later? "The police… They're not going to waste their time looking for Dean. Not… Well. We've got a kind of history, you know?" There. Better she thinks of them as some kind of brawling white trash than anything approximating the truth. He grabs a double handful of tee-shirts from the organizer. Hunting is dirty work.
"But…" Jess gestures helplessly. "It's the middle of the night! I mean, why don't you guys at least stay 'til morning, get an early start? I've only got the one class tomorrow morning; I could blow it off, come with you…"
"No." Sam turns quickly and knows his voice came out sharper and harsher than he intended. Jess looks startled. A second later, she looks hurt. Sam drops the bag with a thud and goes to her, kneeling between those long, smooth thighs. He cups her hips. "Jess, I…"
"No." She shakes her head dully, expression shuttered. "I get it," she says. "You've always been real clear that you don't want to talk about your family, keep them…private." Secret, he hears behind it. Her eyes come up and she splays one hand across his jaw, leaning in close so he can't see anything but her earnest, clear eyes. "But baby… I love you. I love…whoever you are. And that means your family too."
"I know," he says, wretched and hides his face on her shoulder.
Jess's fingers twine through his hair, short nails scraping lightly across his scalp and sending shudders through him. "And if you—or they—are in trouble, then I want to help."
Sam sighs and draws back, his thumbs sweeping soft arcs in the hollow of her hips. "I know," he agrees, making it heartfelt. He wishes it didn't feel so much like one of their cons. (C'mon, Sammy, give 'em the puppy-dog eyes, you know it makes their panties melt.) "I know, Jess. But Dean… Some of the stuff he gets involved in… I don't want you anywhere near that. Hell, I don't want to be anywhere near it."
Jess's nose and forehead wrinkle. "Sam. You're not going to be in any kind of danger, are you?"
God, I hope not. "No," Sam says firmly. "I just… I'd feel better if you were here, away from…all that craziness. Okay?"
"Keeping the home fires burning?" she asks with a small, wry twist of her lips.
"Something like that." He darts in for a kiss and feels her mouth soften and yield. "Except, you know, more feminist and empowered and stuff. With cookies."
She bats him in the shoulder, but there's no heat to it and she tugs him close again to meld their mouths together a second time, deeper and longer than the previous kiss. Sam groans softly, wrapping both hands in her long, coarse hair. She's not really a petite girl, or delicate, but in his hands she always seems like she is and something about that turns him right the fuck on as much as it makes him worry about hurting her, breaking her.
"I'm not made of china," she said, the first time they had sex, "and I swear to God if you don't fucking stick that thing in me like it's got a purpose, I'll get someone who can."
He kind of wishes the kiss could go on forever. Scratch that; he wishes he could push her back onto the mattress and make her scream his name a couple dozen times. But. "Jess," he groans, pulling back by an act of will that he thinks should earn him a canonization. As a minor saint, if nothing else. "Jess, I gotta go. She's waiting."
"Okay." Jess's fingers hook over his, still cradling her head. Her tongue dabs at his bottom lip again, like a taste, before she sucks on it lightly, distractingly.
"Jess."
She smiles across his lips. "Okay."
She pushes on his shoulders, easing him away from her and Sam gets to his feet and starts throwing crap at random in the back, well aware his mother is perfectly capable of breaking back in and dragging him out by his ear.
Jess comes across the room to him her arms full of his toiletries—she likes to kid him about how his shampoo costs more than hers—and he tugs her in for another fast kiss. "I love you, you know," he says earnestly and this time it sounds like nothing but God's honest truth.
Jess's eyes light up and he sees some of the hurt melt out of them. "Well, yeah," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm pretty fucking wonderful."
"That you are." He holds the bag wide for her to dump the shampoo and deodorant and stuff right in. He's zipping up the bag and putting on some socks and real shoes when she goes to the dresser and then comes back again to stand on tiptoe and loop something around his neck.
He wriggles, trying to see it and she thumps his shoulder. "Hold still."
"What are you doing?" After a moment, he sees it's a simple silver chain with some kind of pendant. She tucks it under his tee and pats his chest.
"I want you to wear this," she tells him, the stern, serious expression on her face. "It's very important to me. You don't want me to go with you, and that's fine," she says as he feels his face twist into old lines of protest and guilt, "but I want you to at least take a piece of me with you, okay? I know…I know there's more to this than you're telling me, but…okay, whatever. I'll miss you."
"Miss you like crazy," Sam agrees, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off her feet. "But I'll be back before you know it."
"Better be," Jess mumbles, muffled by his neck.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-03 01:24 am (UTC)That's just...so ironically...Creepy.
"I'm not made of china," she said, the first time they had sex, "and I swear to God if you don't fucking stick that thing in me like it's got a purpose, I'll get someone who can."
You and Mona are the only ones that can make me LIKE Jess. Ever.
Jess's eyes light up and he sees some of the hurt melt out of them. "Well, yeah," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm pretty fucking wonderful."
That's SUCH a Dean statement. HEEE
no subject
Date: 2006-11-03 08:20 am (UTC)The REALLY creepy part was that I didn't REALIZE the ironical part until I was typing it up from my handwritten notes. And then it was just too perfect not to leave in.
You and Mona are the only ones that can make me LIKE Jess. Ever.
I'll take that for the win!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-06 03:37 am (UTC)OMG, and the fire references. Broken.
*rolls around in it like a pig in muck*