Title: Set My Soul on Fire
Word count: 4,400
Spoilers: Pilot and episode 5.20.
Summary: Pre-series/Pilot. The last few days leading up to November 2nd 2005. Jess POV.
Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me and no infringement is intended.
You can't help the wide smile that lights up your face as you look up from your plate to find him looking at you with that expression on his face, his dark gaze locked on yours from beneath his shaggy bangs. It's that look that makes your cheeks heat up and your stomach muscles tighten involuntarily. It's the very same look that made you fall for him in the first place.
He's always looked at you like that, but lately you've been seeing something else in the expression as well, something more… intense, maybe? More serious, more loving, perhaps? Just…more. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you can't deny that you like it. That look gives you butterflies yet again as a fleeting thought flies through your mind.
Could it be that… was he maybe going to… propose?
You feel a little curl of anticipation in your stomach and you have to admit that a proposal from Sam wouldn't exactly be a complete surprise. After all, you've been dating for going on two years now, living together for just over one and graduation is only a few months away… it makes sense to start thinking about the future of your relationship.
You already know what your answer will be if—no, when—he finally pops the question. You're going to say yes. Sam Winchester is the best thing that's ever happened to you; he's sweet and loving, not to mention incredibly smart. Okay, so he can be a little secretive at times and he rarely talks about his family, which admittedly makes you unbelievably curious, but you're not going to push; you respect his privacy too much. You're confident that he'll tell you when he's ready.
"What?" he shrugs self-consciously when he realises you're staring at him.
His mouth is quirked up in a small half-smile and you just want to reach across the table, pull him close and kiss him until your knees go weak.
"Nothing," you say with a small shake of your head. "Just… I love you."
His smile widens into a grin and his eyes light up, dancing in the soft lighting of the restaurant as he replies, "I love you, too."
He flicks his hair out of his eyes again and holds your gaze until you feel yourself blushing and have to look away. He slides his hand across the table and takes yours, his long fingers stroking your flesh gently, making you shiver in response, the feel of his soft caresses taking you right back how you felt the first time you held hands, the first time you kissed, the first time you made love.
"Come on, Sam, get off," you laugh as you struggle to slot the key into the lock of your apartment door.
Sam is behind you, his front pressed up against your back and his arms wrapped around your waist. He's nuzzling your neck, his mouth pressing hot, eager kisses to your sensitive skin and you swallow, biting back a moan as you try to concentrate on the task at hand. It takes a couple more minutes, but eventually you manage to get the door open and you both stumble through, kicking off your shoes as you close the door behind you.
Sam doesn't let up on his delicious torture as you falteringly make your way inside the small apartment. He peels your jacket from your shoulders and steers you towards the couch, but then he trips and you suddenly find yourself pulled down onto it, falling into his lap as he lets out an undignified grunt. You burst out laughing; you can't help it—the surprised look on his face is priceless.
"Geez, Jess," he grumbles. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Hey!" you frown, shifting off him and sinking down on the soft couch beside him. "Are you implying that I'm fat?"
"What?" his eyes widen, hands rising in the air in surrender. "No, no, of course not, Jess. You know I would never—"
You chuckle at the expression on his face. "Chill, Sam. I was just kidding."
"Oh." He visibly relaxes and slides down into the cushions next to you.
"I had a great time tonight, Sam," you tell him. "Dinner was wonderful. Thank you."
"Hey," he shrugs. "I should be the one thanking you. You paid, remember?"
"Sam, I'm not gonna let you pay for dinner when we're celebrating your incredible LSAT score." You roll your eyes. "Besides, I was talking about the company."
"Jess, I…" His voice trails off and you look over at him when he doesn't continue.
He's got that look in his eyes again and you shift, lean up to kiss his lips softly.
"You're still coming with me to the Halloween party tomorrow night, right?" you ask, curling up beside him and resting your head against his chest.
His arm curls around your waist but you can feel the sudden tension in his body.
"You know I'm not a fan of Halloween, Jess," he hedges.
You lift your head and give him your best pout. "Please?"
He glances down at you, then quickly looks away, and you grin because you know he's not going to be able to resist this look for long. Eventually he sighs.
"Okay, fine. But I'm not wearing a costume."
"Thank you," you smile, kissing him again.
His hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you close as he deepens the kiss. You shift on the couch, kneeling on the soft cushions so you're facing him, and you let your fingers tangle in his hair. His other arm slides around your waist and pulls you into his lap. His large hands roam your back, sliding beneath the thin material of your shirt as he tugs you closer. You shudder in response when you feel his arousal pressing against you and a low moan escapes your lips.
He doesn't stop kissing you as he slides forward to the edge of the couch, urges your legs around his waist and carries you into the bedroom. You land on the bed with an indelicate 'oof', but you can't be mad with him because he's grinning down at you with an expression that makes him look like he can't believe how lucky he is. You reach for your shirt and pull it over your head, unmindful of the fact that he's staring hungrily down at you.
"Come on," you tease, tugging at his shirt now. Desire burning in your stomach, you're eager to feel him against you. "Don't get shy on me now."
He rolls his eyes with a grin. "What, I'm not allowed to appreciate the view first?"
You let out an amused snort, before grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him down on top of you, fusing your lips to his in a promise of what's to come. That's all it takes before you're both frantically fumbling and grabbing, trying to rid yourselves of the constricting clothing. His shirt finally disappears and you open your eyes, letting your gaze roam over his bare torso, running your hands over his firm muscles.
It surprised you, the first time you slept together, how buff he was. While you hadn't imagined him to be skinny as a rake or anything, you definitely weren't expecting him to actually have muscles. But he did. His body was incredible; toned and lean, but strong too. You felt quietly proud of the fact that no one else knew what was hiding beneath all those baggy jeans and hoodies he liked to drown himself in.
What confuses you though, are the scars he bears. For an intelligent, bookworm-type with a full-ride to Stanford, he certainly doesn't have the kind of body you'd expect. There's the small, round scar on his upper arm that looks suspiciously like a bullet wound and the odd, thin mark on his thigh which could very well have been made by a knife. You tried to ask him about them once, but he quickly deflected the conversation, turning it back around on you and it wasn't until after you'd told him the story of how you got that surgical scar on your knee that you realised he'd never given you an answer. You tried again a few weeks later, but when he did the same thing again, you decided that maybe there was a reason he wasn't telling you.
So you stopped asking.
He's reaching for your jeans now, deftly unzipping them and tugging them down over your hips, leaving you in just your underwear. He kneels over you, hands cupping your breasts before sliding round and unhooking your bra. His mouth lowers to your chest and your back arches as you let out a gasp, your hands flying to his sides, clinging to him tightly. The things he makes you feel…it's nothing you've ever experienced before. The love, the passion, the desire, all of it merges together, creates this overwhelming, incredible bubble of sensation inside you.
Then you're both naked, wrapped around each other. Your eyes slide closed, your face buried in his neck as he moves inside you. It's loving and tender, yet also fiery at the same time. That's another thing that surprises you about him. While he can be shy and even awkward at times, and he's usually gentle and tender with you, sometimes you get a small glimpse of something else when you're making love; something hungry, burning…something almost dangerous. You like it, it's exciting and edgy and it only makes you want him more.
It's the next evening and you've managed to persuade a reluctant Sam to join you and your friends at the Halloween party. As he previously insisted, he doesn't dress up, but you don't care; you're not gonna let Mr. Anti-Halloween spoil your costume fun. Plus, you picked this outfit out just for him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist you in a sexy nurse's outfit. See, you discovered last year that the normally straight-laced Sam Winchester has a bit of a fetish for a woman in uniform.
The party is okay, but you really want to just get Sam home and play nurse. It takes a while, what with Luis insisting on keeping the drinks flowing to celebrate Sam's recent LSAT success, but you eventually have him just where you want him… well, almost. He falls asleep in his boxers and T-shirt before you even get around to doing anything remotely nurse-like. You must have worn him out last night. With a shake of your head and a fond sweep of your hand through his mussed hair, you pull the covers up around his waist. Stripping out of the uniform, you change into the cut-off Smurfs T-shirt you've had for years and a pair of boy-shorts, before sliding into the bed beside him. He's dead to the world and you can't help but grin at how innocent he looks when he sleeps.
You awaken suddenly in the middle of the night and for a moment, you can't figure out what has pulled you out of slumber; but then you hear a crash and shoot up in bed, eyes wide and heart beating fast when you realise that Sam is no longer beside you. You hear voices coming from somewhere in the apartment, so you follow them towards the kitchen.
"Sam?" you ask sleepily, turning on the light.
He's standing in the middle of the room with another man, one who's clad in a battered-looking leather jacket and a pair of worn jeans. He looks every bit the bad-ass biker, but then he turns his head to look at you and you have to hide a sharp intake of breath at the bright-green, piercing eyes and youthful, handsome face. He is incredibly good-looking and if it wasn't for the fact that you're completely in love with Sam, you could definitely see yourself hitting on him.
"Jess, hey," says Sam, looking slightly uncomfortable as he looks back to the other guy and you wonder who exactly this man is. "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."
You feel yourself blushing as Dean gives you the once over, an appreciative gleam in his eyes, but then something clicks in your mind and you realise you know who this is.
"Wait," you say, before stepping forward and giving a smile as you point in their direction. "Your brother, Dean?"
You've heard about Dean. Not a lot, mind you, but some. Sam never talks about his family if he can help it, but one night a few months back, when you were both drunk and feeling rather loose-lipped, he spilled the beans about his older brother, Dean. His hero, he told you in a drunken haze, the one person—apart from you, of course—who meant everything to him. Although to this day, he still won't admit he told you that. He hasn't spoken of his brother since that night all those months ago, the night of your birthday.
Sam nods and Dean moves closer to you, a smirk on his face as his eyes flit down to your top and then back up to your face again.
"Oh, I love the Smurfs," he says, with a raised eyebrow and a flirty grin. "You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league."
You raise your eyebrows, feel oddly uncomfortable under his scrutiny and just a little offended at the way he's talking about his brother—your boyfriend—so you move to head for the bedroom.
"Just let me put something on."
But Dean stops you with his response. "No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously."
You turn back to face them again and watch Dean saunter back over to his brother without taking his eyes off you. You glance towards Sam to find him looking at Dean with a stony expression, his jaw set with tension, and although you're not quite sure what's going on, it's not hard to figure out that this isn't exactly a happy family reunion.
"Anyway," says Dean conversationally. "I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business." His gaze roams over you again and you shift self-consciously as he points in your direction. "But, uh, nice meeting you."
"No." Sam's tone is firm and you wonder what is going on with him as he moves over to you and slips his arm around your waist. "No, whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her."
You're about to protest, to tell them that you don't mind if they want to talk alone, but Dean speaks before you have the chance.
"Okay," he says as he turns to face you and Sam. "Um, Dad hasn't been home in a few days."
You're feeling a little lost. Sam hasn't really mentioned his father before and so you don't really know the significance of what Dean is saying.
"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift," says Sam, his tone sarcastic in a way that you almost never hear coming from him. "He'll stumble back in sooner or later."
Dean nods as if he expected that response, looks down for a moment, before raising his head with a pointed look. You try to decipher it, but come up blank.
"Dad's on a hunting trip," says Dean slowly, pointedly, as if that's supposed to mean something to Sam. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."
You look up at your boyfriend, but his expression hasn't changed. If you weren't standing right beside him, you wouldn't have noticed any reaction at all, but you can feel him tense slightly, his grip on your waist tightening just a little.
"Jess, excuse us," he says tightly, eyes still fixed on Dean. "We have to go outside."
He and Dean head out of the door, leaving you to just stare after them in bewilderment. You thought you knew Sam like the back of your hand, but apparently there are things about him, about his family he hasn't told you.
They're gone for several long minutes and you're getting kind of cold standing in the kitchen waiting for them, so you head back into the bedroom and pull on some warmer clothes. When Sam finally reappears, there's no sign of Dean, but he has a determined expression on his face as he grabs his duffle bag. You stand in the middle of the bedroom, both worried and confused, when he asks you to get a couple of things from the bathroom. You go, but when you move back into the bedroom again, you find him frantically shoving clothes into the bag.
"Wait, you're taking off?" you ask in alarm. Sam just looks up at you. "Is this about your dad? Is he all right?"
"Yeah," he says. "You know, just a little family drama."
You watch, still trying to get your head around this as he moves around the room.
"Your brother said he was on some kind of hunting trip," you say, taking a seat on the bed as you watch Sam pull a couple of shirts out of a drawer and stuff them into the bag.
"Oh, yeah, he's just deer hunting up at the cabin," says Sam and you can detect that bitter sarcasm again. "He's probably got Jim, Jack, and José along with him. I'm just going to go bring him back."
"What about the interview?"
He has a law school interview on Monday and he's been looking forward to it for weeks. You've seen the way his eyes light up every time he talks about it, so you can't understand why he would suddenly take off with his brother just a couple of days beforehand.
"I'll make the interview." He sounds determined. "This is only for a couple days."
He moves around to the other side of the bed, taking the bag with him and you stand, blocking his path.
"Sam, I mean, please," you say, trying not to sound like you're begging. "Just stop for a second. You sure you're okay?"
He laughs, although it sounds forced.
You're not sure if you believe him though.
"It's just...you won't even talk about your family," you add, finally getting out the words you've been dying to say for months. He scoffs. "And now you're taking off in the middle of the night to spend a weekend with them? And with Monday coming up, which is kind of a huge deal."
"Hey, everything's going to be okay," he tells you sincerely, giving you that look again, making your insides melt, and you forgive him. "I will be back in time, I promise."
He kisses you on the cheek, before picking up his bag and leaving the room.
"At least tell me where you're going," you call after him, although it's pretty obvious he's not gonna reply.
It's Sunday night and Sam's not back yet. He called you a couple of hours ago to say he was on his way home, but the wait seems to be taking forever. Apart from that call, you haven't spoken to him since he left with his brother, although you did leave a message on his voicemail this morning.
You're getting antsy waiting for him, so despite the fact that it's gone ten p.m. you decide to bake a batch of his favourite cookies. You write a short note and leave the warm cookies piled on a plate in the kitchen, waiting for him when he arrives home. You decide to take a shower, but before you can step under the spray, you hear a knock on the door. Thinking it's Sam, finally back home again, you slip on his favourite silk nightgown and a robe and then you open the door with a wide grin.
Except it's not Sam.
Your face falls as you come face-to-face with Brady, one of Sam's friends. Okay, so maybe he's sort of your friend too, since he did introduce you to Sam in the first place, but you're not close; there's something about him that puts you on edge. Like the way he's looking at you now, for example. Kind of a leer mixed in with a dangerous glint in his eye. You cross your arms over your chest self-consciously, wishing you'd put on some more clothes first before opening the door.
"Brady, hey," you say, trying for a pleasant smile, as you remind yourself that he's a friend and that you should be polite even though you're not in the mood for company.
"Hey, Jess," he smiles a lazy smile. "You mind if I come in?"
"Sam's not here," you inform him.
"That's okay," he shrugs, slipping past you and into the apartment. "I came to talk to you anyway."
"Really?" You raise an eyebrow.
He grins widely, stepping up to you and reaching out a finger, running it down your cheek. You shudder in revulsion. While you don't usually mind Brady, you're not going to stand for him touching you like this.
"What are you doing?" you question harshly, taking a step back.
"Aww, come on, Jess," he smirks. "We'd be good together, don't you think?"
"No, I don't."
He tilts his head, lets out a disturbing laugh.
"Yeah, you're right," he responds. "Good thing I didn't come here for that then."
You frown, alarm bells ringing in your head.
"So why are you here?"
"To kill you," he grins.
For a moment, your heart stops in your chest. You feel the warmth draining from your face.
"Oh, yeah." The grin doesn't falter. "You see, I have orders."
"O-orders?" You start taking steps backwards, trying to get away from him.
"Yep," he nods. "Orders to make little Sammy's life as miserable as possible. To get him back on the path again."
You have no idea what he's talking about, and you're not sure you want to know. You can feel yourself shaking with fear; it creeps up through your body, curls its way around your chest, making it hard to breathe.
Brady chuckles, an evil laugh that chills you to the bone.
"You really have no idea, do you? You haven't seen the signs?" He's looking at you smugly. "Haven't found the big, scary knife hidden in his sock drawer… the mean-looking gun stashed at the back of the closet?"
You feel something wash over you… a feeling of dread, of realisation, of horror.
"Haven't wondered where all those scars have come from…" he continues. "…why he's in such good shape for a nerdy college kid… why he doesn't speak to his family?"
Brady stops for a moment, purses his lips as he looks at you thoughtfully.
"Sammy-boy's not what he seems. He's evil… some of the things he's done, things he's killed? It would turn your stomach." He smirks. "But he's special, he's our little soldier. We need him on board. Unfortunately he won't come, not with you around."
You're scared now, no, you're terrified.
You don't know what's happening, what's got into Brady, but you do know that you're out of your depth here. You try to weigh up your options, but Brady is advancing on you now, backing you into the bedroom… there's nowhere to go. No escape. He's backing you against the wall, an unexplainable force pressing you up against it. You feel yourself being tugged upward, up the wall and you try to cry out, to scream for help, but nothing comes out but a garbled moan.
You hear the sound of a key in the lock and you're hit with an almost overwhelming sense of relief.
Sam's back, he'll help you.
Brady hears it too, hears Sam call out for you, but he just grins wickedly and then his eyes turn black. Your eyes widen in shock, unable to figure out, to believe what's happening. All you know is that you're rising higher and higher up the wall until you're on the ceiling.
Pinned there by some powerful, unknown force.
You hear Sam heading for the bedroom and you try again to scream, but your voice is gone. Brady winks at you, flicking a hand in your direction, before disappearing through the window. Your eyes are fixed on Sam, who's eating one of your freshly-baked cookies as he enters the bedroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed, giving a contented sigh and then flops down onto his back, closing his eyes and resting his hands behind his head. You can do nothing but stare down at him in horror as you feel the flesh of your stomach being torn apart, the pain unbearable. But you can't make a sound.
Sam, you try to beg, try to will him to look at you. Help me.
You see blood starting to drip from your stomach, a single droplet tumbling through the air and landing on his forehead.
Please, Sam, open your eyes.
He twitches, but doesn't look up. Then another drop falls and finally he sees you. His eyes go wide, mouth falling open in shock as he gasps, propping himself up on his elbows.
"No!" he shouts. "Jess!"
You can't speak, can't do anything but stare down at him, as he curls to his side and covers his face, shielding it as you feel the heat of the flames engulfing you.
"No! No!" screams Sam as Dean bursts through the door and tugs him off the bed, away from you. "Jess! Jess! No!"
As you burn, your mind runs through everything that Brady said to you earlier, everything that you've noticed about Sam over the last two years, the scars, the aforementioned knife that you did in fact stumble across once, but tried to forget, the occasional bouts of anger he displays when some guy gives you unwanted attention.
He said Sam was evil, that he was a killer, but you know better than that. You've seen what an incredible, amazing person Sam Winchester is. You know he's not evil; he's got a heart of gold. And the look in his eyes as he stares up at you on the ceiling only confirms that. It's a look of love, of pain, of despair, of helplessness.
He's a good person. He is. You believe that with everything you have.
You love him and that's all that matters to you.
I'm so sorry, Sam.
Hope you enjoyed :). As always, comments/feedback are greatly appreciated.