Author's Note: I promised myself that I was done writing Supernatural fanfiction for a bit and then I heard "Come on get higher" by Matt Nathanson and I couldn't resist writing this. The lyrics in this story are from that song so I recommended that you give it a listen! Anyways, this is set in the middle of season 1 and as I am still new at writing for this show, forgive me if anyone seems out of characters. Please enjoy!

I miss the sound of your voice

And I miss the rush of your skin

And I miss the still of the silence

As you breathe out and I breathe in

I miss the sound of your voice

Loudest thing in my head

And I ache to remember

All the violent, sweet

Perfect words that you said

It's been six months since Jessica died.

To be more exact, it's been 182 days, 4,392 hours, and 15,778,463 seconds since Sam Winchester walked back into his apartment that he shared with his girlfriend and found her bleeding on the ceiling. Any hope of saving her disappeared in the same flames that engulfed that same apartment where not some two weeks before, she had painted the walls a bright white in the hopes of making it more "theirs". The same apartment where he had planned on proposing to her during a romantic candlelight dinner. The same apartment where they had eaten dinner together, cried together, studied together, and made memories together.

Now, it was all ashes.

Just like her.

Six months is a long time to some people—half a year. People change—heal, move on—but not Sam. Jessica's blood was on his hands. He had seen her death play out in his head so many times, that he could've prevented it. He should've done something—anything! Given his family's history of involvement in the paranormal world, Sam should've known that something was wrong. He should've called Dean and asked him for his assistance. Hell, he should've called his dad and begged and pleaded for him to help him!

But Sam hadn't done any of these things. He had chalked the constant premonitions up as stress-induced nightmares. Nothing to fear, nothing to worry about. Nightmares couldn't hurt Jessica, he had rationalized. She would be all right in the end because nightmares were just dreams and dreams didn't come true.

Six months ago, he had believed that.

Now, he knew better. His "nightmares" had been his visions and with that newfound information, the guilt suddenly had been escalated from minor to major, almost as if someone had turned up a knob within him. The nightmares still continued but this time when he woke up, Jessica wasn't there to smile at him and assure him that she was okay. She wasn't there to tell him in her melodic voice that she wasn't going anywhere. Now when Sam woke up, he was immediately assailed by the guilt and the memories and the sound of her voice.

Sam, you worry too much. Everything's going to be all right.

It's just your test tomorrow, Sam. As soon as that's over, the nightmares will stop, you'll see.

You know I love you, right? Then, trust me when I tell you that I'm not going anywhere.

It's just a dream, Sam. Dreams don't come true.

"Stop." Sam growled at her voice as he bolted up from the remnants of his latest nightmare. It was four in the morning and Dean was sawing logs in the bed across from him. Sam sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, much like he did when he was trying to cope with the after effects of a vision. Her voice faded from his mind and for a blissful second, there was silence in his mind.

Happy Anniversary, Sam! I got you this—figured you'd need it.

He could still picture her perfectly as she handed him the faded sweatshirt that now always travelled with him, but was never worn by him. Her eyes had sparkled as the light had caught her eyes in the most perfect angle. Her golden hair appeared almost halo-like as it waved behind her. Her smile had filled him with such happiness that when he pulled her to him, he had never wanted to let go.

Let go, Sam. I'm going to be late for class!

Laughter filled his mind—the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He could still feel her hand in his as she playfully tried to pull her hand away from him. If he kept his eyes closed, he could almost relieve that moment and be back with her.

But, it wasn't real. He would never be with Jess again and that killed him inside.

Sam had to get out of this room. He had to just move and do something—anything—in the hopes that he could get away from her, even for just one minute. Without bothering to throw on a jacket over his t-shirt, Sam walked out into the freezing Nebraska air. He was suddenly thankful that he had slept in his clothes. At least the hunt from hell last night came in handy. Dean was passed out and wouldn't notice if Sam stepped out for a half an hour. He knew that he should've probably written a note to his sleeping brother, but Sam figured that he would be back soon enough. Dean would never even know if he was gone.

The hunt had been a simple one—typical vengeful ghost, simple salt and burn—but the spirit had been extremely cautious about when it revealed itself hence the extremely late night. Not that Sam minded, he liked the distractions that hunts gave him. It was the only time where Jessica's voice didn't plague him and it was the only time that he felt freed from the burden of guilt that was placed on his shoulders.

Oh, Sam, don't feel guilty! It's okay! I forgot about my birthday too. Don't worry about it. We'll celebrate tomorrow.

"Dammit," Sam hissed as another wave of guilt punched him in the gut. "Please stop." Today was going to be a rough day and Sam had known that fact for a while now. Today marked six months since Jessica had perished, since Sam had joined back up with his brother and resumed his old lifestyle of hunting things. Six months since the love of his life had died because of a demon that was had plans for Sam.

He wondered if Dean knew what today was. His big brother was observant and had called Sam out on his guilt over Jessica before, but Sam had gotten better in hiding it now. Dean no longer was aware that the nightmares still plagued him in his sleep nor did he know the pain that he felt every single day. A few witty remarks, a well placed smile and Dean was placated. Sam knew that deceiving his brother probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but if Dean what was going on, his brother wouldn't leave him alone and frankly, Sam wasn't sure if he could handle another voice bothering him.

Six months . . . so much had changed. The life had Sam envisioned had literally gone up in smoke and now, Sam wasn't sure what he was going to do anymore. Should he go back to school after they killed this demon? Should he stay with Dean and continuing following in their father's footsteps—that certainly would make John happy.

The cold was starting to make him shiver but Sam didn't really care. The numbness he felt from the icy wind came almost as a relief after feeling so much pain. Snow danced around him before finally falling gracefully onto the concrete. Coming in contract with his warm skin, the snow melted and dripped off of his arms. Sam kept walking, kept moving, because he knew if he stopped, Jess' voice would be back again, whispering in his ear. He couldn't deal with this—not today, not now. He just wanted everything to stop—the guilt, the pain, the nightmares, and the tears. He knew very well that he should be dead and not her. He didn't need to be reminded of it every other second.

Sam's been out longer than a half an hour. He was not sure how long, but he was walking along the dirt road that he and Dean sped on last night. The numbness had encompassed him completely and he's so tired that the idea of lying in the snow and sleeping doesn't bother him—which, on some level, Sam admits is a dangerous proposition. Sam stopped and had to think about how to turn around before he actually does—another sign that he's been out here far too long—and when he begins to finally move, his legs felt like lead. His breathing was shallow and his head hurt.

He didn't even realize he had fallen into a pile of snow until it was too late.

Blackness encompassed him.


Sam? Honey, you need to get up.

"No." Sam mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Come on, Sam. Wake up, okay? We both have to go to class!

He ignored her.

Sammy? Come on, open your eyes for me. Please, Sammy.

His eyes bolted open with the realization that it wasn't Jessica's voice calling to him anymore. Sam's eyes scanned the area and he realized that he's back in the motel room, under a massive pile of blankets. Dean stood above him, eyes anxiously scanning Sam's for any signs of permanent damage.

"Dean?" His name seemed to relax Dean as he slumped into the chair that he had dragged from the table.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied. "How do you feel?" Sam sat up rubbed his temples and tried to remember what had happened. He had been out walking and then what?

"M'okay," Sam mumbled, trying to wake up. "What happened?"

"You passed out, Sam," Dean began, voice trembling with either fear or anger—Sam's not really sure. "You went out without even leaving me a fucking note and then I find you passed out in the snow! What the hell were you thinking going outside in this weather?"

"Dean—" His brother stood up and paced the room, a clear sign he was beyond frustrated.

"I mean, how stupid are you, Sam?" Sam looked at the ground, avoiding his big brother's gaze. "You almost died! When I found you, you weren't responsive and you felt like ice! Seriously Sam, I'm about ready to kill you myself!"

"I had to get out." It came out like a small confession given by a small child that had been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Dean froze mid-pace.

"What?"

"Her voice," Sam mumbled. "I keep hearing her voice." Dean kneeled down and met Sam's gaze, his eyes suddenly devoid of all the fury they had held earlier.

"Who's voice, Sammy?" Sam hesitated before he replied.

"Jessica's voice."

A light seemed to go off in Dean's head and realization dawned in his eyes. He backed away from Sam and plopped into the chair and then ran a hand through his hair. Sam wondered if he should say something, but decided against it as he had already caused Dean enough trouble for one day.

"Shit, Sam," Dean muttered. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Sam echoed, surprise coloring his tone. "For what?"

"It's been six months," Dean explained. "I should've known that today was going to be hard for you—"

"Dean, it's not your fault." Sam interjected. "Jessica . . . you didn't even know her. You didn't cause her death."

"And you did?" Dean challenged. "Sam, you didn't kill her—that fucking demon did!"

"But I saw it before!" Sam shouted. "I had visions of her death and I should've called you or tried to stop it or begged Dad to help or done some research myself or told Jessica or broken up with her or I should've left Stanford because maybe the demon would've just killed me and not her—"

"Sammy," Dean whispered as he placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "Breathe." Sam took a breath in and followed Dean's example as he let out a slow, steady breath.

"It's my fault," Sam told his brother. "She's dead because of me and I deserve this pain. Dean, I deserve hearing her voice and the nightmares and everything!" The tears flowed without Sam even realizing it. The feeling of loss overwhelmed him and Sam had to let it out because he was tired of being strong, of pretending everything was all right when it wasn't. "People die because of me, Dean. It's not right! Jessica could've lived a long life if she hadn't met me!"

"Sam, stop." Dean ordered.

"And I should be dead. I should be the one that was burned to ashes that night, not Jess."

"I said stop!" Dean bellowed, his voice silencing Sam's rants. "Sam, listen to me. You can't change what's happened in the past—you just gotta keep moving forward. You need to forgive yourself for Jessica's death."

"I can't!" Sam protested.

"You have to!" Dean growled. "Because this guilt is killing you, Sammy. It almost got you killed today—you almost died! If I hadn't found you, you'd still be in that snow drift freezing to death."

"But Dean—" Dean held up his hand for silence.

"I mean it, Sammy," Dean told him in his I'm-in-charge-and-not-you tone. "You need to move on because I can't lose you, okay? You may be okay with dying, but I am not letting you, understand?" The sheer emotion that Dean conveyed in that one sentence filled Sam with a sense of belonging that he hadn't felt since six months ago. "Now, get some rest." Dean didn't move from his spot in the chair and Sam knew that he had really scared Dean today—enough that his brother felt the need to watch over him while he slept.

"I'm sorry." Sam mumbled, sleep tugging at his senses.

"I know, Sammy. Go to sleep." Dean's voice was a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

"Forgive me?" Sam begged, needing to hear Dean's response before letting sleep encompassed him.

"Of course," Dean replied automatically. "But you have to forgive yourself."

Sam knew this—has known this for a long time. He just didn't think he deserved to be forgiven. But deep down, he knew Dean was right. He hadn't know anything about his visions six months ago. He couldn't have done anything differently. When it all boils down to it, he couldn't have saved Jessica.

A picture filled his mind. Jessica in a long white gown, blonde hair glowing around her like a halo. Her eyes met his and she wore a sad smile on her face. He tried to call out to her, but nothing came out. Instead, she walked over to him and pulled him into a hug.

I forgive you, Sam.

It's all he needed to hear.

Author's Note: What did you think? Please review! I thought this turned out really well!