Time Passes - SN fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Time Passes
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: not my characters.  lyrics excerpted from "Every Mile a Memory" by Dierks Bentley.  just for fun.
Warnings: spoilers for pilot
Pairings: Sam/Jessica
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: little over a thousand
Point of view: third

Funny how, no matter where I run,
'round every bend I only see
just how far I haven't come. 

-

Sam looks over his shoulder every now and then, expecting to see her. In his mind, he holds an image, that first time he ever laid eyes on her. She was beautiful then and he knows she’d be beautiful now.

They’d met in a bookstore. She’d been chatting with some of her friends, standing in the way of the shelf he needed to get to, so he just reached over them. He knew it wasn’t keeping a low profile, knew it wasn’t sticking to the background like he’d planned on, but he was tired and wanted to get back to his dorm before he passed out on his feet.

She was the tallest in the group and as he pulled back, book in hand, she met his eyes. He nodded and turned, headed for the checkout. He listened as the rest of the girls giggled, as someone said something about being rude. He was too tired to care, too tired for anything but going ho—to the dorm and collapsing face-first onto his bed.

He never expected to see her again. So when he nearly ran into her on campus, late for class, he gave a double-take. She grinned and hurried off in the opposite direction. He shook his head and hauled ass to class.

The third time’s the charm, he supposes, thinking back. Third time they ran into each other was when they finally talked. If it’d been left up to him, they wouldn’t have; but she caught his eye in the cafeteria and he ducked his head as she marched over. She set her lunch down and held out a hand, said, “I’m Jessica Moore.”

There was nothing for him to do but take her hand and respond with, “Sam Winchester.”

She gracefully plopped herself into the chair across from him. She carried that first conversation, jumping from subject to subject, hardly giving him time to reply. He listened to her voice, watched her hand gestures, her eyes, how animated her entire body was.

When he finished his lunch, she’d barely taken a bite of hers. She looked from his tray to hers and said, “Oh.”

He smiled, then laughed, and stood. “I gotta get to class, Ms. Moore,” he told her, still smiling. “I’m guessing we’ll see each other again.”

She smiled up at him, eyes shining. “I’m guessing so, too, Mr. Winchester.”

And they did. Their second conversation, Sam hogged the discussion, ranting about his history teacher and how the man wouldn’t know a fact if it spit in his eye and set his ass on fire. Jessica spent the whole time hysterical, laughing at his hyperbole.

After he finally got it all out his system and paused to take a breath, she asked, “You wanna go to dinner with me Saturday night?”

He glanced over, met her eyes. “I thought the guy is supposed to invite the girl out?”

“Well, yeah,” she laughed. “If you live in the seventeenth century.”

“Actually,” he said, “there wasn’t much dating back then.”

She looked at him and he ducked his head. “Yeah,” he answered softly. “I’d love to have dinner with you on Saturday.”

It was easy after that. They found a way to both talk at the same time, to listen and hear, to sit in silence. He would look up after sitting down to talk with her and realize hours had passed.

The months flew by. He aced all of his courses(even history) and watched the students pack for their homeward trips sadly. He was sitting in his empty dorm room when Jessica stopped by. She walked over and sank down beside him on the bed.

“So,” she began softly, running her fingers through his hair. He tilted his head toward her. “I told my little sister about this guy I’ve been seeing. She told my mom, who then told my dad.”

Sam had no idea where she could possibly be heading.

“My dad asked my mom for more details, and my mom called in my little sister.” Jessica leaned forward and kissed his lips gently, trailing her fingers along his jaw. “And my sister told my parents that she doesn’t think I’ve ever liked a guy so much. So now Dad wants to meet this guy, find out if he’s worthy. Caroline also told them that she doesn’t think he’d have the money to travel half-way across the country because of Daddy’s whim.”

“Jessica,” he started, but she held her fingers to his lips.

“I want you to come home with me, Sam. To meet my family, Caroline and Jake and my parents. They’ll love you.” She let her hand fall and kissed his lips again. “Like I love you,” she murmured into his mouth.

They spent a month with her family. When they went back to Stanford, they moved in together, into an apartment a little ways from campus.

She asked about his family; of course she did. He let silence speak for him, and the obvious deflectors from the subject. He mentioned Dean a few times, in the course of discussions about music and movies. He made allusions to his father and Dean, which had been more responsible for him as a child and adolescent; he spoke about his mother dying and his father not wanting him to leave for college.

But so much went unsaid. He knew what she thought and he let her keep thinking it. He felt guilty sometimes for all the half-truths, twisted truths, and lies of omission, but saying anything would have been worse—

Or so he thought. He knows better now. He sits shotgun in his brother’s Impala, and he knows with everything in him that he should have told her.

It’s been a year and her killer’s trail grows colder by the day. It’s been a year and he can still hear her voice, smell her scent on the breeze, feel her touch, gentle fingers trailing across his face, over his lips. He can see her everywhere he turns.

Dean’s twenty-seven now and they didn’t even celebrate his birthday. Sam turned twenty-three half a year ago and the day passed without acknowledgment. Sam feels like he’s dead but he can’t find the words to express himself and he knows Dean’s trying his best.

Dean always tries his best. Always has, always will. Sam could set his clock by it, bet his life on it. He knows that Dean doesn’t know how to do any different, how to be any other way. He takes advantage of that, always has.

Sometimes, Sam misses her so much it burns. It aches and throbs deep inside him. He just wants to see her, to hold her, to kiss her hair and touch her skin, to hear her say his name.

And he looks over his shoulder, every now and again, expecting to see her. And every time he doesn’t, he’s almost surprised that it hurts.

Comments

[iamstealthyone.livejournal.com]

Nicely done. I really liked your take on how Sam and Jess met and started dating. I love that she asked him out.

And the ending makes me so sad for poor Sam. *hugs him*

Favorite lines:

He was too tired to care, too tired for anything but going ho—to the dorm

I love this, the little slip and correction.

“I thought the guy is supposed to invite the girl out?”

“Well, yeah,” she laughed. “If you live in the seventeenth century.”

“Actually,” he said, “there wasn’t much dating back then.”

Of course Sam would know that. *snickers*

And he looks over his shoulder, every now and again, expecting to see her. And every time he doesn’t, he’s almost surprised that it hurts.

Oh, Sam.

[tigriswolf]

I really need a Sam icon. Poor boy.

Thank you for reading!