(no subject)
Title: The Thread That Binds Us
Pairing(s): Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~500
aprofessorstale on tumblr posted "Is there a fic where Jess is a ghost and posses dean and just like makes out with sam with no explanation" and then this happened
Jess doesn’t know what’s going on- last thing she remembers is the fire, all around her, and Sam screaming at her, but now, everything is cold.
Sam is gone. Their apartment is empty, and Sam is somewhere else, but she can feel him, like there’s a string attached to her heart and it’s tugging ever so lightly, pulling her towards Sam, her Sam.
There’s a man in front of her. He looks like any other college co-ed, except he offers her a choice.
It’s a no-brainer, really.
-
Finding Sam, as it turned out, was easy. Being around him was the hard part.
She has to sit and watch the man that she’s so obviously in love with suffer, day after day, wallowing in guilt and pain and she can’t do anything. Some days she screams at him, shouting and shouting and shouting, but her voice never gives out. She doesn’t have muscles to get sore, so she can scream and cry and throw herself around for as long as she wants to. Some days she does just that. Some days she sits by him, running her fingers through his hair. If she pretends hard enough, she can almost feel the silky smoothness against her skin. One night, when Sam’s fast asleep, thankfully sleeping without tossing and turning the way he has been, a lock of his hair falls across his face. Jess reaches out without thinking to brush it back, and-
It works. She tucks the strand behind his ear, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s done until Sam grumbles sleepily and shifts towards her palm.
She starts practicing after that.
Little things- following them around has given way to no delusions about a happy reunion, were Sam to discover her presence- just a light switch here, a popped-open suitcase there. It builds up. It gets easier and easier, and she watches Sam, always, nudging him out of a ghoul’s way, or making noises to distract the what-the-hell-that-freak-was when it sneaks up behind him. She watches out for him, because he’s not watching out for himself.
She misses him, so much.
And he says that he misses her.
She slips into girls’ skin, sometimes. It makes her shiver with disgust and regret afterwards, but at the time, it always feels so right. She flirts with Sam, ignoring Dean and ignoring Dean’s humorously confused and hurt looks after she ignores him. The petite brunette at the diner, the tall, lanky redhead, the shorter, generously curvy one with a wavy bob dyed neon orange. Sam doesn’t seem to notice her attempts.
She’s sure it was easier the first time around. Despite the way it makes her shiver after every possession, that feeling never quite drowns out the low thrum of want that she gets whenever she looks at Sam. Her Sam. They were in love. They still are, somehow. Surely, she gets a free pass.
She gets more and more desperate, wanting just to feel Sam’s lips against hers one time, just once, because she’s forgotten what he tastes like, what he feels like pressed against her. She loves him. She can’t lose him. Not now. She tries on people like shoes, slipping them on, walking up and down the aisle (or, in this case, Sam), prying at his edges, desperate to get in.
Sam is remarkably (and disappointingly) celibate. It’s a little ironic, that he’s denying Jess because he wants to be faithful to her. She’s not really laughing.
The bodies, the suits, they all blur together, one shapeless mass of Didn’t Works until, suddenly- there.
She has him. Sam’s jawline, held in her hands, the smell of Sam and Sam’s aftershave, Sam’s lips, sliding against hers. Jess surges forward and laughs.
“Finally,” she whispers. “Missed you, Sam.”
Sam kisses back with an intensity that Jess had forgotten he possessed. He’s saying something, in between kisses, breathless enough that Jess can’t quite make it out, but he keeps saying it. Jess grips his hair, licks into his mouth, pulls away and attacks the sensitive spot where Sam’s neck meets his collarbone.
“Shit, oh God- Dean,” He groans, and Jess freezes. She steps back, out of the body, out of, fuck, out of Dean’s body.
She turns and leaves the room, but she can’t get farther than the hallway. She’s tied to Sam. Her body is already ashes, and until Sam lies in the ground- salt of the earth- she can’t leave.
If she pretends really hard, she can almost block out the sounds coming from inside the room.
Pairing(s): Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~500
aprofessorstale on tumblr posted "Is there a fic where Jess is a ghost and posses dean and just like makes out with sam with no explanation" and then this happened
Jess doesn’t know what’s going on- last thing she remembers is the fire, all around her, and Sam screaming at her, but now, everything is cold.
Sam is gone. Their apartment is empty, and Sam is somewhere else, but she can feel him, like there’s a string attached to her heart and it’s tugging ever so lightly, pulling her towards Sam, her Sam.
There’s a man in front of her. He looks like any other college co-ed, except he offers her a choice.
It’s a no-brainer, really.
-
Finding Sam, as it turned out, was easy. Being around him was the hard part.
She has to sit and watch the man that she’s so obviously in love with suffer, day after day, wallowing in guilt and pain and she can’t do anything. Some days she screams at him, shouting and shouting and shouting, but her voice never gives out. She doesn’t have muscles to get sore, so she can scream and cry and throw herself around for as long as she wants to. Some days she does just that. Some days she sits by him, running her fingers through his hair. If she pretends hard enough, she can almost feel the silky smoothness against her skin. One night, when Sam’s fast asleep, thankfully sleeping without tossing and turning the way he has been, a lock of his hair falls across his face. Jess reaches out without thinking to brush it back, and-
It works. She tucks the strand behind his ear, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s done until Sam grumbles sleepily and shifts towards her palm.
She starts practicing after that.
Little things- following them around has given way to no delusions about a happy reunion, were Sam to discover her presence- just a light switch here, a popped-open suitcase there. It builds up. It gets easier and easier, and she watches Sam, always, nudging him out of a ghoul’s way, or making noises to distract the what-the-hell-that-freak-was when it sneaks up behind him. She watches out for him, because he’s not watching out for himself.
She misses him, so much.
And he says that he misses her.
She slips into girls’ skin, sometimes. It makes her shiver with disgust and regret afterwards, but at the time, it always feels so right. She flirts with Sam, ignoring Dean and ignoring Dean’s humorously confused and hurt looks after she ignores him. The petite brunette at the diner, the tall, lanky redhead, the shorter, generously curvy one with a wavy bob dyed neon orange. Sam doesn’t seem to notice her attempts.
She’s sure it was easier the first time around. Despite the way it makes her shiver after every possession, that feeling never quite drowns out the low thrum of want that she gets whenever she looks at Sam. Her Sam. They were in love. They still are, somehow. Surely, she gets a free pass.
She gets more and more desperate, wanting just to feel Sam’s lips against hers one time, just once, because she’s forgotten what he tastes like, what he feels like pressed against her. She loves him. She can’t lose him. Not now. She tries on people like shoes, slipping them on, walking up and down the aisle (or, in this case, Sam), prying at his edges, desperate to get in.
Sam is remarkably (and disappointingly) celibate. It’s a little ironic, that he’s denying Jess because he wants to be faithful to her. She’s not really laughing.
The bodies, the suits, they all blur together, one shapeless mass of Didn’t Works until, suddenly- there.
She has him. Sam’s jawline, held in her hands, the smell of Sam and Sam’s aftershave, Sam’s lips, sliding against hers. Jess surges forward and laughs.
“Finally,” she whispers. “Missed you, Sam.”
Sam kisses back with an intensity that Jess had forgotten he possessed. He’s saying something, in between kisses, breathless enough that Jess can’t quite make it out, but he keeps saying it. Jess grips his hair, licks into his mouth, pulls away and attacks the sensitive spot where Sam’s neck meets his collarbone.
“Shit, oh God- Dean,” He groans, and Jess freezes. She steps back, out of the body, out of, fuck, out of Dean’s body.
She turns and leaves the room, but she can’t get farther than the hallway. She’s tied to Sam. Her body is already ashes, and until Sam lies in the ground- salt of the earth- she can’t leave.
If she pretends really hard, she can almost block out the sounds coming from inside the room.