𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 || 𝘥. 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝟎𝟎𝟔 ⌖ flowers for the dead

"If you want," he began softly, "You can, uh.... you can take some food from the pantry. I noticed you weren't so happy with his diet choices, but he's not gonna change it for you."

"Let me guess — that's how John does it."

"Nah, I think Dean just really likes burgers," Sam chuckled, opening the apartment door.

Fitz meandered in, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked at the living room. Jessica had cleaned up after her scuffle with Dean two days ago. The couch pillows were fluffed, the throw blanket folded neatly over the front, window closed, coffee table refurbished with new books from the library. Like they'd never been there.

Fitz's voice surprised him, a murmur barely louder than her breath. "I can keep him safe, you know." Sam turned to look at her, and she glanced up at him. "Not that he needs it, right, but..." Her eyes fell to Jessica's jacket, clutched in her hand. "I'm sorry. It sounds patronizing, doesn't it? I don't... I just don't wanna ask you to do something for my sibling that I couldn't do for your own. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," Sam said, glancing down the hallway before turning his focus back to Fitz. "Thank you."

Fitz shook her head. "Thank me when we find John. Wherever your old man's at."

Sam's brows bobbed in confirmation, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So do we... surprise her?"

"God, no," Fitz mumbled, her eyes going wide. "Last time I tried to surprise her, she hit me with a biology textbook. Broke my nose." She cupped her mouth and called, "Jess, we're back!"

No response came, and Fitz tilted her head and began to walk down the darkened hall. She turned back to Sam, and he shrugged. "She might be out. Or asleep." He pointed through the kitchen doorway. "There's some jerky just right of the fridge. Teriyaki-flavored."

"Oh, she hates that stuff," Fitz said with a judicious nod, before stepping in and disappearing around the corner.

Sam continued to the room, pushing the door open and following the silver moonlight cutting a path to his bed.

As he crossed the threshold into the bedroom, he felt exhaustion settle in his bones. The bed was made, military-style, with the corners folded neat and tucked in. Just the way he'd taught her. The tranquil silence invited him in, a strangely warm breeze drifting through the open windows, ruffling the curtains.

His bag slipped from his shoulder, hitting the hardwood floor with a clunk. Behind the bed, the bathroom light was on, pale yellow peeking through the door frame. He could hear the shower running, and for a moment, he considered joining her. A faint grin tugged at his face as he decided against it, unsure how he'd explain the bloody holes in his chest.

Yeah, uh.... one of Dad's hunting buddies shot me five times in the chest with airsoft rounds. No, it won't scar, Jess. No, I won't make a constellation tattoo out of it.

Tiredness tugged him down and he collapsed on the bed, supine, arms spread and eyes closed before he hit the mattress. Smiling. Back to normal, now and forevermore. A sigh escaped him, taking all the stress and fear and anger and paranoia with it. Things were alri—

Drip.

Sam flinched involuntarily at the sensation, and for a split second, he thought maybe Jessica had snuck from the shower and was looming over him, warm water falling from her hair. He could picture her goofy smile, her eyes bright and full of light, ready to surprise him with a tackle and an onslaught of kisses.

Drip-drip.

He heard footsteps from the hallway, followed by Fitz's voice. "Hey, Sam, sorry to bother, I just wanted to thank you aga—"