Fic: The Edge of the Ocean (Supernatural)
Apr. 26th, 2006 02:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosTitle: The Edge of The Ocean
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,074 words
Pairing/Characters: Jess
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: She doesn't know why the world looks empty of people, why everybody just got up and walked away.
*****
The Edge of the Ocean
*****
1.
The apartment has no scars when Jess first sees it, the bed perfectly made and an empty spot on the far side of the bed where Sam's long body should be taking up far too much space and most of the covers. Notes from class and their mingled textbooks pile in scattered stacks on the desk, and the houseplants look a bit brown on the edges, silently begging for water. She can't see the faces in most of the photos on the walls, black foggy smudges where Rebecca and Zach and Dave and Tom should be next to the bright defined images of her and Sam, but maybe that's just the devouring lack of light in the room.
The only difference is the cold, really, that intense icy chill that settles in her bones and freezes her inside like her skeleton's suddenly made from it. She sits up on the bed, rubbing at her bare arms and knowing it won't help.
There should be frost, she thinks, and draws a fingertip over the surface of the nightstand in a loopy J.
A weight settles on the bed next to her, warm and cold all at once, and Jess twists her nightgown in her hands to keep from leaning into the woman next to her.
"Can I see him?" she asks.
The other woman's lips form a familiar smile Jess can't bring herself to believe in. "Soon," she says.
Her fingers comb absently through Jess' curls, comforting Jess even though she can swear the air is heavy with the scent of burning hair.
2.
Sometimes she sees the other woman, and sometimes she doesn't, and sometimes she knows the other woman, and sometimes she doesn't. Jess doesn't know how that works, really. She doesn't know why the world looks empty of people, why everybody just got up and walked away. She doesn't know why the world's so silent, why the sound has gone from it just like the people and animals, why there's no breeze unless someone's near.
She doesn't know why the only someone she can ever see is Sam.
Sam's not at school, not home where he should be. He's in a rundown motel in Iowa with a dozen dead animals on the walls and pheasants escaping the underbrush painted on the wallpaper. He's digging through old newspapers in some library in Maine and taking cramped notes in a leather journal. He's in the shadowy corner of a cemetery in Alabama shoveling dirt from a fresh grave with matches and a box of salt in his pockets.
"Does he see me?" Jess asks the other woman once, when she comes back from wherever it is she goes to most of the time. Now Sam is in Ohio, and half of the time everything that he does is a blur to her, like she's not supposed to witness this.
The other woman shakes her head. "He never sees me."
Jess isn't sure she's talking about Sam when she says that.
3.
Jess wears a white nightdress, and so does the other woman. Jess lets her long blonde hair cascade down her back, and so does the other woman. Jess follows Sam from place to place like a lost puppy trailing after a small child, and she thinks the other woman does that to someone, too.
The other woman only comes to see her once in a while, and always leaves before she wants to.
"You'll watch them for me?" she asks, and Jess nods even though she's not sure who else she's supposed to watch for.
Jess always waits to look out the window of whatever sleazy motel Sam's in this week, until the other woman rests her palm on Sam's forehead with a smile, until she turns and smoothes her hand over the pillow of the next bed over in the same comforting gesture.
If she squints, Jess thinks, maybe she can see the man she knows is out there watching.
She never does. Maybe he's just a ghost.
4.
There are things of which Jess tries to catch a glimpse that cloud up like bathroom glass when she forces herself to look, to see. Someone's in the next bed over, this she knows, but all she can see is Samsamsamsam. The more she tries, the colder it gets, and one day she has to stop herself when Sam's fingertips turn almost the same frightening shade of blue as hers in his sleep.
She curls up on the same bed next to him sometimes, but stops when he wakes up screaming.
"I just want him to talk to me," Jess tells the woman the next time she comes, her voice quiet because she tried to cry for an hour and she couldn't and it hurt. "I just want him to see me, and all I do is give him nightmares."
Sam sits on the edge of the bed, tracing the lines on the paper in front of him. The sketch of the tree smudges with every pass of his fingertips over it.
"You'll get used to that," the other woman says. "I did."
5.
One day, the other woman leaves and never comes back.
Jess feels it like a pop, like a void drawing at her, like a weight that tugs. If she could vomit, she would, but all she can do is bob and weave in Sam's wake and wish he'd hold out his hands to catch her. In the motel, someone she can't see forces Sam to lie down and stays up to watch over him, a subtle presence growing in the chair near the door like a thickening fog.
If she closes her eyes, she sees a man she thinks she should recognize sitting there with a gun in his lap, and forces herself to keep her eyes open wide the rest of the night.
When Jess looks out the window this time, she could swear there's someone in the shadows watching the motel room from afar.
Maybe he's not a ghost after all.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,074 words
Pairing/Characters: Jess
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: She doesn't know why the world looks empty of people, why everybody just got up and walked away.
The Edge of the Ocean
*****
The apartment has no scars when Jess first sees it, the bed perfectly made and an empty spot on the far side of the bed where Sam's long body should be taking up far too much space and most of the covers. Notes from class and their mingled textbooks pile in scattered stacks on the desk, and the houseplants look a bit brown on the edges, silently begging for water. She can't see the faces in most of the photos on the walls, black foggy smudges where Rebecca and Zach and Dave and Tom should be next to the bright defined images of her and Sam, but maybe that's just the devouring lack of light in the room.
The only difference is the cold, really, that intense icy chill that settles in her bones and freezes her inside like her skeleton's suddenly made from it. She sits up on the bed, rubbing at her bare arms and knowing it won't help.
There should be frost, she thinks, and draws a fingertip over the surface of the nightstand in a loopy J.
A weight settles on the bed next to her, warm and cold all at once, and Jess twists her nightgown in her hands to keep from leaning into the woman next to her.
"Can I see him?" she asks.
The other woman's lips form a familiar smile Jess can't bring herself to believe in. "Soon," she says.
Her fingers comb absently through Jess' curls, comforting Jess even though she can swear the air is heavy with the scent of burning hair.
Sometimes she sees the other woman, and sometimes she doesn't, and sometimes she knows the other woman, and sometimes she doesn't. Jess doesn't know how that works, really. She doesn't know why the world looks empty of people, why everybody just got up and walked away. She doesn't know why the world's so silent, why the sound has gone from it just like the people and animals, why there's no breeze unless someone's near.
She doesn't know why the only someone she can ever see is Sam.
Sam's not at school, not home where he should be. He's in a rundown motel in Iowa with a dozen dead animals on the walls and pheasants escaping the underbrush painted on the wallpaper. He's digging through old newspapers in some library in Maine and taking cramped notes in a leather journal. He's in the shadowy corner of a cemetery in Alabama shoveling dirt from a fresh grave with matches and a box of salt in his pockets.
"Does he see me?" Jess asks the other woman once, when she comes back from wherever it is she goes to most of the time. Now Sam is in Ohio, and half of the time everything that he does is a blur to her, like she's not supposed to witness this.
The other woman shakes her head. "He never sees me."
Jess isn't sure she's talking about Sam when she says that.
Jess wears a white nightdress, and so does the other woman. Jess lets her long blonde hair cascade down her back, and so does the other woman. Jess follows Sam from place to place like a lost puppy trailing after a small child, and she thinks the other woman does that to someone, too.
The other woman only comes to see her once in a while, and always leaves before she wants to.
"You'll watch them for me?" she asks, and Jess nods even though she's not sure who else she's supposed to watch for.
Jess always waits to look out the window of whatever sleazy motel Sam's in this week, until the other woman rests her palm on Sam's forehead with a smile, until she turns and smoothes her hand over the pillow of the next bed over in the same comforting gesture.
If she squints, Jess thinks, maybe she can see the man she knows is out there watching.
She never does. Maybe he's just a ghost.
There are things of which Jess tries to catch a glimpse that cloud up like bathroom glass when she forces herself to look, to see. Someone's in the next bed over, this she knows, but all she can see is Samsamsamsam. The more she tries, the colder it gets, and one day she has to stop herself when Sam's fingertips turn almost the same frightening shade of blue as hers in his sleep.
She curls up on the same bed next to him sometimes, but stops when he wakes up screaming.
"I just want him to talk to me," Jess tells the woman the next time she comes, her voice quiet because she tried to cry for an hour and she couldn't and it hurt. "I just want him to see me, and all I do is give him nightmares."
Sam sits on the edge of the bed, tracing the lines on the paper in front of him. The sketch of the tree smudges with every pass of his fingertips over it.
"You'll get used to that," the other woman says. "I did."
One day, the other woman leaves and never comes back.
Jess feels it like a pop, like a void drawing at her, like a weight that tugs. If she could vomit, she would, but all she can do is bob and weave in Sam's wake and wish he'd hold out his hands to catch her. In the motel, someone she can't see forces Sam to lie down and stays up to watch over him, a subtle presence growing in the chair near the door like a thickening fog.
If she closes her eyes, she sees a man she thinks she should recognize sitting there with a gun in his lap, and forces herself to keep her eyes open wide the rest of the night.
When Jess looks out the window this time, she could swear there's someone in the shadows watching the motel room from afar.
Maybe he's not a ghost after all.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 06:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 07:41 am (UTC)thank you. so much.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 09:44 am (UTC)That's awesome.
You're awesome.
Tricksome tricky little ideas and what if's that I love, muchly.
Poor Jess, wandering in an empty world. I feel more sorry for her that Mary 'died' than anyone else. Uh. In this universe. If you know what I mean.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 10:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 05:08 pm (UTC)There needs to be more Jess-fic, dammit.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-13 08:13 am (UTC)