Midnight Of the Century - Section Seven

[glasslogic]

Chapter Twenty-Six


"What we call reality is an agreement that
people have arrived at to make life more livable."
                                    -Louise Nevelson

"So. How did it go?" Jess asked as soon as she had Sam alone, Dean having been sent out on the pretext of a drink run from the main office where they sold sodas out of a cooler instead of having a machine.

"About as well as can be expected."

"So he's in?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Please. Your lips are swollen and I didn't put that hicky under your ear."

Sam's hand flew to his neck and he knew his face was turning red. "Are you still okay with this?"

Jess shrugged. "I already said yes and told you to ask him, Sam. It would be a little cruel of me to back out now, don't you think?"

"But do you want to back out, Jess? I was serious when I said you don't come second in this."

"I know you were, Sam. And no, I don't really --just the nervousness of trying anything new and life altering."

"I don't recall a lot of nervousness when you were upending our lives in Palo Alto and setting us off for a year long trip around the country."

"You didn't notice because you were too busy being a stressed out angst-muffin."

"A what?" he asked, laughing.

"Angst-muffin. I assure you it is legitimate terminology to describe your general demeanor during that whole time period."

Dean opened the door and walked in, his arms full of sodas. "I could hear you laughing two doors down. What's up?"

"Nothing," Jess told him, taking some of the drinks and setting them on the table. "I was just telling Sam how in some parts of the world it's totally natural for a woman to have multiple husbands."

"Brothers?"

"Why not?" Jess shrugged. "It's not like you're having kids together." Sam choked on the soda he was trying to drink and Dean gave Jess an appreciative half-smile.

"So, just to make sure that we all have the same understanding about this brave new adventure we have apparently embarked on --one of you want to detail how this is supposed to work?"

Neither one of the guys looked in a hurry to volunteer, Jess rolled her eyes. "How do you guys expect the three of us to have this kind of relationship if we can't even discuss this kind of relationship?"

Sam looked a little guilty, Dean just looked stubborn.

"Fine. I'll go --"

"No, I'll do it." Sam broke in. "I talked to both of you, so I'll spell it out. It's, um, an exclusive dating relationship between the three of us, instead of just Jess and me. No one has to do anything they don't want to, no pressure on anyone --but if you do want to, that's okay. It's the three of us, together."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you and Jess don't really have a dating relationship, I thought you guys had an engagement?"

"We do," Jess flicked an ice chip from her can in his direction, "but you're getting an invitation to stand at the altar with us. Want to wear the white dress?"

His brother cut in before Dean could give her the response Sam could see on his lips, "This is very serious, Dean. We're all in if you are."

"And what if it doesn't work out? What if I'm breaking you guys up?"

"You aren't going to break us up, but if we start having problems, we will sit down and talk them out like adults. You'd be amazed how many things you can resolve by opening your mouth." He deliberately didn't look at Jess to see if she was remembering the career debacle they had hashed out right before hitting the road all those months ago. "And if you decide you want to leave us ...that's your call."

"Yeah," Jess spoke up, "I've stuck it out with Sam through visions, public humiliation, near abandonment, almost getting killed by a ghost twice, and being dragged through more weird, creepy, and just impossible stuff than I could have previously imagined. And that was all before almost freezing to death in the forest and having a cave fall in on my head. There isn't anything you are going to do that's going to split us up."

She rummaged in the bag to find her food. "But that's another thing to mention. I can see where there might be some chances for hurt feelings and stuff as we start exploring this relationship, so anyone feeling that needs to just tell the other people. That's where things are going to really start falling apart, if that sort of resentment gets a chance to smolder."

"Dude, I'm all about a relationship with sex, but I'm not so sure about one where you want me to give status updates on my feelings."

She flicked another ice chip at him. "Maybe you can write them on little pieces of paper and stick them in someone's pocket," she suggested dryly, "but if someone gets hurt because you couldn't bring your manly self to open your mouth and tell us about a problem, believe that I will kick your ass."

Dean met her direct gaze with an appraising look. There was no question between them who that someone she didn't want hurt was. He nodded slightly and she turned her attention back to opening her sandwich.

"Okay, then," Sam cleared his throat. "Now that that's all settled," he ignored Jess's snort and Dean's eye roll, "anyone know what we need to do next?"

"I do," Dean said seriously. "We have to go talk to Frank Black about his daughter."






Chapter Twenty-Seven


The car has become a secular sanctuary for the
individual, his shrine to the self, his mobile Walden Pond.
                                    -Edward McDonagh

Bobby had turned up bust on getting a number for Frank Black, so they had no choice but to show up unannounced.

The road trip had been stressful for Sam, Jess having insisted on riding with Dean. Dean had managed to shake off his fever and come out of the entire frozen forest mess without anything worse than a runny nose and some mild coughing --to Sam and Jess's endless disgust.

Sam, driving behind them, had half expected to see the Impala go swerving off into a ditch at any moment and was prepared to possibly leap out and break up a fight. Both Jess and Dean were of the somewhat volatile sort and the situation was already stressed, between the events and potentially life-changing agreements of the last couple of days, and the fact that they were on their way to inform a man about his daughter's death. Sam would have preferred to keep a buffer between them, at least until they had some down-time to get a little more used to each other.

But a few hours later, when they stopped at a gas station, things had seemed calm enough. Jess sitting in the passenger seat, flipping through an atlas, while Dean stood across the pump from Sam, filling the Impala's tank up. Dean seemed lost in thought, not volunteering any information about how the trip was going.

"Everything okay?" Sam finally tried.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. "With what?"

"You know, the trip," Sam nodded towards the car.

"You mean have Jess and I tried to kill each other yet?" Dean interpreted. "I have to ask you, Sam, how do you expect this to work out between us if you don't even trust us alone in the car for a few hours?"

"I trust you both fine," Sam muttered, "I just don't want you to get off on the wrong foot when things are such a mess right now and you haven't had a chance to get to know each other. This situation sucks, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, "but Jess and I are doing fine. She's a smart girl, and we both have plenty of incentive to make this work out."

Sam nodded, unconvinced, but resigned.

"It helps that she's smokin' hot."

"Dean!"

"What, Sam? It's not exactly a subtle sort of thing. And I thought I was allowed to talk about things like that now."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam squirmed mentally, "but maybe ...not so loud."

Dean's expression was pure amusement as he finished filling up the car and re-hung the nozzle.

"See you at the next stop, Sammy."

Sam's face twisted in irritation, but Dean closed the door before he could protest the nickname.

~~~~~~~

"What was that all about?" Jess asked as Dean pulled back out onto the highway.

"Sam being Sam," Dean said dryly, "he seemed concerned we might not be getting along very well."

Jess nodded and looked back down at her maps. "Better than being concerned we are getting along too well, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just, you know, the whole learning-to-share process." She shrugged. "You know Sam, and I know Sam, and he certainly knows both of us, but we don't know each other. This relationship isn't going to work well like this. You and I need to get to know each other very well, and we need to be able to do it without Sam being jealous of it. I'm willing to work to have a real threesome sort of deal here, where we are all equals and with each other, but I'm not willing to have a relationship that's you-and-Sam, and me-and-Sam, and we just trade him off between us in the middle."

"Like having two bedrooms and we flip a coin to see where he sleeps?"

"Exactly. I'm not doing that."

"What's your vision like then?"

"We each have our own spaces, but we share the bedroom all together."

"So …we can't just fool around in pairs?" Dean asked skeptically.

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that if you and I want to share a shower or 'fool around,' Sam needs to be as okay with that as he's asking me to be about you and him."

"Is that something you see yourself wanting to do?"

"Have sex with you one-on-one? I'd like to get to know you a little better before I start asking you to help me get my bra unhooked, but I'm not opposed to the idea. I certainly don't see this working any other way."

Dean nodded.

Jess hesitated for a moment. "What about you?"

"I have to be honest, you being Sam's fiancée is giving me more problems in my head than Sam being my brother is --which I find entirely disturbing-- but you're hot, you're smart, you kiss like it's a competitive sport, and we have one really big thing in
common--"

"…We both want what's best for Sam," Jessica finished.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "So you guys keep telling me it's okay, and I'll work around to the rest."

Jess suddenly grinned. "Just based on the stories Sam tells, it never sounded like 'smart' was exactly something you look for in a girl."

Dean smirked. "You don't need smarts for the kind of fun most of those girls and I were getting into. I wasn't asking them to help me win a science prize, just keep me company for a few hours …or minutes."

Jess snorted.

Dean's expression grew more serious, "But for a serious thing --something that could hurt Sam this bad? When we are talking about maybe a permanent sort of arrangement? Yeah, you bet your ass I want a girl with smarts."

"More than you want one with curvy hips, a nice rack, and legs up to her armpits?" Jess asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I want Sam to be happy, I want …I want this thing we've all concocted to work."

"Though, since you asked," Dean added a moment later, "do you know where I can find one of those?"

Jess smacked him with the atlas.

~~~~~~~

"What the hell have you people done to this car?!"

"Can you fix it, or not?"

"Yeah, and I can also sneeze sunshine and crap--"

"I take it that's a 'no', then?" Jess cut in.

"I didn't think you could drive a car in this kind of shape!"

"It's a 'no,'" Sam told her while they watched Dean duck back under the hood, cursing.

"It's not a 'no!' I could totally fix this, piece of junk that it is --I just can't fix it without a few days and a shitload of parts."

"How many parts is that exactly?" Jess asked innocently.

Dean glowered at her and scratched at his cheek, smearing grease across his winter pale skin, which neither Sam nor Jess, after a quick glance at each other, felt the need to tell him about.

"We're on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. We can probably take the time, but are we going to have it towed somewhere? Where are you going to be able to work on it?" Sam wondered.

Jess frowned. "And how much is this going to cost? We have funds, but they aren't limitless."

Dean looked at them speculatively, then wiped his fingers off and dropped the battered hood down. "How attached are you to this car?"

"It came third-hand down from my great Aunt Mildred who used it to ferry her five leaky dogs to the pet-sitter every day for fifteen years."

"So --what? Sentimental value?"

Jess stared at him.

"We're not attached to the car, Dean. What did you have in mind?" Sam huffed on his fingers for warmth then jammed his hands back into his coat pockets.

Dean shrugged. "Not sure yet. Why don't you guys get all your stuff out of it and toss it in the Impala. We'll find someplace to shack up for the night, and I'll make some calls."

~~~~~~~

"He's been out there with the cell phone for almost an hour now. Is he ever coming to bed?"

Jess had made the room reservation, and as a result the three of them were sharing one with a king bed. No one had said a word directly about it, though there had been a few skeptical glances at the size of the mattress as compared to the size of the people expected to sleep together on it.

In deference to the uncertainty of the new situation, both Sam and Jess were wearing more to bed than they usually bothered with. Sharing the bed was new enough. Sharing it naked would be a different sort of step, one which they were hesitant to take.

About the same time Sam and Jess had decided it was bedtime, Dean had received a phone call and slipped back out the door. They could still hear his voice rising and falling through the glass, though the words were indistinct, and his shadow through the window was illuminated by sodium lights outside. He had also had a long phone conversation when they had first stopped for the night, before Jess had chased him off to go bring back dinner. None of them had felt like facing other people even to the extent of going to a diner, so more take-out it was.

Sam shrugged from where he was sprawled out across half the mattress. "He'll come in when he's done."

"I don't want him working on the car. It's cold and wet outside and will probably be that way for months. He's already getting over being sick, and I'd think we would all prefer it not turn into pneumonia. I'd rather pay for the labor and keep him out of the weather."

"I'm not sure the idea of paying someone else to work on a car won't be just as bad for his health." Sam rolled onto his stomach and threw his arm over the middle pillow.

"I can see you're really waiting in agony for him over there." She commented dryly from the edge of the bed, where she sat with her arms around her knees, back resting against the headboard, looking out the window watching Dean's shadow pass back and forth.

Sam gave her a sleepy smile. "I'm keeping it warm."

At just that moment the door opened and Dean sauntered in with a supremely self-satisfied look on his face.

"What's up?" Jess asked.

"Not much, took some wrangling, but I got you about a grand for that piece of crap you've been driving."

Jessica blinked. "My car? You sold my car?"

"Hey! It's not like it was going anywhere fast ...or at all," he pointed out.

"This might have escaped your attention, Dean, but I'm not exactly rolling in the kind of funds it would take to just walk out and buy a new car. Not without making some severe inroads into the money that's letting us live this life of luxury" she ground out.

"You've been the one who's all, 'Let's be together,' and 'Yay! team spirit.' I just figured --you know, if we're going to be together and travelling all over the country, we don't need two cars anyway. Keeping one gassed up is bad enough."

"And you just decided this without talking to me at all?"

"It wasn't exactly the plan," he snapped. "I was looking for parts and a yard that would rent me some space. Do you have any idea how much it would have cost to get that thing running again? Even just long enough to get it to Bobby's? You could probably buy a new used car for that. I had the guy on the phone, he said he needed a yes or no, and he needed it right then. Some project of his kids' that your piece of junk is perfect for." Dean shrugged. "You want me to call him back?"

She looked at him helplessly.

Sam sat up and checked the alarm clock by the bed. "What about transferring the title and stuff? Do we need to work this out tonight?"

"He's only going to use it for parts. Don't need to worry too much about a title or anything. And he said we can pick up the cash at that diner we passed in the morning. I figure we can eat breakfast on our way out of town and handle whatever we need to on the business end then. Problem solved."

"Sorta," Jess grumbled.

"Hey, I thought the best deal he would give me was an offer to haul it off the road in exchange for scrapping it. A thousand bucks? His son must really love whatever he's trying to fix up with parts from that heap you've been limping around in." He narrowed his eyes at his brother, "And don't think I didn't see you laying all over my pillow, Sam. I swear to God, if you drooled on it, I'm going to make you eat it."

Sam obediently scooted back into the middle and away from the pillow in question.

Dean grumbled a little more and went into the bathroom to make his own preparations for bed.

When he emerged a few minutes later he gave Jess and Sam a critical look. "Do you guys usually keep a whole extra wardrobe on hand for bedtime? Because I have to say, this looks more like a slumber party than an exciting new adventure in dating."

"I tried to get Sam to wear the negligee," Jess offered promptly, "but it really wasn't his color, and after he tried it on, it didn't fit me anymore."

"Jess!"

She grinned down at Sam where he was struggling back into a sitting position.

Sam scowled at her, then gave Dean an equally accusing look, "And don't you even start! You don't sleep naked either. Dad ran too many middle-of-the night drills for either of us to want to risk be caught without pants on a regular basis."

Dean shrugged and pulled his t-shirt off, making sure to drag it out enough to give both the people on the bed ample time to admire his rock-hard abs and general build. Even underweight, scarred, and liberally decorated with bruises in various states of healing, it was an impressive sight and Jess made a definite sound of appreciation.

Sam rolled his eyes, and then looked confused when Dean just stood there in his boxers with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at them.

"What?"

"I'm not suggesting we go digging around for lube and break out the handcuffs tonight, but I think a little less of a dress code wouldn't be completely out of place."

Sam felt a blush burn over his cheekbones at Dean's mention of handcuffs and lube, and knew damn well Jess and Dean could see it, which made him blush even harder. He was totally happy to contemplate both of those items, and frequently had -- in connection with Jess. Adding Dean to the visual they produced, and doing it with Dean staring at him -- well, that was new territory, and not something he was entirely comfortable with yet.

Jess was watching him with an amused expression when he dared look back up, but she didn't say anything. Instead she gave a sort of shrug and then grabbed the hem of her own t-shirt, peeling it up in one smooth motion and tossing it onto the floor. She moved like she wanted to cross her arms over her naked chest, but after a moment deliberately relaxed back against the headboard. The look she gave Dean was pure challenge.

Dean gave her a lingering look of assessment and grinned. "I'm rethinking the sleeping arrangements, Sam. I vote Jess gets the middle, she looks entirely more fun to cuddle up to.

Sam snorted and pulled his own shirt off, leaving him in his sweats. "Only if you volunteer to be kneed and elbowed all night."

"I'm not sleeping well lately," Jess offered when Dean looked confused. "Sam's used to it."

"Whatever," Dean shrugged and flipped the switch for the light hanging over the small table, leaving the bedside lamp on his side the only illumination in the room.

Then Sam scooted back down flat and Jess slid down beside him to rest propped up on her elbow.

The mattress sank under Dean's weight as he sat down next to Sam and swung his legs up.

"You going to get the light?" Jess asked.

"In a minute," Dean muttered, looking down at Sam.

Sam went completely still at the serious look in his brother's eyes, and tensed a moment later when Dean's warm hand slid hesitantly over the skin of his stomach just above his belly button.

Dean felt the tension, and a look of uncertainly crossed his face. Before he could pull his hand back, a considerably smaller one slid over his, holding him in place, and brushed a thumb against his wrist.

Sam let his breath out and forced himself to relax under his brother's hand.

Jess scooted up a bit and leaned into him, so that her breasts pressed against his side and her hair draped over his shoulder. The boxers she was wearing were Sam's again, and in scooting up the bed, they had slid down enough to show the smooth pale skin at the flare of her hip. It caught Dean's eye for a moment, and he looked up to catch her gaze. "I've got his mouth; why don't you feel free to explore the rest?" she suggested steadily, squeezing his hand briefly, then letting go to turn her full attention back to Sam. She caught his lips with hers before he could say anything about her suggestion, and for a few moments he forgot about the novel nature of the entire situation.

Dean waited until Sam was distracted before he moved again. It was easier without Sam's attention focused on him, and watching Jess make a leisurely and thorough exploration of his mouth was certainly a reward in its own right. He leaned down and licked a broad stripe across his brother's stomach just above where the line of his sweatpants rode low on his hips. He felt Sam startle under his mouth and bit lightly at the soft skin before turning his head to meet his brother's eyes. Sam's pupils were dilated with pleasure and he watched Dean for a moment before he moved to catch Jess's mouth again.

Dean had wondered for almost ten years what Sam's skin would taste like, what kind of sounds his brother would make while he licked and nibbled his way across his belly and up towards his chest. He now had ample opportunity to indulge his curiosity, and found the reality wildly more satisfactory than even his most creative imaginings. Then, since he had leaned so far in that he was in easy reach of Jess at that point, he leaned that little bit more and swiped his tongue across her breast. When she gasped at the unexpectedness of the sensation and pulled back from Sam, Dean took the opportunity to steal Sam's mouth for himself. He felt more than heard her huff of amusement through the blood pounding in his ears --what little wasn't rushing south, and he felt one of Sam's arms wrap around his back to hold him in place while he let the desperation of his kiss speak his gratitude at being given the chance to be here, with them, in this place and time.

There wasn't the awkwardness of their attempt at intimacy in Townsend, or the angry viciousness of the kiss in Cookeville, but rather a sweet coming together that was all Dean could have imagined. Love, acceptance, passion. Sam was entirely enthusiastic, and in a moment Dean found himself flipped onto his back so that Sam could get a better angle on him. He felt the further evidence of Sam's enjoyment pressed against his leg, and wiggled into a position where he could press back against his brother's body and try to get some relief from the pressure in his groin.

Suddenly Sam let him go and flung one of his arms out.

Dean turned his head to follow the movement and saw that his brother had Jess by the bicep, she looked like she had been sliding off the bed.

"You're leaving?!" Dean asked incredulously, voice rough with emotion.

"I just..." She licked her lips and tried again. "It's the first time, for you guys --I thought you might want some privacy. I don't mi--"

"No," Sam cut her off, "Together."

Dean nodded and reached his own hand out. "Come back here."

She crawled willingly back across the mattress and pressed herself tightly to Dean's side. "As long as you guys don't let me interrupt. If I'm staying, I definitely want to enjoy the whole show."

"Never an interruption," Sam mumbled, already seeking Dean's mouth again.

In a moment Dean forgot all about the break in momentum. Sam's lips were hard and demanding against his own, and Jess was a warm silken weight against his side, the fingers she trailed over his skin adding to the sensations wracking his senses.

"Jesus, Sammy," he groaned into Sam's mouth, grinding against him again seeking relief.

Sam pulled his mouth away, burying his face in Dean's shoulder, panting his brother's name.

Dean slid one hand down between their bodies, slipping his hand under the waist of Sam's sweatpants and down until he could wrap his fingers around the thick erection pressing against his belly, while he rocked his own hips against Sam's firm thigh.

Sam gasped and came as soon as Dean touched him, letting his overheated body slump down onto Dean as his orgasm washed over him, Jess's hand running up his back a distant counterpart to the pleasure.

"Kinda quick on the draw there, Sam," Dean panted, pulling his sticky fingers back and wiping them off on Sam's pants, not breaking his rhythm until his own release spilled out against his fever-hot skin.

"Bite me," Sam suggested faintly into Dean's sweat-slicked collarbone.

Dean heard a soft gasp from beside them and felt Jess tense up. He turned just in time to see her slide one hand out from beneath the waistband of the boxers she was only barely still wearing, body as flushed and sweaty as theirs. He leaned into kiss her enthusiastically through the fading rush of her orgasm.

"Jess--" Sam began from where he had half pushed himself up to see her, a hint of apology in his voice.

"Don't even start!" she exclaimed when Dean pulled back to let her breath. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen, I've never come that fast in my life. I can't wait to find out what happens when we actually get naked."

"Glad we could be of service," Dean said dryly, easing onto his back again and running the fingers of one hand through Sam's sweaty hair.

"Oh, I wouldn't say you were of service yet, but I definitely have high expectations for the future."

"Does anyone mind if we just lie here for a few minutes?" Sam cut in before Dean could retort.

Wordless head-shaking answered him, and they lay there for a few minutes, just letting the magnitude of what had happened sink in.

~~~~~~~

"Wow," Jess said finally.

"I just want to know who's going to get some washcloths, because I'm not sure I can move," Dean replied, not so much as twitching a finger where he lay sprawled, one leg and an arm draped over his brother.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that's you, Mr. I-don't-like-your-pajamas. You started this. And don't talk to me about being able to walk. I'm not even sure I have bones anymore."

"I'm in the middle," Sam mumbled, "If I get up one of you has to move anyways."

No one stirred for a few minutes, until finally Sam heaved Dean off and sat up. "Never mind, I'm getting up, there isn't anything you can do with a washcloth that's going to make me sleep in these pants. One of you move."

Jess gave a greatly exaggerated sigh and swung her legs off the bed, sitting to give Sam room to get up. "I don't know why I'm moving. Aren't you going to change, Dean?"

"Now that you're up? Sure."

Jess glared at him, scooting over while Sam slid past her off the bed and headed for the bathroom. But she couldn't maintain her ire through the languid hints of pleasure that still weighted her body and the teasing smile on Dean's face where he lay curled against the tangled sheets, watching her.

"What are we going to do about the wet spot --spots?" she asked, amending the question after glancing down at the mattress.

Dean shrugged, turning it into a stretch. "Toss the bottom sheet in the floor, lay down some towels, stretch the top sheet over it and sleep under the comforter," he offered.

"Have a lot of experience with this, do you?" she asked dryly.

"With sex in motel rooms? Sure." He caught her eyes and she was surprised by how serious he looked. "With this? Never."

She nodded thoughtfully, then stood to help him make the bed back up for sleeping.

~~~~~~~

By the time Sam left the bathroom a few minutes later, the bed was neatly remade and Dean and Jess were curled up together, half-asleep after a hasty clean-up at the sink.

He smiled sleepily at them, heart full in a way he had never experienced before. Then he collapsed onto the mattress on Jess's other side and was asleep in seconds.



Chapter Twenty-Eight

                                         Bob Bletcher: This Millennium Group - They really
                                         believe all that stuff - Nostradamus and Revelations,
                                         the destruction of the world?
                                         Frank Black: They believe we can't just sit back
                                         and hope for a happy ending.
                                                                                                                       -Millennium


Piling everyone into the Impala was an interesting experience the next day.

Dean had muttered something under his breath at the casual suggestion that Jess was looking forward to taking his baby out for a spin sometime, but had looked marginally mollified when she followed that up immediately with a sarcastic comment how much fun she expected to get from the complete drivers ed course she anticipated Dean putting her through before he let her so much as breathe on the Impala's steering wheel.

No one mentioned the events of the night before. But a lot of the awkwardness that had been underlying their interactions seemed to have evaporated, and a communal sense of intimacy had taken its place.

Everyone was fairly quiet during the drive out to Frank Black's house.

Dean had offered Sam the keys when they walked out in the morning, and immediately followed it up with some fairly graphic threats about what he was going to do if Sam failed to live up to Dean's expectations of his driving ability as a Winchester.

From the size of the smile on Sam's face as he slid behind the wheel, he had received the underlying message loud and clear.

Jess curled willingly enough up the backseat with a map, a paperback, and a pointed warning not to expect she would always ride in the back, and she didn't want to hear about how long anyone's legs were.

No one really felt the need to talk during the trip. A lot had happened in the last few days, and everyone still had digesting to do. They were easy in each other's company, and even the Metallica coming through the speakers did nothing to break the sense of connection that hung in the close atmosphere.

Connection, and a certain amount of tension at the thought of the upcoming conversation. Dean in particular seemed anxious about that, picking at a worn spot on his jeans or drumming fingers out of synch to the music while the miles ticked by.

The canopy of brilliant fall leaves and the glossy green underbrush that had surrounded Frank Black's house during their last visit had been left barren by winter. The stark branches and cold snowy ground seemed silent omens of grief as the three of them walked to the door.

"What if he's not home?"

Dean shrugged at Jessica's question. "Then we find a place to hole up and try again later. The driveway's been cleared. He hasn't gone anywhere far."

But he was home. The door opened as Sam lifted his hand to try the doorbell again

Frank didn't appear surprised to see them.

"I see you've found your brother. I suppose it's too much to expect that you've just come as a social call?"

Sam shook his head. "Not really. Can we come in?"

Frank didn't reply, but stepped back, leaving the entry clear. They kicked boots free of snow and went back towards the kitchen where Sam and Jess had sat the first time.

Once everyone was in the room and seated, Sam looked around nervously, but neither Jess or Dean seemed inclined to talk.

Frank's expression was unreadable.

"Well, um, there really isn't any good way to say this --there was a cave-in out in the woods down south of here. Jordan ...she didn't make it. I'm so sorry, Mr. Black."

"She saved Dean's life," Jessica added quietly. "That probably doesn't really help, but she could have made it, and she chose to risk herself for him. She was incredibly brave."

Frank's face was still impassive, but he rose and walked over to a small table where some mail was lying. He lifted a long envelope off the top and slid a folded piece of paper out, then slid it across the table towards them.

"There's no address, no name."

Dean picked up the paper. On it was a finished version of the angel that had been lying half-completed on Jordan's desk back in Franklin.

Jess walked around the table to pick up the envelope. "The postmark is two days ago from Townsend."

"It's her," Dean said laying the drawing back down on the table like it was something fragile.

"That isn't possible." Sam said flatly.

"I choose to believe it is," Frank said.

"I saw the roof fall on her! She couldn't have survived that, no one could!"

Jess laid a calming hand on Sam's arm. "We knew there were more ways out of the cave from the way the air was flowing. Maybe she was able to crawl back further into that drop-off and found a way out."

"Then made her way out of the forest? Miles and miles from nowhere, in the freezing cold and snow, soaking wet and without any kind of equipment?" Sam demanded. "I didn't think we were going to make it, and we had supplies and shelter!"

He turned to Frank as if suddenly realizing this was maybe not the most considerate argument to be having in front of the father of the woman under discussion, "I'm sorry, but it just isn't possible. Maybe someone else had that drawing and dropped it in the mailbox --there is no way Jordan survived the cave-in."

Frank settled into a chair and laid both hands fingers spread on the table, meeting Sam's bewildered gaze. "I have found that my understanding of what's possible has changed greatly over the course of my life." Seeing only confusion on the faces of his guests, Frank settled back and continued on.

"Throughout my career, whenever I thought I had found a new depth to the horror and the pain one person can inflict upon another, to the nightmare that humanity can become, I was always to be shown that there were greater depths still. Greater tragedies, losses." He spoke distantly, gazing at the center of the table. "It damaged me in ways that caused pain to those I loved, and who loved me. There was no wonder, no miracle, in what I saw. Just darkness, evil. I felt alone in my gift, isolated from my colleagues and from my family. I became associated with an organization that, despite what differences we have now, did me the great favor of exposing me to a greater vision of what was possible in the world. To others who also had unique ways of viewing things, to cases where the mystery was not always cruelty and pain, but sometimes also hope, and wonder. Sometimes all of them together."

"This organization, the Millennium Group?"

Frank nodded at Sam's question. "My daughter was two when I first suspected she was gifted in the sense that I was gifted. All children play make-believe games, but Jordan's games were …particularly detailed for her age. Catherine, my wife, was a child psychologist. I know that some of the things Jordan came up with disturbed her. Realizing what it might mean for Jordan, her future and her happiness ...it was the worst day of my life. But as she grew up, I realized her gift was different. Where mine crippled me, I thought it was possible maybe hers could be an asset to her life; or at least not an unimaginable cruelty."

"When we were here before, you said you had known others with her gift?" Jess asked.

"Yes. It's hard to say any two gifts are alike, they exist entirely in the mind of the individual and all seem different in some respects. But the outward signs seem similar --the visions, the drawings. My mother, and one of my associates in the Group, as well as my daughter, all experienced these things. My mother seemed to take some solace in what she saw. It let her make her goodbyes and die in the manner that she wished. I didn't understand for many years, but having spoken with my father in the year before his death, I am not at all certain that given the choice my mother would have chosen to live without her visions."

He paused, but no one spoke up, so he went on.

"My associate was a different case. She was ostracized by her family and community for what she saw, treated with fear and suspicion. Her visions were a source of both comfort and torment for her. She didn't seem to have the same need to express her gift through art that the others did, or maybe it was just that she kept what she created to herself. I know that she would have given anything to live a life free of them. But that isn't a choice, and given their two experiences as guides, I wanted to be able to raise Jordan not to fear what was within her. To accept herself, to be able to function in the world on her own terms. I thought that with my own history and understanding, I could guide her into a life where she was at peace with herself."

"She seemed to have friends, and a life. To be well thought of in her community. People said she was happy," Jess offered.

"Yes." Frank smiled, it was shadowed with sadness. "But my success made it hard for us to spend much time with each other. I love my daughter; there isn't anything that I wouldn't do for her. But she is walking a road that I cannot see. I have faith that she is doing with her life as she sees fit. And live or die, the choices she makes are her own. We raise our children to leave us, to be strong enough to live their own lives, and by all accounts Jordan is a success."

He reached out and touched the drawing with two fingers, focusing everyone's attention back on it. "This is a message."

"That she's still alive?" Jess asked.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps just a reminder."

"A reminder of what?" Dean finally spoke, sounding subdued. Sam had been glaring at him steadily for the last few minutes of Frank's dialogue, and Dean had visibly wilted under the look.

But Frank ignored the question, his intense gaze falling on Dean. He refolded the drawing and slid it back into its envelope, then extending it in offering. "Take it."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's for you."

"Are you certain?"

Dean froze. Frank laid the envelope on the table and stood. "Jordan left some things here last time she was home. I think she would like you to have them. Wait here a moment."

The instant Frank left the room Sam exploded. "Visions?!" What visions is he talking about Dean?! You said you had some low-key compulsion to draw angels --you never mentioned anything about visions!"

Jess's eyes also narrowed and she turned in her chair to face Dean directly. "Are these visions like Sam's where you fall over writhing with no warning and see things in the future, visions like Frank's that apparently made his life a living hell and helped him hunt serial killers, or some entirely new horror that you would like to spell out for us?"

"It's not," Dean huffed exasperated, "exactly like that."

"What's it like then? Exactly?" Jess asked sharply.

Sam had a different question. "How long?" he asked in a low voice.

"How long what?"

"How long have you had these visions? A month? A year? Were you having them back when I was a teenage freak thinking the entire fucking world was normal except me?!"

"No, Sam! It's only been about …maybe two years. Maybe a little less." Dean scowled. "And I never treated you like a freak. I wouldn't have let anybody do that to you."

"I'm all for family bonding, guys, but --visions?"

Dean looked uneasy. "They aren't like what Sam has, I don't really see things. I mean, I do, but it's kind of an indistinct figure. And I get premonitions. Like if people are going to die. Sometimes other things."

Jessica frowned. "Let me get this straight, you see angels, and they tell you people are going to die? Are these people you can save?"

"Not so far." The misery in Dean's voice at that was obvious.

"And then you feel inspired to draw them?" She asked, baffled. "Are you sure these are angels?"

"How the hell would I know? I've never met an angel!"

"Then why do you draw them?"

"It just …feels right."

Jess raised a skeptical brow.

Sam still looked furious, but also baffled.

"You can't understand." Dean snapped.

"No one can," Frank said quietly, reentering the room carrying what looked like a sketch pad and a small plastic case. "No one can who doesn't see like you do."

Sam turned his attention to Frank. "But I was born this way, and you said your daughter and your associate both had gifts from the time they were young. But Dean …he says this just happened two years ago!"

"My mother was an adult before she started drawing. I never had the chance to ask her what she saw, or when the visions started. It wasn't a subject my father was comfortable with, so by the time I was able to ask the questions, any chance of an answer had passed." He handed the sketch pad and box to Dean. "Take these. Please."

Dean was reluctant. "These are Jordan's --you said you don't think she's dead."

"I choose to believe that she's not. That doesn't mean she will ever come back to me. Not in a way that I recognize. Please."

Dean took the art supplies. As soon as his hands were free, Frank picked the envelope back up and extended it again. Dean stared at it, then took it and tucked it into the sketch pad.

Frank nodded. "Your advantage is that you have people who care for you and carry their own burdens, that will help them make adjustments for yours."

Dean swallowed. "Why me?"

"Why anyone?" Frank stood by the door, a polite indication that it was time to leave.

"Mr. Black," Jessica stood and hooked one of her arms through Dean's. "Thank you for talking to us. I'm so terribly sorry about your daughter. I hope you're right. I hope she is alive out there somewhere, and that she comes home soon."

Dean and Sam nodded in agreement.

"Thank you. And thank you for coming to tell me."

Jess was steering Dean down the hallway towards the door while Sam tugged his coat on in the kitchen. "I have one last question, Mr. Black. When I tried to tell the local cops about the cave-in, they insisted there was no cave. That it was an urban myth. Do you know anything about it? Jordan …she led us straight to it in the dark."

Frank shook his head and followed Sam into the hallway. "There are places in the world where the barriers seem thinner. Where if you shout loudly enough, it feels like something could listen. Sometimes these places are well hidden; sometimes they hide in plain sight."

Sam remembered the timeless grace of the carvings on the walls: "prayers", Jordan had said. He remembered both Jessica and Dean insisting they heard voices whispering to them from the darkness where the lights didn't reach. He swallowed hard.

"Barriers between what? What somethings?"

"I don't have those answers."

They caught up to Jess and Dean, and Frank opened the door for them. They headed to the car, but as Sam was walking by Frank grabbed his arm. "You need to be careful, Sam. You and your brother."

Bobby's warnings about speaking with Black resounded in his mind. "The Millennium Group?" Sam guessed.

"Yes. The Group prefers professionals with skills they can use, but your gifts would probably make you eligible for their attention regardless."

"You aren't the first person to warn me about them."

"They can and will offer you a greater understanding of yourself, your talents. But the price of their help is …incalculable. Think very carefully before you accept anything from them."

"Are they," Sam looked for a word, "…evil?"

"They are determined. And their interpretations of the times leave no room for other viewpoints. They believe in proactive measures."

"Proactive measures against what?"

"The Apocalypse."

"The Apocalypse?" Sam repeated incredulously, searching Frank's face for some hint of humor. A sign it was a joke. But his gaze was as intense and level as always.

"That's insane." Sam said flatly.

"Perhaps." Frank looked past him and out to the driveway where Dean and Jess appeared to be bickering, the details indistinct at the distance. But her arm was still looped firmly through his, and he was making no attempts to pull away.

"Good luck, Sam."

"Wait, wait--" Sam pulled a receipt out is his pocket and snagged a pen from the table just inside the door frame. "Here's my cell number. Call me if you hear from Jordan?"

"I will."

Sam nodded and headed down the steps to join Jess and Dean.



Chapter Twenty-Nine

Peter Watts: St. Augustine said that
miracles are not contrary to nature,
only what we know about nature.
                                    -Millennium

"So what now?"

They were heading back into town, with the vague idea of finding a room for the night. Dean was driving, but Sam had earned shotgun by virtue of a sad look in Jess's direction. Specifically, the downward direction. She had caved to his non-verbal whining, but had her sock-covered feet kicked up on the top of the bench by his ear in retaliation.

"I don't have any plans," Dean shrugged. "Normally I'd start looking for another job, or call Bobby and see what he had."

"Bobby's probably a good idea. Let's go visit." Sam said firmly.

Dean was skeptical. "I don't think we need to drive all the way to South Dakota just to find out if he has any leads. Tennessee has been a pretty good hunting ground so far, and there isn't anything wrong with my cell."

"No," Jess slid one of her feet over to brush her toes against the back of Dean's head. "But we need a place to hole up for a while, and Bobby probably won't charge us for the honor."

"Why do we need to hole up somewhere?"

"Because you need some down time, Dean--" Sam raised his voice to be heard over Dean's outrage, "Don't even start with me. I can almost see your ribs through your t-shirt, you've still got all sorts of half-healed wounds --that's even without the newest collection of bruises-- and you look like you haven't slept since the last time I saw you, and you looked pretty crappy then."

"Tell me how you really feel," Dean groused.

"Yes." Jess said sweetly.

"This sock had better be clean."

She rolled her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Downy fresh, just for you. Seriously though--" She ticked things off on her fingers. "You need to heal, Sam needs to decide what he's doing about the Bar, we all could use some space to just be for a little while, and if there is a chance I might end up being someone's emergency back-up, it might be nice if we had some space for a few practical lessons."

Dean didn't have much argument about that. "Doesn't studying for the Bar take, I dunno, months or something? How long are we planning to stay in one place?"

"It does, but I can study on the road. I just need to decide where I'm taking it and when."

"And you need --what? A few weeks at Bobby's to decide that?"

"I think Jess is trying to give you some polite reasons to agree with us, instead of just telling you you're flat on your ass and you need to stand down before you fall down."

"Plus, I need some time to seduce you properly." Jess mused from the backseat. "I think it will go better if I have more space than the confines of the car."

"It would probably go easiest if you just spread yourself out naked on the hood one afternoon," Sam suggested, controlling the knee-jerk reaction he still had to the idea of Jess naked with anyone else.

"Why don't you try that, Sam. Let me know how it goes?"

"Hey!" Dean interrupted them, "No one is getting naked on my car!" He paused for a moment, then added, "Not unless they're going to wash her afterwards."

"How about we shelve anything involving naked and out-of-doors, at least until the snow melts."

"So, Bobby's then?" Dean finally asked, after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"Yeah."

"Are we going to tell him about …us?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"No." Jess said firmly, pulling her legs back down and sitting up. "It isn't any of his business. And I can't imagine him asking us those kind of questions. I'm not going to lie if he does, unless you guys both want me too, but I'm not going to offer anything either."

"No lies," Sam sighed. "But yeah, let's just not discuss it."

"Is it the sort of thing you might have discussed with him?" Dean asked incredulously. "I don't know why we even have to have this discussion!"

Sam glared at him.

"Because some of us don't have creepy psychic powers--" Jess suggested pleasantly from the backseat.

Dean blanched.

"--and it's important that we're all on the same page with some things."

"Most things," Sam added.

Jess nodded.

"So this is it then?" Dan demanded. "The three of us going to Bobby's and then …what?"

"Whatever we want. Hunting, researching, maybe finding some answers to whatever is going on with these visions of yours."

Jess frowned as something occurred to her. "Hey Dean, how do you pay for gas and stuff anyways? Sam says hunting doesn't pay squat, and it didn't sound like you had any savings."

"Ah ...why don't we just say it's my enterprising nature and leave it at that?"

"What does that mean?" she asked suspiciously.

Sam groaned and turned the classic rock radio station up louder. "How about we just agree to save that for another day?"

"Fine with me, Sammy."

Tuning out the inevitable bitching Dean's use of the nickname entailed, Jess slid over to sit against the door and stretched her legs out across the seat, digging in her bag for the book she had been reading. There would be plenty of time to drag whatever details out of Dean later. It was a long way to South Dakota.

END


Notes & Thanks


Masterpost


Now With Sequel!

A Single Blade of Grass

Comments

[glasslogic.livejournal.com]

I'm glad to hear that - sometimes it feels like writing is yelling into a void *wryly* so thanks for taking the time to let me know you enjoyed the fic! Jess was actually harder to write than the boys because she doesn't really _have_ a character in the show, so I just gave it my best stab - it seems to have turned out okay.