One More Time

42.

After Dean and Charlie are gone, I speak. "Let's get you cleaned up." I walk into the bathroom and grab one of their washrags and wet it. I walk back out, speaking. "Sit."

Sam sighs, taking a seat on the bed. I pull up a chair, taking a seat in front of him. I start to clean the blood off his face. "Why did you do it?"

"Because we had to stop her," he answers.

"But that's not the only reason," I say. He's silent. "It was about Jessica, wasn't it? You think that's your secret, that you killed her somehow?" He's still silent. "Sam... you have to stop thinking that. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night, it's gonna kill you," I sigh. "Don't blame yourself. Blame the thing that killed her. I've said this once, and I'll say it again. It. Was Not. Your fault," I insist.

"That's the thing. It is my fault..."

"How? You didn't know it was gonna happen," I point out.

"The nightmares that I've been having... I had them for days before she died," he admits making my eyes widen.

"What?"

"I ignored them. I wanted to believe they were just dreams. I left her alone to die. I didn't warn her. I didn't save her."

"Sam... even if had warned her, how do you know you could've stopped it? You could've done everything humanly possible, but that doesn't mean you could've stopped her from dying," I say.

"I don't understand why I didn't do anything."

"Because you probably thought they were just nightmares. I mean, who would wanna believe that the person they love is gonna die? And what would she have done, if you told her? Probably said that it was just a nightmare and that there was nothing to worry about," I sigh.

"But--"

"Sam, please. Stop blaming yourself. I hate seeing you like this. I hate listening to you say that you caused the death of someone you loved. Because you didn't. Now, I don't know what those nightmares meant or why you had them, but regardless of why, it's... not... your fault, okay?" He sighs, slowly nodding.

We're silent for a bit, as I trail the rag down to his neck, wiping the blood off.

After I've cleaned the blood off his face, I stand up. "There."

"Thanks," he says.

"You're welcome," I nod. I walk into the bathroom, tossing the rag aside, and washing my hands off. I sigh, running my hands through my hair.

How did he have dreams of her death before she died? That sounds like... premonitions/visions, but... how? I don't think he's ever had them before, so why now?

I walk out of the bathroom and over to the bed. I plop down in front of him, sighing. "So what did you and Charlie do while we were gone?"

"We just talked. You know, for a teenager, she's pretty smart," I admit.

"How so?"

"She just gave me some good advice," I shrug. "Anyway, I'm exhausted."

"Me too," he nods.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep," I suggest.

"I'm scared to," he admits.

"Well, I'll be right here, if you want to," I say. He nods, and I notice him glance at my lips, before looking back up at my eyes. "Sam, what--," I start when he suddenly leans in, pressing his lips against mine.

After a couple of seconds, he breaks away, and I stare him in shock. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he sighs. "I should not have--" I cut him off by leaning in and pushing my lips against his. He immediately kisses back, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me on top of his lap.

Oh. My. God.