Illud Non Servo

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, special guest

Warning: Tag to 4.02, contains spoilers, messing with plot lines, bad language and gore, un-beta'd (also I don't know Latin, so sorry if the title is wrong)

Disclaimer: I am not Kripke, I don't own the boys, the show, the baddies; I just play with them. Also, this story veers from the original episodes plot line, just a warning.

Summary: Someone else came to pay Sam a visit while the witnesses were afoot. Tag to 4.02, angsty/limp!Sam (Title means "Those Not Saved" in Latin)

Upstairs. Linen closet. Red hex box.

The words were a mantra repeated over and over again in his mind as he crept quietly up the stairs. Short, panted out breaths, soft thud of boots on hardwood, Bobby and Dean banging around downstairs; he blocked it all out as he rounded the corner, gun at the ready.

Clear.

Sam moved to the first door and hesitated only a second before throwing it open and peering inside. Nothing. On to the next door. Nothing. Door number three; jackpot. Sam pulled the door all the way open and rummaged through pillow cases, sheets, and towels with one hand, gun still held firmly in the other. Fourth shelf, eye-level, just off to the right is where he found it and he allowed himself to heave a small laugh of relief. Who keeps their hex boxes in a linen closet anyway? Sam wondered as he pulled it off the shelf and made to go back down the hall.

He only had split-second notice, a quick flicker of lights, before he was thrown across the hall. The hex box slipped from his fingers when he connected with the wall, but he kept a firm hold on the shotgun. He was still scrambling to his feet, head fuzzy, vision wavering, when she appeared in front of him. He locked gazes with her and suddenly forgot to breathe, forgot where he was and what they were after. The only thing he could focus on was her.

Jess.

Lips stumbled over her name as if it were a foreign language as he breathed out her name on a sigh. He bit back the sob welling in his chest, the sudden pain of seeing her here, seeing her so beautiful and so falsely alive. He wanted to reach out and touch her but was frozen in place by her stunning smile and her too dark eyes.

"Hey Sam. Long time, no see, huh?" She grinned and stepped closer, her chilly body pressing against his, each and every inch. A hand came up to stroke his cheek and despite himself and the grief his action caused, Sam turned away. "What's the matter, Sam? Not afraid of me, are you? Its only a little blood."

Sam's eyes snapped down and watched the crimson stain growing up her t-shirt where her stomach was pressed into his hip. He choked out a gasp, horrified, and took a step backwards, hitting the wall once again. Jess clucked her tongue and grinned wickedly up at him. "Now, now. That's no way to treat your dead girlfriend now is it?"

She reached out to stroke his cheek again, not letting him pull away this time. "You should have told me, Sam," she whispered, lips against his ear. "I wouldn't have run. But you were such a coward, always running. Leaving with Dean when you should have stayed with me." Her hand trailed down his chest to rest over his heart, like she used to do before falling asleep.

But when she pulled her head away to look him in the eye, Sam could no longer recognize her. Her eyes too dark, too angry, her smile sharp at the edges, her touch too cold, too … evil.

The witnesses.

Sam's head snapped back in the game, her hold on him broken. He swallowed hard, knowing what he needed to do, but it still didn't make it any easier. He had never intentionally hurt Jess when she was alive, and he didn't want to now that she was dead. He loved her still, deeply, and the thought that she blamed him was near un bearable. It killed him even more to know she was in unrest. He really didn't want to destroy her spirit, but there really was no choice in the matter. It was either him or her, and he wasn't about to go any where any time soon.

He tightened his grip on the shotgun all the while apologizing to his memory of his beautiful Jess in his head, praying for forgiveness. He had the gun at waist level when the gleam in her eyes turned from amused to down right pissed off, her grip on him tightening. For a moment he thought it was her grip on his shirt, until he felt a piercing pain as her skeleton fingers sunk deep into chest.

An agonized gasp tumbled from his lips as she clenched around his heart. And what poetic justice that this pain she was causing him now was so similar to the anguished pain he felt watching helplessly as she burned. It was sharp, constricting, stealing his breath and making his head pound with fury. He had the strange idea that this, right here, was what a heart attack felt like … tenfold. He fell to his knees, gasping, mouthing opening and closing like a fish, trying and failing to breath.

"You could have saved me. You should have saved me!" Jess raged, her grip tightening with each angry word. "You knew it was coming. It was after you. And you just left me to die!"

Sam tried to shake his head no, tried to plead with breathless whispers, that he didn't know. But Jess just growled, giving her hand a jerk. Pink frothy bubbles seeped out of the corner of Sam's mouth as he choked on another gasp.

"Yes, Sam. You knew. What, didn't think I heard you waking up, screaming my name? Didn't think I heard you mumbling about fire and demons and yellow eyes? Didn't think I heard you call your father, getting his voicemail time and time again, hearing you cursing him and everyone else?" She loosened her grip a bit, letting Sam gasp in a breath or two before she leaned in close, her fingers ever tighter. "I didn't miss how protective you were, how scared, how down right frightened you were. But you were sure quick to abandon me the moment Dean showed up."

It is my fault. I wasn't there to protect you. I should have been able to protect you, that was my job! Sam wanted to tell her, wanted to scream it out after holding it in for four years. Yes, it was his fault. He'd had the dreams of her burning while a man with yellow eyes watched from the shadows. Yes, he had called his father but never had the balls to leave a voicemail. He hadn't even had the balls to stand up to Dean when he felt something just wasn't right. It was all on his shoulders.

But he couldn't speak, Jess's hands squeezing the life slowly out of him. So he settled for a pleading look, a single tear sliding down his cheek, hoping it would convey everything he couldn't say.

She gave his heart another twisting, squeezing jerk as she laughed with bitter humor. "And now here I am, Sam. Dead. Gone. Rotting. And for what? Some big master plan of a demon's? So you could rise up and fulfill your destiny?" Her words were hissed into his hear, his icy breath chilling him to the bone. "For nothing! That's what I died for Sam. I died for nothing! And its all your fault. You could have saved me but you chose to save yourself, your family. And look how well that turned out-"

Her words were cut off by a blast of rock salt slamming into the side of her head as Sam let out a choked off sob. She dissipated with a screech and a cloud of ash. Sam fell forwards, crashing face-first into the floor in too much pain to try and stop the descent. He bit back a groan when a hand jostled his shoulder and roughly turned him on his back.

Dean stared down at him, eyes wide with terror, hands visibly shaking as he dropped his gun and pressed his hands to Sam's chest. "Sam! Sammy. Shit." Dean muttered frantically, taking in all the blood on Sam's shirt and the pink froth around his mouth. "Jesus, what did she do to you?"

Sam moaned quietly but pushed Dean's hands away. He sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the knives that insisted on stabbing him on the inhales and the fire burning on the exhales. But after a few breaths, the pain dissipated enough that he was able to push himself up. Dean just stared at him, horrified.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Dean's hands scrambled to push Sam back down, but Sam refused.

"I'm okay, Dean. Really." To prove his point, Sam lifted up his shirt. There was no gaping open wound, no ribs protruding out and internal organs outside his skin. Just five small holes the size of fingers oozing blood with each erratic beat of his still frantic heart, bruises already starting to ring them like crude halos. "See? 'm fine. Now help me up."

Dean stared at him for another moment before he extended his hand and helped Sam stand. For his part, Sam held in the groan pretty well, but Dean's ears where well-trained to the sounds of his brother's discomfort. He gave Sam an assessing gaze as he retrieved their discarded weapons and the long forgotten hex box.

"You okay?" Dean handed over Sam's gun then tucked the box safely under his arm. Sam just nodded quietly. Dean slung Sam's arm over his shoulder and took some of Sam's weight as they headed for the stairs. "Come on, Bobby's waitin' on us."

They started the ritual a few minutes after that, but the action didn't die down any. He and Dean were shooting ghosts, witnesses, left and right. His ears were ringing with each shot, his chest pulling painfully with each recoil of the gun, but he stood his ground, defending a broken spot in the salt line. Nothing gave him pause, not Meg in her true form, not Henricksen, not Ronald. It was only when Jess appeared before him, blue eyes deceptively wet with tears as she called out to him, that Sam hesitated.

"Sam, please! You have to save me! Sam please, don't let me die again!" Her voice wailed about the rushing wind and Bobby's Latin and Dean's shooting.

His finger, tight on the trigger, froze for an instant. Long enough for Jess to cross the line and reach for Bobby who was finishing the ritual. Sam's heart gave a painful lurch in his chest as he pulled the trigger, watching the love of his life disappear in a cloud of ash. Bobby, unaware of the hesitation on Sam's part, tossed the bowl's contents into the fire. The room was filled with a flash of blue-white light before everything stilled, the witnesses gone. But in that brief second, Sam had seen Jess reappear in the corner of the room, face somber and sad, one tear trailing down her cheek before she was put back to rest.

Sam dropped the gun with a sigh, slumping down into the nearest chair to rest his head in his hands, thoroughly exhausted. It wasn't enough that Lilith was breaking seals and starting the apocalypse. Oh no, she had to send vengeful ghosts after his ass, some of whom still deeply effected him. Yeah, losing Meg and Henricksen was bad … but Jess?

He shook his head and tried to clear out his thoughts, tried to get Jess's screams and accusatory glares out of his head; they still had a long road ahead of them. It was no use though. Sam knew she was right, hell, he wanted so desperately to tell her. If only he'd-

Dean cut off his train of thoughts when he came over, kneeling in front of Sam and pressing a hand against his chest. Sam looked up, startled for a minute, before he settled back, silently acquiescing to Dean's ministrations.

"You know there was nothing you could do, right?" Dean's quiet words caught Sam off guard. He looked down to where Dean was securing the last piece of gauze over his damaged chest. Dean met his gaze, eyes hard with determination yet soft with understanding. "I mean, we do the best we can. We can't save everybody Sam, even though we want to." Handing Sam a clean shirt, Dean stood up and ruffled Sam's hair a bit as if they were kids again and the biggest problem between them was a skinned knee.

A lump stuck in Sam's throat as he slipped into the shirt and accepted the teasing without complaint. He watched Dean walk off, knowing there was more to say, way more lying in the shadows between them, but for now the conversation was over. And Sam was just as glad. There were other things to worry about right now, more pressing matters besides his guilt.

And he needed to find Ruby to stop them.

End.

A/N: Sorry, I just was really hoping they would've bought Jess back for this episode. But since I didn't get that, I made my own version.

Thanks for reading.