Jessica packs her duffel. It's roomier than she'd expected when Dean had tossed it to her a few days ago, but she misses the aquamarine luggage her grandmother gave her when she'd graduated high school. It, like everything else in her life, was destroyed with their apartment, a burnt offering to gods she'd never believed in.
A duffel can be a pillow when you're stuck at a bus station, tossed in the wash when it starts reeking, and replaced cheaply at Wal-mart when it's destroyed. They're practical: she gets it.
She hates it.
She leaves before she hates Sam, too.
Jessica smiles at the bartender, downing the shot and biting into the lemon with relish. She's picked out the splinters and tossed another shirt, and now it's time to celebrate another night, another hunt, another little world saved.
"What's your name?" Jess shouts over Freebird when the bartender refills her shot glass.
"Josephine," she answers, a quick grin and shiny white teeth.
Three hours later they tumble out into the alley, giggling as they kiss and grope. Jess crowds her against the wall and buries her fingers into her dark hair, protecting her from anyone who might glance their way.
Jessica slams the car door and surveys the cemetery. She starts walking, scanning for a mark, a scar, something to show that a door to Hell had opened and sucked down two archangels, along with Sam and some other poor jackass caught in the crossfire.
She hadn't even known until two weeks after the fact. It was weird to think he was gone, the boy she'd once thought she would marry, even though he'd been on a collision course with death since before they'd met.
She leaves the flowers, Gerber daisies (her favorite) and larkspur (his), at Stull's gates.
Lady of the Golden Arrows [mix] [zip file, mp3, 17.2 MB]
Hey Pretty, Poe
Death Singing, Patti Smith