Disclaimer- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

Summary – Set in 1.01 but contains spoilers for 5.20. She doesn't know whether to scream or laugh hysterically. Because there's a man in her apartment threatening her. Talking like he's insane. But he's not a stranger. He's someone she thought was a friend.

Thank you – To the fabulous amyblair who held my hand through this. Thanks so much for your time and help. I really hope you know how awesome you are!

A/N– This came out of no where and for a snail pace writer like me it was written pretty fast. I'll give you a minor warning for a bad word or two and I've tweaked this, so any mistakes are all mine. Well, after a series of doubts and freak outs, here it is. I hope you enjoy.

Golden Ticket

It's late but she's restless. And for some reason all she can do is bake.

She should be asleep. She's tired enough to close her eyes for a week, but every time she tries to drift off a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach stops her. And it's driving her crazy.

So she's baking at one o'clock in the morning and she's halfway through batch number three before she realizes she's still in her nightgown. Practical, no. But she can't seem to care.

For the record she knows she's over-reacting. Sam's with Dean. Dean is Sam's brother. They're family. So she shouldn't worry.

But she can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Sam left days ago and he hasn't returned her calls, which isn't like him. And he left with a brother that Sam has mentioned but she doesn't know much about. They share a birthday. He works with their Dad. It's a family business.

The fact that Sam cringes and changes the subject whenever anyone, including her, asks about his family only raises her suspicions. You don't just leave town with a brother you haven't had contact with in years. Not in the middle of the night after he breaks into your apartment. And not after a conversation that she was politely excused from.

Something was going on. Something more than just their Dad going missing.

And to make matters worse Sam's law interview is in the morning, something she knows he wants. Something she knows means the world to him and he hasn't called and she doesn't know if he'll even turn up. Is she supposed to call and rearrange the appointment? But what excuse would sound vaguely believable? Will it look bad? Affect his chances?

And before she knows it she's become one of those annoying girlfriends that lay awake all night and worry. Who nag, whine and keep their boyfriends on impossibly tight leashes.

She hates those girls.

Adding the last of the chocolate chips, she beats the batter with a wooden spoon. She feels her muscles tighten and jump from the strain but she doesn't stop, she speeds up.

She's done everything she could think of to keep herself occupied. Gone to class, met up with friends and finished a paper she's been putting off writing. She dusted, she polished. Hell, she even ironed! And now she's eaten half a dozen cookies, which despite their usual effect haven't calmed her down only added pounds to her waistline.

She's rough with this batch. And she's crammed so many on one baking sheet there's a good possibility that when she takes them out of the oven she'll have one baking sheet sized cookie.

The oven door closes with a loud slam that rattles up her arm. It's pointless to take her aggravation out on the oven but it makes her feel better.

She forces herself to take a deep breath. Anger and frustration won't get her anywhere. Or, so Sam tells her when she blows a short fuse.

She snorts. Sometimes she wonders how they work as a couple. He's so cool and collected that it drives her mad. But he's the only one who can diffuse her. A roll of his eyes, a frown or a smart assed comment and then he's wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close and nuzzling the nape of her neck, laughing softly into her hair.

She feels her top lip curl and her eyes seek out the plate of cookies she put on the table. Sam's favourite. And she can feel the warmth in her belly grow as she pictures his face when he sees them. All dimples and boyish grin.

She knows it's rare to find someone who makes you feel that. Who still can years down the line.

Seeing her purse on the chair, she rummages through old receipts and favourite lipsticks until she finds a pen, the lid all chewed. She smiles like a giddy teenager as she scribbles a few words on a scrap of paper.

Missed you! Love you!

And like chocolate chips on her tongue the anger and worry melts away.

Because they have plans. A future together mapped out during long conversations in midnight hours. White picket fences, wrap around porches and a gaggle of kids. Sam's her future and nothing is going to change that. She won't let it.

Catching her refection in the mirror, she sees that the dark circles under her eyes age her. She's going to sleep tonight, she can feel it. And maybe she'll make an appointment to get her hair cut next week. It's getting too long.

The oven pings and using the Marg Simpson oven gloves Becky bought as a joke, she takes out the baking sheet and turns the oven off.

They're not as bad as she'd thought. She'll have to do a bit of re-modelling on a few and the ones near edges of the sheet are tinged black. But she's always liked the slightly burnt ones the best.

She's shovelling them off the baking tray and onto the cooling wrack when she hears it. It's not a knock, more of a scratching noise. Like someone's standing at the front door, waiting.

The fear burns in her belly, sitting heavy as it spreads like wildfire through her chest. Because the one night she has cause to worry, is the one night when Sam's not here and she's all alone.

She knows there's a mean looking knife taped to the roof of the bottom drawer of Sam's computer desk. She knows Sam put it there and that he doesn't want her to know about it. She's not a violent person but self-preservation is an entirely different matter.

"Sam?" Slurred and no doubt alcohol or drug fuelled. Or whatever combination of the two he's on this week.

She feels the fear dissipate as fast as it had struck, her cheeks heating up at her paranoid reaction.

Then there's a dull thud and the sound of a body sliding down the front door.

"You there, man?"

Sam has far more patience for this than she does. But she's used to it now, usually falls back to sleep when Sam says he'll take care of it. And she's happy to let him. Because at first she'd gone with Sam to talk to Professor's and make excuses and promises. Tried to smooth over fights with friends. Dragged him home after 24-hour benders. But that was months ago and nothing seemed to be changing.

There were no thank you's or apologies. Just more body shots and scantily clad women.

But most of all she hates what it's doing to Sam. Seeing the look on his face when Brady lets him down. Time and time again. The look of grief for a friend who's changed so much he's barely recognizable.

But Sam refuses to give up. To cut him out of his life like most people have. And it tears her apart, makes her want to scream at the top of her lungs but it's also one of the reasons why he'll have her heart for as long as he wants it.

"Sam's not here." She's firm and to the point. Hopefully he'll get the picture and stumble home. Well, that's if he still has one. She knows he's in arrears on the rent and she suspects that's where some of Sam's savings have disappeared.

"C'mon, it's party time."

She walks towards the locked door, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Go home, Brady. It's late and Sam's not here."

She's about to walk away, hoping that if she doesn't answer back and play his game, then he'll give up and leave. She's just too tired for this tonight.

"I can't."

And something about the way he says it stops her dead in her tracks. He sounds lost. Like he came here for help. And Sam's all he has left.

She knows what Sam would do and so she takes a step towards the door, her hand hovering over the key in the lock, hesitating even though she's not sure why.

"Jess? Please."

She hears him fumble against door, the scrape of material running up the wood. Swallowing her uncertainty, she flicks the key and opens the door.

Brady looks wasted. His eyes are bloodshot, the red clashing with the lavender smudges under his eyes. His skin is grey and sallow and his jeans are hanging off his hips despite the belt he's wearing.

"You okay?" She asks and she knows it's a ridiculous thing to say. He obviously isn't okay and hasn't been since Thanksgiving, sophomore year. A mere shadow of the happy-go-lucky pre-med student she used to know. Who'd introduced her to Sam.

He doesn't answer and his face is unreadable as he pushes passed her, his shoulder bouncing off her own as he staggers into the apartment. His eyes connect with the table, to the plate of cookies. "Aw, you shouldn't have."

Irritated, she pushes passed him and slaps his hand away as he reaches for the plate. "They're not for you."

His once wobbly, whiskey-fuelled stance disappears. He stands tall and straight, rolling his shoulders in his sockets, a wicked smile cutting through his face. "You really shouldn't have done that." His tone flat and threatening.

It catches her completely off guard. This guy is Sam's best friend. They'd all known each other for years. This can't be happening.

Stunned, she raises her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

His laugh is loud and mocking as it echoes around the apartment. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his bones clicking inside his skin, he takes slow and menacing steps towards her.

She flinches, stepping away from him as he stalks closer to her. "What are you doing, Brady?"

"Brady's not here right now. Hasn't been for quite some time."

She's dumb-struck. And she doesn't know whether to scream or laugh hysterically. Because there's a man in her apartment threatening her. Talking like he's insane. But he's not a stranger. He's someone she thought was a friend.

It must be survival instinct that kicks in because before she knows what her body's doing she's dashing around the table and across the room. Falling to her knees in front of the computer desk, she yanks out the bottom drawer, her hands shaking as she pulls the knife free. The duct tape is hanging loose and it pinches the hairs on her arm.

She doesn't know what she's doing, or what she's supposed to do. But she stands, holding the knife in front of her as her hand quivers uncontrollably.

He's grinning like the cat who got the cream. All white teeth and dead, soulless eyes as he glares at the knife. "It's good to see that Sam hasn't completely cleansed himself of his former life."

She's backing away from him, her steps panicky and uncontrolled.

"Do you know how boring it's been?" Brady says, as her calves hit the dresser. "Listening to Sam's incessant pep talks. Hearing him whining on and on about looking to the future, about taking care of this pathetic shell of a vessel."

Raising his hand, he taps his head. "Brady doesn't even scream any more."

He's too close now and she's barely listening, her eyes flicking around the apartment looking for an escape, an out. But he's blocking all the exists.

"And I've been waiting for this moment for a very, very long time."

Her heart is pounding in her chest, a ball of fear sitting in a solid lump in her throat. She shoves out her arm, whipping the knife in a wide arch, the blade slashing through the air. "Get out!"

He's laughing again, his head tipping back on his shoulders. "What a little fire-cracker! Who'd have thought that under all that innocent sun-kissed skin there'd be the grit of a fighter."

With a flick of his hand the knife's torn from her grasp and thrown across the room. Terrified, she backs into the bedroom, completely bemused and blocked in. Panic is bubbling in her belly and all she can think about is begging. Begging for him to stop, to leave. But she won't let the words escape her lips. She's won't give him the satisfaction.

"Sam's getting sloppy, a useless bag of piss. He's drifting away from our master plan and we can't have that. It's time for Sam to man up and get with the program."

She jumps as her back hits the wall. Cold and unforgiving. She's trapped. No where to go, no one to turn to. Sam's name is on her lips but she bites her tongue until she tastes blood.

"And you, Jess, you're just part of the plan. A means to an end. The golden ticket."

She can smell his breath, putrid and sulphurous. He runs his hand down her cheek, fingering her blonde curls.

"But your time is up. He's ours now."

Disgust and bile roll in her gut and she spits in his face, the saliva sliding slowly down his nose. "Get the hell out of my house."

He snarls and drags a hand over his face. She sees her chance and she takes it. Pushing her hands against his chests she shoves him hard before dodging around him and heading full speed to the door.

She's at the doorway when she feels a pull, like she's tethered to a bungee. Her body snaps backwards and before she can really make sense of what's just happened her back plows into the wall, her lungs empty sharply and she's struggling to draw a breath.

She's dazed and gasping and the room is kind of hazy but she sees it. An impossible flash of black in his eyes and she'd scream if she could spare the oxygen.

She tries to move but she's pinned. And she feels her bare feet leave the floor as she slides up the plasterboard towards the ceiling.

This time she knows she screams.

"I kinda wish we had time for round two," he says around a shit-eating grin. "But you're about to have company and I've gotta set the scene and bail."

She's looking down at him now, glued to the ceiling and somehow her leg has gotten caught in an awkward position and it hurts and she doesn't know what to do but scream and scream.

"It's been nice knowing you, Jess."

There's a flash of unbelievable pain in her belly, it twists and slays deep and she wants to squirm away from it but she's paralyzed. She can't move and she can't scream and the world is spinning into black.

She watches Brady disappear into the bathroom and she hears him turn on the shower but he doesn't come back and she has to be dreaming. This can't be real. This can't possibly be happening. Not to her, not when she has so much to live for. So much she wants to do and see and experience.

If she'd have known this was it she'd have got up earlier and answered that call from her Mom. Had that second cup of coffee with Becky and Zach. Left another message for Sam.

Through the ringing in her ears she hears the key turn as the front door opens and closes.

"Jess! You home?"

In her head she's screaming for him to leave, to get out. She doesn't want him to see her like this. And she can't watch the same thing happen to him.

The darkness is taking over, calling to her as it tickles down the length of her spine. And she welcomes it.

The last thing she sees is Sam's dimples as he lays on their bed. The bed they chose, battled to get up the stairs and then build together. The bed they're still paying. A half-smile spreads across his face as he chews on the cookie she made for him.

And despite everything she feels the warmth of contentment. She's home, with the man she loves. And that's all she's ever wanted and could hope for. To make a life with someone. And as it all slides away she's grateful that she got to be the one to make Sam happy.

The End

A/N – After the revelations by Brady in 5.20 I thought this was the perfect opportunity to focus on Jess and flesh out her character a bit more. I hope you all enjoyed it and that it rang true for you. Take care, Madebyme