Sam can hardly breathe her name, as he kneels down next to the stone. Everything inside of Sam’s soul - it had been resting on her; her smile, that lifted him up when he was down. Her laugh - a laugh that always spread joy through him, and could magnetize the energy of a room.
The cookies. Sam’s eyes closed, sucking air through his teeth and trying to contain the pools of moisture rapidly swelling up behind his eyes.
The cookies had been on the counter - she’d been waiting for him, even after he’d ignored her question as to where he was going. Sam wished, with his entire soul, that he at least fed her some lie - had made sure to tell her, over and over, about how special she was - no, is - and about how important her life, her very existence, could be. His future had rested with her - with the ring attached to the bouquet of flowers, with the tears that, finally, streaked their course over his puffed up cheeks.
"I should have told you the truth," he whispered, because she deserved at least that much. She deserved to know, even in death, that he knew he’d made a mistake. He didn’t, however, regret leaving with Dean, or looking for their father. More than anything, as Sam’s arms wrapped around the cool stone - and as his face against the cool concrete - he regretted not being back in time to share in Jess’ fate - to stop that half of her story.
"I should have protected you," Sam mumbled, into the grave, into the only piece of Jess he could cling to anymore, "From having to die alone."