SPN Fic: You Each Time -- Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean -- R
Title: You Each Time
Author: sneaky_sena
Pairing: Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Summary: Sam always talks around the truth.
Jess says, "Tell me about the first time you fell in love." And Sam doesn't know what to say. He makes a joke, changes the subject. He hopes she didn't notice the fear and shame that flashed through him in the split second before he caught himself and turned the conversation away from such a dangerous turn.
----------
Jess' family is rich. She says they're middle class, but Sam knows it's not true. She grew up in a house surrounded by green rolling hills, a house with eight bedrooms for three people, a house with a shooting range in the basement. Jess' father offers to teach Sam to shoot. He's making an effort to get along with the guy who's dating his princess, his only child, and Sam appreciates it, so he agrees.
Jess' father talks to him about gun safety, about how to squeeze, not pull the trigger. He tells Sam that his goal is just to take his time and hit the paper. He tells Sam not to worry about hitting the target rings until he's had more practice.
Sam's tired from the flight and a little cranky and the smell of gunpowder reminds him of his father. He picks up the gun and empties the entire clip into the bullseye and then pauses. He places the gun down and looks at Jess' father nervously. He hadn't meant to show the man up, he'd just done what he'd been trained to do.
Jess' father isn't upset; he doesn't feel duped or like Sam played him for a fool. He laughs and claps Sam on the shoulder and at dinner (which is served to the family by a middle-aged woman that no one else even seems to notice is in the room) he tells everyone in a booming, jovial voice that Sam's a crack shot, that Sam knows his way around a weapon.
Later, when they're alone, Jess says, "I thought you hated guns."
Sam says, "I do." It's not the entire truth and they both know it, but the conversation never goes any further than that.
----------
Three months after moving in with Jess, Sam hears her scream. He's in the bathroom shaving and she's in the kitchen screaming and Sam's first thought is that something is killing her. He turns and runs through the bedroom, barely stopping to snatch up the knife he keeps taped to the underside of his bedside table and he rolls over the couch in the living room and flips the knife in his hand and throws it and--
It lands with a soft thunk in the wall, impaling the cockroach that had made Jess scream in the first place.
Sam sighs and sags with relief. "A cockroach, Jess?" he asks. "You scream like that for one little roach?"
"OK," says Jess. "One, it was the size of my hand, and two, did you grow up in a circus?"
Sam hadn't even thought about throwing the knife. It had been pure instinct. He'd heard Jess scream, assessed the source of her fear, and eliminated it. He hadn't thought at all beyond protecting Jess. He realizes that the eight-inch Bowie knife had probably been an overreaction on his part.
"We, uh..." he says with a shrug. "My dad, you know? Hunting. Lots of, lots of outdoorsy...stuff."
Jess nods. She looks from Sam to the impaled cockroach and shivers. "I will pay you a hundred dollars to clean that up."
Sam laughs and walks into the kitchen with an exaggerated swagger. "Come on, sugar lips, I'm the man of the house. It's my job to protect you from big, bad insects with only your lovin' for payment."
"If you tell anyone I screamed like that, I swear to God--" Jess tosses her head back and squeals with laughter as Sam grabs her and swings her around.
"It'll be our secret," he whispers before he kisses her gently, sliding his hands up to touch her flowing, golden hair.
----------
It's nearly two o'clock in the morning and Sam can't sleep. Jess kisses his shoulder and asks, "What are you thinking about?"
Sam's tired, so he says, "Dean." He takes a deep breath. "My brother."
Jess says, "I didn't know you had a brother." So Sam tells her about Dean. He tells her that Dean was the golden boy and Sam was the black sheep. He tells her how much Dean looks like pictures of their mother. He tells her how Dean and their father are almost exactly alike.
He doesn't tell her what Dean's mouth tastes like or how it feels to have Dean inside him. He doesn't tell her how Dean used to hold him at night and stroke his hair and whisper tender words when he thought Sam was asleep. He doesn't tell her that every time the phone rings he hopes it's Dean, because they haven't spoken in over a year and sometimes it feels like it's killing him.
Jess asks what Dean does for a living.
Sam says, "He hustles pool and runs credit card scams, mainly."
Jess laughs and nips at his chin. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
She looks at him for a long while, and he can tell the exact moment when she realizes that he's telling the truth. Her mouth quirks into a small smile. "Huh," she says before laying her head on his shoulder. "And you're the black sheep?"
Sam smiles up at the ceiling. "My family..." he says. "My family is complicated." He doesn't think he's ever made more of an understatement in his life.
----------
As many times as he tries, Sam can never really picture growing old with Jess by his side. He wants it. He wants to grow old with her more than he's ever wanted anything else, he just can't see it. He closes his eyes and tries to force himself to see them together, old and gray, sitting on the front porch holding hands. Instead he sees Dean as he saw him last, standing at the bus stop, hands balled into fists, telling Sam that if he ever needs anything, he can call.
Jess says, "What are you thinking about?"
Sam turns and strokes her hair, winds one of her curls around his finger. "How much I love you," he says.
Author: sneaky_sena
Pairing: Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Summary: Sam always talks around the truth.
Jess says, "Tell me about the first time you fell in love." And Sam doesn't know what to say. He makes a joke, changes the subject. He hopes she didn't notice the fear and shame that flashed through him in the split second before he caught himself and turned the conversation away from such a dangerous turn.
----------
Jess' family is rich. She says they're middle class, but Sam knows it's not true. She grew up in a house surrounded by green rolling hills, a house with eight bedrooms for three people, a house with a shooting range in the basement. Jess' father offers to teach Sam to shoot. He's making an effort to get along with the guy who's dating his princess, his only child, and Sam appreciates it, so he agrees.
Jess' father talks to him about gun safety, about how to squeeze, not pull the trigger. He tells Sam that his goal is just to take his time and hit the paper. He tells Sam not to worry about hitting the target rings until he's had more practice.
Sam's tired from the flight and a little cranky and the smell of gunpowder reminds him of his father. He picks up the gun and empties the entire clip into the bullseye and then pauses. He places the gun down and looks at Jess' father nervously. He hadn't meant to show the man up, he'd just done what he'd been trained to do.
Jess' father isn't upset; he doesn't feel duped or like Sam played him for a fool. He laughs and claps Sam on the shoulder and at dinner (which is served to the family by a middle-aged woman that no one else even seems to notice is in the room) he tells everyone in a booming, jovial voice that Sam's a crack shot, that Sam knows his way around a weapon.
Later, when they're alone, Jess says, "I thought you hated guns."
Sam says, "I do." It's not the entire truth and they both know it, but the conversation never goes any further than that.
----------
Three months after moving in with Jess, Sam hears her scream. He's in the bathroom shaving and she's in the kitchen screaming and Sam's first thought is that something is killing her. He turns and runs through the bedroom, barely stopping to snatch up the knife he keeps taped to the underside of his bedside table and he rolls over the couch in the living room and flips the knife in his hand and throws it and--
It lands with a soft thunk in the wall, impaling the cockroach that had made Jess scream in the first place.
Sam sighs and sags with relief. "A cockroach, Jess?" he asks. "You scream like that for one little roach?"
"OK," says Jess. "One, it was the size of my hand, and two, did you grow up in a circus?"
Sam hadn't even thought about throwing the knife. It had been pure instinct. He'd heard Jess scream, assessed the source of her fear, and eliminated it. He hadn't thought at all beyond protecting Jess. He realizes that the eight-inch Bowie knife had probably been an overreaction on his part.
"We, uh..." he says with a shrug. "My dad, you know? Hunting. Lots of, lots of outdoorsy...stuff."
Jess nods. She looks from Sam to the impaled cockroach and shivers. "I will pay you a hundred dollars to clean that up."
Sam laughs and walks into the kitchen with an exaggerated swagger. "Come on, sugar lips, I'm the man of the house. It's my job to protect you from big, bad insects with only your lovin' for payment."
"If you tell anyone I screamed like that, I swear to God--" Jess tosses her head back and squeals with laughter as Sam grabs her and swings her around.
"It'll be our secret," he whispers before he kisses her gently, sliding his hands up to touch her flowing, golden hair.
----------
It's nearly two o'clock in the morning and Sam can't sleep. Jess kisses his shoulder and asks, "What are you thinking about?"
Sam's tired, so he says, "Dean." He takes a deep breath. "My brother."
Jess says, "I didn't know you had a brother." So Sam tells her about Dean. He tells her that Dean was the golden boy and Sam was the black sheep. He tells her how much Dean looks like pictures of their mother. He tells her how Dean and their father are almost exactly alike.
He doesn't tell her what Dean's mouth tastes like or how it feels to have Dean inside him. He doesn't tell her how Dean used to hold him at night and stroke his hair and whisper tender words when he thought Sam was asleep. He doesn't tell her that every time the phone rings he hopes it's Dean, because they haven't spoken in over a year and sometimes it feels like it's killing him.
Jess asks what Dean does for a living.
Sam says, "He hustles pool and runs credit card scams, mainly."
Jess laughs and nips at his chin. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
She looks at him for a long while, and he can tell the exact moment when she realizes that he's telling the truth. Her mouth quirks into a small smile. "Huh," she says before laying her head on his shoulder. "And you're the black sheep?"
Sam smiles up at the ceiling. "My family..." he says. "My family is complicated." He doesn't think he's ever made more of an understatement in his life.
----------
As many times as he tries, Sam can never really picture growing old with Jess by his side. He wants it. He wants to grow old with her more than he's ever wanted anything else, he just can't see it. He closes his eyes and tries to force himself to see them together, old and gray, sitting on the front porch holding hands. Instead he sees Dean as he saw him last, standing at the bus stop, hands balled into fists, telling Sam that if he ever needs anything, he can call.
Jess says, "What are you thinking about?"
Sam turns and strokes her hair, winds one of her curls around his finger. "How much I love you," he says.