Fic: The Sky Is Broken (Sam/Jensen crossover) for cherryscott: Part One
Title: The Sky Is Broken
Author:
aynslee
Pairing: Sam/Jensen (SPN/RPS crossover)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,896
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Sam's not mine, and none of this is true about Jensen.
Summary: Future AU-Sam’s struggling to resume the life he had before the demon destroyed his world, but he never expected to come face to face with a man who looks just like the brother he lost. (In this world, Dean and John died during the S1 finale.)
Notes: For
cherryscott, (by request) a Sam/Jensen fic as a flipside to her Dean/Jared Damaged Verse. This fic is somewhat different, but it mirrors hers in many ways, and that was intentional.
Part One
Thank you
petiii!
Title from the songThe Sky Is Broken, by Moby
The Sky Is Broken
August 2007, Palo Alto, California
Sam Winchester knows how to study. That’s not particularly remarkable for a law student-most of them are used to reading for fourteen hours straight until their backs ache and their eyes blur with exhaustion-but Sam’s focus is unique. When a professor tells him to state the rule of law in Garratt v. Dailey, or any other case, Sam doesn’t shift and sputter and dig around looking for jumbled notes, he just answers.
When the other students ask how he does it, he shrugs and says he’s just lucky-he was born with a photographic memory. He mentions that he’s rabid in his note taking, and that he doesn’t quit for the day until he’s absorbed every relevant bit of information.
What he doesn’t mention is that his focus was honed by years of hunting and research, where one tiny falter meant life or death. Where one split second loss of focus meant hearing your father’s panicked shouts, watching your brother bleed, and thirty-two stitches in your head.
Tonight he’s sitting in Starbucks, tired and weary after a long day of classes, and by the time eight o’clock rolls around, he can’t remember how liquidated damages are different from actual damages. He closes his Contracts text slowly, hoping his usual coffee will help him perk up and study for a few more hours.
He’s grown accustomed to being back at Stanford while he finished up his undergrad hours and started law school, even though the people he knew before have moved on. He’s adapted, but it’s different now, knowing that his dad and Dean aren’t out there somewhere, chasing spirits and shooting rock salt, planning to show up randomly and crash his new life. It’s different, and it hurts, because this time he wants that-he wants them, but there’s nothing he can do to get his family back.
He’s rubbing his eyes and staring out the window, taking a sip of his coffee every few seconds when he sees a classmate waving to him from across the room, and he smiles at her, giving a small nod. “This case is a bitch,” she mouths emphatically, pointing down at her thick brown book, and Sam finds himself smiling at the way she’s wrinkling her nose, until she moves her hand up, tilting her head to the side, and swipes her forefinger across her throat.
Sam freezes.
He swallows hard, his stomach lurching, and forces himself to wave goodbye before he looks away, clenching his hands around the seat of his chair, willing his heart to slow down. Fuck. He should be able to see someone make that gesture without losing it.
But he can’t.
Each time he sees that motion, he’s right back there, on the side of the road, watching the demon slit his brother’s throat, the smell of sulfur in his nose, burning as he breathes, the feel of Dean’s blood, slick under his palm as he holds his hand over his brother’s neck.
He pushes his coffee away, unable to stand the sugary smell while his stomach churns. He fishes his legal research text out and pops the cap off his highlighter, but he just stares down at the citations blankly, trying not to think about Dean. He’s concentrating so intently on getting himself under control that he barely notices when a figure comes toward his table, standing practically on top of him.
“Jared.” The man yanks an extra chair up, spinning it around and straddling it. “You said you were headed to Mexico with Sandy. You know, I realize it’s been two whole days since we talked, but you could let your best friend know-“
Sam can’t speak at first, he can only stare with his mouth open. The man shares Dean’s features, and his body resembles Dean’s so much that Sam tenses, and runs through a list of possibilities in his head: ghost, shapeshifter, demon possession, but no, none of those work.
“I’m not whoever you’re looking for,” Sam says. His voice is too quiet, so he speaks louder. “I’m a law student at Stanford.” He looks back down at his book, ducking his head. “Sorry.”
The man pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Well, holy shit, you look just like one of my good friends,” he says, not moving away, but sitting there, staring.
Sam looks up again, swallowing hard. The man is wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up enough to show his forearms, and dressy jeans, the kind Sam’s seen on some of the law students, but never owned. The man is still staring at him, looking him up and down until Sam coughs, self-conscious about being scrutinized.
“God, I’m sorry for staring like that. I’m still just shocked over here,” the man says, shaking his head and grinning. “And you can’t be Jared’s twin-he loves for people to look at him-crazy bastard,” he says with an affectionate laugh, and holds out his hand. “My name’s Jensen.”
“I’m Sam.”
“Sam?” Jensen asks, muttering something under his breath. “I’m sorry, man, you just don’t know how weird this is. I swear I don’t usually harass strangers in Starbucks, but my friend, Jared, the one you look like, the two of us are on this show, and he plays a character named Sam.”
“A show?” Dean always said people were crazier than spirits, and Sam’s thinking his brother had that one right. “I should go,” Sam says, gesturing toward the door, intending to pack up his stuff and get away from this person as quickly as he can.
“Wait. Don’t leave,” Jensen says, standing up and touching Sam’s arm.
Sam looks down at Jensen’s hand on his arm, thinking that it doesn’t feel at all like Dean-Dean’s grip was firm and sure and possessive-Dean was in charge. Jensen’s is soft and tentative, reassuring.
“Why?” Sam asks, stepping back and crossing his arms.
“I don’t know, man. This is just too weird. You look just like Jay, and your name’s Sam,” Jensen says, trailing off as his eyes move to Sam’s crossed arms, where his sleeves have ridden up. “This bracelet…,” Jensen frowns at Sam’s wrist. He skips over Sam’s bracelet, moving to the next one, the black one that’s closest to Sam’s hand, rubbing his fingers over it.
“It was my brother’s,” Sam says, his throat tightening, unsure as to why he’s letting this stranger pry into his life.
Jensen opens his mouth and then closes it again, finally speaking. “Is his name Dean?”
***
“So you got to come back to school,” Jensen says after Sam’s managed to tell him that things didn’t end so well for the real Winchesters, even though Dean shot and killed the yellow-eyed bastard even as he was slicing his brother’s throat open.
Jensen’s tone is even, but Sam can see something like pity in his eyes. “The LSAT scores are good for five years, and after Dean-” Sam stops; he’s still not ready to talk about this.
“You couldn’t keep hunting,” Jensen finishes for him.
Sam nods his head. He couldn’t keep it going, not without Dean-the few times a year that he gets a vision, Sam calls Bobby and he takes over from there. He doesn’t even keep a gun now, and the sharpest weapon he owns is a paring knife.
“I know it must be hard. We can talk about something else.” Jensen reaches over and pats Sam’s shoulder briefly. “So how do you like it here? How’s law school treating you?”
Sam could tell Jensen all about it, how he spends his free time typing case briefs and outlining for class. He could tell him how he sits in the same spot whether he’s in Civil Procedure or Property, right at the front, closest to the professor, and how sometimes he misses Dean so much that he can’t stand to be around the other students while they blather on about trivial things, like which first year student is sleeping with the Torts professor, or how bad the Westlaw search engine sucks.
He could tell Jensen how he smiles, but it never feels real, and how he’s lost everything in the world that ever mattered to him. He could tell Jensen that sometimes he’ll force himself to be social again, like he was in those first years of undergrad, and he’ll climb in the back of someone’s Tahoe or Yukon, and the smell of fresh leather and the tug of a tight seat belt will remind him of what’s missing: the Impala’s worn seats and the bitter smell of gunpowder. He could tell Jensen how he’ll sit in a place with tofu and veggie wraps, but all he’ll think about are greasy dinners eaten over newspaper clippings.
He could tell Jensen how it always goes back to Dean.
But Jensen doesn’t want to hear that.
So Sam shakes his head, and smiles as much as he can. “It’s good to be back,” he says. “Now tell me about yourself.”
***
Jensen tells Sam about his friends, close friends that he’s had for years. And as he talks, their names spill out: Jared, Tommy, Mike, and Chris, until Jensen’s grinning and making big motions with his hands, telling him a story about Jared imitating Chevy Chase ala National Lampoons on one of the Vancouver hills the last time they were on set.
Sam feels himself relax back into his chair, and he’s calm enough to ask, “So what happened to Sam and Dean and John on your show?”
“We’re still filming. We’re just on a two-week hiatus. Season three will start airing in this week.” Jensen says this cautiously, as if he’s afraid that Sam won’t be able to handle it, and Sam notices that he doesn’t really answer the question.
Sam bites his lip and nods, relieved in a way that Jensen didn’t give him every detail of how the Winchester family conquered evil and prevailed over all the bad things in the world.
Jensen scoots forward in his chair, touching Sam’s hand this time. “Sam. It was incredible to meet you. I mean it, I’ve always had respect for Sam and Dean and John, but to know that you’re real…,” Jensen says, trailing off as he closes his own hand around Sam’s.
Sam takes a deep breath, and blinks his eyes. “It’s always good to hear that people appreciated us, no matter what the reason is,” he says, oddly comforted by Jensen’s hand on his.
***
Jensen’s got to go back to Vancouver in two days, but he leaves Sam his email and phone number, and Sam does the same.
On Thursday, once Jensen’s back in Canada, Sam tries to watch the show. He’s a little nervous about seeing Jensen dressed up like his brother, although he’s curious enough to try it. He’s okay when the opening comes on, and he sees the woman who’s supposed to be his mother, but the sight of a four-year-old boy running with a baby in his arms sends him over the edge, and he has to turn the television off.
***
The next morning, Sam has an email from Jensen.
Sam,
I was just thinking about you. I hope you’re doing okay.
Jensen
He waits a few days and emails Jensen back, but doesn’t tell him about his run-in with the show. He rambles about the weather, and the bike he’s thinking about buying with his stipend money. After he hits send, he decides that he’ll try watching Jensen on television again, but this time he goes the safer route, and downloads an episode of Dark Angel from itunes.
They email almost every day after that.
Jensen sends pictures of Jared doing outrageous things-there’s one of him in a pink wig, and then another of Jared wearing vampire teeth, pretending to bite Jensen. Sam laughs out loud-Jared really is the handful that Jensen claims he is, and Sam thinks he might like to meet him someday.
Sam finds that he likes watching Dark Angel-he gets to see Jensen in action, without the trauma of seeing his own life ripped apart, and he orders all of season two from Netflix. He tells Jensen about it over email, and Sam swears he can see Jensen’s blush over the computer monitor.
The first time Jensen’s shirtless for a fight scene, Sam moves closer to the screen, staring at Jensen, watching him quirk his lips into a smirk and cock his head to the side. Sam stares and stares, and notices the graceful way that Jensen moves, soft and sleek, his bare skin pale and creamy, and Sam wonders how it would feel to kiss the space between Jensen’s shoulders.
He doesn’t email Jensen about that.
September 2007
Three weeks after they meet, he gets a phone call from Jensen. “I’m heading back to the Bay Area to start filming a movie, and I’ve got a long weekend free,” he says. “You wanna catch up sometime?”
Sam doesn’t know if this is a good idea or not, but he says yes anyway.
When Sam spends a few extra minutes looking for a polo shirt instead of pulling on whatever’s clean, he knows he’s in trouble-he hasn’t consciously picked out a shirt since he first started dating Jess. He tries to tell himself that he just wants to look as neat as Jensen will, but that’s not true.
Fuck.
Sam finally chooses a dark green long sleeved t-shirt that looks fairly presentable, and hurries out to meet Jensen. While Jensen rattles off places for them to visit, Sam shoves his hands down in his pockets and sneaks glances toward Jensen and they walk to the car, admiring the shape of his ass in his tailored jeans and the way his shoulders pull at his shirt.
During the car ride, Jensen talks about work, and the latest crazy stunts that Jared’s pulled, and Sam tells him all about how one of his fellow students cried during his first oral argument, and by the time they get to the ocean, Sam’s face is hurting from grinning so much.
***
Sam settles onto his seat with ease and pushes off the dock with his oar, paddling away from the dock. He watches Jensen fall into rhythm with him, both of them moving together, pulling away from the other tourists. “You look like you know your way around this thing,” Sam says, nodding toward the canoe.
“Yeah, summers in Texas.” Jensen hoists his paddle back into the water, dragging it backward through the sea and turning them around. “Fishing, canoeing, horseback riding-I did all the usual Boy Scout stuff.”
Once they’re away from the shore, Sam can’t hold it in any longer. He’d rather wait until they’re done today, or maybe send it in an email, but he’s always been too direct for his own good, and the words come spilling out. “Jensen, I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t want you to feel like it’s necessary.”
Jensen stops paddling, balancing the bright plastic handle over his knees. “What do you mean?”
Sam hangs onto his paddle with one hand, letting it dangle uselessly in the water. “You know, hanging out with me, being my friend.”
“I like you,” Jensen says with a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “Nothing wrong with hanging out with someone you like, right?”
“No, of course not. And I don’t want to sound like I don’t want to be around you-I do. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to stick around out of pity.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Sam.”
Sam raises his eyebrows, and he doesn’t believe Jensen for a second.
“I do admit that I feel bad for you-because I think I have an idea of what you’ve gone through, and how that must feel. But I don’t pity you. Pity is for the guy who wants friends and doesn’t have them,” Jensen says, pointing at Sam. “But you, Samuel Winchester, could have people hanging all over you if you wanted them.”
Sam feels his cheeks redden while Jensen grins at him, and he scratches the back of his neck, looking away from Jensen’s gaze. “I don’t know about that.”
“Seriously, man, maybe I’m being annoying, but I like you.” Jensen rolls the handle of his oar up and down his legs, bouncing it on his knees. “That’s all there is to it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be bugging you so much.”
“Okay, point taken,” Sam says, blushing harder, picking his paddle back up with both hands.
Sam’s relieved that Jensen’s not irritated, but he’s still not sure how to behave, because the longer they’re together, the more this outing feels like a date. “Sorry about all of that-Dean always said I-” Sam stops and smiles, feeling like a complete jackass for interrogating someone who’s only been nice to him. “It drove him crazy when I was so persistent.”
Jensen grins, big and wide, and it’s all over his face, eyes crinkling. “Persistence. I like that,” Jensen says as he squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Wanna go get a snowcone?”
October 2007
Once he’s back in Canada, Jensen calls Sam at least every other day, full of stories and jokes and tales of the interesting stuff that happened on set, and he always asks what Sam’s been doing, insisting that he wants to hear about Sam’s day, even if Sam thinks it was dull and tedious.
In mid-October, Jensen tells him that he’s got to come back to the Bay Area for his movie, and suggests that they get together again. After he hangs up the phone, Sam paces. He’s had buddies before, once or twice in junior high and high school when Dad kept them in one place for a few months, and then he had several during undergrad. And if the friendships he had before were normal, then he’s pretty sure this-whatever it is that he has with Jensen-goes way beyond buddy.
***
Jensen picks Sam up on a Friday after his last class-he’s already rented a bike to match Sam’s, and they head south to Pebble Beach.
As they ride their bikes down the 17-Mile Drive, Sam enjoys the wind on his face, and the burn in his muscles, and he smiles to himself, watching Jensen in front of him, loving the way his back moves under his thin t-shirt.
They take a break just past the golf course, plopping down beside one of the larger rocks. Jensen’s sitting really close, his thigh brushing against Sam’s, and Sam doesn’t move away. He turns to look at Jensen, planning to tell him something really dry and boring, along the lines of how exercising is really helping him feel better, and that he thinks he’ll have more energy now, but he never gets the words out because Jensen scoots closer and kisses him.
It’s a slow easy kiss, unrushed and sweet, and Jensen’s lips are wet from the bottled water. Sam is so surprised that he doesn’t kiss back, but he closes his eyes, and tilts his head to the side, relishing the faint taste of wintergreen gum on Jensen’s tongue.
Sam doesn’t move, but he opens his mouth more, letting Jensen kiss him until Jensen pulls back. “It must be really weird for you to kiss me since I look like your brother,” he says, biting his lip.
“Not really,” Sam says, the words out of his mouth before he has time to stop them.
Jensen just stares, and then blows his breath out, exhaling as the realization crosses over his face. He leans back against the rock, rubbing his hands against his jeans.
Sam wants to apologize; he wants to tell Jensen that when he looks at him, he doesn’t see his brother-he sees a polite, well-mannered guy who’s funny and sweet, and who also happens to be gorgeous, and who he’s starting to really fall for. But Sam can’t say that, and he can’t look at Jensen; he can’t stand to see if Jensen looks disgusted or horrified, so he bows his head and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I never intended for you to find out about that.”
Jensen still doesn’t look at Sam, but his voice is even. “Can you tell me about it?”
He doesn’t think Jensen really wants to hear this, but Sam feels like he owes him an explanation. “There was no one else that understood what we went through. No one,” Sam says slowly, staring out into the ocean.
Jensen doesn’t say anything, but he reaches over and puts his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing his palm in circles.
Continued in part two.
Author:
aynslee
Pairing: Sam/Jensen (SPN/RPS crossover)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,896
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Sam's not mine, and none of this is true about Jensen.
Summary: Future AU-Sam’s struggling to resume the life he had before the demon destroyed his world, but he never expected to come face to face with a man who looks just like the brother he lost. (In this world, Dean and John died during the S1 finale.)
Notes: For
cherryscott, (by request) a Sam/Jensen fic as a flipside to her Dean/Jared Damaged Verse. This fic is somewhat different, but it mirrors hers in many ways, and that was intentional.
Part One
Thank you
petiii!
Title from the songThe Sky Is Broken, by Moby
The Sky Is Broken
August 2007, Palo Alto, California
Sam Winchester knows how to study. That’s not particularly remarkable for a law student-most of them are used to reading for fourteen hours straight until their backs ache and their eyes blur with exhaustion-but Sam’s focus is unique. When a professor tells him to state the rule of law in Garratt v. Dailey, or any other case, Sam doesn’t shift and sputter and dig around looking for jumbled notes, he just answers.
When the other students ask how he does it, he shrugs and says he’s just lucky-he was born with a photographic memory. He mentions that he’s rabid in his note taking, and that he doesn’t quit for the day until he’s absorbed every relevant bit of information.
What he doesn’t mention is that his focus was honed by years of hunting and research, where one tiny falter meant life or death. Where one split second loss of focus meant hearing your father’s panicked shouts, watching your brother bleed, and thirty-two stitches in your head.
Tonight he’s sitting in Starbucks, tired and weary after a long day of classes, and by the time eight o’clock rolls around, he can’t remember how liquidated damages are different from actual damages. He closes his Contracts text slowly, hoping his usual coffee will help him perk up and study for a few more hours.
He’s grown accustomed to being back at Stanford while he finished up his undergrad hours and started law school, even though the people he knew before have moved on. He’s adapted, but it’s different now, knowing that his dad and Dean aren’t out there somewhere, chasing spirits and shooting rock salt, planning to show up randomly and crash his new life. It’s different, and it hurts, because this time he wants that-he wants them, but there’s nothing he can do to get his family back.
He’s rubbing his eyes and staring out the window, taking a sip of his coffee every few seconds when he sees a classmate waving to him from across the room, and he smiles at her, giving a small nod. “This case is a bitch,” she mouths emphatically, pointing down at her thick brown book, and Sam finds himself smiling at the way she’s wrinkling her nose, until she moves her hand up, tilting her head to the side, and swipes her forefinger across her throat.
Sam freezes.
He swallows hard, his stomach lurching, and forces himself to wave goodbye before he looks away, clenching his hands around the seat of his chair, willing his heart to slow down. Fuck. He should be able to see someone make that gesture without losing it.
But he can’t.
Each time he sees that motion, he’s right back there, on the side of the road, watching the demon slit his brother’s throat, the smell of sulfur in his nose, burning as he breathes, the feel of Dean’s blood, slick under his palm as he holds his hand over his brother’s neck.
He pushes his coffee away, unable to stand the sugary smell while his stomach churns. He fishes his legal research text out and pops the cap off his highlighter, but he just stares down at the citations blankly, trying not to think about Dean. He’s concentrating so intently on getting himself under control that he barely notices when a figure comes toward his table, standing practically on top of him.
“Jared.” The man yanks an extra chair up, spinning it around and straddling it. “You said you were headed to Mexico with Sandy. You know, I realize it’s been two whole days since we talked, but you could let your best friend know-“
Sam can’t speak at first, he can only stare with his mouth open. The man shares Dean’s features, and his body resembles Dean’s so much that Sam tenses, and runs through a list of possibilities in his head: ghost, shapeshifter, demon possession, but no, none of those work.
“I’m not whoever you’re looking for,” Sam says. His voice is too quiet, so he speaks louder. “I’m a law student at Stanford.” He looks back down at his book, ducking his head. “Sorry.”
The man pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Well, holy shit, you look just like one of my good friends,” he says, not moving away, but sitting there, staring.
Sam looks up again, swallowing hard. The man is wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up enough to show his forearms, and dressy jeans, the kind Sam’s seen on some of the law students, but never owned. The man is still staring at him, looking him up and down until Sam coughs, self-conscious about being scrutinized.
“God, I’m sorry for staring like that. I’m still just shocked over here,” the man says, shaking his head and grinning. “And you can’t be Jared’s twin-he loves for people to look at him-crazy bastard,” he says with an affectionate laugh, and holds out his hand. “My name’s Jensen.”
“I’m Sam.”
“Sam?” Jensen asks, muttering something under his breath. “I’m sorry, man, you just don’t know how weird this is. I swear I don’t usually harass strangers in Starbucks, but my friend, Jared, the one you look like, the two of us are on this show, and he plays a character named Sam.”
“A show?” Dean always said people were crazier than spirits, and Sam’s thinking his brother had that one right. “I should go,” Sam says, gesturing toward the door, intending to pack up his stuff and get away from this person as quickly as he can.
“Wait. Don’t leave,” Jensen says, standing up and touching Sam’s arm.
Sam looks down at Jensen’s hand on his arm, thinking that it doesn’t feel at all like Dean-Dean’s grip was firm and sure and possessive-Dean was in charge. Jensen’s is soft and tentative, reassuring.
“Why?” Sam asks, stepping back and crossing his arms.
“I don’t know, man. This is just too weird. You look just like Jay, and your name’s Sam,” Jensen says, trailing off as his eyes move to Sam’s crossed arms, where his sleeves have ridden up. “This bracelet…,” Jensen frowns at Sam’s wrist. He skips over Sam’s bracelet, moving to the next one, the black one that’s closest to Sam’s hand, rubbing his fingers over it.
“It was my brother’s,” Sam says, his throat tightening, unsure as to why he’s letting this stranger pry into his life.
Jensen opens his mouth and then closes it again, finally speaking. “Is his name Dean?”
***
“So you got to come back to school,” Jensen says after Sam’s managed to tell him that things didn’t end so well for the real Winchesters, even though Dean shot and killed the yellow-eyed bastard even as he was slicing his brother’s throat open.
Jensen’s tone is even, but Sam can see something like pity in his eyes. “The LSAT scores are good for five years, and after Dean-” Sam stops; he’s still not ready to talk about this.
“You couldn’t keep hunting,” Jensen finishes for him.
Sam nods his head. He couldn’t keep it going, not without Dean-the few times a year that he gets a vision, Sam calls Bobby and he takes over from there. He doesn’t even keep a gun now, and the sharpest weapon he owns is a paring knife.
“I know it must be hard. We can talk about something else.” Jensen reaches over and pats Sam’s shoulder briefly. “So how do you like it here? How’s law school treating you?”
Sam could tell Jensen all about it, how he spends his free time typing case briefs and outlining for class. He could tell him how he sits in the same spot whether he’s in Civil Procedure or Property, right at the front, closest to the professor, and how sometimes he misses Dean so much that he can’t stand to be around the other students while they blather on about trivial things, like which first year student is sleeping with the Torts professor, or how bad the Westlaw search engine sucks.
He could tell Jensen how he smiles, but it never feels real, and how he’s lost everything in the world that ever mattered to him. He could tell Jensen that sometimes he’ll force himself to be social again, like he was in those first years of undergrad, and he’ll climb in the back of someone’s Tahoe or Yukon, and the smell of fresh leather and the tug of a tight seat belt will remind him of what’s missing: the Impala’s worn seats and the bitter smell of gunpowder. He could tell Jensen how he’ll sit in a place with tofu and veggie wraps, but all he’ll think about are greasy dinners eaten over newspaper clippings.
He could tell Jensen how it always goes back to Dean.
But Jensen doesn’t want to hear that.
So Sam shakes his head, and smiles as much as he can. “It’s good to be back,” he says. “Now tell me about yourself.”
***
Jensen tells Sam about his friends, close friends that he’s had for years. And as he talks, their names spill out: Jared, Tommy, Mike, and Chris, until Jensen’s grinning and making big motions with his hands, telling him a story about Jared imitating Chevy Chase ala National Lampoons on one of the Vancouver hills the last time they were on set.
Sam feels himself relax back into his chair, and he’s calm enough to ask, “So what happened to Sam and Dean and John on your show?”
“We’re still filming. We’re just on a two-week hiatus. Season three will start airing in this week.” Jensen says this cautiously, as if he’s afraid that Sam won’t be able to handle it, and Sam notices that he doesn’t really answer the question.
Sam bites his lip and nods, relieved in a way that Jensen didn’t give him every detail of how the Winchester family conquered evil and prevailed over all the bad things in the world.
Jensen scoots forward in his chair, touching Sam’s hand this time. “Sam. It was incredible to meet you. I mean it, I’ve always had respect for Sam and Dean and John, but to know that you’re real…,” Jensen says, trailing off as he closes his own hand around Sam’s.
Sam takes a deep breath, and blinks his eyes. “It’s always good to hear that people appreciated us, no matter what the reason is,” he says, oddly comforted by Jensen’s hand on his.
***
Jensen’s got to go back to Vancouver in two days, but he leaves Sam his email and phone number, and Sam does the same.
On Thursday, once Jensen’s back in Canada, Sam tries to watch the show. He’s a little nervous about seeing Jensen dressed up like his brother, although he’s curious enough to try it. He’s okay when the opening comes on, and he sees the woman who’s supposed to be his mother, but the sight of a four-year-old boy running with a baby in his arms sends him over the edge, and he has to turn the television off.
***
The next morning, Sam has an email from Jensen.
Sam,
I was just thinking about you. I hope you’re doing okay.
Jensen
He waits a few days and emails Jensen back, but doesn’t tell him about his run-in with the show. He rambles about the weather, and the bike he’s thinking about buying with his stipend money. After he hits send, he decides that he’ll try watching Jensen on television again, but this time he goes the safer route, and downloads an episode of Dark Angel from itunes.
They email almost every day after that.
Jensen sends pictures of Jared doing outrageous things-there’s one of him in a pink wig, and then another of Jared wearing vampire teeth, pretending to bite Jensen. Sam laughs out loud-Jared really is the handful that Jensen claims he is, and Sam thinks he might like to meet him someday.
Sam finds that he likes watching Dark Angel-he gets to see Jensen in action, without the trauma of seeing his own life ripped apart, and he orders all of season two from Netflix. He tells Jensen about it over email, and Sam swears he can see Jensen’s blush over the computer monitor.
The first time Jensen’s shirtless for a fight scene, Sam moves closer to the screen, staring at Jensen, watching him quirk his lips into a smirk and cock his head to the side. Sam stares and stares, and notices the graceful way that Jensen moves, soft and sleek, his bare skin pale and creamy, and Sam wonders how it would feel to kiss the space between Jensen’s shoulders.
He doesn’t email Jensen about that.
September 2007
Three weeks after they meet, he gets a phone call from Jensen. “I’m heading back to the Bay Area to start filming a movie, and I’ve got a long weekend free,” he says. “You wanna catch up sometime?”
Sam doesn’t know if this is a good idea or not, but he says yes anyway.
When Sam spends a few extra minutes looking for a polo shirt instead of pulling on whatever’s clean, he knows he’s in trouble-he hasn’t consciously picked out a shirt since he first started dating Jess. He tries to tell himself that he just wants to look as neat as Jensen will, but that’s not true.
Fuck.
Sam finally chooses a dark green long sleeved t-shirt that looks fairly presentable, and hurries out to meet Jensen. While Jensen rattles off places for them to visit, Sam shoves his hands down in his pockets and sneaks glances toward Jensen and they walk to the car, admiring the shape of his ass in his tailored jeans and the way his shoulders pull at his shirt.
During the car ride, Jensen talks about work, and the latest crazy stunts that Jared’s pulled, and Sam tells him all about how one of his fellow students cried during his first oral argument, and by the time they get to the ocean, Sam’s face is hurting from grinning so much.
***
Sam settles onto his seat with ease and pushes off the dock with his oar, paddling away from the dock. He watches Jensen fall into rhythm with him, both of them moving together, pulling away from the other tourists. “You look like you know your way around this thing,” Sam says, nodding toward the canoe.
“Yeah, summers in Texas.” Jensen hoists his paddle back into the water, dragging it backward through the sea and turning them around. “Fishing, canoeing, horseback riding-I did all the usual Boy Scout stuff.”
Once they’re away from the shore, Sam can’t hold it in any longer. He’d rather wait until they’re done today, or maybe send it in an email, but he’s always been too direct for his own good, and the words come spilling out. “Jensen, I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t want you to feel like it’s necessary.”
Jensen stops paddling, balancing the bright plastic handle over his knees. “What do you mean?”
Sam hangs onto his paddle with one hand, letting it dangle uselessly in the water. “You know, hanging out with me, being my friend.”
“I like you,” Jensen says with a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “Nothing wrong with hanging out with someone you like, right?”
“No, of course not. And I don’t want to sound like I don’t want to be around you-I do. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to stick around out of pity.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Sam.”
Sam raises his eyebrows, and he doesn’t believe Jensen for a second.
“I do admit that I feel bad for you-because I think I have an idea of what you’ve gone through, and how that must feel. But I don’t pity you. Pity is for the guy who wants friends and doesn’t have them,” Jensen says, pointing at Sam. “But you, Samuel Winchester, could have people hanging all over you if you wanted them.”
Sam feels his cheeks redden while Jensen grins at him, and he scratches the back of his neck, looking away from Jensen’s gaze. “I don’t know about that.”
“Seriously, man, maybe I’m being annoying, but I like you.” Jensen rolls the handle of his oar up and down his legs, bouncing it on his knees. “That’s all there is to it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be bugging you so much.”
“Okay, point taken,” Sam says, blushing harder, picking his paddle back up with both hands.
Sam’s relieved that Jensen’s not irritated, but he’s still not sure how to behave, because the longer they’re together, the more this outing feels like a date. “Sorry about all of that-Dean always said I-” Sam stops and smiles, feeling like a complete jackass for interrogating someone who’s only been nice to him. “It drove him crazy when I was so persistent.”
Jensen grins, big and wide, and it’s all over his face, eyes crinkling. “Persistence. I like that,” Jensen says as he squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Wanna go get a snowcone?”
October 2007
Once he’s back in Canada, Jensen calls Sam at least every other day, full of stories and jokes and tales of the interesting stuff that happened on set, and he always asks what Sam’s been doing, insisting that he wants to hear about Sam’s day, even if Sam thinks it was dull and tedious.
In mid-October, Jensen tells him that he’s got to come back to the Bay Area for his movie, and suggests that they get together again. After he hangs up the phone, Sam paces. He’s had buddies before, once or twice in junior high and high school when Dad kept them in one place for a few months, and then he had several during undergrad. And if the friendships he had before were normal, then he’s pretty sure this-whatever it is that he has with Jensen-goes way beyond buddy.
***
Jensen picks Sam up on a Friday after his last class-he’s already rented a bike to match Sam’s, and they head south to Pebble Beach.
As they ride their bikes down the 17-Mile Drive, Sam enjoys the wind on his face, and the burn in his muscles, and he smiles to himself, watching Jensen in front of him, loving the way his back moves under his thin t-shirt.
They take a break just past the golf course, plopping down beside one of the larger rocks. Jensen’s sitting really close, his thigh brushing against Sam’s, and Sam doesn’t move away. He turns to look at Jensen, planning to tell him something really dry and boring, along the lines of how exercising is really helping him feel better, and that he thinks he’ll have more energy now, but he never gets the words out because Jensen scoots closer and kisses him.
It’s a slow easy kiss, unrushed and sweet, and Jensen’s lips are wet from the bottled water. Sam is so surprised that he doesn’t kiss back, but he closes his eyes, and tilts his head to the side, relishing the faint taste of wintergreen gum on Jensen’s tongue.
Sam doesn’t move, but he opens his mouth more, letting Jensen kiss him until Jensen pulls back. “It must be really weird for you to kiss me since I look like your brother,” he says, biting his lip.
“Not really,” Sam says, the words out of his mouth before he has time to stop them.
Jensen just stares, and then blows his breath out, exhaling as the realization crosses over his face. He leans back against the rock, rubbing his hands against his jeans.
Sam wants to apologize; he wants to tell Jensen that when he looks at him, he doesn’t see his brother-he sees a polite, well-mannered guy who’s funny and sweet, and who also happens to be gorgeous, and who he’s starting to really fall for. But Sam can’t say that, and he can’t look at Jensen; he can’t stand to see if Jensen looks disgusted or horrified, so he bows his head and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I never intended for you to find out about that.”
Jensen still doesn’t look at Sam, but his voice is even. “Can you tell me about it?”
He doesn’t think Jensen really wants to hear this, but Sam feels like he owes him an explanation. “There was no one else that understood what we went through. No one,” Sam says slowly, staring out into the ocean.
Jensen doesn’t say anything, but he reaches over and puts his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing his palm in circles.
Continued in part two.