SPN FIC - Sunshine (On My Shoulders)
Some days? It doesn't take much prodding. Sam, the Awesome Boyfriend.
Characters: Sam and Jess
Pairings: Sam/Jess
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 936 words
Disclaimer: Kripke owns, I tinker.
Sunshine (On My Shoulders)
By Carol Davis
"It really is -" Jess starts to say as she hands him his beer. In a glass. That was Kimberly's doing, Sam suspects, because Jonah doesn't seem like the type to bother with glasses. Or plates. Or cutlery. Not that it matters; one's fussy, one's not, they're both good people, and they make him laugh.
He needs to laugh. Needs the distraction. Because no matter what kind of promise he made to himself when he got on that bus two and a half years ago, no matter how many doors he closed - and locked - in between himself and Dean, he still feels like crap every time he lets January 24 slide by without making a call to say "happy birthday."
He needs a distraction. A way to forget.
The best distraction of all is standing in front of him, sipping iced tea from a glass that matches his. She tips her head back and closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sun warm her face and neck.
"Really is what?" Sam asks.
"Too much."
"You said you'd let me decide."
"I did," she says, and gives him a mildly chiding look. "But I didn't know you were going to go crazy."
"I didn't go crazy."
"You did."
"Not that crazy."
He thinks about last spring, when they started going together. When they got to the point of swapping information.
Her birthday? January 24.
It took him a long time to decide that the coincidence wasn't the universe's way of thumbing its nose at his efforts to keep his family on the other side of a locked door. Or maybe it was; who the hell knew. Either way, this particular coincidence wasn't an easy fit into the "eh, you can ignore this" category.
He tried anyway. Decided that when this particular January 24 arrived, he'd do it up in style. For her. Because January 24 was her birthday.
And John Belushi's, for whatever that was worth.
"I'm not - I don't want to sound ungrateful," Jess says, rubbing her thumb against the side of her glass. "But, Sam -"
Her voice is gentle. Not chiding.
"It was my decision," he says firmly.
She looks at him over the rim of the glass. Her thoughts are straying all over the place, judging by the way her face shifts. She wants to be upset with him. She knows his bank account isn't exactly overflowing. Luckily, though, she doesn't know how much it's not overflowing.
And she has no idea that the money for her gift didn't come out of the bank.
He won it nine days ago, in a bar. At a pool table. From a guy who, to Sam's enormous relief, wasn't pissed off enough to kick Sam's ass - though that may have had something to do with the fact that Sam was bigger than he was, and significantly less plastered.
That was a gift from Dean, he supposes: knowing how to hustle pool. He watched Dean do it a hundred times, with varying success, and if Sam Winchester is anything, he's a good student. Thanks to his brother, he knows how to line up a mark. When to press his luck, and when to walk away.
Nine days ago, he walked away with a little over three hundred dollars.
He gave Jess the camera this morning, carefully wrapped in a page from the Sunday comics and tied with a red ribbon.
"I love it," she says.
It's sitting on the little table, out here on Kimberly and Jonah's balcony, reflecting the Southern California sunlight. It's a tiny thing, the best model he could get for his three hundred dollars, rated highly by Consumer Reports and by Peter, the clerk at Best Buy. Before Sam bought it, he made a call to Jess's sister to make sure no one in her family would trump him by giving her the same thing. Or a better one; the Moores aren't wealthy, but for them three hundred dollars is…
She's worth every nickel.
If it came down to a choice between that camera, and something more practical, like a new coat, or several months' worth of commuter passes, or pretty much anything for himself, there'd be no contest. She wanted a camera.
She.
Wanted a camera.
He just wants her. Like she is right now, bathed in warm sunlight, content, wanting for nothing. Twenty-one years old.
"I love you," he says softly.
Jess's expression shifts again. She sets down the glass of iced tea and takes his face between her hands. She spends a long moment looking at him before she kisses him. "I love you too," she whispers close to his mouth. Then she takes the beer out of his hand and sets it beside her glass on the little table. When she picks up the camera he makes a show of protest, just for a second, because he knew when he bought her the camera that she was going to drive him crazy taking pictures of him. That's awkward, a little; other than the disposables Dad bought a couple of times to document some part of whatever hunt he was on, the Winchesters never owned a camera, so posing isn't something Sam's done a lot of.
He thinks, now and then, about the ancient belief that the camera can steal part of your soul.
If that's true, if it's Jessica who's stealing it, she can have it.
Especially today.
When she raises the camera to her eye, nose wrinkling underneath it in furious concentration, he smiles.
For her.
Characters: Sam and Jess
Pairings: Sam/Jess
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 936 words
Disclaimer: Kripke owns, I tinker.
Sunshine (On My Shoulders)
By Carol Davis
"It really is -" Jess starts to say as she hands him his beer. In a glass. That was Kimberly's doing, Sam suspects, because Jonah doesn't seem like the type to bother with glasses. Or plates. Or cutlery. Not that it matters; one's fussy, one's not, they're both good people, and they make him laugh.
He needs to laugh. Needs the distraction. Because no matter what kind of promise he made to himself when he got on that bus two and a half years ago, no matter how many doors he closed - and locked - in between himself and Dean, he still feels like crap every time he lets January 24 slide by without making a call to say "happy birthday."
He needs a distraction. A way to forget.
The best distraction of all is standing in front of him, sipping iced tea from a glass that matches his. She tips her head back and closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sun warm her face and neck.
"Really is what?" Sam asks.
"Too much."
"You said you'd let me decide."
"I did," she says, and gives him a mildly chiding look. "But I didn't know you were going to go crazy."
"I didn't go crazy."
"You did."
"Not that crazy."
He thinks about last spring, when they started going together. When they got to the point of swapping information.
Her birthday? January 24.
It took him a long time to decide that the coincidence wasn't the universe's way of thumbing its nose at his efforts to keep his family on the other side of a locked door. Or maybe it was; who the hell knew. Either way, this particular coincidence wasn't an easy fit into the "eh, you can ignore this" category.
He tried anyway. Decided that when this particular January 24 arrived, he'd do it up in style. For her. Because January 24 was her birthday.
And John Belushi's, for whatever that was worth.
"I'm not - I don't want to sound ungrateful," Jess says, rubbing her thumb against the side of her glass. "But, Sam -"
Her voice is gentle. Not chiding.
"It was my decision," he says firmly.
She looks at him over the rim of the glass. Her thoughts are straying all over the place, judging by the way her face shifts. She wants to be upset with him. She knows his bank account isn't exactly overflowing. Luckily, though, she doesn't know how much it's not overflowing.
And she has no idea that the money for her gift didn't come out of the bank.
He won it nine days ago, in a bar. At a pool table. From a guy who, to Sam's enormous relief, wasn't pissed off enough to kick Sam's ass - though that may have had something to do with the fact that Sam was bigger than he was, and significantly less plastered.
That was a gift from Dean, he supposes: knowing how to hustle pool. He watched Dean do it a hundred times, with varying success, and if Sam Winchester is anything, he's a good student. Thanks to his brother, he knows how to line up a mark. When to press his luck, and when to walk away.
Nine days ago, he walked away with a little over three hundred dollars.
He gave Jess the camera this morning, carefully wrapped in a page from the Sunday comics and tied with a red ribbon.
"I love it," she says.
It's sitting on the little table, out here on Kimberly and Jonah's balcony, reflecting the Southern California sunlight. It's a tiny thing, the best model he could get for his three hundred dollars, rated highly by Consumer Reports and by Peter, the clerk at Best Buy. Before Sam bought it, he made a call to Jess's sister to make sure no one in her family would trump him by giving her the same thing. Or a better one; the Moores aren't wealthy, but for them three hundred dollars is…
She's worth every nickel.
If it came down to a choice between that camera, and something more practical, like a new coat, or several months' worth of commuter passes, or pretty much anything for himself, there'd be no contest. She wanted a camera.
She.
Wanted a camera.
He just wants her. Like she is right now, bathed in warm sunlight, content, wanting for nothing. Twenty-one years old.
"I love you," he says softly.
Jess's expression shifts again. She sets down the glass of iced tea and takes his face between her hands. She spends a long moment looking at him before she kisses him. "I love you too," she whispers close to his mouth. Then she takes the beer out of his hand and sets it beside her glass on the little table. When she picks up the camera he makes a show of protest, just for a second, because he knew when he bought her the camera that she was going to drive him crazy taking pictures of him. That's awkward, a little; other than the disposables Dad bought a couple of times to document some part of whatever hunt he was on, the Winchesters never owned a camera, so posing isn't something Sam's done a lot of.
He thinks, now and then, about the ancient belief that the camera can steal part of your soul.
If that's true, if it's Jessica who's stealing it, she can have it.
Especially today.
When she raises the camera to her eye, nose wrinkling underneath it in furious concentration, he smiles.
For her.