reikah
in
inmyvortex
SPN: Hush (don't tell a soul) [2/6], R.
Title: Hush (Don't Tell a Soul) [2/6]
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess, Dean/Other
Author: reikah
Rating: R
Word Count: 30,275 in total, 2,186 this chapter
Betas: estrella30, poisontaster. ♥
Chapters: [Part one] [Part two] [Part three] [Part four] [Part five] [Part six]
Take me somewhere we can be alone
Make me somewhere I can call a home
'Cause lately I've been losing my own
Home
← previous chapter
Sam's perfectly aware he's an odd boyfriend, and he's equally aware how lucky he is that Jess puts up with it. She'd rolled her eyes at the horseshoe he'd nailed onto their door, smiled fondly at the triangle of iron nails he'd hammered into the outside of the windowsill, raised an eyebrow at the cat's eye shells abandoned around their apartment and only complained once about the time they got their window frames revarnished and Sam'd poured a line of salt onto the stuff before it was finished drying.
Of course, in return this means he has to put up with her singing Christina Aguilera at nine in the morning on a Saturday, but whatever, he can roll with the punches.
Still, even he has his limits, and he turns over in bed, presses the pillow over his head. She's not even singing that sexy song with the mud-wrestling video, just some crap about love, and the pillow is not an adequate defense. Pleading's never worked before, but Sam's out of options here. "Jess, baby," he calls helplessly, "It's nine in the morning. Stop it. Please?"
Instead the singing gets louder and closer as she wanders into their bedroom, and he cringes, burying his face in the mattress, which squeaks and shifts as she sits down. He registers the lack of song about a second before she slaps his ass almost hard enough to sting, and that has him wrenching the pillow off his head, because he's fine with her being in the mood for ass-slapping.
She's not. She's wearing an apron, and unfortunately clothes underneath it. "Morning, baby," she says, with a sweet smile that quickly turns slightly wicked. "Firstly, it's actually eleven in the morning, and secondly, you're getting out of bed and into the kitchen if I have to taser you. You wanted your brother over for dinner, you're helping me out here."
Sam groans and flops uselessly, and she grins mischievously, pokes him pointedly in his stomach. "Jess," he tries whining, and she just raises an eyebrow, slips off the bed and brushes herself down. "Jess, sweetheart -"
"I hear Dana bought a new one last week," she says, referring to the girl in the apartment next to theirs. "Taser, I mean. It's got settings ranging from 'maim' to 'kick boyfriend out of bed and into the kitchen'. Come on, Sam."
"I can offer money," Sam tries. "And sexual favors."
"Nice try. Do I have to go get the wet dishcloth?"
"You're cruel," he protests, and she smiles at him smugly.
"You've got ten minutes to get dressed," she says, making her way out of the bedroom. "Then I need you to run down to the store for me for some stuff."
"What kind of stuff?" Sam asks, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and she pauses in the doorway, glances back at him. "You know what? I don't care, just write me out a list." His jeans are in a heap at the foot of the bed and he shakes them out, steps into them and dislodges his socks, still balled-up in the legs. He only has one clean t-shirt, a faded, too-tight thing proclaiming Zeppelin rules! that Dean bought for him a couple of years ago, and he shrugs it on with a wince, reaches for his favorite hoodie.
Jess is standing by the door with a sheet of blue paper in her hands, the list written out in silver ink and adorned with random hearts, smiley faces and little suns. He takes it from her and grins at the decorations, and she colors. "Make sure you get two packs of bacon, not one," she says. "I thought we might invite Katie over too."
"Katie?" He folds the list up and shoves it in the pocket of his hoodie, pats himself all over to make sure he has everything. "Why Katie? And where did I leave my wallet?"
"Oh, Sam," she says, with a soft grin. "Kitchen counter, and you know her. Doesn't she seem like Dean's type?"
Sam freezes mid-way to the kitchen, turning slowly on the spot towards Jess. "You're matchmaking my brother?" he says, tone dubious, and Jess shrugs.
"It's not matchmaking, baby," she says. "I'm just going to introduce them. Sam, Dean's twenty-six and... well... you said he hasn't had a girlfriend for longer than a few months since your dad..."
"Yeah, but... Katie," Sam protests helplessly, and Jess sighs. "I just don't think we should be forcing Dean into this. He's obviously happy being single. And his last three girlfriends were total skanks anyway. If my brother's going to date it should be someone... special."
Jess rubs at her eyes with her fingertips, a gesture that means she's either working on a complex problem or is trying to think of a tactful way to say something, and Sam swallows. "Sam," she says gently after a while. "You remember when I got that call from my mom? Telling me about Ben? You remember how pissed I was that she was dating someone?"
"You said he was sleazy and wanted me to go threaten to break his kneecaps," Sam says, hesitantly. "Am I you or your mom in this analogy?"
She cracks a smile at that and pads over to him, reaching for his hands. He lets her have them. "You're me, baby," she reassures him. "It's... I know since your dad died it's just been you and Dean, and I get that you're close, but he can't be only yours forever. You have me. Why can't he have someone too?" She squeezes his hands slightly and he ducks his head, wishing his hair were long enough that he could hide behind it, and doesn't look at her.
"I just... I don't want..." He's aware his voice sounds tight and helpless, even to his own ears, and Jess sighs and brushes her palm over his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone. The gesture is soothing and he breathes out slowly. "What if he stops caring about me?" he can't help but whisper, and her eyes soften.
"Sam," she says, "Trust me when I say that's never going to happen. Dean adores you. It'd take more than a girlfriend for that to fade. We're talking, like, kidnapped-and-tortured-by-ex-Soviet-spies level here," He smiles at that and she smiles back, running her thumb over his top lip. "You're always going to be the most important thing to him, Sam, so let him go. Let him be happy."
He swallows, not wanting to agree but knowing it's logical, and nods jerkily. His older brother can't be his, not always. "Not Katie, though, come on," he says, and Jess laughs.
"Hey, she'd be very good for him."
"Yeah, if my brother turned into an emo kid in his sleep," Sam mutters, and Jess grins, curls into him.
"All right, not Katie," she agrees. "Can you think of anybody else, though? You know Dean's taste in women more than I do, being his brother and all."
Sam swallows, thinks. "No," he says slowly. "He - he never hung around women much, after dad died. At least, not where I could see."
Jess raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curving up. "Dean, keeping something from you?" she says, amused. "Who'd've thought. I was beginning to suspect the two of you were, like, secretly one person, or something."
She doesn't mean anything by it, of course, but Sam tenses, draws away from her a little. He's not an idiot, and he doesn't miss the subtle message; he knows Jess sees Dean differently than he does. They've fought about it too many times already; she thinks Dean's codependant, stubborn, too wrapped up in Sam, something Sam's never been able to understand.
She stiffens in his arms, turns her face up, brows drawing together and mouth curling downwards. He knows the signs and instead dips down and kisses her; the last thing he wants is another fight. Not today, not with her, the pretty girl he loves, and he slips an arm around her, tugging her into him for a hug. She's beautiful and bright and sweet, with a wonderful sense of humor; she's everything he could ask for, and she's nothing like the brother he shouldn't want.
"I love you," he whispers into her hair, and means it.
"I know." She sounds content and she gives him a quick squeeze before stepping back, pressing the list into his palm. "Now beat it, you. Go on. Hurry up."
"Yes, sir," he replies, saluting her and stomping his right heel against the carpet; she rolls her eyes and quietly folds her arms over her chest, and he hangs his head. "I'll... just... go fetch my wallet," he says quickly, stealing off to the kitchen, and she calls after him, "Check the mailbox on your way back, I forgot to do it yesterday."
The grocery store - at least, the good grocery store, the one that sells organic food - is ten minutes away by foot, and Sam can't be bothered unlocking his bike from the rack. He checks the mailbox on the way out, and smiles quietly when he leafs through their stuff - three pizza place flyers and two KFC-ripoffs - and finds a plain white envelope with his name on the front. No postage, which means it must be from someone close enough to just stuff the letter in.
The envelope contains a check for three hundred bucks made out to Samuel Winchester, and Sam grins, pleased. It's not like he needs Dean's support for the rent, and Dean knows that, but it doesn't hurt, and he does appreciate being able to spend more of his own on himself or Jess. He doesn't get why his brother does it like this - mail him the rent money rather than hand it over in person - but guesses Dean's too shy. He has this thing about showing emotion in front of Sam, in that he tries not to. He thinks it makes him less of a man, which Sam thinks is retarded.
Fondly, of course. It's impossible for him to think bad things about Dean, although Jesus, had he tried. Dean with his rough hands and tired green eyes and plump, gorgeous lips had held a fixed position in Sam's masturbatory fantasies when he was younger, although he'd tried his hardest to stop. Fucked up as they were, incest was the one line Sam wasn't willing to cross, especially not when Dean showed no inclination of being messed up like Sam.
But see, the thing is, he'd kind of like to cross it even now. He loves Dean so much it aches, sometimes, and is so proud of him it hurts - working the job he does, saving people. He was younger than Sam is now when the responsibility of parenthood was dropped into his lap in the form of a fourteen-year-old boy, and Dean hasn't ever complained, just quietly shouldered that weight. It'd been rocky, of course. The first year, when Dean was doing day shifts at the garage and night shifts at the local bar, they lived off ramen and pasta, stale bread and tomato soup, but Dean quickly learned to adjust so that things got better.
Sam'd been worried after he'd gotten his scholarship that Dean would want to go back to hunting, find the thing that killed their mom or the thing that killed their dad ("Werebear," Dean'd said when he'd come back from identifying the body, face pale and slightly green around the edges) but Dean hadn't said anything, just asked if Sam wanted to help with apartment-hunting in Palo Alto.
Sam knows he hero-worships Dean; it's become a bit of a joke amidst his friends that even the ones who haven't met his brother know everything about him. He doesn't mind. Jess likes him, thinks he's sweet, if a little crass, and Dean seems to get on fine with her. It's all okay.
Now he just needs to get over it and just... let Dean go. He knows he has Dean wrapped around his little finger; he’s always known, but it became more obvious after Stephanie, after Lynn, after Vikki - girls who were maybe sort of alright, but just... Sam hadn't liked them, and so Dean'd dumped them.
He should be ashamed of that, but instead feels sort of proud.
He misses living with Dean, too. He loves Jess to pieces, but he kind of feels bad about leaving Dean on his own. Plus, Jess complains if he leaves used coffee filters in the sink or the toilet seat up or his books all over the carpet; Dean just used to step over his textbooks, and only made him clean them up if social services were coming over.
Still. He calls his brother every day, and tries to see him that frequently, as well. Despite the existence of the dreaded I word, family's family.
And if there's one thing he learned from Dean, it's that your relatives are the most important people in your life.
-tbc
and if i'm wasting all your time
this time
maybe you never learned to take
and if i'm hanging on to your shade
i guess i'm way beyond the pale
Doughnut Song
next chapter →
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess, Dean/Other
Author: reikah
Rating: R
Word Count: 30,275 in total, 2,186 this chapter
Betas: estrella30, poisontaster. ♥
Chapters: [Part one] [Part two] [Part three] [Part four] [Part five] [Part six]
Take me somewhere we can be alone
Make me somewhere I can call a home
'Cause lately I've been losing my own
Home
← previous chapter
Sam's perfectly aware he's an odd boyfriend, and he's equally aware how lucky he is that Jess puts up with it. She'd rolled her eyes at the horseshoe he'd nailed onto their door, smiled fondly at the triangle of iron nails he'd hammered into the outside of the windowsill, raised an eyebrow at the cat's eye shells abandoned around their apartment and only complained once about the time they got their window frames revarnished and Sam'd poured a line of salt onto the stuff before it was finished drying.
Of course, in return this means he has to put up with her singing Christina Aguilera at nine in the morning on a Saturday, but whatever, he can roll with the punches.
Still, even he has his limits, and he turns over in bed, presses the pillow over his head. She's not even singing that sexy song with the mud-wrestling video, just some crap about love, and the pillow is not an adequate defense. Pleading's never worked before, but Sam's out of options here. "Jess, baby," he calls helplessly, "It's nine in the morning. Stop it. Please?"
Instead the singing gets louder and closer as she wanders into their bedroom, and he cringes, burying his face in the mattress, which squeaks and shifts as she sits down. He registers the lack of song about a second before she slaps his ass almost hard enough to sting, and that has him wrenching the pillow off his head, because he's fine with her being in the mood for ass-slapping.
She's not. She's wearing an apron, and unfortunately clothes underneath it. "Morning, baby," she says, with a sweet smile that quickly turns slightly wicked. "Firstly, it's actually eleven in the morning, and secondly, you're getting out of bed and into the kitchen if I have to taser you. You wanted your brother over for dinner, you're helping me out here."
Sam groans and flops uselessly, and she grins mischievously, pokes him pointedly in his stomach. "Jess," he tries whining, and she just raises an eyebrow, slips off the bed and brushes herself down. "Jess, sweetheart -"
"I hear Dana bought a new one last week," she says, referring to the girl in the apartment next to theirs. "Taser, I mean. It's got settings ranging from 'maim' to 'kick boyfriend out of bed and into the kitchen'. Come on, Sam."
"I can offer money," Sam tries. "And sexual favors."
"Nice try. Do I have to go get the wet dishcloth?"
"You're cruel," he protests, and she smiles at him smugly.
"You've got ten minutes to get dressed," she says, making her way out of the bedroom. "Then I need you to run down to the store for me for some stuff."
"What kind of stuff?" Sam asks, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and she pauses in the doorway, glances back at him. "You know what? I don't care, just write me out a list." His jeans are in a heap at the foot of the bed and he shakes them out, steps into them and dislodges his socks, still balled-up in the legs. He only has one clean t-shirt, a faded, too-tight thing proclaiming Zeppelin rules! that Dean bought for him a couple of years ago, and he shrugs it on with a wince, reaches for his favorite hoodie.
Jess is standing by the door with a sheet of blue paper in her hands, the list written out in silver ink and adorned with random hearts, smiley faces and little suns. He takes it from her and grins at the decorations, and she colors. "Make sure you get two packs of bacon, not one," she says. "I thought we might invite Katie over too."
"Katie?" He folds the list up and shoves it in the pocket of his hoodie, pats himself all over to make sure he has everything. "Why Katie? And where did I leave my wallet?"
"Oh, Sam," she says, with a soft grin. "Kitchen counter, and you know her. Doesn't she seem like Dean's type?"
Sam freezes mid-way to the kitchen, turning slowly on the spot towards Jess. "You're matchmaking my brother?" he says, tone dubious, and Jess shrugs.
"It's not matchmaking, baby," she says. "I'm just going to introduce them. Sam, Dean's twenty-six and... well... you said he hasn't had a girlfriend for longer than a few months since your dad..."
"Yeah, but... Katie," Sam protests helplessly, and Jess sighs. "I just don't think we should be forcing Dean into this. He's obviously happy being single. And his last three girlfriends were total skanks anyway. If my brother's going to date it should be someone... special."
Jess rubs at her eyes with her fingertips, a gesture that means she's either working on a complex problem or is trying to think of a tactful way to say something, and Sam swallows. "Sam," she says gently after a while. "You remember when I got that call from my mom? Telling me about Ben? You remember how pissed I was that she was dating someone?"
"You said he was sleazy and wanted me to go threaten to break his kneecaps," Sam says, hesitantly. "Am I you or your mom in this analogy?"
She cracks a smile at that and pads over to him, reaching for his hands. He lets her have them. "You're me, baby," she reassures him. "It's... I know since your dad died it's just been you and Dean, and I get that you're close, but he can't be only yours forever. You have me. Why can't he have someone too?" She squeezes his hands slightly and he ducks his head, wishing his hair were long enough that he could hide behind it, and doesn't look at her.
"I just... I don't want..." He's aware his voice sounds tight and helpless, even to his own ears, and Jess sighs and brushes her palm over his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone. The gesture is soothing and he breathes out slowly. "What if he stops caring about me?" he can't help but whisper, and her eyes soften.
"Sam," she says, "Trust me when I say that's never going to happen. Dean adores you. It'd take more than a girlfriend for that to fade. We're talking, like, kidnapped-and-tortured-by-ex-Soviet-spies level here," He smiles at that and she smiles back, running her thumb over his top lip. "You're always going to be the most important thing to him, Sam, so let him go. Let him be happy."
He swallows, not wanting to agree but knowing it's logical, and nods jerkily. His older brother can't be his, not always. "Not Katie, though, come on," he says, and Jess laughs.
"Hey, she'd be very good for him."
"Yeah, if my brother turned into an emo kid in his sleep," Sam mutters, and Jess grins, curls into him.
"All right, not Katie," she agrees. "Can you think of anybody else, though? You know Dean's taste in women more than I do, being his brother and all."
Sam swallows, thinks. "No," he says slowly. "He - he never hung around women much, after dad died. At least, not where I could see."
Jess raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curving up. "Dean, keeping something from you?" she says, amused. "Who'd've thought. I was beginning to suspect the two of you were, like, secretly one person, or something."
She doesn't mean anything by it, of course, but Sam tenses, draws away from her a little. He's not an idiot, and he doesn't miss the subtle message; he knows Jess sees Dean differently than he does. They've fought about it too many times already; she thinks Dean's codependant, stubborn, too wrapped up in Sam, something Sam's never been able to understand.
She stiffens in his arms, turns her face up, brows drawing together and mouth curling downwards. He knows the signs and instead dips down and kisses her; the last thing he wants is another fight. Not today, not with her, the pretty girl he loves, and he slips an arm around her, tugging her into him for a hug. She's beautiful and bright and sweet, with a wonderful sense of humor; she's everything he could ask for, and she's nothing like the brother he shouldn't want.
"I love you," he whispers into her hair, and means it.
"I know." She sounds content and she gives him a quick squeeze before stepping back, pressing the list into his palm. "Now beat it, you. Go on. Hurry up."
"Yes, sir," he replies, saluting her and stomping his right heel against the carpet; she rolls her eyes and quietly folds her arms over her chest, and he hangs his head. "I'll... just... go fetch my wallet," he says quickly, stealing off to the kitchen, and she calls after him, "Check the mailbox on your way back, I forgot to do it yesterday."
The grocery store - at least, the good grocery store, the one that sells organic food - is ten minutes away by foot, and Sam can't be bothered unlocking his bike from the rack. He checks the mailbox on the way out, and smiles quietly when he leafs through their stuff - three pizza place flyers and two KFC-ripoffs - and finds a plain white envelope with his name on the front. No postage, which means it must be from someone close enough to just stuff the letter in.
The envelope contains a check for three hundred bucks made out to Samuel Winchester, and Sam grins, pleased. It's not like he needs Dean's support for the rent, and Dean knows that, but it doesn't hurt, and he does appreciate being able to spend more of his own on himself or Jess. He doesn't get why his brother does it like this - mail him the rent money rather than hand it over in person - but guesses Dean's too shy. He has this thing about showing emotion in front of Sam, in that he tries not to. He thinks it makes him less of a man, which Sam thinks is retarded.
Fondly, of course. It's impossible for him to think bad things about Dean, although Jesus, had he tried. Dean with his rough hands and tired green eyes and plump, gorgeous lips had held a fixed position in Sam's masturbatory fantasies when he was younger, although he'd tried his hardest to stop. Fucked up as they were, incest was the one line Sam wasn't willing to cross, especially not when Dean showed no inclination of being messed up like Sam.
But see, the thing is, he'd kind of like to cross it even now. He loves Dean so much it aches, sometimes, and is so proud of him it hurts - working the job he does, saving people. He was younger than Sam is now when the responsibility of parenthood was dropped into his lap in the form of a fourteen-year-old boy, and Dean hasn't ever complained, just quietly shouldered that weight. It'd been rocky, of course. The first year, when Dean was doing day shifts at the garage and night shifts at the local bar, they lived off ramen and pasta, stale bread and tomato soup, but Dean quickly learned to adjust so that things got better.
Sam'd been worried after he'd gotten his scholarship that Dean would want to go back to hunting, find the thing that killed their mom or the thing that killed their dad ("Werebear," Dean'd said when he'd come back from identifying the body, face pale and slightly green around the edges) but Dean hadn't said anything, just asked if Sam wanted to help with apartment-hunting in Palo Alto.
Sam knows he hero-worships Dean; it's become a bit of a joke amidst his friends that even the ones who haven't met his brother know everything about him. He doesn't mind. Jess likes him, thinks he's sweet, if a little crass, and Dean seems to get on fine with her. It's all okay.
Now he just needs to get over it and just... let Dean go. He knows he has Dean wrapped around his little finger; he’s always known, but it became more obvious after Stephanie, after Lynn, after Vikki - girls who were maybe sort of alright, but just... Sam hadn't liked them, and so Dean'd dumped them.
He should be ashamed of that, but instead feels sort of proud.
He misses living with Dean, too. He loves Jess to pieces, but he kind of feels bad about leaving Dean on his own. Plus, Jess complains if he leaves used coffee filters in the sink or the toilet seat up or his books all over the carpet; Dean just used to step over his textbooks, and only made him clean them up if social services were coming over.
Still. He calls his brother every day, and tries to see him that frequently, as well. Despite the existence of the dreaded I word, family's family.
And if there's one thing he learned from Dean, it's that your relatives are the most important people in your life.
-tbc
and if i'm wasting all your time
this time
maybe you never learned to take
and if i'm hanging on to your shade
i guess i'm way beyond the pale
Doughnut Song
next chapter →