fic: A New Way of Seeing
A New Way of Seeing
Supernatural; girl!Sam/boy!Jess; R; 1,795
Jess takes Sam home over winter break.
Written for taintedlove for spn_hetexchange. Thanks to lauriestein for looking it over. Originally posted here.
~*~
Sam's not a huge fan of team sports (they're just boring), but Brady's been on her case about not going to any of his soccer games.
"So you'll fuck me, but you won't come out and support me-and your school-while we kick some inferior team's ass?" he asks, half-joking. His hand's resting on the curve of her hip, sharp chin tucked into the crook of her shoulder.
It's not like she's trying to hurt him-they're not serious; it's just a friends-with-benefits thing. "If you really want me to go," she says, "I will."
"Our next home game is Tuesday," Brady tells her, then inches his hand down her thigh. "Wanna go again?"
*
The weather changes by Tuesday, and it's cold enough that even with Brady's oversize hoodie on, and a cup of hot coffee clutched in her hands, Sam's teeth still chatter. Of course she had to pick one of the final games to go to. It's too cold to do much-Brady had better be fucking grateful-but she does cheer when he scores the first and last goals.
After the team has a quick meeting with the coach, Brady makes his way over to Sam, his arm slung casually over the shoulder of one of the midfielders. The mystery guy is tall and built, with shaggy blond hair that won't stay out of his eyes, and a wide, toothy smile that reminds her of Dee's. On top of that, his eyes are blue-green, and Sam feels nauseous and homesick at the same time, but pushes the feelings away, and tries not to think about her sister.
She pastes on a smile, and manages to get out a,"Congratula-" before Brady hoists her over his shoulder and spins around. "Put me down," she insists, pounding his back, and he curses, and does. "You're an asshole," she says.
"That's such a lie," he claims, and Sam remembers why she's not dating him-too frustrating. He turns to the guy standing next to him, claps him on the back, and says, "This is Jesse. Our star player; isn't that right?" He smiles, elbowing Jesse in the side.
Jesse extends a hand to Sam, which she takes, feeling a little dwarfed by his size (and that's hard, considering she's five-nine). "It's just Jess, actually," he amends. "That's what my friends call me."
Sam likes him already.
*
The loud ring of her phone jolts Sam awake. Who the fuck calls her at eight-thirty in the morning?
"Hi, Sam," someone says. "It's Jess." She's kind of pissed it's not Brady; if it were, she would've cussed him out and/or withheld sex for an indefinite amount of time.
Her voice is rough with sleep when she answers, "Yeah?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to maybe see a movie or something..." he trails off, his words more of a statement than a question.
"It's eight-thirty in the morning," Sam groans.
"I'm a morning person," he replies, and the defensiveness in his voice is obvious.
"You're a freak," she corrects. "I don't trust morning people. It's not natural." She does want to go out with him-he's funny, and really cute, though the whole 'morning person' thing will have to be changed if they get serious. She likes her sleep, thanks. "I'm actually normal, so I won't be functional for another hour or so, but if you give me your number, I'll call you later." She manages to scrawl down the numbers on a scrap of paper before crashing.
She dreams of Dee, like she does more often than is probably healthy (but they were never healthy in the first place). It makes sense, all those feelings she shoves down coming back to haunt her when she's defenseless against them. But that's the Winchester way-denial and repression, and it's stuck with her.
In her dreams, Dee's taking apart her favorite gun and cleaning it; in the Impala, singing along to Zeppelin; wolfing down a piece of pie after an already huge meal. When Sam wakes up, she always thinks Dee's right there in the other bed, or just around the corner, stocking up on food. Sam calls out for her sometimes, her sleep-addled brain forgetting where she is, and what happened.
"Who the fuck is Dee?" her roommate mumbles once, burying her head under a pillow so she doesn't have to deal with Sam.
She starts going running, being productive instead of bemoaning the lost hours of sleep. The early-morning chill bites at her through her hoodie; she speeds up (partly to stay warm, and partly to get back to the dorm faster) and bumps right into someone and lands on the ground. Her balance is normally pretty good, but it's early, and she wasn't watching where she was going.
"Need a hand?" It's Jess. He looks just as good in the half-light as he did at the game, though his face and shirt are damp with sweat.
She takes it, apologizing for being so clumsy as Jess pulls her up like she weighs nothing. He brushes it off and asks if she wants to get breakfast.
Jess eats almost as much as Dean does. He takes her to this little diner near campus and inhales an entire stack of pancake, scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice before coming up for air. He smiles a little when he catches her looking at him, ashamed; it's open and honest, the complete opposite of Dean. "Tell me about yourself," he says.
Sam knows she's not like a lot of the other girls here: shy to the point it's almost painful, someone who keeps quiet about her checkered past, and she doesn't look like them, either. She's too tall-clumsy and awkward, she stands out, and not always in a good way. Jess seems interested in her, though, completely wrapped up in the stories she weaves lies into as they talk.
*
They fuck for the first time weeks later, in Jess's dorm room. It's a suite, but Jess's roommates aren't there, so either it's a really convenient time, or he kicked them out. Sam guesses it's the second, but can't really care which it is when Jess kisses his way down Sam's neck, bites at her collarbone. "Sam," he murmurs into her hair, into the space between her breasts.
The glass of the mirrored door is cool against her back, sending shivers down her spine that only make everything feel more intense.
*
"So, Sam, what's your favorite band?" Jess asks, setting their coffees down on the lunch table.
She thinks for a minute, and then realizes she doesn't really have one. Sam grew up on music other people (first Dad, then Dee) picked-Bon Jovi and CCR, Aerosmith and Black Sabbath. In high school, she didn't have a Walkman like the other students, but sometimes heard the current hit songs blasting in their earphones; college radio's turned out to be somewhat of a disappointment. "Oh, I like everything," she says, the lie sour in her mouth. She doesn't want her relationship with Jess to be based on things that aren't true.
"Bullshit," he says, and Sam's glad. "No one likes everything. You have to have a favorite band."
"I don't," she says. "Music's just...not a big thing for me, I guess."
Jess shakes his head. "How can it not be? Sometimes, music's the only thing that keeps me from going crazy. Everyone needs an outlet."
"Not me," she insists. "Running is my outlet."
He snorts. "If you say so."
*
When everyone returns from Thanksgiving break (Sam didn't leave; she had nowhere to go), the campus comes alive again, and Jess looks well-rested. Brady's different, though-wild and out of control. He goes to three parties in as many days, and skips all his classes.
Sam's phone buzzes to life, the vibrations against the wood waking her up. It's about one-thirty in the morning, and there's a text from Brady. im so fuckin horny come 2 my dorm so we can hkup, it reads. She sighs, and goes back to bed.
Jess laughs when she tells him about it, not seeming angry at all, which is good. Sam really doesn't need boyfriend drama. "I can't believe you used to sleep with him." He laughs. "There really is no accounting for taste."
She whacks him with a pillow. "Shut up, okay? I'm sure you had some bad choices, too."
"I have," he agrees. "Brady's a self-centered narcissist."
Sam freezes where she is, eyes wide. It's not like she has a problem with it, as long as Jess didn't cheat on her with Brady; she just thought he would've told her, especially with his request for no secrets between them. "You're bi?" she asks.
He nods. "Yeah. I'm into girls more than guys, but Brady...was irresistible. At first." Like he knows what she's thinking, Jess adds, "It was last year. Six months. The charm faded, and..." Jess shakes his head. "I'm sure you know how that is."
Sam 'hmm's in agreement. "Doesn't matter anymore, she says. "You're with me, and that's what does."
*
Even though they haven't been dating for that long, Jess takes Sam home over winter break. He didn't want her staying on a mostly-deserted campus, but she asked several times if it would be okay with his parents.
"Of course," he'd said. "My mom's so excited to meet you."
Jess lives in an all-American house in an all-American neighborhood; there's a white picket fence and a porch, a golden lab puppy in the yard. He greets it with a pat on the head and a, "Hey, Buddy!" Jess's parents are good-looking the way parents are, and it's clear their genes passed on to Jess. His younger brother looks like a miniature version of him, as does his little sister, with the addition of a bouncy ponytail and denim skirt.
His dad is an amazing cook, and dinner is possibly the best meal she's ever had. His mom asks questions about her family, high school, Stanford; Sam does her best to lie as little as possible. Afterwards, Jess takes her up to his room, producing a small box from his pocket once the door's closed.
They agreed not to get gifts, since they haven't been dating for that long; if that meant she was supposed to get him something anyway, she'll feel awful.
"I know we said we weren't going to," Jess says, "but I couldn't resist. When Sam opens the box, there's a shiny silver iPod inside. "I thought maybe you could love music if you had something to listen to it on."
"Thank you," she says, and kisses him.
Supernatural; girl!Sam/boy!Jess; R; 1,795
Jess takes Sam home over winter break.
Written for taintedlove for spn_hetexchange. Thanks to lauriestein for looking it over. Originally posted here.
~*~
Sam's not a huge fan of team sports (they're just boring), but Brady's been on her case about not going to any of his soccer games.
"So you'll fuck me, but you won't come out and support me-and your school-while we kick some inferior team's ass?" he asks, half-joking. His hand's resting on the curve of her hip, sharp chin tucked into the crook of her shoulder.
It's not like she's trying to hurt him-they're not serious; it's just a friends-with-benefits thing. "If you really want me to go," she says, "I will."
"Our next home game is Tuesday," Brady tells her, then inches his hand down her thigh. "Wanna go again?"
*
The weather changes by Tuesday, and it's cold enough that even with Brady's oversize hoodie on, and a cup of hot coffee clutched in her hands, Sam's teeth still chatter. Of course she had to pick one of the final games to go to. It's too cold to do much-Brady had better be fucking grateful-but she does cheer when he scores the first and last goals.
After the team has a quick meeting with the coach, Brady makes his way over to Sam, his arm slung casually over the shoulder of one of the midfielders. The mystery guy is tall and built, with shaggy blond hair that won't stay out of his eyes, and a wide, toothy smile that reminds her of Dee's. On top of that, his eyes are blue-green, and Sam feels nauseous and homesick at the same time, but pushes the feelings away, and tries not to think about her sister.
She pastes on a smile, and manages to get out a,"Congratula-" before Brady hoists her over his shoulder and spins around. "Put me down," she insists, pounding his back, and he curses, and does. "You're an asshole," she says.
"That's such a lie," he claims, and Sam remembers why she's not dating him-too frustrating. He turns to the guy standing next to him, claps him on the back, and says, "This is Jesse. Our star player; isn't that right?" He smiles, elbowing Jesse in the side.
Jesse extends a hand to Sam, which she takes, feeling a little dwarfed by his size (and that's hard, considering she's five-nine). "It's just Jess, actually," he amends. "That's what my friends call me."
Sam likes him already.
*
The loud ring of her phone jolts Sam awake. Who the fuck calls her at eight-thirty in the morning?
"Hi, Sam," someone says. "It's Jess." She's kind of pissed it's not Brady; if it were, she would've cussed him out and/or withheld sex for an indefinite amount of time.
Her voice is rough with sleep when she answers, "Yeah?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to maybe see a movie or something..." he trails off, his words more of a statement than a question.
"It's eight-thirty in the morning," Sam groans.
"I'm a morning person," he replies, and the defensiveness in his voice is obvious.
"You're a freak," she corrects. "I don't trust morning people. It's not natural." She does want to go out with him-he's funny, and really cute, though the whole 'morning person' thing will have to be changed if they get serious. She likes her sleep, thanks. "I'm actually normal, so I won't be functional for another hour or so, but if you give me your number, I'll call you later." She manages to scrawl down the numbers on a scrap of paper before crashing.
She dreams of Dee, like she does more often than is probably healthy (but they were never healthy in the first place). It makes sense, all those feelings she shoves down coming back to haunt her when she's defenseless against them. But that's the Winchester way-denial and repression, and it's stuck with her.
In her dreams, Dee's taking apart her favorite gun and cleaning it; in the Impala, singing along to Zeppelin; wolfing down a piece of pie after an already huge meal. When Sam wakes up, she always thinks Dee's right there in the other bed, or just around the corner, stocking up on food. Sam calls out for her sometimes, her sleep-addled brain forgetting where she is, and what happened.
"Who the fuck is Dee?" her roommate mumbles once, burying her head under a pillow so she doesn't have to deal with Sam.
She starts going running, being productive instead of bemoaning the lost hours of sleep. The early-morning chill bites at her through her hoodie; she speeds up (partly to stay warm, and partly to get back to the dorm faster) and bumps right into someone and lands on the ground. Her balance is normally pretty good, but it's early, and she wasn't watching where she was going.
"Need a hand?" It's Jess. He looks just as good in the half-light as he did at the game, though his face and shirt are damp with sweat.
She takes it, apologizing for being so clumsy as Jess pulls her up like she weighs nothing. He brushes it off and asks if she wants to get breakfast.
Jess eats almost as much as Dean does. He takes her to this little diner near campus and inhales an entire stack of pancake, scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice before coming up for air. He smiles a little when he catches her looking at him, ashamed; it's open and honest, the complete opposite of Dean. "Tell me about yourself," he says.
Sam knows she's not like a lot of the other girls here: shy to the point it's almost painful, someone who keeps quiet about her checkered past, and she doesn't look like them, either. She's too tall-clumsy and awkward, she stands out, and not always in a good way. Jess seems interested in her, though, completely wrapped up in the stories she weaves lies into as they talk.
*
They fuck for the first time weeks later, in Jess's dorm room. It's a suite, but Jess's roommates aren't there, so either it's a really convenient time, or he kicked them out. Sam guesses it's the second, but can't really care which it is when Jess kisses his way down Sam's neck, bites at her collarbone. "Sam," he murmurs into her hair, into the space between her breasts.
The glass of the mirrored door is cool against her back, sending shivers down her spine that only make everything feel more intense.
*
"So, Sam, what's your favorite band?" Jess asks, setting their coffees down on the lunch table.
She thinks for a minute, and then realizes she doesn't really have one. Sam grew up on music other people (first Dad, then Dee) picked-Bon Jovi and CCR, Aerosmith and Black Sabbath. In high school, she didn't have a Walkman like the other students, but sometimes heard the current hit songs blasting in their earphones; college radio's turned out to be somewhat of a disappointment. "Oh, I like everything," she says, the lie sour in her mouth. She doesn't want her relationship with Jess to be based on things that aren't true.
"Bullshit," he says, and Sam's glad. "No one likes everything. You have to have a favorite band."
"I don't," she says. "Music's just...not a big thing for me, I guess."
Jess shakes his head. "How can it not be? Sometimes, music's the only thing that keeps me from going crazy. Everyone needs an outlet."
"Not me," she insists. "Running is my outlet."
He snorts. "If you say so."
*
When everyone returns from Thanksgiving break (Sam didn't leave; she had nowhere to go), the campus comes alive again, and Jess looks well-rested. Brady's different, though-wild and out of control. He goes to three parties in as many days, and skips all his classes.
Sam's phone buzzes to life, the vibrations against the wood waking her up. It's about one-thirty in the morning, and there's a text from Brady. im so fuckin horny come 2 my dorm so we can hkup, it reads. She sighs, and goes back to bed.
Jess laughs when she tells him about it, not seeming angry at all, which is good. Sam really doesn't need boyfriend drama. "I can't believe you used to sleep with him." He laughs. "There really is no accounting for taste."
She whacks him with a pillow. "Shut up, okay? I'm sure you had some bad choices, too."
"I have," he agrees. "Brady's a self-centered narcissist."
Sam freezes where she is, eyes wide. It's not like she has a problem with it, as long as Jess didn't cheat on her with Brady; she just thought he would've told her, especially with his request for no secrets between them. "You're bi?" she asks.
He nods. "Yeah. I'm into girls more than guys, but Brady...was irresistible. At first." Like he knows what she's thinking, Jess adds, "It was last year. Six months. The charm faded, and..." Jess shakes his head. "I'm sure you know how that is."
Sam 'hmm's in agreement. "Doesn't matter anymore, she says. "You're with me, and that's what does."
*
Even though they haven't been dating for that long, Jess takes Sam home over winter break. He didn't want her staying on a mostly-deserted campus, but she asked several times if it would be okay with his parents.
"Of course," he'd said. "My mom's so excited to meet you."
Jess lives in an all-American house in an all-American neighborhood; there's a white picket fence and a porch, a golden lab puppy in the yard. He greets it with a pat on the head and a, "Hey, Buddy!" Jess's parents are good-looking the way parents are, and it's clear their genes passed on to Jess. His younger brother looks like a miniature version of him, as does his little sister, with the addition of a bouncy ponytail and denim skirt.
His dad is an amazing cook, and dinner is possibly the best meal she's ever had. His mom asks questions about her family, high school, Stanford; Sam does her best to lie as little as possible. Afterwards, Jess takes her up to his room, producing a small box from his pocket once the door's closed.
They agreed not to get gifts, since they haven't been dating for that long; if that meant she was supposed to get him something anyway, she'll feel awful.
"I know we said we weren't going to," Jess says, "but I couldn't resist. When Sam opens the box, there's a shiny silver iPod inside. "I thought maybe you could love music if you had something to listen to it on."
"Thank you," she says, and kisses him.