Fic: The Hypocrite's Crime | Blue Like Heaven 'verse
Author: rei_c
Title: The Hypocrite’s Crime - A Blue Like Heaven prequel
Pairings: Sam/Jess, Becky/Zach (background Sam/Dean)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1400
Warnings: incest
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and any (and all) errors relative to canon spoken of herein are mine and mine alone.
Author's Notes: This is a past-fic for the 'verse created in Blue Like Heaven, elaborating a little on how and when Sam comes to learn about Becky and Zach’s relationship. The drunken confession referenced can be found here. The title is a reference to a Hannah Arendt quote: “…the hypocrite's crime is that he bears false witness against himself.”
--
Jess takes a deep breath, looks across the table at Sam. He's sitting there with gloves on, hands cradling a cup of tea -- acacia, bay, peppermint -- mixed together and steeped for long, silent minutes, watching her. He looks worried. She doesn’t blame him, can’t; she’s been quiet ever since Becky asked her to tell Sam. If he hates us for it, Becky had said, I don’t want to see it on his face.
That had been Tuesday, Jess and Becky’s one class together, and Jess hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. She’s been distant all week, withdrawn and thoughtful, trying to figure out how to explain it to Sam. Becky and Zach, it’s not something Jess really thinks about anymore.
They’re her cousins; she didn’t really meet them until a family reunion when she was six but they’ve always been a unit to her, Becks-n-Zach. It wasn’t that much of a surprise when she was sixteen, visiting them over the summer, to walk in on Zach pressing Becky against the wall, mouths hot and heavy against one another, one of Becky’s legs curled around Zach, hands fumbling with his jeans.
Zach freaked, tried stammering out an explanation, but Becky just leaned one hip against the wall, hair mussed, lips swollen, and told Jess to pick, then and there, how the three of them were going to deal with this. Jess grinned, said I didn’t see a thing, did I? and left them alone, pulling the condom packet out of her back pocket and pressing it in Zach’s hand, kissing Becky on the cheek.
The three of them have no secrets from each other. Sam’s been accepted into their circle without much trouble, though he's still very much a mystery. He doesn’t talk about his family but Jess doesn’t care. She’s gleaned things from him, put pieces together, and she has an idea about what kind of person his father might be, what kind of hero worship Sam feels for his brother.
Zach doesn’t pry and Becky asks carefully worded questions that Sam sidesteps or ignores, and when the cousins are alone, Jess rubs her forehead and shrugs. There’s no answer she can give to what they want to know.
“You’re not leaving me, are you?” Sam asks, bringing Jess back to the present. She shakes her head, looks down at the table. “Are you pregnant?”
Jess laughs, doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Sam reaches out, places one hand over one of Jess’. The glove’s material holds warmth; Jess shivers. “Then what’s had you so quiet this week? You’re worried about how I’ll react to something. Jess, there’s nothing that would make me leave, nothing.”
“It’s not about me,” Jess says. She looks up at Sam, searches his eyes. For all that he’s an anomaly -- speaking the languages he does, having the gifts he does, coming from the type of family he was born into -- he tries so hard to be normal, sometimes. “Becky wanted me to tell you something. About her and Zach.”
“They’re in love,” Sam says, squeezing her hand with his, lifting the mug of tea with the other, sipping it lightly. Jess watches as steam billows from the mug, easy to see against the background of Sam’s eyes, pinned on her. “And they’ve been sleeping together, probably for a while.”
Jess gapes, then her eyes narrow as she takes her hand out from under Sam’s. “How long have you known? How do you know?”
Sam’s eyes flicker, look away for a split-second. “They hide it well.”
Hero-worship. Adoration. Longing. A drunken confession she put out of her mind and forced herself to forget.
“You and Dean,” she says, remembering the look on Sam’s face, the tone of his voice. “You liked it, you said, so you ran away. Right? Is that how you know?”
“It was just the once.” Sam sips the tea again, grimaces at the taste. “I freaked out and came to California.” Jess doesn’t know what to say. Sam glances at her; she shivers at the depth of emotion in his gaze. “So. It’d be hypocritical of me to say anything about it.”
Jess tilts her head, gets out of her chair and goes ‘round the table to where Sam’s sitting, tense, unmoving. She slides down, kneeling on the floor, one hand high on Sam’s thigh. “You don’t mind?” She’s not sure what the question refers to, what she’s really asking.
Sam seems to, though. He looks at her, really looks, and runs one hand through Jess’ hair. The glove gets tangled, stuck; Sam takes them both off, carefully unwinds tendrils of hair from a snagged piece of fabric. “They’re happy. That’s enough for me.”
“And you?” Jess can’t help but ask. “You and Dean?”
The phone rings. Jess ignores it, waiting for an answer. Sam tucks her hair behind her ears, runs his fingers down her cheek. He’s always so gentle, so careful with her. Sometimes she thinks that he’s afraid of himself. Sometimes she thinks about what might be inside of him, to make him so afraid.
“I suppose,” he says, between rings of the phone, “you can’t help who you love and how it happens. Marry me?” Jess’ mouth falls open. Sam reaches down, traces his thumb across her lower lip. “I love you, Jess. There doesn’t have to be a wedding, we don’t have to call it a marriage, but I want everyone to know that you and me, we’re forever.”
She can only think to ask, “But what about Dean?”
The answering machine kicks on. Zach’s voice, at once both upbeat and wary, fills the room. Jess doesn’t move and Sam waits until the machine beeps to answer.
“I left him. Left them. I left it all behind. I want you. I love you.”
Jess’ knees ache. The light from the machine blinks in the other room; echoes of the light bounce off of the kitchen window. There are people outside, leaving bars, restaurants, filling the streets with laughter. Jess feels heavy, weighted down and yet, somehow, at the same time, as if she’s escaped from gravity.
“I won’t wear white,” she warns him, looking up, meeting his eyes. “And I want silver, not gold.” Sam gets up, helps her stand and then picks her up, one arm under her knees, one hand bracing her head. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard, laying claim. “I love you,” she says. She sees relief in Sam’s eyes, that and devotion, love, and can’t help asking, “Will you take my name?”
Sam smiles, walks to their bedroom and lays Jess out on the bed like an offering to some foreign god. He kneels next to her, brushes hair off of her face. “It’s not like I’m that much of a Winchester anymore,” he murmurs. She expects to see pain on his face, self-loathing, apology, anything, but he’s smiling, still. “And your father told me he always wanted a son.”
Jess pretends outrage, Sam tickles her, and they make love with the window open, mobiles in their room swirling in the breeze, wind chimes clanging against one another.
Sam calls Zach in the morning, before he goes running, asks if they’re still on for football that afternoon. Jess steals the phone and tells Becky that Sam’s proposed and she's accepted. Becky squeals, then screams. Sam takes the phone back, holds it out of her reach, and, when Jess gives up, sits on the back of the couch with her arms crossed and pouting, he tells Becky that he understands.
Becky doesn’t say anything, not right away. Jess can hear when Becky finally just says, “Thank you.”
Jess steals the phone back. “I told you he’d be okay with it, Becks.”
“Don’t let go of him, Jess,” Becky replies. There are tears of relief in Becky's voice, but she's earnest, insistent, almost forceful. “Jess, I don’t care what it takes, but don’t let him go.”
“I won’t,” Jess says, looking at Sam. Sam smiles, wide, bright, and easy, and pulls on his gloves, shoes, mp3 player. Her heart aches, full to bursting. She feels like loving Sam might be the death of her. “I swear, I won’t.”
Title: The Hypocrite’s Crime - A Blue Like Heaven prequel
Pairings: Sam/Jess, Becky/Zach (background Sam/Dean)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1400
Warnings: incest
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and any (and all) errors relative to canon spoken of herein are mine and mine alone.
Author's Notes: This is a past-fic for the 'verse created in Blue Like Heaven, elaborating a little on how and when Sam comes to learn about Becky and Zach’s relationship. The drunken confession referenced can be found here. The title is a reference to a Hannah Arendt quote: “…the hypocrite's crime is that he bears false witness against himself.”
--
Jess takes a deep breath, looks across the table at Sam. He's sitting there with gloves on, hands cradling a cup of tea -- acacia, bay, peppermint -- mixed together and steeped for long, silent minutes, watching her. He looks worried. She doesn’t blame him, can’t; she’s been quiet ever since Becky asked her to tell Sam. If he hates us for it, Becky had said, I don’t want to see it on his face.
That had been Tuesday, Jess and Becky’s one class together, and Jess hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. She’s been distant all week, withdrawn and thoughtful, trying to figure out how to explain it to Sam. Becky and Zach, it’s not something Jess really thinks about anymore.
They’re her cousins; she didn’t really meet them until a family reunion when she was six but they’ve always been a unit to her, Becks-n-Zach. It wasn’t that much of a surprise when she was sixteen, visiting them over the summer, to walk in on Zach pressing Becky against the wall, mouths hot and heavy against one another, one of Becky’s legs curled around Zach, hands fumbling with his jeans.
Zach freaked, tried stammering out an explanation, but Becky just leaned one hip against the wall, hair mussed, lips swollen, and told Jess to pick, then and there, how the three of them were going to deal with this. Jess grinned, said I didn’t see a thing, did I? and left them alone, pulling the condom packet out of her back pocket and pressing it in Zach’s hand, kissing Becky on the cheek.
The three of them have no secrets from each other. Sam’s been accepted into their circle without much trouble, though he's still very much a mystery. He doesn’t talk about his family but Jess doesn’t care. She’s gleaned things from him, put pieces together, and she has an idea about what kind of person his father might be, what kind of hero worship Sam feels for his brother.
Zach doesn’t pry and Becky asks carefully worded questions that Sam sidesteps or ignores, and when the cousins are alone, Jess rubs her forehead and shrugs. There’s no answer she can give to what they want to know.
“You’re not leaving me, are you?” Sam asks, bringing Jess back to the present. She shakes her head, looks down at the table. “Are you pregnant?”
Jess laughs, doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Sam reaches out, places one hand over one of Jess’. The glove’s material holds warmth; Jess shivers. “Then what’s had you so quiet this week? You’re worried about how I’ll react to something. Jess, there’s nothing that would make me leave, nothing.”
“It’s not about me,” Jess says. She looks up at Sam, searches his eyes. For all that he’s an anomaly -- speaking the languages he does, having the gifts he does, coming from the type of family he was born into -- he tries so hard to be normal, sometimes. “Becky wanted me to tell you something. About her and Zach.”
“They’re in love,” Sam says, squeezing her hand with his, lifting the mug of tea with the other, sipping it lightly. Jess watches as steam billows from the mug, easy to see against the background of Sam’s eyes, pinned on her. “And they’ve been sleeping together, probably for a while.”
Jess gapes, then her eyes narrow as she takes her hand out from under Sam’s. “How long have you known? How do you know?”
Sam’s eyes flicker, look away for a split-second. “They hide it well.”
Hero-worship. Adoration. Longing. A drunken confession she put out of her mind and forced herself to forget.
“You and Dean,” she says, remembering the look on Sam’s face, the tone of his voice. “You liked it, you said, so you ran away. Right? Is that how you know?”
“It was just the once.” Sam sips the tea again, grimaces at the taste. “I freaked out and came to California.” Jess doesn’t know what to say. Sam glances at her; she shivers at the depth of emotion in his gaze. “So. It’d be hypocritical of me to say anything about it.”
Jess tilts her head, gets out of her chair and goes ‘round the table to where Sam’s sitting, tense, unmoving. She slides down, kneeling on the floor, one hand high on Sam’s thigh. “You don’t mind?” She’s not sure what the question refers to, what she’s really asking.
Sam seems to, though. He looks at her, really looks, and runs one hand through Jess’ hair. The glove gets tangled, stuck; Sam takes them both off, carefully unwinds tendrils of hair from a snagged piece of fabric. “They’re happy. That’s enough for me.”
“And you?” Jess can’t help but ask. “You and Dean?”
The phone rings. Jess ignores it, waiting for an answer. Sam tucks her hair behind her ears, runs his fingers down her cheek. He’s always so gentle, so careful with her. Sometimes she thinks that he’s afraid of himself. Sometimes she thinks about what might be inside of him, to make him so afraid.
“I suppose,” he says, between rings of the phone, “you can’t help who you love and how it happens. Marry me?” Jess’ mouth falls open. Sam reaches down, traces his thumb across her lower lip. “I love you, Jess. There doesn’t have to be a wedding, we don’t have to call it a marriage, but I want everyone to know that you and me, we’re forever.”
She can only think to ask, “But what about Dean?”
The answering machine kicks on. Zach’s voice, at once both upbeat and wary, fills the room. Jess doesn’t move and Sam waits until the machine beeps to answer.
“I left him. Left them. I left it all behind. I want you. I love you.”
Jess’ knees ache. The light from the machine blinks in the other room; echoes of the light bounce off of the kitchen window. There are people outside, leaving bars, restaurants, filling the streets with laughter. Jess feels heavy, weighted down and yet, somehow, at the same time, as if she’s escaped from gravity.
“I won’t wear white,” she warns him, looking up, meeting his eyes. “And I want silver, not gold.” Sam gets up, helps her stand and then picks her up, one arm under her knees, one hand bracing her head. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard, laying claim. “I love you,” she says. She sees relief in Sam’s eyes, that and devotion, love, and can’t help asking, “Will you take my name?”
Sam smiles, walks to their bedroom and lays Jess out on the bed like an offering to some foreign god. He kneels next to her, brushes hair off of her face. “It’s not like I’m that much of a Winchester anymore,” he murmurs. She expects to see pain on his face, self-loathing, apology, anything, but he’s smiling, still. “And your father told me he always wanted a son.”
Jess pretends outrage, Sam tickles her, and they make love with the window open, mobiles in their room swirling in the breeze, wind chimes clanging against one another.
Sam calls Zach in the morning, before he goes running, asks if they’re still on for football that afternoon. Jess steals the phone and tells Becky that Sam’s proposed and she's accepted. Becky squeals, then screams. Sam takes the phone back, holds it out of her reach, and, when Jess gives up, sits on the back of the couch with her arms crossed and pouting, he tells Becky that he understands.
Becky doesn’t say anything, not right away. Jess can hear when Becky finally just says, “Thank you.”
Jess steals the phone back. “I told you he’d be okay with it, Becks.”
“Don’t let go of him, Jess,” Becky replies. There are tears of relief in Becky's voice, but she's earnest, insistent, almost forceful. “Jess, I don’t care what it takes, but don’t let him go.”
“I won’t,” Jess says, looking at Sam. Sam smiles, wide, bright, and easy, and pulls on his gloves, shoes, mp3 player. Her heart aches, full to bursting. She feels like loving Sam might be the death of her. “I swear, I won’t.”