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Jess asks about Sam's family.
Sam doesn't have clean answers. All the edges are jagged. Maybe if she asked sooner he'd have an easy answer.
He could just say he hates them. Say he's glad they're out of his life. Say that he could be a better father than his ever was (shame that the thought of being a father disgusts him so much).
He just shrugs. "It's complicated."
"Really?"
Sam sighs. It's a bone deep sound. "Yeah, it's complicated."
Jess drops it, "Alright."
"How 'bout your family?"
And of course, she loves them just fine.
-/-/-/-
See, Sam's fine with Dean's affection because it's not affectionate. Not the traditional way at least.
It's just violent enough that Sam can handle it. Rough around the edges and unpolished affection. The sort of affection he toned down after Sam lashed out at him over too many hugs in one day (Sam cried about that for an hour straight and didn't know why afterwards).
Sam's still grateful for it because at least he only feels nauseated because his girlfriend has learned that someone can catch him off guard. There goes his rep of being perfectly alert at all times. Lost to this idiot that knows Sam like the back of his hand.
The other nausea he feels comes from the out of place embarrassment of Dean meeting Jess, especially like this.
-/-/-/-
Jess is dead.
Sam watched her burn up on the ceiling.
Dean saved him.
And Sam's not sure how the hell he's meant to feel.
He survived the first wave of harrowing emotion, and now it's just weird. She's dead. She died. She's gone. What next?
Just hunting down what killed her, he guesses, Dean at his side the entire time. Dean could never leave him alone after that, could never risk letting him die.
Sam knows that he's bound to Dean till one of them dies now. It leaves a twist of conflict in his stomach. He'll address that later, when Dean isn't around and he can settle with the fact he has his brother back.
Not when a pang of grief over Jess is wracking him. Sitting down in the grass at the side of the highway late in the evening so Sam could breathe out there. Try and bring him down from hyperventilation so he could actually talk and think. Sat down side by side and Sam can't remember the last time he let Dean be this close without feeling nauseated.
Sam leans his head on Dean's shoulder and he doesn't hate it. Probably because he's desperate for comfort. Maybe because Dean's the only person with the name Winchester that Sam can stand (and even then). A shaky sigh works out of him as he does so.
Dean tries to wrap an arm around Sam's shoulders.
Sam bites out a weak, "Don't," before Dean can make contact.
"Alright." No louder than a whisper, but Sam catches it as Dean retracts the affection.
Sam leans up against him further.
"Dude, you are so confusing," Dean huffs out. He doesn't retract from Sam though. He just lets Sam rest against him because he knows he doesn't get affection from Sam very often.
And Sam laughs at that. It's a quiet, pathetic, weak thing, but authentic.
"I mean it, man," Dean tacks on, "Spend your entire life trying to shrug me off and now you're all touchy feely with me. It's weird."
"I can stop—"
"God no. This is great. Nice knowing my brother loves me."
"Good."
A beat.
"If you ever try and hug me I'll gut you."
"Don't worry, I know."