A/N: Yay! Another Supernatural fic! I hope you read and enjoy. And review if you enjoy. Review if you don't enjoy either, and tell me why please. All comments and criticism appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Supernatural. If I did, Dean and Sam would show their, erm, 'brotherly' love a lot more than they do.

Summary: Jess inadvertently finds out one of the reasons that Sam doesn't talk about his family. Sam/Jess, Wincest.

His Smile Is Like Sunshine

Sam looks up from the paper he's reading and smiles that sunshine smile that always makes you melt and brightens up your day.

"Everything OK, Jess?" he asks, and he's the only one who asks like he cares, the only one who sounds as though he realises things might not be OK all the time.

You smile and nod.

"Yeah, baby, I just like watching you concentrate," you smile cheekily. "It's cute."

Sam shakes his head fondly, and you feel your smile widen as his cheeks heat up slightly.

He is adorable, and he's yours. You don't know how you got so lucky. He's so lovely and innocent and blushes at the most simple things …But he's been having these dreams lately …

You've been together for six months and known each other for twelve (yes, it took him that long to ask you out, although you were obviously crazy about him – you know because you got all your friends to 'hint' about it to him), and recently you woke up in the middle of the night and he was tossing and turning next to you, moaning someone's name.

The someone that the name belonged to wasn't you.

You doubted it was a nightmare, as the moans were not moans of pain and the sweat on his face was not because of fear. And, of course, the tent in the covers made by his groin gave it away a little bit.

At first you were worried. Was Sam cheating on you? The desire and plain need in the way he was moaning kind of scared you. He rarely sounded like that with you. Was he enjoying sex with someone else more than with you?

But you soon figured out that that wasn't the case – Sam just wasn't that kind of guy, which was one of the reasons that you loved him.

It didn't bother you that it was a male name he was calling out, because you're you, and you're cool with things like that. Also, Rebecca has an amazing gay-dar, and she told you that she was pretty damn sure Sam was straight. Maybe he was bi?

Anyway, the point was not your boyfriend's sexual orientation, but the person that belonged to the name, and the way he was calling it out. Sam sounded so … desperate, so lusty, sometimes just plain in love, and it kind of freaked you out.

You were sure that Sam wasn't cheating on you – he loved you, it was clear, you could see it in the way he looked at you and the way he smiled at you and the way he kissed your hair and made you cereal every morning – but maybe he was fantasising about someone else secretly? Or maybe it was an old flame?

What really bothered you was that you're sure he's mentioned the guy's name before – you just can't quite remember who the guy is, exactly. Maybe he's one of Sam's old friends or something, maybe Sam has some sort of subconscious feeling for him?

You ache to ask Sam about it, just ask who the person is, but you aren't sure how he would react. He obviously has no idea he was moaning the name of someone who wasn't you in his dreams, so it would be very awkward if you were to approach the subject.

You'll find out by yourself, somehow, you're sure. You're a smart girl.

After all, you got into Stanford, didn't you?

You smile fondly as Sam's hair falls into his eyes when he turns the page of the paper that he's reading, and that draws your attention down to his nose and then his lips.

You feel the sudden need to reassure yourself of your position in his life, and want to make him call out your name rather than the mystery guy from his dreams, so you stand and walk over to him, take the paper out of his hands, put it down on the table, and sit on his lap, your legs on either side of him.

He blinks and looks presently surprised.

"Oh," is all he says, and you kiss him.

You feel him smile into the kiss, and that makes you smile, and you're happy because he's happy and you feel like you're tasting sunshine and it tastes like Sam and it's wonderful.

The phone rings, and you grudgingly move to get it, but Sam puts his hands on yours shoulders gently, always gently, and mutters against your lips, "Let the machine get it."

You pull away and smile at him and joke, "Why, Samuel, why, pray tell, are we too busy to answer the phone that is but a metre away?"

He laughs and kisses you again, and you kiss throughout the ringing, until it stops. You pull his T-shirt off, and kiss his neck, and the phone rings again and you groan.

You can feel Sam rolling his eyes and all he says is, "Ignore it," and you gladly comply and kiss a trail down his chest. The ringing stops, and he pulls you up so that he can kiss you again. You pull your shirt off and he gets your bra off after the usual bit of fumbling that always makes you giggle and you push your breasts against his smooth chest and kiss him deeper, but then the phone rings again and it's so damn irritating, but you let the machine get it.

You and Sam haven't got round to creating your own message yet, but it's on your list of things to do, to make one of those so-not-funny-it's-funny 'hello, you've reached Sam – and Jess! – giggling – so please leave a message after the BEEP – more giggling – unless, of course, we don't know who you are – yeah, and we'll get back to you – unless we don't like you! – laughing – beep' typical coupley messages so that all your friends can say 'aww' and wrinkle their noses when they hear it. Currently the message is an electronic voice that says 'the person you are trying to reach is unavailable right now' and then there is a beep.

A voice starts talking – a male voice, smooth as velvet and sweet as honey – and Sam freezes momentarily against your lips.

"Sammy, just to let you know, I'm going to Missouri."

That's it, that's the whole message, and as soon as it's over, Sam resumes kissing you, though with slightly less passion than before.

"Who was that?" you ask breathlessly.

"My brother," is all Sam says, and you kiss him, but he slows the kiss down and pulls away gently. "Sorry, I've just gotta check my cell," he says apologetically, and you wonder why, but nod, and get off him, standing slightly awkwardly with your arms wrapped around yourself as he exits to your bedroom to get his phone.

There've been two or three messages like this before from his brother, left on the machine. They all start with 'Sammy' and all end with the name of a state in America. You've asked Sam about this before, and all he told you was that his brother wanted to let him know where he was in case Sam needed him.

He moved around a lot, Sam told you. It was probably the most you'd ever heard about his family. It kind of bothered you that you knew so little about the Winchesters, but you knew that Sam would tell you when he was good and ready, so after your first month of dating, you stopped asking. He was clearly carrying around some emotional baggage that came with being the youngest, you were sure, you just hoped that he would one day trust you enough to let you in, although you know family stuff was more serious than other stuff.

After all, you'd much sooner tell Sam and your friends about your secret urban myths and legends obsession rather than mention that your uncle used to beat the crap out of you every time he'd see you with a boy, even if you were just friends, and you didn't figure out why until you were sixteen and he married a woman that looked exactly like you.

"Dammit, I told you not to leave messages!" you flinch at Sam's tone, carried over to the living room from your bedroom, where he is clearly on his cell to someone, most likely his brother.

You feel thankful that Sam never uses that tone would you. You think that it would hurt you way too much. And Sam would never hurt you, not intentionally. He's just lovely that way.

He must be pretty angry to have called his brother, or maybe his brother called his cell. He doesn't really keep in touch with his family.

You don't blame him; you don't keep in touch with yours either.

But you wish you knew why he never talked about them.

"Well try my cell next time! Yeah … Yeah … Oh, whatever … You know what, don't even bother calling!"

Sam stomps back into the living room and sits down where he was sitting before and picks up the newspaper he had been reading before you straddled him.

You stand in front of him quietly for a few moments before you sigh and realise that you aren't gonna get any, not when Sam's like this, and pull your top back on and sit opposite him.

He blinks, as if suddenly remembering you're there, and looks at you and sighs, "Oh, Jess, I'm so sorry, it's just … my brother … he really pissed me off, and I'm just … not …"

You nod, and smile.

"Sam, don't worry, it's OK," you tell him.

He smiles back at you and lets out an odd laugh, almost like it's a sob, although his eyes are dry.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, Jess?" he asks. The adoration in his gaze is so clear, and you know that he truly loves you.

His eyes drift back to the paper and he turns the page.

You watch him read it and smile lovingly – no matter what, no matter whose name he moans in his dreams, you know that it's harmless, that you're the one he wants. After all, he's chosen you to be with, hasn't he?

Slowly, his brow creases and his eyes start scanning the page he's reading more rapidly, and he looks really worried, so you start to frown as well.

"Sam, what's-" you start to ask, but he slams the paper down, stands up without even looking at you, walks right past you as though he doesn't see you, grabs his coat, and walks out of the door, saying, "I've gotta make a phone call," and you decide not to remind him that there's a perfectly good phone in working order on the table right next to him.

Unsure about what's going on and with an anxious feeling settling in your stomach, you lean over the table and tilt your head to look at the article that he was reading.

It says in big, bold letters 'MISSOURI MURDERS'. Underneath, there is a picture of two fairly young men, one a few years older than the other, smiling at the camera widely, the older of the two holding a large fish in his hands.

You read the article, and find out that every day for the past six days a male – an older brother of two siblings, ages between twenty and thirty – has gone missing in Missouri, and every day for the past six days each man's younger brother has found their mutilated body in the evening. The paper said that it is thought to be a ritual of some sort carried out by a psychopath, and it is very possible that today is the last day of the ritual.

It's horrible, you think. People are so fucked up these days.

You gasp suddenly.

And it's not because you realise that Sam's brother left a message saying that he was going to Missouri today, and he's a perfect candidate, what with having a younger brother and all, but it's because you think you suddenly remember who the person whose name Sam's been moaning in his dreams at night is.

You know it's kind of terrible to be more worried about that than the horrible things that are happening in the world, but you really, really can't help it.

You sit down in the chair that Sam had been sitting it in shock, staring at the door, waiting for him to come back.

Sam comes back in after fifteen minutes, looking immensely relaxed, although you can still see creases of worry around his eyes. Warning his brother about the Missouri murders obviously went well, but you can't even manage to say anything about Sam's abrupt leave or the horrible murders.

"Sam," your throat is dry and you look into Sam's eyes and you just know he will never be completely and truly yours, although you are his.

"Yeah, Jess?" Sam gives you that same smile he always gives you – wide and bright like sunshine – and nods his head.

"What's your brother's name again?" you ask, and when you hear the answer you don't know whether to laugh or cry because you're right, you're right, you are so right.

"Dean," he says. "Why?"

You have never lied to Sam, maybe omitted facts and events, but never outright lied.

That stops now.

"No reason," you smile back at him although you feel like either crying or storming out, calling him sick and slapping him or holding him close to you and telling him you'll try to deal with this, you're not quite sure.

You end up doing nothing.

He sits down in the chair you had been sitting in and starts talking about two-day trip to Paris you're making next week but you're barely listening and all you can focus on is that he's been calling his brother's name out in his sleep and you can't help but think sadly but his smile is like sunshine.

The End.