A/N: Written for bittersamgirlclub's August prompt, "Sam and family."

August 2004

Sam always knew that families like this existed in theory, but he'd never really expected to spend this much time with them in practice. It was nice, really nice, but it was also a little much. So much teasing and banter and sharing and caring, all of it genuine.

So much love.

And they'd all been prepared to love him, too. A little wary, but perfectly willing. He'd felt their eyes following him, watching him with Jess, no doubt comparing what she and her parents had told them with what they were seeing. And, apparently, liking what they saw.

They were amazing. Siblings and parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins of every degree and description, all happy to see each other and eager to catch up on each others' lives. Sure, he lost count of the number of times he answered the same set of questions about where he was from and what he was studying and how he and Jess met, but every single time the person who asked seemed genuinely interested, and not in a we'll-talk-shit-about-this-guy-later way, either.

Sam had known Jess for eight months, been in love with her for five, and officially her boyfriend for three. She had assured him that that timeline made him more than qualified to come to her family reunion, and the Moore family seemed to agree. The story about how she made him cookies the first time he asked her out, because that's what friends do for friends who get rejected by someone awesome, was certainly a big hit.

Still, it was pretty overwhelming. Not too much of a good thing, exactly, just that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Nothing in his life, no book he had read or movie he had watched, had prepared him for a genuinely happy family spending a weekend together at the beach.

He was even less prepared for his saving grace to be a precocious eighteen-month-old who, for reasons unknown, decided that he was her new best friend, or at least personal valet and vehicle.

Kids made Sam nervous. Dean had always had a talent for speaking their language, slipping into their world, but Sam hadn't figured out how to fit in with kids when he was a kid himself, never mind now that he was a 21-year-old giant. They seemed so small and breakable.

He'd been standing awkwardly in a corner of the community center the Moores rented as a gathering place, trying not to look like he was standing awkwardly in a corner but also hoping he would be given a few minutes respite from socializing. He'd just began to recover enough for it to take effort to not think about Dad and Dean and how very not like this his broken little excuse for a family was when Jess found him. She was holding a baby (toddler? Sam wasn't sure) that was probably a girl, since she was wearing a "Future Slayer" t-shirt that Sam would bet money had been a present from Jess, and all Buffy fans (or those who were wrangled into watching it by their enthusiastic significant others, and were then forced to admit that it was pretty good, while keeping opinions about the portrayal of vampires and other monsters to themselves) knew that all slayers were girls.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, smiling.

"This is my cousin Kenzie's daughter, Taylor. Taylor, this is Sam. He's my boyfriend. Can you say hi?"

Taylor studied him with large brown eyes, a thoughtful expression on her face. Sam smiled tentatively.

"Kenzie. She's your dad's older brother's daughter, right? And her partner's name is Maira, but Maira couldn't come because a thing came up at her work?" It was easier, Sam found, if he could keep Jess' family organized, could place each person as they introduced themselves, so on the drive out he had asked Jess to tell him who everyone was and how they were connected, and been grudgingly grateful for the years of training in memorizing details like that after hearing them once.

"Very good," Jess said. "You know, I think Taylor likes you."

"How can you tell?"

"She's not trying to hide. Kenzie says she can be really shy sometimes, especially with guys, but she seems fine with you. Maybe more than fine. Wanna hold her?"

"Oh, uh, no, that's OK. I mean, I guess I can if your arms are tired or something, but I don't really—"

"Sam," Jess interrupted, smiling. "It's OK, I've got her. Don't worry about it." She was looking at him in that way she had, telling him that she might not know everything going through his head, but she knew enough, and she had his back. God, he loved her.

Taylor was clearly young enough for lack of verbosity to be normal, but you were supposed to talk to babies, right? It was good for their language skills or something? "So, Taylor, how old are you?" he asked, smiling with a little more confidence as she continued to study him.

"She's eighteen months," Jess told him.

"And such lofty goals already. Unless one of your moms picked your shirt out for you?" Jess swatted him on the shoulder with her free hand.

"Now, Jessica, you know we solve our problems with our words, not our fists," he teased. She stuck her tongue out at him. He leaned in and kissed her.

"Don't think your good kissing gets you out of trouble for mocking Taylor's awesome shirt," she told him when they broke apart.

"I wasn't mocking, I was asking Taylor a serious, legitimate question about the career path implied by her very tasteful t-shirt."

"Uh-huh. Sure you were."

"Your lack of faith wounds me."

Their banter was interrupted by Taylor reaching for Sam, arms over her head, and authoritatively saying "Up!"

"Wh-what does she want me to do?" Sam asked.

"Not sure. Maybe put her on your shoulders?"

"Up!" Taylor repeated.

"Isn't that dangerous? I mean, it's a really long way to fall."

"You won't let her fall," Jess assured him. Seeing his expression, she added, "But you don't have to if you don't want to; I can find a way to distract her."

"U-up!" Taylor insisted.

Unbidden memories of all the things he was physically capable of that were definitely harder than keeping one eighteen-month-old securely on his shoulders came to Sam's mind. If he could . . . no, he wouldn't think about that. If he could get into Stanford, strike out on his own, build this life for himself; well, all that was much scarier than an adorable little toddler, wasn't it?

"OK, little slayer," he told Taylor, and lifted her gingerly onto his shoulders, keeping a firm grip on her torso until he felt her twine her little hands in his hair, then cautiously moving his own down to hold her legs in place.

"How's she look?" he asked.

"She's grinning like anything—that is definitely what she wanted," Jess told him, beaming.

"And she looks secure? She's not going to—"

"She's fine, Sam. Actually, that looks like quite a death grip she's got on your hair. Doesn't that hurt?"

Sam shrugged, and Taylor giggled, and he couldn't help grinning at the sound.

"So, that's a 'yes this toddler yanking on my hair hurts but it's totally worth it,' then?" Jess asked, also grinning.

"Something like that, yeah."

A woman Sam was pretty sure was Kenzie joined them in their corner.

"She's putting you to work, I see," she said to Sam.

"Which one?" he quipped.

"Hey!" Jess said, swatting him again.

The other woman smiled appreciatively, but Sam could see the exhaustion etched beneath her expression.

"I'm Kenzie," she said, confirming Sam's suspicion. "I won't make you do the 'tell me about yourself' drill, since you've been so kindly entertaining my daughter, not to mention how sick of it you must be. Plus, Jessica already gave me the relevant intel."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Should I be worried?"

"Nah. Jessica might be too nice for her own good some of the time, but she also has impeccable taste, so we mostly don't worry about her."

Sam blushed, but was gratified to see that Jess was doing the same. She caught his glance and bumped him lightly with her hip, a small smile on her face.

"Sorry, I swear I'm not trying to embarrass you. Either of you. I swear I used to be the cool cousin."

"You still are," Jess assured her. "You're just the exhausted-parent-of-a-toddler version at the moment."

"And I don't have any cousins, so how would I know the difference between the cool and uncool ones?" Sam asked.

"No cousins, huh? So, this is culture shock and then some."

"Yeah, I guess. Something like that. Hey, uh, is Taylor still OK up there? I mean, she's awfully quiet. Not that I really know anything at all about toddlers. Which I'm sure fills you full of confidence. It's just—"

Kenzie laughed. "She's fine; she's surveying her kingdom. And thoroughly enjoying the view, aren't you, angel?" she assured, addressing her last remark up to Taylor, who cooed happily in response. "Trust me, you're doing great. The quiet thing is because she's a little overwhelmed by all these people she doesn't know who keep insisting on passing her around and talking to her. She's just about reached the point of reclaiming her rightful throne as queen of the castle: I'm guessing by tomorrow she'll be back to being an adorable little terror who expects everyone to know exactly what she wants and behave accordingly, even though she doesn't speak in full sentences yet."

They chatted until Taylor started to droop and Kenzie left to put her to bed. Sam learned, among other things, that he had been right about the source of Taylor's shirt, although apparently if Jess hadn't gotten it then Kenzie would have, because she was also a fan. Jess and Kenzie both assured them that he'd done a great job, and although he insisted that all he'd done was let Taylor perch on his shoulders, he found the praise gratifying nonetheless. And in the mean time, he had recovered more than enough to be ready for more socializing. He and Jess joined a rousing card game, and he discovered that, in the Moore family, kindness and friendliness did not preclude hilariously ruthless banter when things got competitive, complete with heckling from the non-players. The way these people fit together, the things they knew about each other, the inside jokes and shared stories that had nothing to do with monsters and violence and crappy motel rooms: this was the kind of family Sam had always wanted. He loved and missed Dean and even Dad more than he let himself think about, but everything good they had together was so tainted by the bad, by the things in the dark and the fights and the absence of the mother Sam had never known and never been told about because John buried those memories deep and taught Dean to do the same, only letting them out enough to fuel their mission, not to give Sam the details of what was missing from their lives. Sam was jerked out of the downward spiral of this thoughts by a burst of laughter from the players and spectators, and re-focused on the card game, determined to avoid the kind of painful comparisons he'd began to make: they did no one any favors.

The next day, Kenzie's prediction of Taylor's behavior proved correct. What Sam hadn't counted on was that he would be the main object of the toddler's gesture-heavy, monosyllabic commands. To his surprise, he found himself enjoying the challenge of interpreting Taylor's communications, and there was the added bonus that, while he was clearly occupied with her, other adults more or less left him alone, which took away both the pressure of conversation and the struggle to not compare this family with his own. When they all went to the beach that afternoon, he felt comfortable enough with Taylor that he told Kenzie he would watch Taylor for a while if she wanted, and she was confident enough in his abilities that she accepted.

Sam and Taylor spent an hour digging holes, making simple sand castles, examining rocks, shells, and other sundry strewn along the sand (Sam was mostly successful in preventing Taylor from putting her treasures in her mouth, though when he confessed a failure to Kenzie when she checked in to make sure everything was going OK, she just laughed and said it was a miracle Taylor had only stuck one thing in her mouth), and splashing in the ocean shallows.

He was relieved of toddler duty when several of Jess' cousins succeeded in setting up the volleyball net they'd brought and begged him to play, which he was more than happy to do. Taylor, tired enough to be somewhat tractable, was claimed by her grandparents, who were sitting near the volleyball net with most of the adults of Jess' parents' generation.

Sam was not surprised to discover that the Moore family's penchant for heckling was not limited to tabletop games. This time, he felt confident enough to fire a few shots of his own in response to the non-participants comments, and was relieved when they were met with wicked grins and even more razzing.

That evening, exhausted from the hours of volleyball and the ocean swimming that had followed, Sam was more than happy for Taylor to drag him to the relatively quiet corner where she had spread out most of the toys Kenzie had brought for her, and even happier that all Taylor seemed to want was an audience: little to no participation required. By the time Kenzie and Taylor left for the evening, he was recovered enough to be talked into more card games.

Sam wasn't positive, but there seemed to be a lot of implied "hope to see you next year" sentiments directed at him during the goodbyes the following day. This whole happy family thing was still strange, but whenever he looked at Jess, he knew that he hoped he would be back next year, too. And when Taylor said "Bye, Sam!" and hugged him around the neck, well, OK, he might like seeing her again, too.

They'd been on the road for about ten minutes when Jess broke the silence. "I'm going to say something, and I don't want you to take it the wrong way, OK?"

"OK?"

"You were really amazing with Taylor this weekend."

"I didn't—"

"God, Sam, take the compliment and let me finish!"
"Sorry."

"Like I said, you were really good with her. I know you don't feel like you really did anything, and maybe there's a level on which that's true, but you were patient and you paid close attention and she liked you and I know Kenzie really appreciated the break. So I wanted to make sure you knew that, and to say that . . . that I think, if you wanted to, you could be a really amazing dad some day. If being a dad was something you decided you wanted."

"Jess . . ." God, he didn't even know where to start, how he could possibly explain without telling her things he shouldn't, couldn't. "That's . . . really nice of you to say. But there's a lot you don't know. About me and my family. About my dad. I mean, you might be right, but I don't think so, and the only way to find out would be to try, and I will not risk putting a kid through a childhood like the one I had just so I can find out whether I'd be as bad of a father as mine is. I won't do that."

"OK. Sorry I . . . I just wanted you to know what I saw, what we all saw. That's all." Jess' voice was quiet and a little strained.

"Jess?" This was it. This was the moment he'd been dreading yet waiting for, the moment his freak-show old life reared up and wrecked this new one. He could already here his father's triumphant 'I told you so' in the back of his mind.

"It's not a deal breaker if that's what you're worried about," she told him, sounding more like herself, though still more serious than usual.

"What's not?"

"The kid thing. I mean, sure, I've always assumed I would be a mom, and I can see it and I like what I see. But I'd give that up for the right person, no problem. Maybe not without a bit of a fight if I thought their reasons were bull, but the point still stands. You understand what I'm saying to you?"

Sam's eyes were prickly with tears, and he wanted nothing more than to take Jess in his arms and kiss her and just never ever stop. However, given that she was driving, that wasn't an option at the moment.

"Yeah, I understand what you're saying. And when we get back, I hope you'll let me show you just how much I appreciate it."

Jess grinned and stepped on the gas.

A/N: This was originally going to include the next year's family reunion as well, but it ended up being longer than planned and I ran out of time, plus it ended up working as a standalone, so the subsequent year will be its own fic.