Once again I'd like to thank SoulfulSam for being the sex goddess genius that she is and holding my hand as I stumbled all over the place.

Sam didn't even know that he was living in black and white until he met Jess. Then, suddenly, he was in Oz and the world was Technicolor.

Hanging out with friends had always been something that Sam had to force himself to do, like a work-out on a day that he was just plumb tired. As always, he did it. He found that the burn of his abs the next day or the smiling faces of his peers was a pleasant reminder that he was being who he wanted to be. But he had never craved attention from anyone quite the way he started to crave it from Jess. That is, he never craved attention from anyone besides Dean the way he craved it from Jess.

With Dean it had been all dark motel rooms and muffled noises but with Jess it was light. Sam could never decide if it was her shampoo or highlights but somehow Jess' hair shined with a luminosity all it's own. It smelled like the simple lazy sunshine of summer and lemon grass and even when it was knotted and mussed, it looked as soft as silk against her pillow.

Sam's time with Jess became an exercise in not sex. They would lay on her bed, touching each other's arms, stroking each other's fingers with their own, exploring the mazes and long, silky jungles of each other's hair with their fingertips, marveling in the warmth, but not sex. Sam never pressured and Jess never offered and somehow it was better that way. Sam knew, abstractly, that sex didn't have to be shameful and secret like it was with Dean. Sam wanted Dean, Sam pressured Dean and even though Sam didn't have to do much, it was obvious that their sexual relationship was one sided. Dean probably could have gone their whole lives without ever reaching across that line and making a mess where there had been blissfully simple, platonic, brotherly love.

But Sam seemed to have a special sort of knack for leaving messes.

Brady had not taken Sam's new friendship with Jess great. He had introduced them at the crushing party off campus, proudly claiming her as the only reason he ever passed Organic Chemistry before pulling Sam away to meet someone else. But Brady, being Brady, started his nightly ritual of drinking until he couldn't see straight and Sam gravitated towards Jess and Jess gravitated towards Sam and that bugged Brady for some reason. He grabbed Sam wordlessly by the wrist the fourth time he found Sam and Jess by the carrot sticks and Sam only had time to wave as Brady dragged him to the apartment they shared.

Sam had been getting a glass of water that night when he suddenly felt Brady's hard body against his back, his breath on his neck and his hands on his hips. Sam knew what would happen the moment he heard Brady's footsteps behind him but still felt a twinge of guilt as Brady slipped his hands beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, stroking, palming, touching Sam's cock, trying to get him hard, trying to prove something.

"Wanna double your sexual history tonight?" Brady whispered against his ear. Sam felt Brady's cock against his ass as it searched for the groove between his cheeks. "I can make you feel so good, baby, just let me make you feel good."

Sam supposed that if he stopped thinking about Dean and lies and the life he committed himself to, he might be able to get it up. If he turned off his brain he could probably let Brady do as he was promising, as he was begging. But Sam had never been the one who was good at turning his brain off; Dean had. Had Dean just turned his brain off like that for him three years, a lifetime, ago? Brady rutted against his back, locking Sam where he was and Sam let him, looking down at the ripples in his water glass that Brady made as pumped against him and tried to make whatever point he was trying to make. With a sputtering breath and a sigh, Brady went limp against Sam's back and Sam could feel a sticky wetness leaking from Brady's boxers to the back of his thighs. Brady spun Sam around and started to lower to his knees before Sam grabbed him by the chin and kissed him softly. Brady glanced down at Sam's barely mentionable arousal and smiled stiffly before returning the kiss then stepping back, realizing that he had been dismissed.

Brady wasn't Sam's boyfriend and besides two other incidents, Sam and Brady hadn't done much in the way of sex. The first had been in Brady's car. Brady had smelled like sex and vodka, but he grabbed Sam's crotch as Sam drove them both home. It was hardly the first time; the zipper of Sam's pants was clearly the only thing that Brady could find with laser accuracy when he was as drunk as he was that night. But Brady was so fucked up, so royally destroyed and broken that Sam had relented. Brady was his friend, but maybe Sam liked him more as wrecked as he was. Maybe Sam harbored some insane fantasy where he was the cure, not the cause, to one, just one, of these familiar missions to self-destruct.

"Sammy," Brady had moaned, touching himself with the hand that wasn't mapping the topography of Sam's lap. And then Sam was pulling into the parking lot of a KFC and shoving his hand into Brady's pants, feeling his friend's cock, awkwardly shuffling around denim. "So good, Sammy. Need you. Need you, Sammy, god, Sammy, please." Brady came in Sam's mouth again, then fell asleep with his hand cupping Sam's soft dick. It didn't matter; Sam had never even gotten fully hard.

The second time had been in Brady's room. They had been watching a movie in the dark, Sam sitting on the floor, his back against the bed while Brady smoked pot on the mattress. About forty minutes in, Sam could feel Brady getting restless. A hand fell against his face, guiding his head back before his mouth was engulfed. Brady tasted like skunk and Sam never understood why he smoked it so much. But suddenly Brady was on him, kissing him and sliding his clothes over his torso, determined to get a literal rise out of him. It didn't happen, but Sam let Brady rub up against his thigh anyways, watching the movie over Brady's shoulder as his friend fucked his leg, stoking his hair, soothing, almost. After all, Sam knew how it felt to need this closeness. He just didn't need it with Brady.

Before Jess, Sam had always answered Brady's texts. He always met with Brady after class and sipped his soda water while watching Brady get plastered as he pre-gamed for a big night out. It didn't matter which night it was. Brady had started going out seven nights a week. And Brady clung to Sam and Sam let him because Brady's destruction was the only thing that made Sam feel like he wasn't living in some sleeping state of normal, or like it was Groundhog Day; same people, same places, same classes, same bed.

Then there was Jess and, looking back, Sam realized that it was all the same. She would text him and he would drop what he was doing and go over to her apartment. It was the same place, small but cozy. Watercolor poppies on her curtains and a few dozen ferns in the windowsill. She was in Sam's arms when she followed his gaze to the plants. Somehow she always seemed to gravitate to his arms, not kissing, not groping, just in his embrace, breathing his air and wrapping him up in the smell of sunshine and lemon grass. He clung to her and she let him. He was never really sure why.

She followed his gaze to the plants and smiled that smile that made her little mole by her eye get lost in the golden curls of her bangs as her eyes crinkled. Sam could tell you every crease and fold of her skin as she smiled. She said that she had a soft spot for the ferns that the flower shops put out by the dumpsters. If given a chance, they could thrive, but no one bought a fern to save it. They liked the ferns that were already healthy, they liked clean beautiful perfection but hated to put any effort in themselves. The ferns were better this way, Jess decided, they had been dirty and doomed but now they were bright and strong with life.

Sam laughed at the image of Jess digging around dumpsters to save thin, spiny plants, but there they were, sitting proudly in their love in their new home on her windowsill. That was the night that all of Brady's calls went to voicemail.

"You were with Jess, huh?" asked Brady the next morning as they drank coffee in the kitchen. Sam had just woken up, Brady had just gotten in. Something in Brady's thin tone made Sam pause. His friend's knuckles were white on the table.

"Yeah, been over there a lot lately." Said Sam, trying to read Brady's face, "Who'd you end up with last night? Vincent? Is he as flexible as everyone says?"

"You know I'd rather be with you, right?"

"You're with me right now, Brady."

"I mean… Not just jacking each other off or blow jobs or any of that stuff. Like, I could not be with other guys if that's what you wanted. I could just be with you."

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Brady."

"Ok. But you're not in love with Jess, are you?"

"No." Sam didn't know why he lied.

"I mean, if you were going to love one of us, it'd be me, right?"

"What does it matter, Brady? Do you love me?"

"Is that what you want?"

"That isn't what you're supposed to say." Sighed Sam, "I think you're still a little drunk. You're going to class today, right?"

Brady waved a lazy hand through the air and Sam grabbed his shoulder as his roommate went to crash in his room.

"We've got that final in the writings course. Don't forget, ok?"

"Have I ever forgotten before?"

Sam shook his head let Brady go, but now that Brady was looking at him, he stepped forward and grabbed Sam by the hips, pulling him in. Brady's eyes searched his face for a moment before his lips ghosted over Sam's. Brady kept his eyes open and watching Sam before Sam eased away and turned back to the kitchen counter. Brady touched his own lips before giving a last, lost look at Sam and going into his room.

Brady didn't show up to class.

Sam was laying on Jess' bed, fully clothed while she sat at the head of the bed with a book in her lap and a study guide on the bed next to him.

"I can't study with you here." She announced finally. Sam didn't notice the silence until she spoke. Sam could listen to her silence for the rest of his life. He rolled over, propping himself up on his arm as he looked at her.

"You invited me over to study. Do you want me to go?"

"No."

"Do you want me to help?"

"They're my finals for class. My medical class. You can't habeas corpus this stuff, it actually matters after all." She was teasing him. She was smiling that smile that he could sketch with his eyes closed. It still gave him butterflies.

"Well, clearly you know what I do." He said, returning her smile. She placed a slender finger into the dimple on his cheek and it seemed like a perfectly fair trade. He would smile forever if she would touch him forever. A hand on his cheek. A finger in his dimple and he was thickening just a little being close to her. He could spend eternity on her sheets, with her mapping his face with feather touches. He reached into her lap and pulled her study sheet from her.

"You didn't tell me you had an anatomy portion of the test." Jess blushed and made a reach for the paper which Sam easily held out of her arm's length on the other side of the bed. "I can help with that."

"How could you possibly help with that?"

Sam didn't tell Jess that his father taught him how to suture when he was fourteen. John Winchester may not have known the scientific terms for the muscles and bones that he tore and broke, but he knew how to fix them. Sam didn't tell Jess about the night that he gave his father stitches, an interrupted stitch with the square knot that he had learned on an orange peel. The lighting was dim even though they were sitting right next to a shitty, low watt lamp. His father's skin was almost grimy with sweat and dirt and probably the blood of some poor bastard who had starred as the demon's meat suit. Dean was messed up, and their dad was watching him like a hawk for any signs of a concussion. Dean was eighteen and Sam was scared for his brother and also himself because he didn't want to be the one propped against a headboard in four years, giving listless answers to pointless questions to try and stay awake. Sam was scared because he didn't want to die. He didn't need to tell Jess about all the things he'd seen and done.

He spread his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes. "Anatomize me."

"That is the correct term, after all," said Jess with a laugh and even with his eyes closed it hurt a little to look directly at something so beautiful.

Sam felt the bed move as she got closer to his body and he was buzzing with the possibility of being touched by her. She placed a hand on his chest.

"Pectoralis major." She said and Sam opened one eye to glance at the study sheet before nodding her on. Her hand dipped a little lower, right under his rib cage" serratus anterior." Sam's mouth got dry so he simply nodded his head. Jess touch got a little lighter as she moved it even further south still, "Obliquus externus abdominus." Then her hand was on his hip and Sam looked up at her. She was leaning over him, watching his face. Her hair had fallen forward as she looked at him nervously. The beautiful, brilliant virgin, biting her lip in surprise at her own boldness. Well, if they were doing bold—

"I'm going to kiss you." Sam whispered and he followed through without waiting for her to respond. He tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear and traced her lip with his thumb and tried to memorize the delicate look of want and nerves and perfection that looked down at him. He needed that. He needed her light and her innocence and her beauty because otherwise it was nightmares and dark. Why didn't he deserve something like this? Must he spend his whole life paying for a single, selfish, adolescent mistake?

Then Sam sat up and his lips met hers and she let out a surprised little 'meep' sound that Sam wanted to catch in a jar and hold near his heart for the rest of his life. He pulled away and laid back down on the bed , staring up at her and her beautiful, golden curls and the halo of light around her hair.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Then Jess leaned down and anchored him to the bed with her touch as soft as sunshine on his skin. They held together, breathing together and basking in the mutual glow of each other before Jess' lips parted fractionally and she nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. Then it was Sam's turn to make an undignified noise.

It wasn't in a frat house bathroom and it wasn't in a dark motel bed. It was flowers and light and lemon grass of summer and all the things that were good in the world. It was love, simple, unashamed love and it was beautiful in it's quiet perfection. Jess was… Technicolor. His world wasn't a series of dark hues anymore. No more black and white and doomed and dreary greys. There was the thirty kinds of gold in her hair and six shades of green in her eyes. There were purple water color poppies on her curtains and the spiny, forest greens of her ferns and she wanted him and he wanted her and it was as simple as that.

Suddenly, Sam realized that it could be as simple as that and it was a revelation.

"I'm so not going to pass this final tomorrow." Jess whispered against his lips, before smiling and diving back in, shining like the sun and washing Sam in all her light warmth and perfection.

"So, are you fucking her now? Is that it?" Brady snapped as Sam walked in the door the next morning. Sam had jumped because Brady was sitting in a chair, facing the door and seething like he had been doing it all night.

In actuality, no, Sam wasn't having sex with Jess. They were kissing and studying and talking about ferns and Smurfs and a thousand stupid nothings that he wanted to talk about until the day he died so long as he was talking to her. But it was none of Brady's business where he was so Sam pushed past him and started changing in his room. Brady flung open the door, clearly not done with Sam yet.

"Just tell me if you're fucking her. I have a right to know."

"No, you don't Brady. You aren't my boyfriend and I'm not even sure that I'm gay anymore. If I even was..."

"Just like that, huh? One day, you meet some blonde goody two shoes and you're suddenly on the pussy wagon?"

"It isn't about …pussy…" Sam cringed over the vulgar word. Nothing about Jess could ever be vulgar and Sam strongly disliked the implication that anyone might think that. Jess was Technicolor and Brady was being a jerk, "I can't help that I love her."

Sam might as well have punched Brady in the face for the look his roommate gave him. Sam took a step away as Brady uncoiled like a snake, opening and closing his fists and shaking his head.

"You'll stop seeing her. I'll stop seeing other guys. We'll be together and you'll love me because that is how this is supposed to go."

"Or what, you'll hit me?" Sam gave a nervous laugh at Brady's clenched fists. Sam could fight. He was bigger than Brady and he had been trained to fight bullies and bad guys since around the time puberty set in. He had been trained like a street soldier and he could take down something like Brady. That didn't mean he wanted to.

"Take off your pants and get on the bed, Sam."

"Fuck off, Brady."

"That's the idea, clever boy." Said Brady and suddenly something was different. Brady was smiling but it was hard and knowing and more terrifying than the balled fists. "You aren't fucking her. Of course you would fall in love with some chick you haven't come in. You can barely get it up for me and, after all, which of us is more like that first love of yours anyways? I've got the cock. I can fuck you like he did. What can she do about that? How can she replace Dean?"

"It isn't about replacing Dean." Said Sam. He didn't realize that he had been stepping away from Brady until his back cut into the dresser. "Knock it off, Brady."

"Am I scaring you?"

"No." Sam lied.

"We can do it up against the dresser. Is that how you did it with him?"

"You need help, Brady." Sam mumbled, "You're missing classes and you're messed up. You're different, man. Do you need to go to a meeting or something? Do you want me to go with—"

"Please cut the bullshit, Sam."

"No bullshit. I want to help you. I wan—"

"You want to save me? Now that you've got a girlfriend, you don't need to follow me around to feel alive, is that it? You fucking prick, don't you stand there like some hero. Maybe I was too much like him, huh? Hurt a little bit too much, got a little too real for you? But shes some fucking fantasy dreamland girl?"

"Brady, it wasn't li—"

"Do yourself a favor and shut up, Sam. If you need to lie to yourself, fine. Love her. Marry her. Get her pregnant for all I care 'cause nothing is going to change. It's all going to be the same and you can live a lie as long as you need to but reality is going to come back with a vengeance. You think you can escape who you are?"

"Brady, I never said I was gay. I was still figuring that stuff—"

"Gay? You think this is about sex?" Brady let out a malicious laugh.

"I'm moving out," said Sam, "I can't fight with you like this everyday. I can't watch you spiral down anymore. You're my friend and you need help."

"I'm supposed to be your friend and I'm just a little too much. A little too much like him."

"Don't you ever talk about him and don't call me again until you decide you want help."

"Ah, what a noble exit he makes!" Brady shouted at his back as Sam sped out of the apartment, "What a saint he is. He can leave me and still feel good about himself. How much longer do you need to lie to yourself, Sam? I can wait, just not forever."

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