Smoke & Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder [3/?]
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (3/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG all the way to NC-17 in future chapters.
Wordcount: 3,290
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
Note: We got bored and changed our comm layout already, mostly because bloody_adorable made a manip that I look at and want to nibble on. :D
CHAPTER THREE
The high school lunches hadn't improved in the past years he’d been attending. Finding it hard to swallow down the burger, Jensen grimaced just slightly. He couldn't believe that his parents paid such an outrageous tuition, and this was what they got fed for lunch.
"Wow, I can see that the burgers are top-of-the-line."
Jensen looked up to find Chris nearing him. "Yeah," he agreed, swallowing down the last of what was in his mouth. "Simply stellar." He pushed his tray away, the burger only half finished. He concentrated on his drink and apple instead. "How'd you do on the essay?"
"English is for chumps," Chris smiled, sitting down and picking up his own burger. "How'd you do?"
Jensen shrugged. "I don't know," he sighed. He crunched into his apple, thoughts jumbled in his mind.
Chris eyed him for a moment, concern in his expression. The bruises that Doug had left Jensen with were already starting to fade, the cut lip almost healed, but he still looked like he hadn't slept in days. "You've been really distracted today," he noted. "Everything okay?"
Jensen continued to stare off into space, slowly chewing a mouthful of apple.
"Jen," Chris said, speaking loudly enough to interrupt his friend's thoughts.
Returned to the present, Jensen blinked over at Chris. "What?"
"Distracted?" he repeated. "You? What's going on?"
"What? No, nothing." He saw Chris' eyelashes flutter, his head tilted to the side. He didn't believe a word Jensen was saying. Frowning, Jensen looked down at his apple, picking at the stem. "I don't know," he said. "I guess I'm just being stupid and emo."
Chris took a bite of his burger as he laughed. "Come on," he encouraged. "Out with it."
Taking a deep breath, Jensen sighed and shook his head. "I had a great time."
"Oh, yeah," Chris said around a mouthful of lunch. "How'd the dinner go?"
"Dinner was weird," he admitted. "But afterwards."
"Yeah?"
"We went in and played games, just like Kenzie and I usually do," he said. "Jared sat next to me. I kept losing because I kept thinking about that. He was sitting next to me." He saw Chris laugh, but it wasn't a mocking laughter. He knew he could tell Chris anything, and it wouldn't matter. "Those tattoos. They were..."
Jensen had a hard time with talking like he wanted to at times, his shyness getting the better of him. Chris smiled and nodded, deciding to not press the subject. "I getchya, big man," he said. "It's hard to be smooth when the object of your affections is that close to you."
After staring at him for a second, Jensen crumpled. He bent down until his head bounced against the lunch table. "Ow," he said, his voice void of all emotion.
Chris reached out, chuckling softly, and patted the back of Jensen's head. "Come on," he said. "It's not that bad. So you like a guy. Big deal. You knew it would happen eventually."
Jensen shook his head as best as he could, pressed up against the table. "You don't get it, Chris," he said. "This guy. He's bad news. I know he is, but I can't stop thinking about him."
"So you've got a thing for a bad boy," he shrugged. "You think a bad girl doesn't get me going? Come on, go talk to him. Today, after school. The buses on this side of town do run across the tracks, you know."
Finally, Jensen picked his head up off the table. His skin was red where it had been pressed against the wood. "No, I really just want to forget about him, to be honest," he said, sadness lacing his voice.
"Well, the guys and I are going to play tonight," Chris said. "Why don't you come over? You can do back-ups again."
"I don't know."
"Come on, you loser," he smiled. "It's Friday. You're not a party-guy, so you've gotta have fun somewhere."
It was true; Jensen didn't do well at big parties. He felt out of place and uncomfortable, a fish out of water. Frowning, he finally nodded his head at his best friend. "Yeah," he agreed. "Okay."
"Ugh," Chris said suddenly, pushing the lunch tray away. "You're right, these things are shitty. Let's run across the street and load up on sugar and junk food. Hathaway's health class is next for us, and that'll piss her right off."
There was a line of Mom-and-Pop markets on the other side of the street that most of the students frequented at lunch time, since they were allowed to leave the campus for that period only. The idea made Jensen smile brighter. He dropped his apple onto his tray and stood to go.
The singing did help. In no time, Jensen had almost forgotten about the heavy feeling in his heart. Chris was crazy when he was performing and, after a while, Jensen's sides hurt from laughing so much. It was around nine at night when Chris' parents decided that they'd had enough of the band jamming down in the basement. They all hung around and talked for about an hour or so, and by 10:30, Jensen was in a cab. Chris had offered to take him home, but Jensen had told him that it was fine; he wouldn't mind being alone for a little while.
He regretted his decision when the silence brought with it the memories of Jared and the dinner a couple nights before. Tattoos pressed against Jensen's skin, just a bare hint of the body piercing visible through the tight polo shirt stretched across Jared's chest.
Sighing, Jensen brushed his hand across his own chest and sat up straighter. Before he knew it, he was asking the driver to head to the other side of the town. He gave him the street name that Jared and Jeffrey lived on, but didn't tell him a house number.
"You sure, kid?"
Jensen leaned back in the seat again and looked out the window. "No," he answered truthfully. "But just drop me off at the corner, okay?"
"You ain't got far to walk, do ya?" the cabbie asked. "That's not the greatest part of town, you know."
"I know," Jensen nodded, looking over at the man. "I'll be alright."
The driver shrugged. "Your buck, kid," he said.
Jensen's mind kept repeating one question over and over. What are you doing, you idiot? He refused to acknowledge the little voice in the back of his head, and the question went unanswered. He stared out the window in silence until the cabbie pulled over to the curb. Jensen got his wallet out, paid what was owed, and then got out of the car. He closed the door, watching the cabbie drive off. He was torn between calling out to the man again, and holding his head high as he walked down the street.
Somewhere in the not-too-distant night, a dog snarled and barked. Jensen jammed his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel. He started down the sidewalk, his head low.
Everything looked different at night, but he found Jeffrey and Jared's house almost immediately. The garage door was closed this time, and only a few lights were on in the house, but everything else seemed quiet and inviting. Biting at his bottom lip, Jensen started up the drive. He made it to the garage, remembering seeing Jared for the first time. Swallowing, he stopped what he was doing and stared at the closed garage door. He knew the mess that was behind the manual door. Yet it wasn't something that had turned him off, as he thought it would have.
Closing his eyes, Jensen shook his head. "You're such a retard," he said aloud to himself. Opening his eyes, he turned again, his shoes scuffing on the crumbling cement drive. He headed back down towards the sidewalk, deciding to dig out his cell phone and call the cabbie back.
The phone pressed to his ear, Jensen started when he heard the garage door being pulled open. He turned and saw Jared there, one arm holding the door up. His heart jumped in his chest, so hard that Jensen was sure it was trying to escape out of his throat.
In jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, Jared stared out at Jensen. "I hope you weren't trying to be stealthy and shit," he said. "I heard you coming a mile away."
Jensen suddenly realized that someone had answered the phone call he'd placed. He took the phone away from his ear and snapped it closed. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
Jared leaned both hands on the door, shifting his weight on his feet. "What'd I say about that apologizing crap?"
Jensen chuckled softly and glanced down at his feet for a second. "Yeah, sorry," he said.
"What are you doing out here this late?"
Jensen tried to pretend that the way Jared was standing wasn't sending a static through him that could lead to dangerous results. The sleeveless tee showed off the array of tattoos trailing along Jared’s muscled arm and well-worked shoulders. Clearing his throat, he glanced back down at the drive for a moment. "I, uh," he began, trying to find the right words. "I don't...I don't really know. I just didn't feel like going home yet."
Jared straightened. "Well, in here's a lot more comfortable than out there," he said, an invitation in the tone of his voice.
Inside the garage, the light was dim, an occasional oddly placed lamp lit in the big space. Jensen waited until Jared had the door closed before he spoke. "So, what were you doing out here? Working on the bikes this late?"
"Yeah," Jared nodded. "But this is where I stay."
Jensen smiled and looked around. "What do you mean?"
Jared walked over towards the archaic fridge in the corner and opened it. "I mean this is my part of the house," he explained.
"You live out here?"
Jared bent down to get something out of the fridge. "Yeah," he answered. "You want a beer?"
A little surprised, Jensen blinked hard at him. "I'm nineteen," he reminded him.
He walked away from the refrigerator, two bottles of beer in his hand. "I didn't ask for your ID," he returned. "I asked if you wanted a drink."
Jensen took the beer bottle from him. "Can't you get in trouble for giving me this?"
Twisting off the cap, Jared flicked it across the room, not caring where it landed. He flopped down on an old and worn beige sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him to rest upon an aging blue milk crate. "You planning on making this the shortest friendship in history and turning me in?"
"No."
"Then sit your ass down and we'll watch some really bad TV."
An hour later they were on their second beer each, and Cops was playing for what seemed like the tenth time in a row. Jared had nothing but complaints about the officers, and Jensen had to admit that he could see Jared's side. Maybe it was just dramatized for television, but the cops were more than overzealous.
Just then, Jensen's phone vibrated in his pocket, alarming him at first. "Shoot," he frowned. "Hold on a second."
"Did you just say 'shoot,' you pansy-ass?" Jared laughed.
"Shut up," he returned, chuckling with him. "Yeah."
"Yeah? Is that how you answer your phone, young man?"
His expression sobered. "Dad," he said. "No, I'm sorry. I just...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"
"Jensen, I'm getting ready to lock the door, do you have your keys?"
Swallowing nervously, Jensen nodded his head. "Yes, sir," he answered.
"Are you still at your friend's house?"
"Yes, sir," he repeated. His heart beat faster with the lie. So what if Alan thought he was still at Chris’s house?
"Are you staying the night?"
Jensen glanced over at Jared, who was polishing off the last of his beer. "Um, I don't know," he told his father.
"You're old enough to make decisions on your own," Alan spoke, sounding rather perturbed. "But it would be nice for you to let your mother and I in on some of them."
"Yes, sir," he said yet again. "I'm sorry."
Alan hung up without even saying good bye. Jensen snapped his phone closed and tossed it down on the sofa beside him.
"What'd General Patton want?" Jared asked, moving to set his beer bottle on the floor, beside the sofa.
Smiling, Jensen scrunched his nose slightly and looked at him. "What?"
"Well, the way you were 'yessir-ing' him," he said, "I just assumed he was someone as important as Patton."
Rolling his eyes, Jensen chuckled. "It was my Dad," he answered.
"Oh, so it was Hitler."
That got a boisterous laugh out of Jensen. "Tell me about it," he said. "I didn't clear my agenda through him, so he had to check up on me. Ask me if I have my keys and where I'm sleeping."
"And?"
Jensen looked over at him, shrugging one shoulder. "And what?"
"Where are you sleeping?"
The question should have made him nervous, but instead he smiled brighter. Normally he was very shy. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but he needed a question answered. "Where do you sleep, by the way?"
Jared got up from the couch, motioning towards the ceiling. "Up there," he said, making his way to the refrigerator.
The clink of bottles barely registered in Jensen's ears. He looked up and saw a second level to the garage. Only about half a floor was there, just enough to make a junky loft for Jared. Amongst the shelves, drawers and odds and ends, there was a box spring and mattress set, propped up on cinder blocks and pallets. The blankets were rumpled and the fitted sheet was pulled off of one corner. Three or four pillows were thrown about, some on the floor, and some crumpled at the head of the bed.
"Holy crap, there's a bed up there," Jensen declared. "How do you get up there?"
"There's a ladder," Jared replied, motioning to a rickety metal ladder that had been bolted to the wall. He handed Jensen another beer, the cap already twisted off. "Here."
"Another one?"
"You planning on driving your half-drunk ass home?"
"No."
"Then take it," he said. "I don't offer just anyone a beer."
Jensen smiled and took the bottle. He drank down what was left in his previous one and set it on the floor at his side, as Jared had done earlier. He looked back up to the second floor of the garage, wondering how he had missed it to begin with. Along the rafters, Jensen noticed words stenciled in black paint. "Hey, that's Latin," he said. "Si vis pacum, para bellum."
"If you want peace, prepare for war," Jared translated.
"Wow, you know Latin, I'm impressed."
Jared grinned at him, bringing the bottle of beer up to his mouth. "I might look uneducated," he told him, "but I was a rich boy just like you."
The revelation more than surprised Jensen. "Seriously?"
Jared nodded, swallowing a mouthful of beer. "Prep school, grammar school, private school, all that shit," he agreed. "Same high society schools that name their halls after the people who donate the most."
"Yeah," Jensen nodded. There hadn't been a hall named after his father yet, but there was talk about something like that being mentioned at Jensen's graduation. One last Ackles hurrah. Jensen was just thankful that the hall, if there really was going to be one named after his father, would be something Mackenzie would have to deal with. She and Dad got along much better than he and Jensen did.
"Yeah, my Mom used to have this really well-paying job. That's how she met Jeffrey, actually," he explained. "He was working construction on the building across the street. Mom used to watch him out of her office window, and then finally went over to talk to him one day." He smiled fondly, remembering the woman he missed so desperately on some days. "Yeah, she even had me pegged for being a lawyer, if you can imagine that. I was only twelve."
"Wow, what happened?"
Jared's smile faded. He shrugged his shoulders, peeling the label on his bottle of beer. "She died," he said. "I kinda went south after that."
"You miss it?"
"Dressing like you and answering 'yes sir, no sir,' to everyone?" he grinned. "Not a second of it."
Jensen watched Jared gaze at him for only a moment more before turning and looking back over at the old television set they'd been watching. The conversation was over, apparently. Jared had told him as much as he was going to, and Jensen was satisfied with what he'd learned. He turned to the television too, and smiled when Jared complained at one of the police officers on the show.
The light, even though it was dim, could be seen peeking out from underneath the door in a long slant across the kitchen tile. Jeffrey had a habit of getting up in the middle of the night, probably because he usually slept on the sofa. In gym shorts and a T-shirt, he shuffled across the room with bare feet. He opened the garage door, ready to complain to Jared that he needed to stop working and go to bed. It was just a little after two in the morning, but the boy had a tendency to lose track of time when he got working on the bikes.
"Jay," he said, his voice thick with sleep.
In the corner of the garage, the old black-and-white TV was on. He still didn't understand how Jared had hooked the thing up to the cable, but there it was, in glorious shades of gray. Stepping down the stairs, Jeffrey made his way over to the sofa. He would have reprimanded Jared if the boy had walked through the dirty garage with no shoes on, but he didn't even think of that as he moved towards the old couch.
He had to stop and smile when he saw his boy on the sofa, sound asleep. Jared's hair, always a little wavy when grown out, was curled up at his temples and the nape of his neck. His white wife-beater was stained with dark grime, smudged here and there on his arms as well. His jeans were torn in places, showing off the boxer briefs that he wore underneath. His bare feet were dirty, making Jeffrey shake his head at him. He was more his boy than he realized sometimes.
Surprising him though, was that beside Jared lay Jensen. He hadn't heard the young man come in during the night. Jensen's trousers were wrinkled, as was his uniform shirt. The tie he normally wore had been taken off and was draped over the arm of the sofa. His cell phone sat nearby, and his brown leather shoes were still on his feet. While Jared was slumped over and resting on a number of pillows, Jensen was propped against him, his head at Jared's shoulder.
Smiling, Jeffrey leaned down and untied Jensen's shoes. He gently pulled them off, pausing in his movements when Jensen's breath hitched in his lungs. After moving Jensen's feet up to the sofa, he went back into the house for just a moment, to grab two afghans from the living room couch and recliner. He draped one over Jared and the other over Jensen.
Gazing down at them, he shook his head, his smile fading for just a moment. "I hope you know what you're doing, kiddo," he said. But whether he was talking to Jared or Jensen, even he wasn't sure.
--TBC--
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG all the way to NC-17 in future chapters.
Wordcount: 3,290
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
Note: We got bored and changed our comm layout already, mostly because bloody_adorable made a manip that I look at and want to nibble on. :D
CHAPTER THREE
The high school lunches hadn't improved in the past years he’d been attending. Finding it hard to swallow down the burger, Jensen grimaced just slightly. He couldn't believe that his parents paid such an outrageous tuition, and this was what they got fed for lunch.
"Wow, I can see that the burgers are top-of-the-line."
Jensen looked up to find Chris nearing him. "Yeah," he agreed, swallowing down the last of what was in his mouth. "Simply stellar." He pushed his tray away, the burger only half finished. He concentrated on his drink and apple instead. "How'd you do on the essay?"
"English is for chumps," Chris smiled, sitting down and picking up his own burger. "How'd you do?"
Jensen shrugged. "I don't know," he sighed. He crunched into his apple, thoughts jumbled in his mind.
Chris eyed him for a moment, concern in his expression. The bruises that Doug had left Jensen with were already starting to fade, the cut lip almost healed, but he still looked like he hadn't slept in days. "You've been really distracted today," he noted. "Everything okay?"
Jensen continued to stare off into space, slowly chewing a mouthful of apple.
"Jen," Chris said, speaking loudly enough to interrupt his friend's thoughts.
Returned to the present, Jensen blinked over at Chris. "What?"
"Distracted?" he repeated. "You? What's going on?"
"What? No, nothing." He saw Chris' eyelashes flutter, his head tilted to the side. He didn't believe a word Jensen was saying. Frowning, Jensen looked down at his apple, picking at the stem. "I don't know," he said. "I guess I'm just being stupid and emo."
Chris took a bite of his burger as he laughed. "Come on," he encouraged. "Out with it."
Taking a deep breath, Jensen sighed and shook his head. "I had a great time."
"Oh, yeah," Chris said around a mouthful of lunch. "How'd the dinner go?"
"Dinner was weird," he admitted. "But afterwards."
"Yeah?"
"We went in and played games, just like Kenzie and I usually do," he said. "Jared sat next to me. I kept losing because I kept thinking about that. He was sitting next to me." He saw Chris laugh, but it wasn't a mocking laughter. He knew he could tell Chris anything, and it wouldn't matter. "Those tattoos. They were..."
Jensen had a hard time with talking like he wanted to at times, his shyness getting the better of him. Chris smiled and nodded, deciding to not press the subject. "I getchya, big man," he said. "It's hard to be smooth when the object of your affections is that close to you."
After staring at him for a second, Jensen crumpled. He bent down until his head bounced against the lunch table. "Ow," he said, his voice void of all emotion.
Chris reached out, chuckling softly, and patted the back of Jensen's head. "Come on," he said. "It's not that bad. So you like a guy. Big deal. You knew it would happen eventually."
Jensen shook his head as best as he could, pressed up against the table. "You don't get it, Chris," he said. "This guy. He's bad news. I know he is, but I can't stop thinking about him."
"So you've got a thing for a bad boy," he shrugged. "You think a bad girl doesn't get me going? Come on, go talk to him. Today, after school. The buses on this side of town do run across the tracks, you know."
Finally, Jensen picked his head up off the table. His skin was red where it had been pressed against the wood. "No, I really just want to forget about him, to be honest," he said, sadness lacing his voice.
"Well, the guys and I are going to play tonight," Chris said. "Why don't you come over? You can do back-ups again."
"I don't know."
"Come on, you loser," he smiled. "It's Friday. You're not a party-guy, so you've gotta have fun somewhere."
It was true; Jensen didn't do well at big parties. He felt out of place and uncomfortable, a fish out of water. Frowning, he finally nodded his head at his best friend. "Yeah," he agreed. "Okay."
"Ugh," Chris said suddenly, pushing the lunch tray away. "You're right, these things are shitty. Let's run across the street and load up on sugar and junk food. Hathaway's health class is next for us, and that'll piss her right off."
There was a line of Mom-and-Pop markets on the other side of the street that most of the students frequented at lunch time, since they were allowed to leave the campus for that period only. The idea made Jensen smile brighter. He dropped his apple onto his tray and stood to go.
The singing did help. In no time, Jensen had almost forgotten about the heavy feeling in his heart. Chris was crazy when he was performing and, after a while, Jensen's sides hurt from laughing so much. It was around nine at night when Chris' parents decided that they'd had enough of the band jamming down in the basement. They all hung around and talked for about an hour or so, and by 10:30, Jensen was in a cab. Chris had offered to take him home, but Jensen had told him that it was fine; he wouldn't mind being alone for a little while.
He regretted his decision when the silence brought with it the memories of Jared and the dinner a couple nights before. Tattoos pressed against Jensen's skin, just a bare hint of the body piercing visible through the tight polo shirt stretched across Jared's chest.
Sighing, Jensen brushed his hand across his own chest and sat up straighter. Before he knew it, he was asking the driver to head to the other side of the town. He gave him the street name that Jared and Jeffrey lived on, but didn't tell him a house number.
"You sure, kid?"
Jensen leaned back in the seat again and looked out the window. "No," he answered truthfully. "But just drop me off at the corner, okay?"
"You ain't got far to walk, do ya?" the cabbie asked. "That's not the greatest part of town, you know."
"I know," Jensen nodded, looking over at the man. "I'll be alright."
The driver shrugged. "Your buck, kid," he said.
Jensen's mind kept repeating one question over and over. What are you doing, you idiot? He refused to acknowledge the little voice in the back of his head, and the question went unanswered. He stared out the window in silence until the cabbie pulled over to the curb. Jensen got his wallet out, paid what was owed, and then got out of the car. He closed the door, watching the cabbie drive off. He was torn between calling out to the man again, and holding his head high as he walked down the street.
Somewhere in the not-too-distant night, a dog snarled and barked. Jensen jammed his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel. He started down the sidewalk, his head low.
Everything looked different at night, but he found Jeffrey and Jared's house almost immediately. The garage door was closed this time, and only a few lights were on in the house, but everything else seemed quiet and inviting. Biting at his bottom lip, Jensen started up the drive. He made it to the garage, remembering seeing Jared for the first time. Swallowing, he stopped what he was doing and stared at the closed garage door. He knew the mess that was behind the manual door. Yet it wasn't something that had turned him off, as he thought it would have.
Closing his eyes, Jensen shook his head. "You're such a retard," he said aloud to himself. Opening his eyes, he turned again, his shoes scuffing on the crumbling cement drive. He headed back down towards the sidewalk, deciding to dig out his cell phone and call the cabbie back.
The phone pressed to his ear, Jensen started when he heard the garage door being pulled open. He turned and saw Jared there, one arm holding the door up. His heart jumped in his chest, so hard that Jensen was sure it was trying to escape out of his throat.
In jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, Jared stared out at Jensen. "I hope you weren't trying to be stealthy and shit," he said. "I heard you coming a mile away."
Jensen suddenly realized that someone had answered the phone call he'd placed. He took the phone away from his ear and snapped it closed. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
Jared leaned both hands on the door, shifting his weight on his feet. "What'd I say about that apologizing crap?"
Jensen chuckled softly and glanced down at his feet for a second. "Yeah, sorry," he said.
"What are you doing out here this late?"
Jensen tried to pretend that the way Jared was standing wasn't sending a static through him that could lead to dangerous results. The sleeveless tee showed off the array of tattoos trailing along Jared’s muscled arm and well-worked shoulders. Clearing his throat, he glanced back down at the drive for a moment. "I, uh," he began, trying to find the right words. "I don't...I don't really know. I just didn't feel like going home yet."
Jared straightened. "Well, in here's a lot more comfortable than out there," he said, an invitation in the tone of his voice.
Inside the garage, the light was dim, an occasional oddly placed lamp lit in the big space. Jensen waited until Jared had the door closed before he spoke. "So, what were you doing out here? Working on the bikes this late?"
"Yeah," Jared nodded. "But this is where I stay."
Jensen smiled and looked around. "What do you mean?"
Jared walked over towards the archaic fridge in the corner and opened it. "I mean this is my part of the house," he explained.
"You live out here?"
Jared bent down to get something out of the fridge. "Yeah," he answered. "You want a beer?"
A little surprised, Jensen blinked hard at him. "I'm nineteen," he reminded him.
He walked away from the refrigerator, two bottles of beer in his hand. "I didn't ask for your ID," he returned. "I asked if you wanted a drink."
Jensen took the beer bottle from him. "Can't you get in trouble for giving me this?"
Twisting off the cap, Jared flicked it across the room, not caring where it landed. He flopped down on an old and worn beige sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him to rest upon an aging blue milk crate. "You planning on making this the shortest friendship in history and turning me in?"
"No."
"Then sit your ass down and we'll watch some really bad TV."
An hour later they were on their second beer each, and Cops was playing for what seemed like the tenth time in a row. Jared had nothing but complaints about the officers, and Jensen had to admit that he could see Jared's side. Maybe it was just dramatized for television, but the cops were more than overzealous.
Just then, Jensen's phone vibrated in his pocket, alarming him at first. "Shoot," he frowned. "Hold on a second."
"Did you just say 'shoot,' you pansy-ass?" Jared laughed.
"Shut up," he returned, chuckling with him. "Yeah."
"Yeah? Is that how you answer your phone, young man?"
His expression sobered. "Dad," he said. "No, I'm sorry. I just...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"
"Jensen, I'm getting ready to lock the door, do you have your keys?"
Swallowing nervously, Jensen nodded his head. "Yes, sir," he answered.
"Are you still at your friend's house?"
"Yes, sir," he repeated. His heart beat faster with the lie. So what if Alan thought he was still at Chris’s house?
"Are you staying the night?"
Jensen glanced over at Jared, who was polishing off the last of his beer. "Um, I don't know," he told his father.
"You're old enough to make decisions on your own," Alan spoke, sounding rather perturbed. "But it would be nice for you to let your mother and I in on some of them."
"Yes, sir," he said yet again. "I'm sorry."
Alan hung up without even saying good bye. Jensen snapped his phone closed and tossed it down on the sofa beside him.
"What'd General Patton want?" Jared asked, moving to set his beer bottle on the floor, beside the sofa.
Smiling, Jensen scrunched his nose slightly and looked at him. "What?"
"Well, the way you were 'yessir-ing' him," he said, "I just assumed he was someone as important as Patton."
Rolling his eyes, Jensen chuckled. "It was my Dad," he answered.
"Oh, so it was Hitler."
That got a boisterous laugh out of Jensen. "Tell me about it," he said. "I didn't clear my agenda through him, so he had to check up on me. Ask me if I have my keys and where I'm sleeping."
"And?"
Jensen looked over at him, shrugging one shoulder. "And what?"
"Where are you sleeping?"
The question should have made him nervous, but instead he smiled brighter. Normally he was very shy. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but he needed a question answered. "Where do you sleep, by the way?"
Jared got up from the couch, motioning towards the ceiling. "Up there," he said, making his way to the refrigerator.
The clink of bottles barely registered in Jensen's ears. He looked up and saw a second level to the garage. Only about half a floor was there, just enough to make a junky loft for Jared. Amongst the shelves, drawers and odds and ends, there was a box spring and mattress set, propped up on cinder blocks and pallets. The blankets were rumpled and the fitted sheet was pulled off of one corner. Three or four pillows were thrown about, some on the floor, and some crumpled at the head of the bed.
"Holy crap, there's a bed up there," Jensen declared. "How do you get up there?"
"There's a ladder," Jared replied, motioning to a rickety metal ladder that had been bolted to the wall. He handed Jensen another beer, the cap already twisted off. "Here."
"Another one?"
"You planning on driving your half-drunk ass home?"
"No."
"Then take it," he said. "I don't offer just anyone a beer."
Jensen smiled and took the bottle. He drank down what was left in his previous one and set it on the floor at his side, as Jared had done earlier. He looked back up to the second floor of the garage, wondering how he had missed it to begin with. Along the rafters, Jensen noticed words stenciled in black paint. "Hey, that's Latin," he said. "Si vis pacum, para bellum."
"If you want peace, prepare for war," Jared translated.
"Wow, you know Latin, I'm impressed."
Jared grinned at him, bringing the bottle of beer up to his mouth. "I might look uneducated," he told him, "but I was a rich boy just like you."
The revelation more than surprised Jensen. "Seriously?"
Jared nodded, swallowing a mouthful of beer. "Prep school, grammar school, private school, all that shit," he agreed. "Same high society schools that name their halls after the people who donate the most."
"Yeah," Jensen nodded. There hadn't been a hall named after his father yet, but there was talk about something like that being mentioned at Jensen's graduation. One last Ackles hurrah. Jensen was just thankful that the hall, if there really was going to be one named after his father, would be something Mackenzie would have to deal with. She and Dad got along much better than he and Jensen did.
"Yeah, my Mom used to have this really well-paying job. That's how she met Jeffrey, actually," he explained. "He was working construction on the building across the street. Mom used to watch him out of her office window, and then finally went over to talk to him one day." He smiled fondly, remembering the woman he missed so desperately on some days. "Yeah, she even had me pegged for being a lawyer, if you can imagine that. I was only twelve."
"Wow, what happened?"
Jared's smile faded. He shrugged his shoulders, peeling the label on his bottle of beer. "She died," he said. "I kinda went south after that."
"You miss it?"
"Dressing like you and answering 'yes sir, no sir,' to everyone?" he grinned. "Not a second of it."
Jensen watched Jared gaze at him for only a moment more before turning and looking back over at the old television set they'd been watching. The conversation was over, apparently. Jared had told him as much as he was going to, and Jensen was satisfied with what he'd learned. He turned to the television too, and smiled when Jared complained at one of the police officers on the show.
The light, even though it was dim, could be seen peeking out from underneath the door in a long slant across the kitchen tile. Jeffrey had a habit of getting up in the middle of the night, probably because he usually slept on the sofa. In gym shorts and a T-shirt, he shuffled across the room with bare feet. He opened the garage door, ready to complain to Jared that he needed to stop working and go to bed. It was just a little after two in the morning, but the boy had a tendency to lose track of time when he got working on the bikes.
"Jay," he said, his voice thick with sleep.
In the corner of the garage, the old black-and-white TV was on. He still didn't understand how Jared had hooked the thing up to the cable, but there it was, in glorious shades of gray. Stepping down the stairs, Jeffrey made his way over to the sofa. He would have reprimanded Jared if the boy had walked through the dirty garage with no shoes on, but he didn't even think of that as he moved towards the old couch.
He had to stop and smile when he saw his boy on the sofa, sound asleep. Jared's hair, always a little wavy when grown out, was curled up at his temples and the nape of his neck. His white wife-beater was stained with dark grime, smudged here and there on his arms as well. His jeans were torn in places, showing off the boxer briefs that he wore underneath. His bare feet were dirty, making Jeffrey shake his head at him. He was more his boy than he realized sometimes.
Surprising him though, was that beside Jared lay Jensen. He hadn't heard the young man come in during the night. Jensen's trousers were wrinkled, as was his uniform shirt. The tie he normally wore had been taken off and was draped over the arm of the sofa. His cell phone sat nearby, and his brown leather shoes were still on his feet. While Jared was slumped over and resting on a number of pillows, Jensen was propped against him, his head at Jared's shoulder.
Smiling, Jeffrey leaned down and untied Jensen's shoes. He gently pulled them off, pausing in his movements when Jensen's breath hitched in his lungs. After moving Jensen's feet up to the sofa, he went back into the house for just a moment, to grab two afghans from the living room couch and recliner. He draped one over Jared and the other over Jensen.
Gazing down at them, he shook his head, his smile fading for just a moment. "I hope you know what you're doing, kiddo," he said. But whether he was talking to Jared or Jensen, even he wasn't sure.
--TBC--