Smoke & Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder [42/?]
MASTER POST
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (42/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG.
Wordcount: 4,351
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 from Evil: Well... I honestly thought Adorable would make you hate us less. But I don't know about this... :| (That's a blatant lie, I knew what was coming all along... ;))
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
with which we lose all cookie rights for life. :(
Work had been a bitch. While Jared was thankful that Chuck hadn't shown, there had been two bachelor parties in one night. By the time closing hour arrived, Jared was ready to punch the brick wall out in the alleyway. Both bachelor parties had gotten way out of control. Strippers had been called, and Rock flipped. He was all for a girl showing a little skin, as was Jared, but they didn't have the licenses for such a thing. He had to throw the girls out, and threaten to throw the guys out. By the end of the night, patrons and bouncers were a little bloodied.
After everyone was cleared out, Rock poured three deep glasses of scotch. He passed one to Jared, one to Darlene, and kept one for himself. Jared had never been so happy to see an alcoholic beverage before in his life.
It took them nearly two hours to clean up and close shop. When they were finally done, and Rock had given him the go ahead, Jared hopped on his bike and headed back home. On the way there, he decided to stop and get a six-pack to waste away the rest of the night with. The scotch Rock had poured him had done a good job of evening out his nerves, but he wanted more. He was all alone for the night anyway, and Jensen wasn't. He replayed Jensen's phone call in his mind. He really was okay with Jensen showing Chris a few things, mostly because he knew -- without a doubt -- that Jensen was his. They had repeatedly told each other how they felt about one another.
Well, sort of. Jared was still working on saying those three stupid words that he found so difficult. The only people he'd ever said such a thing to were his Mom and Jeffrey. But Jensen knew how Jared felt. And Jared vowed to tell him what he wanted to hear when he got home from his road trip with Chris.
It was cold when he walked out of the liquor store. His breath clouded around his head as he walked towards the motorcycle. Jared knew he shouldn't drive, even after just one drink, and Jeffrey would kill him if he found out, but he couldn't leave the bike in the lot all night. Someone would vandalize it. Staggering just slightly, he fished in his pocket for the bike keys, belching out that last swallow of scotch.
Before he even got on the motorcycle, sirens blared, lights flashed in blue and red. Spotlights were trained on him and, for a moment, he felt blinded. Cops jumped out of their vehicles, two at a time, and aimed their pistols at him, taking shelter behind the open car doors. Jared squinted and raised his arm to shield his eyes to the too-bright lights. He saw a familiar figure step into the lights, silhouetted. Out of habit and alarm, he raised his hands to show he was of no threat.
The silhouette came closer, revealed to be his old parole officer. Jared's first thought was, Aw, shit. He quickly remembered the old feeling of fight-or-flight, adrenaline coursing through his system. And then he wondered how on earth so many cops had found him so quickly -- and what they thought he had done that made them work so swiftly and silently.
"Bill?"
Bill nodded. "Jared," he said, no-nonsense in his stern voice.
He remembered the last time he'd seen and talked to the old man. "I didn't park illegally this time," he said, his hands still raised. "You got all this firepower out for nothing."
"This isn't about parking," he assured him. "Trust me."
"Okay, so I had one drink, dude. I'm not really drunk, I swear."
"Jared, this is more serious than that."
"You think?" he nodded, angry sarcasm lacing his words. "Maybe you'd like to tell me why you have half the fucking force out there pointing guns at me?"
"Chuck is dead, Jared."
Simply put. Easy to understand. Yet, it didn't stop Jared from laughing aloud. "Yeah," he nodded. "I fucking wish."
Bill shook his head. "Jared," he said, no humor in his voice. "Chuck's dead."
Sober in a heartbeat, Jared's laughter subsided and he stared at the parole officer. "So, why are you telling me?"
Shifting his weight on his feet, Bill sighed. "Word has it, you two had a go at each other at Mickey's just recently. He messed up your bike, I hear."
"You have your goons on me because of word of fucking mouth?" he snapped. He couldn't believe it. When he finally straightens up, finds the life he wants and tries to straighten up, he gets accused of fucking murder?
Bill held up a hand. "Jared, calm down," he said. "You know me. You know I'm fair. But with the evidence we've got, and your priors..."
Doing as he was told Jared calmed himself a little, taking a deep breath and nodding his head "Which is why they sent you," he said. "Because you know my priors. This is bullshit."
"They sent me because you know me," he clarified. "They know you'll listen to me."
"You think I did this?"
"I don't know, Jared."
"Well, what if I don't listen to you?" he challenged. "I'm being wrongly accused, Bill. What if I just turn around and run?"
Bill shook his head. "I wouldn't advise that, kiddo," he said with a frown. "There's a lot of firepower pointed at you right now. I'd like you to do what I say. Put your hands behind your head. Interlock your fingers, and go down to your knees, Jared."
He didn't move for a second or two, gritting his teeth. He breathed in the cool night air, clearing his head but not his sick stomach. This was bullshit, but he couldn't talk his way out of it. He knew Bill, and Bill wouldn't take no for an answer. Jaw muscles flexing, he interlocked his fingers behind his head and lowered himself to his knees. Bill moved closer, taking the bike keys from him. Jared winced when he felt Bill pull his arms around behind his back, closed his eyes in defeat when he felt the bite of the cuffs at his wrists.
"Hello?"
"Jensen."
Jensen pressed the phone against his ear, harder this time, to drown out the sound of the engine noise and the static on the line. Something in the tone of Jeffrey's voice had him on edge almost immediately. "Jeff?" he asked. He glanced over at Chris, worried.
Chris looked instantly worried too. He kept glancing over at Jensen as he drove.
"Jensen, are you and Chris on your way back?"
He looked around, trying to find a road sign that would give him a landmark to tell. "Yes," he mumbled for a moment. "Yeah, we’ve got about two and a half hours left to go. Is everything okay?"
Chris set his foot down almost to the floor. Fuck two hours. He'd have Jensen home sooner. He glanced back over to him, a pang of anxiety washing over him when he heard Jensen's desperate voice ask, "What's happened?"
Jeffrey apparently didn't have anything good to say. He left Jensen hanging, didn't even say goodbye. Jensen took the phone away from his ear, looked down at the phone and then closed it. It took him a few minutes to turn towards Chris, but when he did, Chris's stomach knotted from the look in Jensen's eyes.
"What?" Chris asked.
Jensen shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "But I have a bad feeling about this."
"Murder?" Jensen still couldn't believe it. It was ridiculous.
"That's what I said."
Alan fucking Ackles. Why the hell had he been the one to be called?
Jeffrey and Jensen hadn't been allowed to see Jared right away. The cops told them that they would get to see him as soon as possible. Jeffrey offered to call Stevie in to drive Jensen home, knowing the night would be a long one, but Jensen wanted to stay. Chris returned home by Jensen's command. Before he left, however, Chris made Jensen promise to call him if he needed anything.
By a little after eight in the morning, Jared was brought out to see them. Along with his lawyer.
Alan fucking Ackles.
Laughing in annoyance, Jensen shook his head. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said. "You can't represent him."
"Why not?"
"Because you hate him."
Jared said nothing. He only watched his adoptive father and Jensen glare over at his defense lawyer.
"I will represent my client to the best of my ability," Alan said haughtily.
"He didn't do it," Jeffrey interrupted said, leaning on his crutches.
"That remains to be seen by the court, Mister Morgan."
"No, it doesn't," he returned. "He didn't kill Chuck. That bastard was wanted dead by a lot of people, but not Jared."
Alan shook his head. "Witnesses heard Mister Padalecki threaten the victim," he said.
"What? Where?"
"Mickey's Motorcycle Club? It's on--"
"I know where it is," Jeffrey snarled. He shifted uncomfortably on his one good leg. They'd sat in hard chairs and on rigid benches for far too long, but he wasn't about to leave until he had something more to go on.
Jensen grumbled, turning away from his father, Jared and Jeffrey. This was such bullshit.
"Jensen?"
He turned around again, looking at Jeffrey. "Yeah, he said it," he returned. "But it was… It was just Jared."
Still expressionless and speechless, Jared sat at the interrogation table, staring down at the shiny finish.
"Jared," Alan spoke, his voice remarkably calm. "Is there anything you'd like to say at this time?"
There was no answer.
Jensen glanced over at Jeffrey, a world of conversation in their eyes, and then turned his gaze back to Jared. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Jensen asked, annoyed.
Jared only blinked. Wouldn't even look at Jensen. He stared down at the table, appearing broken and beaten.
Clenching his jaw, Jensen looked at his father. "Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
Alan actually thought about the offer for a moment before he finally agreed. "Alright."
Jensen didn't like the look of satisfaction in the man's eyes. Outside the room, he walked several feet away from the door so there was no risk of Jared overhearing their conversation. Angry, he turned to glare at Alan. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.
"I'm working, Jensen," he said coolly. "I'm a defense lawyer. I'm doing my job."
"Bullshit," he snarled. "You could have -- normally would have sloughed this kind of low-life job onto one of your lackeys. Are you taking this just to ruin him?"
"I will defend Mister Padalecki in this case."
He wasn't buying it. "Why?"
"Because he asked me to."
"Bullshit," he said again.
"That is quite enough, young man," Alan reprimanded.
Jensen smirked at him, taking a step closer. "You don't get to tell me that stuff anymore, Alan. Or, maybe you don't remember calling me, half drunk, to tell me you didn't want to claim me as your son anymore?"
It was silent between them for a second. Alan stood tongue-in-cheek for several moments, trying to calm what Jensen had riled up inside of him. "I remember," he finally replied. "But I'm doing all of this to remedy that."
He couldn't believe his father's audacity. "You think that this is going to set things right between us?" he asked, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. "This all didn't just start happening when I met Jay. This stuff has been building between us for years. Jay and Jeff, they just gave me the courage to stand up to you like I should have done years ago."
His jaw muscles flexed as he clenched his teeth and listened to his son. Finally, a reaction Jensen was used to. Once Jensen was silent again, Alan nodded his head and smoothed down his tie, just out of habit more than any real need. "That may be," he said. "But the deal is already in motion."
Jensen was suddenly terrified. Wide-eyed, he stared over at his father. "What did you do?"
Unblinking, Alan gazed at his son. "What I had to do," he answered. "Your mother misses you, Jensen. And she blames me."
Fury set in again, and Jensen set his hands against his father's chest, shoving him backwards. "What did you do?" he repeated, nearly yelling.
Alan regained his footing and glared at Jensen. He straightened his suit coat, swiped his tongue over his front teeth. He despised the tone his son was using, but he let it go for the time being. "In exchange for your freedom, I've agreed to do my best with Mister Padalecki."
"In exchange for my freedom?" Jensen sneered. "I'm not a goddamn prisoner of war, Alan."
Furious, Alan pointed a finger in Jensen's face. "You are my son, and I will do whatever I need to do to protect you."
As Alan's hand returned to his side, Jensen smiled. That motion, that one finger pointed at him, used to scare him, put him right back in line so that he flew straight as an arrow. Not anymore. He took a step closer and glared into Alan's eyes. "Protect me, or your name?" he asked. "Dad." Turning, he made to walk away.
"Jensen."
He stopped and turned towards his father again, not saying anything.
"Do this," Alan told him. "Come home, and I will do everything I can to get Jared out of this."
Jeffrey rested his crutches against the wall and hobbled over to the table. He sat down across from Jared and stared at him for several seconds, trying to figure out what was going through the boy's head. "Jared," he finally said.
He said nothing.
"JT."
Still silent, Jared met Jeffrey's eyes, his own dark and angry.
"What are you doing, dude?" Jeffrey asked. He frowned when Jared only looked away from him, either refusing or just not knowing how to answer the question. "They're saying you killed Chuck."
Jared met Jeffrey's eyes again, but did not deny the claim.
Jeffrey sighed. "Honestly, kiddo, I wouldn't put it past you," he said. "You've got some serious anger issues at times. And the way you've been about him lately..." A reprimand wasn't going to help, he suddenly decided. He took a deep breath, rested his hands atop the table, and exhaled slowly. "I know you, Jared," he continued in apology. "You didn't do this."
"I know," he finally said.
"Then tell me what the hell is going on."
"I made a deal."
That worried Jeffrey. "What kind of deal?"
"With his father."
"Ackles?"
Jared nodded, staring down at the table top. "I agree to let Jen go, and he helps me out with this," he said. "He's a top lawyer. He'll do his best."
The last two sentences sounded canned, rehearsed. Jeffrey squinted at Jared, confused. "If you agree to let Jensen go?"
He shrugged. "That was the deal."
"And you agreed to it," he almost snapped. "Like you were some sort of rampaging pedophile that snatched Jensen out of his bedroom window during the night."
Animation suddenly jolted into Jared. He came to life, leaning forward and looking at Jeffrey. "Do I look like I have a choice in the matter?" he asked, his tone sharp. "His goddamn father waltzed in here first thing and told me we were gonna have a talk. I told him my alibi. I was at Mickey's that night. Trevor was with me. But it wasn't all night, and Trev can't vouch for me the whole time. Yeah, I hate Chuck. And the fact that he's dead doesn't upset me in the least. He got what he deserved. I didn't kill him, but no one cares about that. Someone says they saw someone who might've been me, and I take the fall. And the only way out of it is to make this piece of shit bargain."
Jeffrey listened, still rather stunned.
"Think about it, Jeff," he continued, narrowing his eyes and tapping a finger to his forehead. "Jensen has a good life with them. Why, for fuck's sake, should he give all that up for me?"
The stunned look turned to one of sadness. Jeffrey's shoulders fell and he shook his head. "Because he loves you, you stupid ass."
Jared reclined in his seat again, sighing. "Yeah, well," he said, still angry. "Maybe he shouldn't."
"You against cell phones now?"
Jensen turned. He saw Chris standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. The door was closed, and Chris had on his usual thick-soled boots. Jensen wondered what planet he'd been on that he'd not heard him walk in. "Hey," he said. "What?"
"Cell phones," Chris said, moving down the stairs, further into the garage. "They're a nifty little invention that lets people communicate any time they need to?"
"Oh, sorry," Jensen said. He turned back to the pile of clothes on the sofa, sorting them. "I turned it off."
"Yeah, I got that," he nodded, "when I got your voice mail for the fiftieth time."
"Sorry."
Chris watched Jensen sort the clothes on the sofa. He recognized some of the articles as Jared's, some as Jensen's. He noticed a bag off to the side, and could see some of Jensen's clothes inside, folded neatly. "What's going on?"
Jensen didn't look at him. He scratched at his eyebrow with a thumbnail, something Chris knew was a nervous habit Jensen had always had, and folded a faded red tee. "I just..." He paused, clearly having a hard time with thinking straight right then. "I just need to get out of here for awhile."
Chris walked over to the bag and opened it up. "Looks like more than just a while," he noted. "Where’re you going to?"
Sniffling through his nose, Jensen cleared his throat. He placed the red tee in the duffel bag and reached for another to fold. "Home," he said.
Chris chuckled. "Home, where?"
"Home-home."
Smile fading, Chris watched Jensen pack another shirt into the duffel. "You're kidding me," he finally said. "You're going back to live in your parent's house?"
"That's the deal."
"Deal?" he repeated. "What deal?" He reached out to Jensen as the young man moved to stuff another shirt in the bag. He grabbed hold of Jensen's arms, forcing him to turn towards him. "Jen, look at me. Come on, man, look at me."
After a moment, Jensen finally met his best friend's eyes. His expression was sad, beaten.
Chris studied him for a few minutes and then shook his head. "He won, didn't he?" he asked. "Your dad won."
"Chris..." He tried to pull out of his friend's grasp, but Chris held him fast. Jensen sighed and averted his gaze. "I need to get out of here."
"You need to get out of here because Alan told you to?" he asked. "Or, you need to get out of here for another reason?"
Annoyed, Jensen yanked his arms out of Chris' hold this time. He went back to his packing, needing something to do to keep his mind off of everything. "What the fuck does it matter?" he asked angrily. "Everything's just wrong now."
Chris shook his head, taking a step closer to him. "What are you talking about?" He gritted his teeth in frustration when Jensen tried to push past him to stuff more clothes in the bag. He set both his hands to Jensen's chest and pushed him backwards. "Will you fucking talk to me?"
The shove might have been just what Jensen was looking for. Instantly, he pushed back, getting right in Chris's face and snarling at him. "What do you want from me?" he nearly screamed. "What do you want, Chris?"
Chris just stared at him, knowing the outburst was needed.
"You want me to tell you that I'm scared shitless?" Jensen continued, his voice booming and echoing off the garage walls. "You want me to admit that I'm running away with my tail between my legs? Because I am, alright? Jensen the Coward is right back to square-fucking-one."
He was furious, but he was furious at himself. Chris let him yell, let him say words that he didn't necessarily agree with. Jensen didn't want to hear what Chris's thoughts were. He was too wrapped up in what was going wrong with his life. After a moment, silence settled between them. Chris nodded his head as he stared back at his best friend. "You done?" he asked, his voice soft.
Jaw set angrily, Jensen looked away, trying not to roll his eyes. He set his hands upon his hips and took a few deep, calming breaths.
"Do you think he did it?"
That was the one question Jensen had been hoping Chris wouldn't ask. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.
"Is that the real reason you're going?"
The broken and battered appearance returned to Jensen. His shoulders fell and he slumped down onto the sofa. He set his head in his hands and rested his elbows upon his knees. "I don't know," he answered. "I don't fucking know anything. I'm trying to figure everything out, but I can't get my head around any of it."
Chris sat down beside him, frowning.
"I feel like I'm going crazy," Jensen told him, still cradling his head. "I just want to get out of here."
Chris reached up and set his hand to the back of Jensen's neck. He let it rest there for a moment and then pulled the young man closer, wrapping his arms around him. He set his chin against the top of Jensen's head and just held him for a while.
Everything he now owned in a stack in his arms. He stared down at the clothes, topped with a roll of toilet paper. He'd been here before, of course, but this time it was wrong.
"I'm not supposed to be here," he'd told one of the correctional officers.
"Sure, kid," he'd returned.
"No, I mean it," he told him. "I didn't do it."
The correctional officer looked at him, exasperated. "Kid," he said. "Do you got any idea how many guys come through those gates that swear they’re innocent?" He shook his head, frowning. "I don't give a shit. You do what you're told, when you're told, don't make any waves, and we'll get along fine."
Alan was working on his case, but until his trial date arrived, Jared was to be put into gen pop. General Population. He'd been there before. He wasn't looking forward to going back.
Clenching his jaw, Jared walked as the correctional officer guided him. Both men that walked with him, clad in black uniforms, were shorter than he was. He could have taken them in a heartbeat, he was sure. But when he'd put on the orange jumpsuit, something inside him died. He was right back to where he'd started again.
The short sleeves showed off the ink that ran up and down his arms. As he walked past the rows and rows of inmates, they quickly glanced over the tattoos, searching for allegiance, searching for something they recognized. One of his tattoos, a black figure on his back, was one an inmate had done for him. He'd thought about having it covered, but he left it there as a reminder of darker times that were behind him. And when he'd met Jensen, all memories of the tattoo had faded. Now, however, they returned.
The inmates called out to him, spoke in the violent, obscene language Jared remembered from so many years ago. He looked straight ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes, for that could easily get him killed. He went with the correctional officers, compliant.
"Open on twenty-five!" the CO on his left called.
The barred door rattled open. The inmate already there jumped down to the floor from the top bunk and stared at his new cellmate. Jared did not look back.
"Horton," the CO said. "You got a temporary guest."
"Temporary, my ass," the second officer chuckled. "He ain't gettin' out of here."
"Close on twenty-five!"
Jared listened to the cell door slam closed, his back to the correctional officers. They laughed as they walked away, keys to unknown doors and locks jangling in their pockets. For a long time, Jared didn't move. He held his prison regulation belongings in his hands, staring straight ahead until Horton moved himself into Jared's field of vision.
"You ain't no head-case, are you?"
Almost glaring, Jared met the man's eyes. He was scrawny. Jared wondered how he'd survived in this place. He stepped closer to the bottom bunk and set his things down atop the cheap, thin mattress.
"Hey, fish," Horton snarled. "I'm talkin' to you."
Jared felt the man's hands on him, shoving him. Instinct, from when he'd been in the place before, took over, and he threw himself at Horton. He shoved him up against the wall, jaw clenched, and glared down into the scrawny man's eyes.
"You fucking touch me again," he began, his voice nothing but a gruff growl.
Uncomfortably, Horton waited to hear the rest of the threat. Jared's arm was pressing against his throat, making it difficult, but not impossible to breathe. "What?" he encouraged with a less-than-sane smile. "You'll kill me?"
Jared couldn't say those words. They were the reason he was there, and he was tired. Tired of everything. He glared at Horton for only a second more and then let go of him, giving him one last shove up against the cement cell wall. "Leave me the fuck alone," he spat.
Turning away, Jared stretched out on the bottom bunk. He thought of Jensen, how much he already missed him, and hoped that the kid would find his way out of the mess Jared had gotten him into. He closed his eyes and sighed, one last thought slipping through his mind before he let the old jail-bird Jared return.
Good-bye, Jen.
--TBC--
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (42/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG.
Wordcount: 4,351
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 from Evil: Well... I honestly thought Adorable would make you hate us less. But I don't know about this... :| (That's a blatant lie, I knew what was coming all along... ;))
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
with which we lose all cookie rights for life. :(
Work had been a bitch. While Jared was thankful that Chuck hadn't shown, there had been two bachelor parties in one night. By the time closing hour arrived, Jared was ready to punch the brick wall out in the alleyway. Both bachelor parties had gotten way out of control. Strippers had been called, and Rock flipped. He was all for a girl showing a little skin, as was Jared, but they didn't have the licenses for such a thing. He had to throw the girls out, and threaten to throw the guys out. By the end of the night, patrons and bouncers were a little bloodied.
After everyone was cleared out, Rock poured three deep glasses of scotch. He passed one to Jared, one to Darlene, and kept one for himself. Jared had never been so happy to see an alcoholic beverage before in his life.
It took them nearly two hours to clean up and close shop. When they were finally done, and Rock had given him the go ahead, Jared hopped on his bike and headed back home. On the way there, he decided to stop and get a six-pack to waste away the rest of the night with. The scotch Rock had poured him had done a good job of evening out his nerves, but he wanted more. He was all alone for the night anyway, and Jensen wasn't. He replayed Jensen's phone call in his mind. He really was okay with Jensen showing Chris a few things, mostly because he knew -- without a doubt -- that Jensen was his. They had repeatedly told each other how they felt about one another.
Well, sort of. Jared was still working on saying those three stupid words that he found so difficult. The only people he'd ever said such a thing to were his Mom and Jeffrey. But Jensen knew how Jared felt. And Jared vowed to tell him what he wanted to hear when he got home from his road trip with Chris.
It was cold when he walked out of the liquor store. His breath clouded around his head as he walked towards the motorcycle. Jared knew he shouldn't drive, even after just one drink, and Jeffrey would kill him if he found out, but he couldn't leave the bike in the lot all night. Someone would vandalize it. Staggering just slightly, he fished in his pocket for the bike keys, belching out that last swallow of scotch.
Before he even got on the motorcycle, sirens blared, lights flashed in blue and red. Spotlights were trained on him and, for a moment, he felt blinded. Cops jumped out of their vehicles, two at a time, and aimed their pistols at him, taking shelter behind the open car doors. Jared squinted and raised his arm to shield his eyes to the too-bright lights. He saw a familiar figure step into the lights, silhouetted. Out of habit and alarm, he raised his hands to show he was of no threat.
The silhouette came closer, revealed to be his old parole officer. Jared's first thought was, Aw, shit. He quickly remembered the old feeling of fight-or-flight, adrenaline coursing through his system. And then he wondered how on earth so many cops had found him so quickly -- and what they thought he had done that made them work so swiftly and silently.
"Bill?"
Bill nodded. "Jared," he said, no-nonsense in his stern voice.
He remembered the last time he'd seen and talked to the old man. "I didn't park illegally this time," he said, his hands still raised. "You got all this firepower out for nothing."
"This isn't about parking," he assured him. "Trust me."
"Okay, so I had one drink, dude. I'm not really drunk, I swear."
"Jared, this is more serious than that."
"You think?" he nodded, angry sarcasm lacing his words. "Maybe you'd like to tell me why you have half the fucking force out there pointing guns at me?"
"Chuck is dead, Jared."
Simply put. Easy to understand. Yet, it didn't stop Jared from laughing aloud. "Yeah," he nodded. "I fucking wish."
Bill shook his head. "Jared," he said, no humor in his voice. "Chuck's dead."
Sober in a heartbeat, Jared's laughter subsided and he stared at the parole officer. "So, why are you telling me?"
Shifting his weight on his feet, Bill sighed. "Word has it, you two had a go at each other at Mickey's just recently. He messed up your bike, I hear."
"You have your goons on me because of word of fucking mouth?" he snapped. He couldn't believe it. When he finally straightens up, finds the life he wants and tries to straighten up, he gets accused of fucking murder?
Bill held up a hand. "Jared, calm down," he said. "You know me. You know I'm fair. But with the evidence we've got, and your priors..."
Doing as he was told Jared calmed himself a little, taking a deep breath and nodding his head "Which is why they sent you," he said. "Because you know my priors. This is bullshit."
"They sent me because you know me," he clarified. "They know you'll listen to me."
"You think I did this?"
"I don't know, Jared."
"Well, what if I don't listen to you?" he challenged. "I'm being wrongly accused, Bill. What if I just turn around and run?"
Bill shook his head. "I wouldn't advise that, kiddo," he said with a frown. "There's a lot of firepower pointed at you right now. I'd like you to do what I say. Put your hands behind your head. Interlock your fingers, and go down to your knees, Jared."
He didn't move for a second or two, gritting his teeth. He breathed in the cool night air, clearing his head but not his sick stomach. This was bullshit, but he couldn't talk his way out of it. He knew Bill, and Bill wouldn't take no for an answer. Jaw muscles flexing, he interlocked his fingers behind his head and lowered himself to his knees. Bill moved closer, taking the bike keys from him. Jared winced when he felt Bill pull his arms around behind his back, closed his eyes in defeat when he felt the bite of the cuffs at his wrists.
"Hello?"
"Jensen."
Jensen pressed the phone against his ear, harder this time, to drown out the sound of the engine noise and the static on the line. Something in the tone of Jeffrey's voice had him on edge almost immediately. "Jeff?" he asked. He glanced over at Chris, worried.
Chris looked instantly worried too. He kept glancing over at Jensen as he drove.
"Jensen, are you and Chris on your way back?"
He looked around, trying to find a road sign that would give him a landmark to tell. "Yes," he mumbled for a moment. "Yeah, we’ve got about two and a half hours left to go. Is everything okay?"
Chris set his foot down almost to the floor. Fuck two hours. He'd have Jensen home sooner. He glanced back over to him, a pang of anxiety washing over him when he heard Jensen's desperate voice ask, "What's happened?"
Jeffrey apparently didn't have anything good to say. He left Jensen hanging, didn't even say goodbye. Jensen took the phone away from his ear, looked down at the phone and then closed it. It took him a few minutes to turn towards Chris, but when he did, Chris's stomach knotted from the look in Jensen's eyes.
"What?" Chris asked.
Jensen shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "But I have a bad feeling about this."
"Murder?" Jensen still couldn't believe it. It was ridiculous.
"That's what I said."
Alan fucking Ackles. Why the hell had he been the one to be called?
Jeffrey and Jensen hadn't been allowed to see Jared right away. The cops told them that they would get to see him as soon as possible. Jeffrey offered to call Stevie in to drive Jensen home, knowing the night would be a long one, but Jensen wanted to stay. Chris returned home by Jensen's command. Before he left, however, Chris made Jensen promise to call him if he needed anything.
By a little after eight in the morning, Jared was brought out to see them. Along with his lawyer.
Alan fucking Ackles.
Laughing in annoyance, Jensen shook his head. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said. "You can't represent him."
"Why not?"
"Because you hate him."
Jared said nothing. He only watched his adoptive father and Jensen glare over at his defense lawyer.
"I will represent my client to the best of my ability," Alan said haughtily.
"He didn't do it," Jeffrey interrupted said, leaning on his crutches.
"That remains to be seen by the court, Mister Morgan."
"No, it doesn't," he returned. "He didn't kill Chuck. That bastard was wanted dead by a lot of people, but not Jared."
Alan shook his head. "Witnesses heard Mister Padalecki threaten the victim," he said.
"What? Where?"
"Mickey's Motorcycle Club? It's on--"
"I know where it is," Jeffrey snarled. He shifted uncomfortably on his one good leg. They'd sat in hard chairs and on rigid benches for far too long, but he wasn't about to leave until he had something more to go on.
Jensen grumbled, turning away from his father, Jared and Jeffrey. This was such bullshit.
"Jensen?"
He turned around again, looking at Jeffrey. "Yeah, he said it," he returned. "But it was… It was just Jared."
Still expressionless and speechless, Jared sat at the interrogation table, staring down at the shiny finish.
"Jared," Alan spoke, his voice remarkably calm. "Is there anything you'd like to say at this time?"
There was no answer.
Jensen glanced over at Jeffrey, a world of conversation in their eyes, and then turned his gaze back to Jared. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Jensen asked, annoyed.
Jared only blinked. Wouldn't even look at Jensen. He stared down at the table, appearing broken and beaten.
Clenching his jaw, Jensen looked at his father. "Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
Alan actually thought about the offer for a moment before he finally agreed. "Alright."
Jensen didn't like the look of satisfaction in the man's eyes. Outside the room, he walked several feet away from the door so there was no risk of Jared overhearing their conversation. Angry, he turned to glare at Alan. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.
"I'm working, Jensen," he said coolly. "I'm a defense lawyer. I'm doing my job."
"Bullshit," he snarled. "You could have -- normally would have sloughed this kind of low-life job onto one of your lackeys. Are you taking this just to ruin him?"
"I will defend Mister Padalecki in this case."
He wasn't buying it. "Why?"
"Because he asked me to."
"Bullshit," he said again.
"That is quite enough, young man," Alan reprimanded.
Jensen smirked at him, taking a step closer. "You don't get to tell me that stuff anymore, Alan. Or, maybe you don't remember calling me, half drunk, to tell me you didn't want to claim me as your son anymore?"
It was silent between them for a second. Alan stood tongue-in-cheek for several moments, trying to calm what Jensen had riled up inside of him. "I remember," he finally replied. "But I'm doing all of this to remedy that."
He couldn't believe his father's audacity. "You think that this is going to set things right between us?" he asked, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. "This all didn't just start happening when I met Jay. This stuff has been building between us for years. Jay and Jeff, they just gave me the courage to stand up to you like I should have done years ago."
His jaw muscles flexed as he clenched his teeth and listened to his son. Finally, a reaction Jensen was used to. Once Jensen was silent again, Alan nodded his head and smoothed down his tie, just out of habit more than any real need. "That may be," he said. "But the deal is already in motion."
Jensen was suddenly terrified. Wide-eyed, he stared over at his father. "What did you do?"
Unblinking, Alan gazed at his son. "What I had to do," he answered. "Your mother misses you, Jensen. And she blames me."
Fury set in again, and Jensen set his hands against his father's chest, shoving him backwards. "What did you do?" he repeated, nearly yelling.
Alan regained his footing and glared at Jensen. He straightened his suit coat, swiped his tongue over his front teeth. He despised the tone his son was using, but he let it go for the time being. "In exchange for your freedom, I've agreed to do my best with Mister Padalecki."
"In exchange for my freedom?" Jensen sneered. "I'm not a goddamn prisoner of war, Alan."
Furious, Alan pointed a finger in Jensen's face. "You are my son, and I will do whatever I need to do to protect you."
As Alan's hand returned to his side, Jensen smiled. That motion, that one finger pointed at him, used to scare him, put him right back in line so that he flew straight as an arrow. Not anymore. He took a step closer and glared into Alan's eyes. "Protect me, or your name?" he asked. "Dad." Turning, he made to walk away.
"Jensen."
He stopped and turned towards his father again, not saying anything.
"Do this," Alan told him. "Come home, and I will do everything I can to get Jared out of this."
Jeffrey rested his crutches against the wall and hobbled over to the table. He sat down across from Jared and stared at him for several seconds, trying to figure out what was going through the boy's head. "Jared," he finally said.
He said nothing.
"JT."
Still silent, Jared met Jeffrey's eyes, his own dark and angry.
"What are you doing, dude?" Jeffrey asked. He frowned when Jared only looked away from him, either refusing or just not knowing how to answer the question. "They're saying you killed Chuck."
Jared met Jeffrey's eyes again, but did not deny the claim.
Jeffrey sighed. "Honestly, kiddo, I wouldn't put it past you," he said. "You've got some serious anger issues at times. And the way you've been about him lately..." A reprimand wasn't going to help, he suddenly decided. He took a deep breath, rested his hands atop the table, and exhaled slowly. "I know you, Jared," he continued in apology. "You didn't do this."
"I know," he finally said.
"Then tell me what the hell is going on."
"I made a deal."
That worried Jeffrey. "What kind of deal?"
"With his father."
"Ackles?"
Jared nodded, staring down at the table top. "I agree to let Jen go, and he helps me out with this," he said. "He's a top lawyer. He'll do his best."
The last two sentences sounded canned, rehearsed. Jeffrey squinted at Jared, confused. "If you agree to let Jensen go?"
He shrugged. "That was the deal."
"And you agreed to it," he almost snapped. "Like you were some sort of rampaging pedophile that snatched Jensen out of his bedroom window during the night."
Animation suddenly jolted into Jared. He came to life, leaning forward and looking at Jeffrey. "Do I look like I have a choice in the matter?" he asked, his tone sharp. "His goddamn father waltzed in here first thing and told me we were gonna have a talk. I told him my alibi. I was at Mickey's that night. Trevor was with me. But it wasn't all night, and Trev can't vouch for me the whole time. Yeah, I hate Chuck. And the fact that he's dead doesn't upset me in the least. He got what he deserved. I didn't kill him, but no one cares about that. Someone says they saw someone who might've been me, and I take the fall. And the only way out of it is to make this piece of shit bargain."
Jeffrey listened, still rather stunned.
"Think about it, Jeff," he continued, narrowing his eyes and tapping a finger to his forehead. "Jensen has a good life with them. Why, for fuck's sake, should he give all that up for me?"
The stunned look turned to one of sadness. Jeffrey's shoulders fell and he shook his head. "Because he loves you, you stupid ass."
Jared reclined in his seat again, sighing. "Yeah, well," he said, still angry. "Maybe he shouldn't."
"You against cell phones now?"
Jensen turned. He saw Chris standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. The door was closed, and Chris had on his usual thick-soled boots. Jensen wondered what planet he'd been on that he'd not heard him walk in. "Hey," he said. "What?"
"Cell phones," Chris said, moving down the stairs, further into the garage. "They're a nifty little invention that lets people communicate any time they need to?"
"Oh, sorry," Jensen said. He turned back to the pile of clothes on the sofa, sorting them. "I turned it off."
"Yeah, I got that," he nodded, "when I got your voice mail for the fiftieth time."
"Sorry."
Chris watched Jensen sort the clothes on the sofa. He recognized some of the articles as Jared's, some as Jensen's. He noticed a bag off to the side, and could see some of Jensen's clothes inside, folded neatly. "What's going on?"
Jensen didn't look at him. He scratched at his eyebrow with a thumbnail, something Chris knew was a nervous habit Jensen had always had, and folded a faded red tee. "I just..." He paused, clearly having a hard time with thinking straight right then. "I just need to get out of here for awhile."
Chris walked over to the bag and opened it up. "Looks like more than just a while," he noted. "Where’re you going to?"
Sniffling through his nose, Jensen cleared his throat. He placed the red tee in the duffel bag and reached for another to fold. "Home," he said.
Chris chuckled. "Home, where?"
"Home-home."
Smile fading, Chris watched Jensen pack another shirt into the duffel. "You're kidding me," he finally said. "You're going back to live in your parent's house?"
"That's the deal."
"Deal?" he repeated. "What deal?" He reached out to Jensen as the young man moved to stuff another shirt in the bag. He grabbed hold of Jensen's arms, forcing him to turn towards him. "Jen, look at me. Come on, man, look at me."
After a moment, Jensen finally met his best friend's eyes. His expression was sad, beaten.
Chris studied him for a few minutes and then shook his head. "He won, didn't he?" he asked. "Your dad won."
"Chris..." He tried to pull out of his friend's grasp, but Chris held him fast. Jensen sighed and averted his gaze. "I need to get out of here."
"You need to get out of here because Alan told you to?" he asked. "Or, you need to get out of here for another reason?"
Annoyed, Jensen yanked his arms out of Chris' hold this time. He went back to his packing, needing something to do to keep his mind off of everything. "What the fuck does it matter?" he asked angrily. "Everything's just wrong now."
Chris shook his head, taking a step closer to him. "What are you talking about?" He gritted his teeth in frustration when Jensen tried to push past him to stuff more clothes in the bag. He set both his hands to Jensen's chest and pushed him backwards. "Will you fucking talk to me?"
The shove might have been just what Jensen was looking for. Instantly, he pushed back, getting right in Chris's face and snarling at him. "What do you want from me?" he nearly screamed. "What do you want, Chris?"
Chris just stared at him, knowing the outburst was needed.
"You want me to tell you that I'm scared shitless?" Jensen continued, his voice booming and echoing off the garage walls. "You want me to admit that I'm running away with my tail between my legs? Because I am, alright? Jensen the Coward is right back to square-fucking-one."
He was furious, but he was furious at himself. Chris let him yell, let him say words that he didn't necessarily agree with. Jensen didn't want to hear what Chris's thoughts were. He was too wrapped up in what was going wrong with his life. After a moment, silence settled between them. Chris nodded his head as he stared back at his best friend. "You done?" he asked, his voice soft.
Jaw set angrily, Jensen looked away, trying not to roll his eyes. He set his hands upon his hips and took a few deep, calming breaths.
"Do you think he did it?"
That was the one question Jensen had been hoping Chris wouldn't ask. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.
"Is that the real reason you're going?"
The broken and battered appearance returned to Jensen. His shoulders fell and he slumped down onto the sofa. He set his head in his hands and rested his elbows upon his knees. "I don't know," he answered. "I don't fucking know anything. I'm trying to figure everything out, but I can't get my head around any of it."
Chris sat down beside him, frowning.
"I feel like I'm going crazy," Jensen told him, still cradling his head. "I just want to get out of here."
Chris reached up and set his hand to the back of Jensen's neck. He let it rest there for a moment and then pulled the young man closer, wrapping his arms around him. He set his chin against the top of Jensen's head and just held him for a while.
Everything he now owned in a stack in his arms. He stared down at the clothes, topped with a roll of toilet paper. He'd been here before, of course, but this time it was wrong.
"I'm not supposed to be here," he'd told one of the correctional officers.
"Sure, kid," he'd returned.
"No, I mean it," he told him. "I didn't do it."
The correctional officer looked at him, exasperated. "Kid," he said. "Do you got any idea how many guys come through those gates that swear they’re innocent?" He shook his head, frowning. "I don't give a shit. You do what you're told, when you're told, don't make any waves, and we'll get along fine."
Alan was working on his case, but until his trial date arrived, Jared was to be put into gen pop. General Population. He'd been there before. He wasn't looking forward to going back.
Clenching his jaw, Jared walked as the correctional officer guided him. Both men that walked with him, clad in black uniforms, were shorter than he was. He could have taken them in a heartbeat, he was sure. But when he'd put on the orange jumpsuit, something inside him died. He was right back to where he'd started again.
The short sleeves showed off the ink that ran up and down his arms. As he walked past the rows and rows of inmates, they quickly glanced over the tattoos, searching for allegiance, searching for something they recognized. One of his tattoos, a black figure on his back, was one an inmate had done for him. He'd thought about having it covered, but he left it there as a reminder of darker times that were behind him. And when he'd met Jensen, all memories of the tattoo had faded. Now, however, they returned.
The inmates called out to him, spoke in the violent, obscene language Jared remembered from so many years ago. He looked straight ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes, for that could easily get him killed. He went with the correctional officers, compliant.
"Open on twenty-five!" the CO on his left called.
The barred door rattled open. The inmate already there jumped down to the floor from the top bunk and stared at his new cellmate. Jared did not look back.
"Horton," the CO said. "You got a temporary guest."
"Temporary, my ass," the second officer chuckled. "He ain't gettin' out of here."
"Close on twenty-five!"
Jared listened to the cell door slam closed, his back to the correctional officers. They laughed as they walked away, keys to unknown doors and locks jangling in their pockets. For a long time, Jared didn't move. He held his prison regulation belongings in his hands, staring straight ahead until Horton moved himself into Jared's field of vision.
"You ain't no head-case, are you?"
Almost glaring, Jared met the man's eyes. He was scrawny. Jared wondered how he'd survived in this place. He stepped closer to the bottom bunk and set his things down atop the cheap, thin mattress.
"Hey, fish," Horton snarled. "I'm talkin' to you."
Jared felt the man's hands on him, shoving him. Instinct, from when he'd been in the place before, took over, and he threw himself at Horton. He shoved him up against the wall, jaw clenched, and glared down into the scrawny man's eyes.
"You fucking touch me again," he began, his voice nothing but a gruff growl.
Uncomfortably, Horton waited to hear the rest of the threat. Jared's arm was pressing against his throat, making it difficult, but not impossible to breathe. "What?" he encouraged with a less-than-sane smile. "You'll kill me?"
Jared couldn't say those words. They were the reason he was there, and he was tired. Tired of everything. He glared at Horton for only a second more and then let go of him, giving him one last shove up against the cement cell wall. "Leave me the fuck alone," he spat.
Turning away, Jared stretched out on the bottom bunk. He thought of Jensen, how much he already missed him, and hoped that the kid would find his way out of the mess Jared had gotten him into. He closed his eyes and sighed, one last thought slipping through his mind before he let the old jail-bird Jared return.
Good-bye, Jen.
--TBC--