SPN Cinema posting day #2: All My Expectations (Jared/Jensen, NC17)
Title All My Expectations
Author Brutti ma buoni
Pairing Jared/Jensen
Word count 4600
Rating NC17
Film The Sting
Warnings Jared/film canon FC references. Also Jensen starts out living with Billie, as per the film. But I promise there's no there there.
Chicago inside informant and poster artist cassiopeia7, without whom a) I wouldn't have claimed another film; b) the Chicago locations would on no account have had names or descriptions or anything specific at all and c) I'd probably not have stuck around SPN fandom in the first place. Thanks D. This one is most definitely for you. You can find out more about her art here. And the full size is under the cut, but go tell the artist how great it is please!
Summary After losing his partner, Jared ("Johnny Hooker") comes to Chicago looking for revenge on the killers. He meets Jensen, a great grifter gone to seed. They run a long con on Morgan, get a police detective off Jared's tail, and get richer than they need. So much is celluloid history. This story takes them a little beyond, into their last night in Chicago. What's going through Jensen's mind, and just why did he get back in the game for this kid?
When the kid hies into town, Jensen knows he’s in trouble. But useful trouble. Welcome trouble, because Jensen is more bored than he's letting on. Not that the bordello girls and the carousel aren't a friendly way to pass the time - and Billie shares her bed companionably enough, which makes Jensen remember there are good, warm people out there, even if not ones that float his particular boat - but Jensen was more than this once. The kid reminds him of that. The kid, who Jensen always thinks of as Jared, who never goes by his dumb "Johnny Hooker" alias inside Jensen’s awareness, no matter he knows how dangerous that is, not to live your con to the full.
Jensen always lives his cons to the full. He hasn't been honest and open and vulnerable for a good ten years now. He's pretty sure he's forgotten how. The kid reminds him of that, with his honest grief and open need for revenge.
Stupid kid. Stupid Jensen, maybe, to listen to the hard luck story, to remember the pain of losing partners, and to visualise right before him the perfect revenge for the kid's dead friend. Which would get him out of this rut. Seeing the hero worship, potential at least, in the kid's sad brown eyes, how can Jensen resist?
Billie says, "Jen, you know what you're doing?" He nods, and lies, and she rolls her eyes. "Remember Justin," is all she says, and fair enough point. But that was years ago. Near enough. Even if it did get Jensen burned bad. Jensen isn't going to get stupid about this kid. Even if he moves like a labrador, bouncy and cheerful and endlessly energetic on the surface, and even if his long, rangy muscles can send Jensen far away to his secret best place. Even if he spends money like a fool but only on stuff that makes him happy, which is a philosophy Jensen has increasing time for these days. Even if Jensen, in another time and another place, might have made a move that’s unmistakable, because he’s tired of hiding himself away, and never putting life to the test. Even if he’s thought, a time or six, that there’s an interest and an invitation in the kid’s eyes that he just might find himself amenable to if the situation were conducive.
But this isn't the place for secret best happy places. This is Chicago, and happy guys are marks. Jensen aims to see this guy, this Jeff Morgan, have a happy, happy Chicago town day, and then a bad, bad night. Won't bring back Aldis, won't banish the shadows from Jared's brown eyes, but it'll make them all feel better about living in a town where money talks, and where it seems like a guy with a pile of cash and a tommy gun can rule the backstreets with the cops' goodwill.
Can't con an honest man? Jensen laughed the first time he heard that. Can con anyone. Conning crooks is just safer and more fun.
*
But you don't just trust a kid straight off. Got to check him out. Get some buddies onto him. Give him a good going over. Keep an ear out on the street. Pick up some bad news about an assassin. And a bad, bad cop on his tail.
Which, honestly, makes this another ball game. A more interesting ball game. More than revenge and a kid that won’t quit, and won’t quit Jensen’s back-brain to boot. Jensen switched off a little, after getting burned, and he’s aware there’s plenty he once did that doesn’t happen anymore. He remembers a time when he would have missed that. Now? Now, just maybe, he’s finding the joy of it again. Polk, Snyder, Morgan, Padalecki, Solino, all of them, balls to be tossed and kept in the air, and no, that phrasing didn’t mean to come out so dirty, Jensen’d rather Snyder kept his balls to himself thank you.
And it is Jensen that’s doing the juggling. The kid’s pretty good, but he’s not infallible. Falls for Solino, enough that he’s closer to endangered than Jensen suspects the kid will ever believe.
He fucks the girl. Of course he does. The whole time they're playing the full con on Morgan, Jensen can smell it. Really, the kid could have taken some time to make sure he's washed her off of him before he played the con. Or, maybe, Jensen should just be glad Solino didn’t shoot him between those brown labrador eyes the way she should have, if she'd been entirely the pro she was cracked up to be. If she hadn't gotten shot in Jared's place; if Jensen hadn't foreseen the mess Solino was bringing with her and given the kid some added protection.
Yeah. He's pretty glad about that. Jared playing dead in the con's climax, that gives Jensen a little squirm in the belly. Blood trickling from that smiling mouth the way Solino intended. Knowing Jensen caused it this time, faking the shot that takes the ‘traitor’ kid down where Morgan can see and observe the light go out of the kid’s eyes and the blood trail that says no good thing will come of the day’s work. He has to play it that way, has to feel the anguish of the experienced pro who was fucked over by a rookie, liked the kid, but has to put him down. Got a rep to maintain. When he's 'shot' by Polk in his turn, it feels about right.
Snyder hustles Morgan out. Morgan leaves his money behind, enough for every guy and gal in the con to have a good week or six. Snyder off Jensen's back, and Jared's back, and they should get out of town but otherwise they're rich and free. Two birds, one stone. It's not often a con goes so sweet, and Jensen should be celebrating. Sure, he's grinning. But he needs to get out of town. Dammit. He likes this city. It's got balls. And he still feels the chill in his belly from fake killing and fake dying.
When it's time to break up the gang and share out the take, Jared's sidling off. It was never about the money for him. And Aldis ain't coming back. Jensen sees his back view scooting away, and he barely casts a glance at the rest of his guys. "Hold up, Jay," he hollers.
The kid looks back, which is more than Jensen's doing. Jensen really doesn't want to catch Billie's eye. What the hell is he thinking? The kid likes girls; he still reeks of the last one. The kid's on his way out of Jensen's life. Why spin it out?
Yeah. Why? Because Jensen needs a reason right now, with the kid looking at him questioningly. "Uh, I always celebrate the big cons, Jay. Billie's headed back to the bordello, got a situation to take care of, but she don't need me. I'd like a companion, maybe hit the town?" Because Jared's barely become acquainted with Chicago, and Jensen's about to advise him to get the hell out of town after tonight. But he reckons they're safe, if they play it canny for the next few hours. And he'd like the kid to see the city, at least a little.
Which is how they end up eating a fine, fine farewell meal at the Berghoff. Not too much risk of running into Snyder here, it's way too classy for that dick. And they’re betting heavy that Morgan’s got the hell out of town, fear of repercussions speeding his flying feet. Dammit, let them have one last good night. "You okay?" Jensen asks. Coming down off a con is tough work, some days. It's another big reason why he doesn't play the game so often these days, Justin or no Justin. That dark mood started to cling to him after each con was done. Can't grift worth a damn if you're not keeping your eyes on the prize and the horizon. Got to want the payoff, and not just the play.
Jared's eyes close briefly. "I guess. Seems a little flat. And I don't know where I'm going after this."
"The money will help," says Jensen, because it's true, and also comforting to say it. "Don't go to New York City," he adds, in haste, because Jared might actually be dumb enough to leap from this snakepit to that, and he's not ready yet. Needs to polish up his act, practice for lower stakes. But the kid just tips his chin, like it's obvious and Jensen didn't need to say as much.
"You?" is all he says.
"Was thinking maybe St Louis," says Jensen. "Or Detroit. They've maybe forgotten me in Detroit by now. Or I here there's money flooding into Denver, if I wanted to get up above sea level." Pause. "Shit, I don't know, kid. I was settled into Chicago, nice and retired and respectable. Wasn't ready to move on. I got no plans, but I'll make some."
Jared asks, "Billie comin' along?" There's a brittle note in his enquiry, unexpected.
"Nope," Jensen says, easy as you please. That's his way with Billie, always has been. "She's properly settled here. She'll find another fixer for her mechanical needs. And we don't fuck," he adds. Makes the kid blink, because Jensen's rarely crude like that. But he wants to be clear tonight, in ways that are reckless and will probably get him punched or worse. And yet it hardly matters; he speaks or he never has this chance again. “Which you maybe won’t understand, kid. But I’m not wired that way. Billie doesn’t care; she’ll cover for me anytime.” He takes a long swallow, wincing at the raw edge of the Berghoff supplier’s brew. Needs the buzz, though, to meet Jared’s eyes after even that much of a confession. It’s not a thing that wins you friends, among grifters or commonplace folks. He doesn’t even really know why he’s laying himself bare this way, except that it’s a way to fill the emptiness of the hours after a con, and before he says goodbye.
Jared’s looking at him, open mouthed, with a patchy red flush running up his cheekbones, down his neck. It’s hard to interpret, and Jensen reckons he’s better at interpretation than most. So. “Sorry,” he says. “Probably not a thing you need to know.” He looks at their empty plates, the last vestiges of pork knuckle and sauerkraut barely visible, they’ve inhaled it so hard in the aftermath of success and tension released. There could be dessert, of course. The kid can sock away the heavy stuff and never show he’s full, but Jensen wants to get away from what he just said, maybe test out how the kid’s reacting, maybe watch him flee.
“You want to get out of here?” he says. But is that wrong? The kid looks at him, looks away, red flush mounting further. Jensen bites down, Oh, I didn’t mean- Sorry, because he was done apologising for himself a long time ago. “Gonna miss this city,” he repeats, reassuringly. “Maybe take in a show, last night in town?” And it’s not what he wants, but he’d do it. Couple hours alongside the kid, watching comedy duos, pretty girls in too little clothing, foreign acts with foreign instruments, maybe they’ll manage to forget what he said and someday in Cincy or Minneapolis, they’ll run into one another again and run another sweet con. And never be true together again.
When Jared shakes his head, Jensen at least knows where he stands, even if it’s in the shit. When the kid says, “’Nother drink, maybe? Maybe… somewhere else?” Jensen really doesn’t know at all what he has in mind.
But. The kid’s not running, and he’s not taking an easy way out. And it’s still their last Chicago night. Jensen says, “I know a place. I got an identity there, we'd be safe enough. Best views in the city, and their suppliers are pretty good. Bourbon that won’t take the skin off your tubes.” And there’s a little part of him that knows, really, what the kid has in mind. Maybe. So the bedroom he has there, at need, is also a factor. Jensen's being honest now, internally at least.
There’s a pause, as they pass the Chicago Theatre, and Jensen half hopes the kid will follow up on his silent impulsion and change his mind; pick the safe route, with people and no privacy. Take in a show, paint the town red, get the night train out of town. Be wise, be safe, don’t overshare. But no. Jared says nothing, Jensen doesn’t either, and they keep on, one foot in front of the last, walking toward who knows what decision.
It’s a walk, to the Allerton, but that’s okay. Spaetzle and pork knuckle take a hell of a lot of digestion, and Jensen won’t be sleeping on a stomach this stuffed any time soon, whatever else might come of the night. They’re warm and buzzed, and Jensen enjoys talking the kid up North Michigan, pointing up the stuff that’s changed since he first grifted here. New opportunities, new cons, classics remembered. He’s back to feeling like that mentor the kid badly needs, and Jared seems content with it. Crossing the river, he even gives a nostalgic sigh of his own, like he’s had time to get affectionate about this place. Born to be sentimental, Padalecki. It won’t hurt. Grifters need easy emotion, near the surface.
At the Allerton’s reception, Jensen flips out his papers, “Sure thing, Mr Stevens,” says the receptionist, and maybe (hopefully) doesn’t see Jared’s double take. Jensen doesn’t keep a regular room here, or anything, but it’s convenient to keep up the façade that he might. It’ll make a bolthole, easy, sometime when he needs it, and nobody will think to question, when he's dipped in and out on occasion for years before. He books in for a room today, of course, otherwise they’d never get near the residents' bar. And it’s the bar that Jensen wants to show Jared.
The kid’s bright enough to know there’s something special at the end of the long elevator ride, but his mouth still falls open when they arrive in the bar.
“Take a look, kid.” High up above the city, looking east to the lake. The Palmolive building lit and shining dead ahead. He gives Jared the luxury of silent time to absorb the view. The city growing almost like breathing, changed even in the six months since Jensen was here last. He brought Billie, that time, with no thought other than giving her a good time. Tonight, his thoughts are all over, though all he’s definitely expecting is some half-decent liquor and chatter with the kid, maybe help him to find his way toward the next stage of his life.
He’s two drinks to the good when Jared fully gives Jensen his attention back again. It takes that long for the Chicago enchantment to wear off, and Jared to come back to himself, remember who he is and where they were before this little excursion.
And it comes out of nowhere. “Me too,” he says, like the conversation of hours back is still ongoing, and Jensen does him the fairness of not pretending to misunderstand.
Well. That complicates things. At least, it does in Jensen’s digestion, as his stomach flips and gut churn, and he swallows down the need to demand what that means, and why the kid’s saying it now, and not back then.
“Good practice,” is what he does say, and he believes it. He lives it. “Grifters got to conceal themselves all the time. Can’t play the con if you’re revealing your truth all the time.”
The kid drinks his remaining bourbon in one long swallow. Like medicine, or courage. “I hate it,” he says. “I hate to lie when I’m not on a con. I hate what I do to keep up the image. Loretta-“ he stops, and Jensen only now really remembers that the kid fucked Solino last night and saw her shot this morning, and that’s likely the first time he’s had such a day, let alone the massive Morgan con on the side. Christ. Feeding him hard liquor’s probably the worst idea Jensen had lately. Likely he’ll get reckless, morose, violent, stupid. Well. He's already being stupid, but Jensen's right there with him.
Jared says, “Loretta was all about lying. For both of us. Been feeling dirty ever since.”
And Jensen has a room, with a bathroom, four floors down. But that would be stupid to mention.
When his mouth opens, though, he says, “You want to wash up before you go?” Before you go is just futile, naked self-protection in the face of what he wants.
And what Jared may be offering, though he still hasn’t found the words. Neither one of them has. There’s something there, unsaid, and Jensen knows what it is. Hopes one of them will find their way to saying it sometime before the end of time. If not tonight.
He doesn’t offer Jared his room key. Stands and leads the way instead.
It’s not a large room, though a twin, enough that inviting Jared inside isn’t an unmistakable statement of intent, but small enough that a large guy shedding his clothes isn’t exactly over-lookable. Jensen goes to the window, back turned. All discretion and self-deception. The bathroom door bangs behind Jared, and Jensen takes a shaky breath.
How stupid is he? And how, after ten years on the long con, is it that he’s so bad at deceiving himself?
The shower is running. Jared’s sluicing away the day, the last of Loretta Solino, living and dead. The last of ‘Johnny Hooker’, pseudonymous and venial small player on Morgan’s hitlist. The last of Chicago, because they’ll be on the railroad out of here soon after first light tomorrow.
But they have maybe seven hours left, in this bubble of just the two of them, if Jared chooses to stay.
Jensen just waits. Stays in his working clothes, stays by the window, till the bathroom door bangs open, in a flurry of impatience and sweet steam.
Jared says, “I don’t know. Seems like maybe we don’t need to lie tonight?” And he’s standing behind Jensen, warm, damp and bareass naked, and if that’s not an honest statement of intent, Jensen’s never read a mark right.
He turns around, and the kid’s right there in his space, challenging. “You want this,” Jared says, and it’s not a question. Doesn’t have to be.
“Yeah. But, do you? I’m guessing this is new,” says Jensen, and he sees Jared flicker, like he wasn’t supposed to have picked up on that. But who knows better than Jensen that it’s not easy, finding companionship, when you’re plugged into the underworld and every second guy would sell you out for a twenty?
So, he’s thinking, maybe that’s what this is. Jared needing to try, to live with his truth for one night at least. That much, Jensen can most certainly give him. That much doesn’t put Jensen’s stability at risk. Just one night. A favour, almost, to a partner in crime.
Does the kid let him get away with illusion? Hell, would he ever? He says, “It’s only new because I’ve never done it. Not because I never wanted it. And I’ve wanted you since I first set eyes on you.” Which, considering Jensen was covered in sump oil and swearing like a fool, says something about the kid’s taste, and yes Jensen’s trying to avoid thinking about what the kid actually said. And the fact he’s naked, and right there, and yet this isn’t just about the body anymore.
“Okay,” he says, and in that breath he can hear the rusty want and acceptance in himself. Reaches a hand around the kid’s neck, to draw his mouth down, and then they have to stop lying because there are no more words in play.
The kid knows how to kiss, which he’ll have learned from women and refined lately on Solino, and Jensen needs to stop analysing in his head because there’s no cause for jealousy here. That’s past. And the taste of Jared, the feel of the kid’s shower-warm damp body pressing through Jensen’s shirt, that’s where his head should be.
Pretty soon, that’s exactly where he is. Pressing up against the kid, plastering them belly to belly, dick to dick, so that everybody’s very clear about who’s into this. Which is everyone. Pressing further, the kid taking direction the way he has for half the con, stepping back obediently till he hits the nearest bed, and then sitting, then laying, back for Jensen to climb all over him.
“Take this off,” says the kid eventually, and damned if Jensen’s not still wearing a tie, let alone a boiled shirt, and removing that ensemble seems like a fine priority, till Jared gets working at his belt and fly, and Jensen curses whoever invented cufflinks to eternal perdition because there’s just too much fabric on him, and between the two of them, and it’s getting in the way of Jared’s close-by nakedness.
So he sheds the lot as fast as may be, and returns them to where they were, Jared laying back and Jensen spread across him, rutting like he’s the inexperienced and desperate one. Though desperate’s not far off the truth, and they said this was about being true, didn’t they? Still, manners insist he give Jared the chance to explore, and when he rolls off, the kid follows till Jensen’s spread out on his back, legs spread, and the kid is touching every damn inch from collarbones to cockhead, and Jensen gets too damn close to whimpering for more. The kid’s talking, but low, quick, pattering meaningless endearments and discoveries, not selling a con, and it’s the sweetest sound Jensen’s heard in a long while.
“Can I?” he says, eventually, mouth an inch from Jensen’s dick, and Jensen briefly tries to imagine the man who could say no to that, but he’s certainly not about to. The kid’s mouth opens, descends, and Christ, he’s clumsy but eager, moaning with want, drooling like his mouth waters purely from the taste of Jensen. Jensen’s trying to get his brain to decide what happens next, because seems like it should be him that keeps a hold on the tailcoats of his senses, and he’s trying to reach for the slick in his discarded pants, ready to open himself up because maybe it’s not his preference but the kid should know, when Jared raises himself up and stops sucking.
Jensen’s protesting moan collides with Jared’s bashful, eyes down, “I thought, maybe, it’d be okay if, I mean-“ and Jensen almost shouts spit it out, before propriety asserts itself and he listens to what the kid’s trying to stutter out.
Which is that Jared would very much appreciate if Mr Ackles could see his way to fucking that fine ass, and Jensen wishes briefly that he was religious because someone up there deserves a Thank you for that one.
“Sure,” he says, like he’s in control here, “But slow, okay? Gonna take my time with you.” And he suits actions to words, losing maybe hours in slick fingering till the kid’s howling with want, and doesn’t flinch nor tense when Jensen substitutes his aching dick for his exhausted fingers. “Slooooow,” he croons, and the kid curls up into him, like more is welcome, and Jensen knows that whatever else he’s done wrong in too many years, he’s doing this right. Neither of them is in condition to last long. Heroic stamina is a matter for another time, a time they'll likely never see, and Jensen catches himself thinking that as he comes, which gives the whole moment a bittersweet edge that deep body satisfaction can’t entirely deny.
Jared whimpers as he withdraws, all that slick and preparation not entirely enough to mask the strange discomforts Jensen’s introducing him to, and Jensen curls around him, the two of them finding quiet surcease a while, till Jared’s back in his body and brain and that confident smile returns. Jensen kisses it away, finding himself wanting more. Unreasonable, maybe, but when he fetches a warm washcloth and cleans the kid up, it’s obvious Jared’s not down for the night. So, Jensen’s turn to kneel and swallow, jaw aching from opening up wide enough the kid can take him as he chooses, which is a thing Jensen’s loved from the first time he tried, painful though it gets after a while. So that he finishes barely behind the kid, choking on come, shuddering against the kid’s calf, an abased mess of humanity, and so contented he can hardly move back into the bed.
He curls up again, touching the kid at shoulder and knee, feeling the comfort of bodies sharing space. He’ll miss that, the one thing he took from Billie and now just a bare part of this one night with the kid.
Jared says, “I’m gonna miss having a partner.”
“Mmmm,” because there’s nothing to be said, is there? Aldis is gone.
“I work better as a pair,” Jared continues. “And you’ve shown me I got a lot to learn. Need somebody to keep training me up, don’t I? Because I don’t want to be average. Average grifters got a short lifespan, I think.”
True enough, and shivering enough, and Jensen’s hand moves down the kid’s arm in comfort and commiseration. He’s not fool enough to miss the want and the unspoken offer coming his way, but he doesn’t know what to do with that. It's not something he knows, so he's working on instinct, and instinct demands caution.
“Not sure partners should be bed partnered too,” he says, eventually. “More risks, more to lose, easier spotted, easier hurt.”
Jared sighs. “You’re probably right.” It’s a lonely little sentence in a dark bedroom. The city’s lights don’t seem to reach in here the way they did hours before. There’s a chill in the night, and it’s not just the colder air of the dark.
Jensen listens to it, the night breathing. Jared, quiet on the bed beside him. Time to roll the dice. Wisdom versus truth. Whichever one comes up, he's a loser. And a winner, too. Let the winning be true, at least. “I’m headed to St Louis,” he says, eventually. “Decided just now. Got a buddy working on the railroads, made me an offer a while back, cut me in on some action. Won’t be forever.” Jared doesn’t say a thing. “If it’s the job I think it is, gonna need six men or more to pull it off. And a second, to run the room while I’m at the signals. Think you could do that?”
“Course,” says the kid, because confidence was never his problem. And besides, he’s a pretty good grifter and they both know it. Even if he's right that he could use some refinement and training.
“Yeah, you can,” says Jensen. There’s a bubbling warmth in his tone, that he never intended and can’t seem to hold back. “Gonna be on the 6.32, so we’d better get some shuteye.”
“Uhuh,” says the kid, and yawns, the big faker. There won’t be a lot of sleeping tonight, and tomorrow they’ll be far away and finding new names, maybe new faces for a while. Likely won’t be sharing a bed for a month or six, maybe grabbing fumbles in alleyways if they’re lucky. But they’ll be together, at some level, while the job lasts, and maybe beyond. Assuming nobody fucks up and nobody dies, gets offed, gets jailed, has to run to Mexico with the hounds of hell at his heels. Little stuff like that.
Stupid choice, there, Ackles. Stupid choice. But a good one too.
The kid says, “I never did get to taste how you come,” and wriggles a little, impatient.
“I’m thirty six,” says Jensen, protesting, but he knows he can go another round if Jared’s willing to wait awhile. It’s their last Chicago hours, and nobody’s honestly expecting to rest.
***
Author Brutti ma buoni
Pairing Jared/Jensen
Word count 4600
Rating NC17
Film The Sting
Warnings Jared/film canon FC references. Also Jensen starts out living with Billie, as per the film. But I promise there's no there there.
Chicago inside informant and poster artist cassiopeia7, without whom a) I wouldn't have claimed another film; b) the Chicago locations would on no account have had names or descriptions or anything specific at all and c) I'd probably not have stuck around SPN fandom in the first place. Thanks D. This one is most definitely for you. You can find out more about her art here. And the full size is under the cut, but go tell the artist how great it is please!
Summary After losing his partner, Jared ("Johnny Hooker") comes to Chicago looking for revenge on the killers. He meets Jensen, a great grifter gone to seed. They run a long con on Morgan, get a police detective off Jared's tail, and get richer than they need. So much is celluloid history. This story takes them a little beyond, into their last night in Chicago. What's going through Jensen's mind, and just why did he get back in the game for this kid?
When the kid hies into town, Jensen knows he’s in trouble. But useful trouble. Welcome trouble, because Jensen is more bored than he's letting on. Not that the bordello girls and the carousel aren't a friendly way to pass the time - and Billie shares her bed companionably enough, which makes Jensen remember there are good, warm people out there, even if not ones that float his particular boat - but Jensen was more than this once. The kid reminds him of that. The kid, who Jensen always thinks of as Jared, who never goes by his dumb "Johnny Hooker" alias inside Jensen’s awareness, no matter he knows how dangerous that is, not to live your con to the full.
Jensen always lives his cons to the full. He hasn't been honest and open and vulnerable for a good ten years now. He's pretty sure he's forgotten how. The kid reminds him of that, with his honest grief and open need for revenge.
Stupid kid. Stupid Jensen, maybe, to listen to the hard luck story, to remember the pain of losing partners, and to visualise right before him the perfect revenge for the kid's dead friend. Which would get him out of this rut. Seeing the hero worship, potential at least, in the kid's sad brown eyes, how can Jensen resist?
Billie says, "Jen, you know what you're doing?" He nods, and lies, and she rolls her eyes. "Remember Justin," is all she says, and fair enough point. But that was years ago. Near enough. Even if it did get Jensen burned bad. Jensen isn't going to get stupid about this kid. Even if he moves like a labrador, bouncy and cheerful and endlessly energetic on the surface, and even if his long, rangy muscles can send Jensen far away to his secret best place. Even if he spends money like a fool but only on stuff that makes him happy, which is a philosophy Jensen has increasing time for these days. Even if Jensen, in another time and another place, might have made a move that’s unmistakable, because he’s tired of hiding himself away, and never putting life to the test. Even if he’s thought, a time or six, that there’s an interest and an invitation in the kid’s eyes that he just might find himself amenable to if the situation were conducive.
But this isn't the place for secret best happy places. This is Chicago, and happy guys are marks. Jensen aims to see this guy, this Jeff Morgan, have a happy, happy Chicago town day, and then a bad, bad night. Won't bring back Aldis, won't banish the shadows from Jared's brown eyes, but it'll make them all feel better about living in a town where money talks, and where it seems like a guy with a pile of cash and a tommy gun can rule the backstreets with the cops' goodwill.
Can't con an honest man? Jensen laughed the first time he heard that. Can con anyone. Conning crooks is just safer and more fun.
*
But you don't just trust a kid straight off. Got to check him out. Get some buddies onto him. Give him a good going over. Keep an ear out on the street. Pick up some bad news about an assassin. And a bad, bad cop on his tail.
Which, honestly, makes this another ball game. A more interesting ball game. More than revenge and a kid that won’t quit, and won’t quit Jensen’s back-brain to boot. Jensen switched off a little, after getting burned, and he’s aware there’s plenty he once did that doesn’t happen anymore. He remembers a time when he would have missed that. Now? Now, just maybe, he’s finding the joy of it again. Polk, Snyder, Morgan, Padalecki, Solino, all of them, balls to be tossed and kept in the air, and no, that phrasing didn’t mean to come out so dirty, Jensen’d rather Snyder kept his balls to himself thank you.
And it is Jensen that’s doing the juggling. The kid’s pretty good, but he’s not infallible. Falls for Solino, enough that he’s closer to endangered than Jensen suspects the kid will ever believe.
He fucks the girl. Of course he does. The whole time they're playing the full con on Morgan, Jensen can smell it. Really, the kid could have taken some time to make sure he's washed her off of him before he played the con. Or, maybe, Jensen should just be glad Solino didn’t shoot him between those brown labrador eyes the way she should have, if she'd been entirely the pro she was cracked up to be. If she hadn't gotten shot in Jared's place; if Jensen hadn't foreseen the mess Solino was bringing with her and given the kid some added protection.
Yeah. He's pretty glad about that. Jared playing dead in the con's climax, that gives Jensen a little squirm in the belly. Blood trickling from that smiling mouth the way Solino intended. Knowing Jensen caused it this time, faking the shot that takes the ‘traitor’ kid down where Morgan can see and observe the light go out of the kid’s eyes and the blood trail that says no good thing will come of the day’s work. He has to play it that way, has to feel the anguish of the experienced pro who was fucked over by a rookie, liked the kid, but has to put him down. Got a rep to maintain. When he's 'shot' by Polk in his turn, it feels about right.
Snyder hustles Morgan out. Morgan leaves his money behind, enough for every guy and gal in the con to have a good week or six. Snyder off Jensen's back, and Jared's back, and they should get out of town but otherwise they're rich and free. Two birds, one stone. It's not often a con goes so sweet, and Jensen should be celebrating. Sure, he's grinning. But he needs to get out of town. Dammit. He likes this city. It's got balls. And he still feels the chill in his belly from fake killing and fake dying.
When it's time to break up the gang and share out the take, Jared's sidling off. It was never about the money for him. And Aldis ain't coming back. Jensen sees his back view scooting away, and he barely casts a glance at the rest of his guys. "Hold up, Jay," he hollers.
The kid looks back, which is more than Jensen's doing. Jensen really doesn't want to catch Billie's eye. What the hell is he thinking? The kid likes girls; he still reeks of the last one. The kid's on his way out of Jensen's life. Why spin it out?
Yeah. Why? Because Jensen needs a reason right now, with the kid looking at him questioningly. "Uh, I always celebrate the big cons, Jay. Billie's headed back to the bordello, got a situation to take care of, but she don't need me. I'd like a companion, maybe hit the town?" Because Jared's barely become acquainted with Chicago, and Jensen's about to advise him to get the hell out of town after tonight. But he reckons they're safe, if they play it canny for the next few hours. And he'd like the kid to see the city, at least a little.
Which is how they end up eating a fine, fine farewell meal at the Berghoff. Not too much risk of running into Snyder here, it's way too classy for that dick. And they’re betting heavy that Morgan’s got the hell out of town, fear of repercussions speeding his flying feet. Dammit, let them have one last good night. "You okay?" Jensen asks. Coming down off a con is tough work, some days. It's another big reason why he doesn't play the game so often these days, Justin or no Justin. That dark mood started to cling to him after each con was done. Can't grift worth a damn if you're not keeping your eyes on the prize and the horizon. Got to want the payoff, and not just the play.
Jared's eyes close briefly. "I guess. Seems a little flat. And I don't know where I'm going after this."
"The money will help," says Jensen, because it's true, and also comforting to say it. "Don't go to New York City," he adds, in haste, because Jared might actually be dumb enough to leap from this snakepit to that, and he's not ready yet. Needs to polish up his act, practice for lower stakes. But the kid just tips his chin, like it's obvious and Jensen didn't need to say as much.
"You?" is all he says.
"Was thinking maybe St Louis," says Jensen. "Or Detroit. They've maybe forgotten me in Detroit by now. Or I here there's money flooding into Denver, if I wanted to get up above sea level." Pause. "Shit, I don't know, kid. I was settled into Chicago, nice and retired and respectable. Wasn't ready to move on. I got no plans, but I'll make some."
Jared asks, "Billie comin' along?" There's a brittle note in his enquiry, unexpected.
"Nope," Jensen says, easy as you please. That's his way with Billie, always has been. "She's properly settled here. She'll find another fixer for her mechanical needs. And we don't fuck," he adds. Makes the kid blink, because Jensen's rarely crude like that. But he wants to be clear tonight, in ways that are reckless and will probably get him punched or worse. And yet it hardly matters; he speaks or he never has this chance again. “Which you maybe won’t understand, kid. But I’m not wired that way. Billie doesn’t care; she’ll cover for me anytime.” He takes a long swallow, wincing at the raw edge of the Berghoff supplier’s brew. Needs the buzz, though, to meet Jared’s eyes after even that much of a confession. It’s not a thing that wins you friends, among grifters or commonplace folks. He doesn’t even really know why he’s laying himself bare this way, except that it’s a way to fill the emptiness of the hours after a con, and before he says goodbye.
Jared’s looking at him, open mouthed, with a patchy red flush running up his cheekbones, down his neck. It’s hard to interpret, and Jensen reckons he’s better at interpretation than most. So. “Sorry,” he says. “Probably not a thing you need to know.” He looks at their empty plates, the last vestiges of pork knuckle and sauerkraut barely visible, they’ve inhaled it so hard in the aftermath of success and tension released. There could be dessert, of course. The kid can sock away the heavy stuff and never show he’s full, but Jensen wants to get away from what he just said, maybe test out how the kid’s reacting, maybe watch him flee.
“You want to get out of here?” he says. But is that wrong? The kid looks at him, looks away, red flush mounting further. Jensen bites down, Oh, I didn’t mean- Sorry, because he was done apologising for himself a long time ago. “Gonna miss this city,” he repeats, reassuringly. “Maybe take in a show, last night in town?” And it’s not what he wants, but he’d do it. Couple hours alongside the kid, watching comedy duos, pretty girls in too little clothing, foreign acts with foreign instruments, maybe they’ll manage to forget what he said and someday in Cincy or Minneapolis, they’ll run into one another again and run another sweet con. And never be true together again.
When Jared shakes his head, Jensen at least knows where he stands, even if it’s in the shit. When the kid says, “’Nother drink, maybe? Maybe… somewhere else?” Jensen really doesn’t know at all what he has in mind.
But. The kid’s not running, and he’s not taking an easy way out. And it’s still their last Chicago night. Jensen says, “I know a place. I got an identity there, we'd be safe enough. Best views in the city, and their suppliers are pretty good. Bourbon that won’t take the skin off your tubes.” And there’s a little part of him that knows, really, what the kid has in mind. Maybe. So the bedroom he has there, at need, is also a factor. Jensen's being honest now, internally at least.
There’s a pause, as they pass the Chicago Theatre, and Jensen half hopes the kid will follow up on his silent impulsion and change his mind; pick the safe route, with people and no privacy. Take in a show, paint the town red, get the night train out of town. Be wise, be safe, don’t overshare. But no. Jared says nothing, Jensen doesn’t either, and they keep on, one foot in front of the last, walking toward who knows what decision.
It’s a walk, to the Allerton, but that’s okay. Spaetzle and pork knuckle take a hell of a lot of digestion, and Jensen won’t be sleeping on a stomach this stuffed any time soon, whatever else might come of the night. They’re warm and buzzed, and Jensen enjoys talking the kid up North Michigan, pointing up the stuff that’s changed since he first grifted here. New opportunities, new cons, classics remembered. He’s back to feeling like that mentor the kid badly needs, and Jared seems content with it. Crossing the river, he even gives a nostalgic sigh of his own, like he’s had time to get affectionate about this place. Born to be sentimental, Padalecki. It won’t hurt. Grifters need easy emotion, near the surface.
At the Allerton’s reception, Jensen flips out his papers, “Sure thing, Mr Stevens,” says the receptionist, and maybe (hopefully) doesn’t see Jared’s double take. Jensen doesn’t keep a regular room here, or anything, but it’s convenient to keep up the façade that he might. It’ll make a bolthole, easy, sometime when he needs it, and nobody will think to question, when he's dipped in and out on occasion for years before. He books in for a room today, of course, otherwise they’d never get near the residents' bar. And it’s the bar that Jensen wants to show Jared.
The kid’s bright enough to know there’s something special at the end of the long elevator ride, but his mouth still falls open when they arrive in the bar.
“Take a look, kid.” High up above the city, looking east to the lake. The Palmolive building lit and shining dead ahead. He gives Jared the luxury of silent time to absorb the view. The city growing almost like breathing, changed even in the six months since Jensen was here last. He brought Billie, that time, with no thought other than giving her a good time. Tonight, his thoughts are all over, though all he’s definitely expecting is some half-decent liquor and chatter with the kid, maybe help him to find his way toward the next stage of his life.
He’s two drinks to the good when Jared fully gives Jensen his attention back again. It takes that long for the Chicago enchantment to wear off, and Jared to come back to himself, remember who he is and where they were before this little excursion.
And it comes out of nowhere. “Me too,” he says, like the conversation of hours back is still ongoing, and Jensen does him the fairness of not pretending to misunderstand.
Well. That complicates things. At least, it does in Jensen’s digestion, as his stomach flips and gut churn, and he swallows down the need to demand what that means, and why the kid’s saying it now, and not back then.
“Good practice,” is what he does say, and he believes it. He lives it. “Grifters got to conceal themselves all the time. Can’t play the con if you’re revealing your truth all the time.”
The kid drinks his remaining bourbon in one long swallow. Like medicine, or courage. “I hate it,” he says. “I hate to lie when I’m not on a con. I hate what I do to keep up the image. Loretta-“ he stops, and Jensen only now really remembers that the kid fucked Solino last night and saw her shot this morning, and that’s likely the first time he’s had such a day, let alone the massive Morgan con on the side. Christ. Feeding him hard liquor’s probably the worst idea Jensen had lately. Likely he’ll get reckless, morose, violent, stupid. Well. He's already being stupid, but Jensen's right there with him.
Jared says, “Loretta was all about lying. For both of us. Been feeling dirty ever since.”
And Jensen has a room, with a bathroom, four floors down. But that would be stupid to mention.
When his mouth opens, though, he says, “You want to wash up before you go?” Before you go is just futile, naked self-protection in the face of what he wants.
And what Jared may be offering, though he still hasn’t found the words. Neither one of them has. There’s something there, unsaid, and Jensen knows what it is. Hopes one of them will find their way to saying it sometime before the end of time. If not tonight.
He doesn’t offer Jared his room key. Stands and leads the way instead.
It’s not a large room, though a twin, enough that inviting Jared inside isn’t an unmistakable statement of intent, but small enough that a large guy shedding his clothes isn’t exactly over-lookable. Jensen goes to the window, back turned. All discretion and self-deception. The bathroom door bangs behind Jared, and Jensen takes a shaky breath.
How stupid is he? And how, after ten years on the long con, is it that he’s so bad at deceiving himself?
The shower is running. Jared’s sluicing away the day, the last of Loretta Solino, living and dead. The last of ‘Johnny Hooker’, pseudonymous and venial small player on Morgan’s hitlist. The last of Chicago, because they’ll be on the railroad out of here soon after first light tomorrow.
But they have maybe seven hours left, in this bubble of just the two of them, if Jared chooses to stay.
Jensen just waits. Stays in his working clothes, stays by the window, till the bathroom door bangs open, in a flurry of impatience and sweet steam.
Jared says, “I don’t know. Seems like maybe we don’t need to lie tonight?” And he’s standing behind Jensen, warm, damp and bareass naked, and if that’s not an honest statement of intent, Jensen’s never read a mark right.
He turns around, and the kid’s right there in his space, challenging. “You want this,” Jared says, and it’s not a question. Doesn’t have to be.
“Yeah. But, do you? I’m guessing this is new,” says Jensen, and he sees Jared flicker, like he wasn’t supposed to have picked up on that. But who knows better than Jensen that it’s not easy, finding companionship, when you’re plugged into the underworld and every second guy would sell you out for a twenty?
So, he’s thinking, maybe that’s what this is. Jared needing to try, to live with his truth for one night at least. That much, Jensen can most certainly give him. That much doesn’t put Jensen’s stability at risk. Just one night. A favour, almost, to a partner in crime.
Does the kid let him get away with illusion? Hell, would he ever? He says, “It’s only new because I’ve never done it. Not because I never wanted it. And I’ve wanted you since I first set eyes on you.” Which, considering Jensen was covered in sump oil and swearing like a fool, says something about the kid’s taste, and yes Jensen’s trying to avoid thinking about what the kid actually said. And the fact he’s naked, and right there, and yet this isn’t just about the body anymore.
“Okay,” he says, and in that breath he can hear the rusty want and acceptance in himself. Reaches a hand around the kid’s neck, to draw his mouth down, and then they have to stop lying because there are no more words in play.
The kid knows how to kiss, which he’ll have learned from women and refined lately on Solino, and Jensen needs to stop analysing in his head because there’s no cause for jealousy here. That’s past. And the taste of Jared, the feel of the kid’s shower-warm damp body pressing through Jensen’s shirt, that’s where his head should be.
Pretty soon, that’s exactly where he is. Pressing up against the kid, plastering them belly to belly, dick to dick, so that everybody’s very clear about who’s into this. Which is everyone. Pressing further, the kid taking direction the way he has for half the con, stepping back obediently till he hits the nearest bed, and then sitting, then laying, back for Jensen to climb all over him.
“Take this off,” says the kid eventually, and damned if Jensen’s not still wearing a tie, let alone a boiled shirt, and removing that ensemble seems like a fine priority, till Jared gets working at his belt and fly, and Jensen curses whoever invented cufflinks to eternal perdition because there’s just too much fabric on him, and between the two of them, and it’s getting in the way of Jared’s close-by nakedness.
So he sheds the lot as fast as may be, and returns them to where they were, Jared laying back and Jensen spread across him, rutting like he’s the inexperienced and desperate one. Though desperate’s not far off the truth, and they said this was about being true, didn’t they? Still, manners insist he give Jared the chance to explore, and when he rolls off, the kid follows till Jensen’s spread out on his back, legs spread, and the kid is touching every damn inch from collarbones to cockhead, and Jensen gets too damn close to whimpering for more. The kid’s talking, but low, quick, pattering meaningless endearments and discoveries, not selling a con, and it’s the sweetest sound Jensen’s heard in a long while.
“Can I?” he says, eventually, mouth an inch from Jensen’s dick, and Jensen briefly tries to imagine the man who could say no to that, but he’s certainly not about to. The kid’s mouth opens, descends, and Christ, he’s clumsy but eager, moaning with want, drooling like his mouth waters purely from the taste of Jensen. Jensen’s trying to get his brain to decide what happens next, because seems like it should be him that keeps a hold on the tailcoats of his senses, and he’s trying to reach for the slick in his discarded pants, ready to open himself up because maybe it’s not his preference but the kid should know, when Jared raises himself up and stops sucking.
Jensen’s protesting moan collides with Jared’s bashful, eyes down, “I thought, maybe, it’d be okay if, I mean-“ and Jensen almost shouts spit it out, before propriety asserts itself and he listens to what the kid’s trying to stutter out.
Which is that Jared would very much appreciate if Mr Ackles could see his way to fucking that fine ass, and Jensen wishes briefly that he was religious because someone up there deserves a Thank you for that one.
“Sure,” he says, like he’s in control here, “But slow, okay? Gonna take my time with you.” And he suits actions to words, losing maybe hours in slick fingering till the kid’s howling with want, and doesn’t flinch nor tense when Jensen substitutes his aching dick for his exhausted fingers. “Slooooow,” he croons, and the kid curls up into him, like more is welcome, and Jensen knows that whatever else he’s done wrong in too many years, he’s doing this right. Neither of them is in condition to last long. Heroic stamina is a matter for another time, a time they'll likely never see, and Jensen catches himself thinking that as he comes, which gives the whole moment a bittersweet edge that deep body satisfaction can’t entirely deny.
Jared whimpers as he withdraws, all that slick and preparation not entirely enough to mask the strange discomforts Jensen’s introducing him to, and Jensen curls around him, the two of them finding quiet surcease a while, till Jared’s back in his body and brain and that confident smile returns. Jensen kisses it away, finding himself wanting more. Unreasonable, maybe, but when he fetches a warm washcloth and cleans the kid up, it’s obvious Jared’s not down for the night. So, Jensen’s turn to kneel and swallow, jaw aching from opening up wide enough the kid can take him as he chooses, which is a thing Jensen’s loved from the first time he tried, painful though it gets after a while. So that he finishes barely behind the kid, choking on come, shuddering against the kid’s calf, an abased mess of humanity, and so contented he can hardly move back into the bed.
He curls up again, touching the kid at shoulder and knee, feeling the comfort of bodies sharing space. He’ll miss that, the one thing he took from Billie and now just a bare part of this one night with the kid.
Jared says, “I’m gonna miss having a partner.”
“Mmmm,” because there’s nothing to be said, is there? Aldis is gone.
“I work better as a pair,” Jared continues. “And you’ve shown me I got a lot to learn. Need somebody to keep training me up, don’t I? Because I don’t want to be average. Average grifters got a short lifespan, I think.”
True enough, and shivering enough, and Jensen’s hand moves down the kid’s arm in comfort and commiseration. He’s not fool enough to miss the want and the unspoken offer coming his way, but he doesn’t know what to do with that. It's not something he knows, so he's working on instinct, and instinct demands caution.
“Not sure partners should be bed partnered too,” he says, eventually. “More risks, more to lose, easier spotted, easier hurt.”
Jared sighs. “You’re probably right.” It’s a lonely little sentence in a dark bedroom. The city’s lights don’t seem to reach in here the way they did hours before. There’s a chill in the night, and it’s not just the colder air of the dark.
Jensen listens to it, the night breathing. Jared, quiet on the bed beside him. Time to roll the dice. Wisdom versus truth. Whichever one comes up, he's a loser. And a winner, too. Let the winning be true, at least. “I’m headed to St Louis,” he says, eventually. “Decided just now. Got a buddy working on the railroads, made me an offer a while back, cut me in on some action. Won’t be forever.” Jared doesn’t say a thing. “If it’s the job I think it is, gonna need six men or more to pull it off. And a second, to run the room while I’m at the signals. Think you could do that?”
“Course,” says the kid, because confidence was never his problem. And besides, he’s a pretty good grifter and they both know it. Even if he's right that he could use some refinement and training.
“Yeah, you can,” says Jensen. There’s a bubbling warmth in his tone, that he never intended and can’t seem to hold back. “Gonna be on the 6.32, so we’d better get some shuteye.”
“Uhuh,” says the kid, and yawns, the big faker. There won’t be a lot of sleeping tonight, and tomorrow they’ll be far away and finding new names, maybe new faces for a while. Likely won’t be sharing a bed for a month or six, maybe grabbing fumbles in alleyways if they’re lucky. But they’ll be together, at some level, while the job lasts, and maybe beyond. Assuming nobody fucks up and nobody dies, gets offed, gets jailed, has to run to Mexico with the hounds of hell at his heels. Little stuff like that.
Stupid choice, there, Ackles. Stupid choice. But a good one too.
The kid says, “I never did get to taste how you come,” and wriggles a little, impatient.
“I’m thirty six,” says Jensen, protesting, but he knows he can go another round if Jared’s willing to wait awhile. It’s their last Chicago hours, and nobody’s honestly expecting to rest.
***