rps fic: and behind this door... (3/4) j2_everafter
door one, part one // door one, part two
Jared, sometimes he feels like he's trapped in the past, his television a magical window into the future: life in the 21st century. He doesn't tell anyone this, of course. You learn to zip your lip quick.
Jared shot up the summer before his junior year and he thought this was his ticket to a life changed. He was probably going to ascend to the next level of popularity. Instead, he made varsity water polo only to watch some early-promoted sophomore take his spot as a starter.
"Look at my arm span," he said to Coach, but Coach just pursed his lips, said, "My decision stands, JT."
****
When he was researching schools, his dad never sat him down and said, "Son. You know how much I want to help you out, but." He just nods carefully when Jared rattles off statistics for schools on the coasts and GPA's of previously admitted classes and asks, "You're applying to state schools, too, though, aren't you?"
His mom is really careful about not saying too much. But sometimes, when Jared comes home too early from practice, she'll be on the phone, arguing with some creditor. "I swear to God," she'll say when she hangs up. "Co-signing for family is a fool's game."
Jared doesn't think they’re in trouble, exactly, but he gets a job anyway. He's scanning Craigslist for part time work, but it's Brad who ends up seeing Help Wanted in the window of the car wash on Cherry Blossom, signs them both up for after school shifts.
It's not a bad job. The usual manager is complacent to such a degree that Jared creates a saga around the guy’s slow slide into zombification. "He's not dead," he tells Brad. "But the lack of brain activity tricks his body into decomposing."
"Dude," Brad says, throwing sponges against the wall to see if they'll stick. "This is why, every game Friday, you have to put on your Speedo and never even get it wet."
"His fingernails are falling out. You don't believe me?"
"Shut the fuck up." Brad points a squeegee at Jared with his free hand. "Let's wash my car again."
"Hey!" The manager rouses from his undead slumber, sticking his head out the window of the vestibule. "Wash that shitty junker again. You need to draw in some goddamn customers."
Brad salutes and Jared sighs, tugs at one of the microfiber cloths he'd stuffed down his pants.
Brad slaps a sponge against the windshield of his Buick. "Fuck," he shouts, "Are we ever fucking busy. Must be the busiest, best car wash in all of Texas."
****
Three days ago, Jared was on the couch watching When Good Pets Go Bad when his sister strolled through the front door with four of her friends.
"We rented a movie," she said.
"What movie?" Jared asked, not looking away from the screen. He knows that that elephant is going to step on the Camry. He knows it.
"A good one. Can you get out of here?"
Jared snorted. "Wow, do you not see what's on the television? Ocupado."
She'd made this angry, entitled noise in the back of her throat. "You're a child," she spit out.
Jared just sprawled bigger over the sofa, his basketball shorts riding up his thighs. That one girl, Tina, had a fat crush on him. He gestured at the TV with the remote. "Look at this. Insane, right?" he said to her.
"Oh my god," his sister said, starting to laugh out of nowhere. "Remember when you used to wet the bed because of the monster in your closet? I mean, of course you do. It was only, like, four years ago."
****
Anyway, that explains the dream. It doesn't explain why the monster in his closet looks like something out of Teen Beat now, though.
Jared has reason to believe hormones are behind that particular turn of events.
****
"Lucid dreaming," he tells Brad, "is kind of like waking up inside your dream. Like, let's say you're soaring over the Grand Canyon--"
"--or finding yourself just outside of Megan Fox's bathroom--"
"--and then you realize, 'Oh, shit, I'm dreaming. No way Megan Fox would decide I'm her desired sex object in any other scenario'--"
"--But, on the bright side, great. Because it's my dream, right? And now Megan Fox is going to feed me chicken wings."
Jared sighs. He picks out a Strawberry Shortcake novelty bar, slides the window closed on the ice box. "I don't even remember where I was going with this."
Brad shrugs, strolls slowly through the liquor aisle of the 7-11. "You had a wet dream about some hottie that lives in your closet."
"We didn't have sex," Jared says.
"Well," Brad says. "Don't waste your time whining about it. If you want me, take me."
****
The second night his closet door opens, Jared stays awake until Jensen leaves at around four. Jensen, who's real.
Jared's beyond exhausted the next day, but the secret kind of rattles around inside of him. He thinks this is what it would be like to get away with robbing a bank. The buzz under your fingernails, like your blood's running too fast for your veins, ready to burst through where the skin is thin.
Ms. Conlin splits the class into groups during Econ AP to talk about their presentations next week. Jared's chewing on his thumbnail while he looks over his notes, and Lisa Portadero slaps his hand away from his mouth and Jared looks up, surprised.
"Damn, girl," he says without stopping to think, and Lisa raises an eyebrow, says, "It's a bad habit," and Jared replies, "Is it my fault I have an oral fixation?"
After school, Brad's driving them over to the car wash, blasting, like, who knows, Rascal Flatts or some shit, and he shouts over the music, "So what's this I hear about you begging to eat out Lisa Portadero?"
Jared asks, "Do you miss your dad?"
Brad turns down the music, and rolls down the window. He resettles his cowboy hat on top of his head. "Not cool, man," he says.
"No." Jared shakes his head. "I'm not trying to shut you up. I was just--I'm wondering." He slaps Brad's chest, remembers the way Jensen had smiled out his orphan confession; the way Brad had snickered when he'd told Jared his dad had finally moved his bum ass out. Jared had just laughed back then. "Come on. You're my best friend."
Brad shrugs, readjusts the rearview mirror. "I don't know," he finally says. "I try not to think about the guy."
"Is that better?" Jared asks. "Or worse?"
Brad rolls his eyes. "It is what it is."
****
Jensen's surprisingly well-informed about the trappings of Jared's world, and when Jared asks, Jensen says, "Yeah, our energy supply depends on thousands of monsters crossing over into human homes on a nightly basis. I'd put decent money on my ability to run circles around the sum total of your world knowledge."
"Cool," Jared says. "That's not cocky at all."
Jensen grins. "Hey, I didn't think so either."
Jensen's wearing this sweater, blue and fuzzy, that looks soft to the touch, beefs him up so he looks about ten pounds heavier. It's hard to remember that he's a corporate man; someone responsible for wages, and insurance, and shit. He's not that much older than Jared, but sometimes Jared can see it. It's in his expressions, the way he smiles around words, like flashing teeth will change what they mean.
"Do you want to talk about work?" Jared asks. Because maybe he does.
"God, no," Jensen says. "Do you want to hear about work?"
"If it's on your mind," Jared says.
Jensen looks over at Jared. "Hm. Something to sleep on."
Jared wants to touch his sleeve. Ghost his hand across it. "This makes you look like Grover," he says, plucking at the sweater.
Jensen quirks his lips. “That’s sort of the point, actually. I’ve had it forever.”
Jared grins. “Big shot’s got a blankie.”
Jensen winks. “Just because I learned to hang on to the things I love.”
****
Jared picks up odd jobs around the neighborhood during the weekends. Nothing major. The first time he went around, knocking on doors, most people seemed taken aback. "I didn't think teenagers did this in real life," Mrs. Lee said.
Jared smiled, showed his palms. "Here I am."
He gets hired to mow a few lawns, clean Mr. Klinkenberg's gutters. He tutors that Grayson kid in math.
"Dude," Brad says, "we don't live in fucking Smallville."
"I like to keep busy," Jared says.
"What are you even lining your pockets for," Brad asks. "It's not like you're wining and dining any ladies.”
Jared pulls off his work gloves, one finger at a time. "What do you want me to do? Spend all my time with you down at the pool hall?"
"Yes," Brad says. "With you gone, I'm the worst player there." He spits. "What's so bad about the pool hall?"
Jared shrugs. "Nothing." He slaps his gloves against his open palm, staring off toward the sun. It's slipping down toward the horizon. "Time just...crawls."
****
One night, the door bursts open, and Jensen comes skidding through, hair mussed, tie swinging. He closes the door behind him, quick, and stays there, pressed against the door. Holding it shut.
When he finally turns back around, Jared reaches forward and flicks his tie. "What happened to your tie clip," Jared says.
Jensen holds up his hands, catching his breath. "Holy shit."
"So disheveled," Jared tuts. "Pretty unprofessional."
Jensen beams. He slaps both hands on Jared's shoulders, shakes him a little. "Dude, they are going bananas over there. I'm serious, like, into the vortex."
Jared laughs, Jensen's giddiness spilling up his edges. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
Jensen blushes, collects himself. "Um. Don't get--I just phoned in an anonymous tip saying Randall Boggs had this massive store of children's shoes, and dolls, and used Kleenex." He snorts.
Jared furrows his brow. "I don't get it."
Jensen shakes his head, holds up his hands. "No, I mean. That's like a big deal. The CDA, they shave you right down if you so much as brush against a ponytail. Decontamination involves a hose you could house Sasquatch in." His eyes go big. "And dude, Randall Boggs did not go quietly."
Jared snickers at Jensen's barely suppressed glee. "Why do you keep calling him by his full name."
"It was insane!" Jensen says. "The motherfucker's crazy. He went buckwild ninja assassin on the CDA's ass, I kid you not."
Jared smiles fondly at Jensen, both hands bracing Jensen's torso. "So you just decided you were going to call in some sort of fake bomb threat today? Were you bored?"
"Harsh," Jensen says. "You make me sound like some grade-A delinquent."
Jared raises an eyebrow.
Jensen groans. "I need some heavy cover. I'm here most nights and I don't see that changing anytime soon." He flashes an okay sign. "It's going to take me at least another week to get through Left 4 Dead."
Jared sighs. "Just take my goddamn Xbox."
Jensen jumps onto Jared's bed, stretches his legs out, crossing them at his ankles. "Boo," he says.
****
Jared has a lot of secrets, most of them secret for the reason of shame. He doesn't tell his parents that he spent forty minutes, once, trying to hack into this pay-for-porn site. He doesn't tell Brad that he deliberately wears his old Speedo because he's pretty sure he's got a decent ass.
Sometimes he wishes he could tell someone about Jensen, though. Brad's surprisingly practical; one of those kids that's always about a good time, and then you bring up the Bermuda Triangle, or imaginary friends, or religion, and he says some crazy unexpected shit: "The human brain is programmed to find patterns, buddy. Don't make something out of nothing."
Jensen's sitting right there, at the back of Jared's mouth, this bit between his teeth that he's always working. He wants to spit the name out, just say it.
One time, he says to Brad, "So you know how I dreamed about the guy in my closet?" and Brad says, "Jesus Christ, I hope you change your sheets. I sit on your bed all the damn time," and gets this 'fuck-this-again?' kind of look on his face, so. That kills it.
****
Fucking-Derek gets pulled for ripping the Speedo off a dude from Baylock. You twist a guy's balls underwater, sure, that's fair game, but you never fucking leave evidence. It's like he was asking to be benched.
"He flew too high, shone too bright," Brad says.
Jared plays decent that first game, not great, but keeps his head above water, makes the passes. Palms that ball like a motherfucker. When he gets out of the water, Serge tosses him a towel, like that's how they usually do.
Coach has his arms crossed, his hands up high in his pits. "You're skinny," he says.
****
"You're on the water polo team?" Jensen says. He dangles Jared's Speedo off one finger. "This is what you wear?"
****
Jensen can ride his last nerve, like that time he kept yapping on about Jared having a girlfriend, as if Jared wasn't allowed to have secrets from him, and Jared almost said, "Dude, like we ever talk about anything other than video games, or the shenanigans in Monstropolis." Jared's glad he kept his mouth shut, though; he likes hearing about the shenanigans in Monstropolis. Besides, Jensen already knows everything there is to know about Jared's world. He could run circles around what Jared knows.
Jensen is this whole other being, you know? Still too much like something that stepped out of a dream.
This one night, they were shooting the Axis enemy, Jared cross-legged on the bed, Jensen on his stomach next to him, and Jared got sniped. Jensen snickered, and Jared shouted, "Jesus," and tossed his controller to the floor, and let himself keel over, press his face into Jensen's back. He stayed there, nose squashed flat, the soft cotton of Jensen's shirt catching on the stubble on his chin.
"Ugh," Jensen said. "You weigh like a million pounds." But he didn't move.
That's probably when it happened. Maybe it was pheromones, who knows.
****
A lot of stuff starts snowballing at once. Coach is riding him like Jared is finally ready for market. He treads water for what feels like an eternity, arms stretched up above his head, tries to find ways to drown without Coach noticing. He's missing out on shifts at the car wash, makes it up on the weekends as best he can, and Brad starts bitching that he's fucking sick of Serge and Sherman, and that fucking-Derek can fuck a duck.
"If you want us to have some alone time," Jared says. "Just ask."
"Fuck you and your shit," Brad replies.
On top of that, Jared catches some 48-hour bug that knocks him flat. Makes him feel like a gargoyle, made to spew fluids.
He has this fever-dream, that Jensen wakes him up in the middle of the night, draws a hand across his forehead. Puts a washcloth on his head and just looks at him, real worried.
The next day he wakes up to his mom carrying in a glass of orange juice and some Tylenol. "How're you feeling today?" she asks, then she leans over and picks up a still-damp washcloth and says, "Jared Tristan, if you're well enough to throw off tender mercies, you are well enough to go to school."
He's actually well enough to put up a decent fight, but that just gets his ass sent to second period. When Lisa asks him to the Sadie Hawkins dance, he's too tired to say no.
It's probably dramatic to blame the beginning of the end on that.
****
Brad gets asked by this girl he really likes. Jared knows Brad is gone for her because they go to all three of the school choir's Christmas concerts and Katie doesn't even have a solo. Not a 'fa' to herself.
"I mean, what do you think, JT?" Brad asks. "She wears a lot of makeup, right?"
"Does it matter what I think?" Jared scrubs at the hubcaps. He grunts, wrings out the rag, then squints up at Brad. "Do you like her?"
Brad gives him the middle finger.
The dance itself isn't so bad. Serge and a bunch of the other water polo guys show up halfway through and drag Jared to the bathroom and try to get him to pound some vodka, but the last time he got drunk, Jensen put him to bed and gave him this look. Not angry or anything. More reassessing.
He'd left a note for Jensen. They were supposed to meet tonight, but there wasn't a way to get out of the dance. Lisa had already made up matching T-shirts for the both of them. But he'd made sure to say he’d be back around midnight, hoping Jensen would wait, so he takes the shot they hand him and only pretends to swallow it.
The guys think it's fucking hilarious when the alcohol goes splat on the tile. Serge throws an arm around his neck and says, "You think I'm that drunk, you slippery fuck?" but then he declares no-more-vodka-for-Jay on account of his wastefulness.
When he gets back to Lisa, she leans to one side of him to see Serge and the guys piling out of the bathroom behind him and then looks back up at Jared, tuts. "Poor baby," she says, then, "Don't worry, if you get alcohol poisoning, I promise to roll you out of my car right next to the ER."
Lisa makes Jared's Top 5 that night: she thinks Brad is hilarious, and doesn't make fun of Jared's dancing too much; she just mirrors him, laughing so hard he can hear her over the music, even there, right next to the speakers.
Towards eleven, Katie comes bursting through the crowd, grabs Lisa's wrist and beckons for Jared to follow and they weave their way to the front of a circle, in the middle of which is Brad. He's flushed red, coming to the tail end of some magnificent routine, and when he spots Katie again, he beams, points, then grips his shirt at the buttons, rips it open.
Katie screams, and Lisa is tearing up with laughter, her hair flying around her face, escaping from the sticky bonds of hairspray.
That's pretty much the end of the night, unless you count getting escorted out by the teacher-chaperones. He goes to kiss Lisa on the cheek, but he misses, lands at the corner of her lips, and she laughs again, pats his hand and says, "Next time, loverboy," before sprinting off toward her house, heels in hand.
When Jared gets home, he opens the door to his room quietly. It's late, and he wants to splash some water on his face, cool down, but he goes to his bedroom first. Jensen isn't there, though. Just Jared's baseball cap sitting on his bed. Jared could have sworn he'd left that on its hook. In its place, where it belongs.
****
He doesn't think it was a message, but he thinks about that a lot.
He wishes he'd taken a picture before he'd put the hat back. Just so he'd have some proof, so he could show it to Brad and say, "See? Who moved that, then? Who?"
****
The next few weeks, he paces his bedroom at night and learns to sleep light. The slightest creak of floorboards and he breaks awake so fast his heart hammers, jolted out of its sleepy rhythms. It gets bad.
One night, during finals week, he sits up in bed at three, grabs up his blankets and tramps down the stairs to the living room, falls asleep on the couch.
Jared hides it well, though. That's something he learns: that you can buzz through life on caffeine and activity. Serge takes the seat next to him on the bus when they're coming back from an away game, asks if he has a partner for the policy debate next month; Jared shakes his head, seizes the opportunity. Jared sees a lot more of Brad, too, these days, every spare plot of time staked out for his best friend.
Jared goes with him to the recruiter in the city. He lingers, reading some literature while Brad sits in front of a desk; then, when it seems like the meeting might stretch out for a while, he goes to the diner down the street, orders a plate of hash browns.
It's the first quiet moment he's let himself have in a while. It's getting dark, and Jared can feel how chilly it is outside, the window glass at his elbow gasping with cold.
Maybe he had needed Jensen, then. He hadn't been going through an especially hard time, really, at the beginning of the year, but it also hadn't been the golden age of his self-confidence.
Jared's not sure. He takes a mouthful of potatoes.
The bells above the door jingle, and when Jared looks over his shoulder to see, it's Brad. He waves him over, and Brad sits across from him, orders a cup of coffee.
"Since when do you drink coffee?" Jared asks.
Brad pulls off his gloves, wiggles his red fingers. "My hands are cold. You can spot me, right?"
Jared snorts, takes a long sip of his water. "How'd it go?"
Brad nods, looks around the diner, taking it in. "I don't know. Pretty good." He shrugs. "I have to talk to my mom about it."
Jared makes an affirmative noise. He shifts in his seat, the vinyl squeaking, folds over the edge of his napkin absentmindedly with one hand.
"Hey," Brad says.
Jared looks up, and Brad has this face on that Jared's never seen. Like they'd already turned him stoic.
"Are you okay?"
Jared laughs. "Yeah. What are you talking about?"
Brad looks down at the table, sucks his teeth. "Dude, come on," he says.
****
But really, what could Jared have told him?
****
Lisa starts to date this guy from UT, and Jared says to her in Econ, "Where did you even meet this guy?" and she says, "Katie," and laughs and puts a hand on his arm.
Brad starts to date Katie, and Jared gives him full permission to be in absentia--expects it, even--but Brad's still around as much as he'd been before. Maybe more.
Jared apologizes to Katie on Brad's behalf, trying to justify Brad's neglect, and she squints at him for a while before saying, "Okay."
"He doesn't really know what having a girlfriend is all about. I mean, you're his first one."
"Okay," she says.
"He really likes you," Jared says. He checks his phone, quick. He's going to be late for practice. "Really likes you."
She sighs, pulls her hair down over one shoulder. "I don't--" she starts. "I don't mean to be harsh, okay, Jared? Because, I do, I like you, and you're Brad's best friend. But please." She wraps her fingers around his wrist. "Stop worrying him soon. Okay?"
****
Saturday, at the car wash, Jared polishes up the windshield of a Mustang and says, "Brad, I'm totally fucking fine. The hump, I'm over it," and when the Mustang's owner heads over--this douche that looks the way Jared pictures Lisa's boyfriend to--Jared grins, tosses the keys over in a perfect arc, says, "Seriously, man? The car's fucking beautiful," and pockets the generous tip.
"Bitch," Brad says, laughing. "Half of that's mine."
It's a solid start, and Jared keeps it up. Calls Serge, asks for a ride out to Ikea in his truck. "I don't know, man," Serge says, "Sounds fucking boring."
"I'll pay for gas," Jared says. "You're gonna need some shit, too, dude, for school next year. How the fuck are you gonna get laid without a shower caddy?"
The trip turns out to be pretty fun. Serge goes blasting down the highway, pushing the truck past 100, rolls down the window and howls. It's strange. But Jared just tests his seatbelt, then howls, too.
They pick up boxes of ready-to-assemble furniture in the warehouse, and Serge challenges him to a deadlifting contest. Jared's pressing a boxed bookcase above his head when he loses control. It goes slamming onto the concrete floor, and Serge goes, "Oh shit," then sprints away and around the corner, and Jared shakes the shock, races after him, swallowing laughter.
Serge buys these lingonberry cookies on the way out, last minute. They pass the box back and forth on the drive home, crumbs spilling across Jared's lap. It takes a couple hours this time, because of the furniture in the truck bed. Because Serge takes the road at 75, teaching Jared to swear in Russian.
"You've got a good smile," Serge says.
****
Brad comes over. "Katie's shopping at the outlets with her mom," he says when Jared opens the door.
When they get up to Jared's room, Brad kicks the sleeping bag rolled out in front of the closet, asks, "Why the fuck are you sleeping on the floor?" then jumps onto Jared's bed. "So how's the boyfriend?"
Jared's on his knees, rolling up the sleeping bag. "What?"
"Every time I fucking call, you're out with Serge. I'm assuming that's because you're his bitch, now."
Jared tugs the ties around the rolled up bag. He sits up. "What if," he says, carefully, "what if I was?"
Brad's digging his hand down where the mattress meets the wall, looking for the TV remote. "Ah, the cocksucker tells all," he says.
"Fuck you," Jared says, and gets up to go to the bathroom.
When he comes back, Brad's sitting in Jared's desk chair, his hands linked over his stomach. "Dude," he asks. "Are you gay?"
"Fuck off," Jared says. He's scared. "Maybe," he says.
Brad stands up, and Jared can see him nervous, in the way he rocks. He cracks his knuckles, then does this strange shamble over to Jared. He takes a deep breath, then hugs Jared. He pats Jared's back, too hard. He drops his arms. "Can you be cool, now?" he asks.
Jared lets out a long 'o' of an exhale. Smiles, shaky. "Brad--" he says.
Brad flips him the bird, falls back onto Jared's bed. "So, what, are we still allowed to hang out in here with your bedroom door closed? Or is that not a good idea," he jokes.
****
Jared and Serge lose the big policy debate. Resolved: Speech and debate should find judges who are able to be unbiased, free of slants toward schools, preparatory though they may be.
Still, it's a good time, and Jared gets a pretty solid idea for a humorous interp for the next go.
He's playing water polo for a club, and Brad comes out to a game with Katie. When they win, Jared heaves himself up out of the water to talk to them, and Serge shuffles past--"I'm not running!" he yells in Coach's direction--and slaps Jared's ass.
"You get him drunk," Brad says, "and that could happen. I'm 100%."
"Please," Katie says. "One beer."
Jared ruffles his wet hair with both hands, sends water flying at the pair of them. He grins, claps his hands. "So, it's my birthday next week," he declares.
****
They go out to dinner, him and Brad and Katie and Serge and Lisa. Serge dresses up pretty nice, down to the slacks and shiny shoes, and when Jared laughs at him, Serge just adjusts his collar, says, "It's a special event."
Lisa sits down next to Jared, and after everyone's settled and studying the menus, he leans over and says, "You could have brought your boyfriend."
She just laughs, flips the pages of her menu. "What am I supposed to order at a steakhouse, Padalecki?"
When the waitress shows up to take their order, Brad stands up and says, "Wait," beckons her closer, whispering loudly, "It's his birthday!" pointing at Jared.
She aims a pretty smile at Jared. "Is that so?"
Jared blushes, nods. "Yes, ma'am."
Brad sits back down, looking pleased. "Tell her how old you're turning, JT, go on." He holds up a hand. "He's turning twenty-one!"
"Is that so?" she asks again.
Jared stares at Brad, shaking his head, smirking all the while.
"A round of celebratory drinks!" Brad declares. "The baby of the group's finally of legal drinking age."
The waitress laughs, raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to need to see some I.D.," she says.
"Oh, come on," Katie says, then squints at the waitress' name tag. "Becky, it's his birthday. Look at his pretty little twenty-one year-old face."
"Wow," Serge says.
Jared sighs, smiles up at Becky apologetically. "I'm sorry. They're a little riled up."
Lisa pats the back of Jared's hand. "Oh, JT. The perennial boy scout."
Becky tucks her pad back into her pocket. "I can bring the birthday boy cake," she says, her hand resting on the back of Jared's chair.
"To Becky!" Brad raises his water glass.
****
After dinner, they drive out to the elementary school Jared went to with Brad. They climb over the fence surrounding the field; Jared gives Katie a boost, studiously looking anywhere but up. She's wearing a skirt, and Brad whistles when he helps her down on the other side.
Serge goes sprinting across the grass, so far down he disappears into the blue of night. Lisa and Katie are arm in arm in front of him, and Brad's at his side, and when Brad stops, Jared stops, too, putting his hands in his pockets while Brad lights a joint.
When they start walking again, Jared says, "So I stopped dreaming about that guy."
Brad blows smoke, a steady stream. "The guy in your closet?" he asks.
"Yeah."
The moon's a clipping in the sky. "When?"
Jared shrugs.
His shoes are getting wet with dew, the smell of pot sweet and heavy.
"You know," Jared says. "I'm not sure he was a dream," but before Brad can reply, the girls break into a noisy run; Serge is dead ahead, on the playground, a shadow swinging, up, up, toward a low-hanging, starless sky.
He howls and Jared answers. He just throws back his head.
****
Jared gets this really great birthday present.
He'd started writing a letter when he got home. Tired, scraping at his eyes. Something he could slide under the door.
He remembers hearing, "Boo."
He remembers Jensen, shoulders tilting--like his left side was weighed down--eyes wide and blinking.
He remembers the way Jensen lifted his arms, slowly, to hug Jared back.
He remembers the rush of adrenaline, and the way it didn't leave, the way it bubbled up when Jensen said he should go, a low-grade hum the whole time they blasted through Call of Duty, every round an incentive for Jensen to stay.
He remembers saying, "You're going to come back, right?" and Jensen's nod.
Everything else is a blur.
****
He wakes up feeling off, again. He thought it'd be better. It should have been better.
"What's wrong with you?" Lisa asks during class, and Jared, he can't say he's scared, because then she'll ask, 'Of what?', and it's the same old song and dance all over again.
Brad collides into him when he's on the way to fourth period, pushes him into the lockers, and asks with his hand on Jared's chest, "You can tell when a dream's a dream, right?"
"Yes," Jared says, but he has his doubts.
Brad squints at him for while, then nods. "I'm enlisting," he says. That's bomb one.
On his way out of school, at the end of the day, he walks past Serge, flirting with this sophomore on the song team, and Serge whistles for him, beckons with a tilt of his head.
Jared raises a hand. "I gotta go.”
Serge squints at him. "I got into Brown," he calls back. He looks more Russian every day, Jared thinks, his blond hair almost white.
When he gets home, he makes himself a sandwich, eats it while he makes his bed, and shoves his dirty socks and boxers into the hamper in his closet. He thinks about hanging a bell off the doorknob. He finishes that paper he has due tomorrow. He watches two Godfather movies, and goes downstairs for dinner, takes out the trash, helps wash the dishes.
Jared could probably solve the problem of world hunger, he has so much time.
When Jensen shows up, Jared only just keeps from hugging him again. He smiles, and then Jensen says, "Hey, we should probably talk," and then says, "Maybe you could sit. If you wanted to," so Jared does and Jensen drops bomb two.
Door Two, Part Two
Jared, sometimes he feels like he's trapped in the past, his television a magical window into the future: life in the 21st century. He doesn't tell anyone this, of course. You learn to zip your lip quick.
Jared shot up the summer before his junior year and he thought this was his ticket to a life changed. He was probably going to ascend to the next level of popularity. Instead, he made varsity water polo only to watch some early-promoted sophomore take his spot as a starter.
"Look at my arm span," he said to Coach, but Coach just pursed his lips, said, "My decision stands, JT."
****
When he was researching schools, his dad never sat him down and said, "Son. You know how much I want to help you out, but." He just nods carefully when Jared rattles off statistics for schools on the coasts and GPA's of previously admitted classes and asks, "You're applying to state schools, too, though, aren't you?"
His mom is really careful about not saying too much. But sometimes, when Jared comes home too early from practice, she'll be on the phone, arguing with some creditor. "I swear to God," she'll say when she hangs up. "Co-signing for family is a fool's game."
Jared doesn't think they’re in trouble, exactly, but he gets a job anyway. He's scanning Craigslist for part time work, but it's Brad who ends up seeing Help Wanted in the window of the car wash on Cherry Blossom, signs them both up for after school shifts.
It's not a bad job. The usual manager is complacent to such a degree that Jared creates a saga around the guy’s slow slide into zombification. "He's not dead," he tells Brad. "But the lack of brain activity tricks his body into decomposing."
"Dude," Brad says, throwing sponges against the wall to see if they'll stick. "This is why, every game Friday, you have to put on your Speedo and never even get it wet."
"His fingernails are falling out. You don't believe me?"
"Shut the fuck up." Brad points a squeegee at Jared with his free hand. "Let's wash my car again."
"Hey!" The manager rouses from his undead slumber, sticking his head out the window of the vestibule. "Wash that shitty junker again. You need to draw in some goddamn customers."
Brad salutes and Jared sighs, tugs at one of the microfiber cloths he'd stuffed down his pants.
Brad slaps a sponge against the windshield of his Buick. "Fuck," he shouts, "Are we ever fucking busy. Must be the busiest, best car wash in all of Texas."
****
Three days ago, Jared was on the couch watching When Good Pets Go Bad when his sister strolled through the front door with four of her friends.
"We rented a movie," she said.
"What movie?" Jared asked, not looking away from the screen. He knows that that elephant is going to step on the Camry. He knows it.
"A good one. Can you get out of here?"
Jared snorted. "Wow, do you not see what's on the television? Ocupado."
She'd made this angry, entitled noise in the back of her throat. "You're a child," she spit out.
Jared just sprawled bigger over the sofa, his basketball shorts riding up his thighs. That one girl, Tina, had a fat crush on him. He gestured at the TV with the remote. "Look at this. Insane, right?" he said to her.
"Oh my god," his sister said, starting to laugh out of nowhere. "Remember when you used to wet the bed because of the monster in your closet? I mean, of course you do. It was only, like, four years ago."
****
Anyway, that explains the dream. It doesn't explain why the monster in his closet looks like something out of Teen Beat now, though.
Jared has reason to believe hormones are behind that particular turn of events.
****
"Lucid dreaming," he tells Brad, "is kind of like waking up inside your dream. Like, let's say you're soaring over the Grand Canyon--"
"--or finding yourself just outside of Megan Fox's bathroom--"
"--and then you realize, 'Oh, shit, I'm dreaming. No way Megan Fox would decide I'm her desired sex object in any other scenario'--"
"--But, on the bright side, great. Because it's my dream, right? And now Megan Fox is going to feed me chicken wings."
Jared sighs. He picks out a Strawberry Shortcake novelty bar, slides the window closed on the ice box. "I don't even remember where I was going with this."
Brad shrugs, strolls slowly through the liquor aisle of the 7-11. "You had a wet dream about some hottie that lives in your closet."
"We didn't have sex," Jared says.
"Well," Brad says. "Don't waste your time whining about it. If you want me, take me."
****
The second night his closet door opens, Jared stays awake until Jensen leaves at around four. Jensen, who's real.
Jared's beyond exhausted the next day, but the secret kind of rattles around inside of him. He thinks this is what it would be like to get away with robbing a bank. The buzz under your fingernails, like your blood's running too fast for your veins, ready to burst through where the skin is thin.
Ms. Conlin splits the class into groups during Econ AP to talk about their presentations next week. Jared's chewing on his thumbnail while he looks over his notes, and Lisa Portadero slaps his hand away from his mouth and Jared looks up, surprised.
"Damn, girl," he says without stopping to think, and Lisa raises an eyebrow, says, "It's a bad habit," and Jared replies, "Is it my fault I have an oral fixation?"
After school, Brad's driving them over to the car wash, blasting, like, who knows, Rascal Flatts or some shit, and he shouts over the music, "So what's this I hear about you begging to eat out Lisa Portadero?"
Jared asks, "Do you miss your dad?"
Brad turns down the music, and rolls down the window. He resettles his cowboy hat on top of his head. "Not cool, man," he says.
"No." Jared shakes his head. "I'm not trying to shut you up. I was just--I'm wondering." He slaps Brad's chest, remembers the way Jensen had smiled out his orphan confession; the way Brad had snickered when he'd told Jared his dad had finally moved his bum ass out. Jared had just laughed back then. "Come on. You're my best friend."
Brad shrugs, readjusts the rearview mirror. "I don't know," he finally says. "I try not to think about the guy."
"Is that better?" Jared asks. "Or worse?"
Brad rolls his eyes. "It is what it is."
****
Jensen's surprisingly well-informed about the trappings of Jared's world, and when Jared asks, Jensen says, "Yeah, our energy supply depends on thousands of monsters crossing over into human homes on a nightly basis. I'd put decent money on my ability to run circles around the sum total of your world knowledge."
"Cool," Jared says. "That's not cocky at all."
Jensen grins. "Hey, I didn't think so either."
Jensen's wearing this sweater, blue and fuzzy, that looks soft to the touch, beefs him up so he looks about ten pounds heavier. It's hard to remember that he's a corporate man; someone responsible for wages, and insurance, and shit. He's not that much older than Jared, but sometimes Jared can see it. It's in his expressions, the way he smiles around words, like flashing teeth will change what they mean.
"Do you want to talk about work?" Jared asks. Because maybe he does.
"God, no," Jensen says. "Do you want to hear about work?"
"If it's on your mind," Jared says.
Jensen looks over at Jared. "Hm. Something to sleep on."
Jared wants to touch his sleeve. Ghost his hand across it. "This makes you look like Grover," he says, plucking at the sweater.
Jensen quirks his lips. “That’s sort of the point, actually. I’ve had it forever.”
Jared grins. “Big shot’s got a blankie.”
Jensen winks. “Just because I learned to hang on to the things I love.”
****
Jared picks up odd jobs around the neighborhood during the weekends. Nothing major. The first time he went around, knocking on doors, most people seemed taken aback. "I didn't think teenagers did this in real life," Mrs. Lee said.
Jared smiled, showed his palms. "Here I am."
He gets hired to mow a few lawns, clean Mr. Klinkenberg's gutters. He tutors that Grayson kid in math.
"Dude," Brad says, "we don't live in fucking Smallville."
"I like to keep busy," Jared says.
"What are you even lining your pockets for," Brad asks. "It's not like you're wining and dining any ladies.”
Jared pulls off his work gloves, one finger at a time. "What do you want me to do? Spend all my time with you down at the pool hall?"
"Yes," Brad says. "With you gone, I'm the worst player there." He spits. "What's so bad about the pool hall?"
Jared shrugs. "Nothing." He slaps his gloves against his open palm, staring off toward the sun. It's slipping down toward the horizon. "Time just...crawls."
****
One night, the door bursts open, and Jensen comes skidding through, hair mussed, tie swinging. He closes the door behind him, quick, and stays there, pressed against the door. Holding it shut.
When he finally turns back around, Jared reaches forward and flicks his tie. "What happened to your tie clip," Jared says.
Jensen holds up his hands, catching his breath. "Holy shit."
"So disheveled," Jared tuts. "Pretty unprofessional."
Jensen beams. He slaps both hands on Jared's shoulders, shakes him a little. "Dude, they are going bananas over there. I'm serious, like, into the vortex."
Jared laughs, Jensen's giddiness spilling up his edges. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
Jensen blushes, collects himself. "Um. Don't get--I just phoned in an anonymous tip saying Randall Boggs had this massive store of children's shoes, and dolls, and used Kleenex." He snorts.
Jared furrows his brow. "I don't get it."
Jensen shakes his head, holds up his hands. "No, I mean. That's like a big deal. The CDA, they shave you right down if you so much as brush against a ponytail. Decontamination involves a hose you could house Sasquatch in." His eyes go big. "And dude, Randall Boggs did not go quietly."
Jared snickers at Jensen's barely suppressed glee. "Why do you keep calling him by his full name."
"It was insane!" Jensen says. "The motherfucker's crazy. He went buckwild ninja assassin on the CDA's ass, I kid you not."
Jared smiles fondly at Jensen, both hands bracing Jensen's torso. "So you just decided you were going to call in some sort of fake bomb threat today? Were you bored?"
"Harsh," Jensen says. "You make me sound like some grade-A delinquent."
Jared raises an eyebrow.
Jensen groans. "I need some heavy cover. I'm here most nights and I don't see that changing anytime soon." He flashes an okay sign. "It's going to take me at least another week to get through Left 4 Dead."
Jared sighs. "Just take my goddamn Xbox."
Jensen jumps onto Jared's bed, stretches his legs out, crossing them at his ankles. "Boo," he says.
****
Jared has a lot of secrets, most of them secret for the reason of shame. He doesn't tell his parents that he spent forty minutes, once, trying to hack into this pay-for-porn site. He doesn't tell Brad that he deliberately wears his old Speedo because he's pretty sure he's got a decent ass.
Sometimes he wishes he could tell someone about Jensen, though. Brad's surprisingly practical; one of those kids that's always about a good time, and then you bring up the Bermuda Triangle, or imaginary friends, or religion, and he says some crazy unexpected shit: "The human brain is programmed to find patterns, buddy. Don't make something out of nothing."
Jensen's sitting right there, at the back of Jared's mouth, this bit between his teeth that he's always working. He wants to spit the name out, just say it.
One time, he says to Brad, "So you know how I dreamed about the guy in my closet?" and Brad says, "Jesus Christ, I hope you change your sheets. I sit on your bed all the damn time," and gets this 'fuck-this-again?' kind of look on his face, so. That kills it.
****
Fucking-Derek gets pulled for ripping the Speedo off a dude from Baylock. You twist a guy's balls underwater, sure, that's fair game, but you never fucking leave evidence. It's like he was asking to be benched.
"He flew too high, shone too bright," Brad says.
Jared plays decent that first game, not great, but keeps his head above water, makes the passes. Palms that ball like a motherfucker. When he gets out of the water, Serge tosses him a towel, like that's how they usually do.
Coach has his arms crossed, his hands up high in his pits. "You're skinny," he says.
****
"You're on the water polo team?" Jensen says. He dangles Jared's Speedo off one finger. "This is what you wear?"
****
Jensen can ride his last nerve, like that time he kept yapping on about Jared having a girlfriend, as if Jared wasn't allowed to have secrets from him, and Jared almost said, "Dude, like we ever talk about anything other than video games, or the shenanigans in Monstropolis." Jared's glad he kept his mouth shut, though; he likes hearing about the shenanigans in Monstropolis. Besides, Jensen already knows everything there is to know about Jared's world. He could run circles around what Jared knows.
Jensen is this whole other being, you know? Still too much like something that stepped out of a dream.
This one night, they were shooting the Axis enemy, Jared cross-legged on the bed, Jensen on his stomach next to him, and Jared got sniped. Jensen snickered, and Jared shouted, "Jesus," and tossed his controller to the floor, and let himself keel over, press his face into Jensen's back. He stayed there, nose squashed flat, the soft cotton of Jensen's shirt catching on the stubble on his chin.
"Ugh," Jensen said. "You weigh like a million pounds." But he didn't move.
That's probably when it happened. Maybe it was pheromones, who knows.
****
A lot of stuff starts snowballing at once. Coach is riding him like Jared is finally ready for market. He treads water for what feels like an eternity, arms stretched up above his head, tries to find ways to drown without Coach noticing. He's missing out on shifts at the car wash, makes it up on the weekends as best he can, and Brad starts bitching that he's fucking sick of Serge and Sherman, and that fucking-Derek can fuck a duck.
"If you want us to have some alone time," Jared says. "Just ask."
"Fuck you and your shit," Brad replies.
On top of that, Jared catches some 48-hour bug that knocks him flat. Makes him feel like a gargoyle, made to spew fluids.
He has this fever-dream, that Jensen wakes him up in the middle of the night, draws a hand across his forehead. Puts a washcloth on his head and just looks at him, real worried.
The next day he wakes up to his mom carrying in a glass of orange juice and some Tylenol. "How're you feeling today?" she asks, then she leans over and picks up a still-damp washcloth and says, "Jared Tristan, if you're well enough to throw off tender mercies, you are well enough to go to school."
He's actually well enough to put up a decent fight, but that just gets his ass sent to second period. When Lisa asks him to the Sadie Hawkins dance, he's too tired to say no.
It's probably dramatic to blame the beginning of the end on that.
****
Brad gets asked by this girl he really likes. Jared knows Brad is gone for her because they go to all three of the school choir's Christmas concerts and Katie doesn't even have a solo. Not a 'fa' to herself.
"I mean, what do you think, JT?" Brad asks. "She wears a lot of makeup, right?"
"Does it matter what I think?" Jared scrubs at the hubcaps. He grunts, wrings out the rag, then squints up at Brad. "Do you like her?"
Brad gives him the middle finger.
The dance itself isn't so bad. Serge and a bunch of the other water polo guys show up halfway through and drag Jared to the bathroom and try to get him to pound some vodka, but the last time he got drunk, Jensen put him to bed and gave him this look. Not angry or anything. More reassessing.
He'd left a note for Jensen. They were supposed to meet tonight, but there wasn't a way to get out of the dance. Lisa had already made up matching T-shirts for the both of them. But he'd made sure to say he’d be back around midnight, hoping Jensen would wait, so he takes the shot they hand him and only pretends to swallow it.
The guys think it's fucking hilarious when the alcohol goes splat on the tile. Serge throws an arm around his neck and says, "You think I'm that drunk, you slippery fuck?" but then he declares no-more-vodka-for-Jay on account of his wastefulness.
When he gets back to Lisa, she leans to one side of him to see Serge and the guys piling out of the bathroom behind him and then looks back up at Jared, tuts. "Poor baby," she says, then, "Don't worry, if you get alcohol poisoning, I promise to roll you out of my car right next to the ER."
Lisa makes Jared's Top 5 that night: she thinks Brad is hilarious, and doesn't make fun of Jared's dancing too much; she just mirrors him, laughing so hard he can hear her over the music, even there, right next to the speakers.
Towards eleven, Katie comes bursting through the crowd, grabs Lisa's wrist and beckons for Jared to follow and they weave their way to the front of a circle, in the middle of which is Brad. He's flushed red, coming to the tail end of some magnificent routine, and when he spots Katie again, he beams, points, then grips his shirt at the buttons, rips it open.
Katie screams, and Lisa is tearing up with laughter, her hair flying around her face, escaping from the sticky bonds of hairspray.
That's pretty much the end of the night, unless you count getting escorted out by the teacher-chaperones. He goes to kiss Lisa on the cheek, but he misses, lands at the corner of her lips, and she laughs again, pats his hand and says, "Next time, loverboy," before sprinting off toward her house, heels in hand.
When Jared gets home, he opens the door to his room quietly. It's late, and he wants to splash some water on his face, cool down, but he goes to his bedroom first. Jensen isn't there, though. Just Jared's baseball cap sitting on his bed. Jared could have sworn he'd left that on its hook. In its place, where it belongs.
****
He doesn't think it was a message, but he thinks about that a lot.
He wishes he'd taken a picture before he'd put the hat back. Just so he'd have some proof, so he could show it to Brad and say, "See? Who moved that, then? Who?"
****
The next few weeks, he paces his bedroom at night and learns to sleep light. The slightest creak of floorboards and he breaks awake so fast his heart hammers, jolted out of its sleepy rhythms. It gets bad.
One night, during finals week, he sits up in bed at three, grabs up his blankets and tramps down the stairs to the living room, falls asleep on the couch.
Jared hides it well, though. That's something he learns: that you can buzz through life on caffeine and activity. Serge takes the seat next to him on the bus when they're coming back from an away game, asks if he has a partner for the policy debate next month; Jared shakes his head, seizes the opportunity. Jared sees a lot more of Brad, too, these days, every spare plot of time staked out for his best friend.
Jared goes with him to the recruiter in the city. He lingers, reading some literature while Brad sits in front of a desk; then, when it seems like the meeting might stretch out for a while, he goes to the diner down the street, orders a plate of hash browns.
It's the first quiet moment he's let himself have in a while. It's getting dark, and Jared can feel how chilly it is outside, the window glass at his elbow gasping with cold.
Maybe he had needed Jensen, then. He hadn't been going through an especially hard time, really, at the beginning of the year, but it also hadn't been the golden age of his self-confidence.
Jared's not sure. He takes a mouthful of potatoes.
The bells above the door jingle, and when Jared looks over his shoulder to see, it's Brad. He waves him over, and Brad sits across from him, orders a cup of coffee.
"Since when do you drink coffee?" Jared asks.
Brad pulls off his gloves, wiggles his red fingers. "My hands are cold. You can spot me, right?"
Jared snorts, takes a long sip of his water. "How'd it go?"
Brad nods, looks around the diner, taking it in. "I don't know. Pretty good." He shrugs. "I have to talk to my mom about it."
Jared makes an affirmative noise. He shifts in his seat, the vinyl squeaking, folds over the edge of his napkin absentmindedly with one hand.
"Hey," Brad says.
Jared looks up, and Brad has this face on that Jared's never seen. Like they'd already turned him stoic.
"Are you okay?"
Jared laughs. "Yeah. What are you talking about?"
Brad looks down at the table, sucks his teeth. "Dude, come on," he says.
****
But really, what could Jared have told him?
****
Lisa starts to date this guy from UT, and Jared says to her in Econ, "Where did you even meet this guy?" and she says, "Katie," and laughs and puts a hand on his arm.
Brad starts to date Katie, and Jared gives him full permission to be in absentia--expects it, even--but Brad's still around as much as he'd been before. Maybe more.
Jared apologizes to Katie on Brad's behalf, trying to justify Brad's neglect, and she squints at him for a while before saying, "Okay."
"He doesn't really know what having a girlfriend is all about. I mean, you're his first one."
"Okay," she says.
"He really likes you," Jared says. He checks his phone, quick. He's going to be late for practice. "Really likes you."
She sighs, pulls her hair down over one shoulder. "I don't--" she starts. "I don't mean to be harsh, okay, Jared? Because, I do, I like you, and you're Brad's best friend. But please." She wraps her fingers around his wrist. "Stop worrying him soon. Okay?"
****
Saturday, at the car wash, Jared polishes up the windshield of a Mustang and says, "Brad, I'm totally fucking fine. The hump, I'm over it," and when the Mustang's owner heads over--this douche that looks the way Jared pictures Lisa's boyfriend to--Jared grins, tosses the keys over in a perfect arc, says, "Seriously, man? The car's fucking beautiful," and pockets the generous tip.
"Bitch," Brad says, laughing. "Half of that's mine."
It's a solid start, and Jared keeps it up. Calls Serge, asks for a ride out to Ikea in his truck. "I don't know, man," Serge says, "Sounds fucking boring."
"I'll pay for gas," Jared says. "You're gonna need some shit, too, dude, for school next year. How the fuck are you gonna get laid without a shower caddy?"
The trip turns out to be pretty fun. Serge goes blasting down the highway, pushing the truck past 100, rolls down the window and howls. It's strange. But Jared just tests his seatbelt, then howls, too.
They pick up boxes of ready-to-assemble furniture in the warehouse, and Serge challenges him to a deadlifting contest. Jared's pressing a boxed bookcase above his head when he loses control. It goes slamming onto the concrete floor, and Serge goes, "Oh shit," then sprints away and around the corner, and Jared shakes the shock, races after him, swallowing laughter.
Serge buys these lingonberry cookies on the way out, last minute. They pass the box back and forth on the drive home, crumbs spilling across Jared's lap. It takes a couple hours this time, because of the furniture in the truck bed. Because Serge takes the road at 75, teaching Jared to swear in Russian.
"You've got a good smile," Serge says.
****
Brad comes over. "Katie's shopping at the outlets with her mom," he says when Jared opens the door.
When they get up to Jared's room, Brad kicks the sleeping bag rolled out in front of the closet, asks, "Why the fuck are you sleeping on the floor?" then jumps onto Jared's bed. "So how's the boyfriend?"
Jared's on his knees, rolling up the sleeping bag. "What?"
"Every time I fucking call, you're out with Serge. I'm assuming that's because you're his bitch, now."
Jared tugs the ties around the rolled up bag. He sits up. "What if," he says, carefully, "what if I was?"
Brad's digging his hand down where the mattress meets the wall, looking for the TV remote. "Ah, the cocksucker tells all," he says.
"Fuck you," Jared says, and gets up to go to the bathroom.
When he comes back, Brad's sitting in Jared's desk chair, his hands linked over his stomach. "Dude," he asks. "Are you gay?"
"Fuck off," Jared says. He's scared. "Maybe," he says.
Brad stands up, and Jared can see him nervous, in the way he rocks. He cracks his knuckles, then does this strange shamble over to Jared. He takes a deep breath, then hugs Jared. He pats Jared's back, too hard. He drops his arms. "Can you be cool, now?" he asks.
Jared lets out a long 'o' of an exhale. Smiles, shaky. "Brad--" he says.
Brad flips him the bird, falls back onto Jared's bed. "So, what, are we still allowed to hang out in here with your bedroom door closed? Or is that not a good idea," he jokes.
****
Jared and Serge lose the big policy debate. Resolved: Speech and debate should find judges who are able to be unbiased, free of slants toward schools, preparatory though they may be.
Still, it's a good time, and Jared gets a pretty solid idea for a humorous interp for the next go.
He's playing water polo for a club, and Brad comes out to a game with Katie. When they win, Jared heaves himself up out of the water to talk to them, and Serge shuffles past--"I'm not running!" he yells in Coach's direction--and slaps Jared's ass.
"You get him drunk," Brad says, "and that could happen. I'm 100%."
"Please," Katie says. "One beer."
Jared ruffles his wet hair with both hands, sends water flying at the pair of them. He grins, claps his hands. "So, it's my birthday next week," he declares.
****
They go out to dinner, him and Brad and Katie and Serge and Lisa. Serge dresses up pretty nice, down to the slacks and shiny shoes, and when Jared laughs at him, Serge just adjusts his collar, says, "It's a special event."
Lisa sits down next to Jared, and after everyone's settled and studying the menus, he leans over and says, "You could have brought your boyfriend."
She just laughs, flips the pages of her menu. "What am I supposed to order at a steakhouse, Padalecki?"
When the waitress shows up to take their order, Brad stands up and says, "Wait," beckons her closer, whispering loudly, "It's his birthday!" pointing at Jared.
She aims a pretty smile at Jared. "Is that so?"
Jared blushes, nods. "Yes, ma'am."
Brad sits back down, looking pleased. "Tell her how old you're turning, JT, go on." He holds up a hand. "He's turning twenty-one!"
"Is that so?" she asks again.
Jared stares at Brad, shaking his head, smirking all the while.
"A round of celebratory drinks!" Brad declares. "The baby of the group's finally of legal drinking age."
The waitress laughs, raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to need to see some I.D.," she says.
"Oh, come on," Katie says, then squints at the waitress' name tag. "Becky, it's his birthday. Look at his pretty little twenty-one year-old face."
"Wow," Serge says.
Jared sighs, smiles up at Becky apologetically. "I'm sorry. They're a little riled up."
Lisa pats the back of Jared's hand. "Oh, JT. The perennial boy scout."
Becky tucks her pad back into her pocket. "I can bring the birthday boy cake," she says, her hand resting on the back of Jared's chair.
"To Becky!" Brad raises his water glass.
****
After dinner, they drive out to the elementary school Jared went to with Brad. They climb over the fence surrounding the field; Jared gives Katie a boost, studiously looking anywhere but up. She's wearing a skirt, and Brad whistles when he helps her down on the other side.
Serge goes sprinting across the grass, so far down he disappears into the blue of night. Lisa and Katie are arm in arm in front of him, and Brad's at his side, and when Brad stops, Jared stops, too, putting his hands in his pockets while Brad lights a joint.
When they start walking again, Jared says, "So I stopped dreaming about that guy."
Brad blows smoke, a steady stream. "The guy in your closet?" he asks.
"Yeah."
The moon's a clipping in the sky. "When?"
Jared shrugs.
His shoes are getting wet with dew, the smell of pot sweet and heavy.
"You know," Jared says. "I'm not sure he was a dream," but before Brad can reply, the girls break into a noisy run; Serge is dead ahead, on the playground, a shadow swinging, up, up, toward a low-hanging, starless sky.
He howls and Jared answers. He just throws back his head.
****
Jared gets this really great birthday present.
He'd started writing a letter when he got home. Tired, scraping at his eyes. Something he could slide under the door.
He remembers hearing, "Boo."
He remembers Jensen, shoulders tilting--like his left side was weighed down--eyes wide and blinking.
He remembers the way Jensen lifted his arms, slowly, to hug Jared back.
He remembers the rush of adrenaline, and the way it didn't leave, the way it bubbled up when Jensen said he should go, a low-grade hum the whole time they blasted through Call of Duty, every round an incentive for Jensen to stay.
He remembers saying, "You're going to come back, right?" and Jensen's nod.
Everything else is a blur.
****
He wakes up feeling off, again. He thought it'd be better. It should have been better.
"What's wrong with you?" Lisa asks during class, and Jared, he can't say he's scared, because then she'll ask, 'Of what?', and it's the same old song and dance all over again.
Brad collides into him when he's on the way to fourth period, pushes him into the lockers, and asks with his hand on Jared's chest, "You can tell when a dream's a dream, right?"
"Yes," Jared says, but he has his doubts.
Brad squints at him for while, then nods. "I'm enlisting," he says. That's bomb one.
On his way out of school, at the end of the day, he walks past Serge, flirting with this sophomore on the song team, and Serge whistles for him, beckons with a tilt of his head.
Jared raises a hand. "I gotta go.”
Serge squints at him. "I got into Brown," he calls back. He looks more Russian every day, Jared thinks, his blond hair almost white.
When he gets home, he makes himself a sandwich, eats it while he makes his bed, and shoves his dirty socks and boxers into the hamper in his closet. He thinks about hanging a bell off the doorknob. He finishes that paper he has due tomorrow. He watches two Godfather movies, and goes downstairs for dinner, takes out the trash, helps wash the dishes.
Jared could probably solve the problem of world hunger, he has so much time.
When Jensen shows up, Jared only just keeps from hugging him again. He smiles, and then Jensen says, "Hey, we should probably talk," and then says, "Maybe you could sit. If you wanted to," so Jared does and Jensen drops bomb two.
Door Two, Part Two