When You Came Out Of The Dark 1/3
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3k (for this part)
Warnings and kinks: No real kinks in this part, warnings for description of injuries, bruises, PTSD.
Summary: Jensen doesn't really know why he told the guy who'd been basically harassing him that he'd go out with him. And now they're at the opening night for some circus freak show that the guy seems to think qualifies as a proper date location. Jensen's just itching to leave until they enter a room where the 'freak' on display is a winged man, beaten and bruised. Jensen can't seem to get the man out of his head.
Disclaimer: I don't own Jensen, Jared, or anyone else. This is fiction.
This was originally written for this prompt over on the spn kink meme (the prompt contains major spoilers for this fic).
Jensen checked his watch again. 7:58. The guy was now a solid 28 minutes late. Jensen sighed and flipped his coat collar up, watching his breath curl into the crisp night air. October was coming to a close and Jensen wondered if the guy - Gary, Jensen reminded himself - was going to take him somewhere Halloween themed. He hoped not. He figured, worst case scenario, he’d have to sit through a bad movie and mind numbingly boring dinner conversation. Jensen couldn’t believe he’d let Danneel talk him into going on this date. The guy - Gary - had been dropping hints about as subtle as an anvil for the past month and a half even though Jensen had done his best to make it clear he wasn’t interested. And then Danneel had to go and practically blackmail Jensen into accepting this pointless date that couldn’t possibly lead anywhere.
“Jensen!” Jensen turned and saw Gary waving him over from a cab. “Get in, we’re gonna be late!”
Jensen rolled his eyes - whose fault was that? - but got in the car.
“So. Where are we going?” Jensen asked, trying to sound excited.
“I can’t tell you that, it’s a surprise!” Gary somehow made a simple sentence sound sleazy. Maybe it was the wink.
It certainly was a surprise. The cab wound its way to the edge of the city, into a packed parking lot, to the front of an outdoor venue with flashing lights proclaiming: “One Week Only! The Colt Circus! One Week Only!”
“Circus?” Jensen asked, raising one eyebrow. At least it was original. Gary just grinned. Jensen tried not to shudder.
They bought tickets (Jensen insisted on buying his own; no need to give the guy any more ideas than he clearly already had) and entered through a strangely narrow and dark hallway that opened into a large, open area. This wasn’t really like any circus Jensen had ever seen before (granted, he hadn’t seen many). Rather than having one stage encircled by the audience, this circus consisted of a series of cages and stages arranged in a circle, the center of which was filled with people milling around, cotton candy and popcorn in hand. Gary excitedly tugged Jensen toward one of the cages, which Jensen was somewhat horrified to see contained an actual lion.
“Isn’t that illegal?” Jensen muttered, not thinking Gary could hear him.
“Probably,” Gary replied uncaringly. Great. The guy really had absolutely no redeeming qualities. Jensen let himself be pulled from cage to cage, vaguely trying not to let his boredom show. It appeared there were two kinds of exhibits: animals and people. The animals all looked miserable. The people, on the other hand, seemed to be naturally gifted performers. Unfortunately, their performances mostly involved lifting dubiously heavy weights and wearing facial hair not commonly seen on members of their gender. When it seemed they’d finally completed the circle, Jensen opened his mouth to suggest they leave.
“Look at this! A winged man!” Gary exclaimed, pointing to an arrow-shaped sign pointing to a tent slightly outside the main circle. Jensen sighed and followed Gary. One more sad, caged creature wasn’t going to kill him.
The tent was oddly stuffy inside, somehow too warm. Jensen was surprised to see that he and Gary were the only spectators there. A cage stood in the very center of the tent, and inside knelt a man. This man, unlike the people displayed in the exhibits outsider, was not performing. In fact, he didn’t appear to be doing anything. He was kneeling, stringy brown hair covering his eyes, wings crooked around his body, presumably to cover it. There was a large bruise along the ribs clearly visible in his back, and another spreading along his shoulder blade. As Jensen followed Gary in circling the cage, he saw the heavy shackles around the man’s ankles.
“He’s more impressive when he stands. You want me to make him stand?” The small dark haired man seemed to materialize from the shadows.
“No-”
“Yeah! I bet it’s big, doesn’t it look big Jensen?” Gary interrupted Jensen’s No thank you and Jensen gritted his teeth and held his tongue.
The small man grinned, then picked up a knobby wooden cane and knocked against the cage.
“Stand up, Tweety. C’mon, the people wanna see you. Stand up! Don’t want me to use this, do you?” At that, the winged man started moving. He slowly, gingerly got to his feet, visibly wincing when his back straightened.
“I’m Sheppard, by the way. This one only listens to me,” the small man said with a malicious grin, before turning back to the cage.
“Wings too! Come on!” Sheppard’s voice was somehow simultaneously cajoling and threatening, and it set Jensen’s teeth on edge. Then the man straightened his wings. He had bruises in various stages of discoloration on his arms, legs, and torso. Several gashes marred his stomach and chest, which Jensen noted were perfectly sculpted. He wore a sort of loincloth, which Jensen gueesed was supposed to look angelic. Maybe it would have if it were clean. The winged man didn’t lift his eyes from the floor, but his wings stretched behind him, as much as they could in the limited space. Jensen could see many of the brown feathers were bent or crooked, and his fingers itched to smooth them down.
“Wanna touch them?” Sheppard asked Jensen, clearly having noticed him staring. He prodded the left wing with the cane. The wing flinched back. Jensen was about to insist that they leave, wanting no part in the torture of this poor stranger, when a group of middle aged men and women stumbled into the tent. He fell back as they oohed and aahed over the winged man, meaning to tell Gary he wanted to leave, when he realized Gary was right up against the cage along with the rest of them. They were all reaching in, trying to grab at the man’s wings. The man curled himself into a corner of the cage, covering himself with his wings and trying to make himself smaller. It would have been funny, this ridiculously tall man trying to seem small, if it weren’t so incredibly sad. Jensen wanted to say something, wanted to stop everyone from trying to pet the man like an animal, but couldn’t seem to find his voice.
Sheppard was unlocking the cage, and Jensen breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. The winged man (Jensen refused to think of him as Tweety) looked like he needed to get out of that cage. He looked like he hadn’t left it in days, in fact. Jensen felt sick as he realized that could very well be true. He felt even sicker when he saw that Sheppard had put down the cane in favor of another pair of shackles. Jensen looked away, though he couldn’t block out the clinking of heavy chains and the tittering and whispering of the spectators. His eyes fell on a small, tarnished plaque at the base of the cage. It read The Fallen Angel in flowing script, and under it, in plain capital letters, “LUCY”. Jensen glanced back up at the man. He certainly didn’t look like a “Lucy”, but then, what were the chances of that being his real name? Maybe the plaque was left over from a previous inhabitant.
The lack of clanking chains and the suddenly quiet crowd pulled Jensen back to the present. The winged man, “Lucy”, was chained to a large table, chest pressed against the wood, wings strapped down with leather. Jensen couldn’t understand why Sheppard had put him in this position at first, as the wings were far less impressive restrained this way, but they he saw the eager hands creeping toward the ruffled brown feathers. They were petting him. Not like someone would pet a dog, no, this wasn’t intended to produce any pleasure in the creature before them. The crowd poked and prodded the wings, gasping when they jerked away. One man kept tugging on the smaller feathers at the edge of the wing, as if hoping he could wrench them out. Jensen heard a pained groan and realized it was coming from “Lucy”.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” Jensen physically removed Gary from the group of people, dragging him out the door. He couldn’t stop himself from throwing one look back over his shoulder. There were at least twelve hands on Lucy’s wings, grabbing, rubbing, pulling, but Jensen couldn’t seem to wrench his gaze away from the man’s face. His hair still covered his eyes, and yet... And yet Jensen could swear the man was staring right at him.
“Thought you wanted to get out of here,” Gary whispered in Jensen’s ear, hot breath repulsing him almost as much as the way Gary pressed against him.
“Yeah,” Jensen said shortly, finally turning away. He was distracted for the duration of the cab ride, even letting Gary slide a hand along his thigh and murmur in his ear. Jensen couldn’t hear or feel a thing anyway; he was lost in thoughts of bruised and scraped skin, chained ankles, and wrecked wings. After firmly telling Gary that he could find his way from the cab to his apartment, he found himself under a scalding hot shower, forehead pressed to the tiles, one hand inching its way slowly down his stomach. This wasn’t exactly a novel way to end a bad date night, but Jensen froze when he realized the images in his head weren’t of his favorite underwear model, but of “Lucy” bent over a table, spread in front of him. Jensen fumbled with the tap, turning the water ice cold and dunking his head directly under it. Unpleasant, but effective.
By the time he went to bed, he was achingly hard again, despite trying to think of anything other than brown wings and that long, too lean body.
***
It hit Jensen the next morning. He was standing in front of the fridge, going over every curve and dip of Lucy’s body in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, when he realize just how thin the man had seemed. He wasn’t quite emaciated, but he looked unnaturally scrawny, particularly for a man his height. Jensen’s mind was made up about five seconds after that realization. He didn’t have to work Saturdays anyway, and missing a workout wouldn’t kill him.
The circus looked smaller in the light of day. Dirtier, too. Jensen walked in as casually as he could, smiling at the woman who sold him his ticket, nodding at the man gathering trash from the night before. It was open, but there were only a few other people wandering around. Jensen found his way to Lucy’s tent easily enough, and loitered around the entrance, trying to discern if there was anyone inside. The only sound was a soft rustling, like dry leaves in the wind. Jensen ducked into the tent.
Lucy was kneeling again. His ankles were shackled, and this time, so were his wrists. There was a bowl in front of him, half full of water. Jensen approached slowly, first circling the cage to where Lucy could see him if he looked up.
“Hey,” Jensen said, as softly as he could. Lucy flinched with his entire body, chin curling further toward his chest, shoulders hunching, wings curling protectively around his body. Jensen knelt before the cage. He dug through his bag and brought out one of the sandwiches he’d brought, and slowly extended his arm through the cage bars. At first there was no response, but eventually Lucy’s wings unfurled from around his body, and his head tilted up fractionally. Jensen heard a small gasp when Lucy’s gaze must have landed on the food. A large dirty hand shot out, then stopped a foot away from the sandwich, and pulled back to drop in Lucy’s lap. Jensen’s heart ached a little.
“It’s okay. Take it, it’s for you,” Jensen whispered. Through the the curtain of brown hair between them, he swore he could almost make out a wide eyed stare. Jensen placed the sandwich as close as he could to Lucy and slowly backed away. This really was starting to feel like trying to interact with a wild animal, but Jensen had no trouble remembering that this was a person kneeling before him. Lucy finally took the sandwich with trembling hands, body visibly tensed as though awaiting a blow. Jensen held as still as he could and Lucy finally brought the food to his mouth. As soon as the sandwich touched his lips, he seemed to forget all about Jensen, and ate as though he hadn’t seen food in days. Jensen tried hard not to think that it might be true.
The sandwich disappeared in a shockingly short amount of time, and Jensen repeated the procedure with another one, with a whispered "Try to eat it slow, okay?", and a water bottle. He opened it for Lucy, as the man’s hands were still trembling. Jensen tensed with anticipation when Lucy tilted his head back to drink, revealing a face that made Jensen rethink the symbolic nature of the epithet “Fallen Angel”. Even the yellowing bruise along one cheekbone and the slightly swollen cut on his lower lip couldn’t detract from the man’s beauty. Jensen waited for Lucy to open his eyes, to finally meet his gaze, but he didn’t get so much as a glimpse before the brown, stringy hair once again blocked his view. Jensen stifled his disappointment, and unthinkingly reached to take the water bottle from Lucy’s loose grip. Every muscle in the man’s body seemed to tense at once, standing out in clear definition. His wings, though... Jensen hadn’t noticed before, but his wings were strapped to the bars of the cage, and as Lucy panicked, his wings wrenched at the leather straps. The straps tore, and the brown wings came forward to arch threateningly above the kneeling man. Although still cramped by the cage’s confines, they seemed far more impressive with each feather standing on end, a display of power of which Jensen hadn’t thought Lucy was capable. The wings only stayed up for a moment before Lucy made himself as small as possible again, wings folded around himself, head bowed, limbs tucked in.
“Sorry,” Jensen whispered. He stayed silent, unmoving, as the seconds stretched into minutes. Finally, just as Jensen was losing feeling in his legs, Lucy slowly stretched out his hand, the bottle held out like a peace offering. Jensen took it from him gently, resisting the urge to brush his fingers along the proffered hand. He tucked the bottle away and waited, but Lucy didn't move, aside from the fine tremor that seemed constant.
"Can you leave?" Jensen asked, almost without meaning to. Lucy didn't seem to have heard, and Jensen was tempted to repeat himself, but waited instead, not wanting to seem pushy. Finally, the man's shaggy brown head shook minutely. No. Jensen had suspected as much, but now that he was faced with the reality of the situation, it seemed overwhelmingly bleak.
Jensen sat like that, unmoving, a distorted mirror of the man before him, until he heard voices and footsteps outside the tent drawing nearer.
"I'll be back. I promise, okay. I'll come back," he whispered urgently, before getting to his feet, knees protesting, and stumbled out of the tent and back to his life.
Except his life seemed different. He'd driven to the circus, and his car seemed so safe and clean compared to the torture device he'd finally recognized the cage to be. His car was large enough that Lucy's wings would probably fit, possibly cramped, but still. Jensen tried to make himself stop thinking along those lines, and spent the afternoon working out and performing the most mindless tasks possible. It was perhaps not the best plan, as his mind seemed intent on wandering back to Lucy's nearly-naked body and and gentle, giant hands every chance it got. When Jensen finally fell asleep that night, it was after hours of tossing and turning, struggling to keep his mind blank and his hands from wandering.
Jensen arrived at the circus too early the next day, and had to wait an hour before the doors opened. He had to stop himself from running directly to Lucy's cage, instead making a quick circuit of the other exhibits, trying to look like he was taking a casual Sunday stroll. When he finally let himself walk into the tent, the relief that slammed into him was almost palpable. He could feel the tension draining out of him, and he sighed before dropping to his knees before the cage.
Jensen watched Lucy consume two large cheeseburgers with avid fascination. When Lucy was done, he accepted the water bottle and gulped down its contents. Jensen tried not to stare at Lucy’s long exposed neck, throat working, draining the water in two long pulls. He expected Lucy to place the water bottle on the floor between them, but flushed with pleasure when it was extended toward him, small in Lucy’s large hand. This time, Jensen dared to sweep one finger along the edge of Lucy’s thumb, and tensed, waiting for the inevitable recoil. It never came. Instead, a long, dirty finger stroked the back of Jensen’s wrist for a moment, before slipping away. Jensen was left breathless, and feeling somewhat ridiculous for it. He was a grown man, and yet the softest brush of skin had him practically swooning.
That evening, in the shower, Jensen didn’t even bother trying not to picture Lucy as he let his hand drift down. Images of strong thighs and big hands whirled through his mind as he stroked his already hard cock. His hand was slick with soapy water and it didn’t take long before he was gasping and coming.
***
Part II