3 Bedrooms & Me

[jojothecr]

Fandom: Supernatural RPS

Characters: Jensen/Jared

Wordcount: 7,652

Summary: Around Season 2. Jensen's got a new place and Jared's helping him to move in. Jared's in love, and Jensen might be, too, but he believes in God and gay love doesn't go too well with that...

Warning: A bit of blood (grater + cheese + fingers... but it's not that bad) and over-caring Jared

Beta: whitereflection  (Thanks a lot!)

A/N: I, honestly, don't really know what this is. It, once again, sounded so much better in my head...

3 Bedrooms & Me

Kicking the door closed with the sole of his foot and a bang loud enough to make him nearly jump, Jared sets the box he’s carrying next to the other cardboard boxes already lined along the wall in the hallway. There aren’t nearly as many of them as he had expected. Or as the last time he was moving someone, somewhere.

“Last one,” he announces, suppressing a groan as he straightens his back, his spine cracking and aching. He closes his eyes and sighs, relaxing for a moment and breathing in the early-evening air.

The windows are open wide, and so is the door of the terrace, but the scent of the apartment is stronger. It smells unknown, yet warm. Of newness and fresh paint and wood, and melted cheese and vegetable from the frozen pizza Jensen had shoved into the oven a couple of minutes ago.

“Thanks,” Jensen calls back. His voice is quiet, muffled by the distance and a few walls, and Jared would swear he can distinguish a sting of pain in there. He wonders what, and where, Jensen’s managed to hurt himself this time.

“Where are you?”

“The kitchen.”

Nice info, indeed. However a map would be definitely more useful.

It’s not like Jared’s at Jensen’s new apartment for the first time, but it’s not the tenth either, and he really tends to get lost. No matter the place isn’t exactly big and has, in fact, only three bedrooms.

“The nearest hallway to the left,” Jensen guides like he knows. And of course he does; he knows everything. Well, almost everything.

Following Jensen’s instructions, Jared enters the large, bright kitchen and freezes right on the threshold at the sight that greets him. “Nice,” he grinds out through his teeth, willing his stomach to stay in place.

They’re both well used to the smell and taste of artificial blood, so the fragrance of the real one is always unpleasantly surprising.

Jensen stands at the sink, the water’s running and so is his blood, angry red and thicker. There’s an abandoned grater on the kitchen unit and a block of cheese, partly grated. Locus delicti and corpus delicti in one place, C.S.I. would be excited.

“I wanted to add more cheese,” Jensen explains, looking at Jared with a pain-stricken face. “You like cheese.”

Stepping closer, Jared tries not to look at the drops of blood trailing from the cheese and over the kitchen counter all the way to where Jensen’s hunched. He doesn’t look especially good. His cheeks are flushed from heat, but otherwise he’s pale, almost green, and his hand violently shakes with anguish. Only Jensen is talented enough to cut his fingers on something as normal as a grater.

“Cheese, yes,” Jared agrees, wrapping his fingers around Jensen’s wrist lightly to examine the dripping wounds. “Not blood.”

Four of Jensen’s fingers are grazed right above the nail beds, nearly straight to the bone, tiny pieces of skin missing. Heavy beads of blood trickle down his forearm and over Jared’s knuckles, and, God, the cuts look fucking painful.

“Sorry,” Jensen says, gazing up at Jared guiltily, like he’s sure that Jared’s gonna blame him that he did it on purpose. It’s nonsense, of course, although it completely stole Jared’s appetite and that is something he may want to punch Jensen for later. Not now though.

Right now, Jensen looks like a five-year old fallen off a bike. Or bitten by a neighbor’s Rottweiler that seemed like a cute, little puppy just a minute ago. Surprised and disappointed, and being mean to him would be really...well, mean. His eyes are dark, startlingly green from this close and every single one of his damn freckles is underlined, stark contrast to his otherwise pale skin.

Jared likes making fun of Jensen and his freckles, but only because he knows it’s driving him insane. Because Jensen hates them. A lot. He’s cursing whoever of his progenitors mixed this tiny nucleotide into his DNA cocktail. Jared, on the other hand, is very fond of them. Not only because they’re like the most freakishly adorable thing he’s seen, but also because they remind him of stars. He’s found the Cassiopeia on Jensen’s cheek already. Slightly crooked, true, but Cassiopeia nevertheless. And he’s determined to discover more of the constellations he knows. So he tries. And stares. Often.

“Tell me something,” Jared says as he leans over the counter, grabbing the dish cloth that is unpacked only because Jensen was looking for a pizza knife. He found many things, some very useful and some less so. The knife wasn’t one of them.

“How come you always manage to hurt yourself? Is it some special training you’ve taken or what?” He cuts off the water and wraps the cloth around Jensen’s hand, pressing it firmly against the wounds. Jensen hisses, but he doesn’t jerk his hand away, just slightly staggers backward against Jared’s chest.

“It’s talent,” he replies seriously, sounding quite like Ed when he had said it back in episode seventeen. “You know? Sheer, unabashed talent.”

“Must be… Hey, here, sit down.” He leads Jensen towards the closest chair and then heads to find some band-aids, possibly bandages. He ceases once he realizes that they’re not at his house, but in Jensen’s fairly empty apartment, and that he has no idea where to find such stuff. “Is there a first aid kit?”

“Maybe the… bathroom?” Jensen tries, looking just as confused and clueless as Jared. Really helping.

“Right… Uhm--?”

“Second door on the right. Should I install some traffic signs for you here?”

“I’ll get it, I swear,” Jared promises before he disappears into the corridor. “Eventually. One day.”

“Your house is at least five times bigger!” Jensen yells after him, and it’s kind of sad that he’s absolutely right.

Jared comes back bare five minutes later with peroxide, a packet of band-aids and a bandage roll. And a bump on the top of his head he decides not to mention. Someone should have warned him that certain ceilings in this apartment were designed only for midgets.

“I heard a dull thud,” Jensen notes.

Jensen, who’s no longer where Jared had seated him, but kneeling on the floor in the corridor, unpacking. At least his right hand is still hidden in the firm hold of the dish cloth.

“Hope it wasn’t the ceiling. It totally looks like they had run out of the bricks right there.”

“I noticed,” Jared utters, dropping down beside Jensen.

Jensen sighs and sits down onto his hunches. “Man, I’m sorry. I forgot to warn you.”

“It’s fine. No concussion of the brain, no gash in my skull. I’m strongly believing that I’m gonna live.”

Jensen spares him an intense, doubtful look. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” Jared nods with a smile, reaching for Jensen’s provisionally nursed hand. “What about you?”

“’S good,” Jensen declares, at which Jared raises his eyebrow threateningly.

Because he’s just tugged the dish cloth away and exposed Jensen’s bloodied fingers. The dark liquid is smeared all over Jensen’s skin, mostly dried but partly still wet, so it’s hard to tell how bad it actually is. Jared soaks one tail of the dish cloth with peroxide and cleans the cuts with gentle dabs until there are just tiny drops of blood welling up from the wounds anew. It's definitely not pretty, but nothing that would need stitches or that wouldn't fade away in a matter of a few weeks. Though maybe there'll be some scars.

“You want me to wrap it up?” Jared asks, breaking the silence that had fallen during the last few minutes. He hadn't talked since he had to concentrate, and Jensen was just too busy watching to speak up."

“Just put on the band-aid. It looks far worse than it actually is.”

“You sure?” Jared frowns in disagreement, lifting Jensen’s hand up to inspect it from up close, eying his work critically. He thinks that the cuts would deserve a bit more care than Jensen requires. Sure, it’s not exactly a life threatening injury, but Jensen’s fingers still tremble too much and he’s still way too pale. “Because it looks pretty bad from where I’m sitting.”

“You just like to exaggerate,” Jensen objects, struggling to pull his hand away. Jared holds tight though.

“Maybe I should kiss it better,” Jared proposes with a grin, expecting Jensen to kick him or punch him for such lame jests.

“Maybe you should,” Jensen returns though, and Jared’s breath sort of hitches.

It was meant to be a joke, nothing more, and Jared wasn’t truly thinking about doing it, but Jensen catches his eyes and the way his gaze darkens, the challenge and anticipation reflected in there, steals every funny part out of that suggestion. Suddenly, it doesn’t sound a bit like a joke anymore.

Never being the one to fall back from dares or prank wars, Jared returns Jensen’s look and, holding it, leans in. He brushes his lips over Jensen’s knuckles, feeling heat and damaged skin, tasting bitterness and copper.

Jensen’s eyes widen comically in surprise and Jared wants to laugh. The next second Jensen stands up, so abruptly he nearly trips over his own feet, and stammers, “I don’t… I-I’m not sure I turned the stove off.” And Jared doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

Jensen walks away, but to Jared it seems like he’s running away, fleeing, and pretty panicked, too.

Jared sighs and moves to lean his back against the wall, stretching his legs in front of him. He feels scared and somewhat betrayed. And he thinks that he should probably go, but then he’d be the one running away and that could make the situation even more awkward. So he stays where he is and waits.

“I did turn it off,” Jensen says a moment later, walking into the corridor and carrying the pizza right on the metal pan.

He sounds like he doesn’t remember what happened just a while ago, or like he simply doesn’t want to go back there, and Jared figures he truly managed to shake off his rejected expression and wills himself to relax. Jensen obviously acknowledges one simple rule: ignore, pretend, deny, and he follows it well, in the best Winchester style. Dean would be proud.

“You see any ‘Kitchen’ one?” Jensen asks, looking at the boxes lined up beside Jared.

“No,” Jared replies, which might be only because he’s turned almost all the boxes the wrong way so Jensen’s neat handwriting is nowhere to be seen. Smart move.

“Guess we’re gonna have to tear the pizza apart.”

“You know, man… Jensen, I don’t--I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“What?” Jensen inquires curiously, appearing to be utterly confused. To Jensen’s credit, Jared must admit that he doesn’t refuse food often. Or more like never. “Why not?”

Jared reaches his hand towards Jensen and strokes the skin above his fingers, raising his eyebrow meaningfully. It takes barely a second before Jensen gets the hint.

“Oh. Right, I’m…” He eyes the pizza intently, critically. “But I can assure you there’s absolutely no blood on the pizza.”

“I can assure you it doesn’t make it much better. Not right now… Maybe later, okay?”

“Okay.” Jensen looks at the pizza again, regretfully, and sighs, “Fair enough.”

“Anyway, come here.” Jared pats the space beside him and reaches for the box of the band-aids. “I’d like to finish my awesome nursing attempts, please.”

Jensen nods with a little amused smile and drops down on the floor beside Jared, setting the metal pan onto the closest box. On the side of it is written ‘Bedroom’, and Jared tries real hard to steer the stream of his thoughts away from there, and fast, because every sentence containing the words ‘Bedroom’ and ‘Jensen’ dangerously close to each other have been making strange things happening to his insides lately. It’s pathetic really.

He tears the wrapping off a band-aid and reaches for Jensen’s hand, placing it on his knee. There are new, thin drops of blood oozing from the cuts. “Can you explain to me how come it’s bleeding again?”

“I think it’s ketchup. Or the whatever-they-call-it. From the pizza,” Jensen objects seriously, scowling at his fingers almost reproachfully. “Yeah, it’s the whatever-they-call-it.”

Jared has to laugh at Jensen’s silly explanations, because that’s just typical Jensen. He’s definitely not a hypochondriac. He’s actually the exact opposite, which isn’t always good. “It’s not the whatever-they-call-it,” Jared replies with a chuckle.

~ o ~

“This place is damn nice,” Jared mumbles around a mouthful of nearly cold, overflowing-with-vegetables pizza half an hour later. There are probably more pieces of red and green peppers and slices of tomatoes that he’s dropped onto his jeans and the floor than what have stayed on the pizza, and it’s all Jensen’s fault. He's the one who’s been absolutely crazy for the extra vegetable one lately. He claims he’s having a vegetarian phase, but Jared thinks he’s only trying to balance the amounts of the horrible junk food Dean swallows on Jensen’s credit with something healthier. “You know that?”

“Huh-uh,” Jensen responds, fighting with a piece of baked and a bit too dry dough himself. He sits cross-legged across from Jared, unpacking boxes in his own peculiar style. That means he pulls everything out, lays it out around him and when he discovers there’s nothing that he was looking for, puts everything back inside. It looks incredibly practical.

The sun’s setting down behind him slowly, bathing the whole horizon and the living room in a scale of various colors, from all shades of fire and smoke, and over pure blue to inky, almost black. Jensen looks like he’s glowing in the light. His hair, even his eyelashes, seems golden, and there’s an aurora of red on his bared arms and the tips of his black All Star sneakers. Jared tries not to stare, not to get distracted, although he’s already managed to forget what he was talking about. Almost.

“I mean, I know that basically anything is better than a motel room, but this is actually… pretty.”

It’s a studio apartment, with large roof windows that allow direct sunlight to pour in, and Jared doubts this place is exactly comfortable when the real summer heat strikes, but right now it’s just beautiful. There are only a few doors, but a lot of partition walls that divide the spacious apartment into three rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen, and a big closet where Jensen’s currently parking his bike.

Looking from the window above them where the first stars are starting to rise, shining strong enough to be visible even through the Vancouver city lights, Jared glances down at Jensen, who’s still staring up there.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods. “Yeah, it is. It’s nice. It’s… great. It actually reminds me of the tree house we built with Josh one summer. Would you believe it’s still standing?”

“A tree house?” Jared repeats, slightly confused, not really following the path of Jensen’s associations. This doesn’t look like a tree house to him.

“Yeah, you know… All the space and light. Only a few necessary walls. All the wood around.” He looks at Jared as if to see if he understands. “It feels airy, not like a damn cubicle.”

“Oh, okay… I see your point now. So which one of you was Jane? Oh, no, let me guess, you were Cheetah.”

Jensen gives him an unimpressed ‘oh, please’ look, and snorts, “We didn’t play Tarzan… We just wanted to have a house in the trees. A place just for us… And it was great. We got real close with Josh… I mean, we had always been close, but that was when he was starting to stay with his own friends, going out, leaving me with ‘Kenzie and this brought us back together.” He pauses, then laughs. “He nearly crushed his thumb with a hammer a few times. And I fell down once the house was finished and broke my leg in two places, so I couldn’t get there for the next six weeks, but it was… great.” He’s got this distant, dreamy expression on his face, as though he’s literally looking back into the past, and it’s like a punch into the guts again how pretty, how beautiful he is.

“So you’ve always been this talented,” Jared comments.

He licks his fingers, trying to get rid of the tomato sauce and other remains of the pizza, then jerks, startled, when Jensen throws a roll of paper towels at him.

He pulls himself to his feet and raises his arms above his head, stretching his muscles and bones that painfully crack. “I guess I should go.”

Jensen lifts his head from the contents of a larger box titled ‘Bathroom’ and looks up at Jared. “Where? Uh… why? I thought you’d stay longer. Maybe for the night?”

Jared can’t help himself, he has to. He leans forward and tilts his head to the side, measuring Jensen teasingly, “Are you scared to spend the first night here alone?"

“I’m… not scared,” Jensen replies, a little too hesitantly, and the way he wriggles, causing the rubber soles of his shoes to squeak on the floating floor, doesn’t make his words sound especially convincing.

“Hey, I think it’s absolutely normal if you’re scared. Or nervous,” Jared starts seriously, moving through the corridor and inspecting everything from up close.

There are no curtains, anywhere, which gives the place a cold taste of inhospitality, only underlined by the falling darkness outside. It’s strange how alive and warm it seemed to be in the sunlight compared to the melancholy, nearly depressive mood of now.

And perhaps it’s not even the apartment. Perhaps all that is only inside of Jared, when he imagines coming back into his house. Dark and empty, smelling of time elapsed and gone, and memories that haven’t been only memories for that long to be nothing but just that, remembrances. They seemed to be permanent and real once, but now nothing seems to be more existent than Jensen and all the emotions he’s awoken in Jared, without knowing. Without trying to.

Jared shakes his head to chase away these thoughts and forces himself to go on with his rambling. He doesn’t even care if he makes some sense at all. He just needs an out from his mind and nothing works better than endless talking.

“It’s a new place, sure, so no one actually managed to die here. Not yet anyway. But you never know what might be lying underneath. Maybe there’s some ritual graveyard or something. Maybe there are some hidden energies, some remains, and lost souls and ghosts wandering ‘round.”

Jensen’s reaction to Jared’s philosophical commentary is priceless. He stares at him as though he’s convinced that Jared’s just lost his mind, although it’s Jensen who appears to be a few numbers short of his IQ. He blinks slowly and closes his mouth, then opens it again.

“I think we’ve done way too many ghost episodes,” he says. “It’s evidently getting to your brain, pal.”

“I’d say it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Jared returns swiftly. “Hey, do you have some salt?

“Oh, right now I just hope I’ve got some coffee… So, you’re stayin’ or what?”

“Well… maybe just for the night? The dogs will be back tomorrow.”

If Sandy decides to ever give them back to Jared, that is. It’s easy to fall in love with Sadie’s deep eyes and Harley’s playful nature, but that then makes it harder to say goodbye to them."

“I know, that’s what I'm asking. I can’t offer more than a mattress, but at least it’s a brand new.”

“Are we gonna cuddle?” Jared hopes over-enthusiastically, masking his true, secret desires with silly jokes. He realizes he does it often. But he’s half sure it’s Jensen who’s taught him that.

“You try and you'll end up on the floor,” Jensen retorts with the sweetest smile he can possibly muster up, then curses and jerks his hand out of the box. “What the hell are scissors doing in the bathroom stuff?”

“No idea,” Jared replies even when he knows that Jensen’s question was only rhetorical. “But I think you should finally sit down and do nothing more today. Don’t you think you’ve tempted your luck enough?”

“I need to unpack,” Jensen insists stubbornly, no matter that he doesn’t seem to be very determined to even start unpacking properly. He looks rather sleepy, and if he’s at least half tired as Jared is, then they’re both close to passing out. Eleven hours of shooting, two hours of packing the last important items and then moving Jensen’s stuff into the apartment, without an elevator, is maybe a good workout, but nothing that Jared would like to repeat any time soon. “I don’t even have a toothbrush. I mean, I do… I just have no idea where.”

“I’ve got chewing gum,” Jared offers. “So… will you finally stop?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored. And tired. And because I feel bad just watching you and doing nothing.”

Jensen smiles, and it’s real and it’s sweet, and it unfairly weakens Jared’s knees. “You helped already. A lot. There’s nothing more you can do.” He heaves a sigh and drops down onto his haunches, leaning against the doorjamb where there’s no door so far. “But I guess you’re right… I’m starting to squint anyway.” He looks at the boxes, some of them opened and half empty, some still sealed, and there are so many emotions projecting on his face, Jared barely decodes one. Maybe two. Melancholy. Sadness.

“What is it?” he asks, sitting down again and reaching for his almost full bottle of beer.

Jensen seems to be caught off-guard, like he’s, if only for a short moment, forgotten that Jared’s still there. “Uh, nothing, I’m just… Gosh, this is me?” he questions. “This is my life? Wrapped up in a few cardboard boxes that fit into the hallway?”

“This is your motel life,” Jared corrects. “Not you.”

“It’s not like I have more stuff someplace else.”

“What about Texas? Your family house?”

“There’s my childhood there… not me.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you’ve got a couple of T-shirts at my house. Sandy nearly wiped the floor with one of them the other day. I mean, before she… before we--”

Broke up. Before he was carrying boxes full of clothes and high heel shoes and other girlie stuff. Tons of CDs and fudging heavy magazines to the other end of Vancouver where Sandy had decided to stay for a while until she’d be ready to admit to herself that they’re over. And why. And announce to the world and everyone who could care that they’ve broken up.

“Ah, that’s sweet,” Jensen answers ironically, his eyes saying that he knows the rest Jared failed to add. That he understands. “Ain’t there the Metallica one by any chance? I haven’t seen it for a while.”

“I’m fairly sure there is… But don’t worry, it wasn’t the one. Because the one she grabbed was especially tight and had a printing of Bambi on the front.”

Jensen’s face scrunches up in aggravation, “It did not!”

“Did too.” Because it definitely did.

“So it wasn’t mine,” Jensen sums up, folding his arms over his chest and pouting. He looks almost dangerous.

“Oh, you bet it was.”

~ o ~

“My God, you gotta see this!” Jensen calls from where he’s leaning against the railing of the terrace, gazing out into the semi-darkness of the early Vancouver night. His voice is full of surprise and awe, and it will never cease to bewitch Jared how young and adorable any astonishing event makes Jensen sound. “The view’s quite stunning.”

There’s a small orchard a couple miles from there, if Jared remembers right. A few apple and cherry trees that were in full bloom when they were here to check the apartment for the first time.

The next season of Supernatural had been confirmed and Jensen decided he was fed up with motel rooms and unfamiliar beds and wanted his own place, with his own bed and privacy. There was also the omnipresent danger of meeting the wrong people at the wrong time, strangers and fans, new almost every night, asking for autographs at the most inconvenient moments. Like when Jensen would be carrying his laundry, or stumbling up the stairs with Jared, both equally as drunk, a little more than would probably be suitable for the middle of the week. Such people never paused to ask for a reason, which they would gladly share, like celebrating another season, an especially successful episode, saying hi to their new big guest stars… anything. There’s always some opportunity. And when there isn’t, they make it up. ‘Let’s drink to Wednesday,’ Jensen proclaimed once, cursing his headache for the next two days. So yeah, there’s always a reason.

Now Jared refuses to even move though; he’s exhausted and fairly comfortable right where he is. And the view that he’s got is quite stunning, too. He’s looking directly into the living room and therefore he’s got Jensen right before his eyes. And that is a nice thing to look at.

Jensen’s spine is slightly bowed as he leans over the railing, putting his firm, perfect ass a little more on display, exposing even the little, tattered hole beneath the back pocket of his pants. The pants are riding low enough to show thin strips of pale skin where the hem of the plaid shirt don’t entirely meet the waistband of the jeans. The shirt is rather old, worn and washed out, partly threadbare, and it’s evidently Jensen’s favorite piece of clothing. Jared’s got the same one, just in a different color. And size.

“Can you stop leaning against the railing?” Jared asks, unable to keep the panicky tone out of his voice. He doesn’t have a fear of heights, he’s just terrified that something terrible is going to happen to Jensen. He can’t let anything bad happen to him when he’s there to watch and, in case of need, to stop it. He can’t let anything happen to Jensen period. But especially today since it looks like Jensen’s not having the luckiest day.

“What?” Jensen calls back. “Why?” He sounds adorably dense, absolutely not getting, or caring about, Jared’s fear.

“Because two injuries per day are, in my opinion, quite enough… What if the bars, I don’t know…? What if they get loose? What if the railing falls down? It’s the top floor, man, that’s pretty high.”

“Relax, the railing isn’t going anywhere.” Jensen grabs the bars and wriggles it a bit. Jared can’t hear anything that should suggest the railing is loose in some place, but it might be only because all he can hear is his heart pounding in his ears with anger and panic. “It holds perfectly,” Jensen says.

“Could you stop it?”

Jensen chuckles, but he doesn’t let go of the railing, instead he leans even further to see farther. Jared honestly wants to smack him now.

“Seriously, Jensen.” Jared tries again, a little more urgently this time.

He can’t see his face, but he’s sure Jensen’s rolling his eyes as he steps back, muttering, “Fine.” It’s only one step, and a very small one at that, which gets him nowhere near far enough away from the drop beneath. Jared huffs an exasperated, tired breath and stands up, walking over there.

Without any warning, Jared wraps his arm around Jensen’s waist, holding tight, and drags him away from the railing. He can feel Jensen startle as he lets out a strange gasp that sounds nearly like a moan--and isn’t that the sound that Jared's actually wanted to hear, so damn bad, for too damn long?--and rears back in his hold, trying to get out of his unyielding grasp.

“Jared.” It’s a hissed version of Jared’s name that sounds very much like a warning.

Jensen’s shirt rucks up beneath Jared’s touch, and when his palm smooths down a taut stomach and soft skin, Jared only barely resists the sudden urge to push his hand lower, press closer. He doesn’t want to let go. Ever.

“Told you to move away from there,” he says, surprised of the tone of his voice; angry, scared, tired. So unlike his typical one. “You weren’t listening. Damn worse than a five-year-old kid.”

Jensen growls and turns around, staring up at Jared darkly, warningly. He gets his arm free and punches Jared in the chest, not too hard, mostly just for good measure. “Hate you.”

And right now, Jared hates him, too. Hates him for being so damn beautiful and sexy, so funny and sweet and probably the best friend Jared’s ever had. For making Jared’s world tumble down and shatter with the simplest, purest sound of Jensen’s laughter. It’s not fair.

“Yeah, hate me ‘cause I don’t want you to kill yourself. That’s like… totally fair.”

“I wouldn’t have killed myself,” Jensen returns, seeming to be angry himself. “It’s fairly safe.”

“As much as grating cheese? Yeah, I think I know all about ‘safety’ with you now.” Jared replies, trying to put a joking tone into his words, a smirk, but hardly succeeding due to the fear and want and pure, unmitigated need to step closer, touch more and map Jensen’s amazing body. Kiss him senseless and lose himself inside him. Jensen’s heat and fragrance is strong, penetrating Jared’s senses and he knows he’s not going to be able to hide his feelings for much longer.
And the way Jensen’s looking at him now? Worried and curious, not injured, but honestly seeking the truth? Not helping.

“What’s the matter with you today?” Jensen inquires. “You’re worse than a mother hen… It’s not like I’ve never hurt myself--and worse--before. I even nearly broke my neck when I was sixteen. I was this close to being crippled for the rest of my life.” Jensen uses his thumb and index finger to show how close it was and Jared longs to punch him. For real. It was terrifyingly close.

“That’s seriously reassuring,” Jared says sarcastically. “Really, thanks for that.”

“What is the matter, Jared?” Jensen repeats, not joking a bit, but back to the serious business. Like he truly wants to know. Like he knows already and wants Jared to admit it, to finally tell the truth.

Jared doesn’t want to. He doesn’t think that this is the night of honesty and revealing long-time suppressed secrets. So he goes and does exactly that, tells the truth. Because that’s, unfortunately, exactly what he does when he really doesn’t want to.

“I care about you. Because I like you. Because you mean so much to me.” And it’s real, painful, and it surprises Jared how raw and honest it sounds. How lost at the same time. “Because I love--I-I should go.”

He doesn’t wait for Jensen’s reply, not even for the change on his face when he reacts to Jared's disclosure. He turns away, heading for the exit. He remembers where that is quite well.

Jensen’s obviously too shocked to process Jared’s confession immediately, to even register that he’s gone, but he catches him at the door step.

“Where are you… goin’?” he asks then, leaning against the edge of the open door and watching Jared tie up his laces. “I thought we wanted to play ‘Snakes and Ladders’.”

Jared smiles up at Jensen forcedly, “Maybe next time.”

Jensen nods. He looks sad, so fucking sad suddenly, and bites his lower lip thoughtfully. And there is definitely more. There must be more than the stupid board game Jensen found in the box titled ‘Bathroom’. For a moment they were actually sure it wasn’t even one of Jensen’s boxes. But it was, there were Jensen’s towels, the pillbox for his contact lenses, even the rubber duck Jared had given him some time ago and that Jensen had immediately put on the edge of the large bathtub.

“Come back, please,” Jensen says quietly.

Jared sighs and scratches at the back of his neck. He throws his backpack over his shoulder and shakes his head. “Jensen, I don’t… I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll call you later, okay?”

He expects Jensen to accept it; he doesn’t expect him to reach for him, his wounded, bandaged fingers grabbing a handful of Jared’s T-shirt, holding tight and with determination, as he makes to pull him back. “Jared… come back. Please, come back inside.” His bottom lip is trembling, Jared can clearly see that, and his eyes are all of a sudden huge and panicked. He looks scared and Jared doesn’t understand why or of what.

Confused, Jared crosses the threshold and closes the door behind himself, stepping closer to Jensen. Their bodies nearly brush, the tips of their feet touching, Jensen’s hand trapped in between them. His breath is hot on Jared’s face, scented of cherries from the chewing gum and Jensen, and something like an electric bolt rushes down Jared’s spine, insistent and aching.

Jensen’s eyes slide to Jared’s lips, then up, meeting Jared’s before glancing down again. He repeats that process a few times, breathing hard. He looks like he wants something, like he’s trying to say something, or at least suggest, and not to freak the fuck out at the same time.

Jared is starting to panic anew. “Jensen?” His fingers touch Jensen’s side carefully, feel the hard bone of his hip and they anchor there, settling down and drawing Jensen still nearer.

“I’m scared,” Jensen whispers then. “Jared, I am… terrified, ‘cause I feel…” He looks up into Jared’s eyes again. “I feel… something. I want… But I’m not… I can’t. Don’t wanna be that kind of man. Don’t wanna be different, but--” Jensen’s chest is heaving, his gaze slides down to Jared’s mouth once again, and he lets out a shuddering breath. “God, I want.” It sounds like a sigh, a constricted moan. There’s evidently some battle happening inside of him, a war between belief and desires of the body, between brain and heart."

Jared pulls him closer, pressing the entire length of his body against Jensen’s, which earns him a sharp intake of breath. Jensen is firm and warm and he feels absolutely perfect. And Jared goes from worried to aroused, damn horny in zero point five seconds flat. “Jensen… Jen, what do you want?”

“You. I want you… I like you. Too. But I’m not--I’m not gay. I’ve never even been with… Never been interested, but you… you’re… I--” Jensen looks like he could go on, keep on mumbling nonsense and throwing one misshaped piece of a jigsaw puzzle after another, but as cute as it is--because stammering Jensen is one of the cutest things Jared knows --right now Jensen’s discomfort makes Jared also feel uncomfortable. Jensen is scared, and that isn’t funny at all.

“Jensen… Is it really so bad? So wrong?”

Jensen shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh, “I didn't say it’s wrong, I’m just saying I’m--”

“--scared,” Jared fills in for him. “But what is it that you’re actually so scared of? Your family? Your belief? Or maybe your God above?”

Jensen nods, then shakes his head and looks down at the floor beneath them. Jared thinks that Jensen doesn’t know himself.

“Look, I’m… I’m gay, too. Does that make me a bad person?”

“You’re not,” Jensen objects as he glances up. “I mean… You and Sandy…”

“So I swing both ways,” Jared shrugs, his fingertips inching slowly beneath the hem of Jensen’s shirt. “Ain’t that actually even worse?”

“You’re not a bad person.”

“So why should you be?”

“Because my mom… my dad. They believe and this--that--isn’t right. They wouldn’t--I don’t think they’d survive that. Also… it’s Texas.”

“They love you. Plus, right now you’re in Canada,” Jared challenges with a gentle smile. “Or do you think you have to report it over there immediately or something?”

There’s a hint of smile tugging at the corner of Jensen’s mouth. “No, I… suppose not.”

“So why can’t you just be? Let yourself feel? And see how that works? Maybe… maybe you feel like you want it. Like you want me, while, in fact, you don’t. Maybe you’re just confused and freaking out right now for no apparent reason. I think it’s pretty normal, if you ask me... C’mon, let’s play the damn grass-snakes or what it even is.”

Jared makes to go back and find the living room, again, but Jensen doesn’t move. He even makes Jared stop.

“Jared.” He leans closer, gnawing on his lip, his fingers tightening their grip on Jared’s T-shirt.

Jared puts his free hand on Jensen’s face, his thumb tilting Jensen’s chip up. He leans in, indicating that he’s up for it, for anything that Jensen decides to give or take, but he can’t take the first step. If Jensen wants, it’s up to him.

“Jensen?”

Jensen understands, evidently, because in a minute he rises to his tiptoes and presses his lips to Jared’s.

It’s a simple kiss, soft and gentle, uncertain and nervous. Just a meeting of lips and mixing of breaths. Jensen’s eyelashes flutter closed and he sighs, and Jared doesn’t understand how someone in his age--not that Jensen’s old or something--can look so damn young and innocent, almost fragile. He parts his lips, sliding them over Jensen’s, tasting him, breathing him in, wanting more, so much more, but too worried to rush it. It’s one of the sweetest, most innocent kisses Jared’s ever shared, but it’s damn near perfect.

It’s Jensen who breaks the kiss, drawing away and taking a step back. Jared notices that Jensen’s fingers are still firmly entangled in the cotton of his T-shirt, Jensen’s knuckles white, and he wonders if Jensen will even be able to straighten his fingers and let go.

Jensen’s tongue darts out, licking their common spit off his bottom lip, and he swallows hard. “I don’t… think I’m confused,” he says quietly.

Some people would be glad, feel relieved maybe. Jensen isn’t ‘some people’. Jensen is Jensen and he’s obviously starting to freak out once more. He’s not happy about his discovery, that is evident enough, and Jared feels guilty for that.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because you’re miserable. Because you’re scared of that. Of me. Because you look like you’re expecting to burn on the bale fire for wanting a man… Because I’m in love with you. Have been since… Hell, probably the damn first day I saw you. And I kept on hoping you'd feel the same, but… now that I know that you actually do, feel the same, I don’t feel any better. Because you don’t feel good about that… Should I go now after all?”

Jensen shakes his head, eventually releasing his grip on Jared's T-shirt. He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugs, “I want you here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah… Because if you go, I’ll keep on convincing myself again that it’s not true, that I’m straight as an arrow. That I don’t feel any of what I think I feel. That I don’t want--If you stay, I’ll know it’s real. That I want you.” He pauses and looks up at Jared, smiling a little. “That I really wanna kiss you again. And I’ll stop lying to myself. If you’re here--It’s better when you’re here.”

Jared smiles, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You do?” Jared asks, slipping his finger in the loop of Jensen’s jeans to tug him closer again. Jensen falters a step forward, but he doesn’t seem to be able to shake off his worries so easily. He doesn’t pull his hands out of the pockets to touch as Jared wants him to either. “You really wanna kiss me again?”

“I think so.”

“But?” Jared prompts, because he could clearly hear the objection at the end of Jensen’s reply.

“I just--” Jensen takes a step back and Jared lets him go, albeit involuntarily. “I just feel like this isn’t me anymore. Or like what I’ve been-- was--wasn’t me... I just don’t know who I am right now.” He throws his hands up, exasperated, looking absolutely confused.

Jared smiles sympathetically as he moves closer and presses his hand on Jensen’s chest. “You are you. And you’re always gonna be you. No matter what you do or who you love.”

“It’s that easy, huh?”

“Sometimes,” Jared shrugs before he slips his hand lower, resting it lightly on Jensen’s hip. “Sometimes not.”

“But I am--I am too old to have a crisis of sexual orientation.” Jensen complains. “Damn you, man, you turned me gay.”

~ o ~

Tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration, Jared draws an ‘o’ cross-way above Jensen’s ‘x’, realizing his mistake the second he lifts the pencil off the paper. Jensen spares him a look that clearly says, ‘You aren’t serious’, closely followed by, ‘Focus’, which doesn’t help at all.

It’s the fourth game in a row that Jared’s lost and it’s not even funny anymore. But then again, losing in a game means winning in love, or however the saying goes, and if that is true, or at least partly, Jared doesn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t accept his defeat.

They were supposed to play ‘Snakes & Ladders’, which Jared used to rock as a kid, but the die rolled away and disappeared who knew where after his third attempt to get a six. And so Jensen conjured up a piece of cross-section paper and two pencils and they moved onto the ‘Tic Tac Toe’. It is their Game Night after all. And since Jensen’s PSP is broken and Jared’s is back at home, they had to go back to the bases.

None of that is a problem. The problem is Jared. Or rather Jensen. Definitely Jensen, because he’s stealing Jared’s attention and concentration.

They lay on the floor, propped up on a few cushions in the middle of Jensen’s soon-to-be bedroom. One of Jensen’s legs is bent and waving in the air to the rhythm of whatever melody is playing in his head, the other thrown lazily over Jared’s. Jensen’s body is a firm, burning line of temptation at Jared’s side and all the single inches where they touch make Jared’s skin prickle. It’s not even a big change from their positions; they always used to sit close, touching, each leaning against the other. Or sometimes with just a few inches diving them when Jensen craved his ‘personal bubble’ and needed a bit more space to breathe.

It’s knowing that he can touch now that is driving Jared crazy, the realization that he can reach out and stroke Jensen’s bared skin, if only he dares. Jared wants to dare, but he also doesn’t want to look too impatient and pushy and scare Jensen more than he already is.

Jensen seems to be absolutely unaffected by Jared’s stray thoughts and ogling.

He’s concentrating deeply, chewing on the end of his pencil as he contemplates his next lethal move. Jared doesn’t understand why he’s even trying so hard, two more ‘x’s and Jared’s out again.

Then something bangs. It’s a very loud and wholly unexpected slam that echoes through the whole apartment, making the windows rattle, startling Jared so much that he nearly flat-lines. “What was that?!” he asks.

Jensen doesn’t look anywhere near as panicked. He’s laughing, the bastard. He puts his pencil aside and rolls onto his back, propping himself up onto his elbows to look up at Jared bemusedly. “Well, one of the ghosts you were talking about of course,” Jensen replies, sounding just as serious as an aneurysm.

“Seriously,” Jared insists.

“Seriously.”

Jared sits up and gives Jensen a doubtful, but still slightly scared look. A couple of years and he still can't tell when the guy is joking and when he's deathly serious. It's slightly unnerving.

“The roof window in the kitchen,” Jensen says. “It doesn't hold that well.”

“You sure?”

“I am… But you can go and check it yourself.”

“Nah, that’s… That's good.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, Sam Winchester in all his brave glory,” Jensen sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. He pulls himself up and nudges Jared's shoulder playfully, “To think that you wanted to protect me.”

Jared nudges Jensen back, but his shove is stronger and sends Jensen back onto the cushions. Supporting himself on his arms, Jared leans over Jensen, staring down at him. “The next time, yeah?” he promises.