If You're Out There | Prologue | (1/8)
Master Post | Prologue | o1 | o2 | o3 | o4 | o5 | o6 | Epilogue
Prologue
If you hear this message, we can't afford to wait. The future started yesterday, and we're already late.
The bells above the entrance to the café rattle loudly, and Jared looks up from the glass of water sitting on the table in front of him, hoping to God it's Jensen coming in because he doesn't know how much longer he can sit here with his stomach twisting like it is. Seeing an elderly couple walk through the door instead, Jared drops his gaze, sinking back into the cushion of the small booth he's seated in. He glances over at the old, weathered clock attached loosely to the wall. It doesn't have any numbers, only lines in their place and looks as though it will come crashing to the floor any moment, but it's been there ever since Jared can remember coming here, and for a small moment it's comforting. It doesn't take away from the fact that another ten minutes have passed without Jensen walking through the door though, and Jared wishes more than anything he could pick up the phone and call him, make sure he's okay.
But he can't, so he sits, and waits, and prays that nothing has happened.
He's about to leave, has just slipped a few crumpled bills onto the table when someone slides into the seat across from him. His head snaps up, the knot in his stomach easing only slightly upon seeing Jensen. The smile he offers Jared is feeble and weak, stretches across his face like it was attached there with needle and thread. It doesn't last long, and Jensen sinks back, a heavy puff of air exhaling from deep within his chest as his shoulders slump.
"Hey," Jared says, wincing reflexively at the shaky and strained sound to his voice even though he knows he's the only one that heard it. Silence falls between them, and the frown on Jared's face deepens when Jensen merely lifts his chin slightly in a nod, his own weary greeting. Jared wonders if he's too exhausted to raise his hands and sign. He points to Jensen, hooks the index finger of his left hand with the thumb of his right before jutting them both forward, then upturns both palms and moves them in a small circle. He forms a question mark with his index finger and lifts his eyebrows slightly, a small smile on his lips. He's asking if Jensen had run here, knows he hadn't, but from how tired he seems it's like he's just finished a marathon. It's lame, but he's always been one to try and ease tension with a joke or a funny face, and it's a small attempt to lighten the sadness in Jensen's eyes.
It does for a brief moment, and Jensen slowly shakes his head in a disagreeing gesture as he taps his pointer and index finger against his thumb.
Jared bites at his bottom lip. "Your dad?" he asks, and this time Jensen shakes his fist up and down. Yes.
It was part of the small vocabulary of sign language Jared knew and understood well, the other half of the unspoken language they'd created and shared together over the years. Jensen was born completely deaf, grew up with a dad that never bothered to try and communicate with anything other than his fists and a mom who did her best to protect her children, but she could only do so much and couldn't afford to leave.
Jared watches as Jensen winces and shifts to the side, pulls the notepad that he always keeps with him out of his back pocket. His hands shake as he writes.
mac's sleeping at a friend’s house. i can't go home tonight
Jared reads the message and nods. He doesn't question Jensen about what he’s written, has dealt with this kind of situation before and knows that Jensen will tell him if he wants to, if he’s ready. "Want something to eat?" he offers instead.
Jensen shakes his head, pulls a cigarette out of his jacket and lights up.
"You have to eat, Jensen. You're going to make yourself sick."
I eat, Jensen signs simply, finishing off his sentence by pointing back at his chest. Jared can tell he's lying, knows Jensen will go days without eating so his younger sister can have something for dinner when she comes home from school. With Josh in the military, it's up to Jensen to keep her safe. Jared does his best to lessen that weight as much as he can.
Jensen takes a long drag of his cigarette, and Jared writes his own message down on the notepad.
cigarettes give you cancer
Jensen gives a small shrug. He signs walk, eyebrows raised in question, and Jared knows he isn't in the mood to talk, much less tell him what's going on, so he agrees, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head to brace against the chilly outside air and follows Jensen out of the café without a word.
They walk for hours, through neighborhoods with moms idly pushing strollers down the sidewalk and into the swift pace of downtown. Their path eventually leads them to the park where Jared is finally able to convince Jensen to eat a small sandwich from a vendor on the sidewalk. In return, he agrees to attempt to smoke a cigarette just to see Jensen laugh at the inevitable coughing fit that follows the first intake of breath. They stop when they eventually land at the small, familiar clearing in the trees just hidden from the walking trail. It's the spot they often come to when they want to escape the world for a moment, when Jensen wants to watch the fallen leaves rustle and see the trees sway and not feel the angry vibrations of his father's footsteps storming toward him or feel a chaotic charge in the air.
Jensen slouches down against the sturdy trunk of an old tree and Jared slides down next to him. Jensen is on about his fifth cigarette when Jared reaches for it as his shaking hand brings it to his mouth to take another drag. He takes it gently from his fingers, putting it out against the bottom of his shoe. Jensen lets him, a sigh escaping from his lips as he drops his hand to his lap. Whenever he’s worried about something he tends to smoke more than usual, often losing track of how many cigarettes he's gone through until the whole pack is empty. He stole them from his dad when he was too drunk to notice or care, found it was one of the few things that could calm his nerves when Jared wasn't there.
But right now Jared is here, and his arm is wrapped around his shoulders and its more warmth than he's felt in days.
Jared mimes writing something into the air and Jensen hands him his notebook. Somehow talking doesn't feel right in this moment, like even though Jensen can't hear him he doesn't want his voice to disturb the quiet and calm that has settled around them.
you're scaring me
Jensen stares at the paper for a long while, transported back to just a few hours ago when his mom was crying and Mackenzie was hiding in the closet underneath the stairs and he was doing his best to take the blows from his father.
A slight nudge from Jared sends him snapping into himself again and he nods, signs sorry.
don't be, Jared writes. There's a pause, then he adds, how bad is it?
Jared watches Jensen play with the hem of his shirt, hesitating to show the bruises he knows will be on his abdomen. Jared has seen his dad's wrath before, but Jensen can't keep the shame and embarrassment from settling in his cheeks and causing them to blossom a brilliant red that stands starkly against his otherwise pale features. He lifts the thin material and winces slightly at the rush of cold air against his skin.
The marks are large and crimson, welts angry and swollen. The bruises wrap around his torso, disappearing onto his back and stretching over his protruding ribs. Jared doesn't realize Jensen has begun to cry until he hiccups, his breath catching in his chest and that's all it takes for his exterior to crumble. The tears that fall are hurt and angry and terrified, and he lets his head fall to rest on Jared's shoulders.
Jensen starts to sign something then, and Jared doesn't quite catch every fluid motion but he sees the signs for leave and soon and he understands what Jensen is trying to tell him without having to know the rest.
Jared puts a finger to Jensen's lips and pulls him closer, shushes him softly against his ear. He tells him that it's going to be okay, that they'll figure it out and that he's going to help, but he doesn't know if it will ever be okay, if they'll ever figure it out or if he's even helping Jensen at all. He wishes he could snap his fingers and make everything better but he can't, so he does all he knows and tries his best to pick up the pieces whenever they're broken, placing them back together with care and smiles and warmth. It isn't perfect, but Jared hopes that at least for now, it will be enough.
When Jensen's eyes finally fall closed it's as if he can't find the drive to open them again and he gives in, allowing himself to sleep for the first time in days.
:::
Jensen can feel the floor vibrate with each heavy step that moves closer towards the door. He tries not to think about it, tries to focus on the coolness of the counter top as he presses his palms flat against its surface, or the light of the morning sun shining through the small window, but each new footfall captures his attention, draws out the feeling of anxiety rising thick in his chest.
He doesn't know if he's ready, if he's going to be able to handle this.
The footsteps stop and he looks up just as the door to the bathroom starts to shake underneath his father’s hands. It doesn’t take long for the old, worn lock to give and for his dad to come bursting in, mouth and lips moving too fast for Jensen to keep up with the words as he gives him a tired glance. Doesn’t matter much what he’s mad about, because in the end, the deep anger and resentment he sees when he looks into his father’s eyes is all the same, and when the words fail to register that look never does.
Jensen drops his hands from the counter and turns to fully face his father, clenching and unclenching his fist in an attempt to fuel some fight in him that he doesn’t feel like he has anymore. It’s not long before his dad runs out of things to yell about, turns to pushing him around instead. Not hard enough to make him fall, but with just enough force to cause him to stumble back and hit his hip painfully against the corner of the counter. He winces, turns his head away and counts down the seconds until the next blow. When he hits five, it comes as a knock to the jaw that sends his head back and his teeth crashing against one another.
Jensen lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes until he feels angry footsteps shaking the floor as they leave. He lifts his hand and rubs at his jaw, opens and closes it gingerly. It’s not broken, but it’ll be sore for a while.
Small hands lift the material of his shirt, press a cool washcloth to the sensitive skin of his hip and Jensen lets out a soft hiss. He looks down to see Mackenzie staring back up at him, eyes wide, and he wonders how long she’s been here, how much she’s seen.
He rubs a weary hand over his face, takes a deep breath to gather himself before giving her a reassuring smile and reaching out to take the cloth from her hands. The stabbing pain in his hip is dulling to a throb, and when he looks down at it he can already see the beginnings of yet another bruise.
Jensen points at his chest and makes a scooping motion with his right hand into the palm of his left. I’m all right.
Mackenzie nods, bites at her lip, and Jensen ignores his protesting muscles as he kneels down. He plants a kiss on her forehead, folds his hand into the sign for I love you and rests it on her chest. It makes her smile a little, erases some of the fear written in her young face. Its times like these where that smile is all he has to cling to, and he hates the way it fades so easily.
He reaches out and smoothes down her long hair before standing slowly, holding out his hand for her to take as they walk down the hall. He grabs her backpack from her room and places it on her shoulders, does the same with the bag he’s already prepared, packed and unpacked several times before finding the courage to place what they’ll need in it and leave it there for good.
When they walk out of the house, he covers her ears when he sees their mom and dad yelling in the kitchen. He doesn’t look back.
Part o1