Fic: "Tilted: Out of True" - Part 2 of 2 - COMPLETE (J2, CWRPS, Mature)
Title: Tilted: Out of True 2/2 (COMPLETE)
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (RPS), secondary Chris/Steve
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 12,000 (6,000 this post, 6,000 first post [this post linked from first])
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, lies.
Summary: In which I return to the blind!Jensen J2 AU (RPS/CWRPS).
Wandering ne'er-do-well Jared arrives in town for a temporary job rebuilding broken-down beach houses and falls hard for his reclusive downstairs neighbor Jensen. Jensen's not an easy man to understand. Jared still doesn't know all the secrets Jensen holds out of reach, but he plans to get to know the man better in every way he can -- if he can.
Features confusion, angst, Chris Kane's dangerous temper, a yellow Labrador, oncoming storms, secrets, and broken!Jensen. I still have those cookies if anyone wants one.
The above summary brings those who didn't catch the first part up to speed -- no need to read that one first. However, if you want to read it, here's the link: Tilted
Feedback: Makes me happy.
Tilted: Out of True (2/2)
What with the turn this day's taken all of a sudden -- which he might have seen all along if he'd only thought to look -- Jared isn't too surprised to discover, come noon, that he'd walked right out the door that morning without his sack lunch. It wasn't much, just a cheese and jalapeño sandwich and a bag of chips and a pack of Grandma's cookies and a banana, oh, and a pudding cup, but when he considers working through, his stomach doesn't like that idea and lets him know as much in no uncertain terms.
Mr. Manners is annoyed when he gives Jared permission to take the extra time he'll need to schlep back home and get his lunch, so Jared determines to hurry. Needing to rush probably isn't a bad thing, he reasons. If he had all the time in the world he'd be tempted to stop and knock on Jensen's door, maybe hang out while he eats, and right now he doesn't figure that's such a good idea.
He needs to think, needs to stop and figure out what the hell he's doing -- maybe even has to figure out how to back down despite how much he doesn't want to. Jared's not used to thinking things to death like this, and it's giving him one hell of a headache. So. Again, it's most likely for the best that he's got to hurry.
Thing is, he forgets about needing to rush as soon as he sets foot on the porch steps. He's automatically looked up at Jensen's door, not intending anything but just drawn to it, and so he has a great view when the door opens and someone who isn't Jensen, Chris or Steve steps out, carrying a white box with a Red Cross stenciled on its side.
No sirree, this is a stranger, and the size of him almost makes Jared feel small. He's not as tall, Jared wouldn't say, but he's definitely sturdier and he's got the kind of muscles that warn a man not to tangle with him. There's a gruff set to his jaw under a half-grown-in beard of equally mixed salt and pepper, a USMC tattoo on his forearm, and a firmness to his stride that tells Jared this is the kind of man you should automatically address as "sir". Scary, if you get on the wrong side of him.
So of course Jared's on edge right away, wondering exactly who this guy is to Jensen. It's weirdly like meeting a guy's dad, something he tries to avoid.
Trying to be casual about it, Jared sidles around to his side of the porch, thinking maybe he can hide behind the post and keep a weather eye on things.
He always forgets that he's not so good at sneaky. The big bear glances over at Jared in the midst of his epic fail and winks at him. The touch of humor does wonders for big, bearded and burly, warming him from forbidding father to laid-back, like a friendly uncle or an older cousin.
Jared catches himself before he starts singing again. He nods to the guy and offers him a grin.
The man nods back, then returns his attention to the doorway through which he just exited, speaking in a low voice that reminds Jared of the rumbly sound of a love-worn, hard-worked pickup truck's engine. "You remember what I told you, now. You call me day or night if you need me. Understood?"
Jensen appears behind the big guy, standing in the doorway. He's smiling at Beard like Jared had thought Jensen only ever smiled at him. The sight wounds. More so when the big man claps Jensen on the shoulder, jostling him, and Jensen chuckles.
"Jeff, c'mon. You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
"Nope. You know I never let go of any good blackmail material."
"Sheesh," Jensen says with a sort of fond exasperation. "I promise I won't leave you out of the loop again. Honest. I've got you on speed-dial now."
"You damn well better have me at the top of the list." The guy checks his watch. "Better get going. Time flies, huh?" He tousles up Jensen's hair. "Take it easy."
Jensen grins after him, waving as if he can see the bastard, who, as he leaves, doesn't mention Jared’s presence to Jensen.
Which is how he manages, for once in his life, to remain unnoticed for the next few moments, and without opening his mouth to betray his presence, he observes:
Steve, standing silently behind Jensen. Steve's speaking quietly in Jensen's ear; Jensen frowns as he listens. Doesn't look as if he likes what Steve has to say. Steve lifts one of Jensen's hands, brushing lightly over the brand-new, professionally neat butterfly bandages on his palms.
Jensen tugs away from him, looking troubled. "That's not his fault," he says, stubborn.
Steve doesn't look like he believes Jensen for one second.
Jared tries to look past him, wondering when that junkyard terrier is going to stick his nose in and start yapping. Chris isn't anywhere in sight, but the way Jared knows it works, where Steve is, Chris is never far behind.
He can't be dealing with Chris or any of his hollering right now, because if he gets much more tangled up inside he really will lose his cool and wade in fists first. He'd love to whop some manners into Chris like his momma should’ve taught him -- but he doesn't see the point in getting Jensen upset.
He about hates Chris enough to think it might maybe be worth it, though. Even if all Chris did was point the truth, things were so much better -- maybe for both of them -- before he did.
Jensen retreats; Steve closes the door. Jared stuffs his hands in his pockets and exhales heavily, staring at the door and wallowing in the woe.
What's he supposed to do about all this? He's not good at this. He doesn't stay for this kind of crap. This is why he doesn't stay. He --
"Help you with something?"
Jared pivots, body tensing for attack or defense, a natural reflex by now. He relaxes -- some -- when he sees that it's only that Jeff guy, watching him from the sidewalk. Jeff's another one of those inscrutable types when he wants to be, it seems, and it's impossible to tell if he's warning Jared off or just being neighborly.
"I live here. Upstairs." Jared jerks his thumb in the direction of the side door. "Working with Mr. Manners for a couple of months."
"He finally suckered someone into helping him cobble together those old shacks?"
Jared, surprised, bursts out laughing. "You could say that. Is it just me, or are they gonna come right back down again next hurricane season?"
Jeff taps the side of his nose. "Who cares as long as it pays the bills, though, huh? Don't worry. Manners pays on time and he seems to be a decent guy."
"Puts a roof over my head for now, too," Jared agrees. He's warming to Jeff, even if wanting to ask Jeff who he is and what role he plays in Jensen's life is nigh enough to make his teeth itch.
Jeff tilts his head. "Got any plans for after the season?"
"Not much. I move around a lot."
"Huh." Jeff regards him steadily, and for the life of him Jared has no clue what the man might be thinking. "Good luck with construction today."
Jared's maybe a tad too defensive when he retorts, "Why? Do I need luck?"
Jeff's shrugs is casual and completely neutral. "Mortar won't stick and paint won't dry in this kind of weather, not if it gets much worse."
"Come again?"
"It's gonna storm. Big-time." Jeff points at the sky. "Take it easy, kid."
Jared holds his tongue only because he was raised not to sass his elders or men who once served their country. He nods stiffly to Jeff and holds his place until Jeff's gone on his way.
Then, he sits heavily on the porch step and rests his forehead on his palm, thoughts of getting in his truck and just driving away, not stopping until he's three states from there running thick and heavy in his head as silt in a choked-up river. He can almost taste the mud.
A cold, wet nose bumping his knee brings him out of his funk. As soon as she knows he's aware of her presence, Hannah goes damn near crazy with loving on him, standing up with her muddy paws on his knee and washing his face.
"Lord, girl." Jared rubs her silky ears as he laughs, playfully pushing her head away. "You're in bad need of a breath mint treat, aren't you?"
Hannah woofs happily, licking under his chin. Jared doesn't really mind the doggie breath and lets her settle in, making those happy canine whines that means she's as close to heaven as a good dog gets on his earth. He pets her the way he remembers a good puppy likes, rubbing her back and thumping near her tail, which could be considered a dangerous and deadly weapon given the way it whips around as she wags for all she's worth.
It takes a minute for Jared to realize she's out here all by herself. When the understanding comes clear, he catches the leather leash hanging loose from her collar and frowns at the length. Not chewed through or broken.
Fucking damn it. Someone turned her loose to run around all by herself without even so much as taking her leash off so she wouldn't get hung up or choked.
Jared sees red. You don't do that to a dog, not even the sorriest and most flea-ridden of them. Especially not to a girl as sweet as Hannah, dying for some love and attention. She's been let loose like she means nothing, not to anyone, and he's so angry all of a sudden that he spits out a string of vicious curses that would horrify his momma.
Hannah tries to bury her head under his arm. He cuddles her right away, soothing away the sting. "Not you, pretty girl. I didn't mean you. Someone else is who I'm mad at."
"Who are you angry with?"
Jared turns, too wound up to wonder how long Jensen's been there. "Did you do this?" he asks, clipping off his words so that they sound like gunfire. "Let her go wandering around alone?"
"Her who? Is Hannah out there?"
Jared's fraying temper is far too close to snapping, but right now he doesn't care. "You didn't even know where she was, did you? God damn it, Jen."
Jensen rears back, dismay fast changing to irritation. "I don't keep track of her every second of the day. What crawled up your ass and died?"
"You don't? She's your dog, isn't she?" Jared climbs the steps and slaps the end of Hannah's leash in Jensen's hand, winding the end tightly around his wrist. "She's meant to be a guide dog, am I right?"
Jensen's expression shutters off. "No, she's not. Steve bought her and gave her to me. I don't need a guide dog. I don't even like dogs."
"No shit. I noticed."
Jensen bares his teeth at Jared. "You're that pissed off about a dog?" He says it like she doesn't have a name, like she doesn't matter worth spit in the wind, and that's it. Jared’s had enough.
"You don't want her? Fine. She's mine." He takes Hannah's leash back, vindictively glad when she gets in tight next to him. "You gave up your right to her a long time ago, as far as I'm concerned. A man who doesn't love his dog doesn't deserve to have a dog."
"Fuck!" Jensen's baffled, Jared can tell, and all his walls are covered with bristles, but he's too far gone to stop and try to mend things right now. "Jared, seriously, what the hell is your problem? Where do you get off being the Grand High Priest of dogs, anyway? Who do you think you are to know so much about her? You don't have a clue --"
"I know about dogs, Jensen. I know because I had two that were my best friends ever, and --"
He stops. Right there, he stops, and even if he'd wanted to say more the words would have been unable to cross over his lips.
He's done.
"Jared," Jensen says, confused this time, reaching for him with one pale hand, fingers combing the salty beach air.
Jared turns away from him. "Heel, girl," he mutters, turning away. Hannah whines once, puzzled, torn between two masters. After a moment's hesitation it's Jared she follows, hugging him close for comfort.
He doesn't look back or let himself listen to Jensen calling for him until the sound of the ocean drowns him out, and he's halfway to the work site before he remembers the lunch he'd forgotten again.
Doesn't matter. He's nowhere near hungry now.
***
"You know," Mr. Manners says in between precise whacks of hammer to nail, smart enough to store his nails in the deep pockets of a carpenter's apron, "you might as well go ahead and talk."
"Huh?" Jared blinks out of his self-induced hypnotic painting coma. It takes patience and concentration, a lot more than he'd have thought, to get the strokes even and the green acrylic smooth. "Sorry. What was that?"
Mr. Manners grumps at him and falls silent. Jared's about to think he's let it drop when he steps away from the framework he's been putting together, grunts, and says casually as you please, "What's wrong with you?"
Jared snorts. "You want a list?"
"I don't think I'll live that long." Mr. Manners sits on a stack of bricks. He digs in the pocket not holding nails and comes out with a Slim Jim, which he unwraps, tearing off bites to toss to Hannah without looking or asking permission or commenting about that at all. He pops one fragment of sausage in his mouth and repeats himself around it, clarifying, "What's wrong with you right now?"
And that's not a question Jared wants to answer. Lord, how Sera would laugh to see this.
Maybe. Or maybe she'd hug him. God, would he love a good Sera-hug right now.
Jared shakes his head in disgust at himself and tries to play it off. "I'm good. Maybe a little high off paint fumes, is all."
"Bullshit." Mr. Manners says it like he'd say "water", so bland and flat that Jared double-takes when the meaning sinks in. He stares at the older man, who stares right back at him, unafraid. "See, I know your type, Padalecki. You came out of the womb yakking your fool head off. So when you shut up? The world's about to end. More, it means that you're gonna be flakier than a biscuit, more so than usual, until you've got whatever it is off your chest, so start talking. Might as well tell me as anyone else."
He expects Jared to do exactly as he's said, no mistaking that.
Thing is, Jared doesn't know if he can. He's not that guy. Not anymore. Sera's the only one he still talks to about his troubles, and that's only 'cause she…
He clears his throat. "Nah, I'm fine. Thanks anyway."
Mr. Manners snorts back a nasty-sounding gob of phlegm. "Suit yourself. So, you keeping Jensen's dog for yourself or is she just taking in the scenery today?"
Direct hit. Jared flushes burning-warm and he can't stop it.
"Uh-huh." Mr. Manners tosses Hannah the last bite of Slim Jim and crinkles the plastic wrapper into a ball.
Jared waits, tension coiling along his spine, waiting for Mr. Manners to make the wrong choice and push him. Please God, he prays. Don't let him go there. I can't. Won't. Just… don't.
The relief is immeasurable when Mr. Manners whoofs out a deep breath and stands back up, reaching for his hammer. "Few more of these and we can try standing them upright. Oh! Almost forgot. Did you mix that darker shade of green for the trim like I asked you to?"
Relieved by the distraction, Jared jumps on Mr. Manners' question. "About half an hour ago. Here, let me show you." He grabs the bucket he poured both shades in for the mix. It's heavy as hell at first, half full, then startlingly lighter. The sound of splattering liquid and the icy soaking of his sneaker combine to have him boggling as the last of the paint gushes from the can, its bottom stuck firmly to the bare ground where it had been sitting.
"Son of a bitch!" Jared looks to Mr. Manners, baffled… and sees that the old goat is laughing, rocking back on his heels and covering his eyes, face going dark red with the force of his guffaws.
Jared cracks up. "You son of a bitch!" he whoops, checking the empty paint can. He can see now that Mr. Manners fiddled around with it somehow, making sure the bottom would come loose when it was lifted. The bottom itself is stuck firmly to the bare ground. Tossing the empty can aside, careful not to hit Hannah, he lets it all go and laughs until his chest hurts despite being a hundred pounds lighter. Hannah skirts the puddle of paint with a disgusted shake of her head, which he pets, flopping her ears.
Mr. Manners crosses to Jared, offering to shake. "I think we'll get on fine, working together," he says. The man's got a good handshake, not trying to prove anything but still firm. He thumps Jared on the back. "Come on. I know you'll get me back for that later, but for now let's try and get this nailed together before we have to quit for the day."
Jared tries to wipe the paint coating his sneaker off on the grass. Lord, there's a lost cause. "Do you comp for wardrobe malfunctions?"
"Funny guy." Mr. Manners lopes ahead of Jared, a nail already in hand and hammer at the ready. As he prepares to do his work, he calls back over his shoulder, casually, "By the way, if you've hurt yourself worth more than a pout with anything, you should stop by Jeff's on your way back to the house. It's the sand-colored saltbox shack on the corner of Dunes Street and Coral, not too far from you."
Jared draws up short. "Jeff? Why?"
"He's a nurse. Was a Marine Corps medic for twenty-odd years and now he does the patching up when we need some. Works some herbal remedies too, healing ointments and such. Says he learned 'em from his great-grandma. Damned if they aren't effective, too. It's all off the books, but what isn't, around here?"
Huh. Jared chews on that one. He's oddly relieved, or maybe not so oddly when he comes to think about it.
Then he's worried, when he thinks about butterfly bandages on Jensen's palms, healing ointments, and scents the tang of remembered olive oil from the broken bottle strong in his nose.
And then, as he looks up at the gray, gray sky, the first fat drop of rain falls and splatters on his nose.
***
It's pouring down rain by the time Jared gets back home just after sunset, freezing-cold sheets pissing down on him and soaking him to the bone, feels like. He and Mr. Manners worked as long as they could and finally gave up an hour ago. They only had just enough time to batten tarpaulins down over whatever they could, cuss over the not-yet-dry paint -- Jared's starting to think Mr. Manners hasn't been repairing houses for long if he wasn't prepared for this -- and agree to call time of death.
He's wet and he's cold, sure, but hell, he'll dry. It's Hannah he's far more worried about, kicking his own ass for being dumb enough not to think ahead for her sake. She is not gonna get sick on his watch. Won't be allowed.
So really, all he's thinking about as he coaxes Hannah along the sidewalk is getting her in his own apartment. Drying her off, beating on the pipes to make them give up both gas heat and hot water, then rummaging around to find a decent dinner for both of them.
When she's safe and when she's dry, he's looking forward like heaven itself to settling in and listening to the rain do its worst outside where it can't touch them. Enjoying a dog's solid warmth at his side while he reads or maybe just sits there drowsing.
When, not if.
Hannah whines and balks as they hit the porch itself, tugging Jared toward Jensen's door and not his own. Wiping sodden hair out of his eyes, he crouches down and tries to sweet-talk her around to her new home. "I've got some hot dogs upstairs, pretty girl," he croons, scrunching up the soggy fur at her scruff. "Want a hot dog? I bet you do. You liked that Slim Jim, didn't you? Huh, girl?"
Hannah licks his face and tugs again toward Jensen's. When Jared digs in his heels and speaks sharply to her, "No!" she plops down on her hindquarters, tilts her head back and howls.
Jared? He crumbles. "Aww, baby girl, don't do that," he says despite it already being a lost cause. He kisses the top of her head, not minding the ripeness of wet dog one bit -- they can't help it -- and stands, releasing a heavy sigh that seems to come all the way up from the soles of his feet.
The lightning, when it strikes, startles Jared so that he nearly slips on the wet, rickety boards of the porch. Hannah jumps, yelping pitifully.
"Shit," he breathes, reverent. "That was close, wasn't it, pretty girl?" Petting Hannah's head to soothe her, he stares out into the storm in the hopes of seeing another bright, huge bolt like that. Ozone fills his nostrils, rich, along with the weird electrical stink of a storm.
He yelps, delighted, when a bolt touches down further away, spidery squiggles of white and gold etching their way across the sky. Hannah barks as she might if she got a chance to chase a squirrel, hopping up and down with excitement.
And then, though that bolt wasn't anywhere near as close, even while he watches in fascination the lonely amber streetlight flickers, fizzles, and goes dark.
He rubs Hannah's noggin, happy as a clam to share this moment with a good friend like she already is. With no lights around anywhere in the neighborhood to block out the evening sky and the storm, the power goes to his head.
If he closed his eyes and held out his arms, he thinks he might just fly apart and be rain, too, flying free everywhere.
Which is all well and good for about a minute, and then Hannah starts to whine, nudging his hip. When he tips up her muzzle to see if her eyes hold true fear or if she's just over-excited, he's concerned at the worry he sees there. It's been a long time, but he thinks he still knows how to read a dog.
And right now, she's about out of her mind with fretting.
"What's wrong, baby?" he asks, giving her leash enough slack for her to choose the path she wants to take. Hoping she'll head straight for his door, behind which there might not be hot water or gas heat anymore, but are still towels and might be some candles to read by. And hot dogs, those they can eat cold.
No such luck. Hannah makes a dive for Jensen's door, standing up on her hind legs to scrabble her toenails on the wood. She alternates briefly, trying to dig her way under the jamb, then goes back up, howling and whining almost louder than the storm.
When a dog's this worried, it's not something to take lightly. "Okay, pretty girl, okay," he tries to soothe her, taking the slack back up. He draws in a deep breath and pounds on Jensen's door.
Nothing.
"I know you're in there!" he hollers, hammering on. "Jensen, Hannah's gonna need sedatives so you damn well better open up, hear me?"
For a long, long pause, enough time for the lightning to strike again, there's nothing. Rain blows through slantwise, pelting his skin as unforgivingly as needles. He tries to shield Hannah between his body and the door, bellowing at Jensen and calling him every name he can think of to try and provoke a reaction.
He's stopped, his knuckles aching and his throat raw, ready to try and haul Hannah upstairs by force if need be -- she really will get sick if she's out here much longer -- when the door opens the slightest crack and Jensen's fingers appear, curled around the frame?
"Jared?" he asks, and he sounds more afraid than Hannah, small, with a childlike terror of the storm. "Jared?"
Hannah yelps and jumps up, digging away at the crack that the door's opened up. Jensen steps back, letting her barrel through.
When he reaches for Jared's hand, Jared lets him take it without hesitation. His upset melts away in the face of Jensen's honest-to-God near-panic.
Jensen clamps down on his hand like it's a lifeline, squeezing until it hurts Jared sharply, and God knows it's got to sting Jensen's palm something hellish.
Jared couldn't care less. "What's wrong?" He wraps his free hand around the back of Jensen's neck, trying to see well enough through the driving rain to figure out if he's hurt or something. "Jen, man, you're starting to freak me, too. Are you okay?"
Jensen swallows, his throat working. "Yeah," he says, and Jared doesn't believe him for a second. "Come in, would you? Please. Come in and shut the door."
It's a bad idea. Jared knows it's a bad idea. He ought to leave Hannah there for the night and go upstairs, wrap up in some blankets and just sleep this out, whatever it is.
He doesn't. He's ducking in Jensen's apartment and slamming the door behind him in two blinks of an eye.
And then he finds himself with an armful of shaking Jensen, and he forget all about his plans to walk away from the man.
***
"Shh, now. Shh, shh, shh," Jared hushes him, over and over again, humming between his attempts at comforting drones. "Come on, now. Jen. Please."
Jensen shakes his head, face buried in Jared's sopping wet shirt. Helpless, Jared hangs on, hoping to God he gets a clue soon or he'll have to try… he doesn't know, maybe slapping Jensen or something. And as many times as he's hurt Jen without trying, the thought makes him cringe.
"Where's Chris?" he asks, helpless. Damn the man. Of all the times for him not to be clinging like a burr. "Steve. Where's Steve?"
Jensen laughs breathlessly. "Chris -- I -- we had a fight. I told him to get out. And he went." He shakes. "Chris went. And Steve's on the night shift at the --"
"I can call Chris," Jared interrupts. "Let me call him. What's his number?" Better Chris than he, right now. Better Chris get him through this, because Jared isn't gonna be around forever and --
Thunder rolls outside.
"No," Jensen insists, gripping Jared's arms, fingers frantic, digging in. "Just you. Please."
"I can't…" Jared presses his face to the top of Jensen's head. "Okay. I'm here. Try to calm down. You're gonna hurt yourself. Shh, now, shh."
After a space of time in which there are no more lightning strikes to illuminate Jensen's face, leaving Jared in the dark in more ways than one, Jensen's shudders slow, eventually stopping.
Jared doesn't let go of him.
Jensen stills completely. "Fuck," he mutters, probably getting a mouthful of soggy shirt. "Fuck. Jared."
A completely inappropriate joke pops in Jared's mind. He chokes it down with a stern reprimand to his brain. "Jen," he replies, rubbing the man's back in slow, soothing circles. Damn, he's tense as an alley cat with an unknown dog in sight. "You with me?"
"Fuck," Jensen replies with deep feeling. He plants his palms on Jared's chest, so different from the last time he made that move, pushing away from him. He wipes his eyes. Jared realizes he's been so upset that he shed tears, and he wonders for a second what that feels like.
"Jen?" he asks, not reaching out to reel him back in. Just waiting.
Jensen shakes his head. His laugh is unconvincing. "Jeez. I don't know what got into me there. Um. Sorry."
That's not too compelling, either. Jared has an uneasy feeling tingling at the base of his spine, but he's got no real idea what it's all about. All he knows is that despite their stilted conversation made up of cussing and distancing, they're on the brink of something huge.
He wants to turn and run. God, does he want to.
He stays.
"Hey," he says, risking it and touching Jensen's cheek. "You all right in there?"
"Me?" Jensen scoffs. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh. Didn't seem that way a minute ago." Jared picks at his shirt, finding warm patches that prove Jensen was upset enough to cry. No. Not upset. Scared. Why? It's just a storm.
Jensen snorts derisively. Jared senses him turning aside.
The tension ramps higher for no reason apparent to Jared. He listens to the rough, ragged hitches of Jensen's breathing and waits for whatever's going to happen to happen. Nothing else he can do.
Except, apparently, run off at the mouth. "Jen, damn. What's bothering you? If you don't tell me, I can't help. Whatever else happened today, I want to help." He needs to. "I --"
Lightning strikes, white brilliance casting the room in eerie shadows. Hannah howls.
Jensen barrels into him with all his weight, and this time it's he who almost knocks Jared off balance. He stumbles back, the doorknob striking him painfully right below his ass, fending off what most closely resembles an octopus attack.
Jensen's hands? His lips, his tongue? They're everywhere. Tugging off his jacket, pushing up his shirt. Biting open-mouthed kisses, wet and scalding, on his stomach. Yanking at his shirt, trying his damndest to get that off, too. Swarming up to his mouth and forcing in his frustrated, almost animal whimpers. Sealing his lips to Jared's and refusing to be pushed off.
And Jared's trying. He never thought he'd be in a position like this, but by God he's trying because this is crashing over him fiercer than the storm outside as it churns the ocean into froth. "Jen," he tries to get out in the seconds that Jensen breathes. "What. Jen. What?"
"No," Jensen pleads, trying once again to pull off Jared's shirt. He whines when that doesn't work, and his hands go to the button-fly of Jared's jeans, popping them open.
He's kissing Jared again -- no, not kissing him, eating him -- when his hand wraps around Jared's cock.
"Stop it. Damn it, Jensen, quit!" Jared seizes Jen by the wrist and hangs on tight, firm enough in his grip to hurt and despite the pain it causes him, meaning it.
Jensen draws away enough for the next flash of lightning to illuminate his face. It's a terrible mask of twisted hunger and terror. "Damn you," he breathes. "God damn you. Don't you do this to me. Not when I'm trying so hard to be what you --"
Jared's stomach turns. Oh, God. "No." He pushes Jensen, maybe harder than he means to, maybe not. Jensen staggers from the force. "God damn you. You don't get to do this to me, either."
His hand is on the knob. "I gotta go. Take care of Hannah. Dry her off."
"Jared --" Jen tries to grab him, to stop him. "Don't you leave me. Don't, please, don't --"
Too late. Jared's out in the rain already, running as fast as he can, long legs eating up the distance he needs to put between them.
Unlike the last time he ran away from Jensen, this time he doesn't stop and go back. He doesn't stop until he's at the churning water's edge, where he tips his head to the sky and finally lets himself rage wordlessly until he's hoarse.
***
The wildness of the storm takes him over. Jared lets it happen, shouting himself out against the wind. The turbulence catches in his hair, tossing it wildly about his head and stinging his eyes; the crashing mess of water splashes him all the way to his heart.
He thinks he must look like a madman having his fit out there, swallowing as much rain as he breathes of the ozone-sour air. He tastes the tears he didn't know he was shedding, tears and snot running hot down his cheeks and chin, salty on his tongue.
He didn't ask for this. None of it. A job, a plain and simple paycheck for a couple of months. That's all he signed up for.
But then there was Jensen, and he lost himself the way he swore he never would again. Jen's already more than the buddy he'd thought he might be, more than the casual fuck he didn't ever want him to be. He's gone and gotten inside, hooks worked in sharp and deep. Cutting him out would hurt as much as carving on his own flesh.
Be damned if he knows if he can even try. And what’s he gonna do? What's left for him to do?
He can't. He has to. He can't. He's got no choice.
"Fucking damn it!" he swears, throat scraping bitterly raw. "Damn you, Jensen, damn you all the way to hell. Why'd you have to catch me?"
And then, that's it. He's got no more to give.
That's when it happens. He hears Hannah first, baying loud as any bloodhound. Jared would know that sound anywhere: Where are you? Where are you? Where did you go?
His mouth twists. He let her out, the son of a bitch let her out.
Except he didn't. Hannah appears through a driving sheet of near-solid rain, a yellower streak of lightning slicing toward him. And behind her, leash wrapped tight around his arm, is Jensen.
It all drops away from Jared, then. No rhyme or reason. He sees Jensen and his arms open to catch the man and stop him from falling.
"I found you," Jensen's babbling, grabbing onto Jared and holding him like he'll never let go. Dragging him away from the water. Their feet tangle; it's a wonder they don't tumble down. He says it over and over again as he pulls Jared away from the water. "I found you. Crazy, my God, you're insane -- why would you -- Jared, don't you -- don't ever --"
Lightning crashes, striking the wreckage of a beach bar long since left to rot. The crack! is deafening, blotting out the wailing storm. Jensen flinches violently and throws himself against Jared, clinging tight.
With nothing else to do, Jared pulls Jensen as tight as he can and shields him from the storm.
This time, it's Jared who fumbles until he finds Jensen's mouth. He swallows the last of Jensen's scream, drinking it down as bitter as myrrh and letting it burn in his belly.
Jensen tears out of what's not quite a kiss and not quite an attack, seizing Jared with one hand on either side of his face. He rasps this, but Jared hears him as clear as a bell.
"You asked why," he says through the chattering of his teeth. "The last thing I saw, Jared, the last thing I ever saw? It was lightning. And fire."
He drags Jared down to him, and Jared lets it happen.
A/N: Thanks to insomnia_geek, beloved brain twin, for the hours of brainstorming and plotting and encouragement. Thanks also to catdancerz for asking hard questions and pointing out things I needed to think about and hadn't.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (RPS), secondary Chris/Steve
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 12,000 (6,000 this post, 6,000 first post [this post linked from first])
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, lies.
Summary: In which I return to the blind!Jensen J2 AU (RPS/CWRPS).
Wandering ne'er-do-well Jared arrives in town for a temporary job rebuilding broken-down beach houses and falls hard for his reclusive downstairs neighbor Jensen. Jensen's not an easy man to understand. Jared still doesn't know all the secrets Jensen holds out of reach, but he plans to get to know the man better in every way he can -- if he can.
Features confusion, angst, Chris Kane's dangerous temper, a yellow Labrador, oncoming storms, secrets, and broken!Jensen. I still have those cookies if anyone wants one.
The above summary brings those who didn't catch the first part up to speed -- no need to read that one first. However, if you want to read it, here's the link: Tilted
Feedback: Makes me happy.
Tilted: Out of True (2/2)
What with the turn this day's taken all of a sudden -- which he might have seen all along if he'd only thought to look -- Jared isn't too surprised to discover, come noon, that he'd walked right out the door that morning without his sack lunch. It wasn't much, just a cheese and jalapeño sandwich and a bag of chips and a pack of Grandma's cookies and a banana, oh, and a pudding cup, but when he considers working through, his stomach doesn't like that idea and lets him know as much in no uncertain terms.
Mr. Manners is annoyed when he gives Jared permission to take the extra time he'll need to schlep back home and get his lunch, so Jared determines to hurry. Needing to rush probably isn't a bad thing, he reasons. If he had all the time in the world he'd be tempted to stop and knock on Jensen's door, maybe hang out while he eats, and right now he doesn't figure that's such a good idea.
He needs to think, needs to stop and figure out what the hell he's doing -- maybe even has to figure out how to back down despite how much he doesn't want to. Jared's not used to thinking things to death like this, and it's giving him one hell of a headache. So. Again, it's most likely for the best that he's got to hurry.
Thing is, he forgets about needing to rush as soon as he sets foot on the porch steps. He's automatically looked up at Jensen's door, not intending anything but just drawn to it, and so he has a great view when the door opens and someone who isn't Jensen, Chris or Steve steps out, carrying a white box with a Red Cross stenciled on its side.
No sirree, this is a stranger, and the size of him almost makes Jared feel small. He's not as tall, Jared wouldn't say, but he's definitely sturdier and he's got the kind of muscles that warn a man not to tangle with him. There's a gruff set to his jaw under a half-grown-in beard of equally mixed salt and pepper, a USMC tattoo on his forearm, and a firmness to his stride that tells Jared this is the kind of man you should automatically address as "sir". Scary, if you get on the wrong side of him.
So of course Jared's on edge right away, wondering exactly who this guy is to Jensen. It's weirdly like meeting a guy's dad, something he tries to avoid.
Trying to be casual about it, Jared sidles around to his side of the porch, thinking maybe he can hide behind the post and keep a weather eye on things.
He always forgets that he's not so good at sneaky. The big bear glances over at Jared in the midst of his epic fail and winks at him. The touch of humor does wonders for big, bearded and burly, warming him from forbidding father to laid-back, like a friendly uncle or an older cousin.
Jared catches himself before he starts singing again. He nods to the guy and offers him a grin.
The man nods back, then returns his attention to the doorway through which he just exited, speaking in a low voice that reminds Jared of the rumbly sound of a love-worn, hard-worked pickup truck's engine. "You remember what I told you, now. You call me day or night if you need me. Understood?"
Jensen appears behind the big guy, standing in the doorway. He's smiling at Beard like Jared had thought Jensen only ever smiled at him. The sight wounds. More so when the big man claps Jensen on the shoulder, jostling him, and Jensen chuckles.
"Jeff, c'mon. You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
"Nope. You know I never let go of any good blackmail material."
"Sheesh," Jensen says with a sort of fond exasperation. "I promise I won't leave you out of the loop again. Honest. I've got you on speed-dial now."
"You damn well better have me at the top of the list." The guy checks his watch. "Better get going. Time flies, huh?" He tousles up Jensen's hair. "Take it easy."
Jensen grins after him, waving as if he can see the bastard, who, as he leaves, doesn't mention Jared’s presence to Jensen.
Which is how he manages, for once in his life, to remain unnoticed for the next few moments, and without opening his mouth to betray his presence, he observes:
Steve, standing silently behind Jensen. Steve's speaking quietly in Jensen's ear; Jensen frowns as he listens. Doesn't look as if he likes what Steve has to say. Steve lifts one of Jensen's hands, brushing lightly over the brand-new, professionally neat butterfly bandages on his palms.
Jensen tugs away from him, looking troubled. "That's not his fault," he says, stubborn.
Steve doesn't look like he believes Jensen for one second.
Jared tries to look past him, wondering when that junkyard terrier is going to stick his nose in and start yapping. Chris isn't anywhere in sight, but the way Jared knows it works, where Steve is, Chris is never far behind.
He can't be dealing with Chris or any of his hollering right now, because if he gets much more tangled up inside he really will lose his cool and wade in fists first. He'd love to whop some manners into Chris like his momma should’ve taught him -- but he doesn't see the point in getting Jensen upset.
He about hates Chris enough to think it might maybe be worth it, though. Even if all Chris did was point the truth, things were so much better -- maybe for both of them -- before he did.
Jensen retreats; Steve closes the door. Jared stuffs his hands in his pockets and exhales heavily, staring at the door and wallowing in the woe.
What's he supposed to do about all this? He's not good at this. He doesn't stay for this kind of crap. This is why he doesn't stay. He --
"Help you with something?"
Jared pivots, body tensing for attack or defense, a natural reflex by now. He relaxes -- some -- when he sees that it's only that Jeff guy, watching him from the sidewalk. Jeff's another one of those inscrutable types when he wants to be, it seems, and it's impossible to tell if he's warning Jared off or just being neighborly.
"I live here. Upstairs." Jared jerks his thumb in the direction of the side door. "Working with Mr. Manners for a couple of months."
"He finally suckered someone into helping him cobble together those old shacks?"
Jared, surprised, bursts out laughing. "You could say that. Is it just me, or are they gonna come right back down again next hurricane season?"
Jeff taps the side of his nose. "Who cares as long as it pays the bills, though, huh? Don't worry. Manners pays on time and he seems to be a decent guy."
"Puts a roof over my head for now, too," Jared agrees. He's warming to Jeff, even if wanting to ask Jeff who he is and what role he plays in Jensen's life is nigh enough to make his teeth itch.
Jeff tilts his head. "Got any plans for after the season?"
"Not much. I move around a lot."
"Huh." Jeff regards him steadily, and for the life of him Jared has no clue what the man might be thinking. "Good luck with construction today."
Jared's maybe a tad too defensive when he retorts, "Why? Do I need luck?"
Jeff's shrugs is casual and completely neutral. "Mortar won't stick and paint won't dry in this kind of weather, not if it gets much worse."
"Come again?"
"It's gonna storm. Big-time." Jeff points at the sky. "Take it easy, kid."
Jared holds his tongue only because he was raised not to sass his elders or men who once served their country. He nods stiffly to Jeff and holds his place until Jeff's gone on his way.
Then, he sits heavily on the porch step and rests his forehead on his palm, thoughts of getting in his truck and just driving away, not stopping until he's three states from there running thick and heavy in his head as silt in a choked-up river. He can almost taste the mud.
A cold, wet nose bumping his knee brings him out of his funk. As soon as she knows he's aware of her presence, Hannah goes damn near crazy with loving on him, standing up with her muddy paws on his knee and washing his face.
"Lord, girl." Jared rubs her silky ears as he laughs, playfully pushing her head away. "You're in bad need of a breath mint treat, aren't you?"
Hannah woofs happily, licking under his chin. Jared doesn't really mind the doggie breath and lets her settle in, making those happy canine whines that means she's as close to heaven as a good dog gets on his earth. He pets her the way he remembers a good puppy likes, rubbing her back and thumping near her tail, which could be considered a dangerous and deadly weapon given the way it whips around as she wags for all she's worth.
It takes a minute for Jared to realize she's out here all by herself. When the understanding comes clear, he catches the leather leash hanging loose from her collar and frowns at the length. Not chewed through or broken.
Fucking damn it. Someone turned her loose to run around all by herself without even so much as taking her leash off so she wouldn't get hung up or choked.
Jared sees red. You don't do that to a dog, not even the sorriest and most flea-ridden of them. Especially not to a girl as sweet as Hannah, dying for some love and attention. She's been let loose like she means nothing, not to anyone, and he's so angry all of a sudden that he spits out a string of vicious curses that would horrify his momma.
Hannah tries to bury her head under his arm. He cuddles her right away, soothing away the sting. "Not you, pretty girl. I didn't mean you. Someone else is who I'm mad at."
"Who are you angry with?"
Jared turns, too wound up to wonder how long Jensen's been there. "Did you do this?" he asks, clipping off his words so that they sound like gunfire. "Let her go wandering around alone?"
"Her who? Is Hannah out there?"
Jared's fraying temper is far too close to snapping, but right now he doesn't care. "You didn't even know where she was, did you? God damn it, Jen."
Jensen rears back, dismay fast changing to irritation. "I don't keep track of her every second of the day. What crawled up your ass and died?"
"You don't? She's your dog, isn't she?" Jared climbs the steps and slaps the end of Hannah's leash in Jensen's hand, winding the end tightly around his wrist. "She's meant to be a guide dog, am I right?"
Jensen's expression shutters off. "No, she's not. Steve bought her and gave her to me. I don't need a guide dog. I don't even like dogs."
"No shit. I noticed."
Jensen bares his teeth at Jared. "You're that pissed off about a dog?" He says it like she doesn't have a name, like she doesn't matter worth spit in the wind, and that's it. Jared’s had enough.
"You don't want her? Fine. She's mine." He takes Hannah's leash back, vindictively glad when she gets in tight next to him. "You gave up your right to her a long time ago, as far as I'm concerned. A man who doesn't love his dog doesn't deserve to have a dog."
"Fuck!" Jensen's baffled, Jared can tell, and all his walls are covered with bristles, but he's too far gone to stop and try to mend things right now. "Jared, seriously, what the hell is your problem? Where do you get off being the Grand High Priest of dogs, anyway? Who do you think you are to know so much about her? You don't have a clue --"
"I know about dogs, Jensen. I know because I had two that were my best friends ever, and --"
He stops. Right there, he stops, and even if he'd wanted to say more the words would have been unable to cross over his lips.
He's done.
"Jared," Jensen says, confused this time, reaching for him with one pale hand, fingers combing the salty beach air.
Jared turns away from him. "Heel, girl," he mutters, turning away. Hannah whines once, puzzled, torn between two masters. After a moment's hesitation it's Jared she follows, hugging him close for comfort.
He doesn't look back or let himself listen to Jensen calling for him until the sound of the ocean drowns him out, and he's halfway to the work site before he remembers the lunch he'd forgotten again.
Doesn't matter. He's nowhere near hungry now.
***
"You know," Mr. Manners says in between precise whacks of hammer to nail, smart enough to store his nails in the deep pockets of a carpenter's apron, "you might as well go ahead and talk."
"Huh?" Jared blinks out of his self-induced hypnotic painting coma. It takes patience and concentration, a lot more than he'd have thought, to get the strokes even and the green acrylic smooth. "Sorry. What was that?"
Mr. Manners grumps at him and falls silent. Jared's about to think he's let it drop when he steps away from the framework he's been putting together, grunts, and says casually as you please, "What's wrong with you?"
Jared snorts. "You want a list?"
"I don't think I'll live that long." Mr. Manners sits on a stack of bricks. He digs in the pocket not holding nails and comes out with a Slim Jim, which he unwraps, tearing off bites to toss to Hannah without looking or asking permission or commenting about that at all. He pops one fragment of sausage in his mouth and repeats himself around it, clarifying, "What's wrong with you right now?"
And that's not a question Jared wants to answer. Lord, how Sera would laugh to see this.
Maybe. Or maybe she'd hug him. God, would he love a good Sera-hug right now.
Jared shakes his head in disgust at himself and tries to play it off. "I'm good. Maybe a little high off paint fumes, is all."
"Bullshit." Mr. Manners says it like he'd say "water", so bland and flat that Jared double-takes when the meaning sinks in. He stares at the older man, who stares right back at him, unafraid. "See, I know your type, Padalecki. You came out of the womb yakking your fool head off. So when you shut up? The world's about to end. More, it means that you're gonna be flakier than a biscuit, more so than usual, until you've got whatever it is off your chest, so start talking. Might as well tell me as anyone else."
He expects Jared to do exactly as he's said, no mistaking that.
Thing is, Jared doesn't know if he can. He's not that guy. Not anymore. Sera's the only one he still talks to about his troubles, and that's only 'cause she…
He clears his throat. "Nah, I'm fine. Thanks anyway."
Mr. Manners snorts back a nasty-sounding gob of phlegm. "Suit yourself. So, you keeping Jensen's dog for yourself or is she just taking in the scenery today?"
Direct hit. Jared flushes burning-warm and he can't stop it.
"Uh-huh." Mr. Manners tosses Hannah the last bite of Slim Jim and crinkles the plastic wrapper into a ball.
Jared waits, tension coiling along his spine, waiting for Mr. Manners to make the wrong choice and push him. Please God, he prays. Don't let him go there. I can't. Won't. Just… don't.
The relief is immeasurable when Mr. Manners whoofs out a deep breath and stands back up, reaching for his hammer. "Few more of these and we can try standing them upright. Oh! Almost forgot. Did you mix that darker shade of green for the trim like I asked you to?"
Relieved by the distraction, Jared jumps on Mr. Manners' question. "About half an hour ago. Here, let me show you." He grabs the bucket he poured both shades in for the mix. It's heavy as hell at first, half full, then startlingly lighter. The sound of splattering liquid and the icy soaking of his sneaker combine to have him boggling as the last of the paint gushes from the can, its bottom stuck firmly to the bare ground where it had been sitting.
"Son of a bitch!" Jared looks to Mr. Manners, baffled… and sees that the old goat is laughing, rocking back on his heels and covering his eyes, face going dark red with the force of his guffaws.
Jared cracks up. "You son of a bitch!" he whoops, checking the empty paint can. He can see now that Mr. Manners fiddled around with it somehow, making sure the bottom would come loose when it was lifted. The bottom itself is stuck firmly to the bare ground. Tossing the empty can aside, careful not to hit Hannah, he lets it all go and laughs until his chest hurts despite being a hundred pounds lighter. Hannah skirts the puddle of paint with a disgusted shake of her head, which he pets, flopping her ears.
Mr. Manners crosses to Jared, offering to shake. "I think we'll get on fine, working together," he says. The man's got a good handshake, not trying to prove anything but still firm. He thumps Jared on the back. "Come on. I know you'll get me back for that later, but for now let's try and get this nailed together before we have to quit for the day."
Jared tries to wipe the paint coating his sneaker off on the grass. Lord, there's a lost cause. "Do you comp for wardrobe malfunctions?"
"Funny guy." Mr. Manners lopes ahead of Jared, a nail already in hand and hammer at the ready. As he prepares to do his work, he calls back over his shoulder, casually, "By the way, if you've hurt yourself worth more than a pout with anything, you should stop by Jeff's on your way back to the house. It's the sand-colored saltbox shack on the corner of Dunes Street and Coral, not too far from you."
Jared draws up short. "Jeff? Why?"
"He's a nurse. Was a Marine Corps medic for twenty-odd years and now he does the patching up when we need some. Works some herbal remedies too, healing ointments and such. Says he learned 'em from his great-grandma. Damned if they aren't effective, too. It's all off the books, but what isn't, around here?"
Huh. Jared chews on that one. He's oddly relieved, or maybe not so oddly when he comes to think about it.
Then he's worried, when he thinks about butterfly bandages on Jensen's palms, healing ointments, and scents the tang of remembered olive oil from the broken bottle strong in his nose.
And then, as he looks up at the gray, gray sky, the first fat drop of rain falls and splatters on his nose.
***
It's pouring down rain by the time Jared gets back home just after sunset, freezing-cold sheets pissing down on him and soaking him to the bone, feels like. He and Mr. Manners worked as long as they could and finally gave up an hour ago. They only had just enough time to batten tarpaulins down over whatever they could, cuss over the not-yet-dry paint -- Jared's starting to think Mr. Manners hasn't been repairing houses for long if he wasn't prepared for this -- and agree to call time of death.
He's wet and he's cold, sure, but hell, he'll dry. It's Hannah he's far more worried about, kicking his own ass for being dumb enough not to think ahead for her sake. She is not gonna get sick on his watch. Won't be allowed.
So really, all he's thinking about as he coaxes Hannah along the sidewalk is getting her in his own apartment. Drying her off, beating on the pipes to make them give up both gas heat and hot water, then rummaging around to find a decent dinner for both of them.
When she's safe and when she's dry, he's looking forward like heaven itself to settling in and listening to the rain do its worst outside where it can't touch them. Enjoying a dog's solid warmth at his side while he reads or maybe just sits there drowsing.
When, not if.
Hannah whines and balks as they hit the porch itself, tugging Jared toward Jensen's door and not his own. Wiping sodden hair out of his eyes, he crouches down and tries to sweet-talk her around to her new home. "I've got some hot dogs upstairs, pretty girl," he croons, scrunching up the soggy fur at her scruff. "Want a hot dog? I bet you do. You liked that Slim Jim, didn't you? Huh, girl?"
Hannah licks his face and tugs again toward Jensen's. When Jared digs in his heels and speaks sharply to her, "No!" she plops down on her hindquarters, tilts her head back and howls.
Jared? He crumbles. "Aww, baby girl, don't do that," he says despite it already being a lost cause. He kisses the top of her head, not minding the ripeness of wet dog one bit -- they can't help it -- and stands, releasing a heavy sigh that seems to come all the way up from the soles of his feet.
The lightning, when it strikes, startles Jared so that he nearly slips on the wet, rickety boards of the porch. Hannah jumps, yelping pitifully.
"Shit," he breathes, reverent. "That was close, wasn't it, pretty girl?" Petting Hannah's head to soothe her, he stares out into the storm in the hopes of seeing another bright, huge bolt like that. Ozone fills his nostrils, rich, along with the weird electrical stink of a storm.
He yelps, delighted, when a bolt touches down further away, spidery squiggles of white and gold etching their way across the sky. Hannah barks as she might if she got a chance to chase a squirrel, hopping up and down with excitement.
And then, though that bolt wasn't anywhere near as close, even while he watches in fascination the lonely amber streetlight flickers, fizzles, and goes dark.
He rubs Hannah's noggin, happy as a clam to share this moment with a good friend like she already is. With no lights around anywhere in the neighborhood to block out the evening sky and the storm, the power goes to his head.
If he closed his eyes and held out his arms, he thinks he might just fly apart and be rain, too, flying free everywhere.
Which is all well and good for about a minute, and then Hannah starts to whine, nudging his hip. When he tips up her muzzle to see if her eyes hold true fear or if she's just over-excited, he's concerned at the worry he sees there. It's been a long time, but he thinks he still knows how to read a dog.
And right now, she's about out of her mind with fretting.
"What's wrong, baby?" he asks, giving her leash enough slack for her to choose the path she wants to take. Hoping she'll head straight for his door, behind which there might not be hot water or gas heat anymore, but are still towels and might be some candles to read by. And hot dogs, those they can eat cold.
No such luck. Hannah makes a dive for Jensen's door, standing up on her hind legs to scrabble her toenails on the wood. She alternates briefly, trying to dig her way under the jamb, then goes back up, howling and whining almost louder than the storm.
When a dog's this worried, it's not something to take lightly. "Okay, pretty girl, okay," he tries to soothe her, taking the slack back up. He draws in a deep breath and pounds on Jensen's door.
Nothing.
"I know you're in there!" he hollers, hammering on. "Jensen, Hannah's gonna need sedatives so you damn well better open up, hear me?"
For a long, long pause, enough time for the lightning to strike again, there's nothing. Rain blows through slantwise, pelting his skin as unforgivingly as needles. He tries to shield Hannah between his body and the door, bellowing at Jensen and calling him every name he can think of to try and provoke a reaction.
He's stopped, his knuckles aching and his throat raw, ready to try and haul Hannah upstairs by force if need be -- she really will get sick if she's out here much longer -- when the door opens the slightest crack and Jensen's fingers appear, curled around the frame?
"Jared?" he asks, and he sounds more afraid than Hannah, small, with a childlike terror of the storm. "Jared?"
Hannah yelps and jumps up, digging away at the crack that the door's opened up. Jensen steps back, letting her barrel through.
When he reaches for Jared's hand, Jared lets him take it without hesitation. His upset melts away in the face of Jensen's honest-to-God near-panic.
Jensen clamps down on his hand like it's a lifeline, squeezing until it hurts Jared sharply, and God knows it's got to sting Jensen's palm something hellish.
Jared couldn't care less. "What's wrong?" He wraps his free hand around the back of Jensen's neck, trying to see well enough through the driving rain to figure out if he's hurt or something. "Jen, man, you're starting to freak me, too. Are you okay?"
Jensen swallows, his throat working. "Yeah," he says, and Jared doesn't believe him for a second. "Come in, would you? Please. Come in and shut the door."
It's a bad idea. Jared knows it's a bad idea. He ought to leave Hannah there for the night and go upstairs, wrap up in some blankets and just sleep this out, whatever it is.
He doesn't. He's ducking in Jensen's apartment and slamming the door behind him in two blinks of an eye.
And then he finds himself with an armful of shaking Jensen, and he forget all about his plans to walk away from the man.
***
"Shh, now. Shh, shh, shh," Jared hushes him, over and over again, humming between his attempts at comforting drones. "Come on, now. Jen. Please."
Jensen shakes his head, face buried in Jared's sopping wet shirt. Helpless, Jared hangs on, hoping to God he gets a clue soon or he'll have to try… he doesn't know, maybe slapping Jensen or something. And as many times as he's hurt Jen without trying, the thought makes him cringe.
"Where's Chris?" he asks, helpless. Damn the man. Of all the times for him not to be clinging like a burr. "Steve. Where's Steve?"
Jensen laughs breathlessly. "Chris -- I -- we had a fight. I told him to get out. And he went." He shakes. "Chris went. And Steve's on the night shift at the --"
"I can call Chris," Jared interrupts. "Let me call him. What's his number?" Better Chris than he, right now. Better Chris get him through this, because Jared isn't gonna be around forever and --
Thunder rolls outside.
"No," Jensen insists, gripping Jared's arms, fingers frantic, digging in. "Just you. Please."
"I can't…" Jared presses his face to the top of Jensen's head. "Okay. I'm here. Try to calm down. You're gonna hurt yourself. Shh, now, shh."
After a space of time in which there are no more lightning strikes to illuminate Jensen's face, leaving Jared in the dark in more ways than one, Jensen's shudders slow, eventually stopping.
Jared doesn't let go of him.
Jensen stills completely. "Fuck," he mutters, probably getting a mouthful of soggy shirt. "Fuck. Jared."
A completely inappropriate joke pops in Jared's mind. He chokes it down with a stern reprimand to his brain. "Jen," he replies, rubbing the man's back in slow, soothing circles. Damn, he's tense as an alley cat with an unknown dog in sight. "You with me?"
"Fuck," Jensen replies with deep feeling. He plants his palms on Jared's chest, so different from the last time he made that move, pushing away from him. He wipes his eyes. Jared realizes he's been so upset that he shed tears, and he wonders for a second what that feels like.
"Jen?" he asks, not reaching out to reel him back in. Just waiting.
Jensen shakes his head. His laugh is unconvincing. "Jeez. I don't know what got into me there. Um. Sorry."
That's not too compelling, either. Jared has an uneasy feeling tingling at the base of his spine, but he's got no real idea what it's all about. All he knows is that despite their stilted conversation made up of cussing and distancing, they're on the brink of something huge.
He wants to turn and run. God, does he want to.
He stays.
"Hey," he says, risking it and touching Jensen's cheek. "You all right in there?"
"Me?" Jensen scoffs. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh. Didn't seem that way a minute ago." Jared picks at his shirt, finding warm patches that prove Jensen was upset enough to cry. No. Not upset. Scared. Why? It's just a storm.
Jensen snorts derisively. Jared senses him turning aside.
The tension ramps higher for no reason apparent to Jared. He listens to the rough, ragged hitches of Jensen's breathing and waits for whatever's going to happen to happen. Nothing else he can do.
Except, apparently, run off at the mouth. "Jen, damn. What's bothering you? If you don't tell me, I can't help. Whatever else happened today, I want to help." He needs to. "I --"
Lightning strikes, white brilliance casting the room in eerie shadows. Hannah howls.
Jensen barrels into him with all his weight, and this time it's he who almost knocks Jared off balance. He stumbles back, the doorknob striking him painfully right below his ass, fending off what most closely resembles an octopus attack.
Jensen's hands? His lips, his tongue? They're everywhere. Tugging off his jacket, pushing up his shirt. Biting open-mouthed kisses, wet and scalding, on his stomach. Yanking at his shirt, trying his damndest to get that off, too. Swarming up to his mouth and forcing in his frustrated, almost animal whimpers. Sealing his lips to Jared's and refusing to be pushed off.
And Jared's trying. He never thought he'd be in a position like this, but by God he's trying because this is crashing over him fiercer than the storm outside as it churns the ocean into froth. "Jen," he tries to get out in the seconds that Jensen breathes. "What. Jen. What?"
"No," Jensen pleads, trying once again to pull off Jared's shirt. He whines when that doesn't work, and his hands go to the button-fly of Jared's jeans, popping them open.
He's kissing Jared again -- no, not kissing him, eating him -- when his hand wraps around Jared's cock.
"Stop it. Damn it, Jensen, quit!" Jared seizes Jen by the wrist and hangs on tight, firm enough in his grip to hurt and despite the pain it causes him, meaning it.
Jensen draws away enough for the next flash of lightning to illuminate his face. It's a terrible mask of twisted hunger and terror. "Damn you," he breathes. "God damn you. Don't you do this to me. Not when I'm trying so hard to be what you --"
Jared's stomach turns. Oh, God. "No." He pushes Jensen, maybe harder than he means to, maybe not. Jensen staggers from the force. "God damn you. You don't get to do this to me, either."
His hand is on the knob. "I gotta go. Take care of Hannah. Dry her off."
"Jared --" Jen tries to grab him, to stop him. "Don't you leave me. Don't, please, don't --"
Too late. Jared's out in the rain already, running as fast as he can, long legs eating up the distance he needs to put between them.
Unlike the last time he ran away from Jensen, this time he doesn't stop and go back. He doesn't stop until he's at the churning water's edge, where he tips his head to the sky and finally lets himself rage wordlessly until he's hoarse.
***
The wildness of the storm takes him over. Jared lets it happen, shouting himself out against the wind. The turbulence catches in his hair, tossing it wildly about his head and stinging his eyes; the crashing mess of water splashes him all the way to his heart.
He thinks he must look like a madman having his fit out there, swallowing as much rain as he breathes of the ozone-sour air. He tastes the tears he didn't know he was shedding, tears and snot running hot down his cheeks and chin, salty on his tongue.
He didn't ask for this. None of it. A job, a plain and simple paycheck for a couple of months. That's all he signed up for.
But then there was Jensen, and he lost himself the way he swore he never would again. Jen's already more than the buddy he'd thought he might be, more than the casual fuck he didn't ever want him to be. He's gone and gotten inside, hooks worked in sharp and deep. Cutting him out would hurt as much as carving on his own flesh.
Be damned if he knows if he can even try. And what’s he gonna do? What's left for him to do?
He can't. He has to. He can't. He's got no choice.
"Fucking damn it!" he swears, throat scraping bitterly raw. "Damn you, Jensen, damn you all the way to hell. Why'd you have to catch me?"
And then, that's it. He's got no more to give.
That's when it happens. He hears Hannah first, baying loud as any bloodhound. Jared would know that sound anywhere: Where are you? Where are you? Where did you go?
His mouth twists. He let her out, the son of a bitch let her out.
Except he didn't. Hannah appears through a driving sheet of near-solid rain, a yellower streak of lightning slicing toward him. And behind her, leash wrapped tight around his arm, is Jensen.
It all drops away from Jared, then. No rhyme or reason. He sees Jensen and his arms open to catch the man and stop him from falling.
"I found you," Jensen's babbling, grabbing onto Jared and holding him like he'll never let go. Dragging him away from the water. Their feet tangle; it's a wonder they don't tumble down. He says it over and over again as he pulls Jared away from the water. "I found you. Crazy, my God, you're insane -- why would you -- Jared, don't you -- don't ever --"
Lightning crashes, striking the wreckage of a beach bar long since left to rot. The crack! is deafening, blotting out the wailing storm. Jensen flinches violently and throws himself against Jared, clinging tight.
With nothing else to do, Jared pulls Jensen as tight as he can and shields him from the storm.
This time, it's Jared who fumbles until he finds Jensen's mouth. He swallows the last of Jensen's scream, drinking it down as bitter as myrrh and letting it burn in his belly.
Jensen tears out of what's not quite a kiss and not quite an attack, seizing Jared with one hand on either side of his face. He rasps this, but Jared hears him as clear as a bell.
"You asked why," he says through the chattering of his teeth. "The last thing I saw, Jared, the last thing I ever saw? It was lightning. And fire."
He drags Jared down to him, and Jared lets it happen.
A/N: Thanks to insomnia_geek, beloved brain twin, for the hours of brainstorming and plotting and encouragement. Thanks also to catdancerz for asking hard questions and pointing out things I needed to think about and hadn't.