Jared and the Undead Bartender 1/5
J2 RPS AU
NC-17
Part 1 of 5
Master post
Art
The bar is called Abigail's and the hours, as posted on the door, are “Sunset to sunrise”. The place looks dim and quiet and Jared could use a beer, so he goes in.
His week started off well but he's spent the days since trying to put out fires and deal with the home office's utter inability to understand that firm-wide policies and changes aren't going to work for everyone, and that outsourcing some of its IT is never going to be a good idea. His roommate is never around during the week, the fridge is half-empty, and his place is a long walk from the T station. He isn't looking forward to going back to his apartment.
Abigail's is indeed dim and quiet. The bar runs along the right side of the space, with a couple of tables by the front windows, booths along the left wall, and more tables in back. There's something vaguely bluesy playing on the stereo. Jared takes a seat at the bar, two stools down from a guy in a suit who's chatting with the bartender.
Jared looks at the taps, thinking. They're all local brews - Harpoon, Night Shift, Jack's Abby, the ubiquitous Sam Adams. Every time he walks into a bar he's reminded how far from home he really is. Not just San Antonio, where he grew up, but Durham, where he lived before he moved to Boston. He misses both places.
He doesn't hate Boston, exactly, although it's only February and he's already tired of the winter, and he doesn't hate his job, exactly, although he'd like it if just once, for just one week, everything worked like it was supposed to. He'd call Chad for sympathy, but Chad would just tell him to suck it up and wait until spring, when all those cute Boston boys shed their heavy winter coats and hats and emerge bright-eyed and tousle-haired into the sunlight. Because 99.44% of the time, Chad's answer to all of life's problems is “You just need to get laid”.
The other 0.56% of the time, his answer is “Maybe you need a change of scenery.” Which is how Jared got here in the first place.
“I'm telling you,” the guy in the suit is saying to the bartender, “it's 'wadi'.” Jared notices that there's a folded newspaper on the bar, showing what looks like the crossword puzzle.
“Then 'man of fables' starts with A,” the bartender says. He doesn't sound convinced.
“Aesop,” Jared says. They both look at him.
The bartender makes an annoyed noise and fills in some of the crossword boxes. “I should've known that. Thanks. What's your pleasure, or do you need some time?”
One of the taps says “Downeast”. Jared has been in Boston long enough to be able to tell which taps are local beer and which are local cider. Sure, why not.
“I'll have a cider,” Jared says. The guy in the suit leans forward and turns the crossword so he can see it while the bartender pours Jared's cider.
“''Noticed,' four letters, starts with S,” the guy in the suit says, partly to himself and partly to Jared. “Not 'saw'.”
“'Seen'?”
The guy scribbles.
“Stop doing my crossword,” the bartender tells him, grabbing the newspaper.
“I'm just trying to help.”
“Do you think I need help?”
“Everyone needs help.” The guy turns to Jared, surprising him by asking “What do you need help with?”
“Uh,” Jared says, taken aback. Total strangers don't normally ask you that kind of thing in bars, especially not up here. Not that New Englanders are unfriendly, necessarily, but they keep to themselves a lot more than folks from farther south.
“Don't pester the customers,” the bartender says mildly. He's a nice-looking guy - short brown hair, dark red henley, broad shoulders. “How's the cider?” he asks Jared. “I've been having trouble with that tap.”
“It's fine. It's not too dry.”
The bartender nods, satisfied. “It's not supposed to be. Don't let Misha bother you.” He nods at the guy in the suit, who is apparently called Misha.
“Psh,” Misha says dismissively. “It's my purpose in life to pester. It's my job.”
“What do you do?” Jared asks.
“Social media and PR for non-profits, focusing on charitable organizations. I'm trying to get my own charity off the ground. What do you know about non-profits?” But before Jared can answer, Misha gives the bartender a pointed look and says “I'm not pestering, I'm networking.”
“Do you feel pestered?” the bartender asks Jared.
“Not really.” Jared shrugs. “I'm in IT,” he tells Misha. “I work for a big accounting firm. We're for-profit.”
“Are you looking for a side hustle?”
“Misha,” the bartender says. He glances up from his crossword, then shoots a look at Jared's glass. It's still half-full.
“I'm not Uber,” Misha goes on, undeterred. “You can trust me. I might need an IT guy, but the job is still volunteer-only.”
“What would I be doing?” Jared asks, out of curiosity.
“I don't know yet. Are you on LinkedIn?”
“Yeah. Wait, I have, uh, shit.” He pulls his backpack up from the floor and rummages around in the front pocket. He has a pile of business cards somewhere. He finally manages to produce one and hands it over. Misha gives it a thorough examination before putting it in his pants pocket.
“Misha Collins,” he says, holding out his hand. Jared shakes it. “Pleased to meet you. You're not looking for a new job, are you? Vicky's got a friend,” he says to the bartender.
“Vicky's got a lot of friends,” the bartender mutters.
“My wife,” Misha tells Jared.
“I just started three months ago,” Jared says. “I can't quit now.”
Misha nods in understanding. “You should wait a year. That's what they tell me.” He looks at his watch, slides off his stool, and puts on his coat. “If you have any interest in non-profit start-ups, give me a call.” He digs a business card of his own out of a coat pocket and gives it to Jared.
“'Random Acts'?” Jared says.
“Commit random acts of kindness and senseless beauty. That's my charity. Well, it will be when I get it off the ground. I've got a great business plan, I just need to raise some money.”
“Doesn't Vicky have any lawyer friends?” the bartender asks. “So you don't have to keep bugging my customers?”
“He's not bugging me,” Jared says. It never occurred to him to look for volunteer opportunities. It's as good a way as any to meet people and it might be good for his soul to use his spare time helping folks in need.
“See?” Misha says to the bartender. “I'm a delight to be around.” He grins. “Nice to meet you. Jensen, it's been a pleasure, as always.” He waves to Jared and the bartender - whose name seems to be Jensen, good to know - and heads out.
Jared finishes his cider.
“Would you like another?” the bartender - Jensen - asks. “Do you need a menu?” He pulls one out from under the bar and hands it to Jared, then glances back at his crossword. “Hopkins - oh, I know that one.” He fills something in.
Jared looks over the menu. He could eat.
“Sorry about Misha,” Jensen goes on. “He's a good guy and he never met a stranger, but he can go from friendly to pushy without realizing it.”
“I didn't mind,” Jared says. “I don't know a lot of people.”
“Did you just move here for work?”
“Yeah. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Can I get another cider? And a plate of nachos?”
“Sure thing.”
Jensen pours a fresh cider and disappears, presumably into the kitchen. Jared drinks his cider and tries not to think about anything in particular. Now that Misha has left, Jared's the only person in the bar, aside from the bartender. It makes the place feel oddly private, as if Jared has rented out the entire bar, or Jensen has opened it up just for him. It's a pleasant, cozy feeling.
The nachos are covered in cheese and guacamole and sour cream, with sliced jalapenos and black beans buried inside the pile of chips. Jensen puts his crossword aside, and because the cider is making him chatty and he has an attentive audience who wants to know, Jared explains why he moved to Boston (he was going to move in with his boyfriend at the time but the boyfriend broke up with him because he'd met someone else), why he moved here specifically (he knew someone who knew someone who needed a tech person), what he doesn't like about his job (people are careless and stupid, and the home office is hard to deal with at the best of times), what he does (the money's good and the people are pretty nice), and that he needs to make friends beyond his roommate.
“I like the people at work,” he finishes, “but it's hard to make friends with them outside the office. They've already got their own things going on.”
“You can always come back and talk to me,” Jensen says. “That's what I'm here for.”
“I guess I needed to talk to someone. How do I meet people? Maybe I should just start dating again.”
Jensen nods sagely. “Can't hurt. At least you know a good bar to bring them to.” He gestures to the rest of the space, at the booths and tables in the back, the lights hanging low over the tables, the old photos and posters on the brick walls. There are little white Christmas lights strung behind the bar. Abigail's does seem like it might be a nice place to take your date, if you want peace and quiet and don't care that it isn't the fanciest food. The booths are cozy and it feels like a neighborhood watering hole, the kind of place the locals patronize for a drink and a burger.
For date places, Jared could do worse. Now he just needs to meet someone he wants to go out with, who wants to go out with him.
“Are you really open until sunrise?” he asks.
“No, I have to close at two like everyone else,” Jensen says. “I just thought it would be fun to have on the sign, since I really don't open until sunset.”
“Thanks for the conversation.” Jared reaches for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”
He leaves a good tip, and thinks about how he might start meeting people as he rides the train home.
* * *
Jared would never have guessed that walking into a random bar after a bad day would lead him to an actual friend, his first (and to be fair, only) good friend in Boston, but it has. Over the course of a couple of months, he learns that Jensen actually owns the bar and doesn't just pour drinks, that he's originally from Boston but lived in Dallas for a while, that he knows a lot about beer even though he doesn't really drink it (“Who owns a bar but doesn't drink beer?” Jared demanded, incredulous, and Jensen answered “You'd be surprised”), that the bar's namesake Abigail was his dog years and years ago, that he subscribes to the Boston Globe for the crossword, that he watches a lot of movies, and that he loves hot peppers, the hotter the better.
And Jensen, in turn, learns that Jared grew up in San Antonio, that he'd been in Durham almost four years before he came to Boston, that he couldn't bring himself to adopt a dog after his last two died (“Abigail's probably tormenting them in the great dog park in the sky,” Jensen said), that his parents' first date was to see The Return of the Jedi, that he honored that fact by seeing the last three Star Wars movies on opening night, and that he has the worst sweet tooth of anyone he's ever met.
Sometimes he can't believe how he made his first real Boston friend. Sometimes he can't believe he even has a real Boston friend.
He's been on several dates, most of them guys he met on Match.com or Tinder, plus a weird linguist his roommate set him up with. If it's his choice, he brings them to Abigail's for the first date, because he's comfortable there and so he can get Jensen's opinion. Jensen has only disliked one of them, a guy named Ty with whom Jared only went out once.
Misha has started to make real progress on getting his own charity off the ground, and has twice asked Jared for tech advice. Jared still isn't ready to look for another job, although occasionally he thinks it would be nice to work somewhere he can be social with his colleagues after work hours, not just during. He doesn't want to meet anyone through the gym - he just wants to do his workout and leave - but it might be nice to join a running club, now that the weather is getting more conducive to running outside. But since he's got a good friend now, he doesn't feel pressured to find more.
“You need more friends than me,” Jensen tells him repeatedly, and Jared just counters with the fact that Jensen only seems to have two friends himself.
Jared now stops at Abigail's on his way home at least three times a week. If it's not busy, and it usually isn't when he gets there, he'll talk to Jensen, help with the crossword puzzle, chat with Misha if he's there too. Sometimes if it's really quiet Jensen will feed him on the house. He can't have a drink every time, but Jensen doesn't care if he just gets a soda and takes up a bar stool for forty minutes.
Chad says it's weird. Jared doesn't care.
“I'm going to hire some help,” Jensen tells him one night. It might actually be spring by now and the days are getting longer and longer, to the point that the bar had just opened when Jared came by.
“You mean behind the bar?” Jared asks.
“In the bar, in the kitchen. Someone to take over if I want a few hours off.”
“Are you going on vacation?” They've well established by now that Jensen doesn't go on vacation, simply because there's no one else to watch the bar and he doesn't want to close it for any length of time. “You can finally go to a movie with me!”
Jensen grins. Jared has realized that Chad might be right, that it's weird to have a bartender friend and only see them for an hour or so after work, or for a few hours on weekends, when they're tending bar and aren't too busy. Going out for a drink somewhere else is silly, but coffee would be good, or brunch, or whatever it is friends do with each other when there are just two of them, but Jensen keeps saying no to every one of Jared's suggestions. Jared has tried to capitalize on the fact that Jensen likes movies, and Jared doesn't like seeing them by himself, but Jensen keeps saying no to that too.
“Any luck finding someone?” Jared asks.
“There's a girl who lives in the building who has some experience tending bar. She's interested. We just need to set a time to meet.”
“That's good news.” Jared glances around. There's one person sitting at a booth but the place is empty otherwise. It's never very full during the week, although Jared has seen it more crowded than this. He doesn't like to come when it's too busy, because he and Jensen can't really socialize, but that means that when he's here, he always wonders how the place stays in business.
“I think so. She's an artist and freelance graphic designer, so she's very flexible.” He glances at Jared's glass, which was full of Coke but is now empty. “You want another?”
It's another week and a half before the freelance graphic designer, whose name is Danneel, is officially hired and run through basic training. She seems to know what she's doing, and most importantly, her presence means Jared and Jensen can now spend time together away from the bar.
And that means Jensen asking Jared what he's doing Thursday night, and suggesting a movie.
“I don't want to leave,” he says, “just in case there's a problem, but we can watch one in my apartment.”
(“His apartment, huh?” Chad says, when Jared reports on this tiny bit of platonic success. Jared can hear the suggestiveness in Chad's voice and protests that it's not like that, they really are just friends. Besides, he hasn't gotten any indication of which way Jensen swings, if he swings at all.)
Jensen lives upstairs from Abigail's. On Thursday Jared shows up at the bar with two packs of microwave popcorn, and feels very special when Jensen leads him out the back door, up the back stairs, and into his apartment. It's not very big, and Jensen seems to like his apartment at a cooler temperature than his bar, but like Abigail's it's cozy and comfortable and the couch is big enough for three.
Jensen shows Jared around - living space, kitchen space, bathroom, nod at the bedroom door. There are some old photos of what Jared assumes is Boston decorating the living/dining room, along with a drawing of the Alamo, of all things, and a sepia-tone photo that looks like someplace out west. Jensen has also hung a drawing of a fish, a print showing different kinds of peppers, and an oil painting of himself in Victorian-looking clothes, with a medium-sized dog of indeterminate parentage sitting next to him. That must be Abigail. The bookshelves are crowded with books, a mix of fiction, vampire books, folktales, pop science, the odd biography, and titles that tell Jared nothing of their contents. There's a string of pepper-shaped Christmas lights strung around the tiny window in the kitchen. There is also, to Jared's surprise, an actual pepper plant under a couple of grow lights. It's maybe three feet high, branching in all directions, and it even has a couple of peppers - round wrinkly ones, with spike-like tails.
“What are these?” Jared asks.
“Carolina reapers,” Jensen says. “The hottest pepper known to man.”
“North or South Carolina? I never heard of them.”
“I love them, but fair warning - they'll burn your mouth out and there's a chance you might end up in the hospital.”
“I'll pass.” Jared puts his popcorn on the counter. The kitchen is unsurprisingly small, but clean and uncluttered.
“You have to order your own dinner,” Jensen says, following him in. “I apologize for not being able to feed you.”
“Nah, that's okay. I figured we'd get pizza or something. Man cannot live on popcorn alone.”
“Well, maybe popcorn and beer.” Jensen grins. “I got a six-pack of Jack's Abby. I know you like the House Lager.” He opens the fridge, grabs a bottle, pops the top off on the edge of the counter, and hands it to Jared. Jared takes a swig. He's had it from the tap downstairs, but everything tastes different in bottles.
He orders from an Indian restaurant on GrubHub and while he waits for it to be delivered he gets Jensen to explain where the old photos were taken. Except for the sepia-tone one that turns out to be nineteenth-century Dallas, they are, as Jared guessed, all Boston, most of them at least seventy years old.
“That one's Scollay Square,” Jensen says, pointing to a small photo of tightly-packed buildings. “Before the city demolished everything to build City Hall.”
“You don't have any recent pictures?”
“There's one of Fenway in the bathroom.”
“I take it you're a Red Sox fan.” Baseball isn't really Jared's game - he bitches about them a lot but he'll always be a Cowboys fan - but he's not going to judge someone for their love of the sport.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Jensen grins. “It's in the blood. I've been to a couple of night games. They're fun. We should go sometime.”
“You sure you can leave the bar for that long?” Jared grins back, teasing, and Jensen rolls his eyes.
“You're very funny. Come on, let's find a movie.”
They settle on a classic - Rear Window, which has always seemed to Jared like the perfect movie for city dwellers. Jensen considerately waits for Jared's food to arrive, and then offers him an assortment of hot sauces, in case the restaurant didn't make his dinner spicy enough. Jared likes a little heat in his food, but something labeled “Melt-Your-Lips-Off Hot Sauce” is probably hotter than he wants. He likes his lips unmelted, thank you.
They watch in silence, more or less - Jared likes to comment on movies as he's watching them, and while Jensen doesn't seem to mind, he also doesn't really join in - neither of them realizing until the movie's over that they forgot the popcorn.
“Do you have time for another?” Jensen asks. “I don't want to put your popcorn to waste.”
“I should probably head home,” Jared says. “Keep it for next time.”
The next movie night is a Tuesday a couple of weeks later. Jared orders pizza and they watch Near Dark, a vampire movie from the 80s that he's never heard of.
“I'm not up on my vampire movies,” he admits, when Jensen expresses surprise that he doesn't know this one.
“Then it's a good thing you met me. If there's a vampire movie I haven't seen, it isn't worth seeing.”
“Should I block off a day for a marathon?”
Jared means it as a joke, but Jensen considers it seriously.
“Sure,” he says eventually. “Maybe over a weekend.”
It's a good excuse to sleep over, Chad suggests in Jared's head. Jared shakes it off but it wouldn't be the worst idea Chad's ever had.
“It's a deal,” he says. “It's too bad I didn't know you last Halloween.”
“Maybe this year.”
Jared goes home full of pizza and the impulse to Google vampire movies, to make a list of the ones he hasn't seen that sound interesting.
He really likes sitting in Jensen's apartment, watching movies, talking about the bar business or the IT business or historical Boston or San Antonio or Misha or Chad. He learns that Jensen used to be a baker, before he opened Abigail's.
“Why did you quit?” Jared asks, but Jensen just shrugs.
“Shit happened. Life. Things. You know. Running a bar was better for me.”
“You don't still bake, do you? I mean, not up here, I know you don't cook, but for the bar.” Jared has poked around in Jensen's kitchen once or twice, looking for something to doctor his takeout with, and has found nothing but bottles of hot sauce, the occasional dried pepper, and containers of kimchi so pungently vinegary that it makes his eyes water, and so drowning in spice and heat that he can feel his nose hairs singe when he smells it. Jensen keeps some bottles of beer and soda in the fridge for him, but nothing that looks like it could turn into bread.
“Sometimes I get the urge,” Jensen says. “I'll put the ingredients together downstairs and bring everything up here so I can bake in my own kitchen. I'll make you a loaf one day.”
Jared feels very close to Jensen, closer than anyone besides Chad, and when he bothers to think about it he's grateful for the night he walked into Abigail's. His life has changed a little, for the better.
“Befriending you was good for him,” Misha tells Jared one night. “I can see a difference.”
“You mean besides the fact that I'm not behind the bar 24/7?” Jensen asks, putting a tuna melt and potato chips on the counter. “Or that I don't need your help with the crossword all the time?”
“Both.” Misha squirts ketchup on his sandwich. Jensen makes a face. Misha squirts ketchup on his potato chips. Jared makes a face. “I like ketchup.”
Vicky comes back from the bathroom and sits on Misha's other side. She reaches over and takes a couple of chips, scrapes the ketchup off them, and eats them.
“Would you like more chips with your ketchup?” she asks sweetly. Misha grabs the ketchup bottle and aims it at her.
“Hey!” Jensen protests. “No condiment fights in my bar!”
“You're no fun,” Misha sighs. “Maybe you haven't changed him after all,” he says to Jared.
It's a Saturday night and the bar is filling up. Danneel has come down to help out, and the new spring weather must have people excited, because they keep her and Jensen hopping. Jared and Misha and Vicky eat and drink and order dessert and talk to each other and Jensen and, occasionally, their fellow bar patrons. A cute brunette is convinced she knows Jared from somewhere, and spends half an hour trying to figure out how she knows him. She's pretty and funny and isn't coming on to him, just insistent that they've met before, and because he's pleasantly drunk and she's fun to talk to, Jared doesn't mind.
One of her friends eventually comes to get her, and she leaves with “I'll remember tonight when I'm brushing my teeth!” Jensen chuckles from the other side of the bar.
“You made a friend,” he says, pouring a beer for someone who has taken the opportunity to lean into the girl's vacated space and order something. “I'm so proud.”
“Jerk,” Jared says affectionately, and Jensen smiles.
Seeing that Jared is now free, Misha starts in on his charity and his funding and the grants he's applying for, and segues almost seamlessly into a spiel about a colleague in non-profits who's got a good short-term IT job opening up soon.
“I don't hate my job enough to quit,” Jared says. “Especially not for short-term contract work.”
Misha snorts. “I respect that but I know you're not happy.”
Jared points at Jensen, who has moved down the bar and doesn't see. “Is he talking about me?”
“Yes,” Vicky says around Misha. Misha elbows her. “Both of them are.”
“He's only interested in your emotional welfare,” Misha says loftily. Vicky snickers. “He wants you to be happy,” Misha goes on, ignoring her. “You want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Jared says, realizing as he says it that he is. And not just right now, but overall. It's amazing what having a good friend in your life can do.
“All the time?”
“No one's happy all the time, Misha,” Vicky says.
“They can be, Victoria.” He takes both of Jared's hands. “Working for the good of other people, instead of for the good of the company's bottom line, is very rewarding. The money isn't great, but the satisfaction is. Think about it.”
“Maybe if it was full-time, with benefits.” There are worse industries to work for than the non-profit sector. But Jared isn't ready to quit his job.
“We'll have a Memorial Day party. You'll come. I'll introduce you to people. Bring Jensen. He's never been to any of our parties and it's starting to hurt my feelings.” Misha makes an exaggerated sad face. “I think he'll make an exception for you.”
“Memorial Day isn't for a month.”
“We plan early,” Vicky says. “We'll send you a real invitation when it's time.”
Jared finishes his drink and thinks about it. The conversation moves on to food, because apparently mentioning their Memorial Day party means Misha now has to talk out what he and Vicky should serve. Jared orders a piece of pie and lets Danneel test a cocktail on him.
Misha and Vicky go home a little before one, and the next time Jared looks at his watch, it's because Jensen is announcing last call and Jared has no idea what that means. He has to stare at the watch face for a full minute, and even then the position of the hands makes no sense to him. Jensen slides down the bar and Jared turns his wrist so Jensen can tell him the time.
“It's closing time,” Jensen says. He squints. “You're hammered.”
“Yeah,” Jared says, suddenly feeling completely, thoroughly exhausted. He wants to put his head down on the bar and take a nap. “I should go home.” He spins slowly around on the stool, starts to stand, feels the floor tilt under him, and sits again. “Maybe I should wait.”
“Hang on.” Jensen comes around the bar, takes Jared's arm, and gently pulls him to his feet. “I can't pour you into a cab. I don't trust you'll still be conscious when you get home. You can sleep it off in my place.”
Jared wants to protest, but at the same time, he knows Jensen's apartment, he's comfortable in Jensen's apartment, and most importantly, Jensen's apartment is upstairs. Jared can feel himself passing out on the back stairs, and makes a good effort to stay upright and conscious until he's been guided into the bathroom and then to Jensen's bedroom, where he can collapse on the bed. He can't even feel Jensen take off his shoes.
He's confused when he finally comes to, because he's in a strange room, in a strange bed, the place is dark, and he's so hungover he thinks he might still have a buzz. He stumbles out of bed, walks into the wall and then the doorframe, fumbles around until he finds the bathroom, and takes a leak with the door still open. By now he's awake enough to remember where he is, and because it seems rude to just leave, he goes back to bed. Besides, he's in no shape to go home.
When he wakes up again, it's night again, the curtains are open, the lights of the city are shining through the window, and he's still hungover. He stretches, sits, throws his legs over the edge of the bed, and gets up. He thinks he can hear music coming from somewhere, and makes his way through the apartment to the kitchen, where Jensen is kneading dough on the tiny table and listening to the music coming out of a speaker attached to his phone.
“Hey,” he says cheerfully. “How do you feel?”
“Hungover,” Jared says. He yawns. “You brought me upstairs last night, didn't you?”
“I couldn't let you go home in the state you were in. Danny's watching the bar,” he adds unnecessarily. If he's in his own kitchen, and it's clearly past sunset, of course someone else would be watching Abigail's.
“What are you doing?” Jared pulls the one chair away from the table and sits. The motion of Jensen's hands in the dough, back and forth and back and forth, is mesmerizing and nausea-inducing at the same time.
“Making bread. You want some coffee? Juice?” His lips quirk. “V-8 and a raw egg?”
The mere idea makes Jared's stomach turn over.
“Let me put this in a bowl and I'll get Danny to make you a hangover cure.” Jensen pulls the dough over itself, shapes it into a ball, puts it in a bowl, and covers it with a dishtowel. He sticks it in the oven and pats Jared on the head before going downstairs. Jared pours himself some water from the tap, swallows it without stopping, and goes back into the bedroom to find his shoes.
He has to turn on the light, revealing a small, tidy room with a queen-size bed and a dresser and a nightstand. He should make the bed. There's an old-fashioned alarm clock and a little portrait in an oval silver frame on the nightstand. Jared picks up the picture frame, curious. There are no pictures of people in Jensen's apartment, aside from the Victorian painting of himself and the dog, just places and peppers and the cod. The silver frame holds a small painting of a pretty woman in a scoop-neck dress with blonde hair piled on her head. The frame looks vintage, but the portrait looks even older, like an eighteenth-century miniature. Jared wonders who she is.
He puts his shoes on and goes back to the kitchen. There are strings of chile peppers draped around the cabinets that weren't there before. They're oddly faded, like the afterimage of peppers. Jared blinks and they vanish.
“What did I drink last night?” he mutters.
Jensen reappears less than a minute later, bearing toast and a glass of orange juice. He hands both to Jared. There's vodka in the orange juice and butter on the toast, and Jared finishes both while Jensen cleans up from his bread-making.
“I thought you didn't bake up here,” Jared says.
“What?” Jensen asks, wiping his hands and leaning against the counter.
“I remember you telling me about baking. You said you put it together downstairs.”
Jensen just stares at him, clearly confused, then his face clears and he says “No, I said I get the ingredients from the bar, but I do the actual baking up here. You know I don't keep anything in my own kitchen.” He grins and pats Jared's hand. “You need more sleep. Do you feel any better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. I was really drunk, wasn't I. Why didn't you cut me off?”
“You were having a good time.” Jensen shrugs. “Besides, I knew if I had to, I could bring you up here. I slept on the couch, by the way.”
“You didn't have to, but thanks. I found my shoes. Who's the girl in the painting?”
“What girl?”
“In your room. There's a little portrait of a girl on your nightstand. It looks really old.”
“That's... her name was Joanna. She was my wife.” He rushes his answer, almost as if he's embarrassed, or it was a secret he didn't want to tell.
“You were married?” Jared can feel himself gaping. He can't even imagine Jensen with a girlfriend, never mind a wife.
“It was a long time ago. I don't want to talk about it.” He turns his back to Jared and fusses with something on the counter.
“I'm sorry,” Jared says, instantly feeling bad. “I didn't know.” He gets up, puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I should really go home.”
Jensen pats Jared's hand and turns around. Jared lets his hand fall. “It's okay,” Jensen says. “You can crash here any time. Are you sure you're good? I should go dowstairs, but you can stay here for a little while if you want.”
“No, I should go. I have stuff to do. Laundry, dishes, the usual.”
“Come back tomorrow and you can have some bread.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
He collects his jacket and follows Jensen back down to the bar, where Danneel is pouring a cider and someone at one of the tables is trying to get her attention. Jared leaves Jensen to deal with it and goes home.
He doesn't remember the disappearing peppers until he gets back to his apartment.
I saw disappearing chile peppers in your kitchen, he texts Jensen.
Jensen must be busy, because Jared doesn't see the reply until the next morning:
???
He must have imagined them. Hangover, not enough good sleep, whatever. Besides, why would Jensen have a string of dried peppers in his kitchen, when he already has a fruiting pepper plant?
Next!
NC-17
Part 1 of 5
Master post
Art
The bar is called Abigail's and the hours, as posted on the door, are “Sunset to sunrise”. The place looks dim and quiet and Jared could use a beer, so he goes in.
His week started off well but he's spent the days since trying to put out fires and deal with the home office's utter inability to understand that firm-wide policies and changes aren't going to work for everyone, and that outsourcing some of its IT is never going to be a good idea. His roommate is never around during the week, the fridge is half-empty, and his place is a long walk from the T station. He isn't looking forward to going back to his apartment.
Abigail's is indeed dim and quiet. The bar runs along the right side of the space, with a couple of tables by the front windows, booths along the left wall, and more tables in back. There's something vaguely bluesy playing on the stereo. Jared takes a seat at the bar, two stools down from a guy in a suit who's chatting with the bartender.
Jared looks at the taps, thinking. They're all local brews - Harpoon, Night Shift, Jack's Abby, the ubiquitous Sam Adams. Every time he walks into a bar he's reminded how far from home he really is. Not just San Antonio, where he grew up, but Durham, where he lived before he moved to Boston. He misses both places.
He doesn't hate Boston, exactly, although it's only February and he's already tired of the winter, and he doesn't hate his job, exactly, although he'd like it if just once, for just one week, everything worked like it was supposed to. He'd call Chad for sympathy, but Chad would just tell him to suck it up and wait until spring, when all those cute Boston boys shed their heavy winter coats and hats and emerge bright-eyed and tousle-haired into the sunlight. Because 99.44% of the time, Chad's answer to all of life's problems is “You just need to get laid”.
The other 0.56% of the time, his answer is “Maybe you need a change of scenery.” Which is how Jared got here in the first place.
“I'm telling you,” the guy in the suit is saying to the bartender, “it's 'wadi'.” Jared notices that there's a folded newspaper on the bar, showing what looks like the crossword puzzle.
“Then 'man of fables' starts with A,” the bartender says. He doesn't sound convinced.
“Aesop,” Jared says. They both look at him.
The bartender makes an annoyed noise and fills in some of the crossword boxes. “I should've known that. Thanks. What's your pleasure, or do you need some time?”
One of the taps says “Downeast”. Jared has been in Boston long enough to be able to tell which taps are local beer and which are local cider. Sure, why not.
“I'll have a cider,” Jared says. The guy in the suit leans forward and turns the crossword so he can see it while the bartender pours Jared's cider.
“''Noticed,' four letters, starts with S,” the guy in the suit says, partly to himself and partly to Jared. “Not 'saw'.”
“'Seen'?”
The guy scribbles.
“Stop doing my crossword,” the bartender tells him, grabbing the newspaper.
“I'm just trying to help.”
“Do you think I need help?”
“Everyone needs help.” The guy turns to Jared, surprising him by asking “What do you need help with?”
“Uh,” Jared says, taken aback. Total strangers don't normally ask you that kind of thing in bars, especially not up here. Not that New Englanders are unfriendly, necessarily, but they keep to themselves a lot more than folks from farther south.
“Don't pester the customers,” the bartender says mildly. He's a nice-looking guy - short brown hair, dark red henley, broad shoulders. “How's the cider?” he asks Jared. “I've been having trouble with that tap.”
“It's fine. It's not too dry.”
The bartender nods, satisfied. “It's not supposed to be. Don't let Misha bother you.” He nods at the guy in the suit, who is apparently called Misha.
“Psh,” Misha says dismissively. “It's my purpose in life to pester. It's my job.”
“What do you do?” Jared asks.
“Social media and PR for non-profits, focusing on charitable organizations. I'm trying to get my own charity off the ground. What do you know about non-profits?” But before Jared can answer, Misha gives the bartender a pointed look and says “I'm not pestering, I'm networking.”
“Do you feel pestered?” the bartender asks Jared.
“Not really.” Jared shrugs. “I'm in IT,” he tells Misha. “I work for a big accounting firm. We're for-profit.”
“Are you looking for a side hustle?”
“Misha,” the bartender says. He glances up from his crossword, then shoots a look at Jared's glass. It's still half-full.
“I'm not Uber,” Misha goes on, undeterred. “You can trust me. I might need an IT guy, but the job is still volunteer-only.”
“What would I be doing?” Jared asks, out of curiosity.
“I don't know yet. Are you on LinkedIn?”
“Yeah. Wait, I have, uh, shit.” He pulls his backpack up from the floor and rummages around in the front pocket. He has a pile of business cards somewhere. He finally manages to produce one and hands it over. Misha gives it a thorough examination before putting it in his pants pocket.
“Misha Collins,” he says, holding out his hand. Jared shakes it. “Pleased to meet you. You're not looking for a new job, are you? Vicky's got a friend,” he says to the bartender.
“Vicky's got a lot of friends,” the bartender mutters.
“My wife,” Misha tells Jared.
“I just started three months ago,” Jared says. “I can't quit now.”
Misha nods in understanding. “You should wait a year. That's what they tell me.” He looks at his watch, slides off his stool, and puts on his coat. “If you have any interest in non-profit start-ups, give me a call.” He digs a business card of his own out of a coat pocket and gives it to Jared.
“'Random Acts'?” Jared says.
“Commit random acts of kindness and senseless beauty. That's my charity. Well, it will be when I get it off the ground. I've got a great business plan, I just need to raise some money.”
“Doesn't Vicky have any lawyer friends?” the bartender asks. “So you don't have to keep bugging my customers?”
“He's not bugging me,” Jared says. It never occurred to him to look for volunteer opportunities. It's as good a way as any to meet people and it might be good for his soul to use his spare time helping folks in need.
“See?” Misha says to the bartender. “I'm a delight to be around.” He grins. “Nice to meet you. Jensen, it's been a pleasure, as always.” He waves to Jared and the bartender - whose name seems to be Jensen, good to know - and heads out.
Jared finishes his cider.
“Would you like another?” the bartender - Jensen - asks. “Do you need a menu?” He pulls one out from under the bar and hands it to Jared, then glances back at his crossword. “Hopkins - oh, I know that one.” He fills something in.
Jared looks over the menu. He could eat.
“Sorry about Misha,” Jensen goes on. “He's a good guy and he never met a stranger, but he can go from friendly to pushy without realizing it.”
“I didn't mind,” Jared says. “I don't know a lot of people.”
“Did you just move here for work?”
“Yeah. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Can I get another cider? And a plate of nachos?”
“Sure thing.”
Jensen pours a fresh cider and disappears, presumably into the kitchen. Jared drinks his cider and tries not to think about anything in particular. Now that Misha has left, Jared's the only person in the bar, aside from the bartender. It makes the place feel oddly private, as if Jared has rented out the entire bar, or Jensen has opened it up just for him. It's a pleasant, cozy feeling.
The nachos are covered in cheese and guacamole and sour cream, with sliced jalapenos and black beans buried inside the pile of chips. Jensen puts his crossword aside, and because the cider is making him chatty and he has an attentive audience who wants to know, Jared explains why he moved to Boston (he was going to move in with his boyfriend at the time but the boyfriend broke up with him because he'd met someone else), why he moved here specifically (he knew someone who knew someone who needed a tech person), what he doesn't like about his job (people are careless and stupid, and the home office is hard to deal with at the best of times), what he does (the money's good and the people are pretty nice), and that he needs to make friends beyond his roommate.
“I like the people at work,” he finishes, “but it's hard to make friends with them outside the office. They've already got their own things going on.”
“You can always come back and talk to me,” Jensen says. “That's what I'm here for.”
“I guess I needed to talk to someone. How do I meet people? Maybe I should just start dating again.”
Jensen nods sagely. “Can't hurt. At least you know a good bar to bring them to.” He gestures to the rest of the space, at the booths and tables in the back, the lights hanging low over the tables, the old photos and posters on the brick walls. There are little white Christmas lights strung behind the bar. Abigail's does seem like it might be a nice place to take your date, if you want peace and quiet and don't care that it isn't the fanciest food. The booths are cozy and it feels like a neighborhood watering hole, the kind of place the locals patronize for a drink and a burger.
For date places, Jared could do worse. Now he just needs to meet someone he wants to go out with, who wants to go out with him.
“Are you really open until sunrise?” he asks.
“No, I have to close at two like everyone else,” Jensen says. “I just thought it would be fun to have on the sign, since I really don't open until sunset.”
“Thanks for the conversation.” Jared reaches for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”
He leaves a good tip, and thinks about how he might start meeting people as he rides the train home.
* * *
Jared would never have guessed that walking into a random bar after a bad day would lead him to an actual friend, his first (and to be fair, only) good friend in Boston, but it has. Over the course of a couple of months, he learns that Jensen actually owns the bar and doesn't just pour drinks, that he's originally from Boston but lived in Dallas for a while, that he knows a lot about beer even though he doesn't really drink it (“Who owns a bar but doesn't drink beer?” Jared demanded, incredulous, and Jensen answered “You'd be surprised”), that the bar's namesake Abigail was his dog years and years ago, that he subscribes to the Boston Globe for the crossword, that he watches a lot of movies, and that he loves hot peppers, the hotter the better.
And Jensen, in turn, learns that Jared grew up in San Antonio, that he'd been in Durham almost four years before he came to Boston, that he couldn't bring himself to adopt a dog after his last two died (“Abigail's probably tormenting them in the great dog park in the sky,” Jensen said), that his parents' first date was to see The Return of the Jedi, that he honored that fact by seeing the last three Star Wars movies on opening night, and that he has the worst sweet tooth of anyone he's ever met.
Sometimes he can't believe how he made his first real Boston friend. Sometimes he can't believe he even has a real Boston friend.
He's been on several dates, most of them guys he met on Match.com or Tinder, plus a weird linguist his roommate set him up with. If it's his choice, he brings them to Abigail's for the first date, because he's comfortable there and so he can get Jensen's opinion. Jensen has only disliked one of them, a guy named Ty with whom Jared only went out once.
Misha has started to make real progress on getting his own charity off the ground, and has twice asked Jared for tech advice. Jared still isn't ready to look for another job, although occasionally he thinks it would be nice to work somewhere he can be social with his colleagues after work hours, not just during. He doesn't want to meet anyone through the gym - he just wants to do his workout and leave - but it might be nice to join a running club, now that the weather is getting more conducive to running outside. But since he's got a good friend now, he doesn't feel pressured to find more.
“You need more friends than me,” Jensen tells him repeatedly, and Jared just counters with the fact that Jensen only seems to have two friends himself.
Jared now stops at Abigail's on his way home at least three times a week. If it's not busy, and it usually isn't when he gets there, he'll talk to Jensen, help with the crossword puzzle, chat with Misha if he's there too. Sometimes if it's really quiet Jensen will feed him on the house. He can't have a drink every time, but Jensen doesn't care if he just gets a soda and takes up a bar stool for forty minutes.
Chad says it's weird. Jared doesn't care.
“I'm going to hire some help,” Jensen tells him one night. It might actually be spring by now and the days are getting longer and longer, to the point that the bar had just opened when Jared came by.
“You mean behind the bar?” Jared asks.
“In the bar, in the kitchen. Someone to take over if I want a few hours off.”
“Are you going on vacation?” They've well established by now that Jensen doesn't go on vacation, simply because there's no one else to watch the bar and he doesn't want to close it for any length of time. “You can finally go to a movie with me!”
Jensen grins. Jared has realized that Chad might be right, that it's weird to have a bartender friend and only see them for an hour or so after work, or for a few hours on weekends, when they're tending bar and aren't too busy. Going out for a drink somewhere else is silly, but coffee would be good, or brunch, or whatever it is friends do with each other when there are just two of them, but Jensen keeps saying no to every one of Jared's suggestions. Jared has tried to capitalize on the fact that Jensen likes movies, and Jared doesn't like seeing them by himself, but Jensen keeps saying no to that too.
“Any luck finding someone?” Jared asks.
“There's a girl who lives in the building who has some experience tending bar. She's interested. We just need to set a time to meet.”
“That's good news.” Jared glances around. There's one person sitting at a booth but the place is empty otherwise. It's never very full during the week, although Jared has seen it more crowded than this. He doesn't like to come when it's too busy, because he and Jensen can't really socialize, but that means that when he's here, he always wonders how the place stays in business.
“I think so. She's an artist and freelance graphic designer, so she's very flexible.” He glances at Jared's glass, which was full of Coke but is now empty. “You want another?”
It's another week and a half before the freelance graphic designer, whose name is Danneel, is officially hired and run through basic training. She seems to know what she's doing, and most importantly, her presence means Jared and Jensen can now spend time together away from the bar.
And that means Jensen asking Jared what he's doing Thursday night, and suggesting a movie.
“I don't want to leave,” he says, “just in case there's a problem, but we can watch one in my apartment.”
(“His apartment, huh?” Chad says, when Jared reports on this tiny bit of platonic success. Jared can hear the suggestiveness in Chad's voice and protests that it's not like that, they really are just friends. Besides, he hasn't gotten any indication of which way Jensen swings, if he swings at all.)
Jensen lives upstairs from Abigail's. On Thursday Jared shows up at the bar with two packs of microwave popcorn, and feels very special when Jensen leads him out the back door, up the back stairs, and into his apartment. It's not very big, and Jensen seems to like his apartment at a cooler temperature than his bar, but like Abigail's it's cozy and comfortable and the couch is big enough for three.
Jensen shows Jared around - living space, kitchen space, bathroom, nod at the bedroom door. There are some old photos of what Jared assumes is Boston decorating the living/dining room, along with a drawing of the Alamo, of all things, and a sepia-tone photo that looks like someplace out west. Jensen has also hung a drawing of a fish, a print showing different kinds of peppers, and an oil painting of himself in Victorian-looking clothes, with a medium-sized dog of indeterminate parentage sitting next to him. That must be Abigail. The bookshelves are crowded with books, a mix of fiction, vampire books, folktales, pop science, the odd biography, and titles that tell Jared nothing of their contents. There's a string of pepper-shaped Christmas lights strung around the tiny window in the kitchen. There is also, to Jared's surprise, an actual pepper plant under a couple of grow lights. It's maybe three feet high, branching in all directions, and it even has a couple of peppers - round wrinkly ones, with spike-like tails.
“What are these?” Jared asks.
“Carolina reapers,” Jensen says. “The hottest pepper known to man.”
“North or South Carolina? I never heard of them.”
“I love them, but fair warning - they'll burn your mouth out and there's a chance you might end up in the hospital.”
“I'll pass.” Jared puts his popcorn on the counter. The kitchen is unsurprisingly small, but clean and uncluttered.
“You have to order your own dinner,” Jensen says, following him in. “I apologize for not being able to feed you.”
“Nah, that's okay. I figured we'd get pizza or something. Man cannot live on popcorn alone.”
“Well, maybe popcorn and beer.” Jensen grins. “I got a six-pack of Jack's Abby. I know you like the House Lager.” He opens the fridge, grabs a bottle, pops the top off on the edge of the counter, and hands it to Jared. Jared takes a swig. He's had it from the tap downstairs, but everything tastes different in bottles.
He orders from an Indian restaurant on GrubHub and while he waits for it to be delivered he gets Jensen to explain where the old photos were taken. Except for the sepia-tone one that turns out to be nineteenth-century Dallas, they are, as Jared guessed, all Boston, most of them at least seventy years old.
“That one's Scollay Square,” Jensen says, pointing to a small photo of tightly-packed buildings. “Before the city demolished everything to build City Hall.”
“You don't have any recent pictures?”
“There's one of Fenway in the bathroom.”
“I take it you're a Red Sox fan.” Baseball isn't really Jared's game - he bitches about them a lot but he'll always be a Cowboys fan - but he's not going to judge someone for their love of the sport.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Jensen grins. “It's in the blood. I've been to a couple of night games. They're fun. We should go sometime.”
“You sure you can leave the bar for that long?” Jared grins back, teasing, and Jensen rolls his eyes.
“You're very funny. Come on, let's find a movie.”
They settle on a classic - Rear Window, which has always seemed to Jared like the perfect movie for city dwellers. Jensen considerately waits for Jared's food to arrive, and then offers him an assortment of hot sauces, in case the restaurant didn't make his dinner spicy enough. Jared likes a little heat in his food, but something labeled “Melt-Your-Lips-Off Hot Sauce” is probably hotter than he wants. He likes his lips unmelted, thank you.
They watch in silence, more or less - Jared likes to comment on movies as he's watching them, and while Jensen doesn't seem to mind, he also doesn't really join in - neither of them realizing until the movie's over that they forgot the popcorn.
“Do you have time for another?” Jensen asks. “I don't want to put your popcorn to waste.”
“I should probably head home,” Jared says. “Keep it for next time.”
The next movie night is a Tuesday a couple of weeks later. Jared orders pizza and they watch Near Dark, a vampire movie from the 80s that he's never heard of.
“I'm not up on my vampire movies,” he admits, when Jensen expresses surprise that he doesn't know this one.
“Then it's a good thing you met me. If there's a vampire movie I haven't seen, it isn't worth seeing.”
“Should I block off a day for a marathon?”
Jared means it as a joke, but Jensen considers it seriously.
“Sure,” he says eventually. “Maybe over a weekend.”
It's a good excuse to sleep over, Chad suggests in Jared's head. Jared shakes it off but it wouldn't be the worst idea Chad's ever had.
“It's a deal,” he says. “It's too bad I didn't know you last Halloween.”
“Maybe this year.”
Jared goes home full of pizza and the impulse to Google vampire movies, to make a list of the ones he hasn't seen that sound interesting.
He really likes sitting in Jensen's apartment, watching movies, talking about the bar business or the IT business or historical Boston or San Antonio or Misha or Chad. He learns that Jensen used to be a baker, before he opened Abigail's.
“Why did you quit?” Jared asks, but Jensen just shrugs.
“Shit happened. Life. Things. You know. Running a bar was better for me.”
“You don't still bake, do you? I mean, not up here, I know you don't cook, but for the bar.” Jared has poked around in Jensen's kitchen once or twice, looking for something to doctor his takeout with, and has found nothing but bottles of hot sauce, the occasional dried pepper, and containers of kimchi so pungently vinegary that it makes his eyes water, and so drowning in spice and heat that he can feel his nose hairs singe when he smells it. Jensen keeps some bottles of beer and soda in the fridge for him, but nothing that looks like it could turn into bread.
“Sometimes I get the urge,” Jensen says. “I'll put the ingredients together downstairs and bring everything up here so I can bake in my own kitchen. I'll make you a loaf one day.”
Jared feels very close to Jensen, closer than anyone besides Chad, and when he bothers to think about it he's grateful for the night he walked into Abigail's. His life has changed a little, for the better.
“Befriending you was good for him,” Misha tells Jared one night. “I can see a difference.”
“You mean besides the fact that I'm not behind the bar 24/7?” Jensen asks, putting a tuna melt and potato chips on the counter. “Or that I don't need your help with the crossword all the time?”
“Both.” Misha squirts ketchup on his sandwich. Jensen makes a face. Misha squirts ketchup on his potato chips. Jared makes a face. “I like ketchup.”
Vicky comes back from the bathroom and sits on Misha's other side. She reaches over and takes a couple of chips, scrapes the ketchup off them, and eats them.
“Would you like more chips with your ketchup?” she asks sweetly. Misha grabs the ketchup bottle and aims it at her.
“Hey!” Jensen protests. “No condiment fights in my bar!”
“You're no fun,” Misha sighs. “Maybe you haven't changed him after all,” he says to Jared.
It's a Saturday night and the bar is filling up. Danneel has come down to help out, and the new spring weather must have people excited, because they keep her and Jensen hopping. Jared and Misha and Vicky eat and drink and order dessert and talk to each other and Jensen and, occasionally, their fellow bar patrons. A cute brunette is convinced she knows Jared from somewhere, and spends half an hour trying to figure out how she knows him. She's pretty and funny and isn't coming on to him, just insistent that they've met before, and because he's pleasantly drunk and she's fun to talk to, Jared doesn't mind.
One of her friends eventually comes to get her, and she leaves with “I'll remember tonight when I'm brushing my teeth!” Jensen chuckles from the other side of the bar.
“You made a friend,” he says, pouring a beer for someone who has taken the opportunity to lean into the girl's vacated space and order something. “I'm so proud.”
“Jerk,” Jared says affectionately, and Jensen smiles.
Seeing that Jared is now free, Misha starts in on his charity and his funding and the grants he's applying for, and segues almost seamlessly into a spiel about a colleague in non-profits who's got a good short-term IT job opening up soon.
“I don't hate my job enough to quit,” Jared says. “Especially not for short-term contract work.”
Misha snorts. “I respect that but I know you're not happy.”
Jared points at Jensen, who has moved down the bar and doesn't see. “Is he talking about me?”
“Yes,” Vicky says around Misha. Misha elbows her. “Both of them are.”
“He's only interested in your emotional welfare,” Misha says loftily. Vicky snickers. “He wants you to be happy,” Misha goes on, ignoring her. “You want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Jared says, realizing as he says it that he is. And not just right now, but overall. It's amazing what having a good friend in your life can do.
“All the time?”
“No one's happy all the time, Misha,” Vicky says.
“They can be, Victoria.” He takes both of Jared's hands. “Working for the good of other people, instead of for the good of the company's bottom line, is very rewarding. The money isn't great, but the satisfaction is. Think about it.”
“Maybe if it was full-time, with benefits.” There are worse industries to work for than the non-profit sector. But Jared isn't ready to quit his job.
“We'll have a Memorial Day party. You'll come. I'll introduce you to people. Bring Jensen. He's never been to any of our parties and it's starting to hurt my feelings.” Misha makes an exaggerated sad face. “I think he'll make an exception for you.”
“Memorial Day isn't for a month.”
“We plan early,” Vicky says. “We'll send you a real invitation when it's time.”
Jared finishes his drink and thinks about it. The conversation moves on to food, because apparently mentioning their Memorial Day party means Misha now has to talk out what he and Vicky should serve. Jared orders a piece of pie and lets Danneel test a cocktail on him.
Misha and Vicky go home a little before one, and the next time Jared looks at his watch, it's because Jensen is announcing last call and Jared has no idea what that means. He has to stare at the watch face for a full minute, and even then the position of the hands makes no sense to him. Jensen slides down the bar and Jared turns his wrist so Jensen can tell him the time.
“It's closing time,” Jensen says. He squints. “You're hammered.”
“Yeah,” Jared says, suddenly feeling completely, thoroughly exhausted. He wants to put his head down on the bar and take a nap. “I should go home.” He spins slowly around on the stool, starts to stand, feels the floor tilt under him, and sits again. “Maybe I should wait.”
“Hang on.” Jensen comes around the bar, takes Jared's arm, and gently pulls him to his feet. “I can't pour you into a cab. I don't trust you'll still be conscious when you get home. You can sleep it off in my place.”
Jared wants to protest, but at the same time, he knows Jensen's apartment, he's comfortable in Jensen's apartment, and most importantly, Jensen's apartment is upstairs. Jared can feel himself passing out on the back stairs, and makes a good effort to stay upright and conscious until he's been guided into the bathroom and then to Jensen's bedroom, where he can collapse on the bed. He can't even feel Jensen take off his shoes.
He's confused when he finally comes to, because he's in a strange room, in a strange bed, the place is dark, and he's so hungover he thinks he might still have a buzz. He stumbles out of bed, walks into the wall and then the doorframe, fumbles around until he finds the bathroom, and takes a leak with the door still open. By now he's awake enough to remember where he is, and because it seems rude to just leave, he goes back to bed. Besides, he's in no shape to go home.
When he wakes up again, it's night again, the curtains are open, the lights of the city are shining through the window, and he's still hungover. He stretches, sits, throws his legs over the edge of the bed, and gets up. He thinks he can hear music coming from somewhere, and makes his way through the apartment to the kitchen, where Jensen is kneading dough on the tiny table and listening to the music coming out of a speaker attached to his phone.
“Hey,” he says cheerfully. “How do you feel?”
“Hungover,” Jared says. He yawns. “You brought me upstairs last night, didn't you?”
“I couldn't let you go home in the state you were in. Danny's watching the bar,” he adds unnecessarily. If he's in his own kitchen, and it's clearly past sunset, of course someone else would be watching Abigail's.
“What are you doing?” Jared pulls the one chair away from the table and sits. The motion of Jensen's hands in the dough, back and forth and back and forth, is mesmerizing and nausea-inducing at the same time.
“Making bread. You want some coffee? Juice?” His lips quirk. “V-8 and a raw egg?”
The mere idea makes Jared's stomach turn over.
“Let me put this in a bowl and I'll get Danny to make you a hangover cure.” Jensen pulls the dough over itself, shapes it into a ball, puts it in a bowl, and covers it with a dishtowel. He sticks it in the oven and pats Jared on the head before going downstairs. Jared pours himself some water from the tap, swallows it without stopping, and goes back into the bedroom to find his shoes.
He has to turn on the light, revealing a small, tidy room with a queen-size bed and a dresser and a nightstand. He should make the bed. There's an old-fashioned alarm clock and a little portrait in an oval silver frame on the nightstand. Jared picks up the picture frame, curious. There are no pictures of people in Jensen's apartment, aside from the Victorian painting of himself and the dog, just places and peppers and the cod. The silver frame holds a small painting of a pretty woman in a scoop-neck dress with blonde hair piled on her head. The frame looks vintage, but the portrait looks even older, like an eighteenth-century miniature. Jared wonders who she is.
He puts his shoes on and goes back to the kitchen. There are strings of chile peppers draped around the cabinets that weren't there before. They're oddly faded, like the afterimage of peppers. Jared blinks and they vanish.
“What did I drink last night?” he mutters.
Jensen reappears less than a minute later, bearing toast and a glass of orange juice. He hands both to Jared. There's vodka in the orange juice and butter on the toast, and Jared finishes both while Jensen cleans up from his bread-making.
“I thought you didn't bake up here,” Jared says.
“What?” Jensen asks, wiping his hands and leaning against the counter.
“I remember you telling me about baking. You said you put it together downstairs.”
Jensen just stares at him, clearly confused, then his face clears and he says “No, I said I get the ingredients from the bar, but I do the actual baking up here. You know I don't keep anything in my own kitchen.” He grins and pats Jared's hand. “You need more sleep. Do you feel any better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. I was really drunk, wasn't I. Why didn't you cut me off?”
“You were having a good time.” Jensen shrugs. “Besides, I knew if I had to, I could bring you up here. I slept on the couch, by the way.”
“You didn't have to, but thanks. I found my shoes. Who's the girl in the painting?”
“What girl?”
“In your room. There's a little portrait of a girl on your nightstand. It looks really old.”
“That's... her name was Joanna. She was my wife.” He rushes his answer, almost as if he's embarrassed, or it was a secret he didn't want to tell.
“You were married?” Jared can feel himself gaping. He can't even imagine Jensen with a girlfriend, never mind a wife.
“It was a long time ago. I don't want to talk about it.” He turns his back to Jared and fusses with something on the counter.
“I'm sorry,” Jared says, instantly feeling bad. “I didn't know.” He gets up, puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I should really go home.”
Jensen pats Jared's hand and turns around. Jared lets his hand fall. “It's okay,” Jensen says. “You can crash here any time. Are you sure you're good? I should go dowstairs, but you can stay here for a little while if you want.”
“No, I should go. I have stuff to do. Laundry, dishes, the usual.”
“Come back tomorrow and you can have some bread.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
He collects his jacket and follows Jensen back down to the bar, where Danneel is pouring a cider and someone at one of the tables is trying to get her attention. Jared leaves Jensen to deal with it and goes home.
He doesn't remember the disappearing peppers until he gets back to his apartment.
I saw disappearing chile peppers in your kitchen, he texts Jensen.
Jensen must be busy, because Jared doesn't see the reply until the next morning:
???
He must have imagined them. Hangover, not enough good sleep, whatever. Besides, why would Jensen have a string of dried peppers in his kitchen, when he already has a fruiting pepper plant?
Next!