Fic: If you had known how that would sound to me (you would have taken it back) (RPF AU, J2, PG)
This is my spn_j2_xmas fic! I have no idea how it got this late. :(
Title: If you had known how that would sound to me (you would have taken it back)
Fandom: CW RPF
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG
Summary: Jared and Jensen run a website about comic books. When they drive from Dallas to Washington, DC to attend the Small Press Expo, the trip doesn't go quite as Jared expected.
Word count: 4230
Notes: Written for wraith816 as part of the spn_j2_xmas exchange. She asked for "Jared/Jensen: Established relationship. They're going through a rough patch - just normal, everyday things getting in the way and causing problems in their relationship. Hopeful or happy end with no hints of infidelity, please. AU or not, either is fine," and "Jared/Jensen: Any AU where they're both major geeks. They're into computer games or scifi or comics - anything like that." This is some of both, and I really hope you like it! Happy Holidays! Betaed by the fabulous balefully. Title and cut-text from Liz Phair's "Divorce Song." Further notes at the end.
Jared tries to tell himself Jensen’s just nervous. It’s their first real con as exhibitors, and it’s a long drive, and there’s still a chance that they won’t sell a thing and they’ll have to resort to prostitution to pay for gas money home. It’s the sort of thing that keeps Jared up nights too, even though the website has been doing great lately, with their hit count rising every week, the forums breeding actual discussion, and the t-shirts Jensen designed selling so fast they could finally afford to haul out their broken washing machine and get a new one. Jared will not miss the eight months they spent dragging clothes to the Laundromat down the street, squinting at the muted Spanish soap operas on the flickering TVs above the washers and making up their own stories.
“Can you find another station?” Jensen snaps, pushing himself up in his seat and rubbing irritably at his eyes. “This one’s all static.”
It’s not, really, an old Willie Nelson song coming through with only a little whine underneath. Jared figured it would hold out until Memphis and by then the pickings on the radio would be a little less slim than they had been for the 60 miles Jensen has napped through. “I’m not sure there’s much else, but feel free to look.”
Jensen sighs. “What happened to you always picking the music when you drive?”
“I picked this and now you’re whining about it, is what happened.”
“You mean, you like listening to a perfectly good song being devoured by noise?”
“What ‘devoured’? There is no devouring. It’s a little bit muddy. Pretend it’s an old 45, and we’re bootleggers carrying moonshine to the outlying counties. It’s atmosphere.”
He thinks Jensen may crack a smile at that one, but Jensen just huffs. “You do realize they never put record players in cars, right?”
Jared punches off the power button on the stereo and silence wells up like a drowning wave. “Just go back to sleep. It’s your turn to drive in an hour.”
Jensen looks at him for a moment, dully angry, but he doesn’t say anything. Jared stares out at the highway and pretends not to notice.
***
Jared wakes up with a start and a crick in his neck as the car stops. He blinks up at a Motel 6 sign.
“It’s midnight,” Jensen says quietly. “I need to stop.” He doesn’t look angry now, just exhausted, shadows haunting his eyes.
“Okay,” Jared agrees. “Where are we?”
“Just west of Knoxville. We should be able to make it to DC before dark tomorrow.”
Jensen must have been speeding like crazy while Jared was asleep, but Jared doesn’t want to fight about it right now. He grabs their bags out of the back of the car, Jensen following stiffly after him.
“Double room?” says the desk clerk, her long acrylic nails clacking on the keyboard as she enters his credit card information.
Jared flicks a sideways glance at Jensen, who’s scowling at the Tennessee attractions brochures by the door. “Yeah, a double room.”
They’re both tired and stressed and worn past the point of conversation, but the way Jensen’s face falls when he unlocks the hotel room door still hits Jared in the gut. “Separate beds?” he asks.
“I just thought… It’s been a long day.”
Jensen nods tightly. “Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.”
Jared stares at the closed bathroom door for a while, listening to the water run and wondering how badly he’s messed up, and why Jensen can’t just talk to him about it. There’s a spark of anger that he tamps down, waiting for the bathroom, reminding himself that this too shall pass.
***
They go to the Waffle House down the street in the morning, Jensen pale behind his sunglasses, neither of them talking. Jared remembers thinking that this would be fun, driving instead of flying, two days in the car together seeing the country, stopping for tourist traps and local color. He doesn’t know when it stopped sounding like a fun adventure and started sounding like a chore, when life in their house got so quiet and strained as they packed boxes of books and stickers and t-shirts.
“It’s going to be fun once we get there,” Jared says, trying to be cheerful.
Jensen chews his hashbrowns. “Let’s hope.”
Jared sighs. “Want me to drive first?”
“No, I’ll do it. You can take over once we hit 81 in Virginia.”
Jensen drives with the radio off, the hum of the engine smoothing out the silence, Jared flipping through the exhibitors’ guidelines and preliminary schedule, trying not to get too excited. But they’ve never been to a show like this, where it’s all actual 3-D people, some of them artists Jared’s admired for years. Normally they get news from people they’ve never met in real life, run the website from their house in Dallas, and do interviews by email because no one ever comes to their part of the world. When Terry Moore agreed to have lunch with Jensen in Houston, Jared practically hyperventilated and Jensen swears he didn’t actually cry, but really he kind of did. They didn’t have press passes or big name advertisers supporting them then, but the guy who drew Strangers in Paradise, a guy who caught the eye of a mainstream book publisher with just talent and hard work, was willing to talk to them about his life and his projects. It was huge.
There used to be a lot of moments like that, when they were just starting out and they were still just roommates and not “roommates”, and everything was new and big and exciting. Jared kissed Jensen for the first time the night the site went down because they exceeded their bandwidth, when Jensen was frantic with nerves. “Look,” he said, “our website crashed because too many people like it. That is the kind of problem everyone should have. Also, I’m maybe in love with you.” Jensen had kissed him back, ecstatic and frazzled and gorgeous, and then gone to contact their hosting service.
That was almost two years ago, and since then they’ve had this easy rhythm going. They’ve had little fights, about logo design and Joss Whedon and who was supposed to clean the bathroom. But nothing that lasted more than a day, nothing that made Jared feel as hollow inside as he does right now, like maybe they’re not the kind of team they ought to be.
They pass billboards advertising caves and minor historical sites and one creepy-looking wax museum, all the sort of thing Jared would have loved to drag Jensen to if he were even sure they were speaking right now. Instead he keeps his mouth shut and works on the crossword from yesterday’s paper until he remembers that reading in the car makes him sick to his stomach. And then he just sits there looking pained until he can reasonably ask to stop for lunch. “Are you okay?” Jensen asks, kind, almost normal, but Jared is still feeling upset enough in general that he just says, “Fine,” and stumbles off to the bathroom before Jensen can actually be nice to him.
Virginia is beautiful, just sliding into fall, a few orange leaves among the green, and Jared is happy going only five miles over the speed limit and taking it all in, the lazy cows in the fields, the slow up and down of the mountains stringing along beside the highway. It’s four o’clock when they hit traffic approaching DC, and Jensen sighs loudly. Jared grits his teeth; it’s not as though it’s his fault traffic in this part of the world is terrible. He turns on the radio, now that they’re near a major city and not blocked in by mountains, finds the classic rock station and turns Springsteen up loud.
The last forty miles of the trip take them over two hours, and Jensen looks like he’s ready to turn around and head back to Dallas by the time they’ve been sitting in the parking lot of the DC beltway for 45 minutes. It’s only a little comforting that the people going the other way are moving even more slowly than they are. Jared has to ask Jensen to get out the map for the last part of the trip, and Jensen looks so beleaguered, like he shouldn’t even have to do these things, like the website wasn’t his fucking project in the first place.
They stop the car in the circle outside the hotel, Jared relaxing back into his seat for just a moment, reminding himself that this is supposed to be a vacation as much as a business trip. “Do you want to take the bags and go check in?” Jared asks. “Or do you want me to do it and you can park the car?”
“I’ll take the bags,” Jensen says. “Only one bed in the room this time, okay?”
Jared catches his eye, offers a wary smile. “That sounds good. I’ll meet you in the lobby?”
“Yeah.” He watches Jensen drag their suitcases towards the hotel, and swings the car around to head for the parking lot. “We’re gonna be okay,” he says to himself. “We’re gonna get through this.” For the moment, it’s not so hard to believe it.
***
Their room is on the eighth floor, with a king-size bed and a window that overlooks a car dealership. Jared lies down immediately, sprawling out on his face and letting his feet hang over the edge of the bed. “Do you want to get dinner?” Jared asks into the comforter.
Jensen is moving back and forth behind him, putting his clothes away. “Do you think you’ll be able to get up for that?”
“I’d make an effort for food.” He feels Jensen sit down on the bed beside him, and then Jensen’s hand settles in between his shoulder blades, rubbing right over the tensest spot in his back. Jared knows from long experience that this may be the closest thing to an apology he gets. “That feels really good.”
“Good,” replies Jensen. He straddles Jared’s thighs, bending down to get a better grip on Jared’s shoulders. For some reason massage classes filled the PE requirement at Jensen’s college, and this is a fact for which Jared will be forever grateful.
Eventually they make it up and out to the diner around the corner, and Jared uses up a lot of quarters playing Schoolhouse Rock songs on the jukebox at their table. Jensen laughs more than he has in a week, and Jared thinks that maybe everything’s going to get back to normal now.
***
When Jared wakes up Thursday morning, he can hear the shower running, so he gets out the DC guidebook his mom gave them and leafs through the pages Jensen had bookmarked with sticky notes. Jared was not that organized. He’d drawn three oversized exclamation points on a grocery receipt and tucked it in the page about the Spy Museum; that was really all he wanted out of their trip, apart from the expo itself. But Jensen has made notes about other museums, historical sites, neighborhoods he’s heard about. Jared’s ready to be excited for all of it once Jensen gets out of the bathroom.
But Jensen, when he reappears, seems wary, as though Jared might be the one to hold a grudge over the discomfort of the past couple of weeks. His smile is strained, and he’s obviously trying, but Jared doesn’t want him to have to try. That’s one thing that’s been nice about being with Jensen over the past two years: it doesn’t feel like work.
They manage the train system and make it downtown; they spend three hours in the Spy Museum playing with everything and laughing like kids; they circle through art galleries and decide to skip the line at the National Archives; they stop for Thai food in Dupont Circle when they get tired of walking. It’s sunny and warm all day, and they take a bunch of pictures to prove they had a good time, but Jared can’t help feeling like things could be better, like there’s something hollow underlying the happiness.
Their legs ache when they get back to the hotel. Jensen falls asleep with the TV on, and Jared takes the opportunity to run down to the car and make sure all their merchandise is there. With luck, their trip home will be a lot lighter. It’s hard to believe that the weekend is about to start for real, but the hotel lobby is buzzing with people who look like they make comics: guys with beards and black-rimmed hipster glasses, girls with dyed hair and beat-up chucks, everybody hauling boxes and suitcases or picking up packages from behind the front desk. Jared doesn’t know who he’s looking at - any of these people could be cartoonists he loves - and for the first time since second grade he feels a little shy. After all, he doesn’t really make anything; he just runs a website to talk about other people’s art.
At least Jensen’s got some artistic talent. Jared nagged him into bringing along a box of the minicomics he’d done in college, and he thinks they’ll sell, since homicidal gummy bears never really go out of style. But although Jared knows web design and took enough business classes to keep them out of debt, he can’t even draw credible stick figures. No matter how shitty indie comics art gets, it’s not bad enough to include Jared. Which is fine. Except that right now he kind of wants to be one of the people showing each other their sketchbooks in the hotel lobby.
***
Their table is right in the middle of the room, between a woman whose latest comics document meandering conversations she had through a Ouija board, and a couple of guys sharing a table for their webcomics, which seem to be beefed-up versions of the sort of D&D campaigns Jared ran in high school. They chat as they set up their stuff, and the woman is friendly and funny, and the guys have actually been to Jared and Jensen's website. Jared feels like he can breathe again once they start chatting. Because people aren't hard, really, once they're not strangers anymore.
Their neighbors explain that most of the big name creators won't be coming until tonight or tomorrow. Anyone with a publisher backing them can show up to sign and not have to worry so much about lugging their own shit around. Jensen is quiet, fiddling with their sign, letting Jared do most of the talking, but when their eyes catch, Jensen smiles. And that's good too, normal.
As the day goes on, more and more people arrive to set up. It seems like half the people Jared meets are volunteers with the CBLDF, setting up stacks of autographed graphic novels and displays of limited edition prints. They're all really friendly, but Jared has to keep far away from their table to avoid spending money he doesn't have yet, even if it will go to charity. By two o'clock, he's pretty ready for the show to start. A few people have come by their table to say hi, people Jared and Jensen know from the message boards, and while it's nice to put screen-names with faces, it's hard to concentrate. He keeps telling people he’ll catch up with them at the bar tonight.
“Are you keeping a running tally of how many people we’re hanging out with in the bar tonight?” Jensen whispers in his ear. “Because I think it’s topping a dozen at this point.”
Jared turns his face to nuzzle Jensen’s cheek. “I didn’t say I’d buy them anything.”
Jensen laughs. “Smart.”
***
Once the expo opens, everything becomes kind of a blur. People come to the table to talk to them, and then they find out they know each other from the message boards, and it’s like Jared can see a social network blooming out in front of their table, all these real-life people who keep him and Jensen solvent and let them stay close to this industry they love. Sales of the book of Jensen’s articles are slow but steady, and he doodles in the front covers for anyone who asks, gracious and cheerful. But the longer Jensen smiles at strangers, the thinner Jared can see it wearing. “Why don’t you go explore some?” Jared says, when the aisle in front of them clears out. “See if you run into anyone famous. There’s a dude over there who looks like Dave Sim.”
“I’ll punch him in the face on behalf of us all.”
“My hero.”
Jensen takes a stack of his minicomics to trade and sets off down the aisle. Jared watches him go, settling into a lull in the traffic, chatting with their neighbors, who assure him that Saturday is always busier than Friday.
***
Jared looks up from telling a story about his parents' dog, expecting Jensen to chime in, but Jensen isn't there. They've been making the rounds in the hotel bar together, chatting with all the folks Jared didn't have time to talk to earlier, trading gossip and making new friends. Jensen hasn't been saying much, dropping in sarcastic color commentary like usual, but Jared didn't expect him to just wander off. His mouth is still moving, explaining how the screen door was never the same after that, but his eyes are bouncing all over the room looking for Jensen.
Jared finally spots him at the bar, talking to one of the scruffy guys from the Center for Cartoon Studies, leaning in to hear something he's saying and then rearing back in a laugh. A real laugh, the kind that crinkles his eyes at the corners, the kind that makes Jared wish he could draw because Jensen is so damn gorgeous when he laughs. Strangers aren't supposed to be able to make Jensen laugh like that.
He excuses himself from the conversation and goes out to the patio on the other side of the bar. His heart is beating too fast all of a sudden, and he nearly runs into a woman in a top hat who is coming in as he's leaving. He doesn't think Jensen would cheat on him; but if there's someone else making Jensen laugh like that when Jared can't, that's almost as bad. Through the window Jared can see all the people in the bar, and suddenly the thought of talking to anyone just makes him tired. He stops to tap Jensen on the shoulder as he passes back through the bar, spares a small, hard smile for Jensen's new friend. "I think I'm going to call it a night," he says, and Jensen's eyebrows jump straight up. "You have your key, right?"
Jensen pats his pocket reassuringly, but his eyes are fixed on Jared's. "Are you feeling okay?"
Jared nods. "Just tired. Lots of people." He can see Jensen gearing up to say, "But you like people," so Jared kisses him on the cheek and walks off before he can.
***
As predicted, it's way more crowded on Saturday than it was on Friday, which is good because it means the only thing Jensen says to Jared all morning is, "I want to go see Jules Feiffer at noon. Will you be okay here?" and the only thing Jared says to Jensen is, "Sure, fine." It's obvious Jensen knows something's wrong, but propriety in public is like a gag order for him, and Jared made sure he was out of the room before Jensen woke up, so they haven't been alone together.
They trade off time at the table in the afternoon to check out more of the panels, Jensen with his notebook in hand, trying to figure out how he's going to make this all into a good con report for the website. Jared sort of wishes he could see those notes because he's really not sure what kind of story it all makes right now.
***
Jared realizes he can’t remember how many beers he’s had, and pretty much immediately afterward, he realizes he’s drunk. After the Ignatz Awards ceremony ended, people started buying him drinks at the reception, because he was friendly, maybe, or because he got even friendlier after a few beers, laughing at some old cartoonist’s jokes about Texas and offering some of his own. He doesn’t know where Jensen is, and right now he doesn’t care. There is a cheese platter, and people he’s heard of are talking to him, and if Jensen is off flirting with some art student with overgrown stubble, then fine.
“You might want to slow down,” Jensen says, coming up beside him and bumping his shoulder like everything’s normal. “We still have to get up tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” says Jared shortly, looking for some direction to go that is away. He doesn’t want to talk to Jensen right now, not like this. He’s afraid that the next conversation they have may be the one that goes, “This just isn’t working out,” and he’s not ready. He takes a step and Jensen grabs his arm. A lot of people have gone up to their rooms already, or gone home; he doesn’t see anyone he can distract himself with.
“Jared, please,” Jensen says urgently. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’m drunk,” replies Jared. “And as someone reminded me, we have to get up tomorrow. So I should probably go to bed.”
Jensen squeezes his elbow tighter. “Then I’ll come.”
Jared shrugs hard enough to shake Jensen off and heads for the elevator, not looking back to see if he’s following. Jensen doesn’t say anything until the door of their room clicks shut behind them.
“Do you want some water?” he asks, watching Jared nervously.
“I’m fine.”
Jensen snorts. “Well, that’s obviously not true.”
“What the hell would you know about fine? You were a dick the whole drive up, and hell, most of the week before we left. You’ve been distant and weird this whole time. There’s clearly something going on with you, and I want to know what it is.”
Jensen looks stunned, honestly surprised, and it’s harder to be mad when he looks like that. “I was nervous. I was stressed out and acting like a jerk. But I thought everything was getting better once we got here. I thought everything was okay.”
“So what do you think now?”
“I think you should have told me you were still pissed off two days ago instead of acting like everything’s normal and then suddenly giving me the silent treatment.”
“You were talking to some guy last night,” Jared tells him helplessly. “He made you laugh.”
Jensen steps up close, peering into Jared’s face as if looking for some sign of defect. “I love you,” he says, which isn’t what Jared’s expecting, and he sways back from the words like a punch. Jensen doesn’t say it a lot, except sometimes in bed when he’s lazy with sex and doesn’t mind how he sounds. “I talked to a lot of cool people this weekend, but I would never have come here without you.” He puts a hand on the back of Jared’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touch.
Jared takes a breath, ready to protest, but he finds that he really doesn’t want to. He kisses Jensen, settling a hand on his waist and holding him close instead. The tight, worried feeling in his chest eases for the first time in hours. “It’s never been hard before,” he tries to explain against the waiting softness of Jensen’s lips.
Jensen grins dirty and squeezes Jared’s hip. “I thought it had been hard pretty often.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t you?” He pulls back to look Jensen in the eye. “We’ve never had a fight like this before. And I thought maybe…” He can’t say it. He’s drunk, and the idea that Jensen could break up with him is wordlessly devastating.
Jensen seems to get it. “We’re fine,” he says. “At least from where I’m standing. I act like a jackass under stress sometimes, but that doesn’t mean anything about how I feel about you. Do you know how many books we’ve sold this weekend? We are an actual success right now. I don’t want to fight, I want to celebrate.” He kisses Jared again, and Jared is sure enough that “celebrate” is code for sex that he drags Jensen onto the bed without another word.
***
“Tell me the DC beltway can’t possibly be as awful on Sunday as it was on Wednesday,” Jensen says as he starts the car.
“The DC beltway can’t possibly be as awful on Sunday as it was on Wednesday,” Jared parrots back. He’s flipping through the “day trips” section of their DC tourist guide, looking for all the tourist traps they missed on their way through rural Virginia. “How do you feel about caves?”
“Are they haunted?” replies Jensen. “I’m pretty sure I only like them if they’re haunted. Or if they at least have creepy mannequins in them so it seems like they’re haunted.”
Jared tosses the guide into the backseat. “It doesn’t specify. But we’ve got 1300 miles to find a haunted cave in.”
Jensen squeezes his knee, grinning. “Yeah, we do.”
-fin-
Further Notes: The Small Press Expo is real (although I changed the schedule to suit my purposes), as are Terry Moore's Strangers in Paradise, Sarah Becan's Ouija Interviews, The Center for Cartoon Studies, and Dave Sim needing to be punched in the face (you can find some equally appalling links on wikipedia). The woman in the top hat Jared almost runs into is intended to be Carla Speed McNeil, although there's no reason you would know that. If you've never read independent comics, but you're intrigued, the Small Press Expo is amazing and you should all go. :D /soapbox
Title: If you had known how that would sound to me (you would have taken it back)
Fandom: CW RPF
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG
Summary: Jared and Jensen run a website about comic books. When they drive from Dallas to Washington, DC to attend the Small Press Expo, the trip doesn't go quite as Jared expected.
Word count: 4230
Notes: Written for wraith816 as part of the spn_j2_xmas exchange. She asked for "Jared/Jensen: Established relationship. They're going through a rough patch - just normal, everyday things getting in the way and causing problems in their relationship. Hopeful or happy end with no hints of infidelity, please. AU or not, either is fine," and "Jared/Jensen: Any AU where they're both major geeks. They're into computer games or scifi or comics - anything like that." This is some of both, and I really hope you like it! Happy Holidays! Betaed by the fabulous balefully. Title and cut-text from Liz Phair's "Divorce Song." Further notes at the end.
Jared tries to tell himself Jensen’s just nervous. It’s their first real con as exhibitors, and it’s a long drive, and there’s still a chance that they won’t sell a thing and they’ll have to resort to prostitution to pay for gas money home. It’s the sort of thing that keeps Jared up nights too, even though the website has been doing great lately, with their hit count rising every week, the forums breeding actual discussion, and the t-shirts Jensen designed selling so fast they could finally afford to haul out their broken washing machine and get a new one. Jared will not miss the eight months they spent dragging clothes to the Laundromat down the street, squinting at the muted Spanish soap operas on the flickering TVs above the washers and making up their own stories.
“Can you find another station?” Jensen snaps, pushing himself up in his seat and rubbing irritably at his eyes. “This one’s all static.”
It’s not, really, an old Willie Nelson song coming through with only a little whine underneath. Jared figured it would hold out until Memphis and by then the pickings on the radio would be a little less slim than they had been for the 60 miles Jensen has napped through. “I’m not sure there’s much else, but feel free to look.”
Jensen sighs. “What happened to you always picking the music when you drive?”
“I picked this and now you’re whining about it, is what happened.”
“You mean, you like listening to a perfectly good song being devoured by noise?”
“What ‘devoured’? There is no devouring. It’s a little bit muddy. Pretend it’s an old 45, and we’re bootleggers carrying moonshine to the outlying counties. It’s atmosphere.”
He thinks Jensen may crack a smile at that one, but Jensen just huffs. “You do realize they never put record players in cars, right?”
Jared punches off the power button on the stereo and silence wells up like a drowning wave. “Just go back to sleep. It’s your turn to drive in an hour.”
Jensen looks at him for a moment, dully angry, but he doesn’t say anything. Jared stares out at the highway and pretends not to notice.
***
Jared wakes up with a start and a crick in his neck as the car stops. He blinks up at a Motel 6 sign.
“It’s midnight,” Jensen says quietly. “I need to stop.” He doesn’t look angry now, just exhausted, shadows haunting his eyes.
“Okay,” Jared agrees. “Where are we?”
“Just west of Knoxville. We should be able to make it to DC before dark tomorrow.”
Jensen must have been speeding like crazy while Jared was asleep, but Jared doesn’t want to fight about it right now. He grabs their bags out of the back of the car, Jensen following stiffly after him.
“Double room?” says the desk clerk, her long acrylic nails clacking on the keyboard as she enters his credit card information.
Jared flicks a sideways glance at Jensen, who’s scowling at the Tennessee attractions brochures by the door. “Yeah, a double room.”
They’re both tired and stressed and worn past the point of conversation, but the way Jensen’s face falls when he unlocks the hotel room door still hits Jared in the gut. “Separate beds?” he asks.
“I just thought… It’s been a long day.”
Jensen nods tightly. “Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.”
Jared stares at the closed bathroom door for a while, listening to the water run and wondering how badly he’s messed up, and why Jensen can’t just talk to him about it. There’s a spark of anger that he tamps down, waiting for the bathroom, reminding himself that this too shall pass.
***
They go to the Waffle House down the street in the morning, Jensen pale behind his sunglasses, neither of them talking. Jared remembers thinking that this would be fun, driving instead of flying, two days in the car together seeing the country, stopping for tourist traps and local color. He doesn’t know when it stopped sounding like a fun adventure and started sounding like a chore, when life in their house got so quiet and strained as they packed boxes of books and stickers and t-shirts.
“It’s going to be fun once we get there,” Jared says, trying to be cheerful.
Jensen chews his hashbrowns. “Let’s hope.”
Jared sighs. “Want me to drive first?”
“No, I’ll do it. You can take over once we hit 81 in Virginia.”
Jensen drives with the radio off, the hum of the engine smoothing out the silence, Jared flipping through the exhibitors’ guidelines and preliminary schedule, trying not to get too excited. But they’ve never been to a show like this, where it’s all actual 3-D people, some of them artists Jared’s admired for years. Normally they get news from people they’ve never met in real life, run the website from their house in Dallas, and do interviews by email because no one ever comes to their part of the world. When Terry Moore agreed to have lunch with Jensen in Houston, Jared practically hyperventilated and Jensen swears he didn’t actually cry, but really he kind of did. They didn’t have press passes or big name advertisers supporting them then, but the guy who drew Strangers in Paradise, a guy who caught the eye of a mainstream book publisher with just talent and hard work, was willing to talk to them about his life and his projects. It was huge.
There used to be a lot of moments like that, when they were just starting out and they were still just roommates and not “roommates”, and everything was new and big and exciting. Jared kissed Jensen for the first time the night the site went down because they exceeded their bandwidth, when Jensen was frantic with nerves. “Look,” he said, “our website crashed because too many people like it. That is the kind of problem everyone should have. Also, I’m maybe in love with you.” Jensen had kissed him back, ecstatic and frazzled and gorgeous, and then gone to contact their hosting service.
That was almost two years ago, and since then they’ve had this easy rhythm going. They’ve had little fights, about logo design and Joss Whedon and who was supposed to clean the bathroom. But nothing that lasted more than a day, nothing that made Jared feel as hollow inside as he does right now, like maybe they’re not the kind of team they ought to be.
They pass billboards advertising caves and minor historical sites and one creepy-looking wax museum, all the sort of thing Jared would have loved to drag Jensen to if he were even sure they were speaking right now. Instead he keeps his mouth shut and works on the crossword from yesterday’s paper until he remembers that reading in the car makes him sick to his stomach. And then he just sits there looking pained until he can reasonably ask to stop for lunch. “Are you okay?” Jensen asks, kind, almost normal, but Jared is still feeling upset enough in general that he just says, “Fine,” and stumbles off to the bathroom before Jensen can actually be nice to him.
Virginia is beautiful, just sliding into fall, a few orange leaves among the green, and Jared is happy going only five miles over the speed limit and taking it all in, the lazy cows in the fields, the slow up and down of the mountains stringing along beside the highway. It’s four o’clock when they hit traffic approaching DC, and Jensen sighs loudly. Jared grits his teeth; it’s not as though it’s his fault traffic in this part of the world is terrible. He turns on the radio, now that they’re near a major city and not blocked in by mountains, finds the classic rock station and turns Springsteen up loud.
The last forty miles of the trip take them over two hours, and Jensen looks like he’s ready to turn around and head back to Dallas by the time they’ve been sitting in the parking lot of the DC beltway for 45 minutes. It’s only a little comforting that the people going the other way are moving even more slowly than they are. Jared has to ask Jensen to get out the map for the last part of the trip, and Jensen looks so beleaguered, like he shouldn’t even have to do these things, like the website wasn’t his fucking project in the first place.
They stop the car in the circle outside the hotel, Jared relaxing back into his seat for just a moment, reminding himself that this is supposed to be a vacation as much as a business trip. “Do you want to take the bags and go check in?” Jared asks. “Or do you want me to do it and you can park the car?”
“I’ll take the bags,” Jensen says. “Only one bed in the room this time, okay?”
Jared catches his eye, offers a wary smile. “That sounds good. I’ll meet you in the lobby?”
“Yeah.” He watches Jensen drag their suitcases towards the hotel, and swings the car around to head for the parking lot. “We’re gonna be okay,” he says to himself. “We’re gonna get through this.” For the moment, it’s not so hard to believe it.
***
Their room is on the eighth floor, with a king-size bed and a window that overlooks a car dealership. Jared lies down immediately, sprawling out on his face and letting his feet hang over the edge of the bed. “Do you want to get dinner?” Jared asks into the comforter.
Jensen is moving back and forth behind him, putting his clothes away. “Do you think you’ll be able to get up for that?”
“I’d make an effort for food.” He feels Jensen sit down on the bed beside him, and then Jensen’s hand settles in between his shoulder blades, rubbing right over the tensest spot in his back. Jared knows from long experience that this may be the closest thing to an apology he gets. “That feels really good.”
“Good,” replies Jensen. He straddles Jared’s thighs, bending down to get a better grip on Jared’s shoulders. For some reason massage classes filled the PE requirement at Jensen’s college, and this is a fact for which Jared will be forever grateful.
Eventually they make it up and out to the diner around the corner, and Jared uses up a lot of quarters playing Schoolhouse Rock songs on the jukebox at their table. Jensen laughs more than he has in a week, and Jared thinks that maybe everything’s going to get back to normal now.
***
When Jared wakes up Thursday morning, he can hear the shower running, so he gets out the DC guidebook his mom gave them and leafs through the pages Jensen had bookmarked with sticky notes. Jared was not that organized. He’d drawn three oversized exclamation points on a grocery receipt and tucked it in the page about the Spy Museum; that was really all he wanted out of their trip, apart from the expo itself. But Jensen has made notes about other museums, historical sites, neighborhoods he’s heard about. Jared’s ready to be excited for all of it once Jensen gets out of the bathroom.
But Jensen, when he reappears, seems wary, as though Jared might be the one to hold a grudge over the discomfort of the past couple of weeks. His smile is strained, and he’s obviously trying, but Jared doesn’t want him to have to try. That’s one thing that’s been nice about being with Jensen over the past two years: it doesn’t feel like work.
They manage the train system and make it downtown; they spend three hours in the Spy Museum playing with everything and laughing like kids; they circle through art galleries and decide to skip the line at the National Archives; they stop for Thai food in Dupont Circle when they get tired of walking. It’s sunny and warm all day, and they take a bunch of pictures to prove they had a good time, but Jared can’t help feeling like things could be better, like there’s something hollow underlying the happiness.
Their legs ache when they get back to the hotel. Jensen falls asleep with the TV on, and Jared takes the opportunity to run down to the car and make sure all their merchandise is there. With luck, their trip home will be a lot lighter. It’s hard to believe that the weekend is about to start for real, but the hotel lobby is buzzing with people who look like they make comics: guys with beards and black-rimmed hipster glasses, girls with dyed hair and beat-up chucks, everybody hauling boxes and suitcases or picking up packages from behind the front desk. Jared doesn’t know who he’s looking at - any of these people could be cartoonists he loves - and for the first time since second grade he feels a little shy. After all, he doesn’t really make anything; he just runs a website to talk about other people’s art.
At least Jensen’s got some artistic talent. Jared nagged him into bringing along a box of the minicomics he’d done in college, and he thinks they’ll sell, since homicidal gummy bears never really go out of style. But although Jared knows web design and took enough business classes to keep them out of debt, he can’t even draw credible stick figures. No matter how shitty indie comics art gets, it’s not bad enough to include Jared. Which is fine. Except that right now he kind of wants to be one of the people showing each other their sketchbooks in the hotel lobby.
***
Their table is right in the middle of the room, between a woman whose latest comics document meandering conversations she had through a Ouija board, and a couple of guys sharing a table for their webcomics, which seem to be beefed-up versions of the sort of D&D campaigns Jared ran in high school. They chat as they set up their stuff, and the woman is friendly and funny, and the guys have actually been to Jared and Jensen's website. Jared feels like he can breathe again once they start chatting. Because people aren't hard, really, once they're not strangers anymore.
Their neighbors explain that most of the big name creators won't be coming until tonight or tomorrow. Anyone with a publisher backing them can show up to sign and not have to worry so much about lugging their own shit around. Jensen is quiet, fiddling with their sign, letting Jared do most of the talking, but when their eyes catch, Jensen smiles. And that's good too, normal.
As the day goes on, more and more people arrive to set up. It seems like half the people Jared meets are volunteers with the CBLDF, setting up stacks of autographed graphic novels and displays of limited edition prints. They're all really friendly, but Jared has to keep far away from their table to avoid spending money he doesn't have yet, even if it will go to charity. By two o'clock, he's pretty ready for the show to start. A few people have come by their table to say hi, people Jared and Jensen know from the message boards, and while it's nice to put screen-names with faces, it's hard to concentrate. He keeps telling people he’ll catch up with them at the bar tonight.
“Are you keeping a running tally of how many people we’re hanging out with in the bar tonight?” Jensen whispers in his ear. “Because I think it’s topping a dozen at this point.”
Jared turns his face to nuzzle Jensen’s cheek. “I didn’t say I’d buy them anything.”
Jensen laughs. “Smart.”
***
Once the expo opens, everything becomes kind of a blur. People come to the table to talk to them, and then they find out they know each other from the message boards, and it’s like Jared can see a social network blooming out in front of their table, all these real-life people who keep him and Jensen solvent and let them stay close to this industry they love. Sales of the book of Jensen’s articles are slow but steady, and he doodles in the front covers for anyone who asks, gracious and cheerful. But the longer Jensen smiles at strangers, the thinner Jared can see it wearing. “Why don’t you go explore some?” Jared says, when the aisle in front of them clears out. “See if you run into anyone famous. There’s a dude over there who looks like Dave Sim.”
“I’ll punch him in the face on behalf of us all.”
“My hero.”
Jensen takes a stack of his minicomics to trade and sets off down the aisle. Jared watches him go, settling into a lull in the traffic, chatting with their neighbors, who assure him that Saturday is always busier than Friday.
***
Jared looks up from telling a story about his parents' dog, expecting Jensen to chime in, but Jensen isn't there. They've been making the rounds in the hotel bar together, chatting with all the folks Jared didn't have time to talk to earlier, trading gossip and making new friends. Jensen hasn't been saying much, dropping in sarcastic color commentary like usual, but Jared didn't expect him to just wander off. His mouth is still moving, explaining how the screen door was never the same after that, but his eyes are bouncing all over the room looking for Jensen.
Jared finally spots him at the bar, talking to one of the scruffy guys from the Center for Cartoon Studies, leaning in to hear something he's saying and then rearing back in a laugh. A real laugh, the kind that crinkles his eyes at the corners, the kind that makes Jared wish he could draw because Jensen is so damn gorgeous when he laughs. Strangers aren't supposed to be able to make Jensen laugh like that.
He excuses himself from the conversation and goes out to the patio on the other side of the bar. His heart is beating too fast all of a sudden, and he nearly runs into a woman in a top hat who is coming in as he's leaving. He doesn't think Jensen would cheat on him; but if there's someone else making Jensen laugh like that when Jared can't, that's almost as bad. Through the window Jared can see all the people in the bar, and suddenly the thought of talking to anyone just makes him tired. He stops to tap Jensen on the shoulder as he passes back through the bar, spares a small, hard smile for Jensen's new friend. "I think I'm going to call it a night," he says, and Jensen's eyebrows jump straight up. "You have your key, right?"
Jensen pats his pocket reassuringly, but his eyes are fixed on Jared's. "Are you feeling okay?"
Jared nods. "Just tired. Lots of people." He can see Jensen gearing up to say, "But you like people," so Jared kisses him on the cheek and walks off before he can.
***
As predicted, it's way more crowded on Saturday than it was on Friday, which is good because it means the only thing Jensen says to Jared all morning is, "I want to go see Jules Feiffer at noon. Will you be okay here?" and the only thing Jared says to Jensen is, "Sure, fine." It's obvious Jensen knows something's wrong, but propriety in public is like a gag order for him, and Jared made sure he was out of the room before Jensen woke up, so they haven't been alone together.
They trade off time at the table in the afternoon to check out more of the panels, Jensen with his notebook in hand, trying to figure out how he's going to make this all into a good con report for the website. Jared sort of wishes he could see those notes because he's really not sure what kind of story it all makes right now.
***
Jared realizes he can’t remember how many beers he’s had, and pretty much immediately afterward, he realizes he’s drunk. After the Ignatz Awards ceremony ended, people started buying him drinks at the reception, because he was friendly, maybe, or because he got even friendlier after a few beers, laughing at some old cartoonist’s jokes about Texas and offering some of his own. He doesn’t know where Jensen is, and right now he doesn’t care. There is a cheese platter, and people he’s heard of are talking to him, and if Jensen is off flirting with some art student with overgrown stubble, then fine.
“You might want to slow down,” Jensen says, coming up beside him and bumping his shoulder like everything’s normal. “We still have to get up tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” says Jared shortly, looking for some direction to go that is away. He doesn’t want to talk to Jensen right now, not like this. He’s afraid that the next conversation they have may be the one that goes, “This just isn’t working out,” and he’s not ready. He takes a step and Jensen grabs his arm. A lot of people have gone up to their rooms already, or gone home; he doesn’t see anyone he can distract himself with.
“Jared, please,” Jensen says urgently. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’m drunk,” replies Jared. “And as someone reminded me, we have to get up tomorrow. So I should probably go to bed.”
Jensen squeezes his elbow tighter. “Then I’ll come.”
Jared shrugs hard enough to shake Jensen off and heads for the elevator, not looking back to see if he’s following. Jensen doesn’t say anything until the door of their room clicks shut behind them.
“Do you want some water?” he asks, watching Jared nervously.
“I’m fine.”
Jensen snorts. “Well, that’s obviously not true.”
“What the hell would you know about fine? You were a dick the whole drive up, and hell, most of the week before we left. You’ve been distant and weird this whole time. There’s clearly something going on with you, and I want to know what it is.”
Jensen looks stunned, honestly surprised, and it’s harder to be mad when he looks like that. “I was nervous. I was stressed out and acting like a jerk. But I thought everything was getting better once we got here. I thought everything was okay.”
“So what do you think now?”
“I think you should have told me you were still pissed off two days ago instead of acting like everything’s normal and then suddenly giving me the silent treatment.”
“You were talking to some guy last night,” Jared tells him helplessly. “He made you laugh.”
Jensen steps up close, peering into Jared’s face as if looking for some sign of defect. “I love you,” he says, which isn’t what Jared’s expecting, and he sways back from the words like a punch. Jensen doesn’t say it a lot, except sometimes in bed when he’s lazy with sex and doesn’t mind how he sounds. “I talked to a lot of cool people this weekend, but I would never have come here without you.” He puts a hand on the back of Jared’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touch.
Jared takes a breath, ready to protest, but he finds that he really doesn’t want to. He kisses Jensen, settling a hand on his waist and holding him close instead. The tight, worried feeling in his chest eases for the first time in hours. “It’s never been hard before,” he tries to explain against the waiting softness of Jensen’s lips.
Jensen grins dirty and squeezes Jared’s hip. “I thought it had been hard pretty often.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t you?” He pulls back to look Jensen in the eye. “We’ve never had a fight like this before. And I thought maybe…” He can’t say it. He’s drunk, and the idea that Jensen could break up with him is wordlessly devastating.
Jensen seems to get it. “We’re fine,” he says. “At least from where I’m standing. I act like a jackass under stress sometimes, but that doesn’t mean anything about how I feel about you. Do you know how many books we’ve sold this weekend? We are an actual success right now. I don’t want to fight, I want to celebrate.” He kisses Jared again, and Jared is sure enough that “celebrate” is code for sex that he drags Jensen onto the bed without another word.
***
“Tell me the DC beltway can’t possibly be as awful on Sunday as it was on Wednesday,” Jensen says as he starts the car.
“The DC beltway can’t possibly be as awful on Sunday as it was on Wednesday,” Jared parrots back. He’s flipping through the “day trips” section of their DC tourist guide, looking for all the tourist traps they missed on their way through rural Virginia. “How do you feel about caves?”
“Are they haunted?” replies Jensen. “I’m pretty sure I only like them if they’re haunted. Or if they at least have creepy mannequins in them so it seems like they’re haunted.”
Jared tosses the guide into the backseat. “It doesn’t specify. But we’ve got 1300 miles to find a haunted cave in.”
Jensen squeezes his knee, grinning. “Yeah, we do.”
-fin-
Further Notes: The Small Press Expo is real (although I changed the schedule to suit my purposes), as are Terry Moore's Strangers in Paradise, Sarah Becan's Ouija Interviews, The Center for Cartoon Studies, and Dave Sim needing to be punched in the face (you can find some equally appalling links on wikipedia). The woman in the top hat Jared almost runs into is intended to be Carla Speed McNeil, although there's no reason you would know that. If you've never read independent comics, but you're intrigued, the Small Press Expo is amazing and you should all go. :D /soapbox