This Little Corner of Heaven Part One, R, Jared/Jensen
Title: This Little Corner of Heaven
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (AU) Jared 18, Jensen 25
Rating: R
Word count: 25,751 complete
Disclaimer: Unfortunately neither Jared nor Jensen belong to me. All original characters do. This is not meant to offend, nor is it for profit. It is for fun only.
Warnings: off screen rape (not by the J’s), violence, hurt/bottom Jared, high levels of angst
Summary: Dr Jensen Ackles is a lonely widower and workaholic who has little sympathy for the homeless. So when Jared, the young homeless kid who broke into his house last night, shows up in the ER, sick and critically injured, will the good doctor bring his work home with him?
Many thanks for the excellent beta work by Devon99 and my old mate Neats. Cheers girls! Love ya to bits!
This Little Corner of Heaven
Jensen switched off the desk lamp and stretched his arms up and over his head. After a satisfying crack, he yawned loudly and stood up. Swinging his arms back down with a weary sigh, he turned to tidy up a small pile of paperwork, but his elbow caught a small, framed photograph on the corner of the desk, nearly knocking it to the floor. Catching it just in time, he hesitated, then brought it close to the window, letting a nearby street light illuminate the familiar and heartbreakingly beautiful face of his late husband, Ryan.
Jensen refused to cry again, and even though two years had passed, it still seemed like only yesterday since Jensen had said goodbye to his husband for the last time before heading off to work. Ryan Ackles had been brutally murdered by a young homeless drug addict on his way home from the local bakery one night. He’d stopped to offer the last of his change to a hungry kid with a black eye and bruised face, and paid for it with his life. The police caught the culprit, a thirteen year old, high on a cocktail of illegal narcotics, and he was sentenced to three years in juvenile hall.
It didn’t seem enough.
Jensen’s life was ruined that night, his lover and best friend ripped from him in a senseless and violent act.
And that kid would be out in three.
Replacing the photo on his desk, Jensen left the study and headed for the bathroom. The house seemed cold and indifferent so late at night; the loss of Ryan weighed heavily on the old building, as though it, too, missed his sweet laughter, generous smile and bright, kindly eyes.
Jensen had never been sure if he believed in the concept of soul mates, that there was one person out there for everyone, but Ryan had definitely changed his mind in the few years they had together. Losing him had nearly destroyed Jensen; the pain almost too much to bear in the days, weeks, and months that followed.
Jensen sighed again; mouth turned down in sadness, and cranked up the shower. The water became hot very quickly and steam soon filled the room, fogging up the mirrors and glass sliding door.
He didn’t linger in the shower much these days. It was no longer a pleasure to luxuriate in the feeling of hot water cascading down his neck and back, streaming down his legs and pooling round his toes. There was no one there to sensuously run their soaped up hands over his skin, to wrap their arms around him and whisper how much they loved him, how much they ached for him…
Five minutes later, Jensen was dried off and dressed in dark blue sweats, bare feet padding down the stairs to the lounge. Switching on the TV, and finding a channel featuring some mindless crap, Jensen sank down on the sofa and pulled up the blanket.
He hadn’t slept in a proper bed in two years, unable to stand the loneliness of sleeping in that huge bed upstairs with the left side so empty. The TV, on a low volume, served as background noise and helped remind him in the early hours of the morning when he woke up, heart aching with loss, that he wasn’t the only living soul on the planet.
The only purpose the master bedroom served now was as a dressing room, where Jensen kept his clean clothes. He’d walk in after his morning shower, dress, and walk out, barely sparing a cursory glance round the room. It still hurt too much to hang around.
His friends despaired of him, he knew, but never gave up on the hope that, one day, he’d begin to heal. Ryan’s clothes still hung in the wardrobe, or lay folded neatly in the antique chest of drawers he and Jensen had picked out in a second-hand furniture shop.
After the funeral, a few well meaning relatives had snuck upstairs and began removing Ryan’s belongings, packing them away into suitcases and stowing them in the attic. Jensen had caught them before they got too far and, after much yelling, and floods of tears, the suitcases were brought back down, unpacked, and everything was returned to its rightful place. Which was ridiculous. A complete contradiction, in fact, and even Jensen wasn’t so far round the twist with grief that he didn’t recognize it for what it was. He wanted nothing changed; nothing that might erase anything of Ryan’s life with him, yet his residing ghost caused him more pain than he ever thought imaginable.
It wasn’t that Jensen didn’t want to move on. He just didn’t know where to begin, and the task of starting all over again just seemed insurmountable.
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Jared crept through the alley, his hunched form shivering with cold. The rain had begun falling like stair rods from the sky the moment he’d stepped outside… well, truth be told, he’d been run off the premises. Grocery store owners didn’t take kindly to filthy ragamuffins skulking about the aisles, especially when it was obvious they had no intention of exchanging goods for money.
Jared hated stealing. The last few months he’d been able to scrape by, earning hot meals by clearing snow from people’s driveways, and sometimes a garden shed to sleep in if he was really lucky. But the snow had since melted, bringing with it freezing rain and cold gale force winds, and Jared had been forced to retreat to the homeless shelter for a time.
That option was soon lost when one of the volunteers had taken too much of a liking to Jared. Todd had been nice enough to start with, playing the role of big brother and best friend to a lost and lonely kid who’d been discarded by his own family for the terrible crime of being less than perfect. He’d fed and watered him, provided warmth and comfort, and even tried to help him search for a job. It had all gone to hell one night when Jared was alone in the kitchen, getting a glass of water to take his antibiotics. He’d been sick with bronchitis, which was another one of the reasons he’d gone to the shelter for help in the first place, and the pills had been huge, nearly choking him when he tried to dry swallow them. Whilst standing at the sink, a pair of thick, muscular arms had locked around his slim waist, and hot breath grazed his left ear.
“I know you want it, Jared,” Todd had whispered, pulling the struggling boy back against his chest. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. We’re all alone here… no one needs to know what a dirty little whore you really are. I’ll make it worth your while. You need money, right?”
After the fear, shame, and disappointment had flooded his heart, Jared had valiantly fought back his tears, and slammed his foot down hard on the guy’s instep. Taking advantage of Todd’s angry, pained howl, Jared had fled the kitchen, only pausing to grab up a blanket, his threadbare jacket and the small, scruffy backpack he carried everywhere with him.
Heading out into the darkness, Jared prayed he’d find a clean-ish dumpster or some dry cardboard boxes to rest in for the night. The wind-chill factor was well into minus figures, he was sure, buffeting his thin body and taking his breath away.
He would have been lying if he’d said Todd’s offer hadn’t tempted him. Not for the prospect of money, though that would have come in handy, but for the chance to lay in someone’s arms, cuddled, held close and loved, if only for one night. Todd hadn’t been unattractive, and that was the stupid thing about it all. If the guy had played his cards right, spoken to Jared with more care, then maybe, just maybe…
Jared shuddered, and not just because of the cold. He wasn’t a whore, had never slept with anyone for financial gain and wouldn’t start now. Even here, down in the dark alleys with the stray cats and the filth, Jared had his principles.
But he did fear how long they would last before he became desperate.
Fortunately, although Jared wasn’t a born street kid - in the sense that he wasn’t born in a dumpster to a drug addict hooker with no concept of the word ‘condom’ and had never heard of an intrauterine device - he still had enough smarts to store some food from the shelter in his backpack. Any leftovers he’d not been able to manage whilst incapacitated by illness had gone into a sealable plastic bag and secreted away to the bottom of the pack. Along with the odd midnight raid of the kitchen fridge when he was feeling better, there had been enough to see him through the next week, provided he used it sparingly.
That was a week ago. Jared had searched aimlessly for work, even offering to clean the restrooms of the local bar in exchange for a burger and fries. By the time he’d finished, the walls, floor and basins were spotless and shining; he could have eaten his dinner off of it. Unfortunately, the burger and fries had given him a mild case of food poisoning and the bar tender had laughed cruelly in the face of his vomiting. Talk about irony.
So, dehydrated and stomach aching with hunger, Jared limped back to his bolt hole - the disused basement of an old postal building. The building itself had been torn down in preparation for redevelopment, but when the recession hit and fully set in, the construction company went bust, leaving the condemned grounds for mother nature to reclaim. The place had been tightly locked down but two nights ago Jared, who’d always had the knack of such things, even as a child, managed to pick the locks and hide away in the condemned basement. It was still freezing cold, but at least it was out of the rain and wind, and another bonus had been a few moth eaten old pieces of carpet to snuggle up in.
Jared wanted to sleep. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded just falling asleep and never waking up, but he was an optimist by nature, and always believed that something wonderful would come his way… one day perhaps… maybe it was just around the corner waiting for him.
His stomach gurgled noisily as he lurched tiredly along the deserted street, dodging some trash cans that had been blown over in the wind. The basement was another half hour across the city, so he utilised the time by scavenging amongst the garbage of some of the nicer homes in the area.
Suddenly, he stumbled under a wave of dizziness. Leaning against a low wall, Jared blinked wearily and only just managed to avoid falling on his ass. He closed his eyes for a second and hung his head. Another gust of wind seemed to blow straight through him, reducing his tired body to a shivering wreck once more.
Gotta get somewhere warm.
Raising his head again and keeping himself hidden, Jared peered up at the house whose garden wall he was leaning against, and tried to imagine who lived there. A small lamp in a downstairs window was lit, holding the room in a cosy glow, and revealing a man, his back to Jared, and shoulders hunched over as if in concentration.
Jared watched him, sensing a deep sadness within the guy, even through the pane of glass. Before he could so much as blink, the lamp shut off and the room was plunged into darkness.
Crawling awkwardly over the wall and unsure why, Jared slunk closer to the house.
A scrawny, old apple tree stood in the front yard, its gnarled, old limbs drooping and sadly rotten with canker. It probably hadn’t seen a decent pruning saw in years, and likely never would. It seemed to Jared that the guy in the window had bigger issues to deal with.
It was a nice place, and Jared was cold, tired, hungry, and not at all sure he was going to make it all the way back across town. In fact, he was pretty sure the dreaded pneumonia had returned, because his lungs felt heavy and clogged up.
No, he didn’t want to break into this guy’s house, and he certainly didn’t want to steal from him, but desperation was desperation, and an empty stomach was a hard and demanding mistress.
Creeping silently round the house, Jared kept a careful watch as several lights went out in other windows, beginning with the upstairs and slowly descending one by one. Jared was a patient kid, and waited it out in the shelter of a nearby shed, shivering miserably every now and then. His sharp gaze had already clocked the foolishly open window on the ground floor, and a quick glance revealed a small pantry, that presumably led to the kitchen. At least, Jared hoped so. Last thing he wanted was to stumble around in the middle of the night in some stranger’s house, creating enough noise to wake the US Army.
He’d get in, find some food, get out, maybe spend the night in the garden shed, and hot foot it back to the basement at dawn.
Of course, things didn’t quite work out that way.
He made it into the kitchen ok, even found a jar of cash which he flatly refused to take, and a packet of unopened cookies in one of the cupboards. Jared wasn’t greedy and had no intention of sweeping the place clean, unlike some of the more ruthless kids he’d ran into on the streets. Some of them would likely have murdered the poor guy in his bed, stripped the place of anything valuable, spray painted obscenities on the walls, and had it away into the night without a single regret.
Carefully setting down his backpack, Jared picked up the packet of cookies…
And the kitchen was suddenly a blaze of light.
“What the hell? How dare you, you little bastard!”
He had the presence of mind to hide the cookies behind his back, for what good it would do, but the immediate rush of adrenaline and guilt of being caught, nearly sent Jared into a dead faint.
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Wide, panicked blue-green eyes stared back at him, mouth opening and closing silently. The kid swayed violently and the blood drained away from his filthy face, but Jensen couldn’t feel any sympathy right then. A street urchin, a homeless drug addict no doubt, had broken into his home and was stealing from him.
Sheer, white hot anger thrummed inside his veins, and it was all Jensen could do not to cross the kitchen and punch the little shit. He practically bared his teeth and growled a warning when the kid’s panicked gaze darted round the room, as though looking for a hasty escape.
“Don’t even think it!” he snapped and the kid, who couldn’t have been much older than seventeen or eighteen, flinched.
And then the boy spoke, his voice timid and apologetic.
“I-I’m s-sorry…”
“Oh you’re sorry, huh?” Jensen sneered, and stared the kid straight in the eye. “Yeah, sorry you got caught!”
“No! I mean, yeah, but that’s not what I meant…” the boy was pressed against the kitchen counter, one hand behind his back. “I just…”
“Just what?” Jensen demanded. He watched the kid, who watched him in turn, his frightened gaze barely scratching the surface of Jensen’s heart. “What’s that in your hand? The one behind your back? Something of mine? Thought so.” He added when the boy nodded forlornly. “Let’s have it.” Jensen made a beckoning gesture with his hand, expecting to see the contents of his emergency cash jar. Ryan had always insisted on keeping an emergency fund in case their credit cards were stolen. Jensen hadn’t touched it in the two years since his death, and knew exactly how much was in there.
Then the kid seemed to sag in defeat and shake his head, looking genuinely worn out.
“Sure, but…” another head shake. “I really am sorry,” he croaked out, and produced the packet of cookies, laying them on the kitchen worktop. “I was just hungry. I swear I wasn’t gonna take anything else.”
Jensen stared hard at him. Admittedly he’d been surprised by the cookies and he was almost convinced by the lost puppy routine. The kid looked genuinely starved and half frozen, his thin summer jacket had seen better days and there were holes in the knees of his baggy jeans.
Whilst he was wondering what to do, the boy spoke up again.
“Please don’t call the cops,” he whispered, fearfully. “I promise you won’t have to see me ever again if you just let me go.”
“Ever again, huh?” Jensen murmured, thoughtfully. Finally coming to a decision, he nodded. “Wait here.” He turned at the last second and barked at him. “I mean it! You move even so much as a toe and I’ll tie you to the kitchen sink and call the cops!”
The boy nodded so violently, Jensen got the impression his head might fall off any second.
Keeping one eye on the kid, he moved towards a small coat closet in the corner of the room, flung open the door and rifled through its contents. When his hand came into contact with a heavy wax jacket, he froze. The scent of Ryan’s spicy aftershave still lingered even after all this time, and Jensen had to fight back the urge to scream and howl at the injustice of it all. Here he was, his husband murdered by a street kid, and now he was giving away the man’s coat just to keep one of the little bastards warm at night.
He almost didn’t. He almost put the coat back, with the intention of grabbing the kid and tossing him out on his ear. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Ryan wouldn’t have approved, especially as the kid hadn’t really done any harm.
Taking a deep calming breath, and pulling the coat out, Jensen caught sight of the warm woollen scarf he’d given Ryan the Christmas before he died.
Stalking back towards the kid, Jensen stopped halfway and glared at him.
“I never see you again. And you never come back here. In fact, I see you within fifty feet of this house… this street, and I’ll bring the cops down on you so fast your head’ll spin. Understood?”
The boy nodded again, eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
That gave Jensen pause for thought. Sir? There was more to this kid…
No. Not going there. Get Oliver Twist out of here. Make him gone.
He threw the jacket and scarf to the boy. “Take these,” Jensen ordered, gruffly. “You could use them more than…” he swallowed hard but a wave of grief didn’t allow him to finish his sentence.
The kid caught the clothing and gaped in astonishment. “But…”
“Just put them on!” Jensen snapped, and the boy hurried to comply, obviously not willing to argue.
Jensen moved over to the counter, not missing the way his ‘guest’ flinched away slightly, but refused to think anymore of it. His hand reached for the cash jar, and noted it had been moved. There was a thick layer of two year old dust on that shelf, and it had been very recently disturbed. Jensen narrowed his eyes.
This should be interesting.
Lifting the jar down from the shelf, he took off the lid and pulled out a small bundle of notes. A quick count revealed two hundred dollars exactly, and Jensen blinked in amazement. He glanced over at the boy, who he realized was actually taller than him by a couple of inches.
“Why didn’t you take the money?” asked Jensen, curiously.
The kid shrugged. “S’not what I came here for. I needed food.”
Jensen had noted the beads of sweat on the boy’s forehead, the shaky hands, and had heard the rasping wheeze whenever he took a breath. As much as his heart begged him to do something, to give the boy a room for the night, a hot drink and a decent meal, it also shied away from the task. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Here,” he held out the money. “Take it.”
The youngster stared at the money and immediately began shaking his head.
“No, I can’t take your money, that’s not right. I haven’t earned it!”
But Jensen wasn’t taking no for an answer. He reached over and stuffed the money in an open pocket of the wax jacket, lowered the flap and fastened it.
“There’s a guest house not far from here, just a few blocks over,” Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, tired and miserable with himself for turning the kid out into the night, but at least he’d given him something. “It’s cheap, warm and clean, as far as I know, and I’m pretty sure, if you ask nicely, the landlady will fix you some food.”
There was a pause, then the youngster shifted from foot to foot nervously.
“Thank you… again,” he reached out as if to pat Jensen’s shoulder but seemed to think better of it and lowered his hand. “You’re very kind. And I intend to pay you back the money some day.” He gave a little self-conscious laugh and added. “Can’t promise it’ll be anytime soon, but I will.”
Jensen nodded, some part of him deep, deep inside actually believing the kid. He turned away and headed out of the kitchen, just expecting his temporary guest to follow on, down the hall and up to the front door, unlatched it, and then showed the boy out.
“Um… thanks…” the kid began again.
“You already said that,” Jensen answered shortly. “Now go.”
“By the way,” fever-bright young eyes peered at the older guy. “You really should shut that pantry window at night. Anyone could get in.” he added softly. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
With an almost smile, the kid nodded sadly and left without looking back.
Jensen shut the door and leaned his back against it, puffing out a breath. A quick glance at his watch revealed the night was almost done. A couple more hours and it would be time to start his next shift.
Thank God that’s over.
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Jared still couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d been so sure the guy was either gonna call the cops on his ass, or beat the living shit out of him. Instead, he’d given him clothes, food and money, in spite of obviously being angry as all hell at having his house broken into.
Jared couldn’t get over the fleeting glimpse of sadness he seen on the guy’s face every now and then, and his heart went out to him. He pictured those beautiful green eyes, flared wide with anger one moment then narrowed in suspicion the next. It also hadn’t escaped Jared’s notice that the guy was gorgeous, if a little out of his league.
He snorted. More than a little.
“I will pay the money back somehow,” he muttered aloud. “Even if I have to clean all the rest rooms in all the bars across the city for the rest of my life, I’ll get that money back to him.”
The jacket wasn’t a perfect fit and was made for someone twice his width, but then Jared had lost an incredible amount of weight since his parents threw him out. He no longer had the muscle or the strength he’d once had before the streets had swallowed him whole.
And that was about to prove incredibly unfortunate for him.
Jared crossed the junction at the end of the street and decided to head back to the basement. As much as he’d have loved to spend the night in the guest house, he needed to use the money sparingly, and a proper room seemed a little frivolous under the circumstances, especially as this time next month he might well be back to square one.
He was soon passing under a street lamp in a much seedier part of the city, the adrenaline from the night’s encounter the only thing still keeping him on his feet, when he heard the murmur of low voices nearby. Slowing his movements and lightening his footsteps as much as possible, he crept onwards, keeping to the shadows all the way along the street.
He suddenly stopped and glanced around fearfully. Somewhere along the way he’d taken a wrong turn. No one in their right mind came through here.
Jared was in dangerous territory.
Miners Street, it was called, though some of the locals had long ago re-dubbed it Mean Street, and for very good reason. It was run and dominated by some of the most violent and malicious gangs in the state. Drugs were the name of their game mostly, with a little illegal porn and prostitution on the side for good measure. They ate people like Jared for breakfast, and anyone with a lick of sense steered the fuck clear of them.
Jared swallowed nervously when he heard footsteps up ahead, and ducked behind a couple of garbage cans.
Just stay here, and wait them out. Don’t move.
Not the best plan he’d ever come up with, but it was all he had.
A group of guys appeared, strutting arrogantly from a nearby alley. The only thing colder than the wind right then was the looks in their eyes, and Jared shivered harder, despite the warm wax jacket. Something shady had gone down in that alley, and he really didn’t want to know what.
The problem with keeping still on a cold, rainy night is that the human body doesn’t take too well to such treatment. It needs to move about, generate heat and stave off hypothermia. Not only that, but tatty old boots and one thin pair of socks with more holes in than Swiss cheese wasn’t going to keep Jared’s toes from going numb.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his fingers. Each digit was stinging with pain, the cold pricking his skin like tiny pins, so he tried to warm them up by quietly huffing on them.
And that was what gave him away.
He didn’t know what happened, but one second the men had been walking straight passed Jared’s hiding place, and then next he was being hauled out by the collar and slammed up against a brick wall by a giant mammoth of a man. Jared was tall but this guy wasn’t just taller, he was wide as a house.
Jared tried to run, even if it meant leaving behind his new warm jacket, but the big guy gave him a shove, flipped him round, then pulled his arms painfully behind his back in an iron-like grip. Jared groaned softly in pain, and that seemed to excite his captors.
“Well, well, well. Whatcha doin’ here, pretty boy?” the nearest guy with dark glasses and a black leather jacket inquired with a cruel smile. Gold teeth flashed in the dim light of the street lamp, and Jared figured he was the leader. “Your mama know you’re out so late?”
Jared said nothing. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate things, though at this stage he was probably damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. However, gold-toothed leader guy didn’t like that attitude too much and nodded to one of the others.
Jared gasped when a meaty fist landed square in his gut, winding him, followed by a cascade of black dots dancing across his vision.
A calloused hand grabbed his chin, forcing him upright to meet the gaze of a big meaty looking guy. Meaty, as Jared came to call him - in his head only, of course.
“Well, kid? What you gotta say for yourself?” Meaty shook Jared’s jaw painfully. “Answer the dude!”
“C’mon, just let me go, ok? You’ve had your fun.” Jared said reasonably, trying to sound friendly even though, deep down inside, he was wishing like hell he’d done as Jensen had told him and gone to that damn guest house. “I’m no threat to you. Just tryin’ ta get home.”
“Fun? Who says we’ve had our fun?” leader guy sneered, stepped forward and grabbed Jared’s crotch, squeezing painfully.
“Please! Don’t!” Jared gasped out, as pain shot through his groin.
“Aw, poor pretty boy!” Meaty grinned, much like a shark, and rifled through Jared’s pockets. “Nice coat by the way, not cheap. Seen these before; they’re all handmade…” he broke off when his hand pulled out a wad of bills. “Well looka what we got here, boss.”
Jared shook his head. “That belongs to a friend, same guy who gave me the coat.”
“Guy, huh?” Leader gave a nasty laugh. “You a faggot pretty boy? You give your ass in exchange for money?” the laugh faded, replaced with a deep scowl. “On my turf, bitch?”
Jared wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. “No! He’s just a friend!”
“Boyfriend,” spat Leader and pulled out a switch blade. Letting the dim light catch the metal, he watched Jared’s reaction with fascination, and leaned in, running the blade lightly across Jared’s throat and down to his gut. “Tonight, you’re gonna be our boyfriend…”
Jared’s eyes widened with horror and he opened his mouth to cry out for help. A large hand clamped down firmly, muffling his efforts, and his panic hit an all time high.
Leader, unbuckling his belt, nodded at the others, and they began to crowd round their young captive, dragging him into the nearest alley and pulling at his clothes.
Jared had never felt so helpless or scared, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Cold air hit his body as the knife divested him of his clothes, and then…
…then, there was nothing but pain.
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Jensen hurried through the ER, examining the clipboard, and wishing like hell for another cup of coffee.
“Your wish is my command,” a cup of brew was forced under his nose, and Jensen smiled gratefully at his friend and colleague, Dr Collins.
“Thanks Misha,” he replied, tiredly. “How’d you know?”
Misha raised an eyebrow. “You had that look about you.”
“Oh yeah? What look?” Jensen asked, curiously.
“The one that says you barely slept again last night,” Misha’s voice softened a little and he eyed Jensen with concern.
Jensen snorted softly. He hadn’t missed the slight inflection on ‘again’ but he wasn’t going into it. He had work to do.
“So, where’s Delaney? Isn’t he supposed to be on shift?” Jensen felt proud of the smooth change of subject. Misha was the consummate professional and wasn’t likely to avoid the question.
“He called in sick,” came Misha’s rather clipped reply.
“What?” Jensen whirled round, an angry snarl on his face. “Again? That’s the third time this month! When’s Beaver gonna crawl up that kid’s ass and fire the lazy little shit?”
Misha shrugged sympathetically. “It’s out of his hands. Delaney’s uncle calls the shots and there’s not much Jim can do about it. If it’s any consolation, he’s not exactly thrilled at the situation either.”
“Godamned useless, waste of space…” Jensen muttered and ranted all the way to the front desk. Taking a deep, calming breath, he reset his focus and concentrated on the task in hand.
“So what we got this fine morning?” he asked of the young nurse, who handed over a set of patient notes. “Sandy? You ok, girl?” he added with concern when she barely raised a smile. His eyes narrowed suddenly. “That bitch Tanya been causing trouble again?”
Sandy shook her head. “No. She’s on vacation, thank God! It’s… uh…” she sighed. “It’s just that your next patient is in a real bad way…”
Jensen frowned, worriedly. Sandy McCoy was a lovely lady, smart, and a great nurse, but she cared too much sometimes.
“Kitten, we’ve talked about this,” he smiled softly when she finally met his gaze. “You can’t let yourself get emotionally invested with patients. It’ll tear you apart. We’re not always gonna be able to save them.”
“I know, Jen… but you haven’t seen this one,” Sandy whispered, sadly. “He’s so young…”
Jensen regarded her sympathetically. “Go take a break. Let Chad take over for a while. You work too many shifts as it is, kiddo.”
Chad Murray, on hearing his name, immediately moved over and wrapped an arm round Sandy’s shoulders. “He’s right. You work too damn hard. Let me deal with the arrogant God-complex doctors.” He grinned at Jensen and Misha.
“Sweet, Chad. Real sweet,” Misha drawled and grabbed the patient notes before Jensen could snatch them away. It was time to get down to business.
The two of them wandered off down the hallway.
“So,” Misha scrutinised the notes and grimaced. “Sandy’s right. This is bad.” He whistled and shook his head, brows pulled down into a scowl. “A John Doe, around eighteen years old, was brought in by one Steve Carlson and Chris Kane. Kid’s still unconscious with facial bruising and bodily trauma…” he trailed off from quoting and grimaced again. “Sounds like someone beat the living shit out of the poor kid.”
“What else?” For some reason, Jensen couldn’t stop thinking about the kid in his house last night… correction, a few hours ago.
Misha sighed and moved aside for a fast moving unoccupied gurney covered in blood. “He has multiple stab wounds to the gut.”
Jensen covered the flinch well. Ryan was stabbed over and over...
“A multitude of cuts and grazes. Cops think he was probably tortured. Both legs broken in several places by a heavy boots stamping on them a number of times…” Misha glanced up in dismay after he read the next part, voice full of sorrow. “Dude, paramedics claim he may have been gang raped.”
“Jesus!” Jensen ran a hand through his hair, and then immediately reached for the pump action Spirigel. Rubbing the stuff into his skin allowed him to stay focussed on what was likely to be an extremely harrowing case. And once again, his mind turned to the youngster with the wide, pretty eyes…
“Oh, and as if the kid doesn’t have enough problems,” Misha continued though he, too, sounded as saddened as Sandy. “He’s also got a bad case of pneumonia.”
Jensen huffed. That boy was now permanently fixed in his head, and nothing would shake him out.
“In here,” Misha indicated a room off to the side.
Before they could go in, the door opened to release a police forensics officer carrying a rape kit. The guy nodded politely and brushed passed them.
Jensen stared at the retreating figure, his gaze drifting to the rape kit. The memory of a soft grateful smile flashed across his mind, those blue-green eyes glistening with tears.
“By the way,”
“You really should shut that pantry window at night. Anyone could get in.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Jensen blinked, and a terrible foreboding swept over him.
Pushing his way into the room, it was as though his mind had deliberately conjured the boy. Because in spite of the heavy bruising, the swollen, blackened eyes and the vent tube wedged in his throat, Jensen could still see who it was.
“Oh no!” he whispered in dismay.
“Jen?” Misha gently squeezed his shoulder in support when he saw the blood drain away from his face. “What’s wrong?”
Jensen’s breathing sped up as the guilt seeped through his body like a poison, and he sank down into the chair next to the kid’s bed. “I know him.”
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“Wow,” Misha muttered many hours later, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve had quite a night, huh?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” replied Jensen, as he busied himself checking over his patient. The boy was in a critical condition, but stable for now. Both legs were encased in casts and raised up on pillows, his neck supported by a brace, and a heavy bandage was wrapped round his head.
“Ok. Severe concussion, cracked ribs, no response so far to external stimuli. I managed to control the internal bleeding during surgery, but I’m afraid that’s a moot point if he doesn’t wake up…”
“It’s not your fault, ya know,” Misha told him, quietly.
Jensen gritted his teeth. “If I hadn’t sent him out there alone, this wouldn’t have happened. Of course it’s my fault! I did this to him!”
“No, you didn’t!” Misha suddenly got up and angrily gripped Jensen’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known, Jen. You tried to help him. Most people would’ve just shot the kid for trespassing if they found him in their kitchen in the middle of the night, but you gave him money, warm clothes…”
“Exactly,” said Jensen, bitterly. “I gave him stuff, when I should’ve given him a warm bed for the night, where he’d be safe. I knew he was sick…” he ducked his head in shame. “And I just let him go, pushed him away and look what happened to him! What kind of doctor does that make me? Hell! What kind of person does that make me?”
He slumped down on the edge of the boy’s bed. “I’m so sorry…” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry, kid. I let my prejudices get in the way and you got hurt.”
Misha frowned. “Is this because of what happened to Ryan?” he asked gently.
Jensen was silent for a long moment, then nodded and swiped at his tears. “I didn’t want him in my house… just another homeless kid, stealing money for drugs or booze… but I should’ve known when he didn’t take the money… all he wanted was those damn cookies.”
Misha blew a steady breath through his mouth. “The police are gonna want to talk to you. You were the last person to see him before…” he indicated the still figure on the bed. “This happened.”
Jensen nodded, miserably. Yeah, ‘cos that was just what he needed right then.
“I’ll go get some coffee,” Misha offered, and with a gentle pat on Jensen’s arm, left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He suspected his friend needed some time alone with his patient, and maybe a chance to get his head together.
Jensen just stared at the boy’s bruised face, at the ventilator keeping him breathing. When he reached out and gently stroked his soft hair, he was reminded of the way the kid had reached out to him for a moment there in the kitchen, only for his hand to fall away at the last second. Jensen wondered what had been going through his head at that point.
Cradling the boy’s face with both hands, Jensen leaned down and pressed a small kiss to his hot forehead.
“You get better, ya hear me? Don’t give up on me,” and to his own shock, Jensen made a firm promise, one he had every intention of keeping no matter what. “’Cos you gotta home to go to now. I’m gonna take care of you, keep you safe and warm. You can stay as long as you need to, until you’re back on your feet or longer if you want. And you’re gonna tell me your name ‘cos I can’t keep on calling you ‘kid’.”
He knew how Misha would react; tell him he was insane, acting out of guilt and shock. And while that was partly true, it didn’t end there. Jensen couldn’t describe it, or understand why, but it ran much deeper. For the first time in two years, his heart felt lighter, freer than ever.
He realized he liked the kid, respected him even. And something told him Ryan would have approved of his decision.
Part Two
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (AU) Jared 18, Jensen 25
Rating: R
Word count: 25,751 complete
Disclaimer: Unfortunately neither Jared nor Jensen belong to me. All original characters do. This is not meant to offend, nor is it for profit. It is for fun only.
Warnings: off screen rape (not by the J’s), violence, hurt/bottom Jared, high levels of angst
Summary: Dr Jensen Ackles is a lonely widower and workaholic who has little sympathy for the homeless. So when Jared, the young homeless kid who broke into his house last night, shows up in the ER, sick and critically injured, will the good doctor bring his work home with him?
Many thanks for the excellent beta work by Devon99 and my old mate Neats. Cheers girls! Love ya to bits!
This Little Corner of Heaven
Jensen switched off the desk lamp and stretched his arms up and over his head. After a satisfying crack, he yawned loudly and stood up. Swinging his arms back down with a weary sigh, he turned to tidy up a small pile of paperwork, but his elbow caught a small, framed photograph on the corner of the desk, nearly knocking it to the floor. Catching it just in time, he hesitated, then brought it close to the window, letting a nearby street light illuminate the familiar and heartbreakingly beautiful face of his late husband, Ryan.
Jensen refused to cry again, and even though two years had passed, it still seemed like only yesterday since Jensen had said goodbye to his husband for the last time before heading off to work. Ryan Ackles had been brutally murdered by a young homeless drug addict on his way home from the local bakery one night. He’d stopped to offer the last of his change to a hungry kid with a black eye and bruised face, and paid for it with his life. The police caught the culprit, a thirteen year old, high on a cocktail of illegal narcotics, and he was sentenced to three years in juvenile hall.
It didn’t seem enough.
Jensen’s life was ruined that night, his lover and best friend ripped from him in a senseless and violent act.
And that kid would be out in three.
Replacing the photo on his desk, Jensen left the study and headed for the bathroom. The house seemed cold and indifferent so late at night; the loss of Ryan weighed heavily on the old building, as though it, too, missed his sweet laughter, generous smile and bright, kindly eyes.
Jensen had never been sure if he believed in the concept of soul mates, that there was one person out there for everyone, but Ryan had definitely changed his mind in the few years they had together. Losing him had nearly destroyed Jensen; the pain almost too much to bear in the days, weeks, and months that followed.
Jensen sighed again; mouth turned down in sadness, and cranked up the shower. The water became hot very quickly and steam soon filled the room, fogging up the mirrors and glass sliding door.
He didn’t linger in the shower much these days. It was no longer a pleasure to luxuriate in the feeling of hot water cascading down his neck and back, streaming down his legs and pooling round his toes. There was no one there to sensuously run their soaped up hands over his skin, to wrap their arms around him and whisper how much they loved him, how much they ached for him…
Five minutes later, Jensen was dried off and dressed in dark blue sweats, bare feet padding down the stairs to the lounge. Switching on the TV, and finding a channel featuring some mindless crap, Jensen sank down on the sofa and pulled up the blanket.
He hadn’t slept in a proper bed in two years, unable to stand the loneliness of sleeping in that huge bed upstairs with the left side so empty. The TV, on a low volume, served as background noise and helped remind him in the early hours of the morning when he woke up, heart aching with loss, that he wasn’t the only living soul on the planet.
The only purpose the master bedroom served now was as a dressing room, where Jensen kept his clean clothes. He’d walk in after his morning shower, dress, and walk out, barely sparing a cursory glance round the room. It still hurt too much to hang around.
His friends despaired of him, he knew, but never gave up on the hope that, one day, he’d begin to heal. Ryan’s clothes still hung in the wardrobe, or lay folded neatly in the antique chest of drawers he and Jensen had picked out in a second-hand furniture shop.
After the funeral, a few well meaning relatives had snuck upstairs and began removing Ryan’s belongings, packing them away into suitcases and stowing them in the attic. Jensen had caught them before they got too far and, after much yelling, and floods of tears, the suitcases were brought back down, unpacked, and everything was returned to its rightful place. Which was ridiculous. A complete contradiction, in fact, and even Jensen wasn’t so far round the twist with grief that he didn’t recognize it for what it was. He wanted nothing changed; nothing that might erase anything of Ryan’s life with him, yet his residing ghost caused him more pain than he ever thought imaginable.
It wasn’t that Jensen didn’t want to move on. He just didn’t know where to begin, and the task of starting all over again just seemed insurmountable.
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Jared crept through the alley, his hunched form shivering with cold. The rain had begun falling like stair rods from the sky the moment he’d stepped outside… well, truth be told, he’d been run off the premises. Grocery store owners didn’t take kindly to filthy ragamuffins skulking about the aisles, especially when it was obvious they had no intention of exchanging goods for money.
Jared hated stealing. The last few months he’d been able to scrape by, earning hot meals by clearing snow from people’s driveways, and sometimes a garden shed to sleep in if he was really lucky. But the snow had since melted, bringing with it freezing rain and cold gale force winds, and Jared had been forced to retreat to the homeless shelter for a time.
That option was soon lost when one of the volunteers had taken too much of a liking to Jared. Todd had been nice enough to start with, playing the role of big brother and best friend to a lost and lonely kid who’d been discarded by his own family for the terrible crime of being less than perfect. He’d fed and watered him, provided warmth and comfort, and even tried to help him search for a job. It had all gone to hell one night when Jared was alone in the kitchen, getting a glass of water to take his antibiotics. He’d been sick with bronchitis, which was another one of the reasons he’d gone to the shelter for help in the first place, and the pills had been huge, nearly choking him when he tried to dry swallow them. Whilst standing at the sink, a pair of thick, muscular arms had locked around his slim waist, and hot breath grazed his left ear.
“I know you want it, Jared,” Todd had whispered, pulling the struggling boy back against his chest. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. We’re all alone here… no one needs to know what a dirty little whore you really are. I’ll make it worth your while. You need money, right?”
After the fear, shame, and disappointment had flooded his heart, Jared had valiantly fought back his tears, and slammed his foot down hard on the guy’s instep. Taking advantage of Todd’s angry, pained howl, Jared had fled the kitchen, only pausing to grab up a blanket, his threadbare jacket and the small, scruffy backpack he carried everywhere with him.
Heading out into the darkness, Jared prayed he’d find a clean-ish dumpster or some dry cardboard boxes to rest in for the night. The wind-chill factor was well into minus figures, he was sure, buffeting his thin body and taking his breath away.
He would have been lying if he’d said Todd’s offer hadn’t tempted him. Not for the prospect of money, though that would have come in handy, but for the chance to lay in someone’s arms, cuddled, held close and loved, if only for one night. Todd hadn’t been unattractive, and that was the stupid thing about it all. If the guy had played his cards right, spoken to Jared with more care, then maybe, just maybe…
Jared shuddered, and not just because of the cold. He wasn’t a whore, had never slept with anyone for financial gain and wouldn’t start now. Even here, down in the dark alleys with the stray cats and the filth, Jared had his principles.
But he did fear how long they would last before he became desperate.
Fortunately, although Jared wasn’t a born street kid - in the sense that he wasn’t born in a dumpster to a drug addict hooker with no concept of the word ‘condom’ and had never heard of an intrauterine device - he still had enough smarts to store some food from the shelter in his backpack. Any leftovers he’d not been able to manage whilst incapacitated by illness had gone into a sealable plastic bag and secreted away to the bottom of the pack. Along with the odd midnight raid of the kitchen fridge when he was feeling better, there had been enough to see him through the next week, provided he used it sparingly.
That was a week ago. Jared had searched aimlessly for work, even offering to clean the restrooms of the local bar in exchange for a burger and fries. By the time he’d finished, the walls, floor and basins were spotless and shining; he could have eaten his dinner off of it. Unfortunately, the burger and fries had given him a mild case of food poisoning and the bar tender had laughed cruelly in the face of his vomiting. Talk about irony.
So, dehydrated and stomach aching with hunger, Jared limped back to his bolt hole - the disused basement of an old postal building. The building itself had been torn down in preparation for redevelopment, but when the recession hit and fully set in, the construction company went bust, leaving the condemned grounds for mother nature to reclaim. The place had been tightly locked down but two nights ago Jared, who’d always had the knack of such things, even as a child, managed to pick the locks and hide away in the condemned basement. It was still freezing cold, but at least it was out of the rain and wind, and another bonus had been a few moth eaten old pieces of carpet to snuggle up in.
Jared wanted to sleep. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded just falling asleep and never waking up, but he was an optimist by nature, and always believed that something wonderful would come his way… one day perhaps… maybe it was just around the corner waiting for him.
His stomach gurgled noisily as he lurched tiredly along the deserted street, dodging some trash cans that had been blown over in the wind. The basement was another half hour across the city, so he utilised the time by scavenging amongst the garbage of some of the nicer homes in the area.
Suddenly, he stumbled under a wave of dizziness. Leaning against a low wall, Jared blinked wearily and only just managed to avoid falling on his ass. He closed his eyes for a second and hung his head. Another gust of wind seemed to blow straight through him, reducing his tired body to a shivering wreck once more.
Gotta get somewhere warm.
Raising his head again and keeping himself hidden, Jared peered up at the house whose garden wall he was leaning against, and tried to imagine who lived there. A small lamp in a downstairs window was lit, holding the room in a cosy glow, and revealing a man, his back to Jared, and shoulders hunched over as if in concentration.
Jared watched him, sensing a deep sadness within the guy, even through the pane of glass. Before he could so much as blink, the lamp shut off and the room was plunged into darkness.
Crawling awkwardly over the wall and unsure why, Jared slunk closer to the house.
A scrawny, old apple tree stood in the front yard, its gnarled, old limbs drooping and sadly rotten with canker. It probably hadn’t seen a decent pruning saw in years, and likely never would. It seemed to Jared that the guy in the window had bigger issues to deal with.
It was a nice place, and Jared was cold, tired, hungry, and not at all sure he was going to make it all the way back across town. In fact, he was pretty sure the dreaded pneumonia had returned, because his lungs felt heavy and clogged up.
No, he didn’t want to break into this guy’s house, and he certainly didn’t want to steal from him, but desperation was desperation, and an empty stomach was a hard and demanding mistress.
Creeping silently round the house, Jared kept a careful watch as several lights went out in other windows, beginning with the upstairs and slowly descending one by one. Jared was a patient kid, and waited it out in the shelter of a nearby shed, shivering miserably every now and then. His sharp gaze had already clocked the foolishly open window on the ground floor, and a quick glance revealed a small pantry, that presumably led to the kitchen. At least, Jared hoped so. Last thing he wanted was to stumble around in the middle of the night in some stranger’s house, creating enough noise to wake the US Army.
He’d get in, find some food, get out, maybe spend the night in the garden shed, and hot foot it back to the basement at dawn.
Of course, things didn’t quite work out that way.
He made it into the kitchen ok, even found a jar of cash which he flatly refused to take, and a packet of unopened cookies in one of the cupboards. Jared wasn’t greedy and had no intention of sweeping the place clean, unlike some of the more ruthless kids he’d ran into on the streets. Some of them would likely have murdered the poor guy in his bed, stripped the place of anything valuable, spray painted obscenities on the walls, and had it away into the night without a single regret.
Carefully setting down his backpack, Jared picked up the packet of cookies…
And the kitchen was suddenly a blaze of light.
“What the hell? How dare you, you little bastard!”
He had the presence of mind to hide the cookies behind his back, for what good it would do, but the immediate rush of adrenaline and guilt of being caught, nearly sent Jared into a dead faint.
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Wide, panicked blue-green eyes stared back at him, mouth opening and closing silently. The kid swayed violently and the blood drained away from his filthy face, but Jensen couldn’t feel any sympathy right then. A street urchin, a homeless drug addict no doubt, had broken into his home and was stealing from him.
Sheer, white hot anger thrummed inside his veins, and it was all Jensen could do not to cross the kitchen and punch the little shit. He practically bared his teeth and growled a warning when the kid’s panicked gaze darted round the room, as though looking for a hasty escape.
“Don’t even think it!” he snapped and the kid, who couldn’t have been much older than seventeen or eighteen, flinched.
And then the boy spoke, his voice timid and apologetic.
“I-I’m s-sorry…”
“Oh you’re sorry, huh?” Jensen sneered, and stared the kid straight in the eye. “Yeah, sorry you got caught!”
“No! I mean, yeah, but that’s not what I meant…” the boy was pressed against the kitchen counter, one hand behind his back. “I just…”
“Just what?” Jensen demanded. He watched the kid, who watched him in turn, his frightened gaze barely scratching the surface of Jensen’s heart. “What’s that in your hand? The one behind your back? Something of mine? Thought so.” He added when the boy nodded forlornly. “Let’s have it.” Jensen made a beckoning gesture with his hand, expecting to see the contents of his emergency cash jar. Ryan had always insisted on keeping an emergency fund in case their credit cards were stolen. Jensen hadn’t touched it in the two years since his death, and knew exactly how much was in there.
Then the kid seemed to sag in defeat and shake his head, looking genuinely worn out.
“Sure, but…” another head shake. “I really am sorry,” he croaked out, and produced the packet of cookies, laying them on the kitchen worktop. “I was just hungry. I swear I wasn’t gonna take anything else.”
Jensen stared hard at him. Admittedly he’d been surprised by the cookies and he was almost convinced by the lost puppy routine. The kid looked genuinely starved and half frozen, his thin summer jacket had seen better days and there were holes in the knees of his baggy jeans.
Whilst he was wondering what to do, the boy spoke up again.
“Please don’t call the cops,” he whispered, fearfully. “I promise you won’t have to see me ever again if you just let me go.”
“Ever again, huh?” Jensen murmured, thoughtfully. Finally coming to a decision, he nodded. “Wait here.” He turned at the last second and barked at him. “I mean it! You move even so much as a toe and I’ll tie you to the kitchen sink and call the cops!”
The boy nodded so violently, Jensen got the impression his head might fall off any second.
Keeping one eye on the kid, he moved towards a small coat closet in the corner of the room, flung open the door and rifled through its contents. When his hand came into contact with a heavy wax jacket, he froze. The scent of Ryan’s spicy aftershave still lingered even after all this time, and Jensen had to fight back the urge to scream and howl at the injustice of it all. Here he was, his husband murdered by a street kid, and now he was giving away the man’s coat just to keep one of the little bastards warm at night.
He almost didn’t. He almost put the coat back, with the intention of grabbing the kid and tossing him out on his ear. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Ryan wouldn’t have approved, especially as the kid hadn’t really done any harm.
Taking a deep calming breath, and pulling the coat out, Jensen caught sight of the warm woollen scarf he’d given Ryan the Christmas before he died.
Stalking back towards the kid, Jensen stopped halfway and glared at him.
“I never see you again. And you never come back here. In fact, I see you within fifty feet of this house… this street, and I’ll bring the cops down on you so fast your head’ll spin. Understood?”
The boy nodded again, eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
That gave Jensen pause for thought. Sir? There was more to this kid…
No. Not going there. Get Oliver Twist out of here. Make him gone.
He threw the jacket and scarf to the boy. “Take these,” Jensen ordered, gruffly. “You could use them more than…” he swallowed hard but a wave of grief didn’t allow him to finish his sentence.
The kid caught the clothing and gaped in astonishment. “But…”
“Just put them on!” Jensen snapped, and the boy hurried to comply, obviously not willing to argue.
Jensen moved over to the counter, not missing the way his ‘guest’ flinched away slightly, but refused to think anymore of it. His hand reached for the cash jar, and noted it had been moved. There was a thick layer of two year old dust on that shelf, and it had been very recently disturbed. Jensen narrowed his eyes.
This should be interesting.
Lifting the jar down from the shelf, he took off the lid and pulled out a small bundle of notes. A quick count revealed two hundred dollars exactly, and Jensen blinked in amazement. He glanced over at the boy, who he realized was actually taller than him by a couple of inches.
“Why didn’t you take the money?” asked Jensen, curiously.
The kid shrugged. “S’not what I came here for. I needed food.”
Jensen had noted the beads of sweat on the boy’s forehead, the shaky hands, and had heard the rasping wheeze whenever he took a breath. As much as his heart begged him to do something, to give the boy a room for the night, a hot drink and a decent meal, it also shied away from the task. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Here,” he held out the money. “Take it.”
The youngster stared at the money and immediately began shaking his head.
“No, I can’t take your money, that’s not right. I haven’t earned it!”
But Jensen wasn’t taking no for an answer. He reached over and stuffed the money in an open pocket of the wax jacket, lowered the flap and fastened it.
“There’s a guest house not far from here, just a few blocks over,” Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, tired and miserable with himself for turning the kid out into the night, but at least he’d given him something. “It’s cheap, warm and clean, as far as I know, and I’m pretty sure, if you ask nicely, the landlady will fix you some food.”
There was a pause, then the youngster shifted from foot to foot nervously.
“Thank you… again,” he reached out as if to pat Jensen’s shoulder but seemed to think better of it and lowered his hand. “You’re very kind. And I intend to pay you back the money some day.” He gave a little self-conscious laugh and added. “Can’t promise it’ll be anytime soon, but I will.”
Jensen nodded, some part of him deep, deep inside actually believing the kid. He turned away and headed out of the kitchen, just expecting his temporary guest to follow on, down the hall and up to the front door, unlatched it, and then showed the boy out.
“Um… thanks…” the kid began again.
“You already said that,” Jensen answered shortly. “Now go.”
“By the way,” fever-bright young eyes peered at the older guy. “You really should shut that pantry window at night. Anyone could get in.” he added softly. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
With an almost smile, the kid nodded sadly and left without looking back.
Jensen shut the door and leaned his back against it, puffing out a breath. A quick glance at his watch revealed the night was almost done. A couple more hours and it would be time to start his next shift.
Thank God that’s over.
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Jared still couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d been so sure the guy was either gonna call the cops on his ass, or beat the living shit out of him. Instead, he’d given him clothes, food and money, in spite of obviously being angry as all hell at having his house broken into.
Jared couldn’t get over the fleeting glimpse of sadness he seen on the guy’s face every now and then, and his heart went out to him. He pictured those beautiful green eyes, flared wide with anger one moment then narrowed in suspicion the next. It also hadn’t escaped Jared’s notice that the guy was gorgeous, if a little out of his league.
He snorted. More than a little.
“I will pay the money back somehow,” he muttered aloud. “Even if I have to clean all the rest rooms in all the bars across the city for the rest of my life, I’ll get that money back to him.”
The jacket wasn’t a perfect fit and was made for someone twice his width, but then Jared had lost an incredible amount of weight since his parents threw him out. He no longer had the muscle or the strength he’d once had before the streets had swallowed him whole.
And that was about to prove incredibly unfortunate for him.
Jared crossed the junction at the end of the street and decided to head back to the basement. As much as he’d have loved to spend the night in the guest house, he needed to use the money sparingly, and a proper room seemed a little frivolous under the circumstances, especially as this time next month he might well be back to square one.
He was soon passing under a street lamp in a much seedier part of the city, the adrenaline from the night’s encounter the only thing still keeping him on his feet, when he heard the murmur of low voices nearby. Slowing his movements and lightening his footsteps as much as possible, he crept onwards, keeping to the shadows all the way along the street.
He suddenly stopped and glanced around fearfully. Somewhere along the way he’d taken a wrong turn. No one in their right mind came through here.
Jared was in dangerous territory.
Miners Street, it was called, though some of the locals had long ago re-dubbed it Mean Street, and for very good reason. It was run and dominated by some of the most violent and malicious gangs in the state. Drugs were the name of their game mostly, with a little illegal porn and prostitution on the side for good measure. They ate people like Jared for breakfast, and anyone with a lick of sense steered the fuck clear of them.
Jared swallowed nervously when he heard footsteps up ahead, and ducked behind a couple of garbage cans.
Just stay here, and wait them out. Don’t move.
Not the best plan he’d ever come up with, but it was all he had.
A group of guys appeared, strutting arrogantly from a nearby alley. The only thing colder than the wind right then was the looks in their eyes, and Jared shivered harder, despite the warm wax jacket. Something shady had gone down in that alley, and he really didn’t want to know what.
The problem with keeping still on a cold, rainy night is that the human body doesn’t take too well to such treatment. It needs to move about, generate heat and stave off hypothermia. Not only that, but tatty old boots and one thin pair of socks with more holes in than Swiss cheese wasn’t going to keep Jared’s toes from going numb.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his fingers. Each digit was stinging with pain, the cold pricking his skin like tiny pins, so he tried to warm them up by quietly huffing on them.
And that was what gave him away.
He didn’t know what happened, but one second the men had been walking straight passed Jared’s hiding place, and then next he was being hauled out by the collar and slammed up against a brick wall by a giant mammoth of a man. Jared was tall but this guy wasn’t just taller, he was wide as a house.
Jared tried to run, even if it meant leaving behind his new warm jacket, but the big guy gave him a shove, flipped him round, then pulled his arms painfully behind his back in an iron-like grip. Jared groaned softly in pain, and that seemed to excite his captors.
“Well, well, well. Whatcha doin’ here, pretty boy?” the nearest guy with dark glasses and a black leather jacket inquired with a cruel smile. Gold teeth flashed in the dim light of the street lamp, and Jared figured he was the leader. “Your mama know you’re out so late?”
Jared said nothing. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate things, though at this stage he was probably damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. However, gold-toothed leader guy didn’t like that attitude too much and nodded to one of the others.
Jared gasped when a meaty fist landed square in his gut, winding him, followed by a cascade of black dots dancing across his vision.
A calloused hand grabbed his chin, forcing him upright to meet the gaze of a big meaty looking guy. Meaty, as Jared came to call him - in his head only, of course.
“Well, kid? What you gotta say for yourself?” Meaty shook Jared’s jaw painfully. “Answer the dude!”
“C’mon, just let me go, ok? You’ve had your fun.” Jared said reasonably, trying to sound friendly even though, deep down inside, he was wishing like hell he’d done as Jensen had told him and gone to that damn guest house. “I’m no threat to you. Just tryin’ ta get home.”
“Fun? Who says we’ve had our fun?” leader guy sneered, stepped forward and grabbed Jared’s crotch, squeezing painfully.
“Please! Don’t!” Jared gasped out, as pain shot through his groin.
“Aw, poor pretty boy!” Meaty grinned, much like a shark, and rifled through Jared’s pockets. “Nice coat by the way, not cheap. Seen these before; they’re all handmade…” he broke off when his hand pulled out a wad of bills. “Well looka what we got here, boss.”
Jared shook his head. “That belongs to a friend, same guy who gave me the coat.”
“Guy, huh?” Leader gave a nasty laugh. “You a faggot pretty boy? You give your ass in exchange for money?” the laugh faded, replaced with a deep scowl. “On my turf, bitch?”
Jared wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. “No! He’s just a friend!”
“Boyfriend,” spat Leader and pulled out a switch blade. Letting the dim light catch the metal, he watched Jared’s reaction with fascination, and leaned in, running the blade lightly across Jared’s throat and down to his gut. “Tonight, you’re gonna be our boyfriend…”
Jared’s eyes widened with horror and he opened his mouth to cry out for help. A large hand clamped down firmly, muffling his efforts, and his panic hit an all time high.
Leader, unbuckling his belt, nodded at the others, and they began to crowd round their young captive, dragging him into the nearest alley and pulling at his clothes.
Jared had never felt so helpless or scared, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Cold air hit his body as the knife divested him of his clothes, and then…
…then, there was nothing but pain.
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Jensen hurried through the ER, examining the clipboard, and wishing like hell for another cup of coffee.
“Your wish is my command,” a cup of brew was forced under his nose, and Jensen smiled gratefully at his friend and colleague, Dr Collins.
“Thanks Misha,” he replied, tiredly. “How’d you know?”
Misha raised an eyebrow. “You had that look about you.”
“Oh yeah? What look?” Jensen asked, curiously.
“The one that says you barely slept again last night,” Misha’s voice softened a little and he eyed Jensen with concern.
Jensen snorted softly. He hadn’t missed the slight inflection on ‘again’ but he wasn’t going into it. He had work to do.
“So, where’s Delaney? Isn’t he supposed to be on shift?” Jensen felt proud of the smooth change of subject. Misha was the consummate professional and wasn’t likely to avoid the question.
“He called in sick,” came Misha’s rather clipped reply.
“What?” Jensen whirled round, an angry snarl on his face. “Again? That’s the third time this month! When’s Beaver gonna crawl up that kid’s ass and fire the lazy little shit?”
Misha shrugged sympathetically. “It’s out of his hands. Delaney’s uncle calls the shots and there’s not much Jim can do about it. If it’s any consolation, he’s not exactly thrilled at the situation either.”
“Godamned useless, waste of space…” Jensen muttered and ranted all the way to the front desk. Taking a deep, calming breath, he reset his focus and concentrated on the task in hand.
“So what we got this fine morning?” he asked of the young nurse, who handed over a set of patient notes. “Sandy? You ok, girl?” he added with concern when she barely raised a smile. His eyes narrowed suddenly. “That bitch Tanya been causing trouble again?”
Sandy shook her head. “No. She’s on vacation, thank God! It’s… uh…” she sighed. “It’s just that your next patient is in a real bad way…”
Jensen frowned, worriedly. Sandy McCoy was a lovely lady, smart, and a great nurse, but she cared too much sometimes.
“Kitten, we’ve talked about this,” he smiled softly when she finally met his gaze. “You can’t let yourself get emotionally invested with patients. It’ll tear you apart. We’re not always gonna be able to save them.”
“I know, Jen… but you haven’t seen this one,” Sandy whispered, sadly. “He’s so young…”
Jensen regarded her sympathetically. “Go take a break. Let Chad take over for a while. You work too many shifts as it is, kiddo.”
Chad Murray, on hearing his name, immediately moved over and wrapped an arm round Sandy’s shoulders. “He’s right. You work too damn hard. Let me deal with the arrogant God-complex doctors.” He grinned at Jensen and Misha.
“Sweet, Chad. Real sweet,” Misha drawled and grabbed the patient notes before Jensen could snatch them away. It was time to get down to business.
The two of them wandered off down the hallway.
“So,” Misha scrutinised the notes and grimaced. “Sandy’s right. This is bad.” He whistled and shook his head, brows pulled down into a scowl. “A John Doe, around eighteen years old, was brought in by one Steve Carlson and Chris Kane. Kid’s still unconscious with facial bruising and bodily trauma…” he trailed off from quoting and grimaced again. “Sounds like someone beat the living shit out of the poor kid.”
“What else?” For some reason, Jensen couldn’t stop thinking about the kid in his house last night… correction, a few hours ago.
Misha sighed and moved aside for a fast moving unoccupied gurney covered in blood. “He has multiple stab wounds to the gut.”
Jensen covered the flinch well. Ryan was stabbed over and over...
“A multitude of cuts and grazes. Cops think he was probably tortured. Both legs broken in several places by a heavy boots stamping on them a number of times…” Misha glanced up in dismay after he read the next part, voice full of sorrow. “Dude, paramedics claim he may have been gang raped.”
“Jesus!” Jensen ran a hand through his hair, and then immediately reached for the pump action Spirigel. Rubbing the stuff into his skin allowed him to stay focussed on what was likely to be an extremely harrowing case. And once again, his mind turned to the youngster with the wide, pretty eyes…
“Oh, and as if the kid doesn’t have enough problems,” Misha continued though he, too, sounded as saddened as Sandy. “He’s also got a bad case of pneumonia.”
Jensen huffed. That boy was now permanently fixed in his head, and nothing would shake him out.
“In here,” Misha indicated a room off to the side.
Before they could go in, the door opened to release a police forensics officer carrying a rape kit. The guy nodded politely and brushed passed them.
Jensen stared at the retreating figure, his gaze drifting to the rape kit. The memory of a soft grateful smile flashed across his mind, those blue-green eyes glistening with tears.
“By the way,”
“You really should shut that pantry window at night. Anyone could get in.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Jensen blinked, and a terrible foreboding swept over him.
Pushing his way into the room, it was as though his mind had deliberately conjured the boy. Because in spite of the heavy bruising, the swollen, blackened eyes and the vent tube wedged in his throat, Jensen could still see who it was.
“Oh no!” he whispered in dismay.
“Jen?” Misha gently squeezed his shoulder in support when he saw the blood drain away from his face. “What’s wrong?”
Jensen’s breathing sped up as the guilt seeped through his body like a poison, and he sank down into the chair next to the kid’s bed. “I know him.”
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“Wow,” Misha muttered many hours later, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve had quite a night, huh?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” replied Jensen, as he busied himself checking over his patient. The boy was in a critical condition, but stable for now. Both legs were encased in casts and raised up on pillows, his neck supported by a brace, and a heavy bandage was wrapped round his head.
“Ok. Severe concussion, cracked ribs, no response so far to external stimuli. I managed to control the internal bleeding during surgery, but I’m afraid that’s a moot point if he doesn’t wake up…”
“It’s not your fault, ya know,” Misha told him, quietly.
Jensen gritted his teeth. “If I hadn’t sent him out there alone, this wouldn’t have happened. Of course it’s my fault! I did this to him!”
“No, you didn’t!” Misha suddenly got up and angrily gripped Jensen’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known, Jen. You tried to help him. Most people would’ve just shot the kid for trespassing if they found him in their kitchen in the middle of the night, but you gave him money, warm clothes…”
“Exactly,” said Jensen, bitterly. “I gave him stuff, when I should’ve given him a warm bed for the night, where he’d be safe. I knew he was sick…” he ducked his head in shame. “And I just let him go, pushed him away and look what happened to him! What kind of doctor does that make me? Hell! What kind of person does that make me?”
He slumped down on the edge of the boy’s bed. “I’m so sorry…” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry, kid. I let my prejudices get in the way and you got hurt.”
Misha frowned. “Is this because of what happened to Ryan?” he asked gently.
Jensen was silent for a long moment, then nodded and swiped at his tears. “I didn’t want him in my house… just another homeless kid, stealing money for drugs or booze… but I should’ve known when he didn’t take the money… all he wanted was those damn cookies.”
Misha blew a steady breath through his mouth. “The police are gonna want to talk to you. You were the last person to see him before…” he indicated the still figure on the bed. “This happened.”
Jensen nodded, miserably. Yeah, ‘cos that was just what he needed right then.
“I’ll go get some coffee,” Misha offered, and with a gentle pat on Jensen’s arm, left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He suspected his friend needed some time alone with his patient, and maybe a chance to get his head together.
Jensen just stared at the boy’s bruised face, at the ventilator keeping him breathing. When he reached out and gently stroked his soft hair, he was reminded of the way the kid had reached out to him for a moment there in the kitchen, only for his hand to fall away at the last second. Jensen wondered what had been going through his head at that point.
Cradling the boy’s face with both hands, Jensen leaned down and pressed a small kiss to his hot forehead.
“You get better, ya hear me? Don’t give up on me,” and to his own shock, Jensen made a firm promise, one he had every intention of keeping no matter what. “’Cos you gotta home to go to now. I’m gonna take care of you, keep you safe and warm. You can stay as long as you need to, until you’re back on your feet or longer if you want. And you’re gonna tell me your name ‘cos I can’t keep on calling you ‘kid’.”
He knew how Misha would react; tell him he was insane, acting out of guilt and shock. And while that was partly true, it didn’t end there. Jensen couldn’t describe it, or understand why, but it ran much deeper. For the first time in two years, his heart felt lighter, freer than ever.
He realized he liked the kid, respected him even. And something told him Ryan would have approved of his decision.
Part Two