Fic: Gunpoint. AU RPS. Jensen/Jared. Chapter 6
Masterpost
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Epilogue | Author's notes | Soundtrack | AO3
Chapter 6
Summer 2002
Jensen hates his brother. Josh keeps staring at him, his face contorted with repressed anger, but every time Jensen tries to stare back, Josh will look away, like he can’t stand the sight of him. Jensen doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Josh is a dick. Dick, dick, dick. Asshole. Fuckhead. Fuckfuckfuck. Assfucker.
Jensen runs the words over and over in his head and wonders what his mom would say if she knew. Josh gets yelled at for cursing but not Jensen. Jensen can use all the dirty words he wants, he thinks smugly, it’s not like anyone can hear them. He stares at Josh across the kitchen table and yells, ‘FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!’ as loud as he can. No one even flinches. They just continue eating, stuffing their faces with his mom’s awful cooking.
All except Mac who’s sneaking the beans off her plate. She looks up and Jensen raises his eyebrow at her but she just smirks then sticks out her tongue and continues hiding her greens. He grits his teeth. He could make a racket, bang his hand on the table, rat her out, but he won’t. She’s the only one who doesn’t look at him like he’s a freak. Probably because she doesn’t remember what he was like before. She’s only six, practically a baby. To her this, him being like this, is normal. She actually likes him. Unlike Josh.
He looks back at Josh who quickly looks away. Jensen clenches his jaw, annoyed. He kicks Josh under the table. Hard. Josh flinches, his face going red and his eyes tearing up with pain, but he doesn’t make a sound. Acts like he doesn’t even notice. The fucker. ‘Fuck you, Josh. Fuck you, you fucking asshole.’ Jensen kicks him again.
Josh puts down his fork, clears his throat. “Can I be excused? I have homework.” His voice is all cracked, like he’s about to cry.
‘Crybaby. Some big brother you are,’ Jensen tells him in disgust.
“Alright, honey,” their mother says. Her voice is flat. It’s always flat. Or broken. Or, sometimes, drunk. Jensen hates her too. He hates them all. Except maybe Mac. She’s too much of a baby.
Josh gets up, puts his plate in the sink. He’s limping but no one notices except Jensen. Everyone’s too busy pretending everything is okay to ever notice anything. Jensen notices everything. Like the way Josh stops in the doorway and looks back at him, his eyes filling up with tears before he runs up the stairs.
‘Crybaby,’ Jensen repeats but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as before. He stabs angrily at his beans. The knot in his stomach is so tight it hurts.
------------
Present day
BANG!
Jensen’s eyes snap open.
“Open up! Open the door right now, or so help me God I’ll break it down!”
Arm tight over his chest. Naked skin pressed against his back. Hot, ragged breathing down his neck.
BANG, BANG, BANG. The door handle rattles.
Jensen screams. He bucks, head-butting whoever it is that’s got him trapped, then rolls off the bed, hitting the floor.
“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!”
“Jensen!”
A hand grabs his arm, but he wrenches free and scrambles away. Away, away. Gotta get away! But there’s someone at the door. There’s someone at the door, and there’s no place to hide, and, God, he’s so scared. He’s so scared.
“JARED!!”
“Shit. Go away! Jensen, calm down. Jensen, it’s okay... GO AWAY!”
CRASH! He’s coming. Tall and dark and yelling, and Jensen is so scared, so scared. Please, no.
“You pervert! I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna kill you, you disgusting...”
Fingers at his throat. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe...
“JEFF! Let him go! Get the fuck away from him!”
“I’ll kill him! You come any closer, and I’ll kill the kid! I swear, I’ll...”
A shot, so loud it rings in his ears. Everything’s suddenly wet. He hits the floor. There’s something in his mouth. There’s something... He gags, choking, choking... He can feel it, slipping down his throat. Blood and chunks of... of...
His mind breaks.
----------
“Get out!” Jared yells. His hand throbs and he flexes the fingers absently to make sure they’re not broken. There’s blood dripping down from his nose from where Jensen head-butted him but he doesn’t think it’s broken either, just bruised. “Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll beat the shit out of you, I swear!”
His brother gets to his feet, slowly. His eye is already swelling up. He looks scared, and it feels so damn good.
“Don’t you ever, ever, come back here! I mean it. I’m done with you. I’m done with all of you!”
“Don’t you be putting yourself on a high horse, JT,” Jeff spits out, his voice shaking. “You’re the degenerate here. I can smell what you did. The whole room reeks of it. Of your filth. It’s disgusting!”
Jared grabs him by the front of his shirt, shoving him toward the door where it hangs crooked on its hinges. “Out! Get out!”
“Get your filthy hands off of me! Like I want to be here,” Jeff shouts back. “And if you think you can come home after this then think again. You just lost your whole family, JT. And for what? That? Look at him!”
He points at Jensen’s huddled form in disgust and that’s it, Jared clocks his brother again, this time hard enough that he flies out the door and lands on his ass in the hall, blood exploding from his nose. Jared slams the door shut, but it bounces open again, all crooked and wrong, so he grabs a chair and shoves it under the handle to keep it closed, ignoring Jeff’s shouting. Breathing heavily he leans onto the door for a moment before slowly turning around.
Jensen lies curled up on the floor, arms covering his head. He’s shaking violently, his breath coming in short panicked hitches that keep getting quicker.
Shit.
Jared pulls the cover off the bed and drapes it gently over Jensen then quickly washes the blood off his own face and the knuckles of his right hand in the small sink. No need to traumatize Jensen further. Once clean he crouches down by Jensen’s side, laying a hand gently on his shoulder, but Jensen still jerks, feet scuffling the floor as he fights to get away.
“Jensen, it’s okay,” Jared says softly. “It’s me, it’s Jared. You’re safe now.”
“I wanna go home,” Jensen whispers, his voice so small and terrified it hits Jared right in the heart. “I wanna go home. Please let me go home.”
Fuck. It’s Halloween all over again.
“I’ll take you home. I’ll take you home, Jensen. I promise.”
Jensen starts to cry, small muffled sounds of wet breathing that if anything seem to terrify him even more. “I, I wet my pants,” he hiccups. “I didn’t, didn’t mean to. Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Jared soothes, pulling the covers tighter around Jensen’s shaking form. “It’s okay. We’ll just wash them.”
Jensen relaxes slightly. He sniffles, fist pressed up against his nose as if to smother the sound. Then he looks up, eyes wide in his pale face. “Don’t tell Dad,” he begs. “We can’t tell him anything.”
“Jensen, it’s okay,” Jared says gently, hoping his smile looks comforting and not as lost as he feels. “He won’t mind. They’re just pants.”
Jensen shakes his head. “About the secret,” he whispers. “We can’t tell him about the secret.”
Jared freezes. His stomach turns cold. “Okay,” he says carefully. “It will just be our secret. Just yours and mine.”
Jensen nods, his lip wobbling. “No one else. Can’t tell anyone else.”
“No one else,” Jared agrees. An idea suddenly strikes him. “But you can tell me,” he says in a whisper. “Because I already know.”
Jensen looks uncertain for a moment before he breathes out, relieved. “Yeah. ‘Cause you already know. But no one else! We can’t tell anyone else.”
“About...?” Jared tries.
“About The Game,” Jensen whispers. He pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them, eyes darting anxiously around.
“Right.” Jared nods. “Remind me, what are the rules of the game?”
“The rules. The rules are: Stay quiet!” Jensen breathes into his knees. “Quiet. Quiet like a mouse. Not a word, not a word. Not a single word, you HEAR ME?” He shrinks back, whimpering.
“Okay,” Jared whispers as quietly as he can. He moves closer, pulling his knees up as well and leaning into Jensen, all conspiring. “And?”
“Don’t cry.” Jensen’s breath hiccups. “Don’t cry or, or... he’ll cut our throats!”
“I won’t cry,” Jared whispers hoarsely, blinking as tears well up in his eyes. “I promise.”
“And-” Jensen’s voice breaks off and he shoves a fist into his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. His back curls, head tucked in between his knees, arm bent over it. He starts to shake, shoulders twitching and chest jumping with every sob. There is no sound except for the shallow wet intakes of breath through his nose.
Jared swallows. He has no idea what to do. How the hell do you comfort a traumatized ten-year-old? He keeps absolutely still, not daring to reach out and touch Jensen even if the urge to wrap his arms around him is so strong Jared has to physically restrain himself not to give in to it. He feels ill. Sick to his stomach. The man beside him might be twenty-two years old but there’s no doubt in Jared’s mind that he’s in the presence of the boy Jensen was twelve years ago. A terrified, broken little boy, who is forever stuck in the basement of his abuser, waiting for the monster to come back and hurt him. How do you cope with that? How can he look Jensen in the eye and not see that boy?
The shaking finally subsides, and Jensen’s breathing slows down. The room falls quiet.
“Jensen?” Jared carefully tries.
There’s a long silence, and then Jensen raises his head, blinking slowly. His face is wet, his eyes swollen. He looks confused. When he opens his mouth nothing comes out, and he ends up coughing and frantically clearing his throat.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” Jared says quickly and risks putting an arm around Jensen’s shoulders. He breathes out in relief when Jensen leans into it, huffing in irritation. “Jensen, it’s okay. Look at me.”
Jensen turns his head, his eyes widening as he spots the broken door. He waves his hand in an obvious ‘What the fuck?’ meaning, turning to Jared for an explanation and reels back, staring at him in shock.
“What?” Jared says confused before he remembers. “Oh. It’s nothing. I hit my face on your head, I guess.” He smiles to let Jensen know it’s no big deal, but Jensen only looks more agitated. He tugs at the covers, clearly wondering how the hell he ended up naked on the floor.
“Jensen, look at me,” Jared repeats. “Jensen! Hey.” He gives Jensen a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later. We were talking about something really important. Remember?”
Jensen shakes his head.
“About The Game?” Jared tries carefully.
Jensen stares at him. He looks over at the small TV in the corner then back at Jared, frowning. ‘What game?’ he’s obviously asking.
Jared hesitates. “You were telling me about what happened to you when you were a kid,” he finally says.
Jensen’s eyes widen, his face draining of color. He grabs Jared’s arm, shaking him, lips mouthing, ‘What?’
“You don’t remember any of it?”
Jensen shakes his head. He’s staring at Jared intensely, clearly waiting for him to continue. When he hesitates Jensen hits him in the chest, nostrils flaring in irritation.
Jared sighs. Fuck. “You kinda... regressed. Back to when… you know. And... uhm... You said there was a secret you couldn’t tell anyone. About a, a game.” He swallows. “You really don’t remember any of this?”
Jensen shakes his head. His face has gone from pale to ashen.
“You called it The Game and, and there were rules.” Jared takes a deep breath. “Be quiet, don’t cry and... I don’t know. I don’t know!” he insists when Jensen’s lips turn thin. “You stopped talking and then... You came back.”
Jensen blinks slowly. He pulls in a short breath and another, his hand coming up to his throat as if he’s having trouble breathing. Suddenly he stands up, the covers pooling on the floor as he starts gathering his clothes.
“Jensen...” Jared tries, sighing when Jensen shoots out his hand. “No, I won’t shut up.” He gets up as well and pulls on his jeans, not bothering to find his boxers in the bundle of twisted bed sheets. “Where are you going?”
Jensen ignores him. He pulls his jacket on, shoving his feet into the boots without bothering with the laces, and heads for the door.
“Jensen, stop! Stop, goddammit!” Jared runs in front of him, blocking the way. “You can’t just run off, okay? We’re in this together. Whatever it is.”
Jensen sucks in his breath, eyes going wide with panic. He tries to get to the door, pushing at Jared when he can’t reach around him. Oh. Right. Shit. Jared quickly moves aside, yanking the chair out of the way and the door swings open. Jensen stops, his chest heaving and he steadies himself on the wall, his knees shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Jared says, feeling like a complete idiot. Why does he keep doing stupid shit like this? “Fuck, Jensen, are you all right?”
Jensen nods, although his face is still grey and there’s sweat running down his temple. He points down the hall, then hits his chest before pointing again.
“Out? You need to get out?” Jensen shakes his head. “Home?” He nods. “Okay. But you’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”
Jensen turns his head, gazing up at him. He looks tired, and scared and so lost it breaks Jared’s heart.
“I’m coming with you,” he repeats, softer this time. “We’re in this together. Plus,” he adds drily, “I’d rather not be here if my twisted family decides to come back.”
Jensen’s eyes turn confused. Then they widen in sudden understanding as he looks at the door and back at Jared, before reaching up to hesitantly touch the bruise on his face.
Jared shrugs. “Jeff. My brother. He wasn’t too happy about the whole gay thing. By the way, just so you don’t get a shock next time you look in the mirror, he got you kinda good around the throat. And yeah, this is why you freaked out. I’m really sorry. I should have known they’d come back.”
Jensen touches his throat gingerly, frowning a little, then shrugs, like it doesn’t matter in the enormity of everything else going on. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he gestures.
“Okay, okay.” Jared pulls on a long-sleeved t-shirt and fetches his jacket. “You think this means something, what just happened? You think you’re starting to remember?”
Jensen shrugs, nervously nibbling at his lip as he waits for Jared to pull his boots on.
“But that’s good, right?” Jared asks as he straightens up and checks his pocket for keys. “I mean, then you can finally deal with it.”
Jensen’s eyes snap to him, hard and angry. He stalks over to the small desk and snags the notebook and pen, quickly drawing a simplified version of a familiar scene Jared never wanted to see again. Wide eyes, open mouth, terror. Jensen taps it angrily with his finger before poking Jared hard in the forehead, eyebrows raised.
“No,” Jared says quietly. “I wouldn’t want that in my head. I’m sorry.”
Jensen breathes out a huff. He takes the notebook back and writes in crooked capital letters, like he’s having to fight his hand to make it obey: FLSHBAKS = REAL.
Flashbacks? Was that what happened? “They feel real?” Jared asks. “Like you’re actually back there?”
Jensen nods. He swallows, his lips twisting like he’s fighting not to cry. He turns the book around again and writes RAPE before FLSHBAKS then replaces REAL with KIL ME.
Jared’s stomach turns cold. “You think it would kill you if...?”
Jensen shakes his head. He points at himself then back to the words before looking up at Jared, eyes wild and desperate.
“You’d rather kill yourself than relive that,” Jared says slowly. He feels numb, the words screaming up at him as loudly as if Jensen had yelled them into his ear.
Jensen briefly closes his eyes then looks up at Jared and nods.
“Jesus, Jensen,” Jared whispers. “Don’t say that. You can’t... No.”
“I...” Jensen stops. He breathes in, out, in, out, then swallows and says, “I was ten. And if... I’ll be ten again. Being raped. I can’t. It’s too much.”
“But...”
“Too much,” Jensen repeats and walks out into the hall, leaving Jared standing in his room, feeling like the world just punched his face in.
----------
Jared is walking a few steps behind him, talking on the phone to Chad. Something about the door to their dorm room, that Chad has to call whoever is in charge and have it fixed. “I don’t know,” he says, voice shaking. “Tell them some drunk kicked it in and you don’t know who it was.” He sounds like he’s on the brink of crying.
Jensen should probably feel bad about that but he’s too filled with fear to manage anything else. Instead he keeps his eyes on the snow-covered ground, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. The air is crisp and clear. Everything is peaceful and quiet. Jensen inhales quietly through his nose so Jared won’t hear how erratic his breathing is, how close he is to giving in to the panic.
He hates flashbacks. Hates them, hates them, hates them! They’re way more terrifying than his memories. The memories are there all the time, things he remembers happening and can easily picture in technicolor details. Flashbacks on the other hand come suddenly and often without reason, throwing him back into the exact moment they happened, and it’s like he’s really there. He doesn’t remember it’s all over and done with, doesn’t remember he’s grown up now, and that the fucker is dead. Instead he’s ten years old and terrified out of his mind.
He used to have a lot of flashbacks when he was younger, every one of them of that day, the day he was rescued. Of the feds crashing the place, and the sirens, and flashing lights and the shouting. The shot. Choking on the taste of blood and brains. Screaming until the world went white. They shook him to the core, and would leave him weak and disoriented for days.
He hardly ever has them anymore, thank God, and the few times he does they almost always morph into that dissociative age regression thing. One moment he’s there, scared out of his mind, and the next he wakes up, minutes or even hours later, with no memory of what he’s been saying or doing. Until now he hasn’t cared, been damn relieved to be spared the details to tell the truth. It’s not like the kid ever said anything of importance anyway. Jensen always thought it was because the kid didn’t remember either. Turns out that’s not it, because, now, now the little shit suddenly starts blabbering. About secrets, and games and rules. Fuck. What if the kid decides he doesn’t want to be dissociated anymore? What if he decides to share with the rest of the class? What if he makes him relive it?
If he gets flashback of... of... That would be it. He’d end it. Because he can’t. He can’t do it. He just can’t.
“I texted Chris,” Jared says, startling Jensen out of his thoughts as he falls into step beside him. “Told him we were coming over.” He takes Jensen’s hand, braiding their fingers together and squeezing reassuringly.
Jensen nods. He’s never noticed before how small his hand feels in Jared’s gigantic grip. ‘I’m not small,’ he reminds himself. ‘He’s just way too frigging big. That doesn’t mean I’m small.’
“It’s going to be all right,” Jared says, his voice quiet and unsure. “We’ll figure it out.”
Jensen doesn’t answer.
Chris opens the door to the apartment at the first scratch of Jensen’s key against the lock.
“What took you so- What the hell happened to your throat?” he growls, and Jensen frowns until he remembers.
He touches his throat. It feels a bit swollen, especially when he swallows, but he’s so used to feeling that way he’d forgotten that this time there actually was something strangling him other than strings of unsaid words. But, before he can let Chris know there’s nothing to worry about, Chris’s eyes snap up at Jared in anger and go comically wide.
“Shit, what the fuck happened to you?”
“Family,” Jared says dryly, not mentioning that the bruising on his face is mostly if not all Jensen’s doing. Jensen never really got those details straight. “Can we come in, or you wanna do this in the hall?”
Jensen doesn’t wait for Chris to answer, just pushes his way past and inside. It’s his place too, for fuck’s sake. He can feel himself relaxing as soon as he can breathe in the familiar scent of his apartment. Coffee and paint and - God, yes - fresh air. Wide space with big bright windows. Home.
Fuck, he hates Jared’s tiny dorm room. Too small, too stuffy and it smelled. Gym sweat and a faint stink of cigarettes - Chad’s no doubt as well as every other inconsiderate asshole that had lived there before them. Next time they have sex they’re definitely doing it h-
Jensen freezes. Shit. He’d forgotten about that. How the hell do you forget about having had sex? He turns around to find Jared and Chris both gazing at him with trepidation, like they’re waiting for him to break down and cry. He probably will, later. Seems once the floodgates opened he can’t close the damn things again. But not right now. Right now he doesn’t have time.
Instead he walks over to Jared and kisses him, then gives him what he hopes is a concerned look. He has to start practicing his nicer expressions in the mirror. He’s got the bitchy ones down to a T, as easily readable as written words, but he’s not used to sharing emotions like these. Mostly because he’s never really felt them before. Would suck if he was trying to let Jared know he loves him and just ended up looking constipated.
“What?” Jared asks, clearly clueless. “What’s wrong?”
Jensen sighs. He lays a hand on Jared’s chest and pats it lightly, his eyebrow slightly raised in question.
Jared frowns, confused. “This?” he says and touches his bruised face. “I told you...”
Jensen shakes his head then tilts it the slightest, eyebrow still raised. He shifts his gaze down, then up again. Jared blinks. His eyes suddenly widen and he goes a bright shade red.
“Oh. Uhm. Yeah. I’m... I’m fine. Really.” He laughs, awkward and embarrassed, and leans down to kiss Jensen on the ear. “I’m all sticky,” he whispers. “Think I can use your shower? And maybe borrow some underwear?”
“Oh man,” Chris groans and makes a face. “I did not need to know that. Please, yes, go shower. Both of you.”
He shudders and turns away but not before Jensen catches a look of pride in his eyes. Any other time it would have Jensen rolling his eyes because really, it’s ridiculous how invested Chris is in him having a nice fulfilling sex life. Maybe he should do that explicit sex comic. It might shock Chris enough that he stops prodding him for details all the time.
He follows Jared to the bathroom after grabbing underwear for both of them from the drawer. Once the door is locked he sits down on the closed toilet, meaning to wait while Jared showers but Jared just kisses him and starts tugging his clothes off.
“Never shared a shower with anyone,” he says with a grin. “We can wash each other’s backs.”
Jensen looks at the small shower then back at Jared, incredulous. Is he insane? No way they’ll both fit in there.
“If we could fit in my bed we can fit in a shower,” Jared says and drops his pants. “Don’t worry.” He gives Jensen a smile as he adjusts the water. “If it gets too tight in there just push me out.” He pauses. “Is it just me or did that sound really dirty?”
Jensen rolls his eyes and tries for a smile. Jared smiles back and steps in under the spray, holding out his hand. “C’mere.”
Jensen hesitates then takes a deep breath and stands up. He pulls his t-shirt over his head then chucks off his jeans and underwear and kicks them aside before taking Jared’s hand, allowing him to pull him in. He ends up plastered against Jared’s chest, water hitting his face, and he flinches back, dropping his chin down to his chest and curling his back. Fuck.
“Sorry,” Jared says quickly. He lays a hand on Jensen’s neck, rubbing it soothingly with his fingers. “Lean against me, here. No, your forehead. Better?”
Jensen nods, leaning his forehead against Jared’s sternum, one hand on his hip, holding on while he fights the dizziness. It’s just water, you moron. Stop being such a baby.
“Want me to wash your hair?” Jared murmurs. “I love that lemon stuff you use. Smells so nice.”
A smile tugs at Jensen’s lips. It’s just some cheap shampoo Chris bought, nothing special. But he has to admit it does smell nice. He likes fresh scents. Lemon, and mint and eucalyptus. The one Chris uses for their laundry, he’s not sure what that is, but it smells good. Clean.
He can’t stand the smell of souring sweat, on his clothes or his skin. It makes his stomach turn. Truth is he can’t really leave the house unless he’s wearing clean clothes, is freshly shaved and has bathed his armpits in deodorant.
“Just as well you are gay,” Chris had commented once, impatiently waiting for him to get ready so they could go out, “or people would start wondering. You primp more than my little sister.”
Jensen would have pointed out that Chris’s little sister is a biker chick who seems to care more about how many studs she can fit into her eyebrow than her personal hygiene, but Chris is stupidly sensitive when it comes to Karen. Which is kinda funny considering she’s considerably taller and could beat the crap out of him any given Sunday.
Jared’s long fingers run through Jensen’s hair then start rubbing his scalp. “That good?” he asks softly.
Jensen hums, his body relaxing as the warm water unknots the tension in his back, and the soap washes away the smell of sex. Again it hits him: They actually had sex. For all his bravado, the truth is he hadn’t been sure he’d ever be able to do that. It certainly hadn’t been what he’d planned on when he’d crawled into Jared’s bed last night. Sure, maybe he’d been hoping for a blowjob in the morning, once Jared had gotten over his whole family drama thing but somehow waking up with Jared’s ass pressed against him all he’d been able to think about was how much he wanted to get his dick in there. And that if he didn’t do it right that moment, he was afraid he’d never work up the nerve again.
If Jared had said no, that he wasn’t ready, Jensen would have backed off. Well, duh. Would probably have backed off so fast he’d fall off the bed. And then he’d probably never have mentioned it again. Because last night... It had felt like standing at the end of a pier, knowing this was it. This was the moment that would change his life. That either he’d take the plunge, or he’d turn around and never learn how to swim. But Jared had said yes, and all of a sudden Jensen was in the water, feet kicking, and arms flailing, and it might not be the swimming of champions, but he had held his head above the water, and he hadn’t drowned. He hadn’t drowned.
“Just so you know, last night was amazing,” Jared says suddenly, like he’s reading Jensen’s mind. “You were amazing. Like, so good. I don’t know what I was worried about, because that, that was mindblowing.”
Jensen’s face heats up. He wishes that was true, but it’s not. He might not have drowned, but he also had no idea what he was doing. Even worse than that, he’d been too scared to face Jared while he was doing it. Been too scared that he’d see pain or panic in Jared’s eyes, but even more that Jared would see him, struggling to get the words out and failing, again and again. Because he’d wanted to ask Jared if it was okay, if he was sure, if he was hurting him, if it felt good. He’d wanted to say that he couldn’t believe Jared was giving him this, was allowing him to do it in this weird, wacko way that probably made it so much more difficult for him.
He’d wanted to tell Jared that he loved him.
The fact that he couldn’t, that those words that were actually important wouldn’t come out... Even if Jared knows it’s not a choice, knowing is not the same as not minding.
Jensen doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything, and he can’t lift his head to try and let Jared know otherwise, not while the water is still hitting the back of his neck, so he stays silent, the small rubbing of his thumb over Jared’s hipbone the only indication that he heard him.
Jared kisses the top of his head, lips pressing into his wet hair for the longest time, and when he pulls away he says, “I love you.”
Jensen squeezes his eyes tighter shut. His thumb traces a small heart on Jared’s hip but Jared doesn’t say anything, so he probably doesn’t notice.
They finish washing up in silence.
----------
“Okay, so...” Chris says once they’ve settled down on the couch. “The kid came back. Spontaneous dissociative age regression,” he explains to Jared when he looks at him confused. “We’ve been dealing with that since high school.” He shoots Jensen a glance. “Do you mind if I go over that quickly?”
Jensen just shrugs, but he looks uncomfortable, and as soon as Chris starts talking he’s up and moving into the kitchen, occupying himself with brewing coffee. Jared keeps one eye on him while he listens to Chris explain how sometimes, usually when something really shakes him up, Jensen jumps back into the mind of his younger self: a scared ten year old trapped in his kidnapper’s basement. The biggest difference between that Jensen and the present one, beside their mental age, is that young Jensen has no difficulty talking. Not that it makes any difference, because there’s only one thing young Jensen talks about.
“Basically he’s begging to be let go,” Chris says, his voice pained. “That’s what he says every time, ‘Let me go. I need to go home. Please let me go home.’ Over and over again. That’s all I’ve ever managed to get out of him. That anyone’s been able to get out of him. Until now.”
Chris leans back in his chair. He looks tired, way older than his twenty-six years, and it suddenly hits Jared that this is what Chris does, what he’s been doing since they were kids, dealing with all of Jensen’s shit. And however much Chris cares for Jensen, however much he wants to take care of him, it doesn’t change that it’s a lot of work, and he gets little or no thanks for it.
“I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re changing everything, kid. I’m not sure whether to thank you or kick the shit out of you for it.” Chris cracks a small smile, but his worry is obvious. Jared can’t say he blames him.
Jared bites his lip. “I haven’t really done anything. I mean yeah, maybe he talks a bit more than he used to, but it’s just a few words.”
“I’m not just talking about his voice, I’m talking about him,” Chris says patiently. “You know, when he thought you’d broken up with him, he cried. First time in twelve years. Not counting his regression spells, of course,” he adds quietly. “He cries during those, but that’s not really him. That’s the kid. The kid cries. The kid cries so much.”
Chris’s voice trails off, and he sits staring into space for a moment before shrugging violently, like he’s trying to shake off the memory. He looks up and gives Jared a tired smile. “Sorry. It’s just... You never get used to it. Kills me every time.”
Jared nods. He can understand that. He’s feeling pretty weepy himself right now.
Chris clears his throat. “But anyway, this Jensen? Completely different story. Hadn’t cried a single tear since he woke up in that hospital. Until now. Now it’s just waterworks, all the time. Guess you broke the dam. God, he hates it.” Chris chuckles. “Oh, and he’s smiling!” Chris shakes his head in wonder. “Jensen is the grumpiest sonofabitch I’ve ever met. That hasn’t changed, but at least now he isn’t grumpy all the time. Sometimes he even looks happy. You did that.”
“Okay, smiling’s good,” Jared admits. “Crying? Not so much. He cried last night, too, after we-”
He stops, face turning red, and quickly glances over at Jensen. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead he’s hunched over his sketchbook, completely absorbed in his work. He’s obviously forgotten all about bringing them coffee. Jared turns back, expecting Chris to be laughing at him but he’s not. He looks furious.
“He cried? Why?” he asks in a low, icy voice. “Did you...? Tell me you were careful with him!”
“What?” Jared says stunned. “Are you serious?” He swallows, feeling angry all of a sudden. “I don’t know or even care how much he shares with you, I’m not gonna give you details about our sex life. But if you think I would ever do anything he wasn’t cool with then you don’t know me at all.”
Chris breathes out. “That’s just it, Jared,” he says, a little calmer. “I don’t know you at all. You seem like a nice kid, and the fact that Jensen likes you says a lot, but it’s not like I’m lending you my car, all right? We’re talking about Jensen’s life here. If this backfires he might end up a lot more damaged than he is now. So excuse me for being cautious, okay?”
Jared swallows. Chris does have a point. “I know it’s a big responsibility. I’m not stupid. I haven’t... I’m leaving it up to him, okay? He’s calling the shots.” He averts his eyes from Chris’s heavy gaze. “I don’t expect anything from him. I wouldn’t know what to expect anyway. Whatever he wants, that’s what we do, okay?”
Chris sits back, running his fingers through his hair. He looks a little queasy. “Dude, that’s not... Jesus, Jared. You can’t just...” He sighs. “Just because he’s fucked up doesn’t mean you can let him walk all over you.”
Jared’s head snaps up. “That’s rich coming from you,” he says, defensive.
Chris looks like he’s going to argue, but then he breathes out, jaw clenched. “Maybe, but I don’t let him fuck me, because I feel sorry for him. Did you?”
“No.”
Jared holds his gaze, hoping Chris can’t hear his heart pounding.
Did he? Was that what he did, let Jensen fuck him, because he couldn’t turn him away, not when it was so obviously something Jensen needed? Because he hadn’t been ready, not really. Not at first. But once they got started... Once they got started he hadn’t wanted to stop. Not for anything. And he’d loved it, that was the truth. As nervous as he had been when he’d first realized what Jensen was asking for, now he can’t wait to do it again.
The sound of a chair scraping the floor makes them both jump. Jared looks over, worried that Jensen might have heard them, but he’s gathering his drawings, face set in deep concentration. He drains his coffee mug then frowns and looks over at them, seeming to suddenly remember his manners.
“Coffee?” he asks, blinking in surprise at hearing his own voice after such a long period of silence.
Jared can’t help smiling. Jensen looks so amazed every time he speaks without really trying. Sure, it might not be the speech of the century but it’s still something.
“Coffee would be great,” he says. “Can I get milk? And some sugar, if you have it.”
Jensen nods and sends Chris an inquisitive look. “Yeah, thanks. The usual,” he adds and Jensen waves it off with a clear, ‘Like I don’t know’ expression. He goes to get coffee mugs from the cupboards and Jared turns to Chris, raising his eyebrows at him, offering truce for now. Chris sighs and nods.
“Where were we?” he murmurs in a low voice.
“We were talking about change,” Jared says coolly, still feeling pretty miffed. “Honestly, I’m not sure this really constitutes as change,” he adds thoughtful. “Maybe what he told me has always been there, he was just too scared to share it with anyone.”
Chris frowns. “So why now? Why wasn’t he as scared this time?”
“Okay, here’s a theory, but don’t put too much faith into it, because I might be way off.” He quickly relates what happened that morning, keeping his face as blank, and his voice as neutral as he can manage, but judging by the look on Chris’s face he’s not really that successful. “So what I’m thinking,” he says, clearing his throat, “is that maybe seeing me throw Jeff out made him feel safe enough for a moment that he dared talk to me. Because the bad guy was gone, and I was the one who got rid of him.”
Chris nods. “Could be. Doesn’t sound that wild to me. Jensen?”
Jared turns his head to see Jensen standing behind him, looking thoughtful. He bites his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth for a moment before nodding. Jared takes Jensen’s hand and kisses the palm, looking up at him with a smile. Jensen smiles back, but it’s distant, pensive.
“So maybe you’re not actually starting to remember,” Chris suggests. “Maybe it’s all still stuck in the mind of the kid, only difference is the kid has finally found someone to talk to.”
Jensen shrugs. He looks wary, like he so much wants to believe it but doesn’t really dare.
“Coffee?” Jared asks lightly, just to distract him.
Jensen gives him a small nod before going back to the kitchen counter. He brings over their mugs and fills his own before picking up the drawings. Once seated he flips quickly through them then lays the first one down on the table. His hand shakes. It’s like all the anger and frustration that usually keeps him alert and on edge has bowed out for the moment. Instead he looks young and scared and unsure, like he doesn’t know what to do, or how he’s supposed to feel. It breaks Jared’s heart.
Jensen sits back, and Jared focuses on the drawing laid out before him. It shows Jensen as he is now, standing tall and confident. Smug even. In the corner is a child, looking small and terrified. Between them is a brick wall.
“You want to keep them separate?” Jared asks.
Jensen nods. He lays down the next picture, showing the younger version of himself standing next to Jared. His small hand is clutched in Jared’s big one, and he’s looking up at Jared with wide trusting eyes.
“You want me to talk to him?” Jensen shrugs then nods. “If he shows up again? Okay, I can do that. What if he doesn’t?”
Jensen gives him a tight smile and puts his thumb up, showing he’s pretty damn okay with that. He hesitates a moment then lays the next one down.
Jared reels back. “No,” he growls and snatches the sketch before Jensen can stop him, ripping it into little pieces. “That’s not happening. No.”
He looks over at Chris for support and is met with eyes dilated in shock. Shit. He’d forgotten Chris hadn’t been present at that particular discussion.
“Jensen,” Chris says hoarsely. “What the fuck was that?”
Jensen just looks at him. He seems so tired, so defeated all of a sudden. Like he’s already preparing himself for the inevitable.
“No.” Chris shakes his head. He’s pale, and his hand trembles as he puts his coffee mug down on the table. “No. We’ve made it this far. You’re not gonna just... No.” He hitches his breath, eyes watering. “I won’t let you.”
Jensen sighs and briefly closes his eyes before turning to Jared, looking for support.
“No,” Jared says firmly. “I’m with Chris on this. We’ll figure something out. It won’t come to that.”
Jensen purses his lips then breathes out. He gives them a nod and a brief smile that looks more indulging than sincere. Like this is a fight he doesn’t have the energy for, but that doesn’t mean he’s giving in. He sits still for a moment then lays a hand on Jared’s knee, squeezing it, and stands up. As he does the last drawing flutters face down to the floor. Jared picks it up and turns it over. It looks like his dorm room, with Chad's shit spread all over, as usual.
“What’s this one supposed to mean?” he asks confused.
Jensen hesitates then sits down again and smiles wryly. He points at the drawing of Jared’s room and grimaces with his nose all scrunched up in disgust.
“You hate my room?” Jared blinks. “Why? I mean, it’s not exactly a palace but it’s not that bad.”
Chris snorts. “You’re kidding, right?” he says, his voice still shaky, although he’s trying to hide it. “I just poked my nose in there, and I thought I was gonna suffocate. And it’s about as big as a shoebox. I’m surprised Jensen could step inside that rat hole, let alone spend the night.” He sweeps his arm across the room. “Why do you think we chose this place? You think I enjoy sleeping in the same room as this guy? He has a way too intimate relationship with his right hand for one thing.”
Jensen goes bright red as Jared bites his lips tight together, trying to swallow down the laughter bubbling in his chest. He hiccups, sucking in air through his nose, his eyes watering but it’s no use.
He laughs, laughs like he hasn’t done in years, laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard and not just a cheap shot. He knows it’s just the stress, and worry and the fucked up absurdity of the whole situation that’s finally hitting him, but it doesn’t matter. It just feels so damn good to laugh.
Jensen glares at him, looking insulted, which only makes Jared laugh harder. Jensen’s lips twitch, and then he starts chuckling quietly, a sound that gets louder and more hysterical, until he’s doubled over, tears running down his face as he struggles to find his breath.
Chris shakes his head, grinning like he just can’t help himself. “Couple of morons,” he mutters, and they lose it all over again. Jensen ends up with his face pressed into Jared’s chest, heaving for breath, while Jared lays his head back on the couch, blinking tears out of his eyes as he tries to calm down. For that one moment he feels hopeful. He did it. He made Jensen lose himself in laughter just like he’d set out to do. If he could do that then maybe, maybe...
----------
Chris curses as Jared drops yet another plate into the dishwater, soaking both of them. Jensen can’t help wondering if Jared really is that clumsy, or if he’s using Josh’s old trick of pretending to be terrible at something, so he won’t be asked again. Not that it ever worked on their mother. But Jared had offered, saying it was the least he could do for being invited to breakfast, so chances are he’s not faking it. Which only makes the whole thing more amusing, even if Jensen’s not exactly in the mood to appreciate it at the moment.
Jensen frowns, tapping the paintbrush against his nose as he eyes the big canvas, contemplating where to begin. There are already pencil-drawn outlines taunting him even if he’s not sure yet what they’ll lead him to. Chris had stared at him, incredulous, as he was setting up his easel, like the last thing Jensen should be doing at this time of chaos was paint. Well, the only alternative is allowing the fear to consume him, until he breaks down and cries like a baby. Thanks but no thanks. He’s done enough of that.
He hardly even notices when Jared walks over and stands behind him, chin on his shoulder, one warm and slightly damp hand resting on his hip. Jensen gazes at the shape slowly taking form on the canvas in front of him, frowning slightly, then dips his brush in and keeps going. Jared kisses Jensen on the cheek and leaves him to it.
When Jensen reemerges, hours later, Jared is gone, and Chris is asleep on the couch. There’s a half-empty bottle of Jack sitting on the coffee table in front of him and an inch-filled tumbler by its side. Jensen frowns. Chris looks wrecked. Pale and eyes rimmed red. For a moment Jensen is confused, but then he remembers the whole suicide discussion, and how upset Chris had looked. Guess he decided to deal with it in his own way.
Jensen sighs, not quite getting it. It’s not like it’s anything new. Chris has always known it might come to that. Jensen’s whole life has been about finding reasons not to kill himself, rather than the other way around.
Jensen shakes his head then turns to the painting, still glistening wet in the dwindling daylight. He takes a step back, suddenly dizzy. He’d poured all his emotions into it and now it’s all there, staring back at him from the picture. Insecurity, anger, fear. Fear, fear, fear. Paralyzing, soul-crushing, mind-shattering terror. Oh God.
Jensen quickly turns to the big windows, seeking reassurance from the wide view outside but the sky is darkening, and the shadows are creeping in. He starts shaking, his knees going weak, and he staggers, reaching out for support and finding nothing close enough. He hits the floor hard, pain shooting up from his knees, and then he’s falling over on his side, wheezing and fighting for air.
It’s not a flashback, not regression. It’s just panic, crippling fear making him crumple to the ground. ‘What if, what if, what if...’ is repeating itself like a mantra in his head. Oh God. Help!
He’s not used to this, fearing the future. Fearing what might happen instead of what already did. At least before he knew what to expect. He knew what he was afraid of. He’d rather have a thousand flashbacks of brain matter exploding all over his face than have a single one of... of that. Because he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he fucking can’t!
He tries to shout Chris’s name but he can’t get a sound out. Fuck. The whole room is spinning. He finally manages to get up on his knees and crawl toward Chris on the couch but the coffee table is in the way and he doesn’t have the strength to get around it. There’s nothing close enough to throw at Chris except... The bottle stands near the edge, its liquid glowing like gold in the last rays of sunlight. Jensen reaches up, fumbling until his fingers grab hold of the cool glass. He pulls it down, cradling it to his chest, and closes his eyes, his breath still wheezing.
Fuck this shit.
“Jesus, of all the things to wake up to. What the fuck were you thinking, man?”
Jensen whimpers. God, he’s dying.
“Here,” Chris says, handing him a glass of water and a couple of painkillers. “You okay?”
Jensen barely manages to swallow the pills without gagging. He sends Chris a death glare. Does it look like he’s okay?
“You gonna hurl?” Chris asks, unperturbed. “Want me to get you a bucket?”
Jensen clenches his jaw and shakes his head, regretting it instantly. Fuck. His head. He clutches it with a groan, back curling where he’s sitting on the couch. Chris shifts like he wants to add something but then he just sighs and lays a hand on Jensen’s neck, rubbing it gently.
“I thought we’d agreed you’d stay away from hard liquor,” he says quietly. He sounds more disappointed than angry now. “You know the risk.”
Jensen shrugs him off, irritated. Yes, he knows. Substance abuse, very popular among freaks like him. Chris wouldn’t even let him smoke weed in college, the fucker. So what, that means he can’t get shit-faced once, not even when his whole fucking life is falling apart?
Chris sighs. “Never mind. Why were you drinking? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Jensen sighs. He flops his hand down on the table, palm up, and points at the floor before reaching out, stretching his fingers toward Chris then dropping his hand again.
“I mean before you got drunk,” Chris says irritated.
Jensen lifts his head and glares at him. He repeats the gesture then makes a rolling motion with his index fingers, indicating time moving along, before mimicking drinking.
“Oh.” Chris’s irritation instantly vanishes, replaced by worry. “You just fell? Why? Are you all right?”
Jensen shakes his head. He points at the painting, keeping his eyes averted. He hasn’t been able to look at it since he woke up. Chris turns around and jerks back, like he’s only now noticing it.
“Shit,” he breathes, staring. “What the hell is going on inside that head of yours, Jensen?”
Jensen doesn’t answer. He’d rather not think of that. He taps the table with his knuckles to get Chris’s attention then draws a J on the surface, eyebrows raised in question.
“He went back to the dorm to sort out the whole broken door thing,” Chris tells him, still throwing wary glances at the painting. “That boy is a mess, you know. You need to remember that you’re not the only fucked up person in this relationship.”
Jensen nods. He knows. He’s starting to get a clearer picture of what Jared has been dealing with. He still can’t really understand why Jared cares so much about what his parents think of him, but he can see how much it bothers him. Still... Jared’s fight with his parents and brother might turn out to be a good thing. Unlike the years of silent suffering before, this time he’d stood up to them and defended what he was, instead of allowing them to condemn and curse it while pretending it didn’t concern him. Once he stops feeling sorry for himself and realizes what he actually did, he’ll probably feel a lot better.
Jensen can’t help envying him. Sometimes he wishes the feds hadn’t killed the fucking creep that kidnapped him. If he could face him as an adult, just once, then maybe he could stop imagining him as this unbeatable monster and see him for what he actually was. A sicko, and a pervert, and probably a fucking kiddie rapist but still just a man. If he could look that man in the eye, if he could plant his fist in his fucking face, his knee in his balls. If he could hold a gun to the motherfucker’s head and watch him whimper and cry and ask for mercy. If he could pull the goddamn trigger himself and watch that sick brain splatter all over the wall-
“Jensen, hey. You okay there?”
He snaps out of his thought, blinking up at Chris. His breathing is rapid, his heart hammering in his chest. His hands hurt, and he looks down to see he’s pressed his fingernails deep enough into the fleshy pad of his palm to bring out tiny crescents of blood. He flinches, wiping his hands frantically on his jeans, and even if it’s hardly enough to stain the denim it still makes him feel sick.
“Come on,” Chris says gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up. And brush your teeth, man,” he adds with a grimace.
Jensen flips him the finger but it’s half-hearted. He stumbles to his feet and waits until the room stops spinning before making his way to the bathroom.
“You want me to call you in sick at work?” Chris asks as Jensen is pulling his t-shirt off.
Jensen shakes his head. He’d rather deal with pissed off customers and spilled coffee than his own thoughts. His headache is dwindling, and once he’s clean and dressed he’ll be better able to pretend it’s just any other normal day.
Normal. Jesus, what a fucking joke.
The warm water beats upon his back and his lowered head. Rivers run down his cheeks and jump off his chin like a waterfall. He breathes in. Breathes out. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, blood rushing, whoosh, whoosh. He imagines it slowing down, until there’s just one slow beat after another. Boom, boom. Boom. Boom. Boom... And then finally, blessed silence.
Jensen nods to himself, his body relaxing as a sense of serenity washes over him. If that’s what it comes down to, it’s all right, he’s ready. He accepted his fate a long time ago, it’s only been a matter of when, and, frankly, he expected it to be sooner. He’s been screaming inside his head for twelve years. It will be nice to finally be quiet.
Chapter 5 | Chapter 7