Fic: Gunpoint. AU RPS. Jensen/Jared. Chapter 12
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 12
February 2010
“Jensen, we need to talk about your work.”
Jensen goes still. The paint is slick on his fingers.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. It’s just... Well, it’s very dark. And frankly a bit disturbing. And I get it. Christ, I do. But... It’s not really something we can put up at the final art exhibition. And you need to have at least one piece for the exhibition if you want to graduate.”
Jensen looks away. He never went into this with the intent to show off. He just needed an outlet for all his thoughts, all the words he can’t say.
“Just try something a little less psycho and a little more cheerful, okay? Find a good emotion and hold on to it. Express it. Show it to me.”
Jensen looks up at the canvas in front of him. Then he dips his fingers into a tin of yellow paint and makes a bright streak across the painting before looking over, eyebrows raised.
“That’s... yellow. Right. Oh well, it’s a start I guess. We’ll work on it, kiddo.”
Jensen shrugs and turns back to stare at the whirlwind of red and black. The yellow hardly even registers.
------------
Present day
It’s three days before they allow Jared to go home. Home being Jensen’s and Chris’s apartment, because there’s no way he’s staying in that shithole they call a dorm room, Jensen tells him that in no uncertain terms without having to utter a single word. He’s led straight to bed, and there he stays for the next five days, missing the last of his classes and worrying that he might fail his exams and consequently lose his scholarship. What the fuck is he supposed to do then?
Chad brings him his books, eyes darting around the apartment like he’s looking for a sign that says ‘Home of the Crazycakes’. He looks guilty, fidgeting and blabbering about nothing and everything where he hovers by the bed, flinching every time Jared coughs. When Jared’s about ready to tell him to please leave so he can get some sleep, Chad blurts out that he’d been smoking in their room when Jared wasn’t around, but he never meant to give Jared lung cancer, “Honest to God, I swear, you have to believe me!”
It takes Jared some prodding to find out that Jensen had apparently stormed over, absolutely seething with rage, and thrown all of Chad’s cigarettes out the window before sending him a death glare that convinced Chad that whatever was wrong with Jared was definitely his fault. For a moment Jared is tempted to let Chad believe it’s true, because, goddammit, he’s been telling Chad a hundred times and a half to keep his filthy habit out of their room, but in the end he doesn’t have the heart. Chad leaves, slumped with relief and mumbling about Jensen being a ‘fucking psycho’.
Chris is quiet. As angry as he’d been when Jensen came back, now it’s like all the air has gone out of him. He keeps giving Jensen these looks that Jared doesn’t know how to interpret. Like grief, and guilt and helplessness, all mixed up in the darkness of his eyes. He must know Jared is looking for answers, because he’s clearly avoiding him, murmuring “Take it easy, kid” and “You feeling okay?” in this detached voice as he walks by, not really stopping to hear Jared’s answer.
“What are you not telling me?” Jared asks Jensen, but he just frowns and shakes his head, like that would never happen. ‘Secrets? Me? Whatever gave you that idea?’ Jared tries to ask Chris, but all he gets is a growled, “Nothing,” and Jensen watching them both, eyes blank.
After three days Jensen goes back to work, reluctantly leaving Jared to spend the day on the couch, drinking tea and breathing carefully so he doesn’t snap his ribs completely with his coughing. When Jensen comes back home they curl up in bed with Jared’s arm held loosely around Jensen’s waist. They kiss (once Jared can breathe through his nose again), they cuddle, they sleep. They don’t fuck, and Jensen doesn’t talk.
Sometimes Jared thinks he imagined Jensen talking the day he came back, telling Chris to call 911. He doesn’t even try anymore it seems, just points, and gestures and tells with the slightest raise of his eyebrow, the smallest twitch of his lips.
He still draws but it’s different. He draws the kids in his art class, the people sipping coffee at The Black Bean, the cat that sometimes saunters into the coffee house like it’s its home. He draws Jared. There are no dark rooms and no scared little boys. No shadows lurking in corners or monsters reaching out. It should be a relief but there’s nothing happy or carefree about the drawings he does. They’re flat and lifeless, frozen moments of a life he’s watching but not participating in. Even the sketches of Jared’s own face feel unfamiliar, like it’s someone else with his facial structure but none of his character. It’s unsettling.
“What are you thinking?” Jared asks, because, without the drawings, without the occasional word, without Jensen’s quirky temper and theatrical expressions there are no lines to read between anymore.
Jensen shrugs and gives him a half smile, like it’s not important. He settles down on the couch by Jared’s side, pretending to be interested in whatever stupid show is on TV.
“I love you,” Jared tells him quietly.
Jensen doesn’t answer, his gaze already gone vacant, and his mind obviously miles away. Jared sighs, carefully rubbing his chest before dropping his hand on Jensen’s thigh.
Jensen is up and across the room in a flash, eyes wild and hands raised in fists. They stare at each other, Jared shocked, and Jensen blinking rapidly as if he’s trying to reconnect with the real world.
“It’s just me,” Jared says slowly.
Jensen breathes out, body relaxing. He gives Jared a small awkward smile before coming back to perch precariously on the edge of the couch.
“Where were you?” Jared swallows when Jensen just averts his eyes. “I know you have a lot to deal with but please don’t shut me out. Please.”
Jensen doesn’t answer but after a while he moves closer, allowing Jared to put his arm around his shoulders, and relaxes against his side. He lays a hand on Jared’s chest, right over his heart, and presses down gently with his fingers then looks up with eyes that seem so tired.
“I love you, too,” Jared whispers and kisses him.
They kiss until Jensen’s heartbeat has slowed down, and then they deliberately speed it up again. Jensen is half on top of Jared, careful of his still healing ribs, his hands running under Jared’s shirt, warm on his skin; Jared’s hands are slipping under Jensen’s jeans to cup his ass, alert to any change in his breathing that might indicate he’s going too far, when suddenly there’s the rattle of keys and the door opens. There’s an awkward silent moment before they both turn their heads to see Chris and Sophia standing in the doorway, looking embarrassed and a little amused.
“See what I have to live with?” Chris says exasperated as he closes the door behind them, but he looks too happy to be annoyed. Sophia just smiles and raises her eyebrow.
“Hey,” Jared says and discreetly wipes traces of spit off his face. “Didn’t expect you home so soon.”
“Obviously,” Chris says with a smirk.
Jensen huffs and pushes himself up and off the couch. He looks more angry than embarrassed, giving Chris a glare that would have made anyone else turn and run. Sophia’s smile fades and she gives Chris an unsure look.
“I need to get going anyway,” she says awkwardly. “It’s late.”
Chris looks at her, startled, then back at Jensen, and his face goes hard. “No, it’s not. Jensen, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Seriously, it’s okay,” Sophia tries to protest but Chris is already heading for the bathroom, shooting Jensen a look that offers no argument, and, after dramatically rolling his eyes, Jensen follows, jaw set in a tight line. The door closes behind them, and Jared and Sophia share an equally embarrassed look.
“So, did you have a good date?” Jared asks as he sits up and awkwardly straightens his clothes.
Sophia gives him a small smile. “Yeah. It was nice.”
They both jump as either Chris or Jensen hits the bathroom door with his fist, rattling it on its hinges. “Maybe we should go for a walk?” Jared suggests, and Sophia nods, clearly relieved.
“Oh, you good to go out yet?” she asks as Jared is pulling on the coat Jensen bought him as a supposedly early Christmas present. It’s nothing fancy but it’s warm and fits him and what more can he ask for. “How are you anyway?”
“I’m...” He pauses as Chris yells something that sounds like, “Goddamn drama queen!” Jared gives Sophia a small grin. “I’m better. A lot better. And I’ll be fine for a short walk, don’t worry. The fresh air will do me good.”
He puts on Jensen’s scarf and beanie, and the gloves Chris threw at him the day before, claiming he’d accidentally bought them two sizes too big. Yeah, right. He’ll have to have a word with them about that whole thing. He’s not a charity case, thank you very much.
He leaves a note on the coffee table saying, ‘Gone for a walk. Don’t kill each other.’
The night is cold but still, and Jared feels pleasantly warm in the thick coat. Sophia links her arm with his and they walk down the street in silence until they’re far enough away that they can’t hear Chris yelling anymore.
“Sorry about that,” Jared says. “It’s nothing personal. He’s just..." His voice trails off. What? Jensen is what? He’s not sure he knows anymore.
“It’s okay,” Sophia says. “It’s not like I don’t know what he’s like.” She gives Jared a small smile. “He doesn’t drive you crazy?”
“Jensen? God, yes. Completely insane.” He laughs softly. “Guess I’m a sucker for punishment.”
“Are you?” Sophia gives him an inquisitive glance. “How do you two work, really? I mean, you seem like a sweet guy, and he’s...” She stops, awkward.
“A jerk?” Jared supplies lightly, trying not to feel hurt on Jensen’s behalf when she nods. “He’s not. Not really. A jerk is mean on purpose. He’s... not. He just acts the way he feels.”
She just looks at him, clearly not getting it.
“It’s like, everyone has bad days, right? Days when you feel tired and irritated, and you just want everyone to leave you alone. So maybe you say stuff you know you shouldn’t or shut people out, because you just can’t deal with them, don’t matter if they’re trying to be nice. Sound familiar?” She nods. “Well, I think that’s how Jensen feels every day. Like his life is just one awful bad day, repeating itself ad infinitum. There’s no waking up the next morning with things back to normal. This is his normal.”
She looks away, blinking. “I never thought of it like that. He told you this?”
Jared shakes his head. “No. But I’ve had enough days like that myself to recognize the symptoms.” He shrugs when Sophia looks at him in alarm. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is I know his worst days are better now with me in them than his best days were before, without me. And yes,” he adds with a smile, “that he did tell me.”
Not with words. Jensen doesn’t do well with words when it comes to emotionally important things, something that Jared knows bothers him a lot. But it’s where he’s best at expressing himself non-verbally. He knows Jensen worries that his feelings for Jared might get lost in translation, but the truth is it’s the only subject Jared is 100% sure he’s reading right. Everything else is open to interpretation.
“To be honest,” he says when she remains quiet, “even though I’m sorry he made you feel uncomfortable, I’m glad it happened. It’s the most emotional I’ve seen him since... Well, since he came back. I was starting to worry he’d checked out indefinitely.”
“He looked animated enough making out with you on the couch,” Sophia says with a small smile.
Jared laughs. “Well, yeah. That was also the most we’ve done since he came back. I guess that’s why he got pissed off. It’s hard enough getting back on the horse without being interrupted midway.”
She nods, her cheeks flushing slightly pink. “I can understand that. And I am sorry, I know you weren’t expecting us until later. The movie was sold out, and we just thought we’d have an easy night in. We should have called.”
Jared shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Chris’s apartment as much as it’s Jensen’s. They just need to work out a system. The old sock-around-the-doorknob or something like that.”
She laughs.
When they get back Chris is on the couch, watching TV, and Jensen is lying on his bed, reading. The air is a little tense but not violently so anymore, and when Jared settles in beside Jensen on the bed, Jensen gives him a tired smile and a kiss before continuing with his book. Wherever they were headed before they were interrupted, the moment has obviously passed. Jared isn’t worried. Just having a moment was more than he’d expected, and he’s confident they’ll have another when the time is right. He shuffles over, until he’s lying on his side, head on Jensen’s lap, and closes his eyes. He falls asleep to Jensen’s fingers carding lazily through his hair, and Chris and Sophia laughing quietly over whatever is on TV. All in all it’s a good day.
-----------
“It’s been a while.”
Jensen shrugs and fiddles with a rip in his jeans, tugging at the frays of cotton.
“To be honest I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
He looks up, surprised. There’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice. It’s so subtle that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so well trained in listening. From the calm look in her eyes he can tell she has no idea she’s given anything away.
“Chris called me when you went missing. He clearly blames me. I thought maybe you shared that sentiment,” she explains.
It sounds sincere enough, but he doesn’t think his feelings are what worries her. If he were to guess he’d say she’s the one sharing Chris opinion, thinking that what happened was her fault.
He shakes his head, and she relaxes a little. Again, it’s hardly visible but he’s also an expert on suppressed body language.
“Do you wish you hadn’t found out? Would you have preferred waiting for your memories to come back?”
He shakes his head again. He’s been waiting twelve years already, and what good has it done him? Even if he didn’t really want to know, he thinks he needed to. He just wishes he knew what he’s supposed to do with that knowledge.
“Has it made you remember anything?”
He shakes his head once again. No. Nothing. Everything is just as blank as before. It has on the other hand made his imagination go into overdrive, creating scenarios in his head that are no longer just possible, but actually probable. He could have done without that to tell the truth.
It’s still different than memories or - he shudders at the thought - flashbacks. It’s like watching the old family movies back home. The ones with his parents happy and smiling and saying, “Jensen, look over here. Hey, sweetie,” and suddenly there’s this kid filling up the screen, making goofy faces and laughing. This happy, carefree kid he knows is him but he has no recollection of ever being. It’s like that, except in all the horrible ways it’s not.
“What difference does it make? Knowing, I mean.”
He hesitates, pencil tapping against the sketchbook resting against his knees. He doesn’t know how to explain it. In some ways it’s worse because there’s no tiny sliver of hope to cling to anymore. Not even a microscopic chance that despite all the evidence to the contrary maybe, just maybe, it didn’t happen. And there are all these facts now, adding flesh to thoughts that were merely bones before. That is definitely worse.
On the other hand it means there’s a valid reason for him being the way he is. It’s not because he’s weak or stubborn, or that he just doesn’t want to get better. Only so much can be cut from a person before there’s not enough left to build on. He feels like that. Like a piece of wood splintered into a thousand pieces, too tiny for them to ever be glued back together again.
He looks down at the blank page in front of him, and it stares back, glaringly white. The pencil trembles in his hand, and he tightens his grip, feeling the slim wood dig into the pads of his fingers. Until now he’s always been able to draw what he wants to tell her, but this time there’s nothing. Come to think of it, he hasn’t really been drawing anything worth expressing since... Well, since then.
Jensen blinks rapidly. He hadn’t realized. Fuck. Is it gone? What the hell is he supposed to do then? He looks up at her, helpless, and she gazes back, a small frown forming between her eyes.
“Jensen?”
He shakes his head and looks back down on the sketchbook, struggling to write CANT, his hand trembling as he lifts the book up to show her.
“You can’t? You can’t explain it? You can’t tell me? You can’t draw?” She looks slightly taken aback. “Why?”
He rolls his eyes in frustration. How’s he supposed to explain it when he can’t draw it? He takes the book back and writes NOTHN, showing it to her before tapping his head.
“You can’t picture it in your head anymore?”
Jensen raises his eyebrows. Yes, that’s what he’s saying.
“What if I tell you to draw something? Can you do that? The flowers, can you draw those?”
He quickly sketches the potted plant on the desk. That’s easy. It’s right in front of him and there’s no hidden meaning behind it. Great. Maybe he can become a still life artist. Whoopee.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “So you can draw things. You just have trouble interpreting your thoughts, is that it?”
He nods.
She writes something down in her notebook before looking up again with solemn eyes. “Jensen, people often have problems expressing themselves after the kind of emotional turmoil you just went through. But I can understand you being worried, considering your situation. It’s like losing your voice again.”
He bites his lip, breathing heavily through his nose. Not really helping here, lady.
“Okay, try focusing on one specific feeling. Like, Jared. How do you feel when you’re with him now?”
Jensen closes his eyes. He thinks of Jared, so pale and sick in the hospital bed. The cautious way he moves because his ribs still hurt. His worried eyes following Jensen around the room. The warmth of his skin as they lie close at night.
He opens his eyes again and stares down at the blank page. He shakes his head. There’s no way he can explain it. He feels guilty, useless, helpless, scared, angry, annoyed, desperate, tired, disgusted. Numb.
“Okay, let’s try something else,” she says after a while. “Are you angry?”
He nods without thinking.
“With me?”
He shakes his head. He’s the one who took matters into his own hands, against her judgment.
“The man who kidnapped you?”
He shakes his head again. What he feels for the man who did this to him is so far beyond rage.
“Jared?”
He hesitates then shakes his head. No, not really. Even if he was at first, when he found out Jared had kept the truth from him, he’s forgiven him now. Nothing like fearing for your boyfriend’s life to make you realize things like that don’t really matter.
“Chris?”
He shakes his head again. Jared explained to him that Chris hadn’t known, not until Jared told him.
“Your parents?”
He nods, jaw tightening.
She looks intrigued. “Your parents? Okay. Why?”
Jensen hesitates. Because they didn’t tell him. But that’s not the whole reason. He’s been angry with them for years. Because he blames them. He blames them for not keeping him safe. For letting that sick fuck take him. For not rescuing him sooner. He blames them for not understanding why he is the way he is, for making him feel like a failure, because he can’t seem to ‘get over it’. He blames them for every time they act like all they want is for him to talk, like he isn’t a real person, because he can’t communicate with them in a way they can understand. He blames them for every time they smile at his siblings, laugh with them, talk to them. Look happy. Because they don’t with him. When they look at him, all they see is pain, and guilt and failure, and you don’t smile at that. You don’t laugh when your kid can’t laugh back. You don’t talk when all he does is cough until he’s choking. You don’t love a kid who can’t love you back. Right? Do you?
He jerks out of his thoughts when the box of tissues is pushed across the table, and looks up to find Sam watching him with deep sympathy. He blinks, suddenly aware of the skin on his cheeks tickling, of his eyes burning hot, and his throat hurting the way it hasn’t in a long time. He pulls a tissue out of the box with trembling fingers and wipes at his face. It’s not the first time he’s cried in front of her, but it’s the first time he’s cried since he found out.
“You blame them?” she asks quietly. He nods, hitching his breath. “For what happened to you or for what came after?” He does a circling movement with his hand. “All of it?” He nods. He knows it’s irrational, but it doesn’t change that that’s how he feels.
She sits watching him for a long time, silent. He breathes slowly. His head hurts.
“Have you ever told them how you feel?” she finally asks.
He shakes his head, grimacing. What’s the point? His mom would just cry, and his dad would glare at him for hurting her precious feelings.
“Do you think they love you?”
He bites his lip then gives a reluctant nod. He knows they do. That doesn’t really change anything. You can still love a dog even when it goes rabid, and you have to put it down. He thinks if he’d been a dog they probably would have. All things considered it would have been kinder.
“Do you think any of the things you feel angry about, they did on purpose? Out of malice?”
He looks away before reluctantly shaking his head.
“So why can’t you forgive them?”
Because... Because they haven’t changed. Doesn’t matter that he’s proved that he doesn’t need them. That he can hold a job. That he can love someone, and that that person can love him back. That there’s more to him than being mute. They look at him, and all they see is a broken ten-year-old that they have to shelter and protect, even if it means him not having a life of his own. Who cares if he’s miserable, and lonely and claustrophobic as long as he’s safe?
He looks down at the blank page in front of him and slowly starts drawing. Himself, small and bruised and bleeding, locked within the cage of his parents’ embrace. His mother crying, his father looking at him sternly. There’s a bubble above his dad’s head, filled with lurking monsters.
He hands the drawing over, his hand trembling a little. She studies it for a moment, nodding slowly as if to herself, before laying it down on the table between them.
“You think that’s how they see you? Helpless? Broken?” He nods. “So how can we show them you’re not?”
He rolls his eyes. Good luck with that, lady.
She smiles a little. “Jensen, you have a lot of issues, but you’re not a child. I mean, obviously you will always be their child, but that’s how all parents feel about their children. That need to protect, to make sure nothing bad happens to them. Or in your case, that nothing bad happens to them again. That never goes away. But there’s a difference between being your parents’ son, and being their little baby.”
He snorts. He points at the picture of his parents then himself before making a blah-blah motion with his hand.
“They think you can’t look after yourself, because you don’t talk?” He nods. “Okay, so prove them wrong.” She smiles when he just frowns at her. “Jensen, you don’t need words to be an adult. That’s not what makes you a man. What you need is to be able to live with the person you are and work with what you actually can do. Play to your strengths instead of focusing on your weaknesses.”
She leans forward, studying him. “What are your strengths, Jensen? What do you like about your life?”
He frowns. Thinks. Shrugs.
She smiles, shaking her head a little, like his blindness amuses her. “Consider that your home assignment,” she says as she puts her notebook aside. “Bring me back some good stuff, all right?”
He gives her a tight smile back. Easy for her to say. Just because he managed to do one lousy drawing to express one specific thought doesn’t mean he’ll be able to express any other. Plus, finding things he likes about his life? Besides Jared, what is there?
------------
“I thought the whole point of therapy was to make him feel better, not worse,” Jared says, thumbing the corner of his book. He’s finally out of bed, out of the house. Sitting at The Black Bean and nursing the best macchiato human hands can make.
Chad gives him a blank look. “Obviously you’ve never seen The Cuckoo’s Nest.”
Jared glares at him. “He’s not crazy, okay? He’s just... troubled.”
“That’s one word for it,” Chad snorts. He sighs when Jared doesn’t even smile. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tell the difference. He’s still grumpy, still mute, he still jumps five feet in the air every time someone drops a fucking needle. How’s that worse?”
“Forget it.”
Jared looks over where Jensen is standing by the counter, staring into space. He looks miles away, the only sign he’s even alive is in the fingertips of his right hand tapping the pad of his thumb in an endless game of back and forth, index finger to pinky and then back again. Jared thinks it might be a tic, he’s read about those on the PTSD carers forum. Using repetitive movement to cope with emotional turmoil. Sometimes he touches his throat, hand resting on the top of his sternum, index finger slowly stroking up and down his Adam’s apple as if he’s stroking a small kitten. Then, like now, his eyes go blank, and his breathing slows down until it’s barely audible. It’s like he’s in a trance, like he’s just shut down and disappeared from the world he lives in. A vacation from himself. It’s a little disconcerting to tell the truth.
“I just wish I knew what he was thinking,” Jared says quietly. “I just wish he’d talk to me. Don’t,” he adds sharply as Chad opens his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Chad protests lamely. “Look, maybe he just doesn’t want you to know what’s going on inside that crazy head of his.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You told me he found out it was all true. So maybe that’s all he can think about, all the time. You really want him to share that with you?” Chad grimaces.
Jared frowns. “The only difference is now he knows it really happened. He still doesn’t remember anything, so what the hell is there to share?”
Chad looks at him. “Is that what she told him? ‘It really happened?’ Or did she tell him what really happened?”
“What’s the diff-?” Jared stops. He feels suddenly sick. “No way. Why would she do that? Why the hell would she do that?”
Chad shrugs. “I’m just saying. He might be crazy, but he doesn’t strike me as stupid. He’d probably already figured out most of it, so whatever is freaking him out right now has to be something he didn’t know. And considering what we’re talking about here, I’d say it has to be something pretty fucking disgusting.” He makes a face. “Like fisting or gangbanging or-”
“Shut up!” Jared snarls, nostrils flaring. “Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking asshole, or I’ll shut it for you!”
Chad blinks. “Hey, chill. I was just-”
“No.” Jared’s so angry he’s shaking. “You don’t ‘just’ say shit like that. You’re talking about Jensen. You’re...” He grits his teeth, hands balled into fists. “Imagine me saying those things about Danneel and then tell me to fucking chill.”
Chad’s face goes deep red. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just meant... Shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” Jared continues, too angry to stop himself. “You keep calling him crazy, like it’s all some goddamn joke. It’s not a fucking joke, Chad. It’s as far from a joke as you can get.”
“I was just...”
“We’re talking about a child being raped. It’s the most disgusting and vile crime anyone can commit. It’s not numbers; it’s not something that can happen to someone, hypothetically. It’s fucking real! Take a look around this place. See that little girl over there? She’s about ten, the same age Jensen was. Now imagine her dad, the guy sitting next to her, holding her down and-”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” Chad swallows. He’s pale, almost green. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t... Can we please stop talking about this?”
Jared leans forward, eyes hard and unyielding. “See, that’s just it. You can stop talking about it. You can switch it off. Jensen can’t. That is his life. And he deserves a hell of a lot more respect than you’ve ever given him, just for still being alive.” Jared slams his book shut and stands up. “Think about that the next time you want to call him crazy. Because the truth is if that had been me? I would have lost my mind a long fucking time ago.”
He leaves Chad at the table, red-faced and stammering apologies, and walks over to the counter, at the last moment managing to plaster on a smile.
“Oh man, I could really use a break,” he says lightly, and Jensen’s eyes snap back into focus. He blinks, looking a little disoriented, but then he smiles and nods, gesturing at the coffee machine.
“Dude, you know it,” Jared leers, swallowing the lump in his throat, when Jensen chuckles and starts making their coffee.
Sophia throws them a smile and tells Jensen, “Fifteen minutes, tops!”
Jensen just flips her the finger but then seem to think the better of it and gives her a saccharine sweet smile instead, batting his eyes.
“Jeez. Twenty then. But no more! Jensen, no. No! Thirty and not a second later, or I’ll cut down your coffee allowance.”
Jensen grins and leans over, kissing Sophia on the cheek. She stares up at him, looking absolutely shocked. Jensen’s smile slips away, and he backs off, awkward. He grabs his coat, keeping his eyes downcast as he puts it on, and gestures at Jared to take their coffee cups. His face is flushed, and as he turns away Jared sees him lift his hand to hesitantly touch his lips.
Sophia is still staring as they leave the shop. Jared is willing to bet that is one kiss she’ll never forget.
He looks over at Jensen, wondering what’s going on in his head. If maybe Chad is right; maybe Dr. Ferris did tell Jensen everything. In detail. The mere idea makes Jared feel sick. No, it can’t be. How would she have found out anyway? It’s just having that last hope taken away from him that has thrown Jensen a little. It must be.
He puts his arm around Jensen’s shoulders, pulling him in. Jensen stiffens only for a second, before he relaxes, and his hand sneaks around Jared’s waist and into the pocket of his coat. He tilts up his head, a hazy smile on his lips, and Jared kisses him. Jensen tastes of black coffee and peppermint, and it’s all Jared can do not to cry.
---------
“You gonna be home tonight?”
Jensen hums, shrugging slightly where he sits by the kitchen island. He thinks Jared might be coming over after the library closes, but they hadn’t really decided on anything. Jared is stressing about the exams coming up in a couple of days and spends most of his time, day or night, studying. It’s wearing him down. If he doesn’t take a breather soon, Jensen is gonna tie him to the bed and force him to sleep for at least eight hours.
“I invited Sophia over,” Chris says. He sounds defensive, like he’s expecting a fight.
Jensen sighs and turns on the stool, meeting Chris’s stubborn stare with a raise of his eyebrow.
“I’m not saying you have to leave, just... Dammit, Jensen, you know what I’m talking about.”
Yeah, yeah. No being rude to his little girlfriend. No making out with Jared on the couch. Or the bed. No leaving naughty drawings lying about. No... what was it again? ‘Shitty attitude.’ Right. He waves his hand at Chris, mockingly agreeing to not do whatever Chris is worrying about. He’s not a damn psychopath, okay. He can actually be nice. Sometimes.
Chris breathes out. “Alright then. I’m cooking dinner, and then Sophia and me are watching a movie. So don’t even think about taking the couch!”
Jensen rolls his eyes and turns back to his work. Whatever. Jared will most likely spend the whole evening reading anyway, so Jensen might as well join him, maybe try and finish the novel he’s had lying on his bedside table for over a month. They can curl up on the bed and make a night out of it. Just as long as they keep their hands to themselves so they don’t embarrass Chris’s little lady friend.
He kinda wants to tell Chris that the same rules apply to him. He has no interest in watching Chris make out with Sophia on the couch. All that giggling. Maybe they really should start looking into apartments with more than one room. Now that Jared is spending so much time here...
Jensen pauses, frowning a little. Now there’s a thought. Yeah, it’s a bit soon, but Jared is in a damn bad shape financially, and, not that they’ve talked about it, but he can tell Jared likes it a whole lot better staying with them than in his hellhole of a dorm room. And Jensen only really feels okay when Jared is around. Sure, he needs his space every now and then, times when he just has to be by himself or he feels like he might burst right out of his skin. But when he comes back from all that, what he really wants is Jared, and he’d rather find him at home, their home, than having to look him up at some shitty dorm.
“What are you working on?” Chris suddenly asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. His voice is more relaxed now, a little apologetic even. “That’s... different.”
Jensen frowns at the collection of half finished drawings in front of him. That’s one word for it. Another better suiting one would be ‘crap’. He grabs an empty page and quickly sketches Sam with her notebook.
“It’s for therapy? Huh.” Chris pokes a couple of drawings, clearly curious. “What theme?”
Jensen lays out the few drawings he’s been able to finish. Jared smiling. Himself at the easel, painting. A cup of coffee, steaming hot. Chris frowns, still confused, so Jensen gives him a big fake smile, teeth and everything.
“Things that make you happy, something like that?” Jensen rolls his eyes and nods, wiggling his fingers then makes a sweep of the room. “That make life good? Okay.”
Chris looks back at the abandoned drawings. One shows a garden but the trees look more angry than serene, and there’s a black owl staring out from the branches. Another is of a book, because he likes reading, but the cover is grey with eraser smudges, because Jensen couldn’t decide on what the hell it should be about. There’s a drawing of a beach but the sandcastles are crumbled and trodden upon, and the waves are cruel and dangerous. There are more of the same, every day scenarios gone creepy and therefore automatically disqualified.
Chris shakes his head. “Come on, Jensen. You have more good things in your life than Jared and art. And coffee,” he adds with a small smile when Jensen points it out to him. Hey, coffee is important. “And these?” Chris picks up the unfinished drawings, grimacing slightly. “If these things really meant anything to you they wouldn’t look like book covers for Stephen King.”
Jensen snatches the pages out of Chris’s hand and crumples them into balls. Yeah, well at least he’s trying. What the hell is he supposed to draw? Jared naked? Okay, that does make him happy but he doesn’t think Jared would appreciate his private parts being showed off like that. He tried drawing a plate of his favorite food but the hamburger had tentacles and the fries were dripping in ketchup that looked more like blood. It’s not like he doesn’t know his mind is macabre but this is ridiculous.
“Okay, how about this? Make a list of everything in your life: what you do, what you eat, what music you listen to, what people you know... stuff like that. Good and bad. Then strike out the stuff you could live without, no regrets. Whatever is left? That’s what you should draw.”
Jensen frowns. That’s actually not such a bad idea. Apart from the list thing, seeing as his writing is fucking pathetic on his best of days. Although a list of words hardly counts as actually saying stuff so maybe he can get away with it.
“Here.” Chris slides one of Jared’s large notebooks in front of him. “Lines might help. Just use capital letters and don’t worry about the spelling. Ain’t no one gonna see it but you anyway.” He offers Jensen a small smile, and he smiles briefly back, fingers already gripping the pencil.
He sits hunched over, painstakingly writing one excruciating word after another, sweat running down his back and his fingers aching. By the time he’s finished he’s filled three pages, Jared is asleep on the bed with a book resting on his stomach, and Chris and Sophia are curled up on the couch, watching some chick-flick Jensen is going to mock Chris for forever. There are dirty dishes in the sink, and a plate covered with tinfoil on the kitchen bench. Jensen heats the food up in the microwave before sitting back down, fork in one hand and pencil in the other. Slowly but surely he starts striking out one item after another.
“Hmm.” She flips through the drawings, quickly skimming through them before laying them down on the table. “So this is your life. It’s quite interesting.”
Jensen raises his eyebrows. Really? That’s not exactly the word he would use. More... limited. Boring even.
There’s Jared, of course. The one of himself painting and the cup of coffee. The kids he teaches at The Black Bean. Chris making dinner. Sophia laughing. A radio with music streaming out. A family portrait.
That one was a surprise. His dad still looks strict and his mother seems close to tears. His sister only looks about seven even if she’s fifteen now and his brother has his head turned away, looking a little annoyed. It’s not exactly Happy Families but for some reason he can’t explain he just couldn’t strike them off the list.
There are more. Jared’s hands because Jensen thinks they deserve a drawing of their own. Jensen’s own dick because he really wouldn’t want to live without it. The two of them kissing. The view out the window by his bed. His favorite t-shirt. A bar of soap. The cat that they’ve pretty much adopted at work. Dr. Ferris writing in her notebook.
She quirks her eyebrow at that one, and he shrugs. He might not enjoy coming here, but he knows he needs it, and cutting it out of his life would only make things harder.
“Okay, this is good.”
Jensen only just keeps from rolling his eyes. They’re not good, they’re just basic drawings. There’s as much art in them as badly focused snapshots. He’s not expressing anything, he’s just... showing.
She must notice his frustration because she tilts her head, studying him. “You’re not happy with them?”
He raises his eyebrow and gestures at the folder where she keeps all his drawings from day one, asking to borrow it. She hands it over and he pulls out the early ones, laying them out on one end of the table then the new ones on the other. The difference is blatantly obvious. He gives her a pointed look and she nods thoughtfully.
“I see what you mean.” She looks up at him. “How’s the talking going?”
Jensen swallows. He shakes his head.
“Nothing at all?” She raises her eyebrows, looking a little worried. “Not even to the kids?” He shakes his head again. “Jared?” He looks away. Shakes his head again. “Does it worry you?”
He starts to nod but hesitates. Truth is he’s a little relieved. With his words gone, and his drawings being so limited there’s no point in asking him questions he can’t answer anyway. Especially not questions about... that. And God knows he doesn’t want to talk about any of it, verbally or otherwise.
“Jensen, you have to communicate somehow,” she says, bringing him out of his musings. “You can’t shut yourself off just because you don’t want to talk about things.”
He stares at her. What? Is she fucking kidding him? Does she think he’s doing this on purpose?
“Think about it. You were talking more and more. You were expressing yourself through beautifully detailed art. And now you’re doing neither. This isn’t a relapse, Jensen, it’s a defense mechanism. You know it. I’m not saying it’s deliberate but it is your doing. And the only one who can fix it is you.”
Yeah well, thanks. That’s just great. Just what he needed, another person in his life telling him to ‘get over it’. Fuck that. He’s not paying for this shit.
He’s halfway to the door, shaking with anger, when she calls out, stopping him.
“Did you tell Jared?”
He doesn’t turn around.
“Jensen, did you show Jared the file? Does he know?”
Jensen closes his eyes. Fuck. He reluctantly shakes his head.
“Why not? Do you think it will change his opinion of you?”
Jensen swallows the lump in his throat and slowly turns around, walks back and sits down. He shakes his head. No, it’s not that.
“I know you showed it to Chris,” she says quietly. “He called me, said he was worried about you, but I think he just needed someone to talk to.”
Jensen looks away. He never should have showed Chris that file. It’s none of his business. It’s no one’s business but his own.
“So now there are people who know, people you can talk to. Me, Chris, your parents. But instead you’ve gone completely silent.” She gives him a thoughtful look. “Jensen, I don’t think you’re keeping quiet to protect yourself. Not this time. I think you’re doing it to protect Jared.”
Jensen stares at her. That’s... huh. Actually that makes sense.
She nods at whatever she reads in his expression. “So why do you feel he needs to be protected? He loves you, don’t you think he would want to share your burden?”
Jensen swallows. Picks up the pencil and writes ‘18’. She looks at it, uncomprehending, but then it dawns on her, and she sits back, seeming conflicted.
That isn’t the whole truth though. It’s not just because Jared is young, it’s because he is so vulnerable. Jensen hadn’t realized just how deeply Jared felt everything that was going on, until his breakdown that day, the day he got sick. Yes, he’s ten feet tall and built like a brick house, but mentally he is fragile. He’s got bruises the size of boulders on his soul from all those years of his parents’ religious bullying. He’s insecure, and hurt and lost, and lately he’s been showing pretty alarming signs of depression. So no, Jensen doesn’t want Jared to know all the horrid details. It’s bad enough that he knows the basics. He really wishes his mother had kept her goddamn mouth shut. What the fuck was she thinking? What business was it of hers, telling his boyfriend anything?
“I hadn’t realized,” Sam says quietly. “You always draw him so big and strong, I actually thought he was older than you. Do you feel he’s young for his age?”
Jensen nods. In some ways Jared seems older, being so cynical and bitter, but in reality he is still growing up, catching up with the years he wasn’t allowed to develop into who he really was.
“You know, you’ve never really told me much about Jared. I mean, I know what he looks like, and that he makes you feel safe, but that’s it. How about we take a break from you, and you tell me a little about your boyfriend?”
She gives Jensen a small smile and the tension in his neck relents, just a little. A break sounds good. Yes.
“Just start from the beginning. Where did you meet?”
Jensen relaxes back on the couch, sketchbook on his knees. He’s smiling as the pencil moves over the page, quick and confident.
Chapter 11 | Chapter 13