Fic: Gunpoint. AU RPS. Jensen/Jared. Chapter 13
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 13
Summer 2010
“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk. I’m sorry, Chris, but how can he work here if he doesn’t talk?”
“What the fuck does he need to talk for?” Chris growls.
Jensen ignores their arguing. Either it works out or it doesn’t. Not like he has a say in the matter. Instead he breathes in the bittersweet scent of coffee in the air and tries not to stare back at those staring at him.
He’s drawing with his finger in the sugar he’s poured on the table when he feels someone watching him. He looks up to find a boy about six years old standing by the table, studying him with interest.
“What ya doing?” the boy asks, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.”
Jensen shrugs. He smoothes out the sugar then quickly draws a profile in the white grains. The boy’s eyes widen.
“Is that me? Wow.”
Jensen offers him a small smile.
“You should draw on paper,” the boy says. “'Cause then you can take it home with you. You can’t take sugar with you, you know.” He looks longingly at the simple drawing on the table.
Jensen pulls a pen out of his pocket and reaches for a napkin. A few strokes and the face is transferred to soft paper, in slightly more details and a lot more likeness.
“For you,” he says, the words scratching his throat. He holds the napkin out.
“Wow. Thank you!” The boy grabs the napkin and runs over to a couple sitting a few booths over, yelling, “Mom! Dad! Look what he made! It’s me!” as he waves the already crumpled napkin at them.
Jensen offers the parents an awkward wave when they turn around to see who the boy is talking about. When he looks up it’s to find Chris and Sophia staring at him.
“I thought you said he didn’t talk?” she says, sounding bewildered.
Chris blinks. He looks shaken and Jensen quickly drops his gaze back to the table.
“I never said he couldn’t,” Chris says, voice all choked up. “He just doesn’t normally like to.”
------------
Present day
It’s late when Jensen texts Jared a smiley, their sign that he’s ready for Jared to come pick him up. Ever since he got sick, Jensen makes sure Jared waits somewhere where it’s warm, not in the truck. That usually means the nearest diner, where Jared claims the coffee is awful, but it has wi-fi, so he can get some studying done. Jensen gives him a smile and a kiss as he climbs into the truck, and Jared smiles back.
“Good session?”
Jensen shrugs indifferently, although it was. He likes drawing Jared, likes showing off his boyfriend in a way that no one seems to see him. Funny how someone so big can make himself so invisible. Sometimes he thinks no one really sees Jared the way he does, least of all Jared himself.
“Oh, damn,” Jared suddenly says. “I promised Chris we'd pick up some groceries.” He gives Jensen a sheepish look. “Should have done it while you were inside; I just forgot.”
Jensen gives him a soft smile. His eyes are drooping, the heat in the car making him sleepy. He feels relaxed and comfortable. All he really needs is a blanket, and he could easily fall asleep.
Jared smiles back at him as he swings the truck into the parking lot by their local 7/11. “I’ll just run in. You stay here and guard the car,” he says as he gets out.
Jensen snorts and closes his eyes, mouth falling open in fake sleep. He can hear Jared laughing as he walks away.
A low vibrating sound from Jensen’s pocket wakes him up. He blinks his eyes open, disoriented for a moment, before he remembers where he is. The car feels a little cold. When he checks his watch, he calculates it’s been at least ten minutes since Jared went inside. Jensen frowns. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and flips it open to see one text message waiting for him. Jared, of course. Jensen is already smiling as he opens it, a smile that freezes on his face when the text pops up.
“Drve hom tell cris call 911 i love u”
He stares at the small screen. What? He turns his head to look over at the 7/11. It’s dark in the parking lot, but the lights are on in the store. He can see one person standing and at least three on the floor. The guy who’s still on his feet has his back to the door, but then he turns slightly and-
Jesus, there’s a gun in his hand!
Jensen’s vision goes momentarily blurry. He can’t catch his breath, and it feels like his heart is trying to punch its way out of his chest. A gun. The man has a gun. Oh God. And Jared... Jared is in there. Jared is in there!!
He looks back at the phone in his hand. Drive home? Why would he...? And then he gets it. Because he can’t talk. He can’t call the police and tell them what’s going on. He’s just sitting here, useless, while Jared is fighting for his life in there.
Well, fuck that!
His fingers tremble, but he manages to forward the message to Chris, adding ‘Our 7/11. Gun. Hurry!’ He kills the phone, before Chris has a chance to call back and tell him not to do anything stupid. Then he carefully opens the door and slips out of the truck.
It’s like walking in a dream or, more accurately, a nightmare. He can hear the traffic but it sounds miles away. He registers the cold but only as a concept. His heart is beating so fast he feels dizzy, and he has to bite his lip to keep from screaming. The closer he gets to the store the looser his grip on reality becomes. He can smell sweat, and cigarettes, and piss and blood, and every step is smaller than the one before as his legs get shorter and spindlier. He thinks he can see his shadow shrinking. He can definitely feel his heart grow smaller.
Jensen shakes his head, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms and blinking his eyes rapidly. He can’t zone out now. He has to stay. He has to stay right the fuck here, because as little chance he has of doing anything, his ten-year-old crybaby self is even more useless. Get a grip, Ackles. Get a fucking grip.
With a deep breath he forces his legs to run the last few steps and rips the door open.
Four pairs of eyes turn to stare at him. Two of them hardly register; the pimpled teenage boy that works the counter and is now crouching on the floor, looking like he’s about to piss himself with fear; and the old lady down the road, who sometimes comes into The Black Bean with her granddaughter. They’re both people he knows, even likes as much as he bothers to like anyone, but at the moment they don’t matter.
Because there is Jared, gazing at him with such fear, and love and sadness, that Jensen suddenly knows that asking him to drive home had nothing to do with him not being able to call the cops and everything to do with Jared wanting him as far away from here as physically possible.
He rips his eyes away from Jared’s shocked gaze and to the man with the gun. The gun that at the moment is being pointed right at Jensen’s head.
Huh. This feels familiar.
“What the fuck?” the guy yells. His voice shakes. “It’s fucking closed, man! Can’t you read?”
Jensen just blinks. He hadn’t noticed the sign being turned, not that it would have mattered. His eyes are on the gun. The gun that is being aimed at his head. His head. One shot is all it would take. One shot, and he’d be dead, just like that. Just like that.
“Jensen,” he hears Jared say, really quiet. “Jensen, look at me. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Shut up!” the guy screams, taking a step forward and pressing the gun to Jensen’s temple. “You know this moron? He your boyfriend or something?”
“Yes,” Jared says. He sounds so scared. “Please, let him go. Please, he can’t... Please, just let him go.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have fucking come in here,” the guy sneers. His pupils are blown wide, rivers of sweat running down his pale face. “I can kill you, you know. I could kill you right here.”
Jensen shrugs, and the guy falters. “What are you, a fucking retard? You want to die? Hey! Answer me!”
“He can’t! Please just... please. No!” Out of the corner of his eye Jensen can see Jared slowly getting to his feet. What is he doing? This isn’t his fight. “Let him go. He’s been through enough. Please.”
The gun’s muzzle is pressing into Jensen’s skin, hard enough to bruise the bone underneath. Jared takes a step forward, and the guy jerks the gun away from Jensen’s head to point it at the new threat. That’s all Jensen needs. He strikes, his knee slamming into the guy’s crotch as hard as he can. The guy folds over, gun clattering to the floor, and Jared is on him like a tiger. There’s a struggle. There’s yelling and screaming, punches being thrown, feet kicking and things falling off shelves.
Something like that. Jensen isn’t really paying attention. His eyes are set on just one thing. One thing.
Jared gets an elbow to his face and staggers back. The guy jumps to his feet, fists raised. And freezes. “Shit.”
The gun is heavy in Jensen’s hand. The butt is warm and slick with sweat, and the trigger feels loose and easy under his finger. Huh, he never thought it would feel like this. He licks his lips. Tightens his finger on the trigger. His shoulders relax, his back straightens. He feels tall, strong. Powerful. A pleasant shiver runs down his spine. Yes. This. This.
“Jesus!” the guy whispers. “Don’t... I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything, I was never gonna... Shit, shit, shit. Please. Please don’t shoot. Please.”
Jensen cocks his head. He likes the desperate sound in the voice. It’s new and gratifying. Begging for his life. Yes, that’s how he should go. Jensen raises his arm, feeling the weight settle against his fingers, tug at his wrist. The power is within the reach of his index finger. Just a slight curl, a slight pressure, that’s all it will take.
“Jensen? It’s okay, it’s over now. Jensen? Jensen, look at me. Give me the gun. Baby, give me the gun.”
Jensen shakes his head. No. This is it. Payback time. See, he knows that ugly motherfucking face. Those thick lips, those evil eyes. That scratchy beard. He knows that voice. He’s heard it a million times. Laughing at him. Telling him how fucking pretty he is. How sweet and good and...
His hand starts to shake, his finger slipping a little on the trigger.
“No! Jensen, please. Give me the gun. He’s not worth it. He’s just a fucking junkie.”
“I’m not worth it, I swear. Please. Please don’t shoot. Please, I’m begging you. I wasn’t gonna do anything, I swear. Please. My mom... She doesn’t even know I’m here. I promised her I wouldn’t... Please!”
Jensen tightens his grip on the gun. On his knees, oh yeah. That’s even better. Crying like a baby. And look, now he’s wet himself. Jensen chuckles. Oh the irony.
“Why’s he looking at me like that? What is wrong with him? Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod...”
A sound makes Jensen pause. Sirens. Approaching rapidly. Doesn’t matter, they’ll be too late. This time he’ll be the one pulling the trigger. He adjusts his hold on the gun. Smiles. Winks. Have a nice eternity in Hell, motherfucker.
“Oh fuck. Jensen, no! No. Look at me. It’s not him! It’s not him. He’s dead. Remember? He’s dead. That fucker is dead. This is not him.”
“What are you talking about? Shit, he’s gonna shoot. He’s gonna kill me. Please, please, please don’t kill me.”
“Shut up! Jensen, listen to me. This isn’t him! Look at him. He’s just a kid. Just a fucked up kid. Jensen, please!”
Jensen frowns. What?
“Shit, the cops are coming. Jensen, come on! If they see you with that gun... Jensen, look at him! It’s not him! It’s a fucking kid!”
Jensen blinks. He stares at the scrawny kid crouching before him. The muzzle of the gun is pressing a circular mark into his pimply forehead. A kid. It’s just a kid. It’s not...
Jensen staggers back, the gun falling from his hand. It lands on the floor with a clatter and Jared kicks it under the counter just as the cops burst through the door. Yelling, shouting, flashes of red and blue light through the windows, guns. Guns, guns, guns.
Jensen screams.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Strong arms grab him, pressing him against a broad chest. He’s about to fight in panic, when he smells coffee and... Jared. Jared. “We’re okay. Jesus. God, you scared me. I told you to go home. I told you. Goddammit, Jensen, what were you thinking, you idiot?”
Jared’s coat feels rough and warm under Jensen’s cheek. Everything is a little blurry. He’s shaking, breath coming in cut-off hitches. “Jared?”
Jared goes absolutely still. “Yeah,” he says. His voice shakes. People are yelling and stomping all around them, but all Jensen can hear is the beat of Jared’s heart under his ear, fast and steady. “Shit, Jensen, are you okay?”
Jensen nods. “It’s not him?” he asks. His voice is low and like gravel, the words so dry they hurt his throat.
Jared pulls him tighter. “It’s not him. Jesus, Jensen, you know he’s dead.”
Jensen swallows. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. Thick and dry like an old carpet. “I thought...” His breath hitches. “I wanted it to be him.”
Jared sighs. “Why? For God’s sake, Jensen, why would you want that?”
“So I could kill him. I want... I want to kill him.” He starts to cry, his whole body shaking with it. “I just want to kill that fucking bastard.”
Jared’s breath hitches, his chest jumping under Jensen’s ear, and then his arms tighten around Jensen’s shoulders. “Baby, you already did,” Jared says softly. “You killed that bastard twelve, almost thirteen years ago.”
Jensen shakes his head. “I didn’t. They did. I let him-” He cuts himself off at the last moment before he says too much. “I didn’t do anything,” he sobs.
“You survived. Okay? You survived, and he got his motherfucking head blown off. Don’t matter that you weren’t the one to pull the trigger; he’s dead because of you. Which means he can never hurt anyone ever again. Not you, not anyone. Jensen, baby, it’s time to let him go.”
“I can’t... I can’t...”
“Yes, you can. Let him go. Just let him go, baby. Let him go. Sshh, sshh. It’s okay. He’s not worth it. He’s dead. And he’s never, ever coming back.”
---------------
Jared stops the truck outside Jensen’s apartment building and then just sits there, hands clutching the wheel, engine still rumbling. Jensen is asleep in the seat next to him, cheek flat against the cold window, hands curled into fists in his lap.
Four hours before the police finally let them go. Four hours of Jensen shaking like a druggie aching for a fix, eyes darting around the small interrogation room in panic and paranoia. Four hours of drinking bad coffee and retelling what happened over and over again. Of repeatedly having to explain why Jensen couldn’t tell them himself.
“No, he doesn’t use sign language, there’s no use getting an interpreter. No, he can’t write. No, he’s not brain damaged! Yes, I know he was talking to me right after you got there, but that doesn’t mean he can talk now. Because that’s how his disorder works! Sir, touch him again, and I will hit you. No, you can’t talk to him alone. Or me. Wherever he goes, I go. This is not negotiable. Look, what the fuck is this about anyway? We didn’t do anything! You should be on your goddamn knees thanking him for saving the fucking day!”
Jared groans and rubs a hand over his face. Thank God for the sergeant, an old army vet, popping his head in and realizing what was going on, what must only have been minutes before Jensen would have finally lost it. Ordering the fuckers to let them go now, what the hell were they playing at, they already had the perp locked up. “But sir, witnesses say he threatened to-” “Jesus Christ, stop being a dumbass and let him out of here!”
Shit, that was close. He’s never seen Jensen like that before. Like a caged animal, pupils blown so wide he looked high as a kite. Unable to sit still longer than five minutes, constantly getting up to check the door, making sure it wasn’t locked. Backing into the corner at one point and sinking to the floor before starting to bang his head against the wall. Jared had thought he was having a flashback then or maybe regressing, but Jensen had dismissed that with a shake of his head and just slammed his fist into his chest before pointing at the door, again and again, until Jared laced their fingers together, keeping him still, his other hand slipping in between Jensen’s head and the wall before he knocked himself bloody. He didn’t need words to know what Jensen meant. ‘Get me out,’ he was saying, over and over again. Bang, bang, bang. ‘I need to go. Please, Jared, get me out of here.’ It had scared the shit out of him to tell the truth.
Jensen stirs in the seat beside him, hand coming up to wipe drool off his chin before he looks around, eyes blurry and confused. Jared kills the engine and throws Jensen a reassuring smile. Chris must be going out of his mind with worry by now. Jared had called him on their way to the police station and told him what happened, but that was four hours ago.
“C’mon, Jen. We’re home. Let’s go in.”
Jensen nods. He looks drained, bone-weary, but the glaze is gone from his eyes, and when Jared comes around the other side Jensen is already out of the truck, swaying on his feet. He gives Jared a tired half-smile, when Jared puts his arm around him for support.
Jared hardly has the keys out before Chris is ripping the door open and pulling Jensen into a hug. It’s a statement to Jensen’s exhaustion that he barely even flinches, although his nostrils flare, and his breath quickens just a little.
“Are you okay?” Chris asks frantically as he steps back, patting Jensen’s face, his arms, his chest, like he’s looking for invisible bullet holes. “Jesus Christ, Jensen. Are you okay?”
“It’s been a long day,” Jared says in a low but firm voice, and Chris immediately stops and backs off.
“Jesus, yes. Of course. Sorry. C’mon in.”
Jensen steps over the threshold then just stands there, looking dazed.
“Bed?” Jared asks softly, and Jensen nods. Jared leads him over to the bed and helps him undress then pushes him gently back on the bed and tucks him in. Jensen closes his eyes. He’s asleep within minutes. Jared stands watching, until he’s sure Jensen is out for the night, before pushing himself off of the wall and joining Chris in the kitchen.
“He’s really okay?” Chris asks. He looks shaken, like he can’t quite believe it.
“He wasn’t shot if that’s what you mean,” Jared says, sliding onto a chair and resting his elbows on the table, head in his hands. “Not sure I’d say he’s okay though. He came awful close to blowing that guy’s head off. Fuck, I’ve never been so scared in my whole life.”
He looks up, giving Chris a wry smile. “Know what? I didn’t care one shit if that kid lived or died. Didn’t matter to me. All I could think of was that I couldn’t let Jensen go to jail. That he wouldn’t survive one day in there, let alone more. I just couldn’t let that happen. Not to him.” He swallows. “Shit. That kid was sixteen, tops, and I didn’t care if he got his head blown off. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Jesus.” Chris sinks down on the chair opposite, sliding a beer over before twisting one open for himself. “You really think Jensen would have shot him?”
“You didn’t see him. It was... I could see it in his eyes, man. I could see what he was thinking. That was no kid he was looking at. He was staring that motherfucking sicko who kidnapped him in the face, and he was happy, because he was finally gonna kill him. Jesus, Chris, he laughed. Jensen raised that gun, and he laughed, and I just knew, he had no idea what he was really doing.”
“But you stopped him,” Chris says. His voice shakes, his knuckles white where he clutches the bottle.
“Got through to him, somehow. Don’t know how, just suddenly he was back, dropping the gun seconds before the cops burst in. Just as well, because they scared the shit out of him. And then he just broke down, telling me how much he wanted that guy to be his kidnapper, how he wanted to be the one to have put the bullet in that fucker’s brain. Jesus!”
“Hold on,” Chris cuts in, surprised. “He talked? He was talking?”
“What? Yeah. A lot actually.” Jared frowns. “Like there was nothing to it.”
“And?”
“And then the cops brought us in for questioning, because the stupid 7/11 kid told them he thought Jensen was gonna kill us all, and that was it, no more talking. Just freaking out in the tiny room they kept us in.” Jared swallows. “He’s really claustrophobic.”
Chris nods. “Tell me about it. Did he hurt himself?”
“Bruised his head a bit, before I managed to cushion it. May have bruised his chest too; he was banging it pretty hard with his fist. Need to check that. But nothing serious.”
“Good.” Chris takes a swig from his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s good.”
Jared hesitates before taking a deep breath and fixing his eyes in Chris. “Look, I know you guys are keeping something from me. Something about what was done to him. I need to know, man. He was freaking out, like totally flipping, and he was still holding back, still biting his tongue to keep from telling me. I don’t know why he thinks I need protection. I’m not a kid.”
Chris looks at him tired. “Jared, that’s the thing. You are.” He raises his hand when Jared angrily protests. “I’m not saying you don’t have a right to know, I’m just saying... Maybe Jensen knows you well enough to not want to add to what you’re already dealing with.”
Jared stiffens. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Jared, c’mon. You really need me to spell it out for you?” Chris sighs. “First off, you’re only eighteen, and that might make you legal, but it doesn’t make you a grown up, not by a long shot. And in the last few months you’ve had a lot of change in your life. You left home, started college, came out, were disowned by your family, went broke, had fucking pneumonia... All the while dealing with a seriously fucked up boyfriend, who needs you 24/7 and only gives so much in return. It’s more than anyone can deal with, let alone someone who can’t even legally buy beer yet.”
Jared looks away. Okay, maybe Chris has a point. “Just tell me one thing. Did she tell him the details? Is that what shook him up so much?”
Chris sits silent for a moment then sighs. “He got his hands on the medical report from when they brought him in. Snatched it out of her hand. I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t pretty.”
Jared swallows. “You read it?” Chris nods. “And?”
“Let’s just say I’m glad I hadn’t had a heavy breakfast.” Chris shudders as if the thought is enough to make him feel sick all over again. “I mean, I knew it had to be bad but...”
“But?” Jared insists.
Chris sighs. “Jared...”
“Tell. Me.”
“He almost died. Did actually. Flatlined on the operating table but they managed to get him back. He... He’d lost a lot of blood, and they were having trouble... reaching the source.”
Jared stares at him. He blinks. Licks his lips. Then shoots up from the chair and runs to the bathroom.
By the time he gets back, Chris has finished both their beers and brought out a bottle of whiskey. They finish it in silence, straight from the neck.
---------------
Jensen wakes up to an unfamiliar sense of calm. No rapid heartbeat, no clenching stomach, no thoughts running frantically into the walls of his skull, trying to get out. There’s just warmth, and silence and the bittersweet smell of coffee. Jared is asleep by his side, face down, mouth drooling a little on the pillow. He smells like Chris’s cheap whiskey. He doesn’t stir, not even when Jensen leans over and kisses him on the cheek before slipping quietly out of bed.
There’s freshly brewed coffee in the kitchen with a small note next to it that says:
Gone to work. You’re staying home, no argument. Take it easy, OK?
Chris
Jensen rolls his eyes and pours himself a cup of coffee. He drinks it standing up, fingers tapping lightly on the kitchen counter. Once it’s drained he rinses it in the sink then heads for the bathroom. He can still smell the stale air of the police station, like bad coffee and sweat, clinging to his hair, his body. It’s making his skin crawl.
He sets the water as hot as he can take it then steps under the spray, palms flat against the wall in front of him, head hanging between his shoulders. The water beats upon his back, a waterfall of heat that soaks into his skin and drills into his bones. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply. In. Out. In. Out.
Then he slowly straightens up, squares his shoulders and lets his head fall back.
-----------
By the time Jared wakes up, the sun is shining through the windows, and the early morning traffic has already slowed down to its pre-lunch quiet. There’s an odd but familiar smell in the air, but he doesn’t grasp what it is, until he rolls over and sees Jensen standing by his easel.
Jared lays his head back on the pillow and steals a moment, just taking in the sight. It feels like it’s been forever since he last saw Jensen painting. Seeing him standing there sends a warm feeling through Jared’s chest, and he breathes in, smiling as the smell of paint and turpentine tickles his nose in a weirdly comforting way. It feels a little like coming home, and for once that thought doesn’t make him feel sad. With a yawn he gets up, pulling on his jeans before walking over.
“Hey,” he says softly and lays his hand lightly on Jensen’s shoulder, trying not to startle him. Jensen just leans back against Jared’s chest before looking up with a smile. “You’re painting again.”
Jensen shrugs like it’s nothing, but the smile stays on as he looks back at the painting in front of him. It shows an open window, its paint scratched, and the glass dirty. But outside there’s a beautiful sunny day, and a landscape of green grass and trees. The boy pushing the window open is small and dirty. A butterfly is fluttering over to settle on his outstretched hand.
Jared wraps his arms around Jensen and lays his head on his shoulder, gazing at the painting in front of in him. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers.
Jensen shrugs again, but he looks pleased.
Jared isn’t lying. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jensen paint anything so... hopeful. “I like the butterfly.”
Jensen chuckles. He lays the pencil down on the easel’s small shelf and turns around in Jared’s arms, looking up at him with a grin.
“What?”
Jensen bats his eyes and jerks his head toward the painting before looking up at Jared again, quirking one eyebrow.
“That’s me? I’m a butterfly?” Jensen’s smile grows even wider, and Jared can’t help grinning with him, even if he feels a little puzzled. Butterfly? Really? “Huh. That’s... gay.”
Jensen laughs again, pushing Jared lightly with the palm of his hand, like he can’t be assed to smack him properly.
“I’m kidding!” Jared leans forward to catch Jensen’s lips in a kiss. “I like it.” That’s an understatement. Jensen’s art can be hard to figure out sometimes, but it doesn’t take a genius to see what he’s trying to say with this one. And being a part of that revelation, however small and flimsy, touches Jared more than he can say. “We should get a decent frame and hang it up.”
Jensen nods. He smiles a little to himself, eyes crinkling at the corners. It makes Jared want to sweep him off his feet and carry him to bed.
“You had breakfast yet?” he says instead. “Or...” He checks his watch and cringes. “...lunch?”
Jensen shakes his head. “Just coffee,” he elaborates then coughs, grimacing at the scratchy sound of his own voice. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jared tells him, leaning in to kiss him on the neck, like that might help. “I think your voice is sexy. Kinda like Tom Waits. You wanna sing Waltzing Matilda for me?”
Jensen laughs, his face going a little red. “Idiot,” he says fondly and throws Jared another smile before pushing away and heading for the kitchen. “Here or...” He stops, coughs then tries again but this time there’s only the strangled noise of words once again caught in his throat. His face falls. He looks so dejected Jared can tell he thought that maybe this time his words were there to stay.
“Let’s go out,” Jared says, acting as if he didn’t even notice Jensen going silent. “I have a mad craving for waffles.”
Jensen smiles and rolls his eyes. He still looks disappointed though, so Jared kisses him until the only emotions left in Jensen’s eyes are lust and love.
“How’s your head?” Jared asks casually, once they’re heading downtown. Frankly he’s not sure how much he should talk about what happened. He’d hate to ruin Jensen’s confusingly good mood.
Jensen just frowns at him, so Jared reaches over and lays his hand on the far side of Jensen’s head, searching for the bruise he knows to be there. Jensen flinches, his hand shooting up to touch his head. He looks surprised, but then he obviously remembers, and his face turns a little pink. He gives Jared a wry smile and shrugs, fingers still prodding the tender part of his scalp.
“Feels like quite the bump,” Jared says, keeping his voice neutral. “Does it hurt?”
Jensen shakes his head then grimaces, wiggling his fingers just a little. Jared nods thoughtfully.
“How you feeling otherwise? You sleep okay?”
He shoots Jensen a glance, relieved to see him nodding. He looks a little puzzled though, opening his mouth then closing it again and biting his lip in thought.
“There’s a sketchbook in the glove compartment,” Jared reminds him.
He keeps his eyes on the road, avoiding potholes and uneven patches as best he can while Jensen draws. When stopping at a red light he glances over, but Jensen is hunched over, the sketchbook slightly tilted to keep it safe from Jared’s prying eyes. Jared smiles to himself. It’s funny how self-conscious Jensen can be while he’s working, as if the process isn’t as amazing to watch as the result.
Jensen keeps his head bowed even when Jared swings in at the parking lot at the diner they chose for brunch and comes to a halt. He turns the engine off and leans back in his seat, humming slightly to himself as he waits for Jensen to finish. It’s weird but it’s like that whole damn disaster last night loosened up the knot that’s kept Jensen so wound up lately. He seems more like his old self somehow. Painting again, smiling more freely, not as much on edge. Who knew holding a gun point-blank to a stupid kid’s head would make such a difference?
Jared shivers, the smile slipping away. Shit, that was without a doubt the scariest thing he’s ever witnessed in his whole life. He doesn’t know what terrified him more, staring into the barrel of that gun, seeing it pointed at Jensen, or the moment he realized what was going on inside Jensen’s head. Just the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t managed to get through to Jensen in time has Jared feeling sick to his stomach.
He hadn’t realized Jensen resented himself so much for what happened to him as a child. Not like he doesn’t know abuse victims often suffer from feelings of guilt, but in Jensen’s case it just seems so absurd. What on earth does Jensen expect his kid self to have done? Not that Jared knows all the details - thank God! - of Jensen’s captivity, but the news articles mentioned him being kept locked up in a makeshift cell in the basement of his kidnapper’s house. Iron bars and no windows. And he’d been starved, and beaten, and raped and, Jesus Christ, ten years old! An adult would have given up under less threatening circumstances.
From what Jared’s read most kids’ survival instinct doesn’t really focus so much on finding a way out, as it does on finding ways to cope, especially in situations as hopeless as Jensen’s. Being trapped like that with no way out and no means to fight back, kids tend to use the only option they have left, detaching themselves from what’s happening in the futile hope that it will all just go away on its own. He’s pretty sure Jensen’s therapists and parents as well as everyone else around him have explained that to him many times, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Jensen still seems to feel he should have done something to save himself.
Jared jumps when Jensen suddenly waves a hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. He’s smiling, clearly clueless about the dark direction of Jared’s thoughts.
Jared smiles back and hopes it looks genuine enough. “Sorry, spaced out there for a sec.” He nods toward the sketchbook lying facedown on Jensen’s lap. “You done?”
Jensen wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Need fuel,” he says, face lighting up when he hears his own voice. “Food, coffee, you. Not necessarily in that order.”
Jared grins and reaches over to cup the back of Jensen’s head, pulling him in for a kiss. “I vote me first.”
Jensen breathes a laugh into his mouth, a laugh that turns into a soft moan as the kiss deepens. He fists his hand in Jared’s coat, pulling him closer, and then they’re really kissing with Jared’s fingers tugging at Jensen’s hair, and Jensen twisting in his seat, his leg scooting over, until it’s sliding between Jared’s, shifting him half into Jared’s lap. The sketchbook tumbles to the floor as Jared grabs Jensen by the hip, trying to pull him closer, his breath hitching when Jensen’s hands slide in under his coat and fights with his shirt. And suddenly it hits him: he could have lost this. He could have lost Jensen. Jensen could have been shot by the kid, or the cops or jailed, and... Jesus Christ, he came so close to losing this!
“Love you,” he whispers against Jensen’s mouth. “God, Jensen, I love you so much.”
Jensen pulls back, gazing at him with wide blown eyes in a flushed face. He’s panting, his chest heaving for breath, his fingers digging into Jared’s side, hard enough to hurt.
“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely.
They both go absolutely still, staring at each other in surprise. Then Jared’s face splits into a grin so wide his face hurts. There’s a lump in his throat the size of an orange, and he’s pretty sure there are tears glittering in his eyes but hell if he cares.
“I know,” he says and laughs, feeling elevated with happiness. “I know, I know. You totally love me.”
A smile tugs at Jensen’s lips. “I love you,” he says again, a little stronger this time, and the smile breaks out in full. “I love you.”
“You keep saying that, I might start thinking you mean it,” Jared says, laughing again when Jensen punches him in the shoulder. “Ow. Love hurts.”
Jensen laughs and punches him again, and then he loops his arm around Jared’s neck and pulls him in tight, crushing him to his chest. “I love you,” he murmurs into Jared’s ear. “I love you.”
Jared buries his face in Jensen’s neck. Heat prickles behind his eyes, and he feels like his heart might burst right out of his chest. He wraps his arms around Jensen, breath hitching when he meets no resistance at all. “I love you, too,” he says quietly. “I love you so much.”
Jensen’s breath shivers hot and damp down Jared’s neck. He doesn’t let go, until Jared’s stomach rumbles loudly in the silence of the car, and even then it’s with a reluctance that Jared can well identify with. He only lets go of Jensen as long as it takes him to get out of the car and reunite with him on the other side, his arm slipping around Jensen’s shoulders and pulling him as tight as he dares.
It’s not until hours later, when they’re back home that Jared remembers Jensen’s drawing. He doesn’t say anything but while Jensen is taking his usual bedtime shower Jared sneaks out to the truck, finding the sketchbook still lying facedown on the floor. He only hesitates a moment before turning it over. The page is damp with melted snow, the soft pencil strokes a little faded where the paper has gone translucent.
It’s a picture of Jensen and his younger self in a cemetery. They’re walking away from an open grave, the kid’s hand clutched in Jensen’s. The kid is looking back over his shoulder, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening, but the grown up is looking straight ahead. His face is still unfinished, like Jensen hadn’t been sure what expression to show but the eyes are clear and open, fixated on a tall familiar figure standing a little further off, waiting for them.
Jared touches the strong clear lines making up Jensen’s grown up image before moving over to stroke over the vague, ghostlike small boy behind him. It’s like the kid is fading away, finally allowing Jensen’s adult self to take over.
Jared takes a few quiet breaths before returning the sketchbook to where he found it. When he walks back into the apartment his steps feel lighter than they’ve been in years.
---------
Christmas morning comes with more snow and the exchange of presents. Lots of warm clothes for Jared from Chris and Jensen, while he ended up buying them stupid things from the dollar store. Which he’d feel a lot more embarrassed about if they hadn’t made Jensen smile as wide as if Jared had brought him the moon. They eat roasted chicken for dinner then cuddle up on the couch to fight over which holiday movie to watch on TV. Easy, simple. Quiet. Not that Jared really expected anything extravagant, but it’s just so different from what he’s used to.
Back home Jared’s parents’ house will be filled with relatives who arrived on Christmas Eve and will be staying all through the night until late tomorrow. His mother barely waits for Thanksgiving to be over before she starts decorating every available surface inside the house with angels and holly, and all the Christmas crap that Jensen sneers at. The house will smell heavenly, his sister singing carols as she helps their mom with the food. His dad will look put upon by all the fuss but still he tries to outdo their neighbors every year with the lights. Everyone will be smiling and laughing and expressing their love for each other.
Okay, so every five minutes someone will be praising the Lord, and thanking Him for baby Jesus and all He sacrificed for “Us, His children.” Which doesn’t include anyone not up to their standards, and that means Jared now. And then there is the two hour long sermon Christmas Eve and again Christmas morning, where the pastor takes great pleasure in describing what kind of hellfire awaits the unholy, and everyone sits nodding smugly because of course they are all destined for Heaven. Jared used to sit there with his head bowed and his hands clasped, feeling sick and scared, thinking ‘What if it’s true? What if I am going to Hell because God hates me?’
He looks down at Jensen, lying stretched out on the couch with his head in Jared’s lap. His eyes are closed, his mouth is slightly open. He looks calm, happy. So beautiful he takes Jared’s breath away. But if Jared’s parents walked in right now they wouldn’t see beauty, they wouldn’t see happiness, they wouldn’t even feel pity for the boy Jensen was or admiration for the man he’s managed to become despite all odds. In fact it wouldn’t surprise Jared in the least if they said it was all God’s will. ‘God knows everything,’ Jared’s mother would probably say. ‘He can see inside a child’s heart, He can see its evil thoughts. If the boy had been pure, if he had walked in God’s path, nothing bad would have happened to him. He would have been saved. Let that be a lesson, Jared. The boy’s suffering is nothing compared to what awaits him in Hell.’
A hand lands upon his, jerking Jared out of his thoughts. Chris is giving him a worried look, he brushes a hand under his eyes and raises his eyebrow. Jared swallows and touches his cheek, embarrassed to find it wet. He wipes the tears away with his fingers, careful not to wake Jensen. Chris nods, squeezes his hand, then stands up, slowly as to not make a sound, and moves into the kitchen area. Jared can hear him fetching glasses so there’s no surprise when Chris hands him a tumbler with whiskey a few moments later. He takes a sip and grimaces slightly, still not used to strong drinks, then takes a bigger gulp to swirl the alcohol in his mouth. It burns going down. Chris sits down again, the bottle put on the table in front of them, and raises his glass in salute. Jared nods and they drink up, Jared with considerable more effort than Chris. He doesn’t object though when Chris fills up his glass again.
Jensen is snoring in his lap, Bing Crosby is singing White Christmas on TV, and the burn in Jared’s belly slowly wins over the one in his heart.
When the movie is over and the bottle contains considerably less than it did an hour ago, Chris gets up and fetches his coat.
“I’m going to Sophia’s,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t wait up.”
Jared raises his glass and drains the last drop. He’s feeling ready for bed anyway.
Chris hesitates at the door then comes up behind the couch and grips Jared’s shoulder. “Family is not blood and names, Jared,” he says quietly. “Family is this. Being there for each other. Taking care of each other. Okay?”
Jared just nods, he couldn’t get a word out even if he tried, not with that lump lodged in his throat. Chris squeezes his shoulder then lets go and walks out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Jared sits still, carding his fingers through Jensen’s hair and staring out the window at the Christmas lights flickering outside. It’s snowing again, beautiful white crystals covering everything. They don’t get that down in Texas, he thinks, and somehow that makes him feel a little bit better.
Chapter 12 | Chapter 14