Redemption Chapter 17

[jcrgirl]

Title: Redemption Chapter 17
Author: jcrgirl and imogen_lily
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: J2, OMC/Jared
Rating: R (This Chapter NC-17 Overall)
Beta: glimmerella
Word Count: ~8500
Warnings: Overall: AU, dub-con, abuse, MPREG,AU
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing with the pretty, pretty people.
Summary:  Running from an abuive relatonship, Jared and his twin sons arrive in the small town of Wowakan, CO. Picking up the pieces, a complication comes in the form of Jared's ex-boyfriend, Jensen.

A/N: Sorry for the delay y'all. RL has been a kick in the pants lately. I know that I haven't answered the comments from the last chapter and I'm truly sorry. I promise that I have read them all and cherished each and every one of them. I will respond to them, I promise.
“You gotta wake up, Jay.”

“There are two little boys that are waiting to see you. Not to mention this big boy that needs you, too.”

“Wakey-wakey, eggs and bac-ey!” Jared felt something prodding at his lips and he lifted a hand to bat the offending object away. He’d slept fitfully the night before - Timothy had been particularly rough, cruelly slaking his lust and leaving the painfully colorful evidence on Jared’s body - and he refused to leave the solace of sleep he’d finally found sometime near dawn. His dreams were his only source of comfort anymore, the one place where Timothy couldn’t interfere, couldn’t hurt him. Where he clung tight to his memories of Jensen, of before. His flailing wrist was caught in a steel grip and pinned to the bed next to his head, images of Jensen holding him on the couch, watching a movie, bookended by the twins in familial comfort, melting away like salted ice by the heated grip.

Instinct kicked in before conscious thought and his other hand came up in defense, only to be caught in a similar grasp. He tried to sit up and discovered an immovable weight on his chest, keeping him supine while the nudging of his mouth continued. Blinking his eyes open, he saw Timothy sitting astride him, knees bracketing his shoulders and his leaking member nudging insistently at Jared’s lips. Jared turned his head away, pre-come smearing a slimy trail across his cheek. His lips were still bruised and cracked from Timothy’s harsh face fucking the previous night and Jared wasn’t sure if his mouth could take much more abuse.

“Now, Jared,” Timothy cooed with a shark-like grin, knee shifting to hold down Jared’s forearm and freeing a hand to tangle painfully in Jared’s hair, “gotta open up wide. Father has needs and he’s a big boy.”

Jared clenched his teeth and forced his head as far away from Timothy’s length as he could, roots of his hair screaming at the increased tension.

Timothy snarled, releasing Jared’s head with a hard shove. “Fine!” He spat, shimmying down the mattress and ringing his fingers around Jared’s bicep, strong digits lining up to the bruises already staining the skin. In a quick, smooth move that left Jared reeling, Timothy flipped him on his stomach and sat on the small of his back. “I’m a flexible man. You don’t want me to use your mouth,” He leaned forward and whispered menacingly in Jared’s ear, “then I’ll just find another hole to fill.” He scooted back, settling across Jared’s thighs, his fingers dancing down Jared’s spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Jared’s heart trip-hammered in his chest, shudders wracking his long form as those digits spider-crawled lower and lower, their destination clear. As battered as his mouth was, it paled in comparison to his hole. He’d risen in the night, long after Timothy’s satiated breaths had deepened into sleep, and cried in the bathroom as he washed away the streaks of red from the inside of his thighs. His stomach churned in nauseous fear when the touch ghosted over the swell of his ass.

Jared writhed on the bed, fighting for freedom and trying to unseat the older man, but the pain in his body made the movements weak. A broad hand pressed between his shoulder blades and his torso sank further into the mattress under the pressure.

“Stay still,” Timothy growled, a dry finger delving between his buttocks.

“Timothy, don’t,” Jared pleaded, words muffled into the pillow. “Please! I can’t.” He squirmed, earning a resounding slap to his ass before the finger began tracing the crack again, teasing his sore, swollen pucker with torturously painful circles.

Jared bit the pillow to stifle the guttural scream that forced its way up his throat when the finger pushed mercilessly into him, searing pain shooting up his back and down his legs as the damaged skin was torn again. His body convulsed, agony electrocuting the muscles into involuntary contractions. The finger pumped into him and was quickly joined by a second, the movements becoming smoother as his blood lubricated the way. He buried his face in pillow, satin absorbing salt water and carbon dioxide with each gasping sob.

His body froze at the tentative taptaptap on the bedroom door. Above him, Timothy cursed and yanked his fingers free, wiping them across Jared’s back like a gory finger painting across the skin. Timothy rose, crossed the room and snatched the door open.

Jared rose to his elbow, tears falling from the curve of his jaw as he swallowed a cry of pain. A small shadow, haloed by a square of light spilling in from the hallway, stretched across the floor from the open doorway and he could hear sniffles of need. He reached down and tugged on the sheet, unwiIling to let either of his children see what he’d allowed himself to become even though he felt certain whoever it was had heard.

“What do you want?” Timothy bellowed and the shadow trembled.

“H-he’s s-s-sick.”

Jared’s heart hurt at the small, frightened voice, almost inaudible in the graveyard silence. He’d foolishly believed he’d left that tone back in Atlanta when he’s secreted the twins away. In the background, the sound of retching echoed down the hallway.

“Jesus, fuck!” Timothy stepped back, face twisting in a grimace of disgust. “Just go…somewhere,” he shooed the boy away, “I’ll send your daddy out in a minute.” He slammed the door without waiting for a response, turning back to Jared. “One of those green-eyed brats is puking his guts out in the bathroom.”

“Which one?” Jared rolled and, using the bed, pushed himself to a standing position, biting his lip to keep from groaning.

Timothy moved to the chest of drawers and pulled out some clothes. “How the fuck should I know? They’re twins, for Christ’s sake. You can’t expect me to be able to tell them apart.” He tugged on a pair of pants and a t-shirt.

Jared swayed on his feet, pain momentarily stealing his breath. He bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that Jensen could, after only six months, not only tell the twins apart on sight, but by their knock on the bedroom door or their footsteps on the stairs. Those remarks wouldn’t serve any purpose other than add to the aches already throbbing in his body.

Timothy sneered at him, almost like he could read Jared’s mind. “See to your precious angel,” he said the word with as much derision as he could. “He’s waiting for you. This doesn’t let you off the hook about this morning though.” Timothy made his way to the door. “I don’t care if you spend all day mopping up vomit, I expect you to see to my needs tonight.” He stepped into the hallway, calling over his shoulder. “Hurry up! It fucking stinks like puke out here.”

Jared slowly hobbled to the dresser, clenching his jaw as each step jostled his body. Digging through the drawers for a shirt, he shifted aside short sleeved ones in lieu of long-sleeved alternatives that would hide a multitude of sins. He lightly traced the bruise on his upper arm, his fingers following the mark left by another’s, then tugged on his shirt and went to see what he could do for his sick son.

The index finger of Jared’s right hand moved, stroking lightly over the sheet. The slow back and forth caught Jensen’s eye and he jerked back.

“Jared? Can you hear me?”

“Jensen? Is everything all right?”

Jensen spun toward the door, half standing with the motion and forcing his chair back noisily, to see JD in the doorway. “JD! He moved! He - he moved his finger.” Jensen turned his attention back to the supine figure. “Jared, baby? Can you hear me? Jared?”

“Jensen, hold on a minute,” JD replied calmly, stepping into the room. “Let me check him over.”

Jensen stood beside the bed, fingers looped in those of Jared’s exposed from the end of his cast. He watched as JD examined Jared’s pupils and reviewed his vitals.

Sighing, JD looked over at Jensen, his face apologetic. “Jensen…”

“No,” Jensen shook his head adamantly, refusing to listen to JD’s placating words, knowing that tone and look. “Dammit, no! He moved. I saw him!” He looked at JD with pleading eyes, every ounce the scared three-year-old that once begged JD to give his vaccination shot to Austin. “He moved his finger. That means he’s waking up right?”

“Jensen,” JD started again, “I believe you.” Jensen’s face brightened only to fall again as the physician continued, “But you need to understand that coma patients sometimes move - muscle spasms and twitches. From what I can see, Jared is still firmly rooted in his coma. You need to prepare yourself. He might be in it for a while.”

Jensen crumpled into his chair, the adrenaline surge from his excitement washed away by JD’s words. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he rubbed the skin between his eyebrows. He closed his eyes and sucked his bottom lip, releasing it with a small smacking noise as he shook his head forlornly. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” JD soothed. He watched Jensen for a few moments and narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing?”

Green eyes blinked open slowly and Jensen tilted his head to the side to see the doctor better. “What?”

“What were you doing when Jared moved his finger?” JD moved around the bed to stand next to Jensen.

“Nothing,” Jensen shrugged, shaking his head from side to side. “Just talking. Telling him that the boys needed him to wake up.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, whispering. “That I needed him to wake up.”

JD scratched at his beard and hummed. “You know there is research that proves coma patients can hear things around them while they’re under.”

“You think?” Jensen couldn’t keep the hint of hope out of his voice, leaning forward to take Jared’s hand again.

“It’s possible that Jared responded to your voice, your words.” The doctor pulled a small notepad from the pocket of his lab coat and made a few notes before replacing it. Twisting the end of his pen and sliding it into the breast pocket, he looked over at Jensen and sighed. “You’re exhausted. Where are the twins?”

“With Mom and Dad,” Jensen answered on a weary exhale, eyes fixed on the sleeping man.

“You should really go home and get some sleep. Be with your babies,” JD tried sympathetically.

“I have babies here, too,” Jensen protested, hand trailing from Jared’s fingers to rest on his abdomen.

JD exhaled slowly, knowing he was treading on shaky ground. “Jensen,” he began tentatively, “Jared and the baby are stable - which is more than I can say for you, if you don’t let your body rest.”

“I can’t,” Jensen choked, fighting for control. “What if he wakes up and no one is here? I can’t leave them alone.”

“You know that I’ll call you immediately if Jared shows the slightest indication that he’s waking. The boys need you. Their daddy is in hospital and there is the possibility they watched the beating that put him there. Nobody knows where Timothy has got off to. They have to be terrified.”

Jensen closed his eyes again, tears threatening the corners. He felt torn, his heart at civil war with itself. Part of it wanted him to stay here, watch every expansion of Jared’s chest and hear every beat of his heart just to reassure himself that Jared was alive, but the other part wanted to go to the twins, scoop them up and hold them close. He nodded his head, splayed hand rubbing a soothing pattern over Jared’s stomach, over their child. He looked over at the clock above the dry-erase board detailing Jared’s nursing staff and reminding patients to Call…Don’t Fall.
“Frankie and Robert should be here soon. I’ll…” he cleared his throat, “I’ll head home when they get here.”

“Good,” JD rounded the bed and squeezed Jensen’s shoulder. “I promise, I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Jensen nodded again, wrapping both hands around Jared’s casted hand and lifting it to press a kiss to the knuckles.

He spent the next hour mumbling nonsense into Jared’s skin - pleads and promises - until his sore, dry throat clicked with each swallow. He traced every contour, line and crease of those four exposed fingers until he’d tactilely memorized the landscape of each knuckle and nail. And through it all, the words and the caresses, Jared lay in motionless repose, face serene and body lax. Jensen lowered Jared’s arm to the bed, resting his forehead against the unforgiving fiberglass, closed his eyes and prayed.

“Jensen?”

His head jerked up, his forehead burning where the weaved pattern of the cast had impressed in the skin, and turned to see Robert and Francis Padalecki standing in the doorway, both looking travel weary and emotionally drained. He stood as they moved closer, “Momma Padalecki” coming thick and clogged from his suddenly tight throat, before he was enveloped in the slight woman’s fierce embrace. He tilted his face down, burying his face in her hair, the smell of her lavender perfume bringing tears of shame to the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the silky locks, repeating the words a few more times before he felt her pull slightly away.

She thumbed the tears from under his eyes and cupped his jaw, her hazel eyes filled with concern and motherly affection. “What on Earth are you sorry for?”

“I,” he flared his nose and blinked furiously to keep his tears at bay, “I didn’t protect them. I promised you I would,” he looked at Jared and whispered, “I promised him I would and…I didn’t.” He shook his head. “I looked away for just a minute and gave him the chance to hurt them again.” His watery gaze met hers and a single tear fell down his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“Let us be certain that the fault lies with the responsible party,” Robert stepped up behind his wife and placed a warm, comforting hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You are not the reason my son is lying here.”

Jensen shook his head irritably. “You don’t understand,” he protested. “You don’t know…”

“We know a great deal more than you think we do,” Frankie interrupted. “Chris picked us up from the airport. He told us everything that has been happening here lately. You did everything you could, honey. The only person who blames you, is you.” She stepped up to the side of Jared’s bed, hand petting down the side of her son’s cheek. “What did the doctor say?”

Jensen swallowed, heart stuttering at the dismissive forgiveness. He cleared his throat quietly and then began to recount Jared’s numerous injuries, listing them off as emotionlessly as he could. Francis and Robert’s eyes trailed over Jared, matching each cast and bandage to what Jensen was saying, and their faces grew more somber and paler with each passing word. Jensen hesitated over the last bit of news, wondering if he should wait for Jared to tell them, but decided that since practically everyone in town knew it was cruel to keep them in the dark.

“One last thing,” he paused, “Jared’s pregnant.”

Francis’ hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God! Pregnant? Is it…” her gaze flicked to Jared’s abdomen. “Is it his?”

Jensen shook his head. “According to the doc, Jared’s about ten weeks along which I figure puts conception before Christmas. The baby is mine.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice.

“Oh thank Heaven,” Francis breathed, collapsing into the chair Jensen had occupied before their arrival, her shaking hands covering her face.

Robert’s arm came around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “Congratulations!”

“Is the baby okay?” Francis’ voice was muffled by the tented fingers over her mouth and nose, her worried eyes taking in Jared’s body.
Jensen hurried to reassure them, telling them everything that JD had said including how the baby had probably saved Jared’s life.

Robert came over and placed his widespread hand on Jared’s stomach. “Aniolek,” he whispered reverently.

“Nasz aniolek,” Francis said, standing and covering her husband’s hand with her own. Jensen had no idea what they were saying - the extent of his Polish was the handful of cuss words that Jared had taught him - but it sounded reverential and worshipful.

The trio stood in silence for a long moment, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and soft whoosh of the ventilator loud in the stillness. Finally Francis pulled her gaze from Jared’s beaten face and looked at Jensen. So far she’d been fairly restrained about the news, mind leapfrogging from one worry to the next, and Jensen was unsure what to expect. He knew at Christmas time that she’d mentioned something about Jensen giving her more grandchildren, but he wasn’t sure if that still applied after the recent events. She and Robert might say that Jensen wasn’t responsible and they held him blameless, but he was having a hard time believing it.

“Jensen,” she said, a wide smile breaking out across her lips, “I’m so happy for you both.” She held her arms out and once again enveloped him in her warm embrace. Jensen melted into her as she squeezed him tight. “What did the twins say when you told them?”

“Haven’t,” he mumbled, breaking away from the hug with a sigh. “I wanted Jared to be there when they found out.”

Francis nodded, her smile dimming into a knowing one. She studied him, scrutinizing his features. Her hand was warm and dry against his cheek and her thumb eased the tightness from his puffy eyes with soothing swipes. “Oh, honey, you’re so tired. Chris said that Karen and Alex took the twins to your house. Why don’t you go home, see your boys and get some sleep? We’ll stay here with Jared.”

“You’re tired, too,” Jensen protested.

“Yes,” Robert agreed, putting a hand low on Francis’ back and motioning for her to sit, “but we slept on the plane.” He moved to the corner to retrieve a chair there and carried it back to sit next to his wife.

“We’ll be fine,” Francis insisted, setting her purse on the ground next to her. “Go home, shower, rest, tell my grandbabies that we’ll come by to see them later. If anything changes here, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Jensen nodded. Rounding the other side of the bed, he leaned over the rail and pressed a kiss to Jared’s forehead. He rubbed their noses together and hovered over the sleep slackened face. “Gotta go check on our boys,” he murmured. “Your mom and dad are right here and I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed the corner of Jared’s mouth, oh-so-careful of the breathing tube. “I love you.”

Forcing himself away, he glanced at the Padaleckis seated vigil at their son’s bedside. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Take your time,” Robert insisted. “Get some rest. We’ll be here.”

Jensen took in Jared once more then made his way to the door, one purposefully placed foot at a time. In the hallway, he noticed Chris a few feet away talking to Penn. Chris tilted his head in acknowledgment and excused himself from the young deputy.

“Hey,” he greeted softly as he approached.

“Hey,” Jensen returned, a shaking hand dry-scrubbing his face. Ignoring Chris’ concerned look, he jutted his chin toward Penn and crinkled his brow in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Due to our ‘close personal ties to the victim’,” Chris curled his fingers into air quotes, before crossing his arms over his chest, “the higher-ups have decided that the investigation and manhunt should be conducted by the Mesa County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Why?” Jensen shoved his hands into his pockets. “I mean I understand them not letting me near the case and could almost see them keeping you away, but everyone else?”

“Said something about our community being too tight-knit or too small. I guess they were afraid we’d attempt some form of good ole boy, vigilante justice,” Chris sighed, “and honestly, I can’t guarantee that they’re wrong. Jared’s family and the guys are thirsty for blood. We’ve basically been told to sit on our thumbs and let the Mesa boys handle everything. Jones said they didn’t specify where we had to be while we enjoyed our ordered anal stimulation so he assigned us to protection details. One person will keep watch over Jared and someone will guard the kids. Penn offered to take first shift here and Milo is parked out front of your house.”

Jensen glanced over at Penn who nodded and lifted a styrofoam cup of coffee. Jensen inclined his head. “Those Mesa guys gonna play nice?”

Chris just stared at him and Jensen had the overwhelming urge to scream at everyone to stop looking at him like he was about to fall to pieces. He might be hanging on by his fingertips, but he didn’t need everyone to point it out. “They’re a good bunch. They’ll be fair and, trust me, nobody wants this motherfucker to get away.” Chris unfolded his arms and cupped Jensen’s elbow. “Come on,” he urged Jensen along, “I stayed to take you home. We’ll talk more on the way there.”

“Nah, man,” Jensen said around a yawn, “I don’t want to put you out like that. I’ve got to go by Jared’s and pick up some things for the kids. They’ll need clothes and stuff if they are going to stay at my place for a few days and I’m definitely not letting them back into that house until it’s been cleaned. I’ll just drop you off at your apartment on my way out of town.” He dug into his pockets looking for his keys, fingers ghosting over the engagement ring that Timothy had given Jared.

“Looking for these?” Chris held up his keys to the Impala, closing his hand around them when Jensen made a grab for them. “It’s really not a problem, Jen.” He held up his hand when Jensen looked like he was going to say something. “Listen,” he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, “you know how things are with my folks,” his eyes darted down to the floor like they always did when he talked about his parents, like Jensen wouldn’t be able to see the pain if he did. Chris cleared his throat and changed tactics. “Jen, your family, you, Steve, Jared, the kids…y’all are all I got in this world. Please,” he reached out and squeezed Jensen’s shoulder, his eyes imploring, “let me take care of my family.”

Jensen stared at his friend. He knew that Chris still carried around a shit ton of guilt over letting Timothy ever get his hands back on Jared and after last night he figured the weight had to be crushing. He’d heard Chris the night before, the I’m sorrys mumbled while they waited for the paramedics not registering through Jensen’s frantic panic at the time but remembered in the quiet hours sitting by Jared’s bed - the uncharacteristic, near-silent prayers for Jared’s safety while they waited for news. He nodded his head jerkily and let his penitent friend lead him to his car.

The Impala rolled smoothly over the country lanes, her rumbling engine soothing Jensen’s nerves. Chris was behind the wheel after literally stomping his foot down during their heated debate over whether Jensen was mentally fit to drive. Right now, Jensen was internally thankful for his friend’s stubbornness as exhaustion pulled and tugged at him.

“Mesa County has been ordered to keep any findings regarding this case confidential. They are not to disclose the details or leads with anyone from Plains County.” Chris voice broke the silence and Jensen blinked to awareness, looking over at him. “However,” Chris’ lips turned up in a playful smirk, “apparently, Sheriff Ford over in Mesa and Jones have been hunting buddies since their daddies got them their first .410s in grade school.”

Jensen’s smile was wan but there and Chris considered it a win. They both knew that growing up in the backwoods being hunting buddies, especially after that long, practically made you family. “What’ve they got?”

“Not much so far,” Chris navigated the car down Jared’s road. “Their forensics unit’s been to the house, gathered evidence and took samples, but they haven’t been able to analyze anything yet. Ford promised to keep us informed.” He turned onto Jared’s drive and bit his bottom lip. “There is one thing you should know, though.”

Jensen watched the large two story house come into view, memories of last night forcing a shudder up his spine. “What’s that?” He asked absently, oblivious to his friend’s nervousness.

“They went by Matt Cohen’s hotel room to see if he knew anything or if Olyphant had been by.” Chris levered the gearshift into park and licked his lips.

“And?” Jensen prompted, Chris reluctance finally catching his interest.

“He’s dead,” Chris said calmly. “The Medical Examiner is conducting an autopsy for an exact cause of death, but from what Ford’s boys said, he was beaten pretty bad.”

“Shit,” Jensen breathed in shock, remembering the remorseful man who’d been to his house yesterday looking for redemption.

“Yeah,” Chris agreed, ducking down to look at Jared’s darkened house. “Working theory is Olyphant went there after leaving Jared for dead. Estimated time of death is somewhere around twenty two-thirty.”

“They got enough to actually pin it on him?” Jensen questioned, trying to erase the image of those sincere eyes from his mind.

“Think so,” Chris said, pushing open the driver’s door, the creaking groan loud in the still of the night. “Witnesses saw someone matching Olyphant’s description and driving a Mercedes at the hotel around twenty-two hundred. They also found that snazzy leather jacket Olyphant was wearing last night there…covered in blood.”

Jensen got out of the car and stared up at the clear, star-dotted sky. It was cold and he could see his breath puffing out with each exhale - March sizing up to come in like a lion and hopefully go out like a lamb. Jamming his rapidly numbing hands into the pockets of his worn jacket, he walked up the stairs to the front porch. Holding his hand out for his keys, the one to Jared’s house still dangling on the ring, he murmured. “Sloppy.”

“What?” Chris handed over the keys and cupped his hands, blowing on them to try to warm the frozen tips.

“Olyphant,” Jensen expounded, “he perfected covering his ass into an art form. For him to lose control like that, leave fucking evidence behind…” he trailed off, twisting the key in the lock.

“He snapped,” Chris shrugged. “Question is, what made him lose it?” He followed Jensen under the yellow police tape into the warm interior of the house.

Jensen snapped on the overhead light in the hallway, breath rushing out of him despite already having seen the destruction and carnage the night before. He absently noted that the rug was missing a few patches, blood encrusted swatches removed for DNA analysis. As far as he was concerned they could have taken the whole damn thing, along with the sleek furniture and sterile decorating accents. The majority of the debris that littered the floor had been collected, bagged and tagged by Forensics, and Jensen sifted the toe of his boot through the pieces that remained. He crouched down and picked up a section of plastic lying almost hidden beneath the ceramic shards of the broken lamp. Frowning, he stood and rotated it between his fingers, wondering where it had come from. The pad of his finger ran over raised lettering and he squinted his tired eyes to read the small words.

PHONE LINE IN

It was part of the answering machine casing and Jensen remembered seeing the smashed machine on the floor earlier.

I left it on his answering machine last night. I don’t know if he got the message.

“The baby.” He curled the hard plastic in his hand, the jagged edges biting into the meat of his palm. He didn’t know if Jared heard the message but he would bet good money that Olyphant did. Another tick mark was added to the running tally in his head that proved this was all his fault.

“What?” Chris lifted confused eyes from his contemplation of the blood pattern on the stairs.

“Olyphant found out that Jared was pregnant again and must have realized the baby was mine. He’d been trying to knock Jared up for years.” At Chris’ confused look, he continued, “Jared thought Timothy believed another baby would cement his bond over him or some shit.”

“Twin sons didn’t do that already?”

Jensen shrugged. “Guess not enough. Couple that with his hatred of me…” Jensen waved a hand at the blood stains on the carpet.

“And he snapped,” Chris finished needlessly. “Jesus!”

“Yeah.” Jensen walked around the foyer in circles, rubbing his thumb over the piece of plastic, a worry stone for the modern age. He traveled from one blood stain to the other, mind unconsciously estimating the amount needed to create the blotches. Shaking himself out of the morose whirlpool his thoughts were threatening to pull him into, he dropped the broken section of plastic and moved to the foot of the stairs. He sighed wearily, hand reaching for the banister and pulling back reflexively at the last moment. “Can you check with Ford and see if Forensics has everything they need? I’d like to call and schedule a clean-up crew as soon as possible.”

Chris was looking around the visible parts of the house, eyes flicking to the living room, the dining room and through the open door to the kitchen. “I’ll, um,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll take care of it. All of it, cleaning crew too. Don’t worry.”

Jensen watched him kick the edge of the destroyed rug with the toe of his boot and nodded. “Thanks. I’m gonna go gather the kids’ things. Be right back.”

*****

“Hey, baby.” Karen was sitting at his kitchen table, cup of coffee cradled between her hands. There were bags under her eyes that Jensen hadn’t seen since the night his Papaw passed. She stood and crossed to him, arms coming up and surrounding his shoulders in her familiar embrace.

A shudder started at Jensen’s head and flowed down his spine to his toes, the duffel with the twins’ things falling heavily to the floor. He’d held up at the hospital, stayed calm and strong, tears mostly kept at bay, but in his momma’s arms, her smell and warmth surrounding him, he broke. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, and heaved heart-wrenching sobs in to her vanilla scented hair. He clung to her and she held him tighter, soft cooing words of love and support murmured close to his ear. His hands fisted into the back of her blouse, needing something to hold onto, and when his knees threatened to buckle, she guided them to the cold hardwood floor and cradled him to her chest like she’d done so many times when he was little. The worry and fear poured from him in saline drops, soaking her shirt in his misery.

“It’s okay, dear,” she whispered, petting a hand through his hair. “Momma’s got you. You just let it all out. Momma’s got you.”

Jensen had no idea how long they sat there, but eventually he pulled back and swiped angrily at his eyes, embarrassed by his child-like display. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Karen gently wiped the wetness Jensen’s perfunctory passes missed and smiled at him sympathetically. “It’s been a long couple of few weeks and a horrific few hours. Everybody has a breaking point. You’re allowed to cry, Jensen.” She chucked him under the chin, forcing him to look her in the face. “Especially to your mother.”

Jensen sniffled, tilting his head back, and let his breath out a controlled exhale. Licking his lips, he lowered his head and swallowed, composure sliding back into place with a roll of his shoulders. “Twins okay?”

“Took us a little while to get them down, which is understandable. They finally went to sleep a couple of hours ago.” She placed a comforting hand on his forearm.

Jensen covered her small hand in his and squeezed it slightly. “Thanks.”

“That’s what family is for.” Jensen knew it was so much more than an automatic response, it was a promise. A promise that anything Jensen would need in the upcoming days or weeks, Karen and his family would be there.

“Come on,” she hefted herself to her feet and urged Jensen up with a slight tug on this arm. “You’re dead on your feet. Let’s get you to bed so you can get back to Jared in the morning.”

Jensen got up and allowed his mother to lead him through the house. Passing the stack of boxes - his things from Jared’s house that he’d never unpacked, wishful thinking or some shit - he noticed a familiar, battered backpack sitting on top. He carefully picked it up, fingers brushing over a bleached spot along the zipper where Jared had once spilled developing fluid and it had leeched the color from the fabric. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled deeply the lingering scent of Jared, infused into the fibers after so many years of use.

“The boys had it,” Karen said softly.

Jensen set the pack back on the boxes, thumb caressing the maker’s logo patch on the front. He nodded, smoothing his hand over the canvas once more before trailing behind his mother again. She opened the door to his bedroom and he had a brief moment of shame at her seeing the piles of dirty clothes he’d dropped on the floor instead of putting in the basket like she’d nagged him about his whole life. He opened his mouth to apologize, but his gaze landed on the two sleeping angels nestled under the heavy comforter on his bed.

The twins were wrapped around each other, fingers wrapped in the shirts that hung from the other’s small shoulders. Their faces were close, heads sharing the same pillow, and Jensen could see the redness lining their eyes and the puffiness of their cheeks.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jensen startled at his father’s voice coming from somewhere in the darkness right before the man stood from the chair in the corner. “They had a hard time settling so I put them in some of your old shirts. They needed the comfort of your smell.”

“That’s,” he cleared his suddenly dry throat, “that’s fine. Thank you.” He stood in the doorway and just stared at two of the most perfect things in his life, transfixed.

“Good night, my love.” Karen kissed his cheek and nodded to her husband, leaving quietly.

“Come on, son,” Alex crossed to his son and took his arm. He led Jensen to the bathroom and sat him down carefully on the commode. Jensen’s eyes never left the boys as they moved, afraid he’d blink and they’d be gone, and remained focused on them through the open door. He sat statue-still on the toilet, just watching, not noticing his father kneeling before him and removing his boots and socks. Hands manipulating the buttons of his shirt pulled his attention from the slumbering seraphs and he looked down to see his father’s hands working each pearl circle through its hole. His gaze slowly tracked up to Alex’s face as his hands came up to take over his undressing.

Alex stood back and let Jensen finish disrobing, reaching into the shower to start the spray. He stood at the door, back turned to give his son some sense of privacy, and kept watch over his boys, on alert should one of them need him. Jensen undid the fly of his jeans, pushing the denim over his hips. There was a pinch as the fabric bunched around his thighs and he remembered the ring in his front pocket. Digging his fingers in, he pulled it free and held it between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it left to right to see the way the light reflected off the overly large gem. He set if on the edge of the sink and pushed his jeans the rest of the way off. The warm water felt like a luxury he didn’t deserve, not while Jared wasn’t there to share it with him, so he gave his body a cursory washing and quickly ran shampoo through his hair. Toweling off, he saw that his father had brought in clean boxers and sleep clothes.

Jensen slowly made his way to the bed, his father hovering close. He stood at the edge of the bed and hesitated, wondering where his place in it was. Making a decision, he bent over and slid his arms under Benji, gently moving him away from his brother and shushing their whimpers at the separation. He rounded to the end of the bed and climbed up from the foot, slotting himself between the twins and wrapping protective arms around their sleep-warm bodies, pulling them close. His eyes almost immediately closed heavily, his tense muscles uncoiling.

So many people had told him that the twins needed him and now that he was here, with them, he realized he’d needed them too.