"If We Weren't So Down (We'd Up And Leave)"
Title: If We Weren't So Down (We'd Up And Leave)
Rating: Adult (for themes and language)
Fandom: SPN
Category: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: 5,097
Summary: Written for j2_everafter. Very loosely based on Disney's Robin Hood.
Notes: Thank you to tabaqui for the wonderful mugshots!
He sits in the dingy basement of a bar, fingers walking the strings of his guitar. He's flirting with a melody, hands up under its skirt, but he hasn't committed yet.
"Lemme tell you a story," he says.
The bar only has a scattered handful of patrons. One woman at a table in one of the dank corners is wearing an old, stained flapper dress from the 20's. She has a glass of red wine that she takes tiny sips from, never setting the glass on the table.
She is but one of the oddities present.
"My name's Christian, but some call me Rooster," he says.
"Is that because you're a giant cock?" a man calls from the back, sitting at a table with another, their heads bowed together.
"Maybe it's cause I got a giant cock," he rejoinders and there's a smattering of chuckles. People this late in this dark place enjoy that kind of humor but he will only tolerate interruption so long. He raises a son, I got a story to tell and you are going to listen eyebrow and the room hushes again.
"There was this city called Knottingham once," he starts and his fingers stroll the strings again, seeming to make his words echo even though he's not playing anything really. "Shining beacon of plenty, a beautiful place."
The hush has changed now, from scolded to expectant.
"Man named Jeff Morgan, known to friends as King and a real entrepreneur had wrestled that place out of the muck with a lotta cash and a private police force. He loved that city and after a grudging tap-dance, it loved him right back. The citizens started to hope, but hope is a dangerous thing."
He takes a moment to sip at the beer resting on the stool next to his.
"But King left, chasing some kind of personal crusade. He took his money and his manpower and Knottingham fell from grace. Hope thrashed and mewled but slowly started to die."
“The citizens watched their city sink into the muck and couldn’t find a way out. One man had a chance, but he was confusing a place he lived with where he would find his home.”
Now he smiled a little, half a turn up of his lip.
“He should’ve had faith.”
"This is such a monumentally bad idea."
"What is?" Jared asks, subtly adjusting his dick under his skirt.
Jensen sweeps hands down his own body and then flails them in Jared's direction. "This! I have no idea how you talked me into this."
"Dude, I didn't talk you into anything. You saw the skirt and went all melty. You're totally a closet transvestite."
"Bite me, douchebag," Jensen grouches and he desperately wants to adjust his own package but there's a car swinging up to the curb at that very moment. Jensen's pretty sure women don't finger themselves in public, even low-class hookers like they currently appear to be, from a very great distance... hopefully.
"Keep cruisin'. We're on a break," Jared says, after leaning over into the window to make sure this isn't their target and blowing smoke right into the driver's face. He stands back up, putting the cigarette Jensen didn't even see him light back to his lips and takes another drag. The effect is only lost when Jared proceeds to almost cough up a lung.
"You got class you haven't even used yet, haven't you?" Jensen says with a smirk and Jared gives him the finger.
Such a lady.
"Are you really sure this is where he picks up his bargain-bin girls when he comes back?" Jensen asks, moving from foot to foot to try and keep the circulation going. He's not sure exactly how women live their lives in heels.
He for one will no longer just use foot massages for foreplay, poor girls really need them.
"Yes," Jared huffs, rolling his eyes.
Jared looks... awful as a woman. Anyone who doesn't require a seeing-eye dog is going to know he isn't one, probably even from a distance. He's got blue eye shadow smeared over his eyes and one of the false eyelashes he insisted on is coming off. He's wearing a skirt that's almost short enough to see him dangling free and a sleeveless top that accentuates the fact that he's a broad-ass behemoth that could bench press most strangers he encountered in the street.
"Yeah, this isn't going to work," Jensen says just as the car they've been waiting for idles up to them. It's a blue mustang with the number plate PR1NCE. Jared does this lean-stretch thing that seems to give him extra height but also curves at the same time and Jensen's left staring stupidly and also misses his cue.
"Yeah, we got a special on tonight baby," Jared is simpering impressively. "Two for the price of one." Jensen can't see the driver but he knows who it is and it's all he can do to resist the urge to reach through the window and cold-cock the son of a bitch.
Only fair considering the guy ordered him beaten to within an inch of his life once.
"Sssssir, I don't think thesssse-,"
Jensen's eyes snap up and over to the other side of the car and he can see a guy standing, leaning his arms on the car's roof. He's got spiked blonde hair and a grimace on his face and Jensen hopes the makeup hides his blanche. Chad Michael Murray, known on the streets as Hiss because of an unfortunate speech impediment, is eyeing Jensen critically. Before Jensen can call a halt to the whole proceedings and get both he and Jared the hell out of Dodge though, John Prince snaps from inside the car, "Shut it, Hiss. You've been ruining my fun all night."
"But Sssir, I really think they’re-,"
"That's it!" Prince snaps and his door opens. Jared steps out of the way, tottering slightly because of his heels but covering it admirably by pretending he was leaning sideways to adjust his stockings. He's managed to turn partially so he's not directly facing Hiss and Jensen does the same. "I hope you've got your bus pass on you, Murray, because you're on your own."
Jensen's knuckles itch and he knows if he gives into the suicidal urge to just deck the guy in the street he will have a few glorious moments of satisfaction followed by some righteous ass kicking because there's a sedate black sedan pulling up to the curb just behind them that will be full of Prince's hired muscle. If Jensen were alone he might have even be willing to risk it but he's not.
Jared's well being was entrusted to him long ago and even though he's pretty bad at keeping the kid's nose clean through sheer necessity, he's not about to get him killed on purpose.
"I think thesssse are dudesss!" Murray protests and Jensen tenses, ready to kick off the heels and make a run for it but it's thankfully not necessary.
"You said that about the last four!" Prince roars and Murray cringes, stepping back and away from the car. "Did you ever think that maybe there's just a lot of tall, muscular women in this city?"
"I'm jussst-"
"Not one more word," Prince snarls, fairly purple with rage. He then turns, taking a breath and physically calming himself and smiles. Jensen thinks he must be attempting to be charming but it makes Jensen's stomach churn. "I apologize for my companion," he simpers and Jared ducks his head and grins, the full-watt dimpled special that's been known to turn men and women alike to putty in his hands.
"S'alright," Jared says demurely and accepts Prince's proffered hand to step down and into the car. Jensen follows, managing to duck inside before Prince can touch him.
It's going to be a long night.
It’s been five years since King left Knottingham.
Jensen wouldn't say he has abandonment issues as such, but he has been abandoned and it's becoming an issue.
He's not sure who he's kidding.
"You can't just pull up stakes and leave," he had said, leaning in the doorway, one hand gripping the towel around his waist. He’d watched King move through his crappy apartment and had cringed inwardly at the way the sunlight through the windows highlighted the dust and caught on the abandoned, and some still half-full, Chinese takeout containers.
"And you can't keep running through the streets like some hoodlum," King had rejoindered, but his tone had been gentle. He’d approached Jensen, cupping a hand under his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. "You gotta learn that you can't save everyone."
"This city is going to die without you here," Jensen had implored and he had known it was true. While King's private police force patrolled the streets and his factories kept the people off them, the city was going to stumble on. It might not be pretty and it might not be good but he loved it just the same.
Jensen was always good at loving stuff that was going to end up breaking his heart.
"Look, I want you to come with us," King had offered, moving away again, scooping up his expensive leather satchel that looked out of place on the threadbare couch. "Take a job on my security detail. Actually eat three squares a day and have a resume, how about it?"
"I don't want to say no to you," Jensen had said with a heavy sigh.
"But you're going to."
"But I'm going to."
Old Mrs. Rabbit owns the corner store that stays open late. She doesn't get many customers in past ten o'clock but it's worth it just in case. She has eight grandchildren to feed and no one to help her do it.
It's Bunny's birthday tomorrow.
Benjamin is the youngest and smallest of her grandchildren and has been known as Bunny since he was born and secretly, he's her favorite because what he lacks in size he makes up for in imagination.
Mrs. Rabbit wants to give her grandchildren a better life than she had but she knows that she's failing.
"Wow, you just don't ever die, do you?"
Mrs. Rabbit looks up at the voice and automatically cringes away. The man is tall with a dark suit on that looks like it was cut from the night sky itself. He's handsome in a way that would have impressed her when she was younger but only scares her now.
She wishes she were stronger.
She wishes she could do anything other than cower.
"Payment's due old lady," the man, known to some as Sheriff says, leaning over the small counter she's pressed behind, elbows shoving aside the carousel of cigarettes that sit next to the register. He's smiling but it's not a nice smile. She imagines it's the smile a shark has when it sees a seal bobbing about on the surface of the ocean right above its head.
"You were only here last week," she hisses and hates the way her voice trembles. There's someone at the entrance of the store and for a moment she thinks Sheriff might have brought company, more interested this week in mischief than money but no, it's an older man, stooped and bow-backed making his slow way inside.
Sheriff only treats him to a dismissive glance before he's leaning further over the counter. "I don't remember working out a payment schedule with you. I thought you understood that I come around whenever the fuck I please." He reaches for the register and instinct takes over.
She smacks his hand.
Everything freezes, even time itself, Mrs. Rabbit thinks. Then Sheriff’s mouth curls into a smirk that freezes when from behind them a voice pipes, "I can't sleep."
Bunny is standing at the edge of the counter, crown of his head barely clearing the top. He's rubbing at one eye with one hand and clutching the leg of a stuffed cow with the other. Mrs. Rabbit moves around the counter so she can pull Bunny behind herself.
"Tell you what," Sheriff says with a wry smirk. "I'm feeling charitable today. I'll give you one week." Before Mrs. Rabbit can feel any kind of relief, he holds up an imperious finger. "There'll be the small matter of interest, of course."
"But-"
"Don't make me rethink my very generous offer here," Sheriff scolds, making to sweep out of the door. On the way, he shoulders aside the old man who stumbles and loses a tin cup of change he was holding against his chest. The sign he has slung around his neck Need money for a bus home, swings crazily. Sheriff stoops down, scoops the man's change into his palm and pockets it, only pausing long enough to wave over his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Mrs. Rabbit asks, darting out from behind the counter with Bunny hanging onto the back of her dress. She's frail but she still tries to get a hand under the man's arm to steady him as he rights himself.
"Nothing a little bunny-squish won't fix," the man says and his voice is strong and young. The moment Mrs. Rabbit pulls back in surprise he starts shedding layers, dirty baseball cap, thick glasses, stained and torn overcoat slide to the floor and she recognizes him. "Now c'mere," he says to the little boy clinging to her who squeaks in glee and relinquishes his hold on his grandmother to be tossed aloft.
"Jensen!" Mrs. Rabbit gasps and then her gaze swings back towards the door, fearing that Sheriff might have lingered. "You know it's not safe for you this close to the city."
"But I really needed a bunny-squish," Jensen says, voice muffled because both of Bunny's skinny arms are wrapped firmly around Jensen's head. "There's no where else I can get one."
Mrs. Rabbit sighs and then smiles. "It's good to see you," she relents, when Jensen lean sideways and press lips to her cheek when he's able to untangle Bunny and hold him upside down by the ankles. "Is everything alright?"
"I have something for you," Jensen says, setting Bunny back on his feet before he digs down into his pockets. He comes up with a think yellow envelope and hands it over. "Think of this as back-rent."
Mrs. Rabbit tweezes the envelope open carefully and then her eyes widen to see the stack of cash inside. "I can't accept this," she says, trying to press it back into Jensen's hands but he waves her off.
"When Jeff first left," Jensen says, and Mrs. Rabbit doesn't know whether he realizes that he winces when he says it, "and they came for me, you took me in and hid me, no questions asked. You saved the life they almost beat out of me. That's a debt I can never pay back, but I can at least try some installments."
Mrs. Rabbit shudders for a moment, remembering finding what she thought was a pile of bloodied rags just outside her alley doorway and being horrified that it had actually been a person. Prince and his hired muscle had for too long been policed by King and when King pulled up stakes and left, they took the opportunity to wreak the only revenge they could, on the boy everyone had known King had taken under his wing.
"Where did you get it though?" Mrs. Rabbit asks, hating to do it but not being able to stop. "What did you do?"
"Nothing overly illegal," Jensen dismisses. Then he's grinning and hunkering down to Bunny's level. "Now I understand it's someone's birthday," he says, hands going to his back and pulling something forward. Bunny makes an almost strange, high-pitched sound of glee as his hands dart forward and then curl the bow and arrow set to himself, suction-cup end of one of the arrows almost poking him in the eye.
"Say thank you," Mrs. Rabbit instructs automatically and Bunny looks at her and then back at Jensen.
"'ank you," he says and then thumps back upstairs, probably to wake his sisters, Mrs. Rabbit thinks morosely.
"Can I get you something to eat?" she asks because Jensen is looking entirely too skinny for her liking.
Marion was someone that Jensen felt like he should be attracted to so had made a clumsy pass at her that she had laughed off.
"Oh honey," she'd said. "It's okay, really."
They'd struck up an odd sort of friendship however that saw Jensen sometimes reclining on just made up motel beds while Marion cleaned. She always had something to say which made sense whenever he found himself at a crossroads and while she'd joked that she wasn't exactly Buddha on the mountaintop, he'd kept coming.
At the moment, they are in a twin share room and Jared is snoring on the other bed, limbs thrown casually like a tossed doll and mouth open.
God help him, Jensen thinks he looks adorable.
"I'm telling you," Marion calls from the bathroom, knowing that no matter how loud they are, there's no waking Jared until he decides he's had enough sleep, "This life is going to kill you both."
"I don't really have a choice here," Jensen says, punching at the pillow under his neck. It's lumpy and there's sweat stains on the covers which is a little disturbing considering Marion's just changed the linens but Jensen's slept rougher.
"Jensen," Marion tutts, as she emerges from the bathroom. "Now I know that isn't true."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"King offered to take you with him, didn't he? Cushy little private security job in a city that isn't crumbling."
"I can't leave," Jensen protests. "This is my home."
"Honey, I love you but you're a migrant, same as everyone here. Nobody actually comes from Knottingham, we all just end up here like silt on the bottom of a glass. You ever heard the phrase nice place to visit, wouldn't want to live there?" Marion makes an expansive gesture with her hands, encompassing the room and presumably everything outside of it. "It's actually an insult that you lump yourself in with those of us who don't have any other choices."
"I need to-"
"Save everybody?" Marion interrupts. As she's talking, she's still cleaning and her outfit, a classic black with white apron deal that leaves the bottom half of her ass exposed whenever she leans forward far enough, does so now. Jensen knows that Marion charges twenty bucks to guests that elect to stay while she cleans.
He thinks he must be pretty far gone if all the free show does is make him look at the comatose Jared and sigh.
"Hon, you can't save everyone," she says and then turns halfway, one hand on her right hip and arches an eyebrow at Jared. "How about just one?"
Jensen remembers the skinny seventeen year old kid counting out change on Mrs. Rabbit's convenience store counter, trying to figure out if he had enough for a Twinkie and a cup of coffee, like it was yesterday. The kid had looked wary when Jensen had insisted he come up for some real food to the attic room Jensen was renting above Mrs. Rabbit's cramped apartment and Jensen hated that look.
It meant Jared was used to strange guys trying to get Jared to go with them on the promise of food or somewhere to rest his head and with something completely different in mind.
Jared had put away three bowls of chili and a half a loaf of bread, all while still eyeing Jensen like he was waiting for the other boot to drop. When Jensen had left for the night, he had expected Jared to take off, pocketing the thirty bucks in change Jensen had left for him deliberately but not too obviously in the top drawer of his single chest of drawers.
The last thing he had expected to find was Jared asleep on the threadbare foldout couch and the attic room cleaner than he'd seen it in... ever.
Jared was basically a permanent fixture in his life ever since then.
"You going to make an honest woman out of her?"
Jensen's feeling a pleasant buzz and he's leaning heavily against Jared. They're in their local watering hole, the Marksman, and he's starting to feel pleasantly buzzed. Jensen fumbles his hand down and manages to land fingers on Jared's inseam. Jared makes a pleased sounding burr in the back of his throat and slouches a little. "Going to make a what out of who?" Jensen asks, fighting through his distraction long enough to remember that Jared asked him a question.
"Marion," Jared clarifies and Jensen's buzz disappears and is replaced with a sick feeling in his head and stomach.
"I'm groping you and you mention Marion?" Jensen asks incredulously and Jared just shrugs down at him. Jensen wasn't sure when he'd slipped far enough to basically be lodged in Jared's armpit and with an effort he rights himself.
"I don't see how they're related," Jared says and Jensen eyes him, trying to decipher the tone, what Jared is really saying but he can't. Jensen can read Jared like a well-loved novel most of the time but every now and again Jared becomes the flat surface of the ocean, no water breaking to warn of jagged rocks.
Jensen needs to navigate carefully.
"You don't see how... Jared? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Jared raises his eyebrows then and shifts a little. Not so much as to be obvious but before he moved they were still touching at hip and shoulder and now there's space. "I know you want to."
"I'm not going to... I've got nothing to offer Marion," Jensen snaps, and he knows he's saying completely the wrong thing but it's the first defense that came to mind.
Jared snorts indelicately. "She's a maid at a motel that rents rooms by the hour. I'm not sure you have to worry about giving her the life of luxury she's used to."
"Don't be a dick," Jensen grumbles. He's regretting the bottom of the still scum the Brother passes off as beer now. He needs all his wits about him when Jared gets in one of these moods. Jared is trying to say something, or make him say something and he has no idea what.
"Whatever," Jared sighs. "C'mon out back and I'll blow you."
Jensen is following Jared out of the booth before he realizes what he's doing. "Wait," he tries, reaching for Jared's arm and missing. He almost falls off the bench seat onto his face but Jared catches him by the shoulders.
"You get drunk and we fuck. S'way it goes, right?" Jared prompts and there's something hollow in his voice that should bother Jensen but he can't think straight enough to figure out why.
"I'm tired," Jensen grumbles as Jared gets arms under his and hoists him to his feet.
"Yeah, me too."
"Don't eat all my chips you Loxley-born motherfucker," Steve complains. They're in the Marksman again but this time Jensen is sans Jared and has already been scowling about that fact being remarked upon. He's not sure when he became part of a twin-set and he thinks it's good that they're both doing their own thing that night.
It of course doesn't last long as Chris spots Jared at the bar and waves. Jared raises his chin in return but is leaning a hip against the bar, talking to the underage daughter of the owner while she pours him a beer that's all head. He accepts it and blows foam at her and she giggles, swiping at him and taking the glass back so she can fill it properly.
"I heard you and Bear spent last night in lady-clothes," Chris says, raising an eyebrow. He's got a guitar case resting next to him but it's anyone's guess what is actually in it. Sometimes it's actually a guitar but Jensen has learned not to be curious. He and Jared are small-time, strictly under the radar, sticking it to the man in their own special way but not anything that's going to get them doing any serious time. If he doesn't ask, he's hoping they'll stay that way.
"We were working," Jensen sniffs.
"Yeah, that's what I heard," Chris agrees and grins. "Did you honestly handcuff Prince to a bed and take off with his royal money belt?"
"Yep," Jensen says and then his eyes skip to Jared. "Big N'Tall over there even had one of his door-goons makin' googley eyes at him as we took off."
"How'd you get out without Prince making a fuss?" Steve asks, looking nonchalant which should have set off all kinds of warning bells in Jensen's head.
"We gagged him," Jensen replies and then groans because right on queue Chris pipes up with, "Oh Jen, honey. You shouldn't stick it in that far."
"You're hilarious," Jensen sighs, but then sits up ramrod straight. He hadn't been able to do anything the night before because there'd been a plan but tonight when he spots Murray pushing through the crowd, Sheriff on his tail, he thinks that maybe all his Christmases have come at once. He shoves at Chris to get out of the booth he's wedged into, more urgently when he sees both Murray and Sheriff spot Jared and make a beeline for him.
Jared looks up, sets his beer down carefully and then moves. Jensen is always surprised by how quickly he can move given his size, almost like the bastard phase-shifts. One moment he's standing calmly at the bar, the next he's across the room, hands fisted in Murray's shirt, riding him down to the floor. Jensen hears glass shatter and people scream and when he meets resistance trying to head in that direction, he lets out his own guttural growl.
"No way, man, too many," Steve says, practically yanking Jensen off his feet and in the direction of the back exit, partially obscured by shadow and a staircase that leads to the owner's office.
"Jared!" Jensen calls desperately, but he's been lost in a swell of guys in black suits and all too late Jensen realizes that Murray and Sheriff weren't alone.
"We gotta go," Chris urges, helping Steve hustle Jensen to the exit, Jensen squirming and fighting them with every step. When he gets launched unceremoniously through the heavy fire door and lands on his ass, he looks up in shock.
"What the fuck!" he yells, scrambling to his feet, meaning to rush back inside but Chris and Steve form a human wall.
Chris gets Jensen's shoulders in his hands and shoves. "You think they're gonna stop at almost killing you this time?" he hisses, face grim.
"No, they'll just kill Jared," Jensen protests urgently, leaning against Chris' restraining hands.
"They won't," Chris insists. "Not when they know how important he is to you. They'll rough him up, sure. Bear's never gone quietly in his whole goddamn life, but they won't kill him."
"That's crazy, I'm not leavin' him," Jensen says, taking a few steps back from the two men barring his way and digging hands into his hair.
"Either you come quietly or we knock you on your ass again," Chris says, voice hard but expression apologetic.
Jared's voice sounds mushy on the phone so Jensen knows he's talking through at least a fat lip and something tightens in his chest to hear it.
"Aw, honey," he says, masking his concern with bravado. "You used your one phone call on me? I didn't know you cared."
In actual fact, the only reason Jensen isn't high-tailing it down to the rat-infested crap-shack Knottingham calls its jail is because Steve is currently sitting on him.
He was handed the phone under protest.
"They can't hold me," Jared says, obviously trying to reassure Jensen which is just plain crazy. Jensen got the very PG-13 rundown of events that basically boiled down to Sheriff and his goons working Jared over until they were bored and then dropping him off at the police station. The only reason Jared was tossed in a cell was because most of the cops on duty were on Prince's payroll. "And besides, I've done this before."
Jensen snorts at Jared's tough-guy act. "A stint in juvenile detention and a night in the drunk tank does not make you a hardened criminal Jay-Bear," Jensen scolds. There’s a dry snort from the other end of the phone and for a moment Jensen breathes, then taps the phone on his forehead a couple of times for luck. He casts a glance over his shoulder and something in his face makes Steve get off him in a hurry and retreat to the kitchen, which pleases him greatly.
“So, I was thinking,” Jensen starts and then takes a deep breath. “Maybe I have to make an honest boy out of you.”
There’s a pause, dead silence that makes Jensen wants to run very far away. Then Jared kind of makes this garbled noise that could be laughter or a very tiny scream. There’s another few seconds of dead silence and then Jared says, “Are you… proposing to me?”
“Did you just take the phone away from yourself to do a happy dance?” Jensen asks and he can’t help the smile that splits his face in half when Jared screeches, “How did you know that?”
“Very classy dude.”
“I don’t think you should be throwing stones, glass-house boy. You proposed to me over the phone, while I’m in jail.”
“How else am I going to get you to sit still long enough to listen to me?”
“Har, har.”
“Look, I’m serious. I want to stop investing in lost causes. I want to…”
“Take me away from all this?” Jared asks, but his voice is small and pleased rather than mocking and Jensen laughs.
“Stop stealing my lines.”
“The most romantic thing you could do for me right would be to come and bail me out,” Jared says.
“Marion’s already on her way with the cash.”
“You’re my hero.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“Oh hey, Jensen?”
“Yeah?”
“The whole… everything? I’m saying yes.”
“Good, because I’ve got Marion on speed dial and if you were going to say no to me I was going to leave you there to rot.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Jared says, laughing.
Jensen sighs heavily. “No, I really wouldn’t.”
Rating: Adult (for themes and language)
Fandom: SPN
Category: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: 5,097
Summary: Written for j2_everafter. Very loosely based on Disney's Robin Hood.
Notes: Thank you to tabaqui for the wonderful mugshots!
He sits in the dingy basement of a bar, fingers walking the strings of his guitar. He's flirting with a melody, hands up under its skirt, but he hasn't committed yet.
"Lemme tell you a story," he says.
The bar only has a scattered handful of patrons. One woman at a table in one of the dank corners is wearing an old, stained flapper dress from the 20's. She has a glass of red wine that she takes tiny sips from, never setting the glass on the table.
She is but one of the oddities present.
"My name's Christian, but some call me Rooster," he says.
"Is that because you're a giant cock?" a man calls from the back, sitting at a table with another, their heads bowed together.
"Maybe it's cause I got a giant cock," he rejoinders and there's a smattering of chuckles. People this late in this dark place enjoy that kind of humor but he will only tolerate interruption so long. He raises a son, I got a story to tell and you are going to listen eyebrow and the room hushes again.
"There was this city called Knottingham once," he starts and his fingers stroll the strings again, seeming to make his words echo even though he's not playing anything really. "Shining beacon of plenty, a beautiful place."
The hush has changed now, from scolded to expectant.
"Man named Jeff Morgan, known to friends as King and a real entrepreneur had wrestled that place out of the muck with a lotta cash and a private police force. He loved that city and after a grudging tap-dance, it loved him right back. The citizens started to hope, but hope is a dangerous thing."
He takes a moment to sip at the beer resting on the stool next to his.
"But King left, chasing some kind of personal crusade. He took his money and his manpower and Knottingham fell from grace. Hope thrashed and mewled but slowly started to die."
“The citizens watched their city sink into the muck and couldn’t find a way out. One man had a chance, but he was confusing a place he lived with where he would find his home.”
Now he smiled a little, half a turn up of his lip.
“He should’ve had faith.”
"This is such a monumentally bad idea."
"What is?" Jared asks, subtly adjusting his dick under his skirt.
Jensen sweeps hands down his own body and then flails them in Jared's direction. "This! I have no idea how you talked me into this."
"Dude, I didn't talk you into anything. You saw the skirt and went all melty. You're totally a closet transvestite."
"Bite me, douchebag," Jensen grouches and he desperately wants to adjust his own package but there's a car swinging up to the curb at that very moment. Jensen's pretty sure women don't finger themselves in public, even low-class hookers like they currently appear to be, from a very great distance... hopefully.
"Keep cruisin'. We're on a break," Jared says, after leaning over into the window to make sure this isn't their target and blowing smoke right into the driver's face. He stands back up, putting the cigarette Jensen didn't even see him light back to his lips and takes another drag. The effect is only lost when Jared proceeds to almost cough up a lung.
"You got class you haven't even used yet, haven't you?" Jensen says with a smirk and Jared gives him the finger.
Such a lady.
"Are you really sure this is where he picks up his bargain-bin girls when he comes back?" Jensen asks, moving from foot to foot to try and keep the circulation going. He's not sure exactly how women live their lives in heels.
He for one will no longer just use foot massages for foreplay, poor girls really need them.
"Yes," Jared huffs, rolling his eyes.
Jared looks... awful as a woman. Anyone who doesn't require a seeing-eye dog is going to know he isn't one, probably even from a distance. He's got blue eye shadow smeared over his eyes and one of the false eyelashes he insisted on is coming off. He's wearing a skirt that's almost short enough to see him dangling free and a sleeveless top that accentuates the fact that he's a broad-ass behemoth that could bench press most strangers he encountered in the street.
"Yeah, this isn't going to work," Jensen says just as the car they've been waiting for idles up to them. It's a blue mustang with the number plate PR1NCE. Jared does this lean-stretch thing that seems to give him extra height but also curves at the same time and Jensen's left staring stupidly and also misses his cue.
"Yeah, we got a special on tonight baby," Jared is simpering impressively. "Two for the price of one." Jensen can't see the driver but he knows who it is and it's all he can do to resist the urge to reach through the window and cold-cock the son of a bitch.
Only fair considering the guy ordered him beaten to within an inch of his life once.
"Sssssir, I don't think thesssse-,"
Jensen's eyes snap up and over to the other side of the car and he can see a guy standing, leaning his arms on the car's roof. He's got spiked blonde hair and a grimace on his face and Jensen hopes the makeup hides his blanche. Chad Michael Murray, known on the streets as Hiss because of an unfortunate speech impediment, is eyeing Jensen critically. Before Jensen can call a halt to the whole proceedings and get both he and Jared the hell out of Dodge though, John Prince snaps from inside the car, "Shut it, Hiss. You've been ruining my fun all night."
"But Sssir, I really think they’re-,"
"That's it!" Prince snaps and his door opens. Jared steps out of the way, tottering slightly because of his heels but covering it admirably by pretending he was leaning sideways to adjust his stockings. He's managed to turn partially so he's not directly facing Hiss and Jensen does the same. "I hope you've got your bus pass on you, Murray, because you're on your own."
Jensen's knuckles itch and he knows if he gives into the suicidal urge to just deck the guy in the street he will have a few glorious moments of satisfaction followed by some righteous ass kicking because there's a sedate black sedan pulling up to the curb just behind them that will be full of Prince's hired muscle. If Jensen were alone he might have even be willing to risk it but he's not.
Jared's well being was entrusted to him long ago and even though he's pretty bad at keeping the kid's nose clean through sheer necessity, he's not about to get him killed on purpose.
"I think thesssse are dudesss!" Murray protests and Jensen tenses, ready to kick off the heels and make a run for it but it's thankfully not necessary.
"You said that about the last four!" Prince roars and Murray cringes, stepping back and away from the car. "Did you ever think that maybe there's just a lot of tall, muscular women in this city?"
"I'm jussst-"
"Not one more word," Prince snarls, fairly purple with rage. He then turns, taking a breath and physically calming himself and smiles. Jensen thinks he must be attempting to be charming but it makes Jensen's stomach churn. "I apologize for my companion," he simpers and Jared ducks his head and grins, the full-watt dimpled special that's been known to turn men and women alike to putty in his hands.
"S'alright," Jared says demurely and accepts Prince's proffered hand to step down and into the car. Jensen follows, managing to duck inside before Prince can touch him.
It's going to be a long night.
It’s been five years since King left Knottingham.
Jensen wouldn't say he has abandonment issues as such, but he has been abandoned and it's becoming an issue.
He's not sure who he's kidding.
"You can't just pull up stakes and leave," he had said, leaning in the doorway, one hand gripping the towel around his waist. He’d watched King move through his crappy apartment and had cringed inwardly at the way the sunlight through the windows highlighted the dust and caught on the abandoned, and some still half-full, Chinese takeout containers.
"And you can't keep running through the streets like some hoodlum," King had rejoindered, but his tone had been gentle. He’d approached Jensen, cupping a hand under his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. "You gotta learn that you can't save everyone."
"This city is going to die without you here," Jensen had implored and he had known it was true. While King's private police force patrolled the streets and his factories kept the people off them, the city was going to stumble on. It might not be pretty and it might not be good but he loved it just the same.
Jensen was always good at loving stuff that was going to end up breaking his heart.
"Look, I want you to come with us," King had offered, moving away again, scooping up his expensive leather satchel that looked out of place on the threadbare couch. "Take a job on my security detail. Actually eat three squares a day and have a resume, how about it?"
"I don't want to say no to you," Jensen had said with a heavy sigh.
"But you're going to."
"But I'm going to."
Old Mrs. Rabbit owns the corner store that stays open late. She doesn't get many customers in past ten o'clock but it's worth it just in case. She has eight grandchildren to feed and no one to help her do it.
It's Bunny's birthday tomorrow.
Benjamin is the youngest and smallest of her grandchildren and has been known as Bunny since he was born and secretly, he's her favorite because what he lacks in size he makes up for in imagination.
Mrs. Rabbit wants to give her grandchildren a better life than she had but she knows that she's failing.
"Wow, you just don't ever die, do you?"
Mrs. Rabbit looks up at the voice and automatically cringes away. The man is tall with a dark suit on that looks like it was cut from the night sky itself. He's handsome in a way that would have impressed her when she was younger but only scares her now.
She wishes she were stronger.
She wishes she could do anything other than cower.
"Payment's due old lady," the man, known to some as Sheriff says, leaning over the small counter she's pressed behind, elbows shoving aside the carousel of cigarettes that sit next to the register. He's smiling but it's not a nice smile. She imagines it's the smile a shark has when it sees a seal bobbing about on the surface of the ocean right above its head.
"You were only here last week," she hisses and hates the way her voice trembles. There's someone at the entrance of the store and for a moment she thinks Sheriff might have brought company, more interested this week in mischief than money but no, it's an older man, stooped and bow-backed making his slow way inside.
Sheriff only treats him to a dismissive glance before he's leaning further over the counter. "I don't remember working out a payment schedule with you. I thought you understood that I come around whenever the fuck I please." He reaches for the register and instinct takes over.
She smacks his hand.
Everything freezes, even time itself, Mrs. Rabbit thinks. Then Sheriff’s mouth curls into a smirk that freezes when from behind them a voice pipes, "I can't sleep."
Bunny is standing at the edge of the counter, crown of his head barely clearing the top. He's rubbing at one eye with one hand and clutching the leg of a stuffed cow with the other. Mrs. Rabbit moves around the counter so she can pull Bunny behind herself.
"Tell you what," Sheriff says with a wry smirk. "I'm feeling charitable today. I'll give you one week." Before Mrs. Rabbit can feel any kind of relief, he holds up an imperious finger. "There'll be the small matter of interest, of course."
"But-"
"Don't make me rethink my very generous offer here," Sheriff scolds, making to sweep out of the door. On the way, he shoulders aside the old man who stumbles and loses a tin cup of change he was holding against his chest. The sign he has slung around his neck Need money for a bus home, swings crazily. Sheriff stoops down, scoops the man's change into his palm and pockets it, only pausing long enough to wave over his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Mrs. Rabbit asks, darting out from behind the counter with Bunny hanging onto the back of her dress. She's frail but she still tries to get a hand under the man's arm to steady him as he rights himself.
"Nothing a little bunny-squish won't fix," the man says and his voice is strong and young. The moment Mrs. Rabbit pulls back in surprise he starts shedding layers, dirty baseball cap, thick glasses, stained and torn overcoat slide to the floor and she recognizes him. "Now c'mere," he says to the little boy clinging to her who squeaks in glee and relinquishes his hold on his grandmother to be tossed aloft.
"Jensen!" Mrs. Rabbit gasps and then her gaze swings back towards the door, fearing that Sheriff might have lingered. "You know it's not safe for you this close to the city."
"But I really needed a bunny-squish," Jensen says, voice muffled because both of Bunny's skinny arms are wrapped firmly around Jensen's head. "There's no where else I can get one."
Mrs. Rabbit sighs and then smiles. "It's good to see you," she relents, when Jensen lean sideways and press lips to her cheek when he's able to untangle Bunny and hold him upside down by the ankles. "Is everything alright?"
"I have something for you," Jensen says, setting Bunny back on his feet before he digs down into his pockets. He comes up with a think yellow envelope and hands it over. "Think of this as back-rent."
Mrs. Rabbit tweezes the envelope open carefully and then her eyes widen to see the stack of cash inside. "I can't accept this," she says, trying to press it back into Jensen's hands but he waves her off.
"When Jeff first left," Jensen says, and Mrs. Rabbit doesn't know whether he realizes that he winces when he says it, "and they came for me, you took me in and hid me, no questions asked. You saved the life they almost beat out of me. That's a debt I can never pay back, but I can at least try some installments."
Mrs. Rabbit shudders for a moment, remembering finding what she thought was a pile of bloodied rags just outside her alley doorway and being horrified that it had actually been a person. Prince and his hired muscle had for too long been policed by King and when King pulled up stakes and left, they took the opportunity to wreak the only revenge they could, on the boy everyone had known King had taken under his wing.
"Where did you get it though?" Mrs. Rabbit asks, hating to do it but not being able to stop. "What did you do?"
"Nothing overly illegal," Jensen dismisses. Then he's grinning and hunkering down to Bunny's level. "Now I understand it's someone's birthday," he says, hands going to his back and pulling something forward. Bunny makes an almost strange, high-pitched sound of glee as his hands dart forward and then curl the bow and arrow set to himself, suction-cup end of one of the arrows almost poking him in the eye.
"Say thank you," Mrs. Rabbit instructs automatically and Bunny looks at her and then back at Jensen.
"'ank you," he says and then thumps back upstairs, probably to wake his sisters, Mrs. Rabbit thinks morosely.
"Can I get you something to eat?" she asks because Jensen is looking entirely too skinny for her liking.
Marion was someone that Jensen felt like he should be attracted to so had made a clumsy pass at her that she had laughed off.
"Oh honey," she'd said. "It's okay, really."
They'd struck up an odd sort of friendship however that saw Jensen sometimes reclining on just made up motel beds while Marion cleaned. She always had something to say which made sense whenever he found himself at a crossroads and while she'd joked that she wasn't exactly Buddha on the mountaintop, he'd kept coming.
At the moment, they are in a twin share room and Jared is snoring on the other bed, limbs thrown casually like a tossed doll and mouth open.
God help him, Jensen thinks he looks adorable.
"I'm telling you," Marion calls from the bathroom, knowing that no matter how loud they are, there's no waking Jared until he decides he's had enough sleep, "This life is going to kill you both."
"I don't really have a choice here," Jensen says, punching at the pillow under his neck. It's lumpy and there's sweat stains on the covers which is a little disturbing considering Marion's just changed the linens but Jensen's slept rougher.
"Jensen," Marion tutts, as she emerges from the bathroom. "Now I know that isn't true."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"King offered to take you with him, didn't he? Cushy little private security job in a city that isn't crumbling."
"I can't leave," Jensen protests. "This is my home."
"Honey, I love you but you're a migrant, same as everyone here. Nobody actually comes from Knottingham, we all just end up here like silt on the bottom of a glass. You ever heard the phrase nice place to visit, wouldn't want to live there?" Marion makes an expansive gesture with her hands, encompassing the room and presumably everything outside of it. "It's actually an insult that you lump yourself in with those of us who don't have any other choices."
"I need to-"
"Save everybody?" Marion interrupts. As she's talking, she's still cleaning and her outfit, a classic black with white apron deal that leaves the bottom half of her ass exposed whenever she leans forward far enough, does so now. Jensen knows that Marion charges twenty bucks to guests that elect to stay while she cleans.
He thinks he must be pretty far gone if all the free show does is make him look at the comatose Jared and sigh.
"Hon, you can't save everyone," she says and then turns halfway, one hand on her right hip and arches an eyebrow at Jared. "How about just one?"
Jensen remembers the skinny seventeen year old kid counting out change on Mrs. Rabbit's convenience store counter, trying to figure out if he had enough for a Twinkie and a cup of coffee, like it was yesterday. The kid had looked wary when Jensen had insisted he come up for some real food to the attic room Jensen was renting above Mrs. Rabbit's cramped apartment and Jensen hated that look.
It meant Jared was used to strange guys trying to get Jared to go with them on the promise of food or somewhere to rest his head and with something completely different in mind.
Jared had put away three bowls of chili and a half a loaf of bread, all while still eyeing Jensen like he was waiting for the other boot to drop. When Jensen had left for the night, he had expected Jared to take off, pocketing the thirty bucks in change Jensen had left for him deliberately but not too obviously in the top drawer of his single chest of drawers.
The last thing he had expected to find was Jared asleep on the threadbare foldout couch and the attic room cleaner than he'd seen it in... ever.
Jared was basically a permanent fixture in his life ever since then.
"You going to make an honest woman out of her?"
Jensen's feeling a pleasant buzz and he's leaning heavily against Jared. They're in their local watering hole, the Marksman, and he's starting to feel pleasantly buzzed. Jensen fumbles his hand down and manages to land fingers on Jared's inseam. Jared makes a pleased sounding burr in the back of his throat and slouches a little. "Going to make a what out of who?" Jensen asks, fighting through his distraction long enough to remember that Jared asked him a question.
"Marion," Jared clarifies and Jensen's buzz disappears and is replaced with a sick feeling in his head and stomach.
"I'm groping you and you mention Marion?" Jensen asks incredulously and Jared just shrugs down at him. Jensen wasn't sure when he'd slipped far enough to basically be lodged in Jared's armpit and with an effort he rights himself.
"I don't see how they're related," Jared says and Jensen eyes him, trying to decipher the tone, what Jared is really saying but he can't. Jensen can read Jared like a well-loved novel most of the time but every now and again Jared becomes the flat surface of the ocean, no water breaking to warn of jagged rocks.
Jensen needs to navigate carefully.
"You don't see how... Jared? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Jared raises his eyebrows then and shifts a little. Not so much as to be obvious but before he moved they were still touching at hip and shoulder and now there's space. "I know you want to."
"I'm not going to... I've got nothing to offer Marion," Jensen snaps, and he knows he's saying completely the wrong thing but it's the first defense that came to mind.
Jared snorts indelicately. "She's a maid at a motel that rents rooms by the hour. I'm not sure you have to worry about giving her the life of luxury she's used to."
"Don't be a dick," Jensen grumbles. He's regretting the bottom of the still scum the Brother passes off as beer now. He needs all his wits about him when Jared gets in one of these moods. Jared is trying to say something, or make him say something and he has no idea what.
"Whatever," Jared sighs. "C'mon out back and I'll blow you."
Jensen is following Jared out of the booth before he realizes what he's doing. "Wait," he tries, reaching for Jared's arm and missing. He almost falls off the bench seat onto his face but Jared catches him by the shoulders.
"You get drunk and we fuck. S'way it goes, right?" Jared prompts and there's something hollow in his voice that should bother Jensen but he can't think straight enough to figure out why.
"I'm tired," Jensen grumbles as Jared gets arms under his and hoists him to his feet.
"Yeah, me too."
"Don't eat all my chips you Loxley-born motherfucker," Steve complains. They're in the Marksman again but this time Jensen is sans Jared and has already been scowling about that fact being remarked upon. He's not sure when he became part of a twin-set and he thinks it's good that they're both doing their own thing that night.
It of course doesn't last long as Chris spots Jared at the bar and waves. Jared raises his chin in return but is leaning a hip against the bar, talking to the underage daughter of the owner while she pours him a beer that's all head. He accepts it and blows foam at her and she giggles, swiping at him and taking the glass back so she can fill it properly.
"I heard you and Bear spent last night in lady-clothes," Chris says, raising an eyebrow. He's got a guitar case resting next to him but it's anyone's guess what is actually in it. Sometimes it's actually a guitar but Jensen has learned not to be curious. He and Jared are small-time, strictly under the radar, sticking it to the man in their own special way but not anything that's going to get them doing any serious time. If he doesn't ask, he's hoping they'll stay that way.
"We were working," Jensen sniffs.
"Yeah, that's what I heard," Chris agrees and grins. "Did you honestly handcuff Prince to a bed and take off with his royal money belt?"
"Yep," Jensen says and then his eyes skip to Jared. "Big N'Tall over there even had one of his door-goons makin' googley eyes at him as we took off."
"How'd you get out without Prince making a fuss?" Steve asks, looking nonchalant which should have set off all kinds of warning bells in Jensen's head.
"We gagged him," Jensen replies and then groans because right on queue Chris pipes up with, "Oh Jen, honey. You shouldn't stick it in that far."
"You're hilarious," Jensen sighs, but then sits up ramrod straight. He hadn't been able to do anything the night before because there'd been a plan but tonight when he spots Murray pushing through the crowd, Sheriff on his tail, he thinks that maybe all his Christmases have come at once. He shoves at Chris to get out of the booth he's wedged into, more urgently when he sees both Murray and Sheriff spot Jared and make a beeline for him.
Jared looks up, sets his beer down carefully and then moves. Jensen is always surprised by how quickly he can move given his size, almost like the bastard phase-shifts. One moment he's standing calmly at the bar, the next he's across the room, hands fisted in Murray's shirt, riding him down to the floor. Jensen hears glass shatter and people scream and when he meets resistance trying to head in that direction, he lets out his own guttural growl.
"No way, man, too many," Steve says, practically yanking Jensen off his feet and in the direction of the back exit, partially obscured by shadow and a staircase that leads to the owner's office.
"Jared!" Jensen calls desperately, but he's been lost in a swell of guys in black suits and all too late Jensen realizes that Murray and Sheriff weren't alone.
"We gotta go," Chris urges, helping Steve hustle Jensen to the exit, Jensen squirming and fighting them with every step. When he gets launched unceremoniously through the heavy fire door and lands on his ass, he looks up in shock.
"What the fuck!" he yells, scrambling to his feet, meaning to rush back inside but Chris and Steve form a human wall.
Chris gets Jensen's shoulders in his hands and shoves. "You think they're gonna stop at almost killing you this time?" he hisses, face grim.
"No, they'll just kill Jared," Jensen protests urgently, leaning against Chris' restraining hands.
"They won't," Chris insists. "Not when they know how important he is to you. They'll rough him up, sure. Bear's never gone quietly in his whole goddamn life, but they won't kill him."
"That's crazy, I'm not leavin' him," Jensen says, taking a few steps back from the two men barring his way and digging hands into his hair.
"Either you come quietly or we knock you on your ass again," Chris says, voice hard but expression apologetic.
Jared's voice sounds mushy on the phone so Jensen knows he's talking through at least a fat lip and something tightens in his chest to hear it.
"Aw, honey," he says, masking his concern with bravado. "You used your one phone call on me? I didn't know you cared."
In actual fact, the only reason Jensen isn't high-tailing it down to the rat-infested crap-shack Knottingham calls its jail is because Steve is currently sitting on him.
He was handed the phone under protest.
"They can't hold me," Jared says, obviously trying to reassure Jensen which is just plain crazy. Jensen got the very PG-13 rundown of events that basically boiled down to Sheriff and his goons working Jared over until they were bored and then dropping him off at the police station. The only reason Jared was tossed in a cell was because most of the cops on duty were on Prince's payroll. "And besides, I've done this before."
Jensen snorts at Jared's tough-guy act. "A stint in juvenile detention and a night in the drunk tank does not make you a hardened criminal Jay-Bear," Jensen scolds. There’s a dry snort from the other end of the phone and for a moment Jensen breathes, then taps the phone on his forehead a couple of times for luck. He casts a glance over his shoulder and something in his face makes Steve get off him in a hurry and retreat to the kitchen, which pleases him greatly.
“So, I was thinking,” Jensen starts and then takes a deep breath. “Maybe I have to make an honest boy out of you.”
There’s a pause, dead silence that makes Jensen wants to run very far away. Then Jared kind of makes this garbled noise that could be laughter or a very tiny scream. There’s another few seconds of dead silence and then Jared says, “Are you… proposing to me?”
“Did you just take the phone away from yourself to do a happy dance?” Jensen asks and he can’t help the smile that splits his face in half when Jared screeches, “How did you know that?”
“Very classy dude.”
“I don’t think you should be throwing stones, glass-house boy. You proposed to me over the phone, while I’m in jail.”
“How else am I going to get you to sit still long enough to listen to me?”
“Har, har.”
“Look, I’m serious. I want to stop investing in lost causes. I want to…”
“Take me away from all this?” Jared asks, but his voice is small and pleased rather than mocking and Jensen laughs.
“Stop stealing my lines.”
“The most romantic thing you could do for me right would be to come and bail me out,” Jared says.
“Marion’s already on her way with the cash.”
“You’re my hero.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“Oh hey, Jensen?”
“Yeah?”
“The whole… everything? I’m saying yes.”
“Good, because I’ve got Marion on speed dial and if you were going to say no to me I was going to leave you there to rot.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Jared says, laughing.
Jensen sighs heavily. “No, I really wouldn’t.”