Chickenshit Conformist
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Mike/Tom, Jensen/Tom, Jensen/OMCs
Rating: R
Art by burned_phoenix
"So, the thing about anarchy is that it's impossible. Humans are just hard-wired for a societal structure. You bomb the shit out of the world, you'll have chaos for awhile, but someone will step in, start organizing. Because most people are followers, not leaders, and they'll take what they can get. Society will always rise from the ashes like phoenix. You dig?"
Jensen raises an eyebrow but doesn't respond to Chad's rambling. He's heard this speech before, but Jared is new to their band of misfits, so of course Chad is reveling in the opportunity to get on his soapbox. Chris rolls his eyes at Steve, who starts strumming the intro to "Anarchy in the UK."
"Oh, fuck you guys," Chad says. He flips off everyone in the room and then turns back to Jared. "Seriously, you get it?"
Jared shrugs. "Sure, I get it, man."
"That's not to say that a little destruction, a little chaos doesn't have its purpose," Jensen says. He flashes a grin at Jared. "Plus, it's fun."
Chad spreads a map out on the table. Several intersections are circled in red. Each one has a billboard and the plan is to deface them, tag them up to erase their capitalist image. It's Chad's idea, but Jensen is the artist, the one that does the real work. Jensen stands up and digs through the box of spray paints in the corner, selecting one red and one black canister. After flipping them around like a gunslinger in the Old West, Jensen shoves the canisters in the deep pockets of his cargo pants.
"Let's do this shit."
The rest of the guys play look-out while Jensen scales the billboard. No net, no wires, just pure freedom and the exhilaration he gets from knowing that he could easily fall and break his neck. Jensen hums while he shakes up the can of red spray paint, contemplating the image of a laughing couple smoking Newport cigarettes. Lung cancer, definitely. He outlines the image of the trachea and lungs on the young woman, filling them in with black. On the man, he adds the more subtle image of rotten teeth. He could be obvious, cross out the logo, the slogan, add something like "smoking kills," but Jensen wants people to double-take, make the effort to take a closer look, not just read the words, roll their eyes, and move on.
"Dude!" Chad shouts from the base of the billboard. "Gotta hurry up. Steve spotted some cops the next block over."
Jensen still owes the county a fine from being caught "defacing" the side of the court building, so the last thing he needs is to be caught at this, too. He scrambles down and takes off through the park. His Doc Marten's aren't exactly conducive to running, so he walks; it's good camouflage anyway since the cops are trained to look for people fleeing the scene of the crime, not gently strolling.
"Hey wait up!"
Over his shoulder, Jensen sees Jared waving at him like a lunatic. Jared catches up and jumps on Jensen's back like a damn monkey, howling.
"That was fucking awesome. You're like a genius."
"Dude, get off me," Jensen says, half-heartedly attempting to shake Jared off. "You're heavy for such a skinny fucker."
Jared hops off, spins around in front of Jensen, and flashes him a wide grin. "I'm taller than you. And more muscular." To apparently prove the point, Jared flexes his biceps.
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Yeah? Let's see how that helps you hanging upside down from the top of a billboard."
"How'd you learn how to do that anyway? You run away from the circus?"
"Nah, just lots of practice." Jensen shrugs, not wanting to admit that back in high school he was a cheerleader and gymnast.
"You've got to teach me how to do that," Jared says. He's still bouncing around like a jackrabbit on speed. "Seriously."
"Yeah, sure, kid." Jensen knocks his shoulder against Jared's. "Don't you have a curfew? Better scram."
Jared glances at his watch, swears under his breath, and then takes off running. Jensen can't believe that Chad recruited some high school kid into their band of merry men. Chad's got a tough exterior, likes to play up the whole cultist, anarchy thing, but inside he's nougat- pure, fluffy, nougat. All puppies and kittens and rainbows and shit. Jensen swears he can feel his teeth rotting between Chad's soft heart and Jared's sugary innocence.
Jensen lives in a studio apartment with Chad. It's on the fifth floor of a walk-up and the alley behind it serves as an outdoor drug den for the guy on the first floor, but it's cheap and a roof over his head, and that's all Jensen really needs. To make the rent, Chad works part-time at the convenience store on the corner, part-time as a lawyer at a not-for-profit called The Center. The Center is a community organization that works to help everyone in the neighborhood; they run a soup kitchen, teach ESL classes, and provide free counseling and legal advice, among other things. Jensen freelances; mainly he gets work painting family portraits and doing caricatures for tips in the park. Sometimes he works at carnivals and sometimes he goes without food for a couple of days, but he's never had a steady job, never gotten a paycheck. He gets paid in cash, doesn't have a bank account or credit cards, stays off the radar. Even the apartment is in Chad's name. Jensen lives completely off the grid.
He'd like to say he's got plans to utilize that, maybe some massive act of anarchy, but really he just doesn't like paying taxes. Not when he has no control over what they're used for or anything. He'll admit the government has a purpose, but he doesn't have to support it.
The studio doesn't have much in the way of furniture, just a couch they got from Salvation Army for fifty bucks and a queen-sized mattress on the floor. Yeah, he shares a bed with Chad. They've been best friends since elementary school when they got into a fight over the last juice box. There aren't any secrets between them and Jensen can admit he likes the feeling of someone next to him while he's sleeping. Even if Chad tends to attach himself to Jensen like an octopus and sometimes he humps Jensen's hip in his sleep.
Steve is actually ridiculously wealthy and lives in a fancy condo along the river. Usually Chris crashes on his couch when he's not wandering the country like a Jack Kerouac junkie. Chris can be a pretentious ass and Steve is a complete mystery, especially where his money comes from, but they fund a lot of Jensen and Chad's more expensive operations, so they tolerate whatever shit they have to in order to further the cause.
The cause is the destruction of the capitalist system. At least in their own neighborhood. They've gone after payday loan stores, big box chains, and any other corporation which moves in and tries to shut out the locals. Hell, the Mickey Mart Chad works at almost went bankrupt when a 7-11 moved in down the street, but one too many break-ins, one too many instances of destruction of property, and it was gone.
"Okay, we got another payday loan place trying to move in," Chad says from his seat at the kitchen island. "The Center is on it, but in case their appeal to the zoning board falls through, we've gotta find a way to stop it."
"Don't people know enough to stay away from those glorified loan sharks by now?" Steve asks, sounding bored.
"Listen, man, there aren't any banks in the neighborhood, okay?" Chad answers. "People get in a tight spot, they're going to go wherever is available. Now, we've been working on getting one of the banks to open a branch, but they keep citing security issues."
Chris snorts. "Yeah, and I'm sure the little crime wave you and Jensen have going on isn't helping that."
Jensen grabs Chad's arm before he can even attempt to knock Chris' teeth in. "Cool it."
"Alright. The zoning board appeal falls through and I'll see what I can do," Steve says, ever the peacemaker.
Chad nods. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
Steve nods in return and lights up a joint. Jensen rubs at the X tattooed on the back of each of his hands and looks pointedly at Chad. He knows Jensen doesn't like to be around drugs or drinking.
"We're out of here," Chad says, doing some complicated handshake with Chris and then Steve. "Peace."
Jensen's been straight-edge for three years. Before that, he got a little too deep into the bottle. It was easy to get rip-roaring drunk and fuck shit up. He thought that was anarchy, fucking with the establishment. Chad's the one that taught him differently. Sobered him up, gave him a purpose.
Sometimes though, Jensen thinks that Chad is in way too deep. To Chad, this anti-capitalist, anti-establishment, Robin Hood thing is almost a religion. It's definitely an obsession. He gets this feverish look in his eyes sometimes that would scare Jensen if he didn't know that Chad's heart is in the right place.
"So, I'm thinking we should tag the building that payday loan is supposed to go in. Something big, lots of layers, hard to power wash off," Jensen says once they're out on the street.
"Yeah, yeah." Chad nods enthusiastically. "You ever think about doing a real work of art there? Something we can argue is art that shouldn't be deleted. Maybe even get the councilman behind it?"
"Maybe. Have to see what the building looks like first. Security in the area. That kind of thing takes time and you know I can't risk arrest," Jensen answers.
"Let's do it tonight," Chad says with a wicked grin.
They circle the block a couple of times, checking for security cameras, foot traffic, police patrols, but it's a pretty dead area. Pete's Pizza has a security camera, but it's a fake, and the cops come through pretty infrequently and with enough warning that Jensen can hide or dash. Above the boarded-up storefront with condemned notices on it, is a huge brick wall that faces the avenue. With the abandoned lots around it and the lack of any tall buildings, it can even be seen all the way to the highway.
Jensen's thinking a mural, something about the community that would be easier to get the councilman on their side. He's seen old pictures of this avenue when it was a thriving community instead of a place to cut a highway through. Maybe he'll do a portrait of that time fading into what it looks like now. He could use real paint instead of spray cans even.
Chad hooks his chin over Jensen's shoulder. "I can tell you've got some ideas. Gonna share?"
"Nah. Gonna make it a surprise." Jensen turns his head and sloppily kisses Chad's cheek. "Now get off of me or I'll think you've got intentions."
"Dude. No." Chad wrinkles his nose. "Even if I was into cock, you're like my brother."
"Aww, c'mon, sugar." He makes kissy-faces at Chad. "You know you want me."
"You're sick, you know that?" Chad sighs.
Jensen cackles gleefully.
Jensen is sitting in the park, sketching some ideas for the mural, when Jared plops down across from him. It's the middle of the day on a Friday in March, so Jensen would think the kid should be in school.
"Don't you have someplace else to be?" Jensen asks without looking up from his sketchpad.
"Umm, it's Columbus Day?"
"That's in October."
"Labor Day?"
"September."
"Okay, so someone may have started a fire in woodshop."
"Someone?"
Jared sighs. "Okay, me."
Setting his sketchpad aside, Jensen turns to face Jared. "Oh, I've got to hear this."
"I told Mr. Nelson that I shouldn't be allowed near power tools, but did he listen? No. I mean, and who knew that wood was so flammable?"
Jensen can't help it; he starts laughing and doesn't stop until he's nearly in tears. Jared crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.
"It's not that funny."
"Oh, but it is." Jensen wipes tears from his eyes. "Of course wood is flammable. Honestly."
Jared huffs and picks up Jensen's sketchpad. "What are you working on anyway?"
"Just some stuff for Chad." Jensen grabs the pad and shoves it in his backpack. "Nothing special."
Jensen can tell that Jared wants to ask about it, but he doesn't. Instead, he stands up and stretches. "So, wanna get some lunch?"
Normally Jensen skips lunch but Jared seems to have a bottomless stomach and needs to eat something every two hours. That might not just be his stomach though; he also has an oral fixation and always has gum or candy or something in his pockets.
When Jensen does eat lunch, and sometimes dinner, he tends to dumpster dive. Restaurants throw out all kinds of perfectly edible stuff and it's all free. Seeing as Jensen isn't exactly rolling in money and he's not picky to begin with, it's a good deal. Somehow he can't see Jared doing that though. Jared may be leaning towards the cause, but he's still a sheltered suburban kid playing at being a revolutionary.
"So, burgers?" Jared asks as they walk out of the park.
Jensen debates for a second and then turns to face Jared, walking backwards. "How about a free meal?"
Jared raises his eyebrows. "How you gonna manage that?"
With a smirk, Jensen turns back around and then leads them down an alley behind a bagel shop. He flips open the lid on a dumpster and reaches in, pulling out a clear garbage bag full of day-old bread, bagels, and pastries. When he turns to show the goods to Jared, he's surprised to see the other man grinning like a loon.
"What, no cream cheese?" Jared asks on a laugh.
Jensen tosses him the bag of bread and then launches himself into the dumpster. After some rooting around, he comes back with some cream cheese. Lukewarm, but no mold or anything. He tosses it over his shoulder and hears a soft "oof" as he assumes Jared catches it. Jensen also spots some slightly overripe bananas and expired soda, which, really, since when does sugar and water expire?
He grabs the haul and hops back out of the dumpster with a triumphant grin. "We'll dine well tonight, my friend."
Jared laughs. "God, you are such a dork."
They take the food back to Jensen's apartment where they spread it out on a blanket on the floor. Jensen grabs a cheese Danish to start with, taking a huge bite out of it. It tastes so good; Jensen can't help but moan slightly.
"Are you having an orgasm over pastry over there?" Jared smirks.
"Dude," Jensen says through a mouthful of it. "You have no idea how good this is."
Jared snatches it out of Jensen's hand and takes a bite. He grins through the food while Jensen pouts at him. "So share."
"I didn't think you'd be into this," Jensen says as he snatches the pastry back.
"Eh." Jared shrugs. "I'll eat just about anything."
"This is how Chad and I get by, you know. We can barely afford this place most months," Jensen admits.
"What if I moved in and helped out? Like, after I graduate?" Jared asks but he isn't looking at Jensen, like he's afraid he'll be shot down.
"Aren't you going to college or something?"
"I don't know. It seems kind of pointless. Just, like, buying into the whole chickenshit conformist thing," Jared mumbles.
Jensen shrugs. "Yeah, maybe. But you have a choice."
One that wasn't even an option for Jensen. His parents kicked him out at age sixteen when they caught Jensen fucking the captain of the football team. And how cliché was all of that? Jensen, the head cheerleader, dating the captain of the football team? Not to mention the whole parents kicking him out thing. It was so Lifetime movie of the week.
For the next couple of years, Jensen had couch-surfed, mainly in the loft in Chad's parents' garage, until he met Mike Rosenbaum, who was pretty much in the same boat as Jensen, except that his football stud boyfriend, Tom Welling, didn't bail. Mike and Tom squatted in an abandoned apartment building and seemed to spend the vast majority of their time partying. Jensen drank with them, even did some E, hooked up with any guy who so much as looked at him, got really into the punk music that Mike loved, and tried to forget that he was a total loser with no future.
Things really spiraled out of control when Jensen woke up, naked, and in bed with Tom with absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten there. The tell-tale ache in his ass and thighs told him something had happened, and when he turned over to find Mike sitting bedside with a grim expression on his face, he knew it was the worst case scenario: he had let Tom fuck him.
Mike had tossed him into a wall, broke a couple of ribs, and would've done more if Tom hadn't tackled him to the floor. Jensen had scrambled out of there, leaving all his stuff behind. The first place he thought to go was Chad's, but Chad had moved out of his parents, gone to college. Luckily, he hadn't gone far and still cared enough to make the drive to pick Jensen up.
"I know I should be grateful that I do have a choice," Jared says, interrupting Jensen's thoughts.
"But?" Jensen prompts.
"Sometimes it just makes everything so much harder. I envy you and Chad, you may not have as many choices but the ones you have? You get pure freedom, man. You're your own man. No one tells you what to do," Jared continues. "That's what I wish I had."
Jensen tilts his head. "There's nothing that says you can't be your own man and take advantage of the opportunities you've been given."
Jared quirks one corner of his mouth up and shrugs. "Yeah, maybe."
At the zoning board hearing, Jensen sits all the way at the back of the room. He knows his blue Mohawk, labret, and multiple tattoos won't go over well with some of the more conservative members of the board. Chad sits front and center, dressed in a pair of khakis with a light blue button down, his hair tamed, and reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviews the case.
The meeting goes on for hours as The Center makes the case against changing the zoning on the building from residential to commercial while the corporate lawyers for the payday loan company argue that the change will bring revenue and jobs to the neighborhood. Chad is the most vocal, arguing that businesses like this prey on the poor, that it will do more harm than good to have them. Despite testimony from other communities' leaders, statistics from the Better Business Bureau, and even a contractor who didn't think the building should be occupied at all, but rather razed to the ground, the board is swayed by the idea of the income from taxes and the promise of new jobs.
Chad storms out of the hearing after the ruling and out onto the street, Jensen trailing behind him. He knows his best friend takes every single one of these fights to heart, that he truly believes in what he and The Center are working toward.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Chad swears as he drags a hand down his face. "Those fucking vultures. We can't let them move into that building. You know that, right?"
Jensen grips Chad's shoulder lightly. "Yeah, man. I know. We'll get it done, okay?"
Chad takes a deep breath and then nods determinately. "I think we need to go bigger though. Burn the building down."
"Jesus, Chad." Jensen grabs his elbow and steers him away from the crowd exiting the hearing. "You can't say shit like that."
"Why not?" Chad shoots a glare over Jensen's shoulder at the corporate lawyers. "I mean it."
"Just cool it." Jensen grabs Chad's chin, turning him back to face Jensen. "Let's think rationally about this, huh?"
Chad pats Jensen's wrist and Jensen takes his hand away. "Alright, alright. Let's go home."
Back at the apartment, Chad locks himself in the bathroom for a good hour. Their water bill is going to be through the roof and Jensen knows Chad isn't even taking a shower. He's probably crying and doesn't want Jensen to hear, but it's not like Jensen would care. This was a big case to lose.
"Hey," Jensen calls through the door. "You wanna go out to eat? Like a restaurant, not the dumpster behind it."
The water shuts off and Jensen can hear Chad blowing his nose. "I don't want your pity food, Ackles," Chad calls back, but there's an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, so Jensen doesn't take it personally.
"How about a pity blow job?" Jensen retorts.
Chad opens the door and gives Jensen the stink-eye. "Are you kidding me? God only knows where your mouth's been."
Jensen flips him off. "I'll have you know, I've never had any complaints."
Before Jensen can blink, Chad has him in a headlock and is giving him a noogie. Jensen elbows him in the ribs and Chad shoves him backwards, onto the mattress. Jensen trips him and Chad lands on his stomach, half on top of Jensen. They scramble around, wrestling each other until Chad's got Jensen flat on his back, wrists pinned above his head.
"Say Uncle?" Chad laughs.
"Oh, baby," Jensen says flatly. "Do me harder."
Chad lets him go with an amused snort. "You wish."
Of course they swing by the property on the way to the restaurant. Jensen's still got plans for a mural and he's hoping Chad likes his idea enough to go with that rather than burning the building to the ground.
They're walking along, Jensen kicking broken glass off the sidewalk and into empty yards, when Chad suddenly stops short, tugging on Jensen's arm and pointing up.
Jensen looks up at the building in question and finds a larger than life painting of himself on a motorcycle taking up the space Jensen had intended to use for his art. He gapes at it, completely shocked. It's good, very good, but who the fuck would want to paint him?
"Someone got a crush on you?" Chad asks.
"Guess so?" Jensen asks uncertainly. "I don't even know."
"Well, guess I can't burn the damn thing down now, huh?" Chad shakes his head. "Maybe your ugly mug will scare away the loan sharks too."
"Fuck you," Jensen retorts automatically, his eyes still glued to the painting.
Jensen's pretty well known in the neighborhood from his association with Chad. He figures someone wanted to help Chad or maybe admired Jensen's own graffiti work or maybe it's some kid with a crush on him. Then he dismisses it from his mind. Chad's on to the next project, a community garden, and Jensen finds himself spending his days turning over soil in preparation for planting.
The things he does for that guy.
"Hey, Jensen!"
At that, Jensen turns to find Jared standing on the edge of the plot, shading his eyes with his hand, a big grin on his face. Jensen wipes sweat off his brow and half-heartedly waves back. All this gardening shit is exhausting.
"What's up?" Jensen calls back as he sets down the rotor-till and walks over.
Jared holds out a bottle of water. "Went to the apartment and Chad said you were down here. Figured you could use this in the heat."
Jensen nods his thanks and then cracks open the bottle, gulping it down. "Thanks, man."
"So, since when are you Farmer Jack?" Jared asks.
"Eh, this is Chad's new pet project," Jensen answers, wiping more sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt. "We lost the zoning case with the payday loan place."
"I heard about that. Sucks," Jared sympathizes.
"Yeah, well." Jensen shrugs. "Can't win 'em all. Isn't that what they say?"
Jared picks up a rake. "Need some help?"
"Sure," Jensen grins.
After hours of working in the hot sun, Jensen manages to clear about half an acre with Jared's help. They collapse in the empty field next to it, panting. Jared whips his shirt off and wipes his face with it before turning into a bandana.
"Should've thought of that awhile back," Jensen comments.
"Didn't want you to get distracted by my hot body," Jared teases.
The thing is: Jared does have a hot body. He's lean, but toned, with miles of golden skin. Unfortunately, he's still in high school, only seventeen. Jensen doesn't go for jailbait, no matter how sweet their ass looks in a pair of jeans.
"Right," Jensen snorts.
"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it." Jared winks and then bursts into laughter at his own joke.
Jensen shakes his head. "Aren't you a bit young to be saying things like that?"
"Young, not naïve," Jared says pointedly. "There is a difference."
"Hmm," Jensen says non-committally. He tosses a set of gardening gloves at Jared's head. "Back to work."
The next night, Jensen volunteers at the soup kitchen. They're serving meatloaf and mashed potatoes, so he sits on a stool at the sink, peeling pound after pound of potatoes. Chad is standing next to him at the stove, boiling the potatoes once Jensen is done. For the most part, they're pretty quiet, lost in the rhythm of their work.
"I fucking hate potatoes," Jensen says once he's down to the last bag of them.
"Could've said that three hours ago and I would've put you on the serving line," Chad says with a soft snort.
"And miss your lovely company?" Jensen bats his eyelashes. "No way."
"Uh-huh." Chad points at Jensen with a metal spoon. "Speaking of flattery, you figure out who did that painting yet?"
Jensen shakes his head and then starts throwing the peels in the garbage. "Not really interested in knowing, you know?"
"Seriously?"
"What difference does it make?" Jensen asks. "They'll either come out and tell me or they won't."
"Don't you have any sense of curiosity, man?"
"Curiosity killed the cat and all that jazz," Jensen replies with a shrug. "Not that important with everything else going on."
Chad gives a slight nod of his head. "Yeah, okay. Guess you have all the time in the world to work in the garden this week then?"
Jensen groans. "I didn't sign up for hard labor, man. Can't you see I'm all pale and weak and shit?"
"Right," Chad says dismissively. "You're a weakling."
"I am!" Jensen protests. "I'm totally not built. I'm like the Pillsbury Dough Boy."
"Those are exactly the words I would use to describe you." Chad pauses. "Not."
"Aww, fuck you." Jensen throws a handful of peels at Chad's head. "You have no taste anyway."
Chad brushes the peels off his face and shoulders. "I'm going to get you for that when you least expect it, Ackles."
"Bring it, Murray."
A couple weeks go by and Jensen almost forgets about the painting except for when he happens to pass by it, of course. The building it's on is still empty, but there are signs up now proclaiming that the payday loan place is coming soon. Jensen rips down the ones he can reach and throws them in the dumpster. That night, he and Chad make posters telling people to boycott the place. Jensen shellacs them to walls all around the building, but doesn't cover up the painting. Somehow it seems wrong to destroy someone else's work. Even if Jensen questions the person's sanity; him, on a motorcycle, really? Jensen can't even ride a bike.
"Listen, filling out the Census form is important," Chad explains to a group of people in the small conference room at The Center. "They don't care if you're illegal, just that you're living here. The more people that get counted, the more resources our community gets." He repeats himself in Spanish and then starts wandering around the room, helping people fill out the form.
Jensen's Spanish isn't quite as good as Chad's, but he helps out where he can. After going over the Census, they'll get into other government paperwork, and then Chad will meet with individuals on personal matters.
Normally Jensen would go home once Chad started those appointments, but tonight he sticks around, filing some of the paperwork away and answering the phone the few times it rings. Mostly there's calls asking about the hours of The Center, but there are also referrals to shelters, domestic violence hotlines, and counselors.
By the time Chad is done, four hours later, Jensen is almost falling asleep at one of the desks. They stumble out the front door together; giddy in that way that only pure exhaustion can bring, and come face-to-face with yet another mural with Jensen's mug on it.
"Dude." Chad squints at the mural on the back of the bus shelter. "Are you sure you don't have a stalker or something?"
Jensen tilts his head at the painting; it's the same one as before, down to the last detail. "I don't even know. Let's go home."
The next day, Jensen borrows a digital camera from one of the neighbors and then takes close-ups of the murals from several positions. The memory card from the camera comes with him on a trip across town to an art dealer friend of Chris and Steve's named Misha.
"So, you recognize the artist's work?" Jensen asks once Misha has loaded the photos onto his computer and examined them.
"No, but whoever they are, they're just a novice." He goes on to point out the twenty different reasons why this person had no training and Jensen just nods along. Jensen himself was never trained and he'd really hate to see what Misha has to say about his own work.
"Well," Jensen says when the guy finally wraps it up. "Thanks for your help."
Misha smiles. "You're welcome. Even though I don't think I helped at all."
Jensen can't help but laugh, because it's so true. "At least I can rule out all professional artists."
"Indeed."
A few days later, the painting pops up in poster form all over the neighborhood. It's shellacked onto dumpsters, sides of buildings, bus shelters, and a copy is even tacked up to the fence around the garden. Every single place Jensen frequents on a near-daily basis. Which is kind of on the creepy side.
He goes to visit Chris, whose dad was a police officer or something, for advice. After explaining the whole thing, Chris just laughs.
"Umm, dude. I don’t think it's a stalker. Just someone with a crush on you? Or someone who idolizes you?" Chris hypothesizes. "You haven't gotten any threatening letters? No shit stolen from that rat-hole you and Murray share? No signs of someone coming in and whacking it on your bed?"
"Uh, gross. And no," Jensen answers with a shake of his head. "None of that."
"And Misha couldn't help you out, huh?"
"No. Just said whoever it is, they're a novice," Jensen replies. "Which, you know, narrows it down to like half the city."
"Yeah, good luck with that," Chris snorts.
"I swear you people are no help at all. None."
Jensen does extra work in the garden the next couple of days to keep up with the planting schedule. There's a little old lady in the neighborhood, Merrilyn, who used to work on a farm, so she's tacked up what needs to be planted and when on the back of the piece of plywood with the garden's name - jardin de la esperanza. Jensen is planting a variety of peppers today and tomorrow he's scheduled to plant melons. He doesn't even like melons, but this neighborhood isn't exactly bursting at the seams with places that sell fresh fruit, so he'll deal.
Merrilyn is humming Beatles tunes as she plants cucumbers two row over and normally that would annoy the hell out of Jensen because he feels that they're totally overrated, but it's peaceful in the garden, Zen-like, and the music almost seems perfect.
Jared shows up at the garden on Saturday wearing cut-off jeans and a tank top, and there's a bandana holding his hair back. Basically, he looks like gay porn come to life. Jensen, meanwhile, is wearing ratty basketball shorts and a faded t-shirt from his cheerleading days, which he's hoping Jared will figure he bought at a thrift store.
"Wow, you've done a lot since I was last here," Jared calls out as he tip-toes through the tomato plants to get to Jensen.
"Not just me, man. The whole neighborhood pitches in," Jensen replies, his cheeks heating up in a totally ridiculous blush from a compliment from a teenager of all things.
"Yeah, but I know you're out here every day." Jared nods at Jensen's arms. "Tan looks good on you."
Jensen flicks some dirt at Jared. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Padalecki. Grab some gloves and get to work."
Jared rolls his eyes but walks over to the box they keep the gardening supplies in and pulls out a pair of gloves with pink flowers on them. He tries shoving them onto his huge hands, but can't even fit his fingers in. Jensen snickers and Jared looks back at him, pouting.
"What? It's not my fault that I'm proportionate!"
"Everywhere?" Jensen can't help but ask with a raised eyebrow.
"You wish you knew." Jared grins wide, showing off his dimples. "If you weren't such a prude."
"I am not a prude!" Jensen protests. "I just... you're underage."
"Not for long. I turn 18 in July. That's only two months away," Jared argues.
Jensen debates with himself, a frown on his face. On the one hand, possible arrest and maybe Jared's parents killing him. On the other hand, if he's all anti-establishment, should he care? Like, is his punk cred totally ruined by not going for it? It's not like Jared doesn't want it. Hell, he's pursuing Jensen.
"Okay," Jensen finally says. "One date."
Jared laughs. "I thought our dumpster picnic spread was a date."
"Yeah," Jensen agrees, laughing too. "I guess it was."
"So..." Jared saunters closer and holds his hand out to Jensen. "Will you take me to the prom?"
Jensen bats his hand away with a smirk. "Please, as if."
"But I want my first time to be in a hotel room after prom like all the clichés!" Jared pouts.
"Why not under the bleachers? That's cliché too," Jensen suggests.
"Let me guess, that was your first time?" Jared asks with a raised eyebrow.
"I never kiss and tell," Jensen demurs.
"That's totally a yes!" Jared crows. "You slut."
"Dude, so not true." Jensen shakes his head. "It was actually in the back of a pick-up truck."
"And that's somehow better? Was it under a starry sky? Did you wear a cowboy hat and boots?"
It totally wasn't like that at all, Jensen remembers. It was rushed, frantic, and they were both drunk after some stupid bonfire for homecoming. Jensen's ass ached for days afterward due to a lack of lube and finesse. Not exactly the best time.
"God no," Jensen answers. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"So you admit it, you're a total girl," Jared grins.
"Shut it, Padalecki, or I won't date you at all," Jensen retorts as he throws a clump of dirt at Jared's head.
"You don't mean that," Jared almost sing-songs before walking back to the gardening supplies box.
"I totally do," Jensen mutters under his breath, but he can't help but smile.
When Jensen gets home that night, the picture of him on the motorcycle is taped to the front door, all the way up the staircase, and then on the door to the apartment. Jensen rips them down as he goes, thinking maybe he should call the police or something. Whoever painted it seems to know where he hangs out in the neighborhood, not mention where he lives.
Inside the apartment, Jensen finds Chad sitting on the mattress, going through some legal papers. His glasses are sliding down his nose and there’s a frown on his face. Jensen dumps the copies of the painting down on top of the pile of papers.
"I think I have a stalker."
Chad looks up, frown still on his face. “Where did you find these?"
“Here!" Jensen flops down on the mattress next to Chad. “I wasn’t worried before, but they know where I live, man."
“Hmm." Chad takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Just these though, no threats?"
Jensen shakes his head. “No threats. No contact made at all."
“Well, under Section 42.072 of the Texas penal code, the stalker has to threaten you in some matter. There has to be clear evidence that they intend to harm you," Chad explains. “You should keep a record of where you’ve seen the posters and when, but until something actually happens, there’s not much we can do."
“How do you even know the penal codes off the top of your head?" Jensen shakes his head in amazement. “Anyway, I guess I won’t worry for now."
“No," Chad corrects. “You should worry; we just can’t do anything to help you right now."
“Gee, thanks," Jensen sighs. He throws his arm over his eyes. “In other news, I have a date with Jared on Saturday."
“Now that I can tell you is actually legal."
Jensen lifts his arm and raises an eyebrow. “He’s only seventeen."
“Age of consent is seventeen in our great state." Chad pauses. “And they even repealed the ‘Homosexual Conduct’ law a few years ago, so you’re totally home free."
“It still feels weird though. He’s in high school," Jensen says.
“He graduates in, what, a month? And then he turns eighteen. How did I not know that you’re such a prude?"
“I’m not a prude!" Jensen protests. “God, why does everyone think that?"
Chad just cackles.
Two days later, Jensen walks by the original painting to find that someone tagged it in red spray paint. It says, “You can’t fool me, Cheerleader."
“Fuck," Jensen mutters.
He’s tried so hard to keep his ridiculously white-bread, suburban upbringing a secret. It’s fucking embarrassing. Although the number of people in this city who know about his high school days are exactly three, and since Chad can barely draw stick figures that narrows it down to two, his old roommates, Tom and Mike.
Jensen had made the horrible mistake of spilling his whole coming out story to them one night when he was drunk, so if they weren’t too wasted at the time themselves, they probably remember every last detail. Now that he thinks about it, Jensen is pretty sure the motorcycle is supposed to represent some rambling speech he once gave about how going out on the road is the last true frontier or way to lose yourself or some other Jack Kerouac bullshit that only sounds good when you’re wasted.
“Fuck," Jensen repeats.
He has no idea how to find Mike and Tommy, not one damned clue. And how exactly did they find him, anyway?
Steve’s got his typical blasé attitude when Jensen asks for help figuring it all out. He has a private investigator gather some information and then presents the file folder to Jensen with a shrug.
“All my guy has is their last address, some halfway home," Steve summarizes while Jensen flips through the information. “Oh, and that Mike guy has quite the rap sheet."
“Yeah, he’s a real prince," Jensen mutters.
“The other guy? Tommy? He has one arrest for prostitution. A real pair they make," Steve continues.
“Birds of a feather," Jensen replies absently, already halfway out the door.
He doesn’t bother to mention that he has his own rap sheet, that he was once just like them.
Mike isn't all that hard to find. Everyone seems to know the crazy fucker and after talking to a drug dealer Jensen used to score from, a hooker he used to kind of date, and some random dude he'd just seen around, he's directed to an abandoned house that's only a mere five blocks away from his own apartment building. He sneaks in through a busted out window in the back and tip-toes through broken glass, dirty mattresses, empty syringes, and various garbage until he finds Mike passed out in the front bedroom.
Jensen kicks the mattress. "Hey, fucker, wake up."
He gets a groan in response, so Jensen kicks the mattress again. Finally, Mike sits up, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "Jesus, what the fuck?"
"Where's Tommy?" Jensen asks.
"Tommy?" Mike blinks a couple of times. "Tommy's dead."
Jensen frowns and then crouches down so he's at eye-level with Mike. "Mikey, it's Jensen. What do you mean Tommy's dead?"
Mike's eyes snap up to Jensen's and they're full of fury. "I'm going to kill you. Should've done it years ago."
"Whoa." Jensen scoots back, holding up his hands. "What's your damage?"
"It's your fault that Tommy's dead. I mean, he wouldn't shut up about you after you ran off. He was fucking obsessed. Kept talking about how he was going to find you, bring you back into the fold."
Mike leans over and picks up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pauses to light up a cigarette, blowing smoke up at the ceiling. Jensen moves back even farther, sitting down on a packing crate.
"He was good at drawing, you know. He'd sketch you when you were sleeping, even before you took off, said you were his muse. I didn't like it. I mean, who wants to hear that shit from your boyfriend? That's why I just fucking snapped when he fucked you."
Jensen bites his lip. He didn't know any of that. "So, how did Tommy die?"
"That fucking mural. He found you and he wanted you to see it, admire it, and somehow know that he did it." Mike takes a long drag on his cigarette. "But that's not what happened. So he got even more obsessed. Pasted up prints of that shit everywhere. I guess when he was trying to scale a billboard to put more up, he fell. Broke his neck."
"Jesus," Jensen whispers. He presses a hand to his lips, trembling. "I had no idea."
"Yeah, well." Mike rubs at the corner of his eye, his eyes wet. "Like I said, I should kill you for running off, making Tommy crazy like that."
"Mikey…" Jensen trails off, not sure what to say. "I thought you wanted me gone; that's why I left."
"Yeah, I know." Mike presses his hands to both his eyes. "That's why I could kill myself too."
Jensen moves forward again, kneels on the mattress, and touches Mike's shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Mike."
"I just wish I could see him one last time. But his parents." Mike chokes out a sob. "They wouldn't even let me go to the funeral."
"C'mon." Jensen pulls Mike into a full hug, mindful of the still lit cigarette. "It's okay."
Tommy is buried in a cemetery just outside the city. It took some convincing to get Chris to drive Jensen and Mike out there, but in the end, he rolled his eyes and gave in.
Mike and Jensen stand side-by-side in front of the grave in complete silence. After a few minutes, Mike kneels down and places a wreath in front of the headstone. He kisses Tommy's name and then stands up, swiping at his eyes.
Jensen holds out his hand, Mike takes it in a tight grip, and they walk back to the car. On the way back to the city, Mike rests his head against the window, his eyes slipping closed as he falls asleep.
Steve's already agreed to take Mike in temporarily. It turns out that Steve's so rich because his parents died in a horrible accident and he's got a soft spot for people who are mourning those that died too young.
Back at the apartment, Chad listens to the whole story, occasionally nodding or asking a question. He's got this serious look on his face, the one he normally reserves for depositions. When Jensen finally finishes talking, Chad kisses his forehead.
"You did good. I'm proud of you."
Jensen hugs his knees to his chest, rests his cheek on his knee. "I don't feel like I did. I abandoned them instead of helping them."
"You couldn't even help yourself," Chad bluntly reminds him. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
"Yeah, I guess."
Chad cups the back of Jensen's neck. "I mean it. You're one of the good guys."
Jensen shrugs him off and then knocks his shoulder against Chad's, hiding a grin. "Stop trying to cheer me up. You kind of suck at it."
On Saturday, Jared shows up to the apartment with a bouquet of flowers. Jensen takes them with a frown, not sure if he should be flattered or offended, and wondering if he even owns a vase to put them in.
“Umm, thanks?" Jensen says as he stares down at the bunch of daises.
“You should be proud of me, I got them from a dumpster," Jared beams.
Jensen looks up and raises his eyebrow. “You brought me dumpster flowers?"
“Well, I thought you’d like that? I mean…" Jared scratches the back of his neck. “You eat out of dumpsters so how are flowers different?"
“I’m just messing with you," Jensen laughs. He sets the flowers on the rickety side-table they use to throw mail and keys on. “C’mon, let’s get this date started."
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, jerk," Jared pouts.
Jared takes Jensen to a local taqueria that doesn't even have tables; it's really just a take-out counter with a list of tacos, not even the name of the place on the sign. Jensen orders a couple of vegetarian ones, but when he pulls out his wallet to pay, Jared lightly knocks him away with his shoulder.
"I asked you out, so I pay," Jared says with a huge grin.
"If you insist," Jensen says, stepping back.
"Not even a token protest?" Jared mock pouts.
Jensen shrugs. "Eh, you wouldn't let me win anyway."
"True."
They take their tacos to the park and sit side by side on the merry-go-round, their shoulders and thighs just barely touching. Jensen didn't exactly dress up for this occasion, just wearing his regular ripped jeans, random thrift store t-shirt -this time one for a barbeque completion that took place in the 1970s- , beat-up Doc Marten's, and his hair dyed fuchsia. Jared, however, is wearing flip-flops, khakis, and a polo shirt in a truly awful shade of orange. It just reminds Jensen of how different they are and why this is all a bad idea.
"So," Jensen says once they've finish eating.
Jared quirks an eyebrow. "So, what?"
"You know I'm not…" Jensen looks down at his fingernails, picking at the black polish there. "I mean, I don't have a future. I don't have money, even. Like, I'm not the type of guy that is going to move with you out to the suburbs and adopt a bunch of babies. I'm not someone you can bring home to your parents. I'm just… not boyfriend material."
"Jensen…" Jared grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Why do you keep assuming I care about any of that?"
Jensen huffs and glances at Jared's clothing pointedly. "Because it's true. You have a future. You can do something with your life; make a real difference out there in the world. And I'll only hold you back."
Jared lifts his other hand and tilts Jensen's head toward his own. "I want you. I don't care about the rest."
He kisses Jensen then, their lips just barely brushing. Jensen closes his eyes and goes for it, kisses Jared back and means it. He's been living his life in extremes for so long; maybe it's time for some balance. Maybe it's time to let go of the past, stop being a chickenshit, and just move forward, no matter where it takes him.
For more art, go here
Rating: R
Art by burned_phoenix
"So, the thing about anarchy is that it's impossible. Humans are just hard-wired for a societal structure. You bomb the shit out of the world, you'll have chaos for awhile, but someone will step in, start organizing. Because most people are followers, not leaders, and they'll take what they can get. Society will always rise from the ashes like phoenix. You dig?"
Jensen raises an eyebrow but doesn't respond to Chad's rambling. He's heard this speech before, but Jared is new to their band of misfits, so of course Chad is reveling in the opportunity to get on his soapbox. Chris rolls his eyes at Steve, who starts strumming the intro to "Anarchy in the UK."
"Oh, fuck you guys," Chad says. He flips off everyone in the room and then turns back to Jared. "Seriously, you get it?"
Jared shrugs. "Sure, I get it, man."
"That's not to say that a little destruction, a little chaos doesn't have its purpose," Jensen says. He flashes a grin at Jared. "Plus, it's fun."
Chad spreads a map out on the table. Several intersections are circled in red. Each one has a billboard and the plan is to deface them, tag them up to erase their capitalist image. It's Chad's idea, but Jensen is the artist, the one that does the real work. Jensen stands up and digs through the box of spray paints in the corner, selecting one red and one black canister. After flipping them around like a gunslinger in the Old West, Jensen shoves the canisters in the deep pockets of his cargo pants.
"Let's do this shit."
The rest of the guys play look-out while Jensen scales the billboard. No net, no wires, just pure freedom and the exhilaration he gets from knowing that he could easily fall and break his neck. Jensen hums while he shakes up the can of red spray paint, contemplating the image of a laughing couple smoking Newport cigarettes. Lung cancer, definitely. He outlines the image of the trachea and lungs on the young woman, filling them in with black. On the man, he adds the more subtle image of rotten teeth. He could be obvious, cross out the logo, the slogan, add something like "smoking kills," but Jensen wants people to double-take, make the effort to take a closer look, not just read the words, roll their eyes, and move on.
"Dude!" Chad shouts from the base of the billboard. "Gotta hurry up. Steve spotted some cops the next block over."
Jensen still owes the county a fine from being caught "defacing" the side of the court building, so the last thing he needs is to be caught at this, too. He scrambles down and takes off through the park. His Doc Marten's aren't exactly conducive to running, so he walks; it's good camouflage anyway since the cops are trained to look for people fleeing the scene of the crime, not gently strolling.
"Hey wait up!"
Over his shoulder, Jensen sees Jared waving at him like a lunatic. Jared catches up and jumps on Jensen's back like a damn monkey, howling.
"That was fucking awesome. You're like a genius."
"Dude, get off me," Jensen says, half-heartedly attempting to shake Jared off. "You're heavy for such a skinny fucker."
Jared hops off, spins around in front of Jensen, and flashes him a wide grin. "I'm taller than you. And more muscular." To apparently prove the point, Jared flexes his biceps.
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Yeah? Let's see how that helps you hanging upside down from the top of a billboard."
"How'd you learn how to do that anyway? You run away from the circus?"
"Nah, just lots of practice." Jensen shrugs, not wanting to admit that back in high school he was a cheerleader and gymnast.
"You've got to teach me how to do that," Jared says. He's still bouncing around like a jackrabbit on speed. "Seriously."
"Yeah, sure, kid." Jensen knocks his shoulder against Jared's. "Don't you have a curfew? Better scram."
Jared glances at his watch, swears under his breath, and then takes off running. Jensen can't believe that Chad recruited some high school kid into their band of merry men. Chad's got a tough exterior, likes to play up the whole cultist, anarchy thing, but inside he's nougat- pure, fluffy, nougat. All puppies and kittens and rainbows and shit. Jensen swears he can feel his teeth rotting between Chad's soft heart and Jared's sugary innocence.
Jensen lives in a studio apartment with Chad. It's on the fifth floor of a walk-up and the alley behind it serves as an outdoor drug den for the guy on the first floor, but it's cheap and a roof over his head, and that's all Jensen really needs. To make the rent, Chad works part-time at the convenience store on the corner, part-time as a lawyer at a not-for-profit called The Center. The Center is a community organization that works to help everyone in the neighborhood; they run a soup kitchen, teach ESL classes, and provide free counseling and legal advice, among other things. Jensen freelances; mainly he gets work painting family portraits and doing caricatures for tips in the park. Sometimes he works at carnivals and sometimes he goes without food for a couple of days, but he's never had a steady job, never gotten a paycheck. He gets paid in cash, doesn't have a bank account or credit cards, stays off the radar. Even the apartment is in Chad's name. Jensen lives completely off the grid.
He'd like to say he's got plans to utilize that, maybe some massive act of anarchy, but really he just doesn't like paying taxes. Not when he has no control over what they're used for or anything. He'll admit the government has a purpose, but he doesn't have to support it.
The studio doesn't have much in the way of furniture, just a couch they got from Salvation Army for fifty bucks and a queen-sized mattress on the floor. Yeah, he shares a bed with Chad. They've been best friends since elementary school when they got into a fight over the last juice box. There aren't any secrets between them and Jensen can admit he likes the feeling of someone next to him while he's sleeping. Even if Chad tends to attach himself to Jensen like an octopus and sometimes he humps Jensen's hip in his sleep.
Steve is actually ridiculously wealthy and lives in a fancy condo along the river. Usually Chris crashes on his couch when he's not wandering the country like a Jack Kerouac junkie. Chris can be a pretentious ass and Steve is a complete mystery, especially where his money comes from, but they fund a lot of Jensen and Chad's more expensive operations, so they tolerate whatever shit they have to in order to further the cause.
The cause is the destruction of the capitalist system. At least in their own neighborhood. They've gone after payday loan stores, big box chains, and any other corporation which moves in and tries to shut out the locals. Hell, the Mickey Mart Chad works at almost went bankrupt when a 7-11 moved in down the street, but one too many break-ins, one too many instances of destruction of property, and it was gone.
"Okay, we got another payday loan place trying to move in," Chad says from his seat at the kitchen island. "The Center is on it, but in case their appeal to the zoning board falls through, we've gotta find a way to stop it."
"Don't people know enough to stay away from those glorified loan sharks by now?" Steve asks, sounding bored.
"Listen, man, there aren't any banks in the neighborhood, okay?" Chad answers. "People get in a tight spot, they're going to go wherever is available. Now, we've been working on getting one of the banks to open a branch, but they keep citing security issues."
Chris snorts. "Yeah, and I'm sure the little crime wave you and Jensen have going on isn't helping that."
Jensen grabs Chad's arm before he can even attempt to knock Chris' teeth in. "Cool it."
"Alright. The zoning board appeal falls through and I'll see what I can do," Steve says, ever the peacemaker.
Chad nods. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
Steve nods in return and lights up a joint. Jensen rubs at the X tattooed on the back of each of his hands and looks pointedly at Chad. He knows Jensen doesn't like to be around drugs or drinking.
"We're out of here," Chad says, doing some complicated handshake with Chris and then Steve. "Peace."
Jensen's been straight-edge for three years. Before that, he got a little too deep into the bottle. It was easy to get rip-roaring drunk and fuck shit up. He thought that was anarchy, fucking with the establishment. Chad's the one that taught him differently. Sobered him up, gave him a purpose.
Sometimes though, Jensen thinks that Chad is in way too deep. To Chad, this anti-capitalist, anti-establishment, Robin Hood thing is almost a religion. It's definitely an obsession. He gets this feverish look in his eyes sometimes that would scare Jensen if he didn't know that Chad's heart is in the right place.
"So, I'm thinking we should tag the building that payday loan is supposed to go in. Something big, lots of layers, hard to power wash off," Jensen says once they're out on the street.
"Yeah, yeah." Chad nods enthusiastically. "You ever think about doing a real work of art there? Something we can argue is art that shouldn't be deleted. Maybe even get the councilman behind it?"
"Maybe. Have to see what the building looks like first. Security in the area. That kind of thing takes time and you know I can't risk arrest," Jensen answers.
"Let's do it tonight," Chad says with a wicked grin.
They circle the block a couple of times, checking for security cameras, foot traffic, police patrols, but it's a pretty dead area. Pete's Pizza has a security camera, but it's a fake, and the cops come through pretty infrequently and with enough warning that Jensen can hide or dash. Above the boarded-up storefront with condemned notices on it, is a huge brick wall that faces the avenue. With the abandoned lots around it and the lack of any tall buildings, it can even be seen all the way to the highway.
Jensen's thinking a mural, something about the community that would be easier to get the councilman on their side. He's seen old pictures of this avenue when it was a thriving community instead of a place to cut a highway through. Maybe he'll do a portrait of that time fading into what it looks like now. He could use real paint instead of spray cans even.
Chad hooks his chin over Jensen's shoulder. "I can tell you've got some ideas. Gonna share?"
"Nah. Gonna make it a surprise." Jensen turns his head and sloppily kisses Chad's cheek. "Now get off of me or I'll think you've got intentions."
"Dude. No." Chad wrinkles his nose. "Even if I was into cock, you're like my brother."
"Aww, c'mon, sugar." He makes kissy-faces at Chad. "You know you want me."
"You're sick, you know that?" Chad sighs.
Jensen cackles gleefully.
Jensen is sitting in the park, sketching some ideas for the mural, when Jared plops down across from him. It's the middle of the day on a Friday in March, so Jensen would think the kid should be in school.
"Don't you have someplace else to be?" Jensen asks without looking up from his sketchpad.
"Umm, it's Columbus Day?"
"That's in October."
"Labor Day?"
"September."
"Okay, so someone may have started a fire in woodshop."
"Someone?"
Jared sighs. "Okay, me."
Setting his sketchpad aside, Jensen turns to face Jared. "Oh, I've got to hear this."
"I told Mr. Nelson that I shouldn't be allowed near power tools, but did he listen? No. I mean, and who knew that wood was so flammable?"
Jensen can't help it; he starts laughing and doesn't stop until he's nearly in tears. Jared crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.
"It's not that funny."
"Oh, but it is." Jensen wipes tears from his eyes. "Of course wood is flammable. Honestly."
Jared huffs and picks up Jensen's sketchpad. "What are you working on anyway?"
"Just some stuff for Chad." Jensen grabs the pad and shoves it in his backpack. "Nothing special."
Jensen can tell that Jared wants to ask about it, but he doesn't. Instead, he stands up and stretches. "So, wanna get some lunch?"
Normally Jensen skips lunch but Jared seems to have a bottomless stomach and needs to eat something every two hours. That might not just be his stomach though; he also has an oral fixation and always has gum or candy or something in his pockets.
When Jensen does eat lunch, and sometimes dinner, he tends to dumpster dive. Restaurants throw out all kinds of perfectly edible stuff and it's all free. Seeing as Jensen isn't exactly rolling in money and he's not picky to begin with, it's a good deal. Somehow he can't see Jared doing that though. Jared may be leaning towards the cause, but he's still a sheltered suburban kid playing at being a revolutionary.
"So, burgers?" Jared asks as they walk out of the park.
Jensen debates for a second and then turns to face Jared, walking backwards. "How about a free meal?"
Jared raises his eyebrows. "How you gonna manage that?"
With a smirk, Jensen turns back around and then leads them down an alley behind a bagel shop. He flips open the lid on a dumpster and reaches in, pulling out a clear garbage bag full of day-old bread, bagels, and pastries. When he turns to show the goods to Jared, he's surprised to see the other man grinning like a loon.
"What, no cream cheese?" Jared asks on a laugh.
Jensen tosses him the bag of bread and then launches himself into the dumpster. After some rooting around, he comes back with some cream cheese. Lukewarm, but no mold or anything. He tosses it over his shoulder and hears a soft "oof" as he assumes Jared catches it. Jensen also spots some slightly overripe bananas and expired soda, which, really, since when does sugar and water expire?
He grabs the haul and hops back out of the dumpster with a triumphant grin. "We'll dine well tonight, my friend."
Jared laughs. "God, you are such a dork."
They take the food back to Jensen's apartment where they spread it out on a blanket on the floor. Jensen grabs a cheese Danish to start with, taking a huge bite out of it. It tastes so good; Jensen can't help but moan slightly.
"Are you having an orgasm over pastry over there?" Jared smirks.
"Dude," Jensen says through a mouthful of it. "You have no idea how good this is."
Jared snatches it out of Jensen's hand and takes a bite. He grins through the food while Jensen pouts at him. "So share."
"I didn't think you'd be into this," Jensen says as he snatches the pastry back.
"Eh." Jared shrugs. "I'll eat just about anything."
"This is how Chad and I get by, you know. We can barely afford this place most months," Jensen admits.
"What if I moved in and helped out? Like, after I graduate?" Jared asks but he isn't looking at Jensen, like he's afraid he'll be shot down.
"Aren't you going to college or something?"
"I don't know. It seems kind of pointless. Just, like, buying into the whole chickenshit conformist thing," Jared mumbles.
Jensen shrugs. "Yeah, maybe. But you have a choice."
One that wasn't even an option for Jensen. His parents kicked him out at age sixteen when they caught Jensen fucking the captain of the football team. And how cliché was all of that? Jensen, the head cheerleader, dating the captain of the football team? Not to mention the whole parents kicking him out thing. It was so Lifetime movie of the week.
For the next couple of years, Jensen had couch-surfed, mainly in the loft in Chad's parents' garage, until he met Mike Rosenbaum, who was pretty much in the same boat as Jensen, except that his football stud boyfriend, Tom Welling, didn't bail. Mike and Tom squatted in an abandoned apartment building and seemed to spend the vast majority of their time partying. Jensen drank with them, even did some E, hooked up with any guy who so much as looked at him, got really into the punk music that Mike loved, and tried to forget that he was a total loser with no future.
Things really spiraled out of control when Jensen woke up, naked, and in bed with Tom with absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten there. The tell-tale ache in his ass and thighs told him something had happened, and when he turned over to find Mike sitting bedside with a grim expression on his face, he knew it was the worst case scenario: he had let Tom fuck him.
Mike had tossed him into a wall, broke a couple of ribs, and would've done more if Tom hadn't tackled him to the floor. Jensen had scrambled out of there, leaving all his stuff behind. The first place he thought to go was Chad's, but Chad had moved out of his parents, gone to college. Luckily, he hadn't gone far and still cared enough to make the drive to pick Jensen up.
"I know I should be grateful that I do have a choice," Jared says, interrupting Jensen's thoughts.
"But?" Jensen prompts.
"Sometimes it just makes everything so much harder. I envy you and Chad, you may not have as many choices but the ones you have? You get pure freedom, man. You're your own man. No one tells you what to do," Jared continues. "That's what I wish I had."
Jensen tilts his head. "There's nothing that says you can't be your own man and take advantage of the opportunities you've been given."
Jared quirks one corner of his mouth up and shrugs. "Yeah, maybe."
At the zoning board hearing, Jensen sits all the way at the back of the room. He knows his blue Mohawk, labret, and multiple tattoos won't go over well with some of the more conservative members of the board. Chad sits front and center, dressed in a pair of khakis with a light blue button down, his hair tamed, and reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviews the case.
The meeting goes on for hours as The Center makes the case against changing the zoning on the building from residential to commercial while the corporate lawyers for the payday loan company argue that the change will bring revenue and jobs to the neighborhood. Chad is the most vocal, arguing that businesses like this prey on the poor, that it will do more harm than good to have them. Despite testimony from other communities' leaders, statistics from the Better Business Bureau, and even a contractor who didn't think the building should be occupied at all, but rather razed to the ground, the board is swayed by the idea of the income from taxes and the promise of new jobs.
Chad storms out of the hearing after the ruling and out onto the street, Jensen trailing behind him. He knows his best friend takes every single one of these fights to heart, that he truly believes in what he and The Center are working toward.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Chad swears as he drags a hand down his face. "Those fucking vultures. We can't let them move into that building. You know that, right?"
Jensen grips Chad's shoulder lightly. "Yeah, man. I know. We'll get it done, okay?"
Chad takes a deep breath and then nods determinately. "I think we need to go bigger though. Burn the building down."
"Jesus, Chad." Jensen grabs his elbow and steers him away from the crowd exiting the hearing. "You can't say shit like that."
"Why not?" Chad shoots a glare over Jensen's shoulder at the corporate lawyers. "I mean it."
"Just cool it." Jensen grabs Chad's chin, turning him back to face Jensen. "Let's think rationally about this, huh?"
Chad pats Jensen's wrist and Jensen takes his hand away. "Alright, alright. Let's go home."
Back at the apartment, Chad locks himself in the bathroom for a good hour. Their water bill is going to be through the roof and Jensen knows Chad isn't even taking a shower. He's probably crying and doesn't want Jensen to hear, but it's not like Jensen would care. This was a big case to lose.
"Hey," Jensen calls through the door. "You wanna go out to eat? Like a restaurant, not the dumpster behind it."
The water shuts off and Jensen can hear Chad blowing his nose. "I don't want your pity food, Ackles," Chad calls back, but there's an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, so Jensen doesn't take it personally.
"How about a pity blow job?" Jensen retorts.
Chad opens the door and gives Jensen the stink-eye. "Are you kidding me? God only knows where your mouth's been."
Jensen flips him off. "I'll have you know, I've never had any complaints."
Before Jensen can blink, Chad has him in a headlock and is giving him a noogie. Jensen elbows him in the ribs and Chad shoves him backwards, onto the mattress. Jensen trips him and Chad lands on his stomach, half on top of Jensen. They scramble around, wrestling each other until Chad's got Jensen flat on his back, wrists pinned above his head.
"Say Uncle?" Chad laughs.
"Oh, baby," Jensen says flatly. "Do me harder."
Chad lets him go with an amused snort. "You wish."
Of course they swing by the property on the way to the restaurant. Jensen's still got plans for a mural and he's hoping Chad likes his idea enough to go with that rather than burning the building to the ground.
They're walking along, Jensen kicking broken glass off the sidewalk and into empty yards, when Chad suddenly stops short, tugging on Jensen's arm and pointing up.
Jensen looks up at the building in question and finds a larger than life painting of himself on a motorcycle taking up the space Jensen had intended to use for his art. He gapes at it, completely shocked. It's good, very good, but who the fuck would want to paint him?
"Someone got a crush on you?" Chad asks.
"Guess so?" Jensen asks uncertainly. "I don't even know."
"Well, guess I can't burn the damn thing down now, huh?" Chad shakes his head. "Maybe your ugly mug will scare away the loan sharks too."
"Fuck you," Jensen retorts automatically, his eyes still glued to the painting.
Jensen's pretty well known in the neighborhood from his association with Chad. He figures someone wanted to help Chad or maybe admired Jensen's own graffiti work or maybe it's some kid with a crush on him. Then he dismisses it from his mind. Chad's on to the next project, a community garden, and Jensen finds himself spending his days turning over soil in preparation for planting.
The things he does for that guy.
"Hey, Jensen!"
At that, Jensen turns to find Jared standing on the edge of the plot, shading his eyes with his hand, a big grin on his face. Jensen wipes sweat off his brow and half-heartedly waves back. All this gardening shit is exhausting.
"What's up?" Jensen calls back as he sets down the rotor-till and walks over.
Jared holds out a bottle of water. "Went to the apartment and Chad said you were down here. Figured you could use this in the heat."
Jensen nods his thanks and then cracks open the bottle, gulping it down. "Thanks, man."
"So, since when are you Farmer Jack?" Jared asks.
"Eh, this is Chad's new pet project," Jensen answers, wiping more sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt. "We lost the zoning case with the payday loan place."
"I heard about that. Sucks," Jared sympathizes.
"Yeah, well." Jensen shrugs. "Can't win 'em all. Isn't that what they say?"
Jared picks up a rake. "Need some help?"
"Sure," Jensen grins.
After hours of working in the hot sun, Jensen manages to clear about half an acre with Jared's help. They collapse in the empty field next to it, panting. Jared whips his shirt off and wipes his face with it before turning into a bandana.
"Should've thought of that awhile back," Jensen comments.
"Didn't want you to get distracted by my hot body," Jared teases.
The thing is: Jared does have a hot body. He's lean, but toned, with miles of golden skin. Unfortunately, he's still in high school, only seventeen. Jensen doesn't go for jailbait, no matter how sweet their ass looks in a pair of jeans.
"Right," Jensen snorts.
"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it." Jared winks and then bursts into laughter at his own joke.
Jensen shakes his head. "Aren't you a bit young to be saying things like that?"
"Young, not naïve," Jared says pointedly. "There is a difference."
"Hmm," Jensen says non-committally. He tosses a set of gardening gloves at Jared's head. "Back to work."
The next night, Jensen volunteers at the soup kitchen. They're serving meatloaf and mashed potatoes, so he sits on a stool at the sink, peeling pound after pound of potatoes. Chad is standing next to him at the stove, boiling the potatoes once Jensen is done. For the most part, they're pretty quiet, lost in the rhythm of their work.
"I fucking hate potatoes," Jensen says once he's down to the last bag of them.
"Could've said that three hours ago and I would've put you on the serving line," Chad says with a soft snort.
"And miss your lovely company?" Jensen bats his eyelashes. "No way."
"Uh-huh." Chad points at Jensen with a metal spoon. "Speaking of flattery, you figure out who did that painting yet?"
Jensen shakes his head and then starts throwing the peels in the garbage. "Not really interested in knowing, you know?"
"Seriously?"
"What difference does it make?" Jensen asks. "They'll either come out and tell me or they won't."
"Don't you have any sense of curiosity, man?"
"Curiosity killed the cat and all that jazz," Jensen replies with a shrug. "Not that important with everything else going on."
Chad gives a slight nod of his head. "Yeah, okay. Guess you have all the time in the world to work in the garden this week then?"
Jensen groans. "I didn't sign up for hard labor, man. Can't you see I'm all pale and weak and shit?"
"Right," Chad says dismissively. "You're a weakling."
"I am!" Jensen protests. "I'm totally not built. I'm like the Pillsbury Dough Boy."
"Those are exactly the words I would use to describe you." Chad pauses. "Not."
"Aww, fuck you." Jensen throws a handful of peels at Chad's head. "You have no taste anyway."
Chad brushes the peels off his face and shoulders. "I'm going to get you for that when you least expect it, Ackles."
"Bring it, Murray."
A couple weeks go by and Jensen almost forgets about the painting except for when he happens to pass by it, of course. The building it's on is still empty, but there are signs up now proclaiming that the payday loan place is coming soon. Jensen rips down the ones he can reach and throws them in the dumpster. That night, he and Chad make posters telling people to boycott the place. Jensen shellacs them to walls all around the building, but doesn't cover up the painting. Somehow it seems wrong to destroy someone else's work. Even if Jensen questions the person's sanity; him, on a motorcycle, really? Jensen can't even ride a bike.
"Listen, filling out the Census form is important," Chad explains to a group of people in the small conference room at The Center. "They don't care if you're illegal, just that you're living here. The more people that get counted, the more resources our community gets." He repeats himself in Spanish and then starts wandering around the room, helping people fill out the form.
Jensen's Spanish isn't quite as good as Chad's, but he helps out where he can. After going over the Census, they'll get into other government paperwork, and then Chad will meet with individuals on personal matters.
Normally Jensen would go home once Chad started those appointments, but tonight he sticks around, filing some of the paperwork away and answering the phone the few times it rings. Mostly there's calls asking about the hours of The Center, but there are also referrals to shelters, domestic violence hotlines, and counselors.
By the time Chad is done, four hours later, Jensen is almost falling asleep at one of the desks. They stumble out the front door together; giddy in that way that only pure exhaustion can bring, and come face-to-face with yet another mural with Jensen's mug on it.
"Dude." Chad squints at the mural on the back of the bus shelter. "Are you sure you don't have a stalker or something?"
Jensen tilts his head at the painting; it's the same one as before, down to the last detail. "I don't even know. Let's go home."
The next day, Jensen borrows a digital camera from one of the neighbors and then takes close-ups of the murals from several positions. The memory card from the camera comes with him on a trip across town to an art dealer friend of Chris and Steve's named Misha.
"So, you recognize the artist's work?" Jensen asks once Misha has loaded the photos onto his computer and examined them.
"No, but whoever they are, they're just a novice." He goes on to point out the twenty different reasons why this person had no training and Jensen just nods along. Jensen himself was never trained and he'd really hate to see what Misha has to say about his own work.
"Well," Jensen says when the guy finally wraps it up. "Thanks for your help."
Misha smiles. "You're welcome. Even though I don't think I helped at all."
Jensen can't help but laugh, because it's so true. "At least I can rule out all professional artists."
"Indeed."
A few days later, the painting pops up in poster form all over the neighborhood. It's shellacked onto dumpsters, sides of buildings, bus shelters, and a copy is even tacked up to the fence around the garden. Every single place Jensen frequents on a near-daily basis. Which is kind of on the creepy side.
He goes to visit Chris, whose dad was a police officer or something, for advice. After explaining the whole thing, Chris just laughs.
"Umm, dude. I don’t think it's a stalker. Just someone with a crush on you? Or someone who idolizes you?" Chris hypothesizes. "You haven't gotten any threatening letters? No shit stolen from that rat-hole you and Murray share? No signs of someone coming in and whacking it on your bed?"
"Uh, gross. And no," Jensen answers with a shake of his head. "None of that."
"And Misha couldn't help you out, huh?"
"No. Just said whoever it is, they're a novice," Jensen replies. "Which, you know, narrows it down to like half the city."
"Yeah, good luck with that," Chris snorts.
"I swear you people are no help at all. None."
Jensen does extra work in the garden the next couple of days to keep up with the planting schedule. There's a little old lady in the neighborhood, Merrilyn, who used to work on a farm, so she's tacked up what needs to be planted and when on the back of the piece of plywood with the garden's name - jardin de la esperanza. Jensen is planting a variety of peppers today and tomorrow he's scheduled to plant melons. He doesn't even like melons, but this neighborhood isn't exactly bursting at the seams with places that sell fresh fruit, so he'll deal.
Merrilyn is humming Beatles tunes as she plants cucumbers two row over and normally that would annoy the hell out of Jensen because he feels that they're totally overrated, but it's peaceful in the garden, Zen-like, and the music almost seems perfect.
Jared shows up at the garden on Saturday wearing cut-off jeans and a tank top, and there's a bandana holding his hair back. Basically, he looks like gay porn come to life. Jensen, meanwhile, is wearing ratty basketball shorts and a faded t-shirt from his cheerleading days, which he's hoping Jared will figure he bought at a thrift store.
"Wow, you've done a lot since I was last here," Jared calls out as he tip-toes through the tomato plants to get to Jensen.
"Not just me, man. The whole neighborhood pitches in," Jensen replies, his cheeks heating up in a totally ridiculous blush from a compliment from a teenager of all things.
"Yeah, but I know you're out here every day." Jared nods at Jensen's arms. "Tan looks good on you."
Jensen flicks some dirt at Jared. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Padalecki. Grab some gloves and get to work."
Jared rolls his eyes but walks over to the box they keep the gardening supplies in and pulls out a pair of gloves with pink flowers on them. He tries shoving them onto his huge hands, but can't even fit his fingers in. Jensen snickers and Jared looks back at him, pouting.
"What? It's not my fault that I'm proportionate!"
"Everywhere?" Jensen can't help but ask with a raised eyebrow.
"You wish you knew." Jared grins wide, showing off his dimples. "If you weren't such a prude."
"I am not a prude!" Jensen protests. "I just... you're underage."
"Not for long. I turn 18 in July. That's only two months away," Jared argues.
Jensen debates with himself, a frown on his face. On the one hand, possible arrest and maybe Jared's parents killing him. On the other hand, if he's all anti-establishment, should he care? Like, is his punk cred totally ruined by not going for it? It's not like Jared doesn't want it. Hell, he's pursuing Jensen.
"Okay," Jensen finally says. "One date."
Jared laughs. "I thought our dumpster picnic spread was a date."
"Yeah," Jensen agrees, laughing too. "I guess it was."
"So..." Jared saunters closer and holds his hand out to Jensen. "Will you take me to the prom?"
Jensen bats his hand away with a smirk. "Please, as if."
"But I want my first time to be in a hotel room after prom like all the clichés!" Jared pouts.
"Why not under the bleachers? That's cliché too," Jensen suggests.
"Let me guess, that was your first time?" Jared asks with a raised eyebrow.
"I never kiss and tell," Jensen demurs.
"That's totally a yes!" Jared crows. "You slut."
"Dude, so not true." Jensen shakes his head. "It was actually in the back of a pick-up truck."
"And that's somehow better? Was it under a starry sky? Did you wear a cowboy hat and boots?"
It totally wasn't like that at all, Jensen remembers. It was rushed, frantic, and they were both drunk after some stupid bonfire for homecoming. Jensen's ass ached for days afterward due to a lack of lube and finesse. Not exactly the best time.
"God no," Jensen answers. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"So you admit it, you're a total girl," Jared grins.
"Shut it, Padalecki, or I won't date you at all," Jensen retorts as he throws a clump of dirt at Jared's head.
"You don't mean that," Jared almost sing-songs before walking back to the gardening supplies box.
"I totally do," Jensen mutters under his breath, but he can't help but smile.
When Jensen gets home that night, the picture of him on the motorcycle is taped to the front door, all the way up the staircase, and then on the door to the apartment. Jensen rips them down as he goes, thinking maybe he should call the police or something. Whoever painted it seems to know where he hangs out in the neighborhood, not mention where he lives.
Inside the apartment, Jensen finds Chad sitting on the mattress, going through some legal papers. His glasses are sliding down his nose and there’s a frown on his face. Jensen dumps the copies of the painting down on top of the pile of papers.
"I think I have a stalker."
Chad looks up, frown still on his face. “Where did you find these?"
“Here!" Jensen flops down on the mattress next to Chad. “I wasn’t worried before, but they know where I live, man."
“Hmm." Chad takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Just these though, no threats?"
Jensen shakes his head. “No threats. No contact made at all."
“Well, under Section 42.072 of the Texas penal code, the stalker has to threaten you in some matter. There has to be clear evidence that they intend to harm you," Chad explains. “You should keep a record of where you’ve seen the posters and when, but until something actually happens, there’s not much we can do."
“How do you even know the penal codes off the top of your head?" Jensen shakes his head in amazement. “Anyway, I guess I won’t worry for now."
“No," Chad corrects. “You should worry; we just can’t do anything to help you right now."
“Gee, thanks," Jensen sighs. He throws his arm over his eyes. “In other news, I have a date with Jared on Saturday."
“Now that I can tell you is actually legal."
Jensen lifts his arm and raises an eyebrow. “He’s only seventeen."
“Age of consent is seventeen in our great state." Chad pauses. “And they even repealed the ‘Homosexual Conduct’ law a few years ago, so you’re totally home free."
“It still feels weird though. He’s in high school," Jensen says.
“He graduates in, what, a month? And then he turns eighteen. How did I not know that you’re such a prude?"
“I’m not a prude!" Jensen protests. “God, why does everyone think that?"
Chad just cackles.
Two days later, Jensen walks by the original painting to find that someone tagged it in red spray paint. It says, “You can’t fool me, Cheerleader."
“Fuck," Jensen mutters.
He’s tried so hard to keep his ridiculously white-bread, suburban upbringing a secret. It’s fucking embarrassing. Although the number of people in this city who know about his high school days are exactly three, and since Chad can barely draw stick figures that narrows it down to two, his old roommates, Tom and Mike.
Jensen had made the horrible mistake of spilling his whole coming out story to them one night when he was drunk, so if they weren’t too wasted at the time themselves, they probably remember every last detail. Now that he thinks about it, Jensen is pretty sure the motorcycle is supposed to represent some rambling speech he once gave about how going out on the road is the last true frontier or way to lose yourself or some other Jack Kerouac bullshit that only sounds good when you’re wasted.
“Fuck," Jensen repeats.
He has no idea how to find Mike and Tommy, not one damned clue. And how exactly did they find him, anyway?
Steve’s got his typical blasé attitude when Jensen asks for help figuring it all out. He has a private investigator gather some information and then presents the file folder to Jensen with a shrug.
“All my guy has is their last address, some halfway home," Steve summarizes while Jensen flips through the information. “Oh, and that Mike guy has quite the rap sheet."
“Yeah, he’s a real prince," Jensen mutters.
“The other guy? Tommy? He has one arrest for prostitution. A real pair they make," Steve continues.
“Birds of a feather," Jensen replies absently, already halfway out the door.
He doesn’t bother to mention that he has his own rap sheet, that he was once just like them.
Mike isn't all that hard to find. Everyone seems to know the crazy fucker and after talking to a drug dealer Jensen used to score from, a hooker he used to kind of date, and some random dude he'd just seen around, he's directed to an abandoned house that's only a mere five blocks away from his own apartment building. He sneaks in through a busted out window in the back and tip-toes through broken glass, dirty mattresses, empty syringes, and various garbage until he finds Mike passed out in the front bedroom.
Jensen kicks the mattress. "Hey, fucker, wake up."
He gets a groan in response, so Jensen kicks the mattress again. Finally, Mike sits up, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "Jesus, what the fuck?"
"Where's Tommy?" Jensen asks.
"Tommy?" Mike blinks a couple of times. "Tommy's dead."
Jensen frowns and then crouches down so he's at eye-level with Mike. "Mikey, it's Jensen. What do you mean Tommy's dead?"
Mike's eyes snap up to Jensen's and they're full of fury. "I'm going to kill you. Should've done it years ago."
"Whoa." Jensen scoots back, holding up his hands. "What's your damage?"
"It's your fault that Tommy's dead. I mean, he wouldn't shut up about you after you ran off. He was fucking obsessed. Kept talking about how he was going to find you, bring you back into the fold."
Mike leans over and picks up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pauses to light up a cigarette, blowing smoke up at the ceiling. Jensen moves back even farther, sitting down on a packing crate.
"He was good at drawing, you know. He'd sketch you when you were sleeping, even before you took off, said you were his muse. I didn't like it. I mean, who wants to hear that shit from your boyfriend? That's why I just fucking snapped when he fucked you."
Jensen bites his lip. He didn't know any of that. "So, how did Tommy die?"
"That fucking mural. He found you and he wanted you to see it, admire it, and somehow know that he did it." Mike takes a long drag on his cigarette. "But that's not what happened. So he got even more obsessed. Pasted up prints of that shit everywhere. I guess when he was trying to scale a billboard to put more up, he fell. Broke his neck."
"Jesus," Jensen whispers. He presses a hand to his lips, trembling. "I had no idea."
"Yeah, well." Mike rubs at the corner of his eye, his eyes wet. "Like I said, I should kill you for running off, making Tommy crazy like that."
"Mikey…" Jensen trails off, not sure what to say. "I thought you wanted me gone; that's why I left."
"Yeah, I know." Mike presses his hands to both his eyes. "That's why I could kill myself too."
Jensen moves forward again, kneels on the mattress, and touches Mike's shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Mike."
"I just wish I could see him one last time. But his parents." Mike chokes out a sob. "They wouldn't even let me go to the funeral."
"C'mon." Jensen pulls Mike into a full hug, mindful of the still lit cigarette. "It's okay."
Tommy is buried in a cemetery just outside the city. It took some convincing to get Chris to drive Jensen and Mike out there, but in the end, he rolled his eyes and gave in.
Mike and Jensen stand side-by-side in front of the grave in complete silence. After a few minutes, Mike kneels down and places a wreath in front of the headstone. He kisses Tommy's name and then stands up, swiping at his eyes.
Jensen holds out his hand, Mike takes it in a tight grip, and they walk back to the car. On the way back to the city, Mike rests his head against the window, his eyes slipping closed as he falls asleep.
Steve's already agreed to take Mike in temporarily. It turns out that Steve's so rich because his parents died in a horrible accident and he's got a soft spot for people who are mourning those that died too young.
Back at the apartment, Chad listens to the whole story, occasionally nodding or asking a question. He's got this serious look on his face, the one he normally reserves for depositions. When Jensen finally finishes talking, Chad kisses his forehead.
"You did good. I'm proud of you."
Jensen hugs his knees to his chest, rests his cheek on his knee. "I don't feel like I did. I abandoned them instead of helping them."
"You couldn't even help yourself," Chad bluntly reminds him. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
"Yeah, I guess."
Chad cups the back of Jensen's neck. "I mean it. You're one of the good guys."
Jensen shrugs him off and then knocks his shoulder against Chad's, hiding a grin. "Stop trying to cheer me up. You kind of suck at it."
On Saturday, Jared shows up to the apartment with a bouquet of flowers. Jensen takes them with a frown, not sure if he should be flattered or offended, and wondering if he even owns a vase to put them in.
“Umm, thanks?" Jensen says as he stares down at the bunch of daises.
“You should be proud of me, I got them from a dumpster," Jared beams.
Jensen looks up and raises his eyebrow. “You brought me dumpster flowers?"
“Well, I thought you’d like that? I mean…" Jared scratches the back of his neck. “You eat out of dumpsters so how are flowers different?"
“I’m just messing with you," Jensen laughs. He sets the flowers on the rickety side-table they use to throw mail and keys on. “C’mon, let’s get this date started."
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, jerk," Jared pouts.
Jared takes Jensen to a local taqueria that doesn't even have tables; it's really just a take-out counter with a list of tacos, not even the name of the place on the sign. Jensen orders a couple of vegetarian ones, but when he pulls out his wallet to pay, Jared lightly knocks him away with his shoulder.
"I asked you out, so I pay," Jared says with a huge grin.
"If you insist," Jensen says, stepping back.
"Not even a token protest?" Jared mock pouts.
Jensen shrugs. "Eh, you wouldn't let me win anyway."
"True."
They take their tacos to the park and sit side by side on the merry-go-round, their shoulders and thighs just barely touching. Jensen didn't exactly dress up for this occasion, just wearing his regular ripped jeans, random thrift store t-shirt -this time one for a barbeque completion that took place in the 1970s- , beat-up Doc Marten's, and his hair dyed fuchsia. Jared, however, is wearing flip-flops, khakis, and a polo shirt in a truly awful shade of orange. It just reminds Jensen of how different they are and why this is all a bad idea.
"So," Jensen says once they've finish eating.
Jared quirks an eyebrow. "So, what?"
"You know I'm not…" Jensen looks down at his fingernails, picking at the black polish there. "I mean, I don't have a future. I don't have money, even. Like, I'm not the type of guy that is going to move with you out to the suburbs and adopt a bunch of babies. I'm not someone you can bring home to your parents. I'm just… not boyfriend material."
"Jensen…" Jared grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Why do you keep assuming I care about any of that?"
Jensen huffs and glances at Jared's clothing pointedly. "Because it's true. You have a future. You can do something with your life; make a real difference out there in the world. And I'll only hold you back."
Jared lifts his other hand and tilts Jensen's head toward his own. "I want you. I don't care about the rest."
He kisses Jensen then, their lips just barely brushing. Jensen closes his eyes and goes for it, kisses Jared back and means it. He's been living his life in extremes for so long; maybe it's time for some balance. Maybe it's time to let go of the past, stop being a chickenshit, and just move forward, no matter where it takes him.
For more art, go here