Fic: 300 Seconds On The 13th Floor 1/2
Hey people :)
So, this is my first SPN story in English, and I'm pretty nervous about it, but I really hope you'll like it.
Huge thanks to sulfuricfusion for beta help ♥ Without her you would totally not understand what was when :P
And also those few people who read this and told me it's good anough to post. Thank you guys, you know who you are ♥ ♥ ♥
And special thanks goes to sanann, you know for what doll ;)
300 Seconds On The 13th Floor
(Jared/Jensen, R, ~15 000 words, AU)
You live in the reality. What if there's another world?
When you meet someone different, whose world is more real than yours, which world would you choose?
On the thirteenth floor, between thin air and blue sky, almost next to the clouds, you can hear the silence. Those soft and fluffy clouds gather into odd figures, hanging over and smiling down to you.
Cool wind carries shades of blue from the west - yellow and red from east. If you turn to the left, you can see, far away, a high building that shoots up. From there you can feel the shades of green.
He leans against the edge of the roof, slightly bent over it to see those few dots - people - that were quickly moving about here and there. It feels somehow higher and farther from everything and you don’t feel anything except muffled shades, echoes of once strong emotions, and you don’t give a damn, and you almost feel that you can hear your own thoughts, feel your own emotions, fell that inside of you there’s only you.
Here there’s a pain, and there - something warm spread all over your body. Here somebody laughs, and inside of you everything starts vibrating because of the sincerity of that laughter.
And there, far away, somebody is angry, and this malice spills through your veins like black paint, sometimes overflowing into bright-red, even scarlet, in the places where the pain is particularly strong.
He moves away, tilting his head back, and closes his eyes.
Purple clouds slowly drift over head, turn into fanciful designs, abstractions, as if they are playing with him. Today is one of those rare days, when the sky over your head is crystal clear, and there is no threat of rain to wash everything away.
He gives a deep sigh when he feels somebody crying. The tears of a loss, tears of parting, and the pain echoes in his heart. And your own tears feels like echo, too, because right now you’re not you, which means the feelings aren’t yours, and the tears - someone else’s too.
He opens his eyes and looks at the sky.
If you watch the clouds for too long, you can try to concentrate on them, and then, maybe, you won’t feel anything for some time.
You can try to feel the emptiness.
You can rest, run away, and for a brief moment feel yourself free.
**
"Jensen!" an old lady, a neighbor from the ground floor and the widow of the late Mr. Roberts, is always interested in how he’s doing.
They don’t see each other too often, and maybe that’s why she is so curious. As if it’s so interesting to know what’s going on with that guy from the last floor, who almost never appears in somebody’s presence. Only this cliché hardly fits this old lady.
"How are you today?" she can barely pick up her walking stick, clutching to the rails of the small stairs, trying to help herself up one step higher.
Jensen wants to help her, he really does; he wants to take her hand, feel the old wrinkled skin. But he knows that once he does it, his mind’s going to blow up with pain, depression and readiness to leave this world. He won’t feel anymore that tiny piece of him, so needed right now. It holds him here; it doesn’t let him do anything bad.
That… desire can be so strong, it would be indistinguishable from your own feelings and those of this old lady.
The desire can take possession of you, and what happens next is unknown.
“Mrs. Roberts,” Jensen nods faintly, watching her walking stick tremble with sadness. He’s learnt to control the emotions with one, two people present, tops.
When you’re thrown away into the college system, into a new world, where it seems like there are more people than you’ve ever seen, you’re forced to learn. And even if you’re not too good at this, you do it. You have to survive.
Usually Jensen doesn’t mention in the conversation that he dropped out of college after the first semester, because in those few months he almost committed suicide, killed someone, and experienced something that many people can’t even imagine.
Maybe, if they knew that, they would say that Jensen was "emotionally unsteady".
"I heard it's going to be warm today. The sun is hot, huh?" the old lady smiles, and there are deep wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Sometimes he wonders how she, considering everything that happened in her life, can still smile.
He knows that this smile is sincere - he can feel the warmth spilling inside his body, and he feels calm.
"I was outside, the weather is wonderful," mumbles Jensen, nodding again. In the pockets of his jeans he squeezes his hands into fists, trying to blockade the new emotions that are trying to break through with furious power.
Sometimes he feels like something’s trying to seize him, conquer him, make him its slave. He almost forgets, sometimes, what it's like - to feel, what it's like when you're the one who's angry or happy, not somebody next to you.
He doesn't watch TV, he doesn't have one. In the small apartment under the roof he didn't need one. He had everything he needed - his emotions and the roof, from where the whole world can be seen, and people - just dots, like someone’s spilt watercolors.
"You should go outside, walk a little," she smiles sympathetically. "You can suffocate with these paints." She smiles and lifts her hand. It seems like she wants to pat him on the shoulder, but she stops halfway when Jensen's eyes widens in horror. "I'm going to take a nap, somehow I’m tired." Mrs. Roberts slowly pulls her hand to her chest, faintly squeezing it into fist. Then she sadly looks at Jensen and, walking up the stairs carefully, she goes to the door of her apartment.
Jensen watches after her for a few minutes, not able to tear this connection: the corridor sinks into the shades of violet, with flashes of grey, and it starts to turn into the loop, without the beginning and the end, it carries you away, it doesn't let you go. And he knows exactly that there's no light at the end of this tunnel.
Only when the door is closed behind Mrs. Roberts does he exhale heavily, tearing the connection, and looks at the grey walls of the corridor.
It's quiet.
He's alone and right now he doesn't feel anything, but the emptiness, walking up the stairs to his apartment.
**
"But what about the customs, Katie?" screams the broad-shouldered guy, kneading the pastry with his hands. "What about Jensen? You know you need to take away his custom today, and how’s he supposed to-"
"Tom, it's ok," the girl puts on the jacket, shivering. "Well, with the exception that it’s raining cats 'n dogs," she mutters, looking out the shop window.
Jared was sitting in the corner, behind the counter, and was looking through the morning paper.
During these hours there weren't many visitors to the pizzeria; people didn’t usually begin to appear until near midday.
He breathes deeply and turns the page.
Yesterday there was an accident on the road, two were seriously injured, and a girl of about ten is in coma.
"I read about it, it's awful," Katie says sadly, walking past Jared. "Can you imagine what her parents feel? I guess, they're going crazy right now," she shakes her head and climbs down the counter to get her bag.
Jared thinks, that, maybe, he needs to say something, like "yeah, it's terrible," or "yeah, sorry for her," or something else. The problem is, he doesn't feel anything like this, has no concept of the feeling of sadness for complete strangers, and he doesn’t even understand why Katie is so worried about it - she doesn't even know what this girl looks like or what her name is.
Eventually, he decides not to ask about it.
He props his cheek up with his hand and starts reading another page, almost immediately forgetting about the accident and the injured girl She's no one to him, just one more face among the thousands of others, so...
"Jared, you toss the order, will you?" Katie asks, distracting him from his thoughts.
Jared blinks a few times, slowly turns his head to her, and sets his cap straight. "To Jensen?," she reminds, biting her lower lip. "I really need to see Jamie," she looks at Jared pleadingly.
"Who’s Jensen?" Jared blinks again, trying to remember. Maybe he really needs to pay more attention to what people say to him. Just a little.
"Well, Jensen, our regular? One with ham and mushrooms? In the morning?" she smiles a little. "Don't freak out, if he says or does something strange, he's really really sweet and absolutely harmless, it's just..." she falls silent when she doesn't see any emotions on Jared’s face. Well, as always. "Why I even bother," she grins sadly, writes down the address and holds the sheet to Jared. "Explain to him that I have a-" she thinks for a moment, "tell him I have family condition, here."
Jared would laugh at this, if he though it was funny enough, but instead he silently takes the sheet with the address, reads it, and puts it in his pocket. Then he begins to read the newspaper again.
**
The city is grey and gloomy and the puddles become bigger and bigger every hour, and people - less and less.
Jared slowly drives down the road, trying to see through the water on the windshield, trying not to hit anyone and not to become a character in one of those articles he reads every morning at work.
He tries to take a good look at the indexes on the buildings to find the street he needs, but instead of it he goes too far into the slums. The smooth asphalt soon changes and blends with the broken and he has to drive even more slowly.
After half an hour Jared stops by the building he was looking for and glance it over.
The old multistory is at a distance, far away from the civilization, all alone. From one side the city can be seen, from another, from the East - clear fields.
He sets the collar of his jacket up so the water won't leak, stretches his cap so it almost covers his eyes and, taking the box with the pizza, he runs to the front door.
He calls on the entryway, wiping his face with the sleeve, and walks to the stairs. Judging by the address, Jensen's living on the last floor.
Jared takes the elevator to the thirteenth floor, and looks from one side to another. On the left there's an exit on the roof, and on the right there's only one door with the number he needs.
He slowly walks towards it, glancing at the muddy corridor, cups from paint next to the trashcan, old frames from the canvases.
"Pizza!" he screams, loudly banging on the door, but no one answers. First Jared thinks that Jensen's not home, and he really should get angry, but, on the other hand - only a crazy person would go for a walk right now.
Besides, he doesn't give a shit about it. He doesn't loose anything, it's Katie's order, her client, her Jensen, or whatever his name is, he’d only swapped with Katie because she had these "family conditions."
"Where's Katie?" a quiet voice is heard, and the door opens slightly, but Jared doesn't see the one who ordered "one with ham and mushrooms."
"Family conditions, she couldn't make it," Jared explains steadily, without stirring. The pizza in the box almost got cold.
"Is she ok?" the door is suddenly wide open and a young man with a face dirty with paints stares at Jared, frightened.
Big green eyes widen, and Jared thinks that he’s never seen such big and such green eyes in his whole life.
He doesn't understand right away that the young man waits for an answer, standing here with an opened mouth. His lips were plump, like a child's, and in his eyes could be seen with the same childish fear.
"Everything's fine," Jared answered softly, tearing himself from studying his face, and hands him the box. The guy with green eyes just clasps harder to the door, looking down at the box, and then slowly, with a strange fright, shifts his gaze to Jared's face.
"Pizza?" Jared lifts his brow, holding the box, but the green-eyed guy hides in the apartment, opening the door wider. Jared doesn't get it at first but then he enters the room, uncertain, wiping his feet at the mat under the door.
"I'm sorry, I’m used to Katie bringing me pizza," Jared hears the voice from somewhere. "Put it on the table, please, I’ll bring the money."
Jared does as he's told - he puts the box on the table, taking in the pencils that were scattered all over, brushes and little blanks from paints. He looks over it all slowly, taking a good look at the dark apartment. Undoubtedly, it's the most interesting place that he had ever delivered pizza, and also the strangest one.
Jared scratches at his forehead, slightly raising his cap, when he hears the steps behind.
His eyes are shining even brighter in the darkness of the apartment, and Jared, for a second, forgets about everything. For a split second, because everything is too strange, to see the guy standing here, before him, shifting from one foot to another, holding in his hands a few bills, attentively observing new delivery man.
The owner of the apartment makes a step to Jared, but when he fully turns, he walks around him and puts the money on the table, next to the box.
The green-eyed man moves away to the fridge and puts his hands round himself, uncertainly shifting from one foot to another.
"Please, tell Katie that I hope everything will be fine," he said as he cast his eyes downwards modestly, studying his shoes. Jared silently watches him, takes the money, and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
"You can call me Jared," he says, in the same tone as before.
"Ok, Jared." The guy lifts his eyes to him, slightly smiling. "Can you tell Katie-"
"I'll tell her," Jared interrupts, turning to the door.
First Jared thinks that it was rude somehow, but it’s not anything he considers worth thinking about - just something he found a little to evoke a little tiny bit of emotion rather than the usual indifference. This artist is kind of strange, timid even.
"But he's really sweet and absolutely harmless" - Jared remembers Katie’s words as he opens the door.
"My name is Jensen, by the way," the green-eyed boy says, a tiny fracture of a smile blooming on his face as he stretches his sleeves even more, hiding his hands in it.
Jared feels like he's smiling faintly.
When he gets out into to the cold wind, he tries to remember when the last time he smiled, but he fails.
**
"How is he?" Jared lifts his eyes just to see Katie, standing over him, disturbing him from reading the newspaper. She stands there, waiting for an answer.
"Who?" Jared blinks, not understanding what she wants from him.
"Jensen? You took his order yesterday? How is he? I shouldn't have let you do that, he doesn't like strangers, and it’s all too hard for him…" Katie bites her lip, thinking about something.
"Everything's fine," Jared mumbles, burying his nose under the papers, turning the page with loud rustle. "He asked me to tell you that he hopes you're ok," Jared remembers. Katie smiles faintly, and then goes to Tom for the orders for today.
"Jared, you know, I really don't wanna strain you - you know that - but-" she falls silent when Jared looks at her.
Sometimes she feels strangely odd because of the look on his face; it was so empty and lifeless, absolutely vacant of emotions.
Maybe it's because Jared really didn't give a shit about anything, or maybe because this indifference often was mixed with some kind of a fury, at least Katie thought so. And sometimes she's afraid that this giant, twice as big as her, will stand up and...
"What happened?" he asks calmly, without any interest. Katie walks towards him, so Tom can't hear.
"Can you cover me? I need to go today, and Tom will roll me up in a pizza if he knows," she pleadingly looks at her friend. She is pretty sure Jared doesn't have any personal business today - with his life and such an awesome job, all days were passing very "interesting," so it was all the same.
"Ok," he shrugs, and begins to read again.
An accident happened this morning. The driver lost control of the steering, flew into a blue Toyota; one's dead, two are in a grave condition. Crash happened near the place where Jensen lives, which Jared notes absolutely accidentally.
Sometimes it seemed like with such pace there won't be any people left in this town. And, if there's no one, who will buy pizza?..
"Jared, are you listening to me?" Katie snaps her fingers right next to his nose, trying to catch his attention. Jared slowly lifts his eyes. "Pizza? For Jensen?" she smiles softly, holding the address that she wrote down the napkin.
Jared has a good memory, and he remembered the address yesterday - he doesn't deliver pizza to such out-of-the-way holes everyday.
But he takes the napkin anyway.
**
If you believe that the glass is half-full, then the weather today is better than it was yesterday. At least, though it was cloudy, it wasn't raining.
Jared steps out of the car, taking the pizza box from the back. One with ham and mushrooms. He slowly walks towards the front door.
He takes the life up to the thirteenth floor, walks down the familiar corridor, and then knocks on the door. Jared stands here for a minute, remembering how much time it took for Jensen to open the door last time, and only then does he knocks one more time.
"Pizza!" he shouts. Maybe, Jensen really is a very closed person and he doesn't open the door to strangers. Not a surprise - he has problems with people.
Jared hears a quiet rustling and the sound of opening lock. The door opens slowly, but Jensen is nowhere to be seen. Thinking that, as last time, this is Jensen’s way of inviting him inside, he silently enters the room.
"Hello?" Jared calls, trying to find the owner of the apartment. He walks to the living room, and sees terrible and absolute discord. The flat could previously be described as “chaotic” at best - but now it’s more a field of battle.
"Katie couldn't come today," Jared turns and goes to the kitchen. He's surprised to see the table clean, but then, looking at the floor, he understands where everything was.
Dirty brushes, cups with solvent and water, whole and broken are scattered on the floor. Oils are oozing out of a few tubes, creating some kind of an abstract paint on the floor.
Jared tilts his head, studying this creative disorder, then he puts the box on the table. "It's $14.95," he says loudly, glancing over the place, trying to find Jensen.
This guy had disappeared, hiding somewhere in the apartment.
Jared goes back to the dark living room. The curtains on the windows are tightly closed that, if Jared didn't know what time it is now, he would think it’s night.
"Jensen?" he calls, watching where he treks - he doesn't want to wreck any paint.
In the corner of the living room there's a door and Jared goes there. This stopped being funny right after it started, and Jared wants to take his money and go back to work. Or Tom will roll up into the pizza not only Katie, but him as well.
Jared silently opens the door, entering the big and spacious room. He's surprised, because he's never seen such planning before (he thought that there's too many "he never" bound to this artist).
The room's like a big studio: full of easels, canvases, and other necessary things, the names of half of which Jared doesn’t even know.
He walks to the wall, where one of the unfinished paintings stands - something abstract and unintelligible, and usually Jared would say "blots," but now, somehow, he feels that he actually likes these blots. Maybe it's because of the place and the surroundings?
He sharply turns away from the painting when he hears rustling in the dark corner.
"Jensen?" he walks past the easel in the middle of the room, slowly making a few steps to where the he hears the rustling from. "What are you doing there?" Jared tilts his head, watching Jensen.
He's sitting in the corner, hiding his face space provided between his pulled-up knees and his chest. His hands are dirty with paint, as are his clothes, and he's trembling slightly. "I put your pizza on the table in the kitchen," Jared says as he squats before him.
"Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four-"
Jared looks at him uncertainly, barely hearing the count.
"It's-" he doesn't finish, sharply pulling away when Jensen practically jumps from him to the side, trying to move as far as he possibly can.
The eyes so full of horror seem to be even bigger, his pale face dirty with paint.
"Hey, it's just me," Jared lifts his hand in a non-threatening gesture, studying Jensen.
He looks - feels? - oddly different; when he saw his face, it looked like he hadn’t slept the whole night, and had been crying?
"Hey, what happened?" Jared knits his brows when he sees Jensen's hands - they're trembling, dirty with paint, strangely reminding him of blood. "What?" Jared asks again when he hears Jensen's quiet murmuring.
He still watches Jared, frightened and scared, and only his lower lip slightly trembles, like he wants to say something, but words never reaches the tip of his tongue. "Come on, get up."
Jared holds his hands out, trying to help Jensen to stand, but he just clings onto the wall, pulling his hands to his chest.
First, he shakes his head negatively, but when Jared takes his hands, however, to help him, Jensen slowly lowers his head and closes his eyes, like he relaxes.
"Come on," Jared lifts him to his feet, picking him up when his legs gives away and Jensen almost falls. "What happened to you anyway?" Jared asks, puzzled, supporting him, and walking away from the room. Everything starts spinning because of the smell of paint.
Jared seats Jensen on the old sofa, then goes to the kitchen to get a towel. Moistening it, he goes back to Jensen, who's sitting on the sofa like he never moved.
Jared sits to the small table opposite the sofa, and carefully takes Jensen's hand in his, wiping at the paint.
Jensen hisses and pulls his hand from Jared's when he touches the cut.
"Hey, it's your fault, not mine. What were you doing there anyway?" Jared looks at him, tilting his head to the side. He doesn’t want to sound rude, but he doesn’t particularly want to take care of this boy either.
But he can't deny that from all of the people he knows, he, at least, doesn’t mind staying in a room with Jensen.
"There-" he begins, quietly, as his hand goes limp, "on the bridge," he frowns, deeply breathing, "this morning-"
"There was an accident, yeah," Jared finishes, holding his hand to try again. "I read about it in the paper," he explains, not looking at Jensen.
Jared takes his hand in his own, this time trying to be more careful, and cautiously wipes away the blood, mixed with paint.
"The man who died... he didn't die immediately," Jensen says, quietly, lowering his head. He attentively watches Jared’s movements, his hands, not feeling his own.
"Were you there?" he asks, taking Jensen's other hand. "On the bridge?" he lifts his gaze, and Jensen loses it for a moment.
"I-" he shakes his head, grinning. Jared snorts, not ready for such change in the mood, though this smile wasn't even a little happy. "Katie thinks that I'm crazy," he shrugs, turning to the side. "Also, she thinks that I order pizza everyday just to see her," he frowns, biting his lip, as if he tries to remember something.
"And you think that I don't think so because..?" Jared asks, carefully wiping Jensen's hands.
"You're different," he says thoughtfully, scrutinizing him.
"I'm like the others," Jared disagrees, letting go of Jensen’s hand and looking him in the eyes. For a second he watches him, and then, taking the towel to the other hand, he comes nearer to him and starts to wipe his left cheek, resting his other hand on the right.
Jensen swallows and casts his eyes down, trying to see what Jared is doing.
Like a five year-old boy, he's curious to know what's happening here.
"Don't move," Jared says calmly and steadily, and Jensen sits still.
He doesn't feel any fear or pain, anger or something else. He doesn't feel joy or pity; he only hears the silence and feels the emptiness. He almost forgot its taste and he didn't think he would taste it ever again.
"Jared-" quietly, almost murmuring, Jensen calls to him and Jared lifts his eyes.
They're green, with shades of grey and they attentively watch him, waiting for a question.
His hands stands still on Jensen's, and he forgets what he wanted to ask.
"What?" Jared lifts his brows, returning to his work.
"How much?" Jensen asks suddenly, biting his lip.
"14,95," Jared mumbles, wiping off the last blot on of paint-dirt conglomeration adorning Jensen’s cheek.
His skin seems even paler now that it is clear, and soft bristle has seemingly wiped away the dust, paint, and blood from his fingers. Jensen begins to fidget on the sofa, trying to pick the money from his pocket, before holding fifteen bucks out to Jared.
"Thanks," he says softly, lowering his head.
Jensen's hands aren’t trembling now; he's calm and it's easier to breathe.
"So, were you there?" Jared asks suddenly, fiddling with the corner of the bill. Jensen looks at him questioningly, trying to understand what he means. "On the bridge? When it all happened?"
"No," he shakes his head, "I just-" he wants to continue, but couldn't say a word, sitting here with an opened mouth. "Do you believe that I can creep into someone's head?" Jensen asks, grinning ruefully.
"You can read people's minds?" Jared asks, softly, tilting his head and studying Jensen's face.
They sit facing each other, watching each other.
"No, but I can feel what other people feel. Joy, sadness, anger, offence, pain." Jensen lowers his head, hiding his hand in the pocket of his hoodie.
"And what I feel?" Jared asks, curious.
"I don't know," Jensen watches him, carefully, bending forward Jared, looking him in the eyes, as if he’s trying to see into his soul. "And this is very strange," he falls silent, though he still looks Jared in the eyes.
Jared snorts, shakes his head, and stands up from the table. Jensen looks up at him, surprised.
"As you say," Jared says as he pockets the money. "Be careful next time, geezer," he jokes and pats Jensen on the shoulder.
He’s surprised at that move, not knowing why he wanted to do it. Why he smiled, why he was worried, why he felt better when Jensen came out of the shock.
Jensen lowers his head, smiling sadly, and stands up, too. He oddly wants to believe, and he believes that, if Jared is different, then his reaction would be different, too. He follows him slowly, snuggling into his hoody, which is about two sizes too big for him.
"Sleep in, rest, you look terrible," Jared says, turning on the threshold. Jensen nods slightly and smiles, and Jared feels like he smiles back.
"How Katie is doing?" Jensen asks, shifting from foot to foot.
"And you tell me that you order pizza every day not to see her?" Jared taunts. "How can you even eat pizza every day and be so skinny?" Jared crinkles his nose, looking at Jensen.
He lowers his head, embarrassed, hiding his chin under the collar of the hoodie. "Pizza's on the table. Tomorrow as always? One with ham and mushrooms?" Jared asks, walking out of the apartment.
Jensen lifts his eyes, surprised, and smiles, leaning against the door. Jared nods, saying goodbye, and disappears on the stairs.
Jensen stands there for a few minutes more, feeling that the farther Jared goes, the comfortable emptiness inside of him vanishes that much faster.
**
On the 21st, Chris calls, as they had arranged. Jensen promised to finish his new piece by that time, and with his other two works he gives it to Chris.
Christian Kane is a strange (as Jensen thinks) guy, who has a constant, 24/7 chaos in his head, though Chris himself probably doesn't understand it fully.
He works in the gallery and from time to time he calls Jensen to buy some new works from him. Jensen still doesn't understand who on Earth could possibly buy his paintings, because he isn't even sure what he wants to say with his works - most of the time, when he’s painting, it’s like he’s guided by something, something wrong. It's not his feelings, not his emotions, often it's not even his thoughts. Who would want to buy something as insincere as that?
When Chris is near, there are always different colors in the air, and Jensen doesn't understand if it's because Chris is feeling so many feelings at once, or because he doesn't understand much about himself.
Anyway, Jensen never was fond of talking about such things.
As usual, Chris leaves the envelope with money on the table in the kitchen, and Jensen, as usual, stands in the living room, wrapping his hands around himself, shifting from one foot to another. Chris nods slightly and smiles. God knows what he thinks of Jensen and of his "small trouble talking to people," but Chris keeps it to himself, and Jensen is thankful for that.
"I'll call you?" Kane asks, holding the paintings, wrapped up in cloth. Jensen nods silently, looking at the floor, and stretching the sleeves of his hoodie even more.
Sometimes it felt cold when Chris was around, and it was frightening, because Jensen has never felt something like this. Usually it's the emotions, colors, and, very rarely - cold or hot.
Chris nods once again and goes out, slowly closing the door behind him. The room sinks into the grey tones, as if rejecting all the colors that Chris brought with him and pushing them outside. Jensen sits on the sofa, breathing loudly.
His hands are trembling a little, there are small drops of sweat on the back of his neck - he tried with all his might not to allow anything bad to himself, he resisted with all his powers.
These days he lives from one morning to another, from one hour to other, when Jared comes with the pizza.
First Jensen asked how Katie was doing, why she didn't come, if everything was ok. But then all the questions and anxiety was forgotten, because when Jared comes, he brings the warmth and colors with him, and even though he doesn't understand it, Jensen always wants to smile. Just to smile and watch Jared.
Sometimes he wants to touch him, just to feel the warmth of his skin, try this sensation that he almost forgot.
Usually Chris comes during the morning, before the gallery opens, so he can hang up the paintings the same day.
That's why Jensen is sitting on the sofa right now, and he's counting nervously, breaking the silence and quiet of the flat with his loud whispers.
With his fingers he taps out the rhythm on his knee that only he knows, trying to distract himself from everything that's happening outside the window. Somewhere, not too far away, somebody argues, and a bad taste of it gets to Jensen with dark clouds. But there's hope that everything's going to be silent again, and this hope is keeping him from sinking into this darkness in the middle of the day.
He flinches when the loud banging on the door is heard, and already familiar voice shouts 'pizza'. Jensen goes to the door fast (and he absolutely doesn't run up from the sofa) and, opening the door, he smiles friendly.
Jared stands on the threshold, wearing his favorite cap and holding in his hands the box of pizza, and he smiles back.
The corridor behind him sinks in the warm yellow and orange shades, but Jensen notices this just with his peripheral vision, because Jared is standing before him, right here, and everything sinks away that comfortable and long-waited silence.
Jensen regains to his senses after a few seconds and he opens the door wider, letting Jared come in.
"One with ham and mushrooms," as usual, says Jared, putting the box on the table in the kitchen. Jensen closes the door behind him, watching him and fiddling with the sleeves of his favorite hoodie. Even though there are a few stains on it, he can’t throw it away, because it's so cozy and he's too used to it.
Jared gets two glasses from the cabinet (he now orients pretty well in Jensen's kitchen, though he hasn't seen the rest of the apartment yet), puts them on the table next to the box of pizza, and then he gets a bottle of Coke from the fridge. It's a typical American breakfast - pizza and Coke.
Jensen watches him, habitually wrapping his hands around himself, hunching down even more in his favorite hoody, thinking about how it'd be nice if Jared would come every morning for a breakfast. Or for a lunch. Or even for a dinner, too. Not that Jensen eats so much, but for the sake of Jared he would totally revise his eating habits.
Jensen watches him, that pale yellow haze that's coming from Jared, and Jensen thinks that Jared is shining.
Jared fills the glasses with coke, and looks at Jensen, smiling easily, nodding to the chair standing next to him. Jensen sits carefully, sinking in the yellow haze, breathing deeply, and for a moment he closes his eyes.
It's dark and nice and quiet, and only the sound of Jared fussing around is breaking this silence. Jensen is already used to this fussing, so familiar, so needed.
Jared sits on the chair and looks at Jensen attentively.
"Hey?" he calls, and Jensen opens his eyes sharply, looking at his friend in surprise. He likes to think that Jared now is his friend. Not someone who he greets occasionally, but someone who listens to him and who actually hears.
Even if Jensen doesn’t talk too much.
"How is your painting?" Jared asks, taking a sip of his coke. Jensen just smiles, still sitting somewhere else, where it's warm and comfortable, and only after a moment he answers.
"Yeah, Chris took everything this morning."
"You do it for a living?" Jared asks calmly, watching the cups with paints - they couldn't take everything away, there wasn't enough space.
"Not that I can find any job I want," Jensen shrugs, confused, and lowers his head. He holds his glass with both hands, turning it over on the table, not able to bring himself to look Jared in the eyes.
They haven't talked about Jensen's "abilities" since the day of the accident, but neither of them has forgotten.
Jensen feels normal when he's with Jared, and he's afraid that only with Jared he allows himself to think like this.
"Show me?" Jared asks, as if he hasn't heard the last words Jensen said. He stands, slowly and uncertainly, rubs his old jeans with his hands.
"I'm-" Jensen shifts from one foot to another, looking back at Jared, as if he's afraid that Jared will go and peruse them anyway. "I...it's-" Jensen mumbles, starting to panic.
He’s never showed his pieces to anyone. It was more like he never did it himself, usually it was Chris who came, took the paintings, wrapped up in the cloth, and Jensen never knew how people reacted to his works. Chris just brought him money.
"Hey, it's ok, you know, if you don't wanna, I don't insist," in the same calm (sometimes annoyingly calm) tone Jared says, smiling sadly.
Jensen thinks that he did something wrong, because for some brief second this pale yellow haze becomes grey, but then its glitter is back.
Jensen swallows, and with a barely audible voice says:
"Everything's in the other room, come on," he stands for awhile, waiting till Jared lifts his head and stands behind the table.
They walk together to the biggest room, occasionally touching shoulders, as if accidentally, and Jensen sees that pale yellow haze becomes brighter and brighter, and the smile on Jared's face - wider and wider.
Jensen watches him, slightly open-mouthed, as if Jared is some kind of a miracle that he couldn't explain, but the one about whom he constantly thinks.
They enter the room where Jared found Jensen a few days ago, covered in paint and his own blood, on the day of the accident.
Jensen shivers, remembering that emptiness that had possessed him. Not the comfortable one, like right now, but cold, and he was almost lost in it, unable to find the light that he could catch. And if it hadn’t been for Jared...
"Woah!" Jared cries, distracting Jensen from his thoughts. He looks at the unfinished piece, tilting his head to the left, then to the right, studying the painting from all sides. He glances at Jensen a few times, uncertain, and then asks:
"What is it?"
Jensen smiles, biting his lip, confused, and then, shrugging, he says "I don't know. Usually I don't think about what I paint, it's-" he makes vague gesture, as if he were holding the brush, and shrugs again. "I can't explain it," Jensen shrugs again, not knowing how to explain the process to Jared.
No one had ever asked him something like this - that's why he never thought about how he should answer such questions.
When something happened, when the world sank into the black or red, or some shades of violet, he just took his brush and painted. He didn't think about what he painted, why he chose those particular colors, or why he did it in the first place.
"How long have you painted?" asks Jared, walking to the other easel. The paints on this one are in different gamma, warmer, and the piece looks like it’s just been started, and Jared thinks that, maybe, Jensen started this painting after he'd met Jared.
"Since childhood," Jensen follows him slowly, making uncertain steps, watching Jared's reaction with pure interest. He watches the easel, unable to tear his eyes off of it. "I mean, then it was ugly houses and horses, it was after I-" Jensen waves his hand again (more like his sleeve, too stretched out), and falls silent. Jared looks at him, with slightly raised brows. "It was after it wasn't just ugly houses and horses anymore," Jensen finishes and walks to the door, sharply turning on the heels.
"Hey!" Jared catches up with him by making two big steps, and takes his hand, turning Jensen to him. Jensen turns around sharply, and practically leaps away from Jared, leaning against the wall, holding his hands before him in pure terror, as if trying to protect himself from Jared. When nothing happens, he slowly opens his eyes and looks at an equally frightened Jared. "Hey...I...I'm sorry," Jared says quietly, walking past Jensen and out of the room.
Jensen swallows, taking a few deep breathes, and then, as if he's returned to this world, he flies out of the studio, catching up with Jared.
"Don't go," he asks childishly, hoping that Jared can hear him. He just looks at him, turning around.
"I need to go back anyway." He smiles somewhat sadly, but his pale yellow haze doesn't change its color. It means that Jared isn't angry, even though Jensen can't read Jared like an open book.
"Ok," Jensen nods, going closer to close the door behind Jared. He lowers his head, attentively studying his shabby sleeves. Jared smiles, practically stunned with the other’s childishly attracting innocence, and he tilts his head slightly, trying to look Jensen in the eyes.
"I’ll come tomorrow? One with ham and mushrooms?" Jensen raises his eyes to look at Jared and he can't hold back the smile already widening on his face. Because it's Jared and his dimples, and it makes something inside Jensen turn upside down.
"Ok," Jensen says again, continuing to smile, and Jared leaves, walking down the corridor as if lightening it up.
He gets down on the ground floor, studying his shoes, when he almost crushes into someone.
"God, I'm so sorry!" he picks up the old lady to her hand, helping her to stand on the feet. She's almost twice as small as Jared, and Jared has to bend down to help her.
"Oh, it's ok, honey," she says, smiling, as if it's something little. Jared smiles sadly, really feeling his guilt and shame and it's kind of a surprise for him - it's something new for him, even though Jared couldn't say he was an egoist. "Oh, you're that young man - Jensen's friend - aren't you?" Her face visibly lightens up and there’s a smile on her old wrinkled face. Jared just nods, still holding her up at the elbow. "He doesn't have any friends, at all, he's all alone," she shakes her head, breathing deeply.
"Nobody visits him? Like, at all?" Jared believed Katie, sure, when she said Jensen wasn't like everyone else, but he couldn't believe that he spends everyday in that apartment, with his paints and the only people he sees - are the pizza delivers.
"At all," the old lady says, shaking her head. "It's because of that misfortune that he doesn't want to be friends with anyone," she explains.
If Jared didn't know that Jensen had some granny or beloved aunty, or someone else, he'd think that this old lady is the same. He’s close to thinking that now, anyway.
"What misfortune?" Jared asks carefully, not sure if he wants to know the answer.
"You don't know?" the old lady covers her mouth with her hand, vexed that Jared will know something that he should hear from the source.
"Don't know what exactly, ma'am?" Jared asks insistently, and only then the old lady gives up.
"He has a very serious tumor in his head, and it can't be cured, and-" she breathes deeply, shaking her head. "And there's no much time left, and he's all alone-"
Jared watches her, frowning, and he can't understand what's happening. Jensen looked sometimes sleepy or tired, but Jared couldn't even think or connect anything like this. Like, Jensen is ill and he's...dying.
The last rings like a bell in his head, bringing him back to this world. The thought itself is too scary for him.
Jared nods slightly, saying goodbye to the old lady, not trusting his voice, and goes to the exit.
Whatever it is, Jared is sure: from now on Jensen won't be alone anymore.
Part two
So, this is my first SPN story in English, and I'm pretty nervous about it, but I really hope you'll like it.
Huge thanks to sulfuricfusion for beta help ♥ Without her you would totally not understand what was when :P
And also those few people who read this and told me it's good anough to post. Thank you guys, you know who you are ♥ ♥ ♥
And special thanks goes to sanann, you know for what doll ;)
300 Seconds On The 13th Floor
(Jared/Jensen, R, ~15 000 words, AU)
You live in the reality. What if there's another world?
When you meet someone different, whose world is more real than yours, which world would you choose?
On the thirteenth floor, between thin air and blue sky, almost next to the clouds, you can hear the silence. Those soft and fluffy clouds gather into odd figures, hanging over and smiling down to you.
Cool wind carries shades of blue from the west - yellow and red from east. If you turn to the left, you can see, far away, a high building that shoots up. From there you can feel the shades of green.
He leans against the edge of the roof, slightly bent over it to see those few dots - people - that were quickly moving about here and there. It feels somehow higher and farther from everything and you don’t feel anything except muffled shades, echoes of once strong emotions, and you don’t give a damn, and you almost feel that you can hear your own thoughts, feel your own emotions, fell that inside of you there’s only you.
Here there’s a pain, and there - something warm spread all over your body. Here somebody laughs, and inside of you everything starts vibrating because of the sincerity of that laughter.
And there, far away, somebody is angry, and this malice spills through your veins like black paint, sometimes overflowing into bright-red, even scarlet, in the places where the pain is particularly strong.
He moves away, tilting his head back, and closes his eyes.
Purple clouds slowly drift over head, turn into fanciful designs, abstractions, as if they are playing with him. Today is one of those rare days, when the sky over your head is crystal clear, and there is no threat of rain to wash everything away.
He gives a deep sigh when he feels somebody crying. The tears of a loss, tears of parting, and the pain echoes in his heart. And your own tears feels like echo, too, because right now you’re not you, which means the feelings aren’t yours, and the tears - someone else’s too.
He opens his eyes and looks at the sky.
If you watch the clouds for too long, you can try to concentrate on them, and then, maybe, you won’t feel anything for some time.
You can try to feel the emptiness.
You can rest, run away, and for a brief moment feel yourself free.
**
"Jensen!" an old lady, a neighbor from the ground floor and the widow of the late Mr. Roberts, is always interested in how he’s doing.
They don’t see each other too often, and maybe that’s why she is so curious. As if it’s so interesting to know what’s going on with that guy from the last floor, who almost never appears in somebody’s presence. Only this cliché hardly fits this old lady.
"How are you today?" she can barely pick up her walking stick, clutching to the rails of the small stairs, trying to help herself up one step higher.
Jensen wants to help her, he really does; he wants to take her hand, feel the old wrinkled skin. But he knows that once he does it, his mind’s going to blow up with pain, depression and readiness to leave this world. He won’t feel anymore that tiny piece of him, so needed right now. It holds him here; it doesn’t let him do anything bad.
That… desire can be so strong, it would be indistinguishable from your own feelings and those of this old lady.
The desire can take possession of you, and what happens next is unknown.
“Mrs. Roberts,” Jensen nods faintly, watching her walking stick tremble with sadness. He’s learnt to control the emotions with one, two people present, tops.
When you’re thrown away into the college system, into a new world, where it seems like there are more people than you’ve ever seen, you’re forced to learn. And even if you’re not too good at this, you do it. You have to survive.
Usually Jensen doesn’t mention in the conversation that he dropped out of college after the first semester, because in those few months he almost committed suicide, killed someone, and experienced something that many people can’t even imagine.
Maybe, if they knew that, they would say that Jensen was "emotionally unsteady".
"I heard it's going to be warm today. The sun is hot, huh?" the old lady smiles, and there are deep wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Sometimes he wonders how she, considering everything that happened in her life, can still smile.
He knows that this smile is sincere - he can feel the warmth spilling inside his body, and he feels calm.
"I was outside, the weather is wonderful," mumbles Jensen, nodding again. In the pockets of his jeans he squeezes his hands into fists, trying to blockade the new emotions that are trying to break through with furious power.
Sometimes he feels like something’s trying to seize him, conquer him, make him its slave. He almost forgets, sometimes, what it's like - to feel, what it's like when you're the one who's angry or happy, not somebody next to you.
He doesn't watch TV, he doesn't have one. In the small apartment under the roof he didn't need one. He had everything he needed - his emotions and the roof, from where the whole world can be seen, and people - just dots, like someone’s spilt watercolors.
"You should go outside, walk a little," she smiles sympathetically. "You can suffocate with these paints." She smiles and lifts her hand. It seems like she wants to pat him on the shoulder, but she stops halfway when Jensen's eyes widens in horror. "I'm going to take a nap, somehow I’m tired." Mrs. Roberts slowly pulls her hand to her chest, faintly squeezing it into fist. Then she sadly looks at Jensen and, walking up the stairs carefully, she goes to the door of her apartment.
Jensen watches after her for a few minutes, not able to tear this connection: the corridor sinks into the shades of violet, with flashes of grey, and it starts to turn into the loop, without the beginning and the end, it carries you away, it doesn't let you go. And he knows exactly that there's no light at the end of this tunnel.
Only when the door is closed behind Mrs. Roberts does he exhale heavily, tearing the connection, and looks at the grey walls of the corridor.
It's quiet.
He's alone and right now he doesn't feel anything, but the emptiness, walking up the stairs to his apartment.
**
"But what about the customs, Katie?" screams the broad-shouldered guy, kneading the pastry with his hands. "What about Jensen? You know you need to take away his custom today, and how’s he supposed to-"
"Tom, it's ok," the girl puts on the jacket, shivering. "Well, with the exception that it’s raining cats 'n dogs," she mutters, looking out the shop window.
Jared was sitting in the corner, behind the counter, and was looking through the morning paper.
During these hours there weren't many visitors to the pizzeria; people didn’t usually begin to appear until near midday.
He breathes deeply and turns the page.
Yesterday there was an accident on the road, two were seriously injured, and a girl of about ten is in coma.
"I read about it, it's awful," Katie says sadly, walking past Jared. "Can you imagine what her parents feel? I guess, they're going crazy right now," she shakes her head and climbs down the counter to get her bag.
Jared thinks, that, maybe, he needs to say something, like "yeah, it's terrible," or "yeah, sorry for her," or something else. The problem is, he doesn't feel anything like this, has no concept of the feeling of sadness for complete strangers, and he doesn’t even understand why Katie is so worried about it - she doesn't even know what this girl looks like or what her name is.
Eventually, he decides not to ask about it.
He props his cheek up with his hand and starts reading another page, almost immediately forgetting about the accident and the injured girl She's no one to him, just one more face among the thousands of others, so...
"Jared, you toss the order, will you?" Katie asks, distracting him from his thoughts.
Jared blinks a few times, slowly turns his head to her, and sets his cap straight. "To Jensen?," she reminds, biting her lower lip. "I really need to see Jamie," she looks at Jared pleadingly.
"Who’s Jensen?" Jared blinks again, trying to remember. Maybe he really needs to pay more attention to what people say to him. Just a little.
"Well, Jensen, our regular? One with ham and mushrooms? In the morning?" she smiles a little. "Don't freak out, if he says or does something strange, he's really really sweet and absolutely harmless, it's just..." she falls silent when she doesn't see any emotions on Jared’s face. Well, as always. "Why I even bother," she grins sadly, writes down the address and holds the sheet to Jared. "Explain to him that I have a-" she thinks for a moment, "tell him I have family condition, here."
Jared would laugh at this, if he though it was funny enough, but instead he silently takes the sheet with the address, reads it, and puts it in his pocket. Then he begins to read the newspaper again.
**
The city is grey and gloomy and the puddles become bigger and bigger every hour, and people - less and less.
Jared slowly drives down the road, trying to see through the water on the windshield, trying not to hit anyone and not to become a character in one of those articles he reads every morning at work.
He tries to take a good look at the indexes on the buildings to find the street he needs, but instead of it he goes too far into the slums. The smooth asphalt soon changes and blends with the broken and he has to drive even more slowly.
After half an hour Jared stops by the building he was looking for and glance it over.
The old multistory is at a distance, far away from the civilization, all alone. From one side the city can be seen, from another, from the East - clear fields.
He sets the collar of his jacket up so the water won't leak, stretches his cap so it almost covers his eyes and, taking the box with the pizza, he runs to the front door.
He calls on the entryway, wiping his face with the sleeve, and walks to the stairs. Judging by the address, Jensen's living on the last floor.
Jared takes the elevator to the thirteenth floor, and looks from one side to another. On the left there's an exit on the roof, and on the right there's only one door with the number he needs.
He slowly walks towards it, glancing at the muddy corridor, cups from paint next to the trashcan, old frames from the canvases.
"Pizza!" he screams, loudly banging on the door, but no one answers. First Jared thinks that Jensen's not home, and he really should get angry, but, on the other hand - only a crazy person would go for a walk right now.
Besides, he doesn't give a shit about it. He doesn't loose anything, it's Katie's order, her client, her Jensen, or whatever his name is, he’d only swapped with Katie because she had these "family conditions."
"Where's Katie?" a quiet voice is heard, and the door opens slightly, but Jared doesn't see the one who ordered "one with ham and mushrooms."
"Family conditions, she couldn't make it," Jared explains steadily, without stirring. The pizza in the box almost got cold.
"Is she ok?" the door is suddenly wide open and a young man with a face dirty with paints stares at Jared, frightened.
Big green eyes widen, and Jared thinks that he’s never seen such big and such green eyes in his whole life.
He doesn't understand right away that the young man waits for an answer, standing here with an opened mouth. His lips were plump, like a child's, and in his eyes could be seen with the same childish fear.
"Everything's fine," Jared answered softly, tearing himself from studying his face, and hands him the box. The guy with green eyes just clasps harder to the door, looking down at the box, and then slowly, with a strange fright, shifts his gaze to Jared's face.
"Pizza?" Jared lifts his brow, holding the box, but the green-eyed guy hides in the apartment, opening the door wider. Jared doesn't get it at first but then he enters the room, uncertain, wiping his feet at the mat under the door.
"I'm sorry, I’m used to Katie bringing me pizza," Jared hears the voice from somewhere. "Put it on the table, please, I’ll bring the money."
Jared does as he's told - he puts the box on the table, taking in the pencils that were scattered all over, brushes and little blanks from paints. He looks over it all slowly, taking a good look at the dark apartment. Undoubtedly, it's the most interesting place that he had ever delivered pizza, and also the strangest one.
Jared scratches at his forehead, slightly raising his cap, when he hears the steps behind.
His eyes are shining even brighter in the darkness of the apartment, and Jared, for a second, forgets about everything. For a split second, because everything is too strange, to see the guy standing here, before him, shifting from one foot to another, holding in his hands a few bills, attentively observing new delivery man.
The owner of the apartment makes a step to Jared, but when he fully turns, he walks around him and puts the money on the table, next to the box.
The green-eyed man moves away to the fridge and puts his hands round himself, uncertainly shifting from one foot to another.
"Please, tell Katie that I hope everything will be fine," he said as he cast his eyes downwards modestly, studying his shoes. Jared silently watches him, takes the money, and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
"You can call me Jared," he says, in the same tone as before.
"Ok, Jared." The guy lifts his eyes to him, slightly smiling. "Can you tell Katie-"
"I'll tell her," Jared interrupts, turning to the door.
First Jared thinks that it was rude somehow, but it’s not anything he considers worth thinking about - just something he found a little to evoke a little tiny bit of emotion rather than the usual indifference. This artist is kind of strange, timid even.
"But he's really sweet and absolutely harmless" - Jared remembers Katie’s words as he opens the door.
"My name is Jensen, by the way," the green-eyed boy says, a tiny fracture of a smile blooming on his face as he stretches his sleeves even more, hiding his hands in it.
Jared feels like he's smiling faintly.
When he gets out into to the cold wind, he tries to remember when the last time he smiled, but he fails.
**
"How is he?" Jared lifts his eyes just to see Katie, standing over him, disturbing him from reading the newspaper. She stands there, waiting for an answer.
"Who?" Jared blinks, not understanding what she wants from him.
"Jensen? You took his order yesterday? How is he? I shouldn't have let you do that, he doesn't like strangers, and it’s all too hard for him…" Katie bites her lip, thinking about something.
"Everything's fine," Jared mumbles, burying his nose under the papers, turning the page with loud rustle. "He asked me to tell you that he hopes you're ok," Jared remembers. Katie smiles faintly, and then goes to Tom for the orders for today.
"Jared, you know, I really don't wanna strain you - you know that - but-" she falls silent when Jared looks at her.
Sometimes she feels strangely odd because of the look on his face; it was so empty and lifeless, absolutely vacant of emotions.
Maybe it's because Jared really didn't give a shit about anything, or maybe because this indifference often was mixed with some kind of a fury, at least Katie thought so. And sometimes she's afraid that this giant, twice as big as her, will stand up and...
"What happened?" he asks calmly, without any interest. Katie walks towards him, so Tom can't hear.
"Can you cover me? I need to go today, and Tom will roll me up in a pizza if he knows," she pleadingly looks at her friend. She is pretty sure Jared doesn't have any personal business today - with his life and such an awesome job, all days were passing very "interesting," so it was all the same.
"Ok," he shrugs, and begins to read again.
An accident happened this morning. The driver lost control of the steering, flew into a blue Toyota; one's dead, two are in a grave condition. Crash happened near the place where Jensen lives, which Jared notes absolutely accidentally.
Sometimes it seemed like with such pace there won't be any people left in this town. And, if there's no one, who will buy pizza?..
"Jared, are you listening to me?" Katie snaps her fingers right next to his nose, trying to catch his attention. Jared slowly lifts his eyes. "Pizza? For Jensen?" she smiles softly, holding the address that she wrote down the napkin.
Jared has a good memory, and he remembered the address yesterday - he doesn't deliver pizza to such out-of-the-way holes everyday.
But he takes the napkin anyway.
**
If you believe that the glass is half-full, then the weather today is better than it was yesterday. At least, though it was cloudy, it wasn't raining.
Jared steps out of the car, taking the pizza box from the back. One with ham and mushrooms. He slowly walks towards the front door.
He takes the life up to the thirteenth floor, walks down the familiar corridor, and then knocks on the door. Jared stands here for a minute, remembering how much time it took for Jensen to open the door last time, and only then does he knocks one more time.
"Pizza!" he shouts. Maybe, Jensen really is a very closed person and he doesn't open the door to strangers. Not a surprise - he has problems with people.
Jared hears a quiet rustling and the sound of opening lock. The door opens slowly, but Jensen is nowhere to be seen. Thinking that, as last time, this is Jensen’s way of inviting him inside, he silently enters the room.
"Hello?" Jared calls, trying to find the owner of the apartment. He walks to the living room, and sees terrible and absolute discord. The flat could previously be described as “chaotic” at best - but now it’s more a field of battle.
"Katie couldn't come today," Jared turns and goes to the kitchen. He's surprised to see the table clean, but then, looking at the floor, he understands where everything was.
Dirty brushes, cups with solvent and water, whole and broken are scattered on the floor. Oils are oozing out of a few tubes, creating some kind of an abstract paint on the floor.
Jared tilts his head, studying this creative disorder, then he puts the box on the table. "It's $14.95," he says loudly, glancing over the place, trying to find Jensen.
This guy had disappeared, hiding somewhere in the apartment.
Jared goes back to the dark living room. The curtains on the windows are tightly closed that, if Jared didn't know what time it is now, he would think it’s night.
"Jensen?" he calls, watching where he treks - he doesn't want to wreck any paint.
In the corner of the living room there's a door and Jared goes there. This stopped being funny right after it started, and Jared wants to take his money and go back to work. Or Tom will roll up into the pizza not only Katie, but him as well.
Jared silently opens the door, entering the big and spacious room. He's surprised, because he's never seen such planning before (he thought that there's too many "he never" bound to this artist).
The room's like a big studio: full of easels, canvases, and other necessary things, the names of half of which Jared doesn’t even know.
He walks to the wall, where one of the unfinished paintings stands - something abstract and unintelligible, and usually Jared would say "blots," but now, somehow, he feels that he actually likes these blots. Maybe it's because of the place and the surroundings?
He sharply turns away from the painting when he hears rustling in the dark corner.
"Jensen?" he walks past the easel in the middle of the room, slowly making a few steps to where the he hears the rustling from. "What are you doing there?" Jared tilts his head, watching Jensen.
He's sitting in the corner, hiding his face space provided between his pulled-up knees and his chest. His hands are dirty with paint, as are his clothes, and he's trembling slightly. "I put your pizza on the table in the kitchen," Jared says as he squats before him.
"Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four-"
Jared looks at him uncertainly, barely hearing the count.
"It's-" he doesn't finish, sharply pulling away when Jensen practically jumps from him to the side, trying to move as far as he possibly can.
The eyes so full of horror seem to be even bigger, his pale face dirty with paint.
"Hey, it's just me," Jared lifts his hand in a non-threatening gesture, studying Jensen.
He looks - feels? - oddly different; when he saw his face, it looked like he hadn’t slept the whole night, and had been crying?
"Hey, what happened?" Jared knits his brows when he sees Jensen's hands - they're trembling, dirty with paint, strangely reminding him of blood. "What?" Jared asks again when he hears Jensen's quiet murmuring.
He still watches Jared, frightened and scared, and only his lower lip slightly trembles, like he wants to say something, but words never reaches the tip of his tongue. "Come on, get up."
Jared holds his hands out, trying to help Jensen to stand, but he just clings onto the wall, pulling his hands to his chest.
First, he shakes his head negatively, but when Jared takes his hands, however, to help him, Jensen slowly lowers his head and closes his eyes, like he relaxes.
"Come on," Jared lifts him to his feet, picking him up when his legs gives away and Jensen almost falls. "What happened to you anyway?" Jared asks, puzzled, supporting him, and walking away from the room. Everything starts spinning because of the smell of paint.
Jared seats Jensen on the old sofa, then goes to the kitchen to get a towel. Moistening it, he goes back to Jensen, who's sitting on the sofa like he never moved.
Jared sits to the small table opposite the sofa, and carefully takes Jensen's hand in his, wiping at the paint.
Jensen hisses and pulls his hand from Jared's when he touches the cut.
"Hey, it's your fault, not mine. What were you doing there anyway?" Jared looks at him, tilting his head to the side. He doesn’t want to sound rude, but he doesn’t particularly want to take care of this boy either.
But he can't deny that from all of the people he knows, he, at least, doesn’t mind staying in a room with Jensen.
"There-" he begins, quietly, as his hand goes limp, "on the bridge," he frowns, deeply breathing, "this morning-"
"There was an accident, yeah," Jared finishes, holding his hand to try again. "I read about it in the paper," he explains, not looking at Jensen.
Jared takes his hand in his own, this time trying to be more careful, and cautiously wipes away the blood, mixed with paint.
"The man who died... he didn't die immediately," Jensen says, quietly, lowering his head. He attentively watches Jared’s movements, his hands, not feeling his own.
"Were you there?" he asks, taking Jensen's other hand. "On the bridge?" he lifts his gaze, and Jensen loses it for a moment.
"I-" he shakes his head, grinning. Jared snorts, not ready for such change in the mood, though this smile wasn't even a little happy. "Katie thinks that I'm crazy," he shrugs, turning to the side. "Also, she thinks that I order pizza everyday just to see her," he frowns, biting his lip, as if he tries to remember something.
"And you think that I don't think so because..?" Jared asks, carefully wiping Jensen's hands.
"You're different," he says thoughtfully, scrutinizing him.
"I'm like the others," Jared disagrees, letting go of Jensen’s hand and looking him in the eyes. For a second he watches him, and then, taking the towel to the other hand, he comes nearer to him and starts to wipe his left cheek, resting his other hand on the right.
Jensen swallows and casts his eyes down, trying to see what Jared is doing.
Like a five year-old boy, he's curious to know what's happening here.
"Don't move," Jared says calmly and steadily, and Jensen sits still.
He doesn't feel any fear or pain, anger or something else. He doesn't feel joy or pity; he only hears the silence and feels the emptiness. He almost forgot its taste and he didn't think he would taste it ever again.
"Jared-" quietly, almost murmuring, Jensen calls to him and Jared lifts his eyes.
They're green, with shades of grey and they attentively watch him, waiting for a question.
His hands stands still on Jensen's, and he forgets what he wanted to ask.
"What?" Jared lifts his brows, returning to his work.
"How much?" Jensen asks suddenly, biting his lip.
"14,95," Jared mumbles, wiping off the last blot on of paint-dirt conglomeration adorning Jensen’s cheek.
His skin seems even paler now that it is clear, and soft bristle has seemingly wiped away the dust, paint, and blood from his fingers. Jensen begins to fidget on the sofa, trying to pick the money from his pocket, before holding fifteen bucks out to Jared.
"Thanks," he says softly, lowering his head.
Jensen's hands aren’t trembling now; he's calm and it's easier to breathe.
"So, were you there?" Jared asks suddenly, fiddling with the corner of the bill. Jensen looks at him questioningly, trying to understand what he means. "On the bridge? When it all happened?"
"No," he shakes his head, "I just-" he wants to continue, but couldn't say a word, sitting here with an opened mouth. "Do you believe that I can creep into someone's head?" Jensen asks, grinning ruefully.
"You can read people's minds?" Jared asks, softly, tilting his head and studying Jensen's face.
They sit facing each other, watching each other.
"No, but I can feel what other people feel. Joy, sadness, anger, offence, pain." Jensen lowers his head, hiding his hand in the pocket of his hoodie.
"And what I feel?" Jared asks, curious.
"I don't know," Jensen watches him, carefully, bending forward Jared, looking him in the eyes, as if he’s trying to see into his soul. "And this is very strange," he falls silent, though he still looks Jared in the eyes.
Jared snorts, shakes his head, and stands up from the table. Jensen looks up at him, surprised.
"As you say," Jared says as he pockets the money. "Be careful next time, geezer," he jokes and pats Jensen on the shoulder.
He’s surprised at that move, not knowing why he wanted to do it. Why he smiled, why he was worried, why he felt better when Jensen came out of the shock.
Jensen lowers his head, smiling sadly, and stands up, too. He oddly wants to believe, and he believes that, if Jared is different, then his reaction would be different, too. He follows him slowly, snuggling into his hoody, which is about two sizes too big for him.
"Sleep in, rest, you look terrible," Jared says, turning on the threshold. Jensen nods slightly and smiles, and Jared feels like he smiles back.
"How Katie is doing?" Jensen asks, shifting from foot to foot.
"And you tell me that you order pizza every day not to see her?" Jared taunts. "How can you even eat pizza every day and be so skinny?" Jared crinkles his nose, looking at Jensen.
He lowers his head, embarrassed, hiding his chin under the collar of the hoodie. "Pizza's on the table. Tomorrow as always? One with ham and mushrooms?" Jared asks, walking out of the apartment.
Jensen lifts his eyes, surprised, and smiles, leaning against the door. Jared nods, saying goodbye, and disappears on the stairs.
Jensen stands there for a few minutes more, feeling that the farther Jared goes, the comfortable emptiness inside of him vanishes that much faster.
**
On the 21st, Chris calls, as they had arranged. Jensen promised to finish his new piece by that time, and with his other two works he gives it to Chris.
Christian Kane is a strange (as Jensen thinks) guy, who has a constant, 24/7 chaos in his head, though Chris himself probably doesn't understand it fully.
He works in the gallery and from time to time he calls Jensen to buy some new works from him. Jensen still doesn't understand who on Earth could possibly buy his paintings, because he isn't even sure what he wants to say with his works - most of the time, when he’s painting, it’s like he’s guided by something, something wrong. It's not his feelings, not his emotions, often it's not even his thoughts. Who would want to buy something as insincere as that?
When Chris is near, there are always different colors in the air, and Jensen doesn't understand if it's because Chris is feeling so many feelings at once, or because he doesn't understand much about himself.
Anyway, Jensen never was fond of talking about such things.
As usual, Chris leaves the envelope with money on the table in the kitchen, and Jensen, as usual, stands in the living room, wrapping his hands around himself, shifting from one foot to another. Chris nods slightly and smiles. God knows what he thinks of Jensen and of his "small trouble talking to people," but Chris keeps it to himself, and Jensen is thankful for that.
"I'll call you?" Kane asks, holding the paintings, wrapped up in cloth. Jensen nods silently, looking at the floor, and stretching the sleeves of his hoodie even more.
Sometimes it felt cold when Chris was around, and it was frightening, because Jensen has never felt something like this. Usually it's the emotions, colors, and, very rarely - cold or hot.
Chris nods once again and goes out, slowly closing the door behind him. The room sinks into the grey tones, as if rejecting all the colors that Chris brought with him and pushing them outside. Jensen sits on the sofa, breathing loudly.
His hands are trembling a little, there are small drops of sweat on the back of his neck - he tried with all his might not to allow anything bad to himself, he resisted with all his powers.
These days he lives from one morning to another, from one hour to other, when Jared comes with the pizza.
First Jensen asked how Katie was doing, why she didn't come, if everything was ok. But then all the questions and anxiety was forgotten, because when Jared comes, he brings the warmth and colors with him, and even though he doesn't understand it, Jensen always wants to smile. Just to smile and watch Jared.
Sometimes he wants to touch him, just to feel the warmth of his skin, try this sensation that he almost forgot.
Usually Chris comes during the morning, before the gallery opens, so he can hang up the paintings the same day.
That's why Jensen is sitting on the sofa right now, and he's counting nervously, breaking the silence and quiet of the flat with his loud whispers.
With his fingers he taps out the rhythm on his knee that only he knows, trying to distract himself from everything that's happening outside the window. Somewhere, not too far away, somebody argues, and a bad taste of it gets to Jensen with dark clouds. But there's hope that everything's going to be silent again, and this hope is keeping him from sinking into this darkness in the middle of the day.
He flinches when the loud banging on the door is heard, and already familiar voice shouts 'pizza'. Jensen goes to the door fast (and he absolutely doesn't run up from the sofa) and, opening the door, he smiles friendly.
Jared stands on the threshold, wearing his favorite cap and holding in his hands the box of pizza, and he smiles back.
The corridor behind him sinks in the warm yellow and orange shades, but Jensen notices this just with his peripheral vision, because Jared is standing before him, right here, and everything sinks away that comfortable and long-waited silence.
Jensen regains to his senses after a few seconds and he opens the door wider, letting Jared come in.
"One with ham and mushrooms," as usual, says Jared, putting the box on the table in the kitchen. Jensen closes the door behind him, watching him and fiddling with the sleeves of his favorite hoodie. Even though there are a few stains on it, he can’t throw it away, because it's so cozy and he's too used to it.
Jared gets two glasses from the cabinet (he now orients pretty well in Jensen's kitchen, though he hasn't seen the rest of the apartment yet), puts them on the table next to the box of pizza, and then he gets a bottle of Coke from the fridge. It's a typical American breakfast - pizza and Coke.
Jensen watches him, habitually wrapping his hands around himself, hunching down even more in his favorite hoody, thinking about how it'd be nice if Jared would come every morning for a breakfast. Or for a lunch. Or even for a dinner, too. Not that Jensen eats so much, but for the sake of Jared he would totally revise his eating habits.
Jensen watches him, that pale yellow haze that's coming from Jared, and Jensen thinks that Jared is shining.
Jared fills the glasses with coke, and looks at Jensen, smiling easily, nodding to the chair standing next to him. Jensen sits carefully, sinking in the yellow haze, breathing deeply, and for a moment he closes his eyes.
It's dark and nice and quiet, and only the sound of Jared fussing around is breaking this silence. Jensen is already used to this fussing, so familiar, so needed.
Jared sits on the chair and looks at Jensen attentively.
"Hey?" he calls, and Jensen opens his eyes sharply, looking at his friend in surprise. He likes to think that Jared now is his friend. Not someone who he greets occasionally, but someone who listens to him and who actually hears.
Even if Jensen doesn’t talk too much.
"How is your painting?" Jared asks, taking a sip of his coke. Jensen just smiles, still sitting somewhere else, where it's warm and comfortable, and only after a moment he answers.
"Yeah, Chris took everything this morning."
"You do it for a living?" Jared asks calmly, watching the cups with paints - they couldn't take everything away, there wasn't enough space.
"Not that I can find any job I want," Jensen shrugs, confused, and lowers his head. He holds his glass with both hands, turning it over on the table, not able to bring himself to look Jared in the eyes.
They haven't talked about Jensen's "abilities" since the day of the accident, but neither of them has forgotten.
Jensen feels normal when he's with Jared, and he's afraid that only with Jared he allows himself to think like this.
"Show me?" Jared asks, as if he hasn't heard the last words Jensen said. He stands, slowly and uncertainly, rubs his old jeans with his hands.
"I'm-" Jensen shifts from one foot to another, looking back at Jared, as if he's afraid that Jared will go and peruse them anyway. "I...it's-" Jensen mumbles, starting to panic.
He’s never showed his pieces to anyone. It was more like he never did it himself, usually it was Chris who came, took the paintings, wrapped up in the cloth, and Jensen never knew how people reacted to his works. Chris just brought him money.
"Hey, it's ok, you know, if you don't wanna, I don't insist," in the same calm (sometimes annoyingly calm) tone Jared says, smiling sadly.
Jensen thinks that he did something wrong, because for some brief second this pale yellow haze becomes grey, but then its glitter is back.
Jensen swallows, and with a barely audible voice says:
"Everything's in the other room, come on," he stands for awhile, waiting till Jared lifts his head and stands behind the table.
They walk together to the biggest room, occasionally touching shoulders, as if accidentally, and Jensen sees that pale yellow haze becomes brighter and brighter, and the smile on Jared's face - wider and wider.
Jensen watches him, slightly open-mouthed, as if Jared is some kind of a miracle that he couldn't explain, but the one about whom he constantly thinks.
They enter the room where Jared found Jensen a few days ago, covered in paint and his own blood, on the day of the accident.
Jensen shivers, remembering that emptiness that had possessed him. Not the comfortable one, like right now, but cold, and he was almost lost in it, unable to find the light that he could catch. And if it hadn’t been for Jared...
"Woah!" Jared cries, distracting Jensen from his thoughts. He looks at the unfinished piece, tilting his head to the left, then to the right, studying the painting from all sides. He glances at Jensen a few times, uncertain, and then asks:
"What is it?"
Jensen smiles, biting his lip, confused, and then, shrugging, he says "I don't know. Usually I don't think about what I paint, it's-" he makes vague gesture, as if he were holding the brush, and shrugs again. "I can't explain it," Jensen shrugs again, not knowing how to explain the process to Jared.
No one had ever asked him something like this - that's why he never thought about how he should answer such questions.
When something happened, when the world sank into the black or red, or some shades of violet, he just took his brush and painted. He didn't think about what he painted, why he chose those particular colors, or why he did it in the first place.
"How long have you painted?" asks Jared, walking to the other easel. The paints on this one are in different gamma, warmer, and the piece looks like it’s just been started, and Jared thinks that, maybe, Jensen started this painting after he'd met Jared.
"Since childhood," Jensen follows him slowly, making uncertain steps, watching Jared's reaction with pure interest. He watches the easel, unable to tear his eyes off of it. "I mean, then it was ugly houses and horses, it was after I-" Jensen waves his hand again (more like his sleeve, too stretched out), and falls silent. Jared looks at him, with slightly raised brows. "It was after it wasn't just ugly houses and horses anymore," Jensen finishes and walks to the door, sharply turning on the heels.
"Hey!" Jared catches up with him by making two big steps, and takes his hand, turning Jensen to him. Jensen turns around sharply, and practically leaps away from Jared, leaning against the wall, holding his hands before him in pure terror, as if trying to protect himself from Jared. When nothing happens, he slowly opens his eyes and looks at an equally frightened Jared. "Hey...I...I'm sorry," Jared says quietly, walking past Jensen and out of the room.
Jensen swallows, taking a few deep breathes, and then, as if he's returned to this world, he flies out of the studio, catching up with Jared.
"Don't go," he asks childishly, hoping that Jared can hear him. He just looks at him, turning around.
"I need to go back anyway." He smiles somewhat sadly, but his pale yellow haze doesn't change its color. It means that Jared isn't angry, even though Jensen can't read Jared like an open book.
"Ok," Jensen nods, going closer to close the door behind Jared. He lowers his head, attentively studying his shabby sleeves. Jared smiles, practically stunned with the other’s childishly attracting innocence, and he tilts his head slightly, trying to look Jensen in the eyes.
"I’ll come tomorrow? One with ham and mushrooms?" Jensen raises his eyes to look at Jared and he can't hold back the smile already widening on his face. Because it's Jared and his dimples, and it makes something inside Jensen turn upside down.
"Ok," Jensen says again, continuing to smile, and Jared leaves, walking down the corridor as if lightening it up.
He gets down on the ground floor, studying his shoes, when he almost crushes into someone.
"God, I'm so sorry!" he picks up the old lady to her hand, helping her to stand on the feet. She's almost twice as small as Jared, and Jared has to bend down to help her.
"Oh, it's ok, honey," she says, smiling, as if it's something little. Jared smiles sadly, really feeling his guilt and shame and it's kind of a surprise for him - it's something new for him, even though Jared couldn't say he was an egoist. "Oh, you're that young man - Jensen's friend - aren't you?" Her face visibly lightens up and there’s a smile on her old wrinkled face. Jared just nods, still holding her up at the elbow. "He doesn't have any friends, at all, he's all alone," she shakes her head, breathing deeply.
"Nobody visits him? Like, at all?" Jared believed Katie, sure, when she said Jensen wasn't like everyone else, but he couldn't believe that he spends everyday in that apartment, with his paints and the only people he sees - are the pizza delivers.
"At all," the old lady says, shaking her head. "It's because of that misfortune that he doesn't want to be friends with anyone," she explains.
If Jared didn't know that Jensen had some granny or beloved aunty, or someone else, he'd think that this old lady is the same. He’s close to thinking that now, anyway.
"What misfortune?" Jared asks carefully, not sure if he wants to know the answer.
"You don't know?" the old lady covers her mouth with her hand, vexed that Jared will know something that he should hear from the source.
"Don't know what exactly, ma'am?" Jared asks insistently, and only then the old lady gives up.
"He has a very serious tumor in his head, and it can't be cured, and-" she breathes deeply, shaking her head. "And there's no much time left, and he's all alone-"
Jared watches her, frowning, and he can't understand what's happening. Jensen looked sometimes sleepy or tired, but Jared couldn't even think or connect anything like this. Like, Jensen is ill and he's...dying.
The last rings like a bell in his head, bringing him back to this world. The thought itself is too scary for him.
Jared nods slightly, saying goodbye to the old lady, not trusting his voice, and goes to the exit.
Whatever it is, Jared is sure: from now on Jensen won't be alone anymore.
Part two