Smoke & Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder [24/?]
Master post.
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Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (24/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG to adult.
Wordcount: 5,007
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Though it was filled with students, the school seemed relatively quiet. That is, until the black muscle car roared through the parking lot, tires squealing as it slammed to a stop. The door creaked loudly, swinging open wide. Jeffrey hauled himself out of the driver's seat, jaw clenched as he slammed the door shut again. No one was in the quad area as he headed towards the historic main building.
Jensen was back home with Jared. In a panic, Jared had called Jeffrey's cell phone, and begged him to come home.
"Now, Jeff, please?"
"What's wrong?" he'd asked, already heading out the door of his office.
"He did it again," Jared had told him. "Freeman beat the shit out of him. I need you right now."
It was hard for Jared to ask for help, so when he did, Jeffrey listened. He'd come home right away, and looked Jensen over for himself. He was bruised, bloodied, and had even spit a tooth out while Jared had been cleaning him up. "Oh, come on," he complained, wincing. It looked as though one or two of the kid's ribs might be at least fractured. He had a hard time moving, and the longer he remained still, the more his side hurt him.
"You're going to the hospital now," Jeffrey had demanded.
Jensen had shaken his head. "Nothing they can do for broken ribs," he said. "As long as they haven't punctured my lung, I'm fine."
"And how do you know it hasn't already punctured your lung?"
"Because I can breathe," Jensen had said, trying to smile.
Jeffrey had shaken his head, not returning the smile. "They could give you pain killers," he frowned.
They had patched the kid up as best they could, and then Jeffrey pressed a bottle of alcohol into Jared's hand and mumbled into his boy's ear, "Try to get that writing off of him."
Jared had nodded, and while he and Jensen went back to the garage, Jeffrey left. He'd told them he was going back to work, and that's where he had honestly planned to go. But then, he thought about what happened and found himself rocketing towards the school, his anger burning hot.
Inside, the school was just as proper and quiet as it had been outside. Jeffrey knew he would be the remedy for that, however. He made his way to the main office and bypassed the sign-in clipboard. He didn't write down his name, and he didn't take a visitor's pass. He breezed past the secretary, not even looking in her direction.
"Sir?" she called, wheeling her chair away from her computer. "Sir!"
He ignored her, heading towards the office with the door plaque that read "Superintendent."
"Sir, you can't go in there!" the secretary warned.
He didn't care though. He turned the doorknob and burst through the doorway. The door cracked up against the door stopper on the wall behind it, hard enough to split the rubber.
Jeffrey found the Superintendent to be behind his desk, phone in hand. A nameplate declared CHAS. A. CAMERON in neat white letters against a gray marble background. The office was too tidy, only a few things seeming to be out of place. The man looked rather startled as he watched the burly construction worker burst through his door, the office secretary behind him.
Jeffrey walked over to the desk and set both hands upon the wooden top. "Off the phone," he growled at the man. "Now."
The Super nodded at him. "Louise?" he said into the phone. "I'll call you right back." With extraordinary calmness, he set the phone back down upon its cradle.
"I'm sorry, sir," the secretary spoke, having to peek around Jeffrey's broad back. "He just burst in here."
"That's alright, Shelly," he nodded. "You can leave us."
She didn't quite look sure, but she backed away when Jeffrey turned to look at her, fire burning in his gaze. When she was out of the room again, Jeffrey glared over at Superintendent Cameron. "You and me got a little talking to do." He straightened and moved over to the door, closing it with a little too much force.
"Sir, I'm not sure we've met," Cameron said, standing from his chair and offering his hand. "Are you a parent of one of our newest students?" It was rare to get new students so late in the year, but they did have at least two that had transferred just recently. Somehow, though, the Super had every doubt in the world that this rough-looking man had a student in his school.
Jeffrey didn't take the outstretched hand. "No child of mine would attend this stuffy, condescending and ill-mannered excuse of a school," he snapped.
Cameron frowned, annoyed, but hiding it. "I have to admit, sir," he told him. "I take personal offense at those comments."
"Sue me," Jeffrey returned. "You're lucky I don't haul off and break your damn nose right here."
The Superintendent held up his hands. "Mister...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
He hated the feigned friendly manner the man had about him. "Morgan," he said, glaring.
"Mister Morgan, why don't we start with what has you so upset?"
"Douglas Freeman."
Instantly, Cameron's demeanor changed. He became uncomfortable, as if he knew more than he was letting on. As if Douglas Freeman was untouchable. "I'm not at liberty to freely discuss our students with parents or guardians, but I can at least tell you that Mister Freeman is one of our best students here at--"
"Bullshit."
The profanity seemed to stun the Super. "Excuse me?"
"That boy is nothing but a bully, and you know it."
"I beg to differ," he argued. "Mister Freeman is an exemplary scholar."
"Doug Freeman is an asshole. He has done nothing but pound on Jensen Ackles since day one, and you've never, never tried to stop it," Jeffrey spoke, his voice growing louder and gruffer with each passing moment. "And now, he's broken that boy up something awful."
"Mister Ackles?"
"Yeah, Mister Ackles," he said sarcastically. "Don't tell me you don't know about it."
"Ah, earlier I dealt with a couple of boys involved in an altercation in the school’s parking lot," he admitted. "Mister Ackles' name was perhaps, well, hinted at, but there was no real mention of him."
He's lying, Jeffrey thought. The rat bastard is lying. "Altercation?" he repeated. "Is that what you call a kid getting the shit kicked out of him?"
The Super almost sighed in annoyance. "Mister Morgan, I'll have to ask you to--"
"They held him down, Freeman and a couple of his minions," Jeffrey told him. "They held him down and beat him until he couldn't even stand. They wrote obscenities on him, they kicked him, they knocked out a couple of his damn teeth. Is that what you call an altercation, Mister Cameron?"
It was silent for a moment, while the Super moved around to his chair again. He smoothed down his tie as he sat down, maneuvering himself in close to his desk. "Mister Morgan," he began calmly. "Children that don't fit in here... I'm afraid the other students aren't very forgiving."
"And why wouldn't Jensen fit in? He's from a rich family like the rest of them. He's had every opportunity that they've had. He excels at his work like they do, he--"
"Because, sir," he said, interrupting. "Because of... Because of what he is."
Smiling in a challenging way, Jeffrey set his hands upon the desk, leaning his weight on strong arms. "And what is that exactly, Mister Cameron?" Jeffrey had no tolerance for people like the Superintendent. Not since the day Jared had come to him and told him everything about himself. He'd become a defender of that boy, and he would defend Jensen the same way, as long as he had to.
The Super sighed, weighing his words for a moment. Maybe he'd seen the challenge in Jeffrey's eyes, and maybe he realized that he didn't stand a chance. Maybe he just couldn’t say the words he wanted to. "Different," he said, eventually.
Shaking his head, Jeffrey poked a finger at the desktop. "I expect this Freeman bastard to be dealt with," he snarled. "I want him kicked out of this school."
Cameron furrowed his brow in confusion. "Mister Morgan, I'm not exactly sure how you come into play in all of this," he said. "Are you Mister Ackles' legal guardian?"
"No, I am not his legal damn guardian," he returned, narrowing his eyes at the man.
The Super shrugged, opening his hands in a gesture that said, Oh well, sucks to be you then, doesn't it? He finally had the upper hand, and he liked it. "If you're not a parent or guardian, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."
Jeffrey saw the smug smile and had to hold himself back from slapping it right off of Cameron's face. "You can go right to hell."
"If Mister Ackles is not living at home, I will be forced to Hotline this."
"Don't you fucking threaten me with Social Services," Jeffrey snapped. "That boy was kicked out of his own home because he was so different. You and your kind are so intolerant, that you disown each other at the drop of a goddamn hat. Jensen lives with me now. And I will fight for that boy, just like I would my own son. I will make such a ruckus that you'll bleed from the ears, son."
"Is that a threat, Mister Morgan?"
Jeffrey smiled and leaned in closer. "You bet your ass it is," he nodded. "I know the reprimands they got. I know how Chris Kane got suspended, and I know how your little pet Freeman got two days detention. I can clearly see where your loyalties lie, Mister Cameron. Keep Dougie Freeman out of trouble and Daddy will fund this school for the rest of his days, won't he?"
"Mister Morgan, that is enough."
Furious, Jeffrey slammed his fist upon the desktop. The pencils and pens rattled in their holder, the heavy pottery container jumping at least an inch off the desk from the shockwave. Mister Cameron jumped as well, eyes wide with fear as he stared up at Jeffrey. After a moment of silence, Jeffrey doing his best to keep his volatile temper under control, he finally spoke. "Do you know why I'm here, Cameron?" he asked. "Because Jensen was too afraid to make noise. You have your kids in here so... Bought, that they're afraid of everything. I'd wager Freeman is terrified all the time, and this is how he copes."
Cameron stared at him, not saying a word.
Jeffrey shook his head. "This whole place is a joke," he said. He shoved away from the desk and headed towards the door. Pulling it open, he saw two uniformed police officers standing in the lobby, heading towards him. He raised a hand to them, recognizing their faces.
"Yeah, yeah," he snapped before they could even speak. "I'm already on my way out."
Jensen wondered why he even bothered returning to school. He was slow, moving painfully, and he looked like hell. But for some reason, that didn't stop him from walking through the halls, his head held higher than it used to be. Maybe he wanted people to see what Doug had done, to show them that Doug was a jerk, and to show them that he wasn't as weak as he used to be.
But people mostly avoided Jensen's eyes. He knew, then, that word had gotten around about what had been written on him, and most of their suspicions about him were pretty much confirmed.
At his locker, Jensen opened the metal door and rested his forehead on the edge of the top shelf. He sighed and wished that it was May, graduation for him. He closed his eyes to will away the headache that he'd had since the previous day. He stayed there for awhile, not worried that the kids were clearing out around him, heading off to their classes. He would be late again, but he didn't care. Not anymore.
A hand pressed against the closed locker beside his, on either side of him. He felt the warmth of a body nearing his, leaning in to speak into his ear.
"How you feeling, princess?"
Jensen sighed again. "Doug," he breathed. "Please go away."
"Mm, gettin' pretty mouthy again, don't you think?" he returned. "Might have to do something about that, Jenny."
He wasn't afraid. That surprised him in a way. But Doug's words were making him angry, that's all. He turned around in the small space provided by Doug's arms and glared over at him. "You know what?" he began. "Maybe you are jealous." He thought he'd hit the nail on the head when he saw Doug's smile fade, his eyes glance down Jensen's chest, then back up again. He was backing off. Either that, or he was sizing him up again for another pounding. Whatever the reason, Jensen had started and couldn't stop. "Maybe you are so goddamn curious that it scares the shit out of you." He leaned in a little closer to speak quieter. "Maybe you wonder what it's like to fuck a guy. To get blown by one. Maybe you've got a hard-on right now, just thinking about it."
Enraged, Doug landed another punch to Jensen's stomach, just like he had the day before. The wind was forced out of Jensen's lungs, and he doubled over in pain. He slid down to the floor, holding his stomach and wounded ribcage, trying to catch his breath. Doug knelt down in front of him. "I got two fucking nights of detention because of you and your mouth," he snarled. "Don't think that ain't gonna cost you, fagface."
Temples throbbing, gut screaming, Jensen looked up at him.
"Douglas."
Doug's head snapped up and he smiled as he saw a teacher standing in the hallway. "Just checking up on him, sir," he lied. He stood and was off to his own class, without books of any kind, leaving Jensen curled up on the corridor floor.
"Jensen, are you alright?"
He coughed and groaned at the sharp pain in his chest. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he finally said.
Doug didn't get home until five-thirty in the afternoon on the two days following his punishment. Because he'd had two nights of detention, he’d missed any football practices that had been scheduled. He knew coach would let him in if he showed up, but he took the two evenings off and gave himself some time to slack off.
His Mom didn't usually get home until six, and his father -- if he even came home -- would arrive some time during the night. No telling if the man was even in the country, to be honest. Doug preferred it if his father was as far away from him as possible. Malcolm Freeman always gave his son the best, gave him anything he wanted, but he always expected repayment. He was a force to be reckoned with. No one on the outside of the family would believe that, however. Malcolm Freeman was a street angel, and a house devil.
From an early age, Doug had learned to do what Daddy wanted. If not, he was put in his place with a rough hand and a sharp tongue. He still had a scar on his lower back from golf lessons. Malcolm had been teaching Doug the perfect form, and when it all turned out less-than-perfect, seven year old Doug got a putter to the back. He'd had eleven stitches and had been black and blue for a week.
The knock at the door wasn't wholly unexpected. The Freeman household was always busy. The visitor standing on the stoop, however, was highly unexpected. The man was huge, probably around six-foot-five, three hundred pounds. And Doug was pretty sure most of that weight was muscle underneath a good layer of fat. He wore the attire of a biker, his face was unshaven, and a bandana was tied around the top of his head. His worn jean jacket was branded with the name "NECRO," and Doug had a sudden fear of why the man had gotten such a nickname.
"What?" he asked.
Necro looked at him through dark sunglasses. "You Doug Freeman?"
"Who's asking?"
Necro leaned in closer, pressing a finger to his own broad chest. "I am, skid-mark."
Pursing his lips, Doug nodded. "Yeah, I'm Doug Freeman."
Necro pulled something out of his back jean pocket and shoved it at the young man.
His brow knit together with worry and curiosity. "What's this?" he asked, looking down at the manila envelope.
"You've been served."
"What?!"
"Open it," Necro told him. "I want to make sure everything's nice and clear."
He practically tore into the envelope. He pulled out the contents, finding -- not legal documents, but instead a typed letter and a set of color copies. He read the letter silently, almost dumbstruck.
FREEMAN,
YOU AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND WERE A HIT. TAKE A LOOK AT THE PHOTOS.
Doug did as the letter suggested and flipped back to the color copied Polaroids, all placed onto one sheet of bright white paper. He saw himself in the shots, a red, sequined dress draped across the bed, and the body of another man near his. His heart flipped and his stomach knotted.
TAKE THE HINT. TOUCH ACKLES AGAIN, AND ONE COPY OF THESE WILL BE SENT TO MALCOLM FREEMAN, AND ANOTHER COPY WILL BE POSTED ON THE SCHOOL MESSAGE BOARDS.
ONLY ONE PERSON KNOWS WHERE THE PICTURES ARE. AND IT'S NOT ACKLES.
HAVE A SUPER DAY.
"Have a super day?!" he read aloud. He remembered the night at the bar, remembered the gorgeous woman in the red dress. He could vaguely recall walking her out to his car, and then things sort of went black. He certainly didn't remember doing what the pictures suggested he did. For some reason, he reached around and set a hand to his backside, as if that would tell him everything that had happened. Grasping the papers again in a fisted hand, Doug looked at Necro. "This was goddamn Jared what-the-fuck-ever, wasn't it?"
Necro just looked at him.
"He can't do this," he continued. "He can't do this, this is blackmail."
Necro only listened, a bored look upon his face.
"He can't get into the school message board and post these," Doug kept on. He wavered for a moment, gazing at Necro. "Can he?"
"How much do you want to find out?"
The question was simple, but it infuriated Doug even more. "You get off my father's property before I have you arrested for the forty-fucking-billionth time, Necro!"
Not at all frightened, Necro leaned in a little closer. "That's right, Dougie," he nodded. "I've been to prison more times than your Daddy's gotten off in your Momma's pussy. And I ain't got no problem with going back. Especially knowing that a pretty little thing like you will be coming through the system one day."
Horrified, Doug shoved Necro back and slammed the door in the man's face. He pressed his back to the old mahogany and tried to calm his trembling limbs, his frantically beating heart. When he couldn't, he sank down to the floor, Necro's laughter filtering through the thick wooden front door. He jumped when he heard Necro's fist connect with the mahogany door before he turned to leave. Doug looked down at the papers and manila envelope again. He put his head in his hands and pulled at his hair. He couldn't go to his father, couldn't go to the family lawyer. What was he going to do?
"What are you doing?"
Jared set down the Polaroid camera and reached out to Jensen, curling his fingers around the hem of the young man's shirt. Jensen had only just recently gotten dressed into his after-school clothes, and Jared was now relieving him of some of them.
"What?" Jensen asked again, a little perturbed.
"Picture," Jared said simply.
Jensen pushed Jared's hands away and shook his head. "No, Jay," he refused. "Let it go."
Jared's calm demeanor was suddenly gone. He wasn't furious, but he was far more annoyed than he had been before. "I'm not fucking letting it go, Jensen," he snapped. "You said you'd let me do this."
"Why?"
For a split second, Jared regretted making Jensen more confident. He sighed and stared into Jensen's eyes. "Because I want proof that he's done this to you," he said patiently.
"In case he kills me?"
Jared stared at him for a second more. "That's not funny."
"I didn't say it was."
"Please, Jen," he said, his greenish eyes much softer than before. "I want a picture. I want people to see what he's done to you for all these years."
Jensen tried to snicker at him. "Who you going to show it to?"
"Whoever I have to."
Jensen didn't think that Jared really would show anyone. He just wanted it to file away for now. It would make him feel better. Sighing, Jensen nodded his head and asked for help with his shirt. Jared assisted him, carefully pulling Jensen's arms out, and then tugging it over his head. He pushed Jensen back against the only relatively empty garage wall, where the afternoon sunlight was pouring through the garage door panes.
Jensen ended up looking away when the shot was taken. Jared had directed him to pull his jeans down enough to show the bruise where he'd been kicked. Jensen did, but he couldn't look at the camera. Jared didn't force him to. The bruises on his face were obvious enough. The Sharpie marker hadn't readily come off, regardless of the alcohol, which made Jared think it was some other kind of marker or paint pen used. He told Jensen they would try gasoline next. But they would get that brand off of him, Jared promised.
The alarm went off, waking Jensen up to the tune of "Drops of Jupiter" by Train. He gingerly reached over and turned off the radio. He'd had to sleep on his back, to avoid a pain in his side. He never slept as well on his back as he did on his side or stomach, but he doubted a lack of sleep was going to make him look any worse.
Carefully, Jensen got up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there for a moment, waking himself up completely and taking a rest before he hauled himself down the ladder and into the shower. He felt a hand on his back and turned. "Sorry," he apologized. "Didn't mean to wake you up."
Jared yawned, turning on his side to face Jensen. "You sure you have to go in today?"
Jensen nodded. "Last day before the weekend," he said, not really answering the question.
"Stay home."
"I can't, Jay."
"Yes, you can, it's one day."
"It's a day where he'll think he got the better of me," he said. "I hate that he has so many times already. I'm not backing down this time."
Jared took a deep breath, slowly exhaling and nodding his head. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll bring you."
"I don't want to go on the bike," Jensen refused. "I'll take the bus."
"I'll take you," Jared said again, sterner this time. "I'll take the car and Jeff can take the bike. I'll switch with him later, he won't care."
Jensen didn't want Jared anywhere near the school, but the man wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Fine," he grumbled.
The school grounds were crawling with students by the time the car rumbled up to the curb. Jared turned off the engine and looked over at Jensen. "Want me to pick you up?"
Jensen shook his head. "No," he refused. "I'll catch a ride with Chris."
"I'm not going to hurt him, Jensen."
Jensen looked over at him, knowing very well who Jared was talking about. He frowned but said nothing.
"I promised you I wouldn't do that."
Jensen nodded. "I know." He turned his head, looking over at the school building. "I gotta go." He pushed the door open and got out, hearing Jared do the same. Some of the students were looking back at them. Part of Jensen wanted to cringe and hide, while another part of him wanted to stand tall. As he shouldered his knapsack, Jared moved to sit against the passenger side fender of the car, arms crossed over his chest. He planned on watching Jensen until he got into the building, somehow feeling he was safer that way.
"Ackles!"
Jensen sighed and closed his eyes. Doug. He looked over to where he heard his name being called and, sure enough, Freeman was stomping towards him.
"Where's your fucking boyfriend?"
Jensen didn't say anything, just staring at the bully. He felt an arm loop around his shoulders and, though he dreaded the confrontation, he felt stronger with Jared's arm around him.
"Hi, Dougie," Jared smiled.
"You listen to me, fuckface," Doug began, pointing a finger at Jared.
"Aw, Jen," Jared grinned, speaking before the instigator could go on. "Doesn't Doug look great this morning?"
There was a beat of silence, as Doug tried to figure out if he'd secretly been insulted. Some sort of inside joke? He didn't think so. "What?" he asked.
"What?" Jensen echoed.
"Yeah," Jared nodded. "You look fucking photogenic as hell today, man." He reached out and patted Doug's shoulder in an overly-friendly gesture.
Confused, Jensen looked over at Doug, noticed that Doug's eye was twitching. Jaw sealed shut, he glanced from Jared to Jensen and then back again. Without another word, he merely nodded his head and backed away from them. One of his lackeys rushed to catch up with him, but Doug shoved the young man away, knocking him to the ground.
Jensen wasn't sure what to think. Still more than just a little confused, Jensen looked up at Jared, who was smiling just slightly. He met Jensen's eyes and chuckled softly. Then, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the car.
"Jay?"
Jared paused as he started to open the car door. "Yeah?”
"Pick me up later?"
Jared smiled at him again and nodded his head. "Be here with bells on," he told him.
"What did you do?"
Pulling off his gloves, Jared began to unbuckle his bike helmet. "What?"
"What did you do?" Jensen repeated. He put his own helmet away and wriggled out from underneath the strap of his knapsack.
"What are you talking about?" Jared asked. He pulled off the helmet and raked his fingers through his tousled hair.
"What did you do to Doug?"
"Oh, to Doug," he smiled. "I just helped him set his priorities, that's all."
"Oh yeah, right," Jensen smirked. "The guy didn't come near me all day. And when he did, he called me 'Jensen.'"
"Oh, the horror!"
"Jared, I don't remember the last time he called me that," he said. "I usually get 'Jenny,' or 'princess' or some other dumb name." He set his bag down at his makeshift work desk and looked at Jared. "So what did you do to him?"
Jared chuckled and shook his head. "You're not part of it, Jen," he said.
"The hell I'm not."
"You know what I mean," he said.
Jensen stared at him for a moment, refusing to budge. "I want to know."
Taking a deep breath, Jared sighed. He nodded his head and raised his hand in the air, finger extended. He twirled it at Jensen and said, "Turn around. I'm supposed to be the only one who knows where the shit is."
He almost rolled his eyes at the boy-club secrecy, and then did as he was told. He heard a number of drawers being opened and knew that Jared was opening so many only to keep him off the trail. Some rustling around on the work benches, tools clinking together, old coffee cans of nuts and bolts rattling as Jared moved things about.
"Alright."
Turning, Jensen found Jared in the same place as before, but this time with something in his hands. He turned them over to Jensen and waited.
Wide-eyed, Jensen flipped through the pictures. Some of them were frighteningly close-up and some were shot from a wide enough angle to get everything but the mystery-man's face in.
"Trevor helped," Jared said.
After a few more rounds through the pictures, Jensen looked over at him. "This is why he was almost civil to me today?"
Jared flexed his chin, the corners of his mouth pointing down for a split second, and nodded his head.
Jensen flipped through a couple more of the Polaroids. "I should be mad at you."
"Why?"
"This is blackmail."
"And?"
"And, it's incredibly stupid. And probably illegal."
Jared smiled. "It worked, didn't it?"
He didn't return the grin. Instead, Jensen nodded, taking a deep breath and sighing. "For now," he agreed.
"It'll work," Jared assured him. "I threatened to send a copy to his father, and post a copy onto the school message forum."
"Jared."
He shrugged. "What?" He saw the reprimanding look in Jensen's eye and slumped closer to him. He took the pictures and pocketed them, then hooked his fingers into the pockets of Jensen's uniform pants. "Okay, so it was wrong," he agreed. "I probably shouldn't have done all of that, but I did."
"Why?” He knew why. He just wanted to hear it.
"For you, doofus," Jared grinned. He carefully set a hand to Jensen's face and then pressed an equally gentle kiss to the young man's bruised forehead. "Because I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt anymore."
Jensen thought for a moment, taking another deep breath. His eyes seemed heavy, now that Jared's body heat was combining with his own. He sighed and nodded his head. "Okay," he agreed.
He could deal with that.
--TBC--
Note from Evil: For those not watching the community, check out our master post for other manips, etc, that you may have missed!
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (24/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG to adult.
Wordcount: 5,007
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Though it was filled with students, the school seemed relatively quiet. That is, until the black muscle car roared through the parking lot, tires squealing as it slammed to a stop. The door creaked loudly, swinging open wide. Jeffrey hauled himself out of the driver's seat, jaw clenched as he slammed the door shut again. No one was in the quad area as he headed towards the historic main building.
Jensen was back home with Jared. In a panic, Jared had called Jeffrey's cell phone, and begged him to come home.
"Now, Jeff, please?"
"What's wrong?" he'd asked, already heading out the door of his office.
"He did it again," Jared had told him. "Freeman beat the shit out of him. I need you right now."
It was hard for Jared to ask for help, so when he did, Jeffrey listened. He'd come home right away, and looked Jensen over for himself. He was bruised, bloodied, and had even spit a tooth out while Jared had been cleaning him up. "Oh, come on," he complained, wincing. It looked as though one or two of the kid's ribs might be at least fractured. He had a hard time moving, and the longer he remained still, the more his side hurt him.
"You're going to the hospital now," Jeffrey had demanded.
Jensen had shaken his head. "Nothing they can do for broken ribs," he said. "As long as they haven't punctured my lung, I'm fine."
"And how do you know it hasn't already punctured your lung?"
"Because I can breathe," Jensen had said, trying to smile.
Jeffrey had shaken his head, not returning the smile. "They could give you pain killers," he frowned.
They had patched the kid up as best they could, and then Jeffrey pressed a bottle of alcohol into Jared's hand and mumbled into his boy's ear, "Try to get that writing off of him."
Jared had nodded, and while he and Jensen went back to the garage, Jeffrey left. He'd told them he was going back to work, and that's where he had honestly planned to go. But then, he thought about what happened and found himself rocketing towards the school, his anger burning hot.
Inside, the school was just as proper and quiet as it had been outside. Jeffrey knew he would be the remedy for that, however. He made his way to the main office and bypassed the sign-in clipboard. He didn't write down his name, and he didn't take a visitor's pass. He breezed past the secretary, not even looking in her direction.
"Sir?" she called, wheeling her chair away from her computer. "Sir!"
He ignored her, heading towards the office with the door plaque that read "Superintendent."
"Sir, you can't go in there!" the secretary warned.
He didn't care though. He turned the doorknob and burst through the doorway. The door cracked up against the door stopper on the wall behind it, hard enough to split the rubber.
Jeffrey found the Superintendent to be behind his desk, phone in hand. A nameplate declared CHAS. A. CAMERON in neat white letters against a gray marble background. The office was too tidy, only a few things seeming to be out of place. The man looked rather startled as he watched the burly construction worker burst through his door, the office secretary behind him.
Jeffrey walked over to the desk and set both hands upon the wooden top. "Off the phone," he growled at the man. "Now."
The Super nodded at him. "Louise?" he said into the phone. "I'll call you right back." With extraordinary calmness, he set the phone back down upon its cradle.
"I'm sorry, sir," the secretary spoke, having to peek around Jeffrey's broad back. "He just burst in here."
"That's alright, Shelly," he nodded. "You can leave us."
She didn't quite look sure, but she backed away when Jeffrey turned to look at her, fire burning in his gaze. When she was out of the room again, Jeffrey glared over at Superintendent Cameron. "You and me got a little talking to do." He straightened and moved over to the door, closing it with a little too much force.
"Sir, I'm not sure we've met," Cameron said, standing from his chair and offering his hand. "Are you a parent of one of our newest students?" It was rare to get new students so late in the year, but they did have at least two that had transferred just recently. Somehow, though, the Super had every doubt in the world that this rough-looking man had a student in his school.
Jeffrey didn't take the outstretched hand. "No child of mine would attend this stuffy, condescending and ill-mannered excuse of a school," he snapped.
Cameron frowned, annoyed, but hiding it. "I have to admit, sir," he told him. "I take personal offense at those comments."
"Sue me," Jeffrey returned. "You're lucky I don't haul off and break your damn nose right here."
The Superintendent held up his hands. "Mister...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
He hated the feigned friendly manner the man had about him. "Morgan," he said, glaring.
"Mister Morgan, why don't we start with what has you so upset?"
"Douglas Freeman."
Instantly, Cameron's demeanor changed. He became uncomfortable, as if he knew more than he was letting on. As if Douglas Freeman was untouchable. "I'm not at liberty to freely discuss our students with parents or guardians, but I can at least tell you that Mister Freeman is one of our best students here at--"
"Bullshit."
The profanity seemed to stun the Super. "Excuse me?"
"That boy is nothing but a bully, and you know it."
"I beg to differ," he argued. "Mister Freeman is an exemplary scholar."
"Doug Freeman is an asshole. He has done nothing but pound on Jensen Ackles since day one, and you've never, never tried to stop it," Jeffrey spoke, his voice growing louder and gruffer with each passing moment. "And now, he's broken that boy up something awful."
"Mister Ackles?"
"Yeah, Mister Ackles," he said sarcastically. "Don't tell me you don't know about it."
"Ah, earlier I dealt with a couple of boys involved in an altercation in the school’s parking lot," he admitted. "Mister Ackles' name was perhaps, well, hinted at, but there was no real mention of him."
He's lying, Jeffrey thought. The rat bastard is lying. "Altercation?" he repeated. "Is that what you call a kid getting the shit kicked out of him?"
The Super almost sighed in annoyance. "Mister Morgan, I'll have to ask you to--"
"They held him down, Freeman and a couple of his minions," Jeffrey told him. "They held him down and beat him until he couldn't even stand. They wrote obscenities on him, they kicked him, they knocked out a couple of his damn teeth. Is that what you call an altercation, Mister Cameron?"
It was silent for a moment, while the Super moved around to his chair again. He smoothed down his tie as he sat down, maneuvering himself in close to his desk. "Mister Morgan," he began calmly. "Children that don't fit in here... I'm afraid the other students aren't very forgiving."
"And why wouldn't Jensen fit in? He's from a rich family like the rest of them. He's had every opportunity that they've had. He excels at his work like they do, he--"
"Because, sir," he said, interrupting. "Because of... Because of what he is."
Smiling in a challenging way, Jeffrey set his hands upon the desk, leaning his weight on strong arms. "And what is that exactly, Mister Cameron?" Jeffrey had no tolerance for people like the Superintendent. Not since the day Jared had come to him and told him everything about himself. He'd become a defender of that boy, and he would defend Jensen the same way, as long as he had to.
The Super sighed, weighing his words for a moment. Maybe he'd seen the challenge in Jeffrey's eyes, and maybe he realized that he didn't stand a chance. Maybe he just couldn’t say the words he wanted to. "Different," he said, eventually.
Shaking his head, Jeffrey poked a finger at the desktop. "I expect this Freeman bastard to be dealt with," he snarled. "I want him kicked out of this school."
Cameron furrowed his brow in confusion. "Mister Morgan, I'm not exactly sure how you come into play in all of this," he said. "Are you Mister Ackles' legal guardian?"
"No, I am not his legal damn guardian," he returned, narrowing his eyes at the man.
The Super shrugged, opening his hands in a gesture that said, Oh well, sucks to be you then, doesn't it? He finally had the upper hand, and he liked it. "If you're not a parent or guardian, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."
Jeffrey saw the smug smile and had to hold himself back from slapping it right off of Cameron's face. "You can go right to hell."
"If Mister Ackles is not living at home, I will be forced to Hotline this."
"Don't you fucking threaten me with Social Services," Jeffrey snapped. "That boy was kicked out of his own home because he was so different. You and your kind are so intolerant, that you disown each other at the drop of a goddamn hat. Jensen lives with me now. And I will fight for that boy, just like I would my own son. I will make such a ruckus that you'll bleed from the ears, son."
"Is that a threat, Mister Morgan?"
Jeffrey smiled and leaned in closer. "You bet your ass it is," he nodded. "I know the reprimands they got. I know how Chris Kane got suspended, and I know how your little pet Freeman got two days detention. I can clearly see where your loyalties lie, Mister Cameron. Keep Dougie Freeman out of trouble and Daddy will fund this school for the rest of his days, won't he?"
"Mister Morgan, that is enough."
Furious, Jeffrey slammed his fist upon the desktop. The pencils and pens rattled in their holder, the heavy pottery container jumping at least an inch off the desk from the shockwave. Mister Cameron jumped as well, eyes wide with fear as he stared up at Jeffrey. After a moment of silence, Jeffrey doing his best to keep his volatile temper under control, he finally spoke. "Do you know why I'm here, Cameron?" he asked. "Because Jensen was too afraid to make noise. You have your kids in here so... Bought, that they're afraid of everything. I'd wager Freeman is terrified all the time, and this is how he copes."
Cameron stared at him, not saying a word.
Jeffrey shook his head. "This whole place is a joke," he said. He shoved away from the desk and headed towards the door. Pulling it open, he saw two uniformed police officers standing in the lobby, heading towards him. He raised a hand to them, recognizing their faces.
"Yeah, yeah," he snapped before they could even speak. "I'm already on my way out."
Jensen wondered why he even bothered returning to school. He was slow, moving painfully, and he looked like hell. But for some reason, that didn't stop him from walking through the halls, his head held higher than it used to be. Maybe he wanted people to see what Doug had done, to show them that Doug was a jerk, and to show them that he wasn't as weak as he used to be.
But people mostly avoided Jensen's eyes. He knew, then, that word had gotten around about what had been written on him, and most of their suspicions about him were pretty much confirmed.
At his locker, Jensen opened the metal door and rested his forehead on the edge of the top shelf. He sighed and wished that it was May, graduation for him. He closed his eyes to will away the headache that he'd had since the previous day. He stayed there for awhile, not worried that the kids were clearing out around him, heading off to their classes. He would be late again, but he didn't care. Not anymore.
A hand pressed against the closed locker beside his, on either side of him. He felt the warmth of a body nearing his, leaning in to speak into his ear.
"How you feeling, princess?"
Jensen sighed again. "Doug," he breathed. "Please go away."
"Mm, gettin' pretty mouthy again, don't you think?" he returned. "Might have to do something about that, Jenny."
He wasn't afraid. That surprised him in a way. But Doug's words were making him angry, that's all. He turned around in the small space provided by Doug's arms and glared over at him. "You know what?" he began. "Maybe you are jealous." He thought he'd hit the nail on the head when he saw Doug's smile fade, his eyes glance down Jensen's chest, then back up again. He was backing off. Either that, or he was sizing him up again for another pounding. Whatever the reason, Jensen had started and couldn't stop. "Maybe you are so goddamn curious that it scares the shit out of you." He leaned in a little closer to speak quieter. "Maybe you wonder what it's like to fuck a guy. To get blown by one. Maybe you've got a hard-on right now, just thinking about it."
Enraged, Doug landed another punch to Jensen's stomach, just like he had the day before. The wind was forced out of Jensen's lungs, and he doubled over in pain. He slid down to the floor, holding his stomach and wounded ribcage, trying to catch his breath. Doug knelt down in front of him. "I got two fucking nights of detention because of you and your mouth," he snarled. "Don't think that ain't gonna cost you, fagface."
Temples throbbing, gut screaming, Jensen looked up at him.
"Douglas."
Doug's head snapped up and he smiled as he saw a teacher standing in the hallway. "Just checking up on him, sir," he lied. He stood and was off to his own class, without books of any kind, leaving Jensen curled up on the corridor floor.
"Jensen, are you alright?"
He coughed and groaned at the sharp pain in his chest. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he finally said.
Doug didn't get home until five-thirty in the afternoon on the two days following his punishment. Because he'd had two nights of detention, he’d missed any football practices that had been scheduled. He knew coach would let him in if he showed up, but he took the two evenings off and gave himself some time to slack off.
His Mom didn't usually get home until six, and his father -- if he even came home -- would arrive some time during the night. No telling if the man was even in the country, to be honest. Doug preferred it if his father was as far away from him as possible. Malcolm Freeman always gave his son the best, gave him anything he wanted, but he always expected repayment. He was a force to be reckoned with. No one on the outside of the family would believe that, however. Malcolm Freeman was a street angel, and a house devil.
From an early age, Doug had learned to do what Daddy wanted. If not, he was put in his place with a rough hand and a sharp tongue. He still had a scar on his lower back from golf lessons. Malcolm had been teaching Doug the perfect form, and when it all turned out less-than-perfect, seven year old Doug got a putter to the back. He'd had eleven stitches and had been black and blue for a week.
The knock at the door wasn't wholly unexpected. The Freeman household was always busy. The visitor standing on the stoop, however, was highly unexpected. The man was huge, probably around six-foot-five, three hundred pounds. And Doug was pretty sure most of that weight was muscle underneath a good layer of fat. He wore the attire of a biker, his face was unshaven, and a bandana was tied around the top of his head. His worn jean jacket was branded with the name "NECRO," and Doug had a sudden fear of why the man had gotten such a nickname.
"What?" he asked.
Necro looked at him through dark sunglasses. "You Doug Freeman?"
"Who's asking?"
Necro leaned in closer, pressing a finger to his own broad chest. "I am, skid-mark."
Pursing his lips, Doug nodded. "Yeah, I'm Doug Freeman."
Necro pulled something out of his back jean pocket and shoved it at the young man.
His brow knit together with worry and curiosity. "What's this?" he asked, looking down at the manila envelope.
"You've been served."
"What?!"
"Open it," Necro told him. "I want to make sure everything's nice and clear."
He practically tore into the envelope. He pulled out the contents, finding -- not legal documents, but instead a typed letter and a set of color copies. He read the letter silently, almost dumbstruck.
FREEMAN,
YOU AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND WERE A HIT. TAKE A LOOK AT THE PHOTOS.
Doug did as the letter suggested and flipped back to the color copied Polaroids, all placed onto one sheet of bright white paper. He saw himself in the shots, a red, sequined dress draped across the bed, and the body of another man near his. His heart flipped and his stomach knotted.
TAKE THE HINT. TOUCH ACKLES AGAIN, AND ONE COPY OF THESE WILL BE SENT TO MALCOLM FREEMAN, AND ANOTHER COPY WILL BE POSTED ON THE SCHOOL MESSAGE BOARDS.
ONLY ONE PERSON KNOWS WHERE THE PICTURES ARE. AND IT'S NOT ACKLES.
HAVE A SUPER DAY.
"Have a super day?!" he read aloud. He remembered the night at the bar, remembered the gorgeous woman in the red dress. He could vaguely recall walking her out to his car, and then things sort of went black. He certainly didn't remember doing what the pictures suggested he did. For some reason, he reached around and set a hand to his backside, as if that would tell him everything that had happened. Grasping the papers again in a fisted hand, Doug looked at Necro. "This was goddamn Jared what-the-fuck-ever, wasn't it?"
Necro just looked at him.
"He can't do this," he continued. "He can't do this, this is blackmail."
Necro only listened, a bored look upon his face.
"He can't get into the school message board and post these," Doug kept on. He wavered for a moment, gazing at Necro. "Can he?"
"How much do you want to find out?"
The question was simple, but it infuriated Doug even more. "You get off my father's property before I have you arrested for the forty-fucking-billionth time, Necro!"
Not at all frightened, Necro leaned in a little closer. "That's right, Dougie," he nodded. "I've been to prison more times than your Daddy's gotten off in your Momma's pussy. And I ain't got no problem with going back. Especially knowing that a pretty little thing like you will be coming through the system one day."
Horrified, Doug shoved Necro back and slammed the door in the man's face. He pressed his back to the old mahogany and tried to calm his trembling limbs, his frantically beating heart. When he couldn't, he sank down to the floor, Necro's laughter filtering through the thick wooden front door. He jumped when he heard Necro's fist connect with the mahogany door before he turned to leave. Doug looked down at the papers and manila envelope again. He put his head in his hands and pulled at his hair. He couldn't go to his father, couldn't go to the family lawyer. What was he going to do?
"What are you doing?"
Jared set down the Polaroid camera and reached out to Jensen, curling his fingers around the hem of the young man's shirt. Jensen had only just recently gotten dressed into his after-school clothes, and Jared was now relieving him of some of them.
"What?" Jensen asked again, a little perturbed.
"Picture," Jared said simply.
Jensen pushed Jared's hands away and shook his head. "No, Jay," he refused. "Let it go."
Jared's calm demeanor was suddenly gone. He wasn't furious, but he was far more annoyed than he had been before. "I'm not fucking letting it go, Jensen," he snapped. "You said you'd let me do this."
"Why?"
For a split second, Jared regretted making Jensen more confident. He sighed and stared into Jensen's eyes. "Because I want proof that he's done this to you," he said patiently.
"In case he kills me?"
Jared stared at him for a second more. "That's not funny."
"I didn't say it was."
"Please, Jen," he said, his greenish eyes much softer than before. "I want a picture. I want people to see what he's done to you for all these years."
Jensen tried to snicker at him. "Who you going to show it to?"
"Whoever I have to."
Jensen didn't think that Jared really would show anyone. He just wanted it to file away for now. It would make him feel better. Sighing, Jensen nodded his head and asked for help with his shirt. Jared assisted him, carefully pulling Jensen's arms out, and then tugging it over his head. He pushed Jensen back against the only relatively empty garage wall, where the afternoon sunlight was pouring through the garage door panes.
Jensen ended up looking away when the shot was taken. Jared had directed him to pull his jeans down enough to show the bruise where he'd been kicked. Jensen did, but he couldn't look at the camera. Jared didn't force him to. The bruises on his face were obvious enough. The Sharpie marker hadn't readily come off, regardless of the alcohol, which made Jared think it was some other kind of marker or paint pen used. He told Jensen they would try gasoline next. But they would get that brand off of him, Jared promised.
The alarm went off, waking Jensen up to the tune of "Drops of Jupiter" by Train. He gingerly reached over and turned off the radio. He'd had to sleep on his back, to avoid a pain in his side. He never slept as well on his back as he did on his side or stomach, but he doubted a lack of sleep was going to make him look any worse.
Carefully, Jensen got up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there for a moment, waking himself up completely and taking a rest before he hauled himself down the ladder and into the shower. He felt a hand on his back and turned. "Sorry," he apologized. "Didn't mean to wake you up."
Jared yawned, turning on his side to face Jensen. "You sure you have to go in today?"
Jensen nodded. "Last day before the weekend," he said, not really answering the question.
"Stay home."
"I can't, Jay."
"Yes, you can, it's one day."
"It's a day where he'll think he got the better of me," he said. "I hate that he has so many times already. I'm not backing down this time."
Jared took a deep breath, slowly exhaling and nodding his head. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll bring you."
"I don't want to go on the bike," Jensen refused. "I'll take the bus."
"I'll take you," Jared said again, sterner this time. "I'll take the car and Jeff can take the bike. I'll switch with him later, he won't care."
Jensen didn't want Jared anywhere near the school, but the man wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Fine," he grumbled.
The school grounds were crawling with students by the time the car rumbled up to the curb. Jared turned off the engine and looked over at Jensen. "Want me to pick you up?"
Jensen shook his head. "No," he refused. "I'll catch a ride with Chris."
"I'm not going to hurt him, Jensen."
Jensen looked over at him, knowing very well who Jared was talking about. He frowned but said nothing.
"I promised you I wouldn't do that."
Jensen nodded. "I know." He turned his head, looking over at the school building. "I gotta go." He pushed the door open and got out, hearing Jared do the same. Some of the students were looking back at them. Part of Jensen wanted to cringe and hide, while another part of him wanted to stand tall. As he shouldered his knapsack, Jared moved to sit against the passenger side fender of the car, arms crossed over his chest. He planned on watching Jensen until he got into the building, somehow feeling he was safer that way.
"Ackles!"
Jensen sighed and closed his eyes. Doug. He looked over to where he heard his name being called and, sure enough, Freeman was stomping towards him.
"Where's your fucking boyfriend?"
Jensen didn't say anything, just staring at the bully. He felt an arm loop around his shoulders and, though he dreaded the confrontation, he felt stronger with Jared's arm around him.
"Hi, Dougie," Jared smiled.
"You listen to me, fuckface," Doug began, pointing a finger at Jared.
"Aw, Jen," Jared grinned, speaking before the instigator could go on. "Doesn't Doug look great this morning?"
There was a beat of silence, as Doug tried to figure out if he'd secretly been insulted. Some sort of inside joke? He didn't think so. "What?" he asked.
"What?" Jensen echoed.
"Yeah," Jared nodded. "You look fucking photogenic as hell today, man." He reached out and patted Doug's shoulder in an overly-friendly gesture.
Confused, Jensen looked over at Doug, noticed that Doug's eye was twitching. Jaw sealed shut, he glanced from Jared to Jensen and then back again. Without another word, he merely nodded his head and backed away from them. One of his lackeys rushed to catch up with him, but Doug shoved the young man away, knocking him to the ground.
Jensen wasn't sure what to think. Still more than just a little confused, Jensen looked up at Jared, who was smiling just slightly. He met Jensen's eyes and chuckled softly. Then, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the car.
"Jay?"
Jared paused as he started to open the car door. "Yeah?”
"Pick me up later?"
Jared smiled at him again and nodded his head. "Be here with bells on," he told him.
"What did you do?"
Pulling off his gloves, Jared began to unbuckle his bike helmet. "What?"
"What did you do?" Jensen repeated. He put his own helmet away and wriggled out from underneath the strap of his knapsack.
"What are you talking about?" Jared asked. He pulled off the helmet and raked his fingers through his tousled hair.
"What did you do to Doug?"
"Oh, to Doug," he smiled. "I just helped him set his priorities, that's all."
"Oh yeah, right," Jensen smirked. "The guy didn't come near me all day. And when he did, he called me 'Jensen.'"
"Oh, the horror!"
"Jared, I don't remember the last time he called me that," he said. "I usually get 'Jenny,' or 'princess' or some other dumb name." He set his bag down at his makeshift work desk and looked at Jared. "So what did you do to him?"
Jared chuckled and shook his head. "You're not part of it, Jen," he said.
"The hell I'm not."
"You know what I mean," he said.
Jensen stared at him for a moment, refusing to budge. "I want to know."
Taking a deep breath, Jared sighed. He nodded his head and raised his hand in the air, finger extended. He twirled it at Jensen and said, "Turn around. I'm supposed to be the only one who knows where the shit is."
He almost rolled his eyes at the boy-club secrecy, and then did as he was told. He heard a number of drawers being opened and knew that Jared was opening so many only to keep him off the trail. Some rustling around on the work benches, tools clinking together, old coffee cans of nuts and bolts rattling as Jared moved things about.
"Alright."
Turning, Jensen found Jared in the same place as before, but this time with something in his hands. He turned them over to Jensen and waited.
Wide-eyed, Jensen flipped through the pictures. Some of them were frighteningly close-up and some were shot from a wide enough angle to get everything but the mystery-man's face in.
"Trevor helped," Jared said.
After a few more rounds through the pictures, Jensen looked over at him. "This is why he was almost civil to me today?"
Jared flexed his chin, the corners of his mouth pointing down for a split second, and nodded his head.
Jensen flipped through a couple more of the Polaroids. "I should be mad at you."
"Why?"
"This is blackmail."
"And?"
"And, it's incredibly stupid. And probably illegal."
Jared smiled. "It worked, didn't it?"
He didn't return the grin. Instead, Jensen nodded, taking a deep breath and sighing. "For now," he agreed.
"It'll work," Jared assured him. "I threatened to send a copy to his father, and post a copy onto the school message forum."
"Jared."
He shrugged. "What?" He saw the reprimanding look in Jensen's eye and slumped closer to him. He took the pictures and pocketed them, then hooked his fingers into the pockets of Jensen's uniform pants. "Okay, so it was wrong," he agreed. "I probably shouldn't have done all of that, but I did."
"Why?” He knew why. He just wanted to hear it.
"For you, doofus," Jared grinned. He carefully set a hand to Jensen's face and then pressed an equally gentle kiss to the young man's bruised forehead. "Because I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt anymore."
Jensen thought for a moment, taking another deep breath. His eyes seemed heavy, now that Jared's body heat was combining with his own. He sighed and nodded his head. "Okay," he agreed.
He could deal with that.
--TBC--