Smoke & Lightning: Born To Be Wild (10/?)
MASTER POST
Title: Smoke And Lightning: Born To Be Wild (10/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: Adult.
Wordcount: 5,899
Summary: AU. They're born to be wild. At least, Jared is. Jensen's learning, though, and this road-trip that they're on will teach him plenty of lessons. It's a good thing, too, because he'll need what he's learnt when they return and venture onto an altogether more serious step in their relationship. Trust is a major aspect for the both of them and Jensen's will be tested to breaking point as the boys learn how they'll cope together on the road...and off it.
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
Author's Note:
Happy Birthday to candygramme!!
CHAPTER TEN
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Jared stood from the bike, taking off his helmet before moving to stand next to Jensen, who was staring up at the Old West-themed bar. The cacti were made out of neon lights, a giant neon cowboy hat resting on the side of the sign that read Tumbleweeds. They could hear bass to the music within, but couldn't identify the tune. "It's beer," he shrugged. "I don't see the problem."
Jensen sighed, frowning, and looked over at him. "No fights," he said.
Jared was clearly offended. "What?" he asked, his voice going an octave higher. "Jen, when was the last time I got into a fight?"
"I'm just saying," he returned, hands held up in surrender. "This isn't a place we've been before. Try not to start any trouble. Okay?"
"Fine," Jared almost sighed, biting his tongue from pointing out that it wasn’t a place they were ever likely to be again, either. "No fights."
They stepped to the front wooden barn-like door and let themselves in.
“What the fuck?" Jared breathed.
Inside, the place was filled with men and women, dressed exactly the same; cowboy hats, boots, blue jeans and belt buckles as big as the heads of their owners. There were no bouncers or, if there were, they were off somewhere else. Jared and Jensen walked further inside the building, able to feel the country music pounding in their chests. Some woman was warbling about better times, how strong she was, and how she would never go back to what life was before.
"Je-sus Christ," Jared swore, only loud enough for Jensen to hear. "We've found ourselves on the set of Deliverance." He made motions of a banjo player, making nerdy twanging sounds with his mouth.
Jensen smiled up at him, nudging him with his shoulder. "Shut up," he said. "We'll have a couple beers and then we'll go back to the motel."
"Don't go too far," Jared warned. "I don't want you getting redneck on you."
Jensen laughed again. "Will you stop?"
"No," he answered truthfully. "Try to find a place to sit. I'll get us a couple of drinks."
Jensen weaved in and out of the crowds, mostly unnoticed save for the people that he bumped into. He mumbled an apology, not really sure that it was heard over the loud music, and finally found a table that had just recently been vacated. Bottles and glasses were still resting atop it, but it was the only free place. And the waitress would be around soon to pick up, he was sure. He sat down at the table and waited for Jared.
After almost ten minutes, Jared set a bottle of beer in front of Jensen, then sat down adjacent to him, turning his seat around so that he could lean his chest against the back of the chair. "I'm bleeding," he announced.
Instantly on guard, Jensen put down his drink. "What?"
"From the ears," Jared nodded. "This music is fucking awful."
"Oh, jeez," Jensen said, relieved. "We'll go if it's bothering you that much."
"Nah, it's alright."
"You sure?"
Jared nodded, taking a drink from his bottle, resting his elbows against the back of the chair. They both sat in relative silence, watching the people around them. Jensen noticed that Jared was being eyed by a couple of girls in cowboy hats. He shifted in his chair, trying not to look too jealous. Jared didn't even notice the girls staring at him. Or, if he had, he seemed bored with them. That made Jensen feel somewhat better.
Jared was good for about twenty minutes, maybe a half-hour. Then, he put down his second beer, shaking his head. "I can't take it anymore," he announced.
Concerned, Jensen looked over at him, watching him stand from his chair. "What, what's wrong?"
Jared almost shivered. "This music," he said. "Someone's always breaking up with someone else, someone's learning life lessons from a bad experience, and dogs are being kicked left and right."
"Jared."
"I swear, Jen," he said, leaning down so that he could set his hands atop the table. "I will stab myself in the eye with a piece of broken glass if we have to listen to this shit much longer."
He was gone before Jensen could say anything else, or even try to stop him. Jensen stood from his chair and watched Jared head over to the juke box. "Oh, man," he groaned. It was too late. He saw Jared digging into his pocket for quarters. Jensen would never be able to make it over to him in time. Still, that didn't stop him from weaving his way through the crowds, trying desperately to reach Jared before he chose something much too inappropriate. "Jay?" he called out. "Jay!" But his voice was swallowed by the loud music.
The song ended and another started. Still country. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jensen finally reached him, taking hold of Jared's arm. "What are you doing?"
"Saving us all," Jared smiled.
"Don't," Jensen said. "Come on, we'll just go."
"Too late," he replied. "I already chose four songs."
"Why do I feel the need to be very afraid?"
Jared shook his head. "I need music, Jen," he said. "I need guitars and fucking foul language and a beat that feels like it could lead to other things." He said his last few words while grabbing hold of Jensen's hips, pulling the young man up against his body. "Let's stay for them."
Jensen eyed him for a moment, slowly shaking his head. "No, I don't think we should," he said, his words chosen carefully for some reason. He pushed against Jared's chest, putting slight distance between their bodies. "I think now's the time to head back to the motel."
Jared shrugged. "Go ahead," he returned.
The place was too far to walk back to, and Jared knew that. He was being stubborn, and winning. "Fine," Jensen said. "But don't say I didn't warn you." He started to turn, tried to weave his way back to the table, but before he got very far, he heard a pipe organ, instantly recognizing the Avenged Sevenfold song. He halted and turned back towards Jared, who was watching him and smiling brightly. "Oh, crap," he said quietly.
It wasn't the worst song Jared could have chosen. But it definitely wasn't country. Jensen looked around, seeing the throngs of people falter in their dance floor gyrations. They glanced from each other, over to the jukebox, where Jared stood, tall, tattooed and leaning against the machine, eyes closed as he listened to the guitars, bass and screaming voices. He was in his glory.
Jensen was thankful that most of the people merely took the duration of the song to head back to the bar for more drinks, or to the bathroom to answer the call of nature. He took a deep breath, his relief quickly squashed when he saw a burly man step closer to Jared. The man's polo shirt was stretched across his muscled chest, the arm bands nearly bursting from the rounded biceps worked to perfection. Swallowing nervously, Jensen tried to move faster.
About halfway through the song, Jared was rudely interrupted. Someone set their hands at either shoulder blade and shoved him. Hard. Stumbling for a moment, he quickly regained his footing and turned to see who had touched him. "What the fuck is your problem, asshole?" he asked, his voice low with anger.
"I should ask you the same thing, jerk-off," the man snarled.
He wasn't taller than Jared, but he was more massive. That didn't deter Jared. He still stepped closer, coming nose to nose with the patron.
"Why the fuck are you playing music like that here?" the man asked. "This ain't your place."
"Is it yours?" Jared asked, calmly.
"More than it is yours," he returned.
Jared smiled, knowing very well that the man had no claim over the bar. "Well, when you show me a bill of sale, some other ownership of this place, then we'll talk."
The man gritted his teeth. "We don't play music like that here."
"Then why is it on the jukebox?"
"Owner's son, I reckon," the man said. "Little asshole probably put them on there when we weren't looking."
"Whatever."
"Jared," Jensen interrupted. He tried to wedge his hand between the two men, setting his palm against Jared's chest to push him backwards. "Come on, let's go."
"No," Jared argued.
"Come on."
"No," Jared repeated, louder this time. "I paid for my songs, I'm going to listen to them."
"You're going to get your ass kicked," the massive patron said to him.
Jared only smiled, leaning in a little closer. "Bring it on."
"Son, don't you know who that is?"
Both Jared and Jensen turned towards the patron that had interrupted. "Who?" Jensen asked.
"That there's Hess Lolling," the old man said, motioning to the muscle-bound man that was nose-to-nose with Jared. "He's a heavy-weight semi-pro wrestling champ."
Jensen felt fear course through his system, heading straight for his pounding heart.
Jared, however, had a different reaction. He laughed boisterously, his head rocking back for a moment. "Your name is Hess Lolling?" he cackled.
Jensen then caught the "LOL" reference that had clearly tickled Jared, but he found no humor in it. They were going to get their asses kicked. "Jared, come on," he said again. "I want to go back to the hotel."
Jared met his eyes. "Then fucking go," he growled at him. He turned back to Wrestling Hess and smiled. "I'm not done yet."
“Your ass is mine," Lolling snarled.
"No," Jared corrected. "My ass is his." He pointed to Jensen and smiled again. "And no amount of sweet-talking is going to change my mind."
"You promised," Jensen reminded him. "No fighting."
Jared looked down at him, his smile gone. "Fucking tell him," he returned, pointing at the wrestler.
Hess seemed stunned. He looked from Jared to Jensen, and back again. "You're a couple of fucking fags?" he asked.
Jensen cringed. "Oh, crap," he said to the burly man. "Now you've done it."
"Did you just call me a fag?" Jared asked, eyes narrowed at Hess.
"Yeah, I did," he nodded. "A fucking tattooed faggot with a shitty attitude and even worse taste in music."
Annoyed, Jared laughed and turned to look at Jensen, as if to say, "Can you believe the balls this guy has?"
He never got the words out, however. Without physical provocation, Wrestling Hess struck Jared, his fist connecting with Jared's mouth. Jared went reeling, but was quick to regain his footing. He didn't fall to the floor, but the patrons around them quickly dispersed, not wanting in on the argument. The music still blared while Jared spit blood from his mouth, down to the bar room floor.
"Hey, what's going on here?"
Jensen, eyes wide, looked from Jared to the man that had interrupted the fight. He was a big man, an equally big hat sitting upon his head. His belt buckle shone in the dusky light of the bar, declaring TEXAS. "Nothing," Jensen said quickly. "We were just going."
"These fucking faggots thought it would be funny to mess with our music, Boss," Hess replied, glaring over at Jared.
Jared looked back at him, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. His top lip throbbed with pain, and he could taste blood on his tongue. Adrenaline was pumping through his system, making his hand tremble.
"Goddammit, Hess," the big cowboy said. "This here's my son's music. How many times I got to tell you? This ain't your place, and it sure as hell ain't your jukebox. This here is for everyone."
Lolling hung his head, remorseful. "Sorry, Boss," he said.
The cowboy turned to Jared and Jensen. "I'm sorry, boys," he said. "Hess here tends to get a little out of hand sometimes. But I will have to ask you to leave."
Jensen shook his head. "No problem."
"Fucking Hickville," Jared grumbled.
The big cowboy reached out and stopped Jared, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man. "What'd you say, son?"
Never one to back down, Jared leaned down just slightly so that he was directly in the cowboy's line of vision. "I said you're nothing but a bunch of fucking redneck hicks."
"Jay." They were going to get killed. Jensen could almost see the tension in the room.
"No, they're just afraid of someone who's a little different," Jared continued. "Heaven forbid they learn to be fucking tolerant."
The cowboy smiled, even though he was clearly annoyed. "I don't know what went on here before I arrived, but I'll tell you one thing, son. We're very accommodating here at Tumbleweeds."
"Yeah, my split lip thanks you."
"Well, I'm very sorry about that," the cowboy said. "But you brought that upon yourself from what I saw." He chuckled, his beer belly jerking with the motion. "Good thing I showed up too. Hess here don't fight for free."
Jared looked over at Lolling. "You need an entry fee to fight him?"
The cowboy nodded. "Yes, sir," he grinned brightly.
"How much?"
"Five hundred."
"Bullshit."
The man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm his boss," he returned. "That's the fee I set up."
Jared thought for a moment, testing his lip with a finger. The bleeding had stopped for the most part. Meeting Jensen's eyes, Jared moved over to him.
"No," Jensen said immediately.
Jared didn't say a word. Instead, he reached into the front pocket of Jensen's jeans, pulling out the wad of cash there. Jensen’s half of their money, which he hadn’t wanted to leave in the motel room in case it got stolen.
"No, Jared," Jensen repeated.
Furious at the refusal, Jared leaned down to snarl his words at Jensen through clenched teeth. He clenched the money in his fist, pointing one finger at his chest. "I want to fight this bastard."
"You promised," Jensen reminded him. "No fights."
"He called me a fucking fag," he returned. "He called you a fag."
"He wouldn't be the first," Jensen frowned. "And I doubt he'll be the last."
Jared pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, gathering the cash from within. "Yeah, well, you may lay down and take that shit, but I don't."
Jared started towards the big cowboy, but before he got very far, Jensen reached out and stopped him. "That's all our money," he reminded him.
Jared didn't say anything to him. He just looked at him for a moment, then gently pulled out of Jensen's grasp enough to toss him his wallet. Rolling the cash in one wad, Jared neared the Boss and flashed the money at him. "Four hundred fifty," he said.
The Boss laughed. "You're fifty short, son," he returned, taking the cash.
"Take bets," Jared said. He motioned to the crowds that were now watching them intently. "You get half of all the winnings."
"You're losing a lot if I do that."
Jared shrugged. "I just want to kick this motherfucker's ass," he smiled, fresh blood seeping out of the cut on his lip. "I don't care about the money."
"And what about his fight next week?"
"I'm not going to kill him," Jared said.
"His championship could be hurt."
"This ain't professional," he returned. "It's a bar fight. Just because some patrons took it upon themselves to bet on it, doesn't mean pretty boy Hess made anything off of it."
Hess glared at him, taking offense to the 'pretty boy' remark. He tore his gaze away from Jared and looked at his boss.
The Boss thought for several long moments. Finally, he nodded his head. "Alright," he agreed. "You got yourself a fight."
Pleased, Jared smiled and looked over at Hess. Without warning, he pulled his arm back and let his fist fly, connecting with Hess's nose.
"Hey!" the Boss yelled. He pushed Jared back, ignoring Hess as the man reeled backwards. "Hey," he said again, pointing at Jared, "if we're going to do this, we're going to do it fair and square."
Jared almost danced on his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Just giving him a little payback," he said.
"Well, take a break. We've gotta get things squared away first."
The Boss made an announcement. The bar was closed for the night. Anyone that wanted to stay and bet was more than welcome to. A good number of people packed up and got out of the place. But a decent number of them also stayed. Jared and Hess were separated, put in adjacent corners of the dance floor. People crowded around them, their bets pencilled into the Boss's big book.
Jensen stood near Jared, gazing up at him. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Smiling, Jared winked at him. "Giving you practice, Mister Big-Shot-Medical-School," he said.
"I can think of better ways to get practice," he returned. "You know, like school."
"Yeah, but this is real life stuff," he grinned. "Fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of thing."
Jensen shook his head. "He's going to kill you."
"I hope not," Jared returned. "I got plans later."
Jensen wasn't laughing, even though Jared's smile was bright. He shook his head again, looking away. He only brought his gaze back to Jared when he felt the man's hand at the side of his face.
"Hey," Jared said softly. He waited until Jensen had met his eyes, his own tinged with sadness and fear. "Thank you."
Jensen shook his head once again, glaring at him. He wanted to shove Jared, to yell at him. Thank you for letting me get pummelled into the beer-and God-knows-WHAT-linoleum floor? Thank you for letting me be a giant jerk and get bloodied up, just because of some name-calling? "Ugh," he mumbled, disgusted. "Shut up."
The Boss called out to the fighters. Smiling, Jared turned. He was down to his last song. Filter started to hum through the speakers. He smiled at the irony of what song it was and headed over to the Boss and Hess.
"Ain't no major rules here," the Boss said, "since this ain't a pro fight. Try to be men about it all, though. No cheap shots. First man that goes down, or calls for the fight to stop, loses. No one goes to the hospital tonight. No one dies. Got it?"
Jared nodded. Hess only glared over at him.
Jensen figured that he kept his eyes squeezed tight through a good, solid ten minutes of the fight, listening to the brutal sounds, the cheering. He would have kept them closed longer, but Jared was thrown back into the crowds of people around them, right up against Jensen. He faltered, caught him, and hefted him back on his feet again. Jared's mouth was bloody, his right T-shirt sleeve torn off. Jensen looked over at Hess. The man didn't look too much worse for wear.
"Ready to give up?" Jensen asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.
"Do I look like it?"
"You look like hell."
Jared smiled, his teeth tinged red with blood. "But I'm still pretty," he returned. Before Jensen could stop him, Jared leaned in and planted a kiss on his mouth. He was gone an instant later, leaving Jensen to wipe his mouth across the back of his hand, leaving a slightly bloody trail. As Jared flung himself back into the fight, Jensen stared down at the blood on his hand. Jared's blood. He wanted to go home.
Regardless of Hess's size, Jared was holding his own. His T-shirt was torn again, this time at his abdomen, though how that had happened, Jensen didn't understand. Underneath the torn material, Jared's skin was visible, slick with sweat. Dark stains of the sweat decorated the torn tee, around the neck, underarms and down the center of Jared's back. His muscles flexed, ripped lines more pronounced in the dusky light of the bar.
Jensen winced when Hess grabbed hold of Jared, yanking him closer by the collar of his shirt. Jared got hit twice, but managed to twist out of the wrestler's grasp. His shirt had had it, however. He stepped back enough to strip off the ruined shirt, tossing it to the floor.
The crowd cheered even more. Jensen couldn't say as he blamed them, but he wished they were cheering under different circumstances.
Not wanting to be outdone, Hess removed his shirt too, growling aloud as he threw it down to the dirty bar floor. "Come on, you little faggot," he snarled. "I'll snap you in half."
Jared smiled. Lolling had the smack-talk to wrestling down really well. But he was slow. His punches hurt, sure, but they didn't have nearly the impact that they should, considering the man's size. Jared was able to duck underneath the burly man, deliver a good three or four kidney punches before Hess threw his elbow backwards, knocking Jared right in the mouth. The cut on his lip opened wider, the blow sending Jared tumbling backwards. He quickly rolled onto his knees, accepting help from a few of the patrons as they hoisted him back up on his feet.
Jensen watched as Jared wiped at his mouth, blood gushing from the split in his top lip. It would need stitches. Even from his good distance away, he could tell that it would need probably anywhere from five to ten stitches. He frowned, hoping that Jared wouldn't say that Jensen, himself, should just sew him up.
Jared was bouncing on his feet again, his eyes riveted to Lolling, who paced back and forth returning the angry gaze.
"He ever thought about a wrestling career?"
Jensen turned when he heard the Boss's voice. He looked at the man for a moment, expecting the Boss to just start laughing and slapping his thigh. "What?"
"Wrestling," the Boss said again. "He's good. Quick as a fox. He could really make a name for himself."
"No," Jensen said, shaking his head. He tried to tear his horrified look away from the Boss, but the man spoke again.
"You said his name was Jay, right? You know, he could do something like, 'Gay Jay'." The Boss nodded his head, a plan formulating in his mind. "He'd get a good fan-base, that's for sure. You gays are always looking for something new for your culture, ain't you?"
Rather at a loss for words, Jensen cringed and moved away from the Boss. It wasn't that he was ashamed, for Jared had taught him otherwise. And it wasn't that he didn't consider himself a part of the culture that the Boss talked about. But the idea of Jared doing this every day -- that was just too much to bear.
As the fight went on, Hess quickly found out that Jared was an experienced fighter. Year after year, bout after bout, had made Jared's fists like iron. Jensen knew from first-hand experience what it felt like when Jared hit you. Before long, the burly man's face was bloodied, and he was moving slower than before. His smack-talk had dwindled and he breathed raggedly.
The decline in fight made Jared cocky. Smiling over at Jensen, Jared winked. In those few seconds he had his gaze diverted, Hess attacked. He first punched Jared in the stomach, then kneed him there. Pain seared through his abdomen, the wind knocked out of him. He struggled to breathe, but could only get short gasps of air. He was only vaguely aware of his body being hurled across the room. Instinctively, he did his best to curl into a ball, arms over his head to protect what he could. When he landed, he felt his fingers snap, his wrist bruise on something, hot pain flashing up his entire arm. He'd broken a bone before and thought he knew the signs well. His head bounced off the hardwood dance floor, and he tasted something warm and coppery in his mouth.
When he'd stopped sliding across the floor, Jared blinked hard. His heart was pounding in his ears, blood rushing and making it hard to hear. Finally, he heard Jensen calling to him. He looked up, found it difficult to see him, and wiped at his eyes. When he looked down at his hand, he saw blood there. He tested his brow again, finding the laceration that traced his right eyebrow. "Fuck," he breathed.
Gingerly, Jared stood from his place. The Boss was next to him, asking him if he wanted to throw the towel in. Jaw set in anger, Jared looked at him, glaring. The Boss raised his hands and backed away, giving them their space again.
He'd been stupid. It wouldn't happen again. As he moved closer to Hess again, Jared didn't take his eyes off of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jensen standing close, rubbing his hands together and then interlocking his own fingers, bringing them up to his mouth. Praying, Jared thought. He's praying.
He'd better be praying for this redneck asshole.
Hess watched Jared nearing him, a pleased smile upon his face. He was ready.
Jared started to swing with his undamaged left hand. When Hess moved to block the blow, Jared laid into him with his injured right hand. Even though it hurt like a bitch, he hit Hess' jaw hard. The man's teeth champed together, probably breaking a few of them. Jared pulled back and hit him again, this time breaking his nose. There was blood everywhere, but he didn't stop. He hit Hess again, his left hand curled around the man's collar. He was beyond furious that Hess had gotten the better of him, and he was letting his anger control him. A few punches and knees to the gut, a blow to Hess' left knee, and the wrestler gave in.
Hess went down to his wounded knee, stars invading his vision. Regardless of his size, it was the first time he'd ever had his nose broken. The pain made his knees buckle. He felt his left eye starting to swell, not only from earlier punches, but now from the continuous onslaught of blows that Jared doled out. His right eye wasn't far behind. Blood and sweat stung and blurred his vision. Tunnel vision started to take over, and the last thing he saw was Jensen trying to pull Jared off of him.
"Jared, stop!" Jensen cried out. "Stop it!"
Jared pulled back, but his arm suddenly wouldn't work anymore. He turned and saw Jensen holding on to his arm, not letting another blow fall. He looked back down at Hess, noticed the man's swollen eyes were not comprehending much. He let go of the wrestler's collar and watched the man fall to the floor. The Boss was at the man's side in an instant, encouraging him to get up. But Hess only shook his head and held a hand up to him. He was done.
Jared appeared almost shell-shocked. He looked down at his bare chest. His blood, as well as Lolling's, decorated his skin in drops and splatters. He set a hand to his ribs, where a contusion was already forming. Broken or bruised, the ribs were going to hurt like a motherfucker later. His hands were bloody and raw, the fingers of his right hand bent at odd angles. His wrist was already bruised and swelling. Blood had run down the side of his head and neck from the cut over his eyebrow. His chin was slick with the red stuff from his split lip. Breathing heavy from an open mouth, Jared looked over at Jensen.
Jensen hoped that he masked the look of fear and horror in his eyes. His own breathing was rapid, making his chest rise and fall at a too-quick pace. Swallowing hard, he swiped his hand over his mouth and glanced around the bar for a moment. The patrons were mostly quiet, grumping or congratulating each other. He took off his jacket, one that had been Jared's at one time or another anyway, and put it over Jared's shoulders. "Come on," he said. "We have to get you to a doctor."
Jared pulled away. "Not until I get my money."
Jensen wanted to argue, to tell him that the money wasn't worth it, he didn't care about it. But Jared did, and Jared wouldn't leave until he'd gotten what he'd worked so hard to win. He nodded and followed him over to where Hess was trying to get up off the floor.
After the crowds dispersed from Tumbleweeds, Jared had helped Lolling over to the bar, and together, the two shared a drink, two double-scotches and a beer each. Jensen did what little he could to patch up Jared's hand, and even took a look at Hess upon the man's request. It wasn't the outcome he had expected.
While the boys were being tended to, the Boss counted up what money had been bet on the two fighters. He stacked Jared's winnings to the side, then bundled them up all together.
"Here you go, son," the Boss said, handing Jared the wad of cash.
Jared looked down at the money before he took it. He nodded his head to the Boss, smiling as much as his cut lip would let him. "Thank you, sir," he said politely.
"You sure you don't want to do this professionally?" He motioned to the stack of cash that sat beside Jared's uninjured hand. "You could make a sight more than just three thousand dollars, I'll tell you that."
Jared's eyes went wide. "Three..." He paused and glanced over at Jensen. Setting a finger to the stack of bills, Jared turned back to the Boss. "There's three thousand dollars here?"
The Boss nodded. "You won a touch more, but I took some out for damages to my man," he agreed.
"We need to go," Jensen interrupted. "We need to get you to a doctor."
"Same here," Hess managed. He winced as he stood from his chair, and set a hand to his mouth. He grunted and then spit into his hand. He opened his fist, revealing a tooth resting in blood on his palm. He grumbled and followed the Boss out the back way.
As they went, Jared and Jensen could hear the Boss complaining to Lolling, disappointed that the man had lost to "one of them gays." He told him to get into the truck, that he would take him to the doctor's after locking up.
Jared didn't even care about not getting all of his winnings. He carefully got down off the bar stool and followed Jensen and the Boss out of Tumbleweeds. Outside, in the nearly-deserted parking lot, Jared turned and waggled the stack of bills at Jensen. He smiled and smacked Jensen's forehead with the money. "Who ever said I was a loser?" he asked.
As they moved towards the bike, Jensen tried to duck out of the way of a second smack. "Stop it," he said. He picked up Jared's helmet and set it atop the man's head. "No one said you were a loser. I just said that was all our money."
Jared brought the money to his swollen nose and tried to sniff it. "Ah, smell that, baby," he breathed. "That's the smell of three thousand fucking dollars, Jen."
"You can't smell a thing right now," he said, buckling Jared's helmet. "And if you could, your broken rib would stop you from taking a deep breath."
Still smiling Jared looked down at him. "It's not broken."
"Well, your hand is," he argued. He picked up his own helmet and tugged it on. "And your wrist is seriously fucked up. You're going to need X-rays."
"Are you mad?"
"A little."
"I just won us three thousand dollars, Jen," he said.
"We had plenty of money," he said.
"Now we have more."
Jensen sighed, giving up. "Yes, we do," he agreed. "Now you get to figure out how you're going to drive this thing to the hospital."
"I'll be fine," Jared said, shaking his head. "I've driven in worse situations. You can just help me out with the left handlebar."
"Fine," he nodded, swinging a leg over the bike. "Now let's just pray that the hospital here will take your insurance."
All in all, Jared's injuries looked worse than they really were. He had broken his middle, ring and pinkie fingers. He had only severely bruised his wrist, thankfully. He could have done much worse, considering he had still hit Lolling after he knew his fingers, and possibly his wrist, were broken. The cut over his eyebrow took eleven stitches, and he had a mild concussion. He told Jensen that he didn't remember hitting his head quite that hard. But when he had, he had bitten his tongue, which is why he had tasted so much blood. The doctor had told him he was lucky he hadn't bitten his tongue right off. The eye underneath the cut was swollen and purple, but he could see out of it. His cut lip required seven stitches. His ribs were only bruised, his nose wasn't broken, but his shoulder was sore from how Hess had thrown him across the room.
He was bruised and in pain, but he refused any prescription painkillers that the doctor offered. Somehow, with Jared's fingers in a splint, they got back to the motel. Jensen undressed him and lowered him into bed, gave him some of the extra-strength Tylenol they'd brought with them, and covered him. He made a trip down to the ice machine. Back in the room, he wrapped a hand towel around a handful of the ice and tied it up. While Jared rested, he balanced the make-shift ice pack on the man's swollen eye. He stayed up for a long while, sitting at the small round table in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, pretending to watch television. He changed the ice on Jared's eye only once before his eyes grew heavy.
During the early hours of the morning, Jared awoke to find Jensen in just his jeans, bare feet propped up on the corner of the mattress. His chin was almost resting against his bare chest, his eyes closed as he nodded off.
"Come on," he said, his voice thick with sleep.
Breath hitching in his lungs, Jensen turned and looked at Jared, blinking his eyes. "What? What's wrong?"
"You're not in bed," he returned, holding his good hand out. "Come on."
"No, I'm good, actually," Jensen refused. He sat up straighter, taking his feet from the mattress and putting them on the floor again. "Still running on adrenaline."
"My ass," Jared frowned. "You were sleeping in the goddamn chair."
Jensen sighed. "You're all... Broken," he said. "What if I roll on you the wrong way?"
"Then it'll probably hurt," Jared nodded. "But I'll be fine."
He frowned once more, biting at his bottom lip. He desperately wanted to curl up next to Jared and fall asleep just as they always did. It was well past four in the morning. The DO NOT DISTURB sign was hanging on the door. Check out wasn't until eleven.
Carefully, Jensen crawled into bed with Jared, still wearing his jeans. He faced away from him. Jared curled his good arm around him and they slept the rest of the night, with the television still on.
--TBC--
Title: Bruised, But Not Beaten
Manip Artist: bloody_adorable
Subject: Jared Padalecki.
Warning: Injured!Jared
