6 Meadowlark/Oh Happy Bird.

[askellington]

When Jared wakes up, Jensen's gone, has been for a while from the feel of the bed. He's so pissed off that he snatches the pillow off the side Jensen had slept on and throws it across the room.

"No, he fucking didn't!" he yells and jumps out of bed, stalking out of the room buck naked. No, this fucker did not run off after giving Jared one of the most intense nights of his life. How fucking dare Jensen leave him without a damn word?

No one is home, but there's a sheet of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Jared reads "I'll be back. Give me a couple of days to get everything together but promise, I'll be back because I need you and I can't live without you. This is a shitty way to tell you, but I swear to god I'll make it up to you.♡ Jen"

Jared stares at it for a long time, committing every loop and swirl of Jensen's handwriting to memory. He takes the sheet down, folds it in half and takes it back to his room. Just wait until he sees Jensen Ackles again. See if he doesn't push that fucker to make good on his words.



"Thank you again for having given me the opportunity to grow and learn. I appreciate everything about the time I've spent here at Gyre Bros."

Jensen gives them his very best smile, and shakes hands across the desk. He politely fends off attempts to 'work something out', a change of position-possibly a change of some other employee's position, at which Jensen does his very best to swallow a smile. He'd have been happier if they'd have decided to change that particular employee's position years ago, instead of relying on Jensen to keep Jeff in line. That's what happened when one was too good at certain aspects of one's job, Jensen thought ruefully. But now, it fell on upper management to corral the guy. Neither Michael nor Glover were good at handling Jeff, at least not in any way that didn't involve cement blocks, an ocean drive, and Jeff tied up in the trunk. The guy was, and would always be, an enormous anus; he's the perfect example of a person failing upwards. Instead of responding to the thinly veiled offer of landing in Jeff's job, Jensen solemnly, gently, refuses, and heaves a sigh of relief when he's finally able to leave. No two weeks given, separation effective immediately, and he'll worry about employment when his bank account gets tight.

CCR's Lodi keeps running through Jensen's head as walks down the hall leading to the studio, Oh, Lord. stuck in Lodi again, and he hopes it not a damn sign or something. He turns a hundred watt smile on everyone he passes, fueled by a sense of freedom from a job that felt like it was sucking the life out of him, and the lie of his life outside of it. Of course, threaded through it was some trepidation-his life was taking more than a turn, it was a leap of the cliff edge and him hoping that he lands on something soft. Or someone…he snorts, seeing Jared's pretty face, him rolling his eyes and laughing. At Jensen, but that's okay. Jared loves him.

He's still got a goofy grin plastered on his face when he walks into the studio, and it makes Michael go ballistic.

"What are you smiling at, you bastard?" Michael shrieks as Jensen pushes through the doors."How dare you leave me? Glover, make him stay."

"Don't be ridiculous, Michael. It's past time the boy spread his wings. Come along, Ackles, let's collect your things." Glover waits until Jensen catches up and stage-whispers, "I have dibs on your desk chair. Beautiful leather, and unlike some I could name, I'm totally indifferent to the fact that your ass once filled it."

"Hey, hello, my hearing is excellent," Michael yells, but of course Glover ignores him. Between Glover and Jensen and a smidge of help from Michael, they quickly sort out everything Jensen wants to keep. It occurs to Jensen as they're packing his things, there are surprisingly few items he wants to keep, considering the years he's spent there: some sketchbooks, a few tools, markers, pencils, the camera he'd bought to take photos of his work for a portfolio that now was probably going to end up in the attic.

Standing there with Jensen and looking over his small stack of banker's boxes, Glover squeezes his shoulder, shocking Jensen with the contact. "Ackles, darling, you deserve to be happy. You need to walk out of these doors and grab life by the lapels and live it with a vengeance."

This advice surprises Jensen, because he'd always thought that Glover regarded him as sort of an ambulatory house plant-a ficus that got in the way of a position he'd originally wanted. Jensen''s strangely moved, even when Glover takes the actual ficus that's sitting on Jensen's file cabinet and walks off with it.

Before Jensen can take a breath, Michael is on him: arms wrapped tight around him, one leg wrapped around Jensen's hip in an uncomfortably close embrace. Michael moans directly into his ear, "Oh, I am so fucking mad at you right now. How dare you leave me! And not only that, we're short staff now!"

"Come on, Michael, you're head of the crew now, the Queen Bee! You can do what you want. As long as Jeff approves, but whatever, he doesn't really care about the day to day, right?" Jensen manages to peel off Michael's octopus-like grasp, and scrubs discreetly at his ear. The man has disturbingly hot breath…."Think of it as a good thing, what with you taking my place, and Glover taking your place. You're all falling upwards, like dominos." Jensen wheedles, reaching out to chuck Michael under the chin until finally he smiles, face brightening like the sun's coming out.

Michael gasps dramatically and swirls around to face the floor. "Oh shit, that's right, I'm second to Jeff now-oh fuck I'm second to Jeff now. I hate you again, Jenny. No, I'm making Glover assistant to that asshole…and that definitely leaves me short a menial, and none of these bitches are capable of unscrewing a light bulb on their own. Damn it. Hate, Jen, hate." he yells, pointing a finger at Jensen's forehead.

Jensen ducks and whisks Michael's finger out of his face, blinks at a sudden explosion of thought in his head. Ah, now this will work-"Hey, I think I know someone. I mean, I do know someone. He's really talented, has a great eye for color and design, a free-wheeling imagination, plus he knows what teens and young people like so that's an asset. This boy is smart, and sassy, and I think he'll fit in great. He's got an AA and he's working towards his BA, and I can tell you, he's a hell of a hard worker. You'll love him, I promise, just…keep an open mind, Rosey, please."

"What, did you pick him off the street-" Michael's eyes go wide when Jensen turns a hot red. "Oh. My. Fucking. God. Okay, first of all, bitch, don't call me Rosey, and…and!" Michael crowed. "Are you sleeping with him? You are! You finally found your way out of Narnia! Wait, am I going to recognize him?" Michael shrieks, brushes off Jensen's protests, but finally does settle a bit when Jensen begs him to keep it to himself.

"At least at least until after the divorce, Rosey. I'm…Jeanette and I want to keep this as low key as we can. We don't want to involve anyone, you get it?"

Michael's eyebrows climb impossibly high, but only a moment or two passes before he's hugging Jensen again.

"Aaah, so it's like that. Not just trade but a whole new life. Not to worry, darling, I'm an absolute tomb. No one is hearing a damn thing from me. I wish you every fucking happiness and all the fucking luck." He grabs Jensen's hand, and squeezes lightly. "You tell that boy to come in. I'm sure we'll love him." Before Michael pushes him away, he whisper-hisses, "I think he's got a job here."

Finally ready to leave, Jensen heaves up a box, and Michael tuts and insists Jensen let him help. "You, you, and you, get your lazy slack asses over here and grab one of these," he shouts. An explosion of cursing young people rush through the studio. Michael sets another box on top of the one Jensen is already carrying-beams like he's done something wonderful.

Behind them, at the studio doors, they can hear some sort of commotion going on, but Jensen doesn't care; nothing here is any of his concern anymore. Until he hears shouting, and things being tossed about and rolls his eyes. Of course Jeff would be an utter asshole here on his last day. With a heavy sigh, Jensen divides the boxes he's carrying between the crew who'd been corralled into helping and sends them to the security desk downstairs-he'll pick them up later. Right now, he can hear Jeff revving up to being a world-class jerkoff, and feels obligated on this, his last day, to help Michael and Glover out. And of course, revel in the fact that he'll never have to do this again.

They walk out just in time to catch Morgan flinging boards and pens and rolls of tape around the room, growling at whoever's unfortunate enough to get in his way. The man looks a mess, nothing like the cool, sardonic jerk that usually swaggered through the place, he's certainly not acting like it. He's snapped, completely flipped his wig, and Jensen's kind of glad he's here to see it.

Michael is the first one to remark on Jeff's state, of course. "Holy shit, were you in an accident? What the hell!" Michael stares at Morgan, "Did you fall down the stairs? Get pushed?" he asks sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes.

Michael's definitely not wrong, Jensen thinks, looking Morgan over. The man's a fucking mess. Maybe not at a fall-down-the-stairs level, but he sure got a working over from someone. His lip's busted, ballooning, and wet with blood. He's got a purpling lump on his forehead that's crusted with dried blood and a rip in his shirt, which is also spattered with dots of blood. He's got scratches down both hands and Jensen bets that his jacket is covering more of those scratches on his arms. He can't help it-he laughs. Morgan got the shit kicked out of him.

Jensen takes a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to speak, and notices Jeff's got blood on his shoes too…just the tips Some stippling his pants leg. Morgan raises his arms and yeah, the scratches go all the way up-or all the way down, like someone tried to grab his arms and he yanked them free. Jensen shudders, a metallic taste floods his mouth; he knows what that looks like, gets a flash memory of his father, face twisted in rage.

What the hell happened? What did this fucker do? he wonders, frowning now. Maybe he got beat up, maybe he didn't….

Morgan storms past them, shoving Michael so hard he staggers back into one of the benches, knocking sketches and mockups to the floor. "Fuck off, faggot," Moran snaps at him and keeps going, ignoring Michael's offended screech, and Glover shouting, "How dare you!"

That's it-that's enough. "Fucking bastard," Jensen growls, and he follows Morgan right into his office, a small space Morgan had cut out of their work area. He's at his desk, flipping through a rolodex in a fury. "I'm gonna kill that bitch, gonna find that fucker Murray and wring that whore bitch's address out of his neck-"

Jensen raps on the cubicle wall and Morgan jerks his head up. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I want you to apologize to Michael and Glover, hell, the whole crew. This is our workplace, and you acted inappropriately. Whatever happened to you is no excuse," he snaps. Morgan is scrubbing at the scratches, his busted lip, still dripping. "Picked a fight with someone who didn't give a fuck? Or no, let me guess, the side piece left a memo on your face-"

"Shut the fuck up. Get out of my office-no, get out the damn building, you're fired!"

Jensen grins at Morgan. "You dumb fuck, you can't fire me-I quit." Jensen's still laughing as he walks out the door. He can hear Morgan shouting but that's something he doesn't need to care about anymore.



Jared's still waiting to hear from Jensen when he begins what he thinks of as his goodbye tour. Tom takes it well, better than Jared expected at any rate.

"But I thought we had some kind of…thing between us…" Tom had already been naked when he finally opened the door to Jared. Jared explaining that this situation they shared was about to end had come as a surprise to him, and Jared's still trying to get him to understand. He's quite put out, but boys and their toys, as the saying goes. Jared sweeps his hair back, tilts his head and smiles at Tom.

"Sweetheart. Darling. We did! It's called a business arrangement. And now I'm not in the business anymore. But don't worry, I have this for you," Jared pulls a card out of his makeup bag; it's from the agency that had sent feelers out to him an underage time ago. He presses it to Tom's bare chest. "Call here, they're very discreet. Perfect for a guy like you."

Tom turns the card in his hand, frowning at it.

"Well, okay, I guess. Does that mean this time's gonna be free, you know, for old times sake and all?" He's grinning and fuck, he looks so good, so bright, so corn-fed and gorgeous. He'll almost, kind of, miss Tom.

"No." Jared starts pulling off his clothes, because why not-one last go, he might even tack on a bit of a discount, maybe. "But I am going to do you a huge favor. Your ass technique needs some work. So, I'm here to help you. Roll over."

"Hunh? Oh, no, I don't do that." But he's hard, and creeps into position like an obedient puppy. Jumps and moans breathily when Jared slaps an incredibly yummy ass cheek.

Jared straddles his legs, and grabs double-handfuls of a peach of an ass and squeezes. He smooths over his grip, smiling down at the fading pink flush. "Oh honey," he purrs, "You are in for a ride and a half! All you have to do is let go, and let me take the reins."

Jared and Tim meet for lunch; Jared's surprised that they're meeting outside of the hotel since their dates always take advantage of room service. This is very different, and a bit unsettling, a feeling Tim's brother seems to share. He looks rather confused as he drops them off at the door of a lovely, old-fashioned cafe, all wood and glass. Inside it's bright, with sunlight pouring in through giant windows. There's a dessert case a mile long, stuffed with cakes and pies, cookies and cupcakes, and Jared wants to spend a month there and try everything!

They head towards the back, led by one of the waiters, who're all togged out in white and black like penguins. Every one of them look like they have stories to tell, but there is no one there worth telling them to. Jared giggles softly, which earns him a sour look from their penguin. Tsk. Tough crowd.

They are released at a booth in the far rear of the cafe, darker without windows but quieter than the front of the cafe. Jared notices that high up on the walls are signed black and white photos-of actors, Jared guesses, but none that he knows. Tim waits while their waiter pulls a chair back for him and Jared seats himself. They sit quietly, smiling at one another as water glasses are filled, and little menu cards are passed out, and all the while Jared's getting a thorough and disdainful eye crawl from the waiter, with a bonus curled lip. Guesses that his outfit, a denim jumpsuit belted with a gold lame scarf, was not exactly dress code for a crowd that skewed oldish. Except of course for Tim, who was eternally young at heart.

So, it's while sipping on their water that Jared leans forward a little, ready to break the news to Tim that this was a last date-but Tim reaches out for Jared's hand and squeezes. "I already know, that's why we're here. Someplace different, no memories attached. Lots of sweets to ease the blow."

Jared tells Tim about his hopes for the future, admits he has no solid idea what that's going to be as yet, but graduation is coming and he's not walking across the stage as a hooker.

"Well, yes, that's a goal to meet, a worthy one, but don't be ashamed of what you do-did. As in, you're not defined by the things that happen to you, you're defined by how you react to them. As for you, love..." Tim shakes his head."You're a miracle, you know. You made this work for you. Maybe blessed, if you think about it; the way you took the coals life handed you and made diamonds."

"Oh, Timmy,"Jared croons. "You're so full of shit. But I'll have what you said embroidered on a pillow and treasure it always." But he's holding Tim's hand as he says it, curls his fingers around Tim's slightly smaller hand and squeezes gently. Tim smiles and shakes his head.

"Well my beautiful boy, the world has no idea what is about to hit the stage. As for me, I'll be the first to say 'I knew him when'. And then make everyone die of curiosity when I refuse to explain what "when" was," Timothy smirked.

"This is why I love you and I'm never giving you up. Brunch dates for eternity."

"As long as there are mimosas, love," he says, and waggles his eyebrows.

Justin
Jared sucks in a startled breath when Justin drops a file folder in his lap. "What's this, babe?" he scoops the folder up and opens it. "Oh, oh shit, thank you! Oh. My. God. Did you have to blackmail people into this? These are like, great schools, even I know that. I don't even have anything to show them, my portfolio is underwhelming, no experience-no degree. Well, not yet." Jared threw the folder on the little table and threw himself on the bed. "I haven't even started and I've failed."

"See, you're looking at this the wrong way. You get your foot in the door and then you charm the fucking hell out of them. Show your portfolio like it's your baby, and make them see it's the most beautiful fucking baby ever. Show them that the fucking little rich kids you're gonna teach are going to learn something because that's how good you are."

Jared rolled over onto his belly and stared at Justin. "You're putting a lot of faith in someone whose only real skill, for all you know, lies in sucking dick. But bless you for helping set up those interviews for me. You're a prince."

"Ah-ah, I promised when you were ready I'd help, and I keep my promises."

Justin comes over and sits next to Jared on the bed, And Jared scoots a little closer, running a finger down Justin's ski-slope nose, and gives in to his sudden urge to tweak it. "Yeah, you do, and thanks cutie, seriously."

"You're welcome" is slightly muffled by Justin's hand rubbing his nose, "you asshole" as well. And then out of nowhere he asks, "Hey, you play basketball?"

"No!" Jared laughed, "Do I look like the athletic type?" Jared crows, and rolls to his knees, showing off a pair of lace trimmed panties and a silk kimono-it’s the last time they’re going to fuck, and Jared kinda wanted it to be a little bit spicy. When Justin had absolutely not fallen down laughing, he'd considered it a win.

"Hah! Look at those legs, look at those mitts, there's no way you can't play. You're coming shopping with me. We're gonna get you proper sneakers and shorts that cover your whole ass, and then we play this weekend." Justin stops and stares Jared up and down like he's just seeing him for the first time. A slight expression of doubt blooms on his face . "You do have some basic idea of the game, right? Like, you played in school, right?"

"Oh, bitch, please! Ah, I mean. Kind of? There's like, a lot of running and yelling and slapping asses, and then you light a ball on fire and fling it into a basket on a big ole pole or something? Oh my god, I'm kidding, you asshole!"

Jared claps his hands together and collapses into helpless laughter as Justin's expression writhes through disbelief to horror to a slightly pissed-off but reluctant grin. Jared goes on,"So let me see if I've got this right: we're not having sex anymore, but you still want to "hang out" if I recall correctly, but if we do I have to be some kind of straight guy cliche?"

"Yes." Justin says emphatically, then coughs and laughs when Jared slaps him in the belly, hard enough to make him bend over.

"Such an asshole," Jared murmurs. Definitely out of all the clients he's ever had, Justin is one of his favorites. He amends his mental list with, 'out of all the people he's ever known, Justin is one of his favorites.

Jeff
The conversation with Jeff about Jared's leaving the game lands like a lead balloon. Jeff's whole face radiates indifference; he looks to be about five seconds from falling asleep, only perking up when Jared takes his clothes off. This is their last scheduled date, so biz as usual. He'd kind of wanted to leave after explaining why this was their last one, but the extra four hundred dollars won out. With this pay, he'll have his last semester paid off, thank the lord, mentally crossing himself. Mary, what he's gone through for this.

"What, are you in la-la land? Snap it up-bed," Jeff barks, shucking his clothes. "I don't have all day."

What follow's is a short, aggressive bout of fucking, in which Jared pretty much lets Jeff toss him around like a puppet; all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and pray for the end to come quickly. When it does come, Jeff doesn't even bother to look his way, just rolls off Jared's aching ass and walks straight to the bathroom, starts the shower and tosses the rubber. 'Prince Fucking Charming.'

Jared rolls to his back. His dick's rock-hard and struggling to stand. He cups himself and huffs out an annoyed sigh. It's one of those dates, where Jeff doesn't give a shit if Jared comes or not. Right now, sore and border-line pissed off as he is, it's more than okay. All he wants is what's due him, and the sight of that man's backside going out the door. Jeff trying to punish him by not getting him off is hardly surprising. He'd expected Jeff not to take being dropped well, control-freak asshole that he is.

Jared sits up, sucking his lower lip in to stifle the yelp that wants to break free--but frankly, some mild bruising and a sore asshole is a small price to pay to rid himself of Jeff and guys like him forever.

A few minutes later Jeff strolls out of the bathroom, wet from his shower and finger-combing his hair. Jeff''s still not acknowledging Jared in any way as he dries off and dresses. He walks around the bed, tossing his jacket on the end before stalking over to the oversized mirror on the wall opposite the bed. He finishes buttoning his shirt, then fidgets with his hair, flicking errant strands back in place. Jared watches him from the bed, pretty sure that Jeff's eyes are only on Jeff and not Jared's reflection in the mirror.

Jeff's pulling his wide shirt collar from under his vest when he tosses over his shoulder, like the thing they'd-Jared-had talked about earlier meant nothing, "I'll see you again Thursday. I'll pick the place we'll meet. Don't worry about where, I'll call you with the info you'll need." He grins at Jared in the mirror as he button his cuffs. It's like getting a smile from some mustached reptile. "I just need your personal number."

"But Jeff," Jared whines, drawing out his name in that gross, breathy, daddy's-little-boy voice that chicken hawks, like this fucker pretends he isn't, tend to like. "We talked about it, right? It's over, like, completely over. Besides even if it wasn't, you know I don't, I mean I can't, do exclusives like that. I'm sorry, but not for anyone, Daddy. As per Chad's policies." Tries giving Jeff a 'what can you do?' look as he eases his way to the edge of the bed. Jared's starting to feel like he's in one of those Disney nature shows, how the predator tracks the prey that's desperately trying to avoid being eaten…he looks at Jeff's flat, dark eyes and swallows. Or maybe worse. Maybe fucking Chad was right all along.

Jeff strokes his mustache, god, like a fucking silent picture villain, his grin grows wider and more reptilian, like he knows what Jared is thinking. Jared feels pinned to the bed with the weight of his gaze.

"We don't need him anymore; you said you were dropping him-" Jeff cuts Jared off when he tries to explain that wasn't exactly what he'd meant. Jeff keeps smiling at him. Smiling and smiling, like a shark on speed. Jared blinks; he kind of wants to cry, and he can see by the light in Jeff's eyes he knows it too, and likes it.

"You don't need any of those others now, Baby Boy, never again. They don't know what you are, but I do, I could see it the first time I touched you. I know: what you need, how you want it. You just need someone to show you how much you can take. And trust me, you can take a lot-more than you have been. I'm going to teach you that."

Jared can feel a moan trying to crawl up his throat. He hasn't felt this scared since he was seventeen and just getting off the bus, dead broke and stupid. He blinks again and shit, his eyelashes are wet, feels a warm trail on his cheek as a tear breaks loose. Apparently, that delights the hell out of Jeff. He chuckles and makes a big show out of stepping back so Jared can slide off the bed. Of course, the minute his feet touch the floor, Jared drops, trying to grab his clothes, get dressed-run. Jeff's eyes are on him, super-cold marbles pinning him in place.

"I have a place I keep for…special boys," he says. "You'll move in there. You'll be safe there. It's clean, and nice, the kind of place a pretty boy like you should be. I can take care of you the way you need there; you'll never have to worry about a thing but keeping Daddy happy. Sounds good, right?"

Jared's proud his voice isn't shaking much as he snaps,"Hell fucking no, you whacked-out shithead," because he's pissed off and terrified, and the mix makes him stupid for fuck's sake. He glares at Jeff, trying to throw all the lessons he's learned on the street into his voice, his stance. He snatches up his pants, just about jumping into them, then quickly shoves bare feet into his shoes--socks are cheap, he'll buy more. Jared's just reaching for his T-shirt t when Jeff grabs him by the hair and yanks him upright. Slaps him, once, twice across the mouth and then, swings a balled fist backhand across his face

Jared falls like Jeff's hit him with a cattle prod. Crashes to his knees, and even over the thump when he lands, he hears a faint crack. Shit, shit, shit! Jared tries to scuttle back out of reach, but Jeff's too damn fast. He aims a kick at Jared, connects, does it again, and then again, and again. Jared's fading out, slipping in blood. It's all over the place, from his mouth, his chin, there's a thudding crashing pain in his eyes-for a moment he even thinks he's blind, but his brain flicks back on and makes him open his eyes. Bleary but working. Jared can't even scream, it hurts so much.

"Bitch." Jeff reaches down for him. He grabs Jeff's hands, his nails digging in as he tries to hold Jeff off. Jeff curses the bleeding furrows Jared's nails dig into his hand--it sends a vicious shock of pleasure through him, right up until Jeff bashes him again. Through bleary eyes, he sees the cord for the bedside clock. Yanks it down and forces himself upright. Jared's panting, his eyes running with tears, but of rage. Jeff, the fucker, is just standing there panting, laughing softly under his breath. He's excited, geared up, of course he thinks Jared's crying with fear. Because he's a dick. Because he has no idea who Jared is and he's so certain that he's won.

Jeff slinks closer, Jared grimaces-Jeff’s hard, his eyes gone from snake-gaze to blazing, pupils blown. "Now come on, Baby Boy, don't carry on like this. Don't make me hit you again, I don't like it."

"Liar, shit-eating liar," Jared hisses. Jeff comes at him, and Jared takes the cord he's been wrapping around his wrist and swings the clock with all his might, aiming to hit Jeff in the face.

He does, dead center-the crunch when it hits his face is loud, so is the shriek of pain.

"You scream like a girl," Jared pants and while Jeff is curled up on the floor, howling, Jared drops everything and runs. And fuck it, he's gotta split without grabbing his money. He sure could use it too-he might head over to the clinic after this. His ribs are either cracked or bruised and one eye is closed and screaming at him with every breath. "You're the bitch," he spits and staggers to the door.

Jeff's on his ass where he fell, legs splayed. Blood's pouring between his fingers, and even with his hands covering his face the shock he's feeling is visible; in his world bitches don't fight back. Jeff finds his voice. Spraying blood everywhere, he's practically screaming, "You whore, you trash bitch, I'm gonna fucking beat the shit out of you!"

"God, I feel sorry for your poor, stupid wife," Jared shouts, "Fuck you forever!" because he is who he is, and he's got to get the last word in, luckily he's halfway out the door already, and once out all he's thinking is get to the elevator.

Once inside the sanctuary of the elevator, he leans back against a wall, takes a deep breath, then yowls like a crazed cat into his hands. When he drops them, he jumps, they're covered with blood. It looks like he's dipped them inside the carcass of something. He gingerly touches his bleary eye and cries out. Feels like a cut there and it hurts. His ribs, his face, his ass, his goddamn knees, and thinking that makes him laugh before the pain shuts him up again and he drops his throbbing head. Blinks tears from the eye he can see out of.

Jeff, fucking bastard, he should get gang raped by baboons-no, too ambitious, he hopes the fucker gets hit by a car and dragged for blocks until not even his mother would know him; he hopes he eats something bad and dies screaming and choking on vomit and shitting himself.

He hates Jeff so much, for hurting him, for taking away the feeling that he's-Jared laughs again, wet and choked-kinda invincible. He carefully drops his head back against the wall, not at all pleased at what he sees in the strips of polished metal set in the walls. God. His face is already swollen, he's half-naked, got no money, and he's obviously fucked up. He just hopes he can get out of the building before cops find him or that mother-fucking crazy, bitch pervert chicken hawk does.

Jared's getting ready to walk out into the lobby when Chad's dude, Winton, spots him. "Holy shit, Padalecki, you can't be in the lobby, 'specially not looking like that, goddamn! Jezuz, come with me." He herds Jared to a door that opens out to the hotel's parking garage, grabbing a shirt off what looks like a pile of rags as he goes and tossing it to Jared. "Shit. Chad's gonna flip when he sees you. I-I can't call the cops on that guy, you know that."

"Fuck no, don't call the damn cops, I'll be the bitch in lockup while that fucker dances free and clear. Just..thanks, y'know, for the shirt. Thanks for, I guess, everything."

Winton's gaze is darting nervously around the alley, and he's making unconscious little moves away from Jared, without wanting to seem like he's trying to put space between them.

"Un hunh, no problem, I'll see ya next week." He hesitates, looking Jared up and down, his forehead pleated in a frown. "Oh, wait, Chad says you guys are done. Guess you can't trick with that mug, anyway. How bad is the room? Bad, I'll bet. Gonna to have to get off-site cleaners in and all. Blood's a bitch," he mutters to himself. Then, "You're gonna need to slide me extra for that, dude. Plus, seeing as it's our last call and all."

"Well, aren't you the sentimental one? Thanks for your concern, but-" Jared sneers at him, "-screw that and screw you. And FYI, I've been fucking short-changin' you from the beginning." He grins and lumbers off, ignoring Winton's cursing at him. He gets himself out of the alley and wanders his way across the plaza; by the time he limps his way to the concrete benches, he's really hurting, a lot, like, terribly a lot and it's so fucking unfair. He's a decent guy, more or less. Why the hell did the universe think he deserved this? Jared rubs his hands under his nose, smearing wet and dried blood around his face. God, what a way to look in public. Jared's about to drag himself upright and hoof it to the subway when he hears a familiar voice.

"Jared, hi-fucking what in the world! Jared, what happened?"

Looks up and there's Jensen, holding a banker's box and looking horrified.

Oh, look. It's my guardian angel "Hi," Jared says, getting ready to give Jen a big smile; instead, he bursts into tears.

Getting home took a rather costly taxi ride. They took a taxi because Jensen just couldn't subject Jared to the scrutiny of strangers on a train. The thought of them gawking at Jared's poor, swollen face and his heavily bruised bare chest makes him queasy. He steals a look at Jared, trying to judge how he is. Jared's curled against the window, plucking at the hem of the ragged, grease-stained shirt he's wearing-where the hell had that thing come from? His eyes go to Jared's face, tracking the traces of blood smeared across his pale cheeks. There's still some rimming his nostrils where Jensen's handkerchief hadn't been up to wiping it away. Jensen swears under his breath; if he finds whoever did this to Jared, they'll get some of the same.

7