Let the Devil Down - Part II
Title: Let the Devil Down
Pairings: JP/JA, implied JP/others, implied JA/others
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Lies.
Words: This part: 6,739. Total so far: 13,063
Notes/Warnings: Implied rape, implied dub-con, violence, angst, underage sex and drinking, and lots of math. Faith issues.
Very dark, procede with caution.
Summary: Six years ago, Jensen broke one promise, made one stupid mistake. It's been haunting him ever since.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue
Let the Devil Down
Part II
***
When Jensen finally heaves himself out of bed on Sunday morning, he is groggy and disoriented and hasn’t slept a wink. His eyes hurt from a night of tossing and turning and not sleeping and his head hurts from replaying the evening in his mind over and over and over again.
It’s almost a relief when it’s time to get on his bike and take the familiar route to his hang-out, even if he is greeted with a sing-songed “Someone got laid last night” from Mike.
“It’s not that simple,” Jensen says with a sigh as he sits down.
Mike looks at him like he’s just declared the moon is made out of cheese. Or rather, he looks at him just like that time Jensen told him the moon is made out of cheese.
“Not that simple? Little Jensen got some action! Unless it involved something furry, how is it not that simple?”
Jensen wrinkles his nose at that particular image.
“Ew. Gross.”
He takes a large gulp of coffee.
“No, there was no fur involved whatsoever.”
Tom sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and his thumb; guy will make a great psychiatrist one day.
“Jensen, we all know you enjoy being cryptic, but for once in your life, can you just answer the fucking question?”
Jensen is not the only one who is surprised. Danneel pauses with her coffee halfway to her mouth - she is pretty quiet, Jensen is pretty sure it’s from all those tequila shots last night - and Mike blinks, then grins and pats Tom on the head. Then, as one, they turn and treat Jensen to eerily similar stares that clearly demand an answer.
“Okay, okay,” Jensen mutters, propping his feet up on Danneel’s chair. He takes a long sip of coffee to steady his nerves, then buries his face in his hands because he can’t stand looking at them.
“I used to… have something great,” he says softly, “Something amazing. Something that made me happy, something that I lived for, y’know?”
He swallows heavily.
“And I messed it all up,” he confesses to his fingers, “I fucked it all up beyond repair.”
Jensen takes another deep breath before daring to glance up at his friends who are staring at him, dumbstruck.
“In just one night, I managed to ruin what was most important to me. Are you happy now?” he snaps at Tom who nods thoughtfully like an old man in a rocking chair.
“Well, it was certainly very enlightening in terms of your emotional state, Jensen, even though I do have to point out that you did not, in fact, attempt to be any less cryptic than before.”
And Jensen buries his head in his arms so he doesn’t scream.
***
Sunday nights are apparently less crowded than Saturdays, and Jensen manages to squeeze his way through the bodies on the dance floor with relative ease. Jared is working again, twirling around a beer bottle to the delight of several giggling college chicks. The kid is smiling, but it looks fake; like he’s putting on a show. There are rings under his eyes and he is pale, moving with merely a shadow of the energy from the night before.
He sighs when Jensen conquers a barstool but doesn’t seem surprised. He leans forward to snap into Jensen’s ear, “What do you want?” Jensen isn’t sure if he means to drink or in general, so he shrugs uncomfortably. It’s hot and sticky and bars are not really his scene.
“I want to talk!” he yells as Jared pulls back. He’s starting to feel like a broken record, stuck on the same pointless sentence for all time.
Jared gives him an ugly smile, wiping down a spot on the counter with a wet rag as he points to his shirt with his free hand.
“No fucking on the clock, Jen,” he shouts over the music, “Sam’s orders. Sorry.”
He doesn’t sound sorry in the least and Jensen groans in annoyance.
“I, I don’t want to…” he gestures with his hand, “I want to talk to you!”
Jared leans into his space again, his voice a sharp hiss.
“I don’t. Fuck off, Jensen. Leave me alone.”
“No.” Jensen crosses his arms in front of his chest to show that he means it. Jared makes eye contact with someone over his shoulder, and when Jensen turns, the bald bouncer has shifted at his seat at the door, watching them with keen eyes.
Jensen can’t help it, he suddenly wants to yell, ”What, you’re not man enough to tell me what you’ve done these past six years?”, but before he can get the words out someone pushes her way to the counter next to him. She’s small and blonde, cute, good-looking in an innocent sort of way, and her smile is a mile wide.
“Jared!” she greets him, flushed with excitement, complete with a little wave, “Jared, hi. How are you?”
“Okay,” Jared replies with raised eyebrows, half managing to make it sound like a question.
She is undeterred by Jared’s less than enthusiastic tone. She leans forward so the front of her top falls open and attempts to smile coyly, which doesn’t quite work out. Jensen feels a bit bad for her, in a way. That she thinks that’s what Jared goes for.
“I, um, I had fun last time,” she says, peering up at him with through the mascara’d lashes, “And, uh, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go grab a coffee or something. You know, after your shift ends?”
Jared gives her a long looks, raking over her face, down to her chest, and then up again with an unpleasant smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he says in a tone so disinterested that Jensen wants to slap him for it, “I’m pretty sure I deleted your number. What’s your name again?”
The girl’s breath hitches as she blushes a furious crimson, turning away with a muttered “Never mind, it’s okay.” Jensen watches her push her way through the crowd, suspiciously wiping at her face. He turns to Jared with a glare but the man just shrugs.
“So,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him, “Since you’re not gonna order anything, you’re gonna have to book it. This is a no-parking zone, you know.”
***
On Mondays, the SINKHOLE is closed, but he doesn’t find that out until he gets there. Jensen curses a blue streak and rattles the front door, but all that gets him is a splinter in his finger and a reproachful look from a passing alley cat.
***
Tuesday morning, McKellen asks him a question about emotional stability and Jensen has no. Fucking. Clue. The professor, his friends and half the class stare at him in disbelief and he hides his burning face behind his textbook, ignoring the whispers and pokes.
He slips out during the break before the others can corner him, swings himself onto his bike and just drives. He’s not surprised when he finds himself in front of the SINKHOLE once again. It doesn’t open until 9, a small unassuming sign next to the door announces. It’s 11:14 AM now, but the door gives when he turns the handle and Vin the bald bouncer is nowhere to be seen so he quietly sidles inside.
There’s not a lot different about the place during the day, a lack of windows ensures that the yellowish lamps are the only source of light. There’s a girl behind the counter, stacking up glasses and checking liquor bottles to make sure they’re still full. She’s small, with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s not wearing a work shirt, Jensen notices, rather a pink baby-tee with a bright happy print, and she doesn’t notice him as he claims a barstool.
He eyes the door that Jared had disappeared through during his hasty flight on Saturday. Without the blue fume of too many cigarettes, he can see that that someone has sprawled over it with a red pen so that the sign now reads, ‘Enter and you will lose your PRIVATEs.’
He snickers quietly to himself and the girl looks up. She jumps when she sees him there, hastily brushing back a few loose strands and saying, “Sorry, we’re closed.”
Jensen nods and she raises an eyebrow, unease settling on her face.
“Yeah, I know,” Jensen hurries to assure her, “I, uh, I’m looking for Jared.”
She raises her eyebrows in a look he can't quite interpret.
“You're new here, aren't you?”
Jensen blinks a little. She just waits patiently, polishing the beer tap.
“How do you know?” he asks.
She smiles a little.
“Jared is never in on Tuesday. Or Thursday. He has class.”
Jensen blinks again.
“Class?”
“Class,” she repeats, and raises her brows again.
“You know, college?”
“College.”
She laughs a little, a bright and bubbly sound tinged with weariness.
“Yes, Jared goes to college. A community college around here. Is that so bad?”
Jensen, still busy trying to process the information, blinks a few times.
“Could you,” he stammers, “Could you tell me where?”
She sighs suddenly, glancing down at her hands.
“If you're one of his moonstruck admirers, I advise you get him out of your head as soon as possible. Jared breaks everybody’s heart.”
She stares at the ground for a moment, then squares her shoulders and begins scrubbing the worn wood furiously. Jensen wants to hug her, to pat her shoulder and tell her it will all be okay, but somewhere along the line he has given up on lying to people like that.
“Actually,” he gives her a smile, “I'm more of a ghost of Jay's past.”
She smiles a little at that, stilling the rag, and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“He hates it when people call him that, you know.”
He laughs.
“When I knew him, people kept calling him JT, and he kept whining about that. Can't make up his mind, can he?”
Her laugh almost makes him forget the guilt that tastes bitter in his mouth. He has a very good idea why Jared hates “Jay” now, why he doesn't want to be reminded of what happened when he'd gone by that name.
Her outstretched hand under his nose makes him blink in surprise before he takes it, matching her toothy grin with his own.
“I’m Sandy.”
“Jensen,” he says pleasantly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
***
A groan runs through the sparse group of students scattered in the lecture hall as Professor Morgan announces he’s brought back their mid-terms. The man just grins wickedly, white teeth against his dark stubble, and begins trudging up and down the stairs, fixing students with either acknowledging nods or threatening glares as he hands back the papers. Jared’s is last, as always, and the teacher gives him a wink as he clambers up to the last row to hand the test over.
Then he turns and strides back down with a casual “Homework is on page 76, kids,” leaving Jared be, and Jared loves him for it.
Jared flips to the last page, allows himself a small smile at the score - 126/120 - and shoves the paper into his bag. Across the room, people are collecting their things, some elated, others with deep frowns on their faces. Jared takes his time. He tries not to get notices too much. He always sits in the last row, seat closest to the door. He stays quiet and doesn’t interact with his fellow students. He takes down what’s being said and hands in his homework and aces his exams, and that’s pretty much all he wants out of this school.
He’s usually the last to leave, taking care that no one is waiting to ambush him with questions, but that also means that Morgan can freely call him back and Jared has no chance to pretend he hasn’t heard.
Like now.
Jared sighs deeply as the “Jared, could you stay for a moment, please,” rings out when he has almost reached the door, and turns back slowly. He trudges down to his teacher’s desk reluctantly, strap of his bag digging into his shoulder, and eyes his shoes while Morgan smiles.
The professor gathers up some notes and pens but Jared knows he’s being watched and keeps his head persistently down until Morgan gives up.
“That was an impressive exam, Jared,” he says gently. His voice is firm but there is a warm undertone to it like Jared is a skittish colt that he wants to soothe. Jared shouldn’t like it.
“Thank you, Professor Morgan,” he says somewhat stiffly.
The teacher gives him a wide smile.
“Jared,” he says reproachfully, but with a twinkle in his eyes, “Everyone calls me ‘Jeff’. Or ‘dude’. Or other colorful terms.”
He settles a hand on Jared’s shoulder.
“’Professor Morgan’ makes me feel ancient.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Morgan laughs.
“Sir, huh? I guess it’s an improvement.”
Jared eyes the hand on his jacket. He can’t help the tension in his shoulders, the unease as he shifts on his feet. Of course his teacher notices it too.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently. Jared nods.
“Just tired,” he mumbles.
“I’m not overworking you, am I?”
It’s a joke, Jared knows that, but underneath the teasing tone is a layer of concern, real and there. But Jared has never dealt with sympathy well, so he tries to shrug it off, shrug Morgan’s hand off. The man holds tight.
“So, Jared,” he says with a conspiratorial wink, “Have you thought about what I told you? My offer still stands, you know.”
***
Jared’s college is small and unassuming, a strange mix of teenagers and older people all scuttling around with backpacks and bags and plastic cups that leak coffee everywhere. At his own campus, Jensen is so deeply entrenched into the whole system that he doesn’t even notice anymore. It’s odd to look at it from an outsider’s perspective; especially because it gently reminds him that it probably isn’t as life-determining as he believes it to be. Sometimes Jensen can’t help but wonder what happened to the Jen he was all those years ago - the emo rebel who didn’t care out of principle. It’s hard to imagine him here, amongst the bustling students spilling out of Jared’s lecture hall, eager to get away.
Jared isn’t among them. Jensen frowns as the last group of people makes its way out the door and Jared still isn’t there. Jensen shifts where he is leaning against the wall, glances at his watch. It’s a good seven minutes past the end of class, and Sandy had been positive that this was the room number.
A frown drawing his brows together, Jensen kicks away from the wall and steps up to the small rectangular window, only to be almost flattened by the door as it swings open and Jared pushes past him, pale like he’d just seen a ghost.
An angry, protective beast in his chest that he hasn’t seen in years rears its head and Jensen stalks into the hall, grabbing the surprised looking teacher by the front of his shirt, and snarls - upwards, because the guy is taller than he is, “If you did anything to Jay, I swear to God, I will rip your kidneys out with my hands. And see you suspended!”
He turns to hurry after the kid, but the professor isn’t having it.
“Now wait just a second!”
The guy catches Jensen’s shoulder, spinning him back around and holding him steady. He eyes him like he wants to ask, “Who are you, exactly?” but instead he lifts his hands away and backs up a little.
“I didn’t do anything,” he promises, “I kept him back to talk to him about something and he freaked out on me.”
“’Kept him back,’ huh?” Jensen sneers, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
The man just rolls his eyes at him.
“Okay, kid, chill. Jared stays after class all the time and sometimes we talk a little. I’m not about to molest him, he doesn’t have enough cleavage for me to be interested.”
“Oh,” Jensen mumbles, feeling stupid, because something in him just believes the guy. “Sorry ‘bout that, then.”
The professor waves his feeble apology off and motions for him to get.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “Now go see what’s bugging him.”
***
The good thing about the kid being so tall is that it’s almost impossible to lose him. Jensen spots him in the cafeteria, standing at an almost deserted lunch counter. His messenger bag is slung over his shoulder and he stands stooped low, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t look surprised when Jensen quietly appears next to him.
The cafeteria attendant hands over a burger with fries with a warm smile and without request.
“Here you go, dearie,” she says to Jared and Jensen can see the kid shoot her a distracted smile as thanks. He gets an order of fries just because he feels like he should and trails Jared to a table where the kid plops down heavily and sighs.
“What do you want, Jensen?” he asks tiredly. When Jensen just shrugs in response, because he doesn’t really feel like saying it again, he frowns. Then he shuts down, weariness giving way to a cool, calm, collected mask. Jared shrugs, mumbles “Whatever,” and turns to his food.
He grabs his burger with both hands, taking a large bite out of the middle. He eats with gusto, like he hasn’t had any food in hours (which he hasn’t), but that is not what makes Jensen’s brows wrinkle in confusion. Something is off. Something is really, really off, should have happened but didn’t, but Jensen can’t place his finger on what.
He frowns down at his food and picks up a fry which goes limp under his touch. Great.
It isn’t until Jared reaches for the salt shaker, overshirt falling open, revealing bare skin where a sturdy gold necklace ought to be, that it hits Jensen.
“Dude, you didn’t pray,” he reminds him hastily because Jay is really anal about that kind of stuff. Jared looks up in surprise, but instead of the flush of shame and embarrassment Jensen is expecting, Jared just raises his eyebrows so high they almost disappear under his bangs.
“Huh?” he says.
“You didn’t pray,” Jensen points out again.
Jared blinks at him, burger still halfway between annihilation and his plate. And then he cracks up.
It’s not a nice laugh; too loud, too spiteful, more like an evil cackle. Several other patrons turn to stare and Jensen ducks his head between his shoulders.
“Oh wow,” Jared wheezes, setting his food down and wiping at his eyes, “Wow. Jensen, you are something else.”
Jensen fights the need to smash a chair into his smirking face.
“Why are you laughing at me?” he snaps, tension bunching in his shoulders, “It’s your faith, Jay!”
Jared just keeps on shaking his head, mumbling, “Oh, oh,” like Jensen is a precious little kid that just screwed up something really basic. It only makes him want to hit Jared more.
Jared grows somber, though. He sits back a little, his expression hard.
“See, the way I see it, God either is one sadistic fucker or he doesn’t exist, and either way, I want nothing to do with him.”
He tightens his lips in that pissed off way of his, flattening his mouth and tilting his head.
“It’s my life, Jensen, and nobody else gets to have a say in what I do with it.”
“What about your family?” Jensen snaps, tearing at the paper napkin, “Did you ever think about them? They’ve spent the last six years wanting their little boy back.”
Jared snickers and raises his glass in salute.
“Well, give them my condolences. Their little boy’s dead.”
A sneer curls the corners of his mouth upwards but he doesn’t sound amused. His voice is cold, flat and dead like marble. It stings, because Jensen has never heard anything like it, not from the mouth of his Jay. Jay had always been too polite and too shy and too much of a good little boy to be mean to people.
Jensen has to swallow heavily. He did this.
“I really just want to talk, you know.”
“You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?” Jared asks with an exasperated sigh and a grimace.
Jensen shakes his head firmly.
“No, Jay, I’m not.”
Jared presses one hand to the side of his face like he’s dizzy or has a headache or just can’t believe it, but before Jensen can take the step forward to lay his fingers on his arm, Jared straightens and sighs.
“Okay, fine. Fine.”
He glowers at Jensen, and even more at the grin Jensen can’t keep from spreading across his face.
“Fine, we can go ‘talk’,” he says, waving his hands around mock-mysteriously at the word, “We can be all sharing and caring with lots of puppies and flowers and afterwards, we can ride into the sunset on your noble steed. Okay. Happy?”
“Is tomorrow good for you?” Jensen asks.
Jared blinks, frowns. His lips twisting into a small grimace, he asks, “What time?”
It doesn’t take long to arrange when and where to meet up. Jared nods carefully and turns to leave with a half-hearted “See you tomorrow, Jensen.”
“Don’t try to flake on me now, I know where you work at,” Jensen says, but the joke falls flat as Jared turns back, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance, and Jensen hastily busies himself with his bag.
***
Friday.
5:17 PM
“I don’t know, Jen.”
The swinging seat on the Padalecki porch rocks gently back and forth as Jay nudges the ground with his sneaker, watching Jensen from the corner of his eye. The cushions are weather-worn but comfortable, and the sunroof shields the two boys from the worst of the afternoon heat while Jared chews on a fingernail, undecided.
Jensen heaves a dramatic sigh as he hooks his arm around Jay’s narrow shoulders, giving his neck a gentle squeeze. Jay’s startled rabbit look almost makes him feel bad, but he covers it up with a grin and a shake of his head.
“Come on, JT,” he says, grinning at the scowl he gets in return, tugging the book from the kid’s lap.
“Beginning Calculus?” he reads aloud, “Jesus H. Christ, Jay, you’re thirteen!”
“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Jay grumbles, tugging free, but Jensen talks right over him.
“You’re supposed to be having awkward make-out sessions underneath the bleachers, not starting college level math.”
Jay takes his book back with a sigh, but Jensen can already see the cracks in his resolve.
“I don’t want any trouble with the police,” he says.
It is a flimsy protest, and they both know it.
“Neither do we,” Jensen promises, and when he tries to sling his arm around Jared again, the kid lets him.
“Neither do we. We’ll be good as gold, I promise.”
Jared sighs and rolls his eyes as if to say, “Not in a million years,” but Jensen knows he has won when Jay closes his book with a thud.
“Fine.”
“All right!”
Jensen jumps to his feet to perform an impromptu victory dance on the porch, but Jay’s warning voice stops him in the middle of an air guitar riff.
“Jen, I swear, if you leave me in some mess out there, I will never speak to you again.”
He has curled up into himself, making his enormous limbs look a lot smaller than should be possible, but he doesn’t sound shy. Jensen can’t remember the last time Jared has been shy around him.
He plops down on the seat next to him and gives him his most earnest look.
“I’d never leave you, Jay,” he promises solemnly, one hand squeezing the kid’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
***
Jared waits for him at the very edge of the campus grounds, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He looks younger in daylight, coat buttoned up against the lingering winter cold over some kind of t-shirt with a print. Jensen brings the bike to a slow stop in front of him and flips up the visor of his helmet to eye (eye, not ogle) him properly. He’s still pretty lean, despite the muscles, and the jeans look like they’d fall off without the belt fitted snugly around his hips with, yes, a self-drilled hole to make it tighter.
Jensen is suddenly glad that he knows Jared’s birthday, hour and everything, because he looks like jailbait.
“Can I offer you a ride?”
Jared raises an eyebrow at him, shifting on his feet.
“Did you bring a second helmet this time?”
Jensen reaches behind him and hands it over, glad that he did, and revels for a moment in Jared’s stumped expression.
“Well,” he mumbles, staring at the helmet in his hands. He shakes himself out of it quickly, though, fastens the straps under his chin and swings himself onto the machine behind Jensen. He presses himself against the back of Jensen’s jacket reluctantly, fingers resting lightly on Jensen’s stomach rather than curling into the leather, despite the speed. There are no wandering hands this time to distract him from how tense Jared is, how he is vibrating under the surface. He’s almost glad when they reach the coffee place within minutes and Jared climbs off without a word.
They wait in line silently, Jensen bobbing on his heels and Jared staring blankly at nothing, his knuckles white where they are gripping his bag. It’s a relief when it’s finally their turn and Jensen can order his usual mocha. Jared orders coffee, black, and Jensen suddenly feels stupid for his frilly order. Being too good for the simple pleasures in life and all that shit.
“Yo, Jared!” Steve calls over from behind a large, ominous looking machine, “What’s up, man? Good to see you out and about.”
“Hey man,” Jared greets him, reaching over the glass pane for a brief handshake.
“New friend?” Steve asks and grins conspiratorially as he bumps his knuckles with Jensen. Jensen can’t shake the sudden feeling that telling him about being gay was a Bad Idea. The whole ‘going to Starbucks’ thing was a bad idea, but it’s not like he can turn around now and drag Jared out the door, so he smiles tightly and picks out a small, secluded corner where no one behind the bar can throw him knowing winks.
Jared gets up when it’s time to get their drinks while Jensen stares at the table in front of him. A previous patron has left a ring of moisture on the table. There’s a discarded straw next to it and Jensen is so caught up in staring at it that he jumps when Jared half-slams his cup down in front of him.
Jared pulls the straw towards him and scratches it through the liquid, drawing small lines out from the ring until the straw is dry, and then starts over.
When Jensen is this close to saying something that would probably turn out to be really stupid just to break the uncomfortable silence, Jared finally looks up.
“Why are you so obsessed with this anyway, Jensen?”
“I am not obsessed!” Jensen squawks indignantly, but Jared just raises an eyebrow at him and continues making patterns.
“Jen,” he says pointedly, like a teacher to an extremely stubborn child, “You’ve been coming to my workplace every single day since you know I work there. I’m pretty sure that makes you obsessed.”
“Jesus,” Jensen mumbles into his sleeve, brushes at his eyes and sighs.
“Look, Jay, I just want to know what happened, okay? What you did for six fucking years.”
A stab of anger flares through him, but Jared waves his sharp tone off with his hand, takes a sip of coffee, sighs.
“I got on a train, ended up here, hung out at homeless shelters and soup kitchens for a while, did the odd job where no one asked too many questions, ran into Sam. She offered me a job, made me take the GED test and I’ve been going to college for about a year now.
Jared raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say, “Are you happy now?”
“And that’s it?” Jensen asks incredulously.
Jared leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“What do you want me to say, Jensen? I don’t have some huge sob story. I didn’t sell my body to survive, I didn’t get beaten bloody by dirty old tricksters and I didn’t start taking drugs. I fended just fine for myself, okay, and I don’t need you. I don’t need my parents or a counselor or good ole home, and I sure as Hell don’t want you here!”
“Jensen?”
It’s Danneel, of course. It can’t be anyone but Danneel with Jensen’s luck, because Jensen loves her with all his heart but she completely lacks the God-given knowledge of when not to pry. And she desperately wants to fix Jensen, like she can ever undo what he did, so Jensen with a good-looking guy is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Jensen unclenches his stomach with some difficulty, gives Jared a warning look and pastes a thin smile onto his face as he turns around.
“Hi,” he says with a small wave.
Danneel gives him a funny look as she bends down to kiss his cheek, sits down and then turns to Jared.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Jared says, still slouched in his seat, looking every bit the teenager he is. He glances at Jensen and curves one corner of his mouth upwards in the pale echo of a polite smile.
“I’m Danneel,” Danneel says, taking Jared’s outstretched hand.
“Jared,” Jared replies, and Danneel twists in her seat and just looks at Jensen.
Jensen coughs hastily, faint color rising in his cheeks when Jay flashes him a smirk.
“Uh, Jared,” he says, leaning forward, “That’s… We’re studying together.”
“Cool,” Jared says, polite and not too interested.
Danneel’s eyebrows just climb up further.
Jensen gives Jared a glare; he’s pretty sure the kid’s silently laughing at his discomfort, and Jesus, when did that sweet little boy turn into such an asshole?
Jared shakes his head at him quietly before turning to the girl, leaning forward like he’s actually interested.
“So, Jared, how old are you?” Danneel asks, hands still folded in her lap. Jared smirks faintly, one arm draped over the back of the chair next to him. Jensen wants to sink into the ground right that instant.
God, she sounds like his mother.
“Nineteen,” Jared shoots back casually while Jensen looks around for a discreet way to flee.
“Oh, are you a freshman?”
“Nope, guess again,” Jared grins, nudging Jensen’s knee with his sneaker.
“Hey, I know you,” Danneel says suddenly, sitting up, manicured finger aimed at Jared’s heart. Jared’s mouth twitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” she says, a few decibel too loud, “You’re the barkeeper from that club on Saturday, whatsit, where Steve played.”
“The Sinkhole,” Jensen supplies absently, missing Danneel’s frown until it’s too late.
“Aren’t you a bit young to be working in a bar?”
“Oh,” the kid waves her off, “I have a special permit, and I don’t touch the alcohol.”
It’s a blatant lie and Jensen nearly snorts, were it not for the warning glare that the barkeeper in question sends his way.
“For God’s sake, Danneel,” Jensen cuts in with a sigh, “Will you stop grilling the kid? I’m sure it’s all legal, okay?”
Danneel scowls in that mother-hen way of hers, but then her frown gives way to a happy little smile.
“So when did you two decide to go on a date?”
Jared sputters a little and Jensen pushes at her side.
“Okay, Danneel, enough,” he says, even though he’s smiling, “Leave us alone.”
“Fine,” she snaps, sounding both amused and annoyed, “I’ll just go. Jared, nice meeting you. Jensen,” she leans in close, a hand closing around his shoulder, “Behave.”
***
Jared knows, not even that deep down, that hanging out with Jensen is not a good idea. It’s really stupid - no, scratch that, it’s Darwin Award stupid - but it’s fun, and it’s Jensen, and Jared has to confess that he missed it a little bit. The teasing and shoving and that hint of home that he hasn’t had in years. And even though he still hates Jensen and will never forgive him for what he did, Jensen is awesome. Except that now for the first time, Jared feels like they’re actually equals and not the bad boy and his sidekick, so it’s really all that homeliness and the old patterns that make him say, “Do you wanna come over to my place?”
Jensen blinks, surprised, reminding Jared exactly why this is a bad idea, but then his face lights up before Jared can take it back and he’s nodding and damn, why does Jared have to be nervous now?
But the damage is done. Jensen is ready to go lightning-quick, loading Jared onto his sleek little bike. Jared knows that Jensen isn’t exactly rich, Hell, he’s been in the guy’s apartment, but when he stands in front of his own door and sees the paint peeling off the wall and notices the sharp stench of urine and cabbage in the hallway more than he has in months, it takes all his willpower to shove the key into the rusty lock and not just turn around and call the whole thing off.
The door whines as it swings open, getting stuck on the bad carpeting halfway through. Jared shows Jensen inside. He suddenly sees everything, every little detail that has never bothered him because hey, it’s a roof and a bed: The mold in the corner, the splintered wood of the window frame. It’s tiny, a bed and a shelf for his books and a coffee table that he found out on the street where he can do his homework. Yeah, Jared really wants his mama’s kitchen right now.
He can’t bear to look at Jensen as the man judges his life, so he busies himself in his kitchenette.
“Chow Mein good for you?” he asks, waving the brightly wrapped plastic container at Jensen. Jensen nods, a little surprised. Jared forces down the feeling of shabbiness that is once again threatening to rise. Perhaps he slams the microwave door shut with a bit more force than necessary, but really, that damn thing just won’t stay shut if he doesn’t.
When he returns to the room, Jensen is standing at the bookshelf, reading over his orderly assortment of text books. Jared knows why he’s fascinated; Jen had always marveled at (and poked fun of) his knack for numbers. It’s just the only thing Jared can control, the only thing that does what he wants it too. He’s been doing Sam’s books since practically the day he started. He lives and breathes numbers and his book shelf proves it: Math 1A - 4B, Vectors, Calc Survival Guide.
Jared pulls out a tome on matrices and lets it fall open. He’s well aware of Jensen watching his every move.
“I guess some habits just never die, do they?” he asks no one in particular, stroking over the page gently.
“I wonder sometimes,” he says, glancing up at Jensen, “I wonder what would have happened if I’d done the smart thing and stayed home with my books.”
Jensen swallows, his lips pressing into a thin line like they always do when he’s worried. But that’s not it, not all of it. His brows are pulled together so tightly it has to hurt and there’s something in his eyes that Jared doesn’t recognize
It takes him a moment to realize that Jensen looks like he feels guilty. For a harsh, angry second, Jared can’t help feeling that he should. He’s ruined Jared’s entire life, fucked it up in every possible way.
His anger deflates as he realizes that in his whole life, he has never seen Jensen looking guilty. Sorry, yes; contrite, yes; Hell, even blubbering all over him because he was trashed out of his mind and decided to visit Jared in the middle of the night anyway.
Jensen leans over a little, gently closing the book. With a little tug, he pulls it from Jared’s limp fingers and places it back on the shelf. Jared reaches for it to do the same and their fingers brush, warm and soft and slightly sweaty, like the last six years haven’t happened.
Jared can see Jensen catch his bottom lip with his teeth. He can see his eyes, settling on him from underneath those girly lashes. He can see the way he tilts his head, like he wants to say something -
but then the microwave beeps angrily and Jared pulls back as if Jensen’s hand was scolding hot. He stumbles into the kitchen, confused and angry because he doesn’t want to like Jensen but he does. He hisses as he reaches for the containers and the hot plastic burns against his skin, quickly sticking his fingers into his mouth to ease the sting, wishing himself desperately back to a time when things were easier.
***
Friday.
5:23 PM
“JT, dinner’s ready.”
Jensen’s arm slips off Jay’s shoulder when the kid’s mother steps out onto the porch, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Oh, hey, Jensen, it’s good to see you.”
She gives him that Padalecki smile, warm and welcoming.
“Would you like some dinner?”
“What are you having?” Jensen asks back.
When her eyes merely crinkle with her responding smile, he can’t help the huge grin splitting his face.
“You got it,” he assures her, and she gives him a knowing wink.
“Okay, you boys go in and set the table then.”
They rise almost as one, trudging past her into the spacey kitchen with its warm light and delicious smells. It’s almost illegal how homey and white-bread it is, but Jensen loves it. Even if his parents would probably die of shock if they knew their son voluntarily did chores.
Jay’s mom turns back to her food, juggling pots and pans expertly. Jensen nudges Jay with his elbow. Jay scowls, shrugging him off, and addresses his mother’s turned back.
“Mom,” he begins, setting his tome down on a chair, “Can I go out with Jensen and his friends tonight?”
His mother gives him a measuring look, a faint frown creasing her brows.
“I don’t know, JT,” she says, casting a look over at Jensen, “Is it going to be very late?”
Jensen shakes his head, would have even without Jay’s elbow catching him in the ribs.
“Nah,” he shrugs it off, “A coupla of the guys have curfews.”
She laughs as she turns down one of the plates where the pan had begun to sizzle and hiss.
“Like any of you actually care about curfews, Jensen.”
Jensen scowls but he can’t really argue, not when she’s correct, so he just smiles all innocently even though he knows it doesn’t work on her. But Jay just looks at her, big damn eyes and just the hint of a pout, not enough to set her off, and Jensen can tell the exact moment when she folds.
“You be careful, you hear?” she says, underlining her words with a spatula brandished threateningly in her son’s face.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. P, I’ll take care of your baby,” Jensen assures her, unable to keep his arm off Jay’s shoulders this time. He manages not to scowl when Jay elbows him sharply in the side. Damn, but those bones are sharp.
“Fine,” she concedes, amusement hidden from her voice but obvious in her eyes, “Just remember that, all right?”
Jensen cheers, pumping one fist into the hair, his other arm tightly around the kid’s shoulders.
“Trust me, Jay, this’ll be a night you won’t forget.”
Jared just sighs exasperatedly, but he lets Jensen drag him into the dining room with a small smile on his lips.
***
>Part 3
4,000 words in 48 hours - I think my brain leaked out of my head. So go! Go read! ;)
Pairings: JP/JA, implied JP/others, implied JA/others
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Lies.
Words: This part: 6,739. Total so far: 13,063
Notes/Warnings: Implied rape, implied dub-con, violence, angst, underage sex and drinking, and lots of math. Faith issues.
Very dark, procede with caution.
Summary: Six years ago, Jensen broke one promise, made one stupid mistake. It's been haunting him ever since.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue
Let the Devil Down
Part II
***
When Jensen finally heaves himself out of bed on Sunday morning, he is groggy and disoriented and hasn’t slept a wink. His eyes hurt from a night of tossing and turning and not sleeping and his head hurts from replaying the evening in his mind over and over and over again.
It’s almost a relief when it’s time to get on his bike and take the familiar route to his hang-out, even if he is greeted with a sing-songed “Someone got laid last night” from Mike.
“It’s not that simple,” Jensen says with a sigh as he sits down.
Mike looks at him like he’s just declared the moon is made out of cheese. Or rather, he looks at him just like that time Jensen told him the moon is made out of cheese.
“Not that simple? Little Jensen got some action! Unless it involved something furry, how is it not that simple?”
Jensen wrinkles his nose at that particular image.
“Ew. Gross.”
He takes a large gulp of coffee.
“No, there was no fur involved whatsoever.”
Tom sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and his thumb; guy will make a great psychiatrist one day.
“Jensen, we all know you enjoy being cryptic, but for once in your life, can you just answer the fucking question?”
Jensen is not the only one who is surprised. Danneel pauses with her coffee halfway to her mouth - she is pretty quiet, Jensen is pretty sure it’s from all those tequila shots last night - and Mike blinks, then grins and pats Tom on the head. Then, as one, they turn and treat Jensen to eerily similar stares that clearly demand an answer.
“Okay, okay,” Jensen mutters, propping his feet up on Danneel’s chair. He takes a long sip of coffee to steady his nerves, then buries his face in his hands because he can’t stand looking at them.
“I used to… have something great,” he says softly, “Something amazing. Something that made me happy, something that I lived for, y’know?”
He swallows heavily.
“And I messed it all up,” he confesses to his fingers, “I fucked it all up beyond repair.”
Jensen takes another deep breath before daring to glance up at his friends who are staring at him, dumbstruck.
“In just one night, I managed to ruin what was most important to me. Are you happy now?” he snaps at Tom who nods thoughtfully like an old man in a rocking chair.
“Well, it was certainly very enlightening in terms of your emotional state, Jensen, even though I do have to point out that you did not, in fact, attempt to be any less cryptic than before.”
And Jensen buries his head in his arms so he doesn’t scream.
***
Sunday nights are apparently less crowded than Saturdays, and Jensen manages to squeeze his way through the bodies on the dance floor with relative ease. Jared is working again, twirling around a beer bottle to the delight of several giggling college chicks. The kid is smiling, but it looks fake; like he’s putting on a show. There are rings under his eyes and he is pale, moving with merely a shadow of the energy from the night before.
He sighs when Jensen conquers a barstool but doesn’t seem surprised. He leans forward to snap into Jensen’s ear, “What do you want?” Jensen isn’t sure if he means to drink or in general, so he shrugs uncomfortably. It’s hot and sticky and bars are not really his scene.
“I want to talk!” he yells as Jared pulls back. He’s starting to feel like a broken record, stuck on the same pointless sentence for all time.
Jared gives him an ugly smile, wiping down a spot on the counter with a wet rag as he points to his shirt with his free hand.
“No fucking on the clock, Jen,” he shouts over the music, “Sam’s orders. Sorry.”
He doesn’t sound sorry in the least and Jensen groans in annoyance.
“I, I don’t want to…” he gestures with his hand, “I want to talk to you!”
Jared leans into his space again, his voice a sharp hiss.
“I don’t. Fuck off, Jensen. Leave me alone.”
“No.” Jensen crosses his arms in front of his chest to show that he means it. Jared makes eye contact with someone over his shoulder, and when Jensen turns, the bald bouncer has shifted at his seat at the door, watching them with keen eyes.
Jensen can’t help it, he suddenly wants to yell, ”What, you’re not man enough to tell me what you’ve done these past six years?”, but before he can get the words out someone pushes her way to the counter next to him. She’s small and blonde, cute, good-looking in an innocent sort of way, and her smile is a mile wide.
“Jared!” she greets him, flushed with excitement, complete with a little wave, “Jared, hi. How are you?”
“Okay,” Jared replies with raised eyebrows, half managing to make it sound like a question.
She is undeterred by Jared’s less than enthusiastic tone. She leans forward so the front of her top falls open and attempts to smile coyly, which doesn’t quite work out. Jensen feels a bit bad for her, in a way. That she thinks that’s what Jared goes for.
“I, um, I had fun last time,” she says, peering up at him with through the mascara’d lashes, “And, uh, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go grab a coffee or something. You know, after your shift ends?”
Jared gives her a long looks, raking over her face, down to her chest, and then up again with an unpleasant smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he says in a tone so disinterested that Jensen wants to slap him for it, “I’m pretty sure I deleted your number. What’s your name again?”
The girl’s breath hitches as she blushes a furious crimson, turning away with a muttered “Never mind, it’s okay.” Jensen watches her push her way through the crowd, suspiciously wiping at her face. He turns to Jared with a glare but the man just shrugs.
“So,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him, “Since you’re not gonna order anything, you’re gonna have to book it. This is a no-parking zone, you know.”
***
On Mondays, the SINKHOLE is closed, but he doesn’t find that out until he gets there. Jensen curses a blue streak and rattles the front door, but all that gets him is a splinter in his finger and a reproachful look from a passing alley cat.
***
Tuesday morning, McKellen asks him a question about emotional stability and Jensen has no. Fucking. Clue. The professor, his friends and half the class stare at him in disbelief and he hides his burning face behind his textbook, ignoring the whispers and pokes.
He slips out during the break before the others can corner him, swings himself onto his bike and just drives. He’s not surprised when he finds himself in front of the SINKHOLE once again. It doesn’t open until 9, a small unassuming sign next to the door announces. It’s 11:14 AM now, but the door gives when he turns the handle and Vin the bald bouncer is nowhere to be seen so he quietly sidles inside.
There’s not a lot different about the place during the day, a lack of windows ensures that the yellowish lamps are the only source of light. There’s a girl behind the counter, stacking up glasses and checking liquor bottles to make sure they’re still full. She’s small, with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s not wearing a work shirt, Jensen notices, rather a pink baby-tee with a bright happy print, and she doesn’t notice him as he claims a barstool.
He eyes the door that Jared had disappeared through during his hasty flight on Saturday. Without the blue fume of too many cigarettes, he can see that that someone has sprawled over it with a red pen so that the sign now reads, ‘Enter and you will lose your PRIVATEs.’
He snickers quietly to himself and the girl looks up. She jumps when she sees him there, hastily brushing back a few loose strands and saying, “Sorry, we’re closed.”
Jensen nods and she raises an eyebrow, unease settling on her face.
“Yeah, I know,” Jensen hurries to assure her, “I, uh, I’m looking for Jared.”
She raises her eyebrows in a look he can't quite interpret.
“You're new here, aren't you?”
Jensen blinks a little. She just waits patiently, polishing the beer tap.
“How do you know?” he asks.
She smiles a little.
“Jared is never in on Tuesday. Or Thursday. He has class.”
Jensen blinks again.
“Class?”
“Class,” she repeats, and raises her brows again.
“You know, college?”
“College.”
She laughs a little, a bright and bubbly sound tinged with weariness.
“Yes, Jared goes to college. A community college around here. Is that so bad?”
Jensen, still busy trying to process the information, blinks a few times.
“Could you,” he stammers, “Could you tell me where?”
She sighs suddenly, glancing down at her hands.
“If you're one of his moonstruck admirers, I advise you get him out of your head as soon as possible. Jared breaks everybody’s heart.”
She stares at the ground for a moment, then squares her shoulders and begins scrubbing the worn wood furiously. Jensen wants to hug her, to pat her shoulder and tell her it will all be okay, but somewhere along the line he has given up on lying to people like that.
“Actually,” he gives her a smile, “I'm more of a ghost of Jay's past.”
She smiles a little at that, stilling the rag, and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“He hates it when people call him that, you know.”
He laughs.
“When I knew him, people kept calling him JT, and he kept whining about that. Can't make up his mind, can he?”
Her laugh almost makes him forget the guilt that tastes bitter in his mouth. He has a very good idea why Jared hates “Jay” now, why he doesn't want to be reminded of what happened when he'd gone by that name.
Her outstretched hand under his nose makes him blink in surprise before he takes it, matching her toothy grin with his own.
“I’m Sandy.”
“Jensen,” he says pleasantly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
***
A groan runs through the sparse group of students scattered in the lecture hall as Professor Morgan announces he’s brought back their mid-terms. The man just grins wickedly, white teeth against his dark stubble, and begins trudging up and down the stairs, fixing students with either acknowledging nods or threatening glares as he hands back the papers. Jared’s is last, as always, and the teacher gives him a wink as he clambers up to the last row to hand the test over.
Then he turns and strides back down with a casual “Homework is on page 76, kids,” leaving Jared be, and Jared loves him for it.
Jared flips to the last page, allows himself a small smile at the score - 126/120 - and shoves the paper into his bag. Across the room, people are collecting their things, some elated, others with deep frowns on their faces. Jared takes his time. He tries not to get notices too much. He always sits in the last row, seat closest to the door. He stays quiet and doesn’t interact with his fellow students. He takes down what’s being said and hands in his homework and aces his exams, and that’s pretty much all he wants out of this school.
He’s usually the last to leave, taking care that no one is waiting to ambush him with questions, but that also means that Morgan can freely call him back and Jared has no chance to pretend he hasn’t heard.
Like now.
Jared sighs deeply as the “Jared, could you stay for a moment, please,” rings out when he has almost reached the door, and turns back slowly. He trudges down to his teacher’s desk reluctantly, strap of his bag digging into his shoulder, and eyes his shoes while Morgan smiles.
The professor gathers up some notes and pens but Jared knows he’s being watched and keeps his head persistently down until Morgan gives up.
“That was an impressive exam, Jared,” he says gently. His voice is firm but there is a warm undertone to it like Jared is a skittish colt that he wants to soothe. Jared shouldn’t like it.
“Thank you, Professor Morgan,” he says somewhat stiffly.
The teacher gives him a wide smile.
“Jared,” he says reproachfully, but with a twinkle in his eyes, “Everyone calls me ‘Jeff’. Or ‘dude’. Or other colorful terms.”
He settles a hand on Jared’s shoulder.
“’Professor Morgan’ makes me feel ancient.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Morgan laughs.
“Sir, huh? I guess it’s an improvement.”
Jared eyes the hand on his jacket. He can’t help the tension in his shoulders, the unease as he shifts on his feet. Of course his teacher notices it too.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently. Jared nods.
“Just tired,” he mumbles.
“I’m not overworking you, am I?”
It’s a joke, Jared knows that, but underneath the teasing tone is a layer of concern, real and there. But Jared has never dealt with sympathy well, so he tries to shrug it off, shrug Morgan’s hand off. The man holds tight.
“So, Jared,” he says with a conspiratorial wink, “Have you thought about what I told you? My offer still stands, you know.”
***
Jared’s college is small and unassuming, a strange mix of teenagers and older people all scuttling around with backpacks and bags and plastic cups that leak coffee everywhere. At his own campus, Jensen is so deeply entrenched into the whole system that he doesn’t even notice anymore. It’s odd to look at it from an outsider’s perspective; especially because it gently reminds him that it probably isn’t as life-determining as he believes it to be. Sometimes Jensen can’t help but wonder what happened to the Jen he was all those years ago - the emo rebel who didn’t care out of principle. It’s hard to imagine him here, amongst the bustling students spilling out of Jared’s lecture hall, eager to get away.
Jared isn’t among them. Jensen frowns as the last group of people makes its way out the door and Jared still isn’t there. Jensen shifts where he is leaning against the wall, glances at his watch. It’s a good seven minutes past the end of class, and Sandy had been positive that this was the room number.
A frown drawing his brows together, Jensen kicks away from the wall and steps up to the small rectangular window, only to be almost flattened by the door as it swings open and Jared pushes past him, pale like he’d just seen a ghost.
An angry, protective beast in his chest that he hasn’t seen in years rears its head and Jensen stalks into the hall, grabbing the surprised looking teacher by the front of his shirt, and snarls - upwards, because the guy is taller than he is, “If you did anything to Jay, I swear to God, I will rip your kidneys out with my hands. And see you suspended!”
He turns to hurry after the kid, but the professor isn’t having it.
“Now wait just a second!”
The guy catches Jensen’s shoulder, spinning him back around and holding him steady. He eyes him like he wants to ask, “Who are you, exactly?” but instead he lifts his hands away and backs up a little.
“I didn’t do anything,” he promises, “I kept him back to talk to him about something and he freaked out on me.”
“’Kept him back,’ huh?” Jensen sneers, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
The man just rolls his eyes at him.
“Okay, kid, chill. Jared stays after class all the time and sometimes we talk a little. I’m not about to molest him, he doesn’t have enough cleavage for me to be interested.”
“Oh,” Jensen mumbles, feeling stupid, because something in him just believes the guy. “Sorry ‘bout that, then.”
The professor waves his feeble apology off and motions for him to get.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “Now go see what’s bugging him.”
***
The good thing about the kid being so tall is that it’s almost impossible to lose him. Jensen spots him in the cafeteria, standing at an almost deserted lunch counter. His messenger bag is slung over his shoulder and he stands stooped low, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t look surprised when Jensen quietly appears next to him.
The cafeteria attendant hands over a burger with fries with a warm smile and without request.
“Here you go, dearie,” she says to Jared and Jensen can see the kid shoot her a distracted smile as thanks. He gets an order of fries just because he feels like he should and trails Jared to a table where the kid plops down heavily and sighs.
“What do you want, Jensen?” he asks tiredly. When Jensen just shrugs in response, because he doesn’t really feel like saying it again, he frowns. Then he shuts down, weariness giving way to a cool, calm, collected mask. Jared shrugs, mumbles “Whatever,” and turns to his food.
He grabs his burger with both hands, taking a large bite out of the middle. He eats with gusto, like he hasn’t had any food in hours (which he hasn’t), but that is not what makes Jensen’s brows wrinkle in confusion. Something is off. Something is really, really off, should have happened but didn’t, but Jensen can’t place his finger on what.
He frowns down at his food and picks up a fry which goes limp under his touch. Great.
It isn’t until Jared reaches for the salt shaker, overshirt falling open, revealing bare skin where a sturdy gold necklace ought to be, that it hits Jensen.
“Dude, you didn’t pray,” he reminds him hastily because Jay is really anal about that kind of stuff. Jared looks up in surprise, but instead of the flush of shame and embarrassment Jensen is expecting, Jared just raises his eyebrows so high they almost disappear under his bangs.
“Huh?” he says.
“You didn’t pray,” Jensen points out again.
Jared blinks at him, burger still halfway between annihilation and his plate. And then he cracks up.
It’s not a nice laugh; too loud, too spiteful, more like an evil cackle. Several other patrons turn to stare and Jensen ducks his head between his shoulders.
“Oh wow,” Jared wheezes, setting his food down and wiping at his eyes, “Wow. Jensen, you are something else.”
Jensen fights the need to smash a chair into his smirking face.
“Why are you laughing at me?” he snaps, tension bunching in his shoulders, “It’s your faith, Jay!”
Jared just keeps on shaking his head, mumbling, “Oh, oh,” like Jensen is a precious little kid that just screwed up something really basic. It only makes him want to hit Jared more.
Jared grows somber, though. He sits back a little, his expression hard.
“See, the way I see it, God either is one sadistic fucker or he doesn’t exist, and either way, I want nothing to do with him.”
He tightens his lips in that pissed off way of his, flattening his mouth and tilting his head.
“It’s my life, Jensen, and nobody else gets to have a say in what I do with it.”
“What about your family?” Jensen snaps, tearing at the paper napkin, “Did you ever think about them? They’ve spent the last six years wanting their little boy back.”
Jared snickers and raises his glass in salute.
“Well, give them my condolences. Their little boy’s dead.”
A sneer curls the corners of his mouth upwards but he doesn’t sound amused. His voice is cold, flat and dead like marble. It stings, because Jensen has never heard anything like it, not from the mouth of his Jay. Jay had always been too polite and too shy and too much of a good little boy to be mean to people.
Jensen has to swallow heavily. He did this.
“I really just want to talk, you know.”
“You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?” Jared asks with an exasperated sigh and a grimace.
Jensen shakes his head firmly.
“No, Jay, I’m not.”
Jared presses one hand to the side of his face like he’s dizzy or has a headache or just can’t believe it, but before Jensen can take the step forward to lay his fingers on his arm, Jared straightens and sighs.
“Okay, fine. Fine.”
He glowers at Jensen, and even more at the grin Jensen can’t keep from spreading across his face.
“Fine, we can go ‘talk’,” he says, waving his hands around mock-mysteriously at the word, “We can be all sharing and caring with lots of puppies and flowers and afterwards, we can ride into the sunset on your noble steed. Okay. Happy?”
“Is tomorrow good for you?” Jensen asks.
Jared blinks, frowns. His lips twisting into a small grimace, he asks, “What time?”
It doesn’t take long to arrange when and where to meet up. Jared nods carefully and turns to leave with a half-hearted “See you tomorrow, Jensen.”
“Don’t try to flake on me now, I know where you work at,” Jensen says, but the joke falls flat as Jared turns back, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance, and Jensen hastily busies himself with his bag.
***
Friday.
5:17 PM
“I don’t know, Jen.”
The swinging seat on the Padalecki porch rocks gently back and forth as Jay nudges the ground with his sneaker, watching Jensen from the corner of his eye. The cushions are weather-worn but comfortable, and the sunroof shields the two boys from the worst of the afternoon heat while Jared chews on a fingernail, undecided.
Jensen heaves a dramatic sigh as he hooks his arm around Jay’s narrow shoulders, giving his neck a gentle squeeze. Jay’s startled rabbit look almost makes him feel bad, but he covers it up with a grin and a shake of his head.
“Come on, JT,” he says, grinning at the scowl he gets in return, tugging the book from the kid’s lap.
“Beginning Calculus?” he reads aloud, “Jesus H. Christ, Jay, you’re thirteen!”
“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Jay grumbles, tugging free, but Jensen talks right over him.
“You’re supposed to be having awkward make-out sessions underneath the bleachers, not starting college level math.”
Jay takes his book back with a sigh, but Jensen can already see the cracks in his resolve.
“I don’t want any trouble with the police,” he says.
It is a flimsy protest, and they both know it.
“Neither do we,” Jensen promises, and when he tries to sling his arm around Jared again, the kid lets him.
“Neither do we. We’ll be good as gold, I promise.”
Jared sighs and rolls his eyes as if to say, “Not in a million years,” but Jensen knows he has won when Jay closes his book with a thud.
“Fine.”
“All right!”
Jensen jumps to his feet to perform an impromptu victory dance on the porch, but Jay’s warning voice stops him in the middle of an air guitar riff.
“Jen, I swear, if you leave me in some mess out there, I will never speak to you again.”
He has curled up into himself, making his enormous limbs look a lot smaller than should be possible, but he doesn’t sound shy. Jensen can’t remember the last time Jared has been shy around him.
He plops down on the seat next to him and gives him his most earnest look.
“I’d never leave you, Jay,” he promises solemnly, one hand squeezing the kid’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
***
Jared waits for him at the very edge of the campus grounds, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He looks younger in daylight, coat buttoned up against the lingering winter cold over some kind of t-shirt with a print. Jensen brings the bike to a slow stop in front of him and flips up the visor of his helmet to eye (eye, not ogle) him properly. He’s still pretty lean, despite the muscles, and the jeans look like they’d fall off without the belt fitted snugly around his hips with, yes, a self-drilled hole to make it tighter.
Jensen is suddenly glad that he knows Jared’s birthday, hour and everything, because he looks like jailbait.
“Can I offer you a ride?”
Jared raises an eyebrow at him, shifting on his feet.
“Did you bring a second helmet this time?”
Jensen reaches behind him and hands it over, glad that he did, and revels for a moment in Jared’s stumped expression.
“Well,” he mumbles, staring at the helmet in his hands. He shakes himself out of it quickly, though, fastens the straps under his chin and swings himself onto the machine behind Jensen. He presses himself against the back of Jensen’s jacket reluctantly, fingers resting lightly on Jensen’s stomach rather than curling into the leather, despite the speed. There are no wandering hands this time to distract him from how tense Jared is, how he is vibrating under the surface. He’s almost glad when they reach the coffee place within minutes and Jared climbs off without a word.
They wait in line silently, Jensen bobbing on his heels and Jared staring blankly at nothing, his knuckles white where they are gripping his bag. It’s a relief when it’s finally their turn and Jensen can order his usual mocha. Jared orders coffee, black, and Jensen suddenly feels stupid for his frilly order. Being too good for the simple pleasures in life and all that shit.
“Yo, Jared!” Steve calls over from behind a large, ominous looking machine, “What’s up, man? Good to see you out and about.”
“Hey man,” Jared greets him, reaching over the glass pane for a brief handshake.
“New friend?” Steve asks and grins conspiratorially as he bumps his knuckles with Jensen. Jensen can’t shake the sudden feeling that telling him about being gay was a Bad Idea. The whole ‘going to Starbucks’ thing was a bad idea, but it’s not like he can turn around now and drag Jared out the door, so he smiles tightly and picks out a small, secluded corner where no one behind the bar can throw him knowing winks.
Jared gets up when it’s time to get their drinks while Jensen stares at the table in front of him. A previous patron has left a ring of moisture on the table. There’s a discarded straw next to it and Jensen is so caught up in staring at it that he jumps when Jared half-slams his cup down in front of him.
Jared pulls the straw towards him and scratches it through the liquid, drawing small lines out from the ring until the straw is dry, and then starts over.
When Jensen is this close to saying something that would probably turn out to be really stupid just to break the uncomfortable silence, Jared finally looks up.
“Why are you so obsessed with this anyway, Jensen?”
“I am not obsessed!” Jensen squawks indignantly, but Jared just raises an eyebrow at him and continues making patterns.
“Jen,” he says pointedly, like a teacher to an extremely stubborn child, “You’ve been coming to my workplace every single day since you know I work there. I’m pretty sure that makes you obsessed.”
“Jesus,” Jensen mumbles into his sleeve, brushes at his eyes and sighs.
“Look, Jay, I just want to know what happened, okay? What you did for six fucking years.”
A stab of anger flares through him, but Jared waves his sharp tone off with his hand, takes a sip of coffee, sighs.
“I got on a train, ended up here, hung out at homeless shelters and soup kitchens for a while, did the odd job where no one asked too many questions, ran into Sam. She offered me a job, made me take the GED test and I’ve been going to college for about a year now.
Jared raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say, “Are you happy now?”
“And that’s it?” Jensen asks incredulously.
Jared leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“What do you want me to say, Jensen? I don’t have some huge sob story. I didn’t sell my body to survive, I didn’t get beaten bloody by dirty old tricksters and I didn’t start taking drugs. I fended just fine for myself, okay, and I don’t need you. I don’t need my parents or a counselor or good ole home, and I sure as Hell don’t want you here!”
“Jensen?”
It’s Danneel, of course. It can’t be anyone but Danneel with Jensen’s luck, because Jensen loves her with all his heart but she completely lacks the God-given knowledge of when not to pry. And she desperately wants to fix Jensen, like she can ever undo what he did, so Jensen with a good-looking guy is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Jensen unclenches his stomach with some difficulty, gives Jared a warning look and pastes a thin smile onto his face as he turns around.
“Hi,” he says with a small wave.
Danneel gives him a funny look as she bends down to kiss his cheek, sits down and then turns to Jared.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Jared says, still slouched in his seat, looking every bit the teenager he is. He glances at Jensen and curves one corner of his mouth upwards in the pale echo of a polite smile.
“I’m Danneel,” Danneel says, taking Jared’s outstretched hand.
“Jared,” Jared replies, and Danneel twists in her seat and just looks at Jensen.
Jensen coughs hastily, faint color rising in his cheeks when Jay flashes him a smirk.
“Uh, Jared,” he says, leaning forward, “That’s… We’re studying together.”
“Cool,” Jared says, polite and not too interested.
Danneel’s eyebrows just climb up further.
Jensen gives Jared a glare; he’s pretty sure the kid’s silently laughing at his discomfort, and Jesus, when did that sweet little boy turn into such an asshole?
Jared shakes his head at him quietly before turning to the girl, leaning forward like he’s actually interested.
“So, Jared, how old are you?” Danneel asks, hands still folded in her lap. Jared smirks faintly, one arm draped over the back of the chair next to him. Jensen wants to sink into the ground right that instant.
God, she sounds like his mother.
“Nineteen,” Jared shoots back casually while Jensen looks around for a discreet way to flee.
“Oh, are you a freshman?”
“Nope, guess again,” Jared grins, nudging Jensen’s knee with his sneaker.
“Hey, I know you,” Danneel says suddenly, sitting up, manicured finger aimed at Jared’s heart. Jared’s mouth twitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” she says, a few decibel too loud, “You’re the barkeeper from that club on Saturday, whatsit, where Steve played.”
“The Sinkhole,” Jensen supplies absently, missing Danneel’s frown until it’s too late.
“Aren’t you a bit young to be working in a bar?”
“Oh,” the kid waves her off, “I have a special permit, and I don’t touch the alcohol.”
It’s a blatant lie and Jensen nearly snorts, were it not for the warning glare that the barkeeper in question sends his way.
“For God’s sake, Danneel,” Jensen cuts in with a sigh, “Will you stop grilling the kid? I’m sure it’s all legal, okay?”
Danneel scowls in that mother-hen way of hers, but then her frown gives way to a happy little smile.
“So when did you two decide to go on a date?”
Jared sputters a little and Jensen pushes at her side.
“Okay, Danneel, enough,” he says, even though he’s smiling, “Leave us alone.”
“Fine,” she snaps, sounding both amused and annoyed, “I’ll just go. Jared, nice meeting you. Jensen,” she leans in close, a hand closing around his shoulder, “Behave.”
***
Jared knows, not even that deep down, that hanging out with Jensen is not a good idea. It’s really stupid - no, scratch that, it’s Darwin Award stupid - but it’s fun, and it’s Jensen, and Jared has to confess that he missed it a little bit. The teasing and shoving and that hint of home that he hasn’t had in years. And even though he still hates Jensen and will never forgive him for what he did, Jensen is awesome. Except that now for the first time, Jared feels like they’re actually equals and not the bad boy and his sidekick, so it’s really all that homeliness and the old patterns that make him say, “Do you wanna come over to my place?”
Jensen blinks, surprised, reminding Jared exactly why this is a bad idea, but then his face lights up before Jared can take it back and he’s nodding and damn, why does Jared have to be nervous now?
But the damage is done. Jensen is ready to go lightning-quick, loading Jared onto his sleek little bike. Jared knows that Jensen isn’t exactly rich, Hell, he’s been in the guy’s apartment, but when he stands in front of his own door and sees the paint peeling off the wall and notices the sharp stench of urine and cabbage in the hallway more than he has in months, it takes all his willpower to shove the key into the rusty lock and not just turn around and call the whole thing off.
The door whines as it swings open, getting stuck on the bad carpeting halfway through. Jared shows Jensen inside. He suddenly sees everything, every little detail that has never bothered him because hey, it’s a roof and a bed: The mold in the corner, the splintered wood of the window frame. It’s tiny, a bed and a shelf for his books and a coffee table that he found out on the street where he can do his homework. Yeah, Jared really wants his mama’s kitchen right now.
He can’t bear to look at Jensen as the man judges his life, so he busies himself in his kitchenette.
“Chow Mein good for you?” he asks, waving the brightly wrapped plastic container at Jensen. Jensen nods, a little surprised. Jared forces down the feeling of shabbiness that is once again threatening to rise. Perhaps he slams the microwave door shut with a bit more force than necessary, but really, that damn thing just won’t stay shut if he doesn’t.
When he returns to the room, Jensen is standing at the bookshelf, reading over his orderly assortment of text books. Jared knows why he’s fascinated; Jen had always marveled at (and poked fun of) his knack for numbers. It’s just the only thing Jared can control, the only thing that does what he wants it too. He’s been doing Sam’s books since practically the day he started. He lives and breathes numbers and his book shelf proves it: Math 1A - 4B, Vectors, Calc Survival Guide.
Jared pulls out a tome on matrices and lets it fall open. He’s well aware of Jensen watching his every move.
“I guess some habits just never die, do they?” he asks no one in particular, stroking over the page gently.
“I wonder sometimes,” he says, glancing up at Jensen, “I wonder what would have happened if I’d done the smart thing and stayed home with my books.”
Jensen swallows, his lips pressing into a thin line like they always do when he’s worried. But that’s not it, not all of it. His brows are pulled together so tightly it has to hurt and there’s something in his eyes that Jared doesn’t recognize
It takes him a moment to realize that Jensen looks like he feels guilty. For a harsh, angry second, Jared can’t help feeling that he should. He’s ruined Jared’s entire life, fucked it up in every possible way.
His anger deflates as he realizes that in his whole life, he has never seen Jensen looking guilty. Sorry, yes; contrite, yes; Hell, even blubbering all over him because he was trashed out of his mind and decided to visit Jared in the middle of the night anyway.
Jensen leans over a little, gently closing the book. With a little tug, he pulls it from Jared’s limp fingers and places it back on the shelf. Jared reaches for it to do the same and their fingers brush, warm and soft and slightly sweaty, like the last six years haven’t happened.
Jared can see Jensen catch his bottom lip with his teeth. He can see his eyes, settling on him from underneath those girly lashes. He can see the way he tilts his head, like he wants to say something -
but then the microwave beeps angrily and Jared pulls back as if Jensen’s hand was scolding hot. He stumbles into the kitchen, confused and angry because he doesn’t want to like Jensen but he does. He hisses as he reaches for the containers and the hot plastic burns against his skin, quickly sticking his fingers into his mouth to ease the sting, wishing himself desperately back to a time when things were easier.
***
Friday.
5:23 PM
“JT, dinner’s ready.”
Jensen’s arm slips off Jay’s shoulder when the kid’s mother steps out onto the porch, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Oh, hey, Jensen, it’s good to see you.”
She gives him that Padalecki smile, warm and welcoming.
“Would you like some dinner?”
“What are you having?” Jensen asks back.
When her eyes merely crinkle with her responding smile, he can’t help the huge grin splitting his face.
“You got it,” he assures her, and she gives him a knowing wink.
“Okay, you boys go in and set the table then.”
They rise almost as one, trudging past her into the spacey kitchen with its warm light and delicious smells. It’s almost illegal how homey and white-bread it is, but Jensen loves it. Even if his parents would probably die of shock if they knew their son voluntarily did chores.
Jay’s mom turns back to her food, juggling pots and pans expertly. Jensen nudges Jay with his elbow. Jay scowls, shrugging him off, and addresses his mother’s turned back.
“Mom,” he begins, setting his tome down on a chair, “Can I go out with Jensen and his friends tonight?”
His mother gives him a measuring look, a faint frown creasing her brows.
“I don’t know, JT,” she says, casting a look over at Jensen, “Is it going to be very late?”
Jensen shakes his head, would have even without Jay’s elbow catching him in the ribs.
“Nah,” he shrugs it off, “A coupla of the guys have curfews.”
She laughs as she turns down one of the plates where the pan had begun to sizzle and hiss.
“Like any of you actually care about curfews, Jensen.”
Jensen scowls but he can’t really argue, not when she’s correct, so he just smiles all innocently even though he knows it doesn’t work on her. But Jay just looks at her, big damn eyes and just the hint of a pout, not enough to set her off, and Jensen can tell the exact moment when she folds.
“You be careful, you hear?” she says, underlining her words with a spatula brandished threateningly in her son’s face.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. P, I’ll take care of your baby,” Jensen assures her, unable to keep his arm off Jay’s shoulders this time. He manages not to scowl when Jay elbows him sharply in the side. Damn, but those bones are sharp.
“Fine,” she concedes, amusement hidden from her voice but obvious in her eyes, “Just remember that, all right?”
Jensen cheers, pumping one fist into the hair, his other arm tightly around the kid’s shoulders.
“Trust me, Jay, this’ll be a night you won’t forget.”
Jared just sighs exasperatedly, but he lets Jensen drag him into the dining room with a small smile on his lips.
***
>Part 3
4,000 words in 48 hours - I think my brain leaked out of my head. So go! Go read! ;)