counting to eleven as it collapses | J2 | 7269 words
A couple of weeks ago I asked for ficlet prompts and rei-c gave me lyrics to one of my favourite songs, And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming / Or the moment of truth in your lies , and so I dashed off a little emo paragraph with no idea about backstory and then rei-c replied with a paragraph and we kept going until the backstory just kind of revealed itself and we came around in a circle with much run on sentences and wrong turns in between and ended up with over 7000 words of something we both really liked.
The style is pretty disjointed because of the way we wrote it, and we decided to keep it that way with a few rewordings and changes. This was definitely a fantastic writing experience, getting to write with one of my favourite authors!, and Rei is as talented as she is gracious and awesome.
counting to eleven as it collapses | J2 | PG-13
by estei and rei-c
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No harm or copyright infringement intended. No money, no sue.
Jensen finds him on the couch, afghan clutched around his shoulders and head tipped back, eyes closed. The knot in his gut loosens, but doesn’t unravel. He walks slowly, barely able to see the obstacle course of books, sneakers and DVD cases in the gloomy dark. They argue about it all the time, Jensen’s order versus Jared’s chaos, and it seems so trivial now.
Jensen sits down slowly on the edge of the cushion, doesn’t want to startle Jared out of his doze. He watches long eyelashes flutter, then part. Jared doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to take a breath.
“If you want to talk about it,” Jensen says, reaching a hand across the space between them. Jared blinks and then closes his eyes, presses his lips together, like he’s in pain. Jensen drops his hand, fingers curled against the edge of the afghan, close but not touching.
They sit there like that for God only knows how long. The dark seems to get darker and the silence more ominous, but Jared's here, so Jensen will deal.
It must be an hour or three later; Jensen's drifted off into half-sleep and so when Jared moves, he flinches, snaps awake. Jared's not looking at him, feels like he's moving away to Jensen's skin, warmed by the heat Jared's giving off, cocooned in the blanket.
"Where," he starts to say, but then Jared shifts a little more, puts distance between their hips and leans down, rests his head on Jensen's shoulder. 'Oh,' Jensen wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he lifts one hand, tucks a curl of Jared's hair away from Jared's face and behind an ear, tracing the curve. Jared doesn't say anything, but neither does he move.
Jensen wants to take Jared back to bed, wants to wrap him up in his limbs and hold him tight, but he's afraid to push, afraid that Jared will withdraw the little contact they've made it too.
"I didn't want you to know," Jared says, his hushed tone barely audible. Jensen's fingers twitch and this time he doesn't stop himself, he cups the back of Jared's head, rubbing his blunt fingertips against his scalp. Jared sighs, and Jensen bends down to press a kiss to his temple, keeping his mouth against Jared's skin after the initial touch.
Jensen doesn't speak; Jared already knows anything he would say. I love you, I'm not going to judge you.
"Jensen," Jared's voice breaks on a sob, "I didn't want you to know."
It makes Jensen ache, to see Jared like this. Usually its Jensen curled up and hiding, quiet and locked in his own thoughts; Jared's not supposed to be the one getting Jensen's jeans soaked with tears, Jared's not supposed to be the one under the afghan, sitting in the dark. Things like this, they aren't supposed to happen to Jared.
Jensen turns his face, cheek brushing where his lips have just been. "Dude," he says, just as quiet, just as soft. There are a million words in that one, a thousand sentences, a hundred emotions. "Jared."
Jared shakes, just a little. He doesn't look up.
It isn't fair, but Jensen doesn't know how to deal with this. He tries to remember all the little things Jared does for him when he feels shaky and carved open.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asks. Jared huffs out a laugh, it’s small and wobbly but it makes Jensen feel better, and a little sheepish.
“Think it’ll help?” Jared says, and it takes Jensen a moment to realize that he’s really asking. Jared lifts his head and scrubs a palm across his eyes before fixing Jensen with a hopeful glance. After a night of letting Jared call all the shots, Jensen knows that now is time to take the lead.
“Naw, last thing you need is caffeine right now,” Jensen smiles ruefully. “Why don’t we lie down? You must be exhausted,” he strokes a hand up and down Jared’s spine.
“You too,” Jared says, looking chagrined. “I didn’t mean to keep you-“
“Hush now, okay? I wanted to be with you, not often I get the opportunity to take care of you a little,” Jensen says, keeping his tone light. Jared nods.
“Okay,” he says, letting Jensen pull him to his feet. “Okay,”
Jensen slips his hand into Jared’s, squeezing his fingers as he leads him down the hall to their darkened bedroom. He guides Jared down to mattress first before slipping in next to him, relaxing against the plush surface. He snags the edge of the down comforter, pulling it up Jared’s long body.
Jared’s head is already lolling on the pillow.
“I’m so tired, Jen,” he mumbles.
“I’m going to take care of you,” Jensen says, and he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.
Jared sleeps. Jensen doesn't often get the chance to watch Jared like this, so unguarded and open. Usually it's Jensen falling asleep first, and while he likes that, sleeps better knowing that Jared's right there, watching, he likes this, too. Jared moves too much when he's awake, bouncing or laughing or throwing candy. He's never this still. Jensen would worry if he couldn't see Jared's chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, if he wasn't pressed so close that he can feel it.
There are tiny crease lines in Jared's forehead. Jensen reaches up, brushes them away. Jared shifts, mutters something, but doesn't wake up. That's not like Jared at all.
Jensen sighs, kicks off his shoes and leaves them where they thump. That's not like him, but it's so trivial. And when he wakes up, gets out of bed and stumbles over them, it might make Jared smile. It might even make Jared reach out.
Reaching out is good. Smiling is better. Jensen sighs again, and cuddles close. He hadn’t realized Jared was so stressed out. Looking back, Jensen wonders how he could have been so blind. Jared had been floundering all week, and instead of stepping in before the train went off the rails, Jensen had made it worse.
Monday morning, and everyone had been tired. Jared had thumped across the make up trailer, toes dragging on the floor.
"Jesus, Jay, can't you pick up your own feet?" Jensen had said, snappish. No one had blinked or even noticed, after all Jensen was supposed to be the grouchy one.
Jared hadn't answered, just dropped himself back in the chair like the effort of staying upright was too much. He hadn't looked bad, just tired. They hadn't come in together. Jared had wanted to stay at Jensen's the night before, but then, Jared always wanted them to sleep in the same bed. It just wasn't practical, wasn't safe. So Jensen had gone home alone and Jared home to the dogs.
Jared had rebuffed every attempt at conversation, going so far as to snap at the A.D.
"What the hell?" Jensen had said. "What's wrong with you? Why were you so rude?"
Jared was supposed to be cheerful and kind, always, and Jensen and a few crew members reminded him of this throughout the week.
Still. Jensen should have known something was up when Jared sent the dogs to a kennel.
“What the hell,” Jensen had turned in a circle in the kitchen, taking in the empty bowls sitting on the draining board and the quiet. “Where are your mutts?” he’d asked.
"The kennel, for a little while," Jared had said, eyes focused over Jensen's shoulder. "I just, I can't deal with them right now,"
But Jensen hadn't said anything, just nodded, because he was glad for a break from the dogs, always running around, drooling and barking. Oh, he liked the dogs well enough, but after being on set non-stop and with a weariness that seemed to seep into everything, dealing with two active mutts was too much.
Looking back, Jensen sees how wrong it all was.
On Wednesday, Jensen might have had the chance to say something. Jared had been standing in front of his trailer, looking at the set with something that might have been deep and worn-out contemplation, but Jensen was tired and wet and hungry, so when Jared had opened his mouth, Jensen had shaken his head, held up a hand.
"Not now," he'd said. "Please, Jay. I'm soaked and five seconds away from pneumonia."
Jensen hadn't waited for Jared's answer and he was too cold and clammy later to remember the way Jared had looked. A mistake. A big mistake, and one Jensen's been regretting ever since.
Jared had tried to summon up the energy from somewhere for a smile and story, at some point. Looking back, Jensen's absolutely amazed. He wonders -- has always wondered, but especially now -- where Jared gets his good humour, his cheerfulness, the innate talent at keeping other people light and smiling, and how much the effort costs Jared when everyone else just sees a big kid with a grin on his face.
Jensen had called him on that smile, told Jared flat-out that he was being fake and no one wanted to see it. The corners of Jared's lips had fallen, but he'd just shrugged, muttered something about a phone call he needed to make, and disappeared until the director of the week had to send someone to track Jared down and pull him back to the set.
Jensen doesn’t buy a clue until Friday night.
“Jay, come over tonight,” he says. He’s been watching Jared all day, the tight set to his shoulders and the way his face looks washed out, even after the make up. They didn’t always spend the night together, but they hadn’t been together since Monday and Jensen missed Jared. He’d wanted Jared to come over last night, but Jared had snuck off set before Jensen got a chance to talk to him.
“Don’t think so, Jen,” Jared says, shrugging. “Not good company right now,”
“What? When has that ever stopped you?” Jensen jokes, a little stung at Jared’s dismissal and trying to hide it.
“Dunno. Not like you’ve had much time for me all week,” Jared says, and he’s deliberately looking away, watching as the crew takes down a lighting set up. Jensen’s more than a little stung now, worse because he knows Jared’s right.
“I’m sorry I didn’t spend all week holding your hand,” he says, chest tight with an emotion he refuses to name. “But it’s been a long week for everyone.”
Jared still won’t look at him, and Jensen takes a step closer. This is when Jared usually lets him off the hook, bright smile and a slap on the shoulder, a joke about how Jensen’s a prima donna.
“Jay?” he lays a hand on Jared’s shoulder, shocked at the knots and tension he feels under the Sam-layers. “Hey, you okay?” Jensen starts moving his hand, rubbing circles across Jared’s shoulder blade. He casts a glance around them but they’re alone, standing under the awning of an equipment trailer. “Come over, I miss you,” he says.
Jared glances at him, mouth turned down and eyes damp.
“Jen, I’m really not-“
“Please, Jared,” Jensen closes his eyes, won’t look while Jared refuses him. “Don’t make me beg,”
Jared’s fingertips brush against his cheekbone, brief and quick.
“Okay, okay Jen,” he says.
Jared had skittered away after that, out from under Jensen's hand, his shoulders still knotted with tension. Jensen'd been amazed that Jared wasn't slinging down painkillers; it has to hurt, especially with all the stunts they're pulling this episode.
One eye on Jared the rest of the afternoon and Jensen still hadn't seen when Jared took off. With a distracted wave at some of the lighting guys, Jensen had gone home, ordered pizza, chilled some beer, and waited.
And waited. And waited.
Jared never showed up.
Pissed off and worried, trying to avoid naming the feeling in his chest anything like 'hurt' or 'rejected,' Jensen had left everything the way it was and taken a cab over to Jared's. He'd spent the entire ride looking out of the window and thinking. It's not like Jared to ditch anyone, much less him. It's not like Jared to forget about hanging out, much less with him. This whole time, Jared hasn't been acting a lot like Jared.
Jensen put it all together, felt like such an ass, and tipped the cab-driver extra, like it might help assuage his guilt. It didn't.
He'd used his key to sneak in to Jared's place, waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and seen Jared sitting there, curled up as small as he could get, huddled in a blanket -- even though the living room was warm, almost too warm -- and asleep.
Such an ass.
Saturday morning, 7 a.m. call. Marginally better than getting up before the sun, but Jensen still feels resentful as his cell phone beeps, tinny and almost inaudible from the living room. Jensen rubs his eyes, gummy and sore, and stares blearily at his wrist watch. Six fifteen. He feels a jolt of panic, the cell phone alarm is a backup, in the event he turns off his alarm clock instead of hitting snooze. He hadn’t bothered asking Jared last night, Jared is always up half an hour before Jensen, putting on coffee before taking the dogs out for a walk in the pre dawn gloom.
No dogs, no coffee, and Jared is still in bed, back to Jensen and facing the wall.
“Jay?” Jensen rolls, wincing as the waistband of his jeans pull at his hips. He’d been so concerned about Jared, only hours ago, he hadn’t even thought to take off his pants. He touches Jared’s back, resting his palm against the dip below Jared’s spine.
“I can’t, Jensen,” Jared says, voice clear. Jensen sits up, braces a hand on Jared’s side and peers over. Jared’s wide awake, fingers twitching on the mattress.
“How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me?” Jensen asks, firing off the questions in quick succession. “Jeez, we’re gonna be late,” he grumbles.
“I’m not going in,” Jared says. Jensen shakes him, a little too hard, but Jared just flops, boneless under him.
“Yes you are. Work isn’t optional, remember?” Jensen says. Jared is tired, Jensen hasn’t been kind, he gets that, but these things have never been allowed to come before the show.
“I’m not going in,” Jared says, hollow eyes staring up at Jensen.
Jensen feels the stir of real fear now. Last night, last night he’d known that Jared was upset, pulled thin, but this?
“Okay, I’ll call Eric,” he says.
Eric isn’t happy, but he’s hears the gaps in Jensen’s explanations and at the end he’s more worried about Jared than the schedule.
“Straight up, Jensen. Is this a professional help situation? Because we can arrange that. Just between us, okay?”
“No,” Jensen says, but he isn’t sure. “No, Eric. He just needs some time, some rest.”
“Don’t fuck with me Ackles, I don’t want to give you two a long weekend and have a mental breakdown on Tuesday,” Eric says.
“I’m not,” Jensen says.
“You’re off until Tuesday,” Eric says. “And then I’ll talk to Jared,”
Jensen recoils as he flips his phone closed, hearing the recrimination in Eric’s tone, hearing the guilt.
Jared’s still awake, hasn’t moved, but he won’t open his eyes, won’t acknowledge Jensen at all.
Jensen pauses, one hand hovering over Jared's hip. In the end, Jensen lets his hand drop -- not on Jared -- and swings his feet out of the bed. "I'm turning the coffee on," he says. He waits but Jared doesn't react to that, hasn't reacted to Jensen leaving the bed. "You want any?"
"Not thirsty," Jared says, barely louder than a whisper. He turns his back, faces the wall again, pulls his knees up. Jared's still wearing yesterday's clothes, too. Come to think of it, those look a lot like Thursday's clothes. Granted, they spend a lot of time in Sam and Dean's clothes, but this is more serious that Jensen's prepared to deal with.
It's Jared, though. Jensen will do with everything for Jared.
So, he gets up, trips over his shoes, kicks them to one side, and heads for the kitchen. Jared can have space for an hour, then Jensen's going to push. And they both know he can be one pushy bastard.
Jensen has always been moody, it’s just his way. His momma always said, “Don’t like Jensen’s attitude? Wait fifteen minutes.” And it’s true; Jensen lives his life like an emotional revolving door. It makes relationships hard to maintain, Jensen falls in love quick and hard, but he falls back out of love just as fast. Quirks that are cute one minute are aggravating the next. That’s not going to happen with Jared, and it’s not wishful thinking. With Jared, Jensen gets the mushy Hallmark card sentiments; he understands how couples can share a bed for forty years and not kill each other. Jared has always been good at handling Jensen’s low points, never taking snappy remarks to heart, knowing when to step in or back off. Jensen swears that he’s going to learn how to do the same for Jared.
He burns the coffee, spills grinds down the front of his pants and knocks over the cream. He feels unsettled, like he’s in a stranger’s house and not a place that’s become as familiar as his own home. Jared’s malaise changes everything.
He doesn’t last for an hour. Way he sees it, he gave Jared too much space already, half of the problem right there, so after thirty minutes of fumbling Jensen ambles back up the stairs. Jared hasn’t moved.
Jensen goes right to the master bath and starts filling the tub. When the water is running nice and hot he goes back to the bedroom.
“Jay,” he says as he sits on the edge of the mattress, tugs at Jared’s shoulder a little.
“Please, Jensen,” Jared says, sounding so tired and pathetic.
Jensen bats his hands away and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“What?” Jared struggles into a sitting position, tries to pull away but Jensen follows, insistent. “I’m not really in the mood, Jensen,” he says, and the use of his full name, twice, makes Jensen cringe.
“Jesus, you think,” Jensen stops; this is not the time to take offence and pick a fight. “I’m filling the tub for you,”
"The hell for," Jared says, not looking at Jensen.
Jensen's stung at the accusation but more worried. Jared knows he'd never push like that; but this, Jared sounding like he doesn't know that, as if he's resigned to it, it has Jensen even more worried. "A bath, Jay," he says, as gentle as he can. "You're still in your clothes from yesterday and I bet your back's killing you." He pauses, waits for Jared to say something, anything. Jared doesn't. "Come on, get up."
Jared does, slowly, and just stands there as Jensen shucks off Jared's shirt, undershirt, shoes, socks, jeans.
"Come on," Jensen says. It's like talking to a child, a little, even though it's more as if Jared isn't all with him, has his mind a thousand miles away and is letting his body do what it's told without attention. "I didn't put any of your bubbles in, but I can if you want."
Shaking his head, not speaking, Jared just follows, sheds his boxers, and steps into the tub, leaning back and closing his eyes almost immediately.
Jensen opens his mouth, closes it again and turns off the taps.
Jensen realizes that Jared expects him to leave, retreat and give Jared his privacy.
“I’m going to wash your hair,” Jensen says, lifting the plastic measuring cup he’d taken from the kitchen for this purpose.
“Why?” Jared’s eyelashes flutter, his gaze is sullen as he sits up a little.
“You’ll feel better,” Jensen says, and Jared’s chin drops a little, as close to an agreement as Jensen will get. Jensen’s movements are slow and deliberate as he pours warm water over Jared’s head, palm braced on his brow to protect his eyes. His chest feels full and tight, touching Jared in this way, Jared silent and quiescent beneath him, it feels more intimate than any other act they’ve shared. His fingertips massage Jared’s scalp, long after the shampoo has been worked into a lather, and his hands slip under wet curls after clean water has cleared out all the soap. He can feel some of the tension, not all, seep out of Jared as he works. He doesn’t talk, lets his touch communicate everything he can’t say, everything Jared wouldn’t hear.
Jensen stays by the side of the tub, little touches against Jared’s shoulders and neck even though his calves are cramping from being in the same position. He waits until the water starts to cool, offering Jared his presence, and then retrieves a towel, the fluffy oversized kind he’s always mocked, from the linen closet.
Jared takes the towel, wraps it around his hips as he steps out of the tub. Jensen hovers close, one hand almost touching Jared’s elbow, just in case.
Jared doesn't say anything but he looks -- not exactly better, but less as if he's about to shatter. It might have something to do with the hot water, the relaxation and quiet; Jensen hopes it has something to do with him still being here, helping as best he can. He has so much to make up for.
"Hungry?" Jensen asks. He already knows Jared's answer before Jared shakes his head, not saying anything. "Good. We all know how awful I am at breakfast. Also, you have no food in your fridge. I'll call out for lunch in a few hours if you tell me what you're in the mood for, so start thinking."
He's trying for a light tone, the lightest he can manage when he's so worried. Jared gives him a look out of the corner of one eye; it's a relief to see Jared react to something.
"Not hungry," Jared says, and Jensen immediately starts to worry again. Jared is always hungry, always ready for a snack. And, come to think of it, he's not sure when he saw Jared eat last. It wasn't on set, he knows that. "Get what you want." And Jensen can only stand and watch, shocked, as Jared drops the towel and crawls back in bed, naked and still dripping.
He's half-tempted to call Chris for moral support. Hell, he's half-tempted to call Chad and see if this has ever happened before.
Standing in the middle of the bedroom, watching Jared curl up on the bed, Jensen just, he doesn't know what to do next.
Jensen is scared, no terrified. He’s never had to deal with something like this, and the fact that it’s Jared, of all people, just makes it all the more unsettling. He wants to call someone, wants to take back the words he spoke to Eric about professional help, but he can’t do that to Jared, who is so open with his time and caring but so private about his own struggles.
Google offers few helpful suggestions. Jensen tries every search combination he can think of, visits countless medical sites and even scrolls through some message boards. Mostly he turns up quizzes, if you answered ‘yes’ to more than five questions consult a physician, Jared won’t even talk to Jensen, the idea of consulting a physician is laughable. Jensen takes a deep breath, reminds himself that just because Jared hasn’t been acting himself for a few days does not mean a medical disorder. In all the literature and armchair psychobabble he did find it was clear that symptoms had to last longer than two weeks to be considered clinical depression.
Jensen sits on the couch, clutches Jared’s favourite throw pillow to his chest and thinks back to everything that’s happened in the past week or so. The schedule was grueling, affecting all of them. Jensen had been sneaking off for covert naps during the day, guzzling coffee and barely making conversation when the camera wasn’t rolling. He pushes past that, tries to think about what Jared was doing while he was being anti-social.
Nothing stands out; not really, Jared had been himself, until he wasn’t. Laughing, smiling, listening gamely to the grumbles and complaints, spouses that didn’t understand the time commitment, muscles that ached under the strain. Hell, he’d even been helping the techs move equipment around.
“Too much,” Jensen mutters to himself, “they ask too much of him.” It only takes another moment to add himself into that group, asking too much, never realizing the cost when Jared never complained.
Jared needs time to rest, to just be without anyone placing demands on him, and Jensen gets that. Jensen pushes down his fears, and goes back upstairs, crawls into bed behind Jared. Jared is sleeping, and he sighs and relaxes back into Jensen.
“I’m here,” Jensen murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Jared’s ear.
Jared moves, just enough for Jensen to think maybe he's woken Jared up. As if Jensen didn't feel bad enough about himself. "If you need anything," he says. "All you have to do is ask. You know that, right? Anything at all. If I don't have it, I'll steal it from someone."
"Jus' tired," Jared says, and is asleep again five minutes later.
Jared sleeps on and off all morning. Jensen's dozed as well, not much but enough to make getting out of bed at noon the easiest waking up process he's had in a long time -- not so much that he's bouncing, but the thought of staying awake actually seems like a good one.
Jensen stretches, moves towards the door, and stands in the doorway when he gets there, watching Jared. Sending the dogs away, he should've known it was bad then. Jared loves his dogs, loves the way they love him, an uncomplicated love with lots of slobber and behind-the-ear scratching.
Jared stirs but doesn't open his eyes, so Jensen leaves Jared alone, heads for the kitchen and reheats the coffee. A cup of that later, he makes a grocery list and decides not to leave the house, not to leave Jared. He calls, gets someone else to deliver the food, and starts to clean up the place.
In the darkness last night, Jensen had stepped over things, gingerly and careful, wary of cracking CDs or tripping over anything. Earlier, he'd simply made a beeline for the coffee, but now, in the full light of day, glasses on and wide-awake, what he sees makes him worried.
Jared is like a hurricane, a force of nature that just keeps going and leaves debris in his wake, usually in the form of dirty clothes and shoes, empty take-out boxes and CDs, DVDs and scripts and chew toys. But now, at this moment, his apartment doesn't look all that bad. Sure, there are a couple of hoodies thrown over the chair, two pairs of shoes near the door, a coat haphazardly tossed on the floor, but there isn't anything lying around to tell Jensen that Jared's been doing things. No music, no movies, no dishes. Which means Jared's, what, just come home every night and gone straight to bed? Fallen asleep in front of the television without snacking?
Jensen glances at the bedroom door, wonders if he should say anything, wake Jared up and beg to know if he's all right, if he's going to be all right. But he doesn't. He won't, not yet.
With a sigh, Jensen gets to work, picking up the coat first.
Jared refuses lunch, won’t even open his eyes, so Jensen eats alone on the couch. He balances a plate on his knees and forces himself to finish his meal, chewing mechanically and barely noticing how the food tastes. At supper, he’ll insist. Jared’s already been skipping meals, now that Jensen’s here that’s going to stop.
One of the first things Jensen learned when he arrived in Canada was the value of a hot soup. He learned different stewing techniques, made meals that were hearty enough to satisfy his appetite and gave the comfort of warmth. Jared, he decides, needs a stew. It takes hours to cook the meat properly, letting it heat slowly so it’s tender and not soggy and overcooked, so Jensen starts early. Chopping the vegetables into chunks, he listens to the thud of the knife against the cutting board. It’s soothing, and Jensen lets his mind drift. He knows he needs to calm down, step back from the situation and stop himself from getting so worked up. He isn’t going to be any help like this, a little desperate and a lot scared, just wanting Jared to snap out of it. He cares about Jared, loves him, and seeing him this way… Jensen pushes all thoughts of hazel eyes and wayward curls out of his head, concentrates on seasoning blends and simmering temperatures.
Hours pass before Jensen ascends the stairs, balancing two steaming bowl in his hands. There’s soft light coming from around the corner, and Jensen is absurdly cheered to see that Jared has turned on the bedside lamp and is dressed in a worn t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Jared leans up on one elbow, watches Jensen quietly as he sets down the bowls on the nightstand.
“I made stew,” Jensen says, feeling awkward under Jared’s solemn gaze. Jared nods and looks away.
“I thought you left,” he says, voice scratchy and low. Jensen reaches out, takes Jared’s chin in hand and turns his head until their eyes meet.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jensen says. Jared blinks and inhales deeply.
“Smells good,” he says.
Jared doesn’t finish the whole bowl, but he eats enough that Jensen couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried. Jensen barely tastes the savory mix of vegetables and beef on his tongue, he’s so relieved. A step forward, a handhold in this, it’s all he wanted.
“I’m gonna clean up, I left a bit of a disaster in your kitchen,” Jensen says ruefully and moves to stand. Jared reaches out, touches his fingertips to Jensen’s wrist.
“Stay,” he says. Jensen instantly drops the bowls back onto the table, has to force himself not to leap back into bed, moving slowly, curling up against Jared until their foreheads and knees are touching on the mattress. He reaches out, slips a hand under the soft cotton of Jared’s shirt, and strokes a hand up and down Jared’s side.
“Okay,” he says, and presses a kiss to Jared’s cheekbone.
Strangely enough, scarily enough, that kiss makes Jared flinch and tense. Jensen sits up, looks down and tries not to panic when Jared doesn't turn to meet his gaze.
"I mean," Jared says, stumbling over those two words like he's been talking for an hour and finally lost track of what he was saying. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to. I just."
"Hey," Jensen says, soft and soothing as best he can when his heart's hammering in fear. "Hey, of course I want to stay." Why would Jared think any different?
Jensen's mind flashes to every time he pushed Jared away this past week, heading for his trailer to get some sleep, heading for the set without wanting to talk, shaking his head when the car picked him up in the morning and Jared looked at him, eyebrow raised in pre-talk question. Rebuffed every time he made an effort, of course that would get to a person, even a person like Jared.
The worst was probably Thursday. Filming all day, half the night, a pre-sunrise call and they're still going at it well after sunset, lamps lighting everything and heating the air as well, like showers of warmth in the middle of a Vancouver spring. He'd been looking for his iPod, couldn't find it in the mess his trailer had become, Jared's things scattered everywhere like Jared didn't have his own trailer for his crap.
He'd stepped out, seen Jared, and the second Jared had opened his mouth, Jensen had just. He'd just snapped. "Jesus fuck, Jared, don't even, okay? Just, just don't." Jared had stepped back, asked what was wrong and if he could help, and Jensen'd shaken his head, said, "You wanna help, clear your crap out of my trailer. I can't find anything. Christ, you're so fucking messy," and stomped away.
Later, after they'd both gone home, silent and drawn in the car, he'd found his iPod next to his bed but had decided to go to sleep instead of apologise for snapping.
"I'm sorry," he says, now, lying here with Jared. Jared makes a noise, still hasn't relaxed completely. "For being an ass," Jensen explains.
"Jen, you're," Jared starts to say, but Jensen reaches over, puts two fingers on Jared's lips.
Jared finally turns to look at him. It feels like the first time in days.
“It’s just,” Jared wets his lip, gaze bouncing from Jensen’s mouth to eyebrow to somewhere over his shoulder. “I know I can be hard to deal with sometimes, and I-”
“Stop,” Jensen says, a little too sharply. Jared flushes bright and pink and Jensen can see the shutters closing behind his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. “I get it.”
“No,” Jensen feels like there’s electricity running under his skin, like he can’t talk fast enough, the need to fix this is almost overwhelming. “You don’t. Why would you say that? Why would you think that? Did someone say something to you?”
“No one said anything,” Jared says, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing out a breath. “Jesus,”
“Don’t act like everything is just, Jared, you haven’t been yourself lately,” Jensen says.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I can’t be freaking perfect all the time. Cut me a little slack, I try to keep it under wraps,” Jared rolls out of bed, paces to the end of the room and then back again. Jensen watches him and feels like he’s looking at a stranger. They’ve been friends for over a year, lovers for three months, and Jensen had no idea the kind of turmoil that bubbles just beneath Jared’s broad smile. This goes way beyond a bad week and Jensen acting like a dick. Jensen levers himself off of the bed slowly, keeping his eyes fastened on Jared as he moves.
“Jay, I don’t want to pretend to be someone you’re not, none of your friends do,” Jensen says. Jared snorts and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
“I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not Jensen, I just, keep the bad stuff private, okay?” he offers, as though it’s no big deal.
“Why?” Jensen is equal parts saddened and enraged. Someone put these thoughts in Jared’s head, someone did this, and Jensen wants nothing more than to lay his hands on the bastard responsible.
“Christ, I don’t know, I just always have done, okay?” Jared says, irate and defensive. Jensen lifts his hands, palms out, and nods. He can push this later, but for now, the details aren’t important.
“I don’t want you to pretend with me, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was such a dick this week; I didn’t realize you were having a hard time. I know I shut you out, but I won’t do it again.” He crosses the room, wants to touch Jared, wants to smooth a hand over the tussled curls and just hold him.
Jared eyes him warily, allowing Jensen to close the distance between them.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says, as though he hasn’t been nearly catatonic for 24 hours.
“It is to me,” Jensen says.
Jared doesn't move, just snorts and says, "Look, it's all right. I'm sorry for freaking out; it won't happen again. I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Jensen would like to say it's a little late for that but pushing on this, like on just who put these ideas into Jared's head, it isn't the right time. "I'll clean up, hit the sack early. You-"
"I’m staying right here," Jensen says. He won't give on this issue. "And you are not cleaning up." Jared starts to say his name, but Jensen crosses his arms, says, "I've been an ass. Okay? And you're going to let me try and make up for it. I know I can't, but I can do this. Okay?"
Jared eyes him a little more, then says, "I'm going to go visit the dogs."
Jensen bites back his immediate protest that Jared should get back in bed. It wasn't a question. He looks Jared over with a critical eye, decides that if the kennels are still open, it might not be a bad idea. An uncomplicated love, those three have, and if Harley and Sadie forgive Jared for leaving them there, it'd do Jared good to see them. Of course, leaving them again probably won't be easy, but Jensen will just have to make it clear that they shouldn't be underfoot until Jared's better.
How to do that, he's not sure.
"I'll see if I can get the kitchen in some kind of order. And call for pizza, get some beer cold," he starts off. "Game's on TV tonight; we could stay up and watch that if you want."
Jared doesn't look too convinced, like there's a trap in there somewhere if he agrees. Jensen's panic, his worry, doesn't like that; he wants to snap, tell Jared that he's only worried, that if it were up to him, Jared would stay in bed the rest of the week. That would be counterproductive, though, now that they've come to some sort of forced truce.
"And maybe a massage," he adds, as casually as he can. Jared loves his massages, they can usually do more to further an apology than any words. He looks for a softening in Jared's eyes, for Jared to see that as the peace offering it is, but Jared seems to tense more. "Or not," he says, feeling off-balance. Jared doesn't. Jared doesn't even want Jensen to touch him?
"You don't have to wait for me," Jared says, sidestepping around Jensen to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Seriously. You must be exhausted, baby-sitting me," he goes on to say, shaking his head a little, like he's let himself down by being so tired he just couldn't go on.
And that is so not on.
“Stop,” he says, advancing on Jared with long strides. Jared drops the clothes he’d picked up from the floor, turns and braces himself. What he’s expecting, Jensen doesn’t even want to hazard a guess. Their chests crash together as Jensen’s hands come up to frame Jared’s face, pulling his head down and fastening his mouth against Jared’s. Jared omphs, tries to pull away but Jensen won’t let him. Jared is not listening, he won’t hear Jensen, obviously a new tactic is in order. He kisses Jared with all the frustration and fear and guilt he’s been feeling for the past two days. He strokes little circles against Jared’s temples, lets his fingertips delve into thick, soft hair. His body has been aching for this, this contact and touch. It’s not about sex, the comfort and familiarity of Jared’s skin, his heat and his curves. Jensen is relieved on more than one level when Jared slumps into him, parts his lips to Jensen’s kiss, because he couldn’t pull away now.
“Stop,” he says again when they’re both panting, foreheads touching and breath moist on each other’s lips. “Ask more from me, Jared, I want to give you everything, so fucking take it.”
Jared doesn’t say anything, but his hands come up to smooth down Jensen’s arms where they’re holding his waist.
“I want you to take care of me,” Jared says finally. Jensen laughs, closes in for another kiss.
“I love it when we’re on the same page,” he says. He presses his cheek against Jared’s, fingers tight in his hair and breathes deep, luxuriating in the feel of his chest so snug against Jared’s. “Lay down, okay? The dogs can wait a little while longer,”
“I’ve been in bed for two days,” Jared huffs, and Jensen has to force down the grin that comes up at the snippy tone. This is his Jared, he knows how to deal with this.
“Please?” he says, looking up at Jared through the fringe of his lashes. Jared looks suspicious, but caves, as Jensen knew he would.
“Well,” he grumbles as he allows Jensen to guide him back to the mattress. “I won’t be sleeping.” Jensen pushes Jared down to lie on his stomach.
“Who said anything about that?” he asks as he rubs across Jared’s shoulder blades. The tension he finds there, knotted and coiled deep in the muscle, almost ruins his mood, but he shakes off the guilt to concentrate on Jared, on fixing the problem. “Just relax,” he says, knowing that no matter what Jared says he’ll probably be asleep by the time Jensen is done with him.
Jared hisses the first time Jensen digs his fingers in, hisses and almost tries to get away. He stops himself, though, and Jensen can't help but say, "I've never seen you this tense before."
Silence for a moment, then Jared mutters, "Always get tense when I," before stopping, face pressed into the pillow. "Always hurts for a while."
That's why Jared didn't want Jensen touching him. That's why he almost flinched at the offer of a massage. Jared is so tense it literally hurts to be touched.
Guilt flushes through his body so thick Jensen feels like he can't breathe. "I'll be gentle," Jensen promises. "Let me know if it hurts, okay?" Jared mutters something and Jensen swats at Jared's head. "You know what I mean."
He starts slow, soft, re-familiarising himself with the plane of Jared's back, shoulder-blades jutting out, the curve of the muscles in his upper arms, trim waist. When Jared's skin is warm beneath his touch, Jensen starts to dig, not too much at first, enough to work out the top layer of stress and enough to know where the worst spots are hiding.
"Lauren used to do this," Jared says. Jensen almost jumps; it's been quiet for so long that the sudden admission startles him. It takes him a minute of furious thought before he realises, Gilmore Girls, and if it's been that long since someone's had to take care of Jared, since Jared let someone take care of him, wow. "'Lexis caught us, once. Laughed for a week. Lauren was so pissed."
Jensen waits for more but Jared doesn't say anything else. Instead, his breathing starts to even out and Jensen can feel the exact moment Jared falls back asleep, everything in his body giving at once, relaxing. This is a much calmer sleep. This will do Jared good.
Jensen keeps going, taking his cues from Jared's breathing and shifting underneath him.
He promises himself, promises Jared with words whispered against the tender skin of his nape, that he won’t squander this opportunity, won’t let Jared shut the door on this vulnerability.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he says. Jared snuffles in his sleep, shifts against the pillows and reaches out until his knuckles brush Jensen’s ribs. He mumbles something, Jensen can’t make out the words, but it doesn’t matter. Jared knows he’s here, Jared wants him here, the rest can wait.
The style is pretty disjointed because of the way we wrote it, and we decided to keep it that way with a few rewordings and changes. This was definitely a fantastic writing experience, getting to write with one of my favourite authors!, and Rei is as talented as she is gracious and awesome.
counting to eleven as it collapses | J2 | PG-13
by estei and rei-c
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No harm or copyright infringement intended. No money, no sue.
Jensen finds him on the couch, afghan clutched around his shoulders and head tipped back, eyes closed. The knot in his gut loosens, but doesn’t unravel. He walks slowly, barely able to see the obstacle course of books, sneakers and DVD cases in the gloomy dark. They argue about it all the time, Jensen’s order versus Jared’s chaos, and it seems so trivial now.
Jensen sits down slowly on the edge of the cushion, doesn’t want to startle Jared out of his doze. He watches long eyelashes flutter, then part. Jared doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to take a breath.
“If you want to talk about it,” Jensen says, reaching a hand across the space between them. Jared blinks and then closes his eyes, presses his lips together, like he’s in pain. Jensen drops his hand, fingers curled against the edge of the afghan, close but not touching.
They sit there like that for God only knows how long. The dark seems to get darker and the silence more ominous, but Jared's here, so Jensen will deal.
It must be an hour or three later; Jensen's drifted off into half-sleep and so when Jared moves, he flinches, snaps awake. Jared's not looking at him, feels like he's moving away to Jensen's skin, warmed by the heat Jared's giving off, cocooned in the blanket.
"Where," he starts to say, but then Jared shifts a little more, puts distance between their hips and leans down, rests his head on Jensen's shoulder. 'Oh,' Jensen wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he lifts one hand, tucks a curl of Jared's hair away from Jared's face and behind an ear, tracing the curve. Jared doesn't say anything, but neither does he move.
Jensen wants to take Jared back to bed, wants to wrap him up in his limbs and hold him tight, but he's afraid to push, afraid that Jared will withdraw the little contact they've made it too.
"I didn't want you to know," Jared says, his hushed tone barely audible. Jensen's fingers twitch and this time he doesn't stop himself, he cups the back of Jared's head, rubbing his blunt fingertips against his scalp. Jared sighs, and Jensen bends down to press a kiss to his temple, keeping his mouth against Jared's skin after the initial touch.
Jensen doesn't speak; Jared already knows anything he would say. I love you, I'm not going to judge you.
"Jensen," Jared's voice breaks on a sob, "I didn't want you to know."
It makes Jensen ache, to see Jared like this. Usually its Jensen curled up and hiding, quiet and locked in his own thoughts; Jared's not supposed to be the one getting Jensen's jeans soaked with tears, Jared's not supposed to be the one under the afghan, sitting in the dark. Things like this, they aren't supposed to happen to Jared.
Jensen turns his face, cheek brushing where his lips have just been. "Dude," he says, just as quiet, just as soft. There are a million words in that one, a thousand sentences, a hundred emotions. "Jared."
Jared shakes, just a little. He doesn't look up.
It isn't fair, but Jensen doesn't know how to deal with this. He tries to remember all the little things Jared does for him when he feels shaky and carved open.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asks. Jared huffs out a laugh, it’s small and wobbly but it makes Jensen feel better, and a little sheepish.
“Think it’ll help?” Jared says, and it takes Jensen a moment to realize that he’s really asking. Jared lifts his head and scrubs a palm across his eyes before fixing Jensen with a hopeful glance. After a night of letting Jared call all the shots, Jensen knows that now is time to take the lead.
“Naw, last thing you need is caffeine right now,” Jensen smiles ruefully. “Why don’t we lie down? You must be exhausted,” he strokes a hand up and down Jared’s spine.
“You too,” Jared says, looking chagrined. “I didn’t mean to keep you-“
“Hush now, okay? I wanted to be with you, not often I get the opportunity to take care of you a little,” Jensen says, keeping his tone light. Jared nods.
“Okay,” he says, letting Jensen pull him to his feet. “Okay,”
Jensen slips his hand into Jared’s, squeezing his fingers as he leads him down the hall to their darkened bedroom. He guides Jared down to mattress first before slipping in next to him, relaxing against the plush surface. He snags the edge of the down comforter, pulling it up Jared’s long body.
Jared’s head is already lolling on the pillow.
“I’m so tired, Jen,” he mumbles.
“I’m going to take care of you,” Jensen says, and he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.
Jared sleeps. Jensen doesn't often get the chance to watch Jared like this, so unguarded and open. Usually it's Jensen falling asleep first, and while he likes that, sleeps better knowing that Jared's right there, watching, he likes this, too. Jared moves too much when he's awake, bouncing or laughing or throwing candy. He's never this still. Jensen would worry if he couldn't see Jared's chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, if he wasn't pressed so close that he can feel it.
There are tiny crease lines in Jared's forehead. Jensen reaches up, brushes them away. Jared shifts, mutters something, but doesn't wake up. That's not like Jared at all.
Jensen sighs, kicks off his shoes and leaves them where they thump. That's not like him, but it's so trivial. And when he wakes up, gets out of bed and stumbles over them, it might make Jared smile. It might even make Jared reach out.
Reaching out is good. Smiling is better. Jensen sighs again, and cuddles close. He hadn’t realized Jared was so stressed out. Looking back, Jensen wonders how he could have been so blind. Jared had been floundering all week, and instead of stepping in before the train went off the rails, Jensen had made it worse.
Monday morning, and everyone had been tired. Jared had thumped across the make up trailer, toes dragging on the floor.
"Jesus, Jay, can't you pick up your own feet?" Jensen had said, snappish. No one had blinked or even noticed, after all Jensen was supposed to be the grouchy one.
Jared hadn't answered, just dropped himself back in the chair like the effort of staying upright was too much. He hadn't looked bad, just tired. They hadn't come in together. Jared had wanted to stay at Jensen's the night before, but then, Jared always wanted them to sleep in the same bed. It just wasn't practical, wasn't safe. So Jensen had gone home alone and Jared home to the dogs.
Jared had rebuffed every attempt at conversation, going so far as to snap at the A.D.
"What the hell?" Jensen had said. "What's wrong with you? Why were you so rude?"
Jared was supposed to be cheerful and kind, always, and Jensen and a few crew members reminded him of this throughout the week.
Still. Jensen should have known something was up when Jared sent the dogs to a kennel.
“What the hell,” Jensen had turned in a circle in the kitchen, taking in the empty bowls sitting on the draining board and the quiet. “Where are your mutts?” he’d asked.
"The kennel, for a little while," Jared had said, eyes focused over Jensen's shoulder. "I just, I can't deal with them right now,"
But Jensen hadn't said anything, just nodded, because he was glad for a break from the dogs, always running around, drooling and barking. Oh, he liked the dogs well enough, but after being on set non-stop and with a weariness that seemed to seep into everything, dealing with two active mutts was too much.
Looking back, Jensen sees how wrong it all was.
On Wednesday, Jensen might have had the chance to say something. Jared had been standing in front of his trailer, looking at the set with something that might have been deep and worn-out contemplation, but Jensen was tired and wet and hungry, so when Jared had opened his mouth, Jensen had shaken his head, held up a hand.
"Not now," he'd said. "Please, Jay. I'm soaked and five seconds away from pneumonia."
Jensen hadn't waited for Jared's answer and he was too cold and clammy later to remember the way Jared had looked. A mistake. A big mistake, and one Jensen's been regretting ever since.
Jared had tried to summon up the energy from somewhere for a smile and story, at some point. Looking back, Jensen's absolutely amazed. He wonders -- has always wondered, but especially now -- where Jared gets his good humour, his cheerfulness, the innate talent at keeping other people light and smiling, and how much the effort costs Jared when everyone else just sees a big kid with a grin on his face.
Jensen had called him on that smile, told Jared flat-out that he was being fake and no one wanted to see it. The corners of Jared's lips had fallen, but he'd just shrugged, muttered something about a phone call he needed to make, and disappeared until the director of the week had to send someone to track Jared down and pull him back to the set.
Jensen doesn’t buy a clue until Friday night.
“Jay, come over tonight,” he says. He’s been watching Jared all day, the tight set to his shoulders and the way his face looks washed out, even after the make up. They didn’t always spend the night together, but they hadn’t been together since Monday and Jensen missed Jared. He’d wanted Jared to come over last night, but Jared had snuck off set before Jensen got a chance to talk to him.
“Don’t think so, Jen,” Jared says, shrugging. “Not good company right now,”
“What? When has that ever stopped you?” Jensen jokes, a little stung at Jared’s dismissal and trying to hide it.
“Dunno. Not like you’ve had much time for me all week,” Jared says, and he’s deliberately looking away, watching as the crew takes down a lighting set up. Jensen’s more than a little stung now, worse because he knows Jared’s right.
“I’m sorry I didn’t spend all week holding your hand,” he says, chest tight with an emotion he refuses to name. “But it’s been a long week for everyone.”
Jared still won’t look at him, and Jensen takes a step closer. This is when Jared usually lets him off the hook, bright smile and a slap on the shoulder, a joke about how Jensen’s a prima donna.
“Jay?” he lays a hand on Jared’s shoulder, shocked at the knots and tension he feels under the Sam-layers. “Hey, you okay?” Jensen starts moving his hand, rubbing circles across Jared’s shoulder blade. He casts a glance around them but they’re alone, standing under the awning of an equipment trailer. “Come over, I miss you,” he says.
Jared glances at him, mouth turned down and eyes damp.
“Jen, I’m really not-“
“Please, Jared,” Jensen closes his eyes, won’t look while Jared refuses him. “Don’t make me beg,”
Jared’s fingertips brush against his cheekbone, brief and quick.
“Okay, okay Jen,” he says.
Jared had skittered away after that, out from under Jensen's hand, his shoulders still knotted with tension. Jensen'd been amazed that Jared wasn't slinging down painkillers; it has to hurt, especially with all the stunts they're pulling this episode.
One eye on Jared the rest of the afternoon and Jensen still hadn't seen when Jared took off. With a distracted wave at some of the lighting guys, Jensen had gone home, ordered pizza, chilled some beer, and waited.
And waited. And waited.
Jared never showed up.
Pissed off and worried, trying to avoid naming the feeling in his chest anything like 'hurt' or 'rejected,' Jensen had left everything the way it was and taken a cab over to Jared's. He'd spent the entire ride looking out of the window and thinking. It's not like Jared to ditch anyone, much less him. It's not like Jared to forget about hanging out, much less with him. This whole time, Jared hasn't been acting a lot like Jared.
Jensen put it all together, felt like such an ass, and tipped the cab-driver extra, like it might help assuage his guilt. It didn't.
He'd used his key to sneak in to Jared's place, waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and seen Jared sitting there, curled up as small as he could get, huddled in a blanket -- even though the living room was warm, almost too warm -- and asleep.
Such an ass.
Saturday morning, 7 a.m. call. Marginally better than getting up before the sun, but Jensen still feels resentful as his cell phone beeps, tinny and almost inaudible from the living room. Jensen rubs his eyes, gummy and sore, and stares blearily at his wrist watch. Six fifteen. He feels a jolt of panic, the cell phone alarm is a backup, in the event he turns off his alarm clock instead of hitting snooze. He hadn’t bothered asking Jared last night, Jared is always up half an hour before Jensen, putting on coffee before taking the dogs out for a walk in the pre dawn gloom.
No dogs, no coffee, and Jared is still in bed, back to Jensen and facing the wall.
“Jay?” Jensen rolls, wincing as the waistband of his jeans pull at his hips. He’d been so concerned about Jared, only hours ago, he hadn’t even thought to take off his pants. He touches Jared’s back, resting his palm against the dip below Jared’s spine.
“I can’t, Jensen,” Jared says, voice clear. Jensen sits up, braces a hand on Jared’s side and peers over. Jared’s wide awake, fingers twitching on the mattress.
“How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me?” Jensen asks, firing off the questions in quick succession. “Jeez, we’re gonna be late,” he grumbles.
“I’m not going in,” Jared says. Jensen shakes him, a little too hard, but Jared just flops, boneless under him.
“Yes you are. Work isn’t optional, remember?” Jensen says. Jared is tired, Jensen hasn’t been kind, he gets that, but these things have never been allowed to come before the show.
“I’m not going in,” Jared says, hollow eyes staring up at Jensen.
Jensen feels the stir of real fear now. Last night, last night he’d known that Jared was upset, pulled thin, but this?
“Okay, I’ll call Eric,” he says.
Eric isn’t happy, but he’s hears the gaps in Jensen’s explanations and at the end he’s more worried about Jared than the schedule.
“Straight up, Jensen. Is this a professional help situation? Because we can arrange that. Just between us, okay?”
“No,” Jensen says, but he isn’t sure. “No, Eric. He just needs some time, some rest.”
“Don’t fuck with me Ackles, I don’t want to give you two a long weekend and have a mental breakdown on Tuesday,” Eric says.
“I’m not,” Jensen says.
“You’re off until Tuesday,” Eric says. “And then I’ll talk to Jared,”
Jensen recoils as he flips his phone closed, hearing the recrimination in Eric’s tone, hearing the guilt.
Jared’s still awake, hasn’t moved, but he won’t open his eyes, won’t acknowledge Jensen at all.
Jensen pauses, one hand hovering over Jared's hip. In the end, Jensen lets his hand drop -- not on Jared -- and swings his feet out of the bed. "I'm turning the coffee on," he says. He waits but Jared doesn't react to that, hasn't reacted to Jensen leaving the bed. "You want any?"
"Not thirsty," Jared says, barely louder than a whisper. He turns his back, faces the wall again, pulls his knees up. Jared's still wearing yesterday's clothes, too. Come to think of it, those look a lot like Thursday's clothes. Granted, they spend a lot of time in Sam and Dean's clothes, but this is more serious that Jensen's prepared to deal with.
It's Jared, though. Jensen will do with everything for Jared.
So, he gets up, trips over his shoes, kicks them to one side, and heads for the kitchen. Jared can have space for an hour, then Jensen's going to push. And they both know he can be one pushy bastard.
Jensen has always been moody, it’s just his way. His momma always said, “Don’t like Jensen’s attitude? Wait fifteen minutes.” And it’s true; Jensen lives his life like an emotional revolving door. It makes relationships hard to maintain, Jensen falls in love quick and hard, but he falls back out of love just as fast. Quirks that are cute one minute are aggravating the next. That’s not going to happen with Jared, and it’s not wishful thinking. With Jared, Jensen gets the mushy Hallmark card sentiments; he understands how couples can share a bed for forty years and not kill each other. Jared has always been good at handling Jensen’s low points, never taking snappy remarks to heart, knowing when to step in or back off. Jensen swears that he’s going to learn how to do the same for Jared.
He burns the coffee, spills grinds down the front of his pants and knocks over the cream. He feels unsettled, like he’s in a stranger’s house and not a place that’s become as familiar as his own home. Jared’s malaise changes everything.
He doesn’t last for an hour. Way he sees it, he gave Jared too much space already, half of the problem right there, so after thirty minutes of fumbling Jensen ambles back up the stairs. Jared hasn’t moved.
Jensen goes right to the master bath and starts filling the tub. When the water is running nice and hot he goes back to the bedroom.
“Jay,” he says as he sits on the edge of the mattress, tugs at Jared’s shoulder a little.
“Please, Jensen,” Jared says, sounding so tired and pathetic.
Jensen bats his hands away and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“What?” Jared struggles into a sitting position, tries to pull away but Jensen follows, insistent. “I’m not really in the mood, Jensen,” he says, and the use of his full name, twice, makes Jensen cringe.
“Jesus, you think,” Jensen stops; this is not the time to take offence and pick a fight. “I’m filling the tub for you,”
"The hell for," Jared says, not looking at Jensen.
Jensen's stung at the accusation but more worried. Jared knows he'd never push like that; but this, Jared sounding like he doesn't know that, as if he's resigned to it, it has Jensen even more worried. "A bath, Jay," he says, as gentle as he can. "You're still in your clothes from yesterday and I bet your back's killing you." He pauses, waits for Jared to say something, anything. Jared doesn't. "Come on, get up."
Jared does, slowly, and just stands there as Jensen shucks off Jared's shirt, undershirt, shoes, socks, jeans.
"Come on," Jensen says. It's like talking to a child, a little, even though it's more as if Jared isn't all with him, has his mind a thousand miles away and is letting his body do what it's told without attention. "I didn't put any of your bubbles in, but I can if you want."
Shaking his head, not speaking, Jared just follows, sheds his boxers, and steps into the tub, leaning back and closing his eyes almost immediately.
Jensen opens his mouth, closes it again and turns off the taps.
Jensen realizes that Jared expects him to leave, retreat and give Jared his privacy.
“I’m going to wash your hair,” Jensen says, lifting the plastic measuring cup he’d taken from the kitchen for this purpose.
“Why?” Jared’s eyelashes flutter, his gaze is sullen as he sits up a little.
“You’ll feel better,” Jensen says, and Jared’s chin drops a little, as close to an agreement as Jensen will get. Jensen’s movements are slow and deliberate as he pours warm water over Jared’s head, palm braced on his brow to protect his eyes. His chest feels full and tight, touching Jared in this way, Jared silent and quiescent beneath him, it feels more intimate than any other act they’ve shared. His fingertips massage Jared’s scalp, long after the shampoo has been worked into a lather, and his hands slip under wet curls after clean water has cleared out all the soap. He can feel some of the tension, not all, seep out of Jared as he works. He doesn’t talk, lets his touch communicate everything he can’t say, everything Jared wouldn’t hear.
Jensen stays by the side of the tub, little touches against Jared’s shoulders and neck even though his calves are cramping from being in the same position. He waits until the water starts to cool, offering Jared his presence, and then retrieves a towel, the fluffy oversized kind he’s always mocked, from the linen closet.
Jared takes the towel, wraps it around his hips as he steps out of the tub. Jensen hovers close, one hand almost touching Jared’s elbow, just in case.
Jared doesn't say anything but he looks -- not exactly better, but less as if he's about to shatter. It might have something to do with the hot water, the relaxation and quiet; Jensen hopes it has something to do with him still being here, helping as best he can. He has so much to make up for.
"Hungry?" Jensen asks. He already knows Jared's answer before Jared shakes his head, not saying anything. "Good. We all know how awful I am at breakfast. Also, you have no food in your fridge. I'll call out for lunch in a few hours if you tell me what you're in the mood for, so start thinking."
He's trying for a light tone, the lightest he can manage when he's so worried. Jared gives him a look out of the corner of one eye; it's a relief to see Jared react to something.
"Not hungry," Jared says, and Jensen immediately starts to worry again. Jared is always hungry, always ready for a snack. And, come to think of it, he's not sure when he saw Jared eat last. It wasn't on set, he knows that. "Get what you want." And Jensen can only stand and watch, shocked, as Jared drops the towel and crawls back in bed, naked and still dripping.
He's half-tempted to call Chris for moral support. Hell, he's half-tempted to call Chad and see if this has ever happened before.
Standing in the middle of the bedroom, watching Jared curl up on the bed, Jensen just, he doesn't know what to do next.
Jensen is scared, no terrified. He’s never had to deal with something like this, and the fact that it’s Jared, of all people, just makes it all the more unsettling. He wants to call someone, wants to take back the words he spoke to Eric about professional help, but he can’t do that to Jared, who is so open with his time and caring but so private about his own struggles.
Google offers few helpful suggestions. Jensen tries every search combination he can think of, visits countless medical sites and even scrolls through some message boards. Mostly he turns up quizzes, if you answered ‘yes’ to more than five questions consult a physician, Jared won’t even talk to Jensen, the idea of consulting a physician is laughable. Jensen takes a deep breath, reminds himself that just because Jared hasn’t been acting himself for a few days does not mean a medical disorder. In all the literature and armchair psychobabble he did find it was clear that symptoms had to last longer than two weeks to be considered clinical depression.
Jensen sits on the couch, clutches Jared’s favourite throw pillow to his chest and thinks back to everything that’s happened in the past week or so. The schedule was grueling, affecting all of them. Jensen had been sneaking off for covert naps during the day, guzzling coffee and barely making conversation when the camera wasn’t rolling. He pushes past that, tries to think about what Jared was doing while he was being anti-social.
Nothing stands out; not really, Jared had been himself, until he wasn’t. Laughing, smiling, listening gamely to the grumbles and complaints, spouses that didn’t understand the time commitment, muscles that ached under the strain. Hell, he’d even been helping the techs move equipment around.
“Too much,” Jensen mutters to himself, “they ask too much of him.” It only takes another moment to add himself into that group, asking too much, never realizing the cost when Jared never complained.
Jared needs time to rest, to just be without anyone placing demands on him, and Jensen gets that. Jensen pushes down his fears, and goes back upstairs, crawls into bed behind Jared. Jared is sleeping, and he sighs and relaxes back into Jensen.
“I’m here,” Jensen murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Jared’s ear.
Jared moves, just enough for Jensen to think maybe he's woken Jared up. As if Jensen didn't feel bad enough about himself. "If you need anything," he says. "All you have to do is ask. You know that, right? Anything at all. If I don't have it, I'll steal it from someone."
"Jus' tired," Jared says, and is asleep again five minutes later.
Jared sleeps on and off all morning. Jensen's dozed as well, not much but enough to make getting out of bed at noon the easiest waking up process he's had in a long time -- not so much that he's bouncing, but the thought of staying awake actually seems like a good one.
Jensen stretches, moves towards the door, and stands in the doorway when he gets there, watching Jared. Sending the dogs away, he should've known it was bad then. Jared loves his dogs, loves the way they love him, an uncomplicated love with lots of slobber and behind-the-ear scratching.
Jared stirs but doesn't open his eyes, so Jensen leaves Jared alone, heads for the kitchen and reheats the coffee. A cup of that later, he makes a grocery list and decides not to leave the house, not to leave Jared. He calls, gets someone else to deliver the food, and starts to clean up the place.
In the darkness last night, Jensen had stepped over things, gingerly and careful, wary of cracking CDs or tripping over anything. Earlier, he'd simply made a beeline for the coffee, but now, in the full light of day, glasses on and wide-awake, what he sees makes him worried.
Jared is like a hurricane, a force of nature that just keeps going and leaves debris in his wake, usually in the form of dirty clothes and shoes, empty take-out boxes and CDs, DVDs and scripts and chew toys. But now, at this moment, his apartment doesn't look all that bad. Sure, there are a couple of hoodies thrown over the chair, two pairs of shoes near the door, a coat haphazardly tossed on the floor, but there isn't anything lying around to tell Jensen that Jared's been doing things. No music, no movies, no dishes. Which means Jared's, what, just come home every night and gone straight to bed? Fallen asleep in front of the television without snacking?
Jensen glances at the bedroom door, wonders if he should say anything, wake Jared up and beg to know if he's all right, if he's going to be all right. But he doesn't. He won't, not yet.
With a sigh, Jensen gets to work, picking up the coat first.
Jared refuses lunch, won’t even open his eyes, so Jensen eats alone on the couch. He balances a plate on his knees and forces himself to finish his meal, chewing mechanically and barely noticing how the food tastes. At supper, he’ll insist. Jared’s already been skipping meals, now that Jensen’s here that’s going to stop.
One of the first things Jensen learned when he arrived in Canada was the value of a hot soup. He learned different stewing techniques, made meals that were hearty enough to satisfy his appetite and gave the comfort of warmth. Jared, he decides, needs a stew. It takes hours to cook the meat properly, letting it heat slowly so it’s tender and not soggy and overcooked, so Jensen starts early. Chopping the vegetables into chunks, he listens to the thud of the knife against the cutting board. It’s soothing, and Jensen lets his mind drift. He knows he needs to calm down, step back from the situation and stop himself from getting so worked up. He isn’t going to be any help like this, a little desperate and a lot scared, just wanting Jared to snap out of it. He cares about Jared, loves him, and seeing him this way… Jensen pushes all thoughts of hazel eyes and wayward curls out of his head, concentrates on seasoning blends and simmering temperatures.
Hours pass before Jensen ascends the stairs, balancing two steaming bowl in his hands. There’s soft light coming from around the corner, and Jensen is absurdly cheered to see that Jared has turned on the bedside lamp and is dressed in a worn t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Jared leans up on one elbow, watches Jensen quietly as he sets down the bowls on the nightstand.
“I made stew,” Jensen says, feeling awkward under Jared’s solemn gaze. Jared nods and looks away.
“I thought you left,” he says, voice scratchy and low. Jensen reaches out, takes Jared’s chin in hand and turns his head until their eyes meet.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jensen says. Jared blinks and inhales deeply.
“Smells good,” he says.
Jared doesn’t finish the whole bowl, but he eats enough that Jensen couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried. Jensen barely tastes the savory mix of vegetables and beef on his tongue, he’s so relieved. A step forward, a handhold in this, it’s all he wanted.
“I’m gonna clean up, I left a bit of a disaster in your kitchen,” Jensen says ruefully and moves to stand. Jared reaches out, touches his fingertips to Jensen’s wrist.
“Stay,” he says. Jensen instantly drops the bowls back onto the table, has to force himself not to leap back into bed, moving slowly, curling up against Jared until their foreheads and knees are touching on the mattress. He reaches out, slips a hand under the soft cotton of Jared’s shirt, and strokes a hand up and down Jared’s side.
“Okay,” he says, and presses a kiss to Jared’s cheekbone.
Strangely enough, scarily enough, that kiss makes Jared flinch and tense. Jensen sits up, looks down and tries not to panic when Jared doesn't turn to meet his gaze.
"I mean," Jared says, stumbling over those two words like he's been talking for an hour and finally lost track of what he was saying. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to. I just."
"Hey," Jensen says, soft and soothing as best he can when his heart's hammering in fear. "Hey, of course I want to stay." Why would Jared think any different?
Jensen's mind flashes to every time he pushed Jared away this past week, heading for his trailer to get some sleep, heading for the set without wanting to talk, shaking his head when the car picked him up in the morning and Jared looked at him, eyebrow raised in pre-talk question. Rebuffed every time he made an effort, of course that would get to a person, even a person like Jared.
The worst was probably Thursday. Filming all day, half the night, a pre-sunrise call and they're still going at it well after sunset, lamps lighting everything and heating the air as well, like showers of warmth in the middle of a Vancouver spring. He'd been looking for his iPod, couldn't find it in the mess his trailer had become, Jared's things scattered everywhere like Jared didn't have his own trailer for his crap.
He'd stepped out, seen Jared, and the second Jared had opened his mouth, Jensen had just. He'd just snapped. "Jesus fuck, Jared, don't even, okay? Just, just don't." Jared had stepped back, asked what was wrong and if he could help, and Jensen'd shaken his head, said, "You wanna help, clear your crap out of my trailer. I can't find anything. Christ, you're so fucking messy," and stomped away.
Later, after they'd both gone home, silent and drawn in the car, he'd found his iPod next to his bed but had decided to go to sleep instead of apologise for snapping.
"I'm sorry," he says, now, lying here with Jared. Jared makes a noise, still hasn't relaxed completely. "For being an ass," Jensen explains.
"Jen, you're," Jared starts to say, but Jensen reaches over, puts two fingers on Jared's lips.
Jared finally turns to look at him. It feels like the first time in days.
“It’s just,” Jared wets his lip, gaze bouncing from Jensen’s mouth to eyebrow to somewhere over his shoulder. “I know I can be hard to deal with sometimes, and I-”
“Stop,” Jensen says, a little too sharply. Jared flushes bright and pink and Jensen can see the shutters closing behind his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. “I get it.”
“No,” Jensen feels like there’s electricity running under his skin, like he can’t talk fast enough, the need to fix this is almost overwhelming. “You don’t. Why would you say that? Why would you think that? Did someone say something to you?”
“No one said anything,” Jared says, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing out a breath. “Jesus,”
“Don’t act like everything is just, Jared, you haven’t been yourself lately,” Jensen says.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I can’t be freaking perfect all the time. Cut me a little slack, I try to keep it under wraps,” Jared rolls out of bed, paces to the end of the room and then back again. Jensen watches him and feels like he’s looking at a stranger. They’ve been friends for over a year, lovers for three months, and Jensen had no idea the kind of turmoil that bubbles just beneath Jared’s broad smile. This goes way beyond a bad week and Jensen acting like a dick. Jensen levers himself off of the bed slowly, keeping his eyes fastened on Jared as he moves.
“Jay, I don’t want to pretend to be someone you’re not, none of your friends do,” Jensen says. Jared snorts and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
“I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not Jensen, I just, keep the bad stuff private, okay?” he offers, as though it’s no big deal.
“Why?” Jensen is equal parts saddened and enraged. Someone put these thoughts in Jared’s head, someone did this, and Jensen wants nothing more than to lay his hands on the bastard responsible.
“Christ, I don’t know, I just always have done, okay?” Jared says, irate and defensive. Jensen lifts his hands, palms out, and nods. He can push this later, but for now, the details aren’t important.
“I don’t want you to pretend with me, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was such a dick this week; I didn’t realize you were having a hard time. I know I shut you out, but I won’t do it again.” He crosses the room, wants to touch Jared, wants to smooth a hand over the tussled curls and just hold him.
Jared eyes him warily, allowing Jensen to close the distance between them.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says, as though he hasn’t been nearly catatonic for 24 hours.
“It is to me,” Jensen says.
Jared doesn't move, just snorts and says, "Look, it's all right. I'm sorry for freaking out; it won't happen again. I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Jensen would like to say it's a little late for that but pushing on this, like on just who put these ideas into Jared's head, it isn't the right time. "I'll clean up, hit the sack early. You-"
"I’m staying right here," Jensen says. He won't give on this issue. "And you are not cleaning up." Jared starts to say his name, but Jensen crosses his arms, says, "I've been an ass. Okay? And you're going to let me try and make up for it. I know I can't, but I can do this. Okay?"
Jared eyes him a little more, then says, "I'm going to go visit the dogs."
Jensen bites back his immediate protest that Jared should get back in bed. It wasn't a question. He looks Jared over with a critical eye, decides that if the kennels are still open, it might not be a bad idea. An uncomplicated love, those three have, and if Harley and Sadie forgive Jared for leaving them there, it'd do Jared good to see them. Of course, leaving them again probably won't be easy, but Jensen will just have to make it clear that they shouldn't be underfoot until Jared's better.
How to do that, he's not sure.
"I'll see if I can get the kitchen in some kind of order. And call for pizza, get some beer cold," he starts off. "Game's on TV tonight; we could stay up and watch that if you want."
Jared doesn't look too convinced, like there's a trap in there somewhere if he agrees. Jensen's panic, his worry, doesn't like that; he wants to snap, tell Jared that he's only worried, that if it were up to him, Jared would stay in bed the rest of the week. That would be counterproductive, though, now that they've come to some sort of forced truce.
"And maybe a massage," he adds, as casually as he can. Jared loves his massages, they can usually do more to further an apology than any words. He looks for a softening in Jared's eyes, for Jared to see that as the peace offering it is, but Jared seems to tense more. "Or not," he says, feeling off-balance. Jared doesn't. Jared doesn't even want Jensen to touch him?
"You don't have to wait for me," Jared says, sidestepping around Jensen to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Seriously. You must be exhausted, baby-sitting me," he goes on to say, shaking his head a little, like he's let himself down by being so tired he just couldn't go on.
And that is so not on.
“Stop,” he says, advancing on Jared with long strides. Jared drops the clothes he’d picked up from the floor, turns and braces himself. What he’s expecting, Jensen doesn’t even want to hazard a guess. Their chests crash together as Jensen’s hands come up to frame Jared’s face, pulling his head down and fastening his mouth against Jared’s. Jared omphs, tries to pull away but Jensen won’t let him. Jared is not listening, he won’t hear Jensen, obviously a new tactic is in order. He kisses Jared with all the frustration and fear and guilt he’s been feeling for the past two days. He strokes little circles against Jared’s temples, lets his fingertips delve into thick, soft hair. His body has been aching for this, this contact and touch. It’s not about sex, the comfort and familiarity of Jared’s skin, his heat and his curves. Jensen is relieved on more than one level when Jared slumps into him, parts his lips to Jensen’s kiss, because he couldn’t pull away now.
“Stop,” he says again when they’re both panting, foreheads touching and breath moist on each other’s lips. “Ask more from me, Jared, I want to give you everything, so fucking take it.”
Jared doesn’t say anything, but his hands come up to smooth down Jensen’s arms where they’re holding his waist.
“I want you to take care of me,” Jared says finally. Jensen laughs, closes in for another kiss.
“I love it when we’re on the same page,” he says. He presses his cheek against Jared’s, fingers tight in his hair and breathes deep, luxuriating in the feel of his chest so snug against Jared’s. “Lay down, okay? The dogs can wait a little while longer,”
“I’ve been in bed for two days,” Jared huffs, and Jensen has to force down the grin that comes up at the snippy tone. This is his Jared, he knows how to deal with this.
“Please?” he says, looking up at Jared through the fringe of his lashes. Jared looks suspicious, but caves, as Jensen knew he would.
“Well,” he grumbles as he allows Jensen to guide him back to the mattress. “I won’t be sleeping.” Jensen pushes Jared down to lie on his stomach.
“Who said anything about that?” he asks as he rubs across Jared’s shoulder blades. The tension he finds there, knotted and coiled deep in the muscle, almost ruins his mood, but he shakes off the guilt to concentrate on Jared, on fixing the problem. “Just relax,” he says, knowing that no matter what Jared says he’ll probably be asleep by the time Jensen is done with him.
Jared hisses the first time Jensen digs his fingers in, hisses and almost tries to get away. He stops himself, though, and Jensen can't help but say, "I've never seen you this tense before."
Silence for a moment, then Jared mutters, "Always get tense when I," before stopping, face pressed into the pillow. "Always hurts for a while."
That's why Jared didn't want Jensen touching him. That's why he almost flinched at the offer of a massage. Jared is so tense it literally hurts to be touched.
Guilt flushes through his body so thick Jensen feels like he can't breathe. "I'll be gentle," Jensen promises. "Let me know if it hurts, okay?" Jared mutters something and Jensen swats at Jared's head. "You know what I mean."
He starts slow, soft, re-familiarising himself with the plane of Jared's back, shoulder-blades jutting out, the curve of the muscles in his upper arms, trim waist. When Jared's skin is warm beneath his touch, Jensen starts to dig, not too much at first, enough to work out the top layer of stress and enough to know where the worst spots are hiding.
"Lauren used to do this," Jared says. Jensen almost jumps; it's been quiet for so long that the sudden admission startles him. It takes him a minute of furious thought before he realises, Gilmore Girls, and if it's been that long since someone's had to take care of Jared, since Jared let someone take care of him, wow. "'Lexis caught us, once. Laughed for a week. Lauren was so pissed."
Jensen waits for more but Jared doesn't say anything else. Instead, his breathing starts to even out and Jensen can feel the exact moment Jared falls back asleep, everything in his body giving at once, relaxing. This is a much calmer sleep. This will do Jared good.
Jensen keeps going, taking his cues from Jared's breathing and shifting underneath him.
He promises himself, promises Jared with words whispered against the tender skin of his nape, that he won’t squander this opportunity, won’t let Jared shut the door on this vulnerability.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he says. Jared snuffles in his sleep, shifts against the pillows and reaches out until his knuckles brush Jensen’s ribs. He mumbles something, Jensen can’t make out the words, but it doesn’t matter. Jared knows he’s here, Jared wants him here, the rest can wait.