Fic: Your Blood in My Heart (In My Head) 3/3
Continued from here.
Dean’s dreaming. He knows he’s dreaming because he’s small and frightened and not himself. He feels cold and when he looks down he’s only wearing a pair of pj bottoms, his feet bare on the white floor. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder and he looks up, up, into a face wearing a fake smile and cold eyes.
“Looking good, sport,” the man says, his voice too cheerful, his eyes flickering down, down, the heavy hand stroking along not-Dean’s neck to the top of his head, like it wants to push him down to his knees. “Don’t worry, your mama will be right back.”
“Your dad will be right back,” the man says, smile like a shark. He smells of gun oil and cigarettes, and Dean is so scared he wants to puke. But he knows the game by now: Dad slipping out the door, Sammy toddling after him, glancing at Dean over his shoulder before disappearing as well, Dean wanting to yell after him to stay, but never saying a word, because he will never, ever let Sammy see what happens once the door closes. Will never, ever tell him, no matter how much he keeps asking. Never, ever, ever.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he whispers, but no one is listening. They’re talking about prime TV, and screen time and money, money, money.
“Kid’s got talent,” the man in the suit says, his smile slick like a snake. He ruffles Dean’s hair (No, not Dean. Not Dean. Jensen.) and the gold watch snatches a few strands right out of his scalp, just like when…
“I could get a job,” Dean says, and Dad looks at him, eyes dark and heavy.
“I’m sorry, kid. It’s not about money. This is what they want. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I can’t gank this damn thing without that blade. It’s killed three kids already, Dean. You don’t want more to die, do you?”
‘Ask? You never ask,’ Dean thinks but all he says is, “No, Sir.”
“Well, you are pretty, I’ll give you that.” The woman looks him up and down, licking her lips while running her fingers down his chest. “But can you act?”
I’m acting right now, he thinks, or you would know that I’m screaming.
“Jesus, John. That kid will never be a hunter, look at him. You’d do better down at the docks, sugar, putting those lips to good use.”
Raucous laughter making his cheeks burn, his father laughing right along with them, like he’s forgotten how often those lips have saved lives, how often Dean’s bruised his knees for the good of the hunt.
The lock turns - click - and it’s as loud as a guillotine’s blade whacking its base. “Don’t look so scared, kid. There’s only three of us. Think of it as the launch of your new career.”
“Now, now, Dean. Don’t be like that. You’re gonna be down here a long, long time. You might as well enjoy it. Although, of course, it’s so much more fun for me when you don’t. In fact, disregard what I said. Scream. Scream your pretty little head off. Oh, yes. Just. Like. That.”
He startles awake, terrified and disoriented. He’s drenched in sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. A shadow suddenly falls upon him and he scrambles off the couch, only to lose his balance as his feet tangle in the blanket that covered him and he falls on his ass. He shuffles away in panic, fast as he can before looking up to find Sam staring down at him in alarm.
“Jensen?”
Dean licks his lips. “No.”
Sam’s shoulders slump in disappointment, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t change. “Are you alright?”
“Nightmares.” Dean stumbles to his feet. Jesus Christ, he can’t get his heart to slow down.
“Oh.” Sam starts to reach out but then he hesitates, hand hovering in the air. “About us?”
And just like that it comes back to him. Sam kissing him. Sam jerking him off. Sam wanting him, just as much as Dean always wished he did, in his fucked-up daydreams.
He shakes his head. “No. No, we’re good. Just… me. And Jensen, I guess.” He laughs bitterly. “Parallel shitty childhoods. Who’d have thought, huh?”
“Considering you’re basing Dean’s trauma on your own, I’m not surprised,” Sam says, watching him carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Dean shakes his head.
“Do you want a hug?”
Dean can’t help it, he barks a laugh. It sounds hysterical even in his own ears. But seriously, ‘does he want a hug’? Well, yeah, of course he friggin’ does. He actually aches, he needs Sam’s warmth, and strength and comfort so damn much. But they don’t do that. They don’t hug when they feel bad. They’re not chicks!
Sam doesn’t even flinch at Dean’s fit of hysteria, he just watches him with concern, then adds, “You know, now we’ve established we actually do love each other, it’s okay to hug your fucking boyfriend. Just saying.”
“Brother,” Dean corrects, but his heart isn’t really in it. Brother, boyfriend… the line has become too blurred for him to care anymore. Guess that’s what happens when you commit incest.
“It’s okay to hug him too,” Sam says, smiling a little. He steps closer, and when Dean doesn’t back away Sam pulls him into his arms and hugs him tight. Dean hesitantly lifts his arms and wraps them around Sam’s waist. Oh God, this does feel good.
They stand like that, holding each other tight until Dean finally stops trembling, and his heart stops feeling like it’s trying to break its way out of his chest. When he pulls away, Sam’s hand is there, tipping his chin up, and then they’re kissing again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Apart from the fact that Dean’s tilting his head up, which is a totally new experience for him. Well, kissing his brother is pretty new too. Guess it’s that kind of day.
“You want coffee?” Sam asks against Dean’s lip as they take a break to breathe.
“Honey, you say the sweetest things,” Dean jokes shakily and feels happiness burst in his chest when Sam laughs.
“C’mon, I made pancakes. They’re better when they’re hot.”
“You’re a regular little housewife, aren’t you, Sam?”
Dean ducks as Sam swats at his head, but he’s totally unprepared for the slap on his ass that follows. Well, huh. Guess they’re doing all kinds of things now. Which reminds him. “Hey, uhm. Guess I owe you from last night. If you want, I can suck your dick after breakfast.”
Sam stops dead in his tracks. “Jen.” He sounds pained which is not the reaction Dean been hoping for.
“What? I’m good at it!” Dean says indignant. He’s being a damn gentleman here. A little appreciation would be nice.
“I know. It’s just…” Sam hesitates, biting his lip.
“What?”
“It’s just now I can’t stop thinking about how you got so good at it,” Sam says softly.
Dean freezes. “Oh.” He grimaces. “Sam, c’mon. It’s like push-ups. They’re a frigging bitch, but they get you the muscles you need to beat the crap out of someone.”
Sam blinks. “What?”
“You know.” Dean squirms. “Like, practicing sucks but it’s the only way to get good at something. Like bowhunting. Or sex.”
Sam stares at him. “Are you seriously calling being sexually abused practicing?”
Dean stiffens. “No. I just… Jesus, man. This is making me really uncomfortable.”
“Well… it should!”
“Yeah?” Dean swallows. “So what, I can never have sex again, because I learned my tricks the hard way? I’m supposed to hate sex for the rest of my friggin’ life, because some sickos used me for their kiddy porn fantasies? Seriously, Sam?”
“No, I didn’t mean…” Sam runs his hand over his face. He looks like he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“No, you didn’t.” Dean shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Where’s that damn coffee?”
He’s on his second cup when Sam finally dares sit down across from him and start on his own stack of pancakes. Dean did consider not leaving him any, just because, but he’s trying to be the bigger man here. Or at least not a total douchebag.
“What did you dream about?” Sam says after a while. He still won’t look Dean in the eye.
Dean sighs. “Sam…”
“Just give me something, man. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on with you.”
“I’m not telling you about my crap, Sam. Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“Okay,” Sam relents, reluctantly it seems. “What about Jensen’s crap?”
Dean grimaces. “I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”
“You don’t even believe he’s real,” Sam points out, which, okay, true.
“Just… stuff from when he was growing up in Hollywood or whatever. Sleazy photographers, producers.” He gulps his coffee, reveling in the burn down his throat. “Casting couch. You know.”
Sam nods, biting his lip, and Dean’s stomach turns. “Your guy, Jared, did he…?”
Sam shakes his head. “No. But I’ve heard stories. Mostly from women though.”
Dean nods. He can imagine. Lots more sharks swimming those waters. “Maybe word got out,” he says. “Poor kid never spoke up so they figured they were safe. Fucking creeps.”
Sam breathes deep, then looks up at him. “You said ‘fucking’. Instead of ‘frigging’, I mean,” he adds when Dean frowns at him.
Dean thinks then shakes his head. “I’m telling you, man, I don’t hear the friggin’ difference.”
Sam grins.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Some boss guy calls Sam sometime after lunch as they’re watching Bruce Lee kick ass on TV, sitting just close enough that Sam’s hand slides over every now and then, not really touching, just to remind Dean he’s there. Sam shoots Dean a look while he listens to the voice on the other end then says, “No. Not really,” and just like that Dean knows they’re talking about him. Great.
He gets up and goes into the kitchen to fetch himself a beer. It’s five o’clock somewhere. When he comes back Sam is staring at his phone, looking worried. “What?”
Sam looks up at him and sighs. “I gotta go. I’m sorry. Just some reshoots. A couple of hours, three tops. You want to come with? You can just wait in the trailer.”
Dean grimaces. As much as he would love to see Baby, knowing she’s not really his Baby might just break his heart. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay here.” Then tries not to feel hurt when Sam looks relieved.
He stands by the window, watching the truck disappear at the end of the road. As much as he prefers being behind the wheel himself when it comes to the Impala, watching Sam drive away in such an ugly car makes him think he’d rather let Sam drive his Baby every day than that piece of crap. Well, every other day maybe. A few times a week.
He wanders through the house, looking at the photos that are scattered around. Of not-him and not-Sam looking happy and carefree and embarrassingly in love. How they’ve managed to keep their relationship in the closet so long is a goddamn mystery. And they’re supposed to be actors!
He pauses by the photo album Sam had suggested they’d look through together, to see if it would trigger his memory. He flips open to the first page and instantly slams it close again. Nope. He’s not ready to see pictures of him and Sam looking happy with families they don’t even share. Not now, probably not ever.
After pouring himself a glass of whiskey (And why does it still taste so bad? Seriously!) he trots upstairs, slowing down as he approaches the door to the master bedroom. Supposedly his and Sam’s bedroom. He doesn’t know why his stomach twitches into knots at the thought of entering. It’s just a room.
He pushes the door open and breathes out when he sees the bed is made. Like Sam had had an inkling Dean might come up here and wanted to spare him the discomfort of thinking of the two of them banging. Except, looking at that big bed now, the feeling that washes over him is far from uncomfortable. He can feel his face turn red, the flush traveling up to his ears and all the way down his chest. His ass is far from virginal but this is Sam. There’s a huge difference. Literally, considering what he knows Sam is packing. Friggin’ gigantor everywhere. And now the heat has reached his belly, squirming inside him like a beast.
Suddenly he remembers the dildo he found in one of the drawers. Sure enough, it’s still there. Flesh colored and not small. He wonders which of them it’s for. Maybe they take turns. Maybe it’s for when one is too tired and the other really wants a big fat cock up his pooper. Dean closes the drawer before he does something stupid. Like try it for size.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at himself in the closet door mirror, when the cell in his pocket rings. It’s a smartphone, an iPhone actually - guess they’ve got plenty of money to spend on brand crap like that - and the caller id flashes ‘Mom’ across the screen.
Dean drops the phone like it’s burning. It hits the floor, bouncing under the bed. For a moment he just sits there, frozen, listening to it ring, and then he scrambles down on his knees to retrieve it in panic. It takes him a moment to figure out how to actually answer the damn thing - Where are the friggin’ buttons?? - but when he finally does the voice that greets him is unfamiliar. And yet…
“Mom?” he interrupts her rant about him taking so long to answer and forgetting his niece’s birthday and apparently, he was supposed to call her yesterday.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, instantly. “Jensen?”
His heart sinks. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing. How, how is Dad?”
“He’s good. Driving me crazy but good. Jensen, are you sure everything is alright? You don’t sound good.”
He clears his throat. “Just a cold,” he lies. “I’m fine, really. Tell me about you and Dad.”
There’s a long pause. “Alright,” she finally says, and he sits there, staring at a stranger in the mirror as she tells him about his sister’s accomplishments in college, the flowers she planted in the back yard, and some role his Dad tried for but didn’t get. “You know, he would really appreciate it if you could put in a good word for him. It’s not easy when you reach his age. The roles just dry up. Seriously, sweetie, it’s the least you can do.”
Something snaps inside him. “That why you got your kid into the business?”
She laughs. “What? Jensen, what’s going on with you?”
“What’s going on with me? The hell’s wrong with you! How could you do that to your own kid? You have any idea-” He squeezes his eyes shut. Crap, he can’t breathe!
“Jensen, what are you talking about? Jensen! Are you there? I don’t know,” he hears her say to someone. “He’s not making any sense.”
“You threw him to the fucking sharks,” Dean hisses through gritted teeth. “You left him with…” The room is going grey around the edges. Jesus Christ, his chest hurts! “They were goddamn monsters!”
The phone slips out of his hand as everything turns black.
“Jensen! Jensen, wake up. I swear, if you don’t wake up I’m gonna carry you into the car and take you to the hospital again! And I’ll have them fucking strap you to a bed, I swear I will!”
He blinks his eyes open. His mouth is really dry and his head is pounding. “Wha-” He clears his throat but he still sounds rusty. “What happened?”
“You tell me! Your mama called me, freaking out, because you accused her of… You know! And I got here and found you flat out on the floor. I think you hit your head. Did you hit your head? Shit, is that a bump?”
He touches his forehead, wincing as he touches the swelling. “Mom?”
“Not Dean’s mom. Jensen’s mom.”
He sits up slowly. “Why would Dean’s mom call me? She’s dead. And, you know, not real.”
Jared stares at him. “Jensen?”
Jensen blinks. “Yeah?”
“Oh, thank God!” Jared pulls him into such a fierce hug, Jensen can hardly breathe. “You’re back! You asshole,” Jared sobs. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, I mean it, man! I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Uh, okay,” Jensen mumbles into Jared’s hair. “Do what?”
He sits silent for a long time after Jared is done telling him the whole confusing mess that’s been happening the last couple of days. “And I told Mom?” he finally asks, the knot in his stomach so hard he thinks he might puke.
Jared falls silent, his eyes sad and worried. “Well, you know, Dean told her. He was pretty pissed on your behalf.”
“Shit.” He covers his mouth with his hand. God, what has he done?
“So, it’s true?”
He looks up into Jared’s warm and sad face, the pain on his behalf so palpable Jensen can hardly stand it. “I never meant for them to know,” he admits.
Jared’s face ripples, like he’s fighting not to cry. “Why? I mean, I get why, but… Why did you never say anything while it was happening?”
“You make it sound like it ever stopped.” He sighs when Jared goes rigid. “Not that. I mean, okay, they still, you know, try. And you wondered why I hate being called pretty,” he jokes, although not really, giving a shaken Jared a fake smile. “But I’m a grown man, Jare. I can say no now, and it won’t affect anyone but myself. My career’s mine to gamble with. My parents, my dad… They don’t need me like that anymore.”
“Jensen, they never should have… Seriously, they made you think it was on you?”
Jensen shrugs. “I mean, it was? They had all kinds of money trouble. Mortgage, raising three kids, all that. Dad had trouble getting roles, Mom had her nerves. Not so much now, thankfully. Bottom line, I was their only income for a long time.”
Jared breathes heavily through his mouth. “They pimped you out.”
Jensen flinches. “Jare, c’mon. I told you, they didn’t know.”
But Jared shakes his head. “Jen, I know I’ve teased you about it but seriously, some of those photo shoots you did, they’re soft twinky porn. And you know it.”
Jensen looks away. “Yeah. Mom really didn’t like those. Too damn gay. Probably because the guys who shot them knew what they’d be getting once the crew left. She asked me what I’d been thinking. Said I should have said no.” He snorts. “Like she wasn’t the one who told me, ‘Just do the work and don’t complain.’ ‘Be a good boy and make your mama proud.’ ‘Don’t make trouble’, Do as you’re told’.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I can’t believe I told her. What am I gonna do?”
He drops his head on Jared’s shoulder as he pulls him close. His head still hurts, he feels nauseous and so damn tired and sick about the whole thing.
“Talk to her. You don’t have to tell her everything, but you can’t keep it all buried anymore. She already knows something happened.”
Jensen sighs. “Yeah, okay.” He grabs Jared’s hand as he moves to stand up. “Stay, please?”
“Yeah, of course,” Jared says and sits down again. “Whatever you need.”
Jensen sits staring down at his phone. It’s got a crack across the screen from when he apparently dropped it on the floor. He’s got ten missed calls and at least a dozen messages, most from his mom but a few from Dad and a single one from Mac, asking ‘What’s going on? Mom is freaking. Call her then call me.’
Jensen clears his throat. “Listen, I was thinking. Would it be alright if…” He stops. “Can I… I want to tell them about us.” He feels Jared going still by his side but doesn’t dare look at him. “I know now is probably like the worst time, but… I need to be able to tell them I’m not broken. You know?”
“Yeah.” Jared sucks in his breath and lets it out. “Okay. It’s time anyway.”
Jensen glances over at him, relieved to find him smiling. “Yeah?”
Jared nods. Then shoves his hand into the pocket of his jeans and comes up with a slick silver ring. “Was gonna do this whole romantic thing this weekend and then you friggin’ Dean’d me.”
Jensen stares at the ring then up at Jared who is watching him with badly hidden nerves. “Jared,” he breathes. “What… Are you…?
Jared shrugs but the smile is wide. “I mean, it’s been four years.” He holds the ring up but when Jensen doesn’t take it, he laughs nervously and asks, “You want me to go down on one knee? Because I will.”
He starts sliding off the bed but Jensen grabs him by the elbow and hauls him up into his arms, kissing him furiously. “You fucking asshole,” he sobs, and Jared laughs happily into his mouth. “Fuck, I love you, baby. So much.”
“Is that a yes?” Jared asks breathlessly, smiling so wide his cheeks must be hurting.
“Give me that!” Jensen snatches the ring from Jared’s outstretched palm and slides it upon his finger. It fits perfectly. “Where’s yours?”
“I don’t have one!” Jared says indignant. “You’re supposed to buy it.”
“I’ll buy you a fucking diamond, baby,” Jensen laughs and kisses him hard. “Jesus Christ, you asshole!”
He figures the phone call can wait another hour.
It’s a conversation he never meant to have, and is harder than anything he’s ever done in his life. His mother cries, her sobs wrenching his soul; his father’s choked words of apology don’t make him feel even a lick better, and he can’t help feeling angry that somehow it’s becoming, once again, all about them. When his dad says, “Well, it’s in the past. Let’s never mention it again,” he cuts the call short without bothering with an excuse. He never gets around to mentioning Jared or the engagement or that he is, in fact, bi. They would probably have made that about them too, anyway.
The phone call to his sister is longer, calmer, but just as hard. She had nothing to do with any of it, she shouldn’t have to suffer through the fallout. When he tells her that, she calls him an idiot, her voice small and hitching, sucking snot up her nose.
She takes the news about his relationship with Jared a lot better than he has any hope their parents will, claiming she already knew he was flaming, “I mean, Jensen, look at you,” and then starts crying again as she connects her words with all he’s told her. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she sobs. “I just meant… I’m sorry.”
“Mac, stop it. And go blow your nose, you’re leaking snot all over your phone.”
Compared to that, going back to work is easy.
He has a long meeting with Kripke, explaining, in as few words and details as possible, what made him flip out. To his surprise Eric listens without interrupting, face calm apart from a flicker of fury in his eyes as Jensen tiptoes around his childhood trauma, and surprise when he shares how that seems to have, unconsciously, affected his visualization of Dean’s upbringing. If Jared hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t even have realized he’d built such a dark and complex backstory. But even if he’d never consciously explored the sordid details, he’d recognized them as feeling, to him, true. “And I know it all sounds like… well, those stories the fans write.”
“Oh, do not read those!” Eric warns, shaking his head. “Copyright issues. Can’t have them accusing us of stealing their plots.”
Jensen blinks. “Uhm… Okay. Wasn’t going to but… thanks for the warning.”
“I gotta say,” Eric tells him after an awkward silence. “It’s nothing like I envisioned Dean’s childhood. Or his time in Hell. I mean, you’re right. We do hint but that was more… Well, you know, sexual innuendos, always popular. Sorry.” He averts his eyes, cheeks faintly pink.
“Would you mind…” Jensen hesitates. “I mean, I’d love to hear what you envisioned. Beyond what’s been revealed in the show. I think it might help. Allow me to maybe rewrite the shit that’s in my head."
Eric’s smile is like a kid’s at Christmas. “Dude, you have no idea how much I’d love to do that. My wife is so sick of me talking about ‘those damn Winchesters’ and I have it all, right here!” He taps his head, grinning. “How much time have you got? At least a few hours, right? Okay, so…”
His ass might ache by the time Eric finally lets him out of the chair, but Jensen figures it’s worth it. Even if he didn’t really need to know where Dean’s fascination with Asian porn comes from.
He’s been back four weeks when he feels a familiar darkness loom at the edge of his awareness, in sync with Dean struggling to deal with his time in Hell. He calls for a break, which he is given despite the late hour. Probably because everyone is still a little freaked out over his amnesia spell, even if they don’t know exactly what happened. Jared follows him to his trailer and sits by his side as he calls his appointed therapist, chosen by Dr. Purcell who had warned him that this might happen. The shrink manages to get Jensen back on track well enough to finish the day, and when they go home, Jared makes sure Jensen remembers exactly who he is, and what they are, as he fucks Jensen repeatedly into the mattress.
He still hasn’t talked to his parents. He should, he knows. He just can’t. Not yet. (He did send them a short message: “I’m engaged to Jared. Just wanted you to know.” Then turned off the phone when it started ringing, ‘Mom’ flashing across the screen like a panicked scream.)
He’s starting to remember his time with Dean. Not clearly, and it does get mixed up with what’s actually happened on the show. He’s woken up from dreams where he knows he’s Dean, and he’s kissing Sam, and he knows he should feel weirded out but mostly he just feels happy for them. They deserve some softness in their lives. And safe, consensual sex, he guesses. (Dean is such a bottom, it would be embarrassing if Jensen didn’t personally know Sam’s dick is totally worth bending over for.)
Sometimes he misses Dean’s thoughts like a limb, other times like a hole in the head. The guy has issues leaking out of his ears, it can be exhausting to play him, and Jensen would never want him in his brain 24/7. Which doesn’t explain why he catches himself drinking whiskey in hope of filling the gaps in his memory. He just has this longing, this need, to know Dean as well as he knows himself. Possibly even better. It’s like-
“Hey, Dean. You in there?”
Dean blinks, then rubs his side as he shoots Sam a scowl. “The hell? Watch your elbows, dude.”
“I’ve been talking to you for like five minutes. You need more coffee?” Sam lifts the thermos, raising his eyebrows in question.
“Nah, I’m good.” He taps the wheel, checking the meter for gas. They should be good for a few more hours at least. “So, what was so damn important you had to break my friggin’ ribs?”
“I barely touched you. Baby.” But Sam does look a little bit guilty, and that’s good enough. “But listen, this sound like our kind of thing? A man was found dead…”
Sam’s voice drones on as Dean drives, the weight of Sam’s palm resting on his thigh, warm and comforting. And Dean thinks to himself: well, life might be a stinking pile of crap, but at least there’s this. And really, right now, that’s enough to get him through another day.
fin