Fic: Haven. RPS. Chris/Jensen. NC-17. Chapter 2/11

[felisblanco]

Continued from here.



Jensen is still asleep when Chris goes to check on him in the morning. If anything, he looks worse, the bruises having fully bloomed over the left side of his face in a bouquet of red and blue. The swelling has gone down a bit but it’s going to take at least a day before he can open that eye again. Chris quietly removes the bucket of melted ice and soggy towels, empties it, then puts it back by the side of the bed, in case the kid wakes up feeling sick. He also puts a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on the bedside table before slipping out again. Jensen never even stirs.

Chris goes downstairs and cleans up any indication of what happened last night, including smears of blood on the door that have his teeth gnashing. Fucking brutes. What he wouldn’t do to get his hands on them! Now it’s daylight he checks more thoroughly outside, but there’s no sign of Jensen’s backpack. Maybe the whole thing was just a simple mugging but Chris doubts it. Pretty boys like Jensen don’t get beaten up just for their money. He’s damn lucky to get away with just a few cuts and bruises. Chris has seen the aftermath of so much worse. Heard of others that never made it through his doors again. Sometimes he fucking hates the whole goddamn Bible belt and their holier-than-thou bullshit so much he thinks of packing up and moving away, as far as he has to go to get the bad taste out of his mouth. Then again, if everyone who could leave did so, those who couldn’t would be all the more alone.

Once back upstairs he puts on coffee before opening the fridge in search of anything edible. He hasn’t been feeling much up to cooking these last few days which shows in the empty shelves and somewhat funky smell that greats him. Here’s to hoping the kid drinks his coffee black because a sniff proves the milk went bad some days earlier, and a closer inspection of the bread turns up spots in all the wrong colors.

Chris nurses his coffee, contemplating the situation. The kid needs food, he needs a change of clothes and toiletries and whatnots. Chris sighs. The kid needs his fucking mama, that’s what, but there’s no use bitching about what ain’t happening.

A muffled groan makes him turn around. Jensen is leaning against the bedroom doorway, still in the t-shirt and boxers Chris lent him. His hair is ruffled, the side of his face that’s not bruised is patterned with creases from the pillow. The swollen eye is still shut but the other is blinking sleepily. Funny how bruised and bloodied and pale as shit the kid still manages to look breathtakingly beautiful. If a beat away from puking.

“Morn’n,” Chris says, offering him a smile. “Coffee?”

Jensen nods, which obviously was a bad idea because his forehead scrunches up and his eyes go squinty for a moment as he breathes rapidly through his nose. He pushes away from the doorframe and limps over to the breakfast bar, hoisting himself up with some difficulty on one of the barstools. “Thanks,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, as Chris slides a mug over, filled with steaming coffee. “Got any sugar?”

Chris nods and fetches it from the cupboard. “No milk though. Sorry. Gonna have to do some shoppin’.”

“This is fine.” Jensen heaps three spoons into his mug, making Chris raise his eyebrows. “I like it sweet,” Jensen says, defensive, when he notices.

“Didn’t say a word,” Chris says with a smirk and lifts his hands in mock surrender.

Jensen scowls but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, dropping quickly when it stretches open the split in his lip. Jensen wipes his thumb over the crack, swallowing when it comes away bloody. For a moment it looks like he’s gonna cry.

Chris doesn’t say anything, just rips a sheet from the paper towel roll and hands it over. He turns away, allowing Jensen some privacy to compose himself, while he contemplates the situation. He’d initially figured he’d run to the store by himself to get some essentials, but Jensen’s reaction has him changing his mind. Like his dear old papa used to say, mollycoddling never won no fights.

“Drink up,” he says, keeping his voice level. “I’ll see if I can find some pants that hang at least halfway to your ankles. We’re goin’ out.”

Jensen freezes. “No, I can’t-”

“Not negotiable,” Chris cuts him off, hating himself a little for the look of panic on Jensen’s face but damn, he can’t have Jensen shutting himself in, letting the fear fester. “You need clothes and… stuff. And I need me a decent breakfast. Someone kept me up half the night, gettin’ the shit beaten out of ‘im.”

He can hear his father’s voice as the words leave his mouth and wishes he could take them back. Especially when Jensen’s face shuts down, a flush travelling all the way up to his ears. “I’d rather stay here,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, well. Tough shit.” Chris turns away to hide his guilt, rinsing out his mug and putting it by the sink before turning back with a look of indifference. “Don’t take all day gettin’ ready. I get bad tempered when I’m hungry.”

And then he walks away, leaving Jensen sitting hunched over, coffee mug clutched in his hands. While Chris rummages through the drawers, trying to find pants that won’t make Jensen look like a country yokel, he keeps his ears strained, breathing out when he hears the scrape of the barstool as Jensen gets off it, then water running as he cleans his mug. By the time Jensen has shuffled over to join him in the bedroom Chris has found some sweats, a hoodie and a pair of socks.

“I can wear my own jeans,” Jensen mutters, bending over with great difficulty to pick them up from the floor.

“Sure. If you wanna get arrested for murder,” Chris says. “They’re nothin’ but blood and dirt. I’ll wash‘em for you but for now you’re gonna have to wear somethin’ else.” He doesn’t mention that the soft sweats will be a lot kinder to his bruised skin.

Jensen stands for a moment, holding his grimy jeans, but then he sighs and drops them back on the floor. “Alright. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Leaving Jensen to it, Chris fetches his keys and wallet. He’ll take the kid to Walmart after breakfast, let him pick out what he needs. Chris makes a list in his head: pack of underwear, some t-shirts and socks, at least one pair of pants and a couple of shirts maybe. Toothbrush, comb, deodorant… What else? New backpack maybe, although he’s not about to let the kid leave anytime soon. But he’s not gonna let him think he doesn’t have that option either.

He stands waiting, twirling his keys, when Jensen limps out, bare feet shoved into his sneakers, hoodie zipped up. His face is pinched, his shoulders hunched. He looks downright miserable.

“There you are,” Chris says with a nod of approval, pretending not to notice Jensen ducking his head, pink dots in his cheeks. “Hold on.” He goes to fetch the socks before crouching before Jensen’s feet. “Lift up.”

“You don’t need to,” Jensen protests but he keeps still as Chris helps him pull on the socks before maneuvering him into the sneakers and tying his laces. “Feel like a damn toddler,” he mutters.

“You think I’ve never fucked myself up bad enough to need help?” Chris asks as he stands up. “Believe me, kid. This ain’t shit.” He grins. “At least now our eyes match.”

Jensen’s answering grin is only a shadow of the beautiful smile he’d sported last time they met but at least it’s something. “I was right though,” he says.

Chris holds the door open for him. “About what?”

“It fucking hurts.”

Chris laughs. “Yeah, it fuckin’ does. C’mon, darlin’, let’s get some grub before I start feelin’ homicidal.”

They drive in silence, Jensen staring out the window, every now and then glancing over at Chris, like he’s gathering courage. Chris pretends not to notice. He’s pulling the truck over by the diner when Jensen murmurs, “Was starting to think I’d imagined you calling me that last night.”

Chris frowns, taking a moment to recall his last words. Oh. “Can stop if it bothers ya,” he says, to hide his embarrassment. He hadn’t even noticed.

Jensen ducks his head, cheeks turning slightly pink. “It’s alright.” The smile is genuine this time, if only half-mast. “Like it better than ‘kid’ anyway.”

Chris grins and steps out of the truck. “Darlin’, now you know I’m gonna be callin’ you kid every chance I get.”

“Fucker,” Jensen grumbles as he limps after Chris into the diner, blushing fiercely when Chris shoots back, “Oh, you know I am,” with a wink that he belatedly realizes is a lot more suggestive than he meant the words to be.

The coffee is bad, but the food is good and greasy, with enough calories to last them through the hell that is shopping at Walmart. Jensen picks at his food at first but once he’s managed to swallow a few strips of crispy bacon his appetite kicks in and by the time he puts down his fork he’s practically licked the plate clean.

“Thanks,” he says, looking uncomfortable when Chris pulls out his wallet. “I’ll pay you back.”

Chris nods even if he couldn’t care less. “Countin’ on it.” Maybe that will make the kid stick around. Although, seeing as it obviously pains him to move, he’s not likely to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Once they’re at Walmart, Chris grabs a cart and starts throwing in items from the checklist he’s keeping in his head. Jensen shuffles after him, red-faced and subdued, his steps growing slower and heavier as they move along. Chris watches him out of the corner of his eye. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Possibly he should have given Jensen a day or so before dragging him out on a shopping spree.

Jensen closes his eyes, breathing harshly through his nose, and Chris decides enough is enough.

“Here,” he says, handing Jensen the keys to the truck. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Jensen blinks slowly as he stares down at the keys in his hand. “For all you know I’ll steal it.”

“You plannin’ on it?” Chris asks bluntly. “No? Then shut up and go wait in the car.”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen mutters. He turns away then stops and looks at Chris over his shoulder. “I mean it, I’ll pay you back.”

“Never doubted it, darlin’. Now git!” He makes a shooing motion that earns him a tired half smile before Jensen starts the slow and obviously painful limp back to the truck.

By the time Chris comes out Jensen sits leaning against the window, seemingly asleep, but as soon as Chris yanks the door, Jensen’s eyes - well, eye - snaps open and he jumps in his seat. Chris pretends not to notice, throwing the bags in the back before holding his hand out for the keys.

“Can we go home now?” Jensen asks as he hands them over, voice hoarse with exhaustion, and something clenches in Chris’s chest.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he says gently, putting the truck in gear. “We can do that.”

Isn’t until they’re halfway there that he realizes the tight feeling in his chest that insists on lingering is because of that one word: ‘home’.

Well, shit. Guess it’s gonna have to be. Not that there was any other option anyway.

Jensen stumbles up the last step and would have fallen on his face if Chris hadn’t caught his arm lightning fast, hauling him upright and steadying him to the door. “Almost there,” he says, voice slightly gruff. Jensen sags against him as Chris fumbles for the keys to let them in. “Not fallin’ asleep on me, are ya?”

“No.” Jensen struggles to stand up straighter but his leg, which has been hurting like a sonofabitch all morning, seems to have decided this is it, it’s not gonna hold him up any longer. His knee buckles, just from the pain of it, but again Chris catches him, this time around the waist. Jensen gasps, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit,” Chris says, shifting his grip to avoid the worst of the bruises. “Sorry.”

Jensen doesn’t even have enough air in his lungs to say it’s alright.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Chris says, hauling him inside while leaving the bags by the door.

“Think you better have a lie-down.”

They stumble into the bedroom and Chris lowers Jensen upon the bed where he sinks onto the pillows with a relieved sigh. Every single part of his body hurts, especially his leg and back, and the headache is back with a vengeance. “I…” he breathes out, stopping as a bout of nausea washes over him.

“You gonna be sick?” Chris asks, nudging the bucket closer with his foot. “Try and aim, will ya. I fuckin’ hate cleanin’ puke.”

“I’m good.” Jensen shifts, looking for a more comfortable position, and the pain shooting up from his back almost makes him a liar. He breathes quick and shallow through his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ah, fuck. You hurtin’ that bad? Didn’t you take the painkillers I gave you? Jeez! Why you bein’ stupid? Wait, I’ll get you some cold water.”

He lies still with his eyes closed, listening to Chris’s continued muttering as he goes into the bathroom and turns on the tap before opening the medicine cabinet. Jensen had peeked inside it, when he went to the bathroom that first night, and balked at the sheer number of bottles it held. He’d only checked a few, out of curiosity more than real worry. Some antidepressants as well as antianxiety meds, which had surprised him because Chris seemed pretty chill, if a little hot tempered. Some very strong painkillers, which are possibly what Chris has been giving him, Jensen suddenly realizes. Or maybe not because he hadn’t felt woozy from taking them last night. Wasn’t that what was supposed to happen?

Jensen’s dad didn’t believe in taking anything for pain, no matter how bad. His mom had to hide her migraine pills from the bastard. Everyone else just had to suck it up. Didn’t matter if he had a fever headache or that time Josh shoved him so hard he’d fallen into the road and was lucky he only got a cracked collarbone and road rash, instead of a truck driving over his head.

Last bottle he’d read the label on, before he got too nervous to snoop anymore, he only recognized because his uncle had been pretty much dependent on them until the day he decided he didn’t want to anymore and blew his brains out. Jensen feels pretty shitty about it now, but it was that bottle, more than anything, that made him decide to split before Chris woke up. Not the fact that Chris had them, but the fact that the bottle was almost full and covered in a thin sheet of dust. That had scared him.

A warm hand on his cheek rouses him from the painfilled haze he’d slipped into. “C’mon, sit up,” Chris says, sliding an arm under his shoulders and helping him up. “Here.”

Jensen takes the glass of water, his hand trembling, eyeing the pills warily. He’d noticed them sitting by the glass of water he’d downed when waking up this morning but he’s not about to pop just any pills he finds lying around. He’s not that stupid. Even if he did take the pills Chris gave him last night but he hadn’t exactly been thinking straight at the time. Still, there’s no excuse for being stupid twice. “What are they?”

Chris frowns. “What you think? You’re hurtin’, they’re for that.”

“No, I know. I’m just…” He bites his lip but damn, he is hurting like hell, and he just feels so tired. “No, sure. Okay.” He reaches out but Chris pulls his hand back, nodding.

“I’ll show you,” he says and disappears back into the bathroom. “Nothin’ too strong,” he promises as he comes back out, holding a bottle of plain over-the-counter ibuprofen. “Though I have those too, if you feel real bad.”

“No, that’s okay,” Jensen says quickly, even if he does. “Sorry,” he adds, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Wasn’t implying anything.”

“No, it’s good. You shouldn’t be takin’ any old drug from someone you don’t even know. Here.” Chris hands him the bottle. “I’ve got an unopen one downstairs if you’d rather. I can fetch it, no sweat.”

Jensen shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. Thank you.” He pops two into his mouth and swallows them with a swig of water before handing the bottle back.

Chris nods. “You just try and rest now. Only thing that helps with a beatin’, time and rest.” He pauses. “Gettin’ payback would be even better but I doubt we’ll be so lucky.”

Jensen shrinks back. “I don’t wanna see them ever again.”

Chris pats him on the arm. “Yeah, I get that. Now lie down, darlin’ and get some sleep. Holla if you need me.” He frowns. “Although I have to go downstairs in a bit so I might not hear you. Wait.” He disappears and comes back with a phone, putting it on the bedside table, along with a piece of paper. “That’s the number for the bar. Call if you need anythin’ and Matt will get me, alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Chris seems to hesitate but then he nods and walks out.

Jensen closes his eyes. He lies still, trying to breathe through the pain but after a while he just gives up and lets the tears fall, every hitch of breathing sending a jolt through his battered body.

Fuck.

“You should have called the cops,” Matt insists, jaw tight.

“Like they’d’ve done fuck all,” Chris scoffs, nostrils flaring. He’s getting real tired of Matt’s attitude. Tired enough to fucking slap him if he doesn’t let off pretty damn soon. “Put it down as a fuckin’ mugging, while lookin’ at him like it’s all his own goddamn fault for bein’ what he is.”

Matt narrows his eyes. “Which is… what? Gay? He tell you that?”

Chris gives him a look. “Seriously?”

“You gonna stereotype us,” Matt mutters, “least you can do is ask.”

Chris goes still. He slowly puts down the glass of whiskey and straightens up, staring Matt down. “What you sayin’?” he asks, jaw ticking. “You callin’ me a homophobe? That what you sayin’?”

Matt steps back, suddenly wary. “No, I’m not… no. No. I’m just saying…” He takes a deep breath. “Being an ally doesn’t mean you know all about us.”

Chris breathes in. He breathes out. He picks up the glass and downs the rest of his drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before he fixes his gaze on Matt again. “And just ‘cause you work here don’t mean you know shit about me,” he says, voice low.

Matt blinks. Chris can literally see the cogs turning in his head and if he weren’t so damn furious, he’d be kicking himself. “You’re saying-”

“I’m sayin’ you better mind your own fuckin’ business if you want a paycheck at the end of the month,” he snarls and turns away while he still can.

“Hey, I’m sorry!” Matt calls after him but Chris doesn’t give a fuck.

He storms out the back, startling Danneel who is taking a break, smoke twirling up from between her fingers. He comes to a halt, sucking in fresh air through his nose - well, air smelling of trash and urine but still - while he tries to compose himself. Every muscle in his body is taut, his heart is racing in his chest, faster, faster. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was smoke coming out of his ears. Dammit, not this shit! Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…

“You okay, boss?” Danneel asks, stepping closer but grinding to a quick halt when he looks up at her. “Uhm, I’ll leave you alone.”

He uncurls his fingers, loosening his fists. “Wait,” he grits out as she turns to the door. “Can I…?” He waves his hand, the words caught in his strangled throat.

“Yeah, sure.” She fishes a cigarette out of her pack and hands it over. Doesn’t say a word about his hand shaking so badly he can hardly get it between his lips. “Here.” She lights it for him, the Zippo closing with a loud click. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

He shakes his head, unable to explain that he doesn’t, not anymore, that the burn of the smoke sliding into his lungs is just to distract him from the fury burning in his veins.

She nods, like she gets it anyway. “Shit day?” She leans forward, whispering, “I won’t tell anyone.” Then she winks and smiles and disappears back inside.

He stands trembling, muscles coiled, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he sucks on the cigarette until it burns his fingers and he’s forced to let it go. Then he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and counts, waiting for the homicidal urge to die down. The seconds tick by but it only gets worse. He wants, needs to hit something. Someone. His control is hanging by a thread that is rapidly unraveling. The show is about to start and he’s this close to losing his fucking shit. Goddammit! Growling he climbs the stairs to the apartment to fetch the goddamn pills he’d told himself he didn’t need anymore.

He walks in to find Jensen on the couch with his guitar, strumming a song Chris doesn’t recognize, singing quietly along, like he’s afraid of being overheard. He looks up, startled. “Oh, hey.” He frowns. “You okay?”

Chris rubs a hand over his face. “No,” he says and storms into the bathroom to get his pills. He’s not supposed to take them with alcohol, but it can’t be helped. His heart is racing, his chest feels too tight, and he so tense, his muscles are starting to seize up from the strain. He shakes out one pill, then another. It’s probably not a good idea, it’s been a while, but then it hardly ever gets this bad. One might not cut it.

“What happened?”

He glances back to find Jensen standing in the doorway, looking anxious.

“Nothin’,” Chris mutters, slamming the medicine cabinet shut.

“Did they come back?” Jensen asks, sounding small and terrified.

The hell? Chris spins around, noticing Jensen’s hunched shoulders, the arms curled around his middle. His nostrils flare. “They? Those guys that beat you, those them same as came here lookin’ for trouble?”

Jensen bites his lip and steps back. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The thread snaps, just like that.

“Maybe?” Chris stalks over and grabs Jensen’s arm, shaking him hard. “MAYBE?? Why the FUCK didn’t you TELL me?”

Jensen stumbles back, face scrunched up, trying to pull his arm free, his breath coming fast and shallow. “I don’t know! It was dark! What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Chris seethes through his teeth, “‘cause that means they’re stakin’ this place out. And the next one they set their eyes on might not be so lucky!”

He lets go of Jensen’s arm, flings it hard enough in his fury that Jensen cries out as he loses his balance and falls against the wall. Chris storms past him, the anger boiling in his chest. “Fuck! Matt was right. Shoulda called the fuckin’ cops.”

“I’m sorry,” he hears Jensen whisper, breath hitching, and if Chris wasn’t so goddamn furious he’d feel like a fucking jerk, but he’s too lost in his anger to care. There’s just rage and bitterness and hate so dark he can’t breathe. He wants to find those fuckers and beat the shit out of them until there’s nothing but blood and fire and…

His chest suddenly feels excruciatingly tight. He blinks, overcome with dizziness, and shoots out his arm to grab something to right his balance but there’s nothing and he starts falling, the floor coming at him like a brick wall. And now he remembers why he shouldn’t take those damn pills when he’s already had three shots of whiskey.

“Boss? Chris? Can you hear me?”

Chris blinks his eyes open. He’s lying on the floor with Matt crouching by his side, looking worried and guilty. Behind him Jensen hovers, pale and shaken, one arm wrapped around his middle. Fuck.

“’M okay,” Chris mumbles and struggles to sit up. His head is swimming, his heart is still beating too fast. Nausea hurls up from the pit of his stomach and he shoots out a hand to keep Matt from crowding in on him. “Back!”

Matt quickly shuffles backwards but keeps one hand on Chris’s leg as he breathes and breathes and fights not to puke. Jesus!

“Get us some water,” Matt says without looking away and Chris watches out of the corner of his eye as Jensen limps to the kitchen sink. A minute later he’s handing Matt a glass of water, while being careful to keep his distance. Shit.

Chris drinks slowly, small sips that he must fight to keep down. The cool water slides down his throat, taking some of the nausea with it.

“Better?” Matt asks as he takes back the empty glass. “Need more?”

“’M good,” Chris mumbles, tongue thick in his mouth. He shivers. It quickly turns into a violent trembling with sweat running all over his skin.

Matt’s eyes widen and he gestures at Jensen to throw him the blanket that lies discarded on the couch, quickly wrapping it around Chris’s shoulders. “Come on,” he says, hauling Chris to his feet. “Bed.”

Chris wants to protest, but speaking is like a dozen levels above what he’s capable of right now. Matt ends up having to pretty much carry him because his legs feel like Jell-O. Once he’s lying down Matt pulls off his boots then goes into the bathroom, coming back with a wet towel to wipe Chris’s face. Chris winces as he feels a sting.

“Bit through your lip,” Matt explains. “Banged your head pretty good, too. Gonna get a bump.” He smiles but it slips away as soon as it appears. “We should have someone take a look at you.”

Chris shakes his head, which almost makes him hurl all over himself. “Gonna be alright,” he rasps, once he can breathe again. “Jus’ need sleep.”

“Your heart is beating way too fast, man.”

He can feel it, like a freight train in his chest. “It’ll slow down in a minute.”

“Or it might fucking stop,” Matt snaps. Chris closes his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry. Damn, boss. You scared the shit out of me. Scared the kid half to death.”

Chris opens his eyes. Jensen is lurking in the doorway, shoulder hunched. He looks like he’s been crying. “’M alright,” Chris tells him, trying for a smile and wincing when it tugs at the split in his lip. “Darlin’, I’m alright.”

Jensen shakes his head. “Hell you are!” he says, voice trembling. “You went fucking crazy and then you just… What the fuck was that?”

Chris sighs. “Bad combo.”

“What?”

“Whiskey, rage, and a double dose of meds. Kicked in too fast ‘cause my blood was all pumpin’.” He licks his lips, grimacing as the tip of his tongue runs over the cut. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shoulda just taken one but I weren’t thinkin’ straight.”

“Shouldn’t be taking them at all when you’ve been drinking,” Matt says, like he doesn’t already fucking know. “Boss, I’m sorry. I never should have said what I said.”

“Weren’t that,” he lies and closes his eyes again. His heart is finally slowing down. He feels so damn tired. “Just my temper bein’ shit again.”

“It’s not a fucking temper,” he hears a familiar voice say. “It’s a fucking disorder which you’re supposed to be taking your fucking meds for and going to your fucking therapist, you fucking moron.”

Chris cracks one eye open. Steve is staring down at him, arms crossed. “Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs playin’?”

Matt moves off the bed, making room for Steve who sits down, shaking his head. “I would be except my fucking idiot partner is busy having a goddamn rage attack.” He brushes Chris’s sweaty hair gently away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Chris sees Matt’s eyes go wide and sighs inwardly. He swats at Steve’s hand. “Stop it,” he mutters but he doesn’t object when Steve grabs his hand, pulling it to his chest. “And it was just a little one.”

“You promised you weren’t gonna do this again,” Steve says, and Chris rolls his eyes. Like that’s actually something he can guarantee. “Don’t. You told me you were good.”

“I am,” Chris protests. “Have been.”

“So, what, you stopped taking your meds?”

Chris can feel himself blushing. “Been workin’ on our music. My head ain’t right on that shit.”

“Your heart ain’t right when you’re off them,” Steve reminds him, quite unnecessarily. “What the fuck triggered it this time?”

“Was my fault,” Matt starts but Chris lifts a hand, shushing him. Matt’s words were only the last straw dropped on a stack of so many. Most of them relating to Jensen, Chris now realizes. He’s been seething ever since the fight last Saturday, when those idiots invaded his bar. Far from the first fight he’s been in, even this month, but something about Jensen sparked his protective side and then the worry fueled the flames that turned into a roaring fire when Jensen got beaten up. He’s been walking around like a ticking bomb, and he didn’t even realize what was happening until Matt’s words cocked the gun and then Jensen’s admission pulled the trigger.

He's mixing his metaphors but fuck it, he’s too damn tired to think straight. “Just the usual,” he mutters when he realizes Steve is waiting for an answer. “Bigots and assholes.”

“Jesus! You can’t take on the whole world by yourself, you know that right?” Steve says, sounding exasperated.

Chris looks to where Jensen is standing watching them, looking on edge. “Was worth it.”

Steve glances over, seeming for the first time to notice the stranger in the room. Also the bruises and black eye and the way Jensen stands all crooked, arms around his middle. “Ah.” Steve looks back at Chris, thoughtful. “Yeah, alright. I can see that.”

Chris frowns. “Shut up.”

“What?” Steve says, voice all innocent and Chris wants to hit him. But he also wants to sleep so he closes his eyes and does just that.

“What the hell was that?” Jensen asks, voice shaking, as soon as the new guy has closed the door behind them, leaving Chris to his rest, and Matt has disappeared downstairs again. “And don’t say he already said, ‘cause he didn’t!”

“Listen, kid. I don’t even know who you are,” the new guy says with a sigh.

“Jensen,” Jensen says, clenching his jaw.

Now the adrenaline is wearing off he’s really feeling the damage to his arm and back from Chris’s violent grab, not helped by stumbling when he was hurrying down the stairs, jolting his whole body. He’d only just stopped Matt from calling the cops when he’d seen how banged up he was, had to explain what happened with Chris while barely being able to breathe through the pain, and then hurry back up those damn stairs on Matt’s heels on his fucked up leg and his back screaming. Fuck, just breathing hurts.

The guy rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever. Steve,” he then adds, with a look like it pains him to be civil. “If you wanna know, ask Chris when he wakes up. ‘Til then, I’ve got a gig to play.”

“You’re just gonna leave him?” Jensen asks, incredulous.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Steve sighs when Jensen glares at him. “I’ll check in on him after the show. And if he’s still out, I’ll sleep over, let you get on home.”

Uhm. Jensen looks away, feeling awkward. “I’m kinda living here. I think.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You think?” He shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this. If he takes a bad turn, come get me.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Jensen alone with Chris out cold because of… something. Jensen hesitates, then limps to the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. Again, there are the antianxiety meds, but they haven’t been touched as far as Jensen can see. Not the antidepressants either. Only thing that looks to have been haphazardly put back is the one he’d noticed last time, the one which lack of use made him wary enough he snuck out in the early morning hours. Seems he was right to worry.

He grabs a couple of painkillers for himself because he’s hurting like a motherfucker, way worse than before. Maybe he pulled something, tore it even. Whatever it is, it hurts like hell.

On his way back Jensen stops to peek through the bedroom door at Chris’s slack form. The old panic is starting to creep in again. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He can’t stay here. Right? He can’t live with someone who apparently has such bad anger issues he almost had a heart attack, or whatever it was that made him keel over. Never mind that he thought Chris was gonna beat the crap out of him, just because he hadn’t told him everything about the attack. This is exactly the kind of shit he was trying to get away from. Well, not exactly, but close enough. Goddammit!

He's turning away when he hears Chris groan and he swirls around, fists automatically raised, but Chris is still fast asleep. There’s a crease between his eyebrows and his lips are turned down in a painful pinch. The hand resting on top of the covers keeps twitching. Jensen hesitates. Chris groans again. It sounds pained. His hand starts trembling, violently. Jensen bites his lip. Then he limps over and sits down at the edge of the bed, taking Chris’s hand in his own and squeezing it lightly. The responding crush almost has him jerking back but the grip loosens almost immediately, and the hand falls still. Jensen rubs his thumb over the back of Chris’s hand, watching in fascination as Chris’s lips slowly lose their pinch and the crease between his eyebrows evens out. He waits until Chris looks to be back in deep sleep before trying to pull his hand loose. As soon as he moves, Chris’s fingers tighten their grip, and his face turns pinched again. After a few more tries Jensen gives up.

He sits listening to the muffled sound of music from downstairs while watching Chris’s chest rise and fall. Truth is, despite what just happened, he owes the man. Not just for saving his ass that first night or offering him a spot or taking him in and buying him clothes and stuff instead of the ones he lost, but for… For being kind. For caring. And if Jensen leaves now, if he runs, he’ll never forgive himself for returning that kindness with fear and judgement. Chris might have hurt him, but Jensen is pretty sure he didn’t mean to. It was just a thoughtless grab and only reason it hurt so much was because Jensen was already all banged up.

Plus, he has no money and no place to go. And what if those guys are still out there, looking for him? The thought makes his guts twist, makes his brain go numb with fear.

So, guess he's staying. And not just because Chris has him literally caught in the palm of his hand.

His stomach rumbles. It’s been ten hours or so since they ate breakfast and he hadn’t wanted to raid Chris’s kitchen, not while his status in Chris’s home was so unclear. Chris hasn’t officially offered him a place to stay but he feels it’s implied. Maybe. At least while he’s all banged up. Possibly. Anyway, he didn’t want to interrupt Chris at work and then this all happened and now he’s starving. And his back is getting worse from sitting twisted with his legs over the edge of the bed. Again he tries to pull free of Chris’s grasp but there’s no use. The man has a grip like a vice.

Sighing Jensen scoots up on the bed and lies down, tucking his free arm under his head to ease some of the weight off his bruised ribs. At least it’s his right side, which is slightly better.

Lying this close he can’t help studying Chris’s face. The nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once. The light stubble. The long sweep of his eyelashes. The faded scar above the upper lip. The small braids Jensen’s only now noticing, hidden in the thick curls of Chris’s shoulder length hair. They feel surprisingly personal, like a subtle clue to who he is. He smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Smells like the bar, all whiskey and beer and clouds of perfume and cologne that will turn into musky sweat as the night wears on. It’s a heady scent that brings Jensen back to when he was on stage with the crowd staring up at him and he locked eyes with Chris as he sang the last song before the break. There had been something…

Thing is, despite owning a basically gay bar, Chris gives out a very straight vibe. Except for that moment. And constantly calling Jensen darling. And then there’s Steve…

Jensen takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He’ll be the first to admit that he finds Chris attractive, despite the gruff attitude and constant frowning. The way Chris holds himself, the way he moves, like perfectly defined strength enclosed in a compact package. The confident swagger, the southern charm dripping off every word, the steel in those clear blue eyes. And still, when Jensen turned up all beaten and bloody, Chris had handled him with such gentleness he’d instantly felt safe. Until Chris went absolutely batshit crazy because…

Jensen stops breathing. Because of him. That’s what Chris and Steve were talking about. ‘Bigots and assholes’ and Chris looking at Jensen as he said it was worth it. He is the reason Chris almost overdosed and had a heart attack. Or whatever it was that happened. And Jensen had been about to make another runner because of it. Like a damn coward.

Chris mumbles something incoherent in his sleep, the hand holding Jensen’s twitching. Jensen resumes rubbing it with his thumb. Seems he’s stuck here, at least until Steve comes back from playing downstairs. Didn’t he imply he and Chris usually played together? Jensen would have loved to see Chris on stage. Actually, he’d love to sing with Chris. That honey sweet drawl and just a hint of roughness when he talks… Jensen can just about imagine what Chris’s singing voice sounds like.

Jensen settles deeper into the pillows and closes his eyes, picturing what it would be like. Just the two of them, sharing a single mic. Maybe a slow song, with Chris looking at him like he did that night…

He wakes up to someone shaking him hard. “Hey. What you think you’re doing?”

Jensen shoots up, startled, jerking away from the hand gripping his shoulder. The movement sends a jolt of pain through his whole body and he sucks in his breath, swallowing the wave of nausea that threatens to bowl him over. When he looks up, Steve is looming over him, a scowl on his face.

“Sorry,” Jensen grits out although he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. “He was shaking. Was just trying to calm him down.” He frees his hand from Chris’s now slack grip, shaking the numbness out of his fingers. “And then he wouldn’t let go.”

Steve frowns down at him. “He wake up at all?”

“Don’t think so.” Jensen stands up slowly, grinding his teeth against the pain. His stomach chooses that moment to growl, loudly, and Steve sighs, shaking his head. “What?” Jensen snaps, face turning red.

“You hungry?”

He thinks about lying but what’s the point? “Chris bought me breakfast this morning but…” He hates how ashamed this guy is making him feel. “They took all my money.”

Steve sighs. “I’m gonna order pizza,” he says and walks out into the living room. Jensen throws a last look at Chris before limping after him. “He’ll be hungry when he wakes up. That alright with you?”

Jensen gives a curt nod. “I’m gonna pay him back,” he says because it needs saying. He’s no freeloader, thank you very much.

Steve doesn’t even look at him as he picks up the phone, but the smirk is infuriating. “Sure.”

“I am,” Jensen insists. “I’m playing Sunday night. I made plenty last time.”

That makes Steve raise his head. “Here? Haven doesn’t have live music on Sundays.”

“It does now.” If he sounds a little smug, he thinks he’s well within his right. He’s getting sick and tired of this guy’s attitude. What’s his problem anyway?

Steve tilts his head, studying him thoughtfully. “Alright. Sure you’ll feel up to it? You’re looking pretty banged up.”

Jensen hesitates. He hadn’t thought of that. His throat is a bit raw and his jaw hurts when he talks but he’s got almost two more days to heal before he has to play. He should be better by then. He might have to play sitting down though if his leg keeps hurting like it is. “Yeah. I’ll be alright.”

Steve shrugs and turns away to order with a certainty that speaks of intimate familiarity, then goes to fetch two beers from the fridge, handing Jensen one like it’s nothing. “What happened anyway?” he asks as he sits down on the couch.

Jensen sits down on the other end, being careful not to look at him. “Got jumped.”

“I figured. At Haven? How stupid were they?”

Jensen smiles a little at that. “First time, yeah. Chris beat the shit out of them. Thought that’d be it but they kept waiting for me every time I tried to come back. Finally followed me to the station and…” He stops. Takes a shaky breath. Don’t. Don’t think about it.

Steve frowns. “Station?” he asks.

“Bus station. I’ve been sleeping there.” He plucks at the label on the bottle. “I couldn’t go back there so I came here. Was only last night. I just said I was living here ‘cause I didn’t want you kicking me out.”

“Not my place, is it?” Steve sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry if I was harsh on you. My boy’s got a bleeding heart, I just don’t want it taken advantage of.”

“I’m not! I just… haven’t figured out what to do yet.”

“You can stay here,” says a rough voice and they both look up to find Chris standing in the bedroom doorway, looking just as exhausted as before he lay down. “Got a spare room. Ain’t usin’ it for anythin’ anyway.” He seems to hesitate then adds, “If you want, that is. Wouldn’t blame you for bein’ skittish. After all that.”

“Are you kidding me with this, Chris?” Steve asks just as Jensen says, “I’m not skittish,” even if he is, a bit. They glare at each other, but Steve wins the round. “Chris, you don’t know this kid from Adam.”

Jensen’s heart starts pounding. ‘Please don’t make me leave,’ he thinks, unable to look at Chris in case that’s just what he’s contemplating. Jensen might have been thinking of doing a runner a few hours ago, but now that he’s thinking straight, he realizes what a bad idea that would be. He can’t go out there again. What if they’re still waiting?

“I know enough,” Chris dismisses, and the relief is so immense Jensen slumps in his seat. Chris shoots him a reassuring look before glaring at Steve. “And Steve, I love you, man, but this ain’t none of your business.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Christ. Have it your way. But if he kills you in your sleep, I’m not coming to your fucking funeral.”

“If he kills me in my sleep, I damn well deserve it for lettin’ a kid sneak up on me like that,” Chris grumbles.

“For the record, I don’t plan on killing anyone,” Jensen feels he should point out.

Chris walks unsteadily over to ruffle his hair. “Sure, kiddo,” he says with a tired wink and Jensen would scowl at him if he wasn’t so distracted by Chris’s warm fingers. “You eaten anythin’?”

“He hadn’t but I ordered pizza,” Steve says before Jensen can answer. “He’s a growing boy, Chris, you can’t just keep him up here all day without food and water.”

“I’m not a damn dog!” Jensen protests but Chris looks stricken.

“You shoulda come downstairs, let me know. I’d have fixed you somethin’. Sorry, darlin’, don’t know where my head’s at.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at the endearment and heat rushes into Jensen’s cheeks. “It’s alright,” he lies. “I slept most of the day anyway.”

“Yeah?” Chris makes his way around the couch and sits heavily down on the sofa table. He reaches forward and brushes Jensen’s hair away from the cut on the forehead, eyes squinting like it pains him to focus. Jensen tries to pull away, all too aware of Steve watching them, but there’s nowhere to go with his head pressed into the couch cushions. The heat of Chris’s fingertips is making Jensen’s skin tingle, enough that he can’t suppress a shiver. “How you feelin’? Head givin’ you grief?”

“Just a little.” Sweat prickles his scalp. Chris is too close. Steve is sure to say something and then it will just be awkward, and Chris will look at him differently and decide he can’t have him staying after all and...

“How’s the leg? And your ribs? Lemme look.” Before Jensen can squirm away, Chris has pulled up his t-shirt, running his fingers lightly over Jensen’s bruised side. Jensen inhales sharply, and Chris shushes, voice low and soothing. “’S alright, sweetheart, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Jensen blinks. Seems Chris has forgotten he already did. Maybe he doesn’t realize or even remember. He did hit his head after all. Chris nudges Jensen to lean forward, and he has to hold his breath as the movement pulls at his back, the sharp pain burning like fire all the way up to his shoulder.

“Yeah, ‘sweetheart’, be still,” Steve mocks, but he’s looking at the bruises with concern. “Shit, that looks pretty bad. You sure they didn’t rupture anything?”

“I’m sure,” Jensen says, pulling his t-shirt down as soon as Chris sits back. “Not my first rodeo.”

Chris’s and Steve’s heads snap up in unison, eyes sharp. Chris’s jaw looks tense enough to break his molars, the blue eyes killer cold. It’s fucking terrifying. Shit. Why the hell did he say that?

“Actual rodeo, or getting the crap beaten out of you rodeo?” Steve asks, voice low.

“Beating,” Jensen admits hesitantly.

Steve’s face hardens. “Family?”

“No,” he lies for some reason he can’t even explain to himself. Shame maybe. “Not that my folks did much about it,” he adjusts slightly. “Think my old man figured maybe they’d beat it out of me.”

“It?” Chris asks. His voice sounds strained and Steve shoots him a worried glance.

Jensen cringes. “Come on, man. You know.”

Chris breathes out through his nose, lips pinched. He nods. “That why you ran away?”

“I didn’t run! I moved!”

“Yeah? Let anyone know you were movin’?” Chris asks. “You know, before you snuck out in the middle of the night with your daddy’s guitar and not much else?”

Jensen clenches his jaw. “No,” he admits.

“No,” Chris repeats but he doesn’t needle him further, just puts a warm hand on his knee. “Lemme look at your leg.”

Jensen glances nervously at Steve but it’s a little late to be shy so he wriggles the sweats down to his knees. Steve winces when he sees the extend of the bruises, some of them more black than blue. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Chris mutters. He lays a hand on the worst of the damage, the touch sending shivers up Jensen’s spine. “Still heat in ‘em. I’mma get you some ice.”

He stands up and sways on his feet. Steve shoots out a hand to steady him. “Let me. Sit down.”

“I’m alright,” Chris says but he turns and sinks down on the couch, closing his eyes. “What?” he asks after a moment, like he can feel Jensen’s unease.

“Nothing.” Jensen pulls his sweats back up, waiting until he hears Steve thunder down the spiral staircase before asking, “You getting all angry, was it because of me? Because of what happened?”

“Dunno.” Chris sighs. “Maybe.” He opens one eye, shooting Jensen a glare. “Not your fault so don’t start thinkin’ that. Just my brain that’s wired all wrong.”

“Steve said it was a disorder,” Jensen pries cautiously.

“Steve talks too much,” Chris grumbles. He sighs again. “But yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Jensen thinks of his uncle and the subdued group of mangled men, paying their respect at his funeral. “Were you… Is it like a vet thing?”

Chris snorts. “Nothin’ that heroic. Genetics more like it. My old man was a fuckin’ bastard, same as me.”

That sounds ominous. “Oh. Is he…?”

“Keeled over right before his fortieth birthday after beatin’ the shit out of my mama.” Chris looks over when Jensen sucks in his breath and adds, “I’m tryin’ not to go down that road.”

“But you stopped taking your meds,” Jensen points out.

Chris rolls his eyes. “Christ, not you too. I’m fine. I’m takin’ my fuckin’ meds, just not all of’em.” He grimaces. “Those pills, they make my goddamn head empty. Not a fuckin’ thought in here right now,” he says, tapping his temple. “Which is shit if you wanna make music.”

“You and Steve?”

Chris shrugs. “Some. Some my own. Steve’s more of an indie guy, but I try not to hold it against him.” He grins at Steve as he walks in with a bucket full of ice.

“We can’t all be backwater country hicks, dude.” Steve fetches a kitchen towel and wraps up a bunch of ice, handing the makeshift icepack to Jensen who lays it up against his thigh, hissing at the cold.

“No, put it on your skin, under your pants. Steve, get him another one for his back.” Chris accepts the second icepack from Steve with a grateful smile before turning back to Jensen, pulling the t-shirt from his back and shoving the icepack in place. Jensen yelps from the sudden cold, jerking hard, and he gulps for air as the world goes a little grey around the edges.

“You’ll thank me later,” Chris dismisses but when he pulls the t-shirt back down, his warm hand lingers on Jensen’s back as if in apology.

The pizza arrives a few minutes later. Chris and Steve talk while they eat, about Steve’s gig and music in general and how the bar is doing. Jensen listens and tries not to feel superfluous. At one point Chris looks over at him with a smile and tells Steve he needs to come by on Sunday to hear their new prodigy.

“He really any good or the pretty face fuck up your hearing?” Steve teases.

Jensen freezes, his stomach churning. What if that’s all it was?

“Fuck you, man,” Chris shoots back easily. “Kid’s good. Real good. We’ll jam, you’ll see.” He looks over at Jensen again and frowns. “Later maybe. You look beat, darlin’.” He pats Jensen’s knee. “Go on, go to bed. I’ll take the couch and we’ll sort the other room out tomorrow.”

“I can take the couch,” Jensen objects but Chris shakes his head.

“Me and Steve’ll probably stay up a while longer. Toothbrush is in the bag in the bathroom,” he says as Jensen staggers to his feet. “And take a couple of painkillers, you’ll sleep better.”

Jensen nods. He goes and finds the bag with the toothbrush, along with deodorant, a hair brush, and a disposable shaver as well. He closes the door, takes a leak, and brushes his teeth before swallowing the pills. Chris and Steve look up when he comes out, telling him good night, before going back to whatever they’re talking about. They’re sitting close, heads bowed, voices low as if not to disturb him. Or be overheard, more likely.

He hesitates before leaving the door slightly ajar. It’s Chris’s bedroom, he might have to fetch something before he turns in. Chris was right though, Jensen is beat, despite all the sleeping he’s been doing the last 24 hours. Slipping under the covers feels heavenly. He closes his eyes, listening to the murmur of voices from the living room. His back hurts so he rolls over on his good side to get more comfortable. The pillow under his cheek smells like Chris. Like the faint scent of smoke in his hair and whiskey and beer and…

… the heat of the spotlight warms his face. The music strums from his fingers, the words breathe from his throat, and out in the crowd a pair of blue eyes hold his gaze with an intensity so strong, it feels like it’s just the two of them, alone in the whole wide world.

Steve tucks a lock of hair behind Chris’s ear, fingers lingering to play with a braid. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Chris sighs. He’s tired, his head hurts, and he really doesn’t want to have this conversation.

Steve leans in, kissing a spot by his ear. “If being around him gets you this riled up-”

“Told you, not his fault,” Chris cuts in. He feels almost annoyed enough to push Steve away. Almost. Would be if he wasn’t still so damn doped up.

Steve kisses his earlobe, the hand that’s been resting on Chris’s knee slipping higher. “Not saying it is but it still happened. You got to be careful, baby.”

“Can we not talk about this, man?”

“You’re the one who gave away your bed,” Steve points out, brushing Chris’s hair aside to plant kisses on his neck.

Chris tips his head back, groaning. Yeah, why did he do that again? Right, Jensen. He throws a glance at the bedroom door. It’s not even closed. They probably shouldn’t… Steve bites at his Adam’s apple and Chris whimpers. Fuck. “We can’t…”

“If he wants to listen, let him,” Steve dismisses and the thought shoots straight to Chris’s groin, making him rock-hard in seconds. Steve chuckles, hand closing around Chris’s dick through his jeans. “Really? You pervert.”

“Fuck you,” Chris bites out, his face burning.

“Nah, I think I’ll fuck you,” Steve says, laughing softly. “Right here, with the pretty boy listening to you moaning. Would you like that, ‘darling’?”

Chris doesn’t say yes but he doesn’t say no either. And when Steve does fuck him, right there, with Jensen only a few feet away, he has to bite the pillow to keep from moaning loud enough to keep the whole neighborhood entertained.

Continued here.