Fic: In a Mirror Distorted and Indistinct. RPS. Jensen/Jared. NC-17 2/4
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Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Author’s notes | Soundtrack
Part 2
Jared’s got a girlfriend, Sandy. Jensen tends to forget that sometimes since she’s living in LA and doesn’t really come up to Vancouver that often. Her existence is like mass on Sundays and his soul’s inevitable eternal damnation, easy to ignore until shoved in his face. He’s listening to Jared talk over the movie on TV, watching the way his lips move and wondering what they would feel like, pressed up against his, when the phone rings and whatever stupid fantasy world he’s living in bursts like a bubble of soap.
Jared stands up from the couch, laughing sweetly into the phone as he disappears into the kitchen, leaving Jensen with a cold spot next to him on the couch and an even colder one in his heart. Fuck.
This is why he doesn’t get close to people. Especially not people like Jared. Good, decent, beautiful, sexy people. People who have girlfriends and are as straight as they come.
“Stop it,” Jared laughs in the kitchen, voice low and warm. “I can’t. Not now, baby. Jen’s here. Later, okay?” He groans. “Not fair. Don’t… The pink one? Really? Jeez, you’re killing me.”
This is when Jensen should stand up and tell Jared he’s got to go home - tired and early morning and all that bullshit - so Jared can have phone sex with his girlfriend. He doesn’t. He stays on the couch, staring blindly at the TV until Jared comes back, cheeks flushed and eyes shining with everything Jensen’s aching for.
“Sorry about that,” Jared says and flops down on the couch. He spreads his legs, and the obvious bulge in his pants makes it clear to Jensen what exactly it is he’s sorry about and his stomach twists.
‘Sorry you’re here, Jen, ruining my special time with my girlfriend. Sorry it’s you, not her, sitting on this couch. Sorry I’ve got to wait until you go home before I can call her back and finish what we started.’
Well, contrary to Jared, Jensen’s not a nice guy, and he’s not going home for a long while yet.
“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, all casual and oblivious. “How’s things in LA?”
“Hot.”
Jared throws him a smirk and Jensen pretends not to notice.
“Yeah?” he says instead and sips his beer. “Bet you’d rather be there than here,” he then adds because he’s a damn masochist and maybe hearing Jared saying it flat out will stop his dick (heart) from being so goddamn stupid.
Jared sits silent for a while and when Jensen risks a glance over he finds Jared watching him.
“Not really,” he says, voice too soft and eyes too damn kind. “I’m feeling good right here, right now. This?” He indicates the room with a sweep of his hand, lingering at last on Jensen. “This is good.”
Jensen snorts even if he feels elevated with sudden happiness. “Simple things please simple minds,” he quips and hands Jared the bowl of popcorn.
“Yep. Beer, snacks and good company,” Jared agrees and grabs half of what’s left in the bowl with one of his huge hands. “Don’t need much more.”
Jensen snorts again but this time he can’t help the grin spreading across his face. “You’re a cheap date, Jare.”
“I always put out on the first night too,” Jared says and stuffs his mouth full, the loud sound of him chewing drowning out the hitch in Jensen’s breath.
An hour and half a movie later he excuses himself and goes to the bathroom. Despite his resolve to be good, he’s stuffed to the brink with pizza, popcorn and beer and the gummy bears Jared keeps throwing at him, aiming at his mouth but more often hitting his eye or nose. His stomach aches, the skin stretched and the waistline of his jeans digging into his middle.
He stares at himself in the mirror. His pupils are wide and his cheeks slightly flushed. He’d blame it on the beer but he’s only had two. He looks…
Whatever he glimpsed is gone in the blink of an eye and instead fourteen year old Jensen is staring back at him. Pudgy and sweaty and gasping for breath.
Swallowing he swishes on the faucets before turning to the toilet, patting his pocket reassuringly for the packet of gum. He already has his hand out, ready to flip it open, when he hears Jared’s loud laughter from the living room.
“Dude, you’re missing the best part!” he yells and then laughs again.
Jensen’s hand hovers above the toilet seat before falling limply by his side. He really hates puking popcorn anyway. Damn stuff always gets stuck in his throat.
“Well, put it on pause, you ass,” he shouts back and when he glances at the mirror he’s twenty-seven again. Before he can change his mind he turns the water off again and walks out, flipping the light switch as he goes and leaving the shadow of Porky behind in the dark.
Jared smiles up at him when he walks back into the living room and Jensen curls up on the opposite end of the couch, pushing his bare feet under one of the pillows for warmth. When Jared grabs him by the ankles and puts his feet in his lap instead, rubbing heat into them with his big warm hands, Jensen forgets all about Sandy and the nausea burning his throat.
“So Chris used to be on Angel? And you know him how?”
They’re in LA for the weekend, having planned to just cool it at the hotel pool and drink beer in a climate that doesn’t require sweaters and thermal socks. Except when Chris calls him the day before they leave, Jensen is stupid enough to tell him where they’re going. Stupid, so damn stupid.
“Steve. They play in a band together,” Jensen says in answer to Jared’s question and clenches his fingers around the steering wheel.
This whole idea of Jared meeting his other friends is very bad. So bad indeed that if it hadn’t been Chris who suggested it - meaning he told Jensen to get his ass over to his place “…and bring the child-giant,” or he’d rip him a new one - Jensen would have thought he’d come up with it himself in one of his brief moments of suicidal insanity.
He’s bringing Jared, the guy he’s in love with, to a party where there will be beer and possibly weed, to meet his other friends. His friends who don’t really know who he is and he likes it fine that way. This? This is gonna screw that all up, he just knows it. They’ll take one look at him and they’ll know, just know, that he’s a pathetic lovesick faggot with the hots for his very straight, very much taken, co-star. Someone who, besides being a guy, is so far out of his league it’s not even funny.
He’s so fucked. So goddamn fucked.
“Huh.” Jared nods thoughtfully. “And Steve?”
“What is this?” Jensen snaps, too close to the edge to keep himself in check. “Six degrees of Kevin Bacon?”
Jared purses his lips in thought and then declares, “Two.”
Huh? Jensen glances over, frowning. “What?”
“Christian Kane’s Bacon number. It’s two. He was in some movie with some chick who was in Loverboy with Kevin.”
Jared nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world, keeping facts like that stored in his brain, and all Jensen can do is blink. “You’re so weird, dude. How do you even know that?”
Jared waves dismissively. “Oh, I check everyone’s Bacon number. There’s this site online, really cool, you just put in a name and bingo, you get their Bacon number.”
“Weird,” Jensen repeats, shaking his head. Then, because he’s not above being weird himself, he asks, “What’s mine?”
“Three. Some guy in Devour was in something with some girl who was in Where the Truth Lies with Kevin. And before you ask, mine’s two. Steve Martin from Cheaper by the Dozen was in Novocain with him. Which means I win.”
“Which mean’s you’re weirder than me,” Jensen corrects him and smirks when Jared flips him off.
He can feel the tension in his stomach relenting, Jared’s presence having the usual soothing effect on him. Enough to make his fingers slowly slacken around the steering wheel until his knuckles aren’t quite as white anymore.
“What about Tommy?” he asks after a while and lets Jared’s rambling voice lull him into a sense of security. False or not, at least for the moment he doesn’t feel like throwing up.
Chris is being nice. This is not a good thing. Jensen’s not sure why but there’s something so very wrong about Chris Kane treating Jared Padalecki like he’s his bestest friend ever. Jared’s had three beers and is currently smoking the fattest joint Jensen’s ever seen and a whole school of fish could swim in his liquid eyes. Jensen’s trying to listen in on their conversation but it’s hard with Steve constantly tugging on his arm, asking his opinion on the song he’s strumming on his guitar.
“My next album,” Steve’s saying, his voice slow and hoarse with smoke, “you should do a song with us. Jensen, are you listening?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles but his eyes are set on Jared and Chris. What are they talking about? Are they talking about him? Is Chris questioning Jared or is Jared the one who’s finally succumbed to curiosity? Apart they’re ignorant but if they put their heads together…
“So you’ll do it?”
“Sure,” he says absently but then his brain catches up on the last couple of minutes and he jerks awake. “What?”
“It’s just one song but…”
“No!” He stares at Steve’s face falling, wondering what the hell else he’s been agreeing to. “No, I’m not gonna… No.”
Chris looks up from where he’s been practically rubbing noses with Jared and gives him a grin. “C’mon, Jenny. You’re good. It will be great.”
“No.” He stands up abruptly, the room swaying before his eyes. “No, man.”
They’re both watching him now. Everyone’s watching him. All air is suddenly gone from the room. There’s just smoke and heat and all these eyes, staring at him. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe!
“Jen…” Jared says worriedly and Chris glances at him before looking back at Jensen, thoughtful.
“I have to… I have to pee,” Jensen chokes out and stumbles away and down the hall.
Second door on the left and he’s on his knees, heaving, water rushing into the sink to cloak the noise. There’s not much but it’s enough to calm him down, enough to empty his mind along with his stomach. When he’s done he steals Chris’s toothbrush and then rummages through the cabinet. Cologne and dental floss. Shaving cream and hand lotion. Some Vicodin and a bottle of steroids Chris uses when his voice is shot to shit after too much drinking. Jensen pushes them aside after a moment’s hesitation and pulls out a bottle of mouthwash.
As he does a box of old fashioned razorblades falls out and into the sink, scattering everywhere. Jensen stares at them. His wrists suddenly start itching. He picks one blade up carefully with shaky fingers, and the edge cuts his thumb. It’s so sharp he hardly even feels it.
He hasn’t seen one of these in years. Everyone uses electric or disposable these days. The thin metal feels familiar between his fingertips and the sharp smell of blood brings him flashes of another bathroom and another time, so very long ago.
He jerks awake from whatever thoughts he’s having (none, not any) when there’s a soft knock on the door and then Jared’s voice comes through the door.
“You okay, man? Jen? You in there?”
Jensen drops the blade and it clinks against the porcelain. Fuck.
“Yeah. I’m just…” ‘Having a nostalgic moment, remembering my pathetic teenage existence.’ “…peeing. Be right out.”
“Okay.”
Jensen waits for the sound of steps retreating but instead he hears something sliding down the wall in the hall and then Jared is humming softly, butchering the song Steve had been playing. Damn.
Jensen picks the blades up at the short sides, one by one between shaky fingers. His bleeding thumb leaves red fingerprints on the white porcelain, the patterns smeared and familiar. He cleans the sink with soaked toilet paper that he then flushes down the toilet, all the while pressing a wad of twisted paper against the cut. It’s not deep and when he’s done cleaning up it’s already stopped bleeding.
When he opens the door Jared smiles up at him from where he’s sitting on the floor, back up against the wall. His pupils are impossibly wide, dark and deep enough that Jensen could drown in them.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to grab Jensen by the wrist. “You left me alone in there with your scary friends.”
He opens his mouth to call Jared a little girl but what comes out is, “Didn’t think you’d notice,” all bitter and hurt.
Jared blinks up at him, the grip around Jensen’s wrist shifting. “Jen? Are you alright?”
His head is swimming with alcohol and hunger and the whole apartment smells of weed. That’s what he blames it on because he’s got to blame something. God knows he’s never this stupid all on his own.
“Were you talking about me?” he asks, voice on the verge of being hysterical. “Did he send you back here?”
“Who? Chris?” Jared looks honestly confused, his eyes struggling to focus. “Why would he…? Jenny?”
“Don’t call me that,” Jensen hisses and wrenches his wrist free in anger. He stumbles and Jared’s on his feet, catching him half a second before he crashes head first into the wall.
“Whoa. Easy there. Maybe you should lay down?”
“Get off me.”
He pushes Jared away, hard enough that he bounces off the wall, but Jared doesn’t even seem to notice. His hands are instantly back, gripping Jensen’s shoulders, fingers strong and warm and secure.
“Come here,” he says, ignoring Jensen’s swearing, and turns him around and along the hall.
After first opening a door leading to a closet Jared eventually finds the right one and then they’re in Chris’ bedroom. It’s dark and stuffy, smelling faintly of sweat and sex, and the bed hasn’t been made. Jensen can just imagine the stains he’ll see if Jared turns the lights on. He doesn’t and part of Jensen is glad, happy to have the dark shielding him. But the other part, the part that says Jared isn’t turning on the lights because Jared knows why Jensen doesn’t want the lights turned on - and it has nothing to do with come-stained sheets - that part is terrified.
Jared kicks the door closed behind them and suddenly the fear in Jensen’s chest turns to full panic. He lashes out, elbowing Jared in the side and he staggers back with an ‘oomph’ before bumping into the door.
“Fuck, Jen. Whatya doin’?” he groans out, hand pressed into his side.
“I told you to get off me,” Jensen shouts back as he twists around, facing him, his voice high pitched and shaking as he backs away. “I told you…” He stumbles as the bed hits him on the back of his legs and just like that he’s lying on the rumbled sheets, staring up at the ceiling. If he weren’t so damn drunk he’d be pondering the worthlessness of his own existence, right about now.
Instead he just lies there, silent, listening to Jared breathing heavily, his head empty of all thoughts except, ‘This is when you figure me out. This is where you leave me.’
When Jared’s shadowed form suddenly moves until it’s looming over him, Jensen closes his eyes and waits for the end. And then he’s bouncing on the bed, mattress shaking from Jared’s weight where he’s thrown himself down, next to Jensen.
They lie in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly something tickles Jensen’s thigh and before he has time to jerk away Jared’s fumbling for his hand, fingers sliding in between his own and squeezing them reassuringly. Jensen’s just about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when Jared’s starts talking, so quiet Jensen can hardly hear him.
“When I was twelve, our neighbor, he used to have this dog. Mongrel but really cute. Rescued from the pound. Thin as a stick and scared of its own shadow. Ran away with its tail between its legs every time I tried to pet it.”
Jared’s voice is low and calm, his thumb stroking the back of Jensen’s hand.
“I didn’t give up though. All it needed was a friend and I was gonna be that friend. I brought it snacks and chewing toys and then just waited. I was sure it would come to me eventually.” He falls quiet.
Jensen closes his eyes. He wants to ask ‘Did it?’ but he keeps silent.
Jared turns his head. His breath ghosts over Jensen’s face, smelling sweetly of beer and pot. His thumb is still stroking Jensen’s hand. The sound of a guitar strumming and low voices can be heard from beyond the door. The room is dark and warm, the bed soft and luring.
Jensen falls asleep.
He blinks awake in the early morning hours to find Jared sleeping peacefully beside him on the bed. He looks young and innocent in his sleep and so beautiful it takes Jensen’s breath away. His bangs have fallen across his forehead and his hair is curled with sweat at the back of his neck. He’s got one arm slung across Jensen’s waist, warm and heavy, but instead of feeling trapped Jensen feels safe, grounded. The realization is terrifying. He rolls away and off the bed, just managing to curl into a crouch before hitting the floor with a thud.
He’s only wearing his boxer briefs and t-shirt, which means Jared must have undressed him some time during the night. Frantically, Jensen looks around for the rest of his clothes, pushing away the thought of those long slender fingers unbuttoning his jeans. He finds them lying folded on a chair by the window with his shirt draped over it and boots sitting neatly beneath it. He dresses in a hurry, almost tipping the chair over when he loses balance, one leg caught in his jeans. He can’t find his socks at first but when he grabs his boots there they are, neatly rolled up and stuffed inside.
He’s got one hand on the door when Jared’s hoarse voice catches him and he freezes.
“It got run over.”
Jensen doesn’t turn around.
“The dog. One day I got tired of waiting and tried to grab it. It ran away from me and out into the street. A truck crushed it.”
There’s the sound of sheets shifting and Jensen’s grip on the doorknob tightens, but Jared doesn’t get out of the bed.
“I won’t make the same mistake again,” Jared finally says, his voice quiet but gentle. “I just wanted you to know that, man. You take your time.”
Jensen swallows. Then he opens the door and walks out of the room, closing it behind him. Chris and Steve are passed out on the couch in the living room, Chris’s fingers curled around the neck of his guitar, his head in Steve’s lap. They don’t even stir when Jensen sneaks by. He stands on the curb and calls a cab. When it picks him up five minutes later he makes it stop at the first ice cream parlor he sees before continuing to the hotel, a bag with three tubs by his feet.
When Jared joins him by the pool at their hotel later in the day, both wearing dark sunglasses and nursing bottles of Coke, neither of them mentions what happened.
Jared keeps his word. He never pushes, never asks, and slowly Jensen feels himself relaxing again. Jared’s constant presence, steady and sure, gives Jensen a long lost feeling of security. It’s as if with Jared around, nothing bad can happen and now when Jared puts an arm around his shoulders, Jensen instinctively puts his hand over Jared’s heart right away, feeling safe and grounded by its steady beating.
‘If I had only had you,’ he thinks, ‘back when everything was bad. If I had just known there were people like you, maybe I wouldn’t be like this.’
Jared gives him a blinding smile as the cameras flash around them and he smiles back, feeling almost happy, feeling almost loved. It’s a strange enough emotion that he doesn’t even recognize it for what it is until a few days later. By then that smile has already been spread across the Internet and really, he can’t bring himself to care. He’s getting so careless in fact that when his mother calls to ask him nervously if everything’s ‘alright up there’, he’s caught completely off guard.
“How’s Jared? Still with that nice girl, is he? And you, honey, how are things for you? Any… girls? Anyone at all? No?”
Panic rises in Jensen’s throats and he glances up at Jared who’s walking beside him, playing with his iPod. He must have given something away, maybe a breath too short or a slight shiver because Jared suddenly looks up and smiles at him and with that Jensen manages to swallow his fears and fake himself calm.
“Everything’s fine. Look, I’m sorry, mom, I really gotta go. Give my best to dad and Mac,” he says cheerfully and snaps his phone shut. Jared gives him a questioning look and he shrugs, then fakes tripping, just so Jared will have to catch his arm to keep him from falling. Funny what a klutz Jensen is these days.
“Thanks. Thanks, man,” he gasps and Jared squeezes his shoulders, big hands warm and strong, lingering for a few moments longer before letting go.
“Can’t afford you falling on your face,” he says with a grin, and Jensen swallows. No, he can’t. He really can’t.
“You can just as well give up now, my friend.”
They’re on the eighth hole, ignoring the cold wind and the threat of thunder from above.
“Shut up,” Jensen growls and eyes his clubs critically. He’s far behind and Tom is annoyingly smug, probably already tasting the whiskey they put up as wager.
“Try the nine-iron,” Tom suggests and Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Try kissing my ass,” he bites back and picks a seven instead. Tommy stays silent as Jensen lines up his shot but the moment it’s flying - embarrassingly off - he snorts and pats Jensen’s behind amiably.
“No can do. Not mine to kiss.”
Jensen straightens up, face closing down. “What’s that suppose to mean?”
Tom doesn’t answer, just holds his gaze for a moment. “Jared’s a nice guy,” he finally says.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Jensen scoffs, voice cold and his whole body stiff.
“Cute girlfriend he has,” Tom continues, ignoring Jensen’s obvious back-off signals. “Sandy, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Cute as a button. Are we playing or what?” He keeps his gaze calm and steady, even if his heart is pounding in his chest.
After a moment’s silence Tommy sighs. “Sure.”
He grabs his bag and hosts it up on his shoulder. They start walking across the wilting grass course, quiet and awkward. Jensen’s just about to breathe out when Tommy says softly, “You can talk to me, man. About… whatever. You know that, right?”
He’d laugh if he weren’t feeling so goddamn scared. “Right,” he says instead, offering nothing.
They finish the game in silence and when Tommy calls him the next day, Jensen turns his phone off.
Sandy comes up for a surprise visit, Saturday before Halloween. She looks adorable in her thick sweater and high boots, watching from the sidelines with sparkling eyes and a sweet smile. Every time the director yells cut, Sam slips off Jared like water, his eyes slide away from Jensen, and the grin that splits his face is all for Sandy.
Jensen withdraws, watching them snuggle up together between takes, a fake smile plastered on his lips as he feels much colder than the rather mild October weather calls for. As Kim calls for a wrap, Jared picks Sandy up and swings her around, head thrown back in a happy laugh that Jensen had convinced himself belonged to only him. God, he’s so stupid.
They invite Jensen to join them for dinner but he shakes his head and yawns. “Nah. You lovebirds go alone. I’m too tired anyway.”
Sandy smiles and kisses him on the cheek, her relief obvious, but Jared watches him silently and as they head for their trailers to change, Jared reaches out, his hand warm and heavy on Jensen’s arm.
“Hey,” he says, all quiet and concerned. “You alright, man?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Jensen answers, eyes busy studying the gravelly lot. “I told you, I’m just tired.”
There’s silence and when Jensen risks a glance he finds Jared watching him, a worried look on his face. Damn.
“Dude, I’m fine. Go have fun with your girlfriend. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Jared frowns. “Monday? But we could… tomorrow… I mean, I thought we were gonna hang out?”
“Jared, c’mon. Your girl is here. What you need me for?” He turns to his trailer, the door closed and locked behind him before Jared has time to answer.
He spends the night slouched on the couch, collecting empty beer bottles on the sofa table and crushed cigarette stubs in the ashtray. On the mute TV screen scantily clad women are running from zombies, mouths open in silent screams. One of them looks a little like Sandy and he feels oddly satisfied when she ends up decapitated in the cemetery. And then he feels guilty about that and has to down half a bottle of Jack to make himself drunk enough to not care that he’s a sick pathetic jealous bastard of an asshole.
When he finally wakes up around noon he spends the next hour puking his guts out, the hangover splitting his head. Then he goes running, his pace getting faster and faster as the miles disappear behind him, until he has to stop for a red light coming out of the park and promptly collapses. He sits on the curb for half an hour, head between his knees, too wiped out to even contemplate moving. When he finally stumbles to his feet he has to grab a lamppost to keep from toppling over. The whole world is turning way too fast, there are flashes of light before his eyes and his limbs are as heavy as lead. In the end he has to admit defeat and hails a taxi back home.
All Hallows Eve is spent again on the couch, this time eating all the candy him and Jared had bought for potential Trick or Treaters.
(“Dude, I live in a hotel. No kids are gonna knock on my door.”
“Sure they are,” Jared had said, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, Reese’s Peanut Butter treats! We gotta have this. I mean, for the kids.”
“Uhuh, right. The kids.”
“Look, they’re like little Jack O Lanterns!”)
By midnight he’s just happy he bought that rug for his bathroom because his knees are really starting to hurt.
Monday morning he slides into the backseat of their car next to Jared, eyes bloodshot and head pounding. When Jared throws him a worried glance he shrugs and sips his coffee with a grimace.
“Some asshole was holding a party upstairs. Kept me up half the night,” he lies and Jared’s eyes fill with sympathy.
“Man, that sucks. You should have called. You know the couch’s got your name on it.”
“Yeah, I know.” He gives Jared a grateful nod as he swallows the last dredge of caffeine, then leans back and closes his eyes, empty mug tumbling to the floor. “Sandy gone?” he adds after a few painful breaths.
There’s a brief silence and then Jared says, “Yeah, she caught a flight this morning.”
Warm hands land on Jensen’s shoulders, long fingers massaging muscles that are rock hard with tension. He shifts so he’s leaning against Jared’s side, eyes still closed. He can feel Jared’s hot breath on his neck and he can’t help shivering.
“That good?” Jared asks quietly and Jensen nods.
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Thanks.”
“Sorry about last night,” Jared says after a while, sounding genuinely remorseful, and Jensen lets his head drop back on Jared’s shoulder with a soft smile.
“It’s okay,” he says.
Jared’s warm and solid against his back, his breath sweet as it brushes Jensen’s neck and when Jared wraps one arm around his chest, holding him close, Jensen relaxes for the first time in three days. He falls asleep and doesn’t wake up until they arrive on set half an hour later, Jared shaking him gently and cheerily singing “Wake up, sleepyhead” into his ear.
Chris is pissed off.
Jensen thinks maybe he should have anticipated that, considering all the messages and angry voicemails Chris has been leaving him ever since LA. He probably should have answered one of those, or, you know, picked up the phone when Chris kept calling. Still he hadn’t really expected the guy to show up on his doorstep at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, looking like someone just pissed in his Cheerios.
“What the fuck, man? What the fucking hell is wrong with you?” Chris yells the moment Jensen opens the door, half-asleep and hung over as hell.
“Me? What the fuck are you doing, banging on my door in the middle of the night?” Jensen retorts and briefly considers slamming said door shut in Chris’ face. Although knowing Chris, he’ll just bang away on it until he wakes up half the neighborhood.
Chris voice literally trembles with suppressed anger as he growls, “Don’t. Don’t you…”and pushes Jensen aside to force his way into the apartment. “Fuck, Jenny. What the hell are you playing at?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jensen says defensively and stalks after Chris who walks straight into the kitchen and to the fridge where he pulls out a beer, like it’s ten o’clock at night and not six in the fucking morning. “I’m not playing anything. You’re the one being all psycho.”
“Don’t try that innocent act with me, boy. Don’t you fucking dare…”
Chris twists the top off the bottle, eyes shooting daggers his way and Jensen finds himself inadvertently taking a step back. A pissed off Chris is one scary son-of-a-bitch but this is the first time Jensen has found himself on the receiving end of his wrath.
“I’m not…”
“How ‘bout you tell me why I haven’t heard from you in over a month, huh?” Chris continues. “How ‘bout you tell me why you’ve been screening my calls? What kind of fucking friend are you?”
“Dude, c’mon. I’ve just been busy,” he tries but stops because Chris looks awfully much like he’s gonna start throwing punches. “Okay, you’re right. I’m a shitty friend and a horrible person. I’m sorry, alright?”
He sighs and rubs a palm over his rumbled face. He’s tired and hung over and he forgot to brush his teeth before passing out about… three hours ago. “I’m sorry, man, I really am. I just… I’m sorry.”
Chris glares at him for a moment longer but then he shakes his head and lets out a huff of angry breath before sinking down on one of Jensen’s kitchen chairs, looking small for the first time in as long as Jensen’s known him. “You freaked me the fuck out, Jen. I mean… Did I say something? Was it…?”
Jensen blinks. “What? No! No, man.” He swallows. “It’s not you.”
“Because I know you have your issues, Jensen, but I’ve always respected your privacy and never pried where I felt I had no goddamn business. Figured you’d tell me if and when you wanted to. Figured that’s what bringing Jared over was all about.”
Jensen freezes. His heart seems to stop and then suddenly it’s beating insanely fast, making him feel dizzy and weak in the knees. “That was your idea,” he says faintly but Chris waves that away with a roll of his eyes.
“Because I thought you were trying to tell me something! Because I thought…!”
He clenches his jaw and then suddenly he throws away what little reserve he’s been holding on to. “Fuck, Jen, do you really think I care? Do you really think I care one fucking shit who you sleep with?”
The silence that follows is as staggering as a blow to the chest. In fact Jensen can feel it just as well as if Chris had put his fist right through his ribcage. The chair he’d been clutching the back off without realizing, knuckles ghostly white on the wooden frame, topples over as he stumbles and falls to his knees. He’s aware of Chris catching him by his elbows, all anger gone from his eyes as he shouts something, something Jensen can’t hear. The blood is rushing in his ears and all he can do is stare wide-eyed at Chris’ panicked face and try and remember how to breathe.
Later, much later, they sit silently in the living room on opposite ends of the couch, nursing their respective beers. Jensen still can’t bring himself to look at Chris even if he can feel his gaze on him, as heavy as the stone in his belly.
“So…” Chris finally says and clears his throat. “You really do have issues. A whole goddamn bigger than I thought, granted, but…”
“Chris…” Jensen says warily. “Can we please…?”
“I always thought it was just me,” Chris continues, ignoring him. “That you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. But turns out you can’t even handle it yourself. Which…” He shakes his head. “Boy, they really did a number on you, didn’t they? Fuckers.”
He winces, feeling nausea that has nothing to do with the half bottle of Jack he drank last night. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” Chris repeats, incredulous. “Jensen, whoever made you think-.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jensen cuts in, defensive. Misplaced or not, some things you are obliged to stay loyal to. Besides, Chris is wrong. They didn’t do anything. It’s all him. It’s all his own doing.
Chris sighs. “Don’t know what good I’d do anyway. You need help, Jenny, more help than I can give you. Not saying I won’t listen or give what little advice I can but… Damn, Jen, you need to get yourself some goddamn professional help.”
Jensen shakes his head. What’s the use? He’s tried, been trying his whole life to change and it hasn’t done a damn difference. However much he wishes it was true he knows those damn ‘cures’ are just a load of bullshit. No shrink is going to make him straight.
“I don’t need to do anything. I’m doing fine on my own,” he says stubbornly and then jerks back when Chris slams the beer bottle down hard on the sofa table and jumps up, all wired anger and frustration.
He watches helplessly as Chris starts pacing the living room floor, hands clutched into fists by his side as if he’s straining from not attacking the nearest wall.
“Fine? Like hell you are! I thought you were having a heart attack, man! That’s what happens? That’s what fucking happens every goddamn time someone figures it out? Christ!”
Chris stops and looks at him, lips twisted in what Jensen can only deem as disappointment. “How much do you hate yourself, Jensen, if that’s what facing up to who you are, does to you?”
“I don’t hate myself,” Jensen tries but it sounds weak, even in his own ears. “I just…”
“Well, you sure don’t love yourself, that’s for sure,” Chris sighs and rubs a palm over his face. “Does he know? Does Jared know?”
Jensen swallows. “No.”
“And I thought he had some brains in that big head of his. You telling me he hasn’t even noticed how damn miserable he’s making you?”
Jensen looks at him, startled. “What? No. He doesn’t… It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like, Jensen?” Chris asks tiredly and sinks down on the couch again, all anger now gone from his eyes. “Please tell me because hell if it makes any sense to me.”
Jensen stares down at his hands. He’s picked half the label of the bottle without even noticing and the shreds of paper are littering his lap like twisted snowflakes. “Jared doesn’t make me miserable. He… he makes it bearable.”
He so damn tired he doesn’t even know how to fake it anymore. He can’t think up a single lie to save himself.
“He makes me want to wake up when I fall asleep,” he says quietly and closes his eyes. “That’s what he does. That’s all he does.”
“Goddamn, Jen,” Chris whispers and he sounds so sad Jensen doesn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles. The lump is thick in his throat, his breathing getting uneven. “I never meant to make you think I didn’t trust you. It… it wasn’t about that.”
“I know. I get it.” Chris’ hand comes to rest on Jensen’s knee, squeezing it lightly, and it stays there, even after Jensen’s stopped crying.
He’s beginning to doze off - the lack of sleep and emotional drainage having its effect on him - when Chris starts talking again, slow and quiet.
“Just… I want you to know it’s alright with me. Whatever you might think of yourself that’s not how I see you, okay? It doesn’t change anything about us.”
Jensen nods but he’s already wondering how long it will take before Chris stops calling. Whatever he might say now, once he’s had some time to think he’ll come to his senses. Or Steve will set him straight. Either way he’s losing friends left and right and it’s only a matter of time before Jared’s gone too.
He falls asleep to the sound of Chris murmuring on the phone and when he wakes up he’s alone, a drunkenly scribbled note on the sofa table beside him.
“I hate to do this but I have to catch a flight back for a shoot tonight. Christ, I can’t wait ‘til they kill me off that fucking show. The whiny bitch is driving me insane.
Pick up the next time I call or I’ll send Steve after you. And get some goddamn help, Jenny, I mean it.”
It’s not signed but it’s short and dismissive enough for Jensen to get the point. He gets shakily to his feet and shuffles into the kitchen.
When the phone rings two hours later he’s feeling good enough that he manages to fake his way through the awkward conversation, complete with a smile and everything. ‘Thanks’ and ‘I’m okay’ and ‘I’ll try and get to LA when we break for the holidays’.
By the time the break comes he’ll think of something. They’ll probably be too relieved to even call him on it.
Part 3