LODESTONE pt 14
(There's a lot to this chapter. Read carefully.)
Angel’s small, one-level house was as dark as Gramma’s. Candles were set in the rooms he’d seen. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling and sat in fixtures, but most were grey, burnt out. The small refrigerator in the kitchen was powered, and as far as he could tell, that was it. The stove looked electric rather than gas. There was no sign of air conditioning. Judging by the places they passed on the way, he was lucky to have all this.
Figurines were placed on counters and tables in a tasteful, uncluttered manner. Old masks hung on the walls, most looked homemade. Sticks were piled in one corner of the main room, near a fireplace that was probably used more for cooking than heat. Jared again eyed the stove, and saw a small ring of crust where a pot had boiled over, and left. Unshuttered windows let the natural light in, throwing shadows throughout the place, leaving him to wonder what hid in the corners.
“We make a great pair,” he muttered, trying to fill the void with words. He held a cold cloth to the lump on the back of his head. Misha just grunted, and fidgeted with his own bandage. “Leave that alone.”
“I’m not wearing this, I don’t care what Selma says,” Misha grumbled in distaste and gingerly touched the wound. “It isn’t bleeding anymore.”
“You look like Achmed the Dead Terrorist.” Jared grinned.
Misha just snorted and rose from the table. He peered into the reflective surface of the shaded window and started unrolling the gauze wrap.
Jared rubbed his forefinger along the grooves of the worn table. “Tell me again why Jensen isn’t here?”
“Angel just says he’s coming later.”
This troubled him. He shook his head, wincing at the slight pain, and shifted the cloth. “But it wasn’t his fault.”
“Maybe not. But you were hurt.” Misha looked confused. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
Jared lowered the cloth and studied it. Not bleeding. “What are you talking about?”
“That was an attack. On you.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“He’s saying you are as much a part of it as Jensen is,” Angel said, coming around the corner.
“Whoa, wait. I’m not a part of anything. Neither is Jensen, okay?” Jared leaned forward. “He’s in trouble. Don’t you get it? Didn’t you see what happened? There’s something in him. How do we know he’s not gonna try and off himself while we’re gone? Huh? How do we know that damn thing doesn’t have him right now?”
“It does.”
He sat for a moment, incredulous. “Then what the hell are we sitting around for?”
“What do you propose to do? It attacked you.”
“It attacked you too!”
“I was caught in it. Nothing more.”
“But you were the one hurting him,” Misha said, and raised his hands apologetically. “No, listen to me. I’m saying, if Jared was trying to help him, then why was he thrown with such force?”
“You forget. I was helping too,” Angel said.
“But your help was hurting him physically. Right? I heard him from upstairs. Selma said you were working on him. I was already on my way down. What on earth were you doing to him that made the thing react that way?”
“Healing his back.”
“Some healing.”
“It worked. He’s moving.” Angel sounded defensive. His brow furrowed. “But you are right. It flung Jared away first. I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Maybe he was thinking about me or something,” Jared said with a sigh. “God knows. None of this makes any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, actually,” Angel said as his phone rang. It was an old-fashioned sound, a high pitched, loud bell that pointed to an old land line. He left to answer.
Misha shook his head. “If he was looking at you, then maybe.” He looked troubled. Jared wanted to question him, but something made him stop. Misha had that look, just like the one he had when he was immersing himself in his Castiel role. The look that Jensen teased him about, that ultra-serious gaze that had no doubt secured the part for him. The look that said there was more going on than meets the eye, but he wasn’t talking.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Jared finally asked after several moments of silence.
Misha’s look scared him.
Angel came back in, his movements rushed. “That was Selma,” he said briskly, picking up the small leather pouch he usually carried, and slinging the thin strap over his shoulder. “He’s gone.”
Misha’s attention snapped around, and Jared scraped his chair back. He leaned forward urgently, his fear mounting. “What do you mean, gone?”
“You ask questions with obvious answers,” Angel responded testily. “I mean he is no longer at Selma’s home. He has gone. Climbed out of his window.”
“Climbed out?” Jared was at a sudden loss. “Why?”
“To get out, I’d think,” Angel snapped. “You will stay here while I search.”
Jared jumped up. “I’ll be damned! I’m coming with you.” Images rushed through his head. Jensen zoned out in the car. The jack. The board. High places.
Angel strode across the room.“You would do better to stay here,” he said, stern and uncompromising. “I can’t look for all of you. Selma will send word should he return. Some one needs to be here for the phone.”
“Angel. . .”
“Jared, you will sit, and be here for the phone! Misha will join you!”
Jared was sitting before he realized it. Misha had done the same, and looked just as surprised.
“You will listen, and take what I say to heart. You will stay here while I find your friend. It is vital. Can you do that?”
His voice was mesmerizing. Jared found himself agreeing without realizing it. The space where Angel stood was empty, and he wasn’t sure the man had waited for a response.
********************
Jensen panted and leaned back against a tree. He was lost. Fucking lost! He thought he knew the way back to the road, but of course he was wrong. Of course he’d forgotten the sneaky twists and turns they’d taken to get to Gramma’s place. He knew to head away from the distant surf, but that was it. Now the sun was setting, and he realized just how fucking stupid he’d been. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bark, then opened them. What the hell? He couldn’t let his guard down. Not here.
He was surrounded by - huts. No, not even huts. Just random pieces of rotted boards and cardboard propped together and ill-secured by whatever else was laying in the road. The street was rancid. Kids watched him, all barely clothed, some proudly wearing one flayed shoe. The neighborhood had to be the poorest thing he’d ever seen, and he was mortified by it. More and more heads poked out of poor excuses for housing. Small dark eyes found his. Shadows lengthened, obscuring their bodies as they followed him, darting from trees to hovels like small ghouls. He was spooked enough without them sneaking around. He pushed from the tree, quickened his pace, then was running, hearing the small feet pattering behind him. Ridiculous. They were children, for god’s sake, small kids with freaky, wandering eyes that bored into him like insects into a tree. They were running, staring, pleading, and he couldn’t shake them.
Straight backed, he adopted a runner’s stance and tore off down the street, and up the next hill. He didn’t stop until his legs gave out, nearly sending him crashing to the pebble-covered dirt. He slapped chest first against a rough brick wall and stayed there, heaving, wondering what the hell he was going to do. He didn’t have it in him to go on. Shouldn’t have left his damn bedroom. His back prickled, then started a slow, dull ache.
Another set of eyes found him, much lower to the ground. Threatening.
Jensen slowly rolled his body until his back was to the wall. A mangy dog stared at him, head lowered, teeth bared. It was big, damned big, but bone thin. He probably looked like a fine, juicy steak to this starved animal. Jensen eased out a leg, and the growl intensified. He slowly dragged his leg back. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck! Without moving his head, he let his eyes dart frantically for a way out. Just his luck to be taken out by a dog.
A distraction came in the form of a gunshot, which had him trying to dig back into the brick, covering his head with his arms. The ground between him and the dog spat, and the dog yelped, not hit, but running off with an old limp.
He looked up, and saw five men approaching quickly. They slowed once they saw him. He exhaled, relieved that the dog was gone, and trying not to think about the bullet that had sent him scurrying. “Thanks,” he said, not knowing if they’d understand him, hoping to sound non-threatening. “Looks like I was running out of luck..” They were walking toward him. Maybe they could tell him how to get back to a familiar street. But one man still held a gun visible in his hand.
His eyes fell to the glinting metal. His stomach knotted in foreboding. Suddenly they rushed him and were on him, nothing but a mass of dark arms and hands yanking him away from the wall, pushing him into the circle they formed. They quickly shoved him back and forth until he lost his balance and fell, dizzy, his defensive blows hitting nothing. Hands grabbed his arms and snatched him up, others thrust unmercifully into his pockets. His wallet was fished out and emptied by one man, then taken by another.
A man shoved aside two ruffians and leered into Jensen’s face. He didn’t have time to wonder if this was a rescue before the man dealt him a powerful blow to the stomach that threatened to double him over. His head snapped from a punch. Another to the gut finally had him down, released, ready to vomit. A kick to his head had him reeling. He fought back, flinging his arms and legs, trying to beat them away. His arms were held again, pulled over his head, and he was kicked in the ribs. His breath left him, and wouldn’t return.
Then there was nothing but yelling and pain. A kick to the back undid all Angel’s efforts. He cried out loudly at that one, and they laughed, and all closed in, kicking and punching until he was certain he was dying. He glanced though a swelling eye to see the glint of metal, and the barrel of the gun pointed at him. They still held his arms over his head. He could only close his eyes.
A gun fired, but not the one pointed at him. He was released, and coughed and curled in on himself as the men broke from over him, scattering. Cowards. Served them right. He tried to raise his head, and caught sight of a furious dark man dressed in white, charging towards him, both salvation, and damnation in those steps.
He felt his body spasm in pain. He kept his arms tucked close to him, and stared up though his good eye at the figure that hovered over him. Then he vomited. The man knelt beside him.
Angel. Jensen gave a grateful nod and passed out.
*************************
He woke with a cough. Someone was pouring water into him, and he didn’t want it. He gagged and spat it out, hearing a curse. Jensen sat up, bracing his hands on the sofa, countering the swirling in his head. Someone tried to force him back down, but he batted them away and stood, only to fall back against a body, taking them back down on the sofa with him. There was another curse, this time a different voice, and a deeper one over that, speaking in soothing tones. His head started to clear, and he saw Jared looking at him, Angel over his shoulder. He was sitting in Misha’s lap.
He quickly pushed away, then fell to the floor. Jared’s arms wrapped around him, and Jensen allowed it as he took sudden notice of his hurts, oh holy shit, he hurt! His back was in agony. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t feel battered beyond recognition.
“I said take it easy!” Jared muttered into his ear. “Dammit, hold still!”
“Shit. Where am I? Where am I?” Jensen demanded uneasily, realizing he didn’t recognize a damn thing he laid his eyes upon.
“Easy! You’re in Angel’s place!”
Angel’s place? He wanted to laugh. It sounded so...absurd. He’d died, hadn’t he? Angel’s place. “Huh. Got here after all.” He felt his eyes drift.
“What you did was foolish!” Angel bellowed, and Jensen’s eyes snapped open once more. “I should beat you myself!”
At this point it probably wouldn’t make a difference. “Why not? You left me with that damn thing in my head. So go ahead. Be my guest.” He felt Jared’s grip tighten on him. He’d slumped again, and hadn’t realized it. Angel knelt in front of him. “How’d you find me, anyway?”
“If you must know,” he answered slowly, “I followed the dogs.”
That didn’t sound good. “What dogs?”
“The ones that were tailing you. The ones that would have been happy to eat your entrails!”
Jensen winced at the image. “Damn, shut up!”
“You are the one who left! Do you live here? No! Do you know what you were walking into? No!”
“All right, I get it! Lay off!”
Angel grabbed his shirt. Jensen felt Jared’s arms tighten, and he pushed at him, but it wasn’t like he could go anywhere. “From now on, you listen to me. Do you understand? You stay where I tell you! I have my reasons, as you have found out!”
“What good was it to keep me there by myself?” Jensen yelled angrily. “What if that thing had come back?”
“I needed time to think. Which I didn’t get, thanks to your prank!” He shoved Jensen back.
“Okay, hey.” Misha took Angel by the arm. “He’s got it. We all got it.”
Angel didn’t seem to mind Misha’s forward manner. He just nodded and walked a few paces away, his back to them while he regained his temper. Jensen gently pushed Jared away and sat up on his own, his arms close to his aching body. “Would they have shot me?” he asked.
“No. They would have killed you.” Angel’s back was still facing him. His voice was softer, and floated over his shoulder.
Jensen swallowed. “Good thing you came when you did,” he offered as an apology. “Were you trying to shoot them?”
“No. But a far-off gunshot does not attract attention. It happens too often. A close one, and people run.”
“Even if they have a gun.”
“For all we know, they may have been out of bullets. You are very lucky.”
Jensen closed his eyes as the room spun. Arms grabbed him from behind, and he let himself fall as limp as he could manage against Jared’s chest. He felt Misha’s hands on his shins as he crouched, and knew they wouldn’t leave him. A pungent aroma filled the air, and a small cup pressed against his lips. He sipped, then choked. He was fucking awake now! “ - the hell is that shit?”
He saw Jared take the cup and sniff it, then felt him jerk. “Ahh, God! What is it with you people and the foul smelling stuff?” he asked, quickly handing it back.
“You know this? Did Selma give this to you?” Angel asked, taking the cup. The edge was gone from his voice. Jensen wondered if his sudden weakness had unnerved the man.
“I burned the crap outta my back. Got sun poisoning. She gave it to me then.”
“It is a potent healing medicine. She has it because I gave it to her. Did you sleep?”
“Like the dead.”
“This is without the sleeping herb.”
Jensen sat up against the sofa, his body screaming at him. “So, you’re saying if we survive the taste test we’re good?” he managed to ask.
Angel grinned. “That is an excellent observation.”
“This is payback. This is your kind of revenge.”
“Would rum help?”
Rum? Jensen rolled his head to look at Angel, and gave a tired smile. “Now you’re talking.”
The room revealed itself through his good eye as he was helped to his feet. He was surprised to see lush fabrics on the chairs and sofas. Two paintings hung on the walls, both with black backgrounds and colorful streaks. He shuffled behind Angel, passing a small room loaded with canvases and paints. Similar paintings lined the walls. “You an artist?”
“We are all artists. I happen to paint.” He stepped back and gestured for them to enter the kitchen. Jensen let Misha and Jared go ahead of him, and noticed Angel give a slight bow before entering himself. “It is a place of nourishment,” he explained simply. “Always give thanks for that which nourishes.”
“You consider rum nourishment?”
He grinned brightly. “I consider it the best kind.” He walked to a small refrigerator and pulled out a round of beef. “For your eye.”
“I’ve never found steak to work,” Jensen mused, sitting at the crooked, wooden kitchen table. “Not unless it’s on the grill.”
“It is not steak.”
“Oh. Well. No worries then.” He gave a mild snort and put the package to his swollen eye. Jared gave him a sympathetic glance.
Then Jensen remembered. His back. Both Jared and Angel being flung to the corners of the room. His eyes widened, and he lowered his pack. “What the hell happened back there? I just - I don’t know what. . .to say about it.”
“We are fine,” Angel reassured him, setting a kettle on the stove. “Herbal tea,” he said. “To put your rum into.”
“More healing, huh?”
“Of course. I am a healer. It would make sense.” He leaned back against the counter. “The tea is for you all. I expect each one to drink it.”
Of course he did. Because it looked like dirt, and probably tasted the same. “You’re a healer,” Jensen muttered dubiously, then looked up. “That’s why Selma wanted us here.”
“So it would seem.”
Hope filled him. “Wait! Can you fix this?” he asked urgently, gesturing to the three of them.
“I assume you do not speak of physical injuries.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Jensen blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I own a dictionary, should you need it.”
Jensen winced, and fell silent. Pompous medicine - person.
“Why are you called Angel? Is that your given name?” Misha asked. Both Jared and Jensen smirked.
Angel raised a brow. “Is it a funny name?”
Jared thumbed towards Misha. “Nah. He just plays one on tv.”
“Enough,” Misha muttered behind a smile.
Angel’s mouth quirked. He turned to watch the kettle. “Selma’s grandmother did not like her moving away to pursue this career of hers.”
“She’s very good,” Misha offered.
“She abandoned her family. What’s so good about that?” For a moment, Angel darkened. “Left her grandmother to be cared for by others.”
“Where’s her parents?” Jensen was almost afraid to ask.
“That is not for me to say,” Angel remarked, and caught the kettle as it started to whistle. “And this is a subject best not discussed. I’m sorry to mention it.”
“How do you know her?”
Angel gave a smirk of his own. “We share a mother.”
But not a father. This was news. Jensen’s brows raised, and he shifted in his seat.
“Back to your name, then?” Misha suggested.
“I am called so for my healing methods. The sick see me as an angel. It is simple enough.”
“Healing methods,” Jared muttered. “Hey, do you know someone named Jean? Big man, probably about your age. He was with Gramma during the riots. Red house. She went to see him for some medicine.”
He looked troubled. “I know him. Yes.”
“Why is she going to him and not you?”
He paused. “We see the healing arts - differently.”
Jensen took in the bags of roots, the drying leaves. “You’re old school. He’s not.”
Angel gave him a wink of acknowledgment. “Just as she denounces voodoo, she’s denouncing the old ways as well. I believe she thinks she will live longer that way.”
“Seems like she’d try to keep the old ways alive,” Jared said. “Why is she fighting it?”
Angel set down the wooden spoon he was using to stir the tea. “It didn’t work for her when she most needed it. And that’s all I will say on the matter.”
Jared nodded in understanding, then continued to tote the conversation. “Jean said a word to me. Something like - sounded kinda like parasite.”
“Parazit?”
“Yeah.”
“You got the meaning of it.” He stared at the pot.
“What about, what was the other one - apwa - z something.”
Angel thought for a moment. “Anpwazonnen.” His voice was tight. “Poison.”
Jensen turned to Jared. “He said this to you?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Jared nodded in response.
Angel folded his arms. “It means he knows. This isn’t good.”
Jensen suddenly felt very cold. “He knows - about our situation?”
“Yes.”
“He a part of that thing you mentioned on the porch that night?”
“The Anya Lihai. He is, yes.”
“This is bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Angel resumed stirring. “He recognized it in Jared. It is well you weren’t with him.” His head darted up. “Were you?”
“No. I was with Misha. Jared went to check on Gramma alone.”
“Still. Others would have seen you.” He set the kettle on a round wooden trivet in the center of the table, and took a bottle of rum from a cabinet.
“Meaning what?” Misha asked carefully.
“Meaning you both should have stayed as I told you! All of you should have!” Angel thumped the bottle on the table angrily. “You have complicated things now, because you don’t listen! Probably why you have this thing in the first place.”
“Hey, now wait a minute!” Jensen exclaimed, scraping his chair back to stand, but his back gave. He barely stifled a gasp, clutched the back of his chair, easing down, glaring at Angel’s knowing expression. “Forget it. You’re not walking on my back again.”
“Did it help before?”
Jensen gritted his teeth and took the mug of tea handed to him. He added a liberal amount of rum.
“If you’d brought him here in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened,” Jared said in Jensen’s defense.
“If he had trusted someone, this wouldn’t have happened,” Angel countered.
“I trust people!” Jensen insisted.
“Who?”
Jensen instinctively turned to Jared, who flushed. He exhaled at the reddening face, and looked down.
“If you trust them, why push them away?”
The mood suddenly shifted. This was going to get really uncomfortable, really fast. “That’s none of your business,” he responded testily. Oh, great. Now Jared was hurt, his eyes all brown and sad, and wasn’t that just peachy? It was one thing that irritated the crap out of him about his friend.
“What you have,” Angel continued, “came to you. You didn’t call it. But it was able to get through because of the delicate state you were already in.”
“Hey, there is nothing on me that’s in a delicate state.” He shifted, and cursed as his back again betrayed him.
“Selma says you were depressed before?” Angel fired at him.
Oh, this was SO not the time, just - don’t go there. Jensen glanced uneasily around the table. “Okay, look,” he said, suddenly pleading, “let’s drop this.”
“And when will you see fit to talk about it? When this thing has destroyed those that matter to you?”
He remembered Jared being flung across the room, and how it seemed to be watching Misha. “I thought. . .” he hesitated. Angel prompted him with his hand. Okay, this was going to sound stupid. “I thought it was protecting me.” He ran his fingers over the table, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
“Protecting you?” Jared exploded.
“Well, yeah. It was. . .”
“It’s driving you to. . .” Jared said over his words, but he didn’t voice his thought. “How is it protecting you? It’s scaring the shit out of you, man! I’ve seen it!”
No, he definitely didn’t want to go there. He’d be admitting to them what he didn’t even want to admit to himself. He hid his face in his hand, wanting to just disappear.
“It’s not from the spirit, is it?” a voice asked gently. “You’ve had suicidal thoughts before.”
Jensen swallowed, and looked up at the speaker, meeting his gaze firmly. Misha. Ever-knowing. He always knew, from the day they first met and started filming. He knew how Jensen seemed so secure for so long, but was tearing up on the inside. How this thing found him, and wouldn’t let him go. Of course he knew, that’s why he stared, why he always seemed to be there. Why he talked with Selma.
He kept his eyes locked with that blue gaze, and said nothing. He didn’t want to see the look on Jared’s face. His silence was his admission, and everyone there knew it.
“My god,” Jared finally breathed. “And I’ve seen it. I’ve been there all along, even before this, but. . .” he heard a chair scrap back with a frustrated huff, heard Jared start to pace.
He closed his eyes, and covered his face. “Jared, listen. . .” he said into his hand.
“No! I mean, god! That’s not helping. I never have listened, have I?”
“Of course you have.” This was drifting beyond uncomfortable. This was approaching the “do not fucking cross or I’ll kick your ass” zone.
“If I’d been there for you, you wouldn’t feel like this.” His back was turned.
“It’s not your fucking fault! Okay?” Jensen yelled out, taking his hand away but still not looking up.
“Why not?” Angel broke in with a question that startled them all.
Jensen stared. “What the hell? You’re saying it’s his fault I feel like this?”
“Isn’t it?”
“NO!” Jensen stood, and paused as he winced in pain. “God.” But that just made him angrier, and he pounded his fist on the table, then braced himself against it. “How the hell is it his fault?”
“Was he there for you?”
“He was. . .” Jensen pressed his lips together and looked at his friend. His brother. Who still had his back turned to him. “Of course he was!”
“Apparently not.”
Jensen pushed up. “Okay, that’s it. You listen to me, you son of a bitch,” he growled in a low voice. He walked around the table and jabbed his forefinger on it, making his point.“You have no idea. You got that? No idea! He was there. Always! I’m the one that wasn’t fucking there! I wasn’t there!”
Angel listened, his eyes calm. He nodded slowly. “Good. Then I suggest you stop blaming everyone else for your own loneliness.” He gestured with one hand to Jensen’s body. “Look what it has done to you. To all of you. And it has just started. This is on you, Jensen. You can fix this.”
Jensen balked. Angel watched, dispassionately.
He wasn’t there. Jensen shook his head and tried to make sense of his own words, of Angel’s words, of everything that was going on. He wasn’t there. Shit. So many times, he ran. So many times when he needed to be there, to pay attention, he let himself drift. He hid. Even from his friends, he started hiding. He turned a small, distressed circle, lowering his head, grabbing it with his hands. Emotions floored him. Despair flooded him. Why would someone bring this on themselves? Why did people choose to be miserable? Was it conscious? Of course not. And he couldn’t help how he felt, could he? And what about all this - other? His own feelings were hard enough to deal with, forget taking on something that just - he couldn’t do it. This weight, he couldn’t take it. And suddenly, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. The room was no longer there, nothing was there, nothing but staring eyes, always staring, and this need to get away.
Why couldn’t he just end it? Part of him had tried since the spirit got hold of him. But before that? He thought about it sure. About taking his life, because he was numb. Because nothing mattered, then he’d suddenly be bombarded with everything and it was making him crazy. All the thoughts, the energies, the issues that pressed in over his own. He’d leave work and pause on a bridge, hovering over the edge until reason crept back in. He’d drive recklessly, or get too drunk. Take a few too many medications for his back, but all that did was make him sick. Like his body knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t let him. Ultimately, he was too chickenshit to do anything, which sent him further into his despair. He held his head like he could hold the thoughts in, but he knew his friends weren’t fooled. They were witnessing his downfall. And he was bringing them down with him.
Unless he had the guts to do the unthinkable. He hadn’t even realized until that moment that he’d been silently crying. He swallowed painfully, wondering how long he’d been lost in his tumultuous thoughts, how long they’d let him. All three men were seated quietly. He’d been the one pacing. He could do this. He could do this. He could get rid of the thing. He could get rid of the pain.
The room was darker. He realized he’d been setting himself up for the inevitable, preparing himself for the scariest trip a person would ever take. It made him realize that, deep down, he really didn’t want to die.
He raised his head. Jared took one look at his teary expression and started shaking his head vehemently, rushing forward to grab Jensen by the shirt. It amazed him how Jared could read his expressions. “No. Don’t you even.” His voice was low, threatening, his fists clenched in his shirt like he would never let go.
“If I do it, it’s gone,” Jensen said. “This is over.” And it was stupid, of course it was stupid, but in the back of his mind it made so much sense.
“YOU’RE over.” Jared shoved him back against the counter, fists still firm in his shirt. “Is that what you want?”
“It would end.”
“You selfish bastard!” Jared yelled, jabbing his fists painfully into Jensen’s chest. “You’re such a fucking asshole!”
“You’d be out of this too!” Jensen yelled back, tearing his hands away and shoving him backwards. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“You think killing yourself is the answer?” Jared looked like he was about to explode. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Misha was standing, watching, and looked ready to jump in should Jensen do something idiotic.
“It is not the answer, though I admire your courage,” Angel said. “It could move on. It could simply find another host. I do not think it would pass with you.”
Jensen stared, and felt his adrenaline ebb. “Are you shitting me?” The metallic tang faded, leaving him ill.
“I am not.”
He was shaking. His emotions pinwheeled. “So there’s nothing to do.” Jensen wilted as the room spun around him. He felt himself being guided to the chair, where another shot of rum waited, minus the tea. He drained it.
“There is always something to do,” Angel countered gently.
Misha had taken his seat once more. Now he leaned forward. “Why don’t you fill us in on the details? The things you’re not telling us.”
Angel rested his elbows on the table. “First thing first. Jensen, look at me. You are not alone in this. You are not alone, period. You have to accept that, above all else. You have to trust in it, and believe it. Do you?”
He rubbed at his face. “Boy, that’s a loaded question.”
“I know you can not turn off your insecurities. But you must accept this statement. Do you?”
He didn’t know. He couldn’t speak. So, of course, Jared spoke for him. “Steve,” he said softly, making Jensen raise his eyes. “Chris. Jason. Phil. Kathy. Danneel. Your family. Misha. Me. We’ve got your back, man. You know this. Tell me you know this.”
The sides of his throat stuck together.
“Tell us,” Misha added, and his face was as intense as ever.
Jensen blinked at him. “You’re creepy as shit when you look at me like that, you know it?” he finally said.
Misha smiled.
“You have my support as well,” Angel said. “That also goes for Selma. Do you accept this?”
He felt so tired. “Yeah. I guess. Sure.”
“NO!” Angel’s fist slammed onto the table. He rose quickly, and advanced on Jensen, who pushed his chair back and stood quickly, back into the meager cabinetry as Angel bared down on him. “You accept or not. You die or not. Do you want to die?”
“Why do you people keep asking me that?”
“Do you?” He grabbed Jensen in a choke hold, dark fingers curling around his throat, pressing deep, pushing him back.
“NO!” Jensen forced out, his hands going to Angel’s wrist. He saw Misha directly behind Angel, saw Jared trying to pry the grip away. He didn’t remember either of them getting up.
“Then FIGHT IT!”
He was trying. Angel’s grip was like iron.
“I said FIGHT IT!” His snarl turned into a yell, and he squeezed tighter.
And the room erupted in a white light, flinging everyone to the floor.
Jensen gasped raggedly as he fell. He immediately dug his heels into the floor and pushed back against the counter where he’d landed. He saw Jared slowly rising to his elbows and knees, his head bowed. Misha was still. And Angel was laying on his side, chuckling. “Good,” he said mildly, as Misha finally turned his head and winced. “That was very good.”
“- the hell was that?” Jensen asked.
Angel’s face was lit from within, purely gleeful. “That, my friend, was you finally taking control. That was the Lodestone in action.”
Jensen crawled to Jared, cursing his injuries, and put a hand on his shoulder. Jared nodded. “What are you talking about?” he croaked out, inching his way to Misha, bracing him. His head was bleeding again from the fall, but not too bad.
“Selma gave you the stone, did she not? Is it on you?”
He was confused. A stone? Oh, right. “I think so. Yeah.” Jensen thumbed in his pocket and pulled it out. He stretched and passed it to Angel. “She said to keep it. What the hell is it?”
Angel’s lips pursed wryly. He rose and disappeared around the corner, then returned with a piece of metal and a shaving tool. As the men slowly picked themselves up off the floor, he set the nondescript rock on the table, and shaved at the metal. Tiny splinters fell to the table. He set down the tool and passed the rock over the small pile, then passed it back to Jensen.
He studied the rock, now covered in shavings, then looked up in surprise. “It’s a magnet!”
“Magnetite. Yes, it has natural magnetic properties. As do you.”
Jensen fumbled for his chair. “Come again?” He pointed wearily to a rag on the counter, and Jared snatched it up, pressed it to Misha’s head, and slapped Misha’s hand there to hold it. They both sat, each looking as exhausted as Jensen felt.
Angel leaned forward. “That stone you hold is used in many ways. It can align energies. It lessens fear, confusion, depression. It increases energy and endurance.” He leaned back. “It is said to have been used to make soldiers invulnerable. It attracts energy that attracts power. We use it to increase power. Some use it to ground themselves, or as protection from evil spells.”
The stone looked like it belonged at the bottom of a quarry. Jensen held it between his fingers and looked at it, dubiously. “This thing is supposed to do all that?”
“Yes.”
“I need another drink,” Misha muttered, and reached for the bottle.
“The Lodestone is you,” Angel continued. “You attract people. You pull them in with your charisma and charm. You pull in their positive energies. But you also pull in the negative ones. You are not suicidal, Jensen. Not really. You’ve merely lost your voice within those that you hear.”
That was debatable. “But - there’s days when it’s not worth getting up,” he said softly. “You know?”
“Name one person who is true to themselves, who has murder themselves. Only the lost take their own life, because they think it is no longer theirs to protect.”
It made a certain amount of sense. He realized he was going to have to trust this man, even if he didn’t fully agree with him. “What just happened?”
“You were desperate. You gathered the positive, pulled it in to you, and lashed out at what was harming you.”
Jensen angled his ear toward Angel, like he couldn’t hear correctly. And he wasn’t sure he had. “Wait. You’re saying I have - superpowers?”
Angel threw his head back and laughed. Disconcerted, Jensen pulled his head back and gave both Misha and Jared a weary glance.
“I’m saying, there is more to you than meets the eye.” Angel’s eyes glittered with mirth. His body relaxed, his teeth flashed against dark skin. “It would be a shame to lose that.”
Jensen nodded slowly. He raised his shot glass to his lips, and downed it.
Angel threaded his fingers together and regarded each man. “This affects all of you,” he said. “Not just Jensen, here. Jared, you’ve had your own occurrences. And Misha, I believe you’ve dealt with something similar yourself.” Misha’s head snapped up, but Angel just grinned “Like knows like. You may not be an angel, but you know your stuff.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Misha muttered into his glass.
Angel raised his chin. “Have it your way, then.”
Misha glared at him. It was the first time Jensen had seen the man show any signs of real anger. Acting, sure. He’s been angry. Cursing when messing up a line. A glow emanated from the depths of his eyes, and Jensen realized not only was this a man not to mess with, but he was glad Misha was on his side. And he filed the info away for later.
“So what do we do now?” Jared asked. “If he attracts this stuff, how do we stop it?”
Angel pursed his lips. “You can’t. Not so much. But you can block it from happening again.”
Jensen turned to Jared. “You mentioned something about that. Building walls.”
“Yeah, but this?” Jared smiled ruefully. “I mean tuning out the energy in a convention, sure. But this. . .” he gave a rueful laugh. “This is big.”
“It can be done.” Angel rose. “Excuse me for a moment.” He left the room. The three remaining men looked at each other, then down at their glasses. A long arm reached for the bottle and refilled the emptiness.
Jensen watched Misha as gave Jared a smile of thanks when he took his glass. “You’ve always known more than you’re telling us.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but it was close. “You mind filling us in?”
“It’s really none of your business,” Misha said calmly.
Jensen’s brows rose. “Oh, excuse me? And since when was any of this shit yours? You’re the one that tagged along, buddy!”
“I’m here because Selma asked me to come. I stayed with Jared because he asked me. I don’t have anything to bring to the table.”
“Yeah? That’s how it is? Then go the fuck home. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t need to be down here worrying about you, too.” He downed his shot, and the room gave a small tilt. He reached for the bottle, realizing it was more full than it should be. Had they already gone through one? When did Angel pull out another?
“The only person you need to worry about is yourself,” Misha said.
“And how can I do that if you’re distracting me? Huh?”
“How am I distracting you?”
“Get hit on the head with a bottle recently?”
“Then send Jared home too. He’s a victim as well. Come on, Jensen. It’s not about that.”
Jensen winced at him. “You’re just - you!” Misha’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head in incomprehension. “You act like there’s some huge secret to life that we don’t know about and you do and you’re gloating. You have this freaky-ass stare when you look at people.” The rum had hit. Or he was just at the point of no longer caring what people thought. Probably both.
“And I’m around you and Jared. A lot.”
Jensen swallowed his rum.
Misha shrugged. “Look. The dynamic’s been tampered with. I get it. I can back off, no problem.”
Jensen slammed his glass down. “Shit, that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said, and it’s how you look. It’s how you always look.” Misha rose, taking a final gulp. He braced his hand on the back of his chair. “That’s fine. I’ll head back to Selma’s, and when the chance comes I’ll take the first flight out. Since I’m a distraction.”
“Oh, God, now you’re acting like a fucking five-year-old,” Jensen groused.
“No.” Misha shook his head. “I’m not. I didn’t want to come down here in the first damn place! Now you’ve given me a good reason to leave.” He met Jared’s gaze steadily, and left the room.
Jensen gripped his glass tightly, his thoughts drifting over everything he’d heard, seen, experienced. Fucking hell. He rose quickly, rushed in a tilt through the den, and stopped Misha at the door, grabbing his shoulder and jerking him back. Misha looked startled for a moment, then knocked away his grip.“Listen, you can’t go,” Jensen said. “You’re targeted by this thing.”
“And when I leave, it’ll stay here with you!” Misha sneered into his face.
Jensen grabbed for his arm, and was again pushed away. He snatched Misha’s shirt, pulling him close. “Dammit, listen to me! We don’t know that. Look, right now you’re the angriest one here. How do we know it’s not gonna latch onto that, huh? Leave me and get into you?”
“Because I’ve. . .” he shoved, “done this before, and I know what I have to do about it!”
Jensen’s brows met his hairline. “Oh, you’ve done this before? Well, thanks for sharing! What the hell are you talking about?”
Misha glared at him, his vivid blue eyes burning. Jensen stubbornly planted himself right in the way of the glare, not budging, his presence pinning Misha to the door without touching him. He couldn’t let him leave. Not like this. Not at all. Hell, he liked the guy. It was more a surprise to him than it should have been. He didn’t just tolerate the man because he was a co-worker, or because he and Jared got along. At some point, he started considering Misha almost a friend. When the hell did that happen? Either way, he wasn’t letting the man go. Not like this.
The tense shoulders slumped, and Misha looked away.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” He seemed to ground himself, then continued. “I was in my early twenties,” he said. “Impressionable. I got in with some people I shouldn’t have. You don’t need to know who they are. But it was a bad year, and I left it with only my name intact.” His eyes met Jensen’s squarely. “We’re a lot alike. Our reactions are alike. I bet if we knew each other we’d find that we think alike. We both have our insecurities. That asylum you filmed in? I used to live near there. For a month. I went through that place, and I had it happen to me. It wasn’t as bad as you, and we got rid of it real quick.” He sighed and pushed his hair back. “Why do you think I got into meditation? I’m not some guru! I’m not some spiritual nutcase! I’m a man trying to keep my head. That’s all.” He stepped forward, forcing Jensen back. “Yeah, I go on retreats. I’m very aware.” He practically spat the word at him. “But you need to stop trying to put me in a corner where I don’t fit. Stop being intimidated by something that doesn’t even exist.”
Jensen’s mind whirled. He let himself take it all in, then nodded. “Cool. Can you teach me how to do all that?”
Misha exhaled. His eyes roamed up and down Jensen’s body, probably searching for that ulterior motive, or a quip. Jensen had none for him. He hoped his sincerity showed. He never felt so exposed before someone, and it was the most uncomfortable experience he’d ever had. “Sure I can,” Misha responded quietly. “I can help.”
“Good. I mean, thanks for that.”
“Sure, sure.” Misha said again, just as quietly, looking away in discomfort.
“Show him too.” Jensen jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Jared, knowing he was there without looking back.
Misha lowered his head and chuckled. “Sure. Okay.” He stayed like that for a moment. When he raised it again, he looked more himself.
How did he do that? Just completely compose himself. Would Jensen himself be able to do that?
“Now that’s finally sorted,” Angel said from the shadows, “let’s eat.”
They started. “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Jensen exclaimed, pressing his hand against his chest.
“Some things you need to learn for yourselves. That’s one of them. Come on.”
Angel’s small, one-level house was as dark as Gramma’s. Candles were set in the rooms he’d seen. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling and sat in fixtures, but most were grey, burnt out. The small refrigerator in the kitchen was powered, and as far as he could tell, that was it. The stove looked electric rather than gas. There was no sign of air conditioning. Judging by the places they passed on the way, he was lucky to have all this.
Figurines were placed on counters and tables in a tasteful, uncluttered manner. Old masks hung on the walls, most looked homemade. Sticks were piled in one corner of the main room, near a fireplace that was probably used more for cooking than heat. Jared again eyed the stove, and saw a small ring of crust where a pot had boiled over, and left. Unshuttered windows let the natural light in, throwing shadows throughout the place, leaving him to wonder what hid in the corners.
“We make a great pair,” he muttered, trying to fill the void with words. He held a cold cloth to the lump on the back of his head. Misha just grunted, and fidgeted with his own bandage. “Leave that alone.”
“I’m not wearing this, I don’t care what Selma says,” Misha grumbled in distaste and gingerly touched the wound. “It isn’t bleeding anymore.”
“You look like Achmed the Dead Terrorist.” Jared grinned.
Misha just snorted and rose from the table. He peered into the reflective surface of the shaded window and started unrolling the gauze wrap.
Jared rubbed his forefinger along the grooves of the worn table. “Tell me again why Jensen isn’t here?”
“Angel just says he’s coming later.”
This troubled him. He shook his head, wincing at the slight pain, and shifted the cloth. “But it wasn’t his fault.”
“Maybe not. But you were hurt.” Misha looked confused. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
Jared lowered the cloth and studied it. Not bleeding. “What are you talking about?”
“That was an attack. On you.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“He’s saying you are as much a part of it as Jensen is,” Angel said, coming around the corner.
“Whoa, wait. I’m not a part of anything. Neither is Jensen, okay?” Jared leaned forward. “He’s in trouble. Don’t you get it? Didn’t you see what happened? There’s something in him. How do we know he’s not gonna try and off himself while we’re gone? Huh? How do we know that damn thing doesn’t have him right now?”
“It does.”
He sat for a moment, incredulous. “Then what the hell are we sitting around for?”
“What do you propose to do? It attacked you.”
“It attacked you too!”
“I was caught in it. Nothing more.”
“But you were the one hurting him,” Misha said, and raised his hands apologetically. “No, listen to me. I’m saying, if Jared was trying to help him, then why was he thrown with such force?”
“You forget. I was helping too,” Angel said.
“But your help was hurting him physically. Right? I heard him from upstairs. Selma said you were working on him. I was already on my way down. What on earth were you doing to him that made the thing react that way?”
“Healing his back.”
“Some healing.”
“It worked. He’s moving.” Angel sounded defensive. His brow furrowed. “But you are right. It flung Jared away first. I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Maybe he was thinking about me or something,” Jared said with a sigh. “God knows. None of this makes any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, actually,” Angel said as his phone rang. It was an old-fashioned sound, a high pitched, loud bell that pointed to an old land line. He left to answer.
Misha shook his head. “If he was looking at you, then maybe.” He looked troubled. Jared wanted to question him, but something made him stop. Misha had that look, just like the one he had when he was immersing himself in his Castiel role. The look that Jensen teased him about, that ultra-serious gaze that had no doubt secured the part for him. The look that said there was more going on than meets the eye, but he wasn’t talking.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Jared finally asked after several moments of silence.
Misha’s look scared him.
Angel came back in, his movements rushed. “That was Selma,” he said briskly, picking up the small leather pouch he usually carried, and slinging the thin strap over his shoulder. “He’s gone.”
Misha’s attention snapped around, and Jared scraped his chair back. He leaned forward urgently, his fear mounting. “What do you mean, gone?”
“You ask questions with obvious answers,” Angel responded testily. “I mean he is no longer at Selma’s home. He has gone. Climbed out of his window.”
“Climbed out?” Jared was at a sudden loss. “Why?”
“To get out, I’d think,” Angel snapped. “You will stay here while I search.”
Jared jumped up. “I’ll be damned! I’m coming with you.” Images rushed through his head. Jensen zoned out in the car. The jack. The board. High places.
Angel strode across the room.“You would do better to stay here,” he said, stern and uncompromising. “I can’t look for all of you. Selma will send word should he return. Some one needs to be here for the phone.”
“Angel. . .”
“Jared, you will sit, and be here for the phone! Misha will join you!”
Jared was sitting before he realized it. Misha had done the same, and looked just as surprised.
“You will listen, and take what I say to heart. You will stay here while I find your friend. It is vital. Can you do that?”
His voice was mesmerizing. Jared found himself agreeing without realizing it. The space where Angel stood was empty, and he wasn’t sure the man had waited for a response.
********************
Jensen panted and leaned back against a tree. He was lost. Fucking lost! He thought he knew the way back to the road, but of course he was wrong. Of course he’d forgotten the sneaky twists and turns they’d taken to get to Gramma’s place. He knew to head away from the distant surf, but that was it. Now the sun was setting, and he realized just how fucking stupid he’d been. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bark, then opened them. What the hell? He couldn’t let his guard down. Not here.
He was surrounded by - huts. No, not even huts. Just random pieces of rotted boards and cardboard propped together and ill-secured by whatever else was laying in the road. The street was rancid. Kids watched him, all barely clothed, some proudly wearing one flayed shoe. The neighborhood had to be the poorest thing he’d ever seen, and he was mortified by it. More and more heads poked out of poor excuses for housing. Small dark eyes found his. Shadows lengthened, obscuring their bodies as they followed him, darting from trees to hovels like small ghouls. He was spooked enough without them sneaking around. He pushed from the tree, quickened his pace, then was running, hearing the small feet pattering behind him. Ridiculous. They were children, for god’s sake, small kids with freaky, wandering eyes that bored into him like insects into a tree. They were running, staring, pleading, and he couldn’t shake them.
Straight backed, he adopted a runner’s stance and tore off down the street, and up the next hill. He didn’t stop until his legs gave out, nearly sending him crashing to the pebble-covered dirt. He slapped chest first against a rough brick wall and stayed there, heaving, wondering what the hell he was going to do. He didn’t have it in him to go on. Shouldn’t have left his damn bedroom. His back prickled, then started a slow, dull ache.
Another set of eyes found him, much lower to the ground. Threatening.
Jensen slowly rolled his body until his back was to the wall. A mangy dog stared at him, head lowered, teeth bared. It was big, damned big, but bone thin. He probably looked like a fine, juicy steak to this starved animal. Jensen eased out a leg, and the growl intensified. He slowly dragged his leg back. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck! Without moving his head, he let his eyes dart frantically for a way out. Just his luck to be taken out by a dog.
A distraction came in the form of a gunshot, which had him trying to dig back into the brick, covering his head with his arms. The ground between him and the dog spat, and the dog yelped, not hit, but running off with an old limp.
He looked up, and saw five men approaching quickly. They slowed once they saw him. He exhaled, relieved that the dog was gone, and trying not to think about the bullet that had sent him scurrying. “Thanks,” he said, not knowing if they’d understand him, hoping to sound non-threatening. “Looks like I was running out of luck..” They were walking toward him. Maybe they could tell him how to get back to a familiar street. But one man still held a gun visible in his hand.
His eyes fell to the glinting metal. His stomach knotted in foreboding. Suddenly they rushed him and were on him, nothing but a mass of dark arms and hands yanking him away from the wall, pushing him into the circle they formed. They quickly shoved him back and forth until he lost his balance and fell, dizzy, his defensive blows hitting nothing. Hands grabbed his arms and snatched him up, others thrust unmercifully into his pockets. His wallet was fished out and emptied by one man, then taken by another.
A man shoved aside two ruffians and leered into Jensen’s face. He didn’t have time to wonder if this was a rescue before the man dealt him a powerful blow to the stomach that threatened to double him over. His head snapped from a punch. Another to the gut finally had him down, released, ready to vomit. A kick to his head had him reeling. He fought back, flinging his arms and legs, trying to beat them away. His arms were held again, pulled over his head, and he was kicked in the ribs. His breath left him, and wouldn’t return.
Then there was nothing but yelling and pain. A kick to the back undid all Angel’s efforts. He cried out loudly at that one, and they laughed, and all closed in, kicking and punching until he was certain he was dying. He glanced though a swelling eye to see the glint of metal, and the barrel of the gun pointed at him. They still held his arms over his head. He could only close his eyes.
A gun fired, but not the one pointed at him. He was released, and coughed and curled in on himself as the men broke from over him, scattering. Cowards. Served them right. He tried to raise his head, and caught sight of a furious dark man dressed in white, charging towards him, both salvation, and damnation in those steps.
He felt his body spasm in pain. He kept his arms tucked close to him, and stared up though his good eye at the figure that hovered over him. Then he vomited. The man knelt beside him.
Angel. Jensen gave a grateful nod and passed out.
*************************
He woke with a cough. Someone was pouring water into him, and he didn’t want it. He gagged and spat it out, hearing a curse. Jensen sat up, bracing his hands on the sofa, countering the swirling in his head. Someone tried to force him back down, but he batted them away and stood, only to fall back against a body, taking them back down on the sofa with him. There was another curse, this time a different voice, and a deeper one over that, speaking in soothing tones. His head started to clear, and he saw Jared looking at him, Angel over his shoulder. He was sitting in Misha’s lap.
He quickly pushed away, then fell to the floor. Jared’s arms wrapped around him, and Jensen allowed it as he took sudden notice of his hurts, oh holy shit, he hurt! His back was in agony. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t feel battered beyond recognition.
“I said take it easy!” Jared muttered into his ear. “Dammit, hold still!”
“Shit. Where am I? Where am I?” Jensen demanded uneasily, realizing he didn’t recognize a damn thing he laid his eyes upon.
“Easy! You’re in Angel’s place!”
Angel’s place? He wanted to laugh. It sounded so...absurd. He’d died, hadn’t he? Angel’s place. “Huh. Got here after all.” He felt his eyes drift.
“What you did was foolish!” Angel bellowed, and Jensen’s eyes snapped open once more. “I should beat you myself!”
At this point it probably wouldn’t make a difference. “Why not? You left me with that damn thing in my head. So go ahead. Be my guest.” He felt Jared’s grip tighten on him. He’d slumped again, and hadn’t realized it. Angel knelt in front of him. “How’d you find me, anyway?”
“If you must know,” he answered slowly, “I followed the dogs.”
That didn’t sound good. “What dogs?”
“The ones that were tailing you. The ones that would have been happy to eat your entrails!”
Jensen winced at the image. “Damn, shut up!”
“You are the one who left! Do you live here? No! Do you know what you were walking into? No!”
“All right, I get it! Lay off!”
Angel grabbed his shirt. Jensen felt Jared’s arms tighten, and he pushed at him, but it wasn’t like he could go anywhere. “From now on, you listen to me. Do you understand? You stay where I tell you! I have my reasons, as you have found out!”
“What good was it to keep me there by myself?” Jensen yelled angrily. “What if that thing had come back?”
“I needed time to think. Which I didn’t get, thanks to your prank!” He shoved Jensen back.
“Okay, hey.” Misha took Angel by the arm. “He’s got it. We all got it.”
Angel didn’t seem to mind Misha’s forward manner. He just nodded and walked a few paces away, his back to them while he regained his temper. Jensen gently pushed Jared away and sat up on his own, his arms close to his aching body. “Would they have shot me?” he asked.
“No. They would have killed you.” Angel’s back was still facing him. His voice was softer, and floated over his shoulder.
Jensen swallowed. “Good thing you came when you did,” he offered as an apology. “Were you trying to shoot them?”
“No. But a far-off gunshot does not attract attention. It happens too often. A close one, and people run.”
“Even if they have a gun.”
“For all we know, they may have been out of bullets. You are very lucky.”
Jensen closed his eyes as the room spun. Arms grabbed him from behind, and he let himself fall as limp as he could manage against Jared’s chest. He felt Misha’s hands on his shins as he crouched, and knew they wouldn’t leave him. A pungent aroma filled the air, and a small cup pressed against his lips. He sipped, then choked. He was fucking awake now! “ - the hell is that shit?”
He saw Jared take the cup and sniff it, then felt him jerk. “Ahh, God! What is it with you people and the foul smelling stuff?” he asked, quickly handing it back.
“You know this? Did Selma give this to you?” Angel asked, taking the cup. The edge was gone from his voice. Jensen wondered if his sudden weakness had unnerved the man.
“I burned the crap outta my back. Got sun poisoning. She gave it to me then.”
“It is a potent healing medicine. She has it because I gave it to her. Did you sleep?”
“Like the dead.”
“This is without the sleeping herb.”
Jensen sat up against the sofa, his body screaming at him. “So, you’re saying if we survive the taste test we’re good?” he managed to ask.
Angel grinned. “That is an excellent observation.”
“This is payback. This is your kind of revenge.”
“Would rum help?”
Rum? Jensen rolled his head to look at Angel, and gave a tired smile. “Now you’re talking.”
The room revealed itself through his good eye as he was helped to his feet. He was surprised to see lush fabrics on the chairs and sofas. Two paintings hung on the walls, both with black backgrounds and colorful streaks. He shuffled behind Angel, passing a small room loaded with canvases and paints. Similar paintings lined the walls. “You an artist?”
“We are all artists. I happen to paint.” He stepped back and gestured for them to enter the kitchen. Jensen let Misha and Jared go ahead of him, and noticed Angel give a slight bow before entering himself. “It is a place of nourishment,” he explained simply. “Always give thanks for that which nourishes.”
“You consider rum nourishment?”
He grinned brightly. “I consider it the best kind.” He walked to a small refrigerator and pulled out a round of beef. “For your eye.”
“I’ve never found steak to work,” Jensen mused, sitting at the crooked, wooden kitchen table. “Not unless it’s on the grill.”
“It is not steak.”
“Oh. Well. No worries then.” He gave a mild snort and put the package to his swollen eye. Jared gave him a sympathetic glance.
Then Jensen remembered. His back. Both Jared and Angel being flung to the corners of the room. His eyes widened, and he lowered his pack. “What the hell happened back there? I just - I don’t know what. . .to say about it.”
“We are fine,” Angel reassured him, setting a kettle on the stove. “Herbal tea,” he said. “To put your rum into.”
“More healing, huh?”
“Of course. I am a healer. It would make sense.” He leaned back against the counter. “The tea is for you all. I expect each one to drink it.”
Of course he did. Because it looked like dirt, and probably tasted the same. “You’re a healer,” Jensen muttered dubiously, then looked up. “That’s why Selma wanted us here.”
“So it would seem.”
Hope filled him. “Wait! Can you fix this?” he asked urgently, gesturing to the three of them.
“I assume you do not speak of physical injuries.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Jensen blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I own a dictionary, should you need it.”
Jensen winced, and fell silent. Pompous medicine - person.
“Why are you called Angel? Is that your given name?” Misha asked. Both Jared and Jensen smirked.
Angel raised a brow. “Is it a funny name?”
Jared thumbed towards Misha. “Nah. He just plays one on tv.”
“Enough,” Misha muttered behind a smile.
Angel’s mouth quirked. He turned to watch the kettle. “Selma’s grandmother did not like her moving away to pursue this career of hers.”
“She’s very good,” Misha offered.
“She abandoned her family. What’s so good about that?” For a moment, Angel darkened. “Left her grandmother to be cared for by others.”
“Where’s her parents?” Jensen was almost afraid to ask.
“That is not for me to say,” Angel remarked, and caught the kettle as it started to whistle. “And this is a subject best not discussed. I’m sorry to mention it.”
“How do you know her?”
Angel gave a smirk of his own. “We share a mother.”
But not a father. This was news. Jensen’s brows raised, and he shifted in his seat.
“Back to your name, then?” Misha suggested.
“I am called so for my healing methods. The sick see me as an angel. It is simple enough.”
“Healing methods,” Jared muttered. “Hey, do you know someone named Jean? Big man, probably about your age. He was with Gramma during the riots. Red house. She went to see him for some medicine.”
He looked troubled. “I know him. Yes.”
“Why is she going to him and not you?”
He paused. “We see the healing arts - differently.”
Jensen took in the bags of roots, the drying leaves. “You’re old school. He’s not.”
Angel gave him a wink of acknowledgment. “Just as she denounces voodoo, she’s denouncing the old ways as well. I believe she thinks she will live longer that way.”
“Seems like she’d try to keep the old ways alive,” Jared said. “Why is she fighting it?”
Angel set down the wooden spoon he was using to stir the tea. “It didn’t work for her when she most needed it. And that’s all I will say on the matter.”
Jared nodded in understanding, then continued to tote the conversation. “Jean said a word to me. Something like - sounded kinda like parasite.”
“Parazit?”
“Yeah.”
“You got the meaning of it.” He stared at the pot.
“What about, what was the other one - apwa - z something.”
Angel thought for a moment. “Anpwazonnen.” His voice was tight. “Poison.”
Jensen turned to Jared. “He said this to you?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Jared nodded in response.
Angel folded his arms. “It means he knows. This isn’t good.”
Jensen suddenly felt very cold. “He knows - about our situation?”
“Yes.”
“He a part of that thing you mentioned on the porch that night?”
“The Anya Lihai. He is, yes.”
“This is bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Angel resumed stirring. “He recognized it in Jared. It is well you weren’t with him.” His head darted up. “Were you?”
“No. I was with Misha. Jared went to check on Gramma alone.”
“Still. Others would have seen you.” He set the kettle on a round wooden trivet in the center of the table, and took a bottle of rum from a cabinet.
“Meaning what?” Misha asked carefully.
“Meaning you both should have stayed as I told you! All of you should have!” Angel thumped the bottle on the table angrily. “You have complicated things now, because you don’t listen! Probably why you have this thing in the first place.”
“Hey, now wait a minute!” Jensen exclaimed, scraping his chair back to stand, but his back gave. He barely stifled a gasp, clutched the back of his chair, easing down, glaring at Angel’s knowing expression. “Forget it. You’re not walking on my back again.”
“Did it help before?”
Jensen gritted his teeth and took the mug of tea handed to him. He added a liberal amount of rum.
“If you’d brought him here in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened,” Jared said in Jensen’s defense.
“If he had trusted someone, this wouldn’t have happened,” Angel countered.
“I trust people!” Jensen insisted.
“Who?”
Jensen instinctively turned to Jared, who flushed. He exhaled at the reddening face, and looked down.
“If you trust them, why push them away?”
The mood suddenly shifted. This was going to get really uncomfortable, really fast. “That’s none of your business,” he responded testily. Oh, great. Now Jared was hurt, his eyes all brown and sad, and wasn’t that just peachy? It was one thing that irritated the crap out of him about his friend.
“What you have,” Angel continued, “came to you. You didn’t call it. But it was able to get through because of the delicate state you were already in.”
“Hey, there is nothing on me that’s in a delicate state.” He shifted, and cursed as his back again betrayed him.
“Selma says you were depressed before?” Angel fired at him.
Oh, this was SO not the time, just - don’t go there. Jensen glanced uneasily around the table. “Okay, look,” he said, suddenly pleading, “let’s drop this.”
“And when will you see fit to talk about it? When this thing has destroyed those that matter to you?”
He remembered Jared being flung across the room, and how it seemed to be watching Misha. “I thought. . .” he hesitated. Angel prompted him with his hand. Okay, this was going to sound stupid. “I thought it was protecting me.” He ran his fingers over the table, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
“Protecting you?” Jared exploded.
“Well, yeah. It was. . .”
“It’s driving you to. . .” Jared said over his words, but he didn’t voice his thought. “How is it protecting you? It’s scaring the shit out of you, man! I’ve seen it!”
No, he definitely didn’t want to go there. He’d be admitting to them what he didn’t even want to admit to himself. He hid his face in his hand, wanting to just disappear.
“It’s not from the spirit, is it?” a voice asked gently. “You’ve had suicidal thoughts before.”
Jensen swallowed, and looked up at the speaker, meeting his gaze firmly. Misha. Ever-knowing. He always knew, from the day they first met and started filming. He knew how Jensen seemed so secure for so long, but was tearing up on the inside. How this thing found him, and wouldn’t let him go. Of course he knew, that’s why he stared, why he always seemed to be there. Why he talked with Selma.
He kept his eyes locked with that blue gaze, and said nothing. He didn’t want to see the look on Jared’s face. His silence was his admission, and everyone there knew it.
“My god,” Jared finally breathed. “And I’ve seen it. I’ve been there all along, even before this, but. . .” he heard a chair scrap back with a frustrated huff, heard Jared start to pace.
He closed his eyes, and covered his face. “Jared, listen. . .” he said into his hand.
“No! I mean, god! That’s not helping. I never have listened, have I?”
“Of course you have.” This was drifting beyond uncomfortable. This was approaching the “do not fucking cross or I’ll kick your ass” zone.
“If I’d been there for you, you wouldn’t feel like this.” His back was turned.
“It’s not your fucking fault! Okay?” Jensen yelled out, taking his hand away but still not looking up.
“Why not?” Angel broke in with a question that startled them all.
Jensen stared. “What the hell? You’re saying it’s his fault I feel like this?”
“Isn’t it?”
“NO!” Jensen stood, and paused as he winced in pain. “God.” But that just made him angrier, and he pounded his fist on the table, then braced himself against it. “How the hell is it his fault?”
“Was he there for you?”
“He was. . .” Jensen pressed his lips together and looked at his friend. His brother. Who still had his back turned to him. “Of course he was!”
“Apparently not.”
Jensen pushed up. “Okay, that’s it. You listen to me, you son of a bitch,” he growled in a low voice. He walked around the table and jabbed his forefinger on it, making his point.“You have no idea. You got that? No idea! He was there. Always! I’m the one that wasn’t fucking there! I wasn’t there!”
Angel listened, his eyes calm. He nodded slowly. “Good. Then I suggest you stop blaming everyone else for your own loneliness.” He gestured with one hand to Jensen’s body. “Look what it has done to you. To all of you. And it has just started. This is on you, Jensen. You can fix this.”
Jensen balked. Angel watched, dispassionately.
He wasn’t there. Jensen shook his head and tried to make sense of his own words, of Angel’s words, of everything that was going on. He wasn’t there. Shit. So many times, he ran. So many times when he needed to be there, to pay attention, he let himself drift. He hid. Even from his friends, he started hiding. He turned a small, distressed circle, lowering his head, grabbing it with his hands. Emotions floored him. Despair flooded him. Why would someone bring this on themselves? Why did people choose to be miserable? Was it conscious? Of course not. And he couldn’t help how he felt, could he? And what about all this - other? His own feelings were hard enough to deal with, forget taking on something that just - he couldn’t do it. This weight, he couldn’t take it. And suddenly, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. The room was no longer there, nothing was there, nothing but staring eyes, always staring, and this need to get away.
Why couldn’t he just end it? Part of him had tried since the spirit got hold of him. But before that? He thought about it sure. About taking his life, because he was numb. Because nothing mattered, then he’d suddenly be bombarded with everything and it was making him crazy. All the thoughts, the energies, the issues that pressed in over his own. He’d leave work and pause on a bridge, hovering over the edge until reason crept back in. He’d drive recklessly, or get too drunk. Take a few too many medications for his back, but all that did was make him sick. Like his body knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t let him. Ultimately, he was too chickenshit to do anything, which sent him further into his despair. He held his head like he could hold the thoughts in, but he knew his friends weren’t fooled. They were witnessing his downfall. And he was bringing them down with him.
Unless he had the guts to do the unthinkable. He hadn’t even realized until that moment that he’d been silently crying. He swallowed painfully, wondering how long he’d been lost in his tumultuous thoughts, how long they’d let him. All three men were seated quietly. He’d been the one pacing. He could do this. He could do this. He could get rid of the thing. He could get rid of the pain.
The room was darker. He realized he’d been setting himself up for the inevitable, preparing himself for the scariest trip a person would ever take. It made him realize that, deep down, he really didn’t want to die.
He raised his head. Jared took one look at his teary expression and started shaking his head vehemently, rushing forward to grab Jensen by the shirt. It amazed him how Jared could read his expressions. “No. Don’t you even.” His voice was low, threatening, his fists clenched in his shirt like he would never let go.
“If I do it, it’s gone,” Jensen said. “This is over.” And it was stupid, of course it was stupid, but in the back of his mind it made so much sense.
“YOU’RE over.” Jared shoved him back against the counter, fists still firm in his shirt. “Is that what you want?”
“It would end.”
“You selfish bastard!” Jared yelled, jabbing his fists painfully into Jensen’s chest. “You’re such a fucking asshole!”
“You’d be out of this too!” Jensen yelled back, tearing his hands away and shoving him backwards. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“You think killing yourself is the answer?” Jared looked like he was about to explode. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Misha was standing, watching, and looked ready to jump in should Jensen do something idiotic.
“It is not the answer, though I admire your courage,” Angel said. “It could move on. It could simply find another host. I do not think it would pass with you.”
Jensen stared, and felt his adrenaline ebb. “Are you shitting me?” The metallic tang faded, leaving him ill.
“I am not.”
He was shaking. His emotions pinwheeled. “So there’s nothing to do.” Jensen wilted as the room spun around him. He felt himself being guided to the chair, where another shot of rum waited, minus the tea. He drained it.
“There is always something to do,” Angel countered gently.
Misha had taken his seat once more. Now he leaned forward. “Why don’t you fill us in on the details? The things you’re not telling us.”
Angel rested his elbows on the table. “First thing first. Jensen, look at me. You are not alone in this. You are not alone, period. You have to accept that, above all else. You have to trust in it, and believe it. Do you?”
He rubbed at his face. “Boy, that’s a loaded question.”
“I know you can not turn off your insecurities. But you must accept this statement. Do you?”
He didn’t know. He couldn’t speak. So, of course, Jared spoke for him. “Steve,” he said softly, making Jensen raise his eyes. “Chris. Jason. Phil. Kathy. Danneel. Your family. Misha. Me. We’ve got your back, man. You know this. Tell me you know this.”
The sides of his throat stuck together.
“Tell us,” Misha added, and his face was as intense as ever.
Jensen blinked at him. “You’re creepy as shit when you look at me like that, you know it?” he finally said.
Misha smiled.
“You have my support as well,” Angel said. “That also goes for Selma. Do you accept this?”
He felt so tired. “Yeah. I guess. Sure.”
“NO!” Angel’s fist slammed onto the table. He rose quickly, and advanced on Jensen, who pushed his chair back and stood quickly, back into the meager cabinetry as Angel bared down on him. “You accept or not. You die or not. Do you want to die?”
“Why do you people keep asking me that?”
“Do you?” He grabbed Jensen in a choke hold, dark fingers curling around his throat, pressing deep, pushing him back.
“NO!” Jensen forced out, his hands going to Angel’s wrist. He saw Misha directly behind Angel, saw Jared trying to pry the grip away. He didn’t remember either of them getting up.
“Then FIGHT IT!”
He was trying. Angel’s grip was like iron.
“I said FIGHT IT!” His snarl turned into a yell, and he squeezed tighter.
And the room erupted in a white light, flinging everyone to the floor.
Jensen gasped raggedly as he fell. He immediately dug his heels into the floor and pushed back against the counter where he’d landed. He saw Jared slowly rising to his elbows and knees, his head bowed. Misha was still. And Angel was laying on his side, chuckling. “Good,” he said mildly, as Misha finally turned his head and winced. “That was very good.”
“- the hell was that?” Jensen asked.
Angel’s face was lit from within, purely gleeful. “That, my friend, was you finally taking control. That was the Lodestone in action.”
Jensen crawled to Jared, cursing his injuries, and put a hand on his shoulder. Jared nodded. “What are you talking about?” he croaked out, inching his way to Misha, bracing him. His head was bleeding again from the fall, but not too bad.
“Selma gave you the stone, did she not? Is it on you?”
He was confused. A stone? Oh, right. “I think so. Yeah.” Jensen thumbed in his pocket and pulled it out. He stretched and passed it to Angel. “She said to keep it. What the hell is it?”
Angel’s lips pursed wryly. He rose and disappeared around the corner, then returned with a piece of metal and a shaving tool. As the men slowly picked themselves up off the floor, he set the nondescript rock on the table, and shaved at the metal. Tiny splinters fell to the table. He set down the tool and passed the rock over the small pile, then passed it back to Jensen.
He studied the rock, now covered in shavings, then looked up in surprise. “It’s a magnet!”
“Magnetite. Yes, it has natural magnetic properties. As do you.”
Jensen fumbled for his chair. “Come again?” He pointed wearily to a rag on the counter, and Jared snatched it up, pressed it to Misha’s head, and slapped Misha’s hand there to hold it. They both sat, each looking as exhausted as Jensen felt.
Angel leaned forward. “That stone you hold is used in many ways. It can align energies. It lessens fear, confusion, depression. It increases energy and endurance.” He leaned back. “It is said to have been used to make soldiers invulnerable. It attracts energy that attracts power. We use it to increase power. Some use it to ground themselves, or as protection from evil spells.”
The stone looked like it belonged at the bottom of a quarry. Jensen held it between his fingers and looked at it, dubiously. “This thing is supposed to do all that?”
“Yes.”
“I need another drink,” Misha muttered, and reached for the bottle.
“The Lodestone is you,” Angel continued. “You attract people. You pull them in with your charisma and charm. You pull in their positive energies. But you also pull in the negative ones. You are not suicidal, Jensen. Not really. You’ve merely lost your voice within those that you hear.”
That was debatable. “But - there’s days when it’s not worth getting up,” he said softly. “You know?”
“Name one person who is true to themselves, who has murder themselves. Only the lost take their own life, because they think it is no longer theirs to protect.”
It made a certain amount of sense. He realized he was going to have to trust this man, even if he didn’t fully agree with him. “What just happened?”
“You were desperate. You gathered the positive, pulled it in to you, and lashed out at what was harming you.”
Jensen angled his ear toward Angel, like he couldn’t hear correctly. And he wasn’t sure he had. “Wait. You’re saying I have - superpowers?”
Angel threw his head back and laughed. Disconcerted, Jensen pulled his head back and gave both Misha and Jared a weary glance.
“I’m saying, there is more to you than meets the eye.” Angel’s eyes glittered with mirth. His body relaxed, his teeth flashed against dark skin. “It would be a shame to lose that.”
Jensen nodded slowly. He raised his shot glass to his lips, and downed it.
Angel threaded his fingers together and regarded each man. “This affects all of you,” he said. “Not just Jensen, here. Jared, you’ve had your own occurrences. And Misha, I believe you’ve dealt with something similar yourself.” Misha’s head snapped up, but Angel just grinned “Like knows like. You may not be an angel, but you know your stuff.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Misha muttered into his glass.
Angel raised his chin. “Have it your way, then.”
Misha glared at him. It was the first time Jensen had seen the man show any signs of real anger. Acting, sure. He’s been angry. Cursing when messing up a line. A glow emanated from the depths of his eyes, and Jensen realized not only was this a man not to mess with, but he was glad Misha was on his side. And he filed the info away for later.
“So what do we do now?” Jared asked. “If he attracts this stuff, how do we stop it?”
Angel pursed his lips. “You can’t. Not so much. But you can block it from happening again.”
Jensen turned to Jared. “You mentioned something about that. Building walls.”
“Yeah, but this?” Jared smiled ruefully. “I mean tuning out the energy in a convention, sure. But this. . .” he gave a rueful laugh. “This is big.”
“It can be done.” Angel rose. “Excuse me for a moment.” He left the room. The three remaining men looked at each other, then down at their glasses. A long arm reached for the bottle and refilled the emptiness.
Jensen watched Misha as gave Jared a smile of thanks when he took his glass. “You’ve always known more than you’re telling us.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but it was close. “You mind filling us in?”
“It’s really none of your business,” Misha said calmly.
Jensen’s brows rose. “Oh, excuse me? And since when was any of this shit yours? You’re the one that tagged along, buddy!”
“I’m here because Selma asked me to come. I stayed with Jared because he asked me. I don’t have anything to bring to the table.”
“Yeah? That’s how it is? Then go the fuck home. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t need to be down here worrying about you, too.” He downed his shot, and the room gave a small tilt. He reached for the bottle, realizing it was more full than it should be. Had they already gone through one? When did Angel pull out another?
“The only person you need to worry about is yourself,” Misha said.
“And how can I do that if you’re distracting me? Huh?”
“How am I distracting you?”
“Get hit on the head with a bottle recently?”
“Then send Jared home too. He’s a victim as well. Come on, Jensen. It’s not about that.”
Jensen winced at him. “You’re just - you!” Misha’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head in incomprehension. “You act like there’s some huge secret to life that we don’t know about and you do and you’re gloating. You have this freaky-ass stare when you look at people.” The rum had hit. Or he was just at the point of no longer caring what people thought. Probably both.
“And I’m around you and Jared. A lot.”
Jensen swallowed his rum.
Misha shrugged. “Look. The dynamic’s been tampered with. I get it. I can back off, no problem.”
Jensen slammed his glass down. “Shit, that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said, and it’s how you look. It’s how you always look.” Misha rose, taking a final gulp. He braced his hand on the back of his chair. “That’s fine. I’ll head back to Selma’s, and when the chance comes I’ll take the first flight out. Since I’m a distraction.”
“Oh, God, now you’re acting like a fucking five-year-old,” Jensen groused.
“No.” Misha shook his head. “I’m not. I didn’t want to come down here in the first damn place! Now you’ve given me a good reason to leave.” He met Jared’s gaze steadily, and left the room.
Jensen gripped his glass tightly, his thoughts drifting over everything he’d heard, seen, experienced. Fucking hell. He rose quickly, rushed in a tilt through the den, and stopped Misha at the door, grabbing his shoulder and jerking him back. Misha looked startled for a moment, then knocked away his grip.“Listen, you can’t go,” Jensen said. “You’re targeted by this thing.”
“And when I leave, it’ll stay here with you!” Misha sneered into his face.
Jensen grabbed for his arm, and was again pushed away. He snatched Misha’s shirt, pulling him close. “Dammit, listen to me! We don’t know that. Look, right now you’re the angriest one here. How do we know it’s not gonna latch onto that, huh? Leave me and get into you?”
“Because I’ve. . .” he shoved, “done this before, and I know what I have to do about it!”
Jensen’s brows met his hairline. “Oh, you’ve done this before? Well, thanks for sharing! What the hell are you talking about?”
Misha glared at him, his vivid blue eyes burning. Jensen stubbornly planted himself right in the way of the glare, not budging, his presence pinning Misha to the door without touching him. He couldn’t let him leave. Not like this. Not at all. Hell, he liked the guy. It was more a surprise to him than it should have been. He didn’t just tolerate the man because he was a co-worker, or because he and Jared got along. At some point, he started considering Misha almost a friend. When the hell did that happen? Either way, he wasn’t letting the man go. Not like this.
The tense shoulders slumped, and Misha looked away.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” He seemed to ground himself, then continued. “I was in my early twenties,” he said. “Impressionable. I got in with some people I shouldn’t have. You don’t need to know who they are. But it was a bad year, and I left it with only my name intact.” His eyes met Jensen’s squarely. “We’re a lot alike. Our reactions are alike. I bet if we knew each other we’d find that we think alike. We both have our insecurities. That asylum you filmed in? I used to live near there. For a month. I went through that place, and I had it happen to me. It wasn’t as bad as you, and we got rid of it real quick.” He sighed and pushed his hair back. “Why do you think I got into meditation? I’m not some guru! I’m not some spiritual nutcase! I’m a man trying to keep my head. That’s all.” He stepped forward, forcing Jensen back. “Yeah, I go on retreats. I’m very aware.” He practically spat the word at him. “But you need to stop trying to put me in a corner where I don’t fit. Stop being intimidated by something that doesn’t even exist.”
Jensen’s mind whirled. He let himself take it all in, then nodded. “Cool. Can you teach me how to do all that?”
Misha exhaled. His eyes roamed up and down Jensen’s body, probably searching for that ulterior motive, or a quip. Jensen had none for him. He hoped his sincerity showed. He never felt so exposed before someone, and it was the most uncomfortable experience he’d ever had. “Sure I can,” Misha responded quietly. “I can help.”
“Good. I mean, thanks for that.”
“Sure, sure.” Misha said again, just as quietly, looking away in discomfort.
“Show him too.” Jensen jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Jared, knowing he was there without looking back.
Misha lowered his head and chuckled. “Sure. Okay.” He stayed like that for a moment. When he raised it again, he looked more himself.
How did he do that? Just completely compose himself. Would Jensen himself be able to do that?
“Now that’s finally sorted,” Angel said from the shadows, “let’s eat.”
They started. “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Jensen exclaimed, pressing his hand against his chest.
“Some things you need to learn for yourselves. That’s one of them. Come on.”