Summer Days - Day 1

[redrum669]

Title: Summer Days - Day 1
Rating: R (for topic, see warnings)
Genre: AU, H/C
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Drug use, Mentions of: non-/dub-con prostitution, pornography and child abuse
Word Count: ~ 9700
Disclaimer: The events described in this story are purely fictional.

A/N: Sequel to A Summer Day

Summary: It's been ten years of hoping, wondering and worrying. Today Jared finds out if Jensen managed to keep his head above water.



Summer Days

"If you are going through hell, keep going."
~ Winston Churchill

Day 1

Jared

The engine crackles under the hood of Johansson’s black SUV. A haze forms above it. Distorts the run down taco joint up front. Jared can’t tell if it’s an open business or not.

He stretches the kinks from his legs. His lower back and neck. His hired PI does the same. A three hour drive in the sweltering heat didn’t sit well with them.

Sweat has glued his shirt to Jared’s skin. His tie and jacket sit discarded on the backseat. Dark spots outline Johansson’s armpits on his crimson polo shirt. He adjusts his glasses as they keep slipping down the slick bridge of his nose.

A few spaces across the lot, Jared watches Keller talk to a short, scrawny Latino. Then the PI hands him a wad of cash and the guy goes on his way, saluting him. Keller pushes off his dusty ‘69 Dodge Charger and heads over to them. He’s tall and brawny. Ex-Military with the face of a beaten up Boxer that belies his wit. It fits right with his attitude, though.

“You guys stink,” he says, a couple feet short of reaching them. Holds out his hand in greeting, anyway.

“Fuck you, man,” Johansson retorts, “you’re no bucket of roses either,” but takes the offered hand. As Jared shakes it, the Taco Bell door opens. A woman of indeterminable age and ethnicity steps out. Her shock-headed hair falls into her face, reaches down past her chest. On her skimpy pink top sits an inverted smiley. With gusto she bites into a taco. Greasy meat oozes out, lands on her denim skirt. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Only glares at them, a fierce animal protecting its kill.

Jared and his PIs step apart to let her through. He watches after her as she heads down the grey street, vanishes between run down homes. “Lovely neighborhood.”

“Yeah… Food’s not bad, though.” Keller indicates the Taco Bell. Johansson rolls his eyes.

“What?” Keller throws up his arms. “I was hungry; I’ve been here all day, waiting for you two chuckle heads.”

Jared breaks off his scrutinizing sweep of the area. “Did you see him?”

Keller shakes his head. “Nah. Only a few of the regular folks went in and out of the house. Couple local dealers and Johnny, the guy who owns the place.” He pauses, squints his eyes against the glaring sun. “Lots of fancy folk like you stopped by, though. All suited up. Johnny even provided ‘secure’ parking.”

“Guys like me?” Jared frowns. “What do they want here?”

Keller doesn’t respond. Just kicks at a pebble, watches as it tickles over the pavement. Shrugs. Not like he doesn’t know. Rather like he doesn’t want to talk about it. Jared turns to Johansson. Firmly, he repeats, “What do they want here?”

Johansson sighs. “Just think about it. This is too far out for it to be solely about drugs. Those guys, they can get that stuff elsewhere. The only thing that’d bring upper-class businessmen in this neighborhood is sex. But since this obviously isn’t a fancy brothel it must hold some other appeal.”

The sweat running down his spine turns cold. Jared remembers Jensen talking about being a kid when he started. Thinks ‘double penetration’ and all the stories about stuff much worse that he heard from his clients. Quietly he voices the bottom line. “It provides the kind of sex you can’t get elsewhere.”

Keller nods. “Pretty much.”

Jared rasps a trembling hand over his face. “Damn it, Jensen…”

“There’s something else,” Keller says. Jared’s heart drops. “We’re only about…” Keller and Johansson share a look, “…95% sure it’s really Jensen Ackles in there.”

At that Jared startles. “What?”

“Look,” Keller says. “This is the end of all the leads we got. If this isn’t the Jensen you’re looking for, then it’s the first defeat in my career as a PI. But I can’t help it. Names around here don’t mean much. At least not real names. The guy I spoke to only knows that there’s some Jensen with Johnny. Didn’t know his last name, though. And at first he was really confused when I asked him about your guy. Says it’s not what people usually call him.”

“Then what do they call him?”

“White Boy.”

Jared frowns. “White Boy?”

Keller nods. “Because of the white shirt he refuses to take off.”

***

Jared has Keller point out the building. It’s a wide bungalow, relatively large for the area. The faded baby-blue paint job is pealing off the walls. As far as Jared can tell, the blinds on every window are drawn. Two guys sit on the porch, smoking. They’re not doing anything else. Not even talking. Around the premises runs a chain fence. Behind the gate parks a polished, black Mercedes Benz. It shines ominously in the sun. The bungalow itself is set some distance back from the street.

Jared marches towards it. Keller and Johansson trail after him. Let him take the lead. Without a word they’ve reduced themselves to a role as intimidators. He’s grateful for that.

When he pushes past the fence and strides towards the front door, one of the guys looks up with lazy curiosity. Then rests his head back against the wall. The other guy doesn’t even bat an eye. True to Keller’s words, Jared realizes he fits right in. The thought nauseates him.

The front door is ajar. It creaks painfully when he pushes it open. “Johnny!” He shouts and enters. Finds himself in an urban bat cave. A dark, narrow hallway runs straight into the depth of the bungalow. There’s no end to it, just a big black hole that a lonesome light bulb fails to reach.

Doors line the hall right and left. Most are closed. From a half-opened door stroboscopic light flickers into the hall. Provides recurring snapshots of a woman slumped across two chairs. Sleeping, Jared hopes.

A door to his right opens, revealing a man in black slacks and a yellow muscle shirt. Average height, lean built with a dark tan. Ornamental tattoos decorate his left arm up to his neck. He’s got a wild shock of black hair and stubbles on his jaw. When he steps closer, Jared sees his eyes are bloodshot. His pupils reduced to pin heads. High on coke or some other upper. The way he holds his body radiates a certain charisma. His slightly asymmetric features prevent him from being objectively handsome, though.

“Are you Johnny?” Jared asks.

“Depends,” he drawls. Gives him a once over. “Who’re you?”

“I’m here to see Jen-“ Jared breaks himself off. Re-thinks it, then grits, “White Boy.”

“Aren’t they all?” The guy grins. Rubs a thumb over his lips. Smiles darkly. Then holds out his hand. “Yeah, I’m Johnny.”

Jared doesn’t shake it. Just takes a step closer. Towers over Johnny. “I’m a bit on a time table.”

“Alright, alright.” Johnny holds his hands up, defensively. “Easy there. White Boy’s with a customer right now, so-”

Just then a man emerges from the dark pit of the bungalow’s belly. He’s short and stocky without being fat. A wrestler’s body, but the face of a pig. Drawn up, flat nose and soft, watery eyes. In them there’s only self-consciousness, an awareness of all his flaws but none of his potential strength. A weak minded, awkward man who shifted the scale by hiring his former bullies to torment someone else. Jared’s faced his kind before.

In passing the man hands Johnny a bundle of cash. He’s decidedly not looking at Jared or his PIs. The illusion of discretion in a place where no one gives a damn, anyway. His bodyguards don’t seem to share his inhibitions, their glares just short of deadly. A warning, though Jared’s got no idea for what.

“See you next week!” Johnny shouts at their backs. Then, to Jared, “Looks like it’s your lucky day. White Boy just opened up.”

Jared wants to sink his fist into Johnny’s face. Wants to break his nose then his jaw, then every other sick bone in his body, one by one. But he’s the smart guy here. Knows his priorities. “Take me to him,” he demands. “Now!”

Johnny shakes his head. Holds out his hand. “That’s 200 bucks first. Another hundred afterwards.”

Jared remains stubborn. “I want to see him first.”

Johnny scrutinizes him, eyes flickering. Shoots short glances at Keller and Johansson. Seems to come to a decision. Licks his lips and nods. “Alright,” he says. “You seem like a reliable man. And I’m nothing if not nice to our first time customers.” He turns. “Follow me.”

Jared grits his teeth. Balls his fists. Keller sets a hand on his shoulder. “Keep it together. We can’t-”

“I know.” He takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes for a moment. Then follows Johnny into the abyss.

***

They’re lead around a corner. Just another hallway. Another lonely lamp. The light bulb’s not bare, but the shade is covered in dust. Everything’s cast in a diffuse, sickly orange glow. Two final doors mark the end of the hallway. The one to the left is wide open. Inside a group of five is cooking up H on spoons. In the background, a TV’s turned on mute. The cast of Jersey Shore bounces on screen.

A girl looks up. Says, “Hi, Johnny.” She smiles, begging for attention. Johnny just nods absentmindedly.

Then a hoarse shout. “Johnny?” It filters through the ajar door on the right. Jared’s heart skips a beat. He knows that voice. Then wonders if he just wants it to be Jensen hard enough. If he’s just seeing faces in the clouds.

Johnny sighs, rolls his eyes. Pushes open the door to a dark room. There’s no lamp at all. The only light seeps through the drawn blinds. Everything’s shady, tinted a pale green like a bad quality night vision image.

Jared’s hot on Johnny’s heals. Looks over his shoulder. Johnny stops at the foot of a bed that takes up most of the small room. On the dirty, bare mattress lay rumpled linen, a deflated pillow and a man. He’s skinny and naked save for a shabby shirt that’s glued to his skin. He’s sweating and trembling. Curled in on himself. Even in the bad light, Jared can tell he’s filthy from head to toe. The air reeks of shit, urine, stale sweat, vomit and semen.

“Fuck, that’s not normal,” Johansson gasps. Buries his nose in his own smelling armpit.

Jared doesn’t let it faze him. He steps past Johnny, eyes wide. Focused on the pathetic shape on the bed. It’s Jensen. God help him, it’s really Jensen.

His roughly cut hair is soaked through with sweat and grease, plastered to his skull. His haggard face is flushed with withdrawal. The feverish glow blends with the dust of freckles. Provides the only color besides the vast splotches of grime to his ashen skin. And still underneath it all, a dying hint of handsomeness. Just like ten years ago. Everything’s symmetric, proportionate. The straight nose. The high cheekbones. The chiseled jaw. No longer boyish, though. Older, instead, with features more distinct, more manly. A few days worth of beard give him a rugged look. But despite the transition, it’s unmistakably Jensen.

During his assessment, Jared’s eyes catch on the shirt. The color indiscernible, but the fabric is velvet. Worn through, with torn seams, holes and all kinds of stains it looks like it’s not been taken off for years.

The realization sucker-punches Jared. Sinks a hook in his gut. Slams him right back to the deserted pool of a Nevada road side motel. Back to draping a white velvet shirt over bony shoulders. Back to a grateful, happy smile.

Jared lands back in reality when Jensen emits a groan. Says, “Johnny, ya’ gotta get me some…” His voice a cracked rumble. “It hurts, man.”

“Sure thing, buddy,” Johnny drawls. Then turns to Jared. Quietly, asks, “Do you want him like this?”

Jared snaps round to him. “What?”

Johnny shrugs. “That dude earlier? He likes him like this. Some others do, too. Say it makes him tense up. Get him nice and tight.”

“No!” Jensen gasps. “I ain’t doing two like this. ’s not the deal.” He rolls on his side, reaches for a pair of pants on the ground. Johnny takes a step to the side, kicks them out of his reach. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jensen’s fingers close around nothing. Then his abdomen seizes. He spits out bile. Screams, “You’ fuckin’ son of a bitch!”

Jared’s operating on barely suppressed rage, shoves at Johnny’s shoulder. Nods at the door. “Go, get it.”

Johnny turns. Gives him a curious look. Growing suspicious. “Dude?”

At that Johansson steps up to Jared’s side. “Go get his hit. My boss wants to give it to him.” Jared sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. Nods and says, “Only bring the H. I got everything else.”

At that Johnny’s face forms an ‘o’. “So you’re one of those…” he drawls. Rubs a twitchy hand over his nose, his chin. Then nods, curtly and shoulders past them and out the door. As soon as he’s gone, Jared rushes to Jensen’s side. Hunches down by the bed to look him in the eyes. Sees fever in them and pain. But for the most part they’re filled with jaded defeat.

Jared bites the inside of his cheeks to keep the tears at bay.

Jensen

“Thanks, man,” he says and rolls back away from the edge. Tries his best to stop trembling like a damn energizer bunny. Works up a smile. “’m gonna be ready in a sec’.”

The guy shakes his head. Jensen can’t see much more of him than the movement. Everything around here’s blurry, dark and shapeless. But the guy’s voice is gentle when he says, “That’s not what I’m here for, Jensen.” Then, a hand to his shoulder. Warm but not heated. Unlike all the other touches he ever felt, this one grounds him. Stops the shivers for a moment.

He tries to blink through his haze. “Ya’ know my name?”

“Yeah,” he says. “We met a long time ago. I taught you how to swim. Do you remember?”

A memory throws up in his fogged mind. A cloudless summer day. A roadside motel. A deserted pool. Prayer, arrow, shark fin. Saloon door. Flying water droplets, shining like diamonds. A bright smile. A nice kid, who… Jensen curls his fingers into his white shirt.

“I’m the one who gave you that shirt,” the guy says. Holds out something for him. “You gave me this.”

“Wha-?” He reaches out for it. Touches a slip of paper.

“Your name. You gave me your name.” A beat. Then, softly, “Don’t you recognize me?”

Jensen stares, tries to see the face he remembers. Tries to focus. It’s not enough. He pushes the nausea down and pulls himself up on his elbows. Inches closer to the edge, ignores the pain in his lower back. The burn of his insides. He squints, and finally he can make out his features. The kid’s features. Broader, now. Grown up. Still gentle, though. Soft. Innocent.

“Jared?” He gasps.

“Yes,” the kid says, happily. “Yes, it’s me.” Cups his cheek.

Something inside Jensen shatters.

Jared

“For White Boy.” A small bag falls on the mattress. Jared glances up. Johnny has returned. “That’ll be 200 upfront then,” he, says. Hooks a thumb towards the side. “I got SD cards, if you wanna record it. $50 for 4 Gig, a hundred for 8, two hundred for 16.”

Frowning Jared glances in the direction Johnny’s pointing. In a dark corner a digital camera sits on a tripod. Its shining black eye glares at them, menacingly.

“He already said he won’t pay upfront,” Keller says. A line forms between Johnny’s eyebrows. Jared swallows hard. Thinks. “Dude,” Johnny starts, getting annoyed. Jared comes to a decision. Says, “I won’t pay upfront,” pauses, waits for Johnny to turn to him. “But I’ll take an SD card. 4 Gig should be okay.” On the bed, Jensen shifts. Averts his face. His shoulders slump. Jared swallows around a lump, keeps his eyes trained on Johnny.

Johnny shifts, twitches. “Man… alright… First timer bonus,” he says, eventually. “But you’ll pay me the rest afterwards, or we’ll have a problem. Do you want to have a problem?”

Jared shakes his head ‘no’. Tilts his head at Keller. “Give him the money.”

He watches Johnny pull a plastic chip from his pockets. Waits for him and Keller to exchange business.

“Now,” he says, “some privacy please?”

“Alright, alright.” Johnny holds up his hands defensively. Steps backwards to the door. “An hour, tops or I’ll add another three hundred.”

Jared holds his eyes. Doesn’t allow himself to be intimidated. This won’t take that long, anyway. Hopefully.

With a last glare, Johnny pulls the door shut. Leaves them in relative darkness.

Releasing a sigh, Jared sits down on the edge of the bed. Pulls a sterile syringe and a spoon from his pocket. Picks up the bag of H.

“Need a lighter?”

Jared looks up. Johansson holds out his zippo. He nods, takes it with fingers that are trembling far more than he’d like to admit. Doesn’t dare looking at Jensen. This could be the golden shot he’s cooking. But they can’t take Jensen with them the way he is. Isn’t sure Jensen would even agree to, right now.

Then Jensen’s hand bumps against his thigh. He’s shivering badly, skin glossed with a sweaty sheen. Head resting on his right arm, he looks up. Asks, “Whatcha need the SD card for, Jared?” He’s biting his lower lip. Clearly dreading the answer.

Jared opens his mouth. But words won’t come.

“Might be useful in the future,” Keller explains. Then gasps. “Jesus, fuck, there’re white finger prints on this fucking thing.” A beat, some more grumbling, then, “Okay, all set.”

The red recording light flickers on. Jared fills the syringe. Steels himself. He had his brother show him how to give a shot over and over again. Made the best of having a surgeon in the family. Hell, he even practiced on himself, but nothing could prepare him for what he’s about to do. “Where do…” His voice cracks. Gives out on him.

Jensen fumbles around for his bare leg and feet. “Dunno, here… somewhere. Jus’ try.” He spits another mouthful of bile. Hides his face in the mattress. “Jus’ please hurry the fuck up.”

Somewhere… there’s nowhere. There’re needle marks everywhere. Jensen’s skin is a damn connect the dots puzzle. Solve it and you get an image of his entire circulatory system.

He picks up Jensen’s left foot. Can’t find a vein there. Biting his lip and blinking back tears, he goes on to the right. Jensen flinches at the touch. “’t hurts, Jared. Fuckin’ hurts…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “So damn sorry.” Gently, he strokes over Jensen’s filthy calf, past his ankle. Feels around on the top of Jensen’s feet. Senses a bump. Pushes slightly and it gives. A vein. He sets the syringe to it, prays it’ll work. Pushes it in and a speck of blood surges up into the tube. “Got it,” he says, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Jared pushes the plunger. Watches the liquid vanish into the bloodstream. Then looks at Jensen with worry. Helps him prop up against he headboard. Slowly, Jensen’s body calms down. The shivers stop. His breathing becomes shallow. But he’s got no strength. Or just doesn’t care that he sinks down again, until he looks like a limp dishrag.

He just slings one arm around his abdomen, sets the other on the mattress. Smoothes out crinkles on an imaginary sheet. An off kilter smile forms on his lips. Then, faintly, he says, “Woulda cleaned up if I’d known you were coming…”

Keller actually chuckles at that. Johansson just sighs.

Jared’s heart shatters into thousand pieces.

Jensen

A shadow appears before his face. Reaching for him. He flinches, then realizes it’s a hand. Jared’s hand. Gently, it cups his cheek. He heaves a relived breath, leans into the touch.

“I wondered before…” Jared says, quietly. “You can’t really see me, can you?” A sad smile rings in Jared’s voice. Slowly, he strokes a thumb over his cheek.

Jensen chuckles. Cups Jared’s hand with his own. Leans into the gentle caress. “Stupid,” he mumbles. “Room’s dark…”

A chuckle. “I don’t think that’s the problem, here.” Then Jared shifts and the hand falls away. Jensen sighs. Blinks open his eyes. Jared has turned away from him.

“Hey, Johansson, you’re short sighted, right?” He asks.

A man by the door groans. “Yes, but…”

A beat. Jared and the man exchange a look. Then that Johansson dude heaves a weary sigh. Steps closer. “You’re lucky I got a spare in the car.”

A moment later Jared turns back to him. Sets a pair of glasses on his nose. He blinks. The world swims. Everything around him is shifting. Then shapes take on focus in the darkness. Johansson turns out be a fancy guy. Fancy pants, fancy polo, fancy hair cut. A face to go along with it. That other guy is still by the camera. Too far in the dark for Jensen to make out clearly. But it’s not important, ‘cause right here, by his side’s the kid… Jared. Right fuckin’ here. Same fluffy hair, same tanned skin glistering with sweat. Same sunlight-smile as on that day. It lights up his world.

His world…

Slowly, Jared’s smile dies. He calls his name. Jensen doesn’t respond. Instead, he trails his eyes over his world. A dark room. Four corners, nothing else. Smearing on the walls. A cardboard box on the floor. The dirty head of a spiked dildo pushes through the lid. The ground around the bed is littered with bundled up tissues. Broken syringes. Dirty clothes.

The mattress he sits on is dirty too. He looks at the pair of cuffs dangling from the headboard. They’re flaked with a rusty mass. He looks at his wrists. His ankles. He’s got matching circles of chafed skin on all his limbs. Gingerly, he touches them. Then trails his fingers through some of the darker stains on his skin. Some of them leave a smear. When he reaches his groin, he stops dead. Stares down at his dick. It sits shriveled up in his lap. He knows all this. But still… He glances back up at Jared. Frowning, he tugs his shirt closer around himself. “Uhm…”

Jared sighs. Picks at the bundled up linen by his feet. Tugs them up, over his legs. Covers him.

“Not exactly a five star hotel, now, is it, buddy?” Johansson says.

Jensen shrugs, awkward. “Guess not.”

He fists a hand in the linen. Pulls it a bit higher. Looks back up. Jared’s watching him. Over his shoulder, the eye of the camera stares at him. He inches the linen even higher. Tugs his shirt even closer. But the red light keeps blinking angrily.

Jared

Something bumps against his fingers. He looks down, spots Jensen’s fingertips touching his.

“Stop,” Jensen whispers.

Jared entwines their fingers. Softly asks “Stop what?”

Jensen swallows hard, averts his face. Then shrugs. But his hand curls around Jared’s. Holds on tight. “I don’ wanna do this no more.”

Jared sighs. Smiles. These are the words he’s been waiting for. He gives Jensen’s hand a tender squeeze. “Let’s get out of here then.”

Jensen bites his lip. Whispers, “I can’t,” and pulls his hand from Jared’s grasp. Curls his arms around himself, instead. Scratches absent-mindedly at a needle mark.

Jared lays a hand over Jensen’s. Stops him from scratching. “I can show you how.”

Jensen glances at him. “Detox?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“’t hurts.”

“Doesn’t have to.” Jared smiles, encouragingly. “We’ll go to a hospital. Get you some methadone or something. It’ll be like the flu.”

Jensen seems to turn that over in his mind for a second. Mutters, “The flu sucks.” A beat. Then a smile forms on his face. “Ain’t that bad, though.”

“It’s not,” Jared agrees. Stands up and holds out his hands. “So, you coming or what?”

Jensen’s smile widens. His teeth are just as rotten as the room they’re in. But the expression still brings some liveliness to his features. He reaches out, takes his hand. Whispers, “Pushy bastard.”

Jared helps him up. Jensen shifts till he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Then cards a hand through his hair and looks at the ground. “Now, the hell did that fuckin’ bastard kick my pants off to?”

Jared glances around. There’re several pairs of pants. He picks up some jeans. “These?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No. Those were Bob’s.”

“Were?”

“Yeah, he died,” Jensen says off-handedly. “Couple months ago or so. No, my jeans are lighter.”

Jared stares at the jeans in his hands. Belonging to a dead guy. Laying around forgotten for months.

Behind him, Keller clears his throat. “Actually Robert Hill died three weeks ago,” he says. “I was at the morgue. Thought it may be you.”

“Me?” Jensen snorts. “I ain’t dead.”

Jared‘s glad he’s not. Still, he can’t find it in his heart to just drop Robert’s pants back on the floor. Carefully, he lays them out on the mattress instead.

“Could have fooled me,” Johansson says. “Certainly smells like it in here.”

“Never said ya’ couldn’t open no window,” Jensen says coolly. It’s not really funny, but Jared can’t help it. He grins at he dumbfounded look that forms on Johansson’s face. Then he carefully picks up a pair of faded light blue jeans. Shakes them out. An old spoon, covered in soot, falls off. The denim’s got some stains, a few holes. But otherwise the pair of jeans seems fine. Hell, he’s seen designer jeans that looked more beaten up. He holds them up for Jensen. “How about these?”

“Hey, ya’ found ‘em,” Jensen says. Takes them off his hands. He pulls them over his narrow hips and fastens them. When he stands up, they almost drop off again. Pubic hair peeks over the waist band. Jensen scratches at it. Steps into a pair of ratty sneakers that were partly hidden under the bed.

He doesn’t bother tying them. Just turns to them, patting the pockets of his jeans. He nods to himself. Seems satisfied with what he finds. Then says, “’kay, ‘m good.”

“Finally,” Johansson groans.

Keller holds up the SD card. “We’re good, too.”

“Then let’s get the hell away from here,” Jared says. Opens the door. Somewhere in the bungalow a bell rings. He swallows hard. “Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”

“You really thought you could sneak by Johnny?” Johansson asks.

“I was hoping.” Jared sighs.

“’s no big deal,” Jensen says. Shrugs. “I’ll jus’ say I’m gonna go for a walk. Jus’ pay him.”

Jared snaps round. Grabs Jensen by the shoulders. “No,” he snaps. “I’m not going to pay him. I’m not buying you from him, you hear me?”

Jensen blinks, confused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a human being for Christ’s sake!”

Jensen

Jared’s breathing hard. His eyes are pulled wide open. His hands claw at his shoulders. Jensen still doesn’t get it. But he can tell it means a lot to Jared. So he nods. “’kay.”

At that Jared calms down. Smiles and strokes a hand through his hair. “You’re not for sale, okay?”

Now, that he gets. And it sounds real good. So he nods again. Smiles. “Okay.”

“Guys?” Camera-guy stands by the door. Johansson’s already through. Both look impatient.

“Coming,” Jared says, takes his hand and pulls him along. Out in the hallway. Past the TV room. “Oi,” Cargo calls from inside. “Where you goin’ White Boy?”

Five faces track him as he passes. “Dunno yet,” he calls over his shoulder. Just knows it’s someplace he wants to go. A place with Jared in it.

They round the black corner with the dead light bulb. The door to Skully’s room is open. The bag of bones is leaning against his doorframe. Smoking. The cigarette’s thicker than his little finger.

A little further down the hall, Johnny’s standing much the same way. Instead of smoking, he’s waiting though. Waiting for them.

Jared halts. Turns to him. “Stay here for a sec. I’ll handle this, alright?” Jensen nods. Watches as Jared and his buddies head for Johnny. They talk. Then argue. Johnny’s not happy.

“What’s going on?” Skully asks.

Jensen glances at him. Smiles. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh yeah?” Skully’s eyes move towards Jared. “Who’s that guy? Some sugar daddy, or something?”

“No,” Jensen says. Fumbles with his shirt. “He’s my friend.”

“He the one who gave you that?” Skully asks. He nods.

“Wow,” Skully chuckles. “Thought you were just full of shit.”

A loud crack shatters the hallway. Gets their attention. Jared has Johnny pinned to the wall. Johansson and that camera guy are holding off some of Johnny’s friends. The two that could be bothered to stand up for him. They’re all a head shorter than Jared and his friends. Not even being high on Pep’s helping them. Jensen smiles to himself.

“Looks like you got yourself a knight in shiny armor, there…” Skully, drawls. His drowsy features actually look impressed.

Jensen looks back to Jared. Sees him sucker punch Johnny. Watches as Johnny crumbles to the floor, knocked out cold. Then Jared waves him over. His hair flowing wildly. His eyes fierce. A high rushes through Jensen. Wraps itself firmly around his heart. “Nah,” he drawls, turns to leave. He’s got himself something much better. His chase is over. “I got the dragon.”

Jared

They jog back to the taco joint. It’s only a stone’s throw across the street. Still, Jensen’s breathless by the time they reach their cars. Bend forward, he’s propping himself up on his knees. Panting harshly. Worried, Jared notices a blue tint to Jensen’s lips and finger tips. They have to get him away from here and to a hospital as soon as possible.

Behind him, Keller blows out a breath. Laughs. He claps a hand on his shoulder. “That was quite the punch you were packing there, Padalecki. Didn’t think you got that in you.”

“Yeah, well…” he smiles, awkward.

“Not just a nice guy, after all, huh?”

“No, I am. It’s just…” he shrugs. Hell, he still doesn’t get it himself. That was the first violent interaction of his entire life. He can’t believe he made it out there as the winner. But the way Johnny made him feel, the injustice of this whole shitty situation… It still gets his blood boiling.

“The Momma Bear type, huh?” Keller says.

“I guess,” he says, scratches sheepishly at his neck. Then turns back to Jensen. He has straightened up again. Is squinting his eyes against the sun. Out in the light, he looks even filthier.

“So, what now?” He asks.

“Now we drive back to San Antonio,” Jared says.

“San Antonio?” Jensen says as he plucks a damaged pack of smokes from his pocket. Lights himself one then offers them around.

Jared shakes his head ‘no’, Keller as well.

“Not my brand, thanks,” Johansson says. Jared doubts that’s the real reason. Jensen waits a beat. Seems to figure the same thing, before he shrugs and shoves the pack back into his pocket. He sucks on the smoke. “What’s in San Antonio?”

“It’s where I live,” Jared says.

“Oh,” Jensen says. Nods. “Cool.” He waits, shoots glances between them. “So?”

Jared turns to Keller and Johansson. The two PIs exchange a glance. Make no indication to move otherwise, though. He frowns, confused. Eventually, Johansson clears his throat. “So, Jensen,” he starts. “Which car do you wanna drive in?” He indicates Keller’s Dodge and his own SUV.

Jensen blows out a ring of smoke. Doesn’t even look. Just shrugs. “The one Jared drives in.”

At that Keller and Johansson turn to him. Jared doesn’t believe this crap. He glares at his PIs, but they remain unfazed. He opens his mouth just to shut it again. He knows if anything comes out at all, it’ll be curses. So he grits his teeth instead. Notices Jensen shooting a glance first at him, then at the PIs and back at him. Eventually, he shoves the cigarette between his lips. Goes to searching his pockets. He pulls out two rumpled dollar bills. “Crap… Hey, any of you got a dollar?” He nods at the taco joint.

Jared sighs. Retrieves some notes from his briefcase. “Get me a soda, too, okay?”

Jensen nods. “Anyone else want something?”

Johansson shakes his head.

“I ate earlier, but thanks man,” Keller says.

“Alright,” Jensen says. Stubs out his smoke. Then heads into the joint. As soon as the door falls shut behind him, Keller turns to Jared. “Look, he seems like a cool guy, considering, but man, I don’t want him in my car…”

Johansson nods in agreement. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Well, too fucking bad,” Jared says through clenched teeth. “I’m paying you both for this, so what the hell?”

Johansson huffs a breath. “We want to know whom you’ll be paying extra for the clean-up of the car.”

“You, of course,” Jared says. Throws his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve got all my stuff in your car.”

Keller grins. But Johansson just shrugs. “I can move it, no problem.”

Keller’s grin dies. “Dude,” he says.

Jared stares at his PIs. They stare back at him and each other. Jared can feel a drop of sweat, sliding down his spine agonizingly slow. They know he’s got enough money to get him and Jensen home without their help. But they also know they won’t see a cent of their payment if they both bail on him. It’s a Mexican standoff nothing short off The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Then Jensen exits the Taco Bell and the fatal shot falls. It’s Keller who thought the fastest. Who turns to Jensen first. He says, “Hey, man, you guys’ll drive in Johansson’s black SUV,” and his colleague goes down.

Jensen glances over his shoulder at the car. Nods. “Cool.” Then hands Jared his soda. He leaves dirty smudges on the can. Jared watches as Jensen turns and leisurely heads for the SUV. Eating his burrito as if on auto-pilot.

Johansson’s gaping. Keller is quick to make his retreat. Already one foot in his car, he calls, “I’ll drop by your office tomorrow.” Jared sighs, nods.

With that Keller’s Dodge roars off down the street.

He glances from the smeared fingerprints on his soda to Johansson. “Just get us to some roadside motel,” he says, wearily. “I’ve some fresh clothes for him.”

At that, Johansson’s face relaxes. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a motel just a couple blocks down the street.”

“No.” Jared shakes his head. “We’re not stopping before we’re out of this city.”

“Fine,” Johansson says. Not happy, but yielding. He stalks to the driver’s side. Gets in.

Jensen stares at him, confused. Then shrugs and tosses his tissue and burrito wrapping. Wipes his mouth on his sleeve instead. Jared heaves a weary breath and heads over to him. A smile forms on Jensen’s face. He pushes off from where he’s been leaning against the car. Opens the passenger side door, steps back and holds it open for him.

Jared’s heart grows big. His smile just as wide. But he shakes his head, gently cups Jensen’s neck. “I’ll sit with you, man.”

He’ll always sit with him.

Jensen

The car rumbles along beneath his butt. The seats are nice. Leather. He brushes a hand slowly over the surface. It’s cool and smooth against his palm. Soothing. Better than the hot, stale air all around him. He’s sweating. Seems like lately he can’t do anything but.

“Hey,” he says. “How long till San Antonio?”

“About three and a half hours,” Jared says. “Why?”

He sighs. Drops his head against the window. He can’t make it that long… But when he turns to tell Jared, he can’t say the words. Jared’s offering him a chance, here.

So he just shrugs. Says, “Just curious, ‘s all.” Johansson catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. The dude knows exactly why he asked.

Ashamed he averts his face. He wants to get off this shit. Never really wanted to be fuckin’ on it in the first place. But it just took over. Now, he ain’t sure wanting to stop is enough. Weary, he drops his head against the window. Stares into the distance of Texan wasteland spread out before him. Heat flickers over harvested fields.

A hand brushes up against his. Takes it, holds it. Squeezes it gently.

Jensen glances at Jared. Sees the sad smile. Jared knows why he asked, too. Softly, Jared says, “We’ll get through this.”

He returns the smile. Lopsided but hopeful. Everything feels so easy with Jared.

Jensen drops his head back against the back rest. Looks out front. At the horizon the sun starts to set. It’s the golden hour. Everything’s perfect.

Smiling softly, he closes his eyes. Enjoys the moment.

Jared’s thumb starts stroking along his hand. “Are you tired?”

“Yeah,” he says. He’s not, not really. But Jared lets him rest against him, so he pretends. Slowly, he slides down until his head’s lying on Jared’s thigh. It fits right with his neck. And since Jared doesn’t say anything, he pulls up his feet. Lays down along the backseat. Knees up, feet against the door. Jared’s fingers move to his head. Scratch idly at his itching scalp. It’s nice. Right now, Jensen feels real good. As good as even a hit hasn’t made him feel in ages.

Jared

They remain like this for a while. He keeps stroking Jensen’s head. Keeps doing it, even when he’s sure Jensen has fallen asleep.

Johansson throws a glance over his shoulder. “You do realize he probably has lice, do you?”

“So?” He says. Plucks a stray strand from Jensen’s forehead. His closed eyelids shimmer purple. “What’s it with you people, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Johansson asks.

He sighs. “I mean, everyone keeps worrying about this unimportant shit. So what if he’s got lice and I catch them? So what if he’s dirty and gets stuff on the seats? They’re artificial leather for Christ’s sake. It’s nothing some water and soap won’t fix.”

A beat. Then Johansson says, “You know we’re just talking tip of the iceberg, here.”

“I know,” he says, slowly. Sighs. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve got to treat him like I’m going to get infected just by looking at him. Infected with something we don’t even know he has.”

“I get that,” Johansson relents. “But you have to admit, it’s unlikely he’s not carrying any disease. Hell, did you see all those needles? And not a single condom.”

He sucks in a rattling breath. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Plus, the risk of contagion is not the only problem with serious illnesses.”

He gives a sarcastic snort. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m just saying…,” Johansson goes on, “He’s been on Heroin for what… almost 20 years, right? Fucked himself through half the population.” He pauses. “If you ask me, it’s a miracle that he lived-” Johansson breaks himself off. Clears his throat. “That he’s still alive.”

Jared blinks, surprised. After a beat, “You’re saying not to get invested.”

“Well…” Johansson shrugs.

Jared shakes his head in frustration. Grinds his teeth and stares out the window. “You sound like my brother,” he says dully. Eyes locked firmly on the infinite landscape. The growing darkness outside. His breath hitches. He brushes a hand over his face. It comes away wet.

“Look, I’m not saying ‘don’t care’, just-”

Jared sucks in a breath. “How about putting on some music?”

Johansson releases a weary sigh. Nods and turns on the radio. A CD starts up. Headlights by independent rockband Dispatch fills the car. Jared’s throat clams up. Johansson reaches out to switch tracks.

“Leave it,” he gasps. Buries his face in his hand. His shoulders are shaking. Taking breaths becomes an effort. He squeezes his eyes shut but the tears won’t stop. He curls a hand over Jensen’s chest. Feels the heart beat underneath.

Then, slowly, his hand is covered by Jensen’s. It’s cold and thin. Too damn fragile for a man his size. He gives his hand a comforting squeeze.

When Jared glances down, Jensen’s looking at him. His eyes the color of a deep forest. Shining misty with morning dew. He’s smiling a sad smile.

Jared gives up any pretense of keeping his emotions in check.

***

He has calmed down somewhat by the time Johansson pulls over at a motel. The sun has almost set entirely. Everything looks eerie. Warm sunlight mixes with cold, harsh neon light. The striplight over the office flickers. Jensen fidgets in sync.

“Why ain’t we driving straight through?” He asks, still half inside the car.

Jared hunches down in front of him. Splays his hands over Jensen’s knees. They bounce up and down once, twice, three times, then settle. But Jared can feel Jensen’s legs are still tense as bow strings. He squeezes them gently, reassuringly.

Softly, he starts, “Because-”

“Because you’re dirty and you stink,” Johansson says. He has returned from the check-in. A key flies over Jared’s head. Lands in Jensen’s lap.

“No offense,” Johansson adds as an after thought.

“Uh… okay…,” Jensen mumbles, picks up the key.

“Sorry,” Jared whispers. Squeezes Jensen’s knees again. They relax a little. So he goes on, “You still want to get clean right?”

Jensen nods, fiddles with the key. “Yeah, but…” He shrugs. “’s not done with a shower.”

An amused chuckle escapes him. “Right, it’s not. But it’s one of the steps.”

At that Jensen glances up. Smiles. “Like for swimming? Like prayer, arrow, shark fin, saloon door, right? Then kicking your feet.”

He nods. Returns the smile. “And the most important thing…”

“Keep ya’ head up,” Jensen finishes. “I did.”

“I know,” he says. “You were a natural.”

Jensen smiles fondly. Tugs at his white shirt. “Ya’ been a good teacher.” Then he sighs. Releases the fabric. “’s time for something new, right?”

Jensen

He exits the motel room. Snaps the $10 bill Jared gave him. He looks around. The sun has already settled. Insects are buzzing up a concert. A swarm of moths is flying loops around the neon ‘Vacancy’ sign.
In the distance a coyote crosses the street. Just at the outer edge of the motel lights. He’s panting. Searching. Hungering. A moment later, he vanishes into the darkness.

The parking lot is filled with gravel. It crunches beneath his feet. Pokes through his flip flops, giving him a foot massage.

The chrome grill of Johansson’s SUV shimmers blue and red in the neon light. All four doors and the trunk are wide open.

Next to the car is a bucket. It’s filled with dirty water and a rag. Jensen rubs at his hip. At the stain that wouldn’t go off. He hid it under his new jeans before Jared could see. He’ll try to get that clean some other time.

“Look at that.” Johansson’s voice comes from behind him. He turns around. Spots him on a bench. “You don’t clean up so bad.”

He’s smoking. Next to him, a pack of smokes. Chesterfields. Made by the same tobacco company as his brand. Just more expensive.

He trots over to Johansson. Brushes a hand over his new buzz cut. Down his shaved jaw. Smoothes both hands over his new black velvet shirt. Smiles, softly says, “Yeah, I guess…” Then clears his throat. Hooks a thumb at the car. “’cause of me?”

Johansson give a vague tilt of his head. “Partly. I started with the backseat then just kept going while you guys took your time. Speaking of, where’s Padalecki?”

“Jared?” He asks. Johansson nods.

“He’s taking a shower, too.”

“Super,” Johansson drawls.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking off the time this takes.” Johansson stares at him. Jensen swallows hard.

“What do you want with that money?” Johansson asks. Drags on his smoke without taking his eyes of him.
Jensen glances down at the bill. “’s just ten bucks. For smokes,” he says.

“I see.” Johansson’s posture relaxes. They both know ten bucks won’t get him anywhere far. “Here,” he says, holds out his pack of smokes.

Jensen grins. “Ain’t my brand, thanks.”

At that Johansson startles. Then a grin forms on his face. He nods, slowly. “Alright. Fair enough.” He sets the pack back down. Jensen salutes him and goes to buy his own smokes. And a lighter. Jared tossed all his old stuff. Tabula Rasa as he called it. Back to Ground Zero. Jensen doesn’t mind. He didn’t have much anyway. Besides, Jared replaced it with new clothes. Handed him the money to buy new smokes.

Idly Jensen scratches at his crotch. Tugs at the fabric. The boxer shorts stop rubbing up against his balls. He sighs, relieved. He doesn’t even remember the last time he wore something underneath his jeans. It’s weird. More hygienic, though. At least Jared said so. He figures he’ll just have to get used to it, again. Shouldn’t be that much of a problem. He’s good at taking up habits.

He gives a curt laugh at his own joke. The old, balding motel clerk shoots him a weird glance. One hand already under the counter. Shotgun probably cocked and loaded. Ready to shoot a guy right in front of Bible TV.

Jensen clears his throat. Holds up the money. “Pack of Red’n’White, please.”

The clerk hesitates. Trails wary eyes over his body. His scarred arms. Eventually, he huffs disapprovingly, but turns to get his smokes.

Jensen rolls his eyes. Glances around the tiny room that serves as both, a check-in desk and a small shop. It doesn’t have much. Two vending machines, one with drinks, one with snacks. A few racks with newspapers, magazines, maps and postcards. Couple bargain bins with baseball caps, sunglasses and the likes.

He yawns. Turns back to the counter. Various small things in boxes take up most of the space. Among them a box of cheap lighters. He picks one with a guitar print on it. Playing one again would be nice. It’s been fifteen years since he last held a guitar in his hands. Held his guitar… The only thing he’d taken with him from his foster home. It got him some money on the streets. It also made him catch Roy’s eye.
He’d manage to hold onto it for two years. Then Roy sold it and the Big H had become more important anyway.

“Son?”

Jensen flinches, hard. Snaps his eyes back to the clerk. “Y-yeah?”

The clerk’s got his smokes in hand. “Do you want the lighter too?”

He nods. The old man rings him up. Hands him back his change.

“Thanks,” Jensen mutters.

“There’s help out there, you know?”

Jensen shoots him a lopsided smile. Touches the collar of his new black velvet shirt. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

The old man nods. “Good. Take care.”

Jensen stumbles outside.

Johansson’s still sitting on the bench. Leans forward as he gets closer. “What’s wrong?” He asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nah,” he says. Scrubs a hand over his face. He’s still holding the lighter. “Not a ghost,” he mumbles. Just a memory. Images of Paul. A black Gibson. His 11 year old self, trying to get a handle on the guitar. Paul adjusting his fingers, showing him how to tab a C.

He clears his throat and shoves away the memories. Lights himself a cigarette. Blows out the smoke. “It ain’t ghosts I’m scared of,” he drawls, staring at the fading cloud.

He sits down, winces as the denim catches on the stain. Tugs at the skin around it. He scrubbed too hard. It still burns.

Johansson glances at him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubs at his hip. “’s nothing.”

Johansson ignores him. Reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. Pulls down his jeans.

“No!” He snaps, struggles. Johansson’s stronger. His face darkens as he gets a glimpse on the stain. He lets go of him. Faces forward and stubs out his smoke.

“That’s not a stain,” he says.

“Yes, it is,” he says, frowning. Rubbing his aching wrist.

“No, it’s not,” Johansson repeats.

“Shut up! It’s a fuckin’ stain,” he spits. “’s no big deal. It’ll come off next time.”

“Did you show it to Padalecki?”

He averts his face. Sucks on his smoke and shakes his head.

“No big deal, huh?” Johansson gives a curt chuckle. Pauses. After a moment, he turns back to him. Says, “So, no more White Boy, then, huh?”

Jensen nods, fiddles with the hem of his new shirt. He can’t seem to keep his fingers off it. The white one had lost it’s smoothness long ago. But this one… This one feels like Jared again. He thinks it smells like him, too, even though Jared said he washed it.

“Yeah, no more White Boy,” he says, slowly. Then grins. “Retirement at 30. ‘s not so bad, is it?”

Johansson shoots him a dumbfounded look. Then huffs a surprised breath. “You’re weird, man,” he says. “And that’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” he says. Johansson shakes his head, but smiles despite himself.

The door to their room opens. Jared comes out, hair still wet. He has shed his dress shirt and put on a black V-neck.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

“Oh, we’re ready to go,” Johansson says, “Hopefully the hospital will be ready for this guy. He’s a real comedian.”

Jared

The three of them are sitting in the waiting room of the patient admission. Jared thought Johansson would leave right away. He didn’t. He squeezed his shoulder, and took the admission sheet. Jared’s grateful for that. It allows him to hold Jensen. His withdrawal symptoms have set in.

The young lady behind the desk refused a rushed admission. Said Jensen would live and to please fill out the form first. Considering this is a hospital with an integrated detox clinic, she knows her stuff. Jared still wants to call her a bitch.

But despite the late hour, they’re not the only ones here. They have to wait. Wait for the heavily tattooed woman two rows in front of them to be processed. Then for a teenaged boy who sits shivering and sweating between his worried parents. A homeless looking man with a bushy beard and his left leg in a cast, sits in a far corner. If he’s just here for a roof over his head or actually a patient, Jared can’t tell. The man looks like he hasn’t moved in days.

Jensen has curled up on the seats, much like he did in the car. His head is back on Jared’s thigh. He’s trembling badly. One of his hand claws at Jared’s knee. The abruptness of it feels spastic rather than voluntarily.

Gently, he keeps stroking Jensen’s head. It seems to calm him a little.

Johansson taps the pen against the sheet. “Alright…” he says, slowly. Thoughtful. “What do I write for insurance?”

“Nothing,” Jared says, “Tell her I’m paying the bills until I got him set up with my insurance.”

“Okay, good,” he juts something down. Then goes to hand in the form.

“Ya’ got that much money?” Jensen asks. His teeth are chattering violently, but the concern in his voice is still palpable.

“Don’t worry,” he says, brushes a hand over Jensen’s cheek. ”I’m making good money.”

“Yeah?” Jensen shifts. Turns to look at him, momentarily distracted from his discomfort. “Whatcha’ workin’ as?”

“I’m a lawyer,” he says, smiling. “Pretty good one, if I dare to say. I flew through law school. Finished it two years ago, actually. Got a great job offer by Henrick & O’Brien’s Family Rights and have been building my career there ever since.” He’s got a good reputation. No lost case, so far, plus he’s getting a bunch of cases referred to him, already. His bosses call him their prodigy. And it’s all because of Jensen. All these years, Jensen’s been his inspiration. His motivation.

“Family rights, huh?” Jensen asks.

“Yeah,” he whispers. Growing more solemn, “I mainly represent minors.”

“’s nice,” Jensen says, works up a smile through the shivering. But it’s a sad smile. Jared can relate. He’s more than twenty years too late for the kid Jensen used to be.

Johansson returns to them with two cups of coffee and a bottle of orange juice. “On me,” he says, lightly. Jared chuckles. Accepts a cup and the bottle. Jensen heaves himself up into a sitting position. Pulls up his knees to his chest. Jared hands him the bottle and he unscrews it with shaking fingers.

“So, we’re all set up,” Johansson informs them. “Janice - the nice reception lady - figures we’ll be admitted in half an hour, at the latest.”

He sighs. Hugs Jensen against his side. “Can you do that?”

Jensen shivers. Shrugs. “’s a stupid question.”

“Sorry,” he says, chuckling. Of course the answer is ‘no’. At least from the way Jensen must be feeling. But he’s going through with it, anyway.

Jensen places a kiss on his sweaty forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t be,” Jensen says. Takes of his borrowed glasses to rub at his bloodshot eyes. “Not yet.” He looks fragile. Vulnerable. But behind the exterior, behind the red eyes, a surprising amount of determination shines through.

***

The blinds of the examination room are drawn. Jared stands outside, arms crossed. He stares at a speck of dust on one of the panels. Light and shadows shimmer through. Voices, too, but they’re indiscernible.

He releases a heavy breath. Claws at his biceps. The air in the hospital is warm. Smells of disinfectant and illness. His new shirt is soaked through, already. He’s pretty sure he’s getting a good idea of what it means to go through withdrawal right now. He aches for Jensen.

But Dr. Whitley was right when she asked him to leave. Jensen’s been watched through enough what’s supposed to be private procedures. And while he’s not here for pleasure, he’s pretty sure Jensen wouldn’t be all open with the doctor if he were with him. So he made the hard decision. Hopes it’s the right one, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Johansson appears at his side. “Any news?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. They send some of his blood for testing, but that’s about the extent they would tell me.”

He glances at Johansson. Shadows have formed underneath his eyes. Jared realizes it’s been a long day for him, too. He nods in the direction of the exit. “I’m grateful that you stayed but you can go home if you want to.”

He shrugs. Shoots him a weary smile. “Yeah, I know… but I want to know how he is.”

“I can call you in the morning,” he offers.

“Nah,” he says, tilts his head. He picks his glasses from his nose. Cleans them even though they’re spotless. “Couldn’t sleep now, anyway.”

Jared startles at the sudden concern. Johansson seems to notice. He shrugs. Puts the glasses back on and shoves his hands in his pockets. Faces the shut window. “It’s not that I don’t like him, he just…” he trails off. His face clouds over.

“He just what?” Jared asks, curious.

Johansson exhales a loaded breath. “He represents all my failures.”

“He… what?” Jared’s got no idea what he’s talking about.

“You picked me for my police background, right? My expertise in human trafficking and connections to the sex industry.”

“Yes,” he says. Gets a growing suspicion on where this is leading.

“So, you can guess I’ve seen some shit. Real bad shit.” He pauses. “Do you know which department I worked for, exactly?”

Jared shakes his head. “They wouldn’t grant me access to your detailed file or the cases you worked on.”

“Yeah,” Johansson drawls. “It’s because I worked undercover a lot. For the sex crime unit. Especially on illegal prostitution and child pornography and… you don’t forget the dead look in some of these kids’ eyes. But the worst is… you know they suffer and you can’t help. You just have to grin and bear it. Sometimes, you get to save a few, but it’s always too late and some of the assholes behind it always get away. They’re like rats, fleeing the sinking ship just to set up shop elsewhere and you just know that for every kid you save they snatch themselves five others.” He sucks in a rattling breath. “And that shit gets to you. It eats up everything. After a while even my own wife and daughter couldn’t stand being around me, anymore.” He shrugs, smiles a sad smile, “So, just let me find out how he is. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

He nods. Wonders if sooner or later this might become his future, too.

A nurse passes by them. Some strands of hair have come loose from her ponytail. She looks exhausted, but still has a smile for them. She vanishes into Jensen’s examination room.

“Did you see the sheets?” Jared asks. “Think that were the results of Jensen’s blood test?”

Johansson shrugs, stumped for an answer. “Let’s hope so.”

They wait. Jared presses his ear against the window. But it’s gone quite inside the room. Only one voice is talking. He can’t make out words, though.

“Shit,” he sighs. Steps back again. Nervously, he walks up and down the corridor. Cards agitated hands through his hair. Everything around him seems gloomy. Even despite the fluorescent lights. The night creeps through the windows at the opposing wall. He glances outside, but can’t see far. It’s just an atrium.

Then the room to Jensen’s door opens again. Johansson perks up as Dr. Whitley exits. She pulls the door shut behind her.

The gnawing worry in Jared’s gut intensifies.

“Excuse me!” He calls. Rushes up to her. “Dr. Whitley, please, tell me-”

She silences him with a hand to his arm. “Please, follow me. We can sit down in my office,” she says. A veil of sad professionalism is lying over her features.

He stops dead in his tracks. Swallows hard. “It’s not looking good, is it?”

Day 2