Twists and Turns

[tcs1121]

Title: Twists and Turns
Author: tcs1121
Characters: J2-pre-slash
Rating: R for the f word
Word Count: 4600 or so
Disclaimer: Taking liberties with reality for the sake of fiction
A/N: Beta'ed by my very dear friend kkgee I can't tell you what she means to me.

All remaining mistakes are mine.

Here at LJ or at AO3

Summary: From roque_clasique's prompt over at the H/C RPF Meme

J2 AU -- Jensen thought he was signing up for cartooning, but accidentally signed up for ceramics, a class that's pretty damn tough when you've only got one working arm. It's worth it to suffer through it, though, because damn the shaggy-haired wheel-throwing teacher is fine...

~~*~~*~~


Three Years Ago:

“Substitute batting for Leon Stilton of the Little River Lamplighters is “Home Team Advantage” Ronald “Bebe” Ribozzo. Bebe's batting average is an cool .300, and with one out left, scores tied, rock bottom of the ninth... ladies and gentlemen, it could be sudden death softball for the visiting Fall's Station Green Hornets!”

“Fucking Ribozzo,” Jensen muttered as he warmed up, slamming the ball again and again into Chris's waiting glove. “Why did they have to drag him out of mothballs?”

The stands were packed because the Green Hornets were this game away from the county championship. Jensen was hoping to sit the whole game out. His shoulder had given a mild twinge last month after the game with Stevenson Park's Killah Kats, followed by a hard twinge, two and a half weeks ago, during their game against The Parton's Ridge Bulldozers. But now, with fucking Ribozzo up at bat, he shook out his sore arm and picked up the ball, because a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

So maybe this was just glorified backyard softball, but Jensen enjoyed it. Playing ball was fun, the team worked hard, and right now, the Green Hornets depended on him and his pitching arm for the win. Ribozzo may be batting .300, but Jensen had a burn-'em-alive 65 MPH fastball.

Jensen blazed one more underhand pitch to Chris, rubbed his shoulder, and walked out onto the field. Chris headed toward his catcher's position behind the plate. The home crowd went wild.

“Looks like the Green Hornets are doing some substituting themselves! The Green Hornet's very own lightning strike pitcher, Jensen “The Jackal” Ackles is substituting for Reggie Stephens and taking over the pitcher's circle. Wasn't expecting to see him today. I guess it really ain't over 'till it's over, folks.”

The decibel level of the crowd rose from air-raid siren to ear-bleed screech. They cheered, whistled, barked like dogs and roared like lions as Jensen approached the mound. Apparently the crowd wasn't sure which sound represented a jackal.

Jensen stepped onto the mound, loading all his weight onto his right leg as he prepared to explode off onto the left when he released the ball. He leaned toward his nemesis at home plate.

Ribozzo shifted foot to foot, then cocked his head and spat a wad of chewing tobacco over his left shoulder. Bebe squared his shoulders; the Jackal stood tall before assuming his pitching stance. Bebe patted the plate three or four times before facing the pitcher. Jensen's green eyes met Ribozzo's dark brown ones and communicated a silent understanding. 'You're going down, Ribozzo.'

Bebe took a deep breath through his nose, let it out, raised his bat and lowered his stance. Jensen fired the ball.

“Strike one!”

Jensen's shoulder twisted from its hinges and burst into flames. The burning raged under the skin down his arm and into his hand. He shook it out, but the pain seared back up through his shoulder into his neck driving him to his knees. He moaned, tucked his pitching arm in close to his body and blinked until his vision cleared.

The crowd was on its feet clawing the air and screaming, “Ja-kal!” “Ja-kal!” Bebe knocked sand off his cleats, and faced the infield rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder.

The scent of popcorn from the stands made Jensen nauseous, and the sky was so painfully blue that he had to squeeze his eyes shut. The crowd in the stands started a wave from the left and voices shouting “Green Hornets Rule!” began a whole new chorus of “Hor-nets! Hor-nets!”

Chris walked out to the mound, “You okay?”

With Jensen's arm pinned close, the pain had finally eased up. The pitcher nodded, so his catcher handed him the ball. Jensen was amazed to see that his right hand could circle the softball correctly into pitching position. With his arm held in close, he tested his wrist as he snapped the ball up.

Jensen tested the snap again, nodded again to Chris, glanced at Bebe, stepped onto the mound, raised his pitching arm and promptly passed out.

The Present:

Jensen stood in the doorway of Room 106 at Susan B. Anthony High School, fingering the paper in his left hand. Instead of the easels, crayons and paint supplies he was expecting, he saw four pottery wheels and several lumps of clay.

“Hey, man. C'mon in.”

He also saw two women seated behind two of the wheels, and one, tall, frenetic but friendly guy bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet waving him in.

Jensen cleared his throat, “Sorry. I'm sorry, I have the wrong class. I mean, according to my schedule, I'm in the right class, but I didn't mean to sign up for, you know...this.” Jensen raised his left hand expansively, leaving his right tucked deep into his pocket.

“No problem, man. We welcome all who enter here regardless of experience, talent or lack thereof.” Tall Friendly Guy had great hair and a killer smile. He was looking openly at Jensen like Jensen was somebody important. It felt kind of good, but the reality of the situation demanded honesty.

“I meant to sign up for Cartooning 101 for, well, you know, cartooning.”

“Cartooning's for wimps and spinsters. You want to be here with us because pottery rocks!” Tall Friendly Guy laughed as he brushed his hair back behind his ears and tied a red bandanna around it. “I'm Jared, your ceramics instructor. These are your fellow students, Sophie and Allie. Here's your wheel, sit and introduce yourself.”

“Wimps and spinsters?” Jensen mimicked.

“It was the best I could come up with.” Jared shrugged. “Did it work?”

Jensen smiled but shook his head. “Sorry, I can't stay. I'm Jensen, by the way. I'd like to take your class, but I really can't...” Jensen noticed the set of six or seven small gold hoops pierced up and down Jared's right ear, and a thin rainbow colored band across his right wrist.

He winked at Jensen and said, “Sure you can.”

Allie piped up, “Besides, if you don't they'll have to cancel the class. They said there had to be at least three students taking the class to keep it open.”

Sophie mumbled a quiet, “Please?” from behind.

Jared flashed a wicked grin at Jensen. There was no denying that the shaggy-haired teacher was fine and better yet, swung in his direction, but...

“Maybe I can just sit and audit the class?”

Jared threw his head back and laughed loud and warm, and Jensen had to smile.

“No, man. No auditing.” Jared waved his hands in the air. “You're gonna be throwing pottery just like the rest of us. Making art, creating masterpieces that will someday house your pens and pencils.”

“I don't know...I really can't...” Jensen stumbled for words.

“Don't worry,” Jared lowered his voice. “I'm a hands-on teacher, and I promise you, no child will be left behind.”

The women laughed, and Jared's smile was so deep that dimples creased both his cheeks. Jensen knew when he was beaten. He was hooked by the teacher's outgoing style, the whispered “please'-s” the women repeated, and by the way the light flickered off the little gold hoops hanging from Jared's ear. Jensen had no idea what throwing clay entailed because if he had he wouldn't have said, “Okay, you win. Where do I sit?”

~~*~~*~~

RSD is one of God's mistakes. It's just pain for no good reason. It wasn't bad enough that the complete tearing of two rotator cuff tendons hadn't healed properly despite several surgeries, or that his shoulder, arm and hand had suffered nerve damage as one of the rare complications of this kind of injury, he had to add Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy to the mix. His physicians told him that he had a mild case, but try convincing Jensen of this when the brush of his bed sheet, the spray from the shower or a warm summer breeze caused him to break out in a sweat, his arm to swell, and his hand to turn to ice.

Without the accompanying RSD, just moving his arm away from his body was usually accompanied by nerve pain shooting from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers, muscle pain from the poorly-healed tendons, and joint pain due to lack of range. His whole right arm was well and truly fucked, and he was now officially a lefty.

Being a southpaw wasn't something he did well because Jensen was very right-handed. Well, he used to be. His therapist (because wouldn't you know it?-depression often accompanies RSD) suggested he get good at using his left hand. Hence, the cartooning.

But right now, Jensen was looking into the laughing hazel eyes of this gorgeous guy who obviously wanted him to stay and take his ceramics class. Jared indicated a stool next to an empty pottery wheel, and Jensen moved toward his seat. Briefly turning away from the rest of the class, he carefully extracted his right hand from his pocket using his left, and held it close as he sat behind the wheel.

“Before we get our hands dirty, I'm gonna tell you before you ask, 'Why ceramics?'” Jared paced excitedly as he addressed the class. “ Because: it's art. It's culture, it's history, and it's functional. Plus, it's beautiful. We know about extinct civilizations by the shards of clay they left behind. That makes it timeless.” Jared stopped and stared at the members of his class one by one. “Pottery fired from clay is beauty made by our own hands. The art of creating ceramic vessels is woven within the history of our human civilization. It is also a time capsule for future generations. It is so very, very much cooler than cartooning.”

The two women clapped and Jensen laughed, “I already said I was sold!”

“Good!” Jared grinned. “Remove your rings, watches and jewelry, and let's make some history!” He plunked a lump of clay on each of the four potter's wheels. “Before this eight-week class is done, we will have fired and glazed at least three works each, but right now, we're just going to learn how to use the wheel, and work the clay. Ready?”

The two women nodded.

“Ladies and gentleman...start your engines.”

Just like his car's ignition, the doorknob to his front door, and the controls to his microwave, the start-up switch for the potter's wheel was over on the right. Way, way over on the right. Jensen tucked his right arm tight into his lap and leaned all the way over. As his left index finger flicked the switch, the stool tilted over onto two legs. Instinct took over and Jensen reached out with his right to regain his balance. He realized his mistake a half a second too late. His shoulder trembled, and his hand burned with the lightning bolt that shot down to his fingers.

“Fucking Ribozzo,” Jensen whispered. A deep pain fused its way into his shoulder and elbow. Jensen sat stock still, with his arm held close, he inhaled deeply, letting it out in a controlled exhale. “Please, not now.” After several seconds, the pain let up, and Jensen breathed, “Thank God.” It was just the regular pain, and not the other.

Sophie was busy watching her clay lump make lazy, lopsided circles on the face of her wheel. Allie was putting her silver link bracelet into her wallet and Jared was watching Jensen.

Jensen's cheeks flushed as he caught Jared's gaze, and pulled back from his stool to stand, “Look, maybe I should...”

“Sit. I need your wheel.”

The women looked up as Jared moved his stool over to Jensen's table. “My wheel's acting wonky, so I'm gonna use Jensen's until I can see what's wrong with mine.” He turned to Jensen. “You okay with that?”

Jensen knew he should cut his losses and withdraw from the class. He also knew that there was no way he could make art/history/pencil holders when he couldn't even turn on the damn wheel. It was clear that Jared could tell that something was wrong with Jensen. But the guileless, bright-eyed instructor obviously didn't care. When Jensen didn't answer, Jared said, “It's not really your wheel anyway, so I'm using it. Back up and watch.”

Jared inched his stool in front of Jensen's, gathered up the clay ball from Jensen's wheel, and gave it a good hard throw back onto the wheel. “Students, watch and learn. We're going to work on centering the clay on the wheel first, so it's not off balance. You want to make nice with the clay, not fight with it. Watch me as I put my whole body into getting the clay to behave...”

~~*~~*~~

Class was two hours long. During that time, Jared worked at Jensen's wheel, twisting the clay, coaxing it into different shapes and forms. Jared demonstrated the art of handling the clay while lecturing non-stop.

“Sometimes you need to gentle the clay, like a lover.” Jared wet his fingers from the bucket, and ran them up the sides of this particular sculpture, striping it where his long fingers pressed. “You fondle, hold and caress it until, by mutual agreement, you and the clay, rub in tandem, creating something new and beautiful.” With a flourish, he flared the tip of the clay he was working on and grinned unabashedly at Jensen.

“Smooth,” smirked Jensen.

“Or,” Jared looked into Jensen's eyes, “If it's more your style, you and the clay both decide that someone has to firmly take matters in hand. You know, let the clay know who's the boss.” Jared full-body pressed the clay into the wheel and held it for effect.

Allie fanned herself with her hand, “Whew, it's getting hot in here. When do I get to play with my clay like that?”

Jared checked the wall clock. “Sorry, sweetheart, you're going to have to wait till Thursday. Right now, this clay's all mine.” He winked at Jensen.

Jensen snorted and shook his head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been flirted with so openly. It really did feel kind of good.

“It's about time to close up for tonight so, in the immortal words of Jamie Hyneman and Adam Savage...”

“You? A MythBusters geek? Really?”

“Yes, really. And apparently, since you know who they are, I'm not the only one.” Jared collected the clay from the two women's tables and combined it with his. “Remember, I'm the professional here. Do not try any of this at home...” He pointed to Jensen, “...without me.”

Allie rolled her eyes and Sophie giggled.

“I'm guessing the word, “subtle” has no meaning for you?” Jensen said.

“You would be guessing right, young Jedi.” Jared's last act for the evening was creating a long, thick, phallic, light saber out of pottery clay.

~~*~~*~~

Sofie and Allie washed off the wheels, the tools and their hands. After Jared wiped the watery bits of clay off the walls and floor, he turned to Jensen, “Can you hang around for a couple of minutes while I lock up?”

Better to get it over with now. Jensen nodded, stood, and carefully placed his right hand back into his pocket. He was actually having a pretty good day, pain-wise which was why he could use his pocket instead of a sling. It was a shame, really.

After the ladies left, Jared dried his hands, tossed the paper towel in the trash and said, “So, we gotta come up with a method that works for you.”

Jensen was taken aback. “We do?”

“Well, yeah. You...you're a...” Jared pulled his bandanna off and stuffed it into his pocket. “ ...a lefty, so we gotta figure out how we're going to get the leverage you need to work the clay.”

“We do?”

“Yes. We do. What can you do that doesn't make you hurt?”

“Um...I can probably draw cartoons.”

“Man, you are a certified mess.” Jared shook his hair out and laughed. “You're not leaving my class and I don't want you to hurt, so spill. What's up?”

Jensen shifted uncomfortably. No one had ever come out and bluntly asked him to “spill.” Looking up at his ceramics teacher, who didn't appear to have a mean bone in his buffed, beautiful body, Jensen replied, “I tore the shit out of my shoulder pitching softball a few years ago. They tried to fix it...several times...and it just got worse with everything they did. The nerves are shot to hell, the muscles don't work right, the joints are messed up, and...” he stopped and sighed. “I developed this thing. This syndrome that causes pain...just because. So, you were right, I'm a certified mess. There's no way I can take your class. Believe me, I really am sorry.”

“That sucks, dude. I mean, that fucking sucks, but you're not dropping out. Allie and Sophie want to learn how to do this, and I can make...” Here Jared used quotey fingers. “Reasonable Accommodations.” Jared smiled shyly. “Besides...well...I want to learn how to teach you to do this.”

“Jared, I can't. I couldn't even turn the damn wheel on without seeing stars. The rest of me works fine, but if I do anything to jar the right side, it's all over.”

“Look, I'll be careful. You'll be careful. We'll both be careful. You talk to me, I'll do the heavy lifting, and we'll see how it goes. Give it a shot, man. If it's too painful, I promise we'll all close up shop and never speak of it again. But I'd like to try.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you need me to.”

“Arrogant much?”

“You better believe it. Arrogant, conceited, and way too sexy for my shirt. So, you'll be back on Thursday?”

“Does the class really need three students?” Jensen asked.

“Cross my heart, I'll have to cancel if you don't come.” Jared crossed his chest with his finger, then pointed. “Oh, and see that barrel over there? That's the one I've got you over.”

He tried not to, but Jensen tipped his head back and laughed. The battle was lost.

“So? Thursday?” Jared started his bouncing thing again.

“Yeah, I'll be back on Thursday.” Jensen conceded defeat. After all, those dimples, that hair, those eyes, the attention... it was pretty much game-over.

“Good. How did you get here tonight? Where do you live? Let me come and get you.”

“Moving kind of fast there, Sparky.”

“Always, but I'm harmless. Seriously, let me start by dropping you off at home, unless you drove?”

“I can drive, but I took a cab tonight, so, yeah. You can drive me home.”

“Awesome. I'm glad. You know, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Jensen stood by the door as Jared locked the classroom.“You know your cheesiness is almost...endearing.”

“Yeah,” Jared nodded. “I know.” He led Jensen down the hall toward the parking lot, then turned and said, “And even if it's not, you know, the beginning of a beautiful friendship, at least it's the beginning of a beautiful pot for your ficus.”

~~*~~*~~
Jared pulled up to Jensen's nondescript apartment building.

“Hold on a sec, dude.” Jared got out and rounded the front of his red 1996 Jeep Cherokee. “I love my Cherokee Girl, but she's fickle. The passenger-side door doesn't always cooperate.”

Jensen wasn't sure if Jared was just making excuses to open his door, but in all honesty, it looked like Jared was fighting a little with the passenger-side door to crank it open.

“Voila!” Jared said proudly as he got the door open most of the way. “I won't ask you if I can come up, but, can I come up?”

As much as Jensen would've liked to have had Jared join him, the sweating and telltale signs of god-awful pain had been scratching the surface during the ride home.

“Not tonight, Mister Pottery Guy...hey what's your last name anyway?”

“Padalecki. Jared Padalecki, ceramics teacher extraordinaire. And you're Jensen Ackles, ceramics student extraordiniare, according to my class roster.”

“Class roster?” Jensen carefully stepped out of the vehicle.

“Hey, don't laugh. I've got my whole class roster memorized already. Told you I was extraordinaire.”

“You did, and you are.” Jensen knew he had to get inside and quickly initiate his pre-emptive strike against the encroaching RSD pain. “Gotta go. See you Thursday.” Jensen unconsciously folded over on himself and backed away from the vehicle and its driver.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just gotta...” The first zing burned through Jensen as he took his second step backwards. “Just gotta go...”

“Jensen?” Jared sounded alarmed.

Jensen blinked against the bright light of the evening stars, took a deep breath and let it out. It was already too late. “Shit. Look, I really gotta go now. See you...” Jensen grabbed his arm and doubled over.

“Jensen!”

“Don't...don't touch me.” Jensen's breathing techniques weren't working. “Just help me up and go. Okay? I don't mean to be rude, but...Ughh.” Jensen staggered to the stairs and started climbing to the second floor from the outside stairwell, clutching his arm as close as he could.

“Let me help.” Jared was close but a safe distance behind.

“There's nothing you can...do...thanks. I gotta...I gotta...”

“Where's your apartment?”

Jensen was on sensory overload. This wasn't good. Man, this was happening too fast. The jolt from the classroom must have stirred things up more than he'd suspected. He had to get inside and drugged up and right now.

“Number...uh...212? Please, just help me in then go.” Jensen cast red-rimmed eyes at his teacher. “Please, just go. I promise I'll be back Thursday. But you gotta let me handle this.”

Jared helped Jensen get to apartment 212, waiting until the door was open, and Jensen had one foot inside.

“Let me help you.”

“You can't. Nobody can. So, please...” There was nothing else he could say. The pain had taken over, and this wasn't the good pain. This was the very bad pain. The muscles in his arm spasmed, rolling from shoulder to wrist. His hand was swollen, and already hotter than his other body parts. Hmm...this was different. Usually his hand got cold. He was sweating and hyperventilating and just too damn far from the medicine cabinet.

“God damned fucking Ribozzo.” Jensen staggered toward the bathroom.

Warm hands guided him to the bed and a soft voice asked, “What do you need?”

“Vi...Vicodin...and some...some...fuck, fuck, fuck...”

“Vicodin and what else, Jensen?”

“Flexoril. And...Motrin. Okay? Just...now. Just please?”

“I'll get them, go ahead and lie still.”

Jensen was on the bed, shirt undone, and not exactly sure how he got that way. Jared came back with a handful of large pills and a glass of water.

“Is it always this bad?” Jared asked.

Jensen took the water, drank half the glass, downed the meds, and drank the rest. Tears escaped from his eyes as he caught his breath. “It's always this bad. Always. This. Bad.” He choked a sob, and asked plaintively, “Still think this is the beginning of something beautiful?” Jensen curled in on himself and sobbed once into the pillow.

A large hand cupped his head and brushed through Jensen's short-cropped hair. “Nope. We're already past the beginning, and heading into the middle.”

“H...how can you say that? You don't...you don't even know me.”

“Shh. I know plenty.” Jared carefully sat on the edge of the bed on Jensen's left side. “For example, I already know you watch MythBusters. That means you also probably watch Ghost Hunters, and Dirty Jobs because Mike Rowe is seriously hot.”

Jared's voice turned serious. “You keep your hair short because you can't comb it very well, and lots of button-downs rather than pull-overs, right?”

Jensen moaned softly as he listened to Jared's low voice. Unlike the mile-a-minute hot-wired wind-up toy Jared was in the classroom, Jared was now speaking slowly as he kept his hand moving gently over Jensen's head.

“You don't go out much because you're afraid you'll hurt, or that somebody will see you hurting. You can't write very easily, you can't drive for very long one-handed, and you can't play softball anymore.” Jared's voice took on a lyrical cadence as he continued.

“There's a guitar in a guitar stand over there that you can't play, and I'll bet it's even hard to jerk off.” Jared sighed. “And yet, you came to my class---by mistake, yes---but you stayed and even tried to use a pottery wheel so I wouldn't have to cancel the class. You don't want to disappoint anyone, do you?”

Jensen's muscles trembled, but the pain meds were kicking in. He still hurt, but the drugs were helping him deal with it.

“That's probably how you got hurt in the first place, huh?” Jared's fingers grazed Jensen's neck before returning to his hair. “You're either the most amazing person, or the biggest moron I've ever met.”

Jensen raised one eyebrow.

Jared shifted over slightly and lowered his voice even further. “I can be pretty dense, too. I mean, how many times did you tell me you “really” couldn't take the class? But I made you stay... I wouldn't let you leave. All because you were cute and nice, and I wanted to get to know you.” Jared blinked slowly. “This is my fault, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Jensen whispered. “Please don't be sorry.”

Jared continued stroking through Jensen's hair while Jensen practiced breathing. He focused on Jared's fingertips soothing him, while letting the narcotics get under the pain.

“Keep talking, okay?” Jensen asked as his eyes glazed over from the powerful drugs in his system.

Jared huffed a short chuckle. “Me? Keep talking? You're actually asking me to keep talking?” Jensen found a small grin for Jared before he closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jensen answered. “I am.”

“I'm going to remind you that you said that.”

“Okay.”

After a minute Jensen's breathing evened out. Jared reached down and squeezed Jensen's good left hand as he whispered, “Okay, so...once upon a time there was this idiot with a bum arm, and a tall, handsome, talented ceramics teacher who liked him right away...”

~~the end~~

Their story continues in the much longer sequel:
And No Two Directions Are Ever the Same.

followed by: A Paradox

ending with: Our Lessons Come From the Journey
Enjoy!
And now with bonus podfic, read by chemm80! Right Here Podfic includes three of the four stories in this 'verse.

For information on RSD/CRPS: http://www.rsdhope.org/