Disclaimer: Sh*t Happens (3/5)
Oct. 24th, 2009 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeTitle: Disclaimer: Sh*t Happens (3/5)
Author:raeschae
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
neutraldeviance
Graphics:raeschae
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, OMC (Brayden), OMC (not-Brayden), Danneel, Mike, Genevieve, Katie, Sandy, Chad/Sophia, Steve, Tom (I think the only person not in this chapter is Chris, and that's just cause I didn't realize he wasn't here until after the story was done.)
Warnings: Swearing. Manhandling (not of the pleasant, sexual kind). A little bit o' angst thrown in for good measure. Also, you might wanna grab a tissue – this one made me tear up, and I knew it was gonna happen.
Word Count: 5621
Disclaimer: The author of this story does not know any of the aforementioned real persons on whom these characters were based. She also does not, in any way, claim this to be a factual representation of actual events. Duh.
Summary: “Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.” -John Lennon, Beautiful Boy
(Sequel to Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible . . . I won't say you absolutely have to read that one first, but I will say you might be a little lost if you don't.)
Graphics still under the cut, 'cause my tat kink is outta control. :)
This graphic is slightly different than the last – it was buggin' the hell outta me that I forgot to paint Jensen's nails in that other one. Which, in the immortal words of Dean Winchester, may be the strangest thing I've ever said.
“What the fuck was he doing in fucking Inglewood?” Jared asks, fist clenched over the gear shift as he exits from I-5 onto the 405 in Long Beach.
They're only about fifteen minutes out, and a trip that should have taken about two and a half hours has taken more like an and hour and fifteen. And that's with the pair stopping to leave Jensen's car at Grind in San Diego. Conversation has been minimal, at best. The only words, really, have been Jared's occasional angry curses and unanswerable questions. Jensen only stares out the window and tries to think of . . . well, anything.
Less than two hours ago, they were talking about who has better flexibility and taunting each other with promises of what they were going to do after Hector made them double cheeseburgers. There was detailed talk of fucking through sunrise on the back deck. For the first time in the better part of a year, they were running on all cylinders. Life was fucking good again.
And then Rick went and wrapped his car around a tree on a rain-slicked street in Inglewood. According to Chris, the kid's dad is a little banged up, but he was checked over in the ER and released without ever being admitted. The bastard walked away with scratches.
Brayden didn't fare nearly so well. Rick freaked out at the hospital and called Lindsay, who moved back to Texas to live with her parents and work on her sobriety about a year ago. Apparently, they still talk from time to time. Anyway, Lindsay called Chris to let him know that the kid had a couple broken bones upon arriving at the hospital, and there's internal bleeding, and the doctors won't know the extent of his injuries until they can get it to stop. They suspect one lung is either punctured or collapsed, though, and at Brayden's age? That's not good.
No, it's fucking fatal. He could be dead by the time they get there. And all Jensen can think is: “Can you shut the fuck up for two seconds, Brayden? Jesus. Fuck!” The last thing he said to Brayden was that he wanted him to shut the fuck up. Now he might never hear the kid talk to him again.
Jared's tires squeal into the parking space near the ER entrance and he's half-way to the door before Jensen even manages to get himself into an upright position. He feels clumsy and slow. Like he's trying to walk through water, or possibly sludge. His brain is fogged, and he's pretty sure that he's going to wake up in Tijuana, smothered under Jared's sweaty arm, any second.
But the stark lights and the sterile smell of the hospital seem pretty damn real.
So does the storm brewing behind Jared's eyes when Rick stands to greet them, cradling a coffee cup and looking like he tripped on an uneven sidewalk and scraped himself up instead of wrapping his damn car around a telephone pole.
“Guys, how did you,” the older man stops himself and nods, “Lindsay,” he answers his own question. “There's not really any new information, so,” he shifts uncomfortably and takes another drink, like they're not really all that welcome.
“What the hell did you do?” Jared asks.
And, yeah, even in his near-catatonic state, Jensen can tell that's gonna go over well. “Jay,” he says, hand finding the back of Jared's jeans, fingers tucking in the waist band like that's going to hold the larger man back.
It certainly doesn't shut Jared's mouth. “What? You've never driven in the rain before, Rick? How fast were you goin', huh?” Stopping and shaking his head, Jared huffs. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Alright, Jared, stop it,” Jensen demands, tugging on the waistband to show he means business.
“Get off me, Jensen,” Jared fires back, eyes laser-focused on the wrecked man in front of him. “Are you,” he stops and tilts his head to the side. “You better pray to whatever fucking god you believe in that your pupils are dilated because of the pain killers they gave you in this place. Because, so help me, Rick, if I find out that you were tweakin' on anything when you got behind the wheel of that car, I will end you,” he bites out the final words in a tone that scares even Jensen.
To his credit, Rick maintains his composure and stands his ground against the angry giant. “You wanna see my son? You best be gettin' that finger outta my face, man.”
“Jared, now,” Jensen pulls harder and manages to catch his boyfriend off guard. When he pulls on Jared's arm and the younger man actually turns, the hatred in his eyes makes Jensen shudder. “Dude, can it with the guard dog act,” he instructs. “In case you forgot, Rick is the one who stands between us seeing Brayden and getting carted out of here in cuffs. Get it under control,” he hisses.
Before he can turn back to offer his apologies on Jared's behalf, Rick speaks. “Ya know, I never liked the idea of two fucking flamers lookin' after my kid in the first place,” he says and Jensen pivots, feeling his own anger rise. “What? Are you just upset your little junior fuck toy's out of commission now?” Rick asks venomously.
Jensen can feel the rage radiating off of Jared, but before his boyfriend has a chance to react, Jensen's got Rick by the collar and his face close enough to share the guy's air. “I'm gonna say this one time, so you better fucking listen, you burnt-out son of a whore,” he grits behind clenched teeth. “I am the reasonable one out of the two of us. You ever so much as imply what you just did, ever? I won't be able to stop him.” With a raise of his eyebrow, he adds, “And I won't try.”
Normally, Jared is the scary one, but it's Jensen who is drawing Rick's wide eyes and understanding nod. “Look, it's been a long day, okay?” Rick finally says when he's regained control of his mouth. “Visiting hours don't start for another couple hours, but if you wanna go in and see him, I'm not gonna stop you. Just,” he doesn't bother looking at Jared at all, “I'll head off the nurses.”
During the entire drive from Tijuana, Jensen tried to prepare himself for what they would find when they arrived at the hospital. Tried to think of every worst-case scenario that his brain could conjure. He's a horror movie fan, for fuck's sake. He can imagine pretty dastardly things.
Of course, it's nothing like the real thing. Nothing.
For as long as they've known him, Brayden's been scrawny. Even as he gets taller, he never really seems all that much bigger. But here, stretched out pale against stark, white sheets, and hooked to beeping monitors, he looks frail and tiny. Angry bruises mar his face, his neck, and his arms. A cast extends from his right elbow, to his wrist. One leg is elevated and braced. There's a blue tube in his mouth, breathing for him.
The steady beep of the machines is the only sound in the room, and Jensen thought he'd prepared himself for anything. But not for this. If there was no beeping, if they couldn't see his slight chest barely rising and falling, it would be easy to believe he was dead already. And though he fights like hell not to break down, not to cry like a giant girl, Jensen feels the tears pressing insistently against the backs of his eyes.
His brain can't seem to find a resting point. Random thoughts are jumping out, but none of them really go together. “Just open your eyes, Kiddo . . . There's this new design I was thinking of for you the other day . . . Does it hurt? . . . You can't do that flip kick with your leg all stuck up like that . . . You can't die . . . I need you to be okay, Bray.”
Beside him, Jared's thumbs tap out a disjointed rhythm against the railing at the foot of Brayden's bed. His jaw is set and there's so much darkness in his eyes that Jensen kind of hopes Brayden doesn't wake up right now. He'd be terrified of Jared's expression. “Jay,” Jensen starts, hand reaching out to rest on Jared's wrist.
But Jared barely hears him. God, he's so angry, his body is vibrating with it. The problem is, he's not sure who he's mad at. Brayden, for being here like this. Rick, for putting Brayden here. Jensen, for not letting him punch Rick earlier. Or himself, for getting so damn close to this kid that his heart fucking aches with the helplessness of everything that's happening.
This is why he doesn't get close to people. Why it's damn near impossible to penetrate his tight-knit circle of friends. Because getting close gives people the power to hurt you. Even when they don't mean to. Even when it's not their fault. If he didn't give a damn about Brayden, he wouldn't be thrumming with his explosive energy that feels like it's going to tear him apart at any second.
He has to get out. Has to take a breath, of air not tainted with antiseptic and hopelessness and almost-death. Has to put some distance between himself and his life before he does something he can't take back.
“Jay?” Jensen's questioning voice follows him as he turns without a word and heads to the door. “Jared, come on, man,” he tries again, and Jared hears the wavering in his voice. The way he's asking for support here, for Jared to stick around, even though it's hard.
But he can't. Casting a glance over his shoulder that never quite reaches his boyfriend, he cards his fingers through his hair and says, “I stay, I'm just gonna end up gettin' my ass arrested.” Jensen doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. It wouldn't matter anyway.
When Jared is gone, Jensen feels his body collapse against the wall, but it doesn't really feel like he's inside it. Two hours ago, life was good. Jared was loose and they were connected. Brayden was an afterthought, one they would bring back into focus when they were done roaming the playground of each others' bodies. Two hours ago, it almost felt like nothing had ever been wrong in their lives.
And now, just like that, nothing is right anymore.
Jared remembers growing up in San Antonio. He remembers getting angry, or hurt, or scared and just dealing with it. Nobody helped him shoulder his problems, and that was okay, because he didn't fucking need anybody else anyway. He could find a group to party with, if he felt like celebrating. Could find a mouthy fucker to fight, if he needed to blow off steam. He could find a willing body, if he needed to escape everything else in the world for a little while.
Now he parties with Jensen. He fights with Jensen. And when he needs to escape the bull shit in his life, he fucks Jensen. Which is what he really wants to do right now. So what if it's nine thirty in the morning and he stumbled out of Chad's basement bar to four missed calls from the guy? So what if Jensen seems pretty pissed off in his voice mail, telling Jared not to worry about coming back to pick him up from the hospital, he'd found another ride.
Surely, Jensen understands that Jared's having a hard time dealing with all of this bull shit. He knows Jared, after all. Knows what he needs before Jared does sometimes. Of course he's going to be happy to help Jared blow off some steam. He's a good boyfriend like that.
By the time he clomps his drunk ass up the stairs like an elephant in combat boots, Jared's shirt is in his hand and he's fumbling with the buckle on his belt. He waivers a little bit in the doorway of their bedroom, almost trips over the legs of his pants when he's kicking his way out of them, but he manages to get himself naked eventually and stagger toward the Jensen-shaped lump in the middle of their bed.
He paws and pulls at the covers until his boyfriend's fading purple mop appears, followed by golden, freckled skin that makes Jared's mouth water. “Jen,” he whispers loudly, and receives only an angry grunt in return. “JEN,” he tries again, louder. “C'mon. Wake up. Wanna touch you,” he slurs, hands groping with little coordination to simultaneously pull the covers back and maul his boyfriend's sleep-warmed skin.
“Off me!” Jensen growls, face pressed against the pillow. When Jared doesn't get the hint, Jensen throws a shoulder back and connects soundly with the side of Jared's cheek. “Fuck off, Jared,” is his only apology.
There's no rhythm or choreography in the way Jared throws a leg over Jensen's hip and presses his lips to the back of the older man's neck. “Wanna fuck you,” he breathes against Jensen's skin.
“Get off!” Jensen's voice is rough with sleep and anger as he rolls onto his back and pushes weakly at the mass of drunken muscle draped over his side. “Jesus Christ, asshole, you drink the whole bar?” he asks, hand covering Jared's face in the hopes of creating a shield between his boyfriend's alcoholic breath and his own nose.
“Gotta forget.” The voice isn't whiny or needy, but pleading and small, like a lost little boy.
It would probably work. Ya know, if Jared hadn't left Jensen to deal with his own overwhelming emotions at Brayden's bedside, and then find his own fucking way home, this morning. “Fuck you, Jared,” is all he says.
Without much warning, Jared pulls himself from the bed. “Fuck you, Ackles. I don't need you,” he shoots back, and he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. Just mumbling bull shit about not needing anybody and 'the whole damn world can fuck a duck for all I fuckin' care' as he makes a valiant effort at storming out of the room, slamming into the door frame on the way.
Jensen rolls back onto his side and tries to find sleep again, but it's just not happening anymore. Jared only gets like this when he's crazy-fucked up over something and doesn't know how else to deal with it. Jensen has seen it a total of four or five times in the last five years. Doesn't make it any more pleasant to deal with.
Another twenty minutes of failing to will sleep, and Jensen gives up. Stretching and popping his back, he takes a moment to gather his bearings and then heads down to the kitchen. It's weird, not having coffee waiting in the pot, but that's Jared's thing. He gets up first, starts the coffee, and then jumps in the shower. Jensen stumbles in later, and drinks whatever Jared left for him. They have a routine.
They have a lot of routines, he realizes as he rests his hip against the counter and waits for the machine to work its magic. Even when their schedules are crazy and they don't see each other all that much, there are ways that they connect. Maybe it's not as intense and all-consuming as it once was, but it's something.
Jared leaves lewd messages on the shower wall for Jensen to find when he steams the place up an hour later. Jensen draws stupid cartoon characters on napkins or old bill envelopes for Jared to find on the dresser while he's getting ready in the morning. They leave each other ridiculous voice mail messages and texts in the middle of the day that are nothing but random, and possibly insane. Jared makes coffee in the mornings, and Jensen makes sure there's beer or whatever they might want to unwind with at the end of the night.
Earlier this morning, when Chris was driving him home from the hospital and Jensen was fuming, the older man said something that stuck in the corner of Jensen's brain. “Never thought I'd see the day Jensen Ackles put up with bull shit like this. Kinda sweet, man.”
At the time, he told Chris to fuck off and went back to sulking and cursing Jared in his head. But now that he thinks about it, Chris is right. Jensen's never been the guy who would stick around when shit started going south. He's left relationships for a lot less than the shit he's ever gone through with Jared more than once. The first sign of anything less than utopia, and Jensen was out the door.
It didn't occur to Jensen, until Chris said it last night, that he hasn't even thought about leaving Jared. Not once in the last year has he ever considered packing up and moving out. Or about severing the weakening ties between them. It's just never been an option that he considered. Sure, it sucks donkey balls when things aren't easy, but it just doesn't ever cross his mind to give up.
Fresh coffee mugs in both hands, Jensen climbs the stairs again and checks the guest room for Jared, only to find it empty. His heart stutters when he hears a soft snoring from the room at the end of the hall.
The sight of Jared's massive limbs hanging off of Brayden's bed almost makes him lose both cups. He's passed out, face smashed against Brayden's pillow, and he looks every bit as small and fragile as the younger kid did in the hospital this morning. At least, to Jensen, he does.
Jared always sleeps with his mouth open, and his hair in his face, and Jensen fights the urge to go brush it away from his forehead. Instead, he sets both coffee cups on Brayden's nightstand and crosses to the closet. Covering Jared with a thick blanket, Jensen grabs his own cup and leaves Jared's in case he wakes up before it gets cold.
For Jensen, it's simple. He doesn't think about leaving because he loves Jared. He wants to be with the kid, even when he's being a gigantic asshole of epic proportions. He decided, a long time ago, that he was in this for the long haul, and he's not ready to give up on that. On them.
Still, something's going to have to give. They can't keep drifting, re-connecting, and then splintering apart again. It never used to matter what was going on around them – circumstances be damned, they were together. They have to get back to that again.
He should be at work. Jensen knows he should be heading to Ollie to check in, being as he hasn't really been there much lately. With the opening of the new store, he's spent a lot more time in San Diego than he has at the flagship store. Plus, he kind of wants to grab his board and leave some of this tension on the pipe.
He tells himself that he's just going to pop in and see how Brayden's doing. Just a cursory check-in, and then he'll be on his way. But when he gets there, Danneel and Mike are sitting in the chairs on either side of Bray's bed, smiling and talking about something Jensen can't quite hear from the doorway.
“Hey, you,” Danneel smiles softly, eyes full of understanding as she moves to meet him at the foot of the bed and offer him a hug. “Thought you might show your face around here soon.”
Jensen just nods, and it feels weird, this atmosphere in the room. There are balloons and flowers all along the window sill, along with a few pencil drawings and paintings. Gifts that weren't there when he left this morning. He does a quick count of the items in his head, and figures everyone at Slinging Ink and Ollie took it upon themselves to brighten up the kid's room. He loves them all for it, but kind of hates that they had to at the same time.
“How you doin', man?” Mike asks when Jensen leans against the wall and nods for Danneel to take her seat back.
Instead of answering, he looks around and lets his eyes dart to the hall. “Where's Rick?” he asks.
A strange look passes between his friends and Danneel catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Don't know,” she answers finally. “Nurse said he left a little while after you did, and that he hasn't been back since.”
Of course he did. Leaving is what the guy's good at, after all. The thought is bitter against the back of his throat, but Jensen forces it down. He can't bring that kind of negativity into Brayden's room. He won't. This isn't about Rick, or how big of an ignorant douche he proved himself to be last night. It's about the kid in the bed, bruises darkening in some places and fading in others.
“His color looks better,” Jensen mutters the random thought as it pops into his head.
Mike leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “They said his vitals were lookin' better, too,” he says, voice all encouraging and helpful. God love him, Mike is a spazz and a half most of the time, but when it comes to being there for his friends? He's a fucking master. Jensen kind of admires him for it. Not that he'll ever tell him. That newly-bald head is swollen enough already.
With a nod, Jensen lets his eyes linger on Brayden's rising and falling chest. God, he's so small. So fucking young and . . . unassuming. It doesn't strike Jensen as the least bit strange that he would give everything that he has – both businesses, both houses, the bike, and every ounce of talent God blessed him with – to be able to switch places right now. To be the one lying in that bed, surviving on borrowed air and morphine, just so Brayden doesn't fucking have to.
“I'm gonna take a walk,” he announces to no one in particular before ambling out of the room and down the hall.
It only takes Danneel about fifteen minutes to find him in the front row of the small hospital chapel, elbows on his knees, head dipped in prayer. He feels her hand on his back, but doesn't turn to look.
“I should be getting back to the store,” he says when the silence stretches too long.
Her fingernails are working up and down the back of his tee shirt and it makes Jensen think of childhood, and his mother, and the times that didn't suck out loud. “Nothing there that can't wait this out, Kid,” she answers, chin coming to rest on his hunched shoulder.
“Nothin' here that I can change, either, Dani,” he responds to her statement, letting her cradle him for just a second before he sits back and stretches his legs out. His lined eyes drift to the crucifix hanging on the wall and he shakes his head a little bit before looking at her. “I hate feeling like I don't have control of my own life anymore.”
“This isn't really about Brayden, is it?” Leave it to Danneel to cut directly to the heart of the problem without any preamble or foreplay. “Jensen, every relationship goes through rough patches, man.”
How in the hell did he end up here? In a hospital chapel, scared as shit for some kid he has no rights to, discussing his big gay relationship with his number one employee? Life is fucking weird sometimes.
“Not us,” Jensen disagrees. He and Jared don't have rough patches. They argue, sure. Debate and sometimes get a little heated. Maybe they fight a little. But it's loud, and it gets ugly and messy. And then it's over. Fast. There are no rough patches because it never lasts long enough to become anything more than a speed bump. This slow burn isn't them. “We don't . . . we're not like this.”
What he doesn't say is that it's the reason he's always believed that Jared is the right guy for him. It's never been this easy, not with anyone. Since day one, he's never felt like he was struggling or fighting for a reason to believe in them. He's never had to think about what happens next or worry about whether or not Jared's coming home. He's never been concerned that Jared might want something else. Things like time, and distance, and Brock Kelly, and Jared's anger have never been issues before. And that's the reason that Jensen's always known that this thing with Jared is right.
But all of those things exist now, and one marathon night in Mexico isn't going to fix it all. He can't help thinking that maybe it's a sign or something. Lifting his eyes back to the crucifix, he says so, “What if it's some kind of sign?”
“Sign of what?” Danneel asks, her voice unamused. “That you're a moron?” When Jensen turns to look at her, she rolls her eyes. “Dude, you're in a long-term, committed relationship. And I know you've never done this before, but they're supposed to be hard sometimes. You can't spend your entire life with someone and expect it to be schmoopy candy canes and butterflies all the time.
“And, yeah, it took you and Jared a little longer than most to get to the challenging part, but dammit, Jensen,” she just rolls her eyes again when he nods toward the cross, as if reminding her where they are, “life is beautiful because it's not predictable. Because you don't know what comes next. And sometimes it just fucking sucks and is really unfair. Because that's just how it is. Sometimes shit just happens, man. Makes you think you're so charmed, huh?” Her fingers card through the hair on the side of his head as she smiles into the words. “That you never have to go through the hard shit like the rest of us?”
Long after Danneel leaves, he's thinking about her words, about the weight and meaning of them. Their life has been pretty fucking easy to this point. They have good jobs and successful businesses. They party hard and laugh a lot. They have loyal friends who are supportive and understanding.
Maybe Danneel's right. Maybe life just sucks sometimes. And maybe sometimes you've just gotta put your head down and shoulder through it. Doesn't stop him from wishing that they weren't trying so damn hard to push through it alone, instead of together, like they used to.
“Dude, that's disgusting.”
Chad laughs and pushes the plate of greasy bacon and eggs closer to Jared's side of the table. When Sophia got back from taking him home last night, she told him that Jared was going to need a serious hangover remedy later in the morning. Chad kicked into action, calling the crew and telling them all to meet up at Denny's at noon.
“Eat up, Jay-man,” Genevieve encourages, winking at the waitress when she leaves another cup of coffee for their fearless leader. “Only way to kick that shit outta your head.”
He glares, but she only smiles wider and leans forward on her elbows in the booth. Next to her, Katie pulls her blond hair into a ponytail and looks bored. She always looks bored. But she does damn good work when it comes to rainbows and butterflies and the girlie shit that a lot more female clients come looking for since the show premiered.
“So this kid,” Katie starts, and then recoils at the looks shot her way from around the table. “What?” It's not like she knows. Well, she knows that Brayden hangs around a lot, and Genevieve told her that he lived with Jared and Jensen for a little while, but she doesn't know. Not enough to keep her mouth shut.
“Brayden,” Jared answers when he's devoured four strips of bacon and three sausage links, downing his coffee like it's a shot of smooth whiskey. “The kid's name is Brayden,” he clarifies. “And his dad's a fucking junkie asshole who was probably higher than a kite when he wrecked that goddamn car,” he starts, and then stops himself when Sophia's hand falls on his arm across the table.
“Babe, you gotta stop,” she advises, just like she did last night. Though, she's right in assuming that Jared doesn't so much remember that conversation. “Rick's been clean for a year and a half,” she reminds him, and it's logical, but it's not what Jared wants to believe.
Because Brayden's in a hospital bed, for fuck's sake. It's gotta be someone's fault. There has to be a reason for it. He just can't accept that sometimes bad shit happens to good people. He can't fathom that the God Jensen believes in would let an innocent kid die on accident. He needs someone to be angry with. Something to focus on.
“So, how was Mexico?” Tom asks when the silence, and Jared's brooding, gets to be a little too much.
Turning his head, as though seeing him for the first time, Jared asks, “The fuck are you doin' here?” Tom is the only person at the table who works for Jensen, not him.
“I was hungry,” Tom shrugs, shoveling another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
“You get things all straightened out with Jen?” Sandy asks, fearless even though she knows damn well Jared could take her head off for asking such a personal question. In front of everyone, no less. Of course, they all know about the fight, because they were all in New York with him. So he figures there's not much to be mad at her for at this point.
Jared takes another long drink of his coffee and shrugs his shoulders. “Much as it's gonna be straightened out, I guess,” he answers. Their time in Mexico was fantastic, but real life butted in, like it has every other time they've come close to reconnecting in the last eight months. If Jared was superstitious, he would think that it was some kind of sign.
“All I know is y'all better fuckin' figure it out,” Genevieve throws in, checking her fingernails before raising her eyes back to her boss's face. “Y'all are the only example of a functional relationship I have. Without you, I abandon all hope.”
“Hey,” Chad speaks up, mouth still full of eggs as he knits his eyebrows in the direction of the woman sitting directly across from him. “We have a perfectly functional relationship,” he insists, arm wrapping around his new bride's shoulder. They've only been married for about three months, but they've been together for almost seven years. Well, if you don't count the eight thousand times they've broken up. Which, Jared doesn't because they always end up back together. The sad thing is that Chad's right. He and Sophia are highly functional. Cracked and crazy, but functional when fitted together.
“You're hetero. That doesn't count,” Genevieve rolls her eyes and Katie laughs.
She really didn't like the tiny brunette when they first met a few years ago at a club in West Hollywood. Far as Katie was concerned, Genevieve was nothing more than a miniature, rip-off version of Katie and her friends. Like all the other little lesbos that ran around town, pretending to be more bad-ass than they were. But the longer she knows Genevieve, the more entertaining she becomes. She's not all bad.
“You tried actually talking to him about whatever's going on with you guys?” Steve asks from his spot in the corner of the booth. For a minute, Jared forgot he was even there, but it's not unusual with Steve. He's perfectly happy to sit back and be part of the group, without actually contributing words. Sometimes, he's Jared's favorite.
Sophia rolls her eyes at the question and grabs a hash brown from Chad's plate. “'Course he hasn't,” she says. “They're guys. They don't talk about shit like that.” It's the same words she's heard a thousand times, though Jared's pretty sure he's never sounded quite so snarky when he says them.
“Some guys do,” Tom interjects. “Mike and I would kill each other if we didn't talk about stuff once in a while.” Jared, Chad, and Steve all shoot him incredulous eyebrow-raises. “What?”
With a shake of his head, Chad takes another bite and chuckles. “Dude, can't believe it took you so damn long to figure out you were gay,” he laughs, and the rest of the table follows him.
Before anyone can ask him any more questions, his cell phone rings against his hip. Jensen's ring tone. He pulls it out, swallows the sausage in his mouth, and clears his throat with another pull from his coffee mug. “Hey,” he says, one finger in his other ear so that he can hear.
“Hey.” Jensen's voice is indecipherable, so it's kind of shocking when he says, “Bray's awake. He wants to see you.”
Chapter 4
Author:
raeschae Beta:
neutraldevianceGraphics:
raeschaeRating: R
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, OMC (Brayden), OMC (not-Brayden), Danneel, Mike, Genevieve, Katie, Sandy, Chad/Sophia, Steve, Tom (I think the only person not in this chapter is Chris, and that's just cause I didn't realize he wasn't here until after the story was done.)
Warnings: Swearing. Manhandling (not of the pleasant, sexual kind). A little bit o' angst thrown in for good measure. Also, you might wanna grab a tissue – this one made me tear up, and I knew it was gonna happen.
Word Count: 5621
Disclaimer: The author of this story does not know any of the aforementioned real persons on whom these characters were based. She also does not, in any way, claim this to be a factual representation of actual events. Duh.
Summary: “Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.” -John Lennon, Beautiful Boy
(Sequel to Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible . . . I won't say you absolutely have to read that one first, but I will say you might be a little lost if you don't.)
Graphics still under the cut, 'cause my tat kink is outta control. :)
This graphic is slightly different than the last – it was buggin' the hell outta me that I forgot to paint Jensen's nails in that other one. Which, in the immortal words of Dean Winchester, may be the strangest thing I've ever said.
“What the fuck was he doing in fucking Inglewood?” Jared asks, fist clenched over the gear shift as he exits from I-5 onto the 405 in Long Beach.
They're only about fifteen minutes out, and a trip that should have taken about two and a half hours has taken more like an and hour and fifteen. And that's with the pair stopping to leave Jensen's car at Grind in San Diego. Conversation has been minimal, at best. The only words, really, have been Jared's occasional angry curses and unanswerable questions. Jensen only stares out the window and tries to think of . . . well, anything.
Less than two hours ago, they were talking about who has better flexibility and taunting each other with promises of what they were going to do after Hector made them double cheeseburgers. There was detailed talk of fucking through sunrise on the back deck. For the first time in the better part of a year, they were running on all cylinders. Life was fucking good again.
And then Rick went and wrapped his car around a tree on a rain-slicked street in Inglewood. According to Chris, the kid's dad is a little banged up, but he was checked over in the ER and released without ever being admitted. The bastard walked away with scratches.
Brayden didn't fare nearly so well. Rick freaked out at the hospital and called Lindsay, who moved back to Texas to live with her parents and work on her sobriety about a year ago. Apparently, they still talk from time to time. Anyway, Lindsay called Chris to let him know that the kid had a couple broken bones upon arriving at the hospital, and there's internal bleeding, and the doctors won't know the extent of his injuries until they can get it to stop. They suspect one lung is either punctured or collapsed, though, and at Brayden's age? That's not good.
No, it's fucking fatal. He could be dead by the time they get there. And all Jensen can think is: “Can you shut the fuck up for two seconds, Brayden? Jesus. Fuck!” The last thing he said to Brayden was that he wanted him to shut the fuck up. Now he might never hear the kid talk to him again.
Jared's tires squeal into the parking space near the ER entrance and he's half-way to the door before Jensen even manages to get himself into an upright position. He feels clumsy and slow. Like he's trying to walk through water, or possibly sludge. His brain is fogged, and he's pretty sure that he's going to wake up in Tijuana, smothered under Jared's sweaty arm, any second.
But the stark lights and the sterile smell of the hospital seem pretty damn real.
So does the storm brewing behind Jared's eyes when Rick stands to greet them, cradling a coffee cup and looking like he tripped on an uneven sidewalk and scraped himself up instead of wrapping his damn car around a telephone pole.
“Guys, how did you,” the older man stops himself and nods, “Lindsay,” he answers his own question. “There's not really any new information, so,” he shifts uncomfortably and takes another drink, like they're not really all that welcome.
“What the hell did you do?” Jared asks.
And, yeah, even in his near-catatonic state, Jensen can tell that's gonna go over well. “Jay,” he says, hand finding the back of Jared's jeans, fingers tucking in the waist band like that's going to hold the larger man back.
It certainly doesn't shut Jared's mouth. “What? You've never driven in the rain before, Rick? How fast were you goin', huh?” Stopping and shaking his head, Jared huffs. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Alright, Jared, stop it,” Jensen demands, tugging on the waistband to show he means business.
“Get off me, Jensen,” Jared fires back, eyes laser-focused on the wrecked man in front of him. “Are you,” he stops and tilts his head to the side. “You better pray to whatever fucking god you believe in that your pupils are dilated because of the pain killers they gave you in this place. Because, so help me, Rick, if I find out that you were tweakin' on anything when you got behind the wheel of that car, I will end you,” he bites out the final words in a tone that scares even Jensen.
To his credit, Rick maintains his composure and stands his ground against the angry giant. “You wanna see my son? You best be gettin' that finger outta my face, man.”
“Jared, now,” Jensen pulls harder and manages to catch his boyfriend off guard. When he pulls on Jared's arm and the younger man actually turns, the hatred in his eyes makes Jensen shudder. “Dude, can it with the guard dog act,” he instructs. “In case you forgot, Rick is the one who stands between us seeing Brayden and getting carted out of here in cuffs. Get it under control,” he hisses.
Before he can turn back to offer his apologies on Jared's behalf, Rick speaks. “Ya know, I never liked the idea of two fucking flamers lookin' after my kid in the first place,” he says and Jensen pivots, feeling his own anger rise. “What? Are you just upset your little junior fuck toy's out of commission now?” Rick asks venomously.
Jensen can feel the rage radiating off of Jared, but before his boyfriend has a chance to react, Jensen's got Rick by the collar and his face close enough to share the guy's air. “I'm gonna say this one time, so you better fucking listen, you burnt-out son of a whore,” he grits behind clenched teeth. “I am the reasonable one out of the two of us. You ever so much as imply what you just did, ever? I won't be able to stop him.” With a raise of his eyebrow, he adds, “And I won't try.”
Normally, Jared is the scary one, but it's Jensen who is drawing Rick's wide eyes and understanding nod. “Look, it's been a long day, okay?” Rick finally says when he's regained control of his mouth. “Visiting hours don't start for another couple hours, but if you wanna go in and see him, I'm not gonna stop you. Just,” he doesn't bother looking at Jared at all, “I'll head off the nurses.”
During the entire drive from Tijuana, Jensen tried to prepare himself for what they would find when they arrived at the hospital. Tried to think of every worst-case scenario that his brain could conjure. He's a horror movie fan, for fuck's sake. He can imagine pretty dastardly things.
Of course, it's nothing like the real thing. Nothing.
For as long as they've known him, Brayden's been scrawny. Even as he gets taller, he never really seems all that much bigger. But here, stretched out pale against stark, white sheets, and hooked to beeping monitors, he looks frail and tiny. Angry bruises mar his face, his neck, and his arms. A cast extends from his right elbow, to his wrist. One leg is elevated and braced. There's a blue tube in his mouth, breathing for him.
The steady beep of the machines is the only sound in the room, and Jensen thought he'd prepared himself for anything. But not for this. If there was no beeping, if they couldn't see his slight chest barely rising and falling, it would be easy to believe he was dead already. And though he fights like hell not to break down, not to cry like a giant girl, Jensen feels the tears pressing insistently against the backs of his eyes.
His brain can't seem to find a resting point. Random thoughts are jumping out, but none of them really go together. “Just open your eyes, Kiddo . . . There's this new design I was thinking of for you the other day . . . Does it hurt? . . . You can't do that flip kick with your leg all stuck up like that . . . You can't die . . . I need you to be okay, Bray.”
Beside him, Jared's thumbs tap out a disjointed rhythm against the railing at the foot of Brayden's bed. His jaw is set and there's so much darkness in his eyes that Jensen kind of hopes Brayden doesn't wake up right now. He'd be terrified of Jared's expression. “Jay,” Jensen starts, hand reaching out to rest on Jared's wrist.
But Jared barely hears him. God, he's so angry, his body is vibrating with it. The problem is, he's not sure who he's mad at. Brayden, for being here like this. Rick, for putting Brayden here. Jensen, for not letting him punch Rick earlier. Or himself, for getting so damn close to this kid that his heart fucking aches with the helplessness of everything that's happening.
This is why he doesn't get close to people. Why it's damn near impossible to penetrate his tight-knit circle of friends. Because getting close gives people the power to hurt you. Even when they don't mean to. Even when it's not their fault. If he didn't give a damn about Brayden, he wouldn't be thrumming with his explosive energy that feels like it's going to tear him apart at any second.
He has to get out. Has to take a breath, of air not tainted with antiseptic and hopelessness and almost-death. Has to put some distance between himself and his life before he does something he can't take back.
“Jay?” Jensen's questioning voice follows him as he turns without a word and heads to the door. “Jared, come on, man,” he tries again, and Jared hears the wavering in his voice. The way he's asking for support here, for Jared to stick around, even though it's hard.
But he can't. Casting a glance over his shoulder that never quite reaches his boyfriend, he cards his fingers through his hair and says, “I stay, I'm just gonna end up gettin' my ass arrested.” Jensen doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. It wouldn't matter anyway.
When Jared is gone, Jensen feels his body collapse against the wall, but it doesn't really feel like he's inside it. Two hours ago, life was good. Jared was loose and they were connected. Brayden was an afterthought, one they would bring back into focus when they were done roaming the playground of each others' bodies. Two hours ago, it almost felt like nothing had ever been wrong in their lives.
And now, just like that, nothing is right anymore.
Jared remembers growing up in San Antonio. He remembers getting angry, or hurt, or scared and just dealing with it. Nobody helped him shoulder his problems, and that was okay, because he didn't fucking need anybody else anyway. He could find a group to party with, if he felt like celebrating. Could find a mouthy fucker to fight, if he needed to blow off steam. He could find a willing body, if he needed to escape everything else in the world for a little while.
Now he parties with Jensen. He fights with Jensen. And when he needs to escape the bull shit in his life, he fucks Jensen. Which is what he really wants to do right now. So what if it's nine thirty in the morning and he stumbled out of Chad's basement bar to four missed calls from the guy? So what if Jensen seems pretty pissed off in his voice mail, telling Jared not to worry about coming back to pick him up from the hospital, he'd found another ride.
Surely, Jensen understands that Jared's having a hard time dealing with all of this bull shit. He knows Jared, after all. Knows what he needs before Jared does sometimes. Of course he's going to be happy to help Jared blow off some steam. He's a good boyfriend like that.
By the time he clomps his drunk ass up the stairs like an elephant in combat boots, Jared's shirt is in his hand and he's fumbling with the buckle on his belt. He waivers a little bit in the doorway of their bedroom, almost trips over the legs of his pants when he's kicking his way out of them, but he manages to get himself naked eventually and stagger toward the Jensen-shaped lump in the middle of their bed.
He paws and pulls at the covers until his boyfriend's fading purple mop appears, followed by golden, freckled skin that makes Jared's mouth water. “Jen,” he whispers loudly, and receives only an angry grunt in return. “JEN,” he tries again, louder. “C'mon. Wake up. Wanna touch you,” he slurs, hands groping with little coordination to simultaneously pull the covers back and maul his boyfriend's sleep-warmed skin.
“Off me!” Jensen growls, face pressed against the pillow. When Jared doesn't get the hint, Jensen throws a shoulder back and connects soundly with the side of Jared's cheek. “Fuck off, Jared,” is his only apology.
There's no rhythm or choreography in the way Jared throws a leg over Jensen's hip and presses his lips to the back of the older man's neck. “Wanna fuck you,” he breathes against Jensen's skin.
“Get off!” Jensen's voice is rough with sleep and anger as he rolls onto his back and pushes weakly at the mass of drunken muscle draped over his side. “Jesus Christ, asshole, you drink the whole bar?” he asks, hand covering Jared's face in the hopes of creating a shield between his boyfriend's alcoholic breath and his own nose.
“Gotta forget.” The voice isn't whiny or needy, but pleading and small, like a lost little boy.
It would probably work. Ya know, if Jared hadn't left Jensen to deal with his own overwhelming emotions at Brayden's bedside, and then find his own fucking way home, this morning. “Fuck you, Jared,” is all he says.
Without much warning, Jared pulls himself from the bed. “Fuck you, Ackles. I don't need you,” he shoots back, and he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. Just mumbling bull shit about not needing anybody and 'the whole damn world can fuck a duck for all I fuckin' care' as he makes a valiant effort at storming out of the room, slamming into the door frame on the way.
Jensen rolls back onto his side and tries to find sleep again, but it's just not happening anymore. Jared only gets like this when he's crazy-fucked up over something and doesn't know how else to deal with it. Jensen has seen it a total of four or five times in the last five years. Doesn't make it any more pleasant to deal with.
Another twenty minutes of failing to will sleep, and Jensen gives up. Stretching and popping his back, he takes a moment to gather his bearings and then heads down to the kitchen. It's weird, not having coffee waiting in the pot, but that's Jared's thing. He gets up first, starts the coffee, and then jumps in the shower. Jensen stumbles in later, and drinks whatever Jared left for him. They have a routine.
They have a lot of routines, he realizes as he rests his hip against the counter and waits for the machine to work its magic. Even when their schedules are crazy and they don't see each other all that much, there are ways that they connect. Maybe it's not as intense and all-consuming as it once was, but it's something.
Jared leaves lewd messages on the shower wall for Jensen to find when he steams the place up an hour later. Jensen draws stupid cartoon characters on napkins or old bill envelopes for Jared to find on the dresser while he's getting ready in the morning. They leave each other ridiculous voice mail messages and texts in the middle of the day that are nothing but random, and possibly insane. Jared makes coffee in the mornings, and Jensen makes sure there's beer or whatever they might want to unwind with at the end of the night.
Earlier this morning, when Chris was driving him home from the hospital and Jensen was fuming, the older man said something that stuck in the corner of Jensen's brain. “Never thought I'd see the day Jensen Ackles put up with bull shit like this. Kinda sweet, man.”
At the time, he told Chris to fuck off and went back to sulking and cursing Jared in his head. But now that he thinks about it, Chris is right. Jensen's never been the guy who would stick around when shit started going south. He's left relationships for a lot less than the shit he's ever gone through with Jared more than once. The first sign of anything less than utopia, and Jensen was out the door.
It didn't occur to Jensen, until Chris said it last night, that he hasn't even thought about leaving Jared. Not once in the last year has he ever considered packing up and moving out. Or about severing the weakening ties between them. It's just never been an option that he considered. Sure, it sucks donkey balls when things aren't easy, but it just doesn't ever cross his mind to give up.
Fresh coffee mugs in both hands, Jensen climbs the stairs again and checks the guest room for Jared, only to find it empty. His heart stutters when he hears a soft snoring from the room at the end of the hall.
The sight of Jared's massive limbs hanging off of Brayden's bed almost makes him lose both cups. He's passed out, face smashed against Brayden's pillow, and he looks every bit as small and fragile as the younger kid did in the hospital this morning. At least, to Jensen, he does.
Jared always sleeps with his mouth open, and his hair in his face, and Jensen fights the urge to go brush it away from his forehead. Instead, he sets both coffee cups on Brayden's nightstand and crosses to the closet. Covering Jared with a thick blanket, Jensen grabs his own cup and leaves Jared's in case he wakes up before it gets cold.
For Jensen, it's simple. He doesn't think about leaving because he loves Jared. He wants to be with the kid, even when he's being a gigantic asshole of epic proportions. He decided, a long time ago, that he was in this for the long haul, and he's not ready to give up on that. On them.
Still, something's going to have to give. They can't keep drifting, re-connecting, and then splintering apart again. It never used to matter what was going on around them – circumstances be damned, they were together. They have to get back to that again.
He should be at work. Jensen knows he should be heading to Ollie to check in, being as he hasn't really been there much lately. With the opening of the new store, he's spent a lot more time in San Diego than he has at the flagship store. Plus, he kind of wants to grab his board and leave some of this tension on the pipe.
He tells himself that he's just going to pop in and see how Brayden's doing. Just a cursory check-in, and then he'll be on his way. But when he gets there, Danneel and Mike are sitting in the chairs on either side of Bray's bed, smiling and talking about something Jensen can't quite hear from the doorway.
“Hey, you,” Danneel smiles softly, eyes full of understanding as she moves to meet him at the foot of the bed and offer him a hug. “Thought you might show your face around here soon.”
Jensen just nods, and it feels weird, this atmosphere in the room. There are balloons and flowers all along the window sill, along with a few pencil drawings and paintings. Gifts that weren't there when he left this morning. He does a quick count of the items in his head, and figures everyone at Slinging Ink and Ollie took it upon themselves to brighten up the kid's room. He loves them all for it, but kind of hates that they had to at the same time.
“How you doin', man?” Mike asks when Jensen leans against the wall and nods for Danneel to take her seat back.
Instead of answering, he looks around and lets his eyes dart to the hall. “Where's Rick?” he asks.
A strange look passes between his friends and Danneel catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Don't know,” she answers finally. “Nurse said he left a little while after you did, and that he hasn't been back since.”
Of course he did. Leaving is what the guy's good at, after all. The thought is bitter against the back of his throat, but Jensen forces it down. He can't bring that kind of negativity into Brayden's room. He won't. This isn't about Rick, or how big of an ignorant douche he proved himself to be last night. It's about the kid in the bed, bruises darkening in some places and fading in others.
“His color looks better,” Jensen mutters the random thought as it pops into his head.
Mike leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “They said his vitals were lookin' better, too,” he says, voice all encouraging and helpful. God love him, Mike is a spazz and a half most of the time, but when it comes to being there for his friends? He's a fucking master. Jensen kind of admires him for it. Not that he'll ever tell him. That newly-bald head is swollen enough already.
With a nod, Jensen lets his eyes linger on Brayden's rising and falling chest. God, he's so small. So fucking young and . . . unassuming. It doesn't strike Jensen as the least bit strange that he would give everything that he has – both businesses, both houses, the bike, and every ounce of talent God blessed him with – to be able to switch places right now. To be the one lying in that bed, surviving on borrowed air and morphine, just so Brayden doesn't fucking have to.
“I'm gonna take a walk,” he announces to no one in particular before ambling out of the room and down the hall.
It only takes Danneel about fifteen minutes to find him in the front row of the small hospital chapel, elbows on his knees, head dipped in prayer. He feels her hand on his back, but doesn't turn to look.
“I should be getting back to the store,” he says when the silence stretches too long.
Her fingernails are working up and down the back of his tee shirt and it makes Jensen think of childhood, and his mother, and the times that didn't suck out loud. “Nothing there that can't wait this out, Kid,” she answers, chin coming to rest on his hunched shoulder.
“Nothin' here that I can change, either, Dani,” he responds to her statement, letting her cradle him for just a second before he sits back and stretches his legs out. His lined eyes drift to the crucifix hanging on the wall and he shakes his head a little bit before looking at her. “I hate feeling like I don't have control of my own life anymore.”
“This isn't really about Brayden, is it?” Leave it to Danneel to cut directly to the heart of the problem without any preamble or foreplay. “Jensen, every relationship goes through rough patches, man.”
How in the hell did he end up here? In a hospital chapel, scared as shit for some kid he has no rights to, discussing his big gay relationship with his number one employee? Life is fucking weird sometimes.
“Not us,” Jensen disagrees. He and Jared don't have rough patches. They argue, sure. Debate and sometimes get a little heated. Maybe they fight a little. But it's loud, and it gets ugly and messy. And then it's over. Fast. There are no rough patches because it never lasts long enough to become anything more than a speed bump. This slow burn isn't them. “We don't . . . we're not like this.”
What he doesn't say is that it's the reason he's always believed that Jared is the right guy for him. It's never been this easy, not with anyone. Since day one, he's never felt like he was struggling or fighting for a reason to believe in them. He's never had to think about what happens next or worry about whether or not Jared's coming home. He's never been concerned that Jared might want something else. Things like time, and distance, and Brock Kelly, and Jared's anger have never been issues before. And that's the reason that Jensen's always known that this thing with Jared is right.
But all of those things exist now, and one marathon night in Mexico isn't going to fix it all. He can't help thinking that maybe it's a sign or something. Lifting his eyes back to the crucifix, he says so, “What if it's some kind of sign?”
“Sign of what?” Danneel asks, her voice unamused. “That you're a moron?” When Jensen turns to look at her, she rolls her eyes. “Dude, you're in a long-term, committed relationship. And I know you've never done this before, but they're supposed to be hard sometimes. You can't spend your entire life with someone and expect it to be schmoopy candy canes and butterflies all the time.
“And, yeah, it took you and Jared a little longer than most to get to the challenging part, but dammit, Jensen,” she just rolls her eyes again when he nods toward the cross, as if reminding her where they are, “life is beautiful because it's not predictable. Because you don't know what comes next. And sometimes it just fucking sucks and is really unfair. Because that's just how it is. Sometimes shit just happens, man. Makes you think you're so charmed, huh?” Her fingers card through the hair on the side of his head as she smiles into the words. “That you never have to go through the hard shit like the rest of us?”
Long after Danneel leaves, he's thinking about her words, about the weight and meaning of them. Their life has been pretty fucking easy to this point. They have good jobs and successful businesses. They party hard and laugh a lot. They have loyal friends who are supportive and understanding.
Maybe Danneel's right. Maybe life just sucks sometimes. And maybe sometimes you've just gotta put your head down and shoulder through it. Doesn't stop him from wishing that they weren't trying so damn hard to push through it alone, instead of together, like they used to.
“Dude, that's disgusting.”
Chad laughs and pushes the plate of greasy bacon and eggs closer to Jared's side of the table. When Sophia got back from taking him home last night, she told him that Jared was going to need a serious hangover remedy later in the morning. Chad kicked into action, calling the crew and telling them all to meet up at Denny's at noon.
“Eat up, Jay-man,” Genevieve encourages, winking at the waitress when she leaves another cup of coffee for their fearless leader. “Only way to kick that shit outta your head.”
He glares, but she only smiles wider and leans forward on her elbows in the booth. Next to her, Katie pulls her blond hair into a ponytail and looks bored. She always looks bored. But she does damn good work when it comes to rainbows and butterflies and the girlie shit that a lot more female clients come looking for since the show premiered.
“So this kid,” Katie starts, and then recoils at the looks shot her way from around the table. “What?” It's not like she knows. Well, she knows that Brayden hangs around a lot, and Genevieve told her that he lived with Jared and Jensen for a little while, but she doesn't know. Not enough to keep her mouth shut.
“Brayden,” Jared answers when he's devoured four strips of bacon and three sausage links, downing his coffee like it's a shot of smooth whiskey. “The kid's name is Brayden,” he clarifies. “And his dad's a fucking junkie asshole who was probably higher than a kite when he wrecked that goddamn car,” he starts, and then stops himself when Sophia's hand falls on his arm across the table.
“Babe, you gotta stop,” she advises, just like she did last night. Though, she's right in assuming that Jared doesn't so much remember that conversation. “Rick's been clean for a year and a half,” she reminds him, and it's logical, but it's not what Jared wants to believe.
Because Brayden's in a hospital bed, for fuck's sake. It's gotta be someone's fault. There has to be a reason for it. He just can't accept that sometimes bad shit happens to good people. He can't fathom that the God Jensen believes in would let an innocent kid die on accident. He needs someone to be angry with. Something to focus on.
“So, how was Mexico?” Tom asks when the silence, and Jared's brooding, gets to be a little too much.
Turning his head, as though seeing him for the first time, Jared asks, “The fuck are you doin' here?” Tom is the only person at the table who works for Jensen, not him.
“I was hungry,” Tom shrugs, shoveling another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
“You get things all straightened out with Jen?” Sandy asks, fearless even though she knows damn well Jared could take her head off for asking such a personal question. In front of everyone, no less. Of course, they all know about the fight, because they were all in New York with him. So he figures there's not much to be mad at her for at this point.
Jared takes another long drink of his coffee and shrugs his shoulders. “Much as it's gonna be straightened out, I guess,” he answers. Their time in Mexico was fantastic, but real life butted in, like it has every other time they've come close to reconnecting in the last eight months. If Jared was superstitious, he would think that it was some kind of sign.
“All I know is y'all better fuckin' figure it out,” Genevieve throws in, checking her fingernails before raising her eyes back to her boss's face. “Y'all are the only example of a functional relationship I have. Without you, I abandon all hope.”
“Hey,” Chad speaks up, mouth still full of eggs as he knits his eyebrows in the direction of the woman sitting directly across from him. “We have a perfectly functional relationship,” he insists, arm wrapping around his new bride's shoulder. They've only been married for about three months, but they've been together for almost seven years. Well, if you don't count the eight thousand times they've broken up. Which, Jared doesn't because they always end up back together. The sad thing is that Chad's right. He and Sophia are highly functional. Cracked and crazy, but functional when fitted together.
“You're hetero. That doesn't count,” Genevieve rolls her eyes and Katie laughs.
She really didn't like the tiny brunette when they first met a few years ago at a club in West Hollywood. Far as Katie was concerned, Genevieve was nothing more than a miniature, rip-off version of Katie and her friends. Like all the other little lesbos that ran around town, pretending to be more bad-ass than they were. But the longer she knows Genevieve, the more entertaining she becomes. She's not all bad.
“You tried actually talking to him about whatever's going on with you guys?” Steve asks from his spot in the corner of the booth. For a minute, Jared forgot he was even there, but it's not unusual with Steve. He's perfectly happy to sit back and be part of the group, without actually contributing words. Sometimes, he's Jared's favorite.
Sophia rolls her eyes at the question and grabs a hash brown from Chad's plate. “'Course he hasn't,” she says. “They're guys. They don't talk about shit like that.” It's the same words she's heard a thousand times, though Jared's pretty sure he's never sounded quite so snarky when he says them.
“Some guys do,” Tom interjects. “Mike and I would kill each other if we didn't talk about stuff once in a while.” Jared, Chad, and Steve all shoot him incredulous eyebrow-raises. “What?”
With a shake of his head, Chad takes another bite and chuckles. “Dude, can't believe it took you so damn long to figure out you were gay,” he laughs, and the rest of the table follows him.
Before anyone can ask him any more questions, his cell phone rings against his hip. Jensen's ring tone. He pulls it out, swallows the sausage in his mouth, and clears his throat with another pull from his coffee mug. “Hey,” he says, one finger in his other ear so that he can hear.
“Hey.” Jensen's voice is indecipherable, so it's kind of shocking when he says, “Bray's awake. He wants to see you.”
Chapter 4
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-25 02:18 am (UTC)Anyway, what is this the second chap in a day? Dude you fuckin rock with that shit. Haha. I wish jay wasnt bein such a douche but i kinda get why. Ughh drama drama.
Well great chap, as usual lol. Cant wait for the next one!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-25 03:04 am (UTC)That IS two chapters in one day - and that's all you're getting. :) There are only two left . . . but I promise you'll get at least one of them tomorrow.