Sneaking Out, Part II

[raeschae]

By the time he reaches the street, he has a plan. Unfortunately, it all goes to shit the second Jensen notices him and smiles, lips splitting his face and his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“My car's around the corner,” he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

Jared follows him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, until something occurs to him. “How high are you?” He doesn't want to be a judgmental asshole, but he also doesn't want to die in a car wreck.

With a shake of his head, Jensen nods toward the passenger door and says, “Wasn't feelin' it tonight.”

The drive to IHOP is silent, nothing between them but the low din of Jensen's stereo. Jensen sings along under his breath, but something is different about him tonight; he seems like a calmer, quieter version of himself or something.

Jared can’t seem to stop himself from checking his phone every ten or twelve seconds, just to be sure that his parents haven’t discovered his empty room. In the back of his head, he doesn’t actually believe that he’s going to get away with this night.

“You alright?” Jensen finally asks when they’re situated across a booth from each other, feet barely touching under the table.

With a shrug, Jared slides his phone back into his pocket. “Guess I’m just tired.”

Face contorting, Jensen says, “Dude, I shoulda thought about the time,” in apology.

Suddenly, it's like they're back on the lawn at the school again, Jensen asserting his belief that Jared just can't keep up with Jensen and his friends. It punches him in the gut, makes him feel about three inches tall. “It's fine,” he waves a hand and leans back in his seat like he does this kind of thing all the time. They both know it's not true, but it's easier to pretend than listen to Jensen write him off as a giant geek.

“So, how was the fair Genevieve tonight?” Jensen asks, wicked smile of implication on his lips, after the waitress has taken their order and headed back to the kitchen.

“Fine, I guess,” Jared answers with a non-committal shrug. He wasn't really paying attention, what with Jensen in every corner of his mind, but he can't actually say that out loud.

Jensen plays with his straw paper, smoothing it before twisting it in his fingers. “You know she's got a thing for you, right?” He's strangely fixated on the paper now, eyes down and narrowed in concentration.

The idea is so absurd that Jared can only laugh. “You're kidding, right? Genevieve's my friend.” She knows I'm totally hung up on you, he itches to say, but keeps it to himself.

When Jensen does look up, it's through these criminally long lashes that nearly shield his eyes all together. He looks nervous for the first time since Jared met him. It's a little weird. “Friends don't always stay that way, Jay,” is all he says, cryptic like he can get away with it because he's cool enough to say vague shit like that.

Almost positive that he's not the one who moves his foot, he feels Jensen's leg against his, warm and heavy, disturbing. “Yeah, well, we're gonna,” is his brilliant response. “She's well aware of that. Trust me.”

Jared doesn't even know why he's speaking in this tone that feels weighted and pointed. It's like he's trying to assure Jensen and maybe drop him a hint at the same time. Jared's not a hint guy. He doesn't flirt, never has. It feels phony and contrived, but Jensen smiles so maybe it's not as bad as he thinks it is.

“I don't know, man.” Jensen's voice is instantly lighter, more teasing, as though he's catching the signals that Jared's sending, even if Jared doesn't know exactly how to send them. “She's pretty hot.”

“Oh, I know,” Jared answers automatically, worried that he might actually fuck this up somehow if he stops to think about what he's saying. “She's just not really,” he says then tops short.

This has never been an issue. He's never had anyone to talk to about it; either people know or they don't.

Jensen's boot runs along Jared's shin, his tongue licking the length of his lip in the silence. When he realizes Jared isn't planning on continuing, he baits, “Not really what? Your type?” Jared nods, gulping at the water in his glass until two ice cubes nearly lodge in his throat. “So who is?”

He knows damn well and the fact that he's toying with Jared, teasing and playing like it's some kind of game ... Like he's once again smarter and cooler and better than Jared. Logically, Jared’s brain tells him that it's not a bad thing, that Jensen doesn't mean anything by it. His irrational side, the one that does most of his thinking for him these days, freaks out a little bit.

“I don't know,” he answers dumbly, looking around for the waitress or anyone who might be able to save him from this line of questioning. His ears are burning and he's wishing to hell that he'd just stayed in his room tonight.

Fumbling for his phone when he realizes that he hasn't checked it in a couple of minutes, he avoids Jensen's eye and pretends that his neck and face aren't flushed. They had a dog when he was younger who liked to believe hiding his head in the snow meant that nobody could see him. Jared's perfectly happy to adopt that theory for the moment.

Thankfully, Jensen lets the conversation drop while they eat, shifting to safer territory like telling Jared about Chris' show this weekend and about this idea Aldis has for throwing a Christmas party at his parents' lake house. Jared tries to maintain eye contact enough to seem interested without ever holding Jensen's gaze long enough to be read or analyzed.

By the time they make it back to the truck, he's starting to think that he dodged a couple of bullets. His parents haven't called or texted and Jensen is his normal, charming self without the undercurrent of seduction that he should be far too young for, yet uses perfectly.

After pulling the truck to a stop in front of the same house he was parked in front of earlier tonight, Jensen lets the truck idle. “Thanks for comin' out with me, Jared.”

Jared nods, unsure of where he's supposed to look or what he's supposed to do. He doesn't know the protocol for this kind of night, hasn't had the experience to tell him what to say to make a graceful exit. “No problem,” he finally says, inwardly smacking himself for sounding so socially stunted. He can't really blame Jensen for treating him like a kid when Jared so often acts like one.

The metal of the door handle is slick under his hand, a little cold from the chill outside. Jensen's hand, wrapping around his other wrist, is warm and firm as he pulls Jared back a little.

“Tell me about your type,” he says when Jared looks back, bewildered.

The confusion morphs into panic and Jared thinks that maybe this is how deer feel when they're standing in the high beams of someone's headlights. “Uh,” he stammers, licking his lips until they don't feel dry enough to crack. “I don't know. I don't have one.”

“You said Genevieve isn't yours, though. If you don't have one, it doesn't matter.”

“It's not about type,” Jared says before he can stop himself. Great, now he's going to have to explain that. Jensen doesn't press, just raises an eyebrow, but Jared knows that he has to elaborate. “I'm just not. Dammit,” he pounds his flat palm against the window and stares out at his neighborhood.

This isn't his home, no matter what his parents say. He doesn't know the people who live behind those doors and he doesn't know the name of that dog sitting on that porch over there. He doesn't know the kids who play on that swing set and he doesn't know which house he would run to if there was ever an emergency and his parents weren't home.

He doesn't belong here, not any more than he belonged in the other house on the other side of town. None of it fits; Jared grew too fast or he didn't grow up fast enough. He's the only constant, the only one that doesn't change, no matter where he lands.

Jensen takes pity on him, doesn't make him say the words he's clearly not ready to say. Instead, he slides across the bench seat and wraps a hand around the back of Jared's neck, leaning in to catch Jared's bottom lip between his own.

While Jared won't readily admit that he's spent any time thinking about his first kiss, this one with Jensen is different than he imagined it would be. Slow and tentative, almost like a plea for permission against his mouth, Jensen's dry lips, a little sticky, and his breath tasting like the pancakes and maple syrup he ate just a few minutes ago.

When he pulls back, Jared runs his tongue along his bottom lip, realizes his eyes are still closed, and blinks a couple of times before he's able to focus on Jensen's smiling face. “That was,” he starts to say before he realizes that he has no idea how to describe it. “Thanks,” he says, immediately wishing he could slam his head against the dashboard.

Jensen snakes a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him forward for another kiss. “I'll see you tomorrow, Jared,” he says, voice gravelly like he's just as affected by the kiss as Jared is.

Stumbling across the street and up the porch steps, Jared is about to open the front door when he remembers that he snuck out his bedroom window earlier. He's too high on the adrenaline of the kiss right now to worry about whether or not his parents will be waiting in his room when he fumbles back through his window again.

They're not.

Jared walks softly down the hall to make sure that they're still asleep, can't help feeling a little guilty that they don't know he left. By the time he falls back on his bed, though, the memory of Jensen's foot against his under the table at IHOP and his lips on Jared's in the truck are strong enough to drown any remorse that might have been swelling.





Everything in Jared's world feels different on Wednesday morning. He feels different. The only problem is that he doesn't know if Jensen feels different. When he went to sleep, that kiss was the single most important event in his life. This morning, as he walks to school, he's starting to wonder if it was that big of a deal.

What if Jensen didn't feel anything? What if he does that kind of thing all the time? Jared remembers the way Jensen fell into him at that party at Danneel's, the way he touches his shoulder or his arm or leg whenever they're sitting next to each other. He walks down the halls at school with his arms around Danneel and Katie's shoulders, jumps on Aldis' back in the cafeteria, and smacks Misha's ass every chance he gets. It's entirely possible that he's just openly affectionate and that last night was just his way of saying, Thanks for sharing pancakes with me.

Genevieve is waiting for him at his locker, books hugged to her chest. “You feelin' better?” she asks before Jared can even spin the lock and put his bag away.

With a shrug, he fights the ball of anxiety growing in his gut. If she'd called him at two o'clock this morning, he would have answered her with a vigorous, probably embarrassingly dreamy nod of his head. Right now, he just wants to hide in a bathroom stall until the final bell rings this afternoon.

“Jared, what's goin' on with you?” she asks, brow furrowing in obvious concern.

He doesn't get a chance to answer before there are arms winding around his waist and hands wandering up his chest, fingers squeezing at his pecs. Jumping a little, he can't help smiling when Jensen whispers against his ear, “Miss me?” and then pulls at his earlobe with his teeth.

Turning, he leans back against the locker and accepts the kiss that Jensen presses to his mouth. It's possible that Genevieve says something, but Jared certainly isn't thinking about her right now.

“Hi,” he finally says when Jensen pulls back, smile bright enough to eclipse the fluorescent lights overhead. If the burn in his cheeks is indication, Jared's returning the grin and then some.

Jensen leans in, runs a hand through Jared's hair, and then takes a step back to wink at Genevieve. “How's it goin', Cortese?”

With a scowl, she says, “Obviously not as good as it's goin' for you.” Turning on her heel, she tucks her hair behind her ear and schools her features into a bright smile, too bright to be remotely genuine. “I'll see you guys.”

Rumbling a laugh against Jared's ear, Jensen says, “She's jealous,” before he grabs Jared's earlobe with his teeth.

The swooping, roller coaster feeling in his gut is almost more than Jared can take. He rests his hands on Jensen's waist but it's less about contact and more about staying upright. He was completely unprepared for Jensen to kiss him last night; he's even more thrown by this excessive display of affection. Yesterday, he wasn't cut out to hang with Jensen's friends. Today, Jensen is hanging on him, fucking licking the side of his neck in the middle of the hallway. It's hard to maintain balance when the world is turning on its ear.

“Space, Mr. Ackles,” a stern voice says somewhere over Jensen's shoulder.

The heat rushes to Jared's face as Jensen clears his throat and takes a step back, his hand still firmly resting on Jared's shoulder. “What's wrong, Krip? Too hot for ya?”

Bracing himself to be thrown into detention or possibly suspended for Jensen's big mouth, Jared watches Principal Kripke slow to a stop a few feet away. “Shit,” Jared whispers under his breath, a little proud of the smirk Jensen gives him in response before returning his focus to the principal.

Shaking his head, Mr. Kripke tucks his hand into his pockets and considers Jensen for a seconds. “Halle Berry is too hot for me, Mr. Ackles. You,” he waves a finger to gesture between Jared and Jensen, “are students and must therefore abide by the conduct policy.”

“I'm goin' to the GSA with this,” Jensen threatens, sincerity bitten back by the amusement in his voice. “Tell 'em our great leader is oppressing our right to express our affection like our heterosexual counterparts.”

Even as he's arguing, Jensen is stepping back far enough that Jared's hand falls from the waistband of Jensen's jeans and swings back toward the locker behind him. If he wasn't still freaking out about getting in trouble, he might actually find this kind of funny.

Mr. Kripke just rolls his eyes. “This is all about equality, son. Your heterosexual counterparts are not allowed to jam their tongues down one another's throats and grind on each other in the hallways, so neither are you.” With a nod in Jared's direction, Mr. Kripke turns on his heel and continues down the hall.

With a laugh, Jensen turns his attention back to Jared. “You busy this weekend?”

Shaking his head, Jared finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could think of something better to say in response. “No,” is all he manages to come up with, though.

Jensen pulls him away from the locker and slides his hand around Jared's hip, fingers drumming a disjointed beat against Jared's jeans. “I'm thinkin' about havin' some people over. You game?”

“Yeah, of course!”

It doesn't occur to him until Jensen has kissed the side of his neck and disappeared around the corner that he might have sounded too eager in his response.





By the time he shows up at Jensen’s house on Saturday night, Jared doesn’t know if he’s any more comfortable with Jensen hanging all over him or if his brain has just stammered to a complete stop and is therefore incapable of processing how weird it is. Either way, he’s not complaining. Whatever this is, it’s better than pining and angsting and being alone all the time.

There are three other cars in the large, circular drive when Jared arrives. Like something out of a movie, Jensen’s house is an enormous, two-story estate with perfectly manicured landscaping and giant white pillars. He half-expects a butler to answer the door when he knocks.

Thankfully, it’s just Jensen that throws the massive door open and immediately laughs. “I shoulda warned you,” he says, reaching forward to yank Jared over the threshold by the front of his shirt. “You look freaked. Are you freaked?”

Freaked probably isn't the right word for it, Jared thinks. “Surprised?” he offers as an alternative.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, releasing his hold on Jared to tuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Jensen's eyes drift down to the shiny, polished marble floor and Jared notices that he's not wearing shoes; the tiny, frayed threads along the edges of his jeans are stark white against his rainbow, striped socks. It's probably a stupid thing to fixate on – Jared hasn't spent much time considering the kind of socks Jensen wears – but he's fascinated by the unexpectedness of the information.

“I haven't really figured out a way to tell people my parents are loaded without sounding like the world's biggest asshole, ya know?” Jensen finally breaks the awkward silence with a stilted grin. “So,” he adds, shoulders rising and falling on a heavy sigh. “You want the grand tour? We've got a little time before anybody else shows up.”

“Nobody else is here?”

Jensen shakes his head, pulls one hand out of his pocket and reaches for Jared's wrist. “Just you and me.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Jared to bark a laugh.

“I guess I figured, with the cars out front,” he starts and then stops himself. Of course Jensen's family has more than one car. Look at the size of his house! “Never mind. I'm an idiot,” he chuckles, hoping that it sounds more dismissive than it feels.

Thumb brushing over the inside of Jared's wrist, Jensen shakes his head. “You're not. It's fine. Come on,” he tugs on Jared's arm until Jared's feet can actually move to follow him. “We'll skip the boring stuff.”

As it turns out, everything except the kitchen falls into the 'boring' category. Jensen does motion vaguely toward a wide staircase leading down to the basement, where everyone will be hanging out tonight, but he doesn't bother showing that off just yet.

Instead, he jogs upstairs and down the hall, shouldering open the door at the end. “Welcome to my sanctuary,” he says with a flourish of his arm and a sarcastic smirk.

Jared can admit that he's pictured Jensen's room before, but this is not at all what he imagined.

In the center of the far wall, lit from beneath, is the biggest platform bed Jared has ever seen, made of dark wood and accented with deep burgundy linens, the pillows a contrasting silver. The skylight overhead, nearly as large as the bed, is inlaid with what appears to be colorful, stained glass but that, Jensen explains, is really just painted plexiglass. The walls are lined with bookshelves, crammed to overflowing with more books than Jared has ever seen anywhere outside of a library.

“This is insane,” he mutters, fingers dragging over the spines of several paperbacks he's heard of but never read.

Jensen laughs a little as he lowers himself to the end of the bed. “Yeah, I'm kind of a book hound, I guess.”

“You guess?” Jared turns to him with wide eyes before looking back to the book case, which extends all the way to the ceiling. “How many of 'em have you read?”

With a small shrug, Jensen leans back on his bed, feet crossed at his ankles as he considers Jared with a pointed look. “I don't know. More than half,” he says as though that doesn't mean he's read about ten thousand books. “Some of 'em are text and reference books, though. They're not all novels or whatever.”

Mouth still gaping, Jared steps away from the wall and takes a few steps toward the bed. Jensen has kissed him a lot in the last few days, but he's not entirely sure it's okay to just sit next to him on his bed. Before today, he was nowhere near solving the puzzle that Jensen is, but at least he felt like some of the pieces were falling into place. Now he's fairly certain he doesn't even have the most important ones.

“Come here,” Jensen invites, sitting up straighter on the bed, scooting toward the edge. When Jared finally stops in front of him, Jensen grabs one of the belt loops on his jeans and tugs until Jared tumbles down on top of him. “You don't have to, like, tell anyone about this, okay?”

It's weird, looking in Jensen's eyes and feeling like Jared is actually seeing him. No sunglasses to shield his vulnerable expression; no posturing to hide his fear of Jared's judgment. He always feels this crashing wave of warmth in his chest when Jensen is around. But being invited into his room, being allowed more access than Jensen usually permits, is about a hundred times more intense.

“I don't get you,” Jared says, shifting his body while Jensen tangles their legs together.

The palm of Jensen's hand is soft against his neck, his thumb tickling the underside of Jared's jaw. “I'm just a guy.”

Yeah, Jensen's just a guy. A guy who looks like he should be on some television series where the lead actors are too perfect to be real. A guy who walks around licking another guy in the halls at school and still manages not to get the shit beat out of him on a daily basis. Jensen is just a guy who has more money than God, has read books Jared can't even pronounce the titles of, and who would rather drink until he can't see straight than ever talk about any of it.

He doesn't mean to, but he says, “Not just a guy.”

It must be the right thing because, the next thing Jared knows, Jensen is leaning forward, pulling Jared in, kissing him slow and lazy like they have all the time in the world to explore each other's mouths.

He hasn't bothered telling Jensen that he's never done this with anyone else – he doesn't need to sound any more inexperienced than he already does – but Jensen doesn't ask, so Jared figures he's doing alright with the kissing. It's hard to worry about it when Jensen's tongue is sliding against his, licking against the roof of his mouth before his teeth pull at Jared's bottom lip.

Jensen gives a little growl as he pulls away causing Jared to groan in protest. “I've gotta get shit set up downstairs,” Jensen whispers against his mouth.

Eyes drifting open, Jared can feel his cheeks flush when he realizes Jensen is right here, staring at him with equally hazy eyes. “Let 'em set their own shit up,” Jared finally says, pressing his lips together to savor the taste of Jensen on them for just a second.

Chuckling as he sits with a labored 'oomph,' Jensen casts a glance over his shoulder, barely settling on Jared before he looks back toward the door. “You have no idea how much I'd like to stay in here with you.” He pushes off of the bed and runs his hands over his thighs. “But that's just gonna lead to somethin' you're not ready for yet.”

Even though he follows, Jared can't stop the words from rolling over and over in his head. Maybe he's not ready for much more than making out, but Jensen can't possibly know that. They've never talked about it so, the only thing Jared can figure is that maybe he's sending some signals he's not aware of or something.

The alternative, that Jensen still thinks he's too slow to keep up with the rest of their friends, is too stressful and depressing to consider.





“Dude, I will beat you with this stick if you don't make up your damn mind in the next three seconds,” Katie threatens from her place at the head of the pool table.

Aldis, bent over the side of the table to consider his next shot, just shoots her a side look and shakes his head. “Danni, your woman's runnin' her mouth again.”

Danneel laughs and turns to look at both of them over the back of the couch. “Your trash talkin' skills suck, Aldis,” she teases, flopping back around. “Jay, can you grab me a beer on your way back?”

Stuffing the twenty bucks he just earned from schooling Misha in a rousing game of Madden on the other side of the room, Jared grabs a couple of beer bottles from the refrigerator and hands one of them to Danneel before settling into Jensen's side at the other end of the couch.

“That for me?” Jensen asks, nodding toward the bottle in Jared's hand.

Twisting the cap, Jared tosses it in Jensen's direction. “Sure,” he laughs when Jensen bats the cap away and narrows his eyes.

Jared's been feeling loose and relaxed all night, like these are his actual friends, like they're not just humoring Jensen's little plaything. As soon as Jensen reaches for the bottle in his hand, though, his stomach drops.

Leaning forward until their foreheads touch, Jensen whispers, “You don't have to,” against Jared's mouth, punctuating the statement with a kiss.

“What if I want to?” Jared counters, kissing Jensen again just because it feels good to be allowed to kiss Jensen whenever he wants.

“It's alright that it's not your thing,” Jensen assures him.

Jared jerks away abruptly, standing and setting his beer bottle on the table. If he doesn't get out of here, he's going to say something he regrets. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” he announces to no one in particular before heading for the stairs.

If he's lucky, Aldis and Katie will be too engrossed in their game to notice his exit. Misha's out on the back porch with Steve and a couple of other guys Jared doesn't recognize. Danneel probably thinks he's being melodramatic, but Danneel has a secret girlfriend that she doesn't want the student body to know about unless they're too drunk to remember the next morning, so she doesn't count. It's the best rationalization Jared can come up with as he stumbles into the kitchen and leans heavily against the counter.

This time, leaving the room isn’t about being embarrassed; there's a good chance no one heard their discussion at all. This time, he's so angry his hands are shaking, his pride aching against his ribs.

“What the hell is goin' on with you?” Jensen demands, entering the kitchen with his arms stretched wide.

Jared looks up, eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. If he turns around, he might swing. That's not going to help anything. “Why don't you tell me?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, Jensen,” Jared fires, spinning and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “You've already decided that smokin' up isn't my thing, I'm not ready for sex, and I don't actually wanna have a beer with Danneel tonight. Don't tell me you don't know what's goin' on with me, too. You clearly know me better than I know myself.”

“Hey,” Jensen raises his hands defensively, taking a step forward as he speaks. “Couple months ago, you were stayin' home on Saturday nights. Now you're partyin' with me and my friends and that's awesome. I want you here. I love when you're here. But I don't want you changin' who you are because you think that's what I want you to be. I want you to be you, Jared.”

Shaking his head, Jared laughs incredulously. “I can barely talk when you're around,” he points out. “How the hell can you possibly know who I am? I barely know who I am, Jensen.” With another disbelieving shake of his head, he adds, “Contrary to what everyone else in your world may tell you, it's not always about impressing you, okay?”

If Jensen presses him for an explanation on that, Jared's not entirely sure he'll be able to give one. He's kind of shouting without thinking at this point, but it does feel surprisingly refreshing to get something off of his chest for once instead of holding on to it until he feels like a part of him just implodes.

For a long time, Jensen is quiet, mouth gaping like he can't even believe this is happening. Then he's advancing on Jared in long strides, backing him up to the counter and grabbing the back of his head in a firm fist to smash their mouths together, hips rolling forward as if on instinct.

When he pulls back, just enough space between them for Jared to catch a ragged breath, Jensen whispers, “Sorry,” against his lips and then kisses him again, softer this time. “You're right and I'm sorry.”

Jared's not entirely sure if Jensen actually agrees with him or if he's just in shock from someone actually talking back to him. He figures it doesn't really matter, not when Jensen is kissing him again, hands sneaking up the back of Jared's t-shirt.

It feels good. No, it feels amazing to have Jensen on him like this, desperate and as needy as Jared always feels when Jensen is around. Still, there's a bunch of people downstairs and Jared's not sure this is how he wants his first sexual experience to go down. Having Jensen's hands or mouth around his dick will be awesome eventually, but not if it's interrupted by one of their friends charging in to find more snacks.

“We should get back down there,” he finally says, the words painful as Jensen runs his tongue down the column of Jared's throat.

Nodding, Jensen steps back and runs a hand over the top of his head. “Yeah,” he nods again, panting a few times before he manages to catch his breath. Then, with a smirk, he grabs Jared's hand and says, “Come on. We'll share that beer and make out until Aldis throws a pool stick at us.”

In the back of his head, Jared can hear Genevieve's voice: Party with him or whatever but keep your eyes open.

Jensen takes the first drink from the bottle, smiling around it before he tips it to Jared's lips with a small laugh. Jared's keeping his eyes open alright, and he's loving the view.





Having friends isn't the kind of thing that most kids probably find strange in high school. For Jared, eating lunch with one group and studying with another in his room after school is just weird. He's getting more used to it with each passing day, but he can't help wondering if it's ever going to feel normal.

Right now, Genevieve is stretched out on her stomach in the middle of his bed, tapping her pen against her notebook, staring at the window Jared's been using to sneak in and out of during the last few weeks. He's pretty sure that Jensen is wrong about her being jealous, but he hasn't found a great way to ask and it doesn't really seem important enough to make a big deal out of it. She's still comes around more often than not and she seems to be okay with the fact that Jensen is around more than he used to be.

“Did you get your Physics midterm back yet?” Genevieve asks, attention snapping back to Jared, who is standing in front of his closet, willing something suitable to leap out at him.

With a distracted shake of his head, Jared mumbles, “Nah,” and reaches for a hoodie that looks dull, boring, like everything else he owns at the moment.

There's a rustling on the bed as Genevieve shifts, a soft grunt when she manages to tilt herself upright. “Bull shit. I know Beaver handed all the tests back today. What'd you get?” When Jared just shrugs, she sighs. “Dude, if you'd paid attention at our study session -”

“Physics isn't my thing,” he interrupts, turning with the hoodie in his hand to see her eyes narrowing in his direction. “What? You really think one study session was going to make the difference?”

“The rest of us did alright,” she says, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “I'm sorry.”

The awkward tension that he's been trying to ignore between them feels like it's growing fingers and threatening to choke him. “Jensen thinks you're jealous,” he says, almost as surprised at the words as she appears to be. “You're not, are you?” When she flushes, Jared wishes he had just kept his mouth shut.

“Of you and Jensen? Not really,” Genevieve finally answers after what feels like an eternity of silence. “I mean, I'm not jealous that he got with you or whatever. I do understand what gay is, ya know?” Scooting forward on the bed, moving closer toward Jared, she says, “I do worry about you losing yourself in him, but I know that's none of my business.”

She keeps saying things like 'don't forget who you are' and 'don't let him take you over' but Jared still doesn't know exactly what that means or why she's so adamant about repeating it.

Tossing his sweatshirt onto the bed, Jared plunks down at Genevieve's side and leans against his headboard, shifting his body to face her. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Genevieve rolls her eyes and turns toward him. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and takes a deep breath, like she doesn't quite know where to start. “Look, Jensen is one of those guys who just has it made, ya know? I'm not saying he doesn't have problems or whatever. I'm sure he does, but they're not, like, normal people problems. He's dirty hot and filthy rich, not to mention crazy smart. He can do whatever he wants because he doesn't have to face the same consequences the rest of us do when we fuck something up.”

“So you are jealous,” Jared deduces. He's not really sure what other reason there is in pointing out all of these things Jared already knows.

Shaking her head, Genevieve tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and licks her lips before she speaks. “There's this guy, okay? His name's Mike and he used to hang with Jensen and his crew. Mike was awesome. Hilarious, really chill, just the kind of guy that everybody wanted to be around, ya know? So, he was super-tight with Jensen and his crew for a couple of years, I guess. All the shit that goes along with being one of Jensen's friends – the cutting class, the partying any day of the week, drinking and getting high – he was into it, right? Next thing ya know, he's dropping out of school and his parents are sending him to some rehab program.”

“Gen, I don't mean to sound cold or whatever, but that doesn't sound like Jensen's fault.” Maybe Jared is playing devil's advocate, but this cautionary tale feels like grasping at straws. “I've never seen him force anyone to do anything they don't wanna do.” It's just the opposite, actually. Jensen has gone out of his way to make sure that Jared doesn't do something that he might not be completely comfortable doing. For some reason, Jared doesn't say that, though.

She shakes her head. “No, I know. It's just, they all act like it's no big deal, ya know? This one time, I asked Katie how Mike was doing and she just shrugged and said she didn't know. Like he didn't even mean anything anymore.” She sighs, her hands folding over her arms like she's trying protect herself from something, possibly from Jared. “It's like they're only looking out for themselves and if you trip, if you can't make it on your own, then it's your own damn problem, ya know?”

For a long time, they sit in silence, Jared contemplating Genevieve's words. It's hard to see the correlation, though, because he's not becoming an alcoholic or thinking about dropping out of school. Sure, they skip a few classes here and there and he failed his Physics midterm, but that's not Jensen's fault. Who's to say he wouldn't have done all of those things before now if he'd been given the opportunity? Maybe this is the guy he's always been; he's just been looking for a chance to break out and be himself.

His eyes slide to the bedside table. It's seven forty-five and his parents are out until later. If Genevieve leaves by eight, like she usually does, he's got plenty of time to head out to the park with Jensen for a few hours before curfew. It's probably not what he should be thinking about right now, but it's rare that he thinks of anything but spending time with Jensen these days.

“Look, Jared, I'd like to think that we're friends, right? I may not be in your circle or whatever, but I do like hanging out with you and I care about what happens to you,” Genevieve finally says after an awkward silence. “I hope your other friends can say the same thing. That's all.”

She gathers her books and drops a kiss on his cheek before she heads to the door. A small part of Jared thinks maybe he should ask her to stay, but he knows that he won't actually do it. Not when he has other options tonight.

Before she leaves, she turns and points to the blue sweatshirt at his side. “Wear your brown tee shirt under that. It makes your eyes pop.”

He doesn't get a chance to thank her for the advice before she's gone. It's probably for the best; he's not sure which advice he'd be thanking her for right now.





“This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth,” Jared exclaims with a laugh before wrapping his lips back around the silkiest ball of marshmallow chocolate ice cream he's ever tasted.

After the words are out, when Jensen's mouth quirks into that smirk of his, Jared realizes what he's said. Jared knows that he's blushing but he's grateful that Jensen doesn't call him on his naïve faux pas.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tries to laugh it off, but the sound gets stuck in his throat. Jensen is still smiling at him, still staring at his mouth, still leaning back in the bed of his truck. His legs are splayed, his elbows back to prop him up and the moon plays off his face in dim light and deep shadows that almost make him look dangerous.

Jared won't say it, but right now, Jensen is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“Lemme try it,” Jensen says, lazily extending one arm until he can catch Jared's wrist.

He half-sits and half-pulls Jared down toward him until Jared loses his balance. It's nice to be smashed up against Jensen's chest, but losing his ice cream over the edge of the bed while flailing kind of sucks.

“I dropped it,” he cringes, struggling to sit.

Jensen just pulls him back down and buries one hand in the back of his hair. “You still got some,” he grins, lifting his head to run his tongue along the corner of Jared's mouth, “right there.”

It's ridiculous how fast he gets hard when Jensen slips his other hand around Jared's waist and rolls him onto his back. He grinds against Jared's thigh as he kisses him, growling a little when he bites down on Jared's lower lip and tugs it playfully.

This is it. Jared doesn't even care that they're in the middle of the city park, parked too close to a street light. He doesn't care that anyone could drive by and see them like this. He just knows that he needs more of Jensen.

At least, he thinks it doesn't matter until his hand is on the button of Jensen's jeans, Jensen sucking on the corner of his jaw while he begs Jared to hurry up, wanna feel those giant hands. A blinding white light stabs Jared's eyes, causing Jensen to jerk away and bite a curse under his breath.

“Jensen Ackles,” the uniformed officer smirks, shifting his flashlight to the bed of the truck.

Jared's pretty sure the flush in his cheeks is enough to illuminate the entire park at the moment.

Shoulders relaxing, Jensen leans against Jared's side and salutes the officer. “Tommy. How you been?”

Apparently, Tommy - It's Officer Welling now, Ackles - and Jensen go way back. They bicker and tease each other while Jared tries like hell not to remember Genevieve's words from the other day in his room.

He can do whatever he wants because he doesn't have to face the same consequences the rest of us do when we fuck something up.

She's right, dammit. Being caught with his hand down anyone else's pants would certainly not end in a sarcastic reminder that the city's curfew for minors is midnight.

It's not Jensen's fault – Jared's never heard him ask for any kind of special treatment from anyone – but he's willing to take full advantage of whatever is offered to him. Jared's still not convinced that's a bad thing, though.

Jensen is happy. He loves his friends and his life. What's so wrong with that?

“I should get you home,” Jensen says when they leave the park. “Didn't realize it was getting so late.”

Jared wants to protest, but his yawn interrupts his words, causing them both to laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

The rest of the drive to Jared's is quiet; it usually is when the night is winding to a close. Jensen sings along with the radio, his thumb tracing random patterns against Jared's hand on the console between them.

He doesn't really know how to tell Jensen without sounding like a freak, but these quiet moments in the cab of Jensen's truck on the drive home are his favorite part of their midnight dates. Nothing between them but simple touches, shared smiles, and silence, Jared feels like he has a part of Jensen that nobody else gets. Like Jensen doesn't feel the need to be the It Guy or whatever version of him other people expect. Like he trusts Jared with his stillness.

By the time they pull up to the curb across the street from Jared's house, Jensen's foot is tapping against the floorboard and his hand is squeezing Jared's and releasing it in a nervous pattern.

“You okay?” Jared asks, brow knitting in concern.

Jensen huffs a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry about Tommy back there,” Jensen finally says, his voice small and quiet.

When Jensen gets shy, it always throws Jared off a little; it goes against everything he’s come to know of Jensen. “It's fine,” he shrugs, because the last thing he wants to talk about is the sex that didn't happen less than an hour ago.

“Maybe for you,” Jensen snorts. “I was lookin' forward to finally gettin' your dick outta your pants.”

Hand on the door handle, Jared rolls his eyes and tries to play off the heat he can feel rising in his neck. “Maybe this weekend,” he says, hoping he sounds more flirtatious than awkward. He'd like to think he's getting the hang of it, but sometimes he still feels like a complete tool when he tries to flirt with Jensen.

Nodding, Jensen catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah?” When Jared shrugs in response, Jensen's smile splits wide open, his entire face lighting up. “Think that can be arranged.” He lunges over the center console to kiss Jared, hard and dirty, before he lets him push the door open. “I'll see ya in a few hours.”

After a couple of months of this, sneaking in through his bedroom window is almost as easy as trying the front door. He likes to think that his parents know he's doing it – it makes him feel less guilty if he tells himself they just don't care – but he's still careful. Sometimes these are the only times in a week that he gets Jensen alone; he's not doing anything to jeopardize that if he can help it.





“Mom, I -”

“There is nothing to say,” his mother cuts him off, her knuckles white as she squeezes the steering wheel and stares straight through the windshield, her jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the road.

Jared isn't sure he's ever seen his mom so furious, especially not at him. It's freaking him out more than the angry, throbbing bruise on his jaw.

It also kind of freaks him out that she doesn't start in on him as soon as they get home. First, she takes the ice pack he got from the school nurse and tosses it into the sink. Then, she throws a bag of frozen peas at him. After that, she looks out the kitchen window and takes a deep breath before dialing the phone and waiting.

Jared knows exactly who she's calling but his stomach still drops when he hears her say, “I just picked Jared up from school … Oh, he's not sick. Suspended for three days … Fighting … He's fine … Okay.” When she turns her attention back to him, her eyes are dull. She points in the general direction of the hall. “Go to your room. We'll be up there when your dad gets home.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he complies without hesitation, head down like a whipped puppy when he heads down the hall to his bedroom.

Lying on his bed, he fishes his phone from his pocket and fires off a quick text. u ok?

Jensen's response is immediate. hand hurts. u?

face hurts more.

if it helps, I think the bruise is sexy.

It sure as hell doesn't feel sexy, but Jensen's words make Jared smile enough that it hurts his already aching face. Punching the call button, he rolls away from the door and cradles the phone next to his good cheek, smashing it to his face against the pillow.

“Hey there, Golden Gloves,” Jensen's smooth voice greets him.

“I've been sent to my room until my dad gets home,” he whispers, listening carefully for his mom's footsteps. The last thing he needs is to have his phone taken away right now.

Jensen curses under his breath. “Dude, it's not even your fault.” With a heavy sigh, he adds, “You're almost eighteen. What, are they gonna spank you like a five-year-old, too?”

Jared doesn't admit that he has no idea what's going to happen to him because he's never gotten into trouble like this. An all-out fist fight on the quad isn't exactly the same as talking back to his mother when he's in a bad mood.

When he doesn't respond to Jensen's question, Jensen goes on. “Just tell 'em you were defending yourself. And me. You were doin' the right thing.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jared thinks about the fight. It only comes in flashes: an asshole in the hallway calling them dirty fags as they passed, hand in hand, on their way to lunch. The same fuckwad interrupting their conversation with Danneel and her friend, Hilarie. The snap of the little bit of cool Jared had when the guy wouldn't take the hint. The smell of dirt when Jared tackled him to the ground and the feeling of hands on his back as one of guy's friends stepped in to help.

From there, it's all punches and growls, and screams from the crowd that gathered. By the time Mr. Beaver and Mr. Pellegrino broke up the fight, Jared's lip was bleeding, his knuckles were swollen, and he was convinced his jaw was broken. Jensen's face was untouched, but he was holding his ribs and favoring his right hand severely.

“Jared, you stood up for yourself. They can't blame you for that.” Jensen's voice pitches low when he adds, “I mean, even if they do, what's the worst they can do to you?” His chuckles send a jolt of heat all the way to Jared's toes.

Jensen's right. Jared knows that he's right. They can ground him, but they can't stop his window exits. He'll still be able to see Jensen at school, too.

“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes squeezing shut to cut off the tears he can feel pricking the backs of his eyelids.

It's not the end of the world, but he's not used to being in trouble with anyone, especially his parents. As annoyed as he gets with them at times, he still hates the thought of disappointing or hurting them. Even Jensen can't change that.

He hears his dad slam the front door, knows that he's as pissed as his mom was earlier, so he rolls onto his back and takes a deep breath. “Dad's home,” he says into the phone. “Are we goin' out tonight?”

With a soft chuckle that makes Jared think maybe everything's going to be alright after all, Jensen says, “Yeah. I'll pick ya up at midnight.”





In the end, Jared is grounded for a month. There was a short lecture before that, but Jared tuned most of it out when he realized they weren't asking for his input. He always thought his parents had his back – they always said they supported him – but when it came down to it tonight, they just wanted to make sure he knew he fucked up and sent him to his room.

By the time midnight rolls around, he just wants to climb into the cab of Jensen's truck and be with someone who doesn't find him a colossal disappointment. He knows that Jensen will tell him again that he did the right thing today and Jensen won't care about whether or not this tarnishes Jared's otherwise spotless high school record.

He's got one leg out the window, heart hammering in his chest with anticipation since Jensen texted a second ago to let Jared know that he's waiting across the street, when there's a knock at the bedroom door. He can't pull himself back before his mother sticks her head in the door, her words cut off by the shocked expression on her face.

“What are you-”

Swallowing hard at the bile that rises in his throat, Jared straddles the window ledge, his mind racing to come up with a suitable explanation for why he's fully dressed and sneaking out in the middle of the night. She may be a little naïve, but she's not stupid. Nothing he says is going to cover it up.

“I'm going to get your father,” is all she finally says when she collects herself.

A giant part of him wants to bolt, to just make a break for it and ask Jensen to drive until his parents can't ever find him. The smaller, rational part knows that's ridiculous.

Pulling himself back into the room, he texts Jensen. Busted.

He's checking the reply when his parents come back into the room. Need help? Jared has to smile because he needs more help than Jensen can give him at this moment.

“Jared,” his father starts.

Holding up a finger, he shoots back, I got it, and tucks his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. It's not hard to muster an apologetic look when he sees his parents' stricken faces. “Sorry,” he whispers under his breath, wondering what he's supposed to do now.

“Give me the phone, son,” his dad instructs.

Jared's shoulders stiffen, but he does as he's told. His breath catches in his chest when his dad scrolls through the menu. He could be reading any number of sappy, borderline dirty text messages from Jensen. Jared's parents know he's gay; he doesn't think they need to see it firsthand, though.

“Have a seat, Jared,” his mother motions toward the bed, waiting for him to comply before she wraps her arms around her fuzzy, pink robe and lets out a labored sigh. “Sweetheart, what is going on with you?”

Shrugging, Jared tries to find the words but he just doesn't know what to say. He never knows the right words at the right time.

“We thought that letting you try a new school for your senior year would help, that maybe you would make some friends and come out of your shell a little bit.” His dad shakes his head and drops Jared's phone onto his nightstand. “You failed two midterms, you're sneaking out in the middle of the night, getting into fights. This isn't you.”

He wants to ask them how they know that. Everyone else seems to have this sharply defined idea of who Jared is these days. He'd give anything to know where their confidence comes from because he sure as hell can't figure it out for himself.

He doesn't know if he's the shy kid who still sits quietly in the corner of a classroom and prays that the teacher doesn't call on him. He might be the kid who sneaks out of the house and parties with his boyfriend on weekends while his parents think he's studying at the library. Maybe he's some combination of the two, but he's starting to wonder if that's even possible.

“Honey, I know that it's hard,” his mom says, voice dripping sympathy she can't possibly feel. Sinking to the bed at his side, she slides a hand around his shoulders. “You're in a new school, with new curriculum. You're making new friends. You're falling in love.”

Jared's shoulders stiffen at that. He probably is, but he doesn't want Jensen to factor into this conversation. “It's not his fault,” he says automatically.

“Well, you certainly didn't start sliding downhill before he came along,” his father interjects, drawing a harsh look from Jared's mother. “No, I'm tired of tip-toeing around this subject with him. You know we liked Jensen when we met him and I'm sure he's still a great kid, but that doesn't negate the fact that being with him, in whatever capacity, is changing who you are.”

“Into something you don't approve of,” Jared accuses, more surprised than his parents that the words just popped out of his mouth. He wasn't going to say anything, had nothing to say, until they brought Jensen into it. Now he's apparently incapable of keeping his mouth shut. “That's the problem, isn't it? Because you wanted me to be different, wanted me to have more friends and go out more, to be happier and more well-adjusted or whatever. It's just a problem now because you don't like the way I'm doing it.”

The words, slipping between his lips like oozing vitriol, feel childish and immature. It’s as if he's one step away from stomping his foot and pouting like a little kid. If he knew some other way to say it, he would, but whatever comes out is going to have to do for the moment.

“Did you stop to think about why we don’t like the way you’re doing it?” his mother reasons back with him. “It’s not about ruining your fun. We want you to have fun, Jared. Of course we do. But you’re failing tests. Now you’re getting into fights and sneaking out of the house? Yeah, son, we disapprove of that!”

“Would you let me go out at midnight if I asked first?” It’s not the first thing that darts through his head, but it’s definitely the safest of the questions.

His father grunts, shakes his head even though the answer is rhetorical. “Ya know, son, we really did hope that you would find friends at North Side. We thought maybe it would help get you ready for all the new people you're gonna be meetin' in Austin next fall. We just,” he stops short and rests his hand on Jared's mom's shoulder. “It's too late for this now. You get some sleep and your mother and I will let you know how we're going to deal with this in the morning.”

There really is nothing Jared hates more in the world than that kicked puppy look on his parents' faces. His older brother used to party too hard and get in trouble at school sometimes, and Jared never wanted to piss them off like that. He never wanted to be on the receiving end when his dad shakes his head and his mom covers her mouth like they're at the end of their rope and they just don't know where they went wrong or what to do to fix it.

Once they're gone, Jared rolls onto his side and grabs his phone.

On lockdown until further notice.

Jensen's reply helps him fall asleep with a smile on his face. No worries. We'll get through it.

Part III