The Second Man, NC-17, Jensen/Jared, 4/9
Dec. 30th, 2009 03:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ht_murray<<--Back to Part Three
A/N: Lyrics used in this section are borrowed from Snow Patrol and Of Montreal and are used without permission.
A/N2: There's a part in here that's likely to cause some confusion, a bit of information we left deliberately ambiguous. There were subtle clues, but no, you really aren't supposed to figure it out until now. Sorry about that.
--Part Four--
“The good news is, it still works. I swear!”
Jensen assumes he’s talking about the washing machine, which is nowhere to be seen. Judging from the extra-wide doorway onto the back porch and the busted PVC piping hanging out of the wall where the water lines used to be, he surmises it’s walked itself outside. Again.
“I mean, the lid came unattached when it went over the porch, but um, after I figured out how to turn off the water and stop the flooding, I put a coat hanger in the little slot, so it thinks the lid is closed. Add one garden hose and one extension cord, and voila, outdoor washing machine. You’ll never have to water the lawn again.” This laughter is definitely all hysterical. Jensen knows the feeling.
Jensen surveys the damage for a good two minutes in complete silence. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Seems like he should feel something. Last time this happened, he flew off the handle so hard the kids wouldn’t come out of their rooms for dinner. He should be surprised or horrified, pissed off or panicked. There’s not even a back door on his house anymore. Anything can come in, and out here, there’s a lot of anythings he’d really prefer to keep out. The whole washroom needs to be re-plumbed, and the pot of milk macaroni’s just sitting there getting colder by the second. All that, and there’s really only one thing he can do anything about, so he picks up the pot, finds the spoon still inside it, takes a few thoughtful bites, and hey, silver lining, it’s really not that bad. “Could use some onion,” he suggests. Then he turns off the light and goes back into the kitchen.
“I’m really, really so...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jensen says, his feet heavy as the pot clatters onto the stove. “That thing was an accident waiting to happen. I should’ve bolted it down after the last time. Listen.” He turns, claps Jared on the shoulder without looking him in the eye. “Thanks for getting the kids off to school and for doing the laundry, making dinner. I’mma... I’ve got some things I forgot to do in town. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“So, what? You’re leaving?” Jared grasps him by the arm, but Jensen lifts it out of the grip before he can get a good hold and grabs his keys off the counter. “You’re just gonna go out and leave us all sitting here?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not...” Jared crosses his arms, shifts over his feet, forgetting his cast and almost tipping before his shoulder hits the refrigerator. “I’m not worried. I’m... You’re never here!”
By then Jensen’s on the front porch, screen door slamming behind him. “Believe me. I never leave.” When he hits the bottom step, he adds, “Never.”
--
Jared has every intention of waiting up for Jensen to get home, spends the hours after getting the kids to bed staring at the ceiling and composing monologues in his head that waver between outraged condemnation and petulant pleas for forgiveness, promises to do better and try harder, even though he can’t think of anything harder than what he’s already been through. But somewhere between the thunderstorm rolling in and the rain pelting against the windows so hard he can’t hear himself think let alone the arrival or nonarrival of Jensen’s truck, the day crushes in on him until he can’t keep his eyes open.
He wakes to a steady throb, throb, throb in his broken leg, probably due to a combination of too much activity the day before, and the damp chill in the air that’s settled in behind the storm. On top of that, his head’s pounding so hard he can feel it in his teeth. Hell, he can feel it in his fingers, his toes, his... bladder. “Crap...” Just the prospect of taking on the stairs is enough to make him want to climb under the cushions and hope he suffocates in his sleep. His arm slides away from his eyes when he turns over, and he’s surprised to be blinded by early morning sunlight. If the sun’s up, then...
He snaps bolt upright, wondering how he could possibly have slept through both Jensen’s alarm and the kids stampeding out the door on their way to the bus, heart pounding like he’s the one who’s late for work or school. For a second, it seems like the change in position has amplified his headache, but as it turns out, his head isn’t pounding at all, someone else is.
Scrubbing his hand over his eyes, he levers himself up, staggers into the kitchen. The first thing he sees is the boxes of cereal lined up on the cupboard, peek of plastic bag poking out the corner of the bread box, and what looks like a fresh can of coffee next to the pot along with a full jar of sugar. Jensen’s familiar cup of road tar is half empty beside the carafe. Jared grabs one of the crutches leaning against the wall as his leg gives another throb, braces against it while he fumbles in the cupboard for a clean glass and shakes some Tylenol out of the bottle by the sink. “Jensen?” he asks, hop staggering toward the washroom where the pounding starts up again.
“Yeah.” The voice is muffled, and when Jared reaches the doorway he can see why. Jensen’s just finishing nailing a piece of plywood up over the hole in the wall, still has two or three nails between his lips, barely looks up when Jared’s crutch bangs against the wall on his way out. It’s obvious Jensen spent at least some time out in the weather. His hair looks dry; it’s flattened against his head and glued together in odd anime-hair chunks that might be sexy as hell, except the dark strands make the skin beneath them look pale in contrast. When Jensen glances up, his eyes are bloodshot, lips too red and matched to a splash of color along his cheekbones. The waistband of his jeans and the area around the seams are still pretty well saturated, and his shoes are a darker shade of brown than usual.
“Uh, aren’t you late for work?” Jared’s not sure where that comes from. None of the rambling soliloquies he composed in the dark started with that particular phrase, so he’s pretty much back to winging it. Somehow, Jensen always seems to catch him off balance.
Spitting the remaining nails into his palm, Jensen drags himself up from the crouch with an audible crunch and crack of stiff joints. “Called in a favor. Misha doesn’t have anything lined up for today, so he’s gonna watch the diner for me. Saturdays usually aren’t that busy anyway.”
“Saturday,” Jared notes. It’s the first time he’s realized he has no idea what day of the week it is. “So, the kids aren’t going to miss the bus either. Thank God.”
“See if you still feel that way after spending another whole day with them,” Jensen laughs dryly.
“Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Storm blew a tree across the road about a mile back. Couldn’t get by. I had the chainsaw in the back and started clearing the way, then stayed and helped the road crew finish up. Guess I just got in a couple hours ago. Might’ve fell asleep at the table waiting for the coffee to brew.” He brushes past Jared like he just remembered he needs a caffeine boost. “Take a seat, dude. I’m fixing to make breakfast. Hope you like pancakes.”
“I dunno,” Jared shrugs, “Do I?”
“You like mine,” Jensen smirks into his mug. “Everyone likes mine.” He swirls his coffee and looks at it like he can’t figure out why it isn’t working.
“Y’know, what?” Jared suggests, propping the crutch against the wall and hopping along the counter. “Show me how to make them, and I’ll do it.”
“If I sit, I won’t get back up, and then I’ll have taken the whole day off for nothing.”
“Why did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Take the whole day off?”
Reaching overhead, he pulls a giant mixing bowl out of the cupboard that must weigh about five pound on its own. “Because you’re right. I’ve let things get out of control around here. Gonna take the day and regroup, head back to work tomorrow.”
“You work on Sundays, too?” It’s hard to engage in conversation and take mental notes on how to prepare pancake batter at the same time, but Jared does his best, one eye on the mixing bowl and one on Jensen who looks like he just might need someone to catch him if he starts to keel over. Two cups of flour, two cups of milk, (and whattaya know, the refrigerator looks to be full), two eggs... or was that four? “Crap.” The last bit comes out by accident, but he’s starting to get used to that.
“Crap is right, but yeah, Sundays are usually our busiest day actually. Lot of people like to stay out of the kitchen at least one day a week, which means I get to put in some overtime in mine.” Jensen drops the last egg in like he’s dropping his last quarter into a slot machine that paid out five minutes before he sat down while he was still playing dollar slots. It lands hard enough to create a little crater in the flour, impotent poof of dry ingredients collapsing into the sea of milk. He picks up his coffee cup before the mixing spoon, has to swirl it around to get it back in its liquid state before slugging it down. “Boss doesn’t get a day off.”
“Well, at least on the weekends the kids can help you out, right? Bussing tables or washing dishes?”
“Are you kidding? They don’t do that here.”
“Obviously.” This time he really doesn’t mean to say it out loud, even if someone ought to.
Jensen’s jaw tenses, and Jared might only be imagining the increased vigor with which he’s whipping that batter, but he wouldn’t count on it. “They’re kids.”
“They’re family.”
“They should be able to play and have fun.”
“I dunno, Joey seemed to have plenty of fun helping me with the dinner yesterday.”
Flicking some water onto the griddle to see if it’s hot enough, Jensen doesn’t even flinch when the drops bounce and jump into a cloud of steam. “Sure, what kid doesn’t like to play in the slop?” He nods toward the far cabinet. “Plate.”
Jared drops the plate on the stove top a little harder than necessary, and he’s probably on the verge of saying something out loud that he does mean but shouldn’t when Jake and Joey shuffle in. Jensen glances over his shoulder, “Didja let Indy out?”
“Yeah,” Jake answers, rubbing sleep, or maybe surprise at seeing his big brother in daylight, from his eyes.
“Bathroom’s safe if you need it.” Jared’s not sure what Jensen means by that. It’s not like he doesn’t know where the bathroom is by now.
“I’m good.” Jensen’s not brushing him off that easily.
“Did the diner burn down?” Jake asks, chair scraping the floor as he slides up to the table and waits with his elbows perched on either side of his invisible plate.
“No, smarta... alec,” flip, and shake, and flip and shake, so all the pancakes are turned and even, “I took the day off.”
“Yay! Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese?” Joey runs in and climbs into another chair, then stands on it, plucking a twenty dollar bill out of the wall sconce. “I still got my allowance. And you said you’d take us.”
“I said I’d take you if you were good, and I think we both know that didn’t happen.”
With a pout, “But we helped Jared with dinner yesterday.”
“Yeah, Jensen,” Jared reciprocates, “They helped me with dinner yesterday.”
“No. I told Jason I’d bring the truck over so he could fix the tail light, and I have a lot of work to do around here.”
“What if we help?” This time Jake takes up the thread.
“If I need help backing up the toilet or tearing out a wall, I’ll give you a call.”
“Jen-sen...” Simultaneous begging must work from time to time, because the kids fall into it without even a trade of glances that Jared can see.
“I’ll think about it.” Jared’s known Jensen (or at least remembers knowing him) for less than three days, and he knows a dismissal when he hears it. “Now, get your plates down. I’m about to take off the first batch.”
“Didja get the...” Joey squeaks.
“Yes, I did. Bottom shelf.”
Jared’s almost bowled over as Joey dives between his feet for the cupboard door and comes out holding a jar of pineapple preserves.
“I want choc...”
“Hershey’s is under there, too.” Jensen drops the first plate of six pancakes in the middle of the table as two more clatter down beside it, silverware drawer clanging shut before Jared even sees it open. “And you?” Jensen asks.
“Me what?” Jared’s confused.
“What do you want on your pancakes? I got everything: maple syrup, caro syrup, plain sugar, brown sugar, pineapple, strawberry, banana, chocolate, whipped cream, sprinkles, and chocolate chips.”
“Insulin?” Jared suggests.
Jensen gets it, but he’s not amused, gives Jared a deadpan stare that’s just plain creepy with his eyes as blood shot as they are.
“Um, I don’t know.”
Spooning another batch of pancakes onto the griddle with a ladle, Jensen says, “Try syrup and butter, then. It’s what most people like.”
“Well, then,” Jared grabs the chocolate chips and whipped cream, “I’ll try these. I might not know who I am, but I’m pretty sure I’m not most people.”
“Whatever trips your trigger.”
Jared grabs a plate and starts arranging the chocolate chips on it like he’s preparing a canvas. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I eat last.”
“I want you to sit by me, Jared,” Joey pipes in, and the kid’s obviously having a hard time getting the jar of preserves open, so he sits in the chair indicated.
“Here, lemme get that.”
“What’s this? The New Leave it To Beaver reunion?” Jeremy’s already dressed when he saunters in and takes a pancake off the stack, rolls it up, and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth.
“Jensen’s taking the day off!” Joey says, emptying almost half the jar of preserves onto the plate.
“And if we get the whole place cleaned up today, he’s taking us to Chuck E. Cheese.” Jake pours the chocolate syrup in a puddle on his plate and proceeds to dip a forkful of pancake into it.
“I didn’t say...” Jensen sighs. “I said I’d think about it. D’ya think you can gimme a hand, Jer? Cut the grass, maybe fix Indy’s cage so we don’t have to keep locking him in the bathroom at night?”
“No can do,” Jeremy says, opening the refrigerator door. “I got plans.” He shoves aside three bottles of juice and two gallons of milk, huffs, “What, no Gatorade?”
“I got you the juice you like.”
“Team nutritionist doesn’t want us drinking all that sugar. Gatorade or water only.”
“So, the Big Gulp you drank on the way home yesterday was?”
“Diet soda. No sugar.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jensen jerks his hand away from the stove, having burned it on the griddle, but doesn’t hiss or pay it any more mind than to shake it off and finish flipping the pancakes. “What’re your plans?”
Pouring a glass of milk, “Some of the guys are going to Foot Locker for new shoes, and we get a team discount, so we’re gonna go pick up some new warmup clothes, then probably stop at the Dairy Queen, maybe go over to Gabe’s.”
“Can you at least drop the truck off at Jason’s so he can fix the taillight?”
“They’re already on their way out to pick me up. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“So call them and tell them you’ll meet ‘em in town.”
“I dunno, I think there’s something wrong with my phone. Seems like when I call people to come and get me, they don’t answer, and I end up walking home in the dark.”
Jensen burns himself again, and Jared’s pretty sure a bead of sweat drips off his nose and onto the nearest pancake. “Um, Jeremy, maybe you can stay here and help with the yard, and then Jensen can drop you off at a meetup point with your friends when he takes the truck in. The kids can play at Chuck E. Cheese while it gets fixed.”
“And maybe you can mind your own business.”
Jared looks to Jensen for support, but all he gets is a, “Sit down if you’re gonna eat.”
“Why?" Jeremy grumbles. "Because you said so? Like you decided to turn today into Extreme Makeover: Ackles Home Edition, and we’re all supposed to just drop everything and move that bus. What’s next? We’re gonna shoot hoops out back like we used to?” He grabs another pancake off the fresh stack Jensen’s just taken off the stove before he can even put the plate on the table, rolls it and dunks it in the sugar bowl before scarfing it down. “Who the hell are you trying to impress? Tall, dark, and blank slate over there? Why bother? You spend one day at home and then you’ll be right back to barely putting in an appearance. Your new boy toy’s gonna pick up and leave just like Danni. And we’ll be right back where we started.”
“You’re not leaving, are you, Jared?” Joey practically crawls in his lap to ask.
Jared says the only thing he can think of. “Where would I go?”
Joey shrugs and goes back to eating, but Jake chews a little slower, and when Oscar flies in from the other room and perches on the back of his chair, he takes his time slicing up a banana to feed him, his own pancake seemingly forgotten.
Setting the fresh pancakes down on the table, Jensen pointedly puts one more on everyone’s plates before he picks up the first empty. “Eat up,” and with a long, drawn out sigh, “or no Chuck E. Cheese.”
“Yay!”
Somewhere mid eyeroll, Jeremy’s phone rings, and he excuses himself to the other room. Jensen finishes up making the pancakes and leans against the counter with his coffee cup in hand, not making any effort to sit down and eat for himself. Jared’s about to push the issue, if for no other reason than to break the awkward silence, when Jeremy slouches back in.
“Look, they’ve got Tyler’s car, and it can’t handle the road after the rain, so if you still want me to, I can take the truck in to Jason’s.”
Jensen hands him a plate and a fork. “Thanks.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, then, Joey and Jake, if you’re finished with your pancakes, you can wash your plates and silverware before you get dressed, can’t you?” Jared suggests.
The kids get up without complaint, but Jensen takes their dishes. “I got it.”
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I got it.”
Jared lets it slide and eats his pancakes, which, by the way, he loves. If only he could get Jensen to sit down and eat some, but he can see that’s not gonna happen short of drugging him, tying him to the chair, and then feeding him like a baby.
And that’s not supposed to seem like a good idea, but it does. For a second. Must be the infuriating stubbornness of the man, because being around Jensen is definitely having an effect on Jared. At least, parts of Jared. He sighs and slides his chair further under the table to hide his lap from view.
This is gonna be a long fucking day.
--
The end of the day comes sooner than Jared expects. Not that he has time to realize time’s flying, with it flying and all. Between hobbling from window to window with a bread sack tied around his cast so he can wash the glass while the kids scrub the floor (they have a unique slip and slide technique that involves dumping half the bucket of soap and water out and then skating around with sponges on their feet) rehanging curtains, dusting the stair rail, and discovering why the coats are not in the coat closet by opening the door of said closet and having a good five more loads of laundry and... lawn ornaments... fall out onto the floor, it’s six o’clock before he knows it. He hasn’t seen too much of Jensen, who’s taken on most of the outside cleanup, not the least of which is fixing the back steps where the washing machine took its tumble.
The washing machine is a total loss. It’ll still work, if they leave it outside where it doesn’t matter that it leaks, keep the loads small and a coat hanger ready to trip the cut off switch, but every load is a test of Jared’s patience. If it comes unbalanced, the coat hanger shakes loose, and he comes back expecting to find a finished load and instead finds a tub full of soapy water. At least he gets the detergent/bleach/fabric softener thing figured out, for all the good it does to put fabric softener in clothes that have to hang on a line to dry.
At first he’s annoyed. Something has him gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath. Friggin’ cavemen had more to work with than he has, but then he steps out on the porch, leans against the pole to catch his breath, because hauling that cast around on top of the weight of laundry is hard work. How he ever got all these muscles is beyond him. And he’s torn between sucking wind and wiping the sweat off out of his eyes, when he catches a glimpse of Jensen in the yard with a torn pillowcase tied around his forehead and freckles standing out on the back of his shoulders, pushing that lawnmower through the knee high grass (only in Texas could they get a seventy degree day in mid-January in which to catch up on yard work, and only in the Ackles's backyard could they still have September yard work to do in mid-January) with a steady, determined rhythm like he might actually be working his way out of the rut instead of just polishing the sides. Maybe he’s sympathetic or maybe he’s competitive, but as long as Jensen’s keepin’ on, Jared’s keepin’ on, too. Jared’s on the porch, and Jensen’s in the yard, but he feels like they’re shoulder to shoulder against the same grindstone, and amnesia or none, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like that before. He likes it.
Now, if he could just get Jensen to sit down and talk with him for five minutes. A few days ago, he was fairly convinced that there was no way he and this Ackles dude were ever together in a romantic sense, positive the whole thing was some giant joke at his expense, but now, he believes it. At least, he wants to believe it. More than anything, he wants to remember what he’s forgotten, but if it’s too hard for Jensen to talk about (dude seems to have a history of people falling out of his life and leaving him holding the ball) Jared will have to deal. At least, the view isn’t bad. Too bad he’s so far away.
Jared tries a few times to talk Jensen into coming inside and getting a sandwich or something, but he gets tired of yelling from the top of the porch, which is as far as he can manage to go out before his heart starts to pound in his chest and imaginary birds of prey start to circle overhead. Of all the places to be housebound...
He’s just finished jamming the coat hanger down into the slot on the washing machine to get the last load started when the kids come running out, dressed in the clothes he ruined yesterday.
“We’re ready to go!” Joey says.
Looking around for Jensen, Jared says, “Your rooms are all clean?”
“Yup,” Jake nods. “Indy and Oscar are in their cages, and Aggie’s got food and water.”
“And that’s what you’re going to wear?”
“Everything else is still wet,” Joey shrugs.
“Is Jensen ready to go?”
“He went upstairs half an hour ago after Jason’s hired hands brought the truck back. We thought he was getting ready,” Jake says.
“Huh. Well, here.” He kneels and snags the hem of Joey’s pant leg, gives it a tug to straighten out some of the wrinkles. The bottom two inches tear off at the bleach burn over the ankle. “Oops. Lemme just...” He rolls up the other side, decides it doesn’t look quite right, then tears it along the seam just enough so it’s rolled in front and nearly underfoot in back, just the right amount of denim strings tangling together for fringe. “We’ll call ‘em designer originals. Trust me.” He’s low enough to the ground to hear tummies rumbling. One of them might be his own, but that’s beside the point. “Why don’t you run in the kitchen and get a sandwich, and I’ll go check on Jensen.”
“All right,” and the kids dive into the refrigerator while he hauls himself up the stairs. He’s getting a lot better at it. Has to, with the only bathroom being up there and the front porch no longer a viable option.
“Jensen? Hey! You ‘bout read up there?” When he doesn’t get an answer, he figures he’ll find Jensen in the bathroom, but the door’s yawning open when he gets to the landing. “Jensen?”
He knocks on Jensen’s door, since there’s only a couple of things a guy does behind closed doors that render him unable to speak, and Jared’s had enough awkward moments in the past few days to last a lifetime. As far as ice breakers go, ‘surprise! voyeurism’ wouldn’t be his first choice. Whatever, his and Jensen’s relationship might have been in that vast empty space between Jared’s ears, Jensen seems like the kind who keeps things behind closed doors. Jared could be wrong, but that’s a discussion for another day.
Still no answer from behind the door, so Jared tries the knob, and when the tumblers turn in their mechanism without any resistance, he pushes it open an inch at a time. “Dude, the kids are ready to g...”
Jared stops in his tracks. “Uh, never mind.”
Of course, Jensen doesn’t hear him. Jensen’s passed out in his bed, stripped down to his boxers and one sock still on, drooling into his pillow, which wouldn’t be so bad, except the pillow case is still in the wash. The kids are downstairs, hearts set on going out, but Jared doesn’t have the heart to wake their brother. He slinks out and closes the door, only realizing when he’s half down the stairs that he’s got a huge, stupid grin on his face that he can’t really explain.
Okay, so this isn’t the Warbucks mansion, but maybe Jared’s gonna like it here.
He’s just gotta figure out what to do with the kids for the rest of the night.
--
At first, Jensen thinks it’s his alarm going off. It has to be, since he’s lamented on many an occasion that there is no worse noise in the world, but before he can get past the stage of cursing his luck for having to face another day when he hasn’t quite shrugged off the last one (or seven) and questioning the wisdom of having taken off his shirt to cut the grass, he realizes even his alarm has never sounded that bad. He sits bolt upright, half certain most of his skin will peel off and stay stuck to the mattress. The very fact that it doesn’t tells him he hasn’t been asleep as long as he thought, and though something may still be dying in his living room, it sounds too... ginormous, for lack of a better word, to be one of the kids. So, he slumps back against his (eew) soggy pillow, yanks it out from under his head and flips it over, stares at the ceiling long enough for the world to lose the fuzzy from around the edges.
He’s still got one sock on, and it’s clean by the looks of it, a sure sign he was getting dressed and not undressed when he fell asleep. Why was that again? “Shi... shoot.” He’s supposed to take the kids to Chuck E. Cheese. They’ve been looking forward to it all day. And now it’s after dark, so by the time they get there and get home, he’ll probably have time for about ten winks before his alarm actually does go off. When did REM sleep become a dream in itself?
Rolling off the side of the bed, because he’s pretty sure his legs will fold up and dump him on the floor if he tries to stand anyway, he crawls over to the closet, uses the door to haul himself upright, and then remembers how he got stalled out in a prone position to begin with. “Nothing to wear.” All of his jeans, which amount to about three pairs that the giant pretty boy hasn’t either shredded to fit his own (rock hard) ass into or inadvertently turned into designer originals, are still hanging on the line in some transitional state between soggy/limp and stiff as a... board. No, he was not going to say cock. He hasn’t thought about sex in... at least the five minutes since he woke up.)
“Ow.” The ever-present stiffness in his neck cranks up another notch, more like a sting than the steady throb he’s accustomed to, and he swats at it like a wasp, grimaces as the pain shoots around front to his jaw and collarbone. Nothing four Advil won’t take the edge off, but too familiar to ever really go away. “And I’m much too young to feel this damn old...” Oh yeah, he’s way beyond tired when he bypasses show tunes for old country songs. Anyway, he could stand here all night, and nothing is going to magically appear that’s suitable for wearing out in public. Why the hell he let the kids talk him into games and pizza...
Right about then, the... dying moose... or whatever it is raising Cain in the living room, reaches a whole new level of hideous, just loud enough that he can almost make out the words.
With my haaaaands open.
“And your ears closed by the sound of it.” Seriously, Snow Patrol?
Massaging down his shoulder and deep into his left pec, chasing the elusive (and now shooting) pain, he staggers out into the hallway. The kids’s bedroom doors are standing open when he passes, and whattaya know, the rooms are clean. He suspects Jake’s weapons of mass destruction are most likely stuffed under the bed or into one of the dresser drawers, but the floor is clear, and the bed’s made. Maybe he should try bribery more often. At least, that seems like a good idea until he reaches the landing... and looks down.
At the bottom of the stairs, it looks like an air mattress, every bean bag chair and pillow in the house, the couch cushions, and two kids in torn jeans that look an awful lot like his ankle biters minus the telltale blood and gore, all face a very tall and very... uncoordinated Jared who’s turned away reading the lyrics off the television screen and doing what Jensen can only assume is supposed to be dancing. Between the ‘singing’ and the herky jerky belly-dancer-after-hip-replacement dancing, they’re too busy laughing and carrying on to notice Jensen watching.
“I just keeeeeep hopin’, that your heart opens.”
The kids aren’t without their usual devices of ridicule and torture. Each of them brandishes a ping pong ball gun in one hand and a slab of pizza in the other. Jensen doesn’t want to know where they got the pizza. No one delivers out this far, and Jared wouldn’t know where to go and pick some up even if he had the keys.
Looks like the kids got their pizza and game night without leaving the house. And they’re not the only ones getting a kick out of the improvised arrangement. Watching Jared sing and dance while Jake and Joey peg him in the ass with ping pong balls, never wiping the gaping grin off his face, Jensen’s reminded of the old advertisements for Chuck E. Cheese. Back when it used to be Showbiz pizza, the jingle had been, “Showbiz Pizza, where a kid can be a kid!” He guesses there’s no size limit on what constitutes a kid. If he couldn’t see it himself, he’d never believe this big, goofy... well, kid is the same guy he first saw chained to his Mama’s pocketbook.
And he really wishes he could forget he just went there in his mind, because now he doesn’t know whether he’s really amazed at the transformation or afraid of what Jared will become when he remembers he doesn’t belong here. Because he will remember, and that will probably be the last Jensen sees of that smile on Jared’s face. He can’t really pinpoint what that sinking feeling is in his gut. It must be guilt. There’s no way he misses this Jared already.
Joey picks that moment to realize Jensen’s standing at the top of the stairs. “Jensen! We’re playing Chuck E. Cheese!” Jumping up so the entire air mattress and pillow menagerie jolts and ripples, “See our moon bounce!”
Moon bounce. Of course. Why hadn’t he seen the resemblance? Forcing a tired smile, Jensen starts down the stairs. “That’s awesome.”
“No!” The kids shout simultaneously. “You’re doing it wrong.”
He’s not sure what he could be doing wrong until Jake grabs an empty pizza box and Joey grabs a couch cushion, and they both stampede up the steps toward him.
“You gotta slide down!”
“Like this,” Jake says. He lays the pizza box down flat on the top step and then puts the cushion on top of it, curling the edge of the cardboard up in front to hold onto before laying flat on his stomach. Joey gives him a push, and he starts sliding, ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk, down the stairs like a snake, gaining momentum all the way until he lands on the ‘moon bounce.’
The karaoke soundtrack stops abruptly, and Jared clears his throat, looks up sheepishly from behind the microphone. “Um, I swear, I tried it first to make sure it was safe.” One eyebrow creeps up his forehead so slowly it might be Punxatawney Phil on Ground Hog day.
Jensen sighs and foresees an early spring.
“Yeah, but did you take a running start first?”
“Uh, no,” Jared lifts his casted leg and shrugs.
“Amateur. Did you really think you invented stair sledding?” Jensen holds out his hand so Jake can hand him the ‘sled.’ “Jeremy and I used to do this all the time. We had a scoring system based on speed and degree of difficulty.” Taking several steps back, he arranges the pizza box and the cushion, then step-step, slides across the wood floor, and tips over the edge. Thunk-a, thunk-a, thunk-a, thunk all the way to the bottom, and fuck, he probably weighed a good fifty pounds less the last time he did that. It’s true. The bigger they are, the harder they do fall, and Jensen takes longer than is cool catching his breath around his clenching ribcage. He forces a grin and an eyebrow waggle when he rolls himself over and says, “And the landing pad is a total wuss out. Real men hit the bottom and get friction burns on their faces.”
“Yeah,” Jared scoffs. “We’re gay, remember? No one’s gonna consider us real men no matter how much testosterone we squeeze out of our pores.”
“You have a point. I think.” Jensen coughs by way of segue out of awkward territory and pulls the pizza box out from underneath him. “You got someone to deliver all the way out here?”
“Yeah,” Jared smirks. “Your friend, Misha. He was closing up the diner and called over to talk to you. I mentioned you conked out on our pizza party, and he brought it right over.”
“I didn’t even know he knew where I lived.”
“Duh. It’s called Ackles Rd, isn’t it?”
Jensen chuckles and lets his head fall back, because this moon bounce is really friggin’ cozy. “Well, yeah, there is that.”
“And when I told him I’m your fiance, he said he couldn’t wait to meet me.”
An imaginary needle scratches an imaginary record. Or maybe the half-inflated air mattress farts a little against the hardwood when Jensen flips over suddenly. “Uh, you told him we’re...”
“Engaged? Yeah.” Jared says. “I mean, was I not supposed to?” Jensen must look as pale as he feels. “Oh God, I’m a secret, aren’t I? You’re totally in the closet.” After a pause, “Which would explain why Jeremy didn’t know me...” He meets Jensen’s gaze, this time raising both eyebrows. “Ooops.”
Talk about understatement of the century, but the kids are pleading with their eyes, freckles standing out more than should be possible in this low light, and even if Jensen was the type for caring and sharing moments, which he’s not, now isn’t the time or the place. Instead he grabs the karaoke mike and flops to the front of room, hits random selection on the player, and refrains from rolling his eyes at the irony when the first line of lyrics scrolls across the screen.
“Tim, wish you were born a girl, wish you were born a girl...”
If he can’t hear the music over the pounding of his heart, there’s no way he can sing worse than Jared, so it’s all good, until the first ping pong ball hits him square in the front of his boxers.
And then it’s on.
--
Unfortunately, the next time Jensen wakes up, it is his alarm going off, and after spending half the night alternating bouts of karaoke in his boxers with tag team wrestling matches turned tickle monster attacks, he’s no more rested after his day off than he was when he slunk in the night/morning before. There’s a terrible moment when a cold draft ghosts over his... extreme upper thigh, and he’s afraid he had a wet dream, which mostly sucks because A)he doesn’t remember the fucking dream, and B) if the pins and needles in his arm are any indicator, he’s not sleeping alone.
Sitting up with a start, he finds a half empty water pistol resting against his leg and vaguely remembers running out of ping pong balls while Jared was serenading them with “Tomorrow” from Jensen’s show tunes collection. True, he’s not sleeping alone, but he’s pretty sure crashing out under a pile of couch cushions and little kids is not one of his erotic fantasies, so most likely, everyone just passed out where they laid when the pizza and soda ran out. Jake’s sandwiched between Jensen and Jared, and on top of Jensen’s arm, and Joey’s on the other side of Jared with her head in his armpit and her thumb in her mouth. She’s mostly stopped the thumb sucking while she’s awake, but she still does it in her sleep. The doctor says it’s not an issue unless her teeth start coming in crooked. Jared should just be thankful she’s stopped wetting the bed.
Jensen should really get up and turn off that alarm, but it’s not easy extracting himself from the warm, cozy nest without waking everyone else up as well. He’s not worried about the alarm waking them, since they all seem to have built brain filters against it over the years. He lays there as long as he possibly can, feeling the aches and pains come awake faster than his mental ability to squash them back down. Most of them are like old friends by now, the kind who borrow money and never pay it back, but old friends just the same. There’s one he doesn’t recognize right away, a heaviness across his shins and a tickle on his toes he can’t place. A squinted glance down his body to his feet reveals Jared’s casted leg sprawled across his shin bone, the bare toes of his foot resting against the top of Jensen’s.
Jensen flexes his foot so their toes brush against each other. And maybe he does it again. No reason, except the warm touch does wonders to make the ache in his calves subside. It’s probably just the increased circulation from the movement, nothing at all to do with touching Jared’s bare skin.
“Oh, God, you’re not playing footsie with him are you? There’s kids in the bed for Christ’s sake.” Jeremy leans over him from the bottom step, body upside down from this perspective, and fully clothed, a sure indicator that he just got in. There was a time the two of them would’ve been sneaking around together and been each other’s alibis, just the kind of thing brothers do, but now, Jensen knows he’s supposed to be the parent. Jeremy’s not the only one who’s pissed about that.
“Since you’re up, why don’t you come on down to the diner and help me out. It’s inventory day.” In his experience, it’s easier to make a punishment stick by not actually bringing up the discretion that warrants it. Nothing makes Jeremy dig his heels in faster than pulling the parent card on him.
“In your dreams, Casanova.”
Of course, in his experience, he didn’t get himself caught playing footsie with a really big gay boy with a mental deficit, and therefore, had never given Jeremy any leverage to use against him in retaliation. He’s too tired to argue. A couple more years, and Jeremy’s going to graduate, probably get a basketball scholarship or a federal grant and go to school... likely never come back.
More power to him. At least one of the Ackles boys should get to have a life.
“Whatever. At least give me a hand getting up.” He gets to listen to the stairs creaking and a bedroom door closing. “Good morning, sunshine,” he grumbles, voice thick with sarcasm.
“My only sunshine, you make me haaaaaap-pyyyy,... oh shit, I really gotta pee,” Jared groans.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Good thing you did... unless we’re into water sports, in which case, too bad we’re not alone.”
Whoops. Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!
Jensen has more energy than he thought and uses all of it to lurch off the floor, is practically in the kitchen before he’s steady enough on his feet to actually constitute standing. He leans on the door frame to catch his breath and doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed that Jared heads for the bathroom instead of following him.
--
Jared can’t believe he just said that. He bangs his head on the wall above the toilet right next to the basket of fake flowers that’s somehow managed to stay intact without the woman’s touch that most likely hung it there in the first place. What kind of freak brings up kinky sex to a guy who more or less just admitted he’s barely out of the closet and while sandwiched between the guy’s kids? He blames it on lack of sleep and all the brain cells he knows he must have ruptured from laughing so hard the night before.
But still. He really needs a filter between his brain and his mouth. What kind of life did he have that he seems not to have one?
And things were going so well. His jaw aches, and since there was no alcohol at their little pizza party, he can only assume he slept with that stupid smile on his face. He likes it here. He actually likes it. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something here he obviously needs. Maybe it’s family. If he had anyone else, he wouldn’t be here, right? How long has he been alone? Did he ever have anyone?
Then, there’s Jensen. Sure, the guy makes him sleep on the couch. And he’s never home. And he’s got... issues. Parenting issues, career issues, sexuality issues. Seriously, it’s no surprise the place was trashed when Jared moved in. In his, experience, which admittedly he doesn’t remember, but which feels vast on this point, the outside usually reflects the inside.
But last night... and then this morning. His leg didn’t end up draped over Jensen by accident. Stupid cast. Nothing but his toes could touch. Stupid toes. Must be more sensitive from being stuck out the end of the cast, because wow, direct line of communication to other appendages. The line about having to pee was really only a half truth.
“Fuck.”
He’s really glad the ferret cage isn’t in the bathroom anymore. He doesn’t think he’s into furry voyeurism. He is a little concerned that he knows what furry voyeurism is.
That doesn’t stop him from getting off in about thirty seconds. From the looks of it, it’s been awhile, hits him like a smack across the... ass. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“What?” Jensen’s voice is muffled through the door but might as well be right in Jared’s ear. If he tucked himself away any faster, it’s quite possible he’d need a cast for that, too.
“Uh, nothing. Sorry, talking to myself again,” Jared chokes out. “I’ll be right out.” He’s really, really gotta put a padlock on his mouth, or at least, install a roadblock between his brain and his lips.
He knows he’s still flushed when he brushes past Jensen in the hallway, but he’s not really ashamed. Funny, for all the things he says without meaning to, the things he wants to say don’t even form completely in his head. He has to rely on body language for those. He just hopes Jensen’s looking.
--
Jensen’s slow making his way back down to the kitchen. Not only was Jared noticeably flushed when he came out of the bathroom a bit ago, but due to their recent housecleaning binge, there really was no mistaking the smell. Okay, it’s musk. He knows the word. It’s just a word he’d never use. If he could think of some other way to describe the odor of spunk in the morning, he would. It’s not that Jensen really thinks much of the fact that Jared’s been in the bathroom jerking off. Gay guys are still guys, and morning wood is a universal male... condition. But he can’t really explain how he wasn’t planning on doing anything other than hitting the head and taking a shower until he actually shut the door, and then ended up touching himself in the shower. Again, nothing abnormal about it, but usually, he’s well aware if that’s on the agenda before he steps into the shower. The urge has never just struck him out of the blue before.
The only thing that’s changed is Jared.
And Jared’s down in the kitchen waiting for him. Jensen doesn’t know what to say that’s not going to come out sounding like pillow talk, and he’s always sucked at pillow talk.
He doesn’t meet Jared’s gaze when Jared hands him his cup of sludge.
“Guess there’s no convincing you to take today off, too,” Jared says.
“Not a chance.” Jensen takes a swig off his mug, and if he was hungry, the concentrated caffeine takes care of that almost immediately. “Chris gives me a ride in on weekends so the kids have the truck in case of emergency. He should be here any minute.”
“You look like shit.”
“We can’t all be pretty boys like you.” Shit. He just called Jared pretty. That doesn’t mean he’s attracted to him, though. It’s just... an observation.
“Greater truth was never spoken.” Jared leans on the counter beside him, bumps their elbows together. “Look, don’t worry about us. I think I’ve got the kids figured out.”
If the coffee is bitter and burns on the way down, it’s three times as bad trying to come out his nose. “Oh, you do.”
“I think so, yeah.”
“This I gotta hear.”
Jared shrugs. “Okay, well, I think Jeremy has issues with having been your peer and partner in crime for most of his life and suddenly having you in a position of power over him. He misses his brother and his parents both.” Jensen doesn’t say anything, just nods into his coffee. “And Jake just needs someone to be around. He doesn’t want to be Joey’s babysitter. He wants people to pay attention to him the way he used to get attention when there were more people and more time.”
“Uh-huh, and Joey?”
“Needs a mother.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“I thought I did when I proposed.”
Jensen clears his throat. “You don’t remember that. How do you know that’s what you were thinking?”
“I don’t. But it’s what I’m thinking now.”
Suddenly, Jensen’s throat constricts so tight he can’t even squeeze coffee down, and the part of his arm that’s touching Jared prickles like a hundred tree caterpillars have tented around it. The coughing fit hits hard when the coffee tries to take an alternate route down his trachea, and he finds himself bent over the sink with Jared patting his back while tears tickle the corners of his eyes. “I... I gotta go,” he gurgles, “I’m gonna be late.” But when he turns around, Jared doesn’t step back. Instead, broad thumbs brush the streaks off his cheeks, and the hand that was on his back settles on Jensen’s hip, the other tips his head up so he’s looking into Jared’s eyes instead down at the divot in his throat.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Jensen.”
The kiss catches him by surprise. Jensen only knows it’s coming when Jared’s eyes sink shut. It’s dry, just lips against the corner of Jensen’s mouth and, then, firmer, closer to the center so Jensen has to either back away or tilt his head to keep from banging noses.
He tilts his head.
And then the coffee scratches up his windpipe and forces them apart in another coughing fit right before Chris flashes his lights and bloops the siren to let Jensen know he’s there.
“’ts okay,” is all Jensen can squeak out before he pats Jared on the shoulder and heads out the door.
His hands are still shaking when he slides into the patrol. His lips still tingle, and if he’s still coughing, it’s because he’s choking on his heart.
“You all right?” Chris asks, casting him a sidelong gaze as he shifts into gear.
“Yeah,” Jensen lies. “Great.”
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“So, you hittin’ it yet?”
“Your wife pregnant yet?”
By the time they get into town, more silence has passed between them than they’ve accumulated in their lifetime ‘til now.
--
Jensen’s hand hovers over the latch to the back door. He’s usually glad when Misha comes in to give him a hand, especially on Sundays when the inventory needs to be rotated to make room for the Monday deliveries, and everyone and their mother wants to go out for breakfast, but today, the sight of the catering van parked behind the building makes him feel like he’s going to face the Grand Inquisitioner instead of just going to work. Chris is going to die a bloody death for getting him into this mess.
He doesn’t realize how sweaty his palms are until his hand slips off the door handle once, and then twice. On the third attempt, it turns under his fingers and opens from the inside.
“Ah, there you are.” Misha wraps an arm around his shoulder and whisks him inside before he can say ‘g’morning.’
“Uh, hey.”
“Yeah, I’m early, I know,” Misha says, already pushing bun trays out of the way to get to the flour sacks. Biscuits to be mixed and baked before the breakfast crowd gets in. Always a multi-tasker, that Misha. “I thought I’d get a head start on things before you came in. Heard you were pretty tired.”
And there it is. The door’s open. Jensen can step through on his own terms or wait for Misha to put ‘Jensen Loves Jared’ on the daily specials board. He should’ve planned for this. Really, did he expect no one would find out about Jared? It’s not like he can tell them the truth. What kind of douchebag takes advantage of a guy with amnesia and uses him to do housework and babysit? Sure, it wasn’t his idea, but he doesn’t expect anyone will be amused.
Least of all Jared.
“Yeah, about that. Thanks for bringing the pizza. Jared... he’s... (not really my boyfriend, I only just met him, and I’m not even gay, except Danni thought I was, and Chris thinks I am, and even my own brother seems to buy it, but we’re really not together, not like that) spoiling the kids.”
“You, too, I’ll bet,” Misha smirks.
(No, actually, he ruined half our clothes, the washing machine, and the backdoor, and he eats a lot. He made me play footsie with him against my will and then kissed me, and I don’t think my heart’s ever gonna stop pounding.)
“I guess,” and he’s actually fucking blushing... or stroking out, one or the other. If any more heat comes off of him, they won’t even have to turn on the oven to brown the biscuits.
Misha looks up at him sideways. “Love looks good on you, kid. I haven’t seen that much color in your cheeks since your last play, and that was just stage makeup.”
“I wouldn’t call it... (love. Sure, he’s a good guy, and I like him a lot more than I did when I first met him, and if I was gay, which I’m not, I’m sure I might even be attracted, okay, find him smoking hot and want to rush back home right this minute and kiss him again, but even then, I wouldn’t call it)... thanks.”
The next thing Jensen knows, Misha’s knocking the flour off his hands into his apron, chasing a tiny dust devil across the stainless steel countertop. “C’mere dumbass,” and Misha’s a lot stronger than he looks when he pulls Jensen into a hug, clapping him on the back. “I don’t know why you felt like you had to keep this a secret. I mean, I was a little taken aback, but from what I can tell, Jared’s a great guy.”
“So, it doesn’t bother you that I’m (pretending to be, because Chris got me into it and I don’t know how to get out without hurting a lot of people who deserve a whole lot better, but not really, because I’m totally into girls)...?”
“Gay?” Misha finishes with a shrug, going back to pounding the biscuit dough. “I always assumed you were at least bi. And why would it bother me?”
Huh. Well. How does he answer that without sounding like a total dick? And who else has always assumed he’s into guys? Has Misha told anyone? Should Jensen? How does he even go about coming out of a closet he didn’t even know he was in? Not everyone’s going to be as cool as Misha, are they? And what if they stop coming into the diner? He’s barely breaking even, now, and that was before he had an extra mouth to feed and clothes to replace, and needed a new washing machine, and...
The bell over the front door rings, and he knows Harry’s sliding up to the counter with his wadded up five dollar bill, looking forward to his eggs, sunny side up, with extra toast to dip in the yolks, and coffee, which... “Shit.” He hasn’t even put on yet. And this is why he works best alone. No distractions to throw him off schedule. His pulse speeds up by several beats per minute as he realizes they’re open for business and he hasn’t even been to the front to turn the grill on yet.
“Coming... Harry,” he calls. He can’t figure out why he has to pause between words to catch his breath. And then he can’t figure out why he can’t catch his breath. The hand that’s been absently rubbing at his chest for days shrugs off its subtlety, and it’s possible one of the seams of his t-shirt pops a few stitches when he grabs at the collar and pulls.
When Misha says, “Relax, I got everything under control,” it’s through a fog, like an electrical storm between Jensen’s ears that’s clouding the edges of his vision. “Jensen? Jensen, hey!”
He’d thought the ache in his neck and shoulder was keeping itself down to a dull roar for a change. Only now he realizes it’s just been muted by the pounding in his ears that started, oh, about the time he woke up this morning. Suddenly, everything throbs at once, and his chest seizes up, feels like it’s squeezing so tight all the blood in his body is shunted into his head. Between not being able to breathe and not being able to hear or see, he’s aware he’s about to pass out about the time his knees hit the floor.
“Jensen!”
And that’s all she wrote.
TBC
A/N: All right, who was surprised to find out that Joey's a girl? That slight deception was done on purpose. Sorry. If it helps, Jared hasn't figure it out yet, either.
Part Five
A/N: Lyrics used in this section are borrowed from Snow Patrol and Of Montreal and are used without permission.
A/N2: There's a part in here that's likely to cause some confusion, a bit of information we left deliberately ambiguous. There were subtle clues, but no, you really aren't supposed to figure it out until now. Sorry about that.
“The good news is, it still works. I swear!”
Jensen assumes he’s talking about the washing machine, which is nowhere to be seen. Judging from the extra-wide doorway onto the back porch and the busted PVC piping hanging out of the wall where the water lines used to be, he surmises it’s walked itself outside. Again.
“I mean, the lid came unattached when it went over the porch, but um, after I figured out how to turn off the water and stop the flooding, I put a coat hanger in the little slot, so it thinks the lid is closed. Add one garden hose and one extension cord, and voila, outdoor washing machine. You’ll never have to water the lawn again.” This laughter is definitely all hysterical. Jensen knows the feeling.
Jensen surveys the damage for a good two minutes in complete silence. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Seems like he should feel something. Last time this happened, he flew off the handle so hard the kids wouldn’t come out of their rooms for dinner. He should be surprised or horrified, pissed off or panicked. There’s not even a back door on his house anymore. Anything can come in, and out here, there’s a lot of anythings he’d really prefer to keep out. The whole washroom needs to be re-plumbed, and the pot of milk macaroni’s just sitting there getting colder by the second. All that, and there’s really only one thing he can do anything about, so he picks up the pot, finds the spoon still inside it, takes a few thoughtful bites, and hey, silver lining, it’s really not that bad. “Could use some onion,” he suggests. Then he turns off the light and goes back into the kitchen.
“I’m really, really so...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jensen says, his feet heavy as the pot clatters onto the stove. “That thing was an accident waiting to happen. I should’ve bolted it down after the last time. Listen.” He turns, claps Jared on the shoulder without looking him in the eye. “Thanks for getting the kids off to school and for doing the laundry, making dinner. I’mma... I’ve got some things I forgot to do in town. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“So, what? You’re leaving?” Jared grasps him by the arm, but Jensen lifts it out of the grip before he can get a good hold and grabs his keys off the counter. “You’re just gonna go out and leave us all sitting here?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not...” Jared crosses his arms, shifts over his feet, forgetting his cast and almost tipping before his shoulder hits the refrigerator. “I’m not worried. I’m... You’re never here!”
By then Jensen’s on the front porch, screen door slamming behind him. “Believe me. I never leave.” When he hits the bottom step, he adds, “Never.”
--
Jared has every intention of waiting up for Jensen to get home, spends the hours after getting the kids to bed staring at the ceiling and composing monologues in his head that waver between outraged condemnation and petulant pleas for forgiveness, promises to do better and try harder, even though he can’t think of anything harder than what he’s already been through. But somewhere between the thunderstorm rolling in and the rain pelting against the windows so hard he can’t hear himself think let alone the arrival or nonarrival of Jensen’s truck, the day crushes in on him until he can’t keep his eyes open.
He wakes to a steady throb, throb, throb in his broken leg, probably due to a combination of too much activity the day before, and the damp chill in the air that’s settled in behind the storm. On top of that, his head’s pounding so hard he can feel it in his teeth. Hell, he can feel it in his fingers, his toes, his... bladder. “Crap...” Just the prospect of taking on the stairs is enough to make him want to climb under the cushions and hope he suffocates in his sleep. His arm slides away from his eyes when he turns over, and he’s surprised to be blinded by early morning sunlight. If the sun’s up, then...
He snaps bolt upright, wondering how he could possibly have slept through both Jensen’s alarm and the kids stampeding out the door on their way to the bus, heart pounding like he’s the one who’s late for work or school. For a second, it seems like the change in position has amplified his headache, but as it turns out, his head isn’t pounding at all, someone else is.
Scrubbing his hand over his eyes, he levers himself up, staggers into the kitchen. The first thing he sees is the boxes of cereal lined up on the cupboard, peek of plastic bag poking out the corner of the bread box, and what looks like a fresh can of coffee next to the pot along with a full jar of sugar. Jensen’s familiar cup of road tar is half empty beside the carafe. Jared grabs one of the crutches leaning against the wall as his leg gives another throb, braces against it while he fumbles in the cupboard for a clean glass and shakes some Tylenol out of the bottle by the sink. “Jensen?” he asks, hop staggering toward the washroom where the pounding starts up again.
“Yeah.” The voice is muffled, and when Jared reaches the doorway he can see why. Jensen’s just finishing nailing a piece of plywood up over the hole in the wall, still has two or three nails between his lips, barely looks up when Jared’s crutch bangs against the wall on his way out. It’s obvious Jensen spent at least some time out in the weather. His hair looks dry; it’s flattened against his head and glued together in odd anime-hair chunks that might be sexy as hell, except the dark strands make the skin beneath them look pale in contrast. When Jensen glances up, his eyes are bloodshot, lips too red and matched to a splash of color along his cheekbones. The waistband of his jeans and the area around the seams are still pretty well saturated, and his shoes are a darker shade of brown than usual.
“Uh, aren’t you late for work?” Jared’s not sure where that comes from. None of the rambling soliloquies he composed in the dark started with that particular phrase, so he’s pretty much back to winging it. Somehow, Jensen always seems to catch him off balance.
Spitting the remaining nails into his palm, Jensen drags himself up from the crouch with an audible crunch and crack of stiff joints. “Called in a favor. Misha doesn’t have anything lined up for today, so he’s gonna watch the diner for me. Saturdays usually aren’t that busy anyway.”
“Saturday,” Jared notes. It’s the first time he’s realized he has no idea what day of the week it is. “So, the kids aren’t going to miss the bus either. Thank God.”
“See if you still feel that way after spending another whole day with them,” Jensen laughs dryly.
“Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Storm blew a tree across the road about a mile back. Couldn’t get by. I had the chainsaw in the back and started clearing the way, then stayed and helped the road crew finish up. Guess I just got in a couple hours ago. Might’ve fell asleep at the table waiting for the coffee to brew.” He brushes past Jared like he just remembered he needs a caffeine boost. “Take a seat, dude. I’m fixing to make breakfast. Hope you like pancakes.”
“I dunno,” Jared shrugs, “Do I?”
“You like mine,” Jensen smirks into his mug. “Everyone likes mine.” He swirls his coffee and looks at it like he can’t figure out why it isn’t working.
“Y’know, what?” Jared suggests, propping the crutch against the wall and hopping along the counter. “Show me how to make them, and I’ll do it.”
“If I sit, I won’t get back up, and then I’ll have taken the whole day off for nothing.”
“Why did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Take the whole day off?”
Reaching overhead, he pulls a giant mixing bowl out of the cupboard that must weigh about five pound on its own. “Because you’re right. I’ve let things get out of control around here. Gonna take the day and regroup, head back to work tomorrow.”
“You work on Sundays, too?” It’s hard to engage in conversation and take mental notes on how to prepare pancake batter at the same time, but Jared does his best, one eye on the mixing bowl and one on Jensen who looks like he just might need someone to catch him if he starts to keel over. Two cups of flour, two cups of milk, (and whattaya know, the refrigerator looks to be full), two eggs... or was that four? “Crap.” The last bit comes out by accident, but he’s starting to get used to that.
“Crap is right, but yeah, Sundays are usually our busiest day actually. Lot of people like to stay out of the kitchen at least one day a week, which means I get to put in some overtime in mine.” Jensen drops the last egg in like he’s dropping his last quarter into a slot machine that paid out five minutes before he sat down while he was still playing dollar slots. It lands hard enough to create a little crater in the flour, impotent poof of dry ingredients collapsing into the sea of milk. He picks up his coffee cup before the mixing spoon, has to swirl it around to get it back in its liquid state before slugging it down. “Boss doesn’t get a day off.”
“Well, at least on the weekends the kids can help you out, right? Bussing tables or washing dishes?”
“Are you kidding? They don’t do that here.”
“Obviously.” This time he really doesn’t mean to say it out loud, even if someone ought to.
Jensen’s jaw tenses, and Jared might only be imagining the increased vigor with which he’s whipping that batter, but he wouldn’t count on it. “They’re kids.”
“They’re family.”
“They should be able to play and have fun.”
“I dunno, Joey seemed to have plenty of fun helping me with the dinner yesterday.”
Flicking some water onto the griddle to see if it’s hot enough, Jensen doesn’t even flinch when the drops bounce and jump into a cloud of steam. “Sure, what kid doesn’t like to play in the slop?” He nods toward the far cabinet. “Plate.”
Jared drops the plate on the stove top a little harder than necessary, and he’s probably on the verge of saying something out loud that he does mean but shouldn’t when Jake and Joey shuffle in. Jensen glances over his shoulder, “Didja let Indy out?”
“Yeah,” Jake answers, rubbing sleep, or maybe surprise at seeing his big brother in daylight, from his eyes.
“Bathroom’s safe if you need it.” Jared’s not sure what Jensen means by that. It’s not like he doesn’t know where the bathroom is by now.
“I’m good.” Jensen’s not brushing him off that easily.
“Did the diner burn down?” Jake asks, chair scraping the floor as he slides up to the table and waits with his elbows perched on either side of his invisible plate.
“No, smarta... alec,” flip, and shake, and flip and shake, so all the pancakes are turned and even, “I took the day off.”
“Yay! Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese?” Joey runs in and climbs into another chair, then stands on it, plucking a twenty dollar bill out of the wall sconce. “I still got my allowance. And you said you’d take us.”
“I said I’d take you if you were good, and I think we both know that didn’t happen.”
With a pout, “But we helped Jared with dinner yesterday.”
“Yeah, Jensen,” Jared reciprocates, “They helped me with dinner yesterday.”
“No. I told Jason I’d bring the truck over so he could fix the tail light, and I have a lot of work to do around here.”
“What if we help?” This time Jake takes up the thread.
“If I need help backing up the toilet or tearing out a wall, I’ll give you a call.”
“Jen-sen...” Simultaneous begging must work from time to time, because the kids fall into it without even a trade of glances that Jared can see.
“I’ll think about it.” Jared’s known Jensen (or at least remembers knowing him) for less than three days, and he knows a dismissal when he hears it. “Now, get your plates down. I’m about to take off the first batch.”
“Didja get the...” Joey squeaks.
“Yes, I did. Bottom shelf.”
Jared’s almost bowled over as Joey dives between his feet for the cupboard door and comes out holding a jar of pineapple preserves.
“I want choc...”
“Hershey’s is under there, too.” Jensen drops the first plate of six pancakes in the middle of the table as two more clatter down beside it, silverware drawer clanging shut before Jared even sees it open. “And you?” Jensen asks.
“Me what?” Jared’s confused.
“What do you want on your pancakes? I got everything: maple syrup, caro syrup, plain sugar, brown sugar, pineapple, strawberry, banana, chocolate, whipped cream, sprinkles, and chocolate chips.”
“Insulin?” Jared suggests.
Jensen gets it, but he’s not amused, gives Jared a deadpan stare that’s just plain creepy with his eyes as blood shot as they are.
“Um, I don’t know.”
Spooning another batch of pancakes onto the griddle with a ladle, Jensen says, “Try syrup and butter, then. It’s what most people like.”
“Well, then,” Jared grabs the chocolate chips and whipped cream, “I’ll try these. I might not know who I am, but I’m pretty sure I’m not most people.”
“Whatever trips your trigger.”
Jared grabs a plate and starts arranging the chocolate chips on it like he’s preparing a canvas. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I eat last.”
“I want you to sit by me, Jared,” Joey pipes in, and the kid’s obviously having a hard time getting the jar of preserves open, so he sits in the chair indicated.
“Here, lemme get that.”
“What’s this? The New Leave it To Beaver reunion?” Jeremy’s already dressed when he saunters in and takes a pancake off the stack, rolls it up, and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth.
“Jensen’s taking the day off!” Joey says, emptying almost half the jar of preserves onto the plate.
“And if we get the whole place cleaned up today, he’s taking us to Chuck E. Cheese.” Jake pours the chocolate syrup in a puddle on his plate and proceeds to dip a forkful of pancake into it.
“I didn’t say...” Jensen sighs. “I said I’d think about it. D’ya think you can gimme a hand, Jer? Cut the grass, maybe fix Indy’s cage so we don’t have to keep locking him in the bathroom at night?”
“No can do,” Jeremy says, opening the refrigerator door. “I got plans.” He shoves aside three bottles of juice and two gallons of milk, huffs, “What, no Gatorade?”
“I got you the juice you like.”
“Team nutritionist doesn’t want us drinking all that sugar. Gatorade or water only.”
“So, the Big Gulp you drank on the way home yesterday was?”
“Diet soda. No sugar.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jensen jerks his hand away from the stove, having burned it on the griddle, but doesn’t hiss or pay it any more mind than to shake it off and finish flipping the pancakes. “What’re your plans?”
Pouring a glass of milk, “Some of the guys are going to Foot Locker for new shoes, and we get a team discount, so we’re gonna go pick up some new warmup clothes, then probably stop at the Dairy Queen, maybe go over to Gabe’s.”
“Can you at least drop the truck off at Jason’s so he can fix the taillight?”
“They’re already on their way out to pick me up. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“So call them and tell them you’ll meet ‘em in town.”
“I dunno, I think there’s something wrong with my phone. Seems like when I call people to come and get me, they don’t answer, and I end up walking home in the dark.”
Jensen burns himself again, and Jared’s pretty sure a bead of sweat drips off his nose and onto the nearest pancake. “Um, Jeremy, maybe you can stay here and help with the yard, and then Jensen can drop you off at a meetup point with your friends when he takes the truck in. The kids can play at Chuck E. Cheese while it gets fixed.”
“And maybe you can mind your own business.”
Jared looks to Jensen for support, but all he gets is a, “Sit down if you’re gonna eat.”
“Why?" Jeremy grumbles. "Because you said so? Like you decided to turn today into Extreme Makeover: Ackles Home Edition, and we’re all supposed to just drop everything and move that bus. What’s next? We’re gonna shoot hoops out back like we used to?” He grabs another pancake off the fresh stack Jensen’s just taken off the stove before he can even put the plate on the table, rolls it and dunks it in the sugar bowl before scarfing it down. “Who the hell are you trying to impress? Tall, dark, and blank slate over there? Why bother? You spend one day at home and then you’ll be right back to barely putting in an appearance. Your new boy toy’s gonna pick up and leave just like Danni. And we’ll be right back where we started.”
“You’re not leaving, are you, Jared?” Joey practically crawls in his lap to ask.
Jared says the only thing he can think of. “Where would I go?”
Joey shrugs and goes back to eating, but Jake chews a little slower, and when Oscar flies in from the other room and perches on the back of his chair, he takes his time slicing up a banana to feed him, his own pancake seemingly forgotten.
Setting the fresh pancakes down on the table, Jensen pointedly puts one more on everyone’s plates before he picks up the first empty. “Eat up,” and with a long, drawn out sigh, “or no Chuck E. Cheese.”
“Yay!”
Somewhere mid eyeroll, Jeremy’s phone rings, and he excuses himself to the other room. Jensen finishes up making the pancakes and leans against the counter with his coffee cup in hand, not making any effort to sit down and eat for himself. Jared’s about to push the issue, if for no other reason than to break the awkward silence, when Jeremy slouches back in.
“Look, they’ve got Tyler’s car, and it can’t handle the road after the rain, so if you still want me to, I can take the truck in to Jason’s.”
Jensen hands him a plate and a fork. “Thanks.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, then, Joey and Jake, if you’re finished with your pancakes, you can wash your plates and silverware before you get dressed, can’t you?” Jared suggests.
The kids get up without complaint, but Jensen takes their dishes. “I got it.”
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I got it.”
Jared lets it slide and eats his pancakes, which, by the way, he loves. If only he could get Jensen to sit down and eat some, but he can see that’s not gonna happen short of drugging him, tying him to the chair, and then feeding him like a baby.
And that’s not supposed to seem like a good idea, but it does. For a second. Must be the infuriating stubbornness of the man, because being around Jensen is definitely having an effect on Jared. At least, parts of Jared. He sighs and slides his chair further under the table to hide his lap from view.
This is gonna be a long fucking day.
--
The end of the day comes sooner than Jared expects. Not that he has time to realize time’s flying, with it flying and all. Between hobbling from window to window with a bread sack tied around his cast so he can wash the glass while the kids scrub the floor (they have a unique slip and slide technique that involves dumping half the bucket of soap and water out and then skating around with sponges on their feet) rehanging curtains, dusting the stair rail, and discovering why the coats are not in the coat closet by opening the door of said closet and having a good five more loads of laundry and... lawn ornaments... fall out onto the floor, it’s six o’clock before he knows it. He hasn’t seen too much of Jensen, who’s taken on most of the outside cleanup, not the least of which is fixing the back steps where the washing machine took its tumble.
The washing machine is a total loss. It’ll still work, if they leave it outside where it doesn’t matter that it leaks, keep the loads small and a coat hanger ready to trip the cut off switch, but every load is a test of Jared’s patience. If it comes unbalanced, the coat hanger shakes loose, and he comes back expecting to find a finished load and instead finds a tub full of soapy water. At least he gets the detergent/bleach/fabric softener thing figured out, for all the good it does to put fabric softener in clothes that have to hang on a line to dry.
At first he’s annoyed. Something has him gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath. Friggin’ cavemen had more to work with than he has, but then he steps out on the porch, leans against the pole to catch his breath, because hauling that cast around on top of the weight of laundry is hard work. How he ever got all these muscles is beyond him. And he’s torn between sucking wind and wiping the sweat off out of his eyes, when he catches a glimpse of Jensen in the yard with a torn pillowcase tied around his forehead and freckles standing out on the back of his shoulders, pushing that lawnmower through the knee high grass (only in Texas could they get a seventy degree day in mid-January in which to catch up on yard work, and only in the Ackles's backyard could they still have September yard work to do in mid-January) with a steady, determined rhythm like he might actually be working his way out of the rut instead of just polishing the sides. Maybe he’s sympathetic or maybe he’s competitive, but as long as Jensen’s keepin’ on, Jared’s keepin’ on, too. Jared’s on the porch, and Jensen’s in the yard, but he feels like they’re shoulder to shoulder against the same grindstone, and amnesia or none, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like that before. He likes it.
Now, if he could just get Jensen to sit down and talk with him for five minutes. A few days ago, he was fairly convinced that there was no way he and this Ackles dude were ever together in a romantic sense, positive the whole thing was some giant joke at his expense, but now, he believes it. At least, he wants to believe it. More than anything, he wants to remember what he’s forgotten, but if it’s too hard for Jensen to talk about (dude seems to have a history of people falling out of his life and leaving him holding the ball) Jared will have to deal. At least, the view isn’t bad. Too bad he’s so far away.
Jared tries a few times to talk Jensen into coming inside and getting a sandwich or something, but he gets tired of yelling from the top of the porch, which is as far as he can manage to go out before his heart starts to pound in his chest and imaginary birds of prey start to circle overhead. Of all the places to be housebound...
He’s just finished jamming the coat hanger down into the slot on the washing machine to get the last load started when the kids come running out, dressed in the clothes he ruined yesterday.
“We’re ready to go!” Joey says.
Looking around for Jensen, Jared says, “Your rooms are all clean?”
“Yup,” Jake nods. “Indy and Oscar are in their cages, and Aggie’s got food and water.”
“And that’s what you’re going to wear?”
“Everything else is still wet,” Joey shrugs.
“Is Jensen ready to go?”
“He went upstairs half an hour ago after Jason’s hired hands brought the truck back. We thought he was getting ready,” Jake says.
“Huh. Well, here.” He kneels and snags the hem of Joey’s pant leg, gives it a tug to straighten out some of the wrinkles. The bottom two inches tear off at the bleach burn over the ankle. “Oops. Lemme just...” He rolls up the other side, decides it doesn’t look quite right, then tears it along the seam just enough so it’s rolled in front and nearly underfoot in back, just the right amount of denim strings tangling together for fringe. “We’ll call ‘em designer originals. Trust me.” He’s low enough to the ground to hear tummies rumbling. One of them might be his own, but that’s beside the point. “Why don’t you run in the kitchen and get a sandwich, and I’ll go check on Jensen.”
“All right,” and the kids dive into the refrigerator while he hauls himself up the stairs. He’s getting a lot better at it. Has to, with the only bathroom being up there and the front porch no longer a viable option.
“Jensen? Hey! You ‘bout read up there?” When he doesn’t get an answer, he figures he’ll find Jensen in the bathroom, but the door’s yawning open when he gets to the landing. “Jensen?”
He knocks on Jensen’s door, since there’s only a couple of things a guy does behind closed doors that render him unable to speak, and Jared’s had enough awkward moments in the past few days to last a lifetime. As far as ice breakers go, ‘surprise! voyeurism’ wouldn’t be his first choice. Whatever, his and Jensen’s relationship might have been in that vast empty space between Jared’s ears, Jensen seems like the kind who keeps things behind closed doors. Jared could be wrong, but that’s a discussion for another day.
Still no answer from behind the door, so Jared tries the knob, and when the tumblers turn in their mechanism without any resistance, he pushes it open an inch at a time. “Dude, the kids are ready to g...”
Jared stops in his tracks. “Uh, never mind.”
Of course, Jensen doesn’t hear him. Jensen’s passed out in his bed, stripped down to his boxers and one sock still on, drooling into his pillow, which wouldn’t be so bad, except the pillow case is still in the wash. The kids are downstairs, hearts set on going out, but Jared doesn’t have the heart to wake their brother. He slinks out and closes the door, only realizing when he’s half down the stairs that he’s got a huge, stupid grin on his face that he can’t really explain.
Okay, so this isn’t the Warbucks mansion, but maybe Jared’s gonna like it here.
He’s just gotta figure out what to do with the kids for the rest of the night.
--
At first, Jensen thinks it’s his alarm going off. It has to be, since he’s lamented on many an occasion that there is no worse noise in the world, but before he can get past the stage of cursing his luck for having to face another day when he hasn’t quite shrugged off the last one (or seven) and questioning the wisdom of having taken off his shirt to cut the grass, he realizes even his alarm has never sounded that bad. He sits bolt upright, half certain most of his skin will peel off and stay stuck to the mattress. The very fact that it doesn’t tells him he hasn’t been asleep as long as he thought, and though something may still be dying in his living room, it sounds too... ginormous, for lack of a better word, to be one of the kids. So, he slumps back against his (eew) soggy pillow, yanks it out from under his head and flips it over, stares at the ceiling long enough for the world to lose the fuzzy from around the edges.
He’s still got one sock on, and it’s clean by the looks of it, a sure sign he was getting dressed and not undressed when he fell asleep. Why was that again? “Shi... shoot.” He’s supposed to take the kids to Chuck E. Cheese. They’ve been looking forward to it all day. And now it’s after dark, so by the time they get there and get home, he’ll probably have time for about ten winks before his alarm actually does go off. When did REM sleep become a dream in itself?
Rolling off the side of the bed, because he’s pretty sure his legs will fold up and dump him on the floor if he tries to stand anyway, he crawls over to the closet, uses the door to haul himself upright, and then remembers how he got stalled out in a prone position to begin with. “Nothing to wear.” All of his jeans, which amount to about three pairs that the giant pretty boy hasn’t either shredded to fit his own (rock hard) ass into or inadvertently turned into designer originals, are still hanging on the line in some transitional state between soggy/limp and stiff as a... board. No, he was not going to say cock. He hasn’t thought about sex in... at least the five minutes since he woke up.)
“Ow.” The ever-present stiffness in his neck cranks up another notch, more like a sting than the steady throb he’s accustomed to, and he swats at it like a wasp, grimaces as the pain shoots around front to his jaw and collarbone. Nothing four Advil won’t take the edge off, but too familiar to ever really go away. “And I’m much too young to feel this damn old...” Oh yeah, he’s way beyond tired when he bypasses show tunes for old country songs. Anyway, he could stand here all night, and nothing is going to magically appear that’s suitable for wearing out in public. Why the hell he let the kids talk him into games and pizza...
Right about then, the... dying moose... or whatever it is raising Cain in the living room, reaches a whole new level of hideous, just loud enough that he can almost make out the words.
With my haaaaands open.
“And your ears closed by the sound of it.” Seriously, Snow Patrol?
Massaging down his shoulder and deep into his left pec, chasing the elusive (and now shooting) pain, he staggers out into the hallway. The kids’s bedroom doors are standing open when he passes, and whattaya know, the rooms are clean. He suspects Jake’s weapons of mass destruction are most likely stuffed under the bed or into one of the dresser drawers, but the floor is clear, and the bed’s made. Maybe he should try bribery more often. At least, that seems like a good idea until he reaches the landing... and looks down.
At the bottom of the stairs, it looks like an air mattress, every bean bag chair and pillow in the house, the couch cushions, and two kids in torn jeans that look an awful lot like his ankle biters minus the telltale blood and gore, all face a very tall and very... uncoordinated Jared who’s turned away reading the lyrics off the television screen and doing what Jensen can only assume is supposed to be dancing. Between the ‘singing’ and the herky jerky belly-dancer-after-hip-replacement dancing, they’re too busy laughing and carrying on to notice Jensen watching.
“I just keeeeeep hopin’, that your heart opens.”
The kids aren’t without their usual devices of ridicule and torture. Each of them brandishes a ping pong ball gun in one hand and a slab of pizza in the other. Jensen doesn’t want to know where they got the pizza. No one delivers out this far, and Jared wouldn’t know where to go and pick some up even if he had the keys.
Looks like the kids got their pizza and game night without leaving the house. And they’re not the only ones getting a kick out of the improvised arrangement. Watching Jared sing and dance while Jake and Joey peg him in the ass with ping pong balls, never wiping the gaping grin off his face, Jensen’s reminded of the old advertisements for Chuck E. Cheese. Back when it used to be Showbiz pizza, the jingle had been, “Showbiz Pizza, where a kid can be a kid!” He guesses there’s no size limit on what constitutes a kid. If he couldn’t see it himself, he’d never believe this big, goofy... well, kid is the same guy he first saw chained to his Mama’s pocketbook.
And he really wishes he could forget he just went there in his mind, because now he doesn’t know whether he’s really amazed at the transformation or afraid of what Jared will become when he remembers he doesn’t belong here. Because he will remember, and that will probably be the last Jensen sees of that smile on Jared’s face. He can’t really pinpoint what that sinking feeling is in his gut. It must be guilt. There’s no way he misses this Jared already.
Joey picks that moment to realize Jensen’s standing at the top of the stairs. “Jensen! We’re playing Chuck E. Cheese!” Jumping up so the entire air mattress and pillow menagerie jolts and ripples, “See our moon bounce!”
Moon bounce. Of course. Why hadn’t he seen the resemblance? Forcing a tired smile, Jensen starts down the stairs. “That’s awesome.”
“No!” The kids shout simultaneously. “You’re doing it wrong.”
He’s not sure what he could be doing wrong until Jake grabs an empty pizza box and Joey grabs a couch cushion, and they both stampede up the steps toward him.
“You gotta slide down!”
“Like this,” Jake says. He lays the pizza box down flat on the top step and then puts the cushion on top of it, curling the edge of the cardboard up in front to hold onto before laying flat on his stomach. Joey gives him a push, and he starts sliding, ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk, down the stairs like a snake, gaining momentum all the way until he lands on the ‘moon bounce.’
The karaoke soundtrack stops abruptly, and Jared clears his throat, looks up sheepishly from behind the microphone. “Um, I swear, I tried it first to make sure it was safe.” One eyebrow creeps up his forehead so slowly it might be Punxatawney Phil on Ground Hog day.
Jensen sighs and foresees an early spring.
“Yeah, but did you take a running start first?”
“Uh, no,” Jared lifts his casted leg and shrugs.
“Amateur. Did you really think you invented stair sledding?” Jensen holds out his hand so Jake can hand him the ‘sled.’ “Jeremy and I used to do this all the time. We had a scoring system based on speed and degree of difficulty.” Taking several steps back, he arranges the pizza box and the cushion, then step-step, slides across the wood floor, and tips over the edge. Thunk-a, thunk-a, thunk-a, thunk all the way to the bottom, and fuck, he probably weighed a good fifty pounds less the last time he did that. It’s true. The bigger they are, the harder they do fall, and Jensen takes longer than is cool catching his breath around his clenching ribcage. He forces a grin and an eyebrow waggle when he rolls himself over and says, “And the landing pad is a total wuss out. Real men hit the bottom and get friction burns on their faces.”
“Yeah,” Jared scoffs. “We’re gay, remember? No one’s gonna consider us real men no matter how much testosterone we squeeze out of our pores.”
“You have a point. I think.” Jensen coughs by way of segue out of awkward territory and pulls the pizza box out from underneath him. “You got someone to deliver all the way out here?”
“Yeah,” Jared smirks. “Your friend, Misha. He was closing up the diner and called over to talk to you. I mentioned you conked out on our pizza party, and he brought it right over.”
“I didn’t even know he knew where I lived.”
“Duh. It’s called Ackles Rd, isn’t it?”
Jensen chuckles and lets his head fall back, because this moon bounce is really friggin’ cozy. “Well, yeah, there is that.”
“And when I told him I’m your fiance, he said he couldn’t wait to meet me.”
An imaginary needle scratches an imaginary record. Or maybe the half-inflated air mattress farts a little against the hardwood when Jensen flips over suddenly. “Uh, you told him we’re...”
“Engaged? Yeah.” Jared says. “I mean, was I not supposed to?” Jensen must look as pale as he feels. “Oh God, I’m a secret, aren’t I? You’re totally in the closet.” After a pause, “Which would explain why Jeremy didn’t know me...” He meets Jensen’s gaze, this time raising both eyebrows. “Ooops.”
Talk about understatement of the century, but the kids are pleading with their eyes, freckles standing out more than should be possible in this low light, and even if Jensen was the type for caring and sharing moments, which he’s not, now isn’t the time or the place. Instead he grabs the karaoke mike and flops to the front of room, hits random selection on the player, and refrains from rolling his eyes at the irony when the first line of lyrics scrolls across the screen.
“Tim, wish you were born a girl, wish you were born a girl...”
If he can’t hear the music over the pounding of his heart, there’s no way he can sing worse than Jared, so it’s all good, until the first ping pong ball hits him square in the front of his boxers.
And then it’s on.
--
Unfortunately, the next time Jensen wakes up, it is his alarm going off, and after spending half the night alternating bouts of karaoke in his boxers with tag team wrestling matches turned tickle monster attacks, he’s no more rested after his day off than he was when he slunk in the night/morning before. There’s a terrible moment when a cold draft ghosts over his... extreme upper thigh, and he’s afraid he had a wet dream, which mostly sucks because A)he doesn’t remember the fucking dream, and B) if the pins and needles in his arm are any indicator, he’s not sleeping alone.
Sitting up with a start, he finds a half empty water pistol resting against his leg and vaguely remembers running out of ping pong balls while Jared was serenading them with “Tomorrow” from Jensen’s show tunes collection. True, he’s not sleeping alone, but he’s pretty sure crashing out under a pile of couch cushions and little kids is not one of his erotic fantasies, so most likely, everyone just passed out where they laid when the pizza and soda ran out. Jake’s sandwiched between Jensen and Jared, and on top of Jensen’s arm, and Joey’s on the other side of Jared with her head in his armpit and her thumb in her mouth. She’s mostly stopped the thumb sucking while she’s awake, but she still does it in her sleep. The doctor says it’s not an issue unless her teeth start coming in crooked. Jared should just be thankful she’s stopped wetting the bed.
Jensen should really get up and turn off that alarm, but it’s not easy extracting himself from the warm, cozy nest without waking everyone else up as well. He’s not worried about the alarm waking them, since they all seem to have built brain filters against it over the years. He lays there as long as he possibly can, feeling the aches and pains come awake faster than his mental ability to squash them back down. Most of them are like old friends by now, the kind who borrow money and never pay it back, but old friends just the same. There’s one he doesn’t recognize right away, a heaviness across his shins and a tickle on his toes he can’t place. A squinted glance down his body to his feet reveals Jared’s casted leg sprawled across his shin bone, the bare toes of his foot resting against the top of Jensen’s.
Jensen flexes his foot so their toes brush against each other. And maybe he does it again. No reason, except the warm touch does wonders to make the ache in his calves subside. It’s probably just the increased circulation from the movement, nothing at all to do with touching Jared’s bare skin.
“Oh, God, you’re not playing footsie with him are you? There’s kids in the bed for Christ’s sake.” Jeremy leans over him from the bottom step, body upside down from this perspective, and fully clothed, a sure indicator that he just got in. There was a time the two of them would’ve been sneaking around together and been each other’s alibis, just the kind of thing brothers do, but now, Jensen knows he’s supposed to be the parent. Jeremy’s not the only one who’s pissed about that.
“Since you’re up, why don’t you come on down to the diner and help me out. It’s inventory day.” In his experience, it’s easier to make a punishment stick by not actually bringing up the discretion that warrants it. Nothing makes Jeremy dig his heels in faster than pulling the parent card on him.
“In your dreams, Casanova.”
Of course, in his experience, he didn’t get himself caught playing footsie with a really big gay boy with a mental deficit, and therefore, had never given Jeremy any leverage to use against him in retaliation. He’s too tired to argue. A couple more years, and Jeremy’s going to graduate, probably get a basketball scholarship or a federal grant and go to school... likely never come back.
More power to him. At least one of the Ackles boys should get to have a life.
“Whatever. At least give me a hand getting up.” He gets to listen to the stairs creaking and a bedroom door closing. “Good morning, sunshine,” he grumbles, voice thick with sarcasm.
“My only sunshine, you make me haaaaaap-pyyyy,... oh shit, I really gotta pee,” Jared groans.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Good thing you did... unless we’re into water sports, in which case, too bad we’re not alone.”
Whoops. Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!
Jensen has more energy than he thought and uses all of it to lurch off the floor, is practically in the kitchen before he’s steady enough on his feet to actually constitute standing. He leans on the door frame to catch his breath and doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed that Jared heads for the bathroom instead of following him.
--
Jared can’t believe he just said that. He bangs his head on the wall above the toilet right next to the basket of fake flowers that’s somehow managed to stay intact without the woman’s touch that most likely hung it there in the first place. What kind of freak brings up kinky sex to a guy who more or less just admitted he’s barely out of the closet and while sandwiched between the guy’s kids? He blames it on lack of sleep and all the brain cells he knows he must have ruptured from laughing so hard the night before.
But still. He really needs a filter between his brain and his mouth. What kind of life did he have that he seems not to have one?
And things were going so well. His jaw aches, and since there was no alcohol at their little pizza party, he can only assume he slept with that stupid smile on his face. He likes it here. He actually likes it. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something here he obviously needs. Maybe it’s family. If he had anyone else, he wouldn’t be here, right? How long has he been alone? Did he ever have anyone?
Then, there’s Jensen. Sure, the guy makes him sleep on the couch. And he’s never home. And he’s got... issues. Parenting issues, career issues, sexuality issues. Seriously, it’s no surprise the place was trashed when Jared moved in. In his, experience, which admittedly he doesn’t remember, but which feels vast on this point, the outside usually reflects the inside.
But last night... and then this morning. His leg didn’t end up draped over Jensen by accident. Stupid cast. Nothing but his toes could touch. Stupid toes. Must be more sensitive from being stuck out the end of the cast, because wow, direct line of communication to other appendages. The line about having to pee was really only a half truth.
“Fuck.”
He’s really glad the ferret cage isn’t in the bathroom anymore. He doesn’t think he’s into furry voyeurism. He is a little concerned that he knows what furry voyeurism is.
That doesn’t stop him from getting off in about thirty seconds. From the looks of it, it’s been awhile, hits him like a smack across the... ass. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“What?” Jensen’s voice is muffled through the door but might as well be right in Jared’s ear. If he tucked himself away any faster, it’s quite possible he’d need a cast for that, too.
“Uh, nothing. Sorry, talking to myself again,” Jared chokes out. “I’ll be right out.” He’s really, really gotta put a padlock on his mouth, or at least, install a roadblock between his brain and his lips.
He knows he’s still flushed when he brushes past Jensen in the hallway, but he’s not really ashamed. Funny, for all the things he says without meaning to, the things he wants to say don’t even form completely in his head. He has to rely on body language for those. He just hopes Jensen’s looking.
--
Jensen’s slow making his way back down to the kitchen. Not only was Jared noticeably flushed when he came out of the bathroom a bit ago, but due to their recent housecleaning binge, there really was no mistaking the smell. Okay, it’s musk. He knows the word. It’s just a word he’d never use. If he could think of some other way to describe the odor of spunk in the morning, he would. It’s not that Jensen really thinks much of the fact that Jared’s been in the bathroom jerking off. Gay guys are still guys, and morning wood is a universal male... condition. But he can’t really explain how he wasn’t planning on doing anything other than hitting the head and taking a shower until he actually shut the door, and then ended up touching himself in the shower. Again, nothing abnormal about it, but usually, he’s well aware if that’s on the agenda before he steps into the shower. The urge has never just struck him out of the blue before.
The only thing that’s changed is Jared.
And Jared’s down in the kitchen waiting for him. Jensen doesn’t know what to say that’s not going to come out sounding like pillow talk, and he’s always sucked at pillow talk.
He doesn’t meet Jared’s gaze when Jared hands him his cup of sludge.
“Guess there’s no convincing you to take today off, too,” Jared says.
“Not a chance.” Jensen takes a swig off his mug, and if he was hungry, the concentrated caffeine takes care of that almost immediately. “Chris gives me a ride in on weekends so the kids have the truck in case of emergency. He should be here any minute.”
“You look like shit.”
“We can’t all be pretty boys like you.” Shit. He just called Jared pretty. That doesn’t mean he’s attracted to him, though. It’s just... an observation.
“Greater truth was never spoken.” Jared leans on the counter beside him, bumps their elbows together. “Look, don’t worry about us. I think I’ve got the kids figured out.”
If the coffee is bitter and burns on the way down, it’s three times as bad trying to come out his nose. “Oh, you do.”
“I think so, yeah.”
“This I gotta hear.”
Jared shrugs. “Okay, well, I think Jeremy has issues with having been your peer and partner in crime for most of his life and suddenly having you in a position of power over him. He misses his brother and his parents both.” Jensen doesn’t say anything, just nods into his coffee. “And Jake just needs someone to be around. He doesn’t want to be Joey’s babysitter. He wants people to pay attention to him the way he used to get attention when there were more people and more time.”
“Uh-huh, and Joey?”
“Needs a mother.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“I thought I did when I proposed.”
Jensen clears his throat. “You don’t remember that. How do you know that’s what you were thinking?”
“I don’t. But it’s what I’m thinking now.”
Suddenly, Jensen’s throat constricts so tight he can’t even squeeze coffee down, and the part of his arm that’s touching Jared prickles like a hundred tree caterpillars have tented around it. The coughing fit hits hard when the coffee tries to take an alternate route down his trachea, and he finds himself bent over the sink with Jared patting his back while tears tickle the corners of his eyes. “I... I gotta go,” he gurgles, “I’m gonna be late.” But when he turns around, Jared doesn’t step back. Instead, broad thumbs brush the streaks off his cheeks, and the hand that was on his back settles on Jensen’s hip, the other tips his head up so he’s looking into Jared’s eyes instead down at the divot in his throat.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Jensen.”
The kiss catches him by surprise. Jensen only knows it’s coming when Jared’s eyes sink shut. It’s dry, just lips against the corner of Jensen’s mouth and, then, firmer, closer to the center so Jensen has to either back away or tilt his head to keep from banging noses.
He tilts his head.
And then the coffee scratches up his windpipe and forces them apart in another coughing fit right before Chris flashes his lights and bloops the siren to let Jensen know he’s there.
“’ts okay,” is all Jensen can squeak out before he pats Jared on the shoulder and heads out the door.
His hands are still shaking when he slides into the patrol. His lips still tingle, and if he’s still coughing, it’s because he’s choking on his heart.
“You all right?” Chris asks, casting him a sidelong gaze as he shifts into gear.
“Yeah,” Jensen lies. “Great.”
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“So, you hittin’ it yet?”
“Your wife pregnant yet?”
By the time they get into town, more silence has passed between them than they’ve accumulated in their lifetime ‘til now.
--
Jensen’s hand hovers over the latch to the back door. He’s usually glad when Misha comes in to give him a hand, especially on Sundays when the inventory needs to be rotated to make room for the Monday deliveries, and everyone and their mother wants to go out for breakfast, but today, the sight of the catering van parked behind the building makes him feel like he’s going to face the Grand Inquisitioner instead of just going to work. Chris is going to die a bloody death for getting him into this mess.
He doesn’t realize how sweaty his palms are until his hand slips off the door handle once, and then twice. On the third attempt, it turns under his fingers and opens from the inside.
“Ah, there you are.” Misha wraps an arm around his shoulder and whisks him inside before he can say ‘g’morning.’
“Uh, hey.”
“Yeah, I’m early, I know,” Misha says, already pushing bun trays out of the way to get to the flour sacks. Biscuits to be mixed and baked before the breakfast crowd gets in. Always a multi-tasker, that Misha. “I thought I’d get a head start on things before you came in. Heard you were pretty tired.”
And there it is. The door’s open. Jensen can step through on his own terms or wait for Misha to put ‘Jensen Loves Jared’ on the daily specials board. He should’ve planned for this. Really, did he expect no one would find out about Jared? It’s not like he can tell them the truth. What kind of douchebag takes advantage of a guy with amnesia and uses him to do housework and babysit? Sure, it wasn’t his idea, but he doesn’t expect anyone will be amused.
Least of all Jared.
“Yeah, about that. Thanks for bringing the pizza. Jared... he’s... (not really my boyfriend, I only just met him, and I’m not even gay, except Danni thought I was, and Chris thinks I am, and even my own brother seems to buy it, but we’re really not together, not like that) spoiling the kids.”
“You, too, I’ll bet,” Misha smirks.
(No, actually, he ruined half our clothes, the washing machine, and the backdoor, and he eats a lot. He made me play footsie with him against my will and then kissed me, and I don’t think my heart’s ever gonna stop pounding.)
“I guess,” and he’s actually fucking blushing... or stroking out, one or the other. If any more heat comes off of him, they won’t even have to turn on the oven to brown the biscuits.
Misha looks up at him sideways. “Love looks good on you, kid. I haven’t seen that much color in your cheeks since your last play, and that was just stage makeup.”
“I wouldn’t call it... (love. Sure, he’s a good guy, and I like him a lot more than I did when I first met him, and if I was gay, which I’m not, I’m sure I might even be attracted, okay, find him smoking hot and want to rush back home right this minute and kiss him again, but even then, I wouldn’t call it)... thanks.”
The next thing Jensen knows, Misha’s knocking the flour off his hands into his apron, chasing a tiny dust devil across the stainless steel countertop. “C’mere dumbass,” and Misha’s a lot stronger than he looks when he pulls Jensen into a hug, clapping him on the back. “I don’t know why you felt like you had to keep this a secret. I mean, I was a little taken aback, but from what I can tell, Jared’s a great guy.”
“So, it doesn’t bother you that I’m (pretending to be, because Chris got me into it and I don’t know how to get out without hurting a lot of people who deserve a whole lot better, but not really, because I’m totally into girls)...?”
“Gay?” Misha finishes with a shrug, going back to pounding the biscuit dough. “I always assumed you were at least bi. And why would it bother me?”
Huh. Well. How does he answer that without sounding like a total dick? And who else has always assumed he’s into guys? Has Misha told anyone? Should Jensen? How does he even go about coming out of a closet he didn’t even know he was in? Not everyone’s going to be as cool as Misha, are they? And what if they stop coming into the diner? He’s barely breaking even, now, and that was before he had an extra mouth to feed and clothes to replace, and needed a new washing machine, and...
The bell over the front door rings, and he knows Harry’s sliding up to the counter with his wadded up five dollar bill, looking forward to his eggs, sunny side up, with extra toast to dip in the yolks, and coffee, which... “Shit.” He hasn’t even put on yet. And this is why he works best alone. No distractions to throw him off schedule. His pulse speeds up by several beats per minute as he realizes they’re open for business and he hasn’t even been to the front to turn the grill on yet.
“Coming... Harry,” he calls. He can’t figure out why he has to pause between words to catch his breath. And then he can’t figure out why he can’t catch his breath. The hand that’s been absently rubbing at his chest for days shrugs off its subtlety, and it’s possible one of the seams of his t-shirt pops a few stitches when he grabs at the collar and pulls.
When Misha says, “Relax, I got everything under control,” it’s through a fog, like an electrical storm between Jensen’s ears that’s clouding the edges of his vision. “Jensen? Jensen, hey!”
He’d thought the ache in his neck and shoulder was keeping itself down to a dull roar for a change. Only now he realizes it’s just been muted by the pounding in his ears that started, oh, about the time he woke up this morning. Suddenly, everything throbs at once, and his chest seizes up, feels like it’s squeezing so tight all the blood in his body is shunted into his head. Between not being able to breathe and not being able to hear or see, he’s aware he’s about to pass out about the time his knees hit the floor.
“Jensen!”
And that’s all she wrote.
TBC
A/N: All right, who was surprised to find out that Joey's a girl? That slight deception was done on purpose. Sorry. If it helps, Jared hasn't figure it out yet, either.
Part Five
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 03:37 pm (UTC)I like how Jared has it all figured out, which kid needs what. That is very cool. I love the kids. They are cute and endearing and the rough-housing seems so so likely that it made me smile.
I think I am irritated with Jensen though for letting Jeremy get out of his punishment. The boy is a push over. Hopefully Mom!Jared will whip him into shape. Although *snerk* I am not sure if he has it in him either!
Thanks so much for this.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:19 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading. Next two parts are open!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 04:18 pm (UTC)Also, I love that Jared has figured out the dynamics of the family already. And it was totally adorable that he arranged for an inhome Chuck-e-cheese so Jensen could sleep. Aww, exhausted boy needs a Jared snuggle but at least he got to play footsies.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:21 am (UTC)I think Chuck E. Cheese night is one of my favorites of the story. I'm glad you are hangingin' in there, sweetie.
*glomps*
Next two parts are open!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 04:51 pm (UTC)jeesh, these kids definitely need Mom!Jared (or maybe a zookeeper...)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:22 am (UTC)Thanks for reading! Next two parts are open.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 09:48 pm (UTC)Jensen is finally getting a clue. Yay! Sorry, I don't usually reply until I have the next part unlocked so I can tell everyone at once, but I just wanted to thank you for reminding me about that. Much thankses, and I'll still let you know when the next part is unlocked. It still needs music, I'm afraid.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 09:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 09:49 pm (UTC)Love Jared getting the family worked out and his improv for Chucky-E-Cheese night. Felt bed nothing seemed to work for him no matter how hard he tried.
And Jensen needs to slow down and take it easy. He's running himself into an early grave. Gotta say though, loved his panick attack over the watersports mention *gigglesnort*
Hope Jeremy and Jensen are able to see each other more clearly and reunite their bond.
Update soon... please?
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:25 am (UTC)And yes, Jensen really needs a wakeup call, as do a few other people. Luckily they're about to get it.
So glad you're enjoying this.
Is right now soon enough?
Next two parts are open.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 10:11 pm (UTC)I love how Jared has got all the kids sussed and how he is turning out to be quite lovable ;-)
Yeah, Jensen is too easy on Jeremy, but then alot of peeps in his situation would be too.
As for the way it was left..totally don't mind that and we haven't got long to wait anyhow!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:28 am (UTC)I think Jensen is stuck in the mode of wanting to give everyone the life they had before and trying to be the Mom, Dad, AND big brother instead of letting them step up and share the burden, and Jeremy resents that he doesn't have his brother and confidant anymore.
No long wait at all. In fact, next two parts are now open. Hope you like!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 10:22 pm (UTC)Watersports and furry voyeurism in one fell swoop. Loved that bit.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 06:30 am (UTC)As for the outsiders seeing things better. I was worried about that part. A little too expositional. I should have been way more subtle about that, but I needed a way to lead up to Jared revealing that he's really sorry he can't remember Jensen, and that just set the tone, I guess.
Glad you're still here.
Next two parts are open.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:02 pm (UTC)It's unlocked through part seven now. Thanks for reading!