The Second Man, NC-17, Jensen/Jared, 6/9
Dec. 31st, 2009 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ht_murray<<--Back to Part Five
--Part Six--
Okay, there has to be a safe way to do this. Something that doesn't involve setting himself on fire or blowing up the restaurant while trying to light the pilot on the gas cooktop would be a plus.
"There's got to be a manual somewhere around here, right? God, I haven't been awake long enough to figure this out." Jared's got his head stuck in the oven sniffing for gas when Chris finds him.
"Dude, it can't be so bad at home that you'd off yourself in the diner before the breakfast rush." Jared startles and smacks his head trying to extricate himself from the oven.
"I, uh... I was trying to figure out how to turn it on. Jensen doesn’t exactly know I’m here, so I can’t call and ask him." He looks down and scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor, edge of his shoe catching a cracked and peeling floor tile.
"I'm not a great cook, but I had to try, ya know? I mean, I've kinda sucked in the fiance department since I can't even really remember my own boyfriend and - "Chris smiles and reaches out to stop Jared in the middle of wiping down the huge stainless fridge.
"I'm shit at taking orders, but I make a pretty mean omelet if you want to switch duties?" Chris grabs the cleanest apron as Jared nods and professes his undying love to him for taking cooking duty.
"Careful what you say, Jared. Gossip flies fast round these parts. I'd hate for it to get back to Jen that his betrothed is shacking up with the Sheriff. He'd get himself all in a tizzy and that wouldn't help his blood pressure right now. Boy needs to stay as calm as possible."
"He never takes a break, does he?"
"Thinks everything's his responsibility just cause his parents... Well, that's neither here nor there at this point. I'm not surprised the stress caught up with him and knocked him flat on his ass. That kid's been running full tilt for a long time now."
“He’d be here now if we hadn’t taken the truck while he was sleeping.”
Chris drops the egg he was fixing to crack onto the counter where it splits open and leaves a slimy orange trail across the butcher block up to the point where it runs onto the grill and turns white. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” Jared eyes the toaster as smoke starts to rise out of it, the second batch of already soaked French Toast stacked and ready for the first one to pop up.
“You didn’t just up and leave him?” Lightning fast, Chris reaches across Jared and yanks the plug on the toaster, turns the whole thing over until the toast falls out, the slices squished to about an inch and a half tall.
“Like he’d have let me do this if he knew what I was planning.”
Hissing as he burns himself trying to scrape the crispified egg wash off the toaster elements with a fork, “I can’t believe you did that!”
Jared shrugs. “I’ve never made French Toast before.”
“I’m not talking about the toast, Jared.” He heaves the toaster onto the far counter. “Okay, that things outta commission for the day at least.” He startles then fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Shit. I gotta go. Work beckons.” Clicking the phone off and shoving it back in his pants, he levels a dead eye expression with Jared. “Call Jensen and let him know where you are, okay? Sooner better than later. Trust me on this.”
“But, I’m...”
“Just do it, Jared.” Chris reaches under the glass cake cover and takes out a custard-filled chocolate long john, pushes half of it into his mouth as he dashes for the door. He pushes the handle with his hip and whirls around pinky and thumb fixed to his ear in the classic ‘telephone call’ gesture and leaves with a thumbs-up and a wave.
“Right,” Jared mutters. “Call Jensen.”
Just then, a blonde woman comes in, stops dead in her tracks when she sees Jared, then stiffly herds two little boys into a booth, putting herself between them and Jared like he’s a terrorist.
“What can I do you for?” Jared shouts across the counter, spatula raised at the ready.
“French toast and orange juice all around?” Her expression and intonation make it all too clear that she doesn’t expect him to be able to comply. Well, Jared will show her.
He’ll just have to call Jensen when things slow down. They’re bound to slow down eventually, right?
--
It takes him about thirty minutes to admit defeat and pick up the phone, but he’ll swear til his dying day that it was the longest five minutes of his life. He has no idea how Jensen managed to do this day in and day out, but he needed to tap into that wisdom ASAP if he wanted to last another five minutes.
As if it isn’t enough that he’s just served a customer slimy French Toast, and said customer-- a blonde woman who’s way overdressed for this time of the morning and obviously disappointed that it’s Jared and not Misha behind the counter this morning-- has just made a valiant effort to eat it anyway for reasons Jared cannot grasp but requested cold cereal for her kids instead, his arm is getting a serious cramp in it from trying to cook and hold the phone at the same time. There’s no way it should be taking Jensen this long to answer. Jared left his cell phone right by the bed. He even remembered to turn the ringer on after having it off for the last three days. The call has gone to voice mail three times already, and calling the house phone isn’t working either. It’s about to time out for the second time, that annoying electronic phone lady voice set to click on at any second and tell him that she’s sorry his party does not seem to be answering.
He’s lucky the early morning breakfast crowd is small, just the old guy at the counter and the blonde woman still here after everyone cleared out for work and school, because he’s one more unanswered call away from running... or in his case, hobbling... out into the street and carjacking someone at two-pronged fork point, and forcing them to take him home. The bowl of raw eggs on the counter has a label on it, as does just about everthing else, because apparently, Misha is a saint or something, but Jared’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to use it for -- he leans forward to read the note again-- omelets, scrambled eggs, and egg washes, now that he’s managed to drop the ladle inside, and without thinking, fished it out with his hand. The old guy at the counter, (hey, whattaya know, there’s a label on this side of the counter with a name on it), apparently Harry, definitely saw him do it, and despite having come in with dirt under his fingernails and something slicking back his hair that probably isn’t Dippity Do, moved to cover his plate when Jared offered him more eggs. What ever happened to beggars not being choosers?
Okay, now that’s just mean. He does not know that Harry is a beggar. Where the hell did that attitude come from? Oh yeah, Jared burned off all his good will toward men when he reached into the oven to take out the biscuits, (the black, smoking biscuits because it took him five minutes to figure out where that alarm was coming from) without an oven mitt. He doesn’t know why this is so hard. He has a total of two customers since the blonde woman’s two boys skedaddled off to school, and he feeds more than that at home every day.
Home.
He stops abruptly, forgetting about the ruined eggs, the smoking biscuits, and the list of twenty things he’s supposed to get started before the lunchtime changeover. He wants to go home, and when he thinks about home, he thinks about Jensen’s. How long has he been doing that? And why does it make a big, stupid grin creep over his face even as the smoke detector in the back tells him he’s frying the bacon at too high a temperature... again?
He almost misses when the phone stops ringing, and there’s no electronic beep, beep, beep to precede the ‘shit out of luck’ message he’s used to getting. There’s no voice either.
“Jensen?”
“Jared?”
Maybe Jared’s a drama queen. Jensen has told him as much plenty of times, but he can’t help the way his chest hitches when he finally hears Jensen’s voice on the line. The dude sounds wrecked, and a million worst case scenarios play out across the stage in Jared’s mind. Maybe Jared should’ve taken Jensen back to the doctor. Maybe he wasn’t ready to get out of bed today. Maybe Jensen fell down the stairs, or slipped in the shower, or spilled hot coffee all over himself. It was stupid to leave him there all alone.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asks, and then he realizes he’s the one who called with something so important that he let the phone ring about sixty times in the last five minutes. “I mean... uh, thank God you answered. I need you to tell me how to make French Toast. I think I might’ve just given a woman salmonella.”
The line’s silent for awhile, or at least, there’s no talking. Something that sounds a little like muffled sniffling and Jensen clearing his throat comes over like static, and then, “French Toast? Where the hell are you?”
“Down at the diner doing your job. Didn’t you get my note?”
The distinct sound of crinkling paper. “Uh, yeah, but,” more crinkling and a long, heavy sigh, “but I guess I didn’t read the whole thing.”
Jared flounders for a second, trying to remember exactly how he started that letter that could’ve upset Jensen so much. “Shit. Jen, you didn’t think I...?” Right, too much emo angst makes Jared a weepy, useless lump. “Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with my giant, clumsy, can’t cook, can’t do laundry, can’t drive, mooching ass, but if you don’t tell me how to get things running around here, I’m pretty sure there won’t be a diner left for you to come back to.”
It takes longer for Jensen to come back with his usual snide comment, but he finally says, “Oh, thank God. I thought someone stole my truck.”
“Fuck you,” Jared snickers, quickly covering the receiver and turning away when he notices the woman in the booth cast him a disapproving look.
“Can’t. I’m not allowed to exert myself, remember? Now, what do you need to know?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, first things first,” Jared says. “Sit your ass down. I can hear you pacing from here. You’re gonna have yourself right back on bed rest if you don’t chill.”
“Fine,” Jensen huffs, and there’s the unmistakable squelching noise of someone sinking into the leather sofa. “I’m sitting. Now, what do you need?”
“French Toast? It’s not supposed to be slimy is it?”
“No. In general, anything with egg in it should not be slimy or it isn’t cooked enough. How did you make it?”
“Well, I figured out not to put it in the egg wash before you put it in the toaster when Chris practically had to dismantle the thing. You need a new toaster, by the way. So, I took the bread, and I put it in the oven until it turned brown. Then, when it came out, I put it in the egg wash, and voila. Only... not. I think the nice lady turned three shades of green when I put it on the table.”
“Blonde lady, front booth across from the counter?”
“Yeah...”
“That’s Grace. Hi, Grace,” he yells into the phone.
Jared jerks the receiver away from his ear fast enough to draw attention to himself. He waves at his customer and shrugs. “Uh, Jensen says ‘hi’. Grace?”
Her whole demeanor changes in an instant, from disappointed and slightly disdainful with a side of disgusted, to warm and curious. “Jensen?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Hi, baby,” she shouts. “Get better soon!”
“You heard that, right?” Jared asks Jensen.
“Yeah.” He starts to take a deep breath.
“Jensen, if you yell in my ear one more time, I’m going to hang up on you. Now, French Toast.”
“Oh, okay. Well, you have to get a bowl of milk. You can either put the egg wash in the milk or dip the bread in the milk and then into the egg. I like to do milk, then egg. Makes it crispier. And then, you put it on the grill, brown on both sides, and serve.”
“What about the toaster?”
“No toaster. That’s what the grill is for.”
“Then why do they call it French Toast?”
“Because when someone in a short skirt and a feather duster brings you breakfast and tells you it’s toast, you don’t argue semantics.”
Jared laughs. He really laughs, because a few minutes ago he was convinced he was a total failure who couldn’t do anything right, and now, well, he thinks maybe he can do it, even if he has to put on a French Maid’s costume to distract the patrons. And if he screws up, well, he’s got his Jensen lifeline right here. At the end of a long drawn out sigh, because as much as he’d love to just stand here grinning all day, he really does have to get back to work, he says, “I love you,” the same way he’d say, I love that guy, or I love tacos, or you’re awesome.
Except when Jensen says, “See ya later,” in reply, Jared’s disappointed.
--
Jensen’s washing his breakfast dishes, despite the scathing Post It note on the refrigerator that says he’s not to lift a finger, when the phone rings again. After the last phone call ended, he’d promptly fallen asleep on the couch, no idea how he managed to be completely drained in just the half hour or so he’d been up. Now he’s twitchy and guilty and feeling ridiculous for overreacting. How stupid was he to not read the whole note? Why does he have to expect everyone to let him down? How come he believes he has to do everything himself or it won’t get done? And why does he have absolutely no idea what to do with himself when he has nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company?
It’s possible he pounces on the phone when it rings again, taking only the briefest moment to wipe most of the water from his hands. “Hello?”
“Can you hear me now?” Jared’s voice verges on slightly manic with a thin candy coating of humor baked on, probably to take the edge off for Jensen’s sake. The stupid bastard.
“Uh, I dunno,” Jensen waffles. “What am I supposed to be hearing?”
After a moment of silence, some hissing, the familiar clank of pot lids, a tiny voice says, “Help.”
“What’s the situation?”
“There are just, sooo many people here,” Jared confesses. “I think they all heard we’re together, and they wanted to come and see if they approve of the guy that stole their favorite son away.”
“Whoa, favorite son? Who filled your head with that bullshit?”
“Dude, it’s so obvious. Every one I’ve waited on has had some anecdote about you working behind this counter since before you could see over it. And I’m pretty sure they’re checking out my butt.”
Jensen chuckles with a sigh. “Yeah, it is a small town. I’m sorry, man. It’ll probably slow down in a day or two.”
“But I can’t keep up. There’s so many of them, and they all want to talk. I’m at least five orders behind already.”
“Look. If you’re right, and they’re just there to check you out, it won’t matter what you feed them. Here’s a little secret. They will all eat spaghetti and meatballs. Misha left some in the warmer for you, didn’t he?”
“Uh, yeah, but...”
“Just tell ‘em the grill is malfunctioning, and it’s Spaghetti and Meatballs day. Give ‘em a special price.”
“Jen, I don’t know...”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I dunno. What are you saying?”
“You can do it, Jared.”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“Thanks yourself,” Jensen says hanging up. When the phone’s safely on the hook again he adds, “I needed you.”
--
Jared makes it ‘til almost four o’clock before he calls Jensen again. He was planning to call, anyway. His hands have been shaking since the last of the lunch crowd petered out, and the traffic started picking up at the end of the workday. Another emergency tug on the lifeline was certainly looking to be in order, when, lo and behold, Jeremy came in through the back and donned an apron, told Jared to take five. So, he’s actually mostly calm when he calls, but at least he has a justifiable reason to do so.
“Hello,” Jensen answers, his voice furry with sleep.
“Can you hear me now?”
Jensen clears his throat, and Jared can almost picture him scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “I dunno. What are you saying?”
“You don’t have to worry about the dinner rush. Jeremy’s here to help me.”
“Really? What about basketball?”
“He blew it off. Said that’s what family’s for.”
“Well, I’ll be...” the line’s silent.
“Jensen?”
“Yeah?”
“How you doin’?”
“I’m all right. Just... don’t really know what to do with myself, I guess.”
Jared snickers, sliding into a folding chair and crossing one knee over the other, studying his cuticles. “Well, you know, you probably have half an hour before the kids get home on the bus. That leaves you wide open for some ‘quality time’ if you know what I mean.”
“Are you trying to initiate phone sex with me?”
“That depends. What are you wearing?”
“What do you want me to wear?”
Jared contemplates the answer for a second, hovering for a moment over assless chaps before he says without a conscious thought at all, “My ring.”
“Jared...”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I dunno, what are you trying to say?”
“I miss you.”
“Yeah...I hear you.”
--
Jensen knows better than to expect Jared and Jeremy home at a decent hour after the day they must’ve had and the mess he can only imagine that resulted, so he’s already got the kids fed and in bed when the phone rings the next time. If he spent the last three or four hours checking to see if he accidentally turned the ringer off, well, that’s his little secret. When it does ring, it catches him in the midst of pinning Jake’s homework to the refrigerator. He wouldn’t be surprised if his smile is audible when he checks the caller i.d. and answers.
“I owe you big time.” Jensen smooths the paper flat against the refrigerator door, trapping an errant corner under the ‘Heaven doesn’t want me, and Hell’s afraid I’ll take over’ magnet he got in his stocking for Christmas. Mom used to put things on the refrigerator when she was proud of them, or at least, wanted the kids to believe she was. He had his suspicions about those limericks he wrote in Middle School. The teacher might’ve missed the double entendre, but he never knew Mom to miss a thing. Now that he thinks about it, maybe she was proud of his ability to sneak one past the teacher.
“Say that after you’ve seen the mess I made. It took me, Jeremy, and Misha to get cleaned up and set up for tomorrow. Sorry we’re so late. We should be home in about fifteen minutes.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jensen says. “I’m talking about you helping Jake with his science homework. He got a perfect score on this problem set. He’s never done that. Hell, I spend half my free time running up to the school and begging them not to hold him back. I didn’t know you were a science geek.”
“I’m so not,” Jared chuckles. Jensen can hear the exhaustion in the way it fades off without any belly support. “I didn’t have a clue what was going on with that stuff, so I just opened the book. We went over the reading and the terminology together. He got the concepts right away. Y’know, now that I think about it... I think maybe it’s just the reading he has trouble with.”
“Huh. They’ve been telling me for four years that he doesn’t apply himself, and I knew that was bullshit. Anyone who can spend three days rigging a pulley system to convert the clothesline into a solar system that glows in the dark and runs on spare parts from a busted vacuum cleaner is not lacking the ability to apply himself. Of course, he developed an acute case of ADD when it was time to clean up the glow-in-the-dark paint he splattered on the moldings.”
“He’s a smart kid.”
“Yeah, he is.” Jensen worries his bottom lip. “But those teachers had me believing that shit. I’m his brother, and you figured him out in just a few days.”
“There’s a lot to be said for a little one on one time.” The sound Jared makes can only be a stifled yawn, and Jensen grins imagining the contortions of Jared’s face. All the years his parents dragged him to church, and the most fun he ever had was watching people try not to yawn during the sermon.
“I guess that’s been lacking, hasn’t it?”
“Y’know, Jake isn’t the only one who could use a little one on one attention.”
“I know. Joey needs help with spelling and...”
“I wasn’t talking about the kids.”
Jensen feels his cheeks flush despite the fact that there’s no one there to see it and no reason to be embarrassed. It’s like Jared knows Jensen’s spent half of his downtime trying not to think about their awkward kiss in the kitchen that morning and the warm weight of Jared’s foot against his when they woke up together on the living room floor. He’s still not convinced he’s gay, but he’s got a half empty bottle of lotion and a completely empty clean underwear drawer that says he’s open to the possibility. He knows to the root of every hair on his body that it’s a terrible idea to fall for Jared. Jared’s bound to get his memory back someday, and then Jensen will be lucky to talk himself out of a jail sentence if he knows anything about it. But he likes this Jared that’s with him now, and if this Jared wants to fall for Jensen... well, Jensen doesn’t have it in him to break his heart.
He’s entirely, mostly, almost, partially, sort of convinced it’s Jared’s heart he’s worried about. Never mind that the Jared he first met had all the markings of a heartless bastard who would likely regress to the same once he remembered everything again. Jensen can’t cater to his own heart. It’s been broken too many times, and it’s illogical, and yeah, it’s needy. He’s learned to ignore it.
Entirely, mostly, almost, partially, sort of... not.
“Well, get your ass home, and we’ll see what we can do about that. Kids’re in bed. I’ll get out the guitar, crack open a couple beers...”
Jared’s next inhale is too loud and definitely half-snore. “No beer for you. You’re still sick.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Damn straight.”
The line goes dead, and Jensen hangs up. Ten minutes later, it buzzes, and he picks it up again with a smirk, says, “What’re you wearing, big boy?”
“Dude, that’s disgusting,” Jeremy retorts. “Tuck it back in your pants and get out here. Your boyfriend fell asleep in the truck, and there’s no way I’m lugging him in by myself.”
Jensen chokes, and his guitar slides off his lap to the ground with a resonating thud. “Uh,... be right out.”
“Don’t get caught in the zipper.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and hangs up.
--
Jensen has half a mind to leave Jared where he’s at and use the ‘I’m not supposed to do any strenuous work’ excuse Jared’s been using to keep him twiddling his thumbs all day, but when he gets out to the truck and sees Jared’s face all smooshed up against the glass, he kinda doesn’t have the heart to leave him there. His neck’s gonna have a hell of a kink in it by morning, and that forehead smudge is never gonna come off the glass.
Besides, he can’t remember one time when Jared’s wandered out into the yard alone. Jared’s never said anything, but Jensen’s got a feeling his tall, dark, and gimpy houseguest is afraid of the great outdoors. Leaving him to wake up out there all alone would just be mean.
Peering through the rapidly fogging windshield, Jensen gets nothing more than a shrug and a hands in air gesture of surrender from Jeremy. The kid, who’s apparently not so much a kid as someone who’s growing up way faster than Jensen gives him credit for, is getting way too much amusement by leaning against the driver’s side door with his arm crossed and a smirk on his face.
Tapping on the window doesn’t have any effect on the sleeping Jared, and opening the door even an inch causes the dead weight to shift so that Jared’s balanced precariously between the edge of the seat and the open air.
“Can you at least hold him up, so he doesn’t fall out when I open the door?” Jensen asks.
“What makes you think I’m strong enough to hold him up? There’s no block and tackle in here that I’m aware of.”
“I’m just asking for a second or two. Suck it up.” When Jeremy sets harder in his shutdown position, Jensen sighs and adds, “Please.”
Jeremy softens and rolls his eyes, grabs a fistful of Jared’s t-shirt, and braces against the steering wheel. “All right. Go ahead.”
Jensen nods and opens the door.
--
Jared’s either having a really terrific dream or a really restless sleep. Either way, he’s spread out on top of Jensen, shirtless, with his nose buried against Jensen’s throat close enough to feel the lub, lub, lub of Jensen’s pulse against his lips. “Mmm,” he’d have to be more than just a little sleepy to resist that kind of temptation. He starts with a little, soft kiss, then nuzzles in closer, takes a deep breath and licks a stripe up to Jensen’s jaw, reaches up and turns Jensen’s chin down as he leans up. Jensen’s lips are soft and already parted when Jared presses them apart first with his thumb and then his tongue. It takes a few tries, gentle prodding and delving, before Jensen’s tongue comes loose from the roof of his mouth and slides over Jared’s, their lips sealing together. Jared’s really starting to wake up all over when he slides a knee between Jensen’s and, “Ow.” Is that gravel? Breaking the kiss he looks around, dazed, and realizes they’re lying in the driveway, bobbles his head back to meet Jensen’s gaze, which is either shocked or aroused, hard to tell in this light, and says, “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Umm, hi,” Jensen stammers.
“Mmm, tired,” Jared confesses, flopping back down. He’s not sooo tired that he can’t feel little Jensen against his thigh, so if he’s in no hurry to get up, well, he can blame it on his cast. And if he grinds into Jensen a few times before rolling off, well, that’s just sleepiness, too.
“I know,” Jensen says with a gasp as Jared rolls away and frees up his chest. “You can crash as soon as you get in the house.”
“On the couch?” Jared whines.
“Uh, yeah, on the couch.”
“I’m tired of the couch,” Jared protests, sliding a hand up Jensen’s thigh, the other arm flopped over his eyes. “It... hurts my back.”
“Fine,” Jensen says, hand grabbing Jared’s wrist as Jeremy’s footsteps circle around the front of the truck. “You can sleep in my bed.”
“I can?” Jared really hopes he’s not squealing like a girl.
“I’ll take the couch.”
“Oh.”
Next thing he knows, Jensen’s standing, looking down on him with an arm extended. Jared sighs and takes it, lets himself be hoisted up. If he staggers against Jensen’s shoulder, it’s only partly clumsiness and partly disappointment.
When they get to the house, the tiredness has settled back in full force, and he crashes on the couch anyway. A sore back is nothing compared to the case of blue balls he’s building up.
--
Standing in the kitchen doorway, Jensen’s more enthralled with watching Jared sleep sprawled on his couch than he should be. Not that Jared isn’t cute with his mouth open and his limbs all akimbo, but keeping himself planted firmly in the doorway is his way of A) not facing his brother, and B) not letting his brother see that Jared’s got an impressive bulge in the front of his pants that he’s not doing a very good job of covering even with his giant hand pressed over it. “Ten bucks says he doesn’t get up in the morning when the alarm goes off.”
“C’mon, Jensen. You’re so transparent. Since when do you make bets you know you’re gonna lose? You wanna give me ten bucks for saving his ass, just give me ten bucks and be done with it.” The refrigerator opens and the sound of milk sloshing into a plastic cup prefaces the loud open mouth chewing of what Jensen knows from experience is a peanut butter sandwich.
“That was pretty awesome of you.”
“I know,” Jeremy says through a mouthful of mush.
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“I’ve been begging you to help me out at the store for ages.”
“No, you’ve been telling me to help you out, and then, when I do, you don’t like the way I do anything anyway.”
Pursing his lips for a second, Jensen nods. “Yeah, I guess I’m kind of... particular.”
“You’d have had a cow if you’d seen the way that place looked when I got there,” Jeremy prods. “But guess what? No one got poisoned or asked for their money back, and not one single person said, ‘that’s not how Jensen does it.’”
“So, what you’re saying is, there’s more than one way to do things, and I should loosen up a little.”
“Something like that.”
“And you missed basketball?”
“Not a big deal. There’s only a few games left, and it’s not like we’re in contention for the playoffs or anything.”
“I really...” Jensen turns around, forgetting about protecting Jared’s virtue for a minute. “I don’t know how to thank you for that. I was really stressing out about what to do about the store.”
“I think you made that glaringly obvious by taking a header into the biscuit counter.”
“I’m... sorry about that, too. I’m sure I freaked a lot of people out.”
“You’re damned right you did, and you’re just lucky Jared’s got the gift of gab, because God only knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t talked the doctors into rewording a few things on your charts to keep the State off our backs.” He takes a swig of milk behind the last bite of sandwich and slams the cup down on the counter. It loses some of the effect due to the milk mustache.
“I’m sorry.” Jensen wipes his hands over the front of his jeans, because they’re suddenly sweaty, and he has the urge to hug someone. Ackles men do not hug. “We’ll get it sorted, though. I mean, if you’re willing to help out a little, and Jared...”
“Dude, Jared’s a good pinch hitter. He should do an improv show with his mad random bullshitting skills, but he’s not cut out for that work, and I can help out with basketball season almost over, but baseball’s coming up in the spring...” He looks down at his feet. “We can’t all be tied to that place forever.”
“No. Y-you’re right. I don’t want that for you either.”
“You’re not getting my point here, Jensen.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying, I don’t want that for you, either.”
“Someone has to do it, Jeremy. That’s our only source of income.”
“We barely break even, and you know it.”
“Fine!” Jensen catches himself almost raising his voice, and just raises his hands instead, leaning closer for more intensity. “Fine, then what would you have me do.”
“Take Misha’s offer.”
“What?” Jensen staggers back like he’s been punched in the gut. “You know about that?”
“Yeah. Misha came in to help us wrap things up. He told me his offer still stands.” As Jensen starts to turn away, Jeremy adds, “Just think about it, Jen. You can unload that place. Invest in something else. Something that actually, I dunno, brings something to your life instead of sucking everything out. At any rate, you’d have a little cushion, time to think about what you want to do. Get out of this rut you’re in.”
“But it’s our store, Jeremy. Mom and Dad’s...”
Jeremy’s hand falls on Jensen’s shoulder and turns him around so they’re facing, even if Jensen’s gaze has gone kind of hazy, and when the fuck did his little brother get taller than him? “You’re not selling Mom and Dad, Jensen. Just their headache.” He brushes past and heads into the living room and up the stairs, gesturing to Jared on his way past. “And you know, there is at least one bed in this place that’s big enough for that thing. Aggie’s getting too old to keep sleeping on the porch. Hell, if I remember right, that bed might even be big enough for two. Y’know, if you ever get your head out of your ass and...”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“And I’m just listenin’.”
Jeremy turns on the stair. “So, what’re you gonna do?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Jensen’s a little surprised at the grateful grin that flashes over his brother’s face before the macho smartass takes over again. “You will?”
“I promise.” He’s a lot surprised when Jeremy accepts that and runs up the stairs.
Jensen grabs his guitar and heads out on the porch. He only misses his cigarettes for a second. They disappeared magically along with all the pain killers in the house. He plunks down on the top step and just listens to the wind in the trees. It’s good thinking music. And he’s got a lot to think about.
--
With Jared working late most every night and Jensen staying home, their life becomes one long phone call complete with their own brand of text speak. Jared’s got his own phone now, so he’s not chained to the front of the store, and it still brings a smile to Jensen’s face when the caller i.d. tells him that SparklePants is calling. How Jared finds spare time to fasten so many rhinestones to the short, reconstituted vestiges of Jensen’s ruined jeans is beyond him, but doing it brings more of a sparkle to Jared’s eye than to his pants. Jensen can totally appreciate that, even if sequins and rhinestones are a manifestation of gay that he’d personally like to see stay in the closet.
“Can you hear me now?”
Jensen’s busy shuffling hangers across the closet dowel, almost doesn’t hear Jared’s standard salutation. The rustling fabric stirs up a plethora of old, familiar fragrances that effectively fog him into a cloud of nostalgia where his phone doesn’t exist for the moment. He can’t believe how much everything still smells like Mom. He’d never even thought about her wearing perfume. What wafts out of the open closet door is just ‘Mom.’ It’s the shoulder he cried into when he was little and had an ‘owie’ for her to kiss, and the way his room smelled after she brought in clean laundry and left the window open to air things out. It’s the way her laundry always came out and his never does even though he uses the same detergent, and the way her dishtowels were never musty when he helped her dry and put away the plates after supper. This is all those things in a draft of stale air that makes him want to shut the door and keep it locked away for later when he needs a shoulder to cry on and someone to kiss away his pain.
“Jen?”
“Huh?”
“I asked, ‘can you hear me now,’ but I guess the answer is no. What’s got you so distracted?”
“Nothing,” Jensen says, “Maybe just a little headache.” It’s only half a lie. This really is a lot like picking his own brain. In his experience, anything buried deep enough to need a pick, is best left buried.
“Aww, you want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Jensen’s hand freezes on the doorknob, eyes sliding shut as he remembers why he’s here and what he’s doing. “Can I take a raincheck on that?”
“I can wait forever.”
“I know you can,” Jensen says, taking the first bunch of hangers down off the dowel and laying the dresses in the box at his feet. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
“Are we even talking about the same thing? You sound... strange.”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I dunno. What are you trying to say?”
“Ask me again when you get home.”
“You know I will.” There’s a pause, neither one really ready to hang up, and Jensen can hear the hiss of the grill and the scrape of the spatula through grease. “Oh, and Jen?”
“What?”
“What’s Solo and Ensemble?”
Jensen pauses in his closet cleaning and scratches the back of his head, because, random much? “Um, it’s this thing the school music department does. The kids prepare music pieces. Y’know, singing or playing an instrument, and they perform them for judges. They get medals and things. The good ones get to go to the state competition.” He should know. His high school letter jacket had more music medals than track bars on it. “Why?”
“Apparently, this year it’s being hosted at the local high school, this Saturday, and Misha seems to think that...”
“We’re gonna get hammered.” Jensen sinks onto the bed. “Bus after bus full of screaming kids with pockets full of Mommy and Daddy’s money just waiting to be spent.” He scrubs a hand over his forehead, exhausted just thinking about it. “The diner’s the only place to eat in town that’s within walking distance of the high school. It’s going to be a mess.”
“We’ll manage. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“No. No, you know what? I’ll come in with you on Saturday.”
“Absolutely not. Doctor’s orders. Two weeks off.”
Jensen starts to say it’s been a week and a half, and he’s going stir crazy at home, but he knows better. Jared’s got him trained well. “Look, I won’t lift a finger. I can just, offer moral support. I delegate really well.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you do.” There’s something a little dirty in the way Jared says it. Must be some gay lingo Jensen still doesn’t have a handle on.
“Besides, I...” Jensen takes a breath before he finishes the sentence, because thinking it in his head and saying it out loud are two completely different things. “I need to talk with Misha. Business stuff.”
“All right. If you promise to sit.”
“I promise. Now, get back to work. I hear the smoke alarm going off.”
“You do n... oh shit!”
“If you manage not to burn the place down, I might have a surprise for you when you come home.”
“A sur... um, okay, gotta go, Jen. Bye!”
The phone clicks off before Jensen can say goodbye. That’s all right. Jensen takes a quick look around the room, memorizing everything the way it was and has been for the last four years, then gets to work. He’s got a lot to do. He’s said it before, and he’ll say it again-- Times, they are a-changin’.
--
“Awesome, dude. Thanks.” Jensen can’t refrain from mussing up Jake’s hair, even though he knows it makes the kid crazy. After all, Ackles men don’t hug. That leaves fairly limited options for expressing affection. “That was really amazing.”
Jake shrugs, ducking his eyes up the stairs with an air of sheepish uncertainty. “Thanks, but...”
“Don’t worry about it. Joey will come around. And anyway, it wasn’t your fault. I asked you to help. I didn’t even know that was in there.”
“I guess.” Jake skulks around the sewing machine cabinet, scuffing his feet along the floor with his hands stuffed in his pockets, smooths out one spot where his rope rubbed at the varnish as they lowered it down the stairs. A grin plays at the corners of his mouth when the smudge disappears under the polishing rub of his shirt sleeve. It reminds Jensen of the mid-term progress report Jake brought home the other day. They usually said something like, “Doesn’t apply self,” or “Doesn’t work well with others.” This one had said, “Takes pride in work,” and Jensen can totally see that happening himself. Jensen wonders if maybe he’s the reason the pride was lacking before, like Jeremy’s desire to help out around the house or the diner. He’s sure there are a thousand layers to the problem, but if he’s one layer, then he’s fine applying a little more frosting to it. If Mom could be proud of Jensen’s dirty limericks and Dad could play off the dirt bike sized dent in the side of the garage as ‘field research on the stability of prefabricated siding’ then Jensen can pass off a few extra holes in the walls as growing pains for Jake’s lucrative and overactive imagination. He’ll just make sure to also introduce the kid to the wonders of spackle and a putty knife.
“Don’t guess. You know it’s true. I could never have gotten that thing down here without you, and Jared would have a fit if he thought I broke his ‘no physical exertion’ rule. You’re like, the next... I dunno, Bill Gates or something. Someday you’re gonna find a better way to do something that no one else has ever been able to figure out, and then you can support me with your billions of brain bucks.”
“And Jared. I’ll support you and Jared.” Jake says it with a wide smile that stretches the freckles over his cheeks.
Jensen’s surprised Jake adds that. Until last week, Jensen had thought Jake was always one scolding away from calling the whole Jared bluff. “Well, we’ll see about that. I think it kinda depends on Jared, don’t you?”
“I want him to stay,” Jake says untying the last of his ropes from the cherry cabinet, and testing the lid to see if the hinges had been bent at all. “You do, too, or you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” he adds, nodding to the top of the stairs.
“Yeah,” Jensen shrugs. “I guess I do. But you know it’s not really my call. If he, you know, gets his memory back and wants to go back to his old life, we can’t stop him from going.”
“But maybe he won’t ever remember.”
“I think,” and Jensen’s heart pounds hard in his chest to admit it, “I kinda think I need to tell him.” He means it. He’s just spent all day going through the past, reflecting, and putting it behind him as best he can. He can’t really expect to move forward with this giant SECRET looming over all their heads. Maybe he wants Jared to stay because he likes the company, and maybe he likes Jared. Likes, likes him. But Jared’s not an Indy or an Oscar he can just put in a cage.
“No!”
Of course, there’s no way a kid is going to understand that.
“You can’t tell him, Jensen! He’ll leave!”
“He might not.” Jensen knows he’s just kidding himself. Why wouldn’t Jared leave this hovel for the lifestyle of the indulged and privileged he grew up in? But at least... is Jensen stupid for hoping that Jared hearing the truth from him will somehow exonerate him from the part he played in the scam to begin with? Truth counts for something, right? “Ow!”
Jensen doubles over from the force of a kick to the shin.
Yes, yes, he is stupid to hope.
Still, what was that movie way back when? With Leah Thompson? Jensen thinks he’d rather be right and stupid than wrong and stupid. Oh wait, that’s not how it went. But it’s still the truth.
“I won’t let you tell him,” Jake says, glaring up at him with his arms crossed over his chest.
They both snap their heads in the direction of the front door as footsteps clunk across the front porch. As the front door opens, Jake sprints across the floor and flings himself at Jared, clamps around his waist, pinning Jared’s arms to his sides. “Jared!” Ackles men don’t hug, but Ackles little boys do, and so, apparently, do faux Ackles’s. So, Jared wraps his arms around Jake as far as the eight or ten inches of mobility below his elbows allows.
“Hey, kiddo!” Jared looks thoroughly stunned but not unhappy. “Wow, this is really...” He shrugs and pats the back of Jake’s head. “When Jensen had a surprise waiting for me at home, I had no idea.”
“I’m not the surprise,” Jake scoffs, pulling out of the embrace. He makes a show of straightening his shirt and glares at Jensen over his shoulder. In the meantime, Jared spies the sewing machine cabinet, and his jaw drops.
“Is...” Jared shuffles over to the cabinet as if in a trance, one arm extended as though he should be chanting, ‘brains, brains!’ “Is this what I think it is?”
“That?” Jake asks, puzzled. “That’s just a sewing machine...”
“Mom’s sewing machine,” Jeremy adds, letting the screen door slam behind him.
“Your Mom’s?” Jared’s outstretched hand almost touches the polished top of the cabinet, then draws away as if he hits a force field and covers his mouth instead. “I can’t believe you. For me? But how did you know I wanted one?”
Jake gives Jensen a tilted sidelong, ‘explain your way out of this one, smartass’ expression.
“Uh, well, actually...” Jensen stammers.
“Man,” Jared starts with a gush, “If I had to retrofit one more pair of your jeans to fit over me and this cast with just a needle and thread, I was going to start looking into kilts.”
“Ohhh, of course!” Jensen jumps in. “Exactly. We figured it was time you stepped out of the stone age there with your... fashion design... uh, thing you’re working on.”
“But your mother’s? You really, really didn’t have to.”
Jensen would’ve staked money on Jared never having seen an old-fashioned sewing machine in his life, but Jared goes right to the latch and opens the lid, reaches inside and lifts the old sewing machine out of its cubbyhole into a locking position on the top of the table.
“The antique store across the street from the diner has one of these in the window. I’ve been over there a few times asking questions. Y’know, for when we could afford it.” He turns the wheel on the back of the machine and watches the needle glide smoothly up and down, finds the drawer with all its bobbins and presser feet stored neatly away. “This is so much nicer than that one. And the lady at the store - Margie-, she said these old machines are more reliable than the newer automatic tension machines, especially for thicker fabrics. She says everyone should learn on one of these. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Wow,” Jensen says. “I’m really glad you like it. I was afraid it’d be too old.”
“No, it’s perfect!” And oh no, Jensen can see he’s about to be included in a faux Ackles hug.
Jensen ducks and reaches under the cabinet, pulls out the wooden bench that goes with it. “Well, good...because, that’s not the whole surprise. There’s more, but first...” He hates himself for what he’s about to do when he gestures toward the bench. “Have a seat. Jeremy, can you take Jake upstairs? I want to have a little talk with Jared.”
Jake starts to protest, mouth dropping open. And it’s probably a tribute to the bridge-mending Jensen and Jeremy have been attempting in the last few days that Jeremy claps his mouth over Jake’s mouth and turns him toward the stairs instead of adding his own voice to the chorus and demanding an explanation. Jared’s still busy checking out the sewing machine, lifting the lid on the wooden bench and unfolding the half-finished projects Mom had stuffed in there.
When Jensen’s sure the kids are out of hearing distance, he turns around to find Jared holding a little dress up to his chest, the lace on the skirt just brushing the hem of his t-shirt it’s so small. It’s the same dress Joey spotted earlier, the reason she’s locked in her room, probably crying into her pillow. But first things first.
“Dude, this is the cutest thing ever,” Jared says with a grin. “It almost makes me want a little girl so I can make one for her.” He holds the sleeves like there’s a girl in it that he’s dancing with, and gives the skirt a shake. “Of course, I’d put some sequins on it. No dress is complete without sequins,” he laughs.
Jensen crouches down on the bottom step, sits and rubs his palms over his knees as he watches Jared twirl and laugh and generally bubble over with... well, glee, for lack of a better word. “Jared, sit. Please?” He gestures toward the bench again, admires the care Jared takes closing it and carefully testing that it will hold his weight before he sits down to face Jensen. “We need to talk.”
“I’m listening,” Jared says, not taking his eyes off his own reflection in the cabinet top. He goes so far as to huff on it and smooth out a smudge with his own shirt sleeve, unaware he’s mimicking the same action Jake had taken earlier.
“No. I mean, really talk. There’s something I need to tell you. It’s important.” He waves his hand in front of Jared’s face, still gets only a cursory glance as Jared fidgets with the hem of the dress, examining the stitching on the inside, and the places where it’s only pinned together. “There’s something you need to know.”
“Okay, ‘K,” Jared finally stammers, “but...”
“But what?”
“You’re not like, gonna propose or anything are you? I mean, I know technically we’re already engaged, but I... I kinda... wanna buy you a ring and do it right, and you’ve already got me this sewing machine, and...” he stops, smacks his thighs, “God, I think I’m just about to bust!”
“You’re... you’re really tickled with this, aren’t you?” Stupid question, Jensen knows, but whatever he’s been planning to say just won’t come out, and he’s stuck spouting the obvious.
“Am I? Yes! How much more can I... How can I repay you?”
Shit. This so isn’t happening the way Jensen planned. How did he go from being on the moral high ground and ready to come clean to feeling like the lowest down, dirtiest, rottenest scum bag on the planet?
“So, come out with it. What did you wanna tell me?”
“Joey’s a girl.” Jensen doesn’t know where that comes from. He just knows, one second he’s frozen with dread and at a complete loss what to say to get him out of the situation, and the next, divine inspiration.
“Wait? What?” Jared looks genuinely surprised.
Of course he’s surprised. How would he know? Joey hasn’t dressed or acted like a girl since Mom died. They’re all used to it, but... how would Jared know. He doesn’t. Thank God, Jared doesn’t know!
“Joey’s a girl. It’s short for Jolene. That’s her dress. She found it in there this afternoon when Jake helped me bring the sewing machine down here, and she got upset. Locked herself in her room.”
“Aww. I didn’t know. Oh, I... I feel so bad.” Jared’s clutching the dress in one hand over his heart, petting it like a kitten.
“Yeah, I kinda figured you didn’t know.”
“Well, that explains why Jake freaked out when Joey walked out on the porch while we were... watering the shrubs,” Jared smirks.
“Probably,” Jensen says, clearing his throat. “I just, thought you needed to know. You were the one who pointed out that what she needs is a mother, and I figured, if you’re volunteering for the job, then you should know what you’re getting into. I can,” he waffles for a second, “I can completely understand if, you know, that’s a deal breaker for you.” Actually, no, he can’t, but he’d been envisioning this conversation ending with Jared walking out. He kinda still wants to leave that option open so he doesn’t feel like a complete failure. Even if he is a complete failure.
“No. Why would that be a deal breaker? Do you think I can’t do it? I can be a mommy. I know I can.”
Jensen can’t help himself, if he smiles any wider his face is going to split, because yeah, Jared will be an awesome mommy. He lunges up off the step and claps Jared on the back. “Of course you can. In fact, I was hoping you’d say that, because there’s one more surprise.”
“There is?”
Jensen turns up the stairs, and almost stumbles back down again when he sees three pairs of eyes peeking around the corner of the upstairs landing, two of them watery, and one thumbs up. Well, he’s certainly glad someone approves of Jensen selling his soul down the road. They all better have their Men In Black memory eraser pens poised and at the ready, because he’s so not going down alone when this thing falls apart. But he can’t get enough of Jared’s giddy grin, and his dewy, puppy eyes at the prospect of being Mommy, and Jensen’s definitely going down. Falling fast.
In other words. Screwed in the best and worst possible way.
“Yup. C’mon. Lemme show you.” He starts to head up the stairs on his own but backs down when Jared seems rooted to the spot, takes Jared’s hand and leads him up, one halting step at a time.
The kids disappear as Jared and Jensen hit the landing, but Jensen hears whispers and giggles from behind Jake’s bedroom door when they pass. All the way at the end of the hall, the door to the Master bedroom stands wide open. Jared must notice, because he slows down, starts shaking his head in disbelief as Jensen tugs him along.
“You gotta be tired of sleeping on the couch, and I figure, if your leg’s strong enough to work on, then there’s no excuse to keep you sleeping downstairs.” He stops in the doorway and lets Jared enter at his own pace.
“Jensen...” It’s barely a whisper. Jared’s back to his dewy-eyed, fingertips pressed to his mouth expression. “Your parents’s room. I... I don’t know what to say.” He spins around, slowly taking in the empty closet and the stack of jeans and t-shirts lined up on top of the dresser, the bean bag chair next to the window, and the crutches in the corner.
“We want you to have it. You don’t have to say anything.”
Okay, he should’ve chosen his words more wisely. Telling Jared not to say anything is pretty much the same as giving him free license to express his appreciation any other way he deems fit. Then again, maybe in the back of Jensen’s mind, that’s been his plan all along. When Jared presses him against the door, Jensen doesn’t back away. Sometimes things just happen the way they’re supposed to. Jared’s going to kiss him. He wants Jared to kiss him. He’s ready for Jared to kiss him already.
“So...” he sighs, barely breathing as Jared’s chest presses against his.
“So...” Jared repeats, head tilting down.
So, Jared kisses him. And it’s... different.
--
A/N: Anyone reading the posts with the music on Dreamwidth? Like? Don't like? /glaring insecurity.
Doing my best to get this all unlocked by the weekend. I hope y'all enjoy it.
Part Seven
Okay, there has to be a safe way to do this. Something that doesn't involve setting himself on fire or blowing up the restaurant while trying to light the pilot on the gas cooktop would be a plus.
"There's got to be a manual somewhere around here, right? God, I haven't been awake long enough to figure this out." Jared's got his head stuck in the oven sniffing for gas when Chris finds him.
"Dude, it can't be so bad at home that you'd off yourself in the diner before the breakfast rush." Jared startles and smacks his head trying to extricate himself from the oven.
"I, uh... I was trying to figure out how to turn it on. Jensen doesn’t exactly know I’m here, so I can’t call and ask him." He looks down and scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor, edge of his shoe catching a cracked and peeling floor tile.
"I'm not a great cook, but I had to try, ya know? I mean, I've kinda sucked in the fiance department since I can't even really remember my own boyfriend and - "Chris smiles and reaches out to stop Jared in the middle of wiping down the huge stainless fridge.
"I'm shit at taking orders, but I make a pretty mean omelet if you want to switch duties?" Chris grabs the cleanest apron as Jared nods and professes his undying love to him for taking cooking duty.
"Careful what you say, Jared. Gossip flies fast round these parts. I'd hate for it to get back to Jen that his betrothed is shacking up with the Sheriff. He'd get himself all in a tizzy and that wouldn't help his blood pressure right now. Boy needs to stay as calm as possible."
"He never takes a break, does he?"
"Thinks everything's his responsibility just cause his parents... Well, that's neither here nor there at this point. I'm not surprised the stress caught up with him and knocked him flat on his ass. That kid's been running full tilt for a long time now."
“He’d be here now if we hadn’t taken the truck while he was sleeping.”
Chris drops the egg he was fixing to crack onto the counter where it splits open and leaves a slimy orange trail across the butcher block up to the point where it runs onto the grill and turns white. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” Jared eyes the toaster as smoke starts to rise out of it, the second batch of already soaked French Toast stacked and ready for the first one to pop up.
“You didn’t just up and leave him?” Lightning fast, Chris reaches across Jared and yanks the plug on the toaster, turns the whole thing over until the toast falls out, the slices squished to about an inch and a half tall.
“Like he’d have let me do this if he knew what I was planning.”
Hissing as he burns himself trying to scrape the crispified egg wash off the toaster elements with a fork, “I can’t believe you did that!”
Jared shrugs. “I’ve never made French Toast before.”
“I’m not talking about the toast, Jared.” He heaves the toaster onto the far counter. “Okay, that things outta commission for the day at least.” He startles then fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Shit. I gotta go. Work beckons.” Clicking the phone off and shoving it back in his pants, he levels a dead eye expression with Jared. “Call Jensen and let him know where you are, okay? Sooner better than later. Trust me on this.”
“But, I’m...”
“Just do it, Jared.” Chris reaches under the glass cake cover and takes out a custard-filled chocolate long john, pushes half of it into his mouth as he dashes for the door. He pushes the handle with his hip and whirls around pinky and thumb fixed to his ear in the classic ‘telephone call’ gesture and leaves with a thumbs-up and a wave.
“Right,” Jared mutters. “Call Jensen.”
Just then, a blonde woman comes in, stops dead in her tracks when she sees Jared, then stiffly herds two little boys into a booth, putting herself between them and Jared like he’s a terrorist.
“What can I do you for?” Jared shouts across the counter, spatula raised at the ready.
“French toast and orange juice all around?” Her expression and intonation make it all too clear that she doesn’t expect him to be able to comply. Well, Jared will show her.
He’ll just have to call Jensen when things slow down. They’re bound to slow down eventually, right?
--
It takes him about thirty minutes to admit defeat and pick up the phone, but he’ll swear til his dying day that it was the longest five minutes of his life. He has no idea how Jensen managed to do this day in and day out, but he needed to tap into that wisdom ASAP if he wanted to last another five minutes.
As if it isn’t enough that he’s just served a customer slimy French Toast, and said customer-- a blonde woman who’s way overdressed for this time of the morning and obviously disappointed that it’s Jared and not Misha behind the counter this morning-- has just made a valiant effort to eat it anyway for reasons Jared cannot grasp but requested cold cereal for her kids instead, his arm is getting a serious cramp in it from trying to cook and hold the phone at the same time. There’s no way it should be taking Jensen this long to answer. Jared left his cell phone right by the bed. He even remembered to turn the ringer on after having it off for the last three days. The call has gone to voice mail three times already, and calling the house phone isn’t working either. It’s about to time out for the second time, that annoying electronic phone lady voice set to click on at any second and tell him that she’s sorry his party does not seem to be answering.
He’s lucky the early morning breakfast crowd is small, just the old guy at the counter and the blonde woman still here after everyone cleared out for work and school, because he’s one more unanswered call away from running... or in his case, hobbling... out into the street and carjacking someone at two-pronged fork point, and forcing them to take him home. The bowl of raw eggs on the counter has a label on it, as does just about everthing else, because apparently, Misha is a saint or something, but Jared’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to use it for -- he leans forward to read the note again-- omelets, scrambled eggs, and egg washes, now that he’s managed to drop the ladle inside, and without thinking, fished it out with his hand. The old guy at the counter, (hey, whattaya know, there’s a label on this side of the counter with a name on it), apparently Harry, definitely saw him do it, and despite having come in with dirt under his fingernails and something slicking back his hair that probably isn’t Dippity Do, moved to cover his plate when Jared offered him more eggs. What ever happened to beggars not being choosers?
Okay, now that’s just mean. He does not know that Harry is a beggar. Where the hell did that attitude come from? Oh yeah, Jared burned off all his good will toward men when he reached into the oven to take out the biscuits, (the black, smoking biscuits because it took him five minutes to figure out where that alarm was coming from) without an oven mitt. He doesn’t know why this is so hard. He has a total of two customers since the blonde woman’s two boys skedaddled off to school, and he feeds more than that at home every day.
Home.
He stops abruptly, forgetting about the ruined eggs, the smoking biscuits, and the list of twenty things he’s supposed to get started before the lunchtime changeover. He wants to go home, and when he thinks about home, he thinks about Jensen’s. How long has he been doing that? And why does it make a big, stupid grin creep over his face even as the smoke detector in the back tells him he’s frying the bacon at too high a temperature... again?
He almost misses when the phone stops ringing, and there’s no electronic beep, beep, beep to precede the ‘shit out of luck’ message he’s used to getting. There’s no voice either.
“Jensen?”
“Jared?”
Maybe Jared’s a drama queen. Jensen has told him as much plenty of times, but he can’t help the way his chest hitches when he finally hears Jensen’s voice on the line. The dude sounds wrecked, and a million worst case scenarios play out across the stage in Jared’s mind. Maybe Jared should’ve taken Jensen back to the doctor. Maybe he wasn’t ready to get out of bed today. Maybe Jensen fell down the stairs, or slipped in the shower, or spilled hot coffee all over himself. It was stupid to leave him there all alone.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asks, and then he realizes he’s the one who called with something so important that he let the phone ring about sixty times in the last five minutes. “I mean... uh, thank God you answered. I need you to tell me how to make French Toast. I think I might’ve just given a woman salmonella.”
The line’s silent for awhile, or at least, there’s no talking. Something that sounds a little like muffled sniffling and Jensen clearing his throat comes over like static, and then, “French Toast? Where the hell are you?”
“Down at the diner doing your job. Didn’t you get my note?”
The distinct sound of crinkling paper. “Uh, yeah, but,” more crinkling and a long, heavy sigh, “but I guess I didn’t read the whole thing.”
Jared flounders for a second, trying to remember exactly how he started that letter that could’ve upset Jensen so much. “Shit. Jen, you didn’t think I...?” Right, too much emo angst makes Jared a weepy, useless lump. “Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with my giant, clumsy, can’t cook, can’t do laundry, can’t drive, mooching ass, but if you don’t tell me how to get things running around here, I’m pretty sure there won’t be a diner left for you to come back to.”
It takes longer for Jensen to come back with his usual snide comment, but he finally says, “Oh, thank God. I thought someone stole my truck.”
“Fuck you,” Jared snickers, quickly covering the receiver and turning away when he notices the woman in the booth cast him a disapproving look.
“Can’t. I’m not allowed to exert myself, remember? Now, what do you need to know?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, first things first,” Jared says. “Sit your ass down. I can hear you pacing from here. You’re gonna have yourself right back on bed rest if you don’t chill.”
“Fine,” Jensen huffs, and there’s the unmistakable squelching noise of someone sinking into the leather sofa. “I’m sitting. Now, what do you need?”
“French Toast? It’s not supposed to be slimy is it?”
“No. In general, anything with egg in it should not be slimy or it isn’t cooked enough. How did you make it?”
“Well, I figured out not to put it in the egg wash before you put it in the toaster when Chris practically had to dismantle the thing. You need a new toaster, by the way. So, I took the bread, and I put it in the oven until it turned brown. Then, when it came out, I put it in the egg wash, and voila. Only... not. I think the nice lady turned three shades of green when I put it on the table.”
“Blonde lady, front booth across from the counter?”
“Yeah...”
“That’s Grace. Hi, Grace,” he yells into the phone.
Jared jerks the receiver away from his ear fast enough to draw attention to himself. He waves at his customer and shrugs. “Uh, Jensen says ‘hi’. Grace?”
Her whole demeanor changes in an instant, from disappointed and slightly disdainful with a side of disgusted, to warm and curious. “Jensen?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Hi, baby,” she shouts. “Get better soon!”
“You heard that, right?” Jared asks Jensen.
“Yeah.” He starts to take a deep breath.
“Jensen, if you yell in my ear one more time, I’m going to hang up on you. Now, French Toast.”
“Oh, okay. Well, you have to get a bowl of milk. You can either put the egg wash in the milk or dip the bread in the milk and then into the egg. I like to do milk, then egg. Makes it crispier. And then, you put it on the grill, brown on both sides, and serve.”
“What about the toaster?”
“No toaster. That’s what the grill is for.”
“Then why do they call it French Toast?”
“Because when someone in a short skirt and a feather duster brings you breakfast and tells you it’s toast, you don’t argue semantics.”
Jared laughs. He really laughs, because a few minutes ago he was convinced he was a total failure who couldn’t do anything right, and now, well, he thinks maybe he can do it, even if he has to put on a French Maid’s costume to distract the patrons. And if he screws up, well, he’s got his Jensen lifeline right here. At the end of a long drawn out sigh, because as much as he’d love to just stand here grinning all day, he really does have to get back to work, he says, “I love you,” the same way he’d say, I love that guy, or I love tacos, or you’re awesome.
Except when Jensen says, “See ya later,” in reply, Jared’s disappointed.
--
Jensen’s washing his breakfast dishes, despite the scathing Post It note on the refrigerator that says he’s not to lift a finger, when the phone rings again. After the last phone call ended, he’d promptly fallen asleep on the couch, no idea how he managed to be completely drained in just the half hour or so he’d been up. Now he’s twitchy and guilty and feeling ridiculous for overreacting. How stupid was he to not read the whole note? Why does he have to expect everyone to let him down? How come he believes he has to do everything himself or it won’t get done? And why does he have absolutely no idea what to do with himself when he has nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company?
It’s possible he pounces on the phone when it rings again, taking only the briefest moment to wipe most of the water from his hands. “Hello?”
“Can you hear me now?” Jared’s voice verges on slightly manic with a thin candy coating of humor baked on, probably to take the edge off for Jensen’s sake. The stupid bastard.
“Uh, I dunno,” Jensen waffles. “What am I supposed to be hearing?”
After a moment of silence, some hissing, the familiar clank of pot lids, a tiny voice says, “Help.”
“What’s the situation?”
“There are just, sooo many people here,” Jared confesses. “I think they all heard we’re together, and they wanted to come and see if they approve of the guy that stole their favorite son away.”
“Whoa, favorite son? Who filled your head with that bullshit?”
“Dude, it’s so obvious. Every one I’ve waited on has had some anecdote about you working behind this counter since before you could see over it. And I’m pretty sure they’re checking out my butt.”
Jensen chuckles with a sigh. “Yeah, it is a small town. I’m sorry, man. It’ll probably slow down in a day or two.”
“But I can’t keep up. There’s so many of them, and they all want to talk. I’m at least five orders behind already.”
“Look. If you’re right, and they’re just there to check you out, it won’t matter what you feed them. Here’s a little secret. They will all eat spaghetti and meatballs. Misha left some in the warmer for you, didn’t he?”
“Uh, yeah, but...”
“Just tell ‘em the grill is malfunctioning, and it’s Spaghetti and Meatballs day. Give ‘em a special price.”
“Jen, I don’t know...”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I dunno. What are you saying?”
“You can do it, Jared.”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“Thanks yourself,” Jensen says hanging up. When the phone’s safely on the hook again he adds, “I needed you.”
--
Jared makes it ‘til almost four o’clock before he calls Jensen again. He was planning to call, anyway. His hands have been shaking since the last of the lunch crowd petered out, and the traffic started picking up at the end of the workday. Another emergency tug on the lifeline was certainly looking to be in order, when, lo and behold, Jeremy came in through the back and donned an apron, told Jared to take five. So, he’s actually mostly calm when he calls, but at least he has a justifiable reason to do so.
“Hello,” Jensen answers, his voice furry with sleep.
“Can you hear me now?”
Jensen clears his throat, and Jared can almost picture him scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “I dunno. What are you saying?”
“You don’t have to worry about the dinner rush. Jeremy’s here to help me.”
“Really? What about basketball?”
“He blew it off. Said that’s what family’s for.”
“Well, I’ll be...” the line’s silent.
“Jensen?”
“Yeah?”
“How you doin’?”
“I’m all right. Just... don’t really know what to do with myself, I guess.”
Jared snickers, sliding into a folding chair and crossing one knee over the other, studying his cuticles. “Well, you know, you probably have half an hour before the kids get home on the bus. That leaves you wide open for some ‘quality time’ if you know what I mean.”
“Are you trying to initiate phone sex with me?”
“That depends. What are you wearing?”
“What do you want me to wear?”
Jared contemplates the answer for a second, hovering for a moment over assless chaps before he says without a conscious thought at all, “My ring.”
“Jared...”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I dunno, what are you trying to say?”
“I miss you.”
“Yeah...I hear you.”
--
Jensen knows better than to expect Jared and Jeremy home at a decent hour after the day they must’ve had and the mess he can only imagine that resulted, so he’s already got the kids fed and in bed when the phone rings the next time. If he spent the last three or four hours checking to see if he accidentally turned the ringer off, well, that’s his little secret. When it does ring, it catches him in the midst of pinning Jake’s homework to the refrigerator. He wouldn’t be surprised if his smile is audible when he checks the caller i.d. and answers.
“I owe you big time.” Jensen smooths the paper flat against the refrigerator door, trapping an errant corner under the ‘Heaven doesn’t want me, and Hell’s afraid I’ll take over’ magnet he got in his stocking for Christmas. Mom used to put things on the refrigerator when she was proud of them, or at least, wanted the kids to believe she was. He had his suspicions about those limericks he wrote in Middle School. The teacher might’ve missed the double entendre, but he never knew Mom to miss a thing. Now that he thinks about it, maybe she was proud of his ability to sneak one past the teacher.
“Say that after you’ve seen the mess I made. It took me, Jeremy, and Misha to get cleaned up and set up for tomorrow. Sorry we’re so late. We should be home in about fifteen minutes.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jensen says. “I’m talking about you helping Jake with his science homework. He got a perfect score on this problem set. He’s never done that. Hell, I spend half my free time running up to the school and begging them not to hold him back. I didn’t know you were a science geek.”
“I’m so not,” Jared chuckles. Jensen can hear the exhaustion in the way it fades off without any belly support. “I didn’t have a clue what was going on with that stuff, so I just opened the book. We went over the reading and the terminology together. He got the concepts right away. Y’know, now that I think about it... I think maybe it’s just the reading he has trouble with.”
“Huh. They’ve been telling me for four years that he doesn’t apply himself, and I knew that was bullshit. Anyone who can spend three days rigging a pulley system to convert the clothesline into a solar system that glows in the dark and runs on spare parts from a busted vacuum cleaner is not lacking the ability to apply himself. Of course, he developed an acute case of ADD when it was time to clean up the glow-in-the-dark paint he splattered on the moldings.”
“He’s a smart kid.”
“Yeah, he is.” Jensen worries his bottom lip. “But those teachers had me believing that shit. I’m his brother, and you figured him out in just a few days.”
“There’s a lot to be said for a little one on one time.” The sound Jared makes can only be a stifled yawn, and Jensen grins imagining the contortions of Jared’s face. All the years his parents dragged him to church, and the most fun he ever had was watching people try not to yawn during the sermon.
“I guess that’s been lacking, hasn’t it?”
“Y’know, Jake isn’t the only one who could use a little one on one attention.”
“I know. Joey needs help with spelling and...”
“I wasn’t talking about the kids.”
Jensen feels his cheeks flush despite the fact that there’s no one there to see it and no reason to be embarrassed. It’s like Jared knows Jensen’s spent half of his downtime trying not to think about their awkward kiss in the kitchen that morning and the warm weight of Jared’s foot against his when they woke up together on the living room floor. He’s still not convinced he’s gay, but he’s got a half empty bottle of lotion and a completely empty clean underwear drawer that says he’s open to the possibility. He knows to the root of every hair on his body that it’s a terrible idea to fall for Jared. Jared’s bound to get his memory back someday, and then Jensen will be lucky to talk himself out of a jail sentence if he knows anything about it. But he likes this Jared that’s with him now, and if this Jared wants to fall for Jensen... well, Jensen doesn’t have it in him to break his heart.
He’s entirely, mostly, almost, partially, sort of convinced it’s Jared’s heart he’s worried about. Never mind that the Jared he first met had all the markings of a heartless bastard who would likely regress to the same once he remembered everything again. Jensen can’t cater to his own heart. It’s been broken too many times, and it’s illogical, and yeah, it’s needy. He’s learned to ignore it.
Entirely, mostly, almost, partially, sort of... not.
“Well, get your ass home, and we’ll see what we can do about that. Kids’re in bed. I’ll get out the guitar, crack open a couple beers...”
Jared’s next inhale is too loud and definitely half-snore. “No beer for you. You’re still sick.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Damn straight.”
The line goes dead, and Jensen hangs up. Ten minutes later, it buzzes, and he picks it up again with a smirk, says, “What’re you wearing, big boy?”
“Dude, that’s disgusting,” Jeremy retorts. “Tuck it back in your pants and get out here. Your boyfriend fell asleep in the truck, and there’s no way I’m lugging him in by myself.”
Jensen chokes, and his guitar slides off his lap to the ground with a resonating thud. “Uh,... be right out.”
“Don’t get caught in the zipper.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and hangs up.
--
Jensen has half a mind to leave Jared where he’s at and use the ‘I’m not supposed to do any strenuous work’ excuse Jared’s been using to keep him twiddling his thumbs all day, but when he gets out to the truck and sees Jared’s face all smooshed up against the glass, he kinda doesn’t have the heart to leave him there. His neck’s gonna have a hell of a kink in it by morning, and that forehead smudge is never gonna come off the glass.
Besides, he can’t remember one time when Jared’s wandered out into the yard alone. Jared’s never said anything, but Jensen’s got a feeling his tall, dark, and gimpy houseguest is afraid of the great outdoors. Leaving him to wake up out there all alone would just be mean.
Peering through the rapidly fogging windshield, Jensen gets nothing more than a shrug and a hands in air gesture of surrender from Jeremy. The kid, who’s apparently not so much a kid as someone who’s growing up way faster than Jensen gives him credit for, is getting way too much amusement by leaning against the driver’s side door with his arm crossed and a smirk on his face.
Tapping on the window doesn’t have any effect on the sleeping Jared, and opening the door even an inch causes the dead weight to shift so that Jared’s balanced precariously between the edge of the seat and the open air.
“Can you at least hold him up, so he doesn’t fall out when I open the door?” Jensen asks.
“What makes you think I’m strong enough to hold him up? There’s no block and tackle in here that I’m aware of.”
“I’m just asking for a second or two. Suck it up.” When Jeremy sets harder in his shutdown position, Jensen sighs and adds, “Please.”
Jeremy softens and rolls his eyes, grabs a fistful of Jared’s t-shirt, and braces against the steering wheel. “All right. Go ahead.”
Jensen nods and opens the door.
--
Jared’s either having a really terrific dream or a really restless sleep. Either way, he’s spread out on top of Jensen, shirtless, with his nose buried against Jensen’s throat close enough to feel the lub, lub, lub of Jensen’s pulse against his lips. “Mmm,” he’d have to be more than just a little sleepy to resist that kind of temptation. He starts with a little, soft kiss, then nuzzles in closer, takes a deep breath and licks a stripe up to Jensen’s jaw, reaches up and turns Jensen’s chin down as he leans up. Jensen’s lips are soft and already parted when Jared presses them apart first with his thumb and then his tongue. It takes a few tries, gentle prodding and delving, before Jensen’s tongue comes loose from the roof of his mouth and slides over Jared’s, their lips sealing together. Jared’s really starting to wake up all over when he slides a knee between Jensen’s and, “Ow.” Is that gravel? Breaking the kiss he looks around, dazed, and realizes they’re lying in the driveway, bobbles his head back to meet Jensen’s gaze, which is either shocked or aroused, hard to tell in this light, and says, “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Umm, hi,” Jensen stammers.
“Mmm, tired,” Jared confesses, flopping back down. He’s not sooo tired that he can’t feel little Jensen against his thigh, so if he’s in no hurry to get up, well, he can blame it on his cast. And if he grinds into Jensen a few times before rolling off, well, that’s just sleepiness, too.
“I know,” Jensen says with a gasp as Jared rolls away and frees up his chest. “You can crash as soon as you get in the house.”
“On the couch?” Jared whines.
“Uh, yeah, on the couch.”
“I’m tired of the couch,” Jared protests, sliding a hand up Jensen’s thigh, the other arm flopped over his eyes. “It... hurts my back.”
“Fine,” Jensen says, hand grabbing Jared’s wrist as Jeremy’s footsteps circle around the front of the truck. “You can sleep in my bed.”
“I can?” Jared really hopes he’s not squealing like a girl.
“I’ll take the couch.”
“Oh.”
Next thing he knows, Jensen’s standing, looking down on him with an arm extended. Jared sighs and takes it, lets himself be hoisted up. If he staggers against Jensen’s shoulder, it’s only partly clumsiness and partly disappointment.
When they get to the house, the tiredness has settled back in full force, and he crashes on the couch anyway. A sore back is nothing compared to the case of blue balls he’s building up.
--
Standing in the kitchen doorway, Jensen’s more enthralled with watching Jared sleep sprawled on his couch than he should be. Not that Jared isn’t cute with his mouth open and his limbs all akimbo, but keeping himself planted firmly in the doorway is his way of A) not facing his brother, and B) not letting his brother see that Jared’s got an impressive bulge in the front of his pants that he’s not doing a very good job of covering even with his giant hand pressed over it. “Ten bucks says he doesn’t get up in the morning when the alarm goes off.”
“C’mon, Jensen. You’re so transparent. Since when do you make bets you know you’re gonna lose? You wanna give me ten bucks for saving his ass, just give me ten bucks and be done with it.” The refrigerator opens and the sound of milk sloshing into a plastic cup prefaces the loud open mouth chewing of what Jensen knows from experience is a peanut butter sandwich.
“That was pretty awesome of you.”
“I know,” Jeremy says through a mouthful of mush.
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“I’ve been begging you to help me out at the store for ages.”
“No, you’ve been telling me to help you out, and then, when I do, you don’t like the way I do anything anyway.”
Pursing his lips for a second, Jensen nods. “Yeah, I guess I’m kind of... particular.”
“You’d have had a cow if you’d seen the way that place looked when I got there,” Jeremy prods. “But guess what? No one got poisoned or asked for their money back, and not one single person said, ‘that’s not how Jensen does it.’”
“So, what you’re saying is, there’s more than one way to do things, and I should loosen up a little.”
“Something like that.”
“And you missed basketball?”
“Not a big deal. There’s only a few games left, and it’s not like we’re in contention for the playoffs or anything.”
“I really...” Jensen turns around, forgetting about protecting Jared’s virtue for a minute. “I don’t know how to thank you for that. I was really stressing out about what to do about the store.”
“I think you made that glaringly obvious by taking a header into the biscuit counter.”
“I’m... sorry about that, too. I’m sure I freaked a lot of people out.”
“You’re damned right you did, and you’re just lucky Jared’s got the gift of gab, because God only knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t talked the doctors into rewording a few things on your charts to keep the State off our backs.” He takes a swig of milk behind the last bite of sandwich and slams the cup down on the counter. It loses some of the effect due to the milk mustache.
“I’m sorry.” Jensen wipes his hands over the front of his jeans, because they’re suddenly sweaty, and he has the urge to hug someone. Ackles men do not hug. “We’ll get it sorted, though. I mean, if you’re willing to help out a little, and Jared...”
“Dude, Jared’s a good pinch hitter. He should do an improv show with his mad random bullshitting skills, but he’s not cut out for that work, and I can help out with basketball season almost over, but baseball’s coming up in the spring...” He looks down at his feet. “We can’t all be tied to that place forever.”
“No. Y-you’re right. I don’t want that for you either.”
“You’re not getting my point here, Jensen.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying, I don’t want that for you, either.”
“Someone has to do it, Jeremy. That’s our only source of income.”
“We barely break even, and you know it.”
“Fine!” Jensen catches himself almost raising his voice, and just raises his hands instead, leaning closer for more intensity. “Fine, then what would you have me do.”
“Take Misha’s offer.”
“What?” Jensen staggers back like he’s been punched in the gut. “You know about that?”
“Yeah. Misha came in to help us wrap things up. He told me his offer still stands.” As Jensen starts to turn away, Jeremy adds, “Just think about it, Jen. You can unload that place. Invest in something else. Something that actually, I dunno, brings something to your life instead of sucking everything out. At any rate, you’d have a little cushion, time to think about what you want to do. Get out of this rut you’re in.”
“But it’s our store, Jeremy. Mom and Dad’s...”
Jeremy’s hand falls on Jensen’s shoulder and turns him around so they’re facing, even if Jensen’s gaze has gone kind of hazy, and when the fuck did his little brother get taller than him? “You’re not selling Mom and Dad, Jensen. Just their headache.” He brushes past and heads into the living room and up the stairs, gesturing to Jared on his way past. “And you know, there is at least one bed in this place that’s big enough for that thing. Aggie’s getting too old to keep sleeping on the porch. Hell, if I remember right, that bed might even be big enough for two. Y’know, if you ever get your head out of your ass and...”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“And I’m just listenin’.”
Jeremy turns on the stair. “So, what’re you gonna do?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Jensen’s a little surprised at the grateful grin that flashes over his brother’s face before the macho smartass takes over again. “You will?”
“I promise.” He’s a lot surprised when Jeremy accepts that and runs up the stairs.
Jensen grabs his guitar and heads out on the porch. He only misses his cigarettes for a second. They disappeared magically along with all the pain killers in the house. He plunks down on the top step and just listens to the wind in the trees. It’s good thinking music. And he’s got a lot to think about.
--
With Jared working late most every night and Jensen staying home, their life becomes one long phone call complete with their own brand of text speak. Jared’s got his own phone now, so he’s not chained to the front of the store, and it still brings a smile to Jensen’s face when the caller i.d. tells him that SparklePants is calling. How Jared finds spare time to fasten so many rhinestones to the short, reconstituted vestiges of Jensen’s ruined jeans is beyond him, but doing it brings more of a sparkle to Jared’s eye than to his pants. Jensen can totally appreciate that, even if sequins and rhinestones are a manifestation of gay that he’d personally like to see stay in the closet.
“Can you hear me now?”
Jensen’s busy shuffling hangers across the closet dowel, almost doesn’t hear Jared’s standard salutation. The rustling fabric stirs up a plethora of old, familiar fragrances that effectively fog him into a cloud of nostalgia where his phone doesn’t exist for the moment. He can’t believe how much everything still smells like Mom. He’d never even thought about her wearing perfume. What wafts out of the open closet door is just ‘Mom.’ It’s the shoulder he cried into when he was little and had an ‘owie’ for her to kiss, and the way his room smelled after she brought in clean laundry and left the window open to air things out. It’s the way her laundry always came out and his never does even though he uses the same detergent, and the way her dishtowels were never musty when he helped her dry and put away the plates after supper. This is all those things in a draft of stale air that makes him want to shut the door and keep it locked away for later when he needs a shoulder to cry on and someone to kiss away his pain.
“Jen?”
“Huh?”
“I asked, ‘can you hear me now,’ but I guess the answer is no. What’s got you so distracted?”
“Nothing,” Jensen says, “Maybe just a little headache.” It’s only half a lie. This really is a lot like picking his own brain. In his experience, anything buried deep enough to need a pick, is best left buried.
“Aww, you want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Jensen’s hand freezes on the doorknob, eyes sliding shut as he remembers why he’s here and what he’s doing. “Can I take a raincheck on that?”
“I can wait forever.”
“I know you can,” Jensen says, taking the first bunch of hangers down off the dowel and laying the dresses in the box at his feet. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
“Are we even talking about the same thing? You sound... strange.”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I dunno. What are you trying to say?”
“Ask me again when you get home.”
“You know I will.” There’s a pause, neither one really ready to hang up, and Jensen can hear the hiss of the grill and the scrape of the spatula through grease. “Oh, and Jen?”
“What?”
“What’s Solo and Ensemble?”
Jensen pauses in his closet cleaning and scratches the back of his head, because, random much? “Um, it’s this thing the school music department does. The kids prepare music pieces. Y’know, singing or playing an instrument, and they perform them for judges. They get medals and things. The good ones get to go to the state competition.” He should know. His high school letter jacket had more music medals than track bars on it. “Why?”
“Apparently, this year it’s being hosted at the local high school, this Saturday, and Misha seems to think that...”
“We’re gonna get hammered.” Jensen sinks onto the bed. “Bus after bus full of screaming kids with pockets full of Mommy and Daddy’s money just waiting to be spent.” He scrubs a hand over his forehead, exhausted just thinking about it. “The diner’s the only place to eat in town that’s within walking distance of the high school. It’s going to be a mess.”
“We’ll manage. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“No. No, you know what? I’ll come in with you on Saturday.”
“Absolutely not. Doctor’s orders. Two weeks off.”
Jensen starts to say it’s been a week and a half, and he’s going stir crazy at home, but he knows better. Jared’s got him trained well. “Look, I won’t lift a finger. I can just, offer moral support. I delegate really well.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you do.” There’s something a little dirty in the way Jared says it. Must be some gay lingo Jensen still doesn’t have a handle on.
“Besides, I...” Jensen takes a breath before he finishes the sentence, because thinking it in his head and saying it out loud are two completely different things. “I need to talk with Misha. Business stuff.”
“All right. If you promise to sit.”
“I promise. Now, get back to work. I hear the smoke alarm going off.”
“You do n... oh shit!”
“If you manage not to burn the place down, I might have a surprise for you when you come home.”
“A sur... um, okay, gotta go, Jen. Bye!”
The phone clicks off before Jensen can say goodbye. That’s all right. Jensen takes a quick look around the room, memorizing everything the way it was and has been for the last four years, then gets to work. He’s got a lot to do. He’s said it before, and he’ll say it again-- Times, they are a-changin’.
--
“Awesome, dude. Thanks.” Jensen can’t refrain from mussing up Jake’s hair, even though he knows it makes the kid crazy. After all, Ackles men don’t hug. That leaves fairly limited options for expressing affection. “That was really amazing.”
Jake shrugs, ducking his eyes up the stairs with an air of sheepish uncertainty. “Thanks, but...”
“Don’t worry about it. Joey will come around. And anyway, it wasn’t your fault. I asked you to help. I didn’t even know that was in there.”
“I guess.” Jake skulks around the sewing machine cabinet, scuffing his feet along the floor with his hands stuffed in his pockets, smooths out one spot where his rope rubbed at the varnish as they lowered it down the stairs. A grin plays at the corners of his mouth when the smudge disappears under the polishing rub of his shirt sleeve. It reminds Jensen of the mid-term progress report Jake brought home the other day. They usually said something like, “Doesn’t apply self,” or “Doesn’t work well with others.” This one had said, “Takes pride in work,” and Jensen can totally see that happening himself. Jensen wonders if maybe he’s the reason the pride was lacking before, like Jeremy’s desire to help out around the house or the diner. He’s sure there are a thousand layers to the problem, but if he’s one layer, then he’s fine applying a little more frosting to it. If Mom could be proud of Jensen’s dirty limericks and Dad could play off the dirt bike sized dent in the side of the garage as ‘field research on the stability of prefabricated siding’ then Jensen can pass off a few extra holes in the walls as growing pains for Jake’s lucrative and overactive imagination. He’ll just make sure to also introduce the kid to the wonders of spackle and a putty knife.
“Don’t guess. You know it’s true. I could never have gotten that thing down here without you, and Jared would have a fit if he thought I broke his ‘no physical exertion’ rule. You’re like, the next... I dunno, Bill Gates or something. Someday you’re gonna find a better way to do something that no one else has ever been able to figure out, and then you can support me with your billions of brain bucks.”
“And Jared. I’ll support you and Jared.” Jake says it with a wide smile that stretches the freckles over his cheeks.
Jensen’s surprised Jake adds that. Until last week, Jensen had thought Jake was always one scolding away from calling the whole Jared bluff. “Well, we’ll see about that. I think it kinda depends on Jared, don’t you?”
“I want him to stay,” Jake says untying the last of his ropes from the cherry cabinet, and testing the lid to see if the hinges had been bent at all. “You do, too, or you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” he adds, nodding to the top of the stairs.
“Yeah,” Jensen shrugs. “I guess I do. But you know it’s not really my call. If he, you know, gets his memory back and wants to go back to his old life, we can’t stop him from going.”
“But maybe he won’t ever remember.”
“I think,” and Jensen’s heart pounds hard in his chest to admit it, “I kinda think I need to tell him.” He means it. He’s just spent all day going through the past, reflecting, and putting it behind him as best he can. He can’t really expect to move forward with this giant SECRET looming over all their heads. Maybe he wants Jared to stay because he likes the company, and maybe he likes Jared. Likes, likes him. But Jared’s not an Indy or an Oscar he can just put in a cage.
“No!”
Of course, there’s no way a kid is going to understand that.
“You can’t tell him, Jensen! He’ll leave!”
“He might not.” Jensen knows he’s just kidding himself. Why wouldn’t Jared leave this hovel for the lifestyle of the indulged and privileged he grew up in? But at least... is Jensen stupid for hoping that Jared hearing the truth from him will somehow exonerate him from the part he played in the scam to begin with? Truth counts for something, right? “Ow!”
Jensen doubles over from the force of a kick to the shin.
Yes, yes, he is stupid to hope.
Still, what was that movie way back when? With Leah Thompson? Jensen thinks he’d rather be right and stupid than wrong and stupid. Oh wait, that’s not how it went. But it’s still the truth.
“I won’t let you tell him,” Jake says, glaring up at him with his arms crossed over his chest.
They both snap their heads in the direction of the front door as footsteps clunk across the front porch. As the front door opens, Jake sprints across the floor and flings himself at Jared, clamps around his waist, pinning Jared’s arms to his sides. “Jared!” Ackles men don’t hug, but Ackles little boys do, and so, apparently, do faux Ackles’s. So, Jared wraps his arms around Jake as far as the eight or ten inches of mobility below his elbows allows.
“Hey, kiddo!” Jared looks thoroughly stunned but not unhappy. “Wow, this is really...” He shrugs and pats the back of Jake’s head. “When Jensen had a surprise waiting for me at home, I had no idea.”
“I’m not the surprise,” Jake scoffs, pulling out of the embrace. He makes a show of straightening his shirt and glares at Jensen over his shoulder. In the meantime, Jared spies the sewing machine cabinet, and his jaw drops.
“Is...” Jared shuffles over to the cabinet as if in a trance, one arm extended as though he should be chanting, ‘brains, brains!’ “Is this what I think it is?”
“That?” Jake asks, puzzled. “That’s just a sewing machine...”
“Mom’s sewing machine,” Jeremy adds, letting the screen door slam behind him.
“Your Mom’s?” Jared’s outstretched hand almost touches the polished top of the cabinet, then draws away as if he hits a force field and covers his mouth instead. “I can’t believe you. For me? But how did you know I wanted one?”
Jake gives Jensen a tilted sidelong, ‘explain your way out of this one, smartass’ expression.
“Uh, well, actually...” Jensen stammers.
“Man,” Jared starts with a gush, “If I had to retrofit one more pair of your jeans to fit over me and this cast with just a needle and thread, I was going to start looking into kilts.”
“Ohhh, of course!” Jensen jumps in. “Exactly. We figured it was time you stepped out of the stone age there with your... fashion design... uh, thing you’re working on.”
“But your mother’s? You really, really didn’t have to.”
Jensen would’ve staked money on Jared never having seen an old-fashioned sewing machine in his life, but Jared goes right to the latch and opens the lid, reaches inside and lifts the old sewing machine out of its cubbyhole into a locking position on the top of the table.
“The antique store across the street from the diner has one of these in the window. I’ve been over there a few times asking questions. Y’know, for when we could afford it.” He turns the wheel on the back of the machine and watches the needle glide smoothly up and down, finds the drawer with all its bobbins and presser feet stored neatly away. “This is so much nicer than that one. And the lady at the store - Margie-, she said these old machines are more reliable than the newer automatic tension machines, especially for thicker fabrics. She says everyone should learn on one of these. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Wow,” Jensen says. “I’m really glad you like it. I was afraid it’d be too old.”
“No, it’s perfect!” And oh no, Jensen can see he’s about to be included in a faux Ackles hug.
Jensen ducks and reaches under the cabinet, pulls out the wooden bench that goes with it. “Well, good...because, that’s not the whole surprise. There’s more, but first...” He hates himself for what he’s about to do when he gestures toward the bench. “Have a seat. Jeremy, can you take Jake upstairs? I want to have a little talk with Jared.”
Jake starts to protest, mouth dropping open. And it’s probably a tribute to the bridge-mending Jensen and Jeremy have been attempting in the last few days that Jeremy claps his mouth over Jake’s mouth and turns him toward the stairs instead of adding his own voice to the chorus and demanding an explanation. Jared’s still busy checking out the sewing machine, lifting the lid on the wooden bench and unfolding the half-finished projects Mom had stuffed in there.
When Jensen’s sure the kids are out of hearing distance, he turns around to find Jared holding a little dress up to his chest, the lace on the skirt just brushing the hem of his t-shirt it’s so small. It’s the same dress Joey spotted earlier, the reason she’s locked in her room, probably crying into her pillow. But first things first.
“Dude, this is the cutest thing ever,” Jared says with a grin. “It almost makes me want a little girl so I can make one for her.” He holds the sleeves like there’s a girl in it that he’s dancing with, and gives the skirt a shake. “Of course, I’d put some sequins on it. No dress is complete without sequins,” he laughs.
Jensen crouches down on the bottom step, sits and rubs his palms over his knees as he watches Jared twirl and laugh and generally bubble over with... well, glee, for lack of a better word. “Jared, sit. Please?” He gestures toward the bench again, admires the care Jared takes closing it and carefully testing that it will hold his weight before he sits down to face Jensen. “We need to talk.”
“I’m listening,” Jared says, not taking his eyes off his own reflection in the cabinet top. He goes so far as to huff on it and smooth out a smudge with his own shirt sleeve, unaware he’s mimicking the same action Jake had taken earlier.
“No. I mean, really talk. There’s something I need to tell you. It’s important.” He waves his hand in front of Jared’s face, still gets only a cursory glance as Jared fidgets with the hem of the dress, examining the stitching on the inside, and the places where it’s only pinned together. “There’s something you need to know.”
“Okay, ‘K,” Jared finally stammers, “but...”
“But what?”
“You’re not like, gonna propose or anything are you? I mean, I know technically we’re already engaged, but I... I kinda... wanna buy you a ring and do it right, and you’ve already got me this sewing machine, and...” he stops, smacks his thighs, “God, I think I’m just about to bust!”
“You’re... you’re really tickled with this, aren’t you?” Stupid question, Jensen knows, but whatever he’s been planning to say just won’t come out, and he’s stuck spouting the obvious.
“Am I? Yes! How much more can I... How can I repay you?”
Shit. This so isn’t happening the way Jensen planned. How did he go from being on the moral high ground and ready to come clean to feeling like the lowest down, dirtiest, rottenest scum bag on the planet?
“So, come out with it. What did you wanna tell me?”
“Joey’s a girl.” Jensen doesn’t know where that comes from. He just knows, one second he’s frozen with dread and at a complete loss what to say to get him out of the situation, and the next, divine inspiration.
“Wait? What?” Jared looks genuinely surprised.
Of course he’s surprised. How would he know? Joey hasn’t dressed or acted like a girl since Mom died. They’re all used to it, but... how would Jared know. He doesn’t. Thank God, Jared doesn’t know!
“Joey’s a girl. It’s short for Jolene. That’s her dress. She found it in there this afternoon when Jake helped me bring the sewing machine down here, and she got upset. Locked herself in her room.”
“Aww. I didn’t know. Oh, I... I feel so bad.” Jared’s clutching the dress in one hand over his heart, petting it like a kitten.
“Yeah, I kinda figured you didn’t know.”
“Well, that explains why Jake freaked out when Joey walked out on the porch while we were... watering the shrubs,” Jared smirks.
“Probably,” Jensen says, clearing his throat. “I just, thought you needed to know. You were the one who pointed out that what she needs is a mother, and I figured, if you’re volunteering for the job, then you should know what you’re getting into. I can,” he waffles for a second, “I can completely understand if, you know, that’s a deal breaker for you.” Actually, no, he can’t, but he’d been envisioning this conversation ending with Jared walking out. He kinda still wants to leave that option open so he doesn’t feel like a complete failure. Even if he is a complete failure.
“No. Why would that be a deal breaker? Do you think I can’t do it? I can be a mommy. I know I can.”
Jensen can’t help himself, if he smiles any wider his face is going to split, because yeah, Jared will be an awesome mommy. He lunges up off the step and claps Jared on the back. “Of course you can. In fact, I was hoping you’d say that, because there’s one more surprise.”
“There is?”
Jensen turns up the stairs, and almost stumbles back down again when he sees three pairs of eyes peeking around the corner of the upstairs landing, two of them watery, and one thumbs up. Well, he’s certainly glad someone approves of Jensen selling his soul down the road. They all better have their Men In Black memory eraser pens poised and at the ready, because he’s so not going down alone when this thing falls apart. But he can’t get enough of Jared’s giddy grin, and his dewy, puppy eyes at the prospect of being Mommy, and Jensen’s definitely going down. Falling fast.
In other words. Screwed in the best and worst possible way.
“Yup. C’mon. Lemme show you.” He starts to head up the stairs on his own but backs down when Jared seems rooted to the spot, takes Jared’s hand and leads him up, one halting step at a time.
The kids disappear as Jared and Jensen hit the landing, but Jensen hears whispers and giggles from behind Jake’s bedroom door when they pass. All the way at the end of the hall, the door to the Master bedroom stands wide open. Jared must notice, because he slows down, starts shaking his head in disbelief as Jensen tugs him along.
“You gotta be tired of sleeping on the couch, and I figure, if your leg’s strong enough to work on, then there’s no excuse to keep you sleeping downstairs.” He stops in the doorway and lets Jared enter at his own pace.
“Jensen...” It’s barely a whisper. Jared’s back to his dewy-eyed, fingertips pressed to his mouth expression. “Your parents’s room. I... I don’t know what to say.” He spins around, slowly taking in the empty closet and the stack of jeans and t-shirts lined up on top of the dresser, the bean bag chair next to the window, and the crutches in the corner.
“We want you to have it. You don’t have to say anything.”
Okay, he should’ve chosen his words more wisely. Telling Jared not to say anything is pretty much the same as giving him free license to express his appreciation any other way he deems fit. Then again, maybe in the back of Jensen’s mind, that’s been his plan all along. When Jared presses him against the door, Jensen doesn’t back away. Sometimes things just happen the way they’re supposed to. Jared’s going to kiss him. He wants Jared to kiss him. He’s ready for Jared to kiss him already.
“So...” he sighs, barely breathing as Jared’s chest presses against his.
“So...” Jared repeats, head tilting down.
So, Jared kisses him. And it’s... different.
--
A/N: Anyone reading the posts with the music on Dreamwidth? Like? Don't like? /glaring insecurity.
Doing my best to get this all unlocked by the weekend. I hope y'all enjoy it.
Part Seven
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-12-31 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:08 pm (UTC)We're unlocked up to part seven!
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Date: 2009-12-31 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 10:46 am (UTC)See the icon?
Yeah, I want MOAR! ;p
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Date: 2010-01-01 03:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 12:44 pm (UTC)Not me Tracy , I'm reading here. Some I've read at night so I can't have music playing and also with my poor old sieve for brain I have to concentrate more..LOL!
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Date: 2010-01-01 03:12 pm (UTC)Good to know about the music. I don't have any tracking capabilities over there. So, I'm completely at a loss as to whether I'm wasting my time with that.
Next part is open!
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Date: 2009-12-31 02:44 pm (UTC)(As I like to read in silence I'm not including the music, but I love that you added it:)
Wish I had picked up on that clue about Joey earlier, that was very cleverly disguised. I'm looking forward to find out how Jared is going to deal. But not as much as I'm anticipating Jensen giving in to the kiss *g*)
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Date: 2010-01-01 03:14 pm (UTC)Next part is open. *smish*
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Date: 2010-01-01 04:00 pm (UTC)*gets ready to snuggle up with part 7*
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Date: 2009-12-31 06:24 pm (UTC)anyway, now? I have digressed totally.
aww, Jared and Jensen and the whole 'mommy' thing is cute, but me and the human really loved the trying to teach Jared to drive. snerk! good, good stuff
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Date: 2010-01-01 03:16 pm (UTC)So glad you're reading even though you've seen most of it already. Next part is up, and I think at least half of that should be new for you. *smish*
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Date: 2009-12-31 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 12:15 am (UTC)Poor kids are going to be a wreck when everything comes to a head.
Can't wait for the next part.
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Date: 2010-01-01 03:19 pm (UTC)Yeah, I don't think anyone's gonna be unscathed when this thing comes to a head. Le sigh.
Next part is open! Thanks for reading. *hugs*