Title: Snapshots
Word Count: 7,857
Pairing: Jensen/Jared and Chris/Steve, mainly; Sophia/Sandy, mentions of Sophia/Alexis, Sophia/Alona and Jensen/Tom.
Full cast list with photos
Warnings: AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Quite a dark fic - mentions abuse, rape, violence, self-harm, all happened in the past but that affect the present. I promise everything will be treated with the maximum tact and respect. I in no way support rape or abuse, or show it in any sort of positive light. This is merely the journey of a broken soul towards health and regeneration, showing how those terrible events affect a life and how you can deal with it.
Rating: from PG-13 to NC-17
Beta: indusnm and the wonderful and sweet ames1010 - I love you! Thank you!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and this is all the product of my overactive (and slightly twisted) imagination! Please don’t sue!
Summary: “Lie awake in bed at night, and think about your life, do you want to be different? It's time to forget about the past, to wash away what happened last” - 30 Seconds to Mars, A beautiful lie


Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

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Chapter 19


FUCK!

Chris rolls on his side and barely manages to grasp the side of the bed before falling off. His head aches, his back, his legs. He’s sweaty and nauseous, and try as he might, he can’t convince the food he had for dinner to stay in or get out. It’s stuck halfway in his throat, and dammit, he hates it.

He tries to push himself back in a somewhat horizontal position. Swallowing is out of the question, for obvious reasons. So is shoving two fingers down his throat to pull that shit out. He decides to suck it up and deal with it, his stomach rolling like a maelstrom, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling.

It had felt pretty damn real. Chris doesn’t like to dwell on those images, though. He wishes he could forget about it, but on another level he knows he can’t, and he wouldn’t do it even if he could. Wouldn’t feel right. Still, it doesn’t mean that helps with the sudden need to throw up that is clogging his throat.

He reaches blindly for the water on his nightstand and takes a gulp, hoisting himself up on one elbow and surveying the room with tired eyes. Nothing is out of the ordinary. The guitar is where he left it, so is the gym bag. His shit, scattered haphazardly between the chest of drawers right under the window and the closet, is still where it’s always been.

Chris hauls himself up, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin upon them, looking vacantly ahead.

They’re safe, he tells himself. Nothing is amiss. He doesn’t need to go check in the bathroom. There’s no blood. It’s all in his head. He’s got to know it’s all in his head.

He unlocks his limbs and puts his feet on the ground, taking deep, calming breaths. No one is screaming. Everything is absolutely fine.

He checks the digital numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s five am. Too damn early to get out of bed, too late to try and get back to sleep. He’ll have to wake in less than two hours and he knows damn well falling asleep is going to take awhile. Cursing, he stands up on slightly wobbly legs and grabs at a sweater, throwing it on and walking out of the room.

The house is silent. Chris knows that if he happens to wake Jensen, he’s going to have his ass handed back to him by Sophia, and that is never fun. He can’t stop himself, though. He tiptoes to Jensen’s door and inches it open as silently as he can manage, peeking through the gap almost fearfully.

He gives a relieved sigh, the pinkish glow of the lamp casting a warm, almost safe, light above Jensen’s sleeping form, his hair tousled from sleep and spiking up above the pillow like a halo.

Chris smiles. All safe, just as he thought. He closes the door quietly and walks downstairs, now wide-awake. There’s nothing missing, he tells himself for the hundredth time. He’s just tired, been working too long and he can’t fall asleep properly when he’s that kind of wiped.

The kitchen is as empty and silent as the rest of the house. He tiptoes in front of Sophia’s room, then walks in the studio, closing the door behind his back and sighing in relief, as this was what he’d meant to do all along. He turns on the light, looking around and waiting for the quiet atmosphere to chase the restlessness away. His eyes roam around the room, taking in the two bass guitars, his Fender and the acoustic Gibson on top of the keyboard, waiting for that feeling of completion that always comes to him when he’s surrounded by music.

Nothing. His heart is still going weirdly off-beat, the quiet and calm that he’s seeking so desperately stretched just out of his reach. Chris sighs again, in frustration this time, and goes to plug in the headphones into the Marshall speaker. Hopefully it’ll be enough not to wake anyone, even if he hates working with the headphones on.

He picks up the Gibson and starts to pluck at the strings half-heartedly. The missing something is growing remarkably out of proportion and he starts to play, hollowed tunes that get pulled out of him and reverberate in his ears like the echoes that follow him when he lets his guard down. When he closes his eyes, and sees blood and white walls, and tears, and Jensen’s eyes closed as if sleeping, and Sophia’s face taut and ashen under the neon lights.

Jesus. He’s got to stop that. His hand shakes over the strings and he stops, fiddling with the taps to tune it again before setting off in another round of chords, drowning out his parents cold reprimands and the sound of Sophia’s insane laughter chasing around in his head.

It had been the only time he’d seriously feared for her sanity. He’d never tell her that, of course. But as they stood in the hallway of that hospital, fifty-two hours of endless waiting lived through as if in a stupor, he had thought he’d lose her, too.

Of course he’d been wrong. He’d been wrong on so many things he’d felt his world being ripped from under his feet. Chris had always been convinced of the good in humanity, somehow. He was a romantic at heart – used to be, at least.

The anger makes him break a string, and he curses, sucking at his index finger and glaring at the instrument as if it had been its fault. “Don’t you let me down, too,” he mutters, undoing the string and fixing a new one on. He doesn’t add please in his head, he really doesn’t.

Chris starts to play again. His chords turn to minors and diesis, striking the notes together like a lament, not realizing he’s singing under his breath, the words flowing from his lips to accompany the melody. He turns on the keyboard, presses record without even setting the sounds.

One day, twenty-two hours and a handful of minutes.

Not like Chris is counting or anything.


+++


FUCK!

Jensen’s eyes shoot open and he sits up straight so fast his head spins. He grabs the sheets to steady himself, a silent scream echoing in his throat as he rapidly blinks the room into focus.

No coats. No hands. No IVs. He swallows, his breath slowly getting back to normal, the shadows sinking back against the walls. He settles into the pillows, slowly, his chest hurting, his mind swimming back between memories and reality.

Tom has been chasing around his thoughts since Chris told him Steve had left. That must be why the ache in his chest won’t go away. Not even working his ass off at the gym and at school had helped. And it didn’t help that in every fucking window of every fucking store there was a goddamn sneering pumpkin, a fake skeleton, sugary cobwebs and witch’s hats. The UCLA campus is even worse. The kids had started the masquerade with three days to spare, and Jensen fears he’s going to lose it even before the 31^st.

Which happens to be the following day.

Shivering, he rolls out of bed and makes to go into the bathroom. Chris’ door is open, bed empty and unmade. Jensen swallows the thick ball of tension in his throat and closes the bathroom door, sliding down on the floor with his back against the cool, wooden surface.

Chris has been a wreck. No one would have noticed, though, not if they saw Chris at the gym or in bars, his usual, charming southern-boy smile in place, a joke or a laugh for everyone. Jensen wishes he knew how to do that. He too had walls, hell, he could’ve written a fuckin’ bibliography on walls, but they resulted in him shunning away from other people, preferring the solitude of his home and the company of the few people he knew would understand.

Chris’ walls usually drives him to mingle with strangers, playing his role so well that Jensen fears he will lose himself in it one day. His jokes had become a little more cutting, and he’d got just a notch more sarcastic than usual, but outside the protective circle of the house, no one would have been able to pin anything on him.

Inside, well, that is another matter entirely.

Chris has been playing every spare minute he got, and Sophia had taken to bring him dinner in the studio, because he hadn’t put the guitar down since the very first morning after the break up.

That would have been all well with Jensen. He knows that it’s Chris’ way of dealing with Steve’s absence, but he’s starting to think it’s less about dealing and more about self-loathing. He’d caught wind of a couple of lyrics, and the pain and the anger he’d felt there had him rooted to the spot, one hand on the railing of the stairs and his head turned towards the shut door of the studio.

One of these days I’m gonna jump right off that shelf...
and hit the ground running, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I’ve been sitting on the fence for way too long,
Warming that bench as chance moves on,
And believe me, that ain’t no way to live

And this barely gettin' by is really gettin' old
And it's hard to turn a wrench on a rusty bolt, but someday
Something’s gotta give

Jensen had talked to Sophia about it, wondering with her if maybe it would be a good idea to try and talk to Chris about the huge elephant they were all dancing around in the house, but she’d told him to leave Chris be.

“He’s gotta figure this out on his own, Jen,” she’d said to him with a small smile. “We can’t push him.” And Jensen knew she was right. He still knows it, and he lifts himself up from the floor to splash some water on his face. He’s already thinking about maybe getting back to bed when hears the pouring rain outside. Fuck. Have they latched the windows in the kitchen?

With a barely restrained groan, Jensen puts his glasses back on and tiptoes down the stairs. Sophia’s door is closed, meaning she’s probably still asleep, and –

The studio door is open. What little color there was in Jensen’s face leaves as he approaches the last door on the hall, heart thundering in his throat. Room’s empty. He runs back to the living room and checks the couch – you never know, right? – but no Chris.

Where the fuck is he? He’d been playing when he’d gone to bed, he remembers Sophia banging on the studio door and telling him to put on his headphones if he wanted to go on the whole night. And alright, Chris is a big boy, but still – there’s a storm outside, and he’s not really in a state of mind Jensen trusts not to do anything stupid.

“Sophia?” He opens her door, trying to keep his voice calm. There was no reason to freak out. Chris was probably at a club with some new hot guy and he’d laugh Jensen’s concern off in the morning. “Soph? Are you awake?”

She opens her eyes, turning towards him. Jensen shivers. Even after all those years it never fails to unsettle him just how purposefully Sophia wakes up, like she had never been asleep in the first place, eyes sharp and attentive.

“Now that you’re here, yes,” she says, her voice thick and soft at the same time. She hoists herself up and rubs at a kink in her neck.

Jensen sits on the edge of her mattress, chewing on his nails nervously. “Chris ain’t home.”

She frowns, “Whatcha mean, he ain’t home? He was playing when we went to sleep.”

“He’s not,” he says, his voice still as even as he can make it. “And – it’s raining. Really bad.”

Sophia sighs and uncrosses her legs, putting her feet down on the floor. “’Kay, let’s get up first,” She rubs at her face, muttering something about not having enough caffeine to deal with this shit, and Jensen follows her in the kitchen. Real worry got hold of his chest, and he’s already picturing the worst scenarios possible, his mind running a mile a minute.

Sophia puts on a pot of coffee before walking in her room. When she gets back, she has her cell phone pressed to her ear.

Jensen swallows. “Is he answering?” he asks, going back to bite at his nails. She shakes her head mutely and puts down the phone.

“Alright – just – let me throw something on and we’ll go looking for him, okay? Jen? Jensen!” She snaps her fingers in the air and Jensen startles. “I’m sure nothing happened,” she says in a calm, soothing tone. “Don’t freak out.”

Jensen nods and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good.” The pot beeps, and Sophia pours two cups. Black and bitter for her, two sugars for Jensen. “Let’s get dressed then.”

Thunder rumbles outside, and Jensen looks worriedly out of the window. “Where do you think he is?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” she says evenly, sipping her coffee as she walks out of the kitchen. Jensen is already running a list of places through his mind when he hears the entrance door creak open. For a moment his blood runs cold and he’s tumbling back in time. He grabs the table, trying to push the flood back and anchor himself in the present, when Sophia’s voice rings out from the living room.

“What the fuck where you thinking?”

Jensen squares his shoulders and ventures out of the kitchen, sighing in loud, wonderful relief as he takes in the sight of Chris, framed in the doorframe with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look going on big time.

“Man, what the hell?” he asks, though for the life of him can’t find it in himself to be angry. Chris is looking much like a wounded pup caught misbehaving, wet hair hanging in his eyes just like his wet clothes were clinging to his body, and there’s something in his gaze that Jensen can’t quite place. “Where’ve you been?”

“’round,” Chris shrugs, closing the door and trailing inside, his boots squeaking with every step.

Sophia sighs, grabs his elbow and steers him into the kitchen before Chris has a chance to disappear up the stairs. “Please tell me you didn’t do what I’m thinking you did.”

Chris shrugs her hand off weakly and sneezes. “Whatever keeps you happy,” he says with a weak attempt at sarcasm.

Sophia rolls her eyes at him and leaves the kitchen, coming back in seconds with a thick patchwork quilt. “Here, before you catch something nasty – if you haven’t already. God, tell me you didn’t just stand there in the rain like an idiot, waiting for him to go in or out.”

Jensen blinks as Chris sneezes again, one of his hands clutching the blanket even if he’s still scowling at her. “I didn’t.”

“Sure you didn’t.” She rolls her eyes again and starts a pot of water, muttering under her breath all the while. Chris scowls again and bundles up in the quilt, looking as sullen as a four-year-old without candy.

Jensen sits in front of him, looking wary. “You sure you’re alright? You gave us a scare.”

Chris nods, sniffling a little as he sneezes, tugging the blanket closer around his body. “Didn’t think you’d wake up at the crack of dawn.” He tries to give him a smirk, but his eyes are over-bright, and Jensen is not so sure it’s only because of the droplets trailing down from his hairline. He wants to ask him why he had to sneak out on them and what the hell he’d been doing standing outside during a raging storm when Chris sneezes again.

“Screw that,” Sophia grumbles, leaving the stove to push Chris’ wet hair off his forehead and feeling his temperature with the palm of her hand. She grimaces. “You definitely caught something.”

Chris rolls his eyes at her. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.” Sneeze.

“Did too.”

Sneeze. “Not.”

“Are we going to do this for much longer?” Sophia asks as Chris sneezes again, “Cos you’re not that convincing.”

She turns back to the stove and pours the steaming water in a large cup, two teabags and a slice of lemon already waiting at the bottom. “Drink up. I’ll go start the bath. You need to warm up.”

Jensen stands up, looking uncertainly at her. “I can do it – ”

“It’s alright,” Sophia sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look after him, will ya? I don’t trust him left to his own devices.”

“Fuck you very much,” Chris mutters, taking a sip of the tea. “Don’t we have anything stronger? Whiskey?”

“You drink your tea and shut the fuck up before I decide to let your sorry ass freeze to death,” she says sternly.

Jensen smiles. He’s been on the receiving end of that tone for years, and Chris should really know better than to argue.

“Leave it, man,” he says with a small grin as Sophia walks out of the kitchen. “She’ll have her way in the end. Trust me.”

Chris looks for a moment like he wants to say something, but a violent shiver shakes him and he apparently decides it’s better he sucks it up and deals with it. Jensen is glad. Chris can be as stubborn as a ton of bricks, but Sophia is just about as malleable as a Marine when it concerns someone’s health, and it’s usually just best to let her do her thing without complaining.

“Didn’ wanna scare you,” Chris says quietly as he drinks his tea.

Jensen smiles at him and nudges his knee with his foot. “It’s alright. You know I’m a mother hen.”

Chris snorts and sneezes again. Jensen chuckles. He knows he shouldn’t be amused, but Chris is looking so much like a disgruntled kid he can’t keep the small smile from his face.

“What were you doing outside, night like this?” Jensen asks after a few minutes of silence. Surely it couldn’t be what Sophia had said. And, alright, Chris had been really broken up about Steve lately, but he’d die before admitting it out loud – and going to stalk the guy kinda spoke volumes. There had to be something else out there.

Chris just shrugs, averts his eyes. “I needed to take a walk,” he says with a whisper. “Clear my head a little.”

Jensen nods because, hell yes, he can relate. “Did it help?”

Chris smiles bitterly, sneezing again and clutching at his quilt with a small groan. “Besides catching pneumonia? Not really.”

Jensen grins. “They did invent umbrellas, ya know.”

“Smartass.”

“Idiot.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“True.” Chris finishes his tea with one go, putting the cup down.

Jensen’s stomach twists. “I didn’t mean it like that–”

Chris smiles at him and shakes his head. “I know you didn’t. But, yeah. Still true.”

Jensen looks uncertainly at him. “You know,” he says hesitantly, “why don’t you just tell him –”

“What?” Chris says in the same bitter tone, eyes looking very red all of a sudden. “That my parents don’t know I’m gay? That they’re trying to pitch me to every rich girl in town, holding the house and the concession of the gym over my head like a damned Damocles’ sword? That I got fired from UCLA–” Jensen blanches and Chris stops, takes a deep breath as he rubs at his face. “Fuck. Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers, anguish twisting his face. “Sorry man. Didn’t wanna snap.”

“It’s alright,” Jensen murmurs, his stomach twisting. He knows what Chris has refrained from saying, and he closes his hand around the bracelet on his wrist on instinct. “I should be sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, Jen, don’t even start. Please.” Chris looks straight in his eyes, and even if they’re veiled by fever and a sort of restless desperation, Jensen can still see the honesty in them. “Don’t take the blame for my fuck ups. None of this is your fault.”

“They fired you because of me,” Jensen says, the familiar feeling of self-loathing making way through his chest.

“They fired me because I was inadequate,” Chris snorts. “Just – look, I’m good. I’m doing good. You don’t need to worry about me, okay? Think about yourself for once.”

Sophia pokes her head in from the hall. “Bath’s ready. Get your ass up.”

Chris goes without complaining, which Jensen deems the wisest move of the night. He watches him go, a ravenous snake crawling its way inside his chest. The weight of Chris’ words and the small glimpse of his despair settle heavy on his heart. Chris had told him to think about himself for once, but he feels like he should be the one thinking about his friends, taking care of them as they always do for him.

Sophia gets back a small while later with an armful of wet clothes and a deep frown etched over her forehead.

“Out like a light. I put him in my room; he’s too fuckin’ heavy to carry upstairs.”

“You think he’s alright?” Jensen asks worriedly, guilt clenching his gut. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Chris so miserable and it fuckin’ hurts not to be able to do anything at all.

“I think he’s got a fever,” she says as she loads the washing machine. “Hopefully it’s nothing serious. But I think he should stay in tomorrow – wait, screw that,” she looks at the clock on the wall and groans. “Yeah, today.”

“It’s no problem,” he hurries to say, “I can take his shift. I mean, he did it, what? A hundred times for me?”

Sophia smiles and closes the washing machine, taking Chris’ cell and his iPod and walking up to kiss Jensen’s cheek. “That’s great. I’ll talk with Dr. Tyler when the sun’s up… ask him if he needs anything other than Tylenol.”

“You, calling a doctor?” he giggles, and she swats him over his belly.

Then she turns really serious. “You sure you’re up to it?”

“What, taking his shift?” he grins. “Well, I know I haven’t got my Ph. D yet, but I think I can manage.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she says with a sad smile.

“Then what … oh.”

Halloween. He had almost forgotten. He shrugs, attempting to smile normally. “Nah, it won’t be a problem.”

“Have you called Jared yet?”

Jensen’s back tenses. “Why?”

“For tomorrow night? Or rather, tonight?”

“I’m not going,” Jensen says quietly.

Sophia says nothing, and he wishes she would. He hates when she goes silent like that, hates not knowing what’s going on in her mind. “Soph?”

She smiles and shakes her head at him, picking up her empty cup and filling it with coffee again. “What do you want me to tell you, Jen?”

Jensen sits on the table, crossing his legs underneath him. “I don’t know.” He waves his hand helplessly mid-air. “Something?”

Sophia puts her coffee down. She climbs up on the table with an ease that will never cease to amaze him, even with her damaged knee. He suddenly sees her climbing with her naked hands up to the second story of his house, small and agile like a dragonfly. Back then her hands were covered in tiny scratches and calluses, yet still soft and gentle over his skin. There’s almost no difference to how they are now, and she takes his own between hers and presses a kiss to the tip of his digits.

“You know I am not going to say anything, baby. I can’t – Samantha says –”

“But you’re thinking something,” Jensen says, accusingly. “You always are.”

She snorts and squeezes his hand, bumping his shoulder with her own. “Yes.”

“So why won’t you tell me?”

“Would it help? To know what I think of this?”

Jensen nods. “It would.”

“Then I think you shouldn’t let him do all the work.”

Jensen frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.” She smiles at him and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You know that if you decide to go I’ll stand by you, right?”

Jensen smiles at her. “You always do.”

“Course,” she says bracingly. “You jump, I jump. And it’s not gonna change.”

“Thanks,” Jensen says quietly, nudging her shoulder. “I mean it.”

“Now go catch a couple more hours of sleep. You’re gonna need them.”

Jensen stands obediently, then frowns at the light coming through her room’s open door. “And Chris?”

Sophia sighs, following his gaze and rubbing at her neck again. “Don’t know, to tell you the truth.”

“You think we should – talk to Steve, or something?”

Sophia shakes her head. “No. I still think Chris has got to do this on his own. For himself. Or he won’t ever work past it.”

Jensen sighs. He knows, deep down he knows that she’s right, but still… “We should do something, though. Anything.”

“We can’t, Jen,” she says patiently again. “I know it sucks,” she adds, grasping his shoulder and squeezing. “Having to stand by and watch when a friend suffers. But – sometimes there’s nothing we can really do.”

Jensen looks at her, green meeting green, the soft lines around her eyes a mirror to his own. I really have fucked you all up, he thinks bitterly, hooking his arm around Sophia’s neck and squeezing. He doesn’t say it, though. He kisses Sophia goodnight and walks up to his room. Sun is rising already, struggling weakly through the dark clouds ahead. He turns off his lamp, watching its progress through the dark grey sky.

Sunrise of October 31^st. Halloween, a party, a date.

Just like five years ago. Jensen shudders and wraps his arms around his chest, feeling like he’s hovering on a knife’s edge.

A decision to make, yet again, that will change his life drastically. For better or for worse, he doesn’t know yet.


+++


FUCK!

Jared rolls off the couch with a yelp, limbs flailing wildly as he tries not to crack his head open on any hard surface.

Adrienne laughs, putting a tray with breakfast down on the coffee table. “Bad dream?”

Jared jumps, nearly upturning the lamp in the process, and grabbing the blanket to cover himself up. “Ummm…” he says, very intelligently, still navigating through the shock of finding Adrianne half-dressed upon first opening his eyes, and the images from his very vivid, very weird dream.

“It’s fine, sweetie,” she says with a knowing grin and a wink before walking away. “Everyone has wet dreams.”

Which leaves Jared ten differed shades of red and at least two steps above too embarrassed to ever set foot in Sandy’s apartment ever again.

Cold shower. What Jared needs now is a very cold shower and to forget he’s ever dreamed anything of the sort. It’s quite unsettling, really. Even when he jerks off (because duh, yes, he’s a guy, and he likes his private time, thank you very much) he doesn’t really think about anything. He just closes his eyes, slides his hand into his pants, and relaxes. Sometimes he likes to draw it out, make it last, since it’s the only kind of action he ever gets, but most of the time it’s merely a need to be taken care of.

This time though…

Jared shudders and sheds his clothes rapidly in the tiny, pink-tinted bathroom and squeezes himself in the too-small shower, hissing when the jet of cold water hits his back. His cock is having none of it, though, still as hard as it had been when he’d been jerked awake.

He closes his hand around the base, eyes squeezed tight as he tries to draw a blank in his mind, going through the motions as he always does –

A warm body pressed against his side… delicate hands resting over his hips, parted lips that draw patterns all over his neck –

He moans, shuddering with arousal even under the icy cold jet. Wrong! Jared’s mind shouts shrilly at him, but obviously his brain and his dick aren’t communicating. He comes in wet splashes over his hand and the shower stall, quicker than he’s ever done, his heart thundering wildly in his ribcage as he shakes through the aftershocks.

God it had felt so real. So good. Like Jensen was really sleeping next to him, just like when he dozed off through the movie. Only his mind had attached bits that surely had never happened and most surely were never gonna happen. Like, never ever. Although – it had felt really, really nice. Like it hadn’t just been him and his right hand. Still it does nothing good for his mental state, and as he turns off the cold water and starts rinsing himself rapidly, forcing his mind to stay very, very far away from green eyed beauties and freckled skin.

And it’s not a hard task – fuck, wrong wording. It’s surely not difficult not to have any sexual thoughts whatsoever. He’s been doing it for nineteen years, no reason why he can’t keep doing it.

A sudden knock at the door makes him jump and crack his elbow painfully against the shower stall.

“Who did you dream about?” Sandy’s voice shouts in glee from the other side of the door.

Jared feels like banging his head against the wall. “NOBODY!” he yells back, twin splotches of red coloring his cheeks.

“You’re taking a cold shower!” Sandy hoots with laughter. “C’mon, out with it.”

“I hate you,” Jared mumbles, shuffling on his clothes as quickly as he can. “Don’t you have to go out and do something? Like rehearse?”

“Will go once you tell me who you dreamed about!”

“NO WAY!”

“You did dream about someone then!” she cries happily, and Jared can hear her clap her hands in excitement. “C’mon, I got three guesses!”

Jared moans and tugs his sweater above his head, glaring holes through the door. “Forget it!”

“I’m coming in, you better be dressed!”

Sandy walks in with a smug grin on her face, her hair pulled up in the tight curls required for Satin’s role. “Guess one. Jensen.”

“Shut up,” Jared mutters, turning to hide his blush. Why were his friends – well, um. Singular. Friend. Anyway – why was she set upon tormenting him? Wasn’t it embarrassing enough that – that he’d imagined… you know. And then – that. He doesn’t need people to make fun, he really doesn’t.

“You know, you’re such a prude when you wanna be,” Sandy pokes at him in his side. “It’s totally normal that you like someone and end up thinking about them without their clothes on. It’s called getting off-“

“Shut up!” Jared repeats, hating the whine that he hears in his own voice. “Will you let this go already?”

“But it’s a good thing!” she repeats patiently, just as if she’s talking to an emotional toddler. “Look, you told me you needed to figure out stuff, right? What bigger giveaway than this?”

“I’m not-” Jared stops and sighs, fastening his belt and looking at himself in the mirror. “I’m not gay,” he whispers to his own reflection, quietly, his breath fanning against the smooth surface.

Sandy walks right next to him and wraps her arms around his middle, nudging at his side with her head. “Sweetie. You know I always joke with you, right?” Jared nods, and she smiles. “It’s just too fun to rile you up. But – this is a little serious now. And – you know what I told you last week… you can’t ask him out and not mean it. Maybe he’s really looking forward to a date and – if you are not into him, you’re gonna hurt him. You realize this, don’t you?”

“I don’t wanna hurt him,” Jared says in a quiet voice. “I won’t.”

Sandy sighs. “Then try and be honest with him.”

Jared bows his head and stares at the white-knuckled grip he has on the sink. “He never said he’d go with me tonight,” he says, shoulders slumping a little. It stings, a little more than it should.

“Well, maybe if you let him know that you are into him, he would have.”

Jared bites his lip and raises his head. Sandy’s looking at his reflection, her arms steady around his middle. “You think so?”

“I do.”

“What does it mean?” he says quietly, looking at her in the mirror as if pleading for an answer. “I just – I never felt anything before.”

“That’s so flattering for me,” Sandy sniggers, and forestalls Jared’s stream of protests with one raised hand. “I’m just kidding. I think I always knew that we couldn’t – you know. Go all the way with it.”

Jared’s shoulders slump and he looks back at himself balefully. “But what if – you know.”

“If you’re gay?”

“Yeah, but – not just that.” He torments his lower lip with his teeth, staring at himself as if he’d never seen himself before. Images flash in his mind – a smile, a hint of red on freckled cheeks, tousled hair tickling his neck, how soft skin felt under his fingertips. He doesn’t know how his mind had morphed that innocent touch into something different – something that involved a lot more naked skin and full, lush lips searching, hands following patterns yet unexplored, clutching, sliding, touching.

Jared shivers, and tries to wield back to the present. No good thinking about that again – not with Sandy pressed so close and clearly ready to grasp at strands to prove to him that she’s always been right.

“Then what is it?” There’s no teasing in her voice this time, only honest enquiry.

“It’s him,” Jared murmurs in the end, still looking into his own eyes in the mirror. “It’s him.”

He knows he’s not making any sense to Sandy. He’s not making much sense to himself either. And he sure as hell doesn’t know why he suddenly feels like some sort of weight has melted from his stomach and a storm of butterflies have come raging in. It’s him, he thinks again. It’s Jensen.

“You’ve got it bad, baby,” Sandy says with a grin, patting his chest. Jared shakes his head, a little more color rising in his cheeks. “Why don’t you try to run with it, instead of running from it?”

Jared shrugs, looks down on his bare feet and slides out of Sandy’s arms. It’s all nice and easy for her to say it. She has never seen the guy, doesn’t understand how amazing he is, and how grateful Jared feels for having had a second chance with his friendship. He will fuck up, he most certainly will, and the thought unsettles him more than a little.

“I’ll give you a ride to the theatre. I gotta go down that way anyhow.”

She sighs, pats where she can reach of his back. “We’re all set, Milo is coming picking us up.”

Jared frowns, “Didn’t you say you were done with him?”

“I am,” Sandy shrugs and winks at him. “But Adrienne’s not.”

Jared sighs and rolls his eyes at her. “Women.”

She grins again and picks up her bag, just outside the bathroom door. “Please, try and not be late tonight, okay? We start at nine sharp and ... just show up. Please?”

Jared nods and pulls her in into a good luck hug. “Sure thing. I’ll see you tonight and you’ll be great.”

“I know.” She pokes her tongue out at him cheekily. “Bring your date!”

Jared aims a swat over her head, which she ducks, as always, and watches her go, stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly. He follows a few minutes later, revving up his Volvo and speeding off to work, thoughts swirling like a mass of color and undistinguished shapes made of gold, green and white.

He knows, deep down, that there’s something off with him. His longing to fit in, to finally put together the pieces that lay scattered around him, inside of him. To belong, somewhere, anywhere. And it’s funny to realize that the first time he really felt like he meant something to someone had been when Jensen had let him in, no matter how badly he had messed up.

Steve had told him that everyone’s different. Jared would be lying if he said he had never stopped to think about that conversation in the past four days. Especially with seeing Steve so miserable after he’d broken up with Christian, and not knowing what to do to make it even slightly better. He’d thought about himself and how pathetic it was that he hadn’t yet had any relationships. It’s not like the fact that he’s still a virgin bothers him that much. It’s more realizing that he hasn’t yet experienced that thrill, that knowledge that there was someone out there, someone that would be just for him.

“Hey kiddo,” Chad waves at him from the counter. “You good?”

“Yeah Chad, thanks.” Jared shrugs off his jacket and hops behind the counter to don his apron. There is already a small crowd gathered around the rickety tables – no matter what hour or what day of the week, the Lin’D’Berg is never empty. He rolls up his sleeves and looks around, brows furrowing.

“Chad – where’s Steve?”

Chad sighs, glances at the Staff Only room. “He’s sleeping. Has had a troubled night.”

Jared’s frown deepens. “How come?”

Chad sighs and puts down the glasses he’d been wiping. “Apparently he thinks he saw Kane standing outside the pub. In the rain. No good telling him it’s bullshit, so he’s shut himself up. Hopefully we’ll see him wandering around this afternoon.”

Jared sighs, glancing back over his shoulder at the closed door and chewing on his lower lip. “Alright.”

The morning goes by quickly. Jared’s been cleaning up the debris from the night before and getting the grill rolling for the noon’s patrons, and there’s little time to spare for thoughts that ain’t orders, change, tips, girls writing their numbers on their checks and Chad taking each of them for his own. He is so immersed in chopping up pickles, trying very hard not to think of a certain someone who hated his favorite burger addition, that when someone asks for a cheese salad he barely raises his head before passing the order to Chad.

“You look almost like a real bartender like this!”

Jared fumbles with the knife and yelps, all color leaving his face when he finds himself face to face with a cheeky grin and a flash of slanted, hazel eyes. “Megan! What the hell -”

“Jesus, there’s no need to freak out! I just wanted to check on my big brother.”

“You can’t even walk in here!” Jared splutters, rounding the counter and grabbing her by her elbow. “You need an ID –” his mouth falls open on a gasp, his sister winking at him and showing a driving license from North Dakota that surely does not belong to her. “Where did you get this?”

“Relax, Jay, there’s no need to shit a brick. I’m not going to get wasted before tennis practice,” she rolls her eyes at him like he’s the irrational one. “I just wanted to see where you work, that’s all.”

“What if mom and dad find out you’re here?” Jared says, trying very hard not to panic.

“They won’t,” Megan pulls her arm out of his grasp and frames his face with her tiny hands. “Bro, relax. I haven’t seen you in three days, just wanted to know how you were doing.” She smiles at him, all honest and open, and Jared can’t find it in himself to be angry at her. It’s nice to know that at least someone has missed him.

“Why don’t you gimme a call beforehand, huh? And no more sneaking in into clubs until you’re 21,” he says sternly, taking her ID, “for real!”

“Hey!” She makes a wild grab for it, but Jared’s taller than a bicentenary oak tree, so her attempt is rather futile. “Aw, c’mon. I paid fifty bucks for that one.”

“Which is not even a third of your pocket money,” Jared pokes his tongue out at her, “I’m not sympathizing.”

“You’re an ass,” Megan grumbles. “Don’t even know why I bothered.”

“Another of your girlfriends, Jare?” Chad’s voice resounds amused from behind him, and Jared turns with a barely stifled groan.

“Don’t encourage her –”

“I’m his number one!” Megan grins, winding her arms around his neck. Jared’s breath leaves him in an ‘omphf’, and he grabs onto Megan’s wrists to keep them both from falling.

“Your fat ass is smothering me!” Jared grumbles, trying to get a steady grip on her. The comment earns him a smack over the head and a snigger from Chad.

“A real sweet talker, huh?”

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Megan says with a huge sigh. “Don’t know how I put up with him.”

Jared cranes his neck, trying to glare at her. “No flirting with my boss, dudette.”

Chad chuckles, then his eyes light up, looking at something just behind Jared’s shoulders. “Hey there. About damn time.”

Jared turns curiously and almost topples him and Megan as his balance tips precariously, Jensen’s eyes piercing through him like a knife through butter. “Jen!” he exclaims, painting with the effort to keep Megan up and feed oxygen to his lungs at the same time.

“OH MY GOD! Jay, put me down! Put me down!” Megan scrambles off his back and smoothes out her plaited white skirt, tucking her hair in behind her ear with a shy grin. “Hi,” she thrusts her hand out at Jensen, who’s still looking a bit at loss at the mayhem. “I’m Megan Padalecki, Jared’s sister. It’s so nice to meet you, finally. Jared can’t shut up about you.”

“Megan!” Jared hisses, aiming to grab her shoulder and pull her back, but Megan sidesteps him and goes to stand next to Jensen, dimples dazzling up at him.

Jensen smiles at her, shaking her hand while a cute blush makes way on his cheeks. “Nice to meet you too, Megan. You’re the Justin Timberlake fan, right?”

Megan gives Jared a cocked eyebrow and a grin, and Jared wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “Is this what he told you so you’d stay away from me? Hell no. I only listen to 12 Stones and Our Lady Peace. You know ‘em?”

Jensen catches Jared’s eye and grins at him. “Really?” It’s Jared’s turn to blush as Jensen turns his attention to Megan again. “I’ve heard some of their stuff. Good taste.”

Megan is looking smugger than fucking life, and for the first time Jared contemplates the privileges of being an only child. “Don’t you have tennis practice now with the rest of your freshmen friends?”

Megan gasps and punches him in the side, and it’s a good thing Jared likes to work out, or that would’ve hurt. His sister is a mean piece of work. “You’re such an ass!” she mutters, the tips of her ears turning red. Jared grins. Padalecki senior scores one.

Jensen chuckles, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “It’s been great meeting you, Megan,” he says, and Jared can tell he really means it.

She beams at him and jumps up to kiss his cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck. “If he makes you wait too long, gimme a call and I’ll kick his ass,” she giggles, wiping a trace of lipstick off Jensen’s cheek before waving and running out of the door.

Chad is bent in two with laughter at Jensen’s bemused expression and Jared’s indignant splutter. “Lunch tomorrow,” she yells over her shoulder when she’s sure nothing Jared aims at her can hit her anymore. “Don’t forget.”

Jared groans and buries his face in his hands. “I swear I ain’t related to her, for real,” he mutters, peering at Jensen from the gaps between his fingers.

Jensen laughs, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “Seriously? If it wasn’t for the height and age, you could be twins.”

“Fantastic,” Jared groans, letting go of his face to try and catch Jensen’s eye without bursting into flames. Jensen giggles, biting on his lower lip and shaking his head, and Jared thinks that maybe he hasn’t ruined his chances wholly by letting his younger sister grope him after all.

“12 stones, huh?” Jensen grins, and Jared rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

“What can I say? I like the beat.”

“You’re hopeless,” Jensen laughs, eyes twinkling. Jared can live with Jensen’s laughs, oh yes. Even if he’s laughing at him. Anything if it means he’d get to see those green eyes shine the way they do now.

“You want something to eat, or it was all Megan’s master plan to embarrass the hell out of me?” He bumps his shoulder against Jensen’s as he goes behind the counter again with a grin.

Jensen shifts from one foot to the other, then takes a stool in front of him, fiddling a little with his leather bracelet, a gesture Jared finds utterly adorable.

“I was thinking,” Jensen says quietly. “About tonight.” He raises his eyes again, licking his lips, and a sudden wave of heat goes down Jared’s spine right to his groin. He squirms under the scrutiny, blushing furiously as bits and pieces from his dream go off in his mind’s eye.

“And?” his voice scrapes his throat, suddenly too tight and dry for comfort.

“And – I’d like to go with you, if – if you still want to.”

Jared blinks. “If I – of course I want to!” he beams, excitement flooding the pit of his stomach. “Really? That’s awesome!”

Jensen blushes, too, but Jared for the life of him can’t understand why. “Okay then,” he says, smiling like Jared hadn’t seen him smile before.

“I’ll come pick you up at eight thirty – that okay with you?”

“Sounds good.” Jensen stands and picks up a bag Jared hadn’t noticed he had with him. He’s probably going to the gym again. The thought that he had made a point of stopping by to tell him makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter wildly. “See you tonight then.”

Jared grins right back, and rubs the back of his neck. “Sure thing. It’s a date.”

Jensen stops in his tracks and turns to face him with a small, shy smile. “Yeah. Alright.” He hoists the bag on his shoulder and steps out of the pub with a wave in Chad’s direction, leaving Jared grinning like a fool behind the counter.

“Am I gonna be invited to the wedding?” Chad sniggers, elbowing Jared in the ribs as he walks past him with a tray. Jared aims a towel at his head and gets back to his pickles, his smile bright and wide enough to make his jaw ache.

Another piece had fallen back into the puzzle.


TBC...



Note: Lyrics are transcript from Kane's "Something's gotta give" song, and might be incorrect. However, I strained my ears enough and if someone else has a better version or idea of how the lyrics should be, please let me know! :D *hugs* Thank you tigerpinky *smooshes your face*