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beansideThe next Deathknell is in beta, but in the meantime, here's some more of the OT3-verse! Hopefully, this will make the lovely ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
poisontaster's week a little better.
Title: A Whisper for the Days Gone By
Rating: R
Authors:nilchance and beanside
Disclaimer: Never happened. Tis fiction, all of it.
Previous parts can be found via the tags at the end of the post. *grin*
After four days, it seemed that most of the press had given up on Jensen. There was only a few people hanging around the entrance of the complex when Jeff dropped him off.
"If you need anything, you call, okay?" Jeff murmured. "I mean it."
"I know. Thanks. Really. I would have gone insane without you and Jared," Jensen said.
Jeff shrugged. "We enjoyed having you. Would've enjoyed having you for longer, too."
"I know. But I couldn't do that to you." He slipped out of the car before Jeff could answer, turning back to flash him a too-bright smile. "Thanks again."
Jeff gave him a sharp look, the first flicker of anger in his voice when he began, "Jensen, whatever the fuck you're trying to do here-"
Jensen slammed the car door shut on him and pretended like he hadn't heard.
The photographers snapped a few pictures, yelled a couple questions at him, but Jensen barely noticed. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, walking into his building.
There was a couple of boxes in front of his door. Great. Tom had probably bribed someone to deliver food. Hopefully, it wasn't perishable. Jensen really wasn't in the mood to deal with spoiled food.
He toed the box through the door and flipped on the light, taking a deep breath of stale air. After nearly a week at Jeff's house, it felt too small. The bland walls with their bland art reminded him starkly of Jeff's walls, decorated with his own paintings in intense, vibrant color. There was no life here, no dogs demanding attention, no bread baking in the oven or music playing or pool lapping steadily in the background.
The silence reminded him of Jared. Jared, who'd slept on the couch last night, and who'd stayed in the basement when it was time for Jensen to head out. Jeff had made excuses, but that silence held volumes. Jared was hurt. Jared was pissed.
Jensen had been right. He'd screwed everything up: family, friends, career. It had only taken a few weeks, too. At least he'd been efficient.
His phone blinked at him from the table, and he realized for the first time that Jared hadn't brought anything back to Jeff's house but his clothes. No cell, no computer, and he hadn't even noticed the lack. He picked it up, wincing as the readout told him that he had a hundred and sixty eight messages. Well, this was gonna suck.
Picking up a legal pad and a pencil, Jensen slid the earpiece in and dialed his voice mail. The first one was unsurprisingly Rosenbaum. "Dude, you just came out on Stern! Call me."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Jensen muttered, deleting it. Next was Welling, and Allison Mack, who Mike had apparently alerted. Joanna, pleading with him to pick up the phone, apologizing, trying to get him to talk to her.
It went downhill from there.
"Jensen, this is your father. Son, you need help. You know this isn't right. This isn't what God wants for you. If... if you won't get help, you won't be welcome back here. We have the children to think about. There's a clinic that's had great success in curing homosexuals-"
His father's voice broke off as he stabbed the "delete" key.
A few messages later, it was his grandmother, tears in her voice. She still loved him, she prayed for him every night, she didn't want to see him in hell. He'd broken her heart. He was being selfish.
"Jensen, this is Mrs. Irene, your first grade Sunday school teacher. I saw your number in the bulletin, and I just had to call. Surely you see this is a phase, sweetie-"
It took another few calls before he finally figured it out. His parents had put his private cell number in his church bulletin, so that the faithful could send him messages of 'hope.' Sure, half of them called him a faggot and told him he'd burn in hell, but whatever. They could fix him. They could heal him.
It hadn't felt like sickness when Jared tangled around him, nuzzling against Jensen's shoulder in his sleep. It hadn't felt like sickness when Jeff kissed him.
"Screw this." He put down the phone and turned to the box. Might as well deal with the chunky milk... except that it had a Priority mail sticker on the box.
Okay, probably not food. Should he be worried? He didn't hear ticking or see white powder. And goddamn, he'd been watching those TiVoed episodes of 24 too often, if anthrax was even a concern.
Jensen crouched by the box, and felt his throat tighten as he read the return address. Richardson, TX. Well, fuck. He'd known Dad wouldn't yield, but knowing was one thing. Seeing that they'd sent his stuff back was another.
It wasn't smart to open the box. He could check it out later, when things weren't so raw. He didn't need a few pairs of sleep-pants and the package of socks he'd left one Christmas. (But it was too heavy for that; what else had they sent?) Maybe once he wasn't so off balance, when he was up in Vancouver with Jared...
Jared would forgive him. He had to.
It was all very sensible, but Jensen's hands still moved to pick up the scissors on his desk. He sliced through the tape, still somewhere far away, and looked inside the box.
I can never go home.
Slowly, Jensen closed the lid. He heard the ripping of the duct tape, like the world tearing, as he sealed the box shut again. His fingers trembled as he stroked the tape down. It didn't help; it wouldn't undo anything, too late for that. Too late.
Later, he wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the stupid goddamn box. It didn't hurt. It was quiet, quiet as his apartment, quiet as their absence. His eyes burned dry.
Rain began to patter against his windows. Jensen put the scissors down and picked up the phone.
****
The cab was waiting out front when he came down, pushing the handtruck he'd borrowed from the super. The bastard was only too happy to speed up his departure.
Everything fit neatly into the cab's trunk. His life, in two boxes and a few suitcases. Jensen rubbed his face, debating. "The Hilton, please," he finally said.
More bland paintings, and tastefully elegant furniture. The next three weeks stretched in front of him. Comfortable and empty. God, he'd screwed up.
The cab rolled on through the rain-drenched LA streets, and Jensen found himself starting at the people, watching the couples huddle under umbrellas. Man and woman, holding hands. Strollers. Wedding rings. Maybe his family was right. He was miserable like this.
But he hadn't been. Not with Jared and Jeff. He'd been content, happy. At peace.
It wasn't real, you dumbass. They would've gotten tired of you, or you would've hurt them. Better this way, better to end it fast. Like ripping off a bandaid.
He pressed his forehead to the cool glass and closed his eyes. His eyes hurt, a dull throb in time with the pulse of his heart. He was tired; he'd been up most of the night, tucked tight against Jeff, trying to burn the feeling into his memory. It hadn't been the same. He didn't feel safe anymore, and Jared's side of the bed had been starkly empty.
He shouldn't have felt safe in the first place. Distance was safety, not other people. Not Jeff, who was strangely dangerous in a way that raised Jensen's hackles even as he wanted to rub against Jeff's hips and purr. Not even Jared, who was funny and open and generous, who was just waiting for someone to tear him up.
It wouldn't be Jensen. Not if he walked away now.
God, he hated it, though. He hated that he felt like he was walking away from something big. Something that could have been important, could've given a point to it all.
Stop being an idiot, he told himself sternly. Of course you love Jared. He's your best friend. It makes cold Vancouver weather and sixteen hour days worth it. And Jeff's a good guy. It doesn't mean anything.
The cab steered off the freeway into downtown LA, and Jensen sighed, watching the rain slide down the glass.
It had been nice, feeling like he'd had a home for a few days. Pretending that he could have it all.
Jared's face was still haunting him. The way he'd just walked out, gone to punch the heavy bag in Jeff's home gym. Like Jensen leaving hurt him.
Fuck.
"Sir? We're here," the cabbie said softly.
Jensen nodded, looking at the sleek, clean lines of the hotel. Once he would have said that it was his ideal style: modern, clean, striking. Now, it only looked sterile. He didn't want to get out of the cab. He wanted a rambly old house with faded paint and Jeff in the kitchen and Jared sneaking bits of food off the cutting board, sharing it with the dogs gathered at his feet. He wanted... everything.
Everything he'd already fucked up.
"Sir?"
Jensen took a deep, shaky breath. "Change of plans." He quickly rattled off Jeff's address, before he could change his mind.
The cabbie gave him a curious look. "That won't be cheap."
"I'm good for it," Jensen said, leaning back into the seat. An odd, crystalline calm settled over him as the cab started moving again. He'd go to Jeff's; he'd see what happened from there. Even if they kicked his ass out, at least he could say he'd tried.
Somehow, he couldn't see finding much comfort in that.
*****
Jensen had braced for anger. He'd braced for hurt, and resentment, and possibly getting punched in the face. He hadn't been braced to end up on the wrong side of a locked gate.
Hopelessly, he pressed the call button again. Steady rain dripped from his hair into his eyes, his mouth, soaking him through. "Jare?" he tried. If his voice shook, it was the cold. That was all. "Dude, I'm sorry, okay? Would you please just talk to me?"
Nothing but the crackle of static.
Jensen let the button go, stepped back and sat hard on the curb. His cardboard box was disintegrating. His duffel bag was soaked through. The rain continued, steady and cold and miserable. It was going to be dark soon, and the cab was gone, and his cell phone battery was dead, and Jesus Christ, he was trapped in a stupid fucking country song.
They'd locked him out. They weren't coming. They were done, like his family was done, like everybody he'd ever--
Loved.
Jensen put his head in his hands.
poisontaster's week a little better.Title: A Whisper for the Days Gone By
Rating: R
Authors:
nilchance and beansideDisclaimer: Never happened. Tis fiction, all of it.
Previous parts can be found via the tags at the end of the post. *grin*
After four days, it seemed that most of the press had given up on Jensen. There was only a few people hanging around the entrance of the complex when Jeff dropped him off.
"If you need anything, you call, okay?" Jeff murmured. "I mean it."
"I know. Thanks. Really. I would have gone insane without you and Jared," Jensen said.
Jeff shrugged. "We enjoyed having you. Would've enjoyed having you for longer, too."
"I know. But I couldn't do that to you." He slipped out of the car before Jeff could answer, turning back to flash him a too-bright smile. "Thanks again."
Jeff gave him a sharp look, the first flicker of anger in his voice when he began, "Jensen, whatever the fuck you're trying to do here-"
Jensen slammed the car door shut on him and pretended like he hadn't heard.
The photographers snapped a few pictures, yelled a couple questions at him, but Jensen barely noticed. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, walking into his building.
There was a couple of boxes in front of his door. Great. Tom had probably bribed someone to deliver food. Hopefully, it wasn't perishable. Jensen really wasn't in the mood to deal with spoiled food.
He toed the box through the door and flipped on the light, taking a deep breath of stale air. After nearly a week at Jeff's house, it felt too small. The bland walls with their bland art reminded him starkly of Jeff's walls, decorated with his own paintings in intense, vibrant color. There was no life here, no dogs demanding attention, no bread baking in the oven or music playing or pool lapping steadily in the background.
The silence reminded him of Jared. Jared, who'd slept on the couch last night, and who'd stayed in the basement when it was time for Jensen to head out. Jeff had made excuses, but that silence held volumes. Jared was hurt. Jared was pissed.
Jensen had been right. He'd screwed everything up: family, friends, career. It had only taken a few weeks, too. At least he'd been efficient.
His phone blinked at him from the table, and he realized for the first time that Jared hadn't brought anything back to Jeff's house but his clothes. No cell, no computer, and he hadn't even noticed the lack. He picked it up, wincing as the readout told him that he had a hundred and sixty eight messages. Well, this was gonna suck.
Picking up a legal pad and a pencil, Jensen slid the earpiece in and dialed his voice mail. The first one was unsurprisingly Rosenbaum. "Dude, you just came out on Stern! Call me."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Jensen muttered, deleting it. Next was Welling, and Allison Mack, who Mike had apparently alerted. Joanna, pleading with him to pick up the phone, apologizing, trying to get him to talk to her.
It went downhill from there.
"Jensen, this is your father. Son, you need help. You know this isn't right. This isn't what God wants for you. If... if you won't get help, you won't be welcome back here. We have the children to think about. There's a clinic that's had great success in curing homosexuals-"
His father's voice broke off as he stabbed the "delete" key.
A few messages later, it was his grandmother, tears in her voice. She still loved him, she prayed for him every night, she didn't want to see him in hell. He'd broken her heart. He was being selfish.
"Jensen, this is Mrs. Irene, your first grade Sunday school teacher. I saw your number in the bulletin, and I just had to call. Surely you see this is a phase, sweetie-"
It took another few calls before he finally figured it out. His parents had put his private cell number in his church bulletin, so that the faithful could send him messages of 'hope.' Sure, half of them called him a faggot and told him he'd burn in hell, but whatever. They could fix him. They could heal him.
It hadn't felt like sickness when Jared tangled around him, nuzzling against Jensen's shoulder in his sleep. It hadn't felt like sickness when Jeff kissed him.
"Screw this." He put down the phone and turned to the box. Might as well deal with the chunky milk... except that it had a Priority mail sticker on the box.
Okay, probably not food. Should he be worried? He didn't hear ticking or see white powder. And goddamn, he'd been watching those TiVoed episodes of 24 too often, if anthrax was even a concern.
Jensen crouched by the box, and felt his throat tighten as he read the return address. Richardson, TX. Well, fuck. He'd known Dad wouldn't yield, but knowing was one thing. Seeing that they'd sent his stuff back was another.
It wasn't smart to open the box. He could check it out later, when things weren't so raw. He didn't need a few pairs of sleep-pants and the package of socks he'd left one Christmas. (But it was too heavy for that; what else had they sent?) Maybe once he wasn't so off balance, when he was up in Vancouver with Jared...
Jared would forgive him. He had to.
It was all very sensible, but Jensen's hands still moved to pick up the scissors on his desk. He sliced through the tape, still somewhere far away, and looked inside the box.
I can never go home.
Slowly, Jensen closed the lid. He heard the ripping of the duct tape, like the world tearing, as he sealed the box shut again. His fingers trembled as he stroked the tape down. It didn't help; it wouldn't undo anything, too late for that. Too late.
Later, he wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the stupid goddamn box. It didn't hurt. It was quiet, quiet as his apartment, quiet as their absence. His eyes burned dry.
Rain began to patter against his windows. Jensen put the scissors down and picked up the phone.
****
The cab was waiting out front when he came down, pushing the handtruck he'd borrowed from the super. The bastard was only too happy to speed up his departure.
Everything fit neatly into the cab's trunk. His life, in two boxes and a few suitcases. Jensen rubbed his face, debating. "The Hilton, please," he finally said.
More bland paintings, and tastefully elegant furniture. The next three weeks stretched in front of him. Comfortable and empty. God, he'd screwed up.
The cab rolled on through the rain-drenched LA streets, and Jensen found himself starting at the people, watching the couples huddle under umbrellas. Man and woman, holding hands. Strollers. Wedding rings. Maybe his family was right. He was miserable like this.
But he hadn't been. Not with Jared and Jeff. He'd been content, happy. At peace.
It wasn't real, you dumbass. They would've gotten tired of you, or you would've hurt them. Better this way, better to end it fast. Like ripping off a bandaid.
He pressed his forehead to the cool glass and closed his eyes. His eyes hurt, a dull throb in time with the pulse of his heart. He was tired; he'd been up most of the night, tucked tight against Jeff, trying to burn the feeling into his memory. It hadn't been the same. He didn't feel safe anymore, and Jared's side of the bed had been starkly empty.
He shouldn't have felt safe in the first place. Distance was safety, not other people. Not Jeff, who was strangely dangerous in a way that raised Jensen's hackles even as he wanted to rub against Jeff's hips and purr. Not even Jared, who was funny and open and generous, who was just waiting for someone to tear him up.
It wouldn't be Jensen. Not if he walked away now.
God, he hated it, though. He hated that he felt like he was walking away from something big. Something that could have been important, could've given a point to it all.
Stop being an idiot, he told himself sternly. Of course you love Jared. He's your best friend. It makes cold Vancouver weather and sixteen hour days worth it. And Jeff's a good guy. It doesn't mean anything.
The cab steered off the freeway into downtown LA, and Jensen sighed, watching the rain slide down the glass.
It had been nice, feeling like he'd had a home for a few days. Pretending that he could have it all.
Jared's face was still haunting him. The way he'd just walked out, gone to punch the heavy bag in Jeff's home gym. Like Jensen leaving hurt him.
Fuck.
"Sir? We're here," the cabbie said softly.
Jensen nodded, looking at the sleek, clean lines of the hotel. Once he would have said that it was his ideal style: modern, clean, striking. Now, it only looked sterile. He didn't want to get out of the cab. He wanted a rambly old house with faded paint and Jeff in the kitchen and Jared sneaking bits of food off the cutting board, sharing it with the dogs gathered at his feet. He wanted... everything.
Everything he'd already fucked up.
"Sir?"
Jensen took a deep, shaky breath. "Change of plans." He quickly rattled off Jeff's address, before he could change his mind.
The cabbie gave him a curious look. "That won't be cheap."
"I'm good for it," Jensen said, leaning back into the seat. An odd, crystalline calm settled over him as the cab started moving again. He'd go to Jeff's; he'd see what happened from there. Even if they kicked his ass out, at least he could say he'd tried.
Somehow, he couldn't see finding much comfort in that.
*****
Jensen had braced for anger. He'd braced for hurt, and resentment, and possibly getting punched in the face. He hadn't been braced to end up on the wrong side of a locked gate.
Hopelessly, he pressed the call button again. Steady rain dripped from his hair into his eyes, his mouth, soaking him through. "Jare?" he tried. If his voice shook, it was the cold. That was all. "Dude, I'm sorry, okay? Would you please just talk to me?"
Nothing but the crackle of static.
Jensen let the button go, stepped back and sat hard on the curb. His cardboard box was disintegrating. His duffel bag was soaked through. The rain continued, steady and cold and miserable. It was going to be dark soon, and the cab was gone, and his cell phone battery was dead, and Jesus Christ, he was trapped in a stupid fucking country song.
They'd locked him out. They weren't coming. They were done, like his family was done, like everybody he'd ever--
Loved.
Jensen put his head in his hands.
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 03:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 04:57 am (UTC)My BABY!
(♥♥♥)
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:42 pm (UTC)Thank you so much! I'm glad it worked for you.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 05:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 06:18 am (UTC)(Oh god, I am so very addicted to this verse.)
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 06:53 am (UTC)Even though it broke my heart, I was very happy to see a new installment in the OT3 verse. Poor baby, Jen. I have faith his boys will bring him in out of the rain.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:45 pm (UTC)*stares fixedly at your icon*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 04:52 pm (UTC)Would someone please introduce that boy to the concept of unconditional love? And parents who don't give it to their kids don't deserve to know their adult children anyway. *huff*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:46 pm (UTC)Well, y'know, Jeff and Jared are trying. ;)
Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 10:27 pm (UTC)Seriously, love this verse! And, seriously, I need the next part and am willing to beg for it.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-07 11:20 pm (UTC)Thank you for sharing!!
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-04-08 03:51 am (UTC)so I somehow missed the second one in this series and just went and read it and was ALL READY for some make up loving and - YOU ENDED IT. WITH JENSEN IN THE RAIN LOCKED OUT AND YOU BETTER GET YOUR *ASSES* BACK HERE AND *FIX* THIS DAMMIT.
*koff*
I mean, YAY! this was awesome! *beams*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:38 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it, sweetie! *offers tissues*
no subject
Date: 2007-04-08 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-09 03:21 am (UTC)I was a bit surprised that Jensen went back to Jeff & Jared's, after being so adamant about not dragging them further in & upset over "ruining" things; it feels too soon for him to have reached that decision, to me. He's only been away for a few hours. I'd think he'd need a day or two of solitude to really register what he lost and admit to himself what he's feeling, since he was so skittish and nervous before. *shrugs* It's still a good chapter.
I was wondering how they'd work together after this, and Jared being so hurt and angry he won't talk to Jensen. Jeff, so resigned to not being able to keep him, getting a little angry as he left-yeah, that was good.
I doubt they'd ignore Jensen, no matter how upset they might be. I'm thinking they're not home. *crosses fingers*
This is a very bleak entry into the series. I'm hoping the next part won't take long, because the suspense is awful!
Pesti
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 02:36 pm (UTC)That, of course, is assuming he makes it past the gate. *nod*
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 12:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-11 09:49 pm (UTC)Though, who am I kidding, I am a whore for the angst. :-)
I loved stumbling upon something so delicious.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 12:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-12 06:59 am (UTC)NUUUUU DONT DU THIS TO MY BABY!!!
*pets him and sticks her tongue out at you*
Meanie... letting Jensen sit out on the curb all alone and forgotten...
*holds him tightly*
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 12:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-04-12 10:00 am (UTC)I'm not sure if i commented the first time I read this, but I think I forgot because my brain whent offline after your last few paragraphs...
His cardboard box was disintegrating That right there was what did me in - becuase it seem like the box was Jensen, and he's so fragile and not he's falling apart and IT'S SO FRIGGEN SAD! Also the fact that I really want to know what's in the box isn't helping... I'm thinking maybe his highschool sports trophies, maybe photo's???
I don't know how you did it, but now I'm even MORE addicted to this than Deathknell and... how did that happen?! Dam you two and your amazing writing!! ♥
PLEASE TELL ME THERE WILL BE MORE SOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (And note that I am willing to stoop to begging, bribary and stealing to make that happen!)
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 12:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 12:27 am (UTC)Ok, perhaps not. Perhaps I should go read the deathknell, which I understand is a WIP. So much for me not reading WIPs. You've broken me.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 12:44 pm (UTC)Nah, there's more coming, no worries.
I'm glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-10 08:49 pm (UTC)Loved.
Reading it this time, I was finally aware of the word everyone kept NOT using, the one that's conspicuously absent but I hadn't noticed before.
That's good writing that reveals more on rereads. You guys should be very pleased.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-13 08:12 pm (UTC)