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Fic: Upon My Liar's Chair 10/?) WIP
Title: Upon My Liar's Chair
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.
Jensen focused on Jeff in front of him. He had a vague memory of Jeff shoving spoonfuls of coffee in his mouth, black judging from the aftertaste. And Jeff looked pissed.
John Winchester had nothing on Jeff himself, mostly because Jeff was hardly ever angry.
“Hey. S'up?” He glanced down, noting the comforter that was puddling around his waist. His bare waist. “The hell am I naked on my couch for?”
“That,” Jeff bit off. “Is really not the question you need to ask.”
“Oookay. What do I need to ask.”
“You should ask,” Jeff said softly, “what kind of an idiot would take narcotic painkillers and then drink alcohol. In a hot tub.”
Shit.
“Uh--”
“Are you fucking insane?” Jeff yelled. “Do you know what could have happened?”
“But it didn't,” Jensen said gently, trying to placate the extremely pissed off man looming over him.
“Yes it damn well did! You nearly drowned yourself, you stupid motherfucker! Bisou pulled your head out of the water and held it there until I got there.” Jeff touched the back of his neck.
Pain startled him, and he reached up, feeling the four little puncture marks. Fuck. Okay. He'd screwed up.
“Um.”
“Yeah. Um. I know you're smarter than that, Jensen. I know it. You know it. So what the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn't, okay? I saw that you'd brought beer, and I grabbed a couple. I'm not used to having to think about this shit.”
“Not good enough. You had plenty of beer in the fridge. Don't you get it?” Jeff shook him by the shoulders hard enough to make his teeth clack. “You could have died! Were you trying to kill yourself?”
Jensen stared for a long moment, anger welling in his stomach. “No. I wasn't,” he finally bit off. “Now back the fuck off, Jeff.”
“Or what?” Jeff loomed over him, face tight.
“Y'know what? Get out of my fucking house. I've had it with your self righteous bullshit. I'm not a goddamn two year old.”
“No.” Jeff's voice was calm. Deliberate. It threw Jensen.
“What? It's my house,” Jensen said sharply.
“Yeah. And you obviously need a keeper, so no. I'm not going anywhere.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fine. Then you can explain the alcohol and pills in your system to-”
“What, you gonna call the cops? Tell them I'm on my way to becoming another statistic? Hi, meet the next Heath Leger?”
“No. I wouldn't do that to you,” Jeff said, eyes shuttered.
Jensen felt a stab of remorse. Something told him he'd just said one of those things he couldn't take back. “Jeff-”
“But I will call Jared. And Steve. Maybe Christian. And you can explain to them why you were trying to kill yourself.”
Oh god. Jensen could already imagine Jared's face if Jeff told him about this. Fuck.
Jeff nodded. “Good. I see we understand each other.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “By the way, we're having some of the crew over tomorrow with Jared. They all want to say hello. You'll deal with it.”
Jensen's face felt hot. He wasn't sure whether it was anger or shame. “I-”
“I'm going to make dinner now,” Jeff said carefully, voice flat and neutral in a way that Jensen had never heard.
“Jeff, I-” Jensen broke off, not sure what the hell he wanted to say.
Jeff turned back, face neutral. “Yes?”
“Nothing,” Jensen said. “I'm going to go get dressed.”
“Fine. You should know, I put a pill case on your nightstand. It has your daily allotted amount of narcotics. I've hidden the rest.”
Any thoughts he'd had of apologizing flew out the window. “The fuck you did. Give me my pills, Jeff.”
“No. I can't trust that you're not suicidal, or that you won't 'forget' how many you've taken.” Jeff made finger quotes.
“You can't just-”
“I could ask Jared to help you with it.”
“Fuck you. You're not going to blackmail me with this-”
Jeff smiled, and Jensen shuddered. “Actually, I am. And you're going to sit there, shut up, and deal with it.”
Jensen didn't bother replying, just flung the coffee mug at Jeff's head.
Jeff, the fucker, caught it midair, and turned to the kitchen. “Thank you. I'll wash that.”
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.
Jensen focused on Jeff in front of him. He had a vague memory of Jeff shoving spoonfuls of coffee in his mouth, black judging from the aftertaste. And Jeff looked pissed.
John Winchester had nothing on Jeff himself, mostly because Jeff was hardly ever angry.
“Hey. S'up?” He glanced down, noting the comforter that was puddling around his waist. His bare waist. “The hell am I naked on my couch for?”
“That,” Jeff bit off. “Is really not the question you need to ask.”
“Oookay. What do I need to ask.”
“You should ask,” Jeff said softly, “what kind of an idiot would take narcotic painkillers and then drink alcohol. In a hot tub.”
Shit.
“Uh--”
“Are you fucking insane?” Jeff yelled. “Do you know what could have happened?”
“But it didn't,” Jensen said gently, trying to placate the extremely pissed off man looming over him.
“Yes it damn well did! You nearly drowned yourself, you stupid motherfucker! Bisou pulled your head out of the water and held it there until I got there.” Jeff touched the back of his neck.
Pain startled him, and he reached up, feeling the four little puncture marks. Fuck. Okay. He'd screwed up.
“Um.”
“Yeah. Um. I know you're smarter than that, Jensen. I know it. You know it. So what the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn't, okay? I saw that you'd brought beer, and I grabbed a couple. I'm not used to having to think about this shit.”
“Not good enough. You had plenty of beer in the fridge. Don't you get it?” Jeff shook him by the shoulders hard enough to make his teeth clack. “You could have died! Were you trying to kill yourself?”
Jensen stared for a long moment, anger welling in his stomach. “No. I wasn't,” he finally bit off. “Now back the fuck off, Jeff.”
“Or what?” Jeff loomed over him, face tight.
“Y'know what? Get out of my fucking house. I've had it with your self righteous bullshit. I'm not a goddamn two year old.”
“No.” Jeff's voice was calm. Deliberate. It threw Jensen.
“What? It's my house,” Jensen said sharply.
“Yeah. And you obviously need a keeper, so no. I'm not going anywhere.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fine. Then you can explain the alcohol and pills in your system to-”
“What, you gonna call the cops? Tell them I'm on my way to becoming another statistic? Hi, meet the next Heath Leger?”
“No. I wouldn't do that to you,” Jeff said, eyes shuttered.
Jensen felt a stab of remorse. Something told him he'd just said one of those things he couldn't take back. “Jeff-”
“But I will call Jared. And Steve. Maybe Christian. And you can explain to them why you were trying to kill yourself.”
Oh god. Jensen could already imagine Jared's face if Jeff told him about this. Fuck.
Jeff nodded. “Good. I see we understand each other.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “By the way, we're having some of the crew over tomorrow with Jared. They all want to say hello. You'll deal with it.”
Jensen's face felt hot. He wasn't sure whether it was anger or shame. “I-”
“I'm going to make dinner now,” Jeff said carefully, voice flat and neutral in a way that Jensen had never heard.
“Jeff, I-” Jensen broke off, not sure what the hell he wanted to say.
Jeff turned back, face neutral. “Yes?”
“Nothing,” Jensen said. “I'm going to go get dressed.”
“Fine. You should know, I put a pill case on your nightstand. It has your daily allotted amount of narcotics. I've hidden the rest.”
Any thoughts he'd had of apologizing flew out the window. “The fuck you did. Give me my pills, Jeff.”
“No. I can't trust that you're not suicidal, or that you won't 'forget' how many you've taken.” Jeff made finger quotes.
“You can't just-”
“I could ask Jared to help you with it.”
“Fuck you. You're not going to blackmail me with this-”
Jeff smiled, and Jensen shuddered. “Actually, I am. And you're going to sit there, shut up, and deal with it.”
Jensen didn't bother replying, just flung the coffee mug at Jeff's head.
Jeff, the fucker, caught it midair, and turned to the kitchen. “Thank you. I'll wash that.”
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