[fic] Roll With It, J2 AU, NC-17, Part 1
This is my offering for 
zooey_glass04 in the 
spn_j2_xmas exchange
Title: Roll With It
Length: 12,800+ words
Author:lynnmonster
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary It's the summer of 1984, and Jared hates the job his parents made him take at the roller rink. At first, anyway.
Warnings: RPF. AU. Boysex. Age difference. Drug use. Bad language. 1980s.
Author Notes: Hi,zooey_glass04! Thank you so much for giving me such a wide range of choices. (Especially the part where you said, "As far as J2 goes, I am open to practically anything, including AUs, providing there is a ridiculous amount of schmoop.") In return, I tried to at least hit near all your prompts: Cooking a meal; Geeky movie fest; Getting stoned and first-time kisses (or more); Argument; First day at new job. I can't imagine that this is exactly what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!
Many thanks tobrooklinegirl and shayheyred for the incredibly time-sensitive betas. I worship them both, and any remaining flaws are either the result of my willful streak or my own lack of skill.
Roll With It
"JT! Don't get home too late, now, honey -- tomorrow's your first day!"
"Yes, momma," Jared hollered back, then let the screen door slam shut behind him. He yanked his bike up off the driveway cement and made his escape, flying down the road to Chad's house. His summer vacation might as well be over, and it hadn't even properly started yet.
"Come on in, bra'," Chad welcomed him with a sleepy grin.
Jared shoved past him into the cool interior of the Murray house. "'Bra'?' Shut up, dude, you've never even been on a surfboard."
"Okay, dude, what's your problem?"
"Sorry," Jared said, shoving his hand through his hair. "It's just I start work tomorrow morning."
Chad winced. "Listen, if it's too bad, I can talk to my manager at Radio Shack. He might even let us split a shift if they really don't need anybody else." He sat in a beanbag chair and picked up an Intellivision controller.
"Thanks, man," Jared said, slumping into the rustling beanbag next to Chad's and opening one of the beers Chad always pretended not to steal from his parents while they pretended not to notice. "But I don't think that's gonna fly. I made a commitment, what are they going to do without me, they were kind enough to hire me on just my daddy's say-so, blah blah blah."
"Your mom is one tough lady, bra'," Chad said. Jared just rolled his eyes at Chad's continuing attempts to sound like he was from Hawaii. "Well, maybe it won't be too bad."
"Maybe not," Jared said. "But it's just like in Fast Times at Ridgemont High -- you know that everybody ranks you according to where you work."
Chad tossed him the other controller. "It's not like anybody was going to think you were cool, anyway. Now shut up and race me."
***
Jared clambered out of his dad's car in front of the rink, and stretched to his full height (6'1" at last check) in the morning sunlight as the rumble of the engine faded away. He verified that he hadn't misbuttoned his turquoise-and-navy-striped shirt, then ran his hands through his hair in hopes that he was improving it rather than just messing it up. He had no idea why the building's roof was a wide, flat arc instead of a normal boxy building shape. He'd always thought it looked like a building that belonged on a farm or something, like some kind of silo, or where you would keep hay.
There was no point in delaying any longer, so he pushed his way through the double doors. He was immediately hit with the smell of popcorn and pizza with an underlayer of mustiness. He hadn't been here since Missy Parker's birthday party in the fifth grade -- flashback to his polyester party shirt, shiny and peach-colored with a bright pattern, his palms sweating as he asked Kim if she wanted to skate the Couples Only with him -- but the place still smelled exactly the same.
The rink area itself was dim, but there were lights on in the snack bar and popcorn popping away in the clear glass case. The too-bright fluorescents reflected off the orange plastic benches and the wooden tabletops bumpy with carved initials and other graffiti. (Mason sucks cock, the grooves under his fingers declared. The lightning bolt in AC/DC rocks was expertly done.) Jared pressed his fingertips into the uneven fake wood and looked around. The smooth surface of the rink looked unnervingly expectant when empty. The ranks of video games at the far end loomed blank-faced and quiet, and the darkened mystery of the DJ booth presided over it all.
Everything was almost identical to the way it had been five years ago, just dirtier and dingier and kind of creepy with the lights off. "Uh, hello?"
Some short guy with long hair popped up from behind the counter. He tsk-ed sadly as he looked Jared up and down.
"Excuse me, is this the right--" The guy just walked away and Jared had a sinking feeling that this job was going to be at least as bad as he'd feared. Maybe worse. He went to wander around the skate rental desk in search of adult supervision.
A firm hand landed on his shoulder and Jared jumped. "You must be Gerald's boy," a woman's whiskey-and-cigarettes voice said from behind him.
"Yes ma'am," Jared said, turning. He smiled. She looked nice. "Are you Ms. Ferris?"
"Sure am, but call me Sam. That's what all these reprobates do, anyway." She raised her voice to carry. "Rosenbaum! Get your itty-bitty mohawk over here and show the new kid around!"
Sure enough, a guy with a mohawk an inch or so high sauntered over. He held up his hands for Jared to slap. "Up high!" Jared obliged. "Down low. Now side to side. Too slow!" he snatched his hands away and cackled. Jared refrained from mentioning that that was his little sister's favorite trick, because at least this guy wasn't ignoring him.
"Hi, um, Rosenbaum?"
Rosenbaum grabbed him by the elbow and steered him back toward the snack bar. "It's Mike. No. Better yet, call me DJ Max, for I am the ultimate mixmaster, song spinner extraordinaire..." Mike was complaining about no one properly appreciating his musical stylings, but a man can only play Metallica so many times to please the crowd without compromising his artistic credibility something something -- Jared had been listening politely, but he was missing at least half the references, so his attention wandered a little.
"Give it a rest, Mikey," the spiel was interrupted, not unkindly. Mike bounced in place as if this was really what he'd brought Jared to see. They'd come up to a group of three guys, all older, all dressed in jeans and t-shirts in various states of repair. Jared fingered the popped collar of his button-down self-consciously, and belatedly wished he'd argued harder against his mom ironing it this morning.
One of them, the one who had spoken, was the rude guy from earlier. One of the others looked a little like a surfer -- he had a Vuarnet t-shirt and longish blond hair. The third guy was hanging back a bit, so Jared had to crane his neck to see him properly. He probably pulled a muscle or something in the attempt, because he finally got a good look at the third guy and then it was like his eyeballs got stuck.
The guy was, like, probably some kind of burnout. His heavy-lidded eyes were slightly red where they weren't blazing some kind of mutant green-brown, and his jaw was a mess of stubble. Jared had to wonder just how much older these guys really were, because he didn't have to shave more than once a week, honestly, but this guy could probably grow a beard whenever he wanted one. It was-- he was-- he was wearing a tattered Iron Maiden shirt, and Jared got a little uncomfortable just looking at it because even though he knew the monster thing on the front was named Eddie, none of his friends listened to that kind of music and he'd never really understood anyone he'd met who did.
That seemed upsetting, now. The guy was lowering his ridiculously long eyelashes and scratching at the scruff next to his lips. Jared's tongue felt thick and dry and stupid in his mouth.
"My boy that you're ogling there is Jensen. That's Steve and I'm Chris, and I don't want to get any trouble from you," Rude Guy -- Chris -- glared up at him like he actually expected Jared to start something.
"Oh, I'm not-- I wasn't--" Jared flushed and held his hands up nonthreateningly. "I mean I'm--"
"This here's Jared," Mike announced, and thumped him on the chest like he was a new prize possession. Jared was just glad the weird dude seemed to be on his side.
He was glad when Mike pulled him away and led him to the skate rental area.
"Okay, don't worry about it, because there's nothing you can do, but Chris is probably going to be more pissed at you than he seems to be already because now he's got to do an extra shift in the snack bar. Sam wants you on register in the skate department with Steve since it's your first day and it's pretty hard to actually fuck that up."
"Okay," Jared agreed easily, deciding to ignore that bit about Chris entirely. "I've worked a register before, I guess all I need to know are the prices and what to do about getting the skates from Steve."
It wasn't exactly rocket science, and there was a huge sign right behind him in case he forgot the prices for the package deals. People started showing up around noon, and Steve kept to himself but seemed nice enough when Jared called out the sizes to him and took the skates. Jared was pretty sure it could have easily been a one-person job, but it seemed like Steve was used to working with someone else. Sam knew what she was doing, he guessed, so he shrugged it off and tried not to feel like he was being purposely babied.
They sprayed returned skates during the downtime and put them away in a mostly comfortable silence. Mike was playing the music loudly enough that it glossed over any potential awkwardness, although after Mike's diatribe he was surprised to hear mostly Top 40 stuff he recognized. "Jump" started up, and the sparse crowd on the rink fleshed out. People must like skating to their favorite song.
"Do you like working here?" Jared asked.
"Yeah," Steve said.
"Do you ever skate?"
"Sometimes."
And that was pretty much that. Sam got him set up with a timecard and told him to come back at 10:00 tomorrow morning.
***
Jared's dad was already at work by the time Jared had to leave, so Jeff was driving him in under protest. Jared had lost the fight with his mom over whether he had to wear a nice shirt or not, so he was taking the magenta-and-navy striped duplicate of yesterday's shirt off to reveal the t-shirt underneath when Jeff turned down the radio.
"You okay?" he asked, pulling in to the parking lot around back.
"I'm fine," Jared said. Humiliatingly, he found himself muttering "I just really don't want to go back."
"Buck up, little camper. You'll be all right," and then much to Jared's shock, Jeff reached over and pulled him into a hug. Jared hadn't been hugged by his big brother in ages, but it was easy to hold on for a minute and then punch him in the arm.
"Of course I'll be all right," Jared grinned and bounded out of the car. It looked like some guy was watching them from across the parking lot, so Jared headed inside, this time using the "Employees Only" entrance. He heard Mike's raucous laughter and the opening strains of a really dirty Prince song as soon as he opened the door.
A blonde and a brunette in full roller-derby regalia skated up to him. "I'm Allie, and this is Sandy. We didn't get to meet you yesterday."
"We work here a couple times a week and get to skate for free," Sandy added. They both giggled when Jared bowed over their hands formally in return. Being an "Employee" might not be so bad after all.
"New kid, you're with me. Today you master the fine art of wielding a mop," Chris said. Bathroom-and-puke duty. Oh yeah, he loved this job.
"It's Jared," he sighed, and followed Chris to his rubber-gloved doom.
***
Chris got him set up with the minimum of fuss and left him alone until after lunch. "I've seen you riding around on your bike before. What's the matter, can't afford a car?"
Jared stared at him. "You know how much I'm getting paid here, right? And I just started. What the hell kind of car do you think I could afford?"
Mike fucking giggled.
"So where's your bike, Mark Gorksi?"
"For your information, I didn't--"
"Did your daddy have to drop you off?"
"That didn't look like his daddy," Jensen's dry voice broke into their conversation. He sounded knowing and a little sly, and his gaze flicked over to Jared in a sideways glance that Jared would have appreciated a hell of lot more if he knew what sort of joke they were supposed to be sharing. "Come on now, guys, don't let Sam find half her staff spoiling for a fight out by the dumpster."
"I wasn't picking a fight," Chris objected.
"No, I'm sure you were just being your usual charming self," Jensen said, still drier than dust and twice as able to get under Jared's skin. He bumped Jared with his elbow lightly on his way to herd Chris back inside, and Jared felt warm all the way through because he knew it hadn't been an accident.
***
There was a rotating roster so that nobody got stuck with the crappy jobs all the time, although Mike never did anything but deejay. It turned out that Jared hated snack bar duty -- he thought he'd love it, being surrounded by so many of his favorite foods, but in reality it was almost as bad as cleaning the bathrooms. Jared hated the stupid paper hat he had to wear. He hated getting all greasy while making food he wasn't even going to get to eat. He hated knowing what actually went into the chili nachos, and he really hated being stuck in the same area where all the burnouts and druggies spent most of their time.
He recognized Alona Tal from middle school. She'd been quiet and shy but pretty, and they'd gone to a few of the same pool parties even though she was a year above him. She still seemed quiet, but now she wore hot pink lipstick and blue eyeliner, and she sat with a bunch of shady looking kids. Jared knew for a fact that at least one of them had been to juvie.
"Here's your Dr. Pepper," he said, and concentrated all of his attention on counting out her change.
"Thanks, Jared," she said softly. Maybe that was why he pretended not to see her pour something out of a flask into her big styrofoam cup after she slid into the booth next to her friends. It still seemed all wrong to him.
"You okay, man?" Jensen asked, pausing on his way to carry a stack of empty milk crates out back.
"I guess so," Jared answered honestly, still too unsettled to fake being perfectly fine. Jensen propped the crates awkwardly against his hip and leaned across Jared's counter.
"Looks like everybody's set for now. Come out for a smoke and tell me about it?"
Jared didn't smoke, but he wasn't going to tell Jensen that. He locked the register and put up the BACK IN 10 MINUTES sign. "Sam won't fire me, will she?" he asked, just to be sure.
Jensen smiled. Jensen actually smiled at him. "She won't even know, but if she did find out, no, she won't fire you. She'll just be glad we're not smoking in front of impressionable young kids."
"Promise?" Jared asked, just because he liked the indulgent way Jensen was looking at him.
"Promise," Jensen said solemnly, but his eyes were laughing, and Jared was glad Jensen was only leading them out back because he probably would have followed him anywhere at all right then.
Jared just stood there and jammed his hands in his pockets while Jensen stacked the crates against the wall, staring idly at him while he continued working, moving a few of the other stacks around into more stable positions. When he was done, Jensen wiped his hands on his jeans and his steps rang out when his boots clanked against the metal stairs. He sat and patted the space next to him. Jared scrambled to sit down.
Jensen pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Jared didn't know where to start, or whether Jensen actually wanted him to talk at all, so he just memorized the elegant way Jensen held his cigarette in case he ever tried to smoke in front of anyone.
"So what's up?" Jensen asked on the exhale.
"Um, you saw that girl?" Jensen nodded. "I used to know her. We weren't in the same grade or anything, but ... why doesn't Sam ban them all? They never even skate."
Jensen squeezed his thigh and gave it a pat. He just left his hand there after like he forgot to remove it. "I can tell you were always a good kid, right?" Jared shrugged. He pretty much was. "What you've got to understand is that, you know, this place isn't all that popular. But it's cheap, and there's no one here to bother them. Sometimes it's worse at home, or they don't have anywhere to go. They might drink, or do some drugs, or wind up in juvie, but just because they've got problems doesn't mean they're necessarily bad. I mean, that's kind of how I ended up here. And Sam won't let anything really bad go down, but she knows some of them just need a place to be, so she turns a blind eye to a few things. She probably doesn't need all of us on staff either. And it's not like we don't smoke up," he snorted.
Jared couldn't believe Jensen had said so much. He wanted to ask him more about his past, but didn't want to scare him off. Jensen's hand was still rubbing soothing circles on Jared's thigh, and it made him feel full to bursting, it made him want -- something. He had to do something, had to let Jensen know how sorry he was for whatever bad stuff he'd been through. He grabbed Jensen and hugged him tight, until Jensen's squawk of surprise registered and Jared let go like he'd been burned. He fled without even saying sorry or thanks.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he banged his head against the grape drink machine, leaving an ugly greasy forehead mark and wishing for his shift to end so he could go hide somewhere.
***
As soon as his lunch break started, he was knocking on the door to the deejay booth. Mike took one look at his face and let him inside, and Jared relaxed for the first time since he'd practically smothered Jensen. Here, there was no distressingly fascinating co-worker, no puke, no popcorn to sweep, no Chris Kane.
There was only one stool, and that was for the DJ, so Jared sat on the floor, wedging himself into a corner. Mike announced an All Skate and played the Eurythmics. "And may all your sweetest dreams be about me," he murmured into the mic. He looked like a real disc jockey.
"What grade are you all in, anyway?" Jared asked.
"Grade?" Mike said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I'm going back to UC Santa Cruz for my sophomore year. I think Jensen had a year of community college but I don't really know. How come?"
"Oh, uh, college, wow. I knew Allie was a senior over at Jefferson last year, so I just thought --"
"Wait just a damn minute, Pada-radical. Are you in high school?" Mike asked delightedly.
"Well, duh," Jared said, slurping on the suicide he'd made with just the perfect ratio of sodas. "Wait, did you think I was older?" he asked, pretty thrilled at the thought.
"Oh my god. Do they know? No, of course not. Oh, Christian is going to feel like HELL when he realizes he's been picking on someone younger than the kids he used to babysit. You are younger, right? Please be younger." Mike demanded gleefully.
"I'm going to be a senior."
"Even better! Oh, poor Jenny-boy is going to burn in hell."
Jared blinked. "No, Jensen's been plenty nice." He flushed a little at the thought. "And even Chris has never been worse than my big brother on a bad day."
Mike looked at him pityingly. "You really have no idea, do you."
Jared really, really didn't. But he couldn't bring himself to care, because those guys had all though he was in college, and they'd known him for a whole week.
***
"I'm telling you, they thought I was in college, man!"
"Sure they did," Chad said, obviously humoring him.
Jared was not sulking. "Anyway, it's not so bad. But I still don't want to go back."
"Why not?" Chad asked, stealing one of Jared's Twizzlers.
"Weren't you listening? I made an idiot out of myself and hugged a guy I barely know!"
"Yeah, and? You hug everybody, dude. You plan on being friends with this Jensen, he'd best get used to it."
"This is different," Jared said. Chad didn't seem to believe him, and Jared didn't feel like explaining any more.
"Just act like everything's normal and it will be fine, you giant dork."
"I don't know."
"Want me to come down there, bra'?"
"No. And you do know you're still not a surfer, right?"
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
"Stop whining."
"Quit stealing my Twizzlers."
"Blow me."
"You wish."
"Shut up."
Not everybody got to have a best friend like Chad.
***
The next day was pretty uneventful. He rode his bike in, now that he had permission from Sam to store it inside while he worked. He had skate rental duty with Steve again, then a late lunch in the DJ booth with Mike, and then the girls showed him all about collecting the entry fees, taking party reservations, and answering the phones at the front desk. He'd only seen Jensen from a distance a few times, but the first time, Jensen had waved at him from across the room, so he figured everything was somehow okay.
It was only after they clocked out at closing time that things got weird. "Have you closed before?" Sandy asked.
"Last Wednesday," Jared said. "I've mostly been working the morning/afternoon shift. Why?"
"Did you stick around?" Allie asked.
"No, I just went home."
"Then you have to stay tonight! We can do pretty much whatever we want for an hour or two as long as we clean up after ourselves," Sandy said.
"Yeah, it's great!" Allie added.
Agreeing to stay was his first mistake. Mike must have said something to Chris as threatened because not only was he being a lot nicer, the shiny new hand of friendship apparently included membership in the Get Jared To Skate Club. Jared was the sole non-member remaining, so between them, Mike, Chris, Allie, Sandy, Jensen, and Steve alternately cajoled, manhandled, and whined at him until he found himself stumbling alongside the guard rail and trying not to fall while Mike blasted the entirety of the Misfits' Walk Among Us loud enough to damage less sensitive ears than Jared's.
"Wow, you're really bad," Jensen observed loudly, skating backwards effortlessly alongside him.
"Thanks for the newsflash. Why do you think I didn't want to do this?" Jared yelled back.
"You'll get better," Jensen said, and skated off. Traitor.
Jared's second mistake was allowing himself to be bracketed by the roller derby duo. They elbowed him with their hard plastic protectors to see him flail, and then whipped him around the rink at high speed to hear him "scream like a little girly man!"
He took a tumble at the far end and they loomed over him, hips cocked disapprovingly. "You wouldn't last five seconds on the circuit."
"But I don't want to skate," he protested. They didn't seem to hear.
His third mistake was letting his guard down when everyone finally seemed content to leave him alone. Steve skated up to him as he was heading for the one of the exits and said "welcome to the family" with a wry grin. That wasn't bad at all, but when he clapped Jared on the back, he fell half in and half out of the rink, soundly bashing his hip on the step up to the carpeted area.
"You all hate me, don't you," he muttered, and crawled over to the nearest bench.
He sighed with relief as he unlaced his skates. He'd only been out there for an hour and a half, but a grommet or something in the bottom of the skate had already raised a blister, burst it, and started a new one on the raw skin underneath.
"These must be defective," he said. He should put them aside to be re-soled or whatever got done to fix evil torture skates.
Jensen carpet-skated over to his bench and sat down next to him. "You doing all right?"
"My bruises have bruises," Jared whined.
Jensen laughed. "Poor baby."
"I need pizza."
Jensen cocked his eyebrow meaningfully in the direction of the snack bar.
"Real pizza," Jared amended. "Want to come with?"
Jensen hesitated.
"Come on, there's a Pizza Hut a few blocks from here, and they always look at me funny when I order more than one when I'm there by myself."
Jensen's eyes widened. "More than-- oh, okay, what the hell. This I've got to see."
"Cool," Jared said.
"I'll drive if you meet me out back in less than ten minutes. And don't let anyone else know -- they'll all want to come and last time we got kicked out, they banned us for good."
Jared got his shoes on and was out the back door in record time. He scanned the lot and saw Jensen leaning casually against a car, so he trotted over and got the shock of his life.
Jensen had a BMW.
It was ratty-looking. It was a pale, faded blue, with rusted patches near the ground and a small dent in the rear left door. The inside was littered with cassette cases, empty cigarette packs, and take-out containers. The upholstery was dotted with cigarette burns, and it didn't have power steering.
"Dude, you have a BMW," Jared breathed.
"I know," Jensen winked and flicked the broken hood ornament strung on a Mardi Gras necklace hanging from the rear view mirror, setting it spinning.
***
Jensen got a double-take and a hard look from the hostess when they walked in. Jared played oblivious and charming. "Table for two?" he asked, and she visibly softened.
"Right this way."
Jared spun his sweaty red plastic glass around on the layer of condensation beneath it while they waited for their order to arrive. Jensen had assured him he didn't need more than half a pizza, and nobody seemed too weirded out by two tall guys ordering a couple of large ground beefs. Now that they were here, though, Jared wasn't sure what to say.
"Um, thanks for driving me," he said, which sounded weirdly formal and wasn't what he meant at all.
"No problem," Jensen said, studying him. "Do you have your license yet?"
"Oh, god, Mike talked to you, didn't he," Jared covered his face with his hand. "Yes, I'm still in high school, but I have my license already. I'm not a little kid, I just don't have a car."
Jensen laughed and seemed to relax a little. "Okay, okay, I won't tease you about it or anything."
"Thanks."
"No problem, jailbait."
In retaliation, Jared balled up his straw wrapper and threw it at Jensen when he was looking down. It got stuck in his spiky hair, and, as a true expression of his outrage, Jared resolved not to tell him about it. "Pizza's here," Jensen said, and looked confused when the server caught sight of his hair ornament and smirked at him. Jared covered his own smile by slurping at his soda.
"Okay, you can have half of that one, but if you eat any more than that I'm going to need another Coke and some dessert," Jared declared.
"Hey, who's paying for this, anyway?"
"You drove, so I am," Jared said matter-of-factly.
Jensen seemed surprised, but not unhappy. "How about I pay half and you drive back? If you're not in a food coma, that is."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Really really?" Jared asked again, hardly able to believe it.
"Really really," Jensen said, looking at him with that fond kind of look Jared was already addicted to.
"Thanks! Um, I think you've got something in your hair."
***
Jared didn't feel like going home yet, and maybe Jensen didn't either, because he suggested a game on the tabletop Ms. Pac-Man after they paid the check.
The Cars playing on the jukebox, Jensen's little frown line of concentration, and the wokka-wokka-wok of the pellets getting eaten up beneath them somehow came together to become something Jared wanted to freeze in time and hang on to for as long as he could, dumb as it all was. He'd had a few moments like this now that he was thinking about senior year and graduating and moving on -- "preemptive nostalgia" his mom called it -- and it always made him hyper and depressed him in equal measure.
The noise of losing his last life burst the bubble, and Jensen's "in your face!" dispelled whatever remained of his strange mood.
"Yeah, yeah, you win. Now give me your keys?"
"You only love me for my car," Jensen sighed dramatically, and pressed his keyring into Jared's open palm.
"That must be it," Jared agreed.
***
After that, Jared never really complained about not wanting to go to work any more. Sure, it sucked when he had to wake up early, and he didn't get to hang out with Chad very much because they had different schedules, but he didn't really have time to notice the lack.
Chris was actually super-nice to him for a few days, until Jared said, "Stop it, man, you're freaking me out. You make a really disturbing Stepford wife." Chris definitely gloated a little the next time he pointed out a really messy accident in the bathroom Jared needed to clean.
Thank goodness that was back to normal.
He mostly still invaded Mike's booth on his lunch break, but it wasn't to avoid anything, it was just to see the crazy fucker.
He was still scared of the girls, and they still made him skate against his will when he stayed past closing.
Sam was an awesome boss -- very understanding, rarely seen -- and she let him take the day off to go to one of Megan's soccer games.
He found out Steve was a musician, and that Steve and Chris were trying to get a band together.
Jensen often collected him for company when he went on a cigarette break, even though Jared still didn't smoke. That never bothered Jensen, though, so Jared stopped feeling strange about it. They mostly just bullshitted, but sometimes they made plans for later, or talked about what they'd do if they had a million dollars, or got into heated debates trying to rate the best and worst movies they'd ever seen. (Jensen maintained that Cat People sucked, but Jared had a long list of reasons he was wrong, wrong, wrong about that, starting with Nastassja Kinski and ending with "cat people, Jensen. Cat. People.")
One Tuesday that Jared stayed for Roller Boot Camp Torture Period, he hobbled his bike out the back door and saw Jensen's car still in the parking lot. He propped his bike against the wall and went over. By the time he got there, Jensen had leaned over and opened the passenger door for him.
Jared slid inside and inhaled. "I thought you left. Hotboxing on company property?" he asked.
"Mmm, nowhere better," Jensen said, and reached across him to pull the door shut again. His shoulder brushed against Jared's chest. "Sam's long gone, nobody from the street can see back here, and the other buildings are all empty this time of night."
"You make a convincing argument. Pass it over." Jensen did, staring at him as he took a drag with an intensity that was almost unnerving. "What?" Jared asked, sure that he wasn't getting paranoid already.
"Nothing, I guess. I've just never seen you smoke before."
"Yeah, cigarettes. Those things stink and they don't get you stoned," Jared grinned.
"Learn something new every day," Jensen drawled at him.
Jared took another hit and passed the joint back. He watched Jensen in return, trying to see why it was so interesting to look at someone else smoke. He couldn't put his finger on the why of it, but he guessed Jensen had a point. It certainly wasn't boring, the way Jensen's lips clasped the roll-up, or the way his eyes closed in pleasure as he drew the pot into his lungs.
He noticed other things while he was at it: Jensen was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over the Metallica tee he'd worn yesterday, layering up in spite of the heat. Jared was pretty sure the jeans were the same as the day before, too. Jared's momma would never, ever let him out of the house wearing the same clothes two days in a row, even if they weren't really dirty. Even if they'd been washed the night before, come to think of it.
He wondered who washed Jensen's clothes, and then felt like an idiot when he realized it was probably just Jensen.
"I don't even know where you live," he said, plucking the joint out of Jensen's hand and taking another drag.
Jensen blinked at him. "I don't know where you live, either."
"No, okay, I live on Jackson. You should totally come over. But that's not what I mean. You know I live with my parents and my brother and my sister. Don't you live with anyone?" If Jensen lived all alone, that would be sad.
"Well... I used to live with my uncle," Jensen said thoughtfully. "He left, but I didn't, and now I have my own apartment."
"Oh," said Jared.
Jensen widened his eyes at him. "You should totally come over," he said, in a fake breathless voice.
"Shut up. You know what I meant."
"Mmmm," Jensen agreed.
"How much is Sam paying you, anyway? I can't even afford a car, let alone an apartment."
Jensen laughed at him. "It's kind of a rathole, but. This isn't my only job. I work here in the summers, mostly, because it's fun and I'm used to it, but I work at the university during the school year and do some house painting and construction on the side year-round. This is more like an extremely low-paying hobby."
"Oh," Jared said again, feeling foggy with weed and kind of stupidly young.
***
Part 2
zooey_glass04 in the spn_j2_xmas exchangeTitle: Roll With It
Length: 12,800+ words
Author:
lynnmonsterPairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary It's the summer of 1984, and Jared hates the job his parents made him take at the roller rink. At first, anyway.
Warnings: RPF. AU. Boysex. Age difference. Drug use. Bad language. 1980s.
Author Notes: Hi,
zooey_glass04! Thank you so much for giving me such a wide range of choices. (Especially the part where you said, "As far as J2 goes, I am open to practically anything, including AUs, providing there is a ridiculous amount of schmoop.") In return, I tried to at least hit near all your prompts: Cooking a meal; Geeky movie fest; Getting stoned and first-time kisses (or more); Argument; First day at new job. I can't imagine that this is exactly what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!Many thanks to
brooklinegirl and shayheyred for the incredibly time-sensitive betas. I worship them both, and any remaining flaws are either the result of my willful streak or my own lack of skill.Roll With It
"JT! Don't get home too late, now, honey -- tomorrow's your first day!"
"Yes, momma," Jared hollered back, then let the screen door slam shut behind him. He yanked his bike up off the driveway cement and made his escape, flying down the road to Chad's house. His summer vacation might as well be over, and it hadn't even properly started yet.
"Come on in, bra'," Chad welcomed him with a sleepy grin.
Jared shoved past him into the cool interior of the Murray house. "'Bra'?' Shut up, dude, you've never even been on a surfboard."
"Okay, dude, what's your problem?"
"Sorry," Jared said, shoving his hand through his hair. "It's just I start work tomorrow morning."
Chad winced. "Listen, if it's too bad, I can talk to my manager at Radio Shack. He might even let us split a shift if they really don't need anybody else." He sat in a beanbag chair and picked up an Intellivision controller.
"Thanks, man," Jared said, slumping into the rustling beanbag next to Chad's and opening one of the beers Chad always pretended not to steal from his parents while they pretended not to notice. "But I don't think that's gonna fly. I made a commitment, what are they going to do without me, they were kind enough to hire me on just my daddy's say-so, blah blah blah."
"Your mom is one tough lady, bra'," Chad said. Jared just rolled his eyes at Chad's continuing attempts to sound like he was from Hawaii. "Well, maybe it won't be too bad."
"Maybe not," Jared said. "But it's just like in Fast Times at Ridgemont High -- you know that everybody ranks you according to where you work."
Chad tossed him the other controller. "It's not like anybody was going to think you were cool, anyway. Now shut up and race me."
***
Jared clambered out of his dad's car in front of the rink, and stretched to his full height (6'1" at last check) in the morning sunlight as the rumble of the engine faded away. He verified that he hadn't misbuttoned his turquoise-and-navy-striped shirt, then ran his hands through his hair in hopes that he was improving it rather than just messing it up. He had no idea why the building's roof was a wide, flat arc instead of a normal boxy building shape. He'd always thought it looked like a building that belonged on a farm or something, like some kind of silo, or where you would keep hay.
There was no point in delaying any longer, so he pushed his way through the double doors. He was immediately hit with the smell of popcorn and pizza with an underlayer of mustiness. He hadn't been here since Missy Parker's birthday party in the fifth grade -- flashback to his polyester party shirt, shiny and peach-colored with a bright pattern, his palms sweating as he asked Kim if she wanted to skate the Couples Only with him -- but the place still smelled exactly the same.
The rink area itself was dim, but there were lights on in the snack bar and popcorn popping away in the clear glass case. The too-bright fluorescents reflected off the orange plastic benches and the wooden tabletops bumpy with carved initials and other graffiti. (Mason sucks cock, the grooves under his fingers declared. The lightning bolt in AC/DC rocks was expertly done.) Jared pressed his fingertips into the uneven fake wood and looked around. The smooth surface of the rink looked unnervingly expectant when empty. The ranks of video games at the far end loomed blank-faced and quiet, and the darkened mystery of the DJ booth presided over it all.
Everything was almost identical to the way it had been five years ago, just dirtier and dingier and kind of creepy with the lights off. "Uh, hello?"
Some short guy with long hair popped up from behind the counter. He tsk-ed sadly as he looked Jared up and down.
"Excuse me, is this the right--" The guy just walked away and Jared had a sinking feeling that this job was going to be at least as bad as he'd feared. Maybe worse. He went to wander around the skate rental desk in search of adult supervision.
A firm hand landed on his shoulder and Jared jumped. "You must be Gerald's boy," a woman's whiskey-and-cigarettes voice said from behind him.
"Yes ma'am," Jared said, turning. He smiled. She looked nice. "Are you Ms. Ferris?"
"Sure am, but call me Sam. That's what all these reprobates do, anyway." She raised her voice to carry. "Rosenbaum! Get your itty-bitty mohawk over here and show the new kid around!"
Sure enough, a guy with a mohawk an inch or so high sauntered over. He held up his hands for Jared to slap. "Up high!" Jared obliged. "Down low. Now side to side. Too slow!" he snatched his hands away and cackled. Jared refrained from mentioning that that was his little sister's favorite trick, because at least this guy wasn't ignoring him.
"Hi, um, Rosenbaum?"
Rosenbaum grabbed him by the elbow and steered him back toward the snack bar. "It's Mike. No. Better yet, call me DJ Max, for I am the ultimate mixmaster, song spinner extraordinaire..." Mike was complaining about no one properly appreciating his musical stylings, but a man can only play Metallica so many times to please the crowd without compromising his artistic credibility something something -- Jared had been listening politely, but he was missing at least half the references, so his attention wandered a little.
"Give it a rest, Mikey," the spiel was interrupted, not unkindly. Mike bounced in place as if this was really what he'd brought Jared to see. They'd come up to a group of three guys, all older, all dressed in jeans and t-shirts in various states of repair. Jared fingered the popped collar of his button-down self-consciously, and belatedly wished he'd argued harder against his mom ironing it this morning.
One of them, the one who had spoken, was the rude guy from earlier. One of the others looked a little like a surfer -- he had a Vuarnet t-shirt and longish blond hair. The third guy was hanging back a bit, so Jared had to crane his neck to see him properly. He probably pulled a muscle or something in the attempt, because he finally got a good look at the third guy and then it was like his eyeballs got stuck.
The guy was, like, probably some kind of burnout. His heavy-lidded eyes were slightly red where they weren't blazing some kind of mutant green-brown, and his jaw was a mess of stubble. Jared had to wonder just how much older these guys really were, because he didn't have to shave more than once a week, honestly, but this guy could probably grow a beard whenever he wanted one. It was-- he was-- he was wearing a tattered Iron Maiden shirt, and Jared got a little uncomfortable just looking at it because even though he knew the monster thing on the front was named Eddie, none of his friends listened to that kind of music and he'd never really understood anyone he'd met who did.
That seemed upsetting, now. The guy was lowering his ridiculously long eyelashes and scratching at the scruff next to his lips. Jared's tongue felt thick and dry and stupid in his mouth.
"My boy that you're ogling there is Jensen. That's Steve and I'm Chris, and I don't want to get any trouble from you," Rude Guy -- Chris -- glared up at him like he actually expected Jared to start something.
"Oh, I'm not-- I wasn't--" Jared flushed and held his hands up nonthreateningly. "I mean I'm--"
"This here's Jared," Mike announced, and thumped him on the chest like he was a new prize possession. Jared was just glad the weird dude seemed to be on his side.
He was glad when Mike pulled him away and led him to the skate rental area.
"Okay, don't worry about it, because there's nothing you can do, but Chris is probably going to be more pissed at you than he seems to be already because now he's got to do an extra shift in the snack bar. Sam wants you on register in the skate department with Steve since it's your first day and it's pretty hard to actually fuck that up."
"Okay," Jared agreed easily, deciding to ignore that bit about Chris entirely. "I've worked a register before, I guess all I need to know are the prices and what to do about getting the skates from Steve."
It wasn't exactly rocket science, and there was a huge sign right behind him in case he forgot the prices for the package deals. People started showing up around noon, and Steve kept to himself but seemed nice enough when Jared called out the sizes to him and took the skates. Jared was pretty sure it could have easily been a one-person job, but it seemed like Steve was used to working with someone else. Sam knew what she was doing, he guessed, so he shrugged it off and tried not to feel like he was being purposely babied.
They sprayed returned skates during the downtime and put them away in a mostly comfortable silence. Mike was playing the music loudly enough that it glossed over any potential awkwardness, although after Mike's diatribe he was surprised to hear mostly Top 40 stuff he recognized. "Jump" started up, and the sparse crowd on the rink fleshed out. People must like skating to their favorite song.
"Do you like working here?" Jared asked.
"Yeah," Steve said.
"Do you ever skate?"
"Sometimes."
And that was pretty much that. Sam got him set up with a timecard and told him to come back at 10:00 tomorrow morning.
***
Jared's dad was already at work by the time Jared had to leave, so Jeff was driving him in under protest. Jared had lost the fight with his mom over whether he had to wear a nice shirt or not, so he was taking the magenta-and-navy striped duplicate of yesterday's shirt off to reveal the t-shirt underneath when Jeff turned down the radio.
"You okay?" he asked, pulling in to the parking lot around back.
"I'm fine," Jared said. Humiliatingly, he found himself muttering "I just really don't want to go back."
"Buck up, little camper. You'll be all right," and then much to Jared's shock, Jeff reached over and pulled him into a hug. Jared hadn't been hugged by his big brother in ages, but it was easy to hold on for a minute and then punch him in the arm.
"Of course I'll be all right," Jared grinned and bounded out of the car. It looked like some guy was watching them from across the parking lot, so Jared headed inside, this time using the "Employees Only" entrance. He heard Mike's raucous laughter and the opening strains of a really dirty Prince song as soon as he opened the door.
A blonde and a brunette in full roller-derby regalia skated up to him. "I'm Allie, and this is Sandy. We didn't get to meet you yesterday."
"We work here a couple times a week and get to skate for free," Sandy added. They both giggled when Jared bowed over their hands formally in return. Being an "Employee" might not be so bad after all.
"New kid, you're with me. Today you master the fine art of wielding a mop," Chris said. Bathroom-and-puke duty. Oh yeah, he loved this job.
"It's Jared," he sighed, and followed Chris to his rubber-gloved doom.
***
Chris got him set up with the minimum of fuss and left him alone until after lunch. "I've seen you riding around on your bike before. What's the matter, can't afford a car?"
Jared stared at him. "You know how much I'm getting paid here, right? And I just started. What the hell kind of car do you think I could afford?"
Mike fucking giggled.
"So where's your bike, Mark Gorksi?"
"For your information, I didn't--"
"Did your daddy have to drop you off?"
"That didn't look like his daddy," Jensen's dry voice broke into their conversation. He sounded knowing and a little sly, and his gaze flicked over to Jared in a sideways glance that Jared would have appreciated a hell of lot more if he knew what sort of joke they were supposed to be sharing. "Come on now, guys, don't let Sam find half her staff spoiling for a fight out by the dumpster."
"I wasn't picking a fight," Chris objected.
"No, I'm sure you were just being your usual charming self," Jensen said, still drier than dust and twice as able to get under Jared's skin. He bumped Jared with his elbow lightly on his way to herd Chris back inside, and Jared felt warm all the way through because he knew it hadn't been an accident.
***
There was a rotating roster so that nobody got stuck with the crappy jobs all the time, although Mike never did anything but deejay. It turned out that Jared hated snack bar duty -- he thought he'd love it, being surrounded by so many of his favorite foods, but in reality it was almost as bad as cleaning the bathrooms. Jared hated the stupid paper hat he had to wear. He hated getting all greasy while making food he wasn't even going to get to eat. He hated knowing what actually went into the chili nachos, and he really hated being stuck in the same area where all the burnouts and druggies spent most of their time.
He recognized Alona Tal from middle school. She'd been quiet and shy but pretty, and they'd gone to a few of the same pool parties even though she was a year above him. She still seemed quiet, but now she wore hot pink lipstick and blue eyeliner, and she sat with a bunch of shady looking kids. Jared knew for a fact that at least one of them had been to juvie.
"Here's your Dr. Pepper," he said, and concentrated all of his attention on counting out her change.
"Thanks, Jared," she said softly. Maybe that was why he pretended not to see her pour something out of a flask into her big styrofoam cup after she slid into the booth next to her friends. It still seemed all wrong to him.
"You okay, man?" Jensen asked, pausing on his way to carry a stack of empty milk crates out back.
"I guess so," Jared answered honestly, still too unsettled to fake being perfectly fine. Jensen propped the crates awkwardly against his hip and leaned across Jared's counter.
"Looks like everybody's set for now. Come out for a smoke and tell me about it?"
Jared didn't smoke, but he wasn't going to tell Jensen that. He locked the register and put up the BACK IN 10 MINUTES sign. "Sam won't fire me, will she?" he asked, just to be sure.
Jensen smiled. Jensen actually smiled at him. "She won't even know, but if she did find out, no, she won't fire you. She'll just be glad we're not smoking in front of impressionable young kids."
"Promise?" Jared asked, just because he liked the indulgent way Jensen was looking at him.
"Promise," Jensen said solemnly, but his eyes were laughing, and Jared was glad Jensen was only leading them out back because he probably would have followed him anywhere at all right then.
Jared just stood there and jammed his hands in his pockets while Jensen stacked the crates against the wall, staring idly at him while he continued working, moving a few of the other stacks around into more stable positions. When he was done, Jensen wiped his hands on his jeans and his steps rang out when his boots clanked against the metal stairs. He sat and patted the space next to him. Jared scrambled to sit down.
Jensen pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Jared didn't know where to start, or whether Jensen actually wanted him to talk at all, so he just memorized the elegant way Jensen held his cigarette in case he ever tried to smoke in front of anyone.
"So what's up?" Jensen asked on the exhale.
"Um, you saw that girl?" Jensen nodded. "I used to know her. We weren't in the same grade or anything, but ... why doesn't Sam ban them all? They never even skate."
Jensen squeezed his thigh and gave it a pat. He just left his hand there after like he forgot to remove it. "I can tell you were always a good kid, right?" Jared shrugged. He pretty much was. "What you've got to understand is that, you know, this place isn't all that popular. But it's cheap, and there's no one here to bother them. Sometimes it's worse at home, or they don't have anywhere to go. They might drink, or do some drugs, or wind up in juvie, but just because they've got problems doesn't mean they're necessarily bad. I mean, that's kind of how I ended up here. And Sam won't let anything really bad go down, but she knows some of them just need a place to be, so she turns a blind eye to a few things. She probably doesn't need all of us on staff either. And it's not like we don't smoke up," he snorted.
Jared couldn't believe Jensen had said so much. He wanted to ask him more about his past, but didn't want to scare him off. Jensen's hand was still rubbing soothing circles on Jared's thigh, and it made him feel full to bursting, it made him want -- something. He had to do something, had to let Jensen know how sorry he was for whatever bad stuff he'd been through. He grabbed Jensen and hugged him tight, until Jensen's squawk of surprise registered and Jared let go like he'd been burned. He fled without even saying sorry or thanks.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he banged his head against the grape drink machine, leaving an ugly greasy forehead mark and wishing for his shift to end so he could go hide somewhere.
***
As soon as his lunch break started, he was knocking on the door to the deejay booth. Mike took one look at his face and let him inside, and Jared relaxed for the first time since he'd practically smothered Jensen. Here, there was no distressingly fascinating co-worker, no puke, no popcorn to sweep, no Chris Kane.
There was only one stool, and that was for the DJ, so Jared sat on the floor, wedging himself into a corner. Mike announced an All Skate and played the Eurythmics. "And may all your sweetest dreams be about me," he murmured into the mic. He looked like a real disc jockey.
"What grade are you all in, anyway?" Jared asked.
"Grade?" Mike said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I'm going back to UC Santa Cruz for my sophomore year. I think Jensen had a year of community college but I don't really know. How come?"
"Oh, uh, college, wow. I knew Allie was a senior over at Jefferson last year, so I just thought --"
"Wait just a damn minute, Pada-radical. Are you in high school?" Mike asked delightedly.
"Well, duh," Jared said, slurping on the suicide he'd made with just the perfect ratio of sodas. "Wait, did you think I was older?" he asked, pretty thrilled at the thought.
"Oh my god. Do they know? No, of course not. Oh, Christian is going to feel like HELL when he realizes he's been picking on someone younger than the kids he used to babysit. You are younger, right? Please be younger." Mike demanded gleefully.
"I'm going to be a senior."
"Even better! Oh, poor Jenny-boy is going to burn in hell."
Jared blinked. "No, Jensen's been plenty nice." He flushed a little at the thought. "And even Chris has never been worse than my big brother on a bad day."
Mike looked at him pityingly. "You really have no idea, do you."
Jared really, really didn't. But he couldn't bring himself to care, because those guys had all though he was in college, and they'd known him for a whole week.
***
"I'm telling you, they thought I was in college, man!"
"Sure they did," Chad said, obviously humoring him.
Jared was not sulking. "Anyway, it's not so bad. But I still don't want to go back."
"Why not?" Chad asked, stealing one of Jared's Twizzlers.
"Weren't you listening? I made an idiot out of myself and hugged a guy I barely know!"
"Yeah, and? You hug everybody, dude. You plan on being friends with this Jensen, he'd best get used to it."
"This is different," Jared said. Chad didn't seem to believe him, and Jared didn't feel like explaining any more.
"Just act like everything's normal and it will be fine, you giant dork."
"I don't know."
"Want me to come down there, bra'?"
"No. And you do know you're still not a surfer, right?"
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
"Stop whining."
"Quit stealing my Twizzlers."
"Blow me."
"You wish."
"Shut up."
Not everybody got to have a best friend like Chad.
***
The next day was pretty uneventful. He rode his bike in, now that he had permission from Sam to store it inside while he worked. He had skate rental duty with Steve again, then a late lunch in the DJ booth with Mike, and then the girls showed him all about collecting the entry fees, taking party reservations, and answering the phones at the front desk. He'd only seen Jensen from a distance a few times, but the first time, Jensen had waved at him from across the room, so he figured everything was somehow okay.
It was only after they clocked out at closing time that things got weird. "Have you closed before?" Sandy asked.
"Last Wednesday," Jared said. "I've mostly been working the morning/afternoon shift. Why?"
"Did you stick around?" Allie asked.
"No, I just went home."
"Then you have to stay tonight! We can do pretty much whatever we want for an hour or two as long as we clean up after ourselves," Sandy said.
"Yeah, it's great!" Allie added.
Agreeing to stay was his first mistake. Mike must have said something to Chris as threatened because not only was he being a lot nicer, the shiny new hand of friendship apparently included membership in the Get Jared To Skate Club. Jared was the sole non-member remaining, so between them, Mike, Chris, Allie, Sandy, Jensen, and Steve alternately cajoled, manhandled, and whined at him until he found himself stumbling alongside the guard rail and trying not to fall while Mike blasted the entirety of the Misfits' Walk Among Us loud enough to damage less sensitive ears than Jared's.
"Wow, you're really bad," Jensen observed loudly, skating backwards effortlessly alongside him.
"Thanks for the newsflash. Why do you think I didn't want to do this?" Jared yelled back.
"You'll get better," Jensen said, and skated off. Traitor.
Jared's second mistake was allowing himself to be bracketed by the roller derby duo. They elbowed him with their hard plastic protectors to see him flail, and then whipped him around the rink at high speed to hear him "scream like a little girly man!"
He took a tumble at the far end and they loomed over him, hips cocked disapprovingly. "You wouldn't last five seconds on the circuit."
"But I don't want to skate," he protested. They didn't seem to hear.
His third mistake was letting his guard down when everyone finally seemed content to leave him alone. Steve skated up to him as he was heading for the one of the exits and said "welcome to the family" with a wry grin. That wasn't bad at all, but when he clapped Jared on the back, he fell half in and half out of the rink, soundly bashing his hip on the step up to the carpeted area.
"You all hate me, don't you," he muttered, and crawled over to the nearest bench.
He sighed with relief as he unlaced his skates. He'd only been out there for an hour and a half, but a grommet or something in the bottom of the skate had already raised a blister, burst it, and started a new one on the raw skin underneath.
"These must be defective," he said. He should put them aside to be re-soled or whatever got done to fix evil torture skates.
Jensen carpet-skated over to his bench and sat down next to him. "You doing all right?"
"My bruises have bruises," Jared whined.
Jensen laughed. "Poor baby."
"I need pizza."
Jensen cocked his eyebrow meaningfully in the direction of the snack bar.
"Real pizza," Jared amended. "Want to come with?"
Jensen hesitated.
"Come on, there's a Pizza Hut a few blocks from here, and they always look at me funny when I order more than one when I'm there by myself."
Jensen's eyes widened. "More than-- oh, okay, what the hell. This I've got to see."
"Cool," Jared said.
"I'll drive if you meet me out back in less than ten minutes. And don't let anyone else know -- they'll all want to come and last time we got kicked out, they banned us for good."
Jared got his shoes on and was out the back door in record time. He scanned the lot and saw Jensen leaning casually against a car, so he trotted over and got the shock of his life.
Jensen had a BMW.
It was ratty-looking. It was a pale, faded blue, with rusted patches near the ground and a small dent in the rear left door. The inside was littered with cassette cases, empty cigarette packs, and take-out containers. The upholstery was dotted with cigarette burns, and it didn't have power steering.
"Dude, you have a BMW," Jared breathed.
"I know," Jensen winked and flicked the broken hood ornament strung on a Mardi Gras necklace hanging from the rear view mirror, setting it spinning.
***
Jensen got a double-take and a hard look from the hostess when they walked in. Jared played oblivious and charming. "Table for two?" he asked, and she visibly softened.
"Right this way."
Jared spun his sweaty red plastic glass around on the layer of condensation beneath it while they waited for their order to arrive. Jensen had assured him he didn't need more than half a pizza, and nobody seemed too weirded out by two tall guys ordering a couple of large ground beefs. Now that they were here, though, Jared wasn't sure what to say.
"Um, thanks for driving me," he said, which sounded weirdly formal and wasn't what he meant at all.
"No problem," Jensen said, studying him. "Do you have your license yet?"
"Oh, god, Mike talked to you, didn't he," Jared covered his face with his hand. "Yes, I'm still in high school, but I have my license already. I'm not a little kid, I just don't have a car."
Jensen laughed and seemed to relax a little. "Okay, okay, I won't tease you about it or anything."
"Thanks."
"No problem, jailbait."
In retaliation, Jared balled up his straw wrapper and threw it at Jensen when he was looking down. It got stuck in his spiky hair, and, as a true expression of his outrage, Jared resolved not to tell him about it. "Pizza's here," Jensen said, and looked confused when the server caught sight of his hair ornament and smirked at him. Jared covered his own smile by slurping at his soda.
"Okay, you can have half of that one, but if you eat any more than that I'm going to need another Coke and some dessert," Jared declared.
"Hey, who's paying for this, anyway?"
"You drove, so I am," Jared said matter-of-factly.
Jensen seemed surprised, but not unhappy. "How about I pay half and you drive back? If you're not in a food coma, that is."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Really really?" Jared asked again, hardly able to believe it.
"Really really," Jensen said, looking at him with that fond kind of look Jared was already addicted to.
"Thanks! Um, I think you've got something in your hair."
***
Jared didn't feel like going home yet, and maybe Jensen didn't either, because he suggested a game on the tabletop Ms. Pac-Man after they paid the check.
The Cars playing on the jukebox, Jensen's little frown line of concentration, and the wokka-wokka-wok of the pellets getting eaten up beneath them somehow came together to become something Jared wanted to freeze in time and hang on to for as long as he could, dumb as it all was. He'd had a few moments like this now that he was thinking about senior year and graduating and moving on -- "preemptive nostalgia" his mom called it -- and it always made him hyper and depressed him in equal measure.
The noise of losing his last life burst the bubble, and Jensen's "in your face!" dispelled whatever remained of his strange mood.
"Yeah, yeah, you win. Now give me your keys?"
"You only love me for my car," Jensen sighed dramatically, and pressed his keyring into Jared's open palm.
"That must be it," Jared agreed.
***
After that, Jared never really complained about not wanting to go to work any more. Sure, it sucked when he had to wake up early, and he didn't get to hang out with Chad very much because they had different schedules, but he didn't really have time to notice the lack.
Chris was actually super-nice to him for a few days, until Jared said, "Stop it, man, you're freaking me out. You make a really disturbing Stepford wife." Chris definitely gloated a little the next time he pointed out a really messy accident in the bathroom Jared needed to clean.
Thank goodness that was back to normal.
He mostly still invaded Mike's booth on his lunch break, but it wasn't to avoid anything, it was just to see the crazy fucker.
He was still scared of the girls, and they still made him skate against his will when he stayed past closing.
Sam was an awesome boss -- very understanding, rarely seen -- and she let him take the day off to go to one of Megan's soccer games.
He found out Steve was a musician, and that Steve and Chris were trying to get a band together.
Jensen often collected him for company when he went on a cigarette break, even though Jared still didn't smoke. That never bothered Jensen, though, so Jared stopped feeling strange about it. They mostly just bullshitted, but sometimes they made plans for later, or talked about what they'd do if they had a million dollars, or got into heated debates trying to rate the best and worst movies they'd ever seen. (Jensen maintained that Cat People sucked, but Jared had a long list of reasons he was wrong, wrong, wrong about that, starting with Nastassja Kinski and ending with "cat people, Jensen. Cat. People.")
One Tuesday that Jared stayed for Roller Boot Camp Torture Period, he hobbled his bike out the back door and saw Jensen's car still in the parking lot. He propped his bike against the wall and went over. By the time he got there, Jensen had leaned over and opened the passenger door for him.
Jared slid inside and inhaled. "I thought you left. Hotboxing on company property?" he asked.
"Mmm, nowhere better," Jensen said, and reached across him to pull the door shut again. His shoulder brushed against Jared's chest. "Sam's long gone, nobody from the street can see back here, and the other buildings are all empty this time of night."
"You make a convincing argument. Pass it over." Jensen did, staring at him as he took a drag with an intensity that was almost unnerving. "What?" Jared asked, sure that he wasn't getting paranoid already.
"Nothing, I guess. I've just never seen you smoke before."
"Yeah, cigarettes. Those things stink and they don't get you stoned," Jared grinned.
"Learn something new every day," Jensen drawled at him.
Jared took another hit and passed the joint back. He watched Jensen in return, trying to see why it was so interesting to look at someone else smoke. He couldn't put his finger on the why of it, but he guessed Jensen had a point. It certainly wasn't boring, the way Jensen's lips clasped the roll-up, or the way his eyes closed in pleasure as he drew the pot into his lungs.
He noticed other things while he was at it: Jensen was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over the Metallica tee he'd worn yesterday, layering up in spite of the heat. Jared was pretty sure the jeans were the same as the day before, too. Jared's momma would never, ever let him out of the house wearing the same clothes two days in a row, even if they weren't really dirty. Even if they'd been washed the night before, come to think of it.
He wondered who washed Jensen's clothes, and then felt like an idiot when he realized it was probably just Jensen.
"I don't even know where you live," he said, plucking the joint out of Jensen's hand and taking another drag.
Jensen blinked at him. "I don't know where you live, either."
"No, okay, I live on Jackson. You should totally come over. But that's not what I mean. You know I live with my parents and my brother and my sister. Don't you live with anyone?" If Jensen lived all alone, that would be sad.
"Well... I used to live with my uncle," Jensen said thoughtfully. "He left, but I didn't, and now I have my own apartment."
"Oh," said Jared.
Jensen widened his eyes at him. "You should totally come over," he said, in a fake breathless voice.
"Shut up. You know what I meant."
"Mmmm," Jensen agreed.
"How much is Sam paying you, anyway? I can't even afford a car, let alone an apartment."
Jensen laughed at him. "It's kind of a rathole, but. This isn't my only job. I work here in the summers, mostly, because it's fun and I'm used to it, but I work at the university during the school year and do some house painting and construction on the side year-round. This is more like an extremely low-paying hobby."
"Oh," Jared said again, feeling foggy with weed and kind of stupidly young.
***
Part 2