Work Text:
Ebensberger-Fisher Funeral Home,
Boerne Texas
Jared lays his suit bag flat and shuts the trunk of his Taurus softly. It’s cold for February, and the sun's in mourning. He performed at three weddings and a christening this weekend; they were the last things on his schedule before John Schneider's unexpected funeral service today. Jared had known John his whole life, and damned if he didn't feel empty now. It was John who'd wrapped Jared in a blanket and bundled him into his truck along with his Momma and his baby sister Alona when their farmhouse had burned, killing Jared's daddy. He had been the first person on the field when Jared had blown out his knee in the final game of his senior year; the second one Jared had told he'd been accepted to American Idol. John had picked him up at the airport when he'd quit, been there for Jared when chemotherapy made it a bad day for his Momma. He had celebrated her first steps back with them, danced with her at the Christmas party, now that her hair had grown back and she didn't mind being in public again.
The funeral had been well-attended, and Jared sang Randy Newman's Cowboy to honor the man who'd lamented the urbanizing of his home, the Walmart where the entrance to his ranch had once stood. Jared's students, the town's choir, had handled the rest of the music. John had never stinted his time or affection with them; they had loved the man, too. John was the last strong tie Jared had here, beside his Momma, and now that Alona was back from Afghanistan and the house full of women, he was free to fly again. He was going to take advantage of this time, try for something big before time ran out, before he'd gotten so used to settling that he would. John's friend, Annette, hugged him tight and wished him Godspeed before she left him to finish loading the car. He breathes Texas deep into his lungs, then puts the wedding singer business behind him. It's 1500 miles to Los Angeles. He has sunglasses and a full tank of gas.
Pabst Theater,
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Jensen pounds the kit, willing more energy into the show. Chris looks at him in despair, and jerks his head at Jason, their singer, who warbles off key and never hits his entrance to the verse, sprinkling glitter that may be breeding in there. Every time he shakes his hair, Jensen grimaces. Tom is always steady as a metronome on bass, and Chris plays lead guitar better than he knows. Jensen is the backbone of the band and he really wishes that the reviewer had come up with something else, because Jason still calls him Spinosaurus when he wants to piss him off, which happens more and more often these days. He wants to throw a stick at Jason's head, but they don't need a public row, and Jason is that far gone. He's shirtless, glowing in the lights, skin looking like there's a little too much of it for his frame. Maybe Jason's sick, he thinks, he can see the lackluster show has the audience confused; it's an unusual off-night from a band whose reputation is built on their dynamic stage shows.
Jason acts like they're screwing around in their rehearsal space, which is annoying as hell when he does it there, but this audience shelled out money to see a show, dammit, and that kind of behavior is not at all acceptable. He snaps to on Love Song, their huge radio play hit, and it gets the response it always did - the ones up front singing along and Jason hamming it up on the chorus. Jensen can see couples kissing; any of them that make it backstage will tell them it was their wedding song.
He glances up in alarm; Jason missed another entrance, dammit, and Chris repeats the bar. Tom, thank God, falls right in and Jason quits what he's doing and comes in on cue on the second go-round.
Backstage Pabst Theater,
After Show
Francis comes into the dressing room; he smiles at Chris and waves at Tom and Jensen before pulling Mike into a discussion in the hallway outside. Jensen doesn't like the serious look on their faces. Hell, he never likes it when Francis Capra is serious; he's a man you want to keep as happy as you honestly can. Francis had signed them to Otra Records; as far as Jensen's concerned, he is their label, the boss. He jerks his head at Chris, and they slump in the corner, looking nonchalant and listening intently, unsurprised to hear that Jason's the topic of conversation.
"Mike, I know you're not his keeper. Jason was supposed to visit a Make-a-Wish patient in the hospital this afternoon, before singing the anthem at the Brewer's game."
Mike looks sad. "That's what you hired Brock for."
"Yeah, bad idea that was. They spent the afternoon in the casino, tried to use the promoter's name to get more credit. No one's holding you responsible, but Jason is not meeting his professional obligations."
Jensen looks at Chris. They know damned well he isn't meeting personal ones.
"Jens, what the fuck," Chris snarls, "are we gonna do?"
All Jensen can do is look bleak. There's a whoop from the other side of the room, and Jason's holding a girl upside down, chugging her beer.
It's Chris, mellow Chris who snaps, picks up his favorite guitar, and leaves the rest for Chad to decide about. He walks out, kicking gear because the doors won't slam. Chad gapes, running his hands through the damned mullet haircut, and looks at Jensen. All he can do is shrug.
"Put the same ones on the truck as last time, send the rest to our house. We'll sort it from there."
He tries to pull Jason aside to talk about it, but Jason hand-waves him, and leaves with either a pair of twins or a mother and daughter. Jensen can't be sure of anything except they're drunk and bleached blonde. He's disgusted and angry and there's not a thing he can do, but go back to the Pfister and start on the airline bottles of bourbon in the minibar. He goes through them, the Scotch, the Brandy and the gin, before he passes out with the TV on, the glass with the last of the vodka falling from his hand.
Mitchell Airport,
Milwaukee, WI
Jensen wakes up, hungover as he's ever been, with just enough time to shower and put on clean clothes before Mike bundles them into the limousine to the airport. Jason's absent, and Jensen looks around blearily for an explanation, as he takes the pills Mike hands him, swallowing them down with the coffee that follows.
"You look like hell," says Chris quietly.
"Feel like it, too. What'd I miss?"
"Mike got rousted out of bed," says Tom. He waits until Jensen's coffee is in the cup holder before continuing. "Jason's in jail."
"What?!"
Mike sighs. "If you thought Jason was out of control when he left last night, think again. He's in jail for aggravated assault. Put a cab driver through his windshield."
Jensen is shocked into complete sobriety. "The hell?"
"Oh, yeah, if that wasn't bad enough, cell phone cameras got it all, and YouTube has the whole thing."
Tom waves his phone and they all gather around him to watch the grainy video.
Jensen wonders if it's all going to come crashing down like a house of cards. No one is saying anything, so he holds his throbbing head the rest of the way to the airport, trying not to think.
Mike shepherds them into the terminal, telling the driver to wait.
"Shit, Mike," says Jensen, "we can check in for our fucking flights without you. Go deal with Jason."
"Trust me, I'll deal with Jason, but I want you on your planes first." Mike checks his PDA. "Tom, Gate G8, Jensen, Chris, G12. Why can't you all go home to the same freakin' city?"
"Because we live in LA and they live in Austin. It's simple, man." Tom winks at Mike.
Jensen says, "Mike, we've got a week before Phoen--"
"You've got a month."
Tom looks at him, tilts his head like there's some silent communication going on.
"What?" asks Chris, with a challenging look in his eye.
"We've pushed the dates around. Next leg's been delayed."
"Fuck man," Chris hisses, as aware as Jensen is that they are in the main concourse of the airport. "You can't do this. You can't just put us in time-out like kindergartners."
"Actually, the label can, and Chris, they have. They hold the purse strings. You're not the ones acting like kindergartners. Don't start now."
"But!"
"It's not time out. It's draw back and figure it out. Go stand in line. Where's your I.D.?"
Jensen pulls Chris back. "Dude, you saw Francis last night. More importantly, you saw Jason. Mike's right."
"Mike's always fucking right," mutters Chris.
Mike doesn't smile. "Good. Glad you finally remembered that, cowboy. Get on the plane."
Jensen nods to say he'll deal with it and Mike nods back, the hard lines at the corners of his eyes relaxing for a moment. He holds out his hand, then pulls Jensen close when he takes it. Mike whispers, "Just sit tight. Let me work, okay?"
Jensen slaps him on the shoulder. "Dude, of course. That's what you do and we... just... you know."
Mike grins at that. "And to think, you're the writer."
Chris laughs and like that, they're okay again. "Go bail out Jason. Spank him for us."
"Oh, yeah."
"You'll be home tonight?" Tom asks Mike.
"We have dinner reservations at The Bazaar. You think I'd miss that?"
Tom grins. "We might, if you come home first."
Mike leers at Tom, lifts one hand in a half wave and Chris kicks Jensen's bag up as the TSA line shuffles forward.
Jensen sincerely hopes the 'Come to Jesus' meeting Mike's planning with Jason will bring him back to the fold.
Interlude
Georgetown TX
Jensen hasn't been home for an hour when his cell rings. It's Jason's baby sister, Amanda, who Jensen always remembered as thirteen, even though she must be eighteen by now. She's crying, trying to find her brother, knowing Jensen will take her call.
"Mandy?" He flops down on the overstuffed couch.
"Jensen. I need Jason. Is he with you?"
"There was some trouble in Milwaukee last night, Mandy; he's probably in the air. What's wrong, sweetie?"
"It's Mama, Jensen. She collapsed at the office. I'm at the hospital, and I can't find Jason," her voice breaks, "haven't talked to him since his birthday."
A chill wracks Jensen, and he sits up. Mama Dohring was their first fan, a single mom who'd been the first of all their families to believe they could make it as musicians.
"I'm here, sweetheart. What can I do?"
"She-- Jen, she didn't make it." She isn't crying any more, and Jensen can picture her in the stark linoleum hallway, putting herself back together, alone in the hospital. "I have to make arrangements."
Jensen stands up, already in motion, in spite of the shock. "Chris and I'll be there as soon as we can." Family was everything, extended or chosen, and Mama Ackles was their matriarch. "Let me call my mom, she'll be there sooner than I can get to you, but Mandy, I'm coming."
Mandy's voice is small. "Thank you, Jensen." She sniffs, and Jensen can picture her falling apart. "I'll be here." She disconnects.
Jensen calls his mother, everyone's go-to person in a crisis, and she's on her way to Mandy even before they hang up. He tries Jason's phone, gets his voice mail and leaves a message to please call him, that there's trouble at home. This isn't the kind of news he can leave in a voice mail.
He calls Chris, who was at the liquor store, but is on his way back now. Jensen's not making the trip in Chris's rattletrap of a truck without air, he thinks, wondering if either of them has clean socks. He calls Mike, who is at the airport again, offering to arrange a car and driver, and swearing that he will, by God, find Jason, who has walked into the crowd.
Jensen pulls his dark suit from the closet, along with the rollaway he just stored, and Chris’s other duffel. Mike calls back, Chris walks in, and they throw clothes into bags, climb into Jensen's truck and start down the road home.
Dropping his phone into the hands-free cradle, Jensen shares a look with Chris. Mike's organizing. It's his reaction in a crisis and they let him talk about car services and drivers, until Jensen turns south on 281 and a light rain starts to fall. He's not sure they're listening to Mike for comfort, but Jensen has never been so glad he has their backs.
He doesn't know how many voice mails Mandy leaves, but Jensen calls Jason's phone a dozen times. He figures it's about the same for Chris, but it's finally his mother who gets hold of Jason. She listens to him cry, and three-way calls Mike to help get him home for the funeral.
Mike and Tom arrive at the visitation looking grim, with hugs and a soft shake of the head for Mandy. She looks disappointed, but not particularly surprised, surrounded by the Ackles and Kane families. Her aunt drives up from Florida, her dad looks unsure at the sight of his former in-laws when he comes in the door, but her brother never shows.
--o0o--
Just as they pull up to their house in Georgetown, Jensen gets a text from Mike, Talk house of pies in la. Tmrw noon. He looks at Chris, who is receiving the same message. Their e-ticket confirmations show up next, flights are at eight on American, driver to pick them up at six. Chris curses. Jensen thinks they may as well drink themselves to sleep now to get there on time. Chris throws his tie and jacket on the table and grabs his keys for a beer run. "Good thing neither of us actually has a life outside the band."
Jensen grins and waves as the door swings shut, but Chris is right. They never did, really. Other kids would cut out Friday to run up 35 to Dallas, build a weekend around a Cowboys or Rangers game, but Saturday found them in Mama D's garage, running through the top 40, playing along with the radio or a cassette tape.
Jason made them a band. Before that, it'd been just him and Chris in Chris's backyard or at the corner of the park farthest from the swings. Chris played and Jensen would sing, sometimes a song from the radio, but more usually, Chris would noodle around, playing something he was making up there on the spot, and Jensen would drum along, his hands on the battered wood of the picnic table, or his own knees, cross-legged on on the ground. His mom bought him a doumbek at the international festival and he bought a bodhran with his own money, then the stage band's drum kit from the high school when they upgraded. When Jason came along, he'd had grand plans. They'd found Andy, and started to work at it, in earnest. Jensen stopped singing then, Jason always sang lead, always led in everything, before Andy's first tattoo.
Years of playing together and a river of beer and still they had no life, not outside of one another. He and Chris, joined at the hip since middle school, were closer than a lot of married couples he knew. They weren't the same kids who'd sent a tape to a friend of a guy, but they were still solid, he thought. They weren't the same people who'd stared, trying not to look like the rubes they were, at the studio space and the LA girls and the gold records in wooden frames that lined the hall at the label. Andy'd collected tattoos and piercings like Jason had collected groupies and he'd gone off to front a band that played music that sounded to Jensen for all the world like an airport runway. Tom had replaced him and become as much family as he could, as anyone could who hadn't scuffed his sneakers on the concrete of a Texas garage and played Johnny B. Goode.
He pulls off his tie, dark crimson, the only one he owns, purchased with a thought to lawyers and worn now once, to a funeral. The ghastly death rattle of Chris's truck sounds in the driveway and Jensen opens the door, grinning as Chris lurches in, off balance. "Told you not to kick the door."
"Out of hands. Here."
"When are you going to decide between really fixing the truck and selling it?"
Chris flips him off.
Jensen takes the pretzels, chips and jerky and tosses them on the counter. He shoves one twelve-pack into the empty fridge and looks up to see that Chris has the other by the couch. The bottles clink as he rips open the cardboard box. Chris hands one up and he twists off the cap and takes a swig, the condensation chilling his hand.
"To Mama Dohring."
"To Mama D."
They tap the necks of their bottles together somberly. Neither of them mentions Jason.
Los Angeles, CA
They arrive at LAX, hungover, and maybe still a little stoned. David, their favorite driver, holds up a sign at baggage claim that reads "Boone's Farm". Jensen thinks David's dark suit and all-American good looks make him seem more like a fictional FBI agent than a chauffeur. He's been driving them practically since they first came to LA and he knows the drill. He'll check them and their bags into their hotel after he gets them to the restaurant on time, miraculous in the traffic that's worse every time they're here.
Mike's at a table on the patio, watching the traffic on Vermont zip by, stopping when the light changes at Fremont. He looks every inch the professional in a tailored suit, no evidence of the creatively grungy Mike they see on the road.
Chris walks up laughing. "Dude, you know better. You gotta pad Jason, tell him eleven so he can be fashionably late without us burning half the day."
"Actually," says Mike, "that's just how I planned it. I want to talk to the two of you first, then Tom." He looks very serious. "The record company wants you to replace Jason."
"Shit," blurts Jensen. "Can they do that?"
"You're all under contract. In fact, the same contract."
Jensen rubs his hands through his hair. "Mike, they gave us this huge check, a cartoon check, you handled it. If you think any of us read the contract enough to understand it, then--"
Mike shakes his head. "If I didn't like you two..."
"Yeah, but you do." Jensen grins, then falters. "You do, right?"
"I do. Let me tell you what I so painstakingly negotiated for you five years ago." Mike steeples his fingers and leans back. "Legally, Jason's got the rights to the name Thunderbird Wine. It was the one thing he wanted in the original contract. The rights to your songs, he didn't fight for those. You did. Both of you. When Tom came in, he wanted rights for what he helped write, and a piece, a share."
"So, they're shitcanning the band?" asks Chris, still processing.
"No. Jason's the one they want gone. He's late for gigs, doesn't show for promo stuff, for studio time; he's cost them money, bad-mouthed the label."
Jensen's trying to understand. "We're under contract, Thunderbird Wine is, for another record. I understand enough of it to know that."
Mike nods. "You're obligated to that, yeah. As a legal entity called Thunderbird Wine. That legal entity is also contracted to do a dozen shows that have already been booked."
"So we fill the legal obligation?" asks Chris.
Mike settles back into his chair. "I hoped you'd want to do that."
Chris gapes at him. "We made a deal, Mike, made a promise. How can you not keep a promise?"
"If you deliver one more album and twelve more gigs, then you're clear. If you don't, then the lawyers get involved."
"We have to play the gigs with Jason?" asks Chris. "Because man, the guy didn't show up for his own mother's funeral."
Jensen growls in agreement. "He's done some stupid shit, but that's the lowest thing he's ever done."
"She was a good woman," says Chris. "Deserved better. That's as fucked up as fucked up."
"There were good times," Jensen says, "but they haven't been, lately." He looks for a sign from Chris, and Mike lets them talk.
"Maybe it's time to move on," ventures Chris.
Jensen frowns and looks to Mike. "Liabilities?"
Mike leans forward, letting himself into the discussion again. "Like I said, twelve venues, one album. Boxes of merchandise that’ll have be scrapped. If you decide to replace Jason, auditions. If not, a lengthy legal battle."
"Now you're just making worries up. Collectors, dude. T-shirts will sell on eBay as soon as we finish the tour. Wait --" Jensen shoots a panicky glance at Chris. "Are we breaking up the band?"
Mike looks very seriously at the two of them. "You're the Talent."
Chris nods, but doesn't answer. Jensen's stomach twists.
"Fuck, I need a beer," Jensen mutters. "Why'd we come to a place with no beer?
"They don't have beer, Jens, you've known that for years." Chris laughs, and punches Jensen in the shoulder as Mike's phone rings.
Mike holds up his hand and takes the call, while Jensen and Chris lean towards each other. "Do we want to tell him or ditch Mike to deal with it?" asks Chris.
Shocked, Jensen says, "Dude, you do not break up with someone via proxy."
"We're dating Jason now?"
"Shut up. Same thing. What do you think?"
"There aren't enough songs in minor keys," Chris muses. "Fox News isn't as unbiased as they think they are, but neither is CNN. Our waitress has abandoned us."
"About dumping Jason and seeing what we can do without him, asshole."
"We need a vocalist. We need a front man. I know my strengths."
Mike cuts in, "So do I. You two are the songwriters and what you do works. It would be monumentally stupid for you to split up. Tom will go along with anything you do, because he's smarter than he looks." They snicker and he talks over them. "Yeah, both of you. So the question really is, are you going to stay together and start something new? Split up? Do something I can help you with, or are you going to fight the label and fuck off with Jason?"
Jensen puts his menu on the table. "You make it sound like it's his choice to go."
Mike looks up at him, just sits there, doesn't say a word, and with a shiver he hopes doesn't show, Jensen remembers why they don't play poker with Mike, not after the first three weeks on the road. He likes Mike, he really does, Mike's the best at what he does, and what he does is out-think people, people like him and Chris.
"Mike," starts Jensen, and swallows hard, looking at Chris. Chris nods. "We're family. We go to you for advice. We have you to keep our shit together. Will you... You won't... Shit. You're gonna stay with us, right?"
"Make the right call."
Tom appears, all gangly and goofy, grins and sits sideways, grabs Chris' menu, and says, "So, what dire thing happened now?" Mike rolls his eyes, and Jensen looks anywhere but at Tom. Not at Chris either.
"Dude," Tom presses, "Chris is rockin' the artistic scowl, you look like you're working out long division without a pencil, and Mike didn't smile."
"Mike doesn't always smile," says Jensen.
"He does at me. What's up?"
Chris drops his head into his hands and mumbles, "Shit, I didn't even think about you two."
"This is professional." Mike turns his gaze on Tom. "How do you feel about replacing Jason?"
"Oh, hell, no, I'm barely adequate on Wild Irish Rose, pushing my range on the chorus of Nightride and you know it. I can't...Oh, not me personally, but us, right? Hunh." He opens the menu and trails his finger down the entree section, but Jensen can see that under his lashes, he's looking at Chris. Jensen doesn't know how he feels about that, except he looks at Chris too, like he does when decisions need to be made. Chris nods and Tom looks at Jensen, waiting.
Jensen picks up his glass, thinks about five years of living in each other's back pockets, that first check, standing in the lobby of the label after signing papers that didn't make sense but meant the world, the bar that night, when Jason ordered a round for the house, then had to borrow money from each of them to settle the tab. He thinks about what Mike said, about what Francis said, Jason flat out not showing for his contractual obligations, thinks about signing for hours, smiling and joking with the fans at the record stores, him, Chris and Tom - and Jason always begged off. Thinks about Jason reading his press and believing he was all that without the rest of them. He looks up; Tom is still waiting. Jensen nods and Tom snaps the menu closed. "So, us, plus one and... we're going forward, right? That's why we're here, hunh? Guess I'd better not order the soup."
Mike stares, snorts with laughter. "Oh, God, you're right. He wouldn't be able to resist the grand gesture of dumping it on you. I'll have her hold the pie, too."
Jensen thinks about the au jus that comes with the french dip and decides to go with the burger, instead. Mike doesn't order the salad he always gets, opting for a sandwich. Chris always gets the burger, so that's no big deal, but Tom eyes the milkshake, sighs, and orders a coke. Jason really would pull some asshole stunt with it, Jensen knows. They all know it, and he wonders how long they've been doing this, ordering their lives around what they can expect someone else to do. He's pretty sure that Jerry Springer or Dr. Phil would have some harsh words for him. The food arrives as Jason does, but with less fanfare.
--o0o--
Jason sits and teases Chris for his iced tea, like he hasn't massively screwed up twice in a week. He orders a beer, even though he's been here a dozen times, and knows as well as they do that House of Pies doesn't serve beer.
"Jason," says Mike, in his no-nonsense tone. "We have to talk. The label is very unhappy with you."
Jason waves his hands. "Whatever, dude. I'm a huge star. They need to shut the fuck up."
"Not this time, Jason."
"Fuck 'em, Mike. We'll get a new label."
If Jensen hadn't schooled himself not to react, his jaw would have dropped.
"You signed a contract, Jason. Promised to do things, things that you reneged on."
"Like I don't make them money." He dismisses the concern with a wave of his hand.
"They're done with you. Donald Trump done with you."
"Huh? Look if this is about Genevieve and the solo contract with Hellion, I haven’t said yes, yet."
Jensen feels Chris twitch beside him. Four studios had come calling over the last two years, that he knew about, and Chris had turned them all down, even for songwriting, prolific as he was. “Funny definition of forever, Jason. When were you going to talk to us?”
"I’m just stringin’ her along, you know how it is."
Mike holds up a hand to interrupt Jensen and bring the discussion back on track. "This isn’t about Otra or Hellion. It’s about Thunderbird Wine. You're fired."
"Ah, bullshit. You go back to them and tell them we'll go to Gen. Or to someone else at some other studio. They can't fire the band.”
"They're not," Mike stops him, speaking slowly and calmly, "firing the band. Just you, Jason."
Jason finally looks at Chris, Tom, and Jensen.
"You bastards."
"Jase--" Chris starts.
Jason stands, knocking his chair over with a clatter. "You bastards. You promised me we'd stay together."
Part of Jensen's chest is cold, has been since Jason said the word solo. This is really happening. "You're the one leaving."
"No. You know what? Fuck you. You've been jealous of me since we were kids. Without me you'd still be playing places with peanut shells on the floor and cyclone fence between you and the drunks. You'd be no one, gettin' beer bottles thrown at you, and you will again, and I will laugh."
No one says anything, and Jason gets louder, waving his arms and causing a scene. He points at Chris. "You wanna go back to the fucking bars, wearing your cowboy boots and playing all night for bottles of Bud and twenty five bucks apiece, fine, go back to Texas." His hand shifts to Jensen. "And you, you pansy-ass cocksucker Disney princess, with your white picket fence dreams. You assholes have dragged me down every chance you get. I got you here. I made this happen. I made us stars, and I will leave your suck up goody-two-shoes asses in my dust. I like living in the modern world and I’ll keep it. I own the name, I own the songs, I own you and you owe me everything. My lawyers will be suing your asses tomorrow."
Chris is trying to crawl under the table, just to get out of the line of cell phones facing their way. Jensen is appalled and says, "You don't have a lawyer, Jason. Look, we're friends -" but then has to duck out of the way, thankful that Jason always telegraphs his punches.
"Jason, let's take this outside," says Jensen.
"We are outside," Tom points out, helpfully.
Jason jumps the wall that separates the patio area from the sidewalk, still shrieking, "I'm going to call a real friend!"
Mike just leans back in his chair. Jensen hisses at him, "Fat lot of help you were."
"I am helping, Jensen. Let him scream. Let it hit the blogs." He nods and Jensen realizes that there are cell phones out everywhere, even on the street, recording it all.
Jensen sighs and plays with his fork. "Tell me you're overtipping."
Mike laughs, a sharp bark of surprise; he looks down at the tablecloth and grins. "After that? Oh hell, yeah." The waitress approaches, a man in a tie behind her. Mike thanks the manager, who shakes his head and walks away, and he turns to the wide-eyed waitress. "They're still eating, but I think I'm ready for pie, now."
“Mike," asks Tom slowly, "does he really own the name and the songs?”
“He owns the name, yeah, but not the library. Except for a quarter of Love Song.”
Jensen pushes his plate away. “I’m good with losing that one.”
Mike shakes his head but he's looking at his Blackberry. "Don't be stupid. That'll put your sister's kids through college, if you want. He gets no more than he's due." He stabs at the buttons.
Chris leans into Jensen and Jensen can't help but lean back. There's relief in having it over with, in still having each other. Chris steals a fry and waves it. "Technically," Chris points out, "Patron is probably due songwriting on that one."
"I thought it was a Cuervo night."
"If you can't remember, they can't do due diligence."
"Don't be lookin' at me. I was trying to find a rhyme for 'orange'."
Jensen reaches over with his spoon to steal a bite of dessert, and Mike's phone buzzes on the tablecoth. He doesn't glance at it, but says, "Eat. We have tapes to listen to."
Chris just stares at him.
Mike smiles like a barracuda. "I have mad phone skills."
Los Angeles, CA
"57!" shouts Kristen.
"Here!"
This one is a blond. Lank, straight hair hangs past his shoulders, held out of his face with a bandana. A silver tank tops argyle tights. Jensen thinks capital punishment is in order for the person who invented spandex.
He smiles, not genuine in the least, and Chris rolls his eyes. "Love Song?" he asks.
The young man gives him an appraising look. "I can sing the whole catalog. I'm your biggest fan, man. I sing for a Thunderbird Wine tribute band, you know, I am Jason."
"I did not know that, 57," Jensen says, the headache he's been fighting for an hour making itself known all over again.
"Oh, it's in my file. I'm sure you've seen us on YouTube."
"I'm certain I haven't. One, two, three, go."
Jensen agrees that 57 is Jason all over again, from his dilated pupils to his attempts at gymnastics, as well as his inability to come in on time. They go through the chorus of Love Song, and Jensen stills his drums, gesturing Kristen over. He looks out at Chris and Tom, who give negative head shakes. The petite blonde has a pen in her hand, hovering over the clipboard. Her hand is shaking, and Jensen sees she's suppressing laughter.
"Thank you 57. You really are just like Jason. Kristen, B pool. Can we break for some food? I have a killer headache."
Kristen makes notes on the third page of B Pool, and promises him a sandwich and a beer.
Chris bangs his head on an amp stack. "This is part of why we didn't get rid of Jason long ago."
They break, but aware of the cluster of men lounging with careful nonchalance in the lobby, they make it short. Fortified by ham and Swiss and Lone Star, Jensen climbs back behind the kit.
"78!" shouts Kristen.
"Here, baby." Jensen sees her stiffen, but she smiles gamely.
This one has a mane of golden curls, and Jensen sees Tom taking inventory. 78 is wearing a sensible plain t-shirt and jeans, along with high top tennis shoes.
Chris gives him his best unconvincing smile, and it's Jensen's turn to roll his eyes. "Love Song?"
78 curls his lip. "Sure. I will knock it out of the park for you guys. That Jason, what a piece of work, I was drinkin' with him a month ago, and I can imagine what a jerk he was to work with."
Jensen feels the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
"We worked with Jason for years, dude, " Tom interjects. "Lots of history you don't have, a lot of shared experience. Don't diss."
78 nods, still sneering and Jensen counts out, "One, two, three, go."
Blessedly, this one can sing, not caterwaul. Tom shrugs, and Chris doesn't reject him out of hand. "Nightride," calls Jensen.
He comes into the verse on time, and hits the right hesitation on the chorus. Jensen stills the skins, and 78 looks up, in the middle of a line.
"Thank you, 78. Kristen, A pool."
"Thanks, guys. Great meeting you. You're going to enjoy working with me."
This time, Tom rolls his eyes.
Kristen walks the A pooler out to get some more information from him. Chris breathes in, and Jensen knows the sound for the beginning of a conversation he's not going to like.
"I got a call last night from Harry. He wants me to put something together with Seth."
"That snake. Kind of you to mention."
"Don’t be mad."
"I have every right to be mad. Are you thinking about this?"
"Thinking for real? Not. Other people have heard, Jensen. You would know they have mad phone skills, too, if your phone wasn't shut off."
"How long you been thinking about splitting?"
"Remember Sacramento?"
Jensen rubs his forehead and grimaces. Aldis, their sound engineer, might be the most level headed man in a field of mad geniuses, but the Sacramento studio hadn't had the equipment they'd claimed and he was livid, fighting the recording devices, swearing with startling originality for hours. When they'd finally gotten a take Aldis considered usable, they were giddy with relief, but he wouldn't let them leave until he'd done something arcane and complex and above all, secret. So they'd sat and killed time.
Bored, Jensen had tapped out on the cymbals the stupid earworm Oscar Mayer song that had been caught in his head all day. Chris had laughed and they’d moved on to Alka Seltzer and then fast food and Chris had hammed it up, drawling out ‘two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese…" in the twangiest of country drawls and Tom had joined in.
Jensen had shifted to a ¾ and they’d rolled with laughter and discussed a new direction. Jason’d played along with them, leaning in for a duet on the hippie CocaCola song, but he must have been drunker than Jen had thought, because the next morning, when Chris talked about adding a little rock and roll rodeo to the next album, he’d brushed it off. Chris mentioned it a couple of times, until Jason would get pissed off when anyone brought it up. Jason had even gone to Mike, and that meant a sit down meeting that killed an afternoon for Mike to yammer at them about splintering a fan base and that led to Jason calling them all goat ropers and shitkickers until Chris gave up, and then there was the Clint Black episode.
“Fucking Clint Black.” Jensen mutters and Chris grunts, snapping him back to the present. "So now what? We going to go through all this and then you'll up and leave and... fuck man."
"Dunno. Jen, I'm just... The glitter, man. You know how I feel about the glitter."
"Yeah, well, what do you want to do?"
Mike comes back in with a gangly kid in tow and Chris doesn't answer.
"This is 127, guys." Kristen pushes her hair behind one ear, and Jensen can see she's flagging.
The kid is a tall, shaggy-haired brunet in freshly pressed jeans and a button-down shirt. Jensen sits up straight, then shakes his head. He's looking for a singer, not a hook-up. Chris rolls his eyes.
Jensen pastes on the professional smile again. "Love Song?"
"Hi. I'm not actually 127, I'm Jared."
"Don't tell them your name. They need to be able to find your tape," Kristen tells him.
Jensen loses the smile.
"The tapes are numbered," Tom says, and since he's right next to Kristen he pulls her into a hug. Her head barely reaches his armpit. "You'll fuck up her system."
"Sorry, sorry. I don't mean to cause a problem." A blush stains his cheeks.
"S'okay, kid. We've been at this all day, and we all just want to go home. I'm Chris, that's Tom, and the grump behind the kit, that's Jensen."
"I'm... an idiot," says the kid. "You called out Love Song."
Jensen sighs and counts out, "One, two, three, go."
The kid stands still, facing the band and sings, nervous as hell, but absolutely not about singing. He makes Love Song sound new, like they haven't played it to death and back hundreds of times. Jensen nods; the kid's got pipes.
"You aren't rock-n-roll."
"Well, I am, really, I can..." He chews his bottom lip, then tilts his head to one side. "No, church choir. In another life, I'm a wedding singer."
"You didn't learn that in a church choir, kid," laughs Chris.
"Nightride," calls Tom.
Jensen raises the sticks, and hears the kid breathe out the first note, the one Jason never ever hit, the one that Aldis still cackles about mixing into the track. Chris's head comes around slowly to meet Tom's eyes. Jensen plays to the first break.
Chris calls out, "Lightning."
Jensen throws him a smile; the track is buried on their first album, but it's one of his favorites. He's pretty sure the kid won't know it; he wants to see how he reacts.
The kid does a little shimmy, like he can't stand still, and belts out the verse unaided. He sucks a breath in to go on, and Jensen stills the skins.
He gives 127 an appraising look; there's something about him that Jensen likes, besides what Jensen likes.
"Break," he calls.
Chris tells him with a look that he wants to hear more. Tom sports the half smile Jensen knows means there's a gush of words Tom will get out later.
"Kristen, wading." There's only room for one of this kid in any pool, and Jensen grins at the picture in his head. He slides out from the kit and offers his hand. "Jensen Ackles."
"127." His grin lights up the room as he shakes hands. "Jared Padalecki."
"Choirboy."
Jared blushes again. "Yeah, well."
"Nah, s'cool. So, uh..." Jensen has absolutely no reason to be talking to this guy, especially as Kristen is calling for 132 behind him. "You're pretty deep into the catalog to pull out Lightning."
"I'm from the Hill Country. I don't know another song that takes you out there; that's exactly what it's like to be out on the ranch in a storm."
Jensen knows what he means. Chris has a half a dozen songs that do that, capture a moment, and sure, he helped write them, but Chris is a genius. Jason wouldn't record them. Maybe... No, he wasn't going to let himself think about that. This was going to be one album and twelve shows, and until all the pieces were in place, what happened after that was just going to have to wait its turn.
From behind him, Kristen yells, "Jensen, dammit, not done here!"
Jensen ducks his head, then looks at Jared. "Gotta go get caterwauled at."
"Yeah, thanks for the chance. It was real nice to meet you."
Mike rounds the corner. "There you are."
"I'm going. I'm going, Mom," Jensen shot back over his shoulder, turning back to the kit.
"Not to puncture your ego, but I was looking for him. You get your ass back to work."
--o0o--
Mike shows Jared out to the lobby, waits for the door to close completely, then turns to him. "So what do you think of Los Angeles?"
"Been here for a couple of months now," he says. "I may never get used to it; it's not... I don't think it'll ever be home."
Mike laughs. "It is for me, so hang around, because I promised Annette I'd feed you. Do you like Thai?"
"Never had it. You've done enough, really, just getting this shot." Jared wonders what this is about, wonders how many lunches Mike's sat through with wanna-be rock stars, wonders if he means to let him down easy, because of Annette.
"Jared," says Mike, "Open auditions. You submitted a tape; it got chosen. I didn't know you were one of Annette's kids until I called you, remember? You could have asked her to call me first."
"Yeah, that's what she said, that she would call, put in a good word, but... I asked her not to. Right, I just... She offered, but... Well, if I'm not good enough, I'd rather know that it was me, not favoritism gone bad or whatever."
"Favoritism? More like an advance scout. Very advance, out there in the sticks--" he laughs at Jared's indignant look, "but whatever. Sit, mack on Kristen or something. I'll be a while, but we need to talk."
Jared sits in the lounge, and lets out a breath. He hadn't fallen on his face, hadn't gibbered when he saw Jensen, Jensen Ackles, whose face was often the one he imagined when he jerked off in the shower. He picks a magazine off the stack on the cocktail table. People says Tom is dating Jessica Simpson, and Jared wonders how Tony Romo feels about that, and if he'll get to meet her. He can't concentrate on the magazine, and looks up. On the wall in front of him is a framed poster of Thunderbird Wine. Here, in their rehearsal space, someone has put a big post-it over Jason's face. He tries to imagine his face there, but his gaze rests on Jensen. Jared knows he's staring, but he can't stop.
Mike sits where he can watch the entrance to the restaurant in a mirror, so when 78 walks into the room he can track his progress and watch Jared respond. Jared's in LA business wear, white button down, no tie, khakis. 78 is in paparazzi taunting ripped casual, and Mike can feel the swell of artfully hidden interest as he walks past people trying to guess who he is. He's gone through the auditions, and if Mike was a gambling man, he'd bet that one of these two was it. He isn't really a gambling man. He doesn't bet if he's not sure of the winner, and he's sure. 78's nobody, and Mike thinks he's going to remain nobody.
Jared winces as 78 scrapes his chair on the floor and turns it backwards before straddling it next to him. Mike gives them both smile number 15, the coolly professional one. He adjusts his tie, careful not to actually change anything about it and Jared touches his throat, looking rueful.
Mike watches him look around. The place is quiet, clean and comfortable, then Jared eyeballs the menu and says, “I know in my head that TexMex is different from Mexican, but it’s still startling to not recognize anything on the menu.”
Mike says, “Well, it’s actually Cuban. You want my advice?”
Jared's eyes flash with intelligence as he says, “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Mike smiles at the carefully chosen words. "The patacones is why I come here…" He lets the words hang and watches Jared's eyes flick down to the menu. His finger follows. The kid does everything but mouth the words aloud as he reads the description and Mike has to hide his smile behind his water glass. This is why he has a reputation as a mind reader. Jared wrinkles his nose at something in the description on the menu, and Mike adds, "… but the salmon is really very good."
The waitress smiles as she stops at the table, cocking one hip. "Such handsome young men at my table! Have you decided?"
Mike gestures at Jared to go first. He orders the salmon and iced tea, sweet. Mike suppresses a smile, nodding slightly. 78 glances down only long enough to scan the prices, and cocksure and easy, orders the steak. He asks the waitress for a beer as well, but she shakes her head.
After that, 78 commandeers the conversation, and never falters through the entire meal, answering every question Mike puts to him with a story. He knows his business, and his business is cover nights and tribute bands and a cafepress shop with designs carefully tailored twenty percent away from the legitimate merchandise. Mike calls him clever and he beams, never realizing that it's not a compliment.
Jared makes small talk, about the weather, the food, doesn't give away anything, though every thought shows on his face like a neon sign. When Mike brings up Annette, he glows even in Mike's peripheral vision, but won't play the card.
78 doesn't bother to look or listen, but changes the subject back to himself. He texts under the tablecloth nearly constantly.
Mike doesn't call him on it, but smiles when Jared says thank you to the server.
Jared sighs softly as the waiter delivers 78's ice cream but the first forkful of chocolate cake makes his eyelids flutter. He grins and starts to offer his fork across the table, shifting mid sentence to "You guys should... um...try this next time. It's really good." Mike sips his coffee and doesn't smile. 78 drops his spoon with a clatter and says he's got places to be. Jared puts his hand in his back pocket.
Mike waves him off. "I've got it."
"Dumbass. Label pays. You're not actually in the business, are you?" 78 dismisses Jared and turns to Mike. "I'll see you at the studio, chief."
Mike looks him over. "I'll call and let you know what time." 78's out the door before Mike's picked up the check.
Jared gestures with his wallet. "Um, I don't suppose I could cover the tip?"
Mike shakes his head as he flicks the card out of his wallet.
"Not this time. I'll see you at the studio, tomorrow, 11AM."
Aldis tucks his recorder safely into his elbow and hikes the strap of the laptop higher. Damn bags may be padded, but they are never comfortable. He isn't happy about being here today, since he's got a million other things to do, but Thunderbird Wine is his baby and if they are changing vocalists, he needs to know what he's going to have to fix. He really hopes one of them can sing. The studio's guest office door is open and he can hear Chris's drawl from it so he leans in, not bothering to be quiet. Jensen and Chris are perched at the edge of the faded green velvet crying couch with Tom sprawled sideways behind them, head on one arm, feet off the other. Mike's laptop teeters on top of the sliding stack of rumpled Rolling Stone magazines on the table. The Drinker's Forum graphics are visible from ten feet away and Jensen's scrolling down too fast to be reading.
"Fuck, Mike, you were serious about it hitting the blogs and the forums, weren't you?" demands Chris.
Mike grins at Aldis, leans back, crosses his legs at the ankle, his feet resting on the empty desk. If he puts his hands together, Aldis thinks, he'll look like a Bond villain. "The forums are moderated. FallingLeaves should have it under control. How bad is it?"
"A lot of blurry photos from the restaurant and they've started up Jasonisnotadick.com."
"Oh, but he is," mutters Tom.
"And the other factions?" asks Mike, because he already knows the answer. Aldis watches him, wonders if he sees that Machiavellian streak because he has one too. Like drawn to like.
"Factions?" Chris asks.
Aldis lets his bag swing to the floor. "Welcome to the band forums, man, doesn't Mike let you see those?" He leans over and runs his thumb over the touchpad to enlarge the thumbnails. There's a sideways shot of Jensen at the table, his hand over his eyes, while Chris studies his flatware and Mike sits cool and collected as Jason's half out of his chair. He scans the threads for anything new, then glances up at Mike. "Looks like we've got three groups: the outright trolls, histrionic weeping and then the good riddance side."
Mike makes the serious face that doesn't fool anyone. "That's better than I'd hoped."
Chris leans back. "Dude, they're fighting with each other. What happened to splintering the fanbase?"
"This too shall pass." Mike spreads his hands like Monty Burns.
"Who's FallingLeaves?" Jensen asks.
Mike drops his feet to the floor with a soft thump. "Autumn, although I don't think that's her real name either. She's very active; I've been thinking of actually making her an official part of the team."
"She's all right," mutters Chris.
Jensen bumps his shoulder. "She the one?"
Chris nods.
Mike asks, "What one?"
Jensen grins, "My boy here's got himself a chat buddy."
Chris says, "Shut up."
Mike drawls, "I thought we'd discussed your not participating in the forums."
Chris holds up one finger. "First, last time I checked, you weren't my mother, and second..." He flips Mike off.
"Hey!" Jensen bats down Chris's hand. "Play nice." He turns to Mike. "Besides I don't, we don't... shut up, Chris, my turn... neither of us mess around on the forums. Some of those people are weird."
Mike leans back. "Autumn's the best of the bunch."
"Which is where this discussion started, mom," Chris says. "We chat. NOT on the forum. She doesn't know it's me, or at least I never told her. I like her."
Aldis leans in and says, "You didn't think the cellphone router for the bus was just for you, did you?"
Mike rolls his eyes and answers, "So nice of you to join us."
Aldis looks at his watch. He's still five minutes early, and Mike knows it. He flicks Jensen's ear as he walks by.
"I've been leaving these two yahoos voice mails. Since yesterday."
Jensen sighs. "Sorry about that. I turned off my phone and, um, kind of didn't turn it on again. Tired of talking about it, fielding the gossip."
"Do I look like Perez Hilton? No, I do not." He plops into the chair by the desk, leans back and interlaces his fingers behind his head.
"So," Mike says, "we're trying a new vocalist today. He'll sing with them and we'll see what we've got to work with."
"I hate him already."
"Yeah, I know, but we should make this a clean break. Okay, you three, you're sure about the Choirboy?"
Jensen looks at Chris, who nods. "Plan A is the Choirboy, 127. Plan B is... um... 78."
Tom opens his eyes. "Plan B is shit, but solid. He was second choice, in case Choirboy is hopeless onstage."
Mike smirks. Aldis knows that look. This is the point in the show when George Peppard lights his cigar. "And what's 78's name, if 127 is Choirboy?" he asks.
"Not one we'll keep if we use him, that's for damn sure." Chris slaps his thighs and leans forward, very serious. "Tommy came up with it, and I think it's illegal in Missouri." Chris glares at Tom and says, "Don't ever tell me what you call me, okay?"
Mike says, "Cranky Bitch" as Jensen says "Jerkface" and Tom snorts with laughter. Chris leans back to pin Tom as he throws an arm around Jensen's neck and rubs his head with the other hand. They flail and Tom kicks up, throwing all three of them off the couch.
"Children," Mike warns. "May I remind you that we have work to do?"
"Yeah, go tune," commands Aldis.
Chris and Jensen leave, bickering. Tom shoots a grin at Mike and ambles out behind them. Aldis watches them go, then leans onto Mike's desk. "You've got that look."
"I've always got that look. I practice it in a mirror. You pulled the file?"
"Yeah." Aldis reaches into his bag, then sits back. "Wait, Padelecki is your Choirboy? Jared Padelecki?"
"Their Choirboy, but yeah. Auditioned and everything."
Aldis does the Spock eyebrow thing. Not that it works, since Mike does it better than he does, but it's the principle of the thing. "Don't tell me that you didn't set them up to fall for him. I know how you are with the dominos."
"Okay, I won't tell you," says Mike. He holds out his hand, carefully expressionless. "The file?"
Aldis just shakes his head then slides the file across the desk. "He's got some cred already, done some work with Plant, backing up a shitload of people. Of course he worked in Austin, so he's not as green as he comes off. And there's the AI thing."
"We aren't discussing the AI situation."
"Ain't like it's just gonna go away."
Mike calls the front desk, asks Kristin to send Jared in. Aldis turns to Mike slowly, faking an astonishment that he knows won't be bought. "You had him sitting out there the whole time?"
"Of course."
"What if they'd picked 78 instead?"
"I'd have been surprised."
Aldis rolls his eyes. "One of these days, man, you're going to be wrong."
"I'll let you know when I fly into that asteroid field. Until then, you do your job and let me do mine."
Puppy eager, Padalecki comes around the corner, enthusiasm rolling off him in waves. He grins before sticking out his hand.
"I'm Jared. Jared Padalecki."
"Aldis Hodge." Then, before the kid can say a word, he continues with a cheerful, "Hate you."
The kid's face falls. Mike claps his hands and says, "Burning time! Go! Jared, follow Aldis. He's heading to the studio. Now."
The hallways are industrial, linoleum floors black with wheel marks from the trap cases going in and out. Aldis can tell the kid is still wide-eyed, taking it all in. "It ain't all glamour and drugs and sex." He leads the way, rattling his keys to keep from making it a conversation. The kid is taller, bigger than he looked at the AI audition, but that was almost two years ago. He ushers him into the room with a sweep of his arm at the door and turns to set up his laptop in the corner of the room.
After a moment, Aldis looks up. Something's up. Normally these guys are chatters, in one another's business, comfortably giving one another hell. Today, Tom's got his back to both Jensen and Chris and Chris is trying so hard to avoid Jensen that he's tripping over equipment. The kid's standing behind him, shifting from foot to foot. He says, "Um, sir...? Mr. Hodge?" and Aldis points to the stage on the other side of the room.
"You go there, not here." The kid scoots over with another yessir and Aldis is going to have to untrain that habit damn quick. He watches the others react, though. Jensen sees the kid and puts on his company face, but Chris sidles over, too casual to be anything but deceptive. Maybe he's been giving Mike too much credit all this time. These guys are as easy to read as books. Kids' books. Hank the Cowdog, maybe, considering Chris's footwear.
"So Choirboy, are you Jared?" asks Chris, "Jay? Something else?"
"Jared, please. I left Jay on the football field."
"You're Choirboy for now," laughs Tom.
Jared ducks his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes, but he smiles back. "I can live with that."
"So." Jensen clears his throat. "Let's run through a couple of things. We need to fulfill a contract. We need to turn in an album, and we need to perform 12 concerts. We know you can sing. Can you be Jason?"
"I have the vocals, I know the songs, I can do the moves," Jared says seriously. "Well, most of them. Gonna need some time on the flips. Been years since I did gymnastics." He thinks for a minute. "I was about a foot shorter, then."
Tom laughs. "Jason is about a foot shorter."
Mike strolls in and gives Jared an appraising glance. "Tomorrow, we set you up with a gymnastics coach. We don't expect you to do backflips --
Jared laughs aloud and tumbles into a forward roll, standing up in Mike's space. "I will, though."
"We need you to do that for twelve shows," says Jensen. "We need to know if you can do that. If you will."
Mike says, "If this works out, you'll be committing to a short term contract."
Jared asks, "Can we run through the material and see if it works before either one of us decides?" Aldis thinks Jared's already decided, he has that look of want, and he's as much of an open book as the other three, but he's a professional, and he sure as shit doesn't know they've already made up their minds. Unless he can't move. Aldis knows better; he's looking at the new Thunderbird Wine, and wasn't that the worst name ever? Mike comes to stand next to him.
Chris, Jensen and Tom look at each other. Chris jerks his head toward the makeshift stage. "Let's see what you got, Choirboy. This is Chad Lindberg. He's my tech and our production manager. His word is law, don't mind the mullet."
Chad flips Chris off, and hands Jared a set list. He speaks softly. "We've all heard the tapes, Choirboy. Crew thinks you're the best choice. Don't let us down."
"I'll do my best."
"Okay," Chad nods. " We're rehearsing this set." He gestures at the laminated sheet in Jared's hand. He looks at Chris, Tom and Jensen. "Here's how we're doing this. Y'all already know he can sing, and you want to see if he can move." He looks at Jared. "You can move, right?" At Jared's nod, he continues. "So I want you to run through the song once, and let Choirboy here figure out where there's room for him. Then, you'll run through it again, with him. You may think he's the best musician for you. We need to see if he's the best frontman. Misha's got the videocamera set up, so we can all watch later and see what works best."
"Thanks, Chad. Very well put," says Mike. "Jared, Chad is the last word on the stage. Over there is Danneel, Jensen's tech, and Marc, who is Tom's. Misha, who does our monitors, is on the videocamera. He's the one to tell if you can't hear one of the other guys. We use wireless monitors; you can wear mine, for now."
"You have monitors? 'Cause dude, there's running in the halls," quips Chris.
"Shush, you."
"I need to stretch, and these are the wrong pants for this."
"How much room do you need?" asks Mike as he hands Jared the earbuds.
"I can do it right here." He gestures at an empty spot on the floor. Aldis looks up again when the kid says, "Okay, I need to change." Mike's not vounteering anything, waiting to see what the kid does and the kid shrugs and drops trou, right there. He kicks off his boots, and skins out of his pants. Boxer briefs, Aldis notes, the long ones, like bike shorts. From the corner of his eye he sees Jensen, eyes locked on the Choirboy's well muscled legs, thighs. Chris wolf whistles and Tom cat calls, but Jensen, Jensen's watching the kid like he's serious.
Jared blushes, but pulls a pair of thin sweats out of his bag, kicks off his jeans and slides the sweats on, all grace, not catching his foot or hopping.
Aldis claps, slowly, and Jared looks at him, clearly startled. "It's good you're not body conscious, man." He thinks for a minute about Jason's stage clothes on this kid. "You'll be sharing a bus and dressing rooms, and there ain't a lot of room for modesty on the road."
Chris throws a pick at the kid, bouncing it off his floppy hair. "Yeah, we figured we'd have to train you into it, Choirboy. Trust me, after the first two shows, you'll have seen more than you want to of us. Especially Tom's hairy ass."
"Hey!"
Jensen laughs, with Chris, but a half step behind, and Aldis knows that look. Jensen can't take his eyes off the kid's butt, and there could be hearts and flowers or tears over this in the end. He shrugs. Not his problem. "If we've all got our ogling out of the way?" he asks, trailing off.
Jensen blushes and shoots Aldis a glare that he meets with his smuggest of smiles.
"You're fine, Jared. They're twelve sometimes," says Mike.
Aldis snickers, but Jensen is still looking, so he points and laughs. Jensen whips a stick at him and doesn't miss by much.
The set list starts with Love Song, and the band plays through. It's weird without vocals, but they've done soundcheck without Jason, so not uncomfortable.
Jared watches intently, but his hands are moving. Aldis grins and leans in to ask, "You've seen the choreography?"
Jared nods, but Aldis knows the answer. The swoop of one hand was on the beat where Jason always did the slide. "I've got some of the shows on my computer and that MTV thing, I've seen that." He glances down, a clear deception tell, and Aldis will bet his newest HD that the kid's watched them a dozenhundredthousand times.
"But it's been a while since I've done mid-air splits."
"Kid, it's been a while since Jason's did them, too."
Jared shakes his head again. "Yeah, I'm pretty flexible, but I'm taller, and, well, there's not really all that much room. And the half cartwheel in Nightride, especially. That's gonna be.... um. " He sighs. "I'm gonna have to figure it out. But I can. Really."
They finish in the stage ending, where the studio track fades out. Jensen slumps behind the drums and Aldis hears Chris say to Jared, "We were talking--"
Jensen taps his high hat, making enough noise to get Chris's attention. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?"
The Choirboy blinks and Aldis doesn't stifle his snicker.
Chris waves off Jensen. "Just making conversation, man. So, Jared, how do you feel about country? Influence, not straight up." He glances back to Jensen and Jennyboy actually scowls at him, but his laptop beeps so he's messing with that when he hears Chris say, "What do you think of Clint Black?”
Aldis glances up at that, surprised; Jensen's appalled; Chris is guarded. Jared, on the other hand, looks as clueless as he sounds. "Uh, he was kind of an ass on the Apprentice?"
Jensen snickers and Chris shoots him a dirty look. "Okay, so how about Johnny Cash?”
Jared toes the carpet. “The Man in Black? You guys don’t aim low.”
“Is that a short joke?” Chris goes still, his voice rough.
Jared pales. “No! No, man. I --“
Jensen laughs. “Jesus, Chris, let him learn when you're teasing. Besides, it’s not his fault he's freakishly huge. Choirboy, Chris is talking out his ass. We've got a dozen gigs, and an album we owe the record company." He leans over the kit, half standing, deliberately making direct eye contact with Chris, as he throws sticks at him, one at a time, to punctuate his speech. "And. We. Aren't. Discussing. Anything. Past that. Not. Right. Now."
Chris ducks, falling back in surrender and laughing.
Jared nods. "Hired help, right? Short - " he glances at Chris, "um... erm... interim?"
Chris starts laughing again and Jensen glares at him. "We don't even know if you'll get past today, kid." He nods pointedly at the front of the stage. Jared flushes and stands facing forward, waiting for them to start. Jensen looks at his backside, and whacks himself in the head with the sticks he's holding. He looks up at Aldis who makes a gun with his hand and shoots at him.
Aldis eyes the kid as he bounces on his toes and shakes out his shoulders. He remembers Padalecki from the Idol auditions for which he was on the selection team, and more, Cowell pitching a fit because they had to edit around him when he dropped out. Kid had a good chance at winning, though this would be a better chance for him than being signed to the Idol machine. He remembers the moves the kid had, could sing anything. Ballads, country, rock. He remembers something about him dancing, Tom Jones, he thought it was; he might go looking for that video for blackmail material. Time to see if he could sing Jason's parts.
"So, we never do, but today, we start with Love Song. You got it, Jared?" asks Jensen.
Jared looks up, "I do."
"Wedding jokes, man?" asks Aldis, "Seriously?"
Jared cracks a smile, and Chris plays the first notes. Aldis has his recorder running, so he can sit back and watch. Even as it's happening, he knows he will always remember Jared blinking and turning into the singer Jason should have been. The way Jason sang Love Song, the way they'd recorded it, the vocal is an octave and a quarter. That's fine, every wedding band in the country can cover it. Jared growls into the lower register and soars up into the high notes, making the power ballad a tour de force, never missing a step. Jason is going to shit, thinks Aldis, and he wants to see it happen, the little prick. Tom is smiling, Jensen's eyes are the size of saucers and Chris, Chris is sporting the biggest grin Aldis has ever seen on him, and Chris smiles a lot.
Jared sings and moves through the list he's been given, no trouble with repeating small sections over and over, and Jensen nods at Chris and Tom, who nod back. They've played through the short set and agree without words, communication perfected in the years they worked with Jason.
Mostly, Jared nails it, a couple of bobbles, and a spot where he jumps in place and says, "Flip goes here."
Jensen looks at him and Mike. "We're good?" All three of them nod.
They look at Jared. "Well," Jensen says, "if Mike can come up with a contract you can live with, we'd like you to help us fulfill ours."
"I'll have to have it looked at, Enrico would be good for that."
"Enrico Suave?" asks Tom, giggling.
Blushing, Jared stammers, "No, just Enrico. He's our family lawyer in Fredricksburg."
Jensen snorts. "Enrico Colantoni?"
"You know him?" asks Jared, incredulously.
"My daddy says he's one of the last honest lawyers in Texas. We lived in Burnet. Jason was from Marble Falls."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"'S'how we met, man." Jensen grins, remembering skinny dipping at Buchanan Dam, late night under the stars, underage drinking and music around a fire. "Hand to God."
"Press stuff all just says Austin."
"Yeah, well, it's not like anyone knows where Burnet is. Hell, most of the country only knows that Austin is someplace in Texas. They think it's Dallas. Tom, he's from out east, Georgia."
Jared picks a guitar pick off the floor and looks at Chad. "You guys will have my back, right?" he asks, "Stage swept and nothing to kill myself on?
"When the show starts, yeah," says Chad. "They do throw things. Tom hangs on to his picks, Chris isn't so tidy, although he puts most of them in the crowd, and does kick them forward. Jensen has pretty good aim, you'll never step on a stick. Unless he means you to."
Jared looks at Mike. "Costumes? Shoes?"
He looks at Chris, Jensen and Tom. "Tomorrow," Mike says, "you have an appointment with the stylists." They groan.
Mike leads Jared out, talking a mile a minute, and Jared listens intently. Aldis calls out to their backs. "Still hate you!" Mike waves goodbye, and he's pretty sure the kid didn't hear him.
Jensen looks at Aldis. "Dude, you serious on the hate?" He's clearly unhappy. "We've got another candidate."
"Are you deaf?" Aldis claps Jensen on the shoulder. "Suddenly bereft of the good sense you've always had? This kid is magic, and I've got a career to think about too!"
"Dude."
"Kid's got chops. But if he 'sirs' me one more time. I'm gonna make him a soprano. The hard way. And wipe your chin."
Hollywood, California
Mike meets Sophia and Charisma at the door to Marshall's studio. He's not sure how many strings Chris pulled to get this appointment, but he isn't arguing. Marshall is better, more important, than Thunderbird Wine rates in the shifting scale of music promotion. So, of course Jensen shows up in shitkickers and Chris is in yet another ragged, abused, straw cowboy hat. Even the kid is scruffy, in Chuck Taylors and an animal rescue tee, but at least he shaved. Mike doesn't hide his laughter and pulls open the door for them from the inside as he says, "This is why we have stylists. Would it kill you to wash your damn hair?"
"Says the bald man," shoots back Chris.
Tom's wearing what's in his closet and Mike controls that, by subterfuge. He herds them down the short hall to a shorter prep room and leans against the doorjamb to monitor costume and check his Blackberry. He's squinting at new boilerplate from a rival agency when Chris snorts. Jared's bare-chested and has a towel wrapped around his hips.
"Jared, problem?"
Jared blushes all the way down his chest and Mike notices it absently, thinking of light filters, and shadows and how Sandy is going to love lighting him.
"Oh, God, I knew it would be bad, but this is..." He drops the towel and gestures at the striped tights. They sit at the top of his hipbones, baring enough stomach that anyone can see there's no fat there.
Charisma looks stunned. Marshall's in house stylist waves his hands flamboyantly. "You look very sexy."
"I feel very naked."
"Didn't you play sports, dear? I thought all you boys rode horses and played ball."
"Those are tight pants, but these are tights. Not so much football as the Nutcracker Suite."
"As a matter of fact, yes, they are."
Jared looks to Mike in the mirror, pleading eyes. Mike's never really been susceptible to the puppy face. He's doesn't crack a smile as Jensen says, "What's wrong with you two? We've got... holy fuck man, they put you in a cup? No, that's all you, isn't it?" Jensen laughs, and says, "I'm just glad I'm a grower, not a shower." Mike tries to scowl, but he's not feeling it.
Jared stares into the mirror, Mike watches him steel himself and Chris breaks in, "Quit posing man, you're pretty enough for--" His eyes drop and he blinks. "Jesus, man, try to be a little less happy about this."
Mike can see Jared shift his weight, like a kid denying he has to pee. "Oh, trust me, this is about as unhappy as I get." He gives up and adjusts himself, then shakes his head.
Chris is openly staring. "You _ever_ get head?"
"Uh, I... um."
Chris grins. "In other words, no." He slaps Jared on the back on his way by. "You're gonna love rock and roll, kid." Chris brushes against him as he leaves and Mike can hear him snorting in the hall.
Charisma looks up at him, and Mike shakes his head, quickly, no. She presses her lips together over something he's sure he'll hear later, and stalks out. Jared moves to the door; Mike carefully watches the screen in his hands.
"Is there any chance of changing the costume?"
"Sure." Mike tells his PDA. He glances up to see Jared grinning like a spotlight. "You can always say no. We can find another vocalist. Growin' on trees in LA..."
Jared takes a step back and his look of disappointment shifts into resolve so quickly that anyone else might have missed it. "No! Yeah. Okay. I'm in the tights."
"Yeah you are. Now, sit down, let them fit the wig and put on your makeup."
Jared gulps, and sits down in front of the mirrors.
Sophia takes about ten minutes to get the wig they've chosen to sit just right, and another ten to fix it so it won't move, weaving some of Jared's hair into it She tells him to close his eyes, grips his chin, and makes a few firm strokes, then tells him to open his eyes and look up. He meets Mike's eyes in the mirror, as she lines his lower lid, blinking when she lets go.
"Don't rub them."
Jared stares into the mirror, and Mike makes a note on his Blackberry to add front stage security. Jason wasn't sex on legs. Finishing, he meets Jared's eyes in an appraising look, wondering if Jared knows how wanton he looks. Finally, Mike nods, and waves Jared ahead of him into the studio. He watches Jared and pinches the bridge of his nose to stem a headache--that wig is never going to work onstage--and follows him out.
Marshall's got them posing on a pseudo-stage when he enters. Chris looks up and says, "Anything good on the TV? Nice of you to join us."
Mike nods, "I was throwing away your beat up hat. Charisma said it made her cry. Then Jared traumatized her with his six foot schlong. She's weeping into Jensen's jacket as we speak."
Chris grins at Jensen. "See, I told you she likes you best."
Jensen rolls the sticks in his hands and raises one hand to his hair, then carefully lowers it without touching anything. "That’s because I wear what she tells me to wear.”
Jared hitches at the waistband of the tights. “She doesn’t want to put you in stripy underwear."
Jensen pats the air over his kit. "I sit behind the drum set, man."
Chris adds, "And make faces…"
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Were you a part of this conversation?"
Chris flicks a pick at him. "Just saying, you make faces. But he’s right, Jens here could wear a skirt and no one would care."
Jensen laughs. "Upskirt shots onstage? I suspect Francis would care."
Chris laughs from where he's fucking with the tuning on his guitar. "Hey, Mike, how about we put Jens in a skirt?
He shakes his head, gives them the long suffering look, but doesn't hide the smile that curls one corner of his mouth. "You know, there's a growing metrosexual market. I could market you guys to that."
Jared laughs and Mike takes a moment to marvel. Unconcious stage presence. Lovely to see. "Do I look like Bowie?" Jared grins and poses.
Chris straightens. "Not without a whole lot more eyeliner. Also? Too fuckin' huge." He gestures with both hands, one for height and one for, well, Mike thinks, maybe a little higher rise on the tights.
Marshall stands up from his table at the side and they all shift focus, Tom first, then Jensen and Chris move in their eerie synchronicity, then Jared, a half beat slow, but catching on faster than Jason ever had. He watches in silence, letting Marshall earn his money and reputation, watching from an out of the way corner as they pose for the camera, moving around one another, trying to compensate for the change, affect the easy familiarity that years of living together had given them with Jason. It's easier than he would have thought. Jared follows direction, but when Marshall's back is turned, Tom pokes and teases, and eventually Jared shrugs, loosens up and lets go, so after a few minutes they have what Mike could tell were some usable shots, with Tom and Jared, back to back, singing along with the recorded music and ignoring the flash of the camera and the shifting flicker of the effects strobes.
Mike takes the opportunity to check his email, tuning in again when music falls silent. Marshall nods.
"Okay, that's it. You can change clothes. But let Sophia touch you up. I want to check some things first, but you might as well be comfortable. Chris, you get changed first. Jared, lose the wig. We can always put it back on."
He tries to pull it off as he leaves, walking as he talks, hair still tangled in the weave. "Thanks, that thing's hotter than I would have thought. No wonder Momma just wore a ballcap."
Mike steps out to call Kristin, resolve two more contracts, and arrange for a hair appointment for Jared. He comes back to find Chris noodling on a classic acoustic and Jensen leaning forward, tapping out a complicated rythym that twists from something tribal to a slap and slide as Chris starts picking out something folksy that Mike doesn't know. Tom comes in with an armful of water bottles and Jared takes one and says thanks, then grins mischeviously.
He sings, "Stepped on a pop top. Blew out my flip flop," and by that time, Jensen has picked up the rythm on the couch leg and his own thigh and Chris takes a beat to do something to his fret board that doesn't quite hit slack string, but isn't quite in tune, either. Tom comes in on the chorus, singing into his water bottle about Maragaritaville and Marshall isn't even hiding as he walks around, but the guys play along anyway, mugging for one another and not the camera. Mike moves just enough to stay off film and records as much as his Blackberry will capture. Tom's watching him, Jensen and Chris are watching each other and Jared, Jared's watching Jensen when he's not keeping himself from twitching out of Marshall's path.
Marshall steps back with a smile that Mike would dearly like to see again and a nod to Chris. Mike sits on the the arm of Jensen's chair and nods to Jared. "Good news. We'll dump the wig." Jared smiles; Jensen doesn't. Jensen's learned. Mike doesn't quite smile at that as he says, "I've got you an appointment for extensions."
Jensen is watching him as Jared drops his face to his hands.
Jensen says, “The hair, Mike? Extensions, for real?”
Mike shrugs. “Stylist. Label wants all the consistency we can get.”
“Jared, you’re okay with this?”
Jared looks up from his hands and blinks at Jensen. "There are the fucking tights. You think the hair is a problem?”
Jensen looks flustered, "Well, it’s there twenty-four-seven. It’d drive me nuts. I’m trying to help out."
Jared gives him a pained look, ignoring Mike. “Earlier, when you said grower or shower? You were wrong. If I can deal with the tights, the hair is the least of my issues.”
Mike decides it's time for him to be in the conversation again and smirks. "That’s more than I needed to know about you, man.”
Jared shoots back, "Yeah, well, add a couple of scarves to the mike stand or let me drop some of Jason’s moves, because...” he trails off and flaps his hands.
Mike slides into his business face as he sees Jensen react to that idea. What he says aloud is, "I think we can reach a compromise on the choreography," but he's thinking of security cameras and Cynthia PlasterCaster and Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. Not that he would encourage his people to do anything they aren't comfortable with. Except wear the damn tights and the hair extensions, of course.
Jensen's still doing his best impression of a stunned carp when Mike ducks out to get his laptop.
Hollywood, California
When Chris and Jensen walk in, Tom and Jared are already there, sitting on the couch with Mike. Tom looks at them with a wicked grin. "Hey, I just thought of something."
"We’ll alert the media," says Jensen, dryly.
"Asshole. Guess what we can dump from the play list?" Tom leaps up, all energy, and gyrates for a moment.
“We don’t do Bowie,” Jensen says.
Tom slumps in momentary defeat, then starts again with the gyrations, this time with his lips pursed out.
After a moment of silence, Jensen snorts a laugh. “Please don’t ever imitate me.”
“Never again will my generation shake you all night long for satisfaction.” Tom shimmies, shaking his ass and the other two laugh again.
Jared looks up, "Hey, no, wait. People like the medley. You know, people, who buy tickets.” He glances over, his eyes wide. “Mike, tell 'em."
Chris leans in, ignoring the kid. “Not only that, but now we can call them covers.”
Jensen nods and turns to explain. “Jason always called it an homage. Mixed it up, Zep, Stones, you name it. It was the way Chris kept him on his toes."
Jared gives Chris an appraising look and turns back to Mike. "Concerts, man. They aren't filler; they're part of the genre."
Mike grins back. "We won't drop all the covers, they're just dumping Angie. Oh, and Chris will never play Van Halen. Apparently a girl was involved." Chris leaves off tapping on his fret board and growls.
Jensen snaps his fingers in front of Jared’s nose. “Dude, dude! Pay attention, man, or we're gonna make you sing Blondie.”
Jared protests, "I was listening to Mike... "
Tom sings, “Cause the man from Mars is through with cars, and now he only eats guitars…” Chris flails on an air guitar and does an uncanny vocal imitation of amp feedback.
Jared joins in and sings, mugging to Mike, "I will drive past your house and if the lights are all down I'll see who's around ..." he glances over at Tom, who has a puzzled expression, and trails off. "Um, I think Debbie Harry’s voice gets lower than mine.”
Jensen laughs. "We can fix that. Somebody buy the kid a pack of cigarettes. I know we’ve got some Jack around here somewhere. Worked for Janis."
“What about the Zeppelin?” Chris asks.
"You want me to sing Robert Plant?" sputters Jared. "I've sung with him, dude, and it cannot be done.”
“Jimmy Page is a god, man, do you hear me bitching? No, you do not,” says Chris.
"Robert Plant got to wear pants." Jared pouts a little when he says it.
Tom says, “Anything but Stairway to Heaven, please.”
Jared strikes the Plant pose. "Do you remember laughter?"
"Okay, okay, not Stairway," agrees Chris. "And maybe you can't sing Plant."
Jared drops the pose. “Hey, can I make a suggestion?”
“Kind of the point, Choirboy.”
“Reinvent instead of cover. How Tori Amos did with Angie. Like, take something quintessentially C&W, and swing it.”
“Swing-it?”
“Brian Setzer Orchesta. Cherry Poppin’ Daddies.”
Chris blinks at him, his hands still. “Okay, when you leave the mid-nineties, you can participate in the grown up conversation again.”
“Or not swing, that’s not the point.” Jared rolls his eyes, and Jensen wonders just how subtle Chris had been with his whole rock-n-roll rodeo spiel earlier. They had twelve venues, dammit. The kid kept talking. “Maybe find something tech-heavy and go acoustic and snare drum rockabilly. Just choose a song, turn it over and see it from the other side. That’d give you both worlds,” he nodded at Tom, “your rock-n-roll,“ then to Chris ”your country. Jensen and I can sit in the middle.”
Tom singsongs, "Sittin' in a tree, K.I.S.S. --”
Jensen smacks Tom on the chest. “Shut. The Fuck. Up.”
Jared freezes, but Jensen carefully doesn’t make any threatening eye contact and eventually, he laughs it off.
"Kid's got a point, though. What's his name did Cheap Trick's I Want you to Want Me," says Tom.
"Dwight Yoakum," Chris offers.
Jensen spares a wish that for just an hour, Chris would let it fucking drop. Jensen mutters, "No Clint Black." Tom kicks at his foot.
Chris snaps back with heat, "It was the kid's idea, dammit. Crossing genres.”
Mike says into the rising tension, "Twelve shows," and Chris grabs his water bottle and Jensen sighs.
Jared leans into the silence. “Um, am I still in time out for the swing suggestion?” They all turn to him and say, “Yes,” in three part harmony, but Jensen grins at Chris and he laughs back, so all is well again and Jared continues, “How do y’all feel about Kansas?”
Chris says, “Dusty, flat, smells funny in June.”
Jared makes anime eyes at Jensen. “Do you actually follow him or are you as lost as I am?”
Jensen motions with one hand. “Years together. What’s your thought?”
“Wayward Son is kind of nice stripped down. Use it as a showcase in turns.”
“Hunh, yeah, maybe." Chris grunts and Aldis leans in to drag them to the rehearsal room.
--o0o--
They break for the day and Tom dances to the john, so Jensen is lounging in the hallway when Mike pulls Jared to the side. He uses the stern voice, the one he uses in front of the lawyers, so Jensen’s curious enough to eavesdrop. Mike sounds like he’s challenging him, daring him to say yes, when he asks, “You got the chops to pull off Wayward Son with nothing behind you? Because yeah, break it into pieces and it’s a chance to soar. Or plummet.”
Jared smiles. “I sing it a cappella, drying dishes, cooking dinner." There’s a brief pause as Jensen files that away for blackmail material. "It’d give each of us a chance to stand alone in a spotlight, you know?” He’s right, Jensen thinks, and it’s something Jason would never have come up with, or at least not have been generous enough to share.
“You normally sing in the kitchen, Jared?” Mike’s voice is a lot softer now. Jensen wonders for a moment what he sees, then realizes it’s what all of them see, a puppy with big eyes and the voice of an angel. They don’t see the curve of the kid’s ass and he’s damn sure that he’s the only one who hears the brown chicken brown cow of a porn soundtrack every time the kid walks in the room.
“I sing everywhere, but it’s my mom’s favorite song. She washes. I dry.”
“Yeah, do yourself a favor and don’t tell the others that.” Mike comes around the corner and Jensen doesn’t bother to hide. “You headed home?”
Jensen nods, then again at the kid as he comes into view. “Eventually. Chris wants to head south to some guy selling R12 freon out of his trunk. He thinks he can get the AC in the truck working again.”
“That’s illegal,” Mike says. “So don’t get caught.”
“I've watched you face down drunken Hell's Angels and the EPA scares you?”
“I don’t want to lose my invitation to the Greenpeace parties. Those girls are kinky. Tom likes 'em.” Jensen snickers, not so much at Mike, but at the kid, who is watching all of this with confusion. Mike grumbles, “He could replace that damn thing twice for what he spends on parts a year.”
“Now see, you’re being logical again. It’s why we keep you around.” It’s not the first time Jensen’s stepped between Chris being stubborn and Mike being Mike. He knows this dance. Mike opens his mouth but his pants buzz and he walks away with a hand up and the phone pressed to his ear.
Jared steps closer. “You need a ride somewhere? Car trouble?”
It took him a second to realize the kid was talking to him. Everyone knew about Chris and his damn truck, but not the Choirboy. Jensen let the smile show. “Nah, we’re in the rental. Chris has a rattletrap back home, more high maintenance than any woman alive or dead. He’s keeping second hand auto parts stores in four states in business. Don’t worry about it, kid.”
The kid honest to God blushes and looks at his shoes and his hair falls into his eyes and Jensen wants to brush it back so hard his hands twitch. He chokes the impulse down and adds, “But thanks anyway. Nice idea, just wrong everything else.” The kid nods and follows him like a puppy to the front lobby where Kristin has one hand on Tom's chest and is standing over Chris's guitar case.
“Freeze!” she says. “Mike needs you to wait a minute.”
Jensen flings himself on the bright red comfy chair before anyone else can get to it and grins. "Pull up a chair, Choirboy," he calls. "Mike's decided to hold us hostage."
"Fifteen minutes, he says." Kristin pats Tom toward the seating area and retreats behind her desk. Chris rescues the case and takes the hard brown chair, leaving the overstuffed couch for Jared and Tom. Jared sinks into it until his knees threaten his ears. Tom stands, instead, leaning in turns on the back of the couch, the window frame, Jensen's head. He can't stand still. Mike pokes his head around the corner and Chris flips him off. Mike doesn't bat an eye. "Yeah, yeah, I just want your signing hands here maybe for about thirty minutes, so if you can leave those here, feel free. Go back to your setlist chatter. I'm sure Kristin would love to sing duets." Kristin gives him a long-suffering look.
"Maybe we had plans?" Jensen asks.
Mike doesn't smile. "Jose’s duty-free auto parts will still be open in an hour. Jared can call Alona from right here, Tom's only antsy because he's got the new World of Warcraft expansion pack waiting for him at home, and Chris has his guitar, so he's happy anywhere." He disappears.
Jared pulls out his phone and glances at it. "That's, um... does anyone else find him a little unnerving?"
Tom laughs out loud; Chris scowls and flips the latches on the case. Tom looms over Jared where he’s folded into the butt-sucker couch. "Unnerving isn't the word. Fuck up and he's fucking scary. Good thing Yoda works for us." He straightens and says to Chris, "How's Lucille?"
"I don't name my guitars, dickweed, and you know that."
"I didn't say you called her Lucille; I said we called her Lucille." Tom plops on the couch, rocking Jared to the side, and folds his hands behind his head. "Lucille is Chris's teddy bear, see."
"Unlike yours," Jensen interrupts, "which is covered in spoo--"
"Professional building, you assholes," Kristin calls. "Aren't you musicans or something? Take off the pause button. Go sit on the street corner and sing barbershop quartet."
"Aw, Kristin," Jared sings, "Let me call you sweetheart..." and Jensen joins in, "I'm in love with you." Tom is laughing loud enough to drown out their harmony on, "Let me hear you whisper that you love me too," and Chris grins at his fretboard, but he doesn't join in, so Jared and Jensen let it drop at the chorus.
Chris says, "Bicycle weather?" and hits the first chords of "Fat Bottomed Girls". Jared grins and takes the vocals and Jensen and Tom start out screwing around, singing counter harmony, but fall into line, so they do the second half straight up, nothing but a guitar and Jensen drumming on the coffee table in an empty drywall lobby. The chair leg and his thigh give him enough tonal difference that he can do riffs, and he breaks off long enough to shove the outdated issues of Vibe to the floor. Jared holds a long note until Chris can’t tremolo anymore and Tom laughs out loud.
They do "Me and Bobby McGee" like that next, and then Kristin holds up her lighter and calls out for "Freebird". Chris threatens her with "Stairway to Heaven" but the others all groan and so he swings into "Wayward Son" and Jensen pulls the guitar case closer to have it as well and Jared comes in, trusting Tom to handle backup vocals and they play it like they've rehearsed it. There's a moment of stunned silence, almost post-orgasmic, as they sit and grin at one another like boys in a clubhouse, the moment broken when Mike, from the hallway, claps slowly, an audience in slow motion.
"Turns out they found the file, so you are free to go about your mundane and tawdry lives, and Tom, if you level up before I get home, you're cleaning the kitchen for a week." Mike waves a hand in dismissal. Jared lurches to his feet and walks out behind Chris, but from where Jensen is standing, he can see that Aldis is standing behind Mike with his recorder, and he's looking at it, not at them.
Jensen leans against the wall and says, "How much of that did you get?”
“Every last beautiful bit of it.” Aldis doesn't even look up.
“So, Mike, this is how bootleg tapes get leaked to the fans?”
Mike doesn't smile. “Go play with your toys, Jensen, and leave me to mine.”
Ranchville, TX
Mike sits back in the padded leather seat, wishing they could travel like this all the time, grateful for the loan of the label's private plane. The fundraiser for the mustang rescue effort may be a contractual obligation, but it's the charity the band chose, the one Chris brought to the table years ago. It's a good thing Francis loves its chairman, Annette, so much. Mike loves Annette too; she is the closest he’ll admit to having a mentor, and they’ll both deny it publicly.
Mike looks at his boys, at Thunderbird Wine. Jensen is wearing a dark button down with dark slacks, Tom is dressed for the occasion, familiar worn jeans and mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt. Typical that Chris, who really does qualify as a cowboy, is wearing a Sex Pistols shirt. One, he notices, with a tear over the nipple. Mike thinks he does that sort of thing just to be annoying. Jared looks everywhere, fingers stroking the leather on his seat, wide eyed with appreciation. His dark leather pants fit like a glove, boots well broken in, brown like the v-neck sweater that clings to his torso in interesting ways. Kid has a style about him. Classic, simple. It's almost a shame to tart him up like Jason, but he seems to be handling the extensions okay. They suit him, actually, falling in soft waves around his face.
Tom bounces a little in his seat. "So, Mike, what's the scoop here?"
"What do you mean?"
"C'mon, it's our charity, but what's with Francis, the plane?"
Mike leans back and steeples his fingers. "Annette worked in LA for years with Francis, helped start the label." They all sit up and look at Mike. He suppresses a smile and swings his feet up into the seat opposite him.
"Who do you think the Ot is in Otra? Ten years ago she had a DUI, and with a real good lawyer, got community service on a ranch dedicated to saving mustangs. It was a cause célèbre back then in LA, and Annette's from horse country in Kentucky. Anyway, she got to work at the mustang herd management facility."
Jared smirks. Mike figures he's heard a slightly different story.
"She fell in love with the mustangs, and after she went back to LA, she had a cardiac incident."
"Like a heart attack?" asks Jensen.
"Like." Mike wonders if any of that is his story to tell.
"Anyway, she went to the ranch to recover, because it was too tempting to go back to 80 hour weeks in LA ."
They nod, even Jared, but Mike thinks it's because he knows Annette, not because he knows LA.
"She bought land a little further west when the ranch got to be too much for the man who owned it originally. Jared knew him, knows Annette."
Chris whistles. "You never said, man."
"'S got nothing to do with being able to sing or not." Jared ducks his head. "Helped move the mustangs to land that's closer to where the herd used to run and John ended up selling his land to developers. He moved into town, even though he was living in the bunkhouse at Annette's most of the time."
The pilot's voice comes over the speaker. "We'll be landing shortly. Please fasten your seat belts; we have started our descent."
--o0o--
Mike sends the limo around the circle drive again after he gets out, smiling at the various donors in sparkling western wear and the starlets du jour teetering on stillettos. He drops two twenties on the table at the door, grabs one of the $25.00 donation tees and permits himself one sigh, only one, when the limo pulls up. Jensen steps out first, turning interested heads, and smiling shyly. Tom's behind him, and cameras start to flash, especially when he puts a hand out behind him to tow Jared into the spotlight. There's some clapping as the crowd recognizes the hometown boy, and Mike waits for Chris to get out, looking like something the cat dragged in. He's ready to thrust the logoed t-shirt at Chris, have him strip out of the one he's wearing and into the other, right there on the red carpet. Then, he recognizes he's been had. Chris has his hair pulled into a ponytail and is rocking a shirt that has to be vintage Nudie. Mike thinks it's one that belonged to Roy Rogers, but he's not sure. He shakes his head; he should have known Chris would put on a good face for the charity, and good for him, taking the opportunity to ruffle Mike's feathers. Not that he would ever tell the little fucker it has.
He waits at the top of the drive for them to join him. "So nice of you to come."
Annette walks over to stand next to him, dressed in black. Her ivory skin and auburn hair, starting to shoot with silver, set off the heart shaped neckline over a concho trimmed prairie skirt held out by black petticoats edged with silver. It's just like Annette, thinks Mike, to have a western dance dress that could double as a cocktail frock in Manhattan. "I agree. It's good to see you. All of you." She pokes him with a blunt nailed finger; it's a running joke between them.
Jensen and Tom shake her hand and kiss her cheek lightly. She looks up at Jared and her eyes glow. "Save me a dance; we'll talk then." He grins at her, and someone inside calls his name. His smile is blinding, and he walks into the brightly lit barn without them.
Chris smiles past Mike, giving him a wink, and pulls Annette into a hug that picks her up off the ground. "You look fabulous."
"It takes longer every time you see me to get up to your standards, Christian," she laughs. "Come on, let me tell you about the foals; you won't relax until I do."
Mike shakes his head, and ushers Tom and Jensen ahead of him to the bar. They order beer, and Mike asks for a Scotch, and 'one from Annette's bottle', before surveying the room. Jared's joined Chris and Annette at the giant board where the history of the herd is laid out like a family tree, tracing down a particular line to Chris's evident approval.
He walks over, and hands Annette her flute of not-champagne, with a slight nod at her questioning glance. Jared apologizes for walking off without them. "Just some people I needed to see."
He can hear Tom asking, "So, does Annette scare you?"
"Huh?" asks Jared. "I've known her most of my life. She's not scary."
Jensen says. “For us, she’s Mike but with," he coughs, caught in Mike's glare, "with an extra X-chromosome. Before she got sick and retired.”
Mike can feel Jared’s eyes on him. “Dude, seriously?”
“Terrifying, isn’t it? This way.” Mike leads them in Annette's wake. They wait for a moment out of sight to let Annette greet the Bush family, and the unsmiling security staff allows Mike to use Jensen's cell phone to take a photo of the band with the former first family.
Annette watches all of it with a look of open delight.
Jensen ducks his head. "Need to send this to my mama. She always says Mrs. Bush is a hell of a woman." He steps back outside to send the picture mail.
Mike hopes the photo is relatively flattering.
"I never asked what you did before you took over John's ranch, huh?" asks Jared.
Mike says, “Annette was a part of the label, and really, still is in many ways.”
“Pssh. I sit here on my ranch and play with horses and watch the sun rise instead of running about chasing young men with guitars.”
“Something to aspire to.”
“Don’t wait until your heart attack to do it. No, I’m fine, probably healthier than you, and you have your own guitar player.”
A beautiful blonde joins them, slipping her hand into Jared's. "Nice hair, hotshot. Dance?"
"This is Alona, our star polebender," introduces Annette.
"You think she's bending Jared's pole?" Tom murmurs into Mike's ear. Chris kicks Tom in the ankle.
Jared grins. "This, you guys, is my baby sister." He looks at Mike for approval. Mike waves them away with a smile.
Jensen comes back, gesturing with a plate and a napkin, speaking with his mouth full. “Mama says hi. Did you guys see the buffet? Better get to it before the Black Hole of Choirboy descends.”
He follows Chris's look after Jared and Alona, two stepping and laughing on the dance floor, a flash of disappointment in his eyes, quickly masked. Mike files that for later, and they leave Annette in favor of the buffet.
--o0o--
Mike stands in the shadows, near the edges of the crowd. He’s observing, he reminds himself, not lurking. From the outskirts, he can watch Annette work the crowd, casually, politely formal yet familiar, a warm smile for everyone. He can see her eyes soften, though, for certain people: Chris is one, Jared, to no surprise, is another, someone at the bar he doesn’t recognize, the woman in the bandanna print skirt herding a children’s choir.
Jensen, Chris and Tom are holding down one end of the bar, sticking together, probably in an unconscious show of solidarity, given the conspicuous absence of Jason’s too-loud laugh and attention-seeking stunts. Tom’s in the lead, telling some story to a matronly sort in expensive jeans, a story that requires hand gestures and a wildly swung beer. Probably the RiverFront show, then, Mike thinks, and right on cue Tom throws both hands up to simulate fireworks then freezes and grins slowly, letting the silence show the punchline. Mike has minimized the use of pyrotechnics ever since that fiasco. He’s got his hands full controlling people. A bank of third party controlled fireworks that doesn’t light on cue is more than he’s willing to deal with again.
Chris leans in close to Jensen, who glances around, then returns his gaze to the kids, no, to Jared, who has one child dangling from his shoulder and another clinging to his waist. Jared disentangles himself and taps each child on the nose, sending them scampering off the metal risers at the edge of the patio and Mike glances back to Jensen. Jensen watches Jared and drinks his beer slowly. Mike stops watching his boys, because he needs to talk to Annette, and walks over, crystal tumbler in one hand. He nods at Jared and says, “He’s got potential.”
Annette laughs and pulls Mike to sit on the risers as someone in a suit keys the mic and says there’ll be a delay in the program.
“We’ve got history,” she says.
Mike tilts his head, inviting her to continue.
"He was in the choir, Mike, when he was their age." She nods at the kids who are being herded out by their chaperons. "He worked for me out at the ranch after he blew out his knee. Lost his scholarship over that. Kid's smart, works hard. I know him pretty well. Sings like a fuckin' angel."
"You know this is short term, right?"
"If that's all it was, you wouldn't be talkin' to me like this."
Mike gives her a long look, and she holds his gaze easily. Mike thinks she knows him pretty well, too.
Chris has retrieved his guitar from the trunk of the limo that brought them. He catches Jensen's eye and walks over to Mike, reaching up to smack Jared on the back of the head on the way. Tom is nearby, that sixth sense of his knowing something is about to happen.
"Ow?" offers Jared.
"The band Annette's expecting broke down 10 miles from here. They're not getting here in time for their set, but we can cover for 'em 'til they do, since their equipment is all set up, and they can start right away. There's a bhodran over there, Jens. I think we can help." Chris looks unsure. It doesn't happen often.
"What did you have in mind?" asks Mike.
"Look, this thing is for the mustangs, right? We endorse this charity on our website."
Jensen nods.
"I know they don't ask us to play, but we could. Something everyone knows." He gestures at the attendees. "Natives are getting restless."
People are milling, starting to look for their coats, and the silent auction hasn't begun yet.
Jensen looks to Jared with a question in his eyes. "Ghost Riders, they can sing along with that, it'll get their attention. Girl and her Horse --"
"Hey!"
"You were singin' it in the hallway, so you're busted. Choirboy, what else you got?"
Jared looks at him, voice and eyes steady. "I've got Running with the Herd."
Chris draws a sharp breath and looks at Jared, really looks. "That's never been released."
Jared shrugs. "Know it anyway. I did research."
Jensen interrupts. "Tom, you in?"
Tom nods, and they look at Mike and Annette for permission. Mike thinks his Blackberry isn't going to stop ringing for a week if it goes badly, but it'll be a month if it goes well. Annette looks off to the side of the stage and Mike follows her gaze. She speaks softly into his ear. "Recording equipment is all set up."
--o0o--
Mike watches, and Annette clutches at his sleeve while Jensen slaps out the rhythm on the bhodran, and Tom shakes a tambourine he snagged from somewhere. Chris and Jared trade verses and they sing the chorus in four parts because they've all known it since they were kids.
An old cowboy went riding out one dark and windy day
Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way
When all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw
A-plowing through the ragged sky and up the cloudy draw.
Annette steps up to the microphone. "We're pleased and thrilled that Thunderbird Wine was able to join us tonight. The silent auction's beginning at the tables around the perimeter. We hope that you'll open your hearts and your checkbooks to help the mustangs we serve."
Chris empties his glass and puts it down at the front of the stage, leaning in to share Annette's mic. "Tip jar."
Annette laughs. "I guess the boys are busking tonight. If you like what you hear, and George, Barbara, I heard you join in, let them know."
Jensen steps up and snaps a bill in the air, dropping it in the glass. "Anything in here at the end of the night goes to the ranch, cash, checks, sorry, we're not set up for plastic, but see Annette, huh?"
Annette nods and looks at the attendees. "I should have said before. Please, no taping, video or audio, okay?"
Mike suppresses a grin. He wonders which of the cell phone cameras he saw running got the best footage.
Chris says, "We all know our horses, and we all know girls, and they have rules."
You lean forward to go
You pull back to go slow
These are the horse basics
You should know.
Chris and Jared start Running with the Herd. Mike watches Jensen lay a hand on Tom's arm to pull him aside, leaving Jared and Chris alone, just the two voices and one guitar. Jared is a giant and Chris is a gnome in comparison, but they look right and their voices are perfect together for this song. Chris's heart is on his sleeve, and Jared's right there with him.
Coming home to momma's house takes my breath away
The sky's so blue behind the hills, begging me to stay
There is stunned silence, and then applause, as the attendees find places to put their plates and drinks, then put hands in pockets and handbags for donations.
Chris gives Jensen a wicked grin and turns to Jared. "You said you could sing Cash, kid." He starts the unmistakable intro to Walk the Line. A woman in a designer dress puts her glass down in front of Chris; it overflows with bills.
Mike knows that's not what Chris is saying with his arched brow, including Tom and Jensen in the challenge. Jared nods, and Chris smiles in satisfaction while Jensen and Tom start the audience clapping along.
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line
The people in the room are clapping and singing along, drinks are flowing and Annette is smiling. Mike's Blackberry starts to chime; Ghost Riders has already been sent to YouTube. Chris looks down at the half dozen glasses with bills in them, then at Jared. "Never made this much buskin'. I should have had you with me when I was broke."
Hollywood, California - rehearsals for tour dates
Jared's sitting on a trap case, out of the way, where he's been told to go. The set-up is running late because the last session bled over.
Chris slides to sit next to him, and starts the conversation like they just left off, not like they haven't seen each other in couple of days. "Okay, Choirboy, you remember Danneel is Jensen's monkey so hands off, Marc is Tom's, Chad is mine AND the stage manager, so be nice to him and don’t mention the mullet,” Chris finishes in a stage whisper. Chad flips him off without looking up. “Remember that you have no monkey of your own, and you are at the tender mercy of our minions. Don’t mix up Danneel and Marc.”
Jared frowns, looks at the beautiful redhead in the miniskirt talking to the Iowa bull and asks, “Does that happen often?”
“Only with the girls that Marc fucks,” says Chad.
Marc shakes his head and mutters, "It will never happen again." Chad laughs. Danneel glares at both of them and crosses her arms.
Jensen sits on Jared's other side to explain. "Last tour, Marc brought a girl on the bus, the crew bus, and left her there unattended to deal with a stage emergency. She drank all Sandy's microbrew, and then went to sleep in the penthouse."
"Don't you pull any shit like that," Danneel says while she glares at Jared.
“C’mon, D. Be nice to the new kid,” says Jensen.
From behind Jared, Aldis mutters, “Danneel’s just in a pissy mood. Yesterday she clipped her manicure.” Jared sneaks a look at the redhead, her nails are a bubblegum pink that should never work for a redhead, but somehow does, trimmed short.
Aldis leans in and tosses a Snickers bar to the man in the corner who snakes it from the air and peels it one handed, his other hand still holding the headphones to one ear. His nails are bitten to the quick. “Mr. Antisocial over there is Misha. Don’t drink from his glass, don’t ever smoke one of his cigarettes and leave the brownies be.”
Misha looks over at them; his eyes are startlingly blue. “Ignore all of that. I do not require chemical enhancement; I am enraptured by the harmonies of the universe."
“Too much Tangerine Dream at an impressionable age," says Aldis. "You know me, of course.”
Jared wonders if he knows anyone at this point.
Danneel goes back for more gear, slinging the heavy cases around like they are weightless, and Chris claps one hand to his shoulder.
“So you're clear on who's who?”
“Yes?”
“Good, there’ll be a test later. Touch your toes.”
He does and straightens to find everyone in the room is silent and looking at him. “What?”
“I just wanted to know if you’d do it." Chris looks to his right. "Tom, what the fuck are you doin'?”
Tom's leaning over Mike's laptop, messing with the mouse.
"What are you doing?" Mike asks.
"Trying to find out why there's money in my account that shouldn't be," says Tom. "Will you balance my checkbook?"
Mike puts his hand on the back of Tom's neck. "Either that is an incredibly sexy come on, or you're the laziest bastard in the valley."
Tom bats his lashes.
Jared asks, “Wow, Mike really does take care of you guys. I mean, I guess, good for you, and that’s great, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that level of…” He trails off because Chris is pinching his nose with suppressed laughter. “You balance your own checkbook, don’t you?”
“Hell, I just round up a lot, kid. But there’s a whole lot of things that Mike does for and with Tom that you don’t know anything about.”
Marc goes by with an arm full of cables, yelling, “No, I didn't hear you. Stupid truck must be in a dead spot again!”
Jared tries to keep his elbows in, to stay out of the way. “Yeah. Starting to get that.” The backstage photos never look this busy, nor the shots taken of the guys in various venues and stages of undress with girls and booze and he realizes that very few of the photos he’s seen show Mike at all, but he’s always there. “Their thing. That’s not generally known.”
Chris growls, “And it’s gonna stay that way.” Jared looks up, wide-eyed.
“No, no, I wasn’t. Just… You know that Tom has a... a reputation.”
“He does. Rightfully. Tom will hit on anything that holds still for him, and sometimes if it isn't moving fast enough. Mike helped him earn it. They’re... a little weird.” Chris ducks as Jensen appears and smacks him on the head.
“Gay’s not weird,” Jensen says. Jared tries to figure out what, if anything, that means.
“Back off, bitch," says Chris, "you’ll give the kid the wrong idea. It's not. Wasn’t talking about the gay thing, anyway. Was talking about the Tom-and-Mike thing.”
Jensen nods, his lips pursed. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little weird. Remember the month of twins?”
Chris snorted. “And how pissed off Jason got when --"
“Yeah, shut up. You’ll give the Choirboy a complex.” Jensen does an exaggerated double take. “Are you blushing?”
“No!” Jared insists, but he can feel it, creeping down his chest and up his ears.
“Oh, yeah, that’s our Choirboy.” Jensen says, pulling Jared into a headlock. “Then again, normal is living in the suburbs. Which we do, but apparently, we're not.”
"Speak for yourself, drummer boy. I drive a pickup truck, I'd own a dog if my housemate would let me, like to play with tits, have a thing for blondes--” Chris says.
Jensen interrupts, “With tits. Don’t forget the cheap-ass beer.” He lets go of Jared, who laughs at their antics.
Chris nods and adds, “And I drink good old American beer. I am the definition of normal. Norman Rockwell could paint me.”
Jared pokes Jensen. "Norman Rockwell's dead. What about Jessica Simpson?"
"Jessica Simpson's dead?" asks Tom, looking up from the laptop. "Maybe I can stop dating her now." Jared wonders if Tom has selective hearing, or if he was listening to the whole conversation.
Jensen nods soberly and says, "Tom has a relationship with Mike. He just has sex with other people. Some of them are even alive."
Chris wheezes, and Tom laughs, too. Jared thinks they're like brothers, with a history of in-jokes he has no way of learning, and wonders if he can ever find a place with them that's really his own.
Danneel drags a dolly with something that looks like a carpeted section of dance floor on it past where they stand. Jared starts to reach for the handle, and Jensen grabs his waistband. “Not if you value your body parts as attached, Choirboy.”
“What?” snaps Danneel.
“Kid here thought he’d help.” She narrows her eyes and Jared backs away, his hands raised. She nods and turns back to what she’s doing. “We’re gonna watch from a safe distance,” says Jensen.
Jared backs off further and Jensen leans in. "Don’t get in her way. She’s faster and better than anyone in the business, and I swear she can bend the laws of physics.”
Danneel sets the floor down on top of another platform, strips off her gloves, and swings the bass drum on top, drops the spurs into the holes in the carpet, and begins building Jensen's kit. “How heavy are they?” Jared asks.
“C cup, I think," says Chris. Jared snorts, and Chris flashes him a smile. "Not gravity. Physics. She doesn't usually do this in a miniskirt but when she does, she’s never flashed her panties at anyone.”
“Because I don’t wear them, jerkoff.”
“No no no, pink lace and pigtails, remember? Are you breaking my fantasy deal?” Chris whines.
She doesn’t respond and Chris leans back to Jared. "Crew's a little unusual." Jared thinks that's an understatement. Chris continues. "Chad’s stage manager, so normally he’d get the penthouse on the crew bus, right? But Danneel and Sandy bunk there and leave the rest of the bus to the hooligans. It’s because they snore."
“Do not!" she calls without turning around.
He raises his voice. “Because they have nightly pillow fights, and there's only room for the two of them on the trampoline."
“Damn straight. After we braid each other's hair and paint our nails. C’mere, Jens.”
She slides behind the kit and points out a new cymbal configuration. Jared follows like a puppy, and sits on the corner of the drum riser listening to what she's saying. It's interesting, and everything is new to him. When she drums through the kit, he jumps. "Jesus, it's like a giant fucking vibrator."
Jensen laughs. “It's true,” he says, “I give Danneel multiples every night.”
She says, "It's why I stay with you." She tips her head and taps the high hat again. “And Sandy's jealous."
Chris looks around. "Where is Sandy, anyway?"
"Dallas. She's looking at Vari-Lites, seeing if we can justify the cost."
"You about ready here?" asks Mike.
"Be about a half an hour," says Chad.
Tom says, "There's a sofa in the lobby." They troop out behind him and settle on the overstuffed brown sectional.
"So," Chris asks, "you ever been on a tour bus?"
Jared looks like he thinks it's a trick question. "Not, I think, the kind you mean."
"What other kind is there?" asks Jensen.
"The kind where you fight about sitting on top or not, and someone tells you what you're looking at over a crackling P.A. system?"
"Right," Jensen laughs. "Not that kind. Home away from home. Wait'll you see the coffee maker."
"Jensen loves that coffee maker as much as he loves his Xbox."
"More. My Xbox doesn't make coffee."
"It makes good coffee." Tom flops onto the couch. "Time to go over a couple of rules."
"Ooookay," says Jared.
"Seriously. On the bus, there is no last call. If you pass out, we'll put you to bed, you reciprocate. We all use the same bathroom, so, you know, use the one in the venue. Stow your gear in your own bunk. Always know where you are. No one on the bus but band, unless you ask all of us. Or, you're Mike. We can control the psychos in the dressing room."
Jared laughs.
"And rule number one," Mike adds, seriously. "Never leave the bus without a condom. Since I've got you here, Latex okay? Food allergies? Aversions?"
"Huh?" asks Jared.
"For the catering rider. You're lactose intolerant, are latex condoms okay, are the avocados an allergy or an aversion?"
"What? Avocados are, uh... I just don't like 'em. Squishy. Wait, how did you know about --?"
"Non-dairy creamer, and I heard you sigh at ice cream," says Mike absently. "We also need to talk about decaf for you. And stock more candy on the bus. Gummis, right?"
"Jesus."
"Hardly. I ride the same bus, and I respect air quality. No dairy for you." He walks away, turns, and comes back. "Latex?"
"Not allergic," Jared answers him, blushing red, his answer strangled.
Mike nods, and starts tapping keys on his Blackberry as he goes.
Jared looks at them, his gaze landing on Chris. "He's like Sherlock Holmes or something."
Chris snorts in response.
--o0o--
They've run through the set so many times, Jared thinks he knows it in his sleep, but it can always get better, and there's a new song, because Mike wants Wayward Son in the playlist. They had to work out the blocking for that one because it's gotten such a response online. Jared feels really good about the suggestion, and he wonders who leaked it, but no one seems upset, so he doesn't give it much thought.
Weeks of rehearsals and they're playing and moving like a real band. Pretending to be Jason is nowhere near as much fun as he thought it would be, and he adds that to his journal, under the drawings of everything he needs to remember onstage. There's a box with his custom fit earbuds on the table, like a diploma.
Tomorrow, and Jared swallows hard thinking about it, they get on the bus, go on tour for real. He looks at Jensen, who's laughing at something Tom's said, making Jared's jeans a little too snug, and his toes curl. Real Jensen is nothing like the poster in his room. Jared's learning him. Crabby in the morning before coffee, thoughtful in his words, hotter than sin all the time. Jared wonders how in the hell he's going to handle that. How he's supposed to live with Jensen without saying something, and how does a guy jerk off on a bus without everyone else knowing what he's doing?
RockFest,
Cadott, Wisconsin
“Go be rockstars,” says Mike. They scatter. Tom goes to stage right, Chris, in a leopard shirt, to the other side, and Jensen disappears somewhere to the back of the stage. Jared’s scared half to death, but he can do this. He can, he has to, never mind that he's sweating, he's freezing, shirtless in the striped tights that look like the ones Jason wore on the last album cover. Jensen bangs the sticks together, and even without being able to see him, Jared knows they are up above his head, and that’s familiar, grounding. Chris hits the first notes of Nightride and Jared doesn’t stop to think, just lets muscle memory take over, and starts to move. It’s not until they are three songs into the set that he actually registers the idea that there are thousands of people in the audience.
Jared stands staring, in mid-verse, missing his cue. Tom flicks a pick at him, but Jared can’t move. He’s tongue-tied, feels damned near naked and wants, more than anything else in the world, not to faint.
Something hits him in the back, like a finger poke, and he can feel Jensen’s drumstick tumbling gently to the stage. He nods. If he was Jason, he would whip it right back at his drummer, but he's not. He picks up the stick as well as the verse on the next go ‘round. He tosses the stick to a young man in the accessible seats, and his confidence starts to grow a little, which is a darned good thing, because they're coming up on his time to talk.
Chris looks at him, ready to step up, but Jared's got this. Sandy has a small spot on him as he stands, head bowed catching his breath. He looks up through the hair extensions, and tosses his head back, beaming at the audience, all white teeth and dimples. The spot caresses his bare torso, not hesitating as it widens to encompass his height. "Hi," he drawls. "I'm Jared. There are a lot of you out there! Want to feel the Lightning?"
Tom plays the bassline as the crowd roars. Chris tears into the intro, then Jared belts out the verse, letting Jason's arrogance dance him in front of Chris as if to steal the spotlight. He's watched Jason do it so often, it's like pretending in his bedroom, but he's not Jason, and this is something else they talked about. Jared sidesteps Chris to the back instead of the front, stands behind him and frames him, left hand playing air guitar, while the right sits at Chris's waist. Tom walks over, hips loose in camo pants, and Sandy lights up his ass as he shakes it, pouting at Jared, as if he shouldn't have left center stage.
Blackout, and then, Wayward Son. A cheer from the crowd tells him just how well the iTunes store is doing by them, and then it's time for Love Song.
Jared wonders if this will be the song that makes them boo, but the audience has been won over, and Jared takes his bow along with Jensen, Chris, and Tom, feeling like he might actually be one of them some day.
--o0o--
Jensen claps him on the back, as Mike hands him a towel. "Congratulations, kid, you are a rock star."
"I forgot half the second verse, y'all had to prompt me twice and maybe I'm not cut out for this. Jesus wept, Jensen. There were a million people out there! Fuck, I don't want to blow this."
Someone in the next band hollers, "Hey! Good show! "
Jensen waves, turns to Jared. "You didn't throw up. More importantly you didn't throw up on me. You didn't fall off the stage, or out of your tights, neither did you fall on your ass in that half cartwheel thing. You haven't blown this. " He turns to look over the people milling backstage, still talking absently to Jared. "No one noticed the lyrics but us, and no one's blown me, yet."
"That's your criteria for a good show? Wait, what?"
"No, that's a typical show. No equipment failure, no injury, no violence, no vomit. That means good show."
"The equipment that failed was my brain. What was that...?"
"My equipment, kid, did not fail, God Bless Danneel. And here, we have the fun part."
Chris pulls Jensen aside, and Jared waits, turning slightly as if he's not paying attention. He knows how he did, he wants to hear what Chris has to say. Chris growls, "He gonna lock up like that every time? Because Jason had a wagon-load of faults, but silence and stage fright weren't on the list."
Jared winces and Chris must have seen it, because his mouth twists. Jensen says, "He'll shake out. It was the first gig, Chris, and we picked Rockfest for a reason. Hell, you remember the first school dance we played?"
"It's not the same," Chris says and he's looking at Jared as he does.
"It is to him. First gig ever. Unless you wanna count weddings." Jared opens his mouth, but Chris waves him down over Jensen's shoulder.
"Still..." Chris crosses his arms, but he rocks back on his heels.
Jensen says, "Should I remind you of Tulsa?"
Chris looks up, straight at Jensen, his surprise apparent even in the dimmed light of backstage. "You're claiming Tulsa?"
"No. Tulsa was bad, and it was all you. You broke a string on every guitar Chad handed you. This was first night for a reason". He gestures to the backstage area. "Look, they're all smiling, dude." He points at Mike, who's walking toward them. "Even Mike's doing the poker face that means we did good."
"Actually, this is the poker face that means no one got injured. You've really got to learn to pay attention," says Mike.
He nods at Jared and Jensen doesn't look back. Jared decides he's not invisible to anyone. "Can I change yet?" he asks, plaintively. It's one thing to be onstage mostly naked, but he's actually there with people, and still mostly naked.
"No," says Mike, firmly. "Let's go talk to the nice lady in the pink dress."
"That's a dress? That's a lady?"
"Yeah, okay, it may actually be a rubber band on a drag queen. But we are going to go talk to her anyway. C'mon. She's been admiring the bulge in your tights all night. Got your condom?"
Jared blushes bright, and Pink Dress licks her lips.
--o0o--
Mike answers her questions and Jared smiles and disengages, but not before she slides some kind of pink paper into his waistband. They move to the next person, going from group to group so Mike can introduce him and guide each conversation. Jared hears over and over how eager he is to work with the band, which he is, and how comfortable he is settling into Jason's shoes, which he is not; he hears Jason taunting him in the white noise in his head. It feels like his tights are alternately sagging or glued onto his pubic hair, and the only glimpses he can catch of the others are in flashes like a moving carousel, snapshots of them between other people. The back of Tom's head with a woman's hand on it. Chris handing Jensen a familiar square bottle. He smiles and follows Mike obediently. Eventually, the bottle gets passed his way, and he doesn't care quite as much.
Mike tells him to go get dressed, leaving him with a threat that the bus will depart without him if he's late. Aldis drops an iPod into his hand, so he showers quickly and pulls on his own clothes, leaving the tights and Jason's taunting ghost behind him, the pink paper fluttering as it hits the ground. He hurries to the first bus in the lot, before even the driver.
He drops into a seat, pulls his elbows and knees in and plugs in his earbuds. He's totally oblivious, listening to the set list Aldis dumped on his mp3 player, cringing where he fouled up tonight, trying to learn it better for the next show. He takes notes, writing intently in his journal and jumps when a hand goes into his pocket. A petite brunette is laughing at him, holding the phone where he can read the display. The screen shows a text message from Mike. "Where the fuck are you? Bus is leaving in five."
"Dude, you don't belong here," she says.
"No," he assures her, pulling the earbuds out, "it's okay, I'm with the band." He shows her his credential.
She laughs. "Exactly. You're on the crew bus. Band has their own. I'm Sandy. Crew is all tearing down the stage, that's why no one else is here."
Jared looks at her. She might come up to his sternum, he thinks. "Sandy with the lights? I didn't touch your beer."
She laughs. "Yes." She leans to the side and says, "Anthony, call Jim, please and tell him I'm Bo-Peep." Jared realizes that a man got on the bus and he never noticed. She turns back to Jared. "They didn't go over the rules with you, did they?"
"Mike told me not to be late or they'd leave without me."
"Yeah, that's not a rule, that's Mike. C'mon, put your shoes back on. Number one: we all share the bathroom. Number two: the bowl of condoms is there for a reason. Number three: know where you are at all times."
Jared nods. Crew bus rules are a lot like band bus rules.
"Right, then," says Sandy. "Lastly, never open the bus door, unless Jim says it's okay."
"Jim?" asks Jared.
"Your bus driver. You are on the wrong bus, dude."
Jared puts his head in his hands. "This bus was parked where the bus I got here in was parked."
Sandy looks exasperatedly at the ceiling. "Our bus has red curtains. Your bus has black. Come with me if you want to live."
Jared nods, and Sandy takes his hand like he's all of four years old. She looks at the bus driver, an older guy with glasses. "Tony, is it safe for us to leave the bus?"
Tony nods, seriously. In round, British tones that wouldn't go amiss in a librarian, he says. "Sandra, if you would be so kind as to see our new friend to his proper coach?"
Jared flushes. "Coach. Oh my God, it's midnight, everyone knows; I'm going to turn into a pumpkin."
"You know, that hole in the ground never opens when you want it." She steps off the bus and he follows, still holding her hand. His phone is in his other hand, and it plays the Imperial March. This time he can hear it, now he's got the earbuds around his neck. He flinches. Sandy glances down and laughs. "Come on, I'll take you."
"I am so embarrassed."
Sandy grins. "Make it up to me, Sasquatch."
Jared gets on the band bus, and climbs directly into his bunk, mortified, while Chris IMs someone from his laptop, Jensen and Tom knock down shots over some video game, and Mike watches him go, with a barely suppressed grin as they snort their laughter at his rookie mistake.
Dodge Theater
Phoenix, Arizona
Chris is already up and logged on to AIM when Jared stumbles out of the bunk area and heads for the coffee pot.
>Falling Leaves: BRB. rommate being wierd
>NativeTxn: Early int eh morning for odd.
>NativeTxn: But don't mind me
>NativeTxn: I'll just fill up the column with chatter
>NativeTxn: Maybe I'll write you a poem
>NativeTxn: There was a young lady of Georgia
>Falling Leaves: I'm going to kill her
>NativeTxn: What ryhmes with Georgia?
>Falling Leaves: Omg I was gone for two seconds???
>NativeTxn: Easily bored. She okay?
>Falling Leaves: She dates assholes
>NativeTxn: Lot of those out there
>Falling Leaves Tell me about it. Men are dicks
>Falling Leaves: Not you, of course.
>NativeTxn: Of course.
>Falling Leaves: I forget you're a guy, sometimes
>NativeTxn: So, what are you wearing?
>Falling Leaves: You are SUCH a guy
>Falling Leaves: Most fo the regulars on the board are women
>NativeTxn: I thought hte band had a broader appeal
>Falling Leaves: Does, yeah, but guys tend to hit the site, look around and leave
>Falling Leaves: Girls actually talk
>NativeTxn: true in RL, too 8-)
>Falling Leaves: LOL
Chris glances up but doesn't say anything, just watches Jared remember what he's been shown, and inhale deeply at the aroma. He doctors it to his taste and sits across from Chris, barefoot, wearing a tank top and flannel pajama pants.
>Falling Leaves: except for you
>NativeTxn: Oh trust me, I don't talk much
"That decaf?" asks Chris, nodding at his cup.
"We agreed I can have one real one first thing."
>NativeTxn: Except for roomie and co-workers
>Falling Leaves: Dude, we've been chatting for two years now
>Falling Leaves: My roomate calls you my boyfriend in Canada
>Falling Leaves: I miss you when we don't talk
>NativeTxn: Canada?
>Falling Leaves: It's our joke.
Chris nods, and Jared smiles shyly. "Sorry about the mix-up."
Chris isn't sure if he means the show or something else, so he waits for Jared to continue.
"I did pay attention. Silver bus, black panels. I just never thought to look at the curtains." He laughs. "Mike would have kicked my ass, and I'd have deserved it. Was nice to meet Sandy. I have to do something nice for her."
Jared probably hasn't heard Mike step out of the hallway behind him, where he stands quietly looking at the two of them. Chris decides to let him look omniscient, and says, "Sandy loves chocolate chip cookies."
"I wonder if there'll be a bakery by the venue. Maybe I can get her some."
Mike smiles at Chris and backs into the aisle, already reaching for his phone.
Chris thinks it's a good bet there will be cookies for Sandy by the time they get to Phoenix.
>Falling Leaves: You there?
>NativeTxn: Sorry, folks talking to me here.
>NativeTxn: Can't they see I'm busy? :-)
>Falling Leaves: :-)</div>
--o0o--
Jared did great this show, Chris thinks, verse perfect, didn't get in anyone else's way, and he's nothing if not fair. He pulls the Choirboy aside at the bottom of the stage steps, snagging Jensen's arm as well. "You did good, kid. I was worried last show, and I was wrong."
The kid beams. "Thanks, man. I can't believe I locked up. Haven't done that since Christmas pageant in the third grade."
They start to walk to the dressing room, and Chris realizes Jensen hasn't kept up with them. He motions to Jared to go on, and retraces his steps. Jensen's staring at the Choirboy's backside, and Chris waves a hand in front of Jensen's face. "Earth to Jens?"
"It's like living with an unwrapped Christmas present that's meant for someone else. Guys like me don't get gifts like that. Not to keep, anyway."
"Jens..."
"No, seriously. Did you see him this afternoon, bringing Sandy cookies like they're in middle school?" He huffs out a shaky breath. "He gets any cuter and we'll have to bring in a whole litter of puppies to compete. Golden retrievers, for fuck's sake."
Chris wishes Jensen would listen to him, but Jensen's already shut him down over it, and Tom, too. He's still dancing to a tune Jason wrote when they were kids, never noticing that the only person the kid ever looks at that way is Jensen. He shakes his head and follows Jensen into the dressing room, wondering if he's dancing too. --o0o--
Chris glances up from his conversation with the Rolling Stone reporter and looks across the room. He can't miss Jared; he's practically a lightning rod, surrounded by a gaggle of pretty boys and girls. Mike must think he can handle himself, since he's nowhere in sight, but Jared looks like he's a deer in the headlights. He tows the reporter along with a tip of his head and makes his way across the room.
"'Scuse me, folks," drawls Chris, "I need Jared for a minute. I'll bring him back in one piece, I swear."
They murmur in protest, but they've been around the block a time or two, and the look in his eye says Chris is being more polite than he has to be. He holds up a finger to the reporter and pulls Jared out into the hallway, empty except for a row of trap cases in line to be packed into the truck.
"What is it?"
Jared blushes. "Not used to it."
"Which part?"
Jared juts out his chin. "I've never not known a girl's name before she stuck her hand down my pants. I don't like it much. Boys, either. "
Chris grunts.
"It’s too late to think that maybe I’m in over my head, isn’t it?"
"To think it? No. To do anything about it? Yes. Smile. It’s time to kiss the fans. You're not offstage until the bus doors close, man. Cheer up, there's an actual hotel with real beds tonight."
Vinyl Cafe, Ames, Iowa
The van pulls up to a record store and several people in collectible tour shirts are waiting in line.
Mike thinks Jared's close to full-on panic. "What do I do?" he asks for maybe the fourth time.
"Smile, wave, don’t embarrass us, make small talk. You're really good at it."
"I mean, I’m not actually a part of the band."
"The hell you say?" sputters Tom.
"Well, these people are here to see Jason. Or Thunderbird Wine with Jason Dohring."
"Bullshit, kid. Anyone wants to see Jason wouldn’t be here. And as much as he might have wanted it, we were never ‘Thunderbird Wine with Jason Dohring’.” Tom throws an arm around Jared’s neck and drags him into the store proper.
"Christ, Tom," says Chris. "If you break him, you're finding the next one."
"Tom won't break him," mutters Jensen, still waking up. "Mike would kill him. Or cut him off, not sure."
Jared twists out of the way when Tom flings his arms wide and beams at the line of people.
"Seriously, Mike," says Jared. "I can’t sign a photo of Jason."
“I’ve got a stack of pre-signed if anyone asks.” He waves a stack of black and white 8x10s with a sharpie smear across them.
"So what do I do?"
Mike sighs. "Smile, say thank you, sign the photos of you. Banter."
Jared looks surprised. "Why would anyone have photos of me?"
Mike blinks. "See, this is why I don’t crack jokes. You guys are so much funnier. Get your ass out there before I hurt you."
For the few fans who didn't bring their own stuff to sign, there are prints from the photo shoot, available for a small donation to mustang rescue. FallingLeaves posted high res pics of the last bow from the previous shows, and Mike sees a few of those in line. Everyone's got access to photo printers, even if they're at Kinko's. He wonders who she's getting them from and shrugs. He doesn't give up his own methods, so he shouldn't expect to hear hers.
The band is seated at a table, in a line with Jared at the end. After the first people get through the line, two squealing girls stop in front of Jared.
"You're prettier than Jason," one blurts.
"Thank you, sweetheart. You're prettier than Jason, too." He signs her picture, and pulls Jensen in for a cell phone shot. The girls giggle, sending the picture to everyone in their cellphone address books.
Mike smiles down at the stack of pre-signed photos in his hand. No one even asked about Jason. --o0o--
The van drops them off backstage at the state fair. Jared's starting to like playing outside, but he knows the crew hates the sheds, since the humidity plays havoc with tuning and the wind makes it hard on the riggers. Chris and Jensen get on the bus, working out a new song, and Tom follows Mike into the production office, so Jared takes a minute to call home and tell his momma about the record store.
When he walks back towards the bus, he sees Danneel with her hands up and the look reserved for anyone who touches her toolkit on her face. She's unnaturally still, though, so he maneuvers around the cases so he can see what she's looking at. His gut lurches when he sees a guy there waving a crowbar. Jared looks over his shoulder, sees two security people running towards them, but they are still too far away when the stranger swings the crowbar towards Danneel, so Jared shoves a wardrobe case into him, just to buy time, knock him over, to keep Danneel from getting hurt. It clatters as it rolls, knocking the guy more to the side than away and he stumbles over it, trying to make sure Danneel's okay. The security people jump on top of the guy before he can get to her.
"You okay?" he asks.
Danneel nods. "Thanks, Jared."
"I didn't do anything special," he says, then stops and looks at her. "You called me Jared."
"You had my back, that's what matters. Think you earned your name," she smiles. She turns to Jensen's kit and he looks around. One of the security guys is sitting on the stranger, and he can see a squad car drive over the footpath near the ticket gate.
Jared pats her shoulders; he's not sure how he'd know if she was injured, but he has to force himself to stop touching her and back off again to a polite distance. "He didn't hurt you?"
Danneel looks at him incredulously and laughs. "I would have gutted the sonofabitch." She pulls a knife from her boot, with enough economy of speed that Jared's pretty sure she knows exactly how to use it. "My dad was a SEAL," she says. "A SEAL with three daughters. You'd better believe we learned to take care of ourselves before we left home."
"Then what was that all about?" he asks.
"You think I wanted to get a replacement kit together for Jensen before show time?" she asks.
"You're completely out of your mind!" He grunts as he rights the case and pushes it out of the way.
"I am," she says, nodding.
The police get the man cuffed and into the car, asking the security people some questions as Jensen comes running. "Danneel! You okay?" He wraps her in a hug.
She smiles at Jensen, and buries her head in the V of his neck and shoulder. "S'okay. Jared had my back."
Jensen looks at Jared, who shrugs, and walks toward the bus. He's pretty confused about the relationships in this organization. --o0o--
"Tom!" yells Jensen from his bunk.
"What!" Tom hollers back.
Jensen pokes his head into the bus's living area, carrying his laptop. "When did Milo drop the cymbal on me?"
Tom makes a face. "Milo. Winter of '07."
Jensen's look softens. "Yeah, we got that, which city?"
"Hang on," Tom closes his eyes and looks like he's flipping through a rolodex. "Was it Raleigh?"
"Nope, two nights before, in Orlando. Short set in Raleigh, normal set in Cincinnati," offers Jared.
"Are you sure?" asks Jensen, tilting his head to the side.
"Yep."
"I’m about to put money on it, are you sure you're sure?"
"Yes. I want half of whatever you win." He puts his earbuds back in and ignores everyone as hard as he can. Jensen cackles and pokes, one handed, at his keyboard.
"Iiiiinteresting," says Tom.
Jared pretends he doesn't hear him, but he wonders whatever happened to Milo.
There's a gaggle of underage girls waiting in the hotel lobby. Chris is not in the mood for any of it, so he goes straight to the bar where they can't follow, leaving Tom to sign autographs in his wake. He could pretend he'll return the favor, he thinks as he gestures to the bartender, but he won't. He buys five beers and hands the first one to Tom as an apology when he comes in. Jensen leans over, grabs a bottle, calls dibs on the shower, snatches the key from Mike, and disappears before Mike can do more than glare. Chris figures it's not like it matters, since Jensen's never really been a fan favorite and Jared's still out in the lobby, signing and posing for pictures like it's fun, like it used to be. Chris considers the level of beer in his bottle, but the bartender is dealing with a sudden influx of customers, several of whom are wearing tour shirts and trying to look like they aren't staring. Flashes of light periodically illuminate one group or the other. He hears his name, and turns to see Jared with a woman on his arm. He smiles as much as he can as Jared throws an arm over his shoulders and the woman holds her camera out at arm's length to snap one of all of them, then waits and does it again so she can angle the camera higher.
He pulls away, rescues his laptop case from the barstool and slides into the last empty booth across from Tom. Jared slides in next to him, and Mike hands him the last beer, but stays standing, blocking the booth.
Jared grins and plays with the label of his beer. "Man, I still can't ... I just can't get over the idea of autographs, you know?"
People start to shuffle closer and Chris sighs. "Upstairs?"
"We only have the one room; we're leaving in a couple of hours," says Mike.
Chris nods. "I got my laptop."
--o0o--
Jensen's still in the shower when they get up to the room. Mike sits at the table, looking over the itinerary and timetable for the next show. Tom flops onto the bed and turns on the TV. There's a rerun of a music awards show on, and he grins at the starlet handing out the astronaut statues. Jared pulls out the bound journal he drags around with him, re-reading something, pen in hand. Chris leans against the headboard next to Tom, and signs into his messaging program, grinning at who's online. Tom pokes him, and jerks his head at the television. "Remember her?"
Chris snorts and starts typing.
>NativeTxn: Hey stranger
>Falling Leaves: ZOMG sorry, I’ve just been incredibly busy.
>NativeTxn: I thought you’d finished the monster project. Wasn’t that last month, that deadline you were freaking out about?
>Falling Leaves: I did but I’m on another project and this one is gonna involve a load of travel
>Falling Leaves: But it's so super exciting
>NativeTxn: Can you tell me about it?
Tom leans into Chris. "Watch the kid." He turns up the volume on the TV and shouts, "Jensen! C’mere."
>Falling Leaves: Nope, sorry, NDA and all that. But I’m bopping around all over, so I’m trying to set up lunch dates with people I’ve only met on line.
>NativeTxn: You know everyone
"Gimme a second," hollers Jensen from the bathroom.
>Falling Leaves: Hah. I don’t know that I'm going to Texas, though. Aren’t you in Central Texas?
>NativeTxn: Something like that. NDA sounds like you are moving up in the world. Fancy lawyer talk
"On the TV, now!" Tom insists.
>Falling Leaves: I miss chatting with you.
>NativeTxn: Yeah, me too.
"Better be good." Jensen strolls out of the bathroom, a towel on his head but otherwise naked. "What?"
Across from Tom, Jared crosses his legs, and the television goes to commercial.
"Sorry man, you just missed it."
Jensen pops the towel at him and goes back into the bathroom.
>Falling Leaves: How's your job? You said you had to hire someone?
>NativeTxn: Good. Looks like the new guy is working out.
Tom throws the remote into Jared's lap. "Hey kid."Jared yelps, but catches it before it lands and looks over the top of his journal at Tom. “Yeah?”
"You know the disadvantage of having a ten inch dick?”"
Jared looks at Chris, who is grinning, and tosses the remote back at Tom. “You guys are way too fascinated with my dick." He goes back to his journal and Mike looks at Chris, then Tom, and shakes his head.
>Falling Leaves: That's great.
>NativeTxn: So, these new people treating you ok?
"Everyone in the room gets a tap on the shoulder when he sees something he likes," says Tom, looking at Chris.
"Leave the kid alone, Tom," says Chris.
>Falling Leaves: Good. Haven't actually met them yet. Next week
>Falling Leaves: two layover plane ride because i bought my tickets late
>Falling Leaves: worth it though
“What?” Tom glances at Jared and leans in close to whisper, “But he... and Jensen...”
“It’s cool,” says Chris.
“It’s really not. It's weird.”
“Weird is Mike and his bento boxes. Weird is the groupie with the tattooed signatures. This? This is not weird. This is guys that don't know each other very well, yet. Give it time. You know how he is. In it for the long run.”
>NativeTxn: It's getting crazy here, I gotta go. You'll do fine. Tomorrow?
>Falling Leaves: Same time? I'll try.
State Fair Minot, ND
When the bus pulls in, Jared can smell the grease and the unmistakable aroma of frying mini-doughnuts. Jared peeks uneasily out from the curtain he has pulled back to look and twitches when Jensen puts a hand on his back.
"Relax, it's a small venue, okay?"
"It's a State Fair!" Jared protests.
"Yeah, so, small."
"It's bigger than my church."
"I don't go to church. Is yours bigger'n a breadbox?" Jensen grins.
Jared laughs, and they spend the rest of the afternoon playing Jensen's Xbox and watching movies until Mike calls for soundcheck.
Then, Jared sighs, and pulls out a tiny mirror and a pencil, points his tongue out from between his teeth, and starts to outline his eyes.
"Dude, it’s soundcheck." Jensen reminds him, brandishing a controller.
"Yeah, don’t hit me with that. I gotta learn sometime. Danni can't be doing it for me every night."
"I put on pants for soundcheck; you put on war paint?"
"I, um, Chad said I needed to practice” Jared rubs at one eye, then winces. “And that’s why. I smeared, didn’t I.”
"Hey, Chad, can we use Rocky Raccoon for check?”
“Jensen, quit picking on the Choirboy …oh for God’s sake Jared, get Sandy to help you or something.”
“No, I’ll do it myself.”
“Sandy’s better at it than you are.”
“Everyone’s better at it than I am. Chris is better at it than I am. It’s just hand eye coordination. If I can beat your ass at Call of Duty, I can draw a pencil line around my eyes. It’s not rocket science.”
Chad claps twice and they fall silent, Jared glowering as they walk to the stage. He's trying to fit in, he's doing his best and every third day there's yet another reminder that they've been on the road, playing these songs, for five years and he's still the kid playing air guitar in his bedroom and singing into his hairbrush.
Tom noodles the bassline from Nightride until Aldis stalks to Chad and they both glare at the sound booth in the front of the cheap seats. The music from the fair’s PA floats over the stage under the hum of the equipment. The Greatest Hits of the Fifties from the morning have given way to better stuff, and wisps of Santana's Oye Como Va trickle across the stage. Chris picks it up with a grin and Jensen leans in, a little ragged on the pickup, but better than sitting around waiting for the technowizards to wave their magic wands.
Danni wiggles her ass on the cha-cha and Jensen laughs so Chris picks up the beat, picking it out, the tune distorted without an amp but still recognizable. She pulls one hand in and the other out, shuffle-stepping in place and Jared just wants to hear Jensen laugh again, so he steps up and sweeps her into a hold and she falls into step with him.
Chris taps his little amp back on and slides into a cha-cha version of Tougher Than the Rest. She laughs and their hips gyrate, everyone singing along. They finish, breathless, and as Chris racks his guitar, she stretches on tiptoe and kisses Jared's cheek. He thinks of Alona, learning to dance with him by standing on his toes and knows his smile turns foolish as he watches her go to work.
Jensen steps in front of him, blocking the view. "Aren’t y’all just as pretty as a picture."
"I'm just me," Jared says. "She’s beautiful."
Jensen gives him a look he can't read as he says, "You break her heart, I break your knees."
His delivery is too matter-of-fact to be threatening and Jared snorts with laughter. "She'd eat me alive. Anyway, not my type." He thinks about saying more, but Chad reappears with a guy wearing a Fair lanyard in tow and they go back to work.
--o0o--
Jared stands on one leg; the other is on the counter and his head is on his knee, fingers touching his toes.
"What’re you doing?" asks Jensen, startling him.
"Stretching."
Jensen looks uncomfortable as he stands across from Jared. "Jason didn’t do that."
"Jason’s bio says he's 6’1," answers Jared. Jensen is so close, Jared can count his freckles.
"Um," he says, and Jared can feel him looking. "So?"
"I’ve got an extra three inches."
"Actually you’ve, wait, what?" asks Jensen, visibly flustered.
Oh, shit, thinks Jared. He thinks I'm coming on to him. That's the last thing he needs, to come off like some fanboy instead of a pro. No matter what he wants.
Jensen's breathing quickly, and Jared just knows he's uncomfortable with what Jared's said.
He clears his throat and drops to the ground. "Maybe he was in better shape than me." He flips his legs over his head.
Jensen leans on the counter, and Jared can see his knuckles are white. "That thing you're doing now --"
"Oh. Yoga pose. Called the Plow."
"That's pretty... you're very bendy."
"You guys wanted to keep the choreography. If I’m not going to brain myself with the mic stand or slam into Tom on the cartwheel, or God forbid, take down Danni's drum kit, I have to work harder." Jared thinks he's back under control, and he's successfully averted this crisis.
"Choirboy, all that ninja dance crap was Jason’s thing, you don’t have to do that. It's MY drum kit, you know."
“One album, twelve shows. And you only think so.”
Mike pops his head in the door. "Oh, there you are. Five minute warning, guys."
--o0o--
Jared has his earbuds around his neck and is staring into space when the others tumble onto the bus.
"Jared," calls Chris, "what is going on in that hair extended head of yours?"
Jared's answer is wistful. "Oh, I was just thinking that Running with the Herd doesn't fit, but it's such a great song. Like for a different band. How I'd put a stool at the front of the stage for Chris, and Jensen and Tom could stand behind - Jensen can play bhodran or something. It's just... this is the wrong band for that." He looks around and can't guess at what's Chris is thinking, but Jensen looks pissed. Once again, he's managed to stick his foot in his mouth and he's got no idea how.
"Well, I guess that all depends," Chris says.
Jensen growls in response.
The door to the bus opens and Aldis pops his head in. "Hey, can I ride with you guys tonight? I got something I wanna talk to you about."
Suddenly he has the rapt attention of all five of them, and he holds up his hands.
"Aw, no, man, nothin' bad, I promise. I want you to hear something."
Mike says, "Come on. Give me a minute to put the bed up, and we can meet in the penthouse."
Tom follows him, and Aldis nods, as if confirming something he's thought for awhile. The door stays open, though, through the bunks and into the back, and after a thump, Mike calls, "Come on, whaddya suddenly need an invitation?" Jared hurries to follow Chris.
Aldis slips a disc into the sound system, routing the speakers only to the back lounge, and takes a deep breath before he touches the switch. The two songs on the disc play through without comment, and Jensen looks at him with a little wonder in his eyes.
"How?" asks Jensen.
"You left your mics open during sound check. I know y'all were playing with Danneel, but honestly, Tougher Than the Rest ain't a cha-cha, and dancin' all over the stage doesn't make for a good sound check."
"That was Jared's fault." Tom says, pointing.
Jared shrugs. "If LeDoux can cover Springsteen, it can be a cha-cha. Was the way Chris was playin' it."
"Whatever." Chris handwaves. "He wanted to cha-cha, and so did Danni. How'd you filter it?"
"Didn't. Just mixed it, equalized the vocals. It's live, pretty much."
Jim yells the length of the bus, "We just crossed into Missouri, anyone need a stop?
Mike makes a point of making eye contact with each of them. Jared tries not to fidget, but he has no idea what's going on. He's pretty sure it's important. "We're not in Kansas anymore, boys. If you're going to do this, now is the time to decide."
Chris looks at the rest of them with an unusually serious expression. "Man, I am sick to death of this hair gel and image stuff."
"Yeah," Jensen agrees, "why'd we let this happen?"
"Ha," says Tom, humorless and grim. "You know the answer to that, and you also know the solution." He looks at Jared.
Suddenly all of them are looking at him and he stares at his bare toes on the carpet. There's an entire non-verbal conversation going on over his head for which he has no context. He's trying to be objective, but he knows he's not in this band for real. "Well, yeah, I guess I knew when you guys were done with all this legal stuff you would do something different. Will you stay together? Would you add a keyboard player?"
Aldis starts. "He's right, you know. This thing is gonna need something more to be special, and y'all might consider keys.”
Chris says, “Might could work. If we could find a good one.”
“Morons," Aldis says. "The Professor's playing your opening act, you giant goobers.”
Chris frowns at him. "He does five notes in two hours.”
“That’s because he’s playing what he’s supposed to play. Go catch him off stage.”
"Aw, Aldis, is he one of your girls?" asks Tom.
"If you ever entertained the notion to call me Huggy Bear, uninvite that bitch right now."
Jared flops backward onto the couch with his arm over his eyes, willing no tears, total professionalism. "So, who are you going after to sing lead?" He looks at them from under his arm.
Chris looks at Jensen, and Tom pokes Jensen in the ribs, hard, nodding at Chris. Jensen looks down for a minute, sneaks a look at Jared and nods, too.
"You know anyone would want that horseshit gig?" asks Chris. "Because we need someone who can sing."
"I can sing."
"Yes, you can."
He sits up, suddenly realizing that he's completely wrong about everything. "Are you offering me a job?"
Jensen makes a noise like a frustrated colt. "It's not -- Jared, if we do this, it's a partnership."
"You're my bosses now, you call the shots" Jared says.
Chris interrupts him. "Is that what you want?"
"No. That's the point. I want... I want to be part of a real band, to have a vote, maybe help with some songs." Jared keeps his eyes on Chris."I think maybe you'll be wanting different ones."
Chris rubs his hand over his mouth. If he didn't know better, know how serious this is, Jared would think he was hiding a smile. Chris says, "Well, that would depend. You attached to the glitter?" Jared groans, and shakes his head, thinking about how it gets everywhere. "The hair?" Chris pushes.
"No. Well, yeah, my own, but no, not," he pulls the extensions into a bunch, "this." He smirks and nods at Mike. "Not that, either."
"How 'bout the tights?" Chris grins.
Jared's laughing, now. "Not in the least."
Tom slides back, so he can see Jared and Jensen at the same time. "What would you wear, then?" He asks, but Jared can see he's looking at Jensen.
Jared doesn’t pause. “Pants, obviously.” He ignores the snort from Chris’ direction. “But if I get to pick, I’ll go along with leather, I think."
Jensen blinks and Tom snickers. Jensen clears his throat and asks, "Black?"
Jared tilts his head, considering. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Mike's lip curve. "Maybe. We're not bikers though. Besides, I’ve already got a pair in dark brown - been wearin' 'em for years."
"Oh, hell, no," says Aldis, "The straight man right here says we are not making this conversation 'bout clothes. You're gonna give me music this time? Like you play when it's just you guys? Something I can make magic with?"
Chris hold out his hands and ticks off his points on his fingers. "No more tights, hair extensions, glitter, or gymnastics. New songs, different direction."
Jared deliberately keeps his voice level. "If you'll have me, I'm in."
"We'll have you. Be glad to have you," says Chris. Tom and Jensen nod.
They look around at one another, the bus rumbling down the road, and Chris flattens out his hand and sticks it out. Tom slaps his down on top of it, and then Jensen. Chris grabs Jared's hand and hesitates. "If you're in, you're in. Family. We'll bust your chops and love you like our own."
Jared's hand is steady on top of the other three. Mike smiles that poker smile and adds his hand to the stack.
Jared glances at Aldis, who smiles and shakes his head. “Looks like you boys just started a band,” he says.
"Now all we have to do is get a contract," says Tom.
"I'm an optimist," says Chris. "What're we gonna call ourselves?"
Sioux Empire Fair,
Sioux Falls SD
Danneel may bitch about having to clip her nails when they're on the road, but she keeps them painted, rarely chipping one no matter how many times she wrangles Jensen's kit on and off stage. Jensen knows she's as good a tech as there is in the business, and he takes good care of her. It's in the rider that there's a massage therapist at every fourth venue, an unspoken perk for Danneel, out of his pocket, not under Mike's control.
Jensen's just gotten off the phone with the Zildjian rep who's sending a new, bigger gong to the next gig, and he's really excited about it, so he goes looking for her. He walks in the massage room to talk to her and finds Jared on the table and Danneel painting her toenails neon green. He gets pissed off, because they've explained everything to this kid, and this is Danneel's thing. Damn near everything they have on tour is shared, but not this. This is for her.
She gets a look at his face and jumps to her feet, the nail polish still open in one hand, her other hand on his chest, pushing him back to the door. Her robe falls open as she stands and he automatically steps between her and the massage therapist. She may not care, and he's not interested, but damned if the rest of the world gets a free show. Jared's up on his elbows, gaping like a fish on land. Danni pats at him, pushing him away from the table. "Jensen, I've had mine. Don't begrudge him, he needs it. He's not Jason."
If one more person says that to him like he doesn't know it, he's going to scream. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"Jason drugged and whined. Jared's a pro. Look at him, for fuck's sake - he's a giant!" She spins him in place and holds his arms behind him. Jared's still on the damn table, towel barely over his butt. The masseur is standing with his lips pursed and Jared's blushing. Danni's robe must still be open.
He turns and grabs the edges, overlapping them and reaching for the belt. "Jason’s six foot."
She lifts her arms to let him tie the belt and says, more quietly, "He’s only six foot according to his agent and his ego. He’s five eleven first thing in the morning."
"Not seeing the point." He pulls her belt in an overhand knot, maybe a little tight, and she frowns.
"Doesn’t matter, he’s either four or five inches shorter than Jared." He glares and she continues, "Four inches makes a big difference." He glances back at Jared and she smacks him in the bicep. "Oh, for God’s sake, grow up."
"That's not what I was... Okay, what just happened here? Why are you pissed at me? This is supposed to be a thing for you, not for any opportunist--"
She cuts him off. "And Jared’s killing himself trying to be Jason. He’s taller, lankier, his center of balance is higher."
"Nobody’s asking him to be Jason." He feels like an idiot, having this fight in front of a stranger and he thought that Jared wasn't a stranger, dammit, but maybe he thought wrong.
Danni gives him a long look. "You are, you idiot. It's what you hired him to do. For eight more shows and an album, he may as well be Jason. Maybe then you'll let him be his own man."
He's processing that when he realizes that the masseur has one hand on Jared's bare back and is holding him on the table. Jensen blinks away the vision of his own hands on Jared, and how is he tan all over, anyway? Danni glances over and says, sharp as a bark, "No. You aren't going anywhere, Jared. You are going to lie right there and Johan's going to redo everything that Jensen just undid. No, you don't get a vote. Lie down. Relax or I'm gonna smack you. After all, Jared," she turns to poke Jensen in the chest, "you've already paid the man."
Jensen rubs the back of his neck. He is pretty sure he needs to apologize to someone, but damned if he knows who. The masseur is ignoring him, Jared's got his face down, and Danni's giving him the look that she normally reserves for when he bleeds on something she has to clean. "Um, I'm just gonna, um, go, then."
"Good." She sits on the chair in the corner again and leans over. "We love you. Now go away."
Jared groans from the folding table and Jensen glances over. He's, yeah, he's taller than Jason, that's true, and if that's so then she's got a point and then he is distracted by Jared, mostly naked and draped over a horizontal surface and all the adrenaline in his body is still churning up, but he's not actually angry anymore. "Yeah, I... uh, leaving."
The door swings shut behind him and he can hear Johan's voice. "I suppose it would be too much to hope for that you're even a little gay?"
Jensen sighs as Jared brays laughter. Yeah, way too much to hope for.
--o0o--
Aldis drops a word to Nick at the sound check for Garnet Shoes, so he drops in as T-Bird is finishing theirs. The guys cluster around him like kids at recess, and quite honestly, Aldis is glad to see it. Nick came on board with the Shoes after their keyboardist blew out his septum with something he thought was coke. He’d be glad to see the guy doing something other than covering the minimalist needs of a one hit wonder fronting for better bands for purely aesthetic reasons.
He packs up his kit and slings the laptop case over his shoulder, then meanders over to loom over Nick. “They’re all unwashed heathens. Don’t let them convince you any different. But they throw great parties.”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Jeez Aldis, thanks. We just got him convinced we were Boy Scouts.”
Aldis gives that a Benny Hill beat and an exaggerated double take, then laughs out loud.
Tom leans forward, “Seriously man, you cool with it?”
Nick shrugs. “Should be. Face it, I’m a hired gun anyway. It’s not like what I’m doing now takes more than a monkey and a button, so working on your stuff on down time won’t be a problem.”
“And it’ll keep you from bugging me for your weird ass art projects,” Aldis tossed in.
“You love the Schubert dance mix and you know it,” Nick says. Aldis can’t argue. He calls the guy the Professor for a reason, after all, and he’s kind of looking forward to seeing the first time they realize what he’s found for them. He doesn’t bother to hide the smirk.
Jensen says, ”Welcome to the group,” and Chris shoulders him hard enough to make him stagger. “Not a group yet.”
“Got a band.”
“Don’t have a name.”
“Or a contract.”
“Not yet, we don't.”
They toddle off, bickering like a sitcom couple. Jared looks lost for a moment, then follows them and Tom lopes in the other direction, leaving Nick and Aldis standing alone in the center of the stage.
“Hunh.” Nick shakes his head. “Nothing like joining a new band that’s already a closed group.”
“You could go back to scratching for fleas and pushing the button.”
“Yeah, no. Hey, what do you know about the Fibonacci sequence?”
Aldis blinks, then sighs. “I’m guessing it’s going to require background reading and getting you another NEA grant, bitch.”
--o0o--
Aldis settles in a corner, checks his battery, and pulls up the forum. Mike's putting a lot of faith in FallingLeaves, but another pair of eyes doesn't hurt. He logs in as BraveNewGirl but lurks, letting the chat scroll upscreen.
>DuckDuckGoose: they've got one more album coming out though
>BraveNewGirl has logged in.
>DuckDuckGoose: so he must have had some kind of thing
>Kaniac: JFGI. Arrested in WI. Music is busniess, and bail is $$
>Jasonsgirl: Who cares about an album if he decided to finally go solo?
>Wendywine: They've paid his bail for years
>TBird69: New vid on YT. my userid. last night's show.
Mike glances over and Aldis gives him a half wave. "Dude, same fight on the forum."
"Four shows. not a long time, relatively speaking."
>Kaniac: You have a new cellphone?
>TBird69: New iphone. Much better quallity
>Kaniac: LoL lag. thnx for psoting vid. yay for new phone.
>DuckduckGoose: No reason to make a change
>Kaniac: other than the fact that the new guy is better
>Jasonsgirl: He can't do the flips like Jason could.
>Jasonsgirl: Did you see that lame cartwheel?
>
>Kaniac: expect us to listen to your opinon on Jared
>Jasonsgirl: Just because I'm not brownnosing to the new guy
>TBird69: New guy is a trained singer, plays two instruments
>Jasonsgirl: His hair is fake and looks stupid
Aldis glances up. "Does the Choirboy really play?"
"Yeah, piano, a bit. Enough to pick out a tune or play behind someone. Chris was noodling around and the keyboardist from the Garnet Shoes had a little Sanyo."
"Nick Brendon. They waste him. You better learn his name, man, he's gonna be yours to deal with."
"Hellishly underutilized, yeah. Anyway, so there he is, makes the thing sing by looking at it, and Jared's standing behind him, dancing like a kid who has to pee, so he lets him have a turn and he's not bad, better than some, but next to Nick, he's playing Chopsticks. But Chris started throwing him bits and he'd toss them back. Jam session. Keyboards are versatile." Mike rubs a hand over his head.
"Classic instrument for a reason," Aldis agrees.
"But not portable. He's good enough on a guitar to play Kumbaya at the campfire before s'mores time. Pretty sure they're starting to write for the new band."
Aldis grunts in agreement, and turns his attention to his laptop.
>TBird69: it's on the bio.
>Jasonsgirl: and he sounds like Whitney Houston w/ all the
>Jasonsgirl: extra crap he puts in. Did you hear him warbling
>Jasonsgirl: Look at the old shows. He's just showing off.
>TBird69: Because Jason can't hit a high note with a shotgun, J_G
>Kaniac: give it a rest. If you are actually looking at the
>Wendywine has left.
>Kaniac: online vids, watch the guys. Watch how jared walks behind
>Kaniac: Chris instead of blocking him all the time
>Wendywine enters.
>Kaniac: watch how he's playing *with* the others, instead of
>Kaniac: going offstage anytime the spot's not on him.
"Hey, Mike? Have you noticed that the Choirboy doesn't upstage the others?"
"Do you ever look up during the shows? The first time he stood behind Chris and played air guitar, I thought Sandy was going to give herself a hernia laughing."
"So the mic sharing, that was his idea?"
"Yeah. I'm proud of his kindergarten teacher. He plays well with others. Why?"
"Lurking in the forums. Apparently the fan base has noticed."
"See, they actually pay attention."
"I pay attention. Just not to the visuals."
"Speaking of, what kind of photos are we getting?"
>JasonsGirl: So fine, your boyfriend gets more spotlight time.
>JasonsGirl: is that really worth destroying the band
>FallingLeaves: Missing the point, much
>FallingLeaves: you can't have it both ways
>JasonsGirl: Oh, so the board mod shows her bitchy face
>TBird69: Hey Ww, what's new?
>FallingLeaves: You've been warned before, Jasonsgirl.
>JasonsGirl: I hope you all DIAF
>WendyWine: How's it going? I bring new manips
>FallingLeaves: Aaaaaand there's a 24 hour ban. BuhBye.
>JasonsGirl has left.
>WendyWine: J_G at it again?
>WendyWine: She's just going to log back
>FallLeafSux has entered.
>FallLeafSux has left.
>FallingLeaves: Sorry guys. New pics?
>WendyWine: From the Wisconsin show from a friend
>WendyWine: Old news
>TBird69: Pics are always good
>HiwayWine has entered
Aldis shakes his head. "Haven't checked photos, and I know you aren't talking about the fanart. Last time I checked the manips section, I had to go hit goatse to get those images out of my head."
"Did I ask about your porn collection? I did not."
Aldis clicks and clicks and winces. "Chris doesn't look at these, right?"
"If he does, he deserves what he gets. What?"
"Theban Band."
Mike actually walks around to peer over his shoulder. Aldis scrolls the line of thumbnails. "I think I've seen that one before."
Aldis clicks on it. "Yeah, it's a rename of an old file. Looks like she took out Jason and just manipped in Jared."
"Nice light. Good blending of shadows."
"Are you serious? It's a screenshot from a porno with two faces you know... you know what? You are strange. You are a strange, strange man."
"My therapist agrees with you. Jared and Tom still the preferred new pairing?"
"WendyWine just uploaded a wheelbarrow of Kane with random supermodels, it's throwing the stats. Give me a sec... Yeah, Jared/Tom, then still Jason/Tom, then Tom/Chris, then the Paris Hilton and Britney Spears and such. Jensen gets no love."
"His own fault for hiding behind the kit. "
"And for being a dick to the MTV guy."
"Yeah, well, that, too."
"Chris's overall numbers are going up."
"Interesting. I wonder why."
"Hardcore fans or ..." Aldis opened the concert gallery. "No, it looks like it's a secondary side effect. He's playing closer to the front of the stage now, so he's tagged more often."
"Chad didn't mention making a change to the gear placement."
"I don't think he planned it. I think it's just that they are all playing at the front more. Choirboy bounces around a lot more than... well... anyway, most of the shots with him include Tom or Chris, so their tag numbers are going up with each show. This is a good thing."
"Yes. Yes, it is."
"Look at this one." He double clicks to let the photo fill his screen, then clicks through them in order like a slow motion animation. Jared does this trick that made Chris crazy at first, but he just _is_ that tall, and he stands behind Chris, with his chin on Chris’s head, swinging his arms up to lead the audience clapping in time as Chris goes nuts with the fast riffs. Aldis ends on the ninth shot, Chris singing into his mike, Jared with him instead of back at his own, sharing the mike, his arm around Chris's waist. "Hunh. I'm seeing why there was a flurry of Chris/Jared fanfic after that show."
Mike smiled. "Why bother with Photoshop? I love that kid."
Tom walks up. "You are talking about me, right?" Mike grins back and ruffles Tom's hair. Aldis rolls his eyes, but he'll admit, it's easy to like these guys. The others walk up, Chris with an armload of sodas. Mike pulls the Dr Pepper out of Jared's hands and replaces it with a 7-Up. The kid sighs, but twists off the green cap and takes a swig. Mike ruffles his hair, too, mindful of the extensions.
Tom says, "You’re in a good mood. We must have made money."
The others laugh and Mike shakes his head. "All this time, and I still can't communicate. I'm in more than a good mood. This is me, laughing my ass off."
Jensen drawls, "Take a photo for reference. Can’t be us, we haven’t seen you all day." Nick walks up and nods to Aldis. Jensen hands him the Dr Pepper that Mike took from the kid. Aldis permits himself a moment of smugness.
Mike says, "Jensen I laugh at you, not with you. But in this case, it is and isn't, but mostly at Chris. Drinker’s forums.
Chris groans, "Oh, sweet Jesus, what now?"
Jensen speaks over him. "Yeah, what’s the word from the... Hey, with the new band, we stay with the same label, we can keep the website, right? That's history, right there. But is it still gonna be the Bar?"
Mike shakes his head. Aldis flicks away from the gallery to the splash page and spins his laptop to show the others. "Already started making some changes. The redirects will stay the same, but the visible URL will change. Userids will stay the same and we keep the history, but under a new skin. Header’s different already, though. Autumn's using one of the shots from the junkyard layout."
Jensen nods approvingly. "Black and white is always classy."
Chris answers, "If you’re a movie, maybe."
Jensen shoots back, "Says the man that thinks colorizing is a sin."
The kid leans in but doesn't touch the keyboard. “Drinker’s forum?” asks Jared. Aldis watches his eyes.
Mike says, “Fanspace. The online BBS for the fan club.”
The kid twitches. “You, uh... you read that?" Aldis makes a note to run an IP search. The kid's hiding something. No one else seems to notice.
Mike makes eye contact as he says, "I monitor it." The kid drops his eyes and bingo, Aldis thinks. He's got no doubt Mike caught it, but Tom brays with laughter.
"Dude, I learned my lesson. Don't go there. Just don't."
Mike reaches over and pulls up the scrolling chat forum. "It’s audience feedback. It’s information."
Tom laughs again. "It’s crazy-ass chicks. Hell, everyone on there is some kind of crazy."
"That too," Mike says, and shrugs, just a bit. The kid is trying so hard not to react that he's unnaturally still.
Tom throws an arm around him. "Ooh! Tell fresh meat here about fanfiction."
Jared shrugs off Tom's arm. "I don’t live under a rock. I know what fanfiction is."
Tom pokes him in the chest and grins, a little meanly, Aldis thinks. "So you know all about slash?"
Chris covers the screen with one hand and groans, "Oh God, no, don’t get into that again." Tom hoots with laughter and Aldis spins his laptop back around to protect it from greasy grinder hands.
Nick speaks up, "What am I missing? What’s fanfiction?"
Tom's snorting, still, so Chris sighs and answers, "The fans write stuff for us, sometimes. Send it to the label or post it online. Sometimes it’s poetry, or proposed lyrics -- "
Mike interrupts, "Which is why Chris and Jensen aren’t allowed to read the forums. If someone wants to get paid, they needs to do it right. There was a case of claimed plagiarism --"
Tom puts one hand over Mike's mouth. Anyone else would get bitten. Mike settles for glaring. "Dude, shut up, that’s the boring stuff. Tell him about slash."
No one says anything, Tom looks to each of them in turn, grinning. Eventually, Nick says, "Guitarist for Guns'N --;"
Tom bursts into laughter again and Mike elbows him in the gut to get him to step back.
Chris drops his face to his hand and points at Jared with his soda bottle. "For the love of God, don’t tell Jared about slash. He talks to his momma every week. Nick’s a pervert, tell him."
Nick and Jared protest in unison. "Hey!"
Jensen steps in. "Stories. They make up stories. Fantasies. Usually it’s the writer hooking up with one of us."
Tom gleefully adds, "Or more!"
Jensen ducks his head and continues, "Yeah, or more. Sometimes the stories are about us. Apparently, we’re all a bunch of horn dogs who spend every minute we're offstage with our pants around our ankles."
"No no no! You aren't telling it right!" Tom bats Mike away. "Tell them about the wings! And the long nights on the road, curled around each other. And the daisy chains! If they only knew..."
Nick raised one eyebrow. "One more word and I'm going to reconsider your offer. I got a wife and kids at home."
Chris punches him in the arm. "Dude, made up stories. Not a threat, just... well, not something you want your momma to know about."
Tom snorts with laughter again. "According to Time , they are mommas."
Mike smacks him on the back of the head, none too softly to Aldis' eye. "That's it. Quit freaking out the new guy... new guys." Nick just smirks, but Jared looks honestly rattled. "And I’m gonna put parental controls on your home computer."
"What, on YOUR home computer?" Tom snaps back."You'd have never had that cheesecake--" He oofs as Mike pokes him.
Mike points at Chris, Jensen and Jared in turns. "I lurk so you don't have to. Be grateful," he looks at Tom, "dickhead."
Mike ducks into the penthouse and Tom follows, still grinning. Chris pulls out Lucille and Nick unzips the case on his Sanyo and Jensen leans in, but Choirboy swings into his bunk, puts in his earbuds and closes his eyes. From where Aldis is sitting, though, he can see that his iPod isn't on. >BraveNewGirl has left.
Jared leans back on his bunk and thinks again about the privacy issues of living on a bus. He could probably reach out of his bunk and tap Nick's head, bent over the table and the banquette. Or he can ignore them, and they'll do the same, like some sort of invisible wall.
He did read some of the stuff on the forums, blushing as he did so, shying away from a lot of it, but he gave it up before the audition. The big thing is, that those guys are not these guys. He's insanely curious to know what they are saying about him, and he knows better than to look. Or even ask Aldis or Mike to look for him. Maybe. He rolls over to put his back to the light.
He’s got a hard drive full of leaked studio recordings and they have to know that, because Running with the Herd was never released. And he can't remember the legal stuff about downloading mp3 files like the Malaysia concert. He's got all four sections, but the only one he plays is when Jason went offstage suddenly and Chris and Jensen started bantering, stand up comedy stuff, telling corny stories and knock knock jokes for almost two minutes before Jason came back out with a bottle in one hand and announced the next song on the setlist. He's copied every Behind the Scenes shot he can get his hands on and if the ones he keeps happen to be the ones with Jensen, well, who can blame him. They usually have one or the other of the guys in them anyway, since it’s not like he crops them or anything.
And he's pretty sure he never actually downloaded any of the fanart. He wonders just how good Aldis really is, and sighs.
"We too loud for you, Choirboy?"
"No, no, I'm good."
It's a college crowd, and Jared's in front when they finish Better With You, saving Love Song for the end of the set and Wayward Son is up. The arrangement they’ve got makes it seem longer on stage than from the other side. Jared and Chris lead off and Tom hangs back and fiddles with his instrument while Jensen puts a hand on his skins to keep them from trembling. The lights here are set, they can’t mess with them, so at sound check Jared had come up with the idea of walking in and out of the spots. He finishes and steps back, to the middle, right in front of Jensen, as Chris and Tom wail and soothe, respectively and the audience is silent, not uninterested. Jensen remembers what apathy sounds like, when Jason would go off; this wasn't that, but rapt attention. It’s a conceit, this arrangement, a showboat stunt, but it’s working.
He comes in, dropping hard on the down beat, cascading into the offset rhythm and Jared steps back into his circle of light and pulls attention back to himself. All four carry the song through until the last four lines and Chris steps to the front where the lights go out and Sandy lights them singly, each in their own tight spot.
It’s stripped raw, simple as a gospel song in a backwoods church and Choirboy's singing for the sake of the song, not to the audience, not to Chris at his right hand, not for the money or for Mike’s stream of press girls and groupies. Jared falls silent. Jensen sees his hand twitch, one, two, and they all come in like the Red Sea drowning Pharaoh’s Army and the audience roars its approval. He grins like an idiot, and beams at the back of Jared’s head and they finish on a crest, stepping back to take a breath, to let the crowd shift gears, too, between Wayward Son and Nightride and Jensen watches Jared. Tom shines the full lighthouse grin, Chris ducks his head and smirks and Jared turns up to Jensen, pulls his hair out of his eyes and smiles at him, open and easy. Jensen nods and as Jared turns away, Jensen realizes that he wants that smile in his life, every day.
He hasn't felt this way in a long time, not since he'd come to a parting of ways with Ian, when he'd left Jensen for Hawaii. He's so wary; keeping his private life private is hard, staying clear of the users, the one night stands, the people who want to manipulate him. Mike says there's even a girl on the Forum who claims they're happily married. He's scared to death that he's letting Jared in and hasn't known him for a month. Jensen wants forever, a partnership like the one his folks have, and here he is mooning over guy whose leggy blonde girlfriend is "A" at the top of his contact list. Ruefully, he remembers, forever isn't for him. Still, he can't let the thought go. --o0o--
The show's ended and Tom tows Jared out of the dressing room. Jared turns back to Jensen, thoughtful, but Jensen doesn't meet his eyes, head down, forearms on thighs staring at the floor. Something has changed.
"Jens, you okay?" asks Chris.
Jensen shudders and wipes the back of his hand, the one holding a pair of sticks, over his eyes. "Not sure."
"What is it?" Chris asks, surprised, but his voice is soft.
"The prize."
"I guess we're not talking about the Cracker Jack box?"
"Maybe we are."
"Sit. Mike will understand if we're late."
“Chris, is he right for what we want to do, or am I going along with this because I want to get in the guy’s tights?”
Chris shuts that fear down. “No, but you’re an idiot.”
“What, for wanting to keep my personal zing from interfering with the band?”
“No, for thinking I’d let you be that stupid. Plus, just an idiot in general.”
“Since when?”
“Remember the peanut butter omelet?”
“I was eleven! When are you going to let that go!? Besides, it was the steak sauce that really pushed it over the edge.”
Chris leaves, laughing and Jensen can't think of any part of the conversation that should have made him feel better, but he does. --o0o--
Chris stalks onto the bus and flops down on the couch. Mike looks up from his laptop. "What?"
"I don't want to go back to playing for $25 a night and all the beer I can drink."
"With all the beer you drink..."
" 'M serious."
Mike nods and waits. Chris chews his lip. Mike waits some more.
"I love that boy, but sometimes, Jensen wants a smack."
Mike doesn't say anything and Chris looks up for a reaction. Mike's looking over the top of the screen at him. They both wait.
Chris realizes he's the one holding up the conversation and shakes his head. "Glad we had this talk."
"Well, you know me," Mike says, drily. "I'm always happy to be of service. Business manager, marriage counselor, stand up comedian."
Chris adds on, "Butcher, baker, candlestick-maker."
"My mother'd be happier were that true."
"What," Chris protests. "She doesn't think kindergarten teacher is an honorable profession?"
Mike snorts, an inelegant sound. "Some days, yeah. Lately, not as much."
Chris grabs two beers and hands one to Mike, "So, how is Jason these days?"
"Oddly, that solo contract fell through. He's still lawyer shopping, since he can't find one who'll work for a cut of final damages and he doesn't want to pay out of pocket."
Chris boggles. Surely Mike doesn't know every lawyer in town. "Now you're psychic?"
Mike widens his eyes in a parody of innocence and Chris asks, "What's my momma's favorite color?"
"Blue," Mike answers without hesitation. Chris feels his jaw drop before Mike smiles and he realizes he'd been had.
"I guess statisically there's, what, eight choices?"
Mike leans back and says, "You just tell yourself that, Cowboy."
"So tell me, Sister Cleo, why isn't Jensen jumping the Choirboy?"
Mike shakes his head. "That doesn't take a psychic. That takes a manual, and Jensen came without one."
The Coliseum, Aliant Energy Center,
Madison WI
Jared's on his knees belting out the chorus and Jensen looks into the front row. The girls are staring, rapt, but they're not looking at Jared's face. Jensen remembers Jared complaining that the yellow tights fit differently than the black ones, and knows where he'd be looking, instantly sure what they're looking at. He turns to Danneel and shouts, "Tell Chad to get him a scarf or something."
Danneel looks at him, bewildered, and Jared's back on his feet, back to the audience, shaking his butt with a wild expression on his face.
Danni's eyes go wide and she scurries back and over to Chad. Jensen motions Jared over to Chad with his chin, and Jared minces in that direction as the song ends. Chris starts to talk, and Jensen sees Danni whip off her shirt, slit it down the front and slash the sleeves off with a box knife. She throws it over Jared's head, standing there in a black camisole and talking into Jared's ear. Chris sees it all out of the corner of his eye, and as Jared comes back onstage Chris says, "So's you know, we've got new shirts - see the merchandising booth to get one of your own!"
After the show, Jared flatly refuses to take off Danni's shirt, and Sandy slams into the dressing room.
"I set the lights tonight for those tights, what the fuck, Jared."
"I... Sandy, there was about to be a Janet Jackson sort of wardrobe failure. I am never wearing them again."
"Jared! I --"
"Sandy," says Jensen. She stops and looks at him, mid-tirade. Jensen never questions her choices. "Choirboy was about to fall out of those tights. The yellow ones are gone unless you want him arrested for indecent exposure. Thank Danni for quick thinking."
Jared blinks at him. "Thanks, man."
Jensen hand-waves the whole situation. "Let's go meet and greet."
Francis walks in unexpectedly, and everyone shuts up. "Hey."
"Francis," says Mike.
"I've been looking at the numbers on the downloads, watching the show videos. I want to offer you an option. I'm prepared to make the last album on the contract a greatest hits record, with two new tracks, one of which will be Wayward Son."
Chris smiles and Tom laughs. Jared looks bewildered. Jensen glances at Mike and he's wearing the I'm-so-clever grin and Jensen realizes, clear as a bell, that Mike planned this, engineered it and Francis knows it.
"I know you thought you had four days off, but I booked you into the Record Plant. Think you can get those two songs done before Chicago?" Without waiting for an answer, he turns and looks at Jared. "Burn those tights."
The Record Plant,
Los Angeles, California
Aldis closes the last of the setup screens and tells Kristen, "Give it a try."
She puts on the headphones and squeals, as Jared walks in. "Aldis, you're a genius!" The door opens again and Jensen walks through. Kristen giggles and hugs Aldis. "I love you, man, this is GREAT!" He hugs back and kisses the top of her head, practically bending in half over her tiny frame.
"Hey!" says Jensen. "Hands off my woman!" Aldis sees Jared's eyes go wide, and his shoulders slump as he slinks toward Mike, holding court on the sofa. He looks at Mike, who gives him an imperceptible headshake. Aldis figures it's not his problem, and Jensen doesn't notice, just keeps going.
"So, Kristen, what's the news?" Jensen asks.
She lowers her voice and Aldis doesn't hide his eavesdropping. "Cowell couldn't ignore it any more and dropped a friendly warning to Francis. The building's abuzz." Aldis glances up. The lobby layout must be working, because Jared doesn't seem to hear them.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Jensen says.
"Freemantle Media."
"Wahwahwah?"
"You know Jared dropped out of American Idol, right?"
"No shit, seriously? When, why?"
"Oh my God, what industry are you in?" Kristen's eyes roll. "His mom got sick or something and he dropped out at the last minute. It threw off their whole system, had to cut the bits he was in."
"I always knew that show was rigged."
"Yeah? Well, Cowell wants him back. Go beat on something and get out of my space."
"Love you too." He blows her a kiss, "Mwah!"
So, Aldis thinks, it's office gossip. Chris arrives right on time to wave at Kristen and tow Jared and Jensen into his wake.
He follows and sees Mike, blocking the hall, phone to his ear, his free hand pointed toward the office. Mike doesn't wave him off, so he follows the others to find Tom, taking up the entire couch. Jensen threatens to sit on his knees; Jared drags at his shoulder to pull him on to the carpet. Aldis shakes his head; they're like puppies. Badly behaved puppies, though housebroken. Mostly. As the band fidgets, Aldis understands why Mike keeps a stash of bubble wrap in a drawer of his desk; it's for his own sanity.
Mike steps into the doorway and smacks the wall with one hand to get their attention. Chris jumps. Aldis tries, and fails, not to feel smug about not doing the same. Mike speaks quickly, his summary report voice. "Look, here's what I want to do. It's not nice, so it's up to you. I want to rerecord everything with Jared's vocals. We can use the original tracks and just put Jared to work, because our time is limited."
"That means Jason doesn't get..." Tom drifts off. "Mike, you dog!"
Mike shrugs. "Your call."
Aldis snickers. Talk about cutting Jason loose.
"Francis say anything about the new band?" asks Chris.
"No. Not yet," says Mike, "you remember how it was last time, though. It'll happen. So, Francis wants Wayward Son. What else do we have?"
"We have Phone Book," offers Jensen.
"That the breakup song?" asks Mike.
Aldis sees Jared look up at Jensen. He wonders if straight men are becoming an endangered species.
"Oh, yeah," says Chris. Aldis relaxes. There's him and Chris, and that's enough heterosexuality for any room.
Jared's giddy, willing to be the 'kid', acting like a puppy, and going along with Chris and Tom's teasing. It's the first time he's been in the studio with them, after all.
Jeff works for the studio, his once impressive physique running to fat. He calls the others by name, with some respect, but he's heard the gossip too, and wants to be in with the boys, in on the joke. Most of all, Aldis thinks, he wants to go back on the road. He calls Jared 'Puppy' and 'Momma’s Boy'. Aldis tells him to back down, but it's Jeff. No one really takes him seriously, after all. Jensen’s getting pissed on Jared's behalf, but they're letting Jared take the lead and Jeff needles and needles and needles.
When Jared jumps and drops a hand to his hip, Aldis cocks his head, but the kid gets points for using the vibrate function. Jared pulls out his phone, glances at it, looks at Aldis. "How long before you need me?"
"You got ten minutes, kid. Clock's on."
Jared, thumbs the switch and says, "Hey, Momma," then walks into the hallway.
Jeff scoffs, "She call to tuck him in at night, too? I walked away from home at twenty and send my mother a card every May, like a real man. No wonder Simon was pissed. They've got seventeen year olds on that show who don't have apron strings tied around their balls."
"Cowell doesn't run this studio or our label, and you know it," says Aldis. "Back the fuck off. And check fourteen, it's got a buzzy reverb I don't want."
"Fourteen's fine, oh, wait. Hang on, how's that?
"Yeah, that's better."
Aldis knows something's gonna explode if you needle a Texas boy like Jared about his Momma and he’s on his side of the glass, adjusting equipment, when he hears Jeff go at it again. He tells Jared to move, muscles into his space and asks, “Did momma dress you? Or do you get to pick out your own Garanimals?”
Jared has finally had enough, and slaps down whatever it is he’s been hiding behind. In a blink, he has Jeff up off the floor and against the wall, with both hands in his jacket.
Everyone else in the room is too surprised to move, but as soon as Jeff drops his eyes, Jared says, "I think that's enough, don't you?" in a voice so deadly calm that it promises injury rather than simple violence. When Jeff nods, he lets him down, looks apologetically over his shoulder at Aldis. "Need a minute, man."
Aldis nods and steps out of the booth in time to see the restroom door close. He follows, and Jared looks up when he walks in, hands and face wet, like he's trying to cool off.
“How bad did I just fuck up?” Jared asks, urgently.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I lost my temper.”
“Hell, Jason’d've popped him after the first sentence.”
“I’m not Jason.”
“Okay, I’d have popped him after the second sentence."
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, I’d have made it to the third, since I’m so easy-going and likable. C’mon, man. Back to work.” --o0o--
Every band needs a “there’s lots of fish in the sea” song and Phone Book is a good one. Aldis knows that Chris wrote the start of it some time ago, but they'd never finished it for whatever reason. He's pretty sure that's dumb luck, because it has come together now, and he leans back, scratches his belly and wonders if they'll let him get away with something funny. He doesn't even explain it, just tells the kid what to do, and he does it.
I’ve got a little Black Book with a hundred names
And when I run out of those, I’ve got the white pages, baby.
There’s thousands of names in this town
I won’t be calling you.
The track that he eventually mixes isn't a song about breaking up with a girl, but about breaking up with their singer. They record it with Nick, the full new sound, and then Aldis has Jared read the names of the B poolers who auditioned for the band on one of the layers of the track. Aldis runs it backwards and fuzzes it so you can't pick out the names, just the low murmur of Jared's voice in the background.
--o0o--
In the lounge, Jared asks Jensen, "Hey, would we have access to all the stuff Chris and you wrote? Even if you guys didn’t record it?"
"Uh, most of it, yeah," answers Jensen, "except for some of the early stuff. Some labels like to buy the rights, some just file the recording. Which one are you thinking of?"
"The one Courtney Love did, Wooden Box."
"You serious? The angry chick song?"
"Well, yeah, but why is it that only chicks get to be angry? We’ll have to change the end, because I don’t see myself shrieking 'I’m not your fucking box' in a falsetto."
"That wasn’t actually in the song we wrote. She shifted up some of the words."
"Yeah, I figured. You have the original arrangement?"
"Have to ask Mike, I haven’t thought of that song in a while."
"Bullshit. It was the bookend with Meredith Brooks' song for the divorce scene in –"
"Yeah, over the end credits, too. Though that was the kd lang cover." Jensen grins. "Paid for my truck, actually."
"I love her."
Jensen gives him a look.
"Artistically man. I’m not her type. But if you got paid, you own it. Cool."
"I dunno, man, there were… Chris has… there were Masters’ theses dissecting that song and they weren’t kind to Chris, you know? Why?"
"Oh, just thinkin' about material for the new band."
*p
Aragon Ballroom,
Chicago, Illinois
Jared is on fire. The crowd is eating out of his hand, quiet for every word he says between songs. He's telling stories, telling them about the songs, and about the band, "Chris wrote this one morning on the bus when he was hungover. I think that was a Turkey night, huh?" Chris ducks his head and looks at Jared through his hair. The change in Jared is marked. The nervous pup of a few weeks ago is in his element now, and although he still stands like Jason, there isn't that obnoxious arrogance about him, just a sure, solid confidence. Jensen thinks it's incredibly hot, and the first ten rows agree with him, full of girls screaming and waving, and boys that want to be near the girls, all worked up from the show. Jensen knows Jared could have any six of them he wants at the same time, with a crook of his finger, and that there isn't much they won't do to get backstage. He wonders what Jared will do.
Jensen's played the Aragon a half dozen times, loves the rundown old ballroom, with its moving cloud ceiling and sweeping marble staircases. The balcony to his left is for the VIPs, where all their guests are sitting. He spares a look, and startles to see that even that jaded group is on their feet. He hopes they have better beer than what the crowd's drinking, spilling and puking. It's like playing in the biggest bar ever, and no one, he grins savagely, is throwing anything.
A girl with purple hair and too many tattoos leaves the dressing room with a t-shirt and autographs, her artfully torn fishnets bagging at the knees, still licking her lips.
Jared leans against his forearms in the doorway of the dressing room's bathroom. His hair is damp, and he pulls the extensions back, knotting them into a tail.
His eyes are dark, post-coital, his look unfocused, and his skin glows with a light sheen of perspiration. His white shirt is unbuttoned; he hasn't quite tucked himself away. Mike nods from across the room, and Marshall's camera clicks; Jared is caught for posterity, debauched, wanton. Jensen can see the shot, black and white. Fangirls will photoshop the color into his eyes. Jensen feels his own eyes darken, and he can't look at Jared anymore. His gaze settles on Chris, who must be able to see that Jared looks hotter than sin, as he raises his eyebrow at Jensen.
Paris is chattering away, and the film crew comes in just in time to film Jared tugging up his tights.
Jared bitches that his bag got left on the bus, and he can't change unless someone gets it for him. Mike looks at him. "I asked if you had everything. Time to meet and greet." There's a knock on the door and Adrienne strides in, her black business suit still crisp despite the sweltering heat of the Aragon; even her blue silk shirt isn't wilted. She's the label rep in Chicago, and her cornflower eyes and blonde hair only make people underestimate her keen intelligence.
She nods at Jared. "Well, I'm glad to see you finally made it out of Texas."
"It's good to see you," says Jared. Jensen doesn't recognize the tone in his voice, but there really is a tone.
"Yeah. Excuse me, I need Chris."
Mike clears his throat and the band starts toward the dressing room door, except for Chris, who stays in the middle of the ratty gray couch.
"How do you know Adrienne?" Jensen asks.
"We dated for like ten minutes in senior year. It was really her b--" he stops to look at Jensen, who's stopping him with a hand and jutting his chin towards the door. "Chris?" he asks.
"Need a minute, man."
Mike's last out, and Jared looks back over his shoulder. Jensen knows he's seeing Adrienne straddle Chris on the sofa, her skirt hiking up to expose garters. He wonders how Jared feels about that; Adrienne's never been important, and she's been around before. Mike slaps Jared on the back of the head. "Eyes front, Choirboy."
Jensen feels smug. He knows something Mike doesn't.
In the hospitality room, the liquor is flowing freely, and Mike gets cornered by a girl with a medical bag. Jared's on his third Jack and Coke, sugar and caffeine fueling him into something manic. Mike walks over and speaks to him softly. Jared flushes and looks shaken. Jensen has to know what this is about, and works his way over, much to the disappointment of the braless, nearly shirtless, brunette he's been talking to about her college major in psychology.
"'S'up, Jared?"
"Jens... she wants... she's an artist, a plaster caster."
Jensen hoots with laughter, and Mike says "You too, Jensen."
He doesn't know what's gotten into him, but he throws a challenging look at Jared. "You gonna?"
"What?!"
"For posterity, man."
"Jesus, Jensen. My momma..."
"Will never know."
Jared stares at him, and Jensen can hear him thinking. "Oh, hell no," he says decisively. "And if you do, I'll make sure your momma knows all about it, too.
-o0o-
Mike nudges Jared out the hospitality room door. Paris is in front of him as they start down towards the stage door, waving a bottle of champagne and chattering away. She catches her heel on the impossibly steep stairs, and falls backwards into Jared. They toboggan down the stairs in what looks to Mike, only a few steps behind, like a frightening slide. At the bottom, she steps off Jared like nothing's happened, and the stage door opens from the outside.
Nick walks in and Paris thrusts the bottle into his hands as he stands there, trying to go up the stairs they are blocking. She turns back to Jared, still on the ground, stunned.
"Oh my God, are you okay? Did you fall?" She pulls him to his feet with surprising strength. "Oh, shit, your back, let me see!"
She crouches in front of him, and Jared looks completely dumbfounded when Paris pulls his tights down to examine his backside.
Mike hears Jared's eyes pop, as well as the sound of cameras outside the door.
"Nick," he says quietly, "shut the door."
Nick gapes, but steps out of the way as a burly security guard closes the door on the would-be paparazzi.
Mike has to sit down on the landing because he's laughing too hard to stand, and Jensen stands next to him with an indecipherable look on his face, his left eyebrow arched. Tom and Chris hold each other up, weak with laughter.
Jared is crimson, clutching at the waistband, pulling the tights back up over his hips and the considerable bulge at the front.
Paris looks up at Mike, and says, "I think he's okay. Looks like everything works," she grins lasciviously, "and we can tell our viewers there's nothing under the spandex!"
Jensen will never admit that he watches the kid more than anyone else, but he's the first to see that Jared's off-balance, holding himself gingerly. Tom has to help Jared up the bus stairs and Mike sweeps the long couch clear. Everyone's stopped laughing now that it's clear that Jared's actually in pain. By the time he's seated on the couch, Mike has pain killers and water for him, and Chris has pulled Jared's pillow and a blanket from his bunk. Jared looks up at the four of them, and starts to laugh himself. "Jesus, and she stepped off me like I was an escalator!"
Jim stands in the front vestibule and shakes his head at them. "Hospital?"
Jared shakes his head no, and Mike raises his eyebrow. "I don't think it's any worse than I ever had playin' football, honest. I'll be sore, but nothin's broke."
"Yeah," drawls Chris, "Paris told us." With that, they're all laughing again, even Jared.
Jim holds out a cooler. "I got ice packs in here. Use 'em when my knee's actin' up."
Jared looks at Mike accusingly. "I can't feel my teeth. What'd you just give me?"
"Something to help you relax. Come on, you can sleep in the big bed tonight."
"Oh, hell, no," says Jared. "I know what you get up to in there." He grins loopily, then winces. "And, uh, I don't actually think I can move." He leans back on the pillow, and groans as he tries to pull his legs up.
Jensen and Chris trade a look. "We'll sit up with him," says Chris.
Tom crouches by Jared. "You really gonna be okay?"
"Yeah," Jared slurs, the meds starting to kick in. "Tomorrow's a day off, I'll be fine for the show day after." His head tips back, and his eyes flutter closed.
"Jared," says Tom, "I'm not worried about the show."
Jim sets the bus in motion.
When Jared snores in response. Jensen snorts and walks down the aisle to grab a t-shirt for him; he knows he wouldn't want an ice pack on his bare back. When he reaches into Jared's bag, it tips and spills across his bunk. Jensen's phone rings and he answers it automatically, figuring he'll pick up what he's spilled later.
"It's Jensen."
"Hey." Jensen recognizes Ian's voice, and he's surprised when he only feels a small twinge of regret.
"Everything okay, man?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to share it ..."
"Yeah? Something good?"
"Yeah." Ian laughs with delight. "Jensen, I got an Emmy nomination!"
"That's great, man!"
"Thanks. I wasn't sure you'd take my call. I mean, I know you're concentrating on the band, Jason made that clear."
"What?!" asks Jensen, surprise evident in his voice.
"Yeah. When we had drinks. When I was tryin' to decide about Hawaii."
Jensen feels a slow rage build in his gut. Jason. He had never been able to figure out what happened between him and Ian, but now it was all too clear. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tom, scratching his head, and he follows Tom's look to Jared, out on the couch. He thought he could have built something with Ian, but the feelings he has for Jared, those are another order of magnitude. Maybe Jason had done him an inadvertent favor.
"Ian, that conversation wasn't my idea, okay?" Ian deserved that from him.
"Jens, I hope... I hope we can be friends. I've met someone else, but you've always been .. there's something about you that's hard to do without."
"Yeah, man. You, too. Congratulations. I'll be cheering for you." He ends the call,
When he gets back to the front of the bus, Tom has Jared's socks and tennis shoes off, he's sitting on his heels leaning against the cupboard. Chris is scratching his head, and Mike is leaning on the banquette seat with his arms crossed. They're all looking at Jared, who's snoring softly.
"Everything okay?" asks Chris.
"Yeah. That was Ian. He's got an Emmy nom."
Tom looks at him curiously. "That's ... good?"
"Yeah." Jensen nods. "I know you won't believe this --" he laughs, ruefully. "He had drinks with Jason before he decided to go to Hawaii for that show."
Three sets of blue eyes narrow in his direction, but Jensen shrugs off their gaze. "Ian's got someone new in his life, and I, well, I have you all. I'm fine. Great news, huh?"
Chris still looks grim, and Mike gestures at Jared.
"What?" asks Jensen.
"He's still wearing the damned tights," says Mike.
Jensen sighs; sometimes they are such guys.
"I got this," he tells them. He stretches in the aisle, hands over his head, vertebrae popping. He looks at Jared, then Chris. "Whaddya figure, 220?"
"About that, yeah."
Jensen shakes his head. "Been a long time since I did this," he mutters.
He pushes the blanket up into the crease of the couch, swings Jared's legs up, tugs him flat, rolls him into the back of the couch, pulls the blanket under him and in the blink of an eye, Jared's lying on his stomach, stretched out on the couch.
"Where'd you learn that?" asks Mike, he sounds impressed.
"Worked the night shift in a nursing home, " Jensen says, "back in the day. Chris was busking."
"And Jason?"
Chris growls, "Can I never hear that fucker's name on this bus again?"
Putting up his hands, Mike says, "Sorry."
Chris stands stiff with anger and remembered resentment. Tom stands and says, "I'm gonna get us some beers."
Mike shakes his head. "I think this is older than either of us. Come on in the back, I've got scotch."
Making note of where the red marks are on Jared's back, Jensen lays the tshirt over him, opens Jim's cooler, and places the cold packs over those areas. Chris's voice startles him. "I need a minute, Jens. You okay?" At Jensen's nod, Chris goes up front to sit in the jump seat by Jim, and watch the highway roll before them. It's something he has always done when he'd really rather punch someone.
Jensen lets himself actually stare down at Jared. What he feels for the kid makes what he felt for Ian inconsequential.
He's still in tights, and Jensen knows there isn't anything under them. He didn't need Paris's peep show to know that; he shares the same damned dressing room. He slides the tights down over Jared's ass. He looks at that ass a lot, dancing in front of him, and he's seen Jared naked before. Now, his cock stirs in response. He wants to trace the firm muscles, run his fingers down the shadowed crack. He draws sharp breath. This isn't for him. Another tug, and he realizes the tights are caught in front. Jensen closes his eyes, reaches around to lever Jared's hips up, freeing his cock from the tug of the spandex. He palms Jared, tells himself it's to be sure he doesn't hurt him, and damn if that solid length doesn't feel like a gift. He allows himself just a moment to think about what he would do with that, what they could be.
Jared mutters something Jensen can't quite make out, but it brings him out of his reverie.
He skins the tights down, gently freeing them from Jared's feet. There's a bruise darkening on Jared's ass, and he still doesn't want to put ice on that bare skin. He draws the blanket over Jared; they keep the bus cold. Jared has flannel pajama pants and he goes back to Jared's bunk to fetch them. The contents of Jared's bag are still strewn across his bunk where Jensen spilled them, and the flannel pants he remembers are under the brown notebook he's seen Jared writing in a hundred times. He wants to read it, to understand the Choirboy better, but his sense of personal space won't let him. He puts it back in Jared's bag and brings the pajama pants to the front. Putting them on Jared is a bigger challenge than taking off the tights, but Jensen manages without molesting his band mate.
Jensen sits in the banquette, back against the windows, watching Jared sleep.
Target Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Jared looks around. It's after sound check. Chris goes down the street to go do a radio interview, Jensen's talking to Danneel, and Mike's in the production office. He decides to stretch out for a little, maybe with a heating pad, and the only sofa long enough for that is on the bus. He leaves the building with a nod to the security guard. Ambling across the covered spot, he unlocks the door, and climbs on. Tom is sprawled in the penthouse, and wipes his hand over his face as Jared steps in.
"You okay, man?" asks Jared.
Tom shakes his head no, looking lost.
"Want me to get Mike, or is there something I can do?"
"No, there's nothin' anyone can do."
Jared can hear himself thinking in the silence that follows. Jensen, Tom, Chris, they're going to be his family, and family is everything. Jared the wedding singer could maybe walk away, although he doesn't like to think so. He isn't gonna be that guy. It would be like turning his back on Alona, or kicking a puppy to leave Tom to sort this out alone. He grabs two beers from the fridge and flops onto the big bed next to Tom, offering him one.
"So?"
"Not your baggage, Jared." Tom says, taking the beer and pulling half of it down in one long swallow.
"It is, if you meant what you said last week." Jared pauses, then nods. "Momma says trouble shared is easier to carry."
"I called home." Tom says, just barely loudly enough for Jared to hear him.
"Yeah?"
"I've been sending them checks every month. Since I left, you know?"
"I didn't know."
"Yeah, well how could you? A couple months ago, they quit cashing them. So I called."
"Yeah?"
"Before I left home, Jared, I came out. Told my parents. They told me not to come back."
"Oh." Jared runs through options, then decides there is nothing he can possibly say to that.
"Before I met Mike. Before, hell, before I knew anything."
"But you knew, something."
Tom laughs. "When the prom queen came on to me and I was more interested in her consort, yeah, I knew then. Before that, too."
"And?"
"Well, you're Texas, you know how it is."
Jared shakes his head. "Wasn't that way for me. Momma said there's someone for everyone, never fussed about what they had below the waist, but yeah. Yeah, I know."
"So, I didn't look back."
Jared makes an encouraging noise, all the while grateful for how lucky he's been in the scheme of things.
"My dad."
Jared waits, thinks, and gets more beer, switching out Tom's empty for a fresh one.
"My dad died four months ago, Jared, and no one called to tell me."
"Tom."
"Jared, no one told me."
"Tom, it might not be that. Could they call you? Do they have a number for you that works? Do they have your cell? Mike's? Or even the studio number?" Tom looks bewildered and Jared barely keeps himself from shaking, remembering the call he'd received on the Idol set. "If my momma didn't have my number, a whole list of them, didn't have me updating her every time we change something in the cellular plan, she couldn't find me either."
"What're you saying?"
"I'm saying they might have tried, Tom. Your dad, for fuck's sake."
Tom tips his head back. "Jared, they ..."
"Don't burn them at the stake if you're not sure. If you're sure, I'll light the match."
Jared's late getting on the bus after the show because Francis trapped him in a closed door meeting, but he and Chris are the only people on board when he gets there, save for Jim. He tosses his socks and boots into his bunk and flops across the long bench seat without interfering with Chris, who's playing softly in one corner. A pillow falls off the back of the couch, and Jared pulls it into his lap. Tom and Jensen come on a few minutes later, swapping drinks straight from a half empty bottle of Jack.
Chris raises his eyebrows as they stumble into the banquette. Tom slams his knee into the table and Jensen laughs uproariously. Chris looks at Jared who turns his hands up and shrugs. Mike is just behind them, and Jim barely waits long enough for him to shut the drape before the bus is moving away from the venue and picking up speed. He looks at Tom, who cradles the bottle as far away from Mike as he can get it. Mike smiles at him and ruffles his hair. "Tough day."
Tom nods, his eyes suspiciously bright.
Mike reaches down into an under seat bin and pulls out a bottle of scotch and a glass tumbler. "Private party?"
"Nah. Just rememberin' stuff."
Jensen's eyes are at half mast.
Chris goes back to playing, a trick Jared's grown wise to. He does that when he wants to hear the conversation, but not be part of it. Jared thinks about clearing the bench and taking to his bunk, about putting in his ear-buds or playing a video game on his phone, but Chris's booted foot nudges his bare one. He looks at Chris, who mimes laying his head back. Not a problem, thinks Jared, since he's already supine, and closes his eyes, pretending sleep. Mike slides into the banquette next to Jensen so he can look at Tom.
"Rememberin' what?" asks Mike, pouring himself a generous drink.
"How I got here."
Mike takes a drink and doesn't say anything..
"You know, I came straight to LA when I left home, me and Alexis. Went on every audition I could get, just like everyone. Quit playing lead, because everyone wanted to stand at the front, focused on bass. Thank God I can count."
"Yeah, not too many bass players know where four is no matter what they're playin'," slurs Jensen, grabbing the bottle from Tom and taking a long pull before handing it back and slumping bonelessly into the side of the bus.
Jared watches him through slitted eyes. He's never seen Jensen trashed. The overhead light casts a shadow on his face, the fan of his lashes sooty from his stage makeup. Jared wants him; he forces his attention back to the conversation, glad for the pillow in his lap.
"Nah, man," Tom says, "Andy knew where four was."
Jensen snorts. His eyes are still closed. "Andy knew where LA was. From the time he got his first tat, we knew he'd leave once we got there. S'when Jason made me and Chris promise." He hiccups and laughs. "Made us promise it would be us three forever, 'cause forever wasn't for any of us otherwise."
Mike drains his tumbler and pours himself another. Jared wonders absently why Mike's bottle of scotch is always half full.
Dipping into his shirt pocket, Tom comes up with a joint, then digs in his jeans pockets for a lighter. Mike nods over at the cup holder. "Should be one in there." Tom nods, and fishes out a pink one. He holds it for a minute and laughs. "They're always pink."
"I only buy pink ones," answers Mike.
They share a look, and Tom brushes the back of Mike's hand where it's lying on the table. He lights up, dragging the smoke into his lungs and holding it. Jensen sniffs and holds out his hand, eyes still closed. Tom passes it and Jensen takes a hit, holding it out to Mike, who hits it too, and hands it back to Chris. Chris passes it back to Mike, and neither Tom nor Jensen notices the detour.
"I remember your audition," says Mike.
"Yeah?"
"Andy gave the band notice before he had those inch wide plugs put in his ears. Said he really wanted to play fast, to play hard."
Jensen grimaces. "Stuff he's doing now sounds like cars crashing. I hear he's happy."
Mike has to swallow past his laugh and chokes a little, before he continues. "You were all set to go into the studio, and we only had ten guys worth listening to."
"You made us listen to all ten, too, you fucker," snorts Jensen, "even though Tom was first."
"Had to be thorough."
"Made the right choice," says Jensen. "Think we did all right."
"Did all right with the Choirboy, too," says Tom.
Jared wills himself to stay still, pretending sleep.
He can feel Jensen studying him, like he always knows when Jensen's looking at him. "He sure has them eatin' out of his hand."
"Not you though."
"Oh, me too," Jensen sighs. "Me too. He's good. Too good for me. He'll kick ass on Idol next year, which sucks, 'cause he'd be great for Chris's new band. But AI's money. I can see why he'd do that. S'all good."
He drifts on the last words, and Tom says, “Jensen, you’re babbling. Jared’s not going to AI, Chris doesn’t have a new…wait, am I missing something?”
Chris grunts. “Jen’s drunk. And living in his head again.” He picks out the intro of Enter Sandman, soft as a lullabye. “You know, with the funhouse mirrors? And stupid and wrong and stubborn and…” He pauses, waiting for a reaction. Jensen snores and Mike chuckles.
Tom takes another hit off the bottle, empties it. Mike finishes his drink, stands up and washes out his glass in the tiny sink, swaying with the motion of the bus. He puts the glass and the bottle back in the drawer, and holds his hand out to Tom. "Come on. Jared and Chris can put Jensen to bed, seeing as how they're still awake." He gives Chris's foot a gentle kick.
Tom stands and loses his balance as the bus takes a left, falling onto Jared, who catches him before he's emasculated. "Why does Jensen think I'm going to Idol?" Jared asks.
"'Cause he's stupid that way."
"No, I mean it. I'm not leaving."
Tom hugs him, plants a wet kiss on his cheek and snuggles into him. "I know. You're family, man. We are one fucked up family, but you're ours."
Jared hugs him back, and manhandles him up to Mike, who jams his shoulder into Tom's armpit.
"Family. You're my family," says Tom, leaning over to buss Chris on the cheek too.
Chris wipes his cheek on his t-shirt and growls at Tom. "No more of that."
Tom giggles, and hooks his fingers into Mike's waistband, following him into the penthouse.
Chris looks at Jared. "Beer?"
"Sure."
He gets two out of the refrigerator, opens them and holds on to the counter as Jim takes another turn, sliding into the seat Mike just vacated.
Jared stretches and slides in across from him. Jensen breathes softly in sleep.
"So," says Chris. "You got questions?"
"Lots."
"I got one for you first, though."
Jared nods.
Chris considers his beer, and doesn't look up. "What about Cowell?"
"It was the right thing then." He looks at Chris thoughtfully. "Now, it would be settling. This," he gestures around him, "is so much better. What I want."
Chris nods. "Ask, then. The Oracle may choose to answer. I got a Magic 8 ball here someplace."
"Jens --"
Chris cuts him off. "No, that's off limits."
Jared nods, and considers his next question. "Was Tom with Mike back then?"
"Nah. He was the best player though; Mike's always been able to spot talent." Chris takes a long pull off his beer, and eyes Jared over the bottle neck. "Shouldn't really tell you their story, should make you find it out, but we lived it, and you shouldn't draw the wrong conclusions 'cause you weren't there." Chris makes up his mind. "So, I'll tell you. We trust you, Jared, but some stuff you're gonna have to figure out yourself." His eyes flick to the left, too quickly to be deliberate.
Jared knows he means Jensen, why he never brings anyone up to the dressing room, why he doesn't talk about who he has back home. He motions to Chris's beer, and Chris nods. Jared gets up to get another round, trying to sort out what Chris is telling him, because Chris is definitely trying to tell him something. He opts to listen, like Chris has had him listening all night; he's a pretty good learner. He puts the beer down in front of Chris, slides in across from him, and waits.
"We were in Europe, night train from Rome to Munich. Tom was sharing a compartment with Jason, who just couldn't keep it in his pants. He put a sock on the doorknob, and locked Tom out in the middle of the fuckin' night. Tom knocked on Mike's door just looking for bunk space and, well, that's when it started. It was a couple weeks before Jensen spotted it. I walked in on them in Dublin a couple days later." He laughs. "I knew about Tom, everyone knows Tom's... enthusiastic. But Mike, I thought he was about as sexual as a Ken doll. Know better now. Scarred for life, even."
Jared puts his head in his hands and lets out a snort. "Wild Irish Rose."
Chris smiles. "Too good a pun to pass up." He takes another drink. "We keep our shit internal, Jared. Public is a different thing."
"Not offstage until the bus doors close," says Jared. "Someone pretty smart told me that once."
"Family." Chris takes a slow pull off his beer.
"What was Jason, then?" asks Jared.
"Jason wanted to be a rock star. Rock stars don’t have family; they have people."
They sit in silence, and Chris stands up. Jared looks at him, solemnly. "I'm not Jason. Family's everything."
Chris nods, and looks at Jensen.
Jared takes a breath, and asks. "So, what do I do?"
Chris doesn't make him explain; he knows what and why Jared is asking.
"Talk to him, man."
Jared nods. "I will."
"Come on, you get his shoulders, I'll get his feet."
They slide Jensen out of the booth and carry him down the hallway. Jared slides him into his bunk, and Chris pulls off his boots before tucking his feet in. Jensen rolls over on his side, and Jared wants nothing more than to climb right in with him. Tomorrow, he decides, tomorrow he needs to talk to Jensen.
Murat Theater, Indianapolis, IN
Jensen knows Jared's been trying to get him alone all day to talk, but it isn't until they're in the dressing room after the show, after the meet and greet, that he gives him the chance. Chris left earlier with a blonde; Mike and Tom are having a late dinner with friends. Jim has the bus in to have something looked at it, so he and Jared get to pretend they're grown up and can get a cab back to the hotel. Except Jensen doesn't feel very grown up.
"Jensen, I need to talk to you, tell you something." Jared starts.
Jensen's had a month to think about how attracted he is to Jared, and how bad it could be for the band if he acts on it. He's so sure Jared's gonna quit this craziness, go back to Cowell, maybe not that, maybe go home, raise babies. "You and Alona have a bun in the oven," he ventures.
"What?! That would be awkward as hell. She's my sister." He thinks for a minute. "Incest, dude, gross!"
Jensen feels a wave of relief. "I didn't know she was your sister. Idol, then?"
"You knew about that?"
Jensen reminds himself he owes Kristin a cookie. "Dude, music industry."
"Yeah, and then when Francis grabbed me after the show I was..."
"Wait, after last night's show?"
"Uh, yeah? But it's not like it matters." Jared looks at him blankly. "All the legal stuff is worked out now; Cowell can't force me back."
Jensen stifles the urge to shake him. Or maybe kiss him. "Solo contract, man. Idol's a machine, but it's a machine that sells records, gets you on award shows."
"I don't want to be the American Idol, Jensen. Why would I sign my soul over to Simon Cowell, if I can be the singer in the new band?"
"You could be rich. You could be famous."
"I could be happy. We could be rich, famous is overrated, and I don't want it alone. I'm not Jason." Jared digs his fingers into his hair, mindful of the extensions. "I don't want any of it without you." Jensen is pretty sure Jared means a collective 'you'. He can't mean Jensen alone, since fate just isn't that kind, but Jared's still talking. "You don't get it either, do you? I... I've been following the band for a long time. When I was a senior in high school, I blew out my knee playing football, and had a lot of rehab time with my iPod. With MTV, you guys were all over it, behind the scenes, up and coming, you know."
"I remember. There were camera crews 24/7. It was... intrusive." Well, he thinks, that's one mystery solved. "That's how you knew about Milo and the cymbal."
"Yeah. Well, that and the forums. I did read them, you know." He takes a deep breath and blurts, "I already knew I liked guys."
"Uh huh. Wait, you like guys?"
He nods. "Guys, yeah. More importantly, I like you. You're on my bedroom wall, Jensen, been there since I first saw you. I woke up with you, went to sleep with you. I jerked off thinking of you. I feel like a damned stalker some days."
"Uh huh. What then, was Adrienne? The chick with the purple hair?"
"Ten minutes of ancient history. It was her brother I liked, after all. Then, Mike. Oh, hell. That's not what I meant to say. I'm responsible for my own dick, after all. I know that guy, the guy you were in front of the camera, that isn't you."
"Uh huh."
"You're not that guy," Jared repeats, softly.
"No." Jensen closes his eyes, tips his head back, "I'm really not." He waits for Jared to tell him he dreams about bending him over a counter, a table, or even more likely, Jensen on his knees in front of him. He's heard it all before. Hears it still, in Jason’s mocking tones, reminding him that all anyone wants from him is his mouth or his ass or his eyes, that fairy tales are for girls and not fags, that guys like Jensen don’t get what they want. He's been hoping he never had to hear it again. He should have known better than to let himself want Jared. He does know better. It doesn't keep him from wanting, and this, this conversation might just wreck him.
Jared kneels on the floor next to Jensen's chair, sitting back on his heels, eyes fixed on the rug. "I always thought if I ever met you, you know, in the grocery store, a bar, whatever, I'd ask you out. I never dreamed I'd be in this position, seeing you every day, living on the bus with you."
"Jared, I--"
"The guy on TV, he's all polished, doesn't give anything away. He doesn't play Xbox, or worry about Danni's massages. You're the real thing, a guy I want to be around, not that caricature I had this massive crush on."
Jensen is taken aback. "You what?"
"Lemme finish, okay," asks Jared, flashing a quick glance at Jensen, "because I don't think I can do this twice."
"Go on," says Jensen.
"I want this to work, this band. Working with you. I like you. I like Chris and Tom, Nick, too. Hell, I like Mike, and that's scary as anything. I want to work with you, sing with this band, the new band. The music--" he waves his hands in the air, "it's everything I ever wanted. But Jensen, I like you more'n that, different than that, more'n I can believe. I need to know how to go on."
Jensen starts to say something, Jared cuts him off.
"See, I think, sometimes, that there's something there. That maybe you're at least bi. I can't do this without telling you how I feel, Jensen. That'd be like lying. I wanted this conversation out of the way first."
Jensen's trying to process this spill of information. That Jared likes guys, that he likes Jensen, that he, what the fuck, the kid doesn't know he's gay? Doesn't the kid know he makes Jensen's mouth water?
"I can put this behind me," Jared continues, "forget it ever happened, and I'll be sorry for it, but I can't help how I feel. I have to put it out there, see if maybe there's a chance for something with you. Dammit, Jensen, you and I could be so good together." He makes a frustrated noise. "I'm not doin' this very well, but I want you in my life when we're not onstage."
Jared meets Jensen's gaze, and everything he's feeling is in his remarkable eyes. Jensen's lost the ability to breathe; no one looking at Jared could doubt his sincerity.
"So, I want to know if you would," asks Jared.
"Would what?" asks Jensen, cautiously.
"You know, " says Jared, gesturing with both hands.
"I truly don't, Jared."
Jared takes a deep breath. "Go out with me. Date."
"What?!" sputters Jensen. It's really not what he was expecting.
"Date. You know? Get to know each other?"
"Jared,--"
Jared's head drops, and he folds up, a picture of misery. "Fuck, Jensen, it's cool, I get you're not interested. I'm sorry, didn't mean to put you on the spot. This conversation never happened."
"Say it again."
Jared looks up at him, eyes glossy with unshed tears and lost opportunity.
"Say it," says Jensen, "again. Jared, ask the gay fuckin' drummer what he wants for Christmas."
"I ... you are?! "
"You want to date,." Jensen's heart beats faster., "M-me. You don't just want to... Jared, I..." Jensen feels himself break into that smile, like when they've got it right on the first take in the studio.
Jared starts up onto his knees.
Jensen takes a breath, and calmly says, "So, ask."
"Someday," Jared says, "when you are not the boss of me, if I were to ask you on a date, what would you say?"
"Your BOSS?" Jensen couldn't be more startled if fireworks exploded under his chair.
"Yeah, well, I could never date my boss."
"I'm... I..." Jensen stammers, working his brain around this new hurdle.
"You are," Jared says, very quietly. "Chris and Tom are, too. Twelve shows, singing Jason's part. The tights - the hair."
"Won't be that way always," Jensen says. He thinks he hid that surge of desire, but the look on Jared's face tells him he didn't do it very well. "If you were to ask me on a date, at some time in the future when you are not the short term contract replacement singer in this band?"
Jared nods.
Jensen licks his lips, and Jared's eyes go dark, a blush working its way across his face and chest.
"Guess you'll just have to ask."
Jared must know there's want in his eyes when he stands up. Jensen can see the tip of Jared's cock, and it's wet, glistening. It's exceeded the space available in his tights to peek over the waistband, right at Jensen's eye level. Jensen licks his lips again and Jared starts toward the shower, stopping to swipe his thumb over Jensen's lower lip and slip it into his own mouth.
Jensen shivers, feels his pulse pound in his groin. "Jared?"
Jared turns to look at him.
"We'll go on as we go on."
Jared nods, and walks by. Jensen groans, and Jared gets the last word. "I will ask."
Susquehanna Bank Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Jared glances past Jim; there's a woman standing outside the bus, but she's not trying to see inside. There's a duffle bag and a rolling case by her feet, and she's watching the building. He recognizes the Drinker's Forum logo on her t-shirt as her arm tugs at the strap of her laptop case to untangle it from a bracelet on her wrist. He doesn't recognize her; one of a million people that everyone else knows and he doesn't, he thinks, as he pushes open the door and crosses in front of the bus to greet her.
She looks up and he keeps his smile even as her eyes widen.
"Hi!" she says, as she sticks one hand out, then withdraws it when he's slow to respond, leaving him with his hand out like a doofus, then whacks his hand with the back of hers as she overcompensates. "I'm not a stalker. Really. I have a letter, here, with directions and everything."
"Um, okay. Hadn't considered the idea of a stalker, but, well, thanks for planting the idea in my head."
She laughs nervously and he asks, "So, who are you?"
"Aly...um..Autumn. I'm Autumn. Falling Leaves?"
"And football season and Hallowe'en, usually."
She draws back in confusion and Mike's hand comes to rest on Jared's shoulder, startling him and Aly-um-Autumn. Mike says, "Username FallingLeaves, or more exactly, moderator FallingLeaves and remind me some day to explain to you the concept of stage names, Mr. My-Last-Name-Gave-The-Spellchecker-A-Nervous-Breakdown."
"Hey, just because everyone else became Smith at Ellis Island..." Jared protests but Mike pulls the girl around the bus and walks away, so Jared has to spin to follow them. "And you're giving me shit, Rosenbaum?" He slides in as the door whooshes shut behind him, nearly knocking the girl's hat off as he steps up.
Mike hands her up into the room and she stands with her elbow tucked into her ribs and a tight, uncomfortable smile on her face. "Hey, Aldis, Tom," he says, "this is Autumn. She's been wrangling the Drinker's Forum, I'm bringing her on to do webmaster stuff."
"Aly?" asks Tom.
"No, Autumn," corrects Mike, absently.
"Aly!" Tom jumps up and hurries over to hug the redhead. Mike looks perplexed and Jared shrugs at him.
She hugs him back, "Tommy!"
Tom beams at Mike over the top of her head. "This is Aly. I haven't seen her in what? Seven years? Not since I left home." He holds her out at arm's length. "You... Oh, Aly! Baby!"
"Not a baby."
"Still little."
"Just because you’re ginormous."
Jared clears his throat and moves towards the doors, pulling Mike with him.
"What--" begins Mike.
"No idea. I think they need a minute. Have you ever seen Tom so happy to see a woman?"
"No, actually," says Mike, and his eyes narrow. Jared thinks they have turned green, as well.
"Don't go, you guys. This is my cousin." He turns to the redhead. "You want ginormous, come meet Jared."
Jared waves says "We've met."
Tom pulls Aly onto the bench beside him and asks, "How’s Aunt June?"
Aly rolls her eyes and Jared snickers softly, as she wiggles to face Tom. "Mom’s good. She sends her love. We didn't see you at the funeral."
The bus door opens and Chris and Jensen climb on, looking from Mike to Tom to Aly.
"I didn't know there was a funeral to be seen at."
"Huh?"
"I didn’t know about it. Mother never called. I found out last week."
"Last week? He died back before – um."
"Yeah."
“I’m sorry.”
“For my dad being a dick?”
“For not knowing what was going on.”
“Right. You're apologizing because your folks moved into the twenty-first century and left mine in the 19th.”
“Mom’s only in the twentieth. She’s still using AOL. Still, I’m a little pissed at Mom.”
“Aly! Don’t diss Aunt June. Remember how I moved in with ya’ll for a month?”
“Yeah? Oh! Yeah.”
“Yeah. I love your mom.”
“I love my mom, too. She’s pretty pissed at your mom, though.”
“I’m actually kind of okay with that.”
Jared's standing crowded into one end of the living area of the bus, wondering how he got teleported into this soap opera when Chris drawls, dry as Oklahoma dust, “At some point you are going to have to introduce us to your new girlfriend, Tom. We know Mike already.”
Qwest Center,
Omaha, Nebraska
The bus has to be bigger than it feels, Aly thinks as she tries to keep her elbows in and the laptop from banging into curtained areas. One's open far enough to show a pillow, and a sock is peeping from the end of another, but they don't look big enough to hold grown men and she sighs. Its the same as in the pictures, but it's all so different. Mike's sitting on a couch at the back of the bus. There's a door and she puts one hand on the handle, but he shakes his head. She glances over her shoulder. From here, he can see the length of the bus but not actually be in the main section. She glances around as quickly as she can bring herself to, then sits and tugs her lapttop out of the padded case. He gives her a nod, hits the keyboard of his own laptop, and asks, "So, is this what you expected?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I thought these were living quarters. The bunks are..." she waves toward the main part of the bus and he nods again.
"Think of them as cocoons."
"That's ... " she tries for a cool look of professional interest but gives up and grins. "Okay, yeah, that's ridiculously cool."
He pushes, "And the rest of it? Full access, partial disclosure, you restrict what I tell you to hide, release when I say so and not a moment before."
"Corporate tool, at your service."
He doesn't smile. "Bullshit. If I wanted that, I'd hire an agency. I'm giving you a lot of leeway, here. And I'll admit that the surprise out there... I really don't like being surprised."
"I didn't know that he didn't know! You said that the guys knew that --"
He waves one hand and she bites her tongue. This is the boss, okay maybe he doesn't sign the checks, but really he is and she's a little off-balance. He glances up and twists his lips in what he might consider a smile, but she wouldn't. "Consider it proof that I'm not actually omniscient. We won't let anyone else know."
She tilts her head to one side, trying to guess if he is joking and he keeps his face still, not giving her a clue. There's a soft knock behind her and she can't keep from jumping. Chris leans into the doorway and nods to Mike but speaks to Aly. "So, you’re FallingLeaves?"
She's pinned by the bag and the laptop, so she doesn't try to stand and shake hands, just twists backwards and waves with the hand that isn't keeping everything from sliding off her lap. "Um, yeah. Autumn. Or Aly. Um, or Alison actually. Um, hi?"
He waits for her to stop, then says, "Thanks."
"Okay, you're welcome. Can I ask for what?" she asks, curiosity winning over nerves. This is Chris Kane, after all, the whole Forum knows he's her favorite.
Chris closes his eyes and speaks in a careful tone, as though he's reading words off the insides of his eyelids. “'… the unmitigated gall of an academic whose manufactured environment considers itself above not only the tenets of common sense but of common decency.’ Your response to the thesis student from Smith, feministfan.”
Aly blushes. “Did I write that? Well, she pissed me off. I’m surprised you could find it after all this time. We’ve changed formats twice since then.”
“I printed it out.”
Mike says, "Let me make one more introduction. FallingLeaves, meet NativeTxn." He hitches on the pronunciation to show the missing letters. She feels herself go white. He doesn't smile. That lets her keep her temper.
Chris ducks his head. "Mike warned me back when we were first talking about bringing you on. I, uh... well, he's kind of freaky - knows everything."
"Omniscient," she whispers and Chris nods. She has to clear her throat to say, "We've been messaging for years and you never said it was important. In fact, you never said you were you!"
"That's why I registered the username that first time, to say thank you. I figured I should say it again when you know it's me."
He turns and leaves. She watches him walk away, admiring the view before it sinks in that he's both a member of the band she's working for and the guy she's been online friends with for four years. She slumps back into the seat, but stares at her desktop photo of Thunderbird Wine. If she has reason to be careful of her real identity online, he has too. Aly looks at Mike and says, "He said he was banned from the forums, but I'm the mod and he's not banned and never was, but he didn't mean me. He meant the whole label thing, about the guys not being on the... um... he printed it out?"
"He has a three ring binder, keeps everything important to him in hard copy. Some asshole, maybe feministfan herself, mailed him a copy of her thesis and I didn’t spot it first, so it’s on top of his handwritten original copy of Wooden Box. I can’t get him to throw it away, but I got Jensen to staple your message to the front, as a reminder, so he has to see it first when he decides to get drunk and maudlin."
"Yikes."
"There’s a reason I discourage them from reading the forums. Or IMing with someone that's an unknown."
Suddenly his half smile doesn't seem so cold. "I do what I can." Moderators in real life, she thinks and wonders how heavy a RL banhammer would be. Two handed, at least.
"And I do the rest."
"So," she says, accepting it all with a grin, "how do you want me to handle the rumors that Jared's going back to American Idol?"
At the front of the bus, Tom bellows.
"Jesus, Tom, you didn't know she was your cousin! How in hell was I supposed to know?" shouts Chris.
"Hey, Tom," calls Jensen, "is that Aly's natural hair color?"
She twists again in the seat to glare, then digs her heels in so she can be half facing the door and half facing Mike. Tom looks startled, but not as much as Jensen does when Chris hits him in the head with an empty paper coffee cup. "Shut up."
Aly's laptop beeps and she looks down.
>NativeTxn: Sorry. You mad?
Tom slaps Jared's legs off the seat, laughing, and Mike clears his throat. Aly blushes. “Sorry, someone trying to get me to chat."
"Doesn’t that normally require a friend? Or at least a phone?" he asks. He waves a hand, "Never mind, take a second. We are all slaves with electronic collars." He glances down at his own. With her new angle, she can see the corner of the Drinker's Forum open chat layout. She glances at his eyes and he's watching her carefully at the edge of his vision. Omniscient, she thinks, and glances down again. >NativeTxn: Luddite.
Jensen pokes his head in. "Thanks for the galleries."
"You look at those?" she blushes.
"Well, not the ones I’m in. Not those galleries for sure. I did see the update you did on Andy. Nice to know he’s doing well."
Aly ducks her head. "For certain definitions of well. He’s playing lead in that death metal band and I’m not entirely sure that all that stuff on his face is makeup. "
"He's doing what he wants to do." Jensen turns to go. "I figure that’s as good as any of us get."
>FallingLeaves: So Chris.
>NativeTxn Hmmm?
>FallingLeaves: You ever look at the Encounters section of the Forum?
>NativeTxn: I don't. After the thing with the thesis
>NativeTxn: Mike said I shouldn't... Why?
>FallingLeaves: Girls that have been with you talk.
>NativeTxn: Ah, shit.
>FallingLeaves: Did you really keep Cinnamint in your bunk for a week?
>NativeTxn: Aly.
>FallingLeaves: What?
>NativeTxn: Why?
>FallingLeaves: Some of the things she said you did sounded pretty hot.
>NativeTxn: I'm no Choirboy - oh wait, that's Jared, I can't say that anymore. *laughs*
>FallingLeaves: No changing the subject.
>NativeTxn: You're the only girl ever rode on our bus, and you have your own damn bunk.
"Come on, Aly, you'll want to see this, but you cannot blog it, not yet." Mike motions her into the dressing room, and the fullness of her black tunic swirls. "Best to wear black on the side of the stage," he says approvingly. She hasn't been introduced to the man beside him, but she notes a description automatically: tall, dark hair, a look on his face like he's thinking hard.
Francis stands with his back to the mirror, leaning against the counter. "...so, now that we have Cowell sorted out, that's what we're offering you."
All four of the band are standing, Chris looks at Jensen who nods confidently. Tom puts an arm around each of them, and the three of them stand looking at Jared.
"Oh, good. Nick's here, too." Francis motions the stranger into the circle of their discussion.
"Well, Choirboy?" asks Chris. "It's just like we talked about yesterday. You and Nick, full partners."
Jared whoops, and wraps the newcomer and the three of them up in his ridiculously long arms. Aly can't tell if the moisture on his face is sweat or tears, and she's feeling like a fish out of water, drawing conclusions for herself. Francis smiles, and holds out his pen. Aly looks at Mike, a slow smile building. "How long?"
"You can post tomorrow, after the band is onstage."
When they're done signing the contract, Mike and Francis shake hands.
Jared is doing the happy dance, not exactly like he's sugar high, but close, and the rest of them look at him with amused tolerance, waiting for him to get to the point. He sings. "I don't work for you no more. I don't work for you no more. I don't work for you, no, I don't work for you, no, I don't work for you no more." He whirls in place with his arms open then stops and looks straight at Jensen. "I suggest you remember that."
Chris smiles softly. "Whichever one of you has trouble walking and sitting tomorrow? I do not want to know." He throws Aly a look, and she busies herself with putting away her glasses and pulling the band out of her hair, not meeting his eyes.
Tom falls over himself laughing, and Chris heads for the liquor. He pours two scotches, hands one to Mike and one to Francis. They bump their glasses in a toast, and Aly starts to wonder how long Mike's been planning this whole event. Chris looks at her and asks, "Aly, Kentucky Bourbon? Tennessee Rye?"
"Not sure I'm entitled," she says, "but I could do with some Wild Turkey."
Chris nods. "Let's go meet the jackals, huh, and Wild Turkey it is." He offers her a glass and his arm.
"Aly, are you sure you were never blonde?" asks Jensen with a smirk, and Chris flips him off and pulls her towards him, before she can ask anything.
Mike slaps Tom on the shoulder and Jensen watches them, stripping tape from his fingers.
Jared stands in the middle of the room, looking at Jensen. "You're not the boss of me."
"Ask," says Jensen.
"Wanna go on a date?"
"How about we just go back to the hotel?"
"Do I want to know this?" asks Francis.
"Probably not," Mike answers. "I ordered them a limo."
Aly files that under confidential, and leaves the room on Chris's arm. --o0o--
"I love Omaha." says Jared, with a grin. The street lights paint shadows on his face that light and vanish; Jensen thinks it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, and his chest tightens.
"You do? Why?"
"Because it's the first time."
"First time you were ever in Omaha?"
"First time I'm gonna swallow your cock."
"Jesus, Jared."
"Jensen?"
"Hmmm?"
"Don't fuck up my fantasy." He puts his hands gently on either side of Jensen's face. "You okay with this?"
"There isn't anything to not be okay with."
"Is it okay if I touch you?"
Jensen smiles. "You touch me all the time. You're the original touchy feely guy."
"I like touching you."
Jensen looks serious. "You touch everyone."
"Not like this." Jared leans down to place a soft kiss on Jensen's left cheekbone, then his right.
"No," Jensen agrees.
"Not like this." Jared touches his mouth to Jensen's.
Jensen's lips part under Jared's and Jared groans, low and needy, before his tongue dances, exploring the inside of Jensen's mouth, until he breaks the kiss.
His hands drift down Jensen's shoulders, down his chest to his waist. "Not like this." The hands continue downwards, and Jensen gasps as the car pulls up to the hotel. --o0o--
Jared takes that last half step until his hips meet Jensen's. He's already hard, and so is Jensen. Jared gives another husky laugh, and it goes straight to Jensen’s cock. He knows he isn't going to last long if he doesn't step away, but he can't do that either. Jared's hands slide under Jensen's shirt, when he grinds hard into him.
"I know," gasps Jensen, "you wanted this to be a date --" He grinds again, and Jared gives mewl of pleasure that comes from deep in his throat; he pulls Jensen's hips closer, just for a moment. Then his hands move up, stripping Jensen's tee over his head, drawing a gasping breath of his own at the expanse of skin that's revealed. He rests his hands on Jensen's hips and drinks in the sight.
"You've seen me before, Jared," Jensen says. He reaches for Jared's waist, while Jared's hands ghost over his skin, going to the button of his jeans while Jensen fumbles with Jared's belt. Jared makes quick work of opening Jensen's fly, and stills. He holds Jensen's gaze and Jensen doesn't blink, as Jared strokes his jeans down, past the jutting hip bones, over his ass, down his thighs, until he's crouching at Jensen's feet without ever losing eye contact.
"Yeah," he whispers, "but I could never touch like this, before. Or taste."
Jensen shivers, and Jared goes to his knees, taking the time to get an eyeful before he locks Jensen's gaze again. "I've wanted this - you - for so long." He dips his head to suck the inside of Jensen's thigh. Jensen's cock is hard, purple, and leaking, and Jensen throws his head back, thighs open.
Jared slowly circles the head of Jensen's cock with his tongue.
Jensen is panting now, but he looks steadily at Jared. "So hot, your mouth, your eyes. Jesus wept, that eyeliner is so hot."
"Check," Jared mumbles, mouth full of Jensen. He draws off. "The eyeliner stays."
Jensen knows his eyes have gone dark, and Jared chuckles, pushing Jensen into the arm chair by the table.
Jensen smiles, and arches his back as Jared suckles his way down the side of his cock. Jared licks Jensen into his mouth, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing, beginning a rhythm that has Jensen's hands fluttering on the arm rest. Jensen gasps out Jared's name and Jared opens his throat. Jensen thrusts once and stills, then Jared swallows, the muscles in his throat working Jensen's cock, and he's gone, hands digging into the upholstered arms of the chair. Jared swallows and swallows again, and Jensen comes half out of the chair with a strangled shout as Jared's throat fills.
Jensen slumps back into the chair, heart racing, breathing like he's run a sprint. When he finally opens his eyes, Jared's grinning at him, licking his lips.
"Hi."
"Dude," Jensen pants, waving his hand inarticulately.
"That's what I wanted to hear."
Jared pulls him onto his feet and steers him to the bed.
"Jared...."
"Shhh." Jared stands, and starts to shed his clothes. Jensen's boneless, and looks at Jared through half-lidded eyes. "I..."
"I've got it."
"You've got it?" asks Jensen. At Jared's curt nod, he licks his lips. "Can I watch?" He scoots over and pats the bed. "Please?"
Jared lies down and turns to Jensen, hand on his own cock, hard and red.
"This is what it was like before I met you. Fuck, Jensen, it was like this AFTER I met you. I'm like this all the time, hard for you. I'd lie in bed, in my bunk on the bus. Jack off to your poster, you in my head. Jensen, I don't know..."
Jensen puts his head on Jared's shoulder, looking at his groin. "Come for me," he coaxes, bringing one hand to Jared's cock.
Jared pulls his extensions back, so he's not pulling his own hair out. Without letting go of his cock, he intertwines his fingers with Jensen's, their hands stroking faster and faster, until he's gasping. Jensen bites down on his shoulder, and Jared spends, ropes of creamy white striping his chest and abs.
Jared reaches down for his t-shirt but before he can wipe himself clean, Jensen swipes a finger through his ejaculate, and sucks it into his mouth.
Jared leans in to lick the taste from it. "You are so much better than a poster."
Jensen blushes, and leans in to nip at Jared's neck.
"Fucking hell, Jensen," Jared squeaks.
"Well, we've managed to take the edge off, I think."
"Jensen?"
Jensen pulls himself upright, straddling Jared. "We're not done here."
"No?"
"No, Jare. We're not. Do you know..." He looks at Jared, "You don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"Fuck. I sit there behind the kit every night. I watch you shake your ass, bustin' out of your tights, and I wish for --" he swallows.
"What do you wish for?" asks Jared, eyes dark.
"I wish for you under me, begging me to pound you through the mattress. To the floor, Jared. I wish I was the only one ever to see you look wrecked and satisfied. Because of me." Jensen can feel Jared's cock twitch against his ass. "Just for me, Jared. Do you..."
Jared reaches under his pillow, retrieves a tube and offers it to Jensen. "This?"
Jensen looks at him and Jared shrugs. "I was hoping. Planned for what I wanted. That okay?"
"Yeah. Oh, yeah. Are you with me?"
"Wherever you wanna go."
Jensen opens the tube, and squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers. He looks at Jared, lying pliant beneath him, ready to follow wherever he leads, and feels something settle deep inside him. He moves to kneel between Jared's legs, breathes deeply, and reaches down, thumb rubbing gently behind Jared's balls. Jared's eyes fly wide open, and Jensen loves what he sees. Confident strokes distribute the lubricant in the crack of Jared's ass. He knows every time he strokes Jared's hole, not just by the feel of it, but by the way Jared shivers and bites his lip.
Jared raises his hands to Jensen's chest, stroking, finding the small nubs of his nipples, pulling them to peaks until Jensen bats him away with his free hand. "Just lay back. I'll make it good for you."
"I know you will," says Jared. "But, I --"
Jensen slips a finger inside Jared, who gasps and stops talking as Jensen opens him a little at a time. There's been too much waiting, too much want, and Jared's making him wild, cock hard again and aching at the thought of what's to come. He opens the cap once more, one handed, and reaches to slick himself, solid and eager. "Like this?" he asks.
Jared stills, clenches, and says, "Stop."
"Stop?" confused, Jensen starts to pull away.
Jared tugs a condom packet out from under the pillow. "Jensen... I... I won't take that chance. Not with this, not with you." He rips the wrapper open and Jensen nods, thrusting his hips at Jared, and Jesus, he's hard. Jared rolls the condom onto him, head falling back onto the pillows. "I think I'm clean, but I wouldn't... "
Jensen slicks the condom with his free hand and pulls his fingers out, making sure to rub against the spot that makes Jared curse and buck. He breaches Jared, can't think of anything but the pleasure to come, and then he can't think at all, Jared's so hot, so tight.
"Jensen!"
Jensen surges, one hand on Jared's hip, holding him still, inching into Jared until he's seated and trembling. He eases slightly when he finds the place that makes Jared shudder and throw his head back. His other hand works Jared's cock, and damned if the kid wasn't right, he is a grower.
Just like this," he coaxes. Jared's hands hold Jensen's ass, pulling him closer with each snap of Jensen's hips "Harder." Jared groans, and Jensen leans forward, and Jared shudders, but his hips don't move.
"Like that, Jens. Don't -- " he gasps, "Don't hold back."
"There. Right fucking -- Jared!" Jensen can't give him any more warning, and they fall into the light together.
Red Rocks Amphitheater Denver, CO
"Mile high."
"Yeah, I am."
"You are?"
"Yeah. High as a kite."
"Oh." Jared sighs, disappointment in his voice.
"Because this is the first time."
"Yesterday was the first time."
"Every day, asshole, is the first time."
"Oh."
"And it's not your turn."
Jared smiles softly and starts to stretch.
Jensen clips the tape he's going to use with the scissors, hisses and shakes his hand. Jensen never sees Jared move, but he's there, in front of him.
"Okay?"
"Yeah, just slipped with the scissors."
Jared takes them from him. The cut looks shallow but hasn't stopped bleeding.
"Let's get this cleaned up."
He pulls Jensen to the sinks in the Nuggets locker room, and washes his hands with antibacterial soap. Jensen purrs, leaning back onto Jared. He can feel Jared's erection at the small of his back. Jensen meets his eyes in the mirror, can feel his accelerated breathing, and can't help but push closer.
Jensen turns and braces his hands on the marble counter-top. "Jens--" croaks Jared.
Jensen's mouth cuts off the rest of that, and when Jared groans, Jensen catches the sound in his mouth.
He pushes at Jared's tights, and yanks at the waistband of his basketball shorts. Jensen knows his hands are cold from the counter-top, and he swallows Jared's gasp as he grips his cock, bringing it in line with his own. Jared ruts into his hand, Jensen knows he isn't going to last long, as he strokes them together, slowly, then building speed, as his thumb skims creamy liquid down their shafts. Jensen hears the dressing room door open, and Mike call, "Jensen?"
Jensen pulls his mouth off Jared's long enough to call hoarsely, "Unless the building's on fire, I need ten minutes." His hand never stills, and his eyes don't leave Jared's
Mike laughs, the most satisfied laugh Jensen's ever heard from him, and the door closes behind him. Jensen reclaims Jared's mouth.
He thinks it's incredibly hot that Mike almost walked in on them and his back arches as he twists and pumps them into his hand. He has a second before he's there, and feels hot wetness on his belly as Jared growls into his mouth, and then, his hand slows. His head rests on Jared's shoulder until their breathing steadies.
"Now, let's get this cleaned up."
Jared laughs, and grabs a washcloth.
When everyone else comes in, he's taping, and Jared's stretching, like it's any other day, but Mike already knows, and Chris and Tom just smile.
As he closes up the box with his tape and bandages, Jared asks for the loan of Jensen's scissors. Jensen doesn't ask why; he just hands them over. --o0o--
Mike walks them up to the stage; Tom's on the other side with Marc putting a guitar strap over his head. Chris stands looking at the Thunderbird Wine scrim and resolutely turns his back. Jared sidles up to Aly. "Look, are you going to sit here by Chad all night?"
"This is where Mike told me to sit. I'm liveblogging." She smiles. "I get to tell the boards as soon as you go onstage. Jared, it's so exciting!"
He grins. "You shy about naked men who have no interest in you -- not that you're not lovely?"
"What?"
"I'm gonna have to change clothes, and the tights don't fit under the leather. No, you may NOT post that on the Drinker's Forum. Or take cell phone pics."
She stares up at him, thinking too fast to answer. Chad’s been dropping hints and Chris has bitten his tongue for three days now, to keep from blurting out something and this is it and … she realizes that Jared’s waiting for an answer and she’s forgotten the question. Something about naked men.
"Aly, are you with me?"
Jared looks hard at her and takes her arm, eyes widening at the turquoise bracelet on her wrist. He turns to look at Chris, and he's wearing coral. Jared raises his eyebrow, a gesture he's cribbed from Mike and Aldis.
She ducks her head, "Had to get dressed in a hurry."
He grins and picks up the conversation. "So, naked men? Shy?"
"Can I look?" She grins.
"Hold these." He hands her Jensen's scissors. "Don't lose them; they're Jensen's. Yes, I'll meet you right here at Wayward Son, don't go away, okay? This is important."
Chad pulls up a stool and pats it. She sits, and he hands her a beer, gesturing to a cooler. "Those are yours."
The crowd is going nuts, she thinks, but in a good way. The band is on and tight and it's a show for the archives. It better be, since it's the last one and all. She can see people in the audience blogging and tweeting throughout. She wonders how many of them are looking at her liveblog. Aly's hands fly on the keyboard of her netbook, telling the Drinkers the news about the new contract. First on the Forum, then on the blog, then on Twitter, and the comments are rolling up the screen almost faster than she can read them. Chad taps her shoulder, and she looks up at the stage.
Jared starts to introduce the next song, and says. "Hey, you guys?" The audience roars back. "You know, it's midnight in New York." The crowd quiets. Jared’s intros aren’t as extemporaneous as he’d have them believe, and they’re usually worth listening to. She’s transcribed a couple, in fact. "A couple of months ago, I came into a rehearsal studio, and I auditioned for these guys, for this job. They hired me." The audience roars and someone yells "Jason is a dick!" Aly flinches, but Jared pays no attention. "A lot of work went into making this show, for Thunderbird Wine. Please give a hand to our crew and all the technical people we need to do this gig for you. The local crew, too." Aly glances around in the wings and no one stops, but she can see Chad’s smile as the crowd cheers and claps. "There was a lot of stuff going on then, and so much has happened in the last month. The lawyers tell us that we can't use the name Thunderbird Wine legally, that it's actually owned by a guy who's not in this band anymore, so, this is Thunderbird Wine's last show."
There is a stunned silence from the audience.
Jared continues, "Now, goodbyes are sad sometimes--" He waves aside the boos and keeps talking. "But, hellos are good, yeah?" A cheer breaks over the stage and Jared grins and glances back at the others. "Let's shake it up some."
A capella and note perfect, they start Wayward Son. Without the electric guitar it sounds less like a rock classic and almost like a church gospel. As much as Sandy had mocked the over the top drama of the single spots that Jared had suggested, Aly thinks they are damned effective. Cliches are still used for a reason, she muses, then startles, when Jared looms in the gloom in front of her. "Aly! Scissors! Here! No, you do it, I have to get these on." He's already barefoot; he pulls the tights off and Aly grins.
Jensen takes the first solo, and she holds the scissors,smiling as she hears Jared cursing, trying to watch Jensen and get dressed in the near dark, in an alcove full of trap cases and guitars on stands.
The spotlight shines on Tom and the bass thrums across the stage and up her spine. It’s distracting as all get out when Jared pulls a proper shirt on, and holds out the extensions, motioning for her to cut. The right side is more ragged than the left, but he waves her off.
She looks down, and grabs his arm. "Shake. Shimmy. Squirm."
Chris takes over from Tom, the music less soulful and more playful, tossing in fingering and drawing out the familiar melody into an echo of itself, then sliding into a note perfect reproduction of the radio version. Jared tries to pull free and she clutches his elbow. “No! Wait. You're... yeah, dress left." She can see his blush in the dimmed side stage light as he arranges himself.
Chris pushes into a crescendo as Tom brings the bass to growl under him. Jensen brings down his sticks in a crash and the lights cut out. No blackout is complete, though the audience, eyes blinded by the stage spots, can’t adjust as quickly as she can, so she can see the black scrim drop into place. She's lightheaded and realizes she's been holding her breath along with everyone in the audience. This was the surprise Chris was grinning about; it's a beginning, not an end. The netbook is warm on her knees.
A voice booms from offstage as the scrim is lit with a slow rise. Mike's voice carefully enunciates through the low pitched babble from the floor. "Ladies, gentlemen, and any one else out there --" He pauses and the crowd starts to cheer. "Please welcome to the stage, for the very first time, Luckenbach!"
She can see Marc heave on the ropes and a banner flies into place against the scrim. It’s an odd angle and she has to squint to read “Luckenbach.” The main spot follows it up, then rolls off it onto center stage, and Jared walks into it in dark, chocolate brown leather pants and white shirt, tucked in but not buttoned.
In the blackout, Tom and Chris have stripped off their Tbird personas. Aly laughs aloud. Tom's t-shirt has Johnny Cash flipping off the world, and she blinks. It's not that Tom's linen pants left much to the imagination, but the black leather, that's an inspired choice. Chris is wearing the same jeans and western shirt he was wearing before it was time to get dressed; she can see the stain her lipstick left on his thigh. Somewhere, he's found his hat. Next to her, Mike throws his arm over Chad's shoulders and laughs. She looks up and he gestures toward the stage. “I’ve been trying to hide that damned hat from him all day.”
They start Wayward Son again, this time without the separation, without the solo spots. They end up with Tom and Chris on either corner of the drum riser, Jared stands in the middle, facing the audience, arms wide, and Jensen stands behind the kit, both sticks in his left hand.
Jensen, who almost never talks onstage, keys his mic. "We thank you - and now, we want to party. You in?"
The audience roars. Jared has dropped every last nuance of Jason and strides to the front of the stage like a panther. Aly forces her eyes to Jensen and watches him notice that Jared's cut the extensions out of his hair, and to admire the way the leather hugs his ass before she hears Jared's choirboy voice sing the first verse of Luckenbach without accompaniment, and she has to look back.
Chris catches Tom's eye and grins at the lyrical substitution.There's only two things in life that make it worth livin'
That's guitars that tune good andfirm feelin' womenpleasure worth givin'
I don't need my name in the marquee lights
I got my song and I got you with me tonight
Jared's arms-spread gesture includes the audience, the band, and the crew.
Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of love
Jensen bangs his sticks together above his head, and the audience starts to clap along as he drums across the kit into the chorus, and the band slams into it.
Let's go to Luckenbach Texas with Shooter and Willie and the boys
This successful life we're livin' got us feuding
like the Hatfield and McCoy's
Between Jensen's new pain songs, Christian Kane's train songs
and blue eyes
Jared dances across the stage and ruffles Tom's hair.
cryin' in the rain, out in Luckenbach Texas
ain't nobody feelin' no pain
Nick strolls onto the stage with his accordion and plays like he's always been part of the band. Jared climbs onto the drum riser. Jensen grins and nods, Jared grins back and leaps off, landing solid in his cowboy boots.
From there, they go straight into House Rules. They round out the set, the roadhouse set, as Chris calls it, with the new songs they've written for this band. The set is a short one, and they take their bows, the crowd cheering them wildly. They bound off stage and Chad steps around, his hands full. Aly's trying to stay out of the way and Misha's got his hand up like a cop directing traffic. The glow of Mike's Blackberry is lost in the scattering of light from monitors and boards, and she shakes her netbook as it times out again. She cusses and Chris finishes his bottle of water, tossing it to the far corner.So baby let's sell your diamond ring
Buy some boots and faded jeans and go awayThis coat and tie isThese tights and scarves are choking me
In your high society you cry all day
We've been so busy keepin' up with the Jones's
Four car garage and we're still building on
Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of loveLet's go to Luckenbach Texas with Christian and Jensen and the boys
This successful life we're livin' had us feuding
like the Hatfield and McCoy's
Between Tom Welling's pain songs and Jared's new train songs
and blue eyes cryin' in the rain out in Luckenbach Texas
ain't nobody feelin' no pain
Aly shakes her head. "The Drinker's Forum has exploded. I can't get into the Twitter account. Switchboards at MTV and CTV have crashed. Looks like you boys," she looks at Chris, "have arrived."
He laughs and picks her up in a hug. "I have to go back out there."
They play a too upbeat version of Running with the Herd and Aly crinkles her nose. She likes the bootleg version better, but there's no question the crowd is loving this, the energy flowing off the stage and back like an electrical circuit.
Aly watches them finish. Chad and Marc have the guitars, and Jensen's tossed all his sticks into the audience. They hold hands, and bow together like a Broadway cast. Aly thinks she'd bet the ranch that by tomorrow morning, there will be Jared/Jensen fic on the forums; there's no disguising the spark there.
About time the drummer got some love.
