Archive of Our Own ^beta

Well, that didn't go well. Not that he expected it to. He doesn't belong in these shiny shoes and this church-jacket, standing carefully in this suburban flower bed. He doesn't belong in Jared's life, messy green-streaked hair tamed into a ridiculous farce of a ponytail, but here he is anyway.

Left hand trembling in his pocket, Jensen taps gently on Jared's bedroom window, hoping he's in there. Hoping Jared's not still in the living room listening to his parents tell him to forget about Jensen. Telling him they're too young. Telling him to go back to his college applications and forget that Jensen can't breathe when they're apart.

He taps again, looking over his shoulder toward the evening street, wary. Street lamps leave glowing pockets of light on the concrete, blooming innocently every 50 feet or so, peaceful and unaware of the turmoil Jensen feels inside.

What if he agrees with them? Jensen panics. What if...? He pulls the elastic out of his hair, finger-combs through it to try to calm the swell of anxiety that keeps building like a tsunami.

The window opens.

Jared is there in front of him, eyes red-rimmed, mop of hair disguising his wet face. The cavern of creases between his eyebrows deepens as he folds his lips into his own mouth, trying not to let the tears come but they do anyway. He's the most beautiful thing Jensen has ever seen.

Jensen climbs over the window ledge to fold Jared into his arms. Closing the space between them is the only part of Jensen's life that doesn't have a question mark on it right now.

"Oh, baby," he sighs into Jared's hair. "Don't cry. We'll figure it out."

Body wrapped around his boy, Jensen leans them gently backward to prop against the window sill. He holds on tight as quiet sobs wrack Jared's body, his nose pressed into soft, sweet brown locks. The scent calms him. Even though it's different now, it's still the best thing Jensen knows.

Jared's voice is a cracking whisper when he pulls back just enough to make eye contact, sounding broken in a way Jensen never wants to hear again. He wants to protect his boy from all this pain. He wants to find anyone who ever hurt Jared and rip them to pieces with his bare hands.

"How?" Jared asks, voice cracking and words tumbling out too fast. "How are we gonna figure it out? My father says our bond isn't real, Jensen. He says we're too young to be real mates, he says..."

"Hey, shh, hey," Jensen croons as he pets Jared's hair and frames his face in his hands. "Forget what your father says. I knew the moment you walked into that party that you were mine and I was yours. I couldn't even pick up my guitar up for the rest of the night, remember? I couldn't leave your side. How is that not real?"

Jared's smile is small but true. He sniffles, lets their foreheads fall together with a gentle thud.

"Yeah, I remember. I couldn't let you go either. You smelled so good to me, like a campfire by the ocean on a clear night."

"And you were sweet and spicy, like the fresh herbs and flowers at the farmer's market." He nuzzles Jared's ear. "Perfect."

"Dork," Jared laughs, pulling back, pulling Jensen with him toward his bed.

"Yeah, but yours," Jensen murmurs, blanketing the side of Jared's body with his own, letting his hand rest on his mate's belly. Jensen presses his lips there in a loving kiss. "And yours, little bean," he whispers to the belly. He hears Jared's deep inhale.

"I still want to go to college, Jen."

Jensen rolls to his back and pulls Jared close. The decision is suddenly so easy. Take care of your mate, do whatever it takes.

"Good," he declares. "I want you to. I'll go with you. I'll keep playing that music your dad hates so much, and keep the bean company while you study."

Jared laughs. "He really does hate your music, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he really does."

"He hates your hair too," Jared reminds him, humor creeping into his voice. Jensen knows it's true. His hair was mentioned at least four times in the living room an hour ago.

"Fine with me as long as you don't, love."

Jared sighs, wraps his arm and a leg tighter around Jensen.

"I don't. I think you're perfect."