FIC: That Middle Road (15/?)

[nilchance]

Title: That Middle Road (15/?)
Author: nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse. This story deals with mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, and with slavery as used in the AKB 'verse. There's also mention of child abuse, suicide, institutionalization and self-harm. And polyamory. And kink. And a partridge in a pear tree.



When they get to Jeff's door, Jeremy can feel the sweaty-sick fear that's been haunting him all morning kick into overdrive. He backs up a step without thinking, but the arm Zach has around his hips tightens and then the door opens. And no, it couldn't be Sam or Kane or even that pretty new bodyslave Jen to open the door, it's Jeff, because he's Jeff and that's how he rolls.

With that incredible eye-crinkling smile, Jeff says, "Hi." Then his attention flits to Jeremy and he frowns. There used to be a time when Jeff didn't end up frowning sometime in every conversation they have. "Hey. Pick up your phone, asshole."

"You're an asshole," Zach says easily, and pulls a baggie of weed from his jeans pocket, letting it unroll open. "We're here, the party started. Move."

Jeff scoffs but moves to one side, still hugging the door so only one person can get past him. Canny bastard. His eyes tick to Wendy, then to Misha. There's no missing Misha, dressed to the nines and waiting slave-quiet a few discreet steps back. Jeff's frown briefly goes deeper before switching into a smile meant for strangers. "Well," he says to Misha. "I... don't think we've met."

Jeremy can feel Zach tense up. Wiggling away from Zach's arm, Jeremy tells Jeff, "He's with me. This is Misha. Misha, Jeff."

Misha gives Jeff that formal namaste, his eyes watchful and considering.

Jeff looks at Jeremy, like is he now?, but nods. "C'mon in, then. Any friend of Jeremy's..."

Jeremy coughs 'bullshit', because really. Marisa's been around for years and Jeff still can't stand her. Jeff doesn't bristle, but his eyes narrow a little above his steady smile, and Jeremy can practically hear the bell for round one. Instead of turning throat like he really wants, like he knows will make Jeff step off, Jeremy stares back with the biggest fakest smile he's got. He's an accountant; his fake smiles are pretty good.

"Oh Christ," Wendy says, and shoves Zach. "Go in, babe. The beer's probably getting warm. And Misha needs a chair."

The reminder of Misha's knee makes Jeremy's ears pink, because he's acting like a jerk while Misha's hurting, but-- but. Jeremy knows Zach gives him a sidelong look (what happened to running interference?) before giving up and letting his girl boss him inside. Wendy's got a grip on Misha, too, nudging him past.

Before Jeremy can try to figure out how to get around Jeff without dropping his eyes, Jeff sighs like this-- like Jeremy-- is enormously exhausting and scrubs a hand over his face. His voice is pitched soft, too gentle to handle right now. "Where's Marisa?"

"If we're gonna do this, can we at least do it in your office?" Jeremy hates that acid in his voice, he knows Jeff isn't trying to be a dick, but he can't bite it back. He's tired of being patient and he knows Jeff can take it. "Or do you want to sell tickets?"

Jeff glances at Jeremy through his fingers, then nods and drops his hand.

"Okay." Hackles easing down, Jeremy glances after Misha and repeats, "okay. Let me get Misha settled first."

"I'm sure he's fine, Jer. He'll be lucky if Wendy doesn't try to feed him the whole turkey chopped up into Ryzer-sized bits." Jeff hesitates, hand at his side, like he wants to touch Jeremy's shoulder. When Jeremy straightens, out of reach, a muscle in Jeff's jaw jumps. "C'mon, get in here."

He's pushed Jeff far enough; Jeremy goes. He knows his way to Jeff's office, they've had enough confabs there, so he leaves Jeff behind to close the door.

He likes Jeff's house. It's as empty as his own, relatively speaking, but it always feels warmer. Jeremy tries not to dawdle, because he knows Jeff will grab him and steer him if he does, and he has this feeling that he'll crumble like old paper if Jeff lays hands on. He doesn't like to be any more pathetic than he has to be.

When Jeff catches up, Jeremy's already slung into Jeff's desk chair, all the hurt wiped clean from his face. It's all good, he's fine. Jeff is... well, Jeff's like a client or a very long con. Even if Jeremy's not sure which of them is the con artist and which is the mark.

"Okay," Jeff says, knocking the door shut. "What was that?"

"It's fine."

"I didn't ask if it was fine, I asked--"

"I heard you."

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Jeff looks down at him. Sighs again. "Where's Marisa? What's going on?"

It's the genuine distress in Jeff's voice that gets to Jeremy, finally. "She's... uh. She. She doesn't even normally come. You don't like her."

"She's fine," Jeff says automatically, which is what he always says.

Jeremy laughs and closes his eyes. "Not really. She took some pills, tried to kill herself."

"Shit. Jer." The desk creaks as Jeff leans forward, his hand settling on Jeremy's shoulder. Tentative, like he thinks Jeremy can't take it, which Jeremy isn't sure he can. "I'm sorry."

Jeremy swallows convulsively, his eyes still closed and burning like hell. "Yeah," he says, when he can trust his voice. "Yeah."

After a long minute, Jeff rubs his thumb over the ball of Jeremy's shoulder, squeezes once, and lets him go. Jeremy swallows again to keep back the awful sound that wants to creep out.

"So," Jeff says. "Misha."

"Mm." Carefully, Jeremy blinks his eyes open and lets the chair slide back upright. One of the stacks of papers on Jeff's desk nearly tilts off; Jeremy catches it and scowls. "You might want to think about filing once in a while. And why do you always have to sit over me? Is this an executive thing?"

With a fond look, Jeff stands. "Where'd you get him?"

"Oh, y'know, the pound. Couldn't help it. It was the big sad eyes." At Jeff's snort, Jeremy risks a grin. It almost works. "No, he was Price's."

"Vincent Price? He died?"

"Yeah, sorry, you were too busy sucking face with Jensen." Jeremy absently shuffles Jeff's papers into a stack. "Though he is pretty. Prettier now that you got him to eat something. How'd you do that, by the way? Misha's skinny, I could use tips. Recipes or something."

"Focus," Jeff drawls, whapping Jeremy away from his stuff. "And stop that, or Jensen'll get on you. He has a system."

"Ooh." When Jeff gives him a look, Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Fine, okay, you're the big head top of the universe. We all know. Anyway, Misha's... a little banged up. Bad knee. Aphasia."

Jeff winces. "Fuck, I remember now. That car accident. He's all right otherwise, though? I mean, I'm sure Cate knows some neurologists."

"He uses sign." Jeremy folds his arms before he can try to arrange Jeff's desk again. "He's really something. Stubborn."

"Hm," which is a noise Jeff makes while he waits for someone to hang themselves. Or-- okay, it's a bad choice of words. When Jeremy doesn't rise to the bait, Jeff nods and moves on. "You should bring him over for dinner or something."

"I did. He's downstairs. Waiting." Jeremy raises his eyebrows. "Can I go? Are we done?"

"We're done when you say. I'm not... this isn't an interrogation." Hunching his shoulders and putting both hands in his pockets, like he does when he's uncomfortable, Jeff peers at him. "I wanted to see if you're okay."

"I'm okay," Jeremy says, without his intended sarcasm. "It's okay, Jeff. You're not my keeper."

"I'm not," Jeff agrees, but keeps watching him. "You look tired."

"I don't sleep great lately." Raking a hand through his hair, Jeremy shrugs. "It happens. I'll take care of it."

"You take lousy care of yourself, sweetheart." And that gentleness in Jeff's voice undoes Jeremy's common sense, making him shiver a little and drop his head like all the weight of years rests on him. The floor creaks as Jeff shifts closer. "You always have."

It'd be so much easier to get out from under this stupid pining crush if Jeff didn't say things like that, and if Jeremy didn't remember the weight of Jeff's hand on his scruff urging him down to the floor. Jeff's trying to be kind, and Jeremy can't help thinking about the burn of denim on his lips, about putting his mouth on Jeff's cock.

"Yeah," Jeremy mutters, "and I took such great care of her, right?"

Jeff pauses, considering that, putting his words together. Careful now. "You can't help what she did, man, she just... she's sick."

And Jeff's lived to become a hypocrite, if that's his advice. Jeremy coughs out a laugh that hurts his chest, his throat. He doesn't cry, he's never needed to, but he'd do it if that would stop the ache. Instead he sits here numb, laughing until it's a stupid hiccup.

"Hey now," Jeff murmurs, coming forward that last step to put his hands on Jeremy's arms, kneeling painfully down to see his face. "Oof. Hey."

"You're gonna get stuck," Jeremy accuses, but he doesn't move away.

Jeff squint-smiles up at him. "S'okay. You'll help me up."

"Yeah," Jeremy sighs. "Yeah. You know I will."