FIC: That Middle Road (16/?)
Dec. 7th, 2009 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: That Middle Road (16/?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in [info]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.
Timeline note: This fic runs behind PT's A Kept Boy; this chapter and the one before it run simultaneous to AKB Ch 38.
Misha does not care for this awkwardness.
Jeremy is still gone somewhere in this unfamiliar house. His knee hurts, and he does not know these people who are gathered by the lush spread of food laid out on a long skinny table. Granted, he doesn't know Denis or Gina (or, arguably, Jeremy himself) but at least they're not strangers.
Once, he would have worked the room as a bodyslave. As an educated man. He'd charm and dissemble and in some cases seduce. Unfortunately, that was when he could speak; how many of these people are likely to understand him? It's harder here to tell slave from free, which means it's harder to guess who is more likely to speak sign. Frustrating.
So in lieu of being charming, he sits and he observes. He tries to keep his expression blank; if this is bothering him, it will be worse to let others know it. He's allergic to pity.
This is what he observes:
- Zach watches for Jeremy as much as Misha does.
- The short, long-haired man (who Misha hears Wendy call 'Kane') carries himself like he'd be okay in a fight. He speaks coarsely in his rough accented voice but he offers to hold Wendy's drink. That seems to be chivalry rather than ulterior motive.
- The handsome older woman ('Sam', which probably means Samantha instead of gender reassignment) carves the turkey and watches like a hawk to see who eats what. She keeps glancing over at Misha; Misha stares blandly back, and she looks away.
- Wendy carries a few hundred pictures of Ryzer on a little electronic doodad on her keychain. Sam seems pleased to look at the newest photos; Kane looks like he'd rather be chewing tinfoil, but he doesn't excuse himself.
- There are vegetarian options on the buffet, but no one seems to be vegetarian.
- Wendy asks after someone named 'Jensen', who is at therapy. Misha wonders if it's as bad as Marisa, or just one's everyday neurosis.
- Zach acts like a man who spent a lot of time in this house, with these people. He and Kane orbit each other like boxers who trained together, and Zach touches Sam easily, casually, if less romantically than he touches his wife. When it comes to that, Zach only has eyes for Wendy; he watches her like someone stupid with affection.
- Jeff has a small bookshelf full of sci-fi tucked discreetly by the window. Misha doubts that this is the library Jeremy told him was "amazing," unless Jeremy has low expectations.
It isn't up to his normal standards for fact-finding, but this isn't normal. Vincent usually briefed him before parties, so Misha knew the usual suspects even if an unknown showed up in the form of a date or an escort. This? All he knows is that these people are friendly with Jeff (if not each other, which seems more and more likely) and that they tolerate football.
Football. Ugh. Misha had memorized the important teams and the sport pages, but when it came to discussions about the actual game, he'd let others do the talking. He doesn't even remember who's playing tonight--
Wendy sits down beside Misha with a grace that says 'finishing school', though she does not cross her legs, and hands him a plate full of food. "Here. I got you a little of everything."
Misha stares at her for a full minute before remembering himself. Thank you, he signs. When she nods serenely and starts forking up turkey, he adds, I am fine.
"I have no doubt." Wendy puts the fork in her mouth and hums. "God, this is great. Anytime I cook turkey, it ends up dry as dust. It's amazing Zach didn't lose twenty pounds the first few months we were married, until he finally convinced me that I didn't need to cook just because I'm the free one, y'know?"
Misha gave her his best 'why the hell are you telling me this?' look. Wendy looks right back, and tells him, "Eat your turkey, honey."
Misha eats his turkey. It is great, actually, tender and mild; his stomach snarls, reminded that he hasn't eaten much since the funeral. Since before, even, because sometimes people forgot he was in there with Vincent beside the sick-bed and he'd hurt too bad to keep much down. Now, though, the food in front of him smells so good it makes the fork shake a little in his hands.
He wants to shovel it down. Instead he takes measured, polite bites. He's distracted enough that he doesn't realize that Wendy is still sitting in the chair next to his. The quiet should be awkward, or at the least rude, but Wendy seems content enough to watch Kane and Zach on the couch, their heads bent studiously together over a guitar.
When the plate is empty, Misha regretfully sets his fork down and jumps a little at Wendy's, "you still hungry?"
This woman is offering to fetch and carry for him. Misha can't decide if he's more embarrassed or angry, or some heady mix of both. He thinks he keeps his expression blank, but Wendy snorts. "Okay, you can be proud and get up and make that knee hurt worse, or I can get you another plate."
Misha doesn't want to apologize to her; she fucked his... she fucked Jeremy, and now she's acting like Misha's got some kind of infirmity. But he still signs, if one can sign tersely, Sorry.
"You aren't. Or at least I wouldn't be. I cussed out a lot of people for doing this crap while I was knocked up, but I still learned to park my ass and deal. You like the turkey best, I see, but you want anything else?"
Grudgingly, Misha signs, Brownies, please. And sweet potatoes.
"Bless," Wendy says, and fetches for him.
When she comes back with his plate, they share another few minutes of awkwardness. Finally, as Misha tries to surreptitiously sniff for the green of pot in the brownie, Wendy tells him, "It gets easier."
Misha puts the brownie down, folds his hands, and gives her his best 'I'm listening but I'm not your therapist' face.
She nods at the others, still clustered by the food. "Tough to be the new person in this crowd even when you're the girlfriend. Not even a slave. And with Lord Price--"
Misha hisses through his teeth without thinking, rejecting her sympathy.
"Yes," Wendy says, with the air of someone who walked around many easily bruised prides, "just so. Anyway. It'll get easier, that's all."
Misha does not need to be friends with these people. He doesn't need her reassurances. He can feel his shoulders up around his ears, so he rolls them back and tries to maintain a blank posture. Thank you, he signs, and adds mentally, now please go away.
"Yeah." Standing with her plate, Wendy absently brushes off invisible crumbs. "Jeremy doesn't like to need people, either."
Once she's gone, Misha takes a bite of the brownie. It seems to be safe. He's still eating it in small precise bites when Jeremy lopes back into the room, flushed but looking easier than he's been all morning. It's a bittersweet victory that Jeremy stops by him first, flopping into the seat Wendy just left. "Hey," Jeremy says breathlessly, and rummages around in his jacket until he comes up with Misha's painkillers. "You look like you could use one of these. Anything exciting happen?"
Jeremy is not Vincent, to expect intelligence reports. Misha just shrugs and resists the urge to lean hard against Jeremy's side.
Author:
nilchancePairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in [info]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.
Timeline note: This fic runs behind PT's A Kept Boy; this chapter and the one before it run simultaneous to AKB Ch 38.
Misha does not care for this awkwardness.
Jeremy is still gone somewhere in this unfamiliar house. His knee hurts, and he does not know these people who are gathered by the lush spread of food laid out on a long skinny table. Granted, he doesn't know Denis or Gina (or, arguably, Jeremy himself) but at least they're not strangers.
Once, he would have worked the room as a bodyslave. As an educated man. He'd charm and dissemble and in some cases seduce. Unfortunately, that was when he could speak; how many of these people are likely to understand him? It's harder here to tell slave from free, which means it's harder to guess who is more likely to speak sign. Frustrating.
So in lieu of being charming, he sits and he observes. He tries to keep his expression blank; if this is bothering him, it will be worse to let others know it. He's allergic to pity.
This is what he observes:
- Zach watches for Jeremy as much as Misha does.
- The short, long-haired man (who Misha hears Wendy call 'Kane') carries himself like he'd be okay in a fight. He speaks coarsely in his rough accented voice but he offers to hold Wendy's drink. That seems to be chivalry rather than ulterior motive.
- The handsome older woman ('Sam', which probably means Samantha instead of gender reassignment) carves the turkey and watches like a hawk to see who eats what. She keeps glancing over at Misha; Misha stares blandly back, and she looks away.
- Wendy carries a few hundred pictures of Ryzer on a little electronic doodad on her keychain. Sam seems pleased to look at the newest photos; Kane looks like he'd rather be chewing tinfoil, but he doesn't excuse himself.
- There are vegetarian options on the buffet, but no one seems to be vegetarian.
- Wendy asks after someone named 'Jensen', who is at therapy. Misha wonders if it's as bad as Marisa, or just one's everyday neurosis.
- Zach acts like a man who spent a lot of time in this house, with these people. He and Kane orbit each other like boxers who trained together, and Zach touches Sam easily, casually, if less romantically than he touches his wife. When it comes to that, Zach only has eyes for Wendy; he watches her like someone stupid with affection.
- Jeff has a small bookshelf full of sci-fi tucked discreetly by the window. Misha doubts that this is the library Jeremy told him was "amazing," unless Jeremy has low expectations.
It isn't up to his normal standards for fact-finding, but this isn't normal. Vincent usually briefed him before parties, so Misha knew the usual suspects even if an unknown showed up in the form of a date or an escort. This? All he knows is that these people are friendly with Jeff (if not each other, which seems more and more likely) and that they tolerate football.
Football. Ugh. Misha had memorized the important teams and the sport pages, but when it came to discussions about the actual game, he'd let others do the talking. He doesn't even remember who's playing tonight--
Wendy sits down beside Misha with a grace that says 'finishing school', though she does not cross her legs, and hands him a plate full of food. "Here. I got you a little of everything."
Misha stares at her for a full minute before remembering himself. Thank you, he signs. When she nods serenely and starts forking up turkey, he adds, I am fine.
"I have no doubt." Wendy puts the fork in her mouth and hums. "God, this is great. Anytime I cook turkey, it ends up dry as dust. It's amazing Zach didn't lose twenty pounds the first few months we were married, until he finally convinced me that I didn't need to cook just because I'm the free one, y'know?"
Misha gave her his best 'why the hell are you telling me this?' look. Wendy looks right back, and tells him, "Eat your turkey, honey."
Misha eats his turkey. It is great, actually, tender and mild; his stomach snarls, reminded that he hasn't eaten much since the funeral. Since before, even, because sometimes people forgot he was in there with Vincent beside the sick-bed and he'd hurt too bad to keep much down. Now, though, the food in front of him smells so good it makes the fork shake a little in his hands.
He wants to shovel it down. Instead he takes measured, polite bites. He's distracted enough that he doesn't realize that Wendy is still sitting in the chair next to his. The quiet should be awkward, or at the least rude, but Wendy seems content enough to watch Kane and Zach on the couch, their heads bent studiously together over a guitar.
When the plate is empty, Misha regretfully sets his fork down and jumps a little at Wendy's, "you still hungry?"
This woman is offering to fetch and carry for him. Misha can't decide if he's more embarrassed or angry, or some heady mix of both. He thinks he keeps his expression blank, but Wendy snorts. "Okay, you can be proud and get up and make that knee hurt worse, or I can get you another plate."
Misha doesn't want to apologize to her; she fucked his... she fucked Jeremy, and now she's acting like Misha's got some kind of infirmity. But he still signs, if one can sign tersely, Sorry.
"You aren't. Or at least I wouldn't be. I cussed out a lot of people for doing this crap while I was knocked up, but I still learned to park my ass and deal. You like the turkey best, I see, but you want anything else?"
Grudgingly, Misha signs, Brownies, please. And sweet potatoes.
"Bless," Wendy says, and fetches for him.
When she comes back with his plate, they share another few minutes of awkwardness. Finally, as Misha tries to surreptitiously sniff for the green of pot in the brownie, Wendy tells him, "It gets easier."
Misha puts the brownie down, folds his hands, and gives her his best 'I'm listening but I'm not your therapist' face.
She nods at the others, still clustered by the food. "Tough to be the new person in this crowd even when you're the girlfriend. Not even a slave. And with Lord Price--"
Misha hisses through his teeth without thinking, rejecting her sympathy.
"Yes," Wendy says, with the air of someone who walked around many easily bruised prides, "just so. Anyway. It'll get easier, that's all."
Misha does not need to be friends with these people. He doesn't need her reassurances. He can feel his shoulders up around his ears, so he rolls them back and tries to maintain a blank posture. Thank you, he signs, and adds mentally, now please go away.
"Yeah." Standing with her plate, Wendy absently brushes off invisible crumbs. "Jeremy doesn't like to need people, either."
Once she's gone, Misha takes a bite of the brownie. It seems to be safe. He's still eating it in small precise bites when Jeremy lopes back into the room, flushed but looking easier than he's been all morning. It's a bittersweet victory that Jeremy stops by him first, flopping into the seat Wendy just left. "Hey," Jeremy says breathlessly, and rummages around in his jacket until he comes up with Misha's painkillers. "You look like you could use one of these. Anything exciting happen?"
Jeremy is not Vincent, to expect intelligence reports. Misha just shrugs and resists the urge to lean hard against Jeremy's side.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-07 10:30 pm (UTC)Hee!
The visual was just perfect!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 08:55 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 01:49 am (UTC)...quick question: Are we gonna get anymore of the that verse where Jensen sold his soul to some Goddess and was protecting Misha and Jeff???
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-11 09:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-11 08:19 pm (UTC)And yes, most definitely. There is more. ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-11 09:38 pm (UTC)Also, nngh icon. How does he look so pretty when he's all rumpled and looking like he rolled right out of bed?
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-11 09:39 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-11 09:41 pm (UTC)Dude, YEAH, Jeremy would be so startled by that. Because Misha doesn't seem like Jensen levels of damaged, but he is, in his own way.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 09:43 am (UTC)I love Misha so much. *pets him*
It's impossible to not compare Misha's adjustment and perspective and issues to Jensen's at the similar point in Jensen's introduction into the complicated world that Jeremy and Jeff have created. They're both so broken but not, strong and whole and amazingly resiliant at the same time. And they're perfect compliments for their "masters"/future partners.
More amazing still is how alike Jeremy and Misha are. They haven't learned to communicate or not assume yet, but I have a feeling when they start to, they'll have a lot to learn from each other about themselves.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 01:32 pm (UTC)You don't make it easy for them do you?
More soon please.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 03:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-10 12:01 am (UTC)Jeremy is not Vincent, to expect intelligence reports. Misha just shrugs and resists the urge to lean hard against Jeremy's side.
*wobbly lip*
no subject
Date: 2009-12-10 07:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-10 08:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 02:11 am (UTC)