#both of our dads were church deacons while being abusive

[ringneckedpheasant]

I used to go through pretty bad cycles of idolizing people & putting them on pedestals—both people I knew irl and celebrities—and then getting worked up and hating them when they didn’t live up to my expectations, so I sometimes find myself hesitant to learn things about musicians or actors whose work I get into because I don’t want them or their work to be ruined for me. I don’t want to be disappointed. I put off reading Johnny Cash’s autobiography for weeks for that reason, and while my perception of him Has changed, the fact that he did a lot of terrible things has only made me like him more. He was so Complicated and I’ve just been rotating him in my mind and rereading sections of his autobiography because I can’t stop thinking about them/him. I feel like I can’t think about anything else but I’ve never articulated anything coherent in my entire life so I’ve been deleting most of my drafts about him skfjwkdksjdjd

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Devil in Disguise, Pt. 2

Dean Winchester x Reader

Part 1

Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?

A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 2 of ?? written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)

Warnings: (Part One): Language, Mild angst, Hints of abuse 

WC: 4.9K

*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.

[Y/N] stood at the foot of the bed and examined her handiwork of cleaning and properly bandaging Dean’s wound. All the while thinking about the “BOLO” that came over the CB. Sure this stranger said he knew Deacon, but did he? Was he really who he said he was? Her eyes flickered from the fevered man in the bed to the task she was currently taking on, trying to figure out what her instincts were telling her. When she was satisfied, she moved around the room, cleaning up the leftovers from the bandages, along with the jumpsuit and discarded them in a big black trash bag. Leaving it in the corner of the room, she returned to the foot post, and leaned on it, wrapping both hands tightly around the frame. 

“Ok, you're patched up, you’ve got penicillin and soup is on the stove. Time to tell me a story, Dean. What was the job at the prison?” 

Dean used the strength in his upper arms to sit up straighter on the bed and watched her curiously for a beat before speaking. She wished she could read his thoughts and know exactly what he was considering, but all she could hope for would be his full cooperation and the complete truth.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked simply, and leaned back against the old, wrought iron bedpost. 

Her eyes snapped up quickly. “Ghosts?”

“Yeah. I don’t mean Casper the friendly, either. I’m talking about vengeful ones. Ones that use their anger to kill people.”

[Y/N] felt her throat run dry and was grateful she was already holding onto the iron arch of the frame. “Yeah,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I believe in ‘em.”

“That makes this easier…” he mumbled to himself before continuing, “but the truth is, doesn’t matter if you believe. Because they’re real. So are vampires, werewolves, demons… all the nasty, vile monsters you can think of… all real and the prison had one that was killing inmates. Deacon called on us to help get rid of it.”

“Deacon… of course,” she whispered almost incoherently and expelled a long, slow breath. 

“You never did say how you knew him,” Dean said, and shrugged defensively when her gaze snapped back at him, flashing a warning not press his luck. “Just sayin’...”

“I’ve known Deacon since I was a kid. He used to come to my dad’s church.” There was so much more to it, but she wasn’t ready to share all her intel. “So, continue… ghost in the prison…”

“Right, so, Deacon called us in to figure out who it was. He thought we could get more info as prisoners then he ever would as the warden. The spook was going after his guys, he had to do something.”

“But you must have done something to get yourselves locked up. Deacon couldn’t just smuggle two people into Green River and pass them off as prisoners, warden or not. So, just breaking in somewhere was enough to get you thrown in prison? You were a little vague on the charges.”

“That’s… complicated and not relevant here. What is, is that we figured out who the ghost was, and Deacon was breaking us out to go--”

“Salt and burn…” she said, not meaning to interrupt but her blank expression and clouded eyes told Dean that she was suddenly lost a memory.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “How did you--are you a hunter?”

“Huh? What? No,” she stammered and pushed off the iron frame. “No, not a hunter, but I know what hunters are.”

“How?”

“Story for another time,” she said, waving him off. “Please. continue… how did you go from Deacon breaking you out, to bleeding in my cabin while pointing my own gun at me?”

“He opened a panel for us to escape through, was going to bring us out the rear exit. We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and went out the wrong doors. Shit went sideways fast, had to improvise and we got separated. Sam took off in the direction of the cemetery where the body was buried and my only way out was the other direction. Spotlights caught me as I hit the tree line and got shot. Ran as far as I could… damn near through the night. Now here I am.”

[Y/N] just nodded slowly, as if she was trying to comprehend everything he was telling her. She began to pace the room, but not with any vigor. It was methodical and slow, each step seemed to be taken with a thoughtful purpose as she went over his story in her mind. 

“Who was it?” she asked finally, looking up to meet the pair of dull green eyes looking back. She had a moment where she wondered how they would actually shine when their owner was bogged down with fever because even as muted as they were, they were still beautiful.

“A nurse who died in a prison riot years ago. They started construction on an old wing of the unit, and it stirred her up.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] mused, then settled on the end of the bed, the opposite side of where Dean lay. She brought her knee up to rest on the mattress and twisted her body to face him. 

“And your brother… he took care of it?”

“I sure hope so. I’m hoping he found his way to the car and got over there. Kinda hard to check up on that, though.” He motioned towards his leg, his whole expression shrugging with a hint of exhausted sarcasm.

“What cemetery?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to check, that’s why. You may not be able to, but I can. I need to do a supply run to town anyway. So, which cemetery.”

“Uh… Green Valley, but… lady… I don’t think its a good idea. Our PD, if she was forced to talk, that place is gonna be swimming in uniforms.”

“It's fine. I have family buried there. I can always say I’m going to visit them. What was the nurses’ name?”

“Glockner,” Dean replied but shook his head as he did. “It's okay. I’m sure Sam got there to take care of it. Right now he’s probably free and clear and freaking out trying to figure out where I am.”

“[Y/N],” she spoke up softly. “My name is [Y/N].”

“Thanks for saving my ass, [Y/N],” Dean smiled, relieved.

“Thanks for not shooting me, Dean.”

Across the queen size bed, they shared a brief, yet slightly intense gaze before each of them broke away. [Y/N] found him intriguing, and without doubt, believed what he was telling her. Her instincts may have been quiet before, but after hearing what he had to say, and knowing what she knew about Deacon, [Y/N] knew that she could believe his story. Besides, with Dean’s confidence in the man’s voucher, she really felt that she could trust what he was saying. That made her want to do whatever she could to help him get better, and then get back to his brother. 

“Where can I find your brother?” she asked. “Where’s home? Would he go there?”

“Home is long gone. We never stay any place too long.”

“Damn. Then how do I find him?”

Dean thought for a minute. All their usual ways of communication after separation wouldn’t work. He figured Sam would have a new burner by now, but not like he could get the number. Any cop in a hundred-mile radius would be looking for the Impala, and even Deacon was most likely being watched like a hawk. 

“Right now, I don’t think we can. Let me fight off this bitch of an infection, and then when my head is clear, I can figure things out.”

“Okay,” she relented and went to stand from the bed. Before she reached the doorway that led to the kitchen, she turned and faced him one last time. “You can stay as long as you need to. Take this room. I’ll stay in the loft. But, Dean... “

“Yeah?”

“If you ever point my own gun, or any gun at me again, I won’t hesitate to shoot you once I get it back.”

Twenty-four hours later, and Dean’s fever was still ragging. He was semi-aware of her sitting in the rocker placed in the corner for good stretches of the night, and when the sun peeked through the thin lace curtains it caused black spots to pulse behind his eyes. Somehow, [Y/N] could tell, and she moved to pull the heavier curtain closed.

Dean was also vaguely aware that she kept putting a cool cloth to his forehead and checked his leg a few times. At some point during the long night, he remembered wondering why she was going through all this instead of just getting on her CB and bringing the cops to her door.

Even with no clock present, when Dean finally came fully to consciousness, he could tell that it was sometime in the early afternoon. The birds weren’t as loud, and the brightness of the day had moved higher in the sky. He was able to push himself up to sitting, though it caused a burst of pain to ripple through his injured leg. 

“Sonofabitch!” Dean grunted through gritted teeth, as he tried to swing the leg off the bed. The motion of which caused a swirl of blurry vision, his head swimming in static and black spots again. “Nope,” he said to himself and moved his leg back to where it had been. 

Dean was still for a few minutes, making sure the pain evened out and that he wasn’t going to pass out again. Once he was sure he could focus, he listened closely to any sounds coming from out in the cabin. 

It was silent. But that’s when he noticed the folded scrap of paper sitting on the bedside that had his name written in a blunt, but feminine script.

Dean,

Making a supply run. Stay put. If you can manage to move, there’s cold water in the fridge. If not, there’s a room temp bottle and your meds by this note. Also a protein bar. See if you can choke that down. Be back soon.

[Y/N]

She had done as promised, and left the water bottle and pills behind the note, along with the protein bar. Dean felt himself smile despite his deteriorating condition. He made quick work of powering through the food, pills, and water, and then settled back onto the bed and closed his eyes. When they fluttered open again, the sun continued its descent into the sky, and when he peeked out of the curtains again, there was a soft twinge of pink and orange sky acting as a backdrop to the autumn colored trees. 

Noise from the kitchen snapped his attention back, and he instinctively reached under the pillow for a gun that wasn’t there. He had just enough time to register a slew of curses in his mind when the bedroom door opened and [Y/N] stood there with a tray, and a pleased smile on her lips. 

“Welcome back,” she smiled and moved over to the bed, carefully setting the tray down on the open side, then moving towards Dean to help prop him up. 

He waved her off and was able to get himself to sitting, but his eyes, not so dull anymore, watched her carefully. 

“Why are you doing all this? What do you get out of it?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity over her generous nature. 

“I don’t get anything out of it other than helping you not die. But I am doing this because I believe you,” she said, and delicately lifted the material of the sweatpants to check on his wound. “When I was ten, I thought I saw a ghost in my dad’s church.” She paused, and seemed satisfied with how the bandages looked, and carefully pulled the pant leg back down. She retrieved the tray, kicked open the legs on it and placed it carefully over Dean’s lap as she continued her story. 

“Scared the shit out of me, and of course, he didn’t believe me. People started getting hurt. Workers who were repainting the outside of the rectory… an old lady pushed down the stairs by some unseen force. Stuff like that.”

Dean nodded in understanding and made the attempt to eat the soup and crackers she brought him. 

“Anyway, after the maintenance guy died, that’s when things got even weirder.”

“Weirder how?”

“Deacon had been a member of the parish for as long as I can remember. Never really thought much of him except for he was a Marine and that he worked at the jail. Nice guy, always smiled at me on Sundays. One night, I was hiding in the pews, reading some crap I shouldn’t have been, and I heard Deacon and some guy with him, arguing with my dad. Something about needing to burn something. Whatever Deacon wanted… some kind of old jewelry that was kept in the church safe… Dad refused. I was scared because I distinctly remember that guy with Deacon saying that unless they did, the spirit wouldn’t rest and could eventually kill the preacher, or even his family.”

Dean’s mind was racing a mile a minute. Despite the fever that had been stifling much logical thought in the last day, he was able to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

“That guy, what did he look like?”

“Why is that important?”

“It just is!” he snapped, and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry… can you just try and remember?”

[Y/N] closed her eyes and went back in her memories. “He was tall, dark hair, dark eyes. Not a beard exactly, but more than a few days beard, you know? He had these crazy dimples, too. I remember thinking they were as big as craters.”

“Holy shit,” Dean snorted in disbelief. “I think that was my dad. Was his name, John?” Her attention snapped back up and he could tell just by the look on her face that it was.

“Yeah, his name was John. He’s how I know what hunters are. That night, after my dad locked up, I stayed in the church. I was so scared of a ghost killing me that I went and stole the necklace from the safe. I rode my bike all the way to Deacon’s house and he was super pissed to see me there. Until I pulled it from my pocket…”

“Lemme guess... my dad snatched it from you and barked at you to go home?”

“Close, but not quite. I got to hear a snippet of their conversation, first. John said something about salting and burning the bones and that it didn’t work. The necklace had to be the link. Then he barked at me to go home.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I went home. Deacon and I never spoke of it again, but he always looked at me a little differently on Sundays. Almost like he was proud.”

“So, that’s why you believed me so easily. That talk doesn’t always go very smoothly for civilians.”

“Yeah well, guess you lucked out running into me then, huh?”

Dean exhaled steadily through slightly pursed lips and nodded. “You ain’t kiddin’.”

“I grabbed better meds for you in town this morning. Try and eat some and then you can take those. If that can bring your temperature down I think you’ll be alright. I checked your leg while you were sleeping, changed the bandages. You got lucky the bullet went clean through.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this, really.”

“It’s nothing. Just eat and rest.” 

She turned to leave and Dean realized he didn’t want her too. He wanted her to stay and talk to him; he liked when she was around. Maybe it was because they had some sort of distant connection through Deacon, or maybe it was simply because of her. Most likely, it was just his fever making him not want to be alone. But right then, he wanted nothing more than for her to stay and sit beside him.

“[Y/N], wait... “ he paused, leaning forward from the pillows until she turned around and slowly brought her (y/c) eyes to meet his. “Would you stay? Keep me company, maybe?”

She paused at the door, her left hand slowly sliding down the old wood trim of the frame. Dean saw her body relax a little, and when she finally turned back around to face him, her features were softer than they had been before. He was struck, not for the first time, by how beautiful she was in the dim light of the room’s light. When she turned and went back to the rocker in the corner, then dragged it closer to the bed, Dean happily leaned back against the pillows, relieved she was staying and worked on consuming the food she brought him.

The next morning, Dean woke with his head clearer than it had been since getting shot in the first place. Overnight he had sweat straight through the shirt he had borrowed and would just about kill for a clean one; maybe even a shower.

[Y/N] knocked lightly on the door before opening it just enough to talk through. 

“Decent?” she asked and waited for a response before entering.

“Yeah, good,” Dean replied. Once she was in, he approached the idea of a shower. “So, what are the chances I’m healed enough to take a hot shower?”

“I doubt you could stand on that long enough without support of some kind.”

Dean groaned and rolled his head back. “Dammit. I feel like I’ve been slimed. Just, head to toe gross. You know?”

“Yeah, I can imagine. I could pull a kitchen chair into the bathroom, you could give yourself a sponge bath at least.”

Dean bit his tongue from replying with some half sarcastic, half flirtatious comment. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’ll set it up for you, then I was going to get a fire going. Wanted to see if maybe you wanted to venture from the room today. Seems like maybe your fever broke overnight. Getting up and moving around would be good for you; a little of it, anyway.”

“I’m all for it,” he smiled, genuinely excited for both the change of scenery and the chance to spend more time with her. 

“Great. We really need to figure out a plan here, too,” she said softly followed by a side-eyed glance that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean. He even thought maybe, she looked a little disappointed. She wasn’t always the easiest person to read and he had only known her through fevered days so far. Despite all that, Dean could feel his sharp senses returning, and they were telling him this girl was one he could both count on and trust.

[Y/N] disappeared into the bathroom, and could be heard moving some things around, then reappeared. She seemed like she was about to speak when they both heard it. 

A running motor. The sound of a door being slammed closed. 

“Shit!”

Her eyes went wide with fear, and Dean felt his heart sink but his survival instinct kicked in. As quickly as he could move, he twisted his hips and let both legs fall to the floor. Standing quickly, a little too quickly, the wounded leg instantly buckled, but [Y/N] was right there to catch him. Dean slung an arm over her shoulders as she helped him limp across the floor.

“What? Do you know who it is?” he asked through the bolts of pain that coursed up his body from the sudden movement on his leg.

“Yeah, it could only be Derek,” she said, her stomach instantly going sour. 

“Derek?”

“My finance. Also, prison guard a Green River.”

“Well shit,” Dean huffed as she opened the bathroom door and nearly shoved him inside. “Talk about a coincidence.”

Ignoring his quip, she tried to think about what was her best course of action. “The linen closet is deep enough for you to stand in. Go in and shut the door. It can be locked from the inside. Lock it and not a sound,” she whispered desperately. 

Dean nodded and limped his way carefully to the linen closet. [Y/N] dashed about the room, cleaning up any remnants of the escapee’s presence and tossed it under the bed. Her heart was racing, her hands were trembling with fear; not just for Derek possibly discovering Dean, but for her own safety as well. 

Just as she finished hiding the evidence, and stepped into the kitchen, the front door to the cabin opened and the man she least wanted to see was making his entrance.

“You forget how to answer your phone all of a sudden?!” he barked, taking several hulking steps through the living room and into the kitchen.

“You know I don’t get service up here,” she replied calmly, an amazing feat given how badly she was shaking internally. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

Derek snorted in exasperation. “Are you dumb?! Didn’t you hear the CB at least?”

[Y/N] refrained from responding harshly, knowing it would only set him off more. “I may have been outside. Or on a supply run. What’s so important that I have to know?”

“Prisoners escaped. Two of ‘em,” he replied and rubbed a hand over his face down to his beard, something he only did when he was frustrated. Letting his hand fall back at his side with a slap against his outer thigh. “Pack your shit, I came up here to bring you home. No reason that you need to be up here with two escapees on the loose and weather rollin’ in.” 

“Haven’t seen a sign of any escapees this far out,” she shrugged absently, going about unloading the extra supplies she had grabbed when she went to town earlier. This didn’t go unnoticed by Derek. 

“Seems like quite the stockpile for one person for a weekend,” he grumbled, eyeing up the box of supplies on the table. “Might as well put them all back in, 'cause you’re leaving with me now.”

[Y/.N]’s head whipped around and up to meet Derek’s dark and brooding gaze. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, it’s why I’m here. You didn’t answer, so I came to get you. This is no place for a girl to be, especially alone, with two escaped felons on the loose.”

Derek grabbed her arm roughly, but her quick reflexes kicked in before he could solidify his grip. 

“First off, I am not a girl, I am a perfectly capable woman. Second, don’t you ever grab me like that again. I warned you, Derek. I am not going to be some pushover you can boss around.”

Their eyes locked and for a brief moment, she didn’t know if he would relent or go to grab her again, so she prepared herself just in case. Derek’s large frame relaxed as he backed off, pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, and plopped down into it.

“What the Hell are you doin’ up here [Y/N]. Ain’t nothing up here for you but a bunch of cobwebs and bad memories. There are two escaped felons, and we ain’t talkin’ bout no drug charges or simple B ‘n E. They were in for murder… grave desecration. These are two really sick sons of bitches. Weather’s rollin’ in on top of it. Just seems dumb to be up here when it ain’t necessary.”

[Y/N] went back to unpacking her supplies midway through his exasperated rant. Doing her best to ignore the word murder, she did her best to focus on the supplies and ignore Derek’s concentrated gazed watching her every move. 

“But yet, you’re still unpackin’. Do I gotta call your daddy? Get him up here to put you in your place?” Derek asked his questions and averted his eyes, keeping them transfixed on the side of the box before slowly bringing them back up to see the fear he had hoped to see on her face. When there wasn’t a trace of it, his brow furrowed and he tilted his head curiously. “What? Preacher Steve doesn’t put the fear of God in you anymore?”

[Y/N] snorted a laugh and took out the last can of tomato paste before she finally turned back to give him her full attention. She leaned in, dangerously close to her fiance and knew that what she was about to say could earn her a pop in the mouth. But something about spending the last forty-eight hours with Dean Winchester had somehow instilled the ability to not give a fuck.

“Fuck. You,” she whispered, a slight, rueful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll be back to town when I fucking feel like it. If you’re bored, Derek, call Rita from work. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to assist you with whatever you need. Now, get out.”

Her knowing glare unnerved Derek, making him shift uncomfortably. He waited another beat and stood from the old wooden chair that groaned gratefully as he removed his hefty size from its worn frame. He wanted to say something--drew in a breath to do just that--but the crackle of the radio he wore on his hip made him stop, and simply expel the air in a huff and reach for the walkie as the voice on the other end was unintelligible when mixed with the static of the shitty reception.

“I’ll go. But I won’t be gone long. When I come back,  you’re coming home.” As he went to leave, he was about to press the button to reply, but paused and turned back around. “If you see or hear anything suspicious, you pick up the damn CB and call me!”

Ignoring his command, she turned her back to him and started putting away the cans of food into the pantry. 

“Did you hear me?!” he bellowed, making her shoulders stiffen and a shiver at the sharpness of his tone run down her spine. 

“Yes, Derek,” she replied without turning around. Gripping the counter with white knuckles, she waited until she heard the slam of the front door before exhaling the breath she didn’t realize she was holding it. 

“Goddammit,” she whispered and let her head fall between her shoulders. The entire interaction left her feeling cold and lost in a place she hadn’t gone to in years. But now, thanks to the man she was supposed to be marrying, she was knee-deep in memories that clawed at her insides to come spilling out. 

[Y/N] didn’t hear Dean emerge from the bathroom, nor did she hear him limp his way across the bedroom, then out into the kitchen. She was so lost in the recesses of her early years on the Earth, that she didn’t even feel his presence until he was standing right behind her. She didn’t jump or scare, she simply looked up into his furrowed, curious brow, and kind green eyes, and laid her head against his chest. 

“You heard all that?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,”’  he rasped, “I heard. What I don’t get is why the Hell you would marry a douchebag like that.” 

“Long story, not one I particularly feel like telling at the moment.” She regrettably moved her head off his chest and caught his briefly caught his gaze. 

His eyes were slightly narrowed on her, his brow still showing lines of concern, and his full lips were set in a contemplative pout. She thought maybe the instinct to rest her head on him had soured him towards her. 

“Sorry,” she said, feeling suddenly stupid and quickly busying herself with the task at hand. 

She saw Dean wobble from the corner of her eye and dropped the cans she was holding onto help steady him. He draped an arm around her shoulder and she when she helped him sit in one of the kitchen chairs, he passed her a grateful smile. 

“Sorry for what?” he asked, wincing at the pain radiating from his leg. 

She crouched down and saw the fresh blood coming through the leg of his pants. “For… I don’t know… a moment of weakness I guess. One of your stitches popped,” she said changing the subject. “Sit tight. Let me get the first aid kit and patch this up. Then maybe I can wrap it and you can get that shower.”

[Y/N] started walking into the bedroom to retrieve the supplies that had been kicked under the bed in a rush when Dean reached out and caught her wrist. 

“Hey, you have nothing to say sorry for. Everything you’ve done for me…” he trailed off and shrugged, his expressive lips pushing up into a small, cocky smirk. “...least I can do is give you a place to lay your weary head.”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head. Despite his pallid complexion and current pain levels, Dean was flirting with her. Whether it was just to elicit a smile after the recent encounter with Derek, or because he was genuinely flirting, she didn’t know. Truth is, she didn’t care. She liked having him around and realized then and there that she would do whatever she had to in order to help him get better and get back to his brother.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss// @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Chapter 40

T/W: Impllied abuse

   @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious@meghan12151977@mustlove6277 @fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k @snewsome756

  As I held Roger and waited for him to calm down, a thousand memories flooded through my head in bits and pieces, like flashes from a movie.

  In the first one, it's 1985, I'm ten and back at Sugarbush Elementary. I'm hiding in the girls bathroom, the one by the art room in the basement; the one with no windows and the fluorescent light that is about to burn out that keeps buzzing and flickering. I've been crying and I'm hiding in the last stall, my feet drawn up on the toilet seat so no one can see by my shoes that I'm there. I've listened while Abby Norris has said more mean things about me in two minutes than I have ever even thought about anyone else altogether in my entire life, listened while she called me horrible things and her friends laughed and I wished I could become invisible, or die, or at least move back to Greenwood where I didn't have a lot of friends but at least no one called me names or pushed me down on the pea gravel by the swings and tore a hole in my favorite pair of jeans, the Zena ones that didn't come from the Sears catalog or have stupid rainbows or teddy bears on the pockets.  I wait until after the bell has rung before I finally get up enough courage to come out, and as soon as I am back in the hallway, there he is, one of the popular boys, the one who eats lunch at Abby's table and is always staring out the window, probably the cutest boy in the entire school. I'm ten but I already learned long ago that the prettier they are the meaner they are. I freeze as he takes in my swollen eyes and blotchy red face and I wait for him to say something ugly, or sneer and run away and tell everyone the new girl was crying in the downstairs bathroom but he just smiles and tosses his sandy bangs back out of his eyes. Hey you're that new girl from Greenwood, right? Your name is Jane isn't it? he is saying, blue eyes crinkling up as he grins at me, and I don't understand why he is being nice, everyone here has been so awful, but he reaches into the pocket of his neatly pressed khakis and pulls out a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and offers me a piece. I take it like a feral deer accepting corn from someone's hand, and as I unwrap it – I can still smell it, that distinctive tutti-frutti scent that still makes me smile eighteen years later – he is talking to me like we have been best friends from birth I'm Roger Harrington, I'm in Miss Kovacs's class too, No one new ever moves here, this town is so boring, bet you didn't want to come here and I have no idea how much my life has just changed but it's the most important thing that has ever happened to me and I want to live in that moment just for a bit but too soon the memory has slipped away, and I am back to rocking Roger in his bedroom in our oh-so modern NYC apartment but I might as well be back in that green institutional bathroom as helpless his tears have made me feel.

   “What happened, Roger?” I asked him once he stopped crying enough that I thought he could form words again. “Before your mom, I mean. We both know that's not where this started.”

   “It started with Daphne,” Roger admitted. “She wanted us to move in together, wanted a ring. I told her I wasn't ready, that I didn't even know what the hell I was doing with the rest of my life. She started in on wanting kids again, I told her I didn't. I reminded her that I had been clear about that from the beginning. She said she didn't think I was serious, didn't everyone say they didn't want kids when they were younger. But she knew, Jane, I told her how I grew up, that I didn't want that...”

   It's still 1985 in the background movie in my memory but it's a few weeks later, and Roger is coming over to my house after school for the first time. My mother greets us in her apron, offering fruit punch and bologna sandwiches cut into little triangles, and I am waiting for Roger to comment on in it all. My mother was 44 when I was born and she is an anachronism, proud to be June Cleaver in a world of career minded Maggie Seavers and Claire Huxtables. People ask if she is my grandmother sometimes and I know it bothers her, but it makes me furious because I adore her, she is the best mom I can possibly imagine, but Roger, of course, makes no such gaffe, he is charming as always. He sits politely with me at the kitchen table while we are supposed to be doing homework, making small talk with my mother while she offers him cookies Harrington? Are you related to Alderman John Harrington? she asks him and of course he tells her he is, yes, John Harrington's son, the Alderman, the Deacon over at the Sacred Day church, those Harringtons, and I see how his voice clips a bit and his eyes change even though he keeps right on smiling. I don't know anything about Aldermen, or that church, we're Presbyterians, but Roger and my mom exchange a look and I realize an entire conversation has been had that I probably wouldn't understand if they explained it to me. They get on famously, Roger Harrington and Marybeth Sewell, and Roger comes home with me after school from that day forward almost every day until we finally walk through the door in our caps and gowns, to a fancier punch and finger sandwiches that all of my family and none of Roger's shows up for.

   “It doesn't have to be like that, you know,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “It's okay to want whatever you want but it doesn't have to be like it was in your family. You would never be like that, Roger.”

   He shook his head, jaws tight, and I could see another tear escape and roll down his cheek. It made me so angry even all these years later, the things he went through, the things we were powerless to stop because of who his father was, the things I tried to so hard to protect him from. He always seemed so strong then, like he was made of Teflon, like none of it ever stuck. I never even understood that he needed me at all, I thought it could have been any friend who would have taken him in. I was so naive. It took me years and a lot of life experience to really understand how much damage was done, and the more I sat here and looked at him the more the memories kept flooding in.

   It's 1990 and we're in high school finally, underclassmen but we don't care, we're happy to have left middle school behind. The spring dance is coming up but Roger won't be going, he isn't allowed to go to school dances, he isn't allowed to dance at all or listen to popular music even though we dance in my family's den to New Kids On The Block and he has a secret collection of mixtapes in a box underneath my bed. I know I won't get asked. I'm skinny and awkward and I've gone back to being invisible, which isn't great but at least Abby Norris doesn't bother me much anymore. We are our own private club anyway, we plan the parties we will have when we are grown andoff to film school and living in LA, with all the fabulous connections we will make, and that's what we're doing now, gigging over imaginary menus and star-studded guests lists as we help my mother make meatloaf in the warm kitchen on Calavera Street. My father comes home from work early, he will retire in a few years from the accounting position at the supply company he loves so much, but for now, he is still working, shuffling through the door at the end of his day with a Where's my Janey? and I am still enough of a daddy's girl to throw myself into his arms and take his hat from him. He starts telling jokes, those terrible ubiquitous dad jokes, while he looks over our shoulders, Roger peeling potatoes while I chop them What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire? Frostbite! and when he chortles out the punchline he claps Roger on the back. Roger is already taller than my dad but still thin from the growth spurt, and though I expect him to collapse a bit under the force of the blow I am not prepared when he bleats like a frightened lamb, dropping the potato peeler and falling forward onto the counter, covering his head. Everything stops and I swear I can hear the big Westminster clock on the dining room wall ticking away the seconds before my father moves carefully, oh so carefully to Roger, placing his hand reassuringly on his shoulder as they make weighty eye contact. Roger's hand is shaking as he moves my father's aside and turns around, shoulders hunched forward, gripping the counter as he gives my father permission to do something he cannot do himself. They are both facing me, and I can see Roger's eyes, wet and gray, staring straight into my own, unwavering, and behind him my father's eyes as he lifts Roger's neat plaid shirt, eyes that go round as his face pales. He never says a word, just takes his jacket and hat off the hook by the door and walks out, not returning again until eleven o'clock that night, after my mother has made us Rice Krispie treats and let us watch TV while she did all the washing up and made up the trundle bed before sending us upstairs for the night. It's not the first time that this has happened, but it is the worst. I don't know what is said when he comes back, we can hear my parents speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen while Roger and I lie awake in my room, staring at the glow in the dark plastic stars on my ceiling. I know that my father has made many phone calls about Roger by this point in our lives, but it never changes anything. After this night, however, Roger is with us more than ever, and even though he only stays over a few nights a week at first my mother converts Mitch's old room into one for Roger, and he decorates it with all the things he isn't allowed to like at home.

   “It's okay, Jane. She wasn't the one for me, she was never going to be. But the things she said... I know she was angry. But she said I was exhausting. That all I did was take from the people around me.”

   “That's not true at all!” I protested. Roger was one the kindest and most generous people I had ever known. If Daphne had said that to him it had to have been done purposely just to upset him. “You know she was just saying that, right?”

   Roger shook his head. “I am too dependent on other people for my happiness, Jane. She's right.”

   “Fuck that heinous cow, she was not right. We're not meant to be islands, Roger. It's okay to need people.”

   “I'm too dependent on you. In eighteen years I don't think I've made a move without you, certainly not any important one. It doesn't matter what is going on, in the back of my mind it's always “Wait and see what Jane thinks” or “You should ask Jane first” before I can do anything. And I am not sure anymore if that's the best thing for us but the biggest part of me doesn't care. I don't want to do anything if it's not with you.”

   “I understand, Roger. I have these thoughts too sometimes, but I'm with you. I don't care. You're my person.”

   “How are we ever going to find someone else then? If I'm devoted to you and you're devoted to me, where does that leave room in our lives for anyone else?”

   “The right person will fit in, Roger. You're like a sibling I'm close to. No one would demand I ditch you if you were my brother. Shannon doesn't expect me to ditch you. Someone will come along for you that understands our bond too.”

   Roger got a look on his face like I had tried to feed him broccoli sauteed in earwax. “Fuck you and Shannon. That is not the relationship you think it is Jane.”

   “What the hell, Roger? Again? Could you maybe give it a chance?”

   Roger let out a loud growl before picking up one of his pillows and hurling it to the floor. “That's not what the fuck I mean! Shannon isn't the problem, Janey. You are!”

   “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

   “You planned it all out. You were the one that gave us direction, you were the one with the goals that knew how to get there. I just wanted out. So I held on to you as tight as I could and off we went. And we did it, Jane. You've been published, I've made my career. So now what? We didn't plan past this. We're just 28. We can't be done.”

   “We aren't done, Rog.”

   “Then what? Because all you've done since you got that book contract is the same thing you've done in your love life. You just ricochet around like a pinball, bouncing off whatever you bump into, whatever guy you bump into. You're with Shannon because you bumped into him again. You keep typing on the laptop but you don't know what you're writing anymore. You don't have a plan. I don't have a plan. I don't even know what I want. I never expected to get this far.”

   “It's not like that. I've been going full speed since I was a kid. I'm just catching my breath.”

   “And what happens to me when your next plan doesn't include me?”

   “I would never not include you.”

   “It's funny. I never worried about us when you were with Angus. I knew he would never be there for you like I was. But with Shannon, I don't know Jane. You're all over the place with him but you get so obsessed. He's the only guy that's ever made me scared you'd leave me.”

   “Roger I could never leave you.”

   “Of course you could. You could throw me aside the same as anyone. My family did. You're not even related to me.”

   “Fuck them, every last fucking one of them. They are horrible excuses for human beings and I am so sorry you had to be born into that family but FUCK THEM. You're a Sewell, Roger. Ask my mom. Ask my dad. Hell, ask Mitch. I will never ever ever let you go. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. If it means I never find another boyfriend then so be it. I choose you.”

   We didn't say anything else. I had more questions, I wanted to know what he had done the previous night, but instead I held Roger until he cried himself out and finally fell asleep out of exhaustion. I got Shannon to come help me tuck him into bed and then afterward I poured us both a drink and sat up until three in the morning alternating between explaining to Shannon what was going on, what Roger's childhood had been like, and checking on Roger. Shannon seemed to understand, but I knew he'd had a rough childhood as well, with troubled relationships with the various father figures in his life, so I figured if anyone was going to get it was going to be Shannon.

   If he minded that his visit had been filled with dealing with Roger and his issues Shannon never said so. I apologized about not getting to go out but he just shushed me and took me to bed, holding me tightly as our bodies moved together, letting me grip him like an anchor in a rough sea. Maybe I didn't have a plan, maybe I had bounced into Shannon and lost what little focus I had left. That didn't mean I couldn't get a new one. Being without a plan for a while didn't sound like the worst thing in the world. I had always been wound a little too tightly anyway. Maybe it was time to take a step back, relax, go with the flow. As long as I could hold onto Shannon and Roger I thought everything would be fine.

   When I got up late the next morning Roger was already up,  hunched over a mug of coffee at the kitchen island. I poured myself a mug and sat down next to him, feeling as exhausted and hungover as if I had partied all night. We didn't talk, just periodically leaned into each other for a nuzzle, and when he got up for a refill he topped me off too. Shannon eventually joined us, pouring a mug and sitting down on the other side of me, sensing the mood enough to leave the silence unbroken. Eventually we began discussing food, and we were halfway through our late breakfast when the doorbell rang.

   Jared was supposed to be picking up Shannon on his way through the city to their next stop. He wasn't supposed to be showing up until that afternoon, however. We had planned to have Shannon packed and ready to go, to minimize any contact between Jared and Roger if necessary but when the person on the other side of the door turned out to be Jared hours ahead of schedule that plan went out the window. Hoping for the best I gave him a big hug and invited him in.

   “Nice place,” Jared said as he peeked around, avoiding looking directly at Roger. Roger scooped up his plate and mug and put them in the sink before heading back to his bedroom without a word.

   “Sorry man, I'm not ready to go. Wasn't expecting you til later,” Shannon apologized as he wolfed down the rest of his eggs. “Give me just a minute and I'll gather things up.”

   “No hurry,” Jared said, turning over a small pewter sculpture that sat on the long shelf by the door and glancing in the direction Roger had disappeared to. “Finished up early and thought I'd come by and see how everyone was.”

   Shannon nodded and walked back toward the bedroom and I led Jared over to the newly vacated kitchen island, offering him some tea. As I put the kettle on I kept catching him looking down the hallway, biting at his cuticles and generally paying no attention to the small talk I was trying to make. I sat his mug and the tea bags down in front of him with a sigh. “You came here early on purpose, didn't you,” I accused. Jared shrugged. “It's really not the best time,” I explained.

   “Look, I know he's pissed at me. I kind of made an ass of myself the last time I saw him. I just want to apologize, that's all.”

   “No offense, Jared, but he has bigger problems right now.”

   “Do you think he'll talk to me? Would you ask him? I swear I just want to make sure we're good.”

   I sighed again. I wanted to protect Roger, but honestly, I didn't know what was going on between the two of them, and if Shannon had a rough enough childhood to understand where Roger was coming from, well I figured Jared shared that childhood too. Maybe they could do each other some good. “I'll ask,” I agreed, but then Roger came back out of his room, fully dressed, and he grabbed Jared by the hand and led him back with him. With one more sigh, I poured the hot water down the sink and went to help Shannon pack.  

[sawthingsiimagined]

#XD30 TWELVE | DOUBLE TROUBLE

----------- [ Like You - Jace ] We sat in the car waiting to go inside of the building where the event was being hosted. I had mixed emotions about the event. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about our involvement in a matter such as the displacement of LGBTQ youth. We had no experience with this type of matter. Back home we didn't encounter many people who stood out against social norms especially at the church. I remember the one time we had a gay man join our church. My grandpa extended grace to him because grandpa is extremely compassionate. The deacons at my church were furious. When the guy joined the choir a few families left our church and the deacons tried to vote my grandfather out of office as Pastor of the church. It was an ugly thing to witness as a child. The man, soon after, left the church and the next time we heard about him was when he was murdered outside of a restaurant. The news reported that it was a hate crime since the shooter stated that the man was staring at him as he walked by. That was his motive for shooting the man. I was lost in my thoughts while Jada was trying to tell me about some guy she met. Her next statement brought me out of my trance. "I plan on having at least two of his babies.", she said with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth. I really could have reached over and pulled her tongue completely out of her. "Have what? A baby? Jada shut up.", I said with a look of disgust. "Boo you know I'm tripping but he really is all that.", she said while laughing. "I want you to meet him but I have to make sure he's cool with that. You know we have to keep a low profile because the blogs will rip our asses to shreds." "Language please.", I said. She knew I hated it when she cursed. I always told her she was too pretty to have an ugly mouth. "So what are we doing when we leave the event? Are we going to go relax or should we rehearse?", I asked as my phone buzzed from receiving a text message. "Ummm..we should probably rehearse. When we get to Jersey we won't have much rehearsal time outside of soundcheck. We have two radio interviews back to back plus a photo shoot.", she answered. "Cool. I have some ideas for one of the songs I'd like for us to work out.", I said as I opened the phone. The message was from Demarion. I hadn't heard from him since we'd been in D.C. Of course I saw him on stage and at rehearsals but we hadn't talked. We really hadn't had a casual conversation since the night he rescued me and stuffed me with food from the hotel vending machine. The text read: 'My mans, that suit is dope. I just saw it on your Snapchat. Let me borrow it when you're done. I can wear to the tour wrap party.' I smiled at the thought of him wearing my suit. He was much taller and bigger in size than I was. This suit would either rip or look like spandex on him but he could try. We are only allowed to wear an outfit once while we are on tour to avoid the fashion police. For some reason it's a rule to not wear the same things twice in this industry. I texted back: 'Sure thing. I'll even throw in the shoes for you. No extra charge' "Who has you smiling on the phone. You never told me about who you met? What's the hoe's name?" Jada asked. I looked up at her with a frown, rolled my eyes and read his reply. The text read: 'So how much for the underwear?' I stared at the phone and then shut it off. I wasn't sure how to answer that. I knew it was a joke but it felt weird. Demarion is the guy I avoided growing up: the jock, the class clown, the guy who got all of the attention from girls and every guy wanted to be his friend. Usually those guys picked on quiet guys like me. I couldn't understand for the life of me why he wanted to be my friend; I had my reasons of course. Either it was because of my new 'celeb' status, because there aren't many guys on the tour our age besides TJ and a couple of the dancers or because he was trying to use me to make sure he kept a job. A part of me wanted to believe the latter but he just didn't seem that way once you sat and talked with him. I tried to look at him as a brother, the same way I looked at TJ, because of his seemingly protective ways but that didn't feel right. Speaking of TJ, I looked outside of the car window and saw him waiting on me to get out of the car. We had grown closer since his drunken confession and our agreement to be brothers. We texted throughout the day and for once I felt like I had my own friend. TJ is hilarious and extremely intelligent. Not only can he produce lights, I learned that he knows pretty much all of the ins and outs of the production of sound, video, staging and lights. He even told me he danced most of his life which explains his toned body and why I assumed he was one of the dancers when we first met. He was dressed just like he said he would dress. He was wearing a white, thin, see-through type shirt under a navy blazer with white slacks and white dress shoes. He said he wanted to sneak into the VIP areas with Jada and I so he assumed if he wore our color scheme then he would be confused as a third member of FLAME or our manager. Possibly he could pass off as our manager because Mona was sporting a bright red sequence gown. She looked just like a 'flame'. We exited the car and TJ's eyes lit up. "Well look at you killin' em!", he exclaimed. I was wearing an all white jumpsuit that had a cool design across the chest. I agreed to shave the sides of my hair leaving the top of my hair long enough to make a man-bun. Adrienne wanted me to wear shades but I thought it made the outfit look corny. Usually I would be excited to hide behind the shade but tonight I would just have to be exposed for the sake of fashion. We all were seated together inside the large banquet hall that held about 300 people. I felt like we posed for at least 800 pictures before we sat down. I had worked up an appetite. They began bringing out food and I was elated. Stuffed turkey breast with cream potatoes, asparagus, carrots and dinner rolls. We missed the appetizer but that was ok. We made it in just in time for the main dish. TJ's plan worked because he sat right beside me. I was so happy to allow him the opportunity to experience this event. I felt like a great brother. Otherwise he'd be back at the hotel with the rest of the crew or exploring the city. Hopefully no one else was jealous about him being invited. While we ate, three of the foundation's youth came and shared their story. Each story was an awful account of an experience with their families. Mona and my sister barely remained seated as they both cried like babies hearing the testimonies. I did my best to fight back tears until I felt one hit the top of my hand. TJ passed me his unused napkin so I could dry my eyes. I declined because that was too extra. I wiped the tears with my hand. An 11 ear old boy stood and explained why his body was disfigured as if he had gone through a fire. His parents caught him in his room playing with dolls and talking about how cute some boy at his school was. He was talking to himself when they stormed in and asked him to repeat himself. He did so out of fear. His mom screamed "I knew you were gay! I always knew I just didn't want to believe." "Well I ain't raising no faggot. You have to go.", demanded his dad. The boy cried and ran into a closet. His dad tried to pull the door off of the hinges but was unsuccessful. What he did next was unimaginable. The boy recalled smelling lighter fluid and then seeing the door go up in flames. He had no where to run. The fire caught on to the items inside of the closet. He had to open the door by turning the scolding doorknob. His clothes were on fire and he simply forgot about the stop, drop and roll method. By the time he made it to the bathroom to jump in the shower his body was already badly burned. His neighbors saw the smoke and ran over after calling 911. Once the emergency response team arrived, the boy had blacked out and was laying on the bathroom floor suffering from 1st and 2nd degree burns. A few months later both parents had to go to court. Their account was that the boy was playing with matches in the closet after they told him to stop. Their story was almost believable until the evidence came forward regarding the lighter fluid. It showed the dad's hand prints on it as well as there was evidence that lighter fluid was used to start the fire. The boys print was nowhere to be found. Both parents were given long sentences without parole. The boy went on to live with his grandmother who died a month after he moved in. He was placed in foster care and it was there that he became a part of the EMBRACE FOUNDATION FOR YOUTH. He still had burn scars and marks on his arms, legs and neck area but he seemed to be very happy. After he spoke I politely excused myself. TJ followed me. "How could someone be so cruel?", I said bursting through the door of the men's restroom. I didn't expect to or realize I had gotten so angry listening to the youth share their story. Jada called my phone but I declined the call. "Some people have no souls and others don't see the soul in others man. You'd be surprised how many people don't make it out of a situation like that because of death by abuse or suicide. It's sad bro.", TJ tried to explain. "I don't know if I can sit through any more stories.", I said. "Yes you can. Although I think he was the last one. You give those kids hope. Like you, they are out here trying to survive being different.", TJ said and placed his hand on my back. I never considered myself different. If anything I was plain. But I kept silent so he wouldn't feel obligated to continue his sermon. I appreciated him for being there for me though. I washed my face and waited for my red eyes to clear. TJ said he would go back to the table and tell Jada I was feeling nauseated and would be back shortly. I checked my phone and noticed that I had a text. It was from Demarion. The text read: 'Hey man. I hope I didn't take the joke too far. I don't want to cross the wrong line with you. I do apologize.' He sent that over an hour ago. Thinking of how I didn't respond as quickly as the previous text I'm sure he was somewhere guilt tripping or thinking I hated him. I decided to text him back. I texted : 'Demarion, it's all good. We got pulled into the event and I didn't get a chance to reply. But I can take a joke. No harm done.' He immediately responded 'Cool my mans.' I wanted to reply but I figured it wasn't the right time to go into conversation while the event was going on. I returned to my table. Shortly after, Jada and I went up to the podium to present the All-Star Survivor Award. The 11 year old who shared his story was the winner. He won a trophy and two tickets to attend our show in the city of his show, all expenses paid. I was feeling extra generous and decided to add to the gift. Out of my character, I grabbed the mic and looked at him. "Have you ever been to Magic Kingdom?", I asked. "No sir.", he replied. "Well I want to send you on a weekend trip to Orlando to visit Magic Kingdom because you touched me tonight.", I said. Everyone applauded. "I also want to give free tickets for our next tour, where will we be the headlining performers and promoting our debut album, to all of the youth a part of the foundation. And I'll return in a year to this date to reward all honor roll students with a 3.0 or higher with something special." I finished before I put the mic on the podium. I received a standing ovation. I looked over and Mona, Jada and Adrienne were all looking at me as if they had seen a ghost. TJ smiled and clapped as if he was proud of what I had just done. After I sat down I forgot everything I had just said. I was caught up in the moment but I was going to make sure I did exactly what I committed to. We get back to the hotel room and I lay across my bed. TJ was sitting in the chair across from my bed. "Jace can I tell you something?", he asked. I was still out of it and recovering from what I had heard at the event so I didn't even assume what he was about to ask. "Sure bro. You can tell me anything.", I said. "You promise? Because I don't want it to change anything between us.", he said. At this point I stop staring at the ceiling and I looked over at him staring out of the large window in my room. The tv was off so there was no other sound and the only light was the light comping from the lamp on my night stand. "TJ just tell me.", I said in a serious yet gentle tone. "I'm gay.", he said. And that's all he said for a few minutes. I didn't know whether to pray, congratulate him or apologize. No one had ever told me that. "I felt the need to tell you because I saw how passionate you were for those kids tonight. My parents kicked me out during my senior year of high school when I told them. I never went to college. I started working at a strip club in the city and a guy taught me how to work the music and then the lights. That's where I began my journey in production. This tour means a lot to me because I thought after my parents basically escorted me out of the house with nothing but the clothes I had on my back, that I would not survive. I slept in shelters and abandoned homes until I made friends and then I began sleeping pon their couches. I eventually earned enough to get my own place and then I started touring. Truth is though, I've never been with a guy or anyone for that matter. I just know how I feel and what I'm attracted to.", he explained before gently sobbing. "Wow TJ. I had no idea. You don't act gay.", I said without thinking. "I'm sorry I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just saying you aren't what I typically picture gay men to be like.", I said trying to clean up my mess of statement. "No I get what you're saying. I've never told anyone I've worked with. But I felt like you could relate. It's just a blessing your family accepts you.", he said. Now wait, I was confused. Relate to me? Family accepts me? What is he trying to say? He started crying more. I go over to console him. "Um Bro. I'm not gay.", I said. He didn't respond. I don't think he heard me over his sobs. I allowed him to get it all out. He eventually excused himself and went to his room. I sat on the bed staring at the tv as if it was on. I wondered to myself, "Why would he think I was gay?"