Funny Bone 1/2

[soncnica]

Title: Funny Bone 1/2
Author: soncnica
Rating: R, coz of language
Genre/pairing: Jared, Jensen, h/c, general
Characters: Jared, Jensen
Word count: cca. 2.000  words
Summary: Jensen gets send to a camp. Jared is the psychologist there. J2-AU. This story is a continuation of Bag Of Bones No. 3, which is a continuation of Bag Of Bones No. 2.
Warnings: Umm, child abuse!!!!, suicide attempt&talk, language, drugs, self-harm. And Jensen is 16 and Jared is 26; I played with their ages a little, and I don't care.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is not mine!
A/N: Story no.13 in the Kosti!verse.

Anxiety is pooling deep in his belly again, he can feel it putting pressure on his guts; it's squeezing his tissue and bones into a pulp of bloody flesh.

His lower back feels like someone has kicked him raw and it's so, so hard to breathe. It's making him nauseous; the food he ate for dinner rolling around his stomach and trying to punch its way out. He curls up like a baby and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe the darkness will bring him some relief. Maybe he will fall asleep before his guts will explode. He doesn't want to puke, he doesn't want to feel sick, he doesn't want to feel anything. He wants to feel nothing.

Oh god. He's gonna puke dinner all over the place, all over himself, all over the room, if he won't calm down. He just needs to calm the hell down.

Breathe.

He can't calm down. He doesn't know how to do it ... he's not in his own bed, strange as it sounds because his bed is never really safe, but it's still familiar and it smells of familiar things, but here, he is lost. He's a stranger in a strange land and he has no focus point that could allow him to breathe. In his room at least he has a window with a huge oak tree right in front of it, keeping his room hidden from any nosy eyes that would want to sneak a peek (but really, its a way for his parents to hide their sins from everyone) into his room. But here he has nothing. Just beds and three guys, he still knows nothing about and he doesn't want to know anything about, because they're never gonna become his friends and he doesn't want to become their friend and he doesn't want anything. He doesn't want anyone to be near him.

It itches ... this sudden, overwhelming need to get away from everyone, from human presence, from human touch, from people in general. It itches down to his core. People bring pain. It's what he learned way, way back when he was still a child that knew nothing more than pain and blood and sometimes his brother telling him that he's sorry, so sorry.

He doesn't need anyone to be fucking sorry. Sorry won't help him. Sorry can suck it and die. Sorry won't give him a normal, safe life. Sorry won't give him a life where he would be a normal kid, maybe play soccer and have tons of friends. Sorry won't give him a life where people won't point at him and call him a retard, when his parents would pump him full of pills and his dad belt his back to the flesh. Sorry won't make his back look smooth as it should, won't make his bones look like they've never been broken, won't make his wrists look like they've never been cut. Sorry … sorry is a word that died a long time ago.

He scratches his left arm ... he wants to draw blood.

-:-

Jared knows. That fucking asshole knows. The guy ain't stupid, even if he sometimes looks like he is, but under all that are wisdom and knowledge and maybe experience. He knows that the guy knows.

Fuck.

He really, really doesn't want Jared to know all that. Know how he feels and what he thinks. Damnit, fucking bastard and his fucking probing eyes and fucking stupid smart brain. Jared's better than most shrinks he's been around, Jared's smarter than them, he's more cunning, and he's seen.

He has seen. Jared's seen his scars and believed him that his parents did them. Not like all the other shrinks and doctors, who told him that he's imagining things, that his parents could never hurt him, could never be abusive and that he should stop spreading lies and wash his mouth with soap and take these pills, they will calm you down. So he stopped trying to tell them what monsters his parents are at the age of ten.

But Jared. The fucking asshole just snuck up on him and broke him and saw the scars inside and outside of him and fuck him! Just fuck him for shattering him in a million pieces.

Jared has seen and he can't make the guy unsee. But … Jared believed him. The guy believed him that his parents did all that to him, he believed him. He didn't mock him, or told him to shut up, that his parents would never ever hurt him, their child, their flesh and blood. The guy believed him.

Of course he believed him. Because the guy has never met his parents. Never been sweet talked by them, never been in the presence of their angelic eyes and honey sweet voice and aww shucks, our sweet baby is a wonderful kid, isn't he?

Jared has never been fooled by his parents.

But once he'll meet them … that belief will go down the drain faster than water.

It's not fair. It's not fair.

But then again, nothing is fair in life.

-:-

His breath hitches. And he's just so goddamn tired or crying. And of feeling like this. Like crap and like he's gonna dissolve into a pool of tears, but he just can't help it. He can't help feeling like this. And it's all the shrink's fault. The guy forced him to talk, and he was all care 'n' share and making him feel like he's safe and that things might one day be okay and all that seriously must've broken something in him. A wall. A dam. Something broke inside of him, something that all this time, all these years prevented him to feel like this; like crying, like talking, like maybe having something other than what he has now.

The shrink made him feel ... made him realize that there are people out there who do care. Who do want to help. Who are nice and whose words stick and don't sting.

He squeezes the thin sheet into a tight fist.

He wants all of this to stop, please make it stop.

He whines somewhere deep in his throat and turns to his left side, curls tighter into himself and closes his eyes.

Fucking Jared. Fuck his goddamn words and his goddamn niceness and calmness and just ... fuck him.

He knows sleep won't find him for a very long time, and the anxiety in his stomach is getting stronger and stronger, tightening his guts. The nausea is getting stronger too and he burps and swallows down acid that came up with the air. He doesn't want to puke.

Maybe he should just take the pills his doctor prescribed him. Maybe he should take the whole bottle and maybe he should take every pill ever prescribed to him and fall asleep.

And sleep.

But ... no. No! Fuck no! They will not win. They won't, he won't let them win. The doctors and the shrinks and the neighbors and his teachers, all with that look in their eyes; that look of pity and hate and like he's some kinda abomination that needs to be subdued by pills and words and looks. And his parents, the crazy bastards no one sees.

No one sees them for who they are, no one knows what they do and ... he can't breathe. He's choking on acid that's coming up his throat, he's choking on air that suddenly left the room and ...

... he screams silently into his pillow, bites down on the fabric and lets it soak up his spit and tears.

He barely stops himself from choking himself with the fluffy thing.

He will not let them win.

The fuckers can choke on all the pills they ever prescribed to him. They can choke on them and die, because he doesn't need them. He doesn't need anyone. He's not lonely, even if he is alone, but being alone doesn't bring pain and dirty looks. It doesn't bring his father's belt or a closet to be locked in. There's nothing, if he's alone and that's what he needs. Nothing. He needs nothing and not this fear, this terror that is consuming him like poison inside of him.

No one knows how it is to lay in bed at night, one ear always on the bedroom door, brain always on overload, always thinking when the next round of pain will come. No one knows how it is to sleep in snatches of time, minutes and seconds, never hours, because the fear of his parents coming to his room is so, so huge, it doesn't allow him to really sleep.

No one knows how it is to live in fear and pain and blood and sleepless nights and days walking on eggshells, fearing one wrong move, one little wrong action would get him locked in a closet for days with no food or water. Sometimes a fist comes to his ribs even if he did nothing wrong and those … those hurt the most. Break the most.

He takes a deep breath and wipes away a stray tear. Crying is for losers and he's no loser. He might be broken, but he ain't no loser. And he sure as hell doesn't need anyone.

Gary and Marcus can have each other for all he cares. He doesn't need anyone. He doesn't need friends. Friends are for people who aren't strong enough to live life alone. Company is for people who suck at life.

And Jared can go fuck himself, because he doesn't need him either. He doesn't need help, other people need help. People around him need help. He is okay. He is fine. He is good. He doesn't need friends, because all they do is betray you in the end. Hurt you by leaving. And he sure as hell doesn't need his fucking, fucked in the head family, because they are psycho maniacs, broken in the head fucks that he hates!

He hates them all!

And he doesn't need this camp, with these stupid asshole kids always looking at him crookedly, like he's a broken toy pretending to be whole. But they know, don't they? Because they are broken toys too ... pretending they're whole too. And broken toys sniff each other out, like a dog sniffs a bone, because they know they need help getting fixed.

He ... he needs someone to fix him, if he wants to be ... normal. If he wants to get his mangled arms and legs attached back to his body, if he wants to have all his strings back where they belong, if he wants to look like a toy freshly out of the factory.

Because his family has broken him. Because life has broken him.

But Jared believes him. He believes him.

He doesn't know when he fell asleep, but when he opens his eyes its sunny outside but the realization that he needs someone still hurts like getting hit on his funny bone.

CHAPTER 2

A/N: So sorry for taking so long with this, but firstly I had to get from point A to point F and then my sweet, sweet little cat died in September and firstly I kinda passed out for a bit, then cried for days and then I kinda fell into a depression that I am now slowly getting myself out of. I am still extremely sad and break into tears at any odd hours, but I'm doing better. So … sorry for the wait, but I think I'm back to this story now.