AU, teen!Misha&Jensen (11-14 y.o.), Jensen looking up to his older buddy, Misha taking care of the younger, ridiculous oaths of eternal friendship on supercool parchment sheets signed in blood from cut fingers (what? tell me u never did that shit!), friendship rings/bracelets/amulets (bonus if they get teased by other kids at school for those), sneaking out of homes in the middle of the night (scared-of-darkness!Jensen, comforting!Misha ), climbing trees (having a secret tree house?! ), getting in trouble...

Yeh, IDK WTF either.

UPD: *Верещит* мне это написали!!!!!!!!!!!! Авторства blue_fjords, я обязана утащить это к себе и хранить до конца своих дней.

Teen!Jensen/MishaJensen stared unblinking at the clock. He swore the minute hand was moving backwards. Finally, finally the clock struck 3:00 on the nose and Mr. Sgriccia was drowned out by the bell signaling the end of school. Jensen was the first out the door. He flew to his locker, tossed in his American History textbook and grabbed his math assignment, and hightailed it down the hall and outside.

He scanned the line of cars moving down the street, parents come to collect kids and possibly bestow embarrassing kisses on them right there in front of the middle school. Not him, though. He was looking for Misha.

His mom said he shouldn't bother the Collins boy. She could come get him, or he could technically walk home. The Collins boy had his own siblings to be looking after; he didn't need a young neighbor boy begging him for rides. She didn't get it.

Misha's family had moved into the old Edlund house at the end of the block last year, during the hottest and driest part of the summer. The first time Jensen saw Misha, he was balancing a lampshade on his forehead and pushing a wheelbarrow full of pillows down the ramp from the moving truck to the sidewalk. His t-shirt was stuck to him with sweat, his thick dark head of hair not suited to the Texas sun. Not like Jensen, shirtless and hair in a near buzz-cut. Misha had stopped at the end of the ramp and looked over at Jensen.

"If you're selling lemonade, I like mine with a squirt of lime," he'd said, and Jensen had flushed with embarrassment at being caught staring, and at the comment itself. Little kids sold lemonade, and he was thirteen.

"The Padalecki kid down the street has a lemonade stand. But I wouldn't drink it if I were you. He uses salt instead of sugar."

"Does he?" Misha had smiled then, the first time Jensen had seen it. The first time he'd felt his heart stop, and then start again at a different pace, like a frog had leapt into his chest, grabbed his heart and hopped around with it.

His mother had called him home then, but he'd seen Misha again the next day, again with the wheelbarrow, this time loaded down with moving detritus. Then on the third day, a beat-up brown clunker had pulled up in front of the old Edlund place. Jensen had watched from his bedroom window as Misha got in the car and drove ... down the street to Jensen's own house. Jensen had jerked his head back in, and looked around wildly for a clean t-shirt.

"So how far do you have to drive to get to water around here?"

Jensen had yelped and spun back around towards the window. There was Misha, leaning into the house, balanced precariously on a branch of the oak tree in the front yard.

"Dude!" Jensen had exclaimed, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

"So? Water?" Misha had asked again, then nodded at Jensen's naked chest. "Are t-shirts outlawed in Texas?"

That had been Jensen's first ride in what he dubbed 'The Babe Magnet,' though as far as he knew, the Magnet repelled babes instead of pulling them in. That was fine with him as it meant the passenger seat was always adjusted to his height and the tape deck featured his hand-picked selection. And it meant that he had Misha's attention all to himself whenever they drove off on their little adventures.

All summer long, Jensen climbed down the oak tree and into the Magnet (the passenger door didn't actually open) and directed Misha on back roads and highways, to places like Black Rock ("It's haunted by Native Americans," he'd told Misha, and Misha had looked around at the litter and used condoms dotting the ground and said, "Iron Eyes Cody?") and Wendigo Pond ("There's skeletons at the bottom, from people who've jumped in and never been seen again," Jensen had said. "You just want to take your shirt off again," Misha had replied.). They sat on the hood of the Magnet and ate ice cream, chasing the drips down their cones with their tongues. Misha turned seventeen that summer, and Jensen debated long and hard over what to do to celebrate. Finally he'd suggested an overnight camping trip at Wendigo Pond. His parents had been a little leery about giving their permission, but finally they'd relented.

Misha loved campfires. He loved telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows. He confessed to Jensen that one summer his family had slept outside every night, and he hadn't realized until a couple years later that it was because they didn't have a house for those three months. Jensen didn't know what to say to that, but Misha had just shrugged and said, "Thank God it didn't turn me off s'mores."

It got cool that night. Jensen didn't want to admit that he was a little scared of the dark, but each noise in the woods caused him to start. At about 1 in the morning Misha had looked over from his sleeping bag and said, "I'm a little cold over here. Do you want to share?" Jensen had been all too eager to crawl in with the older boy, though he tried to act nonchalant.

"Don't want you to freeze on your birthday," he'd said, grateful that Misha had not made fun of his fear. Jensen had fallen asleep with his head on Misha's chest, with Misha's arms wrapped around him.

When school started in September, they'd started the tradition of driving to school together and meeting afterward. The high school was a ten minute drive from the middle school. Jensen had no idea what Misha did in the time after his classes ended and he had to leave to get Jensen, but he always showed up.

He was late today, though. Jensen bit his lip and glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Five minutes after three. Several other eighth-graders moved past him in a noisy group. Jensen ignored them. A couple of months ago, one of the boys had teased Jensen about "waitin' fer yer BOYfren," and Jensen had punched him. Well, he'd lured him off school property and broken his nose with one move.

The thing was, he didn't think of Misha as just his best friend. He dreamed of Misha, of doing things with Misha he didn't even know how to do, and then he woke up sticky, wet and humiliated. It was the only thing that Jensen had never told Misha.

The minutes ticked by. The long line of cars tapered off, groups of kids took off walking to their houses, and still Misha did not show up. Finally at 3:30 Jensen adjusted his backpack straps and started to walk home. He kept his eyes peeled for the Magnet, but it never passed him.

He was distracted that whole afternoon, snapping at his siblings, sassing his mother and in general acting like a bear with a burr in its side. The Magnet was sitting in the Collins’ driveway, but no sign of Misha, and he didn’t answer the phone when Jensen called. Three times.

Jensen went to bed that night, sick with worry. What had he done? Misha was supposed to be his best friend. They’d even cut their palms and slapped their hands together, pledging their eternal devotion. Had Misha decided those things were childish? That Jensen was too childish? He’d turned fourteen recently, was that too young to be seventeen-year-old Misha’s best friend? Jensen turned his face into his pillow and silently cried.

He felt his bed dip, and then Misha was there beside him.

“What the fuck, Misha?” Jensen said angrily. “The open window isn’t an invitation, you know.” He was sure Misha could see the tear stains on his cheeks and he burned with humiliation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there this afternoon,” Misha said softly.

“Yeah, well, can’t expect you to always want to go to the middle school just to get the neighbor kid,” Jensen grumbled, echoing his mother.

“Shut up, Jensen, you know you’re not just the neighbor kid to me, asshole.” Misha rolled over until he was practically on top of him. The bed was much too narrow. “And we won’t be neighbors for much longer. That’s why I wasn’t there today. My dad’s resurfaced and Mom wants us to go back to Massachusetts with him.”

Jensen felt sick to his stomach. “No,” he whispered.

“We’d leave in a week,” Misha continued, relentless.

“No!” Jensen said again, louder this time.

“She wants to be in Mass for the first of May. Pole dancing.” He snorted.

Jensen stared at him. There was just NO WAY Misha was moving. “What about the end of the school year? Shouldn’t you stay here at least for that?” he asked, desperate.

“We Collins leave a nomadic lifestyle, Jensen. Never get tied down,” Misha said with a sardonic little smile.

Jensen’s eyes filled with tears and he tried to look away, but there was no place to turn in the narrow bed. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered, hating how pathetic he sounded. But what would he do without Misha? Without his dry wit and wide grins and friendship? He loved Misha.

Misha was staring at him now, the moonlight throwing shadows across his face so that Jensen couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Jensen’s heart hammered wildly in his chest as he leaned forward.

He’d never kissed anyone before. Well, anyone who counted. Misha counted. Misha’s lips were soft, but strong beneath his own, and Misha knew what he was doing. Misha pulled him closer, and Jensen’s entire body tingled with the contact. His mouth opened slightly in surprise, and Misha’s tongue slipped inside. Jensen could feel him shifting around him, and then the older boy was on top of him, still kissing him, and Jensen surged up, forcing his own tongue up into Misha’s mouth.

It felt fantastic, weird, natural, exhilarating and scary all at once, and then his body began to respond just like in his dreams. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what this was, he was just lacking in practical experience. Misha helped them both out, though, pulling down their pants, his hand stroking Jensen and himself as Jensen rutted uncontrollably beneath him.

“Misha,” he moaned into the kiss, and damn, it was all happening so fast, it was all he could do to hang on.

“I’ve got you,” Misha murmured against his throat. “You’re with me.”

Jensen’s back arched off the bed as he came in a sticky rush, his cry muffled by Misha’s lips. He felt utterly boneless and drained and was just coming back to himself when Misha bit his neck, grinding into him and adding his own sticky mess on Jensen and his sheets.

Jensen stared up at Misha. He looked beautiful, all flushed and happy. Jensen reached up a hand and traced the other boy’s jawline. “Please don’t go.”

Misha leaned down and kissed him. “We’ll think of something. I promise. I don’t want to leave.”

@настроение: ecstatic

@темы: Mish-Mish, "Writing is hard", SPN RPS, WTF?!, OMFG IDEK, Cockles is real, Ржунимагу, Супернатуралы, Свун - это диагноз, Фанфики, Jensen