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phantismaFandom: Kane RPS/Leverage RPS
Title: Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Seven(Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six)
Pairing/Characters: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Timothy Hutton, Aldis Hodge, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17 (for sex but also for theme and violence)
Word Count: 5014
Summary: Jensen and Aldis find Steve, and get him into a rehab center, but when he walks out of rehab, things go from bad to worse really, really fast.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP FIC. Turn back now if this is not your thing. This began as comment fic and took on a life of it's own. Seventh part of probably seven. I anticipate an epilogue of sorts. But I really, really, really need a break from this thing for now.
It was almost two in the morning, but it wasn't like Chris was sleeping. He was pacing the floor. Steve was officially missing. They were ready to file a missing person's report and everything.
"I really don't need a babysitter." Chris said finally, looking at Jeff and Tim who were sitting on his couch.
"I'm just waiting for Jensen." Jeff responded, deflecting.
Jensen. Who was out looking for Steve. Where Chris should be. Tim stood and intercepted his next pass past the couch. "You should get some sleep."
His hand cupped to Chris' face, gentle and soft. "I know you're worried, but one of us will come wake you if we hear anything."
Chris wanted to lean into that hand and the comfort it offered, to let go and rest. He was so tired that worry was the only thing keeping him moving. Jeff's phone rang and Chris jumped away from Tim.
"Yeah? Okay. Where? Give me twenty minutes." Jeff lurched up off the couch as he closed his phone. "That was Jensen. They found Steve. They've got him a place to dry out."
"Where is he?" Chris asked, ready to race out the door to be with Steve.
Jeff stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "He's fine. A little worn around the edges and incredibly drunk, but fine."
"I asked where he was, not how he was." Chris snapped.
Tim touched his shoulder. "Don't snap at Jeff, he's only trying to help."
Chris bit his tongue and walked away. "I'm coming with you."
"No."
Chris grabbed his jacket. "I wasn't asking."
Jeff sighed and looked to Tim who shrugged. "Fine, but don't blame me when Jensen smacks you upside the head."
Jeff lead the way to Tim's car and Tim settled in next to Chris in the back seat as they headed out. "He's okay though, right?" Chris asked after a few minutes, every scenario that played out in his head left Steve lost and dead and no one ever knew where.
"Jensen didn't say much. Said he was going to be fine."
Chris nodded and tried not to think about it. They pulled into the parking lot of a hotel and Jeff lead them inside. He knocked at a door and Jensen answered, looking worn and tired and like he was going to have a black eye come morning.
His eyes narrowed as they fell on Chris, but he didn't say anything. Chris moved past him and into the room, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Aldis stood against one wall, his arms crossed. Steve was laying askew across the nearer bed, but he lurched up when he saw Chris.
"Chrisss!" He smiled a dopey, drunken smile and dragged Chris into an embrace. He reeked of booze and smoke and dirt. "I miss you."
"He's past the angry drunk and into the happy drunk." Jensen said darkly.
"So I see." Chris pushed gently until Steve was sitting on the bed. "Where'd you find him?"
"Some dive down by the waterfront." Aldis responded, pushing himself up off the wall. "If you don't need me, I'm gonna go shower off the rot gut he spilled all over me and the vomit from the car ride here."
"Go…and thanks." Jensen sighed and looked to Chris. "I was trying to get him into the shower."
Chris nodded. "I can handle that, right Steve?"
Steve's hand petted over Chris' head. "My favorite Chris in the whole world."
"Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I am." Chris exhaled and focused on the need. There would be time for dealing with the fall out later. He slipped to one knee and worked Steve's shoes off, pulling back from the stench. Obviously he hadn't changed in a few days. "Okay Steve, let's get you cleaned up."
Jensen helped get him standing and into the bathroom. "I've got it." Chris murmured after Jensen got the water started.
"Yell if you need me." Jensen slipped out of the room and Chris toed off his shoes before helping Steve out of his disgustingly dirty jeans.
"You know I got lost…I went out looking for you…"
"Yeah, and found a bar instead." Chris said.
"You weren't there."
"No, I was working." Chris responded. He pulled Steve's shirt off and then held aside the shower curtain. "In." He held Steve's elbow as he stepped in, holding on and guiding him, helping him brace against the wall while Chris finished undressing himself. He stepped in behind Steve and pulled the curtain closed.
"Wet."
"Water usually is." Chris pulled Steve directly under the spray. "Let's get you clean. You stink."
It took a few minutes to coordinate in the tight space, but Chris managed to get the soap into Steve's hands and get him using it. A few minutes later, Steve ducked his head under the spray, moaning. "God I'm wasted."
"Yes, you are." Chris agreed, reaching around him to turn the water off. "And now that you aren't going to disintegrate the sheets with your stench, it's time to sleep it off." He stepped out of the tub, reaching for Steve and helping him negotiate the step out. Once he had them both wrapped in fluffy white towels, Chris opened the door and help Steve out into the room.
Tim was there, in a chair in a corner, but otherwise the room was empty. Tim stood. "They went to get ice for Jensen's face."
Chris nodded and helped Steve into the bed. Steve pawed at him pulling him down with him, but Chris pulled back. "Not tonight, man."
"Chris." Steve whined and reached for him, nearly knocking Chris' towel loose.
Chris grabbed at the towel, looking up at Tim. "Steve. Stop."
If Tim weren't there, he'd likely give in, crawl in beside Steve and give him something to hold on to while he slept it off. But Tim was there and watching him. Steve moaned pitifully as Chris stepped out of his reach and pulled the blankets up over him. "You need sleep."
He stepped away, glancing at Tim again. "I'm just gonna…" He gestured at the bathroom, still holding the towel to him. By the time he was dressed, Jensen and Jeff were back.
Tim was standing, twirling his keys. "We have to be on set in two hours."
Chris shook his head. "I'm not leaving him."
Jensen put a hand on his arm. "He's just going to sleep, and be sick, and sleep some more. Jeff and I are working on finding him a spot in a rehab center here in town."
Steve was going to hate that. The thought must have showed on his face. "He tried it his way, and look where he ended up, five days drunk and looking like shit."
"Yeah, okay." Chris agreed, knowing it was probably the only shot they had of getting Steve back. "Yeah…just, don't take him anywhere without me?"
Jensen smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it. He's going to need to know that he has friends who want him to be better."
Chris followed Tim out, sulking and quiet. The city streets were quiet so early in the morning. Tim didn't talk, didn't try to make him talk. He just drove until they were pulling into a parking lot. "Seriously? Denny's?" Chris asked.
"It's four thirty in the morning, and I'm hungry. You got another suggestion?"
Chris shook his head and followed Tim inside. They ate breakfast quietly until Chris cleared his throat. "Look, Tim…man, I should apologize. I've been…" He shook his head.
"An idiot?" Tim supplied, his eyes piercing.
"Alright, fine. I still don't think it was as bad as you made it out, but I agree that Steve needs help…and that I should have seen it before now." Chris scrubbed at his face and stifled the yawn. He was exhausted…and had a long day ahead of him.
"Apology accepted." Tim sipped on his coffee and looked him in the eye. "You know I was only trying to help, right?"
Chris nodded. "You're a good friend Tim. I mean it."
"Good."
Steve was heavily hungover as they pulled into the parking lot of the rehab center, leaning forward, his head against the seat in front of him. He'd hardly said a thing since Chris caught up with him and Jensen.
Chris opened the door and climbed out, reaching in for Steve's hand. Steve slid toward him on the seat, but still didn't look at him. Chris squatted down beside him, taking his hands. "Hey."
Steve blinked and shook his head tightly. "Don't make me."
Chris cupped his face with one hand. "You promised you'd get better, get clean."
"Not like this. Not alone." Steve's eyes were bloodshot and desperate as they met his. "I don't think I can do it alone."
"Not alone." Chris said softly, kissing him lightly. "I'm here. And I'll be here to see you whenever they let me. You just need to get clean before you kill yourself…or me."
"You hate me." Steve pulled away from him, then stood, nearly shoving Chris to the ground.
"Never." Chris reached from him, but Steve was already moving away, shoulders slouched over. Pain stabbed through his stomach as Jensen joined him and together they moved through the doors. "Fuck." He could barely breathe, turning and sitting on the seat.
It was almost an hour before Jensen was back, his face grim. "Well, he's in."
"He's angry." Chris stood and moved to the passenger's seat as Jensen got behind the wheel.
"Yeah, but that's mostly the booze, you know that."
"I know."
"And we can't force him to get clean, Chris, we can only help him as much as he lets us."
Chris nodded. He knew that too.
"But now that we've got him this far, let's talk about you."
"Me?" Chris frowned. "I'm okay, Jen."
"Are you?" Jensen turned in the seat. "Have you thought about how far you let this get? How much abuse you took?"
"Abuse?" Chris shook his head. "I never saw it that way."
"I know." Jensen's hand caressed over his head. "And that's the part that worries me."
If he let himself think about it, it would worry him too, but Chris had been avoiding thinking too much about it. And now he didn't need to. Steve was getting help for the alcohol problem and the only time he was violent was when he was drunk.
Jensen started the car and they drove away, and Chris felt his stomach twist as though he was betraying the man he loved.
"Jeff and I are flying out in a few hours. Are you going to be okay?" Jensen asked as they parked outside his apartment.
"Yeah. I'm good."
"When you wrap up the season, you should come up and visit."
"Maybe, we'll see." He got out of the car, noticing Jeff was waiting. "I should thank you."
Jensen pulled him into a hug. "No need. You call me, anytime. Okay?"
Chris nodded. "Yeah, I will."
"You take care of yourself, or the next time I'll be calling your mother." Jensen said, though he smirked a little as he said it.
"Go on. I got a script to read."
He hated himself as they drove away. Even more once he got upstairs to his empty apartment. The look in Steve's eyes haunted him. He could almost hear the words Steve didn't say…Don't leave me…I love you….I hate you…
"The guys will be here tomorrow." Chris said, watching Steve's fingers pick at the table top in the visitor's room. He looked worn, tired. The pajama bottoms sagged on him. "Jason wants to see you."
"No." Steve shook his head, looking up, then away.
"Okay."
"You're going to do the show?"
Chris chewed on his lip. He'd agonized over it actually…and eventually Tim had convinced him not to cancel it. Chris had invited a friend out from Nashville to fill in for Steve.
"Yeah, I…Brian's going to play with us."
Steve made a face and stood. "Fucking Brian."
Chris had expected that and tried not to let it hurt. "Only until you're ready to come back, Steve."
"I'm ready now." His bare feet made almost no sound as he went to the window, leaning on the wall.
"I wish you were." Chris stood himself, moving close enough that he could touch him, but Steve pulled away from him. "I miss you."
"Why?" Steve's voice was bitter and cold. "You like getting shoved into walls and shit?"
"Steve--"
"Stop." He pushed past Chris, clearly angry. "Fuck off."
"No." Chris grabbed his hand and tugged. "I love you."
"Fine way you have to show it." He pulled away. "Why are you here? Come to taunt me with shit I can't have?"
"If I could make it all okay, I would."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Steve turned on him, crowding him up against the wall. Chris' heart sped up, his fist clenching like he was about to need to throw a punch.
The kiss was unexpected, and harsh, more teeth than lips, and Chris unclenched his fists, tried to relax under Steve's demanding mouth. He opened his lips for Steve's tongue, but Steve pulled away.
"You should go." Steve inhaled deeply and shuffled back to his chair.
Chris stopped beside him, his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You checked in here for a reason, Steve. Remember that. You told me you wanted to come home, be with me." He caressed over Steve's head. "Remember that, and remember that I love you." He pressed a kiss to the top of Steve's head and walked away.
He was shaking once he got out of Steve's sight. They'd warned him to expect the anger, but somehow it had gotten under his skin. Chris blinked at the tears burning in the corners of his eyes and shook it off. It was part of the process.
It had been two weeks since they'd found him drunk in some dive. Chris had barely slept, and it was starting to show. He was strung tight and hoping that having the guys in town, having a show to focus on would be enough to help him shake loose a little bit, and handle the emotional overload threatening to drag him under.
The show was admittedly not their best, but the crowd didn't seem to notice, aside from the grumbling he heard about how quickly he hid away downstairs after. He didn't hang out long beyond getting his shit off stage, exhaustion pulling on him. He ducked out as soon as he could, grabbing a cab to avoid the crush of people.
He had to work in the morning and he just wasn't in the mood to be gracious and social. He paid the cabbie and bounded up the stairs, fumbling with his keys. The door was unlocked though and as he pushed it open, he discovered why.
"Steve?"
Chris pushed the door closed as Steve lowered a bottle of tequila from his lips. "Miss me?"
"What are you doing here?" Chris crossed to him, reaching for the bottle. Steve evaded his hand.
"I remembered."
Chris narrowed his eyes. "You need to go back."
"No. Not going back. Not gonna. Gonna be here, with you. I remember."
The bottle was almost half gone. "Okay, Steve. You can stay. But only if you give me the bottle, okay?" His heart hammered at his ribs as he reached for the bottle again. Steve struck out at him with the hand wrapped around the bottle, catching Chris in the jaw and sending him stumbling backward.
His foot hit the coffee table and he went over backward, slamming his elbow and his head against the floor as the table crashed beneath him. His head exploded in red and pain as he rolled and tried to get up.
"You said you loved me." Steve said, his hand fisting in Chris' hair and yanking.
Chris climbed to his feet. "I do, Steve. I love you. And I don't want to hurt you…or you to hurt me." He hit Steve's arm just hard enough to get him to let go. "Now, how about you share a little?"
Steve lifted the bottle, swallowing hard before shaking his head. "Mine."
Chris touched the throbbing spot of pain on the back of his head, not surprised when his fingers came back bloody. He reached for his phone. It was obvious he wasn't going to handle this alone.
He hesitated once it was in his hand, not sure who to call. Steve growled at him and knocked the phone away, sending it skittering across the floor. "You're mine too. No calling in that mother-fucking no-good shithead friend. He don't get to fuck you any more."
"I've told you, Steve, no one but you, not in a long, long time."
Steve swung at him and Chris managed to block the blow, but it sent him skittering sideways into the wall. Before he could get turned around, a hard punch landed against his ribs. He covered up, turned into the next punch and shoved Steve back, getting himself off the wall.
"I don't want to hurt you." His voice sounded strange, the words a little slurred.
"Too late for that. You left me there. You left me." Steve charged at him and Chris couldn't get out of the way, tripping over debris from the broken table as Steve's shoulder dug into his chest and they went rolling into the couch, tipping it over and dumping them to the floor. There was a sickening crunch as Chris' arm tangled under him, followed by searing pain.
The bottle of tequila shattered. Chris' head was reeling, his eyes not focusing as Steve's hands rolled him, pulling at his clothes. "Steve…stop."
"Gonna show you…mine…"
Chris landed on his stomach, his jeans partially down. He tried to pull himself from under Steve, but his right wrist at least was broken, already purpling and swelling and Steve was kneeling on his left leg, pinning him in place.
"Steve, just stop. Okay. Just stop. Not like this." Panic thrummed through him as he struggled to get away, get turned over, anything to stop Steve. "Fuck." He got a little leverage and pulled himself out from under, putting a foot on Steve's chest and shoving before scrambling to get to his feet.
He pulled his jeans up, holding them with his uninjured hand as he turned to find Steve coming at him again. "Steve!"
They slammed into the wall beside the shelving unit that was partially filled with the books and movies Chris had acquired since he'd gotten to Portland. Chris felt something in his hip pop as Steve fell against him and pulled away, letting Chris fall. Steve was screaming and Chris just covered his head to protect it as Steve emptied the shelves, throwing books and DVDs at him.
Suddenly, Chris was aware that it was quiet. He was alone. He must have passed out or zoned out from the pain. There was no sound to indicate Steve was anywhere in the area.
He was afraid to move, his body unsure of the amount of damage, his head ringing. He didn't understand how it could happen so fast, how he could end up like this. He didn't know where Steve had gone, or why.
He used his uninjured hand to push himself up, shaking with the pain echoing through his hip and head and chest. He sat so his back was against the wall, huddled in on himself, sitting amidst the carnage of Steve's rampage.
He stared at the ruins around him, numb down to his center. There was little left to the room that wasn't destroyed. Steve had to have raged long after Chris passed out.
He knew he should move, should get up and clean up, should do...something, but he couldn't. This time it wasn't just bruises, easy to cover, easy to hide and ignore. He was fairly certain his wrist is broken and at least one rib. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with his hip but the pain was enough to make him not try to move any more just yet.
He could see the phone, but it was so far out of his reach. He closed his eyes, and prayed for the strength to move. He had to get help, had to call someone. All he could manage to do for the moment though was to give in to the pain and let the darkness find him again.
The phone rang and pulled him up out of a dream with fast cars and dynamite and Tim reached for it blindly, rubbing at his eyes before glancing at the clock. It was almost 3:30 in the morning. He flipped open the phone, squinting in the brightness of the display.
He sat up as he saw the caller ID, already half way out of bed. "Chris?"
At first he wasn't sure anyone was even there. "Chris, can you hear me?"
There was a wet breathing sound, raspy. "T-tim. I…need…"
He was already pulling pants on over his boxers and shoving his feet into shoes. "Chris, tell me what's wrong."
"Could you…come…"
"Are you hurt?" Tim didn't like the little bit he could hear. "What happened?"
"Steve." Chris gasped and Tim headed for his keys. "Steve was here."
"How bad is it?"
"Don't know…"
It was quiet for way too long. "Chris, are you there?"
"Cold…dark. Tim?"
"I'm on my way, Chris. Just talk to me. Don't go to sleep."
"Tired."
"I know. I do, but it sounds like you've got a concussion. You can't go to sleep until I get there, okay?"
He knew he needed to call an ambulance, get help on its way to him but he didn't want to hang up on Chris. "Is he still there, Chris?"
"Gone…he's gone."
"Okay…keep talking to me, okay?" The way Chris was breathing didn't sound very good at all and his words were slurring together. Tim found his car keys and headed for the door. "I'm just a few minutes away. Keep talking."
Chris was too quiet, all Tim could hear was the rattling of his breathing. "Chris, tell me what happened."
He got the car started and pulled out, thanking whatever god was listening that there was so little traffic at this hour. "Come on Chris, don't go to sleep."
"He…here when I got…back. Angry."
"Steve was angry?" Tim suspected that was very true, what little he'd seen of the man. He'd told Jensen that putting him in rehab here in Portland was the wrong idea. They needed to get him away from Chris, or neither one of them was going to survive it. "Did you fight?"
Chris made a sound that might have been laughter any other time. "Wasn't much of one."
"I'm almost there Chris. Tell me what he said."
"Nothing…rambled about…said he loved me…"
Tim pulled to a stop in front of the building, throwing the parking brake on and turning off the car. "Okay, I'm here Chris. Just hold on."
He took the stairs two at a time, stopping suddenly in front of his door. It was partially open and he could smell the alcohol through it. He pushed it open, half expecting Steve to come flying out of the shadows.
The room was dark and he felt for the light switch. The lights came on to show him a scene of destruction. Barely any furniture was left standing. "Chris?"
There was a groan from the other side of the couch and Tim picked his way around the remains of the coffee table. He stopped dead when he found Chris, leaning against the wall amidst the carnage.
"That bad?" Chris said with a grimace, looking up at him through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.
"Okay….one thing at a time." Tim squatted beside him. "Can you tell me what hurts?"
"Everything." His eye wasn't maintaining focus and the blood on his neck and shoulder was probably an indication of a serious head injury.
"Okay, I'm going to have to call an ambulance." Which meant police. He flipped his phone opened and dialed, breathing a little easier when the operator answered. He relayed the essential information while keeping an eye on Chris who was starting to list to the side. "Hey, hey…stay with me."
"Cold."
Tim looked around, his eyes landing on the blanket that he assumed had been on the couch. He yanked it free and draped it over Chris. "Paramedics are on their way, okay? Just hold on."
He stood and pushed some of the mess out of the way to make room for them to get in. He heard the sirens, then feet on the stairs and he went where he could be seen through the open door to wave them in.
Tim stayed out of the way as they assessed the extent of the injuries. "Okay, let's take it slow."
Chris made a sound that was all anguish as they straightened his legs and eased him up enough to get him on the gurney. "I'll be right behind you." Tim assured him when he saw Chris looking for him.
He locked up the apartment and followed the EMTs down the stairs. There were a million phone calls to make, but none of them the kind he wanted to make for at least a few hours. He followed the ambulance, wishing he'd been wrong. Wishing Jensen had been right.
There were going to be police reports and Chris might never forgive him if he told the truth, but it was clear that that was exactly what he had to do. Steve was not going to get sober on his own. And Chris was never going to be the one to force the issue.
That left it to him to do.
Tim was at Chris' apartment, putting together a bag of things he would need when he heard the door. He shoved a few more pairs of socks into the bag he'd been packing and left the bedroom.
Steve looked like shit, hungover at best, half way to drunk again at worse and for a long moment after he got inside he didn't even seem to realize he wasn't alone. Not until Tim cleared his throat.
Then Steve turned, looking over his sunglasses with blood shot eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm here to give you a message. From Christian."
Steve frowned at him, staggering a little. "Where is he?"
"Not here." Tim said. He straightened his coat and looked Steve in the eye. "You're lucky he isn't dead."
"What..." Steve looked around them as if just seeing the mess for the first time. "What happened?"
"If you honestly don't know the answer to that, Steve, I suggest you get really sober and think about it."
He headed for the door and Steve stumbled out of his way. "Is he okay?"
Tim stopped at the door. "No, Steve. He isn't. You broke his wrist, three ribs, gave him a concussion and dislocated his hip."
Steve shook his head in denial. "No...no...he was fine...he was...I don't remember..."
Tim swallowed. "You don't remember a lot. He said you were drunk and went into a rage. Look around you."
Steve shook his head again, harder, trying to deny the evidence.
"Get cleaned up. Stay away from Christian." Tim left him standing there amidst the wreckage, still trying to remember what had happened. Steve wasn't his concern. Chris was his friend, and he would do whatever it took to keep him safe.
He was on set when it hit him. Well, actually, it was the flying two by four that hit him, slamming into his jaw and knocking him backwards with enough force that he saw stars for a moment and tears welled in his eyes.
He rolled to his side, tucked up tight, covered his neck and head and his stomach.
Like he was expecting the next punch.
"Oh, god, I am so sorry, Chris."
He could hear the stunt coordinator apologizing, could feel his hand on his shoulder. Chris exhaled slowly and uncurled himself. "I'm okay." He held on to his jaw and let Aldis help him up.
A PA ran up with an ice pack and the director gave them five minutes to see if Chris was going to need anything while they re-set the shot.
Tim was waiting by his chair, hovering. He'd been hovering a lot lately, ever since Chris had broken down and called him for help. He was still nursing a lot of bruises. His ribs were still bandaged and his wrist and hand were in a cast. But that wasn't the hard part.
It had been almost three weeks. Steve was gone.
The season was almost done, and soon Chris would fly back to LA, maybe out to Nashville to finish up a few things on the album. He really should go home and see his Mama for a few days and Jensen had asked him up to Vancouver for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet.
He needed a few weeks to get his head straight, needed to get free of the cast and bandages before he could face his mother, and her all knowing eye. He needed time to heal the tear in his heart that hurt worse than the broken wrist or ribs.
Steve had showed up on set the day he got back. He looked like hell, promising he'd do better, that he hadn't had a drop since that night, that he was going to do it right. Chris wanted to believe him, wanted to tell him it would all be okay and that he still loved him.
But what Chris said that day was "No."
The look of betrayal on Steve's face when Chris said it...when Chris stood there, Tim and Aldis at his back and told Steve to go...the betrayal, the loss, the uncertainty and disbelief in his eyes…
Chris thought that maybe that was what hurt the most...
Title: Slow Like Sunday Morning, Part Seven(Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six)
Pairing/Characters: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Timothy Hutton, Aldis Hodge, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17 (for sex but also for theme and violence)
Word Count: 5014
Summary: Jensen and Aldis find Steve, and get him into a rehab center, but when he walks out of rehab, things go from bad to worse really, really fast.
A/Ns & Warnings: THIS IS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP FIC. Turn back now if this is not your thing. This began as comment fic and took on a life of it's own. Seventh part of probably seven. I anticipate an epilogue of sorts. But I really, really, really need a break from this thing for now.
It was almost two in the morning, but it wasn't like Chris was sleeping. He was pacing the floor. Steve was officially missing. They were ready to file a missing person's report and everything.
"I really don't need a babysitter." Chris said finally, looking at Jeff and Tim who were sitting on his couch.
"I'm just waiting for Jensen." Jeff responded, deflecting.
Jensen. Who was out looking for Steve. Where Chris should be. Tim stood and intercepted his next pass past the couch. "You should get some sleep."
His hand cupped to Chris' face, gentle and soft. "I know you're worried, but one of us will come wake you if we hear anything."
Chris wanted to lean into that hand and the comfort it offered, to let go and rest. He was so tired that worry was the only thing keeping him moving. Jeff's phone rang and Chris jumped away from Tim.
"Yeah? Okay. Where? Give me twenty minutes." Jeff lurched up off the couch as he closed his phone. "That was Jensen. They found Steve. They've got him a place to dry out."
"Where is he?" Chris asked, ready to race out the door to be with Steve.
Jeff stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "He's fine. A little worn around the edges and incredibly drunk, but fine."
"I asked where he was, not how he was." Chris snapped.
Tim touched his shoulder. "Don't snap at Jeff, he's only trying to help."
Chris bit his tongue and walked away. "I'm coming with you."
"No."
Chris grabbed his jacket. "I wasn't asking."
Jeff sighed and looked to Tim who shrugged. "Fine, but don't blame me when Jensen smacks you upside the head."
Jeff lead the way to Tim's car and Tim settled in next to Chris in the back seat as they headed out. "He's okay though, right?" Chris asked after a few minutes, every scenario that played out in his head left Steve lost and dead and no one ever knew where.
"Jensen didn't say much. Said he was going to be fine."
Chris nodded and tried not to think about it. They pulled into the parking lot of a hotel and Jeff lead them inside. He knocked at a door and Jensen answered, looking worn and tired and like he was going to have a black eye come morning.
His eyes narrowed as they fell on Chris, but he didn't say anything. Chris moved past him and into the room, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Aldis stood against one wall, his arms crossed. Steve was laying askew across the nearer bed, but he lurched up when he saw Chris.
"Chrisss!" He smiled a dopey, drunken smile and dragged Chris into an embrace. He reeked of booze and smoke and dirt. "I miss you."
"He's past the angry drunk and into the happy drunk." Jensen said darkly.
"So I see." Chris pushed gently until Steve was sitting on the bed. "Where'd you find him?"
"Some dive down by the waterfront." Aldis responded, pushing himself up off the wall. "If you don't need me, I'm gonna go shower off the rot gut he spilled all over me and the vomit from the car ride here."
"Go…and thanks." Jensen sighed and looked to Chris. "I was trying to get him into the shower."
Chris nodded. "I can handle that, right Steve?"
Steve's hand petted over Chris' head. "My favorite Chris in the whole world."
"Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I am." Chris exhaled and focused on the need. There would be time for dealing with the fall out later. He slipped to one knee and worked Steve's shoes off, pulling back from the stench. Obviously he hadn't changed in a few days. "Okay Steve, let's get you cleaned up."
Jensen helped get him standing and into the bathroom. "I've got it." Chris murmured after Jensen got the water started.
"Yell if you need me." Jensen slipped out of the room and Chris toed off his shoes before helping Steve out of his disgustingly dirty jeans.
"You know I got lost…I went out looking for you…"
"Yeah, and found a bar instead." Chris said.
"You weren't there."
"No, I was working." Chris responded. He pulled Steve's shirt off and then held aside the shower curtain. "In." He held Steve's elbow as he stepped in, holding on and guiding him, helping him brace against the wall while Chris finished undressing himself. He stepped in behind Steve and pulled the curtain closed.
"Wet."
"Water usually is." Chris pulled Steve directly under the spray. "Let's get you clean. You stink."
It took a few minutes to coordinate in the tight space, but Chris managed to get the soap into Steve's hands and get him using it. A few minutes later, Steve ducked his head under the spray, moaning. "God I'm wasted."
"Yes, you are." Chris agreed, reaching around him to turn the water off. "And now that you aren't going to disintegrate the sheets with your stench, it's time to sleep it off." He stepped out of the tub, reaching for Steve and helping him negotiate the step out. Once he had them both wrapped in fluffy white towels, Chris opened the door and help Steve out into the room.
Tim was there, in a chair in a corner, but otherwise the room was empty. Tim stood. "They went to get ice for Jensen's face."
Chris nodded and helped Steve into the bed. Steve pawed at him pulling him down with him, but Chris pulled back. "Not tonight, man."
"Chris." Steve whined and reached for him, nearly knocking Chris' towel loose.
Chris grabbed at the towel, looking up at Tim. "Steve. Stop."
If Tim weren't there, he'd likely give in, crawl in beside Steve and give him something to hold on to while he slept it off. But Tim was there and watching him. Steve moaned pitifully as Chris stepped out of his reach and pulled the blankets up over him. "You need sleep."
He stepped away, glancing at Tim again. "I'm just gonna…" He gestured at the bathroom, still holding the towel to him. By the time he was dressed, Jensen and Jeff were back.
Tim was standing, twirling his keys. "We have to be on set in two hours."
Chris shook his head. "I'm not leaving him."
Jensen put a hand on his arm. "He's just going to sleep, and be sick, and sleep some more. Jeff and I are working on finding him a spot in a rehab center here in town."
Steve was going to hate that. The thought must have showed on his face. "He tried it his way, and look where he ended up, five days drunk and looking like shit."
"Yeah, okay." Chris agreed, knowing it was probably the only shot they had of getting Steve back. "Yeah…just, don't take him anywhere without me?"
Jensen smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it. He's going to need to know that he has friends who want him to be better."
Chris followed Tim out, sulking and quiet. The city streets were quiet so early in the morning. Tim didn't talk, didn't try to make him talk. He just drove until they were pulling into a parking lot. "Seriously? Denny's?" Chris asked.
"It's four thirty in the morning, and I'm hungry. You got another suggestion?"
Chris shook his head and followed Tim inside. They ate breakfast quietly until Chris cleared his throat. "Look, Tim…man, I should apologize. I've been…" He shook his head.
"An idiot?" Tim supplied, his eyes piercing.
"Alright, fine. I still don't think it was as bad as you made it out, but I agree that Steve needs help…and that I should have seen it before now." Chris scrubbed at his face and stifled the yawn. He was exhausted…and had a long day ahead of him.
"Apology accepted." Tim sipped on his coffee and looked him in the eye. "You know I was only trying to help, right?"
Chris nodded. "You're a good friend Tim. I mean it."
"Good."
Steve was heavily hungover as they pulled into the parking lot of the rehab center, leaning forward, his head against the seat in front of him. He'd hardly said a thing since Chris caught up with him and Jensen.
Chris opened the door and climbed out, reaching in for Steve's hand. Steve slid toward him on the seat, but still didn't look at him. Chris squatted down beside him, taking his hands. "Hey."
Steve blinked and shook his head tightly. "Don't make me."
Chris cupped his face with one hand. "You promised you'd get better, get clean."
"Not like this. Not alone." Steve's eyes were bloodshot and desperate as they met his. "I don't think I can do it alone."
"Not alone." Chris said softly, kissing him lightly. "I'm here. And I'll be here to see you whenever they let me. You just need to get clean before you kill yourself…or me."
"You hate me." Steve pulled away from him, then stood, nearly shoving Chris to the ground.
"Never." Chris reached from him, but Steve was already moving away, shoulders slouched over. Pain stabbed through his stomach as Jensen joined him and together they moved through the doors. "Fuck." He could barely breathe, turning and sitting on the seat.
It was almost an hour before Jensen was back, his face grim. "Well, he's in."
"He's angry." Chris stood and moved to the passenger's seat as Jensen got behind the wheel.
"Yeah, but that's mostly the booze, you know that."
"I know."
"And we can't force him to get clean, Chris, we can only help him as much as he lets us."
Chris nodded. He knew that too.
"But now that we've got him this far, let's talk about you."
"Me?" Chris frowned. "I'm okay, Jen."
"Are you?" Jensen turned in the seat. "Have you thought about how far you let this get? How much abuse you took?"
"Abuse?" Chris shook his head. "I never saw it that way."
"I know." Jensen's hand caressed over his head. "And that's the part that worries me."
If he let himself think about it, it would worry him too, but Chris had been avoiding thinking too much about it. And now he didn't need to. Steve was getting help for the alcohol problem and the only time he was violent was when he was drunk.
Jensen started the car and they drove away, and Chris felt his stomach twist as though he was betraying the man he loved.
"Jeff and I are flying out in a few hours. Are you going to be okay?" Jensen asked as they parked outside his apartment.
"Yeah. I'm good."
"When you wrap up the season, you should come up and visit."
"Maybe, we'll see." He got out of the car, noticing Jeff was waiting. "I should thank you."
Jensen pulled him into a hug. "No need. You call me, anytime. Okay?"
Chris nodded. "Yeah, I will."
"You take care of yourself, or the next time I'll be calling your mother." Jensen said, though he smirked a little as he said it.
"Go on. I got a script to read."
He hated himself as they drove away. Even more once he got upstairs to his empty apartment. The look in Steve's eyes haunted him. He could almost hear the words Steve didn't say…Don't leave me…I love you….I hate you…
"The guys will be here tomorrow." Chris said, watching Steve's fingers pick at the table top in the visitor's room. He looked worn, tired. The pajama bottoms sagged on him. "Jason wants to see you."
"No." Steve shook his head, looking up, then away.
"Okay."
"You're going to do the show?"
Chris chewed on his lip. He'd agonized over it actually…and eventually Tim had convinced him not to cancel it. Chris had invited a friend out from Nashville to fill in for Steve.
"Yeah, I…Brian's going to play with us."
Steve made a face and stood. "Fucking Brian."
Chris had expected that and tried not to let it hurt. "Only until you're ready to come back, Steve."
"I'm ready now." His bare feet made almost no sound as he went to the window, leaning on the wall.
"I wish you were." Chris stood himself, moving close enough that he could touch him, but Steve pulled away from him. "I miss you."
"Why?" Steve's voice was bitter and cold. "You like getting shoved into walls and shit?"
"Steve--"
"Stop." He pushed past Chris, clearly angry. "Fuck off."
"No." Chris grabbed his hand and tugged. "I love you."
"Fine way you have to show it." He pulled away. "Why are you here? Come to taunt me with shit I can't have?"
"If I could make it all okay, I would."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Steve turned on him, crowding him up against the wall. Chris' heart sped up, his fist clenching like he was about to need to throw a punch.
The kiss was unexpected, and harsh, more teeth than lips, and Chris unclenched his fists, tried to relax under Steve's demanding mouth. He opened his lips for Steve's tongue, but Steve pulled away.
"You should go." Steve inhaled deeply and shuffled back to his chair.
Chris stopped beside him, his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You checked in here for a reason, Steve. Remember that. You told me you wanted to come home, be with me." He caressed over Steve's head. "Remember that, and remember that I love you." He pressed a kiss to the top of Steve's head and walked away.
He was shaking once he got out of Steve's sight. They'd warned him to expect the anger, but somehow it had gotten under his skin. Chris blinked at the tears burning in the corners of his eyes and shook it off. It was part of the process.
It had been two weeks since they'd found him drunk in some dive. Chris had barely slept, and it was starting to show. He was strung tight and hoping that having the guys in town, having a show to focus on would be enough to help him shake loose a little bit, and handle the emotional overload threatening to drag him under.
The show was admittedly not their best, but the crowd didn't seem to notice, aside from the grumbling he heard about how quickly he hid away downstairs after. He didn't hang out long beyond getting his shit off stage, exhaustion pulling on him. He ducked out as soon as he could, grabbing a cab to avoid the crush of people.
He had to work in the morning and he just wasn't in the mood to be gracious and social. He paid the cabbie and bounded up the stairs, fumbling with his keys. The door was unlocked though and as he pushed it open, he discovered why.
"Steve?"
Chris pushed the door closed as Steve lowered a bottle of tequila from his lips. "Miss me?"
"What are you doing here?" Chris crossed to him, reaching for the bottle. Steve evaded his hand.
"I remembered."
Chris narrowed his eyes. "You need to go back."
"No. Not going back. Not gonna. Gonna be here, with you. I remember."
The bottle was almost half gone. "Okay, Steve. You can stay. But only if you give me the bottle, okay?" His heart hammered at his ribs as he reached for the bottle again. Steve struck out at him with the hand wrapped around the bottle, catching Chris in the jaw and sending him stumbling backward.
His foot hit the coffee table and he went over backward, slamming his elbow and his head against the floor as the table crashed beneath him. His head exploded in red and pain as he rolled and tried to get up.
"You said you loved me." Steve said, his hand fisting in Chris' hair and yanking.
Chris climbed to his feet. "I do, Steve. I love you. And I don't want to hurt you…or you to hurt me." He hit Steve's arm just hard enough to get him to let go. "Now, how about you share a little?"
Steve lifted the bottle, swallowing hard before shaking his head. "Mine."
Chris touched the throbbing spot of pain on the back of his head, not surprised when his fingers came back bloody. He reached for his phone. It was obvious he wasn't going to handle this alone.
He hesitated once it was in his hand, not sure who to call. Steve growled at him and knocked the phone away, sending it skittering across the floor. "You're mine too. No calling in that mother-fucking no-good shithead friend. He don't get to fuck you any more."
"I've told you, Steve, no one but you, not in a long, long time."
Steve swung at him and Chris managed to block the blow, but it sent him skittering sideways into the wall. Before he could get turned around, a hard punch landed against his ribs. He covered up, turned into the next punch and shoved Steve back, getting himself off the wall.
"I don't want to hurt you." His voice sounded strange, the words a little slurred.
"Too late for that. You left me there. You left me." Steve charged at him and Chris couldn't get out of the way, tripping over debris from the broken table as Steve's shoulder dug into his chest and they went rolling into the couch, tipping it over and dumping them to the floor. There was a sickening crunch as Chris' arm tangled under him, followed by searing pain.
The bottle of tequila shattered. Chris' head was reeling, his eyes not focusing as Steve's hands rolled him, pulling at his clothes. "Steve…stop."
"Gonna show you…mine…"
Chris landed on his stomach, his jeans partially down. He tried to pull himself from under Steve, but his right wrist at least was broken, already purpling and swelling and Steve was kneeling on his left leg, pinning him in place.
"Steve, just stop. Okay. Just stop. Not like this." Panic thrummed through him as he struggled to get away, get turned over, anything to stop Steve. "Fuck." He got a little leverage and pulled himself out from under, putting a foot on Steve's chest and shoving before scrambling to get to his feet.
He pulled his jeans up, holding them with his uninjured hand as he turned to find Steve coming at him again. "Steve!"
They slammed into the wall beside the shelving unit that was partially filled with the books and movies Chris had acquired since he'd gotten to Portland. Chris felt something in his hip pop as Steve fell against him and pulled away, letting Chris fall. Steve was screaming and Chris just covered his head to protect it as Steve emptied the shelves, throwing books and DVDs at him.
Suddenly, Chris was aware that it was quiet. He was alone. He must have passed out or zoned out from the pain. There was no sound to indicate Steve was anywhere in the area.
He was afraid to move, his body unsure of the amount of damage, his head ringing. He didn't understand how it could happen so fast, how he could end up like this. He didn't know where Steve had gone, or why.
He used his uninjured hand to push himself up, shaking with the pain echoing through his hip and head and chest. He sat so his back was against the wall, huddled in on himself, sitting amidst the carnage of Steve's rampage.
He stared at the ruins around him, numb down to his center. There was little left to the room that wasn't destroyed. Steve had to have raged long after Chris passed out.
He knew he should move, should get up and clean up, should do...something, but he couldn't. This time it wasn't just bruises, easy to cover, easy to hide and ignore. He was fairly certain his wrist is broken and at least one rib. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with his hip but the pain was enough to make him not try to move any more just yet.
He could see the phone, but it was so far out of his reach. He closed his eyes, and prayed for the strength to move. He had to get help, had to call someone. All he could manage to do for the moment though was to give in to the pain and let the darkness find him again.
The phone rang and pulled him up out of a dream with fast cars and dynamite and Tim reached for it blindly, rubbing at his eyes before glancing at the clock. It was almost 3:30 in the morning. He flipped open the phone, squinting in the brightness of the display.
He sat up as he saw the caller ID, already half way out of bed. "Chris?"
At first he wasn't sure anyone was even there. "Chris, can you hear me?"
There was a wet breathing sound, raspy. "T-tim. I…need…"
He was already pulling pants on over his boxers and shoving his feet into shoes. "Chris, tell me what's wrong."
"Could you…come…"
"Are you hurt?" Tim didn't like the little bit he could hear. "What happened?"
"Steve." Chris gasped and Tim headed for his keys. "Steve was here."
"How bad is it?"
"Don't know…"
It was quiet for way too long. "Chris, are you there?"
"Cold…dark. Tim?"
"I'm on my way, Chris. Just talk to me. Don't go to sleep."
"Tired."
"I know. I do, but it sounds like you've got a concussion. You can't go to sleep until I get there, okay?"
He knew he needed to call an ambulance, get help on its way to him but he didn't want to hang up on Chris. "Is he still there, Chris?"
"Gone…he's gone."
"Okay…keep talking to me, okay?" The way Chris was breathing didn't sound very good at all and his words were slurring together. Tim found his car keys and headed for the door. "I'm just a few minutes away. Keep talking."
Chris was too quiet, all Tim could hear was the rattling of his breathing. "Chris, tell me what happened."
He got the car started and pulled out, thanking whatever god was listening that there was so little traffic at this hour. "Come on Chris, don't go to sleep."
"He…here when I got…back. Angry."
"Steve was angry?" Tim suspected that was very true, what little he'd seen of the man. He'd told Jensen that putting him in rehab here in Portland was the wrong idea. They needed to get him away from Chris, or neither one of them was going to survive it. "Did you fight?"
Chris made a sound that might have been laughter any other time. "Wasn't much of one."
"I'm almost there Chris. Tell me what he said."
"Nothing…rambled about…said he loved me…"
Tim pulled to a stop in front of the building, throwing the parking brake on and turning off the car. "Okay, I'm here Chris. Just hold on."
He took the stairs two at a time, stopping suddenly in front of his door. It was partially open and he could smell the alcohol through it. He pushed it open, half expecting Steve to come flying out of the shadows.
The room was dark and he felt for the light switch. The lights came on to show him a scene of destruction. Barely any furniture was left standing. "Chris?"
There was a groan from the other side of the couch and Tim picked his way around the remains of the coffee table. He stopped dead when he found Chris, leaning against the wall amidst the carnage.
"That bad?" Chris said with a grimace, looking up at him through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.
"Okay….one thing at a time." Tim squatted beside him. "Can you tell me what hurts?"
"Everything." His eye wasn't maintaining focus and the blood on his neck and shoulder was probably an indication of a serious head injury.
"Okay, I'm going to have to call an ambulance." Which meant police. He flipped his phone opened and dialed, breathing a little easier when the operator answered. He relayed the essential information while keeping an eye on Chris who was starting to list to the side. "Hey, hey…stay with me."
"Cold."
Tim looked around, his eyes landing on the blanket that he assumed had been on the couch. He yanked it free and draped it over Chris. "Paramedics are on their way, okay? Just hold on."
He stood and pushed some of the mess out of the way to make room for them to get in. He heard the sirens, then feet on the stairs and he went where he could be seen through the open door to wave them in.
Tim stayed out of the way as they assessed the extent of the injuries. "Okay, let's take it slow."
Chris made a sound that was all anguish as they straightened his legs and eased him up enough to get him on the gurney. "I'll be right behind you." Tim assured him when he saw Chris looking for him.
He locked up the apartment and followed the EMTs down the stairs. There were a million phone calls to make, but none of them the kind he wanted to make for at least a few hours. He followed the ambulance, wishing he'd been wrong. Wishing Jensen had been right.
There were going to be police reports and Chris might never forgive him if he told the truth, but it was clear that that was exactly what he had to do. Steve was not going to get sober on his own. And Chris was never going to be the one to force the issue.
That left it to him to do.
Tim was at Chris' apartment, putting together a bag of things he would need when he heard the door. He shoved a few more pairs of socks into the bag he'd been packing and left the bedroom.
Steve looked like shit, hungover at best, half way to drunk again at worse and for a long moment after he got inside he didn't even seem to realize he wasn't alone. Not until Tim cleared his throat.
Then Steve turned, looking over his sunglasses with blood shot eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm here to give you a message. From Christian."
Steve frowned at him, staggering a little. "Where is he?"
"Not here." Tim said. He straightened his coat and looked Steve in the eye. "You're lucky he isn't dead."
"What..." Steve looked around them as if just seeing the mess for the first time. "What happened?"
"If you honestly don't know the answer to that, Steve, I suggest you get really sober and think about it."
He headed for the door and Steve stumbled out of his way. "Is he okay?"
Tim stopped at the door. "No, Steve. He isn't. You broke his wrist, three ribs, gave him a concussion and dislocated his hip."
Steve shook his head in denial. "No...no...he was fine...he was...I don't remember..."
Tim swallowed. "You don't remember a lot. He said you were drunk and went into a rage. Look around you."
Steve shook his head again, harder, trying to deny the evidence.
"Get cleaned up. Stay away from Christian." Tim left him standing there amidst the wreckage, still trying to remember what had happened. Steve wasn't his concern. Chris was his friend, and he would do whatever it took to keep him safe.
He was on set when it hit him. Well, actually, it was the flying two by four that hit him, slamming into his jaw and knocking him backwards with enough force that he saw stars for a moment and tears welled in his eyes.
He rolled to his side, tucked up tight, covered his neck and head and his stomach.
Like he was expecting the next punch.
"Oh, god, I am so sorry, Chris."
He could hear the stunt coordinator apologizing, could feel his hand on his shoulder. Chris exhaled slowly and uncurled himself. "I'm okay." He held on to his jaw and let Aldis help him up.
A PA ran up with an ice pack and the director gave them five minutes to see if Chris was going to need anything while they re-set the shot.
Tim was waiting by his chair, hovering. He'd been hovering a lot lately, ever since Chris had broken down and called him for help. He was still nursing a lot of bruises. His ribs were still bandaged and his wrist and hand were in a cast. But that wasn't the hard part.
It had been almost three weeks. Steve was gone.
The season was almost done, and soon Chris would fly back to LA, maybe out to Nashville to finish up a few things on the album. He really should go home and see his Mama for a few days and Jensen had asked him up to Vancouver for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet.
He needed a few weeks to get his head straight, needed to get free of the cast and bandages before he could face his mother, and her all knowing eye. He needed time to heal the tear in his heart that hurt worse than the broken wrist or ribs.
Steve had showed up on set the day he got back. He looked like hell, promising he'd do better, that he hadn't had a drop since that night, that he was going to do it right. Chris wanted to believe him, wanted to tell him it would all be okay and that he still loved him.
But what Chris said that day was "No."
The look of betrayal on Steve's face when Chris said it...when Chris stood there, Tim and Aldis at his back and told Steve to go...the betrayal, the loss, the uncertainty and disbelief in his eyes…
Chris thought that maybe that was what hurt the most...
