Riled Up | Part 1

Rating: 18+
Pairing: present day!Jared (38) x young!Jensen (19) 
WC: 4.7k
Tags: current day!Jared, young!Jensen, twink!Jensen, ranch owner!Jared, ranch hand!Jensen, delinquent!Jensen

Series Warning: Homophobia and gay slurs – This story is set in Texas in 1990. Sexual activity with someone of the same gender was illegal in Texas at this point in time. If depictions of homophobia and use of derogatory, anti-gay language will be triggering for you, please scroll on.

A/N: This story was written as part of the @spnfanficpond’s Alpha Reader Program, and I’ve had an amazing time working with @katbratsupernatural as my Alpha Reader. Because this was written for a specific deadline, you’re only getting this story one week in advance rather than the standard four weeks, and part two will be posted here and Tumblr on the same day. Hope that’s okay with everyone! And I really hope you enjoy because I’ve been carrying this idea around for months and I’m really excited to share it finally.

The echo of the judge’s gavel rang in his ears with every jolt of the shuttle over yet another pothole. The dull thud, thud, thud undulating, cresting over his head, the sound expanding in his ears until they’re blocked up against the chatter of the other passengers around him. The rusted metal prison carrying them down this poorly kept dirt road had held them captive for several hours now. Cooke County was long behind them as they trundled south down I-35, out to the middle of nowhere, to their new “home”. 

All the guys around him were chattering away, excited about the transfer, running their mouths about how this place was gonna be way better than that shithole institution they were leaving behind, but Jensen didn’t trust to hope. 

He’d hoped his parents would come to his hearing. He’d hoped they would have come to take him home. He’d hoped they might have decided they gave a damn after not seeing him for three years. He wasn’t gonna hope anymore. There wasn’t any reason Quarter Creek Ranch would be better than Gainesville State School had been. Juvie was juvie, as far as Jensen was concerned, this new one just came with horses. Well, that was a little better, Jensen admitted to himself, the bitter taste of the dust settling through the open windows and onto his tongue spurring on his bitter thoughts. 

Jared watched from the barn door as the rickety shuttle sputtered to a halt in the yard, kicking up dirt in swirling clouds. The door wrenched open with a raking creak of unoiled metal and a stream of boys filed out of the dust; an army of clones in thin white t-shirts and rough hewn jeans, matching denim shirts, some slung over their shoulders, some tied around waists, some sticking out of the front pockets of their identical, black canvas backpacks, state issued work boots dragging over the earth. Most of their expressions were identical too, excitement shining as luridly as the sweat on their brows after the stuffy shuttle ride down a Texas highway. 

The last boy to file off the bus looked like he’d swallowed the diesel fuel the shuttle runs on. Jared managed to choke down his laugh but he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. There’s always one who came into the program who’d already decided that it would be the worst experience of their life. As long as the kid didn’t cause any trouble for the others, or the horses, Jared didn’t mind. 

The officer that had driven the shuttle down from Gainesville waddled off the bus behind the cargo of boys, stretching his limbs out, stiff from the long drive. 

“Howdy!” he raised his hand in greeting, joviality at odds with what Jared expected from a juvenile prison guard. He raised his hat briefly in a return greeting, pushing off the weathered wood of the barn door he’d been leaning on and swaggering forwards into the yard to meet his new ranch hands. 

They’re a pretty rowdy bunch – Jared expected that. Open air that’s not stunted by ten foot chain link fences would be a refreshing change of pace for anyone who had been shut away in a state facility for as long as these boys had been. They’re all jostling together in a bundle, knocking shoulders and kicking shins as the officer herded them toward Jared. The sullen one hung at the back of the throng, a deep scowl on his full, pink lips. The boy’s tongue darted out to rehydrate them in the dry heat, and Jared wanted to kick himself just for noticing that this eighteen year old kid was attractive – even if he was attractive as hell. 

Jared wasn’t that kind of guy. 

“Alright!” Jared shouted and clapped his hands to get their attention, his voice booming out of his chest a little lower than its standard pitch, establishing his authority out of the gate. “My name’s Jared, I’m the owner of Quarter Creek Ranch, where y’all have elected to spend your rehabilitation.” 

The officer finally made it to the front of the crowd and handed over a clipboard of names, which Jared took with a grateful smile. 

“We’re gonna do a roll call twice a day,” he waved the clipboard at the group eyeing him suspiciously, “until I get to know all your names, and until I feel like I can trust you not to run off.” 

There’s a discontented groan from the collective, which Jared was expecting, but he doesn’t let it stop his speech. 

“This is not our first time running this program, and you will not be the first group to have a couple of runners.” Jared’s eyes couldn’t help but flick accusingly towards the disgruntled boy at the back. “Let me tell you, we’re about five miles of nothing from anywhere that even resembles a real road and almost no one drives by this way, so I guarantee me and my boys will find you before you find any way outta here.” Jared looked back at the kid again, but his expression hadn’t changed. 

“You’re all in rooms of four up at the house,” Jared jerked his thumb behind him toward the sandy sided farmhouse with the big wrap-around porch, “and each room of four has their own bathroom. I’m gonna call off your names, then y’all can go inside and get cleaned up, then I expect y’all downstairs again at six-thirty for dinner.” 

There were general rumbles of hushed chatter at the prospect of a shower and food and Jared cleared his throat again so he didn’t have to talk over them. 

“Ackles!” he started at the top of the list, and heard a shuffle as ‘Ackles’ moved to the front of the crowd. Jared looked up to see the boy he’d been having trouble keeping his eyes off of. He looked back down at his list. Jensen. No chance he’d be forgetting this kid’s name. 

“Anderson!” A lanky, greasy looking teen stepped forward and stood next to Jensen.

“Baxter!” A broad kid with a severe buzz cut that showed off the tattoo on his scalp joined the line. 

“Cameron!” Jared finished, watching the last boy join his new roommates. “Okay y’all, room one, up you get,” he pointed them towards the house and they trudged off, Jensen glancing back at Jared as he passed, his reliably stoic expression faltering almost imperceptibly before the mask was back up and he looked away again, following his new roommates. 

Jared watched the group until Jensen was out of sight, filing up the porch behind the others. The shift he’d seen in those eyes when they’d met his had him worried. It had been so brief, so well controlled, that he couldn’t interpret whatever starburst of emotion had flashed through that cold, deep green. It had sent an uncomfortable prickle down his spine, and settled low in his gut. He’d be keeping a close eye on Ackles, that’s for sure. 

Jensen kicked his boots off unceremoniously when he and the others reached their new room. One landed under the single bed to the right of the door, and he took it as a sign that that space would be his now. He nudged his other boot under the bed to join the first and dropped onto the mattress with a shuddering creak; he couldn’t tell if it was coming from the bed frame or his bones. 

“I got first shower!” Anderson didn’t even bother claiming a bed before he rushed past them all into the small en suite at the back of the room, heavy wooden partition sliding closed behind him with a thunk. No one argued with him – Anderson stunk – poor guy always looked like he’d taken a swim in the runoff from a fry up joint. 

Baxter looked around the space measuredly before stomping over to the bed next to Jensen’s, and only then did Cameron step forward and pick one out for himself. Cameron had kept close to Baxter ever since he’d been brought into the system. He was a weedy guy, with a gap in his teeth the width of the Mississippi and a lisp that made him sound like he’d been out picking cotton all day and inhaled more of the product than he’d harvested. Kids like him didn’t do well in juvie without someone higher up the food chain watching their back. 

Leslie Baxter scared the shit out of most of the residents from Gainesville, even made one of the corrections officers cry once, or so the rumour went. The good thing about that: having him as a roommate meant the other boys weren’t much likely to mess with the rest of them. 

Secretly, Jensen would bet all the money he didn’t have that there was another reason Baxter and Cameron stuck so close together, but if you went around calling guys named Leslie and Taylor a couple in a boys correctional facility in North Texas … well, you just didn’t do that. At least, Jensen would never do that – could never do that – to somebody. 

Anderson wandered out of the shower a couple minutes later, dingy white towel tucked high and tight around his waist, hiding the abs Jensen knew he didn’t have. He’d never been one for exercise or manual labour, Anderson. He preferred lounging around the yard they’d been let out in twice a day, sneaking cigarettes as soon as he was old enough to get in with the senior crowd at the facility. 

Jensen pulled himself off his bed, legs swinging around to the side closer to the shower, and toed off his socks. He could see the floor of the small bathroom shining with water and soap suds, curls of steam rising off the tiles as the hot water met the slightly cooler draft from the air conditioned bedroom. Thank god for the small mercies that it was actually down as inhumane to lock them up in Texas without at least a fan or something to move the air around. The little window unit sat humming away between Jensen and Baxter’s beds. 

Cameron started to get up from his bed at the same time as Jensen did and tried to slip into the bathroom ahead of him, but Jensen’s long legs caught up to him quick, and he yanked Cameron back by the scruff of his shirt.

“Not a chance, short stuff,” Jensen grunted, hauling him back onto his bed. Cameron looked to Baxter, asking for permission to turn this into a tussle, but Baxter just shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a shower, dude,” he scoffed. “Ackles’ll be two minutes, you know the guy don’t bother to wash his junk.” 

The occupants of the room all laughed, and Jensen rolled his eyes, but nodded to Baxter in acknowledgement that he hadn’t okay’d anyone taking a swing at him. They both knew it was just for appearances. Jensen didn’t have any reason to be grateful, he could have squashed Cameron like a cowpat, easy, and Baxter knew it. He was saving Cameron the embarrassment, not sparing Jensen a beating. 

Most of the crew that had come down to the Ranch for their rehab hadn’t been inside as long as Jensen. Baxter was one of the few who’d arrived in the same crop of delinquents they’d shipped out from Dallas five years ago. Baxter’d done a lot of his terrorizing once he’d been sanctioned, Jensen had done his before. It’s what landed him there, and the rumours that landed with him were enough to keep guys off his case – even guys like Baxter. No one was quite sure if it was true or not, but the story was some twink was laid up in Dallas County Hospital with a ventilator and no sign of brain function thanks to him. 

Jensen never cared to comment. 

True to reputation, he was only in the shower a couple minutes; scrubbing the dust clouds off his skin and out of his scalp, and he did drag the bar of soap down under his balls and up the crack of his ass after he noticed there was only one. A special present for Cameron, who was sure to jump in next. 

Jared surveyed the canteen and its new bundle of occupants apprehensively. Taking in a crowd of sixteen to nineteen year old juveniles was a risky venture he’d inherited from his Daddy. They hadn’t had a new crop since a few years ago when his father had had that fall and gone into the old folks home; the ranch had been too big and too stairs-based to make it worth trying to outfit the whole operation as handicapable. 

When Jared moved back home to look after the place, he wasn’t ready to jump into running a youth program on top of the actual ranching business so they’d had to take a pause while he got his bearings. His Daddy died last year, but Jared’s dying promise to him was that he’d get The QCR Juvenile Rehabilitation program back up and running. Looking around at the room full of young, cautious faces, Jared prayed this would all be worth it.

As they settled down on their benches, plates brimming with beans, rice, and their slabs of grilled chicken, the boys started to drop their masks and stopped looking around so suspiciously. Cool air and warm, full bellies had a way of helping teens drop their guard a little bit. 

Jared started to see the cliques that had migrated with them from the detention center. The boys weren’t sitting with their roommates, except in a couple select cases. He couldn’t help his eyes wandering toward the four boys he’d put in the first room. The big one and the little one, Baxter and Cameron he thought, were sat together. The stringy one that he couldn’t remember the name of was off with another group across the room. It took another minute for him to find the one he was looking for, Jensen, sat at the back table, in the corner farthest from Jared. 

Ackles wasn’t sitting alone exactly, there were other kids on either side of him, but he wasn’t speaking to any of them. He wasn’t participating. It was like he was off in his own head, like he didn’t need the social interaction the others craved. 

Jared thought back to what he’d been told in his course about antisocial behaviour in juvenile delinquents. Reluctance to interact with their peers is often a precursor to further issues with aggression when the delinquent is released back into civil society, his head quoted the handbook back at him. Now vaguely concerned by what he observed of Ackles thus far, Jared sought him out again and felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

Jensen wasn’t in the seat he’d been in just seconds before. 

Panicking, hopefully invisibly, Jared’s eyes swept the room, looking for that sandy brown hair shot through with sun or the freckled face or the striking green eyes, any feature he could remember. He finally hit upon Ackles, passing behind a group of boys that had just stood up with their empty plates and in his breath of relief it struck him; that had been a strange set of traits for his brain to pick out about one of his juvenile detainees. So far he mentally identified most of them as: ‘the one with the eagle tattoo’, ‘the one that needed a haircut’, ‘the one that looked like he could bench press 200 pounds’. Ackles, despite his stern gaze and aloof attitude and altogether unnerving presence, had somehow found himself with the label of ‘the incredibly fuckable one’.

Jared flinched at his own thoughts, ashamed that he could even be attracted to someone in his care like these boys were, someone half his age. Heart sinking, Jared recognised that he’d already crossed a line without realising what his motivations were; he knew Ackles was half his age because after he’d done the roll call in the yard he’d gone inside and pulled out the file on ‘Ackles, Jensen’ to check him out. At the time he’d told himself he needed to read up on the kid because he’d already presented as a concern but the reality of the situation couldn’t be avoided now he recognised the path his thoughts had turned down. Jared was loath to admit that maybe it was men like him that gave the gay community a bad reputation. Admiring Jensen, even from afar, had to be treading the line of predation, didn’t it? 

A crash and a cacophony of shouts pulled Jared from his contemplation of his young charge. In his preoccupation, Jared hadn’t noticed Jensen’s smallest roommate, Cameron, stand up from his bench and make his way down towards Jared’s end of the room. He hadn’t seen what happened, but Cameron was now squaring up to one of the other guys – one of the ones that looked like they could bench press him, easy. 

Jensen and Baxter looked up towards the commotion and Jared saw both roll their eyes. Apparently this wasn’t unusual. The sound of an actual punch being thrown broke Jared out of his second reverie and spurred him towards the ring that had begun to form around the spectacle. The fighters were pretty well walled in, and Jared had trouble breaking through. Baxter appeared in his line of sight amidst jeers from the crowd, easily pushing in and stepping in front of Cameron to defend him from the other boy. 

“Your little butt buddy started it,” he growled in Baxter’s face, not backing down. 

“Yeah, and I’m finishing it!” Jared shouted, finally pushing through and inserting himself in between them. “That’s my first warning for all three of you,” Jared pointed sternly at Baxter, Cameron, and Sanchez (he finally remembered the name of the other kid). “We’re not playing baseball here either fellas. Any of y’all start something again you’re going back North, no third strike necessary. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” they all grumbled reluctantly, Cameron and Sanchez still seething. 

“Everyone back to your rooms now, get!” Jared ushered them towards the exit to the canteen, watching the crowd mosey out, chattering away. It was like the fight had broken some kind of tension and helped them all relax. Maybe now it felt more like home, what they were used to before. Jared looked around helplessly at the smiles, despairing a little inside. That facility in Gainesville must have been a hell of a place.

Jared was about to exit himself and lock the door behind him when he spotted Jensen still sat quietly in the corner, leaning back off the bench to rest against the wall behind him and mindlessly flicking through the pocket Bible they were required to provide in each room by the state. Being alone in the room with him made something queasy stir in Jared’s stomach, and he was surprised at the edge in his own voice when he spoke. 

“Ackles,” he barked roughly, sound coming out scratchy and low. The boy flicked his eyes up from the Bible in his hands to look at Jared, bright green peeking through unfairly pretty eyelashes. “You uh, you can’t stay here. Back to your room,” Jared jerked a thumb down the hall in the direction all his fellow residents had just gone. 

Jensen got up without speaking, tucking the Bible into the back of his jeans and moseying forward – towards Jared rather than the door. He stopped just short of him, looking up the couple of inches Jared had on him. For a moment, too long really, Jensen just stared at Jared, implacable. Jared only stared back helplessly. 

“Yessir,” Jensen finally spoke, voice heavy with Texas and sarcasm, tilting an imaginary cowboy hat in deference to Jared before he brushed past him and walked down the hall to the dormitories without a backward glance. 

The work Jensen is rotated through on the ranch gets duller by the day. He didn’t know how the head honcho was selecting who got which assignments, and it was probably random, but Jensen felt like he was being personally singled out with the worst jobs there were. 

Anderson had been on the same duties in the stables since day one. He and a few others were learning how to groom the horses from some of the permanent, non-delinquent hands they had on staff. Cameron and Baxter had somehow wound up in the same group, despite that being one of the worst ideas ever, because they never got anything done when they were together. Or at least never got it done well. They had been out in some of the back fields mending fences and burning down some of the old grass. And what guy doesn’t want to mess around with fire all day and then hit some stuff? That sounded like a great way to spend the day if you asked Jensen. 

But he had been stuck inside the whole friggin’ time he’d been on this goddamn ranch; right under the nose of the top gun himself. Jared wouldn’t. Leave him. Alone. Everywhere he went the guy was watching him. He tried to do it surreptitiously, but Jensen had spent the past five years watching his own back in juvie; he knew how it felt when someone had their eyes on him. 

Today, Jensen was stuck in the kitchen on prep duty with Rocco and DJ, another pair that happened to get stationed with their buddies. Jensen swore he was the only one who kept winding up on his own. Though, he reflected on his dissatisfaction, maybe that was because he didn’t really have any friends among this group of guys in the first place. 

He wondered idly, as he tore lettuce into chunks (they weren’t allowed knives), why it seemed to bother him so much more here than it had back in Gainesville. Maybe it was because they were out, but not really out. The ranch felt a lot closer to the real world, so Jensen had subconsciously expected to start plugging in again like he had the last time he’d been free. Expected it to feel more like highschool had, maybe, back when he’d actually had friends. When he’d had a boyfriend. 

But it was useless thinking like that, Jensen realised. This place was just another kind of prison. Albeit – Jared walked through the kitchen door right on cue – one with much better eye candy than juvie had had. As irritating as it was to have him looking over his shoulder all the friggin’ time, Jensen could still admit that the owner of the Quarter Creek Ranch was smokin’ hot. Like, hotter than Texas at the height of summer, hot. 

Yesterday, Jensen had seen Jared ride into the stables while he’d been mucking out stalls – the closest he’d gotten to the horses the whole time they’d been here – and he’d damn near had heart palpitations. The sight of that man with his thighs spread wide across the animal’s back and sweaty from the baking sun was something else. Jensen had actually choked on his own breath for a moment when he’d caught sight of the way the leather reins were tangled in Jared’s long, rough fingers. He couldn’t tell which he wanted more: the leather straps wrapping around his neck, or Jared’s hands. 

Juvie had given him some kinks; sue him. He’d had to make do with the skin mags he could pinch from the guards and none of them were particularly his thing, so he’d settled for imagination, and he’d had a ready memory of the feel of handcuffs sinking into his flesh. 

Jensen was distracted now by Jared’s fingers flying in front of his face, and he jumped back reflexively before he registered what he was doing. He hadn’t been in any danger, he realised. Jared was just reaching for a chunk of lettuce from the growing pile Jensen had in front of him. The man popped the piece into his waiting mouth, stubbled chin working methodically as he chewed, Adam’s apple bobbing as the vegetable made its way down his throat. 

Jensen just stood there in bristly silence as Jared stared him down for a moment, simultaneously reaching for a second piece of lettuce. What the hell was his deal? Jensen wondered. 

“You got something you wanna say there, Ackles?” Jared raised an eyebrow and stole another piece of lettuce. 

Jensen felt his hands ball into fists at his side. It wasn’t like Jared was doing anything particularly malicious, or even that annoying, except that Jensen could tell he was doing it to mess with him, to see if there was some way to get him riled up and push him into lashing out. What the fuck was this guy’s problem?

“Do you like the lettuce, sir?” Jensen asked dryly, because he didn’t know what the fuck else to say, but he sure as hell knew he wasn’t going to rise to this bait. 

“Good work on the tearing,” Jared smirked and moved on to inspect Rocco and DJ’s work, but not before Jensen caught a glimpse of something cagey behind the dark of his eyes. He was confused for a moment, he could have sworn Jared had lighter eyes than that – all blue and hazel and grey warped together – but then he realised it must have been Jared’s pupils, dilated far beyond reason for someone who was hanging out in a kitchen stealing bites of poorly prepared raw vegetables. “Good work over here too, guys,” Jared nodded approvingly looking over the rest of the food prep. “Go on and wash up, then head outside and help José unload the feed bags for the horses.” 

“You got it boss,” DJ gave Jared an insincere salute and shot out the door with Rocco close on his heels. Jensen began to trudge after them when a thick forearm blocked his path. 

“Not you, Ackles.” Jared’s expression as he looked down at him was unreadable. Jensen met his stare evenly, trying not to let his irritation become visible. 

“Something else you need, sir?” he forced himself to ask politely. 

“Since you did such a good job with the lettuce, we’re gonna move you on to bigger and better things.” Jared spun around, and Jensen followed him back into the room suspiciously. Using a key he had on a loop of his belt, Jared unlocked a drawer and pulled out a, clearly very dull, knife. Jensen’s brow shot up in surprise. 

“You trust me with that?” 

Jared looked back at him quizzically, dropping a bag of potatoes on the counter next to where he’d set the knife. 

“You gonna give me a reason not to?” Jared’s brow quirked up in a question to match Jensen’s. 

Jensen didn’t answer the question. He stomped up to the kitchen counter and picked up the knife, grabbing a potato in the other hand. 

“What shape am I cutting these into?” Jensen’s voice was monotone, unemotional. He wasn’t going to be grateful to Jared for the extra work when the other boys got a break, but he wasn’t going to give him a reason to regret this decision to take a chance with him either. 

“What shape am I cutting these into, sir,” Jared corrected, and though Jensen couldn’t see him he could hear the cocky smirk the man was wearing, loud and clear. 

“Yessir, sorry sir,” Jensen spoke through clenched teeth. He refused to turn around to see the glee that he was sure must be on Jared’s face. 

“Better,” Jared confirms. “Long and thick, Ackles.” 

Jensen spluttered, choking on thin air. He’d been wondering just a second ago if Jared’s cock was as big as his attitude; how had he known what Jensen had been thinking? 

“I’m sorry sir?” Jensen’s cheeks were flaming red, he couldn’t turn to look at Jared to see if the man’s expression gave anything away. 

“The potatoes, Ackles,” Jared answered evenly, and Jared blushed even deeper. 

“Oh, uh, right. Yessir.” Fuck, he hated Jared.

Part 2