#protective jensen

Something in you changed after your dad passed away. Anyone who knew you well enough could see it.

You might have still laughed and smiled like nothing had changed, and told people you were fine with that same defiant look that your Dad himself had perfected and passed right down to you.

Everyone else bought the smile. Jensen never did.

He’d watched you grow from a stubborn, loud-mouthed teenager into a capable young woman. He was there as you stole a bite of your dad’s fries when you were fourteen, rolled your eyes at his curfew demands when you were sixteen, and argued with him like you were already thirty when you were twenty.

He was a bystander to your entire dynamic with your father, and in one fell swoop, that relationship was ripped out from underneath you.

He knew when you were lying about being okay, and you’d been lying a lot lately.

“I’m okay, Jensen.”

“I’m dealing with it.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

That last one almost made him shake his head in disbelief every time.

Not that he would ever admit it, but in those three shared months of burying the grief, he had found himself checking whether you’d eaten, making coffee for two without thinking, and leaving the porch light on when you were out late.

Somewhere along the way, looking after you had become second nature.

——

Jensen was on his own today. You had driven yourself into town to buy groceries and visit your mother, or so you had told him.

Jensen stepped out of the steam filled bathroom, towel draped lazily around his waist with his wet, unkempt hair falling into his eyes.

His phone buzzed on the kitchen counter just after three in the afternoon. Jensen glanced down unknowingly at the screen, expecting a work call.

Instead, it was one of his old buddies from high school, whom he hadn’t heard from since the funeral. He frowned and answered.

“Jordan? That you?” He asked. There was a pause.

“Yeah. This is Jensen, right?” His eyebrows knitted together. He could hear the concern already lacing Jordan’s tone.

“Yeah man, what’s going on?” Jensen muttered.

A nervous breath came through the line. “I’m with some people down here at old Fitzgerald’s…” Jordan trails off.

Jensen’s body immediately locked up, his grip tightened around the phone.

Fitzgerald’s was a seedy dive bar across town.

A place Jensen warned you about visiting multiple times growing up.

The kind that doesn’t check your ID and serves you drinks until you’re plastered.

A place your dad would’ve never let you go, especially alone.

“Why are you calling me?”

Another pause. “Your friend’s kid is here.” Jordan says in a withdrawn tone.

Everything inside Jensen went still.

“What?” He snaps.

“She came in earlier. She’s… well, she’s not in a good way, bud.”

Jensen closed his eyes.

Of fucking course. Because when did you ever obey orders, from Jensen or your dad?

He rubbed a hand over his face, already feeling a headache forming in his temples.

“What is she doing now? Is she okay?” Jensen prods, his voice slightly hoarse.

For once, not worried if he sounds like a wuss for caring too much.

Jordan hesitated.

“She’s sat up at the bar with a bottle of Jameson, and she’s about two thirds of the way through it.”

He utters the words quietly, as if him talking too loud would make you snap your head to him and his cover would be blown.

Jensen exhaled slowly through his nose.

Not angry. Well, not yet at least. Mostly tired.

Because he knew exactly what this was.

You weren’t celebrating. You weren’t blowing off steam. You were hurting. And instead of calling him like you should have, you’d found the one place where nobody knew you well enough to ask if you were doing okay.

He knew exactly why you’d chosen Fitzgerald’s.

Nobody there knew your name, or your story.

Nobody there would have recognised you as the girl whose dad had died.

Jensen let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “Is she safe?”

“For now. I would get down here soon though, she’s pretty far gone. A buddy of mine got her away from some guys who were bothering her.”

Jensen’s jaw clenched. “What guys?”

“They left.” That answer did nothing to ease his concern.

“You did the right thing calling me.”

“I figured you’d want to know.”

Yeah. He did. More than he wanted to admit.

“Keep her there. Don’t let her leave.”

Jensen dropped the call and hastily slinked into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, keys already in hand.

For a moment, he just stood there. Then he looked at the framed photo sitting on the counter.

A picture of him and your dad from years ago. Two idiots in their twenties who thought they knew everything about the world.

Jensen sighed.

“Your damn daughter is gonna give me grey hair, you know that?”

The empty room didn’t answer. It never did anymore. He left the quiet behind, the front door slamming behind him.