Mr. Ackles' Flower Shop - Part 3

[bad_peppermint]

Part 2

“Jensen!” Jared called, when Jensen had rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. He’d resisted the temptation all day, but the greenhouse had been particularly hot and muggy today and there hadn’t been a single customer, so he’d bent his own rules a little bit. He’d given the afternoon up as a wash, and of course that was when Jared appeared in the doorway.

“Jared,” he said, ignoring the flush that had formed high on his cheeks from having been caught looking utterly indecent.

“Jensen,” Jared said again. His eyes widened a little at Jensen’s appearance, and it really wasn’t fair that Jared had chosen today of all days to look particularly gorgeous. He was wearing a light blue shirt under a cream vest, and a cream tie, and not even the sweat beading at his forehead made him look the slightest bit unappealing.

“You look nice today,” Jensen said, trying for neutrally. Jared looked - dressed up. Like he was trying to impress someone. Jensen swallowed past the lump in his throat and asked, carefully pleasant, “Dinner plans?”

Jared looked away, clearly flustered. “You know,” he said quickly. “If that’s what makes them happy, right?”

Jensen forced a laugh. “Of course,” he said. “You know, we’ve had some shying daisies come in. They’d match your vest, and you’re just about charming enough to make them show it.”

“Right.” Jared bit his lip. “Maybe later, okay? I wanted to see if I could take a look at your books. Maybe pick your brain a little.”

Jensen gestured at the counter. “The books are all back there,” he said. “Feel free to help yourself. But I’m afraid I won’t be much use to you today. It’s harvest time for the weeping mulberries, and I’ve learned the hard way that that takes priority over anything else.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright,” Jared assured him. He bit his lip again when the corners of his mouth curled upwards. “I really wouldn’t want to keep you from anything, Jensen.”

“You aren’t,” Jensen assured him, though if he was being truthful, he had to admit that he most likely would have said the same even if Jared had been. “It’s a fairly mindless task, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah?” Jared sat up a little straighter and folded his hands in his lap. “Anything I can help with, by any chance?”

“No, no.” Jensen smiled at him over his shoulder even as he headed out to retrieve the first of the plants. “I’m fine. You just read.”

“I’m tired of reading,” Jared said while Jensen was rummaging around on the lower level of one of the display tables, trying to decide which of the mulberry bushes needed his attention most badly, just in case he didn’t get through them all today.

“Jensen,” Jared said, drawing out the word. “Reading is all I do, all day. Come on, let me help.”

“I couldn’t,” Jensen said, picking out one of the bushes that was furthest along. “You’re not here to take over my duties.”

“You let Lindsey help,” Jared pointed out.

It was true, he did. Lindsey had been his friend for longer, much longer, but Jared was in the shop more than she was, certainly.

“You’ll ruin your clothes,” Jensen pointed out.

Jared made a dismissive noise. “It’ll come out.”

“It really, really won’t,” Jensen said, allowing himself a laugh. “But if you’re so determined, then yes, you can help.” And what was the harm, really? Jensen could contain his hammering heart for a few hours.

He picked up a second pot, then took a moment to close his eyes and try to relax. It was just like with Lindsey. There was really no need to be this infatuated. “Alright,” he said, when he walked over. “You can help.”

“Perfect.” Jared rubbed his hands together. “What are we doing?”

“Picking berries,” Jensen said. He deposited the first two pots on the counter, then reached underneath it to procure two sets of workman’s gloves. “They need to be removed before they become ripe enough to burst.” He handed one set of gloves to Jared. “You’re going to want to wear these,” he said.

Jared obediently slid one hand into a glove. “What happens when they burst?” he asked.

“Well, as you can see,” Jensen said, pointing out the clumps of berries on the bushes, “the berries are a dark blue, and the riper they grow, the darker they become. When they burst, the juice runs down along the stems and leaves as though the plant were crying - which is all very pretty and fascinating until you’ve realized you’ve gotten it all over your clothes, and that you now have to part ways with your favorite shirt.” He smiled at Jared’s rapt expression. “So wear the gloves?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course.” Jared fumbled his fingers into the second one while Jensen procured a bowl for them to collect the berries in.

“So what do you do with the berries once you’ve picked them?”

Jensen pulled on his own gloves, shrugged. “Grow more,” he said. “They’re too bitter to eat, but I was thinking of perhaps crossing the mulberry plant with some sort of vine or ivy, to grow around windows and doors as protection against burglars.”

“Huh,” Jared said, and burst out laughing when he picked off one of the berries and it dissolved between his fingertips, staining the gloves a deep, dark blue. “Yeah, I think that could work.”

~

Picking the berries off the bushes was tedious work, unfortunately, because there were plenty of berries on plenty of bushes, and Jared lasted until they’d worked several hours and through about half of the bushes before he asked about their progress.

Jensen dreaded telling him, but he was honest.

Jared’s jaw dropped. He asked, “Do you usually do all this by yourself?” with his expression caught halfway between impressed and horrified.

Jensen forced himself to smile when he turned back to the plant in front of him. “Usually I hire someone from the florist school to help me out, but this year, I-” can’t afford it, was the honest answer, but that was not something he really liked to contemplate, let alone talk about.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jared sitting quietly for a couple of moments, watching him. But Jensen didn’t say anything more, and eventually Jared picked off another berry and said lightly, “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m here.”

~

It was odd, working with someone like Jared. Odd, but oddly nice, and he found himself reluctant to close up the shop when it was time for Jared to leave. But he did, and he took a long time to fall asleep that night, and spent most of the morning being vaguely absent-minded in dealing with his customers.

He sold a daisy chain to Ryan Ross when he came in, who nodded vaguely through Jensen’s explanation that sunlight and a nightly soak would keep the circular plant alive and healthy, long, spindly digits repeatedly drifting up to finger the blossoms in his hair in infatuation. He could barely even take his fingers away to pay, but before he left, he looked up at Jensen, eyes suddenly sharp.

“I hope he’s good to you.” He nodded at Jensen. “The one who’s got you smiling like that.”

“I don’t, I haven’t,” Jensen stammered, but before he’d regained his power of speech, Ryan Ross had already waltzed out the door.

~

He was still mortified by Ryan’s words the next time Jared came in, armed with a slew of notebooks and pens, and spread them all over the counter. He found himself being just a little gruff with Jared, playing Ryan’s words over and over in his head, but quickly relented when Jared merely gave him a confused, hurt look and fell silent, playing with his pen.

Jensen couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to scare Jared away, even when it was for both their good, and so he did what he usually did: He distracted himself with his plants.

“What’s that?” Jared asked, eyeing the quivering mass of stems that Jensen carried over to the counter in fascination.

“Twisting hazel,” Jensen told him dutifully. “The older stems need a trim, or they’ll grow too hard and break.”

“Huh,” Jared said, after a moment. “What happens to them in the wild? If there’s nobody around to trim them?”

“They get eaten.” Jensen smiled. “Like a large number of wild plants, to be honest.”

“Did you know the rotting valerian has evolved to look and smell like it’s already dead, to avoid exactly that?” Jared tilted back on his stool so he was leaning against the wall and lazily stretched to tap the page open in front of him. “I just read that.”

“I did know that.” Jensen smiled down at his hands for a moment before he reached out to take hold of the first twisting leaf, testing it for bendiness. It passed the test, and he kept a tight hold on it while he reached for a second with his free hand.

Across from him, Jared laughed. “Oh yeah,” he said good-naturedly. “You already know everything there is to know about plants, I forgot.”

“Not everything.” Jensen worked his way through a third stem, and a fourth. “But it sort of comes with the territory, you have to admit.”

“I suppose.” Jared reached for the pencil lying on the counter top, tapping it against the surface while Jensen worked. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Oh?” Jensen said carefully.

“Yeah,” Jared said, smiling a little. “When all the little boys wanted to be firemen, were you the kid talking about owning a flower shop one day?”

Jensen had never been so thankful for a customer as he was right then, and the smile he aimed at the woman pushing open the door was perhaps a little wide. “Welcome,” he said. “Would you like some help, or are you just having a look around?”

“Oh, I’m just looking,” she said, waving a vague hand.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” Jensen said. When he risked a glance back at Jared, the other man was frowning at him, and Jensen, caught, dropped his gaze.

“So tell me more about twisting hazel,” Jared said, a peace offering of sorts. “Where is it from, originally?”

Jensen smiled gratefully, and had just launched into a description of European flower trade in the fifteenth century, when he heard his customer make a faint noise of outrage.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, holding up a price tag.

Jensen could see his own startled expression reflected on Jared’s face. “Uh, no, ma’am,” he said. “All prices are as displayed.”

She scoffed and jabbed the sign blindly back into the soil. Jensen cringed, but it looked like she had avoided spearing any errant leaves. She read over a few more signs, expression growing darker with each one, and finally shook her head and turned away from them entirely.

“These prices are ridiculous,” she said. “That flower shop on Lombard Street, what’s it called?” She snapped her fingers. “Pellegrino’s. They sell all of these for half price, at least. You don’t even have bouquets.”

“There are ethical reasons,” Jensen began, at the same time Jared snapped “Hey!” but the customer merely said “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” and headed for the door.

“Have a good day,” Jensen called after her, and was answered by the sound of the door slamming shut. He didn’t let himself droop, not exactly, but he still hunched his shoulders and bowed his head. He could hear Jared move, after a moment, but he didn’t look up until he felt his hands settle on Jensen’s back.

“People are cruel,” Jared said. His hands were broad and warm against Jensen’s shoulders.

“They can be, yes,” Jensen whispered.

Jared took his hands away. Jensen concentrated on the twisting hazel while he returned to his seat, and while he turned a page and made a couple of notes.

“You never answered my question, you know,” Jared finally said, deliberately light. “About what made you decide to open a flower shop.”

Jensen finally found a stem that wouldn’t bend like the others, cracks already marring the sides, and it was then that he realized he only had sharp-nosed shears on hand. He tried them anyway, but the stem in question twisted so violently Jensen almost cut off the one next to it instead. He could hear the bark crack. “There’s not much to tell, really,” he said, launching another attempt that, predictably, also failed. “My parents owned one, and I’ve always loved plants. It was only the next logical step.”

“What’s wrong?” Jared asked, when the twisting hazel bent away from Jensen’s hands a third time, and Jensen sighed.

“I need the snub-nosed shears,” he said. “Twisting hazel doesn’t like sharp things, but apparently I’ve left them in the back, and if I go get them now,” he indicated the hand full of wriggling strands, “I’m going to have to start over.”

“You could have just said something,” Jared chided, springing to his feet. “I’ll go get them. The back room, you said?”

“You don’t have to,” Jensen protested, but Jared was already gone. “They should be on the worktable,” he called, and then gave his handful of hazel a gentle tug. “This is all your fault, you know,” he said quietly.

“Got them!” came the cheerful reply. Then a worry-inducing silence. “Hey Jensen?” Jared stuck his head through the door, cobwebs clinging to his bangs. “Did you know you have a radio back here?”

“A radio?” Jensen asked. He remembered making room for one, vaguely, but what exactly he had intended to do with it escaped him.

“Uh-huh.” Jared disappeared only to emerge again a moment later, shears in one hand and, indeed, a radio under his other arm - one of the old, upright, wooden ones that Jensen had always preferred, no matter how outdated they were.

Jared handed the shears to Jensen, who snipped off the now pliant stem in question, and returned to his own side of the counter. He set the radio down and ran a flat hand across the top of it, grinning when he came away with a palmful of dust. “Man, Jensen,” he said. “I hope this still works.”

He looked around for an electrical outlet, then back at Jensen, faltering slightly. “You don’t have any plants that react badly to music, do you?” he asked.

“Not at the moment,” Jensen said evenly, though the fact that Jared was so thoughtful of his plants sent a pleasantly warm shiver down his spine. He gestured at the radio with his shears. “Go right ahead.”

“Alright,” Jared crowed, and went to plug in the cord. When nothing happened, he lightly smacked the radio’s wooden side a couple of times, muttering, “Come on now, come on.”

Jensen figured they were both about equally surprised when that actually worked, though Jared’s grin at the first sign of white noise was decidedly bigger. He fiddled with the dials for a moment, going through several stations, before finally settling on something rhythmic and lighthearted.

Jensen, on the other hand, was merely waiting for the moment Jared noticed the shelf of fledgling plants mounted on the wall.

Which he did, a moment later. “Jensen,” he breathed. “Jensen - are they swaying?”

“They are.” Jensen finally gave the hazel up as a lost cause, at least while Jared was still exclaiming in delight over Jensen’s treasures. He untangled his hand and turned in his seat to give Jared his full attention. “Telegraph plants,” he said. “Though I prefer the less common name dancing lords and ladies.” He thought about explaining how the music’s vibration in the air affected the young leaves, but in the end he merely smiled, deciding that a scientific explanation would only lessen the magic.

Instead he said, “If you turn the music down a little, you’ll be able to hear them humming.”

“But then I’d have to turn the music down,” Jared said, smiling, though he immediately reached for the knob that controlled the volume. The humming that accompanied the swaying wasn’t particularly pretty, but it was certainly impressive, and Jared immediately wandered over to peer at the plants with interest.

“This is amazing,” he said, after a moment. “They’re like a tiny choir, right here on your shelf.”

“I agree,” Jensen said quietly.

With a quick grin over his shoulder, Jared began conducting the plants in grand, sweeping motions, and Jensen couldn’t help it - he laughed, loud and bright, and then laughed again at the way Jared startled and promptly lost the beat entirely.

“Are you laughing at me?” he demanded, grinning wide, and set his hands on his hips.

“I would never,” Jensen said, but he was still smiling, and Jared shook his head and then a finger at him.

“Come on,” he said. “Just for that, I’m forcing you to dance.”

“No!” Jensen protested. He held up one hand, laughing. “No dancing!”

“You can’t fool me,” Jared crowed. “I see those fingers twitching, Mr. Ackles!”

Jensen stilled his other hand - indeed, merrily tapping away - immediately, but Jared didn’t seem to care about that, twining his fingers through Jensen’s instead.

“Come on,” he said, giving Jensen’s hand a little tug. “I know you want to dance, Jensen. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jensen wasn’t sure he could, considering he was having a hard time tearing his gaze from the sight of their clasped hands, but he let Jared pull him around the counter and into the small bit of open space in front of it. There wasn’t much room for dancing to be had, but he spun obediently when Jared urged him to, and laughed when Jared attempted some sort of swing step that almost sent both of them flying. He turned again, and then froze when he saw someone standing in the door, watching with interest.

He realized a moment later that it was only Gabe, but Jared had already stilled, one hand settling protectively on Jensen’s hip.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Gabe said, grinning.

Jensen took a hasty step back. “It’s not like that,” he said, and when he chanced a glance at Jared, his friend was frowning in agreement.

Gabe shrugged good-naturedly. “Too bad,” he said. “That was seriously cute.”

He gestured at the greenhouse windows, and Jensen flushed a hot red. He’d completely forgotten how visible they were from the street. Anyone walking by could have seen him being utterly unprofessional. Thankfully, the only person outside was William, who hurried across the driveway and into the shop, a bright flush on his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said, not unhappily, after he’d pushed closed the door. “I’m late, I’m late, I know.”

“One of these days,” Gabe said, extending a hand, “you’re going to be on time to something, William, and I won’t know what to do with myself.”

“Hold your tongue,” William told him. He allowed Gabe to draw him in and press a warm kiss to his lips. “No bad-mouthing me in front of Jensen. He might think less of me, and if that happens, I think I might die.”

“I would never,” Gabe stage-whispered against his lips before he let him go - though no further than an arm’s reach away. “Well then, Jensen,” he said, and Jensen keenly felt Jared drifting away but he didn’t dare turn to ask him not to go.

Gabe, perhaps sensing his distress, softened his smile. “We’ve come for the rest of those snakeheads.”

~

The following Thursday, Jensen received a letter from the gas company asking him to pay nearly four times what he usually owed. It was an unusually busy day, and while Jensen inwardly rejoiced at the half dozen of the crimson felicitas he wrapped up and handed over to their delighted new owners, he was also fidgety and distracted until he had the chance to call the company just before closing time.

The representative who answered his call - Isaac - ‘hm’ed, papers rustling, before he finally came back on the line.

“We have no such bill on record, sir,” he said. “According to our files, you’ve actually acquired less balance than last month.”

“That’s - fine,” Jensen said. “It must have been a mix-up in the paperwork, then.”

“I’m very sorry about that,” came the reply. He laughed a little. “But hey, better this than the other way around, huh? ”

“Certainly.” Jensen’s smile was a little weak. “You have a good day.”

“You too,” Isaac said and hung up.

Jensen himself was slower to, and when he finally pulled his hand away, his fingers were shaking. What on Earth was going on?

~

“The blue butter daisy is a plant too docile to cross,” Jensen read. He scoffed. “Too docile to cross, are you serious?”

He knew for a fact that it wasn’t, considering he’d used it to create a child-friendly version of the raging daffodil just last year, as a special request from a client with no small case of nostalgia but also a hefty dose of concern for her children’s safety. The inherent quality of a trait had nothing to do with how strong it was when crossed, everyone knew that. But there it was, printed in black and white. The blue butter daisy is a plant too docile to cross.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, not realizing he had spoken aloud until he noticed Jared giving him a curious look. He lifted the magazine to give Jared a better view of the cover, simultaneously hiding his reddening cheeks. “This is possibly the least accurate journal I have ever read,” he said.

“You know a lot about designing plants?” Jared asked casually.

Jensen shrugged his shoulders. “A little,” he said. “I’ve designed a couple, like the felicitas, but mostly my creations are the result of a happy coincidence.”

“Most people would call that ‘brilliance’.”

Jensen shook his head quickly. “I combined a few lucky discoveries with what I already knew about plants,” he said. “It wasn’t a coincidence as such, but it certainly wasn’t due to my own brilliance.”

Jared, smiling a little, shook his head. “I highly doubt you’d ever attribute anything to your own brilliance,” he said, and then clapped his hands and looked away before Jensen could respond. “So!” he said brightly. “Tell me which of these are your own work.”

“Anything in particular?” Jensen asked, indicating the greenhouse and its mess of plants crowded on every available surface, occupying tables, shelves, chairs, the floor and even the rafters. They weren’t all his, but a significant number of them were. “Otherwise we might be here a while.”

Jared laughed. “What about your earliest one? The earliest one you have available, at least.”

That was easy, at least. Jensen slid out from behind the counter and reached up to pluck it from a shelf, presenting it to Jared. “Here you are,” he said. It was a clumsily assembled plant, its stems varying in thickness and length, with a lone marguerite blooming in the center.

“She doesn’t even have a name,” Jensen said. “But at the time, I thought it’d be an excellent idea to have a plant that opened a different color blossom every day of the week.”

He’d spent days on it, weeks, figuring out how to combine the marguerite with three different color carnations, a dandelion, a violet, and a tulip. It had still turned out horribly disfigured.

“Oh wow.” Jared took the pot from Jensen’s hands to turn it this way and that. “How young were you?”

“I don’t know.” Jensen laughed. “Young.” He gave Jared a small smile. “Not the finest work I’ve ever done, I’ll admit, but I find myself oddly fond of it all the same.”

“Is that why you still have it?” Jared asked, “Because this might be your first attempt, but I still can’t imagine that no one would be interested in buying it.”

“It’s not that.” Jensen shook his head. “There have been interested parties, and I’m willing to part with it, I am. I’m just not willing to sell it to just anyone, you know? I know it’s stupid, but I can’t bear to let it go if I don’t know that it’s going to a good home.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, Jensen,” Jared said quietly.

“That’s good,” Jensen said, just as softly. He smiled. “Want to see my latest, in contrast?”

“I’d love to,” Jared said, but the smile faded when he registered the plant Jensen lead him to. “Doesn’t that look like… a mother of millions?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jensen said easily.

Jared gave him a sidelong look. “The plant that kills grown men if they so much as brush against the blossoms with bare arms?”

Jensen allowed himself a grin. “I did say it was one of my creations, didn’t I?” he said. He reached past the star-shaped blue blossoms to point out a short, thick branch that didn’t quite seem to fit with the others. “This is purpureum,” he said. “It can be used to create antidotes for just about any kind of poison. This plant is a cross between the two, and it’s entirely harmless.”

He brushed his hand against one of the blossoms, ignoring Jared’s sharp breath, and smiled. “See?”

“That is amazing,” Jared breathed. He turned to Jensen, a wide grin spreading over his features. “You’re amazing.”

His smile was so brilliant, so breathtaking, that Jensen had to swallow and look away. It wasn’t for him, he reminded himself firmly. Jared was interested in girls, in women, in one woman in particular, and Jensen needed to abandon the fluttering in his stomach before it got him into serious trouble.

“I,” he began, but Jared was already entirely entranced by Jensen’s creation once again.

“How did you do it?” he asked. “Everything I’ve read says that the mother of millions rejects any foreign implant, making a cross impossible.”

“No, you see,” Jensen said, heading for his books and drawings, letting Jared’s enthusiasm carry him. He took hold of one of his references, flipped through a notebook. “You see, that’s what you’d think, with the mother of million’s aggressive characteristics, but if you use the sap of the leeching ivy to seal the cut, the parasitic element in the liquid absorbs the rejecting trait of the mother of millions, protecting the purpureum, and by the time the effect wears off, the added branch has already absorbed enough of the mother of millions’ sap for it to accept it as a native extension, and then the mother of millions adopting the purpureum’s antidotal characteristics and neutralizing its own venom is just a matter of time.”

“That’s genius,” Jared whispered, tracing Jensen’s sketches with one long finger. “Jensen, that’s - the ivy sap, how did you come up with that?”

“Oh.” Jensen shrugged a little. He was hugging Malcolm’s Field Guide to Flowers to his chest, he realized, but wasn’t sure how to let go without drawing attention to the fact. “It wasn’t a brilliant discovery, or anything,” he said.

“I think it’s pretty great,” Jared said.

“That’s because you’re almost as fascinated by flowers as I am,” Jensen said. He hesitated. “I mean, judging from your interest in the subject, I simply assumed-”

“No, no, you’re right.” Jared looked down at his hands. “I think I might specialize in Botanical Engineering. You know, plant design?”

“Because of my shop?” Jensen asked. His heart was hammering so loud he was surprised Jared wasn’t already calling a doctor.

“Yeah.” Jared smiled at him through his bangs. “I just never realized how cool plants are, you know?”

It was certainly the first Jensen had ever heard of it, but it wasn’t like he was going to argue the point. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, and found himself smiling back.

~

They settled into a kind of routine, after that. Jared came by after his classes, or sometimes before, or sometimes in between, and sat at the counter with his books. When Jensen was busy, Jared read. When Jensen was free, which was often, he sat down on the other side and told Jared everything he wanted to know, and some things he didn’t, but Jared, unfailingly, listened with rapt attention to every word Jensen said.

The days grew warmer slowly, bringing a welcome respite after the chill of winter, but they also brought along Jared’s mid-term exams.

Despite Jensen’s fears, Jared still came into the shop, but he was red-eyed and dragging his feet and spent most of his time bent over his notes and books, scribbling comments and muttering to himself.

“Two more days, Jensen,” he said at one point. “Two more days, and this is finally over.”

Jensen looked down at the crown of his head for a moment, and then he went and fetched the honeybell from the back of the greenhouse. “Here,” he said, setting the plant down by Jared’s elbow.

“What’s this?” Jared asked, staring at it with bleary eyes.

“Honeybell,” Jensen said. He broke off a part of one stiff leaf and offered it to Jared, holding it carefully to keep the milky sap that welled up immediately from dripping onto the counter. “Try it,” he said.

Jared took it from him carefully, tongue flicking out to taste the liquid. His eyes popped open. “This is really good,” he said.

“I usually reserve them for children with overly stern parents,” Jensen said, smiling down at his hands. When he looked up, Jared was watching him.

“Why?” he asked, tone without censure.

“Everybody needs a little happiness in their lives,” Jensen said.

Jared licked at the sap running down the side of his thumb before he dragged his finger out of his mouth with a satisfied pop. “Words to live by." He looked down at his notes and sighed. “Can you pass me the Landon again?”

~

The first rain drops hit the greenhouse windows just as Jared reached for his bag, and by the time he had pushed his papers and books inside, the first gentle noise had transformed into a veritable drum line beating against the glass. Jared reached for his hat, pulling it deep across his ears, and then he looked outside again and sighed.

"Please tell me you're not actually thinking of going out in that," Jensen said before he remembered himself. Jared wasn't his to command - if Jared decided to walk home in abysmal weather, then Jensen had no right to criticize him for it.

"What are my other options?" Jared asked in return. He looked around again, and then sighed once more. "And today, of course, is the day I decided to leave my jacket in my room."

"You could stay here," Jensen said, impulsively. "At least until the worst is over."
Jared smiled. "Jensen, you're closing in twenty minutes," he said. "Don't think I haven't noticed what a stickler for punctuality you are."

Jensen cast him a careful look, but Jared seemed amused rather than critical, and that's what gave him the courage to point out, "I think I'll survive allowing someone to stay past closing time for one night," he said. "Whereas I'm not entirely convinced you'll survive the walk home in this weather."

Jared looked outside again, where the thunderclouds gathered overhead gave the impression of a premature dusk. "I think you might be right," he said. He set his bag down on the counter once more, sat down on one stool and patted the one at his side. "Well then, Jensen," he said, turning to him with an expectant smile. "Since you won't let me leave, I fully expect you to keep me entertained now."

Jensen sat down at Jared’s side, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Instead, he looked down at the rag in his hands. "How would you like to be entertained?" he asked. His voice was soft and a little shaky, which he hated, but he hated not knowing what to expect even more. He never knew what to expect with Jared.

"Well." Jared drew out the word until it was barely recognizable. "You could start by telling me a little bit about yourself, oh mysterious Mr. Ackles."

"There's not much to tell," Jensen replied automatically. There really wasn't, though people always appeared determined to believe the opposite. He owned a flower shop, he tended to plants, and occasionally he even had a customer. That was really all there was to it.

"That's what they all say," Jared chided him. "You could at least come up with something original."

Jensen twisted the rag between his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to look at Jared, even though he knew Jared was looking at him. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said.

Jared made a considering noise. After a moment, he huffed a breath. Jensen could see him turn away, towards the rest of the greenhouse, out of the corner of his eyes.

"You could tell me a little bit about why you like plants so much," he finally said.

"Why wouldn't I?" Jensen returned, confused.

Jared laughed a little. He gave Jensen a smile. "You'd be surprised how many people really aren't that interested in plants," he said.

"You're lying," Jensen said, smiling a little to show he was only teasing. "There is not a single person in the whole wide world who doesn't love flowers."

"My sister doesn't," Jared said, and now Jensen truly was shocked.

Jared smiled at his expression. "She's allergic to most of them," he said. "It's unfortunate, but since she rarely comes to visit me here, I can still keep all the flowers I want."

Jensen put down his rag and reached out, tentatively, to straighten a stack of forms. He couldn't imagine being allergic to plants - what a terrible illness to have. "Isn't it odd, then?" he asked. "That you're so interested in plants?"

"Not entirely." Jared shrugged. "I suppose they've always fascinated me just for that reason. The forbidden fruit, you know?"

"I suppose," Jensen said.

Jared was silent for a moment before he smiled again. "So, Mr. Ackles, now it's your turn: How did you decide to become a florist?" He winked. "Be honest, now. Don't say it was to impress the ladies."

"I'm not," Jensen said. "I don't. I mean. My parents owned a flower shop," he forced out, before he could embarrass himself any further, or flush an even darker shade of red. “I grew up taking care of plants. I ended up being better at it than they were, some of the time, once I’d hit my teens.”

“I can imagine.” Jared nudged Jensen’s knee with his own. “You’re scarily good at it.”

Jensen, somehow, found it in himself to return the gesture. “That’s what they said, too.”

They fell silent, after that. Jensen noted absently that he’d need to pick the rotting leaves off the toadflax before it began to devour itself, and didn’t notice how tense Jared had become until he spoke again.

“Are your parents…?” A look of regret passed over his face immediately, as if he was wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. That, more than anything else, gave Jensen the courage to duck his head in agreement.

“They died,” he said. “My father when I was very young, my mother when I was almost an adult.”

Jared’s knee knocked into Jensen’s again, but this time it stayed there, warmth bleeding through the fabric separating them. Jensen folded his hands between his knees to shift his attention away from the sensation.

The sting at being alone was mostly gone now, anyway. He didn’t have any particularly vivid memories of his father - a few hazy recollections of tottering around the greenhouse, held steady by large, calloused hands; clinging to the man’s neck, gazing up at enormous leaves; digging his hands into the soft, fine soil in the flower beds, his father not too far away, doing the same. He didn’t even remember him falling ill, and his mother had understandably been reluctant to talk about it. She’d also refused to return to the family who’d turned their backs on her when she had left to find herself and found herself married to a florist and soon pregnant instead. She’d tolerated the presents they’d sent Jensen, and even brought him along to some of the family gatherings they asked her to attend, but for the longest time, it had been him and his mother tending to their flowers, struggling on, no more and no less.

“I’m sorry, Jensen,” Jared said. “That must have been hard.”

“She just got careless,” Jensen said. “She had this grand idea about modifying a constrictor plant, making it less aggressive so it’d be like a living security blanket instead of crushing the life out of you. It was all she ever talked about, in the end, but she knew, she knew that it was dangerous and she still kept working on it when I wasn’t there, even though I told her not to.” He looked over at Jared whose eyes had grown wide. “I told her it was going to happen, and she still went and got herself killed.”

“Jensen,” Jared said, and Jensen let his gaze drop. He didn’t cry over it, not anymore, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder how she could have been so careless with her own life. Like the fact that her seventeen-year-old son might have needed her didn’t even matter to her anymore.

“Jensen,” Jared said again.

Jensen smiled at his knees, knowing what the next words out of Jared’s mouth were going to be some empty platitude. But Jared didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he reached over to cover Jensen’s hand with his own, and when Jensen glanced over at him in surprise, there was a faint smile hovering at the corners of Jared’s mouth.

“I think you’re really brave, Jensen,” he said.

“It’s not the constrictor’s fault,” Jensen said automatically. He cleared his throat. “It was acting on instinct, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard for you, going through all of that alone.”

“It’s alright,” Jensen said. “It was a long time ago.”

“Did-” Jared asked, glancing around, but Jensen shook his head.

“Not here,” he said. He knew, rationally, that the entire thing was nothing more than a truly unfortunate accident, but there was a difference between understanding that and continuing to spend every day of his life looking at the place where he’d found his mother on the floor, unmoving, limbs barely visible underneath a tangle of leaves.

He let his body drop forward, catching his forearms on his knees, and breathed in the damp, dusky smell of his greenhouse. It was reassuring, and it was home, and it made the hurt ease a little bit. After a moment, Jared’s hand settled between his shoulder blades, large and reassuring, and Jensen took another deep breath, allowing himself to revel in the warmth soaking through his shirt.

“How about some tea?” he asked, when the silence had stretched on for several minutes. “I have a kettle and hot plate in the back room.”

“Sounds great,” Jared said, beaming at him.

Jensen found himself smiling back, and went to boil some water while Jared volunteered to quickly sweep the aisles. Outside, the rain came down harder and harder, but Jensen’s smile remained firmly in place.

~

Lindsey lasted a whole twenty minutes of Jensen cheering up the yellow vanity with brightly colored ribbons before she finally burst out, “I went out with Gerard again.”

She’d finally come by again, and they’d both muttered heartfelt apologies. One of the things Jensen liked best about Lindsey was that he could fight with her, and make up again, and they were both equally easy.

“Oh really.” Jensen lifted one of the dark red strips higher, and the flower drooped.

“Really,” Lindsey said. She looked down at her hands, but Jensen could still see the blush staining her cheeks. “He sat outside my store for four hours, waiting for me,” she said. “I just - thought he couldn’t be all bad, you know, if he cared that much.”

“I suppose not.” Jensen finally relented, reaching over to tie the ribbon around one quivering stem. “It went better this time, then?”

“So much better,” Lindsey said.

“Not that it could have been much worse,” Jensen reminded her, smiling.

“No, it was.” She flushed. “It was really nice.”

“Remind me to never give you a wailing carnation,” Jensen laughed.

Lindsey wrinkled her nose. “What, the one that whines louder and louder the happier its owner is? Why would anyone do that to themselves?”

“It sounds very pretty when you’re unhappy,” Jensen felt obliged to point out, and then looked away when Lindsey turned her sharp gaze on him. “It was a long time ago, Lindsey,” he said.

Lindsey kept on watching him for a moment. Then, deliberately accusing, she asked, “So I assume you’re going to tell me that Gerard hasn’t come in for advice.”

“It’s possible,” Jensen said non-committedly. “You know people do that at times.”

Lindsey narrowed her eyes at him, but she smiled when Jensen did, expression melting into something soft.

“It was really nice, Jensen,” she said. “He’s really nice.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jensen said. He reached over to cover Lindsey’s hand with his own. “Really glad.”

Lindsey smiled, which was when there was a loud on knock on the back door.

“Delivery!” someone called, but when Jensen went to open the door, smile already on his face, it wasn’t Bernie on the other side. Instead it was a guy in his mid-forties or so, smiling sheepishly.

“Hey there,” the man said. “Jensen Ackles?”

“That’s me,” Jensen said. He stepped back to let the guy maneuver the dolly across the doorstep. What happened to Bernie? was burning at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to be rude. It was possible this man didn’t even know.

Instead, he waved his hand at the empty tabletop. “Right over there is fine,” he said, when the delivery man cast a helpless look around.

“Thanks,” he said. He took the clipboard off the topmost crate and narrowed his eyes at it. “So I guess it’s this, and… three more crates in the back?”

Jensen gave the man another once-over. There was just something off about him, something Jensen couldn’t quite put a finger on. And it wasn’t just that he obviously had no idea what he was doing, or how to lift crates properly, for that matter - he was going to strain his back before long if he kept that up.

Jensen took a step forward to help and the man gratefully fell back.

“Thank you, seriously,” he said. “I mean, I’m sure that’s supposed to be my job, but. I mean. I haven’t been doing this for very long.” His lips twisted into another sheepish look. “I’m sure you can tell.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jensen lied. “I’m sure you’ll catch on quick.”

The guy smiled again, scuffing the tip of his shoe into the rough concrete floor, and Jensen finally figured out what was bothering him: Bernie had been a jovial guy, comfortable in his skin and in his grey coveralls with the company’s logo stitched above the right breast pocket. He’d moved easily, stood easily, smiled easily.

This new delivery man, on the other hand, held himself as stiffly as if he were afraid of rumpling some invisible suit. And it wasn’t as though Jensen, who had given up on the topcoat for convenience’s sake but nevertheless insisted on a button-down shirt, vest, and tie with his slacks, was unfamiliar with the desire to keep his clothing as tidy and orderly as possible, but this man’s posture was just about ridiculously correct, so flawless it was uncomfortable to witness. Merely looking at him made Jensen want to loosen his tie.

“The delivery?” Jensen finally prompted, and then discreetly rolled his eyes when the man, utterly lost, began to leaf through his papers.

Together, they managed to unload the right crates, though Jensen honestly had to say he did a lot more of the paperwork and a lot more of the actual lifting. But the delivery man looked contrite, at least, and offered Jensen a hesitant smile when they were done.

“Thank you, again, for the help.” He held out his hand. “I’m Sheppard. Well, Mark, but everybody calls me Sheppard. I’m replacing Bernie.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jensen said, gripping firmly. He kept his smile in place until Sheppard had closed the backdoor behind him with another nod. He held it until he heard the delivery truck back out of the driveway, then he dropped the expression and went to quickly turn every single lock on the door. That done, he leaned his back against the wood and took a deep breath. This was getting ridiculous.

When he returned to the front, Lindsey was still sat at the counter, leafing through this season’s issue of Your New Best Friend and shaking her head at the many full-page photographs of people posed in their living rooms with a variety of plants in their laps. Unlike before, however, Jared now leaned against it from the other side, head bent over Steinhower’s Handbook, pen and notebook under one hand. He raised his head to smile at Jensen when Jensen eased into the greenhouse, but his expression quickly faded into concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did something happen?”

Lindsey turned her head too, eyebrows creasing, and Jensen shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he assured them. “But I think we should have an emergency meeting.”

“Um, sure.” Jared pushed the book’s heavy cover closed. “What’s up?”

Jensen took a deep breath, and then another. It wouldn’t be like last time, he told himself. This wasn’t the police, these were his friends. “I think someone is doing his or her best to sabotage the shop,” he said.

“The - the flower shop?” Jared asked.

“Yes, the shop.” Jensen silenced the snippy comment he could practically see dancing at the tip of Lindsey’s tongue with a sharp glance.

She rolled her eyes at him, but her tone was civil when she asked, “What makes you say that?”

Jensen took another deep breath, and then listed everything that had occurred recently that had caught his attention: The fake bill, the water hose, the way the skittering vine had been so upset. He told them about Sheppard, too, but only vaguely - he didn’t want to go accusing the man of anything before he had learned more about him. It was entirely possible, after all, that he was just having a bad first day.

“There’s no other explanation,” he finally said. “This isn’t just bad luck anymore. There’s something else going on here.”

“But who would do something like that?” Jared asked, eyes wide in disbelief, and Lindsey nodded in flummoxed agreement.

“Unfortunately,” Jensen told them grimly, tucking his papers into an organized pile, “I have a pretty good idea.”

~

“And you really think this is Pellegrino’s doing?” Lindsey asked, not for the first time.

“Well, who else could it be?” Jensen ran his hands through his hair, no doubt creating the impression that he’d recently crawled through a hedge, or touched an electrical outlet. “Nothing else makes sense! He’s obviously invested in me and the shop, he’s tried to convince me to share my design plants with him before, and he’s a low enough person to resort to these methods.”

“So says you,” Lindsey cautioned him.

“Who would you say it is, then?” Jensen asked, throwing his hands in the air.

“It might not even be anyone we know,” Lindsey said, jaw growing tight.

“Just a minute,” Jared cut in before Jensen had a chance to snap back at her. “If this person’s broken in before, chances are high he or she will do it again, correct?”

Lindsey narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s your point?”

“My point is,” Jared said, lifting a finger into the air, “that it doesn’t matter who it is, as long as we catch them in the act.”

Jensen stared at him. It wasn’t a bad idea, of course, but if it hadn’t been for the skittering vine, Jensen doubted he’d even have noticed someone had been in his shop. “And how do you propose we do that?” he asked.

“Why, Jensen.” Jared smiled at him. “With the help of your plants, of course.”

Part 4