Fic: Keep You Forever
Title: Keep You Forever
Fandom: SPN RPS
Pairing: J2
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of this ever happened, this has absolutely no basis in reality, and this is not meant to defame or infringe upon the real names mentioned within.
Word count: 4,100
Summary: from this thread here at the anonmeme. Jared is a 23-year-old amateur taxidermist with a speech defect. His favorite hobbies are eating, community service, and writing poetry. Jensen is 27 and works at the local pound. He lives in a tiny apartment with five scary, perpetually stoned roommates, and he has anger management problems and OCD.
When three puppies go missing from the pound where Jensen works, their worlds collide! I think I managed to get all the elements in here…
(for those coming over from the anonmeme: Anon commenting is on, IP logging is off.)
Warnings: Deaths of puppies, creepiness, vaguely implied necrophilia, cliché’d smut, complete failure to research anything. Character death. Sort-of snuff (I guess?) In other words, HIGHLY DISTURBING.
Jared drags the paintbrush over the glass eyes he’s painstakingly inserted into Muffin’s empty sockets.
He checks the clock. Mrs. Jefferstein isn’t due for another hour.
“There,” he whispers, making sure the cat’s whiskers are perfectly aligned. Muffin stares back, sad and accusing. “I’m sorry,” Jared says regretfully. “But it was quick, wasn’t it? And Mrs. Jefferstein was beside herself when she came in the other day. She loved you.” A smile breaks across his face. “Now she’ll never have to say goodbye, and neither will you. It’s all for the best, right?”
Muffin doesn’t respond. They never do. It’s why they’re the only ones Jared can talk to, the only times that damn stutter never comes through. With them, he speaks as clearly and as eloquently as the finest lobbyist.
Jared crosses his workroom to the corner sink, still talking. “It’ll be just like old times.”
When Mrs. Jefferstein finally comes to collect her pet, it gives Jared a sort of thrill to see the joy on her face. She thanks Jared over and over and hands over twice the rate he charges. These-the pets-these are the ones he likes. They don’t come along as often as he’d like, but when they do, it’s the best feeling in the world.
Like he’s breathing life back into the poor, dead animals. And the owners-it’s like he’s giving them their best friend back. He’s a miracle worker.
After Mrs. Jefferstein leaves, he returns to his workroom and drags open the freezer. Mr. Stone brought in a buck yesterday, and Jared needs to get started on it before it stinks up the place.
~*~
Jensen wakes to Pink Floyd booming through the tiny apartment, accompanied by several loud crashes and what might be glass breaking. He winces.
“HEY, JENNY!” The door bangs open and someone-might be Chad, he can’t tell through all the smoke-grins at him. “RISE AND SHINE!”
His hand fumbles around on the nightstand for a moment before landing on his glasses. Yep, definitely Chad. And the clock is blinking 12:00 again.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“I dunno, man. Last time I checked it was ten-thirty. Who knows what it is now?”
Shit.
Jensen jumps out of bed and shoves Chad out, then slams his door. Then opens, then closes, then twice more, each time letting more smoke in.
He’s just glad germophobia isn’t one of his triggers.
Forty-five minutes and eight routines later, he’s finally in his car-parked outside, right below the fire escape, allowing him to completely avoid contact with his five crazy roommates (he would have moved out ages ago, but the pound he works at doesn’t pay its employees a hell of a lot, and rent in this city is expensive).
Jensen loves it anyway. Especially the puppies-so tiny and fragile, they’re the only pure and good thing in his life. Too bad his coworkers are all morons who can’t take care of them properly. Sometimes Jensen wishes he could just take them all home and keep them forever-but with his life and his apartment, it simply isn’t possible.
“You’re late,” Jensen’s boss, Jeff, says after Jensen finishes his entrance routine. Jensen scowls.
“Not my fault my alarm reset itself last night,” he snaps, throwing his keys on the counter. Jeff rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, whatever, kid.”
“Not a kid! I’m twenty-seven, dammit.”
Jeff ignores him and Jensen storms through to the kennels. The puppies, he knows, will make everything right again.
They bark and yip and jump the moment Jensen walks through the door, a familiar face among the bleak cement and caged walls. He smiles to himself and unlocks the crate of a particularly energetic terrier.
“Good morning, Rusty!” he says, scooping the puppy up in his arms. Rusty pants happily, licking Jensen’s face. Rusty is his favorite, and has been there longer than most of the other puppies in Jensen’s care.
If they can’t find a home for him soon, Jensen knows, Rusty will be taken away. Like Josie was, and Mitt, and Ducky. Rusty barks, and Jensen scratches the puppy’s head absent-mindedly.
He won’t let that happen.
~*~
Jared could really go for a steak right now.
It’s a disturbing thought, and he knows it. But working on the larger animals-the deer, the elk, the bear, the stuff hunters bring in-it always seems to make him hungry.
He checks the clock. It’s a little after noon. There’s a barbecue place down the street he’s been meaning to check out-after he’s done here. There’s blood on the floor and he needs to mop that up before it starts drying.
With a loud sigh (and his stomach with a loud rumble), he gets to work. With any luck, he’ll be done in time to enjoy his steak. Rare. With hot sauce and mashed potatoes on the side.
As he hoses down the floor, washing remnants of blood and bone and sinew down the drain under his table, Jared wonders if the restaurant has decent bacon. Any barbecue place worth its smoke offers the stuff, he knows-but will it be fried? Smoked? Crispy or limp or burnt?
A small string of drool joins the biological hazard coating his floor.
He never did figure out where that drain led. No matter; he finishes up quickly, tosses a bit of bleach down, and strips off his gloves and apron.
Lunchtime.
He grins to himself as he grabs his keys and wallet from behind his counter, switches the sign from Open to Closed, and locks the door. The restaurant’s a whole two blocks away, and Jared’s license is still revoked.
The place is packed. It’s annoying; it means it’ll take longer than Jared’s willing to spend away from his animals, but still, it’s a good sign. It means it’ll be worth it.
He plucks a menu off the hostess’s podium and scans it-all kinds of steaks and ribs and there’s an option to get a half-pound of bacon as a side dish. Yes, he thinks, this place will do nicely.
When his name is called, Jared orders the biggest steak on the menu, the half-pound bacon side, and mashed potatoes.
Everything is delicious.
~*~
At the end of the day, Jensen helps the puppies back into their crates and says goodbye. Rusty whines, and Jensen scratches his head through the wire. Rusty licks his fingers.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises, then leaves. It takes him longer than a normal person because his OCD made him repeat routines, like the ones earlier.
Jeff tosses him his keys on the way out. They hit Jensen in the forehead and he struggles not to shout at the man.
Breathe.
Jensen waves goodbye and gets in his car. He’s looking forward to downing beers until he forgets he has roommates. At the best of times, they’re all simply annoying. At the worst of times, they’re downright frightening and Jensen would really prefer to stay away from that. But since he can’t-alcohol induced comas and fire escape entrances work wonders on avoiding them all.
Most of the time, he reflects, as he climbs through the window to find Misha smoking a joint on his bed.
Jensen inhales, counts to ten, exhales.
“GET OUT!” he shouts. Misha turns his head slowly to the side and grins. Smoke pours out of his mouth.
“Hey Jenny,” he says. “Dude, your bed is awesome.”
“Yes. MY BED. Which you are in. OUT.”
Misha pouts. “Aww. You don’t want me in your bed?” he teases.
“No.” Jensen storms over to him, grabs him by the collar, and throws him out the door, slamming it shut.
And open and shut and open and-
Misha’s laughing. He’s falling against the doorframe and he’s laughing. Scowling, Jensen finshes his routine, locks his door, and throws himself on his bed.
There’s half a bottle of Jack in his nightstand.
That’ll do nicely.
~*~
Jensen makes it to work on time the next morning.
It’s not bad, the morning; his roommates were all alseep when whe slipped out, and traffic was light. He’s in a good mood as he tosses a bewildered Jeff his car keys and heads toward the back of the pound.
“Good morning!” he calls out, and is greeted by barks and yips and puppies scratching at their crates. He stops to pet a beagle called Lucy. “Who’s a good girl? Yes you are!” he said, letting the puppy lick his fingers. He opened the crate and lifted her into his arms. “Wanna see how the others are this morning?”
He continues down the rows, poking treats into the crates. When he reaches Rusty’s crate, he stops “Rusty?”
The cage is empty.
Lucy whines.
“Jeff!” Jensen shouts. “JEFF!”
“What is it?” Jeff calls out down the hall.
“Rusty’s missing!”
Footsteps echo closer and closer, until Jeff’s in full view. “What are you talking about?”
Jensen stares at him, eyes full of tears. “Rusty’s gone! Did you send him away already? Huh? Has he-”
“Calm down, kid. I haven’t sent any of them. You’re sure he’s gone?”
Jensen gestures at the empty crate. “He’s not in here!”
“We’ll check them all. Don’t worry, Jensen. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”
Jensen nods. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
The two set to work, going through each crate. Rusty’s nowhere to be found-and two other puppies are missing as well. Jensen feels like he’s going to be sick.
“How-how could this have happened?” he gasps, fighting back waves of nausea. He feels Jeff’s hand on the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. But we’ll find them, okay? We’ll find them.”
~*~
It’s Thursday, meaning Jared’s shop is closed while he finishes the court-ordered community service from an… indescretion last September. Now that he’s finally done with his hours-and the money he earned from Old Man Tony’s bear last month finishing off his fine payments-he’s pretty excited to have more time to work on his animals and polish his book of poetry.
He grins to himself as he digs his shovel into the gravel at the side of the road. Everything’s going so well-he doesn’t even mind it when an 18-wheeler passes and kicks smog into Jared’s face.
Six more hours, and he’s done.
They break for lunch, and Jared takes out a foot-long extra-meat sub. There’s another in his lunchbag; he can usually get through at least one and a half. More, if he’s particularly hungry.
As he chows down on the ham and turkey and bits of what the sandwich shop claimed was steak, he watches the cars. He thinks about what he’ll do when he gets his license back next week-will he take a roadtrip to the mountains? Drive into the forest? Or will he go anywhere and nowhere and just enjoy the fact that he doesn’t have to walk everywhere anymore?
Something brushes his ankle.
“Oh,” he says, looking down. A puppy looks up at him with sad eyes. “Hello there. What’s your name?”
The puppy doesn’t answer. “That’s okay. Are you lost? Where’s your owner?” He checks the puppy’s neck, but there’s no collar.
More whining comes from farther away-two more puppies. They approach Jared warily.
“Padalecki!” the foreman shouts. Jared raises his head.
“Y-yes, s-sir?” he stammers. Shit.
“My clipboard says you’re done. Get out of here.” He turns to the group. “Rest of you, lunch is over. Get back to work.”
Jared can hardly believe it. He’s done, finally. He’s free.
He packs up the rest of his sandwiches and slings his bag over his shoulder, then stumbles down the highway. Two miles to his house and he can’t drive.
The puppies follow, running around his ankles. Jared smiles. Suddenly, two miles doesn’t seem so bad. He has company.
~*~
Jensen shuffles back to his car, the loss of three of his best friends weighing heavily on his heart. How could he have been so careless?
He’ll put up Lost Dog posters tomorrow. It might be a little dumb, he knows, since the puppies were strays already-but he misses them. They were like his children, and losing them, well, it’s tearing at him.
His roommates have mostly stayed out of his room. There’s a fine aroma of pot still lingering in the air, but everything’s the way it was before he left and he’d know if anything were out of place. Someone’s playing guitar in the next room. He guesses it’s Chris, based on the screaming vocals and someone else banging at the door and shouting at him to keep it down. Probably Misha-he’s not as good with hangovers as the others.
That night, Jensen has a nightmare.
He’s running along an empty highway. Something is chasing him. Barking. He recognizes the bark-it’s Rusty.
But when he turns around, it’s not Rusty at all. The eyes are all wrong. The body is stiff. It’s not-Rusty’s dead.
Jensen wakes with a start, sweat pouring down his face. A dream, he tells himself-that was just a dream. Nothing to be afraid of. Rusty-he’s fine.
They’re all fine.
It’s just nothing.
He downs the rest of his bottle and passes out.
~*~
Jensen’s taping flyers to lampposts when he walks up. Tall, ridiculously muscled, with floppy brown hair and warm eyes. He stops and reads the flyer.
“Hey,” Jensen tries. The guy doesn’t respond, just stares at the photos of Jensen’s three missing puppies. “I’m Jensen.”
“Th-these y-yours?” the guy stutters out. It’s kind of adorable, Jensen thinks.
“I work at the local pound,” Jensen explains. “They went missing two nights ago.”
The guy finally looks at Jensen. “I-I’m s-sorry,” he says. “M-my n-name’s J-Jared.”
“Hi. Um. My phone number’s on these. Call me, if you see anything?” Jared nods, and Jensen hands him a flyer. “Thanks,” he says, and turns to leave.
“Um. W-wait-”
Jensen stops. “Yeah?”
Jared looks nervous. He shifts from foot to foot, his hands folded behind his back, and he’s looking anywhere but Jensen. “N-nothing. N-neverm-mind.”
Jensen smiles and nods, then continues on. He has to get the rest of the flyers up before going into work.
~*~
The puppies are in Jared’s workroom, chewing on bones from an elk. He pets the rust-colored terrier’s head as he scans the flyer Jensen left for him.
He doesn’t know what to do. The puppies are Jensen’s-that much is obvious. But Jared’s become attached. He’s never had live animals before, and he’s in awe. He wishes he could keep them forever, keep them away from Jensen.
But-
The look in Jensen’s startling green eyes, the sadness; he knows what that’s like, too. Jensen’s lonely.
Jensen misses his puppies.
Jared pulls out his phone. Thinks. Then crumples the flyer and throws it away.
Five minutes later he fishes it out and dials Jensen’s number.
~*~
Jensen’s feeding Lucy when his phone rings.
“Hello?” There’s silence on the other line. “Hello? Is someone there?”
“J-Jensen?”
“Jared? Hey. What’s going on?”
“I-I fou-” The line goes dead.
“Jared? Jared, are you-”
Jensen’s phone vibrates. A text. Mt me @ 4288 E. Bomant. -Jared
“Jeff?” he calls. “Jeff, I’m taking lunch.”
“Fine,” Jeff calls back. Jensen pockets his cell and leaves.
4288 East Bomant Road is three blocks away, in a part of the district where finding a parking spot is pretty much a crapshoot-so Jensen decides to walk. It’s a nice day, anyway, and as much as he wants to spend time with his puppies, the pound is pretty stuffy.
He finds the place fairly easily, in between a tiny Tandoori restaurant and a Kinko’s. But the sign-that makes him stop.
Taxidermist.
Jensen shakes his head. He’s not going to judge the guy for his career-for all he knows, Jared doesn’t even like it. For all he knows it could be the family business.
It doesn’t help, though, and suddenly Jensen realizes he might be getting into something he’d rather not.
Still. Jared asked to meet him. And Jensen wants to know what this is about, so he goes in, a cheap bell announcing his arrival six times as he goes through his compulsion. There are all kinds of stuffed animals scattered about the place-mostly raccoon and chipmunk and a couple squirrels-though the sign affixed to the front counter claims the shop does game animals and pets.
“Jared?”
There’s a small crash from the back room, then a soft voice calls, “B-be r-right-no! Bad!-r-right out.”
Jared finally stumbles out, brushing dust off his shirt. He smiles. “H-hi.”
“Hi,” Jensen says.
“Th-thanks-I w-wanted-I w-wasn’t-” Jared stops. Takes a deep breath, then speaks in tightly-controlled syllables. “I wasn’t being honest. Earlier. I do know.”
“What?” Jensen prompts. He’s not sure if he really wants to know-his puppies in the custody of a taxidermist? It’s almost-”
“They followed me home, yesterday. Here. Back room. I’ll show you.” He turns around and walks off. Bewildered, Jensen follows.
He’s greeted by yipping and Rusty jumping up on his leg. Jensen’s grinning so hard it hurts as he picks the animal up and hugs it.
“Rusty! Oh thank god, I was terrified-I thought you were gone-“
“Is he yours?”
Jensen shakes his head. “I wish. But where I live… well, it’s not possible. Maybe one day, I’ll have a puppy of my own, but for now…”
“But what happens,” Jared asks, “if he’s never adopted?”
Jensen’s joy falls.
~*~
Jared watches as Jensen’s expression goes from gleeful to sorrowful in less than a second.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” he says, cursing himself for returning to his stutter. “I-I d-didn’t m-mean t-to-”
Jensen shakes his head. “It’s okay. If no one comes- if no one wants them, after a while, we have to make room for new ones coming in. There’s a lot of stray animals out there, and we’re pretty small. Rusty’s been there a while, and I think soon, he’ll…” Jensen trails off. “Yeah.”
Jared thinks he understands. His whole life he’s been trying to find a way to cheat death, and after the shop’s previous owner died in a mysterious accident, it was all too easy to pose as his nephew and take over.
Which is why he doesn’t think, doesn’t even blink, why his voice is perfectly clear and calm when he says:
“Jensen? What if… what if you could keep Rusty? Forever?”
~*~
Jensen brushes his fingers across Rusty’s nose. Daisy and Lauren are already complete, drying, and now there’s only Rusty.
Jared’s fingers join his. “Are you ready?” he asks.
A lump forms in Jensen’s throat and he can’t talk. He nods instead. Yes. He’s ready. Rusty licks his fingers.
Jensen shuts his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Jared’s voice is right by his ear, breathing gently on it, and Jensen shudders. “Just like the others-it’s over quickly. He’ll never feel a thing, and you can keep him. Just like this.”
Jensen shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t.
“You’ve already done it twice,” Jared says.
No, no, Jensen wants to shout, that was you, that was different, that wasn’t Rusty, that wasn’t-
“It’s no different.” A metal instrument is pressed into Jensen’s hand. “One breath and it’s done.”
“Can’t-you-?” Jensen tries. Jared laughs, light puffs of air brushing through Jensen’s blond locks.
“No. Not this time. It has to be you.” His hands come to rest on Jensen’s shoulders. Strong. Anchoring. “Rusty is yours.”
Rusty is his.
One breath.
It’s done.
~*~
Jensen sits on a stool, shaking, as Jared puts the finishing touches on Rusty.
He can’t believe what just happened. He can’t. It’s all so-
He doesn’t know. He’s kind of numb, like it hasn’t really sunk in yet. Like it’s not him sitting here, with blood on his hands, in the taxidermist’s workshop, reeking of formaldehyde and ammonia.
“There!” Jared says. He tosses a smile over his shoulder at Jensen. Jensen doesn’t smile back. “I finished,” he says, softer this time, and lifts Rusty into his arms.
“I-”
“See, Jensen? It’s okay. Look.”
Rusty peers at Jensen with glassy brown eyes, the exact shade they’d been in life. Rusty’s grinning, his pink tongue poking out slightly, and Jensen half-expects him to lick his fingers. But, of course, Rusty doesn’t. He can’t. Not anymore.
Jared watches him, hopeful expression clear.
And maybe Jared’s right. Maybe-maybe this is right. Having Rusty like this, forever-it’s gotta be better than shoved in some vet’s incinerator for being a drain on the pound’s resources, right?
He takes Rusty, pets his fur, watches Jared.
Jared touches Jensen’s wrist.
~*~
Jensen doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. Today’s been-it’s been surreal. To put it lightly. So having Jared practically lift him and sit him on the workbench and start unbuttoning Jensen’s shirt, well-of everything, that’s the most normal.
So he lets it happen.
Lets Jared babble on about how he likes to write poems, and next chance he gets, he’s going to fill an entire book with odes to Jensen’s eyes and lips and voice, how he’s never known anything like this, and Jensen doesn’t understand half of it but it’s nice and it’s nice to focus on something that isn’t what he’s done.
Jared kisses him, soft and sweet, and Jensen finds himself melting into it. He doesn’t know if the attraction is real or if it’s just adrenaline, but it feels good and he’s going to go with it.
One hand comes up to cup Jensen’s jaw, and Jared presses a thumb against his cheek. Jensen parts his lips just enough to let Jared’s tongue in-and like that, the mood shifts. Jared pins Jensen’s wrists down on the table and kisses him hard, possessive, and Jensen tries to return it.
Like a battle for dominance, except Jensen doesn’t want to win.
Jared drags him off the table, flips him around, bends him over the table. Shoves his pants down. Jensen struggles, but Jared’s strong. Really strong.
There’s something cool brushing against his opening. He thinks it might be lube, but why Jared would have lube close like that he doesn’t know-he doesn’t want to guess at what else it might be. It’s slick, though, and Jared opens him roughly before pulling back. There’s a wet slapping sound, and then Jared’s shoving in.
It burns; it burns and stretches and Jensen tries to buck, tries to get Jared off, but Jared holds fast.
Thrusting in and out, hard and fast, and Jensen’s gasping. There’s no time to adjust, no time to get used to the thick intrusion, but his dick’s still hard.
He tries to reach down, but Jared slaps his hand away.
“No,” Jared snaps. “No.”
Grunts and pants fill the air. Pleasure mixed with pain mixed with Jensen’s stomach being shoved into the hard corner of the table but somehow-somehow it doesn’t matter.
He feels alive again.
Jared’s saving him.
The rush of the epiphany pushes him over the edge and he comes, screaming, without once being touched-and Jared follows close behind, grunting out something that might have been Jensen’s name.
~*~
“I want you,” Jared says, when they’ve caught their breaths and fixed their clothes.
“Mm?” Jensen says. His brain still hasn’t caught up, still in that blissed-out post-orgasmic haze.
“I mean it,” Jared says. “I can-you understand. This. And I can talk to you, normally.”
Jensen doesn’t know what to think. Jared-he’s dangerous. The proof is all over the room, in the form of Rusty and Lauren and Daisy and the cum that’s crusting on the table and floor.
But Jared’s the one he shared this all with. Jared’s the one who showed him he doesn’t have to say goodbye.
“Yeah,” Jensen says. “Yeah, okay.”
Jared takes one of his hands off Jensen’s body. There’s a soft metallic clink.
“One breath,” Jared says.
~*~
Jared drags the paintbrush over bright-green eyes.
“There,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against pouty pink lips. “I’m sorry,” Jared says regretfully. “But it was quick, wasn’t it? Just one breath and it’s done.”
A smile breaks across his face. “Now I’ll never have to say goodbye, and neither will you. It’s all for the best, right?”
He’s the only ones Jared can talk to, the only one for whom that damn stutter never comes through.
“I can keep you forever. And you can keep me.”
Fandom: SPN RPS
Pairing: J2
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of this ever happened, this has absolutely no basis in reality, and this is not meant to defame or infringe upon the real names mentioned within.
Word count: 4,100
Summary: from this thread here at the anonmeme. Jared is a 23-year-old amateur taxidermist with a speech defect. His favorite hobbies are eating, community service, and writing poetry. Jensen is 27 and works at the local pound. He lives in a tiny apartment with five scary, perpetually stoned roommates, and he has anger management problems and OCD.
When three puppies go missing from the pound where Jensen works, their worlds collide! I think I managed to get all the elements in here…
(for those coming over from the anonmeme: Anon commenting is on, IP logging is off.)
Warnings: Deaths of puppies, creepiness, vaguely implied necrophilia, cliché’d smut, complete failure to research anything. Character death. Sort-of snuff (I guess?) In other words, HIGHLY DISTURBING.
Jared drags the paintbrush over the glass eyes he’s painstakingly inserted into Muffin’s empty sockets.
He checks the clock. Mrs. Jefferstein isn’t due for another hour.
“There,” he whispers, making sure the cat’s whiskers are perfectly aligned. Muffin stares back, sad and accusing. “I’m sorry,” Jared says regretfully. “But it was quick, wasn’t it? And Mrs. Jefferstein was beside herself when she came in the other day. She loved you.” A smile breaks across his face. “Now she’ll never have to say goodbye, and neither will you. It’s all for the best, right?”
Muffin doesn’t respond. They never do. It’s why they’re the only ones Jared can talk to, the only times that damn stutter never comes through. With them, he speaks as clearly and as eloquently as the finest lobbyist.
Jared crosses his workroom to the corner sink, still talking. “It’ll be just like old times.”
When Mrs. Jefferstein finally comes to collect her pet, it gives Jared a sort of thrill to see the joy on her face. She thanks Jared over and over and hands over twice the rate he charges. These-the pets-these are the ones he likes. They don’t come along as often as he’d like, but when they do, it’s the best feeling in the world.
Like he’s breathing life back into the poor, dead animals. And the owners-it’s like he’s giving them their best friend back. He’s a miracle worker.
After Mrs. Jefferstein leaves, he returns to his workroom and drags open the freezer. Mr. Stone brought in a buck yesterday, and Jared needs to get started on it before it stinks up the place.
~*~
Jensen wakes to Pink Floyd booming through the tiny apartment, accompanied by several loud crashes and what might be glass breaking. He winces.
“HEY, JENNY!” The door bangs open and someone-might be Chad, he can’t tell through all the smoke-grins at him. “RISE AND SHINE!”
His hand fumbles around on the nightstand for a moment before landing on his glasses. Yep, definitely Chad. And the clock is blinking 12:00 again.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“I dunno, man. Last time I checked it was ten-thirty. Who knows what it is now?”
Shit.
Jensen jumps out of bed and shoves Chad out, then slams his door. Then opens, then closes, then twice more, each time letting more smoke in.
He’s just glad germophobia isn’t one of his triggers.
Forty-five minutes and eight routines later, he’s finally in his car-parked outside, right below the fire escape, allowing him to completely avoid contact with his five crazy roommates (he would have moved out ages ago, but the pound he works at doesn’t pay its employees a hell of a lot, and rent in this city is expensive).
Jensen loves it anyway. Especially the puppies-so tiny and fragile, they’re the only pure and good thing in his life. Too bad his coworkers are all morons who can’t take care of them properly. Sometimes Jensen wishes he could just take them all home and keep them forever-but with his life and his apartment, it simply isn’t possible.
“You’re late,” Jensen’s boss, Jeff, says after Jensen finishes his entrance routine. Jensen scowls.
“Not my fault my alarm reset itself last night,” he snaps, throwing his keys on the counter. Jeff rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, whatever, kid.”
“Not a kid! I’m twenty-seven, dammit.”
Jeff ignores him and Jensen storms through to the kennels. The puppies, he knows, will make everything right again.
They bark and yip and jump the moment Jensen walks through the door, a familiar face among the bleak cement and caged walls. He smiles to himself and unlocks the crate of a particularly energetic terrier.
“Good morning, Rusty!” he says, scooping the puppy up in his arms. Rusty pants happily, licking Jensen’s face. Rusty is his favorite, and has been there longer than most of the other puppies in Jensen’s care.
If they can’t find a home for him soon, Jensen knows, Rusty will be taken away. Like Josie was, and Mitt, and Ducky. Rusty barks, and Jensen scratches the puppy’s head absent-mindedly.
He won’t let that happen.
~*~
Jared could really go for a steak right now.
It’s a disturbing thought, and he knows it. But working on the larger animals-the deer, the elk, the bear, the stuff hunters bring in-it always seems to make him hungry.
He checks the clock. It’s a little after noon. There’s a barbecue place down the street he’s been meaning to check out-after he’s done here. There’s blood on the floor and he needs to mop that up before it starts drying.
With a loud sigh (and his stomach with a loud rumble), he gets to work. With any luck, he’ll be done in time to enjoy his steak. Rare. With hot sauce and mashed potatoes on the side.
As he hoses down the floor, washing remnants of blood and bone and sinew down the drain under his table, Jared wonders if the restaurant has decent bacon. Any barbecue place worth its smoke offers the stuff, he knows-but will it be fried? Smoked? Crispy or limp or burnt?
A small string of drool joins the biological hazard coating his floor.
He never did figure out where that drain led. No matter; he finishes up quickly, tosses a bit of bleach down, and strips off his gloves and apron.
Lunchtime.
He grins to himself as he grabs his keys and wallet from behind his counter, switches the sign from Open to Closed, and locks the door. The restaurant’s a whole two blocks away, and Jared’s license is still revoked.
The place is packed. It’s annoying; it means it’ll take longer than Jared’s willing to spend away from his animals, but still, it’s a good sign. It means it’ll be worth it.
He plucks a menu off the hostess’s podium and scans it-all kinds of steaks and ribs and there’s an option to get a half-pound of bacon as a side dish. Yes, he thinks, this place will do nicely.
When his name is called, Jared orders the biggest steak on the menu, the half-pound bacon side, and mashed potatoes.
Everything is delicious.
~*~
At the end of the day, Jensen helps the puppies back into their crates and says goodbye. Rusty whines, and Jensen scratches his head through the wire. Rusty licks his fingers.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises, then leaves. It takes him longer than a normal person because his OCD made him repeat routines, like the ones earlier.
Jeff tosses him his keys on the way out. They hit Jensen in the forehead and he struggles not to shout at the man.
Breathe.
Jensen waves goodbye and gets in his car. He’s looking forward to downing beers until he forgets he has roommates. At the best of times, they’re all simply annoying. At the worst of times, they’re downright frightening and Jensen would really prefer to stay away from that. But since he can’t-alcohol induced comas and fire escape entrances work wonders on avoiding them all.
Most of the time, he reflects, as he climbs through the window to find Misha smoking a joint on his bed.
Jensen inhales, counts to ten, exhales.
“GET OUT!” he shouts. Misha turns his head slowly to the side and grins. Smoke pours out of his mouth.
“Hey Jenny,” he says. “Dude, your bed is awesome.”
“Yes. MY BED. Which you are in. OUT.”
Misha pouts. “Aww. You don’t want me in your bed?” he teases.
“No.” Jensen storms over to him, grabs him by the collar, and throws him out the door, slamming it shut.
And open and shut and open and-
Misha’s laughing. He’s falling against the doorframe and he’s laughing. Scowling, Jensen finshes his routine, locks his door, and throws himself on his bed.
There’s half a bottle of Jack in his nightstand.
That’ll do nicely.
~*~
Jensen makes it to work on time the next morning.
It’s not bad, the morning; his roommates were all alseep when whe slipped out, and traffic was light. He’s in a good mood as he tosses a bewildered Jeff his car keys and heads toward the back of the pound.
“Good morning!” he calls out, and is greeted by barks and yips and puppies scratching at their crates. He stops to pet a beagle called Lucy. “Who’s a good girl? Yes you are!” he said, letting the puppy lick his fingers. He opened the crate and lifted her into his arms. “Wanna see how the others are this morning?”
He continues down the rows, poking treats into the crates. When he reaches Rusty’s crate, he stops “Rusty?”
The cage is empty.
Lucy whines.
“Jeff!” Jensen shouts. “JEFF!”
“What is it?” Jeff calls out down the hall.
“Rusty’s missing!”
Footsteps echo closer and closer, until Jeff’s in full view. “What are you talking about?”
Jensen stares at him, eyes full of tears. “Rusty’s gone! Did you send him away already? Huh? Has he-”
“Calm down, kid. I haven’t sent any of them. You’re sure he’s gone?”
Jensen gestures at the empty crate. “He’s not in here!”
“We’ll check them all. Don’t worry, Jensen. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”
Jensen nods. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
The two set to work, going through each crate. Rusty’s nowhere to be found-and two other puppies are missing as well. Jensen feels like he’s going to be sick.
“How-how could this have happened?” he gasps, fighting back waves of nausea. He feels Jeff’s hand on the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. But we’ll find them, okay? We’ll find them.”
~*~
It’s Thursday, meaning Jared’s shop is closed while he finishes the court-ordered community service from an… indescretion last September. Now that he’s finally done with his hours-and the money he earned from Old Man Tony’s bear last month finishing off his fine payments-he’s pretty excited to have more time to work on his animals and polish his book of poetry.
He grins to himself as he digs his shovel into the gravel at the side of the road. Everything’s going so well-he doesn’t even mind it when an 18-wheeler passes and kicks smog into Jared’s face.
Six more hours, and he’s done.
They break for lunch, and Jared takes out a foot-long extra-meat sub. There’s another in his lunchbag; he can usually get through at least one and a half. More, if he’s particularly hungry.
As he chows down on the ham and turkey and bits of what the sandwich shop claimed was steak, he watches the cars. He thinks about what he’ll do when he gets his license back next week-will he take a roadtrip to the mountains? Drive into the forest? Or will he go anywhere and nowhere and just enjoy the fact that he doesn’t have to walk everywhere anymore?
Something brushes his ankle.
“Oh,” he says, looking down. A puppy looks up at him with sad eyes. “Hello there. What’s your name?”
The puppy doesn’t answer. “That’s okay. Are you lost? Where’s your owner?” He checks the puppy’s neck, but there’s no collar.
More whining comes from farther away-two more puppies. They approach Jared warily.
“Padalecki!” the foreman shouts. Jared raises his head.
“Y-yes, s-sir?” he stammers. Shit.
“My clipboard says you’re done. Get out of here.” He turns to the group. “Rest of you, lunch is over. Get back to work.”
Jared can hardly believe it. He’s done, finally. He’s free.
He packs up the rest of his sandwiches and slings his bag over his shoulder, then stumbles down the highway. Two miles to his house and he can’t drive.
The puppies follow, running around his ankles. Jared smiles. Suddenly, two miles doesn’t seem so bad. He has company.
~*~
Jensen shuffles back to his car, the loss of three of his best friends weighing heavily on his heart. How could he have been so careless?
He’ll put up Lost Dog posters tomorrow. It might be a little dumb, he knows, since the puppies were strays already-but he misses them. They were like his children, and losing them, well, it’s tearing at him.
His roommates have mostly stayed out of his room. There’s a fine aroma of pot still lingering in the air, but everything’s the way it was before he left and he’d know if anything were out of place. Someone’s playing guitar in the next room. He guesses it’s Chris, based on the screaming vocals and someone else banging at the door and shouting at him to keep it down. Probably Misha-he’s not as good with hangovers as the others.
That night, Jensen has a nightmare.
He’s running along an empty highway. Something is chasing him. Barking. He recognizes the bark-it’s Rusty.
But when he turns around, it’s not Rusty at all. The eyes are all wrong. The body is stiff. It’s not-Rusty’s dead.
Jensen wakes with a start, sweat pouring down his face. A dream, he tells himself-that was just a dream. Nothing to be afraid of. Rusty-he’s fine.
They’re all fine.
It’s just nothing.
He downs the rest of his bottle and passes out.
~*~
Jensen’s taping flyers to lampposts when he walks up. Tall, ridiculously muscled, with floppy brown hair and warm eyes. He stops and reads the flyer.
“Hey,” Jensen tries. The guy doesn’t respond, just stares at the photos of Jensen’s three missing puppies. “I’m Jensen.”
“Th-these y-yours?” the guy stutters out. It’s kind of adorable, Jensen thinks.
“I work at the local pound,” Jensen explains. “They went missing two nights ago.”
The guy finally looks at Jensen. “I-I’m s-sorry,” he says. “M-my n-name’s J-Jared.”
“Hi. Um. My phone number’s on these. Call me, if you see anything?” Jared nods, and Jensen hands him a flyer. “Thanks,” he says, and turns to leave.
“Um. W-wait-”
Jensen stops. “Yeah?”
Jared looks nervous. He shifts from foot to foot, his hands folded behind his back, and he’s looking anywhere but Jensen. “N-nothing. N-neverm-mind.”
Jensen smiles and nods, then continues on. He has to get the rest of the flyers up before going into work.
~*~
The puppies are in Jared’s workroom, chewing on bones from an elk. He pets the rust-colored terrier’s head as he scans the flyer Jensen left for him.
He doesn’t know what to do. The puppies are Jensen’s-that much is obvious. But Jared’s become attached. He’s never had live animals before, and he’s in awe. He wishes he could keep them forever, keep them away from Jensen.
But-
The look in Jensen’s startling green eyes, the sadness; he knows what that’s like, too. Jensen’s lonely.
Jensen misses his puppies.
Jared pulls out his phone. Thinks. Then crumples the flyer and throws it away.
Five minutes later he fishes it out and dials Jensen’s number.
~*~
Jensen’s feeding Lucy when his phone rings.
“Hello?” There’s silence on the other line. “Hello? Is someone there?”
“J-Jensen?”
“Jared? Hey. What’s going on?”
“I-I fou-” The line goes dead.
“Jared? Jared, are you-”
Jensen’s phone vibrates. A text. Mt me @ 4288 E. Bomant. -Jared
“Jeff?” he calls. “Jeff, I’m taking lunch.”
“Fine,” Jeff calls back. Jensen pockets his cell and leaves.
4288 East Bomant Road is three blocks away, in a part of the district where finding a parking spot is pretty much a crapshoot-so Jensen decides to walk. It’s a nice day, anyway, and as much as he wants to spend time with his puppies, the pound is pretty stuffy.
He finds the place fairly easily, in between a tiny Tandoori restaurant and a Kinko’s. But the sign-that makes him stop.
Taxidermist.
Jensen shakes his head. He’s not going to judge the guy for his career-for all he knows, Jared doesn’t even like it. For all he knows it could be the family business.
It doesn’t help, though, and suddenly Jensen realizes he might be getting into something he’d rather not.
Still. Jared asked to meet him. And Jensen wants to know what this is about, so he goes in, a cheap bell announcing his arrival six times as he goes through his compulsion. There are all kinds of stuffed animals scattered about the place-mostly raccoon and chipmunk and a couple squirrels-though the sign affixed to the front counter claims the shop does game animals and pets.
“Jared?”
There’s a small crash from the back room, then a soft voice calls, “B-be r-right-no! Bad!-r-right out.”
Jared finally stumbles out, brushing dust off his shirt. He smiles. “H-hi.”
“Hi,” Jensen says.
“Th-thanks-I w-wanted-I w-wasn’t-” Jared stops. Takes a deep breath, then speaks in tightly-controlled syllables. “I wasn’t being honest. Earlier. I do know.”
“What?” Jensen prompts. He’s not sure if he really wants to know-his puppies in the custody of a taxidermist? It’s almost-”
“They followed me home, yesterday. Here. Back room. I’ll show you.” He turns around and walks off. Bewildered, Jensen follows.
He’s greeted by yipping and Rusty jumping up on his leg. Jensen’s grinning so hard it hurts as he picks the animal up and hugs it.
“Rusty! Oh thank god, I was terrified-I thought you were gone-“
“Is he yours?”
Jensen shakes his head. “I wish. But where I live… well, it’s not possible. Maybe one day, I’ll have a puppy of my own, but for now…”
“But what happens,” Jared asks, “if he’s never adopted?”
Jensen’s joy falls.
~*~
Jared watches as Jensen’s expression goes from gleeful to sorrowful in less than a second.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” he says, cursing himself for returning to his stutter. “I-I d-didn’t m-mean t-to-”
Jensen shakes his head. “It’s okay. If no one comes- if no one wants them, after a while, we have to make room for new ones coming in. There’s a lot of stray animals out there, and we’re pretty small. Rusty’s been there a while, and I think soon, he’ll…” Jensen trails off. “Yeah.”
Jared thinks he understands. His whole life he’s been trying to find a way to cheat death, and after the shop’s previous owner died in a mysterious accident, it was all too easy to pose as his nephew and take over.
Which is why he doesn’t think, doesn’t even blink, why his voice is perfectly clear and calm when he says:
“Jensen? What if… what if you could keep Rusty? Forever?”
~*~
Jensen brushes his fingers across Rusty’s nose. Daisy and Lauren are already complete, drying, and now there’s only Rusty.
Jared’s fingers join his. “Are you ready?” he asks.
A lump forms in Jensen’s throat and he can’t talk. He nods instead. Yes. He’s ready. Rusty licks his fingers.
Jensen shuts his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Jared’s voice is right by his ear, breathing gently on it, and Jensen shudders. “Just like the others-it’s over quickly. He’ll never feel a thing, and you can keep him. Just like this.”
Jensen shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t.
“You’ve already done it twice,” Jared says.
No, no, Jensen wants to shout, that was you, that was different, that wasn’t Rusty, that wasn’t-
“It’s no different.” A metal instrument is pressed into Jensen’s hand. “One breath and it’s done.”
“Can’t-you-?” Jensen tries. Jared laughs, light puffs of air brushing through Jensen’s blond locks.
“No. Not this time. It has to be you.” His hands come to rest on Jensen’s shoulders. Strong. Anchoring. “Rusty is yours.”
Rusty is his.
One breath.
It’s done.
~*~
Jensen sits on a stool, shaking, as Jared puts the finishing touches on Rusty.
He can’t believe what just happened. He can’t. It’s all so-
He doesn’t know. He’s kind of numb, like it hasn’t really sunk in yet. Like it’s not him sitting here, with blood on his hands, in the taxidermist’s workshop, reeking of formaldehyde and ammonia.
“There!” Jared says. He tosses a smile over his shoulder at Jensen. Jensen doesn’t smile back. “I finished,” he says, softer this time, and lifts Rusty into his arms.
“I-”
“See, Jensen? It’s okay. Look.”
Rusty peers at Jensen with glassy brown eyes, the exact shade they’d been in life. Rusty’s grinning, his pink tongue poking out slightly, and Jensen half-expects him to lick his fingers. But, of course, Rusty doesn’t. He can’t. Not anymore.
Jared watches him, hopeful expression clear.
And maybe Jared’s right. Maybe-maybe this is right. Having Rusty like this, forever-it’s gotta be better than shoved in some vet’s incinerator for being a drain on the pound’s resources, right?
He takes Rusty, pets his fur, watches Jared.
Jared touches Jensen’s wrist.
~*~
Jensen doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. Today’s been-it’s been surreal. To put it lightly. So having Jared practically lift him and sit him on the workbench and start unbuttoning Jensen’s shirt, well-of everything, that’s the most normal.
So he lets it happen.
Lets Jared babble on about how he likes to write poems, and next chance he gets, he’s going to fill an entire book with odes to Jensen’s eyes and lips and voice, how he’s never known anything like this, and Jensen doesn’t understand half of it but it’s nice and it’s nice to focus on something that isn’t what he’s done.
Jared kisses him, soft and sweet, and Jensen finds himself melting into it. He doesn’t know if the attraction is real or if it’s just adrenaline, but it feels good and he’s going to go with it.
One hand comes up to cup Jensen’s jaw, and Jared presses a thumb against his cheek. Jensen parts his lips just enough to let Jared’s tongue in-and like that, the mood shifts. Jared pins Jensen’s wrists down on the table and kisses him hard, possessive, and Jensen tries to return it.
Like a battle for dominance, except Jensen doesn’t want to win.
Jared drags him off the table, flips him around, bends him over the table. Shoves his pants down. Jensen struggles, but Jared’s strong. Really strong.
There’s something cool brushing against his opening. He thinks it might be lube, but why Jared would have lube close like that he doesn’t know-he doesn’t want to guess at what else it might be. It’s slick, though, and Jared opens him roughly before pulling back. There’s a wet slapping sound, and then Jared’s shoving in.
It burns; it burns and stretches and Jensen tries to buck, tries to get Jared off, but Jared holds fast.
Thrusting in and out, hard and fast, and Jensen’s gasping. There’s no time to adjust, no time to get used to the thick intrusion, but his dick’s still hard.
He tries to reach down, but Jared slaps his hand away.
“No,” Jared snaps. “No.”
Grunts and pants fill the air. Pleasure mixed with pain mixed with Jensen’s stomach being shoved into the hard corner of the table but somehow-somehow it doesn’t matter.
He feels alive again.
Jared’s saving him.
The rush of the epiphany pushes him over the edge and he comes, screaming, without once being touched-and Jared follows close behind, grunting out something that might have been Jensen’s name.
~*~
“I want you,” Jared says, when they’ve caught their breaths and fixed their clothes.
“Mm?” Jensen says. His brain still hasn’t caught up, still in that blissed-out post-orgasmic haze.
“I mean it,” Jared says. “I can-you understand. This. And I can talk to you, normally.”
Jensen doesn’t know what to think. Jared-he’s dangerous. The proof is all over the room, in the form of Rusty and Lauren and Daisy and the cum that’s crusting on the table and floor.
But Jared’s the one he shared this all with. Jared’s the one who showed him he doesn’t have to say goodbye.
“Yeah,” Jensen says. “Yeah, okay.”
Jared takes one of his hands off Jensen’s body. There’s a soft metallic clink.
“One breath,” Jared says.
~*~
Jared drags the paintbrush over bright-green eyes.
“There,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against pouty pink lips. “I’m sorry,” Jared says regretfully. “But it was quick, wasn’t it? Just one breath and it’s done.”
A smile breaks across his face. “Now I’ll never have to say goodbye, and neither will you. It’s all for the best, right?”
He’s the only ones Jared can talk to, the only one for whom that damn stutter never comes through.
“I can keep you forever. And you can keep me.”