SPN-J2-Xmas Fic: You Can Plan on Me, J2, 1/1
Title: You Can Plan on Me
Author: june
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: none
Word count: ~4,000
Notes: For stripysockette for the spn-j2-xmas exchange! This was so much fun to write, I can't even tell you, and my first J2, as well! As always, a huge thank you to harrigan for her speedy beta! I was going to include which of stripysockette's prompts/likes I drew from but that would spoil the story so, tralala, I'm not telling. Also, I'm crediting Bing Crosby for the lyrics below--the superior version, clearly.
Summary:
/I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me/
The snow comes down thick and heavy, now, blanketing the valley in white, turning the rusted corpses of the machines to harmless lumps. Jared perches on top of their own rusty lump and sips his spiked tea from a thermos. The whiskey as well as the hot liquid warm him from the inside out, even though his ass is still freezing and his toes have gone numb. He can’t stay out for much longer, not with this weather. But-Jensen’s late. Nearly a day late.
Finally jumping down, Jared makes his way over to the barn-a glorified lean-to made of scavenged pieces of armor and hull plating. Jilly the goat is chomping happily on the last of her feed. Doug and Marcia bleat at him, their strange black sheep tongues sticking all the way out.
“Bleeeeeeeeh,” Jared answers, sticking his tongue out.
The chickens, which he has not named because he intends to eat them, cluck at him from their roosts. Friendly girls, all of them, with no rooster to harass them.
With everyone in order, Jared shuts and locks the barn door, hoping that no coyotes decide to make Christmas dinner out of his animals. As the winters get harsher, more and more of them come down out of the mountains. With another sip of his tea, Jared slogs back to the house. Or the bunker-it looks less like a house, covered in snow. Before pulling the door shut, though, he casts one more look up the valley, toward the road between the mountains that will lead Jensen home-a road that’ll be buried by morning.
Humming an old pre-war Christmas song that has always made him sad, Jared shuffles inside, steps out of his half-laced boots and into his slippers before heading straight to the wood stove. Sparks shoot up the pipe as he pokes and prods the logs into a more vigorous flame. They’ve got lots of wood cut, but the high efficiency fuel pellets Jensen always brings back burn much longer and hotter.
Satisfied that their insulated little house is back on its way to warm, Jared heads over to his workbench and plops down onto the stool. He supposes it’s all right that Jensen is late. Fine, really, because Jared’s not quite finished with his Christmas present yet. Flicking on the jointed workbench light, Jared angles it to give him a bright spot on the table, lighting up the dark corner of their house.
He blinks on his Eyes as he picks up the glasses he’s making for Jensen. They ache for a moment as his genetically enhanced lenses zoom and focus on the final adjustments he needs to make. The glasses won’t allow Jensen to see the way Jared does, but the design is the same and they'll correct his vision where he needs it, prop up his failing eyesight for several more years, provide a mechanical crutch that he will hate for its necessity but hopefully appreciate.
Jared hums his Christmas song and does what he was born to do-fuss with pieces of tech until he understands them, until he can make them do what he wants.
*
The grind of the truck's gears and the fierce bite of its tread wake Jared from his doze, propelling him to his feet so quickly he nearly topples his stool. Jared remembers to hide the finished glasses amongst the myriad pieces of scavenged tech on the workbench just before he shrugs into his coat and steps into his boots. But with a screech of metal the door swings open and Jensen slips inside, along with a flurry of snow.
In the dim light of the main room, he can see Jensen cast a quick glance over their small warren to assure himself all is as it should be. Finally he looks at Jared, unwinds the scarf from around his face and shoves his hat off his head, depositing another layer of snow in the entryway.
“Hey,” Jared says, not bothering to mask how relieved he is to have Jensen home. “You made it-” He checks his watch. “-just before midnight.”
Jensen blinks at him, eyes dark and unreadable until he understands. His smile is small and secret. “I said I’d be home for Christmas.” He takes two steps to get to Jared and keeps going, pushing him back until he bumps up against the wall by the wood stove.
“I was coming out to meet you,” Jared says just before Jensen kisses him. Jensen does it with the singular concentration of a man who cannot be less than perfect at anything he attempts.
“I know,” he answers. “I wanted to surprise you, but the damn truck is so noisy.”
“It must drive you nuts not being able to sneak up on things and kill them like you used to, but that truck keeps us fed. It’s certainly not my farming skills.”
Jensen cradles Jared’s face in his big rough hands, thumbs gently at his jaw and cheeks as if he's forgotten Jared's face in the weeks he's been gone. Jared hasn’t blinked his Eyes off yet and he allows himself a moment to give Jensen a quick scan while he's distracted touching Jared's face and body. No frostbite, no blood, no torn clothes. Knuckles of his right hand bruised. Jared stops them with his own when they settle on his waist.
“You have any trouble? Your hands are-”
“No. We’re good-I made sure.” His smile is colder now. “I still get to do some sneaking up on things and killing them.”
Jared shivers, a host of complicated feelings playing havoc with his nervous system. If he looked carefully enough he could see them-wild sequences of fire and light jumping through him.
“Do you want presents now or in the morning?” Jensen asks, his demeanor shifting so quickly that Jared can only just catch the process, like the change from one application to another. Jensen looks at him now like he is ready to be home and out of his clothes.
“Both,” Jared says, shrugging his coat off his shoulders and stepping back out of his boots.
*
Their mattress sits in a cobbled together metal frame that creaks with any kind of vigorous movement. Jensen would prefer to have it on the floor, but their house is half underground, an old war machine dug in and insulated against the cold. They've tried to seal it as best they can, but bugs and sometimes mice and other critters still get in. In the event of critters, Jared doesn't want to be on the floor.
As a consequence, Jensen likes to fuck him as slow as he can to keep the frame from making a racket. Jared can't say that he really minds-until he absolutely fucking does.
“Come on,” he groans, arching his hips up, breaching himself on Jensen's fingers. “Aren't you gonna... don't you want...”
Shaking his head, Jensen curls his fingers and drags them out with impossible thoroughness and patience. Jared writhes and then laughs. “You fucking asshole. I see why they paid you the big bucks.” He gasps at a twitch of Jensen's fingers and makes a grab for his dick but Jensen swats his hand away and continues with his merciless torture.
“If only...” he starts, green eyes downcast.
Jared can guess his meaning. If only his talents had been used for pleasure. If only the compensation had been proportional to what he'd been ordered to do, to the pain he had caused, they would never have to worry about money again.
But any coherent thoughts he has on the matter of his and Jensen's past are flushed from his mind as Jensen zeroes in on his prostate and works him until he's a panting, shaking, sweating mess.
“You want to touch yourself, go 'head,” Jensen says, voice a little frayed witnessing Jared's pleasure. He may like to control the pace, but it is always Jared who undoes him.
Taking himself in hand finally, Jared gives a few easy tugs and is knocked sideways by the force of the orgasm that crackles through him, Jensen's fingers a constant agonizing pressure in his ass.
When he's finally wrung every last drop out of him, Jensen lowers Jared's legs enough to settle himself across his hips and from there, jerk himself off with quick efficient strokes. Jared has learned not to touch him during this portion of the evening, not even to ask. Instead he allows himself to rest in the afterglow, content to watch as Jensen watches him, as Jensen brings himself off. Jensen exhales a harsh breath when he comes and his lashes flutter-the only concession to his own pleasure he makes.
But this time Jensen curls forward after, leans down to press his head to Jared's. His hips work restlessly against Jared's stomach, slipping wetly in the mess they've both left. Jensen kisses him and says with absolute conviction, “I love you.”
Jared blinks at Jensen's too-close face, touches his back. “Yeah?”
Jensen nods.
“Me too. I mean-I love you, too, Jensen.” He wants to blink his Eyes on, try to determine why Jensen would say that now. What's different? Surely there's something observable.
But Jensen would know if Jared tried to examine him in that way. He'd know and he wouldn't like it.
He wonders briefly if Jensen said it as an experiment, to find out what Jared would do, how he'd respond, but he discards that possibility. Jared's the scientist, not Jensen. Jensen was treated like an experiment and a machine his entire life; he would never treat Jared the same way, even though-even though Jared could just as easily have been one of the scientists in Jensen's Program.
So he doesn't blink on his Eyes, decides instead that Jensen said what he did because he meant it. The simplest explanation is usually the best.
He holds Jensen close until his breathing returns to normal and he starts to shift and squirm, then lets him go so he can roll away. Jensen reaches down for a t-shirt and cleans them up with the same efficient movements as when he cleans their dishes or the game he kills for them to eat. He doesn't appear embarrassed by his admission, though he doesn't quite look Jared in the eye either.
Lying down again when he's done, he pulls Jared half across his chest. Jared goes without a fight, too pleasantly confused to mind being manhandled. He pushes one leg between Jensen's, tucks his arm snugly across Jensen's ribs and lets sleep suck him under.
*
He awakens to an empty bed and the sound of shoveling outside the house. Sunlight filters through the tinted glass of an old windshield cut and re-purposed into a window. Poking his head and shoulders out from under the blanket, Jared is relieved to find that Jensen got the wood stove going again so the house isn't freezing. Still, he hustles into his clothes, pulling on the insulated pants he's nearly worn through at the knee and layers of thermal shirts under his worn-thin wool sweater. He hopes Jensen got a chance to pick up a new one from their closest neighbor, Julie. The wool from Doug and Marcia hopefully offset the cost at least a little. Jared doesn't think he can farm, knit, and build-there are only so many hours in the day.
Stumbling out into the sunshine in full cold-weather gear, Jared has to shield his eyes from the blinding reflection off the snow. He of course didn't grab his snow goggles. But the second shovel leans up against the side of the house, waiting for him, so he grabs it and heads off along the path Jensen has already dug toward the snow-covered truck.
“I'm hungry-are you hungry?” he calls, as much to announce his presence in the sound-deadened snow-bound valley as to complain about the absence of a Christmas breakfast.
“I've got bacon in the truck-I just have to get to the truck,” Jensen answers from up ahead, out of sight behind a mound of snow.
“Hold on, I'm coming!” Jared rounds the corner at a dead run and plows straight into Jensen, wraps both arms around his waist and knocks him off his feet into a drift. Jensen lands with an 'Oof!' and Jared lands laughing before Jensen almost manages to force snow down the back of his coat. Shoving frantically away, Jared pulls Jensen up with him and with an apologetic grin, brushes the worst of the show from his hat and shoulders.
“So you managed to get out to Julie's, then. I was hoping.”
Jensen nods and returns Jared's gesture, brushing snow from his side and his ass. “She slaughtered one of her pigs and cured some bacon for you as a thank-you.”
“For what?” Jared starts shoveling out the back of the truck so they can get into the wagon bed. “She gives us meat and sweaters-those are two of the most important things I can think of right now.”
Jensen actually chuckles as he goes back to shoveling. “You built her new solar pads last year. She has electricity because of you.”
Jared snorts dismissively. “They just needed an upgrade. Spinning wool, though-that is complex.”
“It's animal fur-I don't see why you're so fascinated.”
“You're operating under the false assumption that what I do with the tech I build is more sophisticated than making the tread for the truck wheels or turning milk into yogurt.” Jared reaches the back of the wagon and begins to clear snow away from the latch and bumper. “You're assuming a fundamental distinction between tech and nature, when actually one is just as complex and as simple as the other. I can see the chemical bonds-I can see them change. They're more similar than different.”
“Which is why you make a lousy farmer,” Jensen concludes. “You're too busy watching the grass grow.” His voice comes from just behind Jared's ear and Jared turns just as Jensen pulls aside his scarf and presses a kiss to his jaw.
“Jilly likes me,” Jared murmurs, only a little offended. “She lets me milk her-she doesn't let you.”
“You've bribed her with food.”
“Quickest way to a goat's heart-didn't your training teach you th-”
“Jared, listen to me for a minute, all right?”
That stops him cold. Jensen looks up at him, his sober handsome face pinched in a frown.
“Before you open up the bed.... I ran across a bounty hunter on my way back from Julie's-City-funded, by the looks of it. All the bells and whistles.”
Jared tries to push his hand back through his hair, an old nervous tick that almost feels alien after so long. But he comes up against his hat and stops before he can push it off his head. “Shit. Had he been to Julie's? Did she seem okay?”
Jensen shakes his head. “She was fine and, no. She would have said if he'd been there. I would have been able to tell if she lied about it. He was following me, but he was looking for you. They're still looking for you.”
“How do you-”
“Because he told me what they would do to you when he brought you back to the City.”
Jared lifts Jensen's gloved hand, the one with the bruises. “So you punched him in the face a few times?”
“Before I killed him-yes. He-I was angry. For you. For us.” Jensen looks a little guilty, which Jared doesn't really get. Jensen saved them a lot of trouble. “I may have damaged some of the enhancements in his nose.”
Jared frowns. “So?”
Reaching behind him, Jensen yanks open the doors of the wagon, revealing his haul. And a body. “I kept him for you.”
Jared jolts hard at the sight of the body, bloody and stiff between pieces of sheet metal, mechanical eyes staring blankly up at them. “Shit, Jensen, why didn’t you just dump him?”
Now Jensen actually looks pleased-proud even. “I wasn’t sure what of his you'd want. I know you can use almost everything. Don’t worry-he’s frozen by now so you won't make a mess. And I left him here inside the wagon so the coyotes wouldn't drag him off in the night.” He smiles, small and hopeful. “Merry Christmas.”
Jared barks a laugh and climbs into the back of the truck, tentatively kneels down by the body. The eyes-cheaper mechanical knockoffs of Jared's-are in good shape. Jensen's right-any of the sensors in his nose for tracking are probably shot. But that doesn't mean Jared can't fix them or, even better, figure out how to duplicate and improve them. He's probably got some interesting enhancements in his ear canals, too. All the latest for bringing one of the City's most valuable assets back into the fold.
“He's got skeletal enhancements in his hands and forearms,” Jensen offers from the ground. “Probably in his feet and shins. He would have taken you down.”
Jared shivers as he pushes up a pant leg and confirms Jensen's suspicion. “Yeah. Good thing you got to him first. And, uh.” Jared brushes his gloved hands off on his pants. “Thanks. And Merry Christmas to me, I guess.”
He feels a little shaky jumping down from the bed-and bizarrely let down. A shot of adrenalin at the confirmation that he's still hunted by the petty lords squatting in their small fiefdoms knocks up against the foolish disappointment of realizing that Jensen got him a dead bounty hunter for Christmas. It's a useful present to be sure-one that will earn them good money when Jensen next makes the trek into the surrounding towns to sell what Jared builds. It's also a sign that Jensen is still willing to protect him after three years of freedom, three years out of his Program-that he still considers Jared worth protecting. The physical brutality of the strikes that caved in this man's nose is a testament to some depth of feeling. And then there was the 'I love-'
Jared pulls himself together with a shaky breath, unzips his coat, and reaches into an inner pocket for the glasses. He and Jensen are partners first, lovers second, and maybe friends a distant third. Jared isn't sure. Friendship is difficult to observe.
But he feels it as he hands over the glasses. He feels his connection with Jensen in a way that can never be accurately quantified or qualified. He feels it when Jensen unfolds the glasses and settles them on his nose, a skeptical but growing smile pulling at his mouth. They're made from a sturdy plastic derivative that won't get brittle with age or cold, the frames black and thick to hold the lenses that will alter themselves to accommodate Jensen's weakening eyesight.
“Merry Christmas,” Jared says, grinning helplessly. “They look good on you.”
Jensen turns slowly, looks out over the length of the valley to the bare trees covering the mountains on either side of them, and finally spins around to crowd back in close to Jared. He grabs Jared's open coat and holds the edges closed, kisses him with cold lips. “Thank you. These could save our lives. I couldn't-I almost didn't see that hunter coming up behind me. The damn truck is so loud, I couldn't hear him and if he'd-”
“It's okay.” Jared kisses him quiet. “You're good, now.” And this feeling-this is worth every night Jensen was away from him, every moment of fear that he might choose not to return. This is worth all the times that Jared has felt alone in the crazy thing they'd done-running away together, helping each other to escape. All of it is worth Jensen's happiness at Jared's gift.
“Hey, come on,” Jared finally prods. “Let's find that bacon and get some eggs frying. Did you get flour? I've got a little left. Enough for pancakes, I'm sure.”
“No-wait.” Jensen steps back, pushes the glasses up his nose. Jared will have to tighten them for him. “I have to give you your present first.”
Frowning, Jared turns to look at the dead bounty hunter. “What-but you already did. The hunter? He's great-months of stuff to work on. I'm gonna have to dig up a bone saw from somewhere, though.”
Jensen smiles at that, but then sobers, his expression falling. “You thought he was your present? You thought I'd give you a dead body for Christmas?”
Flailing for some answer that won't offend him, Jared eventually blurts the truth. “This is the first time we've done Christmas-the first time you've ever done Christmas. It's not bad for a first effort, trust me. But-” Jared rubs the back of his neck, a giddy feeling fluttering in his middle. “-why, what else did you get me?”
Moving Jared carefully out of the way, Jensen jumps up into the wagon bed. He avoids the dead hunter and goes straight to the back where he roots through a crate of odds and ends Jared looks forward to going through later. When he finds what he's after, he draws it out of the box with great care. Returning to Jared, he holds out a hardback book-a pre-war collection of poetry. Jared tips the book open, lets the pages fall where they will. They're love poems.
“I don't know if you like poetry,” Jensen begins, trying to catch his eye. Jared obliges him, though he feels wide open and undefended. “But I do know you like old things.”
Jared smiles, closes the book. “So do you.”
Jensen likes old things and new things, knowledge and experiences of all kinds. His Program engineered him with decreased empathetic impulses and an incredibly high pain tolerance, but they hadn't counted on his innate curiosity, ravenous appetite for cognitive stimulation, and infuriating stubborn streak. Jared would like to find Jensen's mother some day. Even if he can't forgive her for donating Jensen to his Program, he'd like to know the woman who left such a mark on him. Jensen was removed from her body before she had the chance to speak one word to him yet Jared can see her in his DNA, very nearly has a complete image of her in his mind.
Jensen clears his throat and Jared realizes he was staring again. He still does that, even after three years. “I could read some to you-now that I've got my glasses.” Jensen touches the frames, adjusts them again on his nose.
“You'd read me love poems,” Jared say, incredulity leaking into his tone.
“Only if you want me to.” Jensen backtracks so quickly it's almost as if he's stepped away, physically removed himself from the situation.
Jared takes a step closer, and since Jensen hadn't actually moved, they stand toe-to-toe. “I could probably die of happiness if you read me love poems.”
“Can't have that.” Jensen snatches the book out of his hand and gives him a sly smile-already forgiven-as he jumps back up into the truck. Hopefully this time he'll come back with bacon.
He returns with a wrapped package that smells like salt and smoke and Jared's mouth begins to water. “That bacon will put me at risk, too. You're going to have to keep a close eye.” Jensen brought him bacon and poetry-and Jensen loves him.
Jensen gives him one of his looks that used to be unreadable before Jared learned the language. He can read it now-bloody-minded determination. Jensen closes up the truck with a clang of old metal and herds Jared back inside.