This Long Silence: Part Two

[dugindeep]

Previous

In the morning, dressed and armed for work, Jensen steps up and into his truck, but pauses with his head just above the top of the cab because Jared’s slipping out his front door. Jensen takes the moment to log Jared in work wear: pressed slacks and a starched button-up, pale blue and untucked with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He doesn’t often see Jared on the way out to work and it’s even rarer that he catches him on the way home, given the longer hours of Jensen’s day. Jensen can admit he likes taking a second here when he’d normally head right into town.

As soon as Jared turns around, he pauses and slowly smiles. “Sheriff,” he calls out with a nod.

“Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen returns. He nearly grins when Jared rolls his eyes. “Be safe out there. Kids are crazy these days.”

“I think you’ve got more to worry about than I do,” Jared points out as he moves down the steps and to his dusted-up, second-hand pick-up.

“Fair enough.”

Jared slings his bag across the front seat to rest on the passenger’s side and nods at Jensen again. “Say hi to Maggie for me.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her all about your new lawn furniture,” Jensen says quickly. He smiles and tucks himself inside the cab of the truck before the conversation can go any further.

Even with the roar of the police vehicle, Jensen can hear Jared complain, “Oh, come on, no.”

Jensen smirks at Jared and waves as he pulls the truck out onto the pebbled road.



At the end of his shift, Jensen walks Maggie to her car, trying to deflect questions about Jared’s lawn furniture.

Yes, I heard he has new chairs.

No, I don’t know where they came from.

Who knows? Maybe he really can wield a hammer and build chairs.

Jensen’s proud that he keeps his smile to a minimum as he talks about Jared. That he can hold all emotions at bay and avert more of Maggie’s gossip.

“Frank and I are going for dinner, if you’d like to join us,” she offers once she’s got her window rolled down and the car rumbling to life.

He taps the top of the window frame and smiles in earnest. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just stop off for a few errands and then home for the night.”

Maggie frowns and her voice takes on a tone that sounds a little like his mother and sister combined. A batch of worry and love with a boot of good sense to kick him in the ass. “Sheriff, you really ought to find yourself some dining partners. A man can go crazy on the edge of town with no one to keep him company.”

“I’m fine,” he insists with a small smile and nod. “Now, get on to Frank. He’s probably starving waiting on you.”

With a small wave, she’s off. Jensen watches the car hang a left onto 16 instead of heading right. It’s curious, but there’s no point in thinking hard on it.

After barely a second’s thought, Jensen walks over to Henderson’s and buys a few paint brushes and tins of sealant, with Jared’s chairs on his mind. He’s back in the truck when he starts to wonder about it: if Jared already has some, if Clark will get that it’s not for him but his neighbor, if he should even care. The answers rattle around in his head as he leaves town, but he calms all thoughts, telling himself to keep moving forward.

On his way home, he detours to Bub’s, the county grocer a dozen or so miles outside of downtown. It’s little more than a long-abandoned gas station converted into a store that stocks odds and ends for the average cupboard along with a modest meat and cheese cooler. It also boasts Kevin ‘Bub’ Mattson’s family recipe for fried chicken. The place smells of roasted potatoes for the evening rush, which is really just a handful of folks camped out at red-painted wooden picnic benches in the corner, just next to a makeshift bakery counter.

Bub is moving between the kitchen and the dining space. The man looks far beyond his middle-aged years, thinning dark hair making his scalp shine under the store’s lights. His body is tall but broad with bulky limbs filling out his carpenter jeans and navy blue flannel. He hands two bright blue plates Sharon, a jovial full-figured blonde in jeans and a peasant top. She’s a transplant from up north who’d wandered through town on a whim and never left, marrying Bub a year or so after she started working for him.

She smiles at Jensen as she passes and sets the servings at a table for two. The fried chicken glistens as if it’s still popping in the deep fryer and meaty cream gravy spills over an open-faced biscuit.

Jensen nearly drools. The scent had been a fightable creature, but the accompanying sight of home cookin’ gets him deep in the gut.

“Donut, Sheriff?” Bub asks with a smirk. He’s wiping his thick, oily fingers on his dark apron that’s all dusted up with corn starch and flour.

“Ha, ha,” Jensen says flatly, even as his eyes rake over the selection. Bub really does serve up the best donuts Jensen’s ever tasted, warm cake first thing in the morning, but they’re likely well past their freshness at this hour. Though when the 1950’s style jukebox in the corner flips over to Elvis, the peanut butter and banana éclair serves as a tribute to The King. They’re so tempting.

“The fried special then?” Bub nods.

Jensen places a hand over his chest, imagining the sludge in his arteries if he dared live off the stuff. Flavors be damned. “I’m not sure I could handle it,” he answers warily.

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Sharon says as she sidles up to her husband.

They’re smiling side by side and Jensen chuckles, nodding a bit to not only her words but the comfortable picture they make.

She lightly hip-checks Bub and throws him a sideways glance. “Kev here’s got a new batch of garlic potatoes roasting. Fresh rosemary from our garden and a little shake of ground mustard.”

“I highly recommend, if you trust my opinion,” comes from beside Jensen and when he looks over, Maggie’s approaching the counter and tossing him a sly look. “But you never do listen to me much when it comes to matters of the stomach. Or the heart.”

He’s still in his uniform and she’s under his charge at the station; nevertheless, he feels his nerves warm with a small twitch of embarrassment for her comments and constant curiosity. There’s a reason he usually keeps to himself, sticking to his house and hiding most matters of his life that don’t include the law. People poke and prod, all well-meaning, sure. But it’s more than he ever truly appreciated.

“Are you joining us after all?” she cuts into his thoughts.

“I’m good, Maggie,” Jensen replies with a bit of his authoritative tone slipping in. “Thank you very much.”

She hums, shakes her head, and then taps at the Formica counter, much like she does at the station. “Frank and I would like seconds of the potatoes when they’re up,” she tells Sharon.

At the mention of her husband, Jensen turns to spot Frank at the far picnic bench, head bent as he nibbles at the edge of a chicken leg. When the man looks up, Jensen raises his hand in a short wave, and Jensen’s moving back to Sharon and Bub as the bell over the door jangles. All four turn to the new patron.

Jensen won’t deny that his heart jumps for a few seconds and his cheeks flame at the sight of Jared out in the daylight. Despite the time they spend together back at their homes, they’re rarely seen in the same place out in town, and this scene feels awkward. Neither has ever let others in on how much they see of each other or how easy it is to be around one another. Jensen’s certainly never shared all that he thinks of Jared, deeper than just regards for his neighbor.

He feels his back go rigid and he presses his toes out and down to temper himself. It doesn’t help that Jared’s still dressed for work, smooth navy dress pants with the same soft blue shirt Jensen had seen this morning. Now, after a day of instructing kids and dealing with his after-school club, Jared’s hair is loose and parted off center. Likely from running his hands through it for most of the afternoon.

“Jared, I haven’t seen you in a few days!” Maggie says. She doesn’t seem to bother masking her delight. “How’s Morgan Falls’ favorite teacher.”

Jared chuckles as he greets them all with a nod and a wave. “Bet you say that to all the folks.”

“Only my favorites.”

Jensen wants to laugh at her obvious excitement to Jared’s presence, as she always tends to have when Jared’s all good manners and bright smiles. But he catches how Jared glances at his Sheriff’s uniform and holster then resolutely turns to Bub and Sharon. Jensen covers the butt of his gun with his hand and takes a step back, letting Jared get to his business in the store.

Jared’s mouth twitches with a small smile at Jensen and he takes a quick breath before talking to Bub. “Do you have anything fresh to cut?”

“I’ve got half a chicken left I can piece up for you or some pork that just came in this afternoon?” Bub offers.

“I’ll take two chops,” Jared nods. “And how about some potatoes I can finish up at home?”

As Bub and Sharon move into the kitchen for Jared’s order, Maggie nudges Jensen’s elbow. “Jared’s cooking up for company. Maybe you should take a page out of his book?”

“I’m sure he’s just full of tips,” Jensen returns lightly.

“Handsome men who cook are hard to come by,” Maggie says with a wink at Jared.

Jared winks back and Jensen controls his response to a flat, “I bet they are.”

She doesn’t respond to his tone, turning fully towards Jared and biting into her lip with anticipation. “You cooking for a nice, young lady, Jared?”

“You could say that,” he replies, and Jensen shuts his eyes so he won’t roll them.

It’s a surprise she doesn’t clap her hands right there, even as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “And who might that be?”

“If I tell you now, it won’t be as fun for me to woo her.”

A bell dings back in the kitchen, and Sharon and Bub can be heard working with the fresh food. Jensen’s all too thankful and rather proud that he doesn’t groan with happiness at the moment being broken.

Maggie calls back to Frank about the food coming up while Jensen shifts towards Jared and gives him a heavy look. “Real cute there, Mr. Padalecki.”

“I know I am,” he replies, an easy smirk doing things to Jensen’s stomach he doesn’t want to acknowledge right now. “But I can’t help myself. These chops are legendary.”

Jensen licks his lips at the image of juicy grilled food fresh off the grill.

There’s a fuss to Sharon handing a platter of speared potatoes to Maggie, who returns to her table, and then a brown paper sack to Jared. Sharon kindly smiles at him with a tip of her head. “The potatoes are wrapped up in foil with extra butter and rosemary. Just plop it on the grill as is for five minutes or so. That’ll heat ‘em right back up.”

Jared fishes out his wallet to pay and grins back. “I’m sure they’ll be a hit tonight.” He ignores the coins Sharon slides across the counter and lifts his package in goodbye, stepping away.

Jensen tilts his head enough to follow Jared out the door, eyes cutting to catch just the long lines of Jared’s legs as he disappears outside.

“And you, Sheriff?” Sharon asks.

He turns back to her, and his memory is stalled on why he even came to the grocer for how his mind is jumbled between the slight hassle of Maggie’s nosy nature and Jared’s presence. A shake of his head clears it long enough to remember. “Can I get a couple biscuits and some eggs? Maybe shredded cheddar, too, if you’ve got some left.”

“Ah, breakfast, right?”

“Yeah. I’m getting a little tired of eating oatmeal over the sink,” he says, light smile getting the joke across, no matter how true it really is. Quick, solitary meals in the morning don’t do much for him except make him feel secluded as he starts the day. It doesn’t bother him often, but lately it’s felt a bit too stifling. Maggie saying so doesn’t help much either.

In no time at all, Sharon brings him a paper bag of his own, and winks at him as she taps the top of the package. “I snuck in a cut of ham. Maybe you can fashion yourself an omelet. And you’ve got a fist-full of dough so you can bake ‘em fresh in the morn, too.”

As he thanks her and tries to pay, she waves him off. He forces a frown and insists once again. He’s used to pleasantries and hand-outs as the Sheriff, but he continues to be overwhelmed by them all the same.

“You never pay here, Sheriff. You do enough for this town, and we still owe you a few rounds on our tab.”

Upon first returning to Morgan Falls nearly a decade ago without much to bide his free time, he’d met with Sharon and Bub on weekends to fix up the store. Worn tee shirts and ragged cargo shorts became his weekend uniform as they tore out most of the back room to make space for better kitchen equipment. He hadn’t done it for anything more than finding pride in helping the couple out and to pass the days.

Still, he nearly blushes with her sweet notion. He gives her a short nod and smile and heads on home.

He can smell Jared’s grill fired up before he even gets out of his truck. The charcoal scent tempts him and he makes quick work to put his haul from the store into the fridge and change out his uniform for a tee and jeans that are the best comfort he can have at the end of the day.

Around the back of the house, Jared mans the grill in a thin grey shirt and haggard-looking jeans whose holes are all from wear and tear, no intended style. Jensen stutters a step seeing Jared completely barefoot on the handful of square stones that serve as the patio. He sighs to himself, stowing a smile away before Jared can catch him admiring the look.

The gas grill’s smoking up and Jared flips the pork chops, juice egging on the flames as he ducks away from heat.

“Good thing the Fire Chief ain’t around,” Jensen says as he approaches, loose smile on his face that Jared returns.

“I think he’d appreciate my ability to control it.”

“Barely,” he says with a nod to point out one burner that flares particularly high.

The chop right over that side of the flame gets turned over and it’s completely charred. “I’m declaring that one yours.” He gives Jensen a hard look. “Just for that smart mouth you’ve got.”

“Ahh,” he starts with a serious tone. “Cajun seasoning.” Jared tsks with a smirk and Jensen chuckles. “What about the potatoes?”

“In the oven already.”

“Thought Sharon said right on the fire?”

Jared flips the grill tongs in his hand and cocks his head. “Gotta play by my own rules sometimes, Sheriff.” He blows at the end of the tongs and mocks putting them into a holster.

Jensen manages to not roll his eyes for once, rather enjoying Jared’s playful use of his title. “You’re in an awfully good mood,” Jensen muses.

Nodding brings Jared’s hair from behind his ears, framing his tan face in a way that makes Jensen’s fingers twitch with the want to touch. The sun is far too bright out here to try.

“Kids were great today,” Jared says happily. “The Eco Club’s all excited about heading up to Warren to check out the marsh.” He glances over to Jensen with a fond look. “It was all their idea.”

Jensen warms to the notion, knowing full well how it touches Jared that his students are proactive for his own cause. He crosses his arms and shakes his head with a broad smile. “Man, you’ve got those kids charmed just like the rest of town.”

“Shut up,” Jared laughs, shoving at Jensen’s shoulder.

He reaches out to block Jared’s arm in defense, but then with care, he slides his hand over Jared’s shoulder. “No really, that’s great.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Jared nods quickly. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to the big dogs about having it go for a full Saturday trip. Make it official and all.”

“That’s awesome. You think it’ll fly?”

Jared seems hesitant to smile and averts his eyes before shrugging. “I’ve got my fingers crossed, and all that.”

“Toes, too?” Jensen asks with a crooked smile.

“Everything,” Jared laughs. He checks his watch, a silver thing that would look hulking on a wrist that didn’t belong to someone as built as Jared. “Think you can grab the potatoes before they burn?”

“What? You don’t want them to match the pork?” Jensen jokes as he moves around Jared to head inside.

They eat on the side porch with the home-made Adirondack chairs easing them into effortless conversation and the sun setting before them.

“Are you staining them?” Jensen asks in between bites.

Jared shrugs. “I kinda like them as is. But I don’t know. I’ll hit up Clark’s this weekend or something and figure it out.”

“You should at least seal ‘em, you know?” He shoots Jared a careful smile and when Jared’s eyes narrow to him, Jensen feels a spotlight on him. “What?”

“Are you telling me what to do?” he asks with a smile.

“Absolutely not.”

“Not this time, at least?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and glances away for a moment. “Maybe I was nice and grabbed some for you when I was done today.”

“You didn’t,” Jared draws out with a little bit of awe and overplayed admiration.

He grabs a bit of pork off his plate and chucks it at Jared, laughing when Jared reaches under the plate to where it fell into the folds of his shirt and makes a show of chewing it. Jensen pops the final sliver of potato in his mouth and uses the last clean bit of his paper towel to wipe his fingers. He gives Jared a long look. “Bub would be proud.”

“Why, is that a compliment, Sheriff?”

With a nod, he says, “Near abouts.”

“And what do you think Maggie would say?” Jared taunts with a smart turn of his mouth.

Jensen tips his head back to look out to the orange sky blurring to red. “I think you should worry more about what your dinner guest would say.”

Even without turning towards Jared, Jensen can see him slide lower in his chair, face resting at the back of it as he watches Jensen for a bit. He finally asks, “And what would my dinner guest say?”

He takes a second or two just to drag the soft moment on so he can fully memorize it in this calm evening. “That the cook ain’t too bad of company.”

Jared’s mouth opens around a large, amused grin. “You really are bad at this complimenting business.”

Jensen shifts to sit just as Jared, head against the chair and eyes locked into Jared’s. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be wooing your guest.”

Turning back to the yard, Jared chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll try steaks next time.”

“Not such a bad idea,” Jensen replies and moves back to the same position.

The sun continues to drop behind the horizon, just burnt embers flaring out as night takes over. Talk carries on, and they joke more. Words come even easier when the light’s gone out before them and they’re left with only the stars to show where land ends and sky begins. After some time, they settle inside to pass more of the evening in Jared’s living room, sinking into the couch and mostly ignoring the TV for better conversation.

When Jensen steps onto the front porch, it’s their last moment for the night. He tries to ignore how awkward it feels to walk outside after spending all this time with Jared, as if someone will pass by and guess what sorts of things Jensen thinks of his neighbor.

Doesn’t help that Jensen’s hair is matted and his shirt wrinkled from the couch, looking far from Sheriff-like. On weekends, sure, the town sees him as Jensen, but it’s not the same. Most days he prefers the stuffy uniform just so the residents keep up the charade and - mostly - leave him be.

If someone could read his mind right now though, they’d do anything but. It’s full of dangerous thoughts of his neighbor, all familiar images: wanting to kiss Jared, to touch, and just be with him. They’re all things he’s uncomfortable acknowledging when he’s out in the open for anyone to pass by and consider. He flashes back to Bub’s and how Maggie had slipped in more than enough questions and leading comments for Jared’s lovelife.

With that, he’s intent on leaving and offers Jared a quiet goodbye. Jared does the same, smiling at Jensen as he trudges down the stairs. Then Jensen stops just a few feet from the house and spins back towards Jared. The scene from Bub’s is still fresh in his mind, this time for a completely different reason.

“Sharon gave me some stuff for breakfast. If you want to come by before you head out?”

Jared leans against the doorframe, bathed in light from the living room, and Jensen can’t ignore how gorgeous that picture is. But then Jared gently smiles and it gets better. “Who’s trying to woo who now?”

Jensen takes a few steps backwards. “That a no?”

He crosses his arms, appearing cozy in the doorway. “You think I’m about to turn down a fresh cooked meal from the Sheriff?”

Jensen grins in the cover of the dark. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Definitely.”



With a belly full of eggs and his mind content with breakfast conversation, Jensen heads off to work with a soft smile creasing his face.

It’s a normal drive towards town, but off to the north he sees his deputy’s department Blazer parked a hundred yards off the main thruway. The patch where Abel’s standing is at the edge of the Dunhams’ land. When Jensen nears, he can see Matt Dunham there with his hands on his hips and his head down, standing just behind Abel, who’s crouched down in the foot-high brush of overgrowth.

Jensen parks a dozen or so yards away to avoid ruining too much of the field and takes long, slow strides to meet them. They’re both watching Jensen as he steps close and asks, “What’s the problem?”

Abel lifts his eyebrows and looks back down to the ground. Jensen sees a white-and-black spotted cow on its side and he nearly laughs at the image of it tipped. But then he notices patches of red soaking the ground, and he bites at the corner of his mouth as he looks to Dunham.

“What happened?”

“Don’t know,” Dunham replies quietly. “I was missing one of the herd and when I started walking, I caught red all over the weeds. I followed it out here.”

Abel stands and his face is trained, as is his voice, when he says, “It was called in about 40 minutes ago. You weren’t in yet so I hauled ass out here.”

Jensen waves it off, seeing no wrong in Abel taking the call; he’s more concerned with the animal. He crouches next to it and places a gentle hand to its neck, presses just a bit, and strokes over the coat. There’s no sign of life, not that he expected it. But he had hoped, sure.

“How long had she been missing?” he asks with a quick look to the farmer.

Dunham tugs his ballcap off and swipes over his salt and pepper hair, all sweaty and matted down from the hat. “Didn’t notice ‘til this morning.”

Jensen stays low to the ground and shifts around the cow without touching her again. When he reaches her underbelly, he winces at the jagged wound angling toward the ground. It doesn’t seem deep from where he’s looking, but the spread of red dirt below her tells him it’s ugly where he can’t see.

He lifts his eyes to Abel, who just stares back. He stands, swipes his hands over the back of his uniform pants, and nods to Dunham. “Should probably call Cathy. I bet she can help out.”

Dunham gives a long look, and Jensen can read his doubt in the county veterinarian. But she’s the only medical professional he knows of in a 200-mile radius equipped to deal with an animal this large, with this kind of trouble. Anyone else could take a day to dispatch to town.

Jensen walks to his truck with Abel just behind him.

“What’re you thinking?” Abel asks.

“What’re you?” Jensen returns, level and curious, too.

“Dog?”

“Big dog,” Jensen replies cynically. When Abel doesn’t answer, Jensen offers, “Think we got a wolf?”

“Really?” Abel asks with his own dose of skepticism.

Jensen’s eyes roam the fields, the long spread of grass and wilting crops with the latter part of autumn taking over. “We had one back in ‘95. It took out a few dogs.”

“Dog to cow is a mighty big jump.”

He rests an elbow at the window frame of his truck and thinks it over, replaying the sight of the cow’s wounds. “That girl got ripped up in just the right spot. A wolf just has to catch a few inches and tear before a cow’ll fall.”

Abel doesn’t respond, staring at Jensen with obvious doubt.

“Tell Matty to keep the kids in after dusk,” he instructs as he gets into the truck. He smiles at Abel when the start of the engine keeps the deputy from saying anything in return. “Maybe J.D.’ll hunt it down.”

“So you’re starting open season on dogs now?”

“Just the mean ones.” Jensen pats the doorframe and pulls off.



He spends the rest of the morning in his office and only steps out when Abel returns with paperwork over the incident at Matt Dunham’s. They exchange a few words about what all happened after Jensen left. Abel tells him how the old farmer’s doing and what Cathy said when she showed. Nothing was of issue; it all feels very typical for the fall of an animal like this.

Except Jensen can’t ignore the look of those wounds on the cow’s underbelly, and he stares at photos from the scene while leaning on the front counter.

“Sheriff?” Maggie asks gently, hand even gentler on his forearm.

He shakes his head to focus on her with a small smile in place. “I’m good. I think I’ll take a drive around town and see if anyone else has seen any dogs on the loose.”

“It’s not a dog,” Abel mumbles from his desk off to the right. When Jensen looks at him, the young deputy crushes his lips together and is otherwise quiet.

Jensen goes back to his office to gather his Sheriff ballcap, keys, and travel mug. “Finish your paperwork. We’ll catch up when I get back,” Jensen tells Abel as he steps through the front area.



The day draws long with his hours on the road. He tracks paths up and down dirt roads to visit other farmers in the area, ask questions about wild animals, and check on the state of their livestock. Everything appears good, though Mrs. Carlson gives him a look when he turns down dinner that evening.

“You haven’t been around much lately,” she says with a glare. It’s a look he’s seen countless times throughout his life, time spent following her sons around town and starting up trouble with a smile firmly in place.

Jensen pulls his hat off and holds it between his hands. Before he can come up with an excuse, she’s pushing the screen door wide open and holding it with her hip.

“Just ‘cause Steve is off on better adventures doesn’t mean you have to be all bitter and hide from these parts.”

“No, ma’am,” Jensen replies with a small smile. It takes a few moments, but she starts to smile with him. “Just been busy with other things.”

“Like Jared Padalecki?”

Now it’s her motherly look he can’t shake. And he can’t manage the words to respond, feeling frozen in place at the mention.

“I’m talking of your neighbor.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m aware who lives next door,” he returns tightly, though it’s tempered with a smile.

She tsks at him. “Though, I guess I can’t complain. I’m glad you’ve got yourself a friend when everyone else has skipped town. I’m surprised you’re still here. You and Danneel and who else? Jason and then n one else.”

The way her voice eases near the end of her run, Jensen’s reminded of summers spent on their farm. Fifteen years old and racing through waist-high corn before settling in for a large spread across their dining room table, featuring the sweetest cobs Steve’s dad gathered each year. It warms him, and he puts his hat back on with a boyish smile. “Some of us have to stick around to take care of you.”

She yanks on the kitchen towel tucked into her apron and swats him with it. “Get outta my hair, you. Taking care, my ass,” she mumbles as she takes a step back inside.

He chuckles, feeling youth briefly grab hold and remind him of all the laughter they’ve shared in her home. “So, you haven’t seen anything?”

“Besides Turner’s dog being all revved up?”

Jensen has to think on it and glances to the farmhouse on the next plot of land. “Stan Turner?”

She shakes her head and sounds annoyed when she says, “That mutt’s been running circles in its pen for days. Thank God, he lets him out some nights, else I’d never sleep.”

He nods like he gets it, but he’s not sure what that has to do with anything. “Alright,” he says with another nod. “Anything else comes up, you let me know.”

“Yeah, you’re on my speed dial,” she jokes.

The Carlsons’ is his last stop, he figures. It’s late in the day and he hasn’t found much of anything to keep him going. He calls Abel from his truck as he drives straight home.

“So, no werewolves?” Abel asks with a sharp tone.

“No. And you’re lucky or else I’d put you down for that attitude right now,” he threatens, hardly meaning a bit of it.

“Yeah, shoot me right in the forehead like Teen Wolf.”

“I don’t think they killed him. He won the game for them and all,” Jensen says idly as he turns onto yet another beaten path. It’s the back way around but it calls for less turns. Dirt kicks up all around him as he moves faster than usual; he just wants to get home and have himself a beer to forget the image of Dunham’s cow turned over.

“So you finally believe me? Gonna side with me this time?” Abel asks with a laugh.

“I’ll consider it. Maybe a good sleep will bring me to my senses and then I’ll - holy shit!” he screeches as an animal runs across his path, left to right in a haze of brown and grey. He stomps on the brake and yanks the wheel to the right, dragging along the gravel and nearly skidding off into a ditch, stopping just short of it when he throws the truck into park and yanks the parking brake.

“Sheriff? Sheriff!” comes in tinny worry from the cell phone he’d dropped to the floor with his manic reaction.

His heart is racing, breaths getting even faster as his eyes rake the land. A second later, he shoves the driver’s door open and stands up in the footwell to stare off to his left. He can see something. It’s jutting in between dying crops, brush and weeds swaying as the animal zig-zags. His mind flashes back to a long year in the desert when all he did was track enemies in the dust and raise a firearm with unshakeable courage. His fingers curl around the gun at his hip and he holds as still as possible, prepared to aim if he can actually see something concrete to go after.

“Jensen,” is the rough call from his phone, dragging him back to reality.

He slides back into the driver’s seat, reaching down for the cell. He sits back, pulling in a long breath of air just before he brings the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“What the hell happened?” Abel harps at him.

“I’m okay,” he says, steadying his breathing. “Damned thing ran right in front of my truck.”

“What did?”

Jensen looks left, even when he knows there’s nothing to watch. That animal’s long gone. “Werewolf,” he smirks, doing his best to settle his own nerves. Mostly just trying to hide them.

“You’re kidding me!” Abel shouts over the line.

He chuckles, liking how natural it sounds no matter how hard his heart thumps against his ribs. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks out his window again and his voice gets low. “I don’t know what it was, but something’s out here. Off of Stein and Baker roads and heading southwest.”

“You need a pick-up?”

“Nah, I’m okay.” If he keeps saying it, he’s sure he’ll start to believe it. “Truck’s fine. Just a little shaken up.” He glances out the back window to see the gravel piled around his tired tracks. “There’s a whole mess of dirt and dust, but it’s okay.”

“Just breathe easy,” Abel suggests, surprising Jensen with the comfort.

Jensen huffs and tries to accept Abel’s good intentions. “I meant the truck, not me.” After a beat, he releases the parking brake and shifts gears to drive. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Try not to run over any animals on your way in,” Abel teases.

“Funny guy,” he grumbles as he shuts off the phone and drops it in his lap.

Just a few minutes later, he’s pulling into his driveway, and he focuses more on parking and less on Jared standing on his own front porch looking antsy. The whole mess of nearly driving off the road didn’t happen just down the block, but with the barren land, it likely wasn’t hard for Jared to see the pick-up skidding off the road a mile down the way.

By the time Jensen’s got himself in order and he steps from the truck, Jared’s moved to the near corner of his porch. Jared stretches an arm up to rest at the overhang, trying to look casual. It doesn’t do much; Jensen can see the worry on his face even from a plot of land away.

“What happened out there?” Jared calls out.

Jensen forces a smirk as he crosses his yard, tugging on the brim of his hat to block the glare of the sun setting just beyond Jared’s house. “Coyote or a werewolf. Maybe Big Foot. It all depends on who you ask.”

“Big Foot?” Jared asks slowly.

He turns in place to look down the road, about to where he knows he’d had the incident. When he faces Jared, he puts on a truer look of confusion and a trace of worry. “I don’t know. Something crossed right in front of me.”

Jared shifts in place and his hand slips as he focuses far out beyond Jensen, as if he can see whatever it is that created the problem. “You hit it?”

“No, I didn’t. And I’m fine, thanks for asking.” They share a look that drags on for a bit of tension until Jared shakes his head with a small smile. Jensen nods at him. “Did you eat yet?”

Jared brings his arm down and tugs at the waistband of his worn-out jeans. “I’ve been building chair number three. You wanna bring your light back?”

Food’s more of Jensen’s worry, though he can’t think of many times he argues with Jared over anything at all. And he can’t recall any reason he’d consider telling Jared no. “Not really, but okay.”

“You can raid my fridge.”

“Not that tempting,” Jensen jokes as he walks to his front porch, glad for the change in mood.

It’s a rather quick ten minutes for Jensen to strip himself of the day’s uniform and the grime of being on the road for the last six hours. Yet by the time he makes it to Jared’s side yard, the sun has dropped down low, a golden haze filling the space around Jared and another pile of wood. Jensen admires the faint light surrounding them and stands just a few feet away, watching Jared move as well as he can through the dusk.

As it always does, Jensen’s mind disengages from the realities of his job and slips into an easy comfort in Jared’s presence. He’s all too thankful he’s allowed these moments, that he can put his worry away for the evening and think about easier things, like Jared building chairs for them to sit in and chat.

“Still can’t believe you’re getting these done,” Jensen says with a slow shake of his head.

“Not with any help from you,” Jared replies flatly, though Jensen can see a small curl to his mouth.

Jensen sets his battery-operated lantern to the grass beside Jared and pats at Jared’s cheek on the way up. “Not like you’d take it.”

“You know me too well,” he grins back.

The warmth in Jared’s look, and especially his eyes, makes Jensen relax even further. With barely a second’s hesitation, his hand creeps up Jared’s shoulder and squeezes the back of his neck before tugging a few strands of hair away from his face. “Hair’s getting mighty long.”

Jared settles on one knee with his elbow resting on the other. He looks up with a crooked smile and his eyes narrow before easing to Jensen’s gaze. “Could be worse.”

“Not much worse. Stop being a slob,” Jensen jokes and lightly slaps at Jared’s cheek.

He snorts, but he pushes Jensen hard enough to force him a few feet away as he stumbles to keep upright.

Jensen laughs for the first time all day, truly smiling and feeling bright. Jared continues to make him feel that way through the setting sun, until they part for the night.

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