This Long Silence: Part Four
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The police department is dead this time of night. Officer Kelly has the nightshift and is slowly flipping through one of Maggie’s magazines in the absence of anything to do.
It’s unearthly quiet until Jensen runs into his desk and things scatter off the top of it. He’s blinded by darkness because he’d been too stubborn to turn all the lights on when he first came in, and he curses himself for working under a small desk lamp for the past hour.
Kelly appears in the doorway with a hand patting the wood frame. “You okay, Sheriff?”
“I’m wonderful,” he returns sharply. “Get Danneel Harris down here right now. And I wanna talk to someone from Mercy in Randall, the nurse overseeing Theresa Franklin or someone else on her case.”
The young officer makes a strange face, ignorant of what all happened at Jared’s. Jensen would normally inform his young charge, but at the moment, he just wants answers. When he showed up at the station, he left his explanation in the form of there was an accident.
Kelly does as he’s told and Jensen’s on the line with a floor nurse whose voice is clipped when she reports, “Theresa Franklin was taken to the morgue six hours ago.”
Jensen checks the clock on the wall. Six hours ago, he’d been looking over the paperwork for her transfer to Randall County’s hospital. Her wounds had been bad, as he’d witnessed himself, but he thought she’d hang on under the right care.
“She was?” he asks as he stands and takes a few steps away from his desk.
“Yeah, she was. It’s been a mess of a night, as you can imagine.”
He shifts to the window but doesn’t quite make it; the cord of the desk phone only allows so much. “She bled out?”
“Not like you’re thinking,” the nurse returns quickly. “She was manic and in the middle of a transfer to the psych unit when she went even more manic and jumped two nurse’s assistants.”
Words stall in his throat at the image, but when he considers his chase with Tim Franklin, he’s not wholly surprised. “And?”
“She scratched one up and tried to bite the other’s ear right off. Then she started scratching and tearing at her own body.”
“Christ,” he whispers harshly, tucking the phone tight to his cheek.
“Christ can’t save her now,” the woman replies without sympathy. There’s a long pause until she takes a loud, sharp breath. “Was she in trouble out by you?”
Surprising himself, Jensen replies rather levelly, “Her husband got himself killed tonight.”
“Oh, Lord, this family,” she sighs. “What’d he do?”
“He went a bit manic as well,” he says cautiously. “You have any bloodwork to run along with her husband’s?
She gives off a short laugh. “You think they were on something?”
Jensen can’t answer. He can’t begin to hypothesize what’s happened between the Franklins. Ignoring her question, he chances, “Just a favor for a county neighbor.”
The woman releases another sigh but concedes. “Yeah, I’ll see what we can do.”
As he’s tying up the call, his cell buzzes and it’s Jared’s name on the display. He hangs up on the nurse but doesn’t answer the new call. He stares at his phone for a bit, watching Jared’s name flash and running this thumb over the screen.
“Sheriff,” Kelly interrupts. “Ms. Harris to see you.”
Jensen pockets his phone and nods, watching as Kelly leads Danneel into his office. Jensen motions at the wood armchair in front of his desk with a tight, “Take a seat, Dan.”
She looks worse than even the stress of this day could account for. Her hair is mussed and her clothes appear a bit ragged and hang oddly, even as she tugs on a long cardigan sweater to hold herself together.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Your little guy woke me up,” she mumbles, voice dry and scratchy.
Jensen calls for coffee for the both of them, and after a careful moment of sharing a sad smile, he leans forward on his desk with a soft look. “You remember anything strange with Theresa Franklin?”
“You mean besides her bleeding right out of her arm for hours?”
They go quiet when Kelly brings them coffee, and Danneel drinks from her cup rather fast, but Jensen can only curl his hands around his mug and stare down at it. He’s mesmerized by the rising steam, and he thinks about the cup Jared had brought him that morning. If there were a way, he’d return to that moment and change a thousand things between then and now.
Jensen runs his hand over his mouth and looks anywhere but to her. “She died at Mercy.”
Danneel’s voice is soft and controlled when she replies, “Losing that much blood, I’m not too surprised.”
His eyes meet hers for a quiet second before they slip down to his untouched coffee again, not wanting to consider her reaction to his news. “She attacked the hospital staff then went at herself.”
Her eyes widen yet the rest of her face freezes. Jensen can see how hard she’s bracing her reaction. Her voice is just as tight. “What do you mean … ‘went at herself’?”
“I can only imagine,” he replies miserably as he does himself the disservice of reliving the way Tim Franklin went after him. Once the memory’s passed, Jensen sits up and trains his voice into one befitting the Sheriff. “Tim got hurt tonight, too. When they bring him into the clinic, I want you to set blood and tissue samples aside along with some of Theresa’s so we can run tests.”
Slowly, she repeats, “So we can run some tests.”
His head drops into a minor nod as he regards her apologetically. “So you can.”
It takes time for her to respond, as if she’s running over every word again. “How’d Tim get hurt?”
There’s no reason in hiding at this point, he figures. Especially with her. “He was shot.”
“For what?”
“For attacking the Sheriff.”
Danneel’s eyes fall with emotion and now they’re sharing a softer gaze. “Are you okay?” she asks with care.
“Yes,” he replies immediately.
“How about Tim?”
“No.”
She shifts in her seat and breathes deep, seeming to pull herself together. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
There isn’t more to say; Jensen’s out of words at this point. He walks her to her car and insists she keep an eye out and an ear open. He all but demands she do everything in her power to stay safe.
He sticks around the station and combs the police database and then the internet for anything of this magnitude that’s actual truth. He finds a slew of videos showing random animal accidents and far too many web sites built by conspiracy theorists. Nothing eases his confusion and anxiety.
Jensen stays until he can’t stand to anymore. When he pulls up in front of his house, he does his best to remain quiet at four in the morning. He only showers, changes, and heads right back out, aiming his truck north to Randall County. The ride wastes nearly two hours and he spends another few talking to anyone on the hospital staff that had spent a minute with Theresa Franklin.
The only story is that she seemed relatively normal and in pain until she didn’t.
His ride back to town is anti-climactic. The sun’s rays are enough to call the day sunny, but Jensen can’t see much beyond bright clouds all while his mind wheels through everything.
He thinks over what happened at Jared’s and relives the fear that ran through him, only outweighed by the adrenaline telling him to shoot. He’d never shot a man at close range before. He’s never had to race for his life and turn and shoot at a moving target. Long range was all he experienced in the service, and more often than not, he could move on without seeing the subsequent damage.
It scares the hell out of him to have done it, to have shot a man he knew for most of his life. But when he thinks of what could have happened had he not, he loses any manner of guilt and calls it a good shot. If Tim Franklin had caught him, Jensen would paint the same picture as Hardy’s cow, and then if he’d moved on toward the house, Jared would be … Jensen can’t even think beyond that. Saving Jared’s life in that moment is the only piece of information his brain needs to excuse himself of the crime.
He wastes daylight in the office and more hours at the Franklin’s, checking the house for any item out of the ordinary. By the time he’s home to sleep for the night, he can’t rest thanks to countless cups of coffee. He paces the kitchen without turning on the lights, stays up in bed and idly flips through his copy of Theresa Franklin’s file with the bedside lamp on, and, for short periods of time, he sits on his front porch.
He lets his feet stretch down the steps as he grasps his firearm in his hands, and stares out into the fields stretched far in front of him. They’re dense and unending from this view. It’s all one flat plain with dusted crops that just won’t quit, no matter the weather and attention they do or don’t receive.
The gun’s locked, but his finger flirts with the safety because with every bare sound in the night - a cricket singing to his left, an owl in a tree too far to be seen, or simply the wind threading through tall grass - he’s tempted to flip the gun to ready. Even when he doesn’t, his heart thumps with the anticipation that he just might have to.
When the sun slivers into the corner of his eye, he stands and proves to himself the safety is in place before putting it into the back of his uniform pants. These last few days he can’t convince himself to do more than exchange one uniform for another. At night, he keeps his undershirt in place and clean even when he eats over the sink or inhales stale coffee all night. It’s the same dusty uniform colors day in and day out, and he hopes it’ll trick his brain into thinking it’s not a week of questionable horror, but one solitary day.
Danneel says Theresa Franklin’s bloodwork shows anomalies neither the clinic nor the county labs can explain. Tim’s, too. And the traces of Moses they could find in the home.
People are getting antsy.
Jensen’s downright restless and ready for hell to break loose in his town.
As he stares back out on the land at midnight, there’s a distinct smell in the air. Copper, maybe.
He tells himself he’s imagining it, that he needs more sleep. He knows he needs to look out for other residents instead of focusing on two dead ones, but he can’t ignore how the wind carries something distinct towards him and his stomach turns. He’s afraid of what the next day will bring.
At the station, he dazes with his eyes locked onto random marks in the stain of the paneled walls. He’s almost thankful to get a call, to have a reason to leave his too-quiet office.
For the ride out to another farm, in response to a new report of an injured animal, Jensen thinks only of Jared. They haven’t talked since the whole mess started with Tim Franklin. Jensen’s been avoiding the matter in favor of needing to sort this town out.
Whether Jensen’s ignoring him or not, Jared’s the only thing he can think about without running himself up the wall.
Morgan Falls isn’t known to gain new residents. Jensen can’t remember the last time it did, though he supposes it was by marriage or children and not outright choice to pick up and settle here. But the town buzzes with the news of a new biology teacher moving in.
Jokes are passed around that Jared Padalecki has picked the worst house in the county - the only one within 100 yards of the Sheriff’s. Jensen snorts and shakes his head, lets them talk, and figures he’ll let Jared get settled before he says one word about the badge he wears.
It takes a few days to actually see the man despite summer pulling everyone out from their stuffy, un-air-conditioned homes. He’s puzzled by not having seen his neighbor, to be honest.
Maggie says the teacher hit Morgan High early to set up his classroom and office. Jensen’s impressed with that information, both that Maggie has it and that the man is young, single, and apparently driven for work. Not that he tagged his new neighbor as lazy, but the sad state of canary lawn chairs circa 1975 on his wrap-around porch and overgrown plantings in the yard don't say much to the positive.
People in town turn it into the story of a recluse. They say Jared’s a giant - at least seven foot, Hardy claims - and that he must have some sort of haunted past or incapacitation to keep him indoors. From Maggie’s quick fly-by with the man on Main Street, she says Jared’s not so bad looking and “insanely tall.”
On a sunny Sunday afternoon in June, Jensen’s mowing his backyard and sweating right through his tee. He pauses after every few lines of the massive lawn, yanks his shirt up to wipe his face off, and removes his sunglasses to clear sweat from his eyes.
He looks over to Jared’s house in curiosity and logs the worn-down shingles atop the two-story and the faded trim work along the eaves. And when he starts to evaluate the second-floor windows, it all clicks into place. Jensen laughs with a loud snap of amusement because it’s pushing 100 degrees outside and Jared has a window air-conditioning unit.
Of course Jared never leaves his house. No one would want to with such a creature comfort.
On every turn of the lawn mower, Jensen glances up to the unit again and figures that it must be the master bedroom. He keeps looking up there, drawn to the air conditioner because, for all the years he’s lived in Morgan Falls, his family never put up the money for one and he never thought twice about adding one to his house. He’s survived this long without it.
Near the end of his mowing, Jensen tugs his shirt all the way up to wipe his face and all across his neck. When he stands upright, there’s someone in the window by the A/C unit.
Jensen startles before shaking his head, figuring it’s the neighbor he has yet to meet.
It’s a long moment of Jared watching him, and it takes a few seconds before he moves to the side of the window, yet Jensen can still see him. Jensen can only make out a shoulder, arm, and shadow of a head, but he knows Jared’s still watching him.
He feels strange, yet he’s not all too bothered by it, really. Maybe Jared does keep to himself, or maybe he finds it odd that the Sheriff tends to his own lawn. Jensen’s heard sillier things around this town.
When Jensen’s finished and back inside, he grabs a cold beer, cracks it open while standing in front the open fridge to cool down, and drinks a third of it before he takes a breath. He thinks of that air conditioner again and laughs softly. Of course.
He washes up and changes into clean shorts and a tee then grabs two more beers and decides to finally make himself a good neighbor.
Jared’s front stairs creak louder than any Jensen’s heard in town, which forces him to frown. It’s a shame for a new homeowner to be stuck with an unstable porch.
He knocks as he takes in the full picture of the house. It could use a paint job, definitely a stain on the porch and railings if they're not outright replaced, and the windows are in need of a good washing. Jensen does his best to remember when someone last lived in this house, and he figures it’s been empty since Roger Thompson moved his kids down south so his oldest son could have a better chance at a baseball scholarship. That was at least five years ago.
When the wood door is pulled back and the screen door whips open, Jensen’s shocked by the sudden, ratchety noise and, worse yet, by Jared. Maggie was right; he’s insanely tall, half a head higher than Jensen stands at six-two. But he’s also quite a bit better than not so bad looking. For the first time since Jensen came back to Morgan Falls, he feels the telling stir of his stomach and heat in his legs.
But he ignores it. He has to in a town like this and with the job he has.
“Hey,” Jared says awkwardly.
“Hi,” Jensen offers, but before he can say more, Jared’s speaking again.
“You’re my neighbor, right?”
Jensen smiles carefully and moves forward with his hand out. “Yeah, I am. Jensen Ackles.”
He smiles easily as he grips Jensen’s hand in a firm shake. “Jared Padalecki.”
They keep the hold and shake slowly but no one lets go for a few beats; Jensen can’t stop staring at the broad swipe of white teeth in Jared’s bright smile, and he just keeps holding Jared’s hand.
Jared finally releases Jensen’s hold and bites at the corner of his lip. “I saw you mowing out there earlier.”
He nods and gives Jared a long look. “Yeah, I’d noticed that.”
“I was just curious,” Jared manages quite calmly, and then adds, “About my new neighbor.”
Jensen’s not sure what he reads here. He knows what he’d like to, even if it scares him to consider doing anything in a town this small with mouths this big. Instead, he focuses on his intention in coming by. “I don’t cook or bake much, but,” and he offers the second bottle in his hand, “you up for sharing a housewarming beer?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jared says gently as he takes the bottle and looks down at it. He motions behind himself. “My place isn’t really set up yet.”
“I’m good out here,” Jensen replies as he looks around Jared’s porch. Then he adds on with a tiny yet sharp smile, “Unless you’re afraid of a little heat?”
Jared licks his lips, and rakes his gaze over Jensen’s face as he steps onto the porch. “I can handle some heat,” he replies with a bit of heat there himself.
Two seconds later, wood cracks and Jared’s foot falls through broken porch boards. Jensen’s right there with his arms around Jared’s waist and heaving him upwards to take the brunt of Jared’s bulk. Jared’s arms drape over Jensen’s shoulders and they’re terrifyingly close, Jensen thinks, but they don’t move away all that quickly. It takes a few slow steps to get Jared to balance on one foot as he tugs the other out of the nasty hole that seems like it could’ve broken wide and swallowed him whole.
Jensen pats at Jared’s chest once they’ve both got their wits about them. “I think you need a new porch.”
“What for? I’ve got you, my hero,” Jared jokes back.
He shakes his head and turns away, drawing the bottle to his mouth and drinking. But he can’t stop or even slow the smile that flashes on his face. It stays in place for most of the next two hours that he and Jared get to know each other.
As their time passes, Jensen realizes he can’t wait to show up to the station in the morning and taunt Maggie with all that he knows of Jared. That the man moved here for one of the few job openings he could find after being let go from a school three states away thanks to budget cuts. That he's searching for a fresh start after a stressful year of unemployment and a relationship gone south. That in just two hours, Jared’s decided he’ll rebuild the deck, paint the windows, and wash the whole exterior of his new home before school starts. That he’s got a soft spot for the health of marshes and wetlands, and can’t wait for the chance to drive across the region and photograph the few he knows of and dozens more he hopes to discover along the way.
Now, Jensen has the best stories to tell Maggie.
But by the time they're done and Jared has rattled off a good deal of his history, Jensen thinks better on it and shares a soft smile when he and Jared part. He’ll keep this knowledge to himself.
His work carries him late into the evening, far beyond dusk. In that time, three more cows drop, Hardy’s gone missing, and Jenny Sanders, an old maid sort who’s kept the same house for forty-some years, is found dead on her back porch. Her body is slumped in her rocking chair and a small revolver is still clutched in her right hand, resting in her lap. There’s just one wound at her thigh but the stains on her clothes and the porch proves that the bleeding had drained her of energy and life before she could complain. The trail of blood down the steps tells Jensen that Ms. Sanders had decent aim and something is out there hurt and slow, if it’s survived.
As soon as Jensen gets home, he changes and puts all his gear away, content to have a second when he’s not armed, when he can pretend this isn’t reality. But then his cell rings and Abel says they’ve found Moses. The dog’s been torn apart by shotgun pellets at the hand of Stan Turner, when he’d been sure Moses was coming after his own pup. But then the way his legs are broken says something else got to him before he was shot.
Abel assures Jensen that Cathy’s looking over the dog and Randall County will handle Ms. Sanders. Meanwhile, he’ll check the scene and report back to Jensen in the morning.
Jensen lets it all stew inside as he stares out his bedroom window. There isn’t much to look at with the overhead light preventing him from seeing into the night. But he keeps his eyes moving across the backyard. Once he feels comfortable that there’s nothing out there and his mind won’t play tricks, he goes to the kitchen and grabs himself a beer, sipping slow as he keeps watch out the back window. The way the cornstalks rock back and forth seems odd. The rhythm doesn’t match a beat in his head and he slowly makes his way out to the backyard and walks halfway across the lawn.
Jensen stands deep in the yard while his beer goes warm and untouched in his hand. He peers into the cornfields with his eyes steady as they sweep left and right and his ears trained to any noise that isn’t just a gentle sway of crops.
Soft footsteps approach him and he whips his head to the left as he absently reaches for a gun that he’d stowed away in his bedroom hours ago. He curses himself for it but then sighs in thanks when he recognizes Jared’s shadow approaching. With another deep breath, Jensen turns back to the field and tips his beer around, thinking of taking a sip. Instead, he hands it to Jared, who accepts it and slowly drinks while intently watching Jensen.
He instantly feels a sting of guilt that reminds him he’s barely talked to Jared these last few days. He hasn’t done more than reply to a few texts and briskly tell Jared he was busy, but doing fine when he actually managed to answer one of Jared’s calls. He knows he should’ve checked in with Jared to see how he’s doing, especially since everything started with the incident in Jared’s yard.
Jensen berates himself on it all because the drag in Jared’s steps just now tells Jensen he hasn’t been doing all too well.
“It’s late,” Jared mumbles.
“I thought I saw something.”
For half a minute, there’s no noise other than their soft breathing and an even softer breeze through the stalks. Jared seems to slowly asses Jensen and taps his finger against the bottle “How bad is it?”
Quiet but honest, he replies, “Real bad.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Jensen takes his time to consider the offer then draws his eyes past Jared and into the pitch black night. When Jensen looks at him again, he feels exhausted and unable to put words to anything. “About what?”
Jared’s words come fast but sound more concerned than spiteful.“You killed someone in my yard, for one.”
He stifles a quick response and takes a few seconds to pull the right words together, just as he’s been doing since it happened. “He was coming after me. I didn’t have a choice.”
“I’m not saying you did.”
“Then what?” Jensen asks sharply, even when he doesn’t intend to fight. For years in the service, when every activity was ugly and filled with enemies, Jensen guarded himself and stuck to what had to be done. Less talk and emotion; more action and reaction.
Suddenly, Jared looks tired. He seems utterly helpless as he bites into his lip and drags his gaze across the land that spreads from the back of their yards. “What about everything else going on?”
Jensen restrains himself and only purses his lips. “We don’t know what’s going on.”
Jared reacts angrily, huffing and spitting out, “Jensen, come on!”
“We don’t,” he says, spinning at Jared. Yet he’s apologetic with his arms out and voice going easy. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on or what’s doing this to everyone.”
They stare for a while and Jared murmurs, “You shot someone.”
Jensen swallows roughly and barely manages to keep his eyes to Jared’s when he admits, “I’ve shot a lot of people.”
“That’s different,” he replies softly.
There’s a crash from inside Jensen’s house, making them both flinch. Not a second later, Jensen races up the back stairs, shouting for Jared to stay put, but Jared doesn’t.
They run into the house, Jared right on Jensen’s heels as they pass through the kitchen, the dining room, and into the front hall. They find the couch thrown into the corner and Carl Hardy upending the coffee table before he turns to face them. Jensen spreads his arms out to keep Jared back, protective instincts flaring up.
He and Jared breathe heavily as they watch Hardy twitch and growl. The sixty-something farmer’s been missing for two days but now he’s a terror with his skin streaked in dirt and blood, lips dried and cracked, and his eyes wilder than anything Jensen’s ever seen.
“Jensen,” Jared whispers anxiously. “What the …”
Jensen stands tall and keeps his hands back, holding Jared’s hips as he shifts them around the room to circle Hardy.
“What’s going on, Carl?” Jensen asks as levelly as possible. “Where’ve you been?”
Hardy growls in reply, his mouth watering and filthy saliva dripping down his chin as he steps closer.
Jensen’s about to attempt more conversation but Hardy charges them, and Jensen twists around and shoves Jared out of the room so they can run down the hallway. Jared makes it around the corner and into the back foyer but Hardy leaps at Jensen, pulling him to the ground. They grapple and turn over each other, Hardy scratching up Jensen’s arms every time he grabs for him, and Jensen only gets off a few defensive punches. Jensen scrambles to his hands and knees and shuffles forward. When Hardy gets on Jensen’s back, Jensen swings around and lands an elbow to Hardy’s eye, sending him back in pain.
Jensen jumps to his feet and races up the stairs and into his bedroom. He yanks the top drawer open, tugs the small chest out and onto the dresser, and fumbles with the key hanging from his neck. His lips work through rushed pleas to calm down, move slow, and get the gun out.
Hardy runs into the room and tackles him again, and through the fighting, Hardy yanks on Jensen’s chain and snaps it, sending the key under the bed. Jensen tightens a hand tight around Hardy’s neck to keep him as restrained as possible, but Hardy’s still swinging and scratching at Jensen. When Hardy wraps both hands around Jensen’s neck, Jensen avoids fighting it, too afraid to force more pressure to his throat, and focuses on retrieving the key. Jensen reaches under the bed but he can’t touch the key, fingers stretching but never touching it.
Jared appears over Hardy’s shoulder and he pulls on the farmer’s shirt, trying to pull him off Jensen, but Hardy swings and smacks Jared across the temple, forcing him back in a daze. Hardy jumps off Jensen and goes right at Jared, and for all that Jared pushes and swings at him, Hardy still knocks Jared back again. They wrestle against the window and Hardy bites at Jared’s shoulder just as Jensen yanks him off, and then Jensen and Hardy are fighting and falling to the ground again.
Jensen lands a solid punch to Hardy’s face, slowing him down, but not stopping him. Jensen shouts to Jared for the key then gets jumped by Hardy again. They each get a hand to the other’s throat and Jensen shoves his free hand at Hardy’s chest and a knee at his hips, trying to force him as far away as possible, but nothing works. Hardy’s hold is much too tight, and Jensen’s air comes in short bursts.
Through the harsh breathing and rough growling in Hardy’s throat, Jensen hears the distinct snap of a safety. In a split second’s reaction, he shoves Hardy upward and shuts his eyes in a quick, silent prayer just before the gun is fired then two more times in succession, and Hardy drops to Jensen’s side.
Jensen opens his eyes to Jared standing above them, gun tight between his hands and his face a mess of emotions that Jensen refuses to catalog. When he’d told Jared to get the key, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He hadn’t imagined Jared actually grabbing the gun and pulling the trigger; he just wanted to recover the key.
Jensen slides to the side and checks Hardy, thankful when there’s no heartbeat or movement left in the man. By then, Jared’s fallen to his knees and dropped the gun to the rug, eyes wet when he looks at the scene. Jensen moves to Jared, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing harder than he can ever remember holding a person before.
He leans back and gently tips Jared’s face to see the red bloom at his forehead then the tear at his shoulder. The skin’s ripped but not too awful, and Jensen shuts his eyes with a chorus of thank you running through his head that Jared’s not seriously hurt.
“Are you okay?” Jensen asks quietly.
“Yeah. I just had-” Jared says, voice breaking.
Frowning, Jensen keeps his eyes on Jared’s, even when Jared won’t look anywhere but at Hardy’s lifeless body behind them. That’s when it crashes upon him: Moses attacked Theresa and Tim and they went off. Hardy’s cow dropped just a few days ago, and Hardy had gone crazy.
Carl Hardy was infected and he bit Jared.
Jensen grips Jared’s shoulders and searches his face, wondering how long it takes for someone to turn, if there’s any indication that he can rely on, or one he can feel safe with when it doesn’t appear. “Hey, do you feel okay?” Jensen asks, thumbs sweeping over Jared’s cheeks until Jared’s eyes slowly make their way to Jensen.
Jared remains quiet as Jensen lifts Jared’s eyelids and tries to measure each of his pupils and judge the redness around his eyes. Jensen figures - more like prays - that it’s just a reaction to the incident and this scene. He has to believe that to retain his own sanity.
“You’re bleeding,” Jared mumbles as he stares at Jensen’s uniform shirt, splattered in Hardy’s blood.
Jensen loses the shirt in seconds, white undershirt just barely stained with most of the blood staying with the polyester. “See? I’m good,” he says to ease Jared, pressing hands into his own chest and going so far as to lift his undershirt to show his body is intact to prove there’s no more blood.
Jared closes his eyes and his shoulders sag. Shifting forward and shoving all wayward thoughts into the far corners of his mind, Jensen gets to his feet and drags Jared with him out of the room. He leads Jared to the front porch then heads back inside to call Abel because someone else needs to be here to log the scene.
He goes back outside to join Jared, feet heavy as he takes the stairs and sits beside him.
Even today, Jensen can still picture the night he first fired a bullet that hit another human being. A cool night in the desert with gunfire everywhere, and Jensen punched the trigger, distantly hearing a wail of pain seconds later. He had to proceed through the battle; there was no time to think on it until they’d taken control of the enemy’s command center and could walk without danger.
He still remembers how stiff his muscles had gone and how tight his jaw stayed as they finished their patrol and covered the base until relief came in the morning. It’s not an easy memory to lose, and it’s metastasized over time. On a good day, it’s a dull ache at the root of his spine that can be overlooked. On a bad one, it’s as fresh as yesterday. As fresh, he’s sure, as the way Jared’s seeing everything right now.
A glass of water sits beside Jared on the top step, but it remains untouched. He stares into the field ahead of them but won’t do more than blink until Abel’s truck comes into view when it takes a right onto their road. Jared falls forward with his elbows on his knees and his head down low.
Jensen slips near with a protective arm over Jared’s shoulders and a soft hand cradling Jared’s face to pull him in. “It’s okay,” he whispers at Jared’s ear. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Jared doesn’t answer, and Jensen nudges Jared’s chin so they can look at one another. He palms Jared’s face, warm and sure hands on each cheek, and focuses right on Jared. He’s looks so scared and so small right here, and Jensen can’t do anything but feel his heart break.
Jensen clears his throat and, for Jared, puts strength into his voice. “You had to do it. He would’ve killed me, and then you. You had to, and everyone will know that. They’ll understand.”
“I hate guns,” he mumbles, eyes slipping down Jensen’s face as they fill with tears.
Jensen’s chest tightens with emotion, and he brings Jared back in, tucking Jared’s head just beneath his chin not only to comfort Jared, but so he can hide the moisture building in his own eyes. It’s a tender, needed moment that can’t last long enough to ease either of them.
When the SUV gets close, they separate, and Abel parks beside Jensen’s truck. Abel and Kelly both exit the SUV, nodding as they walk up around Jensen and Jared without a word. Jensen figures he’d said enough on the call to demand his officers’ presence. There’s no need to fill in the blanks right now.
Time passes quietly as Jensen stays at Jared’s side. He brushes his hand over Jared’s back, up to his neck, and idly combs through the ends of Jared’s hair as he murmurs reassurances that Jared won’t be in trouble, that it had to be done. Jared has no response but his breathing seems more regular and his eyes stay dry. He also spaces out every few minutes, which alarms Jensen, and they stay close together on the porch. Jensen constantly moves his hand to keep Jared’s attention as best he can.
When Abel comes back out to the porch, Jensen stands and meets him at the top of the stairs. They talk softly and briefly, Jensen recounting what happened in short sentences and vague details. When he’s done, Abel looks over the marks on Jensen’s face and arms, and insists they get cleaned up at the clinic. Abel says he and Kelly will handle the scene here, and Jensen suggests they call someone.
“This is so far above us,” Jensen mumbles as he glances off to Jared’s house and further down the road, stomach churning with worry of what’s really happening in this town. “The county or even the state. Just run up the chain until you get an answer.”
It takes Abel some time to answer, and it’s a slow, “Yes, sir.”
Jensen goes inside for his keys, eyes only going where they need to, and grabs the ring from the table in the living room. He can make out the mess through the hallway from he and Hardy fighting, but he keeps on path and leaves immediately. His only job right now is to take Jared into town and get them cleaned up.
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