All the Flowers of all the Tomorrows

[ju4jen]

“Where’s your Dad?”

The teenaged spitting image of Jensen looked at him in concern then shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Jared counted to five slowly.

“Okay, fine. When you do track him down, can you let him know that I am going into Newton to visit the solicitors and that I’ll be back later?”

To be fair, the kid looked genuinely distressed at not being to help Jared immediately. Jared didn’t know if the boy was a little slow or just overwhelmed.  He had answered the door to the lodge with an alacrity which would surprise anyone with some inside knowledge of the ways of a teenager, and then he had stammered an awkward greeting, eyes wide on Jared.

Jared winced at the bad hair dye job and the unnatural and very pale foundation was doing a piss-poor job of covering the freckles but he probably had only himself to blame. Tris Galloway had never left the apartment without the ghostly and ghastly make up that was his trademark, and there were many, many teenagers across the world who wanted to look just like him. But Jared would have preferred to see the freckles.  The freckles that were just one of the features that made the kid look just like Jensen. And, really, it was no curse for Will to look like his father. At least, not in Jared’s humble opinion.

“Okay, but I have no idea when I am going to see him,” Will Ackles answered, a frown of concern now twisting the young features, almost as if he was wondering if Jared might be the stupid one.



It had taken Jared until half-way through breakfast to realise that, of course, Jensen was living in the lodge. Frannie had told him so yesterday - he just wasn’t listening properly. Too preoccupied. After the first full night’s sleep he could remember in years, he was feeling brighter and he attributed his newly acquired mental clarity to that. He realised that he ought to explain to Jensen that he was going to visit Mr. Lewis before he went so that his actions could not be misconstrued, particularly after what Fran had said yesterday.  So, after he had finished his toast, and congratulating himself on his perspicacity, he had sauntered down the drive, and knocked on the back door of the lodge before he allowed himself to think about it too deeply and chicken out.

He was saved by Jensen’s absence. Or was he? He was also disappointed (and wasn’t that just a confusing situation?) He left Jensen’s son staring after him and walked back to the house musing. He was going to have leave the relative safety of the estate soon so he might as well take a deep breath and get it over with. He’d have to talk to Jensen later.

He headed out before Fran and her team arrived and drove into Newton Stewart. He hoped he was not going to get recognised. Somehow, he felt the town wasn’t ready for the barrage of paparazzi that would descend on them if the world’s press got wind of where he was. And he wasn’t ready for what it might mean for himself either.

Newton hadn’t changed much. The river ran through it and was the only feature of any note. He passed the council housing in Minnigaff and wondered which house Fran was living in. He still wasn’t too happy about that and resolved he would do something better by her. He crossed over the bridge and turned to drive up into the High Steet. Being early, he found a space easily just a short distance from the tall, Georgian fronted building. A sign on the door announced the premises of Lewis and Sons Solicitors.

Mr Lewis was a middle-aged man who had taken over his father’s legal firm several years earlier. Jared remembered Old Mr Lewis, and,  despite the age difference, he would never have been able to tell them apart. After being assured that Old Mr Lewis was enjoying his retirement fishing, young Mr Lewis took Jared into his office and then spent all of five minutes explaining the dire straits the estate was in.

“Oh,” said Jared, when the solicitor’s words finally dried up. “Why didn’t you let me kno…” Young Mr Lewis had inherited his father’s hard stare along with his business, and just looked at Jared.  Jared remembered the Newton Stewart postmark on the letters he had simply tossed away over the years.  “You did. Sorry.”

The truth is that Jared had not wanted to have anything to do with the house, his father and everything he had left behind in Galloway.

Taking the name of the region, from which he had absconded fifteen years ago, as part of his new identity was, of course, ironic.

“I can sort all that out, Mr. Lewis,” Jared had answered.

“Apart from the general estate costs, there is the stipend for Mrs Ackles, and the retainer for Jensen, of course. The property is yours in its entirety, although I am sorry to say there isn’t any cash to go with that…”

“Don’t worry,” Jared tried again. “It’s not like I’m short of the readies.”

“Oh, yes, well, of course,” Mr Lewis stuttered. “um… your music…”

“Yeah, my music.”

“There is also the matter of the market garden.”

“Yes, the market garden, ” Jared leant forward, the conversation suddenly becoming much more interesting.

“Your father wanted to gift the walled garden to Jensen in his will, but Jensen wouldn’t let him, so the best arrangement we could come up with was for your father to take a forty percent share in the business as a silent partner. As far as I am aware, he never took any of the profits, but since Jensen has been custodian of the property for the last several years without the usual recompense, and enacted much of the repairs and improvements at his own cost, I think both of them thought it was fair.”

“He gets a retainer… you said…” Jared said faintly.

“It’s a small amount, and, of course, he lives in The Lodge rent free. Doesn’t come close to a living wage, Mr. Padalecki, so thankfully the The Kitchen Garden has been a success.”

The solicitor smiled gently at Jared, but he seemed ill at ease.

“As your father’s heir, you are now, or have been for a couple of years, the owner of his share of the business. Your father’s role, or lack of it, was entirely through a personal agreement and not legally binding. You have the right to change that if you wish.”

“Jensen Ackles has a business which he operates from the estate…” Jared repeated.

“The walled garden, yes. It is called The Kitchen Garden and sells a wide variety of produce which he sells to local hotels and caterers. As I said, it has done very well and is turning a small profit”

“I own a forty percent share?” Jared asked.

“Officially, yes. That’s what your father and Jensen agreed, and the paperwork was drawn up based on that premise.”

“Oh…”

“We have been expecting your return for a couple of years now. Ever since your father passed away. You will have to let us know what you are planning on doing with the property.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you thinking about putting it on the market?”

“Oh!” Jared hadn’t even considered selling up, but he supposed it was an option, and suddenly he could see why Mr. Lewis and Fran were so concerned. “Ah… um… well… I… I haven’t decided anything yet,” he stumbled over the words and frowned. “I won’t do anything without discussing it with the Ackles in the first place though. Whatever I decide, I’ll make sure they are left comfortable.”

Mr Lewis looked relieved. Jared started to make a move to leave.

“So, to sum up… the estate is down to its last coppers. There is only one main employee - the custodian - and a small pension paid out to Mrs Ackles to come in once or twice a year to check on the house itself. Other than that, there is a forty percent share in Jensen’s kitchen garden. A wildly overgrown parkland, and a fading house. That’s what my father has left me?”

“Exactly.”

***

“I think he fancies your mum.”

“Shh… he’ll hear you.”

“Look how he blushes when your mum looks at him.”

“She’s way too old for him.”

“She’s not that old…” Fran felt ageless to Jared.

“Dude! You do know I’ve got an older sister too?” Jensen’s Texan accent always came out stronger when he was indignant. Jared did, in fact know, because after several years of never realising that Frannie had another family before she came to live in Galloway and since Jensen had turned up, she couldn’t stop talking about them. Jared could understand why she would want to talk about Jensen, but the mysterious older sister, Cara or something, held very little interest for him. She was at college already so had stayed in Austin.

“I still think Lewis wants to kiss your mum.”

Jared let a wide grin break across his face and got ready to flee. Jensen turned to him with narrowing eyes.

“Don’t you trash talk my Momma,” Jensen whispered, “Or I’ll kick your bony little ass all the way to kingdom come.”

“Didn’t say she wanted to kiss him back,” Jared shrieked as Jensen lunged for him, and then flew out of the room, pursued by the older boy.

“Jared!” The stentorian order came echoed throughout the hall, stopping both boys in their tracks immediately. “I’m conducting a business meeting. Will you behave with the proper decorum?”

“Yes, Father,” Jared responded, all joy in the chase having been wiped out. He started to apologise but hiis father had already returned to his study.

“Come on!” Jensen nudged his shoulder.

“They’re just boys,” they both heard Fran remonstrate. “It’s good to see Jared showing some life… he’s been altogether too quiet since…” The door of the study shut and the voices become a quiet rumble, indistinct.

“Come on,” Jensen said again.

Jared, still shaking from his father’s intervention, looked up. Jensen was looking down at him, still towering above the younger boy. Jared could sense the waves of anger coming from him, from the chew on his bottom lip to the paleness of his skin. Jensen was very vocal on his dislike of Jared’s father and his interfering ways.  Jared was always so scared that Jensen would say something in his father’s hearing, or that they would finally do something so awful that his father would order Jensen to leave, to take Jensen away from him. Every time they were caught doing something they shouldn’t, Jared panicked - and since Father’s list of things they shouldn’t do was very long, it meant that Jared often panicked.

“Don’t freak out, weirdo,” Jensen said eventually, with all the wisdom and maturity of his eleven years old. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s go see if the cherries are ready to eat yet.”

***

The walled garden was off to the side of the house, in amongst the trees.  Galloway, for all its northernness, was directly in the line of the warmer gulf stream and, in sheltered areas, enjoyed an almost subtropical climate. When the house had first been built, back in his so many-great grandfather’s day, the park had been one of the most beautiful in the area, and the walled gardens had been rich with fruit and vegetables throughout the year. By the time Jared’s Mother had inherited, it was run down, but there was still a small team of gardeners who battled to maintain some order on the terraces and in part of old walled garden. Here, Jared and Jensen had often badgered Yates, the head gardener, for more than their fair share of the harvest. Jared idly wondered what had happened to Yates, and his team of gardeners. Long gone, he supposed, as he looked about him at the overgrown woods.

The path to the walled garden, however, was both clear and well maintained, and now that he was looking properly Jared could see the signs of care it had received. The old green door had recently been repainted and led through the ten-foot-high brick walls. He knew that they surrounded a sprawling set of walled spaces covering several acres where all the produce needed at the house used to be grown. Only half of the space had been utilised when he was young, a rich pantry for two young boys to raid, and the other half a jungle playground. He smiled at the memory and was surprised there wasn’t more pain attached.

A sign had been screwed to the wall by the door.

The Kitchen Garden.

Opening hours 9am - 3pm.

For trade orders please phone 07956 446 232.

Jared couldn’t have told you what he was expecting as he opened the door, but the wilderness and the few squares of vegetable plots were long gone. This time of the year, the limbs on the fruit trees were still clad in the now fading blossoms, and the whole area laid out before him was covered in a patchwork of plots, bursting with a rainbow of green.

The greenhouse, a broken ruin when Jared was last here, was now gleaming, painted white and sealed with shining glass.

Jensen was over on the far side. He had a steaming pile of compost from which he was shovelling mulch onto one of his neat square plots. Jared watched for a while.

He hadn’t expected Jensen to still be here at Kilcowen… but seeing him now, amid the garden that he had grown, Jared couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t. Jensen was at one with this earth, he belonged here in a very elemental way. He had had the misfortune to be born in Texas, but the world had righted itself, when destiny brought him here.

There he was.

And he looked just had he had when Jared had left. Nineteen-year-old Jensen had been as tall as thirty-four-year Jensen, but less broad, perhaps.  If Jared had thought to see some sign of age on him, then he would have been disappointed. Jensen was as wiry and trim as he had been back then. The hair was a lot shorter, and there was dark growth on his chin. Despite that, it was as if he had walked out of Jared’s teenage wet dreams. It was disconcerting.

“Jared.”

Jensen had caught sight of Jared and had stopped his work. Jared hoped that he hadn’t noticed how long Jared had been staring, but he felt caught out as he had slipped deep into the past and hadn’t noticed Jensen straightening up and gazing back.

Jensen stood, leaning lightly on the shovel. He was wearing an old worn tee-shirt, and the gleam of sweat on his forearms suggested he had been working hard enough to stay warm on what was quite a chilly day. He looked… Jared decided it was better not to continue down that road. He could out-purple-prose the most florid of writers, when thinking about Jensen. That hadn’t changed either with time.  He was as mesmerised by the man just as he had been when he was young.

But some things had changed.

When they were teenagers, Jared had known the full range of Jensen’s expressions.  Jensen’s eyes were a window into his soul - wonderfully expressive without the need for words. Jared recognised what Jensen’s current expression meant, but it had never once been directed at him before. There was a wariness there, and a hardness or anger that turned his eyes ice-green, and the tightening of the jaw just meant that Jensen was trying hard to keep whatever he was feeling under control.

“Will just rang. You’re giving him something of a complex,” Jensen said when Jared was still unable to initiate the conversation. The Texas was still there in Jensen’s voice, but Jared felt it had been softened by time.

“I… I am?” Jared eventually stuttered. Oh God, what a stuttering, embarrassing idiot he was.

“You keep asking where his father is,” Jensen softened a little to smirk. “He wants so much to impress you, but you confuse him, and he thinks he’s making a fool of himself.”

“Oh… sorry?” Jared scanned the two brief conversations he had had with Jensen’s son. The boy was certainly a little uncomfortable around Jared and the interaction very awkward, but Jared couldn’t remember saying anything that might weird him out to that extent.

“He hasn’t got a clue where his dad is, and he doesn’t understand why you would want to speak to him,” Jensen swung his shovel back into the compost pile.

Jared wasn’t daft by any means, but he suddenly felt very stupid.

“Where is his dad?” Jared said uncertainly, feeling like he should understand but not quite sure what he needed to know.

“How the fuck should I know?” Jensen dumped his shovel of compost onto the ground. It was steaming faintly in the chill of the air.

“You’re not his Dad?”

“No, Jared.”

“He looks like you.”

“Yes, Jared. He’s Cara’s kid.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, she…what the fuck?”

Jared wouldn’t say he over-reacted. But swivelling on his feet and marching straight back out of the garden, without a word was a little too dramatic.  He knew it was daft, but he couldn’t stop himself. He could practically hear Jensen’s bewilderment behind him.

***

Jensen found him about half an hour later pacing round and round his mother’s rose garden. Jared was aware of him watching him from the top terrace for a while, as he strode distractedly around and around the circular bed with the sun dial in the centre but ignored him.

After a while, when he realised that Jared wasn’t going to stop pacing, Jensen settled on the wall at the top of the steps. He sat there outwardly calm waiting for Jared to calm down but still with a guarded and cautious expression, and his fingers playing with something in his hand.

Jared was in something of a turmoil; something that he had believed true with an absolute certainty seemed to be the complete opposite .

He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that.

“Do you have any kids?” Jared eventually asked, needing to get the full facts before deciding if he needed another mental break down. Again.

“No,” and for the first time, Jared could see a flash of amusement in Jensen’s eyes. It had always been so. Jared would freak out and Jensen would laugh at him before putting him to rights.

“Cara came over a couple of years after you left. Fell out with our Dad and decided to give Mama a go, I guess.  She was completely wild by the time she got here. Mama and she fought like feral bears. Stayed long enough to get knocked up, dumped the baby on us and fled back to Texas.  So, I guess, I’m the nearest thing to a father that Will has ever known but… no… no kids of my own.”

Jared could hear the words, but they were so tangled and tumbled up that his head was beginning to hurt.

“Why’d did you think…?” Jensen continued to watch Jared as he continued to pace, round and round the flower bed. It was ridiculous. Jared was behaving ridiculously.

He stopped and dragged in several deep breaths, then smiled. He pushed down his confusion and, he had to admit, his painful thoughts. He was finding it hard to process, and he was feeling the strongest urge to run away again - his desire to return home had led him straight back to what had made him run away in the first place. However, he wasn’t that young kid anymore and he had things to sort out.

Jensen had softened at least. The eyes were more bewildered rather than cold now.

Jared raked a hand through his hair, his little finger catching on a knot.

“I, er, saw Henry Lewis earlier.” Changing the subject was definitely the best way to deflect from his freak out but he regretted it instantly as Jensen’s expression immediately closed down again. “He told me about Dad’s agreement with you, the business, The Kitchen Garden.”

Jensen’s eyes narrowed, and, although he was still sitting, his posture stiffened.

“I wanted to tell you… the reason I came to find you… was to tell you that I don’t want to interfere in the running of the garden in anyway. I want to maintain the status quo for the moment - you, know, be a silent, invisible partner. But I am hoping I can persuade you to accept the deeds to the land, so that way, you know, it’ll still yours whatever I decide to do with the house.”

“You thinking of selling up?” Jensen found his voice, and it was deep and unsure.

“No… I don’t think so… I don’t know,” Jared answered truthfully.

He didn’t even know how to begin to sort out his thoughts, his feelings, let alone make significant decisions. He knew that Jensen probably deserved a clear answer.  He shrugged uselessly.

“But if I do… if… then I will make sure that you keep the garden. I wanted you to know that. So, you don’t worry or rather your Mammie doesn’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Jensen answered with a brief and not very convincing smile.

Having had his say, Jared felt the need to escape rise again. He staunched it and waited Jensen out.

“So, about Will being my kid… about me having kids in general. Someone tell you that it was a possibility?”

“Forget it, just my mistake, that’s all.” Jensen’s eyebrows reached heavenwards at Jared’s answer and Jared feared that there might be ‘discussion’ at some point. He also feared that feared that there might not too. Perhaps he should avoid any kind of conversation that centred on the past. Particularly a conversation with Jensen.

But how could he? How could Jensen understand why Jared thought that Will had been his son, and how that belief had fed into Jared’s teenage insecurities? It has been the last in a run of hits that had ultimately led to Jared leaving, without a word to anyone. Jared could barely comprehend it himself, and what if… maybe… he had been mistaken… how he could he even admit that he might have made the biggest mistake in his life…

He shook his head.  He couldn’t face that thought just at this moment and he had no intention on admitting his idiocy to Jensen.

Jensen paused for a moment, before getting up. The silence between them was awkward, but he didn’t seem angry anymore. Jared tried to read more deeply into his mood, but with the distance between them, he could only pick up clues that suggested frustration, and dissatisfaction.

As Jensen trudged across the gravel of the terrace, Jared noticed he had left something on the end of the wall where he was sitting. It was the shiny golden bronze of a Twix bar. Jared almost called him back, but he knew, with a conviction he rarely felt, that Jensen had left it there for him but wouldn’t want a fuss about it. It was another offering like the one in the shopping yesterday. A reminder of the connection they had between them when they were young.

He was going to have to face up to the past. He could hear the nasal whine of his therapist now. He rolled his eyes at his own idiotic self and picked up the chocolate. Sitting where Jensen had sat, he looked at his mother’s garden and then brushed his hand gently over the nearest rose - a newly split open white bud.

“I love the whites, baby boy. Look at how pure and clean they are!”

The memory of his mother was strong in the rose garden, although it had long faded from anywhere else. Absently, he stripped the wrapper from the chocolate and munched through one of the sticks. It was automatic, saving the other part.

Jared was home. He’d felt that ever since stepping foot back into the place. For whatever reason he initially attributed to leaving London, it was really to come back here. He was beginning to feel more himself than he had ever felt before. If he wanted to keep that growing sense of wholeness, then he was going to have to deal with the reasons he had left in the first place, especially since the main reason was still firmly entrenched at Kilcowan and wasn’t intending on leaving any time soon.

Jared straightened and looked about the circle of roses. It was early in the season, but the blooms were already  full and fragrant.  He turned and climbed the steps towards the house. He let the path take him across the front and around to the side, and then on across the courtyard, and through the door in the wall.

Jensen was back to shovelling. He made it seem like a dance, muscles elegantly shifting in a smooth fluid movement from pile to plot, but there was an aggression behind the power in the swings, and his quick side eye at Jared approaching followed by a deliberate turn away, made it obvious that he was no longer in the mood for finding some common ground. Jared hesitated for a moment. Should he say something? But he knew that, until he had sorted his thoughts out for himself, trying to discuss anything with Jensen would be doomed.

He placed the saved half of the Twix still in its wrapper on an upturned bucket that lay in Jensen’s eyeline.

Then he walked away. Slowly. Everything stilled behind him. He knew that Jensen had stopped, but he kept walking back to the house.



After a day of mooching, Jared woke up the next morning with the impetus to organise his new life. He spoke to Fran instructing her to arrange for some permanent additional help for the house. He also wanted to redecorate. Make it truly his house.  Then he took a deep breath and rang his manager in London.

He wasn’t entirely surprised that there were rumours that he was dead, and he had to make many apologies before mollifying the businessman enough for him to explain where he was.

“So when are you coming back, boy?”

“I don’t think I am,” Jared answered, with a little surprise, but with a growing confidence that he was doing the right thing.

“You can’t run your career from the middle of fucking nowhere, Tris.”

“No, I don’t suppose I can.” The silence from the other end of the call told Jared that the man had understood what Jared hadn’t said.

“I’ll get my legal team to work with yours to tie up the loose ends…” Jared felt sure that Mr Lewis would be uncomfortable with the idea of being called a ‘legal team’ and he supposed he’d probably have to find some more specialised support.

“You can’t do this… you’re still relevant…”

“Still bringing in the money …” Jared let the implication sit heavy. “I’m retiring… at least for the moment and I cutting all the ties.”

“You still owe the record company…”

“I don’t care… I’m not doing it anymore.”

“What about me?” came a plaintive cry in return.

“I obviously won’t be needing your services anymore.” The silence at the other end of the phone was deceptive. Jared knew the man well enough to know that he was apocalyptically angry.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” the voice was strangled in its anger, but Jared had no intention of trying to explain to his manager… his ex-manager… the ins and outs of his decision. The man was part of the problem, someone who encouraged the dislocation between the rock star and Jared’s true self.

The relief at finally making the cut made him giddy for a few moments.

Then he phoned poor Mr Lewis in Newton Stewart. There was another short silence at the far end before:

“There’s an old friend of mine, works in entertainment law in Edinburgh. Good lawyer. She’ll do you right, Mr. Padalecki.”

“Good, I’ll be grateful for her contact details as soon as possible.” Jared was on a roll now. Fran had already spoken to a local firm of decorators - they were going to be able to start in a week’s time - and his new bed would be arriving tomorrow. The bindings that tied him to his alter-ego were being loosened. He felt good.

Next, a walk out to the walled garden. Jensen was digging in the shit he had shovelled yesterday into the almost black plot.  He was wearing a ratty plaid shirt over a Tris Galloway tee-shirt.

“Nice tee.” Jared announced.  Jensen had stopped to watch Jared approach, jaw tight, eyes narrowed again. Wary. Perhaps even skittish. Jared inwardly grimaced but wasn’t going to be intimidated.

“I want to sort out what’s left of the estate,” he said as an opening.  Jensen’s eyes widened a fraction for a short moment then settled back into the cold distant fury that Jared was getting used to.

“I going to renovate the house and restore the garden and park.”  Jared let that settle for a moment. “I know you are busy with the market garden and all. But I would like you to take charge of improving the grounds. There’s nobody else who knows this garden better than you. Think about what help you might need, and then liaise with Henry Lewis. If you don’t want the job, then I’d be grateful for a recommendation. It doesn’t affect the walled garden. That is yours, regardless.”

He waited for a moment to make sure that Jensen understood then left, hoping that he hadn’t made another monumental mistake.

***

The story hit social media by the evening, and Jared realised he was going to get screwed over.

Tris Galloway in rehab. Tris Galloway in psychotic break. Tris Galloway leaving the music business. Tris Galloway has AIDS…

The following morning, he was poking around one of the outhouses, trying to determine if they were structurally safe, and concluding that he had no bloody idea (so perhaps he should call a surveyor) when a man turned up in a silver BMW, the sound of his wheels like waves on a pebble beach.

He could have been one of Jensen’s customers, except he made no attempt to enter The Kitchen Garden and was looking up at the house. Jared noticed him only a few moments before the man’s eyes alighted on him, recognition causing a massive and ugly smirk to appear on the man’s face, and he knew exactly the type of person he was looking at.

Jensen, just at that moment exiting the Kitchen Garden, had also clocked him, and was already heading in the stranger’s direction.

“Hey, Tris!” the reporter called, “Can I ask you a few questions?” But there was a camera too, and Jared, nearest by a long way, was still too far away to stop him.

But Jensen had heard the yell and had jumped to all the right conclusions. He was in the man’s face before Jared could barely react.

Jared heard Jensen yelling, but not what was said. Jensen was pushing the man fiercely, then trying to get the camera.

“Leave him,” Jared heard himself say, but his words were unheeded or unheard.

The reporter was shouting back at Jensen, both of them looking like they might commit murder.

“Leave it,” Jared said again but this time he was dragging Jensen back, unsure of how he had crossed the courtyard so quickly.

“Fucking psycho,” the reporter spat out at Jensen.

“You’re trespassing,” Jensen shot back.

“S’not your land!”

“It’s my fucking business, you creepy fuckface. And you’ll be leaving right fucking now unless you want me to smash your face into a fucking pulp.” It took every atom of Jared’s strength to hold Jensen back. His face was red with rage, and he was practically snarling.

“Get out of here,” Jared suggested firmly to the reporter. “Or I just might let him lose!” He finished on a grunt, as Jensen made one more concerted effort to break free. The reporter was already backing away, his earlier bravura had disappeared in direct proportion to likelihood of getting damaged, and he was soon disappearing. Jared kept hold of Jensen until he heard the heavily revving car, and tyres scrunching through gravel.

Jared rubbed his arms, feeling the bruises from Jensen’s struggles. Jensen had become strong since Jared had left. All that gardening was probably better than working out.

“What the hell, Jensen?”

But Jensen was already running up the drive.

Jared followed more leisurely behind him.

“Where are you going? You’re not going to catch him.”

Jensen stopped short of entering the farm lane at the gate. Jared caught him up as he was heaving great lungfuls of breath. Jared could see he was shaking with anger still.

“It’s okay. It was always going to happen.”

Jensen didn’t look convinced.

“Someone was always going to find me. I’m a story waiting to happen. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!” Jensen snarled, but he sounded more upset than furious now.  Jared, without second guessing himself, threw himself around the other man in an all-encompassing hug. He pulled him in tight, overwhelmed with relief. Jensen did care. Obviously. And he was reminded of all the times when Jensen had stood protectively over Jared when Father had been on a beat Jared down kick.  For a fraction of a second, Jared thought Jensen was going to pull away, but then he felt Jensen relax, even if his arms stay stiffly by his side.

“They know where you are now!”

“It’s okay. We’ll lock the gates, and let the police know…”

Jared stood clinging to Jensen for a few moments. He revelled in the feeling of Jensen’s strength, his earthy smell, the sound of his breaths as they slowed and calmed, the long hard line of him.

It was Jensen who pulled back.  Jared could have stood there forever. They become self-conscious instantly, Jensen with his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and Jared not knowing where to look.

Jared felt stupidly tongue-tied. Here was evidence that Jensen cared for him deeply. How did he answer that?

“They’re not going to go away though, are they?” Jensen asked later that day, as they loosened the soil for some late wintering chard. Jensen had returned to his garden and Jared had just followed on behind. They had been working in silence for a couple of hours.

“Not for a while. At least not until they get what they want, but the story will die down eventually, they’ll get bored and find the next big story.” Jared had only himself to blame, he’d left London in a way that was only ever going to cause a sensation. His sudden appearance in Scotland was going to cause a furore.

“Do you think someone gave them a heads up?”

Jared shrugged in answer. He was pretty sure someone must have. “I’ve been in town, someone might have seen me.”

“You’re not exactly recognisable,”

“But I am if someone knew me from before. And I sacked my manager and he’s pretty pissed at me. He knows my real name and it wouldn’t take much to find out that I’m the son of the Kilcowen’s of Newton. Either way, I’m surprised it’s taken this long to find me. I wasn’t exactly unobtrusive.”

But there wasn’t much either of them could do about it. He’d learned over the years that the press was something he just had to live with. And, besides, the incident had finally thawed Jensen’s icy anger. They had spent the rest of the day in the Kitchen Garden, Jared helping alongside Jensen, in friendly and companiable silence.

He was trending for the second time in two days by the time Jared sat down to eat the casserole Fran had left for him to reheat.

Jared’s favourite part of the report was one where the photo the reporter had taken was sitting side by side by a publicity shot of Tris Galloway. If someone hadn’t known the two pictures were of the same person, they could never have guessed. Jared in the courtyard was dark haired for sure but his hair was shaggy, and unkempt. Tris Galloway utilised a wide variety of wigs but this one was electric blue with black streaks. Jared was wearing his oldest clothes covered in the dust and dirt of the outhouses, Tris was clad head to foot in black leather. There was no mistaking the tilt to the eyes, but Tris’s black stripe of makeup slashing his face in two emphasised the swirl of colours surrounding his pupils. Jared thought the Jared in the courtyard looked healthier, a faint blush on his cheeks. Tris just looked sick. The tagline seemed to compare the two to the detriment of Jared. Jared disagreed. He much preferred the natural Jared.

He’d had a brief text from Jensen. Have you seen it? Are you okay? Jared sent back a reassuring text. And he was faintly surprised to find that he was fine. He’d give them what they wanted eventually. He’d arrange a short interview with someone he trusted, then hopefully he would disappear from view until he had worked out what he wanted to do.

By the next morning, everyone seemed to know where he was, and the paparazzi were stacked around the main gates settling themselves in for a protracted stay.

After an angry altercation with them, Jensen and Will decamped to Fran’s council house in town. Jared called the local police who seemed uninterested, and then a private security firm. It took two days to put in cameras, alarms and to find a team of burly bodyguards who were prepared to stand in front of both sets of gates looking menacing, but Fran, who had been frightened that someone would try to get in, seemed happier to know that Jared was protected. Jensen had muttered and moaned about his customer’s access to The Kitchen Garden, so Jared got a team in to clear the double gates that opened the garden directly onto the farm lane and the old green door on the courtyard was padlocked shut until things settled again.

Jared’s fans seemed relieved that ‘Tris’ was still alive. The speculation and controversy surrounding his disappearance had been severe. There were those who claimed they had seen it coming, the lack of any new material, his lacklustre performances on the last tour, his withdrawal from the parties he used to attend. Jared was irritated by the accusations of lacklustre performance - he’d received rave reviews at the time - but had to acknowledge that his heart had not been in his career for a couple of years at least, not since drying out, and not since he had received word that his father had passed. That was interesting, Jared thought. He hadn’t realised how closely aligned the two events were.   But generally, he viewed the media stories and comments with detachment as if it was about someone who wasn’t him. And it was true. Tris Galloway was not who he truly was.

“These things they are writing about you aren’t true, are they?” Fran’s voice was laced with her concern. She’d been quiet through the simple lunch they had shared a few days later.

“Which things in particular?” Jared responded.  She shrugged. Despite Jared making it very clear that she didn’t have to, she had decided to come out of retirement to look after him, taking up her place as housekeeper with an ease born of familiarity and desire.  Jared had already resolved to move her back into Kilcowen House where she had lived before his father had moved into the nursing home. Her rooms had been at the East End of the house - a small bedroom for her, one for Jensen and kitchenette/sitting room. It would be easy to clear them out and update them then move their former occupant back in.

“I’m sure it’s none o’ my business..,” she muttered.

Frannie was still being very careful not to probe too deeply, perhaps aware that he might be a little fragile, and he appreciated that. A reckoning was coming though. He could see by the look in her eyes…

He relented.

“Yes, I’ve done drugs. Yes, I have had a drinking problem. Both in the past.  I did one spell in rehab two years ago. Been clean and dry since. Yes, to the beautiful young men! No, I don’t have AIDS. Can’t promise that I am not psychotic or insane though.”

She hit him with the tea towel. “Don’t make light of it! I’m just worried about you.”

“I know.” Jared put down the lunch plates he been clearing up and took her by the shoulders. Her eyes, not yet faded by age, looked up at him, sharp and perceptive. Jensen’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jared continued.

“Does’ne matter what you’ve done, how long you’ve been gone… you’re like one of me own bairns, Jay. As long as you are alright…”

“Hmm…” Jared thought for a significant moment. “I think I’m getting there… certainly getting out of London… was the best thing I’ve ever done. So yeah, I’m okay. And I know I owe you for running out on you back then, and I will explain, one day. Just not yet, there’s still some stuff I’m needing to deal with. Is that okay?” He kissed her on her forehead, and despite the difference in height, felt safe and reassured as her arms wrapped around his waist.

“Beautiful boys, huh?” She said after some deep breaths, changing the subject. She pulled away but there was a smile on her face.

“Really? You didn’t know that Tris Galloway was gay?”

“Couldn’t miss it… don’t think that, just because you were gone, I wasn’t keeping track of you!”

They fell into a companiable silence as they continued to clean up the lunch things. The last plate was in its place and the water drained away.

“Jay?” Jared could see Fran was nervous again, building up to ask something that worried her. He knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach what she was going to ask before she formed the words. “Jensen? Did… did you… did you both…?”

He couldn’t say the words to answer her. But he fixed his own eyes on hers and willed her to understand.

She nodded in response, ever discrete. She touched his arm briefly as she left to go on with her afternoon’s business.

***

The call came very late. Jared didn’t recognise the number. He answered it but didn’t speak.

“Jared?”

Jensen sounded frantic.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone told them Mama works for you… we’re surrounded by the fucking photographers and reporters… wanting to know if you’ve come home to die.”

Jared closed his eyes for a moment. It was the latest rumour. That he had some terminal illness. Another one of those stories that his ex-fucking-revengeful manager was spreading. Nothing more dangerous than a greedy man cut off from his future income.

“Call the police. I’ll send some of the guys from here. Pack up what you need. Come here.”

Jensen didn’t answer immediately. They hadn’t spoken much, and Jensen had still not given Jared an answer to his offer of extending his role at the park. Jared knew that coming back to the house would be the last thing Jensen wanted. To be truthful Jared wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted either, but the other choice was putting them up in the Premier Inn up the road and that was just about as safe as the Minigraff house.

The wait was interminable. “Okay,” Jensen answered eventually and with obvious reluctance, “We’ll be over as soon as we can.”

***

They arrived fifty minutes later escorted by Newton Stewart’s finest. Blue lights, the lot. Will managed to look both shell-shocked and really impressed as he tumbled out of the car with a couple of big duffle bags. Fran looked pale but relieved to be out of the frightening situation. Jensen’s face was crossed with sheer and utter fury.

Jared leapt to grab Fran’s bags.

“Was going to ask you to move back in, anyway,” he mumbled into her hair as she grabbed him for a brief hug.

“It was mad,” Will exclaimed, the emergency providing a level of excitement hitherto unknown in Newton Stewart. “They were asking all sort of crazy questions, trying to look in the windows, banging against the glass and doors. Uncle Jensen had to push them out of the way for us to even get to the car.”

Jared looked questioning at Jensen.

“Fucking police were bloody useless,” Jensen muttered as he grabbed his own bags from the boot, “Only managed to get out of the house when your security guys arrived and were prepared to do a little manhandling.” Jared decided he didn’t want to know the level of ‘manhandling’ that had gone on - whilst the security guys looked unruffled, Jensen, himself, was still flushed with anger.

Jared waved his thanks to the looming black suited men still standing by their tank-like SUV and Jensen’s Jeep. He still didn’t know their names and resolved he would make it a priority to find out. The police looked faintly embarrassed but after a quick check-in with Jared, left almost immediately.

“Come on in,” he said as he led the way into the house. He paused when he realised that Jensen was hesitating. He tried to school his face into his most friendly, open expression possible. He didn’t need Jensen to see that he was in the slightest bit as reluctant to have him in his house as it appeared Jensen was to enter it. If it hadn’t been for Fran and Will, Jared was sure that Jensen would have either stuck it out or fled to the Premier Inn rather allow himself to rely on Jared’s hospitality.

It was obvious that both Will and Fran had been badly shaken by their experiences. Jared settled them into his mother’s sitting room, and then went to rustle up restorative hot chocolates. Jensen looked like he wanted something stronger, but there was no alcohol in the building. He was fidgety and didn’t sit for long, sometimes standing and sometimes pacing around the room. Once the warmth of the room and the comfort of chocolatey goodness had calmed Fran down, she watched her son with some amusement and rolling eyes. Will kept up a constant stream of questions and comments. It was obviously an adventure for him now that the immediate danger had passed. He was beginning to see that his grandmother’s relationship to the great Tris Galloway was going to provide an immense amount of interest. Jared, amused, despite a hyper awareness of Will’s restless and furious uncle, answered the kid’s questions until there was a shine of adoration in the young green eyes, and Fran decided that Will had had enough, and hurried him out of the room to go to bed.

“You can use your old rooms,” Jared shouted after her. “They’re in a bit of a mess - we’ll get the decorators to take a look at them tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Jay,” she called back.

“Wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me.” Jared shrugged off her gratitude. He owed her way more than just a little sanctuary.

This seemed to be the last straw for Jensen, who gave a growl and pushed past both Jared and then his mother out in the hall to exit through the Kitchen Hall door.

Fran grimaced. “I’d let him alone. You know Jensen’s temper. Takes a while to boil, and nasty when it does but he calms quickly after.”

She gave him another quick hug, leaving him to retire to bed herself. Jared took a few deep breaths to calm his own feelings, then picked up the hot chocolate mugs and walked down the stone flagged corridor to the kitchen.

Leave him alone, Fran had said. But somehow, with Jensen so close, Jared was like a moth to a flame. From the kitchen window, he could see Jensen, a dark shadow in the night, pacing along the terrace.

As soon as he realised that Jared had followed him, Jensen turned on him.

“What the hell did you come back for? We had it pretty quiet and good until you returned.”

Even in the dark, Jared could see the rage across Jensen’s face. His eyes were glittering, reflecting the light from the windows of the house. The peace which they had gained the other day was long gone.

There wasn’t anything he could say, so he said nothing. Jensen seemed to have said his piece, and as his mother said, his temper was already beginning to die down. Jared waited.

“I wanted to come home… no, I needed to come home,” Jared said eventually when Jensen’s breathing also began to slow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise… I didn’t think you would still be here.”

Still surprised that Jensen hadn’t already walked away, Jared felt heartened to continue. “I never meant to get you embroiled in my mess.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jensen’s words seem to explode from his chest, but they didn’t seem like anger. More of frustration. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger than hot cocoa, do you?”

“Sorry. Recovering alcoholic.” Jensen’s look of surprise was so comical that Jared had to laugh. “Didn’t your Mama tell you?”

“No… shit… Jay? Sorry…” Jensen was flustered but now every trace of his furious outburst had vanished.

“So, no booze, but I’ve got coffee… and chocolate…”

***

Jared had been shut up in his room for two days, allowed time out only to visit the bathroom. Fran had been bringing up his food, but Jensen had been instructed in no uncertain terms that he was to stay away. Jared spent the long hours alternatively very bored, angry at his father and the unfairness of the world in general, and sobbing, desperately lonely, into his pillows. It had been an accident, and it was so unfair.

That morning he had heard Fran begging his father for leniency. She had whispered fiercely, thinking she couldn’t be overheard, but Frannie might be tight-lipped outside of the bounds of the house, but was not so quiet at home. He had managed to hear ‘disproportionate’ and ‘unfair’ and ‘Jensen’ quite a few times, and his father had been implacable. “He needs to learn, Frances, and that is enough on that subject.”

It hadn’t been deliberate. He’d tried to explain this to his father when he had been summoned to the study, the pieces of the Rose Plate laid out on the desk as evidence of his crimes. He and Jensen had been playing outside and being called into tea had rushed back in through the doors of the garden room. The wind had caught the door behind them and slammed the door shut. A glass pane had shattered into thousands of pieces, and his mother’s prized possession, her Georgian ironstone plate decorated with a cottage with roses around the door had inexplicably fallen to the ground from its hook on the wall, breaking into five pieces.

Convinced that his father was more upset by the disturbing noise than the value of the plate, Jared had tried to argue back but had only stirred his father’s anger further, and Jensen, gallantly trying to shoulder some of the blame, hadn’t helped either. Jared had been sent straight to his room and told to stay there until his father said he could leave.

And so there he was - two days in, and still no succour in sight.  He sat in the turret window looking down at Yates and the new gardener as they worked on the terraces, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jensen, but there had been no sight, nor sound. He had a suspicion that Jensen had been holed up in his own room at the other end of the house, probably as a protest against Jared’s own unfair incarceration.

He finally gave up watching and picked up his guitar. He’d already played his fingers bloody, with nothing else to do, but the music soothed him and allowed him to forget, just for a moment or two, that he’d been treated very badly.

It took him a while to notice that Jensen had crept into the room. Jared’s face must have shown his horror because Jensen moved quickly to shove a hand over his mouth.

“Shhhhh... Your Dad’s gone out, but Mama is still on the prowl. I don’t think she’d say anything but I’m not going to test her.” Jared nodded his understanding and Jensen slowly removed his hand. He looked around Jared’s room.

“This is fucking nuts,” he whispered. The swearing was something new. Jensen was about to head into S3 in a few weeks and had decided he was now practically an adult.  It had given him what Fran described as a potty mouth (a phrase guaranteed to make Jared giggle) and caused several arguments between mother and son.

“Your Dad is a bastard, and you don’t deserve this.”

Jared shrugged. What could he do? But it made him feel better to know that Jensen was so much on his side.

Jensen, huffing and puffing, threw himself onto the old couch that had been in Jared’s room ever since he could remember.

“I think its fucking unfair.” Jensen’s eyes were flashing in anger, and for all his sprawl across the furniture, his face was taut and hard.

Jared absolutely agreed with him but didn’t say anything. He continued strumming his guitar quietly.

“You’re getting really good at playing that thing,” Jensen said after a while, his face beginning to soften. He could also play ‘that thing’ and was the one teaching Jared. “You’re going to be better than me.” Jared shook his head, unable to conceive of a world where anyone or anything could be better than Jensen.

“You doing all right?” Jensen asked after a little while.

Jared nodded but the crease between Jensen’s eyes showed that he didn’t believe him.

“Here, squirt.” Jensen gave a blinding smile, and a bright gold flash flew across the room and hit the guitar with a toneless ring. Jared put the guitar down on his bed and picked up the item from the floor. It was a Twix - two sticks of biscuity, caramelly chocolatey goodness. Jared raised his eyebrows, but Jensen continued grinning.

“I’m not allowed….” Jared began. He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Fuck what you’re allowed. Why shouldn’t you have chocolate?” Jensen sounded careless and carefree, but he was aware of the house rules, and the penalties if they were both caught. “It was my money.”

“It was your dinner money,” Jared answered, knowing full well that Jensen couldn’t have got the chocolate bar any other way.

“So what?”

Jared felt his heart might burst. Jensen was the most amazing person ever. He looked down at the gift and carefully unwrapped it. He paused for a moment and then took out one of the short bars. He got up and offered half to his friend, his best friend. Jensen shook his head at first, but Jared was stubborn and stood there with his offering held out until Jensen took it.

Then he grabbed Jared by the arm and pulled him onto the couch beside him, taking a massive crispy bite. He was grinning, mouth full of chocolate and biscuit, and Jared loved seeing his face like that so much that it hurt.

“I’m going to bring you chocolate every day until your bastard father lets you out,” Jensen said.

And he did, every single one of the next four days.

***

It was awkward. The two of them sitting there. Two coffee mugs sat between them filled with coffee but untouched. Neither of them looking at each other.

Then Jared unwrapped the Twix that Jensen had bought that first day, separated it into the two pieces and offered half to Jensen.

Still not looking at Jared, Jensen took it.

“You always did that… sharing everything you ever had with me,” Jensen’s voice was rough.

“You gave me everything I ever wanted in the first place,” Jared responded quietly and looked at Jensen.

They both ate their halves of the chocolate, but the awkwardness had lessened a little.

“So, an alky, eh?” Jensen finally broke the silence.

“Yeah. Well, yeah… I never got to the stage of drinking vodka for breakfast or anything… but yeah, out of control.”

“S’that why you’re back?”

“Maybe, a bit…”

“The drugs bit true too?”

“Some.”

“Cancer?”

“No!” Jensen looked up at that, and a smile flickered across his face.

“AIDS?”

“No. What about you?” Jared asked still grinning, wanting to get to one back at Jensen.

“No to all. Just that one time… bit a grass. You remember? Momma really wanted to kick me sideways into kingdom come, but only because she thought I’d given the joint to you.”

“You did give the joint to me, but only so you could vomit up your entire insides,” Jared began to smile back. “It was just unfortunate that Frannie decided to turn up then.”

“Never touched it after that. Not a good memory.”

“No… your face though… it was so green…”

“Fucker!”

The chocolate was gone, the coffee was going cold but neither of them made a move. It suddenly felt good, sitting there with Jensen.

“So why the long journey home, Jay?” Of course, Jensen was always going to ask at some point.

“Didn’t know I was… not to start with. It’s only since I’ve got here that I’ve started to understand.” Jared shrugged. “Have you ever felt like you’re in the wrong place, with the wrong people, and that everything about yourself is wrong?”

Jensen looked perplexed. Of course, thought Jared, Jensen had never felt like that. Jensen was always at home wherever he was. It had taken only a fraction of time for him to settle into life here in Galloway when he had first come from Texas, despite the massive change in cultures.  How could he understand?

“Go on,” Jensen prompted.

“That was how I felt. All the time. Have felt like that all my life, I suppose. And no amount of money, success, sex, drugs and rock n’roll could cure me from that. And it was worse in London. At least here, back along, I had moments, some understanding of who I was, but there… everything was fake, fake friends, fake fun, and fake me and I suddenly had a moment of clarity. Realised I couldn’t keep on being this creature I had invented so I just walked out. Got in the car and drove. Didn’t realise, until I passed the turn off for Gatehouse, that I was heading back here. Irony is that I invented Tris Galloway to escape here - creating music I know my father hated, disguising myself so I wouldn’t look like Jared Padalecki - but when I needed to escape from all that crap, I came straight back here and straight back into my real self. It’s a bit fucked up and I have only myself to blame... And now I’m just causing problems for your family.”

“Well, it’s not that bad,” Jensen said, his anger now truly dissipated, “they just pissed me off, is all. Don’t know how you cope with the fuckers.”

Jensen was playing with the chocolate wrapper. Jared watched him, now noticing the changes he hadn’t seen before, because he was so caught up in this being Jensen again, after all this time. His face was thinner, less soft than he had been at nineteen.  He’d been extraordinarily pretty then and had suffered no end of grief because of it. Some of Jensen’s fire had been stoked by years of being called a girl by every single male who felt threatened by him. There were lines radiating out from his eyes now and the jaw had strengthened. No mistaking him for anything other than man.  He was still breathtakingly beautiful.   Jared idly wondered where Jensen kept the painting - was there an attic at the lodge?

Even after fifteen years apart, simply Jensen’s presence could overwhelm Jared’s peace of mind. It was ever so. Jared mused on the possibility of getting his heart broken all over again.

“Jensen… I…want to explain why I left…” he began, but Jensen’s response was swift and had a layer of heat to it.

“Nah, don’t. It’s late and I don’t think either one of us is in the right frame of mind just now.”

Jared felt the hit in his stomach, and an instantaneous rise of nausea. It must have been written all over his face. Jensen tightened his lips, but his eyes had softened.

“Later. Maybe later, Jay,” he said. “We’ve got stuff to talk about.  I know we have.  But you’ve been here less than a week, and it sounds like you’ve been through some stuff, and, hell, I’m still finding it difficult to believe you’re back. I had worked it out in my head that you were never returning. So…”

He left the last word hanging heavy between them, then rose quickly.

“I am glad there are no sinister reasons for you coming back. Well, you know, I’m not belittling mental health issues but, at least… you know…not something terminal.”

Jared laughed at that, the sound ringing hollow even to him and not a little bitter. Jensen twitched a little. He looked deeply unhappy now.

And Jared wondered, for the first time since he had left at seventeen, if he might have hurt Jensen by leaving, as much as he had been hurt himself. He had always thought it a possibility but always found it a little difficult to believe. Jensen was two years older, and Jared had always worried that he had been a nuisance, trying to hang with the older kids, following Jensen around like a… well, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Jensen had been relieved when Jared had finally gone. That was painful to consider. But ever since Jared had returned to Kilcowen, despite a couple of moments of peace between them, Jensen’s anger, directed at him, had been palpable. Maybe Jared had hurt him as much as he had hurt Frannie. It was a new and a very uncomfortable thought.

He sat in the kitchen for several hours after Jensen had left to go to his bed.  He sat until the sky began to lighten. Then he threw on an old Barbour jacket that was hanging on the pegs beside the Kitchen Hall door, shoved his feet into his worn DMs and went striding out into the morning chill.

Chapter five

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