Fic: All That Shimmers is Sure to Fade - Part 4
A timid knock at the door.
“I sincerely hope you have something of use,” Sam greets by way of threat, eyes fixed on her monitor. The door to her spacious office creaks open and a wispy-haired man in his fifties stops in front of her desk, folder in hand.
“P.I., right? Well, what have you got? The police have been complete dickless wonders,” clicking off her work, she focuses the full weight of her penetrating stare on him.
He gestures with the folder to a wall-length milk ad of Jared on the wall. “The general consensus from his acquaintances appears to be shock that he would randomly take off. He hasn’t seen his family in years but after what he said in the message to you, I felt ‘em out. He’s made no contact with them and they knew nothing about any plans of his to see them.”
She cups her chin in contemplation, so he continues. “The two that were with him that night-McCoy and Murray, said he was sounding like he was ready to go. Not that I consider them the most reliable-“
“I already know all of this. If he didn’t go to his family, where the hell did he end up?”
The folder slides across her desk when he tosses it over. Inside, are grainy but unmistakable photographs that she sifts through one by one. “Canvassed the area around the bar. As it happens, a pawn shop surveillance camera is trained on a bus stop across the street.”
The captured images clearly depict Jared being subdued and hauled off by a hooded man in black. Her manicured nails drum a pattern. “Any images of a car?”
“No. Camera’s range wasn’t all that extensive, he must’ve been parked somewhere nearby. Tracked the chip in Padalecki’s phone as well. Some bum had picked it up. Says that bus stop is where he found it.”
“Thank you,” she responds uncharacteristically, “This has been extremely helpful. I’ll make sure it’s reflected in your bonus.”
He tips his balding head in acknowledgment and lets himself out.
She still taps out a rhythm on her desk.
Glances at the framed ad of Jared. It’s larger than the rest the pieces commemorating her successful clients lining the walls, she notices, brows knitting together. Jared is a name: highly recognizable, impressive bank, dependability’s tanked these last few years but that’s a general trend when they hit the upper echelon.
But he’s not her most profitable client, not the most famous. Yet there he is, occupying the largest space in her collection. She is far from a manager but frequently oversees his schedule on a personal basis. The majority of her charges, in the absence of immediate negotiations, she might speak to once a week. Rarely via anything but telephone.
The tapping stops.
She’s mothering him. Inordinate personal attachment that somehow escaped her attention. It stops now. She needs to wake the fuck up and remember that boy is property to be bartered and sold. All of them are, and he is certainly no exception to the rule.
First though, she has to ensure his stupid ass is alive. She turns on the intercom to her assistant.
“Casey, fuck the cops. Call the F.B.I. And get someone from PR on the horn. Put the word out. Jared Padalecki has been kidnapped and I want the name of the son of a bitch responsible.”
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Jensen dumps him onto the bed unceremoniously and drops into a chair at the foot.
It’ll be fifteen or twenty minutes before Jared can move around again but his head is beginning to clear already. Of particular interest to his convalescing consciousness-Jensen isn’t bothering to tie him down, gag him, anything.
Sits in his chair, shoulders hung in a weary line, looking away from Jared. Just as well-Jared doesn’t want to look at him, devastation of his face a glaring reminder of what he should’ve guessed, how right Jensen was. Jared didn’t know. Has never suffered anything approaching the standards of Jensen’s life.
The way he’s seated-it’s apparent that this is who he is when he faces people like Aldis and Chris, Jared, the world at large. Hunched and insecure. Ashamed. All the menace of his looming, unseen presence evaporated into the air.
He’s met this Jensen before.
“You know who I am now?” Jensen starts tiredly, “I suppose I have one of those faces you just don’t forget.”
Jared gazes at the ceiling, sluggish lips and jaw taking their time to operate. “You work at Sky Bar.”
“Told the manager I was sick when I saw you leaving early. I was just going to watch you but then I saw you on that bench and-you know the rest. Whenever you would come in, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Made sure I always got your table if I was serving.”
“I noticed,” Jared mentions.
“So did your friends. Sometimes when I walked away, I could hear Murray call me, the Freak. Rather uninventive,” he says sarcastically, but it’s obvious it’s not making him feel any better.
“Chad is an idiot.”
“Then why didn’t you connect with the bat in the hallway? Why aren’t you gone? Why can’t you fucking look at me?” he knocks the chair over and climbs on top of him so that their faces are inches apart. Jared stares back and this close he can see the upper third of Jensen’s face that’s normal. He would’ve been gorgeous if it fate hadn’t claimed the rest.
“I’m sorry,” Jared mutters. So pointless, but it’s all he can do but let his heart break. He can’t fathom living with that. The world is shallow and superficial and so is he, and he just can’t.
“What are you sorry for? Unless you came to Richardson to set my house on fire when you were two.” Jensen can’t be more than few years older, which means this is virtually everything, that there was scarcely a time when he could blend into a crowd. Walk down the street without passersby gaping in disgust.
Jared leans up to touch their lips together in sympathy and Jensen bolts off. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”
“But, I thought you wanted-“
“I don’t want your god damn pity! Every fucking relationship I’ve ever had has been out of pity and it never lasts. Sooner or later they get tired of waking up to a sight that turns their stomach. People staring everywhere we go.”
“I wasn’t-“
“Don’t lie to me!” he interrupts. “You know, my editor flat out told me I can’t have my picture by my articles in the paper. My father still can’t look me in the eye. I couldn’t go with Danneel to visit her family because I scared the kids. According to your hypocritical bullshit all I need to do is show everyone how okay I am with looking like a monster, right? People will never let me forget, Jared. Not fucking ever. And one day? I stopped even trying to see anything else about myself. The world has spoken and this is all there is to Jensen Ackles.”
Jared’s eyes linger on his face. “I was going to kiss you before I saw what you look like.”
“Because we were fucking.”
“No. Because I felt what you felt. And it’s not the same, it’s not even close, I know. But you wanted to be close to someone who wanted you for you and I know what that’s like.” Jensen’s back is to the wall and he slides helplessly down to the floor.
“Maybe you’re not the selfish asshole I thought you were but feeling sorry for me isn’t desire. I’ve been there too many times. It doesn’t last,” he repeats, skimming Jared’s body. “You don’t even get that you’re not normal. People don’t look like you, they don’t light up rooms when they go into them.”
“I’m not that special,” Jared tries to get him to understand but he laughs scornfully.
“Okay, let’s do it your way. Why don’t we forget the whole false imprisonment thing, the rape, the assault and just-go out to dinner with all your friends? To a launch party with all the photographers lined up to take pictures of you with your new, male, freak of a love interest?”
Admittedly, the statement rings much more implausible once it’s said aloud. Jared seals his lips, but it’s as much a confirmation of the truth of Jensen’s words as anything he could have thought to argue.
“The reason I chose you, deep down? Before the fire, when I was young, I modeled. Grew up in Texas too and you-“
“Seem like everything you could’ve been,” Jared finishes, knowing.
“I’m sorry. For everything. I won’t tie you up again. I won’t try to keep you here at all. Just-I don’t want to go by myself.” The idea hangs in the air before Jared brutally snatches it down.
“No. Jensen, you can’t.”
“Why not? What do I have to stay here for?” he gestures around in question.
“Me. I’ll stay with you.”
Jensen shakes his head, resolute and fierce. “This ends one way, Jared. You can stay or you can go, but if it’s the latter, you can’t try to stop me.”
“I won’t agree to that,” his throat is tight.
“Then I’ll do it early. If you understand, you’ll stay. And come tomorrow morning, you’ll let me go.”
Like hell he’s going to stand by and let Jensen kill himself in the morning. But he’s made a career of acting, which is all modeling really is, and he puts the most convincing ticks of struggle followed by reluctant acceptance on his face as he can.
He has the night.
Staring Jensen dead in the face, he pledges. “I’ll stay.”
“Texas boy’s promise?” he quips without a trace of mirth.
“I promise.” Adds another to the mountain of them he’s uttered and not intended to keep.
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Wearing clothing again is alien and unfamiliar after days of lying shirtless and barefoot in bed. Additionally, his shirt is decent, but his pants and boxers have been accumulating grime and filth against him the whole time. Top it off with Jensen’s hours-old come on his stomach and he’s itching to scrub clean to settle his nerves, for the distraction.
In the scheme of things, however, it’s a minor irritation. A vain attempt at occupying his mind elsewhere.
The blaring, red numbers read 11:15.
Come daybreak, a man by all rights he should despise, is going to die.
He is fumbling blindly for a way to stop it.
What strange connection exists between them is-insane and dangerous and Jared is fucking alive again, the static that had filled his head quieted so that he can hear pitch perfect. He was willing to give L.A. and the fame up for the mere chance to find truth, bonds that weren’t hollow at their cores. Why can’t this be it?
The world would call him a victim. A simple term and label for what’s happening to him. Stockholm syndrome. He respectfully disagrees. But, it’s no matter.
If this is just a well-defined psychological phenomenon that walks and talks like the real thing-he’ll gladly take it over the alternative.
One conviction that won’t be shaken. He’s never going back again.
In the living room, Jensen is perched on the couch, glued to the t.v. when Jared comes out. “There’s lotion in the bathroom if you need it for your wrists. Mostly use it for my face since my skin dries so easily,” he converses idly.
Jared pads over and collapses beside him, muscles quaking. Inclines his body so he can steal glances.
“What are you doing?” Jensen interrogates him with suspicion.
“Take a shower with me,” he says casually.
“No,” The refusal is steadfast and sure, “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Then what does it matter?”
He studies Jared intently. “You’re not real. Nothing about any of this is real. I took it and now you think it’s what you want.”
“You’re going to die tomorrow,” Jared puts it bluntly. “Last night on Earth. Don’t question everything for once and just let me give this to you.”
Expressions on Jensen’s face are a curious challenge. The tight, immobile quality of most of his skin masks his emotions, thoughts, from people that aren’t going to bother to see, not look, what’s really there.
He gives away more than he realizes though, and the struggle in his eyes to not accept Jared’s kindness bleeds over to the set of his mouth. Guarded, grim line he is well aware originates from endless foraging through politeness for what people actually want from you.
“They’re going to figure it out, you know.” Jensen shifts. Turns the channel at the puzzled face Jared throws at him. On the screen, a snippet of a pre-recorded press conference plays, image of Jared filling the display.
Jensen raises the volume of a suited F.B.I. official, making a vague comment on the case. Not many details known, definite kidnapping, investigation underway, etc. etc. The frayed edge to his voice is likely attributed to the prospect of such a high-profile, media attractive case, which means increased pressure to deliver results. Which means a more exhaustive search effort.
Having the evidence before his eyes heightens the urgency of the evening.
If he leaves to ensure the feds he’s fine and to call off the search, he risks Jensen pulling the trigger early, but if they’re found tonight-it’s a certainty Jensen won’t allow them to take him alive. He hopes desperately that they have more time than that but that conference was hours ago and the trail is short and direct, Jensen bound to be one of their first suspects due to the convenience of his going home sick as Jared made his exit.
Blinking away the dread, he finds Jensen smiling ruefully, as if he can hear his train of thought. “No way out.”
A thumping startles him out of his seat, eyes flitting to the door. “Jensen Ackles? This is Agent Cooper of the F.B.I. We have a few questions for you.” Everything is converging at once but Jensen still gazes serenely at him, awaiting his move.
Awaiting his acceptance.
What was it he’d thought to himself that night, reaching out to Chad and Sandy only to grasp at the air. A drowning man that doesn’t want to be saved, won’t be. In fact, if you try to tame him, he’s liable to drag you beneath the waves alongside.
Looking into the depths of his eyes, he believes Jensen’s been waiting to die his whole life.
The thudding comes again. “Mr. Ackles?” the agent yells through the door.
“I don’t believe it,” Jared whispers. Jensen is convinced he sees through him but Jared thinks he’s stumbled upon something in the man as well, only definite.
Jensen thinks he has no choice but to die. Has hammered it so deeply into his skull that he’s certain it’s the best course of action but-he doesn’t want it. Not really. Jared just has to make him see that it-he, is worthwhile enough to stay. Not an illusion, not another face that will leave him alone.
“You’re not officially a suspect and they don’t have a warrant to search your apartment,” he says in a hushed tone. “I’ll hide. They won’t find me.”
Anger passes over Jensen’s features, “Why are you trusting me?” he lowers his voice, “How do you know, for a fact, I won’t take you with me?”
“Because that’s the gamble. That’s life. You can’t cash out because you expect to lose. And if you win-then it was all worth it a million times over,” he gives an impassioned, quiet plea.
Jensen digs the heel of his hand into his eye before they land on the door, conflicted. He sucks in a deep breath. “Get in the bathroom,” he orders so hesitant and low Jared nearly misses it.
There is no more time to spare, so he speeds off and shuts himself up in the bathroom. Dully, he hears the front door open as Jensen calls the agents retreating down the hall back, offering apologies for being asleep.
He is under the weather after all.
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Bouncing his knee restlessly, he springs from the toilet lid when Jensen steps inside, leaning against the door and closing it behind himself in silence.
“How did it go?”
“I don’t think they knew about my face before they saw me. It threw ‘em, probably made them more suspicious. People don’t do well with uncertainty,” he muses.
“No, they don’t,” Jared echoes, expecting him to go on, but he rucks up his shirt and pulls it over his head instead, fingers slipping down to unwind his belt. “I guess I could use that shower. And a good night’s sleep. See how things look in the morning.”
Spending the rest of the night wrapped around each other when Jensen might be gone tomorrow is a morbid and malicious burden to bear, but he understands it’s what has to be done. Is pleasantly surprised he can manage a smile.
Another test.
To see how ardent his belief in his own philosophies is. One he’d failed before.
So he steps up to spin the wheel and take the risk, hopes while he can that fortune will look kindly upon him. This could be the first night of the rest of their life together or the last.
He will take his own advice.
Jensen’s waiting, tapping patiently at the waistband of his shorts. When Jared tugs his shirt off, he receives a watery smile but can’t ruminate on what it means. That’s the challenge Jared’s been given. No promises, no thinking, and no regrets.
Ahead of him, Jensen kicks off his last article of clothing, standing bare before him. Below his neck, there isn’t an unnatural blemish on him. The athletic equipment Jared found in the closet had hinted at the toned sinew teasing him now. He lets his pants fall to the floor as he takes a moment to appreciate the sight.
Under the scrutiny, Jensen shifts self-consciously until Jared pins him roughly to the tiled wall, crowding their bodies together and hovering so that their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. Jensen has his eyes clenched shut, body a line of tension, but he’s not moving away.
It’s easier for Jared to shut it all out. Jensen is making an effort, but it’s going to take more for him to punch a hole through a lifetime’s worth of insecurity and fear.
When he breaks off to turn on the showerhead, Jensen drifts after him unconsciously, seeking the warmth. The patter draws his eyes open in time to see Jared finish disrobing and nod his head for him to go in.
Jensen sticks his hand under the spray, twisting and rotating it without hurry until the temperature rises to a warm but comfortable degree. He climbs over the edge of the tub, water cascading down his neck, darkening the strands. Bracing himself against the wall, he lets it flow down over his face.
Jared joins him quietly, pasting himself to Jensen’s back and sliding an arm across his stomach, grinding his filling cock against Jensen’s slippery cheeks. It’s a smooth rhythm they pick up, Jensen rolling his hips languidly, letting Jared kiss and suck at his only partially marred neck. His tongue lavishes extra attention on the discolored, coarse patches that’ve been burned to make sure Jensen can feel it, all the way down.
“I wish I’d gotten to know you before it got this bad,” Jensen confides, acerbic and disappointed with himself.
“No, you don’t,” he assures him, but he knows Jensen is fully aware of that. Jensen can be as regretful as he pleases, the more he has to miss, the greater the chance he’ll stick around to make up for it. But Jared isn’t letting the past, fear of the future, hold himself back.
Whirling Jensen around, he lowers himself to his knees, inhaling the head of his half-hard dick and inching his way down it, lips covering more flesh with every movement. The spray not deflected by Jensen’s body is matting his hair as he works. Doing this in the shower always has made him feel like he’s drowning.
He’s indifferent to it in his focus, shutting his eyes, audibly drawing air in through his nostrils. Jensen’s feet slip on the mat in the shower but Jared steadies his hips each time, blunt nails trailing down to scritch through the wiry hairs on his thighs.
He’s almost possessed. Unrelenting in his working of Jensen’s cock, determined to make him lose it again and again while he has the chance, until it’s as much pain as pleasure. It’s several taps on his shoulder before he realizes Jensen is signaling for him to stop.
Letting it slip from his wet lips, he notices it’s been hard for some time. Pulls it down and lets it bounce back up to admire his handiwork. Can’t keep his hands off, starting a slow, slick glide of it through his fist. Switches off the water with the other.
“Want to come with you in me,” Jensen shudders.
“I still need to open you up.”
“I know pain, remember?”
“Jensen-“
“I want it. Okay?” If I go tomorrow, I want to go feeling you, he means.
“Okay. Turn around,” he agrees, subdued.
There’s a full bottle of shampoo that Jared snatches up and lathers on his cock, kissing at the back of Jensen’s neck again now that he’s facing the wall. When a sudsy layer accumulates and starts to tingle, he lines up with Jensen’s offered ass, both standing with their feet as far apart as they can manage-Jensen for easy access, Jared for leverage.
They’re sweating as the head breeches, the water and their bodies heating up the tiny, enclosed space. Jensen is swallowing all the sounds of discomfort trying to escape as Jared keeps pushing forward and upward. Slaps a hand into the wall forcefully to alleviate the burn of it, stay as open as he can for Jared to enter.
His ass and the bony cushion of Jared’s hips finally meet and he wastes no time, fucking into him in earnest with a securing arm around his middle. Both are unusually quiet, soundtrack consisting solely of the soft smacking and the showerhead, their soft exhalations of pleasure when Jared slips in a little farther.
It’s good-Jensen’s fingers curled and scrabbling for purchase on the wall, but the position doesn’t allow for Jared to penetrate beyond a certain point. As he attempts to compensate by fucking in harder, holding Jensen to his chest, he growls lowly in frustration.
“Here,” he slides out, twists Jensen around, and has him lower himself to his knees. Manhandles him by the shoulders and drapes his top half over the edge of the tub, where it must be digging painfully into his stomach.
“You okay?” Jared checks, wrapping a restraining hand around his own stiff cock. Jensen hugs the porcelain with his dangling arms and nods. It’s a tight fit when Jared sits down behind him, legs crossed, cock positioned perfectly at Jensen’s entrance now. Jensen’s clinging walls welcome him back and Jared’s ass smacks bruisingly against the tub with each thrust up.
Like the two of them, it shouldn’t work, but it does. Because they make it so, out of sheer will and desire. They slip and slide trying to hold their positions and all too soon, Jared’s fevered thrusts are wet and smooth. He fucks through his release for a couple of minutes, delaying the inevitable moment of loss when he’ll soften and have to pull out.
One of his lazy, dwindling drives prods at Jensen’s prostate and there’s a soft plop as his come splatters into the tub, cock untouched. Jared reaches into the narrow space between Jensen and the edge of the tub, wringing out the last drops.
With a wracking groan, Jensen struggles around so they can see each other. Jared doesn’t get the chance to ask him what he needs before his head is jerked down and Jensen’s tongue, at long last, dips into his mouth.
In a tangle of limbs and come, they kiss until they start to freeze and neither one can feel it anymore.
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“All that’s left is an unhappy ending,” someone is saying. Possibly Sandy or Chad, but it sounds like both and neither of them. There’s an empty road and no one to be seen.
“Why did you say that?” Jared asks.
“I think it’s from a song. A crazy old one.”
“What is this?”
“Always moving and going nowhere,” the blended voice croons, “What becomes of the broken-hearted? Who had love that’s now departed?”
“Jensen,” he remembers, taking off down the road at a run, but something grabs hold of him, keeping him in place.
“Don’t want to listen?”it chides him. “Jeez. Why don’t you wake up already?”
Son of a bitch.
He had perched himself against the wall to keep a vigilant watch over Jensen through the night. Awakens there, back in knots, to the bedroom door being shut quietly. Launching himself to his feet, he throws the door open.
Jensen is dressed-pulling his shirt over the pistol concealed in the band of his jeans.
“No,” Jared gives himself away. Starts after him but Jensen brandishes his taser in warning, eyes wide. “One touch and I’ll be gone before you can move, Jared. Don’t make me do it.”
“Not if I can get to it first,” he counters, already sizing up how to come at him.
“Then what? You tie me to the bed for the rest of our lives so I can’t hurt myself? You promised!” Begging beneath the anger. “Let me go,” he pleads.
“You want to go? You better take me down first,” Jared’s tone brooks no argument, ready to pounce and wrestle both Jensen’s weapons away.
“It’s so easy for you to be sure it’s worth it. Why?” he tries with a hint of helplessness. No response to it, because they both know it’s bullshit, that it won’t budge Jared an inch. And all that’s left is-
Jensen breaks for the door, turning the knob as Jared closes the gap and uses his reach to slam it shut, kick Jensen’s legs out from under him. The stun gun clatters across the floor, out of range of them both.
Jared straddles his hips, pinning him with his weight, and feeling underneath him for the gun. It leaves Jensen’s hands mostly unrestrained and he belts Jared’s chin from below, leaving him in a daze and allowing Jensen to get up.
Previous attempt still fresh, he doesn’t go for the door again, opting to get the taser back in hand and incapacitate Jared long enough to make his escape. It lies below the coffee table in the living room. As he bends to retrieve it, Jared catches up, tackling him sideways, pair of them crashing into the t.v., breathing hard from the exertion of the fight.
Jared takes the brunt of it, shoulder colliding painfully with the screen, and Jensen seizes the opportunity. Lays a hard hook into Jared’s temple, stopping him in his tracks.
Truly, it happens in slow motion.
Glazing over of Jared’s eyes as he stumbles forward, tripping over the extended foot of the recliner. Long, slow descent as he pitches over and Jensen catches sight of his destination far too late to intervene.
It’s a sickening thud, the edge of the coffee table knocking into Jared’s skull.
He comes to rest splayed beside it, eyelids fluttering rapidly. A crimson ooze begins to stain his brunette locks, seeping into the carpet underneath him.
Jensen hovers by the media center, mouth agape, locked in place. “Jared?” he tries, stupid and dumbstruck.
His feet carry him over of their own accord. Kneel him beside Jared’s form. He holds a hand out as if to touch but, he falls short. “God damn it,” he curses, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Why wouldn’t you-“ he finds Jared’s hand limp at his side and squeezes it, gazing up at the ceiling.
“Jared? I’m sorry,” he breathes, but there’s no one around to hear it.
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Jensen walks as usual, shoulders hunched and eyes on the floor, avoiding the passing stares of strangers. The bright white of the linoleum hurts his head. Just enough to be an irritant but not block out the thoughts weighing him down.
The last time he set foot in one of these places was for his second reconstruction surgery when he was young. Now there’s a sensation like being stabbed in the heart to accompany the hatred already burning inside him for hospitals.
“Are you looking for the morgue, sir?” a lilting voice questions gently. Looking up, he realizes he’d walked himself to the nurses’ station. A curly-headed Hispanic woman peers at him from the desk. “They told us a young man was coming to make an identification.”
“No, no. It’s not me,” he assures her. “I’m just looking for room thirty-four?”
She consults a chart hanging nearby. “Oh, I’m afraid that room isn’t accepting visitors right now.”
“It’s just that-I was the one that brought him in and I want to make sure he’s doing okay. I feel responsible,” he looks away in guilt at the final part. She hmms for a moment but soon relents in sympathy.
“Down the hall on your right, sweetheart,” her eyes do a quick survey of his face but it’s fine, if it means getting to see Jared now that he’s stabilized. He nods his gratitude and continues on, adrenaline lighting up his nerves. He’s terrified.
It had been a week since the accident.
He doesn’t know what Jared is thinking, if he wants to see him, but even if Jared sends him away as he expects, Jensen owes him an apology. For a lot of things. More importantly, he owes him his thanks. Promises and a reason to keep going seem like too much to ask, but he hopes for them now. He can still hope.
The door to room thirty-four is cracked slightly. Steeling himself, he pushes it open.
Two sets of eyes glance up. A dark-haired woman in a suit and with bandages wrapped around his head-Jared. Seeing him again is almost too much-his voice disappears in his throat.
“Oh, it’s you,” the woman mentions half-interestedly. “That found him?”
“Y-yeah,” he clears his throat, returning Jared’s curious gaze. “How are you?
“Pilled up. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he quips with a small smile that makes Jensen’s stomach leap.
“Do you think I could speak to you alone for just a few minutes?” Jensen fishes. Jared opens his mouth to answer but the woman cuts him off.
“Sorry, kid. Jared needs his rest. If you’re concerned about collecting your reward, the agency will be reimbursing you. Here,” she holds out a card. Reluctantly, Jensen takes it, lingering at the door. “Could I just ask you one question?”
“Sure,” Jared nods, studying him expectantly.
“So, did you mean it?”
A question he’s been waiting a week to get a response to. Practically his whole life. He almost lost him. Lost the chance to take the risk with someone. Throw all of himself into it without holding back. He thinks he can do it-if he’s not alone. Jared saw him before he ever laid eyes on him and he didn’t turn away.
He’s not breathing. Can’t until he hears.
Jared cocks his head. “Mean it? I’m sorry, whatever knocked me out wiped the last couple of weeks clean. Can’t remember a damn thing. What a bitch, huh?”
Jensen blinks, chest, world, caving in. The story remains the same. Doesn’t know why he thought any different. “Yeah. I’ll-let you go,” he finishes, padding to the door.
Doesn’t bother looking back.
“Yeesh,” Sam comments on his appearance once he leaves. Damn. Jared should’ve at least gotten his name, he did save his fucking life. He is such crap at names.
“Your friends are coming to visit later but don’t let them stay long, you’ve got that Outfitters shoot tomorrow. Thank God you didn’t land on your face,” she prods at his bandaged head.
Bitch.
Brow furrowing in irritation, he considers the open door. There’s a nagging at the back of his head that’s nothing to do with his injury. That deformed bartender that creeped Chad out-there’s always something unsettling about him, but this is different.
“Is there anything I need to know about where the hell I’ve been all week? I mean, did I tell you anything?” he ponders.
She pauses, hint of a shadow on her face that vanishes so abruptly he’s not sure it was ever there. “No. Nothing important.”
She rises to close the door, and somewhere, something flickers out.
And there’s that screaming again.
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Masterpost