FIC: "Gypsy Prophesies And Scientific Studies Of Celestial Objects" 1/1
Title: "Gypsy Prophesies And Scientific Studies Of Celestial Objects" 1/1
Author:
caramel_maddy @
maddys_slash
Pairing: Jared / Jensen
Word Count: 4,468
Summary: What happens when a psychic tells two straight guys that they're soul mates? Let the flailing and denial ensue.
Genre/Rating: Humor, romance, slight crack!ish [R]
Disclaimer: This is all fiction. I swear it on all the Piccadilly rent boys.
Gypsy Prophesies And Scientific Studies Of Celestial Objects
It was Jared’s idea. Funny how every time something random and just completely idiotic happens to them, the source of the confusion can always be traced back to being one of big Jare’s ridiculous and stupid ideas. Well, at least Jensen thinks so as he stares into the dark brown eyes of some gypsy woman getting his palm read on a chilly Canadian afternoon where the wind is so choppy you can hear it howling against the windowpanes.
“Oh,” she drawls. “I see a very, very long life for you. You will live to be a very, very old man, but a very, very happy one.” She smiles politely. She smells like garlic and patchouli incense. She wears too much makeup around her eyes and cheeks and for a gypsy, she doesn’t have any sort of Slavic, European accent. In fact, she sounds like she’s from New Jersey, or Long Island, or some other east coast province controlled by the mafia and too much Aqua-net hair spray. She is old though and dressed the “part” in a silky, blue and white paisley sash, a white peasant dress and a brown, silk scarf headpiece with gold coins falling against her forehead. If she had a tambourine, she’d look like an over the hill version of Esmeralda from ‘The Hunchback Of Notre Dame’. Jensen’s a realist and thinks to himself that she’s probably an actress, heck most of everyone in Vancouver is an actor or an actress or studying anthropology. It’s a very unique city full of creative and colorful individuals, don’t ya know?
“How old?” He asks just to play along.
“Oh, very, very old. I say around . . .” she pauses to study the lines and contours of his upturned hand. “Eighty-seven. You will live eighty-seven very, very happy years.”
“Really? And you can tell all of that just by staring down at my hand?” He laughs and Jared cracks a smile from the doorway in which he stands waiting for his turn.
“You’re cynical. I get it. It’s just how you were raised to be, right? Back home in Texas?”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be surprised that you know I’m from Texas? Doesn’t have anything to do with the Maverick’s sweatshirt I’m wearing then, huh?”
“I’m sure you’re not impressed,” she smiles. “I deal with your types all of the time. People doubt and fear what they don’t understand.”
“Okay, whatever,” he sighs. “Are we done?”
“Don’t you want to know your future?”
Jensen laughs snatching his hand out of the woman’s grasp. “Why not. Let me guess. I’m going to live a very, very long and a very, very happy life, right?”
“Oh, you’re a smart Alec, or at least you’re pretending to be. Do you always try so hard to impress your friend over there? You really don’t have to. He likes just fine sweetie.”
Her words make Jensen sit up uncomfortably in his seat. He glances over to Jared nervously for a moment before turning his attention back to the quote, unquote “fortuneteller”.
“So tell me my future. What do you see? Marriage, kids, a yacht? Any Oscars factoring into this equation?”
“Marriage. Yes, you will be married for a very, very long time. To a very, very nice. . . person.”
“I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me what she looks like?” Jensen laughs a little harder glancing back over to Jared who winks at him with an amused smirk folding his arms across his broad chest.
“Your . . spouse, will have dark hair - not black hair, but very, very dark brown.”
“Thanks lady, I think I’ve had enough of this-”
“And you already know them,” she interjects. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say, that they’re your best friend.”
“Really?” Jensen smirks. This woman is obviously off her rocker and believing her own hype because there are only a handful of people whom Jensen considers to be his best friends, and only two of them are women -women with fiancés, who are also his friends, and the idea of marrying either Monica or Chelsea is just ridiculous. They’re nice girls, but, not the kind of girls he could picture himself being with -you know, if they were actually single and not already betrothed to his hometown buddies.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, I’m off my rocker.”
Jensen nods his head with a smile.
“You’re thinking that Monica and Chelsea aren’t your type, right?”
Jensen’s body tenses and any trace of a smirk wipes clean from his face. “How’d you know that?” He hisses and when he hears Jared laugh from across the room, Jensen slinks back down into his seat with a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“Oh honey, you’re not falling for anything. Ms. Lucille knows everything. Just like I know that tomorrow, a chicken is going to poop on your shoe so be careful of where you walk.”
“What the fuck?” Jared chuckles from the corner. Jared has the kind of laugh that’s contagious. The kind of laugh that makes everyone else crack a smile and share a few giggles, the kind of laugh that just makes Jensen laugh, even if nothing’s very funny.
“A chicken? A chicken is gonna shit on my shoe?”
“Did Ms. Lucille stutter? You heard me, a chicken is gonna poop on your shoe and then die under a red sky.”
“Okay, you know what? I think I’ve had enough. This is just . . . retarded!” Jensen falls back against his seat, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes like trickles of rain as he keeps on laughing watching as Jared timbers down toward the couch that sits in the corner of the room.
“See, like I said. People are very, very afraid of things that they don’t know or understand. Really, this is the year 2007, you’d think by now us psychics would get a little respect, but no. Do we? No. Not unless we go on some stupid talk show and talk to the dead -and honey, Ms. Lucille doesn’t do dead folks.”
“Well, Ms. Lucille,” Jensen starts as he stands digging into his pocket for his wallet. “I really like to thank you for enlightening me, but seeing as how I think this is all a bunch of crap, I think it’s best for me to just pay you and then me and my buddy are gonna be on our way.”
“Your friend Jared, huh? He’s your best friend, no?” She smiles turning her eyes to where Jared sits slouched across her black leather loveseat. “Come, come.” She motions Jared over.
Jared sits up in his seat, throws Jensen the kind of glance that says ‘I’m going to enjoy this way more than it should be healthy’ as he takes a seat across from Ms. Lucille leaving Jensen to sit on the loveseat.
“How long will I live?” Jared laughs sticking out his hand. Ms. Lucille smirks as she scans his palm.
“Oh my,” she gasps. “You’re going to die in two days!”
“What?” Jared shrieks snatching his hand away. “What kind of bullshit is that? That’s not funny!”
“I only tell you what I see and I see that your death is on the horizon. Two days and then you’re a goner -no what. . . you’re not going to die, but a part of you will. . .wait, wait a minute.” She mumbles to herself as she stands glancing around her small room before beginning a desperate search through her drawers until she comes back to the table with a green stone. She places that stone in Jared’s palm and then laughs softly to herself. “Oh, good, good! That’s very, very good!”
“What’s good?” Jared asks, a slight panic creeping around the edges of his tone.
“You must be an actor or something, right? Yeah, I can see it now. You don’t actually die, but a character you play will.”
“Oh this is a load of crap! She probably reads the Internet and knows all about Supernatural!” Jensen groans. Ms. Lucille glares in his direction and rolls her eyes, but says nothing.
“Jared, yes. I see it, you will live a very, very long and a very, very happy life. I see eighty-two years.”
“Do you see any liver spots or varicose veins, cuz that would suck!”
“You will be bald by forty-eight.” She answers without missing a beat.
“Bald?” Jared scoffs twisting his face in a grimace. “What about marriage and kids?”
“Yes, you will have three children -two by your own blood and one from your spouse.”
“Cool,” Jared smirks. You see, he’s not really buying into what Ms. Lucille is selling, but the idea of kids, and all of that jazz, is rather entertaining. “What’s my wife’s name?”
“Oh honey, I don’t think you’re ready to know that, at least not right now. You’re still very, very young and very, very naive about a lot of things that you’ve. . . been thinking about over the last year or so.” She says cautiously glancing over to Jensen and giving Jared a knowing smirk.
Jared begins to fidget in his seat, something hard and heavy sinking down into his stomach like a dead weight. She couldn’t know, right? Not. . . that. Naw, she couldn’t because Jared wasn’t exactly sure that he knew himself.
“Well, okay. . . can you tell me when I’ll meet her?”
“You already know your future. . . spouse.” She smiles nodding her head slowly. “And before you ask, it’s not that pretty little brunette girl you just broke up with. I think her name is Sandra -yes, it’s not Sandy, but she’ll be the mother of your children, all three of them.”
“What? You’re telling me that Sandy’s gonna be my baby’s mama, but not my wife? That doesn’t make any sense! If she’s the mother of my kids, why isn’t she my wife?” He’s not falling for anything, no. . . not really. His interest has just been piqued.
“I don’t think you want me to tell you right now, at least not in mixed company.” Once again, she glances at Jensen.
“Good lord,” Jensen groans rolling his eyes. “Jared, are you ready to go yet?”
“Just a second! Ms. Lucille, seriously. Who’s my wife?”
“Honey, there are things in life that are very, very strange and sometimes we think we know ourselves, but come to find out, we don’t know anything at all.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jared shrieks.
“It means that we should go to lunch now. Seriously dude, come on. I’m hungry.” Jensen chimes and Jared nods his head in agreement as he stands.
“Here, thanks for the reading.” He sighs dryly handing her a twenty-dollar bill. Ms. Lucille takes the money and motions for Jared to bend down so she can whisper in his ear.
“When the moon stops shining on a night when the liquor begins to dance, look up and you’ll see your future wrapped up in a sheet. Don’t be afraid, just do it. He’ll find answers from your touch.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jared grunts sitting back down.
“Come on Jared, I wanna eat!” Jensen moans.
“Just a second Jensen! Ms. Lucille, I’m gonna need you to explain a few things.”
“Are you sure you want to know?” She asks glancing back up at Jensen.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, yes! Tell me everything!”
“Do you want to know whom you’re going to marry?”
“Good lord, yes!” He yells.
“Jensen. You’re going to marry Jensen.”
The room falls silent. Not the kind of silence that you hear in a library where everything is muted down to hushed whispers, but the kind of silence that is deafening. The kind of silence that pulls like rusted, metal chains and fibers of twisted and braided polypropylene. The kind of silence that’s so silent, you can literally hear it.
“Excuse me?” Jensen says and his voice is anything but comical.
“Yeah, what?” Jared chimes in a moment later.
“You wanted to know the truth. You couldn’t just follow my cryptic statement and figure it out on your own, could you? Jesus, you people are all the same! Always in a rush and running up a goddamn mountain and then not being impressed by the scenery when you reach the top, but if you just would have enjoyed the view taking your time, it would have been breath taking.”
Jensen takes a step forward.
“Okay Sylvia Plath, I think we should go. You are officially crazy-”
“I’m not crazy Jensen. I’m very, very sane and I know what I’m talking about. Jared is your destiny, as you are his.”
“Okay, do you know how retarded you sound?”
“Calm down, you stress out too easily. This is why you have the heart attack at fifty -this is also why Jared goes bald at forty-eight, worrying about you.”
“I’M NOT GONNA BE BALD!” Jared yells.
“Dude, she says we’re gay and gonna get married and, and, and have kids and you’re concerned about your hairline receding? Prioritize a little!”
“But, dude, look at my hair! No way I’ll ever go bald -no way!”
“Jesus all mighty give me the strength. . .” Jensen mutters storming out of the room. If Jared wants to sit and listen to some crazy old woman with a fancied imagination ramble on then that was his prerogative. Jensen would rather wait in the car.
“Where are you going?” Jared calls out after him, but Jensen ignores him letting the door slam shut behind him.
“You should go after him,” Ms. Lucille states. “But I’d be very, very cautious around him for the next few days. You and I both know how he can get, the way he can close himself off and go into manic-mood and get all gloomy. If you think he’s bad now, you should have seen him at sixteen. The boy was a mess!”
Jared sits stone stuck silent in his seat for a few seconds before he gathers up the sense to leave. Before he opens the door, he turns back around ready to ask Ms. Lucille one last question, but it’s like she can read his mind or something because before he gets the words out, she’s already answering him.
“Of course he does, even if he hasn’t realized it yet. That boy is very, very stubborn and you are very, very patient, but remember, there is patience and then there’s being a push over. You might have to get assertive sweetheart.”
+ +
Jensen avoids Jared the next day at work and it’s easy to do at first. Most of his scenes are with Jim Beaver so by the time they break for lunch, Jensen has gone six hours without running into him once. This is a small miracle he thinks.
They’re filming way out in the middle of nowhere where the only thing besides cows Jensen sees are chickens and goats as he makes his way toward the food truck. Jared’s not there, another small miracle.
“You get back here chicken Kenny!” A man screams chasing after a wayward, squawking chicken that’s somehow managed to escape from its pen. The damn bird runs towards Jensen and before he can get out of the way, the fucking thing jumps on him clawing its way up his pants leg and leaving a trail of slimy, watery, gray-brown shit down his jeans and on his black work boots.
“Ewe, get this thing off of me!” Jensen grunts dropping his tray of food shaking the bird off. The chicken flails and flaps shitting everywhere before it’s finally back on the ground running towards the road that leads to where their trailers are hitched.
“You’ve got chicken shit. . . on your shoes.” Jared says coming up behind Jensen handing him a paper towel.
“Where’d you come from?” Jensen grunts wiping at his clothes.
“Dude, don’t you get it? A chicken shit on your shoe! That’s exactly what Ms. Lucille said would happen!”
“Oh come on! Not this bull again. Look, she also said that it would die under a red sky. Look up Jared, the clouds are blue -blue and white and not red and that chicken is over there hiding under that pick-up truck!”
It’s like fate or destiny or like some really, really freaky occurrence. Maybe it’s just by chance, but the exact moment that Jared and Jensen look towards the red pick-up truck is the exact moment that it begins to start up. They watch with horrified intrigue as the driver begins to back up his vehicle incidently crushing -and killing, poor chicken Kenny.”
“Oh my god, they killed Kenny.” Jared gasps.
Jensen looks at Jared, but says nothing. They both look back at the truck and read the license plate: 1CU-2SKY. They look back at each other and it’s Jensen who states the obvious, repeating Ms. Lucille’s words from the previous day.
“. . .the chicken will be killed under a red. . . sky.”
“Dude. . .”
“Dude. . .” Jensen replies, green eyes burning through Jared so intensely that Jared has to look away.
“This is just. . .”
“Retarded Jared, this is retarded! I mean, it’s a coincidence, right? Just a coincidence. . .”
“Why don’t you sound so sure about that?”
“Come on, it’s crazy!” Jensen yells and in a smaller voice whispers, “She said we were gonna get married. Dude, us as in you and me. Come on, how ridiculous is that?”
“I know it sounds crazy -believe me, I do, but. . . come on, what are the odds of her being right about that?”
“You’re talking like you want to get married or something -dude, you like girls!”
“I know!” Jared whispers.
“Dude, I like girls!”
“I know!”
“So why would we get married? And why are we whispering? And in case you haven’t noticed, I am a dude! I have guy-parts and no boobs!”
“Thanks for stating the obvious Inspector Gadget,” Jared sighs sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, far be it from me to point out the obvious-”
“You know what we have to do, right? We have to go back.” Jared interjects.
“No way am I going to see that crazy old lady again -dude, are you insane?”
+ +
Funny how every time something random and just completely idiotic happens to them, the source of the confusion can always be traced back to being one of big Jare’s ridiculous and stupid ideas. Well, at least Jensen thinks so as he stares into the dark brown eyes of some gypsy woman trying his best to stay polite as she smiles at them.
“I knew you’d be back after the chicken died. Poor little fella. At least in its next life it’ll be a tiger,” she smiles.
“Why did you say we were going to get married?” Jensen asks cutting to the chase. Usually he’s a patient man. A very, very patient man, but the sooner he can clean up the mess she had made, the better off they’d all be.
“Because it’s true. We can’t pick our soulmates. It’s all written in the stars. Predestined before we’re born.”
“There’s no such thing as soulmates!” Jensen scoffs.
“Yeah there is,” Jared chimes turning towards him. “There’s a perfect somebody for everybody.”
“I think you’ve been sniffing too much of this patchouli in the air!”
“Oh Jensen, cut out the realist crap here. You know it’s true. There are soulmates. Your parents are soulmates, Jared’s parent’s are soulmates, hell even your dogs Sadie and Harley are soulmates-”
“Ah ha,” Jensen yells. “Those are Jared’s dogs, not mine! I told you she was full of crap!”
“I’m getting kind of sick of you calling me a liar and you know very, very well those dogs are practically yours too. There’s only so many insults a girl will take and honey, I am at my limit. This is your warning. There will be no others. Now, I’m a busy woman. I have four appointments within the hour so let’s make this quick shall we? You may not want to hear this -hell, you may be very, very uncomfortable hearing this but you two are soulmates. Look at all that you have in common. Your likes, dislikes, hell even your names disgustingly fit together.”
“But I’m not gay and neither is Jared!” Jensen argues looking at Jared for confirmation. He finds it odd that Jared doesn’t look back at him, hell, all the boy does is chew on his thumbnail.
“Sexuality is fluid and not important. Very, very unimportant. When something is written, it’s written and you can try to deny it and you can make yourself crazy trying to change it, but trust me baby, what’s meant to happen, will happen.”
“But-”
“Uh, uh. Times up. You two go on and be on your ways.”
“But-” Jensen starts, but Ms. Lucille silences him with a wave of her hand.
“Go on. You two leave and figure yourselves out. I’ll be expecting my invitation in three years.”
+ +
“Maybe she’s right, maybe. . . maybe we are like soulmates or something.” Jared laughs as he sips his beer.
“Yeah dude, it’s written in the stars somewhere I bet,” Jensen jokes.
This feels good, the joking part. It’s taken two weeks for them to feel comfortable enough around each other to go out for drinks because a psychic basically telling you that your one true love is your male best friend can kind of throw a wrench in any friendship.
“Yo, our epic romance is celestial.”
“Ha, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling kind of drunk here.” Jensen smiles unscrewing another beer.
“Why are you still drinking then?”
“Cuz I’m dirsty and don’t have to drive home.”
“Dirsty,” Jared laughs. “You mean thirsty?”
“Dirsty. . . thirsty. . . same difference.”
“How can something be the same and different?”
“You’re way too sober for me right now dude,” Jensen giggles lazily rolling off of Jared’s couch and down to the floor. “Your floor is cold.”
“It’s a floor. It’s supposed to be cold.” Jared smiles blinking the dizzying blur of inebriation from his eyes. “I’m gonna head to bed. You good on the couch or do you wanna cuddle in my bed soulmate?”
Jensen laughs lazily sitting up on his elbows. “I kinda wanna cuddle.” He teases.
“Whatever.” Jared dismisses him with a wave of the hand as he stumbles toward his bedroom.
Nothing can feel as good as cool, crisp sheets draped across naked skin Jared thinks as he takes his clothes off, slinking down into his sheets. He feels like he could just sleep forever away in his bed, but as soon as he closes his eyes he hears a loud crash coming from the living room.
“Jensen?” He calls out as he walks into the living room clutching the sheets around his waist.
“I was reaching for the remote. Knocked over a’lamp.” Jensen slurs with a laugh. Jared rolls his eyes clicking the television on.
“I love this commercial,” Jensen remarks staring at the screen as Jared picks up the lamp. “Look at dem bottles a’liquor dancing! So funny. . .look at the big one! He totally just did a cartwheel!”
“What kind of rum commercial would use claymations? It’s like they want little kids to start drinking.” Jared states as he clicks the lamplight off.
“Dude, what are you doing? It’s all dark in here. I can’t even see the moon shine!”
“You are so wasted,” Jared laughs turning the light back on.
“That I am. How come you’re not that drunk -hey, are you naked?”
“Maybe.” Jared smirks holding the sheet around his waist.
“You’re so naked. I can totally see your dick n' balls!” Jensen laughs closing his eyes. He’s careless with his movements, his balance is off and he finds himself once again falling off the couch, this time hard and comical.
Jared doesn’t just laugh, he full on explodes in hysterics doing a half-jog, lazy sprint around the living room. He’s too busy laughing to notice how Jensen manages to pull himself up until he’s standing. Jared also doesn’t notice Jensen about to pounce on him until, he’s in fact, falling hard to the floor with Jensen’s arms wrapped around his waist.
They laugh like school children rolling around with red-hot smiles, Jensen managing to entangle himself in Jared’s sheet, his t-shirt clad chest pressing against Jared’s bare skin. The smell of beer, Jared’s shampoo and something indefinable seems to soak through Jensen’s body and yeah, maybe it’s all the liquor, maybe it’s that stupid gypsy woman and her stupid, fabled tales, but Jensen finds himself staring down into Jared’s eyes, watching the way that the corners crinkle as he laughs and Jensen thinks that maybe. . . just maybe, there is such a thing as soulmates. Or, maybe he’s just completely wasted.
Sometimes things just happen that can’t be explained, moments that can’t be dissected. Jared doesn’t know how or what or when, or even who kisses who first because all he knows is that he feels really, really uncomfortable as he presses his tongue against Jensen’s, the contact awkward, clumsy, but somehow just right.
It’s over before it actually begins, or maybe it’s over an hour later, either way Jared can’t breathe without sighing and Jensen finds himself laughing as he rolls onto his back, rubbing his elbow against the carpeting.
“This doesn’t mean I’m gonna marry you,” Jensen sighs, his tone thick and serious and surprisingly sober for a man that’s three sheets to the wind.
“I don’t reckon asking you to.” Jared yawns trying to fight the urge to pull Jensen into his arms. God, that would be. . . completely retarded.
“Good.”
“Fine.” Jared replies sharply.
“But we can, like, do this.” Jensen whispers rolling onto his side pressing his lips into the soft spot between Jared’s neck and shoulder.
“Yeah,” he moans running the length of his fingers through Jensen’s short, light brown hair. “This feels good.”
+ +
“Hello, come in, come in. I’m very, very glad to meet you. Would you like to know your future darling? Or perhaps a palm reading?” She smiles as a tall man in a blue baseball cap walks into her shop.
“No thanks ma’am. I have a letter for you,” he says handing her a form to sign. “Looks like a wedding invitation. This is the fifth one I’ve had to deliver today and you can imagine, not too many letters coming all the way from Texas up to Vancouver.
Ms. Lucille smiles to herself as she opens the invitation, already knowing what to give Jared and Jensen as a gift. If her predictions are correct -and they always are, she’ll buy them a bassinet.
They don’t know this yet -heck, Sandy hasn’t even officially put the offer out on the table, but baby George will be here the second week of spring.
/FIN
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(Complete List Of Fic) new updates friend/found @
maddys_slash
Author:
caramel_maddy @
maddys_slash
Pairing: Jared / Jensen
Word Count: 4,468
Summary: What happens when a psychic tells two straight guys that they're soul mates? Let the flailing and denial ensue.
Genre/Rating: Humor, romance, slight crack!ish [R]
Disclaimer: This is all fiction. I swear it on all the Piccadilly rent boys.
Gypsy Prophesies And Scientific Studies Of Celestial Objects
It was Jared’s idea. Funny how every time something random and just completely idiotic happens to them, the source of the confusion can always be traced back to being one of big Jare’s ridiculous and stupid ideas. Well, at least Jensen thinks so as he stares into the dark brown eyes of some gypsy woman getting his palm read on a chilly Canadian afternoon where the wind is so choppy you can hear it howling against the windowpanes.
“Oh,” she drawls. “I see a very, very long life for you. You will live to be a very, very old man, but a very, very happy one.” She smiles politely. She smells like garlic and patchouli incense. She wears too much makeup around her eyes and cheeks and for a gypsy, she doesn’t have any sort of Slavic, European accent. In fact, she sounds like she’s from New Jersey, or Long Island, or some other east coast province controlled by the mafia and too much Aqua-net hair spray. She is old though and dressed the “part” in a silky, blue and white paisley sash, a white peasant dress and a brown, silk scarf headpiece with gold coins falling against her forehead. If she had a tambourine, she’d look like an over the hill version of Esmeralda from ‘The Hunchback Of Notre Dame’. Jensen’s a realist and thinks to himself that she’s probably an actress, heck most of everyone in Vancouver is an actor or an actress or studying anthropology. It’s a very unique city full of creative and colorful individuals, don’t ya know?
“How old?” He asks just to play along.
“Oh, very, very old. I say around . . .” she pauses to study the lines and contours of his upturned hand. “Eighty-seven. You will live eighty-seven very, very happy years.”
“Really? And you can tell all of that just by staring down at my hand?” He laughs and Jared cracks a smile from the doorway in which he stands waiting for his turn.
“You’re cynical. I get it. It’s just how you were raised to be, right? Back home in Texas?”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be surprised that you know I’m from Texas? Doesn’t have anything to do with the Maverick’s sweatshirt I’m wearing then, huh?”
“I’m sure you’re not impressed,” she smiles. “I deal with your types all of the time. People doubt and fear what they don’t understand.”
“Okay, whatever,” he sighs. “Are we done?”
“Don’t you want to know your future?”
Jensen laughs snatching his hand out of the woman’s grasp. “Why not. Let me guess. I’m going to live a very, very long and a very, very happy life, right?”
“Oh, you’re a smart Alec, or at least you’re pretending to be. Do you always try so hard to impress your friend over there? You really don’t have to. He likes just fine sweetie.”
Her words make Jensen sit up uncomfortably in his seat. He glances over to Jared nervously for a moment before turning his attention back to the quote, unquote “fortuneteller”.
“So tell me my future. What do you see? Marriage, kids, a yacht? Any Oscars factoring into this equation?”
“Marriage. Yes, you will be married for a very, very long time. To a very, very nice. . . person.”
“I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me what she looks like?” Jensen laughs a little harder glancing back over to Jared who winks at him with an amused smirk folding his arms across his broad chest.
“Your . . spouse, will have dark hair - not black hair, but very, very dark brown.”
“Thanks lady, I think I’ve had enough of this-”
“And you already know them,” she interjects. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say, that they’re your best friend.”
“Really?” Jensen smirks. This woman is obviously off her rocker and believing her own hype because there are only a handful of people whom Jensen considers to be his best friends, and only two of them are women -women with fiancés, who are also his friends, and the idea of marrying either Monica or Chelsea is just ridiculous. They’re nice girls, but, not the kind of girls he could picture himself being with -you know, if they were actually single and not already betrothed to his hometown buddies.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, I’m off my rocker.”
Jensen nods his head with a smile.
“You’re thinking that Monica and Chelsea aren’t your type, right?”
Jensen’s body tenses and any trace of a smirk wipes clean from his face. “How’d you know that?” He hisses and when he hears Jared laugh from across the room, Jensen slinks back down into his seat with a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“Oh honey, you’re not falling for anything. Ms. Lucille knows everything. Just like I know that tomorrow, a chicken is going to poop on your shoe so be careful of where you walk.”
“What the fuck?” Jared chuckles from the corner. Jared has the kind of laugh that’s contagious. The kind of laugh that makes everyone else crack a smile and share a few giggles, the kind of laugh that just makes Jensen laugh, even if nothing’s very funny.
“A chicken? A chicken is gonna shit on my shoe?”
“Did Ms. Lucille stutter? You heard me, a chicken is gonna poop on your shoe and then die under a red sky.”
“Okay, you know what? I think I’ve had enough. This is just . . . retarded!” Jensen falls back against his seat, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes like trickles of rain as he keeps on laughing watching as Jared timbers down toward the couch that sits in the corner of the room.
“See, like I said. People are very, very afraid of things that they don’t know or understand. Really, this is the year 2007, you’d think by now us psychics would get a little respect, but no. Do we? No. Not unless we go on some stupid talk show and talk to the dead -and honey, Ms. Lucille doesn’t do dead folks.”
“Well, Ms. Lucille,” Jensen starts as he stands digging into his pocket for his wallet. “I really like to thank you for enlightening me, but seeing as how I think this is all a bunch of crap, I think it’s best for me to just pay you and then me and my buddy are gonna be on our way.”
“Your friend Jared, huh? He’s your best friend, no?” She smiles turning her eyes to where Jared sits slouched across her black leather loveseat. “Come, come.” She motions Jared over.
Jared sits up in his seat, throws Jensen the kind of glance that says ‘I’m going to enjoy this way more than it should be healthy’ as he takes a seat across from Ms. Lucille leaving Jensen to sit on the loveseat.
“How long will I live?” Jared laughs sticking out his hand. Ms. Lucille smirks as she scans his palm.
“Oh my,” she gasps. “You’re going to die in two days!”
“What?” Jared shrieks snatching his hand away. “What kind of bullshit is that? That’s not funny!”
“I only tell you what I see and I see that your death is on the horizon. Two days and then you’re a goner -no what. . . you’re not going to die, but a part of you will. . .wait, wait a minute.” She mumbles to herself as she stands glancing around her small room before beginning a desperate search through her drawers until she comes back to the table with a green stone. She places that stone in Jared’s palm and then laughs softly to herself. “Oh, good, good! That’s very, very good!”
“What’s good?” Jared asks, a slight panic creeping around the edges of his tone.
“You must be an actor or something, right? Yeah, I can see it now. You don’t actually die, but a character you play will.”
“Oh this is a load of crap! She probably reads the Internet and knows all about Supernatural!” Jensen groans. Ms. Lucille glares in his direction and rolls her eyes, but says nothing.
“Jared, yes. I see it, you will live a very, very long and a very, very happy life. I see eighty-two years.”
“Do you see any liver spots or varicose veins, cuz that would suck!”
“You will be bald by forty-eight.” She answers without missing a beat.
“Bald?” Jared scoffs twisting his face in a grimace. “What about marriage and kids?”
“Yes, you will have three children -two by your own blood and one from your spouse.”
“Cool,” Jared smirks. You see, he’s not really buying into what Ms. Lucille is selling, but the idea of kids, and all of that jazz, is rather entertaining. “What’s my wife’s name?”
“Oh honey, I don’t think you’re ready to know that, at least not right now. You’re still very, very young and very, very naive about a lot of things that you’ve. . . been thinking about over the last year or so.” She says cautiously glancing over to Jensen and giving Jared a knowing smirk.
Jared begins to fidget in his seat, something hard and heavy sinking down into his stomach like a dead weight. She couldn’t know, right? Not. . . that. Naw, she couldn’t because Jared wasn’t exactly sure that he knew himself.
“Well, okay. . . can you tell me when I’ll meet her?”
“You already know your future. . . spouse.” She smiles nodding her head slowly. “And before you ask, it’s not that pretty little brunette girl you just broke up with. I think her name is Sandra -yes, it’s not Sandy, but she’ll be the mother of your children, all three of them.”
“What? You’re telling me that Sandy’s gonna be my baby’s mama, but not my wife? That doesn’t make any sense! If she’s the mother of my kids, why isn’t she my wife?” He’s not falling for anything, no. . . not really. His interest has just been piqued.
“I don’t think you want me to tell you right now, at least not in mixed company.” Once again, she glances at Jensen.
“Good lord,” Jensen groans rolling his eyes. “Jared, are you ready to go yet?”
“Just a second! Ms. Lucille, seriously. Who’s my wife?”
“Honey, there are things in life that are very, very strange and sometimes we think we know ourselves, but come to find out, we don’t know anything at all.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jared shrieks.
“It means that we should go to lunch now. Seriously dude, come on. I’m hungry.” Jensen chimes and Jared nods his head in agreement as he stands.
“Here, thanks for the reading.” He sighs dryly handing her a twenty-dollar bill. Ms. Lucille takes the money and motions for Jared to bend down so she can whisper in his ear.
“When the moon stops shining on a night when the liquor begins to dance, look up and you’ll see your future wrapped up in a sheet. Don’t be afraid, just do it. He’ll find answers from your touch.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jared grunts sitting back down.
“Come on Jared, I wanna eat!” Jensen moans.
“Just a second Jensen! Ms. Lucille, I’m gonna need you to explain a few things.”
“Are you sure you want to know?” She asks glancing back up at Jensen.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, yes! Tell me everything!”
“Do you want to know whom you’re going to marry?”
“Good lord, yes!” He yells.
“Jensen. You’re going to marry Jensen.”
The room falls silent. Not the kind of silence that you hear in a library where everything is muted down to hushed whispers, but the kind of silence that is deafening. The kind of silence that pulls like rusted, metal chains and fibers of twisted and braided polypropylene. The kind of silence that’s so silent, you can literally hear it.
“Excuse me?” Jensen says and his voice is anything but comical.
“Yeah, what?” Jared chimes in a moment later.
“You wanted to know the truth. You couldn’t just follow my cryptic statement and figure it out on your own, could you? Jesus, you people are all the same! Always in a rush and running up a goddamn mountain and then not being impressed by the scenery when you reach the top, but if you just would have enjoyed the view taking your time, it would have been breath taking.”
Jensen takes a step forward.
“Okay Sylvia Plath, I think we should go. You are officially crazy-”
“I’m not crazy Jensen. I’m very, very sane and I know what I’m talking about. Jared is your destiny, as you are his.”
“Okay, do you know how retarded you sound?”
“Calm down, you stress out too easily. This is why you have the heart attack at fifty -this is also why Jared goes bald at forty-eight, worrying about you.”
“I’M NOT GONNA BE BALD!” Jared yells.
“Dude, she says we’re gay and gonna get married and, and, and have kids and you’re concerned about your hairline receding? Prioritize a little!”
“But, dude, look at my hair! No way I’ll ever go bald -no way!”
“Jesus all mighty give me the strength. . .” Jensen mutters storming out of the room. If Jared wants to sit and listen to some crazy old woman with a fancied imagination ramble on then that was his prerogative. Jensen would rather wait in the car.
“Where are you going?” Jared calls out after him, but Jensen ignores him letting the door slam shut behind him.
“You should go after him,” Ms. Lucille states. “But I’d be very, very cautious around him for the next few days. You and I both know how he can get, the way he can close himself off and go into manic-mood and get all gloomy. If you think he’s bad now, you should have seen him at sixteen. The boy was a mess!”
Jared sits stone stuck silent in his seat for a few seconds before he gathers up the sense to leave. Before he opens the door, he turns back around ready to ask Ms. Lucille one last question, but it’s like she can read his mind or something because before he gets the words out, she’s already answering him.
“Of course he does, even if he hasn’t realized it yet. That boy is very, very stubborn and you are very, very patient, but remember, there is patience and then there’s being a push over. You might have to get assertive sweetheart.”
+ +
Jensen avoids Jared the next day at work and it’s easy to do at first. Most of his scenes are with Jim Beaver so by the time they break for lunch, Jensen has gone six hours without running into him once. This is a small miracle he thinks.
They’re filming way out in the middle of nowhere where the only thing besides cows Jensen sees are chickens and goats as he makes his way toward the food truck. Jared’s not there, another small miracle.
“You get back here chicken Kenny!” A man screams chasing after a wayward, squawking chicken that’s somehow managed to escape from its pen. The damn bird runs towards Jensen and before he can get out of the way, the fucking thing jumps on him clawing its way up his pants leg and leaving a trail of slimy, watery, gray-brown shit down his jeans and on his black work boots.
“Ewe, get this thing off of me!” Jensen grunts dropping his tray of food shaking the bird off. The chicken flails and flaps shitting everywhere before it’s finally back on the ground running towards the road that leads to where their trailers are hitched.
“You’ve got chicken shit. . . on your shoes.” Jared says coming up behind Jensen handing him a paper towel.
“Where’d you come from?” Jensen grunts wiping at his clothes.
“Dude, don’t you get it? A chicken shit on your shoe! That’s exactly what Ms. Lucille said would happen!”
“Oh come on! Not this bull again. Look, she also said that it would die under a red sky. Look up Jared, the clouds are blue -blue and white and not red and that chicken is over there hiding under that pick-up truck!”
It’s like fate or destiny or like some really, really freaky occurrence. Maybe it’s just by chance, but the exact moment that Jared and Jensen look towards the red pick-up truck is the exact moment that it begins to start up. They watch with horrified intrigue as the driver begins to back up his vehicle incidently crushing -and killing, poor chicken Kenny.”
“Oh my god, they killed Kenny.” Jared gasps.
Jensen looks at Jared, but says nothing. They both look back at the truck and read the license plate: 1CU-2SKY. They look back at each other and it’s Jensen who states the obvious, repeating Ms. Lucille’s words from the previous day.
“. . .the chicken will be killed under a red. . . sky.”
“Dude. . .”
“Dude. . .” Jensen replies, green eyes burning through Jared so intensely that Jared has to look away.
“This is just. . .”
“Retarded Jared, this is retarded! I mean, it’s a coincidence, right? Just a coincidence. . .”
“Why don’t you sound so sure about that?”
“Come on, it’s crazy!” Jensen yells and in a smaller voice whispers, “She said we were gonna get married. Dude, us as in you and me. Come on, how ridiculous is that?”
“I know it sounds crazy -believe me, I do, but. . . come on, what are the odds of her being right about that?”
“You’re talking like you want to get married or something -dude, you like girls!”
“I know!” Jared whispers.
“Dude, I like girls!”
“I know!”
“So why would we get married? And why are we whispering? And in case you haven’t noticed, I am a dude! I have guy-parts and no boobs!”
“Thanks for stating the obvious Inspector Gadget,” Jared sighs sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, far be it from me to point out the obvious-”
“You know what we have to do, right? We have to go back.” Jared interjects.
“No way am I going to see that crazy old lady again -dude, are you insane?”
+ +
Funny how every time something random and just completely idiotic happens to them, the source of the confusion can always be traced back to being one of big Jare’s ridiculous and stupid ideas. Well, at least Jensen thinks so as he stares into the dark brown eyes of some gypsy woman trying his best to stay polite as she smiles at them.
“I knew you’d be back after the chicken died. Poor little fella. At least in its next life it’ll be a tiger,” she smiles.
“Why did you say we were going to get married?” Jensen asks cutting to the chase. Usually he’s a patient man. A very, very patient man, but the sooner he can clean up the mess she had made, the better off they’d all be.
“Because it’s true. We can’t pick our soulmates. It’s all written in the stars. Predestined before we’re born.”
“There’s no such thing as soulmates!” Jensen scoffs.
“Yeah there is,” Jared chimes turning towards him. “There’s a perfect somebody for everybody.”
“I think you’ve been sniffing too much of this patchouli in the air!”
“Oh Jensen, cut out the realist crap here. You know it’s true. There are soulmates. Your parents are soulmates, Jared’s parent’s are soulmates, hell even your dogs Sadie and Harley are soulmates-”
“Ah ha,” Jensen yells. “Those are Jared’s dogs, not mine! I told you she was full of crap!”
“I’m getting kind of sick of you calling me a liar and you know very, very well those dogs are practically yours too. There’s only so many insults a girl will take and honey, I am at my limit. This is your warning. There will be no others. Now, I’m a busy woman. I have four appointments within the hour so let’s make this quick shall we? You may not want to hear this -hell, you may be very, very uncomfortable hearing this but you two are soulmates. Look at all that you have in common. Your likes, dislikes, hell even your names disgustingly fit together.”
“But I’m not gay and neither is Jared!” Jensen argues looking at Jared for confirmation. He finds it odd that Jared doesn’t look back at him, hell, all the boy does is chew on his thumbnail.
“Sexuality is fluid and not important. Very, very unimportant. When something is written, it’s written and you can try to deny it and you can make yourself crazy trying to change it, but trust me baby, what’s meant to happen, will happen.”
“But-”
“Uh, uh. Times up. You two go on and be on your ways.”
“But-” Jensen starts, but Ms. Lucille silences him with a wave of her hand.
“Go on. You two leave and figure yourselves out. I’ll be expecting my invitation in three years.”
+ +
“Maybe she’s right, maybe. . . maybe we are like soulmates or something.” Jared laughs as he sips his beer.
“Yeah dude, it’s written in the stars somewhere I bet,” Jensen jokes.
This feels good, the joking part. It’s taken two weeks for them to feel comfortable enough around each other to go out for drinks because a psychic basically telling you that your one true love is your male best friend can kind of throw a wrench in any friendship.
“Yo, our epic romance is celestial.”
“Ha, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling kind of drunk here.” Jensen smiles unscrewing another beer.
“Why are you still drinking then?”
“Cuz I’m dirsty and don’t have to drive home.”
“Dirsty,” Jared laughs. “You mean thirsty?”
“Dirsty. . . thirsty. . . same difference.”
“How can something be the same and different?”
“You’re way too sober for me right now dude,” Jensen giggles lazily rolling off of Jared’s couch and down to the floor. “Your floor is cold.”
“It’s a floor. It’s supposed to be cold.” Jared smiles blinking the dizzying blur of inebriation from his eyes. “I’m gonna head to bed. You good on the couch or do you wanna cuddle in my bed soulmate?”
Jensen laughs lazily sitting up on his elbows. “I kinda wanna cuddle.” He teases.
“Whatever.” Jared dismisses him with a wave of the hand as he stumbles toward his bedroom.
Nothing can feel as good as cool, crisp sheets draped across naked skin Jared thinks as he takes his clothes off, slinking down into his sheets. He feels like he could just sleep forever away in his bed, but as soon as he closes his eyes he hears a loud crash coming from the living room.
“Jensen?” He calls out as he walks into the living room clutching the sheets around his waist.
“I was reaching for the remote. Knocked over a’lamp.” Jensen slurs with a laugh. Jared rolls his eyes clicking the television on.
“I love this commercial,” Jensen remarks staring at the screen as Jared picks up the lamp. “Look at dem bottles a’liquor dancing! So funny. . .look at the big one! He totally just did a cartwheel!”
“What kind of rum commercial would use claymations? It’s like they want little kids to start drinking.” Jared states as he clicks the lamplight off.
“Dude, what are you doing? It’s all dark in here. I can’t even see the moon shine!”
“You are so wasted,” Jared laughs turning the light back on.
“That I am. How come you’re not that drunk -hey, are you naked?”
“Maybe.” Jared smirks holding the sheet around his waist.
“You’re so naked. I can totally see your dick n' balls!” Jensen laughs closing his eyes. He’s careless with his movements, his balance is off and he finds himself once again falling off the couch, this time hard and comical.
Jared doesn’t just laugh, he full on explodes in hysterics doing a half-jog, lazy sprint around the living room. He’s too busy laughing to notice how Jensen manages to pull himself up until he’s standing. Jared also doesn’t notice Jensen about to pounce on him until, he’s in fact, falling hard to the floor with Jensen’s arms wrapped around his waist.
They laugh like school children rolling around with red-hot smiles, Jensen managing to entangle himself in Jared’s sheet, his t-shirt clad chest pressing against Jared’s bare skin. The smell of beer, Jared’s shampoo and something indefinable seems to soak through Jensen’s body and yeah, maybe it’s all the liquor, maybe it’s that stupid gypsy woman and her stupid, fabled tales, but Jensen finds himself staring down into Jared’s eyes, watching the way that the corners crinkle as he laughs and Jensen thinks that maybe. . . just maybe, there is such a thing as soulmates. Or, maybe he’s just completely wasted.
Sometimes things just happen that can’t be explained, moments that can’t be dissected. Jared doesn’t know how or what or when, or even who kisses who first because all he knows is that he feels really, really uncomfortable as he presses his tongue against Jensen’s, the contact awkward, clumsy, but somehow just right.
It’s over before it actually begins, or maybe it’s over an hour later, either way Jared can’t breathe without sighing and Jensen finds himself laughing as he rolls onto his back, rubbing his elbow against the carpeting.
“This doesn’t mean I’m gonna marry you,” Jensen sighs, his tone thick and serious and surprisingly sober for a man that’s three sheets to the wind.
“I don’t reckon asking you to.” Jared yawns trying to fight the urge to pull Jensen into his arms. God, that would be. . . completely retarded.
“Good.”
“Fine.” Jared replies sharply.
“But we can, like, do this.” Jensen whispers rolling onto his side pressing his lips into the soft spot between Jared’s neck and shoulder.
“Yeah,” he moans running the length of his fingers through Jensen’s short, light brown hair. “This feels good.”
+ +
“Hello, come in, come in. I’m very, very glad to meet you. Would you like to know your future darling? Or perhaps a palm reading?” She smiles as a tall man in a blue baseball cap walks into her shop.
“No thanks ma’am. I have a letter for you,” he says handing her a form to sign. “Looks like a wedding invitation. This is the fifth one I’ve had to deliver today and you can imagine, not too many letters coming all the way from Texas up to Vancouver.
Ms. Lucille smiles to herself as she opens the invitation, already knowing what to give Jared and Jensen as a gift. If her predictions are correct -and they always are, she’ll buy them a bassinet.
They don’t know this yet -heck, Sandy hasn’t even officially put the offer out on the table, but baby George will be here the second week of spring.
/FIN
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