Master Post |
Prologue |
o1 | o2 |
o3 |
o4 |
o5 |
o6 |
Epilogue Part Two
No more broken promises, no more call to war.
Jared can't think.
Mrs. Livingston is staring at him over the top of the thick-lenses of her glasses, and he can't think.
"Sorry. What was the question again?"
A few kids around him snicker, and Jared sinks a little in his chair. The last thing he needs is Mrs. Livingston thinking he's trying to cut up in class.
"Mr. Padalecki," she says disapprovingly. "If you plan on graduating on time, I suggest you start paying attention in my class. Final exams will be here sooner than you think."
Jared can feel his cheeks burning as he mumbles, "Yes ma'am," sinking even lower in his desk. The bell rings, cutting his torture short, and Jared quietly gathers his books, stuffing them in his backpack and slipping into the hallway before Mrs. Livingston has a chance to call him over to her desk to continue her lecture.
"You want to get out of here?" he asks when he finds Sandy by her locker. She's placing her English book inside, pulling out her Calculus notebook and stacking it on top of the spiral already in her arms.
"No way," she says as she checks her hair in the small mirror hanging on the door. "Am I really worthy enough to be graced with the words of Jared Padalecki?" she finishes sarcastically.
"Okay. I deserved that," Jared says. "I'm sorry for acting like-"
"A jerk. A moron. A shitty fried. Should I continue?"
"No. I think I got it," he sighs. "I'm really sorry, Sandy. I shouldn't have acted like that. I've just been in a weird mood this last week."
"Gee, ya think?” Sandy says, and even though her back is to him Jared can practically feel her roll her eyes. After one last check of her hair she closes her locker door and turns to face him. “If you mope around anymore, they're going to name a depressant after you."
"I'm not moping," Jared says. "I'm just-"
"Something like, Padalecodine." Sandy continues as if he hadn't said anything. "Or Alcoholecki."
"Sandy."
She falls quiet for a moment before she starts talking again. "So I heard these... rumors,” she starts, voice cautious. “About Jensen. Is it true? Is he really missing?"
Jared sighs again, inhaling and exhaling long and deep. "Yeah. His mom came to my house the other day looking for him. Mackenzie too."
"That's so scary. Nothing like that ever happens around here, you know? Do they think he was kidnapped or something?"
"I don't know," Jared lies, eyes focused downward. "I haven't really heard anything else about it."
"So I guess that explains why you've been so moody," Sandy states. "You and Jensen were always really close." She takes a dramatic pause before adding with a small smile, "Well, I guess I can forgive you… just this once."
Jared laughs a little. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. You look like death, by the way."
"Ouch," Jared says, shifting the straps of his backpack. "Thank you."
She frowns. "And since when do you smoke?"
"Who says I smoke?"
"Oh please Jared, I can smell it on you from all the way down the hall."
Jared just shrugs. "Look, I just got bitched out by Mrs. Livingston and my head feels like it's going to fucking blow off and I just can't be here anymore."
"Yeah, you along with every other kid in this miserable school," she responds offhandedly. She bites at her lip, and Jared can tell she's thinking whether it's worth the grounding to skip class. He thinks she's about to say no when she opens her mouth and says, "Okay, I'll go. But only if you tell me what's going on in that weird head of yours."
"Sandy..."
"No. Seriously, Jared. If you think I'm oblivious enough not to notice that something is off..."
"You know I don't think that, Sandy."
"Then let's go somewhere and talk. Enough with the whole avoidance thing already."
Jared pinches the bridge of his nose, sags against the row of lockers as he closes his eyes. "God I can't fucking think straight anymore."
"Do you trust me?" Sandy asks, and Jared nods, eyes still closed.
"You know you can tell me anything. We've always been in things together. I want to help."
The tardy bell rings, and Jared opens his eyes to see the halls have emptied, a few stragglers running to try and slip into class late without being caught. He pushes himself up from the wall. "So are you driving or am I?"
:::
They end up going to Mini's Café. It's the same place Jared has been with Jensen so many times before, the same place he waited for him the day he told him he was leaving, and the thought of going back there now makes Jared's stomach turn a little, but it's one of Sandy's favorite places and he figures since he's been such an ass to her lately, it's the least he can do.
They sit at a table in the corner, and Jared watches as Sandy eats the French fries she's ordered.
"I can't believe you of all people passed up on the opportunity to eat completely unhealthy food," she says as she dips a fry into a mound of ketchup.
"Yeah yeah," Jared says and throws his balled up straw wrapper at her.
Sandy dips her last fry into the ketchup before pushing the small, empty container to the side. "So." She rubs her hands together like she's gearing up for a fight. "What's going on?"
Jared bites at his lip. He thinks about making something up, then thinks about telling her the truth for a fleeting moment before quickly reminding himself just how bad of an idea that would be.
"Are you in trouble?"
Jared looks up. "Huh?"
"I said, are you in some kind of trouble?"
Jared watches the condensation drip down the side of his cup of ice water. "I... well, no. I guess not."
"Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm just - I don't know." He traces the water droplets with his finger. "I don’t think I know much of anything, anymore."
"You miss Jensen," she says, like it's just that simple.
Maybe, when it's all said and done, it is.
"Yeah," Jared breathes after a while. "I miss Jensen."
:::
Chris has long, chocolate brown hair that just reaches his shoulders and continually falls in his eyes. It was the first thing Jensen had noticed about him when they'd met shortly after he'd come to the Center, the way he shook his head to remove the hair from his face instantly reminding him so much of Jared that for a second, he stood frozen, simply staring. It had prompted Chris to come over to him, ask him if he'd seen a ghost or something, and sparked some immediate connection between them. He soon found out that Chris is really nothing like Jared at all. He’s a musician where Jared always says he can break windows with his voice if he tried, is more reserved when Jared sometimes seems to have no filter at all, but he's nice to Jensen, and though it doesn't fill the void of being away from Jared, it helps to have someone that can make him smile again.
It's a lazy Friday afternoon and they're playing a game of pool when Kristi walks into the common room. Jensen is laughing softly at Chris' latest horrible shot that didn't reach anywhere near the hole he'd intended it to reach when she taps him on the shoulder. He turns to her mid-smile.
"You have a meeting with Dr. Lawrence at three o'clock, remember?" she says.
"Aw come on Kristi," Chris cuts in, his mouth moving lazily. "Jensen's been kicking my ass all day. I'm finally about to win one."
"Then you can challenge him to a rematch when he gets back. He's already late," she replies, glancing at the clock before she turns her attention to Jensen. "You ready?"
Jensen wants to say no, not really, but he doesn't, just waves goodbye to Chris and follows Kristi down the hall towards Dr. Lawrence's office. He doesn't like therapy, doesn’t like talking to other people about all that has happened to him and the communication barrier only adds to that frustration, but it's part of the program and he's required go at least twice a week. If it means he and Mackenzie have a safe place to stay, then he'll do whatever it takes.
"I had to drag him down here kicking and screaming," Kristi says playfully to Dr. Lawrence as they make it to her office. She's sitting at her desk filling out what looks like an overwhelming amount of paperwork, but she still smiles brightly at Jensen as he sits down in the vacant chair opposite her.
"Sorry my office is such a mess," Dr. Lawrence says as she gathers up the papers in front of her and places them in a neat stack off to her left. She reaches down and grabs Jensen's file from within the small filing cabinet in her desk. "So," she says, shoulders rising and falling with the word. "Should we get started?"
Jensen remembers how when he was little, he used to be fearless. He had a superman cape that he wore to kindergarten almost every day, and he used to pretend he could deflect anything that came his way whenever he had it on, fabric flying up behind him as he ran around the playground. He remembers how the first time his dad put his hands on him, he was wearing that cape, and when he tried to hide his face behind it his dad just ripped it from around his neck, tearing it along the seams. To him it was nothing. To Jensen, it was his whole world. His mom bought him a new one a few days later, promising it was just like the last and apologizing like she was the one who had left the hand-shaped bruise on his cheek, but he never wore it. He was no superhero, just a kid whose dad didn't love him like the other kids’ dads did.
It’s a long hour spent in her office, glued to the oversized leather chair and wanting more than anything to rewind time and go back to when he still thought he was invincible, when nothing could touch him and the promises of the world seemed endless.
:::
Jensen bites at his nails as he sits on the back steps that lead from the Center to the backyard area. There's a small playground with a few swings, some monkey bars and a slide, and he watches Mackenzie run around with the other younger kids, the wind catching her hair and causing the her sweater to blow back behind her. One of the girls whispers something into her ear when they stop near the swings to catch their breath, and they share a glance before Mackenzie starts to laugh, head thrown back and eyes closed. It doesn't take long for the other girl to follow.
A heavy hand rests on his shoulder and he jumps, body tensing at the light touch.
"Oh, sorry," Chris says as he sits down next to him. "It's just me."
Jensen takes in a deep breath, releases it in a slow stream from his lips as his pounding heart begins to slow. He looks back out at the playground, sees Mackenzie playing hopscotch on the concrete. They sit there in silence for a long while, so long that Jensen almost forgets Chris is there until he reaches out and places his hands on top of Jensen's. "You're shaking," he says.
Jensen just bites at his lip, doesn't really have the energy to try and respond in a way that Chris will understand.
"Are you okay?"
Jensen drops his eyes from Chris' face, the uneasiness that had settled in his stomach during therapy growing ever more present. Chris reaches out and lifts his chin, and the sadness on Jensen's face must be obvious because he says, "No. No, you're not okay." The expression lined in Chris' forehead, in the tightness of his eyes and frown of his mouth, is one that Jensen hasn't seen before. He can see the sadness there, but it’s lined with something else he can't quite name.
"Let's fucking get out of here, man," Chris says suddenly, standing up and brushing off the back of his pants.
Jensen shakes his head this time, points out to the yard to where his sister is pushing another girl on the swings.
"Mackenzie will be fine. It's just for a few hours. I think we could both blow off some steam."
Mackenzie comes running over to him then, her friend following close at her heels. When she stops she's visibly out of breath, and she rests her hands on Jensen's knees. He places the middle fingers of each hand on his chest, flicking them upward slightly as he offers a small smile. What's up?
Her smile falters a bit, the laughter falling away from her face as she says, "You look sad."
Jensen shakes his head no, and tells her that he isn't sad, just tired. He reaches out and pinches her nose, causing her to scrunch up her face and a timid smile to return after he's dropped his hand. Go, Jensen signs. Play with your friend.
She hesitates a moment as her friend starts to tug her arm back towards the yard, and when Jensen nods slightly she waves goodbye and runs off, the wind catching her hair again.
"See," Chris says after he taps Jensen's shoulder to get his attention. "She's fine."
Jensen isn't sure what makes him go. The sun is starting to set, the darkness of the night fast approaching, but he finds himself standing anyway. Sometimes the need to forget runs so thick through his veins that it overpowers everything. It makes him wonder if he's always going to be on the run, hiding from the past and looking for something he's never going to be able to find.
:::
Chris leads Jensen to a residential neighborhood, where the cars are parked on the grass and people sit out on their porch long after the sun has gone down, talking and smoking and drinking beer from the small cooler at their feet. Jensen's not sure where they're headed, is about to ask when he feels a tug on his arm.
"It's this one," Chris says, turning left and walking up the sidewalk leading to the house. The dirty white paint of the doorframe is peeling, leaving the dark wood beneath exposed. Chris knocks, shoots a smirk in Jensen's direction just before the door opens, revealing an older man with graying stubble on his chin standing in the entryway.
"Hey, honey," the guy says, a slick look in his eyes, and Jensen watches him cup his hand on the back of Chris’ neck and pull him in roughly for a kiss. Chris pulls away as the man's hand drifts down to the waist of his pants, smooth fingers wrapping around his calloused hand.
"Not now, baby. You know what I need first."
The guy gives a small nod, looks over at Jensen as if he's just noticing him for the first time and he can see him ask, "You brought a friend?"
"Yeah," Chris responds. "This is Jensen, my friend from the Center I told you about."
Jensen can't help the shiver that runs through him as he feels the guy's eyes travel up and down his body. "Mmm… you sure know how to pick them."
"He's not here to fuck," Chris says forcefully, then smoothes his words over with another kiss and whispers something against his ear. "So are you going to let us in or what?"
The guy smiles, moves aside. "You know the way."
Jensen follows Chris through the house and down into a dimly lit basement. Chris grabs two bottles from the refrigerator in the corner, handing one to Jensen and keeping the other one for himself as they settle down on the old, beaten down couch set against the wall. The man, whose name Jensen never caught, is sitting in a recliner opposite them, an unsettling heat in his stare as he watches Chris light up a cigarette and place it between his lips. Jensen takes a drink from the cold beer in his hand, ignoring its bitter taste and the guilt that follows each swallow, ignoring the tickle at the back of his head that keeps telling him he shouldn't be doing this, that he shouldn't be here. He looks around the small room as Chris carries on a conversation, noting the way he looks down every so often with an expression on his face that told Jensen he knew just how fucked up this whole thing was.
"Here," Chris says after a while, handing his cigarette over to Jensen to finish as he reaches for a small bag of weed lying on the messy coffee table. It's covered in old, dirty magazines, empty cans and bottles, waste from the overflowing ashtray at the end covering the surface. Chris moves it all aside to clear a space as he carefully rolls a joint, thin fingers shaking ever so slightly as he finishes and brings his hand up to light the end.
"Come closer," Chris says under heavy-lidded eyes.
Jensen finishes off the cigarette, mashing the end into the ashtray and closing the small space between them on the couch. Chris places the joint to his mouth and inhales deeply, moving even closer to him so that their lips brush before he exhales the smoke into Jensen's mouth.
"Breathe," he whispers.
Jensen does, savoring the smoke, heart beat quickening as he waits for the faint trace of a high spread throughout his body. Chris leans in close again, exhaling the smoke into his mouth a second time and Jensen leans back against the cushions of the couch, closes his eyes.
When he opens them again, Chris is smiling lazily down at him. "Good?"
Jensen nods, closing his eyes again and losing himself in the feeling.
Chris shakes him awake later, hair ruffled and clothes disheveled, and as they leave Jensen sees the older man passed out on the couch upstairs, nothing covering him but a thin sheet. There are spoons, used needles discarded carelessly on the floor and Jensen hadn't realized he'd stopped walking until Chris is pulling him forward, eyes dark in the dim light.
"Don't ask," he says.
Jensen doesn't.
:::
"So I heard that kid Mike is throwing some party tonight," Chad is saying as he and Jared sit down at the lunch table. Sandy is already there, along with Tom and Danneel, and they're carrying on some conversation about the latest episode of Survivor.
"Did someone mention a party?" Tom says. "You know I'm down."
"Yeah," Chad continues. "Mike - you know that kid whose parents are like never in town - is throwing some rager. Free alcohol. Girls in bikinis. Drunk girls in bikinis..."
"Wow. That sounds like loads of fun," Sandy adds sarcastically.
Chad rolls his eyes. "That's why no one was talking to you. So anyway, Jared, you want to go?"
"Yeah, sure," Jared responds, dipping his fork into the spaghetti on his tray. "Whatever." He can feel Sandy's sharp stare in his direction.
"Jared, you've reeked of smoke and alcohol since -" She stops when Jared's eyes snap to her, mouth set in a thin line. She lets out a sigh. "Look, all I'm saying is maybe you should slow down a bit."
"No," he says simply, eyes dropping back down to his food. Suddenly he's not very hungry.
Chad smirks. "Give him a break, Sandy," he cuts in. "He's going through a rebel phase."
Sandy gives him her best go to hell look before turning back to Jared. "Are you okay?" she asks, voice dropping low so that only he can hear it.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm always okay."
:::
Jared has always been a clumsy person, but as he climbs the tree outside of his second story room window, all the alcohol he's had tonight doesn't allow him to find the little coordination he does have, and he slips to the ground with a thud.
Chad looks down at him, giggling hysterically like a twelve-year-old girl, and Jared just groans.
"Dude, shut up. You're going to wake up my parents."
Chad manages a soft apology in between giggles, and Jared pulls himself up from the ground to try again, waiting until the tree stops swaying before climbing back up. He's able to reach the top this time, but as he pulls himself over to the roof below his window a stray branch catches his shirt and rips a long tear in the thin material.
"Shit!" Chad is rolling on the ground now, and the moment Jared is able to open the latch and pull up his window he yells at him to fuck off.
"Dude, I think I have the munchies."
"Yeah. That's great. How about going home and raiding the refrigerator?" Chad had gotten wasted at the party and smoked whatever he could get his hands on before Jared had even had a chance to really get drunk, and because he's such an awesome friend he decided he'd take some responsibility and at least set him on the right way home.
Chad hops up at the suggestion. "Oh my God. Jared, you're a genius!"
"Yeah, I know. Try not to wake up the whole neighborhood on the way home."
Chad giggles again as he makes his way to the sidewalk. "I'll try," he calls over his shoulder. "But I make no promises."
Jared rolls his eyes and slides ungracefully into his room, landing awkwardly on the floor. His elbow connects with the corner of his dresser, sending a shooting pain up his arm.
"Ow. Fuck," he moans.
He hears footsteps coming down the hallway and scrambles to spray himself thickly with cologne before plopping down in the chair in front of his desk, an open textbook thankfully already resting on top of it. The knock on his door comes barely a few seconds later.
"Yeah?"
"It's me," his mom says as she opens the door. She's wearing her pajamas, a mix-match of old clothes and fuzzy slippers, and her hair is in a loose ponytail. She looks exhausted, like she'd been awakened in the middle of a good dream and hasn't been able to fall asleep again. "What are you doing up so late? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Jared leans back in his chair. "No," he says, glancing over at his alarm clock. It's almost four in the morning. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
"No," his mom says, and leans against the doorframe. "I went to get a glass of water and thought I heard someone giggling, so I wanted to make sure your sister wasn’t up to something. Then I saw your light still on and figured I'd come see what's up." She looks like she wants to say something else but can't seem to decide on how to word it, so she settles for, “Everything okay?”
Jared rubs his eyes. "I've got a big test Monday, figured I'd get most of my studying out of the way now."
"Oh yeah?" his mom asks, then adds, "I swear you kids have more work than I ever had when I was your age."
"Thanks, Mom. That's real comforting." Jared smiles a little.
"I'm just saying," she chuckles softly. "And don't you start making any jokes about my age."
"I wasn't going to," Jared replies, looking down at the undone homework in front of him. "I should probably get back to work. Still got a lot to do."
"All right." A pause, then, "Are sure you're okay? You don't seem like you've been sleeping a lot lately."
"Yeah I'm fine," Jared responds, stopping short of spinning off some deeper lie. He doesn't have the energy.
"If you're worried about Jensen -"
"No," Jared cuts in quickly. "I'm just - I've got a lot to do. I really should get back to work."
"Okay," she says, but the worry doesn't fade from her expression. "See you in a few hours, then."
She leaves as quietly as she'd entered, and Jared stares at the door a long time after she's left. It's been three weeks since Jensen left, three weeks since Mrs. Ackles knocked on their door in the middle of the night looking for him, three weeks that Jared has been left in the dark, wondering if Jensen is all right and missing him so much more than he ever thought he could.
He doesn't like to think about what that means.
Part o3