Supernatural RPS: Hearthstone, 5/5 | Jensen/Jared | R

[mollyamory]

:: Return to Part 4 :: Master post ::

Aldis and Tom get Jensen out to the tables, park him on a bench and let him sit there, trying to sort things out. In the cool, open air, his lungs open up again, and he breathes so deep it hurts, over and over.

Gen and Mike go in to see to Jared. They don't come out for a while.

"Where is everybody?"

Aldis looks at Tom, then at Jensen. "It's just us, man. Danny and her guy left a while ago. Misha gave them a lift. You didn't notice?"

"No."

"You said good night to them."

He nods. He's not surprised. A lot of the afternoon is a long, numb blur in his head. "I need to talk to Jared."

"Whoa, there." Tom puts a hand on his shoulder, and he's strong enough to keep Jensen right where he is. "Give it a minute."

Jensen nods again, and looks out toward the water. The last of the sun is gone, and the trees paint flat black shadows on the still surface. He just looks, lets the quiet sink in, and Aldis and Tom stay there watching with him, waiting him out. When he thinks he can handle himself a little better, he says, "Chris?"

They exchange another look. "Maybe give that more than a minute," Tom says.

"I lied to Jared, I let him think I was in an accident." He rubs at his eyes, and takes a long, unsteady breath. "I never told him about Aaron. Not a word."

"Jensen," Aldis says. He shakes his head, and it looks like there might be more, but it doesn't come. It doesn't need to; there's nothing his friends could say about it that he doesn't already know.

"I need to talk to Jared." He stands up; his head is pounding, adrenaline overload, and his legs almost go out from under him before he understands how wrecked he still is. It doesn't matter, he has to go now, and thankfully Tom and Aldis don't seem inclined to stop him this time.

Mike meets him at the front door. "He's in the living room. Gen's icing his wrist. It's not broken, at least we don't think so. He doesn't want to go to the ER."

Jensen nods. "Yeah. He wouldn't."

"Jensen, man. What the fuck were you thinking? This is some seriously deranged shit, even for you. That guy in there has no idea what just hit him. Or why, for that matter. What happened to your freakin' hiatus?"

"Chris said I should go all in."

Mike stares at him. "Well, it seems like you didn't."

"No," Jensen says, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. "Not really. Can I come in?"

Mike steps back from the door, and gives Jensen's shoulder a squeeze as he passes. In the living room, Genevieve is saying something quiet to Jared, holding a bag of frozen peas against his wrist.

When she sees Jensen, she stands up and comes to him, puts her arms around him and holds on tight. She whispers, "Ah, honey," and it's the worst thing ever, the way she looks at him when she pulls back, her huge brown eyes so sad. Because he has fucked it up with Jared, completely fucked it up, permanently fucked it up, and she knows it. They all know it.

"I'm sorry," Jensen says when she leaves them alone. He sits on the coffee table across from Jared, not entirely sure of his welcome, but he can't do this from across the room. Jared looks lost, quiet and shaken, and Jensen did that; he put that look on Jared's face. He's not even sure Jared understands what he's sorry for.

"They said to ask you," Jared says finally. "So I'm asking, Jen. Please tell me what's going on. Minus the bullshit this time, if you don't mind. I think I've earned it."

Jensen props his elbows on his knees and takes a deep breath. "A few years back," he says to Jared, finally. "There was this guy."

There are some things Jensen's never going to tell him. Some things he's never telling anybody, details nobody else ever needs to know. But he tells the rest, the bones of it, and Jared listens. He's still got blood on his mouth, and it sends a shiver down Jensen's spine, seeing even that small hurt.

"I keep thinking I should have noticed something off right at the start." Jensen bites his lip, looks at a space full of nothing on the wall behind Jared. "I don't know. He was a jerk, but kind of a garden-variety jerk, and by the time I figured that out, I was used to it. Chris never liked him, but Chris has never liked anybody I went out with, so I blew it off."

"There wasn't any accident," Jared says. He's got that same stunned look from before, from when Jensen blindsided him in the kitchen. With his good hand, he reaches out and clutches at Jensen's fingers, a desperate grip, like he's trying to save them both. "What really happened?"

"I won a boatload of money," he says. "And Aaron didn't like it. Not enough control over me after that, I guess. He always did like being the guy with the biggest bank account. He hated my friends, my classes, my job, my writing -- anything that I paid any kind of attention -- and when I struck it rich, he started to hate that, too. We stuck it out fighting for a couple of months, and then I gave up on it and moved out. He wanted some of his stuff back, so I showed up at his place a few days later with a few of his old t-shirts, some DVDs. He met me at the door with a crowbar."

"No... oh, God. Jensen. Are you--" Jared stops, shaking his head. Jensen gets it; he's the reigning king of vengeful time-travel fantasies, and looks like Jared is having one right now. "You were okay, though. You're okay." Jared takes a deep, shaky breath. "I mean, I can see you're okay, I just."

"I know, Jay." Jensen holds Jared's hand in both of his. "Believe me, I know."

It's hard to know what else to tell him, what else is important. It's all jumbled up in him: the sour smell of Aaron's clothes, his arms so slick with sweat Jensen couldn't get hold long enough to pry him loose; the vicious, hateful twist of Aaron's mouth when the crowbar slammed into Jensen's side, ripped into his back.

More things Jared doesn't need to hear.

"He left me there," Jensen says, when he thinks both of them are ready for it. "He probably thought he'd killed me. If Chris hadn't come looking for me, I would have bled out on the floor -- that scar on my back, you know?"

"Thank God for Chris, then," Jared says softly, and even with the bruise blossoming on his jaw, the fucked up wrist, blood trickling down from his mouth, it's clear he means it with all his heart.

"Aaron took off. There was enough physical evidence to arrest him and put him away for years, and I guess he knew that. He was gone for three months, and he could've been on the moon for all I knew, or he could have been right behind me. I had security -- Loretta sent them up, so we knew they were good. But Mike and Chris, Danny, Gen -- even Aldis and Steve -- they wouldn't let me go anywhere alone. They took shifts at the hospital until I got out, then Chris camped out in my parents' den with me until I was able to walk on my own."

"But they caught him? Tell me they fucking caught the bastard, Jensen."

Jensen nods. He stands up and walks away, just for a second of breathing room, a second to pull himself together. He watches his friends through the window, scattered around the closest picnic table in the light that spills out through the kitchen door. Without them he wouldn't be here, would have given up on himself a hundred different times. But Danny's right; at some point, he has to start living his own life.

He turns back to Jared, and for a second it's like having double vision, the version of Jared who showed up in his store like a ghost beside the one he's messed up with so badly. He should have kept his distance from that first day, he should have known he wasn't ready. But he wanted Jared -- still wants him, so fucking much.

He slides his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, and meets the question in Jared's eyes head-on. "They caught him," Jensen confirms. "They caught him, and they killed him."

Aaron never got to him, never even made it to the house. Jensen never even saw him. He came straight up the front walk with a gun, and by the time Jensen heard the guard's first shot, the whole thing was over.

When he's told Jared everything, he can't figure out what to do with his hands, can't decide where to rest his eyes. He never wanted to put any of this on Jared, never wanted any of it to touch him. But this feels better. Cleaner, even if Jared never looks at him the same way again.

"I know it's a lot to process," Jensen offers, when it doesn't look like Jared can find anything to say. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Back there in the kitchen," Jared says. He's holding onto his bad wrist with the good one; both hands are knotted into fists. "I scared you to death in there, coming up behind you like that. Jensen, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry if -- if anything else I've done has upset you, or made you think I could ever--"

"God, no," Jensen breathes. He goes to Jared, grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a shake. "Don't say that. Don't you ever even think that. It's not like that, it hasn't been like that."

"You didn't want to come here. Last night, and today... I made you come. I could tell you didn't want to, I just--"

"Please," Jensen says. "Please, just listen to me." He pulls Jared in, wraps his arms around him and holds on, breathes in the warm, comfortable smell of him. "I know you," he says into Jared's shirt, his hands fisted behind Jared's back. "I'm not afraid of you, I've never been afraid of you."

For a second, Jensen almost thinks he's getting it right. Jared's arms come up around him. But then Jared's good hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back; holding him at arm's length.

"But you didn't tell me," Jared says finally. It's like that part's just now hitting him. He looks at Jensen, his eyes wide and red, his face a pale wash of confusion. "You said you were in an accident. I asked you, and you said --" He shakes his head, like he thinks he can make it settle down into sense. "I don't understand."

"I couldn't tell you any of that, not at first. I didn't want you to think of me as -- as that person, the guy who got beat down by his crazy boyfriend and couldn't do a thing to stop it. It's just so stupid, and ugly, and -- I was just so tired of everybody looking at me like I'm gonna flip out any second, like I'm somebody they have to coddle and take care of. I couldn't have you looking at me like that, Jared, I just. I couldn't."

Jared nods. After a minute he says, "I guess that makes sense."

That should sound like a good thing, but Jensen knows Jared, and it doesn't. He tries to get closer, but Jared holds him off; and then he takes a step back.

"Jared." A cold wash of fear slides down Jensen's spine. "Jared, please."

"It's just. I wouldn't have." Jared shakes his head, biting his lip; there's a sheen of water standing in his eyes, ready to fall. "I wouldn't have thought of you that way. I would have been so, so proud of you, for surviving that, for somehow getting to be this -- this amazing person, after all of that, and I would have told you." He hitches in a breath. "I would have told you every day that you're the strongest, most badass guy I know, because you are, and anybody who can't see that after everything you've gotten through is a fucking idiot."

Jensen takes a step toward Jared; he can't help it, he just needs to touch him. But Jared won't let him, holds up his only working hand between them, and Jensen stops, trying to find a way to make it better. Make it right.

"I didn't know," he says finally. "I just thought -- I don't know what I thought. I just didn't know."

"You didn't give me a chance." Jared opens his mouth to say something else, but stops himself and turns away. "I'm such an idiot."

"Don't," Jensen says. "Come on, please. Don't."

"No. You know what?" Jared swings back, and there's a flat, dark wall of anger in his eyes. "I'm not wrong about you. You've been through some full-out horrible shit, and I'm sorry any of it happened to you, but you came out the other side. You're not broken, you're not fragile, and I'm not an asshole for being so pissed at you I can't even think straight. You've been hiding from me from day one -- about owning the bookstore, about where your money came from --"

"You said you wanted to guess--"

"You told me you were in a fucking car accident, just to shut me up. You let me make you come here, when you clearly weren't ready for it --"

"I'm sorry," Jensen interrupts. "Jared, I know, I know it was stupid. I should've trusted you, I should've--"

"Yeah," Jared says quietly. "Yeah, you should have." His shoulders rise and fall, and his voice is strained, but he doesn't reach out, doesn't give any indication that Jensen can, either. "I know you've been through a lot, I know today has been tough. I don't want to make things any worse for you. But I think... I think I need some time."

Jensen bites his lip and looks away. He gets it. He took a chance, a dumb, desperate chance, and he screwed up. He hurt Jared, he got Jared hurt. His heart feels like lead in his chest, and his eyes feel gritty and raw, but he gets it.

"I am sorry," he says quietly, and Jared gives a quick jerk of a nod. At the door, Jensen turns; the long, wide line of Jared's back is like a wall between them, unassailable. "For what it's worth, Jay. Whatever else I fucked up. I never felt safer with anybody in my life than I have with you."

Jared nods, but he doesn't turn around.

Jensen doesn't really expect him to.

He can hear his friends talking outside, but when he pushes the door open, everybody stops. It's like a scene from a TV show, everybody pausing for the big dramatic moment, watching him like he's about to keel over, or flip out, whatever. He says, "Think I'll skip the pie and head home," feeling like he's hit level two of a really unpleasant video game, the kind that triggers migraines and vertigo. He's cleared the awkward conversation with Jared and now he's got to run the gauntlet of his friends to get to his car.

"I am so sorry," Chris says. He's got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and he's not meeting Jensen's eye. "I'm a jackass. Steve tried to stop me from going in."

"I did." Steve's standing next to Chris, both of them looking nervous. Jensen's never seen Steve look nervous in his life, and he's known him since third grade. "Should've tried with rope. I'm sorry too, Jensen."

"I screwed things up righteously before Chris ever showed up," Jensen says. "All by myself, like a grown-up."

"I'll get Aldis home," Tom says, and Aldis tosses him a nod of thanks. Tom's eyes are steady on Jensen, and it makes Jensen feel a little steadier himself, like sympathetic magic. "You need somebody to drive you?"

"Nah," Jensen says. "I know the way."

He suffers another pat from Aldis, another squirrely, apologetic look from Chris, and a kiss on the cheek from Gen. "You guys tell him whatever you want to, okay? He's earned it."

Jensen holes up in his house, spends a couple of weeks watching Top Chef reruns off a season pass Jared set up for him. He eats crap out of his pantry Jared would cringe at, and reads foodie blogs on the internet. He misses Jared, and he misses the dogs, and he misses waking up not knowing how his day will turn out.

At first, he tells himself he's not going to push. He's going to give Jared time to cool off. He skips going in to the bookstore, lets Gen do whatever she wants with it. Doesn't show his face at Kane's. Jared's stuff is still scattered all over his kitchen, his bedroom, his life, and he doesn't ask for any of it back, or offer to give back anything of Jensen's, either. Jensen hopes Jared's trying to be sensitive, avoid any reminders of previous nasty scenes, but he's trying to be honest with himself these days. It's possible Jared just doesn't care.

In September, he makes himself start going to the library on Wednesdays again. Chad's the one who brings the food now, and Jensen always manages to show up after he's gone, even if he has to wait for a few minutes around the corner. He picks up where Gen leaves off, in the middle of The Hobbit, and it's not as bad as he thought, being out around people again. He brings his guitar every week, picking out the chords of the songs from memory; he may have seen the animated movie, once or twice. The kids love it, and making people happy turns out to be something he didn't know he missed. It feels good.

By Halloween, he's going back to the bookstore again. The bell rings a lot these days, but he never looks up for it; he just keeps writing. It's not as much fun as it used to be, when he could think about showing it off to Jared when he was done, when he had somebody to be proud of him for it at the end of every day. But the what-ifs are still there, sometimes more of them than ever, and getting them down on the page helps fill up his time.

He goes back to his therapist, which he hates so much he figures he probably still needs it. He takes up running, and hates that, too. One gives him time to talk, and one gives him time to think, and he's never been a big fan of either of those things. But he's starting to see the start of a way back to himself, even if he can't find a way back to Jared. Somehow he's going to have to let that be enough.

It would be easier, way easier, to just let it go. Let Jared wander off into his own life and just be this guy Jensen knew for a while. There's already too much space between them, a gap that's getting wider every day; Jensen can see a time when they won't be able to cross it. His gut clenches whenever he thinks about it, a cold, sick ache in the pit of his stomach, and he has to knot his hands into fists to keep them steady. It feels like an honest to God physical event, and he doesn't want it, doesn't want any of the things that would lead up to that point or come after. He wonders how much time, exactly, Jared thinks he'll need.

It seems like he might need all of it.

Jensen's thinking about that while he's tuning up for the kids on a Wednesday in November. There's a light dust of snow on the ground, nothing that will stick, but it's cold enough to turn his breath white, and he hasn't talked to Jared since late summer. He edges out of the warm up into a song about a dragon and its girlfriend, to take his mind off of things, and behind him, somebody clears his throat.

Jared's got a pink box clutched in both hands. He's dressed for the weather, a black hat pushed down over his hair and a black scarf wound around his throat. His eyes are wide and his mouth open, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares at Jensen like a deer in headlights, and for a long moment, neither of them move.

Jensen recovers first, remembers where he is. He sets the guitar behind his chair, slides his pick into his back pocket, and stands up to do this thing like an adult. "Sugar rush for the kids?" he says, nodding at the box, and after a beat, Jared nods back.

"Sorry these are late," he says, handing over the cookies. "Chad's got a cold."

"So does Gen. When she called me this morning, she sounded like a water buffalo."

Jared's mouth quirks up at one corner. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. Kind of moany, with a lot of sniffling?"

"Okay," Jared says. "That sounds pretty bad." His smile gets wider, a little more real, and Jensen can't take his eyes off it, can't help but match it. He can't believe Jared is standing right there in front of him, that they're having an honest to God conversation. He feels like somebody just turned the sun back on, and pointed it right at him.

It doesn't really click that he's just staring until Jared looks away. "I should go," he says, "it's just me behind the counter, and you know how that usually goes."

Jensen nods quickly. "Right. Yeah, the kids will start showing up soon. I should get everything set up."

"Tell Gen I said hi, okay?"

"She'll be back at the store tomorrow, I think. If you wanted to come by, you could tell her yourself."

It's a leap, and Jensen can feel himself falling even as he says it. Jared's shaking his head before the last words are out, taking a step back and fidgeting with the end of his scarf. "I don't know if Chad will be back. I'll just see her around, I guess."

"I'll tell her."

Jared nods. And then he just stands there, halfway between Jensen and the door. Two high spots of pink color his cheeks and when he looks at Jensen again, finally, his eyes are warmer than Jensen expected.

"Are you okay?" Jared says it all in a rush, like maybe it doesn't count if he breaks the sound barrier with it. "You look good."

What Jensen means to say, once he's processed the question, is that he's fine, he's working through some things, but he's getting a little better every day. What he actually says is, "I'm building a fence."

Jared raises his eyebrows. "You're what?"

"For the dogs. I mean -- not your dogs, not unless -- I was just thinking lately, the house is really quiet. I'm thinking of getting some dogs."

"That's great." The smile Jared comes up with is a very close cousin to plastic; it doesn't come anywhere near his eyes. "I hope that works out."

"I'm not building it like, with my own hands. I haven't got the faintest idea how to build a fence. I've got some guys coming out."

"What kind of fence?"

Jensen shakes his head. He doesn't have a clue. "I guess that's something I should ask them."

"I should go," Jared says again. "It was good to see you."

"Yeah."

"Have a good day."

"Yeah," Jensen says, "You, too," and then Jared's gone.

A week later, the bell over the door rings and Jensen doesn't think anything of it. But there's a shadow looming over him, tall and spindly, and when Jensen looks up he sees Chad, all spike-haired and solemn-faced. A paper bag that doesn't smell like anything thunks down on the table next to Jensen's computer, and then next to it, a cold can of coke. Chad sits down across from him and doesn't say a word.

Jensen stares at him. Chad just stares back. It's like looking into the eyes of a cat -- or maybe a shark. Nothing but a very deep calm, supported by a very deep malevolence. There's no way Jensen's winning this, so he gives in to curiosity and pulls the bag closer, looks inside.

There's a pack of Juicy Fruit chewing gum, a little box of Tic-Tacs, and a Snickers bar. Plus a receipt.

"I'm told this is how it works," Chad says finally. "I show up with food and beverages, and you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you."

Jensen nods slowly. That's not actually how it works, but he's willing to go with it; sitting across from Chad is as close as he's been to Jared in days. "First, and for the record," he says, holding up the pack of gum, "this isn't food." He pulls the coke closer and pops open the tab. "For the rest...do you have that kind of time?"

"You're screwing with Jared's head. It's not attached all that well to start with, so I need you to stop it. I know he told you about his family."

"Yeah."

"So you know, then."

Jensen tilts his head. "Know what?"

"God, you really are as stupid as you look, aren't you."

"I know coming out was rough. I know he's not on the best of terms with his mom and his brother. I don't know what that has to do with--"

"You don't know." Chad shakes his head. "His family thinks he's such an asshole he'd fucking marry me without ever coming out to them. You think he's such an asshole he'd treat you like an infant just because you got knocked around by some douchebag once. And you don't know how that could possibly start to give a guy a complex?"

It's like an electric shock. His skin goes ice cold, then way too hot, and his hands clench around his soda can. A bitter taste of adrenaline floods the back of his mouth and he can't think of anything to say. Those two stories don't belong together. Jared can't possibly think they're the same, can he? Jensen blinks, frowns, and lays his hands flat against the counter.

"That's not," he says, and then can't make it any further. Because it is, it clearly and obviously is exactly that. "Ah, hell. Seriously?"

"You're starting to see the parallels. Awesome."

"That's not what happened," Jensen says. "I mean -- okay, that's what happened, but it's not like that. I'm the one who screwed up, he's just the one who got caught in it. There's nothing for him to have a complex about." He tries to remember Jared's face the day of the picnic, the things he said, but it's all running together. The idea that Jared could somehow feel responsible for Jensen's screw-ups, that he's felt like that all this time -- it's enough to turn Jensen's stomach. "Jesus," he says, staring across the table at Chad. "Really?"

"Hell, yes," Chad says. "You think you own the patent on stupid?"

"Chris is right." Jensen closes his eyes. "Christ, I'm such an asshole."

"Yeah, you are. And you need to fix it." Chad retrieves the bag, pulls out the receipt, and slaps it on the counter between them. "Also, you owe me three dollars and twenty-two cents."

"Okay," Jensen says. He braces himself against the table and looks Chad in the eye. "You know him better than anybody. Tell me what to do."

When Chad leaves, there's a tentative plan in place. There are two places Jared can be counted on to be every day - work, and home. Home won't cut it, because Jared could always just order Jensen out, and if Jensen refused to go, Jared could call the cops. Granted, Jensen knows most of the cops, and they probably wouldn't actually arrest him. But they wouldn't let him stay, either.

Work is a far better ambush site. Jared can't really throw Jensen out of the bakery if he's not causing any trouble. Especially not if his co-owner backs Jensen up. And Jensen's not planning to cause any trouble; he just wants to talk to Jared. Straighten him out a little. He's not expecting Jared to cave and suddenly want to go pick out promise rings or anything, he knows he's got serious repair work to do. But Jensen's not like Jared's family; he's worlds smarter than that. He's not going to let Jared keep beating himself up, and he's not going to let Jared just vanish from his life.

So that's the plan: ambush, immobilize, explain. He's got a check ready to cover their usual take for the day, so Jared won't be able to say Jensen's costing him money. He's got Chad's solemn promise to let him into the back and not let Jared out until they've come to some kind of an understanding. He doesn't actually know what he's going to say, not yet, but if he's got the time, he's sure he'll come up with something.

He drives to Hearthstone early the next morning, mentally poking at the plan so he can shore up any weak points ahead of time. He's got a lurking suspicion that the entire plan is a weak point, that Chad's unexpected brilliance at getting to the heart of the problem far exceeds his plotting skills. But he doesn't know what else to try, and if it all goes to hell, he figures he can always say it's all Chad's fault.

He pulls up in the parking lot, and Jared's car is there just like it's supposed to be, but Jared's leaning up against it, feet crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest. Waiting.

Gravel crunching under his tires, Jensen brings his truck to a stop a few feet away. He shuts the engine off and pulls the keys out of the ignition and sits there for a second, not looking at Jared, just breathing. Gathering his wits, such as they are.

Then he gets out, and goes around to lean against his passenger door, just across from Jared. He tries to look relaxed, just as calm as Jared seems to be, but he's got about a million words circling in his head, trying to get out. It's all he can do not to vibrate visibly.

"I figured I'd wait for you out here," Jared says eventually, "because Chad says you've got some idiotic plan to buy out the store for the day and ambush me in my own kitchen."

Jensen clenches his teeth around the many, many things he wants to say to and about Chad and tries to breathe deep through his nose. It's supposed to be relaxing. It really, really isn't.

"I'd rather you didn't do that," Jared says. "That's all I came to say."

"You should come back home," Jensen says.

Jared's eyebrows go up. "Excuse me?"

It's not the eloquent speech Jensen had been hoping would trip off his tongue at the last minute, without his conscious participation. But it's the thing Jensen wants most in the world, so he says it again: "Come home with me." And because he wasn't raised completely wrong, he adds, "Please."

"Why?" Jared's eyes aren't giving anything away.

"Because I miss you," Jensen says. "Mostly just that. But I want to try to explain things, too."

Jared looks away. "I don't get to tell you how to run your life, Jensen. Who you trust and who you don't, that's your choice."

"Come again?"

"You've got a lot more experience being you than anybody else. I figure, you know what's right for you by now." Jared shrugs, and pushes a hand through his hair. "I'm not -- I'm trying not to be the kind of guy who keeps banging his head against a locked door."

Jensen's not really good with people. He never has been. He's not particularly insightful, though he can sometimes fake it if he has enough time to think about things beforehand. But there's something off here, something really weird about the way Jared's holding himself, and Jensen doesn't trust it. He doesn't get the sense that Jared's not sincere; it's just that the sincerity feels fragile.

Tilting his head, Jensen takes a step closer to Jared and searches his face, trying to get Jared to look at him, too -- really, actually look at him. "You really do think I'm as stupid as your family is, don't you."

Jared's eyes come up, startled, and for a second Jensen can see right through him. It's a direct hit, and it takes Jared a second to cover.

"This doesn't have anything to do with them," Jared says, "and no," and he's such a rotten liar, Jensen wants to pat him on the head, give him a hug or something. He can't even look Jensen in the eye when he says it. "I've just been making all your problems about me, and that's not right. We were friends before anything else, and I've been a shitty friend. I'd like to do better. I would've said it sooner, if I'd known you were planning an assault on my place of business."

"I wasn't. Chad was."

"Chad doesn't have to plan an assault on the bakery," Jared says, frowning. "He's got a key."

"Listen." Jensen moves closer, right into Jared's space; it forces Jared to look at him, and when he does, Jensen puts his hands on Jared's shoulders. "I'm not good at saying the right thing. I'm actually really good at saying the exact wrong thing. Lately though, the main problem is I haven't been saying anything at all."

"I..." Jared tilts his head. "What?"

Jensen gives his shoulders a shake. "There are about a million reasons for you to keep your distance from me. I've spent most of the past couple of months making a running list of good reasons for you to move on. But before you go, I need you to hear me on something, okay?"

Jensen takes a deep breath; he lets his hands fall from Jared's shoulders, but doesn't move away; he doesn't want to, and he doesn't want Jared to get the wrong idea. "I lied to you about Aaron because when I was with you, I felt like a guy that never happened to. You made me feel like I had my life back, and I missed it, man. I missed just being some normal random guy so much. I should have known I couldn't lie my way into it, but honest to God, I was so fucked up, I thought it was almost like therapy. Like I could fake it till I made it, you know?"

"Jesus, listen to you." Jared pushes a hand through his hair and stares down at the gravel underfoot. "It's like you think I've got a sanity scale in my head and you can change my mind by getting back in the black again."

"I know you don't think of it that way. You getting pissed at me like that, when I had fucked up so bad?" Jensen laughs, shaking his head. "Jared, that's more respect than I've had from Chris in years. More than I've given myself. I hate this whole thing -- I hate going to bed by myself every night, I hate how much I miss your fucking dogs, I hate waking up every morning knowing I can't look at your stupid face whenever I feel like it. But I love that you believed in me enough to call me on my bullshit, I'm not gonna lie." He looks at Jared, just looks at him, because he may not get another chance for a while and he needs this like he needs food and air and water. "I just hope... I really hope at some point you'll get around to forgiving me for it. Because I'm still sorry as hell for all of it, and this really sucks."

For a long, long minute, Jared doesn't say anything at all. The air around them gets colder while Jensen waits for something, anything, that might look like a chink in Jared's armor. When it doesn't come, he presses his lips together and nods.

"Well, okay then," he says. "I'm blocking people in. I'll get out of the way."

"Jensen... Hey, hold up." Jared reaches for his arm, stops him mid-turn. "I'm not saying no. I just can't shift gears this fast. I thought -- I'd written this off. I've spent the last few months trying to get myself past it so I could maybe show my face at Kane's again someday and not look like I got my heart stomped on."

"That's pretty fast work," Jensen says numbly. "It's going to take me a little longer."

Even as he says it, he knows it's not fair; he's not surprised when Jared pulls back. "Okay," Jared says, his voice steady and even. "We're going to file that under you being really good at saying the wrong thing. And I'm going to go back to work." He shakes his head, an odd look on his face. "You can come by later, if you want."

"I'm sorry." Jensen sighs. "I'm a jerk. I think I mentioned that once or twice."

"It's okay." Jared bites his lip, then reaches out and pulls Jensen in closer, wraps his arms around Jensen's shoulders in a loose, careful hug. "We're good," he says into Jensen's hair. And then he lets go.

It takes Jensen a minute to process it: Jared turning his back, walking away. Jensen climbs back into his truck and waits, thinking Jared might change his mind; might come back; might feel wrong just leaving Jensen there without him.

The temptation to give Aldis a call is really strong. Aldis is on his side. Danny too, but Danny's got a blunt way of saying things that Jensen doesn't think he can take right now. Anything else, he'd call Chris, but Chris isn't going to work for Jared-related advice right now; for this, Chris is the last person he needs.

Jensen straightens up, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. He's not calling anybody, not this time. They're all the last person he needs. They didn't screw things up with Jared; he did. He's the only one who can put things right. He needs himself, and what he knows about Jared because Jared let him in. What he loves about Jared, because Jared let him in.

He's the world's foremost expert on how to fix this. After all, he's the one who broke it.

Jensen follows Jared into the bakery. When he opens the door, Chad's there, glaring hard enough to peel back skin. The customer Chad's helping looks terrified, and Jensen can't blame him. There are only two others in line, and they're more than happy to take off like rockets when Chad leads them to the door. He flips the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' and turns back to Jensen with his hands on his hips.

"What did you do?" he whispers, loud enough to be heard from space. "He came in here like a zombie and went straight for the muffin tins. We don't need muffins, man, we are totally full up on muffins. These muffins are clearly therapeutic."

"I ran into a little problem outside, thanks to you," Jensen hisses back, and Chad's eyes go wide. He takes a step back.

"Yeah," he says. "About that."

"Go home." Jensen lightens up on the death glare a little, because fucked up as his tactics may be, Chad's heart is in the right place. "He'll be fine."

"He was supposed to be fine already."

"I know." Jensen slaps Chad on the back, and pushes him toward the door. "Go home. It's okay." He smiles a reassurance he only halfway believes. "I've got this."

When Chad's gone and the door is locked, Jensen moves behind the counter and stops at the door to the kitchen. Not because he doesn't know what happens next -- finally, he does. But Jared's standing in front of a countertop filled with muffin tins and stirring something in a stainless steel bowl with a lot more force than it probably requires. He's concentrating so hard he doesn't see Jensen at first. His hair is in his eyes, and he's biting at the inside of his lip, and there's a streak of flour that crosses down from his neck and onto the black T-shirt he's wearing so incredibly well. His arms bunch and relax as he moves, and Jensen's never thought of stirring a muffin mix as a particularly athletic activity but at the moment, Jared could take an Olympic gold medal in it.

For a second, Jensen's ready to ditch the plan. It's a stupid plan that calls for talking instead of touching, and touching is so clearly what's called for in this situation. Jared's fewer than ten steps away and crossing those steps, putting his hands on Jared's arms, turning him around, it all seems like a really good idea. His face heats up at the thought of being that close, touching Jared again like he's been missing for so, so long. At the thought of Jared letting him.

But that's key. And not at all likely, not unless Jensen gets everything else right first.

He takes a deep breath, takes a step forward, and clears his throat.

Jared turns, eyes going wide. He stops stirring in favor of frowning. "Jensen?"

"Yeah. Hi."

Jared's face undergoes a transformative series of expressions -- surprise, confusion, what Jensen sincerely hopes is welcome -- before he settles on resignation and sticks with it. He groans, and drops the bowl with the spoon still in it onto the counter, where it rocks back and forth precariously before it settles. "I thought we talked about this!"

"Hey, I didn't clear the place out, that was Chad," Jensen says quickly. "I didn't even ask him to. And there were only two customers anyway." Well, possibly three; Jensen wasn't sure if that first guy had paid before Chad gave him the bum's rush out.

"But I told you we were good."

"I know." He ducks his head a little, hunches his shoulders. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just--" Jensen shakes his head. "No, I'm actually not sorry. I've cracked your code. I know 'we're good' is your super-polite way of saying 'excuse me while I go somewhere and wig out in private.'"

"It is not!"

Jensen raises his eyebrows. "So these are perfectly rational, necessary muffins you're making," he says. "Not the muffins of despair?"

Jared shoves his hair out of his face and looks away. "I don't need my muffins psychoanalyzed," he says. "But thanks."

"Look." Jensen takes a step closer -- slow, like Jared's a six-foot-plus kitten he's afraid of scaring off. "This isn't really my genre. But the forty million Sandra Bullock movies Gen and Danny have made me watch over the years tell me this is the part where I make a grand gesture."

"Jen--"

"Keys." Jensen holds up his key chain. He counts them off, one by one. "House. Store. Truck. Kane's. I think this one is for a filing cabinet? I don't know." He puts them into Jared's hand and folds his fingers closed over them. His eyes never leave Jared's face, so he gets to see it all: the first slow blink, the frown, the sudden wide-eyed comprehension. "I don't need to know when you come or go," Jensen tells him. "I trust you behind every closed door I have, Jared."

Jared just stares at him, gears turning so fast his head should be smoking. "This is -- this is a lot," he says. "You don't have to--"

"I see my therapist twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven p.m. in Malden. You can come with me. I mean, if you want. You don't have to." Jensen ducks his head and scratches at the back of his neck. "I, uh. I know that's weird. But I mean it. Whatever you need me to do, so you can believe me, I'll do it."

Jared leans back against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankle, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. It's perfectly relaxed, except for how he's as tense and still as a statue of himself. "You know what's weird?" He laughs, low and rough. "I don't need you to do a damn thing, Jensen. I've missed you every single day, and I have hit the very end of my pride. Whatever you want to give me, I'll take it. Just -- don't get any new dogs, okay? You have dogs. And they need a good fence."

"I won't," Jensen promises. "I swear, no new dogs for me. No lying, no new dogs, no--"

"Okay, shut up now." Jared levers himself up onto the counter, knees spread invitingly wide, hands braced on either side of them. He looks sinfully touchable, and Jensen's heart kicks into a higher gear. Jared watches him, and his smile's still a bit brittle around the edges, but there's a warmth in his eyes Jensen knows, that catches hard at his heart. "Come here."

"Oh, God." Jensen crosses the distance between them at a physics-defying speed, and stops just short of close enough to touch. He stares, because it's okay now, he can do this; he gets to do this.

"Problem?" Jared asks; he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Seems like you've got that look again."

Jared nods, his eyes never leaving Jensen's. "Yeah, I imagine I do."

"I don't know where to start."

"We have done this before, remember?"

Looking up into Jared's face, that smile, those crazy gorgeous eyes all squinted up to make fun of him, Jensen laughs and says, "Not really. Not like this."

The smile drops off Jared's face instantly, replaced by a look that's both hot and hungry. "Please," he says, and it's a tone Jensen has no hope of ignoring, and no desire to anyway.

He steps in, slides his hands onto Jared's thighs. The denim is soft and worn under his palms. Jared's eyes close, and he swallows, throat working soundlessly. Jensen shifts in closer, till his hands curve around Jared's hips, and Jared lets out a long, shaky breath.

"I missed this." Jensen can't take his eyes off Jared's face, the sweep of his lashes against his cheek, the curve of his mouth. He's leaning in, up, and he moves one hand to the back of Jared's neck to anchor himself. Jared's tall, and the counter doesn't help, but it's gonna be worth the climb. "Missed it every day."

"Then get on with it," Jared advises, leaning down to get closer.

"You've been a pushy son of a bitch since the day I met you." Jensen reaches up, brushes his thumb slow and easy over Jared's lower lip, because it's there and he can reach it and he wants it; and when Jared starts to tremble under his hands, he does it again because Jared wants it, too.

"Jensen." Jared draws out the word, a low, rough whisper. "Come on..."

"Yeah," Jensen says. "Yeah, Jay. Okay."

He eases all the way in, Jared's thighs hard and tight around his hips, Jared's chest a broad, warm wall to brace himself against as he pushes a hand into Jared's hair. He pulls Jared in, slow, and one second Jared's breath is hot against Jensen's mouth, and the next Jensen's mouth is against Jared's, finally. Jared's lips are soft, slack, warm, and then Jared makes a sound deep in his chest and his hands come up to Jensen's shoulders, his fingers tight enough to leave bruises, and he just opens up, like he always has, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Jensen says, "Jared," against his mouth, and bites at Jared's lower lip, shaking with want and gratitude and joy just to be here, to have this. He licks inside, where Jared's wet and hot. It burns through him, and he was already hard but he could cut glass now, aching to be touched, to feel Jared against him. He breaks the kiss for a breath and Jared follows after him, hands coming up to his face to hold him steady and still, and it starts over again, sweet and shattering and right like nothing Jensen's ever done before.

When they pull back again, Jensen doesn't let Jared go far. He's got his fingers laced together behind Jared's neck and his forehead against Jared's, sharing air with him in the inch or two that separates them. Jensen's breath stutters, ragged and rushed. "Jesus, Jared," he says, his voice shaky.

Jared pulls Jensen closer, closes that space, takes Jensen's mouth like they haven't even started yet, like Jensen's been making him wait. It's crazy-good, desperation and need making it fast, hard, wet; Jared's hands ease down Jensen's back, and he comes down off the counter, his body shifting against Jensen's in a dizzy, sinful slide.

It's more than Jensen can take. He pulls back to catch his breath again, to open his eyes and look at Jared, just look. Jared's eyes are slitted and dazed, his mouth wet. The streak of flour Jensen noticed when he came in is damp and smeared over Jared's skin. Jensen reaches up to trace his fingers over it, heart thudding way too fast, loud as a drum in his head.

Jared's mouth curves, distracting Jensen for a second. "Hey," he murmurs. "You've totally got some kinda 'hot baker' thing going on here, don't you."

Jensen nods absently. He shifts forward, forcing Jared back a step, trapping him against the counter. "Uh-huh," he says, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of Jared's jeans. He tilts his head up, reaching, and Jared's an amazing person, a wonderful perfect person, because he shifts closer and lets Jensen at his throat. He presses his tongue against Jared's skin, grit and sweat and heat, and Jared groans and tugs at Jensen's hips, hard and ready and hot just where Jensen needs it most. Jensen hisses, and opens his mouth, bites at the curve of Jared's jaw, the soft skin underneath; it makes Jared shudder against him and say his name, rough and unsteady, the best sound Jensen's heard in months.

"Christ," Jared says, and his head goes back, his mouth wide; Jensen's got a hand between them, and he cups the heavy, hot length of Jared's dick through his jeans, squeezes just to watch Jared melt against him and when he does, so sweet and so completely lost to it, Jensen does it again, and again, and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life, and he still has all his clothes on.

"So good," Jensen says; Jared feels so good under Jensen's hand. "Look at you."

Jared shudders, and opens his eyes; he looks at Jensen like nobody has ever looked at him, like Jensen's the most amazing thing he's ever seen, like Jensen belongs to him. And he does, Jensen realizes; he does belong to Jared, and has for a while, and he honest to God loves it.

"We can't," Jared says, and then trails off when Jensen squeezes him again.

"Hmm?"

"We...oh, God, hang on a minute, we--"

Jensen grins; it's hilarious and hot, watching Jared try to make sense with Jensen's hand on him like this. "I'm sorry?"

"We -- okay, stop." Jared laughs, and grabs Jensen's hand, stills it against him. "Fuck. Okay." Taking a deep breath, Jared moves his hands to Jensen's shoulders and pushes him back a step. "We can't actually have sex here," he says, and drops his head down onto Jensen's shoulder.

It's an angle that has to be really uncomfortable given Jared's height. It puts his neck inches from Jensen's mouth; Jared hasn't really thought this move through. Jensen licks gently, once, then closes his mouth over the long curve of muscle that stretches down to Jared's shoulder; he uses his teeth, just a little, and sucks heat to the surface, and licks again. Jared's hands close convulsively around Jensen's shoulders; then he groans, and pushes Jensen back again.

"We can't," Jared insists, a hint of a whine in his voice.

From where Jensen's standing he can see three or four flat surfaces that would work just fine, and that's not even counting the tables in the store room. "Why the hell not?"

"For one thing," Jared says, "it would be really unsanitary."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "We'll clean up, after."

"And it's against the health code."

Jensen's not convinced the health code says anything at all about sex in a bakery. "We'll be very, very careful."

Jared laughs; it comes out soft and sharp. He raises his hand to Jensen's face, cups his jaw, and just looks at him, warm and intent. "Careful," he says, finally, "isn't really what I want from you right now."

Jensen closes his eyes, because he can't look at Jared looking like that without violating the health code all to hell and back. "Okay," he says, keeping his voice as even as he can. "In that case, we're leaving."

"We're not having sex in your kitchen, either."

Jensen just tugs Jared a little faster down the hall. "No offense, man, but your work ethic? Kind of a buzzkill."

"People eat in here," Jared says, but he lets Jensen pull him through the door. He doesn't make a fuss when Jensen waves him toward the table; just drops into a chair and watches Jensen poke around inside his fridge. "Seriously. If you come out of there with whipped cream or chocolate sauce, we're going to have to have a long talk about the realities of my job."

Jensen comes out with couple of bottles of water, hands one off to Jared and leans back against the counter. "We'll need these," he promises, and Jared's grin flashes out bright and hot.

"I feel fully provisioned," Jared says. "Can we go upstairs now?"

"Can we have sex in my kitchen?"

"No."

"Then, yeah," Jensen says, "I think we better go upstairs."

For once, Jensen wishes he'd bought a smaller house. It's a long way to the stairs, a long way down the hall. By the time they reach his bedroom, Jared's had his hands on almost every part of Jensen's body and Jensen's entirely lost his ability to navigate. Jared stops them in the hallway by the door, backs Jensen against the wall and bites gently at the curve of his throat. It wrecks Jensen in the best of all possible ways.

"You said I should come home." Jared runs his hand up Jensen's side, back down across his chest. He stops just shy of Jensen's waistband, rubbing in tight circles with his knuckles. "Is that where I am?"

Jensen draws in a shaky breath. "I hope so."

"I think it is," Jared whispers, and thumbs open the button of Jensen's jeans.

"If you want, I'll move into your house instead."

Jared's eyes gleam, and his hand doesn't move. Jensen groans, jerks his hips forward, and Jared laughs, shaking his head. "Don't be stupid," he says. "Here is good."

Jensen agrees, but he's a little too occupied with Jared's hand to worry about it, because Jared sucks at teasing. He slides his hand into Jensen's boxers and wraps it around his dick, squeezes and pulls and murmurs crazy good things in Jensen's ear, things Jared wants and things Jensen can have. His fingers are warm and tight, eager to please, and the crackle of heat under Jensen's skin starts to burn.

"Can't believe how much I missed you." Jared's hand stills; his breath is hot and humid against Jensen's throat; his voice is an uneven whisper. "I thought we were done, and I--"

Reaching up, Jensen frames Jared's face with his hands, makes Jared look at him. "No such thing as done for us." He closes his eyes; Jared's hand has gone slack around him but Jensen pushes himself forward, into the loose circle of Jared's fingers. His breath hisses through his teeth and he forces his eyes open again, lifts his chin and pulls Jared's head down to get to his mouth. "I was gone the day I met you," he says between kisses, "I had no chance, Jay, no chance at all."

It's all Jared needs; he opens up, lets Jensen's tongue slide against his, slick and hot before he pulls back. He fists Jensen's dick, not as easy now, not as gentle; his eyes on Jensen's are intent and focused. Jensen lets go, thrusts into Jared's hand, cheeks burning under Jared's steady gaze. His breath stutters, catches in his throat, too close too fast, but it's too good for Jensen to care. Jared throws off heat like a furnace and a bead of sweat slides down the side of his face until Jensen pushes up and licks it away, finishes it with a soft bite at the curve of Jared's cheekbone.

"Jesus." Jared pushes back, pushes Jensen back against the wall and breathes deep and fast, chest rising and falling with each gasp. "You just...just stay there a minute."

"You come here," Jensen says instead, and pulls at Jared's wrist, tugging him into the bedroom. Jared follows, not quite steady on his feet.

They don't have to go far, and Jensen doesn't waste any time. Standing by the bed, he pulls his T-shirt off, drops it, kicks off his shoes and toes out of his socks. Jared stops him before he can shuck out of his jeans and just looks at him, like he's committing Jensen to memory.

"I think I've got a thing about your feet," he says finally, with an air of grave confession.

Jensen grins. "My feet, huh?"

"Not that the rest of you is hard on the eyes."

"Gee, Jared. I'm all overcome with your sexy talk."

"I get that a lot." Jared bites his lip, eyes gleaming with amused affection. "Now, get naked and get on the bed. I have needs."

Jensen laughs, and he moves to strip off his jeans, but Jared is suddenly standing very, very close and his hands are already there. He slides his hands over the rise of Jensen's ass, pushing boxers and jeans down as he goes. He bends down to finish the job, stroking the backs of Jensen's thighs. Jensen steps out of the last of his clothes and pulls Jared back up, gathering the hem of Jared's T-shirt into his hands. Jared raises his arms and Jensen rolls the soft cotton up his body, revealing smooth, hard skin already gleaming with sweat.

"Now I'm developing a thing," Jensen says, smiling up at Jared with pathological appreciation.

"The bed, Jensen."

That's an order Jensen can get behind. He goes, and seconds later a ridiculous amount of Jared is braced above him and coming down slow all along the length of Jensen's body.

Jared's skin feels good sliding sweet and slow against Jensen's. He can't imagine ever risking this again, and he tries to tell Jared that with his hands, urging Jared against him. He tries to tell him with his mouth at Jared's throat, sucking heat and color to the surface.

"That's gonna leave a mark," Jared says, "keep doing it," and Jensen does, licks and bites at Jared's skin until it's slick and red, until Jared's hips are rolling against him in a stuttered, distracted rhythm. It feels new: Jared reckless and beautiful above him, mouth open and head thrown back with pleasure; Jared's hands on him, winding him up until he can't think and doesn't really want to.

"Move," Jensen says, and proves he means it with a push against Jared's shoulders. Jared doesn't mind or he's too far gone to care, because he lets Jensen manhandle him onto his side. It's better, so much better, and everything else was already crazy good; it's just that he can see every inch of Jared now, can reach the places his hands have been aching to touch. "So many things I want to do to you," Jensen tells him, "you would not believe the list I have--"

"Is this on it?" Jared grins, and pulls Jensen all the way in. He tangles their legs together and lines them up, rubs his dick against Jensen's, a sweet, hot burn of friction that completely erases Jensen's train of thought. He ignores the question in favor of decisive action, and Jared seems to approve because there's a long, breathless stretch of nothing but skin on skin in every way they can have it.

"Jared," Jensen says; it comes out needy and too loud.

"Shhhhh," Jared says, "I've got you," and then he does; he wraps his hand around Jensen's dick, around both of them, and squeezes. Jensen's entire body shudders, and Jared strokes them together, rubbing his thumb over the head of Jensen's dick, over and over, until Jensen's control snaps and he ruts into Jared's hand, his breath sobbing out of him as he comes apart.

Jared eases up, slow soft strokes that don't demand anything, slick with sweat and come -- a little disgusting, Jensen reflects, and can't find it in himself to care. Jared's hand feels as good bringing him down as it did winding him up, just a different kind of good. Comforting, and a little sweet, and a lot more sticky.

"This is your bed, too, now," Jensen says breathlessly, grinning dizzily at Jared. "Just so you know."

"Awesome." Jared smiles back, a little tight around the corners of his mouth; his hips nudge against Jensen's in a very unsubtle hint. "Tell me all about that later."

"You don't want to talk about our future?" Jensen shakes his head. "Ouch."

"You can talk till you're blue in the face if you just do it with your hands on me," Jared says, "pretty much anywhere, I'm not picky--"

Jensen shoves Jared over onto his back, and shifts himself lower on the bed. He puts his hands on Jared's hips and says, "Is here okay?" and lowers his mouth over the crown of Jared's dick.

His hands holding Jared down are key; they keep Jensen from being choked to death. The element of surprise: a little overrated in certain situations. Jensen makes a mental note, squeezes Jared's hips in warning, and sucks him down. Jared shudders, says, "Jesus" and "Jensen" like he thinks they might be the same person and tries so hard and so obviously to stay still that Jensen takes pity on him. He coaxes Jared into moving, lets him thrust up into Jensen's mouth, and the groan that escapes Jared's throat is the best reward he could have asked for. There's a moment when Jared tries to say something and fails completely; his voice dissolves into a growl and he shoves up into Jensen's mouth a little too hard, and then again. While Jensen's coming to terms with how much he likes that, Jared is losing it, his limbs going shivery and boneless under Jensen's hands.

He tugs at Jared's arm, slides under it, drapes himself across half of Jared's chest, and gives the nearest nipple a casual lick. Jared twitches and makes a pleased, sleepy sound. "I'm going to need at least ten minutes before we move to the next item on your list," he says. His hand rubs a slow, deep circle between Jensen's shoulder blades, then moves up to rub against his scalp. It feels ridiculously good, considering the wealth of good they've just been through. "I'm on board," Jared promises, "believe me. I just have to catch my breath and remember how my muscles work."

"They work just fine," Jensen says. He's thinking about later tonight, and tomorrow, and next week. He's thinking about next year. A lot of the items on his list are infinitely repeatable as long as their work schedules don't conflict too badly.

"You know, this list of yours, if it's really that long," Jared says after a while. "Getting through it's probably going to take us a while."

Jensen props himself up on one elbow, looks down into Jared's deliberately casual face, and smiles. "I'm not all that worried," he says. "We've got time."

/end.

:: Notes & Thanks :: Master post ::

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