Fic: Five Times (After)
Title: Five Times (After)
Author: neros_violin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2300
Warnings: none
Summary: Five times Jared sees Jensen, after.
Author’s Notes: Written for the last year of j2_everafter, for the prompt Miracle. Thanks to the awesome mods for running such a wonderful community that produced so many wonderful stories over the years!
Thanks also to scintilla10 for the last minute beta - you are my favorite winger. All the credit for the good parts goes to you. <3
I took a lot of liberties with the NHL/Olympics schedule, locations, names - I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go sort of full CW RPF with this, or incorporate hockey RPF into it, or just make it all up, so I kind of did a little bit of everything (mostly making up players, and keeping fairly close to the actual timing/locations/outcomes of certain games). Also, apologies for implying the Canucks won the Stanley Cup. IT’S FOR DISNEY, OKAY?
i. Dallas Stars at Vancouver Canucks, November 2008
It’s raining in Vancouver.
That’s typical for the city in November (or any month, really) but Jared still finds it comforting, the familiarity of red brake lights reflecting off wet asphalt and the sound of tires splashing through puddles welcoming him home.
Well. It’s not home anymore. But it was, for several of the best years of his life, and he finds it difficult to think of Dallas in quite the same terms, even though he grew up “just down the road” in San Antonio.
His stomach flips as the bus pulls up to GM Place, and it feels really fucking off to hang up his gear in the visitor’s locker room, to sit in front of some random stall instead of the one with his name on it. His hands shake a little bit as he laces up his skates. Jared hasn’t been this anxious since his first trip to the World Juniors, so long ago he’d thought he’d forgotten how to be nervous, and he hopes no one notices.
The crowd boos when Jared takes the ice for the warm up, yelling their displeasure that he’s wearing another team’s sweater. He was set up to be one half of the Canucks’ franchise duo for the rest of his career and he feels almost as angry as the betrayed fans that it’s not going to happen that way.
There are hand-lettered signs pressed up against the glass - “Padelecki sucks” and “Good riddance, 77” - and he focuses on those instead of the sound of the PA, but he hears it anyway: Numberrrrrrrrrrr Twenty Sevvvvveeennnnn, Jensennnnn Ackkkkkkklessssss!
Misha slaps his stick against Jared’s shin pads and Jared quirks his lips and shrugs. Jared hasn’t told anyone, but Misha is a perceptive guy, sometimes.
“Let’s fuck them up,” Misha says as they skate to the bench, and Jared can see the back of Jensen’s neck while he chats up Hannick. He hasn’t looked at Jared once since he got on the ice.
Yeah, fucking them up sounds great to Jared.
Misha feeds Jared passes like he’s got mind control over the puck and Jared’s playing like a demon, channeling every fucked up feeling churning in his body into pushing it, breaking up passes and checking his old teammates hard into the boards if their heads are down.
He scores his first goal twelve minutes into the first, gets an assist just before the period buzzer, scores his next goal halfway into the second. He feels vindicated; after ten mediocre games with the Stars and a pathetic four points, he’d started to wonder if he was only good with Jensen, with Jensen on his line, on his wing, and it’s a relief to know that’s not true.
The Stars end up taking the game 5-2, in front of a silent crowd. It’s petty, he knows, but Jared hasn’t enjoyed a win this much since the Stanley Cup.
ii. NHL All-Star Game, Montreal, January 2009
The All-Star break isn’t really a break for the guys voted onto the rosters. It’s an honor, and Jared has fun with it, but it’s a hard slog with the media, a constant barrage of interviews and filming features.
He gets his energy back up by interacting with the fans, who are so, so great, and having a respectable showing in the skills competition; Jared wins Hardest Shot and donates the money to a Dallas animal rescue foundation.
By the time the game rolls around, he’s so tired he barely remembers who’s in the locker room with him, and the sound of Jensen’s voice isn’t enough to rouse him into ... anger or sadness or pathetic longing or anything. It’s kind of nice.
(It’s been nine months and four days since they said a word to each other, Jensen's fingers pressed to his mouth like he'd been punched. You want me to go? Jared asked. Yeah, I want you to go," Jensen said, like it wasn't a big, life-changing deal. You should go. It will be...better. He meant easier, but the effect was the same. The next morning Jared called his agent and asked for a trade. He texted Jensen before he signed the contract, and got Do whatever you think you need to do, J. in reply, and putting his name on the dotted line was the hardest thing he'd ever done.)
The Eastern Conference wins in shootout, and Smith, who’d worn the C, rounds up the Western Conference team to a club downtown to drown their sorrows.
Pretty much everyone shows up, some with significant others or family members, and it’s chaos, half the bar full of hockey players and hockey players’ wives and girlfriends and brothers and sisters, mostly people who have known each other as teammates or opponents since they were kids. It’s practically a family reunion, and Jared is happier than he should be after a loss, catching up with friends he hasn’t seen for months or years.
The Canadian beer doesn’t hurt, either.
He’s double fisting and trying to make his way back to Carlsson and Haig, who’d he’d played with in Juniors, when he literally bumps into Jensen, beer sloshing over his knuckles, and cold fingers clenching in his guts as he takes in the beautiful redhead with her hands stuffed in Jensen’s back pockets. Jensen’s eyes are wide and Jared watches him swallow twice before he actually gets any words out.
Later, he remembers exchanging mild pleasantries, muttering the things a boy in Texas is raised to say regardless of circumstances. He remembers finding Carlsson and Haig and ordering a bottle of tequila. He remembers ordering a bottle of vodka to share with the Russians after that.
He doesn’t remember much else about that night, except for the one thing he’d been trying to forget.
iii. World Hockey Championships, Switzerland, April 2009
The Stars don’t even make the playoffs and the Canucks go out in round one.
Jared wishes he was still playing in the post-season with his team, but hockey is hockey, and he’s excited to be on the ice, representing Team USA at the Worlds.
He ends up on a line with Jensen - their on-ice chemistry is still there, in spite of everything else - and he’s excited about that, too. They’re so good together, years of experience and deep knowledge of each other culminating in near-perfect hockey, and there’s absolutely nothing like that in the world, nothing worth losing that for.
Jared thinks he should be mad at himself for being nice to Jensen or something, but he figures his sister can carry his burden of righteous indignation for a while, so Jared can play beautiful hockey for two weeks.
Things get easier off the ice, too, game-talk that slowly evolves into talking about other topics, movies and golf, the playoff games that come on at three in the morning in Switzerland, their awful roommates.
They have dinner together once, just the two of them, and when Jensen throws his head back and laughs, Jared wants to kiss him so fucking bad it hurts. Jensen wipes his eyes and looks up at Jared, shaking his head, and it must show on Jared’s face, what he wants to do, because Jensen shakes his head again, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he looks away.
So dinners are out, after that.
But they sit beside each other in the dressing room and have unbelievable chemistry on the ice, and it feels like that first game in Vancouver, where Jared relearned faith in himself and his abilities. Not only can he play without Jensen, he can play with Jensen, share good-natured chirps in the locker room, hip bumps after a goal on the ice. He can be friends with Jensen.
(One night near the end of the tournament, after more drinks than he should have had and going on nowhere near enough sleep, Jared showed up outside of Jensen's room. He doesn't know exactly what he said, but he can recall the pinched look of guilt on Jensen's face as he'd stood silently and stoically through Jared's rant about all they'd given up, all they could have had. The next morning in the locker room, Jensen didn't say anything, but he nodded at Jared with an expression of apology and acknowledgment, and that, well. It helped.)
He texts Jensen a stupid cat macro when he gets back to Dallas.
Two hours later, Jensen texts back three thumbs up emojis, and somehow Jared knows they’re sarcastic.
iv. Vancouver Canucks at Dallas Stars, December 2009
The Stars eke out a 2-1 game on home ice just before Christmas.
His whole family showed up for the game - parents, siblings and in-laws, the kids - and he wanted to give them a show, but a slim win would have to do.
Jensen is waiting for him outside the locker room, his hair wet and his white shirt sticking to his body in places, because he’s always too impatient to wait until he’s dry to start pulling on his clothes.
Jared barely feels the tug in his chest when Jensen grins up at him, the cut on his lip from an accidental high stick opening up again with the stretch.
“That was a shit game,” he says. Jared agrees and they’re off, breaking down plays and recapping the goals, just like they used to when they were on the same team.
They walk and talk at the same time, making their slow way from the locker rooms to the players’ entrance where Jared’s family is waiting for him. They’re chatting, loud and animated as usual, but they all go quiet when they see Jensen; they don’t know exactly what happened, but they know Jared requested a trade, and that until recently, he’d barely spoken to his best friend in the world for practically a whole year.
But the moment passes when Jensen ducks his head shyly, and Jared’s Mom gathers him up in a bone-crushing hug. Jared’s Dad is next, followed by Meg and Jeff, and Jared can’t help but smile as Jensen’s pleased blush gets deeper and deeper with each embrace.
“We’ve missed you,” Jared’s Mom says, going in for another hug. Jared feels the tugging sensation in his chest again, a lot stronger this time, and Jensen meets Jared’s eyes over her head.
“Yeah, I’ve missed you too,” he says, and buries his face in her neck.
v. Men’s Olympic Hockey Gold Medal Game, Vancouver, February 2010
Like most of the rest of the hockey team, Jared doesn’t attend the opening ceremonies; most of the NHL teams have games scheduled that night, trying to squeeze every bit out of the season before the break.
He wishes he’d been there, but the city is so electric with energy that he doesn’t feel like he’s missed out. Canadian flags and Olympic rings are everywhere, and people are in the streets with their families, enjoying the sunshine and the festive atmosphere.
Team USA is on fucking fire.
They beat the Norwegians and the Swiss handily, and beat Canada on home ice to dominate group play. Winning is addictive, and Jared wants the gold as bad as he wants the Stanley Cup.
Jensen and Jared are on the same line again, and they’re assigned to the same room the village. They’re together practically every minute of every day, and it's only a little bit awkward, the past temporarily set aside in favor of sharing a goal. Jared’s aware, at the back of his mind, that they’re going to have to talk about a lot of things when this is over, but he doesn’t want it to be over until they’re wearing gold around their necks and the hockey is good enough that he can’t think about anything else.
The day of the gold medal game is sunny and warm, more like Vancouver in May than Vancouver in February. There’s a sea of red between the village and the rink, people flooding the streets to support Team Canada, and it fuels him, seeing all those people who will be rooting against the US.
The attitude in the locker room seems to match Jared’s, defiant and determined. He bumps gloves with Jensen, an old routine that Jared doesn’t think twice about.
They’ve got this.
Even after they're down 2-0 early in the second, he still feels it, this certainty deep in his bones that they can’t lose. Misha’s goal late in the second doesn’t even come as a surprise, and late in the third Jared gets an open lane to Jensen for a neat little wrist shot, tucking it in the upper right corner of the net.
But before the elation has time to dissipate, Canada scores in overtime and that's it - it’s over.
The silver feels heavy, and Jared feels ungrateful for thinking it.
Jensen invites the team to his condo for combination consolation-celebration drinks, and everything looks exactly the same as it did the last time Jared was here, except Jared’s shoes aren’t piled up in the entry-way, and Jared’s books aren’t piled up on the coffee table.
But Jared’s preferred brand of whiskey is in the liquor cabinet, and his X-box is still hooked up to the TV, and he plays host along with Jensen to the rest of Team USA, who party hard but file out early, back to their own beds to nurse their disappointment.
Jared’s gathering up bottles of empties when Jensen’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, his voice quiet and a little rough from booze, and maybe grief.
“Yeah, me too,” Jared says.
“No, I’m - well, I am sorry for that, but I’m really sorry for being afraid.”
Jared’s breath catches and his eyes close. So they’re doing this now, two and a half years overdue, and Jared’s managed to turn around but he still can’t look at Jensen’s face.
“I was scared, and I made you think that you weren’t worth it, and I was wrong. You were worth it, Jared. We were worth it. That’s all.”
“We are worth it,” Jared corrects, and presses their foreheads together, sharing breath and space.
“We are?” Jensen asks, disbelieving. And Jared hears all the questions, all the apologies and recriminations, all the things they’re going to have to rebuild, but they’re fucking worth the attempt.
“We could be,” Jared says, and they’re both smiling when Jared winds their fingers together, warm and comforting, like coming home.
Author: neros_violin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2300
Warnings: none
Summary: Five times Jared sees Jensen, after.
Author’s Notes: Written for the last year of j2_everafter, for the prompt Miracle. Thanks to the awesome mods for running such a wonderful community that produced so many wonderful stories over the years!
Thanks also to scintilla10 for the last minute beta - you are my favorite winger. All the credit for the good parts goes to you. <3
I took a lot of liberties with the NHL/Olympics schedule, locations, names - I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go sort of full CW RPF with this, or incorporate hockey RPF into it, or just make it all up, so I kind of did a little bit of everything (mostly making up players, and keeping fairly close to the actual timing/locations/outcomes of certain games). Also, apologies for implying the Canucks won the Stanley Cup. IT’S FOR DISNEY, OKAY?
i. Dallas Stars at Vancouver Canucks, November 2008
It’s raining in Vancouver.
That’s typical for the city in November (or any month, really) but Jared still finds it comforting, the familiarity of red brake lights reflecting off wet asphalt and the sound of tires splashing through puddles welcoming him home.
Well. It’s not home anymore. But it was, for several of the best years of his life, and he finds it difficult to think of Dallas in quite the same terms, even though he grew up “just down the road” in San Antonio.
His stomach flips as the bus pulls up to GM Place, and it feels really fucking off to hang up his gear in the visitor’s locker room, to sit in front of some random stall instead of the one with his name on it. His hands shake a little bit as he laces up his skates. Jared hasn’t been this anxious since his first trip to the World Juniors, so long ago he’d thought he’d forgotten how to be nervous, and he hopes no one notices.
The crowd boos when Jared takes the ice for the warm up, yelling their displeasure that he’s wearing another team’s sweater. He was set up to be one half of the Canucks’ franchise duo for the rest of his career and he feels almost as angry as the betrayed fans that it’s not going to happen that way.
There are hand-lettered signs pressed up against the glass - “Padelecki sucks” and “Good riddance, 77” - and he focuses on those instead of the sound of the PA, but he hears it anyway: Numberrrrrrrrrrr Twenty Sevvvvveeennnnn, Jensennnnn Ackkkkkkklessssss!
Misha slaps his stick against Jared’s shin pads and Jared quirks his lips and shrugs. Jared hasn’t told anyone, but Misha is a perceptive guy, sometimes.
“Let’s fuck them up,” Misha says as they skate to the bench, and Jared can see the back of Jensen’s neck while he chats up Hannick. He hasn’t looked at Jared once since he got on the ice.
Yeah, fucking them up sounds great to Jared.
Misha feeds Jared passes like he’s got mind control over the puck and Jared’s playing like a demon, channeling every fucked up feeling churning in his body into pushing it, breaking up passes and checking his old teammates hard into the boards if their heads are down.
He scores his first goal twelve minutes into the first, gets an assist just before the period buzzer, scores his next goal halfway into the second. He feels vindicated; after ten mediocre games with the Stars and a pathetic four points, he’d started to wonder if he was only good with Jensen, with Jensen on his line, on his wing, and it’s a relief to know that’s not true.
The Stars end up taking the game 5-2, in front of a silent crowd. It’s petty, he knows, but Jared hasn’t enjoyed a win this much since the Stanley Cup.
ii. NHL All-Star Game, Montreal, January 2009
The All-Star break isn’t really a break for the guys voted onto the rosters. It’s an honor, and Jared has fun with it, but it’s a hard slog with the media, a constant barrage of interviews and filming features.
He gets his energy back up by interacting with the fans, who are so, so great, and having a respectable showing in the skills competition; Jared wins Hardest Shot and donates the money to a Dallas animal rescue foundation.
By the time the game rolls around, he’s so tired he barely remembers who’s in the locker room with him, and the sound of Jensen’s voice isn’t enough to rouse him into ... anger or sadness or pathetic longing or anything. It’s kind of nice.
(It’s been nine months and four days since they said a word to each other, Jensen's fingers pressed to his mouth like he'd been punched. You want me to go? Jared asked. Yeah, I want you to go," Jensen said, like it wasn't a big, life-changing deal. You should go. It will be...better. He meant easier, but the effect was the same. The next morning Jared called his agent and asked for a trade. He texted Jensen before he signed the contract, and got Do whatever you think you need to do, J. in reply, and putting his name on the dotted line was the hardest thing he'd ever done.)
The Eastern Conference wins in shootout, and Smith, who’d worn the C, rounds up the Western Conference team to a club downtown to drown their sorrows.
Pretty much everyone shows up, some with significant others or family members, and it’s chaos, half the bar full of hockey players and hockey players’ wives and girlfriends and brothers and sisters, mostly people who have known each other as teammates or opponents since they were kids. It’s practically a family reunion, and Jared is happier than he should be after a loss, catching up with friends he hasn’t seen for months or years.
The Canadian beer doesn’t hurt, either.
He’s double fisting and trying to make his way back to Carlsson and Haig, who’d he’d played with in Juniors, when he literally bumps into Jensen, beer sloshing over his knuckles, and cold fingers clenching in his guts as he takes in the beautiful redhead with her hands stuffed in Jensen’s back pockets. Jensen’s eyes are wide and Jared watches him swallow twice before he actually gets any words out.
Later, he remembers exchanging mild pleasantries, muttering the things a boy in Texas is raised to say regardless of circumstances. He remembers finding Carlsson and Haig and ordering a bottle of tequila. He remembers ordering a bottle of vodka to share with the Russians after that.
He doesn’t remember much else about that night, except for the one thing he’d been trying to forget.
iii. World Hockey Championships, Switzerland, April 2009
The Stars don’t even make the playoffs and the Canucks go out in round one.
Jared wishes he was still playing in the post-season with his team, but hockey is hockey, and he’s excited to be on the ice, representing Team USA at the Worlds.
He ends up on a line with Jensen - their on-ice chemistry is still there, in spite of everything else - and he’s excited about that, too. They’re so good together, years of experience and deep knowledge of each other culminating in near-perfect hockey, and there’s absolutely nothing like that in the world, nothing worth losing that for.
Jared thinks he should be mad at himself for being nice to Jensen or something, but he figures his sister can carry his burden of righteous indignation for a while, so Jared can play beautiful hockey for two weeks.
Things get easier off the ice, too, game-talk that slowly evolves into talking about other topics, movies and golf, the playoff games that come on at three in the morning in Switzerland, their awful roommates.
They have dinner together once, just the two of them, and when Jensen throws his head back and laughs, Jared wants to kiss him so fucking bad it hurts. Jensen wipes his eyes and looks up at Jared, shaking his head, and it must show on Jared’s face, what he wants to do, because Jensen shakes his head again, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he looks away.
So dinners are out, after that.
But they sit beside each other in the dressing room and have unbelievable chemistry on the ice, and it feels like that first game in Vancouver, where Jared relearned faith in himself and his abilities. Not only can he play without Jensen, he can play with Jensen, share good-natured chirps in the locker room, hip bumps after a goal on the ice. He can be friends with Jensen.
(One night near the end of the tournament, after more drinks than he should have had and going on nowhere near enough sleep, Jared showed up outside of Jensen's room. He doesn't know exactly what he said, but he can recall the pinched look of guilt on Jensen's face as he'd stood silently and stoically through Jared's rant about all they'd given up, all they could have had. The next morning in the locker room, Jensen didn't say anything, but he nodded at Jared with an expression of apology and acknowledgment, and that, well. It helped.)
He texts Jensen a stupid cat macro when he gets back to Dallas.
Two hours later, Jensen texts back three thumbs up emojis, and somehow Jared knows they’re sarcastic.
iv. Vancouver Canucks at Dallas Stars, December 2009
The Stars eke out a 2-1 game on home ice just before Christmas.
His whole family showed up for the game - parents, siblings and in-laws, the kids - and he wanted to give them a show, but a slim win would have to do.
Jensen is waiting for him outside the locker room, his hair wet and his white shirt sticking to his body in places, because he’s always too impatient to wait until he’s dry to start pulling on his clothes.
Jared barely feels the tug in his chest when Jensen grins up at him, the cut on his lip from an accidental high stick opening up again with the stretch.
“That was a shit game,” he says. Jared agrees and they’re off, breaking down plays and recapping the goals, just like they used to when they were on the same team.
They walk and talk at the same time, making their slow way from the locker rooms to the players’ entrance where Jared’s family is waiting for him. They’re chatting, loud and animated as usual, but they all go quiet when they see Jensen; they don’t know exactly what happened, but they know Jared requested a trade, and that until recently, he’d barely spoken to his best friend in the world for practically a whole year.
But the moment passes when Jensen ducks his head shyly, and Jared’s Mom gathers him up in a bone-crushing hug. Jared’s Dad is next, followed by Meg and Jeff, and Jared can’t help but smile as Jensen’s pleased blush gets deeper and deeper with each embrace.
“We’ve missed you,” Jared’s Mom says, going in for another hug. Jared feels the tugging sensation in his chest again, a lot stronger this time, and Jensen meets Jared’s eyes over her head.
“Yeah, I’ve missed you too,” he says, and buries his face in her neck.
v. Men’s Olympic Hockey Gold Medal Game, Vancouver, February 2010
Like most of the rest of the hockey team, Jared doesn’t attend the opening ceremonies; most of the NHL teams have games scheduled that night, trying to squeeze every bit out of the season before the break.
He wishes he’d been there, but the city is so electric with energy that he doesn’t feel like he’s missed out. Canadian flags and Olympic rings are everywhere, and people are in the streets with their families, enjoying the sunshine and the festive atmosphere.
Team USA is on fucking fire.
They beat the Norwegians and the Swiss handily, and beat Canada on home ice to dominate group play. Winning is addictive, and Jared wants the gold as bad as he wants the Stanley Cup.
Jensen and Jared are on the same line again, and they’re assigned to the same room the village. They’re together practically every minute of every day, and it's only a little bit awkward, the past temporarily set aside in favor of sharing a goal. Jared’s aware, at the back of his mind, that they’re going to have to talk about a lot of things when this is over, but he doesn’t want it to be over until they’re wearing gold around their necks and the hockey is good enough that he can’t think about anything else.
The day of the gold medal game is sunny and warm, more like Vancouver in May than Vancouver in February. There’s a sea of red between the village and the rink, people flooding the streets to support Team Canada, and it fuels him, seeing all those people who will be rooting against the US.
The attitude in the locker room seems to match Jared’s, defiant and determined. He bumps gloves with Jensen, an old routine that Jared doesn’t think twice about.
They’ve got this.
Even after they're down 2-0 early in the second, he still feels it, this certainty deep in his bones that they can’t lose. Misha’s goal late in the second doesn’t even come as a surprise, and late in the third Jared gets an open lane to Jensen for a neat little wrist shot, tucking it in the upper right corner of the net.
But before the elation has time to dissipate, Canada scores in overtime and that's it - it’s over.
The silver feels heavy, and Jared feels ungrateful for thinking it.
Jensen invites the team to his condo for combination consolation-celebration drinks, and everything looks exactly the same as it did the last time Jared was here, except Jared’s shoes aren’t piled up in the entry-way, and Jared’s books aren’t piled up on the coffee table.
But Jared’s preferred brand of whiskey is in the liquor cabinet, and his X-box is still hooked up to the TV, and he plays host along with Jensen to the rest of Team USA, who party hard but file out early, back to their own beds to nurse their disappointment.
Jared’s gathering up bottles of empties when Jensen’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, his voice quiet and a little rough from booze, and maybe grief.
“Yeah, me too,” Jared says.
“No, I’m - well, I am sorry for that, but I’m really sorry for being afraid.”
Jared’s breath catches and his eyes close. So they’re doing this now, two and a half years overdue, and Jared’s managed to turn around but he still can’t look at Jensen’s face.
“I was scared, and I made you think that you weren’t worth it, and I was wrong. You were worth it, Jared. We were worth it. That’s all.”
“We are worth it,” Jared corrects, and presses their foreheads together, sharing breath and space.
“We are?” Jensen asks, disbelieving. And Jared hears all the questions, all the apologies and recriminations, all the things they’re going to have to rebuild, but they’re fucking worth the attempt.
“We could be,” Jared says, and they’re both smiling when Jared winds their fingers together, warm and comforting, like coming home.