[fic] grace_fully: you are the surf that I am walking towards
[J2]
Title: you are the surf that I am walking towards
Writer: grace_fully
Status of work: complete
Characters and/or pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jared/Sandy
Rating: Adult
Warnings, kinks & contents: [Click to read]dog death
Length: 14,600~
Summary: Set during the end of the shooting schedule for season 4, Jared is riddled with anxiety over what he sees as the beginning of the end to Supernatural and everything that goes with it. He has doubts about his engagement, he has a best friend who means the world to him, and he has a finite amount of time in which to decide what to do about both.
Reccer's notes: Written in 2009, this is still the yardstick I hold all J2 non au fic to. It has everything - perfect pacing, real characters speaking real dialogue, and an underlying romantic sweep that slowly but surely steals your heart. It's beautifully observed, Sandy is given the heart and space she deserves in fics but frequently doesn’t get, and it rings so, so true. By the time you get to the last part, I swear, you’ll be catching your breath and simply willing the Js on. As I told grace_fully in my comment to her, *this* is how I imagine grown men can behave when in love, with all its trials and tribulations.
[Short excerpt]A week later, they have two days off and Jared climbs into Jensen’s leased Altima without the slightest idea where they are headed.
“Bigger than a bread box?” he tries, staring at Jensen’s clean cut profile with some secret measure of indulgence.
Jensen just smiles, shakes his head, casts a sidelong glance over to Jared. Jared heats beneath his collar, and looks away, and something has cracked open between them to electrify the winter air.
Jensen is driving to the other end of the city, a section they rarely visit because there isn’t much there. The day is dreary as Canada can get; bitter cold and damp, with icy winds that come off the ocean and roll right over the city. These are the things that make up tundra, Jared thinks, and he watches the dead, unfamiliar streets pass with some bizarre sense of pride.
This is our place.