ReverseBang: Believe In Nothing But (Jared/Jensen, NC-17, 1/2)
Title: Believe In Nothing But
Author: sparseparsley
Rating: NC-17
Genre/Pairing: RPF, AU, Action/Suspense, Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: 19k
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence, Kidnapping
Summary: Jared figures he knows everything he needs to know about his boyfriend. Everything important, anyway. Right up to the night he gets attacked in his own home, waking up in the company of someone who will show him how little he knows about the man he calls Jensen Jones.
Author's Note: This fic was written for the 2011 ReverseBang, from bumerbmw's video prompt.
Many thanks to bumerbmw for their awesome and very inspiring fanvid as well as the extra work they've done on things like banners and dividers. They really helped this be a great experience, too, with lots of communication and support. I'm really glad we got to work together, thanks bumerbmw! Thanks also to my beta, dizzzylu, who was still helping me polish the porny bits this morning. Now that's dedication. Thanks, Diz, you really came through for me and you're exactly as picky as you need to be. ;p
Bumerbmw's art post.
bumerbmw's video on YouTube.
Our Masterpost at spn_reversebang.
PDF of fic.
The front door bangs off the wall as Jared shoves through it, stumbling under the weight of a half dozen overstuffed, plastic grocery bags.
“Mrrfugger!”
He glares at the freshly pitted dent where the doorknob smacked the wall, baring his teeth around the handle of the bag gripped in his mouth. Motherfucker. Now Jen’s gonna give him that ‘Don’t look at me, you said you were gonna fix it’ look again. Whatever, it’s his security deposit, he can have dented walls if he wants to.
It’s an unkind thought and he takes it back almost immediately as he makes his way to the kitchen, heaving the bags onto the counter with a grunt. So what if it started as his apartment, Jensen’s been here for over a year now. It’s theirs. Their apartment, their deposit, their... fish.
“Hey, Barry!” He pauses in putting the groceries away, twisting the cap off a new plastic canister of food and tearing away the foil guard. Barry, their little Betta fish, turns a circle in the tank they have set up by the doorway to the living room. “Now remember, we are not telling Jen that I let you run out of food, okay?” The pungent flakes float along the surface of the water as he shakes a little out. “Good fish.” Barry nips along the top, sucking them down with his ‘o’ shaped mouth.
In all honesty, the fish is mostly Jensen’s and Jared isn’t exactly sure how he got roped into being the one who takes care of it. He’d wanted a dog originally but, well, apartment.
That had been their first really big fight, actually. Not the dog thing, the apartment thing. Jared was so ready to move into a proper house, something with a lawn and a dog and a lack of creepy neighbours who like to sleep in the halls. Jensen was... less ready. But it’s almost funny how Jared considers that fight a high point in their relationship. He takes his time with the groceries, smiling to himself at the memory. That was when he knew. Granted he’d been pretty damn sure already, what with the ‘let’s buy a house together’ thing, but in every relationship before this, when there was a big fight, he’d always have this thought in the back of his head. This voice that said ‘I don’t want to do this, it isn’t worth it’. Even if he could barely hear it, that voice had always been there. Except with Jensen. It had always been worth it with him.
The low trill of the phone breaks him out of his thoughts.
“Hello?” He cradles the handset between cheek and shoulder as he finishes filling the fridge.
“Hey.”
“Hey!” It’s Jensen, voice clear despite the rattling din of noise in the background. He must be holed up someplace out of the way. Jared moves the phone to his hand and leans against the counter, grinning. “How’s it going? Sounds busy.”
It generally does sound busy, there. Jensen works at a furniture warehouse where a slow day is like a mythical beast and he comes home tired and smelling of sweat almost every night, often wanting nothing more than to just cuddle up beside (sorry, ‘lean on’) Jared and watch TV. Not that Jared minds. He’s a big enough man to admit that he enjoys a good lean-on every now and then. And frankly, he likes the way sweaty Jensen smells. Like, a lot.
“Yeah. There was a serious fuck up in the orders today.” Irritation bleeds through Jensen’s voice even though Jared can hear him reigning it in, trying to keep his patience. “We’re way behind, it’s gonna be like another two hours.”
Jared makes a distressed noise before he can stop himself. He’d been looking forward to tonight. They both have the day off tomorrow (or Jensen has the day off and Jared, being freelance, was just going to skip out on editing that day, so there) so tonight was going to be fun. And by fun he means he’d hoped both of them would be walking funny in the morning. “Aw, damn. Well... want me to call the office in fifteen and fake a family emergency? Help, help, Barry drowned?”
There’s a soft chuckle from the phone. “No, but thanks.” The laugh trails into a long sigh, one part frustration to two parts heat. “Fuck, baby, I’ve been thinking about you all day. God damn assholes screwing everything up.”
Jared grins. “Oh yeah?” He figures he shouldn’t encourage it when Jensen gets like this, all dirty mouthed and rough, but at the same time he savours it. When they first met, Jared had found Jensen shy and almost cold, quiet to the point of rude and Jared had been surprised to find out what was underneath. And even more surprised when he realized he was maybe the only person who got to see it. So sue him, it made him feel special. “Well, if you can get home without insulting anyone’s mom or passing out in the doorway, I promise I’ll blow you to sleep, okay?”
“Mmm.” It’s almost a growl, and Jared can picture the dark, low-lidded look that goes with it. “Tomorrow. I’m- I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do to you but it’ll be illegal, I can say that.”
“Ha, everything we do is illegal somewhere, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Oh, I guarantee it.” The distant noise rises suddenly, accompanied by another curse from Jensen. “Shit, I’ve gotta get back there. I’ll see you later okay? Hey! Did you get those taco chips I like?”
He snorts. “Yes, Christ, I got your chips. When have I ever not gotten your chips?”
“There was that one time! I remember, I was devastated.”
”God.” The words are exasperated but Jared’s voice is warm and playful. “Just... go back to work, you sofa pusher.”
They exchange quick good-byes and ‘love you’s before hanging up. Quick on Jared’s part at least. Jensen is still awkward and stilted with the casual declarations of love thing but the fact that he still makes the effort when it’s clearly not easy for him is all Jared really needs. Usually. In his more self conscious moments he wonders if Jensen is as real about this as he is. It’s another unkind thought with very little backing it, but he can’t seem to shake it. He just gets these... feelings sometimes and- ah, whatever. If Jensen says he loves him then he loves him, there’s no reason to think otherwise.
Jared grabs a soda out of the fridge and distracts himself with wondering what to do with his evening. No point in cooking, Jensen usually brings food home with him when he works late. Maybe he can get a little work done, instead.
Lost in thought, he misses the extra shadow in the living room as he passes through. His only warning is the scuff of something moving over the carpet behind him before sharp pain explodes behind his ear. He catches a distorted reflection in the glass of the television as shock floods him, but he’s flat on the floor before he can even make a shape out.
“Nn-!”
Wha-, what, are they being robbed? The thick pain in his head makes it impossible to think clearly as he lurches to his hands and knees. He has to get away, he knows, but which way is away? Strange things stand out, the multicolored fibres of the carpet, the sound of a car alarm outside, his hand feels wet. Why-? Oh, the soda bottle, it must have broke when he dropped it.
Suddenly there’s a weight on his back and two black polished shoes at his sides. Trapped and in pain, he panics, shoving away from the floor, hands flailing for anything that might be in reach. His stomach turns with the movement, waves of nausea rolling over him in time with the throbbing thump in his head. The weight shoves back down and a hand appears in front of him, holding something. A... a dish towel? Why would...
“Shh, shh, s’fine, everything’s fine, big boy. Deep breaths now.”
He inhales sharply, an automatic reaction to the strange voice, and everything goes distant, like his brain’s been packed in cotton balls. Or, or bubble wrap. Or... it’s dark. He didn’t turn the lights out, why...
“There you go, good boy, just a quick nap and then everything will be fine.”
Why is it dark? The glass, he has to clean up the glass before Jen steps in...
The apartment door is open when Jensen gets home.
He forces his muscles to relax as he walks by, giving the inside of the apartment a casual look, curious just like any normal passer-by would be.
The demeanor holds until he rounds the hall corner and lays himself flat against the wall, hands flexing into fists. Nothing. No movement, no weird noises, no damage around the door, just their regular ugly entryway wall paper and a narrow view of the kitchen. Maybe- maybe Jared just didn’t shut it all the way when he got home.
He twists slowly, turning to the wall and sliding out far enough to get a quick look down the hall.
Still nothing, alright then.
Moving slowly down the hall, he makes his way back to the door. It swings open with a shove, silent on freshly greased hinges. He catches himself nearly calling out, forming Jared’s name with his lips before he realizes what he’s doing. Fuck. A weapon, why doesn’t he have a weapon? He’d stopped carrying a knife months ago, he hadn’t even decided to, it just stopped being something he made sure of every day. Stupid.
His movements stay slow and even as he slips along the hall to the kitchen. The room is empty except for an open bag of chips on the counter. He’s just about to the living room entry when the chips catch his eye again. They’re his favourite kind, the ones he asked about when he called earlier. The ones Jared doesn’t like at all. Open.
Right.
The hiss of metal against wood seems strikingly loud as he steps back, pulling a butcher knife out of the block before retracing his steps to the living room.
He thinks it’s blood at first, the wide, dark stain he finds when he steps into the room. The sight sets a slam of cold deep in his bones, but he remembers the coppery tang of blood in the air and that smell is nowhere to be found here. Even so, it takes several deliberately steady breaths before he can convince his feet to move and his eyes to look away and check the rest of the room.
Not much is out of place, he sees that right away. But what is out of place isn’t good. The stain is lined with thick shards of broken glass on one side, another sign that whatever it is didn’t come out of a person. The angle of the couch is off, like it’s been shoved, and the computer chair is away from the desk, twisted to face out. The carpet in the middle of the room, some decorative thing that was on sale one time, is messed up on one side, all bunched into waves. Big things were moving in here.
The rest of the apartment is empty. He checks it quickly, moving from room to room before returning to the living room. It’s not a very thorough job, he knows, but behind a wall of calm competence, panic is building inside him.
Mindful of the glass, he kneels by the stain and touches two careful fingers to it. It smells sweet and he can already feel the liquid drying tacky on his fingers. Sticky. With that and the glass, it’s gotta be soda. Jared drinks too much of that shit. He doesn’t realize he’s pressing his fist hard into the carpet until the cold liquid starts oozing up between his fingers.
“Fuck.” This is- he never should have come here. Never should have stayed. He knew they’d find him, why did he- Jared- fuck!
“Okay. Okay.” He stands, shaking the ache in his hand out and moving around the room, flat side of the butcher knife tapping restlessly against his leg. Can’t jump to conclusions yet. Maybe... there’s glass, maybe Jared cut himself and had to go to the hospital. Maybe he got bad news and had to leave in a hurry. Maybe he suddenly developed a taste for Jensen’s chips and forgot to tell-
Wait.
This is Jared, he never forgets to tell Jensen things and he always calls.
Jensen rushes to the phone, relief flooding him as he sees the little red ‘message’ light flashing. He stabs a finger against the button.
“Hello Mr... Jones? Really? Alright.”
Jensen freezes, jaw clenching and releasing as he stares at the answering machine. It’s not Jared.
“This is Mr. Sheppard. I’m an acquaintance of some acquaintances of yours. Now, I stopped by earlier but no one one home, I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in anyway.”
The voice is male with an English accent, a little rough but calm and even. Jensen’s nails bite into his palms.
“Lovely place, by the way, very well cared for. Clean. Anyway, I... borrowed something from you.”
His stomach drops at the confirmation, arm pressing into the wall behind the phone as his body sags forward. What else can it be but confirmation?
“Took some doing, big as it was. I hope to return it relatively undamaged but, well, accidents happen as I’m sure you can see. I did mean to clean that glass up but time got away from me. What was I... oh! Right, borrowed. Now, I’m also told that you can answer a few questions I have so I think it might be best to get it all done at once, don’t you? You can help me out with my questions, I can get your property back to you nearly good as new and then... I don’t know, lunch?”
A snarl curls Jensen’s mouth into a sour twist and the urge to talk to the voice, to tell it in sharp detail exactly what he wants to do to it, is nearly insurmountable.
“It’s best if we talk man to man about this. Why don’t I call you later and we can work something out? Oh, and I’m sure I don’t actually have to say this, but I think discretion would be a very good idea on your part. No point in getting anyone else involved in such personal business.”
“Oh I will fucking end your personal business.” Apparently the urge wasn’t so much ‘nearly insurmountable’ as ‘totally insurmountable’. The blade of the kitchen knife curves with tension as he grinds it tip first into the lacquered finish of the table top.
“Well. I guess this is goodbye for now. I’ve got some company to say hello to and you should probably see about that glass. Have a lovely evening, Mr. Jones.”
Jensen stares at the message light, dead and unblinking now, as the click of an ended call echoes in his head. He should listen to it again, look for details, anything could be important, but he can’t move, like he’s made of stone.
Jared.
Movement, when it comes, is explosive.
“Fuck!” His arm, knife still in hand, sweeps across the table so suddenly and violently that it surprises even him, sending a lamp and that ceramic bird statue thing from Jared’s mother crashing to the floor. The knife, tangled in the fabric of the lamp shade, twists free of his hand but he barely notices as he turns and slams his other fist into the wall with a tearing yell.
“Motherfucker!”
Damn, his hand hurts. But that’s good, maybe. He concentrates on the pain, pulling his fist away from the wall (not out of, at least the walls are built strong here) and opening it, sending burning waves of pain up his palm.
Okay.
He can’t just wait for this Sheppard guy to call and then meekly slink off to whatever meeting he wants to have. It doesn’t work that way. Once they’ve got their hands on him, he isn’t coming back.
He could run.
Every part of him flinches at the thought, however fleeting it was, his shame like a physical force squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t leave Jared. It’s not even something he’s trying to convince himself of, it’s just- it just is. He doesn’t know why or how or what the fuck he was thinking, falling for someone so completely but... there it is.
Or there it was. However this ends now, Jared’s going to know. Jared, who won’t even lie to his fucking landlord, Jared is going to know that every single moment they’ve known each other, Jensen’s been lying. Fuck.
Well, Jensen’s got to find him first before that’s a problem, anyway. Somehow. His eyes flick around the room, taking in the glass and the shifted furniture, the quiet phone. He’s just noticing their bookshelves, frowning at the new gaps there that he had missed before, when it comes to him.
Jim.
He’s in the bedroom in seconds, the rush of a plan driving his momentum as he skids to his knees inside the closet. Shoe boxes and gym bags bounce off the bed as he tosses them over his shoulder. What he’s looking for is in the corner, a black plastic bag underneath another black plastic bag full of what he told Jared were his ‘skiing clothes’. Like he’s ever been skiing in his life. He’s pretty sure the thick winter coat in there still has a tag on it. Thank God for Jared’s trusting nature.
Yeah, ‘thank God’.
His hand twists in the plastic, pulling stretched out holes through it. If Jared hadn’t trusted him, taken him at his word even when his word was ‘don’t ask’, maybe he wouldn’t be-
Jensen sighs a short, harsh breath out his nose, cutting off that line of thought. Too late now.
A cell phone and a bundle of cloth roll out past each other as he shakes the bag out over their bed.
He opens the phone one handed, unrolling the cloth with his other to reveal a box of ammo and the dull metal shine of a gun. His hand wraps around the grip easily, molding to it perfectly. Like riding a bike, you never forget how to hold one.
There’s not much of a contact list to scroll though on the phone. No names, one entry. Just two letters that read ‘JB’. He hits ‘talk’.
The ring sounds in his ear a dozen times, his hand going tighter around the grip of the revolver with each ring until a gruff, mistrustful voice answers.
“Who’s this?”
His eyes close in relief. “Jim.”
“... Jay? If that’s you, you sound like shit.”
“Yeah, it’s- yeah. Jim, they fuckin’ found me.” He does sound like shit, voice gone sand-grit dry.
There’s a pause on the other end, then an irritated snort. “Guess that’s been coming. Is there something in particular you want me to do about it? Send flowers to your beau, there? You remember the last time I helped you, ri-”
“They took him.”
Another pause, this one with a heavy sigh at the end. “Shit.”
Jensen runs a hand over his face, giving in to exhaustion for a moment. He’d come home bone-tired from work and it looked like he was going to have to ride those last dregs of energy for a lot longer yet. There’s going to be one fuck of a bill to pay at the end of this.
“Please, Jim, I need to know who’s got him. And where. I can’t... You know they won’t stick with whatever deal I make. I’m dead if I believe that. Jared’s d-” His throat locks up around the word, choking on it. In any other state of mind, he might be embarrassed.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Suddenly, Jim sounds as tired as Jensen feels, low and farther away than... wherever he is. Jensen doesn’t know where he lives any more. Probably for the best.
A burst of restless energy drives Jensen to his feet and sends him pacing to the closet and back. “One of your guys has to know something, high up as you’ve got them.”
“I don’t have guys anymore, Jay. You know that.”
He does. Jim hasn’t been an official face of undercover law enforcement for years now, not since he was ‘persuaded’ to quit over some bullshit about corruption (ha, right, Jim). But Jensen knows something else, too.
“Come on, Jim. They’ll always be your guys. Even when you’re dead in the ground, they’ll still be your fucking guys. I need help, man. I need it.”
The next pause goes on so long, Jensen is about to check if the line is still open when Jim finally answers. A layer of tension falls off Jensen when he does. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Jesus, yes, thank y-”
“I am not promising anything. Just... give me an hour before you run off stupid. I’ll call you back. Can you manage that?”
“Yeah. Yes, definitely. Jim, I...” He doesn’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t really cover it, not for how far and how often Jim Beaver has put his neck on the line for him with no reward other than the knowledge of one more person away from that life. Thank you isn’t even close.
“Yeah, yeah. An hour, got it?”
Jensen gives his assent again before hanging up, arm going limp at his side. An hour. An hour he can’t afford with maybe nothing on the other end of it except Jim’s apologetic voice. Fuck. Well, he can at least be ready to move. He’ll need more ammo for sure. Good thing Wal-Mart is open all night.
The first thing that registers is the smell, a rusty metallic tang with undertones of dust and rot that puts Jared in mind of an old scrapyard he used to work at, full of the stripped down husks of cars and appliances. He follows the scent into consciousness, wrinkling his nose against it.
His hair is in his face, tickling at his cheeks. He raises a hand to brush it back but something... something isn’t right. Something is snagging at his arm, holding it down. He jerks into full awareness at the sensation. Pain, dulled until now by semi-consciousness, explodes into the forefront.
“Hey! Looks like someone’s stirring.”
Memories start surfacing as his eyes fly open, the harsh flood of an overhead light making him squeeze them shut again with a grimace. He’d been home, right? On the phone with Jensen and then... the living room, something happened in the living room. There had been pain, and then the floor and a voice. An accented voice. That voice. Something touches his head and he twists away with a yell.
“Oh come on, I barely touched you.”
Eyes darting around the room, he sees it all in a panic, flashes of a dirty looking office, yellow walls with broken furniture shoved against them, bare floor with glue patches where a carpet used to be. He sees his own arms tied to the arms of a chair with rope, the same rope that winds around his legs, binding them tightly.
But most of his attention goes to the man standing at his side, watching with a patient smile as Jared stares up at him.
The man reaches for him with a square of crumpled cloth in his hand and Jared jolts back again, straining at the ropes. With an exaggerated sigh, the man lets his arm fall back to his side. “It’s just water. Look.” He brings the cloth up to his face, sniffing at it noisily. “See?”
Jared ducks his head violently as the man reaches for him a third time. “No! What-” His voice cracks dryly and he grimaces at the chemical taste in his mouth as he tries to lick some moisture into it. “What the hell is going on!”
“Fine.” The man ignores the question and steps away with a shrug, tossing the cloth onto a nearby table. “Just trying to help you with that nasty bump.” He’s English, smaller and older than Jared and he would look fairly non-threatening in his black sweater and jeans if it wasn’t for the gun holster over his shoulder. Jesus, what the fuck is going on that he’s got someone who carries around a gun tying him up?
Jared pulls at the ropes again, testing them but finding no give. “What’s going on? Why- what do you want with me?” Maybe if he knew a trick to it, but what the hell does he know about ropes? The most he and Jensen have ever done is handcuffs, and the cheap pieces of shit broke in an hour. Oh, fuck, Jen. How long was he out for? What if Jensen came home while he was, what, taken? Kidnapped? Who is this guy any way?
The man lifts himself onto the table with a little hop, legs hanging over the edge. He smiles cheerfully. “Good news first, hm? I don’t want a thing from you.” Jared stops tugging at the restraints, staring at him in confusion. “You’re more like a, mm.” His hand makes a contemplative circle in the air before pointing at Jared. “An incentive! You are an incentive. And if you sit quietly and do what I say, everything will be fine.” He spreads his hands apart when he’s done talking, as if to say ‘ta-da!’
Incredulous, Jared stares. “Incentive for what?”
“Good God you ask a lot if questions, don’t you? Sit quietly, I said.” The man picks up a black book from the table, flipping through its pages. “Besides, you’re all out of order, you’re supposed to ask who I am, next.” He looks up, giving Jared a sneaky wink and whispering, like they’re best friends or something. “There’s this whole script, see. So, go on.”
Jared’s jaw tenses with irritation. “Okay.” It’s not enough that he’s lost, tied up and scared shitless; now he has to feel like he’s being played with too. And has to play along because he has no idea what will happen if he doesn’t. “Who are you?”
The man gives him a thumbs up and Jared barely keeps from rolling his eyes.
“Good! My name is Mr. Sheppard. You can call me...” He shrugs. “Mr. Sheppard. I’m, uh, you could say I’m a contractor and I’ve recently been offered a substantial amount of money to find the answers to certain questions.”
“I don’t... what questions?” The chair creaks when Jared sags against it and he winces as his head knocks off of something behind him. Twisting, he sees a metal pole extending to the roof, one of the room’s supports. The chair must be tied to it. “Look.” He turns back to Sheppard (he is not calling him Mister). “Whatever this is about, it seems sort of shady and I seriously don’t even know what kind of questions I could answer. Maybe you’ve got the wrong guy?”
“Unless you’re Jared Padalecki’s evil twin, then no, I haven’t.” Sheppard puts the book down and jumps off the table, heading to a shelving unit tipped against one wall. Dust puffs up into the air as he retrieves a large manila envelope from one of the shelves. “Like I said, it’s not you.” The desk squeaks as he hops back onto it and pulls out a large sheet of paper, turning it to face Jared.
It looks so different from the man he knows that Jared doesn’t even register it at first, all he sees is a mugshot of some young, dirty-looking guy. His confusion nets him a few seconds to gather himself when he realizes that it’s Jensen in the picture. Younger and sharper, narrower; but still the same nose, same eyes, the same perfect mouth. He has a black eye in the picture, a split lip and a freshly stitched wound on his jaw. A wound in the same place as a scar he’d said came from falling into a glass table as a child. He looks like a total punk, full of sneering belligerence in a hollow, hungry face.
He’s pretty sure it’s the only picture he’s seen of Jensen from before they met.
It takes some effort, but he keeps the shock from registering on his face long enough to give Sheppard a confused look. Maybe he can bluff his way out.
“Oh please don’t pretend you don’t know him, it demeans us both.” Sheppard rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, lifting up the book he’d been flipping through.
As the cover comes into view, shiny black material with the word ‘PHOTO’ embossed in the center, Jared scowls. “Hey! You stole that!”
It’s theirs. Or his, anyway. Growing up, Jared’s family had always been a little snapshot nuts; shelves full of photo albums, letters and e-mails loaded down with pictures. He carried on the tradition proudly.
Jensen, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He’d made it known early on that, while he didn’t mind having his picture taken, he was very uncomfortable with them being put up anywhere in public. So Jared stuck them into photo albums instead, figuring Jensen’s need for privacy was more of a charming (to Jared, at least) personality quirk than anything else.
“I did steal it, yes. Though if you don’t like people who steal things, then you’re probably going to get some bad news in the next little bit.” Jared clamps down on another outburst of anger as Sheppard opens the album again, slipping one of the photos out of its sleeve. He holds it out to Jared. “I think this one’s my favorite. I’m jealous really, I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me that way.”
It’s one of Jared’s favourites too; a candid picture of them both sitting together and laughing, Jensen with a hand lifted to cover his grin, all his attention on Jared. Seeing it in Sheppard’s hand fills him with sick anger. He turns his head, focusing on a crack running down a distant wall.
“Oh, now you’re happy to be quiet. Of course. Anyway, if it wasn’t clear, I have some issues to discuss with your boyfriend. From what I’ve learned about him, he’s going to need a damn good reason to talk to me.”
Jared turns back, gaze moving from the picture of the two of them to the mugshot he can just see on the desk. “Me.” The dread that’s been curling through his stomach amps up another notch. “I’m a hostage.”
“‘Fraid so, yes. See, your man, ’Jensen’... ” Sheppard pulls his legs onto the table and sits cross legged, holding his hands up in a set of air quotes on Jensen's name. “He used to work for the same people that hired me. Though work isn’t really the right word. I think they see it as more of a family thing.” He rubs a hand along the stubble darkening his chin. “I’m not really a part of it all, you understand.” He gives Jared another conspiratorial wink. “More like a naughty neighbour who happens to be getting well paid.”
The need to know, to ask, outweighs how little Jared wants to encourage Sheppard. “What do they want?”
“Money, mostly.” Sheppard shrugs. “Also some closure to their feelings of deep anger and betrayal, not that those were the words they used. Your man took the money and ran years ago, apparently.”
“He stole from them?”
“He stole from a lot of people, actually.” The desk creaks as Sheppard slides off of it again, leaning against the edge. He’s an energetic kind of guy. “I would’ve brought it if I’d been thinking but you’ll have to take my word for it that his police record is extensive. Drugs, thievery, weapons charges, vicious gang violence, even a few cases of arson. And I’m sad to say a murder charge or two. No convictions there, but then, with who he was connected to, he didn’t get convicted for a lot of things.”
Jared grits his teeth behind a thin smile, glaring. “I’ve got no reason to believe you.”
“No, I suppose not.” Sheppard nods to himself before raising an eyebrow at Jared. “But you do.”
The thing of it is, he’s starting to. Maybe not the details, but more and more he’s starting to see how the basic idea fits. He’d always known there was something in Jensen’s past, not even the shyest person is that closed off about where they came from. But he‘d assumed it was something... different, not like this. Like maybe he had family problems or money problems or something else he was embarrassed about. Something he would talk about eventually, in time. Jared had never pushed, believing it would be better for them both to let Jensen have that time.
And truthfully, it was another one of those things that he shouldn’t like, but did. Having a boyfriend with a ‘mysterious past’. In his most truthful moments, he could even admit that it made things... interesting.
But this is a little more interesting than he’d bargained for.
“Look.” Sheppard lays a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his brooding. Jared shakes it off with a sour grimace. “I am sorry. He’s a bad man who’s done bad things and he has bad men after him. You don’t deserve to be here more than any other person, but it is what it is.”
Flustered over how Sheppard’s touch and words have gotten to him, Jared glares balefully up at him. “I’m sure you’re really torn up about it. How do you know this will work? If he’s a ‘bad man’ who’s been lying to me all this time, how do you even know he’ll care enough to do what you want? He could be halfway out of the state by now.” It was just supposed to be combative, trying to get under Sheppard’s skin the way he got under Jared’s, but in reality Jensen could be halfway out of the state by now. Jared curls forward in the chair, trying not to think about it.
“Yeah, I’d considered that. But-” A ring interrupts him, the shrill tone reminding Jared of the dull pain in his skull. Sheppard continues as he pulls a phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen.”Hmm. But after some observation, I came to the conclusion that you’re pretty much the key here. If I have you, I have him.” He looks up from the phone, giving Jared a quick smile before he starts to gather up the items on the desk.
“You’ve been watching us?” Jared’s voice comes out horrified, the sudden knowledge of this breach of their privacy leaving him defenseless.
Sheppard shrugs. “Criminal, remember? It’s not my fault you two go at it like rabbits every chance you get. I have to say, though, you’ve got some serious stamina.” He walks to the back shelf, ignoring Jared seething behind him as he replaces the album and envelope. “That’s why I drugged you instead of just knocking you cold. Very useful intel.”
“You-” He can’t even speak for a moment, rage blocking his tongue. “You’re disgusting!”
Sheppard gives him a wounded look. “That’s uncalled for, I was just doing my job.”
“Your-” Jared gets another angry word in before Sheppard cuts him off.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay to discuss the morals of criminality, Mr. Padalecki. I’ve got a little something to take care of.” He waves the phone at Jared in demonstration. “Sit tight!”
“Wait, you-” Jared wrenches himself in the chair, trying to turn as Sheppard walks past him, presumably to where the door is. “You can’t just leave me here! Hey!” Behind him, he hears the low mumble of voices, cut off by the slam of a solid sounding door. “Hey!”
Nothing.
Shit.
Alone, panic starts to set in. What if they kill him? How long will Sheppard leave him here? What if no one comes back? His hands make tight fists as he tries to keep control, fighting against the panic and the growing, claustrophobic anxiety from being tied down.
What if Jensen does run away?
Jared tucks his chin against his chest, pulling in slow, calming breaths. He can’t think like that. Whatever happened in the past, why would Jensen make this whole life with him if he didn’t mean it? It would’ve been safer not to. So he must care. He has to. And where ever they have Jared, whatever remote place this is-
Wait.
Why would Sheppard care so much about him being quiet? Not that he’d seemed really concerned about it, but he’d repeated it enough. Maybe they weren’t as off the map as it seemed like. Maybe someone might hear him.
Jared sucks in another breath, much deeper this time.
Only one way to find out.
Jim Beaver is good at what he does. He calls Jensen back in thirty five and a half minutes (not that he was timing it) with everything he needs to know. Jared is being held at an old machine rental place in the industrial district, by some guy named Mark that Jensen’s never heard of. It wasn’t unknown for the people he used to work for to hire outside the gang, but it still surprises him, he thought for sure they’d want a personal touch here. Especially considering the last piece of info Jim gives him before he hangs up.
“You were right, they’ve got a kill order on you regardless of if you give up that money or not. Watch yourself, okay? You know if I was anywhere near there...”
Yeah, he knows. Despite the attitude, Jim would be sitting right beside him if he could. Jensen's never known a better friend who wasn’t either dead by now or Jared.
It’s just past dusk when he gets there, still a little light so he stops the car a few buildings away, parking it on the other side of some dumpsters where it should go unnoticed. He’s as prepared as he can be, under the circumstances, with no real knowledge of the building’s layout and no idea how many people he’s dealing with. But even if there’s a dozen guys in there, he doesn’t have the luxury of packing heavy. Speed is going to be the name of the game here; he’s going in with just his gun, a wicked looking hunting knife, and a set of brass knuckles stuffed into his coat pocket. He’d been keeping the latter under the manual in his glove box, confident in the knowledge that Jared never looks at manuals.
There’s a distinct lack of, well, everything between the car and the shop; no movement, no people, no real traffic either. Jensen’s not sure if he should be happy about that or not as he makes his way down the street, sticking near walls and avoiding any light he can. On the one hand, it’s no trouble to make it to the side of the building unopposed, but on the other, it might have made things easier if he’d been able to cut down the number of people he had to deal with on the way there.
Not that he’s sure just how he’s going to ‘deal’ with them. He hasn’t hurt anyone in a long time now, but he can feel it buzzing just under his skin; that mix of fear, anger and adrenaline that will let him do what he has to.
He creeps along to the corner of the building, kneeling down to take a quick look around it. Two men are at the back door, the red, pinpoint glow of a cigarette passing between them. If there was just one, he could probably rush him, it’s close enough. With two, though? No way. But there is an overhead door back along the wall behind him that must have had a run in with a truck once, leaving a dent that keeps it from closing all the way. It’s not much of a gap, but Jensen figures he can squeeze through it. Maybe.
He has to take his time and toss his jacket under ahead of himself, but he does barely fit, wriggling under the rubber-lined edge of the door while trying desperately to minimize noise. If anyone hears him and decides to check things out, he’ll be completely fucked. Pinned here like a bug. Luck’s with him, though, and there’s no sign of life other than a single, distant murmur of voices.
On the other side, he slips his coat back on and crouches against one of the high sides of a concrete ramp, checking the place out. Most of the front end is dark but enough of the back space is lit up by flickering fluorescents that it should be easy work with. It’s bigger than he’d figured; mostly open, with the rusted carcasses of old tools and equipment littering the floor. Big metal racks, used for storing smaller tools, look like his best bet for getting around unseen.
As he’s crawling up the ramp, the electronic ring of a phone sounds out to his right. He scrambles back, tucking into the shadows against the door just as echoing footsteps make their way toward him.
“Yeah? … Hey … Uh huh, no, nothing here. What- … uh huh.”
The voice sounds female but they stop just before the ramp, a dark figure barely showing through a rack of chains.
“Yeah. Anderson is up there now … Not anymore … I don’t know, but he sure stopped makin’ noise once Anderson went in there.”
The figure laughs and Jensen grits his teeth, nails digging at the concrete wall. He has definite suspicions about who ‘he’ might be.
“I’m heading back there now, I’ll let them know you’re-… Yeah Meding is watching the front still, Jesus … alright, b-”
The person hisses in irritation as they flip their phone shut. Pressed hard against the wall, Jensen holds his breath as they start moving again, passing by the top of the ramp. It’s a woman, brunette, with a thickness that speaks to some definite muscles under her jacket. She walks by with quick steps, muttering something about ’micro-managing pricks’ and never even looking in his direction. Soon after, he hears multiple voices coming from the back. She must be talking to the other guards.
So with her, those two at the back, Meding at the front and Anderson somewhere else, that means at least five to deal with. Plus the person on the phone who must be Sheppard. It sounded like he might be on his way here, but still, six is pretty manageable.
After the woman is gone, Jensen moves quickly, lifting himself over the low wall and edging behind one of the racks. From here, he has a better view of the front area, a long desk in front of a bunch of narrow rows of shelving. Behind that, a staircase leads up to a railed platform outside a room on metal pillars. It must be a manager’s office or something, lifted up for the extra storage underneath.
Movement catches Jensen’s eye. There’s a man sitting by the door up there, tilting his chair against the back railing while he toys with something in his hands. Hello, Mr. Anderson.
It’s a quick squeeze behind another section of racks and a heart-stopping few steps in the open before he’s scaling the shadowed supports under the platform, inching up to take a look. Anderson is right in front of him, rocking on the back legs of his chair. Jensen could reach out right now and give the chair legs a good shove if he wanted to, they’re close enough. Instead, he pulls himself up slowly, muscles burning with the effort to stay smooth and silent, and slips one leg through the railings to brace himself. His hand creeps into his coat pocket, fingers threading through the holes in the brass knuckles.
One sharp strike to the back of his head is enough to bring Anderson down like a sack of potatoes. Jensen barely holds on to his tenuous balance as he throws an arm around Anderson's shoulders, holding him in the chair while Jensen climbs over the railing and guides him silently to the floor. He crouches there beside the prone body, fingers pressed against the neck. Still alive. He checks the eyes quickly, prying one lid up. Definitely out for the count. Goodbye, Mr. Anderson.
Out on the main floor, nothing moves. Still, there’s no way to be sure how long he has or just what... His thoughts falter, eyes drawn back to the office door. No way to know for sure what he’ll find on the other side.
Up till now he’d been on automatic. Moving and planning and thinking by instinct more than anything else, rote memorization. But now that strange freeze is back, locking his muscles.They’re guarding something, but what if Jim was wrong? It could happen. Maybe. If Jared’s not here, then...
He has to be here.
Jensen forces himself to stand and press against the wall beside the door, listening. There’s nothing to hear, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The gun is in his hand before he thinks about it, held against his chest as he wraps his fingers around the door knob. A count starts in his head. Three... two... one... now!
His first impression is beige. Then walls, shelves, desks and floor all register at once. The room is empty except for a figure sitting against a support beam in the middle, facing away. At his entrance, the figure jerks upright with a guttural noise, hair flying side to side as they fight to get a glimpse of him.
Jensen would know the flop of that hair anywhere.
He’s at Jared’s side in an instant, kneeling down as Jared bucks away from the sudden movement with a muffled yell.
“Shh! It’s me! It’s me.”
Jared freezes, staring down at him with shocked eyes. His mouth works around the thick cloth tied between his teeth, stringing vowels together that sound vaguely like Jensen’s name.
They gagged him. Motherfuckers.
“Yeah. Yeah, baby, it’s me.” The need to touch is too hard to fight, it sets his palms running over the tension-hard muscles in Jared’s arms, across the rope binding him to the chair and up. Up over his neck, where drying sweat leaves his skin tacky, to cup against his jaw and pull him down as Jensen surges up, pressing their mouths together. It’s like a parody of a kiss with the gag in the way, but he doesn’t care, he just... has to.
When he pulls back, Jared is still staring it him, expression hard to read around the gag. Jensen threads his fingers up, pushing the bangs out of Jared’s face. “You okay?” It’s possible he deserves the disbelieving look Jared gives him for that. “Okay, sorry, just give me a sec.”
He pulls the knife out from under his coat, surprised when Jared readily turns his head and presents the side of the gag. Jensen had been expecting a little more wariness than this. Maybe no one told Jared anything yet. For a moment he considers not telling him anything either, if that’s the case. But, fuck, he’s done enough lying now.
“Don’t move.” The knife slides between cloth and skin with a whisper, tip bobbing as Jensen drags the serrated edge forward, sawing through the gag at the corner of Jared’s mouth. It falls to the floor as Jared works spit back into his mouth with a grimace. Jensen’s thumb traces the abused looking corner of his lips. “Are you hurt?”
“N-” Jared stops, hoarse voice catching with a dry click. “No. Well. They hit my head and knocked me out with some kind of chemical but... I’m okay. I think. Little woozy.”
Jensen nods, face tight as his fingers search Jared’s hair, skirting lightly over a lump just below the crown of his skull. It’s in the same place Jensen had hit to pound the consciousness out of Anderson. Dangerous spot.
“That’s it?” He pulls his hands back reluctantly and starts cutting through the ropes around the chair. They have to get moving.
Jared nods, watching.
“What about the gag?”
“Oh.” Jared is smirking a little when Jensen looks up, and rubbing the tingles out of his hands. “I was yelling for help. I guess it annoyed the guy watching me. Where are we any way, J-”
Jensen looks up again as Jared’s voice cuts off. His face is drawn into a frown, troubled and distant, turned away.
“Jared?”
“Is that your real name?”
Oh.
No answer comes even as Jensen opens his mouth, he’s muted by the wistful resignation in Jared’s voice. He doesn’t know what to say or how he’ll stop talking once he starts. Or what he’ll do if he can’t wipe that look off Jared’s face. “I- Jared, I know...” He turns his head down, distracting himself with the ropes. Maybe it’ll be easier if he doesn’t have to look. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but... it’s Jensen. That's my real name. When I- Back then-” He halts, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “Everyone just called me Jay. And eventually that’s what they all thought my name was.”
“Jensen Jones?” The dubious tone makes Jensen wince.
“... Ackles. Jensen Ackles.”
“Ackles.” Jared says the name like he’s tasting it and Jensen can’t help a tiny smile. It’s nice to hear his real name again, especially on Jared’s lips. He savours it, since that might be the last time he’ll ever hear it. Jared goes on. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”
Jensen’s fingers grip the hilt of the knife and squeeze as he shakes his head ‘no’, still not looking up.
“Why?”
Fuck. Tentatively, not knowing if it’s even welcome, he rests his forehead against Jared’s knee for a moment of comfort. “Because I didn’t want you to know this stuff about me.”
“Oh.” Jared's fingers stroke over the material after he sits up, feeling the warmth from Jensen's skin, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. “Will you tell me now?”
Jensen sighs heavily as he pulls the last of the ropes away from the chair. “We don’t really have time right now.” When he lifts his head, their eyes meet for a long moment, Jensen’s pleading to Jared’s searching.
Finally, thankfully, Jared nods. “Okay. Later. What do we do now?”
They move quickly, hauling Jared out of the chair with one or two stumbles as he gets his legs under him. Anderson is still in a heap of limbs by the door, showing no signs of awareness when Jensen grabs him by the legs and hauls him in the room.
They heave him into the chair and half-ass tie him down with whatever rope is still usable. It’s nothing that would fool anyone inside the room, but they’d still have to come inside the room and that, at least, might buy them some time.
He’s about to lead Jared out the door after a few instructions (stay low, no talking, keep behind him) when Jared stops and turns back, rushing to one of the shelves.
“Jared, what- we gotta go!”
“Just a sec!” He pulls something out of a black book that had been sitting on the shelf, tucking it into a pocket before grabbing a large envelope and bringing it over to Jensen. “Here, I think this is all the stuff they have on you. Nice hair, by the way. Weed whacker chic.”
Puzzled, Jensen peeks into the envelope. His own snarling, younger face peers back at him. Oh. “Thanks.”
Once out of the room, they inch down the stairs and follow the nearest wall to the front of the building, sneaking between one set of narrow shelves. At the end of the row, Jensen flattens against one shelf and motions for Jared to do the same before peeking out. The front area is dark, with only the light coming in through a line of tall windows illuminating a lone man sitting on top of the desk. A group of shadows beside him converges into the shape of a long gun as Jensen's eyes adjust to the darkness.
If he can sneak up on this guy, he should be able to take him down like he did Anderson and be long gone out the front door before any of the others realize there’s a problem.
With a finger to his lips, he reaches a hand up to Jared’s chest, pushing him against the shelf. Be quiet, stay here. Jared nods, eyes wide and showing white in the darkness.
With another quick look, Jensen slides the knuckleduster over his fingers and eases out from hiding. He keeps his steps slow but long, covering the distance between them in a few silent seconds. But something, a shadow, a sound, random intuition, makes the guard turn his head.
Shit!
The man makes a startled noise and goes for his gun, some kind of long-barreled semi-automatic, but Jensen is on him before he can grab it, yanking him off the desk in a bear hug, one hand clawed against his mouth to muffle his shouting. They grapple, weaving over the floor until a flash of movement (Jared, stepping out from the shelves, what the fuck is he doing?) distracts Jensen. The man in his arms yanks free and rushes for his gun again. Jensen growls, unsheathing the knife under his jacket. He doesn’t have a choice, and even if he did he doesn’t have the time to make it.
The man arcs back as the blade slides up between his ribs, stretched fingers flailing uselessly at the butt of his weapon. He slides to the floor with one long, gurgling gasp, dead.
Jensen kneels down, pulling his knife free and wiping it clean against the dead man’s shirt. He doesn’t want to look, but his face lifts to Jared’s like a magnet. Jared is wide-eyed and breathing hard. His eyes flick from the body to Jensen, from Jensen to the knife and back again, gaze holding Jensen’s with a mix of awe and fear. He looks like he’s about to speak when a shout rings out in the warehouse behind them. They both jump, breaking apart from their strange staring match.
“Damn it!” Jensen leaps forward, grabbing Jared by the arm and dragging him around the desk to the front door, an all-glass affair to match the wall of windows on either side of it. The locks stick, of fucking course, and more shouts echo behind them, mixed with the sound of running footsteps. “Fuck it.” He twists back, grabbing the dead man’s gun. Not much point in stealth now. “Get back!”
Jared stumbles away from the door as Jensen fires a handful of quick rounds through the glass, shots ear-numbingly loud. The glass crumbles in a shower of glittering chunks that pool at their feet as Jensen pulls Jared through the cleared opening. Outside, he shoves him to the right, yelling as he follows behind. “Go, go, go! Car’s that way!”
At a full out sprint, Jared easily pulls away, passing the corner of the rental building well ahead of Jensen.
The sharp bang of a pistol fills the night and, ahead of him, Jared hits the ground with a yell.
No.
“Jared!”
Forcing an extra burst of speed, he passes the corner and spots a figure running down the side of the building toward them. Fuck, fuck, one of them went around, why didn’t he think of that! He raises his stolen weapon and fires in a burst. The figure crumples and rolls to a stop on the asphalt, unmoving.
“Jared!” Jensen is beside him in the blink of an eye, terrified certainty blinding him so much that it takes him a second to realize Jared is moving, struggling to his feet.
“I’m okay! I’m okay.” He staggers up, one hand on Jensen's shoulder, he’s smiling for fuck sake. “Jen, I’m okay, it just scared me. See?” The hand on his shoulder squeezes once and Jensen lets out a shaking breath and a nod before grabbing Jared by the arm, pulling them into a run again.
They’re nearly to the next building when the last two guards burst out of the shop behind them.
Continue to Part 2.
Author: sparseparsley
Rating: NC-17
Genre/Pairing: RPF, AU, Action/Suspense, Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: 19k
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence, Kidnapping
Summary: Jared figures he knows everything he needs to know about his boyfriend. Everything important, anyway. Right up to the night he gets attacked in his own home, waking up in the company of someone who will show him how little he knows about the man he calls Jensen Jones.
Author's Note: This fic was written for the 2011 ReverseBang, from bumerbmw's video prompt.
Many thanks to bumerbmw for their awesome and very inspiring fanvid as well as the extra work they've done on things like banners and dividers. They really helped this be a great experience, too, with lots of communication and support. I'm really glad we got to work together, thanks bumerbmw! Thanks also to my beta, dizzzylu, who was still helping me polish the porny bits this morning. Now that's dedication. Thanks, Diz, you really came through for me and you're exactly as picky as you need to be. ;p
Bumerbmw's art post.
bumerbmw's video on YouTube.
Our Masterpost at spn_reversebang.
PDF of fic.
The front door bangs off the wall as Jared shoves through it, stumbling under the weight of a half dozen overstuffed, plastic grocery bags.
“Mrrfugger!”
He glares at the freshly pitted dent where the doorknob smacked the wall, baring his teeth around the handle of the bag gripped in his mouth. Motherfucker. Now Jen’s gonna give him that ‘Don’t look at me, you said you were gonna fix it’ look again. Whatever, it’s his security deposit, he can have dented walls if he wants to.
It’s an unkind thought and he takes it back almost immediately as he makes his way to the kitchen, heaving the bags onto the counter with a grunt. So what if it started as his apartment, Jensen’s been here for over a year now. It’s theirs. Their apartment, their deposit, their... fish.
“Hey, Barry!” He pauses in putting the groceries away, twisting the cap off a new plastic canister of food and tearing away the foil guard. Barry, their little Betta fish, turns a circle in the tank they have set up by the doorway to the living room. “Now remember, we are not telling Jen that I let you run out of food, okay?” The pungent flakes float along the surface of the water as he shakes a little out. “Good fish.” Barry nips along the top, sucking them down with his ‘o’ shaped mouth.
In all honesty, the fish is mostly Jensen’s and Jared isn’t exactly sure how he got roped into being the one who takes care of it. He’d wanted a dog originally but, well, apartment.
That had been their first really big fight, actually. Not the dog thing, the apartment thing. Jared was so ready to move into a proper house, something with a lawn and a dog and a lack of creepy neighbours who like to sleep in the halls. Jensen was... less ready. But it’s almost funny how Jared considers that fight a high point in their relationship. He takes his time with the groceries, smiling to himself at the memory. That was when he knew. Granted he’d been pretty damn sure already, what with the ‘let’s buy a house together’ thing, but in every relationship before this, when there was a big fight, he’d always have this thought in the back of his head. This voice that said ‘I don’t want to do this, it isn’t worth it’. Even if he could barely hear it, that voice had always been there. Except with Jensen. It had always been worth it with him.
The low trill of the phone breaks him out of his thoughts.
“Hello?” He cradles the handset between cheek and shoulder as he finishes filling the fridge.
“Hey.”
“Hey!” It’s Jensen, voice clear despite the rattling din of noise in the background. He must be holed up someplace out of the way. Jared moves the phone to his hand and leans against the counter, grinning. “How’s it going? Sounds busy.”
It generally does sound busy, there. Jensen works at a furniture warehouse where a slow day is like a mythical beast and he comes home tired and smelling of sweat almost every night, often wanting nothing more than to just cuddle up beside (sorry, ‘lean on’) Jared and watch TV. Not that Jared minds. He’s a big enough man to admit that he enjoys a good lean-on every now and then. And frankly, he likes the way sweaty Jensen smells. Like, a lot.
“Yeah. There was a serious fuck up in the orders today.” Irritation bleeds through Jensen’s voice even though Jared can hear him reigning it in, trying to keep his patience. “We’re way behind, it’s gonna be like another two hours.”
Jared makes a distressed noise before he can stop himself. He’d been looking forward to tonight. They both have the day off tomorrow (or Jensen has the day off and Jared, being freelance, was just going to skip out on editing that day, so there) so tonight was going to be fun. And by fun he means he’d hoped both of them would be walking funny in the morning. “Aw, damn. Well... want me to call the office in fifteen and fake a family emergency? Help, help, Barry drowned?”
There’s a soft chuckle from the phone. “No, but thanks.” The laugh trails into a long sigh, one part frustration to two parts heat. “Fuck, baby, I’ve been thinking about you all day. God damn assholes screwing everything up.”
Jared grins. “Oh yeah?” He figures he shouldn’t encourage it when Jensen gets like this, all dirty mouthed and rough, but at the same time he savours it. When they first met, Jared had found Jensen shy and almost cold, quiet to the point of rude and Jared had been surprised to find out what was underneath. And even more surprised when he realized he was maybe the only person who got to see it. So sue him, it made him feel special. “Well, if you can get home without insulting anyone’s mom or passing out in the doorway, I promise I’ll blow you to sleep, okay?”
“Mmm.” It’s almost a growl, and Jared can picture the dark, low-lidded look that goes with it. “Tomorrow. I’m- I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do to you but it’ll be illegal, I can say that.”
“Ha, everything we do is illegal somewhere, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Oh, I guarantee it.” The distant noise rises suddenly, accompanied by another curse from Jensen. “Shit, I’ve gotta get back there. I’ll see you later okay? Hey! Did you get those taco chips I like?”
He snorts. “Yes, Christ, I got your chips. When have I ever not gotten your chips?”
“There was that one time! I remember, I was devastated.”
”God.” The words are exasperated but Jared’s voice is warm and playful. “Just... go back to work, you sofa pusher.”
They exchange quick good-byes and ‘love you’s before hanging up. Quick on Jared’s part at least. Jensen is still awkward and stilted with the casual declarations of love thing but the fact that he still makes the effort when it’s clearly not easy for him is all Jared really needs. Usually. In his more self conscious moments he wonders if Jensen is as real about this as he is. It’s another unkind thought with very little backing it, but he can’t seem to shake it. He just gets these... feelings sometimes and- ah, whatever. If Jensen says he loves him then he loves him, there’s no reason to think otherwise.
Jared grabs a soda out of the fridge and distracts himself with wondering what to do with his evening. No point in cooking, Jensen usually brings food home with him when he works late. Maybe he can get a little work done, instead.
Lost in thought, he misses the extra shadow in the living room as he passes through. His only warning is the scuff of something moving over the carpet behind him before sharp pain explodes behind his ear. He catches a distorted reflection in the glass of the television as shock floods him, but he’s flat on the floor before he can even make a shape out.
“Nn-!”
Wha-, what, are they being robbed? The thick pain in his head makes it impossible to think clearly as he lurches to his hands and knees. He has to get away, he knows, but which way is away? Strange things stand out, the multicolored fibres of the carpet, the sound of a car alarm outside, his hand feels wet. Why-? Oh, the soda bottle, it must have broke when he dropped it.
Suddenly there’s a weight on his back and two black polished shoes at his sides. Trapped and in pain, he panics, shoving away from the floor, hands flailing for anything that might be in reach. His stomach turns with the movement, waves of nausea rolling over him in time with the throbbing thump in his head. The weight shoves back down and a hand appears in front of him, holding something. A... a dish towel? Why would...
“Shh, shh, s’fine, everything’s fine, big boy. Deep breaths now.”
He inhales sharply, an automatic reaction to the strange voice, and everything goes distant, like his brain’s been packed in cotton balls. Or, or bubble wrap. Or... it’s dark. He didn’t turn the lights out, why...
“There you go, good boy, just a quick nap and then everything will be fine.”
Why is it dark? The glass, he has to clean up the glass before Jen steps in...
The apartment door is open when Jensen gets home.
He forces his muscles to relax as he walks by, giving the inside of the apartment a casual look, curious just like any normal passer-by would be.
The demeanor holds until he rounds the hall corner and lays himself flat against the wall, hands flexing into fists. Nothing. No movement, no weird noises, no damage around the door, just their regular ugly entryway wall paper and a narrow view of the kitchen. Maybe- maybe Jared just didn’t shut it all the way when he got home.
He twists slowly, turning to the wall and sliding out far enough to get a quick look down the hall.
Still nothing, alright then.
Moving slowly down the hall, he makes his way back to the door. It swings open with a shove, silent on freshly greased hinges. He catches himself nearly calling out, forming Jared’s name with his lips before he realizes what he’s doing. Fuck. A weapon, why doesn’t he have a weapon? He’d stopped carrying a knife months ago, he hadn’t even decided to, it just stopped being something he made sure of every day. Stupid.
His movements stay slow and even as he slips along the hall to the kitchen. The room is empty except for an open bag of chips on the counter. He’s just about to the living room entry when the chips catch his eye again. They’re his favourite kind, the ones he asked about when he called earlier. The ones Jared doesn’t like at all. Open.
Right.
The hiss of metal against wood seems strikingly loud as he steps back, pulling a butcher knife out of the block before retracing his steps to the living room.
He thinks it’s blood at first, the wide, dark stain he finds when he steps into the room. The sight sets a slam of cold deep in his bones, but he remembers the coppery tang of blood in the air and that smell is nowhere to be found here. Even so, it takes several deliberately steady breaths before he can convince his feet to move and his eyes to look away and check the rest of the room.
Not much is out of place, he sees that right away. But what is out of place isn’t good. The stain is lined with thick shards of broken glass on one side, another sign that whatever it is didn’t come out of a person. The angle of the couch is off, like it’s been shoved, and the computer chair is away from the desk, twisted to face out. The carpet in the middle of the room, some decorative thing that was on sale one time, is messed up on one side, all bunched into waves. Big things were moving in here.
The rest of the apartment is empty. He checks it quickly, moving from room to room before returning to the living room. It’s not a very thorough job, he knows, but behind a wall of calm competence, panic is building inside him.
Mindful of the glass, he kneels by the stain and touches two careful fingers to it. It smells sweet and he can already feel the liquid drying tacky on his fingers. Sticky. With that and the glass, it’s gotta be soda. Jared drinks too much of that shit. He doesn’t realize he’s pressing his fist hard into the carpet until the cold liquid starts oozing up between his fingers.
“Fuck.” This is- he never should have come here. Never should have stayed. He knew they’d find him, why did he- Jared- fuck!
“Okay. Okay.” He stands, shaking the ache in his hand out and moving around the room, flat side of the butcher knife tapping restlessly against his leg. Can’t jump to conclusions yet. Maybe... there’s glass, maybe Jared cut himself and had to go to the hospital. Maybe he got bad news and had to leave in a hurry. Maybe he suddenly developed a taste for Jensen’s chips and forgot to tell-
Wait.
This is Jared, he never forgets to tell Jensen things and he always calls.
Jensen rushes to the phone, relief flooding him as he sees the little red ‘message’ light flashing. He stabs a finger against the button.
“Hello Mr... Jones? Really? Alright.”
Jensen freezes, jaw clenching and releasing as he stares at the answering machine. It’s not Jared.
“This is Mr. Sheppard. I’m an acquaintance of some acquaintances of yours. Now, I stopped by earlier but no one one home, I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in anyway.”
The voice is male with an English accent, a little rough but calm and even. Jensen’s nails bite into his palms.
“Lovely place, by the way, very well cared for. Clean. Anyway, I... borrowed something from you.”
His stomach drops at the confirmation, arm pressing into the wall behind the phone as his body sags forward. What else can it be but confirmation?
“Took some doing, big as it was. I hope to return it relatively undamaged but, well, accidents happen as I’m sure you can see. I did mean to clean that glass up but time got away from me. What was I... oh! Right, borrowed. Now, I’m also told that you can answer a few questions I have so I think it might be best to get it all done at once, don’t you? You can help me out with my questions, I can get your property back to you nearly good as new and then... I don’t know, lunch?”
A snarl curls Jensen’s mouth into a sour twist and the urge to talk to the voice, to tell it in sharp detail exactly what he wants to do to it, is nearly insurmountable.
“It’s best if we talk man to man about this. Why don’t I call you later and we can work something out? Oh, and I’m sure I don’t actually have to say this, but I think discretion would be a very good idea on your part. No point in getting anyone else involved in such personal business.”
“Oh I will fucking end your personal business.” Apparently the urge wasn’t so much ‘nearly insurmountable’ as ‘totally insurmountable’. The blade of the kitchen knife curves with tension as he grinds it tip first into the lacquered finish of the table top.
“Well. I guess this is goodbye for now. I’ve got some company to say hello to and you should probably see about that glass. Have a lovely evening, Mr. Jones.”
Jensen stares at the message light, dead and unblinking now, as the click of an ended call echoes in his head. He should listen to it again, look for details, anything could be important, but he can’t move, like he’s made of stone.
Jared.
Movement, when it comes, is explosive.
“Fuck!” His arm, knife still in hand, sweeps across the table so suddenly and violently that it surprises even him, sending a lamp and that ceramic bird statue thing from Jared’s mother crashing to the floor. The knife, tangled in the fabric of the lamp shade, twists free of his hand but he barely notices as he turns and slams his other fist into the wall with a tearing yell.
“Motherfucker!”
Damn, his hand hurts. But that’s good, maybe. He concentrates on the pain, pulling his fist away from the wall (not out of, at least the walls are built strong here) and opening it, sending burning waves of pain up his palm.
Okay.
He can’t just wait for this Sheppard guy to call and then meekly slink off to whatever meeting he wants to have. It doesn’t work that way. Once they’ve got their hands on him, he isn’t coming back.
He could run.
Every part of him flinches at the thought, however fleeting it was, his shame like a physical force squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t leave Jared. It’s not even something he’s trying to convince himself of, it’s just- it just is. He doesn’t know why or how or what the fuck he was thinking, falling for someone so completely but... there it is.
Or there it was. However this ends now, Jared’s going to know. Jared, who won’t even lie to his fucking landlord, Jared is going to know that every single moment they’ve known each other, Jensen’s been lying. Fuck.
Well, Jensen’s got to find him first before that’s a problem, anyway. Somehow. His eyes flick around the room, taking in the glass and the shifted furniture, the quiet phone. He’s just noticing their bookshelves, frowning at the new gaps there that he had missed before, when it comes to him.
Jim.
He’s in the bedroom in seconds, the rush of a plan driving his momentum as he skids to his knees inside the closet. Shoe boxes and gym bags bounce off the bed as he tosses them over his shoulder. What he’s looking for is in the corner, a black plastic bag underneath another black plastic bag full of what he told Jared were his ‘skiing clothes’. Like he’s ever been skiing in his life. He’s pretty sure the thick winter coat in there still has a tag on it. Thank God for Jared’s trusting nature.
Yeah, ‘thank God’.
His hand twists in the plastic, pulling stretched out holes through it. If Jared hadn’t trusted him, taken him at his word even when his word was ‘don’t ask’, maybe he wouldn’t be-
Jensen sighs a short, harsh breath out his nose, cutting off that line of thought. Too late now.
A cell phone and a bundle of cloth roll out past each other as he shakes the bag out over their bed.
He opens the phone one handed, unrolling the cloth with his other to reveal a box of ammo and the dull metal shine of a gun. His hand wraps around the grip easily, molding to it perfectly. Like riding a bike, you never forget how to hold one.
There’s not much of a contact list to scroll though on the phone. No names, one entry. Just two letters that read ‘JB’. He hits ‘talk’.
The ring sounds in his ear a dozen times, his hand going tighter around the grip of the revolver with each ring until a gruff, mistrustful voice answers.
“Who’s this?”
His eyes close in relief. “Jim.”
“... Jay? If that’s you, you sound like shit.”
“Yeah, it’s- yeah. Jim, they fuckin’ found me.” He does sound like shit, voice gone sand-grit dry.
There’s a pause on the other end, then an irritated snort. “Guess that’s been coming. Is there something in particular you want me to do about it? Send flowers to your beau, there? You remember the last time I helped you, ri-”
“They took him.”
Another pause, this one with a heavy sigh at the end. “Shit.”
Jensen runs a hand over his face, giving in to exhaustion for a moment. He’d come home bone-tired from work and it looked like he was going to have to ride those last dregs of energy for a lot longer yet. There’s going to be one fuck of a bill to pay at the end of this.
“Please, Jim, I need to know who’s got him. And where. I can’t... You know they won’t stick with whatever deal I make. I’m dead if I believe that. Jared’s d-” His throat locks up around the word, choking on it. In any other state of mind, he might be embarrassed.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Suddenly, Jim sounds as tired as Jensen feels, low and farther away than... wherever he is. Jensen doesn’t know where he lives any more. Probably for the best.
A burst of restless energy drives Jensen to his feet and sends him pacing to the closet and back. “One of your guys has to know something, high up as you’ve got them.”
“I don’t have guys anymore, Jay. You know that.”
He does. Jim hasn’t been an official face of undercover law enforcement for years now, not since he was ‘persuaded’ to quit over some bullshit about corruption (ha, right, Jim). But Jensen knows something else, too.
“Come on, Jim. They’ll always be your guys. Even when you’re dead in the ground, they’ll still be your fucking guys. I need help, man. I need it.”
The next pause goes on so long, Jensen is about to check if the line is still open when Jim finally answers. A layer of tension falls off Jensen when he does. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Jesus, yes, thank y-”
“I am not promising anything. Just... give me an hour before you run off stupid. I’ll call you back. Can you manage that?”
“Yeah. Yes, definitely. Jim, I...” He doesn’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t really cover it, not for how far and how often Jim Beaver has put his neck on the line for him with no reward other than the knowledge of one more person away from that life. Thank you isn’t even close.
“Yeah, yeah. An hour, got it?”
Jensen gives his assent again before hanging up, arm going limp at his side. An hour. An hour he can’t afford with maybe nothing on the other end of it except Jim’s apologetic voice. Fuck. Well, he can at least be ready to move. He’ll need more ammo for sure. Good thing Wal-Mart is open all night.
The first thing that registers is the smell, a rusty metallic tang with undertones of dust and rot that puts Jared in mind of an old scrapyard he used to work at, full of the stripped down husks of cars and appliances. He follows the scent into consciousness, wrinkling his nose against it.
His hair is in his face, tickling at his cheeks. He raises a hand to brush it back but something... something isn’t right. Something is snagging at his arm, holding it down. He jerks into full awareness at the sensation. Pain, dulled until now by semi-consciousness, explodes into the forefront.
“Hey! Looks like someone’s stirring.”
Memories start surfacing as his eyes fly open, the harsh flood of an overhead light making him squeeze them shut again with a grimace. He’d been home, right? On the phone with Jensen and then... the living room, something happened in the living room. There had been pain, and then the floor and a voice. An accented voice. That voice. Something touches his head and he twists away with a yell.
“Oh come on, I barely touched you.”
Eyes darting around the room, he sees it all in a panic, flashes of a dirty looking office, yellow walls with broken furniture shoved against them, bare floor with glue patches where a carpet used to be. He sees his own arms tied to the arms of a chair with rope, the same rope that winds around his legs, binding them tightly.
But most of his attention goes to the man standing at his side, watching with a patient smile as Jared stares up at him.
The man reaches for him with a square of crumpled cloth in his hand and Jared jolts back again, straining at the ropes. With an exaggerated sigh, the man lets his arm fall back to his side. “It’s just water. Look.” He brings the cloth up to his face, sniffing at it noisily. “See?”
Jared ducks his head violently as the man reaches for him a third time. “No! What-” His voice cracks dryly and he grimaces at the chemical taste in his mouth as he tries to lick some moisture into it. “What the hell is going on!”
“Fine.” The man ignores the question and steps away with a shrug, tossing the cloth onto a nearby table. “Just trying to help you with that nasty bump.” He’s English, smaller and older than Jared and he would look fairly non-threatening in his black sweater and jeans if it wasn’t for the gun holster over his shoulder. Jesus, what the fuck is going on that he’s got someone who carries around a gun tying him up?
Jared pulls at the ropes again, testing them but finding no give. “What’s going on? Why- what do you want with me?” Maybe if he knew a trick to it, but what the hell does he know about ropes? The most he and Jensen have ever done is handcuffs, and the cheap pieces of shit broke in an hour. Oh, fuck, Jen. How long was he out for? What if Jensen came home while he was, what, taken? Kidnapped? Who is this guy any way?
The man lifts himself onto the table with a little hop, legs hanging over the edge. He smiles cheerfully. “Good news first, hm? I don’t want a thing from you.” Jared stops tugging at the restraints, staring at him in confusion. “You’re more like a, mm.” His hand makes a contemplative circle in the air before pointing at Jared. “An incentive! You are an incentive. And if you sit quietly and do what I say, everything will be fine.” He spreads his hands apart when he’s done talking, as if to say ‘ta-da!’
Incredulous, Jared stares. “Incentive for what?”
“Good God you ask a lot if questions, don’t you? Sit quietly, I said.” The man picks up a black book from the table, flipping through its pages. “Besides, you’re all out of order, you’re supposed to ask who I am, next.” He looks up, giving Jared a sneaky wink and whispering, like they’re best friends or something. “There’s this whole script, see. So, go on.”
Jared’s jaw tenses with irritation. “Okay.” It’s not enough that he’s lost, tied up and scared shitless; now he has to feel like he’s being played with too. And has to play along because he has no idea what will happen if he doesn’t. “Who are you?”
The man gives him a thumbs up and Jared barely keeps from rolling his eyes.
“Good! My name is Mr. Sheppard. You can call me...” He shrugs. “Mr. Sheppard. I’m, uh, you could say I’m a contractor and I’ve recently been offered a substantial amount of money to find the answers to certain questions.”
“I don’t... what questions?” The chair creaks when Jared sags against it and he winces as his head knocks off of something behind him. Twisting, he sees a metal pole extending to the roof, one of the room’s supports. The chair must be tied to it. “Look.” He turns back to Sheppard (he is not calling him Mister). “Whatever this is about, it seems sort of shady and I seriously don’t even know what kind of questions I could answer. Maybe you’ve got the wrong guy?”
“Unless you’re Jared Padalecki’s evil twin, then no, I haven’t.” Sheppard puts the book down and jumps off the table, heading to a shelving unit tipped against one wall. Dust puffs up into the air as he retrieves a large manila envelope from one of the shelves. “Like I said, it’s not you.” The desk squeaks as he hops back onto it and pulls out a large sheet of paper, turning it to face Jared.
It looks so different from the man he knows that Jared doesn’t even register it at first, all he sees is a mugshot of some young, dirty-looking guy. His confusion nets him a few seconds to gather himself when he realizes that it’s Jensen in the picture. Younger and sharper, narrower; but still the same nose, same eyes, the same perfect mouth. He has a black eye in the picture, a split lip and a freshly stitched wound on his jaw. A wound in the same place as a scar he’d said came from falling into a glass table as a child. He looks like a total punk, full of sneering belligerence in a hollow, hungry face.
He’s pretty sure it’s the only picture he’s seen of Jensen from before they met.
It takes some effort, but he keeps the shock from registering on his face long enough to give Sheppard a confused look. Maybe he can bluff his way out.
“Oh please don’t pretend you don’t know him, it demeans us both.” Sheppard rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, lifting up the book he’d been flipping through.
As the cover comes into view, shiny black material with the word ‘PHOTO’ embossed in the center, Jared scowls. “Hey! You stole that!”
It’s theirs. Or his, anyway. Growing up, Jared’s family had always been a little snapshot nuts; shelves full of photo albums, letters and e-mails loaded down with pictures. He carried on the tradition proudly.
Jensen, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He’d made it known early on that, while he didn’t mind having his picture taken, he was very uncomfortable with them being put up anywhere in public. So Jared stuck them into photo albums instead, figuring Jensen’s need for privacy was more of a charming (to Jared, at least) personality quirk than anything else.
“I did steal it, yes. Though if you don’t like people who steal things, then you’re probably going to get some bad news in the next little bit.” Jared clamps down on another outburst of anger as Sheppard opens the album again, slipping one of the photos out of its sleeve. He holds it out to Jared. “I think this one’s my favorite. I’m jealous really, I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me that way.”
It’s one of Jared’s favourites too; a candid picture of them both sitting together and laughing, Jensen with a hand lifted to cover his grin, all his attention on Jared. Seeing it in Sheppard’s hand fills him with sick anger. He turns his head, focusing on a crack running down a distant wall.
“Oh, now you’re happy to be quiet. Of course. Anyway, if it wasn’t clear, I have some issues to discuss with your boyfriend. From what I’ve learned about him, he’s going to need a damn good reason to talk to me.”
Jared turns back, gaze moving from the picture of the two of them to the mugshot he can just see on the desk. “Me.” The dread that’s been curling through his stomach amps up another notch. “I’m a hostage.”
“‘Fraid so, yes. See, your man, ’Jensen’... ” Sheppard pulls his legs onto the table and sits cross legged, holding his hands up in a set of air quotes on Jensen's name. “He used to work for the same people that hired me. Though work isn’t really the right word. I think they see it as more of a family thing.” He rubs a hand along the stubble darkening his chin. “I’m not really a part of it all, you understand.” He gives Jared another conspiratorial wink. “More like a naughty neighbour who happens to be getting well paid.”
The need to know, to ask, outweighs how little Jared wants to encourage Sheppard. “What do they want?”
“Money, mostly.” Sheppard shrugs. “Also some closure to their feelings of deep anger and betrayal, not that those were the words they used. Your man took the money and ran years ago, apparently.”
“He stole from them?”
“He stole from a lot of people, actually.” The desk creaks as Sheppard slides off of it again, leaning against the edge. He’s an energetic kind of guy. “I would’ve brought it if I’d been thinking but you’ll have to take my word for it that his police record is extensive. Drugs, thievery, weapons charges, vicious gang violence, even a few cases of arson. And I’m sad to say a murder charge or two. No convictions there, but then, with who he was connected to, he didn’t get convicted for a lot of things.”
Jared grits his teeth behind a thin smile, glaring. “I’ve got no reason to believe you.”
“No, I suppose not.” Sheppard nods to himself before raising an eyebrow at Jared. “But you do.”
The thing of it is, he’s starting to. Maybe not the details, but more and more he’s starting to see how the basic idea fits. He’d always known there was something in Jensen’s past, not even the shyest person is that closed off about where they came from. But he‘d assumed it was something... different, not like this. Like maybe he had family problems or money problems or something else he was embarrassed about. Something he would talk about eventually, in time. Jared had never pushed, believing it would be better for them both to let Jensen have that time.
And truthfully, it was another one of those things that he shouldn’t like, but did. Having a boyfriend with a ‘mysterious past’. In his most truthful moments, he could even admit that it made things... interesting.
But this is a little more interesting than he’d bargained for.
“Look.” Sheppard lays a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his brooding. Jared shakes it off with a sour grimace. “I am sorry. He’s a bad man who’s done bad things and he has bad men after him. You don’t deserve to be here more than any other person, but it is what it is.”
Flustered over how Sheppard’s touch and words have gotten to him, Jared glares balefully up at him. “I’m sure you’re really torn up about it. How do you know this will work? If he’s a ‘bad man’ who’s been lying to me all this time, how do you even know he’ll care enough to do what you want? He could be halfway out of the state by now.” It was just supposed to be combative, trying to get under Sheppard’s skin the way he got under Jared’s, but in reality Jensen could be halfway out of the state by now. Jared curls forward in the chair, trying not to think about it.
“Yeah, I’d considered that. But-” A ring interrupts him, the shrill tone reminding Jared of the dull pain in his skull. Sheppard continues as he pulls a phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen.”Hmm. But after some observation, I came to the conclusion that you’re pretty much the key here. If I have you, I have him.” He looks up from the phone, giving Jared a quick smile before he starts to gather up the items on the desk.
“You’ve been watching us?” Jared’s voice comes out horrified, the sudden knowledge of this breach of their privacy leaving him defenseless.
Sheppard shrugs. “Criminal, remember? It’s not my fault you two go at it like rabbits every chance you get. I have to say, though, you’ve got some serious stamina.” He walks to the back shelf, ignoring Jared seething behind him as he replaces the album and envelope. “That’s why I drugged you instead of just knocking you cold. Very useful intel.”
“You-” He can’t even speak for a moment, rage blocking his tongue. “You’re disgusting!”
Sheppard gives him a wounded look. “That’s uncalled for, I was just doing my job.”
“Your-” Jared gets another angry word in before Sheppard cuts him off.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay to discuss the morals of criminality, Mr. Padalecki. I’ve got a little something to take care of.” He waves the phone at Jared in demonstration. “Sit tight!”
“Wait, you-” Jared wrenches himself in the chair, trying to turn as Sheppard walks past him, presumably to where the door is. “You can’t just leave me here! Hey!” Behind him, he hears the low mumble of voices, cut off by the slam of a solid sounding door. “Hey!”
Nothing.
Shit.
Alone, panic starts to set in. What if they kill him? How long will Sheppard leave him here? What if no one comes back? His hands make tight fists as he tries to keep control, fighting against the panic and the growing, claustrophobic anxiety from being tied down.
What if Jensen does run away?
Jared tucks his chin against his chest, pulling in slow, calming breaths. He can’t think like that. Whatever happened in the past, why would Jensen make this whole life with him if he didn’t mean it? It would’ve been safer not to. So he must care. He has to. And where ever they have Jared, whatever remote place this is-
Wait.
Why would Sheppard care so much about him being quiet? Not that he’d seemed really concerned about it, but he’d repeated it enough. Maybe they weren’t as off the map as it seemed like. Maybe someone might hear him.
Jared sucks in another breath, much deeper this time.
Only one way to find out.
Jim Beaver is good at what he does. He calls Jensen back in thirty five and a half minutes (not that he was timing it) with everything he needs to know. Jared is being held at an old machine rental place in the industrial district, by some guy named Mark that Jensen’s never heard of. It wasn’t unknown for the people he used to work for to hire outside the gang, but it still surprises him, he thought for sure they’d want a personal touch here. Especially considering the last piece of info Jim gives him before he hangs up.
“You were right, they’ve got a kill order on you regardless of if you give up that money or not. Watch yourself, okay? You know if I was anywhere near there...”
Yeah, he knows. Despite the attitude, Jim would be sitting right beside him if he could. Jensen's never known a better friend who wasn’t either dead by now or Jared.
It’s just past dusk when he gets there, still a little light so he stops the car a few buildings away, parking it on the other side of some dumpsters where it should go unnoticed. He’s as prepared as he can be, under the circumstances, with no real knowledge of the building’s layout and no idea how many people he’s dealing with. But even if there’s a dozen guys in there, he doesn’t have the luxury of packing heavy. Speed is going to be the name of the game here; he’s going in with just his gun, a wicked looking hunting knife, and a set of brass knuckles stuffed into his coat pocket. He’d been keeping the latter under the manual in his glove box, confident in the knowledge that Jared never looks at manuals.
There’s a distinct lack of, well, everything between the car and the shop; no movement, no people, no real traffic either. Jensen’s not sure if he should be happy about that or not as he makes his way down the street, sticking near walls and avoiding any light he can. On the one hand, it’s no trouble to make it to the side of the building unopposed, but on the other, it might have made things easier if he’d been able to cut down the number of people he had to deal with on the way there.
Not that he’s sure just how he’s going to ‘deal’ with them. He hasn’t hurt anyone in a long time now, but he can feel it buzzing just under his skin; that mix of fear, anger and adrenaline that will let him do what he has to.
He creeps along to the corner of the building, kneeling down to take a quick look around it. Two men are at the back door, the red, pinpoint glow of a cigarette passing between them. If there was just one, he could probably rush him, it’s close enough. With two, though? No way. But there is an overhead door back along the wall behind him that must have had a run in with a truck once, leaving a dent that keeps it from closing all the way. It’s not much of a gap, but Jensen figures he can squeeze through it. Maybe.
He has to take his time and toss his jacket under ahead of himself, but he does barely fit, wriggling under the rubber-lined edge of the door while trying desperately to minimize noise. If anyone hears him and decides to check things out, he’ll be completely fucked. Pinned here like a bug. Luck’s with him, though, and there’s no sign of life other than a single, distant murmur of voices.
On the other side, he slips his coat back on and crouches against one of the high sides of a concrete ramp, checking the place out. Most of the front end is dark but enough of the back space is lit up by flickering fluorescents that it should be easy work with. It’s bigger than he’d figured; mostly open, with the rusted carcasses of old tools and equipment littering the floor. Big metal racks, used for storing smaller tools, look like his best bet for getting around unseen.
As he’s crawling up the ramp, the electronic ring of a phone sounds out to his right. He scrambles back, tucking into the shadows against the door just as echoing footsteps make their way toward him.
“Yeah? … Hey … Uh huh, no, nothing here. What- … uh huh.”
The voice sounds female but they stop just before the ramp, a dark figure barely showing through a rack of chains.
“Yeah. Anderson is up there now … Not anymore … I don’t know, but he sure stopped makin’ noise once Anderson went in there.”
The figure laughs and Jensen grits his teeth, nails digging at the concrete wall. He has definite suspicions about who ‘he’ might be.
“I’m heading back there now, I’ll let them know you’re-… Yeah Meding is watching the front still, Jesus … alright, b-”
The person hisses in irritation as they flip their phone shut. Pressed hard against the wall, Jensen holds his breath as they start moving again, passing by the top of the ramp. It’s a woman, brunette, with a thickness that speaks to some definite muscles under her jacket. She walks by with quick steps, muttering something about ’micro-managing pricks’ and never even looking in his direction. Soon after, he hears multiple voices coming from the back. She must be talking to the other guards.
So with her, those two at the back, Meding at the front and Anderson somewhere else, that means at least five to deal with. Plus the person on the phone who must be Sheppard. It sounded like he might be on his way here, but still, six is pretty manageable.
After the woman is gone, Jensen moves quickly, lifting himself over the low wall and edging behind one of the racks. From here, he has a better view of the front area, a long desk in front of a bunch of narrow rows of shelving. Behind that, a staircase leads up to a railed platform outside a room on metal pillars. It must be a manager’s office or something, lifted up for the extra storage underneath.
Movement catches Jensen’s eye. There’s a man sitting by the door up there, tilting his chair against the back railing while he toys with something in his hands. Hello, Mr. Anderson.
It’s a quick squeeze behind another section of racks and a heart-stopping few steps in the open before he’s scaling the shadowed supports under the platform, inching up to take a look. Anderson is right in front of him, rocking on the back legs of his chair. Jensen could reach out right now and give the chair legs a good shove if he wanted to, they’re close enough. Instead, he pulls himself up slowly, muscles burning with the effort to stay smooth and silent, and slips one leg through the railings to brace himself. His hand creeps into his coat pocket, fingers threading through the holes in the brass knuckles.
One sharp strike to the back of his head is enough to bring Anderson down like a sack of potatoes. Jensen barely holds on to his tenuous balance as he throws an arm around Anderson's shoulders, holding him in the chair while Jensen climbs over the railing and guides him silently to the floor. He crouches there beside the prone body, fingers pressed against the neck. Still alive. He checks the eyes quickly, prying one lid up. Definitely out for the count. Goodbye, Mr. Anderson.
Out on the main floor, nothing moves. Still, there’s no way to be sure how long he has or just what... His thoughts falter, eyes drawn back to the office door. No way to know for sure what he’ll find on the other side.
Up till now he’d been on automatic. Moving and planning and thinking by instinct more than anything else, rote memorization. But now that strange freeze is back, locking his muscles.They’re guarding something, but what if Jim was wrong? It could happen. Maybe. If Jared’s not here, then...
He has to be here.
Jensen forces himself to stand and press against the wall beside the door, listening. There’s nothing to hear, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The gun is in his hand before he thinks about it, held against his chest as he wraps his fingers around the door knob. A count starts in his head. Three... two... one... now!
His first impression is beige. Then walls, shelves, desks and floor all register at once. The room is empty except for a figure sitting against a support beam in the middle, facing away. At his entrance, the figure jerks upright with a guttural noise, hair flying side to side as they fight to get a glimpse of him.
Jensen would know the flop of that hair anywhere.
He’s at Jared’s side in an instant, kneeling down as Jared bucks away from the sudden movement with a muffled yell.
“Shh! It’s me! It’s me.”
Jared freezes, staring down at him with shocked eyes. His mouth works around the thick cloth tied between his teeth, stringing vowels together that sound vaguely like Jensen’s name.
They gagged him. Motherfuckers.
“Yeah. Yeah, baby, it’s me.” The need to touch is too hard to fight, it sets his palms running over the tension-hard muscles in Jared’s arms, across the rope binding him to the chair and up. Up over his neck, where drying sweat leaves his skin tacky, to cup against his jaw and pull him down as Jensen surges up, pressing their mouths together. It’s like a parody of a kiss with the gag in the way, but he doesn’t care, he just... has to.
When he pulls back, Jared is still staring it him, expression hard to read around the gag. Jensen threads his fingers up, pushing the bangs out of Jared’s face. “You okay?” It’s possible he deserves the disbelieving look Jared gives him for that. “Okay, sorry, just give me a sec.”
He pulls the knife out from under his coat, surprised when Jared readily turns his head and presents the side of the gag. Jensen had been expecting a little more wariness than this. Maybe no one told Jared anything yet. For a moment he considers not telling him anything either, if that’s the case. But, fuck, he’s done enough lying now.
“Don’t move.” The knife slides between cloth and skin with a whisper, tip bobbing as Jensen drags the serrated edge forward, sawing through the gag at the corner of Jared’s mouth. It falls to the floor as Jared works spit back into his mouth with a grimace. Jensen’s thumb traces the abused looking corner of his lips. “Are you hurt?”
“N-” Jared stops, hoarse voice catching with a dry click. “No. Well. They hit my head and knocked me out with some kind of chemical but... I’m okay. I think. Little woozy.”
Jensen nods, face tight as his fingers search Jared’s hair, skirting lightly over a lump just below the crown of his skull. It’s in the same place Jensen had hit to pound the consciousness out of Anderson. Dangerous spot.
“That’s it?” He pulls his hands back reluctantly and starts cutting through the ropes around the chair. They have to get moving.
Jared nods, watching.
“What about the gag?”
“Oh.” Jared is smirking a little when Jensen looks up, and rubbing the tingles out of his hands. “I was yelling for help. I guess it annoyed the guy watching me. Where are we any way, J-”
Jensen looks up again as Jared’s voice cuts off. His face is drawn into a frown, troubled and distant, turned away.
“Jared?”
“Is that your real name?”
Oh.
No answer comes even as Jensen opens his mouth, he’s muted by the wistful resignation in Jared’s voice. He doesn’t know what to say or how he’ll stop talking once he starts. Or what he’ll do if he can’t wipe that look off Jared’s face. “I- Jared, I know...” He turns his head down, distracting himself with the ropes. Maybe it’ll be easier if he doesn’t have to look. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but... it’s Jensen. That's my real name. When I- Back then-” He halts, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “Everyone just called me Jay. And eventually that’s what they all thought my name was.”
“Jensen Jones?” The dubious tone makes Jensen wince.
“... Ackles. Jensen Ackles.”
“Ackles.” Jared says the name like he’s tasting it and Jensen can’t help a tiny smile. It’s nice to hear his real name again, especially on Jared’s lips. He savours it, since that might be the last time he’ll ever hear it. Jared goes on. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”
Jensen’s fingers grip the hilt of the knife and squeeze as he shakes his head ‘no’, still not looking up.
“Why?”
Fuck. Tentatively, not knowing if it’s even welcome, he rests his forehead against Jared’s knee for a moment of comfort. “Because I didn’t want you to know this stuff about me.”
“Oh.” Jared's fingers stroke over the material after he sits up, feeling the warmth from Jensen's skin, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. “Will you tell me now?”
Jensen sighs heavily as he pulls the last of the ropes away from the chair. “We don’t really have time right now.” When he lifts his head, their eyes meet for a long moment, Jensen’s pleading to Jared’s searching.
Finally, thankfully, Jared nods. “Okay. Later. What do we do now?”
They move quickly, hauling Jared out of the chair with one or two stumbles as he gets his legs under him. Anderson is still in a heap of limbs by the door, showing no signs of awareness when Jensen grabs him by the legs and hauls him in the room.
They heave him into the chair and half-ass tie him down with whatever rope is still usable. It’s nothing that would fool anyone inside the room, but they’d still have to come inside the room and that, at least, might buy them some time.
He’s about to lead Jared out the door after a few instructions (stay low, no talking, keep behind him) when Jared stops and turns back, rushing to one of the shelves.
“Jared, what- we gotta go!”
“Just a sec!” He pulls something out of a black book that had been sitting on the shelf, tucking it into a pocket before grabbing a large envelope and bringing it over to Jensen. “Here, I think this is all the stuff they have on you. Nice hair, by the way. Weed whacker chic.”
Puzzled, Jensen peeks into the envelope. His own snarling, younger face peers back at him. Oh. “Thanks.”
Once out of the room, they inch down the stairs and follow the nearest wall to the front of the building, sneaking between one set of narrow shelves. At the end of the row, Jensen flattens against one shelf and motions for Jared to do the same before peeking out. The front area is dark, with only the light coming in through a line of tall windows illuminating a lone man sitting on top of the desk. A group of shadows beside him converges into the shape of a long gun as Jensen's eyes adjust to the darkness.
If he can sneak up on this guy, he should be able to take him down like he did Anderson and be long gone out the front door before any of the others realize there’s a problem.
With a finger to his lips, he reaches a hand up to Jared’s chest, pushing him against the shelf. Be quiet, stay here. Jared nods, eyes wide and showing white in the darkness.
With another quick look, Jensen slides the knuckleduster over his fingers and eases out from hiding. He keeps his steps slow but long, covering the distance between them in a few silent seconds. But something, a shadow, a sound, random intuition, makes the guard turn his head.
Shit!
The man makes a startled noise and goes for his gun, some kind of long-barreled semi-automatic, but Jensen is on him before he can grab it, yanking him off the desk in a bear hug, one hand clawed against his mouth to muffle his shouting. They grapple, weaving over the floor until a flash of movement (Jared, stepping out from the shelves, what the fuck is he doing?) distracts Jensen. The man in his arms yanks free and rushes for his gun again. Jensen growls, unsheathing the knife under his jacket. He doesn’t have a choice, and even if he did he doesn’t have the time to make it.
The man arcs back as the blade slides up between his ribs, stretched fingers flailing uselessly at the butt of his weapon. He slides to the floor with one long, gurgling gasp, dead.
Jensen kneels down, pulling his knife free and wiping it clean against the dead man’s shirt. He doesn’t want to look, but his face lifts to Jared’s like a magnet. Jared is wide-eyed and breathing hard. His eyes flick from the body to Jensen, from Jensen to the knife and back again, gaze holding Jensen’s with a mix of awe and fear. He looks like he’s about to speak when a shout rings out in the warehouse behind them. They both jump, breaking apart from their strange staring match.
“Damn it!” Jensen leaps forward, grabbing Jared by the arm and dragging him around the desk to the front door, an all-glass affair to match the wall of windows on either side of it. The locks stick, of fucking course, and more shouts echo behind them, mixed with the sound of running footsteps. “Fuck it.” He twists back, grabbing the dead man’s gun. Not much point in stealth now. “Get back!”
Jared stumbles away from the door as Jensen fires a handful of quick rounds through the glass, shots ear-numbingly loud. The glass crumbles in a shower of glittering chunks that pool at their feet as Jensen pulls Jared through the cleared opening. Outside, he shoves him to the right, yelling as he follows behind. “Go, go, go! Car’s that way!”
At a full out sprint, Jared easily pulls away, passing the corner of the rental building well ahead of Jensen.
The sharp bang of a pistol fills the night and, ahead of him, Jared hits the ground with a yell.
No.
“Jared!”
Forcing an extra burst of speed, he passes the corner and spots a figure running down the side of the building toward them. Fuck, fuck, one of them went around, why didn’t he think of that! He raises his stolen weapon and fires in a burst. The figure crumples and rolls to a stop on the asphalt, unmoving.
“Jared!” Jensen is beside him in the blink of an eye, terrified certainty blinding him so much that it takes him a second to realize Jared is moving, struggling to his feet.
“I’m okay! I’m okay.” He staggers up, one hand on Jensen's shoulder, he’s smiling for fuck sake. “Jen, I’m okay, it just scared me. See?” The hand on his shoulder squeezes once and Jensen lets out a shaking breath and a nod before grabbing Jared by the arm, pulling them into a run again.
They’re nearly to the next building when the last two guards burst out of the shop behind them.
Continue to Part 2.