SOS Red- Chapter One
“I hear you, I hear you,” Jensen says, pushing past Sadie’s excited clattering on the wood kitchen floors awaiting her dinner to fling open the pantry door. He ignores how the shelves are empty, save for cheap ramen he keeps for emergencies. It’s been awhile since he’s been able to force himself to go to the grocery store.
Nudging Sadie’s dog food bag with his foot, he sighs as the bag doubles in half, air-filled and kibble-barren. He can settle on ordering food for the sixth night in a row for himself, but Sadie’s needs are non-negotiable. He fills what’s left into her bowl, scrunching the empty bag into the trash can before sliding his sunglasses on his head.
“I’ll get you some food, Sades,” he tosses over his shoulder as he grabs his keys, not even bothering with a grocery list. He needs about one of everything.
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The truck cuts him off out of nowhere, throwing Jensen out of his driving daze.
“Fuck,” he spits, foot slamming on his brake as the old rusted Ford barely misses clipping the front end of his Jeep. All the odds and ends thrown on the passenger seat fly to the floor, clattering with individual bangs. Breathing deeply, Jensen closes his eyes. Close calls hit a bit differently these days.
He sits there, fingers gripped white around the steering wheel, until the car behind him becomes impatient and honks his horn.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, bringing the car back to life as he slowly starts off down the road again, breath still a bit shaky where it’s constricted in his throat. He tries swallowing the lump, pushing down the anxiety even though his heart still races in chest, twisting into a bundle of nerves he resolutely tries to ignore.
He jumps at a sudden noise he recognizes after a moment to be his ringtone, muffled from a spot that is most definitely not where he put it on the seat beside him.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, making a quick move to pull in the nearest parking lot and swoop into the foot well of the passenger seat, blindly groping for purchase until his fingers find the phone. Hurriedly bringing it to his ear, he doesn’t look at the screen before answering.
“Hello?” he breathes, embarrassingly short of breath from the small bit of activity. Glancing out the window, a CVS banner stands twenty feet in front of him, tucked over a sea of cars in the crowded parking lot.
“Jensen!” Megan Padalecki responds, and Jensen doesn’t know exactly who he’s expecting on the other end of the line, but he’s sure it isn’t her.
“Meg?” he asks, pulling the car into park, squinting against the afternoon sun.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?” he asks nervously. While he still keeps in touch with Jared’s little sister, he can’t think of the last time she just called him out of the blue. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Everything’s great, actully. Really.” And that. There’s something odd about her tone, for sure. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying, per se, but she sounds a bit off. Manic, even. And that’s just not normal, not for Jared’s even keel, everything’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve got this little sister.
“Megan, what’s-“
“Jensen, can you come here? Please?” she interrupts, the pleading undercurrent stopping Jensen in his tracks. It’s more than when she when she was thirteen and she and Mac begged him and Jared to take them to Abercrombie every weekend. It’s more than when she was eighteen and begged him to buy her vodka for a party. It’s even more than when, after the funeral, she begged Jensen to not to make her go talk to her family and act like she was okay. It’s more than that, and that terrifies Jensen, because he can’t understand how anything could be more than that, could be more than losing Jared.
“Of, of course,” he stumbles over his words, terrified now. “Meg, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“The police station.” Dry, prickly fear runs through Jensen at those words, his mind launching into a thousand possibilities. Is she in trouble? Is someone else? Has she lost someone else? Has he?
“What-“
“Everything is okay, I promise,” she insists, and Jensen wants to believe her; she sounds sincere. But nothing is adding up.
“Meg, people don’t just end up at the police station for kicks,” Jensen snaps, failing at staying calm.
She sniggers at that and he tries to take it as a good sign. “I know. I know, it sounds crazy. But I promise, everything is okay.”
Skeptical, Jensen furrows his brow. “No one is hurt? You’re not in trouble?”
“Absolutely not,” Megan affirms. “I wouldn’t lie, Jensen. I swear.” And that, Jensen can believe. Megan has become like family, like his own little sister. He trusts her, he does. It’s just this… something doesn’t seem right.
“Where are you?”
“The police station, 8th and Frontage,” she says. “Give your name at the desk.”
That sounds alarm bells, that they’re expecting him by name, but it’s clear by now she isn’t interested in giving more details by phone. For his sanity, Jensen is just going to have to get there as soon as he can and trust Megan is telling him the truth that everything is okay.
“Alright,” he says, chewing nervously at his fingernail. “I’m about fifteen minutes away.”
“Take your time,” Megan pleads, a slight reprimand to her tone. “I mean it, Jensen. Drive carefully. Everything is fine, I mean it.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” he grumbles, settling his fingers around the gear shift. “I’m on my way.”
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When Jensen shoves his way into the Austin Police Department thirteen minutes later, he’s met with a scene of chaos. It’s packed with people, loose threads held together in tiny clumps of conversation dotting the entirety of the spanning marble-floored room, and Jensen’s eyes can’t settle on one scene. There are people crying, people yelling, people in uniform trying to calm others down, people in uniform looking overwhelmed, and Jensen, frozen in a flash of panic, wonders what exactly he has just stepped foot in.
“Sir,” a woman’s voice sounds from in front of him, and she looks slightly irritated, like it isn’t the first time she has tried to get his attention. Jensen tears his eyes from the scene behind her and ambles forward, fingers clasping tightly at the side of the wooden desk, not quite trusting in his legs to continue holding him up.
“Hi,” he greets, voice slightly shaky. “Hi, um. I was told to come here. And, my name. To give my name.”
She stares at him a second before nodding almost imperceptibly, “And your name, sir?”
He shakes his head, cursing himself internally. “Sure, sorry, I. It’s Jensen. Jensen Ackles?” He watches as she types into her computer, eyes focused on the monitor and not letting anything on. “I. I wasn’t told why I was supposed to come here. Just that I was. Do you know-“
“Mr. Ackles, I’ll have someone with you in just a moment, if you could please take a seat?” the woman, Anna, according to her name tag, interrupts, ignoring his question. Jensen stares at her for a moment, barely processing the words.
“Sure, I-“
“To your left,” instructs, fake smile plastered on her face as she gestures to a small enclave of seats off to side of station, seemingly shielded from everything happening around it. There is one woman sitting there, salt and pepper-haired and looking nervous but otherwise fairly composed, and Jensen, seeing he’s reached he’s limit with getting information from Anna, shuffles off to take a seat near the woman.
She glances up and smiles slightly when she sees him, but then goes back to wringing her hands in her lap without another word. Jensen tries to pay the nervous habit no mind, his anxiety already spinning a web of anxiety up and down his diaphragm.
After several agonizing minutes, he’s jolted from his thoughts by his name being called, a woman in an important-looking uniform standing a few feet away and staring at him expectantly. He jumps to his feet, nodding.
“That’s me,” he announces unnecessarily, eager to claim whatever information she has for him.
“Follow me,” she orders, not unkindly, and Jensen hurries to do so, aware of the trailing stare of the woman who still sits on the seats behind him.
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It’s seconds, maybe minutes, but they seem like hours, as Jensen watches the woman, Chief Wallace, as she introduces herself, arrange papers on her desk. There is decidedly a file, two or three, even, manila and thick, that she keeps opening and shuffling through, stopping to stare at individual pages and then flicking a glance to Jensen before moving on to the next. Jensen is crawling out of his skin, muscles tied in knots, and heart pounding out of his chest. He wants to demand she get to the point, to just tell him what’s going on, but he doesn’t. Her stern eyes tell him she’s in control here and yet, somehow, give him reassurance that she will give him the answers he needs if he just waits a bit longer.
“Jensen Ackles,” she says finally, leveling him a look from above the stack of files where her hands rest, fingers laced together.
“That’s me,” he smiles, though it’s weak and shaky at the corners. She watches him carefully, pursing her lips, as if she’s considering something. He stares right back, catching the sudden click in her demeanor when a decision is made, her shoulders squaring back for action.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” she announces, tone firm, but still conversational. “How much do you watch the news?”
Jensen is taken aback by the question, furrowing his brow as he adjusts his posture awkwardly in the wooden seat. “Uh. I mean, I get most of my news online, but. I definitely try to keep up on things, you know.”
She nods dismissively, as if she hadn’t actually been that interested in his answer. “So the recent rash of folks coming back to life. You know anything about that?”
Who couldn’t? It was everywhere. Within the last year, all around the world, people who had died had inexplicably begun returning back to life, same as they ever were in life. It wasn’t something Jensen ever gave much thought to, mostly because it had started on the other side of the world, and it was so far away and spotily-reported it seemed nearly mythical. In the last few months, however, it had hit the US and caused quite a panic. People had their theories, zombies and the like, but there were enough heartwarming stories about mothers reunited with their kids and high school sweethearts able to resume their love story that fear had been dampened just enough to keep from erupting into a frenzy. Nothing like that had hit Texas yet. It had never really been close enough to home to seem real.
Jensen squints, confused by the line of questioning. “I’ve heard about it, yeah. My sister’s coworker had a family member on the East coast who came back. Crazy stuff.”
“Right,” Chief Wallace acknowledges, fingers curling over the edges of the top folder in the stack. “We can’t really explain it.” Jensen nods, studying the woman. For the first time since they sat down, she seems a bit unsure of herself. Still the picture of composure, her uniform is pressed to perfection and her shoulders are drawn back in confident posture, but there’s something about her eyes, about the set of her mouth that tells him she’s treading on uncomfortable territory.
“Jared Padalecki,” she says at last, so unexpected Jensen feels it like a gut punch, the air forcibly knocked from his lungs in a small, strangled noise. She catches it, dark eyes immediately snapping to his.
“What… what about him?” Jensen asks, brows etching together in an attempt at composure. He’s not sure where this is going, not sure why she would bring up his name, but he’s not used to just hearing it outright like that anymore. People whisper it now, insinuate it, act like by doing so they are lessening the hurt, the impact that it brings. It hurts just the same, though, to never hear it at all.
“You dated?”
“Yeah, we… we were engaged,” Jensen swallows around a lump in his throat. “Marriage wasn’t legal yet.” She gives him a sympathetic smile, the same smile people have been giving him for years and Jensen just wants to punch something. Demand she tell him what all this is about, stop dancing around the reason she called him into her office. Demand to know why she’s bringing up Jared, the one part of his life he still can’t talk about, even after all this time, even after thousands and thousands of dollars of therapy.
“I see,” she murmurs, leaning forward almost imperceptibly in her chair, hands going flat on her desk, almost as though she is bracing herself. “Jensen, I wish I knew the best way to tell you this. I’ve done this several times and I still don’t know how to deliver the news. Yesterday we located several individuals wandering a field south of town. These individuals were unclothed, and seemingly confused about what year it was, among other things.”
“Okay.”
“There were nine in total. We took them into a local hospital. We interviewed each of them extensively and ran medical tests. Everyone is in perfect health. We were able to discern the same thing from all the interviews: that they were all individuals from Austin who had previously passed away.”
Jensen shakes his head, mind not connecting with what she is saying. “That doesn’t make sense. What does that have to do with Jared?”
“Jensen, one of those nine people was Jared Padalecki,” she states, simple as that, and Jensen’s entire world stops. For a moment, his eyesight goes black at the edges before shaking into focus, his hearing cutting in and out in shivering waves. Moments pass, centuries maybe, and his brain keeps stumbling over the words, over and over, trying to make sense of them, but there is no sense to be had.
“No,” he finds himself mumbling, mouth moving by its own accord. “No, that can’t be true.”
“It is. I’ve seen him myself,” Chief Wallace insists, a touch of disbelief evident in her own expression, like the words are still unbelievable even to her. Her expression is a shot at composure, but behind the veiled attempt she looks haunted, like she has seen a ghost. And, Jensen thinks, , if you believe her, in a way she has.
“No. That can’t be true. You- he’s dead. I was there, he’s-“
“I know, honey,” she murmurs, cutting him off, but her voice is quiet and honey smooth, instantly soothing if Jensen were capable of being soothed right now. “I read the file. I’m so sorry. That must have been absolutely awful for you.”
Blinking against the warm flood of tears in his eyes, Jensen just nods his head numbly. The woman lets him have a moment, her eyes drifting down as she idly straightens the stack of folders even though they sit already perfectly aligned in front of her. Mind racing a mile minute, Jensen’s nod turns into a shake of the head as his thoughts correct back on course. This can’t be true.
“No. No you. You don’t understand. He’s dead. He is. I was there when he took his last breath, he can’t just be-”
“I’d be lying to you if I said any of this made sense,” Chief Wallace interrupts again gently, voice pitched low and kind. “I’d read the news. I knew it was true, that this could happen. But seeing it firsthand… I had my doubts. I can’t imagine what this must be like for you, going through what you’ve been through and then hearing this. But it’s real. We’ve confirmed it. His family has confirmed it.”
“His family?” Jensen repeats, before his brain catches up. The call earlier. “Megan?”
“Megan Padalecki and her mother, Sharon, have both confirmed it is Jared.”
Jensen stares at her, trying to process the information. Surely Jared’s own mother and sister would know it was him, he thinks. His thoughts wander back to the phone conversation to Megan, just an hour or so ago, to how the younger woman seemed happy, but a bit off. Manic, he had thought. In context, now, it makes sense, he thinks. She wasn’t manic, she was overwhelmed.
“Are they- can I talk to them? Megan?” Jensen asks, suddenly needing confirmation from Jared’s family. The words the police chief is telling him are surreal, seem incomprehensible, but maybe. Maybe if he hears them from someone he knows, someone he can trust, maybe then they will start to sink in. Maybe then they can break past this veil of shock that seems to be coating any hope of understanding. Or if they’re not true, Megan can tell him this is all a sick joke and Jensen can accept the voice in the back of his head screaming that Jared is dead, that he buried him years before.
“Sure you can,” Chief Wallace affirms warmly, jotting something down on the notepad on her desk. “I just have something to ask of you. Our guidelines for visitors to the department today were supposed to be immediate family only. Blood relatives and legal spouses.”
“Okay,” Jensen says, unsure what she’s getting at.
“In case you haven’t noticed, you are neither,” she smiles a bit ruefully, shaking her head slightly. “You can blame Jared for that, for sweet talking all my officers and staff into allowing you to come here. Hell, even I couldn’t turn the kid down.” And Jensen finds a small smile breaking across his face at that because that, well, that does sound like Jared. He always could charm anyone into damn near anything without breaking a sweat.
“So,” she continues. “Discretion would be appreciated. It won’t look good if it gets out we allowed one person to charm their way past our guidelines while the rest had to follow our rules, you understand.”
“Got it,” Jensen rasps, a small swell of hope blooming in his chest at that description, so much like Jared that it brings up the possibility of maybe. Maybe this could be true, against all odds, maybe.
“Give me a moment, I’ll phone to see if we can get Megan out to speak with you,” Chief Wallace mumbles, distractedly fumbling for something in one of the folders. At last, she unclasps something, looking at him dead-on as she says, “We took an intake photo of Jared.”
Jensen gapes at her, wide eyed.
“It helped some of the other families to see the photos before seeing their loved ones,” she continues, fingertips sliding over the item in the folder, though the flap covers it from Jensen’s view. “Do you think you would like to see it?”
Unable to speak, Jensen swallows thickly, eyes warm with tears of shock. He nods, suddenly needing to see the photo more than he has ever needed to see something in his life. She watches him carefully for a moment, seemingly gaging if this a good decision, before she produces a large color photo.
Jensen’s heart stops when he sees the subject. It reads: Jared Padalecki, Austin, TX 1/29/17.
It’s yesterday’s date.
Chapter Two