Fic: This Hell We've Made (Jensen/Jared) 2a/?
Fandom: J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17-- Wordcount: 10, 200 (whole chapter)
Warnings: Mutant!AU, UST, angst, damaged!snarky!Jensen, empath!Jared - Mentions of past trauma, child abuse, prostitution and self harm (This chapter went a little dark on me, but only for one section)
Notes: This chapter ended up being far more massive than I originally had planned (God, this is going to be a long story) - posting in 2 parts because LJ got mad at me: the link to part 2b is at the end of 2a. Many of you picked up on the less-than-subtle X-Men and Wolverine allusions here, and some of that sticks around, but I'm going a little off-book here, just FYI.
Summary - Except for the fact that they were both born with remarkable superhuman abilities, and a seething mutual dislike, Jared and Jensen have nothing in common. Turns out, though, that they may also be the only ones who can save each other from themselves.
Back to Part 1
Jared’s body flies through the air like a black superball, except he doesn’t bounce when he hits the far wall, brick dust raining down around him as he crashes to the ground. Jensen can’t help but be vaguely amused. Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Padapuppy?
The enjoyment is somewhat short-lived considering that Jensen is busy making sure he doesn’t share the same fate. He gets their quarry in his sights - damn, they couldn’t do this anywhere better lit? - as Chad distracts her by porting in and out all over the room. If Chad could learn to fucking shoot worth a shit, he might actually be able to do something with that power of his beyond being the team’s glorified moving van.
The woman rages - seriously, the bitch is crazy - and flings her arm in Chad’s general direction, sending one of the metal beams she’s already knocked loose from the ceiling at the teleporter. He phases out in the nick of time and it gives Jensen just the shot he needs to tag their ‘objective’ with a tranq.
Red feathers blossom at the bend of her neck and she tears at the imbedded dart immediately - still too late. Her hands toss wildly and it seems like the walls themselves shake - ok, Jensen will take back that glorified moving van thing if Chad will come back now to get them the fuck out of here! - which keeps Jensen preoccupied as she dashes out the door.
Tom’s hot on her tail - God, what a hot tail Tom has, especially in his uniform; goddamn Greek tragedy that the guy’s straight - yelling over his shoulder at Jensen to “Get Jared!”
Yeah, yeah. Get Jared. This partner thing sucks gigantic balls; like he’s the one responsible for Jared doing a Superman impression into that wall.
He trots over toward the huddled pile of rubber and sexy that is Jared - what? The kid’s a tool, doesn’t stop him from being smoking hot; Jensen is totally up for some dirty hate-sex - with a little less urgency.
From the intel - ‘intel’; Jensen’s so fucking cool - Sandy had dug up, it didn’t look like the bitch they were bringing in had any other powers beyond ‘move shit by flailing at it’ so one tranq ought to bring her down pretty fast. Jensen’s tranq; his very first mission and he’s the one taking down the bad guy - because Jensen’s an awesome superhero and totally better than the other schmucks on the team. Wait a month and he’ll be running this operation; then Jared can be the one hopping-to while Jensen barks the orders. Maybe he’ll make the kid spit shine his boots. With his tongue. Yeah, hot.
Ok, serious; Jensen is a serious superhero who only fantasizes about his teammates in the off hours. And during meetings, but meetings suck, so it’s totally excusable. Anyway…
Jared’s still pretty well out of it. There’s a nasty gash on the back of his head that’s slowly oozing blood, but his eyelids flutter open a little and there’s a hint of recognition when Jensen kneels down next to him, so that’s a good thing, right? Maybe they should have given him some medical training too; not like Jensen knows what to do with regular-people injuries. Well, at least not beyond using his secret weapon, but… nevermind, no point in wasting that little surprise when Chad can just teleport them back the facility. Assuming Chad ever shows the fuck up!
Alright, he’s pretty sure that there’s something about not moving people with head injuries - is that head injuries? Damn, he needs to watch more doctor shows - but then again, the walls are still kind of groaning ominously and moving Jared with a head injury has still got to be better than letting a building fall on him.
Jared moans and makes some kind of twitch that might be an escape attempt when Jensen loops an arm around his back and starts to hoist the larger boy to an upright position. He gets as far as pulling Jared in to his chest, the thin stubble on his jaw rasping against the smooth skin of Jared’s cheek as the kid slumps forward and -
Jensen’s four and the last thing he had to eat was the coffee grounds from the cupboard by the sink. They tasted gross and made his stomach do flip flops all night, but he’d eat more if he had them. Mom just waves him off every time Jensen tries to tell her that there’s no food and the last time he tried to pull her up from where she’s been laying on the couch for days she scratched his face.
Jensen’s six and his ribs sound like popcorn when they snap, hurt worse as they start trying to move back to where they’re supposed to be. Dad keeps saying that there’re snakes in Jensen’s belly and he has to stomp them out and he won’t listen when Jensen tries to tell him it’s not true. It doesn’t matter anyway now because he can’t get in enough breath to cry let alone say anything.
Jensen’s small and he never owned the white tennis shoes he’s staring down at with the happy, neon green laces. The skinny little hands hanging limply at his sides weren’t ever his either, the same way that the kids flopped all over the colored floor mats and short, round-edged furniture aren’t his kindergarten classmates. Because Jensen never went to kindergarten. But he still knows this is his class; the same way he knows that the reason that they’re laid out in awkward angles and funny positions is because they all fell over where they were standing a minute ago. The same way that he knows that his name is Jared and he’s five and everything’s so much better now that he made them all go to sleep.
Jensen’s eight and the only thing that changes in foster care is the faces. He braces his back against one of the support beams under the house and takes a thick-tasting drag off of the cigarette butt he’d found around the side of the house. He flicks the lighter from his last foster parents place on and off, on and off, watching the flame burst to life and sputter out again just as fast. He blows a puff of smoke at the spark until it flickers and dies, the flame licking for a moment at the pad of his finger. He spends a lot of time that afternoon watching it burn and heal again.
Jensen’s eleven and the thin legs poking out from his too-big shorts are sticking to the leather back seat of the car. The man who owns it is pressed up close to him, breathing hard in Jensen’s ear as he takes Jensen’s hand and rubs it up and down over his dick. There’s a lot more money in the man’s wallet than the fifty bucks he already gave Jensen and if he waits just another couple of minutes until his hand is covered in sticky white goo, the man will be too confused to know what’s happening when Jensen reaches into his pocket and grabs that wallet. He just has to wait.
He’s all gangly, too-long limbs and his chest hurts like his lungs are full of hot nails. The sticky mess on his skin is cold in the air conditioning, but all of that incredible feeling he’d had just a minute ago when it spurted out of himself onto his chest is gone, replaced by mind-numbing pain. He should have put on more clothes; then maybe he could touch the night guard lying on the shiny linoleum, clutching at his heart. He wouldn’t know what to do even if he could tough though, and he must be screaming because people are coming. He can feel them coming, running, and then they’re here; panic when they look at the guard, fear when they look at him. Because he’s a freak, because he did this and it doesn’t matter if he didn’t mean to, he still did it. He didn’t know that anyone was close enough to feel it if he pushed, didn’t think that just touching himself a little would hurt anything - wasn’t supposed to hurt anything - and now it’s all his fault. He’s Jared, he’s twelve, and he wishes he was dead.
Jensen’s fourteen and his knuckles crunch and squeal like chewed ice as the bone shards move around every time his arm swings. He’s won and he knows it, but he can’t seem to make himself stop pummeling the boy trapped underneath him, can’t seem to remember why he was doing it in the first place. Blood drops spatter warm against his cheek and he here’s the correction’s officers whistles, know they’re coming. Still can’t stop.
Jensen’s sixteen and the empty bottle of lighter-fluid-grade vodka slips from his fingers to the floor. It doesn’t break in the short distance from where his hand hangs between his knees as he sits on the squeaky motel bed. He has a millisecond between the time his finger squeezes the trigger and the bullet shattering the side of his skull to wonder if this time it will finally work.
Jensen’s eighteen and he’s -
He’s jerked back to a room where the ceiling is slowly crumbling in on them by Misha’s hand tugging him away from Jared’s spasming body. Jensen sucks in a breath like it’s his first out of the womb and God help him but he’s crying like it too, hot tears streaking unbidden down his face.
Misha stares from where he’s kneeling over Jared, his hand planted in the middle of the bigger boy’s chest to keep him pinned to the ground against the convulsions wracking that long body. He furrows his brow at Jensen, look caught somewhere between blame and concern.
“What happened?” Misha asks urgently, though the shocks rocking Jared’s body are slowing. And isn’t that just the fucking million dollar question - what the hell happened?
Before Jensen can work out anything approaching a coherent answer, Chad’s phasing in on a stream of “What the fuck are you bitches doing, having a tea par-“ The blond cuts off, eyes darting from Jensen to Misha to Jared and back again before he mutters “Shit,” and lunges forward to wrap a hand around Jared’s rubber-gauntleted arm and disappears all over again, Jared in tow.
Jensen barely has enough functioning braincells to go with it when Misha grabs him by the scruff of his neck and jostles them both out of the rapidly deteriorating doorway into the clear night air.
***
Jared stutters back into consciousness like a car backfiring, eyes flying open long seconds before he can get his body to do anything else, a single word resonating in his mind; Jensen.
“He’s fine,” Jeff assures from his perch on the end of the sick-bay bed Jared’s been placed in. It’s only then that he realizes that he’s said the older boy’s name out loud.
Relief floods Jared like cool water because he may not like Jensen, but that doesn’t mean he deserve to have his mind torn to shreds either and…
And what the heck was that?
“What happened?” Jared croaks out, his voice a raspy, bone-dry sound.
Jeff scrubs a hand over his face, kneading at his brow bone with his knuckles before he answers. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
It’s dark outside the massive window next to Jared’s bed, a lighter blue edging over the roofs of the building across from the medical wing. Either dawn or twilight; it’s unsettling to realize that he doesn’t even know what day it is. Jeff doesn’t look too badly off though, slightly ruffled like he’s been running his fingers through his hair a lot but the plain, black t-shirt and sweats he’s wearing don’t seem any worse for wear. A day or less, then, since it happened. That’s good
Jared searches his mind for a coherent explanation for the candle-in-the-wind flickers of images still painting the backs of his eyelids and draws a blank instead. “I… it… I have no idea.”
Jeff sighs, tilting his head back to talk to the mottled ceiling tiles. “Misha says that he found you and Jensen huddled together, immovable, and that Jensen wouldn’t respond until after Misha forcibly pulled him off of you. Jensen says he doesn’t remember a thing.”
“He’s lying,” Jared says, and it’s not a question. He has no real reason to believe that Jensen was privy to every scene from their intermixed lives that flashed before his own eyes, but he feels like Jensen saw it, and if Jared’s learned one thing from his curse of a power, it’s to trust his feelings.
That gets a nod from Jeff and nothing else. It probably shouldn’t have taken this long, but whatever drugs they’re pumping Jared’s system with must be damn good - it’s only now that he realizes how much his head hurts. A hiss ekes out from between his clenched teeth as his fingers unerringly find the swollen lump of bandage on the back of his head.
The image of Jensen leaning over him is still fuzzy in his mind - he’s pretty sure he tried to say something, to tell Jensen to leave him alone because Jared’s dangerous enough when he’s in full control, but Jensen either hadn’t heard or hadn’t listened. He can still feel that single instant when it was nothing more than warm skin on his own, and then… Crap.
“I was in his head,” Jared answers the question that Jeff’s been dancing around asking, “Actually inside it, living his memories. And I think he may have been inside of mine.”
“Are you sure?” Jeff asks blithely, as though Jared hasn’t just announced that he was in Jensen’s freaking head!
“No, I’m pretty far from sure, actually!” he snaps back in exasperation, skull throbbing at the volume. “I don’t even really know what happened to me, let alone him.”
“But you think he’s lying.”
“Yeah, I… yeah, he is.”
Jeff blinks at him, calculating, dark eyes razor-sharp, “Meaning?”
There’s a too long minute where all Jared can hear is the disconcerting meld of the blood pounding in his ears in time with the increasing tempo of the heart monitor. When he speaks, it’s a barely croaked-out whisper around the tight knot of panic rising in his throat.
“I think… Jesus, Jeff. I can still feel him.”
***
It’s motherfucking hot. A good argument for Jensen to stay inside, but he can’t seem to manage it. He’s allowed to move around the facility wherever he wants now and somehow with the sun shining outside and the breath-hot breeze blowing the dust around, sitting in his dark, empty little room feels a lot more like prison than he cares to think about. Prison with a giant TV, wireless internet and food brought to his room on request, but still.
He’s doing his level best not to think about Jared or whatever it was that happened. It’s kind of working for shit because the fact that he seemingly got all up inside of Jared’s head seems to be the only thing he can concentrate on.
That’s really the only explanation for it; God knows he’s looked for others, but he keeps coming up dry. So then, he was in Jared’s head, his memories playing out in front of Jensen right along with his own, and that - well, he doesn’t really have a clue what that means. But he had a feeling Jared did.
Ever since it happened, Jared’s been avoiding him; not that surprising, considering they weren’t exactly bestest buds to begin with and Jensen would just assume not take another soul-shattering trip down memory lane, thankyouverymuch. What’s suspicious is that Jeff has dropped it completely too, like nothing at all happened, even though he was pretty seriously freaked when he first found out.
The older man obviously hadn’t believed Jensen’s story about not remembering anything at the time - that was a whole other can of worms he didn’t feel like opening, especially if there was even the slightest chance that Jeff would want to test it out and see if they could do their little brain-share whateverthefuck again - but once he’d talked to Jared, Jeff had let the whole issue go. Maybe Jared had backed Jensen’s story, but the idea of soldier-boy lying to the man in charge didn’t really sit right with Jensen, which left option two; Jeff and Jared knew exactly what happened and wanted to pretend that it hadn’t.
He grazes his big, black combat boots through the red dirt, raising little ridges with his toes. He really likes the boots - there might be rules against wearing part of his field uniform around every day, but nobody’s said anything yet, and hey, they look damn good on him.
His footwear admiration is broken up by the sudden appearance of Misha; damn that guy is quiet - if he didn’t know better, Jensen would swear that Misha was the teleporter instead of Chad. Misha knocks back the can of Coke in his hand, slurping loudly around the last draw of liquid as he falls into step with Jensen. They’re walking the perimeter of the facility, nothing in sight but miles and miles of flat scrub brush.
“So, I’m supposed to take over with your training until Jared’s up to snuff again,” Misha explains, shaking the can between his fingers for the ticky slosh of the few remaining drops inside. Jensen’s heart falls a little; he’s really sick of training… and hearing about Jared. “Don’t really feel like it now, though,” the other boy continues, “You wanna throw rocks at this can instead?”
The smile on his face is so genuinely enthusiastic that Jensen can’t help but laugh.
“Sure, Tom Sawyer,” he replies, mock-chipper, “Ya need to go grab a couple stereotypical Southern characters before we start?”
Misha glares at him, “Oh, sorry, I’ll leave you to your adventures in boot scuffing. Let me know how that works out.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
Misha tosses the can out a distance into the dark dust, scraping a handful of pebbles up off of the ground as he goes. Jensen leans back against the side of the building in mimic of Misha’s position, absorbing the few available inches of shade as sweat trickles slowly down the nape of his neck. The pebble Misha tosses at the can explodes on impact; a burst of ruddy powder a couple of inches to the left of the mark.
He makes the kind of squinty face that Jensen’s come to associate with the other man using his power and holds out a rock in the palm of his hand to Jensen. Jensen stares down at it warily, fingers inching toward it before Misha jerks it away with a sigh, tossing it off to the side where it pops with a little curl of smoke in mid-air.
“There’s a time limit on these things, you know?” Misha chides, squinting at another pebble until he deems it sufficiently charged. “Think of it like a grenade once the pin is pulled.”
“Oh that’s fucking comforting,” Jensen retorts, snatching the stone quickly and tossing it at the can. It goes a little long, but otherwise a good shot.
“Not like you wouldn’t just heal from it anyway,” is Misha’s argument, his own throw finally hitting the target, which hops into the air before skittering to rest a few feet to the right of its original spot.
True, Jensen would probably be fine after an hour or two even if one of the fucking things went off in his hand, but he’s never had part of himself blown up before and it’s not an experience he’s itching for. His next toss lands just a little shy, but close enough that it makes the can jump back a couple of inches.
“So Jared,” Misha prods, blinking innocently over at Jensen. He tosses another stone right on the money.
“Congratulations on that seamless segue,” Jensen snarks back. He’s seriously had enough of Jared fucking Padalecki in the last couple of days. That odd pressure that seems to crop up that the back of Jensen’s mind every time he thinks about the kid is back again, damnit.
“Thanks,” Misha grins, “I keep telling them that I need to be a double-O agent or something. Shame to waste all of this natural subtlety.”
A reasonably comfortable silence settles then, and Jensen entertains the vain hope that he’s managed to dodge the interrogation.
“As I was saying,” Misha shoots that idea all to hell, “Jared.”
“What about him?” Jensen does his best not to growl, tossing his own pebble at the can a little harder than strictly necessary.
“Well, you may have noticed that he’s kind of the king of the freaks around here.”
“Duly noted.”
“It’s just,” Misha pauses, brow furrowed in thought, “you’re the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t get along with him.”
“He barely talks to anyone but Sandy!” Jensen retorts incredulously; because honestly, Jared’s kind of an antisocial bastard from what he’s seen in the last few weeks.
Misha waves the idea off casually, “Yeah, but that’s just Jared. He’s, like, private, you know? But he’s always there when you need him; just shows up without you even having to ask. I guess it’s the procog thing or whatever, but he’s always the guy who turns up at your door when it seems like everything’s falling apart. It’s earned him a lot of points around here over the years.”
“Speaking of points…”
“I’m just saying,” Misha sighs, chucking another rock, which gives a significantly louder bang than the previous ones when it hits the soda can, “I’ve never seen anyone actively dislike Jared, and I’ve really never seen him actively dislike anyone else. It’s freaky, man. And then whatever that was the other day…”
“I seriously don’t remember,” Jensen lies automatically. Yeah, like he could forget an inter-brain slideshows of the worst shit that’s ever happened to him - plus a few new ones, ostensibly from Jared himself - flashing before his eyes like he was reliving them all over again.
Misha holds up his free hand in a surrender. “Ok, cool, whatever. I’m just saying, there’s obviously something weird going on with you and the Jay-man, and it’s got all of our curiosities peaked.” Hmm, so Jensen’s not the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck happened? Isn’t that interesting.
“What do you mean, going on?”
Misha shrugs, “Well, Tom and Chad seem to think you’re going to try and kill each other, but they’re idiots, so they’re vote doesn’t count. My bet is on Unresolved Sexual Tension. The again that might just be my elaborate fantasy life talking.”
Ok, that one definitely deserves a double-take. “Jared’s gay?” Not that Jensen hasn’t thought about it, maybe hoped about it, but it’s not like he really cares…
“Who the hell knows, man,” the other man grumbles, half-heartedly tossing the last group of pebbles in his hand, setting off a spectacle of miniature dirt explosions to pepper the ground, “I’ve always kinda thought he was playing for our team, but as far as I know, he’s never gotten it on with anybody around here.”
“So he and Sandy aren’t…” Fine, ok, Jensen cares. Just a little.
“If they are, she hides it really damn well,” is Misha’s answer, which isn’t particularly satisfying, but still better than nothing. He fixes Jensen with a hard gaze, face suddenly serious. “For the record, you’d totally hit that, though, right?”
“I’m not blind,” Jensen scoffs in return.
“Thank God!” Misha break into a grin, pillowing his head against the wall with one hand, “We need somebody around here besides me and Sandy to appreciate the wonder that is Jared in uniform.”
Mmm, Jared in uniform. Tight black rubber, clinging in all the right places - which just happen to be all of the places. “Damn that’s a fine ass.”
“Hell yes,” Misha agrees wistfully.
“Well, I don’ think it’s like that with me and him,” Jensen has to grudgingly admit - he sure as hell hasn’t been getting any of the signals from Jared, even if he’d like to, “but if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Hey, I’ll do whatever I can to help you out - Jared is in desperate need of a good lay.” Misha gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, which is just… weird. Ok, Jensen’s had about enough of this team bonding thing for one day.
He chuckles slightly, turning to walk off. It suddenly seems like he has a lot more to think about. “I’ll do my best.”
“Remember,” Misha yells after him into the afternoon haze, “nothing says thank you like a hot threesome!”
***
On to Part 2b
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17-- Wordcount: 10, 200 (whole chapter)
Warnings: Mutant!AU, UST, angst, damaged!snarky!Jensen, empath!Jared - Mentions of past trauma, child abuse, prostitution and self harm (This chapter went a little dark on me, but only for one section)
Notes: This chapter ended up being far more massive than I originally had planned (God, this is going to be a long story) - posting in 2 parts because LJ got mad at me: the link to part 2b is at the end of 2a. Many of you picked up on the less-than-subtle X-Men and Wolverine allusions here, and some of that sticks around, but I'm going a little off-book here, just FYI.
Summary - Except for the fact that they were both born with remarkable superhuman abilities, and a seething mutual dislike, Jared and Jensen have nothing in common. Turns out, though, that they may also be the only ones who can save each other from themselves.
Back to Part 1
Jared’s body flies through the air like a black superball, except he doesn’t bounce when he hits the far wall, brick dust raining down around him as he crashes to the ground. Jensen can’t help but be vaguely amused. Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Padapuppy?
The enjoyment is somewhat short-lived considering that Jensen is busy making sure he doesn’t share the same fate. He gets their quarry in his sights - damn, they couldn’t do this anywhere better lit? - as Chad distracts her by porting in and out all over the room. If Chad could learn to fucking shoot worth a shit, he might actually be able to do something with that power of his beyond being the team’s glorified moving van.
The woman rages - seriously, the bitch is crazy - and flings her arm in Chad’s general direction, sending one of the metal beams she’s already knocked loose from the ceiling at the teleporter. He phases out in the nick of time and it gives Jensen just the shot he needs to tag their ‘objective’ with a tranq.
Red feathers blossom at the bend of her neck and she tears at the imbedded dart immediately - still too late. Her hands toss wildly and it seems like the walls themselves shake - ok, Jensen will take back that glorified moving van thing if Chad will come back now to get them the fuck out of here! - which keeps Jensen preoccupied as she dashes out the door.
Tom’s hot on her tail - God, what a hot tail Tom has, especially in his uniform; goddamn Greek tragedy that the guy’s straight - yelling over his shoulder at Jensen to “Get Jared!”
Yeah, yeah. Get Jared. This partner thing sucks gigantic balls; like he’s the one responsible for Jared doing a Superman impression into that wall.
He trots over toward the huddled pile of rubber and sexy that is Jared - what? The kid’s a tool, doesn’t stop him from being smoking hot; Jensen is totally up for some dirty hate-sex - with a little less urgency.
From the intel - ‘intel’; Jensen’s so fucking cool - Sandy had dug up, it didn’t look like the bitch they were bringing in had any other powers beyond ‘move shit by flailing at it’ so one tranq ought to bring her down pretty fast. Jensen’s tranq; his very first mission and he’s the one taking down the bad guy - because Jensen’s an awesome superhero and totally better than the other schmucks on the team. Wait a month and he’ll be running this operation; then Jared can be the one hopping-to while Jensen barks the orders. Maybe he’ll make the kid spit shine his boots. With his tongue. Yeah, hot.
Ok, serious; Jensen is a serious superhero who only fantasizes about his teammates in the off hours. And during meetings, but meetings suck, so it’s totally excusable. Anyway…
Jared’s still pretty well out of it. There’s a nasty gash on the back of his head that’s slowly oozing blood, but his eyelids flutter open a little and there’s a hint of recognition when Jensen kneels down next to him, so that’s a good thing, right? Maybe they should have given him some medical training too; not like Jensen knows what to do with regular-people injuries. Well, at least not beyond using his secret weapon, but… nevermind, no point in wasting that little surprise when Chad can just teleport them back the facility. Assuming Chad ever shows the fuck up!
Alright, he’s pretty sure that there’s something about not moving people with head injuries - is that head injuries? Damn, he needs to watch more doctor shows - but then again, the walls are still kind of groaning ominously and moving Jared with a head injury has still got to be better than letting a building fall on him.
Jared moans and makes some kind of twitch that might be an escape attempt when Jensen loops an arm around his back and starts to hoist the larger boy to an upright position. He gets as far as pulling Jared in to his chest, the thin stubble on his jaw rasping against the smooth skin of Jared’s cheek as the kid slumps forward and -
Jensen’s four and the last thing he had to eat was the coffee grounds from the cupboard by the sink. They tasted gross and made his stomach do flip flops all night, but he’d eat more if he had them. Mom just waves him off every time Jensen tries to tell her that there’s no food and the last time he tried to pull her up from where she’s been laying on the couch for days she scratched his face.
Jensen’s six and his ribs sound like popcorn when they snap, hurt worse as they start trying to move back to where they’re supposed to be. Dad keeps saying that there’re snakes in Jensen’s belly and he has to stomp them out and he won’t listen when Jensen tries to tell him it’s not true. It doesn’t matter anyway now because he can’t get in enough breath to cry let alone say anything.
Jensen’s small and he never owned the white tennis shoes he’s staring down at with the happy, neon green laces. The skinny little hands hanging limply at his sides weren’t ever his either, the same way that the kids flopped all over the colored floor mats and short, round-edged furniture aren’t his kindergarten classmates. Because Jensen never went to kindergarten. But he still knows this is his class; the same way he knows that the reason that they’re laid out in awkward angles and funny positions is because they all fell over where they were standing a minute ago. The same way that he knows that his name is Jared and he’s five and everything’s so much better now that he made them all go to sleep.
Jensen’s eight and the only thing that changes in foster care is the faces. He braces his back against one of the support beams under the house and takes a thick-tasting drag off of the cigarette butt he’d found around the side of the house. He flicks the lighter from his last foster parents place on and off, on and off, watching the flame burst to life and sputter out again just as fast. He blows a puff of smoke at the spark until it flickers and dies, the flame licking for a moment at the pad of his finger. He spends a lot of time that afternoon watching it burn and heal again.
Jensen’s eleven and the thin legs poking out from his too-big shorts are sticking to the leather back seat of the car. The man who owns it is pressed up close to him, breathing hard in Jensen’s ear as he takes Jensen’s hand and rubs it up and down over his dick. There’s a lot more money in the man’s wallet than the fifty bucks he already gave Jensen and if he waits just another couple of minutes until his hand is covered in sticky white goo, the man will be too confused to know what’s happening when Jensen reaches into his pocket and grabs that wallet. He just has to wait.
He’s all gangly, too-long limbs and his chest hurts like his lungs are full of hot nails. The sticky mess on his skin is cold in the air conditioning, but all of that incredible feeling he’d had just a minute ago when it spurted out of himself onto his chest is gone, replaced by mind-numbing pain. He should have put on more clothes; then maybe he could touch the night guard lying on the shiny linoleum, clutching at his heart. He wouldn’t know what to do even if he could tough though, and he must be screaming because people are coming. He can feel them coming, running, and then they’re here; panic when they look at the guard, fear when they look at him. Because he’s a freak, because he did this and it doesn’t matter if he didn’t mean to, he still did it. He didn’t know that anyone was close enough to feel it if he pushed, didn’t think that just touching himself a little would hurt anything - wasn’t supposed to hurt anything - and now it’s all his fault. He’s Jared, he’s twelve, and he wishes he was dead.
Jensen’s fourteen and his knuckles crunch and squeal like chewed ice as the bone shards move around every time his arm swings. He’s won and he knows it, but he can’t seem to make himself stop pummeling the boy trapped underneath him, can’t seem to remember why he was doing it in the first place. Blood drops spatter warm against his cheek and he here’s the correction’s officers whistles, know they’re coming. Still can’t stop.
Jensen’s sixteen and the empty bottle of lighter-fluid-grade vodka slips from his fingers to the floor. It doesn’t break in the short distance from where his hand hangs between his knees as he sits on the squeaky motel bed. He has a millisecond between the time his finger squeezes the trigger and the bullet shattering the side of his skull to wonder if this time it will finally work.
Jensen’s eighteen and he’s -
He’s jerked back to a room where the ceiling is slowly crumbling in on them by Misha’s hand tugging him away from Jared’s spasming body. Jensen sucks in a breath like it’s his first out of the womb and God help him but he’s crying like it too, hot tears streaking unbidden down his face.
Misha stares from where he’s kneeling over Jared, his hand planted in the middle of the bigger boy’s chest to keep him pinned to the ground against the convulsions wracking that long body. He furrows his brow at Jensen, look caught somewhere between blame and concern.
“What happened?” Misha asks urgently, though the shocks rocking Jared’s body are slowing. And isn’t that just the fucking million dollar question - what the hell happened?
Before Jensen can work out anything approaching a coherent answer, Chad’s phasing in on a stream of “What the fuck are you bitches doing, having a tea par-“ The blond cuts off, eyes darting from Jensen to Misha to Jared and back again before he mutters “Shit,” and lunges forward to wrap a hand around Jared’s rubber-gauntleted arm and disappears all over again, Jared in tow.
Jensen barely has enough functioning braincells to go with it when Misha grabs him by the scruff of his neck and jostles them both out of the rapidly deteriorating doorway into the clear night air.
***
Jared stutters back into consciousness like a car backfiring, eyes flying open long seconds before he can get his body to do anything else, a single word resonating in his mind; Jensen.
“He’s fine,” Jeff assures from his perch on the end of the sick-bay bed Jared’s been placed in. It’s only then that he realizes that he’s said the older boy’s name out loud.
Relief floods Jared like cool water because he may not like Jensen, but that doesn’t mean he deserve to have his mind torn to shreds either and…
And what the heck was that?
“What happened?” Jared croaks out, his voice a raspy, bone-dry sound.
Jeff scrubs a hand over his face, kneading at his brow bone with his knuckles before he answers. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
It’s dark outside the massive window next to Jared’s bed, a lighter blue edging over the roofs of the building across from the medical wing. Either dawn or twilight; it’s unsettling to realize that he doesn’t even know what day it is. Jeff doesn’t look too badly off though, slightly ruffled like he’s been running his fingers through his hair a lot but the plain, black t-shirt and sweats he’s wearing don’t seem any worse for wear. A day or less, then, since it happened. That’s good
Jared searches his mind for a coherent explanation for the candle-in-the-wind flickers of images still painting the backs of his eyelids and draws a blank instead. “I… it… I have no idea.”
Jeff sighs, tilting his head back to talk to the mottled ceiling tiles. “Misha says that he found you and Jensen huddled together, immovable, and that Jensen wouldn’t respond until after Misha forcibly pulled him off of you. Jensen says he doesn’t remember a thing.”
“He’s lying,” Jared says, and it’s not a question. He has no real reason to believe that Jensen was privy to every scene from their intermixed lives that flashed before his own eyes, but he feels like Jensen saw it, and if Jared’s learned one thing from his curse of a power, it’s to trust his feelings.
That gets a nod from Jeff and nothing else. It probably shouldn’t have taken this long, but whatever drugs they’re pumping Jared’s system with must be damn good - it’s only now that he realizes how much his head hurts. A hiss ekes out from between his clenched teeth as his fingers unerringly find the swollen lump of bandage on the back of his head.
The image of Jensen leaning over him is still fuzzy in his mind - he’s pretty sure he tried to say something, to tell Jensen to leave him alone because Jared’s dangerous enough when he’s in full control, but Jensen either hadn’t heard or hadn’t listened. He can still feel that single instant when it was nothing more than warm skin on his own, and then… Crap.
“I was in his head,” Jared answers the question that Jeff’s been dancing around asking, “Actually inside it, living his memories. And I think he may have been inside of mine.”
“Are you sure?” Jeff asks blithely, as though Jared hasn’t just announced that he was in Jensen’s freaking head!
“No, I’m pretty far from sure, actually!” he snaps back in exasperation, skull throbbing at the volume. “I don’t even really know what happened to me, let alone him.”
“But you think he’s lying.”
“Yeah, I… yeah, he is.”
Jeff blinks at him, calculating, dark eyes razor-sharp, “Meaning?”
There’s a too long minute where all Jared can hear is the disconcerting meld of the blood pounding in his ears in time with the increasing tempo of the heart monitor. When he speaks, it’s a barely croaked-out whisper around the tight knot of panic rising in his throat.
“I think… Jesus, Jeff. I can still feel him.”
***
It’s motherfucking hot. A good argument for Jensen to stay inside, but he can’t seem to manage it. He’s allowed to move around the facility wherever he wants now and somehow with the sun shining outside and the breath-hot breeze blowing the dust around, sitting in his dark, empty little room feels a lot more like prison than he cares to think about. Prison with a giant TV, wireless internet and food brought to his room on request, but still.
He’s doing his level best not to think about Jared or whatever it was that happened. It’s kind of working for shit because the fact that he seemingly got all up inside of Jared’s head seems to be the only thing he can concentrate on.
That’s really the only explanation for it; God knows he’s looked for others, but he keeps coming up dry. So then, he was in Jared’s head, his memories playing out in front of Jensen right along with his own, and that - well, he doesn’t really have a clue what that means. But he had a feeling Jared did.
Ever since it happened, Jared’s been avoiding him; not that surprising, considering they weren’t exactly bestest buds to begin with and Jensen would just assume not take another soul-shattering trip down memory lane, thankyouverymuch. What’s suspicious is that Jeff has dropped it completely too, like nothing at all happened, even though he was pretty seriously freaked when he first found out.
The older man obviously hadn’t believed Jensen’s story about not remembering anything at the time - that was a whole other can of worms he didn’t feel like opening, especially if there was even the slightest chance that Jeff would want to test it out and see if they could do their little brain-share whateverthefuck again - but once he’d talked to Jared, Jeff had let the whole issue go. Maybe Jared had backed Jensen’s story, but the idea of soldier-boy lying to the man in charge didn’t really sit right with Jensen, which left option two; Jeff and Jared knew exactly what happened and wanted to pretend that it hadn’t.
He grazes his big, black combat boots through the red dirt, raising little ridges with his toes. He really likes the boots - there might be rules against wearing part of his field uniform around every day, but nobody’s said anything yet, and hey, they look damn good on him.
His footwear admiration is broken up by the sudden appearance of Misha; damn that guy is quiet - if he didn’t know better, Jensen would swear that Misha was the teleporter instead of Chad. Misha knocks back the can of Coke in his hand, slurping loudly around the last draw of liquid as he falls into step with Jensen. They’re walking the perimeter of the facility, nothing in sight but miles and miles of flat scrub brush.
“So, I’m supposed to take over with your training until Jared’s up to snuff again,” Misha explains, shaking the can between his fingers for the ticky slosh of the few remaining drops inside. Jensen’s heart falls a little; he’s really sick of training… and hearing about Jared. “Don’t really feel like it now, though,” the other boy continues, “You wanna throw rocks at this can instead?”
The smile on his face is so genuinely enthusiastic that Jensen can’t help but laugh.
“Sure, Tom Sawyer,” he replies, mock-chipper, “Ya need to go grab a couple stereotypical Southern characters before we start?”
Misha glares at him, “Oh, sorry, I’ll leave you to your adventures in boot scuffing. Let me know how that works out.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
Misha tosses the can out a distance into the dark dust, scraping a handful of pebbles up off of the ground as he goes. Jensen leans back against the side of the building in mimic of Misha’s position, absorbing the few available inches of shade as sweat trickles slowly down the nape of his neck. The pebble Misha tosses at the can explodes on impact; a burst of ruddy powder a couple of inches to the left of the mark.
He makes the kind of squinty face that Jensen’s come to associate with the other man using his power and holds out a rock in the palm of his hand to Jensen. Jensen stares down at it warily, fingers inching toward it before Misha jerks it away with a sigh, tossing it off to the side where it pops with a little curl of smoke in mid-air.
“There’s a time limit on these things, you know?” Misha chides, squinting at another pebble until he deems it sufficiently charged. “Think of it like a grenade once the pin is pulled.”
“Oh that’s fucking comforting,” Jensen retorts, snatching the stone quickly and tossing it at the can. It goes a little long, but otherwise a good shot.
“Not like you wouldn’t just heal from it anyway,” is Misha’s argument, his own throw finally hitting the target, which hops into the air before skittering to rest a few feet to the right of its original spot.
True, Jensen would probably be fine after an hour or two even if one of the fucking things went off in his hand, but he’s never had part of himself blown up before and it’s not an experience he’s itching for. His next toss lands just a little shy, but close enough that it makes the can jump back a couple of inches.
“So Jared,” Misha prods, blinking innocently over at Jensen. He tosses another stone right on the money.
“Congratulations on that seamless segue,” Jensen snarks back. He’s seriously had enough of Jared fucking Padalecki in the last couple of days. That odd pressure that seems to crop up that the back of Jensen’s mind every time he thinks about the kid is back again, damnit.
“Thanks,” Misha grins, “I keep telling them that I need to be a double-O agent or something. Shame to waste all of this natural subtlety.”
A reasonably comfortable silence settles then, and Jensen entertains the vain hope that he’s managed to dodge the interrogation.
“As I was saying,” Misha shoots that idea all to hell, “Jared.”
“What about him?” Jensen does his best not to growl, tossing his own pebble at the can a little harder than strictly necessary.
“Well, you may have noticed that he’s kind of the king of the freaks around here.”
“Duly noted.”
“It’s just,” Misha pauses, brow furrowed in thought, “you’re the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t get along with him.”
“He barely talks to anyone but Sandy!” Jensen retorts incredulously; because honestly, Jared’s kind of an antisocial bastard from what he’s seen in the last few weeks.
Misha waves the idea off casually, “Yeah, but that’s just Jared. He’s, like, private, you know? But he’s always there when you need him; just shows up without you even having to ask. I guess it’s the procog thing or whatever, but he’s always the guy who turns up at your door when it seems like everything’s falling apart. It’s earned him a lot of points around here over the years.”
“Speaking of points…”
“I’m just saying,” Misha sighs, chucking another rock, which gives a significantly louder bang than the previous ones when it hits the soda can, “I’ve never seen anyone actively dislike Jared, and I’ve really never seen him actively dislike anyone else. It’s freaky, man. And then whatever that was the other day…”
“I seriously don’t remember,” Jensen lies automatically. Yeah, like he could forget an inter-brain slideshows of the worst shit that’s ever happened to him - plus a few new ones, ostensibly from Jared himself - flashing before his eyes like he was reliving them all over again.
Misha holds up his free hand in a surrender. “Ok, cool, whatever. I’m just saying, there’s obviously something weird going on with you and the Jay-man, and it’s got all of our curiosities peaked.” Hmm, so Jensen’s not the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck happened? Isn’t that interesting.
“What do you mean, going on?”
Misha shrugs, “Well, Tom and Chad seem to think you’re going to try and kill each other, but they’re idiots, so they’re vote doesn’t count. My bet is on Unresolved Sexual Tension. The again that might just be my elaborate fantasy life talking.”
Ok, that one definitely deserves a double-take. “Jared’s gay?” Not that Jensen hasn’t thought about it, maybe hoped about it, but it’s not like he really cares…
“Who the hell knows, man,” the other man grumbles, half-heartedly tossing the last group of pebbles in his hand, setting off a spectacle of miniature dirt explosions to pepper the ground, “I’ve always kinda thought he was playing for our team, but as far as I know, he’s never gotten it on with anybody around here.”
“So he and Sandy aren’t…” Fine, ok, Jensen cares. Just a little.
“If they are, she hides it really damn well,” is Misha’s answer, which isn’t particularly satisfying, but still better than nothing. He fixes Jensen with a hard gaze, face suddenly serious. “For the record, you’d totally hit that, though, right?”
“I’m not blind,” Jensen scoffs in return.
“Thank God!” Misha break into a grin, pillowing his head against the wall with one hand, “We need somebody around here besides me and Sandy to appreciate the wonder that is Jared in uniform.”
Mmm, Jared in uniform. Tight black rubber, clinging in all the right places - which just happen to be all of the places. “Damn that’s a fine ass.”
“Hell yes,” Misha agrees wistfully.
“Well, I don’ think it’s like that with me and him,” Jensen has to grudgingly admit - he sure as hell hasn’t been getting any of the signals from Jared, even if he’d like to, “but if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Hey, I’ll do whatever I can to help you out - Jared is in desperate need of a good lay.” Misha gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, which is just… weird. Ok, Jensen’s had about enough of this team bonding thing for one day.
He chuckles slightly, turning to walk off. It suddenly seems like he has a lot more to think about. “I’ll do my best.”
“Remember,” Misha yells after him into the afternoon haze, “nothing says thank you like a hot threesome!”
***
On to Part 2b