Fic: This Hell We've Made (Jensen/Jared) 2b/?
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: back to Part 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 bites back a yelp as the soft gauze of the bandages are peeled away from his head, catching on whatever polymer they’ve used to close up the wound.
“Titty baby,” Sandy teases, short legs kicking against the side of the examination table as she swings them back and forth.
Jared grumbles something unflattering at her and tunes back in to what the doctor’s telling him.
“- shouldn’t be a problem. No strenuous activity for a week, and yes, I’ve told Director Morgan that too, so no tricky stuff. Don’t touch the affected area and try to keep it from getting wet.”
Jared groans in disappointment at the whole situation, “Does that mean I can’t wash my hair?” It’s been three days and he’s really not rocking the homeless-chic look; he feels too gross to touch.
Dr. Ferris lets out a put upon sigh and points her eyes toward the ceiling. “Just be careful about it; as little moisture as possible, got me?”
Jared nods his head vigorously - at least the throbbing has passed - and gives her boy scout salute which in turn, gets a school-girl giggle out of the severe woman.
On the way out of the hospital wing, Sandy’s fingers twine with Jared’s, hands swaying to and fro lightly as they walk through the harsh noon sun.
“How are you feeling?” she asks compulsively. It’s the fifth time she’s asked today.
Jared reaches over with his free hand and musses her dark hair. “Sandy, I’m fine. I’m going to continue to be fine, and on the off chance that I stop being fine, I promise to inform you immediately.”
She snorts at him, lips drawn together in a disbelieving pout, but ultimately lets it go. There’s no question in his mind about this not being the end of the conversation; there’s a niggling worry shimmering off of Sandy like heat on the horizon, laid over with a hint of anticipation. Jared has a feeling he knows exactly what that’s about.
“If you’re going to ask, just ask,” he mutters, thumbing the electronic print pad by the East wing doors. They gasp open, beckoning Jared inside with the rush of cool, temperature-controlled air.
Sandy plays dumb, following along beside him, “Ask what?”
She holds up under Jared’s glare slightly longer than he would have given her credit for, but not much.
“Can you blame me for being curious?” she all but squeaks, a sure sign that she’s even more wound up than she was letting on - not that Jared hadn’t felt that from the moment she showed up at his door this morning. “Jensen won’t talk about it, Jeff won’t talk about, you aren’t talking about it! All we know is that Misha saw you two all… frozen or something and then you went catatonic for six hours while Jeff had Jensen interrogated. Sharing is caring, Jared!”
“There’s nothing to share,” Jared evades, motioning for Sandy to lead the way as the doors to the control room power open.
“Uh huh, sure,” she agrees, dripping with sarcasm.
The control room, aka: Sandy’s inner sanctum, is a jarring clash of color that even after all of this time, still makes Jared’s eyes twinge on first sight. Who knows how many hours Sandy’s spent tracking down all of the different colors and patterns of artisan paper that cover the enormous room’s walls; pinks, greens, golds, aquas, everything from neon to metallic to slick, textured prints right down the line. It’s like stepping inside of a rainbow, or possibly an LSD trip, but Jared’s really only guessing about the latter. The color helps make up for the fact that the only light in the room comes from the plethora of illuminated computer screens, winking through the channels Sandy’s set up like electronic insect eyes.
For a long time it seemed incongruous to Jared; sweet, bubbly Sandy stuck in this dim room by herself when it seemed like she ought to be out hopping around in a cheerleading uniform or playing tennis or… other things that happy people do; Jared can’t really think of any at the moment. Leastways, it always seemed like Sandy should be out enjoying the world, living a normal life, instead of being trapped in here with nothing but the internet for company.
Sandy’s happy in here, though, at least most of the time; enjoying the fact that she can use her power to help people - she’d originally been pulled onto the team when the FBI started tracking the ‘computer glitch’ that cause millions of dollars to be transferred from wealthy hedge-funders and oil barons to orphanages around the country - and the freedom to do essentially whatever she wants within a few basic parameters. And Jared knows enough about the things she gets up to in this room of hers to know he doesn’t want to be any better informed - team leader or not, there are things about his teammates and their ‘slash’ obsessions that he doesn’t need to be apprised of.
Sandy flops down in her computer chair - hot pink pleather and so big that she could probably sleep in it if she wanted to; a birthday gift from him and Chad - and gives him a searching look; curiosity quickly bleeding into full-on concern.
“He didn’t…” she starts, fear and reluctance swallowing her words for a moment, “I mean, he wouldn’t… he didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Technically, of course, the answer is yes, because Jared can’t remember if he’s ever had a dose of pain as accute as the waves of it undulating through Jensen’s memories, but that’s not what she means and there’s no way to explain it without giving away over a decade of carefully crafted lies.
“No,” Jared makes himself smile as he says it, trying to subtly project how ridiculous he’s supposed to think the idea of Jensen harming him is. As much as he hates lying, his power does make it infinitely easier to get others to believe him, and he can see as well as feel the moment when Sandy relaxes.
“Good,” she smiles back, fingers absently playing with the keyboard she almost never bothers to use. “I didn’t think he would. I mean, he so clearly likes you, but with all of that stuff in his file, I still had to wonder.”
Sandy, being the one who’d put together their file on Jensen, naturally knows every scrap of the material - which might actually be worth looking into now that he thinks of it, considering everything that he saw in Jensen’s head; he knows the version of the file he received was a somewhat abridged, cleaned up one. But what he really gets stuck on is the other part of that statement.
“He so clearly likes me? Have you met Jensen?” Jared knows his face is screwed up in confusion and it drags a burst of laughter out of Sandy.
“Um, yeah,” she nods, still chuckling slightly. “I know you’re oblivious and all, Jay, but if that boy eye-fucked you any harder he’d leave bruises.”
“Sandy!”
“Oh come on, Jared,” Sandy rolls her eyes, “we’re a secret black-ops team, protecting the world from threats they don’t even know exist by forfeiting our own normalcy and safety - I have earned the right to say fuck if I want to. And it’s true; he definitely wants your body.”
Now it’s Jared’s turn to snort his derision, “No more than he wants the body of every other man on the planet.”
The feeling coming off of Sandy now is loaded with indulgent fondness and a touch of exasperation. “Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart,” she bats her eyes playfully for a moment before surprise floods over her and those eyes shoot wide. “Oh! Hi Jensen!”
Jared whips around, eyes rushing to the open doorway, just outside of which he can see Jensen standing. Crap! It’s been a long, long time since anyone managed to sneak up on Jared. His power always alerts him to the presence of another set of emotions, but the permanent, low-level awareness he’s developed toward Jensen seems to have prevented that. Well that’s a problem on just so many levels.
The older boy quirks an eyebrow at them and moves on, eyes lingering for a half a second too long on Jared as a mixture of resentment and fear and a tiny twinge of something akin to jealousy prickles along Jared’s senses. What was that all about?
***
It’s been five days since it happened, and Jensen’s going to start climbing the walls if something doesn’t happen soon. Of course, Jeff had assured him before the first mission that things weren’t typically that busy - a mission here, a mission there, plenty of downtime for relaxing and training or, he had pointedly suggested, going for one’s GED. At the time that had seemed like a pretty sweet deal - except for the GED part; he’s a fucking superhero now, he doesn’t need a diploma, thanks - but then, at the time he hadn’t gotten up close and personal with Jared Padalecki’s brainpan.
Now, Jensen’s always been the curious type and it’s gotten him into more trouble over the years than it’s probably been worth, but it’s also saved his ass once or twice, so he’s not inclined to just sit by and go with the uninformative flow. He’s also pretty good at piecing together puzzles, and once he’s really been looking, it’s become obvious that something’s rotten in Denmark… er, Texas. Whatever.
Take the sudden disinterest in what happened on Jeff’s part, add in Jared’s complete silence on the matter, and the obvious confusion from the rest of the team. Then look at the way it happened, plus Jared’s obsessive need to cover up that - really fantastic - body and the fact that Misha and Chad and the facility doctors all touched Jared, but only over clothes or through gloves, and none of them seem to have been effected. So whatever happened has something to do with skin-on-skin; but it doesn’t work like that all of the time because Jared almost always leaves his fingers bare. And finally, the big mystery piece - whatever it was that happened between them, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with precognition.
Conclusion? Jared’s either got more powers than he’s letting on - secret powers he doesn’t want the team to know about, even though Jeff’s clearly in on it - or he’s lying about the one he has. Now there’s an idea that’s more than a little freaky and Jensen really doesn’t know what to do with it now that he’s put it together.
There’s also this other little thing; that funny little pressure that’s started coiling up tight in the back of his mind occasionally over the last few days. It’s like… It sounds crazy, he knows it, but then so does most of the stuff in Jensen’s life: It’s like somebody’s poking at him. Inside his head. It’s really fucking creepy, actually, and he can’t figure out if it has something to do with what happened between him and Jared or if it’s all in his imagination.
Or maybe he’s developing a mutant strain of brain tumor. He wonders if he’s the first person ever to hope for a brain tumor.
Whichever way you slice it though, Jensen can’t deny that he’s developed the uncanny tendency to end up wherever Jared happens to be, without really intending to go there. Which is how he’s ended up standing on the roof in the first fucking place.
The sun is setting; purple and orange over a goldenrod plain. It’s like one of those watercolors in crappy motel rooms, except, you know, kind of a little bit pretty. You know, if you get moved by shit like that. Which Jensen doesn’t. The only reason he’s up here in the first damn place is because of the stupid, internal Jared-beacon he’s developed. Maybe they should, like, talk about that or something. It’s getting kind of annoying.
“Something on your mind?” Jared asks quietly, the dry prairie breeze ruffling his hair. His back is to Jensen, feet dangling precariously over the side of the building, but he doesn’t seem concerned. Jensen had been pretty sure he was all stealthy and shit sneaking up here; should have known better than to try and trick the fucking ninja-master.
“Just admiring the view,” Jensen retorts easily, and if he happens to be looking at the flex of Jared’s shoulders under his sweatshirt - did he not get the memo that it’s 100 degrees out here? - and the way his hair curls at the strong curve of his jaw instead of the sunset, well, Jared’s not looking at him anyway, so he’ll never know the difference.
Jared turns just enough that Jensen can make out the shape of his profile, highlighted in tangerine and fuchsia, the dips of shadow more pronounced. There’s something that might be a tired attempt at a smirk playing across his lips, but it fades fast and he’s back to facing into the open space of land in front of him.
Jensen’s not exactly sure when he decided to sit down on the cat’s tongue pavement next to the kid, but suddenly he is.
“So,” he drawls after a long minute of silence, “the New York team, the Dubai team, the Tokyo team and the El Paso team. Because nothing screams booming metropolis in need of saving quite like West Texas.” He’s not really expecting an answer, it’s just been on his mind ever since he found out about the handful of other U.N. sponsored groups like theirs - and when the hell did he start thinking of himself in conjunction with the team? - all over the globe.
Jared shrugs and Jensen figures that’s about as far as that line of conversation is going to take them, so it shocks the shit of him when Jared volunteers, “I’m from San Antonio originally. I was the first recruit on the team, so maybe…” he shakes his head, shaggy little tendrils of it sticking to the fine sheen of sweat at his temple, “I dunno. Maybe not.”
“Not exactly San Antone adjacent here,” Jensen points out casually. He braces his hands on either side of his body to leans back some, the tip of his middle finger unintentionally resting against Jared’s thigh. He doesn’t bother to move it.
“It’s quiet, secluded;” Jared shrugs, “people need the jobs so nobody’s likely to look a gift horse like the facility in the mouth.”
Jensen wonders if that secluded bit was supposed to be an argument for the facility being built here, or for them building it here for Jared’s sake.
“Guess you get to go see a lot of your family, being close to home and all.”
Jared slides a glance Jensen’s way but he doesn’t point out the fact that Jensen already knows from that episode with the heart-attack special in Jared’s memories that Jared’s been calling this place home for a hell of a long time.
“We’re not really close,” is his reply, a little terse, and Jensen would have bet money that that really was the end of it, but after a second, Jared barrels right on, looking about as surprised by that fact as Jensen is. “We talk on holidays and stuff, but I haven’t been back in years. It’s hard on them, knowing what I am. Just easier to stay here.”
“Mmm. I haven’t seen my folks in a while either,” Jensen agrees. He can’t even remember the last time he mentioned his parents out loud. Jared gives him this soft smile like he understands - which Jensen guesses he does, since he saw it all - hazel eyes lit up in the half-light, and for maybe the first time ever, that look doesn’t fill Jensen with the need to beat the shit out of somebody. He’s seriously freaking himself out.
“How long have you been here?” Jensen changes the subject with no finesse whatsoever. He cannot for the life of him figure out what’s up with his sudden need to steer the conversation away from making Jared uncomfortable - Jared, who he can’t stand and who’s keeping some kind of potentially dangerous secret from him; Jared, who, from what he overheard, thinks Jensen’s just some slut who goes after anything with a dick. Which he’s not; sluts give it up for free.
The younger man draws in a breath so long Jensen’s not actually sure it’s going to end. He lets it out in a rush, followed by a slightly mumbled, “Since I was five.”
So that kindergarten thing was probably what landed him here. Jensen had wondered, but he’d been worried about trying to look anything up on the facility’s computers - there was a damn good chance they were being monitored - and asking one of the other team members was almost guaranteed to get back to Jared.
Jensen doesn’t know how to carry on from there without overplaying his hand - he’s pretty sure that they both know what’s going on here, but it’s one thing to imply you know somebody else’s dirty little secrets and another to come right out and say it. Also, from what he could tell, there’s a reasonable chance that Jared’s killed somebody with his mind before, and Jensen really doesn’t feel the need to test his healing ability out against psychic assault.
Jared rubs a hand through his hair; face contorting as he skims carelessly over the bump on the back of his head. His fingers don’t quite retreat; instead tentatively exploring the area.
“You’re gonna pull your stitches,” Jensen warns sagely. Jared shoots him an ‘are you kidding?’ look and, ok, fine, “’S what people say on TV,” he admits with a smirk.
Jared smiles, wide and natural and wow, Jensen’s never had the magnitude of those dimples turned on him full force before; he feels all gooey and soft for no discernable reason. Damn, those things should count as a superpower all by themselves.
“They’re not really stiches anyway,” Jared says, eyes directed slightly upward as he concentrates on the feel beneath his questing fingers, “I think its superglue or something.”
Jensen gets through one bark of a laugh before Jared, seemingly unawares, sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth like he’s thinking hard. Fuck if that isn’t distracting as all get out. His laugh titters off into something that sounds a lot like a breathless giggle, except for the fact that Jensen is far too rugged and manly to giggle. Seriously.
Jared slaps his hand back into his lap with a sigh, nose wrinkling as he dejectedly complains, “It itches.”
Jensen nods in sympathy - his megafast healing process itches like fire every time he gets a cut or scrape, or, you know, a stab. It really sucks, but at least it only lasts for a couple of minutes; he’d go nuts if he had to live like that for days.
That right there sparks the thought, and once it’s nestled, it won’t seem to go away. It’s a terrible idea to use up his ace in the hole, and maybe kind of genius; he can’t really decide. But hey, fuck it, Jensen learned a long time ago to go with his gut and if it goes well, this could really work in his favor.
Jared’s eyes shoot wide for the fraction of a second that Jensen can see them as he tugs the younger man in close. There’s a good chance that if they were standing up instead of teetering above a three-story fall that Jared would be able to pull one of his tricky Jedi moves and keep Jensen from yanking his head in close, but as it stands, Jared just shoots his arms out to balance himself, giving Jensen the chance to part the silk-soft hair falling over the wound and get his tongue on the rough, broken skin.
It actually does feel like superglue, but there’s enough of an iron-tang there for him to know that he’s reaching the injury beneath too. There’s a hot burst of air right over his crotch as Jared squawks incredulously - another time, another place, Jensen could really enjoy this position - shoving at Jensen to try and make him let go without toppling them both over the ledge. Despite the fact that Jared knocks him on his ass on a pretty regular basis, Jensen is actually a strong guy, and given an advantage like this, there’s not a whole lot that Jared can do to make him stop.
He can tell the second his saliva kicks in; Jared’s whole body locks up in shock for a fraction of a second and then he’s pawing at Jensen like he doesn’t give a shit if he ends up pushing them both over the side of the building as long as it stops. Jensen figures that ought to be enough, so he releases the kid, enjoying the little offended-meets-what-the-fuck expression on Jared’s face. Then the younger man’s fingers find the spot where the cut used to be, by now probably clean, unbroken skin and that look melts right into ‘holy shit’. He never realized how damn expressive Jared is.
Looks like the perfect cue for Jensen’s dramatic exit.
Jared’s hand catches around his wrist and for some unknown reason, Jensen’s brain decides to helpfully point out that this is the first time Jared’s ever voluntarily touched him. “H-how…” the kid sputters, “Does Jeff know you can do that?”
Jared’s eyebrows are actually twitching, like he’s working the muscles so hard to keep them arched that high that they’re trembling under the strain. Jensen grins back at him, eyes slitted in self-satisfaction - about damn time he got a chance to be the shocking one of their little duo
“We all need our secrets, right?” Jensen purrs, not bothering to conceal the teasing lilt to his voice. “I won’t tell if you won’t”
***
Jared’s panting by the time he reaches Jensen’s door; panting because he ran like hell itself was nipping at his heels and he felt like it too. He’s not getting images from Jensen’s dream anymore now that he’s awake, but he can still feel the sleep-muted panic from the other boy amplifying with each passing moment. His knock resounds through the hollow steel, knuckles burning slightly from the force he’s applied. For a moment he doesn’t hear anything, then finally there’s a grumble near on the other side of the door and the airlock slides open with a rush of oxygen that flares Jared’s bangs.
Jensen’s standing there on the other side, sleep mussed and bleary eyed, bare chest still heaving from the nightmare Jared knows he woke the older boy up from. He’s trying incredibly hard not to notice that Jensen apparently sleeps naked.
“Are you ok?” spills out of Jared’s mouth before he gets a chance to give his brain final approval. He’s suddenly very aware of how bare his hands are, how he’s only wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants instead of his usual long sleeves. He’d feel naked, except that the miles and miles of skin on display in front of him is there to remind him how well clothed he really is.
Jensen takes too long to answer, the words visibly turning over in his head, and in the meantime Jared gets to feel the razor-sharp panic degrade into base annoyance, mixed with suspicion and maybe embarrassment. Not for the first time he notes bothersomely how being this close to Jensen no longer makes him want to up-chuck.
Jensen’s green-gold eyes are still heavy lidded, but there’s real thought behind them when he asks, “You saw that?”
And heck yes, Jared saw that - he felt that! Like he was drowning in a sea of his own fluids, screaming out into the darkness with no one to hear his raspy, weakened voice, and the wrinkled, water-logged hands pawing at him, dragging him under…
Jared draws in a breath around the memory of water filling his lungs and scrapes together a nod in answer to Jensen’s accusation. Chances are, he should deny it, but he’s already run halfway across the facility to get here, and really, there’s no other excuse. Too late to back down now.
Jensen’s lips stick together slightly as he opens and closes his mouth over and over, dry like he’d been gasping through his mouth in his sleep just moments ago.
Jared doesn’t expect the bluntness, although he probably ought to, when Jensen says, “The precog thing is bullshit, isn’t it.”
Reflexively, Jared peers down the empty hall. It’s three in the morning, so nobody’s out wandering around, but he still can’t bring himself to actually voice the answer, though it’s been pretty clear for a while now that Jensen’s guessed part of it at least. Jensen nods almost imperceptibly and steps back just enough to be an invitation. Jared walks into the darkened room without a second thought.
The sound of the door shunking closed behind him is like a gong in the stillness, plunging the room into blue darkness, and Jared can’t make himself move beyond that first step inside, unable even to rationalize to himself why he’s here in the first place.
“So, what? You’re, like, a mind reader?” Jensen guesses, prowling around behind Jared to go flop down on the couch. He’s making no concession to try and cover up that he’s naked, and it’s unnerving how distracting that is - Jared wonders whether Jensen’s intentionally trying to throw him off balance or he’s just that unconcerned about his state of undress.
“Not exactly,” Jared answers obliquely. He’s not supposed to talk about this - he’s’ just not. He’s made it years so far without any compelling need to explain what he is to anyone; without anyone even suspecting that there’s more to Jared’s story. But then again, they’ve never had anyone like Jensen, have they? Never anyone as inquisitive, as pushy, as bound and determined to get under Jared’s skin. Less than a month and Jensen’s already figured out more about Jared than the team, the friends, he’s been surrounded by for years.
Somehow it all ends up flowing right over his tongue, easy as if it’s common knowledge. “It’s called empathy. I feel what other people feel.”
Jensen’s laid out on the couch, arms crossed behind his head, ankles forming an ‘x’ that leads Jared’s eyes right up to the dark-shadowed dip of… a place where they don’t belong. At all. Damn Jensen and his seemingly contagious over-sexualization.
The older boy ‘hmm’s and grates his plush lips against one another.
“And the memory thing?” he narrows his eyes at Jared, looking for all the world like he’s going to see the answers right underneath Jared’s skin.
Jared tugs down the end of his t-shirt, though it hasn’t ridden up in the slightest, and discovers that he can’t keep his eyes from flittering away from the burnished green intensity in Jensen’s when he admits, “I don’t know. Never happened before.”
“So I’m just special?” Jensen props himself up on his elbows, looking down his body at Jared with a skeptical expression. The emotion coming off of Jensen is warm, but still colored with suspicion; self-satisfied but still uncertain.
“Apparently,” Jared shrugs, suddenly finding it easier to turn his attention off to the side and avoid what he knows must be a pleased little smirk from Jensen - that’s certainly what it feels like inside of his head anyway. “Jeff thinks I have a secondary gift, a mild form of telepathy. I’ve gotten images from touching people before, but never anything as strong as it was with you. I don’t know if that was the head injury or just how much crap you have floating around in your head, but yeah. That’s it.”
The standard issue white sheets are rumpled at the foot of Jensen’s bed, the pillow still bearing the indent of where his head had been. There aren’t any personal touches that Jared can see; no pictures, no books or magazines, not even a glass of water on the bedside table. In fact, if it weren’t for the worn clothes in a pile beside the bed and the black mound that Jared’s sure must be Jensen’s field uniform - they need to have a talk later about keeping his equipment in proper condition - there wouldn’t be any way to know that someone was currently living there.
It’s nothing at all like Jared’s room; meticulously clean, but positively clogged with photos and little notes, random knick-knacks he’s gotten as gifts over the years and a hodge-podge assortment of reading material ranging from case-files and blueprints to old textbooks and Sandy’s hand-me-down paperbacks. The clutter is all a reminder of who he is, a place that feels specifically like ‘Jared’ to keep him grounded even when he’s sleeping and at his most unguarded. There’s not a question in his mind that Jensen’s room will never look like that; he’ll always be ready to abandon everything here at the first sign of trouble, because this place, no place, will ever be ‘safe’ to Jensen.
It occurs to Jared suddenly that the mild frustration simmering through him isn’t actually his own.
Jensen’s sitting up indian-style now, leaning over his legs and glaring at Jared. He’s not exactly sure how long he was staring off into space for, forgetting that Jensen’s still not used to his little social quirks, considering how little social time they actual spend together. On the plus side, from this position he can’t really see anything he’s not supposed to, so there’s an improvement.
“So you’re just lying to the rest of the team?” Jensen asks. From anyone else it would be an accusation, but Jared can feel the apathy underlying Jensen’s curiosity - he doesn’t care that Jared’s lying to the team, he’s just trying to puzzle out what it means that Jared’s doing it.
“What I am is dangerous,” Jared emphasizes, both because it’s true and because it wouldn’t hurt to remind Jensen that Jared’s still not somebody who can be messed with without repercussion, “and the last thing we need is for everybody to be stressed out and guarded around me; it would just throw the problem into overdrive.”
“None of them know?”
“No.”
“Not even Sandy?” Which is just about the most unexpected thing Jensen could have asked. What does this have to do with Sandy?
“Um, no.”
“Hmm.” Jensen squints at the cushion in front of him, thoughts probably racing if the tied-dye smattering of emotions Jared’s picking up are anything to go by. Interest, confusion, anticipation, a hint of fear, lust - because evidently everything makes Jensen horny - and that funny coloring of jealousy again - as if Jared wouldn’t happily trade powers with Jensen any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
“You’re handling this a lot better than I expected.”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “Dude, last week I thought you could see the future and this afternoon I was pretty sure you could read my mind. The touchy-feely thing is easily the least creepy option.” He’s crawling forward along the cushions as he says it, stopping with his hands braced on the arm of the couch, back arched like an expectant, oversized cat. Jared’s really never cared for cats. ”So it’s like a skin thing?” Jensen’s gaze flickers over the bare expanses of Jared’s arms, the tan-line printed backs of his hands. He instantly feels a lot more exposed than the naked man in front of him under that hungry scrutiny.
“I well, no, not exactly. I mean, touching amplifies it, but it still works at a distance.” Jared rambles slightly, taking an involuntary step backward.
Jensen hums his understanding again - that’s getting old quickly - pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. Why can’t Jensen just feel one thing at a time? It’s so freaking confusing!
“Do you see everybody’s dreams?” Jensen probes, easing back to sit on his heels, the tension clawing at Jared’s brain receding some.
He knows he needs to be very careful with his answer here, because he’s already crossed so far over his boundary lines with Jensen - really there was no choice, Jensen would have figured it out eventually anyway, and maybe ended up alerting the whole team in the meantime - but that doesn’t mean that Jared can trust him. He doesn’t need to go handing over all of his secrets. But whatever this new frequency is that’s opened up between them, it doesn’t seem to understand the concept of self-preservation.
“I’m more open when I sleep,” he shrugs, pretending like he’s not revealing weaknesses right and left here, “I pick up on things.”
“And come running,” Jensen scoffs humorlessly.
“Not- not usually. I was just…” Damnit. Why does Jensen have to do that; why does he need to pretend to be above it all like Jared’s not sitting here with the cloying taste of Jensen’s fear still clinging to the back of his throat, the bitterness of hurt and blood-salty longing. “Can’t you feel it?” Jared whispers, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer anyway. “Inside? Like there’s something different now?”
For a long moment Jensen fails to say anything; for so long that Jared’s certain that he’s just going to let the flurried mashup of emotions hanging between them speak for him. Then with a swallow Jared can hears from three feet away, Jensen quietly says, “Yeah.”
It’s more than Jared had figured on getting so he decides to leave it at that for now; not sure what else he’ll give away if they keep going anyway.
“Well, I couldn’t just…” he scratches at the phantom injury on the back of his head, not even tender to the touch anymore; Jensen’s own secret - the one he shared with Jared. “I had to come.”
Jensen hums an understanding - verbalize, damnit! - into his palms as they come up to cup his own face. He lingers behind his broad palms for a minute, breathing into the dark space there and Jared would call it hiding if he wasn’t so relieved not to have to meet those ponderous eyes.
“You can’t tell them, Jensen. You can’t.” Jared tries his damnedest not to make it a plea, but there’s a good chance that he fails there. Jared can feel something cold and calculating slip through Jensen, trying to ice him out, but unexpectedly it gets stopped up around a muted, lukewarmth that if Jared didn’t know better, he’d call affection; camaraderie maybe.
Jensen hands slowly peel away from his face, resting on his bare thighs, and now Jared couldn’t look away from Jensen’s eyes if he wanted to; watching them shine glassy and haunted back at him in the low light. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Jared feels his mouth quirk in a pale imitation of a smile, and it’s like the tension bleeds out of the room. “Fair enough.”
With grunt of finality, Jensen hoists himself up off of the couch, making no attempt to stifle a wide yawn.
“You sticking around?” he asks, and for a change, there’s no intent behind the question, no thinly veiled offer to be denied as he brushes past Jared toward the bed.
“I…” Jared clears his throat, suddenly, inexplicably uncomfortable, “I kinda push, when I sleep; part of that being open thing. I’m told it’s soothing. I thought it might help.” The last bit is barely audible even to Jared’s ears, but it’s obvious from the perk of interested suspicion in Jensen’s emotions as well as the way the older boy freezes halfway under the covers that he’s heard. Jared can’t begin to fathom why, after everything he’s spilled to Jensen tonight, it’s offering this tiny bit of comfort that he’s most nervous about.
The frozen moment breaks and Jensen smirks, shrugs, and lays back to fold his arms behind his head on the pillow, a mask of smarmy self-confidence.
“I’ll try anything once,” he replies, fluttering butterfly eyelashes like a weapon.
Jared shakes his head at himself - should have seen that coming - and crawls onto the couch, situating himself for the night and trying very very hard to forget how much of Jensen’s naked skin was laid out here just minutes ago.
On to Part 3a
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: back to Part 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 bites back a yelp as the soft gauze of the bandages are peeled away from his head, catching on whatever polymer they’ve used to close up the wound.
“Titty baby,” Sandy teases, short legs kicking against the side of the examination table as she swings them back and forth.
Jared grumbles something unflattering at her and tunes back in to what the doctor’s telling him.
“- shouldn’t be a problem. No strenuous activity for a week, and yes, I’ve told Director Morgan that too, so no tricky stuff. Don’t touch the affected area and try to keep it from getting wet.”
Jared groans in disappointment at the whole situation, “Does that mean I can’t wash my hair?” It’s been three days and he’s really not rocking the homeless-chic look; he feels too gross to touch.
Dr. Ferris lets out a put upon sigh and points her eyes toward the ceiling. “Just be careful about it; as little moisture as possible, got me?”
Jared nods his head vigorously - at least the throbbing has passed - and gives her boy scout salute which in turn, gets a school-girl giggle out of the severe woman.
On the way out of the hospital wing, Sandy’s fingers twine with Jared’s, hands swaying to and fro lightly as they walk through the harsh noon sun.
“How are you feeling?” she asks compulsively. It’s the fifth time she’s asked today.
Jared reaches over with his free hand and musses her dark hair. “Sandy, I’m fine. I’m going to continue to be fine, and on the off chance that I stop being fine, I promise to inform you immediately.”
She snorts at him, lips drawn together in a disbelieving pout, but ultimately lets it go. There’s no question in his mind about this not being the end of the conversation; there’s a niggling worry shimmering off of Sandy like heat on the horizon, laid over with a hint of anticipation. Jared has a feeling he knows exactly what that’s about.
“If you’re going to ask, just ask,” he mutters, thumbing the electronic print pad by the East wing doors. They gasp open, beckoning Jared inside with the rush of cool, temperature-controlled air.
Sandy plays dumb, following along beside him, “Ask what?”
She holds up under Jared’s glare slightly longer than he would have given her credit for, but not much.
“Can you blame me for being curious?” she all but squeaks, a sure sign that she’s even more wound up than she was letting on - not that Jared hadn’t felt that from the moment she showed up at his door this morning. “Jensen won’t talk about it, Jeff won’t talk about, you aren’t talking about it! All we know is that Misha saw you two all… frozen or something and then you went catatonic for six hours while Jeff had Jensen interrogated. Sharing is caring, Jared!”
“There’s nothing to share,” Jared evades, motioning for Sandy to lead the way as the doors to the control room power open.
“Uh huh, sure,” she agrees, dripping with sarcasm.
The control room, aka: Sandy’s inner sanctum, is a jarring clash of color that even after all of this time, still makes Jared’s eyes twinge on first sight. Who knows how many hours Sandy’s spent tracking down all of the different colors and patterns of artisan paper that cover the enormous room’s walls; pinks, greens, golds, aquas, everything from neon to metallic to slick, textured prints right down the line. It’s like stepping inside of a rainbow, or possibly an LSD trip, but Jared’s really only guessing about the latter. The color helps make up for the fact that the only light in the room comes from the plethora of illuminated computer screens, winking through the channels Sandy’s set up like electronic insect eyes.
For a long time it seemed incongruous to Jared; sweet, bubbly Sandy stuck in this dim room by herself when it seemed like she ought to be out hopping around in a cheerleading uniform or playing tennis or… other things that happy people do; Jared can’t really think of any at the moment. Leastways, it always seemed like Sandy should be out enjoying the world, living a normal life, instead of being trapped in here with nothing but the internet for company.
Sandy’s happy in here, though, at least most of the time; enjoying the fact that she can use her power to help people - she’d originally been pulled onto the team when the FBI started tracking the ‘computer glitch’ that cause millions of dollars to be transferred from wealthy hedge-funders and oil barons to orphanages around the country - and the freedom to do essentially whatever she wants within a few basic parameters. And Jared knows enough about the things she gets up to in this room of hers to know he doesn’t want to be any better informed - team leader or not, there are things about his teammates and their ‘slash’ obsessions that he doesn’t need to be apprised of.
Sandy flops down in her computer chair - hot pink pleather and so big that she could probably sleep in it if she wanted to; a birthday gift from him and Chad - and gives him a searching look; curiosity quickly bleeding into full-on concern.
“He didn’t…” she starts, fear and reluctance swallowing her words for a moment, “I mean, he wouldn’t… he didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Technically, of course, the answer is yes, because Jared can’t remember if he’s ever had a dose of pain as accute as the waves of it undulating through Jensen’s memories, but that’s not what she means and there’s no way to explain it without giving away over a decade of carefully crafted lies.
“No,” Jared makes himself smile as he says it, trying to subtly project how ridiculous he’s supposed to think the idea of Jensen harming him is. As much as he hates lying, his power does make it infinitely easier to get others to believe him, and he can see as well as feel the moment when Sandy relaxes.
“Good,” she smiles back, fingers absently playing with the keyboard she almost never bothers to use. “I didn’t think he would. I mean, he so clearly likes you, but with all of that stuff in his file, I still had to wonder.”
Sandy, being the one who’d put together their file on Jensen, naturally knows every scrap of the material - which might actually be worth looking into now that he thinks of it, considering everything that he saw in Jensen’s head; he knows the version of the file he received was a somewhat abridged, cleaned up one. But what he really gets stuck on is the other part of that statement.
“He so clearly likes me? Have you met Jensen?” Jared knows his face is screwed up in confusion and it drags a burst of laughter out of Sandy.
“Um, yeah,” she nods, still chuckling slightly. “I know you’re oblivious and all, Jay, but if that boy eye-fucked you any harder he’d leave bruises.”
“Sandy!”
“Oh come on, Jared,” Sandy rolls her eyes, “we’re a secret black-ops team, protecting the world from threats they don’t even know exist by forfeiting our own normalcy and safety - I have earned the right to say fuck if I want to. And it’s true; he definitely wants your body.”
Now it’s Jared’s turn to snort his derision, “No more than he wants the body of every other man on the planet.”
The feeling coming off of Sandy now is loaded with indulgent fondness and a touch of exasperation. “Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart,” she bats her eyes playfully for a moment before surprise floods over her and those eyes shoot wide. “Oh! Hi Jensen!”
Jared whips around, eyes rushing to the open doorway, just outside of which he can see Jensen standing. Crap! It’s been a long, long time since anyone managed to sneak up on Jared. His power always alerts him to the presence of another set of emotions, but the permanent, low-level awareness he’s developed toward Jensen seems to have prevented that. Well that’s a problem on just so many levels.
The older boy quirks an eyebrow at them and moves on, eyes lingering for a half a second too long on Jared as a mixture of resentment and fear and a tiny twinge of something akin to jealousy prickles along Jared’s senses. What was that all about?
***
It’s been five days since it happened, and Jensen’s going to start climbing the walls if something doesn’t happen soon. Of course, Jeff had assured him before the first mission that things weren’t typically that busy - a mission here, a mission there, plenty of downtime for relaxing and training or, he had pointedly suggested, going for one’s GED. At the time that had seemed like a pretty sweet deal - except for the GED part; he’s a fucking superhero now, he doesn’t need a diploma, thanks - but then, at the time he hadn’t gotten up close and personal with Jared Padalecki’s brainpan.
Now, Jensen’s always been the curious type and it’s gotten him into more trouble over the years than it’s probably been worth, but it’s also saved his ass once or twice, so he’s not inclined to just sit by and go with the uninformative flow. He’s also pretty good at piecing together puzzles, and once he’s really been looking, it’s become obvious that something’s rotten in Denmark… er, Texas. Whatever.
Take the sudden disinterest in what happened on Jeff’s part, add in Jared’s complete silence on the matter, and the obvious confusion from the rest of the team. Then look at the way it happened, plus Jared’s obsessive need to cover up that - really fantastic - body and the fact that Misha and Chad and the facility doctors all touched Jared, but only over clothes or through gloves, and none of them seem to have been effected. So whatever happened has something to do with skin-on-skin; but it doesn’t work like that all of the time because Jared almost always leaves his fingers bare. And finally, the big mystery piece - whatever it was that happened between them, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with precognition.
Conclusion? Jared’s either got more powers than he’s letting on - secret powers he doesn’t want the team to know about, even though Jeff’s clearly in on it - or he’s lying about the one he has. Now there’s an idea that’s more than a little freaky and Jensen really doesn’t know what to do with it now that he’s put it together.
There’s also this other little thing; that funny little pressure that’s started coiling up tight in the back of his mind occasionally over the last few days. It’s like… It sounds crazy, he knows it, but then so does most of the stuff in Jensen’s life: It’s like somebody’s poking at him. Inside his head. It’s really fucking creepy, actually, and he can’t figure out if it has something to do with what happened between him and Jared or if it’s all in his imagination.
Or maybe he’s developing a mutant strain of brain tumor. He wonders if he’s the first person ever to hope for a brain tumor.
Whichever way you slice it though, Jensen can’t deny that he’s developed the uncanny tendency to end up wherever Jared happens to be, without really intending to go there. Which is how he’s ended up standing on the roof in the first fucking place.
The sun is setting; purple and orange over a goldenrod plain. It’s like one of those watercolors in crappy motel rooms, except, you know, kind of a little bit pretty. You know, if you get moved by shit like that. Which Jensen doesn’t. The only reason he’s up here in the first damn place is because of the stupid, internal Jared-beacon he’s developed. Maybe they should, like, talk about that or something. It’s getting kind of annoying.
“Something on your mind?” Jared asks quietly, the dry prairie breeze ruffling his hair. His back is to Jensen, feet dangling precariously over the side of the building, but he doesn’t seem concerned. Jensen had been pretty sure he was all stealthy and shit sneaking up here; should have known better than to try and trick the fucking ninja-master.
“Just admiring the view,” Jensen retorts easily, and if he happens to be looking at the flex of Jared’s shoulders under his sweatshirt - did he not get the memo that it’s 100 degrees out here? - and the way his hair curls at the strong curve of his jaw instead of the sunset, well, Jared’s not looking at him anyway, so he’ll never know the difference.
Jared turns just enough that Jensen can make out the shape of his profile, highlighted in tangerine and fuchsia, the dips of shadow more pronounced. There’s something that might be a tired attempt at a smirk playing across his lips, but it fades fast and he’s back to facing into the open space of land in front of him.
Jensen’s not exactly sure when he decided to sit down on the cat’s tongue pavement next to the kid, but suddenly he is.
“So,” he drawls after a long minute of silence, “the New York team, the Dubai team, the Tokyo team and the El Paso team. Because nothing screams booming metropolis in need of saving quite like West Texas.” He’s not really expecting an answer, it’s just been on his mind ever since he found out about the handful of other U.N. sponsored groups like theirs - and when the hell did he start thinking of himself in conjunction with the team? - all over the globe.
Jared shrugs and Jensen figures that’s about as far as that line of conversation is going to take them, so it shocks the shit of him when Jared volunteers, “I’m from San Antonio originally. I was the first recruit on the team, so maybe…” he shakes his head, shaggy little tendrils of it sticking to the fine sheen of sweat at his temple, “I dunno. Maybe not.”
“Not exactly San Antone adjacent here,” Jensen points out casually. He braces his hands on either side of his body to leans back some, the tip of his middle finger unintentionally resting against Jared’s thigh. He doesn’t bother to move it.
“It’s quiet, secluded;” Jared shrugs, “people need the jobs so nobody’s likely to look a gift horse like the facility in the mouth.”
Jensen wonders if that secluded bit was supposed to be an argument for the facility being built here, or for them building it here for Jared’s sake.
“Guess you get to go see a lot of your family, being close to home and all.”
Jared slides a glance Jensen’s way but he doesn’t point out the fact that Jensen already knows from that episode with the heart-attack special in Jared’s memories that Jared’s been calling this place home for a hell of a long time.
“We’re not really close,” is his reply, a little terse, and Jensen would have bet money that that really was the end of it, but after a second, Jared barrels right on, looking about as surprised by that fact as Jensen is. “We talk on holidays and stuff, but I haven’t been back in years. It’s hard on them, knowing what I am. Just easier to stay here.”
“Mmm. I haven’t seen my folks in a while either,” Jensen agrees. He can’t even remember the last time he mentioned his parents out loud. Jared gives him this soft smile like he understands - which Jensen guesses he does, since he saw it all - hazel eyes lit up in the half-light, and for maybe the first time ever, that look doesn’t fill Jensen with the need to beat the shit out of somebody. He’s seriously freaking himself out.
“How long have you been here?” Jensen changes the subject with no finesse whatsoever. He cannot for the life of him figure out what’s up with his sudden need to steer the conversation away from making Jared uncomfortable - Jared, who he can’t stand and who’s keeping some kind of potentially dangerous secret from him; Jared, who, from what he overheard, thinks Jensen’s just some slut who goes after anything with a dick. Which he’s not; sluts give it up for free.
The younger man draws in a breath so long Jensen’s not actually sure it’s going to end. He lets it out in a rush, followed by a slightly mumbled, “Since I was five.”
So that kindergarten thing was probably what landed him here. Jensen had wondered, but he’d been worried about trying to look anything up on the facility’s computers - there was a damn good chance they were being monitored - and asking one of the other team members was almost guaranteed to get back to Jared.
Jensen doesn’t know how to carry on from there without overplaying his hand - he’s pretty sure that they both know what’s going on here, but it’s one thing to imply you know somebody else’s dirty little secrets and another to come right out and say it. Also, from what he could tell, there’s a reasonable chance that Jared’s killed somebody with his mind before, and Jensen really doesn’t feel the need to test his healing ability out against psychic assault.
Jared rubs a hand through his hair; face contorting as he skims carelessly over the bump on the back of his head. His fingers don’t quite retreat; instead tentatively exploring the area.
“You’re gonna pull your stitches,” Jensen warns sagely. Jared shoots him an ‘are you kidding?’ look and, ok, fine, “’S what people say on TV,” he admits with a smirk.
Jared smiles, wide and natural and wow, Jensen’s never had the magnitude of those dimples turned on him full force before; he feels all gooey and soft for no discernable reason. Damn, those things should count as a superpower all by themselves.
“They’re not really stiches anyway,” Jared says, eyes directed slightly upward as he concentrates on the feel beneath his questing fingers, “I think its superglue or something.”
Jensen gets through one bark of a laugh before Jared, seemingly unawares, sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth like he’s thinking hard. Fuck if that isn’t distracting as all get out. His laugh titters off into something that sounds a lot like a breathless giggle, except for the fact that Jensen is far too rugged and manly to giggle. Seriously.
Jared slaps his hand back into his lap with a sigh, nose wrinkling as he dejectedly complains, “It itches.”
Jensen nods in sympathy - his megafast healing process itches like fire every time he gets a cut or scrape, or, you know, a stab. It really sucks, but at least it only lasts for a couple of minutes; he’d go nuts if he had to live like that for days.
That right there sparks the thought, and once it’s nestled, it won’t seem to go away. It’s a terrible idea to use up his ace in the hole, and maybe kind of genius; he can’t really decide. But hey, fuck it, Jensen learned a long time ago to go with his gut and if it goes well, this could really work in his favor.
Jared’s eyes shoot wide for the fraction of a second that Jensen can see them as he tugs the younger man in close. There’s a good chance that if they were standing up instead of teetering above a three-story fall that Jared would be able to pull one of his tricky Jedi moves and keep Jensen from yanking his head in close, but as it stands, Jared just shoots his arms out to balance himself, giving Jensen the chance to part the silk-soft hair falling over the wound and get his tongue on the rough, broken skin.
It actually does feel like superglue, but there’s enough of an iron-tang there for him to know that he’s reaching the injury beneath too. There’s a hot burst of air right over his crotch as Jared squawks incredulously - another time, another place, Jensen could really enjoy this position - shoving at Jensen to try and make him let go without toppling them both over the ledge. Despite the fact that Jared knocks him on his ass on a pretty regular basis, Jensen is actually a strong guy, and given an advantage like this, there’s not a whole lot that Jared can do to make him stop.
He can tell the second his saliva kicks in; Jared’s whole body locks up in shock for a fraction of a second and then he’s pawing at Jensen like he doesn’t give a shit if he ends up pushing them both over the side of the building as long as it stops. Jensen figures that ought to be enough, so he releases the kid, enjoying the little offended-meets-what-the-fuck expression on Jared’s face. Then the younger man’s fingers find the spot where the cut used to be, by now probably clean, unbroken skin and that look melts right into ‘holy shit’. He never realized how damn expressive Jared is.
Looks like the perfect cue for Jensen’s dramatic exit.
Jared’s hand catches around his wrist and for some unknown reason, Jensen’s brain decides to helpfully point out that this is the first time Jared’s ever voluntarily touched him. “H-how…” the kid sputters, “Does Jeff know you can do that?”
Jared’s eyebrows are actually twitching, like he’s working the muscles so hard to keep them arched that high that they’re trembling under the strain. Jensen grins back at him, eyes slitted in self-satisfaction - about damn time he got a chance to be the shocking one of their little duo
“We all need our secrets, right?” Jensen purrs, not bothering to conceal the teasing lilt to his voice. “I won’t tell if you won’t”
***
Jared’s panting by the time he reaches Jensen’s door; panting because he ran like hell itself was nipping at his heels and he felt like it too. He’s not getting images from Jensen’s dream anymore now that he’s awake, but he can still feel the sleep-muted panic from the other boy amplifying with each passing moment. His knock resounds through the hollow steel, knuckles burning slightly from the force he’s applied. For a moment he doesn’t hear anything, then finally there’s a grumble near on the other side of the door and the airlock slides open with a rush of oxygen that flares Jared’s bangs.
Jensen’s standing there on the other side, sleep mussed and bleary eyed, bare chest still heaving from the nightmare Jared knows he woke the older boy up from. He’s trying incredibly hard not to notice that Jensen apparently sleeps naked.
“Are you ok?” spills out of Jared’s mouth before he gets a chance to give his brain final approval. He’s suddenly very aware of how bare his hands are, how he’s only wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants instead of his usual long sleeves. He’d feel naked, except that the miles and miles of skin on display in front of him is there to remind him how well clothed he really is.
Jensen takes too long to answer, the words visibly turning over in his head, and in the meantime Jared gets to feel the razor-sharp panic degrade into base annoyance, mixed with suspicion and maybe embarrassment. Not for the first time he notes bothersomely how being this close to Jensen no longer makes him want to up-chuck.
Jensen’s green-gold eyes are still heavy lidded, but there’s real thought behind them when he asks, “You saw that?”
And heck yes, Jared saw that - he felt that! Like he was drowning in a sea of his own fluids, screaming out into the darkness with no one to hear his raspy, weakened voice, and the wrinkled, water-logged hands pawing at him, dragging him under…
Jared draws in a breath around the memory of water filling his lungs and scrapes together a nod in answer to Jensen’s accusation. Chances are, he should deny it, but he’s already run halfway across the facility to get here, and really, there’s no other excuse. Too late to back down now.
Jensen’s lips stick together slightly as he opens and closes his mouth over and over, dry like he’d been gasping through his mouth in his sleep just moments ago.
Jared doesn’t expect the bluntness, although he probably ought to, when Jensen says, “The precog thing is bullshit, isn’t it.”
Reflexively, Jared peers down the empty hall. It’s three in the morning, so nobody’s out wandering around, but he still can’t bring himself to actually voice the answer, though it’s been pretty clear for a while now that Jensen’s guessed part of it at least. Jensen nods almost imperceptibly and steps back just enough to be an invitation. Jared walks into the darkened room without a second thought.
The sound of the door shunking closed behind him is like a gong in the stillness, plunging the room into blue darkness, and Jared can’t make himself move beyond that first step inside, unable even to rationalize to himself why he’s here in the first place.
“So, what? You’re, like, a mind reader?” Jensen guesses, prowling around behind Jared to go flop down on the couch. He’s making no concession to try and cover up that he’s naked, and it’s unnerving how distracting that is - Jared wonders whether Jensen’s intentionally trying to throw him off balance or he’s just that unconcerned about his state of undress.
“Not exactly,” Jared answers obliquely. He’s not supposed to talk about this - he’s’ just not. He’s made it years so far without any compelling need to explain what he is to anyone; without anyone even suspecting that there’s more to Jared’s story. But then again, they’ve never had anyone like Jensen, have they? Never anyone as inquisitive, as pushy, as bound and determined to get under Jared’s skin. Less than a month and Jensen’s already figured out more about Jared than the team, the friends, he’s been surrounded by for years.
Somehow it all ends up flowing right over his tongue, easy as if it’s common knowledge. “It’s called empathy. I feel what other people feel.”
Jensen’s laid out on the couch, arms crossed behind his head, ankles forming an ‘x’ that leads Jared’s eyes right up to the dark-shadowed dip of… a place where they don’t belong. At all. Damn Jensen and his seemingly contagious over-sexualization.
The older boy ‘hmm’s and grates his plush lips against one another.
“And the memory thing?” he narrows his eyes at Jared, looking for all the world like he’s going to see the answers right underneath Jared’s skin.
Jared tugs down the end of his t-shirt, though it hasn’t ridden up in the slightest, and discovers that he can’t keep his eyes from flittering away from the burnished green intensity in Jensen’s when he admits, “I don’t know. Never happened before.”
“So I’m just special?” Jensen props himself up on his elbows, looking down his body at Jared with a skeptical expression. The emotion coming off of Jensen is warm, but still colored with suspicion; self-satisfied but still uncertain.
“Apparently,” Jared shrugs, suddenly finding it easier to turn his attention off to the side and avoid what he knows must be a pleased little smirk from Jensen - that’s certainly what it feels like inside of his head anyway. “Jeff thinks I have a secondary gift, a mild form of telepathy. I’ve gotten images from touching people before, but never anything as strong as it was with you. I don’t know if that was the head injury or just how much crap you have floating around in your head, but yeah. That’s it.”
The standard issue white sheets are rumpled at the foot of Jensen’s bed, the pillow still bearing the indent of where his head had been. There aren’t any personal touches that Jared can see; no pictures, no books or magazines, not even a glass of water on the bedside table. In fact, if it weren’t for the worn clothes in a pile beside the bed and the black mound that Jared’s sure must be Jensen’s field uniform - they need to have a talk later about keeping his equipment in proper condition - there wouldn’t be any way to know that someone was currently living there.
It’s nothing at all like Jared’s room; meticulously clean, but positively clogged with photos and little notes, random knick-knacks he’s gotten as gifts over the years and a hodge-podge assortment of reading material ranging from case-files and blueprints to old textbooks and Sandy’s hand-me-down paperbacks. The clutter is all a reminder of who he is, a place that feels specifically like ‘Jared’ to keep him grounded even when he’s sleeping and at his most unguarded. There’s not a question in his mind that Jensen’s room will never look like that; he’ll always be ready to abandon everything here at the first sign of trouble, because this place, no place, will ever be ‘safe’ to Jensen.
It occurs to Jared suddenly that the mild frustration simmering through him isn’t actually his own.
Jensen’s sitting up indian-style now, leaning over his legs and glaring at Jared. He’s not exactly sure how long he was staring off into space for, forgetting that Jensen’s still not used to his little social quirks, considering how little social time they actual spend together. On the plus side, from this position he can’t really see anything he’s not supposed to, so there’s an improvement.
“So you’re just lying to the rest of the team?” Jensen asks. From anyone else it would be an accusation, but Jared can feel the apathy underlying Jensen’s curiosity - he doesn’t care that Jared’s lying to the team, he’s just trying to puzzle out what it means that Jared’s doing it.
“What I am is dangerous,” Jared emphasizes, both because it’s true and because it wouldn’t hurt to remind Jensen that Jared’s still not somebody who can be messed with without repercussion, “and the last thing we need is for everybody to be stressed out and guarded around me; it would just throw the problem into overdrive.”
“None of them know?”
“No.”
“Not even Sandy?” Which is just about the most unexpected thing Jensen could have asked. What does this have to do with Sandy?
“Um, no.”
“Hmm.” Jensen squints at the cushion in front of him, thoughts probably racing if the tied-dye smattering of emotions Jared’s picking up are anything to go by. Interest, confusion, anticipation, a hint of fear, lust - because evidently everything makes Jensen horny - and that funny coloring of jealousy again - as if Jared wouldn’t happily trade powers with Jensen any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
“You’re handling this a lot better than I expected.”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “Dude, last week I thought you could see the future and this afternoon I was pretty sure you could read my mind. The touchy-feely thing is easily the least creepy option.” He’s crawling forward along the cushions as he says it, stopping with his hands braced on the arm of the couch, back arched like an expectant, oversized cat. Jared’s really never cared for cats. ”So it’s like a skin thing?” Jensen’s gaze flickers over the bare expanses of Jared’s arms, the tan-line printed backs of his hands. He instantly feels a lot more exposed than the naked man in front of him under that hungry scrutiny.
“I well, no, not exactly. I mean, touching amplifies it, but it still works at a distance.” Jared rambles slightly, taking an involuntary step backward.
Jensen hums his understanding again - that’s getting old quickly - pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. Why can’t Jensen just feel one thing at a time? It’s so freaking confusing!
“Do you see everybody’s dreams?” Jensen probes, easing back to sit on his heels, the tension clawing at Jared’s brain receding some.
He knows he needs to be very careful with his answer here, because he’s already crossed so far over his boundary lines with Jensen - really there was no choice, Jensen would have figured it out eventually anyway, and maybe ended up alerting the whole team in the meantime - but that doesn’t mean that Jared can trust him. He doesn’t need to go handing over all of his secrets. But whatever this new frequency is that’s opened up between them, it doesn’t seem to understand the concept of self-preservation.
“I’m more open when I sleep,” he shrugs, pretending like he’s not revealing weaknesses right and left here, “I pick up on things.”
“And come running,” Jensen scoffs humorlessly.
“Not- not usually. I was just…” Damnit. Why does Jensen have to do that; why does he need to pretend to be above it all like Jared’s not sitting here with the cloying taste of Jensen’s fear still clinging to the back of his throat, the bitterness of hurt and blood-salty longing. “Can’t you feel it?” Jared whispers, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer anyway. “Inside? Like there’s something different now?”
For a long moment Jensen fails to say anything; for so long that Jared’s certain that he’s just going to let the flurried mashup of emotions hanging between them speak for him. Then with a swallow Jared can hears from three feet away, Jensen quietly says, “Yeah.”
It’s more than Jared had figured on getting so he decides to leave it at that for now; not sure what else he’ll give away if they keep going anyway.
“Well, I couldn’t just…” he scratches at the phantom injury on the back of his head, not even tender to the touch anymore; Jensen’s own secret - the one he shared with Jared. “I had to come.”
Jensen hums an understanding - verbalize, damnit! - into his palms as they come up to cup his own face. He lingers behind his broad palms for a minute, breathing into the dark space there and Jared would call it hiding if he wasn’t so relieved not to have to meet those ponderous eyes.
“You can’t tell them, Jensen. You can’t.” Jared tries his damnedest not to make it a plea, but there’s a good chance that he fails there. Jared can feel something cold and calculating slip through Jensen, trying to ice him out, but unexpectedly it gets stopped up around a muted, lukewarmth that if Jared didn’t know better, he’d call affection; camaraderie maybe.
Jensen hands slowly peel away from his face, resting on his bare thighs, and now Jared couldn’t look away from Jensen’s eyes if he wanted to; watching them shine glassy and haunted back at him in the low light. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Jared feels his mouth quirk in a pale imitation of a smile, and it’s like the tension bleeds out of the room. “Fair enough.”
With grunt of finality, Jensen hoists himself up off of the couch, making no attempt to stifle a wide yawn.
“You sticking around?” he asks, and for a change, there’s no intent behind the question, no thinly veiled offer to be denied as he brushes past Jared toward the bed.
“I…” Jared clears his throat, suddenly, inexplicably uncomfortable, “I kinda push, when I sleep; part of that being open thing. I’m told it’s soothing. I thought it might help.” The last bit is barely audible even to Jared’s ears, but it’s obvious from the perk of interested suspicion in Jensen’s emotions as well as the way the older boy freezes halfway under the covers that he’s heard. Jared can’t begin to fathom why, after everything he’s spilled to Jensen tonight, it’s offering this tiny bit of comfort that he’s most nervous about.
The frozen moment breaks and Jensen smirks, shrugs, and lays back to fold his arms behind his head on the pillow, a mask of smarmy self-confidence.
“I’ll try anything once,” he replies, fluttering butterfly eyelashes like a weapon.
Jared shakes his head at himself - should have seen that coming - and crawls onto the couch, situating himself for the night and trying very very hard to forget how much of Jensen’s naked skin was laid out here just minutes ago.
On to Part 3a