Legacy, part 4
Part 3
Jensen runs all the way home. It takes less time than it would have in the Jeep, because he cuts through lots that Jared would have driven around, and he doesn't have to obey a speed limit.
Jeff is at his computers. He looks around when Jensen comes crashing in the front door.
"You have a good time?"
"No. Yes. Yes, then no." Jensen is scattered, pieces of him still back at the fairground seething, bits of him clinging to Jared.
Jeff gets up.
"Jensen," he says, coming to stand in front of Jensen, and puts his hands on Jensen's shoulders. The gesture is an immediate and visceral reminder of his recent parting from Jared; Jensen twitches, almost pulls away. Jeff looks closely at him. "Take a breath. Take a seat. Talk to me."
Jensen shakes his head, uncertain where to start. He takes a deep breath, and it helps, so he takes another.
"Sit down," Jeff urges once more, and nudges him toward the tattered couch. Jensen sits, and Jeff pulls up the mismatched ottoman. "Start with the part where you were having a good time," he suggests.
"We did all the rides and I won a bunch of stuff," Jensen says. "Shit, we forgot to take it out of the Jeep."
"And then what?" Jeff's got his gentle voice on, the one he wears when Jensen is sick or hurting. Jensen hasn't heard it in years.
"Corn maze. We did the corn maze." Jensen can't help a short, disbelieving laugh. "It sucked. I hate corn mazes. But Jared wanted to. So that wasn't so bad. But then after." He stops, because he's getting angry again, and he just needs to pause and breathe some more. "A bunch of guys from school came after us. They grabbed Jared and they were beating him up and I had to save him." He leaves it at that, but figures Jeff will read between the lines.
He's right.
"Jensen." Jeff has lost the gentle tone. "Tell me you didn't use your powers on human teenagers."
"They were hurting Jared!" Jensen explodes. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"
"Get help. Call the authorities. Anything other than blow your cover."
"They were hurting him," Jensen insists. Jeff doesn't see, he doesn't understand. "There wasn't time, don't you get it? I had to."
Jeff drops his face into one hand, elbow on his knee. "I get that you think you had no choice. I get that." He lifts his head, breathing deeply. "But you might have compromised our security here. Let me look into it."
"No one will believe them," Jensen suggests, warily. Jeff's usually pretty ironclad about handing down moving orders, and Jensen's usually pretty good about taking the moves as they come, but for some reason that Jensen doesn't really want to examine, he can't face the idea of moving this time. His mind is working frantically to save him from thinking about it, presenting loopholes and workarounds. "It's not like the witnesses in Florida. There were only five of them. Six," he amends, recalling that Jake does actually count.
"Jensen. Stop." Jeff stands up. "We'll talk more about that later. You might be right, but that doesn't change the fact that what you did was incredibly reckless." He holds up a hand as Jensen starts to protest. "Later. For now" he offers Jensen a hand up. Jensen, distantly puzzled, takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "I think a night's sleep might do you good. What do you say?"
Jensen thinks about protesting, thinks he can't possibly sleep without knowing whether Jared's doing okay, but as he considers going to bed he realizes how tired he is. He used a lot of power tonight.
"Probably," he acknowledges. He considers apologizing, because Jeff looks much wearier than he did a few minutes ago and Jensen knows that's because of him, but he can't be sorry for what he did; any apology he might offer would be patently empty.
Jeff pulls him into a brief, warm hug. "I'm not happy about this, Jensen," he says as he pulls back, "but at least you did it to help someone. I'd be a lot less happy if you'd picked a fight for the sake of it."
Jensen nods, eyes on the ground, remembering how it felt to let loose, how easily the thrill of power subsumed him. It was terrifying, how much he liked it.
That will have to be another thing he doesn't deal with until tomorrow. He can feel an abyss yawning beneath that whole area of thought, and he's too tired right now to avoid falling in.
"Good night, Jeff," he mumbles.
"Sleep, kid," says Jeff, and ruffles his hair. Another thing he hasn't done in a while. Jensen wonders what he must look like, to be bringing out these old habits in Jeff. He wonders if a night's sleep will fix it.
When he gets upstairs to his room, he takes out his phone and checks for texts. Nothing. He goes to bed with his phone cradled to his chest like a teddy bear. It does not disturb him in the night.
Jensen sleeps like the dead. Around nine in the morning, his phone buzzes against his sternum.
morning sunshine. slept fine. got a shiner but i'm ok so stop worrying.
Jensen goes weak with relief.
You know it's not that easy.
yeah, but i can try.
How upset are they?
mom's mostly just freaked out but i'm still grounded until further notice. greg's pissed i can't work with a black eye.
Fuck him.
exactly.
Jensen hesitates.
Wish I could see you. Hard to convince myself you're actually fine.
There is a pause, during which Jensen briefly agonises over whether he's said the wrong thing.
i want to see you too. mom's home though, no chance.
I'm very stealthy.
i'm not. :(
The doorbell rings just then, for the first time since they moved in. Jensen is torn between intense curiosity and his conversation with Jared. He turns off his text-alert vibration and takes his phone with him to the top of the stairs, where he can just see part of the front door. Jeff's swift footsteps sound for an instant before he comes partially into view and answers the door.
Well that's a shame.
"Good morning, Sheriff," Jeff says, and Jensen starts hard enough he almost drops his phone. That's Jake's dad. Fuck. "What brings you out here?"
yes it is. bright side, tomorrow's monday.
"Morning. Wondering if I could talk to Jensen."
"What do you want with my son?" Jeff is holding the door only half open, blocking the entrance with his body. Jensen can't see the sheriff at all.
Monday is never a bright side. Hang on, sheriff's here.
"Well, now, I don't imagine your boy probably advertised it to you, but my boy tells me there was something of a scuffle at the fair last night, and I was hoping to talk to Jensen as to the particulars."
wtf??
"My boy is not available for questions," Jeff says.
"I ask you to reconsider the wisdom of that choice," says the sheriff.
Jeff stands firm. "I don't intend to let him be bullied in his own home."
"I'd just like to point out that this could go several worse ways," the sheriff points out.
"Kindly take your threats and leave my property, Sheriff," Jeff says, and Jensen winces. The property records are a quick-and-dirty forge that Jeff didn't think would need to stand up to any kind of inspection. Drawing attention to it's a bad idea.
Drop in the bucket, he reminds himself. If they're in shit, they're in worse than a forged possession slip.
About last night. Jeff's not letting him in.
"This isn't over," Sheriff Abel warns, and Jeff shuts the door on him.
jeff? so he's not actually your real dad then
Never knew my real one so he's as close as it gets. But yeah, no.
fuck this sucks
Dude, yes.
"Jensen?" Jeff calls.
"Be right there," Jensen answers.
Gotta go. Jeff wants to talk. Probably bad.
D: tell me how it goes
Of course.
Jensen pockets his phone and heads downstairs to face the music.
It's not like Jared's never had a black eye before. Doesn't make it any easier to go through it again, but at least he knows how to handle it.
The bruised stomach is new. It took him three tries to sit up this morning but he's figured out how to compensate for it. Mostly he just tries not to move very much.
The only good part of today is Jensen, Jensen and his texts, and Jared is waiting not very patiently for Jensen to be done talking to Jeff so he can maybe call and they can actually talk. It would be a whole lot easier to wait, probably, if he weren't still completely inside-out over Jensen.
He knew he had it bad, but he can't stop replaying last night in his mind, and it's becoming increasingly clear to him that this is not just a crush anymore. This is serious business. Jensen is an alien and still, all Jared wants to do is be around him, be with him, touch him, see him. It doesn't even matter that he's from another planet and has superpowers. Or, okay, that totally matters; Jared reacts embarrassingly strongly to that fact. But it doesn't make a difference to the way he sees Jensen. Fundamentally, Jensen is still the same guy Jared knows and
yeah, okay. Loves.
It's probably too soon and there's probably something wrong with him, but Jared loves Jensen. There's no getting around it.
And Jensen held his hand, and rescued him, and didn't want to leave, and then kissed him. There's all this weird hope fizzing around inside Jared and he doesn't know what to do with it. There's nowhere to channel it and nothing to do about it except wait for Jensen to text him again.
In the meantime, he pulls out one of his sketchbooks and starts doodling idly, sitting sideways on his bed, propped against the wall with a pillow. Eventually the doodling becomes a cartoon version of Jensen with glowing hands. He might as well do it right; he flips to a new page and tries realism on the same subject. The shadows are tricky and fascinating and he's maybe a third done when his phone buzzes.
Well, that was fun.
He doesn't even bother texting back, just hits Call.
Jensen answers on the first ring. "Jared?"
"What happened?" His phone bumps against the bruising on his jaw and he hisses, switching the phone to his other ear and losing a couple of words.
"me the riot act in his own special way," Jensen says dryly. "I maybe blew our cover with the idiots last night. He wants to move."
Jared's throat catches. "Oh?" is all he can get out.
"Yeah, but I convinced him to let me stay if I can avoid getting, like, suspended," Jensen goes on. "Seriously, though, if anybody should get suspended it's them! I can't believe they actually pulled that."
"I can," Jared says bitterly.
"Okay, yeah," Jensen acknowledges. "Still. They deserve worse than suspension for what they did to you."
Jensen's voice is low and angry and it sends a thrill right through the pit of Jared's stomach. His breath hitches; his bruised abdomen protests. "What are we going to tell people?"
Jared can practically hear Jensen shrug. "The truth? I can say I practise martial arts or something instead of how I'm an alien, though."
Jared gasps out an abortive laugh. "Stop being funny," he demands. "It hurts."
"My nonhuman status is not a joke for your amusement," Jensen says.
"Fuck off," says Jared, flopping down onto his back to try and ease the strain on his torso. "I got punched in the stomach yesterday."
"I know," Jensen says, instantly serious again. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Jared says automatically, even though his stomach still hurts. "I guess we'll just take tomorrow as it comes, then, huh."
"Yeah." There's a pause, and Jensen says, "Still grounded, right?"
"Right," Jared says.
"Damn."
Jared closes his eyes. "Yeah."
"I hate that I can't be there for you."
"Dude." Jared can't help smiling. "You are."
"Doesn't count," Jensen insists. "I'm still here and you're still there."
"What 'counts', then?" Jared asks. "What would you do if you were here?" He realizes after it's out that it's not really a safe question, and holds his breath.
"Whatever you need," Jensen says immediately. Jared's air leaves him all at once, without permission.
"Jensen," he says, bare scraping of a voice.
"It's so stupid," Jensen continues, seemingly without hearing. "I know you're okay and you don't actually need me there. Logically, I can extrapolate that you're okay from how you're talking to me and what you're telling me. And it doesn't help at all, because I still just want to say, forget your mom, I'm coming to see you." He laughs self-consciously. "I know I'm not, like, responsible for you. I know this is weird. You can tell me to back off; I can try."
"No," says Jared. "Don't."
There's a pause.
"Okay," Jensen says, quieter. "I won't, then."
"Good."
"Good."
"So," says Jared, casting about for a new subject, "did you get all your homework done?"
Jensen swears. Jared grins and listens to him rant about Physics, breathing a little more easily.
When Jared gets to school Monday morning, Jensen is waiting for him on the steps. He stands up as Jared approaches.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey." Jared's shoulders, cranked up tense from the stares he got on the way to school, unclench a little bit. He just stands there looking at Jensen for a minute, soaking him up. God, he wants to touch him. Hug him, something. Anything. But they're at school.
Jensen's looking back, looking Jared over like he wants to check for hidden injuries like before. His hand actually twitches out before he remembers where they are.
No sense inviting negative attention.
"You look terrible," Jensen says eventually.
Jared laughs. "Hey, don't sugar-coat it or anything."
Jensen flushes. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I've been trying not to look in the mirror, it just makes it hurt worse."
"How bad is it?"
Jared shrugs. "Kind of distracting, but not to the point where I can't think around it." Jensen looks less than reassured, but the first bell rings just then, cutting off whatever he might have said.
Jared's History class has a substitute teacher, which is hilarious, because she seems to have no idea how to respond to Jared's black eye and a distracted class that keeps trying to stare at him. Fortunately for everyone except perhaps Jared himself, he's called down to the office about ten minutes into the period. Jensen's name is called as well, and Jared tries to brace himself on his way down. If Jake's there too, this is going to get nasty.
Jensen is sitting in the outer office when Jared arrives. Jared sits down next to him to wait, deliberately wedging his arm against Jensen's. Jensen looks up and meets his eye.
"We're not in the wrong," he says. "You especially."
Jared nods distractedly. It's easier to be confident with Jensen there. He settles a little closer to Jensen, who seems to welcome the contact, shifting to accommodate him. They wait.
They don't have to wait for very long. It's only maybe another minute before the vice-principal opens the door of the principal's office and says, "Jared, Jensen, come in, please."
Inside, Jake's sitting in front of the principal's desk, his father standing near him. The principal, Mr. Edlund, is seated behind his desk, and Ms. Gamble closes the door and comes back to take a seat to one side of the desk. There are two empty chairs next to Jake.
"Have a seat, boys," says Mr. Edlund.
Jensen takes the seat closer to Jake, though there's still a good few feet between them. Jared sits down in the other chair, fighting a smile.
"We've heard some fairly serious allegations this morning," the principal says, "and I'm frankly very concerned."
The sheriff's son is making them. Of course he's very concerned. Jared bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something regrettable. They haven't even gotten started here.
"My son tells me you put one of his friends in the hospital," Sheriff Abel says, addressing Jensen. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Oh," says Jensen, turning to Jake. "Which friend was that? Was it one of the guys who attacked me, or was it the one who helped you beat up Jared?"
"Attacked you?" Jake sneers. "You two came after us unprovoked. I'm pretty sure defending myself doesn't count as 'beating up'."
"Excuse me?" Jared says, as Jensen snaps, "Now hold on a second."
"Boys," says Mr. Edlund firmly. "Clearly we have a divergence of stories here." Jake manages a wounded, innocent look, and Jared resists a strong urge to roll his eyes.
"Sir," Jake begins, but Mr. Edlund holds up his hand, and Jake subsides.
"We've heard from you, Jake, and your father," says the principal. "I'd like to hear what the accused have to say."
Jensen sits up straighter.
"Mr. Edlund, I don't know what they told you, but Jared and I were just minding our own business outside the corn maze when we got jumped. Some of them took Jared away and one of them tackled me. You've got a really strong football team at this school, sir." Ms. Gamble, face twitching, turns her head to cough. "I got away and went to find Jared. Jake was punching him in the stomach. Jared, show them."
Jared stands, hesitates fractionally, then pulls up his shirt, showing the faint green and purple mottling his stomach.
"I didn't actually see who hit him in the face, but Jared can tell you," Jensen finishes.
"It was Jake," Jared says, sitting back down. "One of his friends was holding my arms. I didn't attack anybody, Mr. Edlund. It wasn't self-defense that gave me a black eye."
Jake and his father have been looking more and more outraged. Mr. Edlund looks thoughtful, and Ms. Gamble has an anticipatory glint about her. Jared realizes he's gripping the arms of his chair, white-knuckled. It seems like too much effort to relax his grip, so he focuses on the Abels again.
"You're going to take their word over mine?" Jake demands. "Ackles is a psychotic freak! He's lying to cover up his psychopathic tendencies!"
If the situation weren't so serious, Jared would laugh. As it is, he listens to Sheriff Abel defending his son.
"My boy is a pillar of this school community," he says, "and if you're willing to take the word of a nobody stranger over my son's, I question your judgement, Mr. Edlund."
"Each of my students is entitled to a fair hearing," says Mr. Edlund. "If you're so quick to summary judgement, Sheriff, I question your approach."
The sheriff bristles, momentarily at a loss for words, and Jake opens his mouth.
"Mr. Edlund." Jared's spoken before he realizes he's going to.
"Yes, Jared."
He glances over at Jensen for moral support, then says, "I know you're aware that I've had ongoing problems at this school. I've been mostly okay so far this year, and I appreciate the support that I've had from the administration in the past." There's movement in his periphery, a startle from the sheriff, but he can't afford to look anywhere but at the principal right now. "I don't know why this happened now, but I think you can see the pattern leading up to this. This isn't the first time Jake's had a problem with me." He risks a glance at Jake, who looks completely livid. "It's just the first time he got somebody else involved."
"Jake," says the sheriff, "what is he talking about."
"Nothing, Dad," Jake says, but it's unconvincing.
"Mr. Abel, we've spoken to you before about your son's behaviour," Ms. Gamble interjects. "He is socially aggressive and has repeatedly shown a regrettable attitude toward those he perceives to be less important than himself."
"He's the star athlete of this school," Abel corrects. "He's entitled to the respect of his peers."
"He is not entitled to belittle and demean those peers," snaps Ms. Gamble. "Given his history, I'm more inclined to believe he orchestrated some kind of attack on these boys than that the two of them would dare try to take on him and his friends."
"I agree," Mr. Edlund says. "But," he says, as both Jake and his father begin to protest, "I'm still interested in Jensen's involvement. Jensen," he says, leaning forward, "as you say, we have a strong football team. One of its members is in the hospital with a broken collarbone and three others have sustained various injuries, including bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. How is it that you, being smaller than these football players and ambushed, managed to put up a defense like that?"
"He wasn't ambushed," Jake says triumphantly. "Like I said. He ambushed us."
"Jake," Mr. Edlund says, "I am not asking you. I'm asking Jensen." Jake clams up, paling. "Jensen, you're claiming that you fought off four attackers, completely unprepared, without sustaining any visible injuries. Jared's story does seem more believable than Jake's, but you can see why I'm having difficulty."
"I practice Wing Chun," Jensen says, deadpan. "My hands are weapons."
Jared can't look at him or he will ruin everything by laughing. Instead, he blurts out, "Ohio's a Stand-Your-Ground state, right? He's entitled to defend himself."
"That's not exactly how that works," Mr. Edlund says with a smile, "but in principle you're right. Jensen, how long have you been practicing martial arts?"
"Long enough to be able to fight off four attackers, unprepared, without sustaining any visible injuries. I can give you a demonstration if you want," Jensen offers.
Ms. Gamble sits up hopefully, but Mr. Edlund says, "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Jake, if you'd like to change your story, now would be the time. Perjury is a crime, you know."
"I'm not under oath," Jake says sulkily, then seems to realize what he said and clamps his mouth shut.
"Jensen and Jared," Mr. Edlund says, "you're dismissed. Jared, if you'd like to come by and see me after school, or any time, you're welcome but not obligated. We'll do our best to make sure this off-campus incident doesn't affect your educational experience."
"Thanks, Mr. Edlund."
Somehow, Jared makes it out of the office without being incinerated by Jake's stare, Jensen close behind him. Back out in the hallway, they stand and look at each other for a few seconds before Jared starts to grin.
"Dude," says Jensen quietly, mirroring Jared's expression, "can you believe that just happened?"
"I know, right? Jake's going to be in so much shit for this."
"Do you think they'll kick him off the team?" Jensen starts walking away from the office. Jared follows.
"I hope so. That would be sweet."
"Totally." But then Jensen mutters, "Shit."
"What?" Jared looks over, concerned.
"Nothing," Jensen says, "just, the sheriff's probably going to have it in for us now."
"So? Not like we run around breaking the law." Jensen just looks at him like he's an idiot, and Jared gets it suddenly. "Aw, shit. You totally do, don't you."
"Perpetually on the lam, Jared," Jensen reminds him. "It happens."
Jared can't think of anything reassuring to say, because it's definitely a valid concern. "Cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess," he says. Jensen shoots him a warm smile and it's only then that Jared realizes he said we without even thinking about it.
They eat lunch in one of the library study rooms, sitting as far as possible out of view of the tiny window in the door. Jensen hasn't seen Jake since the meeting in the office, but better safe than sorry.
Jeff calls almost as soon as they've sat down, and Jensen puts the phone on speaker and puts it on the table.
"Hey, Jeff. You're on speaker."
"Why am I on speaker?"
"Because it's just me and Jared."
There's a pause.
"Jensen, I'm not sure"
"He knows everything, Jeff," says Jensen, impatient. "He's my friend, I trust him."
Jared gives him one of those megawatt smiles, and Jensen lets his irritability drain away. Jeff's not trying to be difficult; he just doesn't know Jared very well yet.
"We're going to have to have a conversation about just exactly how that decision got made," Jeff says, "but I'll trust your judgement on this one. Hi, Jared."
"Hi," Jared says. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I'd never hurt Jensen."
A warm, pleased feeling settles in Jensen's stomach. He figured, but it's nice to hear Jared say it.
"I believe you. It's fine. How are you holding up?"
"Me?" Jared sounds surprised.
"No, the other kid with a black eye. Yes, you."
"I'm okay, I guess. It sucks, but it's healing."
"Good. Jensen, has the sheriff been at you yet?"
"Oh, yeah." Jensen gives him a rundown of what happened in the office, Jared interjecting with details. After they're finished, Jeff doesn't say anything for long enough that Jensen gets antsy. "What?" he asks.
"I'm not sure," Jeff answers. "It's good your principal backed you, but we might have some trouble with the sheriff. I'll have to think on this, decide what to do."
"Let me help," Jensen suggests. "We can talk after school. You think better when you're talking."
"I do, do I? All right, I'll see you when you get home. Jared, you take care."
"I will."
Jeff hangs up.
"What did he mean, 'decide what to do'?" Jared asks.
"With Jeff, I never know," Jensen says, trying to shrug it off. There's a nagging part of his mind that's trying to remind him that Jeff's go-to solution for major problems is to leave. Maybe with the new paradigm of standing and fighting, they won't have to move this time. He can't really think about what it would mean if they did.
When the bell rings after lunch, Jensen stops Jared before he can open the door. "Still grounded?"
"Yeah."
Trying not to second-guess himself, he pulls Jared into a hug, wrapping careful arms around Jared's shoulders and back, praying it doesn't hurt him.
Jared goes with it, pulling Jensen in closer, tucking his face into Jensen's hair. Jensen squeezes his eyes shut, memorizing the feel of Jared safely in his arms. It's not like he can keep him hidden away forever, but he wishes for just a little more time alone with Jared, just a few more minutes of direct physical confirmation that Jared is there and okay.
Second bell is in three more minutes. Jensen lets go.
Jared is distracted for the rest of the day. His teachers mostly leave him alone, the mixed blessing of his black eye giving him a pass on classwork.
In English, Katie turns around.
"If you need a witness," she says, "I saw what happened."
Jared stares at her. Her face is completely unreadable
"Is that some kind of threat?" he finally says. It's the only way he can begin to make sense of her comment.
She actually smiles, a feral sliver of a grin.
"You're kind of an idiot. Don't worry about it."
He stares at the back of her head, perplexed. Does she mean- what does she mean? Did she see Jensen and the glowing? What if she tells someone? Has she figured out what he is, does she want to out him? Or would she back up Jensen's version of the story?
And why, when she's a complete stranger, would she weigh in on this, either way?
Maybe she's nicer than she seems.
Maybe she's a stalker.
Oh, god. He's going to drive himself insane if he tries to figure it out. He'll have to call Jensen after school and see what he thinks.
Jensen doesn't answer his phone when Jared calls, holed back up in his room with a sandwich and his homework and his mother hovering anxiously outside the door. Jensen doesn't answer the texts Jared sends him with increasing urgency, or the call he makes after supper, or the one after that.
dude, where the fuck are you?? you better not be dead.
Not dead.
Jared leaps at his phone when it vibrates with Jensen's response, and he throws out,
whats going on? need to talk.
He almost feels guilty, pulling out need like that after what Jensen said on the phone yesterday, like he's manipulating him or something. But they pretty much do need to talk; what Katie said is still bothering him, and now something's up with Jensen, and Jared doesn't know what's going on anymore.
There's no response from Jensen, and Jared stops feeling bad.
"Dammit, Jensen," he mutters, throwing his phone down on his bed. "What the fuck."
Jensen stares down at his phone, the display of Jared's texts dimming and going black.
He wants to text him back, to call him, hell, to disregard Jared's grounding and go over and see him in person. But he has no idea what to say.
Sadie, sitting on his feet under his desk, lets out a low whine and shifts into his legs, like she can tell he's upset. He pushes back his chair and invites her into his lap, where she settles, soft and warm and consoling.
Three hours ago, he would have texted back. He would have answered the phone.
Three hours ago he didn't know.
He had that talk with Jeff as soon as he got home. They talked in the living room, Jensen standing because Jeff would not sit, agitated, pacing, saying, "I'm really concerned about our profile here. The problem with small towns is visibility," and then a lot of other things about the sheriff and how Jeff thought it was only a matter of time before he started checking up on them. "We're easy targets to begin with, here, and we've broken a hell of a lot of laws, Jensen."
"So what," Jensen said, "we just run away again? What's the worst that can happen if we stand our ground here?"
"You know the answer to that," Jeff said, "and you're not ready yet. I really think we should move."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Jensen, think about it," Jeff insisted, and gave reasons, and explained, and Jensen does not remember a goddamn word of it because he thought about it, really thought about leaving, and his mind shied away from the effort so hard it made him dizzy.
Jeff was still talking, low and calm and probably very rational, when Jensen said, "NO," and threw Jeff against the wall. It wasn't far, only a few feet, but it shocked them both into silence. Jensen let him go immediately and sat down hard on the couch. "I can't, Jeff, I can't leave."
"Because of Jared," Jeff said wearily, a depth of understanding in his voice that Jensen didn't grasp, not yet.
"How did you yeah. I can't if I leave him, I Jeff, I can't." Jensen's breath came harshly, in gasps, and Jeff came to sit by him and encourage him to put his head between his knees and breathe slowly and evenly until he didn't feel like keeling over. His chest still felt tight. "What the hell is going on?" he asked.
"I was waiting for you to figure it out, but it looks like you've got a blind spot there," Jeff said. Then he said, "You're in love with Jared," and Jensen's brain stalled. "I guess I didn't think you'd need to know this soon," Jeff said, "but Loriens mate for life." He said, "That's probably why you can't stomach leaving him." Jensen felt slow, hearing the words but not quite processing what they meant.
"Wait," said Jensen, but then suddenly everything made sense, his whole history with Jared made sense, every protective instinct, every bloom of affection, every wordless conversation, every single time Jared smiled and Jensen's heart opened up like a fucking puzzle box.
"Oh my god," said Jensen.
When Jared called he let it go to voicemail, unable to even fathom talking normally with this new awareness hanging over him. He ignored the texts, because if he answered them Jared would want to call, and they'd be back to square one. Jared would know immediately that something was up and want an explanation, and Jensen couldn't imagine saying over the phone, well, actually, I've just realized I'm completely in love with you, hope that's okay. And he wouldn't be able to lie.
He hasn't been able to lie to Jared for a while now.
Well. Now he knows why.
He's petting Sadie absently, stroking his fingers along the short soft fur of her head, and she snuffles comfortingly into his elbow. Sadie doesn't care that Jensen is a blind lovesick idiot. Sadie loves him just the same as she did three hours ago.
Jensen has no idea what to do.
They don't have Art on Tuesday but Jared is for damn sure finding out at lunch what's going on.
Only, when lunchtime comes, Jensen's not out by the tree or in the library or anywhere else Jared thinks to look, which is basically a random smattering of classrooms, since Jensen, as far as Jared knows, has no extracurriculars and no other friends.
He tries calling. Jensen doesn't pick up. He tries texting.
where are you?
seriously, was it something i said?
winning at hide-and-seek doesn't count if i don't know we're playing
was it something I did?
i'll fuck off and leave you alone if you tell me you want me to.
that means you have to tell me if you want me to fuck off and leave you alone, btw
okay i'm taking that as a no.
is something wrong? can I help?
you don't get to be the only one who worries in this friendship.
i am worried because otherwise i will be pissed at you. if i did something, fucking tell me. if something's wrong, fucking tell me. if you can't fucking tell me, what the fuck are we, jensen?
okay apparently i am pissed.
i am going to stop now, hopefully before i wreck anything. please talk to me.
Jensen doesn't answer.
In English, he pokes Katie in the back with his pencil, a little savagely. She turns, irritated.
"What did you see?" he demands quietly.
"I told you. Everything."
Jared makes a frustrated noise low in his throat. "Yeah, but"
"I went to Edlund after school yesterday. Apparently I did a good job backing up your version of the fight. I think Jake's getting suspended. You're welcome." She turns back around.
Your version?
She really did see everything.
Jensen needs to know. He might not be answering, but if last night's Not dead is any indicator, he's getting the messages.
Jared pulls out his phone and discreetly starts texting under his desk, checking every word or so where Mrs. Castillo is standing. She likes to wander and he cannot get caught. He can't get his phone confiscated; unlikely as it is, Jensen might text back.
katie says she saw. think she really did. thought you might want to know.
He re-reads it before he sends it. The tone seems neutral, not accusatory at all, at least to him; he hits Send before he drives himself up the wall second-guessing it. Not like any of his other texts today have been the epitome of courteous.
After school, he's stuck behind a knot of people when he sees Jensen leaving, far enough away that he can't even call out, let alone catch his eye. Jensen's slumped, looks miserable, and Jared can't be angry when Jensen looks so desperately in need of a friend. He just wants to understand why suddenly that friend can't be him.
Jensen's out the door before Jared's moved even a foot.
Jared has no luck. And he's still grounded.
Jensen walks out of the school cursing himself for a careless fool. His phone is back in his pocket where it belongs, probably full of missed texts from Jared, because not only is Jensen a coward and an idiot, he's apparently lost all his self-preservation instincts. He didn't even make it through second period before his obsessive checking for Jared's texts got his phone confiscated for the rest of the day. Jensen doesn't even want to think about what's waiting for him when he turns it on again.
At some point, he has to talk to Jared. He knows this. He can't keep avoiding him forever, and the longer he does, the more he feels like an ass.
He keeps his head down as he walks, half hoping Jared will somehow follow him and catch up, half mortified at the idea, every part of him wishing things were different somehow. He doesn't really know what he'd change, though, because all of this stems from the fact that he's in love with Jared, and he can't regret that.
Unfortunately, he apparently can't deal with that, either.
Three blocks into his walk home, he vaguely registers the sound of a motorcycle engine approaching from behind before he hears his name.
"sen, hey! Jensen!"
He turns to see that girl from Jared's class, what's her name, Katie? pull up next to him on a huge red and black bike. "Whoa, hi. What?"
She cuts the engine. "Your Cépan's in trouble."
The instant shock of alert fear is followed immediately by guarded confusion. There's no way Katie should know that term, guardian-protector-family; that is not a word that Earth people know. "Who are you?"
"We don't have time for this." Katie glances around, checking that no one's close, then leans down, unzips her boot and yanks up her pant leg, bunching it up to the knee and showing Jensen the three round scars running up the outside of her calf, one for each of the dead, exactly matching his own. "I'm Number Six," she says.
Jensen does his best not to let his shock get the better of him. Later, there will be time to wonder and marvel and process. Right now, Katie says they have no time and Jeff is in trouble. He shoves his floundering aside and says, "Okay. What happened to Jeff?"
"Sheriff's after him." She pulls her pant leg back down and zips up her boot as she talks. "I caught the chatter on the police band a few minutes ago. They're raiding your house right now."
"You have a police scanner?" Jensen asks dumbly, momentarily overloaded.
Katie impatiently waves her smartphone at him. "There's an app for that," she says. "Focus. Didn't he call you or anything?"
"Shit." Jensen fumbles his phone out of his pocket and powers it on, waiting with rapidly fraying patience as it boots up agonizingly slowly.
Three missed calls, his screen informs him, two new voicemails and thirteen text messages.
He dials his voicemail, mis-typing his passcode twice before he can discipline rushed fingers to hit the right numbers. He puts it on speaker so Katie can hear.
"All right, this is me assuming the worst. If the school can't find you when I call them, I'm coming to get you. You better not be dead, kid." Jeff's voice is overlaid with impatience, but underpinned with worry; Jensen has never actually missed a call before. The message is about three hours old, putting it around lunchtime.
Next unheard message, says the voicemail, and then:
"Jensen, when you get your phone back, go to ground. Sheriff got an anonymous tip that it was me broke into Padalecki's office. I've got the files and I'm heading east. Don't go home, you hear me? Stop being an idiot and go to Jared's. I'll come back and get you when the heat's died down. We can't" The message cuts out for a second or two, silence interspersed with digital garbage, then comes back. "to go. Call me when you get this."
The background noise suggests that Jeff was driving when he left the message. The time stamp
"That's five minutes ago," Jensen says. "He said to hide, though."
"It's a trap," Katie says harshly. "Anonymous tip my ass. It was the Mogadorians."
"What?" Jensen feels like he can't breathe.
"Mogs pulled the same stunt with my Cépan. Flushed her out by getting the cops involved."
"What happened?"
"She's dead."
Fuck. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Get on," says Katie, restarting the ignition. "He said east, right?"
"That means south." Jensen climbs on behind her. "He can't have gotten too far."
"Hang on." She pulls off the curb with a roar.
Jensen hangs on.
There aren't that many roads that go south out of town, and only one of them runs close enough to the house Jeff chose to be worth bothering with. Katie rides like a demon, eating up the cracked asphalt, and Jensen clamps his arms around her waist and tries not to consider the possibility that they might be too late. It's only been five minutes, seven minutes, ten minutes since Jeff left that message. That's not enough time, it can't be enough time for anything really bad to have happened.
Please, Jensen thinks.
There's a bend in the road, and as they come around the corner Jensen catches sight of a semi truck and a Hummer blocking the way. Jeff's pickup truck is at the end of a brand-new set of of fishtail skid marks, fetched up on the shoulder with the driver door hanging open. A long dark-clad body lies in the road, sickly ochre blood staining its face. Mogadorian. Three other tall figures are ranged against a much smaller-looking man. Jeff. He has his knife out, long and curved and awake in his grasp.
Jensen registers all of this in a snapshot before Katie yanks the bike into a skid, cutting the engine at the same time. Using the bike's momentum, he jumps, lands running, heading toward the standoff.
"Jeff," he yells. The three Mogadorians facing off with Jeff look almost human, but taller, broader, with tattoos instead of hair and fangs instead of teeth. All three are armed with knives and equipped with combat boots and brass-knuckled gauntlets. Jeff looks small and fragile in his leather jacket, but his knife is a match for any of theirs. He's been at this long enough not to look over his shoulder when Jensen calls out; instead, his stance settles a little, loses a shade of its tension.
"Hey, kid," he calls back. "Just in time for the party."
Jensen will get mad at him for his cavalier attitude later. Right now, he reaches out with his power to grab one of the Mogs and hurl her through the window of the semi cab behind her. The shorter of the remaining two comes at Jensen with a snarl while the taller one makes a move toward Jeff. Jensen's opponent wields his knife like a charmed snake, the long blade weaving back and forth deceptively. Instead of trying to follow the knife, Jensen watches his opponent's shoulder and balance to see when and how he'll strike. It's a ludicrous second before Jensen even thinks to try disarming him; he strikes out with his power, focused on the knife hand, and the Mog must not have seen it coming, because the weapon goes flying. His surprised face will be a classic when this fight is over.
Jensen just has time to register that though the Mog now has no weapon, neither has Jensen, and the Mog's got a good six inches on Jensen in height and bicep width. Then Jeff's blade comes poking through the Mog's sternum, and the Mog collapses, revealing Jeff, ochre-spattered and grinning fiercely.
Jensen looks around. Katie somehow got the drop on the Mog Jensen sent through the windshield and Jeff, of course, took care of the one he was left with. None of the four Mogadorians is left standing.
Jensen, disregarding the giant knife in Jeff's hand, hauls his Cépan into a hug. Jeff`s arms close tight around him. "Thanks," Jeff says in his ear. "That wouldn't have been easy alone."
"No shit," says Jensen, and lets go.
"Guys," says Katie, and she's away by the end of the semi truck, peering in through the open back doors. "I think something was living in here. There are claw marks."
"Oh, great." Jeff seems more aggrieved than surprised. "Does it look like it escaped, or was it let out?"
Katie studies the doors intently and Jensen goes over to see for himself. When he peers into the container, he sees gashes all over the floor and walls, even the ceiling, and the metal is distended and gouged. The doors are also deformed, but it doesn't look like they broke from strain. The bolt is intact.
"Looks like it was let out." She peers around the door. "I'm Number Six, by the way."
"Nice to meet you and thanks for the hand. Jensen, we have to go. Six, are you coming?"
Jensen looks over at Katie to see what she'll say, so he sees the moment her composure falls right off her face. He looks back instantly to see a bloody-faced Mog creeping up behind Jeff.
"Behind you!" he yells, hearing his words overlap with a warning from Katie, hurling himself into motion. Jeff turns, dodges, but he's not quite fast enough, and he cries out in pain as the coward's knife catches him in the side.
Unthinking, Jensen gathers all the power he can easily access and blasts it at the bastard who thought he could play possum and get the drop on Jensen's Cépan. The power comes out white hot, blistering through the air toward the Mog and hitting him square on, knocking him backward and igniting on contact. A piercing shriek echoes through the air as he goes up in a sickening conflagration of orange and purple.
Jeff throws himself forward, away from the fire, and ends up flat on the asphalt. Jensen is there a second later. Jeff rolls to his back with a protracted groan that ends in a cough, and Jensen scrabbles at his jacket and shirt, desperate to see how bad the wound is.
"I'm fine," Jeff insists, "just leave it," but there's blood, a lot of it, and that's not fine at all.
"Jensen," says Katie, "take your shirt off." He doesn't even think, he's past thinking, just pulls off his jacket and t-shirt. Katie takes the t-shirt and tears two wide strips off the hem, then efficiently folds up the rest of it and lays the pad over Jeff's wound. "Hold that," she orders, and Jensen obeys. "Can you sit up?" she asks Jeff. When he nods, she helps him, then ties the strips of t-shirt around Jeff's body to hold the makeshift dressing in place. "You can let go now," she says to Jensen when she's done. Jensen lets his hand fall away, feeling drained.
The Mogadorian is still burning, and Jensen is nauseated by the smell.
"Since when can you throw fire?" Jeff asks, shifting to stand up.
"Since you got stabbed," Jensen snaps back. His hands are still warm from the power that passed through them. He helps Jeff stand, even though Jeff seems to think he's okay on his own steam.
"Maybe I should get stabbed more often," Jeff muses. "I wonder what else you might have up your sleeve."
"You mean the sleeve I don't have because Katie used my shirt to dress your stab wound?" Jensen shakes his head. "Don't. Please. You're trying to make it okay but it's not. I'm not a child, Jeff."
"I know you're not." Jeff relents to Jensen's assistance and slings an arm around him on the uninjured side, letting Jensen help him stand. "That fire's pretty damn useful, though."
"I'll say." Katie's looking at Jensen thoughtfully.
"We should go," Jeff says. He looks at Katie. "Are you coming? Protection's broken anyway."
It's not like Jensen ever thought Jeff had already told him everything he knew; he's been doling out information in bite-sized pieces since the first scar came when Jensen was six. Jeff has told him all the really important stuff, or so he claims, but something like, say, how his race mate for life apparently didn't rate high enough. Jensen has begun to question Jeff's criteria for "important stuff."
This, though, Jensen knows about. The Nine have a protection over them that makes it harder for the Mogadorians to track them. It means they can only be killed in numerical order, which is why Jeff has been stepping things up with Jensen's training: he's obviously next.
The protection only continues to work, though, for as long as all Nine remain separate. As soon as any two meet, their convergence disrupts the protection, nullifying the kill-order directive and opening up the possibility for simultaneous strikes on the remaining six.
"Wait," says Jensen as something clicks. "You just put yourself in, like, mortal danger just by talking to me. Why would you do that?"
She looks away. "Your Cépan's still alive. And I think it's about time we all stopped running, anyway."
Jensen nods and doesn't push it.
"As much as I like the idea of not running," Jeff says, "it's not real safe in town right now. Let's go." He gingerly pulls away from Jensen, his upright posture stiff and pained, and heads for the truck.
Jensen glances around at the carnage one last time as he picks up his jacket and shrugs it back on. The burning Mogadorian has gone out, leaving a greasy pile of ash, and Jensen looks away quickly, averting his eyes to the eastern sky. Then he frowns.
"Hey," he says, "what's that?"
There's something huge and dark skimming among the treetops, leaving thrashing branches in its wake, and as it comes closer Jensen can distinguish a smaller thing sitting on top of the big thing, which, at this distance, looks like nothing so much as a giant ugly flying squirrel. Jensen's not sure how it's possible for something that size to stay aloft on wings like that.
He's staring intently, trying to decipher the rider, until all at once he realizes that it's another Mogadorian, and that the flying creature is moving really fast.
Only a few seconds have passed.
"Move," Jeff barks, and Jensen turns and makes for Jeff's truck.
Before he's even halfway, something grabs him by scruff of his jacket and hoists him into the air. He twists and yells, but only succeeds in freeing part of one arm in a way that nearly injures his shoulder. He sees dark grey-brown lizardlike underbelly above him, wheeling ground below him receding rapidly, and he hears Jeff yelling his name. Dizzyingly, the flying creature banks, heading back toward Jeff, and this cannot be good.
Jeff is standing in the middle of the road, knife in hand and Katie next to him, and then suddenly Katie's not there and the monster's flight path dips, like it's carrying an extra load.
The ground is coming up fast.
There's a flash like a blade, a deep aggrieved noise from the monster, and Jensen is falling. He pulls up a guard as well as he can, tucks and rolls and bounces a little. He looks around as he clambers to his feet, winded, trying to figure out what just happened.
The monster's skidding away from him out of a crash-landing and Katie and the Mogadorian have been thrown clear to the left. The Mog was armed, but his huge gun was knocked far away down the road, and as he turns to try to retrieve it, Katie jumps on his back. Jeff emerges from behind the Hummer on the right, unarmed; his knife handle is sticking out of the monster's left foreleg. The monster thrashes, roaring in pain, blocking Jeff as he tries to get around to his knife.
Jensen makes a run for the Mog's gun. Katie's pulled a blade but the Mog grabs her knife hand and throws her off, into Jensen's path. The monster seems to notice the uproar and turns to face them, snarling.
That puts the knife handle back in Jeff's range, and he pulls it out. The monster howls, ragged and chilling, and rears up. It's got serious claws and wicked teeth and Jeff backs up a step, then launches himself forward.
"Jeff!" What is he doing? But Jensen sees, then, that Jeff knows exactly what he's doing; he ducks in under the forelegs, striking upward as the monster lunges back down. He plunges his knife into the creature's belly and rips back. Ochre blood pours down and the monster rears up again, the movement pulling the knife out of Jeff's hand as it tries to get away from the pain. The Mog, who was headed for his gun, turns back when the monster shrieks. He bellows angrily and charges back towards Jeff. Jensen summons up the strength for another burst of fire, but it's not as powerful, and the Mog dodges, almost back at the side of his monstrous steed.
Katie materializes next to Jensen again, holding the gun. She fires, but instead of the Mog, she hits the dying monster. It jerks, thrashing wildly, and the Mog ducks around behind it, apparently giving it up for lost, and jumps into the Hummer. Jensen, tearing after him, nearly catches him, only gets a grip on the door handle before the Mog's accelerating too fast for Jensen to keep up. He rips off the door in a last desperate attempt to get inside, but it's not enough, and the Mog recedes down the highway as Jensen turns back to Jeff and Katie.
"You blocked my shot," Katie snaps.
"Shut up." The monster has collapsed in the road, evidently dead, and Jeff
Jeff is pulling himself weakly out from under the monster, blood from his kill and his wounds combining to stain his clothing an ugly red-brown.
"Jeff." Jensen is at his side in an instant, shoving the monster off, trying to help Jeff, but it's clear that Jeff is no longer in a condition to move much. "Fuck. Jeff."
Jeff's breath comes shallow and ragged, and every movement makes him tense all over in pain. "Sorry," he says. "Should've killed the Mog."
"No," says Jensen. "No, you don't get to apologize for that, you don't" he cuts off, voice squeezed to nothing by a throat suddenly clogged with dread.
Katie, kneeling down across from Jensen, assesses Jeff's new wounds. There's blood on his face from a head wound that's still bleeding heavily, and when she moves his jacket aside, there's a huge gash across his torso that looks like the work of a claw. Even before she looks up and shakes her head, Jensen knows. There's too much blood.
He picks up Jeff's hand. It's heavy, blunt-fingered and familiar, the hand that's defended and trained him, provided for him, done everything for him.
"Jeff," he says. "Cépan." Jeff smiles weakly at that. "You can't die, you can't leave me. I can't do this without you."
"Sure you can," Jeff says. "What'd I train you for?"
"Yeah, well." Jensen chokes back a hysterical sob. "I don't want to."
"Too damn bad." Jeff squeezes Jensen's hand, faint pressure. "Find the rest. Stronger. Together." His eyes are losing focus, drifting past Jensen, and Jensen grabs his hand tighter, takes Jeff's face in his other hand and turns it toward him.
"Jeff. Wait. Not yet."
"Jensen." Jeff's breathing is horribly laboured, bubbling in his chest. "I. Trust you."
"Jeff."
Jeff goes still.
His hand is limp in Jensen's grasp, his eyes fixed on nothing. Jensen lays Jeff's hand down carefully. He looks up. Katie's eyes are unreadable.
"We have to get off the road," she says. "Help me get him into the truck."
Wordlessly, Jensen lifts Jeff telekinetically and conveys him to the truck bed, laying him down gently. It should be easy, something he's done countless times since that first training day, but it's a strain.
Jensen covers Jeff's body with a pile of tarp and weighs it down with an old brake drum and Jeff's tool box, just in case he gets stopped, though his torn jacket and the blood on his hands and pants are a tipoff regardless. Katie's got her helmet on when he turns away from the truck bed. She hands him the gun, a long, massive-barrelled thing.
"I've got a place," she says. "Follow me."
Jensen nods and gets into Jeff's truck. The keys are still in the ignition. There's a file box on the floor of the passenger side and Jeff's emergency duffel on the seat. He props the gun down by the file box and hopes vaguely that it doesn't have a hair-trigger.
Reversing into a three-point turn, Jensen tries very hard not to fixate on the lumpy spread of tarp he can see in the rear view. It's pretty much impossible.
Katie leads him back to town.
Part 5
Jensen runs all the way home. It takes less time than it would have in the Jeep, because he cuts through lots that Jared would have driven around, and he doesn't have to obey a speed limit.
Jeff is at his computers. He looks around when Jensen comes crashing in the front door.
"You have a good time?"
"No. Yes. Yes, then no." Jensen is scattered, pieces of him still back at the fairground seething, bits of him clinging to Jared.
Jeff gets up.
"Jensen," he says, coming to stand in front of Jensen, and puts his hands on Jensen's shoulders. The gesture is an immediate and visceral reminder of his recent parting from Jared; Jensen twitches, almost pulls away. Jeff looks closely at him. "Take a breath. Take a seat. Talk to me."
Jensen shakes his head, uncertain where to start. He takes a deep breath, and it helps, so he takes another.
"Sit down," Jeff urges once more, and nudges him toward the tattered couch. Jensen sits, and Jeff pulls up the mismatched ottoman. "Start with the part where you were having a good time," he suggests.
"We did all the rides and I won a bunch of stuff," Jensen says. "Shit, we forgot to take it out of the Jeep."
"And then what?" Jeff's got his gentle voice on, the one he wears when Jensen is sick or hurting. Jensen hasn't heard it in years.
"Corn maze. We did the corn maze." Jensen can't help a short, disbelieving laugh. "It sucked. I hate corn mazes. But Jared wanted to. So that wasn't so bad. But then after." He stops, because he's getting angry again, and he just needs to pause and breathe some more. "A bunch of guys from school came after us. They grabbed Jared and they were beating him up and I had to save him." He leaves it at that, but figures Jeff will read between the lines.
He's right.
"Jensen." Jeff has lost the gentle tone. "Tell me you didn't use your powers on human teenagers."
"They were hurting Jared!" Jensen explodes. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"
"Get help. Call the authorities. Anything other than blow your cover."
"They were hurting him," Jensen insists. Jeff doesn't see, he doesn't understand. "There wasn't time, don't you get it? I had to."
Jeff drops his face into one hand, elbow on his knee. "I get that you think you had no choice. I get that." He lifts his head, breathing deeply. "But you might have compromised our security here. Let me look into it."
"No one will believe them," Jensen suggests, warily. Jeff's usually pretty ironclad about handing down moving orders, and Jensen's usually pretty good about taking the moves as they come, but for some reason that Jensen doesn't really want to examine, he can't face the idea of moving this time. His mind is working frantically to save him from thinking about it, presenting loopholes and workarounds. "It's not like the witnesses in Florida. There were only five of them. Six," he amends, recalling that Jake does actually count.
"Jensen. Stop." Jeff stands up. "We'll talk more about that later. You might be right, but that doesn't change the fact that what you did was incredibly reckless." He holds up a hand as Jensen starts to protest. "Later. For now" he offers Jensen a hand up. Jensen, distantly puzzled, takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "I think a night's sleep might do you good. What do you say?"
Jensen thinks about protesting, thinks he can't possibly sleep without knowing whether Jared's doing okay, but as he considers going to bed he realizes how tired he is. He used a lot of power tonight.
"Probably," he acknowledges. He considers apologizing, because Jeff looks much wearier than he did a few minutes ago and Jensen knows that's because of him, but he can't be sorry for what he did; any apology he might offer would be patently empty.
Jeff pulls him into a brief, warm hug. "I'm not happy about this, Jensen," he says as he pulls back, "but at least you did it to help someone. I'd be a lot less happy if you'd picked a fight for the sake of it."
Jensen nods, eyes on the ground, remembering how it felt to let loose, how easily the thrill of power subsumed him. It was terrifying, how much he liked it.
That will have to be another thing he doesn't deal with until tomorrow. He can feel an abyss yawning beneath that whole area of thought, and he's too tired right now to avoid falling in.
"Good night, Jeff," he mumbles.
"Sleep, kid," says Jeff, and ruffles his hair. Another thing he hasn't done in a while. Jensen wonders what he must look like, to be bringing out these old habits in Jeff. He wonders if a night's sleep will fix it.
When he gets upstairs to his room, he takes out his phone and checks for texts. Nothing. He goes to bed with his phone cradled to his chest like a teddy bear. It does not disturb him in the night.
Jensen sleeps like the dead. Around nine in the morning, his phone buzzes against his sternum.
morning sunshine. slept fine. got a shiner but i'm ok so stop worrying.
Jensen goes weak with relief.
You know it's not that easy.
yeah, but i can try.
How upset are they?
mom's mostly just freaked out but i'm still grounded until further notice. greg's pissed i can't work with a black eye.
Fuck him.
exactly.
Jensen hesitates.
Wish I could see you. Hard to convince myself you're actually fine.
There is a pause, during which Jensen briefly agonises over whether he's said the wrong thing.
i want to see you too. mom's home though, no chance.
I'm very stealthy.
i'm not. :(
The doorbell rings just then, for the first time since they moved in. Jensen is torn between intense curiosity and his conversation with Jared. He turns off his text-alert vibration and takes his phone with him to the top of the stairs, where he can just see part of the front door. Jeff's swift footsteps sound for an instant before he comes partially into view and answers the door.
Well that's a shame.
"Good morning, Sheriff," Jeff says, and Jensen starts hard enough he almost drops his phone. That's Jake's dad. Fuck. "What brings you out here?"
yes it is. bright side, tomorrow's monday.
"Morning. Wondering if I could talk to Jensen."
"What do you want with my son?" Jeff is holding the door only half open, blocking the entrance with his body. Jensen can't see the sheriff at all.
Monday is never a bright side. Hang on, sheriff's here.
"Well, now, I don't imagine your boy probably advertised it to you, but my boy tells me there was something of a scuffle at the fair last night, and I was hoping to talk to Jensen as to the particulars."
wtf??
"My boy is not available for questions," Jeff says.
"I ask you to reconsider the wisdom of that choice," says the sheriff.
Jeff stands firm. "I don't intend to let him be bullied in his own home."
"I'd just like to point out that this could go several worse ways," the sheriff points out.
"Kindly take your threats and leave my property, Sheriff," Jeff says, and Jensen winces. The property records are a quick-and-dirty forge that Jeff didn't think would need to stand up to any kind of inspection. Drawing attention to it's a bad idea.
Drop in the bucket, he reminds himself. If they're in shit, they're in worse than a forged possession slip.
About last night. Jeff's not letting him in.
"This isn't over," Sheriff Abel warns, and Jeff shuts the door on him.
jeff? so he's not actually your real dad then
Never knew my real one so he's as close as it gets. But yeah, no.
fuck this sucks
Dude, yes.
"Jensen?" Jeff calls.
"Be right there," Jensen answers.
Gotta go. Jeff wants to talk. Probably bad.
D: tell me how it goes
Of course.
Jensen pockets his phone and heads downstairs to face the music.
It's not like Jared's never had a black eye before. Doesn't make it any easier to go through it again, but at least he knows how to handle it.
The bruised stomach is new. It took him three tries to sit up this morning but he's figured out how to compensate for it. Mostly he just tries not to move very much.
The only good part of today is Jensen, Jensen and his texts, and Jared is waiting not very patiently for Jensen to be done talking to Jeff so he can maybe call and they can actually talk. It would be a whole lot easier to wait, probably, if he weren't still completely inside-out over Jensen.
He knew he had it bad, but he can't stop replaying last night in his mind, and it's becoming increasingly clear to him that this is not just a crush anymore. This is serious business. Jensen is an alien and still, all Jared wants to do is be around him, be with him, touch him, see him. It doesn't even matter that he's from another planet and has superpowers. Or, okay, that totally matters; Jared reacts embarrassingly strongly to that fact. But it doesn't make a difference to the way he sees Jensen. Fundamentally, Jensen is still the same guy Jared knows and
yeah, okay. Loves.
It's probably too soon and there's probably something wrong with him, but Jared loves Jensen. There's no getting around it.
And Jensen held his hand, and rescued him, and didn't want to leave, and then kissed him. There's all this weird hope fizzing around inside Jared and he doesn't know what to do with it. There's nowhere to channel it and nothing to do about it except wait for Jensen to text him again.
In the meantime, he pulls out one of his sketchbooks and starts doodling idly, sitting sideways on his bed, propped against the wall with a pillow. Eventually the doodling becomes a cartoon version of Jensen with glowing hands. He might as well do it right; he flips to a new page and tries realism on the same subject. The shadows are tricky and fascinating and he's maybe a third done when his phone buzzes.
Well, that was fun.
He doesn't even bother texting back, just hits Call.
Jensen answers on the first ring. "Jared?"
"What happened?" His phone bumps against the bruising on his jaw and he hisses, switching the phone to his other ear and losing a couple of words.
"me the riot act in his own special way," Jensen says dryly. "I maybe blew our cover with the idiots last night. He wants to move."
Jared's throat catches. "Oh?" is all he can get out.
"Yeah, but I convinced him to let me stay if I can avoid getting, like, suspended," Jensen goes on. "Seriously, though, if anybody should get suspended it's them! I can't believe they actually pulled that."
"I can," Jared says bitterly.
"Okay, yeah," Jensen acknowledges. "Still. They deserve worse than suspension for what they did to you."
Jensen's voice is low and angry and it sends a thrill right through the pit of Jared's stomach. His breath hitches; his bruised abdomen protests. "What are we going to tell people?"
Jared can practically hear Jensen shrug. "The truth? I can say I practise martial arts or something instead of how I'm an alien, though."
Jared gasps out an abortive laugh. "Stop being funny," he demands. "It hurts."
"My nonhuman status is not a joke for your amusement," Jensen says.
"Fuck off," says Jared, flopping down onto his back to try and ease the strain on his torso. "I got punched in the stomach yesterday."
"I know," Jensen says, instantly serious again. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Jared says automatically, even though his stomach still hurts. "I guess we'll just take tomorrow as it comes, then, huh."
"Yeah." There's a pause, and Jensen says, "Still grounded, right?"
"Right," Jared says.
"Damn."
Jared closes his eyes. "Yeah."
"I hate that I can't be there for you."
"Dude." Jared can't help smiling. "You are."
"Doesn't count," Jensen insists. "I'm still here and you're still there."
"What 'counts', then?" Jared asks. "What would you do if you were here?" He realizes after it's out that it's not really a safe question, and holds his breath.
"Whatever you need," Jensen says immediately. Jared's air leaves him all at once, without permission.
"Jensen," he says, bare scraping of a voice.
"It's so stupid," Jensen continues, seemingly without hearing. "I know you're okay and you don't actually need me there. Logically, I can extrapolate that you're okay from how you're talking to me and what you're telling me. And it doesn't help at all, because I still just want to say, forget your mom, I'm coming to see you." He laughs self-consciously. "I know I'm not, like, responsible for you. I know this is weird. You can tell me to back off; I can try."
"No," says Jared. "Don't."
There's a pause.
"Okay," Jensen says, quieter. "I won't, then."
"Good."
"Good."
"So," says Jared, casting about for a new subject, "did you get all your homework done?"
Jensen swears. Jared grins and listens to him rant about Physics, breathing a little more easily.
When Jared gets to school Monday morning, Jensen is waiting for him on the steps. He stands up as Jared approaches.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey." Jared's shoulders, cranked up tense from the stares he got on the way to school, unclench a little bit. He just stands there looking at Jensen for a minute, soaking him up. God, he wants to touch him. Hug him, something. Anything. But they're at school.
Jensen's looking back, looking Jared over like he wants to check for hidden injuries like before. His hand actually twitches out before he remembers where they are.
No sense inviting negative attention.
"You look terrible," Jensen says eventually.
Jared laughs. "Hey, don't sugar-coat it or anything."
Jensen flushes. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I've been trying not to look in the mirror, it just makes it hurt worse."
"How bad is it?"
Jared shrugs. "Kind of distracting, but not to the point where I can't think around it." Jensen looks less than reassured, but the first bell rings just then, cutting off whatever he might have said.
Jared's History class has a substitute teacher, which is hilarious, because she seems to have no idea how to respond to Jared's black eye and a distracted class that keeps trying to stare at him. Fortunately for everyone except perhaps Jared himself, he's called down to the office about ten minutes into the period. Jensen's name is called as well, and Jared tries to brace himself on his way down. If Jake's there too, this is going to get nasty.
Jensen is sitting in the outer office when Jared arrives. Jared sits down next to him to wait, deliberately wedging his arm against Jensen's. Jensen looks up and meets his eye.
"We're not in the wrong," he says. "You especially."
Jared nods distractedly. It's easier to be confident with Jensen there. He settles a little closer to Jensen, who seems to welcome the contact, shifting to accommodate him. They wait.
They don't have to wait for very long. It's only maybe another minute before the vice-principal opens the door of the principal's office and says, "Jared, Jensen, come in, please."
Inside, Jake's sitting in front of the principal's desk, his father standing near him. The principal, Mr. Edlund, is seated behind his desk, and Ms. Gamble closes the door and comes back to take a seat to one side of the desk. There are two empty chairs next to Jake.
"Have a seat, boys," says Mr. Edlund.
Jensen takes the seat closer to Jake, though there's still a good few feet between them. Jared sits down in the other chair, fighting a smile.
"We've heard some fairly serious allegations this morning," the principal says, "and I'm frankly very concerned."
The sheriff's son is making them. Of course he's very concerned. Jared bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something regrettable. They haven't even gotten started here.
"My son tells me you put one of his friends in the hospital," Sheriff Abel says, addressing Jensen. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Oh," says Jensen, turning to Jake. "Which friend was that? Was it one of the guys who attacked me, or was it the one who helped you beat up Jared?"
"Attacked you?" Jake sneers. "You two came after us unprovoked. I'm pretty sure defending myself doesn't count as 'beating up'."
"Excuse me?" Jared says, as Jensen snaps, "Now hold on a second."
"Boys," says Mr. Edlund firmly. "Clearly we have a divergence of stories here." Jake manages a wounded, innocent look, and Jared resists a strong urge to roll his eyes.
"Sir," Jake begins, but Mr. Edlund holds up his hand, and Jake subsides.
"We've heard from you, Jake, and your father," says the principal. "I'd like to hear what the accused have to say."
Jensen sits up straighter.
"Mr. Edlund, I don't know what they told you, but Jared and I were just minding our own business outside the corn maze when we got jumped. Some of them took Jared away and one of them tackled me. You've got a really strong football team at this school, sir." Ms. Gamble, face twitching, turns her head to cough. "I got away and went to find Jared. Jake was punching him in the stomach. Jared, show them."
Jared stands, hesitates fractionally, then pulls up his shirt, showing the faint green and purple mottling his stomach.
"I didn't actually see who hit him in the face, but Jared can tell you," Jensen finishes.
"It was Jake," Jared says, sitting back down. "One of his friends was holding my arms. I didn't attack anybody, Mr. Edlund. It wasn't self-defense that gave me a black eye."
Jake and his father have been looking more and more outraged. Mr. Edlund looks thoughtful, and Ms. Gamble has an anticipatory glint about her. Jared realizes he's gripping the arms of his chair, white-knuckled. It seems like too much effort to relax his grip, so he focuses on the Abels again.
"You're going to take their word over mine?" Jake demands. "Ackles is a psychotic freak! He's lying to cover up his psychopathic tendencies!"
If the situation weren't so serious, Jared would laugh. As it is, he listens to Sheriff Abel defending his son.
"My boy is a pillar of this school community," he says, "and if you're willing to take the word of a nobody stranger over my son's, I question your judgement, Mr. Edlund."
"Each of my students is entitled to a fair hearing," says Mr. Edlund. "If you're so quick to summary judgement, Sheriff, I question your approach."
The sheriff bristles, momentarily at a loss for words, and Jake opens his mouth.
"Mr. Edlund." Jared's spoken before he realizes he's going to.
"Yes, Jared."
He glances over at Jensen for moral support, then says, "I know you're aware that I've had ongoing problems at this school. I've been mostly okay so far this year, and I appreciate the support that I've had from the administration in the past." There's movement in his periphery, a startle from the sheriff, but he can't afford to look anywhere but at the principal right now. "I don't know why this happened now, but I think you can see the pattern leading up to this. This isn't the first time Jake's had a problem with me." He risks a glance at Jake, who looks completely livid. "It's just the first time he got somebody else involved."
"Jake," says the sheriff, "what is he talking about."
"Nothing, Dad," Jake says, but it's unconvincing.
"Mr. Abel, we've spoken to you before about your son's behaviour," Ms. Gamble interjects. "He is socially aggressive and has repeatedly shown a regrettable attitude toward those he perceives to be less important than himself."
"He's the star athlete of this school," Abel corrects. "He's entitled to the respect of his peers."
"He is not entitled to belittle and demean those peers," snaps Ms. Gamble. "Given his history, I'm more inclined to believe he orchestrated some kind of attack on these boys than that the two of them would dare try to take on him and his friends."
"I agree," Mr. Edlund says. "But," he says, as both Jake and his father begin to protest, "I'm still interested in Jensen's involvement. Jensen," he says, leaning forward, "as you say, we have a strong football team. One of its members is in the hospital with a broken collarbone and three others have sustained various injuries, including bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. How is it that you, being smaller than these football players and ambushed, managed to put up a defense like that?"
"He wasn't ambushed," Jake says triumphantly. "Like I said. He ambushed us."
"Jake," Mr. Edlund says, "I am not asking you. I'm asking Jensen." Jake clams up, paling. "Jensen, you're claiming that you fought off four attackers, completely unprepared, without sustaining any visible injuries. Jared's story does seem more believable than Jake's, but you can see why I'm having difficulty."
"I practice Wing Chun," Jensen says, deadpan. "My hands are weapons."
Jared can't look at him or he will ruin everything by laughing. Instead, he blurts out, "Ohio's a Stand-Your-Ground state, right? He's entitled to defend himself."
"That's not exactly how that works," Mr. Edlund says with a smile, "but in principle you're right. Jensen, how long have you been practicing martial arts?"
"Long enough to be able to fight off four attackers, unprepared, without sustaining any visible injuries. I can give you a demonstration if you want," Jensen offers.
Ms. Gamble sits up hopefully, but Mr. Edlund says, "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Jake, if you'd like to change your story, now would be the time. Perjury is a crime, you know."
"I'm not under oath," Jake says sulkily, then seems to realize what he said and clamps his mouth shut.
"Jensen and Jared," Mr. Edlund says, "you're dismissed. Jared, if you'd like to come by and see me after school, or any time, you're welcome but not obligated. We'll do our best to make sure this off-campus incident doesn't affect your educational experience."
"Thanks, Mr. Edlund."
Somehow, Jared makes it out of the office without being incinerated by Jake's stare, Jensen close behind him. Back out in the hallway, they stand and look at each other for a few seconds before Jared starts to grin.
"Dude," says Jensen quietly, mirroring Jared's expression, "can you believe that just happened?"
"I know, right? Jake's going to be in so much shit for this."
"Do you think they'll kick him off the team?" Jensen starts walking away from the office. Jared follows.
"I hope so. That would be sweet."
"Totally." But then Jensen mutters, "Shit."
"What?" Jared looks over, concerned.
"Nothing," Jensen says, "just, the sheriff's probably going to have it in for us now."
"So? Not like we run around breaking the law." Jensen just looks at him like he's an idiot, and Jared gets it suddenly. "Aw, shit. You totally do, don't you."
"Perpetually on the lam, Jared," Jensen reminds him. "It happens."
Jared can't think of anything reassuring to say, because it's definitely a valid concern. "Cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess," he says. Jensen shoots him a warm smile and it's only then that Jared realizes he said we without even thinking about it.
They eat lunch in one of the library study rooms, sitting as far as possible out of view of the tiny window in the door. Jensen hasn't seen Jake since the meeting in the office, but better safe than sorry.
Jeff calls almost as soon as they've sat down, and Jensen puts the phone on speaker and puts it on the table.
"Hey, Jeff. You're on speaker."
"Why am I on speaker?"
"Because it's just me and Jared."
There's a pause.
"Jensen, I'm not sure"
"He knows everything, Jeff," says Jensen, impatient. "He's my friend, I trust him."
Jared gives him one of those megawatt smiles, and Jensen lets his irritability drain away. Jeff's not trying to be difficult; he just doesn't know Jared very well yet.
"We're going to have to have a conversation about just exactly how that decision got made," Jeff says, "but I'll trust your judgement on this one. Hi, Jared."
"Hi," Jared says. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I'd never hurt Jensen."
A warm, pleased feeling settles in Jensen's stomach. He figured, but it's nice to hear Jared say it.
"I believe you. It's fine. How are you holding up?"
"Me?" Jared sounds surprised.
"No, the other kid with a black eye. Yes, you."
"I'm okay, I guess. It sucks, but it's healing."
"Good. Jensen, has the sheriff been at you yet?"
"Oh, yeah." Jensen gives him a rundown of what happened in the office, Jared interjecting with details. After they're finished, Jeff doesn't say anything for long enough that Jensen gets antsy. "What?" he asks.
"I'm not sure," Jeff answers. "It's good your principal backed you, but we might have some trouble with the sheriff. I'll have to think on this, decide what to do."
"Let me help," Jensen suggests. "We can talk after school. You think better when you're talking."
"I do, do I? All right, I'll see you when you get home. Jared, you take care."
"I will."
Jeff hangs up.
"What did he mean, 'decide what to do'?" Jared asks.
"With Jeff, I never know," Jensen says, trying to shrug it off. There's a nagging part of his mind that's trying to remind him that Jeff's go-to solution for major problems is to leave. Maybe with the new paradigm of standing and fighting, they won't have to move this time. He can't really think about what it would mean if they did.
When the bell rings after lunch, Jensen stops Jared before he can open the door. "Still grounded?"
"Yeah."
Trying not to second-guess himself, he pulls Jared into a hug, wrapping careful arms around Jared's shoulders and back, praying it doesn't hurt him.
Jared goes with it, pulling Jensen in closer, tucking his face into Jensen's hair. Jensen squeezes his eyes shut, memorizing the feel of Jared safely in his arms. It's not like he can keep him hidden away forever, but he wishes for just a little more time alone with Jared, just a few more minutes of direct physical confirmation that Jared is there and okay.
Second bell is in three more minutes. Jensen lets go.
Jared is distracted for the rest of the day. His teachers mostly leave him alone, the mixed blessing of his black eye giving him a pass on classwork.
In English, Katie turns around.
"If you need a witness," she says, "I saw what happened."
Jared stares at her. Her face is completely unreadable
"Is that some kind of threat?" he finally says. It's the only way he can begin to make sense of her comment.
She actually smiles, a feral sliver of a grin.
"You're kind of an idiot. Don't worry about it."
He stares at the back of her head, perplexed. Does she mean- what does she mean? Did she see Jensen and the glowing? What if she tells someone? Has she figured out what he is, does she want to out him? Or would she back up Jensen's version of the story?
And why, when she's a complete stranger, would she weigh in on this, either way?
Maybe she's nicer than she seems.
Maybe she's a stalker.
Oh, god. He's going to drive himself insane if he tries to figure it out. He'll have to call Jensen after school and see what he thinks.
Jensen doesn't answer his phone when Jared calls, holed back up in his room with a sandwich and his homework and his mother hovering anxiously outside the door. Jensen doesn't answer the texts Jared sends him with increasing urgency, or the call he makes after supper, or the one after that.
dude, where the fuck are you?? you better not be dead.
Not dead.
Jared leaps at his phone when it vibrates with Jensen's response, and he throws out,
whats going on? need to talk.
He almost feels guilty, pulling out need like that after what Jensen said on the phone yesterday, like he's manipulating him or something. But they pretty much do need to talk; what Katie said is still bothering him, and now something's up with Jensen, and Jared doesn't know what's going on anymore.
There's no response from Jensen, and Jared stops feeling bad.
"Dammit, Jensen," he mutters, throwing his phone down on his bed. "What the fuck."
Jensen stares down at his phone, the display of Jared's texts dimming and going black.
He wants to text him back, to call him, hell, to disregard Jared's grounding and go over and see him in person. But he has no idea what to say.
Sadie, sitting on his feet under his desk, lets out a low whine and shifts into his legs, like she can tell he's upset. He pushes back his chair and invites her into his lap, where she settles, soft and warm and consoling.
Three hours ago, he would have texted back. He would have answered the phone.
Three hours ago he didn't know.
He had that talk with Jeff as soon as he got home. They talked in the living room, Jensen standing because Jeff would not sit, agitated, pacing, saying, "I'm really concerned about our profile here. The problem with small towns is visibility," and then a lot of other things about the sheriff and how Jeff thought it was only a matter of time before he started checking up on them. "We're easy targets to begin with, here, and we've broken a hell of a lot of laws, Jensen."
"So what," Jensen said, "we just run away again? What's the worst that can happen if we stand our ground here?"
"You know the answer to that," Jeff said, "and you're not ready yet. I really think we should move."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Jensen, think about it," Jeff insisted, and gave reasons, and explained, and Jensen does not remember a goddamn word of it because he thought about it, really thought about leaving, and his mind shied away from the effort so hard it made him dizzy.
Jeff was still talking, low and calm and probably very rational, when Jensen said, "NO," and threw Jeff against the wall. It wasn't far, only a few feet, but it shocked them both into silence. Jensen let him go immediately and sat down hard on the couch. "I can't, Jeff, I can't leave."
"Because of Jared," Jeff said wearily, a depth of understanding in his voice that Jensen didn't grasp, not yet.
"How did you yeah. I can't if I leave him, I Jeff, I can't." Jensen's breath came harshly, in gasps, and Jeff came to sit by him and encourage him to put his head between his knees and breathe slowly and evenly until he didn't feel like keeling over. His chest still felt tight. "What the hell is going on?" he asked.
"I was waiting for you to figure it out, but it looks like you've got a blind spot there," Jeff said. Then he said, "You're in love with Jared," and Jensen's brain stalled. "I guess I didn't think you'd need to know this soon," Jeff said, "but Loriens mate for life." He said, "That's probably why you can't stomach leaving him." Jensen felt slow, hearing the words but not quite processing what they meant.
"Wait," said Jensen, but then suddenly everything made sense, his whole history with Jared made sense, every protective instinct, every bloom of affection, every wordless conversation, every single time Jared smiled and Jensen's heart opened up like a fucking puzzle box.
"Oh my god," said Jensen.
When Jared called he let it go to voicemail, unable to even fathom talking normally with this new awareness hanging over him. He ignored the texts, because if he answered them Jared would want to call, and they'd be back to square one. Jared would know immediately that something was up and want an explanation, and Jensen couldn't imagine saying over the phone, well, actually, I've just realized I'm completely in love with you, hope that's okay. And he wouldn't be able to lie.
He hasn't been able to lie to Jared for a while now.
Well. Now he knows why.
He's petting Sadie absently, stroking his fingers along the short soft fur of her head, and she snuffles comfortingly into his elbow. Sadie doesn't care that Jensen is a blind lovesick idiot. Sadie loves him just the same as she did three hours ago.
Jensen has no idea what to do.
They don't have Art on Tuesday but Jared is for damn sure finding out at lunch what's going on.
Only, when lunchtime comes, Jensen's not out by the tree or in the library or anywhere else Jared thinks to look, which is basically a random smattering of classrooms, since Jensen, as far as Jared knows, has no extracurriculars and no other friends.
He tries calling. Jensen doesn't pick up. He tries texting.
where are you?
seriously, was it something i said?
winning at hide-and-seek doesn't count if i don't know we're playing
was it something I did?
i'll fuck off and leave you alone if you tell me you want me to.
that means you have to tell me if you want me to fuck off and leave you alone, btw
okay i'm taking that as a no.
is something wrong? can I help?
you don't get to be the only one who worries in this friendship.
i am worried because otherwise i will be pissed at you. if i did something, fucking tell me. if something's wrong, fucking tell me. if you can't fucking tell me, what the fuck are we, jensen?
okay apparently i am pissed.
i am going to stop now, hopefully before i wreck anything. please talk to me.
Jensen doesn't answer.
In English, he pokes Katie in the back with his pencil, a little savagely. She turns, irritated.
"What did you see?" he demands quietly.
"I told you. Everything."
Jared makes a frustrated noise low in his throat. "Yeah, but"
"I went to Edlund after school yesterday. Apparently I did a good job backing up your version of the fight. I think Jake's getting suspended. You're welcome." She turns back around.
Your version?
She really did see everything.
Jensen needs to know. He might not be answering, but if last night's Not dead is any indicator, he's getting the messages.
Jared pulls out his phone and discreetly starts texting under his desk, checking every word or so where Mrs. Castillo is standing. She likes to wander and he cannot get caught. He can't get his phone confiscated; unlikely as it is, Jensen might text back.
katie says she saw. think she really did. thought you might want to know.
He re-reads it before he sends it. The tone seems neutral, not accusatory at all, at least to him; he hits Send before he drives himself up the wall second-guessing it. Not like any of his other texts today have been the epitome of courteous.
After school, he's stuck behind a knot of people when he sees Jensen leaving, far enough away that he can't even call out, let alone catch his eye. Jensen's slumped, looks miserable, and Jared can't be angry when Jensen looks so desperately in need of a friend. He just wants to understand why suddenly that friend can't be him.
Jensen's out the door before Jared's moved even a foot.
Jared has no luck. And he's still grounded.
Jensen walks out of the school cursing himself for a careless fool. His phone is back in his pocket where it belongs, probably full of missed texts from Jared, because not only is Jensen a coward and an idiot, he's apparently lost all his self-preservation instincts. He didn't even make it through second period before his obsessive checking for Jared's texts got his phone confiscated for the rest of the day. Jensen doesn't even want to think about what's waiting for him when he turns it on again.
At some point, he has to talk to Jared. He knows this. He can't keep avoiding him forever, and the longer he does, the more he feels like an ass.
He keeps his head down as he walks, half hoping Jared will somehow follow him and catch up, half mortified at the idea, every part of him wishing things were different somehow. He doesn't really know what he'd change, though, because all of this stems from the fact that he's in love with Jared, and he can't regret that.
Unfortunately, he apparently can't deal with that, either.
Three blocks into his walk home, he vaguely registers the sound of a motorcycle engine approaching from behind before he hears his name.
"sen, hey! Jensen!"
He turns to see that girl from Jared's class, what's her name, Katie? pull up next to him on a huge red and black bike. "Whoa, hi. What?"
She cuts the engine. "Your Cépan's in trouble."
The instant shock of alert fear is followed immediately by guarded confusion. There's no way Katie should know that term, guardian-protector-family; that is not a word that Earth people know. "Who are you?"
"We don't have time for this." Katie glances around, checking that no one's close, then leans down, unzips her boot and yanks up her pant leg, bunching it up to the knee and showing Jensen the three round scars running up the outside of her calf, one for each of the dead, exactly matching his own. "I'm Number Six," she says.
Jensen does his best not to let his shock get the better of him. Later, there will be time to wonder and marvel and process. Right now, Katie says they have no time and Jeff is in trouble. He shoves his floundering aside and says, "Okay. What happened to Jeff?"
"Sheriff's after him." She pulls her pant leg back down and zips up her boot as she talks. "I caught the chatter on the police band a few minutes ago. They're raiding your house right now."
"You have a police scanner?" Jensen asks dumbly, momentarily overloaded.
Katie impatiently waves her smartphone at him. "There's an app for that," she says. "Focus. Didn't he call you or anything?"
"Shit." Jensen fumbles his phone out of his pocket and powers it on, waiting with rapidly fraying patience as it boots up agonizingly slowly.
Three missed calls, his screen informs him, two new voicemails and thirteen text messages.
He dials his voicemail, mis-typing his passcode twice before he can discipline rushed fingers to hit the right numbers. He puts it on speaker so Katie can hear.
"All right, this is me assuming the worst. If the school can't find you when I call them, I'm coming to get you. You better not be dead, kid." Jeff's voice is overlaid with impatience, but underpinned with worry; Jensen has never actually missed a call before. The message is about three hours old, putting it around lunchtime.
Next unheard message, says the voicemail, and then:
"Jensen, when you get your phone back, go to ground. Sheriff got an anonymous tip that it was me broke into Padalecki's office. I've got the files and I'm heading east. Don't go home, you hear me? Stop being an idiot and go to Jared's. I'll come back and get you when the heat's died down. We can't" The message cuts out for a second or two, silence interspersed with digital garbage, then comes back. "to go. Call me when you get this."
The background noise suggests that Jeff was driving when he left the message. The time stamp
"That's five minutes ago," Jensen says. "He said to hide, though."
"It's a trap," Katie says harshly. "Anonymous tip my ass. It was the Mogadorians."
"What?" Jensen feels like he can't breathe.
"Mogs pulled the same stunt with my Cépan. Flushed her out by getting the cops involved."
"What happened?"
"She's dead."
Fuck. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Get on," says Katie, restarting the ignition. "He said east, right?"
"That means south." Jensen climbs on behind her. "He can't have gotten too far."
"Hang on." She pulls off the curb with a roar.
Jensen hangs on.
There aren't that many roads that go south out of town, and only one of them runs close enough to the house Jeff chose to be worth bothering with. Katie rides like a demon, eating up the cracked asphalt, and Jensen clamps his arms around her waist and tries not to consider the possibility that they might be too late. It's only been five minutes, seven minutes, ten minutes since Jeff left that message. That's not enough time, it can't be enough time for anything really bad to have happened.
Please, Jensen thinks.
There's a bend in the road, and as they come around the corner Jensen catches sight of a semi truck and a Hummer blocking the way. Jeff's pickup truck is at the end of a brand-new set of of fishtail skid marks, fetched up on the shoulder with the driver door hanging open. A long dark-clad body lies in the road, sickly ochre blood staining its face. Mogadorian. Three other tall figures are ranged against a much smaller-looking man. Jeff. He has his knife out, long and curved and awake in his grasp.
Jensen registers all of this in a snapshot before Katie yanks the bike into a skid, cutting the engine at the same time. Using the bike's momentum, he jumps, lands running, heading toward the standoff.
"Jeff," he yells. The three Mogadorians facing off with Jeff look almost human, but taller, broader, with tattoos instead of hair and fangs instead of teeth. All three are armed with knives and equipped with combat boots and brass-knuckled gauntlets. Jeff looks small and fragile in his leather jacket, but his knife is a match for any of theirs. He's been at this long enough not to look over his shoulder when Jensen calls out; instead, his stance settles a little, loses a shade of its tension.
"Hey, kid," he calls back. "Just in time for the party."
Jensen will get mad at him for his cavalier attitude later. Right now, he reaches out with his power to grab one of the Mogs and hurl her through the window of the semi cab behind her. The shorter of the remaining two comes at Jensen with a snarl while the taller one makes a move toward Jeff. Jensen's opponent wields his knife like a charmed snake, the long blade weaving back and forth deceptively. Instead of trying to follow the knife, Jensen watches his opponent's shoulder and balance to see when and how he'll strike. It's a ludicrous second before Jensen even thinks to try disarming him; he strikes out with his power, focused on the knife hand, and the Mog must not have seen it coming, because the weapon goes flying. His surprised face will be a classic when this fight is over.
Jensen just has time to register that though the Mog now has no weapon, neither has Jensen, and the Mog's got a good six inches on Jensen in height and bicep width. Then Jeff's blade comes poking through the Mog's sternum, and the Mog collapses, revealing Jeff, ochre-spattered and grinning fiercely.
Jensen looks around. Katie somehow got the drop on the Mog Jensen sent through the windshield and Jeff, of course, took care of the one he was left with. None of the four Mogadorians is left standing.
Jensen, disregarding the giant knife in Jeff's hand, hauls his Cépan into a hug. Jeff`s arms close tight around him. "Thanks," Jeff says in his ear. "That wouldn't have been easy alone."
"No shit," says Jensen, and lets go.
"Guys," says Katie, and she's away by the end of the semi truck, peering in through the open back doors. "I think something was living in here. There are claw marks."
"Oh, great." Jeff seems more aggrieved than surprised. "Does it look like it escaped, or was it let out?"
Katie studies the doors intently and Jensen goes over to see for himself. When he peers into the container, he sees gashes all over the floor and walls, even the ceiling, and the metal is distended and gouged. The doors are also deformed, but it doesn't look like they broke from strain. The bolt is intact.
"Looks like it was let out." She peers around the door. "I'm Number Six, by the way."
"Nice to meet you and thanks for the hand. Jensen, we have to go. Six, are you coming?"
Jensen looks over at Katie to see what she'll say, so he sees the moment her composure falls right off her face. He looks back instantly to see a bloody-faced Mog creeping up behind Jeff.
"Behind you!" he yells, hearing his words overlap with a warning from Katie, hurling himself into motion. Jeff turns, dodges, but he's not quite fast enough, and he cries out in pain as the coward's knife catches him in the side.
Unthinking, Jensen gathers all the power he can easily access and blasts it at the bastard who thought he could play possum and get the drop on Jensen's Cépan. The power comes out white hot, blistering through the air toward the Mog and hitting him square on, knocking him backward and igniting on contact. A piercing shriek echoes through the air as he goes up in a sickening conflagration of orange and purple.
Jeff throws himself forward, away from the fire, and ends up flat on the asphalt. Jensen is there a second later. Jeff rolls to his back with a protracted groan that ends in a cough, and Jensen scrabbles at his jacket and shirt, desperate to see how bad the wound is.
"I'm fine," Jeff insists, "just leave it," but there's blood, a lot of it, and that's not fine at all.
"Jensen," says Katie, "take your shirt off." He doesn't even think, he's past thinking, just pulls off his jacket and t-shirt. Katie takes the t-shirt and tears two wide strips off the hem, then efficiently folds up the rest of it and lays the pad over Jeff's wound. "Hold that," she orders, and Jensen obeys. "Can you sit up?" she asks Jeff. When he nods, she helps him, then ties the strips of t-shirt around Jeff's body to hold the makeshift dressing in place. "You can let go now," she says to Jensen when she's done. Jensen lets his hand fall away, feeling drained.
The Mogadorian is still burning, and Jensen is nauseated by the smell.
"Since when can you throw fire?" Jeff asks, shifting to stand up.
"Since you got stabbed," Jensen snaps back. His hands are still warm from the power that passed through them. He helps Jeff stand, even though Jeff seems to think he's okay on his own steam.
"Maybe I should get stabbed more often," Jeff muses. "I wonder what else you might have up your sleeve."
"You mean the sleeve I don't have because Katie used my shirt to dress your stab wound?" Jensen shakes his head. "Don't. Please. You're trying to make it okay but it's not. I'm not a child, Jeff."
"I know you're not." Jeff relents to Jensen's assistance and slings an arm around him on the uninjured side, letting Jensen help him stand. "That fire's pretty damn useful, though."
"I'll say." Katie's looking at Jensen thoughtfully.
"We should go," Jeff says. He looks at Katie. "Are you coming? Protection's broken anyway."
It's not like Jensen ever thought Jeff had already told him everything he knew; he's been doling out information in bite-sized pieces since the first scar came when Jensen was six. Jeff has told him all the really important stuff, or so he claims, but something like, say, how his race mate for life apparently didn't rate high enough. Jensen has begun to question Jeff's criteria for "important stuff."
This, though, Jensen knows about. The Nine have a protection over them that makes it harder for the Mogadorians to track them. It means they can only be killed in numerical order, which is why Jeff has been stepping things up with Jensen's training: he's obviously next.
The protection only continues to work, though, for as long as all Nine remain separate. As soon as any two meet, their convergence disrupts the protection, nullifying the kill-order directive and opening up the possibility for simultaneous strikes on the remaining six.
"Wait," says Jensen as something clicks. "You just put yourself in, like, mortal danger just by talking to me. Why would you do that?"
She looks away. "Your Cépan's still alive. And I think it's about time we all stopped running, anyway."
Jensen nods and doesn't push it.
"As much as I like the idea of not running," Jeff says, "it's not real safe in town right now. Let's go." He gingerly pulls away from Jensen, his upright posture stiff and pained, and heads for the truck.
Jensen glances around at the carnage one last time as he picks up his jacket and shrugs it back on. The burning Mogadorian has gone out, leaving a greasy pile of ash, and Jensen looks away quickly, averting his eyes to the eastern sky. Then he frowns.
"Hey," he says, "what's that?"
There's something huge and dark skimming among the treetops, leaving thrashing branches in its wake, and as it comes closer Jensen can distinguish a smaller thing sitting on top of the big thing, which, at this distance, looks like nothing so much as a giant ugly flying squirrel. Jensen's not sure how it's possible for something that size to stay aloft on wings like that.
He's staring intently, trying to decipher the rider, until all at once he realizes that it's another Mogadorian, and that the flying creature is moving really fast.
Only a few seconds have passed.
"Move," Jeff barks, and Jensen turns and makes for Jeff's truck.
Before he's even halfway, something grabs him by scruff of his jacket and hoists him into the air. He twists and yells, but only succeeds in freeing part of one arm in a way that nearly injures his shoulder. He sees dark grey-brown lizardlike underbelly above him, wheeling ground below him receding rapidly, and he hears Jeff yelling his name. Dizzyingly, the flying creature banks, heading back toward Jeff, and this cannot be good.
Jeff is standing in the middle of the road, knife in hand and Katie next to him, and then suddenly Katie's not there and the monster's flight path dips, like it's carrying an extra load.
The ground is coming up fast.
There's a flash like a blade, a deep aggrieved noise from the monster, and Jensen is falling. He pulls up a guard as well as he can, tucks and rolls and bounces a little. He looks around as he clambers to his feet, winded, trying to figure out what just happened.
The monster's skidding away from him out of a crash-landing and Katie and the Mogadorian have been thrown clear to the left. The Mog was armed, but his huge gun was knocked far away down the road, and as he turns to try to retrieve it, Katie jumps on his back. Jeff emerges from behind the Hummer on the right, unarmed; his knife handle is sticking out of the monster's left foreleg. The monster thrashes, roaring in pain, blocking Jeff as he tries to get around to his knife.
Jensen makes a run for the Mog's gun. Katie's pulled a blade but the Mog grabs her knife hand and throws her off, into Jensen's path. The monster seems to notice the uproar and turns to face them, snarling.
That puts the knife handle back in Jeff's range, and he pulls it out. The monster howls, ragged and chilling, and rears up. It's got serious claws and wicked teeth and Jeff backs up a step, then launches himself forward.
"Jeff!" What is he doing? But Jensen sees, then, that Jeff knows exactly what he's doing; he ducks in under the forelegs, striking upward as the monster lunges back down. He plunges his knife into the creature's belly and rips back. Ochre blood pours down and the monster rears up again, the movement pulling the knife out of Jeff's hand as it tries to get away from the pain. The Mog, who was headed for his gun, turns back when the monster shrieks. He bellows angrily and charges back towards Jeff. Jensen summons up the strength for another burst of fire, but it's not as powerful, and the Mog dodges, almost back at the side of his monstrous steed.
Katie materializes next to Jensen again, holding the gun. She fires, but instead of the Mog, she hits the dying monster. It jerks, thrashing wildly, and the Mog ducks around behind it, apparently giving it up for lost, and jumps into the Hummer. Jensen, tearing after him, nearly catches him, only gets a grip on the door handle before the Mog's accelerating too fast for Jensen to keep up. He rips off the door in a last desperate attempt to get inside, but it's not enough, and the Mog recedes down the highway as Jensen turns back to Jeff and Katie.
"You blocked my shot," Katie snaps.
"Shut up." The monster has collapsed in the road, evidently dead, and Jeff
Jeff is pulling himself weakly out from under the monster, blood from his kill and his wounds combining to stain his clothing an ugly red-brown.
"Jeff." Jensen is at his side in an instant, shoving the monster off, trying to help Jeff, but it's clear that Jeff is no longer in a condition to move much. "Fuck. Jeff."
Jeff's breath comes shallow and ragged, and every movement makes him tense all over in pain. "Sorry," he says. "Should've killed the Mog."
"No," says Jensen. "No, you don't get to apologize for that, you don't" he cuts off, voice squeezed to nothing by a throat suddenly clogged with dread.
Katie, kneeling down across from Jensen, assesses Jeff's new wounds. There's blood on his face from a head wound that's still bleeding heavily, and when she moves his jacket aside, there's a huge gash across his torso that looks like the work of a claw. Even before she looks up and shakes her head, Jensen knows. There's too much blood.
He picks up Jeff's hand. It's heavy, blunt-fingered and familiar, the hand that's defended and trained him, provided for him, done everything for him.
"Jeff," he says. "Cépan." Jeff smiles weakly at that. "You can't die, you can't leave me. I can't do this without you."
"Sure you can," Jeff says. "What'd I train you for?"
"Yeah, well." Jensen chokes back a hysterical sob. "I don't want to."
"Too damn bad." Jeff squeezes Jensen's hand, faint pressure. "Find the rest. Stronger. Together." His eyes are losing focus, drifting past Jensen, and Jensen grabs his hand tighter, takes Jeff's face in his other hand and turns it toward him.
"Jeff. Wait. Not yet."
"Jensen." Jeff's breathing is horribly laboured, bubbling in his chest. "I. Trust you."
"Jeff."
Jeff goes still.
His hand is limp in Jensen's grasp, his eyes fixed on nothing. Jensen lays Jeff's hand down carefully. He looks up. Katie's eyes are unreadable.
"We have to get off the road," she says. "Help me get him into the truck."
Wordlessly, Jensen lifts Jeff telekinetically and conveys him to the truck bed, laying him down gently. It should be easy, something he's done countless times since that first training day, but it's a strain.
Jensen covers Jeff's body with a pile of tarp and weighs it down with an old brake drum and Jeff's tool box, just in case he gets stopped, though his torn jacket and the blood on his hands and pants are a tipoff regardless. Katie's got her helmet on when he turns away from the truck bed. She hands him the gun, a long, massive-barrelled thing.
"I've got a place," she says. "Follow me."
Jensen nods and gets into Jeff's truck. The keys are still in the ignition. There's a file box on the floor of the passenger side and Jeff's emergency duffel on the seat. He props the gun down by the file box and hopes vaguely that it doesn't have a hair-trigger.
Reversing into a three-point turn, Jensen tries very hard not to fixate on the lumpy spread of tarp he can see in the rear view. It's pretty much impossible.
Katie leads him back to town.
Part 5