Fic: "Open your Eyes, Open your Heart" PART I

[icebear_cw]

PART I

The space around him hums, sounds stuck in a small space and air not moving. But the sound is all wrong, like there is no purpose behind it, idling and waiting for the right moment to change. Jensen’s mind is stuck on the fact, tries to settle and can’t.

It’s sticky, humid - almost unbearably so. Jensen feels foreign, as if he doesn’t belong and doesn’t know why. Rough fabric stuck to his heated skin makes him curse the broken AC, only running on low. The mattress feels lumpy beneath him, even though it’s new and hard as hell on normal days.

It’s not a normal day, though, not by any means.

For a while he’d though that he was past it, past zoning out and not being able to quell the panic rising inside of him. For years he thought it was finally over, the bane of his youth, the one reason why he’d been an antisocial freak before all of this.

Only, it’s back now, different but still as annoying as it was when he was younger. There are pills and meditation techniques along with mantras and good friends, but it’s still something he has to deal with on his own and Jensen's so fucking tired of it already.

Panic attacks shouldn’t really be the most prominent feature of a rock star. Especially not when they happen during autograph sessions and super-especially not when their reason was questions about new songs. His band blames the label, the pressure they've put on them. Jensen blames himself.

He flops around in the bunk, sighs when his track pants keep getting twisted around his legs and he’s to struggle to get them loose again. He just wants to sleep. Jensen just wants to sleep. Just wants to sleep and forget about the day he had.

Then the humming changes, starts to become more frequent, like a wave. Then motions of the space around him start to settle into his bones sooner than he’d expected, make him drowsy, sleepy. He feels better already, it’s familiar again.

Jensen drifts off.





Any second now.

Sleep should be there any second now. It feels close, already trying to claim his mind, making him sack down even more into the mattress. Any second now and he’ll have the much needed sleep he’s been craving for days.

Vibrations softly whirring through his bones, make him sleepy and content in that certain way he likes. The thump-thump of the tires beneath him, the warmth of his cot and the soft voices muffled only by thin walls have him drifting in and out of sleep for how long, he doesn't know.

Exhaustion makes his brain lethargic, unable to focus on the thoughts that keep it from completely shutting down. He’s not really asleep but not awake either. This in-between state is welcome and long-awaited.

Any second now.

Sleep is what he needs, what he wants. Being so close to it has his lip twitching in a content smile, his breath slowing down enough to be relaxing. His mind is sinking into unconsciousness like it has wanted to for hours. It simply celebrates victory over the agitated state he'd been stuck in for much of the day.

The constant motion of the bus pulls him further away from wakefulness. He’s glad that he’s used to it after years of living on the road. It’s not too rocky, the engine not too loud. It’s really kind of perfect, even the orange safety lights that usually annoy him make it a little better now. It feels like home, like the place he has grown up in.

And it is exactly that. Home. One he might be close to losing despite his best efforts. That one thought is enough to have him growl under his breath. Eyes snapping open again and ‘any second now’ becomes ‘probably not tonight.’

“Goddammit.” Even his voice is sleepy, low and rough, strained after the effort he’d put it through this evening. And not just by singing too rough, too loud, but by choking on his own breath when he couldn’t keep the panic at bay anymore.

His muscles ache, fingers twitch where they aren’t buried under his pillow. The curtain in front of his bunk is drawn closed and he knows he didn’t do it, thinks Danni or Sandy came in to check on him. They're worried, wondering if everything is still worth it when it seems like he’s losing his mind over it, when he keeps scaring them like he’s 15 and not ready to step onto the big stage.

Jensen’s just damn glad that he hasn’t broken down yet. But then again, if he does, it might bring them back into the headlines. Hell, let them speculate about drugs and wild nights if it keeps them from asking after new songs, new lyrics. Just the thought of these kinds of questions has Jensen twitching.

Right now everything feels like it’s gliding through his fingers, slipping away. Just one phone call and his world is about to crumble around him - around all of them. It’s been months since they’ve been told it’s time for something new, since they were threatened by the label to have it all taken away. The label’s pushing for new songs. Over the phone and not even face to face.

He sighs, tries to turn around again and twist his body just so he might be able to fall asleep. The air is still too stuffy, closing in on him. The bunk is doing the rest. He feels strangely detached, like although this is his life, he’s just watching from the outside, watching himself being close to surrender, and letting the pressure get to him. Jensen doesn’t like what he sees but at the same time can’t be bothered to fight it anymore.

They're on tour. Have been for months. No studio stops, no promo dates. Like it has been for years. It’s what they know and how they like it. Resigned and but also maybe a little too arrogant to try and change it. Not yet willing to give it all up, which is probably the only incentive they have right now.

But the label wants something new. Change and sales to make it worth their while. No matter how, no matter through whom, it's just the money counts. And the band’s losing their window back to success. Fast. Very fast.

Same old songs, same old shows. They're famous enough still, holding some power but not enough to just up and go, to look for a new label or found their own. Just not enough backing power or just not enough courage, Jensen’s not sure anymore. All he knows is that it can’t go on like this. Three years and counting, no charts, no new cash source and a management that's about to abandon them. It can’t keep going on like this, not when he doesn’t want to break down completely.

He has to hold it together for a while longer.

Has to find something that makes him write again, makes him their creative head again. Something he’s always been and somehow lost along the way. Nothing flows anymore, not words, not notes, not feelings. These days it’s mostly emptiness that resides in his head. He can’t even come up with a simple rhyme or a tag line for the melody Chris keeps playing. There’s nothing anymore and they all know it.

Most of their hits - penned by him and Danni, with Chris and Mike pitching in - are years old. It worked until it didn’t anymore. None of them know what happened but sometimes Jensen thinks it's him.

Life on the road has been getting to him, it's finally caught up with him in a way he never thought possible. Jensen misses home, misses his family and talking to his momma on the phone for hours is just not enough anymore.

Jensen fingers the patch with the band’s name glued to the ceiling of his bunk. It’s one of his own designs. Swirls and blocky letters. One of the very first he’d ever drawn and which the label loved so much that they started using it. His finger tips glide over them, trace the letters and he whispers the name.



The Benders.

No one knows, not anymore, how they came up with the name, how it developed into a synonym of what they are. It’s just them, bending their dreams, the world, everything, to fit what they want in life. It sounded right the first time Mike mentioned it as a joke.

It still fits and Jensen isn’t ready to let it all ago, even though maybe he should. Everything has it’s time, his dad used to say, and everything has its end, eventually. But Jensen's not ready. Not now, not when he knows he’s too young and that there's so much more inside all of them.

“Fuck.” A flop, a twist of legs and the cover is gone, leaving him in just sweats and a thin t-shirt exposed to the stuffy air in the sleeping area. His eyes feel gritty, crusted and sore.
Jensen struggles to sit up, has to bend forward to not hit his head against the top bunk. When his feet touch the carpeted floor, he almost steps on one of Danni’s cameras, cursing out loud again. In the dim light of the bus he grabs it, puts it into Danni’s bag, and just knows she’d kill him if he ruined it.

It lies there innocently, one of the biggest signs that things have changed a lot through the years. They all have their loves on the side, away from the band and the business. They all keep them close and wait for the one moment where they can let them loose.

Jensen can’t imagine Danneel without a camera anymore, capturing every aspect of their lives. It’s her way to see this life, to really see it and not just get lost in its waves. Danni’s pictures are like a mirror, showing dark sides and happy interludes, creating a reality that is much more stark and real than anything they could ever experience on stage.

Just like Mike’s paintings, Chris’ country band side project, Sandy’s dancing school and Jensen’s own sketches he keeps mostly to himself these days. It’s still them but such very different sides that they’ve developed their own lives, parallel to a world where they aren’t welcome.

Jensen stumbles through the room, blinking at flashes of streetlights through the half closed curtains in the back of the bus. He’s dizzy with the lack of sleep, dizzy from the thoughts and worries. Dizzy from the attack that took him by surprise.

A quick pat along his jacket, a small step to the right. The tiny bathroom the only place where he can open a window. Humid but surprisingly cool air meets him once the latch is undone and he’s sitting on the closed toilet. Luxury of bands on tour, they still get the big version of a tour bus.

Jensen shakes his head, wonders why his thoughts get stuck on the fact that he might lose the bus. It’s the details that count sometimes. He moves, tries to get his legs into a halfway comfortable position and winces when he stubs his bare toe against one of Sandy’s dancing shoes. He glances down, lets the shiny purple of the leather catch his attention for a while.

The urge to light up takes over again. They all curse him for smoking, for ruining his voice - but he just can’t stop. Doesn’t want to, if he’s honest. It calms him more than one of Danni’s lullaby’s ever can. Not exactly hiding it but trying not to rub it in, Jensen always finds a quiet place.

The first inhale makes him close his eyes and sag against the plastic interior of the small cabin. The stars are out tonight, even the moon is visible. Not one cloud, not even a little bit of dust. They are in the middle of nowhere. It’s not the first time Jensen feels like this is the exact point in life he’s tied to right now.

He takes another drag, watches the end of the cigarette light up, once, twice and then goes back to just glowing in the dark. Smoke leaves him in puffs, twirls around until it reaches the open window and mixes with the humid night air.

His legs cramp when he’s on his second. It's not worth losing his limps over a cigarette, so he stubs it out and lets it join the other in the glass half full of water. He’s not about to start a bush fire, he can be responsible when he wants to.

Jensen rolls his eyes at himself and promptly smacks against the shower head. This is really not the best place to indulge his addiction.







Danni’s soft, melodic voice drifts towards him in waves when he leaves the bathroom.
Jensen can’t hear the words but instinctively knows it’s something new, something different from what she usually does. It sounds soft, like a ballad maybe. This is not their style, only the occasional ballad or a country-rock song in the mix but it's mostly rock for them, all the way.

Jensen moves slowly, puts on socks first because he always gets cold feet on the bus. Then he shuffles towards the bigger area in the middle of the bus. They dubbed it the ‘creative tank’ but it’s just a glorified way to say they leave all their stuff laying around and are usually too lazy or too tired to sort it out.

It has been like this since they started. Twelve years ago. They went in circles ever since. Recorded, went on tour, sold their souls and set it all on repeat. The vagabond life style everyone talks about, it’s theirs.

And now Danni's sitting out there, doing something she's never done before and it breaks his heart a little. She sings, writes words she wouldn’t otherwise. She is doing it because he can’t.

The feeling inside of him is so close to hope that he wants to curse it. Hope, right now, is the only thing he’s got left and he can’t go around spending it on every little thing that looks, sounds, promising.

Jensen glances towards the bunk, knows real sleep won’t come tonight. Forcing it never works, not without meds or a good amount of Jack or José. Might be an option, later. He shuffles again and groans when his muscles cramp up in protest again. This show tonight all but killed him and he feels older than he is. It’s been a constant lately, that he feels the years, feels them creeping up on him.

His sweats slide down a little and he pulls them up while he moves through the back area of the bus and out to where the others are. The ‘creative tank’ or, really, the living area, is basically couches arranged in a half-moon and a tiny table in the middle. There is a small kitchen opposite it.

Jensen blinks at the sudden light and just flops down on one of the couches, eyes closed and praying that the headache he feels approaching will stay away for just a little while longer.

“Jensen? Thought you were sleeping,” Chris, voice low, as if not to disturb him in his exhausted state of mind and Jensen smiles a little.

“Almost, too many thoughts.” he mumbles and slides down even more, pillows his head on what turns out to be Danni’s lap and sighs.

“He smoked,” Sandy whispers, so that everyone can actually hear her. Jensen rolls his eyes again, this time behind closed lids. He’s not so stupid as to try and deny it. No reason to.

They all know why he’s doing it again. Pressure, stress, insomnia, newly developed - or back again as it seems - panic attacks, all accepted reasons within the band. They even made a list once, accepted reasons for Jensen to smoke, he found it hilarious until he realized they were serious.

Legs keep sliding off the couch until he grumbles and stretches out fully, taking up more space than necessary. No one says a word. There are fingers in his hair, softly combing and massaging and he feels himself finally drifting off. A shutter clicks, another addition to the tour album. Jensen smiles, feels at home.

The last thing he hears is Sandy cursing the label and Chris taking up the melody Danni is humming. It’s like it always is, like it always was on the bus. But it still feels so very different, now. Now that it could be the last time they're doing this.

Then, without realizing it he hums the melody that is drifting through the air and hopes for words to come to him. His mind is blank and words stay hidden. Jensen falls asleep feeling lost.





When he blinks awake again, the sun's coming through the tinted windows and he’s sprawled out on the couch, Sandy’s frilly pink blanket draped over him and a freshly brewed cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Must have been what woke him.

Engine hums low and tires still thump beneath him, still moving then. Jensen struggles into a sitting position to look of the window. Rubs his eyes and grinds his teeth at the sting that penetrates his sleep-fogged mind.

Nothing but wide, flat land, brown from the summer sun and lack of rain. It's been the same view for days now and Jensen longs for something different. He misses the coast, misses the cool fresh air of the mountains. What good does being on tour do if he can’t go to his favorite places anymore?

But those days are over, sometimes it’s still big stadiums and festivals but more often than not it’s small clubs and malls in the middle of nowhere. And Jensen's tired of it.

He blinks out of the window again, asphalt flying by and blue sky making the stretch seem endless. Cool glass against his skin wakes him up a little more, but this already feels like a day where the state of wakefulness will be constantly challenged. Jensen feels dizzy all over again.

The coffee is good, a sign that Mike’s awake and taking care of things. Beer bottles and wine glasses are safely stacked away now instead of rolling around on the floor. Take-out cartons have vanished and music sheets been stacked into the side pocket of one of the couches.
Mike is their good soul, promiscuous like no human has the right to be, crazy as hell and obsessed with cleaning but an awesome friend and a even more awesome drummer. Mike was the first one to suggest a band when they were just kids, imagining big careers with millions of records sold and awards piling up in their houses.

They have that.

Jensen can’t say he hates it, but his love has dwindled away over the daily routine and all the things that went wrong along the way. They've been around for twelve years and it’s not the first time that Jensen thinks it might be enough. Only, he can’t imagine any other life, can’t imagine not being on a stage - whether small as fuck or huge as hell, or not performing, creating a show, writing music.

It’s one of the fan’s favorite questions during Q&As, what they would be if the band hadn’t worked out. Everyone in the band has an idea, photography, dance school, country band side project, painting, only Jensen can never answer. It’s not something he thinks about or can imagine.

The fact that he might have to now scares the shit out of him.

“Morning, Jenny.”

Jensen only so much as groans, trying to get Mike to drop that nickname after almost two decades is kind of a moot point now.

“Rose,” Jensen greets him into his coffee because there's no way he’ll deal with Mike without a decent amount in his system. Everyone knows that he’s not up to anything that involves higher brain functions before at least one cup in the morning. And sleeping on the couch out here doesn’t really help with improving his mood.

Mike just shrugs and goes to prepare breakfast. “Stop thinking, Jen. Dark thoughts make my pink ones wither and I hate to start the day in a foul mood. One of us in it is enough, don’t you think?” Mike doesn’t even turn, just goes on with cutting onions. Jensen just grins.

“Sorry.” There isn’t much more he can say now anyway.

“No worries. You know we’ll manage, right? It’s not the first time they pulled an ultimatum like that and we always managed to deliver.” There's hope in those words and Jensen wants to scream, wants to yell at Mike not to waste his hope on something so … well, hopeless. But he just sighs and sinks back against the soft cushions and cradles his cup in both hands.

“Last time our latest record hadn’t been three years old.” He sounds more dejected then he wants to.

“They're working on it,” is all Mike'll say and then they let the silence settle around them.

Right now the humming engine and the thump of the tires beneath him calm Jensen, more than it did last night and he looks back out of the window, wanting to see where they are.
First houses appear, flash by in mere seconds and then are replaced by a constant line of building. Jensen has long given up on wondering what this mall will look like. After a while, they all look the same.





The show is good. Not as good as the club they did the night before, but okay. Or as okay as shows in crowded malls can be. Their songs echoing around them, against glass and steel, screams and shouts covering their softer melodies.

It’s not perfect, it’s a job and Jensen feels it. It’s not fun, not a dream he’s living, it’s really just a job and he knows it’s not supposed to feel like this. He spares a thought, wonders when it became a burden to perform, when it became so dull and even then he can’t think of an exact moment.

It’s been a gradual development, Jensen realizes halfway through the show, slow and creeping in without him noticing. Routine where it shouldn’t be.

Sadness envelopes him through one song and he almost falters right in the middle of it. He knows this song by heart, wrote it when he was twenty and so completely gone for someone that he couldn’t help but write it down. Still, he forgets the words and only sense memories guides him through it until he’s back on track and singing on.

He misses the feeling he had when he played it for the first few times, the elation at the fact that he wrote this, that it sounds awesome and actually shows his feelings in every word and note. But it’s gone and Jensen struggles through the rhythm like he never played an instrument in his life.



Danni knows, has been there when he almost cried over his loss of feelings when it happened the first time in a mall similar to this. Now she looks at him with knowing eyes and leads them into the next song without so much as nodding. Jensen knows why he loves her so much, knows why she's his best friend.

After that the show goes on okay, no more dives into memory on his side.

The autograph session is exhausting, though. Jensen’s not in the mood, afraid the panic might come back and it shows. His attempts to hide it are limited in success, but he keeps on smiling and signing. Still, something in the back of his mind is ready to snap. Shaking hands are just the smallest problem and at least fans think it’s cute anyway. He’s the shy one, after all.

And then one guy just freaks out when Mike gets supposedly too close to his girlfriend. It'd be funny, except that it's not and ends up with security cutting everything short and fans booing.

Jensen loves mall shows, really. The sarcasm in his head is so scathing that he has to bite his tongue several times on the way out of the mall.

When they're back on the bus, on the road to the next show, Jensen contemplates just popping some sleeping pills and submitting to exhaustion. He can’t stand the thought of another night tossing and turning, thinking and trying to keep this claustrophobic feeling under control. And his knuckles hurt like hell due to the freak guy and his overly developed sense of jealousy as well as his apparent tendency to hit first before using his brain to think.

Sometimes Jensen’s glad that management made them all do self defense courses during the first years. It’s really come in handy lately, which is another reason why Jensen's starting to hate mall tours with a passion.

The bus stops in the middle of nowhere, between cities, a spot marked on a map that has become something of a red flag to him. Jensen never really knows where they are anyway. It’s not important anymore.

It’s a small town along the highway and the bus needs gas. Jensen sits in the tank and watches everyone pile out into the humid air. Fiddling with the leather band around his wrist and waiting to be told what to do. Sacked out on the couch like he’s eighty Jensen’s sure he looks very attractive just now.

Sandy and Danneel, already planning what to buy at the 7 Eleven across the street, Chris is on the phone arguing over stock prices and Mike just following them. Jensen smiles.

That’s the band, bass and voice; voice, guitar and drums. It leaves Jensen alone with Steve, their driver and occasional stand in. The night is young still but Jensen doesn’t feel like going outside, then does it anyway. The bus becomes too small after a while.

Orange streetlights cast a weird glow on the shiny white bus and Jensen, on a whim, takes his notebook with him. He hasn’t written a single line in months, stares at the blank pages every time he tries. If he can't write on the bus, he might as well not write everywhere.

A wall of humidity hits him when he steps onto the still-warm asphalt. Jensen’s only wearing thin sneakers and feels the heat of the day on his soles. Steve pats him on the back, locks up the bus and heads towards the gas pump.

Jensen's alone.

He’s itching to get away, to leave it all behind for just a little while. There are lyrics in his head and he needs to sort them out, away from everyone and everything that has been so oppressing lately.

The move to the pack in his back pocket is almost natural now, has been for a bit again. The cigarette is in his mouth lightened before he's even taken a couple of steps. He doesn’t think about the phone call now, just starts walking and cursing the heat around him. They're somewhere in Texas he thinks, the place has that feel of ‘close to home’ to it and Jensen thinks he remembers Mike saying something about seeing their families soon.

Jensen walks a while, smokes and looks around, into darkened shop fronts, lightened info boxes, side alleys. It’s not long before he reaches the end of the main street and therefore the end of the small town. It’s darker here, but not in a scary way. Jensen can see the bus at the other end of the street and just flops down onto the curb.

The main street lies before him, like a path he just walked and doesn’t remember. It’s all cast in shadows and small stripes of orange light, making patterns on the asphalt and the buildings. Jensen has lyrics swirling around his mind but his hands stay clenched around the notebook.

Then he’s sketching, patterns, shadow and light, the street takes form on paper and it’s better than nothing, better than missing words that are there but won’t come out. Buildings start to take shape, get tags on their walls that aren’t there, elaborate graffiti Jensen never dared to paint anywhere but his mind or sketchbook.

The clenching in his chest subsides a little, lets go enough that he can breath again. He knows it’s connected to the missing words, the way his mind refuses to work. The panic creeps in, slow, dangerously so. He should be used to it but can never predict when it gets to him.

When he was younger it was talking to people, making contact, finding the right words, that set it off. Now it’s only about finding the right words and that is somehow so much more important. Jensen refuses to think about the pills that could help, that would destroy his last remaining thread of creativity. He’ll manage without. He will.

Bass, dull and thrumming has him looking up, frowning and listening into the night. Jensen gets up, moves closer and at the same time thinks he shouldn’t. The music's coming from somewhere behind the houses, a drumming beat and bass that goes through and through. Jensen taps his foot with the beat, smiles a little at happy shrieks and laughter coming from the same direction.

It’s quiet otherwise, cicadas and that drumming beat. It fits the small town feeling and the knowledge that he might be close to home. There are a few stars coming through the light pollution and he wonders what it looks like just outside this small city. But he just can’t bring himself to move away and take a look.

Movement a little down the street catches his eye then and he realizes that Danni is dragging Sandy towards the thumping bass. Of course, they want to party. They're walking toward him, talking and giggling, and for a second he wants to hide somewhere. He’s not in the mood to be jolly and happy. He just wants to sit here and brood and feel sorry for himself.

But, just a second later, it's too late. Jensen barely even starts to protest when they have him halfway down the alley, but neither of girls listens to him. He tucks the notebook into the back of his jeans and decides to just let it happen.

“Come on, Jense. Party. You need to relax. Just tonight. Let’s go and dance away the bad mood.” Sandy is quirky as always but Jensen can see how much she needs to forget, if only for just one night, but they all need it. So he lets them drag him along, smiles when Danni whoops once the music become clear.

It’s just their kind of thing.

They enter the club without paying solely to the fact that the doorman seems to melt once he realizes who they are. Sandy is off as soon as they are inside. The club is packed, moving bodies all around and Sandy plants herself right in the middle of it.

Danni grins at him when Jensen looks at her, leans close and tries to be heard over the music. Hand on his back, mouth close to his ear; he can barely hear a thing she says.

“See it as inspiration, Jen. New ideas, maybe you’ll find them here. Save our record deal in a club, dancing.” She looks hyped at her own idea, sadness all but gone from her eyes and Jensen thinks doing this might actually a good idea. New ideas. It’s what they need but when he watches those moving, grinding bodies Jensen’s ideas have nothing to do with lyrics or songs.

Before he can go down that path, Danni takes his arm and he finds himself in the middle of the dance floor, right next to his two bandmates, who are already in the process of turning heads and taking victims.

Jensen dances, loses himself in the beat, the movement around him. It’s hot and humid, more so than it was outside, but in here Jensen doesn’t mind it too much. His t-shirt is soaked but he dances on, grinds and lets hands grab on to him.

Sandy’s there, slinging arms around him to keep from being pushed away by the wave of dancing people. She smiles, laughs happily when Danni joins them. And not for the first time Jensen thinks he should tell them that they aren’t as subtle as they think they are. But then it’s their thing, their decision when to tell and he isn’t even sure if it’s more than just a thing between them. They’ve always been close; some times more than others but never really anything they had to talk about.

Jensen suddenly just hopes they’ll still have each other once they're done with this part of their lives.

Then Danni grinds against him and his thoughts are unfocused again, more in the moment, with the music. Hands slide under his shirt and Jensen doesn’t even try to stop them. When the shirt is gone - tucked into his waistband, covering the notebook - he feels better, less restrained.

Jensen feels his muscles relaxing, taking on the movements of the body behind him. And he knows it’s not Danni anymore. The body’s hot, well muscled and feels so damn good against his back and it’s distinctively male. Strong hands on his hips guide him into a different rhythm every time the music changes.

Jensen sees the grin on Sandy’s face, blinks at the wink she gives him and almost grabs onto her when she turns and just continues dancing with Danni. He’s a little lost but doesn’t want to stop dancing.

The guy probably knows who he is and just wants a piece of Jensen Ackles - out and proud ever since they got on the big stage. Jensen’s not jaded but it’s been like this more often than not. Might be that the guy has no clue, though, and Jensen wants to dance and doesn’t want to be alone.

Words are suddenly spinning through his mind. He sees Sandy, Danni and then Mike as well. Dancing, moving, grinding bodies and gentle hands on his skin. He sees the lights flashing, feels the beat thrumming through his body, settling in his bones. And the words are just there.

Jensen turns, just moves and slings his arms around the guy that’s now in front of him. The sweat slick skin feels even hotter under his fingers than it did against his back. The muscles on broad shoulders are perfect to just hold on to and Jensen closes his eyes, lets his head drop and hips move.

The guy is taller than him and that fact alone makes Jensen’s stomach flutter a little. It’s been way too long since he indulged, since he allowed himself to just be Jensen, since he didn’t worry about his public image and how to come across as aloof and unattainable.

And he misses it, misses just being able to go out dancing without hordes of fans or paparazzi following. Well, lately his wish has become more and more reality. But he’s not thinking about that now. Jensen tilts his head up and goes with the urge, the need, to look.

Curious, hazel eyes are flashing down at him, clear and wide awake but still somewhat clouded by the endorphins dancing sets free. They are beautiful eyes, expressive and kind. For a second Jensen wonders how he can see so clearly in the dim light of the club. Then the guy smiles and Jensen’s lost.

His heart thumps wildly in his chest, a sensation that is so strong that he gasps a little. It hasn’t felt like this in years, maybe never before. It’s like he’s drawn to the body moving right in front of him. Slick skin slides together, thighs rub and swing, hips swivels and move to the rhythm of the beat.

There's something happening there, between them and Jensen can’t stop it.

They dance for a long time, just them, not letting anyone cut in and Jensen’s ridiculously happy that the guy seems to be on the same page. The hands on his hips clench slightly, finger tips moving restlessly over his heated skin. They dance, move, don’t speak or communicate in any other way but their bodies sliding together.

The words and notes are still there, whirling through his mind, making him groan and twitching for his notebook but the guy doesn’t let him go for a long time. Jensen doesn’t want him to anyway.

“Wait for me,” is whispered into his ear before Jensen’s alone on the dance floor, feeling even more lost and somehow bereft now. Jensen shivers, cooler air suddenly makes it to his skin where the guy’s chest had been sliding against it before.



Blinking around he sees several others just waiting to jump at him, get their chance to dance, to touch, to maybe even more. Jensen doesn’t feel like it anymore, presses through the masses, sees Sandy and Danni gyrating and decides to just hide in a corner and watch.

Wait for me echoes through his mind, loud and clear, as if it hadn’t been whispered. Jensen’s pretty sure he should have done just that but the spell was broken and the lyrics in his head won’t leave him alone. He can’t think, needs to write them down and it can’t happen on the middle of the dance floor.

Bodies part in front of him when he rushes through, focused on a free spot against the wall, Jensen doesn’t even care for the hands on him or the tugs on his jeans. He’s not reacting, just moves, the spot is his and he won’t let it all go to waste now.

Floppy brown hair, slanted eyes that are burned into his memory, make him scratch a sketch on to the blank page of his note book first. It’s like opening a gate. The sketch first and then the words, the key notes, the melody. He’s humming now, the same song Danni has managed to get him hooked on just by trying to find words for it the night before.

It works and he’s scribbling away, leaning against a dark wall in a club and totally lost in his own world.

The last few weeks, his thoughts, his fear of an uncertain future, all that pours into the words, into the ink leaving the pen and spreading on the paper. Jensen sees the color spreading, sees his hand move but doesn’t see more than swirls and patterns.

New ideas, they had said, new songs, new ways. That’s what they want, that’s what could save the record deal. All Jensen knows right now is that he’s writing something he’s never written before and it all comes down to strong hands on his skin and hazel eyes burning into his.

Nothing goes as planned
Everything will break
People say goodbye
In their own special way
All that you rely on
And all that you could fake
Will leave you in the morning
Come find you in the day
Oh, you’re in my veins, and I cannot get you out

Jensen squints at the words, feels that they are right and smiles. It feels like triumph, feels like a new beginning. Hope is back and for once he doesn’t try to suppress it. The music still thrums around him, envelops him in a bubble he doesn’t want to leave right now.

But, of course, things never go according to plan in Jensen Ackles’ life these days. The one second he looks up from the page, from the lyrics, his eyes catch on to the lean, muscled body he’s been pressed against almost the whole time he’s been in the club.

The guy - and he probably should find out his name - comes out of the men’s room, looking flushed and glowing, somehow even more gorgeous than before. He’s smiling a dimpled smile and turns to the man that’s following him. Jensen looks on, doesn’t move but suddenly has a strange feeling about it all.

Laughter drifts over to Jensen, he isn’t that far away from the place where they're standing. He instantly likes the sound, feels it vibrating through him in waves. He shivers again, not because of loss or the cold but because something is happening to him and he’s slowly losing control.

The two men stand too close, smile too familiar with each other, and Jensen’s heart clenches a little when the new guy touches tall guy. It’s not like he has any claim on him, not after just a few dances and especially not after not even knowing the man’s name. It’s probably just Jensen being desperate for something new and the image of the guy swirling through his mind.

It’s also the fact that those few dances were enough inspiration, set something off inside of Jensen and he just doesn’t want to ignore that.

They still stand to close but tall guy scans the dance floor now, searching, looking and Jensen feels the butterflies at the thought it might be him he’s looking for. It’s too dark to see any reaction and Jensen’s too much a realist to think there’s disappointment on the guy’s face.
When he turns back to the other man Jensen stomps hard on the feeling that’s welling up inside of him. It’s stupid and really not the right place or time.

The moment money is offered and tall guy takes it, Jensen pushes away from the wall, forces himself not to look back at the scene and makes his way towards Sandy and Danni. Figures that the guy that makes him write again after months and months of useless crap is a hooker, someone paid to make you feel good. Probably even knew all along who Jensen is and really wants to land the catch of the evening. Go figure.

Anger wells up inside of him, anger and disappointment. Jensen feels weirdly hot, like a fever but stronger, wilder inside of him. He wants to burn the pages he wrote, wants to forget. But it’s their last chance and he’ll take it.

Sandy grins when he reaches them, slings arms around him and moves. Any other time and he’d been happy to oblige, not tonight. Tonight the words in his mind are still pushing and he feels like screaming at everything and everyone in the world. How this became his life he doesn’t know and he’s not sure that he’s dealing with it at all anymore. He wants out, just out.

“Am leaving,” he yells over the bass and doesn’t wait for either of the girls to answer, just pushes on through the crowd and breathes deeply when he’s outside again.

The way back to the bus is a blur, the music is still thumping, leaving him shivering with it. The notebook feels strange in his hand, like a foreign object and Jensen doesn’t know what to do with it for a second. Then he tucks it away and walks on.

Warm asphalt and humid air, nothing has changed. But then he thinks of the words he’s carrying with him, lets them roll on his tongue and hums the notes under his breath. His fingers want to pull the strings of his guitar and Jensen knows he won’t sleep tonight.

Steve’s already back at the bus, re-stocking the small kitchen and getting ready for the next hundred or so miles. It’s almost 3am and he looks fresh as a daisy. Jensen might be a little jealous of that. He thinks he must look all fucked up and spit out.

“Hey, Jen. You okay?”

It’s not just the obligatory question. There's concern and Jensen thinks he must look worse then he thought. Steve’s a friend, a good one, so Jensen nods but knows he’s not all too convincing. The wall of humidity seems to surround the bus, making it almost unbearable to be close to it. Jensen wants to be inside now, away from the world.

Words leave him without him wanting to but he thinks Steve deserves an answer that is more than just a movement of his head.

“Fine. Long night.”

Steve nods. He never was a man of many words but when he talks it’s right to the point. He hands a few Twinkies over and smirks.

“No worries, I won’t tell anybody. Comfort food.”

How Steve always knows what he needs is still some kind of mystery to Jensen but he’s stopped asking. He grabs the sweets and almost runs into the bus. Steve’s knowing snort makes him smile a little.

Jensen can hear Chris in the back of the bus, on the phone again, and settles down on the couch in the living area. He’s too hyped to go to bed now. The guitar is where he left it after the gig, he grabs it and just starts to play the notes that are on his mind.

He only stops to write them down and re-arrange them in ways that he’s never thought of before. Danni has been running around with them for weeks now, never had the time to show them all to Jensen. Last night was the first time that they settle into his mind for real, made a space where nothing has been growing for way too long now.

Jensen writes until Sandy stumbles in and looks thoroughly confused at the sight that greets her. Danni, right behind her, almost crashes them both to the floor with her momentum and giggles when Sandy keeps them upright.

“Jenny? What’ya doin?” The slur makes Jensen smile, they haven’t had a night out in a while and he is happy that the girls got to let loose tonight. They all need it right now.

“What’s it look like, Sands?” Jensen asks and writes one more line before he really looks at them. They are gorgeous, all flushed and tussled hair, reddened skin with a glow to them that's been missing lately. Things seem good between them and Jensen feels himself relax a little.

They stumble through the bus together and Sandy ends up patting him on the head.

“You doin' good, Jen. Will save us all.”

It has so much pathos in it that Jensen snorts, then laughs outright. He knows they believe it, hope that he’ll be the one to get them back on track, like so often before. Up until now Jensen didn’t think he could do it.

The pen feels heavy in his hand but now that they're back on the road, when the tires have been thumping for some time already and dawn is visible on the horizon, Jensen has a new song halfway done. It’s not their usual style, not what they've been doing for years but then again the record company has been asking for new and different.

Jensen wants to deliver. For the first time in more months than he cares to remember, he thinks he can do it. Really thinks he can beat this blockade that's settled in his head ever since that phone call.

Oh, you’re all I taste, at night inside of my mouth
Oh, you run away, cause I am not what you found
Oh, you’re in my veins, and I cannot get you out
Everything will change
Nothing stays the same
Nobody is perfect
Oh, but everyone is to blame



Part II