Get No Harder [part one]
part one.
"I need somebody with two strong arms." The man's weather-worn face tightens in scrutiny, eyeing Jensen's build. "Don't hurt to have a truck neither."
Jensen's truck is all he's got outside of too many scars and too few dollars in his wallet. Green paint on the old Chevy is wearing through in places; it's got too many bangs and scratches; it ain't worth a repair shop's time.
"So long as you're willing to work and get your hands dirty, I'll take you on."
Jensen stops worrying at the cuffs of his shirt long enough to shake the farmer's hand.
"I'm your man."
The Padalecki's farm is the biggest in the county, hundreds of acres spread out over northwestern Missouri. If there was a better place to go for work, Jensen didn't know it. His options were slim and there was no way he'd risk straying any closer to major cities. Heading west, he'd whipped through St. Louis as fast as his humble Chevy would take him. Threw a pin at the map and ended up here, catching a printed flyer calling for a general handyman on a telephone pole in town.
There are miles of fences to fix during the first two weeks, a job that had fallen by the wayside, Mr. Padalecki tells him. Jensen's truck groans under the weight of fresh timber posts, his muscles begging for a break that isn't coming. Past when his bones urge him to stop, Jensen works until Mr. Padalecki-Gerry-comes by and tells him to quit.
"I can do a few more."
"Sun'll be down in half an hour," Gerry says on that particular day, his white shirt gone beige with years of working outdoors. "Can't do much in the dark. You need to quit."
Jensen lets his hammer drop in the dry grass, sweat running down his temple gone with a wipe of his forearm. Gerry nods and walks away, never lets the conversation meander into anything more.
"I'll quit when I'm ready," Jensen growls to the setting sun, grabbing another post from the flatbed.
Tonight, he can go a bit longer.
~~~
When the fences are done, Gerry gets Jensen on one of the tractors. Shows him how to drive the lumbering relic through the fields.
Up in the seat, he's more exposed to the summer sun. It bakes through his shirt and broils into the deeper layers of his skin. Every night Jensen peels off his clothes and takes a lukewarm shower. Even that burns. He twists until the water pricks like icy needles on his shoulders, eyes squeezed tight. In a week he's gone through two bottles of aloe lotion and a can of benzocaine, skin smelling like cold chemicals all day long.
"You can work in the barns if you want." Gerry's looking at the broken skin on Jensen's hands, raw past the point of hard labor. "No need to suffer, 'cause I ain't cruel."
Jensen soaks up the pain and lets his mind smother it. "I'm good."
It takes Gerry longer to look away, eyes lingering more than they used to. "North fields, then. Four through ten. You should be done by quittin' time."
Highway's to the south meaning it's quiet on the northern edge of Padalecki's vast property. There's a creek that winds away from the river and swirls through a copse of shade trees. Between working fields eight and nine, Jensen takes a dip in the cool water.
He scrubs his arms quickly, hairs raised against the sudden chill. Won't touch his stomach, just sinks and lets the water surround him. Toes squish into the creek bed, muddy silt like a massage on the bottoms of his feet.
The sun steals the water back when Jensen gets out, cooling sensation gone in less than ten minutes. So much for relief.
He steers the tractor back around dusk, walks out of the barn to a sudden commotion coming from the porch of Padalecki's house.
"You were supposed to be here a month ago!"
Gerry's voice, livid in a way Jensen's never imagined hearing; the farmer's tone is scathing and Jensen's glad not to be the target.
"Didn't Mom tell you I was going to Daytona?"
Jensen's steps stop. He can't see who's talking but now he has a pretty big clue.
"You know she damn well didn't, Jared," the farmer shouts, the sound carried clearly across the yard. "I raised you better than this!"
"You didn't raise me at all!" The second voice fires back, much younger in tone and texture. "I don't owe you anything-"
"Owed me at least a damn phone call." Gerry's voice bleeds anger. If Jensen had a father, he'd never want to be raged at like this. Fate and fatherly cowardice spared him something, at least. "I had to hire someone on to do your job!"
Jensen starts to panic.
"Let him keep it," Jared spits. "I'll go home."
"You will not! You're gonna work. I ain't sending you back to your mother."
Jensen can't stay for the rest. He retreats to the Chevy, slams the door to seal himself inside.
I won't find another job. I don't want another job. I can't-
The words play on a loop until Jensen gets home. Home being little more than a spare bedroom above the Claridge's garage. An olive-green Tupperware bowl sits on the doorstep-still warm-when Jensen climbs the stairs. If it weren't for Pam Claridge being a generous cook at seventy-two years old, Jensen would starve. Again.
Into the shower and out; eat the homemade mac 'n cheese before it goes cold; wash it down with tap water. Jensen moves on autopilot until he collapses on the old spring mattress and the panic crawls back into his nerves.
Five a.m. gets closer but Jensen can't find his way to sleep. He doesn't pray but he hopes with everything in him that the job's not gone come morning. If that disappears, Jensen falls back into nothing and he might not make it out this time.
~~~
The sun's dull when it appears over the eastern horizon, gray light in Jensen's rearview as he pulls up to the largest barn.
Gerry's waiting.
Jensen walks over and thinks about dying. No one'll miss him; his mom will never be sober enough to hear the news.
"Jensen." Gerry sounds tired, too, as if his sleep was as thin as Jensen's. "Got some news. My son's back-"
The wave of depression rolls over him and pulls back, scraping Jensen over the rocks. He has to dig his nails into the meat of his palm-pain to cancel pain-just to hear.
"-and he's gonna be working along with you."
Jensen looks up. "I thought-"
"I know," Gerry says. "Jared was supposed to be here but never came. That's why I needed you. You've got a good head, Jensen. Always in your work. It ain't fair to cut you loose when my son won't work half as hard."
"Is he coming out?" It's nearly six and Jensen's got to get a move on. This is his job-he's going to own it now and make sure it stays that way.
"Can't seem to get him outta bed today." The old farmer scowls, glances back at the house. "I'll send him along."
~~~
He doesn't see Jared at all the first day. The second, Gerry meets Jensen in the morning with coffee and shakes his head.
"I'll send him along," he repeats.
Jensen heads out into the fields not caring one way or the other. Working alone, there's no one to hear him talk. He's never been good at listening to himself but out here he's trying. Spending a dozen-odd years in a haze, Jensen never had the time to get to know his own mind. Hard work earns him the clarity he used to hide from.
He's clearing an irrigation trench when he feels an odd pressure at the base of his spine, the weight of unfamiliar eyes. The young man leaning on Jensen's Chevy stares with sharp eyes and a pseudo-casual posture. Jensen meets his gaze for a second then buries his shovel back into the soil.
Five minutes pass; Jensen's got the trench a quarter of the way cleared.
"So you're Jensen."
The voice sounds better without the vitriol. Calm but condescending. Jensen keeps working.
"Are you gonna stop?
"Gerry wants the trench cleared out before lunch," Jensen explains, involuntarily toneless. "If I stop that won't happen."
"I'm Jared."
"I already know that."
Jensen doesn't ask for help and Jared stays put against the truck. The sun moves, lengthens Jared's already lean shadow. He's tall, big work boots leaving deep impressions in the soil. Tan skin, unmarred to Jensen's eyes, that wants to bask in the sun, not repel it with loose layers like Jensen.
The pile of dirt next to Jensen's feet grows; the trench gets deeper. Jared watches like it's fascinating but his eyes reveal the lie.
"Can I do something?"
"Do whatever you want," Jensen says, dull pain beginning to throb from wrist to shoulder as if his bones are being squeezed together. "You can leave if you want."
Jared pushes off the truck with his shoulders squared. "You'd tell my dad I was here?"
One of the things Jensen's learned about himself: he's not a liar anymore. Not with Gerry or the other farmhands.
"Nope."
He brings the shovel down hard, props himself on the handle. There's water in the truck but the ten yards between them turns into a minefield of awkward silences. Neck bared to the sun, Jensen lets his sweat evaporate.
The truck's door creaks on old hinges, opens then rattles shut. Jensen turns and sees Jared standing in front of him with the sweating water jug.
"I know I'd need it," Jared says, no trace of that light Midwestern drawl in his voice. He resembles his dad in other ways-in the angle of his nose and arch of his brow, the tight pull of his lips when he holds back a thought.
The water's cool, slides down his parched throat like ice on hot skin melting away the hurt. Jared looks out towards the west, tilting the sunglasses that had been pushed up in his hair.
"How long have you been here?" Jared starts the conversation once Jensen's digging again.
Putting his back into the job, every breath a small accomplishment, Jensen doesn't answer. Jared caps the water and stashes it in the cab, hems of his pants the only part of him that's dirty.
Might be minutes, might be hours. Jensen works until the sun's directly overhead. He's shocked that Jared's still watching. The trench is clear, soil smoothed back into the adjacent fields.
"Done yet?"
Jensen promised to spend a few hours in the soybean fields and, if there's time left in the day, give his truck the oil change it's needed for a month but Jensen couldn't afford. He throws his shovel in the flatbed, walks past Jared who's rocking on his heels, long arms crossed defensively.
"Heading in for lunch?"
Jensen's fortunate today-cold, leftover macaroni's gonna make a decent lunch. Better than water or stale coffee. Jared climbs in the truck when Jensen does, taking up too much space on the passenger side, and he scowls at Jensen's silence.
"Can I at least have a ride back?" Jared asks. "I swear, you don't have to talk to me."
So Jensen says nothing and Jared sighs as the engine turns over.
~~~
If Jared doesn't bother working, Jensen doesn't bother talking. No matter how many questions the farmer's son spews, Jensen ignores him. But Jared picks up on that quickly-he works even if there's barely any effort behind it.
Sometimes, Jensen's quiet regardless. Jared talks through the hours and barely notices how one-sided things are.
At an outlying section of fence, Jared brings up his mom. A bitter topic Jensen wants to block out, but he keeps digging a new post hole.
"I didn't even want to come out here," he's saying, contributing to the work by holding the new post while Jensen digs, sets, and fills. "I've never liked it out here, there's nothing to do. Jacksonville's so much better. You've got football, the beach, boats. Have you been there?"
A few seconds lapse-Jared's learned that when Jensen wants to answer, he does it quickly-and he continues.
"A bunch of my friends were going to Daytona Beach for two weeks, so I had to go. Not like my dad needed me-he had you. But man, it was great. Jet skiing, a different bar every night, and dancing until I went deaf. I fucking love clubbing."
Dark rooms, too many bodies. Sweat and liquor and every other kind of sin in the air. The promise of everything if you were just willing to party. Jensen remembers.
He digs harder.
~~~
More often than not, Jensen's been in the field for a few hours by the time Jared comes out. Today, Jared walks up just before ten with a paper bag and a navy blue baseball cap which he hands to Jensen.
"The sun's got your number, man," he says. "You have enough freckles. They're gonna burn in permanently."
Jensen takes the cap. It's soft at the edges, old and broken-in. He likes it instantly.
"I found it in my closet. I don't usually keep much here. All my stuff's in Florida or at school."
Instead of waiting on a thank you, Jared tosses the bag in the truck and says, "That's lunch. You never take breaks and it sucks."
"You need a break?" It just comes out of Jensen's mouth, thoughts to words. But Jared grins like an idiot.
"Touché, and you're a dick."
Living up to the name, Jensen's quiet for hours even after Jared picks up the spare shovel. But he does eat the extra sandwich Jared brought, grateful for a way to keep the edge off of his hunger.
On Friday, Jared leads off with a heavier question.
"So why are you here?"
They're repairing the oldest tractor, more rust than paint on the body. It probably shares mechanical DNA with Jensen's truck. Jared observes, not a single fingerprint of grease or rust on his t-shirt, and hands over tools when he's asked.
"I'm here to work." Jensen tightens a bolt and hands the wrench back.
"That's deep," Jared mocks. "How about the real reason?"
The real reason is a thousand miles and a lifetime away where it's nobody's business but Jensen's. He sits up next to the tractor but Jared's eyes are unwavering.
"Don't make me guess. You won't like it."
Jensen shrugs. Reality's bad enough; a guess won't come close.
"You lost your job. Did you get caught screwing the boss's daughter?" He passes Jensen a heavy pair of pliers. "Or you're divorced. Saw the wife cheating and you bailed."
Crouching down, a draft tickles Jensen's midsection where his shirt's ridden up. He tugs it down in a flash, overbalancing and dropping the pliers. Jared's inane guesses stop in a heartbeat. There's a question left over in the silence. Quiet interrogation, one staring and one avoiding that gaze.
Finally, Jared hops off the workbench and Jensen nearly sags into the rusted metal body.
"Fine, I don't really give a shit." Jared's voice holds more anger than his expression.
Jensen feels him stomp out of the storage shed, light vibrations up through his joints. He's left to scrape harsh patterns into the dust and dirt by his knees, denying the hope that Jared might have been lying just now.
Pam brings up a chicken breast and sweet potatoes that night; she rarely lingers in Jensen's doorway past small talk. Jensen eats but barely tastes. He wonders if Jared saw-if Jensen's scars forced him out of the shed on hasty feet. No one would blame him. Jensen least of all.
Without knowing the truth, what would Jared tell his father? There's so much Jared could assume in a split-second, most of it off-target, but there could be enough to tear holes in the thin peace Jensen's made on the farm.
Logically he needs to think about his options, but logic's steered Jensen into black holes before and, truth is, he wants nothing beyond this job. The last two months have been the most stable Jensen can remember being and there's no going back without consequences.
~~~
Gerry's cussing into his cell phone when Jensen walks into the barn early the next morning.
"Next time you lower the price without askin' me, you can kiss my business goodbye." The phone clicks shut and Jensen watches Gerry's chest deflate. "Sorry about that, Jensen. Did you need something?"
"Keys to the gates off road fourteen," Jensen says. "I'll get them back to you right after lunch."
"I might as well just make you a master set." Gerry digs in the pockets of his heavy-duty cargoes. "Save you the trouble of askin'."
"Sure." Hope is kindled in Jensen's chest, glowing at the chance for permanence. "Is Jared coming out today?"
Gerry hands over the weighty ring of keys. "He said something about not working weekends. Kids never change, always wantin' to play on Saturdays."
It's easy to forget things like weekends exist. Jensen usually works straight through and individual days lose their meaning.
"Y'know, you can take time off. Drive into Kansas City or something and save me the overtime."
"You don't pay me overtime," Jensen points out.
"I don't?" Gerry's grinning, contour lines make his smile deeper. An expression Jensen wouldn't mind seeing on the farmer's son. "Well, don't call the authorities on me and I'll see about fixin' that."
Jensen quits early that day when a line of storms march through, driving fat drops of rain into the soil and lighting up the sky. He drives back to the Claridge's ahead of the churning clouds but he gets drenched on his way up the stairs.
Sunday, he's back on the farm and it's the quietest day of the week. Jensen clears debris from the violent weather with a few other hands who decided on working, and he never once sees Jared.
By Monday, his relief has morphed into frustration. It's past noon and there's no sign of Jared coming out to work. A shade of Jensen's old personality itches for any kind of confrontation: the sharp burn of a fight with the rush of adrenaline that kick-starts other needs. He buries his annoyance in the fields, working hard alongside a dozen other men.
He's knee-deep in composting soybean plants on Wednesday when Jared shows his face.
"Miss me?" Jared asks dryly. His mouth is unaffected, pulled in a tight line. Wrinkled gray shirt over darkly threaded jeans, toes on display in leather sandals; Jared clearly hasn't come out to work.
Jensen doesn't bother voicing a response. He keeps piling stalks and roots onto the compost heap, Jared standing idle by the tractor Jensen drove out here. Jared's arms are tense across his chest, thigh muscles tight under his impeccable jeans.
Fight or flight. Jensen waits for Jared to decide.
"It was drugs, I bet."
Jensen stops with moist dirt all over his arms. He feels every speck of it on his fingers, under his nails where it's gotten into his gloves.
"My dad told me what you were like when you got here," Jared says. "That you were desperate."
Everything's decaying right in front of him-life reduced to its simplest compounds under the sun, at the mercy of the elements. Those same forces haven't spared Jensen. He's been stripped down to will and instinct and need.
"I've known guys like you." Jared's voice drops lower, out of place in the sun-drenched afternoon. "You get hooked on something, mess your life up for a little while. And you come out here looking for penance or looking to forget about your problems. But soon enough they're gonna follow you and it's only a matter of time until you fuck up again-"
Jared hasn't stopped talking when Jensen strides by him, looking for any path through the field that'll take him away. Far, far away.
~~~
Huddled beneath stiff cotton sheets, Jensen can't stop shaking. His arms hurt; the veins under his skin won't stop throbbing. The ache makes him sick. Fitting that he's taking his first sick day.
It's worse than it used to be. He feels, unfiltered and inescapable. He claws deeper into the sheets, blocking the urge to get out of bed and speed as fast as he can back to civilization.
Someone knocks on his door after noon. The Chevy parked at the curb is a good clue he never made it to work. Pam's soft voice calls through the door; Jensen moans back that he's fine. Just tired.
He catches himself in the bathroom mirror, sun fading behind the drooping curtains. Jensen's body is the product of two months in the fields as Gerry's handyman. Arms finally filling out, more than bone and lean skin. Sun-fresh instead of a sickly, translucent pallor.
One step forward.
But his face hasn't come as far. He sees every old scar in his dull irises. Notices every single hit in the fine lines on his face. Today the dark smudges are more pronounced; his hair is sweaty and unkempt.
Two steps back.
Another knock comes with dinner. Jensen's so hungry, he barely notices what he's eating before it's gone. One ache satisfied, another rushing in to take its place.
Jared.
Jensen could leave now and start over, well aware that he only gets so many chances to reset. The east coast is off limits. His brain might self-destruct and save him the trouble of slowly killing himself. He could head west again and hope his luck holds. Glue's wearing thin, though. No telling if luck can take Jensen's weight much longer.
He wonders if it will carry him through tomorrow.
~~~
Jensen parks in the main drive instead of the dirt lot. He and the engine sit idle, work just getting started on the farm.
At six a.m. he walks into Gerry's office with the final version of his apology already coming out of his mouth.
"I hope you bein' here means you're feelin' better," Gerry starts before Jensen can complete a sentence. His posture's all wrong for the padded desk chair-awkward in something that's supposed to be comfortable. "'Cause if not, take the rest of the weekend off to sleep through it."
Gerry looks up from his computer and catches Jensen's confusion.
"Well?"
"Sorry, what?"
"Are you feeling better?" Gerry stand and rounds the desk. Jensen doesn't shirk away. "My son said you got pretty sick the other day-said maybe it was a stomach thing. He told me you'd likely need a day or two to get over the bug."
Jared may have no qualms about it but no part of Jensen wants to lie; he decides to side-step the facts.
"I'm fine," he says. "Ready to get back to work if that's okay?"
"Fine, fine." Gerry stops to yawn. "Excuse me. Well, I won't keep ya. I'm glad you're back 'cause Jared couldn't handle half of what you normally get done."
"Jared?"
Gerry nods with paternal sympathy. "I admire him for trying, and he covered some of your work yesterday, but my son's got a lot to learn."
Jensen takes careful steps out of the office, following Gerry to the front door. The farmer goes left towards the barns but Jensen stops and stares at his Chevy.
On the open tail-gate sits someone unexpected; Jared's leaning back, face tilted away from the sun, and his eyes are closed like he sleepwalked all the way out here. Jensen knows it's too early for Jared to be out here for no reason.
There are a few feet of open space on the tail-gate. Jared's eyes stay closed when Jensen hops up and sits, fingers aching to fidget but with nothing to grab onto. He's not ready for anyone to have a hold over his decisions, barely secure in his own ability to make them. If Jared's stolen that hard-bought freedom-
"What do you want?"
"Ugh." Jared makes a pained sound and sags like Jell-O that hasn't set. "More coffee."
"What?"
"You've gotta have, like, an endless supply of it around here somewhere, right? You guys are fuckin' insane getting up this early."
Jared turns his yawn into a full body stretch, arms and legs going taut while he sucks in a few deep breaths. When he finally cracks his eyelids, his pupils are tight, looking right at Jensen.
"So, how are you?"
Jensen expected bitterness-a warning or an ultimatum. Jared's bleary brand of concern throws him, but the farmer's son shrugs off his silence the same way he always has.
"Guess I don't deserve an answer. Whatever."
He may not, but Jensen gives him one in the form of another question.
"You worked when I wasn't here?"
Jared moans, nothing pleasant in the sound. "Don't mention it."
"But you-"
"Seriously, don't mention it. I'm sore as shit and I don't even want to think about yesterday."
Jensen grants him that and he tries to wipe Thursday from memory. Two tractors and a hauler pass by-the truck shakes under their thighs. Jensen waves to a few of the workers; Jared just yawns again.
"If we don't get going, I'm gonna pass out right here, I swear. What are you working on today?"
"Trenches."
"There're more?" Jared whines pathetically.
"There are always more."
"Well, I was right," Jared says. They both hop down, Jared more careful in his movements. His clothes match Jensen's in wear and tear this morning. "This is gonna suck."
~~~
They've cleared a quarter-mile by lunch, the trench ready for a new irrigation system to be run through, and Jensen's heard more than he cares to know about Jared's childhood pets-I wanted a dog but the cats kept having new litters so I made 'em all nametags. His first car-totaled it less than two weeks after I got it and I thought my dad was gonna throw me in the thrasher-and his time at college down in Florida.
"You know how people say they're on the five-year track and you think they're lame for not getting it done in four years like everybody else?"
Jensen has no clue-colleges were like exclusive clubs and he had no illusions about his chances of ever getting across the velvet rope-but he nods.
"I'm on the six-year plan, I guess, so I'm a bigger loser than everyone else."
Jared's not even twenty-four. He's lucky to be in control-Jensen's nearing thirty and he's lost more than a few years along the way-but Jensen doesn't tell him. Shovel in hand, Jensen stops and watches the way Jared tears through a patch of roots ahead of him. The effort's new and confusing. Maybe Gerry lit a fire under his ass and this is punishment.
That wouldn't explain why Jared's twisting back to look at Jensen, grinning through his pain. And nothing explains why Jensen tells him, "I don't think you're a loser."
"Come on." Jared throws his weight behind the shovel. "Everyone thinks I'm a loser. I bet you did at some point."
"I won't judge you," Jensen says, and he couldn't; Jared is unpredictable, working right next to Jensen when he could have been watching him drive off the farm permanently.
"Huh." Jared flings soil onto his pile and stops. "Fuck, I'm dying. Can we stop for lunch?"
"I didn't bring anything."
"No shit," Jared laughs. "Let's go back to the house."
Jensen waits on the wide back porch while Jared pulls lunch together. Dull thunk of kitchen cabinetry, Jared calling out a few times for Jensen's opinion on various foods.
The noise of the farm feels distant; he and Jared are the only ones around the sprawling two-story main house. When Jared comes out with two plates balanced on one arm, sodas in the other hand, Jensen's sitting on the steps with the vast lawn spreading out at his feet. So wide and open, Jensen could launch himself into the sky and never fall back.
"Leftovers. The best I can do."
The sausage is spicy, a hint of the smoky charcoal it was cooked over, and the beans are honey-sweet and not too hot.
"There's more inside," Jared says, mouth half-full. Jensen hadn't noticed how fast he was eating. Jared's got a third of a sausage and a few spoonfuls of beans left on his plate.
"I'm good."
Jared glances side-long at him. "The beans are my grandma's recipe. My dad bakes an entire pot when he makes them. Trust me, there's plenty. Looks like you could use some more."
Jensen sets his plate aside, fingers tracing the simple floral pattern around the rim. "Meaning?"
"You still look hungry," Jared says after he swallows another bite, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth unconsciously, nothing else behind his words that Jensen can hear.
Without asking, Jared refills Jensen's plate when he goes for seconds. He cleans that one, too.
"I'm not used to having a lot," Jensen says after Jared takes the empty dishes back to the kitchen.
"My dad cooks like a fiend sometimes. My grandma taught him, so he was always the one making dinner when I grew up here." Jared's eyes lose their wistful focus. "So yeah, we usually have extra food. Just ask or something."
Back at the trench, they're sweating in a matter of minutes. Cutting through the soil on auto-pilot, Jensen's mind is stuck on something he hasn't gotten the chance to ask Jared about. The question jumps out when Jared twists to pop his sore spine.
"You lied about what happened on Wednesday."
Jared looks back, the sun striking his face full on, eyes narrowed but not in anger.
"Why didn't you tell your dad about me?"
"I didn't need to." The farmer's son stands tall amongst the summer crops, wrists crossed on the spade, instantly looking like he's worked these fields forever. Lines of dirt are written across his shirt, a stray streak on his left cheek. "He already knew. My dad's never needed me to figure shit out for him."
Jared uses his boot-heel to bury the point of his shovel deep. Jensen can't move, the essential connections severed, but Jared glances back and sighs.
"He thinks you're great." His mouth twists when Jensen scowls. "And no, before you ask, I wasn't trying to convince him differently. He likes you."
"He doesn't know me."
"Does anyone?"
For a second, Jared seems shocked to have asked but it's quickly masked. His focus returns to the job and there's no longer an endless stream of words coming from his mouth. Whatever Jared wants to say, he keeps it close and leaves Jensen to struggle silently with his question.
~~~
Not everything changes.
Jared's work ethic comes and goes, more temperamental than the old John Deere Jensen's been re-adjusting for a month. Some mornings, his father watches him head out with Jensen as the sun breaks the horizon's plane. But there are days Gerry nods Jensen off with his curt assurance that Jared'll be along. Gerry never looks disappointed one way or the other.
And either way, the days are no less back-breaking. Gerry offers Jensen a place in the sheds, processing and sorting. Tells him he can even work the fields everyday with the hands, but Jensen likes the variety of being a handyman, immersing himself in any task.
Jared doesn't settle so easily. On average he's sour. Too little sleep, too little coffee. Too much work or too much of Jensen being Jensen. He acts like an asshole and calls Jensen a dick when he gets riled up and Jensen pokes at him. But he does it with a grin, so Jensen ceases to feel attacked.
There are days when Jared can't stop talking even after Jensen purposely flings dirt on his boots to get a quiet reprieve. Other days, Jared studies Jensen for a while then turns to work in silence. Odd moments come when Jensen's gripped by the urge to ask about Jared's stinging outburst but he's gotten attached to his relative peace, afraid of the burn an epiphany might bring.
But Jensen starts to sleep better. He wakes up in the dark but he feels rested, like sleep is something more than a way to pass the time between dusk and dawn.
There are days Jensen imagines that he messed up again just like Jared had predicted. Couldn't banish his problems forever and Jared's words had driven Jensen back into the cold, smothering embrace of chemical oblivion. Making everything since his relapse just a vivid hallucination that'll inevitably shatter into razor-sharp pieces.
He's never been able to avoid getting cut.
A rough spear of bark smacks Jensen in the shoulder then drops innocently to the dirt. Jared is glaring when Jensen looks over.
"I didn't know I was doing this shit by myself." Jared's axe is half-buried in a large root that's meandered too close to one of the irrigation hubs. With the chainsaw on the fritz, Jared and Jensen are left to curtail the growth by hand on Friday afternoon.
Jensen shakes himself out, relieved when no cracks appear. "I needed a mental break."
"'Cause chopping is so fucking strenuous."
"As strenuous as replacing barbed wire was yesterday when you blanked out for half the day."
Jared laughs-more of a bark, sharp and instinctual-and kicks a thick segment of root. "Dick. Just keep digging."
~~~
The old Mr. Coffee grumbles. Jensen's in first on Saturday morning, leaving him to start the first pot. He needs the caffeine fix too much to wait patiently; sticks one of the old 4-H mugs sitting on the counter directly under the spout to catch the freshest coffee, then replaces the carafe.
He's alone in the large production shed, a makeshift kitchen and break area-nothing more than a sink, mini fridge, and counter cordoned off with a rickety dining set-tucked into one corner. Coffee burns his already chapped lips but the sizzle of energy is worth the sting; Jensen sips and walks back to his truck parked by the maintenance shed, ready to load up and get going. A pair of long, denim-covered legs shove his plans aside.
"What the hell?"
Jared reacts too fast, knocking his head on the hood of the truck. He peers out, grimacing.
"Fuck, man," he curses. "Warn a guy."
"Get outta my truck." It twists Jensen's stomach to see Jared's hands all over the only possession he has that's worth anything.
"Don't be pissy," Jared says, absently wiping his palms on his jeans. "I saw you were here and wanted to check out your engine. Sounded like crap last week. There's gotta be a problem with your-"
"I don't care." Jensen stalks up but Jared doesn't falter. "It's fine."
"It's not." Jared squares off with him, shoulders set. "You're lucky it hasn't crapped out on you."
Nothing in Jared's eyes reads as anything less than the truth.
"Doesn't matter," Jensen says. "The shop'll take one look at it and start laughing."
"I've been looking at your truck for weeks and I'm not laughing. C'mon." Jared waves Jensen into the cab. "Pull it around into the shed's exterior bay and I'll take a closer look."
Jensen doesn't mean to laugh but the gut reaction feels strangely good. "You do engines?"
Jared's wide palm slaps down on the hood with a dull crack after he closes it. He grins at Jensen through the windshield. "I'll meet you out back."
Dappled, leafy shade plays across Jensen's face and shoulders. His eyes catch stray rays of light when the breeze kicks up. Jared's not enjoying the benefit of shade, bent over at the waist, wrist-deep in the Chevy's engine and talking more to the machinery than to Jensen.
He's never known a perfect day, but Jensen moves this to the top of his unsurprisingly small pile of good ones.
Jared never gave Jensen the chance to up and leave for a day's work after he'd pulled the truck around. Promising to take care of everything, he'd waved Jensen over to where he is now, sitting on the warped picnic table under the shagbark hickory with a glass of lemonade and a clear view of the farmer's son-cum-mechanic.
"My step-dad's into cars," Jared had said when he popped the Chevy's hood again. "He made sure I knew my way around an engine by the time I was eighteen and it took care of the father-son time my mom insisted on." He'd stared at the Chevy's rusted innards, taking apart the puzzle with his eyes. "I know more about cars than I do about him." Then he'd relegated Jensen to a strictly observational role at the table with the drinks and cinnamon-and-sugared toast he'd grabbed from the house.
Right now, Jensen feels useless but it's Saturday and Jared wants to fix Jensen's truck. Simple, enough to quiet Jensen's anxiety.
Jared breaks into a sneezing fit, one right after another. He shakes his head, nose twitching and hair flopping around his ears, and turns red-faced to Jensen.
"Fuck me, sorry."
"Are you okay?"
"Caught a whiff of something," Jared snuffles, "but I'm good. Have you thought about getting a new ride anytime soon?"
"Not if this one's still running."
Jared's mouth goes flat. "Might be a hard fix, but I can at least get it to where you're not gonna break down anytime soon. That'll give me time to look for parts."
"You don't have to," Jensen says. "I know the truck's in bad shape."
"That doesn't mean it can't be fixed."
Jared meets his eyes and Jensen knows the offer isn't casual, too much behind it to dissect. Jared folds back over the engine, his leanly muscled torso stretching the cotton fibers in his shirt attractively. His stomach tapers down-
Jensen immediately stops staring and gulps the bitter dregs of his lemonade. The sourness sticks in the back of his throat and he coughs to get rid of the taste. Jared looks over until Jensen nods.
The fact that Jared's a decent-looking guy hasn't escaped him, but that was the beginning and end of the issue. Nothing to add back when Jared was driving home the point that he was an unapologetic asshole and lazier than an old house-cat. With every scrap of decency he manages to show Jensen these days, Jared's true identity comes into focus. As if Jensen's looking through a camera and trying to find the right lens adjustment.
He sees things more clearly every day.
Jensen's never had a type. Looks and personality rode shotgun to getting his dick in someone-screw the details. The lifestyle worked him hard and dropped willing possibilities in his lap. Threw him to the wolves a few times, too. The drugs and the fucking went hand-in-hand, mouth-to-mouth. He'd lived for sensation and the faces never mattered.
He'd quit that like he'd quit doing a lot of things. Cauterized the wound and mourned the loss.
Jared has ripped into his scars one by one like a boxcutter dragged across his skin. Dull pain and agony, Jensen's felt it all since Jared's father chained him to the farm and forced the two of them together.
But the pain of this attraction is a sweet burn. Only aches when he thinks too hard.
Sweat bleeds through Jared's shirt, throwing Rorschach patterns onto the fabric that Jensen won't read too closely. Dark patches trailing in imperfect lines down to his belt, jeans held tight at his hips. His body's been refined by his recent stretch of hard work, the last traces of spare flesh worked off under the sun. Strong veins wrapping around his forearms pointing to thick wrists, now dirty and hot with grease. He's healthier than Jensen will ever be.
Jensen's fingers curl around the table's edge, digging so hard he comes away with weathered splinters under his nails. But he can't stop watching, glad Jared's focused on the Chevy.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" Jared asks when he finally takes a break, claiming the other side of the picnic table.
Lunch had been cold spaghetti and marinara; Jensen still tastes the sweet basil after a full glass of lemonade.
"I have to finish what I was supposed to do-"
"I'm not talking about work," Jared interrupts. He combs his fingers back through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands off of his wide forehead. "The party, remember?"
Gerry's birthday. Jensen remembers word going around. Everyone had been invited, Gerry claiming a day without work wouldn't kill anyone.
"C'mon." Jared must know where his head's at. "My dad wants you there. No one works tomorrow, that's the rule." His eyes plead humorously, fawning eyelashes and a quirked mouth. "I could say I'd make it worth your while but I have no idea what that would involve. Fuck work-and fuck thinking about work. Just show up."
It must be so easy for Jared to imagine-there's nothing sinister about a party. Nothing beyond drinking, having a good time, and stuffing that bottomless pit of a stomach. Jensen sees a minefield where alcohol can convince strangers that he's a different person, someone to use and toss away. Good for one time only.
But it's easier to say yes than to have Jared hanging off his shoulder for the rest of the afternoon. As soon as Jensen agrees, Jared's back to digging around the Chevy's parts, giving Jensen the skeletal basics of car maintenance.
He tries not to think about it.
~~~
Jensen keeps his distance from the troughs filled with bags of shredded ice and beer bottles in various shades of brown and green. The Padalecki's front yard is a maze of workers, families, and tables of pot-luck offerings. He had nothing to bring but Jared smiles when they catch one another's face in the crowd. Through the mess of people, Jared's easy to spot in a blue, striped button-down, buttery leather belt catching one of his shirttails.
Gerry corrals him by the potato salad.
"Glad you could make it." He's wearing the cleanest shirt Jensen's ever seen on him. Probably new. "If I'm forced to take a break today, only fair everyone else should, too. You doin' okay, Jensen?"
Gerry steps closer and gives him a look that discourages lying.
"A lot better than I could be," Jensen says.
Gerry's mouth pulls to the left in a smirk. It's the first time Jensen's seen a piece of Jared in his father, not the other way around.
"Ain't that the truth for all of us."
Jensen's left with a pat on the shoulder, holding a plate he hasn't filled. Potato salad's as good a place as any to start.
Inevitably, Gerry's dragged up onto the porch, his guests clapping for a speech. Jensen can't track down Jared in the yard. His father's talking about family and commitment, things Jared probably doesn't want to hear. Jensen understands why Jared hates farm life-hates the idea of being roped down so thoroughly to something when he's had a hard time keeping anyone close. Jared may never say it, but Jensen recognizes the cavalier attitude as loneliness. The kind that ain't cured by college buddies and summer booze-fests in Florida. His fear resides deeper.
Jared's so much like his father. Jensen sees him growing into a straight-shooter like Gerry when he can no longer use brute honesty as a weapon. His dad can temper the truth, encouraging growth instead of pruning back the brave new shoots.
Gerry invites everyone to kick back and have a good time-so long as none of y'all are late tomorrow!-and steps down. The sun follows, sinking slowly.
Beers get knocked back, living while the night's still young. Jensen sticks around, watches and laughs with the guys until the bitter smell of barley and hops drives him away. He takes deep breaths, hides out around the far side of the garage where nothing can get to him.
Except Jared.
He stands at the corner of the garage throwing his long shadow across Jensen's legs.
"Glad you came?" Jared asks, touching the mouth of his beer bottle to his bottom lip but not drinking. His stare's deeper than Jensen's used to.
"It's a nice break." Jensen doesn't move but the distance between them narrows. So many people, so much noise from the yard; Jensen thought he'd worked up to this but even standing alone with Jared is suddenly too much. He side-steps away, slides along the wall and says, "Your dad's a good guy. He deserved this."
"Hmm." The bottle-neck rolls against Jared's chin, leaves cool condensation on his skin. "What about me, Jensen?"
"You?" Jensen looks up.
Jared stoops to set his half-full bottle on the grass and slowly comes forward. The stripes on his shirt are indistinguishable, blending into a single, muted color in the low light. Reluctant steps make his appearance less ominous but Jensen can't read the intent behind them.
He's not prepared for Jared's strike.
"Do you think I'm a good guy?" Jared's posture looms. "What do you think I deserve?"
Jensen can't have heard him right. The tone-he's heard it before from the version of Jared he never wanted to be close to; the one who saw Jensen as he used to be and brought that past between them. Jared's voice is more painful now, sharply seductive. Jensen suffers the same withering disintegration as before, but instead of letting Jared drive him away, a vulgar anger takes over Jensen's senses.
"Fuck off, Jared. Right now."
As if Jensen's watching someone wake up from a stupor, Jared startles and his jaw drops. The change is so fast Jensen has trouble believing what he sees.
"Shit. I-Jensen, wait!" Two steps and Jared's reached Jensen's side, stricken into a stutter, his hands wringing in unforgiving knots. "That's wrong, I-this is all coming out so wrong."
In Jared's panic, Jensen could slip away. A significant part of him wants to; the cascade of emotions and chemicals driving his instinct to flee is one he used to trust. Easy, immediate. The rest of him fights to be heard, sets Jensen's stance and squares him against Jared.
"That happens too much with you," Jensen says, no need to explain. The reveal comes quickly in Jared's expression. "Tell me-why?"
"I-" Jared fumbles his words and leans forward against Jensen's chest. Jensen's strapped to the garage wall by his strong, capable body. He doesn't push Jared off; in the touch, he finds another piece of himself willing to press Jared.
"Spit it out or let me go."
"Fuck." Jared's head hangs low as if he's too tired to move, his forehead nearly touching Jensen's shoulder. "I never know what to do around you. I thought-I don't know. I don't know you."
"You said you knew lots of guys like me," Jensen hisses, every inhale giving him more of Jared's close scent.
Maddeningly, Jared blows him off with a careless sound.
"No, you don't get to keep this to yourself. My life-you threw it in my face and I need to know-"
"You never react." Jared's only a breath away, but to Jensen's ears he's screaming. "You stare, and sometimes-I don't know-it looks like you want to get pissed. When you walked away from me, that was the most I'd ever gotten from you. And-" he collapses. "That was when I learned the most, too."
Jensen lets their bodies fall together. Jared settles into the non-embrace, his breathing heavy against Jensen's sternum.
"What'd you learn?"
"That I don't know anyone like you."
It's simple, not even a compliment, but something Jensen's never had before. There had never been anything for Jensen to forgive-he may have hated what Jared saw in him but it wasn't new. It's not as if Jensen doesn't look in the mirror every day, green eyes meeting his reflection and accusing.
The kiss is not unexpected; Jensen's braced for the awkward press, dry lips, but not for the aftertaste of beer in Jared's mouth. Jensen's tongue strays back to Jared's lips to avoid the secondhand alcohol. He's trying to remember how this goes. How much he's supposed to give and what he's allowed to take.
Jared kisses like he doesn't care what he has to give, stepping into a position where their height difference is not such a disparity. The party and everything else fades from his senses. Jensen can't feel the dull edge of the garage siding digging into his back. Jared shoots right up into his veins, speeding to his heart and circulating from there.
It's nothing like dying, but it feels a little bit like living. The thing that's scared Jensen the most since the day he woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed, antiseptic burning his eyes while a more engulfing pain slashed through his belly.
Jensen's not ready to live like this. He breaks apart from Jared.
"I didn't know if you-" Jared tries, voice still stuck in Jensen's mouth. "Should we-"
"I need to go," Jensen says, ducking to the left, away from the party and festive lights.
Jared doesn't object, his strong presence muted. "Okay."
The rush doesn't abate when Jensen starts walking away, no footsteps behind him. Where the shadow of the building ends, Jensen looks back. Jared's turned towards the garage, watching Jensen side-long.
"You'll be here tomorrow, right?" Jared asks.
"It's my job," Jensen says, but he nods. "Yeah, Jared. I'll be here."
Jared half-turns towards the ongoing party. "See ya, Jensen."
They walk away at the same time.
part two.