Fic - "True Hollywood Story" | J2 | R | Part 1
True Hollywood Story; J2; 11,500 words; R
Living in Hollywood means sometimes giving up the things you want.
Thanks to larienelengasse and mediaville for the wonderful betas. Written for Sweet Charity. The person who purchased me would like to remain anonymous (I BOUGHT MYSELF, OKAY). The request was for a non-AU J2 when the show ends. There was more, but I won't say it for fear of giving away what little plot there is in this pile of domesticity. Enjoy!
Jensen surveys the area around him. A large leather couch that he sits on only occasionally looms over a pyramid of boxes in the familiar room. There's a flat screen and a Wii with all the newest games: Mario Kart and that Snowboarding game he always forgets the name of, and proper beer in the fridge. None of that shitty domestic stuff that Jared likes.
It's pretty much ideal.
Two years ago, Jared had suggested Jensen move in like this: “Sandy got the rest of her stuff out last week,” which Jensen had no response to, really, because how do you tell someone you’re real sorry their whole life just went to shit in a way that doesn’t involve mass quantities of Jack and kind bud? It was kind of impossible over the phone.
Jared had continued, though, like he didn’t really need Jensen to respond, which was probably mostly true. Jensen knew for a fact that Jared had once had a smoke session where he’d talked to a particularly leafy houseplant about rain forest depletion for forty-five minutes without needing an answer.
So, when Jensen said nothing, Jared had said, “How’s your house hunt comin’ along, anyway? Find anything up to your pretty, pretty standards?” like he'd expected Jensen's silence.
Jensen hadn’t found anything of course. He hadn’t really been looking. He flicked away the cigarette he’d been sucking on. “Not yet,” he said honestly.
Jared went on, “I won’t let you smoke in the house, and I’ll make you take the dogs for morning walks, but I make a mean cup of coffee.”
It wasn’t even a real invite, and Jensen had many concerns, but he didn’t voice them. Instead he said, “Include eggs in the mix, and you’ve got yourself a roommate.”
It had been simple, really. Easy.
Things between them were always easy. Three hours after they’d met in an LA studio, even before shooting began on the pilot, they’d already put back their first beers together and Jared was programming his number into Jensen’s phone. After their first two months of shooting, Jensen had already been able to pick out Jared’s habits, how he took his coffee, and what he looked like with a fresh hangover. One year in, and they didn’t leave the room to talk to their girlfriends or their mothers on the phone anymore; they were calling each other their best friends and buying stupid trinkets for one another when on vacation.
Everything they’d ever done had been easy.
The sharp beep of his phone knocks Jensen back to the present. He glances away from the teetering stack of boxes to check caller ID and flips the phone open with a mock-growl. “I move to a new city and I still can’t get away from you for even two seconds, can I?”
“I’m bored. Come over.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend to keep you company now?”
“She’s out doing something girly.”
“How is it possible that she went without you, then?”
Jared whines, “Jenseeeen,” drawing out the last syllable in Jensen’s name.
One glance out the big bay window in his living room tells him the day is full of smog and heat, the kind of heat you can see rise from the black tar pavement so that it shimmers on the air. Jensen sighs, put upon. “I’ll be over in thirty.”
“Bring beer.” Jared hangs up.
Easy.
Jensen has rules. They're not written down, but they're unyielding just the same. The first rule is: don't get caught. He learned this a long time ago.
There isn't a lot Jensen remembers about his first kiss. It's strange, the things that stick out. It was warm, he thinks, but not that oppressive Texas heat that seems to permeate the world from April to September, and it was daytime. He remembers the way the warmth of the Chevy pick-up he was leaning against seeped through his jeans, the hum of the motor beneath his body, and the panic that his brother was going to round the corner and find him. Mostly, what he recalls is that the guy was Jeff's friend, some kid he played soccer with, and he said he'd noticed the way Jensen stared at him. Jensen remembers that. He remembers thinking that was something people didn't talk about. What day it was, what color the guy's eyes were or even what his name was, Jensen couldn’t say. The way his stomach had flip-flopped after he felt warm, wet lips press against his to make it feel like the most important moment in his life - that, he remembers.
He also remembers the car that sped past, the harsh shout of fag that blurred along with it, and the full coke can that just missed his head to put a huge, spider web crack in his brother's windshield. He remembers feeling like he was going to vomit, and the look of utter terror on the other kid's face; the unspoken promise not to tell anyone what really happened.
He still remembers that.
The thing is, of course, there had never really been a thing. That was rule number two. Don't do it unless you need it. Jensen isn't stupid, far from it actually, and he knows that the biggest way to kill a career is to be caught with your pants around your ankles and your dick shoved down some guy's throat. Most days, he's content with his life; he has a good thing going, steady work almost since he moved out to LA, a string of beautiful girls most guys would give their right arms to fuck, enough money to keep himself clothed and fed, and a good core of friends.
Ever since that first kiss when Jensen was thirteen years old, he'd guessed there was something just a little bit different about him. It's never been a big deal, only that sometimes in high school when his friends talked about big tits and soft skin, and how they jacked off to their dads' old Playboys and Hustlers that were always hidden under sagging mattresses, Jensen just nodded along because it was the thing to do. He knew better than to mention that he sometimes thought about other things - more a feeling than anything else, glimpses of a rough voice, scratchy beard, and hard thighs.
It's not a need necessarily, and whatever it is, he learned to control it a long time ago.
With Jared, it wasn't a big deal, and it didn’t happen until they were living together. Jensen sometimes thinks he never would have agreed to moving in if it had happened before. In his more stoic moments, he claims it's because the whole thing would have taken their friendship from easy to complicated faster than you say could say best friends. When he's feeling honest, he admits it's something deeper than that.
Jensen had specific rules with Jared. He liked to think of them as addendums. The first was: Only do it when there's alcohol involved, so you can always blame it on something else. Like that first time, when they'd split a bottle of Jager and a case of Red Bull after rearranging the weights in Jared's garage cum gym, and Jensen had just leaned in and pressed slippery lips against Jared's stubbled-jaw, had jacked him off hard and fast, their breathing the only sound in the room. After, Jensen barely had to touch himself before his was coming messily in his pants, Jared's scent still strong around him.
Another Jared-rule: never talk about it the next day. This had been a little more difficult to follow. Jared liked to talk. He wore his emotions on his sleeves and was mostly proud of it. The next time it happened, when Jared had just crawled over to suck Jensen's earlobe into his mouth and Jensen had bucked his hips up into Jared's waiting hand, Jared had brought it up no less than three times, but Jensen was good at maneuvering, and an expert at distracting Jared, and the subject had been dropped eventually.
And the last Jared-specific rule, that only came into effect much later. Never when there's a girl involved.
They were living together. Things had been great. And then Jared had gone and got a girlfriend and screwed it all up. He supposed they couldn’t stay living their happy bachelor lives forever, but Jensen still felt blindsided by it.
It had started so small. Maybe that was why it felt like such a surprise. As long as Jensen had known him, Jared had been an all or nothing kinda guy.
Jared met Carrie at a bar. She wasn’t his type. Meaning: she didn’t look like Sandy, which was really all Jensen had to go on. She was taller and lighter and quieter; she had serious, dark eyes and pale skin; she was soft spoken, but she had a pretty smile and a march of freckles across her nose; she was a makeup artist who split her time between LA and Vancouver; and she was entirely unimpressed with Jared’s fame.
Jared got her number but didn’t take her home, and Jensen sort of figured nothing would come of it. There were a few phone calls, and they met for coffee twice before even going to lunch. It was three and a half weeks before Jensen even properly met her, and Jared hadn’t even seemed that nervous. After, he’d said, only a little anxiously, “You like her, right? You think she’s maybe good for me?”
And was Jensen supposed to tell Jared no? Carrie was perfectly nice. Perfectly smart. Perfectly pretty. There was no reason not to like her.
All too soon, though, she was the one making the coffee and the one snagging the leash next to Jared to take Sadie and Harley on their walks. Between takes, Jared was always texting on his phone. On nights where it used to be Jared and Jensen spread out on the couch in their sweats, putting away thick slices of pizza and getting the PSP controllers too greasy, it was suddenly Jared wearing his button down shirts and smelling like expensive sandalwood cologne, watching How I Met Your Mother and The Office with Carrie pressed against his side.
Jensen almost broke that third rule once.
It was seven weeks after Jared met Carrie; Jared and Jensen had been sitting on the couch. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, with Office Space on the TV and bags of junk food crammed onto the coffee table, except that maybe it had been a long time since they'd had a proper guys' night without Carrie. Even Clif was there, though he'd gone off to the back room to let Harley and Sadie outside.
Jared had three Oreos clutched in his hand, and he was laughing open-mouthed, eyes crinkled shut. Jensen had just set his beer down and leaned back against the cushions, too drunk to do more than sink down into the couch. Jared's unoccupied hand landed somewhere just above his knee. Jensen held his breath and slipped further down the sofa, legs falling open as Jared slid his hand along his thigh, up higher, then higher still. The TV was still loud, but it was like Jensen was in this bubble and nothing registered but the feel of Jared's warm hand pressed against the rough denim on his leg. Beside him, Jared was staring too intently at the TV, breathing quickly like he'd only just finished a workout. Jensen felt like he couldn't breathe, and he scooted even further down the couch, and Jared just moved his hand, so close… so close….
Then Clif rounded the corner, quoting, "Hey Peter, man,” yelling along with the TV. “Check out channel 9,” he continued, “check out this chick." He was laughing as he made his way back into the room.
Jared and Jensen jerked apart, not looking at each other, and Clif plopped himself back down on the couch, still laughing.
Jensen's next rule was maybe the most important and probably the most difficult to follow. Never get your heart broken.
When Supernatural ended five seasons in, it wasn’t a surprise at all. Eric had always been adamant that he didn’t want to wear out their welcome, and Jensen had plenty of time to figure out the next phase of his life.
What had been a surprise was this:
He’d been pouring hot, dark coffee into his favorite mug when it happened. The mug had been a gift from Mac when she was seven; it said World 's Best Brother in swirly blue writing. It was chipped on one edge and stained on the inside from years of use, and Jensen had moved it from Dallas to LA to Vancouver without a moment's thought. The morning light was crisp and white, and Jensen squinted his eyes against it, peering out into the backyard. When he turned around, Carrie was right in front of him, bathrobe tied kind of haphazardly around her middle and short hair sort of sexily tumbled, like she’d just rolled out of bed.
Jensen gave her a half-smile around his first sip, miming to the pot to ask if she wanted any.
Carrie didn’t smile back. Her mouth was wide and her lips were red. Shaking her head, she said, “I actually need to talk to you.”
Jensen swallowed the coffee; it burned his throat on the way down. “What’s up?” he croaked. He took a step back, until his hips bumped up against the counter’s edge. “Where’s Jay?”
“He's lifting,” she said, and then, “We're moving in together.”
Jensen was mostly just glad that he hadn’t taken another sip of his coffee, so he was saved from spitting it all over her pretty face. He pressed his lips together.
Carrie continued. “It was obviously pretty spur of the moment,” she explained, and Jensen couldn’t help the tremor of relief that went down his spine at that. Torn as he was between never wanting Carrie and Jared to get closer and hurt that Jared hadn’t told him first, at least he could deal with a decision that wasn’t premeditated.
“The thing is,” Carrie said. “I need you to not screw this up for us.”
Jensen opened his mouth in confusion, but Carrie held up a hand. “You’re his best friend,” she went on, “and you’re in love with him.”
This time, when Jensen opened his mouth, he protested, “Wait a second. I’m not in love with him.”
But Carrie had just looked at him - this long, serious look. “If you told him not to, he wouldn’t move in with me,” she said patiently. “If you told him to, he’d break up with me. You two are … " She hesitated. "Your approval means everything to him, Jensen.” It was maybe the first time Jensen had ever seen her nervous. She pulled at the hem of her robe. “I know I can make him happy, but not without your blessing.” She narrowed her eyes. "We can fight for him, if you want, but one of us is going to lose."
Jensen nodded slowly. He didn’t bother correcting her again. In the end, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. In the end, Jared’s happiness meant nearly as much to Jensen as it did to Jared. If Carrie could make Jared happy, Jensen wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of that.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, resigned.
When Jared came back and finally told Jensen that he and Carrie were moving in together when they made the move back to LA, Jensen acted surprised and offered only a hearty back slap and congratulations.
He's good at being accommodating when he needs to be. For the last month that they were in Vancouver he stayed mostly out of the way, feeling old and tired and letting Jared and Carrie pretend at playing house while they packed up their shit and talked to a real estate agent. Jensen had a place back in LA that he used to share with Steve before Steve went and found himself a wife and a baby.
They moved out of Jared’s house, which went on and off the market quietly and quickly. Jensen found himself living alone for the first time in a very long time.
Jensen keeps good on his word. He doesn't interfere, not when Carrie and Jared buy a big house in the hills, and not when Jared drags him shopping for a diamond ring, a shiny thing that hurts to stare at for too long.
Eventually, Carrie stops looking at him like he's out to steal her boyfriend, and though they never really learn to like each other, they can both fake it for Jared.
Jensen dates, but none of the girls seem to stick. He and Danneel even try it again for about five months until she shows up at his door with a sad smile that tells him everything he needs to know. When he kisses her goodbye, he can't seem to bring himself to be sad over anything other than a friendship lost.
The day Jared shows up at Jensen's door with a grim frown, two big dogs on leashes, and a bag in his hand, Jensen feels a little jerk in his chest. It's almost two years to the day that Jared and Carrie got married in a small Texas wedding, standing in the backyard of Jared's parent's three-bedroom ranch; Jensen mostly remembers sweating in the hot sun, pulling at his tie, and swallowing back the lump in his throat.
He looks at Jared now and feels none of the triumph he always imagined he'd feel in this situation.
"Bedroom in the back," Jensen says, pointing over his shoulder. Jared nods, finding his way down the hall without a word, and Jensen won't comment on his red-rimmed eyes; he only gets out a beer and has it waiting on the island in the kitchen.
"She cheated," Jared says, finally, after draining the beer in two dangerous gulps.
"What?" Jensen asks, not sure he heard that right.
"Been cheating," Jared says, eyes downcast and voice muffled. "Two months. Some guy she met on set." He gives a choked up laugh. "Some fucking camera man." He sounds like he's gonna cry. Jensen gets him another beer. Jared nods in thanks and looks up to meet Jensen's gaze with his own sad eyes. "What the fuck did I do wrong?"
Jensen lets himself frown. He meets Jared's eyes. "Absolutely nothing," he says.
Jensen watches Jared swallow. "Thank you," he says after a minute.
"It's no problem," Jensen says. "Stay as long as you want." And he means it.
Jared stays.
In some ways it really is that simple. He sends a couple of movers over for his stuff, because even though the house he shared with Carrie is at least partly his, he says he can't stand to be there for even a minute. Not right now. About a year ago Jared had landed himself another part on a TV show, this time on an ensemble drama thing about a group of four guys who've been friends since high school and live in a small mid-western town. The show's in its second season with climbing ratings, more popular than Supernatural ever was, but has a cast of about ten, which means Jared can work a regular forty hour week and have time for sleep and other important things. Like sitting around the house staring at pictures from his wedding day.
After about a week of this, Jensen bans all evidence of Carrie from his house, stuffs everything that might bring up her memory into boxes and sticks them in storage, and then goes in search of the problem.
He's been through this with Jared before, held his proverbial hair back when he got drunk and puked messily after his last break up, and Jensen's not certain he can hold in his rage this time.
It's been three years since Supernatural ended, and Jensen's made five movies, three of which he stared in and one of which was nominated for a Golden Globe last year. He's famous enough that he gets recognized three out of five times if he's out for a night, and he almost always wears sunglasses around now, even when it's overcast. It's less for fear that he'll be recognized, and more because they make him less approachable and he doesn't have to meet anybody's eyes.
His fame and the fact that he's been here six dozen times in the past three years get him through the gated community entrance with no problems. As he rings the annoying doorbell at Jared's old home, he anxiously pulls his sunglasses off and taps the ear of them erratically against his side.
When no one answers after about ten seconds, Jensen pounds loudly on the red French doors.
"Relax," calls a feminine and familiar voice as the door opens. "I'm coming."
Carrie stares at him, obviously unnerved, and Jensen feels a mean ping of spite in his throat. "How did you get past the gates?" she asks.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he says in answer.
Carrie holds the door open. "Would you like to come in?"
Jensen scoffs primly. "No, I would not."
"What do you want then?"
Jensen blinks. "I want… I want to know why. I want to know why my best friend is sitting at home with a broken heart."
Carrie doesn't answer for a minute. "So he's at your house, then. He wouldn't tell me where he was going."
"Of course he's there. Where the hell else would he go?"
Meeting his eyes, she says, "Yeah, I guess that's a good question," and there's something in her voice that makes Jensen take a small step back.
"No way," he spits out. "There's no possible way you can make this about me and him. We never did anything."
"You always came first."
"You're his wife."
"Exactly," she says, like that's any sort of answer.
"I backed off, just like you wanted." He finds his voice escalating. "We never - "
"It didn't matter," Carrie snaps back, yelling now too, and Jensen can't even care that there are real tears in her eyes. He hates her. "Do you know how tiring it is, always wondering? I just couldn't - I couldn't take it anymore."
"So that's it. Because you were too insecure to handle it, you broke his heart." Jensen pauses and makes himself breathe for a minute, trying to calm down. "He loves you," he says, quieter. "And you…"
"I love him, too, Jensen," she says, and he scoffs again, unbelieving. "I'm sorry that's he's - look, I never set out to hurt him; I never set out to do this. But I can't take it back now."
Jensen sees truth there, but he doesn't care. "Don't contact him," he bites out. "Don't have anything to do with him, or you'll regret it." He turns around after the threat to head back to his car. He's not surprised to hear the door shut firmly behind him.
"Yeah, okay," Jared says into his phone as Jensen walks in the door about a week later. Jared's turned mostly away from him, staring out the back window at the fenced in backyard.
The house is laid out like a horseshoe, with a great room in the center that has twelve-foot high ceilings with skylights that slant thick evening light down on Jared as he stands there with a frown.
Jared turns at the sound of Jensen throwing his keys on a table, and a tired hello of a smile splits his face. He mouths "lawyer" at Jensen, then rolls his eyes, miming a gun to his head.
Jensen lets himself grin. He leaves on the pretence of going to grab a couple beers, but really just wants to give Jared some privacy. Jared, apparently not catching on, follows Jensen into the kitchen.
Even without children, getting a divorce is surprisingly complicated. Jared spends an enormous amount of time on the phone with his lawyer, and Jensen's mostly just grateful that Jared doesn't have to talk to Carrie directly.
It's going to take close to six or seven months for things to be official, and in the interim there's so much to figure out: the house and the cars and the stuff that they'd accumulated in just two short years of marriage.
Jared has one hell of a publicist, Marianne, a beehived planet with a blackberry, who has so far managed to keep his name out of the papers, for which Jensen had just yesterday sent her an enormous arrangement of flowers and chocolates.
Jared's still on the phone by the time Jensen gets two fillets garlic'ed and salted; on the patio, the grill is smoking hot and ready for the meat. Jensen hands the plate to Jared without a word, watching Jared maneuver the patio door, the plate of meat and the phone on his way out.
Inside, Jensen makes them both big helpings of salad and microwaves some frozen vegetables. He watches as Sadie and Harley both beg with tongues lolling near Jared, as Jared continues his conversation, looking like he'd rather hang himself by Jensen's ceiling fan than keep talking.
By the time Jared hangs up, after a lot, "mm hmmms" and "whatever you think is best", Jensen's got the patio table set, the dogs fed, and two fresh beers open and ready.
Jared sits down with a sigh, decidedly flipping his phone shut and turning it off. He looks at the spread on the table. The sun's still high in the sky, heavy and yellow, though it's started to cool off just a little, so it's comfortable to sit out here among the sounds from a nearby freeway and Jensen's neighbor's lawn company mowing the yard.
Jared looks at Jensen and smiles. It's the same tired smile he's had for a week now, with fresh lines webbing out from his eyes, like the skin is stretched too thin.
Jensen says, "What's up?"
"I've missed this," Jared says, picking up his fork.
"My soggy microwaved vegetables?" Jensen asks, watching Jared shovel them into his mouth.
Jared mumbles something around his food, and Jensen tries to hide his amusement, instead saying, "Dude, you're an adult. Chew, then talk."
He laughs openly when Jared shoves another forkful into his mouth and then chews so messily he sprays broccoli down the front of himself.
"Christ, it’s like eating with my nephew," Jensen grumbles, which just makes Jared chew louder.
"Anyway," Jared says after he's finally swallowed, at the same time Jensen says, "You were saying?"
Jared meets his eyes. "I missed… this. Us. Hanging out."
"I don't think we've gone longer than two weeks without seeing each since that time I was in Brazil two years ago, Jay."
"Yeah, but that was different," Jared insists.
Jensen looks down to study his beer; a Labatt Blue that Jared had insisted they buy at the grocery store yesterday to "make it feel like home." He picks at the label. "Yeah," he agrees. "I guess it was."
Glancing up, he sees Jared studying him. Jensen coughs. "You know what else I missed," he says heartily. "Kicking your ass at Area 51."
Jared's grin goes a little wider. "You must be getting' old, Jen, because that is not how it went down."
"Oh, no?" Jensen says. "Want to prove me wrong?"
"Damn straight, Grandpa. Just give me a sec to finish this awesome steak I made."
People had always been sort of disproportionately protective of Jared. Jensen always supposed it had something to do with his open, friendly nature and his stupid floppy hair. Kinda like how people want to protect dogs. It's no different now that Jared's almost thirty and tells the dirtiest jokes of anyone Jensen's ever met - including Rosenbaum - the feeling to keep him protected from the big bad world consumes Jensen as it does anyone Jared's ever met.
Over the next few months, Jensen helps Jared get through this the only way he knows how. There's a lot of beer and a lot of pizza, and more video games played since Jensen turned thirty. They slide easily back into an old routine of taking the dogs for long hard runs with Jared mocking Jensen for getting old and having creaky knees, and Jensen complaining - loudly and often - about Jared's overactive sweat glands.
When he comes home and Jared has obviously had a rough day on the phone with his lawyer, Jensen takes him to play paintball. When twice he finds Jared with red eyes, watching Love Actually, he doesn't even mock him (much), and instead lets Jared kick his ass in basketball.
Somehow, Jensen forgot how easy this was, and how comfortable. He forgot how nice it was to have someone to make pancakes for, and how comforting it was to come home and know there would be someone there to watch TV with, someone who didn’t have expectations, someone who didn’t want an autograph or expect him to know where Ukraine was in relation to Romania.
Somehow, Jensen forgot, but it comes back to him easily enough.
Jensen's new movie is shooting at the Warner Brothers studio, which isn't too far away from Steve's new house. Steve, who just signed a new lucrative record deal, makes Jensen take him out for a celebratory lunch one rare rainy Wednesday afternoon. It's packed inside, but they get a quiet seat in an intimate corner. After Steve shakes himself like a dog and the waiter leaves with their drink order, Steve raises his eyebrows expectantly.
Jensen blinks at him. "You look like you're waiting for something."
Steve nods a little. "You've been pretty MIA lately. You got a new piece of tail, or what?"
"You have a daughter."
"So, what? I have to change the way I talk?"
"Yes!"
Steve laughs, open-mouthed. "Thanks," he says, when the waiter sets down his scotch on a neat little white napkin in front of him.
Jensen nods his thanks for his Guinness. He raises his glass almost immediately. "To your new deal, man."
Steve's smile is wide when he clinks his glass with Jensen's and takes a long, slow sip. He smacks his lips together and sets the tumbler down with a plop. "Spill it," he says.
Waving a dismissive hand, Jensen says, "It's nothing. Just, Jay's going through some shit and I've been on duty for a while."
Steve's eyebrows knit together in concern. He and Jared don't see each other that often, but they get along like gangbusters whenever they do. It makes Jensen ridiculously glad to know two of his best friends like each other so much. "What's wrong with Jared?"
Jensen sighs. "Carrie fucking cheated on him," he says, surprised at how angry he still is about it.
"Fuck her, no she didn't," Steve says. "Jesus Christ, how is he?"
Jensen thinks about it. "You know," he says after a minute. "The whole thing is kind of a disaster with all these negotiations about their house and their crap. And I hate that she cheated on him and then told him about it, and about how long it was going on and didn’t just leave him, almost, you know. This just brought up all of his insecurities."
He quiets down when their waiter comes back. Jensen morosely orders an overpriced salad, counting calories because he's supposed to do a love scene next week.
When they're finished, he leans on his forearm, looking across the table at Steve. "To be honest, though, he's doing better than I thought he would." He shrugs. "He's hanging in there, I guess."
Nodding, Steve says, "Well, he's got you, so I guess that makes sense."
Jensen snorts. "Yeah, Carrie actually thought, well…"
"She thought you two - " Steve lets the thought hang on the air.
Jensen runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass; it makes a small, musical noise. He nods softly.
"Wow," Steve breathes out, before he says, "Were you?"
"What?" Jensen looks up sharply. "No, of course not. As far as I know, he was always faithful to her."
Steve takes a big sip of his scotch, crunching loudly on a piece of ice. "Can I be honest with you?"
"What?" says Jensen warily.
Steve expels a great big breath of air. "Honestly, Jenny, there was a time when I thought you and Jared were crossing swords on a regular basis."
"Nice."
"It was long before he and Carrie started up, but I couldn't figure out why two dudes were living together when you both made that much money."
"You lived with me in LA for four years, douche bag."
"Yeah, but you weren't ever around."
"So, what, are you saying she was justified?"
Steve looks affronted. "Fuck no," he says. "I'm only saying, you two, you're real close. I don't completely blame her for thinking the worst. And, you know, I'm also saying." He pauses. "Jesus, don't get mad at me. I'm also saying I've known you pretty much since you moved out here, and I know you've almost always held yourself back in every relationship you've been in, but the only person I've seen completely break down any real barriers for you was Jared. You guys. I guess I'm just saying I'm glad you guys have each other."
Jensen blinks.
Steve claps his hands together across the table. "And on that girly note, what do you say you buy me a shot."
There was this one point, about three months after Jensen had moved in with Jared when they were still working on the show, that he could pinpoint and say, this was it. It was when the seasons were shifting. Up there, the world didn't stay sun-soaked year 'round like it did in LA. There was a real shift from summer to fall when you felt the air go crisp and thin, and watched the sky bruise from baby blue to turquoise. For the many years Jensen spent in Canada, that was always his favorite time.
They were coming off a long overnight shoot, just when the sun started to rise, still so early and so cold Jensen could see his breath when he spoke. Clif was passed out on the couch in the backroom when they got in, with Harley spread across his legs and Sadie lengthwise on the floor. Both dogs jumped up immediately and rushed over, and Jensen didn't even gloat when Harley made for him first instead of Jared.
It was stupid, something he'd seen Jared do a hundred times in a hundred different ways. He was dead on his feet, and had had the bulk of the work tonight, having to cry over and over at a crossroads while Jensen basically laid there and played dead. Instead of going right to sleep, though, Jared grabbed two leashes and attached them to the dogs.
He ignored Jensen's protests that Jensen would take them out alone. He was always like that - putting everything, Jensen and work and the dogs ahead of himself - and he smiled real big, this genuine Jared smile, the kind that split his face in two and made his tired eyes look shiny, happy to do it.
They went for a walk with dry leaves crunching beneath their feet and with the sun just peeking out over the trees. The morning light was clear and thin, and Jared looked pale and tired in it, but Jensen glanced over at him, with the stupid light making Jared shine, and he'd felt everything hollow out inside of him, liked he'd been scrubbed clean.
Late September in LA doesn't bring about that feeling of the world changing around them. It mostly means new TV and lots of premieres and the near-constant burn of sunshine. It's at least cool enough, though, that they can have an afternoon cookout without needing to hideaway in the air conditioning.
Jensen slides open the patio door and smiles at the scene around him. A few friends are milling around; Steve's got Liz and his kid Mary with him, and Jared's playing with her on his lap, making goofy faces and blowing raspberries while she squeals in delight. It figures, Jensen thinks, since Jared's pretty much got the mentality of a three year old anyway.
Most people by now have heard about the fact that Jared's going through a divorce, though the details of it aren't out there. What's shocking to Jensen, though maybe it shouldn't be, is that no one questions or even looks surprised by the fact that Jared's taken up residence with him.
When Jared says, "Yeah, we're thinking about getting one of those," to Matt, discussing a home theatre system that he had installed last month, Matt tells Jared and Jensen to come over and take a look without batting an eye.
Later, Steve and Liz are getting ready to go home to put Mary to bed, and she sleepily mumbles goodbye to "Uncle Jen and Uncle Jay" like that's the way it's always been. Something soft unfolds in Jensen's chest, and he avoids Steve's eyes as he follows the group out to the doorway.
It doesn't become troubling, though, until everyone is gone and the two of them are left cleaning up the kitchen. Jensen's throwing the last of the beer bottles into the recycling bin Jared made him buy last month, while Jared, wearing a ridiculous Kiss the Cook apron scrubs the grill rack in his bare feet. He's humming loudly to himself, smiling and bopping, and Jensen can't help but stop and stare. It's been a long time since he's seen Jared just plain happy without the shine of regret in his eyes.
He looks over, his eyes lighting on Jensen to see he's being studied. "What's up?" he says, grin still playing around his mouth.
Jensen jerks a little. "What? Oh, nothing, just…"
Jared motions with his chin and asks, "Can you hand me that towel?"
When Jensen hands it to him, his bare fingers brush against Jared's wet hand, and he feels a decided tingle zip up his arm. He jerks back quickly, coughing loudly to cover the movement. Jared gives him a long look, eyes crinkling in confusion.
Jensen gives a weak smile. "You shocked me," he lies, shaking his hand like it's hurt.
Jared grins widely. "That's because I'm electric," he says.
Shaking his head, Jensen can't help but laugh at that. "If you start doing the electric slide, I'mma kick you out," he tells him, grateful that the moment has passed.
But of course, it's sort of like freight train, because once it starts, it's almost impossible to stop without a lot of complicated measures.
Jensen knows from past experience that it's never been just him. While he may have been the first to initiate it all those years ago, he also knows that Jared got off plenty with his mouth latched onto Jensen's neck as he rubbed himself off against Jensen's leg.
Maybe because Jared was the one to get married, Jensen forgot about that and let his guard down. One late morning after a satisfying sleep in, Jensen ambles down in search of coffee in only his boxers. It's only a little chilly in the house, and he can't be bothered to locate any clothes to throw on. He wanders into the kitchen to see Jared there with the paper and a bowl of cereal in front of him.
Jensen stops in the doorway, feeling a little foolish in only his underwear while Jared's up and fully dressed. Especially when Jared's eyes land somewhere around Jensen's navel and stay fixed there while Jensen feels his whole body go flush with warmth. It's a long while before Jared finally meets his eyes. After that, Jensen vows to always remember clothes at any cost.
Because the thing is, it's different now. Things have changed in ways Jensen can't totally describe, but maybe it's that they're in LA and no longer in a world that feels secluded and private and theirs like it did in Canada. Maybe it's because they're both a lot more famous, or because they've grown up. Likely it has to do with the fact that Jared's still going through a divorce and Jensen still sees him go sad and wistful sometimes when he thinks no one's watching. Whatever it is, though, this time Jensen knows they have to live with the consequences of their actions. Those rules that Jensen put in place so long ago were there for a reason, he reminds himself.
Jared makes it hard sometimes, though.
Two weeks after their cookout, they head out to a private concert given by a friend of Steve's for cancer research. In the car on the way over, Jared sniffs loudly, putting his nose next to Jensen's ear until Jensen jerks away forcefully.
"Dude," he grumbles, eyes watching the darkening road before him.
Jared sniffs again and asks, "Did you change your cologne?"
Jensen had, actually, just the day before. He'd switched from the citrus scent he'd worn for three years to something heavier when the old stuff was discontinued last month. Some small frisson of pleasure shoots through his system, but he ignores it and says, "Your nose is more accurate than Harley's, and it's disturbing."
Jared's grin is so bright Jensen can see it through the dark. "I like it," he says. "I mean, I like your old stuff, too, but this is nice."
Three weeks before Halloween, they're discussing what their plans should be for the night. Jensen feels lazy ("Old," Jared says) and wants to stay home to pass out candy to the neighborhood kids, while Jared gleefully informs Jensen he wants to dress up like Frankenstein's monster and go trick-or-treating himself. They settle on Jared dressing up like a big tall freak (which Jensen helpfully informs isn't too far from the truth) and Jensen pretending to be the scientist who brings him to life while passing out candy in the process. Jared goes to the store and pretty much buys up the entire candy section, because "We're going to be the most popular house of the block!" and they sit at the kitchen island and map out plans for a graveyard in their front yard.
Jared attaches matching cat ears to Sadie and Harley and chases them around the house trying to snap pictures. He adjusts devil's ears on his own head and walks around in his boxers and a red cap for pretty much the whole week before, and Jensen spends most of October with a smile permanently fixed to his face. It's like he'd forgotten the way Jared took up whole rooms with his smile and his enthusiasm and his infectious laughter, and it's like now that Jared's laughing again, Jensen can't stop waiting for the sound.
Part 2
Living in Hollywood means sometimes giving up the things you want.
Thanks to larienelengasse and mediaville for the wonderful betas. Written for Sweet Charity. The person who purchased me would like to remain anonymous (I BOUGHT MYSELF, OKAY). The request was for a non-AU J2 when the show ends. There was more, but I won't say it for fear of giving away what little plot there is in this pile of domesticity. Enjoy!
Jensen surveys the area around him. A large leather couch that he sits on only occasionally looms over a pyramid of boxes in the familiar room. There's a flat screen and a Wii with all the newest games: Mario Kart and that Snowboarding game he always forgets the name of, and proper beer in the fridge. None of that shitty domestic stuff that Jared likes.
It's pretty much ideal.
Two years ago, Jared had suggested Jensen move in like this: “Sandy got the rest of her stuff out last week,” which Jensen had no response to, really, because how do you tell someone you’re real sorry their whole life just went to shit in a way that doesn’t involve mass quantities of Jack and kind bud? It was kind of impossible over the phone.
Jared had continued, though, like he didn’t really need Jensen to respond, which was probably mostly true. Jensen knew for a fact that Jared had once had a smoke session where he’d talked to a particularly leafy houseplant about rain forest depletion for forty-five minutes without needing an answer.
So, when Jensen said nothing, Jared had said, “How’s your house hunt comin’ along, anyway? Find anything up to your pretty, pretty standards?” like he'd expected Jensen's silence.
Jensen hadn’t found anything of course. He hadn’t really been looking. He flicked away the cigarette he’d been sucking on. “Not yet,” he said honestly.
Jared went on, “I won’t let you smoke in the house, and I’ll make you take the dogs for morning walks, but I make a mean cup of coffee.”
It wasn’t even a real invite, and Jensen had many concerns, but he didn’t voice them. Instead he said, “Include eggs in the mix, and you’ve got yourself a roommate.”
It had been simple, really. Easy.
Things between them were always easy. Three hours after they’d met in an LA studio, even before shooting began on the pilot, they’d already put back their first beers together and Jared was programming his number into Jensen’s phone. After their first two months of shooting, Jensen had already been able to pick out Jared’s habits, how he took his coffee, and what he looked like with a fresh hangover. One year in, and they didn’t leave the room to talk to their girlfriends or their mothers on the phone anymore; they were calling each other their best friends and buying stupid trinkets for one another when on vacation.
Everything they’d ever done had been easy.
The sharp beep of his phone knocks Jensen back to the present. He glances away from the teetering stack of boxes to check caller ID and flips the phone open with a mock-growl. “I move to a new city and I still can’t get away from you for even two seconds, can I?”
“I’m bored. Come over.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend to keep you company now?”
“She’s out doing something girly.”
“How is it possible that she went without you, then?”
Jared whines, “Jenseeeen,” drawing out the last syllable in Jensen’s name.
One glance out the big bay window in his living room tells him the day is full of smog and heat, the kind of heat you can see rise from the black tar pavement so that it shimmers on the air. Jensen sighs, put upon. “I’ll be over in thirty.”
“Bring beer.” Jared hangs up.
Easy.
Jensen has rules. They're not written down, but they're unyielding just the same. The first rule is: don't get caught. He learned this a long time ago.
There isn't a lot Jensen remembers about his first kiss. It's strange, the things that stick out. It was warm, he thinks, but not that oppressive Texas heat that seems to permeate the world from April to September, and it was daytime. He remembers the way the warmth of the Chevy pick-up he was leaning against seeped through his jeans, the hum of the motor beneath his body, and the panic that his brother was going to round the corner and find him. Mostly, what he recalls is that the guy was Jeff's friend, some kid he played soccer with, and he said he'd noticed the way Jensen stared at him. Jensen remembers that. He remembers thinking that was something people didn't talk about. What day it was, what color the guy's eyes were or even what his name was, Jensen couldn’t say. The way his stomach had flip-flopped after he felt warm, wet lips press against his to make it feel like the most important moment in his life - that, he remembers.
He also remembers the car that sped past, the harsh shout of fag that blurred along with it, and the full coke can that just missed his head to put a huge, spider web crack in his brother's windshield. He remembers feeling like he was going to vomit, and the look of utter terror on the other kid's face; the unspoken promise not to tell anyone what really happened.
He still remembers that.
The thing is, of course, there had never really been a thing. That was rule number two. Don't do it unless you need it. Jensen isn't stupid, far from it actually, and he knows that the biggest way to kill a career is to be caught with your pants around your ankles and your dick shoved down some guy's throat. Most days, he's content with his life; he has a good thing going, steady work almost since he moved out to LA, a string of beautiful girls most guys would give their right arms to fuck, enough money to keep himself clothed and fed, and a good core of friends.
Ever since that first kiss when Jensen was thirteen years old, he'd guessed there was something just a little bit different about him. It's never been a big deal, only that sometimes in high school when his friends talked about big tits and soft skin, and how they jacked off to their dads' old Playboys and Hustlers that were always hidden under sagging mattresses, Jensen just nodded along because it was the thing to do. He knew better than to mention that he sometimes thought about other things - more a feeling than anything else, glimpses of a rough voice, scratchy beard, and hard thighs.
It's not a need necessarily, and whatever it is, he learned to control it a long time ago.
With Jared, it wasn't a big deal, and it didn’t happen until they were living together. Jensen sometimes thinks he never would have agreed to moving in if it had happened before. In his more stoic moments, he claims it's because the whole thing would have taken their friendship from easy to complicated faster than you say could say best friends. When he's feeling honest, he admits it's something deeper than that.
Jensen had specific rules with Jared. He liked to think of them as addendums. The first was: Only do it when there's alcohol involved, so you can always blame it on something else. Like that first time, when they'd split a bottle of Jager and a case of Red Bull after rearranging the weights in Jared's garage cum gym, and Jensen had just leaned in and pressed slippery lips against Jared's stubbled-jaw, had jacked him off hard and fast, their breathing the only sound in the room. After, Jensen barely had to touch himself before his was coming messily in his pants, Jared's scent still strong around him.
Another Jared-rule: never talk about it the next day. This had been a little more difficult to follow. Jared liked to talk. He wore his emotions on his sleeves and was mostly proud of it. The next time it happened, when Jared had just crawled over to suck Jensen's earlobe into his mouth and Jensen had bucked his hips up into Jared's waiting hand, Jared had brought it up no less than three times, but Jensen was good at maneuvering, and an expert at distracting Jared, and the subject had been dropped eventually.
And the last Jared-specific rule, that only came into effect much later. Never when there's a girl involved.
They were living together. Things had been great. And then Jared had gone and got a girlfriend and screwed it all up. He supposed they couldn’t stay living their happy bachelor lives forever, but Jensen still felt blindsided by it.
It had started so small. Maybe that was why it felt like such a surprise. As long as Jensen had known him, Jared had been an all or nothing kinda guy.
Jared met Carrie at a bar. She wasn’t his type. Meaning: she didn’t look like Sandy, which was really all Jensen had to go on. She was taller and lighter and quieter; she had serious, dark eyes and pale skin; she was soft spoken, but she had a pretty smile and a march of freckles across her nose; she was a makeup artist who split her time between LA and Vancouver; and she was entirely unimpressed with Jared’s fame.
Jared got her number but didn’t take her home, and Jensen sort of figured nothing would come of it. There were a few phone calls, and they met for coffee twice before even going to lunch. It was three and a half weeks before Jensen even properly met her, and Jared hadn’t even seemed that nervous. After, he’d said, only a little anxiously, “You like her, right? You think she’s maybe good for me?”
And was Jensen supposed to tell Jared no? Carrie was perfectly nice. Perfectly smart. Perfectly pretty. There was no reason not to like her.
All too soon, though, she was the one making the coffee and the one snagging the leash next to Jared to take Sadie and Harley on their walks. Between takes, Jared was always texting on his phone. On nights where it used to be Jared and Jensen spread out on the couch in their sweats, putting away thick slices of pizza and getting the PSP controllers too greasy, it was suddenly Jared wearing his button down shirts and smelling like expensive sandalwood cologne, watching How I Met Your Mother and The Office with Carrie pressed against his side.
Jensen almost broke that third rule once.
It was seven weeks after Jared met Carrie; Jared and Jensen had been sitting on the couch. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, with Office Space on the TV and bags of junk food crammed onto the coffee table, except that maybe it had been a long time since they'd had a proper guys' night without Carrie. Even Clif was there, though he'd gone off to the back room to let Harley and Sadie outside.
Jared had three Oreos clutched in his hand, and he was laughing open-mouthed, eyes crinkled shut. Jensen had just set his beer down and leaned back against the cushions, too drunk to do more than sink down into the couch. Jared's unoccupied hand landed somewhere just above his knee. Jensen held his breath and slipped further down the sofa, legs falling open as Jared slid his hand along his thigh, up higher, then higher still. The TV was still loud, but it was like Jensen was in this bubble and nothing registered but the feel of Jared's warm hand pressed against the rough denim on his leg. Beside him, Jared was staring too intently at the TV, breathing quickly like he'd only just finished a workout. Jensen felt like he couldn't breathe, and he scooted even further down the couch, and Jared just moved his hand, so close… so close….
Then Clif rounded the corner, quoting, "Hey Peter, man,” yelling along with the TV. “Check out channel 9,” he continued, “check out this chick." He was laughing as he made his way back into the room.
Jared and Jensen jerked apart, not looking at each other, and Clif plopped himself back down on the couch, still laughing.
Jensen's next rule was maybe the most important and probably the most difficult to follow. Never get your heart broken.
When Supernatural ended five seasons in, it wasn’t a surprise at all. Eric had always been adamant that he didn’t want to wear out their welcome, and Jensen had plenty of time to figure out the next phase of his life.
What had been a surprise was this:
He’d been pouring hot, dark coffee into his favorite mug when it happened. The mug had been a gift from Mac when she was seven; it said World 's Best Brother in swirly blue writing. It was chipped on one edge and stained on the inside from years of use, and Jensen had moved it from Dallas to LA to Vancouver without a moment's thought. The morning light was crisp and white, and Jensen squinted his eyes against it, peering out into the backyard. When he turned around, Carrie was right in front of him, bathrobe tied kind of haphazardly around her middle and short hair sort of sexily tumbled, like she’d just rolled out of bed.
Jensen gave her a half-smile around his first sip, miming to the pot to ask if she wanted any.
Carrie didn’t smile back. Her mouth was wide and her lips were red. Shaking her head, she said, “I actually need to talk to you.”
Jensen swallowed the coffee; it burned his throat on the way down. “What’s up?” he croaked. He took a step back, until his hips bumped up against the counter’s edge. “Where’s Jay?”
“He's lifting,” she said, and then, “We're moving in together.”
Jensen was mostly just glad that he hadn’t taken another sip of his coffee, so he was saved from spitting it all over her pretty face. He pressed his lips together.
Carrie continued. “It was obviously pretty spur of the moment,” she explained, and Jensen couldn’t help the tremor of relief that went down his spine at that. Torn as he was between never wanting Carrie and Jared to get closer and hurt that Jared hadn’t told him first, at least he could deal with a decision that wasn’t premeditated.
“The thing is,” Carrie said. “I need you to not screw this up for us.”
Jensen opened his mouth in confusion, but Carrie held up a hand. “You’re his best friend,” she went on, “and you’re in love with him.”
This time, when Jensen opened his mouth, he protested, “Wait a second. I’m not in love with him.”
But Carrie had just looked at him - this long, serious look. “If you told him not to, he wouldn’t move in with me,” she said patiently. “If you told him to, he’d break up with me. You two are … " She hesitated. "Your approval means everything to him, Jensen.” It was maybe the first time Jensen had ever seen her nervous. She pulled at the hem of her robe. “I know I can make him happy, but not without your blessing.” She narrowed her eyes. "We can fight for him, if you want, but one of us is going to lose."
Jensen nodded slowly. He didn’t bother correcting her again. In the end, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. In the end, Jared’s happiness meant nearly as much to Jensen as it did to Jared. If Carrie could make Jared happy, Jensen wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of that.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, resigned.
When Jared came back and finally told Jensen that he and Carrie were moving in together when they made the move back to LA, Jensen acted surprised and offered only a hearty back slap and congratulations.
He's good at being accommodating when he needs to be. For the last month that they were in Vancouver he stayed mostly out of the way, feeling old and tired and letting Jared and Carrie pretend at playing house while they packed up their shit and talked to a real estate agent. Jensen had a place back in LA that he used to share with Steve before Steve went and found himself a wife and a baby.
They moved out of Jared’s house, which went on and off the market quietly and quickly. Jensen found himself living alone for the first time in a very long time.
Jensen keeps good on his word. He doesn't interfere, not when Carrie and Jared buy a big house in the hills, and not when Jared drags him shopping for a diamond ring, a shiny thing that hurts to stare at for too long.
Eventually, Carrie stops looking at him like he's out to steal her boyfriend, and though they never really learn to like each other, they can both fake it for Jared.
Jensen dates, but none of the girls seem to stick. He and Danneel even try it again for about five months until she shows up at his door with a sad smile that tells him everything he needs to know. When he kisses her goodbye, he can't seem to bring himself to be sad over anything other than a friendship lost.
The day Jared shows up at Jensen's door with a grim frown, two big dogs on leashes, and a bag in his hand, Jensen feels a little jerk in his chest. It's almost two years to the day that Jared and Carrie got married in a small Texas wedding, standing in the backyard of Jared's parent's three-bedroom ranch; Jensen mostly remembers sweating in the hot sun, pulling at his tie, and swallowing back the lump in his throat.
He looks at Jared now and feels none of the triumph he always imagined he'd feel in this situation.
"Bedroom in the back," Jensen says, pointing over his shoulder. Jared nods, finding his way down the hall without a word, and Jensen won't comment on his red-rimmed eyes; he only gets out a beer and has it waiting on the island in the kitchen.
"She cheated," Jared says, finally, after draining the beer in two dangerous gulps.
"What?" Jensen asks, not sure he heard that right.
"Been cheating," Jared says, eyes downcast and voice muffled. "Two months. Some guy she met on set." He gives a choked up laugh. "Some fucking camera man." He sounds like he's gonna cry. Jensen gets him another beer. Jared nods in thanks and looks up to meet Jensen's gaze with his own sad eyes. "What the fuck did I do wrong?"
Jensen lets himself frown. He meets Jared's eyes. "Absolutely nothing," he says.
Jensen watches Jared swallow. "Thank you," he says after a minute.
"It's no problem," Jensen says. "Stay as long as you want." And he means it.
Jared stays.
In some ways it really is that simple. He sends a couple of movers over for his stuff, because even though the house he shared with Carrie is at least partly his, he says he can't stand to be there for even a minute. Not right now. About a year ago Jared had landed himself another part on a TV show, this time on an ensemble drama thing about a group of four guys who've been friends since high school and live in a small mid-western town. The show's in its second season with climbing ratings, more popular than Supernatural ever was, but has a cast of about ten, which means Jared can work a regular forty hour week and have time for sleep and other important things. Like sitting around the house staring at pictures from his wedding day.
After about a week of this, Jensen bans all evidence of Carrie from his house, stuffs everything that might bring up her memory into boxes and sticks them in storage, and then goes in search of the problem.
He's been through this with Jared before, held his proverbial hair back when he got drunk and puked messily after his last break up, and Jensen's not certain he can hold in his rage this time.
It's been three years since Supernatural ended, and Jensen's made five movies, three of which he stared in and one of which was nominated for a Golden Globe last year. He's famous enough that he gets recognized three out of five times if he's out for a night, and he almost always wears sunglasses around now, even when it's overcast. It's less for fear that he'll be recognized, and more because they make him less approachable and he doesn't have to meet anybody's eyes.
His fame and the fact that he's been here six dozen times in the past three years get him through the gated community entrance with no problems. As he rings the annoying doorbell at Jared's old home, he anxiously pulls his sunglasses off and taps the ear of them erratically against his side.
When no one answers after about ten seconds, Jensen pounds loudly on the red French doors.
"Relax," calls a feminine and familiar voice as the door opens. "I'm coming."
Carrie stares at him, obviously unnerved, and Jensen feels a mean ping of spite in his throat. "How did you get past the gates?" she asks.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he says in answer.
Carrie holds the door open. "Would you like to come in?"
Jensen scoffs primly. "No, I would not."
"What do you want then?"
Jensen blinks. "I want… I want to know why. I want to know why my best friend is sitting at home with a broken heart."
Carrie doesn't answer for a minute. "So he's at your house, then. He wouldn't tell me where he was going."
"Of course he's there. Where the hell else would he go?"
Meeting his eyes, she says, "Yeah, I guess that's a good question," and there's something in her voice that makes Jensen take a small step back.
"No way," he spits out. "There's no possible way you can make this about me and him. We never did anything."
"You always came first."
"You're his wife."
"Exactly," she says, like that's any sort of answer.
"I backed off, just like you wanted." He finds his voice escalating. "We never - "
"It didn't matter," Carrie snaps back, yelling now too, and Jensen can't even care that there are real tears in her eyes. He hates her. "Do you know how tiring it is, always wondering? I just couldn't - I couldn't take it anymore."
"So that's it. Because you were too insecure to handle it, you broke his heart." Jensen pauses and makes himself breathe for a minute, trying to calm down. "He loves you," he says, quieter. "And you…"
"I love him, too, Jensen," she says, and he scoffs again, unbelieving. "I'm sorry that's he's - look, I never set out to hurt him; I never set out to do this. But I can't take it back now."
Jensen sees truth there, but he doesn't care. "Don't contact him," he bites out. "Don't have anything to do with him, or you'll regret it." He turns around after the threat to head back to his car. He's not surprised to hear the door shut firmly behind him.
"Yeah, okay," Jared says into his phone as Jensen walks in the door about a week later. Jared's turned mostly away from him, staring out the back window at the fenced in backyard.
The house is laid out like a horseshoe, with a great room in the center that has twelve-foot high ceilings with skylights that slant thick evening light down on Jared as he stands there with a frown.
Jared turns at the sound of Jensen throwing his keys on a table, and a tired hello of a smile splits his face. He mouths "lawyer" at Jensen, then rolls his eyes, miming a gun to his head.
Jensen lets himself grin. He leaves on the pretence of going to grab a couple beers, but really just wants to give Jared some privacy. Jared, apparently not catching on, follows Jensen into the kitchen.
Even without children, getting a divorce is surprisingly complicated. Jared spends an enormous amount of time on the phone with his lawyer, and Jensen's mostly just grateful that Jared doesn't have to talk to Carrie directly.
It's going to take close to six or seven months for things to be official, and in the interim there's so much to figure out: the house and the cars and the stuff that they'd accumulated in just two short years of marriage.
Jared has one hell of a publicist, Marianne, a beehived planet with a blackberry, who has so far managed to keep his name out of the papers, for which Jensen had just yesterday sent her an enormous arrangement of flowers and chocolates.
Jared's still on the phone by the time Jensen gets two fillets garlic'ed and salted; on the patio, the grill is smoking hot and ready for the meat. Jensen hands the plate to Jared without a word, watching Jared maneuver the patio door, the plate of meat and the phone on his way out.
Inside, Jensen makes them both big helpings of salad and microwaves some frozen vegetables. He watches as Sadie and Harley both beg with tongues lolling near Jared, as Jared continues his conversation, looking like he'd rather hang himself by Jensen's ceiling fan than keep talking.
By the time Jared hangs up, after a lot, "mm hmmms" and "whatever you think is best", Jensen's got the patio table set, the dogs fed, and two fresh beers open and ready.
Jared sits down with a sigh, decidedly flipping his phone shut and turning it off. He looks at the spread on the table. The sun's still high in the sky, heavy and yellow, though it's started to cool off just a little, so it's comfortable to sit out here among the sounds from a nearby freeway and Jensen's neighbor's lawn company mowing the yard.
Jared looks at Jensen and smiles. It's the same tired smile he's had for a week now, with fresh lines webbing out from his eyes, like the skin is stretched too thin.
Jensen says, "What's up?"
"I've missed this," Jared says, picking up his fork.
"My soggy microwaved vegetables?" Jensen asks, watching Jared shovel them into his mouth.
Jared mumbles something around his food, and Jensen tries to hide his amusement, instead saying, "Dude, you're an adult. Chew, then talk."
He laughs openly when Jared shoves another forkful into his mouth and then chews so messily he sprays broccoli down the front of himself.
"Christ, it’s like eating with my nephew," Jensen grumbles, which just makes Jared chew louder.
"Anyway," Jared says after he's finally swallowed, at the same time Jensen says, "You were saying?"
Jared meets his eyes. "I missed… this. Us. Hanging out."
"I don't think we've gone longer than two weeks without seeing each since that time I was in Brazil two years ago, Jay."
"Yeah, but that was different," Jared insists.
Jensen looks down to study his beer; a Labatt Blue that Jared had insisted they buy at the grocery store yesterday to "make it feel like home." He picks at the label. "Yeah," he agrees. "I guess it was."
Glancing up, he sees Jared studying him. Jensen coughs. "You know what else I missed," he says heartily. "Kicking your ass at Area 51."
Jared's grin goes a little wider. "You must be getting' old, Jen, because that is not how it went down."
"Oh, no?" Jensen says. "Want to prove me wrong?"
"Damn straight, Grandpa. Just give me a sec to finish this awesome steak I made."
People had always been sort of disproportionately protective of Jared. Jensen always supposed it had something to do with his open, friendly nature and his stupid floppy hair. Kinda like how people want to protect dogs. It's no different now that Jared's almost thirty and tells the dirtiest jokes of anyone Jensen's ever met - including Rosenbaum - the feeling to keep him protected from the big bad world consumes Jensen as it does anyone Jared's ever met.
Over the next few months, Jensen helps Jared get through this the only way he knows how. There's a lot of beer and a lot of pizza, and more video games played since Jensen turned thirty. They slide easily back into an old routine of taking the dogs for long hard runs with Jared mocking Jensen for getting old and having creaky knees, and Jensen complaining - loudly and often - about Jared's overactive sweat glands.
When he comes home and Jared has obviously had a rough day on the phone with his lawyer, Jensen takes him to play paintball. When twice he finds Jared with red eyes, watching Love Actually, he doesn't even mock him (much), and instead lets Jared kick his ass in basketball.
Somehow, Jensen forgot how easy this was, and how comfortable. He forgot how nice it was to have someone to make pancakes for, and how comforting it was to come home and know there would be someone there to watch TV with, someone who didn’t have expectations, someone who didn’t want an autograph or expect him to know where Ukraine was in relation to Romania.
Somehow, Jensen forgot, but it comes back to him easily enough.
Jensen's new movie is shooting at the Warner Brothers studio, which isn't too far away from Steve's new house. Steve, who just signed a new lucrative record deal, makes Jensen take him out for a celebratory lunch one rare rainy Wednesday afternoon. It's packed inside, but they get a quiet seat in an intimate corner. After Steve shakes himself like a dog and the waiter leaves with their drink order, Steve raises his eyebrows expectantly.
Jensen blinks at him. "You look like you're waiting for something."
Steve nods a little. "You've been pretty MIA lately. You got a new piece of tail, or what?"
"You have a daughter."
"So, what? I have to change the way I talk?"
"Yes!"
Steve laughs, open-mouthed. "Thanks," he says, when the waiter sets down his scotch on a neat little white napkin in front of him.
Jensen nods his thanks for his Guinness. He raises his glass almost immediately. "To your new deal, man."
Steve's smile is wide when he clinks his glass with Jensen's and takes a long, slow sip. He smacks his lips together and sets the tumbler down with a plop. "Spill it," he says.
Waving a dismissive hand, Jensen says, "It's nothing. Just, Jay's going through some shit and I've been on duty for a while."
Steve's eyebrows knit together in concern. He and Jared don't see each other that often, but they get along like gangbusters whenever they do. It makes Jensen ridiculously glad to know two of his best friends like each other so much. "What's wrong with Jared?"
Jensen sighs. "Carrie fucking cheated on him," he says, surprised at how angry he still is about it.
"Fuck her, no she didn't," Steve says. "Jesus Christ, how is he?"
Jensen thinks about it. "You know," he says after a minute. "The whole thing is kind of a disaster with all these negotiations about their house and their crap. And I hate that she cheated on him and then told him about it, and about how long it was going on and didn’t just leave him, almost, you know. This just brought up all of his insecurities."
He quiets down when their waiter comes back. Jensen morosely orders an overpriced salad, counting calories because he's supposed to do a love scene next week.
When they're finished, he leans on his forearm, looking across the table at Steve. "To be honest, though, he's doing better than I thought he would." He shrugs. "He's hanging in there, I guess."
Nodding, Steve says, "Well, he's got you, so I guess that makes sense."
Jensen snorts. "Yeah, Carrie actually thought, well…"
"She thought you two - " Steve lets the thought hang on the air.
Jensen runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass; it makes a small, musical noise. He nods softly.
"Wow," Steve breathes out, before he says, "Were you?"
"What?" Jensen looks up sharply. "No, of course not. As far as I know, he was always faithful to her."
Steve takes a big sip of his scotch, crunching loudly on a piece of ice. "Can I be honest with you?"
"What?" says Jensen warily.
Steve expels a great big breath of air. "Honestly, Jenny, there was a time when I thought you and Jared were crossing swords on a regular basis."
"Nice."
"It was long before he and Carrie started up, but I couldn't figure out why two dudes were living together when you both made that much money."
"You lived with me in LA for four years, douche bag."
"Yeah, but you weren't ever around."
"So, what, are you saying she was justified?"
Steve looks affronted. "Fuck no," he says. "I'm only saying, you two, you're real close. I don't completely blame her for thinking the worst. And, you know, I'm also saying." He pauses. "Jesus, don't get mad at me. I'm also saying I've known you pretty much since you moved out here, and I know you've almost always held yourself back in every relationship you've been in, but the only person I've seen completely break down any real barriers for you was Jared. You guys. I guess I'm just saying I'm glad you guys have each other."
Jensen blinks.
Steve claps his hands together across the table. "And on that girly note, what do you say you buy me a shot."
There was this one point, about three months after Jensen had moved in with Jared when they were still working on the show, that he could pinpoint and say, this was it. It was when the seasons were shifting. Up there, the world didn't stay sun-soaked year 'round like it did in LA. There was a real shift from summer to fall when you felt the air go crisp and thin, and watched the sky bruise from baby blue to turquoise. For the many years Jensen spent in Canada, that was always his favorite time.
They were coming off a long overnight shoot, just when the sun started to rise, still so early and so cold Jensen could see his breath when he spoke. Clif was passed out on the couch in the backroom when they got in, with Harley spread across his legs and Sadie lengthwise on the floor. Both dogs jumped up immediately and rushed over, and Jensen didn't even gloat when Harley made for him first instead of Jared.
It was stupid, something he'd seen Jared do a hundred times in a hundred different ways. He was dead on his feet, and had had the bulk of the work tonight, having to cry over and over at a crossroads while Jensen basically laid there and played dead. Instead of going right to sleep, though, Jared grabbed two leashes and attached them to the dogs.
He ignored Jensen's protests that Jensen would take them out alone. He was always like that - putting everything, Jensen and work and the dogs ahead of himself - and he smiled real big, this genuine Jared smile, the kind that split his face in two and made his tired eyes look shiny, happy to do it.
They went for a walk with dry leaves crunching beneath their feet and with the sun just peeking out over the trees. The morning light was clear and thin, and Jared looked pale and tired in it, but Jensen glanced over at him, with the stupid light making Jared shine, and he'd felt everything hollow out inside of him, liked he'd been scrubbed clean.
Late September in LA doesn't bring about that feeling of the world changing around them. It mostly means new TV and lots of premieres and the near-constant burn of sunshine. It's at least cool enough, though, that they can have an afternoon cookout without needing to hideaway in the air conditioning.
Jensen slides open the patio door and smiles at the scene around him. A few friends are milling around; Steve's got Liz and his kid Mary with him, and Jared's playing with her on his lap, making goofy faces and blowing raspberries while she squeals in delight. It figures, Jensen thinks, since Jared's pretty much got the mentality of a three year old anyway.
Most people by now have heard about the fact that Jared's going through a divorce, though the details of it aren't out there. What's shocking to Jensen, though maybe it shouldn't be, is that no one questions or even looks surprised by the fact that Jared's taken up residence with him.
When Jared says, "Yeah, we're thinking about getting one of those," to Matt, discussing a home theatre system that he had installed last month, Matt tells Jared and Jensen to come over and take a look without batting an eye.
Later, Steve and Liz are getting ready to go home to put Mary to bed, and she sleepily mumbles goodbye to "Uncle Jen and Uncle Jay" like that's the way it's always been. Something soft unfolds in Jensen's chest, and he avoids Steve's eyes as he follows the group out to the doorway.
It doesn't become troubling, though, until everyone is gone and the two of them are left cleaning up the kitchen. Jensen's throwing the last of the beer bottles into the recycling bin Jared made him buy last month, while Jared, wearing a ridiculous Kiss the Cook apron scrubs the grill rack in his bare feet. He's humming loudly to himself, smiling and bopping, and Jensen can't help but stop and stare. It's been a long time since he's seen Jared just plain happy without the shine of regret in his eyes.
He looks over, his eyes lighting on Jensen to see he's being studied. "What's up?" he says, grin still playing around his mouth.
Jensen jerks a little. "What? Oh, nothing, just…"
Jared motions with his chin and asks, "Can you hand me that towel?"
When Jensen hands it to him, his bare fingers brush against Jared's wet hand, and he feels a decided tingle zip up his arm. He jerks back quickly, coughing loudly to cover the movement. Jared gives him a long look, eyes crinkling in confusion.
Jensen gives a weak smile. "You shocked me," he lies, shaking his hand like it's hurt.
Jared grins widely. "That's because I'm electric," he says.
Shaking his head, Jensen can't help but laugh at that. "If you start doing the electric slide, I'mma kick you out," he tells him, grateful that the moment has passed.
But of course, it's sort of like freight train, because once it starts, it's almost impossible to stop without a lot of complicated measures.
Jensen knows from past experience that it's never been just him. While he may have been the first to initiate it all those years ago, he also knows that Jared got off plenty with his mouth latched onto Jensen's neck as he rubbed himself off against Jensen's leg.
Maybe because Jared was the one to get married, Jensen forgot about that and let his guard down. One late morning after a satisfying sleep in, Jensen ambles down in search of coffee in only his boxers. It's only a little chilly in the house, and he can't be bothered to locate any clothes to throw on. He wanders into the kitchen to see Jared there with the paper and a bowl of cereal in front of him.
Jensen stops in the doorway, feeling a little foolish in only his underwear while Jared's up and fully dressed. Especially when Jared's eyes land somewhere around Jensen's navel and stay fixed there while Jensen feels his whole body go flush with warmth. It's a long while before Jared finally meets his eyes. After that, Jensen vows to always remember clothes at any cost.
Because the thing is, it's different now. Things have changed in ways Jensen can't totally describe, but maybe it's that they're in LA and no longer in a world that feels secluded and private and theirs like it did in Canada. Maybe it's because they're both a lot more famous, or because they've grown up. Likely it has to do with the fact that Jared's still going through a divorce and Jensen still sees him go sad and wistful sometimes when he thinks no one's watching. Whatever it is, though, this time Jensen knows they have to live with the consequences of their actions. Those rules that Jensen put in place so long ago were there for a reason, he reminds himself.
Jared makes it hard sometimes, though.
Two weeks after their cookout, they head out to a private concert given by a friend of Steve's for cancer research. In the car on the way over, Jared sniffs loudly, putting his nose next to Jensen's ear until Jensen jerks away forcefully.
"Dude," he grumbles, eyes watching the darkening road before him.
Jared sniffs again and asks, "Did you change your cologne?"
Jensen had, actually, just the day before. He'd switched from the citrus scent he'd worn for three years to something heavier when the old stuff was discontinued last month. Some small frisson of pleasure shoots through his system, but he ignores it and says, "Your nose is more accurate than Harley's, and it's disturbing."
Jared's grin is so bright Jensen can see it through the dark. "I like it," he says. "I mean, I like your old stuff, too, but this is nice."
Three weeks before Halloween, they're discussing what their plans should be for the night. Jensen feels lazy ("Old," Jared says) and wants to stay home to pass out candy to the neighborhood kids, while Jared gleefully informs Jensen he wants to dress up like Frankenstein's monster and go trick-or-treating himself. They settle on Jared dressing up like a big tall freak (which Jensen helpfully informs isn't too far from the truth) and Jensen pretending to be the scientist who brings him to life while passing out candy in the process. Jared goes to the store and pretty much buys up the entire candy section, because "We're going to be the most popular house of the block!" and they sit at the kitchen island and map out plans for a graveyard in their front yard.
Jared attaches matching cat ears to Sadie and Harley and chases them around the house trying to snap pictures. He adjusts devil's ears on his own head and walks around in his boxers and a red cap for pretty much the whole week before, and Jensen spends most of October with a smile permanently fixed to his face. It's like he'd forgotten the way Jared took up whole rooms with his smile and his enthusiasm and his infectious laughter, and it's like now that Jared's laughing again, Jensen can't stop waiting for the sound.
Part 2