Wicked Game - Part 1
Master Post
Part 1
It was not a good day for Jared Padalecki. The sun was too hot for August. His moving van was still full and his best buddy called with bad news.
Jared stood against the open door to the rented moving van. Sweat pooled in the groove between his clavicles. Tinted his navy V-neck black. He had a cell phone pressed to one ear, a finger stuck in the other.
"I'm sorry, did you just say you couldn't make it?" He had to shout to be heard over the heavy metal music blasting from next door.
"I'm sorry," Chad said. Jared squeezed his eyes shut. Focused on making out his buddy's words. "My boss sent me out on some emergency job but I'll come by as soon as -- Jesus, what's that god awful noise?"
"My new neighbor's having some party or something."
"In the middle of the day?"
"Sounds like it."
"Shit. Alright, man, keep your head up. I'll be there ASAP."
"Yeah, okay. See you later." Jared sighed and pocketed his phone. He stared at the full van. The two dozen boxes. The furniture. The stuff that needed out. Today.
There was a moment of silence between tracks and Jared glanced at the house next door. A beaten up truck stood on the dried up front lawn. Its finish was copper color and Jared had a hard time guessing if it was intended or just rust. A worn down leather couch had found a shadowed place on the front porch and a license plate hung askew over the front door.
Inviting.
Judging by the ambiance and the soundtrack, his neighbors were probably out back - sacrificing a goat or something. High on beer and too much testosterone.
Jared sighed, surrendered to the inevitable and carried the first box inside. There his eyes fell on the cooler he’d prepared this morning. The one filled with snacks and beer. Of which he had two more cases in the basement. He grinned as an idea formed in his mind.
---
Jared chanced a look at the next door mail box. Ackles. Not a common name. He stepped up onto the porch and the wooden planks gave under his weight. Probably creaked, too. Not that he could hear it. By now the song had changed to a track that even he’d heard before. Iron Maiden sang Fear of the Dark and Jared hesitated. The goat sacrifice had been a joke. Sort of. Now he seriously wondered.
“Get a grip,” Jared told himself. Heaved a deep breath and rang the door bell. If it worked, he couldn’t hear it. An answer he didn’t get, anyway. So he knocked, hard, and the door opened a crack. But still no answer.
"Hello?!" He took a tentative step inside. No sign of life. The hallway was decorated sparsely with an empty coat hanger. To the left a door opened to the kitchen. The same picture: only the necessities. Clean but assembled of pieces that didn’t match. A yard sale collection.
To his right a staircase lead to the second floor. Its rail worn out, nearly void of any paint.
No sign of life.
Jared called out again. By now, he couldn't even tell if he had made any noise at all. Jared followed the hallway to the door at the far end. It opened into the living room. The source of the music. A huge stereo and booming speakers took up the far wall.
He had zeroed in on it when a guy slammed into his side. Slammed him right into the wall. Before he had a chance to react, his arm was twisted behind his back. His face pressed into the wallpaper, yellow and foully-sweet from nicotine.
"Who are you?" Strong baritone. Imperious. Smoky breath right next to Jared’s ear.
Jared tried to shoot a glance over his shoulder. A jerk on his arm kept him in place. Kept him in pain.
He sucked in a rattled breath. "My name's Jared,” he shouted. “Jared Padalecki. I'm from next door. I just -"
The hand on his wrists fell away. Jared turned and straightened himself out. His shoulder ached like hell. The man who had overpowered him stood a few inches shorter at about 6 feet. Sturdy shoulders and a narrow waist. Athletic but with a hint of softness. A Five Finger Death Punch band shirt clung to his chest and biceps. His features symmetric, his eyes set. Light stubble shadowed his chin. He hit a button on a remote and the music shut off.
"I called out, man," Jared said. Too loud now and flinched.
"He did." A second voice echoed from the door way. Jared snapped around. In the frame stood another man, fastening his belt. He was shorter than Jared and his asailant, with dark shoulder-length hair and a cowboy hat. "I heard him from the can. Called back even.” He paused and turned to Jared. “But I reckon you're as deaf as my buddy Jensen, here."
"Shut your mouth," Jensen snapped.
"Look," Jared said, "the door was open and I -"
"Decided to just come in?"
"Yeah. Well, I mean, I got no answer and the music and - I was starting to think you were hurt. Or worse - dead. You hear shit like that on TV all the time."
"A bit melodramatic don't you think?"
Jared shrugged. "Maybe. Whatever. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here - let's start over." He held out his hand. "I'm Jared, I'm your new neighbor."
"Jensen Ackles," his neigbor said and shook his hand. Then he pointed at the guy with the cowboy hat. "This is Chris."
"Okay, great," Jared said, "but - I got to admit I ain't just here to introduce myself. Actually, I got a favor to ask. And lots of free beer."
---
Faster than Jared expected, his living room filled with boxes. And about an hour later, the van was empty and what little furniture he had was set up.
With a heaved breath, Jared sank down on his couch. Sweat ran down his temple and threatened to run into his eyes. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and wiped his forehead.
Across the room, Ackles stood leaning against the wall. Red faced and slightly hunched forward. Rubbing at his left knee. When Ackles noticed him look, he stopped. Straightened.
Jared saw Chris open his mouth to say something, but Ackles beat him to it. "Here's to good neighbors," he said and grabbed his beer.
"Yeah. To good neighbors." Jared clinked their bottles, thought of the music and send a silent prayer heavenwards.
---
A couple days later, Jared had forgotten about the horrible music. Had written it off as a one-time deal. Until Metallica woke him in the middle of the night.
With a sigh, Jared heaved himself out of bed. Went over to the window. He opened it wide and the noise kicked up a notch.
Jared sat down on the window sill. Arms wrapped around a knee, he rested his head against the cool wall. He glanced down into the next door yard where a party was in full force.
Half a dozen dudes in black shirts, torn jeans and cargo pants littered the dried up lawn. Metal chains and rivets shimmered an angry orange in the light of a bonfire. A stark contrast to the dark tattoos and beards most of the guys sported.
Ackles stood in the middle. Attention of the crowd. One arm wrapped around the neck of his buddy Chris. They banged their heads back and forth. Hollered the chorus of St.Anger.
When the verse resumed, Ackles detached himself from his buddy. Barked a laugh and gave a toast with his beer. Then turned and headed for the small passage between his and Jared's home with an urgency to his step. Shot a glance over his shoulder to check no one was following. Jared leant forward when Ackles vanished in the dark behind the wooden fence that separated their properties.
There was a spark, and then the glimmer of a lit cigarette. It shook badly. The guy's hands were trembling like mad. Ackles pinched the bridge of his nose. Leaned against his house, forehead to the wall. His shoulders quivered and retching noises started up.
Jared scoffed and fetched the small bottle of water by the side of his bed.
"Hey," he called and leaned out the window. When Ackles glanced up, he threw the bottle over the fence. Moonlight caught the transparent plastic. Ackles's eyes went wide and he jumped. Jumped like Jared had thrown a grenade.
Jared blinked. What a tool. Shaking his head he closed the window. That little scare served the guy right, though. Maybe he'd turn the fucking music down now that he had experienced firsthand that someone lived here.
He crawled back under the covers, buried his head under the pillow and tried to forget the panicked white of Ackles’s eyes.
A moment later the music quieted down. Just in time for his bad conscience to speak up.
---
The gym was spacious but run down. Busy but not crowded. It was privately owned and a change from the brand chain place Jared had gone to before he’d moved here. Chad had recommended this place.
Nice and cozy, Chad had called it. Friendly, although it doesn’t look it. And he hadn’t lied, as far as Jared could tell. The crowd was mixed, with gender and ethnicity reasonably represented for a back alley place like this.
A "Hey, how's it work?" and a "Sign here," was all it took to get him in and soon the smell of sweat and air freshener greeted him. Chad met him at the reception desk and led the way to the treadmills. Past boxing rings and punching bags. Followed by the power section, filled with rowing machines and the likes. At the far left he spotted the weights - a whole collection of dumbbells, racks and benches. Mirrors lined the wall. Intended to watch the form but used for vanity.
And that's when he saw him. On a bench sat his new neighbor. Sweat had darkened his T-shirt. His buddy Chris stood next to him and handed him a towel and a sports bottle.
Jared’s focus broke when he heard his name called. Chad had stopped and turned to him with a puzzled look. "You coming or what?"
"Yeah," he said, but couldn't help a glance back to the bench section.
"What is it?" Chad asked.
"My neighbor." He nodded his head in the direction. "The one on the bench, wearing the green shirt."
“That redneck?”
"Yeah…" Jared scratched his head. “I don’t know if I should go over. Apologize. I gave him a good scare the other night.”
Chad hummed. Then shrugged. “Nah. He looks happy enough. ‘sides, he’ll brush it off, anyway. Admitting to being scared? No way. Not that badass."
“You know him?"
"No, but I know the type. Big, tough and straight." He lifted his hand. Held his index finger and thumb an inch apart. “With that small a dick. Now, you coming or what?”
"Alright, alright,” he huffed and grinned. Chad was probably right.
"Great,” Chad said and led him further down the gym. Until he abruptly stopped him with a hand to his chest and nodded at a guy on a spinning machine. Young, smoothly tanned. Wavy hair and without an ounce of extra fat.
"That’s Pierre,” Chad said. “Now, he’s someone you definitely want to go over to.”
Pierre had noticed them look. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Their eyes met and he smiled wide and blindingly white.
Yeah, Jared thought. Chad was probably right.
---
The restaurant was nice. All candles and soft music. The waiters were polite, friendly even. The wine a good vintage and the steak just right. His anyway. Pierre had only ordered a salad. Which looked fresh but that was about it. He hadn't even ordered yoghurt dressing, just oil and vinegar and Jared felt guilty cutting up his hearty helping of meat.
They sat in silence and Jared struggled to find a topic to talk about. Eventually, he cleared his throat. Nodded at the salad. "You like it?"
Pierre glanced up. He finished chewing and dapped at his spotless mouth. "It's really good. How's your steak?"
"It's great. You wanna try a bite?"
"No, I'd rather not. I'm a vegan." He paused. "But thank you."
Jared stared at him. They were in a steak house for heaven’s sake. Awesome. Why the hell hadn’t he mentioned it before? He gave Pierre a tentative grin. "Maybe we should have gone to see a movie after all."
"Nah, this is much nicer, isn't it? I'm not really a big fan of movies."
"Oh come on, you're joking."
"No. I mean, it just doesn't do it for me."
"Not even, like -"
"No. I don’t like sharing my lover’s attention with a metal box. Besides," Pierre said and his hand covered Jared's. Jared felt smooth skin. Even, perfectly manicured fingernails. A stark contrast to the dirty smile. "I can be much more entertaining."
Jared pulled his hand back. Offered an apologetic smile and Pierre’s face dropped. They finished the date in silence. When Jared dropped Pierre off there was no kiss. None of the suggested sex.
With a sigh Jared went back to his car. Just sex wasn’t what he was looking for.
Back home, Jared dropped onto his couch. The evening was still young. Frustrated, he reached for his copy of "Animal Farm". He still had to finish it for his class. Might be a good opportunity, now.
Half an hour later, Jared sat at the bar in his kitchen. The third spot he'd tried. He hadn't gotten a page further.
He carded a hand through his hair. Chewed on his lip. Read the same sentence for the third time. It just. Wouldn't. Stick.
It was a farce. The damn book had barely more than a 100 pages. He'd read it before. Back, in his time as a student and he'd liked it. Now, though, the letters were too small, the topic too political and the outlook too bleak.
Jared glanced at his TV. Top Gun laid by its side, beckoning him with its shiny Blu-Ray case. An alternative, something simple with young, half-naked Tom Cruise playing beach volleyball and just enough 80s hits to cheer him up. He could watch it. His Ex wasn’t here to mock him and he’d dodged a bullet with Pierre.
"Nope." Jared slapped his cheeks. He’d get something useful out of this evening. So he dug his elbows into the counter and stared down at the page. Set his eyes to it. His mind. His everything. The door bell rung, followed by two hard knocks and Jared nearly fell of his chair.
When he’d gotten himself back together, Jared went to the door and found Ackles and his buddy on his porch. Wearing matching Slipknot tour shirts.
"Hey, man, you busy?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, I was just reading-"
"So no. Great. There's a party. And you just got invited."
"I don't -"
"Come on, man. Can't hurt to meet some new faces, can it?"
Jared hesitated and glanced back inside. He really should read that book. Except he just couldn’t. He heaved a deep breath. Accepted that trying any longer was useless. Maybe a complete break and change of scenery would help. Get his mind off the failed date.
So he said, "Okay, yeah," and, with a little forced enthusiasm, "why the hell not?"
"Awesome." Chris dangled car keys in front of his nose. "You're driving."
He did a double take. "Wait, what? No way, if I go out I wanna have a drink. Let's take a cab."
They shared a look. Then Ackles shrugged. "Alright."
"Dude," Chris protested. "I'm short on cash as it is."
"Whatever, I'll pay for you."
Chris didn't look happy about it. He didn't protest further, though.
So, Ackles had money. Jared didn't dare wonder where from. Nothing with regular work hours, anyway. That much he knew.
---
They rode a cab to the middle of nowhere. Deep into the woods. At an iron gate hanging awry off its hinges the ride was over.
Jared stood on the dirt road. Felt his feet sink in. A shiver ran down his spine despite the hot air. The trees stood close enough that he could see ten yards in tops.
"I, uh... I don't think this is my kind of party..." Not that he didn’t see it coming, but still, this place was stretching it.
"Too bad," Chris said.
The cab's engine howled and Jared spun around. Caught a whiff of exhaust and stared at the taillights.
"Shit."
He glanced down the road they'd come from. What the hell had he been thinking? Change of scenery was one thing, but now he’d gotten himself stranded at this redneck hideout.
Jared sighed. Keep an open mind, he told himself. Live some new experiences. Might be worth it. Maybe. Unlikely. He sighed again and set out after Ackles and Chris.
The dirt road led them to an old farm with a dark farmyard. A lonely bulb struggled to support the dimming daylight. Trucks and cars littered the space. The stench of pigs hung heavy in the air.
Jared pursed his lips. He took another step and his foot sunk into a puddle of mud. He stared down at it in disgust. It hadn't rained in weeks. Awesome.
"Come on, it's round back," Chris called.
"Course it is," Jared mumbled. He could already hear the music. More heavy metal. He wiped his sneakers on a patch of grass and followed.
---
A big bonfire burned hot in the night. Jared kept his distance. He was sweating up a storm already. He sat on the edge of a tree trunk, the top three buttons of his shirt open. He itched to shed it completely but he was the odd one out as it was, with his shaggy hair and the clean shaven face. No need to show off a college T-shirt. Not in this place where no one looked like he’d any education past 8th grade.
He never considered himself a prejudiced guy but it was hard to ignore if the shoe fit: camping chairs, beaten up coolers and a bunch of kegs added to the scenery of dried bushes and trampled ground. Guys wore wife beaters or beer guts or both. Girls wore hot pants and bikini tops and some not even those.
The sky was clear, though. Stars shining bright in the distance. That was the only upside, though and he cursed himself for agreeing to tag along but now here he was. Left alone,. His neighbor seemed to enjoy himself. Figured. The guy fit right in. People flocked around him, handing drinks, patting his shoulders. One girl hung off his right, another off his left arm.
"Who are you?"
Jared glanced to the side. A kid had sauntered up to him. Hands buried in the pockets of baggy jeans. Jared put him at about sixteen and boy, that poor fella had not been blessed by the gene pool. On top of it, he'd tried to put his thin hair into a faux mohawk but had been to generous with the product, resulting in greasy looking strands. Some stuck out awkwardly.
He shifted. "Who's asking?"
"John's asking." His voice a pip-squeal. "So, who are you?"
"Jared."
"Never saw you around before, Jared."
"That's 'cause I've never been here before."
"You friends with Henry?"
Jared frowned. "I don't know any Henry.” He hooked a thumb towards the crowd. “I'm Ackles's new neighbor."
"Jay, huh?" The kid's lips pursed. "So you friends with him?"
"I didn't say that."
"Everyone's friends with him."
"Except you."
The kid looked surprised. Then shrugged. "He thinks he’s like - my brother, you know? But I think he's overrated."
"How come?"
Before the kid could answer, Chris caught up with them. "Johnny," Chris called. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
"Fuck you, Kane."
"Aw, don't go away angry, just go away."
Johnny flipped him the bird then sulked off.
"Don't listen to a word that kid says."
"Why would you think he said anything?"
"'cause he always latches onto the new folks. Spouting shit. If he weren't Henry's son, he'd have been kicked to the curb long ago."
"Who's this Henry guy?"
"Guy who owns the farm." Chris looked around. Pointed at a pick-up that rumbled around the barn. "That's him."
A man got out. Sixty-ish. His hair silver but full. A leathery face. Plain jeans and a shirt.
Johnny was headed for him. But Henry either didn't notice or didn't care. He went straight for Ackles and the girls pushed away from Jensen’s arms. Sauntered off, giving lewd waves. Ackles shared a quick hug with Henry. Lots of pats on the back. When Henry pulled back he retrieved a pack of smokes from his pocket. Ackles took one and Henry lit it up for him. Then lit one for himself. In the spark of the fire, Jared saw a glimmer around Henry's neck. Dog tags.
A soldier.
Jared groaned. That's all he needed. Some dude who killed people for a living. Probably got off on it, too.
By the truck, Johnny stood, sulking.
Jared excused himself to go take a piss. As soon as he was out of sight, he called a cab.
---
The following week, work started for Jared. If his neighbor still played that music, Jared didn’t hear it. And for that he was grateful. Then came Saturday. The entire morning, aggressive music blasted from next door.
Jared contemplated going over. Ask Ackles to tone it down. He wasn't too keen on another close encounter with that awful wallpaper, though. Besides, the weather was beautiful. The sun was out, the sky clear. The temperature was a little high but not too bad for a summer day. Perfect for an escape on his motorcycle.
Ackles sat on his porch, sprawled on the ratty couch. He gave him a curt nod when Jared went for his garage. Then resumed staring into the distance. But when Jared pushed his Honda out of the garage, Ackles stood up. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he slowly came over.
He wore a band shirt again. It read Five Finger Death Punch and War Is the Answer. Showed a soldier with a skull head, wearing a gas mask and pointing a finger. A mockery of recruitment posters. Jared pursed his lips in disdain.
Ackles didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on the bike. "That a Fireblade?"
Jared glanced down at his bike. Surprised that Ackles knew the model. "Yeah, it is."
"Man, look at her. What a beauty she is." Ackles stroked a reverent hand over the handlebars, down to the red tank and over the leather seat.
Jared worked his helmet between his hands. "You ride?"
"Yeah,” he said and Jared thought chopper. Either a Harley or some beaten up, self-assembled wreck. But he’d thought wrong.
What Ackles pushed out from his garage was a supersport bike like his Honda. Finished in black and lime green. The word Ninja printed on the side. Mesmerized Jared stared at the ZX-10R, Kawasaki's supersport beast.
When Ackles swung his leg over the seat, Jared cleared his throat. "Don't you wanna put on a suit?"
Ackles's arms were bare beyond the sleeve of his T-shirt. So were the knees that poked through torn denim.
"Nah," Ackles said. "I like to feel the wind on my skin."
"More like the touch of death, I'd say."
Ackles gave him a blank look. A shrug. Then his head vanished under his helmet and Jared wondered why the guy even bothered.
---
Heat bore down on Jared's neck. The leather suit became an oven, cooking his body to boiling point. He could hear his breath echo in his helmet.
Gushing wind whistled through the circulation holes. Deafening him.
Landscape was but a blur. But taking in the scenery wasn't the point anyway.
The low hum between his legs, the pull at his shoulder, the hyperfocus that was the point. That incredible feeling of freedom.
Grey asphalt underneath him a powerful torrent.
Ackles pulled up next to him. He glanced over. Saw the guy smile behind his visor. Then Ackles tore past him and let go of the handle bars. He stretched his arms wide and the wind tore at his T-shirt.
"What an idiot," Jared mumbled.
But Ackles wasn't finished. His hands went back to the throttle and he picked up speed.
"Aw, crap." Jared shot after him. He couldn't let that guy out of sight. They weren’t exactly buddies but he wasn’t gonna hang back and watch him become a bloody stripe on the road.
Half an hour later they reached the end of the paved road at the parking lot of a fill up joint. After that it was just dirt road and desert so they stopped.
Heat wavered over the blacktop of the lot and they pulled their bikes up in the shade of the building. Jared took of his helmet and sucked in a deep breath. His ears were still ringing from the noise of gushing wind. He staggered for the first couple steps and stretched his trembling limbs. Then turned to his neighbor.
Ackles head popped from his helmet. A sour look on his face. “You’re a buzzkill, you know that? Slowing me down like that.”
“Excuse me for giving a shit. You wanna kill yourself do it when I’m not around to witness, yeah?”
“Whatever. Pussy,” Ackles huffed and tugged at his sweat soaked shirt. He had turned and started to fiddle with a black box on his bike. Too late Jared recognized it as a radio. The next moment music blasted from the damn thing.
“Oh no,” he shouted. “Not that metal crap again. It’s what I’ve been trying to get away from.”
Ackles turned the volume down. Glared at him. “Well, I ain’t listening to any hip-hop or whatever counts as popular these days.”
“I don’t either. Just - put on some decent rock, alright?”
“This is decent rock,” Ackles mumbled but switched stations anyway. He skipped through a couple, some he changed on his own accord, some Jared shook his head to. Then the upbeat rhythm of Mister Mister’s Kyrie sounded from the speakers. Jared bit his lip. He liked that one. Didn’t know anyone else who did, though - not unless they were stone drunk. And Ackles didn’t look like the guy who shared his taste in cheesy music, either.
But Ackles’s hand paused. Hovered over the radio as he glanced up.
They shared a quiet look and eventually Ackles said, “Alright, whatever.” He scratched scratched his neck, shrugged and continued, “I’m sick of skipping, I’ll leave this. You want something different you change it.” He sat down in the shade, defiant look on his face.
Jared grinned and slumped down next to him. Back against the cool wall, he enjoyed the moment. The fading rush. Around them solitude. The summer sun. The faint sizzle of the cooling engines the only sound. It was good. Comfortable.
After a while, Ackles shifted and fumbled in his pocket. Pulled out a beaten pack of smokes. Empty. "Damn. Be right back."
Jared looked after him. "Dude, the store is closed."
Ackles shot him a flat look over his shoulder. Tossed him his phone. An old one. Black and white screen and actual buttons.
"Call the cops if you wanna." He left without waiting for an answer.
Jared shook his head then glanced around, warily. No security cameras. As far as he could see, anyway. He still flinched when a loud crack echoed around the building. A couple minutes later, Ackles returned carrying a pack of smokes, two energy drinks and a bag of potato chips.
"Don't give me that look," he said. "I left money on the counter."
"For the broken door, too?"
"I ain't that well off. They got insurance."
"And if they don't?"
"Then it's a lesson long overdue." Ackles threw him a can and sat back down next to him. Lit up a smoke.
Jared sighed. "Do you really have to?"
Ackles inhaled deep, cheeks hollowing out. Then he blew the smoke in his face.
Jared coughed. Shoved his shoulder. "Dude!"
Ackles quirked an eyebrow and leant back against the wall. Stared into the distance. Fed up, Jared left him to it and retrieved his copy of Animal Farm.
Ackles cleared his throat. "You read?"
"Yeah, I read."
"For fun?"
Jared sighed. Rolled his eyes and glanced over. "Sometimes, yes. This is for work, though."
"Work? What the hell kinda job you gotta read that stuff for?"
"The kinda job you get at colleges."
"You're a teacher?"
"Yes. I'm a teacher."
"Funny," Ackles said. "You look more like a frat boy."
"What's a redneck like you know about frat boys?"
Ackles huffed a laugh. Then leant back and closed his eyes. "Nothin'."
Jared blinked. It was the answer he expected, but the way he said it... Shaking it off, Jared turned back to his book. It took him a moment to be able to focus, though.
---
Jared couldn't tell how much time had passed but he'd gone through thirty pages when his eyes began to itch. He sat the book down and blinked his eyes wet.
Next to him, Ackles shifted, too. Jared glanced over and watched as he grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled it over his head. The sun hit his back, framed broad shoulders and a narrow waist. And it hit something else, too. Pink and raised, a ten inch scar sat on Ackles’ lower back. A dozen smaller ones littered his entire right side. Ackles straightened and a pair of dog tags gave a metallic clink as they dangled from his neck.
Jared's jaw locked. So he was a soldier, like that Henry guy. Then it hit him. The scars. Ackles not leaving for a job and yet having money. He swallowed hard. "You're a veteran."
"So they say." Ackles glanced down his side. Stroked finger tips over the little bumps. "Shrapnel grenade. Took out a kidney." He cleared his throat and worried the shirt between his fingers. "And my knee. They had to dig out quite some shards there, too. Damn thing's fine most of the time but sometimes... the times I need it…" He snapped a hand to a tight fist. So hard his knuckles cracked.
"Shit."
Ackles looked at him. Eyes set in a frown of surprise like he had expected a different response. And Jared could relate. He had never expected to feel compassion for a solider.
A smirk tugged at Ackles’s lip. "Yeah. Shit." He paused. Then stared out into the desert.
"I..." Jared started. Saw Ackles tense. And really what could he say? He'd never met a veteran before.
He huffed a breath. Stared out into the desert, too. "I just got dumped by a 24-year old twink I thought I'd spent my life with."
Ackles glanced at him. “You’re gay?”
Jared nodded. Waited for the disgust. The anger. But it didn’t come. Ackles just nodded and turned back forward. "Shit," he said, sucking on his smoke. “That you got dumped, I mean.”
Jared smirked. "Yeah. Shit."
He turned back to his book. Reading came easier, this time.
---
When they rode back into their street, they passed Chris on the way. He was walking down to Jensen's home. Dressed up in a suit, but clothes askew. A jacket slung over his shoulders. Tie loosened.
Jensen immediately turned into his drive way and took of his helmet. Greeted Chris. They talked, slapped hands and backs. Jared couldn't hear much but the words that carried over were "interview" and "no good" and "fuck 'em."
And "damn fags."
Jensen didn't even blink at that. Jared thought himself forgotten already as he pushed his bike into the garage. But when he came back out, Jensen and Chris still stood in Jensen's drive way.
He looked over and Jensen gave him a curt salute. "See you around. We should do this again, man."
Jared nodded and waved back. “Yeah,” he said, “definitely.” And strangely enough, he found he actually meant it.
Part 2
Part 1
It was not a good day for Jared Padalecki. The sun was too hot for August. His moving van was still full and his best buddy called with bad news.
Jared stood against the open door to the rented moving van. Sweat pooled in the groove between his clavicles. Tinted his navy V-neck black. He had a cell phone pressed to one ear, a finger stuck in the other.
"I'm sorry, did you just say you couldn't make it?" He had to shout to be heard over the heavy metal music blasting from next door.
"I'm sorry," Chad said. Jared squeezed his eyes shut. Focused on making out his buddy's words. "My boss sent me out on some emergency job but I'll come by as soon as -- Jesus, what's that god awful noise?"
"My new neighbor's having some party or something."
"In the middle of the day?"
"Sounds like it."
"Shit. Alright, man, keep your head up. I'll be there ASAP."
"Yeah, okay. See you later." Jared sighed and pocketed his phone. He stared at the full van. The two dozen boxes. The furniture. The stuff that needed out. Today.
There was a moment of silence between tracks and Jared glanced at the house next door. A beaten up truck stood on the dried up front lawn. Its finish was copper color and Jared had a hard time guessing if it was intended or just rust. A worn down leather couch had found a shadowed place on the front porch and a license plate hung askew over the front door.
Inviting.
Judging by the ambiance and the soundtrack, his neighbors were probably out back - sacrificing a goat or something. High on beer and too much testosterone.
Jared sighed, surrendered to the inevitable and carried the first box inside. There his eyes fell on the cooler he’d prepared this morning. The one filled with snacks and beer. Of which he had two more cases in the basement. He grinned as an idea formed in his mind.
---
Jared chanced a look at the next door mail box. Ackles. Not a common name. He stepped up onto the porch and the wooden planks gave under his weight. Probably creaked, too. Not that he could hear it. By now the song had changed to a track that even he’d heard before. Iron Maiden sang Fear of the Dark and Jared hesitated. The goat sacrifice had been a joke. Sort of. Now he seriously wondered.
“Get a grip,” Jared told himself. Heaved a deep breath and rang the door bell. If it worked, he couldn’t hear it. An answer he didn’t get, anyway. So he knocked, hard, and the door opened a crack. But still no answer.
"Hello?!" He took a tentative step inside. No sign of life. The hallway was decorated sparsely with an empty coat hanger. To the left a door opened to the kitchen. The same picture: only the necessities. Clean but assembled of pieces that didn’t match. A yard sale collection.
To his right a staircase lead to the second floor. Its rail worn out, nearly void of any paint.
No sign of life.
Jared called out again. By now, he couldn't even tell if he had made any noise at all. Jared followed the hallway to the door at the far end. It opened into the living room. The source of the music. A huge stereo and booming speakers took up the far wall.
He had zeroed in on it when a guy slammed into his side. Slammed him right into the wall. Before he had a chance to react, his arm was twisted behind his back. His face pressed into the wallpaper, yellow and foully-sweet from nicotine.
"Who are you?" Strong baritone. Imperious. Smoky breath right next to Jared’s ear.
Jared tried to shoot a glance over his shoulder. A jerk on his arm kept him in place. Kept him in pain.
He sucked in a rattled breath. "My name's Jared,” he shouted. “Jared Padalecki. I'm from next door. I just -"
The hand on his wrists fell away. Jared turned and straightened himself out. His shoulder ached like hell. The man who had overpowered him stood a few inches shorter at about 6 feet. Sturdy shoulders and a narrow waist. Athletic but with a hint of softness. A Five Finger Death Punch band shirt clung to his chest and biceps. His features symmetric, his eyes set. Light stubble shadowed his chin. He hit a button on a remote and the music shut off.
"I called out, man," Jared said. Too loud now and flinched.
"He did." A second voice echoed from the door way. Jared snapped around. In the frame stood another man, fastening his belt. He was shorter than Jared and his asailant, with dark shoulder-length hair and a cowboy hat. "I heard him from the can. Called back even.” He paused and turned to Jared. “But I reckon you're as deaf as my buddy Jensen, here."
"Shut your mouth," Jensen snapped.
"Look," Jared said, "the door was open and I -"
"Decided to just come in?"
"Yeah. Well, I mean, I got no answer and the music and - I was starting to think you were hurt. Or worse - dead. You hear shit like that on TV all the time."
"A bit melodramatic don't you think?"
Jared shrugged. "Maybe. Whatever. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here - let's start over." He held out his hand. "I'm Jared, I'm your new neighbor."
"Jensen Ackles," his neigbor said and shook his hand. Then he pointed at the guy with the cowboy hat. "This is Chris."
"Okay, great," Jared said, "but - I got to admit I ain't just here to introduce myself. Actually, I got a favor to ask. And lots of free beer."
---
Faster than Jared expected, his living room filled with boxes. And about an hour later, the van was empty and what little furniture he had was set up.
With a heaved breath, Jared sank down on his couch. Sweat ran down his temple and threatened to run into his eyes. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and wiped his forehead.
Across the room, Ackles stood leaning against the wall. Red faced and slightly hunched forward. Rubbing at his left knee. When Ackles noticed him look, he stopped. Straightened.
Jared saw Chris open his mouth to say something, but Ackles beat him to it. "Here's to good neighbors," he said and grabbed his beer.
"Yeah. To good neighbors." Jared clinked their bottles, thought of the music and send a silent prayer heavenwards.
---
A couple days later, Jared had forgotten about the horrible music. Had written it off as a one-time deal. Until Metallica woke him in the middle of the night.
With a sigh, Jared heaved himself out of bed. Went over to the window. He opened it wide and the noise kicked up a notch.
Jared sat down on the window sill. Arms wrapped around a knee, he rested his head against the cool wall. He glanced down into the next door yard where a party was in full force.
Half a dozen dudes in black shirts, torn jeans and cargo pants littered the dried up lawn. Metal chains and rivets shimmered an angry orange in the light of a bonfire. A stark contrast to the dark tattoos and beards most of the guys sported.
Ackles stood in the middle. Attention of the crowd. One arm wrapped around the neck of his buddy Chris. They banged their heads back and forth. Hollered the chorus of St.Anger.
When the verse resumed, Ackles detached himself from his buddy. Barked a laugh and gave a toast with his beer. Then turned and headed for the small passage between his and Jared's home with an urgency to his step. Shot a glance over his shoulder to check no one was following. Jared leant forward when Ackles vanished in the dark behind the wooden fence that separated their properties.
There was a spark, and then the glimmer of a lit cigarette. It shook badly. The guy's hands were trembling like mad. Ackles pinched the bridge of his nose. Leaned against his house, forehead to the wall. His shoulders quivered and retching noises started up.
Jared scoffed and fetched the small bottle of water by the side of his bed.
"Hey," he called and leaned out the window. When Ackles glanced up, he threw the bottle over the fence. Moonlight caught the transparent plastic. Ackles's eyes went wide and he jumped. Jumped like Jared had thrown a grenade.
Jared blinked. What a tool. Shaking his head he closed the window. That little scare served the guy right, though. Maybe he'd turn the fucking music down now that he had experienced firsthand that someone lived here.
He crawled back under the covers, buried his head under the pillow and tried to forget the panicked white of Ackles’s eyes.
A moment later the music quieted down. Just in time for his bad conscience to speak up.
---
The gym was spacious but run down. Busy but not crowded. It was privately owned and a change from the brand chain place Jared had gone to before he’d moved here. Chad had recommended this place.
Nice and cozy, Chad had called it. Friendly, although it doesn’t look it. And he hadn’t lied, as far as Jared could tell. The crowd was mixed, with gender and ethnicity reasonably represented for a back alley place like this.
A "Hey, how's it work?" and a "Sign here," was all it took to get him in and soon the smell of sweat and air freshener greeted him. Chad met him at the reception desk and led the way to the treadmills. Past boxing rings and punching bags. Followed by the power section, filled with rowing machines and the likes. At the far left he spotted the weights - a whole collection of dumbbells, racks and benches. Mirrors lined the wall. Intended to watch the form but used for vanity.
And that's when he saw him. On a bench sat his new neighbor. Sweat had darkened his T-shirt. His buddy Chris stood next to him and handed him a towel and a sports bottle.
Jared’s focus broke when he heard his name called. Chad had stopped and turned to him with a puzzled look. "You coming or what?"
"Yeah," he said, but couldn't help a glance back to the bench section.
"What is it?" Chad asked.
"My neighbor." He nodded his head in the direction. "The one on the bench, wearing the green shirt."
“That redneck?”
"Yeah…" Jared scratched his head. “I don’t know if I should go over. Apologize. I gave him a good scare the other night.”
Chad hummed. Then shrugged. “Nah. He looks happy enough. ‘sides, he’ll brush it off, anyway. Admitting to being scared? No way. Not that badass."
“You know him?"
"No, but I know the type. Big, tough and straight." He lifted his hand. Held his index finger and thumb an inch apart. “With that small a dick. Now, you coming or what?”
"Alright, alright,” he huffed and grinned. Chad was probably right.
"Great,” Chad said and led him further down the gym. Until he abruptly stopped him with a hand to his chest and nodded at a guy on a spinning machine. Young, smoothly tanned. Wavy hair and without an ounce of extra fat.
"That’s Pierre,” Chad said. “Now, he’s someone you definitely want to go over to.”
Pierre had noticed them look. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Their eyes met and he smiled wide and blindingly white.
Yeah, Jared thought. Chad was probably right.
---
The restaurant was nice. All candles and soft music. The waiters were polite, friendly even. The wine a good vintage and the steak just right. His anyway. Pierre had only ordered a salad. Which looked fresh but that was about it. He hadn't even ordered yoghurt dressing, just oil and vinegar and Jared felt guilty cutting up his hearty helping of meat.
They sat in silence and Jared struggled to find a topic to talk about. Eventually, he cleared his throat. Nodded at the salad. "You like it?"
Pierre glanced up. He finished chewing and dapped at his spotless mouth. "It's really good. How's your steak?"
"It's great. You wanna try a bite?"
"No, I'd rather not. I'm a vegan." He paused. "But thank you."
Jared stared at him. They were in a steak house for heaven’s sake. Awesome. Why the hell hadn’t he mentioned it before? He gave Pierre a tentative grin. "Maybe we should have gone to see a movie after all."
"Nah, this is much nicer, isn't it? I'm not really a big fan of movies."
"Oh come on, you're joking."
"No. I mean, it just doesn't do it for me."
"Not even, like -"
"No. I don’t like sharing my lover’s attention with a metal box. Besides," Pierre said and his hand covered Jared's. Jared felt smooth skin. Even, perfectly manicured fingernails. A stark contrast to the dirty smile. "I can be much more entertaining."
Jared pulled his hand back. Offered an apologetic smile and Pierre’s face dropped. They finished the date in silence. When Jared dropped Pierre off there was no kiss. None of the suggested sex.
With a sigh Jared went back to his car. Just sex wasn’t what he was looking for.
Back home, Jared dropped onto his couch. The evening was still young. Frustrated, he reached for his copy of "Animal Farm". He still had to finish it for his class. Might be a good opportunity, now.
Half an hour later, Jared sat at the bar in his kitchen. The third spot he'd tried. He hadn't gotten a page further.
He carded a hand through his hair. Chewed on his lip. Read the same sentence for the third time. It just. Wouldn't. Stick.
It was a farce. The damn book had barely more than a 100 pages. He'd read it before. Back, in his time as a student and he'd liked it. Now, though, the letters were too small, the topic too political and the outlook too bleak.
Jared glanced at his TV. Top Gun laid by its side, beckoning him with its shiny Blu-Ray case. An alternative, something simple with young, half-naked Tom Cruise playing beach volleyball and just enough 80s hits to cheer him up. He could watch it. His Ex wasn’t here to mock him and he’d dodged a bullet with Pierre.
"Nope." Jared slapped his cheeks. He’d get something useful out of this evening. So he dug his elbows into the counter and stared down at the page. Set his eyes to it. His mind. His everything. The door bell rung, followed by two hard knocks and Jared nearly fell of his chair.
When he’d gotten himself back together, Jared went to the door and found Ackles and his buddy on his porch. Wearing matching Slipknot tour shirts.
"Hey, man, you busy?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, I was just reading-"
"So no. Great. There's a party. And you just got invited."
"I don't -"
"Come on, man. Can't hurt to meet some new faces, can it?"
Jared hesitated and glanced back inside. He really should read that book. Except he just couldn’t. He heaved a deep breath. Accepted that trying any longer was useless. Maybe a complete break and change of scenery would help. Get his mind off the failed date.
So he said, "Okay, yeah," and, with a little forced enthusiasm, "why the hell not?"
"Awesome." Chris dangled car keys in front of his nose. "You're driving."
He did a double take. "Wait, what? No way, if I go out I wanna have a drink. Let's take a cab."
They shared a look. Then Ackles shrugged. "Alright."
"Dude," Chris protested. "I'm short on cash as it is."
"Whatever, I'll pay for you."
Chris didn't look happy about it. He didn't protest further, though.
So, Ackles had money. Jared didn't dare wonder where from. Nothing with regular work hours, anyway. That much he knew.
---
They rode a cab to the middle of nowhere. Deep into the woods. At an iron gate hanging awry off its hinges the ride was over.
Jared stood on the dirt road. Felt his feet sink in. A shiver ran down his spine despite the hot air. The trees stood close enough that he could see ten yards in tops.
"I, uh... I don't think this is my kind of party..." Not that he didn’t see it coming, but still, this place was stretching it.
"Too bad," Chris said.
The cab's engine howled and Jared spun around. Caught a whiff of exhaust and stared at the taillights.
"Shit."
He glanced down the road they'd come from. What the hell had he been thinking? Change of scenery was one thing, but now he’d gotten himself stranded at this redneck hideout.
Jared sighed. Keep an open mind, he told himself. Live some new experiences. Might be worth it. Maybe. Unlikely. He sighed again and set out after Ackles and Chris.
The dirt road led them to an old farm with a dark farmyard. A lonely bulb struggled to support the dimming daylight. Trucks and cars littered the space. The stench of pigs hung heavy in the air.
Jared pursed his lips. He took another step and his foot sunk into a puddle of mud. He stared down at it in disgust. It hadn't rained in weeks. Awesome.
"Come on, it's round back," Chris called.
"Course it is," Jared mumbled. He could already hear the music. More heavy metal. He wiped his sneakers on a patch of grass and followed.
---
A big bonfire burned hot in the night. Jared kept his distance. He was sweating up a storm already. He sat on the edge of a tree trunk, the top three buttons of his shirt open. He itched to shed it completely but he was the odd one out as it was, with his shaggy hair and the clean shaven face. No need to show off a college T-shirt. Not in this place where no one looked like he’d any education past 8th grade.
He never considered himself a prejudiced guy but it was hard to ignore if the shoe fit: camping chairs, beaten up coolers and a bunch of kegs added to the scenery of dried bushes and trampled ground. Guys wore wife beaters or beer guts or both. Girls wore hot pants and bikini tops and some not even those.
The sky was clear, though. Stars shining bright in the distance. That was the only upside, though and he cursed himself for agreeing to tag along but now here he was. Left alone,. His neighbor seemed to enjoy himself. Figured. The guy fit right in. People flocked around him, handing drinks, patting his shoulders. One girl hung off his right, another off his left arm.
"Who are you?"
Jared glanced to the side. A kid had sauntered up to him. Hands buried in the pockets of baggy jeans. Jared put him at about sixteen and boy, that poor fella had not been blessed by the gene pool. On top of it, he'd tried to put his thin hair into a faux mohawk but had been to generous with the product, resulting in greasy looking strands. Some stuck out awkwardly.
He shifted. "Who's asking?"
"John's asking." His voice a pip-squeal. "So, who are you?"
"Jared."
"Never saw you around before, Jared."
"That's 'cause I've never been here before."
"You friends with Henry?"
Jared frowned. "I don't know any Henry.” He hooked a thumb towards the crowd. “I'm Ackles's new neighbor."
"Jay, huh?" The kid's lips pursed. "So you friends with him?"
"I didn't say that."
"Everyone's friends with him."
"Except you."
The kid looked surprised. Then shrugged. "He thinks he’s like - my brother, you know? But I think he's overrated."
"How come?"
Before the kid could answer, Chris caught up with them. "Johnny," Chris called. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
"Fuck you, Kane."
"Aw, don't go away angry, just go away."
Johnny flipped him the bird then sulked off.
"Don't listen to a word that kid says."
"Why would you think he said anything?"
"'cause he always latches onto the new folks. Spouting shit. If he weren't Henry's son, he'd have been kicked to the curb long ago."
"Who's this Henry guy?"
"Guy who owns the farm." Chris looked around. Pointed at a pick-up that rumbled around the barn. "That's him."
A man got out. Sixty-ish. His hair silver but full. A leathery face. Plain jeans and a shirt.
Johnny was headed for him. But Henry either didn't notice or didn't care. He went straight for Ackles and the girls pushed away from Jensen’s arms. Sauntered off, giving lewd waves. Ackles shared a quick hug with Henry. Lots of pats on the back. When Henry pulled back he retrieved a pack of smokes from his pocket. Ackles took one and Henry lit it up for him. Then lit one for himself. In the spark of the fire, Jared saw a glimmer around Henry's neck. Dog tags.
A soldier.
Jared groaned. That's all he needed. Some dude who killed people for a living. Probably got off on it, too.
By the truck, Johnny stood, sulking.
Jared excused himself to go take a piss. As soon as he was out of sight, he called a cab.
---
The following week, work started for Jared. If his neighbor still played that music, Jared didn’t hear it. And for that he was grateful. Then came Saturday. The entire morning, aggressive music blasted from next door.
Jared contemplated going over. Ask Ackles to tone it down. He wasn't too keen on another close encounter with that awful wallpaper, though. Besides, the weather was beautiful. The sun was out, the sky clear. The temperature was a little high but not too bad for a summer day. Perfect for an escape on his motorcycle.
Ackles sat on his porch, sprawled on the ratty couch. He gave him a curt nod when Jared went for his garage. Then resumed staring into the distance. But when Jared pushed his Honda out of the garage, Ackles stood up. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he slowly came over.
He wore a band shirt again. It read Five Finger Death Punch and War Is the Answer. Showed a soldier with a skull head, wearing a gas mask and pointing a finger. A mockery of recruitment posters. Jared pursed his lips in disdain.
Ackles didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on the bike. "That a Fireblade?"
Jared glanced down at his bike. Surprised that Ackles knew the model. "Yeah, it is."
"Man, look at her. What a beauty she is." Ackles stroked a reverent hand over the handlebars, down to the red tank and over the leather seat.
Jared worked his helmet between his hands. "You ride?"
"Yeah,” he said and Jared thought chopper. Either a Harley or some beaten up, self-assembled wreck. But he’d thought wrong.
What Ackles pushed out from his garage was a supersport bike like his Honda. Finished in black and lime green. The word Ninja printed on the side. Mesmerized Jared stared at the ZX-10R, Kawasaki's supersport beast.
When Ackles swung his leg over the seat, Jared cleared his throat. "Don't you wanna put on a suit?"
Ackles's arms were bare beyond the sleeve of his T-shirt. So were the knees that poked through torn denim.
"Nah," Ackles said. "I like to feel the wind on my skin."
"More like the touch of death, I'd say."
Ackles gave him a blank look. A shrug. Then his head vanished under his helmet and Jared wondered why the guy even bothered.
---
Heat bore down on Jared's neck. The leather suit became an oven, cooking his body to boiling point. He could hear his breath echo in his helmet.
Gushing wind whistled through the circulation holes. Deafening him.
Landscape was but a blur. But taking in the scenery wasn't the point anyway.
The low hum between his legs, the pull at his shoulder, the hyperfocus that was the point. That incredible feeling of freedom.
Grey asphalt underneath him a powerful torrent.
Ackles pulled up next to him. He glanced over. Saw the guy smile behind his visor. Then Ackles tore past him and let go of the handle bars. He stretched his arms wide and the wind tore at his T-shirt.
"What an idiot," Jared mumbled.
But Ackles wasn't finished. His hands went back to the throttle and he picked up speed.
"Aw, crap." Jared shot after him. He couldn't let that guy out of sight. They weren’t exactly buddies but he wasn’t gonna hang back and watch him become a bloody stripe on the road.
Half an hour later they reached the end of the paved road at the parking lot of a fill up joint. After that it was just dirt road and desert so they stopped.
Heat wavered over the blacktop of the lot and they pulled their bikes up in the shade of the building. Jared took of his helmet and sucked in a deep breath. His ears were still ringing from the noise of gushing wind. He staggered for the first couple steps and stretched his trembling limbs. Then turned to his neighbor.
Ackles head popped from his helmet. A sour look on his face. “You’re a buzzkill, you know that? Slowing me down like that.”
“Excuse me for giving a shit. You wanna kill yourself do it when I’m not around to witness, yeah?”
“Whatever. Pussy,” Ackles huffed and tugged at his sweat soaked shirt. He had turned and started to fiddle with a black box on his bike. Too late Jared recognized it as a radio. The next moment music blasted from the damn thing.
“Oh no,” he shouted. “Not that metal crap again. It’s what I’ve been trying to get away from.”
Ackles turned the volume down. Glared at him. “Well, I ain’t listening to any hip-hop or whatever counts as popular these days.”
“I don’t either. Just - put on some decent rock, alright?”
“This is decent rock,” Ackles mumbled but switched stations anyway. He skipped through a couple, some he changed on his own accord, some Jared shook his head to. Then the upbeat rhythm of Mister Mister’s Kyrie sounded from the speakers. Jared bit his lip. He liked that one. Didn’t know anyone else who did, though - not unless they were stone drunk. And Ackles didn’t look like the guy who shared his taste in cheesy music, either.
But Ackles’s hand paused. Hovered over the radio as he glanced up.
They shared a quiet look and eventually Ackles said, “Alright, whatever.” He scratched scratched his neck, shrugged and continued, “I’m sick of skipping, I’ll leave this. You want something different you change it.” He sat down in the shade, defiant look on his face.
Jared grinned and slumped down next to him. Back against the cool wall, he enjoyed the moment. The fading rush. Around them solitude. The summer sun. The faint sizzle of the cooling engines the only sound. It was good. Comfortable.
After a while, Ackles shifted and fumbled in his pocket. Pulled out a beaten pack of smokes. Empty. "Damn. Be right back."
Jared looked after him. "Dude, the store is closed."
Ackles shot him a flat look over his shoulder. Tossed him his phone. An old one. Black and white screen and actual buttons.
"Call the cops if you wanna." He left without waiting for an answer.
Jared shook his head then glanced around, warily. No security cameras. As far as he could see, anyway. He still flinched when a loud crack echoed around the building. A couple minutes later, Ackles returned carrying a pack of smokes, two energy drinks and a bag of potato chips.
"Don't give me that look," he said. "I left money on the counter."
"For the broken door, too?"
"I ain't that well off. They got insurance."
"And if they don't?"
"Then it's a lesson long overdue." Ackles threw him a can and sat back down next to him. Lit up a smoke.
Jared sighed. "Do you really have to?"
Ackles inhaled deep, cheeks hollowing out. Then he blew the smoke in his face.
Jared coughed. Shoved his shoulder. "Dude!"
Ackles quirked an eyebrow and leant back against the wall. Stared into the distance. Fed up, Jared left him to it and retrieved his copy of Animal Farm.
Ackles cleared his throat. "You read?"
"Yeah, I read."
"For fun?"
Jared sighed. Rolled his eyes and glanced over. "Sometimes, yes. This is for work, though."
"Work? What the hell kinda job you gotta read that stuff for?"
"The kinda job you get at colleges."
"You're a teacher?"
"Yes. I'm a teacher."
"Funny," Ackles said. "You look more like a frat boy."
"What's a redneck like you know about frat boys?"
Ackles huffed a laugh. Then leant back and closed his eyes. "Nothin'."
Jared blinked. It was the answer he expected, but the way he said it... Shaking it off, Jared turned back to his book. It took him a moment to be able to focus, though.
---
Jared couldn't tell how much time had passed but he'd gone through thirty pages when his eyes began to itch. He sat the book down and blinked his eyes wet.
Next to him, Ackles shifted, too. Jared glanced over and watched as he grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled it over his head. The sun hit his back, framed broad shoulders and a narrow waist. And it hit something else, too. Pink and raised, a ten inch scar sat on Ackles’ lower back. A dozen smaller ones littered his entire right side. Ackles straightened and a pair of dog tags gave a metallic clink as they dangled from his neck.
Jared's jaw locked. So he was a soldier, like that Henry guy. Then it hit him. The scars. Ackles not leaving for a job and yet having money. He swallowed hard. "You're a veteran."
"So they say." Ackles glanced down his side. Stroked finger tips over the little bumps. "Shrapnel grenade. Took out a kidney." He cleared his throat and worried the shirt between his fingers. "And my knee. They had to dig out quite some shards there, too. Damn thing's fine most of the time but sometimes... the times I need it…" He snapped a hand to a tight fist. So hard his knuckles cracked.
"Shit."
Ackles looked at him. Eyes set in a frown of surprise like he had expected a different response. And Jared could relate. He had never expected to feel compassion for a solider.
A smirk tugged at Ackles’s lip. "Yeah. Shit." He paused. Then stared out into the desert.
"I..." Jared started. Saw Ackles tense. And really what could he say? He'd never met a veteran before.
He huffed a breath. Stared out into the desert, too. "I just got dumped by a 24-year old twink I thought I'd spent my life with."
Ackles glanced at him. “You’re gay?”
Jared nodded. Waited for the disgust. The anger. But it didn’t come. Ackles just nodded and turned back forward. "Shit," he said, sucking on his smoke. “That you got dumped, I mean.”
Jared smirked. "Yeah. Shit."
He turned back to his book. Reading came easier, this time.
---
When they rode back into their street, they passed Chris on the way. He was walking down to Jensen's home. Dressed up in a suit, but clothes askew. A jacket slung over his shoulders. Tie loosened.
Jensen immediately turned into his drive way and took of his helmet. Greeted Chris. They talked, slapped hands and backs. Jared couldn't hear much but the words that carried over were "interview" and "no good" and "fuck 'em."
And "damn fags."
Jensen didn't even blink at that. Jared thought himself forgotten already as he pushed his bike into the garage. But when he came back out, Jensen and Chris still stood in Jensen's drive way.
He looked over and Jensen gave him a curt salute. "See you around. We should do this again, man."
Jared nodded and waved back. “Yeah,” he said, “definitely.” And strangely enough, he found he actually meant it.
Part 2