FIC: You And Me, Sand And Sea (Jared/Jensen, NC-17)
Title: You And Me, Sand And Sea
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: ~26,000
Notes: A little Lost, a little Lord of the Flies, I’m going to have to ask you to stretch your imagination here. Sadly, I doubt the existence of any unknown remote island paradises, just as I have slightly more faith in the American search and rescue teams’ capabilities. I want to thank veronamay, wendy, ze_pink_lady and tty63 for their invaluable help, with special thanks to Laura and Anna for sticking through with me from the very beginning. ♥, ladies.
Summary: After their plane crashes over the ocean, stranding them on an unfamiliar island, Jared and Jensen have to learn to survive - both the island and each other.
Awareness is a gradual thing. The fact that his skin is stretched hot and tight over the bridge of his nose comes first. Then it’s the red bleed of light through his closed eyelids. The dryness of his mouth. The uncomfortable dampness of his shirt under him, pressed warm and unpleasant against his back.
Jensen shifts and chokes on a groan as the feeling sinks back into his limbs - a deep, aggressive burn in his muscles, like he’s been at the gym all day and didn’t stretch properly beforehand. He blinks open eyes that feel red-raw from salt and squints up at the clear, endless blue above him.
Realisation that it’s the sky comes at about the same time he remembers the plane.
He sits up, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple as dizziness swamps him and the world spins. His skin is gritty, his hand crusty with sand, and it’s hardly surprising because he’s lying in the stuff, his clothes heavy with it. His contacts are long gone, and everywhere he looks is a blur of sea and sand and more sea, not another living soul in sight.
Jensen wants to be sick.
Carefully, he moves. Getting his feet under him is the hardest part, one of his ankles twinging unforgivingly and almost landing him on his ass again. He vaguely remembers kicking his shoes off when he was in the water, sodden and too heavy, lungs burning and the waves dragging him backwards. He was next to Jared in the water. Was next to him, and then wasn’t, the waves too high and the dawn too dark, yelling for him over and over and Jensen doesn’t want to know what that means. Doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to think about it. Jared will be okay, he tells himself. Jared’s always okay.
It’s more of a prayer than he wants it to be.
Stumbling, he starts to walk, limping awkwardly down the beach and trying to keep to the firmer sand. The sand isn’t too hot, not yet, but he figures it’ll probably get hotter, so he resists the urge to pull off his salt-stiff socks. He doesn’t know whether he’s going in the right direction - doesn’t even know really what he’s looking for, just Jared at the back of his mind and a vaguer impression of help behind that. He can make out green spreading densely to his left, higher up the beach, and that’s a good sign, he tells himself. A really good sign.
Just ahead, something dark breaks the golden monotony of sand, the blue of the waves washing right up against it. Jensen squints against the sun and shields his eyes, trying to make out a distinct shape and failing. Undeterred, he picks up his pace and hobbles forwards, something tangible to aim for now. Moving fast makes his ankle hurt like a bitch but he doesn’t care.
Close up the shape becomes a suitcase, navy blue with one of those rainbow straps fastened around it to make it easier to pick out at baggage claim. Jensen drops awkwardly to his knees, his jeans soaking through to the skin in the damp sand. He hauls it around so he can unsnap the clasp and pop the catch, pushing the lid up and over.
It’s a woman’s suitcase if the bras and panties are anything to go by. Jensen ignores the niggle of discomfort and rummages through the damp folds of clothes, squinting for anything he can use. He hopes the owner is six feet tall with really big feet, but when he pulls out the only pair of sandals, they’re lime green and miniscule and useless. He does find a packet of mentos though, half eaten and not too soggy, and he takes one before tucking the rest into a pocket, chewing on it slowly, glad to get the taste of salt out of his throat. Water would have been better, but he’s not complaining.
There’s a medical kit, one of those little travel-sized ones you can buy everywhere. Carefully, Jensen puts it on the drier sand beside him and keeps digging, searching things out with his fingers. In the silver cosmetics bag, there’s a pair of nail scissors - they get laid aside too. A couple bottles of high factor sunscreen, some bug spray, a khaki backpack to put it all in, even a pocket-sized flashlight: all get methodically added to his pile of treasure.
Jensen was always told you can tell a lot about a girl from the contents of her purse, but he thinks a suitcase maybe trumps that. He studies the damply wrinkling front of a book, bringing it close to his face. This girl apparently likes a bit of Nietzsche for light holiday reading. Christ.
On impulse, he stuffs the book into the backpack, along with the rest of his haul. Then he neatly packs the suitcase back together and tugs it up the beach, up past the tide line, almost biting through his cheek against the pain in his ankle. Because this girl is damn well still going to be alive, he tells himself - her and Jared and all the rest of them. And he’s going to be able to give the book back to her, tell her where she can find the rest of her stuff.
Shrugging the backpack on, he stands there, just staring ahead. Above him, the sun’s getting hotter, steadily climbing higher in the sky. The distance is a golden blur, a meaningless nothing, and he’s never missed his contact lenses so much before. He has to keep moving, he knows. Every step might mean survivors, the wreckage of the plane, something.
That’s his goal, Jensen tells himself. To keep moving. To find something.
He doesn’t get to fall apart yet.
Squaring his shoulders, he sets off, gritting his teeth every time the sand shifts beneath him and he puts his injured foot down too heavily. It’s hard going. Sweat begins to slide down his face, collecting under his arms and at the small of his back. His t-shirt is grimy and too hot against his skin, and he wants more than anything to take it off. He’s had sunstroke before, though, his skin more inclined to freckle and burn than tan, and he’s in no hurry to revisit the dizziness and puking.
With his breath coming too heavy, he makes a decision and changes tack, heading slowly up the beach to the tangle of green and shadow. He flops down at the fringe of the jungle and does nothing but lie there for a few minutes, staring up at the hazy canopy. The shade is a relief. Some of the branches are closer, more in focus, tropical and leafy. He traces them with his eyes and thinks about his spare pair of glasses in his luggage. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll get lucky and his case won’t be at the bottom of the sea. Stranded alone is bad enough. But stranded alone and half blind?
Thinking about it feels uncomfortably like self-pity and Jensen stops himself before it can go too far. It could be worse, he tells himself. His eyesight isn’t that bad - not as bad as it could be. He’ll get used to it. Eventually.
Sitting up and wincing at the pull of sore muscles, he drags the backpack onto his knees and tugs it open. The sunscreen is cool when he squeezes it out onto his palm, and he dips his fingers into it, smearing it greasily onto his face and down to the scoop of his t-shirt, then applying more onto his bare arms, the back of his neck. The skin across his nose and cheeks is already tender, and he imagines he probably looks like he does in the picture his mom has up in the kitchen, seven years old and licking seriously at an ice cream cone, his cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears vivid pink.
With the thought comes the notion he might never see his family again.
He sits there until the panic hitching in his chest grows loud enough to drown out the sound of the waves washing the shore. It’s more than he can bear, hopelessness hollowing out his stomach, and he makes himself get up. The sand stretches out before him in a golden haze, the sea a rush of blue and noise beside him, in front of him, behind him, the sun a hot, white disc in the sky.
“Just a little further on,” he says, out loud. “That’s where they’ll all be.”
Starting to walk again, he doesn’t let himself doubt it.
He doesn’t make it far. He’s keeping his eyes on the ground to better place his feet, not allowing himself to think further ahead than one step, then another, slowly, slowly eating up the distance, when there’s a sudden yell. Loud and clear and human.
He jerks his head up because God, he knows that voice. There’s a dark figure moving towards him, sprinting and stumbling and sprinting again, and Jensen doesn’t need to be able to make out his features. Jared’s there, not dead or lost or hurt but right there, right there. Jensen can barely fit his grin on his face as he hobbles forward as fast as he can to meet him, his heart swelling till it feels too big for his chest.
Jared’s face solidifies right before he hits into him like a force of nature, driving Jensen back and to the ground, rolling Jensen about in the sand even as Jared’s got his arms wrapped tight around him, gripping him hot and hard. Jared pulls back, resting his forearms either side of Jensen’s head, breathless and smiling so goddamn wide it’s almost painful to see.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Ackles,” Jared says, fierce with emotion. “Don’t you ever. God, I thought you might be -”
He doesn’t quite go there, but Jensen can guess. He hadn’t wanted to think that about Jared, either.
“Hey,” Jensen says, and if it comes out a little strangled, it’s only because Jared’s sitting on him. “We’re okay. We’re both okay, Jay. We’re okay.”
It’s as much for his own benefit as it is Jared’s, and he doesn’t want to think about those crazy odds - a goddamn plane crash, for fuck’s sake, and they’re both still here. Still here, wherever here is. When Jared leans into him again, breathing raggedly into his neck, Jensen thumps his head back hard into the sand, memorising the feel of him, the feeling of not alone. He’s so grateful he could cry.
Sitting in the shade, he shares the rest of the mentos with Jared. Jared gets six of the mints to Jensen’s three, and Jensen wouldn’t have it any other way. Jared is at his foot, peeling back Jensen’s sock and pulling faces, like he wasn’t the one who had bitched at Jensen about needing to have a look at it.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to do about it,” Jensen says. He tilts his head back and stares upwards. “And if you even start on that kissing it better crap, I’m outta here. If it didn’t work with my mom, it sure as hell ain’t gonna work with you.”
“Dude,” Jared says. “Gross. I’m not kissing your foot.”
At the sound of tearing cloth, Jensen looks back. Jared’s sitting cross-legged and bare-chested, busy tearing his shirt into strips.
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think you might need that?”
Jared shrugs and hoists Jensen’s foot into his lap, carefully beginning to strap it up. It feels as good as any cast, Jensen thinks, shutting his eyes. Jared’s fingers are warm and firm in their task.
“Most of the stuff washed ashore where the rest of us ended up. Currents or something, I guess. I found my case, anyway.” Jared ties the trailing ends of the make-shift bandage tight. “Apparently it was just you that decided to be damned difficult. Couldn’t just go with the flow, could you, Jensen.”
He doesn’t let go of Jensen’s foot, his hands lingering, a warm, secure pressure.
Jensen rolls his eyes. “The next time we’re in a plane crash, I’ll strap myself to you, dicksmack. How’s that?”
Jared smirks like that would do just fine, thanks. Jensen would hit him if it weren’t for the awkward angle.
“So. How many are we talking about? That made it, I mean.”
Jared’s expression sobers. “I dunno, man. When I realised you weren’t there, I had to come find you and there wasn’t a lot of time, you know? I dunno. It wasn’t that big a plane, though, right? Maybe, like, twenty. Or thirty, maybe.”
It’s more than Jensen would have thought possible. He shakes his head and blows out a breath.
“We were goddamn lucky,” he says.
Jared shrugs. “If we were that lucky, our plane wouldn’t have crashed in the first place.”
Jensen glances at him, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. Behind him, somewhere in the depths of the jungle, a bird shrieks like some sort of exotic machine gun. Jared stands, tucking the remaining scraps of his shirt into his pockets, then bending to roll up the damp cuffs of his jeans to just below his knees. The shade plays across the broad expanse of his back, the foliage around them lush and green, as good a sign as any that there’s fresh water here.
Jensen thinks Jared’s wrong: they couldn’t have got much luckier than this.
“Come on,” Jared says, and offers his hand, hauling Jensen up off the ground. “It shouldn’t be too far back to the others now.”
He doesn’t let go of Jensen’s hand, using it instead to draw Jensen’s arm over his shoulder, taking the weight off his injured ankle and scowling at Jensen when he opens his mouth to tell him it’s not necessary. Together, they struggle down to the water’s edge again, where the sand is cooler and doesn’t shift treacherously beneath their feet. With Jared so close, it’s even hotter, uncomfortable and sweaty, but Jensen’s man enough to admit it makes walking (hopping) a hell of a lot easier.
“Tell me if you start burning,” he says, after a while. “I have lotion.”
Jared grunts with effort, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. “It puts the lotion on its skin, huh?”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Lame.”
“Your mom.”
“I’ll tell her that next time you come over. You can kiss her brownies goodbye.”
Jared snorts and doesn’t reply, strangely mute. Jensen wonders whether he’s thinking about home. They press on, not stopping to rest even when they’re both panting for breath, keeping each other going. The shoreline curves gradually around and Jared stops without warning.
“I think we should move up the beach,” he says.
Jensen unsticks himself from Jared’s side and wipes the sweat out of his eyes, frowning. He stares down the beach and, even with his lack of focus, he can’t miss the dark smear on the shoreline some way ahead.
“What is it?” he asks.
Jared doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then -
“He’s dead.”
Jensen stares at him. Jared shrugs, but he doesn’t hold his gaze, his eyes flicking from the sea to the jungle, back to Jensen’s face, then to his feet, not once stopping like he’s determined not to look. Jensen swallows and glances back down the beach. Knowing what the object is doesn’t make it less shapeless, a dark blur against the pale sand.
“I think,” he says, after a beat, more than a little unwilling, “we should stick to the firmer sand. I’m not sure I can manage the walk otherwise.”
Jared’s throat bobs, but he squares his jaw and nods. Without another word, he accepts Jensen’s arm over his shoulders once more, then starts moving again.
Jensen watches the crumpled mass get closer and closer, a sick, dense feeling in his gut. By the time he can make out the spiky tufts of hair blowing in the wind, the arm bent in the wrong direction, the pale skin, they’re right on top of it. It’s far too late to turn back and try the dry sand up the beach like Jared had suggested. He’s never seen a real body before, and maybe Supernatural should have prepared him: blood and guts and torn limbs every other week. But this isn’t just the effects department going crazy, an actor trying not to breathe or blink as the camera pans over their gaping death mask. This guy’s eyes are staring blankly up to the sky, not glassy like Jensen would have imagined, the dead gaze dried out in the sun.
Jensen stops looking. Beside him, Jared is warm and alive, and Jensen focuses on the feel of him as they move past, grips Jared’s sweaty shoulder and doesn’t say a word as they keep going too fast. He’s gasping for air when they finally slow down, the heat closing in. The dead guy is some way behind them, maybe not quite out of sight but Jensen certainly isn’t turning around to check.
“He was in the water,” Jared says, suddenly. “When I first came down here, he was just floating there facedown and I thought - I thought maybe it was - So I dragged him out.”
Jensen thinks of the guy’s short dark hair. The plain shirt he was wearing. His build. Definitely enough there to make a panicked mistake, he knows, and the horror lying heavy in his gut surges upwards, bile sour and rank at the back of his throat. God, he thinks. Jared.
“I’m really fucking glad you’re okay,” Jared mutters, his arm tightening around Jensen like he never wants to let go. “I’m not sure what I’d have done.”
Jensen nods and tightens his grip too. If he’d been able to find the words, he wouldn’t have trusted his voice, anyway.
They pass small bits of plane debris on the shoreline, a mess of luggage hauled up the beach, and Jensen can hear people before he can make out their faces. Jensen can remember the first episode of Lost and this is nothing like it; there’s no massive flaming plane carcass, no people screaming and running around, no one thrashing in their last death throes. From what he can see, most of the surviving passengers are sitting huddled in what shade the fringe of the jungle provides. A few are crying: soft hiccupping breaths through to dry-heaving sobs. They look like they’re waiting for a clue to fall out of the sky and land in their laps, and Jensen almost can’t believe Jared left them here like this.
Almost.
Jared guides him to an empty spot in the shade and helps him sit down. Jensen sees the heads turning in their direction and he’s almost grateful he can’t make out most of the individual expressions.
“You just wait here,” Jared says. “I’ll see whether I can find you any water.”
Jensen nods. He wants to ask about his case, but black and nondescript is black and nondescript after all, and putting that on Jared right now would be too much. Water sounds goddamn awesome, anyway.
“See whether anyone’s taking charge, alright? We want to know what’s going on.”
Jared nods. “Don’t move,” he says, and leaves.
Jensen settles back, wincing as he shifts his foot clumsily. He looks over at the huddle of people, squinting a little, trying to make out how many there are, their ages, their sex, anything. It’s a useless exercise, everything too fuzzy beyond a certain point, and he eventually gives up. He thinks back to the plane: an out-of-season, midweek flight, small but still with fewer passengers than holding capacity. He remembers the old couple sat in the row opposite, bickering good-naturedly about what the weather would be like back in LA. He remembers the hot girl in the tiny pink shorts that had turned back to look at him on her way to the bathroom.
It’s all completely useless to him. Frustrated, he digs his fingers into the cool sand and waits.
Jared returns with a half-full bottle of lukewarm mineral water. He flops down next to Jensen and offers it up. Jensen can barely stop himself from draining it. A thought stops him, though, and he glances at Jared who’s watching him closely.
“Here,” he says, pulling the bottle away from his lips and passing it back. Jared looks ready to refuse, but Jensen narrows his eyes at him and that’s all it takes. Jared gulps the pitiful amount of liquid with the air of a man just returned from a desert, and Jensen knows he’s going to have to keep a careful eye on that hero complex.
“So,” he prompts, when Jared’s done.
“I dunno,” Jared says. “Doesn’t really look like anyone knows what’s going on. There’s one jerk who’s happily giving orders out, but no one’s listening, thank God. I talked to a flight attendant and she said that neither of the pilots made it, but she thought we were blown badly off course by the storm.”
“Great.”
“Yeah. I think closer to forty made it. There’s more women than men, but I can’t remember there being many guys on the flight anyway. Some older folk mixed in here and there.” Jared pauses. “There’s a few more bodies down the beach. I didn’t tell you. Karen - she didn’t make it.”
Jensen blinks. Guiltily, he realises he hadn’t even thought about Karen. Karen, who had met them a week ago at LAX. Who had talked them through the convention schedule on the outbound plane. Who had been there every step of the way, shepherding them from hotel room to conference room, from breakfast to lunch, from lunch to dinner. Who had told them all the best sights to see, the best food to eat, the best things to do in the couple of days’ downtime they had.
“Shit,” he breathes.
“Yeah.”
They’re still for a couple of moments. Jensen can remember Karen’s too thick eyebrows and the enthusiastic smile she wore whenever she talked to them, her teeth straight and white and perfect.
“Jared,” he says, firmly. “We need to sort some stuff out here. We need to find fresh water. Check to make sure no one’s got any real injuries. Then we need to take stock of what we have, what’s been washed up, what’s in the jungle, that sort of stuff. We can’t just sit here forever.”
Jared nods. “Alright,” he says. “Do you want to -”
Jensen shakes his head and tries to keep his frustration off his face. “I’m pretty much useless here right now. You’re gonna have to get things moving.”
Jared looks at him a little uncertainly. “Jensen,” he says, “I’m not sure -”
“Jared, I can’t walk or see and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who I’d be prepared to trust more on this than you.” Jensen looks at Jared, holds his gaze. “I mean that.”
Jared’s expression hardens into resolve and he nods, his jaw set firm. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah, okay.” Standing up, he dusts the sand off the back of his pants and scrubs a hand through his hair.
“Hey,” he calls, pitching his voice over the rustle of the jungle and the murmur of people. “Hey, everyone. My name’s Jared. I was just wondering if I could just have a moment of your time.”
Jensen can’t help thinking Jared sounds like a friendly Texan salesman, cheap suit, suitcase in hand and an underlying tone of please don’t slam the door in my face, ma’am in his voice. Something about it is working, though, because people are shutting up to listen to this confident, shirtless guy, and Jensen doesn’t think he’s ever been prouder of Jared in his life. Even if he had been at peak physical condition, Jensen doubts he ever could have done what Jared’s doing so easily right now. Shy, his mom had called it. You’re a fuckin’ pussy sometimes, you know that? was Chris’ take.
Jared moves out of the shade into direct sunlight and Jensen loses him to indistinct blurriness. He can still hear him, though, and that’s what matters.
“Okay, so we’re in a pretty bad situation here,” Jared’s saying. “But it could be a lot worse and we’re alive, after all, and that’s got to mean something, right? But we can’t just sit around, twiddlin’ our thumbs. We’ve got to find water, for a start. We’ve got to figure out what we can salvage from the luggage. We’ve gotta be realistic with ourselves and be ready for the fact that it might take some time before rescue comes.”
Low murmurs of conversation start up again and Jensen strains to catch it. It sounds promising. People agreeing with Jared. People stirred to action.
“Water’s a priority, so first off,” Jared continues, “we need some volunteers to go into the jungle. Anyone who’s feeling up to it physically, who’s maybe had some experience at hiking or who’s pretty good at not getting lost. We need a doctor, too.”
No one says anything and isn’t that just damned typical, Jensen thinks. Fucking Matthew Fox. Of course reality is never that easy.
“A nurse?” Jared hedges. “First aider? Come on, guys, give me something.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye, and Jensen turns. It’s a tiny slip of a girl, sitting near enough that he can make out the shape of her face, her hand in the air looking a little unsteady. “I dropped out of medical school,” she says, uncertainly. “I don’t know whether that’s -”
“Perfect,” Jared says, cutting off any other doubts. “That’s awesome.” He crosses to her in a couple of strides, hunkering down. The girl seems to shrink a little in the face of his eagerness. “I’ve got a friend I’d really like you to look at. He’s screwed up his ankle and I’ve strapped it up as best I can, but -”
“Jared,” Jensen says, loudly. Jared turns to look at him and Jensen gestures him sharply over.
Jared crouches down next to him. “Yeah?”
Jensen keeps his voice low and his exasperation at a minimum. “There are people she needs to see more than me. It’s just a busted ankle. I can sit on it all day if I have to.”
“Oh,” Jared says. He sounds embarrassed. “Right. I’ll tell her to - to look at the others then. First.”
“And don’t just let people disappear off into the forest. Count them first. We don’t want to lose anyone without knowing it.” Jensen has a moment of inspiration. “And make them go in pairs.”
Jared grins. “Good thinking. I’ll go do that right now.”
Jensen watches him go. It’s not difficult to keep track of him, even after Jared’s well out of range. The tallest blur in a meaningless mass of colour, moving everywhere, always talking, calm and reassuring and directing people into movement.
“Anyone who’s going into the forest, come line up over here.”
“If you’re hurt, stay where you are and Emily will come to you.”
“Can we get a couple of people on luggage duty? Okay, guys, we’re looking for medication first, alright?”
“Anyone feel up to walking around that far corner, see where the beach goes?”
“We’ve all gotta help each other. Please, if you’ve got an extra bottle of water, share it out. We’re all in the same position here.”
Feeling too hot and more than a little useless, Jensen rests his head back on the sand and closes his eyes.
He comes to with a hand on his shoulder and a hesitant touch at his ankle. Jared’s face swims fuzzily into view and he’s smiling softly, his eyes on Jensen.
“Hey, man,” he murmurs.
Jensen frowns and moves a hand up to scrub the grittiness out of his eyes.
“Hey.”
Someone is unwrapping his ankle, small, warm fingers deft and precise, and Jensen realises it’s not Jared, can’t be Jared, whose head and shoulders and torso are filling Jensen’s field of vision. Getting an elbow under him, he props himself up with a wince and watches Emily-the-ex-med-student as she removes the last of Jared’s makeshift bandage. She looks up at him.
“I need you to tell me when it hurts, okay, Jensen?” she says, her voice stronger than it was before, some of the timidity lost.
Jensen flicks a glance at Jared. “I told you, there are people who -”
“Relax.” Jared cuts him off. “They’ve all been seen to. You’re the last, just like you wanted to be, don’t worry.”
His tone is a little off, an edge to it that Jensen doesn’t miss. Jensen rolls his eyes but nods at Emily. “Okay,” he says, and immediately hisses as her fingers press into the bone. “Okay, right there, yeah, ow.”
She nods, and presses a little further to the left and up, her eyes never leaving Jensen’s face. Jensen screws his mouth up and nods wordlessly. Jared’s hand is still warm on his shoulder, rubbing comfort into his muscle, and he doesn’t let go until after Emily finishes what she’s doing.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she says. “Most likely it’s some sort of ligament damage. I’ll strap it up as best as I can, but you need to keep your weight off it for a few days at least. There’s some abrasion as well, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”
“Always have to be a drama queen, Jen,” Jared says, but his smile doesn’t quite mask the worry in his eyes. “I’ll just rig you up a nice wheelchair from leaves and branches, don’t worry.”
Jensen snorts. “Yeah, if I wanna land on my ass. I think I’ll pass.”
“Have it your way.” Jared shrugs, his smile turning into a real grin. “I know how much you like my fireman’s carry.”
Jensen flips him the finger and Jared laughs, a little too delighted. Then he shades his eyes and stares past Jensen, further down the beach. “Frank and Amy are back,” he says, waving in acknowledgement. “I’ve gotta go have a word. You’ll be okay here, right?”
“God,” Jensen grouses. “What are you, my mother? I’ll be fine.”
Jared turns to Emily. “You take good care of him for me, alright? He can be a bit stubborn but if he gets difficult just come get me.” He smirks at Jensen. “If you’re very good, you might even get a lollipop.” Getting up and ruffling Jensen’s hair in the process, he jogs away.
Jensen sighs loudly and shakes his head. “You see what I have to put up with?”
Emily ducks her head, hiding a smile. “He’s a good guy,” she says. “And he’s worried about you. He kept on coming to check on you when you were sleeping.”
Jensen subsides at that. He watches as Emily produces a tube of betadine and shifts his foot a little when she tells him to. She smears the cream sparingly onto the stinging skin just beneath the knob of his ankle and round to his Achilles tendon. Done with the antiseptic, she starts wrapping his ankle up in clean dressing, over and over, just tight enough, before pinning it all neatly together. Her brown hair hangs in a tangle down about her face, and when she’s finally done she pushes it back over her shoulders, tucking it behind both ears.
She pops him a couple of Tylenol.
“Okay, that’s the best I can do for the moment. You come and see me if it starts feeling worse, okay?” She quirks a soft smile at him. “I wouldn’t want Jared angry with me, after all.”
Jensen snorts, swallows the pills, then nods towards his foot. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She rocks back off her knees and stares at him for a moment. Then she shakes her head, still smiling. “God,” she says, “this is so surreal.”
Before Jensen can ask what she means, someone calls for her and she’s gone.
When Jared comes back, he’s wearing a clean wifebeater and grinning wide and bright.
“They found fresh water,” he announces.
Jensen breathes deep, the relief like a physical thing. He had been trying not to think about the thick dryness of his mouth and failing for the most part. “Oh man, that’s awesome news. Thank God.”
“Yeah.” Jared settles cross-legged beside him, his knee jostling against Jensen’s leg. His forehead is furrowed into a frown. “It’s just - well, from what Amy said, it’s quite a way in. I’m not sure some of the older people will manage it every time they need a drink, you know? And it’s not just you who’s injured, either. Maybe - I dunno. Maybe we should move to where the water is?” He glances back at Jensen, face strangely young. “What do you think?”
Jensen rubs a hand at the back of his neck. Thinks about all the stuck-on-a-desert-island television he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. “We need to set up some sort of sign for any rescue party that might come along,” he says. “And that’d be better down here on the beach.”
“Yeah.”
“We could fill any containers we had,” Jensen suggests, after a moment’s consideration. “Get as many people together as we can for one massive trip there and back. We can always rethink what we’re doing if we need to, see if the situation changes any.” He shrugs. “For the moment, I reckon people will do better out here. We build some fires, maybe put up some shelter, that sort of stuff.”
Jared looks at him and nods. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt for a moment, then stares at his hands. Finally, he looks back at him. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he says. It comes out a little throaty, painfully honest.
Jensen smiles, crookedly. “Thanks. I’m not.”
Jared punches him in the arm. Jensen returns the favour. It lightens the air and they grin at each other.
“You know,” Jared says, as he puts his hands behind his head and settles back in the sand, “a lot of these people watch the show.”
Jensen gives him a look. “Please tell me you didn’t go around asking.”
“No, jackass.” Jared looks affronted. “They told me. They were at the convention. If they arrived the day before like we did, our plane was the week’s return flight.”
“They flew from the US?”
“Yep.”
Jensen winces. Jared catches it.
“They’re just dedicated,” he says.
“Yeah, right. Are we sure they didn’t blow up the plane?”
Jared rolls his eyes. “You’re such a douchebag. Everyone I’ve spoken to is really nice.”
“Oh God.” Jensen stares down at his ankle. “I can’t even run away.”
Jared rolls onto his side and starts choking on laughter.
Jensen listens to Jared get people together on water duty. He comes over to say goodbye and Jensen smiles at him, waves him off, tells him not to take too damned long about it, that he’s thirsty, bitch. Truthfully, Jensen’s feeling a little resentful, but there’s nothing to be done about it. He’s not the only one left behind.
Ignoring the good doctor’s orders, he struggles down the beach to where the luggage is piled up. On closer look, there’s more of it than he realised, most of the cases lying open, their insides messily jumbled up and more stuff strewn over the sand. Whoever had been looking for medical supplies had apparently made the tactical decision of speed over care.
It wasn’t going to make Jensen’s job any easier.
Sitting down on the sand and trying not to jolt his ankle, he stretches for the first black case in reach. With the dim hope that if he finds his suitcase, he’ll actually realise it’s his, he starts shifting through the clothes.
High overhead, the sun beats down.
Jared arrives back with the others before Jensen is halfway through the pile of luggage. He comes down the beach and wordlessly hands over a cool bottle of water. The liquid inside is a little murky, silt lining the bottom of the plastic, but Jensen sucks it greedily down, draining the bottle completely.
“Easy,” Jared says. “Or you’ll make yourself sick.” He passes over another bottle and Jensen takes the time to push the sweaty hair off his forehead before gulping another couple of mouthfuls.
“Thanks,” he says, finally done. The sun’s left him feeling a little dizzy, but his tongue isn’t resembling some dead, dried out husk of a thing anymore and that’s something at least. “God, I’d kill for a cold beer.”
Jared shades his eyes and looks over the mess of bags Jensen’s already been through and discarded. Jensen lets him look, feeling something like pride swell up inside of him. He hasn’t found his glasses yet but it’s a lot of slow work and halfway done ain’t too damn bad by his reckoning.
Jared’s silent.
“I thought Emily told you to keep off your foot,” he says, finally. “You should have stayed up the beach.”
Jensen deflates. “I thought I’d make myself useful. I can’t be useful until I can see worth a damn, right? And look.” He gestures to the ground next to him and the clutter of objects there, the fruit of his labour. “I’ve pulled out anything I thought we could use.”
Jared only purses his lips. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you back in the shade. You’ve been out here too long.”
He bends down and takes Jensen’s elbow. For a moment, Jensen wants to shrug him off, tell him to go bother someone else, that he’s busy here. But that’s real concern in Jared’s voice and, grudgingly, he lets himself be helped up. Jared takes his wrist and wraps Jensen’s arm over his shoulder again. Together, they begin the hobble back towards the trees.
“We’re gonna have a discussion,” Jared tells him, on the way. “We’re all gonna sit in a circle and figure out what we’re gonna do next. Me and Frank were talking and we think it’s a good idea. Get everyone introduced, you know? Everyone involved. There are some really nice people I want you to meet. And I had a really awesome conversation with this girl about the show. Like, all about Sam’s motivation and stuff. She had some cool stuff to say about Dean, too, and she’s not weird at all. If you get bored, you should definitely chat to her.”
Jensen grunts at him and concentrates on where he’s putting his foot.
Jared apparently wasn’t kidding about the whole circle thing. He directs Jensen to a suitable spot, and Jensen sits and listens to the people around him. Sit down. Jared wants us to talk. Isn’t this a great idea? Why are we even doing this? No, no, it’s meant to be a circle, Jared said. Do we have to put our hand up if we want to say something? In amongst it all, Jensen thinks he manages to put a voice to Frank - a deep, gruff rumbling trying to settle people down, a voice belonging to someone older than Jensen had been expecting.
A girl sits heavily down next to him.
“Hi,” she says. She’s wearing glasses, and she fumbles them off, holding them out to him and squinting her face into a smile. “I don’t know what prescription you take. Just - I heard you needed glasses and you couldn’t find yours and, well, I don’t mind and I can totally manage without them.”
Jensen is taken aback. He stares at her stupidly for a moment. There are deep furrows on the bridge of her nose where the glasses have dug in and she’s blinking a little, her eyes screwed up too much. He glances at the proffered glasses in her hand, the thick shiny lenses, and he knows full well she can’t see a damn thing.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Amelia.” Her smile gets wider and she presses the glasses forward, like she wants to put them straight into his hand.
Jensen tries for a smile. “That’s really generous of you, Amelia. And I know what you’re offering here, believe me, I do. But there’s no way I can take those. I can manage just fine until I find my own.”
She doesn’t drop her hand. “I want you to have them.”
“Thanks, but I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Look, I’ll put them right here -”
Jensen grabs her wrist before she can lay the glasses in the sand. The skin beneath his fingers is soft and damp with sweat.
“Really,” he says, pained. “Keep them. They’re gonna be the wrong prescription anyway.”
Amelia’s lips narrow and she squints her eyes at him, like she can see something after all. “Fine,” she says, snatching her hand back. “I just thought I’d offer. But if you don’t want them -”
“It’s not that -”
“No, Jensen, don’t worry. I understand perfectly. It’s fine.”
He watches helplessly as she stands up, hooking the glasses back on, colour high in her face. She doesn’t look back at him as she crosses to the other side of the circle, and Jensen can’t really see her anymore but he reckons she’s probably glaring over at him from her new position.
His head hurts. Hunching down, he tries to look inconspicuous and wishes this circle jerk of Jared’s over already. Jared himself is busy diligently hustling the last of the stragglers over. He helps an elderly lady sit down, then claims the space next to Jensen that the girl’s just vacated. Jensen clamps down on the urge to roll his eyes and wonders whether Jared’s trying to make him look bad on purpose.
“So,” Jared says, resting his hands on his knees. Everyone stops to listen to him, the air becoming expectant and still. “Turns out this is an island. But we’ve got fresh water thanks to Frank and Amy.” He gestures across the circle, and there’s a spattering of applause and enthusiastic calls. “And there’s plenty of fruit in the jungle. All in all, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good, considering.”
Jensen can feel the collective shiver of relief run through the circle. Like people weren’t prepared to believe what they could see for themselves until Jared confirmed it.
“All we’ve got to do is just figure out what to do now,” Jared says. He glances at Jensen, the corner of his mouth twitching up, a confidence shared. “We reckon our best bet for the moment is to stay out here on the beach. It’s not the most sheltered of places, I know, but we can light fires and that’ll double up as a message to anyone trying to find us that we’re here. We can maybe give building a couple of shelters a go, too. So unless anyone has a problem with that -”
A voice comes from across the circle. “I do, actually.”
Next to him, Jensen feels Jared stiffen. “Right,” Jared says, and there’s a distinct coolness to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Well, if you wanna say what’s on your mind, Ben.”
“It’s Benjamin,” comes the sour reply, and Jensen thinks he’s got good enough reason to hate this guy already. He raises an eyebrow as a short, dumpy man walks into the centre of the circle, his round face red and shiny with sweat.
“I wanna know what qualifies you for making important decisions.” Benjamin points at Jared. “I own my own company, and I’ve got more experience than you in my little finger. You’re just a kid off the TV with a big mouth who thinks he’s more important than he is. Give me one good reason why we should listen to you.”
Jared nods. “Okay,” he says, lightly. “I gotta admit, I ain’t ever taken what-to-do-when-your-plane-crashes lessons.” His fingers are gripping his knees, Jensen notices, their tips white and bloodless. “And I’m not trying to take over here -”
Benjamin snorts. “No? That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing, kid. What happened to democracy, huh? ‘Cos I sure as hell didn’t vote for you.”
Jensen thinks it’s too damned hot right now to be dealing with angry little men. “You know what?” he breaks in, loudly. “That’s a great idea, Benny. Let’s have a vote.”
There’s a stir around the circle, people casting glances at each other, people looking between Jared and Benjamin and Jensen.
“What?” Benjamin says, glaring daggers at him.
Jensen smiles, broadly. “You heard me. Let’s put it to the vote. Anyone and everyone can put themselves forward if they want. Real US democracy, right?” He settles back. “I nominate Jared.”
Next to him, Jared shifts uneasily against the sand and opens his mouth to say something. Benjamin gets there first.
“Fine,” the guy snarls, turning on the rest of the circle. “I nominate myself. And anyone with half a brain cell will vote for me and not this idiot.”
With that, it’s like the flood gates are opened: everyone talking at once, names called out, people discussing the candidates. Frank gets put forward, as does Amy. A couple of unfamiliar voices put themselves up and three different people try to nominate Jensen, though he refuses each time. He’s in no fit state, he tells them. It’s flattering but he’s never been a leader, he tells them. His man Jared on the other hand? That’s where the sensible money’s at.
Jared scowls at him and Jensen grins right on back.
The vote is over before it has really even begun. Jared is the first candidate called and a good three quarters of the group put their hands immediately straight up in the air. Jared blinks, looking somewhat overwhelmed. Benjamin storms out of the circle.
Jensen just smiles. Being stuck on an island with your loyal fan base has its benefits, it seems.
Jared leans over, laying a heavy hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “I’m gonna kill you,” he mutters, quiet enough that the two girls cooing their enthusiastic congratulations next to him can’t hear.
Jensen blinks innocently. “Oh?”
Jared just shakes his head, looking completely out of his depth. “Seriously, Jensen, I can’t -”
“Hey,” Jensen says, firmly, and puts a hand flat on Jared’s chest. “I’m gonna be with you every step of the way on this. We can do this, you and me, okay?”
Jared snorts softly, but the worry-lines creased into his forehead smooth out somewhat. He meets Jensen’s gaze and holds it.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. You and me.”
With the crash of waves breaking against the sand and the flickering light of the fires, the beach at night looks more like some young and trendy hangout back along the coast in LA, Jensen thinks. There’s no booze, though. No music. Less laughter. There’s no colourful strip of shops and restaurants and houses behind them, just the rustling, brooding mass of the dark jungle.
It’s late, he knows, but he doesn’t know how late. His watch is one of those flashy, expensive ones that are meant to withstand a hundred tons of water pressure and a nuclear explosion or some shit like that, and it still works, despite the salt and the sand. The problem is that Jensen’s got no clue what time zone they’re in. It makes him itchy with the need to know, the desire to put his life back into its neat box, to figure out what he’s doing, to give him back some sort of structure. It’s dumb, he knows, but he can’t shake the feeling that knowing the time would put him that much closer to civilisation.
“Stop it,” Jared says, next to him. He’s lying back on the sand, his eyes shut and his head cushioned on some ugly-ass sweater dug out from the luggage. It probably belongs to someone who’s dead, Jensen can’t help but think. Some poor dead guy at the bottom of the sea with shitty taste in clothes.
“What?” he asks, and it comes out sounding more irritable than he means it to.
“Quit worrying and go to sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day and it’s gonna be long.”
“You sound like a fucking fortune cookie,” Jensen mutters. He shifts anyway, settling back against his own cushion of dead people’s clothes. His face had been too hot staring into the fire, but away from it the air is cold against his burning skin.
Jared hums sleepily, apparently content, and pats a warm hand on Jensen’s sternum before turning over and away. It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, exhale, inhale, strangely in time to the beat of the waves.
Jensen can’t sleep. He stares up at the wash of blackness and stars, his ankle pounding pain with his heartbeat, a distraction. It makes sense he’s not as tired as Jared. Jared, who spent the time after becoming island president greeting everyone and memorising their names. Who sorted out some sort of work schedule for tomorrow. Who went on the second trip to restock on water, coming back sweaty and tired, laughing loud at something someone had said. All while Jensen just sat in the shade nursing his ankle, completely useless.
It makes perfect fucking sense.
He wakes up, cold enough to be shivering, the sky above still dark but faint light tracing the horizon. The fire is dead, nothing but ash shifting in the wind that’s picked up, and Jensen huddles in on himself, wrapping his arms around his chest and clenching his chattering teeth shut.
The sudden press of a body against his back makes him stiffen.
“Hey,” Jared says, quiet, his voice rough with sleep. “My dick feels about ready to drop off from cold. Extra warmth, okay?”
Jensen doesn’t argue. Jared is like a furnace at his back, warm and comforting and steady. Right now, Jensen doesn’t even think being seen spooning with his co-star by the motherfucking crazy fans of the show is a good enough reason to say no.
Falling asleep again isn’t hard.
[ Part 2]
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: ~26,000
Notes: A little Lost, a little Lord of the Flies, I’m going to have to ask you to stretch your imagination here. Sadly, I doubt the existence of any unknown remote island paradises, just as I have slightly more faith in the American search and rescue teams’ capabilities. I want to thank veronamay, wendy, ze_pink_lady and tty63 for their invaluable help, with special thanks to Laura and Anna for sticking through with me from the very beginning. ♥, ladies.
Summary: After their plane crashes over the ocean, stranding them on an unfamiliar island, Jared and Jensen have to learn to survive - both the island and each other.
Awareness is a gradual thing. The fact that his skin is stretched hot and tight over the bridge of his nose comes first. Then it’s the red bleed of light through his closed eyelids. The dryness of his mouth. The uncomfortable dampness of his shirt under him, pressed warm and unpleasant against his back.
Jensen shifts and chokes on a groan as the feeling sinks back into his limbs - a deep, aggressive burn in his muscles, like he’s been at the gym all day and didn’t stretch properly beforehand. He blinks open eyes that feel red-raw from salt and squints up at the clear, endless blue above him.
Realisation that it’s the sky comes at about the same time he remembers the plane.
He sits up, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple as dizziness swamps him and the world spins. His skin is gritty, his hand crusty with sand, and it’s hardly surprising because he’s lying in the stuff, his clothes heavy with it. His contacts are long gone, and everywhere he looks is a blur of sea and sand and more sea, not another living soul in sight.
Jensen wants to be sick.
Carefully, he moves. Getting his feet under him is the hardest part, one of his ankles twinging unforgivingly and almost landing him on his ass again. He vaguely remembers kicking his shoes off when he was in the water, sodden and too heavy, lungs burning and the waves dragging him backwards. He was next to Jared in the water. Was next to him, and then wasn’t, the waves too high and the dawn too dark, yelling for him over and over and Jensen doesn’t want to know what that means. Doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to think about it. Jared will be okay, he tells himself. Jared’s always okay.
It’s more of a prayer than he wants it to be.
Stumbling, he starts to walk, limping awkwardly down the beach and trying to keep to the firmer sand. The sand isn’t too hot, not yet, but he figures it’ll probably get hotter, so he resists the urge to pull off his salt-stiff socks. He doesn’t know whether he’s going in the right direction - doesn’t even know really what he’s looking for, just Jared at the back of his mind and a vaguer impression of help behind that. He can make out green spreading densely to his left, higher up the beach, and that’s a good sign, he tells himself. A really good sign.
Just ahead, something dark breaks the golden monotony of sand, the blue of the waves washing right up against it. Jensen squints against the sun and shields his eyes, trying to make out a distinct shape and failing. Undeterred, he picks up his pace and hobbles forwards, something tangible to aim for now. Moving fast makes his ankle hurt like a bitch but he doesn’t care.
Close up the shape becomes a suitcase, navy blue with one of those rainbow straps fastened around it to make it easier to pick out at baggage claim. Jensen drops awkwardly to his knees, his jeans soaking through to the skin in the damp sand. He hauls it around so he can unsnap the clasp and pop the catch, pushing the lid up and over.
It’s a woman’s suitcase if the bras and panties are anything to go by. Jensen ignores the niggle of discomfort and rummages through the damp folds of clothes, squinting for anything he can use. He hopes the owner is six feet tall with really big feet, but when he pulls out the only pair of sandals, they’re lime green and miniscule and useless. He does find a packet of mentos though, half eaten and not too soggy, and he takes one before tucking the rest into a pocket, chewing on it slowly, glad to get the taste of salt out of his throat. Water would have been better, but he’s not complaining.
There’s a medical kit, one of those little travel-sized ones you can buy everywhere. Carefully, Jensen puts it on the drier sand beside him and keeps digging, searching things out with his fingers. In the silver cosmetics bag, there’s a pair of nail scissors - they get laid aside too. A couple bottles of high factor sunscreen, some bug spray, a khaki backpack to put it all in, even a pocket-sized flashlight: all get methodically added to his pile of treasure.
Jensen was always told you can tell a lot about a girl from the contents of her purse, but he thinks a suitcase maybe trumps that. He studies the damply wrinkling front of a book, bringing it close to his face. This girl apparently likes a bit of Nietzsche for light holiday reading. Christ.
On impulse, he stuffs the book into the backpack, along with the rest of his haul. Then he neatly packs the suitcase back together and tugs it up the beach, up past the tide line, almost biting through his cheek against the pain in his ankle. Because this girl is damn well still going to be alive, he tells himself - her and Jared and all the rest of them. And he’s going to be able to give the book back to her, tell her where she can find the rest of her stuff.
Shrugging the backpack on, he stands there, just staring ahead. Above him, the sun’s getting hotter, steadily climbing higher in the sky. The distance is a golden blur, a meaningless nothing, and he’s never missed his contact lenses so much before. He has to keep moving, he knows. Every step might mean survivors, the wreckage of the plane, something.
That’s his goal, Jensen tells himself. To keep moving. To find something.
He doesn’t get to fall apart yet.
Squaring his shoulders, he sets off, gritting his teeth every time the sand shifts beneath him and he puts his injured foot down too heavily. It’s hard going. Sweat begins to slide down his face, collecting under his arms and at the small of his back. His t-shirt is grimy and too hot against his skin, and he wants more than anything to take it off. He’s had sunstroke before, though, his skin more inclined to freckle and burn than tan, and he’s in no hurry to revisit the dizziness and puking.
With his breath coming too heavy, he makes a decision and changes tack, heading slowly up the beach to the tangle of green and shadow. He flops down at the fringe of the jungle and does nothing but lie there for a few minutes, staring up at the hazy canopy. The shade is a relief. Some of the branches are closer, more in focus, tropical and leafy. He traces them with his eyes and thinks about his spare pair of glasses in his luggage. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll get lucky and his case won’t be at the bottom of the sea. Stranded alone is bad enough. But stranded alone and half blind?
Thinking about it feels uncomfortably like self-pity and Jensen stops himself before it can go too far. It could be worse, he tells himself. His eyesight isn’t that bad - not as bad as it could be. He’ll get used to it. Eventually.
Sitting up and wincing at the pull of sore muscles, he drags the backpack onto his knees and tugs it open. The sunscreen is cool when he squeezes it out onto his palm, and he dips his fingers into it, smearing it greasily onto his face and down to the scoop of his t-shirt, then applying more onto his bare arms, the back of his neck. The skin across his nose and cheeks is already tender, and he imagines he probably looks like he does in the picture his mom has up in the kitchen, seven years old and licking seriously at an ice cream cone, his cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears vivid pink.
With the thought comes the notion he might never see his family again.
He sits there until the panic hitching in his chest grows loud enough to drown out the sound of the waves washing the shore. It’s more than he can bear, hopelessness hollowing out his stomach, and he makes himself get up. The sand stretches out before him in a golden haze, the sea a rush of blue and noise beside him, in front of him, behind him, the sun a hot, white disc in the sky.
“Just a little further on,” he says, out loud. “That’s where they’ll all be.”
Starting to walk again, he doesn’t let himself doubt it.
He doesn’t make it far. He’s keeping his eyes on the ground to better place his feet, not allowing himself to think further ahead than one step, then another, slowly, slowly eating up the distance, when there’s a sudden yell. Loud and clear and human.
He jerks his head up because God, he knows that voice. There’s a dark figure moving towards him, sprinting and stumbling and sprinting again, and Jensen doesn’t need to be able to make out his features. Jared’s there, not dead or lost or hurt but right there, right there. Jensen can barely fit his grin on his face as he hobbles forward as fast as he can to meet him, his heart swelling till it feels too big for his chest.
Jared’s face solidifies right before he hits into him like a force of nature, driving Jensen back and to the ground, rolling Jensen about in the sand even as Jared’s got his arms wrapped tight around him, gripping him hot and hard. Jared pulls back, resting his forearms either side of Jensen’s head, breathless and smiling so goddamn wide it’s almost painful to see.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Ackles,” Jared says, fierce with emotion. “Don’t you ever. God, I thought you might be -”
He doesn’t quite go there, but Jensen can guess. He hadn’t wanted to think that about Jared, either.
“Hey,” Jensen says, and if it comes out a little strangled, it’s only because Jared’s sitting on him. “We’re okay. We’re both okay, Jay. We’re okay.”
It’s as much for his own benefit as it is Jared’s, and he doesn’t want to think about those crazy odds - a goddamn plane crash, for fuck’s sake, and they’re both still here. Still here, wherever here is. When Jared leans into him again, breathing raggedly into his neck, Jensen thumps his head back hard into the sand, memorising the feel of him, the feeling of not alone. He’s so grateful he could cry.
Sitting in the shade, he shares the rest of the mentos with Jared. Jared gets six of the mints to Jensen’s three, and Jensen wouldn’t have it any other way. Jared is at his foot, peeling back Jensen’s sock and pulling faces, like he wasn’t the one who had bitched at Jensen about needing to have a look at it.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to do about it,” Jensen says. He tilts his head back and stares upwards. “And if you even start on that kissing it better crap, I’m outta here. If it didn’t work with my mom, it sure as hell ain’t gonna work with you.”
“Dude,” Jared says. “Gross. I’m not kissing your foot.”
At the sound of tearing cloth, Jensen looks back. Jared’s sitting cross-legged and bare-chested, busy tearing his shirt into strips.
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think you might need that?”
Jared shrugs and hoists Jensen’s foot into his lap, carefully beginning to strap it up. It feels as good as any cast, Jensen thinks, shutting his eyes. Jared’s fingers are warm and firm in their task.
“Most of the stuff washed ashore where the rest of us ended up. Currents or something, I guess. I found my case, anyway.” Jared ties the trailing ends of the make-shift bandage tight. “Apparently it was just you that decided to be damned difficult. Couldn’t just go with the flow, could you, Jensen.”
He doesn’t let go of Jensen’s foot, his hands lingering, a warm, secure pressure.
Jensen rolls his eyes. “The next time we’re in a plane crash, I’ll strap myself to you, dicksmack. How’s that?”
Jared smirks like that would do just fine, thanks. Jensen would hit him if it weren’t for the awkward angle.
“So. How many are we talking about? That made it, I mean.”
Jared’s expression sobers. “I dunno, man. When I realised you weren’t there, I had to come find you and there wasn’t a lot of time, you know? I dunno. It wasn’t that big a plane, though, right? Maybe, like, twenty. Or thirty, maybe.”
It’s more than Jensen would have thought possible. He shakes his head and blows out a breath.
“We were goddamn lucky,” he says.
Jared shrugs. “If we were that lucky, our plane wouldn’t have crashed in the first place.”
Jensen glances at him, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. Behind him, somewhere in the depths of the jungle, a bird shrieks like some sort of exotic machine gun. Jared stands, tucking the remaining scraps of his shirt into his pockets, then bending to roll up the damp cuffs of his jeans to just below his knees. The shade plays across the broad expanse of his back, the foliage around them lush and green, as good a sign as any that there’s fresh water here.
Jensen thinks Jared’s wrong: they couldn’t have got much luckier than this.
“Come on,” Jared says, and offers his hand, hauling Jensen up off the ground. “It shouldn’t be too far back to the others now.”
He doesn’t let go of Jensen’s hand, using it instead to draw Jensen’s arm over his shoulder, taking the weight off his injured ankle and scowling at Jensen when he opens his mouth to tell him it’s not necessary. Together, they struggle down to the water’s edge again, where the sand is cooler and doesn’t shift treacherously beneath their feet. With Jared so close, it’s even hotter, uncomfortable and sweaty, but Jensen’s man enough to admit it makes walking (hopping) a hell of a lot easier.
“Tell me if you start burning,” he says, after a while. “I have lotion.”
Jared grunts with effort, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. “It puts the lotion on its skin, huh?”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Lame.”
“Your mom.”
“I’ll tell her that next time you come over. You can kiss her brownies goodbye.”
Jared snorts and doesn’t reply, strangely mute. Jensen wonders whether he’s thinking about home. They press on, not stopping to rest even when they’re both panting for breath, keeping each other going. The shoreline curves gradually around and Jared stops without warning.
“I think we should move up the beach,” he says.
Jensen unsticks himself from Jared’s side and wipes the sweat out of his eyes, frowning. He stares down the beach and, even with his lack of focus, he can’t miss the dark smear on the shoreline some way ahead.
“What is it?” he asks.
Jared doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then -
“He’s dead.”
Jensen stares at him. Jared shrugs, but he doesn’t hold his gaze, his eyes flicking from the sea to the jungle, back to Jensen’s face, then to his feet, not once stopping like he’s determined not to look. Jensen swallows and glances back down the beach. Knowing what the object is doesn’t make it less shapeless, a dark blur against the pale sand.
“I think,” he says, after a beat, more than a little unwilling, “we should stick to the firmer sand. I’m not sure I can manage the walk otherwise.”
Jared’s throat bobs, but he squares his jaw and nods. Without another word, he accepts Jensen’s arm over his shoulders once more, then starts moving again.
Jensen watches the crumpled mass get closer and closer, a sick, dense feeling in his gut. By the time he can make out the spiky tufts of hair blowing in the wind, the arm bent in the wrong direction, the pale skin, they’re right on top of it. It’s far too late to turn back and try the dry sand up the beach like Jared had suggested. He’s never seen a real body before, and maybe Supernatural should have prepared him: blood and guts and torn limbs every other week. But this isn’t just the effects department going crazy, an actor trying not to breathe or blink as the camera pans over their gaping death mask. This guy’s eyes are staring blankly up to the sky, not glassy like Jensen would have imagined, the dead gaze dried out in the sun.
Jensen stops looking. Beside him, Jared is warm and alive, and Jensen focuses on the feel of him as they move past, grips Jared’s sweaty shoulder and doesn’t say a word as they keep going too fast. He’s gasping for air when they finally slow down, the heat closing in. The dead guy is some way behind them, maybe not quite out of sight but Jensen certainly isn’t turning around to check.
“He was in the water,” Jared says, suddenly. “When I first came down here, he was just floating there facedown and I thought - I thought maybe it was - So I dragged him out.”
Jensen thinks of the guy’s short dark hair. The plain shirt he was wearing. His build. Definitely enough there to make a panicked mistake, he knows, and the horror lying heavy in his gut surges upwards, bile sour and rank at the back of his throat. God, he thinks. Jared.
“I’m really fucking glad you’re okay,” Jared mutters, his arm tightening around Jensen like he never wants to let go. “I’m not sure what I’d have done.”
Jensen nods and tightens his grip too. If he’d been able to find the words, he wouldn’t have trusted his voice, anyway.
They pass small bits of plane debris on the shoreline, a mess of luggage hauled up the beach, and Jensen can hear people before he can make out their faces. Jensen can remember the first episode of Lost and this is nothing like it; there’s no massive flaming plane carcass, no people screaming and running around, no one thrashing in their last death throes. From what he can see, most of the surviving passengers are sitting huddled in what shade the fringe of the jungle provides. A few are crying: soft hiccupping breaths through to dry-heaving sobs. They look like they’re waiting for a clue to fall out of the sky and land in their laps, and Jensen almost can’t believe Jared left them here like this.
Almost.
Jared guides him to an empty spot in the shade and helps him sit down. Jensen sees the heads turning in their direction and he’s almost grateful he can’t make out most of the individual expressions.
“You just wait here,” Jared says. “I’ll see whether I can find you any water.”
Jensen nods. He wants to ask about his case, but black and nondescript is black and nondescript after all, and putting that on Jared right now would be too much. Water sounds goddamn awesome, anyway.
“See whether anyone’s taking charge, alright? We want to know what’s going on.”
Jared nods. “Don’t move,” he says, and leaves.
Jensen settles back, wincing as he shifts his foot clumsily. He looks over at the huddle of people, squinting a little, trying to make out how many there are, their ages, their sex, anything. It’s a useless exercise, everything too fuzzy beyond a certain point, and he eventually gives up. He thinks back to the plane: an out-of-season, midweek flight, small but still with fewer passengers than holding capacity. He remembers the old couple sat in the row opposite, bickering good-naturedly about what the weather would be like back in LA. He remembers the hot girl in the tiny pink shorts that had turned back to look at him on her way to the bathroom.
It’s all completely useless to him. Frustrated, he digs his fingers into the cool sand and waits.
Jared returns with a half-full bottle of lukewarm mineral water. He flops down next to Jensen and offers it up. Jensen can barely stop himself from draining it. A thought stops him, though, and he glances at Jared who’s watching him closely.
“Here,” he says, pulling the bottle away from his lips and passing it back. Jared looks ready to refuse, but Jensen narrows his eyes at him and that’s all it takes. Jared gulps the pitiful amount of liquid with the air of a man just returned from a desert, and Jensen knows he’s going to have to keep a careful eye on that hero complex.
“So,” he prompts, when Jared’s done.
“I dunno,” Jared says. “Doesn’t really look like anyone knows what’s going on. There’s one jerk who’s happily giving orders out, but no one’s listening, thank God. I talked to a flight attendant and she said that neither of the pilots made it, but she thought we were blown badly off course by the storm.”
“Great.”
“Yeah. I think closer to forty made it. There’s more women than men, but I can’t remember there being many guys on the flight anyway. Some older folk mixed in here and there.” Jared pauses. “There’s a few more bodies down the beach. I didn’t tell you. Karen - she didn’t make it.”
Jensen blinks. Guiltily, he realises he hadn’t even thought about Karen. Karen, who had met them a week ago at LAX. Who had talked them through the convention schedule on the outbound plane. Who had been there every step of the way, shepherding them from hotel room to conference room, from breakfast to lunch, from lunch to dinner. Who had told them all the best sights to see, the best food to eat, the best things to do in the couple of days’ downtime they had.
“Shit,” he breathes.
“Yeah.”
They’re still for a couple of moments. Jensen can remember Karen’s too thick eyebrows and the enthusiastic smile she wore whenever she talked to them, her teeth straight and white and perfect.
“Jared,” he says, firmly. “We need to sort some stuff out here. We need to find fresh water. Check to make sure no one’s got any real injuries. Then we need to take stock of what we have, what’s been washed up, what’s in the jungle, that sort of stuff. We can’t just sit here forever.”
Jared nods. “Alright,” he says. “Do you want to -”
Jensen shakes his head and tries to keep his frustration off his face. “I’m pretty much useless here right now. You’re gonna have to get things moving.”
Jared looks at him a little uncertainly. “Jensen,” he says, “I’m not sure -”
“Jared, I can’t walk or see and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who I’d be prepared to trust more on this than you.” Jensen looks at Jared, holds his gaze. “I mean that.”
Jared’s expression hardens into resolve and he nods, his jaw set firm. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah, okay.” Standing up, he dusts the sand off the back of his pants and scrubs a hand through his hair.
“Hey,” he calls, pitching his voice over the rustle of the jungle and the murmur of people. “Hey, everyone. My name’s Jared. I was just wondering if I could just have a moment of your time.”
Jensen can’t help thinking Jared sounds like a friendly Texan salesman, cheap suit, suitcase in hand and an underlying tone of please don’t slam the door in my face, ma’am in his voice. Something about it is working, though, because people are shutting up to listen to this confident, shirtless guy, and Jensen doesn’t think he’s ever been prouder of Jared in his life. Even if he had been at peak physical condition, Jensen doubts he ever could have done what Jared’s doing so easily right now. Shy, his mom had called it. You’re a fuckin’ pussy sometimes, you know that? was Chris’ take.
Jared moves out of the shade into direct sunlight and Jensen loses him to indistinct blurriness. He can still hear him, though, and that’s what matters.
“Okay, so we’re in a pretty bad situation here,” Jared’s saying. “But it could be a lot worse and we’re alive, after all, and that’s got to mean something, right? But we can’t just sit around, twiddlin’ our thumbs. We’ve got to find water, for a start. We’ve got to figure out what we can salvage from the luggage. We’ve gotta be realistic with ourselves and be ready for the fact that it might take some time before rescue comes.”
Low murmurs of conversation start up again and Jensen strains to catch it. It sounds promising. People agreeing with Jared. People stirred to action.
“Water’s a priority, so first off,” Jared continues, “we need some volunteers to go into the jungle. Anyone who’s feeling up to it physically, who’s maybe had some experience at hiking or who’s pretty good at not getting lost. We need a doctor, too.”
No one says anything and isn’t that just damned typical, Jensen thinks. Fucking Matthew Fox. Of course reality is never that easy.
“A nurse?” Jared hedges. “First aider? Come on, guys, give me something.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye, and Jensen turns. It’s a tiny slip of a girl, sitting near enough that he can make out the shape of her face, her hand in the air looking a little unsteady. “I dropped out of medical school,” she says, uncertainly. “I don’t know whether that’s -”
“Perfect,” Jared says, cutting off any other doubts. “That’s awesome.” He crosses to her in a couple of strides, hunkering down. The girl seems to shrink a little in the face of his eagerness. “I’ve got a friend I’d really like you to look at. He’s screwed up his ankle and I’ve strapped it up as best I can, but -”
“Jared,” Jensen says, loudly. Jared turns to look at him and Jensen gestures him sharply over.
Jared crouches down next to him. “Yeah?”
Jensen keeps his voice low and his exasperation at a minimum. “There are people she needs to see more than me. It’s just a busted ankle. I can sit on it all day if I have to.”
“Oh,” Jared says. He sounds embarrassed. “Right. I’ll tell her to - to look at the others then. First.”
“And don’t just let people disappear off into the forest. Count them first. We don’t want to lose anyone without knowing it.” Jensen has a moment of inspiration. “And make them go in pairs.”
Jared grins. “Good thinking. I’ll go do that right now.”
Jensen watches him go. It’s not difficult to keep track of him, even after Jared’s well out of range. The tallest blur in a meaningless mass of colour, moving everywhere, always talking, calm and reassuring and directing people into movement.
“Anyone who’s going into the forest, come line up over here.”
“If you’re hurt, stay where you are and Emily will come to you.”
“Can we get a couple of people on luggage duty? Okay, guys, we’re looking for medication first, alright?”
“Anyone feel up to walking around that far corner, see where the beach goes?”
“We’ve all gotta help each other. Please, if you’ve got an extra bottle of water, share it out. We’re all in the same position here.”
Feeling too hot and more than a little useless, Jensen rests his head back on the sand and closes his eyes.
He comes to with a hand on his shoulder and a hesitant touch at his ankle. Jared’s face swims fuzzily into view and he’s smiling softly, his eyes on Jensen.
“Hey, man,” he murmurs.
Jensen frowns and moves a hand up to scrub the grittiness out of his eyes.
“Hey.”
Someone is unwrapping his ankle, small, warm fingers deft and precise, and Jensen realises it’s not Jared, can’t be Jared, whose head and shoulders and torso are filling Jensen’s field of vision. Getting an elbow under him, he props himself up with a wince and watches Emily-the-ex-med-student as she removes the last of Jared’s makeshift bandage. She looks up at him.
“I need you to tell me when it hurts, okay, Jensen?” she says, her voice stronger than it was before, some of the timidity lost.
Jensen flicks a glance at Jared. “I told you, there are people who -”
“Relax.” Jared cuts him off. “They’ve all been seen to. You’re the last, just like you wanted to be, don’t worry.”
His tone is a little off, an edge to it that Jensen doesn’t miss. Jensen rolls his eyes but nods at Emily. “Okay,” he says, and immediately hisses as her fingers press into the bone. “Okay, right there, yeah, ow.”
She nods, and presses a little further to the left and up, her eyes never leaving Jensen’s face. Jensen screws his mouth up and nods wordlessly. Jared’s hand is still warm on his shoulder, rubbing comfort into his muscle, and he doesn’t let go until after Emily finishes what she’s doing.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she says. “Most likely it’s some sort of ligament damage. I’ll strap it up as best as I can, but you need to keep your weight off it for a few days at least. There’s some abrasion as well, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”
“Always have to be a drama queen, Jen,” Jared says, but his smile doesn’t quite mask the worry in his eyes. “I’ll just rig you up a nice wheelchair from leaves and branches, don’t worry.”
Jensen snorts. “Yeah, if I wanna land on my ass. I think I’ll pass.”
“Have it your way.” Jared shrugs, his smile turning into a real grin. “I know how much you like my fireman’s carry.”
Jensen flips him the finger and Jared laughs, a little too delighted. Then he shades his eyes and stares past Jensen, further down the beach. “Frank and Amy are back,” he says, waving in acknowledgement. “I’ve gotta go have a word. You’ll be okay here, right?”
“God,” Jensen grouses. “What are you, my mother? I’ll be fine.”
Jared turns to Emily. “You take good care of him for me, alright? He can be a bit stubborn but if he gets difficult just come get me.” He smirks at Jensen. “If you’re very good, you might even get a lollipop.” Getting up and ruffling Jensen’s hair in the process, he jogs away.
Jensen sighs loudly and shakes his head. “You see what I have to put up with?”
Emily ducks her head, hiding a smile. “He’s a good guy,” she says. “And he’s worried about you. He kept on coming to check on you when you were sleeping.”
Jensen subsides at that. He watches as Emily produces a tube of betadine and shifts his foot a little when she tells him to. She smears the cream sparingly onto the stinging skin just beneath the knob of his ankle and round to his Achilles tendon. Done with the antiseptic, she starts wrapping his ankle up in clean dressing, over and over, just tight enough, before pinning it all neatly together. Her brown hair hangs in a tangle down about her face, and when she’s finally done she pushes it back over her shoulders, tucking it behind both ears.
She pops him a couple of Tylenol.
“Okay, that’s the best I can do for the moment. You come and see me if it starts feeling worse, okay?” She quirks a soft smile at him. “I wouldn’t want Jared angry with me, after all.”
Jensen snorts, swallows the pills, then nods towards his foot. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She rocks back off her knees and stares at him for a moment. Then she shakes her head, still smiling. “God,” she says, “this is so surreal.”
Before Jensen can ask what she means, someone calls for her and she’s gone.
When Jared comes back, he’s wearing a clean wifebeater and grinning wide and bright.
“They found fresh water,” he announces.
Jensen breathes deep, the relief like a physical thing. He had been trying not to think about the thick dryness of his mouth and failing for the most part. “Oh man, that’s awesome news. Thank God.”
“Yeah.” Jared settles cross-legged beside him, his knee jostling against Jensen’s leg. His forehead is furrowed into a frown. “It’s just - well, from what Amy said, it’s quite a way in. I’m not sure some of the older people will manage it every time they need a drink, you know? And it’s not just you who’s injured, either. Maybe - I dunno. Maybe we should move to where the water is?” He glances back at Jensen, face strangely young. “What do you think?”
Jensen rubs a hand at the back of his neck. Thinks about all the stuck-on-a-desert-island television he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. “We need to set up some sort of sign for any rescue party that might come along,” he says. “And that’d be better down here on the beach.”
“Yeah.”
“We could fill any containers we had,” Jensen suggests, after a moment’s consideration. “Get as many people together as we can for one massive trip there and back. We can always rethink what we’re doing if we need to, see if the situation changes any.” He shrugs. “For the moment, I reckon people will do better out here. We build some fires, maybe put up some shelter, that sort of stuff.”
Jared looks at him and nods. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt for a moment, then stares at his hands. Finally, he looks back at him. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he says. It comes out a little throaty, painfully honest.
Jensen smiles, crookedly. “Thanks. I’m not.”
Jared punches him in the arm. Jensen returns the favour. It lightens the air and they grin at each other.
“You know,” Jared says, as he puts his hands behind his head and settles back in the sand, “a lot of these people watch the show.”
Jensen gives him a look. “Please tell me you didn’t go around asking.”
“No, jackass.” Jared looks affronted. “They told me. They were at the convention. If they arrived the day before like we did, our plane was the week’s return flight.”
“They flew from the US?”
“Yep.”
Jensen winces. Jared catches it.
“They’re just dedicated,” he says.
“Yeah, right. Are we sure they didn’t blow up the plane?”
Jared rolls his eyes. “You’re such a douchebag. Everyone I’ve spoken to is really nice.”
“Oh God.” Jensen stares down at his ankle. “I can’t even run away.”
Jared rolls onto his side and starts choking on laughter.
Jensen listens to Jared get people together on water duty. He comes over to say goodbye and Jensen smiles at him, waves him off, tells him not to take too damned long about it, that he’s thirsty, bitch. Truthfully, Jensen’s feeling a little resentful, but there’s nothing to be done about it. He’s not the only one left behind.
Ignoring the good doctor’s orders, he struggles down the beach to where the luggage is piled up. On closer look, there’s more of it than he realised, most of the cases lying open, their insides messily jumbled up and more stuff strewn over the sand. Whoever had been looking for medical supplies had apparently made the tactical decision of speed over care.
It wasn’t going to make Jensen’s job any easier.
Sitting down on the sand and trying not to jolt his ankle, he stretches for the first black case in reach. With the dim hope that if he finds his suitcase, he’ll actually realise it’s his, he starts shifting through the clothes.
High overhead, the sun beats down.
Jared arrives back with the others before Jensen is halfway through the pile of luggage. He comes down the beach and wordlessly hands over a cool bottle of water. The liquid inside is a little murky, silt lining the bottom of the plastic, but Jensen sucks it greedily down, draining the bottle completely.
“Easy,” Jared says. “Or you’ll make yourself sick.” He passes over another bottle and Jensen takes the time to push the sweaty hair off his forehead before gulping another couple of mouthfuls.
“Thanks,” he says, finally done. The sun’s left him feeling a little dizzy, but his tongue isn’t resembling some dead, dried out husk of a thing anymore and that’s something at least. “God, I’d kill for a cold beer.”
Jared shades his eyes and looks over the mess of bags Jensen’s already been through and discarded. Jensen lets him look, feeling something like pride swell up inside of him. He hasn’t found his glasses yet but it’s a lot of slow work and halfway done ain’t too damn bad by his reckoning.
Jared’s silent.
“I thought Emily told you to keep off your foot,” he says, finally. “You should have stayed up the beach.”
Jensen deflates. “I thought I’d make myself useful. I can’t be useful until I can see worth a damn, right? And look.” He gestures to the ground next to him and the clutter of objects there, the fruit of his labour. “I’ve pulled out anything I thought we could use.”
Jared only purses his lips. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you back in the shade. You’ve been out here too long.”
He bends down and takes Jensen’s elbow. For a moment, Jensen wants to shrug him off, tell him to go bother someone else, that he’s busy here. But that’s real concern in Jared’s voice and, grudgingly, he lets himself be helped up. Jared takes his wrist and wraps Jensen’s arm over his shoulder again. Together, they begin the hobble back towards the trees.
“We’re gonna have a discussion,” Jared tells him, on the way. “We’re all gonna sit in a circle and figure out what we’re gonna do next. Me and Frank were talking and we think it’s a good idea. Get everyone introduced, you know? Everyone involved. There are some really nice people I want you to meet. And I had a really awesome conversation with this girl about the show. Like, all about Sam’s motivation and stuff. She had some cool stuff to say about Dean, too, and she’s not weird at all. If you get bored, you should definitely chat to her.”
Jensen grunts at him and concentrates on where he’s putting his foot.
Jared apparently wasn’t kidding about the whole circle thing. He directs Jensen to a suitable spot, and Jensen sits and listens to the people around him. Sit down. Jared wants us to talk. Isn’t this a great idea? Why are we even doing this? No, no, it’s meant to be a circle, Jared said. Do we have to put our hand up if we want to say something? In amongst it all, Jensen thinks he manages to put a voice to Frank - a deep, gruff rumbling trying to settle people down, a voice belonging to someone older than Jensen had been expecting.
A girl sits heavily down next to him.
“Hi,” she says. She’s wearing glasses, and she fumbles them off, holding them out to him and squinting her face into a smile. “I don’t know what prescription you take. Just - I heard you needed glasses and you couldn’t find yours and, well, I don’t mind and I can totally manage without them.”
Jensen is taken aback. He stares at her stupidly for a moment. There are deep furrows on the bridge of her nose where the glasses have dug in and she’s blinking a little, her eyes screwed up too much. He glances at the proffered glasses in her hand, the thick shiny lenses, and he knows full well she can’t see a damn thing.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Amelia.” Her smile gets wider and she presses the glasses forward, like she wants to put them straight into his hand.
Jensen tries for a smile. “That’s really generous of you, Amelia. And I know what you’re offering here, believe me, I do. But there’s no way I can take those. I can manage just fine until I find my own.”
She doesn’t drop her hand. “I want you to have them.”
“Thanks, but I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Look, I’ll put them right here -”
Jensen grabs her wrist before she can lay the glasses in the sand. The skin beneath his fingers is soft and damp with sweat.
“Really,” he says, pained. “Keep them. They’re gonna be the wrong prescription anyway.”
Amelia’s lips narrow and she squints her eyes at him, like she can see something after all. “Fine,” she says, snatching her hand back. “I just thought I’d offer. But if you don’t want them -”
“It’s not that -”
“No, Jensen, don’t worry. I understand perfectly. It’s fine.”
He watches helplessly as she stands up, hooking the glasses back on, colour high in her face. She doesn’t look back at him as she crosses to the other side of the circle, and Jensen can’t really see her anymore but he reckons she’s probably glaring over at him from her new position.
His head hurts. Hunching down, he tries to look inconspicuous and wishes this circle jerk of Jared’s over already. Jared himself is busy diligently hustling the last of the stragglers over. He helps an elderly lady sit down, then claims the space next to Jensen that the girl’s just vacated. Jensen clamps down on the urge to roll his eyes and wonders whether Jared’s trying to make him look bad on purpose.
“So,” Jared says, resting his hands on his knees. Everyone stops to listen to him, the air becoming expectant and still. “Turns out this is an island. But we’ve got fresh water thanks to Frank and Amy.” He gestures across the circle, and there’s a spattering of applause and enthusiastic calls. “And there’s plenty of fruit in the jungle. All in all, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good, considering.”
Jensen can feel the collective shiver of relief run through the circle. Like people weren’t prepared to believe what they could see for themselves until Jared confirmed it.
“All we’ve got to do is just figure out what to do now,” Jared says. He glances at Jensen, the corner of his mouth twitching up, a confidence shared. “We reckon our best bet for the moment is to stay out here on the beach. It’s not the most sheltered of places, I know, but we can light fires and that’ll double up as a message to anyone trying to find us that we’re here. We can maybe give building a couple of shelters a go, too. So unless anyone has a problem with that -”
A voice comes from across the circle. “I do, actually.”
Next to him, Jensen feels Jared stiffen. “Right,” Jared says, and there’s a distinct coolness to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Well, if you wanna say what’s on your mind, Ben.”
“It’s Benjamin,” comes the sour reply, and Jensen thinks he’s got good enough reason to hate this guy already. He raises an eyebrow as a short, dumpy man walks into the centre of the circle, his round face red and shiny with sweat.
“I wanna know what qualifies you for making important decisions.” Benjamin points at Jared. “I own my own company, and I’ve got more experience than you in my little finger. You’re just a kid off the TV with a big mouth who thinks he’s more important than he is. Give me one good reason why we should listen to you.”
Jared nods. “Okay,” he says, lightly. “I gotta admit, I ain’t ever taken what-to-do-when-your-plane-crashes lessons.” His fingers are gripping his knees, Jensen notices, their tips white and bloodless. “And I’m not trying to take over here -”
Benjamin snorts. “No? That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing, kid. What happened to democracy, huh? ‘Cos I sure as hell didn’t vote for you.”
Jensen thinks it’s too damned hot right now to be dealing with angry little men. “You know what?” he breaks in, loudly. “That’s a great idea, Benny. Let’s have a vote.”
There’s a stir around the circle, people casting glances at each other, people looking between Jared and Benjamin and Jensen.
“What?” Benjamin says, glaring daggers at him.
Jensen smiles, broadly. “You heard me. Let’s put it to the vote. Anyone and everyone can put themselves forward if they want. Real US democracy, right?” He settles back. “I nominate Jared.”
Next to him, Jared shifts uneasily against the sand and opens his mouth to say something. Benjamin gets there first.
“Fine,” the guy snarls, turning on the rest of the circle. “I nominate myself. And anyone with half a brain cell will vote for me and not this idiot.”
With that, it’s like the flood gates are opened: everyone talking at once, names called out, people discussing the candidates. Frank gets put forward, as does Amy. A couple of unfamiliar voices put themselves up and three different people try to nominate Jensen, though he refuses each time. He’s in no fit state, he tells them. It’s flattering but he’s never been a leader, he tells them. His man Jared on the other hand? That’s where the sensible money’s at.
Jared scowls at him and Jensen grins right on back.
The vote is over before it has really even begun. Jared is the first candidate called and a good three quarters of the group put their hands immediately straight up in the air. Jared blinks, looking somewhat overwhelmed. Benjamin storms out of the circle.
Jensen just smiles. Being stuck on an island with your loyal fan base has its benefits, it seems.
Jared leans over, laying a heavy hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “I’m gonna kill you,” he mutters, quiet enough that the two girls cooing their enthusiastic congratulations next to him can’t hear.
Jensen blinks innocently. “Oh?”
Jared just shakes his head, looking completely out of his depth. “Seriously, Jensen, I can’t -”
“Hey,” Jensen says, firmly, and puts a hand flat on Jared’s chest. “I’m gonna be with you every step of the way on this. We can do this, you and me, okay?”
Jared snorts softly, but the worry-lines creased into his forehead smooth out somewhat. He meets Jensen’s gaze and holds it.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. You and me.”
With the crash of waves breaking against the sand and the flickering light of the fires, the beach at night looks more like some young and trendy hangout back along the coast in LA, Jensen thinks. There’s no booze, though. No music. Less laughter. There’s no colourful strip of shops and restaurants and houses behind them, just the rustling, brooding mass of the dark jungle.
It’s late, he knows, but he doesn’t know how late. His watch is one of those flashy, expensive ones that are meant to withstand a hundred tons of water pressure and a nuclear explosion or some shit like that, and it still works, despite the salt and the sand. The problem is that Jensen’s got no clue what time zone they’re in. It makes him itchy with the need to know, the desire to put his life back into its neat box, to figure out what he’s doing, to give him back some sort of structure. It’s dumb, he knows, but he can’t shake the feeling that knowing the time would put him that much closer to civilisation.
“Stop it,” Jared says, next to him. He’s lying back on the sand, his eyes shut and his head cushioned on some ugly-ass sweater dug out from the luggage. It probably belongs to someone who’s dead, Jensen can’t help but think. Some poor dead guy at the bottom of the sea with shitty taste in clothes.
“What?” he asks, and it comes out sounding more irritable than he means it to.
“Quit worrying and go to sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day and it’s gonna be long.”
“You sound like a fucking fortune cookie,” Jensen mutters. He shifts anyway, settling back against his own cushion of dead people’s clothes. His face had been too hot staring into the fire, but away from it the air is cold against his burning skin.
Jared hums sleepily, apparently content, and pats a warm hand on Jensen’s sternum before turning over and away. It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, exhale, inhale, strangely in time to the beat of the waves.
Jensen can’t sleep. He stares up at the wash of blackness and stars, his ankle pounding pain with his heartbeat, a distraction. It makes sense he’s not as tired as Jared. Jared, who spent the time after becoming island president greeting everyone and memorising their names. Who sorted out some sort of work schedule for tomorrow. Who went on the second trip to restock on water, coming back sweaty and tired, laughing loud at something someone had said. All while Jensen just sat in the shade nursing his ankle, completely useless.
It makes perfect fucking sense.
He wakes up, cold enough to be shivering, the sky above still dark but faint light tracing the horizon. The fire is dead, nothing but ash shifting in the wind that’s picked up, and Jensen huddles in on himself, wrapping his arms around his chest and clenching his chattering teeth shut.
The sudden press of a body against his back makes him stiffen.
“Hey,” Jared says, quiet, his voice rough with sleep. “My dick feels about ready to drop off from cold. Extra warmth, okay?”
Jensen doesn’t argue. Jared is like a furnace at his back, warm and comforting and steady. Right now, Jensen doesn’t even think being seen spooning with his co-star by the motherfucking crazy fans of the show is a good enough reason to say no.
Falling asleep again isn’t hard.
[ Part 2]