Fic: Perennial
Title: Perennial
By: Sylsdarkplace
Pairing: J2
Summary: Jared is a young real estate agent working for a rich land developer. Jensen doesn’t want to sell his farm.
Word count: ~8,300
Warnings: None
Notes: The longer I live in Appalachia the more I realize that these ancient mountains harbor magic. Sometimes dark magic. This fic is not of the dark variety, but I won’t rule it out in the future. At the end I’ve listed some (very remotely) influential sources for this fic that I would recommend checking out.
AO3 Link
Jared braced himself as his pickup bounced over a rut in the road. Blacktop had dwindled to gravel about a mile back. He was grateful for 4-wheel drive and off-road tires on what had become hard packed dirt and rock. The slow going allowed him time to appreciate the dogwood blossoms and the pink of redbud trees that punctuated the bright green foliage all around.
He suspected his client had sent him on a wild goose chase up the mountain in search of a property owner. Jared would have said so too, but real estate sales were few and far between what with the economy what it was, and his client was a developer with more money than sense. Anyway, he had nothing better to do that morning.
There was a break in the foliage that had Jared hitting the brakes. The truck jerked to halt. Off to his left, a view of the valley was revealed through a break in the trees - the wide blue sky, wooded hills, river twisting along off into the distance. His little town was just a cluster of roofs far below.
He could understand now why his client envisioned the mountain as a prime spot for a resort. It sure is pretty, he thought. Some might say it was breathtaking, but what took Jared’s breath away was the view just outside the truck - the sheer drop down a good 200 feet just inches from the driver’s side tires. He had climbed much higher than he’d realized. He eased the truck back into motion and hugged the side of the hill.
He still couldn’t imagine that anyone lived up there, not that folks didn’t live in some remote hollers and ridges. He’d heard stories of barely passable roads, trailers perched on hillsides, stills and marijuana patches -- places that townies like him didn’t go. Places where you’d be met by the business end of a rifle. He chewed his lip.
The road curved to the right and the grade decreased as the road continued along a rock bench. The canopy overhead was high and thick. Sunlight filtered down in brilliant columns onto the verdant floor. He knew the valley must be somewhere to the left beyond the trees, but they were too thick to glimpse it. To his right, oak, beech, and walnut marched up the mountain.
Had he not slowed the truck to creep over an old culvert that channeled a small creek, he might have missed the cabin on his left. It sat twenty or so feet from the edge of the road, and at first glance, it looked abandoned with its rusty tin roof and faded blue paint, but the underbrush was kept down all around, an old hound drowsed on the porch, and chickens pecked in the yard.
He pulled the truck over along the fence and turned off the ignition. So this was it. With a deep breath, he opened the door and climbed out.
“Hello the house!” he called.
The cabin door opened, and a mutt shot out, charging the gate where Jared stood. Every inch of the animal was in motion from its bushy tail to its flashing teeth. Jared was a dog lover. He knew their tells pretty well, but he wasn’t sure if this was welcome or warning.
“Shep!”
The dog quieted and ran back to the porch where a boy in threadbare jeans and a white tank top stood with his hands in pockets.
Jared put on his most disarming smile. “Hi! Good morning!”
The boy was slender but well-muscled, with big eyes, a generous mouth, and hair of an undetermined color. He tipped his head to the side and quietly observed Jared for a moment before speaking. “Mornin’. You lost?”
“No! No, um…” Jared felt heat rise in his cheeks. “My name is Jared Padalecki, and I‘m a real estate agent. Is this the Ackles place?”
The boy just nodded.
“Are your folks around?”
“Over there.” The boy looked across the yard, but Jared saw no one.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.
The boy left the porch and walked barefoot down the path to the gate where Jared stood. He pointed across the yard to where a small cemetery lay beyond the fence.
“There,” he said and looked up at Jared with big green eyes. He was older than Jared had thought -- 20 maybe. Freckles were sprinkled across his nose and cheeks.
“I’m sorry …”
“Jensen.” Lush lips formed the syllables.
“Jensen,” Jared repeated the name as if each consonant and vowel was a sweet, juicy berry. His mouth watered.
Jensen gazed up at him, lips parted and wide-eyed.
Jared swallowed and blinked. “I … I, um, have a client who is interested in purchasing this property, your property?”
Jensen cocked an eyebrow. “What have you brought me?”
“What?”
“You want something from me, but you’ve brought me nothing?”
“Well no, that’s not … I’m just here to pass along my client’s offer.”
Jensen took a step back. “When you return with a worthy gift, I’ll listen to your offer.” He turned and started back to the cabin.
“Jensen, wait!”
The only answer was the squeak and bang of the screen door closing.
The hound dog, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the porch, put his head down and closed his eyes. Shep lifted his leg on the gate, and Jared jumped back to avoid the stream.
“Damn it!” Jared muttered. Crows cawed from a nearby maple as if in laughter.
“Why the hell didn’t you just give him a twenty?” Mark Sheppard paced the floor in Jared’s office. It only took a few steps to reach one side of the room and then back to the other.
“I don’t think that’s what he meant by a gift, Mr. Sheppard.” Jared had been so taken aback and confused by Jensen that he had done nothing for days. It wasn’t until Sheppard made a trip from New York that Jared had even spoken to the developer about it.
“Of course, that’s what he meant.” Disgust dripped from every word. “’Worthy gift,’ tribute, bribe, call it what you like. You know how wily these infernal hillbillies can be.” Sheppard took out his wallet and drew a one hundred dollar bill from it. “Give him that and get me that land, boy.” He had tossed the money on Jared’s desk.
So now, Jared’s truck was crawling back up the mountain. He drove with his left hand on the wheel and the right on a bakery box in the passenger’s seat. Hillbillies may in fact be wily, but Jensen wasn’t asking for money. Jared felt sure of that much. Of course, he hadn’t spent the full hundred, but much as he’d like to put it toward his utility bills, he’d put the change aside for future costs on the project.
It had been a few weeks since Jared had been up the mountain, and the woods were even lusher. The white and pink blossoms had given way to a full canopy of leaves. Jared found Jensen working in his garden accompanied by an orange cat.
Jensen wiped his palms on his jeans and came to the gate. He eyed the bakery box. “What’s this?” he asked.
“A gift,” Jared answered with a smile. “I hope it is worthy.”
Jensen’s pretty mouth curved into a slight smile, and he looked up through his lashes. “It smells sweet.”
“It’s blackberry jam cake,” Jared said.
Jensen unlatched the gate and held it open for Jared. “Come on then.”
Shep trotted along beside them as Jared followed Jensen up the porch steps where the hound snoozed. The orange cat sat on the step.
Jared stopped just inside the door and looked around. To the left was the kitchen where Jensen went to an old porcelain sink with a built-in drain board to wash his hands. Tomatoes were lined up on the window sill above the sink, and wildflowers were arranged in an old Mason jar.
To Jared’s right was a sitting area with two worn arm chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet and a wood stove. At the back of the cabin, was an iron bedstead covered with a quilt. And through a doorway, he glimpsed a claw-foot tub.
“You can set that down.” Jensen pointed at the table with a knife. “And cut.” He set two mismatched saucers and the knife on the table.
As Jared cut and plated the cake, Jensen took a pitcher from the ancient Frigidaire and poured golden tea into mismatched tumblers.
“Please.” Jensen motioned to a chair before sitting himself. “Thank you, for the cake.”
“You’re welcome,” Jared said. Despite the moistness of the cake, Jared’s mouth was dry. He wondered when it would be appropriate to discuss Sheppard’s offer. He took a drink of tea. It was cool and minty and sweet.
“This is delicious.”
“Thank you. So’s the cake.”
“Is it worthy?” Jared asked.
Jensen nodded.
“So.” Jared laid his fork down. “I’d like to tell you about my client’s offer.”
Jensen didn’t object so he continued.
"According to the deed,” Jared frowned, “which is confusing because … well, never mind … According to the deed, you have about a hundred acres here.”
Jensen nodded. “Thereabouts.”
“My client, Mr. Sheppard, is willing to give you $150,000 for it.”
Jensen continued chewing his cake in a way that reminded Jared of a bunny eating lettuce.
“No, thank you.” Jensen took a drink of tea.
“Jensen.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have any idea how much money that is?”
Jensen pressed the bottom of his fork against the saucer to pick up the remaining crumbs. “I’m sure it’s quite a lot.”
“Yes! Yes, it is quite a lot. Imagine what you could do with it.” Jared had himself imagined moving out of his cramped apartment and into a house on a shady street. He wished he were sitting on 10 acres of real estate.
Jensen stacked the saucers and rose from his chair. “I’m fine where I am.”
“But you could buy more land, build a new cabin with a better roof, build a nicer chicken coop …”
“I don’t want more land, my roof don’t leak, and my chickens are quite cosy,” Jensen said. He set the saucers and forks in the sink and closed the cake box.
“But …”
“Thank you for the cake, but I’m not interested in the offer,” Jensen said.
“Please, think about it,” Jared said.
Jensen pushed the screen door open, stepped onto the porch, and held the door for Jared. With a sigh, Jared followed him.
Jensen folded his arms over his chest. “If I were to sell, what would you get out of it?”
“Six percent,” Jared said.
“And you need the money.”
“Yes, of course,” Jared said. “This is my job and sales have been slow.”
“I’m sorry, Jared.” He led Jared to the gate.
“Just think about it, please. Let me tell my client you will think about it.”
Jensen chuckled. “You can tell your client whatever you want.”
*****
Jared felt back in his stride after a good night’s sleep. Well, an adequate night’s sleep filled with odd dreams that he couldn’t quite remember. A run before work cleared his head though. He had thought a lot about the project as he ran, and he realized he had some questions that needed answers.
He bounded up the steps to the county clerk’s office and swung the door open with a big smile.
“Hey, Katie,” Jared said.
“Jared.” A dark-haired woman looked up from her computer screen. Her eyes narrowed a little.
“Hey, what’s that tone about? Am I not your favorite baby brother of an ex?” He had wondered why Kyle had broken it off with her and decided she was just too smart for him.
“Yeah, yeah, and you being here always means work for me.” She crossed her arms.
“Yeaaaah, about that …”
“See, that’s what I mean.” She pushed her chair away from her desk and leaned back.
“It’s about that Ackles deed up the mountain.” Katie had helped him find it a few weeks earlier.
“What about it?”
Jared pulled the deed out of the file folder. “It’s dated 1908.”
“Okay.”
“That’s not odd? It hasn’t changed owners since 1908? This Robert and Margaret Ackles can’t still be alive. In fact, I’ve been up there and the one guy living up there is definitely not a hundred and some years old.”
“Jared.” Katie leaned her elbows on the desk. “You mostly work in or near town so maybe you don’t know. There are people in this county who come to town once a year - to pay their taxes. They don’t want the government in their business. If someone dies, the kids just keep paying the taxes and no one questions it.”
“Are you kidding?”
She just gave him a stare.
“So you think that this guy’s grandparents and parents died and there was no probate?”
“Probably.”
“If that’s the case, does he even have any rights to the property?”
“Sure, if he’s paying the taxes. The taxes are paid up so I assume he’s the one paying.”
“But surely that could be contested.
“Sure. If you want to put the guy off his land.”
“Well, no, but it could be leverage. Can you check the records?”
She sighed. “Not right now, but, yes, I will check the records.”
“You are the best.”
“So I have your vote in the next election?”
“You know it!” He gave her wink.
*****
“He’s thinking about it,” Jared said into the office phone. He flipped a pencil into the air, and it stuck into the ceiling tile. “I know. I know, sir. I realize you want this to move along faster, but that’s just not how things work here.”
Jared pulled the phone out from his ear, but could hear Sheppard perfectly.
“Yes, time is money. No, sir, I’m not being impudent.” Jared sucked the last of the soda from his Wendy’s cup. “I’m just giving him little time to think about it. Okay. Okay. Two-hundred thousand. Yes, I’ll let you know.”
He hung up the phone and groaned. He found little satisfaction in the forest of pencils above his head. Six percent on $200,000 was a downpayment on a house.
Jared may have still been a bit of a rookie in the real estate business, but he’d been around long enough to have a sense of when people were holding out for more money and when they simply didn’t want to sell. Jensen was the latter, and Jared wasn’t sure how he could shift him to the former.
By the time Jared brought his truck to a halt, Jensen was leaning on the gate. Jared swung the truck door open, and the oppressive heat of dog days engulfed him. Cicadas and other insects chirruped, buzzed, and whirred all around. Shep was lying on the porch with the hound and the orange cat. Even the chickens had sought out a cooler spot.
Jensen squinted against the noonday sun. There were lines around his eyes that Jared didn’t recall.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jensen said.
“Ah well, I brought you a gift,” Jared said. He held up a sweaty gallon jug. “Sweet tea. I made it myself.”
Jensen smiled. “Did you now? All right, come on.” He swung the gate open and led the way to the cabin.
It was surprisingly cool inside. It took Jared’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light.
“I was about to eat dinner,” Jensen said as he laid two plates on the table. “No doubt, you’re hungry.”
“I could eat,” Jared said with a grin. He poured tea into the jars Jensen set out.
Jensen laid quite a spread. There was fried rabbit, wild greens, fresh sliced tomato, cornbread with blackberry jam, green beans, and deviled eggs.
“Mm, this is delicious,” Jared said. He was fond of a little salt on tomato. “Do you have some salt?”
“No.” Jensen didn’t even look up.
“I can bring you some.”
Jensen scoffed. “What kind of gift is that?”
“I just meant …”
“No, thank you.” Jensen tore a bit of meat from the bone and licked his fingers.
“Clean your plate and you get peach cobbler.”
Jared grinned and dug in.
“Did you even think about the offer?” he asked over pie and coffee.
Jensen sighed. “Jared, there’s nothing to think about. This is my home.”
“You love it that much?”
“I do.”
Jared nodded. “I’ve never had a home like that.”
Jensen leaned his elbows on the table and cradled his coffee cup in his hands. “I’m sorry.”
Jared shrugged. “It’s not bad or anything. Just, you know, ordinary.”
Jensen’s brows arched, and Jared laughed.
“Okay, maybe you don’t. I mean, it was a typical nuclear family - mom, dad, three kids and a dog, house in subdivision.”
“Subdivision.”
“Yeah, you know what that is?”
Jensen nodded. “I don’t find them appealing.”
“Right?”
“And now? You have this real estate job and … a house? Girlfriend?” Jensen took a sip of coffee and watched Jared over the rim of his blue enamel cup.
“No and no,” Jared admitted. “I have an apartment and no … I, um, I have other preferences.”
“Do you? I thought as much.”
“Did you? Why?”
“Maybe, it’s the way you look at me.”
*****
The pillow was too close. Hot breath chuffed back into his face. The fabric was wet with drool. He turned his head and rubbed his eyes. It was so bright in the bedroom. Too bright. He fumbled for the clock. 9:54 a.m.
“Shit!” He swung his long legs off his bed and headed for the shower. What the fuck? What the fuck? His head felt like he’d smoked all the weed, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t smoked any weed. Pretty sure. The previous night was not a blur, but a blank. Had he gone out with Chad and Mike last night? Could he have drank enough to black out? No, he was definitely maybe sure.
He lathered sage and citrus shampoo into his hair and felt slightly revived. As he soaped his skin, his touch awakened sensations, sensitivities across his chest and back like dim memories of other hands. Arousal and release seemed inevitable, like he had time for that. He made time.
With a towel around his waist, he went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. A big glass of iced tea would be amazing … except there wasn’t any. He moved things around to make sure the jug hadn’t gotten pushed to the back. He distinctly remembered making sweet tea. There was something, a shadow slipping along the edge of his mind. He had made tea. He had! If he had a roommate, he’d have someone to blame for it disappearing.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. What a weird morning.
“Fuck this,” he mumbled. “I have to get to work.”
*****
He was working on setting up an open house for the Cooper account when his office phone rang.
“Padalecki Real Estate, how can I help you?”
“Hey Jared, it’s Katie.”
“Hey Katie, how’s it going? Looking to sell that sweet location location location cul-de-sac split level?”
“Um, no.” She chuckled. “I was calling about the property taxes on the Ackles property. I just want to apologize. I know it’s been weeks…”
“Ackles property?” He rubbed his forehead. What was wrong with his memory lately?
“Yeah, you know, up the mountain?”
“Um, sure sure.”
“No luck, I’m afraid. The taxes are paid in cash.”
“Okay, thanks, Katie.”
“Sure, no problem. So you having any luck with the sale?”
“I, um, no. No, I’m not.”
“Sorry, Jared. Sucks to be you.”
Jared laughed. “So true. Thanks again. I’ll take you to lunch.”
“Yeah, right. Take care.”
“You too.”
Jared hung up and leaned back in his chair. Ackles property up the mountain? Wait, hadn’t he seen something with that name? He sat up and started shuffling through the piles on this desk, and there it was -- a folder with the name Ackles on it. He flipped through the pages. It was sort of familiar, yeah. It had been over a week since he’d talked to Mark Sheppard. He flipped through his planner and found the note to go back up and talk to Jensen. He remembered now planning to take sweet tea.
“Holy fuck!” The missing tea. He was losing his mind.
But why hadn’t Sheppard called. He must be spitting mad. Jared picked up the phone … and hung it up. He groaned and took a deep breath before picking it up and dialing the number.
“Sheppard here.”
“Mr. Sheppard, hi, it’s Jared Padalecki. I…”
“Who?”
“Jared Padalecki.” He could vaguely hear Sheppard talking to someone else. “In Elkville, Kentucky.”
“Look, I don’t know who you are, Jared Padulski, or anyone in Bumfuck, Kentucky, but I’m a busy man. Call my assistant if you think you have business with me, all right? Cheers.”
The line went dead and then dial tone came on. Jared just sat there for a moment with the phone in his hand. He hung it up.
“What the fuck is happening?”
His memories of Sheppard’s resort deal and the little farm with the pretty boy were like trying to grab minnows in a stream.
Shaking his head, he tossed the Ackles file into the trash.
Continue…