FIC: All Things Either Good or Ungood Part One (Jared/Jensen NC-17)
Part One
Quantico, Virginia-March 7, 2012
“I’m going to drink rum. So much rum that I might actually be a pirate by the time I’m done,” Aldis announces with a grin, pounding his fist on the tabletop for emphasis.
“You mean you’re not already a pirate? Can’t believe you’ve been fooling me all these years, Hodge,” Danneel replies, amused.
“Why, Harris, you looking to get your wench on?”
“I’ll wench you, dude.”
“God, why don’t you two just screw already and get it over with,” Misha groans, wrapping his tie around his throat to mock-hang himself.
Jared just laughs, sipping his beer and taking a minute to enjoy the rather boisterous camaraderie between his co-workers. They‘ve just come off closing a major case, one the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Bureau has been working on for more than a month, and it feels good to sit, relax, and think about a few days off rather than how many pregnant women are being slaughtered by a sick fuck of a librarian-turned-psychopath.
Clinical term, of course.
“What are you doing, Jared? Any hot dates I can think about while I’m lying on the beach in Miami?” Danneel inquires, with an eyebrow wiggle. When she’s on the job, she’s the most professional one out of all of them, but get her in a bar and she’s delightfully insufferable.
“Jared hasn’t had a hot date since his first year at MIT. And that was likely with an adorable aerospace engineer who liked to blush a lot,” Misha answers for him, just managing to duck before Jared can smack him on the back of his head.
“You wish you were as hot as that aerospace engineer,” Jared replies with a mock-grumble. But he can’t help smiling at his partner, who’s grinning back, all teeth. The asshole.
“Rum, guys, rum,” Aldis reminds them and a chorus of “lush!” goes up among the group.
The waitress is just bringing another round over to their table when Misha’s cell goes off. He looks down at the screen and mouths “Ferris” at the group. Danneel groans, and Jared’s right there with her. A call at night from their Unit Chief is never a good thing, especially when they all have one foot out the door and their head in vacation-land.
“Collins,” Misha answers, rolling his eyes. It only takes him about thirty seconds before his face goes pale and serious. The rest of the team go stock still and wait to hear the news that is likely going to wipe out any thoughts of rum and beaches.
“Well?” Jared prompts when Misha hangs up the phone and stares at his hand for a long moment.
“Dammit, I thought yesterday passing meant it wouldn’t happen again,” Misha mumbles, and Jared’s blood runs cold.
Yesterday was March 6th. The day every single year that Jared fears the most. The day that he thought he finally managed to escape when the clock struck midnight and March 7th began.
“Is it…”
Misha looks up at him solemnly. “The Carver.”
Jared swears under his breath. “Fuck-“
Misha holds up his hand and stops him. “The victim’s alive, Jay. Someone survived.”
New York City-March 8, 2012
“SAC Jeff Morgan, welcome to the New York office,” says an older man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, leading them into the strategic planning room off the branch.
“I’m SSA Samantha Ferris, and this is my team, SSAs Padalecki, Collins, Harris, and Hodge,” Ferris replies, following him in and shaking his hand firmly before nodding back at the rest of her team.
“Pleased to meet you all. These are Special Agents Cohen and Sampson, my best. We’re here to help you guys in any way we can,” Morgan says. He motions over to a tall, good-looking guy and a brunette with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“I wish we could have met under better circumstances, SAC Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about the good work you’re doing at this branch. Director Pileggi thinks highly of you,” Ferris says with a slight smile.
Morgan barks a laugh and winks. “Mitch and I go way back, but don’t tell him I told you that or he might get nervous that I told you the juicy parts.”
“I bet,” Ferris replies wryly. She sobers quickly though, and turns to Jared. “Padalecki, would you like to walk our friends here through the details of the case so far?”
Jared swallows hard, but nods. He opens a laptop that Cohen hooks up to a screen so that images from previous murders can be displayed for all of them to see. Not that Jared ever has to see them again, considering they are burned into both this retinas and his consciousness.
“The unsub in question is called ‘the Carver’, a nickname that he received around the time of his first known kill sixteen years ago in Austin, Texas. As expected, his weapons of choice are knives, although some cuts on the victim’s bodies indicate that he might also use a scalpel.”
He pulls up a slide of the last victim, from exactly a year ago in Philadelphia. “All of the victims are between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, usually foster kids or runaways. All of them share the same basic physical characteristics-blond hair, large eyes, full lips. Pretty boys, if you want to be crude. We believe the Carver picks them specifically for this reason, but there is never any indication of sexual assault, so we don’t believe the murders are sexually motivated. Instead, he uses his knives to create elaborate patterns in their skin. We think that he believes he is making the victims ‘more beautiful’ than they already are. The profile leads us to believe that he’s an artist of some sort, or at least fancies himself one. It’s possible he’s involved tangentially in the art world. He thinks he is sculpting their flesh into his own specific masterpiece. Unfortunately for us, he also keeps trying every year to perfect his work.”
He clicks to the next slide. “We believe he’s a ritualistic serial murderer, particularly because of the fact that all of his victims were believed to be killed on the same date-March 6th. All of the victims were taken during the days that coincide with the Pisces sign on the astrological calendar, but killed on the same date, one per year, for the past sixteen years. Because of his affinity for art, we believe the date is tied to the birthdate of Michelangelo-which happens to be March 6th.”
He clicks to the final slide, and doesn’t bother looking at it as Morgan and his team gasp at the sight. “This is what he carves into the flesh of each victim, always across their abdomen over the metaphorical womb. The word ‘renatus’, which is Latin for ‘rebirth,’ and ‘III VI,’ the Roman numeral equivalent of 3-6, or March 6th. We believe this is his signature, and that he is letting us know that in death he is giving them new life as something more perfect than they were when they started. We also believe it’s no coincidence that he picks boys with physical characteristics that make them look like something right out of a Renaissance painting.”
Jared closes his eyes briefly before concluding. “No one has ever been known to survive one of his attacks.”
“Until now,” Morgan says.
Jared nods. “Until now.”
“What do we know about the new victim?” Ferris asks, turning to Morgan.
“Not much, unfortunately. He’s older than the victim profile you’re telling me about, so that’s a big difference. A jogger found him propped up near the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park and called the cops. NYPD called us in after finding some rather interesting injuries that lined up with the Carver case.”
“What kind of injuries?” Danneel asks.
Morgan turns to look at Cohen and Sampson briefly. “It’s probably better if you see them for yourself.”
“Alright,” Ferris says with authority, standing up. “Collins, Padalecki, you go to the hospital and interview the victim. See if you can get any more info out of him.”
“Do we have a name?” Misha asks, turning to Morgan.
“Jensen. Just Jensen.”
***
“I’ll call Gen and see if she can get forensics to push through fingerprint and DNA on our vic, see what pops up,” Misha says as they head into Lenox Hill Hospital to interview the Carver’s only survivor.
“Good idea,” Jared replies absently. Gen is the team technical analyst back at Quantico, and if anyone can sweet talk the forensics guys into hurrying their asses up, it’s her. They’d both been at MIT together, Jared graduating early, just twenty years old, before they headed off to the FBI Academy at the same time. Jared doesn’t trust easily, but she is dependable.
They flash their badges at the nurses’ station and are pointed towards the direction of the victim’s room. Jared feels a strange sense of dread and excitement as they get closer to it.
“I can’t believe we might have a chance to finally catch this asshole,” Misha muses with a shake of his head. They’ve been partners for four years, every year of which they’ve had to deal with another carved-up dead body and no leads. Misha’s a good guy, a great agent. But he has no idea what walking into this room right now means to Jared.
Padalecki is his mother’s maiden name. Little Jared Kelly doesn’t exist anymore.
A cop is guarding the room in question and they show him their badges before he opens the door to let them in. Misha enters first, but Jared stands frozen in the doorway when he sees the figure lying curled up on his side in the hospital bed. The man’s eyes flutter open and meet Jared’s for the first time. Even from a few yards away he can see how green they are, and Jared suddenly can’t move.
Austin, Texas-March 6, 1996
“Mrs. Kelly, I’m so sorry.”
Jared sits near the top of the stairs, hidden from view so the man at the door can’t see him listening in on what he’s telling Jared’s Mama. She’s crying and Jared can see her shoulders shaking, and nothing about this is right. Mama never cries. She’s strong and funny and makes fun of Brock when he trips on his skateboard and falls on his ass.
Brock. Oh god.
“Where’s my boy, Jim?” Mama begs the man at the door, and Jared peeks around enough to see her clawing at the man’s uniform shirt.
Brock’s been gone three days, but Mama said that he was just on a school trip. He didn’t say goodbye to Jared, which was weird, but sometimes his social worker would come and see him and stuff, and Jared doesn’t know too much about everything. Better not to snoop, his Mama always says, but sometimes Jared can’t help himself.
“I thought maybe he’d just run away. The adoption going through is a big deal and I thought maybe he just needed some time to clear his head,” Mama says, and her voice is getting hysterical. Jared doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Why would Brock run away? They‘re finally going to be a real family now, and Brock is going to be Jared’s big brother in the eyes of the law. Sure, Brock had run away a few times when he first came to live with them three years ago, but that was before they were a family.
Jared’s face feels warm all over and tears prickle his eyes. He doesn’t cry, can’t cry. He’s fourteen, not a goddamn crybaby. Brock’s sixteen and so much cooler than him, but he treats Jared with respect. Lets him hang with him and his buddies down at the skate park. Gives him a cigarette that Jared only chokes on a little bit.
“Mrs. Kelly, try to calm down. Where’s your husband? Should we call him?” the man at the door tells his Mama, stroking her arms up and down in what looks like it’s supposed to be a soothing gesture. Mama’s still shaking real bad though, and Jared wonders if he should run down and wrap his arms around her, too. That’s what Brock would have done, Jared thinks.
Jared’s scared though, and he stays on the stairs. He can’t help feeling ashamed for it.
“He’s at work. I can’t…please, Jim, it’s just a bad dream, isn’t it? My boy can’t be dead, I only just got him!”
Jared sucks in a sharp breath.
Dead? Brock’s dead? No, no, it’s not possible!
“Stop saying that!” Jared yells, finally getting the courage to run down the stairs and make himself known. “Don’t you lie about my brother!”
“Oh, JT, oh my darling,” Mama says on a sob, rushing over to him and holding Jared close to her body. He struggles out of her grasp though, doesn’t want comfort for something that’s just not true.
“Take it back, you liar, take it back!” Jared screams at the man at the door, who keeps staring at them both with his head bowed and his hat in his hands.
“I’m sorry, son, it’s the God’s honest truth. Your brother’s gone.”
“No,” Jared gasps and runs over to the man, pounding his fists against the sonovabitch’s lying chest. “Stop making things up about my brother!”
Jared barely realizes that he can’t breathe anymore until the darkness comes and he’s falling into his Mama’s arms.
New York City-March 8, 2012
“You okay, Jay?” asks Misha in a low voice, trying to keep Jensen from hearing him.
Jared snaps out of the daze he’s in and takes a few shallow breaths. He hasn’t had a panic attack in years, and damned if he’s going to start that again in front of the only lead they have in the most important case of his life.
“Yeah, of course,” he replies, giving Misha the best smile he can manage for emphasis.
The man lying in the bed is glancing at them warily as they approach. He sits up a little from his prone position, wincing when the movement pulls on one of his injuries. There’s a bandage on his forehead, but otherwise his face is untouched.
And what a face it is.
Jared takes a moment to appreciate the man in front of him, who is, for lack of a more fitting term, beautiful. His hair, half-spiked and half-flat from lying down, is a darker shade of blond than the Carver’s usual victims. His eyes, an even brighter green up close, have tiny sunbursts of lines around them, aging him probably closer to thirty rather than the teens the Carver favors. But his lips, which have a tiny tear in them on second glance, are swollen and lush, and there is a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and porcelain pale cheeks. This man would have been the perfect angelic victim about fifteen years earlier. But, why now?
Jared feels the back of his neck heating up a bit when he realizes he’s practically perving on the victim of a freaking serial killer. Of course, he’s a red-blooded gay man, and Jensen Mystery Man is hot as fuck, so he tries not to feel too guilty about it.
“Hi Jensen, I’m Jared and this is Misha. We’re from the FBI. Do you mind if we talk to you for a minute?” Jared says with a smile, hunching his shoulders down from his 6’5” height in an attempt to appear less intimidating.
Jensen stares up at Jared with those eyes, his eyelashes lowering slowly as he nods his head.
Misha pulls a chair over and sits down, Jared following right after with the same action to try to put them on a more level playing field and get Jensen to relax enough to talk to them. The man’s shoulders are shaking almost imperceptibly and Jared feels a strange urge to run his hands along his bare arms to calm him.
“The other cops already talked to me. I told them everything I know,” Jensen says, his voice low and scratchy from disuse. He has no visible bruising around his neck, so Jared rules out strangulation. It’s not the Carver’s usual M.O, anyway.
“We know you did, but we’re from a special part of the Bureau called the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We’ve been searching for the man that we think did this to you for a long time,” Misha informs him, and Jensen’s eyes widen in sudden fear.
“I don’t remember anything, I swear,” Jensen insists, voice trembling. Jared reaches a hand out instinctively, placing it over where Jensen is clutching the railing on his bed. Jensen turns to look at him and Jared just smiles warmly.
“It’s okay, Jensen, we’ll get there together. That’s why we’re here, to help you remember so we can catch the guy that did this to you,” Jared tells him, keeping his voice as level and steady as he can, although his insides are a fucking whirlwind of emotion. This is their chance, his chance, to take down the bastard once and for all.
“Let’s start with what you do remember, okay? Are you from New York?” Misha asks. Jared can see Misha in his peripheral glancing at where Jared’s hand still covers Jensen’s, so Jared pulls it back slowly.
Jensen shakes his head, eyes large and suddenly glassy. He starts chewing on his cut lip, and a drop of blood appears on the pillow of the bottom one. Jensen doesn’t seem to notice the pain though, and Jared barely resists reaching over to wipe it off.
“I don’t know…I mean, the doctor said I must have been hit in the head because everything is so fuzzy and blank right now.”
Jensen looks at Jared with the most apologetic of expressions, and it hits him right in the gut. Usually-and depressingly-his unit involves cases with dead victims, so talking to a survivor hits a little too close to home. And this man right here, the only man that has seen the face of the animal that killed Jared’s brother and lived to tell about it…well, this man is the most important person in Jared’s world right now.
“Special Agent Morgan said that the doctors found an injury on you that made them realize you might be a victim of the man we’re trying to find. Do you know what they were talking about?” Misha finally asks, when Jared is silent for too long.
Jensen begins shaking again, and rubbing his hand nervously on the back of his flushed neck. Jared wants to reach over to him, but he knows Misha is watching, and he doesn’t want to risk the inevitable questions from his too-perceptive partner.
“Yeah, I think I do,” Jensen answer finally, breath rushing out of him like a prayer.
“Can you show us?” Jared asks and Jensen locks his eyes directly on Jared’s as he slowly pulls open the front of his hospital gown and peels back the large bandage wrapped across his abdomen.
Jared knows what he’s going to see, but it barely prepares him for the viciously angry red, but perfectly shaped “renatus III VI” carved across the flat, pale skin. He’s seen this same thing on victims before, bodies stiff and cold with rigor mortis.
He’s never seen it while life and breath still caused the skin to ripple and move, letters like a ruby-red snake slithering over Jensen’s body.
“I’m sorry, Jensen. I’m so sorry.”
Jensen’s eyes never leave his, as he rewraps the killer’s signature.
***
Danneel is just starting to brief Ferris and Morgan when Jared and Misha walk back into the New York office after returning from the hospital.
“Hospital admins found a slip of paper in the pants the vic was wearing at the crime scene with an address on it. Harris just got back from checking it out,” Ferris updates them.
Jared nods at Danneel to continue as he leans against the table in the middle of the room.
“The place was tossed, pictures off the wall, mattress on the floor, you name it,” Danneel continues. “There was blood in the bathroom, near the sink area. Forensics is sending it to Quantico to fast-track.”
Jared’s heart starts beating when he hears the word ‘blood’, knowing that it’s likely Jensen’s.
“Was there anything else that we can go on? Something that can help jog the vic’s memory or find a connection between him and the unsub?” Morgan asks, and Danneel shakes her head.
“Not yet, but Aldis is still there working with forensics, so he’ll let us know if something comes up.”
Ferris turns to look at Jared and Misha. “You two get anything out of the vic at the hospital?”
“Not much, doctors say he has a case of temporary amnesia. Doesn’t remember much besides his name so far,” Misha responds.
“So far,” Jared reiterates. “But he wants to remember.”
Ferris raises an eyebrow at that. “He seem willing to you?”
Jared nods a little more forcefully than he intended to. “Definitely. I think he’ll be staring at that carving for the rest of his life, and that’s incentive enough to help us.”
“Yeah, that,” Morgan says, cringing. “Pretty solid proof that we’re dealing with the same guy, isn’t it?”
Jared tries to modulate his response, even though everything in him is screaming that this is not only the “same guy”, but also their only chance to catch him. “The timeline fits, plus we’ve never released the details of the signature to the press, so a copycat is unlikely. Jensen’s age is obviously off, but his physical characteristics fit the profile.”
“Docs say they’ll probably be releasing him in a day or two. What then?” Misha asks, and Ferris shares a quick glance with Morgan.
“I think protective custody is the best option while the case is ongoing,” Ferris says.
“I agree, and we can get him into a safe house straight from the hospital. Not like we can send him back to that flipped apartment, especially since it seems to be one of those rent-by-the-week type digs,” Morgan adds.
“Okay, it’s set then. I’m assuming you’ll have your agents assigned to watch him?” Ferris asks.
“Of course, Cohen and Sampson are on it.”
“Let me do it,” Jared interrupts suddenly, standing to his full height. Jared can feel Misha’s gaze whipping over to him, but he ignores it.
“Since when are you volunteering to babysit victims, Padalecki?” Ferris asks, a bemused expression on her face.
Jared grits his teeth, annoyed at the implication that Jensen is just another witness. “Since we have an actual chance to figure out who the Carver is.”
Ferris’ expression turns shrewd, and Jared tries to keep his face schooled.
“What makes you think you can get any more information out of him than another agent?”
“Because he trusts me, I can feel it.” And Jared does, felt it the minute that Jensen trained those bright green eyes on him and unwrapped that vile wound on his flesh.
“Since when are we going on intuition?” Danneel chimes in.
“We’re profilers, Harris. Where logic and experience meet gut instinct,” Ferris replies with a slight smile, and Jared lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“So you’ll put me on Jensen in the safe house then?” he asks one more time, just to be sure.
Ferris only pauses for a second before she nods. “Yeah, you’ll be on our vic. Collins, you work with Cortese back at Quantico to find a connection. Harris, grab Hodge and head over to the crime scene at the park and then re-interview the jogger who found him.”
They all nod in affirmation and start heading out the door again. Misha slips his hand on Jared’s forearm to pull him aside before they clear it.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jay.”
Jared smiles, even though he kind of has no idea what he’s doing. “Trust me, Misha,” is what he says instead.
***
“Nice place,” Jensen says, looking around the living room of the safe house out in Queens. He walks slowly around the room, feet shuffling on the hardwood.
“Only the best for the United States government,” Jared replies with a rueful smile, and is pleased when Jensen returns it.
“Better than my other place, I think,” Jensen states, voice a bit hesitant.
“You remember where you were living before?” Jared asks, trying to keep from getting too excited. Jensen looks a little weak on his feet, so Jared takes him by the elbow and guides him down to the sofa in the middle of the room.
“Thanks,” Jensen mumbles, gracing him with another small smile. “Yeah, I remember a little. More like flashes really. Like watching scenes of a movie that flicker in and out.”
Jared sits next to him at the other end of the couch, keeping enough distance to not be threatening, but still close enough to establish a trust-building intimacy. “I can only imagine how scary that is for you.”
Jensen rubs the back of his neck, and Jared takes note that it’s one of Jensen’s mannerisms when he seems unsure. “It’s like I woke up from a bad dream, but I can’t remember going to sleep in the first place.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. To help you make sense of all of it.”
“Don’t you have other cases you could be working on? Someone else to save?”
“You’re the most important person in my life right now, Jensen No-Last-Name.”
Jensen looks up at that, searching Jared’s face like he’s a puzzle that Jensen’s trying to figure out. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not.”
Jared wants to reach out and smooth the shadows from Jensen’s face, and it makes him suddenly wary of how true his last statement was. “I hope you don’t mind that you’re stuck with me for a little while.”
Jensen’s lips, still slightly swollen and pink from injury, quirk up into a smile. “I hope you can cook, because one of the things I do remember is that I burn water.”
Jared can’t help grinning. How domestic. “New York City is known for her takeout, you know. I can order like a champ.”
Jensen laughs for the very first time since Jared’s known him, and it’s suddenly one of the most beautiful sounds Jared can think of. “Only the best for the United States government, huh?”
“See, you do remember,” Jared agrees, feeling way too happy about it, and wonders exactly what he’s getting himself into.
***
Jared dreams about his brother that night.
He’s laid out on the pull-out couch. He and Jensen ended up ordering in Chinese, Coke instead of beer because of Jensen’s pain meds and Jared’s badge, eating in a strangely comfortable silence until Jensen eventually tired and went to sleep in the only bedroom. Jared waited for the soft snores that told him Jensen was asleep before checking with the agent assigned to night duty outside the front of the house and heading to bed himself.
He dreams about the first day Brock comes to live with them. Thirteen years old, all gawky limbs and big, haunted green eyes, standing in the doorway of Jared’s room. Jared sits on the bed and stares at him, waiting for Brock to make the first move, but scared that he will. He’s never had a brother, doesn’t know what to do with one, but Brock is here now and Mama tells him that one day he’ll understand just how good that feeling can be. So Jared makes the first move instead, holds out the bag of gummi worms that he’s been hoarding, and says to this broken boy, “Hey, you want one?”
The dream Brock’s hand turns to ashes before it can take what Jared’s offering him.
Jared wakes up with a gasp, chest tight. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
“What are you sorry about?”
Jensen’s voice startles him, and Jared sits up quickly, suddenly all too aware of the fact that he’s in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. “What? Oh…I was just dreaming.”
Jensen walks farther into the room, slowly but steadily, and glances down at the edge of the pull-out bed. Jared realizes he’s asking for permission to sit, and nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jared barks out a laugh. “Isn’t it my job to ask you that?”
Jensen smiles ruefully. “You FBI guys and your protocol.”
The room is lit by dim moonlight through the flimsy curtains of the room, and Jared tries not to stare at the perfect slope of Jensen’s profile. “Did I wake you?”
Jensen shakes his head and glances over at Jared, who finds himself looking away like he just got caught. “Nah, it wasn’t you. I had a few strange dreams myself.”
“Did you remember anything?”
Jensen rubs absently at a spot on his cheek, a spot that Jared knows is darkened with a plum-colored bruise. Jared wonders if it hurts when he presses on it like that, and if Jensen even notices if it does.
“I remember a voice. The man…I remember the man’s voice.”
Jared’s heart rate increases. “Do you remember what he said? Did he have an accent?”
Jensen wraps his arms around himself like he’s cold, and Jared just stops himself from reaching for him. “It wasn’t really an accent, or at least not one I can place. Lyrical, sing-song maybe. But then it would turn into something else, like a snake hissing at me. I don’t know.”
Even in the dark, Jared can see that Jensen’s shoulders are beginning to shake under the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. He throws caution to the wind and places his hand on Jensen’s back, between his shoulder blades, hoping that it won’t scare him.
Luckily, it seems to calm Jensen down, and his shudders become less violent.
“Did he say anything to you? Jensen, I know this is hard, and I’m so sorry that you have to go through this, but it might be important.”
Jensen leans back into the warmth of Jared’s hand and tilts his head back, baring the length of his throat in a way that makes Jared swallow hard.
Jared watches as Jensen closes his eyes.
“He called me Michael.”
***
“What do you think it means?” Misha asks him the next morning. Jensen’s in the shower and Jared’s on the phone to his partner to report what Jensen remembered the night before.
“Not sure. It could be anything. The name of someone from the Carver’s past. Son, maybe?”
“Think it could be connected to his Michelangelo fetish? Names are kind of close,” Misha throws out and Jared rubs a hand wearily over his face.
“It’s definitely possible. Why don’t you have Gen run a search of the name ‘Michael’ connected to anything to do with Renaissance art or any of the prior victims. See what she comes up with.”
“Copy that,” Misha replies. He pauses then and Jared’s about to hang up before he speaks again. “Everything okay there, Jay? This is a little unorthodox, even for you.”
Jared sighs and pours himself a cup of coffee. “I know, but I think it’s working. I mean, we got a name out of him, right? And a description of the Carver’s voice that might come in handy for recognition later on.”
Jared can practically hear Misha thinking over the phone, but he finally relents. “Yeah, you’re right. Keep up the good work and I’ll let you know what Gen gets back with. Call me right away if our boy remembers anything else.”
Jensen steps into the kitchen just then, dressed in a pair of soft sweats, skin reddened and hair glistening with moisture from the shower. He looks like every wet dream that Jared’s had since he knew what his dick was for, and he has to get off the phone with Misha right the hell now so he won’t embarrass himself.
“Will do, partner. Talk soon.”
“Was that the other guy that came to the hospital?” Jensen asks, heading over to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee as well.
“Yeah, Misha. He’s my partner.”
Jensen glances over his shoulder at Jared, eyelashes lowered. “Like, partner-partner, or just for work?”
Jared’s eyebrow rises in surprise. This is new. “Nah, Misha’s married with a kid. And not exactly my type.”
“What’s your type then? Let me guess-petite, long hair? You seem like the kind of guy that wants someone to protect.”
Jared almost laughs at how almost right he is. “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. But I prefer tall and short hair, with a slightly lower voice.”
Jensen turns to face him then, a small smile on his face. In the light of the morning with the freshness of his shower still present, Jensen almost looks as young as the other victims before him. Jared knows he’s in vaguely dangerous territory, but he wants Jensen to trust him, so it’s worth the risk.
“I’m starting to remember a few things, Agent.”
“That’s good, Jensen. Like what?”
“I like them tall as well.”
With that, Jensen sets down his coffee cup and heads back into the bedroom.
Jared tries to convince himself he’s not totally fucked.
***
The whimpers pull Jared out of his sleep. They are wounded, like the neighbor’s dog that one time it got hit by a car. He looks over at the bed across the room from him and sees Brock thrashing under the covers. It’s only been three weeks that he’s been with them, and Jared’s still getting used to having another person living in his space. He might only be eleven, but he’s also an only child not used to sharing much.
Including his mama’s attention, Jared tries not to think.
“Brock,” Jared hisses, not really sure if he should go shake the boy or leave him to his nightmare.
Brock thrashes harder and his fists connect with the wall next to the bed with a resounding thump.
Jared’s afraid Brock’s going to hurt himself, so he pulls himself out of the bed and tiptoes over to the other bed, sitting on it gingerly as he tries to figure out what to do. Finally, after taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jared reaches over and puts his hand on Brock’s forearm.
And ends up with a punch in the face because of it.
Jared doesn’t cry, not really. He kind of makes this high-pitched squeaking noise that manages to stun Brock awake. The boy stares at Jared like he’s a ghost, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes wild and terrified.
Jared’s only eleven, and he just got socked in the face in the dark, but he can read everything that’s written all over Brock’s face.
“Don’t let them send me back, please, I’m sorry,” Brock begs, slipping off the bed and holding onto Jared’s legs.
“Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t mean it,” Jared replies stiffly, patting Brock tentatively on the shoulder.
Brock weeps into the material of Jared’s pajamas bottoms, and Jared is completely stunned. He doesn’t know what to say, how to make him better. To let him know that he doesn’t need to worry about Jared telling on him because Brock can be Jared’s brother, and how wonderful is that?
It’s a few more seconds before Brock manages to get a grip on his emotions, pulling away from Jared and tucking himself into a ball in the middle of the bedroom floor.
“I’m sorry, kid. That was totally lame of me.”
Jared drops to the floor next to him, nudging Brock until he looks over. Jared smiles a little, and Brock almost returns it. “It’s okay, it’ll be our secret. Brothers have secrets, right?
Jensen’s screams pull Jared out of his rest, and he’s halfway through the room before Agent Cohen is bursting through the front door to check on them both. They crowd into Jensen’s bedroom and Jared rushes over to drop down to the bed. He knows it’s not the best idea to wake someone while they’re having a bad dream, but Jared goes ahead and grabs Jensen by the shoulders and shakes him gently.
“What,” Jensen gasps, his eyes tearing open and looking wildly around the room. After a moment he seems to focus on Agent Cohen in the doorway, hand ready on his holster.
“Make him go away, please,” Jensen whispers to Jared, dipping his forehead down into Jared’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, I got it,” Jared says to Cohen, who just nods and heads back out to watch the perimeter.
They breathe together for a few minutes until Jensen seems to calm down and lifts his head off of Jared’s body. He pulls back and crawls against the headboard, wrapping the sheet around himself protectively.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says, his voice still raspy from screaming.
Jared sits as still as he can, not wanting to startle Jensen any more than he already is. “Nothing to be sorry about, Jensen. You’ve gone through one of the most traumatic events imaginable. A bad dream or two is more than understandable.”
Jensen dips his head to his chest and barks out a laugh without any amusement. “Will it ever go away? This feeling?”
Jared looks at him in the dim light of the moonlight coming in from the window. “Honestly? Probably not.”
Jensen looks up at that, so Jared continues. “It’ll get better, with time and patience. But it’s something you’ll have to live with.” He inches closer on the bed to Jensen, finally sitting next to him with his back against the headboard as well. “But here’s the thing-you’re alive. Even if you have to live with it, at least you are living. There are fifteen other people out there that can’t say that.”
Jared feels where Jensen’s head tips down onto his shoulder again, and the feeling is warm and heady. “You don’t mince words, do you? No bullshit; I like that.”
“Someone has to be honest with you; might as well be me.”
Jensen turns his face into Jared’s arm, and Jared can feel his mouth against the bare skin peeking from his t-shirt. “What if I don’t remember? What if I can’t help you catch this guy?”
Jared breathes. That’s something he’s never even let himself consider. “We’re going to get him, Jensen. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you again.”
“Why do you care?” Jensen’s eyes are searching as they suddenly stare up at him.
“You remind me of someone I couldn’t save.”
Jared doesn’t mean to say it, wishes he could bite back the words and swallow them whole. He’s suddenly afraid that Jensen will pull back from him, think he’s just a charity case or that Jared’s a bleeding heart whackjob. Which, okay, he kind of is, but it’s not just that. There’s something about Jensen that makes him feel for him, makes the little voice in Jared’s head that sound suspiciously like Brock scream.
Luckily, Jensen doesn’t seem to think any of those things and says simply, “I trust you, Jared.”
“Thank you, Jensen.”
***
The next day is more productive, with Jensen remembering flashes of what sounds like a warehouse or loft-like structure.
“Have Gen look into warehouses in the vicinity that were rented by anyone fitting the profile. Chelsea, or maybe Long Island City in Queens. They have art installation spaces out there and it might be easier to hide something,” Jared tells Misha over the phone.
It’s strange feeling like he’s working the case with his partner almost entirely via calls at this point, but Jared can tell that he’s getting somewhere with Jensen, and he knows if he just keeps pressing a little harder, they’re going to catch a break.
“Got it,” Misha replies, before continuing. “Also, we got forensics back on our victim, and nothing is coming up. His fingerprints aren’t in the system, and his DNA isn’t a match for any missing persons.”
“What about dental records? They took a cast in the hospital.”
“Nada,” Misha says. He pauses then, and Jared waits for what comes next. “Don’t you think that’s a little strange, Jay? That there’s no record on this guy at all?”
Jared’s shoulders tense a bit, but he shakes it out before continuing. “This guy is our victim, Misha. Remember that. Besides, no records are usually a good thing, right? At least we know he’s not out carjacking old women.”
“Sure, Jay, of course,” Misha says, his voice placating. “Besides, I have Gen checking into sealed files, see if anything pops up.”
“Good idea,” Jared replies. “And Misha, I’m sorry if I sound like a dick. It’s just Jensen…he’s messed up and I want us to help him.”
“If the case is getting to you, Jay, we can get Ferris to pull you out of the safe house. I know you want to catch this sicko, but so do we all,” Misha reminds him.
Jared’s voice tightens, and he tries not to blurt out that Misha doesn’t know shit about what this case means. He holds it in, like he’s done for the past decade. “Don’t worry, man, I have it under control. You and Gen dig up something we can work with, and let me know if the team finds another lead.”
“Jared.”
“Misha, seriously.”
“Fine, but when we catch this guy and get back to Q-town, you owe me pizza for a week from Sam’s,” Misha insists.
“Such a cheap date,” Jared replies with a grin.
“I won’t put out until the third slice, at least.”
Jared laughs and signs off the call.
***
Jared really just wants to ask Jensen if he’s down with Chinese for lunch. He knows he shouldn’t go into the bedroom without knocking, but the door is ajar and the sight inside silences him before he can bring his hand to the wood.
Jensen’s standing in front of the mirror near the end of the bed, button-down shirt that looks suspiciously like one of Jared’s opened to bare his lean chest. The bandage is off the wound on his abdomen and it sits there exposed and angry to the air. Jensen’s staring into the mirror, not touching the wound, but with eyes obviously fixed on the image of it. His face is strange, a mixture of placid and pensive that Jared can’t quite get a read on.
Jared finds that he can’t stop himself from walking into the room, and the shuffling of his feet announce his entrance without words. Jensen turns to him, quickly shutting the shirt with a practiced nonchalance that doesn’t quite fit.
“I’m sorry,” Jared starts, not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. For spying? For not catching the Carver earlier?
Jensen waves his hand dismissively in the air and sits down on the bed. He gestures with a nod to the space next to him, and Jared takes it as a cue to approach the bed and sit down next to him.
Jensen’s hands drop to his lap, and the faint blur of rose-colored flesh appears with the automatic opening of the shirt. Jared feels his eyes follow down, and he blinks a few times to try to make himself stop staring.
When he looks back up, Jensen’s eyes are on him, deep and green like glass. Without saying anything, Jensen scoots himself back a bit on the bed and pulls open the shirt, sliding the material down his arms until it pools around his hips like a cloud.
Jared ducks his head, humbled, terrified, but reaches his hand out to trace the air around the edges of the wound. He doesn’t want to hurt Jensen, not any more than he’s already been hurt, but the glowing “renatus III VI” symbolizes so much of what’s been taken from Jared’s life, and he wants to run his fingers over it and reclaim it back for all who have grieved because of it.
Jared’s looked at this simple word and number combination a million times over the years; crime scene photos, artistic renderings, etched into cold dead bodies with cuts that will never bleed again. But here, on Jensen’s flesh with Jensen’s suddenly familiar scent in his nostrils, it becomes almost beautiful. It’s a symbol of life now, of literal rebirth for a man with no last name that logic says should already be a corpse.
So Jared, places his fingers upon the wound, wanting to feel the heat behind it, needing to know that someone came out the other side.
They sit like that for long moments, Jared’s eyes transfixed on the way that Jensen’s stomach moves with each life-affirming breath he takes. It feels a little like praying.
He finally looks up, and finds Jensen looking at him with that odd expression. Jared feels stripped bare, even though he’s not the one naked from the waist up. Jensen tips his head and for one heady second they share the same oxygen, Jared’s hand still caressing the tender stripe of Jensen’s belly.
Jared’s phone ringer startles them both out of their dangerous reverie, and he pulls his hand away from Jensen like he just touched a hot stove before jumping up to answer it. He sees Jensen curling his shirt around him in his peripheral vision, and is slightly saddened that Jensen’s intense gaze is no longer on him.
“Padalecki,” Jared says into the phone, a little breathless, without checking the caller ID first.
“I think you have something that belongs to me, Agent Padalecki,” a strange, chilling voice says in his ear. “Or should I call you Agent Kelly?”
Jared’s hisses and nearly drops the phone like it’s turned into a snake.
“Who is this?” he finally says, willing his brain to turn back on.
The mysterious caller just chuckles in response, and Jared is left with a dial tone.
“Jared, what happened? Who was that?” Jensen asks.
Jared stares at the phone in his hand, disbelief and a vicious streak of hope filling him suddenly.
“I think that was the Carver.”
***
The phone rings again suddenly and Jared’s heart almost beats out of his chest until he realizes it’s his boss instead.
“It’s Ferris. Swing down to the branch office for a briefing in thirty.”
“I…” Fuck. “Yeah, of course, I’ll be there.” He ends the call as quickly as it started.
Jensen’s suddenly in his space, open palms pressing against his chest. “Jared, what did he say? Tell me what he said.”
Jared shakes his head and backs up a few inches, but Jensen follows his movement. There’s something intense in his eyes, his gaze unwavering, and Jared figures that he owes the man the truth.
“He said that I had something that belonged to him.”
Jensen’s fingers dig into Jared’s chest for just a second before he pulls back.
“He was tall.”
“What?” Jared’s confused by the sudden change of subject.
Jensen’s hands are back on him then, but now they are sliding back up the side of his neck and Jared can’t help the slight shiver that it causes.
“He was tall, so tall. Like you,” Jensen says, hand sliding into the hair on Jared’s neck and then back down again. “And yet nothing like you.”
“Jensen,” Jared says, swallowing hard, Adam’s apple against Jensen’s fingertips. “I have to go into the office. My boss just called, but this is a good thing, okay? It means he’s worried.”
Nails dig into Jared’s skin as Jensen tenses. “Don’t leave me, Jared.”
“Just for an hour or two, I promise. Agent Sampson is right outside the door, you will be absolutely safe, I swear to you.”
Jensen pulls away then, turning his back to Jared, and Jared misses his face already.
“Right, of course. You have to tell them about the call.”
Jared hesitates, remembering how the Carver called him Agent Kelly. How the hell could he know something like that?
“There’s a…complication.”
Jensen glances at him over his shoulder, curiously. “Complication?”
“The Carver mentioned something in the call, something about me personally. It’s a long story, but it’s just something I need to figure out myself before I bring the team in on it.”
“I have nothing but time, Jared. A long story sounds good to me.”
“I want to…” Ah, fuck it. “Let me do what I need to do, and then when I get back, we’ll talk, alright?”
The look in Jensen’s eyes is just on the flipside of wary, but he nods his head anyway.
“You concentrate on trying to remember more physical details. Hair color, eyes, scars, anything,” Jared says, pulling on his suit jacket. He watches Jensen hug himself, his mind realizing with a spark of something disturbing that Jensen is indeed wearing one of his shirts.
“Be careful, Jared. He’s watching now.”
With that, Jensen turns and heads into the bathroom, leaving Jared standing there silent.
PART TWO
Quantico, Virginia-March 7, 2012
“I’m going to drink rum. So much rum that I might actually be a pirate by the time I’m done,” Aldis announces with a grin, pounding his fist on the tabletop for emphasis.
“You mean you’re not already a pirate? Can’t believe you’ve been fooling me all these years, Hodge,” Danneel replies, amused.
“Why, Harris, you looking to get your wench on?”
“I’ll wench you, dude.”
“God, why don’t you two just screw already and get it over with,” Misha groans, wrapping his tie around his throat to mock-hang himself.
Jared just laughs, sipping his beer and taking a minute to enjoy the rather boisterous camaraderie between his co-workers. They‘ve just come off closing a major case, one the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Bureau has been working on for more than a month, and it feels good to sit, relax, and think about a few days off rather than how many pregnant women are being slaughtered by a sick fuck of a librarian-turned-psychopath.
Clinical term, of course.
“What are you doing, Jared? Any hot dates I can think about while I’m lying on the beach in Miami?” Danneel inquires, with an eyebrow wiggle. When she’s on the job, she’s the most professional one out of all of them, but get her in a bar and she’s delightfully insufferable.
“Jared hasn’t had a hot date since his first year at MIT. And that was likely with an adorable aerospace engineer who liked to blush a lot,” Misha answers for him, just managing to duck before Jared can smack him on the back of his head.
“You wish you were as hot as that aerospace engineer,” Jared replies with a mock-grumble. But he can’t help smiling at his partner, who’s grinning back, all teeth. The asshole.
“Rum, guys, rum,” Aldis reminds them and a chorus of “lush!” goes up among the group.
The waitress is just bringing another round over to their table when Misha’s cell goes off. He looks down at the screen and mouths “Ferris” at the group. Danneel groans, and Jared’s right there with her. A call at night from their Unit Chief is never a good thing, especially when they all have one foot out the door and their head in vacation-land.
“Collins,” Misha answers, rolling his eyes. It only takes him about thirty seconds before his face goes pale and serious. The rest of the team go stock still and wait to hear the news that is likely going to wipe out any thoughts of rum and beaches.
“Well?” Jared prompts when Misha hangs up the phone and stares at his hand for a long moment.
“Dammit, I thought yesterday passing meant it wouldn’t happen again,” Misha mumbles, and Jared’s blood runs cold.
Yesterday was March 6th. The day every single year that Jared fears the most. The day that he thought he finally managed to escape when the clock struck midnight and March 7th began.
“Is it…”
Misha looks up at him solemnly. “The Carver.”
Jared swears under his breath. “Fuck-“
Misha holds up his hand and stops him. “The victim’s alive, Jay. Someone survived.”
New York City-March 8, 2012
“SAC Jeff Morgan, welcome to the New York office,” says an older man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, leading them into the strategic planning room off the branch.
“I’m SSA Samantha Ferris, and this is my team, SSAs Padalecki, Collins, Harris, and Hodge,” Ferris replies, following him in and shaking his hand firmly before nodding back at the rest of her team.
“Pleased to meet you all. These are Special Agents Cohen and Sampson, my best. We’re here to help you guys in any way we can,” Morgan says. He motions over to a tall, good-looking guy and a brunette with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“I wish we could have met under better circumstances, SAC Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about the good work you’re doing at this branch. Director Pileggi thinks highly of you,” Ferris says with a slight smile.
Morgan barks a laugh and winks. “Mitch and I go way back, but don’t tell him I told you that or he might get nervous that I told you the juicy parts.”
“I bet,” Ferris replies wryly. She sobers quickly though, and turns to Jared. “Padalecki, would you like to walk our friends here through the details of the case so far?”
Jared swallows hard, but nods. He opens a laptop that Cohen hooks up to a screen so that images from previous murders can be displayed for all of them to see. Not that Jared ever has to see them again, considering they are burned into both this retinas and his consciousness.
“The unsub in question is called ‘the Carver’, a nickname that he received around the time of his first known kill sixteen years ago in Austin, Texas. As expected, his weapons of choice are knives, although some cuts on the victim’s bodies indicate that he might also use a scalpel.”
He pulls up a slide of the last victim, from exactly a year ago in Philadelphia. “All of the victims are between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, usually foster kids or runaways. All of them share the same basic physical characteristics-blond hair, large eyes, full lips. Pretty boys, if you want to be crude. We believe the Carver picks them specifically for this reason, but there is never any indication of sexual assault, so we don’t believe the murders are sexually motivated. Instead, he uses his knives to create elaborate patterns in their skin. We think that he believes he is making the victims ‘more beautiful’ than they already are. The profile leads us to believe that he’s an artist of some sort, or at least fancies himself one. It’s possible he’s involved tangentially in the art world. He thinks he is sculpting their flesh into his own specific masterpiece. Unfortunately for us, he also keeps trying every year to perfect his work.”
He clicks to the next slide. “We believe he’s a ritualistic serial murderer, particularly because of the fact that all of his victims were believed to be killed on the same date-March 6th. All of the victims were taken during the days that coincide with the Pisces sign on the astrological calendar, but killed on the same date, one per year, for the past sixteen years. Because of his affinity for art, we believe the date is tied to the birthdate of Michelangelo-which happens to be March 6th.”
He clicks to the final slide, and doesn’t bother looking at it as Morgan and his team gasp at the sight. “This is what he carves into the flesh of each victim, always across their abdomen over the metaphorical womb. The word ‘renatus’, which is Latin for ‘rebirth,’ and ‘III VI,’ the Roman numeral equivalent of 3-6, or March 6th. We believe this is his signature, and that he is letting us know that in death he is giving them new life as something more perfect than they were when they started. We also believe it’s no coincidence that he picks boys with physical characteristics that make them look like something right out of a Renaissance painting.”
Jared closes his eyes briefly before concluding. “No one has ever been known to survive one of his attacks.”
“Until now,” Morgan says.
Jared nods. “Until now.”
“What do we know about the new victim?” Ferris asks, turning to Morgan.
“Not much, unfortunately. He’s older than the victim profile you’re telling me about, so that’s a big difference. A jogger found him propped up near the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park and called the cops. NYPD called us in after finding some rather interesting injuries that lined up with the Carver case.”
“What kind of injuries?” Danneel asks.
Morgan turns to look at Cohen and Sampson briefly. “It’s probably better if you see them for yourself.”
“Alright,” Ferris says with authority, standing up. “Collins, Padalecki, you go to the hospital and interview the victim. See if you can get any more info out of him.”
“Do we have a name?” Misha asks, turning to Morgan.
“Jensen. Just Jensen.”
***
“I’ll call Gen and see if she can get forensics to push through fingerprint and DNA on our vic, see what pops up,” Misha says as they head into Lenox Hill Hospital to interview the Carver’s only survivor.
“Good idea,” Jared replies absently. Gen is the team technical analyst back at Quantico, and if anyone can sweet talk the forensics guys into hurrying their asses up, it’s her. They’d both been at MIT together, Jared graduating early, just twenty years old, before they headed off to the FBI Academy at the same time. Jared doesn’t trust easily, but she is dependable.
They flash their badges at the nurses’ station and are pointed towards the direction of the victim’s room. Jared feels a strange sense of dread and excitement as they get closer to it.
“I can’t believe we might have a chance to finally catch this asshole,” Misha muses with a shake of his head. They’ve been partners for four years, every year of which they’ve had to deal with another carved-up dead body and no leads. Misha’s a good guy, a great agent. But he has no idea what walking into this room right now means to Jared.
Padalecki is his mother’s maiden name. Little Jared Kelly doesn’t exist anymore.
A cop is guarding the room in question and they show him their badges before he opens the door to let them in. Misha enters first, but Jared stands frozen in the doorway when he sees the figure lying curled up on his side in the hospital bed. The man’s eyes flutter open and meet Jared’s for the first time. Even from a few yards away he can see how green they are, and Jared suddenly can’t move.
Austin, Texas-March 6, 1996
“Mrs. Kelly, I’m so sorry.”
Jared sits near the top of the stairs, hidden from view so the man at the door can’t see him listening in on what he’s telling Jared’s Mama. She’s crying and Jared can see her shoulders shaking, and nothing about this is right. Mama never cries. She’s strong and funny and makes fun of Brock when he trips on his skateboard and falls on his ass.
Brock. Oh god.
“Where’s my boy, Jim?” Mama begs the man at the door, and Jared peeks around enough to see her clawing at the man’s uniform shirt.
Brock’s been gone three days, but Mama said that he was just on a school trip. He didn’t say goodbye to Jared, which was weird, but sometimes his social worker would come and see him and stuff, and Jared doesn’t know too much about everything. Better not to snoop, his Mama always says, but sometimes Jared can’t help himself.
“I thought maybe he’d just run away. The adoption going through is a big deal and I thought maybe he just needed some time to clear his head,” Mama says, and her voice is getting hysterical. Jared doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Why would Brock run away? They‘re finally going to be a real family now, and Brock is going to be Jared’s big brother in the eyes of the law. Sure, Brock had run away a few times when he first came to live with them three years ago, but that was before they were a family.
Jared’s face feels warm all over and tears prickle his eyes. He doesn’t cry, can’t cry. He’s fourteen, not a goddamn crybaby. Brock’s sixteen and so much cooler than him, but he treats Jared with respect. Lets him hang with him and his buddies down at the skate park. Gives him a cigarette that Jared only chokes on a little bit.
“Mrs. Kelly, try to calm down. Where’s your husband? Should we call him?” the man at the door tells his Mama, stroking her arms up and down in what looks like it’s supposed to be a soothing gesture. Mama’s still shaking real bad though, and Jared wonders if he should run down and wrap his arms around her, too. That’s what Brock would have done, Jared thinks.
Jared’s scared though, and he stays on the stairs. He can’t help feeling ashamed for it.
“He’s at work. I can’t…please, Jim, it’s just a bad dream, isn’t it? My boy can’t be dead, I only just got him!”
Jared sucks in a sharp breath.
Dead? Brock’s dead? No, no, it’s not possible!
“Stop saying that!” Jared yells, finally getting the courage to run down the stairs and make himself known. “Don’t you lie about my brother!”
“Oh, JT, oh my darling,” Mama says on a sob, rushing over to him and holding Jared close to her body. He struggles out of her grasp though, doesn’t want comfort for something that’s just not true.
“Take it back, you liar, take it back!” Jared screams at the man at the door, who keeps staring at them both with his head bowed and his hat in his hands.
“I’m sorry, son, it’s the God’s honest truth. Your brother’s gone.”
“No,” Jared gasps and runs over to the man, pounding his fists against the sonovabitch’s lying chest. “Stop making things up about my brother!”
Jared barely realizes that he can’t breathe anymore until the darkness comes and he’s falling into his Mama’s arms.
New York City-March 8, 2012
“You okay, Jay?” asks Misha in a low voice, trying to keep Jensen from hearing him.
Jared snaps out of the daze he’s in and takes a few shallow breaths. He hasn’t had a panic attack in years, and damned if he’s going to start that again in front of the only lead they have in the most important case of his life.
“Yeah, of course,” he replies, giving Misha the best smile he can manage for emphasis.
The man lying in the bed is glancing at them warily as they approach. He sits up a little from his prone position, wincing when the movement pulls on one of his injuries. There’s a bandage on his forehead, but otherwise his face is untouched.
And what a face it is.
Jared takes a moment to appreciate the man in front of him, who is, for lack of a more fitting term, beautiful. His hair, half-spiked and half-flat from lying down, is a darker shade of blond than the Carver’s usual victims. His eyes, an even brighter green up close, have tiny sunbursts of lines around them, aging him probably closer to thirty rather than the teens the Carver favors. But his lips, which have a tiny tear in them on second glance, are swollen and lush, and there is a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and porcelain pale cheeks. This man would have been the perfect angelic victim about fifteen years earlier. But, why now?
Jared feels the back of his neck heating up a bit when he realizes he’s practically perving on the victim of a freaking serial killer. Of course, he’s a red-blooded gay man, and Jensen Mystery Man is hot as fuck, so he tries not to feel too guilty about it.
“Hi Jensen, I’m Jared and this is Misha. We’re from the FBI. Do you mind if we talk to you for a minute?” Jared says with a smile, hunching his shoulders down from his 6’5” height in an attempt to appear less intimidating.
Jensen stares up at Jared with those eyes, his eyelashes lowering slowly as he nods his head.
Misha pulls a chair over and sits down, Jared following right after with the same action to try to put them on a more level playing field and get Jensen to relax enough to talk to them. The man’s shoulders are shaking almost imperceptibly and Jared feels a strange urge to run his hands along his bare arms to calm him.
“The other cops already talked to me. I told them everything I know,” Jensen says, his voice low and scratchy from disuse. He has no visible bruising around his neck, so Jared rules out strangulation. It’s not the Carver’s usual M.O, anyway.
“We know you did, but we’re from a special part of the Bureau called the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We’ve been searching for the man that we think did this to you for a long time,” Misha informs him, and Jensen’s eyes widen in sudden fear.
“I don’t remember anything, I swear,” Jensen insists, voice trembling. Jared reaches a hand out instinctively, placing it over where Jensen is clutching the railing on his bed. Jensen turns to look at him and Jared just smiles warmly.
“It’s okay, Jensen, we’ll get there together. That’s why we’re here, to help you remember so we can catch the guy that did this to you,” Jared tells him, keeping his voice as level and steady as he can, although his insides are a fucking whirlwind of emotion. This is their chance, his chance, to take down the bastard once and for all.
“Let’s start with what you do remember, okay? Are you from New York?” Misha asks. Jared can see Misha in his peripheral glancing at where Jared’s hand still covers Jensen’s, so Jared pulls it back slowly.
Jensen shakes his head, eyes large and suddenly glassy. He starts chewing on his cut lip, and a drop of blood appears on the pillow of the bottom one. Jensen doesn’t seem to notice the pain though, and Jared barely resists reaching over to wipe it off.
“I don’t know…I mean, the doctor said I must have been hit in the head because everything is so fuzzy and blank right now.”
Jensen looks at Jared with the most apologetic of expressions, and it hits him right in the gut. Usually-and depressingly-his unit involves cases with dead victims, so talking to a survivor hits a little too close to home. And this man right here, the only man that has seen the face of the animal that killed Jared’s brother and lived to tell about it…well, this man is the most important person in Jared’s world right now.
“Special Agent Morgan said that the doctors found an injury on you that made them realize you might be a victim of the man we’re trying to find. Do you know what they were talking about?” Misha finally asks, when Jared is silent for too long.
Jensen begins shaking again, and rubbing his hand nervously on the back of his flushed neck. Jared wants to reach over to him, but he knows Misha is watching, and he doesn’t want to risk the inevitable questions from his too-perceptive partner.
“Yeah, I think I do,” Jensen answer finally, breath rushing out of him like a prayer.
“Can you show us?” Jared asks and Jensen locks his eyes directly on Jared’s as he slowly pulls open the front of his hospital gown and peels back the large bandage wrapped across his abdomen.
Jared knows what he’s going to see, but it barely prepares him for the viciously angry red, but perfectly shaped “renatus III VI” carved across the flat, pale skin. He’s seen this same thing on victims before, bodies stiff and cold with rigor mortis.
He’s never seen it while life and breath still caused the skin to ripple and move, letters like a ruby-red snake slithering over Jensen’s body.
“I’m sorry, Jensen. I’m so sorry.”
Jensen’s eyes never leave his, as he rewraps the killer’s signature.
***
Danneel is just starting to brief Ferris and Morgan when Jared and Misha walk back into the New York office after returning from the hospital.
“Hospital admins found a slip of paper in the pants the vic was wearing at the crime scene with an address on it. Harris just got back from checking it out,” Ferris updates them.
Jared nods at Danneel to continue as he leans against the table in the middle of the room.
“The place was tossed, pictures off the wall, mattress on the floor, you name it,” Danneel continues. “There was blood in the bathroom, near the sink area. Forensics is sending it to Quantico to fast-track.”
Jared’s heart starts beating when he hears the word ‘blood’, knowing that it’s likely Jensen’s.
“Was there anything else that we can go on? Something that can help jog the vic’s memory or find a connection between him and the unsub?” Morgan asks, and Danneel shakes her head.
“Not yet, but Aldis is still there working with forensics, so he’ll let us know if something comes up.”
Ferris turns to look at Jared and Misha. “You two get anything out of the vic at the hospital?”
“Not much, doctors say he has a case of temporary amnesia. Doesn’t remember much besides his name so far,” Misha responds.
“So far,” Jared reiterates. “But he wants to remember.”
Ferris raises an eyebrow at that. “He seem willing to you?”
Jared nods a little more forcefully than he intended to. “Definitely. I think he’ll be staring at that carving for the rest of his life, and that’s incentive enough to help us.”
“Yeah, that,” Morgan says, cringing. “Pretty solid proof that we’re dealing with the same guy, isn’t it?”
Jared tries to modulate his response, even though everything in him is screaming that this is not only the “same guy”, but also their only chance to catch him. “The timeline fits, plus we’ve never released the details of the signature to the press, so a copycat is unlikely. Jensen’s age is obviously off, but his physical characteristics fit the profile.”
“Docs say they’ll probably be releasing him in a day or two. What then?” Misha asks, and Ferris shares a quick glance with Morgan.
“I think protective custody is the best option while the case is ongoing,” Ferris says.
“I agree, and we can get him into a safe house straight from the hospital. Not like we can send him back to that flipped apartment, especially since it seems to be one of those rent-by-the-week type digs,” Morgan adds.
“Okay, it’s set then. I’m assuming you’ll have your agents assigned to watch him?” Ferris asks.
“Of course, Cohen and Sampson are on it.”
“Let me do it,” Jared interrupts suddenly, standing to his full height. Jared can feel Misha’s gaze whipping over to him, but he ignores it.
“Since when are you volunteering to babysit victims, Padalecki?” Ferris asks, a bemused expression on her face.
Jared grits his teeth, annoyed at the implication that Jensen is just another witness. “Since we have an actual chance to figure out who the Carver is.”
Ferris’ expression turns shrewd, and Jared tries to keep his face schooled.
“What makes you think you can get any more information out of him than another agent?”
“Because he trusts me, I can feel it.” And Jared does, felt it the minute that Jensen trained those bright green eyes on him and unwrapped that vile wound on his flesh.
“Since when are we going on intuition?” Danneel chimes in.
“We’re profilers, Harris. Where logic and experience meet gut instinct,” Ferris replies with a slight smile, and Jared lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“So you’ll put me on Jensen in the safe house then?” he asks one more time, just to be sure.
Ferris only pauses for a second before she nods. “Yeah, you’ll be on our vic. Collins, you work with Cortese back at Quantico to find a connection. Harris, grab Hodge and head over to the crime scene at the park and then re-interview the jogger who found him.”
They all nod in affirmation and start heading out the door again. Misha slips his hand on Jared’s forearm to pull him aside before they clear it.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jay.”
Jared smiles, even though he kind of has no idea what he’s doing. “Trust me, Misha,” is what he says instead.
***
“Nice place,” Jensen says, looking around the living room of the safe house out in Queens. He walks slowly around the room, feet shuffling on the hardwood.
“Only the best for the United States government,” Jared replies with a rueful smile, and is pleased when Jensen returns it.
“Better than my other place, I think,” Jensen states, voice a bit hesitant.
“You remember where you were living before?” Jared asks, trying to keep from getting too excited. Jensen looks a little weak on his feet, so Jared takes him by the elbow and guides him down to the sofa in the middle of the room.
“Thanks,” Jensen mumbles, gracing him with another small smile. “Yeah, I remember a little. More like flashes really. Like watching scenes of a movie that flicker in and out.”
Jared sits next to him at the other end of the couch, keeping enough distance to not be threatening, but still close enough to establish a trust-building intimacy. “I can only imagine how scary that is for you.”
Jensen rubs the back of his neck, and Jared takes note that it’s one of Jensen’s mannerisms when he seems unsure. “It’s like I woke up from a bad dream, but I can’t remember going to sleep in the first place.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. To help you make sense of all of it.”
“Don’t you have other cases you could be working on? Someone else to save?”
“You’re the most important person in my life right now, Jensen No-Last-Name.”
Jensen looks up at that, searching Jared’s face like he’s a puzzle that Jensen’s trying to figure out. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not.”
Jared wants to reach out and smooth the shadows from Jensen’s face, and it makes him suddenly wary of how true his last statement was. “I hope you don’t mind that you’re stuck with me for a little while.”
Jensen’s lips, still slightly swollen and pink from injury, quirk up into a smile. “I hope you can cook, because one of the things I do remember is that I burn water.”
Jared can’t help grinning. How domestic. “New York City is known for her takeout, you know. I can order like a champ.”
Jensen laughs for the very first time since Jared’s known him, and it’s suddenly one of the most beautiful sounds Jared can think of. “Only the best for the United States government, huh?”
“See, you do remember,” Jared agrees, feeling way too happy about it, and wonders exactly what he’s getting himself into.
***
Jared dreams about his brother that night.
He’s laid out on the pull-out couch. He and Jensen ended up ordering in Chinese, Coke instead of beer because of Jensen’s pain meds and Jared’s badge, eating in a strangely comfortable silence until Jensen eventually tired and went to sleep in the only bedroom. Jared waited for the soft snores that told him Jensen was asleep before checking with the agent assigned to night duty outside the front of the house and heading to bed himself.
He dreams about the first day Brock comes to live with them. Thirteen years old, all gawky limbs and big, haunted green eyes, standing in the doorway of Jared’s room. Jared sits on the bed and stares at him, waiting for Brock to make the first move, but scared that he will. He’s never had a brother, doesn’t know what to do with one, but Brock is here now and Mama tells him that one day he’ll understand just how good that feeling can be. So Jared makes the first move instead, holds out the bag of gummi worms that he’s been hoarding, and says to this broken boy, “Hey, you want one?”
The dream Brock’s hand turns to ashes before it can take what Jared’s offering him.
Jared wakes up with a gasp, chest tight. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
“What are you sorry about?”
Jensen’s voice startles him, and Jared sits up quickly, suddenly all too aware of the fact that he’s in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. “What? Oh…I was just dreaming.”
Jensen walks farther into the room, slowly but steadily, and glances down at the edge of the pull-out bed. Jared realizes he’s asking for permission to sit, and nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jared barks out a laugh. “Isn’t it my job to ask you that?”
Jensen smiles ruefully. “You FBI guys and your protocol.”
The room is lit by dim moonlight through the flimsy curtains of the room, and Jared tries not to stare at the perfect slope of Jensen’s profile. “Did I wake you?”
Jensen shakes his head and glances over at Jared, who finds himself looking away like he just got caught. “Nah, it wasn’t you. I had a few strange dreams myself.”
“Did you remember anything?”
Jensen rubs absently at a spot on his cheek, a spot that Jared knows is darkened with a plum-colored bruise. Jared wonders if it hurts when he presses on it like that, and if Jensen even notices if it does.
“I remember a voice. The man…I remember the man’s voice.”
Jared’s heart rate increases. “Do you remember what he said? Did he have an accent?”
Jensen wraps his arms around himself like he’s cold, and Jared just stops himself from reaching for him. “It wasn’t really an accent, or at least not one I can place. Lyrical, sing-song maybe. But then it would turn into something else, like a snake hissing at me. I don’t know.”
Even in the dark, Jared can see that Jensen’s shoulders are beginning to shake under the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. He throws caution to the wind and places his hand on Jensen’s back, between his shoulder blades, hoping that it won’t scare him.
Luckily, it seems to calm Jensen down, and his shudders become less violent.
“Did he say anything to you? Jensen, I know this is hard, and I’m so sorry that you have to go through this, but it might be important.”
Jensen leans back into the warmth of Jared’s hand and tilts his head back, baring the length of his throat in a way that makes Jared swallow hard.
Jared watches as Jensen closes his eyes.
“He called me Michael.”
***
“What do you think it means?” Misha asks him the next morning. Jensen’s in the shower and Jared’s on the phone to his partner to report what Jensen remembered the night before.
“Not sure. It could be anything. The name of someone from the Carver’s past. Son, maybe?”
“Think it could be connected to his Michelangelo fetish? Names are kind of close,” Misha throws out and Jared rubs a hand wearily over his face.
“It’s definitely possible. Why don’t you have Gen run a search of the name ‘Michael’ connected to anything to do with Renaissance art or any of the prior victims. See what she comes up with.”
“Copy that,” Misha replies. He pauses then and Jared’s about to hang up before he speaks again. “Everything okay there, Jay? This is a little unorthodox, even for you.”
Jared sighs and pours himself a cup of coffee. “I know, but I think it’s working. I mean, we got a name out of him, right? And a description of the Carver’s voice that might come in handy for recognition later on.”
Jared can practically hear Misha thinking over the phone, but he finally relents. “Yeah, you’re right. Keep up the good work and I’ll let you know what Gen gets back with. Call me right away if our boy remembers anything else.”
Jensen steps into the kitchen just then, dressed in a pair of soft sweats, skin reddened and hair glistening with moisture from the shower. He looks like every wet dream that Jared’s had since he knew what his dick was for, and he has to get off the phone with Misha right the hell now so he won’t embarrass himself.
“Will do, partner. Talk soon.”
“Was that the other guy that came to the hospital?” Jensen asks, heading over to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee as well.
“Yeah, Misha. He’s my partner.”
Jensen glances over his shoulder at Jared, eyelashes lowered. “Like, partner-partner, or just for work?”
Jared’s eyebrow rises in surprise. This is new. “Nah, Misha’s married with a kid. And not exactly my type.”
“What’s your type then? Let me guess-petite, long hair? You seem like the kind of guy that wants someone to protect.”
Jared almost laughs at how almost right he is. “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. But I prefer tall and short hair, with a slightly lower voice.”
Jensen turns to face him then, a small smile on his face. In the light of the morning with the freshness of his shower still present, Jensen almost looks as young as the other victims before him. Jared knows he’s in vaguely dangerous territory, but he wants Jensen to trust him, so it’s worth the risk.
“I’m starting to remember a few things, Agent.”
“That’s good, Jensen. Like what?”
“I like them tall as well.”
With that, Jensen sets down his coffee cup and heads back into the bedroom.
Jared tries to convince himself he’s not totally fucked.
***
The whimpers pull Jared out of his sleep. They are wounded, like the neighbor’s dog that one time it got hit by a car. He looks over at the bed across the room from him and sees Brock thrashing under the covers. It’s only been three weeks that he’s been with them, and Jared’s still getting used to having another person living in his space. He might only be eleven, but he’s also an only child not used to sharing much.
Including his mama’s attention, Jared tries not to think.
“Brock,” Jared hisses, not really sure if he should go shake the boy or leave him to his nightmare.
Brock thrashes harder and his fists connect with the wall next to the bed with a resounding thump.
Jared’s afraid Brock’s going to hurt himself, so he pulls himself out of the bed and tiptoes over to the other bed, sitting on it gingerly as he tries to figure out what to do. Finally, after taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jared reaches over and puts his hand on Brock’s forearm.
And ends up with a punch in the face because of it.
Jared doesn’t cry, not really. He kind of makes this high-pitched squeaking noise that manages to stun Brock awake. The boy stares at Jared like he’s a ghost, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes wild and terrified.
Jared’s only eleven, and he just got socked in the face in the dark, but he can read everything that’s written all over Brock’s face.
“Don’t let them send me back, please, I’m sorry,” Brock begs, slipping off the bed and holding onto Jared’s legs.
“Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t mean it,” Jared replies stiffly, patting Brock tentatively on the shoulder.
Brock weeps into the material of Jared’s pajamas bottoms, and Jared is completely stunned. He doesn’t know what to say, how to make him better. To let him know that he doesn’t need to worry about Jared telling on him because Brock can be Jared’s brother, and how wonderful is that?
It’s a few more seconds before Brock manages to get a grip on his emotions, pulling away from Jared and tucking himself into a ball in the middle of the bedroom floor.
“I’m sorry, kid. That was totally lame of me.”
Jared drops to the floor next to him, nudging Brock until he looks over. Jared smiles a little, and Brock almost returns it. “It’s okay, it’ll be our secret. Brothers have secrets, right?
Jensen’s screams pull Jared out of his rest, and he’s halfway through the room before Agent Cohen is bursting through the front door to check on them both. They crowd into Jensen’s bedroom and Jared rushes over to drop down to the bed. He knows it’s not the best idea to wake someone while they’re having a bad dream, but Jared goes ahead and grabs Jensen by the shoulders and shakes him gently.
“What,” Jensen gasps, his eyes tearing open and looking wildly around the room. After a moment he seems to focus on Agent Cohen in the doorway, hand ready on his holster.
“Make him go away, please,” Jensen whispers to Jared, dipping his forehead down into Jared’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, I got it,” Jared says to Cohen, who just nods and heads back out to watch the perimeter.
They breathe together for a few minutes until Jensen seems to calm down and lifts his head off of Jared’s body. He pulls back and crawls against the headboard, wrapping the sheet around himself protectively.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says, his voice still raspy from screaming.
Jared sits as still as he can, not wanting to startle Jensen any more than he already is. “Nothing to be sorry about, Jensen. You’ve gone through one of the most traumatic events imaginable. A bad dream or two is more than understandable.”
Jensen dips his head to his chest and barks out a laugh without any amusement. “Will it ever go away? This feeling?”
Jared looks at him in the dim light of the moonlight coming in from the window. “Honestly? Probably not.”
Jensen looks up at that, so Jared continues. “It’ll get better, with time and patience. But it’s something you’ll have to live with.” He inches closer on the bed to Jensen, finally sitting next to him with his back against the headboard as well. “But here’s the thing-you’re alive. Even if you have to live with it, at least you are living. There are fifteen other people out there that can’t say that.”
Jared feels where Jensen’s head tips down onto his shoulder again, and the feeling is warm and heady. “You don’t mince words, do you? No bullshit; I like that.”
“Someone has to be honest with you; might as well be me.”
Jensen turns his face into Jared’s arm, and Jared can feel his mouth against the bare skin peeking from his t-shirt. “What if I don’t remember? What if I can’t help you catch this guy?”
Jared breathes. That’s something he’s never even let himself consider. “We’re going to get him, Jensen. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you again.”
“Why do you care?” Jensen’s eyes are searching as they suddenly stare up at him.
“You remind me of someone I couldn’t save.”
Jared doesn’t mean to say it, wishes he could bite back the words and swallow them whole. He’s suddenly afraid that Jensen will pull back from him, think he’s just a charity case or that Jared’s a bleeding heart whackjob. Which, okay, he kind of is, but it’s not just that. There’s something about Jensen that makes him feel for him, makes the little voice in Jared’s head that sound suspiciously like Brock scream.
Luckily, Jensen doesn’t seem to think any of those things and says simply, “I trust you, Jared.”
“Thank you, Jensen.”
***
The next day is more productive, with Jensen remembering flashes of what sounds like a warehouse or loft-like structure.
“Have Gen look into warehouses in the vicinity that were rented by anyone fitting the profile. Chelsea, or maybe Long Island City in Queens. They have art installation spaces out there and it might be easier to hide something,” Jared tells Misha over the phone.
It’s strange feeling like he’s working the case with his partner almost entirely via calls at this point, but Jared can tell that he’s getting somewhere with Jensen, and he knows if he just keeps pressing a little harder, they’re going to catch a break.
“Got it,” Misha replies, before continuing. “Also, we got forensics back on our victim, and nothing is coming up. His fingerprints aren’t in the system, and his DNA isn’t a match for any missing persons.”
“What about dental records? They took a cast in the hospital.”
“Nada,” Misha says. He pauses then, and Jared waits for what comes next. “Don’t you think that’s a little strange, Jay? That there’s no record on this guy at all?”
Jared’s shoulders tense a bit, but he shakes it out before continuing. “This guy is our victim, Misha. Remember that. Besides, no records are usually a good thing, right? At least we know he’s not out carjacking old women.”
“Sure, Jay, of course,” Misha says, his voice placating. “Besides, I have Gen checking into sealed files, see if anything pops up.”
“Good idea,” Jared replies. “And Misha, I’m sorry if I sound like a dick. It’s just Jensen…he’s messed up and I want us to help him.”
“If the case is getting to you, Jay, we can get Ferris to pull you out of the safe house. I know you want to catch this sicko, but so do we all,” Misha reminds him.
Jared’s voice tightens, and he tries not to blurt out that Misha doesn’t know shit about what this case means. He holds it in, like he’s done for the past decade. “Don’t worry, man, I have it under control. You and Gen dig up something we can work with, and let me know if the team finds another lead.”
“Jared.”
“Misha, seriously.”
“Fine, but when we catch this guy and get back to Q-town, you owe me pizza for a week from Sam’s,” Misha insists.
“Such a cheap date,” Jared replies with a grin.
“I won’t put out until the third slice, at least.”
Jared laughs and signs off the call.
***
Jared really just wants to ask Jensen if he’s down with Chinese for lunch. He knows he shouldn’t go into the bedroom without knocking, but the door is ajar and the sight inside silences him before he can bring his hand to the wood.
Jensen’s standing in front of the mirror near the end of the bed, button-down shirt that looks suspiciously like one of Jared’s opened to bare his lean chest. The bandage is off the wound on his abdomen and it sits there exposed and angry to the air. Jensen’s staring into the mirror, not touching the wound, but with eyes obviously fixed on the image of it. His face is strange, a mixture of placid and pensive that Jared can’t quite get a read on.
Jared finds that he can’t stop himself from walking into the room, and the shuffling of his feet announce his entrance without words. Jensen turns to him, quickly shutting the shirt with a practiced nonchalance that doesn’t quite fit.
“I’m sorry,” Jared starts, not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. For spying? For not catching the Carver earlier?
Jensen waves his hand dismissively in the air and sits down on the bed. He gestures with a nod to the space next to him, and Jared takes it as a cue to approach the bed and sit down next to him.
Jensen’s hands drop to his lap, and the faint blur of rose-colored flesh appears with the automatic opening of the shirt. Jared feels his eyes follow down, and he blinks a few times to try to make himself stop staring.
When he looks back up, Jensen’s eyes are on him, deep and green like glass. Without saying anything, Jensen scoots himself back a bit on the bed and pulls open the shirt, sliding the material down his arms until it pools around his hips like a cloud.
Jared ducks his head, humbled, terrified, but reaches his hand out to trace the air around the edges of the wound. He doesn’t want to hurt Jensen, not any more than he’s already been hurt, but the glowing “renatus III VI” symbolizes so much of what’s been taken from Jared’s life, and he wants to run his fingers over it and reclaim it back for all who have grieved because of it.
Jared’s looked at this simple word and number combination a million times over the years; crime scene photos, artistic renderings, etched into cold dead bodies with cuts that will never bleed again. But here, on Jensen’s flesh with Jensen’s suddenly familiar scent in his nostrils, it becomes almost beautiful. It’s a symbol of life now, of literal rebirth for a man with no last name that logic says should already be a corpse.
So Jared, places his fingers upon the wound, wanting to feel the heat behind it, needing to know that someone came out the other side.
They sit like that for long moments, Jared’s eyes transfixed on the way that Jensen’s stomach moves with each life-affirming breath he takes. It feels a little like praying.
He finally looks up, and finds Jensen looking at him with that odd expression. Jared feels stripped bare, even though he’s not the one naked from the waist up. Jensen tips his head and for one heady second they share the same oxygen, Jared’s hand still caressing the tender stripe of Jensen’s belly.
Jared’s phone ringer startles them both out of their dangerous reverie, and he pulls his hand away from Jensen like he just touched a hot stove before jumping up to answer it. He sees Jensen curling his shirt around him in his peripheral vision, and is slightly saddened that Jensen’s intense gaze is no longer on him.
“Padalecki,” Jared says into the phone, a little breathless, without checking the caller ID first.
“I think you have something that belongs to me, Agent Padalecki,” a strange, chilling voice says in his ear. “Or should I call you Agent Kelly?”
Jared’s hisses and nearly drops the phone like it’s turned into a snake.
“Who is this?” he finally says, willing his brain to turn back on.
The mysterious caller just chuckles in response, and Jared is left with a dial tone.
“Jared, what happened? Who was that?” Jensen asks.
Jared stares at the phone in his hand, disbelief and a vicious streak of hope filling him suddenly.
“I think that was the Carver.”
***
The phone rings again suddenly and Jared’s heart almost beats out of his chest until he realizes it’s his boss instead.
“It’s Ferris. Swing down to the branch office for a briefing in thirty.”
“I…” Fuck. “Yeah, of course, I’ll be there.” He ends the call as quickly as it started.
Jensen’s suddenly in his space, open palms pressing against his chest. “Jared, what did he say? Tell me what he said.”
Jared shakes his head and backs up a few inches, but Jensen follows his movement. There’s something intense in his eyes, his gaze unwavering, and Jared figures that he owes the man the truth.
“He said that I had something that belonged to him.”
Jensen’s fingers dig into Jared’s chest for just a second before he pulls back.
“He was tall.”
“What?” Jared’s confused by the sudden change of subject.
Jensen’s hands are back on him then, but now they are sliding back up the side of his neck and Jared can’t help the slight shiver that it causes.
“He was tall, so tall. Like you,” Jensen says, hand sliding into the hair on Jared’s neck and then back down again. “And yet nothing like you.”
“Jensen,” Jared says, swallowing hard, Adam’s apple against Jensen’s fingertips. “I have to go into the office. My boss just called, but this is a good thing, okay? It means he’s worried.”
Nails dig into Jared’s skin as Jensen tenses. “Don’t leave me, Jared.”
“Just for an hour or two, I promise. Agent Sampson is right outside the door, you will be absolutely safe, I swear to you.”
Jensen pulls away then, turning his back to Jared, and Jared misses his face already.
“Right, of course. You have to tell them about the call.”
Jared hesitates, remembering how the Carver called him Agent Kelly. How the hell could he know something like that?
“There’s a…complication.”
Jensen glances at him over his shoulder, curiously. “Complication?”
“The Carver mentioned something in the call, something about me personally. It’s a long story, but it’s just something I need to figure out myself before I bring the team in on it.”
“I have nothing but time, Jared. A long story sounds good to me.”
“I want to…” Ah, fuck it. “Let me do what I need to do, and then when I get back, we’ll talk, alright?”
The look in Jensen’s eyes is just on the flipside of wary, but he nods his head anyway.
“You concentrate on trying to remember more physical details. Hair color, eyes, scars, anything,” Jared says, pulling on his suit jacket. He watches Jensen hug himself, his mind realizing with a spark of something disturbing that Jensen is indeed wearing one of his shirts.
“Be careful, Jared. He’s watching now.”
With that, Jensen turns and heads into the bathroom, leaving Jared standing there silent.
PART TWO