Part 3
THEN
At his and Jared’s wedding reception, Jared’s mother pulled Jensen aside, away from prying ears, and hugged him within an inch of his life.
It took him a moment to realize she was crying.
“You’ll understand someday,” she said, dabbing delicately under her eyes, trying valiantly not to smear her eyeliner, “if you two ever decide to look into having kids. When they’re born… You want so much for them; you want them to have the perfect life. We both know Jared’s wasn’t easy and by no means perfect, mostly because of how we raised him, but -”
She stepped back, fanned her face a couple times with her hands, before attempting a smile that was a little tearful but sincere. “Jared’s father and I look back all the time and realize how lucky we were for God bringing you into our little boy’s life. We couldn’t have done it without you, Jensen.”
She hugged him one more time, and then headed back to her table, where she took her husband’s hand and whispered something in his ear.
“What was that about?” Strong arms wrapped around Jensen’s waist from behind as Jared leaned over his shoulder to give him a peck on the cheek.
“She was saying thanks, I think.” Jensen rested his hands over Jared’s and watched as the older couple got up and made their way to the dance floor.
*****
NOW
When Jensen comes to, he’s muzzy and disoriented, and his hands won’t cooperate when he tries to wipe his eyes clear of their blurriness. It takes him far longer than he would like to realize they’re not working because they’re tied down to the arms of a chair. He struggles in his spot, feels the pull of duct tape across the hair of his arms.
“Morning,” a gruff voice greets him from somewhere in the room, and Jensen blinks rapidly to clear his vision and see exactly who put him in this position. They’re in someone’s living room; the layout looks familiar from his first look, and as his sight clears, he recognizes it as his neighbor’s apartment. Ms. Ferris - Samantha - is sitting on a sofa across from him, nonchalantly working a crossword puzzle from the looks of things. Next to her is her good-looking beau, who is staring directly at Jensen with a slightly amused but assessing look.
“The hell…?” Jensen starts, voice slurred from the drugs and additional weariness. His tongue is dry and sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“We never did actually meet officially,” the guy says, settling back on the couch and resting one ankle on his other knee. “You can call me Jeffrey. I think you know Sam, here.” She lifts her pencil in acknowledgement, never looking up from her paper. “As for what I want, well, that’s a simple answer. Money.”
Jensen’s heart leaps into his throat. “You’re not going to get much of a ransom for me,” he chokes out. “We’re not rich.”
“Oh, I know,” Jeffrey says. “But you could be, and that’s where things get interesting.”
He waves a phone around in his hand - Jensen’s - as he pushes himself up from the sofa. “You’ve been popular while you were out cold. This thing has been buzzing and chiming off the hook almost all night.” As Jensen watches, he flips it open and scrolls through the text messages. “A few in here from someone named Chris.” He paces as he reads them aloud. “‘You’re late. You’d better not have forgotten.’ ‘Seriously, man, where are you?’ ‘Answer me, dude, or I’m calling Jared.’ I take it you had plans for last night?”
He presses a couple buttons, hits the speaker phone, and the automated voice tells them all that Jensen has six unheard messages.
The first one’s from Chris, and he’s yelling to be heard over the rush of bar noise in the background. “Answer your damn phone! I’m serious, dude, I’ll call Jared.”
The next one from Jared is perfectly clear, and he still sounds angry. “Call your damn friend back. I’m not your fucking switchboard.”
Chris again. “You guys fighting or something? Just call me back and let me know if you’re actually going to make it so that I don’t start panicking.”
Jared. “Chris called me again. He sounds worried that you haven’t gotten back to him. I take it you skipped out on the bar. I’m home now. I’ll see you when you’re done sulking or whatever.”
“Okay, it’s eleven o’clock and you’re not home yet. Just…call me, alright? Chris has got me all paranoid.”
“It’s two a.m., and I’m really fucking worried. Call me! Even if it’s to tell me to go fuck myself or that you're leaving me, whatever. I just need to know you’re okay. Please, Jen.”
That’s the end of the messages, and Jeffrey fiddles with the phone a little bit more. “Sounds like he’s a bit of a worrier. Call logs say he called another dozen times without leaving a message. He stopped by this morning too, asked if we’d seen you since last night. If only we’d opened the door just a little bit wider.”
Jeffrey drops the phone onto the end table by the sofa, where the roll of duct tape is sitting. “I apologize in advance for this, but it’s a necessary precaution,” he says as he tears off a strip of the tape. Jensen renews his struggle when Jeffrey steps forward, whips his head this way and that, but his captor manages to secure the tape over his mouth anyway.
Jeffrey grabs the phone back up. “Say cheese,” he quips, and Jensen hears the click of his camera phone.
Less than a minute later, Jeffrey smiles as Jensen’s phone starts ringing. “Let’s answer this on speaker phone, okay?” There’s a hiss as the line opens, and then Jeffrey answers, “Jensen’s phone. His friendly, neighborhood kidnapper speaking.”
“Where the hell is he?” Jared’s voice is like a sonic boom, comes out of the phone speaker sudden, loud and vicious. “If you’ve hurt him, I swear to God -”
“Let’s avoid the clichés, shall we?” Jeffrey cuts him off. “Here’s the deal, Jared. Can I call you Samson, Jared? It would be so much easier.”
Jensen freezes, and Jared’s silent far too long to make any future denials even a little bit credible. A wider grin slowly slides over Jeffrey’s face, bright and creepy, hidden within his salt-and-pepper beard. “Here’s my problem, Samson. That little stunt of yours at the warehouse the other day cost me a lot of money. A lot of money. I was going to get a hefty cut of all of that merchandise.
“Now, I’m not petty enough to demand revenge or retribution for the men lost in that raid. It was their own damn fault for being stupid enough to get caught. But I do want to get paid. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I can’t afford ransom,” Jared practically repeats what Jensen said, but this time Jeffrey laughs.
“Oh please, what’re a few bank vault walls to the great and powerful Samson?”
There’s silence for a few moments on both ends, then Jared asks, now quiet and fearful, “And you won’t hurt him?”
“Not a hair on his pretty little head.” Jeffrey says it while running his hand over Jensen’s hair, and Jensen flinches away from the contact. “Expect a text this evening with the address for your first drop location. A couple hundred thousand should be a good start.” He claps the phone closed and lets it fall to the floor, crushing it underfoot.
“You never know if he’ll do something stupid, like try to get the cops to track your cell.” Jeffrey’s attention is entirely on Jensen now. "Though, I think he'd have an interesting time trying to explain why it was his husband that was kidnapped. Unless he gives away one crucial detail.” Jensen can only glare back and attempt to make his curse words understandable through the tape.
“I think he has something to say,” Samantha chimes in from the couch, still filling in the damned crossword, like having someone bound and gagged in her living room is an everyday occurrence.
“Remember,” Jeffrey tells him. “I did already apologize.” And he rips the tape off Jensen’s face with one quick yank.
“Fuck!” The skin around his mouth is on fire, and it takes more than a few seconds for the sensation to fade. “How the hell did you know?”
“About your husband?” Jeffrey shrugs. “Little things. The number of times you’ve needed the maintenance guy to fix things in your apartment. The fact that my girlfriend has street-facing windows in her apartment and has seen his costumed ass hanging around here a lot more than necessary. It was enough to raise suspicion.”
He takes his seat back on the sofa, settles, and then pulls an alarmingly large caliber revolver out from between the cushions. Jensen recognizes it for the threat it is and rethinks his idea of screaming for help. “And then,” Jeffrey continues, “last night I get a call from Sam, telling me her neighbors are having an incredibly interesting argument that she can overhear even over the music that brat down the hall keeps playing. If you two are so set on this whole secret identity thing, you really should learn to keep your voices down.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Jensen takes another look at the revolver in Jeffrey’s hand. “You actually going to let me go?”
“Well,” he shrugs again. “We’ll see what happens.”
*****
“Wake up. You don’t want to miss this.”
Jensen’s roused from his dozing by the barrel of Jeffrey’s gun poking him in the ribs, and he jerks away from it. His back muscles are extremely tense and aching from sitting for who knows how many hours, his stomach is growling and throat parched, and judging by the grin on Jeffrey’s face, he doesn’t want to see what’s about to happen.
Jeffrey grabs either side of Jensen’s chair and turns it around so that Jensen’s now facing the television. The introduction to the local news is on the screen, and the dread settles in Jensen’s stomach like a hunk of lead. He knows immediately what this is all about.
The female anchor doesn’t waste any time. “We have breaking news, coming from the First National Bank branch on Palmer Lane, where police are responding to a burglary in progress call. Our own Matt Dunn is on the scene. Matt, what can you tell us?”
The screen cuts to a suited reporter standing in front of a brick building that Jensen recognizes. It’s on the other side of town, far enough away that Jensen knows Jared chose it on purpose. “Thanks, Gloria. Details are a little sketchy right now, but the initial reports tell us that a hole approximately four feet wide has been broken through the vault wall.”
“Do the police have a theory on what happened?” the anchor asks off-screen.
“They are reviewing the security footage as we speak, but a source inside has told us they saw someone who looked and dressed like Samson lifting several duffle bags filled with money out through the hole shortly before the police arrived.”
“That’s a disturbing thought.”
“Agreed,” Matt continues. “They’re not currently releasing how much was stolen, only that no one was injured in the invasion and police have agreed to investigate all theories. We’ll report more as details come to light.”
“Thanks, Matt.” It cuts back to Gloria, and the screen goes black as the television is turned off.
Jensen looks over his shoulder to see Jeffrey drop the remote to the table with wide eyes and his lips pursed. He looks impressed. “In and out with no problems. Didn’t think it would be that easy for him.” He pulls another phone from his pocket, a cheap model that will most likely also be trashed at the end of a single conversation. His thumbs fly over the keys as he types a message, and then sure enough, he stomps this one into pieces too.
“Well, I’m off,” he says as he gets back up from the sofa. “I told him to leave the cash and walk away. I hope he’s good at following instructions, because if I even see a shadow of him, all it’s going to take is a phone call.” He places the gun on the coffee table and leans in to kiss Samantha. “Keep your phone by you, honey.”
She smiles up at him. “Be careful.”
“Will do.” He whistles his way out the door, winks at Jensen just before he’s out of sight.
Samantha glances over at Jensen. “Are you going to behave while he’s gone, or do I have to get up and tape your mouth shut again?” She holds up the silver roll, twists it about in the air.
Jensen clenches his jaw shut and refuses to answer her, just turns to face the darkened television once again and tries to figure a way out of this.
*****
Jeffrey comes back with two large bags, struggling with the weight of them as he stumbles through the door. Samantha's beside herself with excitement and damn near pounces on Jeffrey before he can get fully inside and close the door.
Jensen spends most of the night struggling against his bonds and trying to ignore the sound of them “celebrating” their good fortune in the nearby bedroom. He’d yell at them to keep it down, but they taped his mouth shut again before retiring for the night.
The next morning, Jeff sends another text message to Jared, this time directing him to a specific bank. "I wanna see how he does with a place he probably hasn't cased yet. Improv is good in this line of work." They finally get around to giving Jensen something to eat and drink, and even though it’s nothing more than plain toast and anemic coffee, Jensen inhales it and tries to ignore his stomach begging for more.
Once it gets dark and the news reports another robbery, this time with a witness confirming that it was definitely Samson who climbed through their smashed-in walls and took nearly fifty thousand dollars from their vault, Jeff leaves to go claim his next round of ransom money and Jensen is left alone with Samantha yet again.
She tapes his mouth shut again. “I don’t want to hear you yammering while I’m concentrating on my novel.” She lays out on the sofa, book in hand, and Jensen wonders how he never knew he lived next door to such a heinous bitch.
Thirty minutes after Jeffrey leaves, it's still so quiet that Jensen's able to hear it when footsteps come down the hallway outside of her apartment. They're slow and dragging, and Jensen fully expects a laden Jeff to come through the door, but they pass right by, continue on toward Jensen's place. Jared. The footsteps go quiet for a moment, then with resounding force they are replaced by the noise of Jared kicking and pounding on his own door, crying out in frustration as he does so. Jensen can imagine the splintering wood and plaster that must be raining down in the hallway, and his own heart aches to hear the hurt in Jared's voice outside.
"He sounds pretty damn upset," Samantha finally looks up from her book, and she smirks at Jensen, cold and cruel. "Maybe I should be a good neighbor and make sure he's okay." She places the novel on the table, picks up the gun instead. "You be good, got it?"
Jensen can only hope his "fuck you" is distinguishable.
She keeps the gun trained on him as she opens the door just a crack, wide enough that she can see out but no one can see in. "Are you okay out here?" she asks, her voice all saccharine-sweet.
Jensen can't see out from where he's sitting, but he can hear Jared just on the other side, already apologetic.
"Sorry," he says. "Sorry. Really bad day. I didn't mean to disturb you."
Gun be damned, Jensen can't sit there doing nothing while Jared apologizes without a clue. He rocks in place, left and right, until he's tipping onto two chair legs precariously. A quick shift in balance, and his whole chair crashes to the floor with a bang. He winces as all of his weight crashes onto his left arm when he hits the floor, and he can’t tell if he’s broken it, but it gets the result he wanted: he has Jared's attention and now the couch is between him and the gun.
"Are you okay in there?" he hears Jared ask.
"Oh yeah," Samantha says, but now there's a bit of nervousness lacing her voice. Please pick up on it, Jared. Please. Jensen thinks. "It's just my cat getting into something he probably shouldn't be. If you're sure you're okay, I'm just going to go check on him."
Jensen can hear the door closing, his only chance disappearing with the squeak of hinges, so without thought as to what might happen, he lets out the loudest scream he can. It's still a little muffled by the tape, but there's no way anyone could have mistaken it for anything other than what it is.
Samantha swears and slams the door shut, but the next moment it's knocked clear off its hinges and crashes into the far wall. Jensen ducks his head as shards of wood veneer blast through the room, and Samantha screams a sharp, short yelp that is cut off by the smack of skin on skin.
Then Jared's there, sliding to the floor beside him. "Oh Jesus, Jen! Jensen. Oh god." Jared can't seem to coordinate anything more than running his hand over Jensen's shoulder, his face, as if he's trying to convince himself that Jensen's actually real. "Right here. You were right fucking here."
Jensen hums behind the tape, struggles against the restraints on his wrists, and Jared finally snaps out of it enough to get the hint. "Fuck, sorry. Hold on." Even going slowly, the tape still stings when Jared peels it off his skin, and Jensen can't hold back a yelp when his mouth is free. The last piece is barely off his wrists when Jared wraps his arms around him and squeezes tight. Jensen doesn't care if he can't breathe deeply in the stronghold, he hugs back just as fiercely, closing his eyes against the tears when Jared starts petting down his back and crooning in his ear. "You're okay. Thank god you're okay. I found you."
Jensen opens his eyes, ready to reassure Jared that he's fine, just a little bruised and hungry, but he immediately sees they're no longer alone. Jeffrey's back, his new duffle abandoned at his feet, and he has the gun trained on both of them.
"No!" Jensen clutches at Jared, who tenses up in Jensen's hold, and the gun is damn near deafening when it goes off.
*****
THEN
The third time Jared saved someone's life while wearing the suit, he actually stuck around. For weeks, the press in every media form had been scrambling to get an interview with him, begging in print and on the air for him to answer a few questions, to let the people of Austin know who was looking out for them. The why and how of superhero business.
It just so happened that the girl he'd saved from being run over by a drunk driver was actually on her school newspaper team.
The next day, every news station in the area was re-airing the amateur taping of her exclusive interview with the mysterious superhero. The girl's mother had set up the family video recorder on a tripod, and it was trained on Jared, still completely suited up, looking extremely out of place on their khaki-colored sofa with a calico cat winding around his ankles.
The girl, Sarah, sat off camera, and she hesitated before asking each question, like she wasn't sure if it was appropriate. "Thanks for agreeing to speak with me. I really appreciate it. My teacher's going to flip when he sees this."
Jared laughed, and those people watching the tape could probably see the outline of his smile through the mask. Jensen was glad he went with the full hood when designing the costume. "It's my pleasure, Sarah. I hope he gives you extra credit." Jared's voice was muffled and disguised enough by the fabric of his mask, but Jensen could tell he was trying hard to force his accent more, sound as little like himself as possible.
"Me too. Okay, um, first question. Why are you helping people? You don't have to."
"But I can," he answers. "That should be reason enough. If you're capable of helping someone, even if it's just lending a hand with something, then go for it! I don't think there's enough people in the world willing to take a few moments out of their day to help their fellow man."
"Even if you might get hurt while doing it?"
"It's a little different for me. People should never put themselves in a position where they might hurt themselves or others, but what could hurt you might not hurt me quite as much. Therefore, I'm a little more willing to stick my neck out, so to speak."
"So you're like Superman?"
Again Jared laughed. "Not quite, though he was a big inspiration for me. I grew up like everyone else, reading about his adventures in helping people and picturing myself in his shoes. I guess I just had a better chance at it than other folks."
Over the tape, the sound of Sarah rustling through notes was evident. "Oh!" she squeaked out. "I should have asked this first. What's your name?"
Jared looked straight at the camera, calm and collected, and said, "A very good friend of mine named me years ago. You can call me Samson."
*****
NOW
When the police arrive at the scene of the disturbance, a man and a woman are out cold on the floor. The man is clutching a revolver, one chamber of the cylinder empty, and there's a darkening bruise forming on his face. A brief search of their apartment reveals bags full of stolen money and a gray jumpsuit and gloves similar to the ones the police noticed the supposed-Samson wearing in all of the security footage at the banks.
In the parking lot, the canvassing team finds a car with its front end smashed in nearly to the engine block, like it had been used repeatedly to slam into a wall or two.
The police interview the suspects' neighbors, all of whom were too scared to even open their doors until the cops knocked. They all report hearing yelling, struggling and a gunshot at some point. The Ford kid turns down the music enough to answer all of their questions, and Misha gives some sort of cryptic fortune-cookie advice before saying, "They've always given off a feeling of imminent bad karma." When an officer knocks on their door, Jared opens it and explains he's been home all day taking care of his sick husband. They heard it all, down to the gunshot and the hurried footsteps of someone running away from the scene.
Jensen can't wait until they run Jeffrey's prints and find they fit some of the unknowns from the warehouse bust.
Jared closes the door and slumps against it in relief. He starts laughing, a sudden and weak giggle that only comes out when he's stressed. "Holy shit, Jensen. How the hell did you think of a cover story that quickly?"
Jensen looks up from his spot on the couch, where he's been playing the part of the ill husband with conviction. It helps that he's so hungry he's weak and every muscle in his body, especially in his left arm, has been screaming at him since Jared picked him up off the floor in the other apartment. "You were the one smart enough to wear gloves on the bank jobs."
"I was, wasn't I?" Jared says as he takes his spot on next cushion. "I was just thinking, it's one thing when I leave my prints at the scene of where I helped. I didn't want to sully all of that." He wraps his arm around Jensen and pulls him in, so that Jensen's head rests on his shoulder. "They're going to talk, you know. Tell people who I am."
"Let them. Chances are no one's going to believe them; there's enough evidence stacked against them. You just be careful, and no one will know the truth."
Jared's quiet for a moment. "Or I could just quit."
Jensen jerks up and hisses when the movement twinges already sore muscles. "Look, Jared. I didn’t mean…"
Jared shakes his head, effectively cutting Jensen off. "I'm serious. Because of this, I almost lost you. In every single way. I couldn't handle that, Jen. You say the word, and I'll quit."
Jared's eyes are a little sad as he says it, but Jensen can see the sincerity in them, and it takes his breath away. In this instant, he loves this man even more than he ever has, knowing that Jared would give it all up, this aspect of his life that he adores so much, just to make Jensen happy. It's more than Jensen could have ever hoped to hear.
He doesn't answer; instead, he digs into his pocket and pulls out a small item - a larger caliber bullet, its tip squashed flat from where it had hit Jared earlier. The three of them had been frozen in place, speechless, when the bullet stopped dead as it hit the clenched muscles in Jared's back, and fortunately Jared had been the one to recover first and react, knocking Jeffrey halfway across the room with a well-deserved punch, where he landed completely out for the count.
Jensen stares at the bullet in his hand and remembers a conversation from a long time ago. Finding out the hard way really sucks, he thinks.
*****
The media is awash with speculation and conspiracy theories for the next few days. It hits the local and national news feeds, radio reports, online blogs. People everywhere were talking about what did or might have happened.
"The suspect, Mr. Morgan, denies any involvement with the burglaries and says it was his neighbor, whose name was not revealed but who he claims is actually Samson, who committed the crimes."
"I guess I could have been mistaken when I said I definitely saw Samson in the vault. I mean, watching the tapes again, it does look like he's a little shorter than normal and not as well built or anything, and with that hood over his face... Yeah, it could have been that other guy in the suit."
"Though tests have found unidentified DNA inside of the gloves along with Morgan's, the bags did not have any other fingerprints on them but Morgan's own and those of his accomplice, Ms. Samantha Ferris. Police report Morgan's fingerprints also match some found on the scene of a drug bust that occurred last week."
"While the banks are relieved by the return of their stolen funds, they are still busy with repairs to their property and wish to know where to lay blame."
"Samson doesn't wear gloves and never has, and his fingerprints have been left all over the place. We all know that. So the fact that 'he' is wearing them in the bank tapes, actually making an attempt to mask his fingerprints for once, pretty much proves it wasn't actually him that did it. Whoever was impersonating him knew that the prints wouldn't match up when tested."
"The disturbance report says that a gun was fired, but have they found the bullet yet? No! Either our city has the crappiest forensics team in the nation, or someone took it from the scene. Who would do something like that and why? And come on, they really want us to believe that Morgan was able to drive a Nissan through a bank wall? There's definitely something more to this story that everyone is ignoring."
"This *bleep*er tried to frame a *bleeeeep* hero, someone who has put his *bleep*ing life on the line countless times for the people of this *bleep bleep* city. I say throw the *bleeeeeep* book at him. Or better yet, let me and my buddies loose on him, we'll *bleep* him up good. *Bleeep*, you can edit all that, right?"
*****
Life back at the office is... boring after his brush with the seedy underbelly of the city. For the first few hours Jensen is back, he keeps expecting someone to jump out at him, waving some sort of weapon or pointing their finger in an "a-ha!" moment.
Instead, he gets an official notice from Human Resources about his failure to follow proper out-sick procedures for the time he missed and a stern talking down from his supervisors about never doing it again.
All in all, he gets away scot-free. They both do.
As Jensen had predicted, no one takes Jeffrey's claims about Jared being Samson seriously, writing it off instead as the last ditch effort of a desperate man, even with Samantha backing him up. Sure, there’s an occasional cameraman sitting outside of their apartment building, but he and Jared make it a point to smile and wave, hamming it up for their supposed fifteen minutes of fame. A cop shows up later in the week for a follow-up interview with them both, just to make sure all of the facts are accurate, but no one accuses Jared of anything.
Life goes on without incident.
Chris invites them out for drinks yet again, accepting Jensen's explanation of the missed texts and calls with a story about how he'd gotten so sick that he passed out and remained unconscious for practically the whole time. Jared sits by his side the entire night, but he's not really there. Sure, he looks to be enjoying his beer, and he's chuckling and nodding at the right points, but he's not his normal exuberant self, the Jared that monopolizes the conversation whenever they're out and makes everyone laugh along with him. He's lost somewhere in his own head.
It probably doesn't help that Jensen hasn't given him an answer yet.
The only spark of the real Jared he sees all night is when the television in the corner of the bar flashes to a story about a collapsing building a few streets over. Jared's halfway out of the booth, an excuse on his tongue, before every emotion on his face shuts down and he heads to the bathroom instead.
"What was that all about?" Chris asks before tipping his bottle back.
Jensen shrugs, reaching into his jeans pocket and fingering the bullet that he hasn't taken off his person since that day.
He had asked Jared to make a choice: was he Jared or Samson? He never expected to have that choice turned back around onto him.
*****
THEN
"Psst, Jensen. You 'wake?"
Jared had begged his mom to let Jensen stay the night, and she agreed, provided that they followed the rules all night, which meant no rough housing whatsoever. Jensen hadn't stayed away from home before, but he was a big boy now, and besides, this was Jared's place. Nothing to be scared of here. Jared's mom had called lights out about thirty minutes ago, but Jared didn't go to sleep, kept squirming in his sleeping bag on the floor and keeping Jensen up.
"Yeah. Whatcha need, Jared?" He rolled over in his own sleeping bag to look at Jared, and the other boy's eyes were wide and shining in the tiny glow of the nightlight beside the bed.
"You're my bestest friend, did you know that?"
"Well, yeah," Jensen said. "I think I'm your only friend. But you're my best friend too."
"I have a secret," Jared whispered. "But Mama doesn't want me to tell you."
Jensen fidgeted a little himself; secrets were always pretty cool, and he didn't really know much about Jared beside the fact that his parents were weird sometimes with their rules. But it was remembering Jared's parents that made up Jensen's mind. "Don't tell me. I don't want your mom and dad mad because you were bad and told me."
"You're right," Jared said. "They’d be really mad. I'll tell you someday though, when I'm a little older. Because we're going to be friends forever, right?"
"Absolutely forever. Can I go to sleep now? I'm tired."
*****
NOW
Jared's quiet and still but definitely not sleeping. His breathing rhythm is all wrong for how he sleeps.
Jensen listens to the silence, tries to quiet his mind so he can get to sleep himself, but it's not working. Thoughts are speeding through his head at a million miles an hour, and if it keeps up at this pace, he'll never get any rest. Again.
Jared sighs suddenly, deep and shaky, and a brief moment of clarity rushes through Jensen.
In the dark, he reaches for his bedside table, grabbing by memory for the item he left there before crawling under the covers. Beside him, Jared stirs immediately, giving up the pretense of sleep to investigate. "Jen?"
Jensen rolls over and faces him, pressing his hand into Jared's and releasing the ruined bullet into Jared's palm before curling Jared's fingers around it. "Here's the deal. Find a job first, something solid. Then we'll sit down and really talk about this, no yelling or fighting. This is a decision that neither one of us can make alone. We need to make it together."
*****
Jensen finally has his office exactly as he wants it. There's a small end table beside his sofa underneath the window, and the surprisingly hearty fern that he may or may not have forgotten to water a couple of times is basking in the sunlight. Behind his desk, on a shelf he had the maintenance crew put up specifically for him, are his action figures, strategically placed. He's received a couple of odd looks from the other directors when they've come to see how he's settling in, but he just smiles when they ask, tell them it's a guilty pleasure. Gen from Purchasing even admitted to having a couple of her own at home.
He looks at his wall clock, and it's about the time Jared's usually getting up for work. While not the most glamorous job in the world, Jared's new position as night watchman has been the most stable he's had since he graduated. The hours are taking a little bit of getting used to, but it's freed up Jared's afternoons for his more extracurricular activities.
Speaking of, Danneel's voice blasts through the office. "Breaking news, folks! Major accident on I-30, more than ten cars involved. And Samson is confirmed on the scene!"
Almost everyone in the office cheers, and Jensen's not going to call them out for getting off task. He gets up from his chair and walks to his windows overlooking the city.
Somewhere out there, his husband is saving someone's life.
And damn it, Jensen is proud of him.
Art & Soundtrack || Author's Note