Jared learned pretty quick that as a writer, Kripke was the Devil, Sera was the Queen of Hell, and Jensen was the innocent, pretty guy they both liked to fuck…who in reality was far more evil than them both put together.
Between them, Marc and he really didn't stand much of a chance.
"I swear my dick's gonna get frostbite."
Jared had stumbled bleary eyed out of his trailer, wrapped up in a huge snow coat that made him look like the Sasquatch Marc accused him of being. His co-star had been waiting, hopping from foot to foot, and instead of a greeting, he'd issued that stunning scientific analysis of what would happen if the chilly Canadian weather had any more of an effect on his anatomy.
"I hear ya, dude." He nodded in reply, accepting a bottle of PowerAde from a perky redhead PA with a grin of thanks.
Marc had both hands stuffed into his pockets, and a blue beanie pulled so low over his eyes it was a miracle he wasn't tripping over his own feet.
"You read the adjustments?"
Jared grunted in response. He'd barely had an hour to look over the changes to the script that had been faxed in last minute. There weren't many occasions when such things happened, but when they did, it was always pandemonium.
"You're boy's an evil fucker." Marc declared vehemently.
Jared wasn't entirely sure when Jensen had become his boy.
Or when he'd stopped protesting the contrary.
Sad thing was, Jensen was an evil fucker. And his boy. Sort of. In the non-sexual not fucking like bunnies way, because, yeah, David…
His boy in the sense that a day didn't go by when Jared didn't think of him, and really, it wasn't his fault. Not in the typical definition of the word, anyway.
Jensen started it. Ish. Jensen had started everything else between them, Jared might as well pin this on him as well.
If you were going to play semantics, then Jared was the one who sent the first email, but if Jensen hadn't replied, then they would never have gotten into the habit of spamming each other's inboxes. So yes. It was Jensen's fault for being such a polite, evil fucker.
From: jrackles@groowy.com
To: jpaddy42@googlemail.com
You're going down, jerk
http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/games/bloxorz
From: jpaddy42@googlemail.com
To: jrackles@groowy.com
Bitch. Talk to me when you hit 27 in the big T
Maybe Tetris wasn't the best manly man's game, but he'd been in a four-month battle with Jensen right from his first day on set. Jensen had a number of tools for procrastination, most of them utterly random. His plants, Jared understood, but his love for old computer games stepped across the bounds of cute and landed firmly in geeky. Which was okay. Jensen made geeky sexy. Jared's own descent from cool was just plain painful.
Inbox (2)
Jared wasn't grinning like an idiot when he clicked the first message. It had been a long, dark, emotionally draining day of watching Marc get the crap kicked out of him. He wasn't grinning. It was an exhausted grimace. Really.
From: jrackles@groowy.com
To: jpaddy42@googlemail.com
Sam wants to make sure you are eating right. She says you look too skinny. She said that about Robbie Coltrane as well, so I wouldn't read too much into it. David sends his love. He grunted. I translated. He also wants Nicki Aycox's cell number. *g* Give it to him and I'll make you Dean's bitch.
Sera and I are working on an ep you'll like. Don't want to spoil it…but you've seen Deliverance, right?
From: jpaddy42@googlemail.com
To: jrackles@groowy.com
Nicki'd sooner fuck a goat. A dead goat, even.
And if you tell me to squeal like a piggy, I'll make you squeal, bitch.
From: jrackles@groowy.com
To: jpaddy42@googlemail.com
Promises, promises.
Now get back to work you lazy fucker.
And that was pretty much the level of intelligence that bounced back and forth between them. Occasionally Jensen would attach new parts of his fifth book for Jared to critique- which he did with great glee, printing off each page, doodling like mad in the margins, then mailing it back with an envelope full of silly string and glitter.
It usually guarantied him an email full of cuss words and crudely drawn PaintPad stick figures.
True Ducky Love, as Marc said.
Marc was an evil fucker, too.
*****
When the script for Faith came through, Jared honest to God cried. Like a baby. A big, hairy baby. It hadn't been pretty. If the make-up girls hadn't fallen for his hayfever excuse, his status as manly man of the set would have been knocked down to the levels usually preserved for Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and pink fingerless gloves.
Trust Jensen to cut out his heart and throw it in Jared's (and the world's) face. Stupid asshole.
Personally, Jared was with Sam. If he could find a faith healer to fix Jensen's problem, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Consequences damned.
He put an order through Interflora for as many potted plants as they could easily deliver to LA, and when the phone rang a week later, it was to the sound of Jensen's choked laughter.
*****
Halfway through spying on a shirtless Nicki, Jared was called off set and dragged aside by a grim faced Kripke. For a second, Jared was scared the man was going to pronounce the coming Apocalypse.
It turned out to be pretty damn close.
*****
Jared had a cousin, Mary, a few years younger, and good friends with his baby sister. She liked wild boyfriends, fast cars, and her daddy's credit card almost as much as Jared liked his candy.
Jared was a pretty relaxed kind of guy. As semi-religious as a kid growing up in Texas had any right to be, and pretty convinced that when things happened, there was usually a reason for them.
He was at a loss as to understand what divine rational could provide an explanation for why his cute as a button cousin was now six feet under. Or how, even if there was a reason, it could possibly be good enough for his family.
Marc had offered to come with him to Texas, an offer Jared had quickly declined. Family was family, and whilst Marc was a damn good friend, he didn't want to mix the two worlds at such a dark time in their lives.
He stayed for three days, the funeral, and the weekend that followed, before the black cloud that had settled became too oppressive to stand. Citing work obligations, he boarded the first flight to Vancouver he could book.
When he touched down, the first call on his cell was from Eric: come into work this week, and I'll fire you.
Eric was another evil fucker. The world was amassing a fair few of them.
It was Marc who stopped him from doing something stupid. Like leaving the oven on overnight, or letting Sadie into his closet, or drowning himself in a vat of tequila. He'd also been a total backstabbing, cock sucking asshole, and called Jensen. Or rather Sam, who'd dutifully passed the message on.
Which was how Jared, after calling for pizza, staring at if for an hour, then binning the lot, found himself on his couch with a numb mind, and Jensen's hand warm on his knee.
Sam, exhibiting her usual air of understated authority, swept through his apartment silently, gathering abandoned takeaway boxes, dirty clothes, and used dishes. Jared didn't so much as acknowledge the fact that Jensen was in the country, let alone his apartment. If he did, he'd have to look at him, and if he looked at him, Jensen would know right then how utterly soothing his presence was.
No need to stroke the bastard's ego.
After ten minutes, Jensen's legs obviously cramped. He shifted sideways, curled up between Jared's knees, his hands still an anchor for Jared to cling to. "Jay?" His voice was a soft as usual. When Jensen spoke, it was as if he were scared of speaking too loudly, so he whispered the words instead.
Jared shook his head. He couldn't deal with Jensen. Not now. Not when his mind was so full of other crap. Jensen always demanded all of his attention, and Jared simply couldn't spare a single moment of it.
Those long, pianist's fingers clenched in denim, then relaxed, reaching for his hand. Jensen had nice hands, Jared thought distantly. Pretty hands. Hands that fit just right in his. Pale and strong, but without any roughness to signify hard graft. Jared's own hands bore the scars of a childhood spent getting into all sorts of trouble. He wondered if Jensen had ever been allowed that freedom. A soft, insistent tug at his arm drew Jared from the comfort and oblivion of his couch and towards the bedroom.
Bedroom, heh, with Jensen...
The lights were off, and neither made a move to turn them on. Sadie and Harley scampered out from underfoot, attracted by the sound of Sam in the kitchen. Under Jensen's gentle guidance, he lay down on the bed, his back to the window and his favorite view of the bay. As calmly as if he were tending a child, Jensen removed his shoes, placing them neatly together at the foot of the closet, and then carefully easing him out of his thick over shirt.
The temperature in the apartment began to rise. Jared wasn't sure if this was for Jensen, or because of him…didn't really care either way.
The bed dipped, and Jensen climbed up.
If he closed his eyes, Jensen might think he was sleeping and leave him be. He tried it, only to be bopped on the end of the nose by one of Jensen's fingers.
Evil fucker, that's what he was.
Jensen bopped him on the end of the nose again.
Jared snatched at his hand and scowled. "Why are you here?" He snapped, belatedly grateful that Jensen could not hear the bitterness in his voice. He wanted to be left alone, but not at the expense of Jensen's feelings.
He was fucking whipped. Might as well cut off his balls and be done with it.
Experience had still not eased him into the way Jensen's eyes always lingered on his lips and months of physical absence had erased his ability to look on Jensen with familiarity. There were new lines around his eyes, fine patterns in the skin that could have been painted there by pleasure or pain. His freckles were dark against his cheeks, and Jared was close enough to count each one…he didn't, and almost missed Jensen's whispered reply.
"Knew you'd be upset." Each word was slow, measured carefully. David had once said that Jensen's reluctance to speak was more a case of deafness providing a cover for his painful shyness than any medical reason. Jared knew him well enough by now to treasure each word whispered to him. "Sides, Sam likes trains."
Trains….they took the train. Several trains. The idea of Jensen getting on a train for a long distance journey when he could have had an attack at any minute made Jared's stomach clench nauseously. He reached out, grabbed Jensen in a tight bear hug, and squeezed until the other man made a sound like a squeaker toy.
Then fell promptly asleep.
*****
Waking up was like trying to swim backwards through cotton wool. His head as fuzzy. Tear fuzzy, tight under the eyes and weighting a hundred pounds. He couldn't have moved if he'd have wanted to.
Given his position, moving wasn't really an issue right then.
Jensen was paying him back for all his hard work as pillow!Jay extraordinaire. Jared couldn't quite remember how they'd made it to the bed, or how he'd made it onto Jensen, but reality was pretty damn obvious, even with a hangover, and he was plastered closer to Jensen than should have been scientifically possible.
His head was pillowed between Jensen's arm and shoulder, warm fingers having curled around and tangled in his hair. Jensen's hip was right under Jared's palm, separated only by the thin fabric of his blood red t-shirt, and Jared had thrown one leg so far over Jensen's that he might as well have stapled the poor man to the bed.
Not that Jensen seemed to have any issues with their position. He was still fast asleep, peacefully oblivious to Jared's scrutiny, his light breathing gently ghosting against Jared's hair.
They were still clothed, both exhausted, and the embrace Jared found himself in was more innocent than it had any right to be. Surrounded by soft, warm skin, and wrapped up in the arms of a man who obviously cared enough about him to travel several hundred miles at the drop of a hat, Jared felt more satisfied than after a weekend of mind-blowing sex.
And just like that, the pieces in Jared's mind fell into place.
He was in love with Jensen.
Crap.
Read Part Seven On the edge of the battlefield in the Louder Than Words 'Verse by SplashPink
