Fic: RPS (Jared/Jensen): Small Small World [1/4] | NC-17 | 34570 words
Master Post | Art Post | Part 2
The comic book world tends to be a much misunderstood one. Oh, sure, you have your fans and you have the people who not only don’t judge but out and out tolerate, but, to much of the world, if you like comics and you’re older than twelve, you’re considered just a little bit geeky if not downright strange. Jensen Ackles didn’t care, though. He already knew that he was a legitimate geek. He’d also take strange because, yeah, it was fitting. Hell, at this point, he was probably even just a little bit crazy.
Didn’t matter. He was just fine. The rest of the world could sit and spin because Jensen? He had it made. He’d always liked comics ever since his dad had bought him his first one at age six and, from there, it had morphed into a full-blown obsession. In his teenage years, Jensen had blown entire paychecks at the comic book store-new issues, collectibles, action figures-he’d wanted it all. He would have bought the whole store if he could have.
As he got older, he’d mellowed out-something, no doubt, that his parents were grateful for because if he would have kept up the pace, especially with the paychecks that he was hauling in now, he soon would have flooded out his own house and been forced to move his junk into theirs. Now, though, Jensen, while he still collected-probably always would-was a bit more selective. He still had copies of first editions lining the wall-he would have to be dying to give those up and even then he’d still probably fight for them-just a little bit crazy, not all the way, thank you-but the sheer mountains of merchandise from his youth were gone.
Well. Except for his own merchandise, of course. Jensen picked up the little green ball that usually smiled happily at him from the corner of his desk and squeezed it. Sometimes life just worked out that way: after a life-long obsession with the comic book world, when Jensen had grown up, he’d joined it. Only now, though, not only was he getting paid, which was a plus, but he was making his own comics, which was even better.
He didn’t care what the rest of the world thought.
The only thing was, Jensen had thought-back when he’d first started drawing-that he’d have more freedom than what he did. He never would have guessed, way back when, about all of the sheer politics that went into making comics and how it was “conform or else.” Even after he’d graduated from assisting-otherwise known as “being someone’s little ink and background bitch”-into a full fledged artist, Jensen had still had to deal with navigating the political waters of his publisher, Kripke Comics. The good news was that Eric Kripke, the owner of Kripke Comics and its main driving force, tended to be rather hands off. He generally just let Jensen do whatever he wanted with only a few “suggestions.” Jensen supposed that it was because of how much freedom that he’d enjoyed in the past that those suggestions rankled so much now.
He’d already caved to Kripke once. Small Small World, Jensen’s current work, if Jensen had had his way, would have been dark, dark, dark. Kripke, though, had been looking for a more kid-friendly approach, to be able to “mainstream” as it were so Jensen’s hopes of being able to explore his own angst-caused by the messy breakup with his last boyfriend-Jesus, had that really been five years ago?-had been stripped away. Instead of having his darkly ambiguous main character-is he evil or isn’t he-slipping through the seedy underworld and sleeping and stabbing his way to the top until he finally, probably, died, Jensen had, well, “Jared.”
Actually, Jensen was rather grateful to Kripke for that one. He knew that his original concept had been a self-indulgent one-more fit to wallow in than to publish-and, even if Jensen still missed not being able to draw the more “adult” parts, well, that was what doodling was for, right? So, because of Kripke, Jensen had, thankfully, not spent the past five years obsessing over his ex and just generally feeling sorry for himself. Instead, he’d spent it in the more upbeat world of Jared and his band of crazy but kid-friendly creatures. And, if Jensen happened to have a few other pictures of Jared that were hidden underneath the folders in the bottom of the third cabinet on the left, that was Jensen’s business and nobody else’s.
Because, yeah, Jared and his world had started off as a private little pity party for Jensen and while Jensen had dropped quite a few things-much of the tone, the seedy background, Jared’s underhanded motivations-there was one thing that Jensen had definitely not let go (not that Kripke would have had any clue, anyway-or, hell, probably even cared): Jared Padalecki, the main character of Jensen Ackles’ hit series Small Small World was, for all accounts and purposes, Jensen’s idea of the perfect man.
It was something that Jensen had never told anyone (not like he had many people to tell) and it was probably something that Jensen would take to his grave if he had the choice. He thought it was so damn obvious, though. He showed it every stroke of his pencil, every clean line of ink and every loving detailed application of color. How people didn’t know was beyond him. Jared was perfect in every way that mattered. Even if he was generally drawn in almost oversized button down plaid shirts and too loose jeans, Jensen knew exactly what was underneath them. Jensen had drawn it, after all. And Jared had a perfect smile, with perfect white teeth and eyes that crinkled and a few dimples to just make it pop.
And it was more than that. Over the years, Jared had evolved into a full-fledged being-one that might as well be living and breathing as far as Jensen was concerned. He’d moved beyond the cardboard cut-out of the anti-hero, out of Jensen’s original self-indulgent plan-into a brand new person. Jensen knew that Jared would never let him wallow in his own self-pity. He’d deliberately designed Jared that way. Jared was upbeat and outgoing and, if not a social butterfly, then at least everyone’s best friend. He always had a smile ready and a warm greeting for anyone that he met and, underneath that, was a sincere caring. So, on the surface, he was basically the exact opposite of Jensen-Jensen who was, well, not quite a hermit but might as well be, darkly snide, and who hadn’t had time or much use for “friends” in about five years. Maybe even more.
Opposites attract and all that, Jensen supposed. Because he happily dreamed about Jared’s smile-had even jerked off to it more than once-and how was that for self-indulgent and narcissistic? Jerking off to his own creation.
Normally, Jensen couldn’t stand relentlessly upbeat people, either-they and their sunshiny attitudes tended to grate after about five minutes-like the one that he’d given “Sandy”, the girl who Jared, despite official press releases, wasn’t interested in and who’d only been technically classified as a love interest because Kripke had deemed it so, God damn him. Jensen spent so much time at fan conventions dodging questions of “So when are Jared and Sandy going to get together?” that he could have happily screamed (it was a little silly being jealous over a fictional character, especially just because another fictional character liked them, but Jensen didn’t pride himself on being exactly normal, now did he?). Sandy whose entire family had died years before but still managed to be optimistic despite the fact that she was smart enough not to be. Jensen sometimes got tense just from drawing her scenes-especially the ones that Kripke loved: the ones with the morals. Save him from the damn morals and life lessons.
Jared, though, even given his happy-go-lucky smile, wasn’t one of those people that grated on Jensen’s nerves. Because Jared might be a fun and happy kind of guy but, underneath it, Jensen knew, that the fluffy marshmallow didn’t go all the way down. Underneath Jared’s warm, inviting-hot, if Jensen was being honest-exterior, there was just a little bit of darkness to make him perfect. It’s always the flaws, after all, that makes you love a person more.
Jared had flaws. He tended to run off his mouth and act without thinking; he could be self-absorbed and, despite his usual caring attitude, could sometimes really give a flying fuck less about people’s plights-hypothetical people, at any rate. It was harder for him to say no to the actual people in front of him-that was what made him one of the good guys, after all.
Jared was smart, too, Jensen knew. Behind the guilefree smile that Jared showed the world, Jensen knew-even if the rest of the world didn’t-that there was a mind that he could explore for decades.
Well. That is to say that he could if Jared were actually real. Jensen sighed, staring down at the perfectly rendered face on the sheet of paper in front of him. That was the catch, though, wasn’t it? And that was why Jensen as an adult was far more pathetic than Jensen as a teenager. At least when teenage Jensen had jerked off to his favorite comic book heroes, he’d been well aware that they weren’t real. Adult Jensen wasn’t so sure.
And now Kripke wanted him to… Jensen grabbed the package of cigarettes off the corner of the desk, pulling one out and putting it in his mouth. It was a filthy fucking habit, just like his little sister said, but sometimes Jensen just couldn’t help himself. Sometimes he just needed one. Or three. Or five. Or a whole pack.
Ever since Kripke had told him the news, Jensen had found himself going through a lot more cigarettes than he used to. He flipped open the lighter and got a flame going, lighting the end of the cigarette so he could pull a big lungful of smoke through the filter. Oh, Jesus, but that felt better. It was like he’d suddenly gotten his life back under control-even when he knew that he really hadn’t.
Kripke thought it was time for Jensen to dump Small Small World. That was what the little troll had told Jensen today over the phone. He said that the money just wasn’t coming in like it used to and that sales were dropping and that the “buzz”-whatever the fuck that was-just wasn’t happening anymore. It was time, Kripke said, for Jensen to move on. To create his next best-selling hit series.
Because, yeah. It was totally that fucking easy.
Jensen took another long drag and stared at Jared’s smiling face. He didn’t think that he could give Jared up. He didn’t want to start working on a new series, on new characters. That would be, like…cheating. Or something.
Not that Jensen could actually use that as a valid argument against Kripke’s decision-because there was crazy and then there was out there and he’d rather just not be committed to the local loony bin, thanks. Kripke was used to Jensen being weird-to him never coming into the offices, only snapping and growling over the phone (Jensen hated phone conversations with a passion but even that wasn’t enough to get him to leave the house), to Jensen constantly arguing with everything-but Jensen knew that if he told Kripke that he didn’t want to start a new series because he wanted to be faithful to Jared, Kripke’s next call would undoubtedly be to a therapist. God knew that that’s what Jensen would do. Besides, as far as Kripke was concerned, Jensen could draw just as well in a padded cell as he could in the comfort of his own home studio.
Jensen didn’t need to see a damn shrink. He just needed Kripke to get off his back and let Jensen do whatever the fuck he wanted to do. After all, he’d made Small Small World a success because, not only had he occasionally listened to Kripke, but he’d also ignored Kripke as well. If Kripke had had his way, Jared would never have existed-he just would have been another boring caped crusader being dropped into the large ocean of comic book heroes. And then he definitely would not have been Jared.
That was actually what Kripke wanted him to do now-create a mainstream comic book hero series, one more akin to the likes of Stan Lee than Alan Moore. Like fucking Hell. This was all about Kripke trying to get what he’d originally wanted and Jensen knew it. Sure, yeah, sales were down but fuck, sales were down for everything. It was a fucking recession.
Jensen knew that he didn’t want to create the “mainstream” stereotypical superhero with daddy issues that Kripke was hoping for. That wasn’t who Jensen was-that was who Kripke was and if that’s what Kripke wanted, then maybe he should fucking do it himself instead of trying to get his star creator on the job. Hell, Jensen would even help him get started (“You’re going to want to make the bodies a little less stick-figure-like, Eric”).
But Kripke was the one who held the funding-he had Jensen’s fucking reins and Jensen better just whinny nicely and trot the way that Kripke wanted. Five years of basically doing whatever the hell he wanted with just a few exceptions and now Kripke wanted him to go back to the barn when Jensen had the bit in his mouth.
Fuck that.
Jensen just didn’t have a clue how he was going to be able to tell Kripke no.
He crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray and then crossed his arms as he continued to stare long and hard at Jared’s smiling face. He was going to have to do something. Jared was just about the only “person” in the world that Jensen gave a flying fuck about any more. He didn’t want to see him canceled.
It was a tight fit. Hard not to be. He was kind of big, after all, and this…this was kind of…small. Trying not to think too terribly hard about horrible, inappropriate puns, he shoved himself through farther, pushing into space. His hand was reaching out and-oh, that was weird. Seriously. Bizarre.
He was feeling like the entire world was shifting around him, accommodating. This wasn’t even supposed to be possible, after all. This time was special. And so, apparently, was he. Him and the guys, that was-they were streaming around him, helping, pulling, pushing, though some were ignoring him entirely. In other words, just being their general selves.
With a heave, he managed to shove himself farther along until finally his head breached through. Well. This was a little like birth, wasn’t it?
…That was probably worse than the puns about ‘hard’ and ‘tight fits’ that he’d been trying to avoid. He was hopeless. The guys were whispering in his ear, giggling about this and that the same way that they’d done for years and he firmly pushed them out of his mind. He’d had a lot of practice at that. He’d ignored them earlier, too, today when he’d been carefully watching on the other side of the divide. Watching and waiting. They’d whispered about love and adoration and a few other, filthier things.
With everyone still moving around him, he wiggled and twisted until finally he had both arms free, his shoulders finally scraping the sides, before he stopped to rest. This was crazy, that’s what this was. He had no idea why it was so much work, but, then again, before he’d been told otherwise, he’d had no idea that this was even possible. So maybe it made sense that it wasn’t easy.
After all. It wasn’t every day that you broke the physics of time and space. He could hear the sound of space and time bending around him only it wasn’t so much of a noise as it was a ripple, a sensation.
A few of the guys were trying to explain the science behind it to him but he ignored them. He didn’t care about the hows, really. Just the whys. And he was well aware of the whys. Familiarly acquainted with them as the case might be.
He braced his hands against the table and shoved, pulling himself upwards and out, until at least his ass was finally free. With a wiggle, he scooted up onto the flat, brown surface and eyed his predicament. He just had his legs to go-that shouldn’t be too hard-not compared to the rest. They were currently invisible, though, still trapped in the pages. It was a little unsettling to look at-like he’d suddenly been rendered a paraplegic due to the fact that he had no legs at all.
They came out easily with the lingering white just barely clinging to them until they regained full color and it was fascinating to watch. If he wasn’t so uncertain about how the whole damn process was working in the first place, he might be tempted to play. As it was, though, there was no sense in tempting fate. Increasing numbers of the guys were swarming outward, their vaguely outlined bodies taking shape and gaining their regular pea green color-the guys were never what he would call “well-defined”-but they were being astonishingly quiet for once. That more than anything let him know just how serious this all was. He slid his legs free and threw them over the side of the surface that he was sitting on.
It looked like he was in…a studio? There were paints lining the walls and piles of papers and was that a boxed action figure sitting on the shelf over there? And…oh. He stopped his scan of the room and became focused on the only thing that really mattered: the creator. A man that he would know anywhere. Jensen. Fast asleep at the desk, Jensen had his head pillowed on his arms, his breathing slow and easy. And he was gorgeous. That was common knowledge back home but it was one thing to know that and quite another to be hit in the face with it.
A few of the guys were stopping to study Jensen curiously but most had already zoomed ahead, buzzing out of the room like flies. He shooed away the few stranglers but they understood. This was his time, his moment-that was something that everybody agreed on. This all hinged on him and the man in front of him. The guys were just part of the how.
Tilting closer to lean over the sleeping man, he rolled the name around in his mind, trying it out in this new world that he’d found himself in. Jensen. It had been the first word that he’d ever known, even before his own name so it was fitting that it would be his first in this world as well. Jensen. Yeah. He rather liked the sound of it-it had a pretty ring to it: a pretty ring to match the pretty face of the man in front of him. Jensen. He tentatively reached forward, just wanting to touch Jensen, to see if he was real or just a mirage. Jensen didn’t even stir.
Taking a deep breath, he explored a little, running his fingertips over Jensen’s soft skin, over his round cheek and the bridge of his nose, bring his hand up and trailing his fingers through Jensen’s soft, short hair.
Then he smiled. Yeah. He was going to enjoy this. Immensely. Just as soon as Jensen woke up.
There were just a few things that he had to do first. Jared sighed to himself and gave Jensen one last lingering look before he slid off of Jensen’s thankfully sturdy desk and slipped into the rest of the house.
He’d have time to get to know Jensen in just a little while.
There was somebody in his house. Jensen didn’t know how he knew this or why he was so certain-he just knew, through the fuzziness of sleep, that he wasn’t alone. His eyes snapped open as his entire body came awake, fueled by adrenaline and fear. He took in the darkness of the room, along with the bottles of paint in front of him, the pages of blank paper, and his discarded pencil, realizing that he must have fallen asleep at his desk again. That was nothing new.
…Wait. Blank? Jensen blinked and looked back down at the piece of paper on top, knowing for a fact that when he’d gone to sleep, there’d been a fully sketched picture of Jared on it-Jared smiling up at him with a few of his little creatures in the background just because. It was actually one of the best renditions that Jensen had ever done. And it was gone.
Jensen shoved the small stack of loose paper forward, displaying each and every page underneath the blank one-the one on top was the only one that was missing. Where had it gone? Why?
Sucking in a sharp breath, Jensen suddenly managed to put two and two together-there was someone in his house and one of his drawings was gone. Jensen was fucking lucky to be alive. He had no idea what a burglar would want with a pencil sketch except for possibly as a trophy-just to say where he’d been-because, glancing around, Jensen could see anything that was missing. His limited edition Doctor Who figurines were still in place, the first edition comics, too, and those were worth of Hell of a lot more than one stupid line drawing.
Jensen shoved himself to his feet. Somebody was in his house and they had come right up to him while he was sleeping. Ballsy motherfucker. Jensen grabbed the baseball bat that he kept leaning up against the far cabinet in one hand and the phone in the other as he moved out into the hallway. Somehow he felt better just by having his hands wrapped around the thick solid wood of the bat even if he had no idea what he was going to do if the burglar had, say, a gun.
That was what the cops were for, he supposed. But like hell was he waiting for whoever the fuck was in his house to finish emptying out the rest of the place and come back for more. His fingers flew over the buttons on the phone and put it to his ear. A woman picked up on the first ring and Jensen swore that if this all worked out, he’d never mock an episode of Cops again in his life.
“911, what is your emergency?”
Jensen swallowed hard and flattened himself against the wall. “There’s someone in my house,” he whispered.
“I’ll dispatch a squad car right away, sir,” the woman said and Jensen liked the sound of that. “I just need you to remain calm, find someplace safe and stay on the line, okay? I have your number registered as belonging to 136 Oak, is this correct?”
Jensen nodded. “Yes.” There was a sound coming from in the living room. Oh, Jesus. That was where the asshole had to be, right? Just what the fuck did Jensen think that he was doing? More importantly, why had he never thought to buy a gun? The jackass was probably making off with Jensen’s TV and here Jensen was hiding in the hallway with a bat like a little bitch.
“Sir, are you still there? Sir?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Jensen said quietly, backing down the hallway a few steps, trying to keep himself hidden in the shadows.
“Stay on the line and everything will be fine. The police are on their way.”
“I think he’s in the living room,” Jensen blurted. His heart was going to pound out of his damn chest it was beating so fast. He tried to force his breathing slow and even but it just wasn’t going to happen-he was fast on his way to hyperventilating. Jesus. That was just all he needed-to pass out in the middle of being robbed. Jensen pretty much would guarantee that he’d never wake up again.
“Noted. Are you keeping yourself safe?” Now there was the million dollar question. If Jensen was smart, he’d be hidden in, say, the back of the wardrobe in the studio and not attempting to do the caveman thing out in the hallway. But yet, he also had his pride. Damn it.
It was all a moot, theoretical point, though, when he heard the burglar moving closer. “Oh shit…” he breathed and flattened himself against the wall. He really should have hid. Now he had no choice.
“Sir? Sir! Are you okay? I need you to keep talking to me, sir!” Jensen set the phone down on the floor because not only was it hard to think with the woman bleating in his ear but he also needed both hands to hold onto the bat. He didn’t want to think about just how slippery with sweat his palms were at the moment, either. He just needed to focus. Jensen had been pretty good at baseball back in high school-and it was like riding a bike, right? All he had to do was just visualize that the guy’s head was the ball and he’d be golden. He could do that. He could. He would.
Jensen saw a flicker in the faint light coming in through the window from the street lamp outside and he counted to three. That was as far as he got before he saw the looming form of his would-be robber. Not thinking twice, Jensen swung with everything he had, determined to end this now before the guy pulled out a gun or something like that. It was stupid and reckless but, damn it, he had to do something.
The guy must have had catlike reflexes or a sixth sense because he dodged with a loud, “Whoa!” and Jensen’s swing missed by inches, slamming into the drywall. It chipped and Jensen swore-he probably would never get a chance that good again. In fact, now that he’d shown himself, he was probably going to die.
He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Jensen promised himself that, if nothing else, he’d do that.
He tried to pull the bat back towards him, to get in another swing, but the burglar caught the bat, pining it against the wall with one hand and Jesus but the fucker was massive. He made Jensen look small and that didn’t exactly happen every day. Jensen could have happily pissed himself. Luckily, the pride that had dragged him out into the hallway also seemed to have a stranglehold on his bladder. Thank fuck for small favors.
Jensen tugged on the bat, not willing to let it go because he really didn’t want it to be turned on him but what if the guy had a knife? All this time, Jensen had been worrying about if the guy had a gun but what if he had a switchblade? He could kill Jensen just as easily with that as close as they were together. Jensen dropped the bat and ran for it.
The guy shouted after him but like fuck was Jensen sticking around to make conversation-he needed to get out of the damn house before he died. Weren’t the cops supposed to be on their way? Where the fuck were they? Jensen slammed himself against the wall to brake his momentum and pushed off to fling himself into the studio. It was the only damn door with a lock because, originally, it had been an exterior door. Jensen had switched the lock around after he’d had the studio built, mainly so that he could literally lock himself in his studio and not be bothered but despite all the pesky editors and publishers and whatnot that it had deterred, Jensen had never been so grateful to have it.
Just what the fuck had he been thinking? That he was going to take out a robber all by himself? Who did he think he was, fucking Batman? Jesus fuck. He might as well go join Kripke on the superhero fanboy brigade. Jensen swallowed hard and glanced wildly around the studio for anything that might possibly be used as a weapon. It was a damn sturdy door that was between the intruder and him but Jensen still didn’t want to put much stock in it. His mind always managed to bring up the worst case scenarios.
…Like the fact that the guy seemed to be picking the damn lock! Jensen gaped for a few precious seconds before snapping himself together enough to grab a hold of the chair in front of the desk and wedge it up underneath the door handle. Jesus fucking Christ. He had a psycho crazy murderer in his house, didn’t he?
Why the Hell had he never thought to put in an escape hatch? That was what he needed-some sort of secret tunnel to get out of the house-one that the guy couldn’t follow him. One like what was in all the castles in the movies.
There was absolutely nothing left in the studio of use besides the furniture, various paints, drawing utensils and paper and he seriously doubted that he was good enough to kill the guy with a stylus no matter what his inner self was screaming. He could draw it, sure, but fucking actually do it? Not a damn chance. He also seriously doubted that a paper cut would do anything to the gorilla outside his door beside piss it off.
But he had to do something. “Not going down without a fight,” Jensen said to himself-he wasn’t. If he was going to die here tonight, then, damn it, he was going to make his momma proud. He darted behind the desk, keeping it between him and the door, and grabbed up paint bottles, all prepared to throw. His eyes fell on the ashtray, though and, well, fuck it. He might as well start with that, right? Didn’t they always say that cigarettes killed? He didn’t think that they’d been referring to, say, hitting someone in the head with the ashtray when they’d claimed that but, fuck, close enough.
The guy outside had apparently given up on the door-or, Hell, maybe he had successfully picked the lock and had just become aware of the chair underneath the knob-because he’d started throwing himself at it, trying to use brute fucking strength to break it down.
Jensen didn’t believe in God, but he breathed a quick prayer anyway. Maybe the big guy would forgive him for all the times that Jensen had cursed him out. It was worth a shot at any rate.
The guy outside slammed himself against the door again and he must have shook the chair loose because it suddenly fell over, clattering onto the floor and Jensen was dead, dead, dead. Pride and dignity be damned, Jensen ducked down behind the desk.
“Jensen?” the guy asked and how the fuck did he know Jensen’s name? Oh, fuck, Jensen thought, coming to the only logical conclusion. “I need to talk to you.” It would even explain why his drawing had been taken as a souvenir. He was dealing with something that was only whispered about in dark hallways at conventions…
An unhinged fan. Oh fuck fuck fuck… Jensen really hoped that the guy didn’t want to cut off his skin and wear it around like a suit. Jensen was rather attached to his skin right where it was. “I know you’re in here,” the guy said sullenly like he was the sane one and Jensen was just some crazy nutcase playing hide and seek instead of taking his medication like a good boy. Jensen shivered and tried to will the cops into showing up. “Seriously.” And then the robber was looking him right in the face.
Jensen chucked the ashtray at him and braced himself, ready to make a run for it again, but he was stopped cold by the eyes staring back at him. The man had ducked Jensen’s projectile weapon but had come right back and Jensen was gaping at what had to be the most perfect real life doppelganger of a drawing that he’d ever seen.
The man frowned. “Stop it,” he said, wearing Jared’s face and Jensen thought that he must have gotten shot after all. He must have bled out back in the hallway or something and now he was either hallucinating due to blood loss or he was already dead. There was no other possible way that he could be looking directly at Jared of all people.
Jared wasn’t real. Right? Jensen searched his mind looking for the correct answer to that one but all he was coming up with was a confused “Maybe?” He didn’t dare breathe-couldn’t actually. But, then again, dead people didn’t need to breathe. He was right on track.
The Jared impersonator frowned deeper. “Breathe.” Jensen shook his head-no, he was dead; he didn’t need to do that. “Breathe, Jensen.” Except that it felt like his lungs were collapsing and, God, but the man even had Jared’s birthmarks and how was that even possible? When the crazed fan reached for Jensen, Jensen swatted him away and skittered backward underneath the desk as he sucked in huge lungfuls of air. There went that theory: apparently he did need to breathe. Maybe he was alive after all. Then that meant…
…That the possibly crazed fan that had broken into his house was even crazier than previously imagined. The guy must have had his face rearranged. Oh, Jesus. The fucker probably was here to collect Jensen’s skin and wear it like a suit. The Jared look-a-like nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips and was that a dimple that Jensen saw? “See? That’s not so bad.” He shifted around and tilted his head. “Are you going to stay under there all night? Because we’ve got some stuff to talk about.”
…For a crazy fan, the fucker sure was presumptuous. At least it seemed like the guy didn’t want to kill him at the moment. Maybe Jensen would get to keep his skin after all. Jensen tried to straighten himself as much as was possible in the cramped space underneath the desk. He knew that he had to look ridiculous but, at the moment, there were more pressing things to worry about. Like… “How did you get in here?”
The guy frowned again, looking confused. “…In the room or here? Here here?”
And now he was babbling. Awesome. How long did it take the police to get from the precinct to his house anyway? “In my house, jackass,” Jensen snapped. He knew full well that he probably shouldn’t be taunting the guy, that it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but the stress was threatening to pull Jensen apart and he didn’t have time for tact.
The guy, though, didn’t get mad. He just shrugged. “Don’t really know how,” he said. “I, uh, wasn’t really listening when the guys tried to explain.”
“…The guys?” Oh fuck. There were more? “How many of you are there?”
Looking even more confused than before, the guy tilted his head to the other side and Jensen was momentarily mesmerized by the swish of his hair-Christ, it even… “There’s only one of me,” the guy said, the ‘duh’ in his tone obvious. “You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” He held up his hand, folding down his thumb and his pinky. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“The fuck kind of question is that?” Jensen didn’t want to get anywhere near the guy but it wasn’t like he had anywhere left to go. So he pushed the guy’s hand away as he started moving out from underneath the desk. “Let me out,” he growled.
“Oh, good. Because we really need to talk.” The guy aimed a look at Jensen that Jensen was sure was supposed to be ‘serious’ but really just looked like a pout. It would have almost even been adorable if it wasn’t on the face of the guy who had just broken into Jensen’s house. Matter of fact, he was pretty sure that he’d drawn that exact expression multiple times in the past… Jesus fuck, Jensen thought. This was getting weird. He pulled himself out from underneath the desk and finally managed to stand up. The guy was just as tall as Jensen remembered from the hallway, all dark and looming without even trying to, and Jensen forced himself to stand up straight instead of cowering like his yellow-bellied baser instincts wanted him to. Don’t show any fear, he mentally reminded himself. He had to come across as strong and forceful-someone that the crazy guy wouldn’t want to mess with.
…Which was damn near impossible but Jensen was going to fucking try. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”
That drew the guy back which surprised Jensen except for when he thought about it some more-then he rolled his eyes. Of course the guy would think that he really was Jared. Of course. “What do you mean who am I?” the guy asked and Jensen just had it. Screw trying to treat the crazy person with kid gloves.
“I mean, you certifiable piece of grade A crazy,” Jensen snapped, pointing a finger at him, “who are you?”
The guy blinked. “I’m-”
Jensen already knew how that sentence was going to be ended and he headed it off at the pass. “And don’t you dare say ‘Jared.’ You’re not him so who the fuck are you?” Jared wasn’t real and, besides that, he also didn’t deserve to have his ‘good name’ ran through the mud. It might have been a little worrying that Jensen was trying to defend the honor of a fictional character but Jensen thought that he was entitled-he was the creator and that’s what copyright protection was for, right? The wannabe-Jared was starting to pout again and Jensen narrowed his eyes. “He’s just a drawing, dude,” he added. “He isn’t real.” And fuck if the guy didn’t look just a little bit hurt by that. Jesus. “Don’t even fucking go there.”
“I’m not just a…” The guy trailed off, staring at Jensen in sheer confusion.
Oh, the fucker was in deep, wasn’t he? Jensen slowly started backing away, trying to be subtle about it as he put the desk in between him and the unhinged freak with the plastic surgery. “Hey, man,” Jensen said, “I get it. It’s a really good story. I think so, too. Of course, I kind of have to think that considering that I’m the one that’s writing it. But there’s a difference between that and reality, you know? And-”
The man who would be Jared had, apparently, tuned Jensen out. Which was just fucking rude. You didn’t break into a guy’s house, hopped up and desperate for attention and then just ignore him once you finally got him to talk to you. Who did that? Then again, who did any of this? From the breaking and entering to the facial reconstructive surgery? ‘Jared’, though, was staring down at Jensen’s desk. “Don’t touch that,” he said and for half a second, Jensen was convinced that the guy had been talking to him. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Who are you-” Jensen stopped himself before finishing the sentence because, after thinking about it, he was pretty sure that, no, he did not want in on a schizophrenic delusion. What little that he’d said, though, had been enough to snap the guy out of whatever funk that he’d been in.
“We have to stop him,” he said decisively and Jensen blinked.
“Who?” Jensen asked and the guy, the Jared look-a-like, screwed up his face in a puzzled frown.
“Him,” he answered, like it all made perfect sense and Jensen was just being deliberately obtuse.
Jensen took another solid step backward. “Who is him?” he demanded. “Look, buddy, if you’re going to keep playing these games, then-” The answer to his own question hit him right upside the head and, once again, Jensen was sent reeling with just how fucking crazy this all was. “No,” he said.
“No?” The guy tilted his head, his eyes darting over to Jensen’s and Jensen caught himself staring, his breath catching in his throat. Jesus. A guy had broken into his house looking like a wet dream and, of course, Jensen’s dick wanted to focus on the wet dream part and not the “broken into his house” part. So fucking typical.
Jensen snarled, half at the man for putting him through this and half at himself for reacting in such a stupid way. “Ross is just a character,” he snapped. “He’s just a character in a book, do you hear me? I draw him.” This was going beyond fucking nuts. Not only did the would-be burglar in Jensen’s house honestly fucking believe that he was Jared, the main character of Small Small World, but apparently he believed that he also had to save the world from the sociopathic dealings of Ross-the closest thing to a villain that Jensen had ever created. They were going to need more than the cops. They were going to need a fucking psyche ward. He was pretty sure that ‘Jared’ would qualify for an entire floor all by himself.
‘Jared,’ though, shook his head. “But he’s not, Jensen,” he said quietly.
“Yes, he fucking is and you need help, dude-”
“Not any more, Jen,” ‘Jared’ said, the nickname falling off his tongue so fucking easy. Jensen narrowed his eyes. No one called him ‘Jen.’ Not anymore. “Just like me. Just like the guys. We’re really here. And we have to stop Ross before he destroys the world.”
The door was right behind him. Jensen wondered that, if he made a break for it, if he’d be able to reach it before the crazed fan’s long legs caught up to him. He’d been pretty good at sports back in high school. That had to count for something.
Jensen had almost talked himself into just fucking going for it when he finally caught sight of what Jared had apparently known all along. There on the desk, in between Jensen and the crazy man masquerading as Jensen’s greatest creation, was a small green pea shaped object, hovering in the air as it regarded him quietly, looking for all the world like one of the “Del Montes” from Small Small World. It blinked and waved and Jensen decided that he was just going to need to check out for a little while.
And the floor seemed oh so comfy.
There were people talking. That was the first thing that Jensen noticed as he slowly emerged from sleep. The second was that his head fucking hurt. He spared a brief moment for wondering if he’d gotten smashed last night before he decided that thinking hurt too much and that he was better off just not doing it. Instead, he just let himself drift, hovering on the line between sleep and consciousness, idly listening to the voices.
The one was pleasant-a man’s voice-sounding smooth and subdued-no doubt trying to keep quiet for Jensen’s sake. Which was odd because no one had tried to keep quiet because of Jensen for a long time. Mostly because he never had anyone in his house to keep quiet in the first place. It was quite a conundrum, really.
The second voice was higher, squeakier-more grating. Jensen hoped that it would shut up soon but it seemed deadset on arguing with the first voice and apparently it was in a hurry because that was the only thing that Jensen could make out-that they had to hurry. Now that he was focusing on it, though, Jensen realized that it wasn’t just one voice that sounded like that. It was a couple.
Just how many people were in his house anyway? And, more to the point, what the fuck did they think that they were doing?
“He’s awake,” one of the squeaky voices said and a few others chimed in with “Awake, awake!”
“Do you think he needs coffee?” another one asked before being shot down.
“No! Why would he need coffee? He knocked himself out not just woke up!”
“Same difference. I think coffee would be great for him. Everyone needs more coffee in their lives.”
“Oh shut up.”
“Do you think that he’ll like me?” Jensen frowned because, even though the voice sounded the same as the others, it had a more anxious twinge to it, making the words more tense. Had to be another person. “He’s got to like me, right? He won’t care that I’m…”
“Not round? Nah. He should like you plenty!”
“Guys,” the buttery smooth voice said, sounding like a cat being petted, “shut up.” Jensen could agree with that. He thought that he liked this new voice. And it did sound very familiar. Maybe he should actually open his eyes and find out who it belonged to. He might not even kick the guy out right away because, hey, he had a nice voice.
Jensen was certain that he was in his own bed. There wasn’t much mistaking it-the familiar feel of the pillow-top mattress under him, the smell of his preferred laundry detergent-it’d be pretty hard to fake those. So that meant that all the people with the voices were technically in his bedroom.
…Watching him sleep. Jensen’s eyes shot open.
“You’re awake!” the first voice said brightly and Jensen turned his head in its direction and promptly stopped breathing. The face was just note perfect, wasn’t it? Every single detail loving recreated-every single line that Jensen had labored over rendered in living, three dimensional glory. It was such a damn perfect replica that Jensen thought that he was going to be sick. That was a sign of much more than a simple obsession-that was straight up crazy. ‘Jared’ smiled at him. “You hit your head when you went down,” he said and it was only then that Jensen noticed the ice pack that Jared-God, it was fucking Jared, obsessed fan or obsessively drawn character-was applying to his head. Jensen just let him do it, too, staring mutely for a few seconds, studying all the lines that he’d drawn for years.
He probably would have kept on staring forever if a tiny pea hadn’t landed on Jared’s shoulder. “Hi, Jensen!” it said.
“Holy fucking shit!” Jensen shouted, scrambling away. He dodged out from underneath Jared’s icepack and scooted to the edge of the bed, putting his back against the headboard. “What the fuck is that?”
Jared glanced curiously at his shoulder while the pea looked disappointed of all things. Peas were not supposed to look disappointed. “He doesn’t recognize me,” it said dejectedly.
To add to the surreal situation, Jared patted it on the head. “I’m sure that he recognizes you,” he assured it. “That’s probably the problem.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Jensen scrubbed at his eyes and looked again and, no, the pea was refusing to leave. It was still there. Sometime during the night, Jensen had fallen down the damn rabbit hole and Jared was right in front of him talking to a pea-one of the Del Montes for fuck’s sake-and this had better be one really involved and particularly fucked up dream or Jensen had just better get himself committed right the fuck now. “This isn’t happening,” he said to himself, staring at the bedspread. He studied the geometric black and white shapes-monotone and very mod, very urban bachelor the salesgirl had told him-and prayed very hard that when he looked up again, the pea-and Jared-would be gone.
…Though, if this was a dream, then maybe Jared could stay… But the pea definitely had to go!
Except that it was totally being joined by others-lots of them, all swirling around. Jensen whimpered. “I swear to God, I’ll never drink again…” he promised.
Jared shrugged. “Sure?” he said. “So, listen, don’t worry about the cops; I took care of them. Don’t know why they were stopping by in the first place…” He shot Jensen a suspicious look and Jensen felt inexplicably guilty.
If this was a dream, it was extremely linear and comprehensive. Fucking A.
“I just told them that you were having an episode,” Jared said and the peas all nodded sagely. “Post traumatic stress.”
“It’s more common that you’d think,” one pea chimed in and the others murmured various agreements or insults. Jensen peeled his eyes away from them with difficulty and focused on just Jared. For the sake of his sanity.
“The cops were very understanding. Especially when I explained that you’d hit your head and so might have been very confused. But, listen, the guys say that we’ve really got to get going soon.”
“Going where?” Jensen asked. He’d like to by a vowel or something over here. Catch a clue, maybe.
Jared snorted. “To stop Ross,” he said, the ‘duh’ evident. “He’s going to destroy the world, remember? I told you this already.” Oh. And it was Paranoid Schizophrenic Delusions for 1000, Alex. Only Jensen was pretty sure that they were his delusions. He was still seeing the Del Montes, after all. “So, if you’re feeling better…” Jared reached out and stroked a finger down Jensen’s cheek and Jensen had no idea what the move was supposed to accomplish because he was too damn fixated on just how warm Jared felt. How real.
He grabbed Jared’s hand, seizing it before the man had a chance to pull it back and, though Jared looked shocked, he allowed it, blinking curiously at Jensen. His heart pounding sickeningly fast in his chest, Jensen gently squeezed Jared’s hand, feeling the resistance of all too solid flesh and bone, and the Del Montes were still staring at him. Oh, Christ, Jensen thought, the idea finally hitting home. This was really happening. This was…
This was really Jared in front of him and it wasn’t an illusion and he was pretty sure that he wasn’t dead and those were Jared’s partially unwanted creatures hovering everywhere and this was real. “Breathe.” Jared’s voice cut through the fog in Jensen’s brain sharp as a knife. “Breathe, Jensen.”
“Oh my God…” Jensen whispered, unable to think of anything else but, “you’re real.”
Jared quirked a little smile and nodded solemnly like he’d expected this to happen. Around him, the Del Montes were chattering amongst themselves about “Knew that this would happen” and “Oh, dear, I think Jensen’s in shock” and “Do you think that he has any coffee hidden around here?” He wasn’t sure what that last one had to do with anything other than maybe pointing to a previously unknown fetish but it didn’t matter because Jared was real.
“Yeah, Jen,” Jared said. “Yeah, I’m real.”
“But I draw you,” Jensen blurted out and then wished that he could take it back. Way to sound pathetic, ego-centric and just plain weird all at once.
Jared’s smile grew bigger. “Yes, you do. Quite well.” Jared spared an admiring glance at his own taut and toned stomach, running a hand over it appreciatively.
Jensen licked his lips, staring at the hand that Jared still had resting on his stomach. “But how…”
Jared shrugged. “Don’t know. You’d have to ask the guys-”
“Actually, it’s quite simple,” one of the Del Montes butted in, “and deals with the principles behind-”
“Later. They can explain later.”
Summoning up his courage because like fuck was he going to be in a situation like this and try to stay on the outskirts, Jensen dared to move closer. When Jared smiled approvingly at him, Jensen dared even more until he was right up close to where Jared was and, holy fuck, Jared had a scent. It reminded Jensen of the smell of a brand new book-newly minted pages with dried ink and binding glue-and he breathed in deeply.
Jared was real. The Del Montes, they were real. Everything was real. Jensen swerved his attention away from Jared’s slowly darkening eyes to focus on one of the Del Montes hovering just above Jared’s shoulders. For some odd reason, it was wearing 3D glasses and Jensen mulled this over in his mind until he remembered, getting hit with it like a bucket of ice water, the night that he’d drunkenly drawn on of the Del Montes with the glasses on a whim because he’d just gotten through watching that new James Cameron movie. “Holy shit…” Jensen whispered, reaching out to touch the thing in front of him.
“Whoa!” the pea creature said, dodging and swerving. “Hey-ey-ey, buddy, watch the merchandise!” A few of the Del Montes tittered and the one with the 3D glasses whirled to look at them. “Do you think that shades this cool come easily? No, they do not!”
“But it’s Jensen,” one of the Del Montes replied. “He can just draw you some new ones.”
“Jensen, Jensen,” a few more chanted and the one with the 3D glasses thought it over. “I suppose that he could…”
“It’s real and it’s talking to me…” Jensen said to himself.
“We’ve always been real,” a new voice added, this one a bit deeper than the rest and Jensen averted his eyes from the pea hovering over Jared’s shoulder to down on the bed where none other than One was sitting, bigger than the rest of the Del Montes and looking incredibly haughty for an overgrown pea. Once again, Jensen couldn’t breathe. There was no mistaking it-he’d drawn the blob more than enough times to recognize it: the only one of the Del Montes that actually had a name. “But we’ve only been corporeal in your world for about three hours now. Give or take.”
“You’re so fat,” Jensen said, wonderingly, ignoring the creature’s entire little speech. He didn’t remember drawing a fat Del Monte. One was just supposed to be big. Had that translated into fat in the animated world?
…How was Jensen supposed to know?
“I am not,” the gigantic pea replied, offended. It turned its back on Jensen and hovered off as a small smile pulled at Jensen’s lips. They were real.
He turned his face back to Jared and his smile fell when he realized that Jared, for some reason, was frowning at him. “What?” he asked, instinctively.
Jared shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, his tone saying anything but. Then he waved his hands, swiping at the Del Montes who evaded him effortlessly-of course they did. They were used to dealing with Jared’s gigantic, usually uncoordinated hands all the time-Jensen drew at least three such scenes in every issue, sometimes more. “Hey, guys, give us some space, yeah?”
The Del Montes buzzed about, murmuring amongst themselves, debating the pros and cons before giving in and zooming off. Jensen watched them go, amazed as they moved en masse, like a flock of migrating birds except with more chaos. Somehow, not a single one managed to bump into another as they zigged and zagged through the air and out the door. They even managed to shut the door behind them and Jensen stared at the door in amazement. “That was-”
Firm pressure forced Jensen to turn his head away from the door to look at Jared who was kneeling on the bed beside him and Jensen came face to face again with Jared’s eyes-currently more blue than anything and Jensen spent a few moments wondering why. Right up until Jared kissed him.
Shocked, Jensen let him because all his brain could focus on was Jared was real and he couldn’t quite make the jump to Jared was kissing him. Jared’s broad hands landed on Jensen’s shoulders, like he was attempting to hold Jensen in place, before he trailed his fingers upward and coaxed Jensen’s mouth open so that he could slip his tongue inside. For one curious second, Jensen fully expected Jared to taste like the paper and ink that he had been made from but Jared was real.
With a soft moan, Jensen gave in because how many nights had he spent dreaming about this very same thing? This was so much more vivid than any of them and he couldn’t say no, not with Jared tasting so sweet and his tongue being so very, very insistent. It wasn’t until Jared pushed him down onto the bed that Jensen even considered protesting.
He broke away sharply, gasping, and put a hand against Jensen’s shoulder. Jared didn’t let it bother him, diverting instead to licking at Jensen’s neck while his big hands-huge hands, Jesus; they felt like they could span his entire body-ran up underneath Jensen’s shirt. Warm and solid and strangely familiar, Jensen felt like he could purr. It had been far too long since he’d been touched, since he’d allowed himself to be touched, and Jared felt good against him. A little too good.
“Stop,” he said, trying to squirm away. Jared was on top of him, so he wiggled upward, putting just a little bit of space between them as Jared pouted down at him. Pouted.
“Why?” Jared asked. “You like it, don’t you?”
Jensen couldn’t deny it-and that was probably the crux of the problem right there. This was ten times worse than just jerking off to a picture that he’d drawn. This was…this was…
“Come on, Jen,” Jared coaxed. There was that nickname again but Jensen couldn’t even bring himself to get mad. “Don’t tease…” He rolled his hips against Jensen and Jensen wanted to say something snappy about didn’t they have to be somewhere or something but all he could focus on was the hardness between Jared’s legs. Son of a…
Jared caught him staring and smirked. “Yeah,” he said as he grabbed Jensen’s hand and dragged it over. He pressed the palm of Jensen’s hand against his dick and Jensen moaned helplessly. Too damn long… “Of course he’s got to have a big dick,” Jared said, his voice pushing lower to mimic Jensen’s voice perfectly and Jensen’s eyes went wide, recognizing the words, remembering when he’d said them-drunk one night and drawing sheer porn of what was supposed to be a PG-rated character. The drawings were still hidden in Jensen’s private stash, deep in his cabinet. Had Jared heard that? And what else? What else did he know?
“I said stop, damn it!” Jensen yanked his hand away and shoved Jared again, feeling like he was pushing a boulder. Jared looked stubborn, but he went this time, lifting himself up off of Jensen. “Jesus.” Jensen rolled himself out from underneath Jared and on to his feet. Jared stayed kneeling on the bed, staring at the spot that Jensen had just left.
And Jensen didn’t have a clue what to do. What to say. He’d almost been seduced by a guy that he’d drawn-that he’d created, for fuck’s sake. Jensen was pretty sure that there was no precedent for this kind of thing.
He was still keyed up, too, his body practically thrumming from having been too close to Jared-Jesus, he needed to get laid. At the moment, he needed something to do with his hands. Jensen swiped up the box of cigarettes sitting on the dresser, pulling on out and jamming it into his mouth. The lighter took a few clicks but he finally managed it, lighting the end and sucking a welcome breath of smoke into his lungs. It filled him, sitting down inside of him and soothing the ache he hadn’t even known that he’d been fighting. That was probably the addiction speaking but it could fuck off.
Jared was looking at him now-well, no. He was looking at Jensen’s cigarettes, his mouth thinned in disapproval and he could just fuck off, too. Jensen sucked in another lungful of smoke. “Fuck off,” he said on the exhale. He didn’t need another fucking lecture about the evils of smoking and he certainly didn’t need one from a man that he had fucking thought up.
Though, Jensen didn’t remember putting anything resembling an opinion on smoking in Jared’s make-up. Jensen paused, wondering just what that meant-had Jared made choices for himself? Or was it just an offshoot of something else that Jensen had included in Jared’s make-up. That thought wasn’t much better because that meant that Jared was extrapolating and Jensen couldn’t decide which was worse. Either one pointed to Jared being…
Jared being real. God, but that was blowing his damn mind. “Didn’t we have something to do?” Jensen asked, breaking the silence that Jared had been letting them sit in.
Jared nodded slowly, his face still hard and he wasn’t meeting Jensen’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said. He cleared his throat and slid off the bed, standing up to his full height-Jesus, but the fucker was big. Just like Jensen had designed him…. “We have to stop Ross, remember?”
Jensen dragged himself away from eyeing just exactly where Jared’s broad shoulders reached and swallowed this new piece of information. “Ross is real too…” he mumbled. If Jared and the Del Montes were real, then that meant that Ross was real. Ross was real.
“Yeah, he is.” Jared’s tone was clipped as he strode past Jensen, heading for the door and Jensen stared at him, confused. Jared stopped at the door, turning around to look at Jensen-the first time that he’d done so since Jensen had pushed him away. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “So, maybe we…maybe we can, uh, talk. After this is over.” Then he stood there, staring at Jensen, waiting for an answer that Jensen didn’t know how to give.
Jensen blinked and sucked in a last puff off his cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray. “Sure…” Not that Jensen had ever been completely aboard, but, somewhere along the way, he felt like he’d been kicked off the train entirely.
Jared was still standing at the door, giving Jensen a look that was akin to a kicked puppy and Jensen inexplicably felt like complete shit. And he didn’t have a clue what he’d really done wrong. “Uh, I’m sorry,” Jared said quietly and then he opened the door and was gone, rushing out to join the swarming Del Montes, leaving Jensen staring after him.
This was Jensen’s life. Either that or one hell of a fucked-up dream. Jensen pocketed his box of cigarettes and his lighter and chased after Jared.
Master Post | Art Post | Part 2