[BB 2013] Your Signal In the Distance (1/3)

[dugindeep]

Master Post



Jensen’s head aches.

Long ago, he thought he’d get used to the throb in his temples and the tension in his neck that keeps him awake at night. But it’s too common an occurrence now to treat with pills. The over-the-counter stuff only lasted him so long until he turned to prescriptions-some his, some not. The meds can’t keep up with the steady pound in his system.

He needs to escape. He needs a place where people are loud and distracting and happy, feeling good. A place where there is no drama, where his brain can half-function and he can let alcohol ease his bones. He tells himself that’s why he’s entering the unmarked door to the underbelly of a three-flat with a free health clinic on the street level.

Baron’s is a club he heard about on a case four years ago. He doesn’t come here often, but it’s the only place he can hide, slipping into the mass of tangled male bodies thriving to a heavy bass beat with drinks flowing and minds shut off to the daily grind.

It’s bliss for Jensen to blend right in with his fitted sweater and jeans. He’s a patron like anyone else in this bar, and he quickly fills his hand with a cold glass of liquor that soothes his mind as he drinks quickly.

After a few glasses, he finds himself a jewel at the end of the bar-Mr. Tall and Handsome wastes little time with eye contact before he sends a drink down to Jensen. When Jensen nods with dark eyes, the guy heads right over.

There’s little preamble; they both know what this place is for.

“I’m Jared.”

“John,” Jensen easily lies.

With a smile, the guy nods towards the dance floor. “You wanna?”

“No,” he replies firmly.

“Then, you …” He swallows and his throat works temptingly, obvious in the dip of v-neck.

Jensen senses Jared’s pulse deep in his bones, hunger replacing a simple craving. It’s instantaneous to acknowledge and even quicker to dismiss by looking away. He downs the rest of his drink, puts the empty on the bar, and lifts his head confidently. “Yes.”

Twenty minutes later, Jensen is showing Jared into his living room, but they don’t stay there long. Better intentions await them in the bedroom, and once inside, Jensen tears his shirt off and smiles on the inside when Jared does, too.

Jared is ripped from head to toe, which is also how he undresses. Clothes pool at Jared’s feet when he’s left in only his boxers. He moves closer then Jensen stops him.

“Got protection?” Jensen asks, without care for grace.

“Yeah.”

“Top?”

Jared’s mouth tips at the corners while his eyes shine in the moonlight coming in through the windows. He suddenly looks young, playful. Then with a dark look, it’s obvious Jared is old enough to know. “Definitely.”

“Good.”

Quick and rough, Jensen is bent forward with his hands on the mattress, knees pressing uncomfortably against the edge as Jared pushes a lube-slick finger all the way in. Jensen grunts at the thickness of the finger and how Jared pulls it out and forces it back in. It hurts, surely, to go this quickly. And yet, it’s exactly what Jensen needs right now.

He yearns for the power Jared can give, especially when Jared wraps his other arm around Jensen’s chest to pull him back to stand. Jared twists his hand and finger, catching a better angle and showing the control he has over Jensen right now. Jensen reaches back for Jared’s leg and up for his arm, squeezing around the muscles playing beneath the taut, warm skin. He shuts his eyes and breathes through his nose, and imagines those muscles bulging when they really get to work.

This is the only time Jensen ever lets his walls drop, allows others to take, quietly begs for them to. And he does beg as he pushes back on Jared’s hand, mumbling, “Gimme another, right now.”

“Yeah, of course, baby,” Jared murmurs against his ear. He slides a second finger in and runs his free hand over Jensen’s chest, his ribs, the flatness of his stomach, and all the way back up again. “You like it fast, too? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Jensen orders.

Jared brings his fingers out and teases along Jensen’s hole. “What if I'd said I wasn’t a top?”

“I would’ve found other ways to put you to use.”

“Fuck, yeah, and I would let you,” he says just before biting along Jensen’s neck and sliding his fingers back inside.

With a hiss, Jensen forces Jared’s head away. “No marks. Nothing visible.”

“Okay, sorry.” He licks up Jensen’s neck to soothe the pricks of pain and breathes heavily in Jensen’s ear as he kisses along the shell of it. “You got someone you’re hiding from?”

Jensen bristles and grunts, trying to focus more on Jared’s fingers than this conversation. “No.”

“Maybe another guy?”

“No.”

Jared smirks against Jensen’s throat and sounds amused when he asks, “A wife?”

“My job,” Jensen admits.

“What do you do?”

“None of your business.”

With a low laugh, Jared bites at Jensen’s earlobe without harm. “Touchy, are we?”

Jensen ruts back on the fingers, forcing them deeper, spreading his hole at the base of Jared’s hand. “Are we gonna talk all night or fuck?”

“We could do both,” Jared offers as he presses the tip of a third finger against Jensen’s rim.

He wants to moan, but he’s not up for granting Jared that satisfaction. He just wants to get fucked, hard and fast and out of his mind. “I’m not interested.”

“Then what are you interested in? Another finger? A fourth? My whole hand?”

Jensen’s eyes fly open and he stares out the window, eyes burning with the light of the moon. It’s tempting, such a fantastically painful idea that Jensen would love to experience. To be forced open and teeter on the razor-thin line of gut-spinning pain and euphoria. He breathes heavily with the image, doubled over with Jared’s heated words and thoughts, and says, “Maybe another time.”

“Maybe,” Jared says, pressing a smiling kiss to Jared’s throat.

“Just fuck me now,” Jensen pants, shouldering Jared away. He only minimally hates the absence of Jared’s fingers and Jared’s hot skin against his back.

Jared runs his hand up Jensen’s spine, forcing Jensen to lean on the bed again, and rubs the head of his slick dick at Jensen’s hole before pushing in. Jensen arches his up and Jared groans as he slides further in. “Goddamn, you feel good.”

“Fuck, you’re huge,” Jensen moans, yet smiles because the pressure is hard enough to make his brain spin. Nerves flare up all over his body when Jared pulls back and presses right back in. “So fucking huge.”

“You like my big cock, huh?” Jared taunts and keeps going, spreading Jensen wider and setting an even rhythm.

Jensen closes his eyes, braces his hands and feet, and rocks back to each one of Jared’s thrusts as best he can. Jared is moving quickly and hard, and it’s just what Jensen wants; it’s what he needs to break the tension that keeps his spine too tight in the daylight. When Jared grabs hold of Jensen’s hips to tug them tight on each stroke, Jensen mumbles a litany of vulgarities and pleas for Jared to go even faster, even rougher, to never stop.

Jared responds, fucking with quick, steady strides, and releases his own string of fucks and yeahs and oh yeaaaah when Jensen starts to stroke his own dick and squeezes around Jared’s as his orgasm builds.

The bad angle on one hand forces Jensen fully down to the bed with Jared following. He covers Jensen entirely and rises up on his hands to fuck even deeper from this position. Jensen’s dick rubs painfully against the sheets as Jared’s thrusts push him further up the bed when Jensen has nothing to brace himself on.

He gets his knees beneath him and crawls forward, and Jared again comes right with him, draped over Jensen’s back as he continues to fuck fast and dirty. Jensen wraps his hand around his dick again and fists just as quick and rough as Jared is moving. His breaths comes out short and he can’t get enough air back in to speak, so he bites into his lower lip when Jared covers Jensen’s hand and together they strip him hastily until Jensen releases a broken whine and shoots over their hands and across the sheets below.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s good,” Jared mumbles as he keeps thrusting. “You want me to pull out, come all over your ass? Paint you up real pretty?”

Jensen’s still consumed by the pressure of his pounding heart and skin that’s flaring with hot and cold as he comes down from his orgasm. “Just don’t get it on the bed,” he says, even if he doesn’t care at this point. His defenses are rising again and he just wants this done with now. Wants Jared to be gone in a matter of minutes so he can collapse to bed alone and get on with his life. Just like he always does with these one-night stands that fuck him over in completely beneficial ways.

Jared moans and rolls his hips in a long, fluid motion, buries himself deep, and shudders through a few more strokes in and out. Soon after, Jensen grimaces about the mess of this bed and his body, yet he’s feeling great relief within for being used in this way.

Collapsing, Jared oomphs and blankets Jensen entirely. It’s a pleasure as Jensen can feel the hardness of Jared’s body, that hot, sweaty skin touching everywhere. Jared's pleased exhaustion takes over Jensen’s mind and when Jensen closes his eyes, he's dizzy with euphoria all over again.

Jared shifts to lean forward, dick pushing even further in the mess of Jensen’s ass and firing off a few more nerve endings. He noses along Jensen’s jawline and runs his fingers over Jensen’s head. When his mouth gets a little too close to Jensen’s, Jensen slinks back and pushes Jared off.

“I gotta clean up,” Jensen says firmly, with no room to discuss it. He gets off the bed, cleans up in the bathroom, and tugs on a pair of boxers and a tee at the top of the laundry basket.

Back in the bedroom, Jared is stretched out on the bed. His position shows off the sharp lines of his hipbones, the cut of his chest, and the bulk of his arms. “So, that was pretty damn good,” he says with a sleepy, satisfied smile.

Jensen flicks an eyebrow and gathers up Jared’s clothes to place them on the bed. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Jared is still smiling as he rubs over his chest. “Need a wake-up call?”

“No.”

It’s silent in the bedroom, a familiar tension that Jensen has experienced far too often in the aftermath of a good time.

They stare at one another and Jensen can read the moment Jared realizes that Jensen isn’t going to budge. It hits Jensen in the gut, but this is all it was-relief from a life full of pain and anger that is only lessened on occasion.

Jared tsks and swings around to sit at the edge of the bed. “That’s a shame.”

Jensen remains quiet and continues to watch Jared get dressed and rise to his full height, looking like a giant in Jensen’s modest bedroom.

“Maybe we can exchange numbers and-”

“Don’t,” Jensen says firmly.

“Don’t what? Act like I’d like to do that again?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what this was.”

“A really good time?” Jared asks with a bit of heat.

Jensen steels himself to not react. “I have an early morning.”

“Noted,” Jared replies tersely. “Maybe I’ll catch you at Baron’s again.” When Jensen doesn’t reply, Jared rolls his eyes. “Or maybe not.”

He doesn’t bother to see Jared out, only stands in the middle of his bedroom to wait for his front door to close. That’s when he strips the bed of the linens, balls them up, and dumps them in the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. He peeks out the front room windows to see Jared’s car pulling away then locks the door and falls asleep on a bare mattress. It still smells of sex and sweat in the room, but his muscles are loose and used, so he quickly finds sleep.



He wasn’t lying when he told Jared he had an early morning. His job exists without set hours and he’s used to being woken up at dawn to details of where he’s needed. That’s what happens two days later, when he’s sent across town to an up-scale apartment complex with a dozen buildings spaced around a creek with a running path, both of which lead into a nearby forest preserve.

Jensen heads to a first-floor apartment with all of its lights on. Neighbors in all sorts of pajamas and robes are milling on the lawn with fear and shock in their eyes while uniformed police keep them a distance away. He can still see how they eye him oddly when he marches up the walkway and enters the building without anyone stopping him. It’s unnerving with all their eyes on him. Sometimes with the right connection, he responds to these kinds of extreme emotions. Over time, he’s learned well how to segment that part of his mind for daily survival.

The night with Jared had gone a long way to relieve the pressure building in his muscles, but he can feel them going rigid again with anticipation of what this day will bring. He’s not looking forward to what awaits him inside, given the strips of yellow tape blocking the entrance to the apartment, and the way his partner moves on ahead of him.

Agony immediately overcomes him and he has to stop at the apartment’s entry to get his wits about him and steady his mind.

“Hey, it’s our Boy Wonder,” a uniform calls to Jensen from inside the apartment. “Gonna save the day?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and takes another moment to prepare.

Life as a psychometric ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. The title, for one, Jensen has never become accustomed to. Cognitive, he always downplays to anyone who says the name. Reading overly traumatic emotions isn’t fun to discuss in social circles; nothing about it is fun. Sure, there are the visions-scenes, really-that help Jensen do his job. Seeing people’s deaths post-mortem is an advantage for a homicide investigator, but it’s not like Jensen suddenly has a full hand of cards for suspects that proclaim in big, bold, black letters Do not pass Go! Go directly to jail!

The ironic fact is that this gift is a death sentence. It’s killing Jensen on the inside; his strength is waning, making it more difficult to rebuild his defenses after every encounter. He has no real escape when he’s facing corpses on a regular basis and under the stress of constant restoration.

So he stoops below the crime scene tape with a deep breath and keeps his eyes open to the area. Crime scene techs are checking out the living room; the door and its lock are already dusted in grey powder, and dishes and silverware in the kitchen are bagged for evidence.

“In the bedroom,” another uniformed officer instructs, pointing down the thin hallway that leads to a few more doors.

In the bathroom, a tech is taking pictures of the sink and objects on the counter, a closet door is ajar, and further down is the bedroom where a handful of techs are talking with a suit. There’s a woman on the bed. Maybe late twenties. Half under the covers and slumped forward with her eyes wide open like she’s waiting for someone, for Jensen, to help.

The blood in the sheets beneath her say it’s too late. Jensen looks away before his brain flies off without his control, and he takes in the room to discover that nothing else seems out of place. No struggle, no phone to call for help. Every item is in a place this woman had assigned it a long while ago.

“Ackles,” Detective Worthy says, breaking his conversation to greet Jensen and shake hands.

Jensen nods in salutation. “What’ve we got?”

Worthy reads off his notepad, words coming even and professional. “Ellen Jane Thompson. Twenty-six, single, lives alone, was no-call no-show yesterday at work. She’s got a perfect track record and her boss was spooked. He called her emergency contact-a sister-who couldn’t reach her. She came by, still no answer, so she called the building’s management.”

“She didn’t call you guys?”

“She did. Yesterday.” Worthy shakes his head, a cross between guilty and pissed off. “Missing persons told them to wait forty-eight hours, being an adult and all.” He looks at the victim and sighs. “Maybe we could’ve saved her if they got word earlier.”

Jensen looks at her, can’t stay away from the glassy, dull eyes. His mind immediately fogs over with images of her gasping for her last breaths. They’re choppy and barely formed, but it’s enough for a quick answer. “Nothing could’ve.”

“It doesn’t hurt to hope.”

“Sometimes it does,” Jensen admits quietly, feeling the edges of his vision softening to make way for the truth of what happened to Ellen Thompson. Before the visions get too deep, Jensen closes his eyes and turns away from her. He’s not ready to know just yet. “So what’s the story in here?”

Worthy shrugs as he turns one way then the other. “Nothing. Front door was locked, windows are clean, nothing is disrupted. No proof of anything happening.”

“Besides the body,” Misha says, entering the room and stepping up next to Jensen, who nods at his partner. “Or the blood.”

Jensen gives Misha a dirty look, and with one of Misha’s hands on his shoulder, Jensen feels a bit of the tension edge away. It’s Misha’s own gift-to experience other’s emotions and will his own onto them. It’s helpful, certainly, but Jensen hates that Misha uses it on him so often. Jensen shrugs away, grumbling, “Not now.”

Misha waves him off, seeming annoyed yet patient in that seamless way only he can be. “Uniforms found a police card in her wallet.”

“For what?” Jensen asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s not in the system.”

“Get ‘em down here,” Worthy commands.

“Already on his way.”

“Anything else in her wallet?” Jensen asks.

“Just the regular,” Misha snorts. “License, credit cards, a few bucks.”

“You find her phone?”

“Not there.”

“Techs haven’t found it yet,” Worthy says. “You think our guy took it with him?”

Jensen shrugs and waves at the bed. “Seems weird it’s not in here.”

“She could keep it somewhere else,” Misha offers.

“The charger’s on the ground over here by the nightstand,” Jensen points out.

Worthy and Misha move closer, leaning down to see the very end of the cord in the space between the stand and the bed.

“You do your magic yet?” Misha asks Jensen.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No, not yet. Just getting a feel for the room.”

Misha pats his back with a quick swipe over one shoulder to relieve a few nerves, then Worthy moves to the other side of the room to talk with the techs still at work.

Jensen settles his stance, shoulders widening and hands hanging loose at his side. He looks at Ellen Thompson’s eyes, feels himself slip into her and, slowly, his vision fades away so that the room is dim around him and all noise fuzzes out. Now his sight is from the victim’s position in bed and he hears her steady breathing in his own ears, feels the warmth of the covers over her shoulders. A stream of conversation in the back of his mind and lights flickering around him begin to lull him to sleep.

There’s a tiny creak of the floor then the blankets are dragged down to waist, arm chilled with fresh air. Fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, warm on bare skin as they travel the length of his arm and back up. A palm curls around his shoulder and forward, just gracing his collarbone before sliding lower, more seductively, and presses against his chest, which goes tight with the unwanted touch. The hand cups and kneads as a cool metal tip traces his shoulder blade, back and forth as heavy breathing becomes prominent in the room.

Jensen can feel his muscles tense, knees shifting as the heavy comfort of sleep is tugged away the longer the metal drags over his back. A short hush followed by a soft groan as the hand on his chest becomes more insistent, along with the point in his shoulder. A tiny trigger of pain and he realizes it’s a knife. Alarm fully breaks him from sleep and makes him want to fight, but the hand on his chest presses up to grip his neck. Latex pinches his throat when the grip becomes tighter. Another rough breath then the man behind him whispers, It’s okay, sugar.

Jensen can feel the instant she fought, noises buzzing in his ears as her actions take precedence over anything else in the room when she tries to get out of his reach. The fist around her throat is too tight and she fights to move away. The man shoves his knee against her thigh to keep her in place, but she’s shifting so much that he slips the knife an inch into her lower back.

Stop fighting it. We’re gonna be beautiful.

Struggling against his strong leg on hers, she slides herself further back on the blade and cries out. He covers her mouth with his hand, pressing hard enough to hurt her upper jaw where his thumb and fingers squeeze. The man grunts angrily, fiercely, and lets out another louder growl before shoving the knife in to the hilt and tugs up, slicing her back open.

Jensen gasps when pain blooms across his back, sharp fire lighting up his spine, then he feels boneless, paralyzed by the injury, face frozen in fear.

Fingers comb hair away from her face as she’s hushed to eternal sleep. Just moments before she drops off, there’s the soft murmur of Good job, sugar.

A heavy hand lands on Jensen’s shoulder and he blinks. The room flashes back to life, daylight, a crime scene, his partner’s touch easing him out of the images.

Jensen steadies his breathing as he stares at the ceiling for a blank canvas to clear his mind. He tries closing his eyes, but all he sees is her dead stare and he needs to summarize the important details first. Across the room, he finds Worthy watching him, waiting and anxious for an answer.

He swallows and smacks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He’s thirsty, drained, and in need of fresh air. But first, he can’t lose that vision. “I’m alright,” he mumbles to Misha, moving away from his partner’s hand. To Worthy, he says, “She was assaulted first, while she was sleeping. I don’t think he meant to kill her, not initially. But she moved back onto the knife and was fighting too much.”

“Did she see him?”

Jensen shakes his head and motions at the body. “No, she was facing this way the whole time.”

Worthy glances at the techs behind him. “Did anyone disrupt the scene?”

They shake their heads and Jensen knows the detective is wondering about the covers still over half her body, clothes well in place. “He grabbed her breast. It was very sexual, first caresses until he was grabbing her. And he called her-”

Just then, a recording plays in the hall, an older voice talking. Hey Ellie. It’s Dad. Just checking in on you, sugar.

Jensen goes to the doorway to hear better, tipping his head down to focus on the words. The voice sounds worried.

We haven’t heard from you for a few days and I wanted to make sure everything was okay at the apartment after last week. Mom and I are thinking of you. We love you. Call us.

Jensen faces the room again and sighs. “He called her sugar.”

“On the recording, yeah,” Worthy says oddly.

“No, the murderer. He called her sugar a few times.”

Misha looks at Jensen with wide eyes then controls his face with a nod. “We oughta talk to the father.”
Jensen shakes his head, hating the suspicion that it could be a relative. It’s a blessing when the voicemails continue on with less personal messages like cold-call centers and a friend who doesn’t seem to know that there’s anything amiss, just checking in after a long time without talking.

“Hey, Collins!” someone shouts from the front room. “Did you call someone up here?”

Misha leaves the room then motions for Jensen and Worthy, saying it’s the officer from the business card they found in Ellen Thompson’s wallet.

Seconds later, they’re all together in the living room and as Misha introduces the man, Jensen’s breath stops and he’s frozen in place. “Special Victims,” Misha says with a wave, “Jared Padalecki.”

Jensen is staring at his one-night stand from two nights ago, and Jared is shocked in return, though he shakes it off more effectively than Jensen can. After a long moment, Jared glances around them all and only aims short, strange looks in Jensen’s direction. Worthy moves around them to shake hands and asks Jared how his card ended up with their victim.

To his credit, Jared has basically recovered and is amicable in his explanation. “We had a report of a peeping tom in the area. A woman a few doors down saw a man by a tree outside her window last week. She thinks he was …” Jared uncomfortably snorts. “Enjoying himself.”

“And they called you?” Worthy asks.

“Patrol came out and made a few inquiries. When a few others reported the same, they called us in to investigate.”

“On a chronic masturbator?” Misha chuckles. “Next thing we know, you’ll be showing up at my house.”

“Christ, Misha,” Jensen grumbles. After a sigh, he faces Worthy, refusing to acknowledge Jared. “I guess that rules out the father.”

“Unless the father is our peeping tom,” the detective offers.

Jensen is outraged at that image. “At his daughter’s building? Are you serious?”

“We’d like to see your files,” Misha calmly tells Jared, likely trying to diffuse Jensen’s anger.

Only, Jared is now closely watching Jensen and it seems Misha reads the discomfort. To alleviate what he must mistake as tension between unknown parties, he pats Jensen’s shoulder. “Sorry, where are my manners? This is my partner, Special Investigator Jensen Ackles.”

The corner of Jared’s mouth quirks and he puts his hand out. “Right, Jensen, nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” Jensen mutters without taking the offered handshake. He has no interest in extending their knowledge of one another any further than need be. “If you could get us your files ASAP, that’d be good.” To Misha, he says, “I’ll be back in the room. Get me before you leave.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just walks straight to the bedroom to take in the entire scene and try his damnedest to find something that can help them before they talk to Ellen Thompson’s family. Once he procures a pair of gloves from the techs still in the room, he inspects the cell phone charging cord. It has remained firmly plugged into the wall, yet the lamp on the nightstand isn’t. The plug has been cleanly pulled out, no bending as if something bumped or yanked it. He checks the stand on the other side of the bed and the second lamp is also unplugged.

Jensen looks up to the overhead light and realizes the room has been bright enough with the curtains drawn open and daylight coming through the windows that no one turned on the lights. He walks to the doorway and flicks the light switch. He’s not sure if he’s surprised when nothing happens.

He pulls the chair away from her vanity, stands on it, and finds all four light bulbs are just loose enough that they won’t turn on. Light beams in his eyes when he twists one back into place and he stumbles off the chair and to the ground, blinking away the white blotches in his vision.

When he hears footsteps approach him, he says over his shoulder, “The murderer was here before her. All the lights are disabled.”

“That’s amazing.”

Jensen whips around and rolls his eyes at Jared. “What?” he asks tiredly.

Jared nods, looking impressed. “No one would’ve noticed until night time that they’re out. And that’s only if you’re still here after dusk.”

“This is a crime scene,” Jensen says firmly, trying to push for Jared to leave.

Jared pulls his jacket back to show off the badge on his belt. “Good thing I’m a cop then.”

Jensen steps away from Jared to take in the bed, wondering if Ellen Thompson’s cell phone had somehow ended up between the covers. “Since when?”

“Since 2001. Special Victims since 2008. In case you were wondering.”

He needs to put space between he and Jared, get the man away from him as soon as possible so he can get back to work and not consider that with just one errant look, someone could read something between them. Last thing he needs is his dirty laundry aired in front of coworkers. “Too bad I wasn’t.”

“Wow. And here I thought you being an asshole was just an after-fuck act.”

Jensen glares at Jared. “Do you mind not doing that?”

“Doing what?” Jared asks, face suddenly free of any judgment. He looks calm, almost happy, to smile at Jensen.

“Being here for starters.” He rolls his eyes and lightly pulls at the covers to hunt through the folds.

“Your partner called me here. I could have valuable information.”

Irritation boils low in Jensen’s gut and the longer they go on, the quicker he can feel it thrumming through his veins. “Your files could have valuable information. You are no longer needed.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

“Oh, I tried,” Jensen replies dryly. “You obviously haven’t let that point go.”

“I’m not likely to forget it, John.”

Jensen purposely turns to Jared so he can roll his eyes.

Jared steps a little closer and thankfully lowers his voice. “Why hide names when you’re going bare?”

“Because I’m not fond of people knowing who I am or what I do. Not in this day and age.”

“And you’re comfortable with random hook-ups … in this day and age.”

Jensen opens and closes his mouth, knowing the real answer but not wanting to let his one-night stand -one that just can’t seem to leave him be - know that he relishes that kind of dare in the moment, to fully relieve himself of any expectations or understandings.

Jared tsks, but somehow doesn’t seem demeaning. “You should be more careful.”

“I had a feeling you were fine,” Jensen admits. And he did; that feeling was far deeper than he’s willing to admit at this point, but he remembers it all the same.

“I get that.” Jared shrugs easily, as if he’s letting it go with one brush of his shoulder. “Just, would be a shame if you don’t watch out for yourself.”

“Thanks. I guess,” Jensen adds, wondering why he’s bothering to say it.

“What’re you looking for?” Jared asks, now right beside him.

With huff, Jensen steps a few feet away from Jared and keeps searching. A TV remote is there, and he puts it on the nightstand before continuing his hunt. “Her cell phone.”

“What if he took it?”

“It’s possible. I’m just checking all the options.” He curses himself for bothering to answer and stops with the blankets to look at Jared. “Why are you still here?”

Jared shrugs. All carefree and stupidly still standing too close even if it’s a few feet away. “Cause I’m the best connection to the neighbors that you have right now.”

Jensen sighs and tips his head back and glares at the ceiling to avoid ripping into Jared. Smacking his lips together, he grounds himself from having an outburst that anyone in the apartment could hear. He does not need Jared here, standing so close, looking too good in his button-up, tie, and dress slacks, all professional and capable. Jensen can do his job without someone helping him, especially someone he ushered out of his bedroom two nights ago.

“You are not a connection to anything and you never will be,” Jensen insists. “I have been doing my job longer than you’ve had hair on your chest, so just let me do my job.”

“So you do remember,” Jared murmurs with a small smile. “My chest.”

“You are wildly inappropriate and I would be happy to get you suspended for tainting a murder scene.”

Jared sighs and glances around. “Look, I’m just saying. I could be of good help here. It’s not like I don’t know the ropes or have my own people to get something out of. I’ve been around this building already and have some solid info on the neighbors.”

“Great, leave your solid info with my partner.” Jared snorts, and Jensen sighs and shakes his head, angry at Jared for still standing here and himself for still talking to him. “What do you want?”

“To help you find a murderer.”

“You have high aspirations,” Jensen says plainly. “But, I don’t think so.”

Jared watches Jensen for a few moments, making Jensen hate the soft turn of Jared’s lips or the vibrancy in his eyes as they continue to stare. “And that’s it?”

Jensen stands firm. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Before Jared can reply, Jensen leaves the bedroom to find Misha so they can get moving on the investigation. “We should talk to the family,” he tells his partner.

“Don’t you wanna start with the neighbors?” Jared asks.

Jensen decides to not concede to Jared; it would’ve been a good idea to follow ten minutes ago. “You ready?”

“Whoa,” Misha says slowly, assessing them then waving towards each. “There is a lot of shit flaring up here. You okay there, kid?”

When Misha puts his hand on Jared’s arm, Jared flinches and looks pissed. “I’m not a kid.”

“Holy sexual tension.”

“It’s not-” Jensen complains, only to be cut off by Jared.

“How would you even …”

Jensen coughs, uncomfortable to explain because it would only confirm Misha’s summation. “Misha is a Telempath.”

“Oh, right,” Jared says with wonder. “Special Investigations Unit. So what’s that make you?”

Jensen feels awkward with Jared considering him so closely, which is ass backwards given how much he loved the way those hazel eyes combed over him in Baron’s. “Not your concern. Misha, you ready?”

Misha studies them both and, thankfully, goes with Jensen. “Yeah, sure.” With a handshake for Jared, he thanks him for coming down. “We’ll be in touch for your files.”

“Going,” Jensen announces and leaves the apartment.

Once they’re in the car, Misha revving the engine to life, Jensen pulls his phone out to type in a few notes from the crime scene.

“Did they have a time of death?”

“Between seven and eleven p.m.,” Misha replies, staring out the windshield.

“Gotta be closer to eleven. She was already asleep and it was pitch black in the room. Though the lights were out. Unplugged and the overhead bulbs were loose. She might’ve gone to bed before it was dark enough to use them.”

“Maybe she tried them and just let it go?”

“Would you?”

“Probably. But I’m an easier spirit than most.”

“You are easy.”

After a moment, Misha asks, “Are we really avoiding the Special Victims elephant in the room?”

Jensen keeps typing on his phone, doesn’t bother looking up when he replies, “Yes.”

“At least tell me if it was just awkward flirting gone wrong?” When Jensen remains focused on his notes, Misha goes on. “Some heavy petting? Light petting? Did you turn him down?”

He finally looks at his partner, face flat, bordering on anger. “No, no, and no.”

“Did he turn you down?” Now Jensen glares at him and Misha’s eyes widen. “Oh, so you actually got a good turn on the Merry Go Round?”

“We’re not talking about him anymore. Or to him, for that matter.”

“He might have leads on the chronic masturbator.”

Jensen sighs. “His files, not him.”

“Jensen, come on,” Misha says seriously, reaching for Jensen’s arm.

He moves as far against the door as possible. “Don’t even, not now."

Shaking his head, Misha sits forward and pulls the car onto the road. “Think about how comfortable your life would be if you let me touch you.”

Jensen starts to smile as he watches his partner’s profile. Misha remains stoic, either a great actor or completely oblivious. “You should watch what comes out of your mouth.”

“And you should watch what goes into yours.”

“Trust me, I will from now on.”



After four years partnered together, Jensen has learned to read Misha’s forehead creases and brow lines. He figures it’s only fair given how quickly Misha can get a handle on Jensen’s constantly fluctuating-and high-anxiety-emotions.

So, it’s quite troubling that as soon as Misha shakes hands with Robert Thompson, their victim’s brother, Misha looks disturbed and flashes Jensen a dark look.

“Special Investigators?” Robert says with interest once they’ve exchanged names. “So what do you do?”

“We investigate,” Jensen replies. He almost smiles when Robert prickles at the flat response.

“I’ve just never met one of you before.”

Jensen glances at Misha, neither of them appreciating the statement, no matter how innocent it seems to be. “First time for anything, I guess.”

“You probably know more than you like to think you do,” Misha adds. His easy smile softens the real meaning behind his comment, but the conversation feels tense all the same.

“Why don’t we all move into the living room?” Jake, the father, suggests as he leads Jensen and Misha out of the foyer.

The home is well decorated with space to move through the open floor plan of the living and dining rooms. It’s sickeningly bright with cream walls, light upholstery, and windows that nearly stretch to the ceiling to carry the daylight in-especially compared to the darkness Jensen instantly senses within this family.

Maggie Thompson, a petite brunette who is polished from her bob haircut down to her shiny flats, joins them with a tray of coffees, creamer pot, and bowl of sugar. It’s obvious this mother takes great pride in her appearance as well as the home; when she sits in a side chair, she straightens the arm cover and picks a piece of flint off that she holds for the duration of their talk so as to not drop it on the floor.

Jensen builds up his defenses to filter out some of the darker worry swirling within the room and seeping into his mind. After a long breath, and once he discerns a wall clicking into place, he takes the lead to allow Misha full range of his capabilities-watching, assessing, feeling every response to any word spoken aloud.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Jensen says carefully. “And I know it’s never good timing to discuss, but do you know if Ellen was having any problems with anyone?”

The family shares a look and the son appears ready to complain about whomever it is they’re all discussing with their eyes.

“We can’t help unless you tell us,” Jensen prods.

“There was this guy,” Maggie says, fingers twisting together in her lap as she frowns.

“Her shitbag ex-boyfriend,” Robert spits out.

“No, Robbie, not-”

“Yeah, Scott Brennan,” he insists, growing angry the longer he talks. “He used to hit her, kept her practically on lockdown in their apartment. No one wanted to do anything about it. Neither of you would let me break his neck. And look what happened.”

Jensen shifts on the couch and catches Misha’s gaze for a brief moment, as Robert’s fury multiplies in the large living room. “If we can just take a step back?”

“He busted up her face, but she wouldn’t go to the hospital. Finally saw a doctor when her jaw kept hurting, and still, no one did anything.”

Misha stretches his hand out from his knee and Jensen wonders if his partner waited a little too long to act. The room already feels icy with anger and Jensen has to look anywhere but at the family seated around him. Their grief is echoing off the walls and Jensen knows that just one second of a shared look could throw him into a tailspin of see-sawing emotions.

The parents are now arguing with the son, insisting that they did all they could, that they can protect adult children for only so long. Jensen feels a chill run up his arm and he flinches when it slinks up his neck.

“Mish,” he prods, just so his partner will do something for the sake of all in this room.

Finally, Misha leans forward to set his hand on Robert’s knee. With a soft look, he tells the brother, “I understand your anger. It is truly justified. We can all talk levelly about this, right?”

Robert appears dazed as he watches Misha, blinking slowly as his breathing is less obvious with the high rises of his chest. Suddenly, he shoves Misha’s arm away and grunts. “You’re a fucking empath!”

Misha tries to explain himself, stupidly discuss how they’re all part of the Empath race while the parents reprimand their son for his outburst, but no one is listening and it’s already out of the bag. All of it together creates a fiery rage that punches Jensen in his chest. It nearly takes him over when he jumps to his feet with a shout for everyone to stop talking.

“Stop, all of you! No one says a word for thirty seconds!” Following a few harsh sighs, Jensen nods to the hallway. “Misha, in private?”

“Excuse us a moment,” Misha tells the family with their quick exit to the foyer. Once they’re out of earshot, Misha covers his mouth and mumbles, “Jesus H. Christ. This family is about to spontaneously combust.”

“Us, too,” Jensen complains. “Why the hell weren’t you doing anything in there?”

He frowns and leans back against the front door. “I was, but it’s all too much. The brother is like,” and Misha makes a frenzied motion with both hands.

“Understatement of the year there.” Jensen rubs his face then straightens the collars on his shirt and jacket to feel more pulled together, more in place. “It can’t be the ex. The things the guy did, what I saw and felt, there’s no way it was that kind of emotion until the very end.”

“That apartment would have been demolished if we were dealing with an angry, abusive ex.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Jensen taps Misha’s arm, remembering their initial entrance to the home. “What’d you read when we first came in here?”

“There are a lot of empist feelings in here.”

“You think?” Jensen asks, rolling his eyes. It’s more than obvious what the son thinks of empaths. Unfortunately, that same anger towards their race keeps Misha from being able to settle the room. “So what now?”

“We visit the boyfriend?”

Jensen gives Misha an ugly look for suggesting it. They’ve already agreed the boyfriend can’t be their guy, but Misha remains stoic and easy going as always.

“Just as a cursory meeting. Tick off all the boxes on the card?”

“Depends on how many boxes we’ve got on this card,” he mumbles, glancing back into the living room where it appears that Robert is still rumbling with anger and the parents are each filled with worry. “If the ex is as bad as they’ve said, it’ll be like World War IV.”

“III was hardly a blip,” Misha says with a sly smile.

Jensen chooses to keep his comments to himself; reliving WWIII where Kinetics attacked the Empath race, simply because they wielded more physical powers, did no one any favors. It ran Empaths into hiding or guarded protection (like Misha and Jensen) and built a good case for the regular ol’ joes to side eye all Pathigens.

Instead, he breathes deep to relax himself and holds his hand out for the car keys. “You can tell them we’re leaving while I start up the car.”

“Scaredy cat,” Misha murmurs, though he hands over the keys anyway. “Great, leave me with the Cleavers. Just pray I don’t start up another hissy fit.”

“They’re too toxic, try not to touch anyone,” Jensen suggests. He smirks and adds, “Like ever.”

Misha grumbles as he heads back into the living room and Jensen ticks off his own box with a smile.



That afternoon, Jensen steels himself as Misha knocks on the door. Scott Brennan has little to no record-a few parking tickets, expired plates-but nothing to report of any major issue whatsoever. With a nine-to-five job he’s held down for a decade and a clean credit rating, Brennan stands as a fairly perfect citizen.

Once the door slides open and Jensen and Misha wave their badges, they both suck in a breath as wrath brushes over them and the guy cruelly smiles.

“Empathetics,” he spits out.

Jensen wants to drag in another deep breath, but he can instantly imagine how the fury would fill his lungs and seize his system. He looks away from the man’s angry, black eyes, and focuses on the bright green grass of the manicured lawn to pull in something more serene.

The door squeaks as it wavers a few inches in each direction and Jensen wonders if this Kinetic’s disgust is going to slam the door in their face.

“Scott Brennan, I’m assuming?” Misha asks cynically. “I’m Agent Collins, and this is my partner, Agent Ackles. We have a few questions for you regarding Ellen Thompson.”

“That girl is dead to me.”

Jensen looks up at the cold tone of the words. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I spent two years with her before she walked out on me.”

“You mind telling us where you were last night?” Misha asks.

“Last night?” Brennan asks. “I was working late then I went to my girlfriend’s house.”

“Can anyone at work vouch for you?”

“Yeah, my boss was there, too. We had a project to get out.”

“Why aren’t you at work today?” Jensen asks.

“She gave me the day off after too much overtime this week.” Brennan rubs at his neck and Jensen notes red marks on his skin and abrasions across his knuckles. “What’s going on?”

Jensen considers continuing to question him without giving out any of their information, but there’s a small twist of joy at being able to keep the guy off his game of anger and tension. “Ellen Thompson is dead.”

Brennan’s eyes lighten to blue and his face drops. Jensen’s shoulders ease when he feels the Kinetic’s anger dissipate. “Holy shit. Ellie … are you sure? What happened?”

“Yes, we’re sure. Last night in her home.”

Misha pulls out his notepad and begins to scribble in it. “Can your girlfriend vouch for your whereabouts? What’s her name?”

“Yeah, of course she can. Susette Willis. I was there until this morning.”

“What happened to your neck?” Jensen cuts in.

Brennan’s eyes begin to darken again, though not as fluidly as before. “We had a little fight.”

Jensen glances Misha and he’s certain his partner is thinking the same thing. He hands Brennan a card, Misha does, too, and sternly insists, “We’ll be in touch.”



Twenty minutes later they’re at Susette’s house to view a black eye and matching marks on her knuckles.

“Are you okay?” Misha asks, sympathy and care flowing around them.

She seems regretful when she slants her eyes away from them. “Yeah, we just had a … disagreement.”

Jensen doesn’t bother pushing, especially not when she and her ten-year-old son vouch for Brennan being at their place, noting that Brennan had ordered pizza for them when he showed up around ten in the evening.

“You can tick off another one of your boxes,” Jensen mumbles on the way back to their car.

“I think I need a drink after all this.”

“I need a dozen.”

“It’s barely noon,” Misha chuckles.

“Hey, that means it’s p.m. We’re in the clear.”



Back at the Special Investigations Unit that evening, Misha and Jensen summarize their morning with Worthy.

“So we’re back at square one?” the detective asks.

“I don’t think you ever really left it,” Jensen shrugs. “I told you it wasn’t any of them.”

Worthy sighs and leans against Jensen’s desk. “None of her neighbors report anything. You wanna give them another go?”

The skin on Jensen’s arm prickles, wanting to do anything but toss himself back into a circle of anger, despair, and fear within a small community.

It must be obvious because Misha is frowning at him and Worthy stands, tapping the edge of Jensen’s desk. “Just think about it. Maybe in the morning with a full night’s sleep.”

Once they’re alone, and Worthy is in the hallway, Jensen breathes easy, feeling his heart slow down to an even clip.

“I could go on my own,” Misha offers, eyes sad and concentrating on Jensen’s face.

“You shouldn’t have to.” Jensen wants to kick himself for the sudden impulse to run, but it happens every case; it’s been growing stronger in the last year. He just needs to survive long enough to keep moving.

“Just, if you need some time to rest.”

“I’m fine, Misha.”

“You never use my name when you’re fine.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and turns his attention to his computer, typing up his notes from the day and adding in extra points he remembers. As he types, he can feel a slight tremor of his desk followed by warmth that eases his bones. Slowly, he glances across the desk to Misha’s, where his partner has his palm spread on the desktop and is obviously trying to overpower him.

“Don’t,” Jensen grunts.

Misha lifts his hands in submission then quickly mumbles, “Padalecki.”

“What about him?”

“Three o’clock.”

Sure enough, when Jensen looks right, Jared is in the hallway with Worthy. The conversation seems cordial, though awkward as Jared smiles and rattles on about something Worthy is crossing his arms against and leaning away from.

“How did you …?” Jensen asks, still watching Jared smile animatedly as he talks.

“The kid bleeds good times.”

When Jared motions at the SIU office and looks towards them, Jensen spins back to his desk to type again. “I wish he’d bleed somewhere else.”

“That ain’t happening any time soon.”

“Hey, guys,” Jared announces as he enters the office. He tugs a chair up to the desks and sits on it backwards. “How is the case going?”

Jensen stares at his screen, swearing at the blinking cursor that means he’s no longer writing and is instead acknowledging Jared’s presence. “Our case is going just fine.”

“Glad to hear that. Listen, I’ve got something that could help.”

“We don’t need your help,” Jensen says, typing again just to appear busy. “Except to check in on a Susette Willis.”

“What about her?”

Jensen aims a sharp, angry smile at Jared as he points at his face. “Her boyfriend’s fist had a disagreement with her eye.”

Jared’s eyes widen and he whistles low. “I will definitely pass that on.”

“What’d you find?” Misha asks and Jensen wants to ring his neck for involving Jared with their case.

“Well,” Jared says happily, tapping his fingers at Jensen’s desk, “A woman in Building B said she heard shouting around 8:15 in the courtyard.”

“And?”

“And the couple in apartment 105, next to Ellen Thompson’s bedroom, say that her TV was going pretty loudly until about eight.”

Jensen dazes as he watches his screen and starts to fit Jared’s comments together with their crime scene. “The TV wasn’t on when they found the body.”

“Right,” Jared agrees with a point of his finger. “It went off shortly before the voices were heard out in the courtyard.”

“So?”

“So maybe your vic was just resting with the TV on, but then the murderer turns it up louder when he’s about to kill, to drown out any noises. Then he does it, turns off the TV, and leaves.”

“You did find the remote in her bed,” Misha points out.

Jensen watches Misha and starts to work out the scene in his head, cycles back through the visions he had witnessed in Ellen Thompson’s bedroom. His sight blurs the longer he stares unfocused. “There were weird lights. Something flickering.”

“When?” Jared asks, obviously confused. “What are you talking about?”

Misha goes on, “Did you hear anything?”

“It was all just buzzing in my ears. Then it kind of became a roar,” Jensen admits as more pieces slot into place the longer he thinks about it. “I just thought it was the emotion, but it could have been the TV.”

Jared sucks in a breath and Jensen turns to Jared watching him in awe. “Holy shit. You’re a Psychometric.”

The soft memory of that morning slips away, replaced by Jensen’s guard. “Cognitive,” he corrects.

“A cognitive only senses … Still. I didn’t know that you could actually see-”

“What about the fight outside?” Jensen asks, cutting Jared off and looking at his partner.

“When the woman looked outside,” Jared reports once he’s recovered from fawning over Jensen, “She saw a young man on the running path who was trying to get out of the area pretty fast.”

Turning to Jared, Jensen sighs. “How do you know all this?”

“I asked,” he replies, flat-toned, like Jensen is an idiot for asking. “I am a police officer.”

“Who is not on this case.”

“Jen,” Misha butts in calmly. “Maybe it’s not so bad? Having another set of eyes on this?”

“Yeah, Jen,” Jared says with a bright smile.

When Jensen glares at him, Misha shakes his head and rises. “You want coffee? I want coffee.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jensen consents.

“Jared? You up for some good java?”

Jensen scowls at his partner then Jared when Jared happily accepts. He sends another irritated glance at Misha’s back when Jensen is left alone with Jared.

“So, I was thinking,” Jared starts.

“Did you hurt your head?”

“No, I didn’t.” He smiles and scoots his chair even closer to Jensen’s desk and rests his arms on the surface. “Since I’ve already started doing some of the legwork, maybe we can team up on this. My connections and people skills could perfectly counter your psychokinetics.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“What way?”

“In any way,” Jensen grumbles.

“But just think-”

“First off, I’ve already got a partner, and his telempathy already perfectly counters my cognizance. Second, Worthy is leading the case. And third, you’re not even in homicide. You’re just a kid trying to play a game.”

Jared lifts an eyebrow and sucks in a quick breath. “Pretty sure I already proved that I’m not a kid.”

“Oh shut up,” Jensen blurts, part embarrassed but mostly angered. “Just stop that.”

Jared shifts back, shoulders broad and his neck long as he assesses Jensen for an unnervingly long time. The longer Jensen looks into Jared’s searching eyes, he can feel a prickle grow beneath his skin, something muddying his own judgment that spins his distrust into wonder.

Jared’s wonder.

It’s been a long time since Jensen’s experienced a shift in his emotions that wasn’t attributed to his partner’s own powers. Jensen was far too young to truly understand what it was when it happened with his parents, and especially his sister, long ago buried his real issues with the ability. He now recognizes it quite easily so he shifts from Jared to his computer screen.

“It’s been a long day,” Jensen excuses tiredly.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” Jared says quietly.

Jensen bristles and rereads the last lines he had typed when Jared first showed up. “Get what?”

“Why you are the way you are. Overcompensating for your powers.”

“I’m not overcompensating.”

“The whole strong man act perfectly covers the frailty in your mind.”

The confidence in Jared’s reasoning immediately sends Jensen into a fit of discomfort. He wipes at his nose and logs out of his computer program then rises with anger flooding him. He glances near Jared, but not at him; he won’t dare to meet Jared’s careful gaze. “You can read all you want in a textbook. But you’re not doctor. And you’re not a homicide detective, either, so you can quit bothering us with your theories.”

Jared stands and reaches for Jensen’s arm, fingers curling around Jensen’s biceps and keeping him in place. Jensen could certainly move away-the hold isn’t that tight-but he’s frozen in place with a shock running through his system, his own faculties bending for Jared’s. Guilt and sympathy coil in Jensen’s gut when he finally looks at Jared.

“I’m sorry,” Jared murmurs. “I didn’t mean to say too much.”

Jensen pulls his arm away and leaves. He passes Misha and grabs a coffee from him without a word to keep moving into the hallway.

He runs into Worthy near the elevators, mind still spinning at the way Jared had infiltrated his wall of resistance. He considers telling Misha about it, to figure out how it’s happened now, but his instincts tell him to flee the sensations.

“Jensen,” Worthy says firmly, “I was thinking about what Padalecki said.”

Jensen quickly jabs the down button, praying the elevator comes to let him escape. He doesn’t need to discuss the Special Victims officer any more, doesn’t want to even think of him, or even hear his name.

“We need to find the peeping tom and that jogger. Maybe it’s a fit for the shouting the neighbor heard.”

The floor numbers above the elevator door count up to five and Jensen swears the lights stall at three for far too long. He punches the button again as he watches the numbers shift to four.

“Ackles?” Worthy snaps. “You listening? Do you even care?”

“Yeah,” he responds warily. “I’ll talk to Misha about it.”

“I think you should get over there ASAP, before we lose this guy. You two have to pinpoint him.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“I mean it, Ackles.” Worthy pins Jensen in place with a fierce look, even when the elevator finally dings open, keeping them in the elevator lobby while others pass around them. “Don’t lose my killer.”

“We won’t,” Jensen insists.

Worthy nods. “Okay. And take Padalecki with you. He’s already in with those residents. They probably know what the peeper looks like.”

“Right, of course. Padalecki,” he mumbles as Worthy walks away. “Of course.”

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