(no subject)

[redsirenfiction]

THREE

2010
It was a Wednesday when Jensen woke up at some ungodly hour. He hadn't had a nightmare in a very long time, but this one felt all too real and he found himself in a pool of sweat, rivulets still dripping down his face as though taunting him. Sitting up in bed, he looked around and made sure he was where he thought he was and not back in Somalia. Put at ease by the fact that he was in his bed, surrounded by all his things, Jensen lay back for a few more moments, catching his breath. When he'd finally relaxed enough to know that he was okay and wasn't going back to sleep, Jensen finally turned and peered at the clock on the bedside table, realizing that it was eight-thirty and that he might have to get up and open the shop.

The last thing he wanted was for Cam to come yell at him, telling him that they had customers waiting, that they couldn't just close up whenever Jensen felt like it. The good thing about being out of the army was that there was no chain of command anymore; Cam could yell at Jensen with impunity and often did so, much to his former CO's amusement.

Sitting back up he stretched his limbs, making sure that everything was as whole as he could get these days and then got out of bed. The nightmare had left him sore and as he moved his feet over the side, he knew his leg would be screaming at him most of the day. Jensen decided right then and there that he would spend most of it under Mr. Johnson's car.

The man owned a beautiful 1967 Chevy Nova which he wanted customized for his kid, who was into MP3 players and sub woofers and would have none of the bench seating or leather interior the car had come stock with back when it was first purchased. Jensen didn't like it any more than Mr. Johnson did, but kids would be kids and this particular kid had enough money to back it, thanks to being a video game champion of some sort.

Moving out to the kitchen, he put on the coffee, knowing he'd have to take it to go today because he was already running late. He wondered if Cam had already called. Grabbing his cell phone off the table Jensen saw that yes, indeed, there were two voice mails; one pleasant and polite, joking almost, and the second...not so happy.

Jensen smiled. It would take all of five minutes to get across the little main road that was Goodsprings and he'd be there, as would Mr. Johnson and probably Mr. Ages, the town grump. Nevertheless, he was Cam's customer and the man's pickup wanted more mods than Cam had fingers and toes, so he had better hurry up.

Chris didn't have a customer per say, but Jensen was sure that come mid-afternoon old Mrs. Riley, with her beat up Ford Pinto, would come rambling into the garage, asking what 'that racket' was underneath the car. It had taken everything he had for Chris not to tell her that the car was a piece of shit and that the 'racket', was her muffler which she refused to have fixed because it cost too much.

Mrs. Riley was a pragmatist and a penny pincher; she'd survived sixty years without shelling out cash for something as trivial as a muffler. Yet every day, mid-afternoon, she would come rolling in and Cam would have to stifle his laughter as Chris tried his best to remain patient and explain to her what was going on and how he could fix it, if only she pawed over the cash. It was their daily amusement in a town that was known for its gossip, its ghost and not much else. Mrs. Riley, on her best day, was ice-cold, but they put up with the old hag because she was constant. Consistency wasn't something they were used to quite yet and they enjoyed it thoroughly each time it happened.

The year after Jensen was discharged, Cam fell to the same fate; AK-47, long range, through the leg, shattering his femur. He'd almost bled out on the scene, but thankfully his partner that day had been a fellow medic. Without anesthesia, he'd managed to clamp the femoral, keep it closed nice and tight, and keep it from snaking back up to Cam's groin before he could bleed to death. The move, along with the IV and the plasma he'd been given, had saved his life. It hadn't done much for his army career though, and he was out the next year.

Chris wasn't so lucky. He got out a year after Cam, having fallen victim to an RPG that hit just a little too close to home. His left side was now a myriad of burns and scars, shrapnel still imbedded in his leg. Leg wounds were common where they were sent. Somalis loved to shoot, Iraqis loved their explosions. Whatever the case might be, someone was getting their legs busted, regardless of skill, seniority, or location.

Grabbing the coffee that was now done, he poured it into a mug, thinking of how lucky he'd been despite his injuries. He was still alive, still had his best friends, both his legs and he had a life; a life that consisted of doing something he loved and getting paid for it. Getting paid was important in a little town like Goodsprings; if you didn't have money, you didn't have much. The reclusive location made it that much harder to just beg, borrow, or steal.

Swiping his keys off the counter, Jensen wondered for the millionth time why he bothered driving to work when he could walk and get there just as fast. It was force of habit, he reckoned, left over from the days where he'd have to drive to the base and back. Coffee in hand, Jensen headed through the front door, oblivious to the crumpled up body at the foot of his doorstep.

Only when he tripped over it and nearly fell on his face, did he manage to look down and see that it was an actual person and not a heap of garbage or a lazy dog, as he'd assumed it had been. Gaining his bearings, he moved around, looking at the person and trying to figure out if he knew him. It wasn't uncommon for an army buddy or two to stop by unannounced, but falling asleep on his lawn was something of a first. With one boot, Jensen gently kicked at the man's back, going for the flanks and not the spine, since he didn't want to injure the guy.



“Hey,” he called, digging the toe of his boot in just a little. Getting no response, he made his voice louder.

“Hey, you!” That got him. The man started up like he'd been shot, looking around with wild eyes and then squinting when he saw that someone was standing over him.

“Oh, uh, I'm sorry, I just, I...It'd been a long day and I just kinda dropped...I passed out, I'm sorry.”

The man immediately tried to cover up his cast, eyes darting around as though Jensen were a cop about to bust him on possession. His words slurred, Jensen immediately assumed him to be some random drunk that had made his way from one of the bars and into the residential part of town.

“Yeah, buddy, save it for the people that care. Come on, off my lawn.” Jensen said, a touch of a frown marring his face as he pointed at the road.

“Look, I wasn't drunk, I promise. I haven't had a drink in seven years. I was looking for work and time got the better of me. By the time I got back to this side of town, I could barely walk. I'm sorry. I was um...I was beat up a while back and haven't made a full recovery yet.”

Jensen's eyes narrowed, looking the stranger up and down. More up than down, because the man was insanely tall. Jensen figured he stood at least six three, if not six four or five, and he was all muscle.

“You're looking for jobs, here? Why don't you head to, oh I don't know...Vegas?”

“Yeah, no, um, trying to stay out of the big cities. Too much temptation,” Jared explained as he brushed off the front of his pants and began to walk away, discomfort and fear in his eyes. Jensen didn't blame him. He'd been told on several occasions that he could be a scary motherfucker just standing there with his arms crossed over his chest; it was exactly the same posture he was using now.

“Too much temptation and no car in the middle of the desert?” Jensen asked with some amusement in the fact that the man was stupid enough to walk in the desert without any provisions that he could see.

“Yeah, um, got dropped off at the bus station. Figured this would be as good a place as any to start over. Start fresh, you know? Kinda...lucked out in a couple different places before and they were all big cities, so I figured I'd try a small town.”

It made enough sense to Jensen, and he eased up a little bit on the guard-dog act he was so well-known for. “Yeah, I hear ya. Have any luck?”

“No, man...there's small town and then there's this place, you know what I mean? The two bars were both full and uh...I don't really picture myself at Bibi's.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jensen laughed, the image of the man in front of him working at the hair salon being enough to bring a smile to his face. It wouldn't be the prettiest sight he'd seen, but it'd definitely count among the funniest.

“Did you try the auto shop?”

“Yeah, I did, but they told me the owner was out and that I'd have to check back in today. So I figure I'll try that and then try and make my way to the next town,” Jared explained, one eye closed against the rising sun.

Jensen nodded, considering his options. On the one hand, he had Cam and Chris who were both great mechanics. Cam did pin striping and body work, as did Chris, and on the whole the three of them were pretty well-rounded. But there were only three of them and they could really use a shop boy; someone to pick up and clean, do all the menial tasks that they hated doing. Looking Jared over yet again, Jensen tried to decide whether to just tell him he was hired on the spot, or make him sweat it out a little bit.

“Yeah, um, the owner. He was out yesterday, grabbing parts from Vegas. You know, if you want, I can drive you over there and we'll have a talk with him.”

Jared's eyes lit up and Jensen could see that it wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, but one that he was pleased to hear. He could see the fight in the man; the determination to find something outside of the bright lights of Vegas. The touch of desperation in his eyes also told Jensen that whatever job he landed, he would work hard at. The traits, so easily readable on the man's face, were ones Jensen found admirable in any situation, let alone one so strange and random as the one they were in.

“Yeah man, that'd be great.”

Jensen smiled a little bit, extending his hand. Jared took it and returned the grin with a touch of embarrassment, looking at Jensen for a moment before speaking.

“I'm Jared. Jared Padalecki. It's nice to meet you.”

“Padalecki. That's uh...”

“Polish, I think,” Jared mused, looking unsure of his own last name's heritage.

“Polish, yeah. Good people. Good food,” Jensen replied, referring to his typical Friday night dinners, when he was too tired to do much more than make up a batch of Perogis with some dip.

Jared only nodded dumbly and Jensen could see that wherever the man was from, Poland was last on the list of locations.

“Yeah, um...” Jared fumbled over his words, much to Jensen's amusement, the awkwardness not lost on the older man.

Jensen didn't introduce himself; it was all part of his plan to make the kid sweat a little bit. Instead, he reached around, clapped Jared on the back lightly and jerked his head towards the garage. In it sat his car, a stock 1967 Chevy Impala.

“Nice car!” Jared exclaimed, his eyes widening.

“Thanks,” Jensen replied, smiling. “In the passenger seat. Wipe your pants off before you get in though, please.”

Jared nodded, looking behind him as though he could actually see his own ass and when he realized that at least the bottom of his legs were covered, he began to furiously wipe off the dust and dirt.



The amble into town was slow; Jensen in no particular rush to get to work. After all, he was just going across town to where the businesses were. Pulling into the parking lot, Jensen watched for Jared's reaction out of the corner of his eye, grinning discreetly when confusion overcame the younger man's face.

“Hey, um...what time do they open?” he asked Jensen.

“The owner was kinda...running a little late this morning.” Jensen smirked, pulling up next to a '67 Shelby Fastback. A 67' Dodge Charger was parked on his other side.

“So does this place specialize in classics, or what?” Jared asked with a bit of a grin, and Jensen could tell the guy was subtly teasing him about the fact that every car parked in the lot seemed to be made before '78.

“Yeah, it's kind of their thing. They customize cars; pin striping, body work. Most of the clients prefer old muscle, but they do some modern customizations, too; MP3 players, sub woofers, screens in the seats.”

Jared nodded, looking thoroughly impressed.

The Impala came to a rolling stop, purring idly for a moment before Jensen turned off the car. Creaking door hinges were the only giveaway of the car's age, the rest of it looking brand new despite the intense desert heat. Not two seconds after Jensen got up and stood on the packed dirt, Cam approached the vehicle. The frown on his face made it easy to see he was pretty wound up about something. Jensen took a breath, prepared for the onslaught he was about to receive from his friend.

“Dude, where have you been? I've been waiting for an hour! Mr. Johnson's waiting on the MP3 player and Mr. Ages...god, he won't shut up! Mod this, mod that, 'I need a step for my god-dang truck'. Really? You couldn't have woken up?”

Jensen merely laughed, looking over at Jared as if saying, 'see what I gotta deal with?' before turning back to his friend.

“You work here?” Jared asked.

“Sure do,” Jensen replied, smiling before turning his attention back to Cam. “And you, just hold your horses. It was a rough morning, if you know what I mean.”

Cam backed off the minute he saw the look in Jensen's eyes. PTSD was a bitch and they all suffered from it in varying degrees. All of them had gotten the appropriate help and were all considered 'normal' by the medical community, but every now and again, something would trigger a memory-a smell, a feeling, and they would go off in their own little way. 'Human bombs' was how Chris had described them so aptly over a night of shots and beer chasers.

Out of the three, he was the one still suffering the most; it showed in the bags under his eyes and the occasional hurling of tools that weren't meant to be thrown. All three of them had done their time sleeping on the floors of their rooms. Habits died hard, and the feeling of safety that came with knowing that no one could slip a bomb under your bunk or bed was too important to pass up.

Nodding his head, Cam moved back to the door of the shop, waiting for Jensen to fish out the keys and open up. Jensen had to restrain himself to keep from laughing as he saw Jared's jaw drop, the man realizing a second too late that the guy he'd been speaking with all day wasn't just a friend of the owner, but was the owner. He wasn't sure if the kid was duped a lot in his day to day life, but from his reaction, it didn't seem like the first time someone had tricked him in such a way.

“Wait, you run the place?!” Jared exclaimed.

“Own it, run it...or maybe it runs me. Seems like it some days,” Jensen teased, still searching for his keys.

Mr. Ages stood by the door impatiently, tapping his foot and throwing daggers in Cam's direction. As he passed him, Jensen had to bite his lip. The man was just too funny when he was pissed, and on that particular morning, the fact that he was pissed at Cam, made it all the funnier.

“You gonna fix my truck or what, boy?” he asked, a thick drawl denoting that he was definitely not from Nevada.

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Ages, I'm almost done. Just gotta put in the stereo and then you're golden.”

Mr. Ages nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer he'd been given. So pleased in fact, that he took a step back from his stance at the door, letting everyone else in first before he followed suit.

Inside were tons of car magazines for all makes and models, tossed haphazardly next to part books chalk full of serial numbers and specifications. Pinups lined the walls, gifts from different manufacturers, one particularly lascivious calendar taking prime spot behind the desk and catching the eye of everyone who walked in.

Jensen threw his keys by the computer, which, like everything else in the place, was surprisingly clean and grease-free; it was quite a feat considering what sort of place it was. The cleanliness was, in fact, the one thing that set Goodsprings Motors apart from most of the other mechanics in the surrounding area. Jensen liked running a tight ship, and that meant no grease anywhere but the cars; it's what they had spray cleaner for, after all.

“So, you're looking for a job.” Jensen grinned, moving back around the front of the counter and leaning against it casually. “You got any experience?”

“I know my way around an engine. Can fix just about any model given enough time to give it a good once over,” Jared explained.

“What about accessories? You ever install a car stereo?” Jensen folded his arms across his chest, eying Jared almost as if he knew the reply already.

“Not so much. I know under the hood and that's about it.”

“You good at cleaning up? Keeping the shop clean is a priority around here...”

“I was a janitor for a few years...”

“That's good.” Jensen's smile grew bigger at the answer. Jared was looking more and more like the perfect candidate.

“All right, I'll tell you what. I'll give you three weeks. We'll train you up, get you doing some of the easier stuff, and if you work out at the end of that time, then you're hired permanently. If not...then at least you'll have enough cash to make it on to the next big town.”

Stepping forward, Jared smiled brightly and stuck his hand out for Jensen to shake. “Thank you. This means a lot to me. You won't regret it. I'm gonna be the best damn shop boy you've ever had.”

Jensen couldn't stop the warm laugh that escaped him as he shook the taller man's hand, hoping he kept true to his word.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made both men look over. Chris was standing by the door that divided the shop from the waiting room.

“Hey, boss, can I talk to you for a second? In private?” His brow furrowing just slightly, Jensen gave a quick nod. He motioned for Jared to sit and then followed Chris out to the garage.



The second they were in the garage Chris unleashed on Jensen.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, man? You don't know that kid from a fuckin' hole in the ground and you're just gonna up and hire his ass at the drop of a dime?” Chris yelled, his anger steadily rising.

“You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me. I'm your best friend and I had to hand in a resume! You made Cam take apart an engine blindfolded! All this kid's gotta do is show up? That's bullshit, man!” With arms flying and accusatory glances thrown in Jensen's direction, Chris looked like one very pissed off bobble-head doll.

For his part, Jensen simply stood, waiting for Chris to finish before responding.

“Did you take a good look at the kid, Chris? He's all busted up, his clothes don't fit him well, and he's practically begging me for a chance to mop the damn floor.” A smile crept across Jensen's face as he continued. “Think about it, man. Less taking out the trash, refilling the coffee maker, and cleaning the bathrooms for you and Cam. I dare you to turn down that deal.”

“I still don't like it.” Chris protested, his words weaker the second time around.

“Can you just...give him a try? For me?”

Chris looked at him, silence stretching between them for a moment, before nodding. “Only because I still owe you for saving my ass back in Lebanon.”

"Okay," Jensen began as he walked back into the waiting room; not a hint of bother on his face despite the conversation that both Jared and Mr. Ages had witnessed. "So, first thing's first. In the mornings I go out on part runs. We deal with two major suppliers; one for internal, one for external. We're stocked up on external, so today's just gonna be an accessories run, which means we've gotta head out to Vegas to go see Viper. Now, he's a mean sonofabitch, but if you're polite, direct and take whatever comes out of his mouth with a grain of salt, then you'll be fine. We'll take the truck and I'll show you the route. You've got your license, right?"

Jensen watched as Jared's face went from bright to dismayed in a matter of seconds. He'd asked the question as an afterthought, assuming that like any other person in Vegas, that Jared had his driver's license at least for ID purposes. The silence that met his question however, easily told him otherwise.

"I know how to drive, but I don't have my license. Haven't had...money...for a car in a while, so I let it expire."

Jensen chewed his lip, seeming to weigh his options before he gave his usual short nod.

"While we're in town today, you'll take the test and then I'll get you to drive back so you can start to learn the route."

Never had Jensen seen his words visibly affect someone in such a terrible way. Desperation, followed closely by anger, shone in Jared's eyes and Jensen could already guess what the kid was about to say before he even opened his mouth. He was slowly starting to piece together Jared Padalecki's back story, and it didn't look like any sort of fairy tale.

Jensen watched as Jared took a deep breath, clearing his expression of any negative emotion and instead, letting out a short, humorless laugh.

"I got fifty cents to my name, boss. I won't be able to get my license until I can pay the fees to get the test written and the license itself." The dirt under his fingernails seemed to be of intense interest to Jared all of a sudden, and Jensen couldn't help the slight wince that crossed his own features, sympathy seeping into his thoughts.

"No problem. I'll knock it off your first paycheck." Jensen shrugged. In an instant, Jared's smile was a mile wide.

"Yeah, okay. Thank you. I..."

"It's no trouble, honest. We need the help and if you're as capable as you seem to be, the least I can do is help you get up to speed."

Jensen grabbed his keys and sunglasses off the counter and then rifled through some of the paperwork in the file folder, pulling out an invoice. With another short nod of his head, Jensen motioned for the door and Jared followed as though he were Pavlov's dog.

Despite having asked him the standard interview questions when they were in the waiting room at the shop, Jensen was still curious about the kid that seemed to have come from nowhere. The moment they were in the car and on the highway that skirted around the town, the inquisition began.

"So, where are you from, Jared?"

"Originally from San Antonio. Y-"

"Your family still there?"

"My brother and sister, yea-"

"Why'd you leave?"

"Wanted to make my own way. I-"

"You're fresh out of the big house, aren't you?" The statement seemed to catch Jared off guard and he just stared at Jensen, mouth agape. They were stopped at a light and Jensen was looking directly at him, expectantly waiting for an answer.

"Yeah. Just got done with a five year stint for Armed Robbery. I'm out on parole."

"Which prison?"

"Chino." Jensen nodded, taking a deep breath, his eyes going back to the road as the light turned.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Needed the money. Needed to eat."

Jensen shook his head, knowing full well there was more to it than that, but that if he didn't ask the right question, he wouldn't get the answer he needed either.

"How long have you been sober?"

With that question, Jared apparently had finally had enough. Pivoting in his seat so he was nearly facing Jensen with his whole body, he flashed him a glare, anger clear in his eyes.

"I've never done drugs in my life and if you want to test me for them, be my guest. When I was out of prison, I drank a maximum of one beer a week. The money wasn't for any of that shit and what it was for is quite frankly none of your damn business. Anything else you wanna know, I'm sure the DMV can give it to you."

Jensen raised his eyebrows, wondering if this was the sort of attitude he could expect from Jared any time he was put on the spot. It didn't bode well for the kid's longevity at the shop.

After ten minutes of forced, uncomfortable, silence, Jensen's voice broke through the thick layer of resentment that had filled the car. They were stuck in a bit of traffic and weren't going to be moving any time soon. Watching Jared out of the corner of his eye, Jensen took a breath and spoke.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in a corner. I just wanted to have some idea of what kind of guy I hired. I'm not going to test you because I trust that you're being honest with me. Your reasons for doing what you did are your own and I won't ask again. All I'm going to expect is that you don't let your past hinder your future with us. Small as we are, we're still a business and business has to run smooth.”

Still looking out the window, Jared nodded. Jensen could feel the heat and anger escaping the confines of the car, Jared seeming to sag a little in his seat, his body language less volatile and more at ease. It was clear to Jensen in that moment, that Jared was used to being fucked over at every step in life and as it had earlier in the morning, he felt the pangs of sympathy wash over him. Promising to go a little easier on the kid, Jensen turned his full attention back to the road, hoping the rest of the day went a little smoother. After a few minutes, his curiosity got the better of him again and Jensen spoke up.

“So I take it you don't have a place to stay either. I would say that Cam or Chris would spare you a room, but Chris would drive you nuts and Cam doesn't like sharing much, so both of them are out. Which leaves you two options: the room above the Jerk Shack, which smells a bit like cat piss, or my place; inside this time, though. You're gonna kill my grass, if you keep sleeping on it.” There was a little tug at the corner of Jensen's mouth, the joke meant to lighten the mood.

“I think I'd rather take my chances on an actual house than anywhere near the Jerk Shack,” Jared agreed, his eyes comically wide with something akin to fear.

“Let me guess, they took one look at your giant ass and pointed right at the door behind you?” Jensen chuckled softly, glancing at Jared as traffic began to inch forward again.

“I think I heard a shotgun being cocked.” Jared grinned, shaking his head in amusement.

“Yeah, they're not too good with outsiders here. We protect our own. Lot of veterans out here, so...” Shrugging a bit, Jensen lifted his right hand up and patted the shotgun that sat flush in a gun rack against the back window, the metal hooks decorated with a beautifully airbrushed American flag.

“And here I thought only Texans did that...”

“You'd be right.” Jensen full-on smiled this time, waiting to see Jared's reaction. It didn't take long for curiosity, recognition, and a gentle smile to spread over the taller man's face as he cocked his head to one side.

“You're from Texas?”

“Dallas, yeah. Chris, too. Cam's the only one who's not, so we kind of give him hell for it.” Nodding his understanding, Jared seemed to relax even more. As traffic stopped again, Jensen turned and reached his left hand across to shake Jared's.

“Jensen Ackles. Nice to meet you, Jared.”

FIVE