We Carved Our Love In Oak: Part 1
Masterpost
We Carved Our Love In Oak
"I always think -- for every big, meaningful moment in life there’s a song to go with it."
***
Jared has always had big dreams.
Everything about him is extraordinary, oversized, spectacular. He outgrew his home the day he hit double digits and decided their small Texas town wasn’t enough for him anymore.
When they were fourteen years old they both found odd jobs around town, newspaper rounds, washing cars, yard work -- anything to put some bucks in their pockets for their big adventure. Jared would invite Jensen over to watch documentaries about the world and Jensen would sit and listen and agree to each fantastical new idea.
Jared outgrew their small town and wanted to leave, and by the time they finished high school he was already packing his bags and itching to step foot in another state.
And Jensen? Jensen was in love.
"I'm going to tell her," Jared says, fingers drumming against the tabletop. They're sat at the old diner in town, two milkshakes between them. "Ask her if we can borrow the truck."
Jensen looks towards him from where he'd been watching the town outside the window.
"Ask her?"
"Our road trip," Jared says, grinning, pulling his milkshake closer. He sucks up some of the pink, frothy liquid through the straw. Once he's finished, he pulls back and says, "I think we should leave this week."
Jensen's not sure how they managed to get on this conversation. How Jared is able to make up these fantastic dreams and turn them into something tangible.
Jensen studies Jared's face and he smiles. "Wow. You're serious. This week?"
"If you need anything back home we should go get it."
The words are said almost flippantly, casual, but Jared's betrayed by the concern in his eyes. Jensen feels weighed down by it.
He pastes on a smile. "I think I'm good."
Jared grins at him and this time it's real, genuine, Padalecki sunshine.
"Thursday, Jen. We're finally going to leave this town."
***
Jared’s got a pile of yellowing, rolled up maps in his room in a crumbling cardboard box.
He opens them up, spreads them over his wooden desk and places weights at north, south, east and west. They curl at the edges and Jared traces his finger along roads and rivers as he tells Jensen of all the things they’re going to do when they get there. This is where The Beatles toured, this is where Johnny Cash played with Elvis in 1956. You like Johnny Cash, don’t you, Jen?
Hands splayed over different states, the contour lines of mountains, blue patches of water.
He points to a square on the map.
There’s nothing there. It’s just a field.
Jared turns to him and he grins. We’ll sleep under the stars.
***
Jensen is sitting on the crumbling stone step in the Padalecki’s backyard, The Shining in his hands as he peers over the top, watching Jared speak to his mama. Her hands are quick and deft as she folds the sheets over the washing line, pegging them in place.
“We’re going to see America. This is what I’ve been saving for, and me and Jensen have got the whole summer to do it.”
His mama side-eyes him and frowns. “You’re eighteen, Jared. You’re not ready to drive across America with no money and a mind full of so many crazy ideas.”
“We’re going to watch out for each other. Jen’s been saving too, and we have it all planned out. I promise you we’ll keep in touch. It won’t be long - a week, two tops.”
“What about Jensen’s parents?” She asks, and Jensen feels an iron hand wrap around his heart and squeeze too tight.
“Jensen’s parents don’t--”
The words die on his lips and Jensen flicks his eyes back down to his book when Jared looks over. His face is tense and drawn, and there’s too much sympathy there, so much sadness Jensen feels like he’s drowning in it.
He turns the page of his book.
“Please, mama,” Jared begs, voice softer now, gentle like the blades of grass that are currently tickling Jensen’s ankles. “We’ll be safe. We just want the truck, that’s all. We’ll be back soon.”
She pauses, her hands absently stroking over the pillowcase she’s just hung up to dry. She’s tiny next to Jared, her hair tied up in a loose bun, a smudge of red lipstick on her lips. She looks old and tired and small, but Jensen recognizes her gentle eyes (the same as her son’s), the defeated huff of breath and the small, wonky smile.
“You’re going to kill me one day, Jared.”
A slow grin spreads across Jared’s face and Jensen dog-ears his page, closes his book.
“That’s a yes?”
“Yes, fine, yes,” Mrs Padalecki says, with a sudden armful of her middle son, and Jensen smiles, slides the cigarette from behind his ear and puts it between his lips. Jared meets Jensen’s eyes over her shoulder and grins.
***
Come on, Jensen. I’ve got something to show you.
Water, sandwiches, a packet of cigarettes and a book with yellowing pages. He follows him through the thick maze of trees, down towards the Murphy’s lake and past the old shed with the falling apart piano inside. Jared takes him further, further than he’s been before, the heat thick and sticky, Jensen’s shirt clinging to his back.
Jared peels his own off and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans, and Jensen has to swallow hard, pull out a cigarette and let it hang between his lips as he fiddles with the lighter.
The flies buzz around their heads and Jared regales him with a fabricated tale of visiting the beaches in California, drinking cool beer on the sand and getting matching tattoos on their hips. Each time it’s a new dream and Jensen listens with the same intensity he always does, knows he’s never really getting out of here, and all he’s got to his name is a box of secondhand novels and the shirt off his back.
Jared knows all this, and he doesn’t seem to care.
Jared pulls out his pocket-knife, scratches a J into the tree and passes it to Jensen without saying anything. Jensen grips it tight in his hand to stop it slipping from the sweat on his palms as he digs it into the bark.
J+J. J+J on the bark of an old oak tree.
Jensen pulls back to see Jared smiling at him in a way that makes his breath catch. He puts another cigarette between his lips, and Jared lights it for him, before pulling back and asking him whether he’d like to visit Chicago or New York first.
Jensen takes a long drag, blows the smoke into the air around them and knows that it doesn’t matter because it’s not going to happen anyway.
***
Next part