SOS Red- Chapter Seven
When all is said and done, the tally is at six murders, one attempted, a suicide, and Jared. Jared is the outlier, the exception, the one in a million. The miracle patient, his doctors say, one of two documented cases in the world to have gotten to the point he did without hurting someone. They say it could be a positive indicator in his recovery. They also say the word “recovery” like there may be one.
Jensen gets his updates through Sherrie and Meg and the news, the reports giving vague hints of Jared’s progress under the guise of a faceless Patient B. His upward trajectory gets the majority of press, a sharp contrast to the two other individuals in detainment who face a much bleaker outlook.
Megan calls a week into Jared’s stay, sobbing, to tell him that his first round of bloodwork has come back and it shows the shots are working. It’s a delicate thing, hope, but it’s the first positive in a long line of negatives and Jensen is ready to grasp on with all he’s got.
_____
Two months into Jared’s stay into what has now been termed “recovery” instead of “detainment”, his visitor list opens up to include approved people of his choosing outside of immediate family members. Previously, his list had been limited to only Sherrie and Megan. With the restriction lifted, the list remains the same.
“He’s just nervous, I think,” Megan tells Jensen when she breaks the news that Jared hasn’t added him to his visitor’s list. While Jensen had been hoping for the addition, he isn’t surprised. His letters to Jared have gone unanswered and his requests for Megan to convey messages to Jared have been met with pitying looks and not a word in return. He betrayed Jared, full on abandoned his trust. He isn’t under the delusion that is forgivable.
“That’s stupid,” Mac says when he tries to explain it to her over coffee one afternoon.
“It’s not,” he defends, stirring the sugar into his black coffee and absently watching it swirl into nothingness.
“He’s probably just scared,” she offers, like she knows, and Jensen shrugs. Nervous, scared, or hating Jensen for throwing him to the wolves. All add up to the reality that Jared hasn’t spoken to him in nearly three months by his own volition and Jensen, as much as he hates it, has to respect his choice. Jared hasn’t has a choice in any what has happened. At least he can have a choice in this.
_____
“They want to exhume the casket,” Megan tells him one day, tossed in at the end of another glowing status update about Jared. Jensen freezes, mind going blank.
“They want to… to what?” he stutters, sick feeling washing over him. Even though he knows Jared is sitting safely in a treatment facility a few miles away, the idea of exhuming his casket is still unequivocally awful. Jensen had been at the funeral, had watched them lower it into the ground and the only comfort in that moment was knowing Jared was at peace, that it was his final resting place. To have that ground disturbed, the coffin extracted… it turns Jensen’s stomach.
“They want to exhume it,” Megan repeats, voice matter of fact but somewhat exhausted, like she has already had this conversation at length. “They said they need to make sure it’s empty and do some tests, for verification purposes.”
“Have there been cases where it’s not empty?” Jensen asks, alarmed. The idea that someone could be walking around while their body also lays six feet under… it’s not only physically impossible, it’s horrific.
“They didn’t say. They just said they fully expect it to be empty but they need to do it for legal reasons,” Megan explanation, though the clarification itself doesn’t do much to settle Jensen’s objections.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” she says, “I don’t like it either, but. One of those things, I guess.”
Jensen thinks it should feel stranger that an exhumation is “just one of those of those things” now, an “oh, by the way” at the end of a telephone conversation on a Tuesday. His life has been a series of unbelievable events for months now, and, though he still hates it, Megan is right. There’s no changing it.
“Yeah,” Jensen nods, looking out the window. “Just one of those things.”
_____
Sherrie calls him a couple weeks later to let him know the exhumation yielded an empty casket and “expected” results. Everything has been pretty tight-lipped, and any questions outside of a need-to-know basis were dismissed, she says. She doesn’t go much into what else they were looking for, only indicating it seemed to show Jared had been in the casket the appropriate amount of time. Jensen has seen enough forensic shows to catch what she’s talking about, but he doesn’t let his mind follow that trail of thought. Instead he focuses on listening talk about her recent visit with Jared and how he’s doing, alive and well.
_____
Four months in and Jared has had nothing but flawless bloodwork, an upward trajectory his doctors term “incredible” and, still, “miraculous.” It’s all still a wonder, some precious, delicate thing, hidden behind the walls of a recovery center Jensen has never stepped foot in. Most days it’s enough, to know Jared’s there and he’s thriving, against every odd in the book. Some days, it’s not.
“So he’s still not talking to you?” Chad asks, slurping through his straw at ice at In-N-Out, what is left of their meals discarded on the table top between them. Chad has spent the majority of the time recounting his trip to visit Jared, how he seemed a bit reserved but mostly back to his old self, and Jensen has simultaneously soaked in every word and fought against the growing surge of jealousy in his chest. It has been a constant lately, seeing the parade of people in his life who get to see Jared, talk to Jared, while Jensen sits on the sidelines, praying against reason for the day coach decides to take him off the bench.
“Nope,” Jensen murmurs, plopping the crumpled up straw wrapper onto the tray and scooping up a remaining fry.
“Damn.” Chad finally puts the empty drink down, leveling him a look. “I asked him about that, too, you know.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Chad says, shaking his head. “Didn’t give me an explanation, really. Just that he wasn’t ready.” Jensen scoffs at that, focusing his attention off in the distance.
“Yeah, that’s been his excuse for a while now,” Jensen mumbles, fingernail skimming back and forth over the edge of the french fry container.
“Maybe it’s not an excuse. It’s probably a lot for him,” Chad offers, and Jensen nods absently, because he doesn’t doubt that.
“Yeah,” he acknowledges, glancing down. Jensen knows it must be a lot for Jared, but, selfishly, all he can think about is how much it has been for him. Throwing himself into work, therapy two or three times a week, and taking every opportunity he can not to be with others just so he’s not alone with his thoughts. He isn’t doesn’t know if Jared is prolonging this because he isn’t sure what to do or if he’s avoiding hurting him, but this, the waiting, is worse.
If it’s over, Jensen needs to know. His life is in pieces, sharp, jagged pieces, and at least if he knew where he stands, he could know to start trying to piece them back together.
_____
“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Jensen grumbles as Danneel pulls him to the bar at Dickie’s a gay bar nestled along the downtown strip of Austin.
“You love it,” she yells over the music, slapping down a ten for the bartender as she orders them shots.
“I think you have me confused with you,” he rolls his eyes, stepping back and into the solid chest of someone behind him.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, turning to see a tall, attractive man smiling down at him. Being 6’1”, not many men smile down at him.
“You don’t have to apologize,” the man grins, putting an emphasis on the word “you” with a flirty smile. “What’s your name, babe?”
It’s blatant flirting, something Jensen would normally deflect on instinct. But he’s halfway drunk, the music so loud he can feel the beat in his chest, and this guy is tall, dark, and handsome and happens to be just his type. The crook of his smile is also a bit like Jared’s and, if Jensen squints in the dark of the club, he can almost pretend the slant of his eyes is similar as well. There’s a twinge in his chest, but the aching familiarity, however faint, keeps him from backing away.
“Jensen,” he responds, causing the man to lean in closer. It feels wrong, engaging someone like this, but Jensen has had nothing but rejection for months and it feels nice to have someone seem interested for once, to actually pay attention to him.
“Jensen. I like it,” the guy nods, his teeth bright in the dim lights. “My name is Nick.”
“Hey Nick,” Jensen says, taking a long sip from his rum and coke until it rattles on ice. Nick is watching him closely, eyeing him like he’s prey.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks and Jensen pauses, knowing this is a crossroads in the conversation. A drink isn’t exactly heading home with the guy, but it’s definitely flirty. It’s a precursor to other things.
All of a sudden, Jensen is hit with a memory. A frat party. He was nineteen and single, crowded along the back wall with friends. He wasn’t looking for anything that night, not really.
He heard him before he saw him, a loud, free sound of laughter that broke through the rap song blasting over the speakers. Jensen’s eyes snapped to the source and he saw Jared, grinning and gorgeous, pushing through the crowd of people to get to the table of drinks Jensen was standing by with his friends. He grabbed a beer and looked up, catching Jensen’s eye.
“Can I get you a drink?” he’d asked Jensen, a corny line, as Jensen stood three inches from the same table. Jensen grinned, though, and nodded, taking the offered can from Jared. They’d started talking that night and never quite stopped.
“Yo,” Nick says, looking a bit confused. “A drink?”
“Uh, no,” Jensen declines apologetically. “No thanks. I’m in a relationship, sorry.” Nick gives him a weird look but steps aside, leaving Jensen alone. After a moment, he turns, walking back to the bar.
“Did you get hit on?” Danneel asks excitedly, shoving a shot glass in his hand.
“Yeah.”
“Wow, sound more miserable about it, I dare you,” she jokes, but settles in heavily at his side, a solid presence for the remainder of the night.
_____
Nearly six months into Jared’s stay, Jensen gets a call on a Wednesday afternoon from a member of Jared’s recovery team. It’s the first time one has reached to him directly and it catches him off guard.
“I’m Misha Collins,” the man introduces himself, breezing past Jensen’s confused greeting. “Jared’s therapist. I have his permission to speak with you.” And that, in itself, is new, because up to this point, Jensen hasn’t had Jared’s permission to do anything.
“Oh,” Jensen says dumbly.
“He is doing very well,” Misha continues. “Extremely well, in fact. We are looking to discharge him in a week or so.” That, Jensen knew. Megan had outlined Jared’s return to home plan with him a couple of days ago, and even though he had spoken to her over the phone, Jensen could tell from her voice she was beaming with pride. It’s the best case scenario, an unimaginable victory just those few short months earlier.
“That’s great.”
“Yes, it is,” Misha agrees. “I am calling because one of the terms of that release involves you.”
“Me?” Jensen asks, puzzled.
“Yes. Would you be available to pay Jared a visit?” Misha asks and Jensen’s heart stalls in his chest. It’s all he has wanted for months, to see Jared, for Jared to want to see him.
“I, yes. Of course,” he blurts, before his brain catches up. “But. Wait. A term of release?”
“Yes,” Misha confirms. “It was determined in therapy that this is an important interaction for Jared in his recovery and we want to have it take place in a controlled environment where he has the proper support.”
“Oh,” Jensen swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. “So he doesn’t want to see me?” Jared doesn’t want to see Jensen. They’re forcing him to and, even worse, they think seeing him could upset Jared so much that he needs support and a controlled environment to make it through.
“He has been reluctant,” the therapist states carefully. “There have been concerns that have prevented him from reaching out.”
“I’m not,” Jensen begins, unsure what to say. “I love him.” He suddenly needs this stranger to know that, unsure what Jared has told him, unsure about anything now. He has always known Jared like the back of his hand, known him just as well as he knows himself, if not better. That was before he betrayed Jared, though, before Jared refused to speak to him for months. He doesn’t know this version of Jared, doesn’t know what he thinks of Jensen now.
Since they’ve been together, Jensen hasn’t known a Jared who didn’t know Jensen loved him. Now, he very well might think he doesn’t. Or he might not love Jensen anymore. Jensen isn’t sure which idea is more heartbreaking.
“I know,” Misha says, matter of fact and dismissive at the same time. “That’s why I think it’s best we set up time for the two of you to speak. Are you free Friday around dinner?”
Jensen isn’t. He offered to work late and then made plans to go out with Danneel to avoid being in the house that’s too empty now without Jared, too quiet.
“Yeah, absolutely,” he agrees, jotting the information down on a Post It and making a mental note to take care of his existing plans later.
_____
Jensen shows up to the facility at 5:15 on Friday, fifteen minutes early and absolutely vibrating with nervous energy. He was told he could bring dinner for the two of them, so he picked up Jared’s favorite Mexican food at Z’Tejas. The woman at the door checks his ID, and the security guard frisks him down before turning his attention to the takeout boxes. He cuts the food into tiny pieces, searching for foreign objects, before sifting through the tortilla chips with gloves and peering into the salsa. Jensen watches in astonishment, having been unaware the food would undergo a security check of its own, but Carla at the desk explains they have some dangerous residents in the facility and they need to be sure nothing is being brought into them.
“Who are you here to see?” she asks, and Jensen glances away as the security guard rebags the food, evidently satisfied.
“Jared,” Jensen answers automatically, about to add his last name before realizing it isn’t necessary. She lights up, grinning at the mention of his name.
“Oh, Jared!” she exclaims. “Why didn’t you say you say so? Jared’s a sweetheart.” The implication seems to be that if he had mentioned he’s here for Jared he wouldn’t have been subjected to the tortilla chip frisking. Jensen hates himself for the piece of him that flashes back to his kitchen all those months ago, thinking that if she saw Jared then, fury-eyed over the kitchen island, she wouldn’t be willing to waive the risk of a potential shank in an enchilada. He has been working on the nightmares, and most of the time he can chase those thoughts away. Without seeing him since the incident, however, it can be hard.
“Ruben, will you please lead Jensen to Jared? He’s in the small dining room,” Carla asks the security guard, earning a nod and a motion for Jensen to follow him. He does, working through stark, tiled halls, the entire facility painted with an eerie calm, until they set foot into what must be the dining room. Even there, the company is sparse, the room consisting of four people each set around their own tables.
Jensen’s eyes immediately snap to Jared, sitting at the center table, facing him. Their eyes meet and Jensen freezes, realizing no number of months or therapy sessions could have prepared him for this moment.
“And who is this?” a woman pops up from her seat, talking cheerfully in a southern drawl. She’s wearing a badge that proclaims her name is Sunny, not unlike the wide smile stretched across her face.
“Jensen,” he manages, eyes flitting back to Jared every few seconds. “Ackles. I’m, um. I’m here to see Jared Padalecki.”
“Ah, yes!” she grins, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and guiding him to the seat across from Jared at the hexagon table, similar to the tables from his high school cafeteria. “You sit. I’ll go grab you boys a drink. Iced water okay?” Jensen just nods, awkwardly ambling his limbs into the chair, staring openly at Jared.
“Hi,” he manages after a moment, clearing his throat. Jared gives him a shy smile.
“Hey.”
Lifting the takeout bag, he takes out the Styrofoam containers. “I, uh. I brought dinner.”
“What is it?” Jared asks, equal parts shy and curious.
“Z’Tejas,” Jensen smiles hopefully. “Your favorite.”
Jared lights up. “Really?”
“Yeah, enchiladas, chips, and salsa,” he lists off, sliding Jared a takeout container. “They even cut it up for you.”
“Cut it up?”
“Well, security did,” Jensen elaborates cheekily. “Making sure I wasn’t smuggling anything in.”
“Ah,” Jared nods with knowing smile. “Cocaine or shank?”
“I was getting shank vibes,” Jensen jokes, playing off Jared’s set up. “Enchiladas are the perfect cover.”
Jared smirks, popping the top on the take out container. “This looks awesome, man, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” They go quiet then, for a few moments, before both attempting to speak at the same time.
“Jared-”
“Jensen, I-”
Jensen holds up a surrendering hand, gesturing for Jared to go.
“How have you been?”
Jensen upturns the corner of his lip slightly, shrugging. “Alright,” he says, knowing this is the best he can give himself credit for, even though it’s still a bit generous. “Getting by. You?”
“I mean, I couldn’t really ask for a better response to the vaccine,” Jared smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Really,” Jensen shakes his head, disbelieving. “That’s incredible, man, really, it is.” The words fall stilted and distant between them, the length of the table feeling like miles. Another silence sets in, lodging heavily in Jensen’s ribcage. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but having Jared in front him and feeling so disconnected is somehow worse than not talking to him at all.
“Look, Jensen, I’m really sorry about everything. I know I shouldn’t have waited so long to have you come here,” Jared rushes the words out, looking miserable.
“It’s fine,” Jensen dismisses. “I get it. It must have been a crazy time. And I get it, man. What I did, it’s not really something someone can just get over.” His voice is small by the end, the words hard to form on his tongue, but he needs Jared to know it’s not his fault. He doesn’t blame him.
Jared, for his part, just stares at him as Sunny places the cups of water at their elbows, shock evident across his features.
“You… what?” he says, mouth agape. “Jensen, that’s not. I’m not mad at you. I was never mad at you.”
“Then what-“
“I was embarrassed,” Jared mumbles, cheeks reddening. “I am embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?” Jensen repeats, the word not processing in his brain. “What do you have to be embarrassed about?”
“Oh, I don’t know, everything?” Jared exclaims, eyes wide. “I fucked up. I refused to get tested and things got bad. I could have hurt someone. I could have hurt you,” he says that word like it’s another category, a whole ‘nother level of sin, and Jensen’s mind races to find a way to soothe Jared, to convince him he wasn’t culpable for his actions.
“It wasn’t your fault, Jared,” he settles on, the simplicity of the sentiment packing the strongest punch. “You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t you.”
“That makes it worse,” Jared murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I could feel myself slipping and I couldn’t stop it. I should have asked for help. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t.”
“No one could handle it,” Jensen says softly, leaning forward. “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.” Jared looks at him, lips pursed and eyes slicked with stubborn tears, and gives a small shake of his head, almost imperceptible.
“I wasn’t mad at you,” he repeats quietly, a redirection of the conversation that shows he’s not ready to address being acquitted of his culpability. Jensen is ready to push the issue before Jared says, “I… thank you. For what you did. Thank you.”
“It was the hardest thing I ever did,” Jensen exhales, before correcting himself. “Besides losing you, it was the hardest thing.”
“I know. I know it was and I appreciate it,” Jared says, giving him a watery smile. “You saved me.”
It’s all Jensen can do not to fall apart at the words. He winds himself tight, nodding and offering Jared a tight smile. It’s too heavy for a cafeteria, too heavy for this moment when Jensen can’t reach out and hold him. He wants to more than anything, but he can tell by the set of Jared’s shoulders, the way he’s folded in on himself, that it isn’t right. He settles on changing the topic and they drift into small talk, eating their meal in light but comfortable conversation.
When Sunny tells them it’s time for the visit to be over, Jensen stands reluctantly.
“I’ll bring Sadie by, when you get out,” he offers, busying himself with gathering the garbage strewn across the table. “If you’d like.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great,” Jared nods. He reaches to help Jensen with the trash, their hands brushing briefly.
“It was good to see you, Jared,” Jensen says genuinely as he stands back, quirking the corner of his lip up at him as Jared smiles back awkwardly, his hands deep in the pockets of his facility-issued uniform.
“Yeah, it was. Thanks for coming,” he says. Jensen nods once, turning and walking towards the trash before allowing Sunny to guide him back to the front desk. He tries not to think about how his entire body itches to pull Jared into a hug; how he can still feel Jared’s fingers on the top of his hand where they had accidently skimmed over the table. He tries not to think about how the visit was a start but he wants so much more.
_____
Jensen lies awake in bed that night, unable to sleep. His mind is racing, tripping over everything that happened at the facility and extrapolating off of his thoughts, creating anxiety-soaked visions of what could transpire in the future. He tries to tell himself that at least he knows now. He knows Jared doesn’t hate him, knows that Jared had blamed himself for what happened. It doesn’t make him happy to know that; Jared shouldn’t blame himself for any of this. None of it is his fault. But at least Jensen can work with that; he can spend every day of the rest of his life convincing Jared he is perfect and loved, if he has to. Convincing Jared not to hate him for betraying him would be a much taller order.
Even with the air cleared between them, though, there had been a distance. It had been awkward. It didn’t feel like they were them. Jensen knows his therapist would tell him to expect progress not perfection, that they have both been through a lot and expecting everything to come easy all at once is unrealistic. But Jensen has spent the last few months thinking Jared hates him, and while it’s progress to assume Jared might want to be friendly now, it seems too much like perfection to think Jared could want him back the way they were.
Still, Jensen has Jared’s assurance he isn’t mad at him and an invite from Megan to his welcome home party next weekend. For now, that has to be enough.
____
The welcome home party is pretty lowkey; it’s just the Padaleckis, Chad, and Sophia in the living room of the Padalecki home when Jensen arrives with Sadie. She bursts into the house, flying around the living room and greeting everyone, settling at Jared’s feet as he dotes on her, the scene bringing a smile to Jensen’s face.
“She missed you,” Sherrie coos, and Jensen knows it’s true, having watched her pace the house after Jared left and trying not to compare it to when Jared left the first time.
“I missed her,” Jared admits, wrapping his arms around her. As he leans forward the hem of his jeans hike slightly, revealing a black device wrapped around his ankle.
“Got your ankle bracelet?” Jensen asks, watching as Jared jumps slightly, like he forgot Jensen is there.
“Oh, yeah,” he nods, swiping his fingers over it. “Thirty days.” Megan had explained the process to Jensen over the phone, going over Jared’s initial month of house arrest and the following months of tracked freedom, until the year mark of testing clear of the virus. He has weekly testing, under the threat of a warrant if he no shows, and has to continue his consultations with his doctors and weekly therapy as a condition of his independence.
“Badass,” Chad declares, looking around the room. “Can we get started on the steaks now?”
Jensen spends the next hour bickering with Chad over the grill, arguing over the right way to make a ribeye. Jared hangs back, watching with a smirk on his face.
“Glad we won that one,” Jared tells Jensen under his breath after they stop Chad from going at the propane grill with lighter fluid.
“I think the whole block is glad we won that that one,” he grumbles, elbowing Chad out of the way to place the steaks on the grate. “No,” he snaps, swatting at his hand with the tongs as he reaches again. “You’ve forfeited your right.”
“He has a point,” Jared shrugs with a smirk. “You try to incinerate the entire neighborhood, you lose your grill rights.”
_____
Jensen visits periodically over the next week and a half, bringing Sadie and some of Jared’s things to Sherrie’s house where he resides on house arrest. Some days are better than others, conversation sliding a bit easier into their familiar banter, almost to the point where it feels like old times. Too often, though, their interactions are stilted, pulled back. Jensen can’t decide if it’s a case of them blocking their own shots and getting in their own heads too much or if the connection is just sparking out, unable to ignite.
“Bye, Jensen,” Jared tells him on his fifth visit, awkwardly waving him off as Jensen steps around him to guide Sadie out the front door. It has been weeks since their first meeting and they haven’t so much as hugged, and Jensen is dying for it, would give anything just to pull Jared in and not let him go. Jared’s body language shuts that down, though, more closed in on himself than Jensen has ever seen, and Jensen isn’t going to push. He’s starting to think all these visits may be a push in themselves, too much contact for Jared right now.
“I’ll see you,” Jensen offers, not giving promise of his next follow up visit like he normally does. Maybe he just needs some space, he thinks, vowing to give him a few days before coming over again. If Jared isn’t comfortable with him here, he needs to give him his time.
Jared seems to notice the omitted date, furrowing his brow. “When will you be back?” Jensen feels a surge of hope at the words before reining himself in. He’s on house arrest; he’s probably just wondering when he has something to look forward to other than Judge Judy reruns and the Hallmark channel.
“Soon,” Jensen assures, offering a half smile as he turns to leave. No matter how awkward the visit, leaving is always the hardest part.
Chapter Eight