Chapter Text
"No, we still keep in touch," Jared smiles, hand curled loosely around the end of his mic. He nods again, because he feels like he should reiterate the point. "We talk all the time."
.
Which, y'know. Isn't exactly the truth. Cause you know, man. Five years changes a lot, what is that, it's like, half a decade, and Jared's got commitments, now. Premieres and shit that he has to attend, and it's not like he could just go on hanging around Vancouver forever.
He grins enough to show the molars at the back of his mouth, and slings an arm loosely around George Clooney's shoulders.
George Clooney. Y'know. Batman. They had dinner together last night, and that's cool. Jared never woulda done that in Vancouver.
He squints against all of the flash bulbs going off on the other side of the fence, purple spots starting in at the edges of his vision, and laughs, pretending that someone somewhere said something that might've been funny enough for him to throw his head back like he's just saw a hundred dollar bill hanging behind him from the ceiling.
"George's people aren't happy," His assistant tells him, after, close to breathless as they jog down a back hallway together, towards the press room. "They want you to chill on the buddy buddy thing."
Jared makes a sour face, and stops short to fiddle around with the mic clipped into the hem of his Lacoste button down.
"He can buddy buddy himself, then," He tells her, decision made just as simple as that, then tugs the mic until it unclips itself.
His assistant is left standing there in the empty hallway, holding a mic, all of its fixings, and her stacked clipboard.
"Fuck," She sighs, so tired of this, as she starts back towards the green room with one hand on her forehead.
Jared gets his driver on the line, by himself, thank you, and is back in the safety of his black tinted SUV before Katie even figures out how she's gonna tell the producers that he's left.
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The next morning, the most popular story on TMZ is, 'Padalecki: It's My Party, I Won't Show Up if I Wanna.'
.
Jensen's waiting at the order counter in Starbucks when he sees Sandy for the first time in eight years.
Which is, y'know. Awkward. Considering.
"Nuh-uh!" She laughs, fucking radiant as she ever was, with her two rows of white teeth parting into an open mouthed grin as she touches his elbow softly, her fingers curving against the sleeve of his button down. "Jensen! It's been, what? Five years? No!"
He smiles back and palms the counter with one hand, licks his lips as he gathers both his balls back together and then replies, "It's been a while, huh?"
He had been going for casual, but that plan goes right out the window when he jerks his head back awkwardly, to smile at the barista pushing over his iced coffee and straw. It leaves damp streaks behind on the lightly grained counter, but Sandy notices that as much as she does Jensen's general social ineptitude.
"It's been too long!" She exclaims. If the first thing he notices is how pretty Sandy she looks, the second thing he sees is the gold wedding band snug around her finger. With the way she keeps touching all over his forearm, it'd be kinda hard to miss. "How's Jared? How are you guys?"
Jensen licks his lips again and then smiles with both of them tucked into his teeth. How she doesn't know yet, he's got no fucking clue.
"I hear he's alright," He replies, vague as ever, then motions down to her hand. "But you, huh?..."
She flaps her hand around and goes into a chattery explanation about this guy she met in Prague when she was over doing this and filming that, and Jensen stands there sipping his iced coffee like the dumb fuck who only gets series bit parts in Canadian productions, and they do that until her chai latte comes up and they part ways, promising to meet up again.
.
He has no idea how she didn't hear. He's pretty sure his sister's unborn kid will come out with the whole story in tact, every gory detail kept in there, somewhere.
.
Besides Ellen and Portia, they were really the first high profile gay couple to do the 'ole Californian ball and chain routine.
Fuck, and that had been dog's years ago. Jensen's momma probably still has the invite tucked away, somewhere. For the first two years of what Jensen now refers to as his own personal gong show, she'd had it framed in her own damn living room, sitting right there on top of the TV. Which had embarrassed Jensen at the time, and rightly so, especially since Jared had found the whole situation hilarious.
The part Jensen actually found funny was how content he'd lulled himself into being: every Christmas return trip down to Texas the same old stories came out, Jared would laugh and point at the invitation, kiss his momma on the cheek and sit beside Jensen at the dining room table to eat their green beans and potatoes and ham.
They'd had a mortgage, for fucks sake. A real mortgage on a real house in a very real suburb in Vancouver, a little on the high brow side but home none the less. Their living room had a gas fireplace and they'd put the flat screen in above that, they'd had their wedding pictures framed on a side table, and if owning a side table wasn't the most ineffectual part of being a married man, Jensen didn't know what was.
He's pretty sure he'd ended up taking an axe to that stupid fucking piece of furniture two days before they'd split up the rest of their belongings and Jared had moved back down to L.A. This new couple with googly eyes for each other moved into the home, and Jensen bought a condo in English Bay, right on the water, alongside all the retirees and empty summer condos.
So, you know. Jensen was lulled into a sincerity in thinking his life would get better with age.
Not entirely the truth. Sure, it wasn't exactly terrible now, but seven years ago was a lot better. From what he could remember, at least, but maybe he'd just forgotten all of the bad stuff already, anyways.
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Jared had proposed in the heat of summer, when Jensen had succumbed to walking around in flip flops for once, picking all the dead heads off of the two flower beds they'd actually managed to get growing in the back yard.
He'd been standing there, with a hose in one hand and Harley trying to bite the fingers off of his other one, while Jensen had stooped over to pick up a rogue chew toy. And Jared had just said, hose water dripping all over his bare feet, in front of God and the patch of bright green grass he was standing on, "Pretty sure I'm gonna marry you one day, man."
Jensen had stood up straight, shaking a dead ladybug shell off of the dog toy.
.
And that had been that.
.
He flies to New York City the next day to do all of the morning talk shows, and then David Letterman. Conan O'Brien is the next night, and during the day he does a dress rehearsal for Saturday Night Live. They dress him up like a pork chop and his entire opening monologue is peppered with gay jokes, which he doesn't really mind, because it's not like it's a big secret anymore.
Jared is cool with everything, even the skit that has him acting like a giant fag dancing to Barry White, yeah he's cool with everything, until they tell him they're gonna dress Kristen Wiig up in drag and have her play his shorter, older, less famous 'significant other.'
"I don't know," He says, shaking his head as he looks over the script. There are parts that are highlighted, but he doesn't know what they denote or mean. "It's kinda..." He trails off, and feels awkward and nauseous and all kinds of shitty things as the writer stares back at him, waiting. Jared blinks back at her. "It's sort of in bad taste, man. You know?"
She shakes her head and grabs the script out of his hand, pointing this and that out, saying, I know what you're thinking. I know what you're thinking, but this is what it'll translate to screen as, and this is what it's going to actually look like when we shoot it, she won't look like Jensen at all.
Well, she doesn't say 'Jensen' in so many words, but it's implied. Everything is implied.
"Alright," He finally says, still mostly sitting on the fence as he scratches at the back of his neck. He looks over at his assistant, and she looks kind of choked at him, but she usually looks some shade of pissed off these days, anyways. Jared looks back at the writer. "Can you put her in like, a black wig or something, though? Give her some dreads?"
The writer looks at him with an expression that says you're pretty and you're stupid, and then leads him over to one of the sound stages.
.
Jensen's got a schedule, now. Sunday is for sleeping, and sleeping only. Monday is the day he gets groceries and goes to the bank. Tuesdays are usually alright for reading scripts, and eating most of the food he bought on Monday. Wednesday he goes to the gym, and maybe takes a run around the block. Thursday and Friday he tries to find someone to hang out with on Saturday night, and on Saturday he usually ends up sitting alone on his couch, flipping between repeats of The Simpsons and the newest episode of Saturday Night Live.
Which brings him to this current moment in the fabric of time, sprawled out on his couch, with a beer in one hand, and a single serving of Orville Redenbacher microwaveable popcorn in the other. Overall, it's an appropriate way to cap of a socially awkward week.
He missed the opening monologue and possibly the first sketch, but he cracks into his popcorn regardless, and gets a nice handful in his mouth just as Jared wanders on screen in a pair of black tights and a bikini top.
And then he's sitting there, chewing soundlessly, feeling just a little bit sea sick as the popcorn suddenly doesn't taste like much of anything, and he decides to just chug his beer instead.
Everybody keeps telling him that he should get some counseling, so he doesn't start resenting Jared anymore than he already does.
Jensen reaches for the remote and turns off the TV, gets up from the couch, and leaves his beer on the table.
Everybody should start shutting the fuck up, he thinks.
.
Kristen Wiig has Anne of Green Gables style freckles penciled over the bridge of her nose, keeps her eyes open comically wide the entire sketch, and makes sure to stagger her legs, crooked at the knee in a way that makes her look like a bona fide cowboy.
During the commercial break, while he's alternating between chugging a bottle of water and changing into the next costume, Jared doesn't say anything. Through the next sketch with Fred Armisen, Jared grits his teeth and acts like a Hollywood douche bag because the script calls for it. He introduces the musical guest after the next break, and then runs to makeup to get ready for Weekend Update.
It's when he's sitting in the makeup chair that he finally snaps, both legs tangled up on the counter in front of his body as he stares himself down in the mirror.
"It's not my fault, you know," He bitches at his makeup artist's reflection, as he scowls and crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child who's been told that no, candy is not for dinner. She eyes him in the mirror but doesn't say a word. "Maybe I'm only a douche bag because that's what everybody's expecting of me, anyway."
After that she acts a lot like she just didn't hear him, which Jared figures is complete bull shit anyways, and then almost scalps him with her comb.
.
Things really started going to shit when Jared's ego started to get as big as his dick.
Jensen remembers it pretty well, actually. Standing in the kitchen of the old homestead, wearing his glasses and a pair of flannel pants that had one of the hems completely ripped off the leg. Jared was pacing back and forth in the dining room, so it must've been before he'd had it converted into an office. He'd been so close that Jensen could hear each bullshit word coming out of Jared's big talkin' mouth.
"They just said on the news that Palin got rushed at a signing in Chicago," Jensen had said as Jared ventured back into the room, looking all hot tempered around the collar and tense through the shoulders. He pointed the knife he was trying to butter his toast with at the TV over by the kitchen table, then made a reach for his orange juice.
Jared had waved him off and scowled, storming through the room and down the hallway, making a bee line for the upstairs staircase.
"Who gives a fuck," Jensen was pretty sure he might've sworn he'd heard Jared grumble, before jogging up the steps, skipping every second one.
.
This time, Jensen finds out that he's been parodied on Saturday Night Live through Steve, which is great. Totally doesn't make him feel like a complete fucking tool for ever knowing and loving Jared at all.
"Thought you should hear it sooner than later, man," Steve had sighed, sounding all put out for him, which Jensen kind of appreciated in a self deprecating way. "And it's better you hear it from me before someone else."
Jensen's propped up in a kitchen chair. He had been going through and purging some old text messages when Steve had called him, and now Jensen is just glad that he'd turned the channel when he did.
"And after all this time that dude is still a douche bag, Jen," Chris had just kept on going before Jensen even got to get his input in. "And I tell you what, it don't surprise me at all."
Rolling his eyes, Jensen leans back and says, "Good to know you were right all along then, man. Thanks for that."
"Cause that's exactly what I meant," Steve snorts at him. "I'm just sayin', that -- "
Jensen interrupts him and sighs, "Well just stop sayin'." He pauses when Steve makes another noise at him and mulls it over in his mind, trying to decide whether he should say what's on the tip of his tongue. It couldn't get any worse, so. "I ran into Sandy the other day."
Steve lights something, hopefully just a cigarette cause it sounds an awful lot like he's driving, and snorts a laugh. "Oh yeah? She still a bitch?"
"Get over it," Jensen smirks, palming the table top, cool against his hand. "Just 'cause she shot you down while she was technically still engaged to Jared doesn't mean shit, you know. She's a good girl."
Another sarcastic snort from Steve, and the squeal of his break pad as he comes to a tight stop. "Crazy bitch was smart enough to lose that jackass before shit really went down, I guess." He pauses, and exhales carefully, like he's studying the cherry. "Couldn't be bad, then."
"You're such a douche bag," Jensen says fondly, stretching his legs out. "She's still as fucking beautiful as ever. Doin' really well, too. Met some new guy in Prague."
Steve doesn't even stop to take a second and think before he's saying, "Maybe you should go to Prague."
"Maybe I will," Jensen echoes, actually thinking about it.
He hears the total insincerity in Steve's voice as he says, "Well just don't get too far, buddy, cause y'know how much we'd miss you."
.
The next day, Jensen is still seriously weighing his global options when he realizes that there's a paparazzi following him.
"Jensen, Jensen," The guy calls. He has a Spanish accent and he's wearing a bandanna under a skullcap, which Jensen can see just perfect being that he's coming at him from across the street. "What were you watching Saturday night, huh?"
Jensen licks his lips and steps close enough to be some lady's shadow as he hurries down the street. He knows it's pointless to even try to avoid them, that they'll just on and on until he finally snaps and gives in with something angry and worthwhile. And maybe that's where he and Jared were always the most different. Jensen's momma had taught him to have some class.
"I'm not saying anything," Jensen tells him, looking right into the camera lens. Then he looks up and over at the photographer, and holds his stare for a minute, too. He looks amused, and Jensen knows it's at his expense. "So don't bother."
.
Maybe Jared's favorite photograph is still the one that has all of his old Vancouver buddies in it. It had been taken during the last summer shooting Supernatural, and Chad had been up for the weekend. Tom had even hauled his ass over, and a bunch of the sound guys that Jared had forged friendships with over the years were hanging out, too. And then there was Jensen, Jensen's sister, and a girl that Jared doesn't remember real good but is still pretty sure was one of Mackenzie's friends.
The photo Jared likes the best was taken in their old place, in the kitchen before they got it remodeled, and sometime during the year before he got the dining room converted into his home office. They'd all been a little wasted and a lot happy, Jensen had been holding onto a Rock Band guitar covered in stickers, he had been laughing up at Jared from the floor.
And that's all Jared needs to remember about the picture to make his mouth go sour and spit sick.
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Jensen's working a gig this week, playing a hardened soldier in another one of Paul Gross' dumb war movies. He knows he's getting all the roles Callum Keith Rennie used to get, but that dude is dead now, and Jensen is just happy to be getting a paycheck to cover his mortgage.
On his break, he sits down in one of the chairs next to the catering table to eat his lunch and read his tabloids, the glossy on one knee, and his chicken Parmesan container on the other. Britney's on the cover and Miley's got another one of the main features, but Jensen really just likes to read about how the stars are just like him. His second favorite thing are the nipple slips.
Which doesn't make him any worse of a person than he was before, really.
He finishes his chicken and recycles the container, then rolls his tabloid up and tucks it into the back pocket of his uniform for the trek across set, back over to where they're wrapping shooting today. Maybe he doesn't have a trailer, and maybe today's not only his first day but also his last day, too, but at least he isn't making the B list Hollywood circles yet, and as long as he can stay up here and out of California, he figures he'll be happy.
He should be happy.
.
They started hooking up between the first season, and when they got renewed for the second. It had started off as a bit of Canadian nookie that was featuring neither fan nor actress of the week, and it was hot and they were both best friends, so it worked out. Neither of them had expected to actually fall in love with each other, or for the show to get picked up again and again. Both of those things happened in one fast, jolting summer that came after the second season started shooting.
Back then Jensen chose to blame it on the fresh air and aimed to play it cool the whole way. Jared fell fast and hard and deeply, and made it his business to make it Jensen's business, too. And he did, he worked Jensen over until he couldn't see straight unless Jared's hand was on his back, guiding, until he didn't know up from down unless he could watch Jared lead the way for the both of them -- but, mostly, he made it so Jensen couldn't figure out where his life was headed unless he could see Jared in there somewhere, too.
And maybe that was when it had all really started to go to shit.
.
"You're in too deep, brother," Chris used to tell him.
Usually Jared would be in the other room, and the two of them would be in the kitchen while Jensen got the dinner out of the oven or finished dialing for the pizza or accidentally knocked their beer over in the fridge. Usually they'd be able to hear Jared tawlk-ing about whatever the hell it was that he used to be so passionate about in the other room, and Jensen would have to narrow his eyes to slits and frown and ssshhhttt at Chris with a dirty look on his face.
Chris just used to snicker and duck his head down so he could laugh behind his shoulder and beer bottle while Jared came back into the room, that dimpled grin on his face as he headed straight for Jensen to pat his shoulder or touch the back of his head, hover close over his back just to see what he was doing and how it was getting done.
Jensen could usually still hear Chris laughing to himself, by himself behind them, but by the time he'd usually manage to turn around with Jared lurking around behind him, over him, Chris'd usually be gone already and only the empty stool would be left. Headed off to the other room to claim the best seat of the first controller or whatever the fuck they used to care about so much when they were that young.
Which Jensen didn't really consider himself at the time, young, and that was funny to look back when you were 39 or 40 or 41 or 42.
Especially now, when Jensen is just a bitter old man who still hates the fact that Chris had been right about them all along.
.
Jared first notices it in the photo stuck to the refrigerator door.
It's just, he could've swore Harley had been in there, hanging around Jared's feet with his big dumb dog grin and tongue hanging out of his mouth all over the place.
It had been one of the reasons Jared had even bothered to stick it up there in the first place.
"Huh," Jared says, to nobody in particular, with his bottle of water in one hand as he reaches over with the other and plucks the photo off of the stainless steel. He wasn't in New York for that long, was he?
Sipping at his water with one eye still lingering on the photo, Jared sets it down on the counter top instead of putting it back, and doesn't give it much more thought.
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Jensen had always been a little weary of relationships.
His parents had never been all that healthy together, which Jensen hadn't even realized until he was somewhere in his mid twenties. His sister's first real relationship had turned abusive quickly, and he had been the one who took her down to the clinic for an exam. All of his buddies were only into fucking anything with tits big enough to jiggle, and being that that was all any of them wanted, Jensen hadn't even realized that it was possible to engage in a healthy, happy relationship, until he'd met Jared and Sandy.
And everyone knows how that ended up turning out, eventually. It'd gone sour faster than old milk when he'd come along.
And that's why Jared had kept her around for so long after the two of them really got down into it, Jensen thinks. As a catch me net. And Jensen didn't exactly feel good that he was someone's Plan A, but he didn't feel all that bad about making Sandy a Plan B, either. All Jared had wanted when he was that young was to love and be loved, he had been passionate about everything he did, and it turned out that Jensen had accidentally turned into one of those things.
Jared broke him down slowly and carefully, and it took years for him to be able to do it. By the end of that initial stretch, Jared had woven himself into every facet of Jensen's life, so much that it was a lot like getting stuck in a wind tunnel the day Jensen came home and most of Jared's things were gone. Jensen still remembers that feeling, holding onto the door knob with one hand, his keys still in the other.
He'd done a quick check. Jared's toothbrush was gone from the sink, sock drawer mostly emptied, passport missing from the office, laptop no longer settled just so on the edge of his desk or the kitchen table. Both of the dogs were locked up in the back hallway, which was usual if neither of them were home, but by the sad looks on their faces Jensen knew he couldn't look either of them in the eye.
Didn't touch anything, then. Closed and locked the front door behind him, before he got back into his car and went to check in at the nearest, most expensive hotel. Called a mutual friend of theirs from the lobby to make sure the dogs were taken care of.
Jensen couldn't go back to that house for days, really.
.
Jared is on board an overseas trip to Berlin, reading an European tabloid when the in flight stewardess comes by, offering him a drink.
"Yeah," He says, not looking away from his glossy. He flips to the next page, which is just an article about some British chick he's never heard of before, so he goes to the next page quickly after that.
He glances up when he hears the clink of ice against the inside of his glass.
"No ice," He says, looking up at the stewardess hovering over him, before he goes back to his magazine.
She sucks the lipstick off of her bottom lip in an effort not to simply lean over, and empty the drink into his lap.
.
The first thing Jensen remembers about meeting Jared, was thinking a lot about his hands.
"You know what they say about guys with big hands," Sophia had whispered at him the night Jared introduced them both to each other, and she'd been looking pretty and a whole lot classier than Chad had ever gave her credit for while they'd sat there watching Jared play darts.
Jensen had been this side of buzzed when he'd looked Jared up and down, and grinned crookedly at her.
"Big cock," He'd said, making her laugh and cover her mouth to keep the lime and vodka in.
She'd leaned over and rested her hand against the back of Jensen's chair as she sighed and looked past him at the dart board, and the happy looking group of boys playing it.
"Big feet," She'd said, eyes flickering back to look Jensen in the face. They'd both tried to keep it together for all of one moment, before helplessly dissolving into laughter that had Jared wandering back to their table with his lips leading the rest of his body.
Jensen was still wiping at one eye and breaking into laughter whenever he looked Sophia in the face as Jared came up, crotch level with their table.
"What's goin' on?" Jared had drawled, a tried and true Texan when the booze came out, with one hand coasting down the nape of Jensen's neck.
"Nothin'," They'd both answered innocently, unable to look at each other as they reached for their drinks. And by the sly grin on Jared's face, they both knew he believed neither of them.
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That same night in the bar, after Sophia's buzz had died down to only texting on her cell phone in the furthest corner of the booth, Jared and Jensen had run off to the bathrooms, drunk enough to grab each other the whole way down the crowded hall, Jared's laughter sinking into the cheap cowboy tat hanging from the dusty walls.
If there's one thing Jensen will ever really remember from that night, it'd be the way Jared bumped into him from behind and held onto his hips with both hands the whole time he'd nuzzled his nose through the hair at the crown of Jensen's head. Jensen'll remember the hot damp way Jared's breath had warmed up the nape of his neck and the shell of his ear, and the way that feeling had completely froze him in that hallway, froze him too good, until Jared laughed quietly again, a huff of warm damp against Jensen's head before he reached forward with one hand and swung open the bathroom door.
Once that door had closed all bets had been off, Jensen swung around and grinned up at Jared with his tequila stained mouth, walking them backwards into the closest stall, keeping hold of Jared by the buttons on his shirt.
Jared had grinned down at him the entire time, hair falling into his eyes, following in the path Jensen lead him through, even though Jensen was leading blind.
The bathroom stall door had closed behind them, then, and neither had ever looked back.