full notes, disclaimer, etc. in the master post.






02
they take shape and they tend to get better with time




When Jared gets off the plane in Vancouver that afternoon he nearly walks by Jensen, who is sitting in his arrival gate with a Rangers cap low over his eyes while he does a crossword. A laptop bag is stuffed under his seat and there are two cups of coffee on the seat to his left.

Jared doubles back and Jensen looks up when he feels the shadow over him. He splits into a grin, hey, man, gets up and pulls Jared in to clap his shoulder. Jared forces a hug, because he’s that guy, and takes one of the coffees. Gives a salute to Jensen, who picks up his own.

Men in business professional bustle past them; women with peep-toe heels and rolling suitcases, teenagers with dreds and tattered Jansport backpacks. A young girl with braids and track pants is racing her father to the magazine racks down the concourse. No one notices them. In airports, everyone has a purpose.

“When’d you get in?” Jared asks, leading the way to baggage claim while Jensen shoulders his carry on.

“Forty five minutes ago, maybe. I was three gates down so I figured I might as well wait. Sorry I missed you in town, man. You know how it goes.”

“Hey, you were busy. I was too. Did you eat already?”

“I think the real question here is, does it matter?”

Jared grins.




It’s the weekend before shooting is set to start and Vancouver has welcomed them back with milder temperatures and hospitable weather. It’s two in the morning and the clouds are low, but there’s still an echo of warmth left on the air. It runs through Jared’s fingers as they make their way home for the night.

Neither of them should be driving, but they are snickering and on the road and Jensen is really good at pretending he isn’t drunk. Jared would trust him either way, if were forced to be honest.

And Jared needs this, good Christ does he need this. In the first five minutes of their drive out of the airport, Jensen had asked, What happened? And Jared hadn’t been able to answer, because really, nothing had happened. And Jensen had shaken his head, and Jared had said, I am a dickhead, and Jensen had nodded his agreement.

So they’d gone to the place they always go, a pub halfway between their places, a neighborhood-type place with a jukebox and a carnival popper filled with stale yellow popcorn. They got rounds of tall house drafts and Jared had bellyached his way through plans and discussions and nerves until he finally wound down to I don’t even know, man.

And Jensen had nodded and said, you’ll figure it out, and clapped him on the back sympathetically. Deep down you know what you want; it’s just that you gotta convince the rest of yourself that you’re right.

And Jared had stared at him for a second, watching him slug down the rest of his beer, and nodded, yeah, like that was the most brilliant thing he’d ever heard. He was too drunk to do it right now, but all he had to do was look into himself and find it. Yeah.

“Cab next time,” Jared says now, nodding responsibly, and starts laughing, because God are they assholes.

“Definitely,” Jensen agrees, and he is laughing too, but he is totally calm at the wheel. The windows are open, the radio’s low, he’s doing the speed limit, he’s sprawled in his seat, reclined somewhere between comfortable and straight thug. He doesn’t even look tired, and Jared is so amazed by this.

Then Jensen says, “Hey.”

And Jared says, “Hey!” like it’s a game.

And Jensen says, “Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.”

And Jared says, “Then it’s a good thing we're not friends!”

And Jensen says, “Nice one, Sammy,” and they fucking laugh, because being Winchesters in another life is their favorite inside joke.

The silence filters in again, giving the radio just enough voice for Jensen to catch a tune and start singing.

They are passing through residential districts: prim lawns, neatly pruned trees, houses with window shutters that smartly offset the neutral color of the siding. Two car garages. Cherry-stained decks with motion sensor lights. The neighborhood simply belches married with two point five kids.

Jared stares out the window and is overcome by sadness. He beckons to Jensen, nods out the windshield.

“Is this gonna be my life, man?” he asks.

Jensen hums in question, tries to latch onto what Jared means. “What, like, suburbia? Hell yes, Jared Padalecki. You are dying for a hybrid SUV and a weekly pee-wee soccer practice. It’s in your blood, fuck’s sake. I can’t believe you don’t know that yet.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It is, my man. In fact,” Jensen replies. “I’ve got a ball in the back if you wanna test me.”

A smile helplessly creeps onto Jared’s face. Jensen is parking in front of a deserted ball field. He knows the soccer ball rolling around in the trunk of Jensen’s car, too; he lets the dogs play with it when they’re around.

They’re going to jump the fence and play drunk soccer until the sun rises. Jared says, “Dude, I don’t know if I have it in me right now.”

And Jensen says, “Guess how much of a choice you have.”

And Jared nods, sighs, climbs out of the car. He knows.




Jared’s not buying the hype of Jensen’s Perfect Assistant until they pick her up from the airport in Vancouver on a Wednesday afternoon. He’s looking around the terminal, not knowing who he’s looking for, getting distracted by tight jeans, or couples hugging, or babies that look like Sandy.

Then Jensen says, “There she is,” and Jared bristles to attention.

Jensen shouts, “Cait!” and only then does Jared know where to look, because he sees a tall brunette in a coral sundress and cropped brown jacket as she lights up in a smile and heads in their direction.

Jared is immediately wary of her, but she looks incredibly comfortable, and put together. It’s like she’s coming to greet relatives, like he’s about to be part of a happy airport reunion scene. It warms him to her a little

“Jensen, hi!” she says, looking at him like they’re old friends, and then darting her gaze to meet Jared’s with no sense of trepidation at all. She is confident, and would have had no trouble introducing herself, if Jensen had not done so for her. Jared quickly puts on a smile, the big one, the ear-to-ear, great to meet you, darlin’ one.

Jensen claps a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Co-star, best friend, other half,” he grins. “Get used to this mug cause it’s always around.”

Damn right, Jared thinks as he takes her hand. “Heard nothing but great things, Cait, it’s real nice to meet you.”

She beams at him, and says, “Likewise, Jared.”

And Jensen is just smiling like it’s snowing in the Valley. Jared is wary of how pleased Jensen is with this introduction – it feels like Jensen is introducing a girlfriend to his parents and knowing that they are going to approve. Jared doesn’t know what else to do, so he just plays the part.

They take her to the apartment she picked out over craigslist, and carry her bags up for her, and Jensen tells her not to worry about the whole job thing until she’s good and settled. He promises that they’ll take her out this weekend and introduce her around and get her acquainted with the city. She says thanks, boys, and promises with a smirk to whip them up a big breakfast the morning after.

In the car, Jared nods and says, “All right, yeah, she’s pretty perfect,” and Jensen nods back like, well, duh.




Three weeks into shooting, Jared comes home one night, boots heavy with mud and exhaustion. There is a stack of unopened mail. There are message lights flashing on the answering machine. There are dirty dishes. Only Harley comes to greet him at the door.

It was only earlier this afternoon that Jared had been telling Jensen about Sadie having seizures during hiatus. They’d come out of nowhere, really, and the first time Jared saw her caught in one, vomiting on herself under the kitchen table, he got so dizzy with terror that he couldn’t watch.

At her first appointment the vet had asked, has she ever sustained any serious injury to her head? And Jared had said, Not that I know of, but I’ve got a lot of land, and sometimes she disappears for a while, and the vet had nodded gravely, like that was it. All that land and freedom had done it. Whatever “it” was.

Still hovering at the front door, Jared kneels down to pull Harley against him; he’s sick in his stomach and for a second he can’t bring himself to go look for her. But he does, and he finds her under the kitchen table again, and she isn’t moving and he knows that she is gone because Harley won’t go near her. Jared is on his knees staring at his dead dog, and Harley is at the threshold of the doorway, whining and pacing.

He immediately calls Jensen, and Jensen says, “Dude, I literally saw you ten minutes ago,” and Jared says, “My dog is dead,” and Jensen says, “Shit, fuck, all right I’ll be right over.”

When Jensen gets there, Jared is on the couch, staring at a blank television screen. Jared looks up and Jensen has already changed into sweats, and now he’s got his Rangers cap low over his eyes. He asks where she is, and Jared tells him, and Jensen goes to look, and comes back into the room and says, “Holy shit, man,” and sits down next to Jared.

Harley is sitting at their feet whining, and he won’t shut up so Jared yells at him nastily, and Harley shuts up, sliding to the floor pathetically to lie down with his head on his paws. Jared can feel Jensen staring at him.

“I don’t even know what to do,” Jared says. “I can’t leave her there but I can’t.”

“You want me to?” Jensen asks.

After a hesitation Jared nods, and so Jensen gets up and heads outside, but Harley remains at Jared’s feet, waiting for him. After a few minutes Jared heads outside too, and pulls a shovel out of the shed behind the house, and stumbles out into the dark with a flashlight.

Harley takes off at a gallop and Jared loses him in seconds. He finds them both at the very edge of the property, Harley watching placidly as Jensen digs out a ditch from the soft earth.

With Jared helping, it only takes another five minutes or so, and while he catches his breath Jensen goes back to the house to get Sadie. When Jensen comes back, Sadie is cradled in his arms and she’s cleaned of her mess, and her coat shines against the flashlight beam. Jared starts to cry and he doesn’t even feel ashamed.

Jensen lays her down and they cover her, and as they stumble back to the house the sky is already turning from black to midnight blue again. Jared wipes his face on the hem of his shirt.

They clean up quickly; Jared throws Jensen a fresh tee-shirt and Jensen crashes on the couch. They get a few hours of sleep before getting up again to shower and head out of the house for make up at the next location. Neither of them says anything until the sun has risen completely, and that night has gone without a trace of it left in the sky.




He calls Sandy that afternoon to tell her what happened, and her words get caught in her throat. “Baby that is awful, are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” he says.

“How’s Harley doing?” she asks, and it’s the right question.

“Confused, and clingy as hell. And he won’t go into the kitchen.”

“Maybe if you got another playmate for him?” she suggests, and that is so wrong that Jared’s insides twist up.

“Yeah maybe,” Jared says. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet though.”

“Oh, yeah, no, of course not,” she says earnestly, and by and by the topic of conversation switches to the wedding and she asks him if he has any ideas about what bakery they should go to for the cake, or if he already knows someone he wants to get to play for the reception.

“Jensen said he’s gonna ask Steve,” Jared says. “He’ll probably play a little, DJ a little, get the best of both worlds.”

She loves that, it really makes her happy, but Jared can’t really share it with her right now.




They have a Sunday afternoon off and Jared is trying to explain the multitude of shitty feelings he confronted during hiatus, veering off ever so often to rant about that fucking wedding planner Sandy totes around everywhere. Jensen laughs hard, asking if she’s going to be at the grocery store, choosing which cans to tie to the back of Jared’s F-250. Jared positively sours, refusing to laugh.

“So you’re panicking because it’s basically a reality, you’re married, for real,” Jensen says, hand hanging out the window in a rare moment of Vancouver sunshine. He smoothly cuts off two lanes of traffic to take the next left turn without so much as a hitch in the car’s giddy up.

Jared can tell that Jensen is really trying to sympathize, but can’t when he thinks Jared’s being a total asshole.

“Maybe,” Jared says moodily.

He is annoyed, staring at the dash with an expression he can feel is petulance. The outside breeze laps at his skin, welcomes him to the fresh Canadian summer, but he can’t bring himself to enjoy it. Just like he can’t bring himself to act like an adult right now. He’s feeling bitchy, and goddamnit, he wants to stay bitchy.

“Wanna get ice cream?” Jensen asks, nodding to the plaza across the intersection. It’s a small stand with a blue awning, a family-owned joint that Jared found in their first month of shooting.

As the light turns green, Jared says, “Yes,” and his sulky tone makes Jensen laugh out loud.




They’ve spent so much time in Jensen’s trailer today that it’s becoming claustrophobic. Shooting has been delayed because one of the main cameras is offline, and there are only so many times Jared can run lines before they stop being a scene and start becoming just words.

So Jensen’s been on his laptop listening to new albums he’s downloaded, and Jared’s been throwing darts and shooting hoops and eating Pringles and going out of his mind with boredom. He lays on the pull-out couch and stares at the ceiling.

Cait comes by to check in, lets Jensen know that she’ll be making some phone calls for him, and asks if he needs anything. Jared tosses her the basketball, says, take a shot, and she does, and it’s nothing but net. They all high five, and Jared is impressed.

“I think I picked her because she is the female version of you,” Jensen says after she leaves, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Jared looks up to find him staring out the window like the words and thoughts aren’t coming from him, but he is using this quiet voice that he sometimes uses for important things. And Jared knows this is important, but Jensen just detaches from it, refusing to own it.

And Jared can’t stand it because that one absent remark is exactly the thought Jared has had in his head since meeting Cait, and Jensen has the attitude he would use to rehearse his grocery list.

Jared doesn’t reply, and Jensen doesn’t seem to care about that either, and that also makes Jared want to punch something. They sit in silence, and Jensen doesn’t seem to notice that this is the most uncomfortable silence they’ve ever had. And Jared really, really hates it.




“His timing is amazing. I mean, like, I know I’m not awful, but seriously if I just had one iota of his talent, I think I could die happy. I mean, did you see Twelve Monkeys? Burn After Reading? Hell, The Mexican? He’s a fucking genius. Totally not used enough in comedic roles. And I’m tired of people saying he’s over-rated. Just because he’s been an A-list legend for like two decades doesn’t mean he’s over-rated. It just means he’s still that good.”

Jared notices the silence, probably about ten minutes too late. He’s been idolizing for ten minutes, yammering for ten minutes, just to fill the spaces between delivering lines, and Jensen has been sitting beside him, quiet.

Jared glances over quickly and Jensen is just studying him, with that tell-nothing smirk on his face, with that slightly cocked eyebrow that Jared interprets as dumb kid. But Jensen just nods in agreement, Yes, Jared, Brad Pitt is amazing, we all know, it’s an aged argument.

“Shut up,” Jared mumbles, giving an embarrassed smile and hiding his face. He feels like a teenager, mouthing off bland opinions that don’t actually mean anything. He’s always doing that; gushing, ranting, running off on a diatribe. Like a verbose idiot.

They sink back into the quiet, and Jensen’s thoughts are as indecipherable as always.

And Jared realizes that before Jensen, Jared was fearless. He didn’t find himself intimidated easily, never felt himself too young or immature, was fairly confident in his attitudes and values and world views.

He’s never thought of himself as someone irrational or not concerned enough with details, but in many ways that’s how he acts. He’d bought a house in a matter of three days; the process had been find it, view it, like it, put the money down. Honestly, it had worked out well enough for him; but he knows it isn’t how Jensen would have done it.

And every moment of silence between them, every time Jensen takes a moment longer to evaluate or second-guess, Jared feels a little smaller for the shout inside of him that says, let’s just do this! It makes him feel like he should be more careful; he should worry about things sometimes, like Jensen.

He realizes then, with a startle, that when he’s with Jensen he wants to be a better person.




Jared feels better about himself when they’re in front of cameras, doing press, because this is the one thing Jared does better than Jensen.

“That’s a great question, you know, we have a pretty long day actually, I don’t know if you’d call our free time “free time,” a lot of times, you know, it just feels like we’re waiting in the wings for filming to be underway again. But I might, I don’t know, I might say –“

“He’s actually been working on some songwriting, and he’s tryin’ to learn my big dumb fingers some guitar playing. I spent most of my downtime out with my dogs. Take ‘em hiking, give ‘em a change of scenery. Vancouver’s a beautiful place.”

Jensen doesn’t say it, but he totally hates press. He doesn’t have to say anything because it’s evident to Jared. In these moments he thinks of himself as Jensen’s personal savior, equal parts proud and annoyed because he has had to assume the role of Mouthpiece in their little duo.

But hell, someone’s gotta make them look good.

And it’s not like he’s keeping score; it’s not like it makes him feel good that Jensen practically shuts down in the face of cameras and reporters. Jared doesn’t dig it either, and knows that most of the reason he’s become so good at it is because he spends so much time deflecting the attention to himself when he knows Jensen is uncomfortable and possibly even miserable.

And honestly it is also partly to spare the world from Jensen’s quiet rambling, the way he talks circles around a question, digging for the right words, doesn’t make eye contact, and is generally painful to watch. It endears him to Jared, makes Jared remember that Jensen isn’t always the cool fucking cucumber he makes himself out to be.

So Jared fields the questions and Jensen nods his agreement, fills in the logical blanks that Jared sometimes leaves behind, and the grateful looks Jensen briefly throws him are always worth it.

“You are too good at that,” Jensen says sometimes, and Jared will shrug and say, “I know.” And that’s as close to thanks/you’re welcome that they will ever need to be.