SPN J2 AU fic: Green Means Go (2/4)

[electricalgwen]

Masterpost

Part Two

Dean is not a morning person. In the early weeks of their relationship he used to try to get up with Danni, to make her coffee and wave her off. Nowadays, he rolls over into the warmth she leaves behind and grunts a sleepy acknowledgment if she drops a kiss on top of his head before heading out. It may be the result of working bartender hours, but Dean suspects he’s never been an early riser.

He doesn’t set an alarm clock. The sunlight eventually makes its way across his face. It’s a kinder, gentler way to wake up. Actually, it’s probably his internal clock that does it, since he wakes up at the same time on rainy days too, but he likes sunny days best. There’s something wonderful about stretching out in the sun and not having to get up. Sometimes, he’ll stay in bed till after noon, reading and drowsing. Their house is in an older area, with larger lots and beautiful old trees, space between the dwellings. He likes the quiet.

It’s Friday, though, and he’s due at the elementary school at 12:30 for lunchtime reading help group, so when bars of sun stream across the pillow he hauls himself up and heads for the shower. Crossing the landing, he smiles at the rich, earthy smell in the air; Danni must have set the coffeemaker on timer for him.

He has a quick shower, towels off his hair, and pulls on boxers and a pair of pants before heading downstairs. Coffee first; grooming can wait.

Danni’s left the paper strewn across the counter. He sits at the breakfast bar, feet tucked around the legs of the stool, and drinks his first cup of coffee as fast as its heat will allow. He pours a second and lets it stand to cool slightly while he makes toast, buttering it and cutting it into precise triangles.

She’s on page 5, the missing woman, government employee who vanished without trace three days ago. There’s a picture. She looks young and innocent, too much so for an unstable world like this. Around her are other stories of loss and mayhem. Another subway bombing in the New Democratic Union. A hurricane expected in the Gulf. Ecoterrorists have taken out yet another dam in the North, their concrete-eating algae overrunning it within a week; government scientists still haven’t figured out how the Greens activate and/or shut off the biological menace.

The microwave display reads 11:23. Time to get moving. He licks his fingers and systematically cleans the crumbs from the plate before depositing it and his empty cup in the dishwasher. He goes upstairs and picks out a shirt, tossing it on the bed, and heads for the bathroom.

He smears shaving cream across both cheeks, rubs a hand over his throat. The razor clears long smooth swathes along his face, lightly tanned skin emerging through the white foam obscuring it. He finds he’s holding his breath as he shaves upwards along his throat. The world seems even more quiet than usual, the scrape of blade across skin the only noise, until he turns on the faucet, rinses the razor.

He runs a cloth under the warm water and wipes his face clean. Just as he opens his eyes, there’s the tiniest flicker of motion in the mirror.

Before he even registers the movement, Dean is dropping to the floor, tucking his head and rolling into a ball towards the window behind him. Window and mirror splinter, glass shards flying everywhere, shattering further on the tiled floor.

There’s no sound from outside. Dean knows, somehow, this is bad, this is worse than yells or running footsteps or the cocking of a gun. This is someone who knows their job.

He’s crouched under the window and it hits him how ridiculous a situation this is. He ought to be paralyzed with fear – fuck that, he ought to be dead – and instead it’s as if he’s divided, half of him watching from above while something in the hindbrain judges distances, vectors, speed.

There’s a bullet buried in the wall at the height of his head. At least one person is outside. It is likely someone else is downstairs. There is no gun in the house. He can get across the room and through the door in 1.7 seconds, but he will almost certainly cut his bare feet; that will slow him down and leave a blood trail. His phone is on the bedside table. He is still holding the facecloth.

He knots the cloth around his right foot, counts to three, and leaps forward, pushing off the wall and ducking his head.

Another shot cracks the silence but nothing hurts; he can’t be hit. In three long strides he’s reached the doorway; he falls through, rolling on the carpet and kicking the door shut. His left foot is bleeding but the cuts are shallow. The facecloth has mostly kept the glass out of his right foot. He thinks, a little wildly, that he’s glad Danni insisted on the expensive, thick Egyptian cotton towel sets.

The window that lets in the sunshine is now a threat; he stays low and crawls towards the bed. He reaches up and snags his phone off the table, jamming it in his pants pocket.

Another round thuds into the hallway doorframe. He gives up on trying to grab his shirt and instead edges along the wall least visible from the window, getting as close to the door as he dares. He says a silent prayer, counts to three, and makes a run for it.

He barely sees the bullet miss him by inches, but he can feel the rush of air.

He kicks the bedroom door shut as well and races for the top of the stairs. He pauses there a moment to think. The house security system should already have been triggered so he has to assume it’s been disabled. He has a phone, he could dial 911, but their response times are suboptimal and he’s not sure he’ll survive that long.

The car key should be on the hook by the front door. God. Please let him have hung it up last night. He was too tired and unsettled, he can’t remember if he did.

He slides down the stairs, next to the wall where they’re least likely to creak. He steps over the fourth stair from the bottom entirely; it’s always noisy. He takes a deep breath and peers quickly around the corner of the stairs. The hall is apparently empty.

He steps in, moves towards the front door. His hand is on the key when the door opens.

It’s the guy from the bar. With a gun.

The hall’s too long and straight; Dean won’t be able to get out of the way.

The guy is just staring at him, though. They stand there a few seconds, frozen, and then Dean hears the tiniest noise behind him.

He ducks as he turns. He catches a glimpse of a tall shape stepping into the hall from the kitchen – he must have come in the back door. There’s a muffled bang – silencer, his brain supplies – and the guy from the bar staggers back as the shot barely misses Dean and grazes him instead. Dean takes advantage, shoves past him and out the door, slamming it shut against any further shots and palming the maglock. It might slow them down, buy him a few seconds at least.

He races down the steps and across the front lawn, heading for the car. He’s glancing back over his shoulder, expecting pursuit any second, and so it’s a surprise when he rounds the hedge and crashes straight into a third guy.

The man isn’t visibly armed, but his hands come up and lock tightly around Dean’s biceps. Dean thrashes and struggles, trying to get away. Shit, this guy is big.

“Whoa, calm down!” the man says. “It’s okay!”

Dean kicks out, locks his knee behind the other man’s and sends them tumbling to the ground, spreading his arms apart to break the guy’s hold. Or, that’s the plan; the man takes the fall on his shoulder and rolls, keeping his grip on Dean. Dean ends up on his back, both arms still pinned, and a knee on his chest.

“You’re real,” the man says, breathlessly. “You’re alive.”

Dean blinks in confusion. “Yeah, and you’re trying to fucking kill me!”

“What? No…” the man says, and just then the front door slams open and another shot rings out.

“Jesus Christ!” the guy hisses. “Who the hell is that?” He lets go of Dean and crouches next to him, peering through the hedge.

Dean rolls to his feet, also crouching. “One of your buddies who’s trying to kill me!”

“I’m not trying to kill you!” The guy’s eyes dart to the car a few feet away, then back up to the house. “I just want to know what’s going on!”

“That makes two of us,” Dean hisses, “but I’m not staying around to find out.”

He dashes for the car, ducking behind the rear wheel and hitting the unlock button on the remote. He reaches up and opens the driver’s door a fraction, pulls it open and leaps in. He ducks down again and presses the brake pedal with his left hand, as he reaches up with his right and hits the start button. It’s the first time he’s been grateful for Danni’s choice of stupid modern hybrid car; he always wanted a vintage car but he can’t imagine fumbling with keys in the ignition right now. He shifts into reverse, still hunched low in the seat, and just as the car’s picking up speed, the passenger door opens too and the third guy leaps in.

“Get the fuck out!” Dean shouts. He dares a quick glance above the dash as he backs into the street. The guy from the bar is running down the drive, one hand pressed to his ribs where blood is blooming on his shirt. He catches a flicker of movement by the front door; a tall, dark-haired shape crosses the opening swiftly and is as quickly hidden.

“No!” the man yells back, as Dean brakes. “I finally found you, I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on!”

Dean slams the car into drive and then the words sink in.

“You know me?”

The man stares back at him, open-mouthed, overlong hair falling in his oddly colored eyes.

“You don’t?”

The rear window shatters. Dean swears and the car leaps forward. His passenger glances in the rearview mirror and looks even more frantic. “God damn. What’s he doing here?”

“You know him?”

“Just drive!”

Dean is more than willing to do so.

“They’ll trace your car,” the man says. “Mine’s ten blocks away. Come with me.”

“Are you insane?” Dean says. “I don’t know you! People I don’t know are shooting at me! I’m supposed to be reading to eight-year-olds in half an hour! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Turn left here.”

Dean’s hindbrain makes the choice for him, and he does.

“Maybe you don’t know me,” the man says. “But I know you. Please just… trust me on this, okay? There’s something fucked up going on here…”

“No shit!”

“…and I’ll help you, I promise. But we really need to switch to my car.”

“Where?” Dean says, then blinks. Clearly his mouth is operating independent of higher brain functions.

The man sighs in relief. “Take another left here – left! – and then a right just past the lights…”

Dean wrenches the wheel over, car dancing along the edge of the curb. The dispassionate part of him observes that shock and hysteria are setting in.

“There.”

It’s an underground parking garage. “Level two.”

Dean pulls in where he gestures, next to a large black SUV. Two very large dogs are going crazy in the back of it.

“They’re pretty happy to see you,” the man says. “Harley’s been looking for you for a long time.”

He unlocks the doors and sticks his head in. “Not now, okay? No, Sadie, down. Stay in the back, Daddy’s gotta drive.”

Dean gets in the passenger seat. A backpack lands on his lap.

“Hand me the gun. And pick yourself a shirt.”

Dean opens it and takes out the gun lying on top of everything. He hefts it thoughtfully. It fits in his palm. The way the knife did.

“You wanna shoot out the security cameras yourself, be my guest. Just get on with it.”

He passes the guy the gun and digs for a shirt. The truck pulls out of the parking space and heads for the exit. He pulls the shirt over his head. There’s a muffled thud and the crash of breaking glass.

“One camera down. There’ll be another at the exit.”

The shirt, which clearly belongs to this guy, or possibly a gorilla, hangs loose on Dean but it’s better than nothing.

“Duck,” the man says, “don’t let it capture you before I get it,” and then there’s another crash of glass. “Okay.”

They pull out onto the street.

“There’s a spare pair of boots in the back,” his rescuer says. “They’ll be kind of big. You’ll need extra socks, there should be some in there.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean says. “Escaping barefoot is tough.”

“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” the man says, and then looks like he’s trying to swallow his tongue.

“So,” Dean says into the awkward silence. “What’s your name?”

“Jared,” the guy says. “Padalecki. Uh. What’s – what’s yours?”

“You’re rescuing me and you don’t know my name?”

“Uh,” Jared says again. “Yeah. It’s, uh. Complicated.”

“You owe me a really long explanation.”

He stares at himself in the mirror on the sun visor.

The thin white scar at the hairline on his left temple is all that remains. He remembers putting a hand to his aching head, bringing it down sticky and warm with blood. He remembers staring at the mirror over the hospital sink, wondering how the man looking back at him had burned his feet, broken his ribs, and cracked his skull, letting memory leak out.

“You know me,” he says, echoing himself. “You know me. Who I used to be.”

“…Yeah,” Jared says. “I…”

He’s interrupted by the ringing of Dean’s phone. Dean pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the display.

It’s Danni.

“Don’t answer it,” Jared says harshly.

“It’s my girlfriend!” Dean hisses. “She’s at work, I gotta warn her!” He hits the button before Jared can stop him. “Danni, hey.”

“Dean!” He jerks his head back and stares at the phone in surprise. He has never heard her sound so rattled, not the time her mother was in hospital, not the time her laptop crashed and took all her work with it twenty minutes before the meeting of the year. Not even the time she thought she was pregnant. “Where are you?”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” Jared is staring him down, grim and wide-eyed, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Danneel, listen. Don’t go home. Some guys – ”

She cuts him off. “I know. I’m here.”

“Fuck!” He slams a hand against the dash. “Danni, fuck, get out of there! They might be watching, they might – I don’t know what the fuck they want! I was in the bathroom and – ”

“Dean,” she says, “listen to me. The guy you’re with now, he is not your friend. I don’t know what he’s said to you, but if stuff like this is happening, you need to go to the police. They’ll protect you, okay? Get away as soon as you can.”

“What the hell? Danni, how did you know I was – who – I can’t just – what…”

Jared takes the phone from his hand, snaps it shut, and throws it out the window.

Dean’s shaking his hand, knuckles stinging, as Jared reels from the punch to the jaw that Dean hadn’t even registered throwing. Horns honk loudly as the SUV swerves and swings back into its lane. Dean gulps. Punching the guy currently driving was not his brightest move today.

Jared pulls over into a side street and throws the vehicle into park. He turns to look at Dean.

“Listen, please,” Jared says, rapidly and intently, hands up, eyes wide. “I swear, I will explain everything, okay? Only this is really not a good time to be hanging around here, we have got to get moving, they’ll be right behind us. I can get us out but you gotta let me do it, and I’m sorry you can’t talk to your girlfriend right now but I – please please just trust me on this?”

The words swirl in Dean’s ears. He has a thousand questions, starting with what the fuck is going on and who the hell are you and how does Danni know I’m with someone, but there’s a strange pressure building in his head.

“Hey, are you okay? You look awful.”

Jared is leaning in too close, peering at his eyes. Dean shoves him back with a hand on his chest, blinking hard and willing himself to calm down. He feels like – not like he can remember, exactly, more like there’s a wave of memory crashing against the wall. Nothing gets through, but the wall trembles under the pressure, and the shockwaves are spilling into him.

He realizes with a shock that Jared is holding his hand, long fingers pressed against the pulse in his wrist. Jared’s right up in his face again, looking up from below that stupid floppy hair with hazel eyes that are slanted and gold-flecked like a cat’s, genuine concern in every line of his body.

There is no reason for Dean to trust this guy. Danni is right. He should take off, go to the authorities, get these crazy fuckers arrested.

He already knows he’s not going to. He trusts Jared. He just doesn’t know why.

Dean swallows and pulls his hand away. “Yeah. I just…” He presses the heel of one hand to his forehead. “Rough day, y’know?”

Jared laughs at that, sudden and expansive. “You were awesome!”

The pressure in Dean’s head is receding. “Who were those guys?”

Jared sobers rapidly. “Bad news. For both of us, I think. We need to get out of town, now. We’ll have to ditch this car soon, too.” He pulls away, starts the ignition again. “I need to make a call.”

“I need more than that, Jared.”

“I’ll explain, I promise. I know I keep saying that, but I will. When we have time.”

“How are we gonna get out of town without the car? Airport?”

Jared gives him a surprised look. “Oh, man. Really?” He swings onto the ringroad. “You really have forgotten, haven’t you?”

Dean stares at his hands. He’s way out of his depth.

“I’m Dean Winchester,” he says. “I’m a bartender. I volunteer with kids. I have a girlfriend. I have a normal life. I don’t know what the hell just happened.” He swallows. “But I can’t remember anything before July 2011. And I’m getting the feeling my life was a lot different before that.”

Chris patches through on the most secure ComNet channel he can find, swearing steadily under his breath, left hand pressed against his ribs.

“Mary Queen of Scots,” she says, flipping her hair out of one eye.

“What. The. Fuck.” Chris says through gritted teeth.

She blinks, taken aback. “What? What happened?”

“I found him,” Chris spits out, “and while I was quietly breaking into the house, someone tried to kill him!”

She gasps, mouth rounding in a little ‘o’.

“Who else knew?” Chris demands. “Who did you tell?”

“Whoa, cowboy!” she says, holding up her hands. “Calm down there. We’re in this together.”

“That’s what I thought,” Chris growls. “So how the hell did someone else get involved?”

“How should I know?” she snaps. “Maybe you’re not as sneaky as you think you are!”

“Maybe your boy can’t keep his mouth shut!” Chris retorts.

She narrows her eyes. “Jared would never kill him. You know that.”

“No shit,” says Chris. “He might have tipped off the wrong people, though.” She bites her lip at that.

“You said ‘tried’, so obviously they didn’t succeed,” she says. “You’ve got him?”

Chris holds up his bloody left hand.

“No, I don’t have him. He got away, and I got fucking shot.”

“What?”

“Ah, it’s not so bad, just a graze, but it…”

“Fuck that! You let him get away? Where the hell is he?!”

“What part of ‘got away’ didn’t you understand?” Chris bitches. “I have no fucking idea. I’m heading for the airport but I’ve gotta get patched up first. You got anyone else you can pull in on this, do it.”

She stares at him for a moment, and then her lips twist into a bitter smile. “Yeah. No problem.” She leans forward, dark eyes burning through the screen. “Just don’t come crying to me when Jeff rips you a new one.”

The connection cuts out abruptly. Chris resists the urge to slam his fist through it. He’s already bleeding enough for one day.

Jared parks the SUV on a small side street near the Westfall library. He cracks the windows a little, enough to let air circulate.

“There’s a water dish under your seat,” he tells Dean. Dean roots around and pulls it out. Jared leans across him and retrieves a bottle of water from the glove compartment. He also pulls out a ball cap and sunglasses, and slides them on.

“Okay, guys,” he says to Sadie and Harley, setting the water bowl on the floor of the back seat and filling it. “I’m gonna have to be away for a while. I’ll call Sandy to take care of you, okay?”

Harley snorts. Sadie whines a little and looks at him with soulful eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too,” Jared says. “I’ll come get you as soon as I can.”

His voice doesn’t waver, but Dean can hear echoes of worry and loss. He looks out the window as Jared ruffles the dogs behind their ears.

“Okay,” Jared says after a few moments. “Let’s go.”

He retrieves a backpack from the trunk and locks the vehicle. He slides the key into a magnetic holder; under pretext of tying his shoe, he sticks it in the passenger side wheel well.

As they walk away, Dean glances over his shoulder. Sadie isn’t visible; he guesses she’s curled up on the seat. Harley, however, is standing in the driver’s seat, paws on the wheel, watching Jared walk away. Jared doesn’t look back.

There’s a public ComNet point in the corner of the library complex. Jared pulls the ball cap down a bit further as they approach.

Dean watches his fingers move as he logs in and sets up a call, audio request only.

“Cupcake1346?” he says. “Really?”

“What?” Jared says. “It’s hard to come up with new names all the time. Besides, the point is to not sound like me.”

Dean waits a beat and says, “You know, I also got the password.”

He watches the flush rising up the back of Jared’s neck and can’t help grinning.

“Yeah, fine, you’re a rock star,” Jared mutters. “They’re hard to think up too, you know. Okay. Here we go.”

He takes off his watch and hands it to Dean.

“I’ll have a little over sixty seconds before they’ll know which quadrant of the city we’re in. I can stretch to ninety before they get within a few blocks, but I’d rather not push our luck, so let me know when we get to fifty seconds.”

Dean blinks at him. “I thought you were calling one of your friends?”

“Yeah,” Jared says, “and we’re real paranoid.”

Dean shakes his head. “Man.”

“It’s not – Sandy’s absolutely cool. It’s policy, though. They’ll track all incoming calls, unless it’s from one of our own phones. And those all have GPS anyway.”

Dean frowns. “Sounds like a lot of wasted effort.”

“Maybe,” says Jared, “but sometimes, if you wait until you know it’s a call you need to trace? It’s too late.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “Yeah, okay. I’m ready.”

Jared hits connect.

He signals Dean and starts talking rapidly.

“Sandy? It’s me… No. Yeah, I found her, but listen… No, I’m not. I need to head out for a bit, I can’t explain it right now. I need your help… No, no, I’m not hurt. I need you to take care of the dogs for me.”

He takes a breath. Dean can hear increasingly rapid, concerned chatter sounding tinny from the speaker.

“I’m still in San Antonio but I have to leave right now and I can’t take them with me. I’m leaving the car, too… Sandy, please just listen. I’ve left them in the car, and I need someone to come and pick them up. The keys are behind the front wheel.”

He glances at Dean. Dean gestures, go on.

“I dunno. Take ‘em to a shelter, take ‘em to my place, whatever. Don’t know how long I’ll be, though.” Jared swallows. “It might be a while.”

There’s real pain in his face. He obviously adores these dogs. Dean is distracted by it, almost misses the second hand sweeping past the fifty-second mark. He catches it just in time and grabs Jared’s elbow, looking panicked.

Sandy is still talking but Jared cuts in abruptly. “Sorry Sandy, time’s up. I’d say don’t tell Jeff, but I know you’ll have to. I really will explain this. I just need a head start. Love you, babe.”

He cuts the connection and it’s like a switch flips in him too: his face shutters, his stance tenses. “Clock’s ticking. Time to go.”

“Where?” Dean says stupidly.

“Out of here,” Jared says. “Until I can figure out what the hell’s going on.”

The last few words drift back over his shoulder; he’s already walking away fast – though not too fast, not suspiciously fast – and Dean has to chase after him.

“Hang on. How’s Sandy gonna find the car? You just made sure she didn’t know where we are!”

“Did you see the street we parked on?” Jared says. “Nice, quiet, neighborly? I give it an hour, tops, before someone’s gonna call the cops and report some jerk left his dogs in the truck.”

Dean frowns, still keeping pace. “So, what, you have a spy in the police station?”

“Don’t have to,” Jared says, “we just monitor their internal ComNet feed.”

“Uh,” Dean says, “right,” and demands of his subconscious just what the fuck it thinks it’s doing, getting him mixed up in this. No response. Dean imagines it sitting around whistling and ignoring him.

“I have a really annoying subconscious,” he says.

This actually makes Jared break stride. And laugh.

He has a nice laugh.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Jared says. “Anyway, Sandy will be on it. There’s someone else down here, they’ll get the truck.” A muscle clenches in his jaw. “Whatever they decide about me, they’ll treat the dogs well.”

“What do you mean, decide about you? I thought they were on your side,” Dean says. “Your people aren’t sure about you? This is not sounding like a good situation to me.”

“It isn’t,” Jared says. “One reason they’ll be annoyed with me right now is that I should be bringing you in.”

“I thought you were,” Dean says, stopping abruptly. Something crashes against the back of his legs. “Ow, fuck!”

A woman glares and maneuvers around him, pushing a contraption that looks more suited to off-roading than carrying a baby. Jared jumps back before she runs over his toes.

“I can’t. Not right now.”

Dean’s right hand clenches into a fist. He has no doubt he’d know where and how hard to hit. “You lied to me?”

“No!” Jared holds up his hands. “I swear. I will get you to safety, and I will figure out what the hell is going on. But we can’t – I can’t take you to headquarters right now. I was going to, I came to your house planning to talk to you, and then…”

He swallows. “I recognized one of the guys there.”

Dean stares. “You mean…one of your guys?”

Jared shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t think he saw me, though.”

“So what, you’re saying he’s some kind of double agent, or something?”

“I have no idea,” Jared says. “Yesterday, he was chewing me out for not taking care of you. Today, he’s shooting at you? I don’t know what’s up with that.”

“Yesterday?” Dean glares. “So this is your fault?”

Jared hisses in a breath. “God. No.” He makes another turn and stops outside a Salvation Army thrift store. “I don’t think so. Maybe.”

Dean stares at the shop, then at Jared. “Dude. No.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “Dude,” he mimics, “you need a jacket. Sunglasses. Maybe a shirt that actually fits your petite size. You’ve got five minutes. Move.”

Dean flips him off, but follows him inside anyway.

“They’ll be watching the airport,” Jared explains. “Trucks taking this route, they’re probably heading northwest out of the city.”

Jensen is sucking in deep breaths of air and glaring at him. Jared frowns. It’s not his fault Jensen doesn’t remember how to land properly.

“You didn’t have to push me,” Jensen says.

“The light turned green!” Jared says. “That means go! You weren’t climbing fast enough.”

“I didn’t realize your great escape involved stowing away on a transport truck stopped at a red light!” Jensen grumbles. “You actually planned this?”

“Gen would say that the plan evolves in a dynamic fashion so as to constantly integrate new information into an up-to-date model,” Jared says. “Which means I make it up as I go along.”

Jensen snorts. “That working out for you?”

Jared grins. “I’m still alive.”

“In a grocery truck, probably about to get bitten by a poisonous spider, on the run from fuck knows who – which may or may not include your own people – and saddled with me.”

Jared shrugs. “So it’s not all bad.”

Jensen opens his mouth, closes it again, and goes slightly pink. It sets off his freckles nicely.

Jared grins again. He’s kind of enjoying this new Jensen.

“What next?” Jensen says. “Where are we headed?”

“It depends on where we are when we get there,” Jared explains. “Your guess is as good as mine where we’re gonna stop. I’m hoping we make it pretty far north. The trucking companies don’t like going along the Mexico border, they lose too much to piracy. So they’ll probably head north first, then across to the west.”

He chews his lip. “I figure we should head for Cali,” he says. “The Free State has its problems, but it’s the safest place for you right now. And I need some distance till I can figure out what all the shooting was about and who’s playing.”

“How the hell do you plan to get across the border?” Jensen says.

Jared just laughs. Yeah, Cali’s been a lot more cautious with its border since that fanatic from Utah set off a dirty bomb in SanFran, but seriously?

“Not gonna be a problem,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” Jensen says, clearly unconvinced.

“Trust me,” Jared says cheerfully. “I do this for a living. Learned from the best.”

“Great,” Jensen says. “How come I get stuck with you, and not the best?”

Jared opens his mouth, then hesitates.

Jensen’s been happy. He – Dean – had a job, a girlfriend, a good life. Jared is about to tear that all down.

He looks up, feeling his face pull into taut, tense lines.

“What?” Jensen laughs uneasily. “Hey, don’t get upset. I’m joking, man.”

Jared wants to grin too, laugh it off, and avoid the discussion he knows he has to have. Instead, he just stares, caught in the clear intense green of Jensen’s eyes. Past and present jumble and war in his mind.

Jensen cocks his head to one side. “It’s a good question, though. Why am I stuck with you?”

Jared swallows.

“You said you’d explain,” Jensen says. “So yeah, I want to know. Not just why you. All of it. What the hell happened back at the house, who those guys were.” He frowns. “Why you threw my phone away. Jerk.”

There’s no way to undo the events of today, no way that Dean can go home again. Jared’s known that since the first shot splintered glass.

At least they’ve got a long ride ahead of them, time for the telling.

He laces his fingers around his knees.

“I’m the best now,” he says, “since you disappeared. You taught me everything I know.”

Jensen is a coiled spring, tightly wound, unmoving.

Jared wants to make things better. Time was, he would have reached out, rubbed Jensen’s shoulders, wrapped an arm around him until the tight line of Jensen’s jaw softened and the taut line of his spine melted against Jared’s chest.

Times change. All Jared can offer now are words. Jensen values truth. That hasn’t changed.

“Your name is Jensen Ross Ackles,” Jared says. “You’re thirty-seven and you were born in Dallas. You have an older brother somewhere up in the New Democratic Union and a younger sister. I’m not sure where she is right now.” He swallows; he really should have kept better track of Mackenzie but in the months after Megan’s death, he hadn’t paid attention to a lot of things. “Your parents are dead. I’m sorry.”

Jensen takes a slow, deep breath. “It’s – it’s okay.” He lets out a small bitter laugh. “How can I miss ‘em? It’s not like I remembered them anyway.” He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Go on. I want to know.”

“You were...” Jared snorts in humorless laughter too. “I always feel so dumb saying it. You were a secret agent. I’m one too. We…”

It’s complicated.

“We used to work together. This guy, Jeff, he runs his own show. We do shit for the government, mostly, but we aren’t the government. Back when you were with us, we definitely weren’t.” He coughs. “You’re, uh. You probably had something to do with that. You disappeared about six months before the coup, but I’m pretty sure you were involved, set some stuff in motion. I wasn’t so deep in then – didn’t know any details, Jeff tells us what he thinks we need to know – but something you said, I kind of figured.”

“I told you secret shit?” Jensen looks annoyed with himself. “Sounds like I was a lousy agent.”

“You were the best,” Jared says simply.

There’s a pause. Jared hears the words hang in the air. He’d meant to be sincere. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so… smitten.

Jensen clears his throat.

“So, uh,” Jared says. “You died. We all thought you died. Jeff said you were on assignment in San Antonio at the time. It was July 2011.”

“The timing fits,” Jensen says hoarsely.

“It was a bad month,” Jared says. “A lot of unrest. Bombings. Protests. You hadn’t been heard from in a couple of days, and then. I heard you were dead.” He swallows, hard. “We looked. A lot. You’d gone into this building, and then it was a pile of rubble on fire, and you hadn’t come out.”

“July fits,” Jensen repeats. “But the place is wrong. I was in Houston. At least, I woke up in Houston, in a hospital.”

Jared wrinkles his nose. “And they didn’t ID you?”

“The hospital was pretty overwhelmed around that time,” Jensen says. “Remember when Continental 661 crashed? There were a ton of casualties. I wasn’t the only one to come in unconscious, with no memory and no ID. They patched me up and got me out as fast as they could. One of the social workers organized a sort of half-way house for me. I got a job the day I got out, got myself an apartment within the week, and just…kept my head down. Didn’t tell them where I’d moved to.”

He looks up at the sky, where faint wisps of cloud mar the brilliant blue. “I assumed I’d been on that plane. The hospital, though, they got a passenger list, names and photos. The police came in matching people up, patients, the guys in the morgue. I wasn’t on the list.”

“That was a flight from San Antonio to Houston, right?” Jared frowns. “You might still have been on the plane. We’re good at that sort of thing.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know that I knew how to do shit like that, so I figured something else had happened to me, and I just got lumped into the mess.” He purses his lips, blows out air. “I looked through the news, did a little hunting on the ‘net. Missing person reports and things like that. Never found anything that looked like me. There were a couple of things I wondered about… The hospital apparently took a couple of knives off me. I discovered early on I knew how to fight. And pick locks.”

“You taught me a lot,” Jared says.

Jensen flashes him a smile, quicksilver, bright and disappearing. “Yeah, well. I thought maybe I’d been a criminal or something. So I didn’t want to make too much fuss, go to the police or anything. Nobody seemed to miss me.”

Jared is a little afraid of what he might say if he tries to say anything. He thinks, fuck it, and reaches over to scoop Jensen into a tight one-armed hug instead. Jensen stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into it, knocking his knee against Jared’s.

Eventually Jared reluctantly lets go. “You always had good instincts. I guess they kept on working. You were hiding, and we weren’t exactly putting out personal ads looking for you.” He frowns. “I’m still surprised Harley didn’t get your trail away from the building. Or out of the city, for that matter.”

Jensen shrugs. “I think my shoes were on fire. I bet the stink of melting rubber can mask a lot.” He grimaces. “I’m not sure how I got out of the city, but I might have taken to the river at some point. That would have given him trouble too.”

“Harley’s braver than Sadie, but he’s not as sensitive,” Jared says. “He’s a great dog, though. He found you, in the end.”

Jensen blinks. “Really?”

“We were walking past the market yesterday,” Jared explains. “He picked up your trail.”

“Four years later and he remembered?” Jensen says incredulously. “That’s kind of amazing.” He gives Jared a self-deprecating smile. “Hell, I don’t remember shit from back then. I mean, I don’t even remember you. You strike me as pretty memorable.”

Jared grits his teeth and tries not to blush. “Yeah, well. I think I can forgive you. You forgot your own name. That’s pretty impressive.” He cocks his head. “How’d you end up named Dean? You pick it yourself?”

“One of the nurses called me that,” Jensen says. “After some TV show character she liked. It was just meant as a nickname until they ID’d me, but then I took off and they never did... I needed a name, and it seemed as good as any.”

He touches his fist to his mouth and closes his eyes briefly. “Danni laughed and laughed when I introduced myself. It was the first time I felt like – maybe that could be me.”

Jared grits his teeth. He’s well aware it’s never a good idea to tell a man the truth about the one he loves, but…

“I’m pretty sure Danni knew exactly who you were,” he tells Jensen.

Jensen’s shocked. He hides it well, but Jared can see it in the faintest widening around his eyes, tension in the set of his shoulders. Jensen’s mind may be different but his body’s the same, and Jared knows that body and its tells.

“Danneel Harris works for the Republic. She was fairly low-level security back then, so she survived the change-over. She got promoted fast under the new government, even had her own team. I ran into her a few times back then. Nothing nasty,” he reassures Jensen, “we were mostly on the same side. Then, a couple of years ago, she just quit.”

“Only she didn’t,” Jensen says, picking at a thread in the knee of his jeans.

“No,” Jared says. “I don’t think so.”

Jensen’s nodding slightly as his thoughts follow the same track Jared’s had. “She what, said she’d had enough? Wanted to go back to school? Got tired of danger? Met some guy?”

“More or less.”

The sun glints off Jensen’s wayward, uncombed hair. Jared wants to run his fingers through it. He’s pretty sure that would be inappropriate.

“That’s when I – we – ” Jensen breaks off, digs the heel of one hand into his eye. “She came to keep an eye on me.”

“Yeah,” says Jared. “I have no idea how she found you. It might have been chance, but I don’t think so. I think someone knew you were alive.”

“Someone in the Republic.” Jensen frowns. “But nobody on our side knew.”

“I fucking well hope not,” says Jared grimly, “because if someone knew where you were and didn’t tell me, I am going to rip their head off next chance I get.”

Jensen looks taken aback by Jared’s ferocity.

“We’re friends,” Jared says, and it feels completely inadequate to describe what Jensen meant to him. “I looked for you for months.”

He stares at the crate by his feet. He can feel Jensen’s gaze steady on the back of his neck.

“She works for the hospital administration,” Jensen says. “I volunteer there sometimes, reading books to kids. One day I finished a story and looked up and there she was, standing in the doorway. Beautiful, clever, didn’t care that I worked in a bar and didn’t have the first goddamn clue what my real name was. I fucking worshiped her.”

The pain in his voice is real and raw. Jared can’t look up.

“She said she thought it would be good for me to remember, that it would help. We went places, saw shrinks. I thought she just wanted to help me, I never thought…. But I couldn’t – it hurt, it was like this massive pressure any time I tried – there’s still a block there. You’re telling me all this and I still – I don’t remember it. Some things feel familiar.” He swallows. “You feel familiar.”

Jared flushes hot at those words, even though Jensen doesn’t – can’t – mean what Jared would like him to. Jensen – Dean – has a girlfriend. Admittedly, a lying manipulative bitch of a girlfriend, but still.

“The thing I can’t figure out,” he says, trying to make his tone light, “is why you’re still alive.”

Jensen blinks. “Because I’m awesome? Because you’re awesome?”

“Today, yeah,” Jared says. “But obviously some people want you dead. And the Republic’s been watching you for at least two years, and trying to get your memory back. It can’t be because you knew some secret of theirs. They’d have killed you, not tried to get you to remember. You must have something they want.”

“I don’t know,” Jensen says, almost inaudibly. “I don’t know.” He closes his eyes.

Jared’s hand strokes up and down his arm. “It’s okay. There’s time. Get some rest, you look like hell.”

The road runs smooth beneath them, and Jensen is sleepy and pliant under his touch. Jared pulls his hand back. Things are different now.

He doesn’t mean to sleep, but he does.

Dean wakes up slowly. The sun is warm on his face. There’s a body warm at his back, hair tickling his neck. All’s right with the world.

“G’morning,” he mumbles.

The sleepy, protesting grunt from behind him is two octaves lower than Danni’s, and as he gets closer to consciousness, he realizes the arm slung across his stomach is a lot heavier than hers. Also, the bed is a helluva lot harder than he remembers.

He opens his eyes. The sun is setting, not rising. He’s in the back of an open transport truck, there are huge cardboard boxes all around him, and he’s being spooned by Jared.

For some reason, neither his brain nor body can get particularly worried about this unusual turn of events. In fact, it seems his body is more than okay with it.

He gives his subconscious a stern, questioning glare. It looks innocently blank and refuses to divulge any information whatsoever. Fucking annoying subconscious.

“Fine,” Dean mutters, adjusting himself and trying to extricate himself from Jared, who would no doubt be mortified to wake up and find himself snuggling Dean – Jensen.

His name is Jensen. It’s an odd name. Not one of the many he’d tried on for size.

He thought it would be different, the moment when he knew his true name. It feels – not wrong, exactly, but it isn’t the big revelation he was hoping for. It hasn’t brought an avalanche of memory; it hasn’t magically made everything better. He pokes at it, trying to elicit something more.

Jared stirs behind him, and says, “Jensen,” voice full of sleep and gravel.

Jensen’s whole body flushes hot, he can barely breathe, and oh yeah. That’s how his name ought to sound.

“Jared,” he croaks.

Jared startles awake, flailing and letting go of Jensen.

“What time is it?” Jensen says.

“Uh,” Jared says, still looking dazed. “Almost eight. We must be over the Texas border by now.”

“Cool,” Jensen says. “I’m starving. Think there’s anything to eat around here?”

Jensen’s busy investigating the boxes when Jared whoops with delight.

“We just passed Roswell. I bet we’re going all the way to Albuquerque!” he says happily. “Awesome. We can hole up with Chad.”

“Who?”

“Chad’s a friend from way back,” Jared says. “Good guy. He used to work for Jeff too.”

His grin loses half its wattage as something obviously occurs to him.

“What?” Jensen says.

“Huh?” Jared says vaguely. “Nothing.”

“I’m the one who was being shot at,” Jensen says. “I think I qualify for ‘need-to-know’ status.”

“Nah, really,” Jared says. “Just – Chad’s an acquired taste. But he’ll help us, and he won’t sell us out. And I don’t know anyone else safe in the area.”

He looks hopefully at Jensen and that damn hair is falling in his eyes again. Jensen’s hand twitches with a sudden impulse to reach out and push it back.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, for lack of anything better – not like he has anything to contribute to their survival as fugitives – and he feels a sudden stupid exhilaration slam into his gut as Jared smiles big and wide, like the sun really did just come up.

Damn.

He’d known he didn’t know things about himself. He hadn’t realized how deep that might go.

Fucking annoying and possibly at-least-partly-gay subconscious.


Part Three

Comments

[laisserais]

i'm totally going to be one of those people who leave you comments on every chapter. :P

oh man, i love puzzling over who works with/for whom. so good! and i'm enjoying the banter between them; the dialogue's really spot on. also digging jensen's belief in jared's revelations, while still not really feeling them. yay!

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

And I totally love you for it. :D

Yay, glad it continues to intrigue! And thanks, I'm happy to hear the banter worked for you.

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Jensen's on-going irritation with his subconcious amuses me.

Jared stirs behind him, and says, “Jensen,” voice full of sleep and gravel.
Jensen’s whole body flushes hot, he can barely breathe, and oh yeah. That’s how his name ought to sound.
Mmmmm, better believe it. I like the way that Jensen, even with no memory of Jared, still trusts him.

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

Jensen's conversation with his subconscious crept into the story fairly late but it amused me. *g*

Thanks so much for letting me know what worked for you in each part. I liked that moment; it's nice to know someone else did too.

[truelyesoteric.livejournal.com]

I rarely comment halfway through, but this, this is so so good. Like I'm jealous good. Must go read rest.

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

Wow, thanks! This makes me very happy. :D