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

[electricalgwen]

Masterpost

Part Four

Jensen can’t believe this. That they’re doing this, that he might have done this before. He can’t believe he could have forgotten this. But then, he can’t believe he forgot kissing Jared either.

Jared’s hands are incredible. Huge and hot, they roam over Jensen’s skin, unerringly finding all his favorite places. He’s a shaking, writhing mess in seconds. Jared’s lips trail over his ear and down, sucking at the junction of shoulder and neck; teeth bite down gently and Jensen arches off the ground with a yell. Jesus, he had no idea.

It’s like Jared knows Jensen better than Jensen knows himself.

Jensen suspects that he does, in this, as in so much else.

After, they sleep again, curled up together. Light is climbing the sky but it’s still cool in their shaded hiding place, and Jensen and his subconscious completely agree on the need to be wrapped up in Jared.

This time it’s Jared who jerks awake, accidentally kicking Jensen.

A copter is droning overhead. The sun is standing at zenith; the light is blinding, and even in shade the heat is devastating. Jared’s hair is soaked in sweat and his throat is painfully dry.

Jensen tugs at him and they shrink back further under the overhang. Jared glances around, checking all their stuff is out of sight. Jensen’s shirt is close to the edge of shadow. He moves a hand out slowly and grips the hem, tugging it carefully back in.

His muscles are cramping, probably as much from lack of water and electrolyte imbalance as from the small space. He has water purification tablets in his pack but they’re little use if he can’t get to the river.

“Should have brought water up,” he mutters in Jensen’s ear. “Damn it, I’m usually better than this.”

“We’ll be okay,” Jensen murmurs back. “Just have to get through till evening.”

They stay hidden, largely unmoving, sweating profusely, for what feels like hours. The copter’s sound fades in and out, but never enough that they dare venture out of hiding.

After the first hour or so, Jared starts talking. He tells Jensen about life in Texas before separation, about growing up in San Antonio. He tells him about the Ghosts, about Jeff and Gen and Aldis and Katie, and how Jared joined them. He tells stories he remembers Jensen telling: stories of old missions, of baseball triumphs and nights playing guitar, even stories about Jensen’s family.

He doesn’t talk about his own family, and he doesn’t talk about their time together. If Jensen notices the omissions, he doesn’t question it.

Eventually, his parched throat and tongue can no longer shape coherent words, and he falls silent.

Jensen licks his shoulder, the hollow of his throat, collecting the sweat gathered there.

Jared moans unintelligibly.

Jensen slithers down his body, keeping his limbs tucked into the shade, licking everything he passes.

Two things become immediately clear to Jared. One, Jensen doesn’t remember how to give blowjobs, and two, his amateur but highly enthusiastic approach is unbelievably fucking hot.

It’s an embarrassingly short time before Jared’s tugging Jensen’s hair in warning. Jensen ignores him, sucks and jacks harder, and swallows down everything Jared’s got to give.

“Not gonna waste that,” he says smugly, drawing off and licking his lips. “Liquid, protein, sugar and salt…”

Jared growls, flips them over, and before long Jensen’s returning the favor, spilling into Jared’s eager mouth.

As they come down, Jared realizes he can’t hear the copter any more. He chances a quick look out at the sky. The sun is low, but they’d still be far too visible.

“Not yet,” Jensen says. “We’ve waited this long, better hold out till dark.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, dropping his head on Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen’s fingers card through his sweaty, dusty hair.

“I could do with falling in the river again,” Jensen mumbles, and Jared laughs and watches the sun slide down and the shadows lengthen. Jensen is dozing again, snoring gently against Jared’s neck.

“I love you,” Jared whispers, because it’s been four years and he needs to say it out loud, even if it’s just the once, even if he’ll never again say it to Jensen awake.

When the first stars twinkle into existence against the sky, he rouses Jensen. They dress, gather up their stuff and head down to the river. Jensen lies on the bank and dunks his head in the cool water, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Jared does the same. He sits up and shakes his head like Harley does, and Jensen laughs.

He doesn’t have a water bottle, so they empty out one of the packs – they’re going to eat up the last of the rations anyway – and fill it with water. It’s torture to stand there, counting down the six minutes after they drop in the tablets, waiting until it’s safe; the moment Jared’s watch beeps they split it between them, pouring it carefully into their mouths so as not to waste a drop.

They fill it again, but the urgency is lessened. The wait isn’t so bad this time; they eat a couple of protein bars each, and the water’s ready to wash it down when they’re done.

“Okay,” Jared says. “I don’t know exactly where we are, but I think we’re gonna have to walk most of the night.”

“Then we better get going,” Jensen says, and they do.

Jared’s used to having GPS, but it turns out Jensen is pretty good at astronomy and directions. Besides, all they really have to do is follow the river.

They’ve been hiking for almost six hours, only taking a couple of short breaks to rest, piss, and have another drink, when the lights of Yuma become visible on the horizon.

“North,” Jared says. “The checkpoint’s on the far side of the city, just before the bridge. If we cut up north and come down the river’s edge, we have a better chance of getting onto the bridge without being seen.”

“Sounds good,” Jensen says, and changes direction.

The distance is deceptive, light visible a long way in the flat land at night, and their need to skirt the city doesn’t help. It’s another two hours before they’re approaching the edge of the Colorado River. Jared looks out across it. Not far now.

It’s not like he thinks arriving in California will magically make everything better. But the Free State’s an easy place to go to ground; their privacy laws are a godsend, and their Net is – well, nothing’s unmonitored, but it’s the cleanest one he knows of. He’ll be able to access his bank account, get in touch with Sandy, do some digging on Zach, and figure out how best to keep Jensen safe. They just have to get across the river.

“Tempting,” Jensen says, coming up beside him and looking down at the river, “but I don’t think even you can swim that.”

Jared snorts and turns to the left, heading south along the bank. The bridge looming before them stretches out to their right, off into the dark. The main carriageway is brightly lit, but the understructure is dark, solid beams of metal that won’t pose any problems, once they get onto them.

They’re past the border checkpoint on the road, where immigration and customs business is carried out, but the guard tower at this end of the bridge clings to the drop right at the river’s edge. Searchlights scan through an area around it, and there are guns.

The searchlights are mostly directed in line with the road though, and over the bridge and river; Arizona’s primarily concerned with keeping Free State radicals or illegal immigrants out. The beams of light do swing in their direction occasionally, but they’re easily dodged.

He picks up the pace. The sky is glimmering in the east with a hint of false dawn. Another thirty, maybe forty minutes, and they’ll be visible.

He touches Jensen’s shoulder and points to the base of the tower. Only a wire-topped metal gate, easily scaled, blocks the maintenance steps leading to the framework of the bridge. He pulls on his gloves as they move. Adrenaline is sparking through him. Ten minutes and they’ll be set.

He registers the low growl of a vehicle coming from the east. Nothing new, there haven’t been many at this hour of the morning, but the major routes always have some traffic. It’s probably a good thing; the lights will track the vehicle and any guards looking out will be distracted by it. He spares a quick glance, then turns his head and stares: the vehicle’s not on the highway.

It’s off-roading, running without lights, and coming straight at them.

His first instinct is to drop to the ground, hide, but it’s too late. Someone’s seen them and is calling out to them.

Jared runs. Jensen is right behind him. At this point, subterfuge is useless. They just have to get to that gate and get onto the bridge. Then any pursuers will be on the same footing as them, and Jared is confident he and Jensen can leave anyone behind.

The ground is pretty rocky; maybe it’ll slow the pursuers down some. He can’t do anything about guns except duck, weave, and hope the terrain will throw off their aim.

The vehicle pulls up level with them. It’s a Jeep. He can’t get a good look at the guy driving – it’s dark, he’s wearing a ball cap, and the truck’s bouncing around all over the place – but a second man is leaning out the passenger window, staring at them intently.

Jared hears a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh fuck,” Jensen hisses. “Move, Jared, get down, we’ve gotta – ”

“Jensen!” the man calls. “We’re here to help!”

Jensen ignores them. He’s running flat out. Jared keeps pace. He hasn’t breath to ask what the hell’s going on, but he trusts Jensen.

“I can get you across the border, but only if you stop running before you attract the attention of those trigger-happy drones up there!”

Jensen twists sideways, leaps down into a long-dry drainage ditch, keeps moving. “Fuck you!”

“Who?” Jared calls. He needs to conserve his breath, but he’d also like to know what he’s up against.

The Jeep is keeping pace with them easily, but the terrain is too irregular for it to get any closer.

“Misha,” Jensen gasps.

Jared twists, trying to get a look at the guy Jensen identified as a Cali agent, and gets yet another shock.

Mike Rosenbaum, the Ghost who’s been missing since January, is driving with Misha. Jensen wouldn't recognize him; Mike joined after Jensen had gone.

“Jared!” Mike calls. “Get in!”

“Why?” Jared calls. “Chris was there!”

“I’m not with them!” Mike yells. “Chris is an asshole!”

This is something Jared can agree with. Also, they can’t outrun the Jeep, any second the guards are going to notice them, and it’s not like anybody could miss them at this range. If Mike wanted them dead or tranked, he’d have done it already.

“Jensen,” he calls. “Stop.”

“Really?” Jensen yells, still running.

“Trust me,” Jared says.

And Jensen does.

Mike sticks them in the back of the truck, under yet another tarpaulin. Jared’s starting to get used to this. The Jeep swings back out in a wide circle away from the tower, makes its way into the north side of Yuma, and heads for the checkpoint as the sun comes up.

The border turns out to be no problem at all. Mike even chats with the gate guards.

He stops fifteen minutes later, lets them out and everyone squashes into the cab. Misha is practically sitting on Mike’s lap, but Mike seems to manage driving just fine regardless. Jared chooses not to wonder about where Mike's other hand is.

“You’re – ” Jared shakes his head. “Christ. You’re Cali, aren’t you?”

“Give the man a beer.”

“You’re not Jeff’s. How can you not be… Nobody fools Jeff!”

“Possibly that is true,” Mike says, “and he finds it amusing to watch me think I’m fooling him. Or possibly he’s not as omniscient as everyone who goes in awe of him thinks he is. He hasn’t seen fit to interfere with me yet, though, so I can’t say it matters either way.”

“I’ve always thought of him as a lot more weird and a lot less Zen,” Jared tells Misha. “You must be a good influence.”

“He’s a terrible influence,” Mike returns, “but he’s an awesome lay.”

“It makes up for a lot,” Jensen agrees. Jared whaps him on the back of the head.

“Here we are,” Mike says after another quarter of an hour, turning down a narrow, winding driveway. At the end of it there’s a nondescript two-story house, with a hammock swung on the wide front porch and trees dotting an overgrown lawn.

“Spare bedroom to the right at the top of the stairs,” Misha says. “You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

Jared barely has the energy to make it up the stairs. He falls into bed and doesn’t worry at all this time about wrapping himself up in Jensen. Jensen seems on board with this plan.

When Jensen wakes up, Jared is gone.

He doesn’t realize this right away. Awareness returns slowly, and he doesn’t open his eyes at first, instead cataloging the sensations around him. The sun on his face feels like late morning; a bird is tweeting somewhere nearby. The sheets around him are comfortably worn and smell like daylight and spring air.

They’re in California, in Misha’s house. They made it.

And Jared loves him.

The whispered words, on the edges of sleep, didn’t startle him awake, didn’t feel incongruous, or too much too soon. Those words, in Jared’s voice, weren’t remembered but neither were they strange or unfamiliar. He’s certain, as much as he can be certain of anything, that his ears have heard them before. It’s yet another puzzle piece, set gently in place, the one that changes the way you see the lines and makes the pattern clear.

He rolls over and opens his eyes, smiling, but Jared isn’t there.

Jensen sits up and listens. The house is making the occasional subdued creak, talking to itself. No additional noises suggest the presence of another human being. Jensen’s clothes, washed and folded, are on a chair beside the bed; his clean boots sit under it. Jared’s shoes are absent. Everything of Jared’s is absent.

Jensen’s gun is still under his pillow. He pulls on his clothes and tucks it in his waistband.

The broad pine floorboards are smooth and silent under his bare feet. He starts to head out of the room, then turns back, puts on socks and ties his boots securely. If he has to run, he’ll have his own damn shoes with him this time.

Would Jared really have gone off without him?

The Jared he half-knows, half-remembers wouldn’t. But four years is a long time. The Misha he remembers wouldn’t have helped him escape.

Then again, maybe he didn’t. Maybe Jensen’s exactly where somebody wants him to be.

The kitchen is deserted. The fridge is unplugged, door ajar, and there’s no food in the cupboards. There’s a kettle; next to it stands an almost-empty jar, crumbs of instant coffee sticking to its insides.

The taps work. He puts some water in the kettle and sits down at the small kitchen table, gun lying in front of him, and watches light and shadows shimmer over it as leaves dance outside the window.

The kettle’s noise peaks as the water boils. It almost obscures the sound of feet on the front steps. The sound of the door opening, however, is loud in the silence that follows the automatic shut-off. Jensen balances the haft of the gun on the table and steadies it with his other hand, breathing shallowly and quietly.

Footsteps move down the hall, and Jared walks in.

“Dude,” he says, “move your gun, I want to put breakfast there.”

The bakery bag crackles and emits a warm cinnamon smell. The coffee Jared shoves over to him is extra-large, extra-hot, and tastes like heaven.

“You actually thought I’d leave?” Jared says, licking powdered sugar off his fingers in a highly distracting way. Jensen shrugs.

“Clearly, your memory is still shit,” Jared says, and kicks him under the table.

“Yeah,” Jensen says heavily, “it is. I have no fucking idea what I did with that flash drive. For all I know, it went out in the hospital trash. Or some paramedic wiped it and uses it to store her creative writing exercises.”

Jared takes another huge bite of pastry. “What would you do with it now?” he asks, only barely intelligible through the crumbs.

“I – ”

Jensen pauses.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I was always gonna take it to Jeff.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. He looks almost as lost as Jensen felt, two days ago, realizing that the world didn’t work the way he thought it did.

“Something like that, though…” Jensen takes a gulp of coffee and stares out the window. “Something like that shouldn’t belong to one person. One group. It would – it could change the world.”

Jared thinks about it. About the world’s governments, corporations, hostilities and inequities, power and hunger. All based on energy: supply, demand, need.

“It really would,” he says, awed.

“Who do you… who do you trust with that kind of shit?” Jensen says.

A car door slams outside.

“Mornin’, sunshines!”

Mike breezes into the kitchen. Noises in the front hall suggest that Misha is entangled with the door. He appears in the doorway a few moments later, hauling a large roll of canvas.

“What’s that for?” Jared inquires.

“Well,” says Misha, “I considered using it as camouflage. Or making hammocks, but it appears to be the wrong sort of canvas.” He stands it against the wall. “Mike has offered to get me paint. I think I will try my body at art.”

“You mean your hand?”

“No,” says Misha. “Why restrict myself to fingers, when I have a whole body? The potential patterns are unlimited. I plan to render the Bhujangasana in ocean tones.”

Jared blinks at Mike, who has pulled out a chair and kicked his feet up on the table. “Were you always into crazy, and I just never noticed?”

“You get used to him,” Mike says.

“But I’m not planning to do it now,” Misha says. “We need to access Jensen’s subconscious, and I don’t think paint is one of his triggers.”

Mike tips his chair back on two legs.

“You were there, with Zach,” Mike says to Jensen. “Misha’s told me all about it. You had the secret. We want it.” He waves a hand at Jared, who is surging to his feet, chair falling over behind him. “And we’re about the only people who won’t try and kill you for it. Give me some credit, Jay.”

“How long were you trailing us?” Jared asks tightly. “Jim said there were others, at the airport. Not just the Republic, some others he didn’t recognize.” He doesn’t want to kill Mike; he’s always kinda liked Mike. But nobody fucks with Jensen.

“That wasn’t us,” Mike says. “StarOil’s been pretty keen to find you too. They lost a lot of control when you,” he nods in Jensen’s direction, “messed up the old government, and they’ve put a lot of work into getting it back. One of our friends discovered they’re planning to stage a coup of their own in a couple of weeks time. They found out she was a Cali agent, though, and they were afraid Cali would interfere. The Free State’s been pretty verbal about their support for the liberal rights agenda in Texas, and everyone knows the Greens are anti-oil freaks...”

“StarOil knew that if Cali found out about their plans, they were sunk,” Misha summarizes. “They’re also terrified of Cali getting their hands on Jensen. I’m certain they were behind the lab bombing, and until a few days ago, they didn’t know Jensen had survived. We’re not sure how they found out, but they’ve been after you every step of the way.”

“When did the government start working on alternative energy, though?” Jensen frowns. “Wasn’t Zach’s project funded by the old government?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, “and StarOil wasn’t too happy about it. Some members of government felt it wasn’t a good idea to be too dependent on the oil monopoly, and managed to squeeze out a little funding into alternate energy sources. The oil folks didn’t like it but they weren’t all that worried, as long as it didn’t look like it was going to work. When it did, though…they took steps to be sure their government buddies wouldn’t get results.”

Jared has a nasty, sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Your friend,” he says. “Was she…what happened?”

It’s the first time both Mike and Misha fall silent. They look at each other, not at him.

“Alona,” he says. It isn’t really a question.

“Yes,” Misha says finally.

Jared sighs. “I’m sorry.” He steps back, retrieves his chair and pushes it up next to Jensen; when he sits down, their knees touch.

“She deserved better,” Mike says.

“They killed her fast,” Jared says, and he feels Jensen flinch slightly, but he knows Mike will understand. “It didn’t make sense to me, that it was the Republic.” He frowns. “Still doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t StarOil want to get more out of her?”

“All they really wanted to know was if she’d called home,” Mike says. “Thanks to Amnesty, she didn’t know she had.”

“Amnesty?” Jared blinks.

“An amnestic,” Misha says.

“I feel like you hiccupped in that sentence,” Jared says. “What are we talking about?”

“An amnestic is a drug that interferes with memory,” Mike explains. “You take it and you don’t remember what happens while it’s in your system. But, and this is the real beauty of it, you forget what happened for ten minutes or so before you took it, too.”

Jared frowns, trying to work it out. “So…”

“So she called me,” Mike says, “and told me about their plans. She also told me that they were onto her. She’d injected herself right before she called.”

“She forgot your conversation,” Jared says, understanding dawning.

“Yeah,” Mike says heavily, “and she also forgot having the idea to do it drugged. They caught up with her soon after that. She might have thought she had more time to recover from the drug, but I think she knew she was out of time and options. But she would be completely believable when she told them she hadn’t had a chance to pass any information on to Cali. Truth serum, torture, whatever they might try; she wouldn’t remember.”

Jared swallows against a lump in his throat, remembering the marks on her body. “They killed her as soon as they heard that. Figured her intel died with her.”

Jensen hasn’t said a word through this exchange but Jared can feel the tension in the leg pressed up against his own. He guesses that the idea of willingly tampering with your own memory is weirding him out.

“She died warning us,” Mike says. “We’ve got two weeks to take down StarOil, and precious little proof of anything. I doubt we can go after them directly. Which is where you come in.”

He points at Jensen again. “The oil monopoly’s right to be scared of you. Zach’s discovery makes them pretty much irrelevant, especially now that we’ve developed alternative plastics. They lose their economic power; they lose their political power. You, my friend, contain the secret that can destroy them.”

“Maybe,” says Jensen. “And I’m not too keen on giving it to Cali. The Greens have done their share of blowing things up. Your government isn’t exactly what I’d call stable right now. I wouldn’t trust them with that kind of info, even if I knew it.”

“It’s good logic.” Mike tips his chair back even farther. His left toes, hooked under the edge of the table, are the only things keeping him from disaster. “But there’s a flaw in your premise.”

Jensen gives him the stink-eye.

“We’re not exactly working for Cali.”

Jared’s hand twitches in automatic reflex. He checks the motion. These guys have rescued them, put them up, and not killed them. Whoever they’re working for, he’ll give them the chance to explain.

“So, who?”

“Us,” Mike says.

Jensen raises his eyebrows. “What, just the two of you?”

“No,” Mike says. “Humanity.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Jensen. “I have had enough of fucking saviors of humanity.”

“No, you haven’t,” Mike says, “because there haven’t been any lately. We, however, plan to do it.”

“Can you imagine?” Misha cuts in. “Humans have been struggling for centuries with limited resources. We fight over coal, oil, wood, and all the while we’re swimming in energy, all around us!” He waves a hand at the window, at the sun spilling into the sink. “All we need is a way to harness it. And the key to that is hidden in your head.”

“No, it isn’t,” says Jensen.

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” says Jensen, “it really isn’t. It’s on a flash drive back in Texas which is probably in a garbage processor by now.”

“No, it isn’t,” says Misha.

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” says Misha, “it really isn’t. It’s in my pocket.”

Jared has seen Jensen make any number of bewildered faces over the last forty-eight hours, but this one is priceless. He is aware he’s gaping like a stunned fish himself.

Misha dips a hand in his pocket and holds up a drive, spinning it between his fingers.

“How the hell did you get that?” Jensen says finally. He leans forward to take a closer look, shaking his head incredulously. “It looks like mine.”

“You gave it to me.”

Jensen’s face is simply indescribable. Jared is going to have to come up with new adjectives.

“When?” he croaks out finally. “The goddamn building blew up. My shoes were on fire. I still have the scars.”

“Yes,” Misha says. “I was in there too.”

“I…” don’t remember is obviously what Jensen was about to say, but he swallows it. “But we were…”

“On different teams,” Misha agrees. “Petty, human squabbling. This discovery was bigger than that: you knew it, I knew it.”

“So I just gave it to you?” Jensen still sounds suspicious.

“At the hospital.”

Understanding dawns slowly. “You took me in?”

Misha nods.

“That was in Houston.” Jared says. “How’d you get out of the city?”

“Glider,” Misha says.

Jensen stares at him. Jared bursts out laughing.

“That’s very, um, eco-friendly,” Jensen says. “Also, probably scary as hell. I don’t think I want to remember that.”

“You won’t,” says Misha, “you were unconscious at the time.”

“Excellent.”

“Harley’s good, but he’s not that good,” Jared says, still chuckling. “Glider. Fucking hell.”

Something clearly occurs to Jensen. His head snaps up and he points at Misha. “You were supposed to be on that plane.”

“No,” Misha says. He looks at Jensen with approval. “But they thought I was.”

Mike frowns. “What plane?”

“The one that crashed that same day,” Jared says, meeting Jensen’s eyes. “Continental 661. The airline said it was an engine fault. You think it was deliberate?”

“Kind of a coincidence,” Jensen says.

“StarOil thought I was dead,” Misha says. “It’s been handy.”

“So you survived the explosion, and then missed being killed in a plane crash because you were sailing through the sky with an unconscious enemy,” Jared says, shaking his head. “Dude. Your life is even cooler than mine.”

“You woke up when I was carrying you into the ER,” Misha says to Jensen, and Jared eyes Misha with new appreciation because it’s not that easy to sling Jensen Ackles over your shoulder. He should know. “You were getting very agitated, told me you had a secret and they were trying to take it away. You asked me to keep it safe for you.”

“Great,” Jensen says. “So how come you did?”

“What?”

“You said it yourself. This tech could change the world. I got blown up four years ago. Why the hell hasn’t the world changed yet?”

Misha presses his lips together. It’s the first time Jared’s seen him look frustrated.

“Because we can’t get it to work.”

Mike takes over, gesticulating as he talks. “We had a lot of the information you had on that drive already. Your file was newer, solved a few problems, and laid out the manufacturing process step-by-step. There were a couple of steps Zach didn’t describe in detail but basically it’s all there, pretty easy to figure out. Except, the thing isn’t stable. The matrix decays in seconds and the only way to keep it running is to put more energy into it. It doesn’t take all the converted solar energy to do that, there’s still a net gain, but it makes it wear it out too fast. It’s not sustainable.”

“Are you sure Zach really had figured it out?” Jared says gently. He has to ask, but he dreads the answer. Jensen’s life was ruined for this; they’ve been shot at, blown up, and chased halfway across the country for this. It’s painful to think about how Jensen will feel if it’s all been for nothing.

“Yes,” says Misha, with absolute conviction. “I saw the prototype.”

Jared lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“It was done once, it can be done again,” Mike says. “But the other thing about your file is that it’s timestamped around 36 hours before the explosion.”

“Huh,” Jensen says. “So there’s a window where he came up with the answer, but I didn’t get it.”

“You got it. I have faith.” Misha points at him. “You were an extremely good rival. I am certain that you got it. You just didn’t put it on the drive. Hence me saying, it’s in your head.”

“Then you’re shit outta luck,” Jensen says.

Jared blinks. Something is niggling at him.

“I could hypnotize you,” Misha says.

“No fucking way,” Jensen says.

“Um,” says Jared.

“You left me a phone message.” Jared pushes a hand through his hair. “The morning you disappeared. You said something weird. Like it was code or something. I never figured out what it meant.”

Mike turns his head sharply and looks at Misha. Misha turns and looks intensely at Jensen, head tilted. Jensen stares back, trying not to show discomfort. His admittedly patchy memories of Misha had him down as more zany, less badass psycho.

“Can you remember what he said?” Mike asks Jared, suppressed excitement humming in his tone.

“I could hypnotize you instead,” Misha offers to Jared. Jensen has no doubt he could.

Jared shudders. “’S okay. I remember pretty well. But I can do better than that. You got a ComNet point here?”

Mike’s on his feet and heading for the stairs before Jared finishes. “You saved it?”

“Yeah,” Jared says, following him.

Jensen is hard on his heels. “A phone message from four years ago? ComNet wipes every three months.”

“Not the core info,” Jared says. “I saved the sound file as a backup greeting. Out of Office autoreply. I never use that function, so it’s not like anyone was gonna hear it, but it kept it around.”

They crowd into a small room at the back of the house, down the hall from the one Jared and Jensen were in. It’s sunny but spare: a pull-out futon, a mostly empty bookshelf, and a currently inactive ComNet point.

“Why not save it on media?” Mike says from under the desk. He shuffles some cables around, plugs in a blocker. The screen flickers to life. “Okay, we’re live and incognito. I give it about six minutes. Four to play it safe.”

“I did,” Jared says, “but god knows where that is now. I just never wiped this one. It was nice having a copy on the Net, I could listen anytime.”

“You listen to old phone messages a lot?” Jensen says, bewildered.

“I told you. I was sure there was some hidden meaning in this one. I couldn’t figure it out. I kept coming back to it for the better part of a year.” Jared rubs the back of his neck and gulps. “And, uh. It was the last time I heard your voice, y’know?” He blushes. “Kinda… all I had left.”

Jensen can feel his own ears going bright red. He can’t bring himself to look at Mike and Misha, who are probably making ridiculous faces.

“Once again, gay love saves the day,” Mike intones. Jared makes a strangled sort of noise.

“Yeah, not yet. For all you know, I was drunk, that’s all,” Jensen says, and elbows Mike out of the way so Jared can start logging in. There’s no chair; he’s hunched over the tablet, peering down at the screen, and shifting every few seconds.

“Your spine is unhappy,” Misha says from the futon.

“Your spine looks like it’s a Mobius loop,” Jensen retorts. Misha is folded into some yoga position that appears to defy physical laws.

Mike leers. “I like that in a man.”

Jared gives up and kneels on the floor. He skips the stupid ComNet greeting and heads into Personal Setup. “Okay… There.”

It’s weird to hear his own voice spilling from the speaker, saying words he doesn’t recall. It’s his voice, but it belongs to a person he’s not sure he knows. He shifts his weight, tries to swallow but his mouth is dry.

Jared’s warm hand grips his elbow and anchors him as they all listen.

Jay. You still asleep? Get up, man, it’s past noon. Hey, did you know the easiest way to get the quills out of a dead porcupine is to stick it in the deep freeze? They come out smooth as butter once it’s frozen.

“The hell?” Mike says. “Yeah, I can see why you thought something was off.”

“No, no,” Jared says, shooting him an annoyed glance and hitting pause. “That’s not it, that’s just Jensen, he’s always spouting random trivia shit.”

“I am?”

“Uh. You were.” Jared grins. “You started phone messages like that all the time. It’s thanks to you I know the okapi can lick its own ears.”

“I don’t know that,” says Jensen.

“You do now.”

Jensen scrunches up his face.

“Cool,” Mike says. “It’s a sort of time paradox. Only without destroying the space-time continuum.”

“Fascinating,” Misha says solemnly. He’s moved into full lotus.

“Whatever,” Jensen says. “So what weird shit did I say that actually struck you as weird?”

Jared restarts the playback.

…go out this weekend. Maybe grab a beer at Henry’s, split a plate of their awesome nachos. Anyway, gimme a call when you get a chance.

Mike blinks at Jared. “That’s all?”

“I accept that you knew him better than I did,” Misha says, “but the first half definitely seems more odd to me.”

Jared signs out and cuts the connection.

“Jensen hated Henry’s. It was loud and pretentious, the service sucked, and their nachos were like cardboard.”

“Huh.”

Jared chews his lip. “I went there. I watched for any known contacts, searched the bathroom, did all the usual shit.” He grimaces. “I even ordered the nachos, in case it was some kind of code. They’d used that Cheese Whiz kind of sauce, it was awful. And still, nothing.”

“It’s not a chain or something?” Jensen asks. “You were in the right place?”

“Nah, there’s just the one,” Mike says.

“Thank god,” Jared adds.

Silence settles heavy in the room. Mike looks… Jensen doesn’t know him enough to read him well, but he’s clearly looking to Jensen for answers. And Jared – Jared’s got his stupid, beautiful, hopeful face on. Like Jensen won’t let him down.

He’s not up to this. Jared is… huge and overwhelming and amazing and in love with somebody Jensen maybe used to be. Or maybe Jared was always in love with a fantasy, a Jensen he made up inside his head. Someone who was better, stronger, larger than life.

Someone like Jared himself.

He hates to disappoint him, but he knows that sooner or later, he will. No time like the present.

“No idea,” he says, voice harsher than it needs to be. “Jared. I’m not gonna come up with a miracle here. I don’t have the answer.”

“I know,” Jared says. “I know you don’t remember. But I figure that of all of us, you’ve got the best chance of understanding how your own brain was working.”

“I can’t,” Jensen says dully. “I’ve tried, fuck, you think I haven’t tried? Every time, every time I push it, it’s like this wall, I can’t get through…”

Jared curls a finger under his chin and turns it. Their eyes meet directly.

“So stop pushing.”

Jensen huffs out a breath. “Yeah, thanks, tried that too, tried relaxing, being a fucking door, a wind, an opening flower, god, tried stupid imagery shit up the wazoo and all it ever got me was a migraine splitting my skull.” He gestures to Misha, still in lotus, now with his eyes closed. “I’ll leave that to Buddha over there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jared says softly. He slides his hand up, curls it behind Jensen’s head, fingers gently massaging. “I don’t – I’m not asking you to try and remember. I’m asking you to think.”

He smiles at Jensen, that smile that feels like the sun coming up.

“Screw the past. It was good, it was awesome, but it’s the past. I want the future.” He swallows, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I like this you. I’m happy with this you. You’re hot, you’re funny, and you’re one of the smartest guys I know. I don’t care if you ever dig up any more old memories or not. I want to make new ones.”

Jensen can feel all of him going bright red, not just his ears.

“So, I need your help thinking. Some guy once left me a coded phone message. I need you to help me solve it.”

Jensen twists, surges up and kisses Jared fiercely, trying to pour into it everything he can’t say.

“If you did want him to remember, you could try fucking him again,” Mike says finally, breaking the moment. “Sounds like that worked pretty well last time.”

Jared lets out a bark of stunned laughter. Jensen gives Jared a disbelieving look. “You told him that?”

“No, he was all secretive,” Mike says. “I just extrapolated from known details.”

“I’m not having sex in front of you,” Jensen says.

“It is a good gateway to the subconscious,” Misha says.

“Still no,” Jensen says. “Anyway, I remembered before we, uh. It was a consequence, not a cause.”

Jared smiles softly and leans back against the wall, tugging Jensen’s back against his chest and locking his arms around Jensen’s stomach. He nuzzles into Jensen’s neck. “Ignore him. Start thinking.”

“Quit distracting me,” Jensen grumbles.

“Nope,” Jared says cheerfully, licking his ear – Jensen’s ear, that is. Jared’s no okapi. Not a porcupine either; that’d be Jensen, all prickly and prone to hibernation.

Jared is sucking open-mouth kisses down Jensen’s neck. He lifts his head slightly and blows, cool air on the wet skin. Jensen shivers and closes his eyes briefly.

When he opens them, he has it.

“Misha’s right,” he says.

“This is a frequent occurrence,” Misha says, which startles Jensen somewhat; he’d thought Misha had gone to sleep. “To which do you refer?”

“If I were leaving that message now,” Jensen says, “I’d say the shit about Henry’s to make you realize this isn’t a straightforward message. But I’ll bet you anything you like the trivia isn’t random. Who the hell cares how to get out dead porcupine quills?”

He’s nodding as he talks; this feels right. “The answer’s in the first half. Whatever I wanted to say, I didn’t want to say it flat out over that phone line. But me, now? That’s where I’d hide it.”

He looks at Mike. “What happens if you freeze the thing?”

“I…don’t know,” Mike says, thoughts turning almost visibly in his brain. “It would…get cold. And…contract. Shrink, very slightly. The matrix would condense.” He chews his lip. “It might stabilize. But it wouldn’t work. You couldn’t keep running it that way, it would take too much energy to keep it cold.”

He rubs a hand over his scalp. “You’d have to bring it back up to room temperature, and the matrix would just expand again.”

“Michael.”

They all turn to look at Misha. He has his head cocked in that weird, measuring way again; his eyes look slightly unfocused.

“How do you shape the matrix?”

Mike wrinkles his forehead. “You have to apply that series of magnetic pulses – that was one of the first things we worked out, remember? – to get the molecular bonds to fall in line and create the locking grid.”

“Would they fall into the same orientations if they were cold?”

Mike looks staggered.

“They wouldn’t be vibrating at the same frequency,” Misha says. “At least, I know I don’t when I’m cold.”

Jared snickers.

Mike’s mouth is moving, silently. He’s blinking repeatedly.

“Perhaps they’d fold into a more stable configuration.”

Mike whoops and leaps to his feet. He lunges for Misha, grabs him and tries to haul him up to dance with him. As Misha’s legs are still locked in lotus position, this is less than successful. The futon collapses as they crash back down on it.

“Genius,” Mike says reverently.

“One has to know one’s strengths,” Misha says. “Physical conformations are a specialty of mine.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the local expert on physical chemistry,” Mike says, leering down at Misha.

Jared raises his eyebrows. “We’ll be, uh. Not here.”

“Coffee,” Jensen agrees, heading for the door.

They sit on the back steps with their coffee.

“You did it,” Jared whispers, breath warm on Jensen’s ear.

“Not without you,” Jensen murmurs back.

It’s a perfect, sunny day. They soak it up.

There are still a few things to sort out.

Jared wipes his ComNet account.

Mike buys some liquid nitrogen.

Misha does some painting.

Jensen sleeps in a lot.

“Come on down to the kitchen,” Jared says, pulling the sheets off him. “Mike’s almost all set up. It’s time to risk the space-time continuum.”

Jensen looks like a grumpy hedgehog. It’s adorable. It’s almost enough to make Jared relent and leave him alone, but he doesn’t want Jensen to miss the moment of triumph.

Or, you know, if Mike destroys the universe, Jared would rather spend his last minutes with Jensen than without Jensen. He’s spent far too much time in this world without Jensen, thank you very much.

“I don’t actually want to destroy the space-time continuum,” Jensen says, stomping down the stairs in his pajamas. “I like my on-going existence.”

“Me too,” Jared says, hugging him. Again. It’s kind of ridiculous how much he hugs Jensen these days, but he figures he’s making up for four years of deprivation.

“You worry too much,” says Misha, twisting his elbows into an impossible relationship. “Fuck, ow.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be relaxing?” Jensen says.

“I’m inventing a new pose,” Misha says. “It’s inspired by the new matrix configuration, which unfortunately is rather difficult for the human body to mimic. But I persevere.”

“I’m not sure the human body can fold like that,” Jensen says.

“His can,” Mike says. “Trust me.”

“It’s like yoga and origami,” Jared says. “Yorigami.”

“You should be concentrating on that,” Jensen says to Mike, gesturing at the apparatus Mike is tinkering with.

“I’m very good at multi-tasking,” Mike says, connecting small pieces of tubing. “Everyone remembered to remove any piercings or other bits of metal?”

He sticks his tongue between his teeth and flicks a switch. There’s a small pop and a low humming noise.

“…And the world’s still here,” he says. “Good.”

Jared rests his chin on Jensen’s shoulder and peers at the thingummy. There’s a thin layer of frost on the cube at the center. Mike dusts off his hands theatrically.

“That’s it?” Jensen says.

“Not quite,” Mike says. “The magnetic field stays on thirty seconds. Then we take it out, warm it up, and see what happens.”

“I have complete faith,” says Misha. “You are, after all, an evil genius.”

“I don’t remember anyone mentioning the evil bit,” Jensen says. “Do I have to sic Jared on you?”

“He’s only evil to me,” Misha says. “Ow. Damn. Maybe the right leg has to go around the other way.”

“Only when you ask,” Mike says. He pulls on a pair of thick gloves and gestures to Jared. “Pass me those tongs.”

He lifts the cube out of the set-up, and sets it gently on the thermosensitive strip lying on the windowsill.

They all stare at it.

“Do we need goggles?” Jared asks. “It’s not going to explode, or burn out our retinas, or anything?”

“No,” Mike says, pulling off the gloves. “Well. Not if it’s worked properly.”

“It’s the uncertainty that makes it so much fun,” Jensen says. Mike throws a glove at him.

“Schrodinger’s Cube,” Jared agrees. “Will it or won’t it?”

Mike’s leaning over it, reading the strip. “The surface is up to plus ten now. Another fifteen degrees and we should know.”

Jared frowns. “Isn’t it warming awfully fast?”

“It is warming fast,” Mike says, “but I think that’s because it’s doing its job. So far. It’s sucking up light and converting it. Right now, with this big thermal differential, it makes entropic sense to create heat. That should stop once it hits ambient temperature.”

He checks the strip again.

He backs up and sits down heavily in the wobbly kitchen chair, and doesn’t say anything.

Jared and Jensen share a look.

“No good?” Jensen asks.

Mike turns a blank face towards him. “It’s fine. It’s – it’s stable.”

“I knew it,” says Misha serenely. “Look. So am I.”

The doorbell rings.

There on the porch, suitcase at her feet, is Sandy.

Jared has one second to register this shocking fact before Harley and Sadie leap past her and cannon into his chest, taking him down.

“You need to go pay the cab driver,” Sandy says. “I had enough for the trip but I didn’t expect a huge surcharge for the dogs.”

“They wouldn’t have been any trouble,” Jared says indignantly, trying to hug them both and rub them behind the ears and simultaneously avoid getting licked to death.

“No,” Sandy says, “but they’re terrible back seat drivers.”

“I’ll give you that,” Jared says, extricating himself finally and standing. They continue to circle around his legs, sniffing him. Sadie stares at him.

“What?” Jared says to her. “Okay, fine. He’s in the back.”

He waves behind him and the dogs take off. Jared suppresses a smirk, imagining Jensen’s response to their enthusiastic welcomes.

“Go on in,” he tells Sandy, “make yourself comfortable. Leave the suitcase, I’ll get it.”

He pays the driver and hauls her surprisingly heavy bag into the front hall. He can hear her making polite conversation with Jensen. Mike and Misha seem to have made themselves scarce.

“So,” he says, walking into the kitchen, “need any introductions?”

“We’ve managed,” Jensen says, handing Sandy a Coke. “I was feeling a little awkward about being in pajamas, but apparently Sandy’s known me for years, so I think I can let it slide.”

“Great,” Jared says, sitting on the floor and letting the dogs swarm him. “We can skip to the important stuff. What’s going on back there? How’d you get the dogs? How’d you find us? Is Jeff gonna show up next?”

Sandy can look serious. She just doesn’t do it very often. This is one of those times.

“Mike called in. When he found out what’s been happening at Headquarters, he told me I’d find you here. Jeff’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“No idea.” Sandy takes a long gulp of her drink. “The whole place sort of imploded. You were gone and nobody knew why, and then we found out you had Jensen with you. Jeff didn’t believe you would double-cross him, but the way you took off and didn’t get back in touch…”

“Chris was at the house that morning!” Jared interrupts. “He was trying to kill Jensen! I thought Jeff was running his own double-cross.”

“It wasn’t Jeff. It was Chris.”

“Why would Chris try to kill Jensen? He was his best friend.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill Jensen,” Sandy says. “He wanted to get him, take Jensen away himself.” She sighs. “You know he was always jealous of you.”

Jared frowns. “What? Why?”

Sandy raises her eyebrows. “Really? Were you really that oblivious?” She glances at Jensen, who’s been keeping quiet while they catch up. “Because. You idiot.”

Jared stares at Sandy, then looks over at Jensen.

“…Oh.”

“Chris,” Jensen says, brow furrowed. “About five ten, light brown hair, really blue eyes?”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “You remember him?”

“Not from before. He came to my bar. I got a weird vibe off him, but I didn’t recognize it.” Jensen looks at Jared. “Then he was at the house the next day. He must have followed me home. I didn’t know that was the guy you were talking about, the one from your side.”

Jared frowns. “So if he wasn’t trying to kill you, who was?”

“The dark-haired guy,” Jensen says. “The one who shot Chris.”

He swallows. “Chris was just standing there, staring at me. He had a gun, but y’know, he wasn’t aiming it. He wouldn’t – I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have shot me, whatever happened. Then this other guy showed up at the other end of the hall. He fired at me, I ducked, and it hit Chris. Meanwhile, you showed up and…” He gestures. “You know the rest.”

“I don’t,” Sandy says, “but you can fill me in on the details later. So then…”

“The dark-haired guy,” Jared interrupts. “Almost as tall as me? Blue eyes?”

“And built like a tank,” Jensen says. “Yeah. What, another of yours?”

“No,” Jared says grimly. “Fucking bastard. Tom Welling. He works for the Republic. He’s the guy I saw on the damn boat.”

“He doesn’t work for the Republic,” Sandy says. “Or, well, he does, but not really. He’s StarOil.”

“What?” Jared says, stunned.

“He’s the CEO’s great-nephew,” Sandy says. “I thought everybody knew that. I mean, he keeps it quiet, but I thought you’d know that.”

“He’s really good at explosions,” Jared says. His fists clench of their own volition. “I wonder where he was four years ago.”

Jensen turns and stares down at him. “You think…?”

“I do,” Jared says. “And I am going to kill him.”

Sandy flinches. “Jared, hon. I’m sorry, but… calm down, okay? There’s more stuff I have to tell you.”

Jared takes a couple of deep breaths, releases them. Sadie is still lying across his legs. He scratches her under her chin, and feels a little tension drain from him.

Sandy speaks again. “So you and Jensen were both gone. Jeff was furious. He ordered Aldis to go after you, and Aldis flat out refused.”

Her eyes sparkle. “He said Jared was a good guy, that you had to have reasons for whatever you were doing, and he wasn’t going to interfere.”

Jared blinks and grins. “Man. I owe him big time for that.”

“Katie sided with Aldis. Then Mike stopped reporting in. Jeff was counting on Chris to get you. And then…”

She bites her lip, obviously bracing herself to tell the rest.

“Then Chris showed up, and stabbed Genevieve.”

Jared stares at her. He can’t have heard right. Gen. She can’t…

“Is she…” he says. He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“He came in, ranting about her being a lying little bitch, that she’d just been using him. He knifed her in the chest, right at her desk.” Sandy’s voice cracks. “In our office. I’d just left for a few minutes to pick up lunch.”

Jared can’t process, can’t move. It’s Jensen who takes Sandy’s arm and guides her to a chair.

“I found her like that. He was gone, but I ran the security camera tape.” She looks up at Jensen. “It was Gen who kept trying to get you killed. She was Tom’s contact.”

“What?” Jared bursts out. “Why…”

Once again, pieces start clicking into place, and as the picture reveals itself they fall faster and faster.

“…Oh.”

He tastes bile in the back of his throat. He sags back heavily against the cupboards, feeling suddenly cold. Sadie whines and licks his hand.

Jensen’s solid warmth slides up beside him, long legs stretched out alongside Jared’s. Jensen’s arm is across his shoulders; Jensen’s hand is over Jared’s heart, warming and grounding him.

“Yeah,” Sandy says. “Not only that. She was connected with StarOil. She’s been working to keep them in power in the Republic, and apparently Jensen’s a threat to them, although Jeff didn’t tell me why.” She eyes them questioningly. Neither responds; she shrugs and continues. “But yeah. It was personal too.”

“Personal?” Jensen says.

“Uh,” Jared says.

Sandy rolls her eyes. “She pined after Jared for years. And just when she thought she had a chance, you pop up again.”

Jensen tips his head up, nose brushing Jared’s jaw. “Oh. So you and she…?”

“We dated a couple of times,” Jared says quietly. “It wasn’t – I didn’t want anything serious or long-term.” He swallows. “Again.”

He gives Jensen a hopeful, apologetic smile.

Jensen’s eyebrows go up.

So do Sandy’s.

“Jared! You didn’t – you didn’t tell him?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Jared says, reasonably. “Hey Jensen, you think you’re straight, you’ve got a smoking hot girlfriend – ”

“Who’s an agent for the Republic –”

“…which probably makes her even hotter, I’m some guy you don’t recognize who keeps getting you nearly killed, but by the way, I’m your now-illegal ex-boyfriend?” He shrugs. “It never seemed like the right time.”

“After the sex would have been fine,” Jensen says. Sandy squeals.

“No details!” Jared says. “None!”

“I’ll get them out of him later,” she says sweetly. “I always do.”

“Hey!” Jared protests. “No you don’t! Quit trying to implant false memories!” He pulls back and gives Jensen his best puppy eyes. “She’s lying. You never tell her anything.”

“I’ll tell you what I do want to know,” Sandy says. “What’s the big secret? What’s worth killing for? Apart from Jared, of course.”

She follows their gaze to the windowsill. They stand and come up behind her, as she reaches out her hand and picks up the cube. Its matte black surface is limned with the faintest shimmer of green, pattern of lines just beneath the shell.

“It’s warm,” she murmurs. “What is it?”

“The future,” Jared says. “Green means go.”


Epilogue