Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

SPN: By The Letter (Jared/Jensen, NC-17)
as promised, one 12,000+ word jsquared.

cee must really love you people, because she beta'd long and hard for a whole night, even though she was sick. she RULES.

anyhoo, getcher headphones out.



Disclaimer; None of this ever happened.
Rating: Explicit Porn
A/N: Beta'd by cee, who's the cream in my coffee.



 

So Jared has an iPod. He's not one of those guys that has to have every little gadget that comes out, but he likes music. Sometimes it annoys Jensen, because Jared will listen to it between takes when they're playing PSP together, and it's less fun if they aren't taunting each other about being losers.

And so, when Jared gets called off to do something or other one day, and he leaves the thing curled up in the director's chair right next to Jensen's, Jen figures it's only right. Jared shouldn't be so trusting. Someone could take advantage.

Someone who knows how to change the names on all his playlists.

He grabs up the little white box, taps and spins it to bring up Jared's music. There's a huge list of things: Country, Crip, Home, Sherry (who the hell is Sherry? Jensen wonders), Inside Front Pocket, Cash, Hollywood, shit like that. Jen's scrolling through, memorizing names so he can switch them, and then one of the words catches his eye.

Jensen.

Of course, Jen immediately sets one of the buds in his ear, and pushes play. In his head, he is laughing and laughing. God, Jared's hilarious. Like a twelve year old girl with a mix tape, honestly.

But as the first notes slip into his ears, Jensen's smile begins to fade. Five seconds in, and it's gone completely. His eyes lock on this one little section of grass by his feet, unseeing, as he tries to fake being all right for anyone who might glance over at him.

He's not all right.

The high, dirty-delicate voice rings in his ears, Jared's amped-up base line thudding behind it. He's trying to think of a way – any way at all – that this makes sense. The song is so familiar that, once he remembers what it is, he can even spell it right, in his head.

u got the horn so why don't u blow it
u are fine
u're filthy cute and baby u know it
cream

Jen shakes his head, trying to clear it. This can't be what he thinks it is. It just can't.

The little movement pulls one of the ear buds free, and as Prince's voice fades Jensen hears Jared laughing around the other side of a nearby trailer, heading this way. He thwacks the little white button and flails the other bud out of his ear, lets it drop on Jared's chair. It lands haphazardly, all tangling wires, and Jen grabs up his PSP and pretends he never saw the fucking iPod before in his life.

Jared, when he arrives, starts talking about the prank he just pulled on Intern B before he even sits down, all smiles and gleeful mischief. Jen plays along, and Jared doesn't seem to notice a thing.

 

Maybe it's just all Prince songs.

Maybe he knew I'd hear it, maybe it's just designed to screw with me, a double cross. That sounds like him, the fucker.

He doesn't think of me like that. We're not like that. It can't be.

It's probably just random.

It's not random, it's got my name on it.

He's got a girlfriend.

Jensen gives his head a shake – for probably the fiftieth time since he listened to those songs – and it takes him about ten seconds to piece together the following facts into a reasonable deduction:

• I am in a grocery store
   
• My hand is on a half-full cart
   
• There is a box of cereal in my other hand

Conclusion: I am grocery shopping.

Jensen sighs, puts the box into his cart, and thanks God that he made a list, and that it's easily visible.

 

See, Jared's never made a secret of the fact that he's bisexual. It's not like it's news.

Jensen leans back against the Impala's headrest, waiting for the lighting guys to set up the shot. Jared's not around, the scene doesn't call for Sam, so he's pigging out in the kitchen tent. That kid can put away food like nobody's business.

It only stands to reason, Jen figures. He blushes at the thought – hates to sound arrogant, even in his own head – but it's true. Jensen's older, they spend all day together anyway. And he's got no illusions about the fact that he's considered pretty by some people.

Jared sat him down right when they started out, right when they were first getting to be friends. Jen remembers it perfectly; they were in his Vancouver loft and they had beers and the game on TV, and Jared had said if they were going to be friends, there was something Jen should know. I like guys. I like girls, too, but I also like guys. I'm bisexual. I just don't want there to be any misunderstandings between us, I want to be honest about it because I don't want you to be, y'know, blindsided with it one day. I figure I say it now, and then you can get used to it or whatever. You can... I dunno, know what you're getting.

And sure, it freaked Jensen out a little at the beginning, but he got used to it. He's an open-minded guy, he always figured; not gay, but he doesn't have to be. He's from Dallas, for Christ's sake, he's not some bigoted redneck who can't see past stuff like that.

Besides, at the time he'd thought it was cool for Jared to be so honest. He said as much, right there on his couch, after he'd had a second to absorb it. It was open and thoughtful and really mature of the guy, and he figured if Jared could handle Jensen knowing about it, then Jen could handle knowing about it. It would just be that simple.

Now, sitting in the Impala, the words of the song still pulsing through his head, Jen mentally squares his shoulders. I knew he had this thing, he tells himself. Jared's not a total slut when we're out at the bar or anything, far from it. Jen remembers Jared saying he was "mostly straight" – real particular about what kind of guys he found attractive, was all. Jen knows that Jared's particular about his girls, too.

He's just a guy. A guy Jensen knows, likes, and works with, and he'll just have to deal with there being a slightly-gay card in the mix. He knew it was there.

The lighting guys knock on Jen's roof as they stand up and clear the frame – it's time. Jen puts on his Dean face and gets ready for the scene, feeling that firm conviction in his gut.

He's used to being... looked at, like that. It's fine. It's flattering. And it's not like Jared's going to go all crazy or anything. He's Jared. It's fine. It'll be fine.

 

Really, it doesn't change anything.

Behind him, a horn blares, and Jen realizes he forgot to signal before changing lanes.

Jared won't push it, he tells himself, as he guiltily waves an apology at the car behind him. It never would have happened if I hadn't been poking around his iPod anyway, so it'll never come up, because Jared doesn't know. I didn't change anything. Everything should be fine.

Everything's fine.

 

Jensen's a thinker. He overthinks, everybody that knows him has told him that at one time or another. His mama says it's 'cause he's so bright; she touches his hair into place and looks at him with that sweet, fond mom look in her eyes, and Jen is four years old again, trying to squirm out from under it, aw, mama. Still, it's not like she's wrong.

Banging his dishes around his kitchen, Jen tries not to think about it. He tries not to hear the music in his head, the lyrics. He tries as hard as he can not to analyze it, burying his hands in the soap and warm water. It's like he needs to, as if he can't just toss them in the dishwasher like he usually does, can't kick back on the couch. There's a knot in his gut, uncomfortable and twisting.

He doesn't want to think about it. He wishes he could just forget the sound of that song, the beat of it. It'd be so much easier if he could just forget it.

Mama always said he had a memory like an elephant.

It plays in his head, high guitar riffs and twanging wow pedal on the guitar. It figures, Jared would like that, the twang – much as he tries to hide it, he's such a country boy. He hits blanks in the lyrics, places he doesn't remember the words. It's been a while since he heard the song in its entirety, like on the radio or something. And then he can't remember how the next verse starts, and he can't stand it anymore. He leaves the sink full, dries off his hands and heads for his computer, disgusted with himself. He sits down and pulls up a search page.

cream prince lyrics

He stares at it for a full second before hitting 'enter'.

Jen reads what comes up with a sense of numb shock. In the forty-eight hours or so since he heard this song come up attached to his name, that's pretty much been his default mode: numb shock.

The explanations race through his head as he leans back in the chair; he rubs a hand over his face and sighs. Could be any one of a dozen reasons, but there's no way to be sure unless he just outright asks, and there's no way he's doing that. How do you ask a question like that? Hey, man, I was fucking with your iPod and I heard this song on a playlist with my name on it, and this song makes it sound like you maybe want to sleep with me. What's up with that?

Jen laughs, short and frustrated, and leans forward in his chair. He leans his elbows on his knees and stares at his blank TV in the next room as he tries to think of a way out of this. He scrolls through as many options as he can think of, from the simple (listen to the song so many times he never wants to hear it again, let alone think of it) to the complex (quit the show, get job as a circus manager).

Finally he just gives it up, goes to bed and resolves to work so hard tomorrow he can just come straight home, fall down and sleep, and not have to think about this one more second.

 

Jen jerks awake. He glances at the clock on his bedside table and the glowing red numbers tell him it's four in the morning.

That's it, he decides, slapping a hand over his face. That's just fucking it.

Jen figures that by the time you're dreaming of being chased by the symbol that Prince changed his name into, something's gotta be done. Or you'll just go insane.

And then finally it dawns on him, the best way to figure out what that song means – if it's a fluke, or if it really means what he thinks it does. It's got to be a fluke, but his brain won't let him rest until he knows, and there's just one way. He sits back in his chair, struck with the possibility, mind swimming with ways to go about it.

He's got to get hold of that iPod and listen to the rest of the playlist.

 

They slam empty shot glasses down on the table in unison, and Jared howls with the burn of the tequila, thumping his hands on the table. Jen grins at him. "Man, you're such a lightweight."

Jared has had much more to drink than Jensen has. That, after all, was the plan.

Jared, flushed and beaming at him, points his index finger in Jen's face. "Careful," he smiles. "I'll get you hammered and take advantage of you, and then you'll be sorry."

He's supposed to laugh. He's supposed to laugh and hit Jared in the shoulder and say he'd have better luck with the big, hairy bartender. But Jen forgets to do that stuff, takes a sip of his beer, and tries not to feel his cheeks burning.

Jared, blessedly oblivious as ever, cracks up and punches Jen in the shoulder instead. He climbs unsteadily to his feet and slides out from the table. "Where's the can in this dive?" He stumbles off without waiting for an answer, and Jen watches him go.

And he feels like a bastard.

Jared never goes anywhere without that fucking iPod. On set it's either in his hand, or in his chair. He picks it up the second they get back from the shoot. He never leaves it in his car, never loses it, and always notices if it's missing. Right now, it's in his jacket pocket, which is hanging over the back of Jared's chair, right next to Jensen. It's reasonable to assume, if they are both drunk, that someone could have lifted it when Jared wasn't looking. And Jen planned to buy him another one.

But now...

He's a friend, God damn it. Jared's a friend, and Jen is supposed to be watching out for him, not thieving his stuff. He's not supposed to be prying into Jared's private life, into his thoughts or emotions. Jen's just obviously too much of a coward to come right out and ask him, and he's a lying sneak thief who shouldn't be called human. He drops his head onto his arms, crossed on the table.

He can't do it.

Jared comes back from the bathroom, slings himself into the chair and throws an arm around Jen's shoulders. "Hey, hey," he whispers, beer-warm breath on Jensen's ear. "I was talking to these two girls at the bar over there. They told me they don't watch TV, but they think you're cuuuute." Jen elbows him, can't resist a smile, and Jared laughs. "Come on, man, you wanna?"

Jensen laughs softly, and then really laughs, and then they're climbing to their feet and heading over to the bar to flirt. Jen doesn't think about the fucking iPod again for the rest of the night.

 

"Come on, Sam," calls the set manager.

Jared jumps out of his chair and heads off after the guy, turning mid-stride to give Jensen an 'I'm cool' thumbs-up. (Such a lie, thinks Jen, waving after him.) They're shooting a scene where Sam's alone, getting attacked by this monster, and he's supposed to think he's all alone, that Dean's abandoned him. Jensen's been forbidden to be anywhere nearby – the director thinks Jared'll have an easier time emoting all alone if Jensen isn't right there, and he's not wrong. So Jen kicks back and picks up the book he's reading, ignoring the empty chair beside him.

He spends so long side by side with Jared that it feels weird with him gone. It's nice, sometimes, when he needs the privacy, but when he doesn't, it's like he imagines it must be for an amputee that hasn't had an arm in twenty years. It doesn't hurt, it's accustomed and normal, but somehow it still feels weird, even though it shouldn't. It's strange, Jensen knows, but if there's one thing he can usually let go, it's the stuff in his own head. Sometimes he just thinks things, and doesn't choose to pick apart his reasons. It came out of his own brain, so on some level he must have thought it through. So whatever.

A glint at the corner of his eye grabs his attention, and he turns – something's on Jared's chair. He feels a moment of terror that it might be a big bug: ever since they shot that scene in 'Bugs' and he'd completely refused to be on set at the same time as that giant fucking tarantula, Jared can't resist leaving little plastic things around just to torment him. The fucker. How could he pick that thing up with his bare hand? God, it gives Jensen the creeps just to think about it.

What lies in the cradle of Jared's chair isn't a bug. As Jen turns to look at it, he instantly realizes that it's something much more dangerous than that.

The boxy white body of the thing lies heavily, pulling the fabric down. The long, thin, white strands come curling off it, pooling stark on the black chair. Jensen stares at it.

It stares back.

He watches it for a full sixty seconds before picking it up and putting the buds in his ears. He finds the playlists already queued up, and there's his name, just like before. When he taps the button, a song starts up halfway through – it's the last thing Jared was listening to, it seems.

Jensen sits back, and pays attention.

By the time Jared gets back, the iPod is curled up just as he left it. Jensen is reading calmly, and says "Hey, man, how'd it go?" and Jared starts up like a match to kindling. Sam's motivation, the direction the show's going in, the relationship between Sam and Dean, global warming, chickens, beer.

Jensen doesn't say much of anything except nodding and murmuring to keep Jared going, and that's perfectly normal. Jared doesn't notice that Jen's knuckles have gone white on his book.

The rest of the day's shooting goes well. There's supposed to be heaps of tension between the brothers and Jensen nails every line, sketching the elephant in the room with his voice, with the way he holds himself. It isn't hard. Jared claps him on the back between takes; at first he's congratulating Jen on how well it's going, but as the day draws on Jensen's front gets harder to hold on to when the camera isn't rolling. Jared's too smart for his own good – that's one of the reasons Jen likes him – but it's pretty fucking inconvenient right now.

When they wrap, Jen throws his stuff into the little locker in his trailer. Sounds from Jared's iPod pound in his head, no less deafening now than they were when he first heard them. There were songs he recognized and songs he didn't, but he feels no need to go Google the lyrics, no need to try to get the names or the artists. There's no need at all.

He knows what they mean.

There's a sharp knock at his door. "Jensen?" Jared's muffled voice drifts through the aluminum, concern coloring his tone.

Jen sighs, closes the locker and stands up. He shrugs on his jacket and heads for the door with every intention of just going straight to the parking lot, enduring Jared for as long as he has to until he can get home, where he'll shut himself in and find some way not to think. They're off tomorrow – maybe he'll hit the bar, get a little something to drink. Better yet, get a lot of something.

Jared's standing there in the low light, looking up at him. His thumbs are tucked in his pockets, his arms more or less straight; he glances up through his too-long bangs at Jen and looks like a kicked puppy. Jen feels, instantly, like the most vile bastard ever to crawl the earth. "Hey, Jared," he says, guilty enough to have the words warmer than he meant to say them.

That big, dorky smile curves Jared's lips, and his eyes brighten. "I thought you were mad at me or something. You been weird all night tonight."

"Sorry about that," Jen says, trying to dredge up some guilty excuse. "I guess I just, I had some bad food or something. I'm not feeling right."

Worry instantly replaces that hangdog look, crooking up Jared's eyebrows and making him reach out to touch Jensen's arm. "What? Man, I didn't even notice. Are you okay?"

God, I am scum. Jensen fidgets with the change in his pocket. "Yeah, yeah, man, don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"Well, come on, the jeep's right over there. I'll take you home." He sounds earnest and sincere and like a good guy, like a friend. And earlier today, Jensen invaded his privacy like nobody's business, and now he's lying about it. Jared claps him once on the shoulder, just light.

"Yeah," Jen says, nodding. "Yeah, thanks, that'd be good."

"All right," Jared says approvingly, smiling at a thousand watts.

They climb in Jared's jeep and take off. Jared asks if Jen's got a headache, and when Jen says he doesn't, he starts off: basketball, why loafers are stupid shoes, mortgage rates, don't make fun of me for the candles, they smell nice, you should try some. Jen can't help but smile. Given time and the proper equipment, Jen's reasonably sure you could power a small house off the kinetic energy generated by Jared's mouth. By the time they get to Jen's house, he's participating in the conversation like he usually does – little digs and opinions he doesn't mean, just to rile Jared up, get him ranting. He's hilarious when he rants, and Jared knows Jen finds it funny, but he does it anyway and laughs along.

 

When they pull up outside Jensen's door it's all of a sudden awkward. Jared rubs one hand over the back of his neck, fingers of the other resting on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything. Jen coughs.

"Well," Jen begins, trying for hearty and coming out reluctant. "Thanks for the lift, man." He climbs out of the car and shuts the door behind him, but then Jared's there, leaning across the seats and looking at him out the window.

"Jen, listen. I got some beer in the back. You wanna hang out, maybe?" Jen studies his face, sincere and maybe a little worried. His eyes are huge, his face soft in the dim light. "I just don't think you should be alone right now, that's all. You been weird, like I said, and..."

He trails off. Jen looks at him and just stands there, his inner monologue floundering for anything to say to that that isn't –

"Sure. Of course, yeah. Come on, help me with it."

Jared grins, his shining bright smile, and disappears from the window as Jen goes around the back of the jeep and flips through stuff until he finds the stash of beer. Jared appears by his side and they lift boxes of longnecks out and into their arms.

Jen rents a little townhouse in Vancouver, a nice place, good neighborhood. If they were in Boston, he'd call it a brownstone – New England steps, brick front, garden out front with lots of greenery creeping its way up the stairs. Jen leads the way up and unlocks his door, not a little freak-out-ity, despite his best intentions.

Jared, however, just brushes him aside and marches in the front door like it's nothing. He toes off his shoes, disappears through the living room into the kitchen, and Jen can hear the clink of the bottles hitting the counter. He smiles and follows along; when he arrives in the kitchen, Jared's hoisted himself up on the counter and is sitting there, swinging his feet and swilling down beer like absolutely nothing could be wrong with the world. Jen just has to grin to see it, because that's Jared. Making life easy, doing what makes perfect sense when Jen's head is chaos.

"Make yourself useful," Jared drawls, grinning and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "We need snacks."

Jen snorts and rolls his eyes. "Maybe you need snacks. Some of us are just fine with beer."

Jared's eyes narrow. "Sandwiches, or I find your Gummi bear stash."

"...I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Shut up or no sandwiches."

Jared swipes his thumb and index finger across his smiling lips, and then throws away the key.