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“I have a feeling tonight is going to be a slow night…” I mutter as I lean back into my chair, stretching my arms above my head.  The labour ward is uncharacteristically quiet, and the rooms that are usually filled with the sounds of birthing women bringing children into the world stand dark and empty.  The next twelve hours definitely has the potential to drag if this doesn’t change soon.  My fellow midwife on shift pushes off the desk and swivels jovially to face me, an easy smile spreading across her features.

“Hey now, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” she scolds good-naturedly, “And for god’s sake, don’t say the ‘q’ word."  Ah yes, ‘quiet’, the word no hospital worker dares utter lest the fates send a fresh horde of women as punishment. "Tea?" 

“Good plan,” I agree, rising from my chair and pulling my scrubs straight absent-mindedly as I head for the kitchen.

There’s no need for me to ask Laura how she’d like her tea because after two years of sharing night shifts her beverage preferences are pretty much imprinted on my brain.  Weak, two sugars, little milk; gross, in other words.  I always leave the tea bag in to stew as long as possible without getting that weird scum on top.

As I rummage in the cupboards looking for some clean mugs I hear the phone begin to ring, and it’s promptly answered by Laura in her most professional, falsely well-spoken, voice.  Maybe we’ll have something to do tonight after all.  I abandon the brewing teabags to take a quick glimpse at my reflection in the mirror.  Relatively fresh for my third night shift in a row if I do say so myself, eyes still bright and my pixie short hair only sticking up in one or two places.  Still, the night's only just started, plenty of time to end up covered in a variety of bodily fluids.  I can hear Laura speaking reassuringly in soothing tones to whoever is on the phone while I add the milk to our mugs, and as I walk back towards the desk I see Laura put down the phone and scribble in the triage book, her blonde ponytail bobbing as she writes.   I cock my head inquisitively as I sit and slide Laura’s mug towards her. 

“Someone coming in?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “You jinxed us.  Some American woman.  She’s not booked at this hospital but she sounds like she really needs to come in, she could barely speak to me.”

“Fair enough.”  I pull the triage book towards myself to have a look, and then almost choke on the mouthful of hot tea I’ve just slurped.  Holy shit.  “Is this name right?” I sputter once I can feel my tongue again, my finger pointing accusingly at the name written at the top of the page.  Laura just looks confused at my alarmed tone.

“Yeah, bit of a mouthful right? I had to get her to spell it out for me, which, you know, took a while with the contractions.”  She grins but I don’t have the capacity to smile back at her right now.  I’m just staring at the neat handwriting in front of me that reads ‘Genevieve Padalecki’ and trying not to freak out.  That’s a common enough name, right? Sure, it could happen.  “What?” Laura prompts when I fail to elaborate further, just leaning back and taking another long sip of tea.  I barely notice how hot it is this time, holding the mug close to my face in both hands and staring into space. 

“It’s probably nothing,” I begin once I manage to barely collect myself, “But… you know that TV show I love, Supernatural?” Laura lets out a chuckle and leans forward, tugging on the lanyard hanging around my neck that just happens to have Supernatural printed all over it.

“Uh, yeah, I’m slightly aware.”  I roll my eyes at her gentle teasing, because really Laura has no idea.  My fangirling has been kept well under wraps at work for the most part. 

“Well… the guy that plays Sam is Jared Padalecki, and he’s married to one of the women who used to be in the show whose name is Genevieve… making her… Genevieve Padalecki.”  Laura’s mouth gradually begins to fall open as I speak.  “I mean, it could be coincidence… but those aren’t exactly common names, and I happen to know they’re in England right now doing the convention circuits and she’s pregnant with their second child…”  My voice just trails off as my eyes slide back to the triage page.  Yep, the woman on the phone had said this was her second baby, and she was only just full term at 37 weeks. 

“Holy shit,” Laura mutters, echoing my earlier thoughts, and then taking a big gulp of tea.  I nod numbly, feeling mildly shell shocked.  A couple of blank minutes pass, and then suddenly I feel a hot panic start to rise up from my feet.

“You have to… you have to swap this with me!” I say hurriedly as I spring into action, slamming down my tea and pulling off my lanyard.  I frantically try to detach the name badge that’s attached to it.  “If it is them I cannot have this on!”  Laura closes her hands around her own possessively, fingers obscuring the ‘Griffindor’ logo.

“Just keep your badge in your pocket or something!” she exclaims, my frantic nature obvious catching.

“Come check the room with me, get the birthing pool running or something.”  I’m up and out of my chair, heart beating frenziedly as I begin to buzz up and down the hallway like a demented insect, anxiety almost making me dizzy.  “These people are famous Laura! We need to… we need to…”

“We need to breeeeathe Bec,” Laura smiles as she rounds the doorway and finds me anxiously fluffling pillows on the birthing couch.  She walks towards me and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze, stopping me mid pillow hit.  “They’re just another couple having another baby who we’ll care for just like we care for everyone else.”  She’s right, of course.  I let out a nervous little laugh, shoulders sagging as I try to relax. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”  I take one last glance around the room.  It’s spotless, the lights are dim, the water is running.  “Yeah, we can do this.”

 The next 20 minutes felt like the longest in my entire life.  I sit at the desk with Laura in nervous silence, waiting, unable to even finish my tea and obsessively popping back into the room to check I hadn’t forgotten anything.  Suddenly, a loud moan breaks the silence and I almost jump out of my seat.

“Breeeeathe,” Laura repeats, and I allow myself one last nervous squeak as I hear the porter’s badge swipe the doors to enter the unit.  I try to grab a hold of myself, taking a deep breathe.  Come on Rebecca. If I can handle a woman throwing up all over my shoes and still a pleasant poker face I can handle this.

Dan, the familiar tattooed night porter, comes striding through the doors first.  He pulls a worried face at me as he approaches.

“I’ve brought Genevieve for you.  I don’t think she’ll be long…” he trails off, visibly cringing as the woman behind him cries out again.

“Thanks Dan,” I smile, touching his arm briefly as I walk past him, bracing myself to discover whether or not my suspicions had been well founded. 

My eyes fall on a woman holding onto her rounded stomach tightly and breathing heavily, her head tilted down at the floor, dark thick hair falling in waves.  As her contraction fades she looks up with desperate eyes that lock onto mine and I smile kindly at her instinctively, trying to ignore the fact that my heart feels like it’s somewhere down in my shoes. 

Genevieve is every bit as stunning in person as she looks in her pictures, even in the throws of labour.  Her thick lips are pink and swollen from where she’s been biting down on the them and her cheeks are flushed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. 

“Hi Genevieve, I’ll be looking after you tonight.  You can call me Becca.”

“Can you please do something for the pain? It just feels like it won’t stop…” she moans between pants and I nod, cupping my hand around her slim elbow and squeezing. 

“Course we can.  We’ve got a birthing pool filling up for you, some gas and air, we’ll get everything sorted ok?”  I start to guide her towards the room and then pause, “Is J… your husband here? Do you have anyone with you?”

“The bags…” Gen begins, “Ohhh, hurry, it’s coming again!” She stops walking, all effort going into managing her contraction.  I rub her lower back soothingly, encouraging her to sway, my attention only leaving her when I hear the labour ward doors open again.

Don’t hyperventilate Becca. Do not. Pass. Out.  Jensen Ackles, honest to God, Jensen Ackles himself comes through the doors.  He’s laden down with bags and looking completely harrowed, panicked even, but even so I can’t help but admire how gorgeous he looks.  His jaw, currently drawn tight with worry is covered with a sexy five’o’clock shadow, his hair a little messy.  But oh, his eyes, they meet mine and a little relief floods into them.  They are the most startling shade of green I’ve ever seen. 

“Is this your husband?” I ask, playing dumb. 

“Just a good friend,” Jensen replies as he walks straight over to us.  On hearing Jensen’s voice Genevieve wails,

“Jensen I can’t do this!”  His mouth flounders as he looks down at his friend, seemingly struggling to find the right comforting words. 

“You can, you’ve done it before, I know you can do it again,” I interject, earning me a nervous smile from the god-like man stood next to me that makes my heart thud loudly.  “Come on, let’s get you in and sorted out.”  With a slightly firmer tone I manage to get Genevieve moving again and Jenson holds the room doors open for us, still looking totally overwhelmed. 

When I glance over my shoulder I have to hold back my laughter because Laura’s eyes are peering over the desk at me, arms flailing in the air, mouth forming the words ‘Oh my god!’

Thirty minutes later and the mood in the room has dramatically changed.  After making sure everything was fine I’d encouraged Genevieve, or Gen as she preferred, to get into the birthing pool.  Now she leans over the side on her knees, holding tightly onto the gas and air in one hand, dressed in nothing but a large grey t-shirt that floated in the water.  She rhythmically breathes the gas and air, quieter and calmer now, and as her contraction ebbs away the sound of her baby’s heartbeat sounds out loudly into the stillness of the room.  I lean over the pool, listening closely with my hand-held device, and my eyes meet Jensen’s in the dim light.

“Is everything…” he had to cough to clear his throat, “Is everything ok?” he asks.  It’s the first time he’s spoken since his first words on arrival, and although he’s kept himself very removed from the action I’ve been acutely aware of his presence.  He’s been watching my every move closely and I can almost feel the nervous energy radiating from the corner where he sits. 

“Everything seems fine,” I assure, more for his benefit than Gen’s. “You’ve got a very content little boy in there.”  Gen is totally zoned out, almost blissful between her contractions now.

I wipe my hands on a nearby towel and despite my nerves I force myself across the room to sit on the opposite end of the couch as Jensen. 

“So how come you’re here? Pretty intense job for a friend of the family,” I gently probe.  He gives a short laugh and scratches at the emerging stubble on his cheek.

“Tell me about it.  Yeah, her husband, Jared, he’s still in the States working,” he explains, his eyes not leaving Gen’s back.  The water sloshes softly as she sways.  I just nod.  I don’t want to let on that I know who they are,  I can’t give the inner fangirl a chance to escape, but it feels like the more questions I ask and the more oblivious I pretend to be, the more dishonest I’m being.  It doesn’t sit well with me at all. 

“Well, it’s really nice of you to be here with her.”  Jensen turns his head to look at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.  I practically melt on the spot. 

“Jared is like my brother, I couldn’t let her do this on her own.”

“Ohhhh, Becca, God, there’s so much pressure now, owwww…” Gen moans, calling my attention back to her beautiful image.  I leave Jensen’s side, missing the smell of his musky aftershave immediately. 

“That’s ok, that’s a good sign,” I tell her soothingly, kneeling in front of her.  “You might feel like you want to push soon, that’s ok too, just listen to your body.”  Gen nods loosely before retreating back into herself again.

Gen is more vocal with the next few contractions and I know she’s starting to push from the way her moans turn into low guttural sounds.  The excitement and anticipation builds in the room, and as it does I sense Jensen becoming increasingly restless, wringing his hands from afar.   A particularly strong contraction passes and he suddenly gets up from his seat.

“I’m sorry Gen, I don’t think I can be here for this.”  He starts to make for the door, but before I think about what I’m doing I stand up and in front of him.  He stops, looking at me with what looks like a mixture of terror and shame.

“Jensen, please, please, I need you here,” Gen exclaims with a hint of desperation, suddenly tearful. “I want Jared, I want him here Jen… please, don’t go…” she cries.

Of course I understand that this is overwhelming for people that don’t do this every day like I do, it can be really scary, but the sight of Gen so open and vulnerable leaves me feeling a little irritated at Jensen for wanting to bolt and run.  Sure, I practically worship the ground he walks on, but I want to see that he’s as good a guy as he’s always seemed in his interviews. 

“What happened to not letting her do this alone?” I ask, reaching out and touching his forearm, trying to go for understanding and comforting rather than frustrated.  I give a little squeeze. “Weren’t you there for when JJ was born?”  A look of confusion flashes across Jensen’s face and suddenly my mistake comes crashing down on me and my stomach drops.  Neither of us have a chance to say another word, though, because Gen shouts,

“Jensen if you leave me like this I swear I will kick your ass!”  I can’t help but laugh out loud at that.  I watch Jensen muster his courage, closing his eyes for just a second and take a deep breath before taking my place kneeling in front of Gen, holding onto her hands.  I’m so glad that he’s stepped up. 

“Ok Gen, ok I’m here,” he soothes.  Her eyes flicker open to meet his and she smiles gratefully back at him.  I take up my position on the other side of the pool, watchful and waiting, trying not to think about how warm and muscular Jensen’s arm was when I touched him. 

It only takes another fifteen minutes before Gen and Jared’s son slides out into the pool in one last gentle push, and Gen immediately bursts into happy tears, reaching down between her legs. 

“Lift him out the water, nice and slow,” I encourage, trying to choke back the lump in my throat.  It doesn’t matter how many births I see, I still get emotional, especially when other people cry.  

Gen reaches in, lifts him to her chest and he starts squirming, eyes opening and blinking as he takes his first breaths, stimulated by the cold air. 

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Gen tells me through tears, clutching her baby to her and keeping him warm in the water, still attached to her by his long umbilical cord. 

“You did it all yourself Gen, no need to thank me,” I smile across at her, taking in the sight.

The new mother has clearly fallen in love straight away.  She gazes down at his crinkled face, playing with his little fingers, murmuring quietly.  The moisture on her skin glows different colours from the spotlights twinkling above the birthing pool, and she looks almost ethereal, shining in the otherwise dark room.  I love the thickness of emotion that lingers in the air, the perfect calm following so much intensity. 

“Is he ok? Why isn’t he crying?” Jensen asks, standing now, arms folding and looking anxiously down at Gen and her son.

“He’s fine Jensen, he’s just totally calm.  They don’t always scream the place down straight away.”  Jensen’s eyes still don’t leave the little new life in front of us and my heart aches at the genuine concern on his face.  I wish I could help him, just relax him a little, he’s been so afraid this whole time.  I push up off the floor with a little groan and step closer to him.  “Look at him, his breathing is nice and even, he’s lovely and alert, his skin has completely pinked up.”  Jensen’s eyes leave the baby and instead look to me, and I’m almost floored when I realise that they’re misty with tears.  He looks so beautiful, so exposed, and it takes everything I have to keep from wanting to fold him up in my arms.  He smiles finally, nodding and unfolding his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.   Wow,” he gushes with a breathy laugh, his whole posture seeming to relax. 

“Will you cut the cord Jensen?” Gen asks, dragging his gaze away from me.  She sounds so different now without the tension in her voice.

“You… you sure?” he hesitates, looking back and forth between Gen and me.

“Well I don’t think Jared is gonna make it for this part either,” she says with a sad little smile, “Uncle Jen may as well do it for him.”

“Always picking up that guys slack,” Jensen mutters good naturedly, taking the cord scissors that I offer him.  I clamp the cord and show Jensen where to cut, and with two snips it’s done.

“Any ideas on names yet?” I ask.

“Jared and I had talked about Shepherd,” Gen tells me, “Jen, you better message him, let him know he’s a daddy again.” She wiggles her finger against her son’s tummy and he squirms a little.

“Personally I think Jensen would be a fitting tribute after what you’ve just put me through,” Jensen jokes, sitting on the couch and pulling out his phone.  I laugh.

“As nice as that is, I think Shepherd sounds great.”

Gen’s face suddenly crinkles into a frown again and she looks up, confused.

“Becca, I feel like I need to push again.”  Jenson almost falls off the couch, squeezing his phone so hard I can almost hear it crunch.

“Relax,” I grin, “Not twins, just placenta, that’s all.”

“Ew, gross,” he mutters, eyes returning to his phone.

“Yeah it… it kind is.”  Placentas have always been my least favourite part of the job.  I don’t know what’s worse, when they’re fresh out and warm or when they’ve gone cold like a weird veiny piece of liver. 

Genevieve pushes again and soon her placenta flops out into the bottom of the pool in a gush.  I pull on my gloves ready to fish it out and lean over the side of the pool, reaching down to the bottom.  Suddenly, I feel the contents of my pocket slip forward.

“Oh pants!” I shout as an audible ‘plop’ is made by my things falling into the pool, my hands too full of placenta to catch them.  Jensen is quickly by my side, peering into the water after me.

“I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I’ll get it,” he says, grabbing a pair of gloves then going in.  I’m just laying out the placenta on the tray when Jensen plonks the retrieved items onto the table.   Oh no… oh this is mortifying. 

Along with a couple of pens, my name stamp and a paperclip, all soggy and limp, is my Supernatural lanyard.  I risk a quick peek up to meet Jensen’s eyes, relieved to see that he’s smiling.  He quirks up a mirthful, questioning eyebrow at me but doesn’t say anything and then just walks away, pulling off his gloves as I scramble out a thank you.  My cheeks won’t stop burning, oh god. 

A firm knock sounds on the door and is shortly followed by Laura’s round head popping around the gap.  She’s ever the expert in impeccable timing.

“You ok guys? Need anything Becca?”  I try to fight the urge to run out in shame and never return and calmly nod instead, holding up the placenta tray. 

“Do you mind staying with Gen while I get rid of this and grab a drink?”

“Yeah sure.”  Laura shuts the door behind her as I gather my things to leave.  I have to smile when I see her desperately trying not to ogle Jenson, who is still sat in the corner absorbed in his phone. 

“Won’t be long.  Congrats again, you should be so proud of yourself,” I tell her.  She beams back up at me, radiating pure happiness. 


Chapter Text

“So stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter angrily to myself as I dispose of the placenta.  I can’t believe I’ve screwed it up, right at the last minute, when I’ve been doing so well.   Oh god, Jenson much think I’m such an idiot.  I guess, realistically speaking, this can’t be the worst thing they’ve encountered, there must be nuttier fans than me saying all kinds of weird stuff.  It’s not like I’ll ever see them again anyway, it’s probably not even worth worrying about.  Still, I can’t help mentally kicking myself over and over again as I enter the coffee room and switch the kettle on.

Jensen had been so good with Gen in the last few moments, talking to her all soft and low.  He’d held her hands tightly and pushed her hair back from her face.  I indulge myself for a moment as the kettle bubbles, closing my eyes and imagining what it would be like for his strong hands to brush my face, to have his gravelly voice against my ear.

“Did we wear you out that much?”  The gravelly voice that was inside my head is suddenly behind me and I jump to attention with a start, my eyes flying wide, my face probably flushed bright red.

“No… no…” I stutter, trying to busy myself spooning coffee into my mug, anything to avoid his green eyes.   “Night shifts… you know,” I finish lamely.  I glance over my shoulder, my innate sense of politeness getting the better of me.  “Can I get you a coffee too?”

“Please, that’d be great.  Black, one sugar.”  He sits himself on the sofa of the communal coffee room, crossing one ankle over his knee and looking more relaxed than I’d seen him all night.  Maybe he won’t bring up the giant elephant in the room.  I could certainly live without ever speaking of that faux pas ever again.  I walk over to him, coffee mug outstretched.  Maybe I’ve gotten away with it.  “So you’re a fan of the show then?” Oh.  A great big bark of a laugh erupts from him when I cringe and flop down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

“Yes.”  I can’t muster any other reply just yet, clenching my eyes tight and pinching the bridge of my nose.  I’m going to end up with a headache, I can feel it tickling back there. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it.  I don’t get why you didn’t want us to know, but seriously, don’t worry.”  I turn to look at him, my cheeks only getting hotter when we lock eyes and he looks so sincere. 

“I just didn’t want you to think I was some crazed fan girl, and if I’d have let myself gush then I might not have stopped and it’s not really very professional and I just wanted to be… normal… with you guys.”  I pause to catch breath following my onset of verbal diarrhoea and smile apologetically at him.  “You must get it all the time.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “But with a show like Supernatural it’s all part of the territory, we’re pretty used to it by now.”

“I guess.”  I take a sip of my coffee, thankful that the heat in my cheeks is starting to subside.  “I’m sorry for… misleading you anyway.”

“No worries.”  He looks thoughtful for a moment then leans forward, mug in both hands, expression serious.  “I’m not going to have some kind of cat fight over Jared on my hands am I?”  I laugh loudly, shaking my head, and answer before I’ve thought my words through.

“No, no, I guess I bat for the other team.”  Jensen’s eyes widen considerably, his mouth falling open in surprise, and I suddenly realise what I’ve said. “Oh, no, no I mean, no, I’m, you know, a ‘Dean girl’.” I raise a hand to make the inverted commas as I speak.  I’m not sure whether or not that admission was any less embarrassing than the one before.  It certainly doesn’t feel it as a big smile spreads across his face.

“That’s good to know,” he grins over the top of his mug, his eyes practically twinkling.  “Purely for Gen’s benefit of course.”

“Obviously,” I giggle.  God, I sound like some sort of school girl.  Stop it Becca.  I can’t take my eyes off him.  The look he’s wearing now is remarkably similar to the classic, cocky Dean confidence, and it’s making my heart pound furiously in my ears.  I look and look until I can’t bear to hold eye contact anymore, lest I pass out, and settle for staring into my mug instead, trying to be subtle about catching my breath.  

When he next speaks I’m surprised to hear that the tone of his voice has totally changed.

“I feel like I should apologise too,” he says guiltily, “For almost bailing on you guys in there.”  I don’t respond, I just tilt my head to look at him enquiringly.  He sighs, shrugs his shoulders and his eyes flicker across the room, as if debating with himself as to whether to continue.   “I wasn’t there for when JJ was born.  Well, sort of, but not really.  My wife, Danneel… her waters broke when she was only 32 weeks.  They gave her antibiotics, managed to keep her going for a couple more weeks but… she ended up with an infection anyway.”  He pauses, looking visibly pained as he stares down into his now empty mug.  “She ended up being rushed into theatre… JJ got out just about alright but Danneel… something about her uterus coming open or something… I don’t know.  She lost a lot of blood and she just… didn’t wake up.”

A heavy silence falls between us.  Jenson just continues to stare into space, chewing on the inside of his mouth as I struggle to figure out what to say.  I’d already known, of course, that Jensen had lost his wife when his daughter was born about a year and a half ago.  But reading about it on the internet was completely different to hearing him talk about it in person and hearing the way his voice broke.

“I’m so, so sorry Jensen,” I tell him quietly, at a loss for what else to say, placing my hand on his forearm and gently rubbing with my thumb.  Maybe it was a midwife thing, but ever since I’ve been doing this I’ve noticed myself become increasingly tactile, happy to reach out and touch without much thought whenever someone is in pain.  And Jensen definitely looks like he’s in pain.  He startles a little at the contact, looks down at my hand and then up into my eyes with a small, sad smile. 

“It was a really hard time.”  I nod and then slowly withdraw my hand, despite all my instincts telling me not to.

“JJ is a beautiful toddler though,” I say, trying to steer things to happier topics, “I… er… I’ve seen the pictures you’ve posted.  Very cute.”  A  genuine smile crosses his face at the mention of his little girl.

“She’s amazing.  My mom looks after her a lot while I work, and Gen.  Man, her and Jared were a God send after it all happened… I was just… I didn’t know what I was doing.”  He looks vaguely embarrassed, rubbing the side of his neck.  “She’s what kept me going through it all.”

“Yeah, I bet.”  A swollen pause passes between us as I digest the fact I’ve had such a personal conversation with someone who is pretty much a perfect stranger.  “I better get back to Gen,” I say finally, rising from the sofa and plonking my mug in the sink. 

“Yeah, yeah.”  Jensen almost looks a little nervous.  “Thanks for listening.  I’m not sure why I just told you all that.”  My stomach does a little flip-flop of excitement.

“Any time Jensen."

When it comes time for Genevieve to leave, just a mere six hours later, I find myself feeling somewhat bereft at the thought.  I mean it’s wonderful that both her and baby are so healthy and doing well, but tonight has been so surreal I just wish I could keep hold of it a little longer. 

Between doing little things for Gen and the baby, and an incredibly exciting video phone call in which I was forced into waving an awkward hello to an ecstatic Jared, I’ve ended up spending quite some time sitting and talking with Jenson.  He’s so easy to talk to that even after just this short time I feel like I’m just chatting with a regular person, albeit a startlingly good looking one.  He’s asked about my job, my family, the many pets that crowd our home, and in turn I’ve asked him more about JJ and his relationship with Gen and Jared’s other son, Thomas.  It’s clear that he loves children, and that has only made him seem all the more adorable.  I really wish I could think of a reason for them to stay.

“Oh man, Misha is so good with his kids.  I swear, one day I went over and they were all completely covered in paint.  Like the kids were cleaner than Misha,” Jensen tells me animatedly and I laugh, picturing it in my head, a goofy smile on Misha’s paint covered face. 

“I can so see that happening.”  Jensen’s chuckle subsides and I suddenly find myself sighing when I remember how temporary this all is.  “I guess I better let you go help Gen get her things together.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jensen places his hands on his knees as if he’s about to get up, lips pressed together, but then stop and looks at me intensely.  “Look… I wanted to say thank you again for… everything in there.  After what happened with Danneel, the thought of going through something like that again was terrifying for me.  But you were so great and calm and…” He paused, searching for the words while my face burns, pride blossoming in my chest.  “I would never know it could be like that and be so… beautiful.  I wish Danneel had had that.  So… yeah… thank you, so much.”  A great lump forms in my throat as I try desperately not to get weepy, my smile beaming from ear to ear.  It was always amazing to hear that you’d done a good job, but to hear these words from Jensen…

“Jensen, you’re gonna like… totes make me cry over here,” I half joke, flapping my hands at my face in over exaggeration.  He grins back at me and then I notice as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as if he’s swallowing hard.

“I’d really like to keep in touch,” he blurts out.  If I wasn’t already sitting I’m pretty sure I would have fallen down.  Oh god.  My legs are totally numb.  First, my mind goes blank, then there’s a souring sense of exhilaration and joy and then… oh no.

“I… I would love to but… I… can’t.”  The words physically hurt me to say.  In that moment I hate my stupid, stupid job, my stupid profession and its stupid rules.  I hate it even more when his smile falters. 

“Oh… boyfriend?” he asks and I shake my head quickly.

“No, no, I’m just not supposed to ‘pursue personal relationships with people within my care’,” I quote verbatim.

“That sucks,” he states bluntly and I let out a sardonic chuckle.

“You have no idea.”  I stare at my feet, desperately trying to think of some way I can get around this without compromising my professional integrity completely.  This was Jenson-bloody-Ackles for god’s sake.  Maybe the head of midwifery would understand if she saw him?  Yeah, right.   

“Ok, how about this,” he begins, and a little spring of hope flares up inside me, “We’re here to do Comic Con on Saturday right, so why don’t I just put you on the VIP list?  You can just… happen to be there and happen to come to my stand, and I might just happen to ask you out to dinner afterwards.”  Was this really happening?  Had I fallen asleep and this was all some crazy vivid, wonderful dream?

“Do you… do you do this for all your fans?” I tease, unable to stop the inane smile on my face.

“Only the ones that make the kind of impression you have,” he answers seriously.  I am mush.  I am gelatinous goo on the floor.  After picking my jaw up I manage to reply.

“Then I think I will have to agree to said plan.”

 “Gen it was so amazing to meet you.  Say hello to Jared and Thomas for me, and give us a call before you fly back if you’re worried about anything at all, really, it’s not a problem,” I gush as she’s getting ready to leave.

“Thanks Becca, you’ve been so great.”  She holds out an arm to embrace me, the other cradling Shepherd to her chest.  He’s bundled up so warm, ready for the slightly chilly morning air outside. 

“You’re so welcome.” I hug her from the side and squeeze tight, getting a wiff of new baby smell as I do.  As I withdraw I catch Jensen looking pointedly at me, holding his arms out wide.  I’m suddenly overly self-aware, convinced that both Genevieve and Laura are watching and judging, which is ridiculous really.  I wouldn’t normally think twice about hugging someone’s birthing partner, but our earlier conversation had left me feeling unsure about what was appropriate or not.  Ah, screw it. 

I step forward and let myself become encased in his arms regardless, the top of my head tucking in neatly under his chin, my cheek pressed against his solid chest.  For a split second I can hear his heart thudding, and much to my surprise it sounds like it’s galloping just as fast as mine.  The hug probably lasts just a beat too long to look entirely innocent, and as I pull away he whispers quietly, “See you Saturday.”

I miss his warmth as soon as I leave it.  I’m so giddy I actually feel a little drunk.  It’s either Jensen and his effect or the gas and air has been leaking.  I feel pink from head to toe, and as I clear my throat and look around both Gen and Laura are staring.  Genevieve actually looks mildly amused, whereas Laura just looks shell-shocked by the intimacy of the hug.  Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to get grilled about that later.

“Take care of yourselves guys,” Laura calls from behind me.  Jensen gives me one last smile as I meekly wave them goodbye and when the doors finally click shut I let out one massively long breath of air that’s followed quickly by laugher.  I stagger forward and clutch onto Laura’s shoulders, lightly shaking her as I sag in exhaustion.

“Oh. My. God.”  I look up at her as she mirrors my gesture and places her hands on my shoulders too, just shaking her head and grinning.

“That was crazy huh?”

“Insane.  Like, just totally mad.”  I relinquish my grip and flop down into the chair at the desk, barely daring to believe that the last 8 hours actually happened. 

“Oh well, back to reality now I guess? The girls are not going to believe this.”  Laura saunters off down the corridor to start tidying the room, humming a tune slightly off key and leaving me to my thoughts. 

Reality? No, this still had to be a dream.  I have a date – would you call it a date? – with Jensen Ackles this weekend… even in my wildest dreams this never happened.  Things like this didn’t happen to completely regular people like me.  Even the idea of it might take some time to sink in.  I haul myself up out of the chair to go and give Laura a hand, shaking my head to myself.  I’m dying to see him again already, and the fact that I feel that way is both exciting and unsettling all at once.  What am I letting myself in for?

Chapter Text

The days leading up to Saturday dragged horrendously, especially since I wasn’t working.  I’ve kept Jensen’s invitation to myself, which also means that I’ve had no one to confide in about it and no one to help me work through my anxieties.  For starters I hadn’t had a clue what to wear, I mean what the hell does someone wear that suits both Comic Con and going to dinner? I’d given up trying to find a happy medium in the end, resigning myself to two different outfits and figuring I could get changed in my car if it came to the worst.

That is, of course, if Jensen hasn’t completely forgotten me, or worse, changed his mind. This is the overwhelming fear; that I’ll arrive and my name isn’t on any list and people will look at me with blank stares and confusion, thinking I’m some delusional nutter.  Ugh, I feel sick just thinking about it.

Somehow, despite my shaking hands, I manage to drive myself there and arrive safely.  The weather is pretty warm, for the UK anyway, so I’d decided on wearing some cropped skinny jeans and my favourite Supernatural t-shirt – team free will drawn Calvin and Hobbes cartoon style.  Let’s face it, at this point Jensen already knows I’m a nerd, so there’s no reason to go hiding it.  Much to my relief my name has indeed been given to the ticket collectors at the barriers and I walk through with a renewed sense of hopefulness, taking in all the sights around me.   

I love Comic Con.  I’ve been several times before and picked up several bits and bobs of fandom merchandise, and spent time marvelling at some of the more creative Cosplay costumes.  I’m never brave enough to dress up myself, though secretly I’d quite like to.  Not sure I have the figure to pull off some of the more risqué characters though.  I’ve never done the whole meet and greet thing either, I figure I’d never know what to say, but that’s where I find myself heading now, looking out for Jensen’s face.  When I finally see a plaque with his name on I’m confronted by a large line that seems to be filing into a large tent that has been set up towards the back of the hall.  The sheer size of the lines were another reason I’d never bothered with this before.

I stand on my tip toes, hoping to see someone official looking who might be able to speed up my entry.  I spot a large muscular man with a clipboard just a few feet away.  Bingo.  I nudge my way through a cluster of people dressed up like anime characters, trying to ignore their glares, and gently tap the man’s arm.  He’s even more massive up close.

“Excuse me,” I say loudly – this hall is really noisy.  He looks down at me with a sceptical and wary expression.  He’s clearly been hassled a lot today already.  “Hi, my name’s Rebecca Stiles, I think Jensen should be expecting me?”  I feel so silly saying that out loud, it sounds as ridiculous to me as it probably does to him.  He scoffs and starts flipping through his pages on the clipboard.  Ohhh this is so awkward.  I know a couple of the girls stood behind me heard what I said, and I can feel their eyes boring holes into my back.

“Ah,” he says, his tone becoming immediately more pleasant, “Found you.  Come on,” he instructs, beginning to walk towards the tent entrance.  His large stature parts the crowd easily, I just have to make sure I stay close behind.  “You’ll need one of these.”   He thrusts something into my hand as we enter the tent.  “Wait here.”  He points just off to the side of the line and I obey obediently, inspecting the paper that had been given to me.  It was a photograph still of Jensen, clearly intended for him to autograph and for some reason it makes me laugh.  Sure, he pictures amazingly, but the photograph pales in comparison to the real life Jensen that I’ve spent time with; his good natured smile and expressive eyes.

I look up quickly as I hear my name being called, and everything I’d just been thinking is immediately reinforced as I clap eyes on him.  He’s standing just a little way away, posing for a photo with a fan.  He looks just as wonderful as I’d remembered wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans, his face freshly shaven today.  I’m surprised by the sudden smugness that wells up in me when I realise that the polite smile he’s giving the girl – who is practically grovelling in front of him – is simply a poor imitation of the smiles I’ve seen.  Smiles that have been given to me.

“You’ve got three minutes for an autograph and a picture,” a harassed looking woman tells me, ushering me forward and taking the photo still from my hand.  She pushes it under Jensen’s nose, who is now sitting at the table and holding his pen ready for the next fan.

When he looks up and realises it’s me standing in front of him his full watt smile comes beaming out.  I swear I will do whatever it takes to keep getting that smile from him, 24/7 if I can help it.  It’s far too gorgeous not to. 

“You came,” he says simply, as if he’d been doubting that I’d show as much as I’d doubted he’d remember me. 

“Here I am,” I grin lamely, holding my arms wide and feeling that familiar blush start to rise already.

“You certainly look the part,” he laughs, holding up the photo still and nodding towards my t-shirt, “Love that.”

“Well, you know, I can always use some extra cash from ebay,” I reply sarcastically.  He has the good graces to feign hurt as he signs his own face.  “Sooo… what’s the plan?” I ask, very aware of the anally retentive blonde PA hovering around us.

“I should be done here around… 7? Call me and I’ll come find you,” he instructs as he rises from his seat and extends his hand toward me.  For a second I just look at it, dumbstruck, but I allow him to pull me in close in front of the camera. 

It feels to intimate, too close, but then as he wraps one arm around my waist I recall the million other fan photos I’ve seen, and really this was nothing.  I slot so nicely under his chin again, just like before, and the smell of his aftershave is overpowering and intoxicating as he tils his head so his cheek rests against the top of my head.  I can’t resist wrapping my arms around him in turn, slinging them low across his hips, and I swear I hear a little intake of breath from those lips somewhere up above me. 

We pose perfectly still for the camera, and really it must only be for a couple of seconds, but his fingers splayed against my side feel so hot through my t-shirt that I half expect a Castiel style handprint to be left there.

“Seriously though, you’re adorable in that t-shirt,” he whispers down as I reluctantly pull away, my cheeks flushing instantly in response.  He picks up the photograph still and slots it into my hands.  His phone number is scrawled under his signature.

“This really would fetch a nice price,” I joke and he just grins back at me.  The blonde woman comes flitting back over again, casting us an expectant look, and I sigh.  His other adoring fans are clearly getting impatient.  “See you later Jensen.”

“Later,” he replies, and the intensity of his gaze is almost enough to make me blush again.  Will I ever get used to that shade of green?  I allow myself one lingering look as I leave the tent, barely believing that the man sat there is all mine, for one evening at least.  I emerge back into the crowd and set myself the task of keeping myself amused and calm for the next 3 hours.  Easy enough really when there are at least a hundred stalls of merchandise just begging to join my collections. 

When 7pm rolls around I’m really ready for it.  All the fangirling has really sapped my energy, and a sit down dinner seems more and more appealing.  I sling all of my bags into one hand so I can root around in my pocket for my phone and then dial Jensen’s number that I’d eagerly programmed in earlier.  One, two, three rings and I hear the line connect.


“Hey, it’s Becca.  I’m just outside the little café place near your tent.”  I glance around me.  Thankfully most people have started to move on home so hopefully we won’t get mobbed.

“Ok, sounds good.  Be there in five.”  He hangs up abruptly.  I frown a little as I put my phone away.  He didn’t really sound like he’s in the best of moods.  I wonder what’s brought him down?  He seemed perfectly cheerful earlier.

I almost don’t see him when he walks over 10 minutes later.  He’s obviously trying to make himself inconspicuous, slouching a little to hide his height, a cap pulled right down over his face.

“Sorry it took a while, Karen would not let me shitting leave,” he says with clear exasperation, his eyes looking around us cautiously.

“Been a long day?” I try to sympathise, peering up under his cap to meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” he huffs, squeezing his eyes together for a second then shaking his head briefly as if to try and shake it off.  “Sorry, sorry.  Just being 100% sunshine and butterflies gets old after 10 hours.”

“I get that.”  And I do.  Sometimes some people aren’t that easy to be nice to, especially when you’re exhausted.  I pause, considering my next words carefully, “We don’t have to go out tonight if you’re too tired?”

“What? No, no way.”  He shakes his head again and then really looks at me properly for the first time since he walked over, a little smile coming to his face.   “You’ve really gone to town haven’t you?” he laughs, gesturing to all my bags.

“Totally.” I grin indulgently.  “I got you something.”  I rifle around in my bags, searching for it.

“You didn’t have to,” he tells me, sounding like he’s scolding but smiling widely just the same.  I pull out a small box and press it into his outstretched hands and when he turns it over I can see the little cartoon style Dean Winchester vinyl toy inside.  He laughs, turning it over again.  “This is awesome.” I just grin, pleased that he likes it, biting my bottom coyly.  “Thanks, really,” he says earnestly, reaching out and cupping the back of my neck to bring me in and plant his lips on the top of my head.  My knees almost buckle.

“It wasn’t expensive,” I garble as he lets me go.

“I feel bad I have nothing for you.”

“Oh please, I got a picture with Garrus today, I am all set,” I gush before I can help myself.  Jensen just looks on with amused curiosity as I bring out my phone and show him a picture of me grinning with a grey alien in a blue suit whose arm is around my shoulder.

“Are you… cheating on Supernatural with another fandom?” he scoffs teasingly. 

“Hey, Supernatural is always number one, but I’ve got plenty of love to go around,” I assure him as we start to walk towards the exit.  He grins down at me and takes a couple of bags before I can protest.

“You really are a great big dork aren’t you?” I roll my eyes.

“As if you didn’t already know.”

“Did you drive here?” Jensen asks, “I could get us driven to dinner later if you want?” He pauses and when I glance at him I see his eyes drifting over my body, or more accurately, my outfit.  “Were you… going to change?” I can hear the cautious tone in his voice, so I feign insult, stopping dead in my tracks.

“And what exactly are you trying to say?”  I must not be very convincing, because Jensen just laughs at me and carries on walking.

“Yeah yeah,” he mutters good naturedly, “I need to change at the hotel anyway.”

I quicken my pace to catch up with him, and when we enter the car park I point across the lot to my car.

“That’s mine, there’s Twiggy,” I smile, opening unlocking the car with the remote on my car keys.  The car that bleeps in response is my little blue light hatchback, ever so neatly parked up and spotless inside.  Granted, it’s only so neat and clean because I knew Jensen was likely to be in it at some point today.

“It’s very…” Jensen hesitates.  I guess it’s hardly like the American muscle cars he’s used to.  “Petite.”  We put my bags into the boot of the car.

“Small but perfectly formed,” I correct him, patting the bonnet affectionately.  I would like to think the same thing could be said about me, but I very much doubt it.

We climb in and when I look over at Jensen I have to work to smother a snigger.  He looks far too big to be allowed, his knees pushed too far towards his chest, face crumpled into an adorable frown as he wriggles around in the seat trying to get comfortable.

“Hang on, here.”  I pull the handle under the seat and slide him backwards.

“Thanks,” he huffs, straightening up.  I watch him as he takes in his surroundings, feeling slightly overcome with just how unreal this moment is.  Jensen Ackles, sat right here in my car, looking unbelievably gorgeous as the evening sunlight oozes through the windshield.  It catches the light flecks in his hair, making him shine.

It’s only him reaching over and swatting the little white fluffy ball mascot hanging from my mirror that breaks me away from ogling. 

“Hey, hey, keep your hands to yourself!” I scold, swatting his hands away.  His eyes narrow at me.

“You are a mean driver,” he sulks, practically pouting.  I start to ignition, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. 

The radio springs to life as the car starts and ‘Wayward Son’ starts blasting loudly.  Ohhh the shame.  Jensen’s eyes widen and he bursts out laughing when he catches sight of my embarrassed expression and flushed cheeks.  This stuff just has to keep happening to me.  I choose to try and ignore it, reversing out of the space and heading for the exit. 

“Driver picks the music,” I mutter after a moment.  Jensen holds up his hand defensively, no longer laughing but still grinning far too much for my liking. 

“Cakehole shut,” he assures, “Wouldn’t want to bring out that mean streak again.”  I stall the car as I approach a speed hump, making me sigh and touch my forehead to the steering wheel momentarily.  Come on Becca, pull yourself together.  Just a regular passenger.  Just a regular passenger sat beside me smelling amazing.

“Worst car journey ever.”

“Jensen, I don’t know what you’re complaining about, we got here in one piece,” I say obstinately as we walk through the door to his hotel room.  He slings my bag that he’d insisted on carrying for me onto his bed.

“Your engine sounded like it was going to explode the whole time we were going any faster than 50,” he laughs.  I just roll my eyes in response, folding my arms across my chest.  It’s not my fault that Twiggy’s little engine just isn’t built for speed.  “The music did improve though.  I really enjoyed the Frozen soundtrack.”

“Oh shut it,” I snap with an embarrassed smile, not really meaning it.  He sits on the edge of his bed, leaning backward and smiling up at me and we both fall silent.  The realisation that I’m stood in Jensen’s hotel room hits me hard once it sinks in.  The way he’s sat there; it would be all too easy to cross the room and climb onto his lap, straddle his waist and slip my hands into his shirt.  He could grab my butt and grind against me and…

“I better get ready,” I squeak, realising that I’d succeeded in making myself feel hot all over, my heart thundering.  Jensen looks a little confused at my sudden urgency, brow furrowing as he hands me my things.  “Thanks,” I mutter as I hurry out of his green gaze and in the en suite bathroom.

I let out a big sigh as I lock the door behind me and place my hand against my chest, willing my pulse to slow down.  When I catch a look at myself in the mirror I almost groan; my cheeks and chest are flushed, pupils dilated.  Practically a poster girl for glaringly obvious arousal.  Bad Becca, bad, control your urges!

I need to look good tonight, I need to look really, really good.  If I could manage to just look even close to Jensen’s league that will do, just so people don’t laugh outright at me.  I turn on the shower, shaking my head. 

“Get a hold of yourself,” I whisper to the bathroom tiles. 

“Let it go, let it go!” The sound of Jensen’s singing voice, purposefully off key, comes echoing through the door and all the rambling insecure thoughts that were spinning around my head disappear in a cloud of steam.

I’m not sure how much time has passed before I finally re-emerge from the bathroom, pulling nervously on the hem of my dress.  I think I’ve done a good job, I scrub up pretty well when I make an effort, well, when you compare it to how I usually look at work anyway.  A mountain of hair spray and make up setting spray should hopefully keep everything in place for the entirety of the evening, and if it doesn’t then I’ll have a lovely black eyeliner smudge all over my eyelids to match my dress.  It’s black, slimming I hope, with a pretty pink cherry blossom design down the one side and a lace trim at the bottom.  My wedge heels are black lace too, and low enough that I hopefully won’t fall down – I am absolutely hopeless in heels. 

“Well look at you.” Jensen’s voice almost makes me jump.  He’s sitting fully dressed on his hotel bed with the TV remote in his hand, but instead of looking at the screen he’s staring intently at me, a sideways smile on his face. 

“Look at you!” I counter, trying to deflect his attention away as he swings his legs off the bed and stands.  Good lord does he look handsome.  You know that episode where Dean gets stuck in the 1940’s? Yeah, he looks like that but without the slicked hair and tie and damn, does it suit him.  My eyes seem to fixate on the Adam’s apple bobbing around above his open collar and it’s only when he clears his throat that I look up again and see the cocky expression. 

“Well, gotta make an effort for these fine dining joints.”  My smile falters a little.  Oh, fine dining, great.  He must notice because his forehead crinkles as he stands in front of me, hands in his pockets.  “What’s wrong?”

“Oh… it’s just…” I hesitate, not wanting to seem ungrateful when he’s clearly willing to pay a lot of money for us to have a fancy dinner, “Well I just… the portions are so tiny!”  I can’t keep it to myself; I hate the minuscule portions of expensive stuff that I can’t pronounce.  “Like there’s barely any food for paying so much and there’s always stuff like… like mushroom foam and that’s just wrong.”  Jensen laughs at me and I blush, looking down at my feet.  He probably loves these kind of places, being as well-paid and well-known as he is.  “I’m just much more of an 8oz steak kinda gal,” I explain.

“Thank God,” he confides, sounding relieved, and I look up.  “I’ll cancel the reservation and we’ll just go wherever you know is good.”

“You sure?”  The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at me, the pale green shining. 

“Whatever the lady wants.”  I can’t mask the involuntary sharp intake of breath that occurs when his large hand is placed in the small of my back.  He starts to guide me towards the door, and all the while I’m trying to get used to the tingling sensation caused by his fingers.  “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The taxi ride to my favourite steakhouse only takes fifteen minutes and my mouth is practically watering even as we approach.

“Smells good!” Jensen says enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together as we enter the restaurant foyer and queue for a table. 

“Darn tootin’,” I agree without thought and when I look up at him he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Do all English girls have such an unusual vocabulary?”  I just nudge my shoulder into him, rolling my eyes and a second later the host greets us and beckons us forward. 

“Hey, can we get a table for two, er, kinda tucked away in the corner or something?” Jensen asks assertively. 

“Sure, follow me.”  The host grabs two menus and leads us into the restaurant, and it’s only when I see a few eyes turn that I realise why he’s asked for a corner table and remember that I’m dining with a guy who looks like he’s stepped straight off Hollywood Boulevard.  It’s pretty unlikely that they actually know who Jensen is, Supernatural appeals to a bit of a niche market, but that doesn’t stop him being drop dead gorgeous.  The group of women sat at the table we shuffle past clearly agree with me, eyes almost popping out of their heads as they watch him appreciatively. 

“Everybody is looking,” I whisper as we slide into a booth on the far side of the restaurant.

“Well, if you’re gonna wear a dress like that.”  I take the menu from the host and hide my red face behind it.  Sure, it’s me they’re all looking at.  I still smile though, pleased that he’d even say it. 

“Can I get you some drinks?” The host interjects and I peek out from my menu. 

“I’ll just have a Budweiser, thanks,” Jensen replies.  What do I have?  I’d usually have a glass of wine, but I know all too well that too much wine makes me silly.  Surely one glass won’t hurt? 

“Can I just get a glass of whichever is your sweetest rose please?”

“Just bring the bottle on ice,” he instructs, and the host leaves before I have chance to decline.  Oh this may not end well.  “Why do you look so panicked?” Jensen laughs.

“I’m not the biggest of drinkers.”  It’s true, I’m really not.  A full bottle and I’ll probably end up under the table. 

“Even better!” he grins, “Don’t worry, I’ll have some too.”  I sure hope he does. 

We fall into a comfortable silence for a while as we inspect the menus, although it really doesn’t take me long to decide because I know exactly what I like from here. 

I fold my menu and place it flat on the table.

“Know what you’re having?” I ask.  His face is a picture of concentration, a little ‘V’ furrow in his brow.  He looks completely adorable.

“I know it’s a steak place but I’m tempted by the ribs.” Oh, mercy.  I try not to focus on the images of Jensen licking sauce from his fingers that suddenly plague my mind. 

“Sounds good,” I mumble.  Thankfully a different waiter returns at that point to distract me with wine and takes our orders. 

“You have your steak medium-rare, I’m glad,” Jensen smiles as the waiter leaves.  He takes the wine out of the cooler and pours me a glass smoothly.  It’s funny, I’d always imagined Jensen being heavier handed, like Dean, but he moves almost gracefully. 

“People shouldn’t be allowed steak well done,” I agree, taking the now very full glass from him, “Waste of good meat.”

“I’ll cheers to that.”

“So what made you want to do the whole baby thing?” Jensen asks as he picks up his third chicken wings.  Conversation has flowed easily between us, partly due to Jensen’s easy going nature plus the fact that I’m pretty much a glass of rose down already.  The shared starter of chicken wings was a good choice, the barbecue sauce is sweet and sticky, and it’s getting all over my fingers.

“It wasn’t like some great calling or anything,” I confess, “I used to look after little kids, before my training, like 1 year olds.  You’d think if any two jobs were going to put me off children it’d be those, but nope.”  Jensen laughs and then takes a sip of his beer.  “Just wanted something more challenging.” 

“So no babies yet then huh?”  I shake my head and pop my sticky thumb in my mouth. “Why not?” I notice Jensen’s eyes focus in on my mouth as I quickly clean my thumb off and my cheeks flush.

“You know that whole life plan you have when you’re like 16?”  He nods knowingly.  “It sooooo hasn’t worked out that way.” I chuckle, slightly bitter, and take a large sip of the wine he’s just poured for me again.

“How old are you anyway?” he asks, frowning a little as if trying to figure it out.   The bowl of chicken wings now sits empty save the stripped bones. 


“You look younger actually,” he comments.  It’s not surprising, most of the women I care for tend to think I’m in my early twenties and I have to reassure them that I do actually know what I’m doing.

“Should I be concerned that at 38 you were willing to take out a woman that you thought was more than ten years younger than you?” I quip before I can help myself, the wine loosening my tongue. He barks a laugh, leaning away from the table.

“Hey if you’re complaining...”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I say sweetly with a smile.  I’m being an incorrigible flirt, I know that, but I just can’t seem to help myself.  Nevertheless, I try to get back on topic, even though the look he’s giving me is doing something funny to my insides. “But yeah, a combination of crappy, crappy boyfriends and my training and being busy at work and... time has just run away with me.”  The waiter comes to clear away our bowl and we fall silent whilst he’s there.  “What about you? Was acting always your thing?”

“I was a child model on and off for years at first.”

“Understandably,” I nod. A quick smile flashes across his face. 

“I trained to be a sports therapist for a while actually, but my dad’s an actor so, yeah, here I am.”  He plays with the edge of his napkin, almost looking a little self-conscious, “Trying to do some bits of directing and producing too, something different.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It is.”  We fall silent again and I use the pause to take another gulp of wine.  I can feel that my head is getting slightly muzzy, but I reassure myself that once I’ve had some more to eat I’ll feel fine.  Besides, the wine is making me feel brave, and when Jensen gently nudges his leg playfully into mine I nudge right back, feeling a thrill buzz in my stomach at the contact. 

“I thought you were going to help me with this wine,” I observe, leaving the gap between us slightly narrower so that our legs are still just about touching. 

“You seem to be doing pretty well with it.” Jensen shed his jacket a while ago so the crisp cotton of his white shirt brushes against my arm. 

“That I am!” I agree, and take another sip to emphasise my agreement. 

I am so not fine.  I am most definitely tipsy.  But my steak is soooooo good. And the onion loaf that it comes with, oh my god, yum.  I’m pretty sure I’ve told Jensen how good I think this meal is at least twice before, but I tell him again anyway.

“Look at how this is cooked, this is just perfect,” I tell him, picking up a skewered piece of steak that is juicy and pink in the middle.  “Have some, have some,” I insist, driving it aeroplane style towards his month.  He laughs, backing up a little bit but opening his mouth for me to post it in anyway.  God, the way he pulls it off the fork with his teeth, the way his tongue flicks out to lick his lips as he chews.  I’m staring and I don’t even care.

“If you love that you should try Texan steak. Out of this world.”  He finishes chewing and swallows heavily. “Not bad though.”  I’m still staring.  Move your eyes away, move your eyes away Becca.  I manage to move them up to his eyes instead but I’m not sure that’s any better.  A smile slowly creeps onto his face and I’m pretty sure he knows I’m a bit too tipsy for my own good.  He raises an eyebrow at me. “What?” I let out an embarrassed little laugh, putting down my knife and fork. 

“You know... you... have almost got a proper chin dimple,” I ramble out instead of telling him that he’s gorgeous and I’m transfixed by his mouth and thoughts of all the things he could do with it.  I reach up and pop my finger right into the dent and it makes him laugh loudly as he pulls away from it. 

“You’re fried aren’t you?” I’m just going to go ahead and presume that’s American slang for drunk.  He wraps his large hand around the entirety of my smaller one and lowers it to the table away from his face as I start to pout.  “Cute, but fried.”  Oh, he thinks I’m cute.  I look down at our hands.  He hasn’t let go yet; my fingers are encased in his warm ones and I can feel his thumb gently rubbing the underside of my wrist. 

“I am not ‘fried’,” I object obstinately, looking back up to his face to see his green eyes staring back at me, reflecting the restaurant lights.  I see his gaze dart down to my mouth and watch as his pupils dilate ever so slightly and the sudden intensity of the moment makes me panic, although I’m not entirely sure why. “I am cute though,” I joke, pulling my hand out from under his and turning back to my food.  I hear him laugh softly and out of the corner of my eye see him lift his beer bottle and drink.  My heart is thundering so hard that I resolve to have it under control again by the time I finish my steak.  That, and slow down on the wine. 

“Becca, wake up.” A smooth, deep American voice whispers to me, and for a second I’m really disorientated.  Why does it feel like I’m moving, and why am I so thirsty? I peel my eyes open and then realise I’m in the back of a taxi with my head slumped against an arm belonging to Jensen Ackles.  Oh please don’t let me have drooled.  Please no.  “We’re almost back at the hotel.”

“My car,” I yawn sleepily.  I don’t feel tipsy anymore, just really, really tired. 

“I don’t think you’ll be driving,” he chuckles, “And I’d worry about sending you home in a taxi like this.”

“A likely story,” I quip sarcastically, making him laugh again.  I keep my head against his arm, partly because I’m knackered, partly because, well, why wouldn’t I?  I realise then that he’s got his arm curled around my waist too, holding me flush against his side.

“I’ll get you a room.”

“No, it’s ok, you already paid for dinner.  I’ll just sleep on the sofa in your room or something,” I counter, glancing up at him.  He pauses, looking thoughtful, but doesn’t say anymore. 

Pretty soon we’ve pulled to a stop outside the hotel and Jensen is up and out and holding open my door before I’ve even sat up straight.  Wait, where are my shoes?  I look questioningly to Jensen and see that he’s got them clasped in the hand that isn’t currently outstretched to me.

“You’re holding my shoes,” I state dumbly. 

“You made it very clear earlier that you didn’t want to wear them anymore.”  That certainly does sound like me after a couple of drinks.  I shuffle out of the taxi and into the curve of Jensen’s waiting arm, letting him support and guide me in the hotel even though I don’t really feel like I need it.  Who would have thought he was such a gentleman? 

We make straight for the lifts to head up to his room on the eighth floor, and I’ll admit I’m happy to be walking on carpet again instead of the gravel of the hotel driveway.  A sure sign of me sobering up is noticing the little stones jabbing into my feet. 

“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him earnestly as the lift doors shut, “I’ve had an amazing time.”  He looks down at me, expression soft.

“So have I.”  The hand resting on my waist gives a little squeeze and as we look at each other I feel arousal start to ooze through my body, pooling in my groin and spreading out to the tips of my fingers.  My breath and my pulse quicken, and one second feels like it lasts forever as I debate in my head whether to take the next step or not.   The wine must still be making me brave, because the next moment my hand is splayed out against his chest and I’m on my tip toes reaching for his lips with my own. 

Thank God that he reciprocates, tilting his head down to press his mouth against mine tenderly, the hand at my waist pulling me ever closer.  My body practically sets on fire as his soft lips move and we kiss, once, twice, three times.  Neither of us makes it more, but it’s enough to leave me breathless when we pull away.  I even laugh, for heaven’s sake, so fantastical is it that I have just been kissed by Jensen. 

“What’s so funny?” he smiles, keeping his head tilted down so his nose is pressed against mine.

“Kissing you.” He pulls a face. “No, no, just... It’s incredible that I’m allowed to kiss you,” I assure him, moving my hands up and onto his face.  His eyes close for a second, and then a ‘bing’ from the lift announces that we’ve reached our floor.  I let my hands drop reluctantly and move to exit the lift, surprised when the hand that was on my waist reaches out and takes my hand instead.  He holds it all the way to the door and only lets go to open it, walks in and places my shoes carefully at the end of the bed.

I push the door closed behind me and suddenly I’m not sure what to do with myself.  Thankfully Jensen speaks.

“I think I have some stuff you can wear.”  He starts to rummage in his own bag and eventually pulls out a t-shirt and some jogging bottoms that look stretchy enough to fit comfortably.  “These ok?” he asks as he walks over and passes them to me. 

“These should be great.”  I smile gratefully.  He takes off his suit jacket and tosses it onto the bed and runs a hand through his hair, starting to look a little tired too.

“I’ll call down to the desk, see if they’ve got some extra quilts or something for the couch.”  I step closer to him, chewing on my lip, clutching his clothes to my stomach.

“I could just sleep in your bed,” I suggest quietly.  I see him swallow in response, his hands on his hips and watch as hesitation flits across his face.  Crap.  Too brave. 

“Sure,” he replies after a beat longer.  His hand presses against my cheek and he leans in for another – all too brief – kiss. 

I retreat to the bathroom, feeling giddy, and have to sit myself on the closed toilet lid to try to sort through the jumble that is my brain.  Everything is a little fuzzy round the edges because of the glow of the alcohol still in my system, but overriding everything else is a joyous squeal willing to come out.   I start to smile, right there on the loo, and have to press Jensen’s clothes to my mouth to smother the sound, bouncing my feet on the floor excitedly.  How did this happen?  How am I so lucky as to end up here, pulling Jensen’s t-shirt over my head, being enshrouded by the smell of him.  I change eagerly, relieved to find that everything fits ok and then look at myself in the mirror.

I do look a little worse for wear, admittedly, but hey Jensen thinks I’m cute.  Jensen… oh god am I actually going to do this?  I don’t do one night stands, I never have, but I can’t deny that I want him.  My body’s physical reaction, just from the few kisses we exchanged, was enough proof of that.  And will I ever get the chance again?  But if that’s the case, do I even want to anyway?  If I knew it was only going to be a one-time thing?   Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself, he might not even be thinking of that.  After all, he did seem a little hesitant about sharing a bed with me.  What if this is just all in my head and actually he doesn’t want to?  No, no, he kissed me, so he must at least like me. 

I spit out the toothpaste that I’ve been brushing around my mouth with my finger into the sink and swill my mouth out with water.  Standing in here overanalysing everything isn’t doing me any good.  I may as well just go out there and figure everything out as I go.  I’m a big girl, I can make adult choices.  I head back into the room, trying not to feel nervous, and find Jensen sitting up in bed with the covers pulled to his waist and the TV on.  He wears a t-shirt that’s similar to mine, but grey instead of my green, and his eyes that were focused on the screen immediately turn to me as I approach the bed.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask, unable to keep myself from double checking.  He pulls the corner of the covers back with a reassuring smile.

“Come on,” he beckons and I do as I’m told, sliding in next to him into the cold sheets and sitting up too.  It feels a little awkward, as if the pause of us getting ready for bed has given time for doubt to set in.

“What’s on?” I enquire, watching a man dressed as a knight run across the screen, giving chase to something,

“I have no clue what the hell this is.”   Neither do I.  It looks like a pretty old movie, and the acting seems, well, a little subpar.  Jensen flicks the channels and the Big Bang Theory music starts playing.

“Oh, oh, this,” I say, flapping my hand toward the TV.

“Of course you would like this,” Jensen chuckles, tucking the remote under the pillow. 

“You don’t?!”

“Can’t say I’ve watched much,” he confesses with a shrug.

“Well that is going to change.”

“So bossy.”  I narrow my eyes into a glare.

“I’m assertive, not bossy,” I correct while he just grins at me, knowing that he’s winding me up. 

“Whatever.”  I give his leg a light pinch under the covers where his skin exposed between below the bottom of his boxers, and to my delight he lets out a high pitched yelp.  “Hey!”  He reaches under and pulls the offending hand away as I laugh so hard I can feel my eyes start to water.

“So manly Jensen,” I tease.  He glares, still holding onto my hand and I glare back in response, fighting back the laughter that still wants to come out. 

All of a sudden I’m pinned on my back, Jensen’s weight holding me down wrestling style, his hands entwined with mine and holding me there.  He moves so fast it almost winds me and my mouth pops open in surprise.  In fact I’m so surprised that I can’t think of anything to say, so I just lay there with my mouth floundering like a fish, looking up at his triumphant smile.  His body feels warm and solid against mine and his breath ghosts across my face as he pants slightly from the exertion.  All these things mean that surprise very quickly turns into wanton need, and I’m a little ashamed when my body involuntarily pushes up against him. 

“That shut you up.” His eyes flicker across the features of my face and then his mouth is on mine again.  It’s not so tender this time, it’s insistent and firm and it’s not long before I’ve opened my mouth and surrendered my tongue to his.  The hands laced with mine squeeze gently and I feel his body move, a nudge of his groin against my leg.   The fact that he’s clearly aroused is enough to make me groan into his kiss, and the throb between my legs tells me that this is going to escalate quickly if one of us doesn’t keep our heads.  He breaks the kiss, resting his nose against mine and looking down at me as we catch our breath, his pupils blown wide.

“I’m so happy I met you,” I whisper without thought.  I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve, and it’s so true that it just comes out.  He smiles, letting go of one of my hands and instead pushing my fringe out of my eyes tenderly.

“I haven’t had a date in a very, very long time.”  His voice is husky as he speaks, fingers still playing with the ends of my fringe. 


“Not since I was dating Danneel.”  My mouth pops open again.  Wow, that is a long time.  I’d sort of figured that he’d start getting plenty of offers again after she passed away, but it makes sense that he wouldn’t have pursued any.  There was grief and JJ to deal with after all.  “Which makes just talking to you very difficult right now,” he chuckles, pressing his erection into my thigh again to emphasise his point.  It still makes me gasp, however brief it is.  His smile fades a little and after a moment he moves off of me and sits up again, running a hand through his hair.  “I’m not sure what to do here.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting up and turning my body to face him.

“Tonight has been great, and you’re… really sweet and funny.”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” I interject, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“I don’t know what this is… or what it could be, if it could be anything at all.  I’m flying back to Canada in two days and you’re here and I don’t even know if I want… anything again yet,” he explains in a rush, confusion clear in the tone of his voice.  He looks at me, frowning.  “So maybe it’s best if we don’t… take this too far.  I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or something.” I don’t reply straight away, because I’m not entirely sure how I feel.  What he’s said is perfectly reasonable, considerate and understandable, but there’s a feeling of overwhelming disappointment that I can’t ignore.  It must show on my face, or I must be taking too long to say something because Jensen places his hand on mine.  “I feel like an asshole.”

“No, no,” I say quickly, “You’re right, that’s a very logical way of looking at it.” I give a little sideways smile. “It sucks though.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, starting to pull his hand away from mine.  I quickly grab it back and lace my fingers with his, enjoying the little look of surprise that crosses his face.

“Don’t apologise.  Even if I never see you again, this is amazing, you’re amazing.”  I shuffle closer to him so my chest is almost touching his.  “We don’t have to do anything… serious.”  I tilt my head up and brush my nose against the bottom of his and leave my lips hovering close to his mouth.  His eyes look a darker shade of green when I’m this close, but still gorgeous.  “But I like being like this with you… kissing you.”  He bridges the little gap that was left between us and we kiss, unabashedly, and I get lost in it.  It’s like we’re teenagers again, when all you can do is kiss so you do that for hours on end, bruising your lips and dry humping the hell out of each other. 

Somehow we end up lying down, his arms coiled tight around me, one hand on my shoulder and one on my behind, pulling me ever closer.  We kiss, and kiss, and kiss. 

“I’ll try not to get too attached to the idea of keeping you,” I whisper against his lips, keeping my eyes closed.  I feel his mouth curve into a smile, “This has all been a dream anyway.”  His arms squeeze tightly around me.

“Then don’t wake up.”

Chapter Text

I wake before Jensen does, roused by the light pouring in through the curtains we must have forgotten to close.  Usually I’m not a morning person, all bleary eyed and sleepy, but this morning I feel wide awake the instant I feel the weight of Jensen’s arm slung over me.  I turn my head to the side to see his sleeping, peaceful face, still fast asleep and feel a smile grow across my own.  He looks so perfect lying there completely relaxed, even with his imperfections; the little crow’s feet etched into the corners of his eyes from too much smiling, the thick stubble that has come through extraordinarily quickly and the slight bend in his nose.  All the things that make him… him. 

I’m not sure when exactly we stopped kissing and fell asleep, but I know that I drifted off with my head on his chest and a feeling of contentment that I haven’t had in years.  I haven’t shared a bed with someone in a long time, which meant that I kept waking up during the night just for a few seconds at a time, my body obviously confused by the presence of another.  Each and every time I did, though, I found myself tangled up with Jensen, encased in his arms or our legs twisted together.  Somehow his t-shirt ended up on the floor too.  Not that I mind.  The covers have slipped down enough that I can peek at the top half of his chest, and surprisingly it’s not quite as toned as I’d expected.  Don’t get me wrong, the sight still makes me feel all fluttery, and there’s definitely a lot of muscle there under a thin layer of cushioning, and his biceps are definitely all muscle.  I like it actually, it makes him seem a little more… human.  Normal, like the rest of us. 

I’m not sure that I can keep my promise of not getting attached to this.  How can I not be already?  It’s fine, though, it’s not Jensen’s fault, and I would still prefer memories of one night and missing this over never having had it at all. 

“Morning starshine,” comes a croaky morning voice.  Jensen’s eyes are still closed, but his mouth is smiling.  He must be able to feel my stare.

“The earth says hello,” I reply on cue.  He chuckles softly, eyes opening, paler in the sunlight.  I turn onto my side to face him properly and he reflexively pulls me closer, our noses touching.  Thank god I brushed my teeth before I came to bed last night.

“Sleep well?” he asks.  I nod, causing our noses to brush.


“And how’re you feeling?” I know he’s referring to my slightly drunken behaviour last night by the slight raise of his eyebrow.

“Not as bad as you might expect,” I smile.  I drape my arm over his hip and play with the waistband of his boxers, pulling them out and letting them snap back playfully.  He frowns at me but a huff of a laugh escapes from him nonetheless.  “I really wasn’t that drunk.”

“Sure,” he mocks.  I just roll my eyes, only to then find Jensen’s lips pressed against mine.  The kiss doesn’t last long and it’s back to being chaste again, like earlier last night, but it still makes my heart start to thud loudly. 

“And how are you feeling this morning?” I enquire when he pulls away.  He shuffles backwards a little so we can see each other’s faces properly, but still keeps his hand on my hip.

“Me?  You want the honest answer?”  I look expectantly at him so he carries on, his face turning serious.  “I’m wrestling with some serious guilt over here.”  I frown, my stomach doing an unpleasant turn.


“Spending the night with you like this…” He gestures to how our limbs are all caught up with each other, “Made me the happiest I’ve been since I lost Danneel.  Sleeping with someone again, having you next to me, I don’t think I knew how much I’d been missing that.  But I think about that, and then I think about her and I feel… like I’m betraying her.”   Oh.  I guess I hadn’t thought about it that away.  It’s not like they fell out or got divorced, they were still very in love when he lost her.  Of course it makes sense that he’d have some baggage holding him back.  This is pretty heavy having only just woken up. 

“I get it, I do,” I tell him, “It’s totally understandable that you’d feel that way.”  He looks relieved, his body relaxing into the mattress.

“I don’t want you to think it’s about you either, it’s not,” he reassures me.   He comes closer again, slipping his arm underneath me so my head is resting on his bicep, cheek against his chest, his on the top of my head.   “I know she’d want me to be happy, she kick my ass if she thought I was mourning forever.  It’s just not so easy to think that way.”   I place a gentle kiss against his chest, my hand tracing little circles over his exposed skin. 

“You deserve some happiness Jensen, you’re a great guy, you’ve got a good heart.” He ‘hmms’ in response, I’m not sure if in scepticism or agreement, and I feel it rumble against my lips as I place another kiss at the base of his throat.  I just want to comfort him, to give him some of the happiness he so sorely needs.  I kiss his throat again, loving the smell of his warm skin pressed up against me, and his hand that isn’t trapped underneath me curls into the slightly longer side of my hair. 

“Becca,” he says wistfully, tilting his head backwards and giving me more access to his neck, “You’re real distracting.”  I smile, nuzzling my nose against him and then shuffle myself upward so I can graze my teeth against his jawline.  “You tryin’ to kill me?” he groans. 

“Never,” I murmur.  Ok, so maybe I get horny of a morning.  Who wouldn’t when lying next to him? Suddenly he pulls back, looking down at me with dilated pupils, but instead of desire I see curiosity and it sobers me up a little.  

“Why’d you want to come to dinner with me Becca?” he asks, and I give a little laugh at the ridiculousness of the question.  Uh, hello, Jensen, do you even know who you are?  “No I mean it,” he reiterates, “Is it just Supernatural and Dean or whatever?”  I pause, considering my answer carefully.

“I’m not going to deny that the whole reason I know who you are and got so crazy about you in the first place is down to Dean Winchester,” I say honestly, grinning, “That serious brooding face of his, oh lord.”  Jensen’s face cracks into a wide smile, his perfect set of teeth flashing at me.  “But if you’d turned up and acted like a dick, if you were some full of yourself, machismo douchebag, I wouldn’t have gone out with you, no matter how gorgeous you are.”  His teeth disappear but his smile still stays, eyes warm.  “The way you were with Gen, the way you are with fans, and I know it’s kind of a biased info source, but all the pictures with your friends and your family… I know you’re a good person.  So yeah, I have the hots for Dean… but I’m kinda crazy about Jensen.”  I feel my cheeks get redder and hotter the whole time I’m speaking and Jensen runs the back of his knuckles gently over them in a caress. 

“That’s a good answer,” he says softly, still stroking.

“Plus I love your singing voice,” I admit finally and he laughs.  “The first time I heard you singing ‘Simple Man’ I thought I was going to die.”

“That right?” I watch him, half expecting him to burst into song for me, but he doesn’t.  He just carries on smiling, staring at me, then takes hold of my bottom lip and gives it a little tug. 

“I want to know you more, though,” I say while he’s still holding my lip, so my voice comes out all funny.  He laughs and lets it ping back into place.  “I know you’re going back to Vancouver soon but maybe we can still talk, sometimes, if you’re not busy?” I ramble.

“Definitely.”  I hope he means it.  Even if he just checks in occasionally and we only manage to exchange pleasantries… it’s still better than him disappearing completely and me wondering whether all this ever happened at all. 

He takes hold of my chin and tilts my head up to kiss me.  His lips are a little dry this morning but I’m not deterred.  I draw his bottom lip into my mouth and moisten it myself and I hear him make the quietest of moans, the sound going straight between my legs.  His tongue brushes against mine as we kiss, slowly, languidly, enjoying the feel of each other, and I shuffle closer, hooking my leg over his hip to get even closer still.  His hand grabs onto my thigh to help hold me in place and I instinctively start to grind against him, the thin material of his boxers doing little to conceal his quickly hardening erection.  He pulls away from my lips and starts to devour my neck instead causing all the hairs on my body to stand on end and a moan to seep out of me. 

“Get these off,” he growls against my throat, tugging on the waistband of his joggers that I’m still wearing.  This is escalating somewhat quicker than I expected, but I couldn’t care less.  I breathe a yes, unhooking my leg from him and practically scrambling to remove them, Jensen helping me with an eager hand.  As soon as they’re off he grabs my thigh again, placing it back over his hip and pressing the now fully hardened bulge right against my naked skin.  The friction feels amazing, the material of his boxers brushing insistently against my clitoris and I groan loudly when his teeth nip at my ear lobe. 

“God, Jensen,” I gasp, grabbing hold of his face and pulling his lips to mine.  I feel like I’m on fire, desperate to have him inside of me, his fingers, anything, please.  Just touch me Jensen.  “Please…” I moan between kisses, my inner monologue far more eloquent than the rambling mess he’s reduced me to. 

“Please what?” he whispers, the hand on my thigh squeezing almost painfully before starting to drift up my leg, towards my ass, towards the place I’m dying to be touched.  I can feel the bastard smiling against me, enjoying every squirm he can tease out. 

“Please… I want you… anything, just touch me,” I practically beg, too gone to feel embarrassed about it. His hand travels further, nails grazing up and over my ass and then downwards between my legs.  His fingers find my clit and I moan, stuffing my face into the crook of his neck and circle my hips against the pressure.

“Here?” he asks against my hair.

“Yes.”  My voice is so breathy I hardly recognise it.  I’m so sensitive, my stomach muscles clench as he continues his merciless torment.

“Here?” he asks again as his fingers slide downward and into the wetness that is covering me, “Becca you’re so wet,” he groans, rubbing his fingers through it.  I push against him, trying to coax his fingers inside, but he pulls back with a soft chuckle.  “So eager.”  It’s only when I groan at the loss of the contact that he gives it back and then goes one better, sliding one large finger inside of me.  I gasp, so relieved to have something inside to work against the insistent throbbing there, and gasp again as a second finger quickly joins it.

“Look at me,” he instructs and somehow I pull my head away from his chest as fingers start to move in and out, curling slightly to brush against my g-spot.  “Open your eyes.”  I do as I’m told, my cheeks flushed, and meet his gaze.  He looks like a man possessed, eyes not black but much darker than usual, his face stern and full of desire all at once.  I’m rewarded by his thumb pressing against my clit at the same time as his fingers working me and I can feel the pleasure and the pressure building there.  “You want me to fuck you?” he ask, voice gravelly, and just the words are enough to make me moan, hips bucking and eyes rolling closed again. 

“Please,” is all I can muster.  His hand leaves me and I could cry at the loss of feeling, but then instead of his fingers I feel the smooth, rock hard head of his dick press against me and my thoughts dissolve into a nonsensical string of profanities. 

“Becca,” he says quietly, gentler than before and it rouses me momentarily from the haze, “You have birth control?”  His hand grasps my thigh again, helping to tilt my pelvis to the perfect angle for him to push inside.

“Yes,” I confirm breathily.  He kisses me, slowly, teasingly, and then slides inside of me in one push, a grunt escaping his lips.  His name stammers out of me, my eyes screwing tightly together as I try to become accustomed to the feeling of fullness.  It’s been so long since I did this, and although I didn’t see it, he feels so thick that it almost hurts. 

“Feels so good,” he groans, starting to move in and out of me at a slow pace.  It feels amazing, but I need more and this position doesn’t facilitate speed.

“More,” I plead, twisting myself to prompt him into rolling me onto my back whilst still inside of me.  His hands find mine as he obliges, picking up his pace, his head buried against my neck.  I tilt my pelvis up to meet his strokes, moaning with every push and then he leans up and takes hold of my legs and pushes them back so my knees are either side of my head.  It’s a good job I’m bendy.  He sits back on his heels and then drives into me, harder than before, and I didn’t know that the places that he hits even existed, stars shooting behind my eyelids.  It goes on, and on, and on, and I can feel my orgasm building, my legs starting to shake in his hands.   Suddenly he lets go and stills, his chest heaving.  I keep my legs up but he leans forward with his hands either side of my head, just kissing me instead, and I can feel his heart thundering.

“Sorry,” he whispers, looking mildly embarrassed.  “Don’t want to end this, and if I keep going…”

“It feels so good Jen,” I assure him, a hand either side of his face, and I kiss him back hard.  “I want to get on top,” I confess and he bites down on his bottom lip with a groan.

“Go baby,” he growls, pulling out and kicking off the boxers that were still slung low around his hips and turning over to sit with his back against the headboard.  I waste no time, crawling between his legs and taking the chance to take his dick in my hand.  It matches him, only slightly longer than average but thick set like him, and his hips buck as I draw my hand up the length and squeeze.  He grabs me by the tops of my legs and pulls me forward so I’m straddling his hips and I laugh in surprise, only muffled when he pulls his t-shirt up and over my head so that I’m completely naked astride him.  He throws it off the bed and then his hands are on my breasts, fondling almost too hard, pinching a nipple as he rains kisses on my neck. 

I slide myself all the way down onto him, loving the groan that comes out of his mouth and pause there for a moment.  His hands squeeze my thighs, egging me on, so I start to rock against him, alternating between forwards and back, then up and down.  I know it won’t take me long to finish, I was close enough before and this position always pushes me over the edge, and it seems like Jensen loves it just as much.  His head is lolled back against the headboard, mouth constantly changing between pursed lips, biting his bottom lip or just open and grunting and groaning as he thrusts up from underneath me. 

“Becca, slow down,” he warns, managing to open his eyes to look at me, frowning with the effort of holding back.  Knowing he’s close just spurs me on though, I can tell from the growing fire deep in my stomach that I’m almost there and as I keep moving it burns brighter and brighter.

“Jensen, god, you’re gonna make me cum,” I gasp out just before that fire explodes, all the muscles in my body contracting wildly around him as all of me throbs and tingles and he holds onto my shoulders, prolonging my orgasm by thrusting up once, twice and then finishing too with a loud moan.  We find each other’s lips in the haze and kiss messily, coming back down to earth feeling love drunk. 

“So much for not doing anything serious,” I say dryly after a minute or so of catching my breath, looking sheepish.  He laughs, running a hand over his face and I can’t help but laugh too.

“Was worth it,” he shrugs happily.

“Hells yes,” I agree, and end up laughing again.  Now comes the gross part of trying to prise everything apart without making a mess.  Surprisingly though Jensen doesn’t seem in a rush to move, instead he leans back against the headboard and takes a long, good look at me.  I suddenly feel very vulnerable under his scrutinising gaze.  “What?” I ask, folding my arms across my stomach.

“Now you’re shy?” he grins.  He points to my left thigh.  “I just didn’t realise you had so many tattoos.”

“Oh.”  I’d kind of forgotten about them myself.  They’re all so well tucked away that no one really knows they’re there unless I’m, well, naked.  He traces his fingers over the large Japanese themed piece that stretches the entirety of my left thigh and hip; the geisha girl, the cherry blossoms, the oriental fan and koi fish.  “Do you like them?”

“They’re not something I usually go for,” he admits, “But on you… they’re sexy.”  I blush from head to toe and push my fringe back from out of my eyes, smiling coyly.

“Thanks.”  He leans forward, wrapping his arms around me and suddenly I’m lifted, turned onto my back and Jensen pulls out in one swift move.  “That was very efficient,” I comment, vaguely impressed, and he lies down on his side beside me with a large smile.

“We aim to please.”

“You certainly do.” I give him a quick kiss and leave my face close to his when I pull away.  We lie for a few minutes quietly, just bathing in the afterglow, and I’m pretty sure Jensen has almost fallen back to sleep when I speak again.  “This doesn’t change anything you know,” I tell him.  His eyes come open slowly and his fingers rub at the small of my back as he waits for me to continue.  “Don’t feel like you owe me anything just because of this, I still stand by what I said last night.”  He nods slowly.  It’s true, I don’t expect any more from him.  He’s already given me the best night and morning of my life.  Whatever comes after, if anything, is just a bonus.  

“Ok,” he says simply then yawns and stretches, eyes twinkling at me.  “Fancy a shower?”  Could this morning get any better?

Chapter Text

The shower, as it happens, is not quite the erotic scene I had envisioned.  It actually involves me sitting half naked on the closed toilet lid watching Jensen shower himself off as we chatter back and forth about anything and everything that comes to mind.  Granted, it’s still a hell of a lot more interesting than my usual Sunday morning plans and following the mornings intimacy I allow myself permission to ogle freely.  As you’d expect he looks damn good wet and soapy.  He keeps me company whilst I shower afterwards, and I’m thrilled by the way he watches me appreciatively too between brushing his teeth and drying his hair.  I end up dressing in the clothes I wore for the convention yesterday and then we head down for a late breakfast the hotel canteen. 

All the while I can’t help but notice how normal it feels, how easy it is to spend time with him.  It never feels awkward or strained, we never seem at a loss for words with each other, and even when we do it’s a comfortable, familiar silence that we fall into.  He puts me so at ease.  He’s tactile too, like me.  It’s nothing over the top; he doesn’t constantly embrace me or hold my hand, but there’re just little touches or gestures here and there that make me warm inside, like when he touches my arm as he squeezes past me in the hotel room, the hand on my hip in the lift, the lips pressed to the top of my head whilst we’re stood waiting for more bacon at the buffet.  In some ways he’s more affectionate than a lot of the men I’ve ever been with.

So when it comes time for me to leave – he’s got an interview to go to this evening, and his PA has been hassling him on the phone – I’m fighting the urge to throw myself on the floor and cling to his ankles. 

“You got everything?” he checks as we approach my car.  I open up the boot and throw my bag in and then turn to him with a nod, smiling as best I can given the circumstance. 

“I’m sure,” I say quietly.  He shifts his weight from one foot to the either, his arms folded over his chest and sighs, brow furrowed.  “C’mere,” I encourage, placing a hand on each of his arms and pulling him towards me.  He unfolds them and slides them around me instead so I’m wedged between him and the boot of my car, his nose pressed against the top of my head and I cling back as tightly as I can without seeming too desperate. 

“Thanks for coming to see me again,” he murmurs against my hair.  My stomach lurches, my chest starting to feel tight and I know I’m going to cry if I’m not very careful.  I can’t do that, not after what we said before, he doesn’t need any more guilt on his plate.

“You’re very welcome,” I reply, pulling away slightly to look up at him, ignoring the lump in my throat.  He looks down at me with soulful eyes and I try to take a mental snapshot of the image to keep and cherish, and then he leans in to kiss me goodbye and it’s sweet and tender and I try to remember that too.  Finally he pulls away, unwinding his arms from around me and folding them across his chest again, mouth pulled into a tight smile that doesn’t shine in his eyes.

“This doesn’t feel like I thought it would,” he half sighs, half laughs.  I don’t dare ask him what he means in case it makes the whole thing harder.  Every second longer that I stand here in front of him the more I think about how I won’t get to do it again. 

“I better go.”  I open Twiggy’s door and slide in shutting it behind me but opening the window.  I try desperately to fixate on the steering wheel and not on Jensen’s face, but I can’t help but have one more look.

“You be good,” he tells me, voice tight, and I give a forced smile, my fists clenching the wheel.

“Bye Jensen,” I choke out.  I put the car in reverse and go, out of the space, out of the car park, out onto the road without looking back, my chest aching unbearably.   I make it all the way to the motorway taking big gulps of air to choke back tears before I’m finally broken when ‘Simple Man’ comes onto my playlist.  It’s not even Jensen singing it, for heaven’s sake, but as soon as I hear it that’s it; I’m a mess, tears streaming down my cheeks. 

It’s ridiculous to be so upset.  What did I think would happen?  That he’d sweep me up in some whirlwind romance, jet me away with him, everything else be damned? I should be thankful to have had the time I’ve had with him, the last few days alone have been more than I could ever have hoped for.  It’s silly and downright delusional of me to even hope that this would have ended any other way.  I clear my throat roughly and dry my tears with the backs of my hands.  I have his number, don’t I?   He might be in touch.  I shake my head to myself, barely seeing the cars that pass me.  I shouldn’t hope for that though.  Jensen has got bigger and better things to think about than an English girl that he spent one night with.  No, I’ll just take this weekend and store it away in some corner of my mind.  I’ll take it out and enjoy it on special occasions, when I need to remind myself of his firm caress or the taste of his mouth, things that I can’t get from the TV screen. 

My little house feels especially quiet and empty when I get back, even though my cats are there milling around to greet me.  They’re not too reproachful about my absence; thankfully I had the forethought to put out some extra food for them.   

“Hey Zag,” I wearily greet the ginger cat brushing against my calf, slinging my bag onto my stairs.  I bend down to pick her up in my arms like a baby and then carry her with me to the sofa, slumping into my usual spot and running my fingers through her thick tummy fur.  She’s a soppy thing, a lot more tolerant than my other cat, quite happy to be kissed and cuddled, a real people-lover.  “You won’t believe what I did last night.”  She starts to drool as she purrs and I take that as my cue to cease stroking her and reach for my TV remote instead. 

I suppose I’m probably torturing myself but I turn on my DVD player anyway, knowing full well that season 8 of Supernatural is in there.   I choose one of my favourite episodes and then there they are, two minutes in, Sam and Dean sat there in the Impala in the dark, talking about a case.  The camera switches to a close up view of Dean – Jensen – looking stern and I freeze the image.  I worry my lip as I study him; his full lips and strong jaw, and my heart wrenches painfully.  How can I miss him already?  It’s ridiculous, but I do.  I pull my phone out of my back pocket, tipping Zag off my lap in the process and light up the screen.  Nothing.  Of course there’s nothing, it’s only been like 45 minutes since I left, and even non-famous people don’t go texting their booty calls that fast afterward.  I guess all I can do is wait to see if he’ll be in touch.  I certainly don’t want to be that girl that bugs a guy with incessant texts the day after.  No way.

I press play on the remote and snuggle down in the sofa a little more.  I may as well just busy myself with a Supernatural marathon in the meantime.  At least I can always see him this way.

 “Good weekend Bec?” Laura asks with a smile as I bump into her on entering the staff changing room.  She’s always here earlier than me for shift.

“Yeah, good thanks,” I reply as I sling down my bag, trying not to smile too much and give myself away.  I start to strip to change into my scrubs and ignore the way her eyes are narrowing at me.  I am such a bad actress.

“What did you get up to?”

“I went to Comic Con,” I say, half-honestly, avoiding her by pulling my scrubs over my head. 

“Nice.”  She pauses.  “Who’d you go with?”

“Uh,” I hesitate, “Just me.  I didn’t go for long.”  I make to exit the changing room and Laura follows right behind me, like a dog with a bone having caught the scent of my dishonesty.

“You are such a bad liar!” she exclaims, giving me a gentle shove from behind.  I attempt to look offended.

“I’m not lying!” I lie, my voice high pitched and unconvincing.  She laughs at me.

“Whatever.  You had a date, you got some.  I can practically smell it on you.”  I wrinkle my nose at her as we walk down the corridor.

“Gross.”  Although, admittedly, Jensen smells anything but gross.  I’m pretty sure the scent of his aftershave isn’t on my skin anymore though, as much as it grieved me to wash it off in the shower.  She waits, looking at me expectantly as she holds open the ward door, but I continue to hold my tongue. 

“Alright, you don’t have to tell me.  Just promise me it wasn’t Lewis.”  I guffaw out a laugh.  As if.

“I promise.”  We approach the desk and both the midwives, Karen and Ellen, are waiting for us looking a little harassed.

“I am sooo glad to see you two.  It’s manic,” Ellen moans.  Busy night ahead then.

I sit and half listen to the handover of information from the afternoon shift, my mind wandering.  Lewis, ugh.  There’s a reason why he’s an ex-boyfriend, I wouldn’t date him again if he was the last guy on earth.  We’d been together on and off about a year ago and for almost 18 months he’d wanted me, then dumped me, then wanted me, then dumped me.  Emotional whiplash doesn’t even begin to cover it.  I don’t know why I’d let it happen for so long, but at the time, when things were good I’d really thought he was going to be the one. 

It had all gotten worse when I’d finally put my foot down.  He’d broken up with me again, saying he loved me more like a friend, and then three weeks later he got back in touch and he missed me and he loved me and he’d been such an idiot.  He’d driven, drunk, to my house on Christmas Eve and had sat outside calling me over and over demanding to come inside.  Like an idiot I’d let him in and tried to talk it out, pointless when he was hammered, even offering to let him sleep on the sofa until he was sober enough to drive home.  But he didn’t take my rejection well, grabbing at me and getting aggressive in a way he never had before, and it was only when I threatened to call the police that he finally left and drove himself home again.  Even once he’d left he hadn’t given up, sending me letters and mixed CD’s and flowers to my house over and over.  I’d done my best to ignore it and avoid him and eventually it seemed as though he’d given up.  He did, for quite a while, and it was only when he’d broken up with another girlfriend that it flared up again and I’d had to change my phone number to get rid of him.

I physically shudder as I think about it and try my best to push it out of my mind and pay more attention to Karen as she’s speaking, but that slightly nauseous unpleasant feeling is fixed in my stomach now.  I don’t like to admit it to anyone, but I’d been really scared when it was at its worst, having to force myself into leaving the house only to go to work and not much else.  The stress had made me lose weight too, which was handy but not necessarily a healthy thing.   In retrospect maybe I should have gotten the police involved, but it had just seemed too extreme at the time to do that to a person I’d loved so much.  Someone that had promised me that we’d have forever, marriage, kids, the lot. 

“I’ll take the labourer,” I volunteer quickly as handover finishes.  At least that’ll keep me busy and help me to keep my mind off him.  I excuse myself before any of them can ask about the grim expression on my face. 

Looking after a young, sweet Polish girl and her boyfriend does indeed help take my mind off things, and by the time I get a break at 5am I’m back to my usual perky self.  But now, as I sit on the sofa where Jensen sat next to me only a few days ago, I’m thinking of him rather than Lewis.  I’ve still not heard anything from him, and it’s killing me.  I know he’s busy, but I’m starting to wonder whether I’ll hear anything at all, and although the idea of messaging him first is loathsome to me I know he’s going to be flying back to Vancouver at some point today.  I’d prefer to get in touch before there’s a 8 hour time difference between us.  I look over at the spot where he sat and remember the way he smiled at me there, the way he made my heart flutter.  Maybe I can just wish him a safe flight?  That’s casual enough right?  I pull my phone out of my little pencil case, scroll through to find his number and then open up a message.  I sit and stare at the screen for a while, taking a long sip of coffee, then type.

‘Hi Jen, hope I’m not waking you.  Just wanted to wish you a safe flight back today.  Becca x’

I add a couple more ‘x’s’ onto the end, then delete them again, shaking my head at my own indecision.  I read it through, hesitate for a good minute or so, then hit send with a big sigh.  Oh well, it’s done now.  If I never get a reply I’ll know where we stand, and if I do, then all the better.   

I spend the last half an hour of my break mindlessly scrolling through various social networking sites, trying not to focus on the message that I’m not receiving.  Anyway, it’s 5am, the chances of him being awake are slim to none, so I shouldn’t be expecting an instant reply.  I’ll just get back to work, and what will be, will be.

I wake with a start as I hear my message tone sound out, scrambling under my pillow to grab my phone.  I’m far more alert than usual on waking, my subconscious on high alert for a reply that’s kept me in a light sleep.  I glance at the time as the screen lights up and inwardly groan that it’s only 1pm and I’ve slept for a grand total of 3 hours.  I can’t stay mad though, not when  I see Jensen’s name flashing at me, and my heart sours, hands a little shaky as I operate my touch screen.  It’s silly how nervous I am just to open a message from a guy I’ve slept with. 

‘Hey u, thanks.  Just waiting 4 my flight.  Have beer.  All good. J’.  Oh God he uses text speak.  Oh dear.  If it was anyone but Jensen that would majorly put me off, but for him, I suppose I can forgive the occasional ‘u’.  I read it over and over, trying to sense the tone.  In one way it sounds quite short and clipped, but I have the feeling that’s just the way he texts, and the mention of beer sounds friendly and jovial enough.  Look at me, overanalysing a two line text message.  I stare at my phone for a minute, wondering whether to reply.  I don’t want to seem too eager, but admittedly my fingers are itching to send a message back and I’m not one of those girls that play games and act all aloof.  That’s just not me, so I type out a reply.

‘Hi! Get you with the text speak, you’re still down with the kids! Self-medicating the pre-flight nerves? x’ I hit send.

I pop to the toilet leaving my phone on the bed whilst I wait for a reply, and when I return another message is waiting for me.  Each one is like a little present!

‘All the 20yr olds I d8 keep me young ;) Sumthing I share with Dean, dn’t like flying’.  I laugh out loud at his reply. Even over text message he tries to wind me up.

‘Ha. Ha.  You’re hilarious.  I bet they love your dad dancing, yes I’ve seen the videos.  Get drunk and sleep through it x’

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

‘Ur still mean & jst jealous. I hav the hips of a belly dancer.  Gud plan tho’.  Sudden disturbing images of Jensen shaking his booty whilst dressed in a crop top with jingly bells pop into my head, and I can’t stop smiling. I start to reply, but another message comes through before I finish it.  ‘Flight is boarding.  Beer is less fun without u and wine. Spk soon x’  

Beer is less fun without me.  I beam, cheeks flushing with pleasure at the words on the screen. 

‘Making me blush.  Be safe, be brave Jen! x’  I just can’t stop smiling at my phone, and it still hasn’t faded 15 minutes later when I’m trying to get back to sleep and failing miserably. I pull out my phone from under my pillow again and open up my photos.  Jensen and I had taken a selfie in the lift on the way down to breakfast on Sunday morning, and it’s quite possibly my favourite photo in the whole world.  He’s stood behind me and stooping a little so his cheek is pressed to the side of my forehead, a big smile on his face, and although you can’t see it I know his arms are around my waist. Every time I look at it – which has been a lot – it’s almost as if I can feel him there again.   We both look so happy, though it might just be the after-sex glow.  Maybe this really could be the start of something? 

Chapter Text

The next time I hear from Jensen is a day later when I’m at my mum’s house for dinner, which is ok because just reading through our last lot of texts has kept me happy enough in the meantime.  Plus, I may have looked online to check that his flight had landed safely in Vancouver, much to my shame.  Ok, I know it sounds a little stalky, but I just wanted to make sure he’d gotten there ok, and where’s the harm in that?  Not that I’ll be telling him about it. 

My phone pings and my stomach leaps excitedly like it always does these days, and I reach into my pocket, barely noticing my mum looking over at me from the living room sofa.  I open up the message from Jensen and I’m momentarily very confused by the image of half eaten steak that I’m confronted with, until I read the text at the bottom.

‘Not American steak but not bad.  Eating this & thought of u. J’. I almost squeal out loud in delight. He was thinking of me!

‘Looks yummy but bit early for steak isn’t it? Glad you survived the flight x’. Not sure I could stomach a full steak at midday.  Right here right now at 8 in the evening, sure, bring it on. 

‘Flight was hellish.  Body clock all messed up, I’ll eat steak wen I want. Bossy’.  I smile down at my phone and shake my head a little as I tap out my reply.  I’ll give him bossy.

‘I hope you’re eating alone otherwise messaging me is very rude to your dinner companion x’.

‘Misha already made fun of me 4 taking a pic of my food, like he can talk. Twitter whore.  Fine, will stop’. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean that threat, or at least I really hope he doesn’t.  Wait... does he mean that Misha is there eating dinner with him right now?  This is just unbelievable.  I start to reply when suddenly another image pings through, and I can’t stop myself from bursting out into very loud laughter.  A close up of Misha’s smiling face from an entirely unflattering angle is plastered across my phone, giving me a very good look up his nose which, thankfully, is clean. 

“What’s given you the giggles?” my mum asks, looking at me with an amused expression over the top of her glasses.  I can’t quite seem to bring my laugher under control just yet, my stomach starting to ache as I lean my face on the side of the chair and force myself to take a breath.

“Nothing,” I manage to sputter out as my giggles start to subside, waving my mums attention away with the flap of a hand as another message comes through.

‘Son of a bitch. Wuu2?’

‘At my mum’s for dinner, going home soon.  Busy day today? x’

‘Does she look like u?  No, day off, home soon 2.’  I subtly manage to take a photo of my mum who is otherwise absorbed in some period drama show again and then send it straight through to Jensen. ‘Hot ;) haha. Want 2 talk on Skype l8r?’ I’m still smiling like a moron down at my phone, overjoyed that he’s making such an effort to talk to me and feeling giddy that this means that I’ll be able to see his face again later.  I’ve so missed his smile.

‘Only if you promise to stop using text speak, it’s driving me insane! Will look forward to it x’. I attach my email address to the end of the message and I’m about to put my phone away when a very long message comes through.

‘One does apologise for not utilising proper Queen’s English. We do humbly request your forgiveness for such a heinous transgression towards your person. We shall henceforth endeavour to speak in a manner more befitting Miss Stiles’.  He is such a smart arse.

‘Be quiet and eat your steak x’.

‘I know a good way to shut you up ;) xx’.  My cheeks flush, very efficiently silenced even via message through the sheer memory of the way he pinned me down and kissed me.  What I wouldn’t give to feel his fingers laced through mine again, the weight of his body on top of me. 

I tuck my phone away and as I look up I see my mum watching me.

“You’re smiling a lot,” she observes, sounding knowing.

“Am I?” I ask as innocently as I can manage. 

“I know that smile, you always get that look when you’re talking to a boy you like.”  I start to laugh and she just raises her eyebrows at me. “I saw that look plenty when you were a teenager sat there on webcam all giggly and happy with whoever.”  Ugh, it’s embarrassingly true, she’s right, I totally did that.  I’d kind of hoped I’d grown out of it, but apparently 15 years doesn’t make any difference. 

I want to tell her, I really do.  My mum and sister were actually Supernatural fans even before I was.

“I have met someone,” I confess and a slight hint of smugness enters her expression, satisfied at being right.  My sister looks up from her laptop from her seat next to my mum, suddenly all attention on me and I hesitate.  “It’s kind of complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with you,” Steph snorts, sarcastic as always but not in an unkind way, and I roll my eyes.

“This is complicated even for me.  Well, not even so much complicated as just… unbelievable.”  I pull my phone out again and open up the messages between Jensen and myself and scrolling to the photo of Misha.  I pass it to Steph first and first she’s frowning, and then her mouth falls open, jaw almost hitting the floor.  She slowly passes it to my mother, and I don’t get time to process her reaction because Steph is yelling,

“MISHA COLLINS?” I shake my head furiously, pointing at my phone and seeing my mother scrolling through the messages.  She wasn’t supposed to scroll!

“Look at the name the number is saved to!” I exclaim, reaching forward to try and take my phone back as soon as possible.  I’d really rather they not see that last message.

“Why is there a photo of me!?” Mum asks, just looking confused, eyes flickering around the screen with Steph hanging over her shoulder and reading the name.  “Jensen? As in Jensen-“

“Are you shitting me?” Steph asks incredulously, flopping back into her seat.  I’ll never get used to my 19 year old sister swearing around our parents so casually, and neither will my mum apparently, because now she’s glaring at her.  Not that Steph is noticing. “You’re kidding.  You’ve put this together yourself haven’t you?  The delusion has progressed that far.”  I snatch my phone back from my mum’s hand, blushing furiously, and quickly bring up the photograph of us together and turn it to face them.

They both become lost for words, just staring at the screen mutely, until finally my mum comes back to life and stutters out,

“When… how?”

And so I tell them.  I mean, I don’t tell them everything.  I leave out the bit where I stayed the night with him and all the… physical stuff… but everything else comes out.  By the time I’m done it actually feels more real than it has this whole time, like telling other people about it and them freaking out kind of validates it.

“You were right about it being unbelievable,” Steph says finally.

“And complicated,” mum chimes in, leaning back into the sofa and starting to mess with fastener on her watch absentmindedly, looking a little concerned. Nothing like family to put a positive spin on things.

“Amazing though.  Like, what were the chances really.” I nod at Steph’s words.  They don’t need to tell me; I’m still thinking that a week later. 

“It’s not like I’m expecting anything,” I explain to them, “I mean even being friends with him is pretty incredible.”

“True,” mum starts slowly, considering her words, “But from what you’ve said it sounds like he likes you.”  So it’s not just my imagination! I start to grin, biting on my bottom lip, and Steph is smiling too. “But you need to be careful, you could get very hurt here.  I mean you were practically obsessed before you met him, it wouldn’t take much for you to get really attached, and then what if he changes his mind or he loses interest?  He’s a really long way away Bec.”  She sees my expression fall and sighs softly.  “I’m not saying he should lose interest.  Remember Chris in Ohio and how you felt with that? I can’t imagine this would feel any better.” 

Ah yes, Chris, the charmer.  We’d had an exclusively online relationship that was very intense for a short few months before he’d decided he couldn’t commit to a long distance relationship, despite making plans to see each other.  That really had felt horrible.

“I know,” I concede, “I know I might get clobbered.  But we’re just talking… and can you imagine if I just stopped? I’d be wondering ‘what if’ for forever.” Steph nods, agreeing with me, and my mum sighs again and then shrugs reluctantly.

“Good point.  Just be sensible, please.”

“Alright alright, ok,” I dismiss, rising from my chair and holding my hands up.  “Anyway, I better go, let you guys get ready for bed.  Thanks for tea.” She doesn’t bother to try and argue or make me stay longer to talk it out, she simply rises too and pulls me into a brief hug. 

“Come again soon, ok?”

“I will,” I mumble into her shoulder and then take my leave with a brief wave to Steph, who is already absorbed back into whatever game she’s playing.  I don’t know where she gets all that nerd from…

“See you later!” I hear her yell just as I pull the front door shut.

My mum’s right, of course.  She has an unfortunate habit of that.  The potential for this to all end in heartache, for me at least, is very high.  The way I drive just that little bit too fast on my way home, the nervous flutter of my pulse in my neck, the way I park haphazardly on my driveway; it’s all pointing to an overwhelming need to be in his presence that may indicate that I might just be slightly attached already.  It’s why, as I climb the little steps that lead up to my doorway, that I almost don’t notice the arrangement of flowers that’s stood next to the welcome mat.  Initially, my heart jumps up into my throat, mind so preoccupied with Jensen that I somehow presume that he’s a hopeless romantic who has sent flowers from overseas.  But as I bend to pick them up and my mind thinks a little more clearly, that warmth that had been flowing through my extremities turns ice cold.  

The lilies really are beautiful; my favourite flowers.  It’s a stunning bouquet that clearly cost someone a lot of cash, and unfortunately I can only think of one person who has sent me something like this before.  It’s this knowledge that makes my fingers shake a little as I reach for the card attached to the plastic wrapping, and as I turn it over I feel all the blood draining from my face.

‘I miss you.  Yours always. Lewis’.

“Not again.”  My voice comes out as a whisper, tight and strained.  Lewis.  This is how it all started again before.  I shake my head and lean my cheek against my palm as I stoop there on my porch, just looking at them.  He must have had another bad break up and decided to come back to ol’ reliable.  Why does he always do this?  Didn’t I make it clear enough last time that I wanted nothing to do with him? 

I’m just debating with myself whether to throw them away or not; it’d be a shame because they really are gorgeous, when my stomach takes an unpleasant turn.  I don’t know what it is, but some primal, instinctive part of me urges to my feet and casts my eyes up and down the street.  It’s quiet and empty, a perfect picture of an innocent evening in the English suburbs, but for some reason that unsettled feeling just won’t leave.  I hurriedly reach for my keys and let myself into the house, trying not to fumble, and only start to feel safe once my front door is firmly shut and locked behind me, flowers abandoned.  Zag comes to greet me, her consistency reassuring, rubbing herself against my legs as best she can when my calves are pressed to the door.

“Hey Zag,” I say, alarming myself when I notice how my voice is wavering, and force myself to say again more assertively, “Hey you.”  I let myself sink to the floor as I stroke her and find comfort in the repetitive motion of my fingers brushing against her soft fur, and I’m not sure how long I sit there soothing myself before my thoughts start to come together again.

Just as I start to feel more or less normal again my nerves are shot by my phone going off loudly.  The force of my jump startles Zag and she skitters off reproachfully along the laminate as I reach for my phone, sending silent prayers that he hasn’t somehow gotten hold of my phone number too.

‘Ready when you are’.  Jensen, thank God it’s just Jensen.  Warm, kind, safe Jensen waiting for me online.  The thought of him sitting and waiting raises me to my feet and up the stairs, not wanting to keep him hanging, regardless of my personal dramas.  Admittedly, when I approach my bedroom door I do push it open with a little more caution than necessary, fearful of the shadows, but as I turn on the light and find it empty a sigh of relief comes whooshing out of me. 

I shrug off my jacket as my laptop loads up, flipped open on my bed, and it just can’t start up fast enough.  I sit myself against the pillows and try to find a comfortable yet flattering position for the laptop to rest, very aware that those gorgeous green eyes will be on me again soon and I haven’t even stopped to look in the mirror.  The sound of a car driving down the street makes my eyes flicker uncertainly towards my window; but the headlights disappear into darkness and soon I’m distracted by signing into Skype, all giddy and nervous but for a much better reason.  There he is, a new name on my contact list that requires my approval, and all too fast a call starts coming through and oh god there’s my face and what is going on with my hair?! I scramble to flatten down the unruly piece of fringe sticking up like I’m a god damn cockatoo while the call connects and then…

“Oh,” I say, and I can’t quite tell if I sound surprised or wistful, because there he is; strong jaw, full lips, eyes that the webcam just can’t do justice to. 

“Hey,” he greets, cool as a cucumber as always, his mouth just ever so slightly out of sync with his words.  He’s smiling, smiling at me, eyes focused at the screen in a way that I know he’s looking right at me.

“Hi Jensen,” I reply once I manage to get the lump of flesh formally known as my tongue to work.  I glance at my own face; thank god I managed to sort my hair out.  A self-conscious grin pulls at my lips at the little stretch of silence that follows.

“You alright?” he asks, a frown crumpling his features, “You’re a little pale.” I look at myself again.  I do look washed out.  Clearly I’m not quite as recovered from that uninvited gift as I’m trying to convince myself.

“I’m good,” I lie casually, “Bad lighting and a shitty webcam.”  I shrug my shoulders with a smile, the motion making the laptop on my lap bounce a little.  It seems to placate him because the frown fades and he leans back from whatever device he’s using skype on; a PC I presume because he’s sat in a comfy looking computer chair.  The room behind him is gorgeous, earthy tones and leather couches, a large fireplace that’s appearance is only marred by the child-friendly fireguard that shields it.  “Nice place!”  I enthuse, making him glance over his shoulder as if he’s forgotten where he is.

“Thanks, it’s good to be home.  Well, Vancouver home anyway.”  A small chuckle escapes him.  “Lemme see yours,” he instructs.  I quickly scan my bedroom for anything unsightly and then finding it relatively clean pick up my laptop and give it a slow 360 turn.  “What the hell is that in the metal fortress in the corner?”  I wonder what on earth he means at first, then realise he’s referring to my oversized hamster cage.

“That’s my Momo!” I exclaim defensively, “I told you about him before.”

“Yeah, yeah, your little rat thing, I remember,” he chuckles, shaking his head.  “That thing’s big enough for me.”

“Ok, for one, he’s a hamster, not a rat.” I lift one finger in front of the webcam to emphasise my point, “And two…  I promise I’d take very good care of you.  Fresh steak every day.”  When I take my hand away from the camera I notice the blush that’s crept onto my cheeks.  What an appealing thought, my very own Jensen to keep in my bedroom to take out and play with as I like. 

“It’s a tempting offer.”  I chew on my lip as I try to force my blush away, and it makes Jensen smile again.  I know what my mum meant now, I’ve totally got my ‘webcam face’ on, smiling far too much, my head tilted to just the right angle to try and look my best.  Even when I try to not do it, five seconds later it’s there again.  Too much practice in my teens I guess, it’s far too deeply ingrained. 

“So I’ve shown you mine, you sure me yours,” I demand, one eyebrow raised, the subtext clear. 

“Yes ma’am.”  I see his hand reach forward and he must pick up a standalone webcam because suddenly everything is all blurry, and then it’s focused on some large windows that sunlight is pouring through.  Once the brightness adjusts I see a small, pleasantly maintained garden on which two dogs are lying; one rolling around on its back in the grass, the other chewing something contentedly.  “So there’s Oscar and Icarus.  Don’t let Ick fool you, he’s a little bastard.”  I laugh and ‘aww’ as the camera blurs again. “Uh, yeah, living room, sofas.”  I make out dark wood flooring that wasn’t in view earlier.  More blurring and then the other wall comes into focus and there’s a large flat screen TV mounted on it, and in another corner is a pool table.  “TV, pool, beer…” He settles the camera back in place and back on his wonderful face.  “It really looks like a proper bachelor pad doesn’t it?”  He scratches at the stubble on his face almost uneasily, eyes looking around himself.  “The guys come over after shooting sometimes and we just hang out...”

“Hey, I like a man who can handle his balls,” I joke with a mock-serious face, and his bright white teeth make a sparkling appearance when he laughs and smiles.  “Besides, I think you need to butch the place up when you’ve got a cockerpoo trotting around.”

“That dog is all man,” he tells me seriously, pulling his cap from back to front to the right way round, still half smiling despite his serious tone.  I missed him.  ImissedhimImisseddhimImissedhim.  And I want to tell him in the little silence that follows, but I don’t dare.  “Good to see your smile again,” he says suddenly, and the happiness swelling inside my stomach almost knocks the wind out of me.  I look down at my lap, trying to smother my grin, peek up at my own beetroot face then back up at his.  His expression is serious but soft, the same way he’d look at me before touching my hair or caressing my skin, or leaning in for a kiss.  What I would give to have him here.

“Likewise,” I admit, fighting off the urge to deflect his intense attention with humour.  I shake my shoulders off a little, breaking the moment and make myself sit up straighter against my headboard.  “Wanna stream a movie to watch at the same time?”  His eyebrows raise, and I’m guessing this is a new concept to him.  “It’ll be like we’re watching it together,” I say as explanation, shrugging my shoulders.

“As long as I get to pick.”  I cringe and he picks up on it. “We gotta work on that bossy streak,” he teases gently and I roll my eyes.  “Sure you don’t need to get some sleep?” I glance at the time, 10pm, and shake my head.

“For you I’ve got all night.”

Chapter Text

“Ok, Jen, I really gotta go, I’m going to be late again.”  I stuff a banana and a bag of popcorn into my handbag with one hand, my phone clutched in the other pointing who knows where.

“Alright, alright, I’ve got JJ this afternoon anyway,” Jensen replies, his face coming into view as I straighten up and hold my phone out in front of me.  I try my best not to jiggle it too much as I walk towards my door.

“So, I know I’m working tonight and tomorrow so we’re doing chick flick the night after right?”  Jensen pulls a grimacing face, and it’s adorable.

“Ugh, if we have to.”

“It’s my turn to pick!” I exclaim, cutting him off before he can whine any more.  “You made me sit through a three hour western, it’s payback time.”  He starts to groan as I exit the house.  “If you keep moaning Jensen I’ll make it a musical not just a chick flick.”  With that threat he promptly shuts up, lips pursed together.  I grin at him.

“Fine.  Have a good shift.”  I open my car door and slide in.

“Have fun with JJ,” I reply, “I’ll message you.”

“You better.”  His smile only grows when I give a little wave as I disconnect Skype call before my WiFi cuts out and he gives a brief wave of a hand back.  I throw my phone onto the seat next to me and set about getting to work as fast as I can.  These calls to Jensen are not good for my time keeping.  It’s far too easy to get carried away and forget where I’m supposed to be when I’m talking to him.

The past 5 days have been one long blur of messages, working, video calls, a western, one sci-fi and one nail-biting thriller, and the weekend came and went without me even realising that I’d barely left the house.  Despite Jensen’s initial reservations about the whole movie watching thing he soon took to it, picking last night’s movie and getting it ready to go before we’d even talked about doing it. 

I can’t in all honesty say that I’ve paid one hundred percent attention to all the films.  Who would when you’ve an image of Jensen Ackles sitting right in the corner on the screen you’re supposed to be looking at?  I’ve decided that Jensen concentrating is my second favourite facial expression of his, after him smiling.  The little frown that he gets when he’s really paying attention and has no idea I’m watching is just adorable. No, wait, third favourite – I can’t forget the way he looked when I was on top of him, the way he bit down on his bottom lip, on my bottom lip.

Oookay Becca time to stop focusing on that.  I pull into the car park at work, feeling all flustered and end up laughing quietly to myself when I realise that I’m throbbing between my legs.  That really is a potent memory.

“I need to get laid again,” I mutter to myself as I bump my car door shut with my hip.  I don’t hurry across the tarmac, it turns out I’m not quite as late as I thought I was going to be.  Instead, I daydream and wonder to myself whether sleeping with anyone again will ever be the same after spending a night with Jensen.  Maybe he’s ruined me for the male race forever, because come on, the chances of a repeat performance is slim to none. 

“Becca,” a voice calls me, snapping me back to reality as I pass through reception.  I expect it to be someone I’ve looked after so automatically plaster a smile on my face, and then I see who it is and my legs turn to lead.  “I knew if I waited around you’d be here one of the nights.”  Lewis is just sat there on one of the reception waiting chairs, looking casual and pleased as punch to see me.  How can he possibly look so oblivious about my horrified expression?  I take an automatic step backward, scoping out reception and realising miserably that at 9pm no one is around and for some reason even Leslie the receptionist isn’t in her glass walled post.  My fingers tighten painfully around my bag. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice coming out a lot braver than I feel.  His smile falters, and somehow I don’t think that was the greeting he was hoping for.  He rises from the chair, and ok, yes, he does look good, I can see that even in my shell-shocked state.  He’s clearly still spending too much time at the gym, one of those low v-neck t-shirt showing off the lines of his pecs, black hair immaculately styled as always.

“Did you get my flowers?” he asks, ignoring my question as he walks toward me.  “Lillies were always your favourite right?”  Ugh, he looks so pleased with himself for remembering.  Well done, jerk. 

“Yeah,” I confirm, taking another step back to try and keep my distance, “Look, Lewis, I need to get to work.”

“I know,” he snaps, pleasant demeanour slipping a little before being plastered back on, “I wanted to get your number again so we can catch up.”  He reaches out and places his uninvited hand on my hip, trying to pull me in for a hug but I resist, my stomach lurching as soon as he touches me.  “I miss you,” he says quietly, and the look in his eyes is so convincing that I’d almost fall for it if we hadn’t been here a million times before. 

“We went over this last time,” I tell him cautiously, shifting to the side so his hand slips away.  I hate confrontation, and I’m sure many others would have just told him to fuck off by now, but I can’t bring myself to do it, always a fan of the soft approach. “I haven’t changed my mind Lewis.  I’m not doing this again.” 

“Why are you being such a bitch about this?” he asks, suddenly angry, his stance tensing.  My own body automatically curls in on itself defensively, shoulders slumped, bag clutched to my stomach, desperately trying to keep my hands and knees from shaking. 

“I’m not trying to be a bitch.”  My voice is starting to sound not so brave. “I’m sorry, I just-“

“You alright Bec?” A friendly female voice interrupts me, and it’s Leslie, thank god for Leslie.  She’s standing holding the door open to the rest of the maternity unit looking perfectly put together in her slim pencil skirt.  She’s smiling, but it starts to falter when she takes in the atmosphere between Lewis and myself.

“I’m such a dufuss, I forgot my pass,” I say hurriedly, taking advantage of Lewis being distracted to slip past and towards the open door.  “Thanks so much,” I gush at her as I go through the door and pull it closed behind me in one swift movement.  If only she knew just how thankful I really am.  I just keep going, not looking back, up in the lift to the second floor, into the labour ward, through more secure doors, barely breathing the whole way.  It’s only once I’m behind the changing room door and a combination lock that I stop and sit, fingers still clutching my bag, staring at the floor. 

The changing room door swings open seconds and Laura steps in, breathing hard.

“You’re in a bit bloody eager to get here aren’t you? I was calling you in the corridor!” she scoffs at me, obviously out of breath from trying to catch up to me. 

“Sorry,” I murmur, not moving, as she hangs her coat on the back of the door.  I’ll be fine, I’m fine, I just wish my heart would stop pounding so fast.  It’s making me feel dizzy.

“Bec… you alright?” She’s obviously noticed something is wrong, because now she’s kneeling on the floor in front of me and pressing her hands against my calves, peering up into my face.  I slowly start to shake my head and she pulls me into a tight hug, and everything that was holding me together starts to fall apart.

“Not really,” I reply shakily, and a great big hot tear comes sliding down my cheek.  I almost wish she wasn’t hugging me because her gentle, comforting embrace makes it all come breaking loose in unattractive sobs that shake us both. 

“Hey hey hey, what’s wrong?  What’s happened?” She leans back and takes my face in her hands, searching for eye contact but I squeeze them shut instead, trying to blink back the tears.  She doesn’t push, she just gives me time to collect myself together and I’m so thankful for it. 

“It’s Lewis again,” I begin sounding croaky.  She immediately begins to frown, looking angry but allowing me to continue without interruption. “He sent flowers to my house, and just now he turned up in reception…” I purse my lips, determined not to start crying again even though the lump in my throat is burning.  “I can’t deal with this again.”

“He’s going to be wearing his genitals around his neck if I see him here,” she growls, and I can feel her frustration by the way she’s squeezing my hand.  “You need to tell him to leave you the fuck alone.  I’ll tell him to leave you the fuck alone.”  In spite of myself, Laura’s words makes me smile.  She’s always so protective, like a big mama bear.   Just having her here makes me feel a little better. I feel stronger, braver with her backing me up. 

“I’m probably overreacting; it’s only a bunch of flowers.”

“Don’t you make excuses for him!” she scolds, “You promise me you’ll call security straight away if he turns up here again.  Or better yet, the police.”  I agree with a reluctant nod, not really wanting to make a fuss, but I know she’s right.  Maybe he might finally get the message.  She stands, smiling down at me, and gives my shoulder a firm tap. “Now come on, we really are late now.”


“So, get this,” Jared, or rather Sam as he is now, begins as usual, “There’s like this old folke tale about this hideous creature made of maggots.”

“Gross,” Jensen, Dean, interjects, taking a swig from his beer bottle that is actually full of carbonated water rather than the beer he wishes it was. 

“Totally.  And it changes form so it can come under doors and through pipes, that must be how-“ Jensen’s phone goes off loudly, ruining the take.  There are mutters of discontent from the crew and Jared rolls his eyes to the heavens as Jensen scrambles his phone out of his back pocket, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry, sorry y’all, totally forgot I had it on me,” he says loudly, holding a hand up in omission.  He doesn’t really pay attention though, especially not to Jared’s quizzical look, because he’s too busy opening up a message and grinning at the screen.

“Uh, Jen, kinda still waiting here,” Jared prompts, sounding pissy but smiling nonetheless at his best friend’s unusual lack of concentration.  Well, actually, now that Jared thinks about it Jensen has seemed more distracted since coming back from the UK. 

“Forget it guys, we need to mess with lighting anyway,” Phil, the director, calls out.  Jensen is still barely paying attention, tapping out a reply as Jared runs a hand through his hair and the rest of the crew take a break.  What is going on with him?

“Hey, distracto-boy,” Jared calls, just before he smacks the underneath Jensen’s of phone holding hand, causing it to bounce out of his grasp and start a moment of frantic scrambling whilst he tries not to drop it on the floor, cursing,

“Dick!”  Jared just laughs. 

“What’s with the sudden attachment to modern tech huh?” He prompts as Jensen purposefully finishes his message whilst facing the other way, out of the taller man’s long reach.  He stuffs the phone back into his pocket and turns back, shrugging his shoulders, trying and failing to look casual.

“Nothing man.”  He walks away, toward a table that has been set up with some snacks and beverages, but Jensen knows his friend enough to know that he won’t let it go that easily, and Jared catches up quickly with his long strides.

“Bull.  Shit.”  The shorter, freckled man avoids eye contact, instead busying himself with selecting a bagel.  “You know what the marriage councillor said about sharing babe.”  With that Jared plants a firm smack on Jensen’s ass that makes him wince and clench, the sound carrying across the set.  Anywhere else that might get them some strange looks, but around here the crew were well accustomed to Jared’s slightly odd sense of humour and all it spurs are smiles and laughs.  

“Dick,” Jensen mutters again, but he’s smiling and shaking his head, still looking at the snacks on offer. 

“Come ooooon,” Jared whines, picking up a muffin himself and then standing there and bouncing on his feet, a mouth full of complex carbohydrates. 

“Fine!  It’s just a woman I met while me and Gen were in the UK, that’s all.”  He tries to make it sound like it’s not a big deal, finally choosing a cream cheese bagel, but by the time he’s taking a bite and turning back to Jared, gigantor looks like he’s going to explode.  

“Who??” he asks, spreading crumbs everywhere in his haste to speak, and Jensen wrinkles his nose, shaking off his sleeve even though he knows full well there are no crumbs there.

“You’re disgusting.  You remember the midwife looking after Gen?  It’s her, ok, there, happy?” Jared is plainly not happy with his vague answer, waving his muffin around excitedly.

“Gen told me about that! Yeah, she said you guys had, like, ‘chemistry’.”  He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, a hand pushes his hair back and then he elbows Jensen’s side when he fails to reply. 

“Can’t take that woman of yours anywhere,” Jensen teases, chowing down on his bagel.

“Again, it’s called sharing.  You got a picture?  Lemme see.”  Green eyes roll and Jensen huffs, but he obliges and pulls out his phone.  He loads up the only picture he has of Becca, one that he catches himself looking at often, and turns it to face Jared.

“Huh,” Jared comments quizzically.

“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” Jensen replies quickly, not sure whether to be offended.  Jared waves his hand apologetically in front of himself, eyebrows raised in an expression of innocence. 

“No, no man, she’s really pretty.  She just not your, you know, usual type.”  Ok, so maybe Jared has a point, she doesn’t exactly have the figure of a catwalk model, and short hair isn’t usually his thing, but the picture still makes Jensen smile.  Her beaming smile, her button nose, her hazel eyes that look brown in the dark but shine with flecks of green in the sun; he likes her anyway.  Can’t stop thinking about her.  And that’s really scary.

“I guess,” Jensen agrees, keeping all the other thoughts to himself, and then puts the phone away again after glancing at it and making sure it’s on silent this time. 

“Soooo?” Jared encourages.

“So…? What?”

“Jensen, come on, this is the first time I’ve seen you even remotely interested in a woman in like... forever.  This is a big deal!”  Jensen huffs out a laugh, shaking his head with a mouth full of cream cheese.  He licks his lips, shrugs his shoulders, and looks up slightly into the thoughtful brown eyes of his co-star. 

“It’s stupid, I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s so funny and such a… dork, but in this real cute way, and so nice.  You know how hard it is to find a genuinely nice woman doing this sort of stuff.  You should have seen her with Gen, Jar, she was amazing.”  He clears his throat, aware that he’s gushing and slightly embarrassed at how ecstatic Jared looks about the things he’s saying.  It’s like they’re teenage girls gossiping in the school yard. “But she’s all the way over there and it’s… it’s too soon.  JJ is only like 18 months old.”  Jensen looks away again, looking slightly defeated, and Jared sighs heavily and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Jensen, look,” he begins, and Jensen knows that when his friend calls him by his full name he’s really serious.  It’s rare for Jared, so he pays attention. “Danneel would want you to be happy, man, whenever happiness comes along whether it’s now or when JJ is 18 years old.  I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages.  And as for the distance, fuck, we’re in the position to just throw some money at that and problem solved.”  He’s got his Sam puppy dog eyes on, and god damn it it’s just as effective on Jensen as it is on everyone else.  No one is immune.  Jensen pulls his eyes away again, folding his arms.

“I don’t know,” he deflects again non-committedly, making Jared grumble in frustration. 

“You’re a stubborn man, Jackles.”  Someone from the crew announces that they’re ready to continue filming, and Jensen shoves the rest of the bagel into his mouth whole in a hurry as they begin to walk back.  “Sounds to me like you’re making excuses.”  They take position on their marks as Jensen continues to furiously chew, rolling his eyes.  “That, and being a total pussy.”  A wicked grin flashes over Jared’s face, and if it weren’t for the fact that Jensen’s teeth were locked together by cream cheese he’d once again exclaim,



‘Just leaving work, had an exhausting night. Three babies, three! Can’t wait for bed x’ I press send and then pull my t-shirt over my head, trying not to bump my elbows into Laura.

“This changing room is not big enough,” I moan and Laura just grunts in response.  She’s had a tough night too, her woman bled too much and had to be transferred to the high risk unit, much to her dismay.  My phone bleeps.

‘Am already there, gotta be up early.  Jared was asking about u 2day.  Wanted to know who was making me smile.’  It’s so wonderful to know that even from a distance I’m still making him smile, just like I promised myself.  In turn, it makes me smile too. 

‘Who’s that then? x’  I pause thoughtfully while I wonder whether to add something else to the message, and then throw caution to the wind and add, ‘Wish I was there with you x’.

“You coming?” Laura asks as I pick up my bag.  I nod swiftly.  “I’ll walk you to your car, just in case,” she tells me.  Ugh, I’d almost forgotten about that douchebag.  Laura’s reminder makes all that uneasiness swell up again inside of me, but I still shake my head and insist,

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” is all she says, obviously too tired to argue so I just go along with it, secretly reassured by her company.  We don’t speak as we leave, far too eager for our beds, squinting like vampires in the morning sunlight, but when we get to my car she pulls me into a hug.  “Call me if you need me.” Then she’s gone.  I climb into my car and open the message waiting for me.

‘Just some girl.  Drives me crazy but she’s kind of hot.  Has an ass that won’t quit.’  I laugh loudly and then stow my phone away so I can drive home and message him then, sort of impressed with myself that I don’t feel the compulsive need to reply quite so instantaneously anymore. 

The drive home passes in a blur, as it always does when I’m tired, and soon I’m tucked up in bed with my heavy curtains drawn, blocking out the morning sunlight. Only my phone going off again stops me from falling straight to sleep.  I prise open my eyes and they feel like they’re full of sand, but as soon as I open up my messages they fly open wide in surprise.  A picture of Jensen sat up in bed looking sleepy, the sheets crumpled down so his chest is exposed.

‘Waiting here 4 u’ it says underneath.  I’ll take that as he wishes I was there too, huh?

“Oh my…” I say out loud, tilting my head to the side to inspect it closer, the way the lamp light of his bedroom is making his skin glow golden, how sexy and rumpled his hair is.  Should I send something back?  I guess I should, right?  That’s only fair.  He must be getting frustrated, because it takes me another 10 minutes to take a decent looking picture.  I settle on one of me making a kissy face to the camera because I just can’t seem to do the sulty, sexy look; definitely not in this lighting anyway, not with bags under my eyes from the nights hard work.

‘Mwah! Goodnight Jensen xxx’ I send with it.  His reply comes quickly; a good job as I’m falling asleep again.

‘Beautiful babydoll.  Sleep tight xxx’ Babydoll?  I could get used to that.

Chapter Text

Everything around me seems to have escalated in the last week, both good and bad. 

On the up side Jensen and I are closer than ever; every day, without fail, we wish each other good morning and goodnight at the very least.  We swap photos, we speak on Skype, we’ve watched a few more crap movies and… ok, so I’m crazy about him.  When I sit and think about not being able to see him in person it makes my chest ache painfully with longing.  Every time I see him I want to reach out and take his face in my hands to kiss him, press my palms against his chest as I cuddle up close to him.  I can’t help but wonder if he daydreams like I do, trying to remember the way he felt lying beside me.  I never feel like a bother to him; no matter how busy he is he always seems to find time to speak to me, and it makes me feel special, cherished even.  A strange sort of special, considering we’ve not really discussed whatever this is between us. 

Conversely, things with Lewis have gone from bad to worse.  Granted I’ve not had to deal with him in person again, but four days ago I arrived home to find an envelope pushed through my door full of pictures of Lewis and I.  On the back and each of every one were lyrics written to a variety of soppy, lovesick songs that I unfortunately recognised well from our time together.  I didn’t hesitate in destroying it this time, unlike the flowers.  I’d marched the envelope straight to my gas cooker and watched them burn, revelling in the cathartic release it gave me. 

Then two days ago I’d then found more lilies; this time I threw them over the wall into next doors front garden with a slightly hysterical laugh.  So no, no physical harassment like at work, but there’s the unwanted gifts and once or twice I know I’ve felt eyes watching me, like that first night.  I know it’s almost like letting him win, but I’ve been staying at home as much as possible in an effort to avoid him and the accompanying unease I feel whenever I go outside.  I’m quite happy to sit in and watch telly, read my books or talk to Jensen, but it wasn’t so easy to make excuses to my mum about why I wasn’t coming over for dinner.  I ended up divulging my anxieties to Laura, and that’s why she’s been driving me to and from work the last couple of days, no matter how I’d argued and how useless it makes me feel. 

“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow night,” Laura tells me, leaning over to look up at me through the passenger window. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” I tell her for the thousandth time, very aware that it’s falling on deaf ears.

“Please, I’m willing him to be here just so I can give him a piece of my mind.”  I roll my eyes, smiling amusedly.  “Have a good night off, lucky bitch,” she says in place of a farewell, putting her car in gear and pulling off the curb in a serious of jerky movements.  She never has been the best of drivers.  I wave at her and see a mirroring wave twinkle at me through the gap in the seats as she drives away.  Bless her, she’s too good to me.

I don’t give myself enough time to start feeling nervous; I practically sprint into the house, feed the animals and go straight to bed - after ramming some buttery toast in my mouth.  I’d already messaged Jensen goodnight in Laura’s car.  One definite perk of working night shifts is that it makes the time difference between us a lot more manageable.  By the time I’m falling asleep it’s 8:30am, and across the pond Jensen is snuggled up just like me at half past midnight, and when I wake up at 5pm he’ll have time for a quick chat mid-morning with his usual coffee in hand.  We’ve got our own little routine now, and I fall asleep wondering what it’d be like if he lived here or vice versa.  Would we spend just as much time talking, or better yet being together, or is this all spurred on by wanting what we can’t have?

I wake to the familiar sound of the Skype ringtone, and for a second I’m all bleary-eyed and confused, wondering where it’s coming from.  Surely I didn’t fall asleep with my laptop on?  I push my fringe out of my eyes with one hand, the other searching under my pillow when I realise that the offending sound is coming from my phone.  Jensen’s calling, so I swipe to answer the call instead of ignoring it like I would with anyone else, double checking that the camera on my end isn’t switched on.  He does not need to see me right now. 

“Hmm, hi Jen,” I greet sleepily, lying back against my pillow, one arm over my eyes. 

“Hey sleepy bones.  Been wondering where you were.”  His tone is affectionate and warm, and I can’t resist opening one eye to see his face peering down at me through my phone.  He’s completely clean shaven, and from the look of his jacket – which is totally Dean’s – he must be on a break mid-shoot. 

“What time is it?” I ask.  Usually it’s me that messages him first in the day, it’s unusual for Jensen to be the one waking me. 

“You tell me.”  He is forever forgetting the time difference between us. I check the time on my phone and groan when I see that I’ve massively overslept today; it’s 8pm and I’ve slept for practically 12 hours.  No wonder I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.  “Hey, miss, where’s your face?” he asks, sounding a little petulant. I quirk an eyebrow at the screen.

“Trust me, Jen, you do not need to see me right now.  I have twelve hours’ worth of pillow hair.”  He pouts adorably, and I figure wherever he is he must be alone because there’s no way he’d be letting everyone see that face.

“I always need to see you,” he says emphatically, and damn it it’s charming enough that I relent and switch the camera on, muttering,

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I’m just cringing at the sight of my reflection when Jensen suddenly yells, pulling a horrified face.

“Holy mother…” he cries, but then dissolves into laughter before he can finish his blaspheme. I roll my eyes, sticking my middle finger up at the screen. 

“Fine, I’ll go.” I turn off the camera and he makes a loud noise of complaint that wouldn’t sound out of place in a kindergarten classroom.  “And hey, aren’t you supposed to be one of those devout Southern gentlemen?”  I scold, “That wasn’t very pious.” 

“My apologies ma’am.”  He pretends to tip a hat at the screen whilst affecting his strongest Texan accent, and his expression is so sincere and he looks so handsome when he’s all serious that I can’t help but smile.  His eyes still twinkle with playfulness though, something I love to see.  “Come back,” he encourages and I give in with a light sigh.  “There she is.”  He smiles at me and I beam back, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth. I don’t know why I cared about him seeing me like this really, it’s not like he hasn’t before.  Hell, he even had the close up version and we still ended up rolling around in bed together.  Good times.  

“You free for long?”  I ask, feeling hopeful. 

“Got a couple hours while Jared has some scenes to shoot.”  My heart leaps, pleased that this means I’ll get him to myself for a little while. 

“You mind if I go have a shower and make myself feel half human, call you back on my laptop?”  I blow a piece of fringe out of my eyes to emphasise the fact that my hair is an atrocious mess.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll grab some lunch, call me back in a bit.”

“Sure,” I smile.  I pause for a moment, just looking at his face, wishing I could press a brief kiss to his lips and my hesitation makes him chuckle.

“Go on then,” he shoos, teasing, “I’ll still be just as sexy when you get back.”

“Shush you,” I scoff, cheeks flushing at him calling out my ogling.  I just catch a flash of his pearly white teeth when he smiles before I disconnect the call, shaking my head.  I really must learn to be cooler.

It only takes me 40 minutes or so to make myself look decent; shower, brush my teeth, dry my hair and apply basics of makeup.  I set my laptop up and lie on my front on top of the duvet, waiting for Jensen to answer the call.  It takes him a little longer than usual.

“Hey, sorry, was just leaving the cafeteria,” he tells me and I can tell he’s walking by the way the camera keeps bobbing around, “Just let me get back to the trailer.”

“Okie,” I reply happily.

“Jackles, Jackles!” I hear a voice calling, and immediately I know who it is.  No Supernatural fan could hear that voice and not recognise that it belongs to Samuel Winchester.  I feel little goose bumps of excitement prickle on my arms at the thought of seeing Jared, not because I prefer him to Jensen in any way, but because… well… I guess I’m kind of used to seeing Jensen now, and hey, I still love the show and the rest of the SPN family.  Jensen, however, does not appear as enthused to see him, and I could swear his pace quickens.  “Who you talkin’ to Jackles?” Jared calls after him, and by his playful tone I think Jared knows exactly who he’s talking to. 

“Fuckin’ overgrown man-child,” Jensen grumbles, half at me, but I know he’s just playing because I can see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  All of a sudden the camera jerks and the picture blurs and I can hear laughing and scuffling.

“Hi Becca!” comes Jared’s voice, interrupted by several ‘Hey!’ exclamations from Jensen, and I’m thrilled and almost squealing with delight at the fact that Jared Padalecki knows my name.  Jensen’s face comes into view again, looking disgruntled but happy all at once, and bobbing around just behind him is Jared, smiling goofily.

“Hey Jared,” I wave shyly, and a large hand waves back.  “How’s Shephard doing?”  I can almost see his chest puff out in pride at the mention of his son.

“He’s doing great, thanks.” Jensen is rolling his eyes, still walking, but Jared keeps up easily with his extra-long legs.  “You should totally come visit, Gen would love it,” he enthuses, “I’m sure Jensen would put you up.”  He must nudge Jensen or something because his torso momentarily jerks forward and he grumbles.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I smile, not quite knowing what to say, cheeks burning with pleasure at Jared’s friendly invitation.  It would be so wonderful if I could visit, just for a brief holiday, but I think I’d need to wait for Jensen himself to invite me before making any assumptions. 

“Don’t you need to go get oiled up or something J?” Jensen teases, making his friend laugh. 

“Fine, I’ll take the hint.”  Jared disappears from view, but I hear him call a goodbye to me and I shout one back that he probably doesn’t hear. 

“Oiled up?” I query with a laugh once he’s gone.  I think Jensen must be at his trailer now because I hear him climbing steps and the sound of a door opening, and then sure enough he’s suddenly indoors.  Jensen laughs, shrugging off his, well, Dean’s, jacket and running a hand through his hair.

“He’s shooting a love scene, gotta get his abs all shiny,” he explains, humour in his voice.  He flops down onto the sofa of his trailer with a bump as I gawp.

“You guys actually do that?”

“Guy, singular.  Just Jared.”  We both laugh again, and I wonder how I’d never noticed before – I’ve spent enough time looking at his chest during topless scenes. Shh, don’t tell Jensen. 

“Filming going well?” I ask, changing topic before I think about those guys and baby oil too much.  God it’s like a slashfic waiting to happen.

“Yeah, pretty standard stuff today.  Stand here, say this line, look serious, pretend to punch this person.”  He shrugs.

“All in a day’s work for Jensen Ackles huh?” I smile and he nods.  I wonder if he ever gets tired of being Dean Winchester?  As much as the fan in me would hope not I guess it must get old as an actor after a while, being the same person over and over again.  “Now don’t judge me,” I start, opening another tab on my browser as my tummy rumbles, “But I’m ordering pizza.”

“You’ve only just woken up,” he scolds, but I know he’s not serious. 

“And I’m having extra cheese and eeeeeverything,” I smile.  He just tuts at me, leaning his head to the side so his cheek rests against the top of the sofa, watching my face.  He lets me concentrate on my order for a minute or so, finally confessing,

“I could totally go for some pizza.”

“Done, 30 minutes,” I say triumphantly making the final click and closing the other window so I can maximise Jensen’s face again.  “Gotta keep your physique, babe, for those oily scenes,” I tease making him chuckle. 

“Hey, Jared has age on his side, this gets harder to maintain the older I get.”  He pats his stomach, looking down at it. 

“You still look pretty hot to me,” I say without thought, feeling myself blush as soon as the words come out of my mouth.  He grins smugly.

“Thanks darlin’.”

“What’s it like, you know, doing those kinds of scenes?” He looks blank for a second as I switch topics quickly so I reiterate, “The love scenes.”

“Oh, it’s alright.  I guess it depends who you’re working with but most people are really professional about it.”  He looks thoughtful, like he always does when he talks about his work, and I want to reach out and run my finger along the little ‘v’ in his forehead.  “Either that or you joke around so much between takes that it keeps it relaxed.  It doesn’t phase me as much as when I first started out.  We try and do that stuff in a closed set so you’ve not got so many people watching.” 

“Yeah, I guess Jared cheering you on in the background might be a bit distracting,” I smile, imagining it.  Jensen laughs and nods his head in agreement.  “What if they’re like really hot and you get an awkward boner?”  I make an embarrassed expression and Jensen laughs more.

“I’m not going to pretend like that’s never happened to me… but yeah, like I said, they’re professional, you just get on with it.”  I can’t say I’d mind if I was an extra and Jensen just happened to get an erection during a take.  Somehow I can’t imagine I’d ever see Jensen with an erection as a bad thing.  Memories of him pressing it hard and hot against my thigh flash through my mind, and I’m almost relieved when one of my cats jumps up onto the bed and startles me. 

“Hey Cas,” I greet him, rubbing my fingertips firmly through the white fuzz on his chin.  He must be in one of his rare, personable moods. 

“Cas?” Jensen queries.  Oh…

“Yeah, uh.” I pick up one of Cas’ paws and wave it at the screen, “Meet Castiel.”  My face feels hot.  I look away from the screen and instead focus on stroking Cas, cringing at Jensen’s immediate laugh.


“Look, ok, it wasn’t my idea.  My mum and sister named him,” I ramble embarrassedly, “Have you never seen the t-shirts? You know, with the cartoon cat in the trench coat with little wings and it says ‘raised you from purr-dition?’” Jensen’s hysterical now, leaning forward and wiping his eyes clear of amused tears.

“From what now?” he asks, still laughing, and I just glare the screen.  I totally didn’t make this any better for myself.  Cas must decide he doesn’t like all the noise coming from the laptop because he jumps off the bed and slinks out again, obviously mercurial in mood today. “I’ve gotta Misha one of those, he’ll love it,” he says, his laughter starting to subside but still having to wipe the remainder of wetness from his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a total nerd,” I say, rolling my eyes, waiting for him to keep on teasing, but it doesn’t come.

“You’re adorable, is what you are,” he tells me instead, smiling at me and I beam back, feeling the warmth that blooms in my heart start to seep pleasantly into my extremities.  There’s a little silence that follows and he shifts his position, putting one hand behind his head, bicep flexing.  It’s difficult to tell whether he’s doing it on purpose or not but nonetheless it grabs my attention.  I feel myself bite my lip as my eyes follow the curve of the muscle, remembering how firm he felt beneath my hands, how wonderfully warm and smooth.

“Do you think about us like that still?” I ask impulsively, glad that my hair has fallen across part of my face to hide my shy expression. 

“Are we talking about love scenes again?” he clarifies, just the hint of a smile on his face now, expression starting to change into something darker, hotter.

“Maybe,” I tease, pushing that hair away so I can see him more clearly. 

“All the time.”  He emphasises his words, gaze closer to blistering now, and I feel my heartbeat start to quicken in my chest. 

“Me too.”  My words come out embarrassingly husky, and when I glance at my own appearance I can see that I too look different; my pupils slightly dilated, a red flush on my chest.  I pause, unsure of what to say, knowing that this could go two different ways.  Either I could change the topic and we go back to light conversation, or I could steer it down a less known, exciting path.  I quickly make the choice to live dangerously.  “What do you think about?” I ask cautiously, wondering if he’ll play along, and when I see his lips quirk into a little sideways smile I know he knows what I’m getting at.

“Hmmm,” he considers with a long exhale, and I know he’s doing it to tease me, “I think about how I’d like to feel that soft skin of yours again.”  His voice is low, tempting, and I wonder if he realises just how potent his words are.  My breath immediately catches in my throat, heat pooling between my legs.  “And I think about your mouth.”

“What about my mouth?” I ask too quickly, eager for more, the blush that was on my chest gradually creeping further and further up my face.  He smiles a dirty smile to himself, looks away from the camera for just a split second, his tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip.  Oh, he’s so good at this.

“There’s things we didn’t get chance to do with that mouth that have been driving me crazy imagining,” he tells me, and I instinctively purse my lips together, wetting them with my tongue.  They’re pink and moist when I let them go, and I see Jensen focus on them.  “You’d look so pretty on your knees.”  I moan reflexively at the image that floods into my mind and then laugh, covering my face with my hands, a little embarrassed but ridiculously turned on.  “What?” he asks with a soft smile.  I roll half onto my back, still hiding my face, but then peep out at the camera.

“You’re really good at this,” I tell him, having to press my legs together tightly to try to stop the insistent throb there, realising when I do that I’m already wet, my body just as willing for him as my mind. 

“Would you like that?”  He persists. His voice is a little breathy and he shifts again in his seat, making me think, reassuringly, that this conversation is having just as powerful effect on his body as it is on mine.  I roll onto my front again, pressing my arms tighter together so my cleavage is more pronounced above my tank top and narrow my eyes, trying to build up some courage to join in. My heart pounds fiercely against my chest as I finally admit,

“I would love to taste your cock Jensen.”  My words have the desired effect.  It’s almost as if he was physically hit with something, taking in a sharp breath and straightening up in his seat, hand falling from behind his head.  He doesn’t look flustered for long though, in a split second he’s cool and collected again, clearly the more dominant force in the bedroom. 

“Touch yourself,” he tells me, strongly, clearly, and for split second doubt comes into my mind.  I don’t usually do this sort of thing…

“Will you…?” I ask nervously.  I don’t think I’d feel so exposed if he was doing it too.  His expression softens, obviously sensing my anxiety, and he smiles.

“I might,” he says gently, obviously not wanting to give too much away, but it’s all the encouragement I need, “Touch yourself Becca,” he commands again.

“Yes,” I submit, once again becoming breathy and monosyllabic.  It’s amazing how quickly he reduces me to this.  I roll onto my side and slide a hand under the waistband of my clean pyjama shorts, ignoring the stark contrast between the cute and innocent owl patterning and the actions I’m being led to.  I’m very aware of Jensen watching every move closely so I try to make everything purposefully slow, to give him the show I know he wants – that I want to give him.  As my fingers make contact with the wetness between my legs I give a small moan and close my eyes, momentarily lost in how good it feels to give my body the touch it’s screaming out for.  I explore tentatively, eyes still closed and taking my time, brushing my fingertip against the extra sensitive nub that’s swollen with desire. 

“That’s it baby,” Jensen soothes, and it makes me open my eyes to look at him.  His expression is pure heat, eyes dark, and he bites down on his bottom lip when I let out another quiet groan, flexing my hips.  “You look so hot,” he tells me, watching so intensely that I’m surprised I can’t feel it from here.  I look at myself and almost gasp in surprise; he’s sort of right.  I look like some kind of nymphomaniac, all flushed and heavy lidded, swollen lips and body contorted in a way that pushes my breasts forward whilst still giving a clear view of my hand moving beneath my shorts.  It’s a strange sort of erotic, watching myself getting off, and it only encourages me to go further and slip one of my fingers inside of myself, into the slick heat there.  Watching my own breath hitch is too much, I close my eyes again and bite down on my lips to stifle a moan.  “Feel good?” he asks, as if he can’t tell, and I nod.

“Jensen,” I huff, circling my hips against myself, “Want you,” I groan.  I do, I want him.  This feels so good – my stomach muscles clench as I rub against my g-spot – but nothing will sate that overwhelming want for him that chants away in my mind relentlessly.  I hear the sound of a belt being adjusted and it prises my eyes open, hopeful that my lust-drunk mind wasn’t just imagining it.  All I can actually see is the ceiling of his trailer; obviously he’s had to put the phone down for a second to undo his belt, but soon it’s focused back on his face and his jaw is tight, eyes blazing. 

“Need you baby.”  I know the exact second that he touches himself, because the minute he does the jaw that was wound so tight goes slack and his eyes press closed.  “You got me so hard.” 

I didn’t think it was possible but the throbbing between my legs gets even more intense knowing what he’s doing, sat there in his trailer, hand wrapped around his dick, thinking about me.  I almost get a little too distracted watching him, forgetting to keep pace with my own hand, until his eyes open again and he catches me slacking.  “Don’t stop,” he instructs, chastising, and I slide my fingers back inside with renewed purpose, revelling in the pleasure it brings.  He moans, watching me, and I moan back in response.  “Like I’m fucking you, harder, like that,” he guides, his words just adding new peaks of pleasure to each thrust of my fingers, my head swimming, thoughts a mess.  In the blur I notice how quickly his one shoulder is moving, matching my speed, and realising that just makes me grind my hips all the more, wishing harder than I’ve ever wished in my life that he was here, against me, inside of me.  I groan loudly, starting to feel close to the edge, and my other hand instinctively pushes inside my shorts to rub against my clitoris at the same time, greedy for more sensation. 

“Fuck,” I moan, my muscles starting to tighten.

And then the doorbell rings, and it’s like a bucket of cold water has been doused all over me. 


Chapter Text


“Leave it,” Jensen encourages, his voice still husky, arm moving slower as he strokes himself.  For thirty seconds or so I really do try to, trying to claw back the mood, but when the door rings persistently again I just can’t ignore it. 

“Sorry,” I apologise, smiling remorsefully.  Jensen makes an exasperated noise, clearly annoyed at the intrusion, but still manages a smile in reply.

“This is not over,” he warns teasingly and I bite my lip.

“I sure hope not!” I hear him laugh as I hop off my bed, wiping my hands on the covers and grimacing a little at how wet I am between my legs.  It all seems so much less sexy when you’re trying to go down the stairs without making a mess.  I grab my purse from my handbag that sits by the door and pull it open, hoping that it’s not too glaringly obvious to the pizza man what I’ve just been doing.  “Hiya!” I greet cheerfully, eyes on my purse trying to find the appropriate cash.  The lack of response feels unnatural and it causes me to look up and straight into brown eyes that are far too close for pizza delivery appropriate personal space. 

It’s like cold water all over again.  I drop my purse and take an automatic step back, mouth opening but words failing me as Lewis steps through my doorway uninvited, a chilling smile on his face. 

“Hi Becca,” he says, pleasantly enough, pushing the front door closed behind him.  Fuck.  Fuck.  “You ignored my letter.  And my flowers.”  I seem frozen to the spot, unable to move, mind racing as I desperately think of what to do.  Stupid things like throwing myself out of the living room window are all I can think of, and all it serves to do is waste time and let him get closer.  “You threw them over the wall, bit of a shitty thing to do wasn’t it?” He’s been drinking,  that so does not help things.  “How do you think that made me feel?"

“S-Sorry,” I choke out, trying to placate him, to diffuse a situation that feels dangerous right from the offset.  He’s not bothering to make niceties this time. 

“You’re such a bitch!” he shouts, slamming his hand against the wall of the hallway.  I jump, unable to stop myself, and now my hands begin to shake, fear taking hold of my insides and squeezing tight.  “You can’t keep pushing me away Becca.”  The fact that his voice is softer again just scares me all the more, the look in his eyes one I’ve never seen before.  It’s predatory and terrifying.  I’m like a rabbit stuck the in headlights of an oncoming car when his hand grasps onto the back of my neck, large palm encircling it, pulling me in to press his lips against mine.  A wave of nausea rolls outward from my stomach at the overwhelming taste of Jack and Coke that invades my senses along with his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, and the revulsion is strong enough to kick me into gear.  I press my palms to his chest and push as hard as I can, managing to jerk myself away, much to his fury.

“Becca, get your gorgeous butt back here!” Jensen’s voice is barely audible drifting down the stairs, but in the quiet tension of the hallway it rings out loud and clear, and I feel my stomach drop through the floor.

“Is someone here?” Lewis asks, dangerously quiet.  My mouth flounders for a second and then instinct seems to kick in and I turn and run to sprint up my stairs, towards Jensen’s voice, horrified when Lewis immediately gives chase.  All the nightmares you have as a child, when you still scramble up the stairs on all fours to escape the monsters that must lurk below when the lights are off - all of that feels real, a small sob escaping me as I reach the top step and push myself to standing, knowing he’s right behind me.  I almost slip on the laminate as I round the corner to my room, only saving myself by grabbing onto the doorframe and pulling myself through, slamming the door shut behind me.  Lewis is only seconds behind, bashing into the door as I press my back against it, eyes shut tight, lips pursed, shaking all over.

“Open the door Becca!” Lewis shouts, ramming into it again so hard that I fly off of it and have to shove myself back to keep it closed. 

“Becca?  Becca, what’s happening?  Are you ok?”  Jensen’s voice shouts, worry ringing out clear in his voice. 

“Jensen,” I sob, unable to say anything more, all of my effort going into trying to keep my door closed, my toes digging into my carpet painfully.  Tears have started to run hot down my face, obscuring my vision, sobs falling unrestrained from my mouth. 

“Becca, it’s ok, babydoll, call the cops,” he says and it’s obvious now that he’s panicking too, a frantic edge to his voice even though his words are trying to reassure.  I can’t get to the phone, as soon as I move from the door Lewis will be inside.  I try to tell him this, but just as I’m opening my mouth one final shove from Lewis finally lets him break through, the force throwing me to the floor, the friction from carpet burning the side of my thigh.  I cry out loudly.

“Lewis, please,” I beg, ashamed at the weakness in my voice, curling my limbs around myself protectively as he enters the room.  But instead of approaching me he approaches the bed and takes hold of my laptop, swinging it around so it faces outwards, eyes studying the screen.  I catch a glimpse of Jensen.  Initially he just looks panicked but as Lewis leans over and makes himself known, giving an arrogant wave into the webcam, Jensen’s face turns into one of unbridled rage. 

“So is this what you’re doing now, huh Becca?” Lewis asks, turning back to me.  He squats next to me, looking down with a sardonic smile.  “Whoring yourself to guys on the net?”  I say nothing, but more tears fall from my eyes as I shake my head.  Suddenly, his fist grabs onto my hair and he’s yanking me up to standing.  All I can do is scream out and comply; anything to stop it feeling like my scalp is being ripped from my skull, my legs weak underneath me.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”  Jensen roars from the screen.   I can’t bring myself to look at him, I’m too ashamed of the way I stand there limply, arms wrapped around myself,  Lewis’ fingers still curled in my hair, a constant threat of more pain. 

“The fuck are you going to do about it?” Lewis antagonises boastfully.  Why… why does Jensen have to see this?  I don’t want him to see me like this… Another tear rolls down my cheek.  Lewis grabs a hold of my arm, squeezing painfully tight, pulling me closer to him.  The stench of alcohol makes my stomach roll again.  “She’s mine.  She’s always been mine.  She’ll always be mine,” he tells Jensen through gritted teeth, “And I take what is mine.” 

I know what he’s here to do now.  The realisation hits me like a dead weight, my knees almost giving out from underneath me, the urge to vomit almost overwhelming.  Lewis grabs my face and pulls me into another kiss, tongue violating my mouth, and the will to fight back returns.  I won’t let him, I won’t, not without a fight.  I try to push off against his chest again but he’s holding my face too firmly, so I kick out with my legs instead, and all the while I can hear Jensen urging me on, telling me frenziedly to fight him, to run.  I bring a knee up, aiming for his groin while I press my lips together, trying to keep him out, but he’s too quick for me.  His hand grabs that knee and shoves it away, and then he’s not kissing me anymore, no, he’s taking hold of my wrists instead, gripping them together behind my back and walking me back towards the bed. 

“NO!” I shout, leaning forward and trying to bite instead, anything to keep him away from me.  My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting hard enough to draw blood through his t-shirt, coppery and foul in my mouth, until his hand yanks back hard on my hair again and I scream.  “GET OFF OF ME!” Maybe my neighbours will hear, anyone, please, someone hear and make this stop! 

A slap catches me off guard and the side of my face feels like it’s on fire when I shout in pain.  I’ve never been in a fight in my life, never been slapped, so this feeling is new and unreal in its intensity.  I have no frame of reference for this.  He lets go of my wrists only to push me back onto the bed and I try to scramble backward and away from him, off the bed, but one hand forces my hip still against the mattress, the other pushing the laptop off the bed and onto the floor.

“Please, Lewis, no, don’t.” I can’t look at him, I look anywhere but at him, but I know his expression well.  He’s triumphant, drunk on alcohol and lust and power and it makes me sick.  I fight one last time, thrashing as he presses his weight on top of me, bucking and hitting and spitting, anything, just anything, but it’s no use. “Please,” I whisper.

As his hand closes around both my wrists and he pins them above my head I come to realise that I’m not escaping this.  All of the resistance, all of the fight, wrings out of me and I lie limply like a ragdoll, letting him kiss my neck, concentrating instead on fighting the nausea coursing through me. 

“Becca!” Jensen’s voice pierces the silence, desperate, pleading, and I swear I feel Lewis laugh against my skin. 

“Jensen, it’s ok,” I call back and my voice is eerily calm, devoid of any feeling, “I don’t want you to hear this, Jen, please, it’s ok, go, I don’t want you to,” I tell him, just the slightest hint of hysteria breaking through as I’m stripped of my pyjama shorts.  I squeeze my eyes tight shut, determined to shut it all out, praying that Jensen has done as I’ve asked.  He must have done, because I don’t hear his voice again.  I’m alone.  I’m all alone.  Tears start to fall again, thick and hot and salty, but I keep my mouth tight shut.  I won’t let him hear me cry.  

Slowly, he strips me; of my clothes, of my self-possession, of any semblance of the person I was before.  Unresponsive, unfeeling, I lie there and wait for it to be over, trying to be somewhere else in my head.  At some point the doorbell rings with my pizza, and I absentmindedly wonder if I should call for help, but I know Lewis locked my door behind him, so I stay silent, eyes shut.   I think about the way I teach women to breathe when they’re in labour.  Three beats in, three beats out, slow and even.  Try not to panic, if you tense it’ll only hurt more.  Each pain is one closer to it all being over.  Somehow, I coach myself through it and really, it doesn’t take long.   A dark chuckle rings out in my head; he never did have much stamina.  When he’s done he kisses me, suddenly gentle, and it almost feels worse than everything else.  I think I’d rather be slapped again.  He makes promises about seeing me soon, and next time it’ll be better, and he loves me, so much – and then he leaves without as much as a backward glance, front door shutting loudly behind him. 

My immediate instinct is to go to the bathroom, to shower every inch of me, but the clinical, calm and removed part of me that’s still in charge reminds the rest that there’s important evidence there that I shouldn’t wash away.  Instead, I sit myself up straight and reach over the side of the bed for my discarded duvet.  I wrap it tightly around myself and then just sit, cocooned in the softness and the warmth, watching the shadows change in the room as the sun goes down outside, my mind blank. 

At some point I become aware of the sound of sirens in my street and at first I don’t even realise that they might be for me.  It’s only when a persistent shouting comes to my front door that I start to stir, my mind slowly reconnecting with my body.  As the police break into my house it’s as though they’re breaking down the temporary walls inside of me that had shut it all out, and my breath starts coming in short, sharp movements of my chest and everything hurts.  I hear footsteps on my stairs, voices calling out for me, and that’s when a sound comes out of me that I don’t even recognise as my own.  A broken, primal wail, half muffled into the duvet. 

I hear a familiar female voice, and then Laura comes stumbling in through my bedroom doorway wearing a face I’ve never seen on her before, not even in the direst of emergencies.

“Becca!” She flings herself at me, breaking away from the police officers that flank her, tackling me with unreserved love, arms enfolding me outside of the duvet.  I let her hold me and my emotions take me, sobbing into her chest, so thankful for her, so glad that she’s here, so glad that I’m not on my own.  “It’s alright, it’s alright, it’ll be alright,” she chants like a mantra, rocking me like a babe, and I so desperately want to believe her.  How can this ever be alright?


Thirty minutes earlier


“I don’t want you to hear this, Jen, please, it’s ok, go, I don’t want you to.”  Jensen stares in horror at a white ceiling as he listens to Becca’s voice telling him to go, her voice strangely calm.  How can he leave her to this, how can he leave her knowing what that monster is about to do?!  Jensen’s blood boils in his veins, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might explode out of his chest as he paces, and as he disconnects the call he lets out a scream of rage, lashing out and kicking over the coffee table.  It crunches under his boot. 

“FUCK!” he shouts, clawing a hand through his hair as he stares at the damage he’s caused, desperately trying to work out what to do.  All he wants to do is rip that man apart limb from limb.  To bring him a slow painful death.  What can he do?  Can he even call British police from Canada?  No, no, but he does know who he can call.  He runs from his trailer like a man possessed, adrenaline pumping in his veins, disregarding the worried looks and voices of the crew he passes.  He runs straight into the closed set, uncaring that he’s making a hell of a racket as he knocks things over in his haste to reach Jared and something, anything that might help Becca.

“Jensen, closed set!” Phil yells from his seat, severely pissed off at the intrusion, but all that melting away when he sees the expression on Jensen’s face. 

“Jared, call Gen, now,” he growls, unable to keep still, rocking from foot to foot, fists clenching and unclenching.  Jared is shirtless and dumbfounded, mouth flailing from where he’s stood in front of a petite brunette that he was presumably just kissing.  “NOW,” he shouts, unable to control the fear roiling around inside of him, starting to feel hysterical. 

“What’s wrong?”  Jared asks, spooked by his friend’s frantic urgency, outstretching his hand to take his phone that some helpful stage hand has plucked from his personal effects. 

“Just call her,” Jensen urges, feeling his hands start to shake.  He can’t fall apart, not now, not until he knows that she’s safe, not until he’s done something.  The rest of the crew crowd in, no one daring to speak as Jared passes the ringing phone to Jensen, anticipation thick in the air.  “Gen,” he blurts out as soon as he hear the line connect, “Go find those notes you got from the British hospital, quickly,” he instructs her, not giving her a single moment to speak.  He thanks God that she can tell by his tone that he’s not messing around and within 30 seconds she has them.  She reads out the number for the Midwifery Led Unit as he asks her to, and someone from the crew writes it down when Jensen repeats it. 

“Call it, you’ll need to change the start, it’s an English number,” he tells the stagehand, hanging up on Gen without a goodbye.  He’ll apologise for his lack of manners some other time.  He’s handed a different phone that rings.

“Hello, midwifery led unit, Laura speaking, how can I help?”  A British woman answers the phone and Jensen feels his heart leap, relieved that the number worked. 

“Look, I don’t have time to explain this, but Becca is in trouble and you need to call the police and get them to her house right now,” he explains in a rush, knowing that he doesn’t really make any sense but hoping they’ll do as he asks and not think he’s some American nutcase. 

“Sorry, what?” Laura asks unsurely, and Jensen squats to the floor, his hand clutching his hair as if he might pull it out in frustration. 

“Some guy broke into her house, he’s there… Louis… Lewis… I don’t know!  You need to call the police!” he exclaims, ignoring the shocked looks of the people around him, focusing solely on the gasp that comes from the woman on the other end of the phone. 

“Julie, Julie, call the police, quick.  Never mind why, just get them the phone!” she says hurriedly, and Jensen closes his eyes in blessed relief. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, feeling some of the tension fade from his body, but as soon as it's gone it’s replaced by something else, something much more powerful; a hopelessness at not being able to do more, to be there, to protect her.  He hangs up the phone and it overwhelms him – he sinks to his knees from his squat, staring at the floor and hears Jared asking for the others to give them some space.  They do so immediately and without question, the image of Jensen on his knees a powerful contrast to a man that is usually so self-contained, so self-assured.  Jared lowers himself to the floor to sit cross legged in front of his best friend, all gangly limbs, and he fights the urge to touch him, unsure of the reaction it will bring.  He waits, watching Jensen’s face patiently, and notes with a sadness that he’s only ever seen him look like this once before; when Danneel had passed away.  He never wanted to see that haunted look again. 

“I couldn’t do anything Jar.”  Jensen finally speaks, his voice cracking as he does, and then he visibly falls apart, the eyes that had been holding back tears giving up the fight.  Jared no longer has to worry about whether or not to touch him when Jensen thrusts himself into his arms, uncaring that his friend is naked from the waist up, clambering for any comfort he can find.  Jared wraps his long arms around him, swallowing hard, rubbing and clapping against his brother’s back, too fast, too hard, not knowing what to say. 

“It’ll be alright Jen,” he placates, “She’ll be alright.”  Jensen so desperately wants to believe him, but how can this ever be alright? 

Chapter Text

The hours that have followed Laura finding me have felt so distorted. The blur of activity that came thereafter; going to the station, making a statement, the horrifically thorough and clinically brusque internal examination and swab-taking carried out by a well-meaning but socially incompetent junior doctor named Charlotte.  All of that seems to have flown by, but at the very same time not.  Certain moments felt drawn out and thick, like syrup; the look of shock on Laura’s face as she sat next to me as I described what happened, the feeling of the cold metal speculum being inserted where I already felt so tender, so breakable.  And all of it carries a hint of surrealism around the edges, like I can’t quite believe that this has happened to me, that it’s me with the tear-stained face and the quivering voice, like an episode of CSI gone terribly wrong. 

My emotions can’t seem to make up their mind.  One moment I’m blank, not peaceful but certainly collected, and the next I’m a sobbing mess, clinging onto Laura for all I’m worth.  I just can’t keep up, and from Laura’s alarmed expressions I think it’s been difficult for her too.  Thank goodness for her, not once has she left my side, not once has she wavered.  Even when the physical examination took place she remained steadfast next to me, clutching my hand and rambling reassurances.  I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without her.  Of course, she never would have found me if it wasn’t for Jensen.

Jensen… I had to give the police his contact number after I’d finished speaking to them so that they could collect a statement from him too.  I can’t believe he’s gotten dragged into this.  I look at my phone that sits untouched in my lap; two missed calls, two messages.  I sigh wearily. Laura looks over at me from her seat, hands tight around the steering wheel, curious but not saying anything.  I think me turning my head away to look out the window is a successful hint that I don’t really feel like talking.  I’m not sure what to say.  How do I face Jensen after this?  After what he saw… what will he think of me?  I can’t bear to think what it did to him, how he must have felt hearing me scream.  And to have to reiterate all of it to the police… how could I ever make this up to him? 

I smile ruefully out of the window, eyes not really focusing on the street lights that rush by, dim in anticipation of the coming morning sun.  All of this, and I’m still thinking about how someone else must feel, worried about the spectator when I should be more concerned for myself.   The unwilling participant.  I press my eyes closed tight, feeling that hot bile rise in my throat at the memory that flickers into my mind, then swallow and push it away again.  I don’t think I can face speaking to him, not yet.  He’ll want to talk about it, of course he will, he’ll be all concerned and sweet and I can’t do it.  I just want to put it all away in some secret little box inside and throw away the key.  If only it were that easy. 

“We’re here,” Laura says gently, and she sounds tired.  Tonight has been emotionally draining for us all.  As soon as her tyres touch the gravel of my mother’s driveway the front door is flung open and she appears, still wrapped in her dressing gown, hair in disarray.  She’s been crying, that much is plain to see even from a distance.  I climb out of Laura’s car feeling stiff as she does the same, and before I even get half way up the driveway my mum’s arms are wrapped tightly around me and she’s sobbing and squeezing, as if to check that I’m real, that there’s not parts missing. 

“Oh Becca,” she wails.  I don’t think she’s held me like this since I was a child, so close that I can smell her perfume that lingers on her from the day before.  It’s a comforting scent; one that I associate with being warm and loved and safe.  “Are you alright?  Are you ok?” she cries frantically, briefly pulling back to look at me and then shoving her head over my shoulder again.  I attempt to force the smallest of smiles and rub her back gently. 

“I’m ok, mum,” I soothe because I know that’s what she wants to hear, whether it be true or not.  “I just need some sleep.”  She lets go of me, nodding, suddenly looking embarrassed at her lack of self-control.

“Of course, of course you do.”  She uses the sleeve of her dressing gown to dry her eyes behind her glasses and encourages me towards the house.  I hear her invite Laura inside, insisting that she stay for some breakfast, at least some tea.  My sister is waiting in the front doorway looking pale, bags under her eyes, but she musters a smile for me as I approach her. 

“Hey,” she greets quietly.

“Hi Steph.”  That half-smile of mine appears again.   My sister has never been one for displays of physical affection, which is why it means so much when she reaches out and places her hand on my shoulder, squeezing.   My mum and Laura pass us on their way to the kitchen, their eyes drifting over me, perpetually watchful.

“I got you some things from your place,” Steph informs me, “It’s all up in my room.  You can bunk with me again, like when we were little.” 

“Thanks,” I say gratefully.  I would rather be anywhere else on earth right now than my own home.  She smiles again and I know she’s trying hard to be extra nice.  This much smiling doesn’t come naturally to her like me.  Well, the me from before.  It doesn’t feel so easy right now. 

“Becca… do you want something to eat?” my mum calls from the kitchen.  She’s already got the kettle boiling, Laura watching her from a kitchen chair that I’m sure my mum has forced her into.  They all look at me, full of pity, just waiting for me to fall apart, and I can’t stand it.  Pity won’t help anything – it only reminds me that of the reason I’m deserving of it.  I’m that poor girl that people will talk about in hushed tones, all frowns and sympathy, bless her.  I turn my back to them and make my way toward the stairs, unwilling to meet their gazes. 

“I just want some sleep,” I repeat, taking myself upstairs before anyone can disagree with me.  I know they’ll talk about me as soon as I leave and the knowledge of that makes my insides cringe. 

Steph’s room is different from how I remember it – I haven’t been in here for a couple of years.  When she was younger she had posters all over the walls; now they’re a much more mature terracotta and everything is well co-ordinated in colour.  It’s still a mess, clothes in a pile in the corner, so I guess not everything has changed.   I don’t even think to wash my face or brush my teeth before getting in bed.  All I want is to be enfolded in the soft blankets, to close my eyes and let my consciousness fade into oblivion for just a while, so that’s what I do, still wearing the clothes that the police gave me after they let me shower.  I don’t know how soon I fall asleep once my head hits the pillow, but I know it isn’t long. 


No, stop, please, let me go, no, no, help, Jensen, please, no, NO!

I wake with a start, shaking and sweating, bolt upright and kicking off the covers without really knowing why, but whimpering all the same.  The last few moments of my nightmare come flooding back to me against my will;  being dragged by my ankles through long grass, unable to see my attacker, and somewhere far off Jensen’s voice, shouting my name over and over.  The feeling of cold metal being pressed between my legs is what woke me, I remember that now, and I instinctively clench my thighs together to keep out something that isn’t even there.  I try to catch my breath, staring at my lap, and notice my hands clenching the sheet.  I uncurl them slowly, fingers aching. I wonder how long I’ve been manhandling the bed clothes.  I don’t seem to have slept long… I can still hear Laura’s voice downstairs.  I knew falling asleep had been too easy and now I feel wide awake, adrenaline giving me a fresh burst of energy. 

I flop backwards, letting my head crash into the pillow and squeeze my eyes together, trying not to focus on the flashes of my dream that keep dancing on the periphery of my mind.  In an effort to distract myself I grab my phone out of my pocket, hoping for some distraction in the mindlessness of social media, but all I see when I unlock it is those missed calls and messages from Jensen, and my heart gives a painful thud.   I feel tears swell in my eyes, falling with unexpected swiftness at the very thought of him.  It’s almost ironic that the person I want to hold me most, to make it all ok, is the one I can’t even bring myself to talk to.  I sniff and wipe my eyes on my sleeve only for them to be replaced by more fresh tears.  I wish he was here.  Maybe if he’d been here none of this would have happened in the first place.  Jensen, my brave Dean Winchester, he would have fought away the monsters and kept me safe. 

I open his messages , unable to restrain myself, reading through blurry vision.

‘Call me when you can xxx’.  The first message is short, to the point, sent at eleven yesterday evening.  

‘Please Becca, I’m going out of my mind.  Just let me know that you’re safe.  Don’t care what time it is xxx’.  He did well, credit where credit is due, that he’d waited 5 hours before sending the next message, the two missed calls coming thereafter.  I’m not sure I would have had that amount of self-restraint.   The thought of something happening to Jensen and me sitting at home worrying and waiting for a phone call is what finally prompts me into contacting him like he’s asked.  It would be unbearable, not knowing if he was ok.  I can’t do that to him, especially with what I’ve already put him through.   

Skype barely has a chance to connect and ring once before Jensen picks up, obviously sat there waiting for a call. 

“Becca?” he blurts out, eager but tentative all at once, as if me calling is too sorely awaited to be really happening.  At first the room he’s sat in is completely dark and I can only make out the angles of his face, but while I hesitate and try to find my voice he must turn on a lamp because he’s suddenly illuminated.  He doesn’t look great, forehead marred with worry lines unlike his usual solitary ‘v’, dark circles under his eyes, lips drawn tight.  I hate seeing him this way and knowing that I’ve caused it.  It makes me want to start crying all over again. 

“I’m sorry to call you so late,” I apologise quietly.  I’ve left my camera off.  I’ve no idea how I look, but if he looks like this then it can’t be good on this end either. 

“Don’t be stupid, I’ve been a mess worryin’ about you!”  he says quickly, and I can hear just how much he means it.  It stabs at my heart, making me fold in on myself, slumping forward.  “I got a call from the police and they wouldn’t fucking tell me anything, they just wanted a statement and that was it.” 

“I’m sorry Jensen,” I apologise again.  I am sorry.  I’m sorry that all this has happened, that he’s been caught up in it.  I’m sorry for him, and I’m sorry for me.  The annoyance that was etched across his face slowly ebbs away in the silence that follows and now he just looks tired, tired and wounded. 

“Please stop saying you’re sorry Bec,” he chastises gently.  How can I stop?  There’s so much to be sorry for.  I don’t say anything though, I just let the silence expand between us and finally he sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face.   “Can I see you, please?”  I cringe, but can’t say I’m surprised.  I’d expected him to ask sooner rather than later.  “I’ve got all these horrible images in my head of what he… I just… I need to see that you’re alright, with my own eyes.” 

“I’m not alright Jensen,” I reply quickly, defensively.  Even if had been left without a blemish I still wouldn’t be alright.  The damage Lewis has done inside is far more permanent than any bruise.  If he looked wounded before he certainly does now, and I’m immediately regretful of my harsh tone when I notice how dewy his eyes look.  He’s close to tears, just like me. 

“I didn’t mean…” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again, “That was a stupid thing to say.”

“It’s ok Jen,” I reassure him, loath to cause him any pain, no matter how I’m feeling.  I’d do anything to keep that man from harm.  I turn the camera on, shutting my eyes so I don’t have to see my own reflection until I’m absolutely ready, and then I hear Jensen’s sharp intake of breath and I know it’s as bad as I’ve been imagining.

“Motherfucker…” I hear Jensen say, soft but low, and I can almost feel the anger seething underneath his words. 

“Is it that bad?” I ask, voice wavering.  I bite down on my bottom lip, eyes screwed up tight. 

“You’re beautiful, baby, you always are,” he assures me, the anger gone as quickly as it came.  I feel a spark of warmth try to blossom inside my chest but it’s quickly extinguished when I lift a hand to my cheek and the bruise that’s left there aches dully at the contact.  I wince.  “Open your eyes,” he encourages.  I guess I can’t avoid my reflection forever.   I slowly let my eyelids fall back, my gaze falling first on Jensen’s timidly hopeful smile, and then I see myself and I can’t help but gasp.  My cheek is slightly swollen, a purplish bruise highlighting my cheekbone with one to match along my shoulder.  I suppose he must have grabbed me there.   I run my fingers over it gingerly, watching my reflection as if it doesn’t really belong to me.  My gaze drifts upwards.  Far, far worse than the marks on my skin is the haunted expression I see lingering on my face.  I usually look so cheerful… perky even, a smile never far away, happiness shining behind my eyes but now… now I’m pale, gaunt, eyes flat and dull.  The air of fragility around me is almost childlike. 

Jensen doesn’t say a thing, he just watches me inspect myself, waiting to see my reaction I think. 

“It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater,” I sing quietly, going back to fingering my purple bruises.  What a strange moment for that song to pop into my head.  Well, whatever reaction he was expecting I don’t think it was that one.  “It’s a good job this is my colour, huh?” I let out a dark chuckle and look back at him, letting my hand drop.  He looks vaguely worried about my mental state, unsure of what to say, and I can’t say I blame him.  Now isn’t really the time for me to go singing and making jokes.  “Please don’t keep looking at me like that Jen,” I plead.  He looks away from the screen.  “Like all you feel is sorry for me.” 

“That will never be all I feel about you,” he corrects firmly, staring back at me through the camera, green blazing into my brown.  The fierce sincerity of his words is too much, it’s too overwhelming when all I’m full of is dark thoughts and memories that I’m desperately trying to keep at bay.  I can’t accept declarations of affection, not when I feel so undeserving, soiled inside and out.

“I should try and get some more sleep,” I say dismissively, looking away.   For a while he doesn’t respond and I think I might have hurt him.  Why do I keep on hurting him?  I can’t just go, not like this.  “Thank you for what you did Jensen, for getting help when you did… for being here for me.  It means more than you know.”  I can feel the tears coming again as I relive the moment I told him to go, to leave me, the echo of the words ringing around my head, and I know I won’t be able to hold them back.  “I’ll call you soon,” I promise as the first tears fall.

“Becca-“ I cut him off before he can really see me cry and push my phone away roughly across the duvet.  I bring my knees up to my chest and cross my arms on top of them, stuffing my head down, letting myself cry and cry until my eyes are sore and puffy and my throat feels raw.  I give myself over to it, not thinking, not focusing on anything but the salty sting of the tears, and somehow it’s almost better.  It’s better than pretending to be ok and the constant stream of thoughts that disagree.  Eventually I cry myself out, and when I do I’m overcome with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.  As I lay my head back against my pillow, heart heavy, all I can hope for is that this sleep will be dreamless.

Chapter Text

“I’ll be fine, mum… I can’t avoid going home forever.”  I take my car keys off the hook by the front door and give her a small smile over my shoulder.  Her hands are clasped together, her body language screaming concern.

“I can come with you?” she offers, despite the fact that it’s early in the morning and she’s not even dressed yet.  I shake my head, still smiling reassuringly.

“I’m just going to pick up some more clean clothes and I’ll be right back.  I’ll call straight away if I need you, ok?” She nods reluctantly and I take that as my moment to escape, through the door, open and shut, smile fading as soon as no one is watching me.

I’m so tired.  Three days and barely any sleep, and the sleep that I have gotten has been so broken and restless that often I wake up shaking, never mind feeling any kind of refreshed.  Perhaps I shouldn’t even really be driving; they do say never to drive tired… but I have a feeling that nervous energy will keep me awake.  That seems to be all I’m running on these days.  Still, the drive to my house is uneventful, the roads quiet, too early yet for the morning rush of traffic.  I drive with the radio turned up loud, singing along under my breath; it’s so much easier not to think when you’re concentrating on song lyrics instead. 

It’s only when I’ve turned off the engine and all has gone quiet, sat staring at my front door, that anxiety starts to swarm over me; like an army of ants, making my skin crawl, hairs prickling up on end.  They haven’t found him yet.  I guess he knows me well enough to know that I would have reported him, it was only logical that he’d avoid his home address.  He’s probably not even in Birmingham anymore.  Nonetheless, there’s a creeping fear that keeps me paralysed, stuck to Twiggy’s seats.  Fear that maybe he’s inside, hiding in a place that no one would expect.  He won’t be, of course he won’t, my mum and Steph have been going over twice a day to feed my animals and seen neither hair nor hide of anything suspicious.  A shaky breath escapes my lips as I press my forehead to the steering wheel.  Perhaps I should have taken up my mum’s offer for her to come with me, just this first time.  

“Come on Bec,” I mutter out loud, frustrated at myself, at my own weakness.  Before all this I’d always had pride in how independent I was for living by myself, for always being able to provide myself with everything I needed.  Coming from a single parent family meant that I’d supported myself a lot; other kids got cars bought for their 18th birthday – I’d scrimped and saved until I was 25 for Twiggy.  Now I can’t fucking get out of her.  I smack my hand on the steering wheel, straightening up and groaning aloud in frustration. 

Finally I end up listening to the little voice at the back of my head that keeps telling me that I need back up, and I pull out my phone.  I don’t want to call my mum because I know it’ll just make her start worrying even more that I’m not coping, so I load up Skype instead and call the name at the top of the list; Jensen. 

“Heeey, Becca, babydoll!” Jensen answers quickly, sounding unusually jovial.  It strikes me as strange, because although we’ve still been talking daily our conversations haven’t been nearly as light hearted as of late.  They always seem to end too quickly too, usually because I get upset at some point, and it’s much easier to just go than confront the things that Jensen wants to talk about.  My eyes spot a whisky tumbler in his hand and I then I realise why he sounds so happy – he’s tipsy. 

“Hey Jensen,” I greet, trying to smile, “Looks like you’re having a good time.” I try to keep my tone light but it sounds curt even to my ears.  I don’t know why.  Actually, I do know why.  Part of me is pissy that while I’m over here on the verge of a panic attack and he’s over there having a whale of a time.  It sounds like there’s a full blown party going on, for fucks sake.  Thankfully he doesn’t seem to pick up on it, the alcohol in his system making him oblivious.

“Ohh the guys came over after shooting, b-ball game on TV,” he enthuses from his perch on his kitchen countertop.  I smile weakly, trying not to roll my eyes.  I think my expression must finally give me away because he clears his throat, placing his glass down and looking serious.  Well, as serious as one can when you’re ‘fried’.  “How are you doing?” 

“Fine,” I lie quickly, but unlike my mum Jensen sees right through me and isn’t placated at all, huffing heavily, his chest moving with the effort.  He looks tired too, and even though he was smiling before his eyes don’t look happy.  That playful sparkle that I’d gotten so used to seeing, that I’d almost started to take it for granted, is now sorely missed.  “Ok, we both know I’m not fine… but shit happens right?” I concede, voice full of dark humour.  “I just called ‘cus I need some company for a bit, but you’re busy, don’t worry.”  He shakes his head briskly.

“No, Bec, always got time for you.”  I do smile a little then, a genuine one, the first I can remember in a while, and when Jensen sees it he smiles one of his own.  A full, sparkling teeth, face splitting grin.  “What’s up?”  I’m about to tell him when someone must enter Jensen’s kitchen.  He’s momentarily distracted, lifting his free arm to gesture.  “There’s more in the fridge Jar,” he says casually. 

“That Becca?” I hear Jared ask, the kitchen making his voice echo just enough for me to hear it.  Jensen nods, looking almost.. I don’t know… awkward?  I don’t hear what’s said next but Jensen replies wearily,

“I know man.”  He knows what?  Another moment passes and then Jensen is alone again, his attention returning to me.  He must have told Jared what happened.  There’s no way Jared, 6’4” puppy Jared that’s been drinking, would have passed up the opportunity to embarrass Jensen and say hello otherwise.  Well, that’s good to know.  “Sorry,” Jensen apologises.  I decide to let it slide.

“I’ve just come home to grab some stuff and… well I’m sort of stuck in my car,” I admit in a rush.  Really, it sounds more like I’ve gotten my foot stuck in the glove compartment than crippled with anxiety. 

“That a good idea?  The cops haven’t arrested him yet have they?” I roll my eyes.

“That’s real helpful Jensen.  Makes me feel ten times safer.”  My sarcasm makes him chuckle despite the fact he’s clearly worried.  “Mum and Steph have been coming here all the time.  Just tell me to get my ass out of the car and into the house.”  I pause, biting my lip and then add, “And stay with me, please.” 

“Always,” he confirms, and it sounds like a promise.  My heart swells.  Just knowing that he’s here for me, even just over the phone, already makes me feel braver.  “Get your ass out of the car and into the house.”  I take a big breath and do as I’m told, not giving myself chance to second guess it, flinging open the car door and sliding out in one movement, ignoring the weakness in my knees.  “Just be careful,” he adds.  I can’t help but laugh at him, his inability to resist adding that in. 

“I’ve got my salt shaker right here in my pocket Jensen.”  He laughs too.  It makes me feel a little better to have a conversation with him that’s almost like before, that little bit easier.  I’d started to wonder if it would ever get back to that with all the doom and gloom hanging over us. 

I hesitate at my front door, key in my free hand, and Jensen, who has been quietly watching me and sipping his whisky, speaks up.

“You’re ok,” he reassures me.

“I’m ok,” I say breathily, voice shaking, and turn the key in the lock.  My front door swings open and the first thing I notice is how quiet it is inside.   But then I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting; living alone my house was always quiet when I wasn’t there.  In fact, perhaps it’s reassuring that it’s that way now.  Zag doesn’t come to greet me today, something that I put down to the fact that I’ve not been around for four days and she’s probably sulking. 

“Listen, Becca, I’ve been thinking,” Jensen begins, but I’m not paying attention too well.  I’m more focused on watching my feet as I cross the hallway laminate, tuned in to my emotions and pleasantly surprised at how I feel.  It’s strange, I’d expected to feel dread coming back here, to be plagued with memories, but each footstep feels almost as if I’m taking the space back.  This is my house, and I’ve had a lot of good times here.  I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that bastard ruin it for me.  I’m ascending the stairs slowly when Jensen speaks again, and this time I make sure to listen, returning my eyes to his image on my phone screen.  He looks nervous, scratching at his stubble, looking into his tumbler rather than me.  “Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while?”  His question almost makes me trip up my last step, mouth falling open, hand reflexively reaching out to catch myself, but I manage to right my balance before going head over heels.  He must mistake my floundering for hesitation because he starts to ramble, his words just slightly slurred.  “I just thought… you could get away for a bit, until they find him and you’ve had some time, maybe it’d do you good?” 

I guess it’s not a horrible idea.  I would definitely feel safer being so far away until he’s arrested… and it’s not like I’d have to worry about work.  Laura had gone back to work and explained everything to Lyndsey, our manager, and the next day I’d received a lovely email that had made me cry with gratitude.  She’d give me the rest of my holiday allowance and then put on me extended sick leave, she’d said, that she’d hire someone to cover my absence but keep my post open for me whenever I felt able to return.  She promised that she’d fight my corner, and I’d thanked my lucky stars to have a manager like her.  Whether the problem is big or small she’s always there for all of us.

But then how will I afford it?  I know I’ll get sick pay but that’s hardly a lot.  And there’s my mum… the last few days she’s barely been able to take her eyes off me, constantly worried, constantly asking how I am.  Although a break from that sounds wonderful I’m not sure how she’ll take it, and I know she means well.  Plus, just leaving sounds remarkably like running away, and when did that solve any problems?  I pause outside of my bedroom door, his suggestion still hanging in the air.

“I don’t know, Jensen,” I begin, reaching out and pushing my bedroom door open gently.  My eyes drift over the scene, finally landing on the dark smear of dried blood that stands out boldly on my beige carpet. 

The force throws me to the floor, the friction from carpet burning the side of my thigh.  I cry out loudly.   “Lewis, please,” I beg. 

I press my eyes shut, a whimper escaping my lips before I can help myself.  I was doing so well until I saw this, the 'scene of the crime’; the way my bed has been stripped bare for evidence by the police, my laptop still half open haphazardly on the floor, the smear of blood on the floor.  My hands are shaking, I can tell by the way Jensen’s image is shaking too when I open my eyes again. 

“Jensen,” I whisper helplessly. 

“It’s alright Becca, I’m here ok,” he reassures, “I’m not going anywhere.”  I need a minute, just a minute to calm myself down.  I lower myself slowly to the floor and sit cross legged, my hand holding my chest that feels tight, the heart beating too fast underneath it, staring at the blood stain in front of me. 

He lets go of my wrists only to push me back onto the bed and I try to scramble backward and away from him, off the bed, but one hand forces my hip still against the mattress, the other pushing the laptop off the bed and onto the floor.

Tears start to stream soundlessly down my face, uncaring whether Jensen sees them or not this time. 

“Bec, please,” Jensen says softly.  “I can’t watch you relive this again.”  The desperation in his voice grabs my attention and I look down at my phone.  “Come stay with me.”  I start to shake my head, to doubt, to disagree, but he cuts me off before I can verbalise anything.  “I need to keep you safe, ok?!” His voice is raised, pleading and vulnerable, the outburst taking me by surprise.  “I can’t keep just watching you hurting and being able to do fuck all about it!  I can’t sleep Bec, I can’t get what he did to you out of my head and I can’t forgive myself for not being able to stop it!” 

“Ok!” I agree quickly, just to try and stop the man in front of me from falling apart, because it seems like he gets closer with every word that comes out of his mouth.  Seeing a solitary tear slide its way down his cheek has had the remarkable ability to dry up mine.  He wipes it away roughly, eyes glancing around the room as if he’s checking if anyone saw his manliness slip.  

“Thank you.”  His voice is quiet again now, controlled, and he manages to smile a little.  “Get a suitcase together, I’ll book you a flight for tomorrow.”

“Jensen, you can wait and book a cheaper flight-“

“I just want you here, I don’t give a shit what it costs.” 

“Ok,” I confirm again.  “Thanks…”  I give a sheepish smile and sniff, my nose running a little from crying.  Sexy. 

“It’s all for my benefit really,” he jokes, the whisky tumbler back at his lips.  “Come on, up you get.”  I comply, rising and making my way to my wardrobe, completely avoiding looking at my bed in an effort to keep the tears at bay. 

“You do realise that my mum is going to think this is the worst idea in the world?” I warn him.  It’s true, and really it’s a good job she’s a non-confrontational as I am, otherwise it would have the potential to turn into a big argument. 

“Hey, if you have any trouble just send hot mama my way, I’ll butter her up good.”  I laugh feebly, pulling underwear from my drawers.  I might just have to take him up on that. 

“Becca, are you sure you want to go through with this?” my mother asks me for the thousandth time as we stand at check-in.  She’d had exactly the reaction I’d thought that she would when I went home and told her my plans, and it didn’t help that Jensen had already bought my ticket by the time I got back.  Especially when she found out that we’d left it open-ended.  It didn’t matter how logically I tried to explain that for Jensen money was no object and I could come home any time – from the way she reacted you’d have thought he was planning on holding me ransom. 

It was a bad idea, she said, to go through all this and use dependency on another man to help myself get over it.  No matter how charming and handsome and famous he is.  It was a fair point to make, something I hadn’t admitted to her, but I know that Jensen isn’t just some crutch.  He’s not just some rebound after a bad break up.  This is something we’ve both been affected by, and it makes sense to get through it together too. 

Thankfully Steph had backed me up the whole way and eventually my mum had relented, tearful and apologetic.  I know that she has my best interests at heart, she always has, but as I explained to her there is no right way to deal with something like this.  I need to find my own way. 

“I’m really sure,” I tell her again, my carry-on luggage slung over my shoulder.  Her chin wobbles and I tut at her with amusement.  “Come here.”  I step closer and wrap my arms around her shoulders, giving her a good, brief squeeze.  I’m worried that if I hold on for too long she’ll simply dissolve into a puddle on the floor.  “Love you,” I tell her just before I pull away.

“Love you too Bec,” she responds, blinking back tears rapidly and straightening out her cardigan that I’ve left slightly rumpled.  “Call me as soon as you land.”

“I will mum.  See you soon!”  I don’t linger long, aware that it’ll only make it harder for her, and I know that as soon as I’ve turned my back she’s probably crying her eyes out as she watches me walk away.  It’s not hard to figure out where I got my tendency to be over-emotional from.

It’s not long before I’m sat waiting for my flight to be called to board and I’ve treated myself to a glass of wine to help pass the time.  I sit sipping it slowly, having a few moments of quiet introspection, and I realise that the feeling of anticipation and excitement coursing through me is the strongest positive emotion I’ve felt since it all happened.   It drives back the darkness, filling my stomach with happy bubbles of nerves instead of the persistent nausea that’s been killing my appetite.  I embrace it, taking that feeling and holding on tight with both hands, trying to dwell on nothing else than how much I’m looking forward to seeing Jensen again.  In true carefree spirit I set my glass of wine down and take a picture, which is then sent straight to Jensen.

‘Wine is less fun without you and beer xxx’ I add, reminiscent of some of the very first messages we sent to each other.   His reply comes through quickly.

‘Fly safely, I’ll be waiting for you on the other end.  Can’t wait to see you xxx’.  His words warm my heart and this time, instead of being quickly extinguished, the feeling spreads right down to my toes.  Me neither Jensen, me neither. 

Chapter Text

Although I’d originally kicked up a fuss when Jensen had told me that he’d paid for me to fly first class – it just felt needlessly extravagant in my eyes – after 12 and a half hours of none stop flying I’ve got to admit I was glad of it.  I didn’t sleep a wink despite the extra cushy seats that fully reclined, a mix of nerves and just my general inability to sleep well lately, but it was nice to relax and have a wide range of beverages available at the push of a button.  I’d even been served up a delicious salmon en croute for dinner.  It was probably a good job that I’d been given food because half way through the flight I was feeling decidedly tipsy thanks to all the wine on tap, which didn’t feel amazing when we’d hit some turbulence.  Luckily the flight attendants had taken my request to not serve me any more alcohol seriously and one kind woman even brought me a strong coffee to help sober me up.  

I’m practically wired by the time we come to disembark.  A jumbled mess of anxiety and caffeine and I’m so nervous.  What if things aren’t the same when we see each other again?  So much has happened between us since the last time we were face to face… maybe he’ll think he’s made a mistake inviting me into his life and spend the next week just trying to think of ways to let me down gently and send me off home?  I know I’m not quite the same girl I was before.  Maybe he’ll decide that in the end I’m just too damaged.  No, come on Becca.  I know Jensen isn’t like that, and I know that he cares for me.  Even if things… romantically… aren’t possible anymore, at least it’ll be some time away from everything with someone who I’ve come to consider a really good friend.

This time difference is messing with my head.  It’s been thirteen hours of travel time and I feel like it should be the evening, not one in the afternoon.  I hope Jensen knows some hints and tips for coping with jetlag.  Then again, perhaps it will be good for me, this way I might be so tired that I’ll actually get a good night’s sleep tonight. 

“Ohhh God…” I mutter under my breath as I wait for my baggage to come around the carousel.  “Ohh God, Oh God, Oh God.”  I must have been this nervous before when I was waiting to see him before, right?  Time has faded the memory though, and I find it hard to believe that my heart was fluttering this wildly.  I grab my suitcase before it has chance to sail past me and then I’m rolling toward the exit, clickety-clacking as the wheels spin behind me.  The hallway seems to go on forever, only building my anticipation, heart rate elevating with each step, and by the time it opens out into a large lobby I’m almost choking on the nervy lump in my throat.  My pace slows as I look all around me, through my fellow passengers, trying to spot him and for a long time I don’t see him anywhere.  He is here right?  He said he’d be waiting for me… 

“Becca.”  The gentle voice directly to my left makes me jump, especially when a large hand slots straight into my lower back.  Normally I’d just startle and laugh at my own jumpiness, but the past week has left me hyper-sensitive and before I can even see who it is – and of course it’s Jensen – I’ve smacked his arm away from me and jumped away, panic stricken and wild-eyed.  My sweaty palms mean I manage to drop the handle of my suitcase, and the noise of it clattering to the floor combined with my sudden movement is enough to make a good few people around us stop and stare.  I’m practically panting with fear by the time I look at my assailants face, Jensen’s face, and he’s staring, open mouthed, back at me. 

“Oh fuck,” I say quietly, trying to catch my breath.  “Fuck!  Jensen, I’m so sorry!”  I scramble to pick up my suitcase, my hands shaking, but before I can he’s already taken hold of it and done it for me, his other hand closing around the top of my arm and squeezing. 

“My fault, sorry, I should have thought,” he tells me, and I can hear the guilt and the concern in his voice.  It’s plastered all over his face too.   I swallow hard and shake my head, smiling as best I can.  Come on, dufuss, calm down.  He must think I’m a total nut-job.  

“You just startled me,” I explain.  Well, duh.  He gives a small smile back and releases my arm, and it’s only when it’s gone that I fully appreciate the fact that he’s been touching me.  Jensen touching me again, after what feels like forever.  Suddenly I’m smiling like a moron and I laugh before I can help myself, so happy am I to see him.  “It’s so good to see you,” I say emphatically, adjusting the strap of my carry-on bag on my shoulder. 

“I would hug you,” he says, starting to walk and gesturing for me to follow him, “But you never know who might be taking pictures.”  He makes a good point; he’s not exactly dressed covertly today.  He’s wearing casual blue jeans and a button-down blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and if it’s possible he looks even more handsome in person than I remember, the angles of his face crisper, the colour of his lips brighter.  The webcam really doesn’t do him justice.   “How was the flight?” he asks, glancing at me, probably checking I haven’t gone catatonic.  

“Long.”  He chuckles softly.  “But fine.  First class was actually a good idea.” 

“Hate to say I told you so,” he quips smugly and I roll my eyes.  He leads the way through the airport with ease, obviously familiar with the layout, and soon we’ve stepped outside to a row of waiting cars.  “This is us.” He approaches a black 4x4 and swiftly opens the boot, slotting my suitcase inside, and then gestures for my satchel.  I let it slip from my shoulder and into my hand, holding it out for him to take it and as he does our fingers brush.  We both feel the spark that comes with the contact; I can tell by the way he looks up at me and smiles and I smile back, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.  He slams the boot firmly then approaches the side of the car nearest the pavement and opens the back door, holding it for me.  “Ma’am,” he smiles, and it makes me giggle like a school girl.  I climb in – climb being the appropriate word seeing as it’s so far from the ground – and as I do I notice a bright pink bracelet tied around his wrist. 

“Such a gentleman,” I admire, “I like the pink bracelet too.”  He raises an eyebrow at my gentle teasing and then just shuts the door on me abruptly.  I expect to see him climb into the front, but then I look properly and see there’s already a man with blonde hair sat behind the steering wheel.  “Oh!” I say in surprise, just as Jensen opens the opposite back door and climbs in. 

“Becca, this is Joel, my driver,” he says as a way of introduction.  His driver?  Somehow I’d imagined Jensen as liking to do his own driving – but then maybe I’m just getting him mixed up with Dean. 

“Hey,” I greet as Joel waves a hand in greeting, but as I do Jensen interrupts.

“And for your information, JJ and I made the bracelet together.  The pink was her choice.” He looks pointedly at me as he plugs in his seatbelt, as if to say ‘so there’, and I laugh.

“So defensive Jensen…” I mutter as I draw my own seatbelt across myself.  Joel pulls out, and for a few seconds I’m really alarmed that he seems to be driving on the wrong side of the road.  “So you have a driver huh?” 

“Yeah, the studio provides them.  I would have taken a cab but I had to go in to do some last-minute filming this morning anyway,” he explains.  “They’ve given us a week off, Jared wanted some proper paternity leave.” 

“So I get you to myself for a whooole week?” I smile, and he grins back.  This is awesome.  A whole week with just Jensen.

“Looks that way.”  We just sit and look at each other for a few seconds, as if we can’t really believe that we’re seeing each other in person, and the urge to throw myself over to his side of the car and wrap myself around him is almost overwhelming.   “Oh, yeah,” he says suddenly, as if just remembering something.  I raise my eyebrows inquisitively.   “It’s Misha’s birthday in a couple days.  He’s been talking about having some big party this weekend.  You wanna go?”  My face breaks into one of pleasant surprise, mouth open and grinning all at the same time.  As if he could stop me!  Jensen must read my expression pretty accurately because he laughs and teases, “You’re not gonna go around getting autographs on your bra are you?” 

“No!” I cry indignantly, “Autographs are for my panties.”  He laughs again and shakes his head at me.  “I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour.  I’ll be totally cool.” 

“You couldn’t play it cool if you tried,” he mocks, not unkindly, “Geek.”

“Jerk,” I reply reflexively, narrowing my eyes.  Come on, say it, say it

“I know exactly what you’re trying to get me to say, and just to piss you off I’m not gonna.”  He looks smugly at me from the other side of the car. Damn it.  You win this one Ackles. 

It’s only been what, 15 minutes, and already I feel lighter than I have in days.  Like just his presence alone is enough to chase away any negative feelings.  This was so the right choice to make, I’m glad I took him up on his offer.  How can I be miserable when those gorgeous green eyes are fixed on me? 

The drive to Jensen’s place takes about 30 minute and we spend a lot of the rest of the drive in silence, listening instead to the radio.  It’s comfortable silence though; I think Jensen can tell I’m just absorbing the scenery along the way.  The parts of Vancouver we pass really aren’t as built up as I’d been imagining.  I think I’d pictured some big city, a metropolis, but the parts I see are really green and lush.  I can’t get over the size of the houses!  Like even the slightly smaller ones are a lot bigger than you’d see in the UK, and everyone seems to have perfectly manicured hedges.  

“If you could see past those trees you’d be able to see the sea,” Jensen had informed me as we drove for what seemed like forever down one long straight road. 

“It’s so pretty,” I’d gushed, my eyes taking everything in, both the natural beauty around me and Jensen’s approving look. 

We eventually turn into a side street that gradually slopes downward, and that’s when I catch my first sight of the water. 

“Oh wow,” I smile, casting an eager glance at Jensen before turning my eyes back to the sight in front of me, “You know how to pick a view.”  It looks like there’s a beach and everything, and across the bay in the distance I can see rolling hills.  It’s gorgeous, and I can barely believe I’m here.  Joel pulls up against a grass verge and I look out of the window and up at the house that I’ll be calling home for the foreseeable future.  The building poking out from the top of cream coloured walls is incredible; all sharp angles and floor to ceiling windows.  For a second I’m just dumbfounded, and it’s only when Jensen has gotten out and opened my car door, thanking Joel for the ride, that I actually seem to get into gear, closing my open mouth and unbuckling my seatbelt.  He gets my things out of the boot whilst I stand and stare, smiling knowingly at my expression, and then I’m being led up some steps and under part of the second floor of the building and into a stepped courtyard that’s completely enclosed.  The beauty of the sloping land is that there is a perfect view down to the bay from Jensen’s front porch and for a second I feel almost overcome, a lump forming in my throat, just at how beautiful it all is. 

“Are you coming in or not?” Jensen asks with humour in his voice, and I manage to tear my eyes away from the picturesque scene, the little sailboat drifting lazily through the bay.   Somehow the sight of Jensen stood in his doorway, welcoming me into his home, is even more beautiful than the view and it’s silly but suddenly there are happy tears forming in my eyes.   “You alright?” he asks, all concern, setting down my suitcase and bag and coming straight to me.

“I’m fine Jen,” I laugh, wiping away with my tears with both hands, beaming at him, “I’m just really happy to be here.  This is amazing.  More than amazing.” 

“You’re just a big softie, ain’tchya?” he smiles.  All at once I’m enfolded in his arms, not given time to decline but not wanting to anyway, and he pulls me so close that both of our bodies are pressed flush together.  I turn my head and close my eyes, resting my cheek against the warmth of his chest, and there’s his heartbeat again, thundering away like my own.   I keep my arms curled in between us, letting him encase all of me and basking in the feeling of safety that floods through me.  This, surely, is where I belong.  Right here, in Jensen’s arms.  

“I missed you,” I mumble into his chest, not ready to open my eyes and end the cuddle any sooner than I have to.  I’ll quite happily stand here all night, thanks; I hear the Vancouver summer nights are rather mild.   

“Missed you too, babydoll,” he replies, then I feel his lips press against the top of my head and the warmth that starts on my scalp floods all the way down to my toes.  “Never knew that I would… but I did.”  I guess at some point I’ve managed to worm my way under his skin, huh?  Who’d have thought…  I look up at him and our eyes meet, green into hazel, and we just look at each other.  I love every wrinkle on his face, every single crow’s foot and smile line.  Kiss me.  Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.  He almost looks as if he will, but then his expression that was initially so open and affectionate turns into a frown, and he pulls away.  What was that about?   “Come on, let me give you the tour.” 

“Ok…” I say slowly, following after him inside because I’m not sure what else to do when I’ve been left hanging like that, lips practically tingling in anticipation. 

My confusion is short-lived, however, because soon I’m distracted by the equally as stunning interior of Jensen’s home.  The entrance hall that we pass into is all dark wood floor and cream walls, and the narrow passageway quickly opens up through a large archway into his living room.  It’s really weird, seeing it from this side instead of through a webcam and I tell him so, much to his amusement.  I run my hand over the back of one of his sofas as I pass, and yup, as I suspected, it’s real leather.  He passes me, walking straight over to the wall of windows and slides open a well concealed door that to the unknowing eye looks exactly like just another pane of glass.  Suddenly, despite the door opening so smoothly it barely made a peep of noise, two dogs come hurtling out of seemingly nowhere. 

Oscar, the golden doodle and larger of the two leads the charge, heading straight for the squatting Jensen with happy yelps and barks.  He bowls into him, tail wagging excitedly in response to the furious rubbing he’s receiving from Jensen.  Icarus isn’t far behind, yapping with that lively spirit that seems common to all small dogs.

“Heeey, Oscar, how you doin’?  How you doin’ boys?  You miss me Ick?”  Jensen coos to the both of them, and it’s insufferably adorable watching him wrestle around with his fur-babies.  Icarus doesn’t stay long though, soon he’s spotted me and he’s barrelling my way, inquisitive as all dogs are.  He barks and barks at my feet, tail wagging, demanding attention.  “Ick, Icarus, come on, calm down.”  Jensen’s words go unheard, Icarus is far too excited, and he keeps on yapping until finally I kneel and give him the fuss he’s longing for.  He rolls straight onto his back, mouth open, bottom waggling around as it tries to keep up with his stubby tail.  Jensen comes over and brings Oscar with him, causing the smaller dog to jump back up and attempt to start a play fight with the other.   I laugh, watching them chase each other.  “I promise they’ll calm down eventually,” Jensen says, watching them like two well-loved but mischievous children. 

“So sweet!”  I enthuse, pushing myself back up to standing.  My movement catches Oscar’s attention and soon he’s nuzzling his head against my leg to be petted.   Jensen leads me into another room, past the pool table, and I finally get to see his kitchen properly.  There are sparkling white granite counter tops and a central island complete with gas range cooker, an obnoxiously huge American style refrigerator and further ahead, in the distance of such a large kitchen, is a long dining table set for eight.   Jensen is rummaging in a cupboard, accosted by his dogs, and when he straightens up I see why; clutched in his hand is a container full of dried dog food. 

“Alright, alright, alright,” he grumbles, having to weave his way through the kitchen, around the dogs circling his ankles, to finally pour the food into two large silver dog bowls.  They’re sated then, distracted by food, faces shoved into bowls.  I lean against the doorway, arms folded, smiling at the spectacle. 

“I love that I get to see this side of you,” I say as he puts the food away.   He looks up at the sound of my voice and smiles back at me.  “It’s so… un-Dean Winchester.” 

“Disappointed?” he asks playfully, walking back towards me. 

“Not even a little bit,” I assure, placing my hand on his forearm as soon he gets near enough to touch.  He just keeps on smiling and then takes hold of my hand in his, fingers linking with mine, and my stomach does a little flip-flop of joy.  He leads me back to the entrance hall, only letting go of my hand to pick up all of my luggage, and then it’s off through another hallway and up some stairs.  The whole house is so bright and airy, a benefit of having so many large windows, and it’s just immaculate everywhere. 

“Do you have a housekeeper or something?  This place is like OCD clean.” I ask him, slightly envious that he manages to keep the house so neat.  Especially if he does it all by himself. 

“Busted,” he confesses, but hastens to add, “But I am pretty tidy in general anyway.”  We come to a door that he nudges with his foot and it opens up slowly to reveal a good sized bedroom decorated in blue and white.   Its windows overlook the bay, and once again I’m lost in admiring the spectacular view.  “I thought this could be your room,” Jensen tells me, drawing my attention.  I turn to look at him, not even having realised that I’d walked right in and had my nose practically pressed against the windows. 

“Oh,” I say without thought.  He misreads my surprise, frowning, and stops midway of lifting my luggage onto the white bedspread.

“You can see the other one if you want?  I just thought this room was bigger-“

“No, no, this is lovely,” I say quickly, trying desperately not to blush and give myself away.  Ok, so maybe I’d been a bit presumptuous and thought I’d automatically be sleeping in his bed.  No biggie.  That’s not embarrassing at all.  “Thank you.”  I smile sheepishly.

“No worries,” he smiles back, finally placing my bags down.  He straightens up and then claps his hands together, looking excited.  “I’ll let you unpack, but hurry up, cus I got some stuff to make sangria!”  And then he’s gone like a whirlwind, off to make his ridiculously boozy cocktail and I’m left grinning at where he stood. 

This was definitely a good choice.

Chapter Text

When I finally finish unpacking and head back downstairs I find Jensen sitting outside, kicking back on a recliner, a glass of sangria in his hand.  He’s got his eyes closed, soaking up the sun, and I allow myself a moment of indulgence to just stand there against and watch him.  He looks so utterly peaceful and relaxed in his home, not a hint of tension anywhere. 

“Hope you’re saving some of that for me,” I comment as a means of announcing myself, stepping onto the large expanse of decking with a smile.  Jensen’s head turns to the side, one eye opening to peep at me and he grins.

“Was startin’ to think you’d gotten lost.” I sit myself on the edge of the recliner that’s sat next to his, only separated by a small wicker and glass table that carries a huge jug of sangria and an extra glass.  I pour myself a glass, trying to avoid the wedges of lemon and orange, and even from here I can smell how potent it is.  I lean back, being careful not to spill, and adjust the chair so it’s fully reclined like Jensen’s, pushing off my pumps in the process.  When I wiggle my toes I notice Jensen do the same. 

“You know, it’s weird seeing your feet,” I comment, wiggling my toes again.  Jensen laughs at my comment, looking over quizzically at me.  “I mean, we never see your feet much, in the show.  You kinda start thinking those big boots might never come off.”  He takes a slow sip of sangria, still looking at me like I’m a weirdo.  Maybe I am. 

“I reckon I’ve got pretty nice feet.” 

“Oh yeah, definitely, as far as feet go,” I agree, my tone all business, “You should get them to write in some more… shoeless scenes.  That’s just what season twelve needs.”  I can’t keep a straight face, my lips stretch back into a smile again.  I take a sip of sangria and as soon as I’ve swallowed it I end up making that ‘uurgghh’ sound that everyone knows is synonymous with ‘god damn this drink is hella strong’, shaking my head briskly and squinting.  Jensen just watches with amusement through one eye.  It’s delicious though, fruity and fresh, so I take another sip and this time my reaction isn’t as strong.  It must grow on you.  Oscar pads by, stuffed toy in his mouth, and drops to the floor at the end of my recliner, enjoying the patch of sun.  “This is the life,” I mutter, letting my head flop back and closing my eyes.

We sit that way for a while, the only sounds coming from Oscar and Icarus as they amuse themselves, calmer now, and the odd car rumbling by.  The longer I sit there, warmed by the sun, sipping my sangria, the sleepier I start to feel. 

“So how are you doing, really?”  Jensen asks out of the blue, drawing me from my semi-comatose state.  I know he’s not just making small talk, I know what he’s really asking, and it makes my insides squirm uneasily.  I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him to find him looking straight back at me, the sunlight making his eyes pale.

“Some days are easier than others,” I say honestly.  I may as well be straight with him, he sees right through me anyway.  “A lot of the time I think I’m fine… I feel pretty fine.”  I shrug, trying to figure out how to explain it properly.  How swiftly and suddenly I can be dragged under when the bad thoughts do come.  “But then something will just set me off, like when you surprised me at the airport.” He nods, understanding, but I see the guilty look that flashes across his expression.  “And I get so anxious it’s like I can’t breathe.  Like someone’s sitting on my chest.”  I smile weakly, slightly embarrassed, and look away from the eyes that are searching me so intensely. 

“It’ll get better,” Jensen reassures gently. 

“I know,” I agree, even though I really don’t.  Jensen doesn’t know either, but I don’t tell him that.  I take a deep breath, shrugging my shoulders again and lift my eyes from the decking to look at him again.  “But yeah… that’s how I am.  Really,” I add for emphasis.  There’s a long pause and Jensen lies back again, his eyes staring upward to the sky, an arm behind his head. 

“After Danneel died I saw a shrink for a while.  Jared thought I had PTSD or some shit.”  Now there’s something I didn’t know about him.  He says it so casually, as if he’s not just shared something really personal, and I can’t help but feel slightly pleased that he reveals things so easily to me. 

“Did it help?” I ask cautiously. 

“Yeah.  I mean I still think PTSD was a pretty overenthusiastic diagnosis but it did help to talk, get out all that irrational stuff that hangs around.”  He looks meaningfully at me, either as an invitation to talk some more or an offer of his shrink’s phone number, but I look away.  I really don’t think I need to see a psychotherapist.  No thank you.  “You’ve never even told me who that guy was,” he probes quietly.  His mention of Lewis makes me feel as if my blood has turned to ice water, the Vancouver sun no longer warm to me, all the hairs on my arms standing up.  I press my eyes and my lips together for a split second, trying to push the feeling away. 

“I really don’t want to talk about him Jensen,” I say, voice clipped and to the point, my eyes still closed.  They don’t stay that way for long though, because the image of his face, that chilling smile, starts to appear underneath my eyelids, and by the time I’ve opened them my breath has started to quicken. 

“I’m guessing he’s an ex-boyfriend,” he pushes, oblivious to my body’s physical reaction to the conversation.  “What happened with you guys?”

“Jensen, please!” I plead, and the words come out shaky and desperate.  We make eye contact and when we do his mouth pops open when he sees just how panicked I must look.  He pushes himself to sitting upright and quickly hops over onto the edge of my recliner, hand reaching out and taking hold of mine that had been rubbing at my chest anxiously.  The skin underneath is red when he pulls it away and locks our fingers together. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaning down and over me, his face pressed against the recliner, cheek against mine.  I’m glad he’s not looking at me, can’t see the way I’m gasping to catch my breath like a fish out of water, eyes searching the sky.  “I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.” 

“I know,” I murmur back, turning my head to nestle into the side of his face, my nose brushing against his hair.  The smell of him, the weight of his presence around me, hand sealed around mine, all of it helps me to calm down.  I can focus on him, focus on his face, drive back the images of Lewis. 

Within a few minutes I’m composed again and my breathing is even, fine but unwilling to say so lest he move away.  This is too perfect, he’s too perfect.  I uncurl my hand from his and instead wrap both of my arms around his torso, pulling him down and against me even closer, my hands meeting in the middle of his back.  The afternoon sun has warmed the back of his shirt. 

“Hmmm.”  It’s a wistful, contended noise that he makes when he turns his head to the side so we’re face to face, his eyes closed.  This really must be a horrendously uncomfortable position for him; his back is all twisted, his arms are trapped somewhere between our bodies, but he doesn’t show any signs of discomfort, happy to be held by me on this recliner that’s really not built for two. 

I nudge my nose against his playfully and I’m gifted with the appearance of pale jade eyes looking into my own.  He smiles and I smile too.  I love him. 

Wait, did I just think that?  Whoa there Bec, slow down.  My heart thuds just that bit harder in my chest as we relax there looking at each other, and with each beat I feel it succumb undeniably to the feeling.  I do, I love him.  I’m falling in love with Jensen Ackles, and not just in the fan-girl, oh my god I love him way anymore.  Shit. 

“You ok?” he asks, the smell of red wine from the sangria on his breath ghosting across my face.  I guess that little revelation must have done something to my expression that he picked up on. 

“Y-yeah,” I smile, putting those thoughts aside for now.  I’ll deal with that later.  Not sure when, but later. “Better.”  He manages to pull an arm free from between us and he uses it to push back my fringe from my face.

“I seem pretty good at setting you off,” he comments regretfully.

“You’re also very good at making me feel better Jensen,” I tell him sincerely.  I let my hand glide over his firm back, up and over his shoulder blades, through the short hairs at the back of his neck till they’re in the longer strands at the top, and my actions make his eyes shut momentarily, blissfully.  It’s slightly tacky with hair wax.

“You’re gonna have me purring like a pussy-cat in a second hon,” he smiles, my fingers still playing with the tips of his hair and I chuckle softly.  “My back is killin’ me.”  Much to my disappointment he finally pulls away with a groan, sitting up and taking a moment to rearrange his hair, concentration face on.  “You must be tired, huh?” he asks.  I try to look nonchalant, but all that warm snuggling has left me kind of sleepy, and as I shrug I also yawn. 

“A little,” I confess.  The corner of his lips quirk into a smile.

“Thought we could just have a quiet night, get some take out, watch a movie.” 

“Sounds like heaven.”  I pick up my glass of sangria again and take another sip whilst Jensen switches back to his own recliner and pours a fresh batch for himself.

“After we finish all this, of course.”

“Gimme, gimme gimme,” I enthuse, clutching onto my plate with both hands.  Jensen laughs, pulling the cardboard lid from the foil carton, exposing strips of crispy duck that both looks and smell amazing. 

“You’re as bad as Ick,” he comments playfully, glancing down to the little white dog that is sitting between our feet at the kitchen counter, staring upwards at us.  He gives a reproachful bark, as if he knows we’re talking about him.

“You filled me full of alcohol, and now you’re asking me to control myself around Chinese food.  Frankly, I think your expectations are unreasonable.”  I lay out six soft pancakes and set about systematically arranging my food.  Hoisin sauce, duck, cucumber, spring onion, roll.  Repeat.  Jensen has already dished out his chow mein and spring rolls and is watching me, an eyebrow raised, when I’m done.  “Finished!”  I pick up my plate and smile a big excited grin and shuffle past him all the way to the sofa, ignoring the way he laughs at me. 

“I’ve noticed,” Jensen begins as he sits down next to me, plate in one hand, cutlery in the other. 

“Hmm?”  I’m too busy trying to take a bite of pancake without the onion falling out everywhere to look at him. 

“You’re always at your most excited when you’ve got food.”  He makes a fair point.

“You wanna see excited,” I tell him, finishing my mouthful and gesturing at the tv, “Give me Chinese food and put Supernatural on.  Then you’ll see some excitement.”  He chuckles, looking down at his plate and curling chow mein around his fork.

“It’s sweet.  I mean, it looks like you’ve lost some weight so it’s good you’re eating.”  He looks up, eyes flickering to my legs, to my torso, to my face, checking me out.  “Not that you needed to… lose weight I mean,” he adds quickly, just before filling his mouth with chow mein.  Nicely saved Jensen. 

“My appetite hasn’t been… great lately,” I admit, picking up my next pancake, “Maybe I’ll just have to stick to these.”  These seem to be going down pretty well.  Man, I love hoisin sauce. 

“You sure you don’t want some?”  He offers, twirling me a forkful of chow mein.  I eye up his plate.

“Go on then.”  I shuffle closer to him, so close that our legs are touching, and I love the warmth that seeps through from his thigh to mine.  I lean in, mouth hanging open expectantly, and he feeds me a mouthful, smiling the whole time.  It’s slightly greasy but it’s tasty all the same, and I try my best to slurp it all up, somewhat ungracefully. 

“Oop!”  Jensen makes a funny little noise as a wayward strand of noodle escapes my clutches and lands on my t-shirt, and then he’s picked it off for me, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for me to take.  I chomp away on the mouthful I already have, swallow, and then comment,

“Is this gonna turn into some lady and the tramp spaghetti scenario?”  I smile cheekily at him and then close the gap between his hand and my mouth.  He watches me closely as I take the food, purposefully making sure that my lips enclose the very end of Jensen’s fingers as I do.  His eyebrow raises, lips parting slightly as I pull away, chewing with a satisfied smile, mimicking his raised eyebrow.

“No more sangria for you,” he says in a sing-song voice, looking away and down at his plate, shovelling up some more for himself.  I just laugh and shake my head, knowing that my flirtatious behaviour is nothing to do with the alcohol.  Jensen turns the film back on – Minority Report – so I go back to my own food, feeling slightly confused.  He’s not flirting back the way he always has before.  I mean, he’s still affectionate, but he seems almost… resistant to anything more risqué.  At least he’s kept his leg pressed against mine, and yeah, he still knocks back against me playfully when I nudge it with my own.  What is going on? 


“Ok, I give up,” I relent following my thousandth yawn in a row, “I think I need my bed.”  I did better than I expected myself to, I managed the whole film and part of weird sitcom that Jensen put on afterwards, without falling asleep.   No small feat, considering how comfortable I’ve been with my very own Jensen pillow.  I’ve ended up with my legs hooked over one of his, my body turned in towards him, head leaning against his chest while he’s kept me close with an arm around my shoulder, the other holding onto my knees, keeping me in place.  It’s amazing how naturally we ended up like this, slowly but surely.  It never even raised an eyebrow between us.  I’ve felt it though; every move that’s brought it closer has made my pulse quicken for a minute or so, waiting to see his response.  The rejection never comes though, if anything he’s always pulled me closer. 

“Sounds like a good call,” he agrees.  The arm that was around my shoulder reaches upward instead as he stretches, chest heaving and pushing my head with it.  I unhook my legs and sit up straight, turning my head to look at him whilst I rub my sleepy eyes and he looks back, smiling softly, and then rises from the sofa.  The dogs curled on the floor respond to his movement, stirring.

“Stay boys,” he commands gently, and they do.  “I’m gonna get some juice to take up.” 

He takes a step, crossing in front of me towards the kitchen, but then pauses and leans down, taking each of my cheeks in hand and pressing his lips against the top of my head in a chaste kiss.  “Night babydoll.”   I reflexively tilt my head up, searching for his eyes, searching for his lips, and if it weren’t for him still holding onto my face with his large hands I would reach up to kiss him.  He knows, I realise, when he looks at the lip I’m biting that that’s what I want.  But still all he does is press his forehead to mine for the most fleeting moment, whispering goodnight again, and then he pulls back, letting go. 

“Goodnight Jensen.”

I can’t sleep.  Why can’t I sleep?  I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours without a wink, longer than that without any quality sleep to speak of, yet I’m lying here staring at the ceiling with wide eyes in the dark.

“Urgghh…” I grumble into the darkness, throwing myself over onto my stomach roughly and shoving my head into the soft pillow.  It’s a credit to the bed’s quality that it doesn’t creak or groan under my movement.  An A grade bloody mattress and I still can’t sleep.  Maybe it’s too quiet?  There’s barely a sound here.  At home I’m used to cars going past at all hours, the occasional siren, lights from their headlamps intermittently illuminating my room. 

The confusion over the mixed signals I’ve been getting from Jensen doesn’t seem to be helping my mind rest either.  Here I am, mentally declaring my love for him, and he won’t even kiss me.  Why won’t he kiss me?!  And why am I in here on my own, when he was quite happy to cuddle up close before? 

Suddenly my bedroom door that was slightly ajar nudges opens just a little more, the movement catching the periphery of my vision.  Instantly my chest clenches tight, my heart starting to pound as I watch for more movement, an intruder, not trusting myself to breathe in case it’s too loud.  I just lie there in the dark, cheek pressed against my pillow, still prone on the mattress, watching and watching but seeing nothing in the gap that opens up into the hallway.  I hear a sigh, the sound of a barefoot step against the laminate, and despite all my fear the sudden sound forces a call out of me. 

“Jensen?”  My voice comes out shakier than I expected, and I can’t quite make up my mind whether I’m calling to see if it’s him or if I’m calling him for help.  The door opens a little more and the loiterer slides in through the gap, the moonlight catching his jawline and shining off of his bare chest.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers softly.  I turn onto my side, heart still racing but now not so fearful, and I get a better look at him.  He’s stood there in the doorway, frowning, jogging bottoms slung low on his hips, his hair a mess.  He looks breath-taking.  “I’ll let you get back to sleep.” 

“I’ve not been sleeping,” I tell him before he can turn to leave too quickly.  He pauses, back to me, holding onto the door handle as if he can’t quite decide whether to leave or stay.  “Come to bed,” I implore, trying to ignore how obviously husky my voice sounds, even to my own ears.  Another beat goes by, one that feels painfully long, and then he seems to make us his mind and turns back to me with another soft sigh.  He approaches the bed, peels back the covers and slides into the empty space next to me, all the while watching me as if I might bite.  I don’t know what’s making him so wary but I give him a little space anyway, letting him shuffle down under the covers without immediately attaching myself to him like I want.  He lies on his back, both arms above the duvet, staring at the ceiling.  “You not sleeping either?” I ask quietly.  He glances at me, shakes his head.

“Not since…”  He doesn’t need to finish his sentence.  Apparently we’ve both been finding it hard. 

“Yeah.”  He turns onto his side to face me and I note sadly that I can’t see the green of his eyes in this light, they’re just dark, like his expression.  “Cuddle?”  I ask as sweetly as I can muster.  It has the desired effect; his eyes press together for a second as he smiles, a breathy little laugh gusting out of him.

“Come on,” he encourages, laying his arm out flat in invitation.  I immediately shuffle into the offered space so his bicep rests in the space under my neck, and then he’s curled around me, holding me tight to him, enveloping me in warmth.  I breathe a happy sigh, pressing my nose to his collarbone.  If I can’t sleep like this then I may as well declare myself an insomniac now.           

Chapter Text

Before long I sleepily note that our breathing has subconsciously synced up.  He breathes in and I follow suit, our bodies rising and falling as one.

“Hmmm,” I moan happily against his chest, and this prompts him to press his lips against the top of my head.  The familiar gesture causes all the questions that were rolling around in my head earlier to resurface, and suddenly I feel wide awake.  “Jensen?” I call quietly.  He’s gone so still that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” he replies, sounding groggy.  I hesitate, a little bit embarrassed to ask – but it’s bugging me too much not to. 

“How come you won’t kiss me?” I question, cringing inside at how childish I sound.  Although he doesn’t reply straight away I know he’s heard me, because I feel him stiffen slightly.  He breathes out heavily, deflating as he does. 

“With everything that… happened,” he begins cautiously, and now it’s my turn to tense.  “What he did… Becca, I can’t sleep ‘cus I couldn’t do anything.  I was stuck a whole ocean away and hearin’ you cry like that.  I can’t get it out of my head.”  His arms squeeze me tightly, as if he’s afraid to let go, and his face is pressed right against the top of my head.  “Felt so helpless,” he whispers against my hair.  His openness, his vulnerability, it stops my anxiety in its tracks.  It helps me feel stronger, the need to be strong for him.  My Jensen.  I place a kiss on his chest, my palm flat against his beating heart. 

“Why does that mean you can’t kiss me?”  I probe again, pressing my lips to his warm skin once more. 

“I don’t wanna…” For a second I’m worried that he’s going to say he doesn’t want to kiss me at all, but he seems to be struggling to know what to say, “Push?  I didn’t know if you’d want… that… after everything.  Would have felt even worse if I’d tried to kiss you and I’d freaked you out or made you cry.”  He pulls away enough so he can see me, and the hand that was on my hip reaches up to push back my fringe from my face.  “Hate seeing you cry baby,” he tells me softly, looking into my eyes in the dark, leaving his hand resting on my cheek, thumb making circular motions against the skin there.  My heart feels like it grows to twice the size, swollen with the love I feel coursing through my veins.  I have to bite my lips to stop those three words from tumbling out.  

So that’s it huh?  He’s worried that he’ll overstep some boundary, that I’m fragile enough that I’ll fall apart at the slightest hint of something more than platonic.  It’s understandable that he’s worried, this is new to the both of us. Maybe I would react badly if we tried to… No, I can’t afford to think that way forever, to not live because I’m afraid to try.  I won’t let what he did ruin what Jensen and I could have.  That’s exactly what he’d want. 

Jensen is studying me, looking so intently in my eyes that it’s as though he’s trying to read my thoughts, and I realise that I probably haven’t spoken in a while.  I give a small smile, one that he mirrors, his fingers still running the angle of my jaw. 

“No matter what happens… or what he did,” I start, shuffling myself closer, so close that our noses are touching.  I press both my palms to his chest, flexing my fingers so the tips dig in gently.  “I will never, ever stop wanting you Jensen.”  The noise that he makes is almost a purr of happiness, I feel it rumble in his chest as his eyes close.  “Baby,” I say, copying his endearment, my smile growing bigger.  His eyes pop open and he laughs softly, his breath blowing across my face, and I just can’t resist any longer.

I take hold of the waistband of his jogging bottoms in both hands and use it as leverage to pull us together, bodies touching at every point, finally bringing out lips into contact.  It’s everything I remembered and more; his soft, pliant lips, the way his hand curls into my hair greedily, the feel of his stubble prickling against my face.  Now that I’ve made it happen I can feel how much he needed this too, because it’s needy and desperate and only a split second of time passes before his tongue is working its way into my mouth.  I kiss back hungrily, exhilarated by our want for each other, reassured that this feels nothing like it did with Lewis.  If Lewis was night then Jensen would be my day, my light, chasing away the shadows the he left there.

I release my grip on his joggers to brush my fingertips against his lower abdomen, delighted by the way his muscles dance under my touch.  I smile into his kiss, against his mouth.  He responds by biting down gently on my lower lip, tugging at it playfully and I moan softly, silenced again when his eager tongue searches for my own.  His hand leaves my hair, glides down my back bringing goosebumps with it, stops in the small of my back under my vest, gripping, touching, massaging the skin there.

“Mm, Jen,” I groan into him, pushing my hips against his.  His cock is rock hard where it’s been tucked inside his joggers, and knowing that it’s there, knowing that he’s hard for me – I start to descend into that arousal soaked state of consciousness, unable to think past the want that throbs between my thighs.  I need him, I need him there, all the places that Lewis befouled, to light up the darkness everywhere inside.  “Want you, please,” I garble when we’ve inevitably had to come up for air. 

“Shhh,” he gently hushes.  He takes hold of my chin and lowers my head down to look at me properly and I stare back, wondering if my pupils are just as dilated as his.  “Wanna do this right for you… but not yet ok?  When you’ve slept, when you know you’re ok.”  I know it makes sense, I know what he’s saying is logical and for my benefit, but when I press my thighs together and god, it aches with the need for him, it’s difficult to understand.  “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you.”  I search his expression, finding concern and desire and affection all wrapped into one, and eventually I relent.

“Ok… ok you’re right.”  I press my eyes together for a moment, trying to catch my breath and even out my pulse, this time all for the right reasons.  “Just don’t stop kissing me, I missed it so much Jen-“  The press of his lips cuts off my words, but this time it’s a much more controlled Jensen that kisses me tenderly.  It’s sweet and it’s wonderful and eventually I forget about just how desperately I needed him, content to just kiss, enveloped by his arms, and stay that way until we drift off to sleep.  

“Hey, rise and shine sleeping beauty.”  Jensen’s voice rouses me, and when I prise my tired eyes open, rolling onto my back, I see him sat on the edge of my side of the bed, fully clothed. 

“What time is it?”  I groan.  I’m sort of seeing a downside to having such big windows now – the sun is glaring through ridiculously brightly, right into my eyes. 

“About 6:30.” 

“Say what now?!”  I turn back onto my side, shoving my head into the pillow, groaning into it.  Jensen laughs at me, and then I feel his hand touch my back, sliding up my vest till it’s between my shoulder blades.  He rubs vigorously, jiggling me about. 

“Dogs need walking, thought we could take ‘em down to the beach, early mornin’ stroll, real romantic.”  I turn onto my back again to look at him, swatting his hand away, holding back a smile at how lovely that suggestion really does sound. 

“You’re buying me breakfast,” I grumble, sounding much grumpier than I actually feel, pushing myself up to sitting.

“Technically I’m buying all your meals,” he grins as I’m rubbing my eyes, and then his large palm is pushed against my face playfully, almost knocking me backwards.  I sputter and narrow my eyes at him in a glare when he pulls his hand away. 

“You’re on thin ice Ackles.” 

“Please.  You love me,” he scoffs.  He leans closer and gifts me with a firm kiss, one that’s over far too soon.  If only he knew.  He stands and makes to leave.  “C’mon, get dressed.  I’ll be downstairs.” 

“Y’sir,” I quip, and I hear a bark of a laugh out in the hallway as he pulls my door almost shut behind him. 

As soon as I manage to actually haul myself out of bed I dress quite briskly, choosing my favourite pair of distressed jeans and light make up.  Of course, I want to look nice – I have to keep up with Jensen after all – but I also don’t want to keep him and the dogs waiting.  It helps that even one good night of sleep has made my face look fresher, my eyes just that bit brighter.  I bound down the stairs, full of new found energy from the thought of spending the day together, and when I reach the bottom I find Jensen struggling with the two overexcited pups.

“Ick, hey, god damn it,” Jensen grumbles loudly from his squat as he tries to wrestle his lead onto his collar.  Icarus just can’t keep still, too jubilant that he’s being taken for walkies to contain himself.  I smile to myself as I walk over, running my hand along the back of Jensen’s t-shirt to let him know I’m there.  He tilts his head to the side, smiling but frowning with the effort of trying to contain the white pocket rocket fidgeting around in his grasp.  I kneel next to them and run my hands through Icarus’ fur, holding gently but firmly.

“Hey Icky, hey boy, good morning,” I coo at him, distracting him enough to finally let Jensen attach his lead. 

“Oscar, c’mere,” Jensen calls to the back of the other dog, who’s obviously gotten bored and started to wander away.  He comes obediently to Jensen’s call though, waiting patiently while his lead is attached.  “Good boy,” he praises, smooshing his hand into the fur on top of his fuzzy head.  I push myself to standing, my knees creaking, and swiftly go up to my tip toes to plant a kiss on Jensen that’s warm and lingers. “What was that for?” he asks as I pull away, a smile on his face, eyes crinkled and happy. 

“For having magical cuddles that mean I actually sleep for a whoooole night,” I tell him, grinning goofily.  I’m in such an amazing mood.  A good night’s sleep really does make so much difference.

“Someone’s perky,” he teases.  I just shrug animatedly.  “Here, you take Oscar.”  He passes me his lead, keeping a hold of Icarus, and makes for the front door.

“Shouldn’t you have the big one?” I ask warily, acutely aware that Oscar’s head reaches up to my hip and I have the upper body strength of a newborn.

“Trust me, you want Oscar.”

Turns out Jensen was right.  The petite white dog is stronger than he looks and a bit of a monster, pulling on the lead, trying to drag Jensen downhill to the beach, almost choking himself in the process.  Oscar, however, is exemplarily well behaved, walking calmly beside me, sniffing the pavement and being an all-round cutie. 

“Gotta get this mongrel some obedience training,” Jensen mutters when Icarus almost pulls him over, chasing after a bird.  I have to smother a laugh; the sight of Jensen at the mercy of such a small dog is just too adorable. 

Things look up once we get to the beach.  It’s early enough that barely anyone is around so we’re able to let them off their leads to burn some energy.  They bound through the shallows, tongues waving in the wind, rough and tumbling together.   We play fetch with some pieces of driftwood, and despite Jensen making fun of my poor throwing arm, we have a great time.  There’s a moment that almost plays in slow motion in my mind, as I watch him throw with expert technique, where I just can’t believe how lucky I am to be here.  How did I manage to get this handsome, kind-hearted, teenage heart-throb of man to want me?  Little old me. 

I’m broken from my reverie (or open mouthed drooling, whatever) by my phone vibrating in my back pocket.  I’m initially really confused, bewildered as to who would be calling me at this time of the morning.  I don’t even recognise the number.

“Hello?” I answer warily.  Jensen looks over at me, mid-tug of war with Oscar. 

“Hello, Miss Stiles?” The English accent of the man on the phone makes me remember the time difference between here and home, and suddenly the call makes more sense.  “This is PC Parker from Birmingham metropolitan police.”

“Oh, hi,” I say lamely, sticking my hand in my pocket, unsure of how to address him.

“We just wanted to inform you that following your statement last week we now have Mr Taylor in our custody.”  That horrible lead weight that I thought I was breaking free of, cold and heavy, sits itself on my chest again.  It’s amazing how quickly my heart rate jumps, banging against my ribcage.  “There’ll be a bail hearing in a few days so you may be contacted by your solicitor.”

“They won’t let him go, will they?” I ask, wide-eyed but looking at nothing in particular.  Jensen has sent Oscar away and approaches me instead, concern etched into his features.  I outstretch my free hand to him, reflexively seeking his comfort.  He takes it immediately, pulling me to him and wrapping his arm around my waist, tucking my head under his chin as the police officer replies.

“I can’t say Miss Stiles but I imagine it’s unlikely given the physical evidence that we collected.  There’s also the testimony from Mr Ackles that has to be considered.”

“Right... right.  Thank you for letting me know, thank you.”  I purse my lips together, fighting to keep in the breath that wants to shudder out. 

“You’re welcome.  Take care Miss Stiles.”  I lower the phone from my ear and disconnect the call with a shaking hand.  Jensen notices how unsteady I am and takes the phone from me, pushing it into his own pocket instead, and then wraps both arms around me, holding me close.

“You okay?” he asks into my hair, breath warm on my scalp.  I screw my eyes closed against his chest, trying desperately hard to be ok.  I thought I was doing ok.  It’s strange that him being arrested would almost make me feel worse.  It’s like before I could pretend it hadn’t happened at all, but now he’s with the police there’ll be a trial and all the evidence and statements will be dragged up again... and then there’s that horrible thought that makes me feel nauseous; maybe he’ll get off, maybe he won’t be convicted at all.  And then he’ll be out there, just like before, free to send his flowers, free to haunt me as he pleases. 

“What if they don’t believe me?” I ask quietly. 

“They’ve got to,” he replies firmly.  He pulls away slightly and I look up at him, hating knowing that my eyes are watery, threatening tears.  “They took pictures right?  Did tests?” I nod, trying not to think too much about it.  It makes my insides hurt.  “The bruises are only just fading,” he mutters, so quiet I almost don’t hear him, his eyes focused on my cheek, the backs of his fingers dusting across the skin that’s now a very pale yellow.  I’ve tried not to look at them. 

“He was an ex-boyfriend,” I suddenly blurt out, mind skipping back to yesterday’s conversation, surprising even myself.  Jensen has been so wonderful, so supportive, I don’t want to deny him that same openness that he’s given to me so easily.  “We were on and off for ages... he didn’t take it so well when I told him we were off for good.”  I smile weakly.  It feels physically exhausting trying to focus on Jensen’s face rather than the image of Lewis’, contorted in anger.  “He’d harassed me before but never like... he never...”  I can’t force myself to finish my sentence, looking down to the sand at my feet, salty tears sliding down my cheeks. 

Jensen, who’d been listening quietly until now, takes hold of my face in his hands and tilts it up to look at him. 

“He is never going to touch you again,” he tells me so fiercely that it takes my breath away.  He wipes my tears away with his thumbs, his eyes not leaving mine, full of something I can’t quite identify.  Whatever it is, it fills me with a blind belief that this man will keep me safe, that he was sent for me. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to stop the small smile that creeps onto my face, my crying ceasing as quickly as it began.  How does he have this power over me? 

“No thanks necessary,” he smiles back.  He lets go of my face, pulling me in close to him again.  His aftershave is fresh and strong, all mixed in with the smell of him.  I wrap my arms around him too, my palms against his shoulder blades, and close my eyes to savour every moment.  

We only pull apart when Icarus comes bowling over, wondering why he’s being ignored, pawing at Jensen’s leg.  Jensen keeps a hold of my hand and we stroll down the beach together, dogs running ahead in front of us. 

“What happened to ‘you never know who’s taking pictures?’” I ask after a few minutes of contented silence.

“I figure people are gonna find out about us sooner or later,” he replies casually, swinging our joined hands back and forth enthusiastically.  ‘Us’.  What is ‘us’?  “I’d rather it just be out there than deal with all the bullshit gossip.”  I’m looking at my feet, kicking through the sand, still trying to work out what he means by ‘us’.  “We could do a group thing at Misha’s party?  Introduce you to the Supernatural family.”  That makes me smile, not so much at him wanting to introduce me, but purely because he has that much consideration for the fans of the show, adopting the ‘SPN family’ fandom nickname. 

“So there’s an ‘us’ is there?” I ask, sounding like I’m teasing but trying to coax him into elaborating what exactly ‘us’ means to him. 

“Isn’t there?” he asks back, turning it around on me.  Damn it.  He stops us in our tracks, keeping hold of my hand but turning to face me.  My mouth flounders, and suddenly he looks almost... embarrassed?  Good god, is Jensen blushing? “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t just... Man, I feel like a real dick.”

“No, no,” I say even quicker, reaching for his other hand too, “I want there to be ‘us’... I just wasn’t sure what ‘us’ meant to you.”  He smiles and then he laughs, looking at the ground.   Bashful Jensen is super cute. 

“Feels like I’m in 7th grade asking Susie Price to go out with me all over again...”

“Jensen.”  I crane my neck so I can look up into his hidden face, unable to control the grin on mine.  “You wanna be my boyfriend Jensen?”  He barks out a loud laugh and then he’s grabbing my face again, pulling me into a hard kiss that would be totally inappropriate for a 7th grader.  I work my tongue into his mouth, tasting him, so happy I almost feel high, drunk on him. 

“That answer your question?” he asks cheekily as we part, his forehead still pressed against mine. 

“I want that too,” I tell him softly, and we’re both all smiles at each other, giddy on the oxytocin oozing from our pores.  He moves away, curling his arm around my shoulder to keep me pressed to his side and calls for the dogs. 

“They’re gonna need a bath,” he warns me.  He’s right, they both look filthy and exhausted now, and they’ll stink out the house if we don’t shampoo all the sea water off of them.  Right now though I’d happily wash a million smelly dogs if I got to do it with Jensen by my side.  I’m smiling so hard my face is starting to ache, but I keep doing it anyway, a spring in my step.  “You’re startin’ to look a little demented,” Jensen comments playfully.  I just squeeze his hand and shrug my shoulders, uncaring.  Of course I'm smiling like a lunatic.

“Jensen Ackles is my boyfriend!”

Chapter Text

I could so get used to this; this life of leisure with Jensen by my side.   After our walk on the beach, and the doggy clean-up operation that followed it, Jensen had taken me for breakfast and I’d had my first taste of genuine Canadian maple syrup smothered all over my pancakes; it was heavenly.  How he’s not morbidly obese with this stuff on tap is anyone’s guess.  But saying that, barely anyone in Vancouver seems to have a weight problem - both the place and the people are so well put together, the cleanest city I’ve ever seen.  And it is a city, I see that now, the morning and afternoon we spend exploring the streets together make it clear.  It’s huge, from the shopping centres to the sea port, yet it doesn’t have that ‘big city’ feel; there’s not that much traffic or pollution and around every corner you turn are reminders that you’re not far away from nature.  Fir trees, mountains, clear blue waters and skies.  I love it. 

Jensen took me to places that he’s come to love in his time in Vancouver; the museum that sits alongside a space centre, the vibrant Chinatown where we stuffed ourselves with Dim Sum for lunch.  He pointed out a hockey arena too, promising that he’ll take me to my first hockey game, and from that came promises of lots of other sporting experiences.  Baseball, ‘real’ football, and golf!  He’d gotten excited when I said I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at that. 

I’m so thankful for our time together today, all the money that he’s unflinchingly spent on me (including a pre-emptive purchase of expensive golf shoes and a polo neck t-shirt, because, you know, you have to wear a polo neck when you golf) that I insist in popping to a supermarket on the way home to buy ingredients for a home-cooked meal for tonight.   It’s the least I can do really, which is what I keep telling him as we’re waiting at the checkout and he’s trying to insist that he can take us to dinner.  He’s right, we are both tired from our busy day, but I want to do something nice for him to show him how grateful I am.  With that in mind I start cooking as soon as we get back home in the early evening, taking the opportunity whilst the chicken marinades to freshen up, Jensen amusing himself outside in the garden with the dogs. 

“I’m gonna head up for a shower,” Jensen tells me, popping his head around the kitchen door as I’m taking the bowl of chicken out of the fridge.  He’s got a smear of mud on his face, from Icarus jumping all over him no doubt, but he looks happy.  Crumpled, tired, but happy.

“Ok,” I smile, pulling back the cling film from the bowl and getting hit in the face by a heady mix of Indian spices, “This won’t be long, though.”

“Great,” he grins back, and then he’s gone again.  I set my phone out on the kitchen counter top and start playing a random mix; I always cook better with music.  I’m not the greatest of cooks, I rely far too heavily on recipes most of the time, too anal for my own good, but I’ve always enjoyed loosing myself in the sensory experience of it all – the heat of the stove, the smell of the onions frying with the spices, the sizzling as the wet chicken hits the pan.  Of course, it’s all much more fun when you’ve got some amazing tunes to sing and dance along to at the same time. 

All of this sensory overload is probably why I don’t notice that I can’t hear Jensen’s shower running anymore.

“… Got a fever of a hundred and three, come on baby, do you do more than dance?  I’m hot blooded, hot – whoops!”  A big glob of masala sauce flicks out of the pan onto the counter top, interrupting my singing while I scoop it up with my finger and pop it into my mouth, “A sign, come on girl, some kind of sign, are you hot mama?  You sure look that way to me!”  I nod my head along as I sing at the top of my lungs, giving the rice a stir.  I love this song and I love singing it when I’m driving along in Twiggy, and it shows when I bang the wooden spoon against the countertop to the drum beat before beginning to rummage in the cupboard for plates to dish up.  “Hot blooded, every night, hot blooded, you’re looking so tight… now you’re driving me wild… hot blooded, hot for you, child.”  

I turn around, plates in hand, and almost drop them again when I see Jensen leaning on the opposite side of the island counter top. 

“Sweet sweet thing…” My singing voice drops down to a mutter as I spot him, mid-sentence, cheeks immediately on fire with embarrassment.  Oh man… He’s grinning at me like a Cheshire cat, eyes crinkled and sparkling with laughter, his hair still wet from the shower.  If I weren’t so mortified I’d be in a much better position to appreciate just how hot he looks right now.  “How long have you been standing there?” I ask, unsure that I want to know the answer, trying my best not to look at him lest I self-combust on the spot. 

“Since about the second chorus,” he chortles, laughing more when I groan loudly.  “Hey, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”  I send him a pointed look over my shoulder as I take the saucepan from the stove.  Ok, so I’m not the best singer, but I can just about hold a tune.  “A plus for effort though.”  I’m still ignoring him, draining the water from the rice over the sink, trying not to scald myself on the steam.  I turn back to him and he’s still got exactly the same expression, absolutely revelling in teasing me.  When I start dishing up the rice and he sees the wooden spoon, “You can really drum with that thing huh?”  Despite my best efforts to maintain a straight face I just can’t do it, the corners of my lips quirking upward. 

“We should start a band,” I enthuse jokingly, “We can’t all be as multi-talented as you Mr Ackles.”

“Hey, I already have a band.  You not seen the Impalas?”  He straightens up, puffing out his chest proudly.  I collect the pan of curry from the stove, laughing, remembering the videos I’ve seen of him dancing like a maniac dressed up like a blues brother.

“I remember, for the 100th episode party right?”  He gives a nod, looking pleased as punch, watching me spoon out the chicken and sauce onto our beds of rice. 

“I feel like it should weird me out that you know all this trivia about me and the show,” Jensen says, looking a little more introspective.  He grabs some cutlery from the drawer and hands it to me. 

“Does it?”  Sometimes I forget just how much useless crap I know about him from watching convention footage.  I’d never really thought about it, but I can see how it might feel unsettling to have someone know things about you that you’ve never spoken to them about.  He picks up both our plates and makes for the dining table. 

“Grab a couple beers please babe,” he says before he replies, walking away from me.  It almost makes me stop dead in my tracks, overwhelmed by just how… normally that affectionate familiarity came spilling out of him.  I wonder if he realises just how much it means to me.  I pull two beers out of the fridge and follow after him, bottles and cutlery in hand.  “I don’t think so… Just feels like I’ve known you a lot longer.”  He puts down our plates, sitting himself at the head of the table and me to his left and takes a beer from me as he sinks down into his seat.  “It’s nice.  Should have dated a fan sooner.”  That tongue-in-cheek smile is back again as he watches me for a reaction; one that he gets when I raise an eyebrow at him, sitting myself down delicately. 

“You’re getting no help with the dishes now, just so you know,” I tell him, smiling sweetly.

“Damn, I forgot how mean you get,” he mutters playfully down at his plate as he inspects the food, knife and fork in hand. 

“Shut up and eat your chicken.”  I dig in, scooping up a forkful of rice, chicken and sauce and blowing on it. 

“Looks great.”  He pauses, “But… uh… what exactly is it?” I look up at him, dumbfounded that he doesn’t recognise a curry when it’s sat right there in his face. 

“Chicken tikka masala,” I say slowly, hoping that that might spark some recognition in his face, but he still look pretty blank, giving me a shrug.  “It’s… like… a national dish back home.”

“Isn’t this Indian food?”  He pushes his fork through the reddy-orange sauce, looking as if it might jump up and hit him in the face.

“Sort of, a lot of things are similar but the British actually came up with this one.  There’s tomato, cream, cumin, garam masala…”  I pause, my fork still hovering near my mouth.  “I can’t believe you’ve not had a curry before.” 

“We don’t get a lot of this in Texas,” he admits.  I forget sometimes just how different upbringings must have been.  While I was sat eating onion bhaji’s and naan bread Jensen was probably eating yams… or something. 

“Try it,” I encourage, “It’s really good.”  Or at least I hope it is, I haven’t tasted it myself yet.  He loads up his fork, looking slightly dubious, and posts it into his mouth.  I watch him chew apprehensively, waiting for a reaction, and I think he’s intentionally not giving anything away.  Finally, he swallows and looks down at his plate again.  “Well?”  Ever so slowly a smile creeps onto his face, and then he’s filling his fork again, with gusto this time.

“This is amazing,” he tells me, looking up at me happily and popping in another mouthful.  I breathe a sigh of relief and finally let myself have my first taste.  Damn, I did do good.  It’s a shame I couldn’t have marinated it for longer, it’d be even better. 

Halfway through us chowing down on our meal Jensen’s phone suddenly goes off.  He pulls his phone out, still chewing absentmindedly as he reads what I presume is a text message.

“Oh god,” he groans.  His eyes flicker across the screen again and then he’s putting the phone face down on the table, pushing it away looking disgusted. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, thinking it must be something serious to spur such a reaction. 

“Misha just wanted to check we’re still coming tomorrow night… and tell us that it’s now a toga party.”  He sounds thoroughly appalled by his last words, shaking his head and reaching for his beer for comfort. 

“That’ll be… interesting,” I say, trying to put a positive spin on it.  In all honesty I’ve never been a fan of fancy dress parties, but let’s face it, for the chance to party with the Supernatural cast I’d go wearing anything they damn well want.   Jensen grunts, less than enthusiastic.  “C’mon, it’ll be fun,” I smile, reaching under the table and placing my hand on his thigh, squeezing.  It’s the first physical contact we’ve had in a couple hours, and it almost makes him jump.  His expression turns warm, and when he looks back at me he looks almost as if he believes it.  His free hand meets mine under the table and he links our fingers, squeezing back.

“We can go grab a couple costumes tomorrow mornin’.”

“Awesome.  Now eat up, you’re not getting out of your promise,” I remind him, referencing our earlier discussion about subjecting him to Bridget Jones’ Diary tonight. 

“Why would I try to do that?” he grins, but does as he’s told anyway.  

There’s not even a discussion about where I sleep later that evening, when we head up to bed after the movie we both go straight to Jensen’s room.  I’m sleepy and contented, warm all over from how tactile and affectionate Jensen has been all evening; arms around me, playing with my hair.  I don’t ever want this to stop.  

“I need my night stuff,” I gesture limply, yawning from where I’m sat atop Jensen’s plush grey bedspread.  His bedroom is huge and overlooks the garden, his expansive wardrobes completely mirrored.  My tired reflection looks back at me bleary eyed.   It’s very monochrome in here, really.  It could do with a few feminine touches.

Jensen goes into one of his drawers and pulls out a t-shirt, tossing it to me with a smile. 

“Just wear this,” he instructs and I nod.  As he walks away from his chest of drawers, towards his en suite bathroom, I notice a mother of pearl picture frame sat atop them, and I can’t help but rise from the bed and have a curious look.  I pick it up carefully and see Jensen and Danneel’s happy faces smiling back at me.  It’s clearly a home photo; Danneel isn’t wearing much make up and their smiles look far too genuine to be posed, standing in what looks like a park.  They are both so ridiculously gorgeous in their own right, together they’re a sight to behold.

It’s funny, the effect that seeing it has on me.  Initially there’s an indisputable stab of jealously, right in my gut, seeing them together, and then there’s the insecurity.  However could I measure up to her, his wife, the mother of his child, taken from him too early?  Especially when she looked like that.  But the more I look, the more I see how happy Jensen was, the more I just feel sad for him.  How horrible must it be losing someone so dear to you so young?  You get married thinking you’ll be sitting on a porch swing together when you’re 80… not raising your child alone.  It makes my heart ache.

Suddenly I’m aware of Jensen’s presence behind me, looking over my shoulder, and I feel strangely guilty.  Like I’ve looked into part of his private life that I shouldn’t.  I place the picture frame down, about to turn and apologise, but instead it’s him that apologises to me. 

“Sorry, kinda slipped my mind that that was here,” he says as I turn to face him.  His face is an odd mix of emotions; sad, guilty, concerned.  Nothing very good anyway.   “I can put it away if you want?”

“No!”  I say quickly, emphatically, pressing my hands to his stomach.  “Jensen, no, you don’t have to do that.  I would never ask you to do that.”  Some of the negativity seems to drain from his face and the corners of his mouth turn up into a tiny smile as he places his hands over mine, holding them there.  “She was your wife, and that’s important.  It would be so wrong to pretend like that didn’t happen.”  I rise up onto my tiptoes and brush my lips against his softly, feeling his chest rise and fall heavily as I do.  “She made you really happy huh?”  He nods, a wistful sadness to his smile that I barely see when his face still hovers so close to mine.  “You being happy makes me happy,” I whisper.  The hands that were placed over mine come up and into my hair and Jensen tilts my head back to look at me clearly, eyes blazing. 

“You have no idea how amazing you are do you?”  he asks me, his tone worshipful.  I’m about to make a joke, something to deflect such intense adoration that I’ve never been very comfortable with, but then his mouth is pressed to mine and I don’t get chance to answer.   It starts so indulgently but the more time goes on the more intense it gets.  He yields immediately when I brush my tongue against his bottom lip, letting me eagerly breach his mouth that still tastes faintly of beer.  It’s not unpleasant by any means. 

“Jensen,” I breathe out longingly when he kisses his lips to my cheek, to my jaw, his stubble making my skin sensitive in all the right ways, and when he kisses a spot just underneath my ear all of the hairs on my arms stand on end.  “Oh…”  He devours my neck like a starving man, hands still twisted in my hair and when he bites the tender skin just above my collarbone my hands reflexively tense, nails digging through his t-shirt into his stomach.  I can feel the slickness in my underwear, my body hot and as responsive to Jensen as always.  His lips caress their way back up my throat, back to my mouth and I’m putty in his hands.  Horny, horny putty. 

His hands leave my hair, travelling down my back and onto my ass instead, grabbing hard and pulling me to him even closer.  That does it then, my hands make for the belt buckle peeping out from under his t-shirt, and as I start to wrestle with it – badly, I may add – he starts speaking between kisses.

“What’re you… baby… don’t think we should.”  Despite his breathily expressed doubts he doesn’t stop me, quite the opposite, he’s grinding against me, our height difference making it so his erection presses insistently against my lower abdomen.  Finally I get his belt undone and Jensen takes the buckle in hand, pulling it through the loops of his jeans and letting it fall to the floor in one swift movement.  I undo the buttons of his jeans, walking him backward to the bed, and when he’s finally sat on the edge in front of me he gazes up, uncertain. 

“Becca…” he begins, but I don’t let him finish.  I lean down, sliding my tongue into his mouth, cupping his chiselled face in my hands. 

“Just wanna touch you,” I tell him, rubbing my nose against his then kissing him again, “Let me…”  He nods, pulling away just for a second to pull off his t-shirt.  I kneel myself down in front of him, holding eye contact, and he’s biting down on his lip already, without me even touching him.  It makes me feel powerful, having this effect on him, and it’s exactly what I need.  I lean forward, gripping the waistband of his jeans and his boxers, and without me saying a word he instinctively lifts himself from the bed, letting me pull them down to hang around his knees.  His cock, springing its release, stands tall and proud against his stomach, blood fattened, leaking at the tip.  I have to take a second just to absorb the image before me; Jensen, trussed up and wanton, ready and willing to be touched.  His irises look almost black with lust, there’s barely any green left to speak of. 

I run my hands up the inside of his thighs, relishing the way his eyelids flop closed in anticipation.  I let it build, circling them out, up to his hips, and it’s only when he moans faintly, flexing upward, that I finally wrap my hand around his dick. 

“Ahh..” he breathes as I slide my hand upward, from thick base to tip, slowly but firmly, and back down.  Over and over I do this, watching him come apart in front of me, hips flexing, desperate for more contact,  more pre-cum comes seeping out with almost every stroke, lubricating my hand, making it all the better. “Uhh-hh,” he gasps as I start to go a little faster, taken by surprise, eyes finding mine, “Yes,” he encourages, breathy, desperate, and his head lolls back as he leans backward onto his elbows, just letting me work.  I will never get enough of this, pleasuring him, hearing these noises of gratification ring in my ears.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life.  My other hand works up from his thigh and cups his testicles, pulled tight from arousal, and I squeeze gently, gauging his reaction. 

“Fuck…” he huffs, lifting his head to look at me, lips pursed together with pleasure, and I take that to mean that he likes it.  I smile a dirty smile back to him and for a second it makes him laugh, but then I squeeze again and a moan takes its place.  He reaches forward and wraps his large hand around my own that’s working his cock, and he moves it even harder, even faster.  It’s so hot, watching him fuck both of our hands, the rhythm of his hips becoming disjointed and in-coordinate.   I know he’s getting close.  I look to the side of us, suddenly remembering that we’re in front of his mirrored wardrobes, and what I see makes me groan loudly, even without being touched. 

“Holy shit…” I mutter, watching our reflections, but Jensen doesn’t hear me, too far gone, head rolling back again, eyes closed.  His hand releases mine, grabbing onto his own hair instead.

“Keep going, keep – oh – going…” he pleads.  I don’t think I could stop now if I tried, even though my wrist is burning with the effort to keep up the pace he loves.  “Gonna make me cum, babe… gonna cum,” he moans, almost slurring his words, and I can feel his thigh muscles tensing hard underneath my forearms.  His head comes forward again, eyes pressed tight together, and then I see the moment that it starts.  His stomach muscles contract, his balls pulling even tighter in my hand, and when his cock lets out that first pulse his eyes and mouth come open, soundless.  But then he’s spurting his cum all over my hand, all over his own stomach, and he’s practically purring with satisfaction, eyes locked onto mine until it ends and he’s still, spent and panting. 

It seems like he’s speechless, just staring at me, chest heaving, so I take one step further and clean off my soiled hand, licking off the cum that’s still warm, and then do the same for his stomach.  It’s slightly salty but not unpleasant, and totally worth it for the expression it leaves on Jensen’s face. 

I sit back on my heels and give him a wide, innocent grin and he laughs loudly, rubbing both hands over his face as if he can’t quite believe just what happened. 

“Was that ok?” I ask, and that just makes him laugh again. 

“Ok?” he replies incredulously, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “You.  Are.  Amazing.”  I flush with delight and he kisses me, with tongues, uncaring that I’ve just licked up his bodily fluids.  The intimacy of it makes my insides roil with excitement.  “You ok?” he asks when he pulls away, and I know what he’s getting at.  Strangely, although I’m unspeakably aroused, getting him off kind of feels like it’s enough.  I’m sort of sleepy again, actually. 

“That was just what I needed,” I reassure, and he smiles, pushing back my fringe. 

“Let’s get some sleep.”  He kicks off his jeans and boxers as I rise from the floor, and by the time I’ve pulled on his t-shirt to sleep in he’s already waiting for me under the covers, arms open wide and ready to receive me.  “Gonna snuggle you so good,” he tells me affectionately as I slide into bed, nuzzling his nose against my neck.  He falls asleep almost instantly, breathing softly, and when I fall asleep minutes later I have ‘I love you’s’ on my lips again. 

Chapter Text

“You were better at that than I expected,” Jensen says admiringly following our game of pool, looking down at me and playing with my fringe.  I’m sprawled out on the sofa, my head in his lap, gazing up at him happily.

“Just ‘cus I’m left handed doesn’t mean all of my hand-eye co-ordination goes to shit.”  I reach up, poking the end of his nose.  He clucks his tongue, twisting his head to shake me off. 

“Still kicked your ass though,” he reminds me smugly, cocky smile on his face. 

“Must make a nice change from being Jared’s bitch,” I bite back, poking his nose again, repetitively, being as annoying as possible. 

“Like fuck am I his bitch!  You’ve seen that guy’s hair right?”  He’s high pitched with protest, voice muffling when my poking hand gets in the way, continuing my onslaught. 

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” I torment in a sing song voice. 

“Oh that’s it!” He grabs my wrist and then he’s squirming underneath me, pushing at my hip in an attempt to roll my off of him and the sofa and onto the floor. 

“Ahh!! Jensen!!” I squeal, flailing my legs, grinning and laughing as I fight him.  “Don’t!”  He leaves me dangling, halfway off the sofa, only held in place by his hand on my hip. 

“Say you’re sorry.”  He narrows his eyes at me, totally failing at looking serious when he’s smiling so much. 

“Sorry!”  I shriek as he lets me slip just a little, “Sorry Jensen!”  

“Say Jared’s my bitch!”  I explode into hysterics; if only the fanfiction writers could hear him now. 

“Jared’s your bitch!” I shout through the laughter, eyes watering, my stomach hurting from all the exertion and merriment.  “Lemme up you jerk.”  He almost lets me drop again, once more for good measure, before finally pulling me up and back onto the sofa. 

“Good girl,” he praises condescendingly, being purposefully patronising and I roll my eyes.  He makes it sound like I’m his bitch too.  Who am I kidding? Of course I am.  He runs his finger down the bridge of my nose, staring down at me with those stunning eyes and I smile back up at him, overwhelmed with the joy frothing up inside of me. 

“Do we need to take Misha a present tonight?” I ask thoughtfully after a moment. 

“I already got him one of those t-shirts you told me about before, the ‘purr-dition’ one,” he chortles. 

“Oh no, you didn’t?”  Jensen nods gleefully.  Of course he has, he’s going to love telling Misha all about where he got that idea.  “Do you really think those togas we got look ok?”  I say apprehensively, changing the topic.  I know it’s a fancy dress party but I’d like to look nice, I am meeting a whole bunch of gorgeous, famous people all in one go.  Oh god, the thought of it makes me feel slightly sick with nerves. 

“You kiddin’?  You look hot,” he says emphatically, making me blush, “I’m the one that’s gonna look like a douchebag in a dress.”  He looks thoroughly unimpressed, and I can’t help but laugh. 

“I thought you looked very distinguished.”

“Distinguished douchebag.  Great.”  I pull a disapproving face, reaching up and rubbing my palm along his stubble.  He’s really been letting it come through, and despite my usual aversion to facial hair I kinda like it.

“Stop it, grumpus, or I’ll have to start calling you ol’ man Ackles,” I warn. 

“I’m sure Jared’s called me that once before,” he muses, looking thoughtful, but then he stops and smiles, shrugging off his negativity.  “I’m lookin’ forward to seeing you fried again anyway.”

“Ohh no no no,” I object, “No way, not in front of all those guys.”  I can do without the embarrassment of getting wasted in front of my idols, thank you very much. 

“You do realise ‘those guys’ are gonna be the ones plying you with booze, right?”  he tells me, unfortunately sounding completely sincere.  It makes me groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, and by the time I open my eyes Jensen is grinning again.  “Relax, I won’t let you humiliate yourself too much,” he reassures non-reassuringly. 

“I feel so much better,” I reply sarcastically.  “If tonight is going to be messy then I think that’s all the more reason for a nap now.”  Almost on cue, I yawn. 

“It’s 2 in the afternoon,” he scoffs incredulously.  I raise my eyebrows at him, as if to say ‘so?’. 

“And when I’m not plagued by crippling anxiety, I normally sleep like a bear.”  He smiles softly, saying no more, neither of us bringing up the fact that I woke up yelling into the darkness last night, shaking like a leaf.  Even Jensen’s presence didn’t help me catch much sleep after that.  I was just glad not to remember what I’d been dreaming about. 

I lift my head from his lap with great effort, pouting my lips for a kiss, and he quickly obliges. 

“I’ll wake you up in an hour or two,” he tells me, briefly thumbing my cheek before grabbing the TV remote and switching it on, lowering the volume for my benefit. 

“Mmhm,” I agree, then I toss myself over onto my side, my nose pressed up against Jensen’s t-shirt and shut my eyes, comforted by his now familiar warmth and scent. 

"Wanted to get my hands on you all night,” Jensen growls against my ear, the hard wood of the hotel room door smooth against my back.  His lips are all over me, pulling at my dress, unzipping it, pushing it to the floor, dragging his rough fingertips down my back.  He kisses me, ruthlessly hard, and then unexpectedly pulls back to look at me with appraising, hungry eyes.  I’m stood here in lacy underwear and heels, he’s still in his immaculate grey suit and silk tie, and then he’s right up against me again.  I hazily acknowledge that I’m dreaming; everything flows disjointedly, fuzzy round the edges, but the sensation of Jensen’s teeth pulling on my earlobe is so delicious that I couldn’t care less.  I’m moaning, pulling at his jacket, but damn it, it just won’t come off. 

“Brought you a surprise baby,” he mutters against my lips, and then he’s pulling me across the room and my heels are gone and so is my underwear.  It’s my dream so somehow I don’t mind, completely at ease with my nakedness as he stands me at the foot of the bed, a wickedly devilish smile on his face.  My stomach quivers with excitement, hairs prickling up on end as I wonder what he’s got in store.  He pulls off his tie, a bright royal blue, and places it across my eyes to turn my world black, chuckling to himself softly. 

“Wait here,” he instructs and I bite my lip with anticipation.  It’s my dream so thankfully I don’t have to wait long.  I’m being kissed again, my breasts being fondled, nipples rolled and pinched between fingertips and although I love it – the river between my thighs tells me that – something feels slightly off.  The lips are rougher, top lip slightly fuller than Jensen’s, and the mouth that’s open against mine tastes different.  Different, but not bad, and I’m still groaning into the kiss.  It’s a good kiss, hot and wet and messy.  I reach forward, wondering if my hands can confirm my suspicions, and when I touch a stomach that is definitely more solid than I’m expecting, hips narrower, I start to panic a little.  The hands that were groping my breasts slide downward, gripping at my hips, and then a second pair of hands is placed on my shoulders. 

“Trust me,” Jensen whispers soothingly into my ear, and I realise that his voice is coming from behind me and that this definitely isn’t Jensen that I’m kissing.  I don’t care.  I do trust him, for better or worse, and I’m a little ashamed to admit that the realisation that there’s three of us in this makes a fresh throb of arousal pulse through me. 

His hands on my shoulders start to apply a gentle downward pressure, and I know what he wants me to do.  The mouth is gone and I’ve knelt down, soft carpet underneath me, still blinded, panting with expectancy.  Flesh nudges at my lips, hot and solid, and I know what it is – but what turns me on most is not knowing whose it is.  I open my mouth obligingly, inviting them in, and then I know without a shadow of a doubt that it isn’t Jensen – the dick sliding between my lips, teeth tucked behind them, is circumcised and smooth. 

“Good girl,” Jensen praises, and a hand – I think it’s his – takes hold of my hair and softly but insistently encourages the bobbing of my head as I hollow out my cheeks, pleasuring the unknown man in front of me who’s thrusting into my mouth.  A growled groan comes from above, and the sound of it sparks some recognition in my desire-soaked brain, but I don’t get chance to think on it because Jensen is speaking to me again.  “You like that baby?” 

“Hmmm…” I hum approvingly, unable to say more with my mouth so full.  This is hot and all kinds of wrong, that I’m letting some unknown man use and abuse the hollow of my throat.  I just end up moaning more at the thought.  

Suddenly, the tie that was obscuring my sight is pulled loose.  My vision fills with the colour blue and when it fades I look up to be met with an even more startling shade of blue peering down at me. 

“I told you she looks good on her knees Misha,” Jensen grins, standing next to the older man who’s inside of me, flash flushed, lips drawn tight in concentration as he continues the unfaltering rhythm of his hips.

“So good,” Misha groans appreciatively, crystal blue eyes locked onto mine. I can’t look away, caught in his gaze, not even to look at Jensen whose shirt is hanging open, buttons of his suit trousers undone, bulge ridiculously obvious under the grey. 

“Think she likes sucking cock, don’t you Mish?”  My eyes fall closed at the filthy things coming out of Jensen’s mouth, groaning again, knowing in my mind that he’s right.  I do, I love this.  Misha tastes so good.  I want to taste Jensen too.  As if on cue, Misha’s member is gone and the loss makes me open my eyes questioningly, mouth full of saliva.  But Jensen is right there, waiting with cock in hand above his open trousers, waiting expectantly.  I don’t disappoint, embarking on my task eagerly, running my tongue along the underside of his shaft, revelling in the way he growls his enjoyment.  I take him all in, noting the difference in taste, overwhelmed by Jensen’s scent, inside and outside of me.

Misha’s enjoys the show, standing just a step away, jerking his cock with an expert hand, forehead pulled into a frown.  Could this possibly get any hotter? 

“Jen,” Misha purrs, moving closer, hand perpetually in motion, and Jensen turns his head to look at his friend under thick lashes.  I watch as green eyes devour blue, the way Jensen watches admiringly at the pleasure Misha is gifting himself.  And then they’re kissing, all open mouthed and tongues, and I forget how to breathe.

“Fuck…” I say quietly, breathlessly, not wanting to spoil the moment, Jensen too preoccupied with tongue-fucking Misha to realise that my own has left him.  He does though, all too soon. 

“Did he tell you to stop?” Misha asks me sternly when they’ve pulled away from each other, voice low and seductive.  Both pairs of eyes stare down at me, so different but so very beautiful. I shake my head numbly, too aroused to even string words together, trembling from the inside out with desire.   

“It’s alright,” Jensen says, almost casually, his hand reaching for his own cock.  “Fuck her.  I want to watch.” 

“Oh god…” I moan reflexively, wantonly, and Misha smiles, expression hot and predatory, taking my hand and helping me stand in a gentlemanly fashion that really doesn’t suit the situation. 

“Get on the bed, kneel on it,” Misha tells me, hand palming my ass and pushing me in the right direction.  “Face Jensen, he wants to see.”  I do as I’m told, swivelling round on my knees to face Jensen.  He’s sat in a chair not too far away, stroking his cock slowly, watching us with hungry eyes and a deadly smile. 

Misha climbs onto the bed behind me and pushes at the inside of my thighs, spreading them wide, humming appreciatively when his hand ends up covered in my juices.  God, I need to be touched.  I’m on fire, skin blistering, and no one’s touched me yet.  This is insane. 

“I can see why you like her,” Misha comments, right before a solitary finger slides inside of me.  I cry out at the sudden penetration.  It must be because I’m so aroused that just that one finger makes me feel like I could cum right then and there.  “So ready…”

“Get on with it then Misha,” Jensen scolds, and I can’t help mentally agreeing with his sentiment.  Misha’s finger leaves me and his long fingers find my breasts again, squeezing firmly.  In one sharp, hard thrust I’m impaled on Misha’s long, weeping cock, and he grunts with the force. 

“M-Misha!” I gasp, eyes flying wide and only seeing Jensen.


“Becca, wake up.”  My vision floods with red as I wake with a gasp, breathing hard, and it takes me a full 5 seconds to realise where I am, staring at Jensen’s red t-shirt in the same position I fell asleep earlier.  Oh god, what a dream.  Fuck.  I’m still panting, something Jensen must be aware of, and suddenly I’m flooded with guilt. 

“S-Sorry,” I stutter, closing my eyes for a second, trying to control myself, still unbelievably turned on.  I turn myself over in his lap, not quite meeting his eyes.  “I had another nightmare,” I lie, trying to explain my uneven breathing.  I had a nightmare Jensen, I wasn’t dreaming about fucking one of your best friends.  Shit, how could I dream about fucking one of his best friends? 

“Seemed like it,” Jensen replies.  The tone of his voice sounds perfectly normal but something in his eyes is off, and I can’t figure out what it is.  Maybe he’s getting tired of all these bad dreams, perhaps he thought I’d be doing better than this by now?  That’d be understandable, I guess, if it really was a nightmare that had gotten me into this state. 

I smile haltingly, trying my best to look as though I’m not wracked with remorse, and I lean upwards to kiss him.  He indulges me, his familiar touch and kiss soothing me, but it’s over too soon and then he’s pulling away with a slight sigh, looking away too. 

“We better get ready to go,” he tells me and I nod as I lift my head from his lap, stretching my arms above my head.  Jensen gets up quite abruptly and runs a hand through his hair.  Something’s not right here.  “You can go shower first… I’m gonna… grab a beer.”  And then he’s gone, through the door and into the kitchen, leaving me staring after him.  What’s going on?  He can’t know what I was dreaming about… I know he’s a man of many talents but I’m not aware of mind-reading being one of them. 

I decide to just go and get ready and deal with Jensen later, after he’s had his beer, so I make my way up to the bathroom and set about getting ready. A fresh new wave of guilt rolls through me when I strip for the shower, my underwear a wet mess of arousal, and I stare at it on the floor unhappily.  Yes, that dream was amazing, phenomenal even, but I wish it hadn’t left me feeling like this… like I’ve done something terrible.  Even if the Jensen in my dream was all too happy for me to perform fellatio on his co-star… I very much doubt the real Jensen would see be so keen.  Neither would Misha’s wife, for that matter.

I mean yes, I’ve had erotic dreams about Misha before, and Jared, and Jensen of course - although admittedly never quite that homoerotic before - and never when I actually knew these people.  Never when one of them is my boyfriend and the others are 110% off limits.  My psyche must not have caught up with real life yet.  Either that or it’s still disbelieving that my life has taken this bizarre and incredible turn. 

So maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up about it.  It’s not like I can control what I dream about, and it’s not as if I’m going to stroll up to Misha later like, ‘hey, Mish, nice to meet you.  Fancy a menage a trois?’.  I wouldn’t dream of it, not just because it’d be highly inappropriate, but because I’m in love with Jensen and I would never do anything to jeopardise that.  Yeah, I should just try to put this aside and get on with things.  It doesn’t mean anything. 

Now I just have to work out how to look Misha in the face later without self-immolating. 

Jensen is quiet the whole time we’re getting ready, and it’s making me nervous. 

“Do I look ok?” I ask him nervously, adjusting the gold belt around my waist that helps to cinch in the billowing white fabric of the toga.  He glances over at me, eyes on my body, and then looks back to his feet and the open toed sandals he’s putting on. 

“Yeah, great,” he answers dismissively.  I frown and worry my lip, still peering at him, and eventually he looks back at me with a sigh, his expression softening a little.  He lowers his foot back the floor and rises from the edge of the bed, approaching me.  He caresses my cheek gently, still not smiling but at least not wearing the neutral face he’s adopted for the last hour, and then gives me a fleeting kiss.  It makes me exhale quietly, so glad that he’s showing some affection when he seems so… distant.  “You look beautiful babydoll,” he reassures me and I smile shyly in reply.  He plucks up the gold headband that completes my outfit off of the dressing table and helps me to put it on, ensuring it’s straight and not causing bits of hair to stick up in odd places.  “Perfect.” 

“Thanks,” I say quietly, looking up into his jade eyes, desperately wanting to know what’s wrong so I can fix it.  “Are you ok?” I ask cautiously.  His eyes move away, hands that were still on my hair leaving, retreating back a step too. 

“I’m fine,” he replies, a little too quickly to really be fine.  I guess whatever is bothering him is something he’s either going to tell me later or not at all.  I sigh in frustration, and I know he’s heard me, but I decide not to push.  It’s not worth egging on any bad feeling when we’re about to head out.  Maybe he just really, really hates his toga, although personally I think he’d look great whatever he wears.  I try to tell him that, but it’s met with a forced smile and tight lips and being told that we should get going.  Oh well, I tried. 

 “Is it far?” I ask as I slide into the back of Joel’s 4x4, trying not to get my sash stuck in the door. 

“About 20 minutes,” Jensen replies, glancing at me to make sure I’m in safe and buckled up in my seatbelt, then looking away again.  That’s all Jensen says to me for almost the entire car journey, and I’m thankful that Joel is there to ask questions about the party because otherwise I have the feeling that this would have been our first ever awkward silence.  What’s more infuriating is that he’s perfectly fine with Joel, laughing and joking as usual, all smiles.  At least I know it’s definitely me…  I stare sullenly out of the window, feeling myself grow increasingly irritated with the man sat next to me, beautiful as he may be.  If you’re going to get pissy about something at least tell them what’s the matter – I thought I was supposed to be the woman here.  Unfortunately, as the car journey ends and we pull onto a crowded brick driveway, I do get some indication of what’s been eating him.  He’s opening his car door, half way in, half way out, when he decides to turn back to me, and asks me almost casually,

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”


Chapter Text

Despite the bombshell he just dropped in the car Jensen really manages to turn it on for the cameras, playing the doting boyfriend as we arrive, putting his arm around my waist as we wait at Misha’s front door.  It’s so unexpected it makes me jump and look questioningly at him, astounded that he’s doing it when he’s clearly pissed at me.  What did I say in my sleep?  What did he hear more importantly?  He just shrugs his shoulders faintly to dismiss it, not looking at me, and then the door’s opening and we’re hit with a wall of sound; music, people chattering loudly, kids squealing.

It’s Misha that answers, all wide eyes and arms, looking overjoyed when he sees us standing there.  He’s dressed in a pristine white toga, a gold leaf headband encircling his unruly black hair, looking exactly as one would expect of a Grecian.   I wish I was so thrilled to see him, but I’m a weird mix of nervous, excited and star-struck, and in the background of my mind is a constant thrum of embarrassment.  Don’t think about the dream, don’t think about the dream. 

“Jensen!” he welcomes loudly, immediately pulling him into a hug that means Jensen has to release me, one arm embracing his friend and the other holding his present. 

“Good to see you man,” Jensen tells him, greeting him like an old friend he hasn’t seen in months, hand slapping his back in true bro-hug style.  He pulls away and then Misha’s intelligent eyes are on me, inspecting me through a squint.  His eyes are incredible, even bluer than they were in my dream, if that’s even possible.  Damn it, don’t think about the dream! 

“You must be Becca,” he assesses, dropping the Castiel-style thoughtful expression for one that’s warm and welcoming instead. 

“Very shrewdly deduced,” I smile back and he laughs and pulls me into a brief hug too, embracing me tightly for just a couple of seconds.  “It’s so nice to meet you,” I gush over his shoulder, squeezing back.  As he’s releasing me I glance to the side and see Jensen looking less than impressed, but as soon as he’s in Misha’s eyeline his smile is back, just like that.  For heaven’s sake, is he going to be like this all night?  It’s putting a bit of a dampener on all the excitement.   I should be brimming over with fan-girl related joy, but all I can think about is what Jensen is hiding behind that grin. 

“You guys look great, nice effort with the costumes!  Pleasantly surprised Jen.”  He ushers us in with open hands into a hive of activity and suddenly I’m a little overwhelmed.  I wish I had a bag, something to hold in front of me, to hide behind.  I’m very aware of some unfamiliar faces looking over at us, albeit friendly ones. 

“Happy Birthday Mish!” Jensen says heartily, having to raise his voice a little now we’re inside, and he thrusts our gift into Misha’s hand. 

“Hey, thanks!”  He smooshes it, smiling like a child, “Squishy!”  I laugh, loving his enthusiasm.  “I’ll open this later.  Come in, make yourselves at home, blah blah blah.”  He ushers us forward towards a table that’s laden with alcohol, a large punch bowl practically over-flowing.  I dread to think what’s in it.  “Help yourselves, mingle, show her off.”  He sends a playful, devilish grin my way.  “I have to go play the doting host.”  The doorbell rings and off he goes again, a whirlwind of activity. 

“He’s quite the busy bee,” I comment as he buzzes away from us.  Jensen is already helping himself to a beer, flipping off the lid with a bottle opener that he then discards carelessly across the table.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees flatly and takes a big gulp of his beer, smacking his lips together afterwards, eyebrows raised at me like he doesn’t know why I’m looking at him the way I am.  Like he’s acting like a jerk. 

“Look, Jensen,” I start quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear us, but before I get chance to speak we’re swiftly interrupted. 

“Heeey! The party’s here!” comes Jared’s loud voice.  He marches over and slaps Jensen on the back, swigging his beer and making Jensen almost choke on his.  “Nice legs Jackles,” he comments, glancing at Jensen’s slightly hairy ankles poking out from the bottom of his toga. He sends a playful wink my way.  “Jackles jankles.”  I guffaw a laugh, snorting with it, and both of the boys end up grinning in amusement at me.  Ohh I’m so smooth.  I cough, looking at my bare toes in my sandals, trying desperately not to blush. 

“Jankles… I see what you did there,” I grin at him, fighting past my embarrassment, one hand rubbing my neckline; a habit of mine when I’m nervous.    

“At least someone finds you funny gigantor.   Hey, where did you get a toga to fit anyway?”  Jensen mocks back, gesturing with a finger up and down the length of Jared’s body.  It does fit him remarkably well, actually, and in true Jared style he’s got half of his chest exposed.  I guess if you’ve worked hard for the muscles you may as well show them off. 

“I’ll have you know Gen is a bit of a whiz with a bedsheet and some curtain ties,” he says, affecting a British accent that sounds remarkably like mine and twirling the golden rope at his waist.  I’ll be damned, there’s tassles and everything.  Jared sounds a little tipsy already; maybe it’s not just Sam that’s a bit of a lightweight. 

“Where is Gen anyway?” Jensen asks, looking past his large friend. 

“She’s outside with Shephard and Thomas, Misha’s got this wicked bouncy castle for the kids,” he enthuses, pushing back his hair.  “You know that’s going to be fun after a couple drinks,” he directs that at me, nudging me with his elbow.  It’s a little pointy, understandable given his size.  In fact, now that he’s stood next to me I can’t believe how tall he really is.  You don’t really get chance to appreciate it on the screen, what with everyone else either being tall too or stood on boxes. 

“Speaking of, where’s your drink Becca?”  He says it almost accusingly, looking back and forth between Jensen and me and I shrug, unable to stop myself grinning.  The familiarity in the way he speaks to me is amazing, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s tipsy or if this is just the kind of guy he is.  It’s awesome and puts me really at ease, considering we’ve never really met before. “What’re y’all having?” 

“I’m good,” Jensen replies, waving his bottle from side to side and Jared scoffs.

“Becca, you’ll have a proper drink with me right?”  He doesn’t give me time to reply, already grabbing two small glasses and a bottle of something that looks suspiciously like vodka.  “Course you will.”  Oh god.  I see what Jensen meant now about them plying me with alcohol.  I catch a glimpse of his face past Jared’s back and he’s shaking his head, smiling ruefully, as if he knows what’s coming.  Ah screw it. 

“Bring it on Moose!” I say, all gusto, as he passes me a shot glass.  Hell, if this is going to happen I may as well go into it head first and committed to the cause.   The cause being drunkenness, obviously. 

“Ha! Awesome,” Jared grins, not phased at all by my throwaway use of his character’s nickname.  “I like her,” he enthusiastically says over his shoulder to Jensen, turning back to me and clinking our glasses. 

“You like anyone that enables you,” I hear Jensen comment as I throw the vodka back.  It makes me splutter, burning all the way down and Jared’s already laughing at me by the time my crinkled eyes have opened again.

“Wowee,” I huff out.  That’s strong stuff right there. 

“So now that Becca’s here does this mean you’ll be gettin’ that surgery?”  Jared’s turned his attention back to Jensen and he sounds so serious, his face the picture of sincerity, that I end up frowning in concern.  He pushes his hair back again.

“What surgery?” I ask, taking a step closer to them, and Jensen rolls his eyes.

“To remove his phone from his hand,” Jared explains, still deadly serious.  I crack a smile.  I should have known that these two weren’t done taking the piss out of each other yet.  I start helping myself to punch; hopefully if I have some of this I won’t get talked into having more vodka.  “No, seriously, joking aside,” Jared says, “It’s awesome you’re here, haven’t seen anyone hold this guy’s attention since…” he trails off, gesticulating with his beer, “Well… you know.” 

“Well, I love being here,” I smile shyly over the edge of my plastic cup, eyes focusing on Jensen.  I can almost see him thaw a little, his stance relaxing slightly, corner of his lips turning up into a smile; the first he’s given to me in a little while. 

“C’mere,” he beckons and I do so immediately, basking in the momentary affection that’s being offered.  He slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against his side and presses his lips against my forehead in a fleeting kiss.  It still feels a little frosty, not quite as natural as usual, but it’s a start.   Jared watches the exchange, smiling warmly at us. 

“Come and say hi to Gen, she’ll be psyched to see you.”  Jared momentarily turns back to the alcohol buffet and pours another cup of punch, handing it to me.  “One for the road,” he grins.  Oh lord.  This will not end well. 

Jared leads us through scattered groups of people, all talking loudly, drinks in hand and as we pass almost everyone says a brief hello to Jensen whose hand is now firmly placed in the small of my back.  He greets them, all smiles, but it’s me I notice their eyes on and I find myself doing that stupid little hand wave of mine at least 4 times.  No one looks openly hostile, which is good, but as we move away I do catch a few people lean together and exchange unheard words.  Perhaps it’s paranoia, or maybe even vanity, that I immediately presume that those conversations are about me. 

I’m almost relieved once we get outside and there are far fewer people around, although numerous children, all of mixed ages.  Some are causing a ruckus on the giant, inflatable bouncy castle (complete with slide, amazing!), others are sat in a sandpit, and all around it’s the white, white, white of togas.  That’s fine, children I can handle, it’s adult that are scary. 

“Gen, Gen, Jensen and Becca are here,” Jared calls, a spring in his step as he leads us over to the backs of two women, each with long dark hair, sat in discussion on a wooden bench.  Two sets of eyes turn to look at us over shoulders, both cracking into smiles, and it’s only because I’ve seen Genevieve half naked before that I feel more at ease, relieved almost to see a familiar face.

“Oh hey!”  Gen says happily, trying to swivel herself off of the bench but struggling with her arms full of baby.

“Hey, hey, don’t get up,” Jensen scolds from afar and Gen rolls her eyes.

“Jensen, I had a baby, I’m not an invalid,” she calls but remains still nonetheless, one leg in and one leg out, toga material expanding over the seat of the bench.   She looks fabulous, her darker skin tone made for white and gold, and still benefitting from the thicker hair that accompanies pregnancy.  It’s no wonder Jared is looking at her so dotingly. 

“Vikki, this is who I was telling you about,” Gen tells the woman next to her as we come within reach, “This is the midwife that delivered Shephard!” 

“Hey, he’s not a pizza!” I correct playfully before I can help myself, peering over at the infant in her arms.  Is that… oh my goodness, how on earth did they find a toga to fit a baby just a couple weeks old?  That is beyond adorable.  “Besides, I barely did anything.”  Gen beams back at me as Jared plants a kiss on her forehead. 

“Nice to meet you,” the woman next to Gen smiles and now I’m closer I recognise her as Misha’s wife.   She reminds me of someone and I can’t put my finger on it, and as she’s rising to hug me – a little difficult with my hands full of drinks – I know this is going to bug me all night. 

“You’re Misha’s wife,” I tell her as she pulls away and then smile goofily, “I’m sure you know that already.”  She laughs, a sound that flows easily from her, and then she’s hugging Jensen too. 

“I see you’ve finally met Jared,” Gen observes, looking at the plastic cups in each of my hand.  I bring one to my lips, nodding.   Christ, what the hell is in this punch?  “He’s not very good at pacing himself,” she jokes and gestures at my cups, “Make sure he doesn’t bring you down with him.” 

“I’m right here Gen!” Jared whines reproachfully and then he’s distracted, accosted by what can only be his son Thomas.  He looks more angelic in that costume than anything else, long brown locks like his father’s pushed back by a gold headband. 

“All the more reason to say it Jar,” Gen says, reaching out and stroking her son’s hair with a soft smile.  He’s all for dad though, reaching upward to be picked up.  “I swear if you come home and start trying to pee in the wardrobes again-“

“Tommo, you tell your mom that that was three years ago and that we’re both much older and wiser now,” Jared instructs the four year old now held in his arms. 

“We’re much older and wiser,” he repeats as taught making both Genevieve and myself laugh.   “Uncle Jensen!” Thomas suddenly yells, spotting him from over my shoulder, still deep in conversation with Vikki.  When Jensen hears him name, however, he turns right around and sends a stellar smile our way. 

“Hey hey, Thomas!” he greets, raising a hand for a high five that Thomas eagerly gives him and then he’s struggling out of Jared’s arms towards Jensen.  They swap, all of a kerfuffle and huffing with the effort, and then Thomas is perched on Jensen’s hip instead.  “You said hello to Becca?” 

“Who’s Becca?”  Thomas asks with the wonderful bluntness that all young children possess. 

“This is Becca,” Jensen tells him, swivelling round a little so we’re face to face, “She’s purdey ain’t she?”  he asks Tom, cocking his head my way, still grinning.  I flush with pleasure from head to toe, unaffected by the disgusted face Thomas pulls.  He’s four years old, everyone’s gross. 

“Hi Thomas,” I greet, balancing both of my cups in one hand so I can wave.  Jensen shakes his head swiftly, expression serious.

“High-five babe, we’re high-fiving people,” he informs me, as if I’ve committed a major social faux-pas.  I raise an eyebrow and raise an open palm instead.

“When in Rome,” I smile, flinching slightly when Thomas smacks his hand against mine enthusiastically.  That kid is going to be as strong as his daddy when he’s older. 

Suddenly we’re surrounded by two more children, a dark haired boy holding the hand of a slightly younger, lighter haired girl. 

“Mom, Maison wants juice,” the boy declares loudly for her whilst Maison stares slightly distrustfully at all of us, one finger in her mouth. 

“West, I’m sure Mase can ask me herself,” Vikki says gently, leaning forward toward them, turning expectant eyes on little Maison over her glasses. 

“Juice please,” she says on cue, not quite as shy as she’d initially appeared.  Then again, I can hardly imagine Misha spawning any children that could be described as reserved. 

“I want juice,” Thomas chimes in, following the crowd. 

“It appears we’re getting juice,” Jared declares.

You’re not getting juice,” Gen says pointedly with a laugh. 

“Can Jensen take me to get juice?”  Oh my gosh, we all need to stop saying juice.  

“Juice!” Jensen barks playfully, bouncing Thomas in his arms and making him giggle.

“We’ll all go get juice,” Vikki laughs, rising from her seat and walking away with her children, shooing them with her hands.  Jensen follows after them quickly, leaving me stood with Gen and Jared. 

“I swear our son likes Jen better than me,” Jared comments taking a large sip of beer, watching them go.

“Maybe it’s because Jensen doesn’t let him push things up his nose,” Gen replies quickly, giving him a long sideways glance. 

“Hey, if I was a kid I’d love the guy that lets me put legos up my nose,” he retorts.  I just stand and watch the exchange, sipping my punch and smiling inanely.  These guys are amazing together.  Genevieve gives up, raising her eyebrows and turning herself to face me more, her expression screaming apologies for her slightly odd husband.  She needn’t apologise, I love it. 

“Becca, you wanna hold Shephard?” she offers. 

“Sure!” I enthuse, pleased that she’s asked.  I’m never one to turn down a good squeeze.  I sit myself next to her, abandoning my cups of punch on the table top and carefully she passes him to me.  He’s sleeping peacefully, all warm from being held, and 100% gorgeous.  Jared and Gen make some amazing looking kids.  “Ohhh…” I coo approvingly and when I look up I see his proud parents smiling, Jared’s arm slung across Gen’s shoulder.  “How’s he been doing?” I ask, automatically starting to rock slightly.

“Really good, he’s such an easy baby,” Gen explains, “And Thomas adores him.”

“We’d worried he was gonna be jealous, but nah,” Jared chimes in. 

“He’s so lovely guys,” I gush, my gaze falling back to the perfect little bundle in my arms.  A quiet moment passes, not that I mind, I’m far too preoccupied by the aching of my ovaries. 

“Becca,” Gen says softly, and I look up.  Her face has changed; instead of the joyous expression that was there a second ago she now wears a look of concern.  My stomach drops, because I immediately figure out where this is going.  “We were really sorry to hear about what happened to you.”

I smile uncertainly because I don’t know how else to respond, my insides clenching unpleasantly.  I look back to Shephard, shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders, as if it doesn’t matter.

“It-it’s alright,” I say haltingly.  They’re both looking at me sympathetically… god, please stop looking at me like that.   “I’m fine,” I smile, but I’m fooling no one.  “Jensen’s been great, really great, being here really helps,” I ramble, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.  I see them exchange glances out of the corner of my eye, obviously realising how unpleasant this conversation is for me.  I need a drink. 

“Well you guys look great together,” Jared offers, trying to change topic.  I grab onto it with both hands, swallowing hard to push away the bad feelings crawling up my oesophagus.  The remainder of my punch certainly helps to wash it all down. 

“I think he was starting to get a bit tired of being fifth wheel all the time,” Gen tells me in hushed tones, eyes twinkling as if it’s a secret she shouldn’t be sharing. 

Jensen makes his way back over to us, right on cue, childless but toga slightly askew. 

“Vikki’s getting them some colouring stuff,” he explains to Gen and Jared, jabbing his thumb backward over his shoulder as he does.  His eyes finally land on me and when he sees me sat with Shephard in my arms it does something funny to the look in his eyes; they widen slightly and then his whole expression seems to soften, a small smile growing across his face.  Something about it makes my stomach clench again, in a good way this time, smiling back at him. 

“When’s JJ comin’ up again Jen?” Jared asks, breaking the moment of… well, whatever it was… between Jensen and I. 

“Ma’s flying up with her tomorrow,” he answers, much to my surprise, coming to sit next to me on the bench.  He places his chin on my shoulder to look over at Shephard, his other hand resting lightly on my thigh that’s tucked under the table. 

“You never said,” I say quietly as Gen starts enthusing about us all getting together with the kids.  It’s not a problem by any means, but I would have thought he’d mention it.  He blinks and then looks at me, green shining in what’s left of the evening’s sunlight.  I can see his freckles when he’s this close, and all I want to do is press my lips to each and every one of them.  “Do you think she’ll like me?” I ask anxiously.  He smiles, huffing out a little laugh, hand on my thigh squeezing gently. 

“She’ll love you.”  He ghosts a quick kiss against my mouth, and when I open my eyes I see Jared and Gen beaming at us.  Jensen rolls his eyes as Jared flings his arms out wide, and suddenly we’re pulled into an over-enthusiastic hug that almost chokes us. 

“You guuuuuys!”

Chapter Text

Jensen and Genevieve were right; Jared is a terrible influence when it comes to alcohol, and so is Misha!  But he’s a fabulous host, and this is a fabulous party so I’ll forgive him, and ok, this time I’ll happily admit that I’m fried.  Fried and having a great time! 

There was this whole big gift giving ceremony where Misha opened all his presents and his kids helped, and that was so cute, and he loved the t-shirt from Jensen.  At that point I was sober enough to quietly threaten Jensen with violence if he decided to inform the whole room where he got his inspiration, and thankfully he’d kept his gorgeous mouth shut.  We sang happy birthday, we took that group photo of the six of us that Jensen kept harping on about, and then there were more celebratory birthday vodka shots and then cake! SO. MUCH. CAKE. 

Jensen had almost been back to normal earlier, affectionate and all talky, but it seems like the more I’ve had to drink and the more hilarious Misha has become, the more he’s acting like a jerk again.  It must be alcohol’s depressive effect or something. 

I love Misha, Misha’s so funny.  We totally have the same sense of humour; he’s quick and witty and makes silly puns and some of the things he comes out with are so filthy!   That’s after the kids are gone, of course, after the cake.  Gen’s gone home and Jared is even worse than before without his wife’s watchful eye to hold him back, and everywhere I turn I seem to run into those guys with some kind of liquor bottle.  In the corner Jensen will be rolling his eyes and I’ll just think, man, what’s his problem?!  And down the hatch it goes, because I’m cool like that, one of the guys, and I totally don’t flinch when they slap me on the back encouragingly. 

I’ve made more friends, Emily Swallow (Ha! Swallow!), she’s great!  And she’s had even more to drink than me! She’s gorgeous and my favourite new person and I tell her so, and that’s why I let her drag me across Misha’s lawn towards the bouncy castle, giggling all the way.

“Becca, Becca, come on, go go go go!” she laughs, pulling me along.  She clambers onto the bouncy castle, toga all in disarray and trying to pull me with her but I pull back. 

“Gotta take your shoes off,” I inform her, sounding serious, not one to forget important inflatable furniture rules.  I end up laughing though at the simplicity of kicking off my flip flops and then I’m climbing on after her, trying and failing to not trip over the end of my toga.  She snorts a laugh at me and then grabs my hands, helping me up to standing and then we’re both bouncing enthusiastically, squealing and giggling all the way. 

“To the music, to the music,” she says, still holding my hands.  It’s difficult to focus on her, she’s a blur of rebounding brown hair, but I try my best to do what the blur tells me.  It’s so hard to bounce along to the insistent thud of bass that’s coming from Misha’s living room.  It’s hard to co-ordinate myself at all, which is why I fall away from Emily and boing against one of the sides, sniggering, hands waving around wildly to try and catch myself. 

“You’re so hammered!” she laughs, right before she falls down with a ‘whoop!’, and I’m hysterical and pointing at the way she’s showing off her knickers to the empty garden.  Karma is a bitch though, because my next two bounces leave me feeling decidedly queasy and now I’m not so sure that this was a good idea…

“I gotta stop a minute,” I tell her, holding my tummy as she pulls herself up and trying my best to wobble off of the bouncy castle in the least bouncy way possible. 

“More bouncy castle for me!” she exclaims, resuming her bounding bounces.  Thankfully I’ve already managed to get off and I don’t bother trying to put my flip fops back on, all I focus on is trying to make it to that bench without throwing up along the way. 

I flop down onto the cool wood and let my head fall forward, hands gripping the seat, trying to collect myself.  No vomiting, no no no.  I lift my head, not sure if it’s been fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes that I’ve been sat staring at the grass, and spy Misha making his way over to me, a large grin on his face. 

“Ohhh… no, no, no,” I groan as he sits himself down next to me with a thud, “You’re not bringing me more booze are you?” 

“Naaw, I think you’ve had enough,” he says and I breathe a sigh of relief, a little too enthusiastically, because it makes my stomach lurch again.

“Is it that obvious?”  I ask, closing one eye to look at him because otherwise I can’t focus properly, everything is moving too much.  I really wish it would stop that.

“When you’re doing your best cyclops impression when you speak to people… yeah.”  I groan again.  So much for not making a duffus out of myself in front of all these new people.  I am going to feel soooo stupid tomorrow.  “Anyway,” he begins, sounding too happy to move onto the next topic, something that fills me with dread, “I was looking for you because I got told a couple of interesting things!” 

“Oh god… what interesting things would those be?”  I say from where my head is between my knees. 

“Well, one, I hear you have a cat named after me.”  Oh for god’s sake.  I lift up a finger, because I’m unable to lift my head. 

“Ok, technically, not you.  The cat is called Castiel not Misha, and I told Jensen that that was my mum and sister’s idea, not mine.”  I direct my raised finger at my own head, or at least I think I’m pointing at myself.  Misha laughs loudly.  I really should try sitting up again. 

“You wanna know what the second thing was?”  he asks, sounding thoroughly pleased with whatever he’s about to say.  I’m not sure I do.  I sit up slowly none the less, pausing to push my fringe out of my face.

“Sure, shoot, what is it?”  His eyes narrow, his expression gleeful, leaning forward toward me. 

Somebody has… allegedly, mind you… been having saucy dreams about yours truly.” 

Oh. My. God.  He told him.  Why would he tell him?!! An embarrassed squeak falls out of me before I can stuff it back in and now he’s laughing again, delighted by my horrified expression. 

“Why would he tell you about that?” I cry, my voice about five octaves higher than usual.  I shove my face into my hands, peering through my fingers, mortified, cheeks on fire.  I cannot believe he told him. 

“Hey, hey,” Misha consoles through laughter, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and jostling me lightly, “It’s alright, you’re only human after all.”  I grunt a reply.  I’m starting to feel a bit sick again, not sure if it’s the alcohol or the bouncing or the embarrassment.  “I just have one question… actually, no, two,” he says.  Why, why would he ask more questions?  “Was it… like… me and Jen, or Castiel and Dean?” 

“You and Jensen,” I answer quickly, just wanting to get this out of the way, “Why… why is that relevant?”  I finally look back at him, unable to resist finding his expression amusing.  He’s concentrating hard, like a detective trying to solve a puzzle. 

“I’m asking the questions,” he chastises.  Well, fine.  “Okay, secondly… was I good?”  His eyebrows raise suggestively, smiling impishly, and my face explodes into fire again.

You can’t ask me that!” I shout reprovingly, leaning back from him, shocked that he’d even go there.  I mean, yeah, it was amazing, but that is really beside the point.

“I’m just curious!” he exclaims innocently, palms turned upward to the dark sky, lifting his shoulders, “I need to know dream Misha is living up to my real-life prowess.  Otherwise we need to have words.”  I stare at him unbelievingly, expecting him to back down but he just waits patiently, grin fixed, eyes more of an ocean blue in this lighting.  “It’s my birthday,” he adds, nudging me. 

“Fine,” I relent, rolling my eyes, “You and I didn’t actually… do… much,” I say, trying not to encourage the images that are threatening to enter my mind by being as vague as possible, “But what you did do was very… masterful,” I finish, hoping he’ll be pleased with my choice of words.  The whoop he lets out indicates that he is indeed pleased with my grasp of adjectives, and he nudges me again. 

“Excellent, glad to hear it,” he chuckles.  Still can’t believe Jensen told him.  You know what…

“You know, if you really wanted feedback you’d be best to go to Jensen,” I say slyly.  Oh, the way Misha’s mouth pops open in surprise, eyes going wide, it all makes the inevitable backlash from this worth it.  “I mean you two… it was quite the show.”  I purposefully make it sound like more than it was, raising my eyebrows meaningfully. 

“Oh, you mean me and Jensen… Jensen and I?” I nod solemnly.  He laughs, rubbing his hands together with delight.  I think he’s going to love breaking this to Jensen even more than I did telling him.  “Do you ship it?” he asks suddenly, and I love him, I love this man.  He is so awesome

“I totally ship it.  Destiel, all the way, all the time.”  He pulls me into an unexpected hug, ruffling my hair and messing up my headband. 

“You smutty thing!” he cries, laughing.

“Misha! Shhh!” I giggle, leaning back and swatting at him.  “Just don’t tell Jensen!”

“Don’t tell me what?” Of course, of course it would be Jensen, standing right there with drink in hand having overheard me.  Yep… there’s the nausea again.  I look up at him guiltily and then back at Misha, and I suddenly realise what a compromising position this looks like.  One of Misha’s arms is still around my shoulder and both of my hands have settled on his leg; it’s only a gesture of drunken familiarity, nothing more than a friendly place to put my hands while he was hugging the hell out of me, but I can see from the way Jensen’s expression is blazing that it doesn’t look so friendly to him. 

“Was just giving your girl a hard time,” Misha smiles up at him, oblivious or uncaring that he looks mad.  I come to my senses, sobered a little, pulling away quickly from Misha and removing my hands but the damage is already done and Jensen is turning away from us, stalking back towards the house.  Misha says something but I’m not listening, too concerned with going after him and trying to fix this.

“Jen, Jensen,” I call, walking briskly after him and trying not to stumble.  My mind may be a little more clear-headed but my body is struggling to keep up.  He’s got his height on his side, his strides are far longer than mine, and by the time I’ve actually caught up we’re back inside the house.  Thankfully things are winding down and there aren’t many people still around to see me trailing after him anxiously.  He pauses at the alcohol buffet, placing down his tumbler and refilling, deliberately ignoring me.  I’m reaching out to touch his back, saying his name again, when he speaks up.

“I was comin’ out there to apologise, but now I don’t really feel like talkin’.”  He’s had a lot to drink too, his southern accent coming out more than ever, and he keeps his back turned while he speaks.  My mouth flounders, withdrawing my hand, and I don’t know what else to say other than his name again, softly.  He walks away from me, sipping from his tumbler.  Again I pursue him, this time more doggedly.

“Jensen, please, talk to me, come on,” I plead.  I grab his arm tightly and it stills him momentarily, the physical contact distracting him enough for me to pull at him, dragging him away from the communal room and into the downstairs bathroom.  I know he could have pulled away any time, so some part of him must want to make this right too.  The non-angry part. 

I push the door closed behind us, leaning my back against it, palms flat and look nervously at him.  He’s staring back, eyes cynical, jaw set tight, waiting for me to speak.

“What’s going on Jensen?”  I ask him cautiously.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he retorts, taking a sip of his drink.  This is going to be like pulling teeth, isn’t it?

“I think you’re acting like a dick because of something I had no control over.”  The words fall out of my mouth before my drunken brain has time to think about them, but oh well, they’re out there now. 

“So you have no control when it comes to throwin’ yourself all over my friends?”  he bites back.

“Throwing myself all over?!  Jensen he was just messing around!”  I take a step toward him, hands lifted in exasperation. 

“Yeah, I know how Misha ‘messes around’,” he scoffs, eyes sliding away from me, smiling darkly.  Wow, ok, not sure what he means by that but that’s something to file away and ask about later.  I sigh heavily, pulling off my headband and running a hand through my hair.

“Jensen… I know I had a dream about him but you-“

“It’s not about the dream,” he interjects wearily.

“Then what’s it about?” I persist, trying to stifle the agitation coursing through me.  This will all go so much better if one of us manages to not get angry.  He huffs, looking down into his drink and then back up to me.

“What if it’d been Misha with Gen that day?  Or Mark?  Or anyone else?”  I narrow my eyes at him, unbelieving that this is really what he’s working himself up over.  “Would any of ‘em have done?”  He looks away again, takes another big sip. 

“Jen… right from the start… didn’t I tell you I was a ‘Dean’ girl?”  I say softly, approaching him as one would a wounded animal.  He watches me, warily, unable to let his guard fall.  Gently, I place my hands on each of his forearms, trying to get him to lower that physical barrier between us.  “Your friends are great, they are, and I’m not gonna pretend that they aren’t.”  He’s looking down at me intently, absorbing every word I say.  “But no one in my whole life has done as much for me as you have.”  I see it sink in, I see him relax a little, and slowly, under the gentle rub of my thumbs, his arms lower, tumbler by his side.  “No one has made me feel the way you have,” I continue, moving into the personal space that he’s exposed. 

The air is thick, charged, and now that his anger is fading something else is heating up between us.  I look up at him from under my lashes, chewing at my bottom lip, and slowly, cautiously, place my hands onto the top of his chest.  I slide them up, along either side of his neck, up into his hair, and now his eyes have closed and a big breath comes whoosing out of him. 

“Jensen,” I say quietly, nothing else, just that.  His free hand slips around the small of my waist and he brings me to him, kissing me hard.  We’re drunk so it’s messy and it’s all tongues straight away but I’m so relieved, to be in his arms and be wanted by him.  “Still crazy about you,” I tell him between kisses, fingers tugging at his short hair, drawing him as close to me as I can. 

Vaguely I’m aware that he’s been drinking Jack and Coke and a nasty memory lurks in the back of my mind, one that I try my best to ignore, concentrating instead of the solidness of Jensen’s body against mine.  All at once I’m a strange mix of aroused and frightened and if anything it just makes me more desperate for him, wanting to be so overwhelmed with his physical presence that it pushes everything else away.

I step back, pulling him with me so that he’s pressing me against the bathroom door with an ‘umpf’ and then I’m all over him again, not wasting time with being coy, groping him through the material of his costume.

“You like me jerking your cock don’t you baby?” I ask, palming it and squeezing, dragging my lips and teeth over his neck.  A low sound rumbles in his throat in response.  I let go, grabbing his hands with mine, uncaring when his glass falls to the floor and the soles of my feet get wet with whisky, and I place them on my ass. It means that when I lift up one leg and hitch it over his hip he’s already supporting some of my weight, allowing me to grind myself against him. “Want you Jen,” I groan, “Want you now.” In between my lips leaving his neck and finding his mouth again I barely note the slightly panicked look in his eyes, the concern for me that’s there.  I need him, my Jensen, my warmth, my body running away with my mind.  I’m pulling at my costume, lifting it, pushing against him, a writhing mess of desire and barely controlled terror. 

“Fuck me, Jensen, I know you need this as much as I do, fuck me, please,” I beg, unashamedly.  My heart is beating wildly and I can’t breathe and all I can taste is Jack and Coke and I feel like I’m drowning in it and only he can save me. This is why when he tries to pull away I cling on frantically, “Please,” I plead, a manic edge to my voice. 

“Babydoll,” he murmurs, trying to prise himself away from me, gently pushing my leg from off of his hip and pulling my hands out from hair, encircling his hand around my wrists to try and calm me.  It only makes me struggle against him more, and I don’t know what I’m fighting – the feeling of being restrained too horribly familiar and I don’t know if I’m fighting to get to him or fighting to keep him away from me anymore.  “Becca, I’m not going to fuck you in the bathroom, not when you’re drunk, not when you’re like this,” he tells me, soft but firm. 

“Stop treating me like a fucking china doll!” I yell, right in his face, pulling my wrists from his grasp and pushing him away from me.  I’m weak so he barely moves an inch, but the fact that I’ve done it and that I’m yelling at him is enough for him to start looking mad again.  Well fuck it, I’m mad too.  I’m sick of him thinking he knows what’s best for me.  “What do you think’s gonna happen?  That I’ll break?!”

“If you want it that bad then go ask Misha!  Sure he’s got a spare bed up there somewhere!” he replies, not shouting but not far off.  He’s furious, chest heaving, eyes dark.  

“Oh my GOD!  Again?! Really?!” I cry, hands clenching by my sides because I feel like otherwise I’ll pull my hair out.  I’m frantic now, not turned on at all anymore, just overwhelmed by the darkness inside of me that’s swelling and swelling out of control. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit Hollywood insecurity Jensen!  If you hadn’t noticed I was raped, like, a week ago, so I think I have some bigger problems than your ego!” 

It’s like I’ve slapped him in the face with my words.  His mouth pops open, eyes widening in surprise, and all of a sudden all of the anger is gone.  That nausea is back, tenfold.  I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before… we all know what happened to me… but to say it out loud…

“Exactly,” he says, taking a step back toward me.  He reaches out gingerly, placing a hand on each of my upper arms and holding tight, “Exactly.  Becca… what happened to you… you don’t know what you want right now.”  I shake my head ferociously, not backing down, even though I’m know I’m crying and I can’t tell if I’m still angry or just sad anymore.  

“I know what I want,” I insist loudly, shaking his hands off of my arms, “I’m so sick of everyone thinking they know what’s best for me!  You, my mum… everyone out there, because somehow they all seem to know!”  I look at him accusingly to see guilt flashes in his beautiful eyes.  I know he’s seen people whispering about me just as much as I have. 

There’s a knock at the door and it startles us, both turning to look at it, argument abruptly interrupted. 

“You ok in there guys?”  Jared’s voice rings clearly through the wood of the door.  Jensen reaches around me, moving me to the side with his forearm to open the door, despite the fact that I really don’t want Jared to see us like this.  To see all the eyeliner that I’m sure is running down my face, the whisky split on the floor, Jensen’s hair in disarray from my desire and his frustration. 

Jared’s eyes quickly survey the scene as he stands there in the doorway and to give him credit he keeps a remarkable poker face, not letting any particular emotions show.  It makes me feel a little better, even though I’m standing there wiping my cheeks, one arm folded protectively around myself. 

“Can you take Becca home?”  Jensen asks him, sounding calmer now that his friend is here and deescalating the situation. 

“Jensen-“ I start, trying to disagree.  I don’t want to leave things like this with him tonight…                 

“No, Becca, please, just listen to me about this one thing and go home.” His expression is firm, no nonsense, and I feel like a reprimanded child.  There’s no warmth in him right now, just a tired, unhappy look.  I don’t continue to argue. 

“Come on,” Jared beckons gently when he returns with his long black coat for me to wear, slinging it around my shoulders.  I say nothing as he guides me from the bathroom, my whisky covered feet sticky on the tiles, too ashamed of myself to look Jensen in the eyes as I pass him. 

What the hell have I done? 

Chapter Text

They must have some sort of 24 hour service because a driver comes to pick up Jared and I almost immediately, the exact same model of car as Jensen’s, the same uniform black.  Jared and I don’t speak throughout the journey, he doesn’t comment when I start silently crying again, all he does is reach over and his large hand over mine for a second in a show of support.

What have I done?  We’re both drunk and he was already upset with me… what was I thinking pushing him so hard to have sex with me in a bathroom?  Inebriation mixed with that rising panic led me to cry out for something physically tangible and all-consuming to take all of it away, to otherwise occupy my thoughts.  Still, thinking about how I acted and the things that I said… it makes me physically cringe.  There was no excuse for my behaviour.  I hope Jensen knows that I realise that. 

Granted, he over-reacted about the whole Misha incident, but then I don’t think he’s the only one that can be accused of that this evening.  I probably would have felt the same jealousy if I’d thought he was flirting with one of my friends, someone I knew he’d dreamt about.  Why couldn’t I have just talked to him?  That was working, we were ok until we started kissing and I tasted that Jack and Coke and all those memories of Lewis just came…

“You ok?” Jared asks quickly when he sees me wretch, hand clutching my stomach.  The thought of Lewis, hand tight around the back of my neck, forcing his tongue into my mouth comes flashing back along with the taste of whisky, and I wretch again.  I hear the driver ask if we should pull over in a nervous voice.  “Yeah, we’ll walk the rest, fresh air’ll do us good.”  Jared’s leaning over me, unbuckling my seatbelt as my hand gropes for the door handle, unable to stop the dry heaving wracking my body. 

As soon as we pull to a stop I launch myself out and promptly throw up the entirety of the night into a nearby hedge, cake and all. My eyes and throat burn, tears streaming down my face, as it just keeps coming and coming and for a second I don’t think it’ll ever stop, Lewis’ face grinning at me behind my eyelids.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so humiliated in my life.  Jared stands over me, gently rubbing my back, and it just makes me cry all the more.  I’m glad that this time I can pretend that it’s the vomiting making me cry.  What a way to meet one of your idols; I’m more of a mess than I thought. 

“S’not just the alcohol is it?” Jared asks when I’ve finished.  He’s remarkably astute for someone that still looks a bit tipsy, though certainly more sober after being entrusted with babysitting yours truly. 

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, shaking my head from where I’m leaning over the floor.  I spit, trying to clear the last out of my mouth, feeling the nausea recede leaving behind a burning shame, right in the pit of my stomach.

“Don’t apologise,” he insists, “We’ve all been there.”  No, Jared, I don’t think you have, and I’m very glad of it.  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.  A few moments of silence pass while I try to figure out whether or not to trust my delicate stomach.

“I think I’m ok,” I tell him cautiously, slowly straightening up and pulling his coat closer around my shoulders.  God, I hope I wasn’t sick on his coat.  I smile sheepishly up at him as he towers over me, his ever-changing eyes currently brown in the darkness.  At least from down here they look brown anyway.  He smiles back, a little pitying really, and then looks down at my bare feet. 

“Didn’t know you didn’t have your shoes,” he says and then all of a sudden he’s turning around and squatting slightly, holding his arms out as if to say ‘climb on board’.  “Hop on.”

“No, Jared, it’s ok, really,” I say, shaking my head.  All of this has been embarrassing enough, without adding him carrying me home to the list. 

“Becca, you’re either getting on my back or I’m carryin' you the same way I carry Shepherd,” he threatens, voice lilting with amusement.  Despite my bleak mood I end up smiling a little at the flat expanse of his back. 

“Fine,” I sigh, and then spend the next couple of minutes trying to climb on, no easy feat in a dress.  I end up having to hitch it up around my thighs to get my legs wide enough to clamp around his torso and then I hold on for dear life as he rises to his full height, as if I weigh nothing at all.  “Balls this is high!” I cry out as he straightens up, promptly getting a mouthful of his long hair.  He laughs as I splutter it out, starting to move.

“Welcome to my world shortstop.”  I have to shut my eyes for a little while, not speaking, fearful that I might throw up again as I get used to Jared’s wide gait, the playful bounce in his step.  We must look ridiculous both donned in togas, Jared’s coat billowing out behind us from my shoulders like a cape in the breeze. 

“Jensen’s a pretty forgiving guy you know,” he tells me after a few moments of silence.  The streets are empty, something I’m thankful for.  I smile wryly at the back of his head.

“You don’t know what we said to each other,” I reply, feeling doubtful that this will all blow over that easily. 

“I don’t need to,” he insists.  He has to adjust his hold, bouncing me up slightly and rearranging the grip he has behind my knees, “I know Jensen and I know that way he looks at you.”  I stay silent, listening to the sound of his footsteps against the pavement.  “He’s only looked at 4 women like that.”  Four?!  Jared must feel me stiffen because he chuckles softly and then elaborates, “His ma, JJ, Danneel, and you, Bec.”  His words send a short wave of happiness through me, that is, before I remember his expression as I was leaving.  He didn’t even look mad anymore, just sad and disappointed. I think that might be worse.

“I don’t know if he’ll still look at me like that after tonight.  He was pissed at me all night and I just made it even worse,” I confess, sounding doubtful as I share my anxieties with him.   

“Jackles is a difficult guy,” he huffs, sounding as if he’s had his own fair share of run ins with Jensen’s moods.  “He was still talking you up to anyone who’d listen, pissy face or not.” 

“Really?” I ask hopefully. 

“Absolutely.  It was unbearable.”  I can hear his smile even though I can’t see it.  I wrap my arms around his neck and hug the back of his head, pressing my cheek to his hair.   “He can be grumpy and stubborn… and he doesn’t look it but I think underneath it all he’s pretty insecure.  But he’s one of the best, most loyal guys I know.  Just gotta give him time.”  I keep my arms around his neck, more comfortable that way, and feel a smile grow across my face.

“You really love him huh?” I say, my tone mildly teasing. 

“He’s my brother.”  The bond between these guys really is something special, beyond bromance.  I guess after all this time they may as well be family, after all, it doesn’t just end with blood. 

We fall into a comfortable silence, Jared keeping a steady pace, and soon we’re at Jensen’s front door.  He squats so I can slide off his back non-to gracefully and then he fishes his keys out of his pocket and opens up the front door.  It doesn’t surprise me whatsoever that Jared has a spare key. 

“Think you can make it up the stairs?” he checks, making fun, those dimples creasing in his cheeks as he smiles.

“I think so,” I smile back, pulling an embarrassed face and running my hand through my fringe.  It’s a good job I missed that when I was vomiting too.  I suddenly realise I’m still wearing his coat so I shrug it off and offer it back.  “Thanks Jared, for everything.”  He nods humbly and takes back his coat. “I’ve always wanted to ride a moose,” I add cheekily and it makes us both laugh.  

“It’ll get better y’know,” he says finally when our laughter has died. 

“Always keep fighting huh?”  He looks pleased at my obvious reference, nodding.

“Exactly.” He turns to leave down the path and as I watch him go I impulsively call after him.

 “Are you going back to the party?”

“Probably,” he calls back from afar, toga swooshing around his calves as he walks. 

“Tell Jensen I’m sorry!”

Later, in the early hours of the morning when Jensen finally returns home he’s apprehensive to see what he’ll find.  Part of him wonders if Becca will be sat there waiting, suitcase packed, asking to go home, unwilling to forgive the things they’ve said to each other.  He knows he’s acted like a jerk, letting the whisky go to his head and colour his view, and somehow he hadn’t believed Jared when he’d come back to the party and told him how remorseful she was.  It was just like Jared to try to soften the blow and smooth things over. 

He’d done the right thing, he’s sure of it, refusing to sleep with her when she’d practically begged him.  There was something off, and it wasn’t just the slurring of her words that had put him on edge.  She’d seemed completely out of control, manic.  No, it wouldn’t have been right.  There was something else driving her at that moment, something other than desire.  He regrets the way he’d handled it though, the presumptions he’d made about her and Misha.  He should be happy about how well she’d fit in with his friends, how they’d instantly embraced her as one of their own and included her in everything.  Seeing her sat there holding Shepherd had revealed a powerful ache in him he hadn’t even known was there. 

He’s relieved when he enters his bedroom and finds her there in his bed, tucked right under the covers, looking so small.  She must have just collapsed into bed; her clothes are in a pile on the floor next to her side and there’s still make up on her pretty face – albeit a little smeared around her eyes.  It makes him sigh when he remembers the tears that caused all that eyeliner to smudge.  She looks peaceful at least, unconcerned with the night’s events for now. 

He gets ready for bed quickly, making sure to drink a large amount of water after brushing his teeth.  He can’t quite get away without hangovers the way he used to, and he knows JJ won’t be considerate when it comes to volume when he picks her up.  He can’t wait to see her, knowing he’ll relish every second with her that she’s here, and if he’s being honest he’s looking forward to seeing how Becca is with her.  If his instinct is right then she’ll be a natural. 

When it comes to getting into bed he hesitates a little, wary that Becca might not want him there, but when he decides to take a chance it pays off; as soon as he slides under the covers, naked but his boxers, she stirs and reflexively moves closer. 

“Hi babydoll,” he whispers, extending his arm as an offering, one she immediately takes.  She’s half asleep still he realises, not opening her eyes, just making small noises as she snuggles into him, and it takes him by surprise when he discovers she’s completely naked, bare skin pressed flush against his side.  He swallows hard and curls his arm around her, determined to ignore the urge to peek under the covers at her. 

“’Mmsorry,” she murmurs against his chest, slinging an arm over his stomach, “Sorry…” 

“Shhh.” He places a gentle kiss on the top of her head.  Apologies aren’t really necessary, they both acted stupidly tonight.

“Love you,” she mumbles quietly, nuzzling into his chest and getting comfy against him, eyes still shut tight.  Jensen feels like his heart stops as he hears those words, freezing still, eyes wide, and then it’s thundering against his ribcage.  Does she realise what she just said?  How asleep is she?  Maybe more importantly, how drunk?  He looks down at her, this girl that just happened to stumble on into his life, heart on her sleeve and all easy smiles, and wonders how she came to mean so much to him; her small and delicate features, the curve of her jaw, the nearly childlike size of her hands that are pressed to his skin.  He can’t imagine life without her now and that itself is frightening.  Could he really stand it if he lost someone else they way he’d lost Danneel?  He’s not sure his heart would take it.

But as he feels the love pounding away in his chest he knows it’s too late, willing or not she’s already found her way in without even really trying at all.  He presses his lips to her head again.  He’ll wait, and when she says it again, awake and sober, he knows he’ll be more than ready to reply in kind. 

“Ohhh my gooooood,” I groan into the pillow.  Stop, stop it, oh god.  My phone is going crazy on the bedside table, vibrating and vibrating and it feels like it’s going straight through to my brain.  ‘Like shit’ doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel, and I’ve only just woken up.  I throw out a hand, groping blindly for it and press to answer the call without looking at the number, bringing it to my ear, still face down in the pillow. 

“FINALLY!” Steph’s voice comes yelling down the phone and I yank it away from my ear, cringing as it goes right through me.  Why can’t people use their indoor voices?  I tilt my head to the side just enough so that I can get my words out. 

“Ok… FYI… I’m really, horrendously, hungover.  Please, please calm whatever is getting your tits all out of shape,” I tell her, trying not to sound too pissy.  It’s not her fault that I practically inhaled a whole bottle of vodka.  

“Are you seriously telling me you don’t know what I’m calling about?!” she says exasperatedly, managing to keep her voice quiet but hissing it out.

“I have no idea what time it is, and I’ve been practically comatose for what I presume is several hours.  Please enlighten me,” I say patiently.  It’s obviously something important to have her in this much of a hissy fit. 

“You’ve, like, broken social media.” Say what? What the hell is she going on about?  “Or at least, all the parts that involve Jensen’s twitter and the photo he posted this morning.”  This morning?  She must mean last night for me. 

“What photo?” I ask warily, finally managing to pull apart my eyelids and squinting in the sunlight.  Damn these big windows.  He better not have taken some horrendously embarrassing photo of me drunken and drooling or something. 

“Oh, just the one where it looks like you’re on some bizarre triple date with Jared and Misha and their wives!”  Her voice is unacceptably shrill again, but I kind of understand why.  I’m surprised he’s put it there, especially after what happened last night.  It’s like he’s announced us to the whole world.  My heart starts fluttering wildly in my chest, now wide awake, desperate to look and see myself.  “What the heck was with the weird costumes by the way?” she asks as a side note.  I sit myself up bed, clutching my forehead as I do.  I’ve got a wicked headache already. 

“It was Misha’s birthday party,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

“I hate you,” she huffs, obviously seething with jealously.  I don’t blame her, if this was the other way around I’d be so jealous I’d probably have a fit.  “You marry him, you hear me, you marry him so I’m his sister-in-law and I get to meet everyone too.”  I end up laughing, even though it hurts me.

“I’ll do my best,” I say, smiling. 

“How is everything there anyway?  Mum’s going crazy, you need to call her more.” 

“It’s really beautiful here Steph, you’d love it.  Things have been…” I hesitate, mind drifting back to last night, and it’s only then that I notice that Jensen isn’t beside me, “Things are pretty great.”  Maybe things aren’t so great at all, maybe he didn’t even come home last night.  She starts telling me something or other, something about our grandmother, but I’m distracted by the little note that I spot on Jensen’s pillow.  I pick it up, making ‘uh huh’ noises back at her.

‘Gone to pick up JJ from airport.  Be back soon. J xxx’.  I unfold it the little flap at the bottom and inside is a PS note – ‘PS. Was relieved you were happy when I came home’

I don’t even remember him coming home at all, but his side of the bed does look slept in.  I’m suddenly very aware that I’m naked.  Please don’t say that we finally had sex again and I don’t even remember it.  No, he wouldn’t have done that, not after what happened at Misha’s.  The note is sweet though… maybe things aren’t as bad between us as I’ve imagined? 

“But yeah, please call mum soon.  I know you’re like busy now with all your famous friends and stuff but she’s making my life unbearable.”  I tune in just in time to give a meaningful response. 

“Yeah, I will, sorry,” I promise her. 

“Anyway, I better go, gotta get to bed.  But look on Twitter, you’ll see what I mean.  The fan-girls have gone crazy trying to figure out who you are, mystery girl.”  I can practically see her grin through the phone and I feel a pang of homesickness in my stomach as I imagine her face.  I do miss her, and my mum, as awkward as they are sometimes.

“Sleep tight.”


As soon as I disconnect the call I’m logging onto twitter and seeking out this picture.  I load up Jensen’s page and right there, his most recent post, is a large picture of the six of us. 

‘Happy Birthday old man @mishacollins crazy night. #TOGA #favoritepeople #thisgirl’. I remember the picture, we’d taken it just after Misha had opened his presents – the three guys sat on the sofa, us ladies kneeling on the floor in front of them, all grinning inanely with drinks in hand. It’s clear from the pose that we’re all coupled up, and boy, Steph was right when she said twitter has exploded. 

There’s so much confusion, so many people wondering who the hell I am that the SPN family is practically arranging a search mission to identify me.  Christ, I’m even trending as #mysteriousgirl. This is just insane.  I have to put my phone down in the end, the tweets are endless and it’s making my headache even worse.  I need to get up and do something to start combatting this hangover. 

I decide on taking a shower first, that seems like a good place to start, but moving makes me feel nauseous.  Nonetheless I take it slowly, shuffling my way into the en suite bathroom, determined to be at least semi-alive by the time Jensen returns home with his daughter.  I raid Jensen’s bathroom cabinet, relieved to find an array of medication.  Tylenol and Advil; I take both for good measure, washed down with a copious amount of cold water straight from the tap.  There, hopefully that’ll start working soon. 

I hop in the shower as quickly as I can manage, relieved to find that the warm water helps soothe my head too. I hope that that note means things will be ok between Jensen than me.  Although I don’t remember Jensen coming home I unfortunately remember everything before it, all the fight, the things we said, the way he looked at me.  I need to talk to him properly about it, to really apologise for my behaviour, but I guess with JJ here it won’t really be an appropriate time.  I can only hope that having her here will put him in a good mood and that maybe I can make all of this up to him.

I can start with breakfast. 

Chapter Text

Pancakes; they’re a good way to go right?  An easy finger food for Justice to handle and I already know Jensen likes them – he stole plenty of mine when he took me for breakfast.  I certainly hope I’ve chosen wisely anyway, it’s too late now, almost elbow deep in pancake batter.  There’s flour and egg white goop all over the counter tops and I’m trying to work two frying pans at once for the sake of speed; something that probably isn’t a good choice considering how muzzy my head is.  It’s an accident waiting to happen, really.  I need more Advil as soon as possible. 

I’m almost done when I hear the front door open, a sound that kicks up the nervous butterflies in my stomach.  Please let us be ok, please.  I can hear Jensen talking out loud but can’t make out the words at first, trying instead to sense his tone, which is difficult when his voice is so low and growly all the time anyway.  And then the dogs are barking, always overjoyed to see him, so it’s officially impossible.  I give up, resigning myself to finishing the pancakes instead, waiting for him to come find me. 

“Here we go,” I hear Jensen say, sounding like he’s straining with something in the living room next door.

“Doggy! Ick!” That can only be Justice, high pitched and enthusiastic and Jensen’s laugh comes drifting through the open kitchen door as I flip a pancake, smiling down at the pan.  She carries on, Ick, Ick, Ick, and he’s barking at the attention. 

“What’s cooking JJ?  Shall we go see?”  he asks her, and now there’s a fresh new swarm of butterflies stirring up a tornado in my tummy.  He enters the kitchen just as I’m sliding a finished pancake onto the plate keeping warm under the grill and when I turn around our eyes instantly meet.  There’s a split second where it’s like we’re assessing one another, a whole conversation spoken instantaneously between our gaze, testing the waters.  Are you ok?  Are we ok?  I smile, just a little, sheepishly.  It feels like a ten tonne weight has been lifted from my chest when he smiles back, the corners of his mouth creasing his cheeks.  We’re ok. 

It’s only then that I take in anything more than his insistently gorgeous face.  My gaze slides over to the angel perched on his hip with tawny coloured hair, some of it pulled into a scrunchie right on the top of her head and the rest hanging just below her ears.  It’s like looking at a mini-Jensen, everything his apart from her nose, right down to the startling green eyes that are now staring back at me uncertainly.  She really is a beautiful child. 

“Hi JJ,” I greet cheerfully, determined to not let my hangover get the better of me, fetching knives and forks from the cutlery drawer.  “I’ve made you and daddy some pancakes for breakfast.”  I realise that it’s probably way past breakfast time by now if Steph was already heading to bed when we spoke. “A late breakfast,” I embarrassedly add, glancing at Jensen. 

“Dada,” she mumbles, one finger in her mouth, looking to him for reassurance.

“Looks delicious huh babygirl?”  he smiles, bouncing her lightly on his hip.  I almost falter a little when I hear his term of endearment, initially mistaking it for the ‘babydoll’ he reserves for me.  I’m glad that I get a pet name so similar to his daughter… that must make me pretty special right?  He leaves me to finish dishing up, grabbing some plastic contraption from a cupboard that straps onto one of his dining room chairs to convert it into a highchair for JJ and promptly slots her into it as she babbles. 

“Are pancakes ok for Justice?” I check with him as he approaches me.

“Yeah yeah,” he confirms, opening up a drawer and pulling a plastic bib for her and a mini knife and fork, “Just plain though, no syrupy stuff.” 

“Ok.”  I breathe out a sigh of relief, lifting his plate and mine from the counter top in each hand.  “Jen, I’m really, really sorry about last night.”  The words slip out before I can help myself.  I hadn’t even intended to bring it up, at least not so soon anyway, but I’ve been imagining apologising to him all morning.  “I-“

He quickly steps into between the two plates, into my personal space, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth to effectively silence me.  Oh.  I don’t get time to even shut my eyes before he kisses me, but it’s over quickly, and when he pulls away he’s grinning at my slightly shocked expression. 

“I’m sorry too,” he apologises, sounding sincere.  “Let’s eat.”  He turns and heads back to JJ who is now smacking her hands against the plastic tray. 

Was that it?  All that worrying and that was it?  It’s almost a little anti-climactic, although I’m not complaining. 

“Dada,” JJ squeals happily as he puts her bib on, despite the fact she’s squirming in a way that vaguely reminds me of when he was trying to put the lead on Icarus.  I probably shouldn’t tell Jensen that I’m comparing his daughter to a dog right now.  I plonk Jensen’s plate down on one side of JJ and my own on the other, seeing as she’s been made head of the table, and sit myself down, smiling at her.  I can tell she’s still a little unsure of me but she smiles back none the less, now gripping her cutlery upside down in each hand. 

“Here you go,” Jensen says to her, placing a tube of pancake that he’d rolled up from one of his own and torn in half onto her tray.  He patiently corrects her grip on her cutlery, a fruitless endeavour because she then immediately drops the fork and picks up the pancake in her left fist and shoves the end in her mouth.  It doesn’t matter how many toddlers I watch eat, I still get worried that they’ll choke themselves with finger food. 

“At least she likes it,” I comment as she sucks happily on it, wide eyes flicking between Jensen and I.  “Looks like she’s gonna be left handed too.”  I nod towards her using her left hand as the dominant one and Jensen smiles a little, picking up the maple syrup I’d already put on the table. 

“Y’know I’d really call these more crepes than pancakes,” he comments, squirting some over the top.  I roll my eyes as he picks up his knife and fork. 

“Well let’s just say I’m continuing your education in European cuisine.”  I take the maple syrup for myself.  “And if you don’t like it, you can start doing all the cooking,” I finish with a grin, knowing that he won’t argue the point any further.  Nope, he just smiles back as he posts food into his mouth and works his jaw enthusiastically.  JJ is otherwise preoccupied, pulling a soggy piece out of her mouth, inspecting it, and then putting it back in. 

I look down at my own plate, cutlery in hand, and as I inhale the aroma of maple syrup my stomach takes a sudden and unexpectedly unpleasant turn.  Oh, oh dear.  Here comes the hangover nausea.  I’m not sure I can even eat this anymore.  The melancholy at not being able to eat a breakfast I usually love must show on my face. 

“You ok?”  Jensen checks softly.  He looks worried so maybe he thinks that last night is still bothering me.  I pull an embarrassed face, one hand placed against my unsettled stomach.

“My tummy is still a little funny,” I confess.  He exhales a gust of a laugh that’s mostly air, digging into his breakfast and making me jealous that he seems so unaffected by all that whisky.  I guess he must have more practice than me. 

“I can’t say I’m really surprised,” he says with a smile.  No kidding. 

“You weren’t joking about those guys being bad influences,” I say, looking down longingly at my plate.  Maybe if I just take it slowly…

“You were the one that was all ‘bring it on Moose!’”  He waves a piece of pancake around on the end of his fork whilst he talks and I cringe.  “’Misha, let’s find a liquor store and drink it!’”  I groan, putting my face in my hands.  “You know, it was almost impressive how many quotes you managed to get out in just one evening.”  I must have sounded like such a lunatic… why did I drink so much? 

“Uh-oh,” comes JJ’s voice, interrupting my rampant self-loathing and I look through my fingers to see her gazing at a piece of pancake that she’s dropped on the floor. 

“Uh-oh,” I repeat.  I roll up one of mine and pass it to her.  Someone may as well enjoy it.  “There you go sweetie,” I smile.  It goes straight into her mouth again.  “Mmm, nom nom nom,” I say in a voice reminiscent of the cookie monster, smacking my lips and she giggles, showing off a mouth full of pancake.  Jensen chuckles and when I look back at him he’s regarding us affectionately, my cheeks flushing warm.  “Did everyone think I was a total geek?”  I ask him, although I’m not sure I really want to know the answer.

“Actually it came across as oddly charming,” he reassures, looking as confused by that statement as I am.  Since when did acting like a dufuss become an appealing characteristic?  “I guess it’s a good job you’re pretty huh?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure it was my winning smile that saved me,” I retort dryly, picking apart my remaining pancake.

“Hey, who said anythin’ about your smile?  It’s all in your ass baby,” he says with that award winning shit-eating grin. 

“Oh, is that what Jared tells you right before he bends you over?” I quip back, forgetting our audience.  Jensen looks scandalised, mouth open wide and putting his hands over JJ’s ears, but he still ends up dissolving into laughter.

“You’ve been readin’ too much of that Wincest stuff,” he chortles, relinquishing his hold on the confused JJ, “And no, we are not talking about that.”  He must see my excited expression and decide to nip it in the bud right there, “Or the Destiel thing.  Yes, Misha told me.”  He looks pointedly at me, eyebrows raised.  I just grin guiltily back at him, wishing I could have been a fly on the wall when that information was divulged. 

“Technically… that would’ve been Cockles,” I correct him.  I finally decide to brave a piece of pancake, depositing it in my mouth delicately.

“Jesus Christ,” Jensen mutters, elbow on the table and rubbing his forehead in disbelief.  Still smiling though.  Ok, so far so good, chewing is going well.  “You know the worst thing is I can’t even pretend like I didn’t know these things about you when we started dating.” 

“Yup,” I agree, swallowing.  Huh, maybe I can eat this after all, “Eyes wide open baby.” 

My breakfast thankfully decides to stay down and actually I end up feeling a little better for it.  Obviously left feeling somewhat devil-may-care from my pancake gamble paying off I end up convincing Jensen that it’ll be a good idea to do some painting with JJ in the garden but now, as I run over his lawn trying to stop JJ from rubbing her paint covered hands all over a terrified Oscar, I’m slightly regretting that idea. 

Jensen has kept well out of it, observing amusedly from a distance as I stripped her off down to her diaper and let her go crazy over an expanse of paper that I laid out over the lawn.  There are mutli-coloured handprints and footprints all over the place, big and small, because of course I had to join in with her too with my jeans rolled up to my knees, paint smears up my arms.  In fact, I’m pretty sure this t-shirt is effectively ruined; I’d forgotten how handsy toddlers can get. 

“No no no, JJ, sweetie, don’t eat it,” I say quickly, running after her. “Yuck! Yucky!”

“Goggy, goggy!” she’s calling, words obscured by her paint covered fingers shoved in her mouth, lips stained blue.  I see Jensen peer at us over the top of his book; some sort of spy novel or something I think.  Glad he’s having such a relaxing time…

“It’s non-toxic!” I call over at him reassuringly as I catch up to her, lifting her up off the ground and trying to pry her hand from her mouth.  Much to my dismay she starts to grizzle, arching her back like a banana in an effort to escape my grasp.  We’d been having such a good time! 

“Noooo!!” she yells.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” I plead, trying to make sure I don’t drop her and bounce her soothingly at the same time. 

Jensen rises from his recliner, leaving his book open but face down, and pulls off his t-shirt in one smooth movement.  It still makes my heart flutter like crazy seeing him half naked, even though it’s for no other reason than being able to hold JJ without ruining his clothes too. 

“Hey, missy, come on,” he scolds gently, opening up his arms to take her.

“Sorry,” I say with a grimace, loud enough for him to hear over JJ’s persist squealing as I pass her over to him.

“Don’t worry, it’s nap time, she’s just gettin’ cranky,” he assures me.  As soon as she’s in Jensen’s arms she stills, shoving her thumb in her mouth and leaning her head on his shoulder, eyes tired and puffy.  I try not to take it personally, after all, being embraced by him has much the same effect on me.  “We’ll get you in the tub and off to bed yeah?” he asks her, as if she’s going to give some eloquent reply.  She just stares up at him with identical eyes. 

“I’m gonna get cleaned up too,” I tell him as I follow after him towards the house.  It’s a good job it’s all wooden flooring inside so that it can be wiped clean; I’m pretty sure I’m going to be leaving some dirty footprints behind me. 

“She’s all funned out,” he smiles as we climb the stairs.  I look over my shoulder and smile back.

“I had fun too.”  We split way at the top of the stairs with a promise that I’ll join them in a minute.  I clean myself up briskly in the bathroom, covering a face cloth with paint that doesn’t quite wash out as I wipe my extremities and then change my clothes too.  Nothing fancy, just a comfy pair of flannel shorts and a vest with thin straps; it’s warm again today. 

I check my phone before I leave my room and notice that there’s a voicemail waiting for me.  I call it, curious and a woman’s voice rings through the phone.  It’s my Lawyer. 

“Hi Becca, it’s Rose.  I was just calling to inform you that unfortunately Mr Taylor has been granted bail. As he’s a first time offender and the magistrates were reassured by your being overseas they felt this was appropriate pending a court hearing in two weeks.  Give me a call soon, we need to put arrangements in place for you to be able to give witness if he pleads not guilty.” 

I feel my breath catch in my throat… they want me to be there?  I can’t… I can’t go and sit there looking at his evil face, that cold smile.  She leaves her phone number again, wishes me well, and that’s the end of the message.  I’m barely focused on it though, I’m concentrating more on trying to keep my breathing even, on trying not to panic.  It’s alright, I tell myself, two weeks is a long time to prepare, and he might not even deny the charges.  Maybe I won’t have to even make an appearance at all.  As my heartbeat races though I have a sinking feeling that that won’t be the case, I know him too well to think he’d just go down without a fight. 

I put down my phone on the bedside table roughly, wanting to get it far away from me, and rise from the bed.  I should just go help Jensen with JJ.  There’s nothing I can do about this, and worrying won’t help.  Wow, anxiety and a hangover, this feels great.  I rub my neck nervously all the way to Jensen’s en suite bathroom, only stopping when I hear JJ’s voice coming from behind the door.  She sounds happy enough again now.

“Quack quack!” she exclaims, and then there’s a sound of splashing.  I take a deep breath that shakes slightly as it tumbles back out of me, and then enter the bathroom.

“That’s right, that’s a yellow ducky, and a blue ducky, a green one.”  Jensen is leaning over the bath, one hand keeping JJ sitting upright, the other pointing out an assortment of plastic ducks that are floating in amongst bath bubbles.  He glances round at me with a smile as I sit myself on the closed toilet lid, folding my hands in my lap just in case they’re quivering.  JJ splashes wildly and Jensen automatically leans back, closing his eyes to avoid getting soaked.  When he opens them he’s looking at me again, now concerned.  “What’s happened?”  My eyes flicker between Jensen and JJ, not wanting to get upset in front of her but she’s not paying any attention to us, preoccupied with her toys.   

“Lewis was granted bail.”

“What?” he says sharply, causing JJ to look up, a little alarmed by his harsh tone.  He rubs her back soothingly, smiling falsely down at her until she goes back to her ducks.

“Something about it being his first offence and me being over here…” I trail off with a shrug, trying hard not to let it affect me, which is hard when Jensen is clearly not adopting the same tactic.  He looks pretty damn pissed, actually. 

“That’s bull-“ He glances down at JJ. “That’s BS, is what that is.”  I shrug again, helplessly. 

“My lawyer wants to speak to me about being at the trial, too.”  Just the thought of it makes me quake again, my insides turning topsy-turvey.  Jensen looks away in disgust, shaking his head briskly. 

“No, no way, over my dead body,” he says brusquely.  He lifts the sponge out of the bath and starts washing JJ’s back, a red blush of annoyance colouring his jawline. JJ’s remarkably placid as he cleans the paint from every nook and cranny, either too tired to care or a big fan of bath time.  I just watch on in silence.

“Mmpff, stop,” JJ moans when he washes her face, pushing the sponge away, her nose all creased up in displeasure. 

“Need to get it all off babygirl,” he tells her patiently, doing it again, “Becca got you all messy didn’t she?”

“Becca,” she repeats with a smile, looking up at me as Jensen relents with the sponge, and despite all the worries churning around in my stomach I feel a replying smile grow on my face.  Jensen grins too, looking back and forth between us as I raise a hand and give her a wave from my toilet seat. 

“You’ve made a friend,” he appraises, eyes sparkling at me.  It looks like it means a lot to him, and it would mean a lot to me too to be able to start building the foundations of a good relationship with her.  Especially if things with Jensen and I work out in the long run.  I try not to think about the very real prospect that it might not; any relationship is vulnerable to the realities of life, nevermind a relationship with a famous actor.   

“I hope so.”  I think it’s not just JJ liking me that I’m hoping about, it’s a hope that everything I’ve come to depend upon in the last month will become a permanent fixture.  At first meeting Jensen was like a wonderful dream and now he’s so much more than that; he’s not just a beautiful stranger but as important to me as the very air I breathe.  I always have had a flair for the dramatic…

Chapter Text

“Well that was fun,” Jensen huffs as he thuds onto the bed heavily, worn out from the battle to get Justice to settle down for a nap, looking deflated.  I plonk my book on the bedside table now that he’s here and turn onto my side to face him, propping myself with my elbow.  He looks troubled, brows pulled down into a frown, chewing on the inside of his cheek, arms folded across his chest.  Instinctively I reach out and squeeze reassuringly on his thigh, wondering what’s bothering him and obviously wanting to help.  “Is it me?” he asks after a moment, eyes staring off into space. 

“Is what you?” I ask, confused.  He looks over at me and sighs.

“With JJ.  She doesn’t scream like that with my mom.”  Here’s that insecurity flaring up again, just like Jared said, Jensen’s self-doubt getting the better of him.  “I know I don’t see her enough but-“

“Hey,” I interrupt him, not letting his mind run too far down the road of blaming himself.  I sit myself up, body twisted to face him, and take a firm hold of his cheeks so that his face is squished and his lips are puckered.  I turn his face to look at my own, smiling at him.  “No toddler likes being made to take a nap.  They always think they’re gonna miss out on something fun.”  I release his face and tilt my head so it rests against the wall behind the bed.  “Besides, your mum has had more practice with you and you brother and sister.  Bet you guys screamed like that for her too.” 

“Joshua and Mackenzie maybe.  I was the golden boy,” he replies with a small smile, his bad mood starting to crack with a little help from yours truly.   

“Of course you were sweetie,” I coo, just ever so slightly condescending but in a playful way, thumbing his cheek briefly.  His smile grows, taking hold of my hand and lowering it onto the bed between us, slotting his fingers between mine.  We lean in, almost simultaneously, and brush our lips together for a blissful movement, leaving our faces close when we move away.

“I was worried you’d want to leave,” he confesses, frowning a little again, and I know instantly that he’s referring to last night. 

“It was mostly my fault Jen,” I tell him and sigh, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have… shoved you the way I did.  You were just trying to take care of me.”  If there’s anything I regret most about last night it was laying my hands on him in that way.  The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile.

“I’m a big boy Becca,” he reassures me.  I shake my head, frowning.

“That’s not that point.  Me being the weaker party doesn’t make what I did any better.”  It’s true.  If I’d have been stronger and lashed out like that I could have hurt him, and I wouldn’t have ever forgiven myself.

“I forgive you, then,” he says softly, “I know you and Misha didn’t mean any harm.”  At his mention of his friend I suddenly recall what he said about Misha and ‘messing around’ and my curiosity peaks.  I lean back slightly, leaving my hand where it is, resting on his lower stomach. 

“What did you mean last night about Misha ‘messing around’?” I ask and I see several emotions flit over Jensen’s face; surprise, guilt, and then an attempt at a poker face. 

“I was just being a jerk,” he says dismissively, but when I raise an eyebrow at him he sighs heavily.  “Ok, but I’m only tellin’ you this because I trust you.”  He may trust me but I can tell that this is a warning that whatever he’s about to disclose needs to stay between us.  I nod solemnly.  He sits up a little straighter, as if bracing himself.  “I’m guessing you already know about Vicki and how she wrote that threesome handbook?”  I nod again.  Of course I do, uh, hello, super fan here.   “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Vicki and Misha are both very… open people, and, well, they like their relationship the same,” he explains, looking slightly uneasy, gesticulating with his hands. 

“Oh,” I say, my eyes widening a little.  I think I was expecting something a bit more dramatic, it’s not the most surprising thing in the world to find out they may have put into practice some of the things that Vicki has written about. 

“Yeah, uh,” he chuckles suddenly, sounding nervous and rubbing the back of his neck, “Few years back they asked me and Danneel…”  Ok, so now my mouth really does fall open, jaw practically hitting the bedcovers.

“You didn’t?!” I squeal, scandalised.  He pulls a disgruntled face at my automatic presumption.

“No! No,” he says firmly, “Made for an awkward thanksgiving that year though, I tell ya…” 

“I’ll bet,” I smile, imagining them all staring uncomfortably over the dinner table at each other. No doubt Misha would have broken the tension with something humorous though, sooner rather than later. 

“But yeah… a couple times it’s caused some problems with some extras on set.  I’m pretty sure there’s been a few fans.  Honestly, Mish gets more out of it than Victoria.  Especially now.”  I get that.  Misha 'The Overlord' Collins has never been more popular and his quirky charm is just that… charming.  “Don’t think Misha doesn’t adore his family though, he’d do anything for Vicki and those kids.”  I don't doubt it.  You only have to take one look at Misha to know he's a devoted husband and father.

“Could you ever…?”  I ask cautiously.  He shakes his head almost immediately. 

“Nah.  I’m a one-woman kinda man,” he smiles, reaching out and tapping the end of my nose.  It pleases me greatly.  “And two at once?  No thanks, I can barely satisfy one woman let alone having the added pressure of another.”  I smack his chest lightly, scowling playfully at him.

“You’re so self-depreciating! You do just fine.” 

“We’ve only done it once, and that was a lucky fluke,” he tells me, grin growing wider and cheekier, “You can run for the hills now if you want.  Run while you still can.” 

“Never,” I disagree quickly, leaning in for another kiss, my hand cupping his face.  Boy, I hope that wasn’t a fluke.  Nah, no one that kisses this good could turn out to be a total dud between the sheets. 

Eventually the kiss ends and I pull back with a happy sigh, shifting myself back into sitting up properly against the headboard and picking my book back up. 

“Still can’t believe you’re readin’ Twilight,” Jensen mutters from my right hand side.  I keep my eyes focused on the page, smiling a little.

“Hush.  I’m sure you have your guilty pleasures too.” He grunts in response, unwilling to divulge them at the moment clearly. 

He’s quiet for quite a while, just scrolling through something on his phone next  to me, and I’m just getting to the part where Bella finds out, shock horror, that Edward is a sparkly vampire, when Jensen huffs heavily next to me and throws his phone down face first into the covers.  I place the book onto my lap, eyebrows raised, looking at him questioningly.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” His grumpy Jensen face is back, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Nothin’,” he sulks. 

“Well that’s a big fat fib.”  He huffs again, grimacing, and then relents, letting his arms drop. 

“It’s that picture I put up of us all,” he explains, “Some of the things bein’ said about you are… less than friendly.”  He watches my reaction, probably thinking I’ll get upset, but actually I just shrug.  I’d figured that would happen.  To the rest of the fandom I’m just some random girl who’s gone and stolen Jensen from them; some people are bound to say some things they would never dream of saying to someone’s face.  That’s just the nature of the internet. 

“Well, y’know Jensen, not all of your fans are going to love you in the well balanced ‘I’m happy if he’s happy’ way I do,” I say, sounding like some sort of wise old owl imparting wisdom.  Something in his face changes at my words, the annoyance fading away and being replaced by a look that’s as warm as if he’d just wrapped me in his arms.

“Say that again,” he prompts with a smile, sitting up and away from the headboard, cross legged in front of me.  I regard him suspiciously; what’s he looking so excited for all of a sudden? 

“I mean like, with the picture of you and Danneel,” I start to explain, thinking he just isn’t quite understanding what I’m getting at.  Y’know, just wanting what makes him happy, whatever and whoever that might be.  He shakes his head briskly.

“No no, not that bit.  The first bit.”  His whole posture is eager and I can’t help but laugh at his excitement.  He’s coiled up tight like a spring, ready to explode. 

“Not everyone is going to love you in the well-“

“Not everyone is going to love me like you,” he interrupts, repeating my words, starting to look a little impatient, and the penny drops.  Oh.  “So you love me then?”  Oh, no, no, no.  My face instantly starts to burn, stomach lurching with nerves, and I sit forward, waving my hands back and forth in front of myself.

“No no, I didn’t mean-“ I don’t the chance to disagree because Jensen is interrupting me again – this time with his mouth.  He kisses me fiercely, arms looping tight around my waist and then he’s falling backward and pulling me with him so I end up on top, giggling as we go.  I pull away, just by a couple of inches, enough to look into his eyes while we smile at each other.  They’re swimming with emotion, pupils darting back and forth at he looks at my own, full of happiness and that unnamed thing that I haven’t been able to put my finger on for the last couple days. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, the words brushing across my face with his breath.  My throat goes tight with feeling and the only sound that I can hear is the beating of my heart in my ears, thudding ridiculously hard in my chest as Jensen gently brushes my fringe out of my eyes.  I’m dreaming again, surely?   That look, that thing shining in his emerald eyes, that’s love.  He loves me. 

“I love you,” I tell him too, overjoyed that I’ve gotten to say it like I’ve been longing to.  His eyelids press closed for a second, teeth appearing from behind his lips he’s smiling so hard.  I’m so pleased that I’ve made him feel this way, that we make each other so happy.  “I’m ready Jensen.”  The words come out of my mouth before my brain has even thought about it, and I wonder for a second if me asking again so soon after last night is just asking for trouble.  “I’m sober, I trust you and I’m ok.  I love you,” I repeat.  I’m not begging or pleading this time in throws of passion or panic, my mind perfectly clear, sure of my convictions.  His eyes search mine, checking, I think, that I’m as sure as I sound. 

“Ok,” he says simply, his smile smaller, almost shy.  It’s amazing just how much weight that one word carries between us. 

When I close the gap between us, our lips meeting once more, it feels almost like the first time we kissed all over again.  My heart still hasn’t stopped racing; I wouldn’t be surprised if Jensen could feel it too, and when his hand pushes back my fringe again, keeping it in its place as his fingers interlock with the strands, I sigh softly against his mouth.  We do everything slowly, each move deliberate; from his free hand loitering its way down my back, making each muscle contract as it tickles, to my tongue sliding tentatively against his, tasting each and every curve and hollow of his mouth.  I want to know every part of him as well as I know myself, until, even if I went deaf and blind and dumb, I would still know him by the slant of his jaw, the dusting of fine hairs along his stomach. 

I remove my lips from his, trailing my mouth instead along his jaw, inhaling the scent of him as I go, and when I suck gently on the smooth skin of his above his clavicle I feel him shudder underneath me.  He exhales a breathy sigh, hand reaching down between us and sliding upward beneath my vest until it finds my breast.  He kneads the soft mound of flesh and my back arches, eyes closed, and then he rolls and tugs tenderly on my nipple with his thumb and forefinger until I’m mewling quietly.  Our hips press, flush together; he’s aroused beneath his jeans.  The thought of having him hot and thick inside of me makes the usually pale skin across my chest flush pink as I roll my hips back against him. 

I lean back down, lips attaching to his skin like a limpet to a stone, running my tongue along the smooth skin covering solid muscle down his chest.  His hand leaves my breast and finds the bottom of my vest, gently lifting upward to strip me.  I cease my kissing, just briefly, to let it pass over my head.  His hands find my back, large palms easily covering each of my shoulder blades, and I can’t stop myself from squirming a little as he strokes his fingers downward.  When they slip down my sides, across my lower stomach and upward again, I outright laugh. 

“Ticklish,” I grin, looking up at him from where I’d paused my journey downwards at his breastbone.  He sweeps his hand up along my side again, grinning, trailing it from hip to breast, and again I twist away from it, giggling.   I adore the way that even in intimacy we’re still playful with each other.  I counter by firmly pinching the tiny amount of fat on his side, smiling evilly, and he yelps, flinching. 

“Hey,” he growls, narrowing his eyes down at me.  He pushes himself up to sitting, taking me with him so I’m sat back on my heels, curling his hand around the back of my neck and pulling me into a kiss that makes my insides clench with excitement.  “Lie back,” he tells me, voice husky.  I’m grieved to leave his lips but eager for what’s in store, lying back as I was told, my head sinking into the soft duck feather pillows.  His eyes drift over me hungrily from where he’s kneeling, drinking me in, and the way he’s smouldering makes me bite my lip.  He leans forward and crawls away the space between us, slinking like a cat, the muscles in his shoulders rolling in a way that’s almost hypnotic.  Breathe, Becca, don’t forget to breathe. 

One hand squeezes the yielding flesh of my hip and then he’s stretching the elastic waistband of my flannel shorts to hook them out from under me, lifting my rear up from the bed so he can slide them all the way down.  He runs his hands back up each of my shins, holding my eye contact all the time, and all I can do is lie here practically panting in anticipation, trying not to hyperventilate.  He’s completely undeterred by the fact that my legs are probably a little stubbly, even though I only shaved yesterday and I love that he’s not bothered.  How can someone so out of my league, so gorgeous, make plain little me feel so completely desirable?

His hands hook behind my knees, guiding them apart and lifting one leg so that he can place a kiss on the inside of my thigh.

“Hmm,” I moan quietly, my eyes falling shut as his lips press once, twice more on that same sweet spot.  I can’t keep my hips still, they’re grinding down against the mattress and I’m longing for him to go further north, for him to press his lips to the most sensitive part of me. 

“Can I taste you baby?” he mumbles against my thigh.  My leg that he’s no longer holding twitches reflexively at the pulse of arousal that beats through me.  He must be a mind reader.

“Please,” I encourage, flexing my hips.   He trails his mouth upward slowly and I hook my one leg over his shoulder, digging my heel into his back gently to spur him on.  It feels like forever, but finally his perfect, pouty lips plant a lingering kiss right against the soft folds between my legs.   I groan automatically, opening up my eyes to look down at him.  His eyes are closed as his thumbs gently spread me apart, and then I feel the tip of his tongue start to explore.  It only takes him a split second to find my clitoris and begin his slow, delicate torture. 

“Oh… Jensen,” I breathe out, my hand fixing itself into his hair, egging him on.  It feels so good, my legs tingling as he stimulates that intense bundle of nerves.  His eyes open up at the noise I make, locking with mine, and just the sight of it almost pushes me over the edge.  Can you imagine, seeing those eyes that have made you swoon for years across a TV screen now looking up at you from between your legs, his mouth loving the most intimate part of you?  It almost undoes me right then and there. 

The pleasure that I didn’t think could get any more intense suddenly does when the flat of his tongue presses against me, the rough of his taste buds providing even more sensation, and I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.  A finger slides inside of me, without any warning, and my back arches off the bed, almost shouting with pleasure at the welcome intrusion.  This is his final assault I realise; the touching and kissing and licking that before was so gentle is now more insistent, firmer as he drives me closer to the edge. 

“Oh god,” I groan and he hums approvingly against me in response.  That felt amazing.  A second finger joins the first, they’re curling up and against my g-spot, and he just keeps licking and sucking at my clit.  I’m getting close, that fire building in my pelvis, and absent-mindedly I realise with wonder that no one has ever made me orgasm like this before.  “Jen, baby, you’re gonna-gonna make me cum,” I tell him, my voice hitching, “Fuck.”  Suddenly his mouth leaves my clitoris, his thumb replacing it and for a second I’m distraught that he would switch up what was working so well.  But then his tongue slides inside of me, alongside his fingers, and that’s it, I’m done.  The thought of him breaching me with his tongue launches me, sends me falling, hurtling into an orgasm that leaves my legs shaking and grabbing at his shoulders. 

I’m panting, my chest covered in a fine sheen of sweat, looking down at him wide-eyed when it finally ebbs away.  He peeks out, face rising above my pubic bone.  I expect him to be grinning, smug that he’s pulled me apart and put me together again with pleasure, but the expression on his face is pure heat, his eyes dark with desire as he prowls toward me.  His lips are a deeper shade of red, swollen and wet with the evidence of my orgasm, and he presses them to mine in a kiss that’s passionate and frantic and thick with the taste of me.  I know Jensen won’t be able to stop himself now, all logic and reasoning gone, overwhelmed with desire which leaves him practically fucking my mouth with his tongue, tugging at my lip with his teeth, rutting against me through his jeans. 

“I need you,” he growls against my mouth, pulling at his belt himself until it’s flying out of the belt loops and off the bed, clattering to the wood floor.

“Yes,” I urge him breathily against his lips, trembling hands wrenching apart the buttons and then pushing down.  Off, it all needs to come off, now.  He kicks it all off, pulling back for just a moment, and that’s when I see him really look at me and catch the flicker of hesitation behind the arousal in his eyes.  I don’t give him time to even think about it, I wrap my palm around his thick cock and virtually pull him back toward me, guiding the head into my wetness and pushing my hips up until he’s nudging inside.  When I wrap my legs around him and push my heels into his firm buttocks he just can’t help himself; he sinks inside in one hard push, consequences be damned.  He grunts in pleasure and I moan at the feeling of fullness.

“Don’t stop,” I implore him, nails flexing into his back as he rests there for a moment.  I don’t want him to ever stop.  He begins an unrelenting, pounding pace into me, lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through us both, skin slapping, breath panting, hands grabbing.  “I’m yours,” I tell him through groans.  I am, I’m his.  With this act of intimacy he’s taken back everything that was stolen from me and claimed it for his own.  I’ve given it all to him.   “All y-yours.” 

“Mine,” he grunts, pushing deeper, harder into me, urged on by my words.  His face is pushed against the pillow next to me, teeth gritted, but when I kiss his cheek he turns it to look at me.  “Tell me you love me."  His fingers dig into my thighs, pushing my legs back towards myself so he can get even deeper.   I never knew that anything could ever feel this good.  This is even better than the first time. 

“I love you, I love you,” I repeat over and over, panting.  I’d say anything he wanted me to right now.  “I love you Jensen.”

“Becca,” he moans, his eyes closing, frowning, lips drawn tight.  He’s losing control, his rhythm faltering.

“Cum for me baby, want to feel you cum inside,” I urge him, knowing that I’m almost there too.  My encouragement only makes him go harder, faster, and when he breaks I do too.  We shatter into a thousand pieces, together, a writhing, sweating, moaning mess and then we’re tumbling down, holding onto each other as if our lives depend on it. 

The sound of heavy panting fills the room until we finally come around.  He pushes himself up on his elbows, looking at me with adoring eyes, cupping my face in his hands.  I hope he never stops looking at me this way, like I’m cherished, worshipped. 

“You ok?” he asks gently.  I smile reassuringly, reaching up between us and tapping his nose.  He’s still inside of me, and I’m quite happy for us to stay that way.

“I’m perfect.”

Chapter Text

“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream,” I sing cheerfully, hands holding onto JJ’s smaller ones, pulling her back and forth with me from where she’s sitting between my legs on the recliner.  She giggles gleefully, throwing her body weight with gusto.

“Row, row, row!” she chants along tunelessly. 

Four days have passed since JJ arrived into my life and we’ve come on leaps and bounds.  It’s nothing to brag about, winning the trust of an 18 month old isn’t exactly hard to do with a full arsenal of nursery rhymes at the ready, but it still fills me with joy.  No longer does she cast me wary glances from her perch on Jensen’s hip; instead she’s asking me to pick her up (“Becca, up!”) and she’s bringing me empty tiny teacups to drink from.  I have the feeling she thinks I’m a soft touch, because every time Jensen tells her no she turns those big eyes at me, hoping I’ll undermine him.  The worst thing about it is that it’s so hard not to when her beseeching eyes are a carbon copy of her fathers!

It’s a strange position I find myself in – I don’t know if I should be playing the role of a parent or her friend.  I feel like it’s not my place to discourage her when she’s yanking on Icarus’ fur, or throwing her food on the floor, but having worked with children her age before it comes almost instinctively to me.  Thankfully Jensen hasn’t minded at all, stepping in when I’ve realised I’m probably over stepping my responsibilities.  It’s a good job she’s generally a very well behaved child, just a typically mischievous toddler.

Last night she ended up in our bed too.  She’d woken up in the middle of the night, wailing from the other room, crying for her dad and through bleary eyes I’d gone to fetch her.  Jensen sleeps like the dead, apparently, and had only managed to pry his eyes open once she was actually lying between us.  We’d had a mini whispered disagreement then about how this can’t be a habit, blah blah blah, but I’d ended up just smiling at him, pleased that we were having such a domestic sounding argument and it had fizzled out almost immediately.  Hey, I certainly don’t want her sleeping in bed with us all the time – there are certain things that I like to do in Jensen’s bed that she would definitely put a dampener on – but once in a while it won’t do any harm.   She’d fallen back to sleep immediately tucked in against her dad’s chest and then he’d pulled me in too, close enough for him to sling his arm over the both of us. 

Speaking of activities in the bedroom, wow, since taking the plunge and being physical again it’s like we can’t get enough of each other.  I mean JJ has been here so we’ve had our animalistic urges under control while we’ve been at the park, or taking her swimming, but naptime is tantamount to intimacy for us now.  It’s a wonderful routine that we’ve fallen into; as the time for her to sleep approaches the little touches that we share, the odd press of our lips or gentle caress, gradually increase in heat.  By the time she’s asleep and we’ve tumbled into bed we’re all over each other, never quite sated no matter how often we indulge.  I know this intensity won’t necessarily last; we’d never get anything done or go back to work if it did, but it’s amazing while it does.  I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting him. 

“Don’t forget to scream!”  I finish with a high pitched ‘ahh!’, shaking her arms rapidly as she laughs and squeals too.  Jensen looks over from his spot in front of the barbeque, smiling warmly, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of us.  I grin back, feeling a blush rise on my cheeks. 

“Be careful,” Gen warns playfully from her recliner next to us, “Jensen looks positively broody.”  Her voice is quiet to make sure we’re not overheard by any of the guys.  I’m sure they’d make fun of him if they thought I was making his man-ovaries ache.   Everyone’s come over – apart from Vicki – for one last afternoon of frivolity together with the kids before filming starts again tomorrow.

I grin at JJ, still holding her hands and clapping them together, wiggling her about and making silly faces. 

“You think so?”  I ask, feeling gleeful, like a gossiping school girl. 

“Totally.  Jensen’s a real traditional guy, he’s always said he’d like a big family.”  She looks down at Shephard who’s cradled in her arms, breastfeeding discretely.   JJ starts to squirm so I put her down on the decking so she can toddle around.  It makes me a bit nervous to be honest, what with the dogs and three other children around, but no one else seems concerned so warily I let her go.  It’s a good job Jensen’s garden is a decent size.  I can only imagine the chaos that would have occurred if Jared had brought their dogs over too. 

“I think that’s probably a little premature,” I comment as JJ scampers away from us.

“Maybe,” she admits.  JJ is fast approaching Jensen, wanting her daddy, and he’s too wrapped up in flipping burgers to notice.

“JJ, don’t go near the barbeque darlin’!”  I call loudly, sitting forward and getting ready to spring up if no one grabs her.  I think Jensen is rubbing me off on me, that ‘darling’ had an almost Texan sounding twang to it. 

Thankfully Jared rises quickly from where he’s been sat playing with Thomas’ and West’s action figures and scoops her up.  She shrieks happily as he throws her in the air and catches her again, bringing her back over towards Gen and me. 

“You guys look real happy though,” she smiles as Jared places JJ back into my arms with a loud ‘umpf’. 

“Told you it’d blow over,” Jared interjects as he pushes back his hair that’s fallen forward, and I cast a hasty look at Gen that he notices.  “Gen knows.”  Well that’s great.  I think this group of friends knowing every single thing about one another is just something I’m going to have to get used to.  There certainly aren’t any secrets here. 

I glance over at Misha pushing Maison on the swing.  He’s completely oblivious and wrapped up in pushing his daughter joyfully, talking loudly to her about something or other.  I’ve already apologised for my behaviour at his party, for numerous things; my drunkenness, running off from him after Jensen the way I did, my gratuitous use of Supernatural quotes throughout the evening.  He’d laughed it off in that easy way that’s so natural to him.  I’m glad that it had bothered me much more than it seemed to have bothered him.  I’d hate for him to have thought I was rude.

“We made up,” I admit with a coy smile.  And boy, what a making up it was.  It must show all over my face because all of a sudden Gen and Jared are laughing at me, drawing me away from pleasant memories. 

“That’s the best bit,” Jared grins down at me and then he looks suggestively at Gen who scoffs in response.  

“Oh yeah, we’ll schedule some time between all the night feeds and baby poop.”  I laugh as Jared pulls his best puppy dog face.  Any minute now I swear he’s going to drop Sam’s line about losing his shoe.  “Sometimes I swear I’ve got three boys, not two,” she adds teasingly, extending her free hand to him.  He smiles, leaning down from his great height and giving her a swift kiss. 

I wonder if Jensen really would like a big family?  It’s something I’ve not really thought about until now.  Well, kids, yes, but not kids with Jensen.  Wouldn’t that be something huh?  I wonder if our babies would be as beautiful as JJ?  Who am I kidding; surely any offspring of Jensen’s would be gorgeous.  Yep, definitely too early to be thinking about that. 

We do need to have a talk though, about what our plans are for the immediate future.  It’s only been a week but mum is starting to get antsy about me coming home, asking how long I’ll be staying… and to be honest, I don’t know.  What I do know, though, is that I need to go home for the court hearing.  My lawyer thinks that my testimony will go over much better with the jury in person, so, as reluctant as I may be about it, that’s what I need to do.  I need to go and confront my demons, however hard it is, and if that means Lewis gets what’s coming to him at the same time then that’s all the better. 

I haven’t talked to Jensen about it yet.  I’m doing a little better, the nightmares easing off when I’m in Jensen’s arms, his physical presence and our intimacy helping to dull all of those bad thoughts.  I understand his concerns, I’m pretty sure that they’re the same as mine; that I’ll struggle to cope when I’m confronted with him again, without Jensen there beside me as my guardian, my friend, my lover.  My everything.  But it’s something that I have to do, and I’ll just have to hope that he understands that. 

“Grubs up!” Jensen announces loudly and West shouts his approval noisily, Thomas soon joining in.  It’s obvious that the slightly younger boy looks up to his friend, he seems to copy almost everything West does.  Genevieve gives Jared her order and stays where she is, looking the perfect poster-child for motherhood as Shephard continues feeding while she reclines.  I rise, taking JJ with me on my hip, and make my way over to Jensen and the little queue that’s forming to the side of him.  West is tugging on Misha’s jeans, over-excited about the prospect of hotdogs, a big ball of untameable enthusiasm and as I observe them  JJ places her head on my shoulder.  I can’t help but smile, resting my cheek against the top of her head.  

Slowly we make our way to the front of the line and when Jensen turns to look at us, a pair of tongs in hand, he looks almost ecstatic.  What is it with men and cooking meat outdoors that gives them such a high? 

“This smells amazing,” I admire, my mouth practically watering at the smell of charcoaled meat sizzling on the grill.  He looks amazing too; if he looks like this every time he cooks then he can do every meal as far as I’m concerned.  Every inch of skin he has exposed is glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, his hair a little messy, goatee well and truly grown through after a week away from filming.  My eyes slide down his neck, following a bead of sweat, and when I finally drag my gaze away, swallowing, Jensen is grinning at me with twinkling eyes. 

“Know what you want?” he asks huskily, as if reading my mind, his hand slotting into the small of my back.  He leans in and brushes a whiskery kiss against my cheek.

“It might not be on the menu.”  I bite on my bottom lip suggestively and he chuckles, shaking his head and grabbing a paper plate for me.  I hold my tongue, not saying any more, very aware that JJ is still sat in my arms.  We’ll scar the poor girl for life if we’re not careful. 

“I’ve got somethin’ you’re gonna love,” he tells me, serving up a piece of steak.  It looks delicious, blackened on the outside but still juicy, oozing a little onto the plate, “Got Ma to send up some real Texan steak for y’all.”  Oh my, Texan steak.  If it’s as good as Jensen raves then I really am in for a treat. 

“Wanna put something on there for JJ?” I check, taking the plate from him.  He smiles a small smile, putting down his tongs. 

“You’ve been keeping her happy all afternoon.  Go enjoy your steak babe.”  He holds out his arms to take her and I carefully pass her over.  It’s funny how quickly you get used to having that weight and warmth on your hip; I almost miss it once she’s gone. 

“I love you,” I tell him softly, plate held in both hands, rising up on the balls of my feet to kiss him.  The sweat on his top lip tastes a mixture of salt, smoke, meat and Jensen and it’s more delicious than sweat should ever be. 

“Love you,” he replies instantly as I pull away, candy apple green eyes shining.

I help myself to a hotdog and a corncob too then make my way over to the little circle of people that’s formed on Jensen’s lawn, lowering myself to the floor carefully, maxi dress stretching across my knees.  No one’s got any cutlery but that doesn’t seem to be stopping them.  Hell, Jared is just picking up his steak and tearing off chunks enthusiastically with his teeth. 

Jensen places JJ down in the space next to me and then sits himself behind her, a leg on either side, putting a plate on her lap.  There’s a few big chunks of chicken already stripped from the bone for her to chew on and some loose kernels of sweetcorn that she picks up in a perfect pincer grip, posting them into her mouth.

“Nom nom nom,” she grins, looking up at me, displaying the yellow mush churning around in her mouth.  Yum. 

“That good babygirl?”  Jensen checks, running a hand through the back of her short hair.  She helps herself to some chicken and he smiles.  “Good girl,” he praises, right before he starts work on his own chicken drumstick. 

“Not hungry?” Misha enquires from next to me, making me jump a little.

This happens to me so often lately; I get so caught up in watching Jensen with JJ, or watching Jensen do anything at all, that I completely forget what I’m supposed to be doing.  He really is the best kind of distraction.  I smile and chuckle, a little embarrassed at having been caught staring, picking my steak up.  Everyone else is otherwise occupied with their meals. 

“Just zoning out,” I reply, tearing a bitesize chunk from the slab of meat with my hands.  I’m not sure I’d look so good going to the whole cave-man look Jared seems to be adopting.  Ohhh my god that’s so good.  It’s so tender.  I groan appreciatively, tearing off more while I chew, and Jensen looks over with a smile. I swallow.

“So. Good,” I say emphatically, “Hands down, best steak ever.”  I pop another piece into my mouth.

“Glad you like it,” he says cheerfully, cheeks full of chicken.

“So Becca,” Misha begins, sounding thoughtful, “You ever have someone take their placenta home to eat?”  There’s loud moans of protest from all the adults in the circle. 

“I’m eatin’ here!”  Jensen exclaims loudly, looking scandalised.  I laugh, glad that nothing ever puts me off my food.  You spend so much time around bodily fluids as a midwife that you can’t afford to be squeamish. 

“When Maise was born Vicki had thought about getting it made into a capsule thing,” he explains with a smile, revelling in everyone’s discomfort just as much as me, “Never did though.”  Another disgruntled sound of disgust comes from my left. 

“Well… it is supposed to be good for your hormones afterwards,” I admit, “Pills I could maybe get on board with, not sure about throwing it on the barbeque though.”  I smile slyly, knowing that I’m putting that image into everyone’s mind. 

“Oh jeez,” Jared groans. 

“You can make raw placenta smoothies too,” I add, just for good measure.  Jensen heaves, honest to god actually heaves.  I can’t help but laugh at him, reaching over and putting my hand on his denim-clad knee. 

“Nope. Nope, no more,” he says firmly, shaking his head but smiling nonetheless, “No more placenta talk while we’re eating.”  A few moments of quiet pass, only broken by chatter between Thomas and West who are comparing hotdogs. 

“I did have a woman throw up all over my shoes once.”  Misha and I burst into laughter at the round of collective groans that follow.

“Misha is a bad influence on you,” Jensen comments as I flop down onto his bed.  JJ has just gone to sleep after what feels like a million and one bed time stories that have left my throat dry.  At least she didn’t scream this time. 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve said that before,” I smile, shuffling myself over and putting my head on his chest.  I close my eyes, pleasantly warm around the edges from the glass of wine I just had.  Just one, though.  One is more than enough still after the other night. 

“You get all mischievous.”  I play with the cotton of his t-shirt, rubbing it between my fingers. 

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Nah.”  He kisses the top of my head softly, lacing his fingers with mine, the other arm curled around me.  “It’s kind of cute.” 

“I’ll let Misha know,” I murmur, starting to feel very drowsy when I’m this warm and comfortable.  He chuckles quietly while he runs his fingers through my hair and then sighs heavily.

“This week has gone real fast,” he says, sounding lamentable.  He’s right, it’s flown by.  “How would you feel about looking after JJ tomorrow?”  I look up at him questioningly from my place on his chest, my mouth coming open.  “She’s not leaving ‘till tomorrow evening.  Usually I’d get a sitter but seein’ as you’re here?” he explains after seeing my uncertainty. 

“I guess I can do that,” I agree cautiously.  Of course I’m happy to look after her, we have a good time together.  I’m just a bit pleasantly surprised that Jensen would happily entrust me with her so soon, even though it’s just for a day.  “If you’re sure you want me to,” I add.

“You’re awesome with her,” he smiles down at me, fingers still caressing my scalp through my hair, “Course I’m sure.”  He kisses me softly, my heart fluttering in response.  It always does. 

“Would you want more kids one day?” I ask, thinking back to what Gen said earlier.  I think my question surprises him because his eyes widen slightly, his hand stilling in my hair. 

“Uh… yeah, I guess so.”  His gaze goes off elsewhere in the room and I can almost see the cogs in his head turning as he thinks about it, “Yeah, definitely.  Wouldn’t want JJ to be an only child, I was really close with my brother and sister so… yeah… I’d want that for her too.”

“Family’s important to you isn’t it?”  I smile.  It’s nice, I like that he has this traditional, almost old-fashioned, Southern way about him.  I’d even let him take me along to church with him and JJ the day before yesterday, and whilst I consider myself pretty agnostic, I can’t deny that there was a nice sense of community about the place. 

“It’s everything.”  He kisses the top of my head, a light blush colouring the skin between his freckles.  I hope maybe one day Jensen will think of me as family.  From the way he’s looking down at me maybe he already does.  “You want kids right?”

“I can’t wait,” I admit with an eager smile.  Maybe I should rein myself in; I don’t want him to think that I’m trying to get at something, because I’m really not.  I can’t wait to be a mother but I want it to be with the right person, at the right time.   I’m about to explain myself when Jensen tells me,

“You’d be an amazing mom.”  Wow, perhaps Jensen really is a bit broody.  I don’t know what to say to that, so I just grin up at him and he grins back. 

It’s been such a lovely day and Jensen seems so happy right now; maybe now is a good time to bring up going home for the court case?  While he’s in a good mood…

“Wish she wasn’t leavin’ so soon,” he says just as I’m opening my mouth to broach the subject.  His smile is gone, a slight frown taking its place.  He shuffles down the bed so that we’re face to face, my head back on the pillow rather than on his chest, and he curls both arms tightly around me, squeezing.  “Least I’ll still have my babydoll.”  He nudges his nose affectionately against mine, still holding on tight, and I just can’t bring myself to have that conversation anymore.  I press my lips to his and we kiss while I try to ignore the ache in my heart that starts whenever I think about leaving him.  Even one night would feel like too many.  He rolls over, pulling me on top of him and gives my rear a firm but meaningful squeeze. 

Maybe I’ll just talk to him about it tomorrow.        

Chapter Text

“How’re my two favourite girls?” Jensen asks as soon as I connect the Skype call, his words slightly out of sync with his smiling mouth.  JJ looks up from her spot between my legs at the sound of her father’s voice and I lower the phone slightly so she can see him.   I hope she isn’t alarmed, he’s currently got fake blood running down the side of his face, one of his eyebrows cut open and a busted lip. 

“We’re good,” I smile back, while JJ calls ‘dada phone!’ over the top of me, hands reaching out for the screen, “We’re having fun building towers aren’t we JJ?”

“Yep,” she agrees, looking back down to the stack of blocks in front of her. 

“Show daddy how high you can build it,” I encourage her, tilting the phone to make sure he can see.  His grin is fixed as he watches her place one coloured block steadily on top of the other while I count aloud.  “Two… good girl… go on, one more.”  She places another blue block to make three, her heavy-handedness making it wobble a little, but she still manages to break her record and do a fourth.

“That’s my babygirl!” Jensen exclaims proudly and JJ claps for herself. 

“Ohh, no!  Icarus, no!”  I cry as he comes sniffing over, managing to knock over her accomplishment with his wet nose, wondering what all the noise is about. 

“No! Bad goggy, no!” JJ shouts indignantly, trying to hit out at him.  I can understand why, but still, I don’t think he deserve to lose a chunk of fur. 

“It’s alright sweetie, we can build it again,” I assure her, taking a gentle hold of her arm to discourage her. I swear she casts him a filthy look as he scampers away; he’ll probably avoid her for a while now. 

“She being good?” he checks after that mini-outburst.  He needn’t worry, she’s been golden for the most part, quite content to play the day away. 

“Yeah yeah, she had her nap earlier, she’s been really good,” I reply, “You on a break?” 

“Just five minutes, thought I’d check in.”   Someone walks through the background behind him and I figure he must still be on set.

“We miss you,” I tell him as JJ starts to build again, concentrating hard.  It’s strange speaking to him on Skype again, we used to do it so often but now it feels like forever ago.  His eyes crinkle as he smiles back at me. 

“I’m missin’ my girls too.  Take a picture of you two for me will you?”  He runs his hand through his hair and I see that his knuckles are made to look all bloody too.  Must… not... ask for spoilers.  God I hadn’t even thought about the fact he’s filming the new series.  I’m going to have to make him promise not to go telling me anything. 

“Sure, I’ll take one when you go,” I agree.  We both look pretty decent; JJ’s hair is in little pigtails and I purposefully dressed up similarly this morning, both in red t-shirts and jeans.  I’m fairly certain she looks cuter than me though.  “What you want it for?”  I ask curiously. 

“Was thinking I could put it online and link you in properly this time, stop all the mass speculation,” he replies casually.  Oh.  He hadn’t really run that by me before now… but I guess I don’t mind.  It’s his public image that’s important, not mine, and if he’s willing to show me off then I’ll just go with it.  Someone shouts his name and he momentarily looks away from the screen.  “One second!” he calls in reply, then turns his attention back to me.  “Gotta go babe. Bye bye Jay.” 

“Say bye to daddy,” I prompt her.  She looks up, brick in her fist, and waves her arm back and forth.

“Bye bye,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“See you later,” I smile.  He gives me a brief wink before disconnecting the call and it leaves me smiling even harder. 

JJ looks like she’s starting to get a little bored with the blocks, knocking them against one another and pushing them around so I pick her up and pull her onto my lap before it escalates and we end up with a brick through one of Jensen's many windows.

“Shall we take a picture for daddy JJ?” I ask her, opening the camera on my phone and pointing it at us to take a selfie.  JJ points at her reflection excitedly.


“Yeah, that’s you babygirl,” I confirm, bringing it closer for her to inspect herself.  “Say cheeeese.” 

“Keeeeeeys,” she repeats, not quite getting it right but it making her smile none the less, her eyes screwed up tight together.  I tilt my head down against her, grinning widely into the camera, and shoot.  It’s a pretty good photo actually, we look quite sweet together, and certainly very happy.  JJ starts to wriggle on my lap so I put her down to find a new toy whilst I send the photo straight to Jensen.  I wonder what’s going to come of this; the whole fandom finally finding out who I am.  Speculation over the past few days has continued, although it’s calmed down from the initial hysteria.  I really hope I don’t get hassled, although the perk of the girlfriend of Jensen Ackles seems like it’d be worth any of the backlash that it comes with, a thousand times over.

Oh well, the picture’s sent now, what will be will be. 

Jensen lets himself into his home, eager to see his girls after a day of filming that felt like it wouldn’t end.  It was a very physically demanding day, a lot of fight scenes and costume make up and shooting scenes from a million different angles.  He loves his job, but some days it is just exhausting.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls, chuckling to himself at his cliché as he pushes the front door shut. 

“Hiiii!” he hears Becca call from afar, and JJ is calling out for him, and the dogs are barking, and in the midst of all the chaotic noise he realises that wouldn’t have it any other way.  His heart swells, threatening to burst through his ribcage at the overwhelming sense of contentment that fills him.  There have been so many nights over the past year or so that he’s come home from filming that his house has been quiet, the dogs his only company, but now he walks through the doorway and finds a room full of life and love.  This is it, this is what he wants, a proper family, a proper home to keep him grounded. 

He’s pulled, like a magnet, to where Becca and JJ are reclining cuddled up on the sofa, his feet moving almost too fast for him to keep up, and then he drops to his knees and he’s cupping her face and kissing her like he’s not seen her for months.  When he pulls away she’s gazing at him with sparkling eyes, stupefied but happy.

“Well, someone’s glad to see me,” she comments breathlessly after a moment.  He huffs out a laugh and nudges the end of her nose with his own.

“You have no idea.”  He kisses her again, lost in her, this woman that he loves, only drawn away when he feels a small fist tugging on the front of his shirt.  “Hi babygirl,” he smiles down at his daughter who’s watching them with wide eyes, her head still tilted back against Becca’s stomach.  “Becca said you were a good girl today.”  He tugs very gently on one of her pig tails and then places a kiss on the top of her head, feeling Becca’s arm wind its way across his shoulders and pull him in closer to the both of them. 

“She was,” she confirms, “Glad to see all of that blood was fake.”  She smiles at him, hand lifting from is shoulder to gently touch the edge of the lip that was ‘split’ earlier.  “Hard day?”  He loves how well she can read him; he’s full of happiness and not said a word of complaint, but just from the slight hunch of his shoulders, the lines of his forehead, she knows. 

“First day back always is.”  He watches JJ, thumb in mouth, ‘fluffy babbit’ her favourite stuffed toy tucked under her arm.  She’s tired and he instinctively wants to rock her.  Some days he longs for the times when she was a baby again, when he used to pace around the living room with her in his arms, singing soft and low.  Those were hard times; lonely and scared as hell, a single dad coping with grief and a newborn.  Tears streaking down his face often accompanied his singing.  Still, he’d do it all again, to feel that overwhelming protectiveness for something so small, so precious to him, all bundled up in blankets. 

“She’ll be back before you know it,” Becca tells him, her voice soothing as she sits forward and lifts JJ from her lap, giving her to Jensen instead.  There she goes again, knowing him better than he knows himself.  He blinks as he sits back cross legged on the rug to hold his babygirl, embarrassedly noticing the moisture in his eyes, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of pink. 

JJ relaxes instantly into his embrace, head tucked under his chin and he savours the moment, closing his eyes and trying to remember it.  There’ll come a time when she won’t want to sit on his lap anymore, when she might start asking why she didn’t get to see him as much as she should.  The thought of it makes his stomach turn to lead.

Becca leans forward and touches his face, thumb running along his cheekbone and opening up his eyes so he can see the compassion shining back in hers. 

“I’ll go pack her stuff up,” she tells him, letting him go and rising from the sofa.

“You don’t have to,” he replies, looking up at her from his seat on the floor.  It’s not her job, she shouldn’t feel like she needs to-

“Jen, just enjoy your little girl.  No arguments,” she adds with a small smile and he swells with gratitude. 

“Thanks,” he smiles back.  She just shakes her head, as if to say no thanks are needed, and leaves him to enjoy these precious few moments with his daughter before she has to leave. 

JJ falls asleep in the car on the way to the airport, something Jensen is glad for.  The goodbyes while she’s awake are always the hardest, when she’s squealing and kicking her legs and reaching for him.  It breaks his heart.  Joel pulls into their usual place and Jensen spots Danneel’s mother waiting immediately and feels that usual lurch of his stomach.  Seeing Danneel’s family is always hard, not only because Danneel and her mother are, were, the spitting image of each other.  In some dark place in Jensen’s thoughts he always wonders whether they blame him in some small way for their daughter’s death.  They’d never say it out loud, of course, but he can’t help but think they might.  It was giving birth to his child after all that did it. 

He smiles at the dark haired woman as he exits the car. 

“Mrs Harris,” he greets politely, because good Southern boys always respect their elders, and it’s only when she approaches him with open arms that he hugs her back, formal pretence dropping. 

“Good to see you Jensen,” she says warmly, rubbing his back for just a second before pulling away.  “How’s my granddaughter?”  She looks past him, pointless really because the windows are tinted. 

“Asleep, but good,” Jensen replies, heading to the boot of the car to collect her things. 

“Let’s hope that lasts for the plane ride,” she smiles, clasping her hands together.  She hovers, watching him, and he can tell she’s mustering up the courage to say something by the way her nose is turning pink.  Danneel’s used to do that too when she was nervous.  “Jensen, I wanted to speak to you about…” she trails off, looking uncomfortable.  He approaches her, lifting his eyebrows questioningly, JJ’s pink rucksack in hand.  “This woman that there’s been pictures of.  Pictures with JJ.” 

Oh.  His mouth opens falteringly.  He hadn’t even considered that Danneel’s parents might see them.  Suddenly he feels really uncomfortable; not because he feels like he’s done anything wrong but it’s just… well, it’s awkward isn’t it? 

“Andrew and I… well, we’re just a bit concerned.”  He frowns and she looks embarrassed too, as if she really doesn’t want to be having this conversation.

“Concerned about what?”

“We just wouldn’t want her meeting lots of different people.”  It’s like she’s sucker punched him to the gut, and against all his better instincts he feels anger roil up inside of him at the things her words are implying.  This is the first woman he’s dated since Danneel passed away, in 18 months there’s been no one.  That’s been fine, of course it has, there’s been no one but Becca that he’s wanted to date, but they’re making it sound like he’s had a different woman there every week. 

“Do you really think I’d go introducing my daughter to just anyone?” he replies defensively, crossing his arms across his chest, jaw tight. 

“No, no,” she says hastily, outstretching a hand but not touching him with it, “We just… well, Andrew really, you know how protective he gets.”  Her eyes flicker away, cheeks blushing with embarrassment.  He should have known this was coming from Danneel’s father.  For an ophthalmologist with thinning hair he could be really fierce when it came to his family, something Jensen had learned quickly when first dating Danneel.  “Jensen, I know you’ve been alone a long time, and we want you to be happy.”  He lets his arms drop, sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair.  “Danneel would want you to be happy,” she adds with a small smile, “It just would have been nice to… have a little warning?” 

Ok, so he can see her point.  Now that she mentions it he realises that he’s not even really told his mum and dad about Becca properly.  He told Ma when he spoke to her last week that he was having a friend come to stay, but that was all.  He really needs to introduce them; all of this has made him think that maybe he’s being a shitty son, something that doesn’t sit well with him at all.  He deflates, looking at her regretfully. 

“I should have given you guys heads up, sorry,” he admits, “But I wouldn’t let JJ spend time with someone I wasn’t planning on keepin’ around.”  Wendy smiles at him kindly and it fills him with regret for feeling so angry at her.  He knows they’re just trying to look out for their granddaughter, heck, if he were in their place he’d be doing the same. 

He makes his way round to JJ’s side of the car and gently gets her out, relieved that she’s still fast asleep.  This bit is always hard, actually handing her over, not quite knowing when he’s going to see her next. 

“Love you babygirl,” he whispers against her forehead, clutching her to his chest tight for a last few moments before carefully depositing her in her grandmothers waiting arms.  “Let me know when you land.”

“Of course.  See you soon Jensen.”

“See you.”  He lifts a hand in a small wave as she turns away and he can feel that familiar burn creep into his throat, that tightness.  He gets back into the car swiftly, trying to ignore the moisture in his eyes.  This really doesn’t get any easier, no matter how many times he does it. 

“You alright man?” Joel checks from the front seat.  He’s been witness to this plenty, he knows as well as anyone the way this takes its toll.  He just wants to get home, to get back to Becca and her waiting arms.

“I will be.”

Ok, when Jensen gets back I’m definitely going to talk to him about going home.  I can’t keep putting it off, no matter how much I want to.  It’s only a week and a half until I’m supposed to be in court, because of course he’s pleading not guilty.  My tummy takes an unpleasant lurch, causing me to pause my efforts to wash up, waiting until it settles back down with a few deeper breaths.  Don’t think about that, just think about how nice it’ll be to go home and see mum and Steph.  Everything else can be dealt with afterwards… just… get this conversation with Jensen done first. 

My phone starts to ring from where it’s sat on the countertop so I hurriedly dry the bubbles from my hands and answer it before the call gets sent to answerphone.


“Hi there!  Am I speaking to Becca Stiles?”  The female voice coming through the phone is young, upbeat, and decidedly American. 

“Speaking…” I confirm cautiously.

“Excellent!  Becca, my name’s Vanessa and I’m from People magazine.  We were so excited to see those photos of you and Jensen on his twitter feed, you must be really excited too,” she gushes all in one long rush, and my eyes fly wide.  A magazine?!  How the hell did some magazine get my phone number?! 

“I… uh…” I stutter.  I was so not prepared for this whatsoever. 

“We were hoping we could arrange an interview with you and Mr Ackles, if he’s not too busy of course?  I’d be happy to do an interview right now if that’s convenient?”  Gotta hand it to her, she’s straight in there and to the point.  My mind goes completely blank and she takes advantage of my silence to start probing.  “So how did you two meet?” 

“Sorry!” I squeak, panicking and disconnecting the call abruptly, placing it face down on the counter in front of me.  “Ooooook….” I breathe out as I slide it away from me, praying that it won’t ring again.  What the hell am I supposed to do about this?!  I am so, so not cut out to speak to magazines.  I’m not very good at censoring my thoughts at the best of times, who knows what a journalist would manage to glean from me in a high-pressure interview situation.   And again I have to ask, how the hell did she get my phone number?!

I hear keys turn in the front door and breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Jensen is home and he’ll be able to tell me how to handle this.  That relief turns to curiosity though when everything remains quiet though, I’ve gotten so used to him announcing himself whenever he comes home that the silence is unusual. 

“Jensen?”  I call warily, my heart rate starting to creep upwards, an unsettling feeling starting to unfurl in my stomach.  I make my way through the kitchen door, holding onto doorways and walls as I go, padding softly and trying not to breathe through my mouth. 

When I round the archway into the entrance hall I let out a shaky laugh, clutching my chest, feeling foolish for being so frightened when I see Jensen stood there by the front door.  He’s slumped though, his shoulders rolling forward, head tilted down to the floor.  It makes him look 3 inches shorter.  It doesn’t look like my Jensen at all. 

I notice he’s holding something in his hands, and when I approach him I realise what it is.  He’s fawning over fluffy rabbit, squeezing the stuffing out of it. 

“Hey boo,” I greet him softly, placing a kiss on the top of his head while I can still reach it, squeezing his bicep.  He looks up and the expression on his face nearly splinters my heart.  It’s almost maternal, this feeling that overwhelms me with the need to hold him in my arms and make everything better, to heal whatever is making his green eyes swim like this.  They’re shining with unfallen tears. 

“I must have dropped it when I was getting her out the car,” he tells me, straightening up just a little, lifting the bunny into our eye line. 

“She’ll be alright without it Jen,” I assure him, “You can give it back to her next time.  It’ll be like a new toy all over again.”  I give him a small smile and he manages a little one back, letting it drop to his side, his free hand now curling around my waist and pulling me close.  I press my nose against his chest, inhaling deeply and filling my lungs with him.  “You’re like… the most beautiful man-crier ever Jen, but I still don’t like it,” I tell him, smiling against him and despite all the sadness he’s feeling he still laughs loudly, squeezing me even tighter.

“What would I do without you?”

Chapter Text

“You’re getting better at this,” Jensen comments from behind me as I line up my shot.  If I sink this ball I’ll be two ahead and officially kicking his ass.  Careful, careful.  I draw back my pool cue and then gently nudge the white, leaving a blue chalk smudge behind.  It rolls slowly, kisses the striped red to send it tumbling, ever so delicately, into the corner pocket. 

“Yes!”  I straighten up, fist pumping the air as I turn and see him stood there with his arms folded, eyebrows raised, one hand closed around his cue.  “You almost look worried babe,” I tease, smiling as I tap my cue against his arm.

“As if,” he smirks playfully.  He saunters round me, eyeing up the table and prospective shots and god damn does he look sexy when he concentrates.  “Eyes on the prize darlin’.”  I blush as he comments on my ogling, lining up his shot and bending right over the table. 

“Oh it is,” I smile sweetly, inspecting his rear without a hint of subtlety. I slink round the table as he aims and then just as he’s about to take his shot I grab at his denim-clad behind, making him miss the ball completely. 

“That’s cheating,” he cries, outraged, expression entirely appalled. 

“It’s all in good fun,” I grin, leaning up to plant a kiss on him, but he steps back, away, still feigning insult.

“No, no, this is how it is huh?”  He backtracks around to the other side of the table and then pushes one of his balls into a pocket with his palm, raising his eyebrows at me like ‘how’d you like that?’. 

“Oh fine!” My voice rises in pitch and then I’m hurrying to push all of mine into the holes while he scrambles to stop me, grabbing at my hands. We’re laughing and shouting and Oscar and Icarus are looking over, ears pricked up, wondering what all the fuss is about.  “Jensen!” I squeal as he pushes my shoulder to flip me over to face him.  He grabs my hips and then lifts me from the floor, bare feet kicking, and sits me on the green of the pool table, still protesting loudly. 

When he kisses me I can’t protest any longer even though I try, trying to pull my mouth away, because his hands then grab my face and hold me fast against him.

“Thish ish cheashin’ choo,” I manage to smush out against his lips and then a laugh is rumbling in his throat as he continues his passionate onslaught.  I give in, kissing him back and looping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.  He must decide I’m not a flight risk anymore because he lets my face go and concentrates on palming my ass instead, his hands slotting in between me and the felt of the pool table.  Ohh… we’re going to end up having sex again and I really, really need to talk to him.  I haven’t even told him about the call from the magazine yet. 

I take the opportunity when he starts kissing my neck to catch my breath and get some much needed words out.

“I really need to- “ He grazes his teeth against my neck gently, “Oh… talk to you about… something.”  It’s so hard to get my words out when he’s doing that

“Right now?” he rumbles along my throat. My willpower almost slips when he nudges my legs open so he can stand between them.  Maybe… maybe I can just do it later.  No, Becca, come on, be strong!  I groan audibly in frustration, bouncing my knees up and down like a petulant child and gently push him away from me by the shoulders.  He meets my eyes questioningly, seemingly astounded that for once I’m turning down our erotic escapades.  I may as well just come right out with it all.

“People magazine got my phone number,” I tell him quickly, folding my hands in my lap, waiting for the fallout.  He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair and smiles a rueful smile. 

“I’m guessin’ you don’t have the tightest online privacy.”  No, now that he mentions it, I don’t think I do. In fact, I’m pretty sure that my phone number is on at least one of my social media pages…  I grin back, slightly embarrassed that I’ve made such an oversight. 

“I’ll sort it out,” I assure him, “She tried to interview me right then and there.”  I roll my eyes and he chuckles.  “I didn’t say anything though, don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried.”  He brushes my cheek with his thumb and pecks my lips with his own.  “You couldn’t come out with anything worse than Misha does on a regular basis.”  He’s probably right.  Damn that Misha and his propensity to troll the fandom.  “I’ll give you my agent’s number, if anyone calls again all you gotta do is direct them to her.”  I nod, happy and satisfied that there’s a plan in place should it happen again. 

“It still seems totally bizarre that I’m even having this conversation.”  I look down at my lap, swinging my legs back and forth a little from my seat on the pool table when Jensen hops up onto it next to me.  “When did my life become all actors and magazines and agents?”

“Well if you will go seducing Vancouver’s best and brightest,” he says, nudging shoulders with me, voice laced with humour.  I chuckle, looking over at him.  God, I love him.  The thought rings out so loudly in my head that it makes me smile inanely, crinkling up my nose with glee.  I never knew it could feel like this; so instinctive.  How am I ever going to go home?  “I love it when you smile like that.”  He’s making me blush again, cheeks warm with happiness, and it kills me to know that I’m not quite done yet. 

“Jen… I need to go home for Lewis’ trial,” I tell him softly, fingers gripping the edge of the table.  Instantaneously that smile that was so bright on his face drops away, a frown taking its place.  He looks away, starting to shake his head, so I carry on.  “He’s pleading not guilty, I have to go home and give evidence.”  He hops down from the table and starts to pace while I watch on anxiously, unsure of what else to say.  He stops in front of his sofa, back to me, but I can see him gripping the backrest so hard that his knuckles are turning white, his shoulders tense.  “Say something,” I prompt quietly when the silence expands. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, almost laughing with exasperation, shaking his head and then putting it down so all I can see is the back of his neck. 

“Say you’ll support me… that you’ll be here for me and understand why I need to do this,” I implore.  I wish he’d come over here, I want to touch him because I know he’s hurting.  This is hard for us both.  His shoulders relax, fingers loosening their grip and he turns back to me. 

“Babydoll… I’m always here for you,” he says emphatically, face creased with that desperate concern you reserve for the people you love most.  He bridges the gap between us and enfolds me in his arms so snugly that it’s kinda hard to breathe. 

“I don’t want to see him,” I say against his chest, and god, I really don’t.  I keep my eyes open, looking at the buttons on Jensen’s shirt instead of closing my eyes where I know Lewis’ face will be waiting for me.  “I want to stay with you.”  I squeeze him back and as I do I hear him sigh.  “But I need to do this for… closure…” He loosens his grip just enough to look down at me.  “Or some shit like that,” I finish with a lame smile and a shrug. 

“And you’ll be alright?” he asks, inspecting me closely to spot any flicker of hesitation.  I think he’d still like to talk me out of it if he could. 

“Probably not,” I admit honestly, because even now I can feel the unsettled churning of my stomach at just the thought of coming face to face with him.  It’s bound to be a million times worse once when I’m actually there.  “But mum stressing and I miss all my animals.”  I pause.  “And maybe my sister.  A bit.”  He laughs softly, pushing my fringe back out of my eyes. 

“Alright,” he succumbs, sighing heavily, “I’ll get you a ticket home for Saturday.”  That’s in two days… that barely seems like any time at all and suddenly I want to clamp myself round him and take it all back.  “I just have one condition.”  I peer up at him curiously.  What could little me old me do for Jensen?

“What is it?” He takes hold of one of my hands, slipping his fingers between mine while the other stays round my waist. 

“That you come back, as soon as you can.”  I nod eagerly.  Of course I will, that’s always been my plan.  I know long distance will be hard but we’ll be able to see each other at least every few weeks, right?  We’ll just have to get used to Skyping all the time again.  “And move in here, with me.” 



Despite the fact that Jensen effectively asked me to relocate halfway across the world to live with him, leaving behind my family, my friends, my job, everything I’ve ever known… he’s remarkably tight lipped about it.  I tried to carry on the conversation, to see if he really meant what he was asking, but he just tells me that he wants me to think about it for a while, that we’ll talk more about it at a later date.  I wanted to disagree but then he’d pushed me backwards onto the pool table and his shirt came off and… well… I couldn’t bring myself say no the second time.  I’m not made of stone, after all. 

Two days has gone too quickly, especially when Jensen has been at work for obscenely large proportions of time.  Yesterday he was out of the house for 15 hours and there’s only so many times you can walk the dogs and so many hours of tv you can watch before you give up and go to bed.  I guess if I lived here this is what it’d be like a lot of the time… especially if he was jetting here there and everywhere to do conventions.  Would it get too lonely?  I mean Gen and Jared do it and they seem happy, so it must be possible.  Still, despite his absence during the day it was nice to be woken up by him sliding into the covers next to me when he got home, smelling fresh and clean from the shower he always takes before he leaves the studio.  He was so affectionate and full of apologies that weren’t really needed for leaving me on my own for so long. 

They’ve let him disappear for an hour or so this afternoon to accompany me to the airport and I can’t decide whether it’s a good or a bad thing that he’s here.  I mean, it’s always wonderful to have him with me and I wouldn’t want to leave before one more embrace, but he just looks so sad as he hands me my suitcase from the boot of the car. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks me, ever hopeful that I’ll change my mind.  I give him a small smile and an even smaller shake of my head.

“You know my mum said more or less the same thing to me the last time I was about to get on a plane.”  The corners of his mouth turn up a tiny amount but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes at all.  God, he looks like I’m pulling out his heart and stomping on it.  “And before you suggest it again,” I say, tapping his chin lightly so his mouth that was about to speak closes, “You’ve only just gone back to work, you can’t go asking for them to delay filming just so you can hold my hand.”  He pouts, and it’s adorable. 

I put my bags down so I can wrap my arms around him, holding onto him harder than ever.  It’s vaguely reminiscent of the first time we had to say goodbye, except this time I’m not shy about telling him how I feel, about how much he’s come to mean to me. 

“You’ve no idea how much I’m going to miss you,” I say quietly, looking up at him, my throat going tight.  I’m going to cry, I know I will. 

“I’ll miss you too babydoll.”  He thumbs my cheek, wiping away the tear that’s already fallen and I use the sleeve of my cardigan to dry the other.  “You call me as soon as you land, y’hear?”  I nod, unable to stop myself crying, my stomach feeling hollow. 

I know this isn’t just about leaving Jensen, however hard it is.  Some of it is to do with the fear I can feel slowly unfurling in the depths of me.  Going home means confronting all those feelings that I had in all those familiar places; remembering the sobs that wracked my damaged body curled up in my sister’s bed, the self-pity I felt gazing at my bruises in the bathroom mirror.  It’s been so much simpler to ignore at all when I’m an ocean away, and now I have to go back, confront all my demons without my Dean Winchester. 

“Hey, c’mon, you’re gonna make me cry too,” he laughs breathily, the sound wavering a little.  It’s true; his gorgeous eyes are filling up and shining back at me and somehow it makes me smile, knowing that I mean so much to him.  “I love you.” 

“I love you more,” I whisper back, my heart pounding in my chest.  I’m so glad we got here early, I would have hated to have had to rush this.  He lifts me from the floor, just by a few inches so we’re misty eye to misty eye and then we share one long, lingering goodbye kiss, not caring who might be watching our public displays of affection.  We’re smiling when we pull away, despite our sadness, and when he puts me down he places one last kiss on the top of my head, lips warm on my scalp. 

“I love you most.”  I’m rubbing off on him.  Who would have thought Jensen would be quoting soppy things from children’s films before I came into his life?  “Go on, go, quick, before I change my mind and I really do hold you ransom,” he warns, letting me go and shoving his hands in his pockets, as if he doesn’t trust his hands to not cling on to me to stop me leaving.  I pick up my bags with a bitter-sweet smile, take one last look at him and then turn and walk away, suitcase click-clacking behind me.  Damnit Becca pull yourself together, you’ll see him again soon.  But most importantly, don’t look back.  I know I’ll fall apart completely if I see him standing there looking all dejected, so I just carry on my way, shaking my head a little and sniffing to get rid of any remaining tears. 

Just a moment later I notice a young woman stood in a nearby queue with a camera phone that looks remarkably like it’s pointed at me, chattering excitedly to another girl stood beside her.  At first it doesn’t even register why she’d be doing it, but then I remember who I’ve just kissing and it all makes sense.  Oh god, oh, this is going to end up on Tumblr isn’t it?  Thank the lord I had the foresight to put on waterproof eye make-up today.  I panic and the first things that springs into my head is all those snaps of Misha at airports, pulling stupid faces.  Hey, if it's good enough for him it's good enough for me.

So, in an act that he would be proud of I give the girls a big thumbs up and an over-exaggerated wink that I know they’ve captured because now they’re waving back and laughing.  I keep on walking, a new spring in my step, reminded of everything that I have to be thankful for, even if I’m being temporarily separated from it for a while.  Yep, my name is Becca Stiles and Jensen Ackles is my boyfriend.  Living the fan-girl dream.  

“Oh you’ve got a tan!”  That’s the first thing my mother says to me - after the squealing - when I meet her after baggage claim, aching and stiff from the flight.  If this is what first-class feels like I don’t know how people fly economy. 

“Mum, it’s Canada, not Miami,” I say with my head over her shoulder as she hugs the hell out of me.  I’m hardly bronzed, just darker than my usual shade of ghostly white.  It’s probably all the time we spent outside walking the dogs. 

“It’s so good to have you home,” she gushes, letting me go and stepping back to inspect me properly.  “You didn’t call enough.”  Her look is vaguely disapproving over the top of her glasses but she’s still smiling anyway, too happy to have me here to stay mad at me.  She takes hold of my suitcase and wheels it along for me as we make our way to her car. 

“Sorry,” I apologise sheepishly, “Guess I was just having too much of a good time.” 

“I’ll bet you were,” she quips back quickly and my cheeks flush at the unspoken subtext to her words.  She may be my mother, and we may not talk about these things, but I’ll bet she knows what was keeping me busy.  “Steph tells me you and Jensen are an item now.  Facebook official and everything.”  I laugh loudly, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

“We are,” I confirm with an enthusiastic nod.  It still seems weird to say that’s true, no matter how many times I’ve thought it or said it out loud with barely contained glee.  

“Is he treating you well?” she checks as we head through the glass doors into the carpark.  She is such a mum sometimes.  But then I guess with everything I’ve been through lately it’s only right that she’s making sure. 

“The best.”  I think she can see from the look on my face as we come to a standstill next to her car that I’m one lovesick puppy because she just smiles back at me gladly. 

“Bag,” she states, holding out a hand to take it after she’s put my suitcase into her boot.  I hand it over and then get into the passenger seat of her car.  Her little three-door seems tiny after driving around in Jensen’s 4x4 for the last two weeks.  Oh, I can’t wait to get back into Twiggy again! I’ve really missed the freedom of driving myself around. 

“Anyway,” I start as she climbs into the driver’s seat and I’m plugging in my seatbelt, “Enough about Jensen and me.  What’s been going on back here?” 

“Besides the whole family asking about Jensen and you?” she answers wryly, clipping on extra lenses to her normal reading glasses so she can see to drive.  I laugh as she continues, “You know us, life goes on.  Steph has an assignment due in two days that she hasn’t started, your nan is calling all night every night because she can’t remember which pills to take, the usual.”

“There’s nothing wrong with consistency,” I remind her. 

“No, true.”  I let her concentrate on driving out of the busy car park and onto the motorway, knowing all too well that she doesn’t do too well when multi-tasking.  My phone goes off in my cardigan pocket and I realise instantly that I haven’t called Jensen yet.  It must be him. 

‘I checked ur flight and I no you’ve landed safely, no thx to u xxx.’ I snort out a laugh, entirely amused that he’s done the same thing as me all that time ago when I checked up on his aeronautical exploits.  Mum glances over at me. 

“Just need to call Jen a sec,” I explain, loading up Skype without the camera, ignoring the look she gives me.  It’s not a bad look, per se, I just know she’s planning on teasing me later about how bad I’ve got it.  I probably deserve it, I do have it pretty damn bad.    

“Hey babydoll,” Jensen greets me and he sounds pretty beat, voice muffled as if he’s got bed covers over his head.  In all honesty I’ve got no idea what time it is there now… I’m not even sure what time it is here.  Hearing his voice makes me pang with longing, wishing I could see his face. 

“Hey you.  You sound sleepy.” 

“I am.  My bed isn’t the same without you.”  My mum lets out a little laugh and I’m suddenly very aware that although he isn’t on speakerphone the volume of the call is still pretty loud. 

“Just so you know, my mum totally heard that,” I tell him, grinning into my lap, a blush rising on my chest.

“Whoops.”  I can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s smiling too.  “Anyway, I just wanted to check you got back ok.”

“I’m fine Jen, get yourself back to sleep.” 

“Yes ma’am.  I love you.”  I glance over to my mum, wondering how much she’s listening.  More than she’s letting on, probably.

“Love you,” I mumble back into the phone. 

“Sorry, didn’t hear you, I said I LOVE YOU,” he practically yells back.  Mum jumps in her seat at the loud noise, swerving the car a little and then Jensen is laughing, knowing that he’s embarrassing me when I groan. 

“I love you too, assbutt.  Sleep tight.” 

“Night beautiful.”  I hang up the phone, wishing I was going to sleep myself, but oh god, I’ve just looked at the clock and it’s like 10am.  This jet lag is going to kill me.  Going from west to east is definitely worse. 

“Why don’t you shut your eyes a bit?” Mum suggests from her seat next to me.  I guess just a little nap wouldn’t hurt, just to try and keep myself going until bedtime tonight at least.

“Good idea,” I yawn, shuffling myself in my seat, trying to find a comfy way to lean my head against the seatbelt.  I barely make it through one song on the radio before I fall fast asleep. 

Chapter Text

I don’t even stir until we hit the gravel of my mum’s driveway with a rumble that makes me jump in my seat, half expecting to still be on the plane and experiencing turbulence. 

“Home sweet home,” mum signs happily, switching off the ignition.  “You head on in, I’ll grab the bags.”

“Thanks.”  That nap was a bad idea; if anything I just feel worse, shuffling towards the front door like a zombie.  It’s unlocked so I had straight in.  As soon as my foot crosses the threshold something fat and ginger and fuzzy catches my eye. 

“Zag!”  I cry as she squints at me, her tail doing that tiny shudder that I know means she’s happy to see me.  I drop to my knees and fuss her incessantly, dragging my fingers through her fur.  “Oh I missed you!” I lean right down to bump my head against hers in a display of affection but she starts slinking away, toward the living room.  “Hey, you, not done loving you!”  I call after her, crawling on my hands and knees, swatting her tail.

“Welcome home!” comes a chorus of voices from somewhere other than the floor and I slowly raise my eyes from the carpet.  When I see several pairs of legs my embarrassment is intense and immediate, cheeks blazing red.  The family and friends around me laugh as I rise to my feet, grinning sheepishly. 

So many people are here to see me!  My grandparents, Jess, Steph, Laura, my old school friend Emma.  Oh, and they’ve made me a banner and everything!

“You guys!” I gush, “What’re you all doing here?”  I hug each of them in turn and everyone is all smiles and asking how I am as they arrange themselves in our small living room, finding surfaces to sit on wherever they can. 

“Well if you aren’t going to answer your messages how else are we supposed to get the gossip first-hand?” Jess teases good-naturedly. 

“Haven’t you heard she’s too good for us now, miss dating-a-famour-actor?!”  Emma can barely contain her excitement, gripping the sofa cushions.  I should have known she’d be frothing at the mouth, she’s the only one of my friends that actually watches Supernatural regularly. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I groan as they continue their gentle ribbing.  I sit myself cross legged on the floor because there’s really nowhere else to sit, especially when my mum comes to join us too.  “I couldn’t find your messages in the hundreds of others I’ve suddenly got.  It’s insane.”

It really is.  By the day after Jensen had put that photo of me and JJ up (#mygirls) I’d gotten 2,000 more followers on Twitter, just under 300 friend requests on Facebook and almost as many messages from a whole host of random people.  It was totally and utterly overwhelming, so I’ve just sort of ignored it all, not even knowing where to start. 

“It's so hard being so popular,” Steph jokes from her spot next to me on the carpet and I roll my eyes. 

“It’s totally amazing but it’s just… weird,” I try to explain, “It doesn’t feel like it should really be happening.” 

“So what’s he like?” Emma asks eagerly and despite the fact that I’ve known everyone in this room for over 5 years I actually hesitate a little.   I wouldn’t want to go saying anything personal or private that might get passed on to places it shouldn’t. 

“Do you have a picture?”  My grandmother asks politely, leaning forward from her chair, hands folded in her lap.  My grandparents on my mother’s side are so prim and proper, the archetype of the older British generation, all manners and stiff upper lip.  You wouldn’t catch them watching Supernatural in a million years. 

“Sure,” I smile, pulling out my phone and opening the gallery.  I load up a picture of us together on one of our walks with the dogs and pass it over, safe in the knowledge that they can scroll either way without coming across anything inappropriate.  She takes it from me, my grandfather peering over her shoulder and she has to move it back and forth a little in her line of vision to focus properly on the screen.  Man, getting old sucks.  That's gonna be me one day; both her and my mum wear glasses, I’m pretty sure I’m next. 

“He’s handsome,” she comments approvingly.  To be honest I think they’re just relieved that I don’t date guys who only dress in black with long greasy hair anymore.  Ah, the things we do when we’re young. 

“Lemme see,” Laura prompts, making grabby gestures with her outstretched hands. 

“You’ve already met him!” I laugh as the phone gets passed along, everyone getting a good look. 

“I know,” she says, blushing, “But I wanna see him again.” 

“So do I,” my nan comments in an unusual display of humour and the room erupts into laughter, my grandpa tutting beside her but smiling nonetheless. 

“Alright, alright, stop ogling the goodies,” I say when I see Laura taking liberties, swiping through lots of photos, turning her head this way and that. 

“Oh look at his doggies!” Jess gushes, screwing up her face at the cuteness.  I lean forward, outstretching my hand to take it back but they ignore me. 

“Is that his daughter?” Laura asks before finally handing it back.  “She’s so adorable.”

“Like father like daughter,” Emma grins cheekily and I tut, locking my phone and putting it away again.  Ah, the downsides of having a ridiculously gorgeous boyfriend; everyone wants a piece and they’re not afraid to say it, especially seeing as he’s in the public eye.  Still, I know they’re only teasing. 

“He’s not just a pretty face you know,” I inform them, stroking Zag now she’s come to sit next to me again. 

“Are things pretty serious with you guys?”  Steph enquires and I smile shyly down at Zag, avoiding all the eyes looking at me expectantly.  I could tell them about what he said about me moving in with him but I think mum might have a stroke if I mention that so soon after coming home.  Plus they’d start asking me what I was going to do, and right now I have no idea. 

“He makes me really happy,” I say simply, hoping that that’ll be enough to sate them.  It seems to do the trick because they all go quiet for a moment.

“I was always more of a Sam girl anyway,” Emma comments into the silence and I laugh, “What’s he like?”  

“Lovely, Jared’s really lovely.  All his friends are just… amazing people,” I explain enthusiastically.  I’m really going to miss hanging out with those guys all the time. 

Mum offers everyone hot drinks, as is her habit, and my grandparents end up excusing themselves, Emma following suit.  She’s super fussy about her coffee; she couldn’t possibly let anyone else make it. 

"It’s great to see you looking so happy so soon after everything,” Laura says after a moment, making sure the others had left the room, really looking at me hard.  The smile drops away from my face and I shuffle uncomfortably in my place, stomach clenching.  “Steph was telling me there’s a hearing next week?”  Oh joy, everyone’s been talking about it. 

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” Jess interjects, looking at me sympathetically, “Going there and seeing him I mean.”  I give a mirthless chuckle, shrugging my shoulders.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do it either,” I admit.  I don’t think it’s something you can necessarily prepare for, although I know my lawyer wants to see me a couple of days beforehand to do just that.  That’ll be a blast. 

“You know I’ll come with if you want me to, just say the word,” Laura offers.  The mental image of Laura having to be held back by police officers lest she disembowel Lewis on the spot enters my mind and I think it must cross hers too because suddenly she’s smiling.  “I promise I’d control my murderous rage.”

“I’m promising nothing,” Steph mutters beside me, picking fluff from the carpet.

“I’m not sure you should be there,” I tell her swiftly.  I don’t really want my younger sister hearing all the gruesome details.  I know she’s 19 but I still feel like I shouldn’t be exposing her to that.  She looks up at me sharply looking both frustrated and hurt in equal amounts. 

“I want to be there for you,” she says so fiercely that I don’t have the heart to fight her about it.  We’ve never been the closest of sisters, similar in interests but almost opposite in personality, and the big age gap never helped, so it means a lot to me that she so desperately wants to support me in this.  

“Alright,” I succumb with a small sigh and she nods minutely, seemingly satisfied.   I’d like to think that it’s just hunger from not eating during the flight that’s making me feel nauseous but I really don’t think that’s the case.  I’m pretty sure it’s the same thing that’s making my chest feel tight, skin turning red over my collarbone where I’m rubbing nervously. 

An uncomfortable silence grows in the room because no one can figure out how to pull the conversation back to more pleasant topics and I’m really not doing a very good job of hiding my anxiety.  It just gets bigger and bigger and they’re looking at each other awkwardly and I just can’t stand it. 

“Guys, I’m really jetlagged, do you mind if I go get some sleep?”  I ask, using my tiredness as a convenient excuse to remove myself from the situation. 

“Sure, of course,” Laura agrees quickly as I stand myself up.

“It was really nice of you to come over,” I tell her and Jess, forcing a smile onto my lips as best I can, embracing them one at a time.

“We need to get together and do something fun with the rest of the girls sometime soon,” Jess tells me as she’s squeezing me back, it lasting just a little bit too long. 


“You’re bunking with me again,” Steph tells me, peering up at me from her seat on the floor looking concerned and I nod, not making eye contact. 

“Cool, see you guys.” 

I say my goodbyes to everyone in the kitchen, excusing myself upstairs much to my mum’s dismay. 

“But I thought you wanted coffee?”   I make my apologies, yawning profusely to emphasise my point and finally she lets me retreat upstairs with my suitcase in hand. 

I get changed into something more comfortable to take a nap, taking my time because I know it’ll take a little while for me to drop off to sleep now anyway with how tense I feel.  It wasn’t a total lie that I’m tired, I feel entirely exhausted after so much travelling.  By the time I’ve lain there with my eyes burning holes into the ceiling for a good half hour most of our guests have left, I can tell from the amount of times the front door has opened and shut.  I hope they don’t think I’m rude for running off.  Then again, I’m guessing they’ll excuse me considering everything I’ve been through and everything they feel sorry for me for.  I never get that feeling from Jensen; he supports me, he comforts me, but I never feel like he pities me.  God, I miss him so much already that it physically hurts.  I fall asleep hugging Steph’s pillow tight, wishing he was beside me. 

Hi Jen!” I answer cheerfully as I connect Jensen’s skype call with a swipe of my thumb.  I’m walking briskly through the centre of my hometown and it must be a Saturday because there’s lots of people around, busy with their shopping, paying me no notice. 

“Hey Becca,” he answers, face appearing on the screen.  He looks gorgeous as always, eyes shining brightly through the screen and my heart bounds appreciatively at the sight. He doesn’t look happy though, there’s none of his usual smile, and as he fails to say anything else I feel anxiety start to grow inside of me.

“Are you ok?” He shakes his head, sighing heavily, and I rub my neck nervously, my instinctive response.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Uh-oh,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood but he barely blinks.  Someone knocks into me with their shopping bag and I glare at them over my shoulder… they could have apologised at least.

“My agent doesn’t think ‘us’ is a good idea.” What? I come to a stand-still in a shopping centre walkway, people milling past me on either side.  Is it getting louder in here?

“What are you talking about?” I ask him, having to raise my voice because I swear it’s like everyone’s talking loudly on purpose, a general low hum that I feel vibrating through my chest. 

“She thinks you’re bad for my image.”  Bad for his image?  I know I’m not exactly perfect, Jensen is out of my league, sure, but bad for his image?  Someone else in the crowd smacks into me with their shoulder and I almost stumble, barely keeping my footing. “I’m not sure I want you around JJ either.”

“Why? What have I-“  He shakes his head, cutting me off.

“You’re just so damaged.” He continues to shake his head, looking away from the screen and from me with disgust, his nose wrinkled up, eyes cold.  “You’re not the kind of role model she needs.”  The crowd presses in tighter around me and my chest is tightening too, blood roaring in my ears and that hum, that buzz, is getting louder. 

“What are you saying?”  Tears start to slide hot down my face and I’m so embarrassed, so humiliated that all these people are seeing me cry, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of despair crashing over me at Jensen’s words.  How can he be saying this to me? I thought we had something special, that I made him happy.  I thought he loved me. 

“I just think we should go our separate ways,” he tells me plainly, looking straight at me through the webcam lens so there can be no mistaking the fact that he looks devoid of any emotion at all. He looks almost bored by the sight of my tears. “I had fun though.”  It feels like he’s kicked me straight in the gut, and if it weren’t for the strangers pressed right against me on either side, bodies jostling me around like a ragdoll, I think I’d be falling to the floor.  I need to get out of here, I need to go, there’s too many people and I can’t catch my breath.  They’re using up all the air.    

“Jensen, I can’t… I don’t…” I’m trying to push my way through but it’s never ending, there’s person after person and their hands are all over me.  At first they’re just touching, brushing my skin, but then they turn aggressive, grabby.  I know he’s replying but I can’t hear him, they’re too noisy, they’re too loud and I’m shoving and sobbing and twisting and all I want is Jensen… but he doesn’t want me anymore.  Why won’t they all stop shouting?!

I look up through tear streaked eyes at the closest person to me who’s grabbing at my elbow.  A scream is born in my windpipe and comes pouring out of me at the sight; the person is faceless, all one smooth surface of creamy coloured skin, no mouth, no eyes, just undulating, pulsating skin that mirrors the pounding of my heart.

I sink to the ground, curling in on myself protectively, head tucked down underneath my arms and my phone is gone but I’m calling out for him, begging him to come to me between sobs that wrack my body.

“Jensen, please, I’m scared Jensen, don’t leave me here!"  They’re still clawing at me, long fingers trailing through my hair, grabbing the back of my neck.  “Please!” I sob. 

The hands are gone, the noise is gone, all I can hear instead is my own brittle sobs, the white of the empty room I’m left in so bright that it’s burning in past my eyelids.  Minutes pass, I don’t know how many, as I rock myself back and forth trying desperately to self soothe.  And then a hand returns, this one is gentle as it strokes my hair, calloused fingers brushing my scalp and I hope with all hopes that it’s Jensen, that’s he’s come because I called, that he still loves me and wants me and that I’m safe with him.  I take a deep breath in that shakes and shudders as I lift my head and force my eyes open.  It’s too bright in here…  I can barely see.

“Jensen?” I call softly, tilting my head to lean towards his touch. 

The hand that was initially so loving turns vicious, taking a fist full of my hair and yanking me to my feet.  I shriek because I’ve been here before and I know exactly how this feels, and I don’t have to see whom the hand belongs to know, with unbridled terror, that it’s Lewis stood behind me. I feel his lips pressed to the curve of my ear, I can feel the lines of his smile, and when he voice comes out as a growl I whimper.


I don’t wake up with a jump or a start, nothing that dramatic; I just slowly drift back into consciousness, my sobs from my dream becoming my sobs in the waking world. 

“Jensen,” I cry his name helplessly into my pillow, convinced, at least for the few seconds that I’m half-awake, that he really has left me and that all that conversation was real.   The loss I feel is unbearable, a gaping hole in my chest where my heart should be that throbs and aches for him.  Even as I start to realise it was just a dream I still can’t shake it, thankful that Steph isn’t here to see me falling apart.  Thoughtlessly I grab my phone and call Jensen’s number through bleary eyes, uncaring about whatever time it may be in Vancouver.  It rings and it rings and with each one I’m gasping for breath, trying to calm myself down but it’s just not working.  I feel like a toddler that’s just had an all out crying bitch-fit and can’t come back down. 

“Becca, baby, are you ok?” he asks as soon as he answers the phone and just hearing his voice makes a whole new wave of tears washing over me.

“I had a bad dream,” I choke out, still feeling like a child who’s desperate for parental comfort, to be held and told the monsters aren’t real.  “You told me-“  I can barely finish my sentence, pressing my palm to wet eyes, pressing my lips together,  “You told me you didn’t want to be with me anymore.” 

“Babydoll, you don’t ever need to worry about me tellin’ you that,” he assures me over my shaky breathing. 

“And then you were gone… and then Lewis was there, and-“ I’m going to throw up, oh god, I am.  I launch myself out of bed on shaking legs, my hand pressed to my mouth, the other still clutching my phone and I can hear Jensen calling out for me with concern but I can’t possibly reply.  I barely make it to the toilet before my guts are spilling out for the fourth morning in a row.  I cough roughly, tears still streaming, acid burning my nose.  Somehow I manage to put him on speakerphone, abandoning my phone on the top of the laundry basket. 

“I’m sorry,” I say thickly, disgusted at myself.  He must be disgusted too, but I still don’t want him to go.  “I’m so sorry Jen, god, why do you even love me at all?” I ask it quietly, half to myself and half to him, my head still hanging over the toilet bowl.   

“There’s not a single thing that I don’t love about you.” His reply comes so quickly, so reflexively that it makes me smile a little down at the porcelain.  There’s not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

I wipe my mouth with a piece of toilet paper, the urge to vomit subsiding but leaving the churning stomach in its wake, flush the toilet and then gargle my mouth out with water, Jensen waiting patiently on the line.  

“Sorry,” I apologise again, picking the phone back up and leaving the bathroom, retreating once more to my bed, feeling just as exhausted as when I lay down 10 hours ago.  This is ridiculous, I can’t keep doing this.  I’ve been home for four days and each and every night I’ve had recurring nightmares; each time I’ve called Jensen in tears, each time I’ve spent the morning vomiting with anxiety.  This is the first time he’s heard it though. 

“You’re so much worse there,” he comments quietly and I can hear the worry in his tone.  I hate that he’s right and that I’m worrying him.  I hate that I keep calling him because I know I’m making him just as drained as me, constantly waking him up in the middle of the Vancouver night.  It’s affecting both of us badly. 

“I’ll be ok,” I assure him even though I don’t know if I will be at all.  It has to get better again, it will, after the court case is done and Lewis is behind bars I can finally put all of this behind me. 

“You need to come home.”  I can’t help but smile a little at the fact that Jensen so firmly believes that my true home is with him, in Canada, half a world away. 

“I know,” I admit.  He’s right, things are so much better when I’m with him.  I’m so much calmer, so much better equipped to fight the things that fill me with fear. 

“Have you thought about what I said?” 

“Jen, please, I just want to focus on getting the court case out of the way before I go making any life altering decisions,” I huff, a little frustrated that he’s pressing this so hard, pinching the bridge of my nose.  Here comes a headache again.  Every day he’s brought it up at some point, and whilst it’s wonderful to know that he wants me there so badly, it’s just adding another layer of pressure.  It’s an extra weight I really don’t need right now. 

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he apologises and he sounds so sincere that my frustration at him instantly fades.  I just want him here, I want him to hold me tight and kiss everything away.  It’s always so easy, so natural with us. 

“I love you Jen.  Go back to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“I really wish you would be.” 

Chapter Text

“I thought you liked salmon?” mum asks me from her side of the sofa as I push the fish flakes around my plate with my fork.  I do, I love salmon, I’d eat it all day every day if I could but right now I can’t bring myself to eat anything at all.  Nothing has passed my lips since I met with my Lawyer this afternoon and the whole thing has made me feel sick as a dog. It’s getting harder to pretend that it isn’t happening anymore, not now it’s less than two day away. 

“I do,” I murmur at the tray on my lap.  I take a mouthful, hopeful that it will placate her, but I don’t really taste it at all.  It takes me forever just to chew it, my throat tight as I swallow it down. 

“Did it not go well today with Rose?”  I put down my fork when my mum speaks again, sighing softly and catching Steph’s eye from across the room.  I can tell she’s thinking the same thing as me; that sometimes our mother is entirely oblivious.  Can she really not figure out that perhaps I’m just scared as hell? 

“I’m not really sure those sort of things can go well,” I reply, careful to keep my voice even.  I mean, yeah, we did what we needed to do and that’s fine, but at the same time it really, really wasn’t.  Going through everything out loud was horrifying and by the time I’d left her office I was visibly shaking, my face ashen in the washroom mirrors.  Thankfully the house had been empty when I came back, my sister at college, mum at work, and I managed to calm myself down.  Only Steph had noticed that something wasn’t right with me, just a little too quiet, a little detached.  Still, she knew better than to push me about it.  I wish that mum was so wise. 

“No, I suppose not,” she admits, dragging her eyes away from my full plate and back to the TV where her favourite soap is playing.  I resume playing with my food, managing the odd mouthful every now and again but eventually I give up and put my tray on the floor with a heavy sigh. Zag is already sat there waiting for it and she tucks into the fish with gusto.  It’s no wonder she’s a little bit fat.  “You shouldn’t let her eat off of your plate like that,” she scolds. 

“It’s not like I’m eating it,” I mumble back, folding my arms and resting my head back against the sofa.  I’m so tired.  Since I’ve come home I’ve been afflicted with a never-ending fatigue and it’s really getting old.  My phone starts flashing from where it’s sat on the arm of the sofa. 

‘U free? X’  It’s Jensen.  I excuse myself from the room, taking my tray with me into the kitchen and depositing it by the sink . I take a seat at the counter and then call Jensen on Skype, checking my reflection as it connects. 

“Hey Jen, I thought you’d be filming,” I say as his face pops up.  I still can’t get used to seeing him clean shaven again, although admittedly it takes about 5 years off of him.  The view behind him is somewhere I don’t recognise, but I guess it must be part of the set somewhere. 

“I am, just wanted to say hey while I could,” he smiles at me.  He’s wearing his favourite baseball cap again and I wish I could be there to swivel it around front and back, front and back, like I usually do.  It annoys him greatly, messing up his hair underneath, but he ends up laughing anyway. 

“Well hey,” I smile back, tucking my fringe behind my ear. 

“How’d the meeting go?” he asks, face turning serious, frowning slightly.

“Horribly,” I half-laugh, rolling my eyes.  It’s amazing how much more open I can be with him than I can with anyone else.  “But it was useful, she talked me through everything, let me know what to expect.  One more thing checked off the list.” 

“Well that’s somethin’ at least.”  We go quiet for a few moments, just looking at each other’s images on our screens, and when the corners of his lips start to twitch I end up laughing. We just can’t keep straight faces, even when checking each other out.  “I wanna kiss you,” he tells me and it makes me happy and sad all at the same time.  What I wouldn’t give to feel his soft lips on mine right now.

“You’re making me miss you even more,” I scold teasingly, smiling sadly at him. 

“Sorry babydoll.”  He plants a smacker of a kiss against his palm and then frees it in my direction.  I pretend to catch it, chuckling, and then wrinkle my nose at the both of us.

“We’re disgusting.”  He nods his agreement. 

“We can be disgusting together.  I miss you too, by the way.” 

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t say it back,” I grin, raising my eyebrows at him. 

“Would never leave you hanging,” he assures and I know he means it.  I hear some sort of announcement go off where he is but can’t quite make it out because Jensen starts talking immediately over the top of it.  They must have a tannoy system around the studios or something.  “Gotta go babe, love you,” he says quickly, eyes flicking off away from the screen to look at something else, and he’s starting to walk.

“Bye, love-“ The call disconnects suddenly and I frown down at my phone, leaning back slightly.  Huh, well that was weird. 

I don’t stay downstairs for much longer because I’m getting too irritable with my mum, a consequence of me being tired, I think.  I take myself off upstairs before I can upset anyone too much and decide to try and get an early night.  I’m pretty sure that I’ll fall asleep easily enough, it’s whether I’ll stay asleep peacefully that’s the big question, and unfortunately after reliving everything today I think I know what the answer is. 

I try to call Jensen again before I go to sleep but it just goes straight through to answerphone; I guess he must still be filming.  I send him a lovesick text message anyway and then put some soothing music to fall asleep to, hoping it might put me in a better state of mind for a peaceful night’s sleep.


Get off me, NO, stop!  I don’t want this!  Please!

“Bec, Bec!  Wake up!”   Steph’s loud voice pulls me out from underneath him, the force that I’d felt grabbing my arm becoming her hand, but even as she wakes me and I’m panting and sweating, the weight doesn’t lift from my chest.  I sit up right, clutching the skin above my heart through my t-shirt and try desperately to catch my breath, staring back at her wild-eyed.   She looks scared too, her expression grim in the dark.  “You were tossing and crying in your sleep,” she tells me softly. 

“I’m ok,” I tell her, even though I’m clearly not. “I’m ok.” I shut my eyes and count backwards from ten, focusing on trying to progressively slow my breathing with each number.  By the time I reach one, muttering quietly under my breath, I’m a little calmer and that weight is slightly easier to ignore.  If it weren’t for Steph being right next to me watching I’m not sure I would be so well controlled.  I just don’t want her to have to see me like this, to have to deal with her big sister being such a mess, and that makes me pull it back and push it down deep inside. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, opening up my eyes to find her still watching me closely, chewing her lip with concern.  I hope we didn’t wake mum up. 

“It’s not your fault,” she assures me and I give her a false little smile.  She pauses, still chewing on her lip and then takes a big breath.  “I know you’re scared shitless,” she begins, “But you’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”  I look down at the bed covers modestly, that smile that was false turning into a real one.  

“I dunno, I’m not feeling particularly brave right now,” I confess, very aware that I can feel fear-induced sweat cooling on my back.  That certainly doesn’t feel very courageous. 

“Listen to me, anyone who can handle women screaming bloody murder at them while they squeeze out goo-covered human beings has got to have some serious balls.  Or be crazy, one of the two,” she smiles.  She’s never made any secret of the fact that she thinks childbirth is one of the grossest things ever.

“It’s probably a bit of both,” I grin back.  She lies herself back down in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.  “Do you mind if I try to give Jensen a call?” I ask her.  It’s bothering me that I couldn’t get hold of him earlier, even more so when I see that he hasn’t replied to my text yet.  It’s not like him at all. 

“Sure,” she replies, turning herself over onto her side to face away from me, “Just, y’know, don’t be gross.”  I laugh quietly and scroll through my contact to find his number and then start to call, hoping that he’s free now.  He should have finished for the day, it’s 8pm in Vancouver. 

It’s his answerphone again, and now I really am starting to get anxious.  This really, really isn’t like him.  Jensen never lets his phone run out of battery, never since we’ve been speaking anyway, and even if he’s busy filming he usually sneaks me a text at some point or another, braving the $50 fine the SPN cast and crew have to pay should their phone go off on set.  He's already been caught out with that once or twice thanks to me. 

I disconnect the call, unwilling to leave a message, a deep frown etched in my features.  I hope he’s ok… What if something’s happened?  Would someone let me know?  Surely Jared or Misha or someone would call if Jensen was in trouble.

I let myself flop back into the pillow, staring through the dark at the ceiling, trying my best not to worry.  Jensen’s a big boy, I’m sure he’s fine.  He’s probably just busy or maybe he’s lost his phone somewhere… or had it stolen?  But then there was the way he rushed off earlier, and now this?  I start to think the most ridiculous of things that my rational mind knows there’s no chance of; that’s he’s with another woman or that really he just doesn’t want to speak to me.  I shake my head to myself; that would never happen because I know he loves me.  He doesn’t just tell me, he shows me that he loves me every single day and to doubt it would just be insulting to him.  Still, it’s hard to tell myself that when I’m already full of anxiety.  So much for sleeping again huh?

“Bec!  Becca!” 

My first thought on waking is why the hell must people keep insisting on waking me up by calling my name?  I swear I’m just going to change it.  I’d finally managed to drift off at some point to the sound of Steph’s heavy breathing, the morning sunlight peeping through from the bottom of the curtains, and now she’s yelling me awake again.  “BEC!” she calls again when I fail to reply, her tone sounding almost hysterical.  I guess it must be something important seeing as she’s starting to rival me in terms of pitch. 

“What?!” I yell back, sitting myself up and rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.  I didn’t even know it was possible to feel this tired, it’s hard to keep my eyes open even sitting upright. 

“You need to come down here!” she beckons, still squeaking, and I groan loudly, forcing my legs out of bed.  I make my way out onto the landing, yawning and pulling my pyjama shorts from where they’ve ridden up in my sleep.

“This better be good,” I threaten just before another yawn takes hold of me and I start to descend the stairs, eyes screwed closed, mouth wide open. 

“I hope you’re not gonna stay this grumpy.” 

My eyes pop open, foot stopping mid-step, hovering in the air at the familiar voice coming from our hallway, and when I see Jensen standing there I can barely believe it.  Am I having a good dream at last?  My eyes flicker to Steph’s face and she’s looking like she might explode, clutching the wall, looking back and forth between Jensen and me with barely contained excitement.  I start to laugh because I just can’t believe he’s here, my Jensen, looking dishevelled and jet-lagged but most importantly here, still wearing that same baseball cap he had on when I spoke to him yesterday.  He grins back at me, putting down his bag and throwing his arms wide open.

“Do I have to come over there ‘n’ fetch you?” he chuckles when I still don’t move, just stare at him, full of gleeful laughter.  I practically run down the last few steps and he meets me at the bottom, lifting me off the last step and into his arms, holding me tightly, face pressed to my hair. 

“I missed you so much!”  I tell his chest, squeezing back just as hard, voice wavering because I can’t quite tell whether I want to keep laughing or cry. 

“Good job I’m here then huh?”  He puts me down and I gaze up at him adoringly, cupping his face in my hands and reaching up to kiss him.  I don’t care that Steph is still stood there looking shell-shocked, I kiss him like no-ones watching and it’s wonderful and everything I needed. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask him incredulously when I pull away, placing my hands on his chest instead, hands clutching the material of his t-shirt.  I just can’t seem to let him go.  “You only just started filming again.”

“You needed me,” he shrugs casually, as if it was just that easy, “I may have thrown my weight around and acted like a bit of a diva to get them to change the filming schedule.”  I raise my eyebrows at him, surprised that he’d act like that and he raises his own defensively.  “Hey, it’s not like I was demandin’ only blue M&M’s and rose-scented candles for my trailer…” 

“I’m pretty sure making everyone change their schedule to suit you is worse than that,” I tease, even though I couldn’t be more thrilled that he’s done it. 

“I can just go if you want?” he threatens playfully, tugging on the ends of my fringe just hard enough that there’s a pinch of pain. 

“Uh-uh,” I disagree quickly, shoving my head back against his chest and wrapping my arms tight around his waist. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

I open my eyes from where I’m snuggled against him and meet Steph’s gaze.  Her mouth is still hanging slightly open, eyes wide, and I figure I should really go about introducing them.  Or getting her a chair and a glass of water… she really does look quite pale.  I pull back, reluctantly letting him go and gesture to her. 

“Jen, this is my sister Steph,” I say and he smiles warmly at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he extends a hand in greeting. 

“Hey-“ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because it ends in an ‘umpf!’ as she launches herself at him, throwing her arms around his torso, her cheek against his chest. 

“I love you,” she tells him emphatically and he looks over to me, expression a mixture of alarmed and amused and I just end up laughing as he cautiously pats her on the back. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says politely as she gives him a good squeeze and then finally pulls back, her face flushed, stars in her eyes. 

“It’s amazing to meet you, I mean, I love all of you guys, you’re so awesome, the show, just, y’know, wow,” she gushes, stepping backwards until she hits the wall, unable to take her eyes off him.  He chuckles, looking down to the floor humbly, rubbing his face to feel stubble that hasn’t really come through yet. 

“See this is why I pretended like I didn’t know who you were when you first showed up.”  I step to his side and wrap my arm around his waist, grinning up at him.  “’Cus this is what would have happened.” 

“I see your point,” he smiles down at me and then Steph is blushing even more, embarrassed at herself. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, “Sorry,” she says to me, hands clasped in front of her, “Can I get you anything?  Tea, coffee, juice?”

“Some coffee would be great, thanks.”  He nods his head graciously at her and she beams back at him, her lips practically twitching with excitement before she scurries off into the kitchen.

We turn back to each other, drinking each other in as clattering sounds come from whatever the hell Steph is doing, and then he tilts my chin up and kisses me again, his tongue finding mine as soon as I part my lips.  My body responds instantly, fire in my pelvis, the hairs on my arms standing on end as I wrap them around his neck and pull him in for more.  His hand worms its way up the back of my pyjama shorts so his hand is kneading my bare behind and it makes me tilt my hips forward, reaching for him.  When our groins meet he chuckles against my mouth, leaning his hips away to break the contact. 

“Stop that,” he growls quietly, giving my ass an extra hard squeeze, “I missed you and you’re makin’ me want to bend you over those stairs and have you right now.” 

“Go ahead,” I smirk back just before I tug on his bottom lip with my teeth.  He groans softly and lifts his eyes heavenward, obviously mustering his self-control. 

“You’re such a tease.”  He narrows his eyes, pupils dilated, “I might have to spank this next time.”  He palms my rear once more before withdrawing his hand, his words making my mouth fall open and a jolt of electric arousal pulse between my legs.  Oh please, please do Jensen.  I think he can tell I like that idea from the look on my face because he looks vaguely smug as he steps back from me, removing his hands, leaving me aching and wanting.  He’s only been here 5 bloody minutes!

“Do you take sugar Jensen?” Steph calls from the kitchen, interrupting my endless stream of filthy thoughts. 

“Just one, please, black,” he calls back, finally ending our smouldering eye contact and breaking the spell he has over me.  I take a big breath, shaking my head a little, trying to get my brain back from the mush he’s turned it into.  What’s a girl supposed to do when confronted with such unfathomable raw magnetism? 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I sigh happily as he outstretches his hand to me to take.  I link my fingers with his and start to lead him through to the kitchen, eager for a coffee too. 

“I’m glad too,” he smiles, swinging our hands back and forth, allowing himself to be led.   “So this is casa Stiles huh?” 

“Yeah, sorry it’s a bit of a mess,” I cringe when I notice the stack of letters sat on the kitchen counter, the jumble of cardboard recycling waiting to be put in the bin outside, the cat dishes on the floor.  His eyes flicker around the modest room but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

“Just looks like a real home.  It’s cosy,” he assures me, squeezing my hand. 

“Mum will freak out that she hasn’t cleaned the bathroom,” Steph comments, pouring boiling water into our mugs, unable to stop her eyes from darting to look at Jensen every few seconds.  I pull out a stool at the breakfast table and sit, gesturing for him to sit beside me. 

“How did you even have my address? Thanks,” I ask him and give my gratitude to Steph as she slides a mug toward me. 

“I copied it from your passport when I booked your flight,” he confesses, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.  “That’s great,” he thanks Steph when she passes over his coffee too.  She looks like her knees might buckle out from underneath her when he gives her a winning smile, the poor girl, she really needs to sit down and have some deep breaths in a paper bag or something. 

“Very sneaky Mr Ackles.”  I knock my elbow against his arm, almost making him spill his drink all over the counter and he scowls for a second as I laugh. 

“I could go book myself into a hotel if staying here’s gonna be a problem,” he says sincerely, lifting the mug to his lips and blowing to cool it down.  I end up getting a little distracted by how perfect his full lips look when they’re pouted like that, imagining them in a variety of places. 

“Becca’s been bunking with me,” Steph interjects from where she’s leant against the sink.

“We’ll figure something out,” I assure him, not wanting him anywhere else but here with me, “I’m sure we’ve got a blow up mattress in the garage somewhere.”

“That’s some five star luxury right there,” he comments with a chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee.  I just roll my eyes at him. 

“It’ll be just like camping, except without the bugs.  And you don’t have to poop in a bucket.”  He wrinkles his nose as Steph and I laugh.

“Well, let’s be grateful for small mercies huh?”

Chapter Text

We make the joint decision not to warn mum that Jensen is here whilst she’s still at work, correctly presuming that it’d be much more fun to just wait for her reaction as she walks in the door.  We’re all sitting in the living room later than evening watching TV when the front door opens and she calls hello.  I immediately direct a mischievous grin at Jensen who smirks back, pulling me even closer against him on the sofa, if that’s possible, so we look well and truly loved up for when she comes strolling in.  Steph’s laughing quietly already, sat behind her laptop as usual, cheeks going pink but she’s trying her best to contain it. 

“Ohhh what a day,” she groans as she rounds the corner, “My ankles are so swollen.”  I tilt my head against Jensen’s chest, peering at her expectantly, and as she fixes her eyes on us you can see the split second of confusion that clouds her mind right before her mouth flops open in surprise.  One hand goes up to clutch her chest, the other pointing at Jensen.  “Oh...?” she flounders, unable to take her eyes off him. 

“He surprised me this morning,” I tell her, unable to wipe the smile from my face, I’m too happy that he’s here and too amused by her surprise.   I lean off of him because I can feel him shifting beneath me, unwinding his arm to presumably rise and greet her.

“Nice to meet you Ma’am,” he says smoothly, oozing southern charm as he rises from his seat and approaches her with a hand outstretched to shake.   I swear my mother actually giggles, her cheeks flushing pink as she shakes his hand and he places his other large palm on top.  “You’ve raised some amazing daughters.”  I glance over at Steph and she’s positively beaming at being included in his statement. 

“It’s good to meet you too Jensen,” Mum finally manages to reply now that she’s found her tongue and he’s released her hand, although she still looks quite overcome.  She’ll be ok, Steph calmed herself down eventually, give mum a few hours and she’ll get there too. 

“Jen, come sit down, you’re getting her all flustered standing that close,” I tease and he barks a laugh, running a hand through his hair that’s rather flat having worn a cap all day, turning back to me with a sheepish grin.  “Do you mind if he stays?  Figured I could find out the airbed, set it up in here.”

“You’re 28 Becca, I hardly think you need my permission to have boys stay over anymore,” she chuckles dryly, straightening her glasses.

“Appreciate it,” he tells her with a nod, sitting himself back down next to me, his hand immediately finding my knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“So… Is spaghetti bolognaise alright for tea?” she asks, directing her question entirely to Jensen. 

“No,” Steph comments without looking up from her laptop.  Mum sends a very brief scowl at her, tutting.

“Whatever’s not too much trouble.” 

“Nothing’s too much trouble,” Mum grins and I scoff; she’s changed her bloody tune.  For years and years she’d complain almost every night about cooking dinner.  Understandable I suppose, considering she works full time and my sister’s picky eating habits meant cooking two different meals each night.  She sends me a pointed look and I just smile back innocently as she makes her way out and into the kitchen. 

Jensen relaxes back onto the sofa with his arm open and ready to receive me so I slot myself into the space he’s made, curling my feet up underneath myself.  I lean my head on his chest and he cuddles me tight, and I’m so content when I’m held by him that it leaves me feeling sleepy and warm as we turn our attention back to the TV.  He starts to play with my hair, gently running his fingers through the strands and before I know it I’m starting to doze in and out of wakefulness, finally relaxing now that my protector is here. 


“Becca, baby.”  Jensen’s gentle voice wakes me, his lips moving against my hair before he plants a kiss there.  I’m groggy and my eyes feel puffy but any sleep without nightmares, no matter how short, is always welcome. 

“C’mon guys, tea’s ready!” Mum calls loudly from the kitchen and I’m presuming that she must have called a couple times before now. 

“Coming!” I call back, pushing myself up to sitting upright, smiling sleepily back at Jensen who’s gazing at me fondly.   When we make our way into the kitchen I see that she’s properly set out the dining table for us to eat at and I raise an eyebrow questioningly at her.  “Why are we eating at the table?  It’s not Christmas,” I snigger as she scurries past me with a saucepan full of bolognaise. 

“I just thought it’d be nicer seeing as we’ve got guests,” she says emphatically, tilting her head slightly in Jensen’s direction.  He holds his hands up in front of himself, watching her dish out the meat and sauce.

“Don’t stand on ceremony for me,” he tells her, “I’m not above eatin’ off my lap.”  I send him a smile, so grateful that he’s really just a regular Jo in lots of ways.  He wouldn’t be so wonderfully him if he went around thinking he was better than us normal people.

“Plus ‘Strictly’ is gonna be on,” I add suggestively, nudging my hip against hers, knowing that being able to watch one of her favourite shows might change her mind.  It’s a dance competition with celebrities trotting around doing ballroom dancing, or the salsa, or the quickstep and I’m a little ashamed of how much I actually enjoy watching it too; not that I’m going to tell Jensen that. 

“Fine,” she concedes with a smile, fetching trays out from the cupboard instead and transferring our plates to those.  By the time we make our way back into the living room, trays in hand, it’s already started.   Steph grumbles about being made to sit on the floor but there aren’t really enough chairs and her pizza isn’t even ready yet, so the floor for her it is whilst Jensen and I take the sofa. 

“Is it alright?” I ask him quietly as he swirls from spaghetti around his fork.  I know my mum’s cooking isn’t the most fantastic in the world but I hope it’s at least passable.  He nods as he shovels it into his mouth and then slurps up the remaining strand that dangles. 

This is so weird, having Jensen Ackles sat in my living room with my family eating spaghetti bolognaise in front of my TV.  I wonder at what point I’ll actually stop still thinking of him as ‘Jensen Ackles’ and just think of him as my Jensen.  I shake my head slightly, smiling to myself as I turn my attention to my food, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. 

“Are they dancing to Bon Jovi?” Jensen suddenly asks, making me look up to the screen.  Sure enough a couple are just getting into some kind of Latin looking dance, and damn, do they look good doing it, especially the guy.  It’s all strong and powerful and the look on his face is so smouldering.  I wouldn’t say he was even my usual type but I can barely take my eyes off the TV, which is saying something when I have Jensen sitting right next to me. 

“You think you could dance like that?”  I whisper to him, still unable to draw my eyes away.  Now that would be sexy.  Jensen snorts loudly, turning back to his food. 

“You’ve seen me dance right?”  I laugh lightly, nudging his side with my elbow.

“What happened to ‘hips like a belly dancer?’” I tease and he laughs, screwing his eyes up and shaking his head.

“Oh god, I actually said that didn’t I?”

“Sure did,” I grin, “We could do it you know, we could so get some lessons and dance like that.” This bolognaise isn’t too bad tonight actually. 

“If it means I get to see you wearin’ something like that then sure,” he murmurs with his mouth pressed up to my ear, his eyes fixed on the scantily clad blonde being bent over backwards by her dance partner.  I blush instantly the moment his breath tickles my ear, still sort of riled up from earlier, and somehow I get the feeling that dancing wouldn’t be the only thing we’d be getting up to. 

Eventually mum and Steph decide to head upstairs to bed and Jensen and I set up the living room so it’s suitable for sleeping in, blowing up the inflatable bed (which is a pain in the ass with no foot pump, by the way) and stealing an extra duvet and pillows from Steph’s closet. 

“You got any dessert?” Jensen asks.  He’s sat up in bed, back against the sofa and shirtless, arms folded across his chest, frowning like dessert is the most important thing he could possibly think of at this point in time. 

“What about your little tum-tum?”  I joke, reaching over and gently patting the miniscule amount of middle-aged spread that’s folded above the top of his boxers.  He narrows his eyes at me, glaring hard.

“How about you let me worry about my frickin’ ‘tum-tum’ woman, and you bring me some pie.”  I guffaw a laugh, delighted at how very ‘Dean’ he just sounded.  I think he did it on purpose for my benefit, knowing that I’d enjoy it. 

“I’m not sure we have pie, but we might have some ice cream,” I suggest, trying to push myself up from the mattress but wobbling a bit because of its unsteadiness.

“Sure, ice cream works,” he confirms, arms still folded.  Man, dessert really is a serious business.  I go fetch us some, delighted to find irish cream flavour, and instead of getting bowls I just take the tub and a spoon. 

“Your majesty,” I grin, passing him the tub.  He looks ridiculously excited, a big grin, eyes going wide as he takes it from me, peering down into the tub.  He digs out a big spoonful, not bothering to wait for it to soften and almost bending the spoon in the process and then shoves it into his mouth. 

“Oh man,” he groans, spoon still in his mouth and his eyes closing in an almost orgasmic expression, “Do you know how long it’s been since I had real ice cream?  Not the non-fat shit that Gen always buys but real, real ice cream?” 

“Too long apparently.”  I watch him devour another mouthful as I get back into bed, shuffling the covers up on my lap and sitting with our shoulders touching.  “You gonna share that or should I leave you two alone?”  He shoots me a cheeky grin, spoon still between his teeth.

“Shorry,” he says, mouth full of metal, and then he pulls out the spoon with a pop and passes it me.  Thankfully, because it’s been warmed by his tongue, it glides through the ice cream quite easily now, melting it a little as I scoop. 

“Ah shit,” I curse as a glob slides off the spoon, splattering directly onto Jensen’s chest.  He jumps, yelping, caught by surprise because he was otherwise occupied with the chat show on TV and I can’t help but laugh. 

“Jesus, that’s cold!” he complains, looking down at the splodge that’s starting to dribble down from his breastbone towards his navel. “You’re so messy.”  He’s right, I am.  I’m always spilling something or other.  Still, I find myself not really paying attention to him asking me for a tissue; I can’t help but notice the contrast between the milky white of the ice cream against his tanned skin instead.  Before I’ve even really considered it I’m leaning over him and finding out if he tastes as good mixed with ice cream as I’m imagining, the flat on my tongue pressing to his stomach.  He takes a sharp intake of breath, abdominal muscles tensing with it, and I cast my eyes up at him from under my lashes, grinning like a Cheshire cat with my tongue still poking out of my mouth, trailing it upward. 

“Was this your plan all along?” he questions, voice gravelly, watching me through narrowed eyes and dilated pupils.  He’s holding the ice cream instead now, saving it from falling over onto the clean bed covers.

“You were the one who asked for ice cream,” I murmur against his skin, cleaning up the last bit with kisses against his chest, tongue lapping it up through my slightly parted lips. 

“I ‘spose I did.”  I was going to stop, satisfied that I’d had a little taste, but then I look up and see Jensen purposefully dangling the spoon above his chest and letting it drip onto himself with a wicked smile, and hey, who am I to turn down more ice cream?  He does taste pretty damn delicious like this.  I wonder what else might taste good drizzled all over him? 

Before I can delve too deep into culinary experimentation, my mouth trailing its way over Jensen’s collarbone and making his breathing start to quicken, the lounge door suddenly creaks as it always does when it’s being pushed open.  We fly apart, the air mattress protesting loudly as we do and my flushed face must look so guilty as I stare back at Mum who’s stood there in her pyjamas and dressing gown.  I look back at Jensen and notice he’s stuffed the spoon back in his mouth, handle hanging down against his chin and his eyes wide, chest glistening, and I have to purse my lips together to stop myself from bursting out laughing.  It’s like we’re underage teenagers that have been caught having a grope behind the bike sheds. 

Mum, thankfully, looks somewhat oblivious as to what she just walked into.  As usual. 

“I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow Bec,” she tells me, eyes flicking momentarily to Jensen’s bare chest before she reins herself in.  I can’t blame her.  “So I just wanted to say good luck at court.” 

Fuck.  In all the excitement of Jensen turning up and being so happy that he was here I’d almost been able to deny the very existence of the trial, pushing it to the corner of my mind.  But now here it is again, front and centre, and so is that feeling of dread settling down in my stomach.  Suddenly ice cream, even licked from Jensen, doesn’t seem so appealing. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“No, Mum, I’m sure,” I reply a bit too quickly, my voice clipped as the anxiety starts to take hold when I imagine sitting there in front of all those people, in front of him, having to tell everyone what happened to me and knowing that some of them might not even believe me.  Jensen’s hand finds mine under the covers and squeezes it tightly, trying to discreetly comfort me. 

“Alright then,” she says hesitantly, looking a little hurt.  I don’t mean to be snappy with her, I don’t want to feel pissed off, but more than anything I just didn’t want to think about it, just for one evening.  I guess that’s an unrealistic expectation with what faces me tomorrow.  “Sleep well you two.”

“Night,” I reply, trying to keep my voice softer which is difficult when my throat feels so tight.  Jensen just nods at her, completely focused in on me and my pain, his forehead creased in a frown and as soon as she’s left, shutting the door behind her, he’s scooped me up and pulled me into his lap.  He places a hand on my neck and gently guides my head down so that my cheek rests against his chest, his other arm wrapped right across my middle, chin resting on my hair, encircling me with himself as I bite on the inside of my mouth. 

Minutes pass as he holds me, the TV chattering away in the background, and I focus on the sound of his heartbeat thudding against my ear, the solidness of his body behind mine.  I breathe in and out, in and out and finally, when I feel myself starting to relax a bit again, when my body starts to sag, I whisper out,

“I’m really scared about what will happen when I see him Jen.”  The thought of it is bad enough, that alone can send me shaking when it really takes hold, what will happen when he’s right there in front of me?  My lawyer had told me that I could sit behind a screen if I really wanted to, that I didn’t have to see him, and now I could kick myself for declining the offer.  Some weird sense of…  I don’t know… pride?  It had me insisting that I’d be fine.  I’m really not sure that I’ll be fine.

“I’ll be right there with you,” he promises, pressing his lips to the top of my head.  He will?  I know that he came here to support me but I didn’t think he’d actually want to come to court with me. The whole incident has given him a few nightmares too, it’s not just me that it’s affected.  Maybe that’s why he does want to come, so that he can face his demons too.   

“What if I see him and just freeze?” I ask him, tilting my head up to look at him, “Or what if I have a panic attack and I just can’t breathe Jensen?  I don’t want to be like that in front of all those people.”  My words come out in one long anxious ramble in between short, staccato breaths, the acid still swirling unpleasantly in my stomach.  He just rubs his thumb back and forth along the inside of my arm soothingly, kissing my hair again. 

“All you gotta do is focus on me babydoll.”  His words are hot against my scalp as he speaks, that thumb still rubbing. “I’ll sit there front row and you can look at me, like it’s just me you’re talking to.  Screw everyone else.”

“Ok,” I agree, still unsure but slightly bolstered by knowing that he’ll be there.  Jensen’s the only one I’ve been able to really open up to about all this, so it’ll make it easier if I just try to pretend it’s just me and him.  Block out everyone else, especially Lewis.   

“And I want you to just remember everything waitin’ for you when it’s over.”  I press my face into his chest to kiss him there, my heart swelling despite everything as I wrap my arms around him, skin on skin.   

“Like what?” I ask innocently as I look up at him again.  He smiles a little back down at me, love shining in his eyes, and pushes my fringe back from my face. 

“Me… us… us living together,” he begins, like ticking off a list all of the things I could ever hope for, “All good stuff.  Season 12 release.” I can’t help but grin at that.

“Well, that’s reason enough to get through it,” I joke and he chuckles softly, running his hand through my hair again. 

“Obviously that’s the main thing.”

“Obviously.”  A quiet moment passes as he runs his thumb over my cheek, gazing down into my eyes and then he sighs softly.

“I know nothin’ I can say can really make you feel better about tomorrow, but wish I could do something.”  I shift myself in his arms so I can reach up and press my lips to his in a chaste kiss, smiling on the inside.  He really has no idea just how much he really does help me. 

“I couldn’t have gotten through any of this without you Jen,” I tell him sincerely when I pull back, “I don’t even want to imagine how I’d cope with any of this if you weren’t here.  You underestimate how much good you do me.”  He smiles bashfully, looking mildly embarrassed by the seriousness of my words.  How has this gorgeous, wonderful man managed to stay so modest, so sweet?  It just makes me love him all the more.  “Can I have some more ice cream?”  I ask with my eyebrows raised suggestively and he laughs a little as I lean back in his lap and grab the ice cream from where it’s resting against his side.  The tub has started to go a little squishy as it’s all started to melt on the inside. 

“From the spoon this time?” he queries with eyebrows raised back at me, taking hold of the spoon and scooping up a very runny looking mouthful. 

“If I must,” I grin, and then he’s spoon feeding me like a child and we’re both smiling, eventually erupting into laughter when he manages to dribble it all down my chin and into his belly button. 

With Jensen here by my side, his green eyes reflecting love and happiness back at me, it really is easier to believe that we have some wonderful things to look forward to.   

Chapter Text

“Steph are you ready yet?  We’re going to be late!” I call as I round the bottom of the stairs, full of nerves and nausea. 

“Almost!” she yells back and I roll my eyes heavenward, huffing loudly.  I swear she’s been making me late for things since she was the very day she was born, something she’s inherited from my mum’s side of the family.  I find my pretty flat shoes from the cupboard by the door and slip them on, every movement a bit rushed, a bit frantic, and I know it’s not just from worrying about being late that I’m slightly out of breath.  When I straighten up Jensen is stood practically right in front of me looking immaculate in a full suit and slim black tie, his hands in his pockets, forehead creased as he watches me with a worried expression.  I shoot him a shaky smile to try and reassure him and he sends one back.

“Is this alright?” I ask, gesturing to my outfit and he nods briefly, closing the space between us. 

“You look great,” he assures me, reaching out and straightening the collar of my navy blue blazer and then pulling my hand away from my chest when he lowers his.  “You’re gonna scratch right through to your ribs soon,” he scolds, scowling at the red patch I’ve left there.  I hadn’t even realised I’d been doing it. 

“Sorry,” I mutter meekly, slightly embarrassed, and tug on the bottom of my blazer instead.  I can hear Steph thudding around in the bathroom upstairs and I sigh, turning my gaze from the ceiling to my watch. 

“I got you something,” Jensen announces, reaching into his pocket and for a brief moment curiosity overtakes the anxiety coursing through me.  He pulls out a small, flat black box and swiftly opens it, holding it out for me to see.   “Do you like it?” he asks, his cheeks colouring a light pink as he searches my face for a sign of approval.  The necklace he’s offering me is beautiful; a thin chain holding two intertwined rings, both gold but one white and one rose, inlaid with what I presume are diamonds. 

“It’s too much Jen,” I breathe out, reaching out and touching the rings and finding that they’re able to rotate and slide around each other.  I smile up at him.  It is too much but I can’t deny that I love it.  I don’t think I’ve ever been given something so elegant.  He takes it out of the box and puts it on for me, stepping behind to fix the clasp, fingers brushing the back of my neck and making the hairs there stand on end. 

“Thought that might give you something else to mess with when you’re nervous,” he explains as he drops his hands and I turn to face him again, resting my hand over the cool metal. 

“You noticed that bad habit huh?” I chuckle, trying it out.  It is pretty handy, something to keep my hand occupied by twirling the rings instead of making myself sore. 

“I’m always observant when it comes to you,” he grins, white teeth sparkling back at me and I flush with pleasure.  He’s too good to me. 

Steph comes thudding down the stairs, interrupting the moment and looking at us expectantly.  

“Come on then, I thought you were ready and waiting to go,” she says, frowning as she opens up the front door.   My hand that was gently fiddling with the rings suddenly clamps down on them as I realise that it’s actually time to go and despite the fact that I know that I have to… I can’t seem to make my feet move.  I can feel my chest heaving heavily underneath my hand as I start to breathe just a little bit too fast, and when Jensen turns back to look at me, already halfway out himself, it comes shuddering out between my lips.  He comes back over, expression kind, and takes my face in his large hands, tilting it up to look straight in my eyes.

“Let’s get it done babydoll.”  He presses a firm kiss against my shaking lips, holding my face steady, and it’s a perfect example of everything he is to me.  My steadfast support, my unyielding foundation.   He pulls away, smiling reassuringly, still holding onto my cheeks until I step away, bracing myself with a big breath in.

“Ok, let’s do it.”

“Becca,” Rose smiles warmly, offering me her hand as soon as she spots us on the approach, shoes tapping out our steps on the foyer tiles.  My hand is clasped tightly inside Jensen’s, my palms sweating so badly he’ll probably need a towel now that I let go and shake hers, my pulse bounding in my wrist.  “How’re you feeling?  Stupid question I know.”  Her dark eyes flicker to Jensen and Steph, intelligent eyes taking them both in.

“I’m still standing, that’s something,” I joke weakly, pulling my hand back and drying my palms on my trousers as discreetly as I can.

“You’re doing great,” she assures, gently touching my shoulder.  “I didn’t realise that Mr Ackles would be coming.”  She offers him her hand too and they shake briefly, Rose barely batting an eyelid.  I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s one of the first women I’ve seen that haven’t instantly turned to mush on meeting him for the first time. 

“I was unannounced,” he confesses, smiling charmingly and wrapping his arm around my waist.

“It might be a good thing, I know you gave a statement previously but would you be willing to be called as a witness?”  I can see the wheels in her head turning as she schemes and plans how to best use his presence to our advantage, and not for the first time I find myself thankful that she’s on my side. 

“Anything I can do to help,” he confirms with a serious nod. 

“Excellent,” she smiles, bright teeth a stark contrast against her gorgeously dark skin.  Her eyes flicker off to something behind me, smile dropping away and in turn my stomach drops, lurching as it does, because I instinctively know what – or rather who – she’s seen.  The little smile that she replaces it with as she places a hand in the small of my back, ushering me, is completely forced.  “I’ll show you to the waiting room, they’ll want to get started soon.”  I nod dumbly because it’s all I can do when my throat feels like it’s threatening to close up, my chest tight.  Jensen’s seen that she’s looking at something too because he instinctively glances over his shoulder.  When his head turns back his expression is like thunder, jaw held so taut you can see the muscles flexing beneath the skin, eyes dark, confirming everything I’d feared. 

“Jensen,” I say desperately, my hands starting to shake.  He grips me to him ferociously, turning me so that I have my back to Lewis, my face pressed against his suit jacket and I stay there for what feels like forever feeling his chest rising and falling almost as hard as my own.  Finally he starts to loosen his grip so I guess Lewis must have moved on and as I leave his arms I’m still shaking, eyes burning because it feels like I might cry. 

“Remember,” he tells me, voice tense, eyes hard, “Just look at me, ok?  You’ll be fine.” 

“I love you,” I whisper up at him, trying my best to be brave, to smile, but I feel so sick. 

“Love you too babydoll.”  He cups the back of my head and presses his lips to my forehead, my eyes flopping closed at the contact, a single tear falling.  When he lets me go Steph catches me by surprise with a hug so tight it takes the wind out of me.  I think I could count of both hands the amount of times she’s hugged me. 

“Good luck,” she says over my shoulder.

“Becca, they’re going to start soon.”  Rose touches my free shoulder and that effectively ends our embrace, but my sister still takes a moment to wipe the tear on my cheek with a small smile.  When did we grow up and out of tripping each other up and pulling hair? 

“See you in there,” I tell them both as they look back at me with anxious faces, my voice quivering and then take off after Rose on unsteady legs before I change my mind and run.  Here we go. 

The waiting is horrendous, it really is.  I understand that it’s necessary; there’s lots of red tape to go through and other evidence to consider before I’m called in to give mine, but it still doesn’t make it feel any easier.   I’m stuck in a pokey little room all on my own and whilst you can tell they’re trying their best – a few magazines on the table, some nice artwork on the opposite wall meant to serve as a distraction – it doesn’t help.   All I can do is sit and wait, trying not to throw up.  Leaning back, lips pursed, toying with Jensen’s necklace.  Leaning forward, head between my knees, hands clasped in front of me.  And all the while that churning, roiling nausea that just won’t go away, no matter how many breathing exercises I try.  This goes on and on, the clock on the wall telling me that an hour and a half has gone by. 

It’s almost a relief when the usher comes to collect me because I just want to get it done, I want it to be over so I can put all of this behind me.  I get up, trembling like a leaf and follow after him through a set of doors, my mind empty apart from my pulse roaring in my ears, and then he holds open a final door that opens out into a modern looking court room.  It’s much smaller than I was expecting and there are less people, but that is by no means a good thing.  It means that as soon as I cross the threshold some sick, masochistic desire makes me search for Lewis’ face and almost instantly I find it, despite everything Jensen told me to do. 

My blood runs ice cold as our eyes meet and I find his face to be exactly as I expected it to be; a picture of cool confidence.  He looks so completely unconcerned, the corners of his thin lips turning upward into a sly smile that I can make out even from the other side of the room, and he’s obviously made an effort to look respectable, suit and tie and all.  His dark hair has grown slightly longer since…

I realise that I’ve stopped in my tracks, halting not five steps in, paralysed by fear and I’m breathing so loud that I can hear it above every other sound in the room – the shifting of the jury in their seats, the cough that someone makes as awkward glances are exchanged. 

My hand reflexively reaches for my chest and finds Jensen’s necklace.  It’s enough to bring me back, to collect me just enough to keep walking and drag my eyes away from Lewis.  I finger the rings, turning them, rotating them, and search for Jensen’s face.  I need him.  I catch a glimpse of his stern expression as the usher shows me into the witness box and when he sees that I’ve spotted him he flashes me a small smile, nodding his head once in reassurance.  But then I have to turn to face the room and I can’t see him anymore, he’s seated practically behind me, and it makes a fresh surge of panic rise up inside me.  So much for just looking at him. 

And then it starts, I’m standing here and promising to tell the truth, and it’s embarrassing because my voice is shaking and too quiet and the kind-looking judge has to prompt me to speak up.  When I’m done Rose rises from her seat next to Lewis’ defence lawyer, a short, stocky man with eyes too small for his large face, and she gives me an encouraging smile as she asks me to describe that day’s events, in my own words.  I shut my eyes for a moment, lips pursed together, and think of what Jensen said last night, remembering everything he said about everything we have to look forward to.  A future, together.  Away from here, away from Lewis.   Just this, and it will all be done. 

So I tell them.  I describe everything in gruesome detail, forcing my words to come out loudly and clearly, just like I did it when I met with Rose.  I try not to think about what I’m actually saying, letting it come out like words from a script, deadpan as I recite it, rings on my necklace turning round and round as I go.  I stare blankly ahead, relieved that I’d have to turn my head to see him because that makes it easier to resist, but I can still feel his eyes boring holes into the side of my head.  By the time I’m done I feel like my legs are going to buckle out from underneath me, hands shaking continually, despite one of them clutching onto the wooden bar in front of me.   Rose nods at me with a smile, as if to say well done, and takes her seat again.  I did it.  I really did it. 

“May I cross-examine the witness your honour?”  the defence lawyer requests and the judge nods to allow it.  Rose had warned me that this might happen, and as he gets up from behind his table, adjusting his tie, I swallow hard, fearful of what’s to come.  “Miss Stiles, are you aware that evidence collected by the forensic examiner does not coincide with your version of event?”  he asks coolly, approaching me on the stand.  What’s he talking about, how can it not?  I was there, she collected the swabs and I know she collected something. 

“No...” I reply uncertainly, unsure of what to say.  He lets my answer hang in the air.  “Sorry.. I.. I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite simple really.”  His tone is so patronising I just want to reach out and throttle him, make his fat face turn even redder.  “Whilst there was, unmistakably, Mr Taylor’s semen collected following the event, the other markers that one would usually expect to see following a sexual assault were strangely missing.”  He waits for me to say something, carrying on when I don’t.  “You see usually there will be some sign of non-compliance; vaginal tearing or bruising.  Not only was this not the case, but the swabs taken also showed evidence of arousal on your part as well.  Can you explain to us how this occurred?”  Oh god... I never thought... the things I had been doing with Jensen right before Lewis... I don’t want to explain, but I know that I have to.

“As I told the police, before it all.... happened... I'd been speaking to Jensen, Mr Ackles, on Skype.”  I hesitate, swallowing hard, forcing false confidence that I really don’t have.  “That conversation was... sexual in nature.  That’s why there was conflicting evidence.  I had been aroused, but it was nothing to do with Mr Taylor.”  It feels easier to call him by his surname.  It feels more detached, more impersonal.  

The pig in a suit pauses, surprised by my honestly I think.  It only takes him a beat to recover though, and when he smiles I know I’m in trouble. 

“Ah yes, Mr Ackles, the American TV star.  You’re a couple now I believe?”  He looks past my shoulder to find Jensen’s face, a big smile on his own.  “Congratulations.  Very kind of you to grace us with your precious time, I'm sure you’re a busy man.”  I’ve never heard anyone sound so insincere in my life.  I really hope Jensen is scowling at him the same way I am.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, quickly finding something that he then holds up to show the jury that I can’t see.  “Here they are, look.”  He smiles, ensuring they all see it, “Don’t they look happy? Doesn’t she look fabulous for someone who was allegedly raped less than a month ago?”  He scrolls again.  “And look, here she is again, jetting off around the world, posing for her admirers.”  He’s slaughtering me out here, and by the look on Rose’s face she knows it.   

“Objection! A couple of photographs are hardly an accurate representation of my client’s overall well-being and mental state!”  The judge nods, thankfully, but the damage is already done, the jury has seen it and will let it colour their opinion.  This isn’t fair.  What was I supposed to do, resign myself to a life of misery, never smiling again, not try to move on with my life?

“No, I suppose not... May I then give the jury what I feel may be a more accurate version of events, given the evidence?”  Again, she nods.  The shaking that was just contained to my hands starts to wrack me all over because I know this is his killing blow, the final nail in the coffin.  I almost can’t bear to watch.  “So… we know that my client entered Miss Stiles property – please note that that when the police arrived they saw no signs of forced entry – and it’s also undeniable that she sustained injuries that evening, something my client admits to.  However, is it not possible that this young woman, obviously fond of the limelight as is evident by her connection to Mr Ackles, simply ended up willingly engaging in intercourse with my client and is using this allegation to cover up her infidelity?” 

I can’t believe this is happening.  Even to my ears he makes it seem plausible, logical given the evidence, and if it weren’t for the overpowering urge to vomit coursing through me at his lies I’d almost start to doubt myself.   “After all, by her own admission, she and Mr Taylor had a turbulent, passionate relationship previously.  And as my client pointed out in his statement, she always has liked it rough.”  My stomach lurches – I think I’m going to be sick.  I can’t do this... I can’t sit here and listen to this.  I’ve never been so degraded in my life, so humiliated.  Someone has risen to their feet behind me at his words and I’m bet my last dollar that it’s a furious Jensen. 

“That is enough!” the judge interjects, looking appalled from behind her glasses.  “Whether the allegations Miss Stiles have made are true or not she does not deserve to be spoken about in such a manner.”  The defence holds up his hands, raising his eyebrows in what is supposed to be an innocent expression.

“My apologies,” he says to me, tipping his head and attempting to sound sincere, but his eyes gleam with success.  ‘Got you’ they scream.  I sniff roughly, realising that I’m already crying, angry tears running down my face.  I try my best to wipe them away but they keep coming, so incensed am I by picture he's painting of me with his lies.  He’s pulled me apart and put me together again as some fame-hungry whore. 

“I think that’s enough for Miss Stiles, let’s move on please,” the judge states and I look up at her thankfully through tears and pursed lips.  It is, it’s enough.  I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to say any more, and enough damage has been done already.  The usher comes to collect me and takes me out through a different exit.  As I leave I catch a glance of Lewis again.  He’s smiling, eyes trained on me, and when he sees me looking back he gives me a wink that’s so fast no one else would have had chance to see it.

The usher leaves me outside the court room doors and as soon as he’s gone from my side the acid bile starts to rise in my throat and I know I’m going to throw up, unable to hold it back any longer.  I run quickly to the nearest bathroom I can find, throwing the doors open ungracefully, stumble into a stall and proceed to empty my guts into it, sobbing pitifully between retches.  I absent-mindedly pray that no one is in here to hear this. 

“Becca!” Jensen’s anxious voice echoes around the bathroom, his shoes sounding out on the tiles, but I can’t stop my stomach from turning over and over, round and round, and even though there’s nothing left I can’t stop heaving.  I’m so mortified at having him see me like this, on my knees in a public toilet cubicle, sobbing and shaking and retching.  He should be disgusted but he’s not; I feel him kneel behind me, one hand pushing back my fringe for me, the other holding onto me tight, cooing my name, trying desperately to soothe me.  When it’s finally done he sinks backward so his back is pressed against the cubicle door and pulls me with him. 

“Babydoll, it’s alright, it’s done.  You were so brave.”  He rocks me I curl up on his lap, sobbing, unable to stop myself even though I can see black mascara smudging all over my hands. 

Yes, it’s done… but to what end? 

Chapter Text

“Becca, I’m so sorry about that, he was totally out of line,” Rose gushes when she finds us about an hour later.  Someone working at the court on seeing what a mess I was had been kind enough to take us into another waiting area, a sort of family room where Jensen, Steph and I now sit, hot drinks in hand. 

“It’s not your fault,” I assure her with a small smile.  It’s not, none of us could have anticipated that it would unravel like that, right before our eyes.

“That douchebag lawyer better hope he doesn’t leave here with my foot up his ass,” Jensen growls down into his paper cup, and Steph lifts hers to his sentiment.

“Make that two.”  I huff out a dry laugh, running a finger along the underside of my eyes to wipe away more mascara and eyeliner smudge.   Rose takes a seat next to me on the thin wooden bench where we’re sat, her hands clasping her knees, and lets out a big sigh.

“We can still do this,” she tells me, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.  She knows as well as I do that he’s damaged my credibility to a point where it might be irreparable.  I brace myself to say the next words out of my mouth, knowing that they’ll go down like a lead balloon.  “Maybe if Jensen gives testimony too-“

“I want to drop the rape charge.”

“What?!” Jensen exclaims, dropping his coffee away from his face so hard that it almost slops all over his hand.  I cringe at his reaction, at his disbelieving eyes.  I’d expected him to react this way.  “What the fuck are you saying?” 

“That’s what I’d like to know!”  Steph joins in.  Since when did these two become a double team?

“You guys saw what happened in there,” I start patiently, trying to ignore the way they’re looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind, “He tore apart the physical evidence that got collected… without that it’s just his word against mine.”  I take a sip of my coffee, dropping my eyes to the floor.

“What if I give evidence, would that help?”  Jensen asks, leaning around me to be able look at Rose.  I feel her take a breath to answer but I interject.  Whether it would help or not I don’t want to put him through it, not now I know how it feels to be stood up there, all those eyes on you, someone picking apart everything you say, everything that happened.

“Jensen… I just want this to be over.”  I place my hand on his forearm, wishing I could feel the warmth of his skin but his suit jacket getting in the way.  “He’s pleaded guilty to actual bodily harm, he’ll still be charged for that.” 


“This could take all day, days for all we know, I haven’t got the strength to do that again.”  I look at him imploringly, willing him to understand.  He saw what a mess I was… I can’t face going back in there again, and there’s every chance that I might be asked to.  I know it seems like a cowardly thing to do, that it seems like I’m just giving up and letting him get away with it, but I am tired of letting what Lewis did decide what happens in my life.  Knowing that he’ll be punished is enough… I just want to move on. 

Jensen’s eyes search my face, flickering back and forth between my own and then he lets out a sigh, sitting back and letting his back hit the wall behind us heavily, running a hand through his hair.  

“If we forget about the other stuff this can be done this afternoon, it’ll be over and we can put it behind us and we can go home,” I say emphatically, twisting in my seat to face him.  I hope he knows what I mean and that Steph doesn’t, that home is with him, wherever we are. 

“It’s not just ‘other stuff’ Bec,” he says firmly, “What he did to you-“

“I’m dealing with what he did to me.  It’ll take time and him being locked away won’t magically make everything better.”  Jensen opens his mouth to speak again but someone interrupts, a voice that sends fear shooting through to the very core of me.

“You always were a sensible girl Becca,” Lewis smirks from where he’s leaning against the open doorway, his arms folded across his chest.   Jensen immediately rises from his seat, coffee falling forgotten to the floor and gunning for a fight, wearing the same expression as Dean when he’s about to go on a mark of Cain induced rampage.  “Hey, hold on there Hollywood, I’m not looking for a fight,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in front of him, palms outward. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here Mr Taylor,” Rose says, rising too, her voice loud and clear, “You can’t be anywhere near my client.” 

“Not planning on staying, just wanted to say hi to my favourite girl,” he smiles, but even though he says he’s here for me it’s Jensen he’s paying attention to, their eyes locked.  He’s goading him, I realise, pushing him to make a move, knowing it’ll make us look even worse.   If Jensen could growl I think he would be, his fists clenched at his side, coiled like a spring and ready to snap. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jensen rumbles, and if I weren’t so scared it’d seem totally sexy.  Lewis pushes up off the door frame and steps another pace towards Jensen, still smiling in that cocky way, looking him up and down.

“Wanted to thank you to you, too.”  He takes another step forward.  I can feel the tension in the room escalating, getting closer and closer to breaking point, and I know it’s only me that can put a stop to this.  Jensen won’t listen to anyone else right now.  It’d be bad for us and bad for his reputation if he loses his temper and lashes out, even if there’s no one more deserving of it.   I rise from my seat, ignoring the way Steph tugs at my blazer sleeve, trying to stop me from getting involved.  “You know, for warming her up for me I mean.  She was so sweet.”   

It’s like the next moment happens in slow motion.  Lewis knows the punch is coming and braces himself, Jensen’s right arm drawing back ready to strike, and I’m thankful that I’m close enough to grab hold of his arm and yank him backward with all of my strength, putting all my weight behind it. 

“STOP!” I yell as we both stumble, but Jensen is completely enraged, throwing me off his arm and going for him again.  He grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and throws him back against the wall, his teeth bared.  He’s taller than Lewis, bigger in build too, so it’s easy for him to keep him pressed there, especially since the smaller man isn’t even fighting back, just laughing in his face.   “Stop, Jensen, this is what he wants.”

“You’re pathetic,” Jensen growls at him, the space between them almost none existent.  I can only watch on, entranced by my boyfriend’s eyes.  So often when he looks at me his pupils are dilated, but right now his fury means they’re contracted to the size of a pinprick, light, leafy grin far outweighing the black.  He looks powerful and beautiful, a force to be reckoned with.  Lewis just grins back at him, apparently unconcerned that Jensen is almost lifting him completely from the floor, and that smile only falters when he’s taken from the wall and then slammed back into it. 

“Mr Ackles,” Rose warns from where she’s still stood frozen to the spot.  Suddenly there is the sound of footsteps approaching, apparently drawn by the noise, and two security guards round the doorway and hover there, assessing the situation. 

“Jensen,” I say gently, placing my hand on his chest.  It draws his attention away from Lewis momentarily, long enough to see the security guards, and when he looks back to him I can see some of the uncontrolled rage starting to leave his expression. 

“You stay away from her.  From us,” he warns sternly, voice low and soft, “If I ever see you again it will not end well.”  He punctuates his last words, practically whispering the threat, and then finally lets him go and steps back.  He shakes off his shoulders, straightening the cuffs of his jacket and clearing his throat as Lewis slinks away and Jensen puts himself back together, turning back into the sweet Jensen I know and love.  He looks at me, sees how shaken I am, and then shakes his head too.  “I’m sorry,” he huffs out, deflating.  I press myself to his chest, arms tucked between us, and in less than a few seconds he wraps his arms around me, sighing against the top of my head. 

“Don’t be sorry,” I tell his chest.  “That was amazing.  It was scary, but amazing.”  He chuckles softly as I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of his aftershave, that scent that is so undeniably Jensen; musky and sweet all at the same time. 

“I told you I wasn’t gonna let him hurt you anymore.”

“That was badass!”  Steph exclaims from somewhere behind us, and I hear Rose laugh too despite the fact she’s probably really not supposed to approve of that sort of behaviour.  “It was like real-life Supernatural, you totally channelled some Dean right there,” she continues to gush, and it would be slightly embarrassing if not so accurate. 

“It was sort of hot,” I admit, tilting my face up to peek at him from under my lashes and he smiles down at me, looking a little bit self-conscious.

“Court will be reconvening in room four in five minutes, can all persons please come back to their seats.  Room four, five minutes please.”  We pull away at the announcement that comes from the speaker mounted at the wall, turning my attention to Rose. 

“Becca, I need to know what you want me to do,” she says, eyebrows pulled into a frown, “You know I’ll see this through to the end if you want me to, I believe you, and that… disgusting human being should get what he deserves.”  She takes a deep breath, struggling, I think, to keep her language as professional as it should be.   “But it’s your choice.” 

I look back to Jensen.  I know she’s right, I know it’s my choice, but his feelings about it matter to me too and I don’t want to do anything without Jensen’s 100% support.  He gazes at me, face unreadable, and then finally sighs one last time, taking my hand and linking his fingers through mine. 

“Bec, I know you think you’ve done what you came to do, right?  Face him… get closure?”  I nod, uncertain as to where he’s going with this.  “But this isn’t just about you.  What if he does it again, to someone else, someone who isn’t as strong as you.” 

I’d never… I’d never thought about that.  What if he gets away with this and he thinks he can just go and do it again, because he knows he won’t get caught?  I don’t want anyone else to go through this, to feel that utter helplessness and guilt and shame.  I couldn’t live with myself…  I look up into Jensen’s eyes, feeling tears prickle in my own, and I try to draw my strength from him and his steadfast gaze.

“Rose, keep going,” I tell her, and as soon as the words come out of my mouth Jensen breathes a sigh of relief, looking pleased.  My courage falters a little as my throat goes tight, thinking about having to go back in there.  “But… I can’t do that again.”

“Becca…“ she starts uncertainly,  and I know she’s going to tell me that my insistence in not taking the stand again might damage our chances.  But I can’t. I can’t do it. 

“Do whatever you need to do, but I can’t do that,” I maintain, shaking my head and in turn she nods hers. 

“I’ll call you as soon as we get a verdict.  It was good to meet you Becca, Jensen,” she says to each of us.  As she’s about to leave she turns back and flashes a winning smile at Jensen, looking the most feminine and carefree she has all day.  “Massive fan of the show, by the way.”   He laughs, raising a hand to thank her and then she’s gone, leaving the three of us alone.   He smiles down at me softly, cheeks creasing, eyes crinkling and brushes his thumb along the line of my jaw. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologise.

“You’ve done the best you can do, that’s all anyone could ask for.  Let’s go home,” he says softly, and he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead.

“Yeah… let’s go.”

As we make our way out of the court house, hand in hand, I realise that my steps are a little bit lighter.  I know that this isn’t over as quickly yet, not as quickly as I’d hoped, but little by little we’re leaving behind the baggage weighing us down, holding us back.  It would be premature to think that this is it and that everything will always be fine from now on, but when we’re so committed to each other, to moving on, I can’t help but feel like that only way from here is up. 

“I’m glad we got out of the house,” I tell him as he swings our linked hands back and forth as we walk.  It’s a nice day, it would be a shame to stay inside.  Plus it was difficult to not sit there obsessing over my phone, waiting for Rose’s call to inform us of Lewis’ fate.  Outside it’s much easier to find distractions, especially when we reach the park.  It’s noisy on this warm sunny day, full of children who are high on sugar and joy from so much time off school over the summer.  I see Jensen watching a young girl playing with her dad on the seesaw as we walk past, a wistful smile on his face and I squeeze his hand to prompt him into voicing his thoughts. 

“Wish JJ was here,” he says longingly, pulling his eyes away from them and back to me. 

“I know Jen,” I say understandingly, lifting our hands so I can place a kiss on the back of his, “You can push me on the swing if you want,” I grin, going for a childlike expression.  He laughs softly, eyes shining in the sunlight when they open again.  “C’mon.”  I pull on his hand to encourage him in the direction of the swings whilst one is still free, uncaring that people might look at us strangely, two adults enjoying the swing set.  “I’ll even call you daddy,” I joke, giggling when he pulls a face, still pulling him along behind me. 

“Just get your ass on the seat Becca,” he tells me, his voice lilting with humour, just a step away from more laughter.  I hop on, holding onto the chains and cringing a little at the way they cut into the sides of my hips.  These swings really weren’t built for adults.  His hands grip the chains just above mine and then he’s pulling me backwards, further and further.  “Ready?” he asks, and suddenly I’m wondering if this was such a good idea.  I have a funny feeling that he might be tempted to take this a little too far. 

“I think so,” I squeak, pressing my eyes together and waiting for him to give that first push.  He does and I go sailing forward, kicking my legs out in front of me and leaning back, stomach souring with exhilaration.   Backward I go and then he pushes me again, hands firm against my behind, sending me hurtling ever higher.  “Weeee!” I squeal, unconcerned about the pre-pubescent boy on the swing next to me who’s looking at me like I’m mad as I pass him repeatedly on my way back and forth.  Jensen laughs, pushing me again. 

“Higher?” he asks, sounding mischievous.  I’ve stopped leaning into the upswing, I’m going high enough, and I’m laughing and kicking my legs because I’m euphoric but nervous, making the swing shake a little. 

“No, no higher,” I sputter out between giggles. 

“Sure?” he checks, giving one last good shove.  If he keeps going I’m going to loop right over the top, I’m sure of it, and I can just imagine the grin that’s on his face as he playfully torments me. 

“Jensen!  Nooo!”  I squeal, fingers gripping the chains even tighter.  “Daddy, down!”  I laugh, knowing that I’m probably not doing myself any favours by teasing him back.  Gosh, the ground really does seem a long way away.   This time when I’m going into my back swing I feel Jensen grab the chains and it makes the swing jerk a little so I have to hold on tight to not fall off as he uses his weight and his strength to eventually bring me to a stop.   I’m still laughing even when I come to a standstill and an out of breath Jensen makes his way round to stand in front of me, peering down with one eyebrow raised and his hands on his hips. 

“You have… any idea… how many people… are tryin’ to figure out… if I’m actually your father right now?” he says between pants, eyes glancing around himself.  I smile regretfully, not wanting to actually embarrass him.  I rise from the swing and take hold of his face, tipping up onto my toes and kissing him softly. 

“You don’t look that old baby,” I assure him playfully when our lips part.  He chuckles a little, pushing my windswept fringe back.

“Come on, this old man needs to lie down.”  He takes my hand again and we leave the little playground, making our way over to a quiet corner of the playing field.  We sink onto the grass and lie down in a patch of sun, Jensen on his back, one arm under his head and the other under me as I shuffle up and make myself comfy on his chest, loving the way he automatically tucks me in closer as always.  We lie there breathing in sync for a while, the sounds of playing children filling our ears as we soak up the warmth of the sun. 

“You mind if I put some music on?” I ask him quietly, my fingers playing with the cotton of his t-shirt. 

“Sure,” he replies, sounding a little sleepy.  I pull my phone out of my back pocket and rest my chin on his chest as I scroll through my playlists, looking for the song I want him to hear.  I’ve been listening to it a lot lately; the lyrics make me think of him, how he’s everything I’ve wanted, how I want to be with him every second, how he’s helped me heal.  I put it on, hoping that he’s listening to the words and settle myself back into his arms again.  We stay quiet through it, his fingers running through my hair, and I just listen intently, smiling to myself.  When it ends he lets out a soft contended noise and then asks,

“Can you search for a song called ‘when you got a good thing?’” I do, and soon we’re surrounded by the sound of slow guitar and piano chords and country voices. 

“This one?”  I check quietly, looking up at him, and he opens one eye and peeps down at me giving a small nod.  By the time we get to the chorus I realise that he’s doing the same thing as me, telling me how he feels via song, and the words are so beautiful it makes me want to cry.  He starts to hum along quietly here and there, the sound rumbling through his chest, and I so desperately want to hear him sing. 

At some point in the song he slowly sits up onto his elbows, pushing me up with him, and he threads his fingers through the back of my hair and pulls me to him in a loving kiss, gently parting my lips with a brush of his tongue.   We love each other that way, enjoying the soft warmth of each other’s mouths, not parting even when he rolls me over onto my back, leaning over me with all his wonderful weight.  It isn’t until the song is starting to end that he breaks the kiss, moving back just enough to look me in the eyes.

“I always see myself dancing with you when I hear that song,” he tells me softly.

“I’d like that,” I smile up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and brushing the tip of my nose against his playfully, like we always do.  I want to dance all my dances with him.  “You might just convert me into a country music fan.”  He chuckles lightly, nudging our noses again.

“I do have the best taste,” he confirms looking slightly smug, “In everything, not just music.” 

“Well, you did fall in love with me.”  Now it’s my turn to look smug, holding back a laugh.

“A lapse in judgement obviously.”  I quirk an eyebrow at him, trying to look outraged but failing miserably when he smiles a classic goofy Jensen smile and I burst out laughing. 

“Shut up and kiss me, country boy.”  And he does. 

Chapter Text

Jensen continues my country music education as the evening rolls on and the park starts to empty out, and the more we listen the more I realise I really, really like country love songs.  They’re so soulful.  Perhaps it’s just because it’s so easy to feel love-drunk and giddy when we’re lying here like this together, completely absorbed in each other, our own little private paradise.

It’s inevitable that it gets interrupted by that long-awaited phone call eventually.

“Hi Rose, what was the verdict?” I ask as soon as I answer the phone, my stomach clenching in anticipation.  It’s funny, I’m nervous to hear what she has to say but it’s nowhere near the anxiety I felt before.  Perhaps things are getting better already.

“I’m really sorry Becca, but it’s not good news.”  Oh god.  My face must fall because Jensen starts frowning, eager to hear what she’s telling me.  “The evidence just wasn’t enough to convince the jury Bec.  They’ve charged him with ABH so he’s been given 6 months of community service and he has to pay a fine… but because it was his first offense he isn’t facing jail time.”  I can’t believe this… after everything… everything he’s put me through, he gets off with a fine and picking up some litter?  My mouth flails for a moment, unable to find any words to describe the injustice I’m feeling.  “I’m really sorry,” she apologises again.

“No… no you did your best,” I finally manage to choke out.  “Thanks for letting me know Rose…” 

“You’re welcome Becca.  I mean this in the nicest way, but I hope we never have to meet again… if he bothers you again I want you to tell me straight away.” You’ll bet I will.  She’ll be the first to hear, right after the police. 

“Thanks, take care,” I murmur, looking down into my lap. I hang up the phone and Jensen is waiting expectantly to hear the news, eyes squinted because the setting sun is glaring right in his face where he’s lying back against the grass. 

“So?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sunlight so he can look up at me where I’m sat cross-legged next to him. 

“He got… he’s…  he got away with it,” I tell him, unable to meet his eyes because I know he’ll be furious. 

“What do you mean?”  He pushes himself upright, scowling, voice pitching low.  Tears start to fall down my cheeks before I even realise they’re coming, so overwhelmed am I by the sadness that sits heavy in my stomach. He takes hold of my face, rubbing my tears away with his thumbs. 

“He got a fine Jensen… he… raped me, and he got a fine,” I say, trying to hold back the sobs that want to leap up from my windpipe, my throat burning.  “I shouldn’t have just lay there and let him do it… If I’d have fought back… I should have fought him more.  There would have been more evidence… I made it so easy for him.”  I dissolve into tears, pressing my face down onto his shoulder and crying hard, gulping for breath, back heaving as Jensen tries to soothe me, rubbing it.

“Don’t you ever think that any of this is your fault,” he tells me sternly, his lips against my hair.

“How am I ever supposed to not blame myself, when no one seems to blame him?  How am I ever supposed to feel safe again?  I thought this was over, I thought it’d be finished but it’s not… he lives 15 minutes down the road Jensen… it’s never going to be over.” I’m rambling, bordering on hyperventilating, lifting my face from his shoulder and staring at him through tear-stained, terrified eyes, my fingers gripping his arms. 

“Come here, c’mere,” he tells me softly, ushering me back into his arms when he can’t think of anything to say.  I know he doesn’t know how to make this better, how would anyone?  I let myself flop in his arms, my head cradled against his chest and I cry myself out, just like the dozen times before.  I really thought I was leaving this all behind… how naive could I get?   He holds me the whole time, whispering reassurances and love to me, sounding close to tears himself, and eventually my tears start to run dry. 

“You meant what you said earlier didn’t you, about coming home with me to Vancouver?” he asks when I pull back, a soggy mess, wet patches left on his t-shirt.  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands, noting the smudges of black eyeliner, and try to ignore the feelings of grief that the unfairness of today’s events have left me with.  There’s nothing I can do to change it… all I can learn to do is live with it.  There really is no quick fix for me. 

Did I mean it?  On the surface it’s a simple question to answer; of course I want to be with him, and that’s a very easy thing to say, especially with the thought of Lewis still being out there now, free to do as he pleases.  But then when I sit and think about all the practicalities of leaving here, the only city I’ve ever called home, it suddenly feels overwhelming and too scary.  There’s so much I’d be leaving behind. 

“I want to be with you Jen, I want to live with you, I really do mean that,” I assure him, placing my hand on his thigh squeezing through his jeans and he smiles.  Oh, please don’t smile like that just yet Jensen.  “I just… there’s so much to think about.  All of my family is here, all of my friends… my cats.” I smile weakly, shrugging my shoulders, knowing it sounds a little silly to include my animals in it but I really would miss them too.

“I know it’ll be hard, but you can come home and visit, they can come over and see you, you know there’s room for them to stay with us,” he says patiently, taking hold of my hand, “And my friends love you.”

“You work so much though Jen…”

“You won’t be lonely, you can spend time with Gen, she’s at home with Shepherd too and you’ll make your own friends.”  He tucks my fringe behind my ear with a small smile.  He’s really thought about this a lot, hasn’t he?  “Every free moment I get… it’s for you and JJ.” I sigh softly, glancing down at the grass. 

“What about my work?  I don’t even know how midwifery in Canada works.” 

“You don’t need to work,” he answers quickly, not missing a beat, and I’m surprised to realise how much it bothers me that he’s just presumed I’ll give it up.  I feel my posture change, sitting up straighter, frowning back at him, and now he looks confused too, wondering what he’s said wrong.  “I can take care of you and JJ, she’ll be able to come live with us properly if we’re both around more.”  

“Jensen, I love you, I do, but I love my job too,” I try to explain.  Surely he gets it, he must feel this strongly about acting and directing too or he wouldn’t give so much of his time to it.  “I miss it Jen.  You can’t just expect me to give up something I’m so passionate about just to come and be your live-in babysitter.”  He frowns too, sighing heavily as he shakes his head, drawing a knee up to himself and then running a hand over his face.  I do, I really miss it; the people I meet, the friends you I make for that short period of time, the exhilaration I feel at every birth, each as wonderful as the last. 

“That wasn’t what I meant.  How are you still fightin’ against this after what's just happened?” he groans, and I can tell he’s starting to get frustrated.  Oh please, I don’t want this to turn into an argument. 

“I’m not trying to fight Jen… what did you mean then, if you didn’t mean that?”  I ask softly, trying to bring the tension back down by shuffling so I’m sat next to him and pressing a fleeting kiss against his rough cheek. 

“I don’t want you to be a babysitter for JJ… I want us to be a family, the three of us, together.”  He turns his head to look at me, eyes swimming with emotion, and love swells up inside of me at his words.  I want that too, I so badly want that.  “You don’t have to stop working if that’s not what you want… we’ll figure something out, do our research on Canadian midwifery or whatever.”  He runs his thumb over my cheek, down to my chin which he pinches lightly.  “I’d be really selfish if I asked you to stop doin’ something you’re incredible at.”  I blush at his compliment, tilting my head further into his palm and close my eyes, enjoying his affectionate ministrations. 

“I’ve never lived with a boy before,” I say after a few moments of quietly savouring his touch.

“Is that something else I need to convince you about?” he asks with a chuckle.  I open my eyes, managing a smile.

“It’s my way of saying I’ll move in with you Jensen.”  His face almost splits with the size of his grin as he pulls me into the snuggest of cuddles on his lap so I have to straddle him with my skirt hitched up,  Jensen making low, pleased noises as he presses his face against my neck and I laugh, pushing my fingers into his hair.  “Love you,” I tell him when he comes out from the crook of my neck, gazing up at me happily, his hands pressed to my back. 

“Love you too.”  He puts the lightest of pressure against my shoulder blades to pull me closer and to his mouth and I keep my hands in his hair as we kiss, pouring all of that joy into each other.  His lips are so soft, so perfectly moulded to my own, like the rest of us, we just fit.  It doesn’t take long, what with so many points of contact between us, for our embrace to become more passionate, more heated, tongues touching and probing eagerly.  It’s been too long since we’ve touched each other so intimately, I’ve missed it badly, and with everything that’s happened all I want now is to be enshrouded in his comfort and his love.  I shift on his lap, and what I feel underneath his jeans tells me that he’s missed me too. 

“You wanna head home?” he asks against my lips, between kisses, because it seems like we’re incapable of separating ourselves at the moment, but the implication behind his words is clear. 

“Steph’s at home,” I mumble back, gripping the short strands of hair at the back of his head, and he groans with dissatisfaction.  “Anyway… I’m not sure I can wait.”  I grind myself downwards purposefully against the mound in his jeans to emphasise my point and pull away briefly to glance around us.  I see him look too, his tongue slipping out between pink lips to moisten them.  God… I love that mouth, those lips.  Mostly everyone has left in the time that we’ve been here; it’s starting to get a little chilly now as the evening creeps on, something that’s evident by the way the hairs on my arms are starting to stand on end.  But maybe that’s not just the cold, maybe that’s because Jensen is sliding his hands across the exposed skin at the back of my neck and down my side, my nerves tingling with excitement. 

“Never knew you were an exhibitionist,” he growls, sliding his mouth and his teeth along my jawline. 

“There’s lots you don’t know about me yet Jensen,” I sigh back, tilting my head back to encourage him to kiss down my neck too, unable to stop a smile from growing on my face. 

“Is that right?” he chuckles, right before nipping gently on the sensitive skin above my jugular.  It makes me groan, my thoughts becoming clouded with desire.  Suddenly the thought of having sex in public right here in this park seems like such a good idea, a risk that’s well worth taking.   Besides, we’re tucked away in a corner… no one would see. 

Wait… am I really considering this?  Are we?  I lean back slightly and meet his eyes, pupils blown wide, and he gives me a mischievous smile, his hands cupping my rear and squeezing.

“I feel like you’re temptin’ me down a dangerous road here babydoll,” he tells me with humour, raising an eyebrow me, emphasising that Texan drawl that sounds so good, rumbling right down my sternum and into my groin.  I grin, leaning forward and pressing my lips to his too quickly, teasingly.

“You know it’d be a fun ride,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and he lets out the lowest, slightest of moans, threading his fingers into my hair and pushing my mouth onto his.  When we start to kiss then, passionately, messily, I think that the decision has been taken out of our hands. 

I feel his hands leave my hair and reach between us, slowly and subtly undoing his belt, the button of his jeans, and I’m so sensitive, so hyper-aware because of how we exposed we are that the slight vibration of his zip being pulled down reverberates right between my legs.  I separate our mouths, keeping our foreheads pressed together as we look back at each other and I’m so aroused and excited that I can’t stop myself from panting softly. 

It’s a good job that I’m wearing a maxi skirt; it’s so long that it covers everything, concealing his movements from unobservant eyes.   He slips his erection free through the opening in his boxers and when he lets it go it stands solid and warm, caught between his stomach and the inside of my thighs, tented by the red material of my skirt.  I tense my leg muscles, lightly squeezing his dick and revelling in the way he has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop a breathy moan from coming out, his eyes closing.  When they open I see him check around us again and it reminds me again just how inappropriate this is.  I’ve never done anything like this before, I’ve never needed to have someone so badly as to take these kind of risks, and I can’t deny that it’s a total thrill to be so badly-behaved. 

His hand slips discreetly under my skirt and I lift myself from his lap just an inch so that he can slide it underneath me, searching for the wet heat between my thighs, and when his fingertips find the edge of my underwear he wastes no time in pulling them to the side.  When he comes into contact with my clitoris, pressing firmly, I can’t help the moan that tumbles out of me.  He chuckles quietly, amused by my lack of self-control, circling that pressure round and round at a maddeningly slow pace. 

“Are you gonna be able to keep quiet when I’ve got my cock inside you?” he asks me with a bold smile, leaning back slightly, his free hand on the grass behind him to support himself.  If anyone were to look over right now we’d just like a normal couple engaging in a public display of affection, just sat on his lap, nothing more.  That’s if I can stop my hips from jerking the way they’re longing to, of course.  “Well, Becca?” he prompts when I fail to reply, too busy with my eyes closed, lips pursed, enthralled by the slow torture going on beneath my skirt. 

“I’ll try,” I breathe out huskily, because that’s all I can promise.  I hope that that’s enough.  “Oh please,” I beg when his hand pulls away from me, opening my eyes and pleading with them.

“Please what?” he grins.  Oh, I hate this game, hate it and love it all at the same time.

“Please, I want-“ I start, and then suddenly I’m aware that we’re not quite as alone as before.  I freeze and Jensen sits completely upright again abruptly, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into what looks like a perfectly innocent embrace. 

“So when are we gonna take you golfing?” Jensen asks me loudly as a woman walks by with her dog.  He’s so convincingly casual, so utterly unconcerned about almost being caught that I burst out laughing, unable to help myself, and by the time I’ve finished giggling with my hand pressed to my mouth she’s gone anyway and there’s nothing to worry about. 

“Golfing, really?” I snigger, raising an eyebrow at him.  In the next moment, as soon as he’s sure we alone, his hand is between my legs again and he slips two fingers inside of me so suddenly that it knocks the breath out of me, my mocking expression slipping. 

“Keep on laughin’,” he dares me, voice low, “I can do this all day.”  He captures my mouth again, tongue probing inside and fighting for dominance that I relinquish almost instantly as he draws his fingers in and out of me too gently, too slowly, purposefully avoiding my g-spot. 

“Sorry, baby, I’m sorry, please,” I mumble against his lips, trying desperately to keep my hips still and our movements discreet when all I really want to do is grind down against his hand.  Anything to give me some relief.  He withdraws his fingers, my underwear slipping back momentarily, and then he’s guiding his cock into place and using the hard head to push the cotton aside.  My knickers are going to be ruined...

He leans back a little, smouldering up at me, and although I need to rise up to come back down in order to fill myself to the hilt with him, I know to wait until I’m told to do so.  Jensen can be so changeable when it comes to sex, sometimes he’s so sweet and loving, at other times he’s domineering, authoritative.  I love both sides of him equally, as I should when either way brings me to an orgasm every single time, without fail.  So I wait, biting my lip to stop myself from panting, my chest rising and falling heavily. 

“Get on,” he says after what feels like forever but I know must only have been thirty seconds or even less.  I steal another glance around us, check no one is looking and then lift myself and find the smooth, solid heat of his dick, letting it spread open the folds of me and then sink onto it in one swift movement.  To the outside observer it would just look like I’d shifted positions on his lap, but only I know the delicious jolt of pleasure as his thickness forces me open to accommodate him, the ecstasy that makes me have to stifle the cry that’s sounding out in my head.  When I open my eyes I see him gazing at me hungrily, the tension from holding back showing in the creases on his forehead, the tautness of his jaw.  He looks beyond sexy… 

His hand that now rests outside of my skirt squeezes meaningfully on my thigh and I know he wants me to move.

“Not one sound…” he says quietly.  It would sound almost threatening if I didn’t know Jensen so well, if I didn’t realise that this was just part and parcel of our sexual dynamic.  I set about my task, trying so hard not to move too much but still find a way to bring pleasure to us both.  A slow but firm rotation of my hips, tilting my pelvis so the head of his cock brushes over and over again against my g-spot does the trick, my muscles clenching down around him, and soon I’m having to bite on the inside of my mouth to keep inside all the noises I’m desperate to make.

He sits up and the change in position pushes his length even deeper inside of me.  I don’t whimper but my breath comes out shaky as he winds his fingers through the back of my hair, the other arm looping around my waist and making it look as if we’re hugging again.

“Good girl,” he praises lowly against my ear, voice thick with desire and blowing hot breath down my neck.  There’s an undercurrent of strain too, a tightness to his tone that reassures me he loves this just as much as I do.  It’s amazing how good this feels with so little movement; a side-effect from being so aroused by our exhibitionism.  “You like this don’t you?  You want everyone to see how good you look on my cock.”  Oh god.  A pulse of arousal makes my pelvic muscles clench and a spark of pleasure shoot down my legs without me doing anything at all.  “Move.” 

I do, grinding down against him, losing the ability to remain controlled, just wanting that pleasure, that pressure that’s building as my eyes start to close, still biting the inside of my mouth.  “You want everyone watching, watchin’ me fuck you, look so good babydoll, you’re so good riding my cock,” he chants, mouth still against my ear.  I’m lost in sensation, gripping his back through my t-shirt, unseeing, set on fire, and all I can see and feel and hear is him.  “Harder baby, I got you, c’mon.”  He’s got his teeth gritted together, fingertips digging almost painfully into my waist and I can’t help myself any longer; once, twice, three times I bring myself up and down on the length of him, hard, Jensen pushing upwards into me at the same time.  The intensity of my orgasm is almost violent, and for the next 20 seconds I’m nothing but a raw bundle of nerves that are firing off off over and over, so delirious that I don’t even realise that Jensen has finished too until he’s holding my face, pressing his lips against mine. 

As my mind slowly reconnects with my body, Jensen pulling away to let us catch our ragged breath, I suddenly realise that I can taste blood in my mouth.  I prod at the inside with my tongue as he watches me with quiet affection and the flesh there feels raw; I must have been biting down to keep quiet pretty damn hard. 

Oh god, did anyone see?!  I wasn’t exactly being careful there right at the end.  Jensen must notice my expression turn to panic because he laughs, letting himself fall back onto his elbows.

“No one’s around,” he tells me reassuringly, and when I look around us I see that he’s right; the park has completely emptied, we’re the only ones here.  “Not that that would’ve stopped you,” he adds with a roguish grin and I blush as I laugh, wiping away the fine sheen of sweat that’s formed across my forehead with the back of my hand.  “Come on, let’s get home and into a shower.”

“Definitely,” I agree, pulling a face as I cautiously lift myself off of him, hoping that we haven’t made a mess over the front of his jeans.  Thankfully they seem to have come away more or less unscathed, which is more than I can say for my underwear.  

“Ew…” I mutter as I stand and everything that goes up once again has to come down, “That was so hot… but… so, so impractical.”  He laughs, rising from the grass himself and putting himself back in place.  Why is sex so gross sometimes? 

“Give them here,” Jensen instructs, holding out his large hand as soon as he’s finished doing up his belt.  Surely not?  I must look scandalised because he laughs again, corners of his eyes crinkling, shaking his head.  “I think we’re past coyness here, give me your panties, unless you want to walk all the way home like that.”  I so don’t want to.  I admit defeat, sighing and slipping them off past my sandals and handing them to Jensen with my nose wrinkled who then stuffs them swiftly into his pocket. 

“I can’t believe we just did that…” I laugh as he takes my hand and we start to make our way back home, through the park gates.

“Good luck explaining those grass stains.”  Ah damn.

Chapter Text

“She’s going to flip out Jen, like actually properly flip out,” I tell him anxiously as I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, applying mascara and trying desperately not to blink and smudge it everywhere. 

“That’s why I’m taking you all out, remember?”  he reminds me from where he’s stood behind me in the bathroom, tucking his dark blue shirt into his trousers, “We’ll get her some wine, she’ll be all nice and relaxed, and right when I’m looking like the perfect son-in-law, bam!” he continues, grinning at me when I turn around abruptly at the words ‘son-in-law’, “We tell her that I’m stealin’ you away.”  I laugh, happy and anxious all at once, putting my make-up down and closing the space between us. 

“Maybe we don’t say it quite like that though,” I smile up at him, helping to do up the last few buttons of his shirt and mourning the loss of bare skin as I do. 

“Maybe,” he agrees, unfolding his collar and laying a lightly spotted tie in an even darker shade of blue across the back of his neck.  I step aside so he can look at himself in the mirror while he ties it and watch him admiringly, paying particular attention to how fantastic his rear looks in smart trousers.  Is there anyone else in the world that looks as good as my boyfriend when he’s all dressed up?  I certainly don’t think so.  “Enjoying the show?” His voice is full of humour, his reflection in the mirror looking back at me with an eyebrow raised as his hands continue folding and tucking his tie round and round in ways that baffle me. 

“Always,” I grin at him and he chuckles softly, straightening out the knot as he turns back to me, eyes drifting up and down me appraisingly.  “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you.”

“Funny, was just thinking the same thing.” He steps to me and places a hand on each of my bare arms, those happy lines appearing at the corners of his eyes as he squeezes gently.

“Were not,” I say disbelievingly, still smiling nonetheless. 

“I was!” he insists, “You look beautiful.”  He places a fleeting kiss against my forehead as a blush breaks onto my cheeks.  It’s only an old dress I’m wearing, a rich mauve off-the-shoulder number, but when he looks at me like this I really do feel like I’m  worth a million dollars. 

“Sweet talker,” I tease gently.

“You got me,” he laughs and then releases my arm, giving my butt a firm smack instead that makes me yelp with delight. “Let’s go.”  I watch him leave, a silly smile on my face and my tummy fizzing with happiness.  I really do have him don’t I?


“It was Jensen, wasn’t it?” my grandmother asks him from across the table, peering at him through squinted eyes.

“That’s right,” he confirms with a patient nod and a smile as he lifts his beer to his lips.  He’s been so amazing with her; this must be the fourth or fifth time she’s had to re-check it with him.  Since she had a stroke a few years ago her mind really isn’t what it once was, a slow decline that’s really painful to watch when the woman I remember from my childhood was always so switched on, so sharp. 

“ ‘s’a funny name,” she comments down to her plate as she tries to cut her beef, oblivious to the fact that she’s said it quite loudly.  Jensen laughs, his lips still pursed around the bottle, and I send him an apologetic look.  She also seems to have lost all social filters lately.  He just shakes his head as if to tell me no apologies are needed and it makes me even more grateful to him. 

“So where was it you two stumbled into each other then?” Christine, my uncle’s girlfriend, asks Jensen from his right, a big smile on her face.  “I bet you’re not over here very often.”

“Uh, well…” he begins, putting down his beer and glancing at me, “Do you want to tell it?”

“No, no,” I encourage, one of my cheeks full of a gorgeous ricotta filled tortellini parcel, “You go ahead.”  I’d like to hear it from his end, actually.  Everyone’s listening attentively; Mum, Steph, my uncle Bob, Christine, even my grandmother. 

“I was actually over here doing some publicity stuff for the show,” he begins, and it never ceases to surprise me that sometimes Jensen really doesn’t seem to like being directly in the limelight.  I mean, sure, he gets on and deals with it, but I can tell from the way he glances down at the table occasionally, fingertips playing with the prongs on his fork, that he’s not entirely as comfortable as he tries to look.  “And one of my old co-stars decides to go into labour at just the most convenient time.”  Christine laughs, pressing her hands together in delight as Jensen smiles, “So I’m freaking out, obviously, and she's hollerin' at me cus apparently it's all my fault.  I just rushed us into to the closest hospital as fast as I could and that happened to be where Becca was working.  I think I was harder work for her than Gen was.” 

“He’s not kidding, he was totally hysterical,” I add in jokingly before I stuff another piece of pasta into my mouth and Jensen sends me a mock disgruntled look.

“Well it’s pretty scary if you’ve never seen stuff like that before,” my Mum says, coming to his defence and Jensen tips his head to her. 


“Oh but I bet it was amazing though,” Chris gushes, slicing into her beef wellington. 

“It was,” he admits, “Bec was awesome.  So calm.  We just trusted her instantly.”  He smiles warmly at me, hand finding mine on the table top and curling around it. 

“Aww she’s lovely isn’t she?” Chris nudges him gently with her elbow and I grin back at her.  Christine only started dating my uncle a couple of years ago but I adore her.  Every time they come to visit she’s a breath of fresh air, a free spirit giving life to any gathering of a family that’s usually quite reserved. 

“Absolutely,” Jensen agrees immediately and Chris ‘aww’s’ again while my sister makes retching noises from across the table that Mum scowls at her for.  I don’t care though, I’m too busy sitting here beaming with happiness, warm from head to toe.  “What about you two, how did you meet?” he asks, successfully deflecting attention away from himself as Christine begins on a long story about their online dating escapades that have us all laughing through the rest of our main course. 


“You gonna tell them soon?”  Jensen asks me quietly as everyone is placing their dessert order, otherwise occupied for the moment. 

“I will,” I mutter into my wine glass, avoiding his eyes.  “I just haven’t found the right moment yet.”  He sighs none too subtly but before he can say anymore the waiter comes to us and he’s distracted by ordering us a salted caramel cheesecake slice to share.  How on earth do I just come out with it?  Oh yeah, by the way, I’m planning on moving to Vancouver to live with my boyfriend of less than a month, hope that’s cool?  Maybe because we’re out in public it won’t be too bad.  I mean it’s not like they can make a scene. 

“Are you working at the hospital Rebecca?” my grandmother asks me loudly, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to reality. 

“I am,” I answer just as loudly back, “I’m working on maternity remember?” 

“Oh yes,” she says with a small smile, “Did you have any babies today?” 

“No, nan, I wasn’t working today,” I explain tolerantly.  It feels like forever since I helped anyone have a baby actually.  I guess it’ll be a while until I get to do it again.

“When do you think you’ll be going back to work?” Mum chimes in and I realise that this is it, this is the moment I need to come out with it because there’s no way that I can answer this question honestly without telling her that I’m leaving.  Jensen seems to realise it too because I feel his arm wrap around my waist, squeezing encouragingly at my hip as I take a deep mustering breath.

“I don’t think I’ll be going back,” I say, trying to work up the courage to explain why as I take a deep pull from my wine glass. 

“Why not?” she asks, confused, peering at me through the lens of her glasses.  I hesitate, mouth open but no sound coming out, and Jensen must either decide I’m taking too long or take pity on me, because he steps in. 

“I’ve asked Becca to come live with me in Vancouver.” You could hear a pin drop around our table during the quiet that settles after those words, and I swallow uncomfortably, shifting in my seat.  “When I’m filming, anyway, when we’re on hiatus I’ve got a place in Texas.”  … I don’t think that that helped Jensen.  All that my mum is hearing is the names of two places that are equally as far away as far as she’s concerned. 

“And you said yes, I take it?” Mum finally asks after a few more seconds of painful silence.  I look up from my glass, hesitantly meeting her eyes and feeling my heart sink when I see her looking so shocked, so hurt.  I shrug loosely because I don’t know what to say… I mean of course I said yes, but saying that makes it sound like I didn’t give them a second thought, and I really did.  “Well, it was nice of you to talk about it with us,” she says sarcastically, grabbing her own drink and taking a big mouthful. 

“Why haven’t you said anything before now?”  Steph adds, and I’m mortified to see her looking upset too, wide eyes accusing and glossy. 

“We only decided on it yesterday, after the trial and what happened…” I try to explain, sounding whiny even to myself, “I knew how everyone would react…”

“So dropping it on us at the last moment was the best thing to do, then?”  Mum questions, her voice becoming louder as she starts to lose her temper. 

“Mrs Stiles, Ruth, it’s my fault,” Jensen interjects, flexing one of his hands up from the table appealingly, “I’ve been pushin’ her for an answer ever since she flew back from Vancouver.”  Mum inspects him doubtfully, her lips pursed together and I feel him wilt a little under her stare.  At least it’s not just me that she has that effect on. 

“When are you leaving?”  Steph asks after a moment as I gaze helplessly at my mum who is now pointedly looking away.  Jensen has to leave tomorrow and I know he wants me to follow not too long after, to go and meet his parents down in Dallas, but I’d really rather not say that now. 

“There’s no rush…” I start lamely. 

“Well if you’re going to go there’s no point in drawing it out,” Mum says harshly and I feel a lump stick in my throat.  My hand finds Jensen’s thigh under the table and I grasp onto it for support, willing myself not to get too upset, not to end up in tears. 

“Come on Ruth, you can’t blame her, it’s an exciting thought moving somewhere new, starting afresh,” Christine says, coming to my defence.  I send her a weak, grateful smile that she returns, looking at me sympathetically. 

“Without everyone else,” Steph comments bitterly.  I’d really thought that she’d be behind me in this, like she has been for everything else, but this is a step too far it seems. 

“It’s not like I’ve just decided this on a whim,” I say defensively, my hand curling around Jensen’s necklace and rotating it anxiously. “I’m really going to miss all of you, everyone.  You can all come visit, whenever you want,” I add, hoping it might help to make it up to them if they think that there's a holiday home for them overseas any time they like. 

“Why are you rushing into this?  You’ve only been together five minutes,” Mum says, gesturing to the two of us, “I know he’s famous, but you don’t have to go rushing everything like so many celebrities do.”  I really wish she wouldn’t talk about Jensen like he isn’t here; she can see how happy he makes me, and the fact that she’s casting doubt on us makes a prickle of annoyance cause the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. 

“Can you really not understand why I’d want to get away from here after everything that’s happened to me?” I ask incredulously, uncaring that my voice is starting to rise in pitch and volume to match hers, “Do you really think I want to live around the corner from him?” I see some of the fight drain out of her as she considers my words, letting them sink in, and I try to ignore the questioning looks that are coming from Christine and Robert; not everyone in the family knows what I’ve been through lately, and I prefer it that way.

“Jensen has been here for me through everything; every nightmare, every panic attack.  He picks up the phone at 2am every time I call, without fail.”  I glance at Steph, not wanting her to think that I’m forgetting all the support she’s given me too.  “And I know you’ve tried to be here for me too, I appreciate that, I do, but I need him.” I feel his lips press to the side of my head, his warm hand still at his waist, and I turn my face to his and let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes just for a second, seeing his small smile when I open them again.  “I love him,” I emphasise, turning back to meet my mother’s gaze.  Silence falls again, but at least now she doesn’t look so angry.  She just looks deflated, sad.

“I know you’ve taken care of her… and I’m really grateful, please don’t think I’m not.  Even I can see that she’s better when you’re around,” Mum says slowly, directing her words at Jensen.  “I just wish you’d talked to us Bec.  You’re my little girl and you’ve just announced you’re moving thousands of miles away.”  She gives me a small smile, wrapping her hand around the stem of her wine glass.  “Of course I’m going to be upset…”

“I’m sorry, I am.  I just… I didn’t know how to tell you,” I shrug, smiling regretfully back at her.  “I’m sorry Steph,” I say to her too and she shrugs back, no longer looking so upset, just still a little shell-shocked. 

“I get why you want to get away,” she tells me understandingly, “Besides,” she adds after a moment, “This means I get to come over and meet everyone now.”  A wide grin grows across her face and Jensen laughs beside me.  Oh what a prospect that is.  Those guys won’t know what hit them. 

“Well we think it’s great don’t we Bob?” Christine says, speaking for my uncle who is as diplomatically silent as always, smiling behind his moustache. 

“Where is it you’re going?” my grandmother asks and I can’t help but laugh.  I think this has all gone completely over her head.   

“Canada,” Jensen answers her swiftly.

“Is that where you’re from?” she questions and he chuckles, nodding because it’s easier and she probably won’t remember his answer anyway.   

“We’re really going to miss you Bec,” Mum says finally, smiling at me from over her glasses and I feel some of the weight lift start to lift from my shoulders.

“Does that mean we’ve got your blessing?” I ask, a little cheekily and she laughs and nods, albeit reluctantly, as the waiter returns laden down with plates of dessert.

“You better look after her,” she warns Jensen, picking up the spoon for her brownie when it’s placed in front of her and pointing it at him.  He nods solemnly.

“You have my word.” 


The rest of the meal passes pleasantly and without incident, our semi-argument forgotten and animated talking taking its place as more wine flows and my mum becomes increasingly lubricated with alcohol.  She and Jensen end up deep in conversation about JJ and what it’s like being a parent and much to my horror she tells him a variety of embarrassing stories from when I was a young girl.    Such classics including the time I cut my own fringe, or when I tried to climb over the fence and ended up falling and hanging upside down from the post by my underwear.  She takes deep pleasure in my horrified flushed pink face, and Steph laughing her ass off to the side of us doesn’t help to discourage her.

I’m a little relieved when Jensen goes off to the pub bar to fetch more drinks, his suit jacket discarded over the back of his chair with his tie, increasingly casual as the night goes on.  He still looks amazing though, roguishly handsome as always, outshining every man in the place by far. 

“He’s proper gorgeous, that one,” Christine tells me with a nod in his direction and I laugh, swelling with pride.  He really is.  “I might have to start watching that show, Supernatural was it?”

“That’s the one,” I grin.  I wonder what would have happened if I’d met him and not been a fan of the show.  Would we have still hit it off the way that we have?  I know for certain that I would have still been attracted to him. 

“You two look fab together,” she adds, but I’m finding it difficult to pay attention to her when I’m focusing so hard on the dark-haired curvaceous woman that’s sidled up next to him at the bar.  Who the heck is she?!  I see her mouth moving as she talks to him, lips curved into an inviting smile that I can recognise as flirtatious from here.  And what’s worse is he’s smiling back. 

“What?!” I mutter out-loud with irritation before I can help myself, because now she’s put her hand on his arm and she’s laughing and leaning toward him and oh my god I’m going to throw something at her.  Steph looks over to me and follows my eye line, turning around in her chair and then turning back to me with her mouth hanging open but grinning with amusement.  I’m glad she finds it funny, I’m over here gritting my teeth, jealousy bubbling up like thick black tar in my stomach.  I know he’s desirable and it’s only to be expected that women will look at him and girls on the internet will fantasise – I’ve been one of them – but leaning over a bar and touching my boyfriend is a no no. No, no, no, no. 

“Ohhh, that bitch is going doooown,” Steph chuckles, lifting her cider to her lips and drinking, and unfortunately it only encourages me because by now I’m a little bit tipsy.  Damn right that bitch is going down. 

I push my chair back from the table and rise, taking a moment to straighten out my dress and then saunter my way over to Jensen and little-miss-doe-eyes who is still trying to fawn over him even as I approach with my head held high.  To give him credit though now that I’m nearer I can see that the look in his eyes doesn’t match his smile, the way he’s trying to placate her whilst subtly leaning away so as not to be impolite. 

“These are gorgeous.  Is that mother of pearl?” I hear her say as she fingers his cufflinks, her finely manicured nails obviously struggling to hit the mark because they brush the skin of his wrist too.  I bristle with annoyance at the sight. 

“Jensen, baby, can you get a glass of wine for Christine too please?”  I ask as I reach his side, pointedly placing my hand against his ribs and leaning in close, smiling warmly at him, my back to her. 

“Sure thing,” he grins down at me and I know he knows exactly what I’m up to, what signal that hand placed against him is giving to the woman still hovering behind me.  I flush with pleasure as he leans down and places his lips against mine in a long, lingering kiss, my heart soaring with delight at the fact he’s as eager to get rid of her as I am.  In fact, by the time we’ve managed to separate ourselves she’s already gone.  Mission successful. 

“What was that about?” he asks amusedly when we turn back to the bar, leaning on my elbows against the countertop.  I shrug, not really wanting to admit how jealous it was making me but honestly, I’m pretty sure he’s figured it out anyway, so I just grin, blushing. 

“She should just be glad she didn’t lose that hand.”  He laughs, nudging his arm against mine and shaking his head.

“You’re cute when you get all green-eyed and huffy,” he tells me and I smile up at him, soaking up the affection in his eyes, never ceasing to be amazed that this is the man I’m going to be living with.  It’s really happening, and I can’t wait. 

Chapter Text

A week passes in a flurry of activity trying to sort everything out for the move.  Mum was right, funnily enough, once the decision had been made there really wasn’t much point in wasting time and with everyone now at peace with it they were happy to lend a hand. 

I visited work to tell Lyndsay that I wouldn’t be returning and the news was met with groans of disappointment but the team wishing me well, as I knew they would.  In fact, Kate gave me the contact details of some midwives she’d met whilst visiting Vancouver during a research trip that will no doubt be very useful.  They couldn’t stay to chat long, the unit was heaving whilst I was there, sounds of gas and air and distressed moans drifting all the way down the corridor to the coffee room, and it was with a strange stab of jealousy that I watched my old colleagues leave to give the care they pride themselves on.   I definitely need to get back to work as soon as I can; I feel like I might forget everything if I don’t!  Lyndsay reassured me that that wouldn’t happen, that it was like riding a bike, something that becomes so instinctive that we can call on it even after years.  I really hope so. 

Mum and Steph have helped me to pack up my things, although really, when you discount the furniture and household items there’s really not that much to put in boxes; just clothes, shoes, DVDs, my laptop, that kind of stuff.  I still have four months left on my tenancy agreement but Jensen brushed over that, casually saying he’ll pay the rest of the rent and not to worry about it.  What must it be like to be in the position where over two grand is barely even worth mentioning, let alone worrying about?  Mum’s keeping my furniture and putting it in storage for when Steph ends up with a place of her own, and then that’s it.  The house looks weird as an empty shell, unrecognisable from the place I spent three happy years, but as I’d stood in my bedroom, just about managing to keep my cool, I’d realised that maybe that was a good thing.  I’ve left arranging the details of moving my stuff overseas to Jensen - he seems to know about that sort of thing far better than me so we just stacked the boxes just inside my front door, knowing that a moving company will be asking my mum give them access to collect them at some point in the near future.

Zag and Cas will be staying permanently with mum now too, although we’d talked about trying to move them to Vancouver.  Whilst it’s possible to do Jensen and I decided that Icarus and Oscar probably wouldn’t tolerate the arrival of two cats very well, so they’ll be staying in England, along with Momo who’s far too small to deal with long-haul flying in his little hamster box.  I had a little cry, quietly and privately, as I cuddled up with my two furry companions on Steph’s bed and told them that I’d be leaving them, as if they really understood.  It felt silly but nice at the same time.

And then it came time to say goodbye to all of my friends.  My announcement that I was moving in with my famous actor boyfriend was met with much enthusiasm by them and they’d rushed to arrange a ‘going away’ night out that consisted of many, many cocktails.  That and much laughter, dancing, and inappropriate questions about mine and Jensen’s sex life that they were all super excited to hear about.  I’d tried to explain that really he’s just a normal man that happens to be ridiculously good-looking and has a more unusual job than most, but they weren’t having it.  I had an amazing time catching up with everyone.  When it came time to really say goodbye, taxi waiting outside the bar and so tipsy that my words were slightly slurred, my farewells were said with tears and long embraces and leaning out of the car window waving back to them in the distance.  I’ll miss them so much. 

My mum, my sister and I all spent one last night together, eating junk food and watching bad movies and that ended in tears too even though they both said that they’re happy for me now.  I had to make several promises that I really will call more often this time, and that I’ll make sure I come home for all the big birthdays and events, Steph’s graduation and such like.  We’d stayed up really late talking which meant that I’d been knackered on my drive to the airport; something I insisted that I’d do alone.  For one I thought it’d be too difficult to say goodbye right there at the gate plus it gave me one last chance to drive Twiggy before my mum sells her on to a new owner.  I hope they’ll take good care of her… Jensen has promised he’ll get me my own car, but it’s going to have to be pretty special to compare with Twiggy; she’s served me well.  

I’d wondered, as I passed through check-in, just how long it’d be until I saw England again.  I’m not ashamed to admit that even without anyone there to see me off I’d still shed some tears, sad to be leaving but overwhelmingly excited for everything to come, eager to start this new chapter in my life with Jensen’s name right there in the title. 


The first leg of my flight passes without incident, although I’ll admit I’m slightly disgruntled at the fact I’ve been flying east just to head west again, no matter how good the in-flight movies are.  Still, it’s a few hours closer to Jensen. 

‘Just in Frankfurt for layover, can’t wait to see you! xxx’  I message Jensen as I loiter in the waiting lounge for my connecting flight to Dallas.  I’ve been sat here snacking like a piggy because I’m bored; crisps, pretzels, peanuts… it’s all tasty stuff.  I’d like to pretend I’m just stocking up for the terrible in-flight meals but Jensen has flown me first class again so I don’t even have that excuse.  My phone springs to life in a flurry of vibration at his quick reply so I lick the salt from my fingers and open up the message.

‘I’ll be heading to airport soon 2, jst wrapping up here.  Fly safe roomie.  Love you xxx’ he replies and it makes me smile.  Jensen Ackles’ roomie, isn’t that just the craziest thing?  I can’t wait to move my stuff in there, start putting some feminine touches around the place.  I hope Jensen is open to the idea of dusky pink because that’s totally happening. 

‘There better not be any bad habits you’ve been hiding from me!  Love you too xxx’.  I’m only kidding, of course, Jensen is strangely tidy actually.  In the whole time I was there I didn’t see a single piece of his clothing strewn across the floor or a toilet seat left up.  I guess it’s just another thing that makes me a very lucky girl.  Thankfully an announcement for my next flight sounds off on the tannoy overhead before I can re-commence my snacking, so I shove my honey roasted peanuts and cashews back in my carry-on luggage (yum) and make my way to the gate. 

I’m a little nervous actually, because although that this flight is taking me to Jensen it’s also taking me to meet the ‘in-laws’ for the first time.   He’s reassured me that he’s told them all about me and talked me up, but still, it’s kind of nerve wracking.  I always seem to put my foot in it when I’m meeting new people that I want to make a good impression with, the exactly opposite of what I’m aiming for.  But I guess JJ is going to be there, so at least that’s one friendly face – so long as she hasn’t forgotten me – and I’ll just aim to stand demurely by Jensen’s side and be super polite the whole time we’re there.   We’re only staying for one night; that’s not much time for things to go wrong. 

I hate long haul flying.  I hate it, I hate it.  It might not be as uncomfortable in first class as it is in couch but I’m still not very good at sleeping, so it’s not even like I can nap through it.  I’m too conscious that I might have a nightmare and freak out the passengers around me; it’s continued to happen on a bi-nightly basis.  My only consolation is that so much practice means I’m getting better and better at settling myself afterwards and managing to get back to sleep, even if it’s still in sweat soaked sheets and tear-stained pillows.   Still, it could have been worse.  At least I had Jennifer Lawrence and her bow and arrow skills to keep me entertained for most of the flight, that, and a very nice lemon sole risotto. 

As I wait for my luggage to come around the carousel I switch my phone back on, wondering if I’ll have a message from Jensen to let me know whereabouts he’s waiting for me.  He should have arrived just less than an hour before me but he’d promised he’d wait around at the airport so we could head to his parent’s house together.   My phone bleeps and his name appears next to his contact picture (a very cute snap of us cuddled up in bed) so I open it up to read, trying to keep one eye on the carousel at the same time

‘Flight’s delayed.  Ma will meet u, says she’ll meet u by the pretzel stand.  Hope I won’t b 2 late xxx’  Oh fucking hell.  My heart starts to flutter nervously in my chest at the thought of having to meet his parents all by myself – I was nervous anyway, let alone doing this solo! He must have realised I’d feel this way because there’s a second message from him that reads: ‘U’ll b fine, they can’t wait 2 meet u. Jst smile xxx’.  The fact that he knows me well enough to know I’d be freaking out makes me grin to myself but it doesn’t really make me feel any better about the situation.  This is going to be so horrendously awkward. 

I almost don’t want to see my bag coming around but here it is anyway.  I wish I had an excuse to kill some time but I guess it’s pointless when I don’t even know just how delayed he’s going to be.  I may as well bite the bullet; it’s not like I don’t meet new people and make small talk all the time at work.  I’m sure I can do it with them as well. 

Mustering my courage I make my way towards the exits of the airport, reassuring myself that I’m not so skittish anymore as to drop my bags on the floor lest someone dare touch me like last time.  That was embarrassing enough in front of Jensen so I’d rather not repeat the performance with his mother.  I look all around myself as I come into a wide open space and try to locate something that looks like a pretzel stand.  Ah, right there, with the giant rotating pretzel sticking up in the air; you’d have thought I’d spot that sooner really.  It’s not exactly subtle advertising. 

I head towards it and hope that there’s only one woman standing underneath to make it easier for me, despairing when I see that there’s actually quite a queue.  Ok, so maybe my super-fan knowledge is lacking a little bit because I don’t actually know what Jensen’s mother looks like – I think that can be let slide though right?  Crap, how am I going to figure this out?  I stand on the spot, probably looking a little bit lost as I fiddle with the strap of my shoulder-bag.  Maybe she’ll just have to recognise me instead… but then again I’m not even sure Jensen has shown her a photo. 

Suddenly I hear the familiar babble of a nearby little girl over the noise of the airport, and my heart leaps as I look wildly around to find the source of the sound.  That sounds exactly like JJ!  Sure enough when I make my way around to the other side of the stand I spot her in an older woman’s arms, dressed from head to toe in pink polkadots and looking entirely adorable.  His mum – or Ma, should I say – looks friendly enough, smiling and chattering with JJ, her sensible shoulder-length blonde bob swaying as she shakes her head about something.   Justice is tugging at Donna’s striped shirt and trying to grab for pretzels, so I’m thinking Donna's lips moving might be a ‘no’ about having one of those…

“Mrs Ackles?” I ask as I approach them, a cautious smile on my face.  Donna swivels quickly to face me looking mildly startled, but as her eyes meet mine a warm smile spreads across her face and she lets out a little breath of relief.  Gosh, Jensen looks like his mother.  In a totally more manly way though, obviously. 

“You must be Becca!” she says enthusiastically, her Texan accent even thicker than Jensen’s and ever so slightly nasal.  She doesn’t make to hug me, not with her arms full of JJ, but she reaches out and touches my forearm as she speaks.  Her eyes dart up and down the length of me and immediately that random statistic about people forming first impression within the first seven seconds of meeting someone pops into my head.  Better make it a good seven seconds huh? 

“Becca!” JJ repeats with a giggle, and I’m not sure if it’s because she remembers me or whether she just wanted to repeat her grandmother.  Nonetheless I smile kindly at her, tipping my head and tucking her hair behind her ear, hoping that maybe she does remember.  She doesn’t look as nervous as the first time we met anyway.  

“Hey there JJ, babygirl, it’s good to see you again!”  I greet her, using Jensen’s nickname for her before I’ve even thought about it, flushing with embarrassment when I realise.  Perhaps that comes across as a little overfamiliar. Donna takes in the exchange with a watchful gaze, but the expression it leaves her with is warm and affectionate, so I think that was a good move.  “It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs Ackles,” I say, turning my attention back to her and trying to recover myself, “Thank you so much for coming to collect me, Jensen messaged to say that he was going to be delayed.”  I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so British before in my life.  I sound like Laura when she uses her telephone voice, or some Hugh Grant movie.

“It’s good t’ meet you too darlin’, Jay has told us all about you,” she grins as JJ turns her eyes back towards the pretzels and starts to whinge a little, “C’mon, let’s get outta here before she starts hollering.”  She readjusts JJ on her hip and then looks down to my bags. “You gonna be alright with those?”  

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” I say quickly, following after her as she begins to walk.  “Did Jensen say how much he was delayed?” I check as I match her pace, my suitcase rattling behind us.  JJ’s watching me intently, her cheek resting against her grandmother’s shoulder and a finger in her mouth, pretzels forgotten. 

“About an hour he reckons.  He’ll be here soon enough, don’t you worry,” she tells me, her tone light and humourful.  I hope I don’t look that anxious and that it’s just well-founded presumptions on her part that tells her I’m nervous.  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye.  “Pleased to see you’ve got some meat on you; some of Jay’s high school sweethearts were as big as the little end of nothin’.”  Meat on me?  Oh dear, maybe all those snacks really were a bad idea.  She must read my expression well because she starts laughing, husky but feminine. 

“Thanks, I think?”  I chuckle back as we head through some glass double doors and into a car park. 

“It was a compliment hon, take it.”  Ok then, I will.  “Here we go,” she says as we approach a chunky red Ford SUV.  I swear all the cars in this country are huge.  “You hop on in, stick that in the trunk, I’ll sort out little lady here.”  She makes her way around to the other side of the car to fasten JJ into her car seat, which from the sounds of squealing as I’m loading in my things inside, she is not all too happy about.   Despite all the crying I sort of want to climb in the back with JJ rather than sit in the front seat with Donna; it’s a bit nerve-wracking being in such close quarters.  I really hope it’s not a long drive. 

She climbs into the driver’s seat smoothly with a huff, pulling the door closed behind her with a slam as JJ continues to grizzle. 

“She’ll fall asleep as soon as we get goin’,” she informs me knowingly, and I don’t doubt it.  As a child my parents used to take me for a drive of an evening regularly; something I blame for the way I fall asleep in cars so easily now.  I nod, giving her a small smile.

“Jensen will be happy to know it’s not just him she squeals at,” I say, and then wonder if I should have.  “He was worried when he couldn’t get her to settle before, he thought was doing something wrong,” I try to explain, looking down at my fingers that are laced together on my skirt covered lap. 

“That boy is always so hard on himself,” she sighs with a rueful smile, concentrating on driving, “Always has been.” 

“I noticed,” I reply, looking back up.  She’s a very pretty woman really, more youthful than her 60-something years.  But then I guess that makes sense, Jensen got those fabulous genes from somewhere.   JJ has gone quiet already, and when I peer around into the back I see that she’s fallen asleep almost instantly, head lolling against the side of the car seat. 

“You know all about little ones though huh?  Jensen was tellin’ us you work in the hospital back home.”  I wonder just how much he has told them about me?  I guess they would be inquisitive, after all I am moving in with their son. 

“I definitely don't know it all,” I deny modesty, grinning.  We’re onto a highway now, hitting some traffic. “I was there for Jared’s youngest being born,” I inform her and she smiles widely.

“Ah they’re the sweetest little family,” she comments, “Such gorgeous kids.” 

“Totally,” I agree quickly.  Well this is ok, this is good small talk.  We’re chatting easily, lots of smiles. It’s all good.   

“It’s a shame ya’ll aren’t stayin’ longer, was hoping we’d get you to church on Sunday,” she tells me, glancing over briefly, “We usually try for a big family dinner when Jay comes to visit too.”

“Oh that would’ve been great!” I say regretfully.  Not so much about church, I could maybe do without that bit, but she doesn’t have to know that.  “I would’ve loved to have gotten all the gossip about what Jensen was like as a kid.” 

“We’ll get you up to speed, don’t you worry,” she laughs, “And next time y’all come down here you can meet everyone.”  I smile to myself, cheeks flushing warm because I’m so pleased that she’s already talking about ‘next time’.  I guess it’s early to be thinking we’ll be happy families, but maybe I really did make the best of my seven seconds?  

“I’d like that,” I tell her sincerely.  I know how important his family is to Jensen, so I’ll do whatever I can to fit in and make him happy.  I’ll go to as many church sermons or family dinners as it takes, because I know he’d do the same for me.   I stare out of the window for a while, watching the world go by in comfortable silence and think to myself how strange it is that this time a couple of months ago I never would have imagined I’d be here.  The longest flights I’d been on were like 3 hours; Greece, Spain, France.  Visiting the US and Canada was always something I’d wanted but seemed so unlikely – and now here I am, watching the heat waves shimmer up from the concrete.   And it’s all thanks to Jensen. 

“I probably won’t get chance to say it when he’s around,” I begin impulsively, shifting in my seat to face Donna directly and she glances at me from the road, obviously sensing the seriousness of my tone, “But I want you to know how much I truly care about your son.  He’s helped me through a really bad… bad time, and I just…”  I shrug my shoulders, feeling butterflies swirl in my stomach, “I wanted you to know I’m not just here because he’s famous or any of that.  That doesn’t matter to me.  He could be a… a garbage collector or something and I’d love him just the same.”  

I watch her clench the steering wheel and swallow hard, and if weren’t the fact that she’s smiling so hard I’d almost worry that I’d said something wrong.  She reaches a hand over and grasps my knee, shaking my leg lightly and pursing her lips, looking emotional. 

“I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

Chapter Text

“Ohh my goodness, look at him here!  Is that really Jensen?”  I gush, pouring over the old photo album Donna has given me.  She’s sat next to me on the large cushy sofa, peering over my shoulder and pointing out a variety of people as we go and JJ is sat on the rug trying to post a crayon into the mouth of her doll.  In the picture of Jensen I’m pointing at he must only be five or six years old and he’s sporting the most wonderful bowl haircut, complete with cowboy hat and a plaid shirt that looks far too big for him.  It’s almost unbearably cute, as are all the photographs, and my cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling too much. 

“Oh sure, Jay was a cute kid.  Ugly baby though,” Jensen’s Dad, Alan, jokes as he comes back to us from the kitchen with drinks.  Alan I’d recognised instantly from the guest appearance he’d made in Supernatural before, and he’d welcomed me warmly into their modest but well-kept home with open arms.  I don’t even know why I’d been nervous now really, I should have known that the people that raised Jensen into such a wonderful man would be lovely people themselves.   I laugh at his joke and Donna places her hand on my leg, grinning.

“Hon he isn’t kidding.  He came out all purple ‘n’ screamin’, like he’d got whipped with the ugly stick, his face all wrinkled up,” she tells me and I just end up laughing again.  She comes out with the most wonderful phrases, I’m going to have to write some of these down.  Alan passes me a glass of cold cola with ice, condensation beading on the glass immediately in the heat.  “Not like JJ, soon as she came out she was a beautiful child.” Donna reaches down to pass her hand lightly over JJ’s hair and it makes her look up questioningly, all wide eyes and full lips.  She’s got a better pout than me and she’s not even two. 

“Probably got her mother to thank for that then,” I say and almost immediately I catch a little flicker of eye contact between Donna and Alan.  I think maybe I’ve surprised them in mentioning her so comfortably. 

“Dani was a good girl,” Alan comments after a moment, the ice in his glass clinking as he lifts it to take a sip.  Donna nods, the smile on her face faltering a little. 

“It’s a real shame for Justice,” she says and I nod understandingly.  Wow, I really killed the mood in here didn’t I?  Nice going there Bec.  

“Jensen seems to really appreciate all your help with her, though,” I tell them, trying to pull it back and lighten things up again.  Donna smile appreciatively at me, her hand that was still on my knee patting it briefly and then pulling it away. 

“She could do with a proper mama figure though, I’m not as young as I was, sometimes she’s hard to keep up with.”  I chuckle, taking a sip of my drink.  God that’s refreshing, especially when the air feels so dry. 

“I know what you mean, she had me chasing her around Jensen’s garden all covered in paint,” I smile, looking down at her as she plays, so absorbed in her doll that she’s completely unaware that we’re talking about her.  As they laugh the doorbell rings out crisp and clear and it makes my heart leap into my throat.  As much as I’ve loved spending time with Jensen’s parents I’ve still been counting down the seconds until his arrival. 

“I think that might be our guest star,” Donna comments with a smile as she rises to answer the door and after just a few seconds of excitement stirring up a flurry in my abdomen I realise that it is indeed Jensen at the door.  His voice that is usually pitched low is temporarily tuned higher with happiness as I listen to them greet each other, and when Alan raises from his chair in anticipation of his son I do the same, cola still in hand. 

“Is Becca here, is she alright?” I hear him ask his Mum as they walk through the living room door and it makes me swell with love to know that he’s so perpetually concerned for my wellbeing.  As soon as he steps inside, clean shaven and wearing a loose fitting t-shirt and cargo shorts, those pale green eyes meet mine and his face splits into the biggest of smiles.

“Dada!” JJ exclaims happily at the sight of him, crawling over to him because it must be faster than pushing herself to standing in that ungainly way all toddlers do, and when she reaches his feet she outstretches her arms to him.  “Dada up, up,” she commands, making grabby hand gestures as he smiles down at her. 

“Hey babygirl, you’ve missed me huh?”  He bends down and picks her up as if she weighs nothing at all, placing her on his hip and pressing a brief kiss against her forehead.  “Well I’ve missed you too.”

“Good to have you home son,” Alan says as he approaches the both of them, extending a hand which they briefly shake, and then because that’s clearly too formal he slaps Jensen on the back of the shoulder too, grinning.  

“Good to be here,” Jensen smiles and then takes a big breath in, as if sucking in all the Texas air he can, his eyes making their way back to me.  The raw affection in his look almost takes my breath away as I stand there with my hands folded neatly in front of me, waiting for my turn.  As Donna and Alan start discussing what we’re going to have for dinner, something I’m pretty sure Jensen is supposed to be listening to, he makes his way over to me, JJ still in his arms. 

“You’re late,” I smile up at him when he’s stood in front of me. 

“Sincerest of apologies Ma’am,” he drawls, mouth twisting into a sideways, roguish smile that’s only disrupted when JJ decides to try to pull on his bottom lip and effectively break the moment.  He frowns at her briefly and turns his head to shake her off, so she starts playing with the collar of his t-shirt instead.  “C’mere babydoll,” he instructs, holding out his free arm to make a space that I gladly slot into, resting my head on his chest and curling one arm around him in return, “Mmm I missed you.”  He places a firm, lingering kiss on the top of my head and I squeeze my eyes shut happily as he does, snuggling into him as much as I can. 

“Missed you too,” I tell him, still in place against his chest, inhaling the mixed scent of his aftershave and washing powder that I’ve come to know and love. 

“Oh, look at you three,” I hear Donna say and I flush with embarrassment, having practically forgotten that they were here, “What a picture.” I raise my head from his chest and spot Donna gazing at us admiringly from the other side of the room.  I grin coyly back at her  and I almost pull away from him, wondering if we’re being inappropriate but Jensen doesn’t seem phased whatsoever, giving my side a little squeeze and holding me in place against him. 

“Speaking of pictures,” he begins, inclining his head towards the photo album that’s still spread open on the coffee table, “I see you wasted no time in gettin’ those out.”  He raises an eyebrow at Donna who has the good graces to blush.

“She wanted to see them!” she exclaims defensively and he just shakes his head and chuckles, stepping away from me and sitting himself on the sofa instead, JJ still on his lap.

“Totally my idea,” I agree with a subtle wink in his Mum’s direction. 

“She’s a smart girl Jay, she knows whose side to get on,” Alan laughs from behind us just before he leaves the room to head back to the kitchen.  I take a seat next to Jensen, picking up the photo album and flipping a couple of pages to find my favourite and he looks at it too as JJ kicks her feet a little, toes brushing against the cover and making it flap. 

“Oh god,” he groans, laughing at some of the more exuberant faces he pulled as a child. “How come your Mother didn’t go crackin’ out the home videos?”   Thank god she didn’t; Jensen really doesn’t need to see me as a chubby child trying and failing to bounce on a pogo-stick.

“This one, this one’s amazing,” I tell him, pointing at the picture of him in a cheerleading outfit, the front of his hair hanging in curtains over his eyes.  He covers his eyes with his hand and I laugh, pulling it away as he grins. “Please tell me you still have your pompoms Jensen.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to say that I don’t.”  I laugh again and I link my fingers with the hand that I pulled away from his face, loving the way his large hands dwarf mine.  I am so getting him some pompoms as a joke present at some point, I need to see some sort of Jensen style cheer routine or I won’t be able to consider my life complete.  “You guys been getting along then huh?”  he checks discreetly, eyes narrowing a little.  I nod my head sincerely and smile, pleased by how pleased he looks in turn.

“You tired JJ?” I ask her as she flops back against her Dad’s chest, rubbing her eyes.  She gazes back at me, silent for now because she’s got her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it. 

“I’ll put her down for a nap,” Jensen says, placing a kiss on her head and separating his hand from mine.  She yawns around her thumb and their contagious nature means I do too. Not that I need an excuse, all that flying was wiped me out. 

“Do you think your parents would mind if I have a snooze too?” I ask him quietly, even though they’re both in the other room.  I don’t want them to think I’m being impolite. 

“Course not,” he assures me, rising from the sofa, “We’ll be sleepin’ in my old room.”  Huh, Jensen’s childhood room.  I wonder if it’s still as he left it, like some sort of shrine?  I follow him out of the room and up some creaky stairs, JJ looking back at me over his shoulder as we go, and soon we enter a modestly sized room decorated in calming hues of yellow.

“Huh,” I say as we enter, looking around myself, “I was expecting… like… band posters or something.”  He turns round, smiling.

“I haven’t lived at home for over fifteen years; I think it’d be kinda creepy if they still had my Demi Moore posters on the wall.” 

“Demi huh?” I grin, approaching him.  No matter how hard I try I just can’t imagine Jensen as a teenager, sitting on his bed, ogling the Hollywood starlet.  He shrugs his shoulders, cheeks flushing underneath his freckles as I take hold of his belt loops and use them to pull him closer.  “She was pretty hot I guess, back in the day.”

“Not as hot as you babydoll,” he smirks, leaning down so I can reach his mouth, pressing my lips up and against his in a fleeting kiss. 

“You lieee,” I smile as he pulls back and I release my grip on him.  “Wanna lie down with me JJ?” I ask her softly, placing my hand on her back.  She twists in his arms to look at me.

“You gonna take a nap with Becca?”  Jensen asks her and she nods, outstretching her arms to me to be held.  I take her willingly, perching her on my hip and holding her tight.  She’s warm and smells like Jensen and she snuggles back against me, taking hold of the necklace he gave me. 

“Come on,” I say, pulling back the lightweight beige bedsheets and placing her inside gently, hopping inside straight afterwards.  “Move over a bit, that’s it, that’s a good girl,” I praise as we get into a comfy position, snuggling down into the soft pillows.  She lies on her back and I lay on my side to face her, my arm slung over her little body, chest rising and falling slowly as she stares at the ceiling, and Jensen perches on the bed, one leg off and the other curled under him.  He reaches out and runs his hand over the top of my hair, pushing my fringe back and tucking it behind my ear, smiling softly down at the both of us.  She’s being remarkably well behaved considering she usually fights her naps; I’d expected some kicking and screaming.  Then again, she always does seem to sleep well when she’s in with us. 

Out of the corner of my eye I notice an acoustic guitar resting against a stand in the corner of the room, almost tucked down the side of the dresser.

“Is that yours?” I ask Jensen softly, not wanting to disturb JJ too much.  He follows my eye line as I gently nod my head in the direction of the guitar and then he nods in turn to confirm that it is indeed his.  “Will you sing that song for us, the one you sing for JJ?”  I implore him, blushing a little because I guess it’s not your most normal request, but I’ve still not heard him sing in person and I so desperately want to. I really do adore his voice.  It’s so melodic, so much higher in pitch than I thought he’d be able to manage when he sings the softer songs.  He chuckles and runs his hand over his mouth, eyes flickering away as if he’s a little nervous.  “Please.”

“The lullaby? Mountain thyme?” he asks and I nod again, smiling.  He gets up from the bed and fetches his guitar, his movement drawing JJ’s attention but she stays more or less still, just turning her head to watch him curiously as he sits back on the bed, guitar in hand, letting out a little sigh.  He pauses as he positions his fingers on the strings, eyes flickering between both me and JJ.  “I’m only doing this if you shut your eyes and go to sleep,” he chastises teasingly and I can’t help but grin, pressing my eyes shut even though it’s the last thing I want to do.  I want to see him play because I can just imagine how entrancing he’ll look, but I guess just listening will have to do for now.  I love that sometimes he’s so shy, underneath all the bravado that people associate with him because they associate it with Dean. 

He starts playing softly, the thrum of the guitar strings reverberating right through me, and I’m almost holding my breath waiting for the sound of his voice. 

“Oh the summer time is coming, and the trees are sweetly bloomin’, where the wild mountain thyme grows around that blooming heather.”  All of the hairs along my arms stand on end as his voice washes over us, more beautiful than I could have hoped to imagine.  My Jensen; he must truly be heaven sent.  How else could he sound so angelic and be blessed with so many gifts?  A small smile still plays on my lips so he must be able to tell how intently I’m listening, but slowly, as he continues to sing that soothing melody and JJ relaxes against me, I feel myself to give in to my body’s weariness. 

Jensen continues to play, quieter now, even though he can tell that they’ve both fallen asleep.  His girls, their chests rising and falling in sync, heartbreakingly peaceful cured up together under his song’s spell. 

“If my true love’s gone I will surely find another, and to her I will sing things that make her know I want her.  Would you go, Lassie, go?  And we’ll all go together where the wild mountain thyme grows around that blooming heather.  Would you go, Lassie, go?”  He plays the last couple of chords and then silences his guitar with the flat of his hand, tilting his head and just watching them for a moment, smiling to himself, oozing affection for the both of them. 

He had felt so fortunate when he’d found Danneel, with all her grace and beauty.  Even though it feels like forever ago now he still remembers the intensity of the love he’d felt for her.  He’d had girlfriends before, probably fewer than people had expected of him, but he’d known the instant they started dating that she was the one.   She’d gifted him with their beautiful babygirl, giving up her life for her, and even through the loss his heart was filled with a love that was incomparable to anything he’d felt before. 

He’d wondered whether there was any room left inside to let someone else in, to feel a desire and longing and passion that powerful again, so white hot that it could burn him.   But then he was blessed once more, given two loves in one short lifetime when Becca entered his world and now it revolves around her, around the both of them.  She’s so different from Danneel, both in looks and personality, but he recognised the feelings she brought out in him instantly because they were identical.  That indistinguishable feeling of contentment, of wholeness, that one that lets him know that he won’t ever want to let her go. 

He puts his guitar back on the stand gently, trying not to wake them, and then makes his way over to the opposite side of the bed where he can perch on the edge and lean over them both.  JJ’s turned onto her side so her back is pressed against Becca’s chest whose arm is curled around her so lovingly, and it makes his heart throb to see them that way.   He touches Justice’s hair first, lightly so as not to stir her, then Becca’s.  At the stroke of his hand running over her hair and down her pale cheek she lets out the smallest of sighs through blood-flushed lips, and he has to fight the urge to kiss her.  If it weren’t for the fact that he knows how badly she deserves some uninterrupted sleep he probably wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“Sleep well babydoll.” 

“Ouch!”  What the hell?!  My eyes snap open at the pinch of pain that comes from a sharp tug on my hair and I’m met with wide green orbs staring back at me, JJ giggling at my loud exclamation.  She’s sat up in bed, peering down at me and obviously eager to get up to play, like my very own little alarm clock.  “Hey there JJ,” I greet with a small smile that soon breaks into a yawn.  I wonder how long we’ve slept; she only usually goes down for an hour or so in the afternoon, but nonetheless I do feel a little better for it. 

“Nose,” she says as she prods a wet finger against the correct feature and I chuckle, rubbing the little girl saliva left there when she pulls away.

“That’s right, my nose,” I confirm with a nod, “And your nose,” I press my finger against hers gently, “Beep!”  She laughs and claps her hands together and I wrinkle my nose as a grin spreads across my face.  She’s too adorable.  “Come on, let’s go see where daddy has gotten to.”  I sling my legs out of bed and try to straighten out some of the creases that have gotten into my skirt from sleeping in it.  Perhaps that wasn’t a wise move.  JJ reaches for me so I pick her up and hold her to me, and as we head downstairs she continues to poke my nose, delighting in the ‘Beep! Boop!’ noises I make with each prod. 

“So you like her then?”  I hear Jensen ask as we approach the living room door and I can’t help but pause for a moment, eager to hear what they’re saying when I’m not around.  Ok, so it’s eavesdropping, but they’re talking about me.

“For heaven’s sake Jay, you’ve asked us ten dozen times already,” Donna laughs.  JJ lets out a little groan of protest because she wants to be put down, wriggling in my arms, and I press my finger to my lips, hushing at her covertly.  “She’s cute as a calico cat, but you know that.”  I must be grinning like a cat too, hearing her say that.

“You seen her with JJ?  She’s a natural.” 

“Jay, son, you got it bad,” Alan jokes and there’s more laughter from him and Donna.  I can just imagine the look on Jensen’s face, all coy and smiling with those pearly whites showing.  I won’t loiter out here any longer, JJ is still restless and now I just want to kiss him all over that gorgeous face.  I won’t, of course, but I want to. 

“Look who’s awake,” I say as I step through the living room door, announcing us to the three of them who are all sat around sipping from bottles of beer.  Jensen turns around in his seat to face us and I smile at him, bouncing JJ in my arms.

“Wondered how long my lazy girls were gonna be,” he says with a smile, beckoning me over.  JJ reaches out for Donna as we pass her so I settle her into her Grandmother’s lap and then join Jensen on the sofa who slings an arm across my shoulder.  “Thought we could go for a walk before dinner, show you the neighbourhood, take JJ to the park.”  He takes a sip of beer and raises his eyebrows at me questioningly.   

“Sounds perfect.” 

Chapter Text

“Get off me, stop!”  I wake to the sound of my own shouting, the pain of my hand slamming into something hard as I uncontrollably lash out.  My eyes snap open to search for Lewis in the darkness and I scramble to sit up in bed, my chest heaving as I take frantic breaths, convinced that he’s here and any moment I’m going to feel his hands close around my wrists again.  It’s only when I hear the sound of Jensen’s voice over the pounding of my heartbeat, my senses slowly tuning back in to the real world, discovering that it was all just another nightmare.  I’m here with Jensen, I’m safe.  My relief, however, is short-lived when I realise that I’m not the only one that’s crying in this bed. 

“Becca!” Jensen says sharply from his side of the bed, calling my attention over to him, and even in the low lighting I can make out the anguish that’s twisted his features.  I blink, tears falling from my eyes as I witness him clutching JJ to his chest tightly, lowering his head to murmur soothing things to her because she’s crying and grabbing at his t-shirt.  The realisation that it’s down to me, that I’m the reason she’s so distressed and frightened, hits me as hard as a ten tonne weight slamming in my stomach.  Oh god, what if I… what if I hit out at her in my sleep? 

“Justice, JJ,” I shift closer to them both across the bed, reaching out my hand to touch her, “Oh babygirl, I’m so sorry,” I tell her miserably as she continues to cry, nestled against Jensen’s chest.  I go to place my hand on her back and to my absolute mortification Jensen shifts back subtly so she’s out of my reach, watching me with a wary expression that’s completely alien and hurts so badly that I feel it stab at my insides. 

“What on earth is goin’ on in here?”  The light suddenly switches on and I blink at Donna as my eyes try to adjust to the brightness, her gaze moving from Jensen, to JJ and then finally to me, taking in the scene.  We must look a mess and I’m so embarrassed that I can’t bear to hold her stare. 

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” I say thickly to the bedsheets, wiping my eyes roughly with the backs of my hands. 

“Jay, hon, I’ll take her.”  Donna enters the room and approaches him, pulling her robe tighter around herself and then outstretching her arms to take the weeping child.  He passes her over somewhat reluctantly with a lingering kiss on the top of her head, and I watch silently as they leave the room together, trying to remember the last time I ever felt so guilty.  The sight of her tear-stained face over Donna’s shoulder doesn’t help anything either, the wet pools in my eyes springing anew. 

When they’re gone and the sounds of JJ’s crying becoming more muffled and distant Jensen finally turns back to me with a weary sigh.  He runs his hand over his mouth, unable to meet my eyes and the silence expands in the physical space between us, thick and unpleasant. 

“Tell me I didn’t hurt her Jen.”  My words come out quiet and pleading as I look up at him from under wet eyelashes.  That’s all I want to know, that she was just scared and not harmed.  I don’t know how I’d live with myself…

“You didn’t,” he tells me, his tone clipped, “But you could have.”  He frowns at the thought of it, all his features becoming sharper, eyes still looking away from me.  

“I know, and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” I grovel, shifting over on the mattress to close some of the space between us.  I want to reach out and take his hand but I don’t dare, instead resting it on the bedsheets next to his.  “I had another nightmare, I didn’t realise…” Silence again, staring away from me at nothing in particular, the muscles in his jaw clenching under taut skin.  “Jensen, please, look at me.  I feel so terrible for scaring her.  Please say you’ll forgive me, I can’t bear it when you’re mad at me like this and you’re all cold and distant.  It isn’t you.”    My voice starts to shake at the end and I have to stop to sniff roughly because I’m quickly turning into a soggy mess, my nose running and tears falling freely.  He’s so affectionate usually, so warm that it makes it unbearable when he’s anything but. 

He finally lifts his head to look at me and I think it’s the sight of me in such a state that manages to soften him in the end.  The tension in his jaw fades and his frown evens out as he extends an arm to me.

“Babydoll,” he sighs into my hair as I immediately accept his gesture, falling in against his side and wrapping my arms tight around his torso, crying silently against his chest.   “Babydoll, you can’t carry on like this.”

“I’m really sorry,” I repeat again, my face against his chest as he pulls me in closer and runs his fingers through the short strands at the back of my hair.

“Stop apologising, c’mon, stop cryin’,” he encourages, pulling back and using his forefinger to tilt my chin up so I’m looking at him.  I give a weak smile and sniff as he wipes my tears away, not smiling back but at least looking at me again. The green of his eyes is pale and sad.  “I want you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”  He knows I’ll do anything for him, I always have and I always will. 

“I want you to go see that shrink when we get back to Vancouver.”  My stomach clenches unpleasantly because that’s the last thing I ever expected him to say right now.  He’s never even brought it up again since that very first time he mentioned it.  I’m about to open my mouth to reply but he cuts me off with a brief shake of his head.  “I know you’re gonna say you’re fine and that you don’t want to, and you’re managing and all of that.  But this isn’t managing.  Even if you think it won’t help, please, do this for me.  At least try.”  He presses his soft lips to mine briefly and then leaves our noses touching so he can look me right in the eyes beseechingly. 

How can I argue with that, especially after what just happened?  I don’t know if it’ll help, I can’t think of anything worse than sitting in a stranger’s office reliving it, but when he sounds so heartfelt I just can’t deny him.  I take hold of his face in my hands and when he leans into my touch, his eyes closing for just a second, it makes me smile.  I kiss him, my smile curved against his perfect mouth, and he parts his lips obligingly.  His mouth is so warm, his tongue so gentle as it brushes against mine, and for a minute I just get lost in the taste and smell of him that I love so much, only ending it when I realise that I haven’t even answered him. 

“I’ll go, for you,” I tell him softly, nudging my nose against the end of his.  We share another quick kiss and then Jensen moves out of my embrace to turn off the bedroom light again.  Everywhere is quiet now; Donna must have managed to put JJ back to sleep.  JJ… “You don’t think she’s going to be afraid of me now do you?”  I ask him quietly as he slips back into bed, lying down and moving me with him.  I curl up against his side, my head resting on his bicep and my hand pressed to his warm stomach. 

“She won’t remember,” he assures me, hand running through my hair, “She was barely awake.”

“Your Mum will remember though,” I mumble regretfully.

“She’ll understand.”  I guess that means he’ll be explaining about everything that happened to me… maybe he already has.  Before I can start worrying about it too much though he’s kissing me again, and it’s so hard to focus on anything bad when this feels so good, so right.  “Turn over babydoll,” he tells me softly.  I do so, letting his arms enfold me and pull me close, shoulder blades pressed to his solid chest as he nuzzles his nose into the back of my hair.  I close my eyes and focus solely on the feel of his warm lips as they begin a slow, wet trail along the back of my neck and across the top of my shoulder, letting out a soft sigh.  The arm that was wrapped around me loosens and slips inside my t-shirt instead, grazing its way up my stomach and finding a breast which he kneads firmly, thumbing the nipple which hardens responsively to his touch.  By the time his other hand finds my lower stomach and pushes backward, guiding my behind into the curve of his groin and the solidness of his erection, I’ve already figured out where this is leading and my breathing is shallow with excited expectation.  So often this happens with us; emotional pain leading us straight into seeking the comfort that comes with intimacy, with barely a breath between the two. 

“Wanna make love to you baby,” he whispers, voice thickened by lust, breath dusting across my exposed neck and making the hairs stand on end.  He works his teeth along the curve of my ear making low rumbling sounds in the back of his throat that appeal directly to my most basic of desires, causing me to press my thighs together against the ache that’s building between them.  “Want to be inside you.”  His hand slips underneath the waistband of my shorts and straight between my legs, spreading my soft folds and sliding two fingers inside.  A stilted moan stumbles out of me before I can press my lips together, conscious that we’re not alone in the house and probably not the only ones awake.  The angle is awkward but he tilts our hips in a way that allows him better reach inside of me, his other hand still working my breast, and it’s a divine, torturous pleasure that has me keening and bowing against him.

“Jensen…” I moan almost inaudibly, a prayer, an appeal, one that he answers when he shimmies down my pyjama shorts and then his own, leaving us both naked from the waist down and twisted under the sheets.  I crane my head around, longing for the intimacy of our kisses, and he lifts himself up onto an elbow so he can lean over me slightly and press our mouths together as his other hand lifts my uppermost thigh, making space for him to slide between.  I feel him angle his cock between my legs, his wet arousal smearing along the inside of my thigh, and the sheer want for it makes arousal throb hot between my legs.  I bend myself, pushing my rear out and offering myself to him whilst still keeping a firm hold on his mouth by grabbing onto his hair, fixing his head in place.

The head of his shaft breaches me, the widest part stretching open the passageway for the rest, impossibly thick and hot and oh god I’m so full of him that I’m groaning into his mouth, pushing back against him and wanting more.  He lets go of my leg once he’s completely sheathed in me, that hand moving to rest on my abdomen, just above my pubic bone, and then he starts to move in slow, smooth thrusts.  Each time he withdraws he leaves me practically empty, every time thrusts back in it’s to the hilt, and the friction is so delicious, both inside and out between my thighs, that I’m mewling with pleasure.  Our kissing is forgotten, all I can focus on is the feel of him and the things he does to me, the masterful way he works my body.  I’m completely at his mercy, clutching the pillow and gasping for more, for him to go faster, to go harder, to wreck and ravage me and make me spiral out of control. 

“So beautiful,” he breathes out from somewhere above me, still leaning over me but I’m unable to open my eyes to look.  “Feel, feel how deep I am,”  he tells me, grabbing the hand that was clutching the pillow and pressing it to the spot he was feeling before, holding mine there beneath his larger palm.  He pushes harder, deeper, and a spasm of pleasure as he hits some secret spot makes me constrict around him.  It blows my mind when I realise that I can feel the force of him moving inside of me from the outside, through my stomach, and I can understand why he was eager to feel it before.  It’s so strangely hot, so erotic. 

“Oh god,” I groan past my bitten lips, his fingers linking with mine as our hands stay there, “Don’t stop Jen, harder, please, god,” I whisper hoarsely, the words rolling off my tongue in my greed for more, more contact, more pleasure, everywhere. 

He gives me what I want, always so obliging, and thank god this mattress is quiet because I’m half expecting the plaster to start falling from the walls any second now.  Not that I could bring myself to care even a little bit when it feels so good and my brain has turned to mush.  He leans down closer to me, his t-shirt damp against my arm because he’s sweating with effort, the same sweat that’s beaded on the end of his nose when it nudges against my ear. 

“Cum for me, come on, cum for me,” he growls into it, “Don’t keep me waiting babydoll.”  I do as I’m told, giving in to the growing throb in my pelvis, egging it on, biting down on my lip and falling into my orgasm.  I thrum and pulsate with pleasure, my mouth open but soundless, and it feels like it goes on and on as Jensen gets himself there too, bucking into me in a faltering rhythm.  It almost becomes too much, the sensations too overwhelming, but then I feel a sharp stab of pain in my shoulder as he bites down into my otherwise unmarked skin and I know that he’s cumming too.  It hurts, yes, but more than anything else it feels amazing, especially with him throbbing his orgasm into me at the same time. 

“You never warned me you were a biter,” I say between pants to catch my breath, smiling at him as he finishes, withdrawing his teeth and peering down at me.

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me yet,” he smirks, mimicking my words from the last time we were intimate.  He runs his hand over my shoulder and it stings a little, so I guess he must have at least left a bit of a mark.  That’s going to be a job for my cover up in the morning.

“Clearly,” I chuckle with a shake of my head.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding sheepish.  He leans down to kiss me, chaste and sweet and when he pulls away I steal another one, still smiling. 

“I loved it,” I assure him.  Jensen can sink his teeth into me any time.  He grins back and then his face is hidden as he pulls his t-shirt off and uses it to rub his face and chest free of sweat.  Sex in this kind of heat is just kind of gross, frankly.  I feel like I’m in need of a good shower.  “I’m gonna run to the loo,” I tell him as a prompt for us to disentangle.  He’s never in a rush to end our physical connection after we’re done, which is very sweet if a little messy sometimes.  He pulls out and rolls onto his back, kicking the sheets off the bed as I rise and I end up laughing as I watch him, this grown man naked and thrashing. 

“Don’t be long,” he tells me as I slip my shorts back on for the short journey down the hall to the bathroom.  “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow, you need your sleep.”  His smile is roguish and childlike, hyperactive after our sexual exploits. 

“You didn’t seem too concerned about that ten minutes ago,” I tease, an eyebrow raised.  He just shrugs his shoulders in a carefree manner, crossing his ankles and his arms across his chest, dick lying limp and sated against his tanned stomach.  I love how utterly unselfconscious he is around me.  “Won’t be a minute,” I assure him anyway as I leave.  How could I stay away? 

“Horse riding?  Are you kidding me?”  I ask as we climb out of his mother’s car that we’ve commandeered at this ungodly time of the morning.  I knew I should have been more suspicious when he’d told me we were going to visit the ranch of a family friend; I mean what else does one do at a Texan ranch, brand cattle?!  He laughs at me as he shuts his door, heading around to the boot of the car and popping it open as he peers round at me.  “You know how uncoordinated I am right?”

“All the better,” he says and then suddenly he’s handing me an honest to god cowboy hat and managing to stay completely straight-faced while he does it.  He’s… he’s really kidding, right?  He places a pristine white one on his own head and despite my nerves my lips start twitching with barely contained mirth.  He raises a questioning eyebrow at me as I struggle to hold it back. 

“I’m getting…” I start giggling, unable to help myself, pressing my hand to my stomach, “I’m getting like… topless cowboy Jensen modelling flash backs.”  He rolls his eyes, huffing, but I can tell somewhere behind all that bluster he’s smiling inside.  His green irises are twinkling too much for him to not be. 

“You really used to spend too much time on the net,” he says dryly, and he’s right, I did, but that still doesn’t stop me laughing right here and now.  He starts to walk off so I follow behind, having to skip a little to keep up with his wide gait but appreciating the view it gives me.   He’s wearing an old pair of blue jeans that are tight in all the right places, showing off his bow legs and perfect peach of an ass in equal measure.  I bite my lip, allowing myself to ogle for just a few seconds longer and then catch up with him and plonk the dark brown cowboy hat he gave me onto my head, peering up at him with a grin. 

“You know I’m really more of a ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ kind of girl,” I tell him, sniggering at my own joke.  That manages to crack him, a slow smile spreading across his face, and he glances down at me.

“We can do that later,” he assures me, his hand palming my ass as I reflexively feel for the bite mark he left on my shoulder like a badge of honour.  Thankfully it covered up pretty well, something I’m glad of when we’re met by an older man with a weathered but friendly face who shows us to some small stables whilst he and Jensen catch up, making small talk. 

“Y’all be alright if I leave you to it?” Jim checks as we enter the stables.  It smells pungent but not necessarily unpleasant; he clearly takes good care of his animals because the floors and stalls look clean enough.   “Sasha’s probably best for your lady here,” he advises. 

“Thanks,” I smile nervously, checking out the smallest of the four horses here that he’s gesturing to.  I say smallest – she’s still pretty damn big.  Beautiful though, all lean muscle and glossy chestnut coat, large eyes framed by long eyelashes.  He takes his leave and Jensen grins at me excitedly as he starts rooting through a rack of saddles to find one that’ll fit her.  “Jensen, I’ve never ridden before,” I tell him apprehensively, playing with my necklace.  It’s all very well joking about cowboys but I’m actually a little scared.  He stops what he’s doing for a second and smiles reassuringly at me.

“All we’re gonna do is walk you around the yard on her,” he tells me, “We’ll start slow and I’ll hold the reins.” 

“Ok.”  That doesn’t sound so scary. 

It takes me forever to actually climb onto Sasha, something that Jensen finds highly amusing, but once I’m on and I get over my initial nerves it’s not actually that bad.  In fact after a couple of hours I’ve gotten to the point where I can hold the reins myself and actually trot which equally exhilarating, exhausting and painful.  My butt so isn’t used to all the bouncing around in a saddle.  My ability to learn quickly pales in comparison to Jensen’s natural ability, however.  I stand there watching him open mouthed, asking myself if there is anything the man can’t do, because watching him gallop around a field with ease just makes me think he must be some kind of superhuman to be this good at everything.  I’d start to feel inadequate if it weren’t for the fact that I’m so enraptured seeing him like this, so free, whooping with elation as he whooshes past in a clamour of hooves.  How is it possible that I just keep falling in love with him more and more?  

Chapter Text

“Owowowow,” I groan out loud as I rise up from my squatting position, paintbrush in hand.  It’s been two weeks since we went riding, two weeks, and my glutes are still complaining.  It’s probably a sign that I don’t get enough exercise, but I’ll be damned if my body thinks that that will become a regular thing.  My workouts with Jensen are enough, thank you very much.  We’d left his parents place that weekend with full stomachs, lots of smiles and hugs and promises that we’d come visit again soon.  Thankfully Donna hadn’t mentioned the incident with JJ during the night and didn’t act any differently towards me whatsoever, happily making plans with us for Justice to come and live in Vancouver on a more permanent basis knowing full well that I’ll be her main carer at least for a while.  I say happily; she’d still ended up misty eyed at the thought of not seeing her granddaughter as often as she’d gotten used to.  We assured her that she could visit any time to babysit, come and give us a break, and that had placated her.

JJ moving here is the reason that I’ve laid claim to one of our downstairs rooms – it still feels weird saying that anything is ‘ours’ – which I’ve set about turning into a play room.  It was more or less a junk room for her toys anyway so we may as well make it official.  I haven’t gotten a car yet; it’s been bought but not arrived, so Joel had the pleasure of driving me around Vancouver’s DIY stores to find the right shades of paint and helping me to carry shelving into the car. 

I stand back and admire my handiwork with a satisfied smile.  I’ve decorated the room in pastel tones of lilac and pink and on one wall is a large white stencil of a tree with butterflies as leaves.  It’s stereotypically girly and I know it, but I can’t help loving it anyway.  It’s so pretty.  And hey, if JJ decides she wants to drive cars or trucks up the wall along it then that’s cool too. 

Justice isn’t arriving until tomorrow so I’m hoping the paint will dry before then and give me enough time to arrange her toys.  I so want to get her a little kitchenette like I had as a child.  She’s always pretending to feed us and her dolls so I just know she’ll love having her own plastic saucepans and pots to bang around.  Then, when she gets older, we can bake together and I’ll show her to make the best cookies ever, full of chocolate and hazelnuts…

The phone ringing out in the hallway disrupts my trail of thoughts; probably a good job because I’ve been stood here staring into space like an idiot, letting paint drip onto the floor from my brush bristles.  Thank God I put protective sheets down.  I scuttle out to answer the phone, noticing along the way that I’ve gotten paint in my hair. 

“Hello, Ackles and Stiles residence?”  I answer chirpily, grinning to myself at the fact I can say that.  Jensen had tutted at me the first time he’d heard it, telling me to answer the phone like a normal human being.  The memory of it just makes me smile at the receiver even more. 

“Hello, can I speak to Miss Stiles please?” a pleasant sounding woman asks, the slight hint of a French accent in her voice. 


“It’s Dr. Boucher from the healthy minds clinic here, I believe you made an appointment with us for a consultation in a few week’s time?”

“My partner did, yes,” I reply nervously, folding my hand around my necklace.  I’d sort of hoped Jensen would forget, but as soon as we’d gotten home he’d made me the soonest available appointment.  I’d felt lucky that her busy schedule had meant that I couldn’t be seen for a whole month, and had expected that in that time things would have gotten better and rendered it unnecessary.   Things haven’t gotten better though, I’m still having nightmares and lately there are these delightful new things called night terrors where I wake up but the images remain, leaving me paralysed and powerless to fight it.  Those instances are truly terrifying because I feel like I can’t breathe with a weight like Lewis’ body pressing on my chest, and the fact that I’m so certain I’m awake makes it feel all the more real.  The only thing that snaps me out of it is Jensen folding me in his arms, pulling me to sit upright against him, his physical presence trumping everything else.  I’m pretty sure the night terrors are just as disturbing for him to deal with as they are for me. 

“Would you like me to move your appointment then?” she asks and I realise I’ve not been listening to what she’s saying, my breathing and pulse rate creeping up without my noticing. 

“Sorry?” I say, flushing with embarrassment even though she can’t see me.

“Will next Wednesday at eleven be ok with you?” she asks, presumably again seeing as I wasn’t listening.  At least I know she’s patient. 

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” I agree, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

“Ok, great, I’ll see you then.  I’m looking forward to our session Becca.” I wish I could say the same.

“Sure.  Take care.”  I hang up the phone, rotating the rings on my necklace round and round, staring into space.   I think part of my anxiety comes from not having any idea what to expect.  What if she just wants me to talk about it and that’s it?  Honestly there’s not much to discuss.  It was shit.  Really, really shit, but now it’s over.  What else is there to say?

I hear Jensen’s keys rattling in the door and my heart springs to life.  Should I be embarrassed that my reaction is almost the same as the dogs?  Rushing to the door with them, tail wagging, tongue out.  Ok, so not exactly the same. 

“Hey you,” he greets as he pushes the front door open with his hip, hands full of carrier bags that Icarus is trying to stick his nose into.

“Hey yourself,” I smile at him, taking a couple of bags to lighten his load.  “What’s all this?” I ask, “I only got groceries yesterday.”  He pushes the door closed with his foot once he’s sure Oscar’s tail isn’t in it anymore. 

“I’m cookin’ you dinner,” he tells me proudly and I lift my eyebrows in surprise.  “Hey, don’t look like that, I’ve cooked for you before.”

“Yeah… barbeque food,” I chortle as we make our way through the living room and into the kitchen. 

“Look, lady, I cooked for myself plenty before you came along and I’ve only gotten sick like… three times.”  He says it with such a deadpan expression that I end up laughing as I reply.

“Oh that’s comforting!”  He places the bags onto the kitchen counter, scowling but smiling nonetheless as I put mine down too. 

“Fine, you can share Icarus’ dog chow,” he smirks, tapping his boot against the bowl and making it rattle.  I close the gap between us, holding onto his belt as I grin up at him.

“I’m sure it’ll be really yummy,” I tell him sweetly, trying to suck up to him and get back into his good books because I really don’t fancy crunching through doggy treats. 

“Oh yeah, ‘really yummy’,” he says, mimicking me through narrowed eyes as I press my body into his. 

“Hmm, my baby, so sensitive,” I tease, then press my lips to his neck and place the lightest of kisses one after another, satisfied when I feel him sag against me, succumbing and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“You don’t fight fair,” he accuses as I pull back and look up at him.

“I never said I would.”  He leans down and kisses me, soft and slow, and even though he kissed me goodbye this morning I still find myself thinking how much I’ve missed it. 

“I like the pink streaks.”  He fingers a piece of my fringe, corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile.

“Oh,” I chuckle, shrugging my shoulders, “I’ve been painting.”

“Painting?” he questions, his curiosity getting the better of him.  I’d kept my plans for the room secret from him, wanting to surprise them both, but now it’s freshly painted and looks so pretty I just can’t contain myself.

“Come see,” I say excitedly, grabbing his hand from my hip and dragging him back out to the hall and into the play room.  “I wanted JJ to have a proper space to play,” I explain, letting go of him and moving around the space, full of energy.  “I’m going to get her a little kitchenette that can go here,” I gesture to the far wall, underneath the window, “And we can move her rocking horse in here, put down a nice rug.”   Jensen is just stood in the doorway gazing at me, his expression unreadable as I shuffle from wall to wall, telling him all my plans for the shelving and storage for her toys.  “And then when she’s older we can put a desk in here, you know, for her school work and stuff.” 

I finally come to a standstill, waiting for his reaction with an eager smile.  When it doesn’t come, when he just stands there looking slightly dumbstruck I end up prompting him. 

“What do you think?  Do you like it?”  He shakes his head subtly, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he steps towards me, jade eyes focused on the tree I’ve painted onto the wall.  “Jensen?”  I prompt again, starting to worry, thinking that the head shaking is a bad thing.  Maybe I should have talked to him about this first?  As soon as I’m within reach he takes my face in his hands, fixing me in his intense gaze. 

“Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, when you couldn’t possibly get more amazing, you outdo yourself again.”  I turn crimson, my heart thudding in my chest as I stare back up at him, chewing on the inside of my mouth.  Really, it’s nothing… just a lick of paint and some shelves, and I’m about to tell him that when he speaks again.  “We’re so lucky to have you, JJ and me.  I love you.  I can't even tell you how much.” 

“Jensen,” I say softly, half laughing as I look away because the passion in his eyes is almost too intense for me to take.  He grins, understanding that he’s left me speechless and just kissing me instead of expecting a reply. 

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up while I get dinner going?” he says softly, thumbing my cheek before releasing me entirely. 

“Ok,” I agree dreamily, smiling like a goof as he exits the room and leaves me stood there overflowing with happiness.  Boy, if this is the reaction I get I might have to redecorate more often. 

“I forgot to tell you,” I start to say as we’re finishing off our main course, which was actually pretty pleasant.  I mean it was pre-stuffed pasta from a packet but hey, I’m not going to criticise because Jensen seems genuinely pleased with his culinary prowess.  Plus the oven-cooked garlic bread to accompany it was really yummy, whether it was from frozen or not.

“Hmm?” He looks up from where he’s leant over his plate, carbonara sauce smeared along his chin that I grin on spotting, wiping it off with my finger.

“So sexy,” I tease and he frowns and wipes his chin with the back of his hand in case I missed any as I suck the sauce from my fingertip.  “That shrink called, she had a cancellation and offered to move my appointment forward.” I push a pasta parcel around my plate, smooshing it this way and that.

“And you said?” he prompts, fork midway to his mouth. 

“I said sure, why not,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders and trying to look more enthusiastic about it than I am. 

“Great.”  He shoots me a small smile before he posts more food into his mouth, chewing with satisfaction and I lift my wine glass from the table. 

“Hooray…” I murmur dryly as the edge of the glass meets my lips and as I take a sip he sighs and places his fork down on his plate. 

“Isn’t it a good thing?”  I swallow the rich red liquid, avoiding his gaze, knowing that he’s trying to figure me out in that way that he does when he looks at me so intently.  It’s been bothering me how keen he is for me to have this appointment because it makes me feel like he’s really over-eager for me to be… I don’t know… fixed, like I’m this broken down car that just needs a good service and I’ll be road-ready again in no time.  All things considered I don’t think I’ve been doing too badly… but maybe that isn’t enough for him.

“Do you really think I’m that bad?” I ask him boldly, placing my glass back on the table but still holding onto the stem.  The question catches him off guard, forehead creasing into a frown.  “It sort of feels like you think that seeing her is going to magically fix everything… like you’re really desperate for me to be fixed, and I can’t tell if it’s because you want that for me or whether you want it for yourself.”  I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth because I can tell they’ve wounded him, even though I didn’t say it unkindly.  It’s just how it’s been making me feel, and I always think it’s best to say the things that are bothering me out loud because otherwise they have the potential to fester and turn into something bigger than they need to be. 

His mouth opens then closes again and then he presses his lips together as he looks away, as if he can’t quite find the words for what he wants to say. 

“I’m real sorry if you’ve felt like I’m pushin’ you into it or…” He frowns again, almost looking disbelieving of his own words, “Like I’m doing it for my own benefit, but I promise you Bec I only suggested it because I wanna help in every way I can.”  He takes my hand from my wine glass and encases it firmly in his warm one on the tabletop between us.  Now I just feel bad because I should know better by now than to doubt him… when is Jensen ever self-serving?   Ever?  He hasn’t got a selfish bone in his body.  I’m about to apologise, to tell him not to worry when he carries on.  “I’ll always take you just as you are, even if it never gets any better.”  A slow smile spreads across my face that he mirrors, smiling back as he rubs my wrist with his thumb in slow, gentle strokes. 

“So, what you’re trying to say is…” I begin, trying to straighten out my expression into something more serious but probably failing, “You’d rather have me, cursed or not?”  He lets go of me, leaning back in his chair and grimacing in disdain as I burst out laughing, pressing my abandoned hand to my mouth to try and contain it.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I apologise between giggles, “It was just too perfect.” 

“You are such a dork,” he tells me, picking up his fork and pointing the prongs at me before scooping up his last piece of pasta, chewing it and shaking his head at me disbelievingly.  I still haven’t quite stopped laughing, even though I’m trying my best, tears of mirth starting to leak from my eyes.  “Such a dork.”   He’s smiling now though, amused by me and how deliriously pleased I always am when I manage to fit a Supernatural quote into our regular lives.

“You love me though,” I smile as he rises from the table, picking up his empty plate. 

“I do,” he admits wearily, “Lord knows why.”   I just continue smiling sweetly at him, hands folded in my lap, and when he picks up my plate too I pout my lips up at him to ask for a kiss that he gives me without a second thought.  “You good for dessert?” he checks as he takes our plates to the sink to soak and I twist in my seat to watch him, crossing my legs and picking up my wine again. 

“Jensen, c’mon, it’s me,” I scoff, as if it’s a stupid question and he grins again as he opens up the oven, the smile lines next to his eyes evident even from over here. 

“Good point.” 

“So what’s cookin’ good-lookin’?” I ask, bouncing my uppermost leg up and down jovially as I watch him. 

“It’s – Ow, fuck, son of a bitch!” he curses as he takes whatever the dessert is out of the oven with his bare hands, tossing it between the two and almost dropping it onto the counter in the process. 

“That’s what oven gloves are for Jensen, things tend to get a little hot in there,” I mock good-naturedly, knowing he hasn’t hurt himself in any serious way.  What is it with men and forgetting that they’re not invulnerable?  He sends a withering look my way as he claps and rubs his hands together, as if that’ll help, and I just take a sip of my wine as an excuse to look away, chortling into my glass.  

“It’s tarte au citron, in answer to your earlier question,” he informs me as he dishes out two small slices into bowls and adds fresh cream from the fridge.  He concentrates so hard the whole time, especially as he adds two little decorative raspberries to each portion, and I just find myself melting inside at how utterly endearing he can be sometimes. 

“Oo-la-la,” I enthuse in my best French accent as he brings it to the table, looking pleased with himself.  I’m picking up my spoon, ready to dig in when he interrupts. 

“Wait, need to change your wine.”  I look up questioningly, mouth still open and ready to receive. 

“What’s wrong with this one?”  I ask as he takes the red away and replaces it with a clean glass and a new bottle of white wine from the fridge. 

“I got this Chardonnay to go with dessert,” he tells me as he pours it and at that I just put my spoon down entirely, raising both my eyebrows at him, waiting expectantly for him to explain himself.  I’m not saying my boyfriend is uncultured, by no means, but at no point have I ever gotten the impression that he’s some closet wine connoisseur.   He notices my disbelieving stare and blushes a little, flushing pink under his freckles as he finishes pouring.  “… The cashier at the supermarket recommended it.” 

“You’re so adorable sometimes,” I tell him earnestly, smiling and squeezing his arm gently as he places the bottle back down in the centre of the table, and if anything he just blushes more.  He takes his seat next to me and we try the wine in sync, judging each other’s reactions, smacking my lips together.  “I’m getting hints of… oak?” I say slowly, trying to look really serious and thoughtful and Jensen just rolls his eyes, putting his glass back on the table and picking up his spoon instead to dig in.  “No, seriously, it is nice though.  Props to the guy at the checkout counter.”   

“I’ll be sure to pass on your approval next time I see him.”

“You do that,” I grin.  Now, let’s try this lemon tart.  I scoop up a big mouthful, making sure I get plenty of cream and a raspberry too and really savour it.  “Mmm that’s good,” I groan around my spoon and Jensen smiles, evidently pleased with my reaction as he carries on eating his own.  “What’s all this in aid of anyway?” 

“Well, I figured it’s our last night, y’know, childless,” he explains between mouthfuls, “We gotta take advantage.”  I hadn’t even thought about it like that; even though definitive plans were made for JJ to live with us it hadn’t really sunk in that she’d be here all the time, and whilst I love her it’s actually a little bit daunting.  I’m going to be a step-mother.  Holy shit.  Jensen must notice that something is off in my expression, either that or he sees that I’ve stopped eating rather abruptly because he pauses himself, frowning a little.  “You alright?”  I give him an embarrassed smile and sigh lightly, letting my shoulders relax.  I hadn’t even realised that I was so tense. 

“It’s just a bit scary,” I admit and then hasten to add, “I mean you know I love spending time with Justice but I haven’t even got any children myself yet, and by tomorrow… well… I’m going from nothing to staying full-time at home with an almost two year old running around my ankles.” 

“It won’t be all the time, she’ll be at day care two days a week and it’s just until you start that course in January,” he tells me, looking concerned, as if he expects me to back out and change my mind about it all. 

“It’s not about the time Jen, it’s really not it’s…”  I purse my lips together, turning my palms outwards as I raise my shoulders, not quite knowing how to explain.  “I’m going to be a step-mum, I think, aren’t I?  It’s like I don’t even know.  I mean, I guess I am but we haven’t really talked about it and I don’t just want to presume.  Do I act like a mum?  What do I do if she misbehaves?  I don’t want to overstep some boundary but to be honest I’m not even sure what the boundaries are.  Like I don’t know how you feel about discipline and time-outs and all that stuff.  I just don’t want to get it wrong and you be mad at me.”   I finally stop jabbering when I run out of words and breath to then see Jensen smiling affectionately at me, his dessert long forgotten. 

“I think you’re over-thinking it,” he finally says and I end up letting out a shaky laugh, feeling stupid.  He’s right, I probably am, it is a tendency of mine.  “We’ll just figure it all out as we go along.  You’ve worked with kids before, I trust you to do the right thing when it comes to ‘time-outs and stuff’.  Plus, it takes a lot to get me mad at you.”  He takes my hand again and gives it a gentle tug, pulling me towards him.  “C’mere a sec,” he encourages, pushing back his chair and guiding me over to sit on his lap like a child.  I kiss him fleetingly as he wraps his arms around me so I don’t slide off and then press my forehead against his, sighing happily. 

“JJ’s really missed out,” he tells me, voice quiet and soft because we’re so close, “I always tell her about Danneel and when she can understand properly I’ll explain to her why she’s not here.   Don’t get me wrong, she’ll always know who her mom is.  But I’m kind of hopin’ you’ll stick around.”  He nudges his nose against mine and my tummy flutters the way it always does when he’s being so affectionate and open about how he feels about us, about me.  “But when she gets a bit older, if she wants to call you mom, then I’m not gonna stop her.”  My heart soars, leaping up into my throat and sticking there, having to swallow hard against it to keep myself from spilling over with happy tears at just how much that means to me. 

“I’d really like that,” I choke out, grabbing a big fistful of his shirt and pressing my eyes closed because I really might cry.  I would like it, I want that, I want that so much and I hadn’t even realised.  I know I could never replace Danneel, I would never want to, but if I can help patch the hole her death left in their lives then surely that can’t be a bad thing?  He chuckles at my overwhelming reaction, my vision filling with the green of his eyes as soon as I open my own.

“I think I’d like that too.” 

Chapter Text

I sigh heavily as I park my little new silver Honda in the small carpark outside of Dr Boucher’s office, switching off the ignition and patting the steering wheel.  Hetty is the name I’ve given the petite but powerful car that’s taken Twiggy’s place, and she’s been serving me well so far.  It’d be nice to be driving again if I could just get used to doing it on the wrong damn side of the road.  

I’d almost think I was in the wrong place if it weren’t for the ‘Healthy Minds’ sign on the side of the building because apparently, and rather strangely, she operates out of the second floor of a dingy launderette.  Jensen had reassured me that even though it looks a bit dodgy she’s perfectly well qualified and legitimate, preferring to stay low-key in order to offer an affordable service.  Not that affordability particularly seems to matter to Jensen. 

“Here goes,” I mutter to myself as I exit the car, pushing it shut behind me with a resounding thud.  Thankfully I don’t have to enter her office through the launderette as I’d first feared; there’s actually a rickety metal staircase attached to the side of the building that leads up to a pristinely white door that I have to buzz and state my name to enter, pulse bounding nervously.

“Miss Stiles, please take a seat.”  A well-dressed young woman greets me from behind a desk as soon as I enter, smiling kindly and gesturing to some comfy looking chairs.  “Doctor Boucher is just finishing with her last appointment, help yourself to a drink in the meantime if you like.”

“Thanks,” I smile appreciatively, heading straight for the large drinks machine and pressing the right buttons for a steaming hot latte that I almost spill over my fingers as I pick it up.  Caffeine probably isn’t helpful for my nerves but maybe all the hot milk will be comforting at least.  It seems like my behind has only just hit the chair when suddenly the door opposite us opens and a young man with closely cropped hair exits; he’s smiling at least, that’s got to be something.   At least I haven’t had time to sit out here getting too nervous. 

“See you next time Steven, remember those exercises we talked about,” the woman behind him says with an encouraging smile, and I guess that the slightly stocky blonde woman who's speaking must be Dr Boucher.  She’s totally not what I was expecting, although I’m not even sure what that was, but certainly not someone dressed in a casual sweater and jeans; her receptionist looks more professional than she does.  Then again, looks can be deceiving.  “You must be Becca,” she says, still smiling and extending her hands out towards me.

“Yeah, hi, nice to meet you,” I reply, getting up from my seat and once again trying not to spill; something that’s even more difficult now that my hands are shaking. 

“Come in, I’d shake your hand but you look pretty full up there,” she chuckles, peering at my coffee and holding the door to her office open for me, “Make yourself comfy, anywhere is fine.” 

My eyes drift around the room as she closes the door behind us, absorbing my new environment, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it reminds me a little of the birthing rooms at work back home.  Lots of pastel purple colours, soft looking chairs and cushions… totally not the stereotypical leather couch set up I was expected.  This woman is really challenging my pre-conceptions of what I’d thought seeing a shrink would be like. 

She passes me and takes a seat on the sofa on the other side of the room, folding her hands in her lap and then just sitting there and waiting for me to do the same.  She doesn’t look impatient, just friendly, and despite my tenseness it does help to put me a little more at ease.  I pick a striped recliner to sit on in the end, perching on the edge with my coffee clasped between my hands and tapping on the paper cup, waiting for her to say something.  Or did she want me to start first?

“First off Becca please just call me Samantha, don’t worry about calling me Doctor or Doctor Boucher or whatever,” she tells me with a dismissive wave of the hand.   Good, she’s started first.  I smile a little, nodding that I understand.  “I won’t ask how you are, because I’m sure you’re pretty sick of people asking.”   Again I nod, that smile turning a little wry.  She can say that again.  “Today’s session is just about us getting to know each other really, we can talk about whatever you like, however much or little as you want at first. That sound ok?” 

“Yeah, ok,” I agree, thankful that she’s easing me in gently.  She leans back in her seat and spreads her arms out, palms facing upward and smiling. 

“Eventually, when you feel ready, I’d like to talk about what happened to you.  But until then… the floor’s yours then Becca.”  Oh.  Like, right now?  I look down into my coffee and let out an embarrassed laugh, tucking my fringe behind my ear and trying desperately to think of something interesting to tell her about myself. 

“I feel like I’m at one of those team building group sessions where you have to go around introducing yourself to the rest of the circle,” I laugh, my cheeks turning pink and she laughs too but doesn’t say anything else, just raising her eyebrows and waiting for me to start.  “Well… I… uh… I’ve only just moved to Vancouver in the last few weeks and I’m living with my partner, Jensen.  He made this appointment for me.  You’ve met Jensen, haven’t you?” 

“Some time ago, yes,” she confirms with a nod and then passes no further comment on it, a tactic to ensure that I do most of the talking, I think.  

“His daughter moved in with us too last week.  I’m looking after her while he’s at work, until I start a course at the University here in January, that is.”  I take a sip of my coffee, forgetting how hot it is and almost burning my tongue.  Is this ok?  Is this the kind of thing she wanted to hear about? 

“What are you going to be studying?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“It’s an access course to being able to practice Midwifery in Canada.  That’s what I did back home, I was a midwife,” I explain, “It’s just to get me up to speed with how things work here.” 

“That must be very rewarding work,” she smiles.

“It is, I really love it.  I’ve been out of practice for too long to be honest, I miss it.”  I pause.  “I guess not many people are lucky enough to love their jobs.”   I run out of words, not sure of what to say next but Samantha just sits patiently as always, ever watchful and waiting.  “I had to take some time off because of what happened… they were really understanding.”  My hand finds my necklace and starts to twist the rings around apprehensively and I see her intelligent eyes pick up on the movement, glancing down at it then back up to my face. 

“What about your family?”

“My family?” I repeat and then sigh, shrugging my shoulders, “My mum… well, she’s my mum, she’s been worried about me and a bit overbearing but she means well.  She’s always been like that.  My sister has been really supportive though, she had to put up with a lot while I was staying with them.”  I take a sip of my coffee, feeling a pang of guilt right in my gut when I think of how many times I woke her up in the night with my nightmares… just like I do to Jensen. 

“I actually just wanted to find out what your family was like in general,” she tells me with a small smile, leaning forward slightly.  Oh.  “But it seems like you want to talk about the incident that’s brought you here.  Is that what you want to talk about Becca?”  Well, not really…

“Isn’t that what we’re here for?” I ask lamely, half laughing and shrugging my shoulders awkwardly.  Surely it’s better that we just get it over and done with rather than making small talk?

“What do you think you’re here for?”  I really do end up laughing at that because this is actually exactly what I was expecting, to just have lots of open ended questions fired at me to coax me into divulging more than I mean to.  Nonetheless I indulge her, meeting her gaze. 

“I’d just like some help in getting over the nightmares that I’m still having and the night terrors that I get sometimes.  I’m fine in the day, I really am, but Jensen thought that maybe talking to you would help me get over this last hurdle,” I explain plainly before taking a long pull of the coffee that’s now a little cooler. 

“Do you think it’ll help?”

“I honestly have no idea, but it’s worth a go I guess.”

“You must have been doing pretty well so far if this is the last hurdle huh?”  I don’t quite like the way she’s asking that, like it’s really not and it’s a naive assumption on my part to think so.  I narrow my eyes slightly at her but she just smiles back harmlessly.

“I’ve just tried my best to get on with things,” I tell her, measuring out my words slowly and carefully, “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t keep waking Jensen up at night too.” 

“Has it interfered with anything else between you and Jensen in the bedroom?”  My eyes narrow even further, not quite understanding what she’s asking me at first but then open with in shock when I realise that she’s making a bold enquiry into our sex life.

“Oh!”  I exclaim, a little too loudly, going hot all over in embarrassment, “No, no, that’s fine, that’s fine.  I’d been worried at first… the first time… we, y’know, after… but no, it was fine.  More than fine.”  Suddenly my coffee cup seems even more interesting and I take another large gulp of the warm liquid to try and distract myself from how awkward I feel. 

“Have you noticed any increase in risky or unusual sexual behaviours since the incident that weren’t the norm for you before?” Sam asks it so casually, as if she isn’t enquiring as to whether we’ve been at it like over-sexed rabbits, and my mouth flounders as I try to find an appropriate answer.  Well, I guess that’s one way of describing our exploits together in the park.  She must sense my hesitation because she speaks again, “It can be a very common response sometimes.  Some people withdraw completely whereas others find themselves feeling more sexually liberated.”

“At the start Jensen didn’t really want…” I start, the words coming out of my mouth before my brain has chance to keep up, “He was scared of hurting me but... being intimate with him was what I really wanted.  I was pretty desperate for it actually,” I confess, looking down at the carpet beneath my feet. 

“That makes sense,” she assures me and I look up again to see her nodding, a slight smile on her face. 

“I guess it’s like… a control thing right, that made me feel that way?  Like sometimes people with anorexia not eating because that's something they can control?  I wanted to have sex with him so much because it was my choice that time.”  The pieces suddenly fall into place and I wonder why on earth I didn’t see it before, why I couldn’t explain that to Jensen at the time.  I think he would have understood so much better if I’d have been able to articulate that.   She claps her hands together once and titters with delight, leaning back into the sofa, her accent making her laughter sound almost musical. 

“I can tell I’m really going to enjoy our sessions Becca, you’re a very quick study.”  I blush at her compliment, not sure whether it’s a good thing or not that psychoanalysing myself seems to have come easily to me.  “But before we get too deeply into the psychology behind everything, if you’re feeling up to it why don’t you tell me what actually happened to you so I can get a better grasp of what you’ve been coping with?”  I look down into my empty coffee cup and smile sheepishly at her, tipping it to the side so she can see that it’s dry. 

“Can I grab another coffee first?”

“Of course.” 


After we’ve refilled our drinks and gotten comfortable again Samantha listens very patiently as I explain everything to her, reverting back to my tactic that I used in the court room and describing it very clinically, detaching myself so as not to feel physically affected by it.  She asks me to elaborate a few points here and there but mainly just listens thoughtfully, finally asking me to tell her about some of the dreams that I’ve had.  I mean they’re all very much of the same theme, so that doesn’t take long.  By the time I’m done we’ve pretty much had the entire hour worth of the appointment and I’m a little relieved truth be told. 

“Well, I feel like we’ve had a good session today Becca, you’ve been very candid and that’s always helpful,” she says, her body language and tone very positive.  It leaves me feeling good, like we’ve made progress even though I’m not really sure what it is we’ve done.  “You’re clearly a very articulate, intelligent young woman who values her independence.  You definitely need a certain amount of personal strength to take on the profession that you have.”  I swell with pride, beaming as I stand, thinking that our session is coming to a close.  “I just want you to consider something for me and perhaps you can answer me at the start of next week’s session?”

“Ok, sure,” I agree.  Samantha has made a good impression on me with this first meeting so I feel happier to place my trust in her methods if she thinks that they’ll do me good.

“Considering all those things, all those strong qualities you possess,” she starts slowly, watching me closely in a way that leaves me feeling slightly suspicious, “I wonder if you can figure out for me why you weren’t able to prevent Lewis raping you?” 

It’s like she’s hit me with some kind of paralysis as my mouth falls open and my forehead creases into a frown, feet rooted to the spot as I first try to figure out if I heard her correctly.  Did she really just ask me that?  What does she mean, why couldn’t I stop him? 

“Don’t try to answer me now, just think about it for next time,” she tells me gently, rising from her seat and placing a firm guiding hand on my back, steering me towards the door as I remain slightly dumbstruck.  “Just make another appointment for next week with Lydia, we’ll squeeze you in somewhere.”

“Ok…” I mumble, playing with my necklace, unable to stop scowling as I stare ahead of myself, not really seeing what’s in front of me. 

“Take care Becca, I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah… see you.”  The door shuts behind me with a resounding click.  How come I don’t get to leave smiling? 

“Hey Jar, come in, come in,” I beckon, holding open the front door with JJ perched on my hip, “The game’s already started but there’s a cold one ready and waiting for you.”  Jared steps inside, stooping slightly as he always has to whenever he’s confronted with a doorway, adjusting the beanie that’s perched on the back of his head and grinning down at me as I push the door closed again.

“Hi sweet, hey there JJ,” he greets the both of us, putting one of his large arms around my shoulder and pulling us against his side affectionately for just a moment.  It almost makes me giggle when he calls me sweet, the fangirl inside of me getting all over-excited and giddy at his casual use of the endearment but I manage to keep myself in check, simply smiling at him all the more.  “Had to help Gen get the kids to bed before coming over, took a while.”  He sighs heavily but I know it’s all in jest because he looks perfectly happy, his eyes bright and smile wide.  “What’s the score anyway?”

“Honestly Jar I have absolutely no idea and I’m quite happy to keep it that way.  You guys are watching football and that’s all I know.”  He laughs wholeheartedly and follows me through to the living room, the guys greeting him loudly as soon as they spot him.

“Well lookie what the cat dragged in,” Jensen says loudly over the rest of the jeering and teasing that’s coming out of Rob and Misha from their spots on the couch.  Justice flinches in my arms at the eruption of noise, her hand closed around my necklace, and I press a reassuring kiss to the top of her head to comfort her. 

“Ignore them Jar, they’ve had too many beers already,” I comment with a semi-disapproving look to Jensen that I don’t really mean.  He just grins back at me contritely from over the back of the sofa, only looking away once Jared is trying to shove in next to him into the impossibly tiny gap that’s left between Jensen’s side and the armrest.   The four of them are jostling and elbowing and squabbling and it’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.   By the time I’ve sat myself down in the armchair next door to them, JJ in my lap, the boys have finally settled down and started discussing the game and I’ll happily admit that I don’t have a clue what they’re talking about.  Instead I busy myself with making little plaits in JJ’s fine hair while she sucks her thumb, more placid and sleepy as bedtime fast approaches and content to snuggle up with me as she often does now in the evenings. 

I’ve done two or three by the time I realise I’m being watched and when I look up I see Misha staring at the two of us, his mind clearly elsewhere as he rubs his thumb over the top of his beer bottle distractedly. 

“You ok Mish?” I ask kindly, quietly enough that I know the rest of the guys won’t hear.  He drags his eyes away from JJ and although he initially falters when I startle him he very quickly masks whatever he was thinking with an easy smile.  He rests his elbow on the armrest of the sofa and leans his forehead on the heel of his hand, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at the plaits I’ve made in her golden hair. 

“I was just thinking how much more interesting that looks than football,” he explains.  I know he’s lying, the expression that was on his face before tells me so, but I don’t press it.  Whatever he was really thinking about must be more private than he’s willing to share and that’s fair enough.  His cerulean eyes sparkle gratefully at me as he continues to gaze at the both of us and it’s so obvious that Castiel’s propensity to stare comes right from Misha himself.  Gosh, Jensen really does have the most handsome group of friends. 

“Aw man, you guys ate all the nachos without me?!” Jared suddenly exclaims, pulling my attention away from Misha to look at him lifting the empty bowl from the coffee table with a delightfully downtrodden expression. 

“You snooze you lose,” Rob quips humorously before he takes a swig of his beer and Jared shoots him a withering look.  A sofa cushion goes flying and smacks Rob right in the face, glancing off and hitting Misha too who looks thoroughly outraged to be caught in the crossfire.  Jared and Jensen both end up in hysterics and I’ll admit it’s pretty funny because a less-than-impressed Rob now has beer bubbles dripping from the end of his nose.  Still, I’d rather it didn’t escalate, because let’s face it, I’ll be the one cleaning it all up in the morning.

“Guys, guys, there’s more nachos in the kitchen, no fighting.”  I use my best 'grown-up' voice as I scold them good-naturedly, rising from my seat to go fetch more. 

“Sorry mom,” Jared grins guiltily, making me laugh and raise my eyebrows sceptically back at him.

“Please, I’m the youngest out of the lot of you,” I scoff as I pass behind the back of the sofa.  Jensen leans forward to place his beer on the table even though he’s still trying to swig from it and push Jared off of him at the same time, which is no easy task seeing as the large man has slung his long legs over the lot of them in an effort to get comfortable in the little space available.  

“Uumhh, umhh,” Jensen exclaims, voice muffled beyond recognition by the bottle in his mouth.  “Lemme up you great big sack’a’crap.”  Jared laughs loudly, his hand pressed to his chest and feigning hurt.

“Ouch, man, so harsh!” he complains but lifts his legs nonetheless, finally letting Jensen leap up from the couch and join me on my side, flushed in the face.  He follows me into the kitchen, speaking softly to JJ along the way and once I’ve fetched a new bag of nachos down from a high up cupboard he presses his hand into the small of my back and a kiss to my temple. 

“I didn’t get chance before the guys got here to ask how your appointment was…”  Ah, I knew this was coming sooner or later.  “So, how’d it go?” he asks with thinly veiled concern, watching my expression carefully.  I consider my answer for a moment and decide it’s probably best not to go into too much detail right now, not with everyone here.  Besides, I’m not quite sure what to make of it myself yet.

“It gave me a lot to think about,” I answer honestly whilst still remaining somewhat vague, “But I’ve made another appointment for next week so I guess it wasn’t too terrible.”  I give him a reassuring smile and he looks relieved and pleasantly surprised, grinning back. 

“Good, that’s good.”  He kisses me lovingly, letting it linger with his hand pressed to my cheek and when he pulls away he briefly touches JJ’s face too.  We make our way back into the noisy living room and Jensen throws the nachos directly to Jared’s lap, much to his delight, and I end up otherwise occupied with JJ who’s starting to grizzle and squirm in my arms.  I think she’s getting too tired to put up with all this racket now; it’s definitely time for bed. 

“Jen, I’m gonna head up and give JJ her bath and get her to bed, she’s getting grouchy,” I inform him, bouncing her in my arms and making ‘hussshh’ sounds between my words.  He pauses, mid-climb back onto the sofa.

“You want me to-“ he starts to offer but I smile and shake my head, continuing to hush soothingly.  It’d take him forever to prise himself up again anyway. 

“Babbit, want babbit,” JJ whines loudly, pushing herself away from me with her palms against my chest, always surprising me with just how strong she is when she’s bordering on a bitch-fit. 

“Mish, Misha, will you pass me that stuffed rabbit that’s down there, please,” I ask him quickly, spotting it at the foot of the armchair where we’d been sat before.  He leans down to fetch it and then passes it backward to me with a sympathetic smile, that unknown thought lurking behind his eyes again.  She takes it eagerly and stuffs her thumb back in her mouth, strop successfully diverted for a while as she lets her head flop down onto my chest.  “If I’m not down in an hour will you send a search party please?”  I joke as I start to leave the room.

“She’s a keeper that one Jensen,” I hear Misha say, “You better marry her before I do.”  There’s collective laughter from the group and I end up lingering outside of the living room door for a few moments longer.

“Wouldn’t that make you like… a bigamist or something?”  Jared laughs.

“As if he’s ever had a problem with polygamy before.”  That voice belonged to Rob, and his words start off a loud discussion about what the right terminology actually is with Misha leading the way with his very own unique perspective.  I smile to myself and shake my head as I start to ascend the stairs, JJ already half asleep in my arms.  Those guys; they’re so wonderful and I adore them all, but there’s definitely only one that I want bending down on one knee and asking me to marry him.  I’ll give you two guesses who.

Chapter Text

By the time it comes to my next appointment with Samantha I’m almost gunning for a fight, everything all planned out.  I know exactly what I’m going to say to answer her ridiculous question and I sit in the waiting room rehearsing it in my head, trying to look assertive and drinking an expresso this time because it feels like what one should drink when they’re going for strong and confident.  No milky lattes for me, today, no sir. 

“Hey Becca, come on in,” Samantha beckons from her open doorway, dwarfed by a colourful poncho she’s wearing today that makes her look even shorter than before.  I mean I’m short, but she must be what, five foot nothing? 

“Hi, how’ve you been?” I enter her office much more decisively this time, promptly sitting myself in same striped chair as last week and plonking my handbag down by the side of me.  She watches all of this with something that looks like amusement, an eyebrow quirked, finally coming to sit opposite me on the sofa. 

“I’ve been very well, thank you,” she answers, “How about you?”

“I’m still having nightmares, if that’s what you mean, but otherwise I’m good.”  I’m probably being a little bit too casual about; it’s been almost every night this week and to be quite honest I think I blame her.  She’s supposed to be helping me, but dwelling on her stupid question has made them even more vivid.  “I thought about that question you asked me before I left last week.”

“Oh yes,” she smiles while she folds her hands in her lap, her tone slightly surprised, as though she’d forgotten what she’d asked me, “What did you think?”  Ok, so… here we go.  I take a deep breath and sit up a little bit straighter, trying really hard not to mess with my necklace the way I really want to. 

“Well… first and foremost it didn’t seem like a very fair question.”   I pause to gauge her reaction but it’s really neither one way nor the other, all she does is nod as encouragement for me to continue.  “I mean, as much as I like to think that I’m independent and capable, I’m still limited physically by the fact that I’m a woman and we’re just not as strong as men.”  I really hope she’s not a staunch feminist or something otherwise that statement won’t have gone down well.  “Generally speaking anyway,” I add, “I mean Lewis used to work out, a lot, there’s no way that I could have fought him off.”

“Couldn’t you have run?” she questions immediately and I stare back disbelievingly at her, frowning hard. 

“He was blocking my front door, and then I tried to escape upstairs but that just made it worse, left me cornered in my bedroom.  How was I supposed to run?!”  I ask her incredulously, the pitch and volume of my voice rising as irritation prickles at the back of my neck.   “I couldn’t even call the police because I didn’t have my phone, it was only because Jensen was there on my laptop that anyone found me at all!”  My eyes start to well with hot, angry tears that remain unfallen for now, but I know it won’t take much to tip me over the edge, especially if she keeps on pushing.  I've only been here five minutes...

“So what you’re saying is that there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.  That you were powerless to stop what happened?”  she asks, one eyebrow raised but otherwise seemingly unaffected by my outburst. 

“Yes!  Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”  I press the heel of my hands to my eyes, holding the tears there in the long silence that follows.  Why is she asking me all this, why does it feel like she’s trying to make it seem like it was my fault?  Isn’t this victim blaming or something?  She rises from her seat and silently fetches me a box of tissues that I snatch from her a little bit roughly, avoiding her gaze as I dab my eyes.  I’m not sure I like this woman at all anymore. 

“If that’s what you think,” she begins softly once she’s taken her seat again, “And you’re right to think that, then why do you still feel so much guilt about what happened?”  I let my hand fall from my eyes, balling the tissue in my fist as I gaze at her, anger fading but feeling confused.  So she agrees then, that I really couldn’t have done anything?  “You did very well then to explain to me why none of it was your fault, so I know logically you understand, but it just seems as though the emotional part of you hasn’t quite caught up yet.”  She pauses as I digest her words but even after a whole minute passes I’m still struggling to understand.  I don’t feel like I blame myself… I mean… like she said, I know I couldn’t have done anything. 

“What do you mean?” I finally ask, giving up trying to decipher her.  She smiles patiently, kindly, completely undeterred by my previous frustration.  I guess she must get a lot worse to be fair. 

“Yesterday when you were telling me about what happened and about Lewis avoiding jail time you kept saying things like ‘if I’d done this’ or ‘if I’d done that’.  If you’d fought more, if you’d struggled more.  There’s part of you that’s clearly holding onto the idea that if you’d have done something differently you wouldn’t be in the position you are now.”  

I hadn’t even… I didn’t even realise I was doing that.  I know she’s right though; those words are familiar.  I know I’ve said them to Jensen, to Steph, to myself.  It hadn’t occurred to me that I’ve subtly been blaming myself this whole time.  I let out a shaky breath, opening and closing my mouth but not knowing what to say, giving in and closing my fist around my necklace as a comfort. 

“I think that’s part of the reason having these nightmares Becca.  Your subconscious is trying to rehash events to see if you can change the outcome; that’s why you’re always fighting him or being chased, trying to get away.”

“I never do though…” I say quietly, looking down at the patch of red carpet between my feet.  Damn… she’s good.  I get it now.  I understand why she wanted me to think about why I couldn’t stop it; it was to try and reinforce in my own head that there was nothing I could have done.

“No,” she agrees gently.  When I look up at her again she’s smiling encouragingly, leaning forward in her seat. 

“How do I stop them?”  It’s all very well and good understanding why they’re happening, but I’d rather we focus on making them go away. 

“Well, that’s up to you really.  Time will help, it always does, but I have a few ideas.” 

“Shoot,” I say, leaning forward and realising a second later that I'm matching her body language, elbows resting on my knees. 

“Because of your somewhat medical background I thought it might help for you to gain an insight into the brain science of why people react the way they do when confronted with the threat of sexual assault; it’s very rarely what people ever think it will be.  That’s why so many struggle with guilt afterwards.  Never ever would we plan to lie there and not fight off an attack, or appear to willingly enter a room with someone we know is going to assault us, but there’s a good reason why we act that way and it’s not under our conscious control at all.” 

Despite the fact that it’s an unpleasant topic I find myself strangely curious and eager to learn from what she has to say; I guess I always have been interested in human physiology. 

“I’m sure you already know about our in-built fight or flight response when we’re threatened by something?  That response is down to a certain part of your brain whose sole concern is keeping you physically intact.  It’s only focused on the short-term, so it doesn’t care how your actions will look afterwards to a jury or anyone else; it just wants you to be safe in the here and now.  And in the heat of the moment your brain is so drenched with fear hormones that you can’t even think straight even if you tried your hardest to.  You can’t think oh, I should do this, or I should do that, or forward plan your escape with any of the clarity your logical brain can after the event.” 

I remember feeling that way, feeling so helpless, useless, unable to string two thoughts together, acting purely on instinct.  I press my eyes closed as the memory of Lewis chasing me up the stairs flashes into my mind, my chest tightening and hands automatically gripping the seat cushions underneath me. 

“Are you following me Becca?  Shall I carry on?”  she asks, clearly concerned.  I keep my eyes closed, lips pressed together but nod my confirmation.  “Your response is basically like a feedback loop; first you might try reasoning with them and when that fails it feeds back to that part of your brain that that hasn’t worked.  So you try fight, or flight, sometimes more than once, but each time it fails to keep you safe, if it prompts a violent reaction, it trains your mind into thinking that isn’t the right response to that particular threat.”

I did try… I really did.  My stomach rolls inside of me at the thought of his coppery blood in my mouth and I have to swallow hard.   I need to open my eyes; a slideshow of horrors is starting to play behind my eyelids that I can’t bear to see.

“So eventually we fall back into a mammalian instinct to freeze completely or become entirely passive, and that, unfortunately for us, really does do a good job of keeping us safe.  It makes us vulnerable and easier to assault, yes, but your amygdala is just happy that you’re not in immediate danger anymore.   So that becomes the appropriate learned response when faced with the threat of sexual violence; freeze, flop, lie there and ‘let it happen’.”  She makes the inverted commas in the air as she speaks. 

It’s easier to understand now why so many rape cases aren’t reported and are scrutinised so severely in court. I guess some women might not come forward if they think they made the conscious choice to lie there and not fight, blaming themselves instead of the person truly in the wrong.  I wish everyone knew about this; maybe then we wouldn’t judge people that really need our help and understanding so harshly.

“Looking back… I guess I did pretty well to fight him as much as I did,” I say slowly, letting go of the chair cushions, my fingers aching from gripping so tightly.  I did manage to take a chunk out of his shoulder after all.

“You did,” she agrees with a smile small that I shakily return, some of the nausea settling down, “Has that helped you to understand Becca?  Your actions that night were barely your own.” 

“Yeah… I think it, well, I hope that it’ll have helped.  It was really interesting anyway... disturbing, but interesting.” 

“It’s never an easy topic to talk about, even if you’ve not been through it.” I nod in agreement, smiling a wry smile and let out a heavy sigh.  God, I feel exhausted and all I’ve been doing is sitting here listening to her talk.  I suppose it’s an emotionally draining process, I shouldn’t be that surprised that I’m tired.  “Do you want to finish the session early today Becca?  It’s been a very intense half an hour so I understand if you want to call it a day.”  I glance at my watch; It’s felt like so much longer than 25 little minutes. 

“Maybe we can just… chat for a little while longer?” I suggest after a moment’s consideration, “JJ doesn’t finish play group for another hour and I feel like I need another coffee to help me settle my nerves.”  I pull a slightly embarrassed face but she smiles understandingly and then rises from her chair with a groan, patting her knees. 

“Sounds like a good idea, what can I get you?”  I wonder if she’ll talk about herself a little now.  I’m curious to find out more about the person this slightly quirky looking but intelligent woman is hiding behind her colourful ponchos and cheerful demeanour.

“A latte would be great, thanks.” 

I wake to the feeling of a gentle touch against my cheek, well-worn knuckles ghosting across my skin so lightly that it almost tickles, and even though I’m never too happy to be woken before absolutely necessary it doesn’t stop the corners of my mouth turning up into a smile.  How could I possibly be mad to be greeted by beautiful pale green eyes gazing adoringly back at me?  The morning sunlight that Jensen is bathed in is catching the lighter flecks in his hair and making them shine, emphasising the dusting of freckles along his cheekbones too.  I’ve never had anyone look at me the way Jensen is now and it makes my heart swell so full of love that it feels like it might burst through my chest.  I want to see is him staring back at me like this, for each and every other morning that there is.

The overwhelming adoration I feel for him urges me to press my mouth to his in a kiss in hope that I can convey just how much he means to me through the caress of my lips, carding a hand through his hair at the same time.  He’s been letting it grow a little longer and messier on top just because I told him I liked it that way, the way it was when Dean was a demon, and he looks so impossibly gorgeous first thing of a morning just lying here next to me, all soft sleepy smiles and warmth. 

“Love you Jen,” I tell him ardently as I pull away just in case he didn’t get the message, and he extends his arms for me to slot in neatly against his chest as he chuckles softly.

“Good morning to you too,” he says, his voice husky because it’s the first time he’s spoken this morning.  I look up at him expectantly from where I’m nestled against him, my chin resting between his pecs and arm draped over his side.  “I love you too Becca.”  He rolls his eyes as he says it, voice teasing and humourful, and when I smile with satisfaction he places a very gentle peck on the end of my nose.

“No nightmares,” I inform him happily, barely believing it myself.  Ever since that session a few weeks back they’ve been getting less and less frequent and easier to deal with if and when they do happen.  Last night makes it five nights in a row nightmare free; I haven’t slept so well since before Jensen and I met.  I’m still keeping up my appointments with Samantha though because I know I still have a way to go, and I’ll keep on seeing her until she thinks I’m ready to go it alone.  I put my faith in her entirely to know when that time has come. 

“Proud of you babydoll.”    

“I’m proud of me too,” I grin.  I trail my fingertips along the planes and hollows of his back, down the curve of his sacrum and uphill again to the where his perfectly peachy butt cheeks meet, delighting in the way he squirms, perpetually ticklish, and waiting for that high pitched yelp that always breaks out of him when it becomes too much.  He’s trying so hard not to do it, I can tell by the way he’s screwed up his face, biting on his bottom lip but smiling hard.  He can’t hold it back any longer though, not when my ministrations move lower along the crease down to the point his thighs meet.  He squeaks, batting my hand away and scowling at me playfully as I laugh. 

“Every morning you do that,” he sighs, a sideways smile on his face as he runs his hand through my hair, pushing back my fringe. 

“And every morning you let me,” I quip back, “Pretty sure you could stop me if you wanted to. Personally I think you like it.”  I lift my eyebrows at him accusingly, daring him to disagree with my statement. 

“Oh yeah, I really enjoy the sense of impending horror that one day you’ll keep going and I’ll end up with a finger in my ass.”  I’d been placing small kisses along the slant of his jaw as he’d been speaking, his morning stubble rough against my lips, but at his words I pull back sharply and scoff out a laugh. 

“Jensen!  I’m tickling not… probing!”  I exclaim, pretending to be more appalled than I am.

“Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like you’re only a slip of the hand away,” he laughs, trying to sound serious but failing completely, unable to control the twitching of his lips, the mirthful creasing of his eyes.

“Is that one of those things I don’t know about you yet?”  I giggle jokingly.  Somehow I can’t ever imagine my Jensen letting anyone do… that.  The Jensen in a variety of smutty fanfiction I used to read yes, but my Jensen; I think he’d rather die. 

“I’m not even dignifying that with an answer.” 

“You realise that means yes, right?”

“Shut up.”  He cups my cheek with the palm of his hand and kisses me firmly to effectively render me silent.  I’m more than happy to go along with it, digging my fingertips into the flesh of his hip as I press myself against him, pleased that JJ’s absence in our bed last night means that we’re both naked already.  I love the feel of skin on skin and the way he smells after he’s gotten warm snuggling up with me all night.

“So JJ isn’t awake yet?”  I mumble between kisses, trying not to get distracted by the way his large hand is roaming its way down to my behind.

“Nope.”  He palms my ass firmly.

“And you don’t need to be at work?”  He kisses the corner of my mouth.

“Nope.”  He nips gently at my jaw, grazing his teeth against my skin.

“You mean I get you all to myself?”  He hitches my leg up and over his hip, pulling me closer.

“Yup.”  His mouth finds mine again, tongue working its way inside, becoming urgent and insistent and then he  rolls us over so I’m flat on my back with him resting between my thighs, my favourite place to be. 

“Aren’t I lucky?”  He pulls back for a moment, breathing heavily and looking vaguely disgruntled by the way I keep interrupting his attempts to kiss me.

“Do you ever stop talking?” he growls, an eyebrow raised. 

“Nope,” I grin mischievously, rejoicing in being awkward.  I love winding him up and sometimes it’s so easy to do.  He rolls his eyes and then dips his head to scatter kisses along my neck and collarbone, his hand finding my breast and pinching my nipple hard, a flash of pleasure momentarily pushing all the words out of my head. 

“You could be somethin’ much more productive with that pretty mouth babydoll,” he tells me, making it clear what he’s hinting at when he presses his erection against my stomach. 

“Could I indeed?”  I ask and he peeps up at me from between my breasts, looking innocent and hopeful and completely adorable.  How can I turn him down when he looks like that?  “Go on then.  And don’t you ever say I don’t do anything nice for you.” 

“Yay!” he exclaims like an overgrown man-child, rolling off of me and onto his back, kicking off the covers so he’s star-fished on the mattress waiting for me, dick lying half hard against his stomach.  I lift my eyes to the ceiling, laughing. He’s such a goof sometimes.

Chapter Text

How did I end up agreeing to this?  I can’t act!  This is going to be an unmitigated disaster, I’m going to be laughed off the set, I just know it.  It had started off as a joke, a hypothetical ‘wouldn’t it be fun if I could be an extra?’, but somehow Jensen had taken the idea and ran with it, clearing it with all the appropriate people and landing me a speaking part.  All I’d wanted was to be one of those random people loitering around in the background of the shot!   This is waaay too much pressure. 

I tug nervously on the bottom of the waitressing uniform I’ve been given to wear, waiting on the side lines as the guy get into position around the set, sitting in a fake diner booth ready to start the take.  Jensen catches my eye, clad in that familiar FBI uniform they don so often and looking ridiculously handsome in it, and he gives me a playful wink and a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring as he settles opposite Jared.  I send one back, so nervous I feel physically sick.  I hope I can stop my hands from shaking otherwise there’s no way I’m going to be able to carry over the food that Dean and Sam are supposed to have ordered. 

“Ok Becca we’re pretty much good to go,” Phil tells me as he approaches, baseball cap pulled low over his face and glasses perched on the end of his nose, “You clear what you’re doing?” 

“Walk to my mark, put down the plates, say my line, flirt with Dean and smile, walk out of the shot,” I recite to him and he smiles encouragingly.

“Perfect, do it like that and we’ll be done in no time,” he assures and then leaves me again to take his place overseeing the scene.  If only actually doing it was as easy as saying it. 

I pick up the plates that I have to carry into shot and try to balance them just right; it’d be so embarrassing if I dropped them.  They’ll have to make the food all over again if I do… oh god, why, why did I agree to this? 

I take a bracing breath as quiet settles across the set and everyone becomes still, ready to start. I just need to do as Jensen had told me and try to forget that there’s anyone watching at all, just be a real waitress serving real food.  There’s a ‘snap’ that calls action and Jensen, Dean, starts speaking.

“I dunno Sam, these people give me the creeps, there’s friendly and then there’s these guys.”  That’s my cue, that line right there.  I start to move, trying not to look at my mark that’s taped on the floor and approach Sam, Dean and Cas with their food held aloft and steady.  I can do this, I can do this.  All three of them turn their attention to me as I approach and it’s so entirely surreal, because they look so much like themselves but completely different all at once.  Cas merely glances in my direction, Sam gives me a small half-smile as he exhales and Dean’s toothy grin is cocky as his eyes flicker from my legs and up to my face, checking every part of me out along the way.  It completely catches me off guard, Jensen being so totally Dean, the ridiculously charming hunter I’ve been ogling for years on screen.   It renders me speechless, mouth hanging open as my mind goes blank and my line disappears. 

“Sorry,” I huff out embarrassedly after an extended pause, shoulders sagging as I lower the plates I’m holding and glance behind myself towards the crew. 

“Ok, from the top again.  You got your line Becca?” Phil checks and I nod quickly, looking down at my feet with my cheeks flushed red.  Now Jensen actually looks like Jensen again my mind starts to function properly, the words coming back to me. 

“Don’t worry, we mess up all the time,” he reassures me quietly, smiling sympathetically because he can tell I’m really embarrassed.  “It’s no big, just relax.”  He pats the bare skin of my leg and squeezes it comfortingly, his palm warm.  I smile shakily back and then take myself out of shot again, repeating my lines over and over again in my head. 

This time when I make my way over to them I’ve psyched myself up enough that  I’m able to smile with false confidence, as I would if I really were a waitress hoping for a good tip, snatching a quick breath before delivering my line.  God, I can feel my pulse bounding in my neck. 

“Here we go guys,” I say, placing Sam’s plate down first, “One quinoa salad, no dressing, and one cheeseburger with everything.” I place down Dean’s plate too, making sure to smile at him in particular, holding his eye contact and knowing that the camera will be picking it up. 

“That’s great,” Sam thanks me, but my character is all eyes for Dean. 

“I’ve never met real FBI agents before!” I enthuse and try to remain oblivious to the look Sam and Dean exchange.  “It’s on the house ok?  Happy to do anything we can if it helps you figure out what happened to Lucas.   If that means keeping you fed and watered then you’re always welcome here.”  I smooth down the front of my skirt then fold my hands together, rocking forwards slightly onto the balls of my feet.

“We sure appreciate that, don’t we Sammy?”  Dean doesn’t give him time to answer the question, his winning smile never faltering, and despite the fact that I know it’s all pretend my heart still flutters wildly, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.  It’s really very easy to play the swooning waitress when he has that effect on me all of the time anyway. 

“There’s plenty else on the menu for you to try,” I tell him, the subtext clear as my hips sway from one side to the other, his eyes following the motion. 

“Maybe you can show me what’s good sometime,” he replies suggestively, lifting a french fry from his plate and taking a bite, jaw working enthusiastically and never breaking his stare.  Sam’s knife and fork clatters down on his plate as it’s supposed to, exasperated at his brother and his often relentless pursuit of the opposite sex. 

“S-sure,” I say, forcing a stutter because I’m pretty sure this small-town waitress would be completely entranced by him at this point.  I glance at Sam and see his pissy expression, taking that as my cue to leave.  “Just… let me know if you need anything else.”  I shoot one last smile at Dean and then hurry out of shot to let them continue the scene, letting out a big breath of air as I finally relax, my hands starting to shake again now that they’re allowed to.  

“Can we please just have one time where we go to a diner and you don’t try to pick up the waitress?”  Sam hisses at him with irritation, pushing back his hair as he leans forward in his seat. 

“Oh come on, she was cute,” Dean says with a mouthful of burger, spraying his brother with crumbs. 

“Sam, Dean, I think we should concentrate on-“ Cas begins in that low, growly voice of his, only to be interrupted. 

“I can’t help my raw, animal magnetism Sammy.”  Sam’s pushing his salad around his plate, shaking his head down at it.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” 

“I know,” Dean grins and then takes another hearty bite of his cheeseburger. 

“Cut!”  Phil calls loudly and noise erupts immediately between the crew.   He gets up off of his chair briskly and comes straight over to me with a smile on his face.  I guess that must mean I did ok, right?  “Total pro, that take was perfect, well done Bec,” he praises and I swell with pride, my cheeks hurting because I’m grinning so hard as he slaps me on the back.  “Guys we just need to reshoot those last few lines, Jay you were blocking Misha,” he tells him as Jensen approaches with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his suit trousers.  He gives Phil a nod of acknowledgement.

“I did it!” I squeak as soon as we’re more or less alone, bubbling over with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot. 

“You’re a natural babydoll,” he applauds, voice laced with pride as he presses one of his palms to my face, thumb brushing softly against my cheek. 

“I do have the slight advantage of fancying the pants off you anyway; it wasn’t too difficult to channel my inner fan-girl.”  I laugh a little at my own geekiness as he tilts his head down to rest our foreheads together.  “I was surprised Mish or Jared weren’t trying to make me mess up,” I admit.  I’d really expected them to be pulling faces at me or something, like they do to each other in the gag reels.  Jensen presses his nose against mine briefly and then pulls back, placing his hands on either of my arms and rubbing the exposed skin because I’ve got goosepimples – this set is pretty cold when you’re not wearing very many layers.

“I may or may not have threatened them with violence if they did,” he tells me, tone and expression deadpan but eyes twinkling in a way that I can tell he’s joking. 

“Jay we’re ready to go again,” Phil calls and Jensen lets me go, letting out the smallest of sighs as he smiles. 

“Come on, duty calls.” 


It turned out to be a pretty fun afternoon being on set with the guys.  We’d shot the scene a few more times to get all the angles that we needed, and the more I did it the easier it became to not get completely spellbound by Jensen’s Dean persona.  What I did get distracted by, however, was Jared’s attempts to put me off when it came time for a couple of close up shots of the exchange between Jensen and I.  I’d clearly spoken too soon about them behaving themselves, because for a good ten minutes I was messing up takes because I couldn’t hold back my laughter as Jared shoved french fries up his nose, and better yet, Jensen’s nose. 

I’d been so tempted to hang around set and continue to watch them film, they’d said it’d be fine,  but I was so worked up about inadvertently finding out spoilers that in the end I’d just taken myself off to Jensen’s trailer to chill out there until he finished for the day.  I’d gotten changed back into my own clothes and said goodbye to my waitressing persona when I handed my costume back to wardrobe, then spent a couple of hours just flicking through the TV channels and wondering if JJ was ok at Genevieve and Jared’s place.  There was no reason she wouldn’t be, of course, but I couldn’t help myself sending a text to double check. 

I’m just leafing through a golfing magazine – I’m clearly getting desperate for entertainment here – when Jensen’s trailer door opens and he comes strolling in, eyes settling on me sprawled across the couch immediately. 

“Picking up some tips?” he asks with a small smile, gesturing to the magazine.  I would roll my eyes at him as he approaches me but I’m too caught up in devouring him with them.  He’s kitted out in full hunter Dean gear; the military style jacket, the open shirt over a t-shirt, worn jeans and sturdy boots.  Every last detail is perfect, right down to the black watch on his wrist, and it steals the breath right out of my lungs.  I know it’s stupid to be so affected by a simple change of clothes but I can’t help myself, my pulse quickening as he comes to stand in front of me looking vaguely amused at the way I’ve been struck mute.  He looks so hot. 

“Hi,” I say breathily, gazing up at him from where I’m reclined back on the sofa cushions, creasing the pages of the magazine because I’m gripping them so hard.  My pupils must look like black holes right now. 

“I’ll just get changed and we’ll head home yeah?” he says.  I start to nod but change my mind when he makes to take off the jacket; no, no, don’t take it all off yet, I haven’t had time to properly enjoy it! I throw the magazine down on his coffee table and sit up quickly. 

“Jen,” I start, my voice coming out a bit desperate as I reach out and take hold of his hand, halting any efforts to undress.  I smile self-consciously, forcing myself to take a breath and try to stop acting like a weirdo.  “I was thinking maybe you could show me around the set a little more before we go?”  I ask hopefully.

“What did you wanna look at? Everyone’s goin’ home so there’s not much to see.” 

“Is there any way I can see Baby?  You’d be making at least one of my dreams come true if I could sit inside the Impala,” I grin.  It’s true, it really would, the thought of sitting inside Baby next to Jensen while he’s dressed like this making my insides quiver with excitement. 

“I think I can arrange that,” he agrees, pulling me up to stand straight inside his arms, wrapping one around me and kissing me deep.  By the time he’s relinquished his grip on me my legs are like jelly and I’m almost dumbstruck as I follow him out the trailer, trying my best not to fall down the metal stairs. 

We walk hand in hand in comfortable silence across the lot where all the trailers are parked, the evening air cool, and finally arrive at a garage with metal shutters. 

“You’re lucky, she hasn’t been tucked in for the night yet,” he smiles, bending down and lifting the metal shutters a little ways to let us inside.  I stoop under after him and pull the shutters back down again behind us as he finds a light switch to illuminate an oily smelling room with a concrete floor.  As it sputters into life it reveals not just one Impala but four, all lined up neatly in a row, and I know it makes me a little bit of a loser but I actually end up gasping, dissolving into astonished and breathy laughter.  I run my hand over the shining side of the Impala nearest to me, basking in the surreal quality of the moment and then turn back to Jensen with a smile of childlike glee.  He’s stood watching me with his arms folded and an amused expression, leaning back against the cinderblock wall and he looks so beautiful and dangerous, so Dean, that I just can’t help myself.

I throw myself against him so hard he thuds back against the wall with an ‘oompf’, raking both hands through his hair that’s slightly sticky with wax, kissing him so feverishly one would be forgiven for thinking I’m trying to consume him.  He’s so caught off guard it takes him a moment to respond, but when he does he does so with equal enthusiasm, pushing his tongue into my mouth and wrapping his arms tight around my waist. 

It’s not very often that I fight Jensen for dominance, usually happy for him to take the lead, but I’m so turned on, throbbing so uncontrollably with desire, that I push my body against his hard and use my grip on his hair to yank his head back and break our kiss, assaulting his throat and neck instead.  He practically growls as I sink my teeth into the thick mound of muscle across his shoulders, kissing and worshipping the skin that I’ve marked, and then he’s grabbing at the bottom of my t-shirt and pulling it off over my head, throwing it to god knows where. 

He grabs my ass with both hands while I’m bruising my lips against his, and suddenly I’m being lifted from the floor as though I weigh nothing at all.  I’d yelp with surprise but my mouth is too full of Jensen’s tongue so I settle with wrapping my legs around his waist, holding onto his back tightly as he pushes off from the wall and walks us backward a few steps, slowly because he can’t see where he’s going.  As we come to a stop he surrenders my bottom lip from between his teeth and smiles roguishly at me, unexpectedly releasing me none to gently onto the bonnet of an Impala, the metal protesting underneath me and ice cold against my back. I open up my eyes and groan aloud at the way he’s looking down at me from where he’s stood between my legs, my knees still hooked over his hips, fingertips digging into my thighs through my jeans.   He looks hungry for it, for me, face hard with desire.

I push myself up and grab the lapels of Dean’s jacket to crush Jensen’s mouth back to mine, kissing him messily, knowing that he’ll be rock hard and ready for me underneath his jeans and the idea of getting fucked into next week right here on Baby's hood more arousing than any other thought I’ve had in my life.  Jensen pulls back, taking a step away to catch his breath as his chest heaves, and after he’s wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand he starts to shrug out of the jacket, his lust darkened eyes never leaving my body. 

“Leave it on,” I implore, too uninhibited by desire to worry about what I’m asking, “Leave it all on for me?”  I see my words sink in, the realisation of why I’m asking for him to stay dressed in those particular clothes dawning in his eyes and for a split second I’m concerned he’ll  think I’m weird for wanting it so much.  He nods so subtly that I almost miss it, pulling the jacket back into place from where it had started to slip down his shoulders and wastes no time in coming back to me. 

I slide off the bonnet as I grab onto his hips and flip our positions so he’s the one pressed against it, standing on my tip toes to kiss him and leaning heavily against his chest as he kisses me back.  He cards his hands through my hair and I fumble with his belt, pulling it open with eager hands, the fly of his jeans springing open with it, desperate to touch him, to taste him.  I drop to my knees, the hard concrete smacking into them and I know it’ll leave bruises but I don’t care; I’m too busy freeing Jensen’s cock from his boxers and encasing it with the palm my hand.

“Becca…” he groans, his hips tilting forward as I stroke it with a firm grip, licking my lips as I look up at him and try to memorise the flush of pleasure on his cheeks.  I turn my attention back to the task at hand and lower my head, guiding the solid heat of him between my lips to nudge them open, smearing his wet arousal across my mouth as I go and then slide him in as far as I can manage, tucking my teeth behind my lips.  “Ohhh God.” 

I draw my mouth back and swirl my tongue around the head, tonguing the slit and fisting the base of his cock at the same time and then he pushes his hips forward to slide all the way into my mouth again.  I bob my head back and forth on him, spurred on by the guttural sounds of pleasure he’s making and the insistent encouragement of his fingers threaded through the back of my hair.  I take him all the way in, as deep as I can, trying not to gag as I hold it there to let him enjoy the sensation of being stuffed so deep inside.

“Fuck,” he murmurs so breathily that I almost don’t hear it.  I begin again, back and forth, tongue stroking the underside of his shaft over and over.  Barely minutes pass before he takes hold of my face to hold me steady and stop my perpetual motion, and I look up at him with my mouth full to see him staring back down at me, his mouth pulled thin and jaw tight.  For a second he seems almost pushed over the edge by the sight of himself inside of me, pressing his eyelids and lips together to regain control, but then a mask of calm falls across his expression and he gives me a small sideways smile that promises good things are coming my way.

He pulls out of my mouth, releasing my face so I can stand but not for long; he switches us around again and pushes me onto my back, sprawled out on the hood and trying to hold onto something as he tugs off my jeans, underwear and shoes all in one go.  He grabs my thighs and pulls me to the very edge of the car so abruptly that I’d be worried I was going to fall off if it weren’t for the fact that he has his head between my legs, lapping at my clitoris with such fervour that my head flops backwards with a bump against metal, moaning loudly. 

“Jensen!” I exclaim as he presses two fingers inside of me at once.  Oh god, it’s almost too much, there’s too much sensation, fuck it feels so good. 

“I know we only just met sweetheart,” comes Jensen’s voice from between my legs and I lift my head slightly, opening my eyes to meet his with confusion.  Maybe I misheard him… it’s so difficult to concentrate when he’s doing – oh – that with his fingers, “But you could get my name right.”  My eyebrows shoot up as he smiles devilishly at me, running his tongue over his thickened bottom lip that’s shining with my moisture.  It’s that expression, that look that he gives me that’s Jensen but not that makes me realise what he’s doing for me, what he’s offering.  He’s playing Dean.  

“Sorry, baby… Dean,” I say breathily, my pussy clenching with arousal around his fingers when I call him by that name.  I think I’ve just fallen in love all over again.  I can’t believe he’s giving me this. 

“Gonna take good care of you,” he assures me, fingers thrusting in and out of me slowly, those words coming out almost identical as when he says them to Sammy but meaning something so very different.  I plant my one foot on the grill of the Impala, trying to get a more stable position which is very difficult when my hips are reflexively pushing back against Jensen’s – Dean’s touch.  “Baby’s gonna need a wash by the time I’m done with you,” he smirks, nodding his head downward to prompt me into looking between my legs, panting as I do.  At first I’m entranced by watching his thick fingers slide back and forth, but when he pulls them out I see how heavily coated in my juices they are, just how much has pooled underneath me on the hood of the car.  It’s messy but hot as hell, and when he runs the tips of his fingers through it and then sucks them clean, dark eyes locked to mine, I can’t help but groan aloud. 

“Dean,” I moan and beckon, sitting myself up and throwing my arms around his neck to kiss him, tasting myself as I do.  “Fuck me Dean,” I beg between kisses, raking my fingers through the back of his hair, “Wanna get fucked by Dean – oh fuck – Winchester.”  He snaps back from me with a low growl, seizing my hips and pulling me off the car and spinning me around to face away from him, moving me like a ragdoll. 

“You’ve got a filthy mouth,” he scolds approvingly.  His palm connects with my rear, the slap echoing around the garage and mixing with the surprised shout that leaps out of my mouth.  The initial sting of pain turns into a dull throb as my shout turns into a breathy laugh; I’ve been waiting so long for him to spank me the way he’d threatened forever ago, and it’d felt even better than I’d anticipated.

“On your knees,” he instructs sternly, urging me forward until my thighs hit the front of the Impala, wiping the smile off my face.  I lift my right foot to climb on, managing to place one knee on the hood before he must decide he can’t wait any longer, suddenly looping one arm underneath me as his other hand to grab my hip, impaling me on his cock in one hard thrust.  I cry out loudly as he splits me open, throwing my arms out to brace myself on the expanse of shining black beneath us as he commences a punishing rhythm, ramming into me again and again. 

It feels unbelievably amazing to have him take me like this, so roughly that I have to give up on holding myself upright and lean right forward, rejoicing in the wonderful friction I discover between the car and my nipples as he thrusts me back and forth.  The mental image is almost as pleasurable as the act itself, and even though I can’t see him behind me I can picture exactly how we look.  Naked and at Dean’s mercy, sprawled across Baby as he takes me from behind, fully clothed except for where his cock is escaping from the top of his jeans to find its way inside.   The combination of fantasy and reality is so erotically overwhelming that I’m almost weeping with pleasure.

“Dean, oh god Dean,” I ramble mindlessly, trying to dig my fingernails down into the metal of the Impala. I’m getting so close… please… don’t stop. 

“That’s right,” he answers, his voice ragged between heavy breathing.  He pushes inside again, deeper, harder, hitting my cervix and sending a flash of pain with it but I’m so far gone it just becomes intermingled with pleasure, pushing me further to the edge. 

“I’m cumming, Dean, I’m cumming,” I cry out helplessly, my legs going into spasm as I’m overwhelmed with pleasure that washes over me in wave upon wave, my face pressed down into the car to try to smother some of my moans.  I’m so relieved when he pulls out of me, the intensity was almost unbearable as he'd continued to move inside of me, but I can’t help but wonder why he's stopped because I know he’s not finished.  I look around at him questioningly as I desperately try to pull myself back together, my cheeks tear stained and chest heaving from trying to catch my breath. 

“We’re not done,” he warns me as he’s throwing off his jacket and shirt to the floor, hungry eyes focused solely between my legs.  I must be so swollen with arousal, pink and wet and gaping after accommodating the size of him, it’s no wonder he can’t take his eyes off of it.  He takes hold of my forearm, pulling me up to standing on shaking legs and leads me around to the passenger side of the car.  “You wanna ride shotgun?”  he asks, eyes glinting wickedly.  I’m too thoroughly fucked to even muster a reply, throbbing between my legs, but I still smile at the fact that my dream of sitting inside the Impala is coming true.  The fact that it’ll be on top of Dean just makes it all the better.  

He pulls open the door and climbs inside, lying himself back across the seats with his head resting against the driver’s side window, cock standing to attention from the gap in his jeans. 

Despite the fact that I’ve just had the most mind-shattering orgasm of my life I find myself licking my lips hungrily at the sight of him lying there, holding the base of his fattened cock ready for me as I climb into the car and sit astride him without a second thought.   It’s awkward and it’s cramped but it doesn’t stop me, wedging my knee somewhere between the seat and the shift stick and sliding him inside of me again.   There’s a pinch of pain as he enters me, sore from overuse but unable to care.

“Wanna see you cum again,” he rumbles as I fist his t-shirt in my palms, biting down on my bottom lip as I grind myself down on his cock, “Gimme something to think about on those cold, lonely nights.”   His hands grip my thighs, fingernails digging in, and when I lift myself up so much that the head almost slips out and then sink back on again he groans wantonly.  That’s a glorious mental image; Dean Winchester masturbating in his bunker bedroom, thinking of me. 

It’s not going to take me long to cum a second time; I can feel it starting even now as I use him to stimulate my g-spot.  This time though I’m determined to take him with me.  I lean down, lying myself on top of him and capture his lips with my own, rocking back and forth on him steadily in the way I know he loves. 

“Let go Dean,” I encourage against his mouth, “Let it go and cum with me.”  He moans in response, fingers digging in so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if he left bruises.  I’m torn between wanting to kiss him and the desperate need to see him break apart underneath me, but as the heat in my pelvis grows the latter desire wins and I lift myself up and pick up my pace, driving us both towards the end.  He matches my speed, thrusting up from underneath me with his jaw clenched tight and eyes closed, and it doesn’t take long for him to falter and lose all control.  He sits upright abruptly, wrapping both arms around me.

“Fuck, Becca, God!” he cries, his eyes flying open and finding mine as it hits.  The sight of his pupils contracting in pleasure, the contrast of black and striking green of his eyes, all combined with the feel of his cock pulsing his orgasm inside of me is enough to make me cum again.  He’s never looked more raw and beautiful, and he’s all mine.

“Dean… Oh god Dean…” I’m moaning as I come down, my hands clutching his hair and back through his sweat soaked t-shirt, his face stuffed down against me and holding me completely still on his lap, “Jensen…”  I nuzzle my face against this side of his head, covered in sweat too, and he comes out of the crook of my neck just enough to kiss me, eyes closed in exhausted satisfaction.  It’s slow and sweet because that’s all we can manage after such passion; I feel like I could sleep for a week. 

“That was incredible,” he whispers, nose pressed to mine.  I murmur my agreement, rubbing them together. 

“Thank you for doing that for me.” He pulls back enough to look at me properly, beads of perspiration sliding down his forehead as he pushes my hair back from my face and smiles. 

“Are you kidding?  I’m tempted to take it home with us.”

“And an Impala?” I grin back and we both end up laughing. 

It takes us a while to put ourselves back together again, aching and bruised and still sort of out of breath, and the fact that Jensen threw my clothes all over place means that we spend a good five minutes or so just trying to find my bra.  Turns out it was just under the wheel arch of the Impala next to ours.

“You know,” I begin as I thread my arms back into my bra, “I have one footnote to make about all of that.”  He looks to me curiously from where he’s sat in the driving seat, leant over the steering wheel.  “That was a little out of character for Dean.”  Jensen folds his arms, one eyebrow raised as he frowns, looking confused but amused all the same. 

“What you talkin’ about?” 

“Dean’s not the rough one when it comes to sex, Sam is.”  I pull my t-shirt back over my head and see Jensen still looking at me sceptically once my head’s popped out the other end.  “Look, who out of the two of us has spent the most time replaying the smutty supernatural bits over and over again?”  I grin, happy to admit that I’ve watched some parts on repeat far more than would ever be considered healthy.  He lets his arms drop and pulls a face that says he’ll admit defeat on that one.  “Trust me, Dean’s all holding each other and kissing and intimacy.  Sammy’s your man if you want a rough ride.”

“I’m not sure what I’m more upset by; your critique of my sexual prowess or my acting,” Jensen laughs back at me, shaking his head. 

“Hey hey,” I say quickly, placing my hand over his on the steering wheel and squeezing, “Just an observation.  No complaints, more than happy for a repeat performance.”  He just continues to laugh as I grin like one very satisfied cat that well and truly got the cream.


Finally ready to head home, only an hour or so late to pick up JJ, Jensen approaches the metal shutters and tries to lift them.  Only that they don’t lift up at all.  He casts a slightly worried look back at me from where he’s squatting and tries it again, harder this time, but it just rattles and remains unmoving. 

“Shit!” I state bluntly. “They must have locked up for the night.”  I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head; what the hell are we going to do now?! 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Jensen reassures me, rising to stand again and reaching into his pocket for his phone. 

“How on earth are you planning on explaining this to someone?” I ask him, and although it’ll be embarrassing I still can’t help but laugh at the situation we’ve found ourselves in.  He holds the phone to his ear and plants a gentle kiss against my temple as it rings.  “Oh yeah, we just lost track of time. No, no, it doesn't smell like sex in here.  What stain?”  He holds a finger to his lips, grinning, and I hear someone answer the line on the other end. 

“Hey, Jar, yeah, sorry I know we’re late.  Yeah we’re fine, it’s just… remember back when we were filming season four and I had to come rescue you and Gen from that prop cupboard?  Yeah, well, I’m calling in the favour.” 

Chapter Text

“Misha! Hey, this is a surprise, Jensen didn’t tell me to expect you.”  I let the front door swing open wide, safe in the knowledge that Oscar and Icarus are both otherwise occupied with food in the kitchen. 

“We were just walking the neighbourhood and we thought we’d come see if you and JJ wanted to come to the park with us,” Misha explains, all wide-eyed and enthusiastic with one hand on the handlebars of West’s bike and the other holding Maison, who has chocolate smeared around her mouth, on his hip. 

“Sure, yeah, that’d be great.  JJ’s due for a nap soon but we can always bring the stroller,” I smile, stepping back from the door, “Come in a sec – we’re trying to introduce her to the potty so we may be a while.”  I pull an apologetic face but Misha just smiles and shrugs his shoulders, uncaring. 

“Dad, can I go see the dogs?” West asks as he’s climbing off his bike. 

“If Becca says it’s ok,” he says as they step through the front door together.  I nod my consent and West runs off into the house to find them, Maison content to stay with her dad for now. 

“Justice, sweetie, we’re gonna go to the park with Uncle Misha and West and Maison,” I say loudly as I approach the playroom that she’s taken to so well, loving her own space that she can mess up as much as she wants, Misha following after me.  “Come on, we need to get ready.” I find her on her hands and knees, her head stuffed under the pretend sink and cabinet that we’d put with her kitchenette. 

“Getting her trained to do the odd plumbing job nice and early I see,” Misha comments playfully, grinning down at the sight of her.  

“Someone’s got to do it,” I laugh as she shuffles backward out of the space onto her bottom and looks up at the both of us. 

“Want to play with that,” Maison says, reaching downward. 

“Ok, but remember we’re not staying long,” he warns her as he places her down.  Maison makes her way straight to the wooden oven, inspecting the variety of pots and pans on the top, JJ watching her warily from her spot on the floor.   She must take umbrage to something that Maison starts messing with because she pushes herself up to standing and tries to snatch something from the other girl’s hand, declaring loudly,

“Mine!”  Maison is obviously stronger than her though and holds on tight, frowning and pulling back, looking to Misha. 

“Dad!” she exclaims, clearly wanting him to intervene.

“Hey now JJ, that’s not kind, you need to share your toys with your friends,” I say quickly, bending down next to them and uncurling her grip around the wooden spoon that is clearly precious to her right now.  It's very obvious from the way that JJ is scowling that she does not see Maison as a friend at this moment in time.  “Let’s go toilet before we go out, come on,” I tell her, eager to avoid any further drama and she grimaces and resists a little as I pick her up to take her to the bathroom.  She’s really not the biggest fan of the potty; she doesn’t quite understand yet why Jensen and I keep making her sit there for a couple of minutes at a time throughout the day and gets very frustrated if we try for too long. 

“Good luck,” Misha grins as I leave the room.  Maybe I can ask him for some tips; after all Misha and Vicki have been through potty training twice before.  He’s bound to have a better idea than me and Jensen – we’re just sort of muddling through it and figuring it out as we go along.  I guess that’s what you do with your first kid though, right?

Thankfully it doesn’t actually take that long for us to get ready and make our way to the park, although there was still no potty success to speak of, and JJ and Maison have clearly made up seeing as Justice is trailing around after her all over the playground.  I try my best to take a leaf out of Misha’s book; he keeps a watchful eye but he’s a very hands off parent unless they actually ask him for help, the total opposite to every instinct inside of me.  If I were here on my own I’d probably be hovering next to JJ the entire time, hands open and ready to catch her every time she climbs even an inch from the ground, but instead I sit on a bench sipping a smoothie with Misha next to me in the sunshine.  His kids are happy and still have all their limbs; he must be doing something right. 

Misha’s had that slightly far off and thoughtfully sad look etched all over his face again, the same one I saw the night he was at ours for the game and I can’t help but wonder what’s bothering him so much.  There’s clearly something. 

“I miss those two being JJ’s age,” he says after we’ve been sat in comfortable silence watching them for a while, both his hands curled around his paper coffee cup as he watches them from afar.  Maison goes down the slide and JJ follows her almost straight after, bouncing the older girl right off the end.  Thankfully Maison just laughs and picks herself up again, helping JJ off the slide with both hands, caring beyond her years.  Misha should be so proud of the children he’s raising.  “They’re so completely trusting of you; they just look at you like you’re their whole world, like you can do no wrong.”  His tone is wistful and I look to my side to see his blue eyes peering down at his lap.  He takes a big breath in and lifts his head again, squinting in the sunlight and trying to look fine.

“I’m pretty sure they still look at you like that Mish,” I assure him gently, smiling. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he agrees non-committedly.  This tone of voice, this posture and expression on Misha – it’s just not right.  It throws me completely off balance to see him looking so serious because it’s so unlike him.

“What’s going on in that big ol’ brain of yours?” I ask, deciding to come right out with it, knocking my shoulder against his.  “It seems like something’s been bothering you.”  He laughs lightly, picking at the lid to his coffee, eyes following West as he runs past with a ball tucked under his arm.  When he still fails to say anything and lets out a sigh instead I shift in my seat, frowning.  Surely it can’t be that bad?  “Mish, you obviously turned up at my door today for a reason,” I begin, “And if it’s that you’re thinking I’ll go telling Jensen all about… whatever it is that's stopping you, then you don’t need to worry about that, ok?  I’d like to think I know you all pretty well by now, and I know when it’s best to keep my mouth shut too.”  I smile at him as he considers my words carefully, encouraging him to open up. 

“Vicki had a miscarriage a few weeks back,” he suddenly says, pain flashing in his eyes as he says it.  My mouth falls open, feeling like I’ve taken a blow to the chest.  Oh poor Vicki, poor Misha… poor them.  “She was about 16 weeks.”  Oh god, that’s even worse.  They would’ve had their first scan and everything…  No wonder we haven’t seen Vicki in a while.  We’d all just thought she was busy. 

“I’m so sorry Mish, that’s awful,” I tell him emphatically, reaching out and resting my hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort that he looks down at and quickly accepts. 

“We hadn’t told anyone yet; Vicki wanted to wait until we knew the scans were ok because of her age and everything…”  He trails off and takes a sip from his coffee, “I guess we don’t need to worry about that now,” he adds with a wry smile as he lowers it to the bench again. 

“How is she?” 

“Distant,” he answers so rapidly that I know he must spend a lot of time thinking about how she is every second that goes by.  “I think she might blame me.”  His jaw clenches, lips pulling tighter, and I can see how much it pains him to think that. 

“Why would she?” I question.  Surely not?

“She didn’t want another baby, I… talked her into it,” he says, turning his head to look at me.  The usually beautiful sky blue of his eyes looks cloudy, marred by sadness, and I’m glad that I’m still holding onto his arm because I would’ve had to have touch him again on seeing how broken he looks.  “I was selfish, and because of me and what I wanted she’s had to go through hell.”  He blinks rapidly, eyes filling up with tears and my heart feels like it’s breaking for the both of them.

“Oh Misha,” I say quietly.  I see his full lips tremble, the way he bites the inside of his mouth as he looks away from me and I just can’t help myself – I throw my arms around his neck and embrace him tightly.  “I’m so sorry you guys had to go through that on your own,” I tell him as he hugs me back, having to press my eyes closed because otherwise I’m going to start crying too, “I wish you’d told me before, I could have helped, could have come to the hospital, whatever you guys needed.” 

“I know you would have.”  He tilts his head to press an innocent peck of a kiss against my cheek and then pulls himself out of my arms, smiling sadly. 

“I’m sure she won’t blame you,” I tell him, wishing I really was as sure as I’m trying to sound, “It’ll just take some time.  You should tell her how you feel.”  He shakes his head faintly, turning his gaze back to his children and letting the sunshine dry the tear marks on his stubble covered cheeks. 

“She doesn’t need all my crap on top of hers.” 

“You both need each other.  Now’s not the time to be acting all strong, she needs to see that you’re hurting just as much as she is.  She’ll be blaming herself too you know.”   A few quiet seconds pass and then he sighs heavily again, shoulders sagging as if they’re carrying the weight of the world. 

“You’re right,” he admits, finally smiling at me in a way that looks genuine, the first I’ve seen from him in a while.  “Thank you.” 

“You’re more than welcome,” I tell him with a smile and a nod, “You can always talk to me Mish, anything you guys need you only have to say.  If you want us to have the kids one night so you can spend some time together or something just let us know, ok?”

“You know," he says after a pause, "You’re just the woman Jensen needed, nothing phases you.  You just pick people back up and brush them off with a smile, like it’s no problem at all.”  I flush at his compliment, the straw to my smoothie between my lips, my blush turning even fiercer when he just carries on staring.  He’s entertained by it, cocking an eyebrow at me and making me almost choke on my mouthful of blended mango, doing it all the more. 

“Stop it, stop doing the whole Cas eye-sex thing,” I cough, laughing and spluttering.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks in his best deadpan Castiel voice, although I can still hear just a hint of amusement under the low growl. 

“You’re making me fan-girl!”  I push my palm against his face to disrupt his stare, still laughing and he ends up laughing too, relenting and looking away once I remove my hand. 

“Dad!”  Maison comes running over, hair bobbing up and down as she goes.  She takes hold of her dad’s shirt, pulling on him.  “JJ falled down, she crying,” she explains in her own childlike way. 

“Oh damn it.”  I leap up from the bench quickly, praying that she’s not badly hurt and cursing myself for taking my eyes off of her.  Jensen will never forgive me if something’s happened to her.  I follow the sound of her crying round the back of the climbing frame, Misha and Maison following close behind, and what I see when I turn the corner turns me all warm and fuzzy inside.

West is bending down next to JJ who’s cradling her leg and sniffing while she looks up at him.  She’s clearly fallen over on the woodchips and scraped her knees, nothing too serious, and West tells her that.

“It’s ok, see?  Stopped bleeding already,” he assures her and she nods.  Misha comes to a standstill next to me and I press my finger to my lips to encourage him to stay quiet, wanting to watch their exchange before they know they’ve been spotted.  “Dad always kisses our ouches better.”  I look at Misha and he nods solemnly as if to say ‘Yes, yes I do’ and then West leans lower and smooches JJ’s knee, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he straightens up.  It’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.  “See, better,” he tells her confidently and JJ stares up at him like he’s the most awesome thing in the world.  

I wonder if I should warn Jensen in advance that Misha might end up as JJ’s father-in-law? 

Jensen slumps down into a plastic dining chair heavily, lunch in hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm, famished after a long morning of filming and relieved to finally get a break, even if it’s with Jared and Misha chattering incessantly to each other every damn second the whole way through. 

He takes an enthusiastic bite of his honey roasted ham, lettuce and mayo on wholegrain, tuning out whatever they’re laughing about as he unfolds the newspaper and begins to read.  Election candidate Mr what’s-his-face, a stabbing in somewhere, unemployment yada-yada… It’s so depressing that he almost gives up and closes it again, but instead he decides to flip through to the cartoons. 

“I swear, it’s like Shepherd actually waits for me to step through the door before he fills his diaper,” Jared’s telling Misha loudly as a sequence of pictures catch Jensen’s eye. “Every single day, without fail.  Dad’s home, guess I better take a crap!”   Misha laughs, shovelling noodles into his mouth, but the piece of sandwich in Jensen’s mouth tastes like it’s turned to ash. 

All down the left side of the page, in the section that’s put aside for celebrity gossip and horoscopes and all that bull, is a panel of images showing Becca and Misha together.  ‘Is Jensen’s new flame burning out?’ the title asks, the text underneath going on to give details about their relationship, about Becca, about the fact she ‘cried rape’ but the prosecution failed.  Is she setting her sights elsewhere?  It poses the question and makes reference to the intimate gestures shown in the photographs; Becca touching Misha’s arm with serious expressions, the close embrace they share, a kiss on her cheek, the laughter and playful way she presses her hand to his face. 

Jensen feels like he’s going to throw up as he stares at them, his hands starting to shake.  He knows he shouldn’t give weight to anything that he sees in the press… but they look so… intimate together. His shock quickly contorts into jealousy, his organs roiling around inside of him, and when he looks up from the paper and sees Misha laughing opposite him he’s filled with a rage so blind that the newspaper crumples under his grip. 

He slams the paper to the table, standing up so abruptly that he almost knocks it over and uncaring that everyone’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind, unable to take his eyes from Misha’s startled ones as he leans forward and unthinkingly grabs for him, undoubtedly meaning to do harm. 

“WHOA! Whoa, Jay, what the hell?!”  Jared yells, leaping up too and grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him backward.  Misha’s so shocked that he just sits there, gaping back at Jensen who’s still fighting against Jared’s grip, so angry his teeth are bared.  “What’s going on?!”  Jared looks desperately between Misha and Jensen, wondering what he could have possibly missed.  Jensen was perfectly fine ten seconds ago, he’d been fine all morning.  His gaze falls on the slightly crumpled newspaper on the table and he suddenly realises why Jensen’s flown into a rage, confusion entering his expression too as he looks to the older man he’s protecting.  Misha’s eyes follow his and he sees the images, immediately pressing his eyes together, face full of regret. 

“Jensen,” Misha begins seriously.  Jensen’s finally stopped pulling against Jared’s restraint, realising that it’s useless but still keeping his fists balled at his sides.  The gigantic bastard is even stronger than he looks.  “That isn’t what it looks like.” 

“What the fuck is it then?” he practically yells back.  The entire cafeteria is looking on in stunned silence, but he doesn’t care.  “I finally get some happiness back, I find this amazing, incredible woman and you just have to have a piece, you can’t just-“

“Vicki lost our baby!” Misha shouts over the top of him in a totally uncharacteristic display of anger, eyes ice blue and just as cold.  It knocks all the wind out of Jensen, his mouth falling open and fists unclenching instantly.  “I thought Becca would be able to understand,” he finishes bitterly, looking away from Jensen and Jared, “She was just being a friend.” 

“Misha, man, I’m so, so sorry,” Jared says while Jensen’s mouth continues to flail, filled with a shame so fierce it feels like it might choke him.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Vicki didn’t want anyone to know,” he replies brusquely and then glances up and around them at all their spectators, “It’s a bit late for that now.”   

Fuck, why did he let himself loose it like that?  Misha’s a friend, one of his best friends, he shouldn’t have thought… shouldn’t have presumed the worst.   Jensen looks down to the ground, frowning hard and then does all he can think to do, crossing around the table and pulling Misha up and into a fierce hug. 

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he chants, clutching his friend tight.  The thought of Misha going through something like that and then having to deal with this, with his insecure jealous bullshit, makes Jensen feel ill all over again.  “I was being a dick, 100 percent, total dick.  I’m so sorry man.”  Misha relaxes into his arms, squeezing and patting Jensen’s back reassuringly in a way that lets him know he’s forgiven.  Jensen looks to Jared over the smaller man’s shoulder and Jared gives him an uncertain smile, still frowning because he can’t get his head around what Misha’s being dealing with on his own.  Even if Vicki hadn’t wanted anyone to know he’s still surprised that Misha didn’t breathe a word to them; they always tell each other everything.  It’s kind of accepted that that’s the case being as they spend so much time together and have known each other for so long. 

Jensen pulls back and pats Misha’s cheek twice, the other hand still gripping his bicep. 

“You ok?  You alright?”  Jensen checks, knowing that he won’t be but asking anyway.  Misha smiles a sad, broken smile that makes Jensen’s heart bleed out in his chest.  “C’mon, sit down, tell us what happened,” he ushers and Misha does, telling his friends his tale of woe, the fact that one of them just came within an inch of breaking his nose instantly forgiven and forgotten.  They’ll pull together, they’ll get each other through it as they always do, the three of them as much of an unstoppable force in real life as their supernatural alter egos.

When Jensen returns home late that evening he heads straight upstairs.  He knows JJ will be asleep but he goes to see her anyway, gazing down at her in her cot sleeping like an angel, only stirring slightly when he runs his hand over the top of her hair.  He can’t imagine how he’d have felt if Danneel had lost their baby, can’t even begin to understand what Misha and Vicki are going through, and it makes him appreciate his little girl even more.

He half expects Becca to still be awake when he enters his bedroom, to see her sat up in bed waiting for him like she usually is.  She was obviously trying to read when sleep overcame her, the book she was reading half open on the duvet next to her and her body curled up in the familiar fetal position that she always adopts in bed.  He smiles to himself as he approaches her; she’s fallen asleep in his t-shirt, on his side of the bed, her face stuffed into his pillow.  How could he ever think that she’d be unfaithful to him? 

He squats next to the bed and rests his chin on the edge, just watching her for a while, eternally grateful that she can sleep peacefully now.  It’s been weeks since her last nightmare, even longer still since she mentioned Lewis’s name or blamed herself for any of what happened.   His babydoll is finally starting to heal.  He places a gentle kiss on her forehead, letting it linger as he inhales the scent of her coconut scented conditioner.  Becca always smells like coconut and Jensen loves it.  He realises he’s never told her that and makes a mental note to do so soon, knowing that she’ll smile and blush as she always does when he compliments her, and that’s more than enough reason for him to do it. 

He pulls open the bottom drawer of his bedside table, stealing a glance at her to check she’s still fast asleep before reaching for the small box he’s hidden under a stack of uninteresting letters.  He flips it open carefully and gazes down at the ring nestled inside, stomach fluttering with excitement.  Tomorrow, he’ll do it tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

“Oooh look at that yawn!”  I laugh, posting my finger into JJ’s wide open mouth, delighting in the way she giggles and squirms, lying on her back on our bed.  “I think it’s time for a bath and then bed babygirl.”  We’ve had a busy but lovely day with Jensen at home with us both; we’ve played and laughed and baked little chocolate rice krispie squares.  We’re like a proper little family unit, happy, together.  It’s been wonderful. 

“You mind bathin’ her tonight?” Jensen asks, peering over at us over the top of his book.  He’s still going on that spy novel, bless him, he’s not the quickest of readers, far too easily distracted.  “It’s getting real good.”

“Sure,” I smile, rising from the bed and scooping her up close to me.

“Splash splash splash,” she chants, flapping her arms in mid-air. 

“You’re gonna get me soaked aren’t you?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her.  She laughs, kicking her legs on either side of my hip as I walk us towards the en-suite bathroom.  Suddenly Jensen springs off the bed, standing himself in front of the bathroom door directly in my path.

“Uh-“ he begins when I peer at him curiously, “Can you use the other bathroom, I’m gonna take a shower.”  He jabs his thumb toward the closed bathroom door behind him and I lean to the side to look past him as he flashes me a smile. 

“I thought your book was just getting exciting?” I ask him slowly, JJ playing with my hair, too absorbed in that to pay any attention to us. 

“Yeah, well, I stink,” he jokes, sighing sadly and shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated movement.

“Not gonna disagree there,” I grin, adjusting JJ on my hip and leaving towards the other bathroom.  I wonder what he’s up to….?

“And we’ll all go together, where the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather,” I sing softly, running my hand through the top of her hair over and over again.  She’s had her eyes closed for a good 30 seconds now, her breathing being shallow and even… I dare to hope she might be asleep – she’s been fighting it as always.  I slow the pace of my hand gradually as I fall silent, reassured when she doesn’t stir, and then finally stop and just rest it there in her hair.  It’s getting longer, just like mine. She’s such a beautiful child, so sweet, I can’t believe how much I’ve come to care for her in such a short amount of time.  The way she looks at me, always overjoyed to see me when I collect her from playgroup; I can understand what Misha was saying about it seeming like we’re their world.  She makes me feel like a proper mum… and I love the very bones of her. 

“Nightie night babygirl,” I whisper softly, straightening up and leaving the room, pulling the door shut quietly behind me.  I wonder if Jensen’s done reading yet?  It’s taken me long enough to get her to bed.

Our bedroom door is shut when I come to it and I raise my eyebrow suspiciously; what on earth is he up to in there?  I open up the door slowly, curious to see what I’ll find, and when I do the first thing that I notice is that the only light inside is an orange flickering glow.  Jensen is absent but he’s shut the curtains and turned off all the lights, filling the room with tiny tealights that litter every surface.  The soft flames dance and cast shadows around the room, filling it with wonderful warmth.  It’s not just the lighting that’s changed, there are vases dotted around the room too; two of them, no, three, stuffed full of fresh pretty pink and white peonies.  I smile as I approach the nearest bunch, leaning down to smell them, pushing my fringe back.  They’re so gorgeous, and he remembered.  Lilies had soon ceased to be my favourite flowers after Lewis had tainted them, peonies taking their place when Jensen had surprised me with a bunch not long after I moved here. 

“Did I do good?”  I almost jump, Jensen’s voice coming out of the blue and startling me as he enters the room after me, a small smile on his face. 

“It’s beautiful,” I praise, letting go of my hair as I straighten up and turn to face him.  “What have I done to deserve all this?” I smile he approaches me.  He takes hold of my face, looking down into my eyes with such intensity that my heart starts to flutter wildly in my chest, gradually closing the gap between us until we’re kissing, soft and slow and sweet. 

“Want to show you something,” he whispers when he pulls away, releasing my face but finding my hand instead, linking his fingers through mine. 

“What is it?” I ask, unable to wipe the smile off my face.  There’s more?  All of this effort seems more than necessary for just a normal Saturday.  He turns his head and nods toward his chest of drawers, and when I follow his eye line I see that another large picture frame has joined the one of him and Danneel that was already there.  I walk over to it, pulling him with me as I frown in curiosity, and when I draw nearer I see that it’s one of those frames that can hold a number of photographs.  Each and every frame is filled with pictures of us, smiling, laughing, cuddling, with JJ or with our friends.  All us, together, our little life.  It moves me so much that my eyes start to fill with happy tears, pressing my free hand to my smiling mouth to try and keep it all in.

He presses a kiss to my shoulder and then nuzzles his nose against my ear, making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. 

“I wanted to show you how much you mean to me,” he tells me softly, squeezing my hand in his, “How much I love you.”  I know that he’s done it on purpose then, placing these pictures in this particular place right next to him and Danneel, symbolising exactly what I’d dared to hope. 

“I love you too Jensen, so much,” I tell him, forcing the words past the lump in my throat, turning around to face him and gazing up into his eyes. 

“These past few months,” he begins, reaching up and thumbing my cheek gently, “Have been more than I could have hoped for.  You’ve given me back everything I’d ever wanted.”  A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek only for him to wipe it away with a smile.  I wish I could make out the green of his eyes, my most favourite colour, but even in the darkness I can still see the absolute adoration shining in them.  “What you’ve come to mean to JJ... to me.  All the shit that’s happened to you, you’ve taken it all in your stride, and even then you still end up lookin’ after everyone else more than you do yourself.”  I let out an embarrassed laugh that almost comes out as a sob because I can’t stop my happy tears, blushing so hard I must be turning tomato red.  I’ll never get used to the way he so openly adores me; I still don’t feel like it’s the right way around.  Surely I should be the one worshipping him?  I mean, I do, but I’ve never made such a grand gesture.  Perhaps I should? 

“So I want to look after you, always, for the rest of our lives.”  My pulse starts to escalate, racing away nervously, my eyes flickering around his face as I try to figure out if this is what I think it is.  In the movies this is where he’d… but we… it’s not been… “If there’s one thing that loosing Danneel taught me it’s that every moment is precious.  I don’t want to waste a single second stallin’ something that I know that I want.  I know us, what we’ve been through together, and we’re good.  We’re so good.” He kisses me again, taking both of my hands in his, and when he pulls back I feel like I might start to hyperventilate.  Or stop breathing altogether, I can’t quite figure out which, because he’s bending down on one knee with a ridiculous smile, and the heart that was thudding so hard in my chest feels like it’s stopped too. 

“Jensen,” I breathe out, staring down at him with shocked, wide eyes that have dried up instantly, my hands shaking in his.  He lets go of one and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small velvet box that he offers to me with an expression so innocent, so hopeful, you’d almost think he’s worried I’ll say no.  He opens up the box, his hands shaking too, and it reveals a stunning engagement ring, the jewels glint back at me in the candlelight.  I don’t even really focus on what it looks like, it’s too difficult in semi-darkness when my eyes are misting up with tears again, and besides, the only thing that matters is that Jensen is offering it to me.  It could be a gummy ring for all I care. 

“Becca, babydoll, will you marry me?”  he asks softly, his voice almost cracking as he smiles up at me. 

“Of course I will!  Of course, yes, yes I’ll marry you Jensen!”  I sob, dropping to my knees and flinging my arms around his neck to clutch him to me, tears streaming down my face with joy.  He starts to laugh, wrapping his free arm around me and pressing kisses to the side of my face.  I take hold of his face, mooshing my lips to his in the most chaotic, least co-ordinated kiss we’ve ever shared, and when I pull away he’s got tears shining on his cheeks too.  God, we’re a mess.  A great big wet, happy mess.  He offers the ring to me once more, lifting it from the box as I extend my left hand, still shaking uncontrollably as he pushes it onto my ring finger.  I so didn’t see this coming, not for one second, but it’s more magical than I’d ever hoped it would be.  

“Oh god, it’s too big,” he laughs embarrassedly, rotating it around and around. My finger barely even touches the sides. “Why do you have such stupidly childlike hands?” 

“It’s fine Jen, really, it’s fine,” I laugh back, “Here, look.”  I undo my necklace and take the ring from him, threading it onto the chain instead so it rests next to the two rings already there.

“I’ll get it fixed tomorrow,” he promises me, frowning a little, “I wanted this to be perfect for you.”  He starts to sigh but I cut it off with a kiss; how could he think this was anything but perfect? 

“It was more than perfect Jensen,” I assure him with a smile, “Help me put this back on.”  We stand together and Jensen briefly places his hands on my hips to turn me away from him, taking hold of the necklace and putting it on for me.  His fingertips linger at the back of my neck as I gaze down at the ring dangling against my chest, barely believing that it’s for me.  That Jensen wants me, forever.  Now that I can see it closer I appreciate just how beautiful it really is; a slim platinum band adorned with a brilliant cut diamond, even more sparkling diamonds clustered on either side.  It must have cost him a fortune. 

“I know it doesn’t fit, but do you still like it?”  Jensen checks anxiously.  He wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me backwards so my back is pressed flush against his chest.  I wrap my hand around all of the rings, my joy exceeding the words I’d need to describe it, closing my eyes in bliss as he trails kiss after kiss along my shoulder and up the side of my neck. 

“I couldn’t have picked a better one myself,” I tell him with a happy sigh.  He pushes the modest length of my hair out of the way to gain better access to the back of my neck and when his lips travel there too my stomach clenches with excitement.  “I can’t believe I have a fiancé,” I mumble, tilting my head forward in encouragement of his efforts.  He just ‘hmms’ happily in response as he gives another soft kiss.  “I’m going to be Mrs Ackles!”  That bit comes out as almost a squeal, so excited that my eyes screw up, fists clenching, knees bending and almost moving me away from his mouth if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still holding me tight.  That mouth curves into a smile against me as he chuckles out a laugh. What was he expecting?  He’s lucky I didn’t just faint outright.

He spins me around in his arms so briskly that it almost makes me dizzy – although this head rush  might just be down to all of the excitement – and we grab onto each other’s faces and kiss and kiss and kiss, laughing at each other, unable to disentangle ourselves.   We shuffle sideways until we hit the bed and end up toppling onto it, facing each other, limbs intertwined as our kisses become slower, deeper, more romantic.  I open my mouth into the kiss, he opens his, and our tongues touch and explore tentatively, almost like it’s the first time all over again.  I will never get tired of this, of the way he tastes, of how even the lightest of his press of his lips makes me tingle all over. 

We undress each other, taking our time, no throwing of clothes or clattering of belts this time.  It’s careful and considered, fingertips tracing every curve, every imperfection that we know and love about each other.  I run my palms over the breadth of his shoulders as he rolls me onto my back, down the gorgeous swell of his biceps, never taking my eyes from his as he finds his way inside of me.  It’s so instinctive for us to be this way, to be joined in the most intimate way possible.  It feels like home when he slowly pushes into me, encasing me in his arms and worshipping me all over with his mouth.  

Knowing that he wants me, wants us, this, for life… knowing that one day soon I’ll be his wife, and more than that – that this wonderful, beautiful man will be my husband… it’s the most powerful aphrodisiac you can imagine.  I loose myself in the feel of him on top of me, around me, inside of me, moaning softly into the mouth that never leaves mine as he makes love to me.  Each movement of his hips is slow but deliberate, as if he just can’t get deep enough, trying to bury himself in me and it feels so good. 

“Becca,” he sighs, dragging the tip of his nose mover mine, kissing my cheek and then pressing his face into my neck and kissing there instead, “Love you, so much,” he murmurs into my skin.  I run my fingers up into his hair gently, pressing my eyes closed and smiling, my other hand holding onto his rolling shoulder blade as he continues to move, each thrust sending a delicious jolt of pleasure through me. 

“I know Jen,” I coo, “I love you, always, always have.”  He moans, lifting his head and capturing my lips again, only now beginning to pick up the pace, snapping his hips back and forth more forcefully.  It doesn’t take long before I’m clinging onto his back in sweet ecstasy, crying out his name as he pours out his love into me, shaking and groaning low against my mouth, my engagement ring pressed hard between our chests. 

We kiss for what feels like a very long time after that, overwhelmingly content, unwilling to separate ourselves until absolutely necessary when this moment is so utterly perfect.  It’s only when my hips start to ache from him lying between them for so long that he finally moves off of me, the absence of him making me feel strangely empty.   We both lie on our backs, basking in the afterglow, facing each other with tired smiles, each of us gazing at the person we’ve just promised to spend forever with.  I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have by my side.  I know after everything we’ve been through in the past six months that we can face anything. 

He beckons me with a tilt of his head, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close as I rest myself against his chest, marvelling at the way the candlelight is making it glow. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and breathes out a thoughtful sigh. 

“Do you remember what you said in that hotel room before we fell asleep all cuddled up like this?” he asks me and I close my eyes, grinning at the memory.  I was so nervous, so overcome just being around him, bursting out laughing the first time he kissed me.  I feel like I’m completely different from the woman I was before I met Jensen… I can’t even really remember what it was like to not have him in my life. 

“I promised I’d try not to get too attached to you,” I grin, opening up my eyes and tilting my head back so I can look up at him.  He’s grins back down at me, lifting a finger to tap gently on my chin.

“You did a real good job of that,” he chuckles and I roll my eyes, elbowing him in the side lightly. 

“I lied anyway.  You had me right from the second you stumbled through the hospital doors.”  His eyes narrow and crease at the sides as he smiles even harder, the whites of his teeth appearing between his lovely lips.  “Part of me thinks maybe I really am still dreaming.”

“Would it matter if you were?”  He runs his thumb along my cheekbone, his gaze flicking between my eyes.  I wonder if he gets as captivated by mine as I do his?  It’s incredible to know that they’ll always be mine to look upon, to see them ebb and flow in their wonderfully mercurial way, sometimes pale jade, sometimes dark leafy green.  I’ll bet even when we’re old and grey his eyes will be just as beautiful. 

“Not even a little bit,” I assure him, pressing my lips up and against his, gliding my fingers over the stubble of his jaw.  “Do I really get to keep you?”  I check sweetly.  He smiles and pushes my fringe back, a laugh rumbling in his throat. 


Chapter Text

“Jensen…” I moan softly, clutching onto each of his hands that are laced in mine.  His lips press to my ear, breath ghosting across it and he murmurs soothingly to me, squeezing back.

“I’ve got you babydoll, you’re alright,” he assures me quietly.  My head lolls back against his shoulder as the contraction starts to ebb away, flooding me with relief as the pain fades but with the knowledge that another one will come again soon.  It’s so hard… I didn’t realise how impossible this is.  Tears start to spill down my face as I open my eyes to look up at him. 

“I can’t,” I cry, “I can’t do this anymore Jen, it’s too hard.”  He lets go of one of my hands and uses it to wipe away my tears, gazing down at me with love and concern.

“You told me, remember, that you’d hit a point where you were convinced you couldn’t do this,” he tells me patiently, “And you told me that it was my job to keep believing in you.”  I nod limply, so exhausted as I let my head flop forwards again, trying to focus my breathing before the next contraction comes. 

Jensen rubs the bottom of my back underneath the water of the birthing pool that we’re in together, increasing the pressure he applies as my breathing hitches and he knows another contraction is coming. 

“You’re so strong Becca, you’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you,” he tells me, chanting words of adoration throughout the contraction.  The sound of his voice gets me through it, breathing deeply as I think of why I’m doing this, why I have to do this.  For our baby, our little one, wanted so badly for so long. 

I place my hand on my swollen stomach as it fades again and Jensen places his hand on top, threading his fingers through mine.  It’s like our baby knows, a slow roll of movement going on underneath our hands.  It feels so alien but so wonderful.  I didn’t know I could love someone so much that I hadn’t even met yet. 

“I can’t wait to meet our Boop,” I sigh, using the strange prenatal nickname we’d given our growing baby through all my pregnancy, through all the morning sickness and the sleepless nights.

“Do you really think it’s a boy?”  Laura asks me quietly from where she’s squatting next to the birthing pool, her chin resting on the side.  I’m so glad she’s here… I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to care for me in labour, there’s no one I could feel more comfortable with.

“I do… Jensen’s convinced it’s a girl, though.  JJ thought-“ My words are cut off because another contraction comes.  This one feels different, strange, it’s like… oh god I need to go to the toilet.  I look up at Laura in alarm and she smiles reassuringly back at me, reaching into the water and taking my hand. 

“Just go with it,” she encourages me, so I do, giving in to that uncontrollable urge to bear downward.  As my stomach finally relaxes I glance over to where JJ is lying, worried that I might have woken her with the low, guttural sound I couldn't keep in during that contraction.  She’s curled up on one of the purple birthing couches, fast asleep and covered with a blanket, oblivious to what’s going on.  Having her here helps; it encourages me to keep calm, to keep quiet, for her sake.  She’s been so deliriously excited to meet her little brother or sister, right from the moment we told her.

“Will you wake her up for when the baby’s born?” I ask Laura anxiously.  I’ve probably asked her a thousand times already but she just smiles, nodding as Jensen pushes my hair back from where it’s plastered to my forehead.  I needed to remind her, because I don’t think – oh god – I don’t think it’ll be long.  The contractions are coming so strong, so fast, so – I grip onto Jensen’s hands again, my toes curling, overwhelmed by the weirdest sensation.  It feels good to push, to have something to work with the pain, so I do, surrendering myself to my body’s urges.

“You’re amazing Bec,” Jensen tells emphatically me when that contraction is gone, his voice breaking with emotion, “So amazing.”  He presses kiss after soft kiss to my temple as I close my eyes, zoning out to conserve my energy.  I wish I could see him but he’s sat directly behind me so that I can rest back against his chest, his legs open on either side of mine, surrounding me completely.  He’d been a little embarrassed about climbing into the pool in his swimming shorts in front of Laura to be with me to begin with. I guess it’s not something that everyone thinks about doing, but I’ve been so glad of the support, craving his affection to comfort me.

A corny midwifery quote pops into my mind as I think about how much I love him, how wonderful he's been through all of this.  Corny or not the thought helps me through my next contraction by repeating it inside my head.  Babies are made in love, and they’ll be born in love.  I know that’s true of us… this child will be so adored.  They’ll have the best big sister, the best aunts and uncles.  The best father.  I'd worried that he'd freak out like he did when I first met him so long ago, leave me to do this alone like he almost did with Gen, but I needn't have feared.  He's been here to hold my hand through every contraction, steady as a rock. 

A stinging between my legs pulls my thoughts back to the here and now and I reflexively stop pushing, panting to catch my breath, eyes wide open and looking to Laura for reassurance. 

“Can you see him, can you see his head?”  I ask her and she smiles in a way that I know means that she can.  I’ve given that smile myself a million times before.  “Can I feel?”

“You know you can,” she laughs, and when I place my hand between my legs I can feel an inch or so of hard head resting there, peeping out.  It’s so surreal, so unbelievable that I burst out laughing.  There’s a whole baby coming out of me… how the hell am I doing this?!

“Jensen, you have to feel this,” I encourage him, grabbing his hand and pulling it towards our baby’s head. 

“I’m not sure-“ I don’t give him chance to be squeamish, placing his hand directly between my legs and I feel his chest heave with emotion as he feels what I felt, feel it relax as an astonished breathe comes gusting out of him.

“They've got so much hair,” he laughs disbelievingly.  Another contraction comes and he takes his hand away quickly, pushing my hair back instead, whispering words of encouragement with a voice that sounds like it’ll give way to tears at any moment.  More pushing, more stretching, the bizarre feeling of our baby, our Boop, moving downward… and then another one is gone.

My rings catch my attention as the contraction leaves, glinting in the coloured lights that shine down into the pool, and I lift my hand out and place it on the side, Jensen’s soon joining it.  I smile at the sight of them; my beautiful engagement ring, our matching wedding bands.  Two and a half years has gone by so fast.  I can’t believe we’ve been married for almost two of them already.  It feels like yesterday.  I can honestly say that we’re just as in love now on starting this new chapter of our lives together as we were when we first started out.  Even more so maybe. 

“Next contraction I want you to listen to me ok Becca, you know how it works, no big pushes, just breathe baby out,” Laura tells me, opening up a pack next to her and a pair of gloves just in case. I start to panic a little because I know what her telling me that means, that in the next contraction our baby will be here, and I’m not ready, I can’t do it, how can I possibly do this? 

“We’ve got this, babydoll, you’re so close, don’t lose it now,” Jensen tells me softly, instinctively knowing when I need him most and saying exactly the right thing as always. 

“JJ, sweetheart, wake up,” I call to her, trying to keep my voice calm and level, knowing that I can do this if it means being strong for her.  She starts to stir, turning over on the birthing couch towards us, her eyes fluttering open as I call her name again. 

“You’re going to be a big sister very soon,” Laura tells her quietly and as soon as JJ hears that she’s wide awake, sitting up and hopping down from her makeshift bed excitedly.  When did she get so big?  “Why don’t you go stand by your daddy, over there, that’s it.” 

“Where is it?  Is it here yet?” she questions with wide eyes as she stands outside of the pool just to the side of us, away from the business end of things. 

“Soon,” I assure her, and I know it will be because I can feel my stomach contracting into rock hard stone again.  Oh god this stings like a motherfucker, fuck!

“Come on baby, come on-“ Jensen urges.

“Little pushes, little pushes-“ Laura chants.

“I love you, babydoll, oh my god-”  Jensen’s voice turns to wonder over my groans of effort, somehow managing to keep all of the expletives inside of my head for JJ’s sake. 

“There’s a head,” I hear Laura say but I’m barely able to register what the words mean.

“Love you mommy,” JJ joins in, copying her father, placing her small hand on my shoulder sweetly.  The rush of love that surges through me at that moment finally brings everything to a climax, relief flooding through me as our baby slides out into the pool. 

Jensen immediately reaches around me and with help from Laura lifts the baby, our baby, up and onto my chest and even though I can’t believe I did it, that this tiny person is ours, I still wrap my arms around them, laughing and crying in astonishment. 

“Hello you, oh, hi, I love you!” I cry instantly, and I do, I love them so intensely from the very first breath I see our baby take in our arms, that very first cry.  “Oh Jen, I did it, it’s our baby,” I sob, twisting around in his arms to press my lips to his, rambling because I’m so full of joy that it’s just spilling over.  “JJ, come look, come see,” I beckon.  She’s stood there looking nervous and overwhelmed, unable to take her green eyes off the little person in my arms that’s still half submerged in the warm water.  She inches closer and leans over the side of the pool and Jensen places a hand on her back, crying as well, as I lean up and smooch her cheek.  “I love you babygirl,” I tell her sincerely because I want her to know that nothing will ever mean I love her less, any differently, not this baby, not the next, nothing. 

“Who was right?” Laura asks, grinning inanely as she watches JJ gaze down at her sibling in wonderment.  I’m pretty sure Laura already saw whether it was a boy or a girl, but bless her, she’s not spoiling it for us. 

“We haven’t even looked,” Jensen laughs from behind me.  I lean forward onto my knees to release him from where he was trapped between me and the poolside for hours, not an easy thing when the baby in my arms is still attached by the umbilical cord.  He shuffles out into the middle of the pool and finally I get to lay my eyes on him again.   I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look quite so overjoyed, his cheeks tearstained and eyes wide, sparkling with happiness and amazement.  I must look a wreck compared to him. 

“You look,” I prompt.  He gently takes hold of his, her, legs and moves them apart so slowly you’d think he was afraid of breaking him... or her. 

“It’s a boy,” he announces, looking up and straight into my eyes in wonderment.  We’ve had a son, our son, our boy.  Will he look like Jensen?  I hope he looks like him.  “We’ve got a baby boy.”  He kisses me fiercely, cupping my face with his hand and then turns to JJ.  “You’ve got a little brother, babygirl,” he tells her and I cringe, waiting for her reaction.

“Oh nooo,” she whines emphatically and we all end up laughing.  She’s made no secret of the fact she wanted a little sister, the whole way through.  Oh well, too late now. 

“Do you know what you’re calling him?” Laura asks as she gathers her things to cut the cord. 

“Well, we always said if Jensen was right then he could name the girl, but I guess this means I get to choose,” I grin, delighting in the way Jensen screws up his face in distaste.  “Bobby?”  I tease, “Castiel?”

“You are not naming our son after your cat,” he says firmly, eyebrows raised as he points a finger at me and I just end up laughing back at him. 

“Oscar?” JJ pipes up, obviously sticking with the animal theme, and Jensen sighs despairingly.

“I do actually like Oscar, but no… “ I gaze down at our baby with a kind smile as he squirms, smacking his lips and bobbing out his tongue, eager to feed.  He’s going to be a hungry boy, just like his dad.  “I’d like to call him Elias.  Elias Daniel Ackles… Eli for short.”  I look up to Jensen to see his reaction but he remains silent, looking thoughtful.  I wonder if he’s figured it out.  “If he was a girl I was going to suggest Danneel as a middle name-“

“Like my mom!” JJ pipes up loudly, pleased at the recognition – which is exactly what I wanted.  Danneel will always be part of our family, something that shouldn’t be forgotten, and I’m forever grateful to her for giving Jensen a daughter, for giving me such a wonderful step-daughter that I love so fiercely. 

“But that seems kind of girly for a boy,” I finish with a grin and a shrug at Jensen.  It’s so hard to figure out what he’s feeling, his expression seeming to change a million times within the space of a second, but then his face splits into a massive grin and he kisses me again, his lips trembling.  When he pulls away I see that another fresh tear has slid down his cheek and I wipe it off with a smile and a shake of my head.  “A single man tear,” I sing playfully, and he laughs, sniffing roughly. 

“Those are good names, they’re good,” he confirms with a nod, still looking a little overcome.

“Our Eli,” I say down to the infant in my arms.  I wonder how many millions of times I’ll say that name over and over again from this point onward.  JJ leans her head on my wet shoulder, reaching down to touch Eli’s head gently without even needing to be told and Jensen and I exchange happy looks.  She really will be an awesome big sister.  Jensen sits himself back against the side of the pool next to me and slings an arm around my shoulder, completely enraptured with his new son, unable to take his eyes off him even when I place a kiss on his cheek, his beard tickling my lips. 

“So, you’ve got the matching set now,” Laura smiles at me, “A girl and a boy, a perfect little family.” 

I look at the smiling faces of all the people I love that surround me; Eli, JJ, Jensen. 

Our family.  I may be biased, sure, but… yeah.  We’re perfect. 



The End