Chapter Text
Jensen walked quickly, his head down, his shoulders hunched underneath a dark jacket, his whole demeanor closed tight in around him. The drizzle was damned cold. It had been raining for three days, with the precipitation ranging from pinpricks of ice to full-on downpours and showing no signs of stopping any time soon. He stomped across small streams rippling over the pavement and through half-inch puddles before climbing the metal stairs to his trailer. He fumbled for his key, shoved it into the lock, stepped down to swing the door open, climbed inside, and thankfully slammed it against the world that kept staring at him.
Once inside, his jacket was shrugged off in irritated jerks and hurled into the seat of a light wooden chair. His button-down shirt followed, fairly damp, and this he flung to the floor. The t-shirt he kept on because by that point he didn’t have the strength to flip it over his head. He didn’t want to raise his arms. Instead, he sank bonelessly onto his sofa and stared at the small television. Didn’t even want to turn the damn thing on. Didn’t want to take off his boots, but his socks were soaked. With an annoyed huff, he bent forward and tugged at the laces before forcing the boots over his heels. He peeled off his clingy socks in disgust and wiggled his toes. A shower. He needed a shower. A warm, dark room, nothing but the steam and his thoughts. Only, a warm shower wasn’t exactly an option in the small trailer. Did good to have a damn toilet.
He lay back with a heavy sigh, letting his eyes drift to the bland ceiling above him. He knew he hadn’t made his escape quickly enough. In a matter of minutes he’d hear a pounding on the thin door, hell, he’d probably hear Jared breathing through it. And he’d have to open the door, and let him in, and try to explain, blah blah blah, except he wasn’t going to do it. He was tired of trying to explain. He was tired of having people look at him, watching him, wondering about him. Above all else, he was just tired.
The pounding came right as he was curling onto his side on the sofa, his head cradled in the crook of his elbow. Bam bam bam! “Jensen?” Not really angry, but definitely pissed. Pissed was better than angry on Jared. Pissed was a quick emotion he could get over. Angry took a while.
Jensen winced and reached behind him to grab the back cushion of the sofa and dragged it down over his face. The pounding continued, more insistent. “God, what?” Jensen muffled out.
“You okay?”
That was it? Was he okay? Answering was a struggle. He’d heard the expression ‘word sticking in your throat’ but this was the first time he felt it. “I’m fine,” he managed to force out.
“Let in me, then!”
It sounded like Jared was already standing right in front of him. Goddamn thin-assed piece of shit door in a thin-assed piece of shit trailer. . . “I’m resting!”
“Bullshit! It’s raining, dude, come on!”
Jared was making a piss-poor attempt to be quiet. Jensen practically growled as he shoved off the sofa and stormed to the door. He unlocked it and threw it open, revealing a body that looked freakishly big in the small opening. Jared wasn’t even standing on the fucking stairs. “Get in here before security gets curious,” Jensen snapped at him. “God, bet they can hear your ass back on the damn set.”
“Like you’d care about that.” Jared climbed the stairs and pushed off the hood to his character Sam’s pullover. “Where’d you go?”
Jensen had been heading back to the sofa. He turned, incredulous, eyed the space around him, then gestured with outstretched hands. “Here?”
“No, I mean when you left the set.”
“I came here, Jared.”
“I check here earlier. You weren’t here.”
“I took the long way.”
“There is no long way.”
Okay. He was genuinely upset, not just pissed. Jensen wasn’t in the mood to be placating. “What do you want?”
His co-star, his friend, stared at him. Even though his question had been more a demand that an inquiry, Jared was treating it with less venom. “I wanted to make sure you were okay after that fall you shrugged off.” He was standing with his hands in his pocket, and almost looked uncomfortable.
Jensen rolled his shoulders and tried to shove down his irritation. “Yeah,” he shrugged, not liking the way his voice was pitched high with dismissal. “I’m fine. Looked worse that it was.”
“Well, you just lay there for a minute like you were stunned or something. Just wanted to make sure.”
“Hovering over me on set didn’t do that for you? It knocked the wind out of me. That’s all.” Jensen was back at the couch. He adjusted the cushions, keeping his back to Jared. “We done for the day?”
Jared tensed during the pause. “What, you mean the filming, or me and you?” he finally asked.
“Either. Both.” Jensen straightened, but he didn’t turn. Instead, he cut his eyes sideways to the reflection on the small, blank television screen, seeing Jared’s form there, watching to see what he would do. He didn’t know why he cared. Hell. Of course he cared. He didn’t know what he was doing half the time, what was wrong with him, why he was punishing himself. He didn’t even know which he wanted more, for Jared to leave, or to insist on staying with him. Because if he left, well, there was no beer and all sorts of way for him to sit and feel sorry for himself.
He held his breath as Jared made his decision. “We’re done for the day. I’ll leave you alone, then. Glad you’re in one piece.” It was a dismissal, and this time he did sound pissed. Jensen nodded, still not looking at Jared, and finally heard him take a step back. “Guess I’ll see you Monday.”
“Yeah. Monday.” He darted a quick glance back, not meeting Jared’s eyes, but acknowledging him all the same.
“Yeah.” The floor creaked as Jared made his way to the door, which was only a few steps away. It opened with the odd squeak that was unique to trailers. There was a hesitation, then Jensen heard the door close.
He sighed and let the tension fall from his shoulders. His head hung to his chest. Breathing was all he concentrated on for several moments, and he gave a single nod and turned, then jumped out of his skin as Jared stared at him.
“Son of a bitch!” Jensen braced himself on the back of the sofa, then closed his eyes and let himself fall onto it. “Thought you fucking walked outta here!”
“Nope.” Jared took off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair that held Jensen’s. “Changed my mind.”
Jensen steadied his breathing. “You suck at taking a hint.”
“You suck at giving one. Got any beer?”
“No.” Jensen glared at him.
“Hm. Okay. I do. I’ll leave, but only to get it and come back. Locking me out isn’t recommended. Damn doors are like paper thin. I can get back in here.”
“Dude, what’s your deal?”
“What’s yours?” Jared regarded Jensen easily.
Jensen gave up with a defeated sigh. “Fine. Get the damn beer. But don’t expect any conversation.”
“From you? Pfft.”
“You gonna get your jacket?”
“I’ll dodge the drops.” And he was outside in an instant, slamming the door closed behind him.
There was no way a mass of that size was going to dodge anything. Jensen shook his head and trudged into the small bathroom, snatching a towel from the rack. Hot shower. Maybe he’d get lucky.
He thought back to the day on set. Stupid accident. He was over-aggressive in a stunt and landed hard on his back. His old injury had twinged, and it was all he could do to pull in a breath over the pain. He remembered laying there longer than he should have, Phil yelling cut, Jared kneeling over him, his expression torn between teasing and pure concern. At that point he had just closed his eyes until he could breath calmly, then excused himself to his trailer after a reshoot. He braced his hands against the shower wall and slowly curled his spine into the spray.
By the time he got out, the rain sounded like it was about to beat through the roof. Jared was as wet as Jensen when they met up in the den area, Jensen’s towel slung low around his hips, Jared’s clothes making a puddle on the floor. “Raining harder,” was all he’d say as he pushed past Jensen and into the small closet-like bathroom. Jensen saw him pull spare clothes from inside his jacket just before the door shut.
He smirked and walked to the counter, eyeing the twenty-four count box of beer. The cardboard was soggy, barely holding the cans in place. It made sense to stock the small refrigerator with them, and toss the cardboard away. If they didn’t drink them all, and please, like they wouldn’t, Jared could take the remainder back to his own place. Provided Jensen could get him out of here. He realized he wanted the beer much more than he wanted company. He grabbed a can and popped the top. Took several long, refreshing swallows.
Jared emerged wearing a white undershirt and jeans. He set his shoes and socks near the floor vent to dry, and padded over to help himself to a beer. “So, talk.”
Jensen blinked at him a few times. “Excuse me?”
“Talk.” Jared threw himself back on the sofa.
“I was thinking more like a nap.”
Jared twisted and stretched himself longways on the sofa, his bare feet hanging far over the edge. He casually popped the tab on the can.
“Bastard.”
“Takes one and all that.” Jared drank carefully, watching Jensen.
Always watching. Everyone always staring at him like he had something to offer. He wiped at his dripping hair. “I gotta get dressed.”
“Cool. I’ll wait.”
And he would, too. Jensen heaved a sigh and shook his head, denting his own can with his thumb and walking to his closet.
Fortunately, nothing came of it. They ended up watching television, feet propped on the tiny coffee table, while Jensen dozed. And if he was leaning, just a little, into his friend while he did, well.
He wasn’t saying anything.
*************
There were times when Jensen knew he was good. When he could feel it. When he was on top, when the world was spinning in his direction. When the people looking at him didn’t nettle him, because he wanted to be looked at. Because he was good. He was worthy, deserving, confident, in control.
And then there were times when no cave was dark enough, no corner deep enough.
It was stupid. He knew he was nothing more than himself and he never pretended to be any different, but there were times when he just felt this thing, this special something that said he was so much more than the sum of his parts. So much more than a face and a name and blood and flesh. Something out there, something spiritual, all-encompassing. Like he had a purpose. Then he’d crash back down to earth, usually with someone yelling in his ear to get his head out of the clouds. Which was pretty damned effective.
And annoying as hell.
He remembered watching a travel show late one night. Someone going through Africa. And he saw all the poor people grinning with electric smiles and glowing teeth and wondered if it was only in America that he could be so screwed up. Because those people didn’t need a purpose. They just were.
******************
“You’re looking good today.”
Jensen turned and saw Jared grinning at him. He couldn’t help but grin back, eyes shining. He felt good. He felt right. “Filming in this place? Heck yeah. Can’t believe we got to come back here.” He looked up at the busted windows and crumbling walls of the old asylum. “Bet we could just set the cameras up and let ‘em run, see if we can start our own Ghost Hunters series.”
“That’d be kinda cool, you know? Hosting our own ghost show.”
Jensen chuckled. “That’d be awesome.”
“Problem is,” Jared added, “all our fan letters would involve salt-and-burns.”
“And they’d line the streets, shining lights all up inside the houses. Totally mess up our case.”
“Hide in the closets, drag us in there. . .”
“Tie us up. . .”
“We could hire fans that are models for that.” Jared nudged him with a wicked grin.
“Kinky bastard. So you’re saying you don’t want to be rescued, huh?” Jensen laughed at him fondly. “We’d need a code word.”
“Yeah, like ‘get me the fuck outta here’.”
“That’s a code sentence. Besides, I might just leave you tied up in there with them and get the camera. Instant internet porn.”
Jared hit his arm. “You sadistic – sexual – voyeur!” he laughed. “I don’t wanna know what gets you off!”
“What? Seeing women climbing you like a tree? You think that gets me off?”
“TMI, dude. Keep it in your pants.”
“You know you like it,” Jensen said playfully, and ran ahead to take a duffle bag from one of the camera operators. He felt something soft hit him in the back, probably Jared’s cap, but he didn’t turn to look.
They had filmed at the asylum two weeks before. But some of the footage, well, he didn’t really know what happened, but they had to come back and reshoot a scene. It was a scene that could have been cut, in his opinion, but Eric had insisted. And so it was arranged. The scene was expanded, and it turned out to be a pretty intense one that required some readjusting on the cutter’s part, as in he was told to take out a chunk and put this new bit in. Like Eric suddenly figured out how to make the episode work, or something. So there they were, one scene, one day to block and film and get the action sequences in.
Jensen looked up at the asylum, and couldn’t wait. He was rearing to go.
The crews were already setting up on the ground floor. Lights were arranged, the floor was checked one last time for harmful shards of glass or wood, preferably without disturbing the littered, abandoned look. Wires were run and secured with tape, cameras were in place. The tech van was just outside, looking like Medusa’s head with all the coils of wires snaking in. It was a lot of work for a skeleton crew.
Jensen set the duffle beside a camera and looked up. The whole area was grey with dust and sickly-lit. They were in an atrium on the ground floor. Above them, the building towered a good six floors up, cutting a square hole all the way to the ceiling. Each floor was ribbed with dark rails that looked useless. He could almost see the ghosts leaning out over those rails, peering down at them. “How long you guys gonna be?” he asked the camera man, Lennon. So called because of the tiny round glasses he wore.
“Dunno. About an hour, little less.”
“Think they’d care if I look around? There wasn’t time before.”
“Hell yeah, they’d care,” Lennon huffed. “You insane? I don’t even want to film in this place.” He pointed upwards to the rickety-looking ceiling. “You see that? Now picture it crashing down on these cameras.”
“If it wasn’t safe, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Tell it to the tech crew,” Lennon muttered. He started pulling out sheets of clear plastic. At Jensen’s incredulous look, he said simply, “Debris.”
Jensen just grinned. He glanced around, spotted a door that led to a stairwell, and backed towards it, stooping briefly to grab a flashlight from the prop bag. When he was far enough, he turned and jogged to the door, knowing Lennon wouldn’t call him back. It wasn’t his job.
He felt like a little kid exploring a forbidden area. His boots clomped on the metal stairs. Tiny, wired-covered windows let the sun in, providing just enough light to keep him from stumbling. He jogged up to a door that led to the first landing, considered, then kept going up. He didn’t want to be seen and called back. He’d just look for a few minutes, then head back down. They were on a tight schedule, he really didn’t need to fuck that up.
Four floors up, the rusty metal door was shoved open. It scraped and creaked over the floor, opening to an empty hallway. Broken yellowed glass crunched underneath his heel. His beam swung round in the dim, dusty air. The silence was complete. His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he switched off his light. Listened.
In this place, people had been imprisoned. The building held several thousand people in it’s heyday. Several thousand ill, crazy people, all yelling, calling out, screaming, crying, cursing.
Dying.
Rooms that had served as barricades against these people were now open to him, inviting him in, ready to share their misery. He cautiously pressed forward, peeking into one, seeing the bedframe with the thin, moldy mattress. Someone had slept there. Possibly died there. If he stood still, closed his eyes, he could imagine the cries of the ill. He could hear the pleas for help from the desperate, and the fights amongst the inmates. The staff were probably unable, or unwilling, to do anything. And they heard this crap first hand, day after day after day. Torment. Wailing. Smelling the filth.
A hand gripped his shoulder.
Jensen yelped and spun, then let his body sag against the peeling wall. “Dammit! Will you stop doing that?”
“Hey, whoa! Sorry!” Jared laughed, grabbing Jensen’s arms as his eyes closed. “I saw you coming up here.”
He swallowed hard and tried to steady his breathing, then glared. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”
“What were you doing?”
Jensen straightened, noticing that Jared released only one arm at first, then slowly let loose of the other. “I don’t know. I’m just taking it all in. Wondering what it was like here.”
“Creepy as shit, that’s what it was like.”
“No, that’s what it is now. Back then – I mean can you imagine it? Dying here?”
Jared looked around. Jensen followed his eyes, watching him take in the rooms. He saw the shudder his tall friend tried to hide. “Why would you want to?”
“Because I crap daisies outta my ass. Come on. Let’s go down here a bit.” He started down the hallway.
“And see what?” Jared questioned, though he followed willingly.
“Broken glass, probably.”
“Huge-ass splinters.”
“Spiders.”
“I’m going back down.”
Jensen grabbed his arm. “Is Sasquatch afraid of tiny spiders?” he teased, like talking to a baby.
“Sasquatch has a lot of body for those tiny spiders to crawl on,” Jared groused.
Jensen chuckled and pulled Jared along. “Absolutely no sense of adventure.” Then just as quickly, he stopped him. A chill climbed his spine. “Wait, hang on. You hear that?”
Jared listened. “Probably Eric showing up and calling for our asses.”
“No, wait. Shh.” He held up his index finger, and both men froze. They could hear it, and it was coming from the room in front of them. Jensen glanced back at Jared, questioning, then allowed a devilish smile to cross his face. “Ghosts!” he teased with a whisper.
“Shut up,” Jared whispered back with a smile. He stepped past Jensen, his hand reaching back slightly and almost protectively. He peeked around the corner of the abandoned room. A rat scurried out over the toe of his shoe. He yelled and jumped back, plowing Jensen into the wall.
Jared immediately spun and grabbed his shirt. “That’s it. We’re going back down.”
But Jensen was laughing. “And I thought I screamed like a girl!”
“Let’s go.”
“Oh, come on, man! You’re usually up for shit like this!”
“Not today.”
“Come on!” Jensen knew he was pleading, whining like a child.
“I said, no.” Jared pinned him with a look.
Jensen couldn’t place the expression. It wasn’t anger, or fear, but something he’d never seen on Jared’s face. Usually, he was the enthusiastic one ready to plunge head-first into situations like this, and Jensen was the one who tagged along. But today, Jensen was reckless. Heedless. And willing to go on without his friend. He gave his head a shake. “Fine. You go back, then. Tell ‘em I’ll be there in a minute.” He headed down the narrow catwalk.
“You’re coming, too.”
Jensen spun. “Dammit, I’ve got a pretty intense scene to film, now how about letting me get a feel for the place? Huh? That okay with you?”
Jared’s eyes narrowed. He waved Jensen away. “Shit, yeah. Go for it. Don’t let me interrupt the master at work.” And he turned away, scuffing through the fragments down the hall, and to the stairs.
Unbelievable. Jensen shook his head and walked the other way. The adventurous mood was gone, but he wasn’t going to let Jared know it. What the hell, anyway? Who was he to dictate how Jensen should prepare for a scene, especially one where we was fighting off a spirit of a crazed man? What better way to prepare than to get crazed? Dean was supposed to have compassion for the poor bastards that were doomed to live here. He had to try and experience it, feel it. His jovial explorer mood plummeted.
He wanted to change his approach to his work. He’d been wanting to for a while. Hell, he was good, sure, but he could be better. He could really dig into the role, dig into the scene, become it. And to do that, he had to feel it. Maybe it was better that Jared had left him up there. He’d just make comments, run his mouth, yap yap yap all the damn time, and Jensen wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything. No help. He stormed down the catwalk, then paused and shoved that aside, letting himself concentrate. Allowing himself to dip into the anger and despair of everyone that had been left in that place to die. With his own irritation in place, it was easy to feel.
Criminals. The crazed. The sick. The meaningless. All of them hurting, and no one cared. Tortured souls. Blackness. Death. Bodies shredded by pain, by other inmates, by disease. Cures that were worse than the ailments. Chutes that the bodies were dumped into, sliding down to a large room where the smell of decay rose through the vents, and reminded the people above that they were never getting out. But that was his imagination. Too many horror movies. Body chutes were a misconception. He sure as hell could picture one in this place.
He gingerly stepped over the debris on the opposite side of the atrium, crossing from room to room, wondering how many people had slept on those very cots. Only the metal skins remained, but real people had slept there. Real people had inhabited the claustrophobic rooms, clawed at the walls. People had huddled in the peeling corners, spouting nonsense at the single tiny window high above them. In one room there was a piece of cloth on the floor, discolored and frayed, and he wondered if it came from an inmate, a visitor, or a worker. It could have been a year old, or fifty years old. He didn’t know, but it unnerved him. He stared at it, imagining the cloth being torn into pieces by frantic hands desperate to do something other than sit mindlessly in that room. Overwhelmed by the images, and the unseen voices, he left the rooms, and took a right turn, concerned by the fact that he had to brace himself against the wall before doing it. The floor looked as uncertain as he felt.
The atrium lay before him like an open field. He pitched forward and grabbed the railing, breathing heavily, letting his eyes gently fall the distance to the rubble-covered ground four floors below. He pictured bodies tearing away from their guards and flinging themselves over that rail in desperation, landing at the bottom, dying right where the cameras were now being prepped. Broken, bloodied bodies, mouths and eyes gaping open, their brains a congealed mess on the concrete floor. He could see the dark stains, large stains, possibly hundreds of people flinging themselves to their deaths, making one huge smear, a permanent dark smudge that marked their release.
He couldn’t breathe. Too much dust in the air.
Most of the doors in the hallway were open, but he could imagine them closed. He could see hands pressing at the small windows, the thick wire digging into their palms. He could hear the glass shattering around him as people tried to get out. He could hear the startled cries of the workers as they were pushed aside as the ailing people ran at him, right where he was standing, and launched themselves over the railing to their deaths. Becoming one with that huge smudge below, right where Lennon’s cameras were standing. Just climb over, and jump.
And it would have been so easy to do. It wasn’t that far down. Not when you were falling.
“Jensen?”
The voice was small. Jensen glanced over his shoulder and saw Jared standing there, one hand cautiously stretched out to him, his eyes terrified. The lips had pinched closed. His nostrils were dilated in fear as he breathed heavily.
“Damn, dude. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Jensen smiled at him, and looked back down. He was over the rail.
He was over the fucking rail. His heels were balanced precariously on the ledge, and he was leaning forward. His hands clutched the railing behind his back. And yawning in front of him, underneath the toes of his boots – open air.
His mouth flew open. He stopped breathing, then started gasping in fear, his fingers tightening into a death grip on the metal behind him, the only thing that kept him from plummeting to the ground far below. He wanted to leap back over the rail, but was frozen. Wide eyes met Jared’s, and his body started to tremble. He couldn’t open his mouth to ask for help. He was four fucking floors up.
“Okay, whoa, look. Easy. Just – don’t move.” Jared voice was calm. “I’m gonna grab your arms, okay?” Both hands were now out, and they carefully grabbed hold of his biceps. Jensen felt Jared’s chest against his back. “It’s okay, man. I’ve got you. Don’t look down.”
Jensen shook like he’d never shaken in his life. It terrified him. His sweaty grip dampened the rail. If the grip slipped, there would be no way Jared could stop it.
“I’m gonna just – here. Okay?” Jared carefully threaded his long arms beneath Jensen’s, wrapping around his torso, gripping him tightly. “You gotta trust me. Lean back. Just lean back, and I’m gonna lean back and lift up and pull you over. You just get your legs over the rail.”
Jensen nodded quickly, feeling light-headed.
“Ready?”
Another nod.
With a vice grip wrapped around his torso, Jared quickly leaned back and twisted, allowing Jensen to get a leg up over the railing. They swung around, off-balance, both fell heavily to their sides.
Jared instantly rose to his knees and pivoted, putting his hand on Jensen’s back. The sensation grounded him, and Jensen found he was concentrating on the warmth of his palm, even as he felt the bile rising in his throat. “I came back for you,” he heard Jared say, but they were just words. His own hands pressed hard against the ground. His shoulders shook. Then everything was shaking, trembling, and he lowered his head and let out one, single choked sob as confusion took over. He felt Jared’s arms around him again, hugging him, then lifting him to his feet, soft words of “getting the fuck out of here” muttered into his ear.
“‘M light’s gone,” Jensen replied mournfully, feeling as though the world took a nose dive and landed on his chest.
“Shhh.”
He let himself be guided back to the stairwell.
-cont-