Chapter Text

1

Jared

Buttering my toast, the scent of freshly brewed coffee strong in my nose, I watch Jensen from the corner of my eye, as he takes a spoonful of his yogurt with cereal and fruit while reading the paper. He celebrated his forty-fifth birthday just six weeks ago, but apart from the killer crowfeet no make-up can hide anymore, age has been kind to Jensen. Sure, his hair and beard are more salt than pepper nowadays, but his eyes are still sparkling, often with mischief, and his smile still makes my heart go a mile a minute, especially when I am at the receiving end of it. He wrinkles his nose, scratches it, and turns the page of the paper, his eyes fixed on an article about world economics while taking a sip of his orange juice. I've known Jensen for eighteen years now, been with him for more than four years and the guy never ceases to amaze me. His interests for so many different topics, be it politics, economics, arts, sports, or music, his knowledge, his talent, as an actor, musician, or director, and his sheer goodness and kindness. Not a day goes by when Jensen doesn't surprise or astonish me. Mostly it's just little things, like something smart he says, the kindness he shows a homeless, or the way he talks to cast and crew, how he arbitrates disputes or negotiates with residents while shooting on location, and, most importantly, how he overcomes the obstacles caused by his handicap.

Jensen has come such a long way since that day, more than five years ago, when Fate or Chance gifted us with an unexpected reunion in a restaurant in Boston after eight years of not a word between us, and most of all, after a wrap party we both left as strangers, not as friends. I was in Boston shooting a movie and was having dinner with one of my fellow executive producers, when I came back from the restroom, spotting a face in the distance. It belonged to my once best friend and co-star, who also had happened to be the secret love of my life for years. I came closer to say “Hi”, and the shock that took a hold of me when I noticed that Jensen was in a wheelchair, when I saw how self-conscious he was, crying silently and not daring to look at me, still tightens my chest. It took time to bond again, and a good deal of encouragement, patience, and most of all love on my side, to coax the old Jensen out and help him get his confidence and self-esteem back and the metamorphosis he went through just in the first year was astounding. Now, five years later, Jensen is almost like his old self, just a thousand experiences richer and so much wiser. He is my best friend and confidant, my biggest fan and greatest critics, my boyfriend, better half, and husband to be. My heart and my soul. He is everything.

“Jay? You okay? You look spooked.” Jensen's eyes are no longer fixed at the tiny black printed letters but at my face. A slight smile is parting his lips, a mixture of amusement and worry.

Shaking myself visibly, I shake off the memories, both happy and sad, from the time when we met again and the worry I felt for Jensen. “Yeah, I'm good. Just a walk down memory lane.”

“Good or bad?” Jensen covers my hand with his as he asks this, his thumb ghosting over the back of my hand. We convey a lot of our feelings with touches like that. Sometimes it's just two fingers touching, often though the whole hand, sometimes just for seconds, more often for much longer. It's our way to say I love you just as much as I've got your back and everything in between.

“Both. I remembered seeing you again in Boston and the long way you've come since that very shy and very self-conscious version of you stole my heart all over again. And how you never cease to amaze me.”

“Keep on talking,” Jensen prompts, though a light shade of pink is creeping over his cheeks. The freckles are a little less prominent than in summer, barely to be seen, and some are covered by the beard Jensen is wearing these days.

I flash Jensen a little smile, locking my eyes with Jensen's beautiful green ones. “I'm just immensely proud, Jen, that's all.” It isn't something I just said; I mean it, from the bottom of my heart, and Jensen understands as he tightens the grip around my hand.

“Of me, Jare?”

“Of you and of us. I'm proud of us, Jen.” I let my fingers twine with Jensen's and lift our hands to kiss Jensen's. Soft sighs escape Jensen's lips as I caress each of his knuckles with breath and velvety lips, and the way my boyfriend looks at me, all fond and happy, makes my heart race so much faster, the love I feel for Jensen all-consuming and simply breathtaking.

Jensen lets go of my hand, just to move his wheelchair from his side of the table to mine, deftly parking it next to my chair and without a word, he wraps me into his arms and holds on tight, telling me that he is proud of us, too. “Last day of filming, Jare,” he says after an unbelievably long time, kissing my cheek and nibbling my ear. “Let's do this.”

***

“Cut and print!” Jensen calls, cheering both cast and crew. “That's a wrap! Well done, everyone! Great work!”

There is cheer and applause, hugs and kisses, hands wrapped around shoulders or in tight grips until finally I'm with my significant other, sitting down on his lap and hugging him tightly, kissing his hairline. “You did a tremendously good job, Jen.” The pride is audible in my voice. “I love when you direct me.”

Once again, my better half blushes adorably. “You weren't so bad, either, and made it very easy for me. The whole cast and crew, actually. Thank you, for giving me this chance.” I know, this first job after years of convalescence means the world to Jensen. It gives him the chance to prove himself, the opportunity to create something other than the potteries he makes once in a while or the songs he writes, and it makes Jensen feel whole again, worth a million, not just a dime.

“Nothing to thank me for, Jen. You deserved that chance, because we both know, you've had it in you. Now, how about we go home and prepare everything for the big party?” The official, studio funded wrap party happened a few days ago, but Jensen and I decided to invite the cast and crew to our home, for a last, unofficial get together of workmates and friends. Lucia, who helps us with the household and Archie, who is our gardener and stable-boy, have been busy preparing everything since the early morning hours.

Jensen nods against my shoulder. “Absolutely. I have an appointment with Luke later, and God knows, I need it.” Now I look closer, I see Jensen's pained expressions. Ever since he has started working again, his back and shoulders are bugging him far more than before. Jensen doesn't complain, but I know it's bad, pain meds bad.

“Poor baby.” I catch Jensen's lips in a chaste kiss, putting my hand at the base of his neck, the warmth of my palm hopefully soothing my boyfriend, if only for a brief moment. “Just let me get rid of my make-up, change into my own clothes and fetch my stuff from the trailer,” I ask as I get up, trailing my hand along Jensen's jawline. I don't care that half of the cast and crew are watching us. We're out and proud, in all facets of the word.

Fifteen minutes later, I help Jensen to get settled in the passenger seat, making sure that he is comfortable before I store his wheelchair in the trunk and get on the driver seat. Smiling at him, I take his hand, squeezing it once before putting it on my thigh. Jensen takes the invitation gladly, moving his hand up and down, or round and round in small circles as I steer the car through the busy Los Angeles traffic due north.

We live way out of the area, in a beautiful, big mansion, surrounded by a huge park with old trees and the most beautiful sight of the Pacific imaginable. It's secluded and haunted, at least that's what the realtor told me when I bought the property for us. Originally built in the 1900s, it was almost completely destroyed by a house fire over twenty years ago that caused two fatalities. Just the foundation wall and part of the face could be saved. Rumor has it that the fire was caused by the owner's disturbed daughter; both parents died while the daughter killed herself, jumping off the cliffs that border the western side of the property. It is said that you can hear their cries in bright full moon nights. I was fascinated by the history of the house and fell in love with the beautiful park at once. With all the interior destroyed in the fire, I could rebuild the place just as I wanted and particularly for Jensen's needs. Fully accessible, the rooms are bright and generously laid out, convenient for Jensen to maneuver his wheelchair. Just like in his house in Dallas, there are lots of electric gimmicks that make his life a little easier, no thresholds or other barriers and a lift, going from basement to loft. There is a big master bedroom and several guestrooms with en-suite bathrooms on the second floor, our offices and a library, a music room, a huge kitchen, and an even bigger living- and dining room on the first floor and, one of my personal favorites, a huge spa area in the basement, complete with indoor pool, sauna, and gym. We spend a lot of our free time there, working out, staying fit and healthy, relaxing from long days on set. The grounds of our property are magnificent, too. There is a pool with a pool house, stables, and paddock for our horses and a cottage that is Archie's home. All in all, it's so much more than just a property or house... It's our safe haven, our retreat, where we can recuperate and be us, simply Jared and Jensen.

Finally, I take a turn into the small side street that leads to our property, and three minutes later, the automatic gate opens after I pressed the remote control for it. Jensen fell asleep sometime during the ride home, and as I park my car in front of the garage, I watch him for a while; the lines of age, stress and pain are smothered out and his long lashes are kissing his outrageously beautiful face, fluttering softly. He is a masterpiece, breathtakingly handsome, and the fact that he can't feel half of his body doesn't change it one bit. If anything, it makes Jensen even more unique and extraordinary. I can't even put into words how much I love Jensen and how much he means to me. He completes me and when he isn't with me, it's as if a piece of myself is missing. I just feel lonely, empty, and imperfect. Not sure if that's codependency, but if it is, I don't care, because that's just who we are, Jensen and I. Two hearts beating as one, two halves of the same whole.

Slumbering peacefully, I really don't want to wake Jensen, want to envelop him in my arms and carry him into the house and right into our bedroom where I'd worship his body, but I know, he wouldn't want me to. In less than fifteen minutes, Jensen has an appointment scheduled with Luke, his PT, and then of course there is the long expected party in a few hours with more than seventy guests. “Jen?” Combing my fingers through his hair, I nudge Jensen away gently. “We're home.”

“That was quick,” Jensen mumbles tiredly, rubbing his eyes and scrunching his face. He looks like a small kid, not a grown-up man. Gestures like that tighten my chest and the urge to protect Jensen rises into another dimension. Not that he needs protection. He isn't a weak seedling, more a very strong tree, but Jensen's well-being, health, and happiness are my top priority and I'll do whatever I can to make it easier for him.

“Yeah, you fell asleep pretty quick, sweetie.” My hand is a tight grip around Jensen's shoulder, my fingers brushing lazily over the material of Jensen's button-down.

“Sorry.” He yawns heartily, his face still shadowed with pain. “It's been a long fourteen weeks.”

“I know, baby.” It isn't over for us, because there is post-production, but at least it's different than production itself, as the hours are more predictable and it only starts in a week. “But we kicked ass, Jen.” I smile at him proudly, squeezing his shoulder before getting out of the car and fetching the wheelchair from the trunk. Once I unfold it, I wheel it to the passenger front door and help Jensen get settled in it. Not because he is an invalid who needs help, far from it, he is very adept, but because he is tired and hurting. Accidents are prone to happen when you're paralyzed and the little mishaps Jensen had in the past few years all came about when Jensen was sick, tired or strained. Smiling at me gratefully, he wheels away from the car while I get our bags out of the back seat and together, we walk towards the wide front door.

Jensen

Luke's hands knead me, loosening the stiff, hurting muscles in my shoulders, neck and back, work along the uninjured part of my spine deftly, before they move further down where I can't feel them any longer. He is a pro, knows what he can or can't do, and after every session, I feel a little better, both physically and mentally. Not that I feel sad or depressed. I haven't felt like that for a very long time, and it's all thanks to Jared. He took my hand, and carried me out of the darkness, and while my life isn't dark anymore, far from it, in a way, Jared still does carry me – sometimes just symbolically, sometimes for real - every day, often without knowing it.

Like all those years ago, his smile still lights up the room, causes the butterflies in my belly to flutter and my heart to beat a little faster, and his touch means safety and warmth. He anchors me, is my pillar of strength and there is nothing Jared wouldn't do for me. Sometimes it seems that Jared's main goal in life is to make me feel happy, content, and safe.

Often it's just the little things; a touch of his hand for strength or comfort, a smile, dimples deep, or my favorite chocolates from Switzerland, a dance in the pool or a red rose on my pillow or plate. It's his attention, the way he hangs on my lips, his advice. The way he looks at me and not the wheelchair. Never once, since we've met again, has Jared treated me like an invalid. He has been attentive, curious even to hear about the restrictions caused by the injury, what it means to be a paraplegic, but he has never looked at me with pity, scorn, or treated me like I am a lesser man. For Jared, I am everything, just like he is everything for me.

Occasionally though, it's also big things Jared does; like building our haunted house, fully accessible, including iron and salt lines (at least that's what he told me with a mischievous grin on his lips), a home not only for us, but for five horses, several chickens, two dogs and three cats. The private jet he bought two years ago makes traveling so much easier for me, or even Luke, my PT; for all Luke told me, Jared cajoled him into house visits at our place, because Jared wanted the best, and Luke is one of the best in the area. He comes up to four times a week, depending on our schedules and my health condition, and is gifted with healing hands.

“We're done for today, Jensen,” Luke announces, tearing me out of my thoughts. He helps me turn onto my back, before lowering the stretcher. “I'll be back in two days. Until then, try to relax and resume your workout schedule. I know you haven't done that much lately, because of work, but you shouldn't abandon it for far too long, okay?”

I nod, knowing that he is right. After the long hours on set, I've mostly been too exhausted to work out, and my body is paying the toll. I feel far heavier and slower in my movements as if I ran in slow-motion, and my back and shoulders sometimes hurt badly. It also might be the age, but it started with pre-production, so I doubt it. “Thanks Luke,” I say as he wheels my chair to the stretcher and hands me my tee. “Want to stay for the party?” Carefully, I sit up. Depending on how tense my muscles are, I sometimes feel a slight dizziness wash over me when I prop up, but today it isn't that bad.

Smiling, Luke brushes the invitation away with a gesture of his hand. “Nah, thanks, I have Tamara tonight. Really appreciate it, though. Have a great time, you deserve it. Bye.” With a clap on my shoulder, he is gone, even before my own “bye” escapes my lips.

For a few heartbeats, I stay where I am, moving my head left and right before I slide into my wheelchair, slowly wheeling out of the spa and into the lift. I feel every muscle in my shoulder, and moving myself feels harder than it has been for a while. On days like this, I wish for an electric wheelchair, but I know it'd freak Jared out, would worry him, and make my disability graver than it really is.

When I open the door to our bedroom, I find Jared standing in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but briefs, looking at himself. My mouth is watering instantly, and I can't help but stare because he is so damn attractive, still looks like a Greek God, all lean and muscled, his skin slightly tanned. Feeling my eyes on him, he turns around, smiling. “Like what you see?”

“Always.” My heart is somersaulting as Jared comes closer, smiling his thousand watt smile, and kneeling down in front of me, his hands widely spread on my thighs. Although I can't feel Jared's touch, I've always loved when he touches me on the paralyzed part of my body, be it thighs, feet or toes. It gives me the feeling that he cherishes this part of me as much as the part I can feel.

“How're you holding up?” His voice oozes with concern. I know he's worried, is scared that I worked too much and ignored my own needs for the sake of our movie production. He probably also suspects that the ache in my back and shoulder is far worse than I've claimed it to be. It's not that I really lied to Jared, but I played it down, for the sake of production and because I didn't want Jared to worry about me too much.

“Tired,” I admit, placing my hands above his, squeezing the long fingers that are capable of doing so many wonderful things. “I can't wait sleeping in, working out and going to the sauna, spending quality time with you and hanging out with the Happy Wheels.” The Happy Wheels are a group of wheelchair users I joined shortly after I relocated to California. Although Pasadena is not exactly around the corner, I drive to our weekly meetings that are held in a Community Center if it fits into my schedule. We're quite a tight knit group, three women and five men, all of different ages and backgrounds. What we have in common is being bound to a wheelchair and the daily struggles that come with our disabilities. Jared has always been very supportive of the Happy Wheels, aware that, despite his devotion and sympathy, I need people in my life who share my fate.

“Come here,” Jared prompts gently. Wrapping my arms around his strong neck, I take the invitation gladly. He lifts me up, as if I weigh nothing, holds me tight to his chest and carries me those few feet to our king size bed, sitting down on the edge. For a while, Jared just holds me close, cradles me softly, breathing tiny kisses onto my skin that smells of massage oil. It's moments like this when I feel unbelievably safe and secure, like a baby in her mother's womb.

Eventually, Jared loosens his grip, but just enough to get me settled onto the mattress. It's not about sex, but about being together, about holding onto each other, feeling the other's breathing and heartbeat. Yet, it's very intimate. “You feel up for tonight?”

“I do, though I wish it would just be you and me,” I admit, although it had been both our idea to invite the cast and crew over to our place. And it's not that I'm not looking forward to it, I do. But lying here, with Jared, being caressed by him and fondling him back is an even nicer way to spend the evening.

“Tomorrow, Jen,” Jared promises, “I'll be all yours.”

***

There is a big bonfire, with blankets and pillows grouped around it, lanterns in the trees, a table laden with delicacies, and a steady supply of grilled meat, fish, and vegetables. Music and laughter are echoing through the quiet night, some people are dancing, others are sitting together in groups, either on the ground close to the fire, or at the many tables that are scattered around the grounds. Jared and I were sitting together while we had our dinner, but a while ago he left, being the perfect host, walking from one group to the next, chatting with everyone. Once in a while, his laughter was drowning out the music and right now, he is shaking a leg, dancing with Leanne from wardrobe. I watch him for a while, feeling uncommonly melancholic, wishing it could be me, dancing with my boyfriend, knowing that I never will, unless it's in the pool where the water is carrying me.

Suddenly, my eyes sting with unwanted tears and I wipe them angrily, yet without success. Turning around, I wheel away, the need to be alone overwhelming. My eyes are fixed at my lifeless legs and despite the exhaustion I've felt the whole night, I move my chair quickly to the stable, wheeling to Stella's box. I love all of our horses, but Stella is my favorite. Dark brown fur, just a white star on her forehead that gave her her name, clever and gentle. It's as if she knows that I'm feeling low, because once I call her name, she comes to me, nudging me gently with her soft nostrils, blowing out warm breath, caressing my skin gently, allowing me to pat her neck and side. It's very quiet in this part of our property, the noises from the party only a faint buzz in the background, the only sound the rustle of straw and a soft whinny, once in a while.

Eventually the quietness of the stable is disturbed by two women talking, their voices coming closer with every step they take. There is a bench on the far side of the stable, and it sounds like they sat down there, their voices now a steady volume as they gossip about the party and our guests. They are unfamiliar to me, but most guests brought their partners which I have never met before.

“Poor guy, I can't imagine what it must be like for him,” one of the women says and I know at once that she's talking about me. Despite the fact that I pitied myself for a long time, I hate when people pity me. It reduces me to my disability and long ago I shook off the yoke of being defined by it. I know I'm much more than just a poor cripple in a wheelchair.

“It probably sucks, but at least they're not short of money and he can have every therapy he needs. What I really don't understand is why Jared is messing about with him. I mean, Jared, he is this super sexy, attractive and hot God and Jensen... he's just a worthless cripple,” the other woman spits out. “Jared could have everyone and chose the useless gimp? I don't get it.”

The other woman is taking in a sharp breath. “Don't say something like that, that's mean.”

“It's the truth and you know it. Jared would be far better off without Jensen and with someone healthy and whole. Being with a cripple is always a burden and if you ask me, Jared should run away as fast as he can, before he is getting married to Jensen and his useless body.” She snickers evilly. “Let's go back, I think we should leave soon, before it's getting too late.”

Numb with shock, I stare at my shaking hands, feeling as if someone has punched me hard. Something tightens my chest and despite the mild night, cold is taking a hold of me, causing goosebumps on my skin and shiver after shiver running through my body. I can't believe what I just heard. The fact that the women are our guests, a wife or girlfriend of one of my workmates, makes it even worse.

Do people really see me like that? A worthless cripple, unworthy of Jared and a burden to him? I know I should not, but I just can't help but think about it, about the sacrifices Jared has to make, what it means being with me, the things he has to forgo, like skiing, hiking or dancing, and most of all, proper sex. Maybe the woman is right. Maybe Jared should run away as fast as he could, or even better, I should break our engagement, for his sake.

A picture sneaks into my mind, of a future, dark, despaired, and empty, without Jared in my life, because I let him go. Hot tears are running down my face in torrents, my body is shaking with sobs, and darkness encases me, takes a hold of me like it hasn't for half a decade. Feeling my distress, Stella is once more nuzzling my head, whinnying softly.

“Jen? There you are.” My sobs break the silence of the night, pitiful and desperate as I imagine a life without Jared in it and I don't even hear him coming closer, just feel his warm hand on my shoulder and chest. “What's wrong, Jen? Talk to me. Are you hurting?” One hand is now a warm, soft presence in my neck, the other is rubbing warm circles into my chest.

“I'm not enough,” I stammer, while my breathing is getting harsher and harsher and my head starts swimming. “Don't leave me.” My heart is racing, pounding heavily against my ribcage, and it aches, feels like it's breaking because it does.

“Breathe, Jen,” Jared commands gently. “Calm down. Breathe, just breathe. In and out.”

With gentle words and even fonder caresses, Jared guides me through my panic attack until, minutes or hours later I can't tell, my breathing and heartbeat is back to quite normal, though my body is still shaking, and my face is wet with tears. Only now do I notice that I had my eyes closed and as I open them, I look into deeply worried, big hazel globes, Jared once more kneeling in front of me.

“Hey, here you are.” Jared smiles, though his voice is shaking. It's clear that I freaked him. “What's wrong, Jen? Do you want to tell me?”

Sniffing, I hesitate for a bit. Not because I don't want to tell Jared, but because the timing is bad. We're still hosts to a party that is going wild, from all I can hear. Besides, Jared might be pissed, for even picturing the worst case scenario that will never happen, because while I'm not sure of a lot of things, I'm sure that Jared and I are forever. There is trust, and no taboos in our relationship. We tell each other things, so not telling him is out of question anyways.

His hand is still a warm weight on my chest, rubbing it gently. “How about we go outside, watch the moon and you tell me when you're ready?” Jared suggests, gently brushing my tearstained cheeks. It's a fair compromise; I know he won't push me, will share the silence with me, no matter if it takes five minutes or five hours, despite our guests celebrating.

“Okay,” I breathe out, my voice raw from crying so much. Jared gets up, and, squeezing my shoulders, wheels me outside, stopping at a cupboard where we keep drinks and non-perishable snacks. I take the offered bottle of water gladly, empty half of it in deep, thirsty gulps, and already feel a little better and less drained.

He stops at the bench that was occupied by the evil woman and her friend. Noticing that I'm still too shaky to do much, Jared picks me up and settles me on the cool wooden seating, sitting down next to me. Sure enough, his arms sneak around me, pulling me against his chest and cocooning me like a warm blanket. Like so often, there are no words needed and for a while, we just share being with each other, listening to the sounds of the night, our breathing, and heartbeats. Gently, Jared is stroking my hair, my neck, and the outline of my face and with every soft caress, I calm down a little more.

Clearing my throat, I start talking. “I watched you dancing and it made me very melancholic, Jay. I just wished it could have been me, and suddenly, it was all too much and I needed a bit of space.” My voice is still raw and I take another generous mouthful of water, almost emptying the bottle. “I needed a friend, someone who doesn't care that I can't walk and I went to see Stella. It was just me and her, but eventually, I heard two women talking about me. They didn't have a clue that I was in the stable. One just pitied me. The other was quite mean. She -” Suddenly, the emotions overwhelm me again, and I bite my lips, pushing my fingernails into my palm, hard. I need to feel physical pain to chase the mental pain away.

“What did she say, love?” Jared prompts gently, holding me a little tighter, yet giving me all the time in the world.

“She called me a worthless cripple, Jare. She couldn't believe that you chose me when you could have everyone,” I whisper, not daring to look Jared in the eye. “She thought that you should run away before we take our vows because being with a cripple would always be a burden and -”

Jared takes in a sharp breath, tightening his grip just a little more. “Jen.” Just my name, spoken both in love and pain and it tugs at my heartstrings. “I'd never... You... Did you believe her, love?”

“No, not really. Maybe. I, gosh Jare, I couldn't ignore it. I know I should, but she sort of caught me with my pants down, you know? Tired, exhausted and in pain, hurting because of the dance and then suddenly, I listened to those two strangers, talking about me. I didn't want to eavesdrop, but they were just there, and I was thinking, maybe she is right. Maybe you'd be so far better off without me. And one led to the next and suddenly I had this picture in my mind, of my life without you in it.”

Shoulders slumped and brows knitted together, I see how strained Jared looks as I chance a glance at my boyfriend. He suffers, with me and for me, and for a few seconds, he is lost for words. We've been there before, more than once. Paraplegia does that to you. No matter how well you handle it – and for a long time I haven't handled it well at all – there will always be days that are worse than the average and much worse than the good days. I've had many of those worse days. Most had been before Boston. But some also were after I had met Jared again, even after we had started dating.

“Listen to me, Jen,” Jared demands gently, his voice steady and true. “I know you, Jen. Know how strong and determined you are, but I also know about your struggles and self-consciousness when it comes to your disability. We've been there before, more than once, and I know, we'll be there again, because once in a while, there will just be dark days, a look that pierces and pains you, or words that hurt so much more. And that's where I come in because I'm here, Jen, to catch you when you fall. So let me tell you something.” Jared pauses, pregnant with meaning. “Don't listen to her or anyone else like her. It's not true,” he says slowly and with determination. “You're neither worthless or useless nor a cripple, Jen. You're physically challenged because of a stupid accident, unique and extraordinary, and you contribute to society. Charity. Funds. Now we even created a movie that will entertain people all around the world for over two hours.” Pride in his eyes, Jared looks at me and I know he is right. I'm not worthless. I might not win a Nobel Prize for medicine or physics, but I have a lot to give. “For me, Jensen, you're everything.” It's a fact, said with love and devotion, and it chases most of the darkness away. “I know I'm not exactly ugly and that I could have other men or women who are “whole and healthy”.” Jared uses his fingers to quote the last three words. “But all I want, Jen, is you. You and no one else. You're my heart and my soul, the man who completes me, who makes me laugh and smile, and causes butterflies dancing in my tummy all the time,” Jared declares, causing the butterflies in my belly fluttering excitedly. “I chose you, Jensen. All of you. Spinal cord injury, lifeless legs and wheels. I'm here and I'll always be there, Jen.”

Warmth settles in my heart, yet I try to object. “But -.” I'm silenced with a gentle kiss. “Jare,” I mumble against the kiss, “she isn't wrong. I'm a burden, my limitations also restrict you, hon.”

“People might see it like that, yeah,” Jared agrees, “but I don't see it like that. I see it as a challenge, even as an adventure, but never as a burden. You make me so, so happy, Jensen, every single day.” Once more, Jared pauses, to make sure that the message sinks in. “The “limitations that restrict me”,” again he is using quotation marks, “aren't real restrictions. Take skiing. I like skiing. You could ski, too, there is wheelchair skiing. But even if you wouldn't want to try it, I still could go with my brother or sister. Yet, I choose not to, because skiing is not as important to me as you are, Jen. We're not stumbling into matrimony blindly, Jen. We've been sharing our lives for almost five years now. I've seen the worst of you.” I groan as I remember the humiliating accident very early in our relationship, when I slipped in a puddle of water in Jared's kitchen and lost consciousness. Bleeding, vomiting, shitting and peeing in Jared's kitchen, I was lying in my own mess for hours until Jared came back. I was mortified, yet Jared was sympathetic and caring, just took good care of me and my injuries, without so much as batting an eyelash or looking at me in disgust. “And I'm still here.”

“There will be a time when I'm not strong enough anymore to move myself. When I might need an electric wheelchair. Just today, when Luke was done with me, I was barely strong enough to wheel myself, Jare,” I admit quietly, not daring to look at Jared, afraid of what I might see there.

“Oh honey, so what? Do you honestly think I'd love you less because you swap your manual wheelchair for an electric one? If it makes it easier for you?” Jared's voice trails away. “It's nothing to be ashamed of, Jen.” His fingers move soothingly over my cheek, combing through my beard.

“You won't be able to carry me forever, Jare,” I chip in. It's not that I want Jared to leave me, far from it. But suddenly it seems vital that Jared knows this stuff. Knows that, eventually, I might be a nursing case.

Jared looks at me gently. “I carry you because I love to carry you, Jen, not because I have to and you know it. You manage very well without me carrying you around. But if we're both getting more fragile in age, we'll just engage a hot nurse for you.”

I snort, shaking my head slightly, hoping that I won't need a hot nurse that soon, preferring my hot Jared.

“I love you, Jen. All of you. That day after Thanksgiving when you appeared on my parents' doorstep was one of the happiest of my life because it was the start of our wonderful adventure. All I am, Jen, I am because of you.” There is not a hint of doubt in Jared's voice; it oozes with affection and with the love he feels for me. “You make me a better person, a better actor, and are my inspiration. You're everything.” He takes my hand, placing it above his heart, showing that this strong heart is beating just for me, that it belongs to me, is Jensen shaped, and nothing else.

I let Jared's words sink in, let them chase away the last remains of darkness, knowing it's so much more than words, but the truth and a promise of forever. “Thanks for carrying me out of the darkness once more, Jare,” I mumble against his cheek. “I love you, too.”

“Promise me something, Jen?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't run away, in all senses of the word, okay? Talk to me and fight with me.”

I seal the promise with a kiss, feeling warm and whole again.

2

Jared

Waking up is a wonderful sensation because it's not the steady beep of the alarm clock that drags me back into reality, but the bright May sun kissing my cheek. I open my sleep-crusted eyes, smiling when they fall on the peacefully sleeping form of my fiance. Jensen is sleeping on his stomach, his face turned towards me, snoring or sighing softly, while his fingers twitch uncoordinatedd over the pillow.

A part of me wants to kiss him awake, like the prince does with Sleeping Beauty, but Jensen needs all the sleep he can get, so I don't. Instead, I just watch him; the soft rise and fall of his back, a flutter of his lids, how he scrunches up his nose or purses his lips in sleep and my heart fills up with love. Jensen had me worried yesterday, and despite the warmth I shudder palpably, just thinking about the picture of misery Jensen was, shaking and sobbing, wandering through that very dark place. After we talked, Jensen was better, but tired to the bones. I helped him back into the wheelchair and brought him into our bedroom, our guests forgotten for a while. Kissing random spots of skin, I undressed his clothes, stroking my hand along his leg, caressing the toes, cupping his dick. He didn't feel any of my touches, but I know Jensen appreciates them anyways. Then I tucked Jensen in, made sure he was resting comfortably and lied down next to him, petting his arm, his back and his neck, holding his hand, until he fell asleep.

Only when Jensen was sleeping did I go back to our guests and excused my better half, asking the few remaining guests to leave. Less than half an hour later, I could finally join Jensen in bed, linking my fingers with Jensen's, looking at the soft, peaceful features, shining all silvery and looking otherworldly in the moonlit room.

Now, it's almost noon, but I don't care. We don't have any other plans than loitering today away, spending it in blissful togetherness. As I get up as quietly as possible, Jensen mumbles something inaudible in his sleep and my chest tightens in love. Pure. Endless. All-consuming. It's super sappy, but it is what it is. I've probably loved Jensen from the first ever moment I laid my eyes on him, and this love, purely platonic at first, grew and grew, until it sort of defined me.

A quick shower later, I step back into our bedroom and Jensen is still sleeping. I dress quickly, leaving on tiptoes and heading down into the kitchen. I start the coffee machine, get eggs and bacon, fruit and yogurt from the fridge, and prepare a proper breakfast for us. Twenty minutes later, there's scrambled eggs with bacon, yogurt with fruit and cereal, toast with honey and jam as well as coffee, water and orange juice. I use the trolley and lift to bring it all upstairs, and when I open the door to our bedroom, Jensen is looking at me, now sitting upright, his upper body propped up by all the pillows in our bed.

“Hey baby.” His warm smile causes my heart to somersault and makes me fall in love with Jensen all over again.

“Hey love. I made us breakfast,” I explain the obvious, wheeling the trolley in, smiling at my boyfriend whose eyes lit up a little more.

“Looking delicious,” Jensen acknowledges. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Don't even think about it.” I laugh, getting the arrangeable tray we got just for having breakfast in bed from one of the closets, laying it with all the dishes I prepared before joining Jensen in bed, snuggling against him, feeding him with a strawberry before kissing him, tasting toothpaste with a hint of strawberry and the first mouthful of caffeine he already had.

For a while, we share a companionable silence, eating bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs, washing it down with orange juice and coffee, but once the warm breakfast is gone, Jensen takes my hands, looking at me. Playing fondly with my fingers, Jensen's focus is on me, and as cheesy as it sounds, I feel the love and gratitude radiating from his body just like his warmth, encasing me.

“Thank you, Jare. For what you did yesterday.”

I want to brush it away, because it's not that I don't feel low once in a while myself, and Jensen has always been there, to encourage and to support me, but Jensen shakes his head and it's obvious it's important to him, that he needs to say this.

“Once more you saved me from falling too deep and there are no words in the world to express what it means to me, Jare. To have you in my life, as confidant, protector, supporter and lover. Thanks, for being there.”

“Always,” I promise, leaning in for a kiss. I let the tip of my tongue glide over Jensen's lips, open my lips just enough to let in his tongue and then we let our tongues dance, lick and entangle while our fingers are moving over necks, shoulders, and backs in the same rhythm. Sighing and moaning we kiss, until we run out of oxygen, only to let our hands twine, pressed against each other's rapidly racing hearts. Foreheads touching, we slowly calm down, breathing out gentle words of love until after a far chaster kiss, we continue our breakfast.

“So, how do you want to spend today, Jen?” I ask between two spoonfuls of my yogurt with muesli.

“How about a ride and a picnic now and some workout and sauna in the evening?” Jensen suggests, his mouth still full with toast and honey. He swallows. “And lots of cuddling in between?”

“How could I say no to that?” I chuckle, placing my hand on Jensen's stomach, rubbing it softly.

***

Less than an hour later, I help Jensen into his custom-made saddle. There's a blanket fixed to it and my panniers are filled with drinks, sandwiches, some leftover salads from last night and slices of lemon cake. We ride east, Jensen on Stella and I on Remus, my black stallion, at a very relaxed pace. It always amazes me how well Jensen manages to keep himself in the saddle and masters riding without the use of his legs, but Stella is very well trained, and Jensen and Stella are one unity. I'd probably be jealous, if she were a human being. Mostly, we share a companionable silence and enjoy being outdoors; the sun kissing our bodies, the soft swoosh of the wind, the many sounds of nature, the gurgle of the stream we follow along the small dirt track.

Eventually, we stop at a small clearing, ready to take our break. I spread the blanket before I help Jensen out of the saddle and carry him over to the blanket and place him on the ground, making sure he sits comfortably before I get food and drinks. We're both not quite hungry just yet, only taking a sip of our drinks, before leaning back and lying down, looking into a blue sky covered with woolen clouds.

“Perfect,” Jensen states, reaching out and placing his hand on my abdomen, letting it run up and down my torso before it moves south, cupping my crotch. At once, my dick awakes in interest, swelling as Jensen squeezes gently. Laughing, he sits up, unzipping my pants, lazily caressing my dick through the canvas of my suddenly very tight briefs before freeing it. Greeting it with words and tongues, Jensen shows me his love, scratching his index finger along the thick vein before catching the head between his lips while his hands massage my balls, kneading, squeezing and holding it gently yet demanding. Tremors of lust run through my body with every heartbeat. All my blood rushes south, and I grow, getting harder and harder, until I come with shaking hips. Jensen takes all of me in, smiling broadly, lips and teeth smeared with my come. It's both beautiful and dirty, and I prop up, hugging my better half against my chest, before crashing my lips against his, licking him clean, tasting myself and a hint of Jensen while I kiss him hungrily.

Breathing hard, I lie down, tugging Jensen with me, making sure that he is resting comfortably against my body. While Jensen can't get an erection because of his paraplegia, there is still enough good I can do for him and I do just that, stripping him off his clothes, worshiping his body, licking, kissing, sucking and caressing his skin with tongue, lips and breath. I pay special attention to his nipples, let my tongue glide around the brown halo before gently sucking on each nipple. Shivers of pleasure are running down Jensen's body, sweet puffs escape his barely opened lips, and his hands are scratching over my back. Once in a while, I catch Jensen's lips in a gentle kiss, and whenever I do so, fireworks explode in my belly, sending wave after wave of well-being through my body.

Slowly, my movements change into something even softer and sweeter. Jensen is a warm weight in my arms, his head pressed against my chest, his legs caged between mine. My thumb lazily caresses the spot where Jensen's spine is fixed with a platinum plate, just as my other hand strokes Jensen's face. “I wish I could stop time, Jen,” I admit, suddenly overwhelmed with my feelings. “Wish it could always be like that. Just you and I, being together like that, cuddling for the rest of our lives.”

“Sap,” Jensen calls me gently. “But I agree, it's a wonderful thought. Let's stay here for a while.”

Sharing lazy kisses and slow touches, we even snooze away for a bit and I only wake up when my belly reminds me that breakfast was a while ago. This time, I kiss my Sleeping Beauty awake, and Jensen smiles as he opens his eyes just a tiny slit, mumbling contently. He is still a little dazed and I watch him waking, stroking his cheek covered by soft facial hair.

“Late lunch?” I ask and like on command, my belly is growling hungrily.

Jensen laughs. “Sure.” He props himself up and I slide behind him, legs opened wide.

As Jensen is leaning against me, my left arm sneaks around his torso, hand widely spread on his flat belly. We share everything, from the Italian pasta salad to the tomato and mozzarella salad, the three sandwiches and the slices of cake for dessert. Jensen feeds me with small pieces of apple and melon, handing me my bottle of coke before I can even ask him to do so. We're a well attuned team, knowing what the respective other wants or needs.

Once everything is devoured down to the last crumb, I clean the empty boxes away before sitting behind Jensen again. My chest his backrest, my arms snug around him, I hold him as tight as I can, showing him how precious he is to me, with every little kiss and lazy movement of my fingers. My reward are happy signs, the most beautiful smile and him melting into the warm cocoon of my arms.

“We should head back,” I suggest eventually, unsure if minutes or hours passed by. It's still daylight, but the sun is far in the west; we stayed outside much longer than planned.

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, turning in my arms, just enough to catch my lips in a soft and lazy kiss. Sighing contentedly, I close my eyes, being consumed by that kiss, by Jensen's fingers ghosting over my shoulders and neck, by his own soft moans and whimpers, until we break the kiss, smiling as our foreheads touch and our heartbeats calm down.

I lift Jensen into the saddle before I get everything ready and then we're en route again, the horses trotting back home. From the corner of my eyes, I watch Jensen, the way he smiles, how relaxed and happy he is, as if all the strain that burdened him a day ago melted away thanks to a good night's sleep and a carefree day.

Jensen

Our ride is followed by an hour of working out in the gym, and after a short chill-out session in our chill-out area, Jared lifts me up and carries me into the pool. Not that he has to; there is a lift I normally use, but I don't complain, feeling very loved in my significant other's arms. Side by side, we swim a dozen or so lanes, but eventually, Jared stops, grabbing my wrist and hugging me to his chest.

“Dance with me,” he prompts gently. There's music from the ipod in the background and Jared puts one hand on my waist while the other envelops my hand, before waltzing with me through the water. A lump grows in my chest, threatening to choke me. Salty tears mingle with the chlorinated water of the pool, and Jared kisses them away gently, before he cradles me back and forth, left and right again, until the slow song is replaced by a faster tune.

Heart pounding, I let my forehead drop onto Jared's shoulder. “You're everything.” It's a statement as much as it is a promise and acknowledgment. I know, there will be dark days in the future, too, but I also know that Jared will always be with me to guide me back into the light.

Jared holds me just a little tighter and places a sweet, lingering kiss against my neck, tickling the skin there, sending a pleasant tingle through my body. We breathe in unison, my body tugged against his, the water kissing our chests, yet also slowly cooling down our bodies, now we stopped moving. Despite the warmth of Jared's body, I feel goosebumps creeping up my arms and I know, it's time for warming up in the cozy nest of our pine scented sauna.

“How about we move to someplace warm?” I suggest, moving my head in the direction of the sauna. We heated it up before we went swimming, so it should be close to the two hundred and five degrees we prefer for our sauna. The hotter, the better.

Once more, Jared collects me in his arms, carries me out of the pool and settles me on the wooden bench at the long side of the pool. What follows is a tender ritual of toweling each other off, fingers and soft towels moving over wet skin, rubbing it dry.

We both empty a pint of water before I slide into my wheelchair and we enter the sauna together. The wonderful fragrance of heat, warm wood and the forestry smell from pouring scented water onto the hot stones to increase humidity encases us at once, vitalizing me. We both spread our big towels on the benches, Jared on the upper and I'm on the lower one, before lying down.

Closing my eyes, I let the heat envelop me, let it loosen my muscles, and warm me to the core. Sweat is pouring down my face and out of every pore, but it's a good feeling, as if all the stress and dirt is slowly dripping away. Eventually, I feel a soft finger ghosting over my arm and sure enough, just moments later, Jared's hand twines with mine.

I sigh contentedly and for once, my head is uncommonly empty, clear of all troubles and scenarios. The warmth lulls me to sleep, but far too soon, the alarm clock Jared set announces that the first sauna session is over. Wordlessly, Jared helps me back into my wheelchair and into the shower, where he shocks me with ice-cold water, before having a quick cold shower himself. We both empty another bottle of water as we move down to the chill-out room, where we lie down, our hands moving lazily over the other's body.

“'m tired,” I mumble, snuggling closer into the warm wall of Jared's broad chest. “Good tiredness, though. Not like yesterday.”

“Me too. How about we just go to bed after the second sauna session? Just have a shower, skip dinner and go to bed early, like a very old married couple.”

“Wonderful idea,” I agree, cupping Jared's juicy buttocks with my hand. We're naked, but as I let my eyes glide appreciatively over Jared's body, feeling my mouth watering, it's not about sex or lust, but about admiration. “You're beautiful, Jare. You were such a scrawny kid when we met, and now look at you. No Greek God could have been more beautiful.” My fingertips trail along the outline of Jared's very well-defined chest, feel soft, brown hair on their journey further down, over ripped abs before they finally poke into his belly button, eliciting a sweet sigh out of Jared's throat.

“Says the most beautiful man on earth,” Jared states.

For a long time after the accident, I hated to take compliments because no one in their right mind would call a paraplegic bound to a wheelchair beautiful, handsome or attractive. Complimenting me felt like a mockery. It was Jared who showed me that I was still beautiful and so much more than meets the eye. In spite of the wheelchair, I realized that I am still me; Jensen Ackles, with a heart and a soul, a son, brother, uncle, friend, and boyfriend. Someone who makes people happy and their hearts going faster.

“How about we agree that we're both not exactly unattractive?” I move my hand north again, spreading it wide above Jared's heart, my heart bursting with love and gratitude, for having Jared in my life, who loves me so much, who accepts me, just the way I am now.

Jared leans in for a kiss, nibbling on my lips gently. “That we are, sweetie.”

***

Freshly showered, smelling of patchouli, we're lying in our bed. I still feel cozy after the sauna and better than I have felt in weeks after a day filled with love, sunshine, sleep, relaxation and the slight exhaustion that comes with horseback riding, lifting weights and swimming. Jared is almost blanketing me, peppering soft kisses over my collarbone and down my chest, moving further and further south, until I don't feel his movements any longer. I know he is massaging my balls and fondling my dick, stroking it softly. Some paraplegics are lucky enough to get a hard on if stimulated. I unluckily was never one of them, despite all our attempts. For a long time, it was a heavy burden, but not anymore. Jared has found other ways to shoot me out of space, just by kissing, licking or sucking certain parts of my body I still feel. And while my own fingers can't replace my cock, they are deft and gentle, catapulting Jared into other dimensions when they glide inside him or get him off.

“I have an appointment with Dr. Kent tomorrow,” I announce, not sure if Jared remembers. Dr. Kent is a specialist for paraplegia at the Mount Sinai Hospital. I see her twice a year for follow-up exams. It's not a big thing, it just takes a lot of time and patience. “There's no -”

“Shut up,” Jared objects unbelievably gently. “Of course I'll come along. Otherwise I won't see you at all tomorrow.” Pouting, Jared winks. “Or aren't you going to Pasadena?”

“I'd love to, if you don't mind.” I haven't seen my friends for two weeks now and I'm curious, because last week, someone new joined us. We do get new members, once in a while, but they often only come twice or thrice before leaving again. We try to welcome them, but fact is, we're such a tight knit bunch of friends that most struggle and feel like the fifth wheel on the wagon. Besides, I want to tell them about the talk I overheard yesterday. Now, a day later, it's not such a big deal anymore. I probably overreacted anyways, and Jared calmed me down. I'm at ease with myself again, know that I'm okay, that my wheelchair is okay, and that there is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that makes me worthless. Yet, that's what the group is for; sharing experiences like that, learning from one another, how to react or to cope, because sometimes, insults are thrown directly at us. “I'd like to meet the new guy and tell them about yesterday.”

“So, a new guy?” Jared lifts his brow in interest. “Do you think he'll stay?”

“No clue, don't even know him yet. But it'd be nice, getting an addition, someone who stays.” In January, Ben died. I'm still getting emotional about it. He survived a car accident that cost him his mobility, only to die of fourth stage colon cancer within six weeks. No one could replace Ben, but it still would be good to have a ninth member again, just like the Fellowship in The Lord of the Rings.

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” Jared is often uncommonly reserved when it comes to the Happy Wheels. He supports me, and he supports them, but he never crowds me, always gives me space, knowing they are my thing.

“Sure baby.” I comb my fingers through his hair. It is much shorter than in our Supernatural days and the gray is slowly getting the upper hand, too, his hairline receding more and more, but it's still soft and full behind the hairline. “Depending on how long Dr. Kent needs me, we can grab either a very early or a very late dinner, maybe at that Chinese restaurant two blocks away from the Community Center?”

“Sounds good,” Jared agrees, sliding away, helping me to get settled correctly, to avoid bedsores. He switches off the light, scooting close again, taking my hand and kissing it's palm before twining our fingers together. “Good night, my love.”

Like always when Jared says something like this, something inside me melts and a wave of warmth and happiness shoots through my veins. “Sleep safe and sound, Jare.” Not a ray of moonlight is illuminating the dark room, yet I feel Jared's warm presence very close by and sure enough, as I lean in, my lips catch his cheek, moving over it before they find their goal, meeting Jared's lips in a tender goodnight kiss. “I love you, Jay.”

***

Blood samples, blood pressure, reflexes, ultrasound, CT. The exams Dr. Kent and some of her colleagues do are diverse and she is very thorough, also checks my skin and the mobility of the muscles in my legs. It's important that they don't atrophy and Luke often works with me on it. If Jared is allowed to stay for an exam, he stays, if not he is patiently waiting outside, wearing a beanie and shades, his head down, buried into a book, to avoid being recognized. Mostly it works, but probably just because no one visiting a hospital is here for leisure and too busy with their own problems to care whether or not one of the most famous and popular actors these days is crossing their path.

Several hours and cups of coffee later – on Jared's side, I only had some water - I'm done, being wheeled back into Dr. Kent's office by an orderly, Jared following me instantly. The moment Jared sits down on the chair next to me, he takes my hand, lacing our fingers together and pressing his palm against mine. He'd never admit it, but I think he is always scared that they find something, some rare medical condition or a tumor in my bones. With feeling no pain in the paralyzed part of the body, there is no warning signal if something isn't right and it freaks Jared.

The office is small and a little sterile, white walls, glass and chrome, a shelf with medicinal literature. The only personal touch is a pink orchid on the desk next to a family photo. Apart from the Ipad in front of Dr. Kent and a few pens, the desk is otherwise empty. She glances quickly at the screen, before smiling at me. “Jensen,” she starts, “all the scans came back negative. You're in perfect condition.” Like every time when I pay her a visit, I feel a weight I did not even realize I carried around being lifted from my shoulders and Jared almost crushes my hand in relief, his lips moving from a thin, tight line into his thousand watt smile. “You work out a lot, don't you?”

“Recently, not as much as I'd have liked,” I answer, thinking about the full schedule of our movie production. “But generally, yeah. I also have a PT coming three to four times a week.”

Dr. Kent nods. “That's much more than the average paraplegic gets. And while it helps to build the strength in your shoulders, it's also the reason why you sometimes feel tired and feeble.” After Jared had nudged me gently, I told Dr. Kent how I was feeling the other day. “Right now, there's no need for an electric wheelchair. If you get one to make it easier for you after PT or very exhausting days at work, it's okay, but if you do so, I'd strongly advise you to not use it regularly, only when you need it. Concentrate on a healthy lifestyle, which means keep on working out without overdoing it, have healthy food and most of all, rest. Sleep is still one of the best remedies.” She gets up, rounding the table. “If there is anything that bothers you, anything at all, pay me a visit. Otherwise I'll see you in six months. Take care, Jensen.” She first shakes mine, then Jared's hand, who opens the door for me to wheel out.

Lost in our own thoughts, we're both quiet on the ride in the elevator down to the underground garage, but once we're both settled in the car, Jared envelops me into his arms. Holding me tight, he conveys his relief with gentle touches, his big, warm hands rubbing my back, his face buried into the curve of my neck. “Thank God you're alright.” His hands move up, squeezing my shoulders before they cup my face, his thumb gently brushing over my beard. A gentle kiss confirms what he just said, just soft warm lips and a hint of tongue teasing me. “You must be hungry,” Jared states. I wasn't allowed to eat anything in the morning, and now I'm not only close to starving, but I also feel a little dizzy and my head is aching slightly.

Without waiting for my reply, Jared gets out of the car again, opens the trunk and comes back with a bottle of water and a bag filled with two homemade sandwiches and some more slices of the fluffy lemon cake. “Thanks, hon,” I say as I open the bottle to take a generous mouthful of water before I eat the sandwich, trying not to guzzle it.

Once I finish the first sandwich, Jared starts the car and heads to Pasadena. The appointment didn't take too long, but as so often, traffic is busy and when Jared stops in front of the community center, it's only twenty minutes until the meeting. After the second sandwich and the lemon cake I'm feeling much better, and there are always snacks at our meetings, too. Every week, it's someone else's turn. “We're a little early,” I state as I slide into the wheelchair. “How about we go for a short walk?” Jared has been sitting a lot so far today and I know how he likes to stretch his freakishly long legs.

“Sure.” He smiles, locking the car and lets me lead the way. There is a small park just one block away, nothing special, just a lawn with a playground, fringed by bushes and trees, but it serves our purpose. Jared walks beside me, his hand a warm weight on my shoulder, his equivalent to holding my hand when I'm in the chair. “You good, Jen?”

Hearing the concern in Jared's question, I look up, smiling at him. “Apparently I am,” I reply, referring to the diagnosis, “and I'm relieved, but the tiredness and exhaustion, it just bothers me, I guess.”

“You heard what she said. It's working combined with working out. You're not twenty anymore, Jen. Your body suffered a horrible trauma seven years ago. You're physically challenged, baby. I think, all things considered, you're doing extremely well. But please, if you feel worse, talk to me. Then we'll go see Dr. Kent again.” He takes his hand off my shoulder only to kneel in front of me. The gravel must prick through his jeans and I'm sure it's damn uncomfortable, but Jared doesn't seem to mind. Hands spread wide, he covers my thighs, rubbing them softly before he takes my hands off the wheels, covering them with his own. “And I won't think any less of you if you rather use an electric wheelchair when you feel too tired for the normal one. I don't want you to torture yourself, okay?”

I nod, leaning forward, pressing my forehead against Jared's, loving him just a little more because of his unwavering love and support.

“Let's head back, Jen. Your meeting starts in a few.”

***

Lips still prickling from Jared's goodbye kiss, I wheel into the first floor room in the community center that has our name on its door each Wednesday evening. Beth, who is responsible for the snacks today, is already there, her husband helping her with arranging the glasses with pasta salad and the plate with sandwiches on the counter.

“Hey, Beth!” I call and she flashes me a broad smile. She's a few years younger than I am and is bound to the wheelchair because of a very heavy case of MS. She wheels closer, kissing my cheek and only then I do notice that someone else is already there.

“Jensen, that's the new boy, Darius,” Beth introduces.

“The actor and director,” Darius says as he wheels over, stretching out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I watched some of your movies and was gutted to hear what happened to you.”

His handshake is strong and genuine, and I notice at once how good looking he is. Probably around Jared's age, very well built, and probably as tall as I am, with a nice smile, even teeth and warm brown eyes. His hair is quite short, army style, and he is clad in a dark green tee and blue denim. “Good to meet you too and welcome to our group. What brings you here?”

Just like Jared, he talks a mile a minute and I warm to him immediately. Husband, father and photographer, he moved to Pasadena from Bozeman, Montana, because his wife, a lawyer, got a very lucrative job. Time flies by as he talks, and suddenly the group is complete and Kevin, who is sort of our senior, starts the meeting. It's a bit like an AA meeting; you're not required to talk and not everyone has something to say. Anya is the first to speak, mentioning how she got another rejection for a job, although she was qualified, then Darius shares an experience about being bullied back when he was still living in Bozeman and then it's my turn. I not only tell them about the women's chatter I overheard, but also about feeling drained and weak and thinking about getting an electric wheelchair.

“What are you afraid of, honey?” Clara asks, looking at me with her dark blue eyes. “An electric wheelchair is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Wrapping my arms around myself in a gesture of protection I hesitate a bit, unsure if I should really tell them. They're my friends and confidants, but there are still things I don't want them to know or see and the self-conscious version of me is on top of that list. We all took a vow to honor the Vegas principle; what is said inside those four walls stays inside those walls and so far, everyone kept their vow, but still, maybe because of who I am and most importantly, because of who Jared is, I'm often a little reluctant. Releasing a shaky breath, I admit what burdens me deep down, without even having a reason for it, “Jared's look. I think I couldn't bear it if he looked at me differently once I'm in the electric wheelchair.”

Seven pairs of eyes stare at me, mouths slightly open. Just Darius doesn't really understand, but how could he, has he never seen me with my boyfriend. “Jensen,” Beth, who is sitting next to me, says gently, patting my wrist. “Jared loves you.”

“No,” Anya chips in. “He worships you. He adores you. Have you ever seen the way he looks at you? He smiles at you? He'd never...”

Clara nods. “Jensen, what makes you say something like that?”

Biting my lips, I shrug. I know my worries are far-fetched. “He said it'll be fine. Just half an hour ago, shortly before the meeting started, he knelt down in front of me and told me that he wouldn't think any less of me if I used an electric wheelchair, once in a while. But um, I'm not that heavily disabled, am I? I'm just scared that -” I stop, taking a deep breath. I can't even put it into words, because it's not that I don't trust Jared, I do. With my life.

“Honey, you have to talk to Jared about it. Soon. Don't sugarcoat it,” Clara suggests.

Not wanting to say anything else, I just nod, flashing the group a grateful smile. I don't even know what's wrong with me. I'm not sure of many things, but I'm sure of Jared's love and support. So I don't know why I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Yet, I can't help it. Ever since the idea has sneaked into my mind, it bothers me, but on the other hand, I know it'd help. Lost in my own thoughts, I barely get what the other members are saying, and suddenly, Kevin is calling the official end of the meeting and everyone gathers together at the counter, getting snacks, coffee and soft drinks. Telling everyone that I'm off to have dinner with Jared, I say goodbye, waving once, unsure if I'll make it next Wednesday because of post-production.

Jared is waiting for me outside, leaning against his car, looking relaxed and so good, tall, lean and muscled, wearing his shades and looking very hot in clothes that hug his body in all the right places. I feel horrible for doubting him, because never once did he give me a reason and I wonder what that says about me.

“Hey baby!” Jared calls, meeting me halfway, leaning down and kissing me softly. “How was the meeting?”

“Good.” I'm sure my smile doesn't really reach my eyes, but if Jared notices, he doesn't mention it , just places his hand on my neck, rubbing it gently before leading the way to the Chinese restaurant. I start telling him about Darius, at first not even noticing that he looks at me weirdly.

“You seem to like him.” Am I mistaken or is there a hint of jealousy in his very neutral tone?

“Yeah, I do. But there is no reason to be jealous, you know?” Unsure if he really is, I smirk. “You're the only one for me, Jared. You're my person.”

“I know. Actually I'm glad that you like him. I know we're each other's best friends, but still, it's good to have other friends and see them, once in a while.” We have lots of mutual friends like Chris, Steve and Jason, Tom, Mike, or Stephen, but from time to time, Jared hangs out with actors he has worked with in earlier years, and he encourages me to seek the company of others, too.

Glad that Jared sees it that way, we enter the room and, Darius and everyone else from the Happy Wheels forgotten, we enjoy the fantastic all you can eat buffet, talking and laughing about random things, knowing that, even if we enjoy spending time with someone else, once in a while, at the end of the day, there is no need for jealousy. We'll always come back to each other to be complete.

3

Jared

From the corner of my eyes, as inconspicuously as possible, I watch Jensen, who pretends to read a book. His heart isn't in it, though. While his eyes are moving from left to right, blinking once in a while, he hasn't turned the page for five minutes, and I know, his mind is somewhere else. Recently, I've caught Jensen absent like this quite often, though whatever it is that is burdening his mind, he hasn't shared it with me yet. Jensen has always been far more withdrawn than I am, sharing far less. I think it's a mixture of self-protection and self-consciousness, spiced with trust issues. I know, Jensen trusts me more than anybody else, yet, he doesn't confide everything in me. Often, he tries to work things out on his own and up to a certain degree, that's okay with me. If the burden gets too heavy, though, I intervene and I think it's time to do so now.

“Jensen?” Gently, I touch his wrist, taking the book and closing it at the page he opened fifteen minutes ago. “I know something's bothering you and has for a while. Want to tell me?”

Covering his face with his hands, Jensen releases a shaky breath. “Not really,” he admits quietly. “But I think I should.”

“How about I make us a big mug of coffee each and we go outside, to the bench at the cliffs and you tell me?” Knowing that I suggested it so that Jensen can collect his thoughts, he nods, slowly wheeling himself out of the living-room, struggling. It looks like every move forward is a fight and suddenly I think I know what this is about.

While everything inside me screams to run after Jensen and help him, I let him be, suspecting that it would be far worse if I offered to push the wheelchair. Instead, I head to the kitchen, switch on the coffee machine and prepare two to-go mugs, the one for Jensen exactly the way he likes his caffeine best.

When I join Jensen at the western edge of our property, he is sitting on the bench, his eyes fixed at the roaring ocean, wave after wave thundering against the cliff. No matter the weather, it's always a spectacle, and whenever I watch the sea, I feel small and unimportant.

Wordlessly, I hand Jensen his mug and sit down next to him, close enough that our bodies are touching. I don't push Jensen, I never do. He'll speak once he's ready, and we are in no hurry. And even if I were; Jensen is my top priority, and I'll always take time for him.

“It's ridiculous.” Jensen shakes his head, caging his lips between his teeth in a gesture of self-consciousness.

“I don't think it is, baby. Far from it. It bothers you so much that you're very far away, very thoughtful.”

His eyes fixed at some random spot far away on the horizon, Jensen doesn't dare look at me. “Don't be mad.”

I can't help but be offended, just a little bit. I've never really been mad with Jensen. Sure, like every couple, we had some downs in our past, more quarrels than fights, and once in a while we butt heads, because we're both stubborn and yeah, I'm probably a little bit too protective of Jensen, but mad? “Not sure I ever could be, baby.”

“I've been thinking about the electric wheels, Jare,” Jensen finally spits out. “Constantly since visiting Dr. Kent. I know it'd make life easier for me. Not only here at home, but also on set. I'm not getting any younger and sometimes my shoulders hurt so damn much. But um-” He bites his lips nervously, not daring to look at me. “I'm scared, Jare. Scared what people might say or think. Scared of the looks. Scared that you'd look at me differently.” His voice is barely a whisper as he says this, shaking. “I know you said that you wouldn't mind, but Jare, maybe it makes you realize what you're getting into dating and marrying a paraplegic, and I'm scared you notice that I'm a sham package and leave me.” Hands shaking, his eyes now move to his lifeless lap and I see a tear falling down onto them.

Something breaks inside me. For myself, feeling like a failure, because obviously, no matter what I do or say, Jensen doesn't really believe it, but far more for Jensen, for how much he still suffers. I know he had trust issues, but I thought he overcame them, at least with me. Worst though is, he really is scared. Scared that I might be mad that he doesn't trust me enough and that I'd leave him. I'm neither, of course. Sad yes, disappointed, maybe, but not mad and I'd never ever leave Jensen. I thought he knew, and it's damn frustrating that he doesn't.

I reach out and cover his hand with mine. “I'm not Alice, Jen.” I put all my love and conviction into my voice. It's essential that Jensen believes me. Alice was the woman Jensen dated when he had the accident that cost him his mobility. They'd been dating three years and while Jensen himself never has told me, Mackenzie mentioned that he wanted to tie the knot, but never could pop the question, because Fate was faster than him. After the accident, Alice left Jensen without batting an eyelash, just sending a text as she didn't want to burden herself with dating a paraplegic.

Jensen takes in a sharp breath, chancing a quick look at me. His eyes are swimming in tears and all I want to do is embrace him, hold him close and never let go, caress and kiss his trust issues away. “I know you have a lot of issues, Jen, but I don't intend to ever leave you. Remember when we met again? It was awkward at first and you asked me why I would want to be friends with someone like you. You called yourself damaged goods back then.” Jensen nods in acknowledgment and I keep on talking. “When I told you that I just wanted my best friend back, I made a vow, Jen. I vowed to never ever leave you. I intend to keep this vow until my dying day. Not because I feel committed to it, but because you are the top priority in my life, Jen. No one else.” Squeezing Jensen's hands, I let my fingers twine with his. “Will it be weird seeing you in an electric wheelchair?” I ask myself aloud. “Indeed it will be.” Walking down memory lane, I remember seeing Jensen in his wheelchair for the first time, back in the restaurant, and again, at Mackenzie's house. “It felt so weird, seeing you sitting in the wheelchair, knowing that you need it.” I was numb with shock, seeing Jensen sitting in this monster that enabled him to move, his eyes fixed at his lifeless legs, his coyness and the self-hate. He was so broken, even scared and I was so, so confused and worried, not knowing what had happened to my former best friend. Despite Jensen's success as an actor, no one had known. I still recall how anxious I was, hoping for Jensen to call after I'd given his niece my number, yet dreading his call at the same time, scared that he might be terminally ill. That first real meeting, at his sister's place, was one of the most emotional days of my life. The anxiety and awkwardness, yet the pure joy of seeing Jensen again and finally feeling him in my arms again.

“I remember,” Jensen breathes out, smiling softly. “Your candor took my breath away, Jare.”

I return the smile. “I got used to it, Jen. It's a part of you, like, I don't know, a wart or a mole or a bald spot on your head.”

Chuckling, Jensen feels for his hair, which is thankfully still very full. “No warts or bald spots, honey.”

“Not yet,” I banter, tightening my grip around his hand. “The wheelchair is a part of you, but you learned long ago that it doesn't define you. It won't be any different if it's run by a battery. It will just make it easier for you, Jen. Will people look? Sure. Ask questions? Definitely. Will I love you less because of it? Hell no.” Moistening my lips, I pause, also to look at my better half. Shoulders slumped, Jensen is still sitting on the bench like a picture of misery, but at least his fingers caress mine and he holds his head a little higher, prouder. “You're far from a sham package or damaged goods, Jensen. You're unbelievable. Proud. Smart and talented. Breathtaking. Whenever I look at you, whenever you fall asleep holding my hand and wake up next to me, I thank God, Chance or whoever, for meeting you again on your birthday in Boston, Jen. I'm forever grateful that you called me and gave us that second chance. I still know what I'm getting into being with you... the greatest adventure and love I could have wished for.” A tear falls down Jensen's cheek and onto the back of my hand; it chokes me up, too. “I know there is a darkness living in you and a sadness deep inside, but life is always light and shadow, Jen. And I hope you trust me enough to lean back and let me catch you when you fall. I hope you know that I'll always be there to carry you out of the darkness and back into the light.”

Just like that, I kneel down in front of him. “Jensen Ross Ackles, I love you forever and endlessly. Do you still want to marry me, despite the electric wheelchair?”

The most beautiful, genuine smile parts Jensen's lips and I know, he finally understands that there is simply nothing, apart from death, that will part us. “I do,” Jensen promises, his shoulders shaking with sobs of happiness. Finally, I embrace him and I cling to him, just as Jensen clings to me. We hold each other long and tight while my sweetheart cries and cries, for God knows what.

“I think, we should really order that new ride for you now,” I suggest, my lips pressed against Jensen's temple. “These tears can't be spilled in vain. Besides, it'll make it so much more convenient for you, old man.”

***

Doubtfully, Jensen eyes his new wheelchair, as if it might bite him. His reluctance is both adorable and shocking. “It's a monster,” Jensen states, and compared to the manual wheelchair, it really is. Jensen's normal wheelchair is custom made. Narrow, so it fits his hips perfectly, low back and armrests, the footrests fitting the length of his legs. In a way, it's even elegant. It's a part of Jensen. The new wheelchair isn't any of it. It's bulkier, the armrests are far higher but at least inclinable, so that Jensen can slide onto the chair without any problems.

“Come on, Jen,” I coax him. “It's not that bad. And it's not that you have to use it all the time. Remember Dr. Kent. You'd rather stick to your normal wheelchair anyways.” I pat the soft seat of the wheelchair invitingly. “It'll help you.”

Hesitantly, Jensen wheels close enough to touch it. “Brace yourself and get done with it, Ackles,” he cheers himself, before wheeling even closer, heaving himself onto the new wheelchair. Kneeling down, I adjust the footrest to Jensen's height, looking at my boyfriend once that's done. It's a little unusual, but not that bad. Still Jensen, just in another wheelchair that helps him with the pain in his shoulders.

We're in our living-room and wordlessly, I lead the way into the hallway. There is a full body mirror hanging in the small checkroom. Jensen follows me. Operating the wheelchair is no rocket science and it's surprisingly quiet, just a light hum from the electric device and the wheels on the floor. I look at my love, seeing the play of emotions in his face. Getting this new wheelchair is really a big thing for Jensen. Troubled and torn, that's what he still is. There is nothing much I can add to the things I told him in the last days, and probably, it's not necessary anyways. What's essential though, is that I'm with Jensen, guiding him and showing him that I really don't love him less.

For a long time, Jensen looks at himself, his shoulders slumped, his lips pursed and his brows knitted together. A few days ago, he shaved, looking five years younger without the beard. I'm not sure what he sees, but I just see Jensen, the love of my life. “What do you see, sweetie?”

Taking all of himself in, Jensen looks at his reflection in the mirror a little longer. “Green eyes,” he eventually starts to speak. “Freckles. Killer crowfeet. Lines in my face that hid the beard quite well. Muscled arms and torso. Narrow hips and a thin waist. Too thin bowed legs. A wheelchair.” Jensen pauses, looking at his reflection before looking at me. “Beauty?”

“Breathtaking beauty,” I confirm, putting my hands on his shoulders and sliding them down his chest, rubbing gently and kissing his cheek. It's very soft now the beard is gone.

Cheeks crimson, Jensen looks adorable and my heart somersaults. “It's not that bad. Now I feel really stupid,” he admits.

“I understand why you felt like that. It wasn't stupid. It was just very typical of you.”

“Still too self-conscious, huh?”

“Exactly. But there is no need to be, Jen. You and your wheelchair are okay. No matter which one. It's you.” Placing my left hand above Jensen's heart, I kiss the corner of his mouth. “Actually, it's more than okay. It's perfect.”

Jensen

It's perfect. Jared's voice is still echoing through my head as I follow him outside. I lock both his words and his gentleness in my heart, always to remember and never to forget. Once more, Jared showed me kindness and acceptance, the greatest gift of all. The new wheelchair really isn't that bad and moving it is so much easier. Super easy, actually. No pain in my shoulders and arms, I don't have to concentrate on wheeling myself and it feels like floating over the ground. Best though is the fact that I can finally and comfortably walk hand in hand with Jared, something I do instantly, once I notice. Squeezing my hand once I touch his wrist, Jared reduces his pace, twining his fingers with mine. It's wonderfully intimate and it makes me unbelievably happy that we can finally do what all lovers do; strolling beside each other, hand in hand.

Jared seems to feel the same, because he kisses my hand, smiling down at me. He looks at me differently, but in a completely other way than I feared. Even more intense. With even more pride, respect and love. I didn't think it would be possible that Jared could love me even more, as he loved me so much already.

“How was your meeting yesterday?” Jared asks casually as we walk over to the stables. “You came back later than usual.” It's a neutral statement but somehow it hits me the wrong way. I know I'm overreacting and I don't want to pick a quarrel anyways. I've never been the type, least of all with Jared. “I don't mind,” Jared adds peacefully, “I was just worried, Jen. Would you please send a text next time it's getting later?”

I didn't even notice, neither that it was so much later than usual nor that Jared was worried. When I came home yesterday, Jared was sitting in the library, drinking a glass of old Single Malt, hugging me silently. My thoughts were still at the meeting, the many revelations, the fate. “It was a tough meeting yesterday.” Honoring our vow, I don't get into any details, and Jared is fair enough not to ask. “And after the meeting, Kev suggested we go out for drinks. Darius and Clara joined. I just lost sense of time, I guess. Darius is really fascinating.”

Lifting his brow, Jared looks at me, his face unreadable. Once more I wonder if maybe my fiance is jealous. It's a ridiculous thought, but Jared has his own trust issues. The woman he dated after he had split up with Genevieve cheated on him, several times, and it affected Jared. Deep down, Jared of course knows that he can trust me, that I'd never cheat on him, ever. It's not a lack of offers, far from it. Despite the wheelchair, people look at me hungrily, and once in a while, someone hits on me. Two years ago another gay man joined the Happy Wheels. Funnily, his name was Dean, and he ogled me and even invited me out for a drink. I declined, not even thinking about it for a second, and told Jared right away. At set, one of the makeup girls had it bad for me, too, and whenever she came talking to me, she wore very deep cut necklines that showed more of her tits than I ever wanted to see. “I'm sorry I had you worried. I'd have known better. Never wanted to be so thoughtless.” It's not that Jared is monitoring me and expects me to report to him about my daily doings or whereabouts, far from it. It's just him, being a mother hen and worried about me, and in regard to my handicap, I can't even blame him. I'm just prone to accidents a little more.

“Don't worry about it, baby. It's okay. I know I'm far too protective of you.” He looks apologetically, leaning against the paddock, combing his hands through Carabella's mane. “How about you invite your boys and girls over for a barbecue?” Jared suggests. “With or without spouses and kids, whatever you think is best.”

Now it's me who is lifting my brow in surprise. It's the first time since I joined the Happy Wheels that Jared is proposing a barbecue. We're not AA, we're a group of friends who hang out once in a while in a private setup, too, but it's either Kevin or Beth who hosts them. I once brought Jared, and he liked my buddies, but I still had the feeling he felt like an intruder. “It's quite a long drive for everyone,” I offer my two cents thoughtfully. It's not that I don't like the idea, I love it, but it might be inconvenient for some of them. “And I don't want you to feel left out.”

Jared brushes it away, smiling. “We have guest rooms, Jen. In an accessible house and pool house. And even if I felt left out, I'd survive. Now we're done with post-production, I don't want us to live like hermits again.”

It's a fair argument. There aren't any significant jobs scheduled for the next few months and in the past, we really lived like hermits. Very happy hermits, who snuggled and made out, laughed and worked out, but still, hermits. “Okay, I'll talk to everyone next week.” I slip my arm around Jared's waist, squeezing gently, my earlier huff forgotten.

***

“It might be getting a little later today, Jare,” I announce as I slip into my hoodie. It's uncommonly cold for June, the sky clouded, a sea of all shades of gray, cold gusts blowing from the ocean, tearing at the branches and leaves.

“You sure you want to go?” Concern is oozing from Jared's voice as he looks out of the window skeptically. The roaring waves thunder against the cliffs, far louder and more threatening than usual. It isn't even 6 pm yet, but it looks as if the night has become too impatient to wait for the end of the day, submerging everything in shadow.

“Yeah. I promise I'll drive carefully, Jare. And I'll write a text once I arrive at the center and once I leave, so you know when I should be back.” Remembering what he told me last week, I wheel a little closer. I'm using the new chair today, I want to introduce it to my friends. “Have a nice evening, baby.” I kiss Jared chastely.

“Take care, Jen.” He hugs me, holds me for a little longer than usual, as if he is saying goodbye for a far longer period than just a few hours. For a second, I hesitate. Perhaps I should just stay with Jared, cuddling with him on the sofa, maybe having a sauna session or two, getting him off and making him happy. It's tempting, but Jared and I, we really are joined at the hips most of the time, and it's important for me to see my wheelchair friends. Besides, it's not that I'm gone that long. One hour drive each, one hour meeting, a chat or two. I'd be at home at 10 pm.

“I promise, I will.” I move my chair out of the living-room, turning back, blowing a kiss to Jared and murmuring “I love you”, before I steer the wheelchair towards the garage. I have a custom built fully accessible car. It cost a fortune, but it's worth every dollar.

Luckily, there are no closed roads while I'm driving to Pasadena and I'm making good progress and arrive there in time. In spite of the weather, almost everyone came; only Anya stayed at home. Most eyes are fixed on me and my wheelchair when I wheel in and I feel weirdly exposed, though just for a moment. They ask me to share my experiences and I want to speak anyway, so it's okay. Most have something to say tonight, so the meeting takes a little longer. I'm getting weirdly nervous about not being on the road, tapping my fingers against the armrests of my chair, glancing at my watch. I know it's foolish, because what could possibly happen? Even if one of the roads is blocked with a tree, I still could take a detour and if worst comes to worst, I just have to go back and stay at a motel. Getting more restless by the minute, I turn around once Kevin closes the meeting, wishing everyone a safe trip home and a good night, without even mentioning the barbecue. I can send them all a message or email, or bring it up next week. I just want to get home.

Rightly so, I notice when I leave the community center. The wind is far stronger, the gusts pulling at branches, raising dust and dirt. Once I'm settled in the car, I type the promised text to Jared, expecting that the hollow feeling in my gut is gone once I finally start the motor. Weirdly, it isn't, it's getting worse as I carefully drive my car through Pasadena.

When I have to stop at a red light, I notice that Jared hasn't answered my text. It worries me, adds to the misgivings. Jared barely leaves the room without his cell, and whenever I write something, he answers, even if he's just sending an emoticon. My promise to Jared forgotten, I add a handful of miles to the top speed, the urge to get home as soon as possible far bigger than any caution. From time to time, I glance at my cell, only to see that Jared hasn't answered yet. I know there might be a dozen reasons why he hasn't, but my bad feeling rises to new dimensions with every passing minute. Once I see a pull out, I stop, calling my boyfriend. He doesn't answer. I disconnect the call, trying the landline we barely use, but it's dead. An ice cold hand is reaching out, grabbing my heart and tearing at it.

Close to freaking out, I take a deep breath, calling Archie's cell. He also doesn't answer. It's unreasonable, but somehow I know that something's not right, whatever it is. Several horror scenarios overwhelm me and my heart is racing heavily, pounding like a blacksmith hammer against my chest. Forcing myself to calm down, I open the window, let fresh, cool air into my car, that smells of rain. Breathing in and out, slowly my pulse drops until I feel fit enough to drive. I'm still half an hour away from our place, and with every mile I come closer to home, my dread rises.

Finally, I turn left into the road leading to our property. The gate is wide open, it shouldn't be. Once the house comes into sight I notice that all windows are lit and when I finally see the front door, pure horror overwhelms me. It stands ajar, and Benny, one of our dogs, is lying in a puddle of blood in front of it. Something tightens my throat and I gasp for air as a cold hand is once more reaching out, grabbing my heart, tugging and tearing at it. Instincts are kicking in and I want nothing more than to run inside, find and see Jared, making sure he is okay, but I can't and I don't. With shaking hands, I take the cell, calling 911. I try to focus, telling the operator everything I know, which isn't much, but she promises to send both an ambulance and a patrol car as soon as possible.

Only once I hang up I move the electric chair so I can get in it and run it towards the front door. There is no need to check on Benny; one look is enough to tell me that he's gone. Panic once more rises to new dimensions, my chest tightens and I'm more grateful than ever for the electric wheelchair because my hands are shaking so badly that I'm not sure if I would have been able to wheel my manual chair. Despite the howling storm, it's eerily quiet when I enter the house and a gasp is escaping my throat when my eyes fall on the white tiles in our hallway. They're smeared with blood and the sickening odor of copper is strong in my nose. “Jared!” I call, but it's weak, no more than a caw. I yell again, putting all my love and strength into the name of the most important person in my life, but although Jared's name is echoing through the manor, there is no reply, the silence inside even more threatening.

Fear like I've never felt before rages through me like the wind is raging through the trees, but I force myself to stay calm. For Jared. Without hesitating any longer, I follow the gruesome trace of blood into the kitchen. What I find there makes my stomach churn; Archie lying in a puddle of blood, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, his face a mask of pain and horror. “Jared!” I scream again, but my partner's name is drowned out by a sob that escapes from the depth of my body. I need to find him, but he could be everywhere. The living-room is empty, but it's clear that a fight occurred there. One of the French windows leading out of the terrace is broken, a chair and a lamp are knocked over, furniture is broken, the TV lies in pieces, books are ripped and lying on the floor, far away from the bookshelf and the walls are smeared with something that looks like blood. Desperation is taking a hold of me, and I keep screaming Jared's name as I wheel into the library, which is as empty as the living-room and a little less vandalized, with just books lying on the floor. “Damn, where are you, Jay,” I sob.

Maybe Jared could flee? Hide somewhere on the property? Hope lights a small flame inside me and it chases a bit of the cold away. If Jared managed to run, from whatever happened here, there is a chance that he is unscathed. Fast and smart as he is, he also knows the property far better than any burglar or gang of murderers. I first have to search the house though, and suddenly an idea hits me I should have had five minutes ago. Grabbing my cell, I dial Jared's number. Pricking my ears, I can hear his ringtone. It's only faint and once the mailbox answers, I dial it again, following the sound outside into the hallway. It's more audible here, sounds like it's coming from upstairs. Luckily, the lift is on the first floor and I wheel inside. Never before has it seemed that slow, but finally, the doors slide open on the second floor. Suddenly, I know where Jared is. It's where I would flee, if I could still run. There is a bedroom in the south wing, with a small balcony, very close to a tree. I know at once that I'm on the right track. All the doors are kicked in and as I peek into the rooms, I see that they're all in the same chaotic state.

Then, I finally reach my goal. The door is half-open, and when I push it completely open, I'm met by the most heartbreaking view ever. Jared is lying on his stomach and there is blood everywhere. So much blood. A sob escapes my lips and I'm with him in an instant, suddenly finding myself on the floor and turning Jared around in my arms. Eyes closed and face white as a sheet, not a groan escaping Jared's lips, my heart skips a beat as fear like I've never felt before rips my heart apart. “Jared,” I breathe out, my voice trembling as terribly as my hands. Hurriedly, they feel for a pulse, not finding anything. Only once I press my ear against Jared's heart, do I feel a very faint, feeble beat. He's alive. Barely, but still alive.

I don't know much about first aid and my resources are limited, but I know, I have to stem the bleeding, wherever it's coming from. I find the wounds pretty fast. His shirt is ripped in pieces and when I rip it off Jared's body, I notice in horror that his whole torso is scattered with cuts, some long, some short, some deep, some just on the surface. Worst is a long, wide and deep gash on Jared's thigh which looks as if someone cut him with a butcher knife, and a gunshot wound in his chest. It's bleeding heavily, and I suck at anatomy, but I've seen my share of hospital shows in the past years and I'm sure, neither his lungs nor his heart is hurt, otherwise Jared wouldn't be alive anymore. Quickly, I strip off my hoodie and tee, tearing the fabric in two, wrapping one half around the thigh, ligating it above the cut before dressing the wound with the little means I have. Then, I press my hand against the bullet wound in Jared's chest, before I call 911 again. Relief is washing over me when the operator tells me that the ambulance is already on its way and should be with me in less than ten minutes.

Now, all I can do is wait. Taking Jared's far too cold, lifeless hand in mine, I beg him to hold on, not to leave me. “Please stay,” I say, again and again. It's a plea, an order and my biggest wish. “Stay with me, Jare.” Once in a while, I feel for Jared's pulse and listen to his breathing. It's weak, but there and it gives me hope, which is what I need the most now. Everything else is just unthinkable. I just can't lose Jared. I mustn't lose him. “You're everything. Stay with me, Jare.”

My hoodie is soaked with Jared's blood when I finally hear heavy boots running into the house, tramping up the stairs. I told the operator where the paramedics can find me, but I still call them desperately, until finally, help is there. A young, blonde assistant gently loosens my tight grip around Jared's hand, asking me to let go so that her colleagues can take good care of him. She seems to know who I am, helping me into the wheelchair silently, making sure that I'm sitting comfortably. That's also when the shock takes the upper hand and from one moment to the next, my stomach churns and I lose the little dinner I had today, the delicious meatballs and sandwiches Clara brought, smudging myself and the rug that covers the hardwood floor.

She talks to me, but I don't really get anything she says. Only when she wants to wheel me out of the room, I wake up from the weird rigor I was in, asking her with a surprisingly firm tone to let me be. I need to be with Jared, have to see how he is taken care of, can't take my eyes away from that pale face and the brown hair smeared with his own blood.

“He's lost a lot of blood but he's stable for the time being,” one of the medics explains after what seems like hours but probably were less than ten minutes. My hoodie and ripped tee are bloody shreds on the floor, the wounds are now properly dressed and Jared is provided with oxygen. “We have to get him to LA, can't use a helicopter because of the storm. The closest clinic is not equipped for cases like Mr. Padalecki's.”

“It's nothing to worry,” the female paramedic chips in, as she sees how my face drops as I'm once more shook by fear. “We just want to make sure he gets the best treatment possible.”

“Can I -?”

“No, I'm sorry, Jensen.” I don't mind that she's using my first name, it helps me to calm down. “But I'll call you once we know which hospital we'll get Jared to. How about you kiss your boyfriend goodbye and then I'll get you something for the shock,” she suggests as Jared is being put on a stretcher.

I want to object, still want to argue, need to be with Jared, but instead, I nod weakly. The paramedics are very kind, allow me to hold Jared's hand and kiss him goodbye. “Stay with me,” I beg, kissing his cheek “I love you so much, Jay.”

Then they're gone and I'm breaking down, a sobbing, desperate mess. She helps me drive the chair into our bedroom, pours me a glass of water and makes me drink it in small sips while checking my pulse and blood pressure.

“Can I call someone for you, Jensen?” the assistant asks. I know I need help. I'm in no state to drive to whatever hospital they will bring Jared, and besides, I know I shouldn't be alone. I need support. “Friends? Family?” Jared's family is scattered over Texas and while I have to call them, they can't be here that fast. The friend living closest by is Steve, but ever since he married my ex wife, our friendship cooled down a little. It just happened and it's not that I dislike him, but he's not the one I want to be with in such a difficult time. “Jason,” I decide, handing her my cell, grateful that I don't have to do it myself.

She talks quietly, explaining the situation, disconnecting the call after a few minutes. “He'll be with you asap. The cops arrived, they're downstairs, taking evidence and I'm sure, they would want to talk to you soon.”

“Jared, I need to be with Jared.” It's my only goal in life right now, my greatest wish. I want to be with him, I need to be sure that he stays with me and doesn't leave where I can't follow, unless I swallow a bullet or take the swan dive.

“I understand.” She puts a hand on my forearm. “But you can't help Jared right now. He's in very adept hands. Once he arrives at the hospital, there will be examinations and depending on the results, he'll probably be rushed to surgery as quickly as possible. You'll help Jared the most if you let me give you a light sedative. It'll make you drowsy and allow you to sleep for a bit. Then you'll feel a little better and most of all, stronger tomorrow. And you'll need your strength for Jared. Okay?”

I realize that I don't have a choice. Although everything inside me screams to be with Jared, I know my limits. I can't ignore my trembling body, the sour taste in my mouth, the hammer pounding against my skull, the tiredness and cold caused by the shock. Even if I weren't a paraplegic, I wouldn't be in any state to drive, would probably die attempting it. “Okay,” I agree, hating me for it.

“Good. If you feel up to it, you should go to the bathroom, get changed.”

I need to go anyway. I can control both bowel and bladder, thanks to surgeries, but it's shaky and I try to keep to a certain schedule throughout the day, to prevent humiliating accidents. The assistant – Fiona, as I finally noticed her name tag -, helps me back into the wheelchair and once I'm in the bathroom, I use the loo, brush my teeth and change into my pajamas. I run on autopilot, feeling dazed and confused, the pictures from earlier running through my mind like on slow-motion. Benny. Archie. Jared. Blood everywhere. Jared's pale face. The scent of copper everywhere. Jared motionless, barely breathing. Jared's cool, lifeless hand in mine. Bullet wound and far too many, deep gashes. So much blood. I can't shake it off, can't hold back the tears that are running down my cheeks in streams.

Desperate sobs shake my body, and my hands are tightly gripped around the armrests of my chair, to prevent them from trembling too badly. There is a knock against the door, and carefully, Fiona peeks in, helping me back into the bedroom and into the bed. She gives me the sedative and it's kicking in, surprisingly fast, calming me down, making me tired and I finally fall asleep, my last thoughts on Jared.

*** To be continued ***

Chapter Text

4

Jared

Darkness. Fear. All consuming pain, simply everywhere. Noises. Voices. Touches. Smells. I'm scared and confused, try to open my eyes, but my lids are heavier than they'd ever been and I let it be. There is a very bright light behind my lids, anyways, and it bothers me. I want to say something, but my throat and mouth are dry as the desert and nothing but a weak groan is escaping my lips.

A cool touch to my chest, gentle fingers, but not Jensen's. Jensen. Unsure what happened, I try to concentrate on Jensen. Green warm eyes. Freckles scattered everywhere. Beautiful smile. Hearty laughter. Soft lips. Perfect features. Muscled arms and bowed, immobile legs. Gentle hands. Deft fingers. Just Jensen. I breathe out his name and then everything turns black again.

Jensen

For one glorious moment, I've forgotten what happened when I wake up. It's just blissful waking after a dreamless, drug induced sleep. Then though, the memories are crashing down on me mercilessly, and gasping, I tear my eyes open, hoping despite better knowledge that it was just a nightmare. But the spot where Jared would normally snore peacefully is unused, cold and empty and Jason, one of my closest friends for years, is slumbering in the armchair, wrapped into a blanket, his head awkwardly bent.

The colors of dawn lie behind the closed curtains, submerging the room in a diffuse semi-light, all shades of gray with a bit of brightness in it. “Jason?” I hate to wake my friend up, but all my thoughts are with Jared and I need to know how he is doing. The sign that no one called during the night though is a good one because no news is good news.

“Jensen, hey!” Rubbing his eyes, Jason gets up, sits down on the side of my bed and wordlessly draws me into my arms. His hug is strong and tight, loosening a bit of the fear that is taking a hold of me. “How're you holding up?” Jason asks as he lets go, his hand a reassuring weight on my shoulder.

“I'm horrified,” I caw, swallowing hard, but my throat is very dry. Jason hands me a bottle of water, and I empty half of it in small mouthfuls, happy that I don't have to say anything for a while. There are not even words to describe how I feel, how anxious and traumatized I am and how much I'm hurting, despite not being the one who was hurt. “I don't even know what happened.”

“The cops are still here,” Jason states and now he says it, I can hear voices from downstairs. “Pretty much the whole place is a crime scene, Jensen. It's chaos. I'm sure someone would like to take your statement.” Squeezing my shoulder one last time, my friend gets up. “I know you want to be with Jared asap, but how about you take a quick shower and I tell the cops you're ready to talk to them and once that's done, we drive to the hospital?”

I neither want to have a shower nor talk to the cops, but I don't have the strength to object and I know being questioned is unavoidable, anyway. Once I sit down on the chair in the shower stall and the hot, almost scalding water is thundering down on me, I'm even grateful for it. It feels as if some of the memories are being washed away with the remains of Jared's blood that is still sticking to my hands and arms where I missed it yesterday. The knowledge that it's Jared's essence of life is nauseating, and I force myself to take deep, quiet breaths and focus on him, sending him all my positive thoughts.

Once I'm out of the shower and toweled off, I remember that I also need to call Jared's folks. Wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist, I wheel back to our bedroom. The air is stale, with a hint of copper lingering in it and bile I barely manage to swallow down rises up my throat. With shaking hands, I draw the curtains and open the French window. Fresh morning air smelling of ocean and rain hits my lungs and I take in deep gulps, feeling how it relieves me with every breath I take.

Only once the nausea is gone, do I move back, slowly dressing myself in the most comfortable clothes I can find. Soft, worn pants and a tee. Without really thinking about it, I also take one of Jared's hoodies instead of mine. It's not even freshly laundered, and it smells of his shampoo, showergel, aftershave and sweat, just of Jared. It calms me down at once. Wrapping my arms around myself, it feels as if hugging Jared. It gives me enough strength to call Sherri.

Jared's mom knows instantly that something is wrong. Perhaps it's the mom gene, the early morning hour or my shaking voice as I tell her what happened last night. She promises to fly over as soon as possible and begs me to keep her updated which is a given. Jared and his parents are very close, he would want me to keep them informed.

Only a few minutes after I hung up, there is a knock at the door and Jason peeks in, a police officer at his heel, introducing herself as Detective Monroe. Like me, she's in her mid-forties and somehow reminds me of Sheriff Mills and I warm to her at once. Kind and sympathetically, she guides me through the last night and is particularly interested about the calls I gave Jared and Archie. “We believe that's when the intruders left,” Detective Monroe explains. “Mr. Devon's estimated time of death is between 8:30 and 9:00 pm. You called your partner at 9:08 and Mr. Devon at 9:10. We think that the calls warned them that someone is coming and of course they wouldn't know where you were. Okay then, that's all for now. I assume you're off to the hospital?”

“If it's the last thing I do.” The more time passes, the more my anxiety rises and I need to be where Jared is.

“The CSI team will probably take the whole day to collect evidence, then a crime scene cleaner will come over. I know it won't help to get rid of the memories, but it'll help. Good luck, Jensen.”

***

Silence stretches between Jason and I as he's steering his car to Los Angeles. While I'm just too anxious and shocked to speak, he is a calm presence and I'm grateful for his company. I don't have many real friends left, but Jason has never let me down and is there for me, steady as a rock, just like Jared is. Once we arrive at the hospital, Jason helps me transfer into my wheelchair and pushes me to the reception because I'm still a little shaky. The middle-aged lady working there is professional, almost emotionless, and points me to the ICU waiting area. My heart skips a beat. ICU sounds serious. Deadly serious and once more, fear takes hold of me. Thankfully, Jason is there, with a reassuring hand on my shoulder, wheeling me over to the elevator. It's almost empty, and I'm grateful. I don't really care much about the tabloids at the moment, but sooner or later, they will get wind of the story and it'll add to the stress. It reminds me that I should make some other calls. Lucia, who will be heartbroken, Jared's agent, my parents. It isn't even 8 am yet and I start with Lucia, carefully bearing her the bad news. Next is Jared's agent, who promises to take care of a press release and then I call my mom. I let her soothing words of comfort wash over me, her familiar voice, her promises that things will be alright and I only half-heartedly object once she offers to fly over, unbelievably grateful for her support.

Just a few minutes after I finished the call with my mom, a female doctor approaches. “Mr Ackles?”

Expectantly, I look up, dreading and hoping for the news she bears at the same time. “Ahum.”

“I'm Dr. Fowler, I performed surgery on Mr. Padalecki.”

My chest gets tighter and tighter. Jared needed surgery. It's not that surprising, he was shot, yet, it still shakes me, causing another wave of panic to crash down on me. Her look, her voice, her whole demeanor is nothing but neutral and professional and I can't read her one bit. “How's Jared?” Is this shaking feeble quack really my voice?

“Mr. Padalecki was brought to us with multiple injuries he sustained during the attack,” Dr. Fowler explains as she is sitting down next to me. “Multiple broken ribs. A tear in his liver, the bullet wound and multiple gashes. He was in surgery for several hours but we managed to patch him up just fine. Both bullet and knife caused considerable damage to muscles and nerves in Mr. Padalecki's shoulder and thigh, the cuts in his torso were mainly skin deep. I'm positive he will make a full recovery, but his mobility will be restricted for a time.”

“Jared is gonna be okay?” I ask, just to be sure, though I heard her quite right.

“He isn't quite out of the woods yet, Mr. Ackles. There is still the risk of infection, which is also why we set him up at ICU for the time being. He is sedated and it gives him the chance to heal and overcome the physical trauma. But like I said earlier, if there are no complications, chances are very good that he'll make a full recovery. Mr. Padalecki is in perfect physical health, which will help him a lot.”

As the news slowly sinks in, life suddenly looks far brighter again. Jared won't leave me. His chances are good. He'll make a full recovery. Sure, PT will be a bitch, that's something I can relate to, but he'll be good. Relief settles inside my heart and chases a bit of the chill away that has been my steady companion since I found Benny, Archie and Jared on the floor, lying in their own blood. Jared will live. “He'll stay with me.” The statement makes it more real and it's something to hold on to. “I won't lose him. We're gonna have a good long happy life together,” I whisper to myself, again and again, like a mantra, feeling my eyes welling up. Jason's hand grounds me again, comforts me. Dr. Fowler is also still there and I wonder how many tragedies she has seen in her life, but also how many glad tidings she's announced so far. Now I know that Jared won't leave me, all I want is to be with him, hold his hand and kiss his pain away. “Can I see Jared?”

“You can, for a little while,” Dr. Fowler confirms as she gets up. “Follow me. A nurse will give you protective clothes, so it's as germ free as possible,” she explains as I transfer back into the wheelchair, following her through the automatic ICU doors. “Mr. Padalecki is in very good hands with us, Mr. Ackles,” Dr. Fowler promises. “We'll check on him regularly to make sure that he's alright. If recovery goes as I expect it to go, we'll settle him in a regular room in about twenty-four hours. We have a few secluded rooms for VIPs, so there is no need to worry about privacy,” she adds.

I nod, flashing her a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”

Just a few minutes later, a young, pretty blonde nurse helps me into the protective clothes and into a hospital wheelchair since she doesn't want to risk getting the dirt of my wheels into Jared's sick room. The transfer to the other chair is awkward and as it's far harder to steer, I'm grateful that she pushes me into the room. “I'll lower the bed for you, so you can hold his hand,” she offers and I'm grateful for her open-mindedness. “Take your time. He's just sleeping deeply. You're allowed to touch and to talk. Jared will know you're with him.”

Lump in my throat, I just nod, wheeling a little closer. Despite his pale face, Jared really looks not much different than in normal sleep, just quieter. In sleep, Jared is like he is awake. Agitated, moving a lot, tossing and turning, eyes fluttering or hands jerking. Now, he is none of that. He just lies there, eyes closed, not moving a bit. Were it not for the soft, steady rise and fall of his chest I'd believed him to be gone. Despite my relief, a sob escapes my throat and hot tears are falling down, as I realize that I could have lost Jared yesterday, still could lose him, if Fate is once more laughing at me. Ignoring my tears, I reach out to touch Jared's hand, trailing my fingers above it gently, stroking each finger, each knuckle. It twitches a little, a sign that Jared is with me.

Lacing my fingers with his, I put a lingering kiss on the back of Jared's hand before I just hold it, once more conveying everything I feel with that simple and pure touch. “Thanks for staying with me, Jare,” I whisper, stroking my free hand over Jared's face. His forehead is warm to my touch; quite probably, my love is running a fever. “You just keep fighting and make sure it stays like that. Don't you leave me.”

Babbling senseless reassurances, both for myself and Jared, the few minutes I got pass far too quickly, and soon, the kind nurse is back, reminding me with a brief hand on my shoulder that I need to go, so that my boyfriend can rest. “I love you, Jay,” I say, wheeling close enough so that I can put a kiss on Jared's forehead, as his mouth is covered with an oxygen mask. “Hold on. Stay with me”

Jared

I'm floating in a deep, dark void, neither cold nor warm, painless, emotionless. I just exist, breathing in and out, bobbing up and down. Time is different, too. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Even Years, I can't tell. Nothing changes until eventually, it does. There is a light touch, ghosting over something I think might have been my fingers in another life, warm, dry lips being pressed against the skin, lingering there, giving comfort and love, and a beloved voice, full with emotion, thanking and asking, begging and pleading. “Hold on. Stay with me. ”

Jensen asks me to stay with him, but why would I ever leave him in the first place? My heart, my soul, my everything? I want to answer, but I can't, instead I take the vow inside my head, promising once again, like a thousand times before, that I won't leave him, that I'll always stay with Jensen, the one man I love more than my life.

Jensen

Time passes differently, while waiting in a hospital. Minutes are slowly dragging by while you try to keep your mind off the life-changing things that happened and that brought you here. It's probably different for everyone, but I for once can't still really wrap my thoughts around what happened yesterday night. Who broke into the safe haven of our house? And why? Sure, we have money, more than most can ever dream of, but it's on our account, not lying around in our house. Despite the big place we live in, we live quite a modest life, not really different from many middle class couples. Maybe our clothes are a tad more expensive, but it's not that Monets or Picassos are hanging on our walls or that exquisite sculptures or historic objects are adorning our cupboards. Was it a burglar gone wrong? Or did they want to kidnap Jared? Without knowing anything, I assume there were at least two; one person alone could not have wreaked havoc like that. Why would they kill Archie? My heart aches for him. He was only a few years older than I am, son and brother and now his eighty year old parents have to bury their son. It's heartbreaking, and I feel tears burning in my eyes again, thinking that he died helping Jared. I hope Detective Monroe will find out what happened and most of all, who committed the crime, so Archie gets justice.

Dawn, the nurse on duty who has been so kind to me, keeps me updated every hour or so. I'm quite sure she is a fan. Not that she has said anything, it's just the way she calls me Jensen and my boyfriend Jared, as if she knows us and most of all, as if she is happy for us, having each other. She's far too young to have watched Supernatural when it aired first, but maybe her parents watched it, or she stumbled over one of the countless reruns The CW has done in recent years. Like I feared, Jared is running a fever, but as far as I understood her, it's nothing too worrying, if the fever isn't burning him up. They added antipyretics to his med cocktail and are positive that his temperature will drop soon.

Jason is also still with me, solid as a rock. Whispering discreetly, he reminds me not to forget my bathroom visit. He makes me empty a bottle of cool water, coaxes me into eating a sandwich from the cafeteria and brings me a cup of coffee and a chocolate bar. He also calls some of our friends and Mackenzie and Josh, something I'm extremely grateful for. Surprisingly, the first who arrive at the hospital are Steve and Danneel. For years after our divorce, our relationship could have been described as shaky, at best. Then she and Steve got together and while it dampened my friendship with Steve a little bit, it weirdly improved my relationship with Danneel. Pulling me into a strong, very amiable and lingering hug, she spares me with any platitude and just offers to be there if I need anything. Steve's hug is much shorter and a little awkward, but I'm damn grateful for their company. They share some stories about Luna, their three year old daughter and even manage to put a slight smile one my face. A real one, that reaches my eyes, not a fake one put on for the sake of everyone to prove how great I am.

Chris is next, dropping by to replace Jason on what he calls the “J2 watch”. He even cajoles me into going outside for a bit to catch some sun and fresh air, arguing that Jared would not want me to waste away the whole day in the hospital while he was sleeping. I'm reluctant at first. What if something happens? If worst came to worst and I couldn't be with Jared? I'd never ever be able to forgive myself. Only when Dawn assures me that the meds are kicking in and the fever dropped a little do I agree to leave the hospital.

Chris is one of those “hard on the outside, soft on the inside” type of guys. Gruff, he can scare people away just by looking at them, but just like Jason, he has proved his loyalty again and again in the almost three decades of our friendship and I'm grateful that he is around now. He doesn't expect me to pour my heart out, but if I wanted, he'd be there to listen. Bearing me silent, comforting company, he wheels me to his car, helps me get settled and drives ten minutes, until we're at the beach. Nervously, I glance at my cell every five minutes, afraid that I might miss a call, until Chris takes it and pockets it in his jeans.

“He's in good hands, Jensen,” he states and I know he is right. Nevertheless, I can't switch my concern off like that. It's Jared and while the rational part of my brain understands that he is getting better with every hour, not worse, and that he is more or less out of the woods, the frightened part of my brain is just that... unbelievably anxious.

The sun is shining down on us with full force, its heat sudatory, its brightness after the hours in a grayish hospital waiting area almost blinding. Stripping off Jared's hoodie, I hug it to my chest instead, hiding my eyes behind shades, grateful that Chris is pushing my wheelchair. Normally, I'm very adamant to wheel myself, but the pain in my shoulders and back returned, from sitting in the same, uncomfortable position for so long. It's events like that which show me that I'm less robust than before my accident, that my body still pays the price for the moment of neglect that cost me my mobility.

“Jensen, you know I'm not the sharing and caring kind of guy but um, if there's anything you need, anything I can do for you, just say the word, man.”

I really appreciate the gesture, turning my head and flashing Chris a grateful smile. “It's great that you're around. And um, I might need help in the house. Our parents will come over, but they're both over seventy and I really don't want them to carry debris out of the house.” I haven't seen most of the damage caused by the vandalism yet, but from what I've seen, most rooms need to be cleared from broken furniture and will probably need a renovation.

“Sure. I'll be happy to help.” Being someone who pitches in, I'm not surprised that Chris agrees at once to lend a hand.

“Thanks man.”

“That's what friends are for, dude. How about a coke and ice-cream?” Chris suggests, ignoring my slightly astonished look.

“You want to buy me a coke and an ice-cream while the love of my life is fighting for his life?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, smiling, though his smile looks more than a grimace. “You need a bit of sugar in your body. It'll help with the shock. I respect your feelings, Jensen,” he adds, because I'm still throwing daggers at him with my eyes, “I know you're close to freaking out, barely holding it together, but that's why I'm doing it,” Chris explains, walking towards the first booth that sells hot dogs, fries, ice-cream and drinks. “It's okay to come down and to calm down, Jensen. It's okay to allow you a few moments of normality with a friend on a sunny day in June, although I know you'd rather be with Jared. It's okay to be alive and breathing and have an ice-cream, even if your boyfriend is in ICU.” Patting my shoulder gently, Chris lines up, only to return with the promised coke and three generous scoops of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice-cream on my waffle cone. “It doesn't make you a bad boyfriend, Jensen,” Chris states as he wheels me to the closest unoccupied bench where he sits down. After a moment, I join him, sliding onto the hot wooden seat. “Jared would want you to have a few moments for yourself. So, enjoy your ice-cream and coke, close your eyes and think of something positive, something that makes you happy, Jensen.”

I do just that. Licking the ice-cream, enjoying its sweetness and the different flavors on my tongue, washing them down with even more sweetness from the coke, the sun hot on my neck and head, the laughter of kids and the soft swoosh of the waves kissing the sand. Once the ice-cream is gone, I close my eyes, thinking of something that makes me happy. Someone who makes me happy. Jared.

It's not the pictures from less than a day ago, from Jared slowly bleeding to death, but from happier times. Horseback riding, swimming, working out. Laughing, talking, sharing comfortable silences. Hugging, kissing or holding hands. His hand on my cock, although I can't feel them, my fingers conquering his hole, shooting him out of space. The sound of his voice, the warmth of his eyes, his smile, dimples deep. Butterflies awake in my belly, waves of warmth vibrating through my body, making my fingers tingle. Jared is with me. No matter where he is, whether he is awake or asleep, sick or healthy, he is with me, in every pore of my body and every fiber of my heart. The realization gives me peace and contentment like I haven't felt it for a while and strength for the coming weeks and months.

***

Chris returns my cell once I sit in his car and I see that I have gotten a text from both my and Jared's mom. Sheri just arrived at LAX and should be on her way to the hospital, and my mom and dad are taking the first flight to LAX tomorrow morning. Jason and Chris were great, but the knowledge that family will be around to help carry the burden comforts me.

After the hour outside, the waiting area seems duller than ever before. Trying to keep my mind from unpleasant and scary thoughts, holding on to the peace and contentment I felt earlier, I scroll through my cell, reading some news and calling Jared's sister Megan with the little news I have. While I'm talking to her, Dawn enters the waiting area, approaching me. My heart is in my mouth, but once she assures me that Jared is good, all things considered, I release a shaky breath of relief.

“See? Told you he's in good hands here.” Chris' hand clasps my shoulder, squeezing once.

Then suddenly Jared's parents are here. There are hugs, kisses and some tears, countless questions I can't answer properly, and then both vanish to see their son. Sherri is unexpectedly composed once she returns, reassuring me again that Jared isn't doing so bad. His temperature is still a little higher than usual, but it's nothing to worry about and the wounds also seem to be healing well. “You know honey,” Sherri says once she sat down next to Jensen. “I think you should get yourself a hotel room and sleep.”

Shaking my head vehemently, I try to object, but she throws me a very motherly “I know it much better” look. “I know you don't want to, because you love Jared and want to be with him, in case something happens. The thought of leaving him alone after almost losing him is unbearable.”

I nod in reply, surprised how she knows how I feel about it. But then I remember that Jared once told me that his dad was in a horrible car crash when he was a kid. She was in my shoes once, knows how I feel. “But sweetie,” she takes my hand, “Jared wasn't the only one who got hurt. What you went through yesterday was traumatic and you need to take care of yourself. You need to get some rest, have proper food and do something for your health.” She pulls a key card out of her purse. “I've already booked an accessible hotel room for you. It's where Gerry and I are staying, just one block away. You go say goodnight to our boy and then you go have a shower and some food from room service, and Luke will come in one hour. No backtalk,” she commands bossily. “I love you like you were one of my own, Jensen. Your well-being is important to me, and it's even more important to Jared. He'd want you to rest, and I want you to rest, so I think you should just oblige, okay?”

“I can't leave Jared. What if he wakes up? What if he needs me? What if -”

“Shh. Jensen, honey. Jared is still sedated. He'll sleep through the night. What he needs is a strong, healthy boyfriend who helps him through tomorrow and the following days. Nothing,” she says determinedly, “is going to happen. It's just a precaution. If you ask me, he is just in ICU because of who he is. The hospital can't risk messing things up with Jared's treatment, so they're extra careful. He's as fine as he can be. I talked to Dr. Fowler for a bit. He was tremendously lucky, because the bullet didn't hit any organs. There weren't any complications during surgery. No worrying low blood pressure, no cardiac arrest. He needed transfusions, because he lost so much blood, but he will make a full recovery, Jensen.” Even before I can open my mouth to protest some more, she adds. “It doesn't make you a bad boyfriend, Jensen. Jared is devoted to you and I couldn't wish for a better, more caring and more loving partner for my youngest son. So please, honey, go to the hotel with Gerry. We'll take it in turns to stay the night, so someone will be there, and while Dawn's shift is over soon, she promised me that the night nurse will keep us updated regularly. In the very unlikely case that Jared's condition worsens, we'll call you and you can be with Jared quickly, okay?”

“It's not a commitment, Sherri. I want to be here.”

“I know honey. But sometimes, we want something and need something different. You need some rest and it's absolutely okay. So please, go say goodnight to Jared and get some rest.” Sherri enfolds me in a very motherly hug and I cling to her, barely able to hold back the tears. Torn, distraught and exhausted as I am, my heart wants something different than my body. But I also understand that I need to be as fit as I can be for when Jared wakes up, so, with a heavy heart, I give in.

Nodding, I wheel towards the entrance of the ICU, ringing the bell. Dawn smiles at me, once more helps me to change into protective gear and the hospital wheelchair and guides me to Jared's room. Jared still looks exactly like eight hours ago, softly breathing in and out, his face pale, his body still. “I don't want to abandon you, Jare,” I say quietly, stroking his forearm and hand, “but your mom, she begged me to get some rest. You know your mom, she can be very persuasive.” A humorless chuckle escapes my lips. “So um, I obey and I'm getting some rest while you're sleeping. I'm not heading home, I'm staying at a hotel just around the corner so in case you wake up sooner, I can be here pretty fast. And I promise, I don't really leave you.” My hand moves up Jared's arms before I spread it wide above his heart. “I'm with you. Always.” Rubbing the spot gently, I place a lingering kiss on Jared's palm and pulse point. “Get some rest, my love.” A tear is slipping down my cheek, dropping on Jared's skin and I barely manage to hold it together as Dawn takes me back to the waiting area.

Sherri kisses me goodnight and Gerry walks me to the hotel. It's really just around the corner, less than five minutes and the accessible room Sherri booked for me is on the ground floor, simple but clean. There's a brown paper bag with toiletries, a set of fresh clothes and a note from Jason, some well-chosen words of comfort ending with a smiley.

Once I'm settled, Gerry gives me privacy, wishing me a good night. I'm grateful that he neither pushes me to tell him what happened yesterday nor that he is hovering above me, accepting the fact that I need to be on my own. As I check my cell, I notice that I've received dozens of messages. Meanwhile, the story hit the news, and family, friends, acquaintances, and workmates sent messages of support and love. Despite the grave occasion, they put a smile on my face, the knowledge that so many people are thinking of us and keeping Jared in their prayers comforting.

I'm still not done when someone's knocking on the door. It's Luke, smiling awkwardly, as if he is unsure what to say or do. I'm just glad that he is here; familiar, yet less involved as family or friends. He brought a portable massage bench, helps me onto it and starts working with me. The familiar exercises help me, let me sweat and take my mind off things for a while. Fully concentrated, I perform the exercises I can do on my own or watch Luke performing those in the paralyzed part of my body. The pain of sitting for far too long is slowly being replaced by the pleasant ache of muscles being stretched. It gets even better once Luke turns me on my back and works his talented fingers through said muscles, kneading them deftly, putting just the right amount of pressure into them.

Once Luke is finished, he helps me up, hands me a glass of water and aids me back into my wheelchair. “I'll wait until you showered.”

Knowing that it's safer that way, I don't object. Getting fresh briefs and the pajamas Jason packed, I wheel into the bathroom. The room has daylight and is big enough to comfortably maneuver the wheelchair. Just like in the morning, I let the water thunder down on me, let the smell of hospital, death, and sorrow wash away and the warmth encase me. Once again, I notice how tired I am when I towel my skin dry; every movement is hard and tiring, and I'm glad once I can settle into the bed.

“How long does Jared have to stay in the hospital?”

I haven't even asked yet and I'm unsure if any doctor could predict it right now, anyways. “Not sure. A week maybe? Muscles and nerves in his shoulder and thigh were seriously damaged. He'll need a lot of therapy once it heals enough. Would you take the job? I'd feel better if I knew that Jared is in good hands.”

“What? And see your ugly face every day?” Luke banters. “Sure. I'm very honored you guys trust me so much, Jensen. How about I come around every day as long as Jared's hospitalized?” It's a nice offer and I appreciate it. Sure, we pay Luke generously, and he'll be getting paid for the additional sessions, but still, driving to LA takes him much longer than driving to our house. It's proof that he cares for us, not only for his paycheck, and one of the reasons why Jared and I think so highly of him and trust him with our health.

“That'd be great, thanks, Luke.”

“You're welcome. Anything else you need?”

I shake my head. I need a good night's sleep and Jared. I can't have the latter, but I'm determined to at least keep my promise to Sherri and try to rest. We say our goodbyes and I watch Luke leave, settling my body in the right position to sleep. It isn't even 9 pm yet, but I'm beat, so I switch off the light and close my eyes, hoping that I'm dragged away to the land of dreaming soon.

Sleep won't come, though. Despite being tired to the bones, my mind is still too occupied with the events of the last twenty-four hours, and I just can't come to rest. Whenever I close my eyes, sooner or later I see Jared lying in his own blood, bleeding while I try to stem his wounds, or lying motionless in his hospital bed. Even worse is how I crave to be with Jared. It hurts physically. My body yearns for him, like a drug addict longs for a shot of heroin. Even in the very rare events when we had a tiff, we fell asleep together, holding hands, hating the fact of being upset with the other at the end of the day. In the rare times we were apart, because of work, our voices lulled each other to sleep through the phone.

Suddenly, I remember Jared's hoodie. The hoodie I pressed to my chest while having ice-cream and put on once I was back in the hospital. Getting up, I wheel over to the single armchair in the room where I put it earlier and take it with me. I slip it over a pillow, hug it to my chest and bury my nose into the soft fabric, holding it as tight as I can, thinking about Jared, thanking God that he is still with me and praying that he'll stay. After wearing the hoodie for most of the day, it smells a bit of hospital and more of me, but Jared's scent also still lingers in the fabric and I take deep breaths, in and out. Concentrating on that lingering fragrance that is so Jared, and on all the things I love about him, I'm finally falling asleep, surprisingly being granted a dreamless rest.

5

Jensen

The sound of my current ringtone wakes me up, alerting me at once. Soft morning light is shimmering through the curtains I can't even remember having drawn, and as I feel for my cell, my eyes also catch the old-fashioned radio clock, telling me it's 6:23 am. Far too early for friends or family to call, unless they forgot time zones. When my eyes finally fall on the display, I see that the person ringing is Sherri. For a heartbeat, I dread to answer it, the fear that something happened to Jared during the night overwhelming. But what if something is happening right now and Jared needs me? I don't hesitate any longer. “Sherri?”

“Morning honey.” Sherri sounds cheerful, far from a mourning mother, and I know at once that nothing happened, that she bears good news. “I'm sorry for waking you that early, you're probably freaked, but I wanted to tell you that Jared is slowly waking up. His temperature is back to normal and they stopped infusing him with the sedative a while ago. We expect him to wake in an hour or so.”

Relief and pure joy is taking a hold of me and I can't help as my eyes fill with tears, sniffing.

“Oh honey,” Sherri says in her very motherly tone, “I told you things would be alright. Jared's a fighter. There's no need to rush to his side, Jensen. Still enough time to grab a coffee and some breakfast and it would be great if you could bring me something, too.”

“Sure,” I squeeze out between trembling lips, disconnecting the call after a quick, “See you soon.” Hot liquid is burning in my eyes and I lean down into the pillows, closing my eyes, but it's in vain. There is so much more where they are coming from. Hugging the pillow with Jared's hoodie against my chest, I breath in and out with every strong wave of gratitude that washes over me, crying because Jared is back with me. I know it isn't over yet, it's only the beginning of a long road of recovery, but the knowledge that Jared can leave the ICU and start healing is indescribable.

Eventually, my tears run dry, my breathing calms and, burying my head in the now wet material of Jared's hoodie, I release a last, audible shaky breath. With eyes closed, I hold on to the moment and collect my strength, because Jared needs me at my highest now.

A few minutes later I'm calm, positive, even excited and I start the day, performing my morning rituals, as quickly as my condition allows. Life as a paraplegic is far more slower than the life of someone who is able to walk and I had to learn a good deal of additional patience in the first years.

I dress in worn jeans, tee and Jared's hoodie, with a baseball cap and shades rounding off my appearance. Then I'm ready to go. It's a few minutes after seven o'clock and while a city like LA is never sleeping, there's not too much traffic and barely any pedestrians around.

The bakery on the corner is almost empty and I get two huge mugs of deliciously smelling coffee, two bottles of water, croissants, buns and sandwiches. The sales assistant is very friendly, helping me to stow the bag with water and product in the rucksack that is hanging on the back of my wheelchair and offers to carry the coffee for me. I flash her a grateful smile, assuring her that it's not necessary as long as I get one of those cardboard trays for mugs. I place it onto my lap, changing the position of my seat a little and carefully wheel towards the hospital. The front entrance is thankfully empty of paparazzi, and no one bothers me on my way up to the ICU waiting room, where Sherri is sitting on one of the uncomfortable looking chairs, looking pale and very tired.

Reacting to the sound of my wheels on the floor, she looks up, flashing me an exhausted yet genuine smile. “Hello honey.” She gets up, stretching herself quickly before meeting me with a kiss on my cheek and a warm, lingering hug, almost spilling the coffee.

“Morning Sherri. How're things going? Did you stay the whole night?”

“Like I said, everything's looking really good. And no, Gerri came back after he showed you to the hotel and stayed until dawn. Now he's resting. And don't,” she adds, as she sees how I open my lips, “say that you're sorry or whatever. No need to be. Like I said, Jensen, you also were hurt and needed rest and you look far better than yesterday.” She walks over to her seat. “How about we drink that coffee and have a sandwich or whatever else you brought and then you can see your boy? Not sure about you, but I'm starving.”

Like on command, my belly is growling miserably, reminding me that the last thing it had was Chris' ice-cream and it really doesn't count as a proper meal. I'd really prefer to go see Jared at once, but the reasonable part just knows that I need something in my tummy first. I join Sherri, not bothering to transfer out of the wheelchair, handing her her cup of coffee and offering the bag of sandwiches. It's either ham and cheese, or tuna. We both take a ham and cheese. I eat it slowly, because I haven't had anything decent for a while, washing it down with mouthfuls of coffee and, once the coffee is gone, with half a bottle of water.

Then it's time to see Jared. One of the nurses on duty, Salina, I read on her name tag, helps me through the meanwhile familiar procedure of putting on plastic clothes, washing and disinfecting my hands and transferring into the hospital wheelchair and then I'm finally back at Jared's side.

At once I notice that something has changed compared to last night. Not only is the oxygen mask gone, being replaced by a cannula to Jared's nose, Jared's sleep is much lighter, more natural. There is a flutter of lips, a twitch of his finger, a furrow of his brow, a pout, a soft snore or sigh. Proof of life and for a few heartbeats, I forget to breathe as I watch Jared's handsome face. It's still paler than usual, but not deathly white, and when I take his hand in my own to put a kiss on it, his skin is neither hot nor clammy to the touch, but just like Jared's hand should be. Despite the somehow threatening ICU surrounding, he looks healthier.

“Hey baby, it's me.” Palming Jared's cheek, I brush my fingers over the three day old stubble, feeling the warmth of Jared's skin seeping into mine. “Thank you for staying with me.”

Jared

The emotionless darkness that has been encasing me for I don't know how long is gone. I still feel kind of odd, a little numb, as if I took some drug and yet, in the back of this numbness, there is pain. Not all-consuming, but there, knocking against my skull, stinging in my thigh and torso, throbbing in my shoulder. There is a warm hand touching mine, another melting into my cheek, brushing my skin, giving warmth and comfort. My two favorite hands in the world. Fingers long and deft, skin of the palm callused because of wheeling a chair far too often without wearing gloves. They mean kindness, gentleness and love. They mean home.

“Thank you for staying with me.” My favorite voice in the world. It means that my favorite person in the world is with me, my Jensen. Something weird happened, I know it did, though I can't remember what, but whatever it was, Jensen is with me and things are good or will be good.

“Jnsn,” I press out between lips that don't really feel like mine yet. My throat is dry as soil that hasn't seen rain for weeks and my mouth tastes like some vermin crawled in and died there, simply disgusting.

“Hey baby, keep it easy.” Jensen's voice sounds exciting, and the hand on my cheek is gone, only to be placed against my chest, at its favorite spot, right where my heart is beating. My chest feels sore, but the touch doesn't hurt, far from it. It's familiar and comforting. Again, it's home. Home... something happened at home, but I can't wrap my mind around it. Perhaps Jensen knows.

“Happn?” I try to open my eyes, but they feel very heavy and once I manage a tiny slit, I close them again, the lightness blinding. Not that I don't want to see Jensen's face, I want to, but I know he is there, our fingers connected, grounding me, like so often.

“There was an attack, Jared,” he explains carefully. “At home. You were injured and are now in the hospital where they patched you up.”

“Hurts.” With waking, the pain also increases considerably.

Jensen is rubbing my chest softly. “Yeah, I know it does. I'll ask the nurse to give you some more of the good dope, baby.” A squeeze of my hand underlines Jensen's promise. “Your mom and dad are here, too. Chris, Jason and Steve send their love and well, about a million other people.”

“Sounds serious.” I still can't really remember what happened, but maybe it's better that way and I bet, my memories will come back, once I'm less drowsy.

A sob escapes Jensen's lips. Is he crying? “It was, baby.”

“'m ‘ere, Jen. Tired, weak but ‘ere.” I really am both, still unable to open my eyes more than a bit and when I want to squeeze Jensen's hand, there is not much strength in it.

“Thank god.” Velvety lips touch my cheek, lingering there for a bit, before moving to the edge of my mouth. I can taste how horrible my breath is, don't want Jensen to kiss a dump and my head is far too heavy and aches too much to move it and to return the kiss, but Jensen doesn't seem to mind. He smiles against his soft kiss, I can feel it in the way his lips move.

An automatic door slides open and close and I hear steps coming closer. “Hello Mr. Padalecki, nice to see you awake. I'm Dr. Fowler, your surgeon, how're you doing?”

Instead of an answer, a groan escapes my lips. “He's hurting and tired,” Jensen says in my stead. “His eyes are light sensitive, I think, because he barely managed to open them and I think his throat is very dry.

“Okay then,” a hand pats my leg awkwardly. “We have a remedy for all of that.” I hear her leaving the room only to return two minutes later. “I brought you some ice-chips.”

“Jare, open your lips,” Jensen requests gently, pushing a heavenly ice cold chip between my lips once I obeyed. It's reviving and I greedily swallow the liquid that is melting in my mouth.

“I'll also dim the light, so you can try opening your eyes then and I'll give you a fresh dose of pain meds. It'll make you sleepy again but it'll help you recover.” The light in the room is getting darker and I finally dare to open my eyes a little more. It's still weirdly hard, but I'm rewarded with the most beautiful view in the world; Jensen, looking at me, a soft smile on his lips, breathtaking as always.

“Here you are,” he says gently as green eyes lock with mine. There's a line of worries and fatigue in his face, not from sleeping too little but from being exhausted and once more I wonder what really happened.

“Jen.” Saying his name means home. It means that, no matter what, things will be alright.

“Go to sleep again, love.” From the corner of my eyes I see that the doctor is injecting something into the drip of my IV. “I'll be with you when you wake up.”

The last I see before sleep overpowers me again is Jensen's smiling face.

Jensen

Eyes fluttering closed, Jared falls asleep again. I keep on holding his hand and stroking his hair for a while, until Nurse Salina asks me to leave, so they can move Jared into his private room. That's good news, and with a lingering kiss on Jared's cheek and a promise on my lips that I'll be back with him soon, I'm gone.

As I move back to where I changed and left my own wheelchair, I spot Dr. Fowler again. “Do you have a minute?” There's still some things I need to know about Jared's physical condition and the sooner I know, the better.

She glances at her watch. “Five. Then I need to prepare for surgery,” she laughs. “How about I come see Jared once I'm done? It's just an appendectomy, I'll be back in an hour or so.”

“Sure, great.” I can see how busy she is and not for the first time in my life I feel terribly overpaid. The amount of money I and especially Jared is getting paid for our movies is ridiculously high and yet, we do nothing else but act, pretending to be someone else, or direct. Sure, it takes patience and lots of time, talent, sometimes it hurts, but it’s not life-changing or life-saving. Hospital doctors, on the contrary, spend a small fortune on their education and are getting paid far too little for the responsibility they have and the significance of their job.

“An orderly will guide you to Jared's room, once he's set up there,” she explains, before turning on her heel and hurrying down the corridor. I watch her disappear around the corner, then turn my chair and wheel back to the waiting room, where Sherri is anxiously waiting for me. I update her with the good news that Jared woke up and is being moved to a normal sick room, and spend the time waiting for the orderly’s arrival sending messages to friends and family. My parents already are up in the air, will arrive around noon and I call Jason, asking him to give them a ride.

Some more time passes. Sitting in the waiting room, eating a croissant or staring into space, being lost in thoughts. “Honey?” Sherri tears me away from my disturbed thoughts. “What happened? How did Jared get hurt?”

I tell her how I found Benny and Archie, how I screamed Jared's name, how I called his cell to find out where he might be. My tone is as neutral as possible, but despite my acting talent, I can't hide the emotions in my face, the horror and fear of what I saw. I recall how I found Jared, lifeless and bleeding, trying to stem the many wounds with the little means I had.

“You did what you could do.” Sherri pats my hand. “It could have been so much worse.”

“I'd have been with him.”

“I'm glad you weren't, honey. You um -”

It falls like scales from my eyes. “I wouldn't have stood a chance. I couldn't have run away, like Jared did, and he'd have died, protecting me.” It's a horrible thought, but a simple fact. “I almost didn't go to the meeting, Sherri. The weather, my gut feeling, but I did and... gosh.” Hiding my face in my hand, I release troubled breaths.

Sherri's hand is warm on my arm. “Jensen, it happened like it did. You couldn't have changed it and at least, now I only have to worry about one of my boys, not about the two of you. Now look, I think this young nice man is going to bring us to Jared.”

When I look up, I see she's right. An orderly approaches us, introduces himself as Clive and asks us to follow him. We gather our belongings and follow him quietly, taking the lift up two floors, walking along a corridor which seems endless. The rooms really are secluded, with a security standing in front of the door. He looks at us, asks for our names and writes them down before he allows us to step through. The VIP wing is really nice, looks more like a hotel than a hospital, and the room we're led to is big and bright.

Jared is still slumbering peacefully, yet looking so much better now he is out of the ICU, simply because most of the threatening machines are gone. I stay back while Sherri kisses and pets him, smiling. If Jared could see the fuss we're making, he'd probably be far from pleased. It's both funny and sad how we need something bad to happen to realize that nothing is for granted and how much we mean to each other. Since I've come to my senses after my accident, thanks to Jared, I'm far more grateful for the little things in life, but still, even I took Jared for granted.

My cell pulls me out of my thoughts, showing an unknown caller ID. When I answer it, it's Detective Monroe, bringing me up to date. CSI collected quite a lot of evidence and now they need samples of mine, Jared's and Lucia's DNA as well as fingerprints, to find out if any of the samples belong to the intruders. She also tells me about a similar attack further up north. A lot of the occurrences match; the seclusion of the property, the vandalism, the brutality. There, none of the victims' survived. A shudder runs down my spine when I notice once again how lucky we were, though Archie wasn't. He's always been quite private about his family, so I have to ask Detective Monroe if she managed to contact his parents. I'm relieved to hear she did and ask her for his parents' number. It's a phone call I'm dreading, but I want to offer my condolences and to pay for his funeral. That's the least we can do. She also gives some details about how the events probably unfolded, though only Jared can tell and in the end, she announces that she'll come the next day and that I'm allowed back into our house. That's good news, although I'm dreading to go back. It'll take some time until the image of the blood on tiles or rug and all the debris scattered over the floor is erased from my memory, if that's even possible at all.

I pass the news on to Sherri and she suggests that I drive back to our place at once. I object instantly. No way I'm going to leave Jared alone for the time being. It's bad enough that I have to leave him in the evening for another two hour session with Luke and to sleep in a proper bed, but by no means I'm going to leave him today. Tomorrow maybe, if I have to.

***

For hours, nothing much happens. Jared sleeps, more or less peacefully for what I can see, sometimes snoring, sometimes sighing softly, while I hold his hand. From time to time, a nurse comes checking his vitals, looking satisfied. Dr. Fowler comes, far later than she promised, looking fatigued, yet taking her time. She promises to get a report and x-rays to Luke so he can work on Jared's therapy.

In the early afternoon, my mom rings, asking where she can find us. Ten minutes later, I feel myself wrapped into my mother's arms and tears are running down my cheeks, being hugged like that. I love Jared more than anything, and he gives out the best hugs in the world, yet there is something special in a mother's hug. Like Sherri last night, Mom coaxes me into going out with her and Dad but I just can't. I promised Jared to be with him when he wakes up and by no means I'm going to break that promise. I'm adamant to stay and she accepts it. Instead, she is heading to the cafeteria to get me a soft drink, coffee and a Caesar salad that is surprisingly tasty.

Then, finally, Jared steers. His waking is very slow, almost deliberate and it's clear that he is still in pain, yet also feeling better than a few hours ago. I ask my mom to dim the light and persuade my boyfriend to open his beautiful eyes and look at me. I so don't care that our parents are in the room, listening to how gentle I am with Jared. I'll never hide how much I love him. And then, Jared's with me, his eyes focused, his grasp around my hand a little tighter. “Easy there, tiger.” It's what Dean told Sam when they first saw each other after four years apart and it fits quite well here, too.

“Jen.” His voice is less slurred than earlier, another proof that he is better.

“Hey baby. Your mom and my folks are here, too.” They all come closer, smiling down at Jared. “How're you feeling? Remember anything?”

A weak smile ghosts over his lips. “You holding my hand.”

“Aww. Something else?” Brows knitted together, it's visible that Jared's mind is working, trying to find memories of something he surely wanted to forget the moment it happened. I notice at once when he remembers. His face falls, his slight smile turns into lips pressed to a thin line, the light in his eyes vanishes and his face changes into a mask of horror.

Jared

“I remember everything,” I breathe out as pictures of horror are streaming through my mind, like in a film production, yet a million times worse, because they are real. It really happened.

Jensen looks at me, warm and kind, grasping my hand a little tighter. “Want to tell me, Jay?”

I really don't want to. What I want is to forget what happened; the shock, the fear, the anguish and the pain. But I know I have to tell my story, more than once. Jensen deserves to know and the police will need to know, too, so I begin to tell the tale with a shaking voice. “I just received your WhatsApp message that you arrived safely at the community center when the doorbell was ringing. I thought it was Archie. You know, he sometimes comes over for a beer on Wednesday nights.” Jensen nods in acknowledgment. While Archie is a private person, he is not a loner and enjoys my company particularly. “I was careless,” I admit, swallowing hard, trying to moisten my lips and throat with the little saliva I have. Without having to ask for it, Jensen pours a glass of water and holds the straw against my chapped lips. It's cool, as heavenly for my dry throat as the ice-chips earlier. “I didn't check the security camera.” I have to admit, I never do. We might be celebrities worth billions, but so far no one ever bothered us in our secluded retreat by the sea. “There were two guys, young and white. That's all I spotted, because then they overpowered me, knocking me unconscious and once I regained consciousness, they wore ski masks.” The threat I felt is back, the fear, the knowledge of being helpless and in mortal fear. “They had knives and guns. They dragged me into the living-room, beat me up, threatened me and bound me to one of the chairs.” Shudders are running through my body and Jensen's hand is a warm, safe presence pressed against my chest, loving and soothing. “They demanded our valuables, Jen and when I told them there weren't any, one of them cut me with his knife. He cut all over my torso and, God Jen, there was glee in his eyes.” Tears are blurring my sight as I remember the slicing pain as the knife cut the sensitive skin of my abdomen, only slightly, but slashed my tight, sending all-consuming pain through my body. The memory of the joy my torturer felt while hurting me chills me to the bones. “I thought he'd kill me.”

“Why didn't you just tell them about the safe, baby?”

There is a safe in our house. It's super secret, hidden behind a wooden panel in the gym. Barely anyone knows about it, not even my parents until now. We keep the important documents there, the deeds to our properties, a few gold bars and some of the more valuable watches I wear at official events. “Didn't want them to win,” I admit, now knowing that it was stupid. “They didn't believe me. They definitely knew who I was, and it made them angry. They started to run havoc, knocking stuff over, destroying our belongings, just for the fun of it. Kept on threatening me, once more beating me. Then, everything started to get out of control. Not sure if Archie heard something or if he just came by for his usual Wednesday evening beer, but suddenly, he was standing in our living-room, Benny growling, showing his teeth.” Our two dogs are barely in the house, prefer running free outdoors and since there is a fence fringing our property, nothing ever happened. “They shot Benny, Jen. Just like that. Without blinking. He dragged himself out into the hallway, not sure what happened then.”

“I found him outside, in front of the house, in a puddle of his blood, Jare.”

Poor Benny. I hope he died quickly, without suffering too long and too much. “It made me wild. Who shoots a dog, just like that, Jen? I screamed, I cursed, I spat, and I think, I made it so much worse.” Bad conscience is taking a hold of me. I should have stayed calm, maybe try to reason with them, but I screwed up.

“You don't know that, Jare.” Jensen's voice is very kind and he keeps on soothing me with a gentle brush of his thumb against my chest or an occasional squeeze of my hand.

My headache is getting worse again, pain hammering against my skull and I feel exhausted, reliving one of the worst hours of my life so far. Yet, there is no way to stop my tale now. Jensen deserves to know. “Archie tried to overpower them. He almost managed, Jen. It was so close.” Archie is a bear of a man, very strong, yet quick and learned in some martial arts. “He managed to knock them down, at least long enough to get his hand on the knife and cut me free.” I remember the relief when the bounds were cut, the pain in my wrists, the panic. “Getting up hurt like hell, the slice must have cut muscles or something else. I could barely walk, Jen. My leg, it was all numb, felt like it didn't belong to me and it bled like hell, my pants were soaked. Maybe that's why I didn't do the obvious and run outside. Instead, I headed upstairs, but I was so slow. I limped heavily and pain was vibrating through my body with every step.” I close my eyes, thankful that the anguish is gone, that I'm only feeling a slight burning pain in my thigh now.

“You don't have to continue, Jare,” Jensen suggests quite gently. “You can tell us tomorrow or whenever you feel up to it.”

The offer is tempting, but I need to get it done. “I was barely out of the living-room, when I heard the guys stir. Archie was following me, urging me to hurry and when he noticed that I could only limp instead of run, he thwarted them, Jen. He just stayed in the doorway between the kitchen and living-room, waiting for them, while I dragged myself out of the kitchen and upstairs. I could hear voices, curses, fighting and then, a gunshot.” I'm dreading the answer, but I need to know it. “What happened to Archie, Jen?”

The grave look in my boyfriend's face tells me all I need to know and the horror from two nights ago is back, just ten times worse. “He's dead because of me.” It's not even a question, it's a fact, just like that the earth is a globe or that the sky is blue.

Jensen objects instantly. “No, he's not dead because of you, Jare. Don't you ever think that. He's dead because one of those guys shot him. It's not your fault.”

“He wanted to protect me, Jen. He could have easily fled but -” My voice is shaking so heavily and I suddenly feel sick, bile tickling my gullet.

“Shh, baby. It's. Not. Your. Fault.” Jensen says matter-of-factly, slowly and with determination. “He was a good, brave guy, who wanted to do the right thing and help a friend, Jare. He had to pay a horrible price for it but it's not your fault. You didn't ask for being mugged. Those guys were brutal. They came to kill, to steal and to destroy. What happened to Archie is not your fault.”

I want to believe Jensen, so badly, I want to get rid of this horrible nagging feeling of bad conscience that eats me up, but I doubt I ever can. Archie's blood, a friend's blood, is on my hands. Just two days ago, he was a laughing, breathing human being, tending to our horses and chickens lovingly, petting our cats and dogs, and fostering the flowers in our garden. And now he's dead and it's on me. An ice cold shudder runs through me. “I hid in the small bedroom. I hoped that I would be strong enough to climb down the tree, once I collected myself a little.” Shaking heavily, I broke down on the rug, dizzy and nauseous, not even thinking about calling 911. When I remembered, it was too late. “He kicked in the door when I wanted to call the cops, Jen. And without batting an eyelash, he shot me. And everything went black.”

Closing my eyes, I release a very shaky breath, not daring to look at my family, scared that I might see “murderer” written all over their faces. Instead, there is my mom, her wrinkled hand on my cheek, genuinely assuring me that nothing that happened was my fault. Donna just hugs me, carefully yet cordially, and Alan's hand is a warm weight on my arm.

“Can you leave us alone for a bit?” Jensen asks and without protest, they leave at once. “Scoot over,” Jensen commands, wheeling closer to the headboard where he finds what he was looking for, the device to lower the bed.

Moving hurts, but I don't care. It's what I need now and I watch how Jensen transfers his restricted body to the bed, hugging me very carefully, from head to toe, kissing whatever spot of skin he can find. The cuts in my abdomen hurt, the thigh is on fire, the bullet wound burns, my broken ribs are anguish and the headache vibrates through my skull, yet I feel okay, because Jensen is with me.

“It wasn't your fault, Jare. I can't claim that I know how you feel, but it's not your fault. I know, when something bad happens, people who were involved tend to feel guilty. My folks can tell you that story.” The spinal injury that cost Jensen his mobility happened at his parent's grounds; a storm snapped a tree and instead of paying for a company, the Ackles' were too proud to accept Jensen's money, rather accepting his help to get the tree removed. He slipped on the damp bark, fell down the tree and broke his lower back. “Their pride crippled their own son.”

Hating when Jensen refers to himself as being crippled, I take in a sharp breath, yet I understand why he refers to his accident.

“Yet, it was neither their fault nor mine. It just happened. The mugging was not your fault, Jare. I'll be forever grateful for what Archie did for you, saving your life quite probably, but you didn't pull the trigger. Your hands are clean and your conscience has to stay clean, too. Please, Jare. Try not to blame yourself for what happened to our friend.”

Carefully, his hand ghosts over my chest, and down a little bit. The cuts are ultra sensitive, just as my ribcage is, and while it hurts a bit, feeling Jensen's hand ghosting over my tortured body, the warmth of his touch seems to have healing powers, making it better, not worse.

“You scared the shit out of me, love,” Jensen admits and I feel the tremor running through his body, the emotions that are taking a hold of him, and notice that he's hurting, too. I know he found me, otherwise I wouldn't be here, and he provided first aid, reacted quickly, calling for help. “I'll forever be grateful that you're still with me. I just... I don't know what I'd have done if -” He can't even finish the sentence, tearing up, burying his face into my shoulder, hot tears wetting my skin and the ugly hospital gown I'm still wearing.

“I'm here, Jen. Always and forever.” It's more than a promise, it's a certainty. I know that tragedies like this sometimes rip couples apart. Yet, we'll be stronger. “I'll stay with you.”

Jensen smiles behind the tears, kissing my neck. “This must be hurting.”

“No, baby. You'll never hurt me. It's good to have you close. Stay until I fall asleep? And then, I want you to sleep too. Don't sacrifice yourself for me, baby. Your health is important, too. I need you strong. Promise?” Big puppy eyes are in full force and they never fail. They are far more persuasive than our moms' pleading put together and it serves no purpose to object. While I know that Jensen is adamant to stay, I'm relentless that he gets rest. That's so much more important than having company.

“Won't you hate me for leaving?”

“Never will hate you. Love you to the moon and back. And I'm not alone. Mom and Dad are here, Donna and Alan.”

“Jason, Chris and Steve will drop by later or tomorrow, Tom, Mike and Stephen also sent a text and ask when they're allowed to visit.”

“See? Everyone loves me. I'm not alone.” The knowledge that so many people care for me, want to visit me and keep me company is balm on my soul and cheers me up, just a little bit.

“I love you the most.” Jensen lifts my hand, putting a lingering kiss on its skin.

Jensen's declaration makes me smile and cover me in warmth like a blanket. “Know you do.” Silence settles between us, and I let myself be caressed, feeling very loved and protected as the exhaustion of the traumatic events and the surgery take the upper hand again. “'m tired.”

“Then go to sleep, baby. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Jensen is with me as I fall asleep. My lids are getting heavier and heavier, closing for a bit, only to flutter open and to close again. My breath is evening out and all the time, Jensen is there, stroking me oh so gently. The last I feel are his lips on my cheek and his hand against my heart, cupping my chest as if my body is the most precious gem in the world and I know, for Jensen I am.

6

Jensen

Four days after the attack, I'm going home for the first time. Lucia thankfully tended to our little zoo, but I can't ignore the chaos even longer. Just as promised, Chris is here. Jason, Steve and our parents also offered to help. The door is locked and once I enter, I smell the sharp fragrance of bleaching agent and disinfectant, and the stale scent of a house no one has aired for a few days. I think Lucia was afraid to go in; not that I blame her. Our house was a crime scene, a friend died in our kitchen and it'll take some time until we'll feel safe here again – if we ever can. It's cool inside, despite the heat outside and the AC not running and the atmosphere is weird... It really feels a bit like stepping into a tomb. Shivering palpably, I wheel inside the kitchen, open the window and avoid looking at the spot on the floor where Archie breathed his last breath.

“There is chaos pretty much everywhere,” Jason explains. He has been here to get my clothes and could do a first appraisal. “The only place they didn't step foot in was the basement and Jared and Jensen's bedroom. Jensen, how about you take the library, the rest of us will spread in two, cleaning the living-room and the upstairs rooms?”

I'm sure that the library is the room that is least wrecked and easiest to clean, but I don't object. I just nod and wheel into the cozy room Jared and I love to spend our evenings in during the winter months. There is nothing nicer than sitting curled up on the comfortable sofa, drinking wine or whiskey and watching the fire in the fireplace burning happily.

Now though, the room is far from cozy, but it still looks much better than the living-room. Most books were ripped from the shelves, several whiskey glasses lie on the floor, shattered in pieces and there is a stain on the expensive orient carpet that hasn't been there before, but apart from that, it's not too bad. I start to collect the books from the floor, moving back and forth, putting them on the sofa, but notice quite fast that I'll need help. Most shelves are far higher up than I can reach.

Lucia offered to give us a hand, and I don't hesitate to call her. She only lives a few miles away and arrives fifteen minutes later. We're both silent while working and are making good progress. “I'll try to clean the carpet,” she offers once we are done and all books but two are back on the shelves where they belong. The two books are beyond repair, but they are just normal hardcover fiction editions, easily to renew. At least now the library looks like before again, and other than in the hallway or kitchen, and despite the smudge on the carpet, I don't feel like the room was stained and invaded.

Once we're done, I thank Lucia and ask her to get some lunch ready for everyone, before I take the lift upstairs. On Wednesday night, I was far too occupied and freaked to take in much of the damage. Dad, Jason and Danneel are working in the first bedroom, the one above the kitchen. I didn't even notice that Danneel joined the group of helpers and flash her a grateful smile.

“You'll need to order some new furniture, sweetie,” Danneel states once she kissed me hello. “Quite a lot is smashed up or heavily scratched. Your dad is taking care of the claim with your insurance, taking photos of everything.” Only now I notice that Dad indeed wears one of my old cameras around his neck. I never would have thought about something as mundane as the insurance, but of course I'm grateful my dad remembered. Damage repair will probably cost thousands and while we could easily afford it without the insurance, it's why we have it. They probably won't cover everything anyway. “How're you holding up?”

I shrug, can't really put all my troubles into words because my mind is spinning with impressions. Besides, my neck and shoulders are cramped, the muscles hard and hurting once I touch them, and my face scrunches up in pain.

“How about we go outside for a bit and visit the horses?” Danneel suggests, her hand on my wrist, her tone very caring.

The suggestion puts a smile on my face, just the thought of going outside is wonderful. “Sounds good. I missed them.”

“Do you want me to give you a hand?” Danneel asks as I turn the wheelchair, a muscle cramp shooting through my shoulders, causing me to take in a hurting breath.

“I um, I'll just take the electric wheelchair.” I had hoped that I could postpone introducing my new wheels to family and friends for a bit, but right now, I care far less than a week ago. It's just another ride and it helps me with the pain, so what?

Danneel lifts her brow in surprise, but doesn't say a word, although I see questions in her features.

I flash her what I know is a crooked smile, turn my chair around and head to our bedroom. It feels good to enter it. Jared's and my scent linger in the air, although it's a little stale. They didn't touch anything in here, probably were disturbed by my call, and the big room with the bright furniture, fluffy rugs and hardwood floor, with the many photos of Jared and I on the wall, is still our retreat. The wheelchair is where I left it, folded and stored away in my walk-in closet. I transport it into the bedroom, unfold it and get in. I'm not planning to use it in the hospital. After the news hit the tabloids, paparazzi appeared at the entrances of the hospital a few days ago, like always immune to any security shooing them away. It got better after a press conference, but once in a while, I still spot someone and I really don't want to give them any additional fodder.

Once Danneel sees me sitting in my new wheels, she looks sheepish, just like I knew most people would. It does make a difference. She puts a shredded cushion in a garbage bag and follows me back downstairs, chewing on her lips, quite probably unsure if she should comment on it.

Quietly, we walk to the stables. It's not awkward, but also not really comfortable. Does the wheelchair really make such a difference? Jared brushed my worries and comments away, calling me idjit, just like Bobby called Sam and Dean, but it was Jared. He'd probably love me if I had two heads, covered with warts and scars, and only short butts for limbs. “It's just another wheelchair, Dee.” It just slipped out.

“It's still different, honey,” she admits, placing her hand on my shoulder, as if she wants me to stop and sure enough, moments later she is kneeling down in front of me, looking in my eyes, forcing me to brake, unless I want to bump into her. “Are you, um, getting sicker, Jensen?” She touches my knees, just like Jared does. It's nice how much she cares, and good how well we get on again, like in the beginning, before we were stupid enough to add sex to the mixture our friendship was made of.

“No, Dee. My shoulders and back's been bugging me for a while now and the electric wheels help. Actually, my doc said there was no need for it and advised me to not use it too often, because moving myself is good exercise, too. It's a bit like going round in circles, you know?”

She leans in for a hug and I take it gladly. “I'm glad that you're okay. It's just, I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to seeing you in the wheels, Jensen. I just wish it never had happened to you,” she says as she draws back, smiling at me.

“Yeah, me too.” Not for the first time, I wonder if Danneel would have stuck with me, or if she would have left me, just like Alice had. She kisses the corner of my mouth, but there is zero sexual attraction between us nowadays, just friendship. It's funny, because our marriage was a disaster, we butted heads all the time and traded insults, and after I signed the divorce papers, I was sure I'd never see her again. Since she has been with Steve, though, we started to be friends again and nowadays, she's like my sister. I'm glad she is with me, and I'm glad she cares.

“How're you holding up?” Danneel asks as she gets up, wiping the gravel away from her old jeans.

“I'm anxious, Dee.” I release a shaky breath. It was much to swallow, not only the burglary itself, the murder and the hours of not knowing what happened to Jared, but everything afterwards. “Jared... he blames himself for Archie's death and while he didn't mention it again, it burdens him. His eyes, his smile... it's like it's dimmed, you know. Just not as bright and genuine as usual. And um, I think he's afraid of going back.” Jared didn't say anything when I told him I needed to go home, but his eyes grew wider, as if he was scared, and a visible tremor shook his body. “This place here, it was our safe haven. Our paradise and now... it's spoiled. Someone died in our kitchen, Dee. Strangers invaded our home, our privacy, and destroyed what Jared and I had built. Even for me it's hard to take.”

“I know what you mean.” Sympathy is oozing from Danneel's voice. “Remember the burglary at my parent's years ago? No homicide, no blood, Mom and Dad weren't even at home. Nothing much happened, apart from broken glass and ransacked drawers and well, stolen jewelry and cash, but Mom, she was freaked. The thought that someone had been rummaging through her stuff, touching her lingerie... She needed quite some time to get over it. What happened to Jared was far worse, because he was hurt in a place where he felt absolutely safe.”

Danneel hits the mark quite well. “Any advice? How did your mom handle it?”

“She went to a support group and saw a shrink for a while and honestly, Jensen, I think that's what Jared should do, too. Maybe even you, if you don't feel safe here any longer.”

I agree with her. There's nothing wrong with getting help, seeing a professional and having someone to talk to. I had countless therapy sessions after my accident. “I'll talk to Jare,” I promise as we finally reach the paddocks. The horses are outside and once I call Stella, she trots over, snorting happily. I brought her a carrot and an apple cut in halves and offer the tidbits to her, while stroking her warm neck and side, and taking in the calming scent of horse. After days spent at the hospital, it's good to be outside, feeling the hot sun seeping into my skin, smelling fresh air, seeing green grass and flowers in bloom. It's normality I haven't even realized I missed. “Let's get back, Dee,” I suggest after a while, feeling horrible that I can't really help that much.

When we return to the house, the container Jason ordered is filled with broken furniture, stained carpets, ripped curtains and torn bedding. The damage caused is unbelievable, but it's only things; they can be renewed. Archie's life is lost and Jared... I could have lost him, too. If I had arrived five minutes later, if I had not called the ambulance the moment I arrived, Jared might be dead.

My throat is growing tighter and suddenly I feel as if I'm suffocating and everything's crashing down on me. Sobs escape, rip the silence of the peaceful sunny afternoon apart, and I cry, like I haven't for a very long time. Danneel's hand is warm on my shaking shoulder and then, there are motherly arms wrapping me in, holding me like only a mother can, soothing me. Mom speaks quietly, promises me that things will be alright. I feel thrown back seven years ago, to the day where the doc brought me the news about my paralysis and I broke down just like now and Mom was with me, too. Back then, she promised me that eventually, I'd be okay again and while it took almost three years, she was right. Deep down I know, time really does heal all wounds and Jared and I will be okay, too. We've mastered a few storms in our long friendship before, we'll master this one, too.

After long minutes my tears run dry. Thankfully, everyone but my mom left, allowing me to break down and weep. Danneel comes back with both a glass of water and a shot of whiskey. The alcohol calms me down. I know it's no remedy, nevertheless the warmth that is spreading through my belly is welcome and it lifts my spirits just a little bit.

“How about I help you pack a few things and then Dee will drive you back to LA?” Mom suggests, patting my upper arm.

I don't even have the strength left to object and fact is, while I handle household stuff in general quite well, cleaning and scrubbing is something I struggle with. Even if I wanted to, I could not really help. So I just nod, follow my mom back inside the house and upstairs where I pack fresh clothes for myself and Jared. If things are improving the way they are now, he'll be released on Wednesday, exactly one week after the attack. Before I leave, I peer at the damage done in one of the other guest rooms. It's distressing; doors are splintered, walls are stained and dirty, two windows are broken, rugs and curtains are ruined and the mattress is ripped. How could two guys cause such a mayhem in such little time? Shuddering palpably, I wonder, “I don't want Jared to see that. Any of it. Mom, do you think you could call someone?”

“It's already taken care of, Jensen. Jason called an acquaintance after he got your clothes and saw the real extent of the damage. They'll begin shortly. But you won't be able to hide the fact that the rooms are empty, honey.”

“Yeah, I know. It's not that I want to keep it a secret.” The disaster happened and the damage is done and I can't protect Jared from what happened. What I can do though is making homecoming a little easier for him. “Knowing and seeing it, Mom, that's two different things.”

She nods, joining me in the lift to go downstairs. Danneel is waiting for me, taking the duffle bag while I wheel into the living-room to thank my friends and Dad for their help. Even Chris, who normally is far from the touchy-feely kind of guy, gives me a quick but strong hug as I say goodbye.

And then, we're on our way back to LA. I throw a last glance at the house that was our safe haven, wondering if we'll ever feel safe there again.

Jared

In horror, I look at my torso as the nurse changes the dressings. It's a battlefield, the once so smooth, tanned skin covered with several stitched wounds, the longest maybe six inches. My abs look like a cutting board. My stomach is churning and I feel bile rising up my throat, and only manage to swallow it down at the last second. Worst is the wound on my left thigh. From crotch to knee, the whole thigh is parted in two. The stitches that hold the torn flesh and skin together are huge, it's slightly inflamed and still burns like hell. Dr. Fowler informed me about the damage done, about the nerves she had to patch up, that I won't be able to walk for at least half a year, that I was lucky that the leg won't stay numb for good. And wouldn't have that been ironic? Adding a paralyzed leg to the paralyzed half of my boyfriend? The leg is numb and I can hardly move the knee, ankle or toes, I don't feel any pain. Now I know what Jensen's life is like, day by day, without still not really knowing it, because I can at least move my other leg just fine, or feel my dick growing in my hand. My right shoulder is a bitch, too, stiff, almost as numb as my leg, immobile for the time being. There is a weird pain in my upper arm, a tingle in my fingers that shouldn't be there. It feels a bit like the dull ache that is vibrating through a limb when you bump it, just that it isn't fading away, and it's damn uncomfortable. Just like Jensen, I'll be in a wheelchair for a while, until the shoulder heals enough so I can use the crutches.

A soft knock on the door tears me out of my musings and Jensen is peeking in. I appreciate that he knocked because I don't really want him to see me like that, all carved up, like a Thanksgiving turkey. Sooner or later, he'll see what the knife has done to my skin anyway, but I don't want to see the horror in his face just yet.

“Can I, um, come in?”

“Would you mind waiting, baby?” For a brief moment, Jensen's face falls, then though, he smiles, maybe a little too brightly.

“Sure. I'll wait until the nurse is done.” He wheels back, closing the door and I know he is disappointed, maybe even hurt. Stupid me, I even manage to offend the one person closest to my heart. Jensen has been great since the attack. Attentive and caring, patient and just, here. I couldn't have wished for a better, more devoted partner in my life.

The nurse is careful and deft, disinfecting the wounds, putting ointment on them and covering the cuts with long, white antiseptic dressing. She checks my blood pressure and then she is gone, keeping the door open for Jensen to wheel through.

“Hey love,” Jensen says, smiling at me. “How're you holding up?”

I shrug, because the question is damn hard to answer as emotions are overwhelming me again and again. Gratitude and pain. Anxiety and fear. Guilt and hate. I'm grateful that Jensen doesn't push me. We have to talk, rather sooner than later, but in a way, I dread it. I feel so vulnerable, still shaking like a leaf when I think about what happened, sick when I lay my eyes on my tortured body, and I don't want Jensen to see me like that. But on the other hand, it's Jensen and despite all my confusion, I'm sure of one thing; Jensen loves me, scars, limb, receding hairline or whatever – just like I do love him. “How's home?” I ask instead. Not that I really want to think about home, afraid that it'll never be home again, but I want to take his mind off my health.

“They caused chaos, Jare. Broke many things. My folks are great though, as well as Jason, Chris, and Steve, even Dee helped. They're clearing away the debris as we speak, Dad is taking care of the insurance and Jason called one of his pals, he'll fix the broken windows and doors, and will paint the stained walls.”

“Did they go into our bedroom?” I just have to know. The thought that they set foot into the sanctuary of our bedroom is nauseating.

“No, baby, thankfully, they didn't. They caused the biggest mayhem in the guest rooms and in the living-room. I think they didn't even enter our bedroom, when I lay down there, after I found you, it just looked like we left it in the morning.”

It's a small comfort. “Jen?” It's time to tell Jensen that I'll be handicapped for a while, maybe forever, as a limp might stay. I know it's ridiculous, but I'm weirdly nervous about it. Not daring to look at him, I fix my eyes on the thin sheet that covers most of my body, burying my hands in the fabric. “I'll be in a wheelchair for a while and um, there might remain a limp.”

A hand melts into my cheek and the other covers mine that are nervously playing with the sheet. “Oh Jare,” Jensen breathes out gently, “you know I won't love you less. No one knows better than we that, while it makes a little difference, it doesn't really change who we are, Jare. I know what happened left scars, not only on your body, but also on your soul, just like my accident left scars, but we're one.” Every word is spoken with determination and sincerity. “I understand your pain and your fear and what you went through and I'm here to carry you, like you carried me.”

Warmth spreads through me, enveloping me, just like Jensen does as he leans down to cocoon me in his arms. It's warm, safe and home. It's where I want to stay for the rest of my life.

***

Jensen leaves when the nurse comes to change my dressings the next day. I don't want him to see the scars just yet, but on the other hand, it's time. Nothing has really changed since yesterday; I'm still very insecure about them, ashamed even about my sliced up body, but like Jensen said; we're one. I can't hide them forever. It's like pulling off a band aid; the faster you do it, the less painful it is. For me, the pain of showing my battle scars to Jensen will always be the same, for him, it's better if he sees them now. It's a trust thing. Once Caroline, the nurse, removed the old dressings as well as the gauze that is tightly wrapped around my broken ribs, looking at the wounds closely, I ask her to give me some minutes of privacy with my boyfriend.

She doesn't object and talks to Jensen on her way out. Instantly, he wheels into my room. Dark rings beneath his eyes, face pale and eyes red, it's clear that the events of last week also took a toll on Jensen. He is neglecting himself; not with hygiene, he is neat as a pin, but as he is entirely focused on me, he spends far too much time in his wheelchair, sitting beside my bed and holding my hand, and far too little time working out, doing exercises, swimming and horseback riding, all the things that are good for him. Jensen's face also looks a little thinner, as if he barely ate in the past days.

“Jared?” It's obvious he is surprised, maybe even a little confused that the nurse asked him back in, barely five minutes after he had left. “Is everything okay?”

I pulled the sheet back over my body, hiding all the stitches but the one on my shoulder. It's sort of self-protection; I need to make sure that Jensen knows how I feel before I show him my body. “You know that I was sliced up pretty badly?” It's not really a question. Jensen provided first help, of course he saw what had happened. “It's um... ugly, Jen. I look like Frankenstein's monster. I don't really want you to see the scars, but I know you have to see them, and gosh, I -”

“Shh,” he soothes, his hand on my wrist. “I know the feeling.” Jensen once told me that he didn't want his parents or siblings to see him sitting in the wheelchair. After he got the diagnosis, Jensen avoided it for weeks, asking his folks to come see him at a certain time, so he could make sure that he was lying in bed instead of sitting in the hated wheels. “It's your body, love. If you aren't ready yet -”

“No,” I cut in. “I mean, yes. I'm not ready yet, Jen, but it's you and -”

“I won't love you less or think less of you if you need time, Jay,” Jensen promises while he lets his fingers ghost over the skin of my forearm, up and down, round and round, painting invisible patterns of love into my skin. “You went through a horrible trauma, are in pain, have to process something that is hard to understand. There's no need to stress you with showing me your scars just yet, if it troubles you.”

“No, let's get it over and done with,” I say, feeling far more determined now than before. I appreciate that Jensen doesn't urge me, but it's better that way. Jerking, I pull the sheet away in one, smooth movement, uncovering the ugly stitches.

Jensen

My chest tightens as I lay my eyes on Jared's once so perfectly smooth, sculpted torso. Multiple gashes in all length and depths, stitched together with black yarn, inflamed, red, angry, in a random pattern, as if a kid took red paint and splashed the brush uncoordinated onto a white canvas. The sight breaks my heart. Not because I mind – no matter what, Jared will always be beautiful to me, inside and out. It breaks for Jared. Self-consciously, his upper teeth are caged between his lips and his fingers fidget with the bed sheet coyly.

I reach out to touch one of the scars, to trail the way it parted Jared's skin gently with my finger, only to hold back in the last second, my hand hovering above my boyfriend's abdomen. I can see how his torso moves with every breath he takes, hurting and choppy. “Sorry.” Drawing my hand back I look at Jared and try to catch his eyes.

“It's sweet, Jen, but I'd rather you don't touch them just yet. Not that I don't want you to,” he adds hurriedly, blushing, “but they're still very sore and I haven't touched them myself.”

“No worries.” I was thoughtless anyway, disrespecting Jared's personal space. Scars are something very intimate. A memory flits through my mind, of the first time Jared touched the scar on my back from the surgery. A titanium plate holds my broken vertebra together, the scar is thick and ugly, the whole area ultra sensitive, because it's also the spot where the paralysis starts. He did it oh so tenderly, brushing over it with the pad of his finger, soft like a morning breeze, causing butterflies in my tummy.

Instead, I place my hand above Jared's heart, feeling the soft movement of its beat. Strong. Alive. Seeing the many cuts, it makes me once more realize how lucky Jared actually was. If one of those cuts would have run even deeper, he'd surely be dead by now. “They're not exactly pretty, Jare,” I admit, because everything else would be a lie, “but they tell a story about survival. And in case you're wondering, love. You'll always stay a Greek God for me, no matter the scars.” Jared sniffs and tears are clouding his eyes. “You're so beautiful.” I pause, allow the words to settle between us. “Amazing. Stunning.” I know he says that about me, too, but Jared is breathtaking, no matter if happy, grumpy or teary. “I just hope they'll heal nicely, so I can love them, like they deserved to be loved.”

A tremor runs through his body and then Jared cries, like I cried yesterday. Sobbing and sniffing, he wails for what happened. And just like my mom was there for me, I'm there for Jared in an instant, enveloping him in my arms, holding him as tight as possible, yet carefully, as I don't want to cause any more pain to his poor torso. My lips are pressed against his hair, my hands are spread wide on Jared's back, rubbing soothing circles into the cramped muscles.

“I'm pathetic,” Jared presses out between two sobs.

Slackening my grasp around my boyfriend, I withdraw, just enough to cup Jared's head with my hands and look him in the eyes. He really looks pathetic, his face tear stained, snot running down his nose, looking anything like the hot Sex God who is admired and adored by millions. Yet, he's still my Jared, admired and loved by me. “You're not, baby. Just let it out. It's okay.” My thumbs and lips brush over Jared's face, wiping the tears away, eventually conjuring up a small smile on his lips. It never has been more hopeful than in that moment.

***

It's Tuesday noon and I've just grabbed some lunch from the bakery around the corner. Not that I wanted to leave Jared, but he made me do it, threatening me with celibacy until the end of the year if I don't take care of myself. Jared looked deadly serious and while I thoroughly doubt Jared could be without my famous blow jobs for half a year, I don't really want to test it.

“There's no reason to stay longer, Mr. Padalecki,” I hear Dr. Fowler say as I arrive in front of Jared's room. The door is ajar; not much, just a small gap, yet enough for me to hear their conversation. I know I shouldn't eavesdrop and invade Jared's private consultation with his surgeon, but I'm rooted to the spot, knowing that the talk is not really about his health condition, but about something else. “The wounds are healing fine. Mr. Ackles is very well adept to help you tend to the wounds and change the dressings. This is about something else, isn't it?”

Ignoring the question, Jared mumbles something inaudible.

“If you don't want your boyfriend to do it, you could hire a nu -”

“That's not it,” Jared cuts in. “Like you said, Jensen can do it. I trust him much more than any nurse in the world. It'... I don't want to talk about it.”

“You don't have to talk about it with me, Mr. Padalecki. But you should talk about it, whatever it is, with someone. With your partner, family or friends. Maybe a shrink. I could recommend a few good shrinks who are specialized in traumatic events like you experienced.”

Jared neither objects nor agrees, and I decide that it's time to make my presence known, knocking loudly on Jared's door, asking if I can come in. He looks as if caught in the act, but there is no way I'm going to ignore what I just heard. I rather risk Jared being mad at me for eavesdropping, than beating around the bush or, even worse, ignoring it. Jared's well-being, both mental and physical, is far more important.

“I'll go, see you tomorrow then,” Dr. Fowler states as I wheel closer to Jared's bed. He is a little pale around his nose and doesn't dare to look at me.

“I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation,” I admit once Dr. Fowler left.

Jared just shrugs, as if he couldn't care less, but the strained look in his face contradicts this impression.

“Jare, I think we should talk about it.”

Jared's eyes are fixed at some random spot on the wall. “You heard me, Jen. I don't want to talk about it.” He sounds like a grumpy kid close to throwing a tantrum.

“I don't think I can take no for an answer, Jared,” I say, both strict and gentle. “Not this time.”

If looks could kill, I'd die a most gruesome death right now as his eyes move away from the wall and at my face. Jared has looked at me like that before, over a dozen years ago, when we broke ties. Back then, I drew back, let Jared be and didn't fight. It was the biggest mistake of my life, apart from slipping on the bark. It cost me my best friend. Now though I will fight, whatever the cost. It's different. It's still Jared, but he is so much more than my best friend nowadays.

“Remember when our friendship broke? The secrets we had? The way I tried to talk to you and you ignored me? That's the last time you looked at me like you just did, Jare.” I feel tears burning in my eyes, but I blink them away. “Secrets destroy relationships, Jared. It's okay to not share everything, but what's going on inside your head is something massive, and I hope you know that I'm just here to help, without judging you. That's not my job. My job is to catch you when you fall. I'll leave you to your thoughts for a bit, Jare, but I really hope, once I'm back, you're ready.” Turning my wheelchair, I leave Jared's room, hoping that it isn't the beginning of the end.

Jared

I watch Jensen leave and my heart is breaking a little bit more. “Shit,” I say to myself, releasing a shaky breath that tingles in the wounds on my torso. Seven scars. Five caused by knives, one from where they patched my liver up, one from the bullet wounds. A magical number. Maybe they'll bring good luck?

At the moment though, it doesn't feel like luck at all, it feels like everything is falling apart. I should be relieved, happy even for being allowed to go home, but the thing is, I'm dreading it, because... the house isn't home anymore. Petrified, that's what I am, just thinking about crossing the threshold. How can I ever sleep there in peace again? How can I work in the kitchen without seeing Archie's corpse? How can I kiss and cuddle Jensen in the living-room without being reminded of the beats and cuts I received there by the intruders who dared to cross our threshold and invade our privacy? But how can I ever tell Jensen? It's unreasonable, I know it is. How big are the odds that something will happen again? We just need to be more careful, upgrade the security system, be more aware and protect ourselves better. Will it be enough? I don't know, but I won't find it out unless I go back. Besides, I can't hide here forever. Maybe we should go to Dallas while I recover from my wounds? Whatever we do, I can't stay in the hospital and Jensen is right; I have to talk about it.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in and out, lie back in the soft pillows, try to relax, to calm down and wait for my boyfriend's return.

***

“Jare?” Twenty minutes after our little dispute, Jensen wheels in, a single sunflower and a package of my favorite gummy worms in his lap. Peace offerings that make me smile. “I'm sorry if I was a little gruff. I probably shouldn't have said that. I don't think the situation is anything like it was when our friendship broke but -” His voice trails away and he looks at his lap and the beautiful sunflower, his left hand playing with the raw stem, his right tightly wrapped around his wheel. “I just love you so much and I can't lose you. In all meanings of the word, Jared. Trust issues aside, I need us to be honest with each other, and I need you to be with me. All of you, Jay, not just your body, but also your mind and your soul.”

I understand what Jensen means and give him a little smile. “I'm not mad. I know you care, baby.”

Looking abashed, Jensen offers me the flower and the package of gummy worms. “I love you, Jay.”

Butterflies flutter in my belly, the movement of their wings sending soft, pleasant waves through my body. “Love you, too, baby. Come here and give me a hug.”

What Jensen does is even better, as he once more crawls into bed with me, spooning me, his hand a warm, wide presence on my belly. For a while, we just enjoy being together, breathing in and out in unison, my back melting into Jensen's torso, two halves of the same whole. It grounds me and takes the last remains of fear away.

“I'm scared to go home, Jen,” I admit, thankful that Jensen can't see me as I say that. “I'm petrified just thinking about it.”

The words hang between us for a while, and Jensen does nothing much than put a lingering kiss on my neck and move his hand further upwards until it rests against my heart. “I thought you might be, Jare. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I also felt quite anxious stepping foot in there, as I remembered what happened.”

“It feels like the place is spoiled,” I add, thankful that Jensen knows what I'm talking about, that he felt it, too. It helps me realize that I'm not imagining things, that I'm not crazy. “I built this house for us, Jen. It was our retreat. A safe haven. The place where we were... us, Jared and Jensen, nothing more, but also nothing less. And now... The thought of going back there sends chills down my spine. I'm not sure that I can ever forget what happened, Jen. I'm scared that if I might sit at our dining table, I'll have a flashback, seeing myself being bound to that chair, threatened with a knife. I'll forever see myself bleeding to death in that guest room. I -” My throat is dry and I swallow hard, recalling those last minutes before I lost consciousness. I'm not sure if I ever can tell Jensen, but all I did was think about him. The thought of leaving Jensen alone, of never seeing that smile again or hugging him to my chest, of leaving him behind, was terrifying.

Moving to get the cup filled with water from my nightstand, Jensen presses it carefully against my lips. There is nothing more I can add, at least not right now, so I just empty the cup in small sips.

“I understand how you feel, Jare, and I'd like to make a suggestion. You're going to be released tomorrow and I'm happy you are because God knows, I miss having you around and it's a sign that you're healing. When accidents happen, everyone says that it's essential to get back in the saddle as soon as possible, otherwise, you'll never drive, cycle, ride et cetera again. I'd also hate if those guys win, you know? They took Archie's life, they threatened and tortured you, they ran havoc and trashed our belongings. That's a sacrilege, Jay. And in the aftermath, they even want to take our home away from us because we're both too anxious to enter it? No way! We can't let them win.” Jensen speaks with determination, protecting what is so much more than just a piece of land. “We love that house and the grounds, Jare. We spent four extraordinarily happy years there. We wanted to get married there, wanted to grow even grayer and older there.” He kisses a spot behind my ear. “We have to win.”

I know Jensen is right. “What do you suggest?”

“We go back tomorrow and try to get back into the saddle. If you can't handle it, we'll go to Dallas for your recovery.” Jensen has never sold his place in Dallas. We pay a gardener to mow the lawn and trim the hedges and a housekeeper to wipe the floor once a month, but we barely use the house, only when we visit Jensen's parents, which normally is just once or twice a year. “I'd neither spare costs nor efforts to renovate our house here to be able to keep it. Get new kitchen tiles? Refurbish the living-room or change the layout? Do whatever you want to do with the bedroom, so that you aren't reminded? Whatever is necessary. We can also stay in Dallas for longer, my parents would love it and the kids would love it, too.” Jensen's brother has three kids, and they all adore their uncles.

“What about our animals, Jen?”

“I'm quite sure Ed is happy to take them, in case it's necessary.” Ed is Lucia's brother, who is running a farm less than ten miles away. In the first year, before we employed a gardener, he took the horses when we went away for longer than just a few days.

Jensen makes it sound so easy. “What about PT? The Happy Wheels?”

“As much as I'd miss Luke, there are physical therapists in Dallas, too. You know there is a pool and a small gym in the house and two or three buddies from my old support group are still living in the area, so I could go meet them, once in a while, if you're so eager to get rid of me.”

It's a good, fair compromise. It doesn't put me under any pressure, gives me the chance to concentrate on healing and a change of scenery doesn't even sound too bad. My parents would be closer too... A lot of things actually speak in favor of Dallas. I also like the idea of refurbishing our house, maybe tearing down the wall between the kitchen and living-room, and placing the dining table somewhere else. Some of the things the interior designer did when we furnished the place never really appealed to me. “Okay,” I say and I sound as I feel; hopeful, that things will be alright if we fight our demons together.

*** to be continued***

Chapter Text

7

Jensen

Jared looks sheepish as he is sitting in my electric wheelchair, fidgeting with the string of his sweat pants and it pierces my heart. Not only because the love of my life is in a wheelchair, just like I am, but because Jared seems so broken. Vulnerable and self-conscious, just like I was, before he came back into my life. I think it has much more to do with the fact of what happened than with the fact that he'll need a wheelchair for a while, but still, it's heartbreaking. Wheeling as close as possible, I put my hands on his thighs, just like Jared did so often. The left thigh and his ribcage is still wrapped in thick gauze; this morning, Caroline showed both of us what we have to do to tend to the wounds. It's not really rocket science, yet the wounds should stay dry and as germ free as possible. The stitches can be removed in a week; if we really leave for Dallas, we can of course see a doctor there. “You'll be fine, Jare,” I promise, knowing that eventually, he will be, both physically and mentally.

He gifts me with a sweet, little smile. “It feels weird, sitting in your wheels, Jen, knowing that I need it. Being in your shoes. It makes me feel humble, you know. Grateful that eventually I'll be able to get out of the wheelchair. It makes me admire you even more.”

Jared's words make me unbelievably sad, and at the same time, all warm and fuzzy inside. Jared has always been very genuine and appreciative. Especially in the early months of our rekindled friendship, Jared was astonished about how well I manage, despite my handicap. Yet, what he said just now touches me deep within. I lean in for a hug, and Jared receives it gladly. Cheek against cheek, torsos pressed as tightly together as possible, hands warm and widely spread on the other's back, we hold each other for an impossibly long time, breathing in and out together, our lips lingering on whatever part of skin of our significant other we can touch. It doesn't really matter whether we go to Dallas or not; together again, we're home this way or the other.

***

The closer we get home, the more nervous Jared gets, tapping his good foot against the floor of the car. Taking my right hand off the steering wheel, I cup Jared's twitchy hand, twining our fingers together, holding on tightly until I turn left and finally stop in front of the automatic gate. Forehead sweaty, face more gray than fair, hand trembling and breathing harsh, it's palpable how much Jared struggles. “Jare? We don't have to do that. We can just take a room at the Hillview Inn, and I go pack our stuff. I -”

“No, Jen,” Jared objects. “I feel like crap, but I have to try it. Like you said. These guys mustn't win. It's just memories. I know the house is safe,” Jared says with determination. “Go on, open the gate and drive through”

Three minutes later, I park the car in front of our house. The container is gone and the broken windows on the second floor are replaced. The spot where Benny died is perfectly clean. I transfer into my wheelchair, get Jared's out of the trunk and together, we move towards the front door.

Like a mantra, Jared mumbles, “It's safe. It's okay. Nothing will happen,” again and again, as if he wants to persuade himself that his fears are causeless. Like a drug addict on withdrawal, Jared is shaking badly. I appreciate his willpower, yet I doubt it will help much. He's a mess and it gets worse with every heartbeat. He stares at the cream white front door as if it's a three-headed dragon, his voice, that is still reciting his mantra, is shaking as badly as his whole body. Placing my hand on Jared's arm, I rub the clammy skin for a while, before punching in the six digit security code. We upgraded the alarm system with a motion detector. Probably, our place is safer than Alcatraz now, yet Jared's sitting in his chair, shaking as if it's the most perilous place on earth. “This house is very safe, Jared. No one will harm you. Not even your memories. Everything is clean and new. Archie is at rest and his spirit is at peace, too.” In spite of Supernatural, we both never really believed in the supernatural. “And remember? Salt and iron.”

Jared laughs dryly. “Didn't help to keep the evil away, Jen.”

“No, it didn't. But maybe it'll help to keep the evil spirits away. Remember the fun we had there? Making out practically everywhere? Blow jobs in the sauna? Parties and get together with friends? Cooking together? Cuddling and kissing, in the living-room, the library, the music room?? Outside on the terrace?” I list, and despite the grave occasion, I can't help that a small smile ghosts over my lips, as dozens of pictures are running through my mind of said memories, of Jared and I, together, celebrating our love. “We were so, so happy here. I'm sure we can be happy there again. You ready, baby?”

Jared

I'll never be ready, but I'm no coward, either, so I just nod as the automatic door slowly opens, as if being drawn up by an invisible valet. Jensen takes the initiative, moving forward, the muscles in his upper arms flexing as he pushes himself into the semi-darkness of the entrance hall. Heart in my mouth, hands sweaty and trembling, shaking in my boots, I move the wheelchair forward, thankful that Jensen gave his new wheels up to me for the time being. I'm petrified, wouldn't have been able to wheel myself in if my life depended on it. At least a push against the steering stick is enough to move over the threshold and then it's done: I'm back home, although it feels like I'm ascending the scaffold. Panic rises in my chest. Before it takes the upper hand though, Jensen touches my cheek, lets his hand run down my neck until it comes to rest on my uninjured shoulder. “Close your eyes and breathe, Jay. Just in and out.”

I do as I'm told. Closing my eyes and breathing in and out, in and out. Surprisingly, it helps, calms me down just a little bit. Enough to open my eyes just a slit and follow Jensen towards the lift. It's not big enough for two wheelchairs, but Jensen doesn't mess about, gestures me to sit down on his lap which I do, before folding my wheelchair. When we arrive upstairs, I just don't look in the direction of the guestrooms, but in the direction of our bedroom. I transfer back into my chair as fast as my condition allows and get in the relative safety of our bedroom. Once the door is closed, it almost feels as if we locked out the evil that lingers in the hallway.

The room is freshly aired, there is a vase of flowers from our garden standing on the small table next to the two armchairs and the bed is freshly made. A little smile flits over my face as I see the photos of Jensen and I on the wall; ever since we've been together, once a year we have a professional photo shooting together. The first one was in spring, in the second year we did it in summer, in the third year in autumn and so on. The photos always turn out beautiful and intimate. You can see the love shining in our eyes, the reciprocated trust, respect and loyalty. Two halves of the same whole.

At once, I feel a little safer. This place is unspoiled, and even more so, it's full of happy memories, of our laughter echoing through the big room, of whispered words of love and want, of moans, sighs and whimpers, of perpetual hugs and lingering kisses.

“Jare?” Jensen's hand is a light, warm weight on my upper arm. “Are you alright?”

“Okay I guess. Tired, though.” I'm still recovering from the traumatic events last week and today was exhausting; coming home took not only a physical, but also a mental toll on me. “And I feel dirty.” I haven't been able to shower for a week, only washing my armpits, intimate parts and hair. I'm surely reeking of hospital, sweat, and fear.

“You heard what Caroline said,” Jensen remembers me sternly. “The stitches are not supposed to get wet.”

“Please Jen, I feel like shit. How about we cover my thigh in plastic wrap, like Caroline told us and I just have a quick shower? What could possibly happen?” I know my behavior is unreasonable, but I also see that Jensen doesn't have the heart to object. He just shakes his head and leaves, heading downstairs to get the plastic wrap from the kitchen. While Jensen is at it, I'm slowly stripping off my clothes before removing the dressings from my torso. It hurts a little, but it's bearable. Once I'm naked, with even the gauze from my thigh gone, I wheel in front of the mirror, getting up, standing on my healthy, slightly weak leg, looking at myself, at the seven scars that disfigure my body now, red and sensitive. Ugly. I carefully touch the longest, which goes from left to right, sort of splitting my belly in two halves. There is another one going from north down south, a short one quite close to my nipple, three, four and five crossing scar one in a weird pattern. My eyes are filling up with hot liquid as I really see what they did to me.

“Jare.” I was so engrossed with the terrifying sight that I didn't even notice Jensen coming back. His eyes are fixed on my body, naked but for the black briefs, yet I see nothing but love. “Let's get you ready for your shower, love.” Tearing my eyes away from the gross view, I sit down in my chair again and wheel into the bathroom, following Jensen. With gentle movements, he wraps my thigh into plastic wrap and waits while I get myself clean, just to make sure that nothing happens while I stand awkwardly in the shower stall, not trying to put strain on the leg I can't feel. Hot water is thundering down at me, steam is enveloping me, and the familiar fragrance of our exclusive shower gel is strong in my nose. I carefully move the washcloth over my body, trying to get rid of the sweat and odor as good as possible, also washing at least a bit of the horrible memories away.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, baby?” Jensen calls from behind the fogged up vitreous shower wall. Jensen washing my hair is one of the most wonderful things ever. While it's totally non sexual, it's very intimate, and whenever Jensen does it, it's a little piece of heaven on earth, often leaving me with a hard on, which makes it sexual after all.

“Ahum,” I answer, the lump in my throat already growing, in a good way for once. Jensen wheels as close as possible, his hands my crutches as I carefully hop out of the shower, scared that I might slip on the wet tiles. It's tricky, slippery, but thanks to Jensen, it's doable and then I'm back in my wheelchair. A fresh, fluffy towel is rubbed over my arms and carefully blotted over my torso and once I get up again, it's moved south, taking particularly good care of my privates, my cock growing instantly as Jensen tends to it with the towel. Without waiting for an invitation, which isn't needed anyways, Jensen wraps his lips around it, licking and sucking the sensitive flesh, sending shiver after shiver of pure well-being and lust through my body, while his hand glides over the inside of my uninjured thigh, massage my balls and rub my pubic hair. I come far quicker than usual, but Jensen doesn't seem to mind, takes in what I give him, looking at me lovingly while his mouth is still sucking my dick. Once I'm spent, Jensen leans in for a kiss and I repay him for his gift, fucking his mouth with my tongue, eager to lick the remains of my own come away from his gum, sucking and biting his lips greedily. Moans, sighs and gasps echo through the bathroom, our hearts racing, our fingers scratching over skin or holding onto each other. Only when we're both out of breath, our foreheads pressed together, we take hungry gasps of steamy air and calm down enough so that Jensen can finish what he started, toweling me dry.

Once that is done, he gently frees my thigh from the wet plastic wrap and starts tending to the wounds, just like Caroline showed us. One of our parents got a big package of dressings and gauze from the pharmacy, there is the prescribed antiseptic ointment and disinfectant, and Jensen strips on gloves, carefully putting disinfectant, ointment, and dressing over each wound, kissing a spot of skin close to it, the lingering lips sending pleasant tingles through my body, before wrapping my ribs as tightly as necessary.

Then, finally, Jensen is ready to wash my hair. Adjusting the height of the wash basin, he places a dry towel against the hard porcelain rim before I put my neck on it. Just like in the kitchen or at a hairdresser's, we have a faucet with a pull out rinsing hose, because if Jensen just wants to wash his hair, it's easier for him that way than going into the shower. He wets my hair, puts a small amount of shampoo onto his palm and starts massaging it into my skull. Reverent, gentle yet deft movements and the right amount of pressure are a wonderful ensemble, eliciting soft signs out of the depth of my throat. Warm water rinses out my hair, caressing my scalp even more, before Jensen asks me to lift my head. A towel, smelling freshly of detergent, is wrapped around my head and then Jensen starts again, rubbing the strands dry, before moving his fingers over the base of my neck, along my neck, massaging my shoulders for a bit before moving back north, pressing my temples and forehead.

He hands me fresh pajamas, makes sure I'm settled in bed and a look is enough for Jensen to know that I want him to join me, at least for a bit. Jensen doesn't need to be told twice, transferring to the bed, blanketing half of my body, once more careful not to hurt me too much. I know he can't stay with me forever, but he stays with me for a long time, stroking and kissing my skin, not heatedly or hungrily, but unbelievably fond. With every gentle movement, I feel a little lighter and slowly, the strain and fear is melting away. At least in this room I still feel very safe, can keep the memories and hopefully the nightmares at bay.

“Don't leave me,” I ask Jensen. He stays for a little longer, combs his fingers through my still damp hair, caresses a mole here and an old small scar there, but eventually he gets up, slides back into his wheels and moves to one of the cupboards. A chuckle escapes my throat when I see what he brings me; Hippie the Hippo.

“Not as warm as I am,” Jensen says as he places the cuddly toy onto my chest, “but far softer.”

It's silly, but on the other hand, it's super sweet and the hippo and I share a part of our history, because Jensen got it on the same day we met again. His sister gave it to him on his birthday during a visit to the zoo, so he could have something to hold on to. Jensen brought Hippie back to Dallas and eventually, when he relocated back to LA, Hippie came with him and somehow moved into our bedroom cupboard. Once in a while, one of us holds on to Hippie, if we don't have the other to hold onto.

Burying my face in Hippie's fur, a whiff of Jensen's aftershave rises to my nose and calms me down a little more. I cram Hippie against my side, glad for the additional warmth and softness and then, Jensen tugs me in. Pressing a lingering kiss on my temple, he twines his fingers with mine and strokes my hair, until I fall asleep.

Jensen

Finally, Jared's breathing changes, the fresh lines of worry even out and he is sleeping peacefully. For a while, I stay where I am, my eyes fixed on that masterpiece of a beautiful face. Sometimes, I'm still amazed how much I love Jared. Actually, I never thought I'd be able to love like that. In the past, my relationships were often shallow. Needing eye candy on my arm, I didn't date because of love, but because of appearance. Danneel I maybe had a crush on, Alice too, but with Jared, it's so much more. Even back in the days when we were just friends, I probably loved him more than Danneel. In the last five years though... Jared taught me about friendship, loyalty, trust and love. Most importantly, though, he elicited emotions I thought I didn't even have. My love for him is deep, strong, unshakable, like the roots of the old oaks in our property – not even the strongest storm can rip them apart.

Seeing Jared like that, all vulnerable and hurting, adds something to the mix my love for him is made of; the urge to protect him. Not that I really could. Sometimes, bad things just happen. Besides, Jared doesn't really need protection; just like I am, he's no weak seedling. But I want to be there, want to show Jared that I don't care that his torso looks like a cutting board, that he still deserves all the love in the world, even if he stays handicapped, just like I am.

I don't know how long I sit beside Jared, holding his hand, watching him sleep, but eventually, I shake myself out of this reverie. Before quietly leaving our bedroom, I kiss his cheek, making sure that he is warmly tugged in. It's time to peer at the damage caused, to see what we have to renew. I'm positive that we'll stay. Maybe not now; Jared was shaking like a leaf, was deeply disturbed in the hallway, didn't dare to look at the south wing corridor, and I'm unsure how he will manage outside of our bedroom. Eventually he'll snap out of it, though, I'm positive about it.

The corridor itself doesn't look any different from a week ago. The broken doors are fixed, the wooden corridor floor wiped clean. When I open the door to the first room though, it's clear that something happened. While all the debris has been cleared away and the damage has been repaired, the room is almost empty; gone are the lamps, bedding and mattress on the king size bed, the armchair in the corner, the chair at the small desk, the coffee table. At least they didn't wreak the bathroom. The other rooms are looking pretty much the same; furniture and fitments gone.

Downstairs, the view is not much different. The kitchen is spotlessly clean, tiles and seams scrubbed clean of Archie's blood. I'm not even sure where exactly he passed, yet that fact that he lost his life in there, protecting Jared, can and should never be wiped away. I called his parents a couple of days ago. They were shaken yet composed, didn't blame either Jared or me, gladly accepted our offer to pay for the funeral, and asked us to send Archie's personal belongings back. Tom and Mike offered their hands and they started clearing the gardeners cottage yesterday.

The picture in the living-room is slightly different. A lot of damage was caused here and a lot of fitments are gone for good; carpets, pictures, vases, and glasses, TV and stereo, even the sofa was damaged beyond repair. Continuing my inspection, I move to our offices and the music room, even downstairs into the basement and it's thankfully not too bad, the basement untouched, like Jason claimed it would be.

Only when my stomach growls hungrily, reminding me that breakfast, which only consisted of a croissant, is far too long gone, do I move back upstairs. Thanks to Lucia, the fridge is stocked very well, and I start making pasta with a tomato and vegetable sauce.

I hate waking Jared, but apart from lunch, it's time for his meds, too, so I head back upstairs. Jared is still slumbering peacefully, Hippie pressed against his chest, his forehead buried against the soft material its skin is made of. A lump is growing in my throat and I feel weirdly emotional, my eyes watering a little, as I take in this view of my boyfriend. Like a little kid, Jared looks innocent and vulnerable and I lock it into my heart, vowing once more that I'll do everything to help Jared overcome the events.

“Hey baby, it's time to wake up for a bit.” I let my index finger trail over Jared's jawline before wiping a strand of his hair away from his forehead, kissing his hairline. Jared hates that it's receding, but I care far less. I'll always love my Jared, scars, warts, bald head, missing teeth or limbs, limp, or whatever. It's his heart and his soul that makes Jared so loveable.

Eyes fluttering, Jared buries his face even deeper into Hippies body, grumbling. “'m tired.”

“Yeah, I know you are.” My knuckles move over Jared's cheek in a comforting gesture. “But you need something in your belly, love. You've lost a few pounds in just a week. I made you the vegetable pasta you like so much.”

Gestures and words coax Jared out of the bed and into his wheelchair and a small smile is even parting his lips, but once he crosses the threshold into the corridor, the smile falls. Lips being pressed together, Jared once more has his eyes fixed on his lap, trying hard not to look straight at the door of the end of the far corridor, where he almost bled to death. Sweat is pooling on his forehead and he breathes shallow. I don't want him to be alone in the hallway, at least not for now, but this time, Jared just stands on his one shaky leg and folds the wheelchair, before I squeeze in.

I lead the way into the living-room and Jared's breathing changes, and is now choppy, scared. His eyes closed to avoid seeing anything that might remind him of the horrible attack, he tries to find his way around blindly and fails miserably, bumping into a chair of the dining-table. Jerking, he releases a slight scream, rips open his eyes in panic. I put my hands on his upper arms, squeezing a little. “Jare, calm down, baby. Everything's okay. We're alone here. Nothing's ever going to happen here again, okay? You're perfectly safe.”

I keep on saying this, and I'm sure deep down Jared knows that it's true, but he is still processing his trauma and knowing and understanding can be two different things. “How about we have lunch outside on the terrace?” No way is Jared able to withstand much longer. Besides, he is far too pale for my liking, needs the warmth and strength of the sun to chase the cold in his bones away, and he nods gratefully, moves to the French windows, and wheels out. An audible breath escapes his lips and I lean in to comfort him with my body, hug, kiss, and caress Jared. “I'm so sorry you have to go through this ordeal, Jare.”

Clinging on to me for dear life, Jared mumbles something I don't even understand. Probably beyond tears, for now Jared doesn't cry, but I know, inside, he is. Eventually, he calms down, his breathing calmer now, his shaking barely perceivable.

“Are you feeling up to having some lunch, Jare?”

He nods, flashing me a crooked smile. Moving back and forth from the terrace to the kitchen, I lay the table, bring the salad and in the end, the pasta already mixed with vegetable tomato sauce in a big bowl as well as a generous amount of freshly grated parmesan cheese. Unsure how hungry Jared is, I fill his pasta plate with a small portion first, watching Jared how he slowly guides one spoon after the other to his mouth.

Once the plate is empty, I ask, “Do you want some more?”, hoping that Jared will fill his belly, but he shakes his head.

“I'm not that hungry, Jen, but it was good,” he says before taking a mouthful of the cool water.

In silence, I finish my far bigger portion and empty the last remains of the salad before linking my fingers with Jared's. He puts his head on my shoulder and as I kiss his forehead, he tightens the grip around my hand. “I'm sorry I brought all that upon us, Jen, with being so neglectful.”

Jared is still blaming himself and I understand it, up to a certain degree. If he had just thrown a glance at the screen of the security camera that films the front door, maybe it could have been avoided, but no one knows. It was summer, and despite the storm some doors and windows stood open – the guys could have just walked in, too, and probably would have, even if Jared had looked. And it wasn't like the guys wore ski masks when they rang the doorbell. They looked totally harmless, like new neighbors introducing themselves or traveling salesmen.

“Jare, it could have happened to me, too.” It's true. I barely throw a look at the security screen, having felt far safer here than in my place in Dallas. “You couldn't have done anything to prevent it from happening. And then the disaster just took its course. It's not your fault, love.” Once again, I kiss Jared's forehead, my lips lingering there for a long while. “You know,” I speak into his hairline, smelling the scent of the shampoo I massaged in just a few hours ago, “I'm relieved beyond words and grateful until forever that you survived, Jare. If something had happened to you... I don't know what I'd have done. The thought alone almost kills me.”

Jared doesn't say anything, but he lifts his head just enough to kiss me, fond and caring, his eyes almost closed, a tear hanging in one of his lashes. It's one of those moments when no words are needed anymore, where we both know that we love each other and that we're one, Jared and I.

Jared

I try my best to fight the memories, but I don't handle them too well. I'm absolutely fine while lying in bed or spending time outside, on the terrace or even better, by the pool, catching the sun, but the moment I'm entering the corridor, hallway or our living-room, I'm still like petrified, sweating profusely, jolting as if hundreds of volts are being chased through my body. Jensen tries his best to calm me down, showering me with love, understanding, sweet gestures, and calming words, but it doesn't help a lot, and after three days I know I can't stay longer, at least not for the time being.

“Jen?” I ask as I watch my significant other toweling himself off after swimming dozens of lanes in the outdoor pool. It's hot, yet the soft breeze from the Pacific cools down the heat a little and sitting beneath an umbrella and drinking a non-alcoholic cocktail Jensen mixed for me, it isn't even that bad. My maltreated torso is hidden behind a white shirt and the ugly scar on the thigh is covered by the longest dressing I've ever seen, but at least not wrapped in gauze anymore.

“Anything you need?”

“Yeah. Um, a change of scenery, Jen. I can't stay here much longer, at least not for the time being. God knows I tried but... the house, it gives me the creeps. I see shadows everywhere, hear the echo of my screams, smell the blood, Jen. I need to be somewhere else to heal.”

Jensen transfers onto the king size sun lounger, sliding very close, and putting his hand above my heart. His skin smells of chlorine, sun lotion and Jensen. Still very careful because of my stitches and hurting ribcage, he wraps me into his arms, allows me to bury my head in the crook of his neck, to take in his scent and to kiss his skin. “I know you've tried, hon, and it's not a big deal. I feel a little chill myself, whenever I step into the living-room or kitchen, knowing what happened there. We'll charter the plane, I'll call Ed, and I'll ask Jason or Chris to supervise the refurbishments, once in a while.”

“Just like that?” I know Jensen suggested going to Dallas in the first place, but there is always a difference between saying and doing something.

“Sure. It'll be good to be home in Texas, Jay. It'll help us both. And if we stay until August, we can see Mac, David and Sarah again.” Jensen is very close to his sister, his brother in law and his niece. David actually is a paraplegic like him; they met in rehab and Mac, single mom to a little girl at that time, fell in love with him, seeing so much more than the wheelchair.

“Okay, then, how about we say goodbye to the horses and dogs and pack our stuff?” The prospect of leaving and going home to Texas lifts my spirits and smiling, I get into the wheelchair, just as Jensen does. It feels weird, seeing us both sitting in those chairs, but it allows me a perspective on Jensen's life I haven't had before and I think, in the end, it'll make us even stronger.

***

Thirty hours later the small plane touches down on a small, private airport in the Dallas area. I slept during most of the flight, Jensen's hand on my heart, already feeling much lighter now we left our house and the events that occurred there behind. Jensen also seems to be in a good mood that rises so much more when we're picked up by his brother Josh.

Talking about random things, he drives to Jensen's place; it's less than two miles away from his parent's house and once we arrive there, Donna welcomes us with kisses and a warm hug. The house is spotlessly clean, the fridge is stocked, a homemade lasagna is sizzling in the oven, and the master bedroom is aired, the scent of freshly laundered linens strong in our nose.

Despite snoozing during the flight, I'm exhausted from the long day and after the dinner, I go upstairs to bed, allowing Jensen to tuck me in. Hippie of course stayed at home, but what I get is so much better than a stuffed hippo, but a real warm Jensen, spooning me, holding me as if I'm his most precious possession.

***

I ask my brother, who is a GP, to come over from San Antonio to remove the stitches, as I just don't want to go to a hospital. Despite the four hour drive, he agrees at once, arriving on Wednesday noon, exactly two weeks after the burglary, while Jensen is on the phone, talking to Detective Monroe.

Ignoring most of the conversation, I let myself wrap in the arms of my big brother, who holds on just a little longer and tighter than usual, whispering poignant nothings that make me realize that I scared not only my parents, but also my siblings. He was able to take some days off work and will stay until the weekend, and I know, it'll be good to have him around. Jensen's great and I wouldn't want to be without him, but a third in the party, who wasn't involved in the events, will do us both good.

In horror, he looks at the horrible cuts at my torso and thigh, quite a few emotions dancing on his features. Then though, he leaves brother mode and gets into physician mode, telling me that the stitches in the thigh can't be removed just yet. The scars on my torso though healed nicely, and after numbing the skin with a spray, he removes the stitches carefully, his gloved hands ghosting gently over my chest and abdomen as he puts disinfectant, some more ointment and dressings for protection over them. “Good as new, Jare,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.

Jensen

We both wave Josh goodbye, waiting until the cab is out of sight before we head back into the cool house. Jared's spirits were lifted considerably with his brother's company and I hope it stays like this. I'm not even jealous that Josh managed to lure smiles out of Jared when I failed; Jared and his brother are really close, they barely see each other, and always laugh a lot, just like we do in normal circumstances. Besides, Josh wasn't involved in any way in the incident and that just helped Jared.

“How're you holding up, Jen?” Jared asks as we wheel back into the living-room. It's far too hot today to stay outside, so we holed up there, drinking cooled water or juices, and having salads and sandwiches.

In surprise, I raise my brows. “Shouldn't I be the one to ask you this?”

“No, I don't think so.” He puts his hand on my thigh, rubbing it gently. It's enough to know that it's there, to see the tender movements, the sweet smile on Jared's lips and the love shining from his eyes. “Everyone seems to be worried about me, Jen, but no one asks how you are. Even your own mom.”

“Probably because she loves you more than she does love me.” I chuckle because she adores Jared. “It's sweet that you ask, though. I think I'm okay. I miss Stella, the view from the bench at the cliff, the sunflowers blooming by the pool house, but I see how much better you're here, Jare, and the change of scenery... It was good for both of us. I'm glad to be here and even happier that I'm here with you.” Suddenly, a memory hits me, of the summer five years ago, when Jared came here as a friend and left, well, not yet as my boyfriend, but as an aspirant of that title. Back then, I was still hurting, struggling with my fate, fighting the demons and the darkness that held me within its grasp.

“Jen?” Jared's hand is now a welcome presence on my abdomen, the warmth seeping through the thin material of my tee. “You good? You look spooked.”

I shudder visibly. “Just a walk down memory lane, Jare. And that's what they are, baby. Nothing but memories. Some bad, some good, especially those with you.”

“Can we go outside? Cuddle a bit?”

I don't even bother to answer, just get two bottles of water from the fridge and head outside, the heat hitting me at once. The sun loungers are different from half a decade ago, extra large, just like at home in California, so that we can lie there together but just like then, Jared spoons me from head to toe, pressing a lingering kiss against my neck. His hand moves north, spread above my heart, warm and wide and very safe.

Eventually I turn around, snuggling as close as possible, my chest melting into Jared's. Moans, sighs, and whimpers, fingers stroking and fondling, lips kissing, tasting, and sucking, we worship the other, tugging greedily at our tees until they're gone. Jared's upper body is still mostly covered by dressing, but I kiss his unharmed skin and even the fresh dressing, showing Jared how much I love those scars.

Due to my paralysis, our sex life is different but it's good, the way it is. We probably share a closeness most couples will never gain, can't even think of. The senses in the working part of my body are ultra sensitive and I respond to touches differently. It's not quite an orgasm, but almost, and Jared knows exactly what he has to do. He does it gently as he trails the tip of his tongue along my spine, sucking and kissing the scar from my surgery. First, it's just soft blows, then it's the tip of his tongue, his lips and gentle fingertips. Fireworks explode in my belly, sending waves of pleasure through my body, and shooting me to a place of full bliss where I'm lost in Jared's caresses.

It only ebbs away when Jared stops kissing me, wrapping me into his arms instead. “We've come a long way, Jared,” I say thoughtfully. “You gave me hope and let me dream, carried me out of that deep dark hole I had buried myself in. You never rebuked me, always showered me with love, never thought less of me because of my issues. You saved me, Jare.” Biting my tongue, I pause, the meaningful words hanging between us as heavy as the shimmering heat. “I hope you know that I'm going to save you, too, if needed. We've had years full of light and I know, right now, you're lurching through this dark, narrow tunnel, but I'm here to help you out, if you let me.”

My promise hangs between us and I don't expect Jared to say anything at all. He doesn't, but what he does is to hold me a little tighter, his forehead pressed against mine, showing me that he understands and that he won't push me away, even though it sometimes might be easier.

8

Jared

“Well done, Jared,” Aaron, the PT Jensen hired, says, clapping my shoulder in a friendly gesture. Jensen has worked with him before, after he had been released from rehab. He comes every day, working with the both of us. He supervises our exercises, stimulates my numb leg and gives Jensen a massage, though his shoulders and back are better than they have been for half a year, now that Jensen gets so much sun and spends hours in the pool.

With a grateful nod, I accept the offered fresh towel, rubbing the sweat from forehead, neck, face, and torso. Just like the broken ribs, the scars are still sore and very sensitive, but a month after the incident, they're looking less monstrous and I'm sure, Aaron has seen much worse. The leg though worries me; I barely feel it. I know it's there and thanks to the exercises, I can meanwhile move the toes a little bit and flex the knee and ankles a little more, but it still feels like carrying around a chunk of Serrano ham, bound to my groin. At least the shoulder is slightly better; the tingle is gone and I have very rough movements back, yet it's still far from healed and I'll be bound to the wheelchair a little longer.

“Do you guys need anything?” Aaron asks as he clears his stuff away. We both shake our heads, transfer back into the wheelchairs and see Aaron out before heading upstairs into our bed. We're always beat after the PT session.

Lying down on our sides of the bed and scooting close, we just hold each other for a while, eyes on half-mast, fingers stroking lazily, lingering here and there, lips peppering kisses on shoulders and arms. Jensen's hand ghosts over my torso, yet carefully avoiding to touch the scars, unsure if he is allowed to. “You know, it's okay. You can touch them, if you want to,” I prompt Jensen and he smiles, sort of honored by the trust I put in him.

He presses his lips against the round scar of the bulging bullet wound, caresses unbelievably gently before covering the biggest scar, down on my abdomen, with his hand. His hand is far too small to cover all of it, but it feels good, his warm palm pressed against my flat abs. One by one, Jensen says hello to the scars, poking the tip of his tongue against them, kissing them, blowing warm, slightly moist puffs of breath against them, worshiping them, just like Jensen worships all of me. Tremors are running through my body and I even feel them tingling in my numb leg. Warmth is enveloping me that doesn't have anything to do with the warm wind caressing my skin. It's the greatest proof of love and acceptance Jensen has ever gifted me with and it's another step closer to healing.

***

Weeks pass and suddenly, my forty-first birthday is just around the corner. While I'm better, both physically and mentally, I don't really feel like throwing a big party, and Jensen respects my wish. It's not that I don't want to see my folks, but just like my boyfriend all those years back, I don't really want them to see me sitting in the wheelchair.

Despite the tiny progress I make every week, I'm terribly scared that I stay handicapped, and isn't that weird, since I know that it's not the end of the world? Jensen handles it so well, and it doesn't make him a lesser man, far from it. If you asked me, he is the best man in the world, simply priceless. Yet, whenever I look at my left leg, at the huge, gross scar and my feeble attempts to wiggle my toes, I feel panic taking a hold of me.

I hate that scar, it bothers me far more than my cutting board torso, because it's bulging, as if a long sausage is growing out of my thigh. I barely touch it and so far hide it beneath pajama pants, even abstain from Jensen's blow and hand jobs, just so that he doesn't see my maimed thigh. Of course, Jensen has long smelled the rat, but so far, he hasn't mentioned it, he is probably hoping I'll address it myself. I know I should. If the last six weeks taught me something, it's two things. Talking helps and most of all, Jensen helps. He always listens, never judges, and apart from that proverbial kick back in the hospital, he has never pushed me.

My cell announces a message, thankfully pulling me out of my thoughts. It's Chris, sending a recent photo from the renovation of our house. It's the living-room but it doesn't look like our old living-room at all, with new wooden panels on the floor, a little brighter than the old and the wall between kitchen and living-room gone, being replaced by a timeless wooden construction. Apart from that, it's still a construction site, but it looks so different and it kindles hope in my heart that I could feel safe there again after all.

An hour later, Jensen is back. He went out for lunch with one of his wheelchair friends, Dominic. I practically made him go; just like I enjoyed Josh's company, it's vital that Jensen is meeting up with other people, too. I urge him to see his family once a week and I persuaded Jensen to call Dominic.

“Hey.” Jensen comes wheeling in, smiling. It's apparent that he enjoyed meeting his old buddy and catching up. “Missed you.” He pecks my cheek before throwing his arms around me, pressing me against his side.

“You had a good time.” It's far more a statement than a question and I'm happy for Jensen, just like he was happy for me when I was in such a good mood while Josh was with me.

“Yeah. It was good seeing Dom again. Um, Detective Monroe called while we were having lunch.” Jensen's smile freezes. “They found a connection, between our case and the murder two counties away.”

Heart racing, I lift my brown. I'd sleep so much better, no matter where, if they managed to catch the guys. I was able to give her quite a good description of one of the two intruders and the photo was shown on TV and printed in the papers, but from all I understand, they're still busy analyzing the statements. “What?”

“Archie.” Eyes widening in surprise, I take in a deep, shuddering breath. Whatever I expected, it wasn't that. “Apparently, he worked there, before he joined us. We just didn't make the connection, because his employers passed and the heirs sold the property. Detective Monroe is quite sure that he wasn't involved in the crime per se. Archie doesn't have any criminal record, his prints didn't match unsolved crimes and you knew him, Jare, he was a good man. She believes that he may have, involuntarily, passed on information, perhaps about valuables or security measures.”

Releasing the breath I just took, I hide my face in my hand. “Fuck, Jen. We don't have any valuables lying around. Archie knew that.”

“Baby,” Jensen says, cupping my hand with his. “We don't know for sure how it happened. Maybe it was enough to mention the house, the pool, the horses and the property, and that he is working for us. We're not exactly unknown. People can put two and two together.”

“How can we ever trust anyone, Jen?” I've never had trust issues like that. Sure, we asked Lucia for her references and talked to her former employer, and whenever there is work on the property, we engage companies we've hired before or are recommended to us by friends, and I always thought that was good enough.

“We must, Jare. Otherwise we must build ourselves a bunker and start a self-sufficient mini farm and well, learn how to do things ourselves. And since I'm a little out of bounds, good luck with that.” Jensen smirks and it lures a little chuckle out of my throat. “Actually, it's good news, Jare. It's a lead. I told Detective Monroe all I know about Archie and asked her to talk to Lucia and you, too. I'm sure it won't be a problem to find out where he was hanging out on his free days and whom he might have told such things.”

As Jensen's words sink in, I realize that he is right. Maybe, hopefully, the cops are one step closer to find the intruders. “I hope it's over soon, Jen.” I've never told him, but I'm a little anxious that they might come back, finish what they started and carve me up for good.

“Yeah, me too, baby.” Enveloping me into his arm, Jensen holds on tight, kissing my head, grounding me once more and making me feel safe.

***

Gentle hands and deft lips wake me up on my birthday, and once I open my sleep crusted eyes, I'm getting lost in Jensen's green ones. “Morning, birthday boy,” Jensen breathes out, catching my lips in a very tender kiss while his fingers comb through my hair. “Happy Birthday, love.” Tugging me against his chest, Jensen holds me tight, gently nibbling at my ear, spreading tiny kisses all over my upper body and caressing the scars with all his heart and soul. In normal years, Jensen's hand would cup my cock, but this year, his hand stays above my waistline, stroking the skin there gently. My love for Jensen rises into vast dimensions as he doesn't urge me into something I'm not ready for at the moment. Instead, my boyfriend shows me his love in other ways, holding me for long times, putting lingering kisses on random spots and caressing my skin.

He only lets go when I mention that I need to go to the bathroom unless he wants me to wet our bed. It's not exactly romantic, but it makes Jensen chuckle. I hear him leaving our bedroom while I'm performing my morning rituals and when I come downstairs, the table on the terrace is laid, there is a vase filled with roses from the garden and all the things I love for breakfast. We share a very intimate breakfast, feeding each other with treats and kissing each other, and it's perfect and beautiful. Once our plates are empty but for a few crumbs, Jensen vanishes into the living-room, returning with a long, white box, humbly offering it to me.

It contains a single red rose, two shades of red, with a hint of white on the edges of the petals. It's perfect and beautiful. “When you proposed more than a year ago, you gave me a single red rose, Jare. It um, gave me the idea for this.” Coyly, Jensen bites his lips. “This rose is called Jared Padalecki. I think it's a masterpiece, just like you.”

“You had a rose named after me?” I ask, looking at the beautiful rose and at my breathtaking boyfriend in wonder.

“Yeah. Quite a few Jared Padalecki bushes are planted into our garden as we speak. I hope it'll make going home a little easier for you.”

My heart somersaults. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, something for eternity. Even when Jensen and I are long gone, Jared Padalecki will still be in bloom, a memory of our undying love. Tears are pooling in my eyes and I lean over to pull Jensen into my arms, hold him as tight as I can, never wanting to let go. “I can't even find words, Jen,” I whisper into his ear, kissing the earlobe. “It's perfect and breathtaking, just like you are, sweetie.”

***

Whenever my eyes fall onto the stunning rose, my heart beats just a little faster, overflowing with love for Jensen. A few days after my birthday, a splendid Jared Padalecki rose tree is being delivered, and despite our handicaps, we plant the bush without the help of a gardener, close by the terrace, so that we can see the beautiful red blossoms every time we take a meal.

On the same day, after dinner, I take Jensen's hand and place it on my maimed thigh. It's covered by a beige linen pant leg, but Jensen understands the gesture, smiling lovingly as he caresses this part of my body. The scar is so bulgy that it's perceptible beneath his touch, but Jensen doesn't shy away, trails his finger along the scar, down and up again, before he holds me tight, cradling my body in his arms. His softly whispered “I love you” has never before sounded so true and genuine than in that moment.

When I get ready for the night, I don't dress into pajamas, only into briefs that scarcely hide what they are made for and slip between the soft satin sheets of our bed, sliding very close to Jensen and placing my hand on his belly, drawing invisible patterns into his abs.

“You sure?” Jensen asks, closing the novel he is reading at the moment and placing the book on his nightstand.

“I guess. It's disgusting, Jen, this scar. I'm ashamed of it,” I admit, biting my lower lip. “I wish you'd never have to see it. I'm much better since we're here, but these scars, Jensen, they'll always remind me of what happened. Whenever I'll look at my torso or my thigh, I'll feel that knife slicing me up, feel the burning pain, hear the blood dripping onto the floor and smell its copper. The memory of this attack is etched into my mind.”

Jensen's shuddering, tightening his grip a little more. “Don't let the memories define you, Jare.”

“No, I won't let them. I'll take the events and turn them into something good, will draw strength from what happened. Simply because I survived. Sure, Archie helped and payed with his life, but they didn't get me, baby, and they'll never get me. Which is also the reason why we should go home once summer is over.” I'm adamant to go home, ready even. “I'll go see a shrink once we're back in LA, because I think I need to process what happened, but they won't win.”

“That's my boy,” Jensen says proudly, kissing my skin.

“There's something else, Jen.” My better half is looking at me openly. “It's not that I woke up this morning and everything was sunshine and daisies. I'm still scared because of what happened and um, I'm scared that the leg won't get any better. It's been seven weeks now and I still barely feel a thing.”

Jensen nods. If someone can relate to what I'm going through, it's my boyfriend. He takes both my hands in his own, playing with my fingers, stroking and kissing them. “Even if, by a very weird, ironic twist of fate, your leg stays paralyzed like it is now, and there won't be any improvement, Jare; we'll manage. When I found out about my paraplegia, the world came crashing down. It was the worst day of my life and after that a darkness encased me and it was so, so hard. Until a loveable, gigantic fella with the biggest heart and the brightest smile came back into my life. You, Jay, showed me that life is good, even if one is handicapped. For the past five years, you gave me a reason to live, to smile, to laugh, and to breathe every day. In case your leg really stays like that,” he reaches out and trails his hand over the numb leg, a barely there touch, but I actually feel it, “I'll show you every day that life is wonderful. Life is always light and shadow, Jare. Right now, we're in a shadowy part of that painting that is our lives, but I swear, better and brighter days are just around the corner.”

The words hit me deep within, causing a feeling of peace in my heart. It feels as if Jensen turned on a switch inside me that gives me confidence again. It's the message, of being in this together, no matter what, the promise of staying with me and all the other unsaid things. All Jensen cares for is me and us. Mid-April seems like a life-time ago, but I still remember it perfectly, the morning of the last day on set, how I looked at Jensen and told him how proud I was, of him and of us. Today, once more, I'm immensely proud of Jensen, and unbelievably grateful, for having such a strong, loving man as my significant other in my life.

A real smile flits over my lips, dimples and all, and Jensen pokes his index into one of my dimples gently, before it's replaced by the soft cushions of his lips and the moist tip of his tongue. Then, lips and tongue are on my lips, waltzing together in the rhythm of our heartbeats, stealing breaths and moans.

Jensen moves down further north, using hands and upper body. It might look weird for an outsider, but I'm always amazed how well he handles and deals with the restrictions caused by his disability. His hand is not on my crotch though, but widely spread on my thigh and my heart is beating faster, because I feel it.

He tickles my sole and toes, eliciting a chuckle from the depth of my throat, lets his fingers run up and down my shank, kissing my knee before worshiping my scar. There is no better word for it. Unbelievably gently, he kisses along the long line, sending waves of pleasure through my body. It's extremely sensitive and the knowledge that Jensen doesn't mind touching this super gross part of my body intensifies the feeling even more. Lips are replaced with soft fingertips and his warm breath, ghosting fondly over the bulge before, in the end, Jensen puts his cheek against it.

I can't swallow back the liquid blurring my eyes. It's beautiful and intimate and this feeling to be loved, all of me, even the disgusting scar, cocoons me like a soft, warm blanket. Today, life is wonderful and good, and with a love that strong, we'll be invincible.

Jensen

His face a tense mask and his teeth grit together, I watch Jared how he carefully tries the first few steps with the crutches. His shoulder is still in slight pain and his healthy leg lost some muscles in the last weeks, yet he tries and I admire him for it. Jared could simply wait another week or two, but he is adamant to get out of the wheelchair, at least for some time everyday.

“Well done,” Aaron compliments Jared, helping him sit down in his wheelchair again, offering him a glass of water. A few drops of sweat are glistening on Jared's forehead and the tee he is wearing is wet beneath the armpits.

Wheeling closer, I put my hand on Jared's thigh, Jared's sweaty hand cupping mine, squeezing it. It's a very slow process and I know it frustrates Jared and costs him all his patience, but the numbness wanes and the mobility in his leg improves. I think I'm the reason why he is so adamant to get out of the wheelchair; simply because I never will. He pulls himself together and is doing his level best because Jared knows, for a very long time, I'd have given everything to get rid of this chair.

Once Jared finishes his water, he gives it another try. Putting strain on the injured leg hurts, but Aaron encourages Jared to try walking, using the crutches for support. He ends the PT session with massaging Jared's legs and stimulating the muscles with electric pulses.

“You did well today, Jare,” I acknowledge, wheeling closer to where Jared is still lying on the therapy table, collecting his strength.

He flashes me a shaky smile. “Don't feel like it. Feel like a gimp.” He only whispers the last word, probably because he doesn't want to insult me, and I know that he doesn't mean it like that, anyways. Frustration, exhaustion and the fear that it won't get better causes a distorted self-perception.

“I know you're sick of hearing it, Jay, but it takes time. Injuries like that, they don't heal quickly. A lot of patience is required. But it's already getting better, isn't it?” I let my hand glide down along the numb leg, rubbing and pinching the skin, tickling Jared's hollow of the knee and stroking the beautiful long toes and Jared is responsive to my caresses; chuckling, sighing, moving the toes slightly. “Now come here.” I open my arms, a sign that I want him to sit on my lap and hug me and Jared takes the invitation happily as he joins me on my chair instantly. Even after all those years it's weird, not even feeling Jared's weight on my thighs, as if he was light as a feather. Sneaking my arms around him, I however feel his warmth, his breath ghosting over my skin, his nose buried into my hair. We hold onto each other, drinking from the other's strength and I know, we'll get through this. “Remember? Life is good.”

***

My heart is beating faster as I'm listening attentively to Detective Monroe and the only sign that I still hold the line are the ahums I answer in return of the detective's explanations. With every additional word, I feel the strain melting away and once I hang up, the stone that had the word “attacker” etched into its surface is being lifted off my heart, smashing into a thousand little pieces. “Thank God,” I whisper to myself, moving outside as fast as I can.

Jared is in the pool, dividing the sparkling water with tanned arms, one very strong, the other still peaky, but on the mend. According to Aaron, swimming is good therapy for my better half, because he can train both his arms and legs, without putting too much pressure on them.

“Jare!” I call and he seems to sense the urgency in his name, because he stops in the middle of the lane, swimming to the edge of the pool where I parked the wheelchair, looking up at me questioningly. “Detective Monroe called.” Curiosity awoken, Jared's eyes widen. I don't want to leave him in suspense much longer. “They caught them, Jare.” I'm not saying it's over, because it isn't. Jared will have to bear witness in the trial, unless the guys make a full confession on the crimes they are charged with, but I don't want to spoil the good news with something that isn't a certainty yet.

Closing his eyes, Jared swallows hard and a play of emotions is shown not only in his features but in his whole body, relief on top of the list. Just like I did, he is probably thinking of Archie and the other victims, and just feels a little safer knowing that two dangerous criminals will hopefully be locked away for good. “What? How?” Jared asks, treading water. It's almost eleven weeks now, and Jared is clearly better, gaining a little more mobility in his leg and far more in his arm, which also lifts his spirits.

“Archie had this bunch of friends he met once a month. They always met at the same bar. Turns out another group of guys always had the table next to them. Archie told his friends stuff about his employers, nothing too private. He never even mentioned our names, Jare, only said that he is working for actors, how nice the house and the property is, how much he enjoys caring for the horses.”

“It wasn't Archie's fault then?” Jared asks, although deep down, he has probably always known it.

“No. He just met up with his friends at the wrong place at the wrong time.” I shake my head, still trying to process the news and how this little coincidence had led to so much sorrow and pain, not only to our family, but most of all to Archie's folks.

Jared swims towards the stairs that lead into the pool, using the lift I need to get in because climbing stairs is something Jared can't do just yet, simply because he can't lift and bend his knee high enough. Once he is outside, though, he takes his crutches, carefully walking to the sun lounger, where I wait for him, big towel in my hand. His gait is weird, looks a little uncoordinated but very deliberate, as if all his mind is concentrating on taking step after step, yet the body fails to do it properly. Aaron though encourages Jared to walk as much as possible, claiming that his gait will get back to normal in time.

“So,” Jared says, taking the towel I offer him with a grateful smile, rubbing his hair, standing on the good leg, not putting weight on the injured limb. “They eavesdropped?”

Reaching out my hands, so that Jared can use them to keep his balance, I answer. “That's how I understood it, yeah.”

Jared looks very thoughtful. “How did they catch them?”

“Obviously, the guys are brutal but not exactly smart. The bartender identified one of them thanks to the facial composite. They didn't even know they were wanted, just walked into the bar like that.”

Jared can't repress a chuckle. “They sure they caught the right guys?”

“Oh yeah. Matching prints, not only in our place and at the other crime scene, but it fits to a few other burglaries, without any homicide, but a lot of property damage,” I explain. Those guys really weren't amateurs, had added bloodlust to their brute force and they'd be locked away for good.

“Thank God,” Jared breathes out, sitting down on the sun lounger. His hands are shaking a little and I quickly transfer to where he is sitting, wrapping him into my arms.

“It's over, Jare.” Rubbing soothing circles into his still moist skin, kissing the nape of his neck and shoulder, I try to comfort him. “They won't harm you, us, or anyone else ever again.” I hold Jared just a little tighter, feel him relax and the moisture of his tears dropping onto my skin.

No words needed, we just are... Jared and Jensen, two hearts beating as one, grateful that the nightmare is over.

Jared

“Jare?” Jensen wheels closer and once more I notice how beautiful he is. Skin tanned, sprinkled with freckles, green eyes, smile, strong back, even the scrawny paralyzed legs. Jensen's ailment in his shoulders is gone for the moment, and the electric wheelchair stands folded and abandoned in a corner of our bedroom. It probably will come back, once he starts working again, but still, it's good to see him so much better. “Is it okay I'm here?”

“Of course, baby. That's your place, remember?” There's a bench, in a remote, even secret part of the garden, encircled by bushes and shrubs. It's a beautiful place and I know, back when Jensen was still alone, struggling with his fate, he often went there to reflect on his life, but also to draw strength from the peaceful atmosphere. It's the place where I told Jensen that my future lies with him, where we had photos taken not only to come out to the world, but to tell Jensen's story. It's a place with a very special meaning, for both of us.

Smiling softly, he joins me on the warm, wooden surface of the bench, taking my hands in his, playing with my fingers. “More than a year ago, Jare, you proposed and we really haven't talked about taking the vows yet, because first there was the movie and then you got mugged but I think... You still want us to marry, do you?” Jensen looks at me, scared, as if I had changed my mind. In a way I think it's cute, how he offers me a way out of our engagement, but Jensen really should know better. While the attack changed many things, it didn't change my love for Jensen. Quite the contrary; although I didn't think this would be possible, it welded us even closer together. We are one, Jensen and I.

“Of course I still want to make it official, Jen,” I say, lifting our hands to my lips and peppering baby kisses over Jensen's fingers. “I hope I didn't gi -”

“No,” Jensen cuts in gently, “you didn't. Not once, love. So um, I've been thinking... How about us getting married next March? Maybe on the same day we met at Mackenzie's all those years ago? It's a meaningful day for us.”

I'm thinking about the idea for a few moments, smiling softly, as I remember that week. The joy of meeting Jensen again, yet the confusion of seeing him in a wheelchair and getting no answers to my thousand questions at first. The anxiety of waiting, whether Jensen would bother to call or not, and then, finally, his message on my voicemail. Back then, it felt like a gift, and today I know, it really was one, Jensen's gift for me, a second chance, for both of us. “That's a wonderful idea. Was it March 5^th?”

“Almost.” Jensen smiles. “March 6^th.”

I put my head on Jensen's shoulder, remembering that day, how fast my heart was racing as I was driving to Mackenzie's house, how clammy my fingers were as I rang the doorbell and how wobbly my legs were as I followed her along the corridor and into her husband's office, where Jensen was sitting on a small sofa, looking as sheepish and tense as I felt. His arm sneaks around me, just like my arm sneaks around him and our heads touch, as I walk down memory lane and I'm quite sure, Jensen does so, too. “It was awkward as hell, Jen,” I share my memories with my better half. “Yet very beautiful, emotional and hopeful. That hug after all those years?” I pause, the silence pregnant with the meaning of that day. “It might sound very cheesy, Jen, but it felt like coming home.”

I've never told Jensen before, and a slight smile ghosts over his lips and I know, he is back in his brother-in-law's office, too. “Yeah,” Jensen agrees thoughtfully. “First, I wanted to draw back, you know?” Jensen admits, “but you just wouldn't let me. You were so good to me, Jare. I mean I was in such a sorry state and you were famous and popular, yet still, you treated me as if nothing had changed, as if the bad years between us never had happened and most of all, as if I was still the man I used to be. The way you held me, Jare, the acceptance you showed me? It was like balm on my soul and yeah, without calling it like that back then, it did feel like coming home.” Jensen pauses. Maybe he is searching for a particular memory, or maybe he is just overwhelmed with the meaning of that day. “You kept your promise, baby,” he whispers after a while, his voice shifting into something softer, sweeter, oozing with emotions.

I really don't know what Jensen is talking about. Our reunion was very emotional, for both of us, and it left me drained. While I was with Jensen, I kept myself together, but once I was back in my car, I was shaking so badly, tears running down my cheeks, that I had to stop it, just minutes after I had left Jensen's place, crying and crying, for God knows what. I've never told Jensen, but for days, I've had nightmares about his accident and losing him again. “Mmm?”

“You promised to never leave again.”

Now Jensen mentions it, I remember. Jensen had wanted to escape my arms, but I wouldn't let him. The thought of letting go of Jensen ever again was unbearable then, just like it is unbearable now, and I told him that I wouldn't let go, and a little later, when Jensen admitted that he'd missed me, I promised to never leave again. “I intend to hold this commitment until I take my last breath, Jen.” Tears of happiness are clouding Jensen's eyes and they silently escape. Leaning in, I kiss them away, taste the salty liquid on my tongue, loving Jensen just a little more right now, which shouldn't even be possible as I already love him with all my being. “I can't wait to promise it again. In front of our family and friends, under one of the beautiful oaks in our park. Let's get married in spring.”

***

Once the day is set, we sit together, talking about our wedding. I remember my own wedding with Genevieve, which was super perfect and Jensen's, which also was very nice, knowing instantly that I don't want and need another show for my wedding. I want something natural, something down to earth because, in spite of fame and money, that's what Jensen and I still are; quite normal. When I bring it up, Jensen agrees with me instantly. We want to be us.

The wedding planner Steve and Danneel had was very ingenious and she is more than happy to help. Thankfully, she doesn't talk us into things we don't want to do, just makes suggestions concerning invitations, flower arrangements, catering and music, giving us enough time to look through the files she sends us. We start making a list with our guests, which is hard enough. Our families are large, we have a big circle of friends and an even bigger circle of acquaintances and the list grows longer and longer, until it's a party with more than two hundred-and fifty guests.

“It's unbelievable, I never thought I knew so many people.” Jensen looks at the list in awe, shaking his head.

“And it could go on and on,” I add because we already scratched a good deal of people off the list. “It'll be good, though. These people,” I point at the list, “all played a part in our lives, Jen. I want them to bear witness when I become yours and you become mine.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “Me too. You know, I'm happy we have the wedding to plan. Something to look forward to,” he admits candidly. “It's what we need after all the drama. Something positive and good in our life and a reason to go back.”

I started seeing a shrink, because I didn't want to wait until we would be heading back home at the end of the summer. Talking to a professional helps immensely. Not because I don't want to confide in Jensen, he'll always be my confidant and my shoulder to lean on, but simply because she is not involved. She doesn't judge, just listens, asks clever questions and helps me process what happened. I'm sure, with the refurbishments almost done in our house, it'll be easier to step foot into our house and feel safe there again.

9

Jensen

Chris picks us up from the airport, welcomes us with a quick, yet tight hug and drives us home, while he gives us a brief summary of the refurbishment. It sounds like it was a huge success and I can't wait to see the changes; the photos Chris sent probably don't do it justice. Jared is uncommonly quiet next to me and I put my hand on his thigh, rubbing it softly, feeling the bulging scar beneath the thin material of his pants. He twines his fingers with mine, almost crushes them, but I don't mind. If that's what Jared needs to make it back home, it's gladly given.

Then, we're home. The automatic gate slides open, Chris drives through and the house comes in sight. The flowers in front are in full bloom, complete with a Jared Padalecki rose bush, the fresh cream white of the face inviting. I transfer into my chair while Chris unloads the luggage and Jared gets out of the car. The mobility in his leg is still limited and he will need the crutches for a while, but the doctor he saw a week ago was positive that eventually, Jared will make a full recovery. It gave him another boost. “It's good to be home,” he says genuinely, smiling, before leaning down and kissing my forehead.

“Ready guys?” Chris asks, punching in the security code number, yet drawing back once the automatic door slowly opens. “I'll just say hi to the horses, make sure they are back safely,” he explains, giving us the privacy we need and we're both very grateful.

I'm more than ready, even excited, to see what the house looks like now, but it wasn't me who was traumatized by the events that happened here, so I wait patiently. Jared's eyes are fixed at the rose that is named after him, a slight smile ghosting over his lips and then he nods, leading the way. If he is nervous, Jared doesn't show it as he steps into the cool hallway with determination.

The scent of fresh paint is strong in my nose and the tiles are new; not bright white, but a light gray and it looks so much better. There is a beautiful new photograph of Jared and I adorning the wall, from this year's spring shooting, Jared hugging me from behind, his arms tightly wrapped around my torso, my hands cupping his. It's very intimate and as Jared lies his eyes on it, they lighten up, just like his smile widens. I head towards the kitchen, and it bears no resemblance with the old kitchen. The wall separating it from the living-room is gone, there is just a timeless beam construction instead of it, allowing a view into the living-room. It isn't our living-room any longer, but the dining area, with a wooden table and ten chairs, awaiting not only us but our friends or family for dinners. There are zero wall cupboards, a big cooking island and a counter with bar stools. The new kitchen is made of a very bright wood, maple probably, and the tiles are creamy-yellowish, somehow reminding me of summer.

Chancing a look at Jared, I see the same awe in his face that must be written in mine. He doesn't seem scared, not even worried, and as we move on into the spacious dining slash living-room, it stays like this. New floor, fresh paint, also in a slightly different color, new curtains, new carpets, new furniture. It looks completely different than four months ago, the room layout is different and somehow much more convenient than it used to be. “It's beautiful,” Jared acknowledges, his voice heavy with emotions.

“It is,” I agree, already looking forward to the hours we'll be spending there, to cuddling on the new, cozy sofa, to watching TV or reading in companionable silence, to havimg long breakfasts on Sunday morning on the beautiful new wooden table. Now I'm even more curious to see what they did with the guestrooms. “Ready to go upstairs, hon?”

Jared nods, leading the way, his crutches clicking softly on the floor, calling the lift and squeezing himself in with me. It doesn't take long to go upstairs, but it gives me the time to draw my fingers over Jared's hand, a sign of encouragement and love.

“It can't hurt me any longer,” Jared states, looking down the corridor of the south wing. “It's only bad memories.” Bit by bit, he walks down the corridor, opening each door to every guest room. They're all beautiful and, just like I wanted them to be, all individual; different colors on the wall, different furniture, floor, rugs and curtains.

Only when we arrive at the end of the corridor do we notice that the door leading to the “bedroom of doom” as I call it secretly, is gone. It's blocked up. Instead, the last guestroom is now a suite, with a lounge area and two separate rooms with queen beds. It's perfect for guests with kids who want to be close to them and again, it looks so different. “This room doesn't scare me any longer.” There is not a trace of a lie in Jared's face; with the help of his shrink, his own strength and the support of his loved ones, he conquered his inner demons.

“You feel safe here again?”

“I do, baby,” Jared says as he leans down, wrapping me into his arms. “You're with me.”

Jensen

Jared looks up as I wheel into the library, closing the book he has been reading and placing it on the sofa. There is a glass filled with exquisite Scotch in his hand and the bottle the Scotch is coming from is standing on the coffee table, together with an empty plate with some crumbs from a sandwich and two bowls filled with peanuts and chips. Ever since we returned home, each Wednesday night, I find Jared here, waiting for me. In the first few weeks after we had arrived back, I was very reluctant to leave, but Jared assured me every time that he was fine and that he wanted me to go see my friends. If we hugged and kissed goodbye a little longer and tighter than usual, and if I got home earlier than before the incident, always leaving directly after the meeting was over, we both didn't mention it.

“You're glowing,” Jared says, expression unreadable.

Not quite sure where this comment might lead to, I shrug. “I guess it's just good to see the guys again. I've missed hanging out with them and it's good to catch up. Anya finally got a job and Derek and Josie are trying to adopt.”

Jared flashes me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “And Darius?” he asks, not looking at me but at the cover of the Ken Follet novel he is currently reading.

Jared has been a little weird since Darius joined the Happy Wheels. When we shot our annual group photo just a few weeks ago, he had looked at Darius long, his brow furrowed, swallowing once he noticed his hand on the back of my wheelchair.

Once more I can't help but think that Jared might be jealous, as ridiculous as it is. On the other hand, his feelings are never ridiculous, but important and the aftermath of the burglary left Jared not only physically injured, but mentally hurting, too. He is far less self-confident and maybe, just maybe, he is scared that I might leave him.

Ignoring the question, I wheel over to where Jared is sitting on the sofa, join him on the couch and take the Scotch out of his hand, to put it on the small side table. His eyes are slightly glassy, a sign that Jared had more than this glass already. Twining my fingers with his, I look at him, but he avoids looking back, almost closes his eyes and stares at the carpeted floor instead and I know, my intention was right. “Love, are you jealous of Darius?” I ask, my tone soft, without any accusation in it.

Jared neither answers nor looks at me, and it's all the answer I need. “Look at me,” I prompt gently and as Jared looks up, I see tears shining in his eyes. “I like Darius, Jare. He is a good guy. But there is a very big difference between friendship and love.”

“We were friends first, too,” Jared chips in, sniffing. He looks like a picture of misery, with his blurred eyes and his red cheeks.

“Yeah, we were. The best friends imaginable. Soul mates from the beginning.” I smile, remembering that first ever hug that sowed the seed of friendship and love, trust, respect, and loyalty. “Darius is neither, Jared. We get on well, because we have some things in common, but that's it. There is only one person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and he is sitting right here, with me. You're the one, Jare. You know that, don't you?”

Fighting for composure, Jared is quiet for a while, sniffing once and wiping his eyes. “I'm such an idjit, Jen. I'm sorry for doubting you.”

“Don't be.” I lean in to kiss Jared, just a soft brush of lips against lips. I'm neither disappointed nor mad at him because trust is a very complex thing and once in a while, we all doubt ourselves and the people in our lives, no matter how close we are. “Happens to the best of us. It's good we talked about it.” A memory hits me, of half a year ago, of Jared suggesting a barbecue for the Happy Wheels and their families. “How about we finally invite the guys, like you suggested in May? You can get to know Darius and will see that there really is nothing to worry about.”

Jared nods, smiling slightly. This time, it reaches his eyes.

***

Steam billowing behind him in thick wafts, Jared steps out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but fresh briefs and a towel wrapped around his head. His skin is deep red, a sign that he had a far too hot shower. Leaning on his crutches, he looks at me, a soft smile on his lips. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he opens the drawer and gets out a tube of ointment, a mixture of medical plants to tend his scars with. Jared still minds them far more than I do, and he probably hopes they will miraculously vanish if he just rubs this salve into them twice a day.

“Let me do that for you, love.” I don't mind touching them, far from it. In a way, I love them, love showing Jared that he's still beautiful to me, although some nutjob carved him up. Besides, after our talk earlier, the urge to show my boyfriend that he's the only one for me is bigger than ever before.

Silently, Jared hands me the ointment, leaning against the headboard of our bed. I start with the knobbly bullet wound, kissing it, putting the right amount of ointment onto it, massaging it in very softly. Then my hand moves down. With eyes closed, I feel the scars, the small bumps on an otherwise smooth skin, their different thickness, the pattern they paint into Jared's skin, the story they tell. My warm breath is caressing them, just like my fingertips are, and once I worship them, just the way they deserve, I work the salve into the fresh skin.

The huge scar on Jared's thigh is last. It's impressive, maybe even a little scary, several inches long, and, compared to the scars on Jared's torso, it's a range, not just a hill. I know, sometimes, the scar still hurts, especially if there is a change in weather pattern, and it will probably stay like that. Like an old, injured veteran, Jared will be able to forecast the weather in the future thanks to that wound. Kissing random spots along the scar, I caress it, feel its form against my lips, feel how emotional my better half is. “It's okay, Jare,” I mumble, meaning everything; the scar, his doubts, but also our friendship, our partnership, and our impending marriage. “We're okay.” Unbelievably gently, I touch the scar, fondling it while covering it with a thin layer of white ointment.

“I love you, Jare. Heart, soul, and body.” Jared's cheeks are wet with tears, and I kiss them away before holding him for an impossibly long time, once more becoming one with him, one entity with two beating hearts.

Jared

I cut the most beautiful rose blossom of one of the many Jared Padalecki rose bushes my significant other had planted all over the property and affix the self-made voucher onto it with a red ribbon. It's nothing special; just the pure facts of what I booked for us scribbled down on a piece of paper in my rather untidy script, but I know Jensen will love it. We might have been away for months now, but Dallas wasn't really a vacation, more a rehabilitation. This little trip in the week we celebrate our fifth anniversary will be another change of scenery. I put the rose into the small bag I'm often carrying around nowadays, because I still need the crutches, which means my hands are never free. It frustrates me, but I went to see Dr. Fowler for a follow-up and she confirmed the other doctor's evaluation; eventually, I will make a full recovery.

From afar, I can hear Jensen talking with our new hand and gardener; Isobel, Ed's oldest daughter. She's only twenty, but very adept. She grew up with horses, knows how to handle them, and loves spending time with them, or tending to the flowers. We offered her the cottage, but she rather stays with her family and doesn't mind the drive.

Sure enough, when the stable comes in sight, I see Jensen sitting in his wheels, his hand on Stella's halter. She is saddled up and it looks as if Jensen just finished riding her because he looks relaxed and free. The look alone causes my heart to somersault and when Jensen spots me, his face is lightening up even more. “You had a ride?” I call, already knowing the answer.

“Just in the paddock. Izzie supervised.”

I flash her a thankful smile and she leaves, taking Stella with her. “Hey cowboy,” I say gently, leaning down for a delicious kiss.

“Hey yourself, baby.” Jensen pats his thigh and I sit down, wrapping my arms around him, snuggling close. Jensen nuzzles his face in my chest, his warm, moist breath seeping through the thin material of the blue tee I'm wearing. It tickles, causing not only warmth on the surface, but also inside.

I comb my fingers through Jensen's slightly sweaty hair. “Missed me?”

“Just a teeny tiny bit.” Jensen laughs, burying his face even deeper into my chest and kissing the spot where my heart is beating. “Remember? You never truly leave me, are with me all the time, even when we're apart.”

“Sap,” I scold him gently, kissing his forehead. Carefully, I get up, trying hard not to put too much weight on my bad leg before hopping to the bench. There's always been a rose tree, a beautiful yellow white rambler rose climbing up the wooden construction of the stable, but next to it, there also is a Jared Padalecki rose bush now, full in bloom, its pleasant scent a light presence in the air. All in all, there are forty-one bushes scattered over the grounds, one for each of my years of life, some in groups, some single, but each beautiful. It's just roses, but whenever I look at the beautiful red and white blossoms, my heart skips a beat, overflowing with love for Jensen instead.

I pat the wooden bench as a sign for Jensen to join me and sure enough, he sits down next to me. My arm sneaks around his torso instantly, drawing Jensen against my side, holding him tight. I love these moments of togetherness; just me and Jensen, sharing a companionable silence, caressing the other, breathing in unison, being one. I could sit like that for hours and while it never lasts that long, it lasts long today, until in the end, Jensen places his hand on my thigh and I place it on his belly, rubbing soft circles into his muscled abs. “You've been amazing in the last few months, Jen,” I say, placing my hand on his lips to keep him from butting in. “Understanding and supportive. I know, you'll say it's a matter of course but fact is, it isn't. The attack taught me quite a few things, not taking things for granted among them, Jen. And that's why I want to say thank you.” Carefully, I get the rose and the voucher out of the bag.

Blushing adorably, Jensen takes the rose, kissing the fine petals before opening the voucher, looking at me in awe. “Do you think it's something I -”

“You can. I checked, they offer golf for wheelchair users. You'll get a lesson or two, to learn the difference and then we can hit the golf course, baby. We'll have a small, secluded cabin for ourselves, complete with a tiny sauna. There is a pool and gym, we can book massages, if you miss Luke's magic fingers. A restaurant, if we want to eat there, but of course they also have room service. It's the perfect retreat.”

“Thank you, Jay,” Jensen says, rubbing his hand up and down my thigh, moving it quite close to my crotch.

Gasping slightly, I wiggle my brow. “You can show me later how thankful you really are.”

***

“How's the leg?” Jensen asks after another sweaty PT session with Luke, handing me a cool bottle of water. His torso is naked, glistening with a few water drops that drop from his short hair after he swam lane after lane while Luke tortured me. It looks unbelievably hot and I want to lick them off Jensen's skin. “I mean, how's it really, Jared and how do you feel about it?” He looks at me openly and I know, there is no reason to lie to him.

“It doesn't get better, Jen, or if it does, I don't notice it anymore. It's still partially numb and I still can't move it like I used to. I wonder if I'll ever get rid of the crutches. Putting weight on it hurts. That's how I am.”

Thankfully, Jensen spares me with silly platitudes that help the least. “You're scared it doesn't get better. Despite the doctor's evaluation?”

It's not even a question, my boyfriend knows me all too well. “Yeah.”

“What if, Jared?” The question trips me up. “What would you do? How would you feel?”

My eyes widen and I release a shaky breath. I haven't really thought about it, but maybe I should? “What did you do, Jen?”

“It's not quite the same, Jare,” Jensen says gently. “My diagnosis was far worse than yours and you know what happened. My life came crashing down and if we hadn't met... let's be honest here, Jare, I probably wouldn't be alive anymore. I would have drowned myself in my pool, swallowed a bullet or slit my wrists.” A palpable shudder runs down my spine and I place my hand above his heart, immensely grateful that it's still beating and that Jensen left this darkness behind. “I was lost, Jared. Until you came back into my life. Are you lost?” Jensen asks, looking at me openly.

I think about it, shaking my head once I come to a conclusion. “No, I'm not. It frustrates me that it doesn't get better, but it’s not the end of the world. If it stays like it is now, I'd never be able to act again, but I still could produce or do something completely different or nothing at all. We're lucky, we're set for life, Jen. And all I really need is right here with me. It's you.” I lean down to kiss Jensen, grateful that he cares. “How about we go into the sauna?” I whisper into his ear. “I heated it up earlier, it's cozily warm now.”

“Sounds,” Jensen tugs at my sweaty tee, “like a,” he pulls it over my head, “very good,” he catches one of my nipples between his lips, “idea.” He sucks and licks it and as he sees the bulge in my pants getting bigger, he cups it with his hand, squeezing invitingly.

Laughing lasciviously, I let Jensen strip me off, something he is very deft at, knowing that the minutes to come will be much hotter than any sauna in the world.

Jensen

The golf resort is spectacular. Beautifully kept lawn, nice main building and a luxurious cabin, secluded, private and accessible. I'm quite tired after the long drive on my own, and the first thing Jared does is hustle me into having a hot stone massage, even before I start to unpack. It's heavenly and once I wheel back to our cabin, I feel much better, my muscles loose, my shoulders free of pain.

Jared is sitting on the bed, his feet naked, wiggling his toes, looking at them as if it's the greatest achievement of all, and I know, for Jared it is. It's so much better than it was in summer, even better than four weeks ago when we talked about it after his PT session, and I wrap my fingers around them, stroke them and twine my fingers with his toes, which looks quite funny and causes Jared to chuckle.

“How was the massage?” Jared asks while I empty half a bottle of water in deep, thirsty mouthfuls.

“Heavenly. Thanks for treating me with it, love.” Joining Jared on the bed, I lean in for a kiss which Jared gives gladly. For a while, we do nothing but kiss, let our tongues and lips speak in a different way while our hands run uncoordinated over neck, shoulder and back, combing through hair or stroking skin.

“How about a walk?” Jared suggests once we break the kiss, his breath tingling my cheek, his pulse a little quicker than before we kissed. “I feel up to it.”

Actually, I had something different in mind, involving my hands and lips on Jared's dick and my fingers in his ass, but as weird as it sounds, I'm not saying no to a walk if Jared asks for it. Luke encourages him to walk, it's good exercise, and I really don't want us to hole up here, when the grounds are so nice. “Sure.”

Thankfully, the weather is quite good for North California at the end of November, the last leaves on the trees in gorgeous red, yellow or orange, calm, and a sun that still is strong enough to seep through our jackets and warm us. I wish I could hold Jared's hand, but I'm in my normal wheelchair, and Jared is still leaning on crutches, though, other than in summer, he puts weight on the bad leg and actually walks. If it hurts, Jared doesn't complain, and I also notice that his gait improved; it's less strained, more natural. “You're getting better, love,” I comment, looking at him proudly.

A broad smile parts Jared's lips, his dimple growing into full force. “Don't jinx it, Jen, but yeah, I think I am.”

“You know, I would have loved you no matter what, paralyzed or numb leg, limp and all, but I'm very happy for you, and relieved.”

Jared doesn't say a thing, but he stops, putting a hand on my shoulder and leaning down for a kiss, soft, sweet, and gentle. It says thanks, for everything I did for him in the last six months and I kiss back, saying you're welcome and thank you, for everything Jared did for me in the last five years.

***

“Happy Anniversary,” I whisper into Jared's ear in the morning. We slept in, are in no hurry and in no need to be anywhere. All we want to do today is be together and celebrate our love. Still sleepy, Jared mumbles a “Happy Anniversary, sweetie” back, rubbing his eyes and looking simply scrumptious. I let my hand glide down his sleep-warm torso, gently getting rid of the tee and pajama pants, saying good morning to all of Jared. Caressing moles and scars, my lips trail south, only to stop very close to its actual goal. Teasing Jared, my hand is cupping his dick, brushing over the fabric of his briefs, while my mouth crashes against his lips. Our breath isn't exactly minty, but we've been together far too long to care about morning breath or bodily fluids. That's what love is like.

Eventually, we break the kiss and I concentrate on Jared's dick again, feel it grow beneath my hand. Teasing his crotch, I strip Jared off his briefs, catching his dick in my mouth, sucking it to hardness while my fingers move somewhere else. As if conjured up, the lube is pressed into my palm and I put just the right amount on it to widen Jared's hole, don't want to hurt him when I fuck him with my fingers. In a way, they are far more crafty than my cock ever was and while I wish I could become one like that with my better half, it's not needed. We're connected in so many other ways than sex.

Today, I start with my thumb, pushing it forward, smirking as Jared releases a happy gasp. It does nothing much than widen the entrance, squeezing, leaving invisible prints inside Jared. Then, the thumb is replaced by my very deft and sly index, stroking back and forth, wiggling and pushing, teasing Jared as it strokes over the bundle of nerves and stimulates Jared's prostate. His rock hard cock, that's still a very delicious delicacy between my lips, grows even harder and I know Jared won't last long. Sure enough, when my middle finger joins the index, rubbing just a little harder, Jared comes, providing me with something so much hotter than coffee for breakfast. Licking my lips, I lean in, so that Jared can lick himself off me, something he loves to do and something I'd never deny him, while my fingers are still stuck in his ass. Hungrily, greedily, his lips almost devour me, his tongue licking off what it can catch, deep brute grunts escaping the depth of his throat. It's super erotic and I'd be so hard, if I still could get an erection. The heat bubbling in my belly, sending wave after wave through my whole body, is enough though. Once Jared breaks the kiss, I carry on handling him, my ring finger joining its brothers. Jared is unbelievably tight around me, moist and warm and I thrust forward, as deep as I can, yet careful not to hurt Jared. His dick twitches in my hand, but doesn't grow that much again. Not that I mind, Jared is beautiful even with a soft cock in my palm, his eyes blown wide, a blissful smile upon his lips, sweat glistening on his torso. Pulling my fingers out, I lick the sweat of his torso, caressing the many scars once more, smiling against his belly.

Eventually, I lie down next to my boyfriend, and we just kiss and caress the other, slowly gliding back to sleep.

It's almost noon when I wake up again, and Jared is blanketing my body, sucking and nibbling at my collarbone. “Here you are, sweetie,” he says gently, kissing me. “How about a bath?”

There's a big tub in the bathroom, big enough for two, yet I'm not sure how I can get in there. The shower is fully accessible, but the tub is not. “Love, I-”

“Shh, I know what you want to say, but I can carry you.”

I'm not sure if that's a wise idea but I don't want to dampen Jared's spirits and so I just nod. I watch him getting up, taking his crutches and slowly walking into the bathroom. Soon afterwards, I hear the water thundering into the tub and the fragrance of an exclusively scented bath oil is whiffing into my nose.

Jared comes back to me, sitting down on the side of my bed, gently stripping off my clothes until I'm completely naked. “So beautiful,” he mumbles, licking his lips. “So delicious.” He kisses random spots on my torso before he pushes me into the mattress, face forward. I know what happens next and sure enough, his tongue trails down my spine, until it reaches its goal, the big scar on my lower back. It licks back and forth, round and round, sometimes I feel it, sometimes not, but I know it's there, just like I know that the hand I can't feel is cupping my butt or stroking my lifeless dick or balls. It's heaven, how Jared cherishes me and the butterflies in my belly are in full uproar, fluttering so heavily that the power of their wings shoot shock wave after shock wave through my body, sending me to a very special place. Eventually, Jared stops, putting a lingering kiss at the northern point of the scar before tugging me upwards and right into his arms. No words are needed as he hugs me tight, holds and cradles me, showing me once again that I'm precious to him.

Heading back into the bathroom, I follow Jared the moment I transferred into my wheelchair. Thick with steam and heavy with scent, the moist, warm air in the bathroom envelopes me at once and I wheel as close to the tub as possible. White scented foam is dancing on the rapidly filling water. Wrapping his arms around me, Jared lifts me up, for the first time since the accident. For a few heartbeats, he holds me against his chest, his look so lovingly that it literally takes my breath away; I forget to breathe and get lost in the hazel of his eyes, and the brightness of his smile instead.

Then, he carefully lowers me into the tub. The water is just right, neither lukewarm nor too hot, and Jared is with me quickly, sitting on the bottom of the tub, Indian style, though his hands have to assist his leg. There is a soft washcloth and Jared uses it to wash my genitals, fondling my balls and stroking my cock. Again, it's enough to watch the play of emotions on my boyfriend's face, the movements of his hand, gentle, reverent, and caring to feel something other than just the warmth of the water deep inside. Once he's done, he lets the washcloth run up and down my legs, rubbing it over my toes and north again, washing my back. With Jared's help, I turn around in the tub, let him scrub my back before he holds me close, hugs me from behind, his chin on my shoulder, his lips pressed against my jaw. “I love you, Jensen.” It's an unshakable truth and as I turn my head to kiss my Jared, I know, it'll guide us through the rest of our lives.

Jared

The long table, big enough for our seventeen guests and us, is clad in a white tablecloth. Decorated with some autumn flowers and laid with several bowls of salad and baskets filled with baguette, it almost seems as if the weight of the food bends the tabletop. Jensen, Lucia, and I spent the whole day in the kitchen, marinating meat and preparing salads, and I am very happy with the result.

“Thanks Jay.” Jensen's arm sneaks around my waist, squeezing the tiny mound of flab there gently. I put on a few pounds after the accident; nothing to worry, just something for my better half to squeeze. “For inviting my friends.”

I lean down, kissing his forehead. “Don't mention it. Actually, I'm really curious, also to meet their spouses. I'm sure we'll be having a blast.”

***

Darius and his wife Lina are the second to arrive. She is stunningly beautiful, probably around my own age, and Darius is also very attractive. I can't help but observe both Darius and Jensen and Darius and Lina from the corner of my eyes while I'm talking to Anya about her new job, and I notice one thing pretty fast. I'm really the biggest oaf in the whole wide world. While it's clear that Jensen is fond of Darius, and gets on with him well, one thing is also obvious; they are not one bit attracted to one another; they are just buddies, laughing together, but there are neither heart eyes nor lingering touches. Besides, Darius is devoted to Lina. Just like Jensen and I worship the ground our significant other walks, Darius adores his wife. Lingering touches, slight smiles, a chaste kiss, the way they look at each other. With a smile on my face, I wonder if that's what people see when they watch Jensen and me, if watching us causes the same warm feeling in their bellies.

“Love?” Jensen wheels closer, his expression neutral as Switzerland. “Don't look at them like that.”

“Gosh.” I feel heat rising in my cheek. “I'm an oaf, Jen. A complete idiot. How could I ever -” I shake my head, feeling really stupid for just thinking about it. “They're super in sync and totally in love. They're -”

“Like us, Jare.” Jensen smiles, patting his lap and I sit down on his knees, leaning into my man just like Jensen leans into me, curling his arm around me and tugging me close to his chest. “One of the reasons why Darius and I get on so well. We both love our significant others very very much.” Jensen kisses my neck before cupping my face with his warm hands, looking me deeply in the eyes. “We're like them, Jare. We're one. And you're not an oaf. As long as you're not insanely jealous, which I know you aren't, it's okay, once in a while. Fact is, Jay, we're both not exactly ugly. We'll always meet people who we’ll get along fine, who we have interests or other things in common with. That's life and that's okay, more than that. It's good. It broadens our horizon.” Nodding, I agree with him. I've always made friends easily, am amicable to almost every co-star I've worked with in the past decade and Jensen has never been jealous once I guess. “But we both know that in the end, it always comes down to one simple fact, Jare. We're each other's person. We complete each other. We're - ”

“Everything,” we both say simultaneously, smiling, because we really are in sync, have been more or less from the beginning. Jensen and I are meant to be. Leaning in, we seal this simple truth with a kiss, deep and sweet, tongues slow dancing, fingers brushing over shoulders, neck and back, warm and gentle. For a few heartbeats, we forget that we're not alone, we're just Jared and Jensen, safely encased in a bubble of joy and in knowledge that we'll be forever.

Epilogue

Jensen

All the guests are gone, not wanting to intrude on us on our wedding night, giving us the privacy we need, without even asking for it. Soft music is playing in the background, the dozens of tables that are spread all through the park are in chaos, plates, glasses, and leftovers scattered over their surfaces. The remains of the buffet fill both the fridge in our kitchen and in the pool house, and our closest family and friends will come over tomorrow noon, helping us finish what's left. Holding hands, I'm sitting on a soft chair, Jared next to me, our hands linked together, just as our lives are linked together now forever and official, the shiny new wedding bands glistening in the silver moonlight. Torches and lanterns provide some additional light, flickering in the slight breeze from the ocean, and the deep inky sky is sparkling with countless stars.

Kissing my hand, Jared gets up and disappears into the pool house, only to return a minute later, hiding something behind my back. He's walking with a barely there limp, but Luke is sure, in the course of time it'll be gone completely. The crutches are long gone, stored away with the electric wheelchair, having a party together or whatever. My back hasn't bugged me in quite a while, not even when I directed an episode of Eric's new TV show.

Once Jared is back with me, he kneels down, his left hand on my right thigh, his right still hidden behind his back. He moistens his lips, swallows hard, locking his eyes with mine, a sea of emotions visible in the mirror of his soul. Eyes burning with tears of love and joy, my heart is pounding heavily against my chest. “Six years ago, Jen, we rebuilt the foundation of our friendship and in a way, our life. Ever since, even if I wasn't with you, my life has been good, despite its ups and downs. Even last year, when I stumbled and fell after the attack, my life was still okay, because you were with me. I offer you me.” Jared uncovers what he has hidden behind his back; a single red rose, like the red rose he gave when we proposed, but this time, it's the rose with his name. “I know I said it earlier, in front of our family and friends, but I'll say it again, Jen. I'll always be yours. Catch you when you fall, hold you close and carry you through light and shadow.” He places the rose in my lap, kisses me softly and starts to strip off my clothes, until my exquisite, tailored, super expensive wedding suit is nothing but a crumpled heap on the freshly mowed lawn. He allows me to do the same, and I let my hands glide over his body as I get rid of his shirt and pants.

“I think it's time for our wedding dance, baby,” Jared whispers, lifting me up and carrying me over the lawn and into the pool. The water is surprisingly warm and other than in the past, when we were dancing in the water, he carries me right to the spot where the water touches the beginning of my scar. I'm standing on my own two feet, the water doing its job and Jared's arm holding me upright, tight, warm and very safe.

Right on cue, a new song starts, Ed Sheeran's voice strong in the silent night.

Jared sings, his voice soft, yet strong, his hands widely spread on my waist and back, his lips pressed against my neck. Carefully, Jared guides me through the water, as he has guided me through my life in the past six years.

My voice shaking with emotions and tears burning in my eyes, I join Jared after the first chorus, our joint voices strong in silent night.

I'm overpowerd with happiness as we both sing the chorus one last time, holding each other so tight.

Our voices trail away and silence envelops us, the only sounds are our shaky breathing and the soft splash of water. Smiling behind the tears of happiness, I put my hand against Jared's heart and he does the same. I feel the steady, strong boom boom boom and Jared's hot tears on my face as he presses his forehead against mine and I know, with an unshakable certainty, Jared will be with me until the rest of our lives and if we're lucky, we'll die together, because the one can't be without the other.

Unbelievably gently, Jared wraps me into his arms, carrying me out of the pool and to the sun lounger, where he wraps me into a soft, fluffy towel, once more caressing my body, from head to toe, as if it is his most vulnerable possession. He allows me to do the same for him, the fresh towel dancing over his body, caressing unharmed skin and scars likewise.

A warm blanket is then wrapped around me, and once more, I find myself in Jared's arms, and he carries me over the lawn to the edge of the cliffs, one of our favorite places in the property. We often sit there in the evening, watching the sun set, holding on, just like Ed, to the afterglow. It's an enchanted place, as old as time, endless. The waves will still crash against the rocks when we're long gone, just like the rose bushes with Jared's name will still be in bloom when we're only a memory. This place makes me feel very small, very unimportant and very humble.

Someone actually assembled a queen bed close to the fence, complete with countless pillows, bedding and all. Red rose petals are scattered over it, like beautiful, satiny blood drops against the white sheets. There is a bottle of champagne in a cooler, but also a big bottle of water.

Carefully, as if I might break if Jared drops me, my husband places me on the mattress, joining me there instantly. I let my hand run over Jared's smiling face, thanking him with a gentle kiss before placing his hand above my heart. All yours, this gesture says, because that's how it is. My heart is Jared shaped and full of love for him, what he gave to me, what he is for me and what he'll be in our shared future.

Walking down memory lane, I remember Jared's first smile directed at me and the first hug he gave me, the laughter and joy, but also the tears. His hand cupping mine and the way he looked at me when he saw me in the wheelchair for the first time, his hand on my knees, his promise to never leave me. I recall Jared's hand holding mine, his avowal of love and the first kiss we shared. I remember how Jared held me tight, carrying me out of the darkness and back to life. A single red rose, a simple golden band attached to it, his words of love, his promise of forever that brought us right where we are, here at the edge of forever.

I remember the last year, the joy and the tears, the good times and the bad. Our lives will always be light and shadow because that's just how life is, but we'll burn bright, not only until the darkness softly clears, but far beyond.

The End