mya_rofki: (kingsblkdragon)
[personal profile] mya_rofki


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“Hello?” Jensen said, smothering a yawn. The day was bright and sunny, and Jensen had been sipping coffee at his kitchen table, trying to rouse the energy to make breakfast, when his cell phone rang. There was quiet for a minute, then a rattling breath expelled right into the receiver. Jensen’s gut clenched and he began praying for a crank call.

“Hello?” he repeated. “Who’s this?”

“Hello?” The voice was slightly slurred. “Sir, S’Jared.”

“Jared? Where are you, Jared? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. M’okay, sir. Just wanted... wanted to tell you...” his voice drifted off. “I dunno,” he finished, with a little laugh. Jensen had talked with a few people in his life who sounded like that. They’d all been either drunk or high.

“Jared, where are you?” he tried again. There was no answer, just a slow, wet, breath. Shit. “Jared? Are you alright? Are you there?”

“’M sorry,” Jared mumbled.

“Why are you sorry, Jared?” He stood up carefully, as though moving slower would somehow coax Jared to talk.

“I dunno. I jus’ am.”

“Jared, where are you? Tell me where you are and I’ll come talk to you face to face, alright?”

“I don’t...” Jared’s voice drifted off.

“Jared. Jared. Where are you?”

“The bedroom.”

“The bedroom where Jared? What bedroom?”

“Oh, wait, shhh...” Jared slurred. Then there were a few seconds of wet inhalation, and then complete silence. Jensen pressed the phone to his ear and shouted ‘Jared’ into it about five times, waiting a few seconds in between. He pulled it away and looked at the seconds still ticking on the call, but when he put it to his ear again there was nothing, not even background static. Jared must’ve hung up, or Jensen would still have heard him breathing. He pressed end before he could overthink it.

“Shit,” Jensen hissed, heading for his bedroom. He dialed Misha Collins as he yanked open his drawer and pulled out his badge and gun.

“Misha, listen, what’s the address for the guy who’s got Jared Padalecki?”

“Uh. I can get it in five minutes. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Jared called me. He sounded disoriented. Maybe he just broke into the liquor cabinet, but if that’s what it was he was probably halfway to alcohol poisoning, the way he sounded.”

“You think he’d been drinking?”

“I don’t know. He hung up before I could get anywhere with him. I’m getting in my car now. Where am I going?”

“It’s in the suburbs. Weston. I’ll call the office and get the exact address, you just get on the road and start heading that way. Should I get the police involved?”

“I don’t know. Jesus. Fuck. I don’t know.”

“Never mind. I’ll meet you there, then we’ll decide if we need back-up.”

“Thanks. Yeah, that’s- Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Jensen. This is my job.” Misha’s calming tone was helpful, and at least Jensen was determined to finally see Jared today. He’d spent the past two weeks trying to see Jared, and the closest he’d gotten was a second hand report from Misha. The waiting and worrying had been driving him quietly insane.


Misha called back five minutes later with an address and a plan to wait out front for Jensen to arrive, since he was about seven minutes closer. Jensen looked at the clock on the dash and counted backwards, figured that would put them there about half an hour after the call from Jared. Not bad, unless the kid had ODed and needed CPR or something.

He just didn’t want to get Jared in trouble if he’d done something harmless like pass out drunk. Any offense could really screw up his chance at parole. The YOAP program had very strict penalties for abusing it.

Anyway, Jared had been well enough to dial a phone and talk. He’d be okay for long enough for Jensen and Misha to arrive and sort things out in person.

He also gave Charles a call on the way. Charles said he'd head into the office immediately, and Jensen tried unsuccessfully to convince him that that probably wasn’t necessary. Charles was a workoholic like few people Jensen had ever met. Jensen knew he loved his family, but he rarely needed to be asked twice to drop everything and rush in to the office for a case.

Jensen arrived at Lehne’s house in Weston and found a space half a block from Lehne’s front door. He spotted Misha parked literally right across the street from the house. Under the pretext of holding his phone up to his ear, he blocked his face and walked to Misha’s car, slipped into the passenger side as fast as he could without looking suspicious. Not that he thought Lehne would be looking for anybody out there. The whole thing was probably just nothing, and Jensen would end up looking like an idiot.

“See anything?” he asked.

“I’ve seen the light in the front window go off. Not a glimpse of either Jared or Lehne,” Misha answered. His hair was sticking up a little on one side, and his tie was crooked. It reminded Jensen that he probably looked about as put together himself.

“How do you want to play this, official visit, or should we do some snooping around?”

“Official visit. As his liaison I have the legal right to do drop-ins. Whether something’s going on or not, it’s better we do it all by the book.”

Jensen nodded, hand already on the doorknob. Then Misha stiffened beside him. He followed Misha’s gaze and saw that the garage door was opening.

A limousine pulled out smoothly. As it passed, Jensen strained his eyes and saw a driver, complete with chauffeur hat. The back windows were far too dark to make out a thing. Jensen smiled gleefullly at their luck, and got a slight twitch from Misha in return.

When Jensen had first met Misha Collins, it was in the hotel bar at a criminal psychology conference. He’d seemed a lot more easy-going then. Of course, even leaving aside that Misha seemed to be a decent human being who would care about the welfare of any child, Jensen was figuring out that this situation was personal for him.

He’d called Misha as a last-ditch attempt, turning to a man who was no more than a casual aquaintance in desperation when no one at the FBI would even tell him whether Jared was in custody there or not. He hadn’t expected Misha to volunteer to take over Jared’s case. But the YOAP was something Misha really believed in. He believed in the chance to teach kids real skills instead of locking them up to learn terrible habits from a bunch of other budding criminals. The idea that a criminal had somehow gotten approved as a guardian had really shaken him up, and he’d been especially disturbed when Jensen had mentioned that his liaison meetings had been used for other purposes by the FBI.

Jensen had been glad he’d gotten Misha on Jared’s case, once he’d gotten a solid idea of how seriously he took his job, and how upset he was by Jared’s experience in the program. He just hoped bringing him to Jared’s doorstep today hadn’t been a mistake.

“Perfect time for a drop-in,” Jensen said, shoving aside his doubts. “Let’s go.”

The door, of course, was locked, and whether Jared had been riding in the limo, or couldn’t come to the door, nobody answered the doorbell. Jensen pulled out his lock picks.

The house was quiet and dim. The drapes were drawn on every window, cocooning the interior completely. They headed down the front hallway, towards the room Misha had seen the light in, and Jensen already knew what they were going to find halfway down the hall, the scent was so strong. They emerged into a kitchen, every square inch of which had been recently cleaned. The floor hadn’t even finished drying. Jensen inhaled a big whiff of lemon cleaner, and told himself that it didn’t really mean anything, but he was assailed by images of every crime scene he’d ever visited where someone thought they’d pull a cover up with a bucket of suds and a mop. He wondered if they peeled up the linoleum, whether they’d find faint traces of watery blood puddling at the edges.

They searched the downstairs together, opening every closet and going down to the basement to check every corner there. It was a large house, and even moving fast, the search of the first floor took fifteen minutes. They found nothing even hinting at wrongdoing. Jensen could see Misha beginning to get a little more lighthearted.

“Maybe that limo was Lehne taking Jared to the hospital to get his stomach pumped,” he offered as they jogged up the main staircase.

“Maybe,” Jensen answered. The sullen kid Misha had described from his meeting with Jared last week had rung every one of Jensen’s alarm bells. But Jared had been through a lot. Anybody would be feeling the strain. If he’d gotten himself drunk, Jensen would understand it. But he remembered Jared’s stuttering voice on the phone, and thought that even if Jared hadn’t come out and said it, that call had been nothing more or less than him begging Jensen for help.

There were more bedrooms upstairs than a sane person would know what to do with. None of them particularly stood out as belonging to Jared, but they knew instantly they’d found the master bedroom when they reached the end of the hall. If the size hadn’t given it away, the silk bedsheets would’ve. They were rumpled and bloody.

They approached the bed together in silence. Jensen glanced at Misha and caught a devastated expression on his face.

“We still don’t know anything,” he reassured him. “This could just be the scene of a spectacularly bloody accident.”

Misha nodded at him, then looked back at the bed and squinted before stiffening. Jensen followed his gaze, but it took him a minute to see what Misha spotted. Then he saw and felt just the tiniest bit lightheaded.

He pulled out his cellphone to get his team there. Next to him, Misha was making his own call.

Jensen got Charles’s voicemail. “Charles. I’m at the house. There’s blood on the sheets and there are handcuffs on the bedposts,” he paused and gathered himself. “So far no sign of where Jared is. Get here soon.”

While Misha was finishing up his call, Jensen took a look under the bed. There was a trunk under there, padlocked shut, and it didn’t look quite big enough to hold Jared, but he had to check, just in case. Of all the many times in his job he’d had to do something he didn’t want to do, this was right at the top of the list. He picked the lock with Misha standing behind him, one hand over his mouth. Misha was not really trained for this, Jensen knew. He was a social worker and counselor, not law enforcement.

He braced himself and lifted the lid.

Inside were some things that were clearly restraints, some that were normal sex toys, and some things that Jensen couldn’t identify by name, but that looked to him like intruments of torture.

He dropped the lid closed and stared at the edge of the mattress for a moment so he wouldn’t have to meet Misha’s eye too soon. Some things were better to process on your own, easier to repress that way.

His phone rang. It was Charles, who assured him that the whole team was heading out immediately and would be there within thirty minutes. Jensen told him that Jared was still missing, and made sure there was an APB out on Lehne’s limo. His eyes fell on a deadbolt nestled under the doorknob of the closet door, and his heart gave a thump of dread. He grabbed Misha’s sleeve and pointed to the deadbolt.

“Charles, listen, I gotta go, keep searching.”

“Okay,” Charles agreed. “We’ll be there soon. Just find him, Jensen.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said. It meant something that Charles was using his first name. Charles had been married to his cousin Samantha for eight years now, and he’d lost count of the number of nights he’d spent having family dinner at the Whitfield-Smith’s, but on the job they always tried to act professional, impersonal. They didn’t want questions of favoritism on the team. Jensen didn’t want to examine how shaken he must sound if Charles was using his first name.

He hung up the phone. Misha was at his shoulder, waiting for him to take the next step, possibly the final step in the search. “Alright,” he gritted, meeting Misha’s eyes before breaking away to head for the closet. The deadbolt was the only lock. He drew it back and took a deep breath. “Jared? Are you in there?”

There was no reason to lock the deadbolt if there was no one to keep in. There was no answer, and he could see the corpse in his mind’s eye, curled up silently on the other side of the door.

He opened the door and saw it there.

Jared’s body was propped up in the corner. It was so exactly how he knew it would be, for a second he had hope that he was hallucinating. He hadn’t pictured the ropes though, and the illusion shattered.

Jared’s wrists were tied to his ankles, keeping him curled, everything pulled up tight. His darkly bruised knees were forced almost up to his ears. His head was tipped forward so his bangs hung down and hid his face. There were drying streaks of blood on him, small amounts but it was everywhere, on his arms, on his shins, on the tops of his bare feet. Jensen couldn’t see a shirt or pants. Blood darkened the hair around his visible ear to glistening black in the dim light, and dripped down his neck.

“Oh God,” Misha breathed. “Is he-”

Jensen focused on the blood.

“No,” he said. His phone was already raising to his ear again as his thumb danced across the buttons. “He’s still bleeding. His heart’s still beating. He’s alive.”

Misha went down onto his knees and put a hand on Jared’s shoulder. He began calling Jared’s name softly. Jensen got his pocketknife out and tapped Misha with it until he turned around and took it. He watched Misha saw delicately at the ropes while he dealt with the 911 dispatcher with about a quarter of his mind. After a minute, Misha got through the rope tying Jared’s wrists to his ankles. He stretched Jared’s skinny legs out full length. Even in the dim lighting of the closet, they could see the dark spread of bruising covering Jared’s abdomen. Next Misha cut away the rope tying Jared’s wrists together, and then finally his ankles. Under the rope was yellowing bruising, but nothing that looked fresh. Either Jared was already unconscious when he was bound this time, or he’d decided it was fruitless to struggle against it. Jensen didn’t know which option made him feel sicker. Jared was naked except for his collar, and that revelation didn’t help with the nausea at all.

The dispatcher buzzed in his ear, and he roused himself to report the injuries they’d discovered. She had a nice voice, very motherly, and she assured him that an ambulance was on its way.

Misha rested each of Jared’s hands by his sides, and leaned in to get a couple fingers under his jaw and take a pulse. He tilted Jared’s face up while he was doing it. He shot Jensen a wide-eyed look over his shoulder. Jared’s face had been battered: one eye swollen shut and his lip split, a swollen purple knot on one cheekbone. There were bruises around his throat. Jensen reported that to the dispatch lady too, and she assured him again that help was on the way.

Misha leaned back and took Jared’s hand so he could take his pulse at the wrist instead. He pressed his fingers in, but he seemed to be having trouble finding it. His hands were shaking, and he had to move around to several spots on Jared’s wrist.

They both froze as Jared showed the first signs of returning to consciousness. He shuddered and then he moaned low and then he rolled his head restlessly to face the wall away from Misha.

“Hey,” Misha said. “Jared, can you hear me? It’s alright now. You’re going to be alright.”

“He might be coming around,” Jensen reported to the dispatcher. “He’s moving a little bit but he hasn’t opened his eyes.”

Jared moaned again and his eyelids started fluttering. His lips moved and his throat worked, but nothing came out but another meaningless noise of unhappiness.

“I think he’s trying to say something, but he can’t,” Jensen told the dispatcher.

Jared’s brow furrowed, and then his eyes dragged open. They shut again immediately, but then they were blinking open again and staying open.

“Hey, Jared. Hey. That’s good. That’s right. Take your time, there’s no rush,” Jensen said.

Jared’s eyes rolled in his head like a spooked horse’s. They landed on Jensen, and stayed there.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, squatting. “You with me?”

“Jens’n?” Jared mumbled.

“Yeah, Jared. I’m here.”

Jared nodded sluggishly, then winced and pressed his eyes shut tight.

"It’s alright, don’t try to move, okay?”

“’M in the closet,” Jared mumbled, eyes opening to settle on Jensen again.

“Do you remember how you got in here, Jared?”

“Lehne,” Jared mumbled. “Lehne puts me in here. Where’d he go?”

“He’s not here, Jared,” Jensen said.

“There’s an APB out on him now, and your whole team is on its way here,” Misha broke in. “Do you know where he was going?”

Jared's eyes flitted to Misha. Fear tightened his face.

“Hello, Jared. You remember me from our meeting last week, right?” Misha said.

Jared rolled his eyes away from Misha and fastened them back on Jensen. “Lehne. Where is he? Is he coming back?”

“We saw him leave about half an hour ago,” Jensen said soothingly. “The paramedics are on their way and Misha and I aren’t leaving your side until they get here. You’re safe now.”

“Safe now,” Jared repeated to himself.

“Yup. Totally safe.”

Jared took a deep breath and made a visible effort to pull himself together.

“He’ll come back soon, Jensen.” Jared warned, and then smiled, loopy and young and frightened. If Jensen hadn’t already known that Jared was messed up because he was calling Jensen by his first name, that unhinged smile would’ve done it. “Please don’t leave me alone with him.”

Jensen swallowed and tried to smile back. “I’d shoot him in the head before I’d let him so much as look at you again,” he promised. It was the truth, and he ignored the look Misha shot him to focus on Jared’s reaction.

“Lotsa paperwork,” Jared warned, then started to laugh and ended up grimacing and moaning. “Jens’n,” Jared mumbled through clenched teeth.

“Yeah?” Jensen got down close to him. Jared’s voice was soft and garbled. Misha withdrew back out of the closet to give Jensen more room. Jared flinched lightly away from the shuffling.

“Jens’n, please don’t leave?” Jared mumbled.

“I won’t. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I w-want...” Jared started, then stopped to try to reach for Jensen, but he must have been having double vision. His gore-streaked fingers patted at the air a foot to the right of Jensen’s shoulder.

“I’m right here,” Jensen murmured, and guided Jared’s hand lightly to his shoulder. Jared latched on with surprising ferocity and tugged at Jensen. Jensen allowed himself to be drawn in close enough that he had to brace himself against the wall with his free hand so he didn’t wind up falling on top of Jared.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly, right in Jared’s face.

“I think I’m sick. I want my parents,” Jared said and then relaxed his grip a little. “I w-want my Mom to come. I don’t feel good. I- I- where are my Mom and Dad?”

“Jared, you’re going to be okay.” Jared’s grip tightened up and his eyes snapped open. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? I’ll call your parents first chance I get, but I’ll be here to take care of you in the meantime, okay?” He tried to catch Jared’s eye, and for a minute he succeeded. Before he could decide if his reassurances were doing any good or not, he’d already lost Jared’s focus again. Jared looked around, eyeing the wall next to him and then the clothes hanging on the bar above him.

“Jensen,” he asked, and his voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “Are we still in the closet?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jensen answered, and Jared’s whole body shuddered.

“Why?” Jared asked, louder. Jensen leaned back so he wasn’t looming so much. “Why are we still in here? Why hasn’t it- Why hasn’t it changed?”

“It’s only been a few minutes since I found you, Jared. We’ve been afraid to move you, so we’re waiting for the EMTs to get here. We don’t want to hurt you accidentally, okay? Do you understand?”

“Please,” Jared mumbled. He hauled at Jensen, trying to lever himself away from the wall. His lips moved, but he didn’t seem to be talking to Jensen anymore. Jensen let himself be pulled in, instead of letting Jared pull himself up. “Please...” he made out. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. Please.”

Tentatively, Jensen pulled Jared’s hands free from his shirt and reached for Jared’s shoulders. Jared’s muscles twitched at the touch and his skin was damp and cool, but then after a second he relaxed into it a little, and his eyes wandered from Jensen’s hand to his face.

“He’ll be back,” he mumbled. “Please, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here.”

“We just have to wait for the EMTs,” Jensen offered helplessly, “You’re safe. We just have to wait for the EMTs, and then we can get you out of there, okay Jared?” Misha tapped him on the shoulder, holding something out to him. He was giving Jensen a bed sheet. He didn’t even realize Misha had gone anywhere.

“Just- get him out of there,” Misha said darkly. “Lehne's clearly already moved him and... do you really want to leave him in there til the paramedics come?”

“We’re not supposed...” Jensen argued half-heartedly. He looked back down at Jared and his words dried up. Jared’s eyes were dark and glazed. He was watching Jensen’s face, and Jensen didn’t know how much he understood, but he did know that Jared was shivering with fear and just waiting for Jensen to give him the verdict. If Jensen said he had to stay in the closet, he wondered if Jared would start struggling to get out on his own again, or if he’d give up, and just shiver in silence.

For a second, Jensen was struck by the thought that if he didn’t know this was Jared, he would have thought that this kid was nothing like the Jared from GIS. Jared at GIS was smart and friendly and impressively mature. This kid was just exhausted, dumb with fear, stretched to the limits of his sanity. And he was looking to Jensen for help.

“Fuck it,” Jensen said under his breath. “We’re getting out of here, alright Jared? No more closet. No more fucking closet.”

“No more fucking closet,” Jared repeated. “Let’s go.”

“Do you think you can stand?” he asked. Jared rolled his head against the wall in a slow lazy no.

“No,” he mumbled. “Let’s just go.”

“I can carry you out,” Jensen said. “But it might hurt a little, okay? Moving’s gonna hurt a little. I’ll be as careful as I can-”

“S’ok,” Jared said. “S’ok. Let’s just go.”

“Okay,” Jensen nodded. “Okay. I’m just going to, just going to pull you forward a little to get this sheet around you... that’s right... nice and easy...”

Jared groaned a little, but let himself be tilted forward without resistance, head flopping like his neck muscles had been cut. Jensen supported him as best he could one-armed while wrapping the sheet around as tightly as he could with the other. It was awkward, manuveuring Jared around. Jared was skinny and small for his age, but he was a teenager, not a five year old. His lanky arms flopped, and his head was surprisingly heavy when it thumped down on Jensen’s shoulder.

When he’d finally done the best he could, wrapping Jared in the sheet while hunched over in the awkward space, he wasn’t even sure whether Jared was still conscious or not. He thought about spinal injuries and internal bleeding.

He was reconsidering the whole idea when Jared panted out a breath against his neck and said softly, “Time to go?”

He was awake after all, and more coherent than Jensen would’ve guessed.

“Yeah, Jared, it’s time to go,” Jensen agreed, and hoisted Jared fully into his arms, staggered to his feet. He was careful not to bang Jared’s feet on the doorframe. They were big and floppy, like a rabbit’s feet, on the ends of his skinny legs. Jared’s head was curled against his chest. Jensen could smell the sweat and blood in his hair.

He walked steadily and tried not to jostle Jared. Misha followed behind him. He left the bedroom and carried on down the hall.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He figured that was as good a place as any to wait for the paramedics. The front door was directly ahead of them, and thanks to the huge skylight in the ceiling of the front hallway, the lighting was good. He sat on one of the bottom steps, and felt Misha sit down above him.

A hand burrowed under his coat at the small of his back, and he turned around to come eye to eye with the barrel of his gun. Misha quirked a nervous half-smile at him and gestured at the door. Jensen suddenly hoped that Lehne would come back, just so he could see Misha drop him. If Misha wouldn’t, he’d grab his gun back and do it himself.

He tugged the sheet down over Jared’s toes. Jared’s eyes were closed, and he seemed to be unconscious. He took his tie off and wadded it up into a ball that he could press against the still dripping wound above Jared’s ear. Jared groaned and scrunched his eyes in pain. His lips drew back from his teeth far enough for Jensen to see blood on them. He sent a prayer to God that the blood was coming from somewhere in Jared’s mouth, and not his internal organs.

The paramedics arrived after about fifteen minutes that had felt like an hour. Jared opened his eyes when they loaded him on the stretcher. He answered their questions in short, quiet sentences, and his gaze never left Jensen’s face for longer than a few seconds.

Jensen knew Misha should probably be the one to ride with Jared, and Jensen should be the one to guard the crime scene. He didn’t particularly care about protocol just then, though. He decided he’d be the one in the ambulance, and he’d let the rest of it work itself out however it would. He’d already let a civilian hold his weapon.

For the last six years, his entire life had been about his dream to be a GIS agent. He was one of the youngest field agents there were, and he’d worked hard to get there. He’d sacrificed most of his social life and more energy than he could measure for his fledgeling career, and never regretted it for a minute. But suddenly, he couldn’t feel why that was so important any more. He loved his job, and he knew the insanity was temporary, but with Jared’s weight still imprinted on his arms, he couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t give if it meant the kid in front of him would be okay.

The EMTs began wheeling the stretcher out, and Jensen trotted alongside it, eyes locked with Jared’s.

Luckily, Whitfield came screeching up just as they were readying Jared to load into the back of the ambulance. Misha stepped up close behind Jensen and worked his gun back into his holster while pretending to be checking on Jared’s progress.

“Thanks,” he breathed, and Misha nodded. Jensen thanked God that he was the YOAP liaison Jensen knew and called. If Misha hadn’t been willing to give him the address in the first place, and then search the house from top to bottom with nothing but Jensen’s word that anything was even wrong, Jared would still have been locked upstairs, alone, that very second.

“Jensen, did you find him?” Charles was there barking suddenly. He didn’t even wait for an answer before leaning over Jared’s gurney, scanning him with an expert eye. Jared stared silently back at him, neither flinching nor speaking.

“Probable concussion. I’m going to ride to the hospital with him, call you from there when I know more. The EMTs say his vital signs are good, and he’s been fairly lucid since they got here.” He took Charles’s arm and turned him away from the gurney to add, lower, “We found him tied up in the closet. Upstairs. Master bedroom. He was naked. He’s been frightened and disoriented, hasn’t said much about what happened, but he said he was put there by his new guardian, Frederic Lehne.”

Charles nodded and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’d like to ride with him to the hospital. I know you might need me here, but...” Charles gave Jensen a searching look. When he turned back to Jared, his eyes were gentle.

“Jared, you’re gonna be just fine, okay?” Charles said. Jared met his eyes and nodded slowly.

“Okay, sir,” he croaked.

“And don’t you worry, because we’ve got all our resources focused on Frederic Lehne. At this point it’s only a matter of time before we’ve got him. You’re safe from him now, you understand? You’re one of ours, and you know we look after our own. You just go to the hospital and get fixed up and don’t worry about a goddam thing, okay? We’ll take care of you, you don’t have to worry about what happens next or where you’re going. Everything will be okay. I promise you.”

“Careful,” Jared said quietly. “Careful. Lehne’s... Lehne’s... a violent person. Crazy. Dangerous. Tell Cassidy and Hodge too, sir. Careful.”

“I will,” Charles answered. He reached down, and when Jared didn’t flinch, he stroked a gentle hand through Jared’s hair.

"Jensen will stay with you, okay?" Charles asked. Jared nodded and looked relieved. Charles pulled his hand away and stepped back. Without meeting Jensen’s eyes again, Charles clapped him on the shoulder and disappeared.

Jensen followed Jared and the EMTs into the ambulance. Jared’s face creased in pain whenever the gurney jerked or bumped, but he didn’t make a sound. Jensen found a place up by Jared’s head where he didn’t seem to be too in the way. He was unable to resist stroking a hand through Jared’s hair like Charles had done.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Jared nodded. He hardly said a word the rest of the ride. Jensen could tell that Jared was still more aware than he’d been when he’d first been regaining consciousness, but there was some part of him that seemed to be exhausted enough to just shut down. He answered questions in single syllables, and didn’t respond to anything unnecessary.

He didn’t even protest when the doctors rolled him away at the hospital, leaving Jensen behind in the waiting room.

*****

Jensen spent the rest of the day in a couple different hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, and the night in the hard plastic chair beside Jared’s bed. No complications developed from the concussion, antibiotics were taking care of the most serious danger, and the next afternoon, the doctors agreed that Jared could be released, provided Jensen swore to monitor him closely and stay on top of his medications. It took some arguing to get him released so soon, but there was an unexpected factor in their favor: YOAP regulations required Jared to be restrained at all times in the hospital, since it wasn't equipped with a perimeter alarm for his collar. Though it killed Jensen to see Jared's fear at being handcuffed to the bed, the silver lining was that it killed the doctors to see it too. It wasn't hard to convince them that the risks of releasing Jared early were outweighed by the psychological benefits of allowing him to recover on a couch, unrestrained, sheltered from overwhelming amounts of strangers.

Jensen was on the phone to Misha within minutes of the doctor's agreement, getting the custodial paperwork rolling. Misha sounded exhausted and dispirited, but he latched onto the next opportunity to help Jared like a terrier on a rat. Jensen didn’t know how Misha got the paperwork done and the signatures he needed on a Sunday, but within three hours of talking to Misha, Jared was installed on his couch: his legal apprentice, at least temporarily.




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Jared didn’t know what to make of the fact that he was sleeping on Jensen’s couch. He didn’t know if he’d be there for more than a day or two, and he wasn’t sure where he would go whenever he did leave. Jensen’s phone was about twenty feet away, in the kitchen, and several times he thought about trying to call his parents. He never did.

He remembered dialing the phone at Lehne’s and speaking to Jensen, but he didn’t quite remember where he’d gotten the energy to do it anymore, or what he’d said to convince Jensen to come help him. If his parents did pick up the phone, and he didn’t think that they would, he guessed he didn’t really know what he'd say to them. He didn’t want to tell them what had happened, and even if he’d felt like telling them and begging them for help, he didn’t think there was anything they could do for him.

At around eight Sunday evening he was watching The Simpsons distractedly, when Jensen got a phone call. He came into the living room fifteen minutes later, and Jared kept his face blank with some effort. Every time Jensen came into the room, he half expected him to say that Pellegrino had called, and his time was up.

“Whitfield’s on his way here,” Jensen said instead. “They’ve arrested Frederic Lehne, and he wants to ask you a few questions, if you feel up for it. Also, he wants to see how you’re doing. The whole team’s been asking me how you’re doing all day.” Jensen had seemed to be getting a lot of text messages.

Jared nodded and turned back to the TV. Jensen watched him for a minute, then wandered away again. Jared thought he probably made Jensen nervous. He wondered how long he’d have to act perfectly fine before Jensen realized that he really was just fine. It would take a while for his physical injuries to heal, but the doctors had said they weren’t anything serious. Jared knew Jensen was probably more worried about his mental state, but it wasn’t like he was going to fall apart at this point. He was safe, for now. There was no reason to fall apart.


Whitfield brought him The Lion King, a present from his daughters. Jared examined the cover thoroughly. He’d seen it before, but he’d rather look at it than at Jensen and Whitfield.

He was belly down on Jensen’s sofa, and he wasn’t supposed to be moving much from that spot until enough days had passed that walking and sitting didn’t both hurt. He didn't like it. It left his back exposed.

Jensen offered Whitfield coffee.

“Coffee would be great,” Whitfield answered. Then added, eyebrow raised. “Painkillers?”

“He’s high as a kite,” Jensen answered cheerfully.

Whitfield snorted. Jensen left to get the coffee and Whitfield turned back to Jared.

“How do you feel, Jared?” Whitfield asked.

“I'm fine, sir. How are you, sir?”

“I’m fine, thank you Jared. Better than I was this time a couple days ago.” Jared wondered why. “Better now that I know where you are.” Whitfield clarified. “The FBI were giving us the runaround for the last couple weeks. If Jensen didn’t have some friends with the YOAP, I don’t know how much longer it would’ve taken to get the info through legitimate channels.”

Jared nodded. “I’m glad you found me, sir.”

“I’m glad we found you too.”

Jared nodded again and looked back down at The Lion King.

“I know it’s probably a little bit young for you,” Whitfield said. “But it’s Lucy and Jane's favorite movie, and they insisted that you’d like it too.”

“I do like it,” Jared answered. “My little sister, Katie...” he stopped and checked to see if Whitfield was really interested. Whitfield was watching him attentively. “I watched it with her once. She brought it with her back to the hospital though, so I haven’t seen it again. I’m glad they picked that one. Please tell them thank you for me, sir.”

“I’ll do that. They’ll be delighted you liked it. They’ll probably insist on coming over and watching it with you too, sometime when you’re feeling better.”

Jared found the idea of Whitfield wanting him around his daughters strange, so he said nothing. He was probably just saying it to be nice.

“How old are they, sir?” he asked, to change the subject..

“Seven. They’re twins,” Whitfield answered. “How old is your sister?”

“She’s ele- uh, twelve now, sir. I missed her birthday this year,” Jared didn’t mean to say that second part out loud, but the drugs were messing with him. He was even slurring the slightest bit on some words. He hoped Whitfield hadn’t noticed that.

“That’s a shame,” Whitfield said. “Did you send her a present? A card?”

“No, sir.”

“I know your family haven't been in contact,” Whitfield sighed. “After Speight’s arrest, I did personally try to call them... I thought they should be informed. They never did try to reach me. I’m not sure what we can do about that, if anything, but I won’t stop trying if you don’t want me to.”

Jared shrugged.

“Jared,” Whitfield said quietly. “Did Jensen tell you that we took Lehne into custody this afternoon?”

Jared nodded.

“I understand you might not want to talk about what happened to you, but there are some questions I need to ask. There are some things he said that I really need to follow up on, if you feel up for it." He paused, but when Jared didn't say anything, he took a breath and continued, voice neutral. "The doctors told us that not all your injuries were new. They found evidence that Lehne had most likely been abusing you since the beginning of your time with him. Are they right about that?”

Jared nodded.

“Can you tell me why you didn’t try to get help sooner?”

Jared shrugged.

“Jared, look at me, please. I’m not angry with you. I’m just curious. Why did you decide to keep quiet?”

Jared looked up at him quickly. “I, uh, I was afraid, sir. I was pretty terrified of him.”

“And why did you decide to finally call for help?”

“I was concussed, sir.”

Whitfield actually laughed, and Jared smiled a little.

“Fair enough. I guess we should all be thankful for that concussion then.”

“Yes, sir,” Jared agreed.

Whitfield’s face sobered. “Tell me what happened between you and Richard Speight,” Whitfield said.

“I...What do you mean, sir?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean, Jared,” Whitfield’s voice was gentle but firm. Jared’s heart began pounding hard.

“Nothing, sir. Nothing happened. Agent Speight and I- we- got along well.”

“You never had any kind of problem with Agent Speight’s treatment of you?”

“No, sir. I, uh- Could I watch The, uh, The Lion King now, please?”

“Frederic Lehne told us some things today that I didn’t want to believe. Things that contradict what you just said. If you tell me he’s lying, I’ll believe you. I trust you Jared, more than I trust that abusive asshole. But if something did happen to you at Speight’s, it might be more beneficial than you’d think to just get it off your chest.”

“Why does it matter, sir? It’s over now. It’s done- and I-” Whitfield’s eyes had changed, and Jared wished he hadn’t said what he’d just said. “I don’t want to think about the past now. It’s not like I’m going back there, so...”

“What’s over now, Jared?” Whitfield asked.

“Charles-” Jensen cut in from the doorway, looking worried.

“Jensen,” Whitfield stared at Jensen. “If you don’t want to be here for this you can go, but don’t try to stop me asking. You know this needs to be done.” Jensen looked grim, but he brought Whitfield the coffee he was holding and sat down in the other chair.

“Jared,” Whitfield said. “Did Richard Speight order you, coerce you, or force you to have sex with him? You can just say yes or no.”

Jared took a deep breath. “It wasn’t- he never forced me, sir...”

“There was sexual intercourse, between you and Richard Speight?” Whitfield asked, jaw tight.

Jared looked helplessly from him to Jensen, but they both stared back at him, grim and silent.

“Yes, sir,” he finally admitted softly to the sofa cushion. He refused to look at their faces.

“Alright. Were you afraid of what he’d do if you didn’t, or was it- a sexual relationship- something you wanted?”

“I didn’t want it, exactly but I... I mean.... things were easier when he was, uh, happy with me. It was just... an easy way to make him happy.”

Jensen stood abruptly. He was staring at the wall over Jared’s head, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“Go or stay, Ackles, but make up your mind now,” Whitfield said.

“No. I’m here. I’ll stay,” Jensen said. He dropped back down into his chair and gripped the arms tightly. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Jared said. He had the idea that maybe if he could make them understand how it had been, he could stop them from looking so pained. “He wasn’t trying to hurt me, sir. He wasn’t like Frederic Lehne.”

“Did he ever hurt you physically?”

“Not like Lehne, sir. He loved me.”

“He loved you,” Whitfield repeated blankly.

“Yes, sir.” Their faces made Jared feel foolish.

“And he never hurt you?”

Jared looked away.

“Were you ever afraid of him?”

Jared nodded reluctantly. “There was one time, when he was angry... about something... and he used the collar on me to- to punish me so I wouldn’t dare do it again. But I was there six months and that was the only time.”

Whitfield nodded. “What was he punishing you for?”

“Does it matter, sir?”

“It does. Was he punishing you for a valid reason, or was it something he had no right to discipline you for? It makes a difference. Misuse of your correctional collar is a big deal. Legally, it’s a different matter than if he’d hit you or hurt you some other way, not that he wouldn’t be punished for that too. Now, whatever you tell us you don’t have to worry about getting in trouble, you know that, right? If you were running away... if you messed up a case... whatever he was punishing you for, he’s the one on trial, not you, okay?”

“No sir, I- it’s not... I just... He was just mad that I was being too friendly with the team, sir,” he admitted finally.

“When was this?” Jensen asked.

“Just a day, sir.” Jared said. “I don’t really remember now.”

He could feel them both still watching him intently. He couldn’t think fast, and he suspected his face was showing everything he was feeling. It was probably the painkillers.

“What day, Jared?” Jensen pressed.

“Sir, I...”

“Tell us, Jared,” Whitfield demanded with a quick glance at Jensen.

“It was the day you said I could call you 'Jensen,’" Jared admitted. "I accidentally did when I was talking to him that night, and he got mad." Jensen nodded and looked down at his shoes. What Jared could see of his face was blank and uninformative.

“What happened?” Jensen asked stiffly of the floor. “After you called me ‘Jensen?’”

Jared bit his lip. He couldn’t do this.

But Whitfield fixed him with a look and prompted, “You went home that night and...”

“He wouldn't talk to me all evening," Jared said, defeated. "He wouldn’t talk to me, not even to tell me I wasn’t getting any dinner, or that I should go to my room. I was- I stayed near him in case he wanted... But he just ignored me. He ate dinner without me. Then he finally told me to go to bed. I did. He came into my room, started yelling at me about not trusting him, lying to him, trying to make friends beyond him. He was so angry. He yelled at me and threatened me.” Jared closed his eyes. He could picture it all so clearly. He didn’t want to. He preferred to think of the good times with Speight, not that one bad night. “He yelled for a while, until I apologized. Then he said he’d been too easy on me lately. He told me to lay back so I wouldn’t get hurt. I did. He gave me one shock, for the, um the maximum, the thirty seconds. Then it was over. That’s all, sir. It was okay. It was over fast.”

“Did he strike you? Hit you?” Whitfield asked.

“No, sir. He never hit me, sir. He wasn’t like that.”

“What did he threaten you with?” Jensen asked.

“Sir?”

“You said he yelled at you and threatened you. Did he threaten to hit you?”

“No sir. No, he- um, he threatened me with- just something he knew would scare me... Does it- does it matter, sir?”

“It matters,” Jensen said. Whitfield and Jensen looked like hound dogs on a scent. It was hard not to feel a little afraid, though he knew it was illogical.

“He said that he’d, he said if I-” Jared felt a kind of awful knowledge creep in, remembering Speight’s threat. “He said if I wanted friends so badly that he’d get- he’d get his friends to come meet me.”

“His friends,” Jensen repeated.

Jared nodded miserably.

“Why would he threaten you with inviting friends over?” Whitfield asked.

“He meant- he- he meant,” Jared shook his head and thought about exactly who Speight must have been thinking of. “For sex,” he finished weakly.

“Did he give any indication of who he was thinking of, specifially?” Whitfield asked.

“No, sir. But now I think,” Jared swallowed. “I think Lehne knew about... about Speight being with me, and he wanted Speight to uh, to give him some time with me. But it was just a threat, sir. He just said it because he was angry with me. Speight never would have said yes to him.”

He glanced up, but neither of their faces told him whether they believed him or not.

“When did Richard Speight start abusing you, Jared? Do you remember when it started?”

“He- The first night I was there, sir.”

“He began a sexual relationship with you your first night there?”

“Yes, sir. He woke me up, in my bed. He was touching me and I just let him. I was afraid if I said no he’d, uh...”

“Hurt you?” Whitfield prompted, after a minute.

“No, sir. I was afraid he’d send me away. I needed to stay, to get the evidence against him.” Jared whispered. He felt shame welling up strongly enough that his eyes stung.

“Jared...” began Jensen. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were in an impossible situation, and you made a choice that you shouldn’t ever have had to make.”

“Please sir, I don’t- I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Jared said desperately.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Whitfield said. “What Speight did to you, whatever he made you do with him, was not your fault, do you understand? Jensen and I are not going to judge you for anything you tell us today, because it was not, in any way, shape, or form, your fault. We know that. Do you?”

Jared shrugged stiffly.

“We want you to tell us, so that you can get justice, and so that you don’t have to suffer through it alone. We’re trying to help you, Jared. We want to help you. Everything you tell us tonight is something you can just get off your chest and not have to worry about telling later.”

Jared nodded and picked at the DVD case in his hands. He pried it open and then clicked it shut again. Jensen and Whitfield waited quietly.

“For the first two weeks, it was always the same thing,” he finally said in blank voice. “He would just rub against me until he came. It didn’t hurt and I figured it was worth it, if putting up with it earned me my freedom. Then he started doing other things. He touched me, and made me touch him. Under, um, under our clothes. I didn’t like it much, but it still didn’t hurt. A month or so after I came to live with him we had sex for the first time. It... He was careful so, it didn’t hurt much, it...” Images flashed suddenly through his mind. He could feel Speight's hands around his waist, feel him everywhere. He heard the harsh panting in his ear, and he couldn't seem to make it stop, even though he knew it couldn't be real.

With great effort, he shut down the thoughts and drew in several deep breaths.

“Jared?” Whitfield asked.

Jared shook his head. He wanted a few more painkillers, until he couldn’t think straight enough to remember. He wanted something to put him to sleep, fast.

“Can I watch the movie now?” he asked the sofa. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, sir.”

“If you need to stop, we can stop,” Whitfield agreed. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to talk about this, and you’re doing really well."

“Okay. I need to stop,” Jared said.

“Alright,” Whitfield sighed. “You were very brave to tell us everything you did. Thank you for trusting us with this. You’ve handled it better than most-” Jared tried to tune him out. His voice was so solemn and sincere that for some reason, it made Jared angry.

He couldn’t stand hearing Whitfield talking like what he did was brave, when he’d only talked because he’d felt trapped into it.

“Jared,” Whitfield said cautiously. He must have noticed that Jared had stopped listening.

“Don’t!” Jared barked into the sofa arm before he could stop himself.

“Jared, it’s okay. You’re safe here, you’re safe. You’re at Jensen’s remember? We’re not going to hurt you.”

“I know that, sir,” Jared forced out, still muffled into the upholstery but he was sure Whitfield was close enough to have little trouble making it out. “Just, I don’t want- I don’t want to talk any more tonight, okay, sir? Please just leave me alone.” Hot tears trickled out, and he squeezed the DVD case so hard his fingers hurt. A headache that must have been building since the questions started flared fiercely onto center stage.

“Alright. I pushed you hard tonight,” Whitfield said quietly. “I’m going to go. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Jared nodded and refused to look at him. He didn’t want him to see that he was angry and crying.

“Get some rest, then,” Whitfield said sadly. Jared listened carefully to the rustling as he stood and moved away. Jensen followed him.

He could hear them talking by the front door, too low for him to make out the words.

Then Jensen came back, easing himself into the chair Whitfield had occupied, near Jared’s head.

“You thirsty?” Jensen asked softly. “I could bring you some hot chocolate, if you want it.”

Jared wiped his face roughly. He sent Jensen a glare from under his lashes. Jensen was watching him closely, eyes blatantly worried, and it sparked another flare of anger.

“What else do you want to know, sir?” Jared asked gruffly.

“Jared...”

“It’s not your business. It’s mine, not yours. But you must still be curious, sir. What else do you want to know?”

“Shit. Jared-”

“I was frightened, sir,” Jared hissed.

“I know, I know you were,” Jensen soothed, eyes so warm and sympathetic.

“You wouldn’t stop asking. You wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Jensen’s eyes widened. “You were frightened of us? Just now?” he asked shakily.

“Yes sir," Jared said meanly. "You kept pushing, and I can't go anywhere. I didn’t want to think about it and now I can’t stop thinking about it. And I know it’s stupid to be scared, because you’ve never hurt me, but I am. My head hurts, sir. My head won’t stop hurting and I can’t stop- I still feel scared and I don’t- I don’t- I can’t-” Jared didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. He twisted his face away from Jensen to glare at the back of the sofa and catch his breath, and the collar seemed to tighten and press in and instead of catching his breath he just started gasping faster.

“Hey hey hey,” Jensen said. “Hey hey hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s okay Jared.” His hand settled on the back of Jared’s neck, light and half-blocked by the collar, but the fingers that touched his skin were warm and steady, and made Jared realize he was cold and shaking. “Just breathe. Deep breaths, okay? Jared? Can you breathe for me? Deep breaths. Long deep breaths. You can do it. Please Jared, it’s alright, just breathe, that’s all, just breathe.” Jensen’s fingers rubbed lightly against his skin. He kept going until Jared listened to him and did start taking deep, deliberate breaths.

After he’d calmed down some, after the trembling had eased and the collar had stopped swelling in his mind, the blush of embarrassment began creeping up on his cheeks. He stared at his hands and wondered what was wrong with him. He was safe. He should be getting better, not worse, but he'd never had an attack like that, just from memories, before.

“You wanna talk about it, kiddo?” Jensen asked.

Jared shook his head, hard.

“You, uh, you want that hot chocolate, then?"

Jared considered. He wasn’t sure he wanted hot chocolate, but his anger had vanished so completely he couldn’t remember where it had even come from in the first place, and Jensen looked so hopeful.

“Yes, sir,” Jared whispered. Jensen nodded and left. Jared listened to him rustle in the kitchen. The microwave ran and beeped, and a few minutes later, Jensen came back out and carefully handed over the cocoa, saying nothing about Jared’s lightly trembling grip. Jared took a sip and it was good and sweet.

“How is it?” Jensen asked. “Does it need more marshmallows?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jared said hoarsely. He bit back the ‘sir’ that was on the tip of his tongue. Jensen sipped his own cup, still looking pale and troubled. “Thank you, Jensen,” Jared added, before he lost his nerve.

Jensen didn’t say anything, but he smiled.

Together, they quietly sipped their cocoa.

*****

Jensen came into the kitchen for a glass of water, and, okay, maybe to check on Jared before shutting off his own light. It was midnight, and he’d tucked Jared in an hour before, but through the dimness he spotted eyes staring back at him. Jared’s eyes were glazed with the lateness of the hour, but he was still watching Jensen from under half-closed lids, and he couldn’t just ignore that.

“Can’t sleep?” Jensen asked, leaning in the doorway with his glass of water in his free hand. He’d left Jared a glass of water on the coffee table and it looked like it hadn’t been touched. Even so, he had the urge to offer his own up just in case Jared preferred it.

Jared nodded and shifted a little under the blanket.

“Would it help you to sleep with the TV on?” If his mother were there he knew the disapproval that suggestion would earn him, but she wasn’t, and anyway if he thought a steady diet of ice cream sandwiches and a pint of gin every night were what Jared needed, then he’d offer him that.

Jared just shrugged. He made no move towards the remote. His dark hair was lank against his forehead, face pale and stretched. He looked exhausted. He should’ve been asleep, getting his strength back. Jensen felt a wave of desperation sweep over him. The things that Jared had been through were overwhelming, and he didn't know how to even begin to fix it.

He remembered Mrs. Dinwiddie saying over and over how if she’d just looked up from her book a few more times... if she’d just been paying closer attention, her daughter wouldn’t have been kidnapped that day. He’d pitied her, hadn’t blamed her, had mostly just been grateful he wasn’t her and didn’t have that one moment of disastrous carelessness on his conscience. Now he had months of carelessness on his conscience.

He walked over to Jared with half a mind just to turn the TV on for him or something, but when he got there, something in Jared’s eyes caught at him. Jared was watching him, and he didn’t look afraid. He looked as desperate as Jensen felt, and he probably had even less idea of how to fix anything than Jensen did.

“Hey, how 'bout this?” he asked gently. Carefully he nudged Jared upright, then slid in behind him on the sofa and pushed him back down so his head was in Jensen’s lap. Even as he was doing it, Jensen was doubting his own judgment. It wasn’t really appropriate, crossed about ten different lines, from Jared’s status as an apprentice, to the whole co-workers thing, to the age-gap, to the ways an abused child could interpret it wrong.

“This okay?” he asked carefully. “You can tell me to leave you alone if you want.”

Jared didn’t say anything, but his hand curled into the knee of Jensen’s sweatpants, holding him there, and his shoulders relaxed beneath his thin t-shirt.

Within ten minutes, Jared was asleep. Jensen watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and the soft part of his lips. Something about the sight hit him hard. He thought if he lived to be a hundred, he’d never have another moment in his life where he felt as full of conflicting emotions: guilt, tenderness, joy, despair, and affection.

He thought that when Jared had to go, back to his parents or to a real placement or to wherever he was going to have to go, it was going to hurt. Jared wasn’t his kid, but something about being the one to pull him out of that closet, being the one to give him hot chocolate earlier, being the one to get him to finally sleep, had made Jared his something. Something his. For the first time in his life, Jensen thought seriously about having children of his own. He thought if he ever did, and even if Jared was out of his life five years, or seven, or ten, by then, he'd never put his own children to bed without thinking of Jared sleeping peacefully on his lap.

He hardly knew a thing about Jared, not a real thing anyway. He didn’t know what he was like when he wasn’t either covering up or recovering, he didn’t know what he really liked and what he just pretended to like. He didn’t know his family.

It didn’t matter. With Jared’s head heavy in his lap, he loved him as much as he’d ever loved any other human being. He thought that the first time he held his own newborn son or daughter in his arms, the expected rush of unconditional love would already be a familiar feeling to him.



Chapter Eleven

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Date: 2010-07-28 07:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gidgetgal9.livejournal.com
You hooked me but now it's really late and I need sleep so reluctantly I'm stopping! Gosh you know how to reel a reader in! :)

Date: 2010-07-28 07:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mya-rofki.livejournal.com
Yayyy! Thank you! Hope you enjoy the rest of it too. :)

Date: 2011-11-30 04:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] angel633.livejournal.com
Oh thank god,Jensen finally step in and got Jared away from that monster Lehne.
Now hopefully he will be able to help Jared move forward from that awful life that he's had.
Still so sad,heartbreaking,and exciting.
Love this story.

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