Series Summary: you get called by your ex, Jared, to work a few scenes on the set of Supernatural as a hunter that takes a liking to Dean. The producers love the chemistry between you and Jensen, so they decide to give you a full-time gig. Feelings for Jared come back in a flush, but over time as your character falls for Dean you find yourself falling for Jensen.14Please respect copyright.PENANAtkKL69jDFR
Pairings: Ex!Jared X Actress! Reader, Dean Winchester X Hunter! Reader (and single! Jensen X Actress! Reader in the future)
Warnings: injured! reader, angst (this has become my thing I guess), supportive!Jensen, supportive(ish)! Jared, mention of cheating ~spoiler warnings will be in the tags~
Word Count: 2.3k14Please respect copyright.PENANAuUJwhfDmST
You blink your eyes gingerly as they adjust to the luminous lamp beside the bed. Bringing a fist to your eye to rub away the grogginess, you prop yourself up onto your elbows. Your face twists into a frown and you hear a deep sigh beside you. When your eyes open fully, you take in your surroundings.
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Cabinets are lined up along the wall, a stool next to a counter and beside you, Jensen sits in a chair, leaning his forearms onto the bed. He breathes deeply, looking up at you with a languid and troubled face.
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“Jensen?” you squeak. “What - What happened?”
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He clears his throat, pulling his arms in an abstract shrug. He leans back just slightly, “You passed out, I guess,” his hand runs down his face and falls flat onto the twin-sized mattress, just at your side. “Have you been eating? Or - or drinking water?”
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If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he was acting combative or surly with his strained face and pulsing veins. But you do know better, and the harsh affliction to his words encase care and concern. You keep quiet, not yet ready to unleash the truth.
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Swallowing the collection of saliva in your mouth, you fall back against the bed. “I had some pizza today.” The words bring back the memory of your lie. The blood rushes from your face, so you swallow again. “Ended up choking on the second piece,” you feign a chuckle, keeping your eyes focused on the ceiling and avoiding the way he looks you over.
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“Is that so?” he remarks in a discounted voice. “Cause uh,” his pause makes it seem like he wants to retract the words.
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You turn your head to him, “what?” you ask softly.
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His puffy cheeks and clear eyes bow down with his head. Bringing only his eyes to yours, he sucks on his bottom lip, popping it out with the beginning of his sentence. “I heard from someone that your car never left today-” another pause. You sigh internally but hold your breath. “Polly said you looked like you were crying, and I- I just wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you were going through something and I didn’t know about it. I don’t want you to have to deal with anything alone, while I just sit idly by, waiting for the last sign.”
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His eyes flicker between yours. They slip down to your lips a few times but never linger. If you blinked you’d have missed it, but you didn’t miss a second of the elliptical mossy green, encasing tree trunk irises that stay stationary while the full, black moon of deep thought traces your face.
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The chirr of the door creeping open causes you to jump. Your eyes regrettably rip from Jensen’s, batting a few times. Jared’s towering figure strides into the room, “mind if we have a minute?”
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Jensen’s eyes are back on your eyes as if to ask if you are okay with Jared’s intrusion. You give him a tired smile and nod, scooting up in the bed as Jared replaces Jensen in the seat. You wait for the door to close behind him before looking at your new company.
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“If you’re here to talk about the improv,” your hand folds into a ball, resting under your jaw as you tilt your head at him. Raising your eyebrows and with a slight shake of your head, you say, “I don’t want to hear it.”
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“No,” he says in a raspy whisper, calmly shaking his head, “the directors loved it.” Looking behind him at the door and then around the empty room, he leans in closer. “I know what happened, and I won’t tell anyone,” he breathes out, hanging on the last word.
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Your body tenses, eyes narrow at him. “If? You won’t tell anyone about it if what, Jared?” Your words bounce against the walls.
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He hurls back against the chair, holding his palms up in defense, “no,” he begins.
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“No, you. You’ve been giving me a major attitude and that side-eye since I got here. Something’s up,” you flag a finger at him. Leaning in, you lower your voice to a groan, “we were together for seven years. If you don’t think I know how you operate by now,” you take a slow breath to regulate your pulse, pulling your torso back upright. “Well, that’d honestly just be ridiculous. So… if what, Jared?” Your hands dance in the air to your choleric words, “you won’t tell anyone about my ‘issue’ if I do what?”
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He brings a finger to his lips as he did in the scene, shushing you and taking glances at the door. Scooting the chair closer to your bed, he pads the air with his hands. “No, look. It’s not like that, I promise. Come on,” he reaches for your wrist. You rip it towards you and into your chest, wrapping it with the other in protection. “I just want to help you.”
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“If you know what happened and want to help, why did you leave so quickly?” you hiss. “Why is it that Jensen and Mark were there for me, but I’m only just now seeing you?”
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His eyes scan the sheets and his mouth gapes, clinging onto breath in search of the words, “I - I didn’t want to make it obvious-”
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“Right,” you cackle. “Because being in the medical room over seemingly nothing is really emphasizing just how great everything is,” you mutter. Your jaw stiffens. A soreness reigns terror in your cheeks at the weight of your words. Jared stays silent, and no matter how fiercely you look into him he won’t keep eye contact. Taking a deep breath, you say, “does she know that I’m here?”
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His eyes remain on the sheets, but his hand shifts away from yours. “Who?”
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“Your wife.”
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Keeping his head down, his eyes are on yours again, “Yes.”
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“Does she know that you’re the one that called me?”
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In his lengthy silence, you fold your arms and face away to keep the tear slipping down a secret. In a more mild tone you plead, “I don’t need your help. Please, just leave.”
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He obstinately shuffles in the chair. You drop your arms into your lap and relax your head in your hand. Hearing the patter of his boots on the tile, you let out a long breath. The clicking stops, and when you peek under your hand you see that the toes of his boots are facing you. You lazily remove your hand and watch him tilt his head before pivoting to face the door.
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His back to you again, his arm dangles at his side. Taking a small step towards the door, his hand lolls on the handle. Instead of opening it, he flips the latch to lock it. The tension rising in the room rouses your flight, fight, or freeze response.
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With the heart rate of a fight and the breath of flight, you concede to your only option: freeze. You watch him in vehement anticipation as he coasts back to the bed, a hunger stirring in his eyes. The same hunger he had when he kissed you for the first time. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he stoops down to you.
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At an agonizing pace, he brings his hands to the sides of your face. Your thoughts scream, demanding to be released and left alone. Outwardly, your eyes fall shut and you relax to his familiar touch. He presses his lips to yours in a passionate rage to taste the inside of your mouth. Against the self threats, you return the gesture and allow him to magnify the kiss.
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Your hand pulls in a twist at the neck of his shirt before sense kicks in. Flattening your palm across his chest, you force him back with all of your strength. Breaking the kiss. “Leave. Now,” you snarl. “Go home - to your wife.”
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His chest rises and falls in one agitated breath. He rolls back on his heels before spinning around to leave the room. The door slams loudly, crashing you back against the bed.
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Shutting your eyes, you see familiar darkness behind your eyelids. Slowly coming to your mind's eye is a setting you used to feel so comfortable in. For the seven years you spent with Jared, it never really mattered to you where you landed, as long as you had him by your side.
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In your memory, he’d fallen asleep. You laid awake next to him, watching your thoughts bounce on the walls. It was well past midnight, but there was a clunking noise against the window, a branch being thrown aggressively by the storm. You found it to be poetic that while the wind howled, you were dealing with your own storm inside those four walls of security.
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Season four of Supernatural was in production. A new actress for a character was brought in for replacement. The on-screen romance between Sam and Ruby was sweltering and ravenous. It brought on your concerns about stolen, off-screen kisses between the two. You never let on that it was bothering you, and kept battling a mind that was much stronger than you because not only did it know your fears, it created them.
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When you finally allowed for the heaviness in your eyes to take over, the next thought you had was to turn the damn noise off. You rolled over in bed, throwing an arm around Jared. “Babe,” you whispered. “Time to wake up,” you sang in his ear, nuzzling your nose into the nape of his neck.
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He grumbled out in morning breath, rolling over to pull you into his chest. “No,” you giggled, holding out the vowel. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t leave soon,” you laughed.
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“I don’t care,” he sleepily whined to the top of your head as he moved his hands in circles along your back.
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“Well,” you said, wiggling yourself out of his arms and scooting to the edge of the bed, “you might not, but I do.”
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You yawned as you let your feet settle on the icy hardwood floor. Rummaging through the closet, you pulled a few articles out. After grabbing a denim jacket you bend down to pick a pair of shoes. Your most difficult decision that day was whether to wear the flats or the wedges - until you saw the curious, pink shirt stuffed into one of Jared’s boots.
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Your heartfelt as if it grew in size, slowing down and rolling around in your chest. Jared wiggled under the blankets when you set the outfit on the foot of the bed. Bending to your knees in the closet, you reached for the shirt with a trembling hand. Jared was sitting up then, stretching his arms out and bringing his hands to his face.
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After seeing the outfit on the bed he looked over at you, “wear the flats today, you clumsy girl,” he laughed. He sharply inhaled as his feet landed on the cold floor. With no answer from you, he scratched his head. “Are you okay?”
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You restrained the shirt painfully firm against your chest, clamping your eyes shut and choking on the smell of a flowery perfume. Taking in a few deep breaths, you rose to face him. His unchanging expression softened only slightly. His eyes were still full of drowsiness and another yawn broke from him. You paced towards him, holding the shirt and visibly shaking.
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“Where did this come from?” Your intent was to sound of genuine curiosity, rather than blatant anger and accusation, but as you’d learned - some things, like the promise of monogamy, don’t always go according to plan.
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He grabbed his watch from the nightstand and shrugged as he fastened it onto his wrist. Coasting over to you, he wrapped a hand around your back to tug you into him. You didn’t know why you accepted it. “That,” he said before kissing your forehead, “was for you,” he kissed your cheek. “It was meant to be a gift. I didn’t have time to wrap it, so that’s where I decided to hide it,” he laughed, moving you aside to gather his own outfit.
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Something seething deep inside of you told you to run, that he was lying. But at the time, you would have rather carried on pretending than to live without him. While you didn’t know it then, it was the last time you ever slept in the same bed as Jared and if you had known, you would have stayed there with him longer.
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Another knock on the door vibrates the wall, pulling you from the memory. You’re thankful that the knot in your throat blocks the irritated groan that almost escaped you. Jensen peaks his head in, smiling and holding a bag in his hands.
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“I brought you some food,” he says, stalking over to the chair. You throw your feet over the edge of the bed to accept the sandwich and sprite he hands you.
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Sitting down, he pulls his own from the bag. You watch his jaw move as he chews a few bites before starting on your own. After a few moments of silence, you sip on your sprite.
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Jensen swallows a bite with the help of his water and clears his throat to speak out, “oh,” he says with the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowing a second time. “We’re going to go to California tomorrow for a panel. Sorry for such short notice,” he shrugs, setting the water bottle on the floor by his feet. “You weren’t in it originally, but since your episode aired I think the SPN family is dying to ask you all sorts of questions,” he winks, nudging your leg.
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After some thought, you nod and force a bleak smile, “okay,” your eyes match with his, “sure. I’d love to.”
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