A Ghost in Your Garden Part 1
Jul. 25th, 2014 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraI was born in a mortuary
Full of worry
Ice water in my veins
Gave my heart in the school library
Never knew her name
It starts out small. It starts with a plate.
They bought the old house on King Street for so little that it was practically criminal. Jensen knows that part of it is the declining value of the neighborhood. Cedar Hill was still close enough to Dallas to offer workers a short commute, the properties there were just as pretty as any other suburb, but somehow they had lost the race when it came to attracting homeowners that survived the economic downturn. Founded in the early 1840’s the town had survived losing its position as county seat, a massive tornado that killed nine of its residents, and any number of tiny tragedies that should have shut it down as a thriving community.
Instead it was the burst of the housing bubble that spelled the end of Cedar Hill. As a result Jensen and Matt were able to buy the hundred year old Victorian for a fraction of the reasonable cost. It needed love, and Jensen knew that going in, but it would be worth it once the work was done. Three stories of classic design, perfect craftsmanship, and the promise of a project that would keep Jensen busy and productive.
Not that he needed it. Despite what Matt said.
From the moment he’d seen it, tucked in the back of the realtor’s folder and already looking dejected, Jensen had known she was the house for him. The old stained glass windows, the cupola, the grand front porch, and the tiny third floor balcony all screamed for care and love. Jensen had pushed all the Ranch style and Tudor houses out of the way and plucked the picture up before turning to the realtor and saying, “Take us here.”
And she had. Sera’s heels had clicked along the wood floors, voice echoing in the big empty space as she told them the house had been built in 1913 for a rich doctor and his wife, that it had stood since then and been the family home to several famous local personages including two mayors and a movie star. Jensen had simply taken it all in, eyes pulling out places that he could improve and mentally categorizing projects as immediate or in the far future. The floors would need to be redone, the old purple wallpaper in the dining room had to be ripped out, and the ballroom on the third floor would take the most work.
He could sand and repaint the exterior before summer came and the worst of the heat drove him inside. The yard would take a ton of work too, but Jensen liked gardening, and he liked the idea of digging into the clay topsoil of Cedar Hill and planting dogwoods and oaks to offset the cedars that gave the town its name. With time and love Jensen could bring the house back to its former glory, and he really believed that the project was worth it. That making this house what it should be would fulfill him, and it seemed like that was the only concern he was supposed to have anymore. Secretly, hidden from both Matt and his therapist, Jensen hoped that working on the house would prove to himself and others that he was ready to take on projects for pay again. That he could go back to his job and be himself again instead of the homebody shell he had been for the past year.
He didn’t need to be kept busy. Matt and Dr. Kripke thought Jensen needed a distraction. They had tried simple woodworking, computer simulation programs, and furniture restoration. In his heyday Jensen had worked with a team of six people to flip houses for profit. He was good at it, knew a ton of tricks to bring the poor wrecks back to life within budget and then sell them to families looking for a good price. Jensen’s career was successful, but more importantly he had loved his job. Loved it.
And then the accident.
Jensen had gone through all the steps to get back to his life. He’d left the job to Chris and Aldis, knew that they would be able to handle it, and focused on the physical therapy necessary to get him back on his feet and the court proceedings that seemed to drag on forever. And then after two years he could walk without a cane, could make his way up and down stairs, and could carry light loads.
But he couldn’t get to the job sites. Not and be in his right mind. Getting behind a wheel made his heart rate accelerate and his hands shake. Breathing was right out. That was when Dr. Kripke came into the mix. Jensen’s physical therapist had come to his home, and it had never occurred to him that the place he wanted so badly to leave would be the only place he could continue to function properly.
So for a year Dr. Kripke came to his home once a week and worked with him. They talked about Jensen’s accident, about his recovery process, and most intensely about his panic attacks. But it wasn’t working. Jensen still couldn’t leave, and being imprisoned in the house he and Matt built slowly turned him sour on it. So Dr. Kripke suggested they buy a new place. “Try a geographical.” And despite his skepticism Jensen had leapt at the chance to cut ties with his cell and make it out into the world.
The house on King Street afforded him everything. It was on the other side of Dallas and not even the land looked the same. Hilly country instead of flat scrub, full of the native red cedars, and set at a higher elevation than their old suburb. It was as alien as he could get and still be near the home base of his company. And it had the house.
Matt wasn’t sure, hemmed and hawed about the state of the place, but Jensen dropped all the psycho-analytical language Dr. Kripke had been using during their joint sessions to convince Matt that taking on a place like this was Jensen’s acceptance that he would probably never work again. It had worked. They put down an offer, the family selling accepted, and Jensen and Matt were the proud owners of the house at the top of King Street.
The moving process was rough. Jensen could help with the planning, the packing, and the loading, but when it came time to transport themselves he had to use sedatives and sleep through the trip. The drugs left him off for the first two days, and the slow start was brutal to their timeline. Matt worked in a law firm in Dallas, and it became obvious that the time he thought he was going to get off to help wasn’t going to happen.
So Jensen was left alone with unpacking. It was ok. He had Aldis and Chris to join him in lifting and moving the heavier furniture. His friends would appreciate the old structure for what it was, a jewel of architectural achievement. They would revel in the old fixtures, the solid construction, and the marvelous design of the banisters and molding. He already had a plan to create a mosaic of tile around the grand fireplace, and he could not wait to tackle the bulk of it.
But Matt insisted that before he begin the work he was interested in Jensen should make the most public areas look unpacked and lived in. Purportedly it was in case someone from the firm visited, but Matt hadn’t brought anyone home since Jensen’s accident, and he was pretty sure Matt was just stalling what might not be a plausible solution to Jensen’s issues.
Out of respect for Matt’s sacrifices up to this point Jensen focused on complying with all of his partner’s requests. He set up the bedroom, unpacked all the boxes for it and the bathroom, and made sure that every morning when Matt got up he would be able to get ready for work and head out without trouble. He made sure the dining room was ready to host, despite the hideous purple wallpaper, and carefully laid out all the display China in the cabinet to give the impression that everything was in its place. The last two rooms, the kitchen and the living room, were easier, and Jensen knocked both of them out in a day.
And then the plate happened, and Jensen wasn’t aware of it at the time but his entire life changed.
----
“Matt? Matt where did you put the serving platter?”
Jensen’s annoyed. He wants to be doing something. He wants to get Chris and Aldis out here with the industrial sander to start stripping the floors and prepping them to be re-varnished. He wants to be doing what he loves, and instead he’s playing housewife to Matt’s businessman. And now Matt wants dinner served and eaten in their new dining room and Jensen cannot find the fucking serving platter.
“I don’t know babe! I don’t touch that stuff. Don’t want to mess with your space.”
Matt has never understood the difference between home restoration and interior design. He also appears to still believe after ten years together that Jensen is really into homemaking. Jensen bears it with as much patience as he can.
“Yeah, ok, but it was set up in the cabinet and it’s not there anymore. Are you sure you didn’t pull it out?”
There’s a noise from the study that holds only Matt’s desk and the props that make it his home office. Jensen is pretty sure it’s an annoyed one, but he’s working too hard to control his own anger to even bother trying to find out where Matt’s head is at. Instead of continuing the useless line of conversation Jensen goes back to the cabinet and stares at the empty space that once held the serving platter.
His roast is done, a simple enough meal that fits in his skill set, but there’s nothing to put it on. He can just drop trivets and serve the damn thing out of the pan he guesses, because there’s no way he’s going to dig in the boxes of kitchen shit to find the everyday platter.
Except when he gets into the kitchen to find trivets and pull the pan out there’s the serving platter, sitting on the island in the center of the kitchen and mocking him. Jensen doesn’t remember pulling it out, and he’s fairly certain he would. Which means Matt did it and forgot, or Matt did it and thought Jensen had looked in the kitchen. Matt does a fair amount of assuming.
Jensen bites back his temper again and pulls the roast pan out before dropping the whole thing onto the serving platter. He sets it in the center of the table, goes back in for the beans, and then when it’s all set up he calls for Matt. His boyfriend comes in rubbing his eyes and reading from a law book, and Jensen gives up on the idea of real dinner conversation.
They haven’t had much of that for the last two or three years anyway. Jensen has no day to talk about, he’s done nothing but dig around in boxes and hang curtains, and Matt’s day consists of arguments with other lawyers and what his legal aides did. Sometimes they have recent TV shows to discuss or some news article, but otherwise the lack of life Jensen leads takes a toll on polite conversation.
And anything beyond polite conversation heads into a darker territory that Jensen isn’t willing to enter and Matt is wary about. So Matt brings a book to dinner to do research, and Jensen prepares to simply continue his mental list of steps to reviving the house. Except Matt decides to talk without looking up from his book.
“So, where’d you find it?”
Jensen blinks, fork halfway to his mouth, and then puts the pieces together.
“Oh the plate? It was in the kitchen on the island. I guess it got put out there in preparation for food.”
Matt turns a page, tongue poking out for a moment before retreating as his finger scans the words.
“No the lamp, but are you saying you put the plate out and forgot?”
Jensen bristles. It’s an argument they’ve had before.
“Matt, if I put the plate out I would have said I put the plate out. I said it got put out. Which was my diplomatic way of saying you put it out because I certainly didn’t. And while I appreciate the fact that you wanted to help me get dinner out faster I would appreciate it more if you just told me where you moved the damn thing.”
His boyfriend’s lips purse for a second, and then Matt moves his bookmark to the page he’s on and looks up at some point fixed over Jensen’s shoulder.
“Ok Jensen. Ok. I just realized I need to look at some precedents on my computer. So I’m gonna take this in there. And thanks for the lamp it works perfectly.”
With that Matt grabs his plate and book and leaves Jensen sitting in the dark dining room, purple wallpaper mocking him as his appetite flees and his rage soars. He takes a moment to breathe deep, to hold back, because his first reaction is to grab the serving platter and smash it, roast and all, on the scarred wood floor. But that sort of destruction is bad, and will only lead to more cleaning and talking as Matt takes that “I’m being reasonable tone” that actually means Jensen is not and Matt is compensating for his irrationality.
And if Matt uses that voice tonight Jensen is fairly certain he will simply kill his boyfriend and wait for the cops to come for him. Or bury Matt under the floorboards he has to tear up and replace in the back parlor.
The thought is dark, almost alien, and Jensen pushes up from the table and starts to put everything away. It is a lost effort, and he’s just going to plop down on the couch and start up a video game. He’s gotten pretty good at them over the length of his convalescence and forced home stay. There’s no reason to be bitter. These sorts of things happen. Couples have rough patches, and considering how comforting and thoughtful Matt has been ever since Jensen got hurt it’s ok to let a few things go. Matt has been strong for Jensen, and it’s time for Jensen to be strong for Matt.
It doesn’t occur to him until he’s put up the food and loaded Guitar Hero into the Xbox that he has no idea what lamp Matt is talking about.
----
Matt sleeps in his office that night, the low couch kept just for that purpose is comfortable enough for it. Jensen remembers buying that couch. Remembers laughing at Matt’s habit of falling asleep buried under law books like some kind of dry and wordy blanket.
It’s not so funny anymore.
The house groans and creaks around him, settling, and Jensen stays alert and awake listening to each part. The sounds of a house can tell its inhabitants more than most people know. If he hears a clanging Jensen will know he has pipe trouble, the right kind of groan indicates issues with the floors or the support beams, and doors swinging or creaking tell him that he has drafts he has to track down and fix. It’s a science he’s mastered, and he puts it to use for his sleeplessness.
His leg aches a little tonight, maybe too much moving around, but Jensen has stopped taking the prescription painkillers that still litter his bathroom cabinet. He’s also quit the anti-depressants, but those he flushes on a daily basis in case Matt is counting. He doesn’t like the lethargy that comes with the pills, and he hates the way they mess with his head. It’s yet another thing that Jensen wishes Matt would listen to him about instead of Dr. Kripke, but in keeping with the arc of their relationship Matt is more interested in the testimony of expert witnesses than his boyfriend.
It’s another reason Jensen can’t tell Matt why he was so wrong tonight. Matt’s assuming he’s still medicated, and if Jensen admitted he wasn’t Matt would accuse the lack of medication for his memory slipping. He’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t.
He rolls over in bed, looks up at smooth plaster ceiling and the lazily turning fan, and wonders how he’ll begin to fix what’s broken between him and Matt the way he’ll eventually fix the house. There’s a creak nearby, the floorboards outside the door, and Jensen turns his head that way and considers the doorway for a moment before closing his eyes.
“Goodnight house.”
The creak sounds again, and then all is quiet as Jensen drifts off into sleep.
----
In the morning things don’t look very different. Matt is gone before Jensen rolls out of bed and makes his way downstairs. There’s no note, and Jensen digs out cereal and pours himself a bowl while considering what he’ll do today. He’s complied with all of Matt’s requests, and that means if he really wants to he can get started on the things that really matter to him.
He calls Aldis and Chris, and goes over a list of equipment and supplies before washing out his bowl and wandering aimlessly. Something leads him into Matt’s study, and he stares at the mess of books and yellow legal pads. In the old house Matt littered his desk with pictures of Jensen and himself, his early years at the firm, and his graduation from Law School. Now there’s only the shot of Matt in his robes with his parents’ arms around him.
And behind that picture is a Tiffany lamp, stained glass comprised of dark colors that match with the deep green and mahogany wood paneling of the room. It is absolutely perfect, and Jensen wonders where in the hell it came from and how it got there. Matt doesn’t have taste like that. Jensen doesn’t have taste like that.
It might have come from the attic. Jensen hasn’t been up there since he peeked into the space during the initial walkthrough, and he certainly didn’t get around then to cataloguing what the previous family or families had left to be handled by the new owners. Maybe he’ll do that tomorrow if his leg needs a break.
While he’s deep in thought the old doorbell rings, and Jensen makes his way out into the grand foyer and opens the door to find his friends, coworkers, family standing on the front porch with a cart full of chemicals and a stack of pizzas.
Chris smiles, steps over the threshold, and slaps Jensen on the back hard.
“Bout time you let us see this poor monstrosity. Now, show us the kitchen first, and then let’s see what’s ahead.”
----
“Charcoal black.” Chris’s eyes flare as he plucks the last piece of pizza up and bites into it. They’ve moved out onto the front porch, beers and pizza passed in between them, and Jensen is having a cigarette as he stares out at the yard.
“Galaxy black you tasteless cretin.” Aldis snatches the slice out of Chris’s grip and stuffs almost all of it into his mouth.
“I’m gonna get you for that.” Chris grins through the threat though, and then shifts his gaze to Jensen. “How you doing boss?”
“Chris, for like the fortieth time, I’m not your boss anymore. You and Aldis are my partners now.”
Aldis laughs around his mouthful of pizza and Chris points his bottle accusingly.
“You had us buy shares at about a fourth of their worth so you could feel better about abandoning us. I refuse to be bought off boss. You’re stuck with us, and soon as you get back on your feet a hundred percent you’re gonna be back on the job ordering us around and being a pain in the ass.”
Jensen takes a long drag, and then outs the cigarette on the underside of the porch before field stripping it.
“I have never been a pain in your ass. I am a gracious and generous employer and a delight to work with.”
Aldis chokes on his pizza and Chris slaps his back heartily even as he laughs.
“You keep telling yourself that Jenny. It’s almost as adorable as them lashes of yours.” Chris winks at him once and then drains his beer bottle. “Now. Take us round the homestead and let’s see what you got yourself into.”
Jensen loves his friends. They understand everything. Chris marvels at the hand-carved balustrade on the balcony, Aldis practically coos over the molding in the ballroom, and they agree simultaneously and without Jensen’s prompting that the varnish for the wood floors on the second story should be a shade lighter than the other two floors because the rooms are slightly smaller and darker.
Aldis points to the door into the attic and grins maniacally.
“What’s up there? Remnants of old ghosts?”
Jensen considers it for a moment before catching the pull-string and dragging the stairs down.
“I don’t know man. Why don’t you take a look.” He adopts his best Vincent Price spooky voice. Watches Aldis theatrically shudder as Chris turns to study the crack in the plaster wall here.
His friend goes ahead of him, boots clomping loudly on the old wood steps, and Jensen tugs Chris away from his study before heading up behind.
Aldis has reached the top, and Jensen isn’t far behind him but he gets distracted by the give in the eight step. The shriek above him sends his feet scrambling, and Chris catches him and then pushes him up and through the opening. Aldis is standing in the center of the open attic, one hand to his chest and the other up in surrender, and Jensen would laugh but he’s struck speechless for a moment.
When he peeked up here with the realtor it was a cloudy day and a mass of indistinct shapes. Now, with the sunlight streaming through the big windows, the space is lit beautifully. The naked beams stretch up and around them, beautiful old wood gleaming dully in the sunshine, and oak and mahogany furniture shining under thin layers of dust. The sewing dummy that scared Aldis is the only thing moving, rocking slightly in front of his friend, and for a moment Jensen just stares around the space in wonder before reality comes crashing back in.
“You giant pussy! It’s a mannequin. Get a hold of yourself.”
Aldis is sucking in deep lungfuls of air, eyes darting back and forth, and Chris bends in half laughing himself silly. When Aldis is finally under control again he shoves Chris hard and then starts wandering around the attic with wide eyes.
“Jesus, Jensen, there’s a couple grand in furniture alone in here. What’d the last family do sneak out in the middle of the night?”
“Uh. You know I never asked.” He pulls the sheet half covering a grandfather clock off and waves dust out of his face. “But this is glorious.”
Chris is looking around too, but his face is more questioning than reverent.
“Jen. You got the blueprints for this place?”
“Not yet. They get couriered in sometime next week. Why?”
Chris tilts his head and runs his hand along the wall. Jensen’s seen that look before. It never bodes well.
“This is too small.”
Aldis bursts into laughter now, closing the drawer of a buffet and turning to Chris.
“You crazy man? This is double the size of our first apartment. This is an insane amount of storage space.”
Chris shakes his head, hand still on the wall, and then turns to look at Jensen.
“I’d need machinery to prove it, but I’m telling you this ain’t the right size for this house.” He taps the wall and then looks around again. “It should be bigger.”
---
Chris and Aldis have been gone for several hours, and Jensen’s decided to start with the wallpaper in the dining room instead of the floors. He’s not sure if it’s the massive scope of the floor project or the hideousness of the purple flowers. Either way he’s treating a portion of the wall with paste dissolver and waiting for it to set in before he can start scraping the paper off. He’s covered in tiny flecks of paste, plaster, and paper from scoring the walls, and he pours himself a glass of sweet tea before looking out the back window.
There’s one giant oak that stands in the center of the sweeping back yard, and shades an old iron bench that Jensen isn’t sure if he should work on or replace. Jensen’s staring at the green leaves, the way they shift in the breeze, and then movement out of the corner of his eye draws his focus down.
A guy is sitting on the bench. All Jensen can tell about him from his position is that his hair brushes his shoulders and he’s big. Otherwise his face is pointed into the sun, and that makes him a black outline that Jensen peers at for a long time. He’s not sure what to do. He hasn’t met any of the neighbors yet, but Southern Hospitality laws say he shouldn’t call the cops or head out there yelling and chase the guy off.
Still. It’s a stranger in his yard, and Jensen hasn’t dealt with many strangers since his accident outside of medical professionals. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and then pours a second glass of sweet tea just in case.
The grass is a little prickly on his feet, the dirt underneath crumbly and warm, and Jensen makes it all the way to the bench before his twinging leg tells him he needs to sit down. He takes a spot beside the stranger without comment and then holds out the glass. Casual. He will be casual.
Here, with the sun causing him to squint, Jensen can see that the man is handsome. His shirt is white, cotton, and the long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows exposing corded forearms. His slacks are a soft gray, and he’s as shoeless as Jensen is. The hair is just as long as it looked from the kitchen window, and it’s a soft brown that catches the sunlight and reflects warm undertones. It hangs around a sculpted face, strong jaw, and shows off tan skin with little moles and generous pink lips. The man’s eyes are the best part of his face, multi-colored and shadowed by one huge hand as he looks at Jensen.
They sit in silence for several long seconds before the mouth curls into a bright smile and dimples appear.
“Well howdy neighbor. Thanks a bunch.” He takes the glass from Jensen and drinks long and slow, throat working rhythmically.
“Neighbor? Which house are you from?” Jensen sounds a little strangled, and he clears his throat and turns away from the guy to look out over the rest of the yard. Situated the way they are, at the top of a hill, he can see down into the end of Cedar Hill. They’re on the back of the suburb, and that means if he skips his eyes over the other tacked on block of houses he can look directly into the cedar forests that surround the town. Or the copse of trees on the edge of his new property. The yard is big, and Jensen makes a mental note to get a riding lawnmower.
The man gestures vaguely over his shoulder and then lowers the glass and holds out his free hand.
“Jared Padalecki. And you?”
Jensen takes the hand, feels the cool and firm grip, and shakes once firmly before letting go.
“Jensen Ackles. I live here with my partner Matt Cohen.”
Best to get it out in the open from the start Jensen has learned. See how the reaction is and roll with it from there. Jared’s smile stays put, neither strained nor enhanced, and Jensen relaxes just a fraction.
“Y’all moved in a couple days ago. Settling just fine?”
Jensen leans back, puts his hands down on the iron and feels the heat that the metal has soaked in from the sun. In the summer it will be unbearable to sit on, and that’s another point in the replace column. Getting a pad for it will require more upkeep, but it wouldn’t take long to make something new out of wood that would be easier to keep and more comfortable.
“Jensen?”
He snaps back to the present, shakes himself physically, and then offers an awkward smile.
“Sorry. Drifted off for a second there. Yeah. Yeah it’s a beautiful place.”
Jared laughs, head tilting back and lips parting to reveal bright white teeth. He takes another long swallow of tea before setting the glass down carefully on the bench beside him.
“Beautiful, huh? Needs an awful lot of work. Plus, word round these parts is it’s haunted.”
Jensen can’t help the sneer, and he narrows his eyes into the sun instead of focusing on Jared.
“I don’t believe in hocus pocus and working on old houses is my business.”
There’s a little hum beside him, the bench shifts, and then Jared’s voice is just as relaxed and friendly as it’s been since the beginning.
“Well she could use the love. In her heyday she was one mighty fine place. Can’t tell you how many balls were had here.”
Jensen glances sideways and feels his eyebrow lifting.
“You a history buff?”
Jared’s smile dims a little, and his bare toes dig into the earth.
“Something like that. I better get going. Thanks for the tea Jensen.”
Jensen watches him walk around the house, and when he’s disappeared Jensen leans back on the bench and drinks the last of his tea in the warm sunshine before returning to the dark and cool dining room to start stripping the paper off.
----
Matt comes home with Chinese, a peace offering, and Jensen takes it. A fourth of the wallpaper has been removed, and Matt gives it a look before taking dinner into the kitchen. They eat at the island and when Matt mentions that he might wrap up the car wreck he’s been working on for the last two years Jensen swallows his Lo Mein and then offers his own tidbit.
“I met a neighbor today.”
His boyfriend looks up from the laborious process of properly coating his eggroll with duck sauce to consider him for a long moment. Jensen isn’t sure if the look is positive or negative. When did he lose the ability to read Matt’s every expression?
Can Matt read his?
“Oh yeah? Good or bad?”
“Took the gay thing well. Little weird. Dressed kinda like an artist and…off. Just a little. But nice. Jared Padalecki.”
Matt swallows and then smiles. It’s honest, and Jensen smiles back.
“Well, if we have to live with kooks at least they’re not homophobic kooks. Which house is he?”
Jensen pauses and then realizes he never asked for clarification when Jared gestured.
“I’m not really sure. He didn’t get specific.”
“Well what does he do?”
Shit.
“I don’t know that either. We talked about the house mostly. He knew a lot about it.”
Matt rolls his eyes and crunches into the egg roll. He chews a long time before getting to the part Jensen didn’t want to hear.
“Great. More architecture enthusiasts. Does he get a boner from siding too?”
It’s a joke. Jensen knows it’s a joke. That doesn’t change the automatic defensive response that bubbles up to his lips and is barely smothered. He forces a grin and stands up to scrape his plate and rinse it.
“I didn’t ask. I’ll get around to it next time probably.”
Matt squints at his food and then pushes it away.
“Was he hot at least?”
Jensen drops his plate in the dishwasher and starts boxing up the leftovers and putting them away.
“No. Just kinda doofy and weird.”
Matt sleeps next to him that night, snoring softly, but Jensen lies awake listening to the house.
Masterpost
Next Part
Full of worry
Ice water in my veins
Gave my heart in the school library
Never knew her name
It starts out small. It starts with a plate.
They bought the old house on King Street for so little that it was practically criminal. Jensen knows that part of it is the declining value of the neighborhood. Cedar Hill was still close enough to Dallas to offer workers a short commute, the properties there were just as pretty as any other suburb, but somehow they had lost the race when it came to attracting homeowners that survived the economic downturn. Founded in the early 1840’s the town had survived losing its position as county seat, a massive tornado that killed nine of its residents, and any number of tiny tragedies that should have shut it down as a thriving community.
Instead it was the burst of the housing bubble that spelled the end of Cedar Hill. As a result Jensen and Matt were able to buy the hundred year old Victorian for a fraction of the reasonable cost. It needed love, and Jensen knew that going in, but it would be worth it once the work was done. Three stories of classic design, perfect craftsmanship, and the promise of a project that would keep Jensen busy and productive.
Not that he needed it. Despite what Matt said.
From the moment he’d seen it, tucked in the back of the realtor’s folder and already looking dejected, Jensen had known she was the house for him. The old stained glass windows, the cupola, the grand front porch, and the tiny third floor balcony all screamed for care and love. Jensen had pushed all the Ranch style and Tudor houses out of the way and plucked the picture up before turning to the realtor and saying, “Take us here.”
And she had. Sera’s heels had clicked along the wood floors, voice echoing in the big empty space as she told them the house had been built in 1913 for a rich doctor and his wife, that it had stood since then and been the family home to several famous local personages including two mayors and a movie star. Jensen had simply taken it all in, eyes pulling out places that he could improve and mentally categorizing projects as immediate or in the far future. The floors would need to be redone, the old purple wallpaper in the dining room had to be ripped out, and the ballroom on the third floor would take the most work.
He could sand and repaint the exterior before summer came and the worst of the heat drove him inside. The yard would take a ton of work too, but Jensen liked gardening, and he liked the idea of digging into the clay topsoil of Cedar Hill and planting dogwoods and oaks to offset the cedars that gave the town its name. With time and love Jensen could bring the house back to its former glory, and he really believed that the project was worth it. That making this house what it should be would fulfill him, and it seemed like that was the only concern he was supposed to have anymore. Secretly, hidden from both Matt and his therapist, Jensen hoped that working on the house would prove to himself and others that he was ready to take on projects for pay again. That he could go back to his job and be himself again instead of the homebody shell he had been for the past year.
He didn’t need to be kept busy. Matt and Dr. Kripke thought Jensen needed a distraction. They had tried simple woodworking, computer simulation programs, and furniture restoration. In his heyday Jensen had worked with a team of six people to flip houses for profit. He was good at it, knew a ton of tricks to bring the poor wrecks back to life within budget and then sell them to families looking for a good price. Jensen’s career was successful, but more importantly he had loved his job. Loved it.
And then the accident.
Jensen had gone through all the steps to get back to his life. He’d left the job to Chris and Aldis, knew that they would be able to handle it, and focused on the physical therapy necessary to get him back on his feet and the court proceedings that seemed to drag on forever. And then after two years he could walk without a cane, could make his way up and down stairs, and could carry light loads.
But he couldn’t get to the job sites. Not and be in his right mind. Getting behind a wheel made his heart rate accelerate and his hands shake. Breathing was right out. That was when Dr. Kripke came into the mix. Jensen’s physical therapist had come to his home, and it had never occurred to him that the place he wanted so badly to leave would be the only place he could continue to function properly.
So for a year Dr. Kripke came to his home once a week and worked with him. They talked about Jensen’s accident, about his recovery process, and most intensely about his panic attacks. But it wasn’t working. Jensen still couldn’t leave, and being imprisoned in the house he and Matt built slowly turned him sour on it. So Dr. Kripke suggested they buy a new place. “Try a geographical.” And despite his skepticism Jensen had leapt at the chance to cut ties with his cell and make it out into the world.
The house on King Street afforded him everything. It was on the other side of Dallas and not even the land looked the same. Hilly country instead of flat scrub, full of the native red cedars, and set at a higher elevation than their old suburb. It was as alien as he could get and still be near the home base of his company. And it had the house.
Matt wasn’t sure, hemmed and hawed about the state of the place, but Jensen dropped all the psycho-analytical language Dr. Kripke had been using during their joint sessions to convince Matt that taking on a place like this was Jensen’s acceptance that he would probably never work again. It had worked. They put down an offer, the family selling accepted, and Jensen and Matt were the proud owners of the house at the top of King Street.
The moving process was rough. Jensen could help with the planning, the packing, and the loading, but when it came time to transport themselves he had to use sedatives and sleep through the trip. The drugs left him off for the first two days, and the slow start was brutal to their timeline. Matt worked in a law firm in Dallas, and it became obvious that the time he thought he was going to get off to help wasn’t going to happen.
So Jensen was left alone with unpacking. It was ok. He had Aldis and Chris to join him in lifting and moving the heavier furniture. His friends would appreciate the old structure for what it was, a jewel of architectural achievement. They would revel in the old fixtures, the solid construction, and the marvelous design of the banisters and molding. He already had a plan to create a mosaic of tile around the grand fireplace, and he could not wait to tackle the bulk of it.
But Matt insisted that before he begin the work he was interested in Jensen should make the most public areas look unpacked and lived in. Purportedly it was in case someone from the firm visited, but Matt hadn’t brought anyone home since Jensen’s accident, and he was pretty sure Matt was just stalling what might not be a plausible solution to Jensen’s issues.
Out of respect for Matt’s sacrifices up to this point Jensen focused on complying with all of his partner’s requests. He set up the bedroom, unpacked all the boxes for it and the bathroom, and made sure that every morning when Matt got up he would be able to get ready for work and head out without trouble. He made sure the dining room was ready to host, despite the hideous purple wallpaper, and carefully laid out all the display China in the cabinet to give the impression that everything was in its place. The last two rooms, the kitchen and the living room, were easier, and Jensen knocked both of them out in a day.
And then the plate happened, and Jensen wasn’t aware of it at the time but his entire life changed.
----
“Matt? Matt where did you put the serving platter?”
Jensen’s annoyed. He wants to be doing something. He wants to get Chris and Aldis out here with the industrial sander to start stripping the floors and prepping them to be re-varnished. He wants to be doing what he loves, and instead he’s playing housewife to Matt’s businessman. And now Matt wants dinner served and eaten in their new dining room and Jensen cannot find the fucking serving platter.
“I don’t know babe! I don’t touch that stuff. Don’t want to mess with your space.”
Matt has never understood the difference between home restoration and interior design. He also appears to still believe after ten years together that Jensen is really into homemaking. Jensen bears it with as much patience as he can.
“Yeah, ok, but it was set up in the cabinet and it’s not there anymore. Are you sure you didn’t pull it out?”
There’s a noise from the study that holds only Matt’s desk and the props that make it his home office. Jensen is pretty sure it’s an annoyed one, but he’s working too hard to control his own anger to even bother trying to find out where Matt’s head is at. Instead of continuing the useless line of conversation Jensen goes back to the cabinet and stares at the empty space that once held the serving platter.
His roast is done, a simple enough meal that fits in his skill set, but there’s nothing to put it on. He can just drop trivets and serve the damn thing out of the pan he guesses, because there’s no way he’s going to dig in the boxes of kitchen shit to find the everyday platter.
Except when he gets into the kitchen to find trivets and pull the pan out there’s the serving platter, sitting on the island in the center of the kitchen and mocking him. Jensen doesn’t remember pulling it out, and he’s fairly certain he would. Which means Matt did it and forgot, or Matt did it and thought Jensen had looked in the kitchen. Matt does a fair amount of assuming.
Jensen bites back his temper again and pulls the roast pan out before dropping the whole thing onto the serving platter. He sets it in the center of the table, goes back in for the beans, and then when it’s all set up he calls for Matt. His boyfriend comes in rubbing his eyes and reading from a law book, and Jensen gives up on the idea of real dinner conversation.
They haven’t had much of that for the last two or three years anyway. Jensen has no day to talk about, he’s done nothing but dig around in boxes and hang curtains, and Matt’s day consists of arguments with other lawyers and what his legal aides did. Sometimes they have recent TV shows to discuss or some news article, but otherwise the lack of life Jensen leads takes a toll on polite conversation.
And anything beyond polite conversation heads into a darker territory that Jensen isn’t willing to enter and Matt is wary about. So Matt brings a book to dinner to do research, and Jensen prepares to simply continue his mental list of steps to reviving the house. Except Matt decides to talk without looking up from his book.
“So, where’d you find it?”
Jensen blinks, fork halfway to his mouth, and then puts the pieces together.
“Oh the plate? It was in the kitchen on the island. I guess it got put out there in preparation for food.”
Matt turns a page, tongue poking out for a moment before retreating as his finger scans the words.
“No the lamp, but are you saying you put the plate out and forgot?”
Jensen bristles. It’s an argument they’ve had before.
“Matt, if I put the plate out I would have said I put the plate out. I said it got put out. Which was my diplomatic way of saying you put it out because I certainly didn’t. And while I appreciate the fact that you wanted to help me get dinner out faster I would appreciate it more if you just told me where you moved the damn thing.”
His boyfriend’s lips purse for a second, and then Matt moves his bookmark to the page he’s on and looks up at some point fixed over Jensen’s shoulder.
“Ok Jensen. Ok. I just realized I need to look at some precedents on my computer. So I’m gonna take this in there. And thanks for the lamp it works perfectly.”
With that Matt grabs his plate and book and leaves Jensen sitting in the dark dining room, purple wallpaper mocking him as his appetite flees and his rage soars. He takes a moment to breathe deep, to hold back, because his first reaction is to grab the serving platter and smash it, roast and all, on the scarred wood floor. But that sort of destruction is bad, and will only lead to more cleaning and talking as Matt takes that “I’m being reasonable tone” that actually means Jensen is not and Matt is compensating for his irrationality.
And if Matt uses that voice tonight Jensen is fairly certain he will simply kill his boyfriend and wait for the cops to come for him. Or bury Matt under the floorboards he has to tear up and replace in the back parlor.
The thought is dark, almost alien, and Jensen pushes up from the table and starts to put everything away. It is a lost effort, and he’s just going to plop down on the couch and start up a video game. He’s gotten pretty good at them over the length of his convalescence and forced home stay. There’s no reason to be bitter. These sorts of things happen. Couples have rough patches, and considering how comforting and thoughtful Matt has been ever since Jensen got hurt it’s ok to let a few things go. Matt has been strong for Jensen, and it’s time for Jensen to be strong for Matt.
It doesn’t occur to him until he’s put up the food and loaded Guitar Hero into the Xbox that he has no idea what lamp Matt is talking about.
----
Matt sleeps in his office that night, the low couch kept just for that purpose is comfortable enough for it. Jensen remembers buying that couch. Remembers laughing at Matt’s habit of falling asleep buried under law books like some kind of dry and wordy blanket.
It’s not so funny anymore.
The house groans and creaks around him, settling, and Jensen stays alert and awake listening to each part. The sounds of a house can tell its inhabitants more than most people know. If he hears a clanging Jensen will know he has pipe trouble, the right kind of groan indicates issues with the floors or the support beams, and doors swinging or creaking tell him that he has drafts he has to track down and fix. It’s a science he’s mastered, and he puts it to use for his sleeplessness.
His leg aches a little tonight, maybe too much moving around, but Jensen has stopped taking the prescription painkillers that still litter his bathroom cabinet. He’s also quit the anti-depressants, but those he flushes on a daily basis in case Matt is counting. He doesn’t like the lethargy that comes with the pills, and he hates the way they mess with his head. It’s yet another thing that Jensen wishes Matt would listen to him about instead of Dr. Kripke, but in keeping with the arc of their relationship Matt is more interested in the testimony of expert witnesses than his boyfriend.
It’s another reason Jensen can’t tell Matt why he was so wrong tonight. Matt’s assuming he’s still medicated, and if Jensen admitted he wasn’t Matt would accuse the lack of medication for his memory slipping. He’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t.
He rolls over in bed, looks up at smooth plaster ceiling and the lazily turning fan, and wonders how he’ll begin to fix what’s broken between him and Matt the way he’ll eventually fix the house. There’s a creak nearby, the floorboards outside the door, and Jensen turns his head that way and considers the doorway for a moment before closing his eyes.
“Goodnight house.”
The creak sounds again, and then all is quiet as Jensen drifts off into sleep.
----
In the morning things don’t look very different. Matt is gone before Jensen rolls out of bed and makes his way downstairs. There’s no note, and Jensen digs out cereal and pours himself a bowl while considering what he’ll do today. He’s complied with all of Matt’s requests, and that means if he really wants to he can get started on the things that really matter to him.
He calls Aldis and Chris, and goes over a list of equipment and supplies before washing out his bowl and wandering aimlessly. Something leads him into Matt’s study, and he stares at the mess of books and yellow legal pads. In the old house Matt littered his desk with pictures of Jensen and himself, his early years at the firm, and his graduation from Law School. Now there’s only the shot of Matt in his robes with his parents’ arms around him.
And behind that picture is a Tiffany lamp, stained glass comprised of dark colors that match with the deep green and mahogany wood paneling of the room. It is absolutely perfect, and Jensen wonders where in the hell it came from and how it got there. Matt doesn’t have taste like that. Jensen doesn’t have taste like that.
It might have come from the attic. Jensen hasn’t been up there since he peeked into the space during the initial walkthrough, and he certainly didn’t get around then to cataloguing what the previous family or families had left to be handled by the new owners. Maybe he’ll do that tomorrow if his leg needs a break.
While he’s deep in thought the old doorbell rings, and Jensen makes his way out into the grand foyer and opens the door to find his friends, coworkers, family standing on the front porch with a cart full of chemicals and a stack of pizzas.
Chris smiles, steps over the threshold, and slaps Jensen on the back hard.
“Bout time you let us see this poor monstrosity. Now, show us the kitchen first, and then let’s see what’s ahead.”
----
“Charcoal black.” Chris’s eyes flare as he plucks the last piece of pizza up and bites into it. They’ve moved out onto the front porch, beers and pizza passed in between them, and Jensen is having a cigarette as he stares out at the yard.
“Galaxy black you tasteless cretin.” Aldis snatches the slice out of Chris’s grip and stuffs almost all of it into his mouth.
“I’m gonna get you for that.” Chris grins through the threat though, and then shifts his gaze to Jensen. “How you doing boss?”
“Chris, for like the fortieth time, I’m not your boss anymore. You and Aldis are my partners now.”
Aldis laughs around his mouthful of pizza and Chris points his bottle accusingly.
“You had us buy shares at about a fourth of their worth so you could feel better about abandoning us. I refuse to be bought off boss. You’re stuck with us, and soon as you get back on your feet a hundred percent you’re gonna be back on the job ordering us around and being a pain in the ass.”
Jensen takes a long drag, and then outs the cigarette on the underside of the porch before field stripping it.
“I have never been a pain in your ass. I am a gracious and generous employer and a delight to work with.”
Aldis chokes on his pizza and Chris slaps his back heartily even as he laughs.
“You keep telling yourself that Jenny. It’s almost as adorable as them lashes of yours.” Chris winks at him once and then drains his beer bottle. “Now. Take us round the homestead and let’s see what you got yourself into.”
Jensen loves his friends. They understand everything. Chris marvels at the hand-carved balustrade on the balcony, Aldis practically coos over the molding in the ballroom, and they agree simultaneously and without Jensen’s prompting that the varnish for the wood floors on the second story should be a shade lighter than the other two floors because the rooms are slightly smaller and darker.
Aldis points to the door into the attic and grins maniacally.
“What’s up there? Remnants of old ghosts?”
Jensen considers it for a moment before catching the pull-string and dragging the stairs down.
“I don’t know man. Why don’t you take a look.” He adopts his best Vincent Price spooky voice. Watches Aldis theatrically shudder as Chris turns to study the crack in the plaster wall here.
His friend goes ahead of him, boots clomping loudly on the old wood steps, and Jensen tugs Chris away from his study before heading up behind.
Aldis has reached the top, and Jensen isn’t far behind him but he gets distracted by the give in the eight step. The shriek above him sends his feet scrambling, and Chris catches him and then pushes him up and through the opening. Aldis is standing in the center of the open attic, one hand to his chest and the other up in surrender, and Jensen would laugh but he’s struck speechless for a moment.
When he peeked up here with the realtor it was a cloudy day and a mass of indistinct shapes. Now, with the sunlight streaming through the big windows, the space is lit beautifully. The naked beams stretch up and around them, beautiful old wood gleaming dully in the sunshine, and oak and mahogany furniture shining under thin layers of dust. The sewing dummy that scared Aldis is the only thing moving, rocking slightly in front of his friend, and for a moment Jensen just stares around the space in wonder before reality comes crashing back in.
“You giant pussy! It’s a mannequin. Get a hold of yourself.”
Aldis is sucking in deep lungfuls of air, eyes darting back and forth, and Chris bends in half laughing himself silly. When Aldis is finally under control again he shoves Chris hard and then starts wandering around the attic with wide eyes.
“Jesus, Jensen, there’s a couple grand in furniture alone in here. What’d the last family do sneak out in the middle of the night?”
“Uh. You know I never asked.” He pulls the sheet half covering a grandfather clock off and waves dust out of his face. “But this is glorious.”
Chris is looking around too, but his face is more questioning than reverent.
“Jen. You got the blueprints for this place?”
“Not yet. They get couriered in sometime next week. Why?”
Chris tilts his head and runs his hand along the wall. Jensen’s seen that look before. It never bodes well.
“This is too small.”
Aldis bursts into laughter now, closing the drawer of a buffet and turning to Chris.
“You crazy man? This is double the size of our first apartment. This is an insane amount of storage space.”
Chris shakes his head, hand still on the wall, and then turns to look at Jensen.
“I’d need machinery to prove it, but I’m telling you this ain’t the right size for this house.” He taps the wall and then looks around again. “It should be bigger.”
---
Chris and Aldis have been gone for several hours, and Jensen’s decided to start with the wallpaper in the dining room instead of the floors. He’s not sure if it’s the massive scope of the floor project or the hideousness of the purple flowers. Either way he’s treating a portion of the wall with paste dissolver and waiting for it to set in before he can start scraping the paper off. He’s covered in tiny flecks of paste, plaster, and paper from scoring the walls, and he pours himself a glass of sweet tea before looking out the back window.
There’s one giant oak that stands in the center of the sweeping back yard, and shades an old iron bench that Jensen isn’t sure if he should work on or replace. Jensen’s staring at the green leaves, the way they shift in the breeze, and then movement out of the corner of his eye draws his focus down.
A guy is sitting on the bench. All Jensen can tell about him from his position is that his hair brushes his shoulders and he’s big. Otherwise his face is pointed into the sun, and that makes him a black outline that Jensen peers at for a long time. He’s not sure what to do. He hasn’t met any of the neighbors yet, but Southern Hospitality laws say he shouldn’t call the cops or head out there yelling and chase the guy off.
Still. It’s a stranger in his yard, and Jensen hasn’t dealt with many strangers since his accident outside of medical professionals. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and then pours a second glass of sweet tea just in case.
The grass is a little prickly on his feet, the dirt underneath crumbly and warm, and Jensen makes it all the way to the bench before his twinging leg tells him he needs to sit down. He takes a spot beside the stranger without comment and then holds out the glass. Casual. He will be casual.
Here, with the sun causing him to squint, Jensen can see that the man is handsome. His shirt is white, cotton, and the long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows exposing corded forearms. His slacks are a soft gray, and he’s as shoeless as Jensen is. The hair is just as long as it looked from the kitchen window, and it’s a soft brown that catches the sunlight and reflects warm undertones. It hangs around a sculpted face, strong jaw, and shows off tan skin with little moles and generous pink lips. The man’s eyes are the best part of his face, multi-colored and shadowed by one huge hand as he looks at Jensen.
They sit in silence for several long seconds before the mouth curls into a bright smile and dimples appear.
“Well howdy neighbor. Thanks a bunch.” He takes the glass from Jensen and drinks long and slow, throat working rhythmically.
“Neighbor? Which house are you from?” Jensen sounds a little strangled, and he clears his throat and turns away from the guy to look out over the rest of the yard. Situated the way they are, at the top of a hill, he can see down into the end of Cedar Hill. They’re on the back of the suburb, and that means if he skips his eyes over the other tacked on block of houses he can look directly into the cedar forests that surround the town. Or the copse of trees on the edge of his new property. The yard is big, and Jensen makes a mental note to get a riding lawnmower.
The man gestures vaguely over his shoulder and then lowers the glass and holds out his free hand.
“Jared Padalecki. And you?”
Jensen takes the hand, feels the cool and firm grip, and shakes once firmly before letting go.
“Jensen Ackles. I live here with my partner Matt Cohen.”
Best to get it out in the open from the start Jensen has learned. See how the reaction is and roll with it from there. Jared’s smile stays put, neither strained nor enhanced, and Jensen relaxes just a fraction.
“Y’all moved in a couple days ago. Settling just fine?”
Jensen leans back, puts his hands down on the iron and feels the heat that the metal has soaked in from the sun. In the summer it will be unbearable to sit on, and that’s another point in the replace column. Getting a pad for it will require more upkeep, but it wouldn’t take long to make something new out of wood that would be easier to keep and more comfortable.
“Jensen?”
He snaps back to the present, shakes himself physically, and then offers an awkward smile.
“Sorry. Drifted off for a second there. Yeah. Yeah it’s a beautiful place.”
Jared laughs, head tilting back and lips parting to reveal bright white teeth. He takes another long swallow of tea before setting the glass down carefully on the bench beside him.
“Beautiful, huh? Needs an awful lot of work. Plus, word round these parts is it’s haunted.”
Jensen can’t help the sneer, and he narrows his eyes into the sun instead of focusing on Jared.
“I don’t believe in hocus pocus and working on old houses is my business.”
There’s a little hum beside him, the bench shifts, and then Jared’s voice is just as relaxed and friendly as it’s been since the beginning.
“Well she could use the love. In her heyday she was one mighty fine place. Can’t tell you how many balls were had here.”
Jensen glances sideways and feels his eyebrow lifting.
“You a history buff?”
Jared’s smile dims a little, and his bare toes dig into the earth.
“Something like that. I better get going. Thanks for the tea Jensen.”
Jensen watches him walk around the house, and when he’s disappeared Jensen leans back on the bench and drinks the last of his tea in the warm sunshine before returning to the dark and cool dining room to start stripping the paper off.
----
Matt comes home with Chinese, a peace offering, and Jensen takes it. A fourth of the wallpaper has been removed, and Matt gives it a look before taking dinner into the kitchen. They eat at the island and when Matt mentions that he might wrap up the car wreck he’s been working on for the last two years Jensen swallows his Lo Mein and then offers his own tidbit.
“I met a neighbor today.”
His boyfriend looks up from the laborious process of properly coating his eggroll with duck sauce to consider him for a long moment. Jensen isn’t sure if the look is positive or negative. When did he lose the ability to read Matt’s every expression?
Can Matt read his?
“Oh yeah? Good or bad?”
“Took the gay thing well. Little weird. Dressed kinda like an artist and…off. Just a little. But nice. Jared Padalecki.”
Matt swallows and then smiles. It’s honest, and Jensen smiles back.
“Well, if we have to live with kooks at least they’re not homophobic kooks. Which house is he?”
Jensen pauses and then realizes he never asked for clarification when Jared gestured.
“I’m not really sure. He didn’t get specific.”
“Well what does he do?”
Shit.
“I don’t know that either. We talked about the house mostly. He knew a lot about it.”
Matt rolls his eyes and crunches into the egg roll. He chews a long time before getting to the part Jensen didn’t want to hear.
“Great. More architecture enthusiasts. Does he get a boner from siding too?”
It’s a joke. Jensen knows it’s a joke. That doesn’t change the automatic defensive response that bubbles up to his lips and is barely smothered. He forces a grin and stands up to scrape his plate and rinse it.
“I didn’t ask. I’ll get around to it next time probably.”
Matt squints at his food and then pushes it away.
“Was he hot at least?”
Jensen drops his plate in the dishwasher and starts boxing up the leftovers and putting them away.
“No. Just kinda doofy and weird.”
Matt sleeps next to him that night, snoring softly, but Jensen lies awake listening to the house.
Masterpost
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