Superglue by darcydelaney for <user site="livejournal.com" user

[springflingmod.livejournal.com]

Title: Superglue
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
Any warnings: Mentions of supposed character death, mentions of panic attacks, Martian AU



Today’s the day.

If Jensen had known that this would happen, he would’ve insisted that Jared stay in Earth’s atmosphere. He would’ve had him take a job teaching aerospace engineering or something at the prestigious tech school across the city. He would’ve made Jared find some way of achieving his dream while still being able to breathe oxygen from the world around them, not some pressurized suit that made him look like the Pillsbury Dough-Boy.

But he hadn’t known this would happen, so instead, Jensen’s running on two straight days of no sleep and sitting in the living room in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his nerves shot, waiting to find out if he’ll ever get another chance to complain to Jared about his ridiculous hair or his apparent inability to put his dishes in the dishwasher. He tucks his legs underneath him on the couch and forces himself to watch the TV, where a reporter with too-perfect hair and too-white teeth is standing in the middle of a throng of people in New York City, all waiting for the same thing as him.

“I’m Lauren Mitchell, reporting live from Times Square, where thousands of people are waiting for the outcome of NASA’s attempt at one of the most daring rescues in history.”

Jensen takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee. His stomach grumbles in protest, unhappy with his recent diet staples of coffee and Doritos; Jensen rests his free hand over it and considers ordering something. It’d shut his stomach up, and maybe help take his mind off things.

“As most of the country--and the world--probably knows, botanist Jared Padalecki, part of NASA’s latest team sent to Mars, was left abandoned after being presumed dead following a devastating sandstorm that separated him from his crewmates. Tonight, those very same crewmates have altered their course. They’re now en route to Mars and will attempt the near-impossible rescue mission to bring him back home.”

And just like that, Jensen’s appetite is gone again.

He traces a finger over the crack in his coffee mug, still visible even after he tried to superglue it back together so long ago. It’s stupid, just a mug with the logo for the Game of Life on it--Jared had given it to him last year for his birthday with the reasoning, “It’s because I’m glad you’re in my ‘Life’. Get it? Get it, Jen?” Jensen smiles to himself as he thinks back to the memory; It’s cheesy, but it’s also his favorite mug, and he had been drinking from it--and then dropped it--on the sunny Wednesday morning when he heard the news.

Jared Padalecki, the guy who loved dogs almost as much as he loved Jensen, whose drunken hobby was counting the freckles sprinkled across Jensen’s nose, who didn’t lead Jensen into any lightposts after his Lasik surgery (even though he’d regularly joked that he would), his husband of almost two years, the man Jensen loved so goddamn much, had been killed on Mars.

Someone could have punched him in the face over and over again on that day, and Jensen’s confident he wouldn’t have felt it. The hollowness in his gut, in his entire being, something only Jared could fill, made him sick.

He’d pushed off funeral arrangements for as long as he could. It didn’t matter that the vitals in Jared’s suit had dropped to zero, and that that had been the reason why his crewmates left in the first place. It didn’t matter that his suit had been pierced by something in the storm, that he was critically injured, that he ran out of oxygen. Jared was Superman; he would’ve gotten through it.

Except that he hadn’t.

Eventually, Jensen had forced himself through the wake and funeral, the endless questions and well-wishes and reheated casseroles people had dropped off for dinner. He had tried to keep going, to resume some sense of normalcy in his newly-overturned life, and went back to work after a couple of weeks. He’d missed his kids, the smell of chalk and shitty cafeteria food and slamming locker doors. His AP English students were scheduled to start reading A Farewell to Arms soon, which he’d been looking forward to teaching them all year; he didn’t want to miss it.

He’d lasted a week before dissolving into a panic attack in the middle of class. The only thing he remembered from that day was that his kids were taking a test, the room was silent, and suddenly his head was on his desk and he had broken down, barely able to breathe through the heaving sobs shuddering through his body. He’d been faintly aware of his kids gathering around him, a rush of concerned voices for what seemed like ages until one of the kids had alerted the principal, who gently led Jensen into his office and suggested that he take an “extended vacation.”

He’d spent a straight week holed up in his--their, not his--apartment, crying and sleeping and drinking to his heart’s content, but it had never seemed like enough. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to erase the sting of knowing that Jared wouldn’t be in his life anymore. Looking at photos of them together had made him cringe and burst into tears, and he’d sob and scream into pillows until he was exhausted and punch walls until his knuckles bled.

Finally, an intervention of sorts from some of his best friends had spurred trips to several therapists and experiments with antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds. It had taken him nearly three months to find the right therapist and the right combination of prescriptions, but once he had, he finally felt steady enough to return to work, to restart and try everything again.

“Originally presumed dead, it was discovered months later, after careful scrutinization of satellite footage, that Padalecki was indeed alive.”

That had been an...interesting day, when the world found out that Jared was still breathing. Jensen had decided to effectively shut out the world on that day, a bright, sunny Saturday in May, in an effort to focus on his students’ work. The end of the school year was coming up fast, and he had already missed too much time and was backlogged with essays to read and tests to grade, so he’d closed out his email and turned his phone off in an effort to knock them out. He didn’t hear the news until Chris and Steve had nearly caved in his front door with their knocking and yelling, demanding to know why the fuck Jensen wasn’t answering his phone.

Jensen had been stunned. He’d spent so much time grieving for the most important person in his life, and now all of that was irrelevant. He’d just started to regain some semblance of a normal life, only to have it thrown sideways and trashed once more because Jared was alive. He’d been pretty sure that Chris and Steve had been expecting him to cry and hug them and maybe even pass out. Instead, Jensen had bolted past them into the bathroom and puked.

Then the crying and hugging had started.

“Against impossible odds, Padalecki had created quite a life for himself on the Red Planet.”

Jensen scoffs softly. Yeah, Jared had definitely created a life for himself, that’s for sure. He’d learned to portion his food out--something he had no idea how to do on Earth, if his ability to inhale an entire pizza in one sitting was any indication--and create his very own garden of potatoes on a virtually uninhabitable planet. He’d kept himself warm through the freezing cold Mars nights, and for all intents and purposes, hadn’t gone insane during this period of extreme isolation, which had surprised nearly everyone who saw the footage of him walking around and tending to his makeshift outpost.

Despite his occasional snarky thoughts about Jared’s off-planet survival skills, Jensen is proud of him. He can’t wait for Jared to be home, to be able to hug him and hold his face in his hands and tell him that over and over and over again.

“NASA and its constituents have been doing all they can to bring Padalecki back safely, and the culmination of their efforts will take place tonight.”

When they first asked, Jensen hadn’t wanted to visit the Command Center. He had known that this wasn’t the fault of Jared’s crewmates; hell, all of them had been over their house for dinner at one time or another, and Jensen knew how much they cared for each other. Despite that, though, he still felt uncomfortable being in such a sterile place where everyone would undoubtedly pour on the pity thick enough to last for the rest of his life.

Once they had offered him the chance to talk to Jared, though, he couldn’t refuse.

It hadn’t been much--just a crude instant messaging system, neon green letters against a black screen.

JARED? JARED IT’S JENSEN

Jensen had felt like an eternity had passed as he stared at the blinking cursor, waiting for a response, when finally I LOVE YOU JEN popped up on the screen, followed quickly by IM COMING HOME I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD

And Jensen had had to try really, really hard not to cry at that. Word undoubtedly would’ve gotten around if he had, and Jared never would’ve let him forget it if he’d heard about Jensen crying in front of his coworkers.

Before and after their chat session, countless NASA representatives had apologized profusely for the undue stress the mission had caused, but refused to brief Jensen on their upcoming rescue plan in its entirety. Nevertheless, he had heard people throw the word “risky” around several times, and that shit did nothing to quell his nerves.

“NASA remains cautiously optimistic about the outcome of this mission, and all that we can do now is hope and wait.”

Lots of people had invited Jensen over to hear the news with them, or offered to come to his place—Chris and Steve, Misha and Danneel from work, Jared’s family, NASA themselves—but Jensen had politely declined them all. He’s spent so long with so many pairs of eyes on him, always making sure he was okay and not about to have a nervous breakdown or collapse into a downward spiral. He knows they mean well, but he doesn’t want anyone to see his reaction to hearing the news, about if Jared will make it home.

When, he reminds himself firmly, his gut squirming in frustration at his own doubt. Not if; when. To convince himself further, Jensen starts making a list in his head of things they’ll do together, when Jared gets home.

They’re going to renew their vows. Jensen will finally give in to Jared’s pestering and go on the Tower of Terror at Disney World. They’ll get a dog. They’ll fall asleep on the couch, wake up with cricks in their necks, go for breakfast at their favorite diner, then go back home and fall asleep again. They’ll spend a weekend in New York City and try their luck at getting Hamilton tickets.

There’s one thing he knows he’s absolutely not going to do--Jensen is not going to grieve for Jared again. He won’t, because Jared will make it out of this and come back home alive. He will.

The scene in Times Square is so quiet, Jensen has to check and see if he accidentally put the TV on mute. Everyone is on edge, waiting to hear the news, and Jensen wants to throw up. His limbs are lead, he can’t move for the life of him, he doesn’t even want to blink for fear of missing something. His hands start to tremble, and he tightens his grip on the mug, the breathing exercises his therapist taught him running through his mind. Deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth.

Suddenly, Lauren Mitchell puts two fingers to her ear, as if to hear something better, then nods before turning back to the camera.

“We’re going to patch in the radio system from NASA…”

There’s a crackle of static feedback, and then--

“Ground Control, this is Commander Genevieve Cortese--we got him. We’ve got him, he’s oka--”

There’s a smash as Jensen’s hold on the coffee mug goes slack and it drops to the floor, shattering into several pieces.

He’s going to need a lot more superglue.