The Texas Resistance - Springfling fic
Apr. 24th, 2014 08:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberdreamsSo, turns out this one was me - did anyone guess?
Title: The Texas Resistance
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (mild)
Rating: R (mainly for the odd F word)
Any warnings: Future AU. Hurt!Jensen. Schmoop. Unbeta'd
Word count: 2497 (Including title!)
Giftee:
yohkobennington
The Texas Resistance
There’s no sound in the underground bunker but the harsh rapid rasp of his own breathing, but Jensen can’t relax. Every nerve’s zinging like he’s been tasered, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins won’t allow exhaustion to take hold. He can feel blood trickling down his forehead and knows the numbness in his left shoulder is not a good sign, but he can’t move, not yet.
The National Guard had been waiting for them; Jim’s resistance cell had been lemmings hurling themselves off a fucking cliff. Jensen’s brain is stuck in a loop – betrayed betrayed betrayed. Someone must have informed on them, handed them over to the Guard gift wrapped and tied up in a sparkly bow. Jensen’s hand is shaking as he brushes sweat and blood out of his eyes. He ignores the weakness and leans his head back against the cool metal ladder he’d just slid down. He stares unseeing at the rust-pitted underside of the trapdoor, and wonders how long it will be before he’s found and dragged away. He’s pretty sure no one else survived, and although he doesn’t want to die, he almost doesn’t want to live either, if all his comrades are gone. The thought of attempting to find another resistance cell or fighting on alone isn’t something he feels up to contemplating right now.
At least the bunker’s well stocked with fuel, food and medical supplies. If its location hasn’t been compromised, Jensen should be safe here for a while. He’ll have to dig out that med kit in a bit; he’ll just rest his burning eyes first. If only he could stop seeing Jim’s head exploding; the blood blossoming like an obscene flower as Kira went down; the way Steve’s arms and legs had flailed helpless as a rag doll being thrown by a child…
Jensen must have lost consciousness because when he becomes aware of his surroundings again what seems like a minute later, he’s not alone any more. Worse, he’s no longer at the foot of the ladder; he’s been moved onto one of the pallet beds by the wall. The pillow smells faintly of perfume, so he thinks it must be Kira’s bed. The pain in his arm and shoulder is raging, vying for attention with the throbbing of his head, but for the moment Jensen shoves it all down.
He can hear someone moving about the bunker, so he keeps his eyes firmly shut while he tries to glean as much information as he can.
He thinks there is only one person present; he can’t hear any hint of conversation but he’s able to track movement by the rather tuneless whistling that is going on under the intruder’s breath. After a few seconds it’s actually fucking irritating, and Jensen’s having a hard time not to react. He can feel the air brushing against the bare skin of his chest as the person passes close by and he realises whoever it is must have undressed him. He shifts his hips minutely and confirms that, yeah, his gun has gone from where he’d stuffed it down the waistband of his jeans. So are his jeans. Well, fuck. This is just getting better by the minute.
“I know you’re awake,” a male voice says. The bastard has the nerve to sound amused. “You may as well stop pretending and open your eyes.”
Jensen’s eyes open involuntarily, and he winces as, dim though it is, the light hits his retinas like a blow. It takes him a few seconds to adjust and he can’t help wincing at the pain. Before he can focus, there’s a warm arm slipping under his head and he’s being gently propped up with a couple of extra pillows.
“M’not an invalid,” Jensen mutters, but his protest is half-hearted at best, in the face of the blaze of agony from what feels like his whole left side, from waist to the tips of his hair.
“Yeah, you kind of are,” the guy says, and Jensen’s view is filled with a wide white smile that is tinged with worry. The smile is accompanied by dimples that are discernable even through the scruff on the guy’s chin. Jensen almost closes his eyes again at the irony. Just his luck that his rescuer (or possible traitor) is someone Jensen’s had a crush on since he first saw him; must be over a year ago now.
“Padalecki.” Jensen says, his voice flat. “What are you doing here? How’d you know about this place?”
Jared Padalecki, lately appointed second in command of Cell 762, looks away, smile dimming. Jensen knows about Jared, because he knows all sorts of things he shouldn’t, having used all his resources to keep an eye on this young man’s career within the Resistance. Jensen was unwilling to admit even to himself why he should be interested in such a minor player in this underground war of theirs. Normally a stickler for the Rules, Jensen had broken them over and over when it came to getting information about Jared.
When Padalecki turns back to Jensen, his face has hardened and he looks so much older than his years that Jensen’s heart aches in time with his body.
“Jeff showed me the location of this bunker a while back. Said I should know, in case…in case anything happened to him.”
Jensen closes his eyes and wants to give into the heaviness that weighs him down. Not Jeff too. He must have said it out loud, because Padalecki responds.
“Yeah, Jeff and all my Cell. We had intel that there was going to be a weapons drop over at the warehouse on 24th street. I think Jeff must have suspected there was something hinky about it, because he told me to stay back. He went in with Mike and Rachel and…and…”
“It was an ambush.” Jensen completes Jared’s sentence for him, knowing the story because it matches his own. He opens his eyes again, fixes his gaze on Jared. There isn’t a scratch on the man, so it’s still possible Padalecki is involved in this debacle somehow. Jensen doesn’t want to think it, but. He can’t be certain.
“What happened to the rest of your cell? How’d you escape?”
Jared sits back on his heels and runs a distractingly large hand through over-long hair. Jensen thinks either the kid is one hell of an actor, or he’s genuinely devastated. Where Jared had looked too old moments before, now he looks much too young to contain this amount of sorrow. Jensen desperately wants to stretch out his good arm and draw the kid in, but even if he’d been physically able, he would have held back. He hates how suspicious this life has made them all.
“It was Raj. He pulled me away when the shooting started, then he got between me and the Guard, took a bullet for me.” Jared looked up then, staring Jensen right in the eyes, and Jensen wasn’t proof against a gaze that candid, that raw.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t come straight here, and I’m sure I wasn’t followed.” Jensen wanted to protest that he’d never thought Jared would do that, but it would have been a lie. Jared’s lip curled a little at the expression on Jensen’s face and if Jensen hadn’t been marinating in so much pain, he’d have felt a stab of guilt.
“I cleaned up after you too. You’d left a blood trail up there, would have led the Guard right here eventually.”
Jensen isn’t churlish enough not to thank a guy for doing him a favour, but when he lifts his head to speak, a wave of dizziness washes him away - thank yous, apologies, regrets and all.
When Jensen comes to again, Jared had evidently been busy. Medical supplies are arrayed on a small table next to Jensen’s head. He can see several bottles of pills, the electric light striking amber through a large bottle of Wild Turkey and the more ominous gleam of stainless steel – scalpels and tweezers. He swallows nervously. His throat feels as though he’s swallowing sandpaper. Jared is there in a flash, as if some sixth sense told him Jensen was awake.
“Take it easy. Here, drink this.”
Jared’s cradling Jensen’s head and a glass taps against his teeth. Jensen reluctantly allows Jared to feed him sips of blessedly cool, fresh water, then his thirst takes over and he’s swallowing in great gulps until the glass is empty.
“I’ve already stitched your head; that wound isn’t too bad, though I don’t know about the concussion. But I need to get the bullet out of your shoulder and I’m going to have to dig deep. You are going to need some of this if we are going to get you through.” Jared gestures to the various bottles and Jensen nods. He knows there is no choice, not really. He has to trust Jared. Fuck. He wants to trust Jared.
He is so screwed.
His hand is shaking too much to deal with the Vicodin’s childproof lid, so Jensen has to lay back, helpless as a baby, as Jared tips out a handful of tablets, then let Jared put the glass to his lips again to wash the drugs down with 101 proof. He can feel the whiskey burning its way down, warmth spreading out from his empty stomach. He can’t remember the last time he ate, and right now even the thought of food is making him queasy.
“How’s it feeling?” Jared’s question makes him start. Swimming for the surface, Jensen sniggers. The water feels nice against his naked skin, like silk.
“Skinny dipping is awesome,” Jensen declares. He wants to wave his hand but his arm’s too heavy, so he contents himself with an elaborate eye roll. Which makes him dizzy and giggly. “Dunno why we don’t do this more often.”
“Right. Um. I guess the drugs are working then,” Jared says, his face looking pinched and anxious. Jensen isn’t happy with that. Jared has a beautiful smile, he should smile more often. Jensen reckons it’s up to him to put that grin back onto Jared’s face.
“Dimples,” he says, the word puffing out so it blows a strand of Jared’s hair where the big man is now leaning over Jensen, so close Jensen could kiss him. So Jensen does. He brushes his lips against the red-brown stubble on Jared’s cheek, relishing the rasping burn. Jared lets out a small gasp, which makes Jensen giggle again. Jared moves away, and Jensen moans in disappointment.
“Oh boy. This is going to be harder than I thought,” Jared mutters as he carefully removes the extra pillows from under Jensen’s head, laying him back down flat. Jensen sighs. The bunker ceiling is really, really boring. So he dives underwater again, because yay! Swimming with the fishes beats staring at rust-stained concrete any day. He watches silver air bubbles rise from Jared’s mouth as he talks.
“This is going to hurt, in spite of the drugs. I have to tie you down so you can’t move, I can’t afford to slip.”
Jensen frowns as Jared Velcro straps his wrists to the bed, takes a moment to wonder where the straps came from, frowns a bit harder when Jared passes a wider strap over Jensen’s bare chest and round and under the bed because suddenly it’s hard to breathe and he’s not floating anymore he’s drowning because he’s fucking tied down.
“Hey, hey, take it easy, it’s okay. Just breathe, that’s it.” Jared is murmuring soft reassurances like he can read Jensen’s mind and “I’m not reading your mind, man, you’re just talking a lot.” Oh shit. Right.
Jensen takes a shuddering breath.
“I’ll stay still. Just. I can’t be tied down like this.”
He can see the doubt and concern in Jared’s eyes, then the moment Jared gives in. Jared takes a hefty swig from the whiskey bottle, offers Jensen another slug, which he accepts gratefully. At this rate the alcohol/drug mix would kill him before Jared’s scalpel has a chance to do much damage.
He must have said that out loud too, because Jared’s huffing a laugh and agreeing with him.
Then the straps are gone, and Jensen’s body relaxes even though he can still feel the dull throb all down his injured left side. Which gets ten times worse when Jared, now with his hair scraped back into a rather sexy ponytail to stop it getting in the way, picks up the knife and gets to work.
Jensen loses all sense of time, his world narrowed down to the grinding, bone-deep pain that refuses to let him slide back into comforting delirium, yet isn’t enough to tip him over into darkness. The drugs might not be killing the pain but at least they provide a level of detachment Jensen’s grateful for. It means he can concentrate on Jared.
Jared’s beautiful. Jensen had known it before, had seen it in the first moment he’d laid eyes on him, back when Jim had pointed out JD Morgan and told Jensen about the existence of Cell 762. All strictly against the Rules, and dangerous, oh so dangerous to know anything above and beyond your own cell.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Jared says with a small smile, and Jensen would have blushed if he’s had any blood left to spare. As it is, he’s not sure how he’s talking at all, as everything is becoming increasingly difficult. Jared tells him a couple of times to shut up but Jensen needs to stay awake and his brain won’t switch off the connection between his stupid thoughts and his mouth.
Then Jared’s finishing off, sewing Jensen up with more neat little stitches than his grandmother’s quilt, hands red right up to the wrists with Jensen’s blood and his face pinched and tired. Jared straightens up to his full impressive height, and Jensen hears his spine pop as he stretches, shirt riding up so Jensen can see the dark hairs that point the way down Jared’s stomach, to areas Jensen would very much like to explore at leisure.
Jared flushes and looks away, and Jensen thinks, oh. Not again.
“You don’t mean that,” Jared says, “it’s just the drugs talking.” Jared’s face is resigned, yet a little bit hopeful, and Jensen’s dick gives a tiny twitch at the idea that Jared might actually be interested.
“I’ll clean you up then go shower and shave,” Jared says, and that animates Jensen into one last burst of energy. His good hand fumbles and connects as he grabs onto Jared’s wrist. Hangs on as long as he can.
“Don’t shave!” Jensen pleads. “Want you to rub that stubble over every part of my body until all I can feel is you, making my skin burn.”
Jared stares right into Jensen’s eyes then, and that smile Jensen longed to see is back, lighting up the bunker.
“Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
Fin
Title: The Texas Resistance
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (mild)
Rating: R (mainly for the odd F word)
Any warnings: Future AU. Hurt!Jensen. Schmoop. Unbeta'd
Word count: 2497 (Including title!)
Giftee:
The Texas Resistance
There’s no sound in the underground bunker but the harsh rapid rasp of his own breathing, but Jensen can’t relax. Every nerve’s zinging like he’s been tasered, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins won’t allow exhaustion to take hold. He can feel blood trickling down his forehead and knows the numbness in his left shoulder is not a good sign, but he can’t move, not yet.
The National Guard had been waiting for them; Jim’s resistance cell had been lemmings hurling themselves off a fucking cliff. Jensen’s brain is stuck in a loop – betrayed betrayed betrayed. Someone must have informed on them, handed them over to the Guard gift wrapped and tied up in a sparkly bow. Jensen’s hand is shaking as he brushes sweat and blood out of his eyes. He ignores the weakness and leans his head back against the cool metal ladder he’d just slid down. He stares unseeing at the rust-pitted underside of the trapdoor, and wonders how long it will be before he’s found and dragged away. He’s pretty sure no one else survived, and although he doesn’t want to die, he almost doesn’t want to live either, if all his comrades are gone. The thought of attempting to find another resistance cell or fighting on alone isn’t something he feels up to contemplating right now.
At least the bunker’s well stocked with fuel, food and medical supplies. If its location hasn’t been compromised, Jensen should be safe here for a while. He’ll have to dig out that med kit in a bit; he’ll just rest his burning eyes first. If only he could stop seeing Jim’s head exploding; the blood blossoming like an obscene flower as Kira went down; the way Steve’s arms and legs had flailed helpless as a rag doll being thrown by a child…
Jensen must have lost consciousness because when he becomes aware of his surroundings again what seems like a minute later, he’s not alone any more. Worse, he’s no longer at the foot of the ladder; he’s been moved onto one of the pallet beds by the wall. The pillow smells faintly of perfume, so he thinks it must be Kira’s bed. The pain in his arm and shoulder is raging, vying for attention with the throbbing of his head, but for the moment Jensen shoves it all down.
He can hear someone moving about the bunker, so he keeps his eyes firmly shut while he tries to glean as much information as he can.
He thinks there is only one person present; he can’t hear any hint of conversation but he’s able to track movement by the rather tuneless whistling that is going on under the intruder’s breath. After a few seconds it’s actually fucking irritating, and Jensen’s having a hard time not to react. He can feel the air brushing against the bare skin of his chest as the person passes close by and he realises whoever it is must have undressed him. He shifts his hips minutely and confirms that, yeah, his gun has gone from where he’d stuffed it down the waistband of his jeans. So are his jeans. Well, fuck. This is just getting better by the minute.
“I know you’re awake,” a male voice says. The bastard has the nerve to sound amused. “You may as well stop pretending and open your eyes.”
Jensen’s eyes open involuntarily, and he winces as, dim though it is, the light hits his retinas like a blow. It takes him a few seconds to adjust and he can’t help wincing at the pain. Before he can focus, there’s a warm arm slipping under his head and he’s being gently propped up with a couple of extra pillows.
“M’not an invalid,” Jensen mutters, but his protest is half-hearted at best, in the face of the blaze of agony from what feels like his whole left side, from waist to the tips of his hair.
“Yeah, you kind of are,” the guy says, and Jensen’s view is filled with a wide white smile that is tinged with worry. The smile is accompanied by dimples that are discernable even through the scruff on the guy’s chin. Jensen almost closes his eyes again at the irony. Just his luck that his rescuer (or possible traitor) is someone Jensen’s had a crush on since he first saw him; must be over a year ago now.
“Padalecki.” Jensen says, his voice flat. “What are you doing here? How’d you know about this place?”
Jared Padalecki, lately appointed second in command of Cell 762, looks away, smile dimming. Jensen knows about Jared, because he knows all sorts of things he shouldn’t, having used all his resources to keep an eye on this young man’s career within the Resistance. Jensen was unwilling to admit even to himself why he should be interested in such a minor player in this underground war of theirs. Normally a stickler for the Rules, Jensen had broken them over and over when it came to getting information about Jared.
When Padalecki turns back to Jensen, his face has hardened and he looks so much older than his years that Jensen’s heart aches in time with his body.
“Jeff showed me the location of this bunker a while back. Said I should know, in case…in case anything happened to him.”
Jensen closes his eyes and wants to give into the heaviness that weighs him down. Not Jeff too. He must have said it out loud, because Padalecki responds.
“Yeah, Jeff and all my Cell. We had intel that there was going to be a weapons drop over at the warehouse on 24th street. I think Jeff must have suspected there was something hinky about it, because he told me to stay back. He went in with Mike and Rachel and…and…”
“It was an ambush.” Jensen completes Jared’s sentence for him, knowing the story because it matches his own. He opens his eyes again, fixes his gaze on Jared. There isn’t a scratch on the man, so it’s still possible Padalecki is involved in this debacle somehow. Jensen doesn’t want to think it, but. He can’t be certain.
“What happened to the rest of your cell? How’d you escape?”
Jared sits back on his heels and runs a distractingly large hand through over-long hair. Jensen thinks either the kid is one hell of an actor, or he’s genuinely devastated. Where Jared had looked too old moments before, now he looks much too young to contain this amount of sorrow. Jensen desperately wants to stretch out his good arm and draw the kid in, but even if he’d been physically able, he would have held back. He hates how suspicious this life has made them all.
“It was Raj. He pulled me away when the shooting started, then he got between me and the Guard, took a bullet for me.” Jared looked up then, staring Jensen right in the eyes, and Jensen wasn’t proof against a gaze that candid, that raw.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t come straight here, and I’m sure I wasn’t followed.” Jensen wanted to protest that he’d never thought Jared would do that, but it would have been a lie. Jared’s lip curled a little at the expression on Jensen’s face and if Jensen hadn’t been marinating in so much pain, he’d have felt a stab of guilt.
“I cleaned up after you too. You’d left a blood trail up there, would have led the Guard right here eventually.”
Jensen isn’t churlish enough not to thank a guy for doing him a favour, but when he lifts his head to speak, a wave of dizziness washes him away - thank yous, apologies, regrets and all.
When Jensen comes to again, Jared had evidently been busy. Medical supplies are arrayed on a small table next to Jensen’s head. He can see several bottles of pills, the electric light striking amber through a large bottle of Wild Turkey and the more ominous gleam of stainless steel – scalpels and tweezers. He swallows nervously. His throat feels as though he’s swallowing sandpaper. Jared is there in a flash, as if some sixth sense told him Jensen was awake.
“Take it easy. Here, drink this.”
Jared’s cradling Jensen’s head and a glass taps against his teeth. Jensen reluctantly allows Jared to feed him sips of blessedly cool, fresh water, then his thirst takes over and he’s swallowing in great gulps until the glass is empty.
“I’ve already stitched your head; that wound isn’t too bad, though I don’t know about the concussion. But I need to get the bullet out of your shoulder and I’m going to have to dig deep. You are going to need some of this if we are going to get you through.” Jared gestures to the various bottles and Jensen nods. He knows there is no choice, not really. He has to trust Jared. Fuck. He wants to trust Jared.
He is so screwed.
His hand is shaking too much to deal with the Vicodin’s childproof lid, so Jensen has to lay back, helpless as a baby, as Jared tips out a handful of tablets, then let Jared put the glass to his lips again to wash the drugs down with 101 proof. He can feel the whiskey burning its way down, warmth spreading out from his empty stomach. He can’t remember the last time he ate, and right now even the thought of food is making him queasy.
“How’s it feeling?” Jared’s question makes him start. Swimming for the surface, Jensen sniggers. The water feels nice against his naked skin, like silk.
“Skinny dipping is awesome,” Jensen declares. He wants to wave his hand but his arm’s too heavy, so he contents himself with an elaborate eye roll. Which makes him dizzy and giggly. “Dunno why we don’t do this more often.”
“Right. Um. I guess the drugs are working then,” Jared says, his face looking pinched and anxious. Jensen isn’t happy with that. Jared has a beautiful smile, he should smile more often. Jensen reckons it’s up to him to put that grin back onto Jared’s face.
“Dimples,” he says, the word puffing out so it blows a strand of Jared’s hair where the big man is now leaning over Jensen, so close Jensen could kiss him. So Jensen does. He brushes his lips against the red-brown stubble on Jared’s cheek, relishing the rasping burn. Jared lets out a small gasp, which makes Jensen giggle again. Jared moves away, and Jensen moans in disappointment.
“Oh boy. This is going to be harder than I thought,” Jared mutters as he carefully removes the extra pillows from under Jensen’s head, laying him back down flat. Jensen sighs. The bunker ceiling is really, really boring. So he dives underwater again, because yay! Swimming with the fishes beats staring at rust-stained concrete any day. He watches silver air bubbles rise from Jared’s mouth as he talks.
“This is going to hurt, in spite of the drugs. I have to tie you down so you can’t move, I can’t afford to slip.”
Jensen frowns as Jared Velcro straps his wrists to the bed, takes a moment to wonder where the straps came from, frowns a bit harder when Jared passes a wider strap over Jensen’s bare chest and round and under the bed because suddenly it’s hard to breathe and he’s not floating anymore he’s drowning because he’s fucking tied down.
“Hey, hey, take it easy, it’s okay. Just breathe, that’s it.” Jared is murmuring soft reassurances like he can read Jensen’s mind and “I’m not reading your mind, man, you’re just talking a lot.” Oh shit. Right.
Jensen takes a shuddering breath.
“I’ll stay still. Just. I can’t be tied down like this.”
He can see the doubt and concern in Jared’s eyes, then the moment Jared gives in. Jared takes a hefty swig from the whiskey bottle, offers Jensen another slug, which he accepts gratefully. At this rate the alcohol/drug mix would kill him before Jared’s scalpel has a chance to do much damage.
He must have said that out loud too, because Jared’s huffing a laugh and agreeing with him.
Then the straps are gone, and Jensen’s body relaxes even though he can still feel the dull throb all down his injured left side. Which gets ten times worse when Jared, now with his hair scraped back into a rather sexy ponytail to stop it getting in the way, picks up the knife and gets to work.
Jensen loses all sense of time, his world narrowed down to the grinding, bone-deep pain that refuses to let him slide back into comforting delirium, yet isn’t enough to tip him over into darkness. The drugs might not be killing the pain but at least they provide a level of detachment Jensen’s grateful for. It means he can concentrate on Jared.
Jared’s beautiful. Jensen had known it before, had seen it in the first moment he’d laid eyes on him, back when Jim had pointed out JD Morgan and told Jensen about the existence of Cell 762. All strictly against the Rules, and dangerous, oh so dangerous to know anything above and beyond your own cell.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Jared says with a small smile, and Jensen would have blushed if he’s had any blood left to spare. As it is, he’s not sure how he’s talking at all, as everything is becoming increasingly difficult. Jared tells him a couple of times to shut up but Jensen needs to stay awake and his brain won’t switch off the connection between his stupid thoughts and his mouth.
Then Jared’s finishing off, sewing Jensen up with more neat little stitches than his grandmother’s quilt, hands red right up to the wrists with Jensen’s blood and his face pinched and tired. Jared straightens up to his full impressive height, and Jensen hears his spine pop as he stretches, shirt riding up so Jensen can see the dark hairs that point the way down Jared’s stomach, to areas Jensen would very much like to explore at leisure.
Jared flushes and looks away, and Jensen thinks, oh. Not again.
“You don’t mean that,” Jared says, “it’s just the drugs talking.” Jared’s face is resigned, yet a little bit hopeful, and Jensen’s dick gives a tiny twitch at the idea that Jared might actually be interested.
“I’ll clean you up then go shower and shave,” Jared says, and that animates Jensen into one last burst of energy. His good hand fumbles and connects as he grabs onto Jared’s wrist. Hangs on as long as he can.
“Don’t shave!” Jensen pleads. “Want you to rub that stubble over every part of my body until all I can feel is you, making my skin burn.”
Jared stares right into Jensen’s eyes then, and that smile Jensen longed to see is back, lighting up the bunker.
“Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
Fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-24 09:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-24 09:06 am (UTC)Love this so much!
Didn't guess it was you either : ) x
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-24 09:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-24 09:45 am (UTC)I love the wartime atmosphere in the first half, and I especially love the part towards the end. Drugged Jensen is adorable!!!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-24 12:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-24 07:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-25 02:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-26 04:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-26 11:37 am (UTC)So bummed you stopped before the stubble-rubbing scene, though! ;)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-04-26 02:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
Date: 2014-12-22 12:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-09-10 09:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From: