Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5552885.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki
  Additional Tags:
      Psychopathology_&_Sociopathy, Serial_Rapist_Jared, Past_Rape/Non-con,
      Abduction, Kidnapping, Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, Religious_Imagery_&
      Symbolism, References_to_Hannibal_Lecter, Cannibalism, God_Complex,
      Bottom_Jensen, Top_Jared
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-27 Words: 5122
****** Like Plucking Wings From Butterflies ******
by hellhoundsprey
Summary
     Jared happens to run into one of his former Flowers. Something divine
     takes place.
Jared fails to feel much. Nothing at all at most times, if he is being honest.
There are those little ups and downs like most people have (Probably? Maybe?)
but he is quite sure that theirs and his differ quite a lot. Most people don't
get a kick out of spotting a new reliable source for fake IDs. Most people
can't cherish the weight of a yet untouched bottle of chloroform in their
hands. Jared is different. He always was.
The infamous and moreover imaginary Dr. Lecter surely wouldn't approve of Jared
comparing himself to him. Jared can't blame him. He is aware that he is scum,
lowest of the low, feeding from the bottom and still moaning about the taste.
But like that doctor from the novels and TV, Jared feels a certain invisible
wall between other humans and himself. They are on the other side while Jared
is on his own. He watches them and they resemble cattle. Worthless. Another
species. Despicable, dirty, insignificant. Jared is something special.
Everybody seems to agree that Jared is oozing sublimity. It was hard to hide
when he was younger but he knows the rules now. He learned that he can't
straight up tell his admirers what to do - even though they'd obey in an
instant. Peers had killed their pets for him, gave him their toys just to watch
them burn in the greedy flames of a match-lit fire. There had been tears but
they never complained. He had promised them his friendship, after all - the
gain outweighed the loss. Unfortunately, the parents hadn't been as approving
of Jared's benediction as their children. Jared watched his mother's mouth
gaping whilst on the phone with Clara's shrill-voiced parent. The (many)
following therapists clearly weren't to be trusted. Jared had always been
excellent at sorting worthy from vile. It's in their eyes. It's always the
eyes. So he told them what he soon found out was what they needed to hear in
order to tell his parents that he was, in fact, just a nice little boy, maybe a
bit lonely, but no need to worry. Maybe he's highly gifted. Had they thought
about violin or piano lessons for Jared Tristan?
While others studied math, chemistry, English, Jared studied human behavior.
Such a fragile system. Perfect for manipulation. Jared had become a brilliant
actor by the end of grade school and joined the theater club for the sole joy
of turning an entire parent-filled hall silent first and hoarse with cheering
later. He let them participate in his gift. He grew out of this habit
eventually - those people are unworthy.
Dr. Lecter would call them "pigs" and would slice them up, arrange them on
plate like an haute cuisine chef would with everything "not long pig". Jared
wonders if he would have chosen the same path if he had happened to stumble
upon the novels earlier. There is a lot of sympathy for the doctor, his grace,
his skill. Hannibal is enrapturing people with the façade he is wearing, just
like Jared. Without a doubt, there are things connecting them, Jared concludes.
But Jared is not like that. Jared is exceptional.
He doesn't kill, doesn't even hurt - not really. That would miss the entire
point. No. He wants them to live on. Of course he does. They ought to remember
him, the ghost, the presence of him. Even though their numbers and Jared's age
are racing to get even, nobody has caught him yet. And they won't. Nobody.
Ever. Jared has long shook off the status of cattle.
He is picking flowers now. Beautiful, blooming flowers.
Jared can tell that they're special, better. They deserve to know. They need to
be branded so that even the cattle can tell: this person was worthy of Jared
Tristan Padalecki's attention. Interest. Affection. Love. The closest to love
Jared think he will be able to come, that is.
He can't let them see or hear him. That's not the issue (and taken care of
rather easy with blindfolds, earplugs, headphones). They don't need to. It's
enough to touch, to move, to let them know he is there. Bound tight and reduced
to sensation, he can present them all of his love like a thick concentrate.
Edges are fuzzy all the way around the picking and dropping off, all thanks to
drugs that are so easy to get. Most Flowers happen to be lightweights anyway.
It's like it's all laid out for Jared - so easy, so accessible. If there really
is a god, then this is what he has created Jared for. There is no doubt.
Worldly possessions are nothing to Jared. This comes in handy as he cruises
state after state, meadow after meadow. Just to be safe. No city twice, several
years before returning to the same state - it could go on forever. Will go on
forever. Horny cattle equals constant supply.
Flowers come in all shapes and sizes, in every color. Most bloom around twelve
to fifteen. Jared decides when he sees them on the street, in shopping malls,
cinemas. There are several signals, some more and some less obvious to the eye
and some completely invisible. Social media is a blessing for the next steps
but Jared has to see them in person first; it's crucial. Pictures and videos
don't smile or pout or shout, don't beam and vibrate against Jared's retinas -
they don't set fire to the air. Jared is discreet. He's a shadow and he prefers
it that way.
It's Mississippi now, some city ending on "-a". Jared decides on the anonymous
kind of diner, just something quick, just something to calm his stomach. It's
five in the afternoon and Jared unfolds the local newspaper as soon as he sits
down. He knows what he wants to order anyway.
The waiter strolls next to him; Jared sees it in the corner of his eye. "What
can I get you?" he hears.
Hands cradling a sorry little notepad. Gnawed at pencil balanced between
slender fingers.
Something strange is happening to Jared. He wants to raise his chin, turn his
head, see the waiter's face. That's never happened before. Why would he...?
And then it dawns on Jared. And once it settled in, quiet and innocent like a
bird landing on a branch, Jared does raise his chin and does turn his head, and
he looks straight up into the young man's face.
Jensen Ross Ackles, born March first in Dallas, Texas, has his eyes lowered on
the notepad instead of Jared's face. "You need another minute?"
"No," Jared decides. "The caesar salad and garlic bread, please."
"You got it." Jared watches the boy wandering off to pass Jared's order on to
the kitchen.
How odd. This is the first time Jared has seen one of his Flowers after the
picking.
He spends his stay at the diner pretending to eat and read. Hair and rims of
glasses hide the glances across the room to Jensen, tall and handsome and grown
young man Jensen. Jared gleams with secret pride about his achievement - and
finds joy in that. He knows he can't get too carried away. Savoring his meal
and the view, Jared takes in what he made possible.
There is something about Jensen Ross Ackles. Even cattle can see it; it's
nothing that could be hidden. Flowers are unable to keep it secret, unlike
Jared, and that's how it is supposed to be. They should be seen. Nobody but the
closest of the closest of Jensen's family and some doctors know about the
source of it, of this mesmerizing something surrounding Jensen Ross like a halo
of light, and nobody actually understands but Jared. Nobody but Jared. Only
Jared, forever Jared, because Jared saw it long before the others. Jared is all
over Jensen, every pore of his body and reinforced into the code of Jensen's
DNA. Cells may die and replace, but Jared is in Jensen until that heart
eventually stops beating one distant, distant day. Jared made sure of that.
And he remembers Jensen. Remembers the humid air of the day of the picking,
Jensen's dusty knees, the sweat in those tiny palms that gripped Jared's much
much bigger one which pressed the holy chloroform-drenched cloth over a too-
loud mouth. So loud in fact that the usual gag wasn't enough. Jared had to
stuff the hollow of Jensen's mouth with cotton until that candy tongue couldn't
even stir anymore. Jensen had looked positively heart-wrenching with tears and
snot running their ways down his baseball practice tanned face, pooling on
upper lip. Jared had wiped and kissed them away and traced the gag straps'
impressions in that skin as a parting gift to himself once Jensen had been
harmless once more - the last time, right after cleaning and dressing, right
before the dropping in a field two hours from where Jared had taken him. Jared
usually keeps his Flowers for not much longer than three days. But Jensen?
Jensen he had kept for six.
What a great work of art Jared had left for the world to enjoy, he thinks. In
the little time Jared spends in the diner, more than a dozen eyes are restless
on his former Flower. Warm cheeks. Freckled skin. Soft, dirty-blonde strands of
hair, summer-pale lashes. Elegant, slim nose. Maybe a hundred and fifty pounds
on what may barely be six feet. Beautiful enough to cry over, to kill for. It's
enough to take Jared aback - and that says a lot.
Jared wonders. If he hadn't picked Jensen back then, would he do it now? Is it
possible for a Flower like Jensen to bloom beyond the first spring? Would it
still be as beautiful, as incomparable as it had been those seven years, ten
months and sixteen days ago? Maybe not. Probably not. Jared had never given a
single thought to this option yet.
But now, he wonders.
Jensen is polite and shining, full of summer sun and youth. He must be twenty
now, almost old enough to drink, maybe a college student. A part time job at a
place like this is nothing Jared would have wanted for any of his Flowers. They
deserve so much more. Must be a college student. Must. Or an actor. A dancer.
Something. Everything but a simple, sad waiter at a lousy diner.
Jared sees Jensen smiling; smiling at him, at the undeniable but yet controlled
attention of Jared's eyes. Jensen is a smart boy. Very attentive. Top student
of his class, star of the baseball team - "bright future" had been stamped upon
his forehead and had made him shine too bright for Jared not to notice. Jared
watches the boy licking his lips before coming up to Jared's table, legs still
as bowed as back then. There's a thrill in Jensen at the sight of Jared. Maybe
his body remembers.
Jensen's smile is warm as he picks up Jared's empty plate. "Anything else,
sir?"
Those lashes droop almost sadly as Jared states his, "No, thanks." Jared blinks
slowly behind his glasses, can feel the aura of a once familiar body reaching
him over the small distance. Jensen, like every Flower, has a certain scent and
heat that is similar among all of them. One of the many signals for Jared.
And twenty-year-old Jensen Ross Ackles beams with it, with the shy move of lips
that kiss before they breathe, "Okay," a sigh so similar to what Jared still
remembers from what used to be his.
Jensen was counted among those who end up welcoming Jared. There are the ones
who don't stop crying until the very last second, the ones who fight him, the
ones who break to useless pieces - and there are the ones Jared likes to call
Butterflies.
Butterflies go through all the same phases as the other Flowers, maybe leave
out the one or another. In contrast to regular Flowers though, they ascend into
something more beautiful than Jared could have thought possible if he hadn't
witnessed it with his own eyes. Jared is initiating a metamorphosis that will
bring out the highest accessible shine of a Flower.
Jared's picking is their chrysalis.
Jensen had skipped the truly ugly fighting in favor of having his first true,
pure orgasms milked from him. Jared had felt the resistance falling apart, felt
it being replaced by devotion and love and everything that makes a Flower so
breathtaking, and he had given Jensen enough of him to last the boy a lifetime
of Jared's grace. Jensen had been the kind of Flower who would grow up needing
to be fucked within an inch of his life to come close to feeling anything at
all.
Jared looks up at his aged Butterfly, skips pushing his glasses back in place
which would only spare the boy from those eyes. No, he just looks and makes his
throat all soft when he ponders, "Oh. Maybe... maybe just another coffee..." A
playful gaze on Jensen's chest where his name tag sits like a sale sign. "...
Jensen."
Jared imagines he can taste Jensen's little laugh. "Sure thing."
The coffee becomes two coffees, and an innocent shared gaze over Jared's
newspaper becomes a tale about Jared's "identity". He is Sam Wesson and a
journalist on a mission from his publisher. What story Sam is working on? Jared
laughs sweetly and tells Jensen it's a secret. At some point, Jensen's coworker
sneers something about working instead of flirting his way to a big tip. Jensen
glares but doesn't deny the accusation, searches Jared's face for a hint of
rejection. Jared makes Sam smile a little warmer, makes Sam's eyes dreamier,
and Jared can practically taste Jensen back in his mouth.
Jensen tries to look shy and demure as he vows a dozen times that he usually
doesn't do something like this, sir, that he's not "that" kind of boy. Jared
doesn't even let Sam believe it and smacks Jensen's ass as the boy struggles
with fitting the key into his tiny apartment's lock. No complaint, faster
movements, hitching breath. Yeah. Jared knows exactly what Jensen needs from
him.
It's Jared's first time with someone old enough to legally consent. With anyone
else but Jensen, it probably wouldn't work. Jared touches himself over the
straining fly of his jeans, pets what once barely fit into Jensen's body.
Jensen won't be able to tell it's him. The kid has grown; it won't feel the
same as back then. Jared will have Jensen fucked by Sam, not himself, not
Jared, so it should be fine. Jensen might be a Butterfly, but Jared is Jared.
The memory of undressing an unconscious, small and fragile Jensen is
overlapping with new images, with Jensen's own hands peeling clothes from his
skin instead of Jared's so much wider, so much veinier ones. Jared knows Jensen
wants him because he is older, because Jensen can feel helpless and vulnerable
under him again. Like in the chrysalis. Like with Jared. Because Jensen misses
Jared, needs him even though he doesn't know that himself. Therapists probably
diagnosed him with hypersexuality, with masochism, PTSD, self-harm. Jensen
probably was told his mind is trying to process his trauma by putting himself
through similar situations over and over and over, that he is not truly gay,
that he doesn't truly enjoy getting his ass fucked. They have no idea.
Jared told Jensen to strip with a one-word order because he knows Jensen needs
to be treated like a doll, an object, like the little boy he used to be - all
tied up like a beautiful present for a man two times his age, unable to move,
to complain, to scream. Jensen loves to be leered at as if Sam wanted to eat
him alive, as if Sam was about to jump the pretty naked body that shivers just
on this side of credible shyness. Jared knows it's excitement. Hope. Hope that
Sam will be a good fuck, that Sam will give Jensen what he needs, that Sam can
fill that black hole Jared once left without the intention to let it close ever
again. Jared palms himself a last time before moving in on the boy. If
everything fails, if Jensen truly is not enough of a Flower anymore, Jared can
still blame it on Sam's spontaneously occurring erectile dysfunction.
The stubble startles Jared but Sam kisses deep and with intention nevertheless.
Jensen melts against his chest. It feels weird to have the other part kissing
back. Jared does not particularly like it, not at first, but he must admit it's
satisfying to have this pressure of lips, the soft tongue swirling around his
own. Jensen wants him. Jensen runs his hands over Sam's body with awe and has
not a single clue that it is Jared's.
It works very well. Marvelous even; Jared is surprised, actually. Jared's knees
get almost as weak as if Jensen's hairlessness wasn't caused by duteous waxing
appointments. His groan is full and real when Jensen spreads his legs all by
himself, curls his fingers into Sam's hair and asks him if he likes his pussies
smooth, Sam, if he wants to mess it up real good. Jared remembers the first
protest of Jensen's hole against a tongue, a finger, a cock. Today, Jensen's
sobs sound different when Jared eats his ass hard enough to make his trained
jaw ache. Beautiful. Just like it's supposed to be. Jared's beautiful,
beautiful Butterfly.
Jared sees a Flower's eyes going wet for the first time ever when Jensen
catches a glimpse of what Sam pulls out of his underwear. "Oh God," Jensen
moans, and it's so full of desperation both for and against getting fucked with
it that Jared allows himself to drive it bare along that wet crease a few times
before requesting a condom. If Jensen even wants him to use one, that is.
Jensen almost pulls a muscle with how violently he is shaking his head. No,
sir, he's clean, he's really honestly clean, and he'd love nothing more but to
be bred by sir's fat, beautiful cock if sir wants that. It's funny, somehow,
because Jared never gives this choice to his Flowers - and now that he does,
it's dismissed this easily, this obviously. It's all laid out for Jared, always
is. He is acting out god's will.
They don't usually have their arms free to tug him closer (they wouldn't if
they could) and Jared really really doesn't like it when his Butterfly does,
pushes those wrists deep into the mattress and wished he had something to fix
them to. Jensen's voice is loud and too deep but once Jared has got those legs
hiked up on his shoulders, it gets better. Like when he was only a little boy,
Jensen shoots without a trace of a hand on his cock only a few minutes in,
shameless and happy and out of his mind just like Jared is drilling into him.
Jared watches and compares, tries not to notice how much more loose Jensen's
hole is. He didn't expect wonders, of course. Flowers aren't the same after he
is done with them. Some of their holes don't close up by the time he drops them
off, too shocked, too worn. Jensen's gape had lasted not longer than half an
hour at the most. Jensen had been perfect inside out.
While Sam presses one hand on Jensen's mouth and the other over his throat,
Jared wonders how many men Jensen has had since the picking. If any of them
could have given him what he was searching for, Jensen wouldn't be here with
Sam's cock hammering into his guts; that much Jared knows. He wonders if his
Butterfly is a cockslut, and he wonders it out loud. The movements of Jensen's
mouth against his palm - Jensen's sheer dedication to speak despite clearly not
being able to - drive goosebumps down Jared's spine.
Jared allows himself to come an hour later. His Butterfly can barely see
straight anymore but won't miss the sight of Sam's nine-and-something inches of
cock slipping from his destroyed hole for anything in the world. "Oh God," the
kid sobs again, trembling fingers meeting with Jared's over the slightly
prolapsed pink of his insides.
Jared sucks his come back out until Jensen is wailing in honest pain. Jared
knows the difference in those sounds. His mental catalogue has them all filed
down.
As Jared gets up, Jensen's weak hand touches his wrist. Sam looks down in
worry, wipes hair from forehead and kisses softly. "You can stay the night if
you want," his Butterfly croaks, almost inaudible with hoarseness. Jared's
fingers trace the marks he left on this pale neck as if they were made of
delicate ashes.
He mouths his, "No," adds a, "You should rest."
Those wide, green eyes let Jared witness something beautiful: hope fades,
devastation settles in. It's a quick process and Jared isn't used to actually
seeing it, but he is able to follow nevertheless.
Jared's heart is as open as it hadn't been for a long, long time.
A soft palm to a cheek, forehead against forehead. "We could do this again if
you want to," Jared whispers, kisses.
Change in atmosphere, in weather, in body temperature, celestial
constellations. His Butterfly breathes, "Yes," and nearly chokes on his
gratitude.
So Jared returns to the diner again the next day. It's not Jensen who comes up
to his table though, but they have a message from Jensen. They tell him Jensen
wasn't exactly "fit" for work today and that Sam should drop by his apartment.
Jared feels the uneasiness in that voice, that body language, and maybe this
has happened a few times now. Maybe Jared is just another of Jensen's many
flings, sugar daddies, sirs. Maybe the coworker thinks Jared is disgusting for
hooking up with a young thing like Jensen, wonders what the fuck he has done to
Jensen to make him miss work.
They can all go to hell. Jensen is a consenting adult now. Nobody can lock
Jared up for that.
Jensen is pale but asks Jared to fuck him again nevertheless. Jared lets Sam go
softer, cradles Jensen's perky little ass in his wide palms as he heaves him up
and down his lap. Jensen cries and begs for more, harder, deeper, come on, man,
but Jared knows when to go slow and when not. Jensen's ass might be able to
take a lot but Jared has no interest in damaging him permanently - not in that
way, at least. He had taken that from Jensen Ross a long time ago. This is not
what Jared is after here.
Jensen doesn't talk much. Usually, he dozes off once they are done, exhausted,
empty, contended. Jared watches him, learns the tiny little pieces of
information Jensen doesn't say out loud from the way his body reacts. Jared
asks his Butterfly if he changes partners often and Jensen answers that he
doesn't think it's any of Sam's business. Jensen's face wears the boredom of a
well-practiced routine. What the freakiest thing is that anyone has ever done
to him? Jensen doesn't blink when he says, "Fisting." Did he like it? Jensen's
shoulders shrug, an almost unnoticeable turn away from Jared. Would he want Sam
to do it? He is told his hand is way too big for something like that to work.
They end up finding out that it in fact isn't too big. Jensen cries himself to
sleep against Jared's chest that night.
Jared finds himself a week into a town that wasn't meant to hold him, scenting
a Flower he already carried to full potential a long time ago. He calls it
"dwelling" and decides it's a nice temporary thing to do. Sam announces the
change in his travel plans over a shopping spree. Jensen needs a new jeans and
Sam buys him five, but it's not the brand new denim that makes his Butterfly
gleam with joy. Those cheeks bloom a faint pink, eyebrows cocking under a, "Oh,
is that so?" and Jared smiles because Jensen probably doesn't even care if Sam
can read his played coolness like an open picture book.
Jensen wears melancholia like perfume. It's a sweet, rotting scent. Sam can
smell it all the way down the street where he finds an even tinier, even
crappier apartment than Jensen's. When will Jensen's courses start? His
Butterfly blinks with the innocence he once had won Jared's heart with.
"I'm not going to any college," Jared hears.
It turns out Jensen never even finished high school.
Jared buys a drink here, a wristwatch there. Jensen is flattered but says he
feels greedy accepting the gifts. His actual choice of words: he isn't worthy
of them. He tells Sam he'd rather not have him pay for anything, that Jensen
has his own money; it's nice but no, thanks. Doesn't Sam want to come upstairs
now? The mall is boring anyway. Jensen forces Jared's cock down his throat as
if he wanted to suffocate himself with it.
The more Jared gets to know about his former Flower, the more he starts to
understand why it is that he never felt the urge to come back to them: they are
beautiful. Almost too beautiful for him to endure. Jared finds himself as
hungry for Jensen as Jensen is for him. He wants to see his Butterfly in all
its beauty - broken and peaceful and divine, ethereal, pure. Jensen gives him
exactly that, day after day after day. He's an endless well for Jared to drink
from. All this love, this grace... it's making Jared weak. He feels his self
leaking through Sam.
He tells himself that if all goes wrong, he could still get rid of Jensen. The
kid likes to be on his own - and people know he's "special". Special can mean
beautiful and exploding with life. Special can mean suicidal. If Jensen
disappeared, he could be whoring himself out in New Mexico, could be in LA with
a sugar daddy, could be in a ditch along some faceless highway. It wouldn't be
too much of a hassle. Jared has no doubt that he could pull it off. Jensen
might have been one of his Flowers, might still hang on to his status of one of
the Butterflies... but Jared is still Jared. Jared is more important. Jared has
a mission.
Five weeks and no end in sight, Jared starts making plans. Jensen ages right
underneath his hands as Jared is consuming this body away. Nobody ever was
exposed to Jared for this long. Jared pities the issue for a moment before
being done with his mourning. It's nothing he can change. He has crossed this
line and now he can either leave right now or stay for another short while.
Jensen wouldn't survive long either way.
He is kissing Jensen's slender toes as he is swept over by an unfamiliar
ambience. He opens his eyes without looking up at Jensen. It's hard to keep his
heart at bay, to keep his fingers from trembling.
This moment resembles the ones of breaking a Flower.
"Something... happened to me. When I was a kid, you know."
Jared smells cool blood. Jared remembers softer skin.
"I just thought... I thought you should know that." Shuffling. His Butterfly
scrambles for support he can't find anywhere in the whole wide world.
"Before... before you get too close... Before this here becomes too serious 'n
you... an' you end up disgusted. Or somethin'. 'Cause I am a such a freak.
Which you probably know by now anyway. But I... I want you to know. That's
all."
Jared looks up. Jensen's face is turned away, avoiding Jared. Ashamed. Ashamed
while he burns brighter than the sun, roars wilder than any river, while Jared
thinks he has never seen him any more beautiful, not even that first time he
had split him open, those first moments of unspeakable perfection.
And Jensen says he isn't worthy. Doesn't see this beauty. Is beyond Jared,
beyond Jared's grasp.
Transcendent.
"If you wanna leave, I get it."
Softest tears. Heaven's pearls.
"I've never. I mean. It's. I can handle it, but... but I know I'm not..."
"You were never normal," Jared breathes. "No," he soothes when Jensen sobs at
that, takes this word the wrong way. Jared hates cattle and its profane way of
definitions. He gets to his knees, eyes lowered, throat seizing up. "No,
Jensen. You're special. You're so special."
He cradles a jaw, kisses a mouth. His Butterfly trembles just like back then,
back when black leather straps had been blocking his limbs' blood supply just
on the right side of not damaging yet and he was easing out of panic, out of
fight right down into sublimity, untouchability. Right into the chrysalis.
It's happening again. Jared didn't know it was possible to happen again. It
outweighs his expectations, his comprehension.
For the first time in his life, Jared feels lost.
He wants to help Jensen. Jensen needs to change again, needs to go to the next
stage. Jared feels tears rolling down his cheeks because he doesn't know what
to do. He doesn't know if he will be able to help his Butterfly.
Jensen kisses him. He doesn't know any better but to do that. It's what the
picking had taught him, how he could find salvation.
With Jensen's tongue in his mouth, Jared suddenly understands.
Yes.
Yes. Of course.
"Shhh, it's gonna be okay," Jared coos, almost sobs because he is so elated, so
relieved that there is a way, yes, he can make it all better. Jensen sobs
harder because he maybe knows, because Jared doesn't filter himself now,
doesn't need to, because Jensen is allowed to know, to see. "You're gonna be
okay, Jensen. It's all gonna be okay."
Jensen nods with tears streaming down his face, pooling on Jared's thumbs that
soothe over his skin, eyes pressed close, mouth useless, body battered and
exhausted. All difference there is between now and seven years, eleven months
and twenty-eight days ago is the missing weight of ties holding Jensen down.
His Butterfly, like every god, belongs to heaven. Jared loves him but he is no
longer in charge. Jared is not a god. He is a servant to one. He sees that now.
His Butterfly needs Jared to do this - to free him.
Jared doesn't want to let him go. The thought that part of Jensen will live on
in Jared's body, his cells, comforts him.
Maybe if Jared does it all correctly, his Butterfly will be with him forever.
Tucked against Jensen's mouth, Jared tells him, "You're gonna fly, my love."
Communion begins with Jensen's tongue.
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