Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Jensen, he’s not –”

Jensen thumbed the screen of his iPhone and cut Chad off before the guy could say another word. God only knew what it would have been. For all Jensen knew, Chad might have been about to tell him that there was another...Jensen couldn’t even say the word. He twisted around in the plush, buff-colored, leather seat and hooked an arm around the top to hold himself in place.

“Go ahead, Captain” he tossed back to the pilot of the Citation II private jet he was flying. “Mr. Murray is going to be taking a different flight.” And, settling back down and clicking his seatbelt shut, Jensen smirked as he pictured Chad fuming and stranded at that little, one-strip airport. Ah well, he’d get over it. It wasn’t as though he was abandoning his manager in the middle of a jungle, for cryin’ out loud. Aeropuerto Caracas wasn’t that far from Caracas proper and if Chad wasn’t able to swing a flight out from it, he would always be able catch one from Maiquetía. The man wasn’t helpless and after what he had just dropped on Jensen, he deserved to be worse than friggin’ stranded.

Seated diagonally across from Jensen was the object of his current dilemma. The man – boy? Christ, he had to be legal, didn’t he? Or did that not matter since the work was hardly legal – had somehow managed to fold up his long, long legs and was currently nose-deep in some book that actually looked old. Its cover was worn shiny in some sections, where it had been handled over and over again. The guy absently pushed up his glasses – round, thin-wired things that were straight out of the first Indiana Jones film – as he slowly turned the page. Jensen had to admit, he was impressed by the guy’s restraint, acting so nonchalant as though he didn’t know he was sitting next to the sixteenth highest paid male actor in Hollywood. But, Chad would have only hired the best, so he really shouldn’t have doubted that.

The best.

Jensen tried to disappear into the cushy seat at that thought. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the lanky man-child across from him was a prostitute. Dressed in baggy khakis with pockets covering about every square inch of the cotton fabric, he had on a plain t-shirt and an overshirt in olive drab. Sturdy boots and a beat-up, leather messenger bag completed the near-homeless look he was rocking. Somehow, Jensen had pictured a high-class rent boy’s clothes, even if he was playing a role, wouldn’t be so authentic. His douchebag of a manager (Jensen refused to acknowledge their fifteen year friendship even in his subconscious after this shit) had said he was a pro. But Jensen wasn’t looking for a pro. Jensen wasn’t looking for anything right now.

“A what?” he sputtered into the phone, whipping his head around, but the plane was empty save for the pilot and copilot. No Ashton Kutcher jumping out and claiming he’d been punk’d, as if that show was still in production.

“He’s a professional,” Chad spoke quietly. “I would only get you the best. I’m worried about you, man.”

For a brief second, Jensen remembered what a good friend Chad was in addition to being his manager. And then he continued to speak, reminding Jensen that Chad was also…well, Chad. “You need to hit it and quit it, my friend.”

“I do not,” Jensen hissed. Chad kept talking like Jensen hadn't said a word.

“Misha fucked you up and not in a good way.”

There was no arguing with that. Jensen had been with Misha for almost a year when their relationship went down the toilet in a spectacular fashion. When very “intimate” pictures of them together appeared on TMZ, Jensen knew there was only one person who could have supplied them to the gossip site – Misha himself. Jensen was actually more hurt by the fact that he'd been blindsided by Misha than he was by the blurry pics and explicit details that accompanied the pieces. He most definitely did not read the hundreds of inane comments for each, lurid “exclusive”. It wasn’t like the man had outed him. Jensen was one of Hollywood’s few openly bi actors who never lost his “action hero” status because of his sexuality. The betrayal was deeper. He thought Misha had been somebody who wanted Jensen for more than his “brand appeal”. He had actually begun to believe that Misha might have been “the One”.

“And your silence is a dead giveaway. You know I'm right,” Chad continued.

“That’s why I need a break, moron,” Jensen sighed.

“Dude, that’s what this guy is. He’s not the love of your life. He’s just something to relieve the pressure. And,” he rambled on, preventing Jensen from saying otherwise, “I know you haven't cleaned the pipes since the blue-eyed devil left.”

“If I needed to do that, I could have found someone myself. It’s not like a lot of folks would say ‘no’,” he retorted. And there was surprisingly no ego in that statement. It was a fact. At thirty-five, Jensen was in his prime. Between having to keep in top, physical shape for the many films he was involved with where he did as many of his own stunts as the insurance people would agree to, to the dozens and dozens of personal appearances he had to make while on his press junkets, there were more than enough fans who would have sold their soul to spend a night with Jensen Ackles. At over six feet of lean muscle, green eyes, a full mouth that many speculated what it was good for (which it was), he was exceptionally handsome.

“This is why you need me. You don’t pay hookers for sex, dude, you pay them to leave. You don't need another relationship right now,” his friend-cum-manager quipped, “you just need some action. Beside,” he continued airily, “this is work-related.”

“What?” Jensen sputtered. How in the world was a hooker part of his current project?

“I made sure to get someone who is into role-play,” Chad expanded.

The second his manager said “role-play”, Jensen’s very vivid imagination shot to the image of a tall, lean boy dressed in a corset and panties begging Jensen to spank him harder. Then, the naughty boy morphed into a patient on an exam table, explaining to Dr. Jensen how he had an ache between his legs and was there anything the doctor could do to relieve the pain? That quickly evolved into a harem boy on his knees before the sheikh who owned him.

He shook his head like a wet Labrador Retriever coming out of a lake with a tennis ball. “Role-play? What the hell, Chad?”

“It’s like this is work-related. The guy is totally onboard with playing a sidekick to your Indiana Jones character. He’ll be, like, your research assistant. You can stay ‘in character’,” and Jensen was clearly able to picture his blond friend making air quotes as he said that, “and still blow off some steam in the meantime. After Rio, he flies back to la la land and you can get back to filming,” he finished, clearly proud of his brand of crazy logic.

And that was the thing with Chad – it was almost logical. Jensen was knee deep in his latest film. Manuscript 512 was the working title. The project, about a quarter of the way through filming, focused on an explorer, Percy Fawcett, who got it into his head, thanks to the aforementioned manuscript, that there was a mythical city in the Amazon that he and his son were fated to become a part of. Instead, he, his son and his son’s friend would fade into the jungle in 1925 and never be seen again. It was an amazing, true story. And, in typical, Hollywood fashion, somehow Brad Pitt’s production company a little too coincidentally had the same idea and they were racing to get their own version, called The Lost City of Z, out the gate first. It wasn't the first time Jensen thought that Pitt was a backstabber. He bet Jennifer Aniston agreed with him on that one.

But they had Spielberg backing this project and Jensen believed it had genuine potential. Fawcett, who many argued was the inspiration for Indiana Jones and was the actual inspiration for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Professor Challenger from The Lost World, was an intriguing character. He wasn't in it for “fortune and glory” as Indy told his sidekick in the second film. Already a renowned explorer and well familiar with the territory, he had been caught up in the mysticism of the time and more than one person had foretold that his first-born son, Jack, was meant to be a holy figure. The city, which he believed existed because of the 18^th century Portuguese manuscript the movie was named for, was supposedly populated by white “masters” that were otherworldly and he and his son were fated to become a part of their society. It was a sense of divine destiny and his inherent love of exploration that drove the man and Jensen had really started to immerse himself in the character.

An accomplished surveyor, cartographer and military man, Fawcett had years of experience under his belt when he made his doomed pilgrimage for the final time into the Amazon. Over a hundred men died trying to find him, but only his signet ring and a compass were ever recovered. Some explorers swore that local tribes told them he had been killed, murdered at the hands of violent neighbors, while others said he simply died during his quest. Bones had been discovered over the years, but time and time again, they proved not to be his. It was as if the man and his son had truly vanished. There was something inherently thrilling about an unsolved mystery in the modern age where everyone was connected via technology and Jensen had pushed hard to land the role, beating out the likes of Christian Bale and Chris Evans. When Spielberg had told him it was his, he sent Evans a bouquet of roses with the message, “Not this time, Cap.” The men’s mostly friendly rivalry was already legendary in some circles and while Jensen didn't begrudge the other man landing the role in the lucrative Marvel franchise, he wasn't above crowing just a teeny bit. This had Oscar nomination written all over it.

And he had more than thrown himself into the role. He had read everything he could get his hands on regarding Fawcett, his sons and other contemporaries of his. He had truly buried himself in the man’s history and grew short with anyone who distracted him too much. So, in Chad’s bass-ackwards fashion, hiring someone to help him stay in character made sense. Hell, knowing Chad, the man would probably write it off Jensen’s taxes. He made a mental note to personally review his 2016 returns before they were sent in as the hooker came onboard.

Since the person in question was apparently engrossed in his book (on closer inspection, Jensen was able to make out the title – Exploration Fawcett by the man himself or, rather, a compilation of letters and other documents amassed by his surviving son Brian), Jensen decided it wouldn't hurt to take a gander at him. Apparently, he was paying for it, after all. 

When he had stumbled into the private jet, and Jensen thought that “clumsiness” might have been laid on too thick, he had genuinely seemed nonplussed by the interior. The Citation II was relatively tame in the world of private jets, but the six, comfy leather seats and the burl wood trim was nothing to slouch at, either. Regardless of how well this boy was paid, he definitely widened his eyes when he saw it all. He had clutched his bag tighter, acting like he was afraid someone was going to take it from him forcefully, and hadn't taken a seat until Jensen had jutted his chin towards the five, empty spots after his. He had been about to ask if the kid (he didn't look older than twenty, with his ridiculously soft bangs and vulpine features) if he was a PA or research assistant when Chad had called. And that's when it all went south.

Jensen was starting to calm down now that they were in flight. Nothing like passing the point of no return to put things in perspective. Despite his antics, Chad really did know what he was doing. A flop as a child actor, the other man had discovered that his niche was with making deals and connections as opposed to getting people to suspend their disbelief when he was on the small screen. He and Jensen had met during an audition for a small, recurring role on a now defunct show called Smallville and they had hit it off despite their different natures. Jensen was reserved and quiet in public, often mistakenly labeled as “shy”, while the gregarious, loud mouthed Chad was often tagged “douchebag”. That wasn't necessarily a misnomer. But what a lot of people got wrong was how fucking loyal Chad was to his friends. And some of that sincerity bled through in his everyday interactions with people. And he interacted a lot. Those meetings led to connections and eventually he realized his knack was as a mover and shaker behind the camera. He didn't bemoan his fate as a failed thespian; he embraced his future as an agent and manager.

They’d been friends for fifteen years and added agent/client to their relationship in the last ten. Jensen never once regretted that decision, although he questioned it a smidgen at the moment while he eyed the man-candy across what could barely be called an aisle since there was only one seat on each side of the jet. The production company had spared no expense.

The kid had shiny, dark hair and bangs that hung just an inch too long, hiding his bespectacled, oddly tilted eyes from Jensen. It was leaps and bounds different from his own style, which he preferred to keep almost militaristically short. They were still filming segments of Fawcett’s early years, so he hadn't needed to grow it out or scruff up yet, but that was most definitely on the agenda. They did reassure him he could keep his hair its natural, dark blond, though. Whatever the kid’s name was, and Jensen was resigned to the fact that he was going to have to find out at some point (whatever you want to call me, his dirty mind supplied in what he imagined the kid’s voice sounded like), he had a pointy nose and a few beauty marks scattered about his face. From where he sat, Jensen didn't know if they were real or painted on (and the thought of this guy painting his face for Jensen did something to his libido that he hadn't expected).

Adjusting his army green pants discreetly, he was ashamed of himself. So what if the guy was a hooker? That didn't mean Jensen had to turn into a horn dog. He cursed Chad under his breath for the whole cockamamie scheme of his. So what if he hadn't bothered to look at another person for the last year? It was hard to get beyond the absolute sense of betrayal that had been Misha’s parting gift. All the while that he'd been losing himself inside the other man’s body, Misha had been plotting how to cash in on it all. Huh? It dawned on him for all his morals and what not, he'd already been with a prostitute. At least this time, he knew what he was getting into. And wasn't that just an absolute bit of mindfuckery that he was now seeing things Chad’s way?

Shaking his head, he picked up his iPad and stuck his headphones in his ears. They had a couple of hours before touching down in Rio and he had planned to brush up on his Portuguese. He held his thumb down to unlock the device and then tapped on the Rosetta Stone app. He spent all of five minute going through the lesson’s exercises before he snuck another peek at his companion. The kid was struggling to unfold and pull out the polished table that was tucked into the side of the plane. Jensen rolled his lower lip into his mouth and bit down hard. Chad must have told the kid’s “agency” his tendency to fall for klutzy, genuine types. That was the only explanation for the fact that the man-child with the pointy nose and delectable birthmark right beside it couldn't extend a tray table to save his life.

Jensen tucked his iPad by his side and reached across to help him. “Here,” he said as he expertly pulled the table out and flipped it open.

“Thanks,” the kid said softly and Jensen, when he lifted his head up with the intention of brushing off the assist smoothly, found his words caught in his throat.

Now that he wasn't hunched over a book, the other guy’s face was on full display. Cleft chin and a jaw that was only starting to firm up with manhood, cupid’s bow mouth with dimples framing the corners and eyes that apparently couldn't decide what color they wanted to be so had settled on star clusters – the kid was stunning. Apparently, his sudden speechlessness wasn't too awkward, because the shaggy-haired boy pulled an iPad/keyboard combo out of his bag, snapped it open and started typing away like Jensen wasn’t even there.

Not knowing what to do, Jensen sat back and picked up his own device. He glanced down at the next lesson that he had paused, but couldn't concentrate on it. He was rather mesmerized with the way Kid’s long, slender fingers danced across the tiny keyboard and wondered what he was typing. And then he got to wondering if he was supposed to make the first move. Christ, he groaned internally, he did not do this…ever. He decided he was still going to rip Chad a new one over this fiasco when they reunited in Rio. Here he was, on the way to Rio de Janeiro for the next phase of the project, and he didn't know if he was supposed to introduce himself to the hooker next to him or not. Jamming his earbuds back in place, he tried to focus on the casual conversation playing out on the screen in front of him. Normally, Jensen could block out anything else distracting once he was focused. It was an enormously helpful skill when it came to memorizing scripts and when he got his break on Days of Our Lives, it saved his bacon more than once when he’d been hung over from partying the night before and was handed pages and pages of rewrites the morning of a taped shooting. Well, that skill had apparently left him high and dry at the moment.

When he saw Kid open the Fawcett book back up and “appear” to be cross-referencing it with something on his screen, Jensen had to know. “What’re you doing?” he grumbled.

“Hmm?” Kid mumbled without glancing up.

“What’re you working on?” Jensen repeated himself.

Kid raised his head and snapped it to one side to flip his hair out of the way of his glasses. “There’s this section here,” he tapped the open page, “where Brian Fawcett mentions a snippet from Manuscript 512 and I think he mistranslated the sentence.”

“What?” Jensen scoffed. “Let me see.” There was no way this rent boy was actually researching Fawcett.

Kid scrunched up his forehead at Jensen’s request and a kind of adorable crinkle formed between his eyebrows. But he turned his iPad around and there on his screen was a scan of Manuscript 512. “Where’s the English translation you’re using?” Jensen asked, as he flipped through the Portuguese document with his finger. Kid’s crinkle spawned clones.

“Why would I need one?” he wondered curiously.

“You read Portuguese?” Jensen was beyond surprised.

“You don’t?” Kid quipped innocently.

Jensen found himself blushing slightly. “I’m working on it,” he murmured. Trying to shift Kid’s attention from where he was lacking, Jensen pointed to some splotches on the image. “What happened there? Bad scan?”

Kid pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned closer. Jensen had a sneaking suspicion the accessory part of his act. They might be reading glasses at best, but no way did he need them to see. “Copiem worms ate that part.”

“Seriously?” Jensen remarked. “Worms?”

Kid cocked his head and gave Jensen an assessing look. “That kind of damage litters all the pages and might be part of the reason we don’t know exactly where the original city was located, if it actually existed at all.” Kid had a familiar cadence to his speech and Jensen suspected he might be a fellow native from the Lone Star state. Was that a question Jensen was allowed to ask? “I’m a bit perplexed that you didn’t know it, considering the project and all. Or that you can’t read Portuguese. But to be fair,” he continued without giving Jensen a chance to speak up in his own defense, “you kind of have to be familiar with 18^th century dialect. I mean,” he added with a gentle laugh, “Harold Wilkins got the word ‘chimney’ wrong in the document’s second translation into English. He thought it meant ‘smokes’. Close, but no cigar,” he ended lamely and then ducked his head in what must have been embarrassment, if the slow, rosy flush blooming across his cheeks was anything to go by.

Jensen couldn’t stop the easy grin that spread across his face. “Jensen,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Oh,” Kid gasped, growing redder by the minute. “Jared. Jared Padalecki.” His hand was slightly larger than Jensen’s and it was an odd sensation to feel his fingers kind of swallowed up by the younger man’s grip. Not bad, but different from what he was used to.

“Padalecki,” Jensen drawled, “sure is a mouthful.” Apparently, Jensen was unable to get the swallowing metaphors out of his filthy mind. He blamed that on Kid’s – no, Jared’s – chosen profession. There was no way Jensen would be this fixated on sex if it weren't for that. Except that Jared was everything Jensen wanted in a potential partner. Youthful guilelessness, smart, wildly attractive without being aware of it…

Hookup, his mind corrected him in what sounded dangerously like Chad’s voice. You need a hookup, not a romance. And this is an act.

But that wasn't the way Jensen was wired. He didn't date casually. And when he had fallen for Misha, he'd fallen hard. Misha had seemed so perfect. He had been attentive, funny, very attractive and, in retrospect, too accommodating to Jensen’s work schedule and commitments. A real partner should have called him out on a few occasions, exerted his place in the relationship as an equal. But now he understood that Misha had been biding his time, gaining Jensen’s trust and all the while he had been anticipating a big payout in the end. No wonder he had been infinitely patient about everything. Their relationship had been a job to him. And one he had been very good at. Enough time had passed since their breakup that Jensen decided he wouldn't let anyone else get too close for the foreseeable future. There was no way he could absolutely trust someone to be honestly interested in him for himself. He wasn't naïve enough (not now, at any rate) to think that he could separate himself from his fame and money. That was a part of who he was. But he didn't think he was ever going to be able to trust that another person saw him, too.

A small rumble of turbulence jostled him about and he glanced out the window. Night was fast approaching, but there were some clouds along the horizon colored like angry bruises whose darkness had nothing to do with the time of day. Looking back at his companion, Jensen had to chuckle. Nothing appeared to faze him as he clicked away on the small keyboard, which looked minuscule beneath his long fingers. Jared had the hands of a pianist. Jensen guessed he had over an octave reach with them. Then he shook his head. Obviously, Chad would have given whatever agency he had hired Jared from a detailed list of what Jensen liked. And who better than his best friend to hit every one dead on? As he fidgeted in the seat (because no matter how comfortable or plush the chair, at over 6’1” tall, everything cramped up eventually), he decided to see how much of a pro Jared actually was.

“So,” he began, “do you believe there really is a lost city?”

Jared didn't look up and Jensen had to wonder if Chad had told him he liked guys who played hard to get. Probably.

He cleared his throat. “I said – ” but stopped abruptly when Jared held up the index finger of his left hand and tapped away on his keyboard with his right. There was getting into character and then there was being rude. He may have made some sort of harrumphing sound while he waited for Jared to finish writing his fake research. Almost unbidden, the thought came to him that since he was bought and paid for, shouldn't he be catering to Jensen? Didn’t that make Jared his?

“Sorry,” Jared eventually mumbled, head still hunkered over his screen. From where he was sitting, Jensen saw the screen reflected in his glasses and he had actually been typing. “Had to jot that down before I forgot.” He raised his head and there was a sheepish smirk on his face. “I swear, it's like I have ADD sometimes with the way my thoughts scatter about and I have to write them down ASAP.” He blushed again and then hastily blurted out, “I don't, though, have ADD and I wasn't mocking anyone who does. Because it's not a joke,” he added so earnestly that Jensen cracked up.

“Easy, Sasquatch. I know how to tell when someone’s joking,” he replied easily. “You didn't offend me.”

Jared had stiffened when Jensen had called him the odd nickname, but relaxed quickly enough when Jensen smiled. Jensen felt kind of bad for the name, but mollified himself with the knowledge that he was sure Jared had been called far more colorful names than that in his line of work.

Work. That's all this was to him.

That’s all he had been to Misha and the thought wasn't very comforting any longer.

“Well,” Jared began, lacing his fingers together and raising his hands above his head. He leaned away from the table and Jensen’s back flinched in sympathy as he heard the other man’s spine crack. He definitely did not let his eyes drop down to Jared’s lean stomach when his shirt hitched up from the stretch and he most definitely did not contemplate the two inch span of flesh that was revealed to him because of it. Even though he could. Even though, technically, Jared was his. And each time he thought that about the kid like that, something pleasant zinged along his nerve endings.

“It certainly makes for a nice story,” Jared continued, acting like he didn't know he was teasing Jensen with his brief flash of skin. The kid was good. “And I can see why Hollywood would eat something like this up.” How coy he was being, as though he didn't know about the film. And, briefly, Jensen wondered how much he did know. Whatever Jared did, Jensen knew without a doubt Chad would have had him sign non-disclosure agreements up the yin yang. Hell, he'd probably had to sign a stack of NDAs considering the nature of his employment and who his current employer was.

“He was sort of the original Indiana Jones,” Jensen prodded him.

“Oh, man, don’t you get tired of hearing that?” Jared moaned and Jensen was surprised by his reaction. “I cannot tell you how many times I heard that reference in class. Like any of the profs ever actually looked as good as Harrison Ford, either.” He chuckled and then gulped, flitting his eyes from side to side, like revealing his sexuality had been a terrible faux pas. But Jensen decided to play along. Maybe role-playing wasn't such a bad idea after all.

“That’s true,” Jensen said easily. “I know I certainly never had any teachers that looked that hot.” And he saw the way Jared’s shoulders lowered slightly in relaxation. It was a nice touch.

“To be honest, I sort of swore off movies because of that. People don't seem to get that actual history is so much more interesting than what the movies focus on. Or just get plain wrong,” he snorted.

“Get wrong?” Jensen asked, trying to hide his irritation. He knew he did the best he could in researching any role he took that was based on a real person. Sure, screenwriters sometimes played up certain elements of a story to make it more exciting, but he couldn't come up with a single incidence where a project he was attached to got it “plain wrong”.

“Like Fawcett,” Jared continued nonchalantly. “Sure, he probably was the inspiration for Harrison Ford’s character and he was the inspiration for Conan Doyle’s cranky prof in The Lost World. But people made him out to be bigger than he was, like he was on some sort of spiritual odyssey.”

Jensen started to grind his teeth and he knew his jaw muscle was twitching. “You don't think what he was doing was noble? Trying to find the mythical city he called 'Z' and bringing that enlightenment back to the world?”

The plane lurched suddenly and Jared actually turned a shade of green that was decidedly unbecoming. He shifted uneasily in his seat, but Jensen was not about to let him off the hook over a touch of airsickness. “Well?” he demanded.

Swallowing hard, Jared folded his iPad and keyboard together and slipped them into his bag. “The man was a great surveyor,” Jared admitted grudgingly. “The work he did for the Royal Geographical Society in mapping a disputed region between Brazil and Bolivia is still respected today. Some of his work is better than our best GPS equipment.”

Jensen sat straighter and allowed himself a smile as though it was him Jared was discussing. And, considering how much of himself he put into his work, it kind of was.

“But I think he fell for the idea of 'Z' or El Dorado or Atlantis or ‘insert fanciful name here’ that we ascribe to a ‘perfect city’.”

“And there’s something wrong with wanting to discover a ‘perfect city’?” Jensen demanded defensively.

“Hey,” he replied and raised his hands defensively, “I wouldn't be here if the thrill of rediscovery wasn't intoxicating.” And the pink tip of his tongue peeked out between his straight, white teeth. Jensen was momentarily distracted from his irritation by the erotic gesture. “But, primarily, I’m here to keep things in perspective.”

“Perspective, huh?” Jensen mumbled and decided a drink was in order. He got up, swaying slightly with the plane’s temporarily uneven motion, and headed for the well-stocked bar between the cabin and cockpit. “Want anything?” he tossed over his shoulder as he rolled open the glossy, cabinet door.

Jared lowered his head, letting his bangs fall into his face and Jensen had a ridiculous urge to brush back those chocolate strands. “No, thank you,” he demurred and the gentle submission twisted him up. He was seriously going to hurt Chad when they met up in Rio for leaving him stuck with this delectable boy. Or possibly give him a raise.

When Jensen settled himself with a bourbon neat, he sipped slowly and made a “go on” motion with his free hand.

“I believe Fawcett believed in the city,” Jared continued, somewhat chagrined. Maybe he thought he'd overplayed his hand with his client, Jensen considered, and was trying to dial his faked enthusiasm down a notch.

“That seems a no brainier, considering he took his son and his son’s best friend into the jungle, on their own, to find it. Seems to me that’s risking an awful lot,” Jensen added with a tip of his head.

“True, but he had a vested interest in finding the city of zed,” and Jensen smiled at Jared’s correct usage of the name. Only Americans pronounced it “zee”, when Fawcett himself, being British, would have said “zed”.

“To prove that Manuscript 512 was right,” Jensen agreed.

“C’mon. Manuscript 512 was a group of adventurers’ attempt to get financial backing for another treasure hunt. A city with stone arches and whatnot? They were just playing up on Greek ruins and other symbols in our collective memories.”

“What do you mean?” Jensen asked, leaning forward. He was genuinely curious what Jared’s “research” had led him to.

“Common misconceptions most people have about archaeology – all ruins are made up of stones and rocks. You know that,” he tilted his head encouragingly. “Rock in that quantity is simply not found in the Mato Grosso. That region is earth and trees and living things. If there is a city there, it’s not made out of stone. At least, not in the quantity they described.”

Jensen pushed up his lower lip in agreement, nodding his head slowly. He could see the sense in that. “So they exaggerated,” he admitted.

Jared snorted and flopped back against his seat. “That's for sure. All you have to do is look at who lived in the magical city to know it was too ‘good’ to be true.”

Jensen winced at the burn of the whiskey. He held onto the glass, not trusting the growing dips the plane was making. They must have been near those storm clouds he'd spotted earlier.

“How convenient for all the Europeans interested in the perfect city that it was populated by ‘white Indians’. Doesn't that reek of white entitlement? Why wasn't the city full of the local tribes?” He regarded Jensen with such earnestness that Jensen wanted to have a good answer for him, but he came up empty-handed. Thinking back, it was kind of ridiculous to think that it had to be white people who had built the magnificent city in the jungle.

“But you can’t deny the personal risk that Fawcett took to search for the place. And I'm sure he would have reported back honestly if he'd found only local people there.”

“The same guy who swore he shot a sixty-two foot anaconda and never submitted any proof? The same guy who wrote his reports back to the RGS like they were movie scripts?” And now Jared had to be needling Jensen intentionally. Why he wanted him riled up, Jensen had no idea. But it was working.

“Sometimes you have to embellish the facts to make sure people stay interested and stay willing to fund the search,” Jensen griped.

“Exactly,” Jared boomed, slapping his hand down on his table. “And there you have your explanation why the Portuguese explorers wrote Manuscript 512 the way they did.” He smiled widely and his dimples carved parentheses around his mouth.

Jensen snapped his mouth shut and fumed for a minute. Jared got him with that one. “Ok, say that you’re right,” and he didn't miss the snarky way the kid grinned, “Fawcett still bought into it as much as the next guy.”

Jared bounced back against the seat again. If they had been on a commercial flight, he would have been that annoying child that rocked their seat back into your knees again and again and made you spill your meal all over your lap. “Of course he did. He had a vested interest in proving it was real.”

“How so?” Jensen asked, draining his glass. He was going to need another drink at this rate. The kid was getting under his skin.

“I'm sure you know how Fawcett swallowed hook, line and sinker the spiritualism of the day.” Jensen nodded, because he did. “He practically ate up the stuff that Madame Blavatsky spewed over the last decade or so of her life about the mysterious ‘masters’ who knew everything and possessed a variety of powers like clairvoyance, telepathy and…” He trailed off, snapping his fingers in a rapid manner, “clairaudience.”

“Clairaudience?” Jensen had no idea what that was.

“Hearing the paranormal,” Jared said offhandedly. “He had multiple ‘mystics’ tell him his son was going to be a spiritual leader of great importance. So of course he was going to drag the new messiah to the Promised Land. But look at his group,” Jared called after him as Jensen got up to get another drink.

“What do you mean?” Jensen responded and held up a miniature bottle of Wild Turkey, which Jared shook his head in the negative to. Jensen slipped it into his pocket and grabbed another. He had a feeling he was going to need it with this guy.

“Mr. Ackles,” the captain interrupted, leaning around to address him. “You and your guest might consider buckling up. This storm is too wide to fly around. We’re going to have to go through it.”

“No problem,” he agreed and went back to his seat. “Buckle up,” he told Jared although he failed to do so himself.

“You buckle up,” Jared dared him.

“Brat,” he accused him good-naturedly. “Now what about his party? He only had his son and his son’s friend.”

“Exactly,” Jared agreed, slapping his hand against the table again. “And he kept a lot of his notes in code. What does that tell you?”

Jensen pursed his lips and shook his head from side to side. “He didn't want anyone else to beat him there.”

Jared smiled and Jensen was sure he had somehow walked into Jared’s verbal trap. “And why wouldn't he have wanted everyone to know, if it was so important? Why wouldn't he have wanted more help to find such an amazing place if it was all to benefit mankind?”

Jensen inhaled sharply. “He wanted to keep it for himself.”

Jared only cocked an eyebrow, but remained silent.

“Sonofabitch,” he growled and dragged his hand down his mouth. He hadn't looked at it that way. And while Jensen was mulling over that angle and trying to see how it might change his interpretation of Percy Fawcett, another thought came to mind.

“How do you know all this?” he exhaled. This went way beyond what any hooker would do for a job. He was a little awestruck.

Like you know how prostitutes work, his inner voice snarked. And how many have you ever hired? A big, fat zero.

Jared’s forehead did that crinkle thing again. “Because it's my job,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And I'm very good at my job.” He licked his lips and Jensen couldn't help but to track the movement of the tip of his tongue as he did so. The swipe made his lips glossy with spit and very distracting.

Jensen shook his head and sat back, unaware that he had been creeping closer. Jared was a prostitute. As that settled in his mind, his awe faded and left a bitter taste in his mouth instead. Clearly, this kid could be so much more and just didn't see it. “How long have you been at it?” He wanted to know and he didn't.

“Eight years, give or take,” Jared said after some mental calculations.

“You’ve been doing this for eight years?” Jensen squawked. “You got into it when you were what? Twenty? Twenty-one?”

He hoped.

Jared laughed, free and easy. “Try sixteen.”

And Jensen felt sick to his stomach, which had nothing to do with the turbulence that was rocking the plane nonstop. He was angry at Jared and angry for him, images of a young teen having to make his way through the world like that flashing through his brain. He rubbed the back of his neck roughly. It wasn't a faceless teen that made his guts twist. It was the thought of a younger Jared having to do that, because he couldn't believe anyone ever chose that life willingly.

“Are you okay?” the younger man asked. The naked concern on his face was too much to take. Jensen surged forward across the nonexistent aisle and pressed his lips against those candy-pink ones he'd been dying to taste for the last half hour. Jared gasped, but didn’t pull away. Jensen threaded his fingers through the soft strands of Jared’s long hair and held him in place. Nudging the younger man’s lower lip open, Jensen licked inside, tasting something sweet, but he swirled his tongue deeper, determined to discover what Jared’s flavor was. He was startled to find himself pushed back suddenly.

“Wha?” he slurred.

“What?” Jared gasped at the same time, fingers trailing uncertainly over his swollen, lower lip. Despite the unexpected rejection, Jensen was proud of the fact he had marked Jared like that.

Before either man could say more, the plane dropped suddenly and Jensen was sure his stomach had swooped into his mouth. Lightning flashed bright enough near his window that he had to squint against the light.

“Strap yourselves in,” the copilot called back to them and Jensen scrambled to find his belt. Jared, however, had decided to try and fold the table back up at that moment. And he was as successful doing that as he was taking it out. For whatever crazy reason, maybe the whole “return your tray tables to the upright and locked position” spiel, the kid was fussing with that when he should have been belting himself in.

“Jared,” Jensen snapped, but the younger man didn’t pay attention to him at all.

Forgetting his own belt, Jensen leaned across and batted Jared’s hands away. The turbulence had gotten so bad that it was like being on a rickety rollercoaster. He was having about as much luck as Jared was under those conditions. Just as he slammed it back into its slot, the interior lights began to flicker and then sputtered out. Jensen twisted around to ask what was happening, but the sight of both pilots struggling with the controls was too intimidating. The jet suddenly dipped to the right and Jensen was tossed back to his side of the plane. Jared landed across the seat opposite him and despite the buzzing of some alarm up front, Jensen heard the thud the younger man’s head made when it connected with the side of the seat. The kid slumped, obviously dazed, and flopped bonelessly as the aircraft continued to drop and rise like a ship lost at sea with only the sporadic bursts of light from the storm to illuminate the interior.

“Jared,” Jensen called out. He was about to yell for one of the pilots when another flash momentarily blinded him and the plane began a crazy drop, like it was falling from the sky.

“Mayday, mayday,” one of the pilots cried into his radio. “This is flight –”

Ignoring everything else, Jensen somehow wrestled Jared’s lax body into the seat opposite him and fumbled to strap him in. There was another crash of lightning and for one perfect moment, the plane’s left wing was outlined in a blue corona like St. Elmo’s Fire. Jensen, hands still holding onto Jared’s belt, was mesmerized by the sight.

Then the plane cracked open and he was sucked into a howling, black void.

Chapter Text

Something cold roared past Jensen’s ears. The sound didn't make any sense. Fighting to open his eyes, the next thing he became aware of was the crazy blackness shot through with light that surrounded him, but that only left Jensen disoriented and confused. The third was that there was absolutely nothing around him and he was falling – a sick, familiar sensation that occasionally haunted his sleep. And the final realization that permeated the fog engulfing his mind was that this was no dream. He was awake.

Awake and falling.

As he desperately tried to make sense of his situation, a few more facts became obvious – his plane had broken apart and he had blacked out. Best guess had him passing out the moment he was ripped from the cabin, which made complete sense since there was very little oxygen at a jet’s average cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet, although they had probably dropped lower than that before the aircraft cracked apart. His eyes had painfully flapped open the moment he was low enough that the atmosphere had become breathable again and revived him. The absolute darkness was broken up by the staccato flash of far-off lightning, but the banshee wail of wind was what snapped him back to reality even as breathing became easier than it had been. He whirled and spun about like an out of control top. Nauseous vertigo tore at him, his body not knowing which way was up as he was flipped around. He had heard many times that your life flashed before your eyes right before you died. Jensen was shocked to find the all-knowing “they” were right since his was suddenly playing out before him like one of his films while his body hurtled towards the black earth at terminal velocity. Or, rather, one very particular reel skittered across his mind’s eye.

The flashback focused on his breakout film, which was a World War II project produced by Tom Hank’s Playtone production company in cooperation with HBO Films called The Miracle. Based on a true story, Jensen played one of the main characters, Staff Sergeant Alan Magee, who was a ball turret gunner in the USAAF during WW II. What made the man stand out in history was that after being wounded by shrapnel during a bombing run over France while he crouched in the claustrophobic ball turret, he survived a twenty thousand foot drop from his B-17F Flying Fortress without a parachute. Mostly conscious, he hurtled to the ground, only to smash through the glass skylight of the railroad station in St. Nazaire and dangle, bloody and battered, across one of the steel girders that supported the roof until German soldiers pulled him down.

Jensen had worked with three stunt coordinators, who only specialized in free fall jumps, throughout the filming of what was described simply in the script as his “plunge to earth”. He trained for weeks in a vertical wind tunnel, not unlike the ones that have since cropped up across the U.S. near malls nowadays, and most of his fall was filmed in one against a green screen. No matter how much he begged, the powers that be would not insure him doing a real free fall jump, despite him bringing up Patrick Swayze and Point Break. Unlike Swayze, Jensen didn't have enough real jumps under his belt for them to possibly consider it. So he'd learned correct position, more than he ever cared to about drag coefficients, the ominous sounding “terminal velocity”, and wreckage riding in a controlled environment.

He had been amazed to discover that not only did all of the world’s most notable, unintended free fall survival stories revolve around soldiers serving in WW2, but three times as many people survived falls equally as high or higher by “riding wreckage” as the one stunt coordinator called it. “What you need,” Felicia had told him, ‘is to keep this in mind: you want a bunch of surface-area molecules hitting a bunch of atmospheric molecules in order to slow your rate of acceleration. And,” the chipper redhead had added gleefully, “once you hit terminal velocity, which for a guy like you is about one hundred and twenty miles per hour, you’ve hit the point where atmospheric drag resists gravity’s acceleration. Not only do you stop speeding up, you actually start to slow down because the air is thickening as you get closer to earth. That’s the point when the tide has turned in your favor.”

“So if I ever find myself unintentionally falling out of a plane,” his then twenty-five-year-old rising star self had joked, “I just look around for a piece of plane and float down?”

Ms. Day had giggled. “You look around for a proportionate,” and she had very much not ogled him when she said that, “large, flat piece of wreckage and mount up, cowboy.” All right, she may have looked then.

 Jensen came back to the here and now with that lingering memory.

Despite the disorientating strobe effect of the distant lightning, Jensen managed to twist himself into the belly-first, arched back, spread-eagle pose of a skydiver. The skin along his face rippled like a sheet on a laundry line in a windstorm with the force of air passing over his body. His eyes watered uncontrollably and keeping them open even slightly was a genuine miracle. He decided that initially passing out had been a blessing in disguise, because he had come to with a mostly detached sense of calmness. From what he remembered, air became breathable again somewhere around fifteen to eighteen thousand feet. If he was right, he had less than two and a half minutes to save his own life, give or take whatever he had wasted on his trip down memory lane.

What little vision he had was blurry and miserable. He vaguely wondered why the hell dogs wanted to stick their heads out a car window so badly if this was the result? He might have screamed. He didn't pray other than to be sickly grateful it was dark and he probably wouldn't see the ground until the last moment, when it would be too late to be more afraid than he already was. Twisting his head around against the buffeting air, he desperately tried to find something he could use.

Maybe there was a secret stash of parachutes on the plane? he teased himself insanely.

He might have been laughing, more likely shrieking, when another blast of electric energy turned day into night for several seconds. And in that brief span of time, Jensen spotted something reflective and metallic off to his left and down a ways.

It was a good chunk of the twenty-five foot, left wing from the plane.

Now that’s proportional, he joked internally. It was also at least thirty feet away.

But muscle memory didn't fail him. It remembered all the hours he'd logged in the wind tunnel and all the training he’d learned about how to move through the air, not just down but across. He pushed his arms back against his sides and tilted forward toward where he'd last seen the piece of wreckage illuminated by the storm. And by altering his pitch, he began to move horizontally. By sheer, dumb luck, he bumped into the hunk of metal and slapped his left hand out viciously, scrabbling for any kind of a hold. Something painful ripped across his palm, but he disregarded it as he hauled himself across the broken metal until his body, no longer directly battered by his downward plunge, kind of collapsed across the Cessna wing. With his right hand, he latched onto a genuine handhold, probably for maintenance work and wrapped his left around who knew what and held on as tight as he could. His head bounced and jostled against the metal, but he was blissfully unaware of how fast the earth was hurtling up to meet him. His heart beat so hard, he felt it ricochet off his ribs. He twirled like a maple seed into the tightly knit canopy of trees below and was lost.

*****

Somewhere in the distance, there was the low rumble of rolling thunder. Insects hummed incessantly. Then the intermittent croak of a frog interjected itself into the cacophony, a strange metronome in time with the splat of water against leaves. The bitter, pungent smell of rotted garbage made Jensen swat at his nose, but that only made the sulfurous odor worse. Jensen rolled onto his back, but everything was slow and sticky. He pried open his eyes and tried to make sense of it all.

Above him was a dark ceiling of green. He lay there for a while, blinking aimlessly as he stared upwards at the living canopy above his bed. When he dragged his hand across his brow, the stench grew worse. Flopping his fingers in front of his face, he squinted like a presbyopic desperate to recognize something he used to be able to see all the time. Dark smears streaked across his right hand and with an absence of emotion, Jensen decided it might be blood. He flexed his fingers open and shut and distantly registered that nothing there hurt. Bringing his hand up close to his face, he crinkled his nose and came to the conclusion that his hand was coated in whatever stunk. He let it drop to his side and just blinked for a few minutes.

Only scant amounts of sunlight reached where he lay. The thick cover of trees – he’d decided that’s what all the green was – blocked most of it from reaching where he was sprawled. With disjointed movements, Jensen twisted his head from one side to the other, taking in his surroundings. It would be only later that he'd realize moving his neck like that had been foolish and risky, not taking into consideration any injuries he might have suffered. The sick squelch as he did so eventually penetrated the haze his thoughts were floating in. Whatever reeked was all around him. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking furiously. Every time he thought his eyes were clearing, something landed with a plap on his forehead, causing him to flutter his eyelashes shut again. Rubbing his hand against his face, Jensen let his head drop back once more. And as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a winking light. He decided to lay back and focus on that.

The longer he stayed still, the more his thoughts began to coalesce into a single stream of consciousness. The blinking was the sunlight glinting off of a metallic surface that was dangling above him. Mesmerized by it, Jensen tried to figure out what it could be. It was at least twenty feet long and tangled in a mess of limbs and vines. Swallowing several times to get the foul taste out of his mouth, Jensen finally came to the conclusion it was a wing of a plane.

A plane.

His plane.

His plane that had been struck by lightning and broken apart mid-flight.

And the wing was swaying above him like the sword of Damocles.

Without another thought, Jensen rolled to the side, desperate to get away from the huge hunk of metal that could crush him at any moment. Struggling to his knees, he quickly crawled as far away as possible, not stoping until he was certain he’d cleared the area enough to be safe. Then he collapsed to the ground again, breathing hard. There was no sudden, ominous shifting of weight and subsequent crashing through branches. The wing continued to dangle where it was securely caught up in a combination of tree limbs and clutching vines. Jensen fell down onto his butt and surveyed the scene around him.

The first thing that truly registered with him was that he was intact. Two legs, two arms, all his fingers and his clumsy escape from the suspended wing reaffirmed that most of his parts were in good, working order. He pushed himself into a sitting position and winced at the sharp pain that flared across his left hand. All right, perhaps he wasn't completely intact. He lifted the limb in question and saw something maroon beneath the mud that covered his palm. He carefully prodded the flesh with the fingers from his right hand, which weren’t any cleaner, and realized there was a gash several inches long across the center. But he flexed each digit individually and determined that there didn’t appear to be any tendon or nerve damage. It just hurt like hell. He knew he’d need to clean it out and wrap it, hoping he didn't need stitches. Disinfectant would certainly help, but where was he going to find that out here?

And then he remembered the bottles of Wild Turkey he’d previously snagged and fished though his pockets. Of all the things to survive a plane crash, the couple of miniature, plastic bottles that were still there and intact wouldn't have been what he’d expected. He tipped his head back and laughed for a long time at the inanity of the whole situation until his eyes watered. Then he dropped his head forward as the reality seeped in next. His plane had crashed in what could only be the Amazon jungle. The pilots were probably dead. Probably Jared was, too.

Jared.

His heart stuttered to a stop. Jared was dead. The gangly, innocent kid with the mesmerizing eyes had surely been dealt a raw deal all his life and it had been the death of him in the end. With his filthy right hand still clutching the booze, Jensen slashed the back of it across his face angrily. Hell, there was no guaranteeing Jensen hadn’t been dealt the same cards, his fate simply dragged out a little longer. He gave over to his emotions for a long time.

When a bird of some sort let out an obnoxiously loud squawk, Jensen snapped back. Jewel-colored wings flapped in and out of view for a moment before it was gone like it had never been there. Jensen might disappear like that, too, if he did nothing. Swallowing roughly, he shook his head as he came to a decision. He might be a walking, dead man, but he wasn't dead yet as long as he didn't give in to panic or despair. He was breathing, so he had a chance. He needed to figure out where he stood. Dropping the bottles down beside him, he inventoried everything still on his person.

Besides the bourbon, he had a mostly new container of dental floss, a few packages of salted “bar snacks” and an iPhone. When he pulled the phone out of his buttoned, breast pocket, he had a momentary surge of hope, despite the spiderweb of cracks across its slightly curved screen, when it lit up right away. But there was either no signal or the device was irreparably damaged or both because nothing happened after that. Jensen would have laid even money on the last one if there had been anyone around to bet with. He powered it down and tucked it back in his pocket, unwilling to lose that tenuous connection to civilization even if it was currently useless. As a thin trickle of sweat dribbled down his back, Jensen made a brutal assessment of his situation.

Hemmed in on all sides by huge, old-growth trees, which interlocked and wove a near impenetrable blanket above him, there was no way any search party had a chance of spotting him where he was. He needed to find a break in the canopy and set up a signal fire of some sorts, because he knew there would be people looking for him. Right or wrong, he was a celebrity and people would care. In a morbid turn of thought, he suspected his production company would love the chance to tie in his disappearance with the theme of the film. He could easily picture Mark Shepherd, laying on his exaggerated Cockney accent extra thick, already spinning this disaster with claims that they wouldn't let Jensen disappear into the annals of history like Fawcett had and become merely another, unsolved mystery. But, truth be told, Jensen didn't want to disappear like that, either. Mark could pile it on as thick as he liked.

Rising on unsteady legs, he flexed his arms and legs carefully. Part of him realized it was too late for caution after his mad scramble to escape the wing, but he still proceeded deliberately. He poked and prodded himself, turning and stretching. The only worrying thing he found was that breathing was labored, like he was underwater. He opened up his overshirt and rucked up his formally white wife-beater. A splash of colors, mostly coming up blue and purple, were blooming across his torso. He’d busted ribs before – an occupational hazard when performing stunts – and he knew what that felt like. When he passed his hands over himself, smearing mud and blood as he did so, he was relieved not to feel anything sprung or cracked. His chest ached like a bitch, but he supposed that was what happened surfing the air on a hunk of metal a couple of hundred pounds solid.

As sweat continued to dribble down his neck and back, Jensen came to the conclusion it was the hot, humid air that was making breathing challenging. Everything was dripping around him and although he couldn't exactly see the sun, if the brief glimpse he'd caught on his iPhone was right, it was only 8:00 a.m. unless he’d crossed a time zone and things were already growing steamy. By midday, he was sure the conditions would be sauna-like. Taking a deep breath, testing his ribs as he did so, Jensen knew water was just as critical as a clearing to his continued survival. He’d need to hydrate as much as possible to avoid heatstroke and such, and he needed to clean out his hand as best he could.

Giving the dangling wing a wide berth, Jensen stepped carefully around the swampy undergrowth that had cushioned his landing, studying everything as best he could. He didn't know much about the plant life, but figured if he spotted bananas or anything like that, they’d be safe enough to eat. He wasn’t willing to gamble on anything unknown. Some kind of palm, no more than four feet high with deep, glossy leaves, was off to his right. The shape of the leaves had captured some of last night’s rainfall and he quickly tipped one so that the precious liquid poured over his injured hand. He winced at the sting, but methodically emptied each leaf’s contents over the cut until it was mostly clean. Then he cracked open one of the bottles of bourbon and rinsed out his cut with it, mouth-breathing through the burn of the alcohol on his torn flesh. Shimmying out of his overshirt, Jensen tore a relatively clean strip from the bottom of his wife-beater, and wrapped his palm up as best he could. Being right-handed, he was grateful the injury – which looked relatively minor after his impromptu first-aid session – was not to his dominate hand. Satisfied his bandaging would hold, Jensen was tempted to simply tie his overshirt around his waist. But as he absently swatted a bug that landed on his shoulder, he grudgingly realized he'd be better off wearing it for whatever protection it might provide. Now, he told himself, he needed a larger body of water and a clearing.

Although he wasn't a survival expert by any stretch of the imagination, Jensen did know a few things. He basically had two options for finding water. He could either climb one of the trees until he cleared the canopy and could reconnoiter that way or he could walk along until he found where the terrain sloped downward, since he had heard that was the direction to go to eventually find water. Leaning his head back, he followed the line of the closest tree up and up and up. He figured he'd need to climb a good hundred to a hundred and fifty feet before he’d be high enough above the canopy to get the lay of the land. Flexing his gimp hand, he knew had no choice but to put that idea aside for the time being. There was no way he would be able to do it. He’d have to take his chance on foot.

Nodding sharply once to himself, Jensen buttoned up his shirt. He squatted down, tucking his cargo pants into his boots, and retied his laces. Somehow, they’d come undone. As he knotted them up, he was once again struck by the incredulity of his situation. He’d fallen out of a plane at least five miles above the earth and he was walking away from the scene of the crash with no more than some cuts and bruises. He was reminded of one of the other free fall survivors from WW II who did pretty much the same thing. Nicholas Alkemade fell more than eighteen thousand feet when he jumped from his bomber. His parachute had caught on fire and he decided he'd rather die from the impact than go down in flames with his plane. He crashed through some pines and landed in soft snow banks. With only a twisted knee to show for it, he lit up a cigarette and waited for the Germans to come and take him prisoner.

God, I’d kill for a smoke right about now, he thought ruefully, even though he had quit five years prior.

Kill.

The pilots had probably been killed. Jared had probably been killed.

Jared.

He blinked his eyes furiously, swearing it must have been the bugs that were already beginning to buzz around him relentlessly, and chided himself for being so flip about things even though humor was probably going to be the one thing that got him through all this alive. He turned towards the plane’s wing and stood silently for a minute. Jensen wasn’t an overly religious man, and despite walking away from a plane crash, didn't feel the need to thank an invisible deity for his good luck, because that’s all he believed it had been – luck. But he did want to acknowledge the others who hadn’t been so fortunate. He closed his eyes, picturing the two-man crew – whose names he hadn't really paid attention to – before letting his thoughts drift to the young man with the tilted eyes and disarming dimples. In the brief span of time when their lives had intersected, he’d been exasperated and challenged by the kid. Intellectually, he understood it had all been an act, part and parcel of Jared’s professionalism, but Jensen had been intrigued nonetheless. And Jensen had made the classically arrogant mistake most people make – he thought he’d have more time with the boy, like he somehow had a guarantee in this world of a certain number of years.

Opening his eyes, Jensen made a pact with himself that when he got out of this mess, he’d start opening up again around others. He'd closed himself off emotionally after Misha’s betrayal and all he’d ended up doing was depriving himself of human companionship. Not anymore, he told himself. Not after this. He was going to take chances again, probably get hurt again and start living again. And there was going to be an after to all this.

Turning around, Jensen hoped that he would have a sense of which direction he should take, trying very hard not to recall just how many hundreds of square miles the Amazon consisted of. In the end, there was no parting of the clouds or heavenly choir pointing out the way. He decided on the path of least resistance, opting to head off where the undergrowth was the thinnest. After a few feet of slipping – the fallen leaves surprisingly slick – and skidding along, he hunted around for some kind of a walking stick and settled on a fallen branch that suited his purposes. Using it to hack at the vines and plants in his way, Jensen focused on the daunting task at hand of rescuing himself.

Without a watch and not daring to waste whatever battery life was left on his phone, Jensen soon lost track of time. He was dripping in sweat and despite being in excellent, physical condition, already exhausted. His “path of least resistance” had become dense soon enough and each step he took was a struggle. The ground was muddy and it seemed to want to suck his feet back in with every step he took. Despite the uselessness of the gesture, Jensen called out for help every once in a while. All that accomplished, however, was to plunge the jungle into momentary silence. It was eerie how quiet everything became as Jensen strained to hear another human voice in response. But no reply was forthcoming, except from the monkeys or birds, which would resume hooting and cawing after a few minutes. Jensen was enveloped by a jungle teeming with creatures and he had never felt so completely alone in his life.

After the Misha debacle, he had thrown up walls for his own emotional protection and the film opportunity hadn't come at a better time. He had thrown himself into the research with his usual intensity, but spent so much time on his own that Chad had accused him of joining a religious order and becoming a monk. But even in the depths of that isolation, he knew there were others around. Here, he was the last man on earth. It shook him to the core and he attacked the bush with single-minded savageness, desperate for the mental distraction the physical exertion provided.

His way eventually lightened up slightly, although it never magically opened up into a perfect clearing, but it did get a little easier to traverse. Leaning against a tree with large roots at the surface, kind of resembling a monstrous, elephant’s foot, he let himself have a brief respite. He shook out his hands, which stung and throbbed from wrestling with the bush. His two shirts clung to him like second skins, soaked from both his sweat and the damp foliage he was constantly brushing against. Although there had been an occasional rumble of thunder, it was muffled and distant. No rain fell and Jensen didn't know if he should be grateful for that or not. With all of his exertions, he had sweat buckets and hadn’t replaced any of the moisture he had lost. And since his sweat wasn’t evaporating because of the intense humidity, his body wasn't cooling down like it needed to. As much as it rankled him, he was going to have to stop for the day soon or he might very well succumb to heatstroke. And out here on his own, that would probably be the end of him.

Slapping angrily at something humming near his ear, Jensen noticed movement along one of the vines hanging down from the tree he had his back against. Squinting, he realized the larger, knotty portion of the growth was actually contracting and expanding. It was no vine. It was a snake. Stumbling to the right, Jensen nearly tripped himself up. Even a sprained or twisted ankle could mean the difference between life and death and he cursed himself for his stupidity. Stepping to what he hoped was a safer distance, he recognized the snake as a constrictor. He didn’t think those were poisonous, since they crushed their prey. That comforting fact still didn't stop him from thrashing the bushes and leaves in front of him with extra vigor when he resumed walking, just to be safe.

Eventually, Jensen noticed that there was a subtle and gradual slope to the terrain. Despite his aching, left hand, he couldn't help but grin when he realized it. As he fought with a clump of bamboo saplings, he suddenly froze. Cocking his head to one side, he strained to hear over the almost hypnotic drone of insects that was playing on a constant loop. Afraid to hope that what he heard was the trickle of water nearby, he turned his attention back to the small clump of trees in his way. Working harder, he slashed through the bamboo, now almost certain that it was running water he heard nearby. Once he had cleared his way through the bamboo, Jensen pushed on until he slid down a very small embankment into about four inches of water. He had found a stream.

Grinning crookedly after he regained his balance, Jensen dropped his walking stick and dropped down to his knees in the small stream letting the moisture seep into the fabric of his pants. Back home, it would hardly even qualify as a creek, no more than a foot wide, but Jensen knew beggars couldn't be choosers. Seeing that it was mostly clear, Jensen scooped up handfuls and poured it over his himself. He tipped his head back and sighed as the water immediately began to cool him off. Closing his eyes, he simply kneeled in the small waterway for a few minutes and basked. When he finally opened his eyes, he took a closer look at the water.

It appeared very clear as it gurgled along its meandering way. There was hardly any leaf litter in it, save for one or two oddly shaped pods that floated by. Since there were obviously no camps or villages nearby, Jensen was fairly confident that the water was relatively unpolluted. He remembered reading somewhere that the human body could function pretty well without food for three weeks, but only a few days without water. He decided to take his chances and began to drink handful after handful of the the stuff, hoping he wouldn't end up paying for it later with the trots or worse. When he’d had as much as he could stomach, Jensen stripped off both his shirts and dunked them in the stream. When they were thoroughly soaked, he wrung them out over his head and shoulders, rinsing away the mud that had dried on him as best he could. He repeated the process until he was relatively clean. Wetting them once again, he put them back on, relishing the damp coldness against his heated skin. Somewhat refreshed and revitalized, he rose and continued on.

A definite improvement since finding the stream, which he walked alongside or in as the terrain dictated, was how much easier it became to walk. The water carved a natural path for him to use and he was more than happy to follow in its wake. The canopy above was still as thick as ever, but he thought maybe the light was growing a little dimmer, as difficult as it was to tell for certain. Whether he wanted to or not, Jensen was going to have to set up a camp sooner or later. He couldn't be sure how close to the equator he might be, but he had a sinking feeling that when night came, it would come fast and he was in no position to keep hiking in the dark. Part of him didn't want to stop, though, because as long as he kept moving, he was able to push back all thoughts about how absolutely screwed he was. Once he stopped, everything about his situation would be all too real again.

After what was probably an hour had passed, Jensen slowed his slog alongside the stream. About twenty feet ahead, he saw the flash of something metallic and after all the green, the dull silver was oddly out of place. Jensen cocked his head and stared at it. After it registered that what he was seeing was most likely a hunk of his plane, he practically ran over to it. Sure enough, on closer inspection, the relatively clean piece of metal about as long as his arm and nearly as wide was too new to be anything but a chunk of his doomed jet. Turning around and round, he scanned the area as best he could for anything more. And there, up on the bank about fifteen feet away was another hunk of metal.

Certain he could find his way back to the stream while there was still daylight, Jensen used his stick to hike out of the small crevasse he had been walking along. He was careful what vines he grabbed to help haul himself out after his run in with the constrictor, striking them with his stick first before wrapping his good hand around them and pulling. He travelled for a few minutes in a relatively straight trajectory from the last two pieces of wreckage he had spotted, but didn't find anything more. He was about to head back to the stream and continue his trek downwards when he nearly tripped over the gargantuan roots of another humongous tree. They'd been obscured by the thick undergrowth and he'd nearly brained himself on the tree trunk. Swearing to himself as he tried to regain his balance, he placed his uninjured hand against the base of the tree and let his head fall back as he stretched out the aching muscles in his neck and shoulders. As he did so, his breath caught at what he saw above him.

Suspended up about ten feet, half wrapped in sinuous vines, was one of the pale, leather seats from his plane. It had embedded itself upright in a natural cradle within the huge trunk, half caught by limbs and vines from other plants and trees as well. As covered by foliage as it was, it looked like it had always been there and if Jensen hadn't chosen to look up at that moment, he would have walked by completely unaware of its existence. And still strapped in the seat was Jared. His head hung down, face completely obscured by his hair, with one arm stretched out to the side awkwardly and suspended by vines. He dangled there like a discarded marionette.

“Oh, my God,” Jensen croaked, voice hoarse from his periodic calls for help. The kid didn't move and Jensen wasn't sure he was even alive.

He dropped his stick and scrambled to climb up along the base of the tree to reach him. His left hand ached, but he hardly noticed it over the thundering of his heart. As he came up alongside the right side of the chair, his feet firmly anchored on a large vine that wrapped around the trunk multiple times, he reached up with his good hand and carefully slipped it along the kid’s neck. His eyes slammed shut and he thumped his forehead against the scratchy bark of the tree when his fingers encountered warm, sweaty flesh. It only took a moment to discover the steady beat of Jared’s pulse. He was alive.

Opening his eyes, Jensen licked his lips nervously. Alive didn't mean anything if the younger man was seriously injured. Holding on tighter with his left hand despite the pain, he tried his best to very gently run his right hand along Jared’s neck and shoulders. The way the seat had wedged itself had kept Jared tilted back slightly, so he looked like a typical traveler who had merely fallen asleep in his seat with the exception of his right arm, tangled up as it was in the clinging vines. Not finding anything out of place, Jensen wiped quickly at the sweat trickling into his eyes and then reached up to free Jared’s arm. When that was done, he made a cursory pass along it and then the kid’s legs. Everything seemed good. Even his clothes were basically intact. The chair appeared to have protected him for the most part and a quick glance up revealed the broken and dangling branches it had struck on its way down, cushioning Jared as he had fallen. A couple of inches' difference, however, and it would have been Jared and not the chair’s internal frame that would have been skewered. Shaking his head at that morbid thought, Jensen decided it would be best to leave him belted in and try to wake him rather than manhandle him down and have them both fall if Jared came to mid-descent.

Cupping his face, Jensen quietly said the younger man’s name. When that had no effect, he brushed some of his bangs out of the way and lightly tapped his cheek.

“C’mon, kiddo. Show me those gorgeous eyes of yours. I never did get a chance to figure out exactly what color they were before, hidden behind your glasses and all.” God, he thought, his glasses. If those had broken during the fall and gauged his eyes…He shuddered despite the heat.

The younger man’s continued silence was growing more and more worrisome. Jensen lowered his hand to Jared’s shoulder and shook him vigorously. Jared’s head jiggled, but nothing more. “Up and at ‘em,” he joked in a falsely cheery voice. “Rise and shine, kid.”

Nothing.

Turning his head from side to side, Jensen worried how he was going to manage getting himself and the kid down safely from the tree. It was true that they weren't that high up, but with his clipped wing, it wasn't going to be easy. And he couldn't ignore the fact that if Jared didn’t wake up, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He didn't know if he was physically strong enough to haul the kid with him while he looked for a way out. And he didn't think their current spot would be anything close to ideal to try and be spotted by search planes. But he also didn't think he was strong enough to abandon Jared, either, even if he told himself he would send back help. And if Jared never woke up…

Dropping his head against Jared’s shoulder, Jensen whispered, “Please don’t leave me alone out here, Jared. Please be okay.”

Jared’s head tipped sideways and he let out a low moan. Jensen’s head shot up and he couldn't stop the grin that formed at the feeble sound. “That's it, kiddo,” he encouraged the younger man. “That’s it.”

He kept a hand over Jared’s heart, reassured by the steady thump underneath his palm. Holding his breath, he watched as the kid’s eyelashes fluttered while his head lolled from side to side.

“You can do it,” Jensen cheered him on, once again cupping his cheek. “There you go.”

“Mmm,” Jared hummed as he slowly opened his eyes. Jensen still couldn't make out what color they were. “Are we there yet?”

Jensen rubbed his thumb along the kid’s cheek and found himself blinking back unexpected tears at the sleepy question. Jared sounded all of five-years-old, but his eyes were open and he was awake and was fucking talking.

“Depends on your definition of ‘there’,” Jensen chuckled wetly, letting out a noisy exhale.

The kid swung his head around slowly and Jensen saw how he was trying his best to focus on him.

“Jensen?” he mumbled. His pink tongue snaked out of his mouth, dragging along his parched lips.

“Yup, the one and only,” Jensen said with a touch of bravado, slipping on his actor’s mask. Jared wasn’t up for this. He needed Jensen to be the big, damn hero and that was something he could do. “You ready to get out of this tree, Gilligan?”

Jared’s forehead crinkled in obvious confusion and, despite their predicament, Jensen found it endearing. “Gilligan?” the kid muttered. “I don’t –” and he cut himself off as he gradually became aware of his surroundings.

Jensen lowered his hand back to the the other man’s chest and pressed back hard, sensing the impending freak out. And Jared’s heart rate had definitely kicked up a notch as did his respirations. Jensen decided it was better to head him off at the pass. “Easy now, kiddo. Don’t make any sudden moves because I don't know how secure we are.”

Jared grabbed at his arm as he twisted around to look back and up at the tree. “What?” was all that he managed to get out and Jensen knew exactly how he was feeling.

“I think lightning struck the wing,” Jensen told him quickly but calmly. “Or maybe it hit the fuel tank. I don’t know, but the plane broke apart mid-air.” He surprised himself with how calm he sounded when that wasn’t close to what he had felt when he’d first woken up. Of course, he had been several miles up in the air at the time, but somehow Jared needing him made all his fears receded into the distance.

“You’re in a tree about eight or ten feet up, so don't make any sudden moves, okay?” Jensen reassured him, eyes flicking back and forth between Jared’s. This close it was hard to keep from going cross-eyed as he focused on him. He hoped that by repeating himself, some of it would sink in.

Jared licked his lips nervously. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, but Jensen heard the fear just below the surface.

“Good boy,” Jensen smiled, patting him on his chest. Unlike Jensen, Jared wasn’t drenched in sweat yet, but he suspected it was only a matter of time now that the kid was conscious and moving. He was glad water was so close by.

Jared gave him a nervous smile at his praise and tossed his head to get his bangs out of the way. As his eyes trailed down past Jensen’s hand, Jared’s gaze lingered on his seatbelt. “I guess this saved my life,” he eventually whispered, tapping the buckle. “I-I don't remember putting it on.”

“That’s because you didn’t,” Jensen told him matter-of-factly. “You got it wrapped around your axel to put your fucking tray away instead of belting yourself in,” he groused, not meaning to snap, but finding it hard not to. The stupid kid could have died over that damned thing.

“Oh,” he murmured, dropping his head down. “Sorry.”

Jensen let out a breath and forced himself to calm down. “No, that’s on me. I get angry and turn into a dick when I'm stressed,” he admitted. It wasn’t Jared’s fault that Jensen reacted like that and he certainly didn't want the kid to feel guilty about not acting rationally in an emergency situation. “It’s okay,” he continued, ducking his head down and looking up into Jared’s eyes. He shifted his head, trying to get a better look at them, but the kid had retreated behind his hair. He was a little too good at using it as a curtain to hide behind and Jensen was abruptly reminded that it was probably a distancing mechanism given his profession. “Really,” he added, smiling brightly. “Let’s get you out of here and continue this discussion on terra firma, all right?”

Now that Jared was awake (alive, his mind furnished helpfully), Jensen couldn't help but notice how his left hand was really starting to ache. Shifting on the vine he was using as a step, Jensen helped Jared, whose hands were still shaking, unfasten his belt. “If you think you can,” he instructed the younger man as he closed his hands over the kid’s, “hang onto the chair’s armrest and swing yourself over here after I move. There’s a fairly sturdy vine that you can use like the rung of a ladder and then you can follow me down, okay?” And he stomped his foot to make a show of where Jared should stand.

“Okay,” Jared replied unsteadily. "I can do that."

Jensen flashed him his trademark smirk and nodded encouragingly. “Of course you can. Let’s shake a leg, kid.”

He swung away from Jared and slowly lowered himself down a foot or two, never taking his eyes off the younger man. It would sting like a bitch, but he was prepared to catch him if he needed to. He wasn't going to let the kid get hurt on his watch. For his part, Jared did manage to maneuver out of the chair without mishap and grab onto the vines wrapped around the tree.

“Good job,” Jensen told him and finished climbing the short distance back to the jungle floor. Once there, he held out his hands expectantly as Jared picked his way down without missing a step. With one hand still on the gargantuan roots of the tree, Jared looked all the way back up, probably spotting the same breaks in the foliage his crash to earth made that Jensen had spotted.

“Wow,” he muttered, turning to face Jensen. It was at that point that Jensen noted the younger man was actually taller than him by a few inches. Jared smiled at him kind of dopey-like and Jensen couldn't help but return the look. Suddenly, the kid’s eyes glazed over and he crumbled like he’d been cut off at the knees.

Jensen lunged forward and caught him around the waist, slowly lowering them both to the ground. Jared’s forehead pressed into the crook of his neck as his whole body had become deadweight. Jensen clutched him close as they came to rest on their knees. “Hey there,” he said worriedly. “Don’t do this to me.” Wrapping his left arm tighter around the kid’s waist, Jensen stroked the back of his head with his right. “It’s okay,” he promised the nearly unconscious man. “I’ve got you.”

Jensen debated whether it would be better to lay Jared down flat on the ground, but he eyed the leaf litter dubiously. Who knew what might be squirming around under it, he told himself firmly as he adjusted his hold. It was safer to hang onto the kid like he was doing. Running his fingers through Jared’s soft hair, he murmured, “Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I’m around.”

Rocking the kid slightly, Jensen shuffled himself around so that he was sitting on the ground and Jared was cradled in his lap, with his right hand wrapped around his shoulders. For being so tall, the younger man was fairly slender and Jensen figured he had a good twenty to thirty pounds on him easy. Careful not to smear any blood on the kid’s face (Jensen was going to have to clean out his palm again, judging by the growing bloom of red on his makeshift bandage), he slowly trailed the fingers of his left hand along the curve of his jaw. Jared looked so young and vulnerable and Jensen actually didn't have a fucking clue how they were going to manage this disaster. Shaking his head, he stole a glance at the dense green that surrounded them and he wasn't even sure if he was going to be able to keep the promise he had only made a moment ago. Just then, Jared mumbled and his lashes, like sooty smudges against his skin, batted open.

“Hey there,” Jensen said gently.

“Sorry,” Jared slurred.

“S’okay,” he assured the younger man. “You’re entitled after all that.” Watching as Jared struggled to make sense of things, Jensen added, “Why don’t you rest for a few minutes? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Jared sighed and turned his face in towards Jensen’s chest, almost like the kid was tucking himself in against him. Almost like Jensen made him feel safe. The older man couldn't stop the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. The younger man had to be exhausted after everything he’d been through. After all, Jensen knew exactly how he felt. The next time Jared woke up, Jensen would tell him how they were a part of a very exclusive mile-high club. And they would figure a way out of this mess.

As he tightened his grip around the kid’s shoulders, Jensen knew one thing for certain – it was good not to be alone.

Chapter Text

A soft sigh drifted up towards Jensen. He needed to pry open his eyes to find the source of the sound, having apparently fallen asleep. Shifting his shoulders, the back of his shirt caught and dragged against something rough. At some point after he had propped himself against the monstrously large tree, Jared still held tight in his arms, he must have nodded off. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, falling out of an airplane and then bushwhacking for hours through the Amazon, but he still was. He was even more surprised that while he might have drifted off, he hadn't loosened his hold on the kid one bit.

Looking down, Jensen watched as Jared licked his lips and hummed, slowly coming around. Despite everything, Jensen smiled as he watched the kid wake up. Unable to resist, he brushed the wayward bangs away from Jared’s eyes, noticing how finely shaped the younger man’s eyebrows were and how they perfectly framed his exotically tilted eyes that were finally cracked open.

“Hmm?” Jared mumbled as he smacked his lips.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Jensen teased lightly.

The kid furrowed his brow and he had an impressive, if odd, pattern of wrinkles bunch up his forehead. “What?” he tried again, although he made no move to extricate himself from Jensen’s arms and Jensen had no problem with that. It gave him an opportunity to actually see the other man’s eyes and now he understood why he hadn't been able to figure out what color they were.

They weren't a single color, like most were. Jared’s eyes were a riot of blues, greens and browns, like his own DNA didn’t know what color to settle on. Coupled with his beauty marks (which obviously weren't painted on since they were still very much there after the crash) and his mile-long legs, Jensen thought Jared could easily snag a modeling gig on his looks alone. It might still be selling his body, but a hell of a lot safer than hooking. If he had had a free hand, Jensen would have smacked himself. Here he was trying to figure out a new career for Jared while they were quite literally lost in the Amazon. But before he had a chance to castigate himself any further, Jared seemed to come fully awake.

“What?” the kid repeated and struggled to sit up. Jensen steadied him around the shoulders with his good hand while Jared whipped his head from side to side.

“Easy now,” Jensen soothed.

Glancing up, Jared couldn’t miss the plane seat firmly embedded in the tree. “Oh, my God,” he exhaled softly.

Nodding calmly, Jensen pointed out, “Kind of like Juliane Koepcke, huh?”

“What?” Jared said for a third time.

“Not a what but a who. Juliane Koepcke,” Jensen explained, “was a teenager who was in a plane crash over the Peruvian Amazon back in the seventies. She survived a ten-thousand-foot fall strapped in her seat and landed kind of like that,” he paused and jerked his head up at the Jared’s former resting place. “Like you did.” Felicia had been particularly impressed with the young woman’s story, since the girl basically walked herself out of the jungle wearing nothing but a skimpy sundress, with a busted collar bone and blind as a bat since she had broken her glasses in the fall and lost a shoe.

The younger man looked up a second time, then back at Jensen and it finally seemed to sink in. When he realized he was actually sitting in Jensen’s lap, Jared scrambled off, bumping into one of the huge roots in the process and wincing sharply.

“Hey now,” Jensen snapped, grabbing onto the kid’s shoulder. “I didn't get you down in one piece only to have you screw it up now.”

“Sorry,” Jared exhaled, dipping his head in embarrassment.

Jensen sighed. He really did need to rein in his need to snap out orders where the kid was concerned. He didn't know if it was because of the age difference or Jared’s job that made him weirdly possessive, still acting like the younger man was somehow his. “No need to be sorry. We,” and he stressed that word, “need to watch our every step now.”

Jared peeked up at him through the mass of hair shielding his eyes and Jensen couldn't imagine even a Labrador puppy pulling off such a mournful look. The kid dropped his eyes to Jensen’s lap and then back up to his face. “Sorry,” he stuttered, “for…” He flailed his hand uselessly in the general direction of Jensen’s groin. For someone who probably spent a lot of time in strangers’ laps, Jared was awfully shy all of a sudden. It should have been annoying and over the top in bad acting, but Jensen couldn't help but to believe him.

“It’s okay,” he replied sympathetically. “When I woke up, I kinda checked out for a while, too.”

Rubbing his eyes, Jared nodded and then he inhaled sharply. “Are you all right?” He crawled back over and began to run his hands over Jensen, all shyness forgotten. There was nothing sexual in the touch, purely clinical passes of his long fingers all over Jensen’s body. But Jensen found himself shivering despite the impersonal inspection. “Does anything hurt?”

“I'm fine,” he tried to reassure the other man, but Jared saw his bloody bandage. Catching Jensen’s hand between his larger ones, Jared carefully turned it this way and that. “How bad?” he asked Jensen.

Flexing his fingers to prove to the kid they still worked, Jensen answered, “Well, I don't think it needs stitches.” Like they had that option anyway.

Jared didn't look like he believed Jensen as he inspected the filthy wrapping. Without saying another word, he reached into one of the thousand pockets his absurdly authentic pants had and pulled out a hard case that Jensen recognized as one that held glasses. Sure enough, Jared extracted a very familiar appearing set of spectacles and quickly looped them over his ears. He dug around in a different pocket and Jensen saw him expertly thumb open a rather wicked blade.

Before Jensen had a chance to ask why the hell Jared had that on him in the first place, the kid was deftly slicing away the soiled, makeshift bandage and inspecting Jensen's bared hand in what must have been late afternoon light, although there was little to differentiate it from any other time of day light. It was really hard to tell, as thick as the trees were. The younger man was efficient but gentle in the way he prodded Jensen’s wounded palm.

“I think you’re right,” Jared finally pronounced. “You probably don't need stitches, but in this kind of environment, we’re going to need to keep it as clean as possible.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jensen agreed, secretly impressed how quickly the other man had gotten it together. And then a depressing thought crossed his mind. Was Jared so adept at assessing injuries because of his line of work? That would certainly explain the knife. Jared probably was never sure what he was walking into and needed the protection. That line of reasoning made him terribly sad. Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, because the kid was giving him such a tender look just then.

“It’ll be okay,” Jared told him and Jensen was hard-pressed not to laugh at how quickly their roles had switched, with the younger man suddenly the one offering comfort. Jensen had to admit that he was touched. Certainly he had “people” that took care of him, but he had very few who actually were genuinely concerned about him and not his brand. Of late, he found himself only counting on Chad and his immediate family for that.

“We should probably clean this out again and rewrap it a little better this time,” he continued, patting Jensen on his shoulder.

“There’s a stream about ten minutes or so from here in that direction,” Jensen motioned with his good hand, pointing to where he had come from. “And I’ve got some disinfectant,” he added, retrieving the opened bottle of bourbon from his pocket.

“Awesome,” Jared smiled, dimples actually poking holes in his cheeks as he did so. He studied their surroundings for a moment and then said, “No need to go that far for water. C’mere.” The kid stood up and then offered Jensen his hand. Once again, Jensen was surprised how his was just swallowed up in the other man’s grip.

Jared walked them a few feet away from the tree and reached over to snag a rather large and woody vine dangling directly overhead. He deftly cut it and Jensen watched, amazed, as a stream of what appeared to be water poured out of it. Jared caught some in his hand, studied it closely and then brought it to his lips before Jensen could think to stop him. The kid smiled and grabbed Jensen’s hand, holding it under his makeshift faucet. Using it like a hose, Jared thoroughly flushed out Jensen’s wound until there was no trace of blood left.

As he cradled Jensen’s hand in his, he asked, “I know it's tough in this climate, but does it feel unusually hot or tight to you?” Jensen shook his head in the negative.

“That’s great,” the kid smiled. “Gimme the booze,” he ordered, holding out his hand. Jensen chuckled as he handed over the half-empty bottle. Apparently, Jared had forgotten that Jensen had taken care of himself on his own just fine before this. But he couldn't deny the warm feeling in his belly as the kid doctored him up.

“What was that?” Jensen asked him after a minute.

“Hmm?” Jared hummed distractedly, focusing on Jensen’s hand. Jensen remembered how single-minded Jared had been on the plane, too, almost bordering on tunnel vision.

“The juice out of that vine,” Jensen prodded him when Jared didn't respond.

“Oh, that,” he answered, not lifting his eyes from his task. “The lianas around here are pretty moisture rich. As long as the stuff runs clear and doesn't burn the skin, it's completely safe to drink,” he explained. “And it's safer than any leaf with standing water in it, because you never know what kind of insects might have gotten in there, too.” Jensen’s mind flashed back to the leaves he had used to first rinse his wound and counted himself lucky there hadn’t been a deadly whatever lurking in the water then. When Jared decided the wound was good and clean, he gave Jensen back the bottle since there were a few sips of Wild Turkey left in it. He retrieved his knife and then floundered a bit. “Do you want to use some of my shirt this time?”

Jensen smiled. “I think I’ve got more to spare that’s still clean,” he admitted and made to reach for the knife.

“Let me,” Jared slapped his hand away. “Just keep that hand sterile.”

Jensen smirked at how authoritative Jared was trying to appear. But when the kid dropped to his knees in front of Jensen, the actor’s smirk disappeared. How in the world he could think about sex now boggled his mind, but he was as he stared down at the top of Jared’s head while the kid – with the tip of his tongue caught between his pink lips – expertly cut away a small section of Jensen’s wife-beater, head dangerously close to Jensen’s crotch.

It was only after the kid stood up that Jensen noticed the piece he had cut away was far too small to adequately wrap around his hand. “That’s not gonna be enough, kid,” he told Jared.

“Sure it is,” Jared smiled. “Hold out your hand,” he instructed Jensen and the actor did as he was asked and watched as Jared deftly packed the small piece of cloth directly over the wound. “Keep it just like that,” he said as he rummaged around in what must have been pocket number fifty-seven. The younger man pulled out what looked like a credit card that had duct tape wrapped around it a bunch of times.

“Much better and more watertight,” Jared informed him as he unwound several lengths of the stuff before tearing it with his even, white teeth. Stuffing the card back into one of his pockets, Jared proceeded to rewrap Jensen’s hand, having him test its flexibility with each pass. When he was satisfied with his work, the kid nodded his head once. “Good enough, I think. And it offers you more protection than a cloth bandage.”

Jensen reluctantly took back his hand, flexing his fingers a few times before agreeing. “Not bad, kiddo. Thanks.”

Almost as soon as Jared finished with his hand, the younger man’s shoulders began to droop. He sucked in his lower lip, regarding their surroundings and bit down hard enough that Jensen was afraid he was going to draw blood. He needed to do something quickly before the kid started to completely and justifiably panic.

“Why don’t we sit down and take a minute to catch our breath, okay?” Jensen asked him, ducking down to catch Jared’s eye.

“Yeah, okay,” Jared agreed. The kid cleared a clean patch in the leaf litter around him using his booted feet before dropping down to sit cross legged before Jensen. The actor mimicked his motions, because who knew what might be under the leaf litter, and sat as well.

“All right. Let’s try to get our bearing here,” Jensen continued once they were sitting down. Even though he figured it would be pointless, Jensen asked, “Do you have a phone?”

The kid shook his head, bangs swaying as he did so. “I had that tucked away in my bag along with my iPad,” he admitted, “and I don't see that anywhere.”

“No,” Jensen agreed as he glanced around quickly. There wasn't any other obvious sign of wreckage and he winced, thinking about the two-man flight crew.

As if reading his mind, Jared asked softly, “Did you happen to find the crew? I mean,” he added quickly, “I know they’re not with you, so does that mean…” and he petered out, not able to voice the obvious.

“Other than the pieces that led me to you,” Jensen informed him, “I haven't even seen another part of the plane anywhere and I've been walking for hours.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or not – not knowing what happened to them. You know?” he said, giving Jensen an earnest look.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” Jensen commiserated. “But,” he plowed on, putting a hopeful spin on it, “if you and I could make it, they might be all right, too.”

Licking his lips, Jared nodded slightly. And then he perked up. “Were you in your seat, too? I kind of don’t remember too much after the turbulence got really bad.” He absently rubbed the right side of his head and Jensen recalled with crystal clarity what a knock the kid took up in the cabin.

“No, I didn’t get a chance to buckle up,” and he resisted saying it was because he was too busy strapping Jared in. No need to make the younger man feel badly. “The plane literally cracked open and I got pulled out.”

It was almost comical how wide Jared’s eyes grew. “You got pulled out of the plane with nothing? But how in the world could you survive?” And he reached out to grab Jensen’s right forearm, as if he needed to physically prove to himself that Jensen was really there despite the evidence before his eyes.

Returning the grip with a squeeze of his own, Jensen debated about the details, but decided to go with the simple truth. “I got very, very lucky. Between some wreckage and the trees breaking my fall,” he pointed up, “I pretty much walked away with just this.” He held up his injured palm and grinned.

“Wow,” Jared exhaled.

“Yeah, big wow,” he chuckled. “I’ll tell you the gory details later. Right now, I don't think we’ve got much daylight left to work with.”

Jared stared at him for a moment longer before removing his hand. He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a rectangular, slim watch, which he held up to his ear and then smiled. “You’re right. It’s after 4:00 p.m. now, so we’ve probably only got another two hours before lights out, depending where we are in relation to the equator.”

Nodding along, Jensen continued, “So what I was thinking is that we find an open clearing to set signal fires and wait for a rescue. Obviously it’s too late today and this spot won't do for that, but we could start out at first light tomorrow.”

Jared cocked his head to the side and seemed to be considering the idea. Jensen was a little surprised that the kid wasn't immediately onboard with the plan, considering their predicament and the lack of skills Jared possessed, given his obvious, ill-prepared profession.

“You said you were following a stream?” he asked instead of throwing his support in with Jensen’s idea.

“Yeah, for the last couple of hours,” Jensen confirmed, dabbing at the sweat on his brow.

“We can definitely follow that. Sooner or later, it will lead to larger bodies of water and around here,” he gestured vaguely at the jungle, “waterways are the highways. Eventually, we’ll probably stumble across a village of some sort…if we don’t find a clearing first,” he added at the last minute, as though he didn't want Jensen to feel like his plan was being discarded completely.

Huh. Jensen hadn't thought about the water like that, but conceded internally that the kid had a point if there were people to be found. That seemed like a big “if” to him.

Shrugging his shoulders and not wanting to get into a disagreement with the younger man, Jensen plowed on. “Whatever we decide on, I think this is probably going to have to be home for the night.”

Jared eyed the place more thoroughly and agreed.

“All I've got on me,” Jensen said, “is a phone with no signal, some dental floss, a few bottles of bourbon and a couple of packs of snacks. What about you?”

Jared began to unload his pockets and Jensen was amazed at all the stuff the kid carried on his person. Aside from the spare pair of glasses, Jared had a small notebook and pen, the duct tape, a key ring with an insane amount of keys on it, a Portuguese-English dictionary, a package of Kleenex, passport, wallet, sunscreen, a couple of pairs of socks, a cracked and empty Bic lighter, foot powder and that impressive knife.

“Took that Boy Scout pledge to heart, huh?” Jensen kidded as he took in the odd collection of items.

“That I did,” Jared beamed and Jensen was once again assailed with inappropriate thoughts of Jared in a Boy Scout uniform doing all kinds of naughty things with his troop leader. Shaking his head, Jensen admitted, “It sure is lucky you didn't have that in your main bag. I have a feeling that’s going to be the most useful thing between the two of us,” he nodded to the knife.

“I know,” Jared chirped. “I was about to put it in my checked luggage when that blond, squinty guy,” and Jensen laughed at the apt description of Chad, who perpetually looked like he was scowling at something, “kind of hustled me onto the tarmac. I still can’t believe Professor Omundson was able to swing a cushy charter like that, the rough landing notwithstanding.”

“What?” Jensen wondered. Why in the world was the kid still keeping up the façade of a research assistant?

Jared only looked at him with a quizzical expression in return. “That guy just escorted me directly to the plane. To be honest, I didn't even think I saw a security checkpoint there. It was such a small airport with only the one strip that I half suspected I was in the wrong place.” He actually blushed at that last statement.

Shaking his head, Jensen sputtered, “Back up. What about Professor Omundson?” Granted, that was the man who had been brought in as a technical advisor for the upcoming shoot where Jensen would actually handle the manuscript the movie was based on, but there was no reason for Jared to carry on like the shit hadn't hit the fan.

“Professor Omundson,” he sighed, like it was Jensen who was especially dense. “The man overseeing our current project,” and he waved his hand between the two of them. “The upcoming dig in the Mato Grosso ring any bells with you? Are you sure you’re all right?”

Bells were certainly ringing for Jensen – alarm klaxon level ones. Without hesitating, he kneeled in front of the kid and grasped his face, even though his left hand stung with the movement. With gentle care, Jensen tipped Jared’s head backward and tried to get a good look at the younger man’s pupils in the diffuse light. He cursed himself for dismissing the knock to the noggin the kid took on the plane. Clearly, he was confused – a sure sign of a concussion injury.

Surprisingly, Jared didn't flinch from the touch, but placed his hands over Jensen’s. “What’s the matter?” he asked breathily.

“Your pupils seem okay, but I think maybe you should lie down, kiddo,” Jensen told him gently. “I think you're a little confused,” he tacked on when the younger man gave him an odd look.

“Confused?”

“Either that, or you have one hell of a work ethic,” Jensen chuckled ruefully.

Adorably befuddled, Jared scrunched up his nose. “I don’t understand.”

Reluctantly releasing the kid’s face, Jensen leaned back to look him square in the eye. “Jared,” he began, slowly and calmly, “I think you're a little confused. Given our current situation, there’s no logical reason for you to…” and he circled his right hand in the air between them, “you know.”

Jared hiked up his shoulders and simply raised his hands helplessly.

Jensen let out a big breath. “You can stop pretending to be a research assistant, okay?”

“Pretending to be a research assistant?” he parroted.

Bobbing his head encouragingly, Jensen continued, “That’s right. It’s okay,” he said. “Obviously I don't have a problem with what you really do.”

“What I really do?” Jared echoed strangely.

Jensen’s momentary relief that Jared had seemed compos mentis fled as quickly as it had arrived. He worried how bad the damage to the kid’s head might really be. He decided to proceed cautiously. “I don't have a problem with you being a hooker, okay?” And he placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on Jared’s shoulder.

“A…hooker?” Jared whispered.

Oh, shit. Did Jensen somehow manage to insult him with that?

“A rent boy,” he corrected quickly.

“A rent boy?”

“An escort,” he finally sputtered. “A very expensive escort.” That should do it, he told himself.

Jared hung his head down, apparently unable to meet Jensen’s eye. And it came to Jensen that maybe Jared wasn't concussed so much as he was using that identity as a coping mechanism, given their circumstances. He was mentally kicking himself for taking that away from the kid, especially when he saw and felt the younger man's shoulders begin to shake under his comforting grip.

“Hey there,” he began, pulling his hand away and not knowing how to fix it. “It's really okay,” he assured the kid.

And then Jared scared the hell out of him. The kid threw his head back and let out a cackle that even startled a parrot from its roost. The rainbow-colored creature squawked and cawed angrily as it flew off to disappear deeper into the bush.

As Jared continued to laugh, rocking like someone in a mental institution (and Jensen would know, having played one a long time ago), Jensen grew more and more worried. The kid was having a complete meltdown and Jensen had no idea how he was going to cope with that. He wanted to reach out and pat the younger man on the shoulder again, but he didn't know how Jared might react in his current condition. He decided to ride out the emotional storm and see what he was left with on the other side.

Jared’s cackles dissolved into chortles and he wiped furiously at his eyes. But Jensen was relieved to see that he was calming down. At least the rocking had stopped. That had to be a good sign. “You think I'm a sex worker?” he finally managed to get out, still rubbing at his leaking eyes.

“Well, yeah,” Jensen admitted. Jared had, after all, been personally hired by his manager. “I'm sorry if I didn't get the terminology right. I didn’t mean to offend you.” And he really hadn't. He simply didn't know the correct protocol for the situation.

“Dude,” Jared practically giggled, “I am a research assistant. Well, technically, I'm a postdoc, but I am Professor Omundson’s assistant on his latest dig.”

Jensen wasn't sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion his mouth was hanging open in shock. “What?” he muttered, the tables suddenly turned.

Jared didn't really notice Jensen’s confusion. He was full on giggling and rocking back and forth again, talking more to himself than the older man. “A hooker? Me? Imagine someone paying me for sex when I've never even had – ” The kid shut up abruptly, slapping his hand over his mouth, and Jensen’s gave him an incredulous look, his mind about two steps behind in this ridiculous catch-up game.

“So you’re really not a hooker?” Jensen croaked.

Jared shook his head so vigorously that his bangs fell into his eyes. “Nuh uh.”

Jared was not a hooker. Jared was not a paid sex worker. And, as Jensen’s mind slowly did catch up, if he had understood correctly, Jared was in the process of admitting he was a virgin before he stopped himself. As he continued to stare at the beautiful boy, he couldn't bring himself to accept that someone who looked like him had never had sex. With his intelligence, his obvious looks and his awkwardly charming humor, the kid should have had droves of hook-ups.

Before Jensen could go much farther down that line of thought, Jared squeaked, “Why would you need a hooker?”

Slapping at a bug hovering nearby, Jensen was suddenly, incredibly embarrassed. “I've never used a hooker before. Wait,” he stuttered, “I don't mean ‘used’, although I guess that’s what clients are doing with them,” he rambled and was certain the tips of his ears were growing red as Jared studied him seriously. “I wouldn't use somebody like that.” Jared gave him a look that said Then what am I doing here? “It was my manager,” he finally blurted out, deciding to lay the blame squarely on Chad’s guilty shoulders.

“Your manager?” Jared wondered.

“Yeah,” Jensen exhaled. “That squinty-eyed bastard you met at the airport.”

“Why do you have a manager?”

“Because I'm Jensen Ackles,” he replied, placing emphasis on his last name, since that would explain it all.

But it didn't.

Jared merely placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward, studying Jensen expectantly. There were still traces of tears on his cheeks, but he had sobered up marginally from his laughing fit.

“The Miracle,” Jensen offered by way of explanation, since that was the role he was most associated with.

“What miracle?” Jared asked innocently.

Sighing, Jensen listed off several of his roles, with Jared remaining as ignorant of them as he had been of the first one. He even mentioned the season he did on American Horror Story, where he was one of two men who fought supernatural creatures, all the while oblivious to the fact they were falling in love with one other during their dangerous escapades. If nothing else, that had been a breakthrough season, bringing same sex relationships to mainstream television without actually shying away from the sex. And there had definitely been some real chemistry between him and his co-star, Sam Winchester, that had helped sell it. Certainly Jared would have at least heard of that one. Nothing. Jensen was growing exasperated. Never in his career had he had such a struggle to be recognized. “Look, I know I may not be a household name like the Kardashians, but –”

“Who?” the younger man asked, as genuine as could be.

And how could this kid be real?

“The Kardashians? You know, that family that got famous for the one daughter making a…” Watching Jared’s sincerely bewildered face, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Somehow this kid had managed to escape the reality show herpes that was the Kardashians and he wasn't going to be the one to take that particular virginity away from Jared if he could help it. “Never mind,” he groused, resigned to the fact that Jared had no clue who he was. “I’ve made some movies,” he stated simply. “That's why I have a manager.”

“Oh,” Jared remarked and then pushed out his lower lip and scowled. “But why would someone like you need a hooker? I mean, the way you look? I’m sure people fall all over themselves to get next to you. Even I –” The last part came out in a rush and then the kid clamped his mouth shut, face turning the most becoming shade of pink.

And for the first time since the whole mistaken identity had come to light, Jensen’s lips curled up in a crooked smile. The genuineness of the younger man in front of him was incredibly endearing. “The way I look?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly do I look?”

Jared’s head dropped down and he began stuffing his belongings back into his pant pockets. “We should get ourselves ready for nightfall,” he mumbled and while Jensen longed to tease the kid just a little bit longer, there was no denying he was right. As he was about to suggest they use the large tree for partial shelter, Jensen was surprised when Jared took charge.

“Those trees over there,” he indicated a pair of what must have been considered saplings compared to the prehistoric trees around them, “should do pretty well.” With all but his knife tucked away, Jared sprang to his feet. He moved over to a third tree, smaller than the others, flicked out his saw blade and dropped to his knees.

“We can use this as a crossbeam of sorts,” he explained while he began to cut the tree at its base.

“Lean-to?” Jensen asked with dawning awareness.

“Yup,” Jared answered, not glancing up. His face was a shade of pink that Jensen suspected had nothing to do with the jungle heat.

“What can I do to help?” Jensen asked him, trying to smooth over the awkward tension in the air. Their situation was too serious to fuck up over any misunderstandings or teasing.

Jared huffed and raised his head. “You see that palm over there?” He pointed to a plant about four feet high, with distinctive and large leaves.

“Yeah,” Jensen agreed.

“Collect as many fronds from palms like that as you can. We’ll use ‘em for roofing material.”

“Okay,” Jensen agreed, unconsciously flexing his left hand.

“And try to leave a few inches of stems on them,” Jared tacked on. “Wait a sec,” he mumbled and fished out his ridiculous key ring. Flipping through the motley collection of keys, he finally settled on a rather innocuous, silver one. Freeing it from the ring, he handed it over to Jensen. “This should help.”

Jensen accepted the key, not sure how much help it would be until he gave it a closer look. It wasn't an actual key, but one of those multi-purpose tools. When he saw a tab, he flicked the key open, just like a pocket knife. One side was Philips head screwdriver and bottle opener combo, while the other was an extremely sharp blade. He grinned as he closed his good hand around it.

Before he got more than five steps away from the kid, Jared called out, “Oh, be careful when you collect them. Amazonian palm vipers like to curl up and hide in the base of those kinds of plants.”

Jensen froze. “Snakes?” he swallowed.

“Yeah,” Jared continued, already focusing his attention on the sapling he was sawing through. “Pale green, prehensile tail, maybe three feet long and mostly nocturnal,” he ticked off, like he was reading from a list. “Usually only pissed when provoked.”

Perfect.

Jensen scrambled to find his walking stick. Suitably armed, he approached the first palm and proceeded to beat the shit out of it before he started to cut away at the thick leaves. When he’d denuded the palm, he continued a short distance away and repeated his actions, although he didn't hit the leaves quite as ferociously, so they retained their shape. He realized tattered ones would make a piss-poor roof. He didn't venture too far, always making sure he could hear Jared working and muttering even if he couldn't always see him. The jungle buzzed and hummed around him, life carrying on as usual while they worked. Jensen was glad of the project. It kept his mind from dwelling too long on the reality of their predicament. Rather than worry about what could happen, he focused on what they were going to do in the moment. And worrying about snakes and other creepy crawlers definitely kept him focused on the task at hand and not how Jared was not who he had thought he was.

Jensen wasn't sure how much time had passed, still reluctant to take out his phone and waste battery power, but he knew he’d been at it for a while. His pile of leaves was pretty impressive. After his first butchering, Jensen made a point not to strip the subsequent plants bare. There were more than enough around that he didn't need to add to the deforestation problems that the rainforests faced, no matter how small a dent he was making. He gathered a huge armful, noting he'd need to make a second trip to get the rest. Jensen returned to the area he'd found Jared and was startled by what he saw.

Jared had turned the area into an honest-to-God campsite.

The kid had not only chopped down the sapling he'd been working on when Jensen had gone off, he had cut down another half-dozen of similar length. The younger man had wedged the cut one between the two standing saplings and then leant another four, evenly spaced, vertically against that one at about a forty-five degree angle, forming a rudimentary lean-to. He was currently in the process of running what looked like rope horizontally across the structure.

“Where did you get the rope?” he asked, amazed.

Whipping his head up in surprise, Jared grinned when he spotted Jensen standing there with an armful of leaves. He paused, tying what looked like a timber hitch knot, and dragged his forearm across his sweaty forehead. “Liana,” he replied easily.

“More vines?” Jensen remarked.

“Yup,” the kid grinned, holding up the impressive coil in his left hand. “This one is flexible enough that I can tie standard knots with it.” And he pointed to pairs of horizontal rows he had made along the lengths of the leaning poles. Each pair was about two or three inches apart and there was a group every two feet or so. “Those fronds look perfect,” he exclaimed, when he saw Jensen’s bounty. “Drop ‘em here,” he indicated to a spot by the bottom of the structure.

Jensen did so and watched as Jared grabbed one leaf and slipped the stem between a pair of vines, bent the narrow part back over the top vine and tucked the end under the lower one. “This way,” the kid explained, “I can lock the fronds in place.”

“Pretty clever, kid,” Jensen told him with a smile.

Jared shot him a grin, dimples and all, before he started to grab for another leaf. But Jensen noticed how the younger man was literally drenched in sweat. His skin practically glistened with it and he worried that Jared, despite his knowledge of the vines and whatnot, wasn't getting enough water to replace what he was losing. He grabbed the kid’s arm, startling Jared.

“Why don't you go down to the stream before it gets dark and cool off a little, okay? Get yourself a real drink while you're down there, too. I can handle this,” he jerked his head towards their shelter. “You already did all the hard work.”

Jared chewed on his lower lip and, without thinking, Jensen reached out and brushed his thumb against what was still visible. “Here now, save some for later,” he joked.

Jared ducked his head, but released the abused flesh with a sloppy pop. “Maybe I should before it gets dark.” and he eyed the canopy suspiciously. “Which direction?”

“Down that way,” Jensen indicated with his good hand. “Maybe less than ten minutes. But if you're not back in thirty, I'm coming after you, kid.”

Jared raised his head enough to peek out at Jensen from between his messy bangs. “Okay,” he agreed and before he could amble off, Jensen pointed to his walking stick.

“Take that,” he ordered. “It gets a little slippery by the water.”

Jared saluted and scrambled for the stick as Jensen muttered, “Smart ass.”

As soon as Jared disappeared from sight, Jensen pulled out his phone and powered it on. He tried again to make a call, but there was definitely no signal. Sighing, he thumbed open the clock app and, finding it still worked, set a thirty-minute timer before propping it up in the crook of one of the support trees. Then he went back to the task of layering the fronds he had collected, starting from the base of their shelter and working his way up to the top. It was simple the way Jared had laid out the latticework and before he knew it, they had a roof.

He stepped back, admiring their handiwork, and stretched out the kinks in his back. He was once again dripping in perspiration. With the humidity as high as it was, Jensen was soaked to the skin. Peeling his torn wife-beater away from his torso, he was tempted to strip to the waist. But the growing hum of mosquitos deterred him as he slapped against his neck in annoyance. Walking around to the front of their shelter, Jensen noticed that Jared had already fashioned a crude bed as well. There were four corner pieces of forked branches about two feet tall, which, in turn, supported a pair of nearly seven foot saplings. Laid horizontally across the long pieces were dozens and dozens of smaller branches that comprised the bed itself.

Sitting gingerly at first, Jensen was pleasantly surprised how sturdy the thing was. It was no Sealy Posturepedic, but, as he bounced on it, Jensen was confident it would be more than adequate for the night and was large enough for the two of them to stretch out comfortably. As if sitting down had been the trigger, Jensen’s muscles began to slowly sag. He was exhausted right down to his bones and the idea of conking out was very, very tempting. He let his head tip forward, occasionally swatting the insects that hummed near his ears and realized he could have fallen asleep on the spot. But the obnoxious drumbeat of his timer went off and he snapped out of the semi-doze he had drifted off into.

Thirty minutes had come and gone and Jared wasn't back yet. Adrenalin suddenly flooding his worn-down system, he sprang to his feet, shut off the offending device and raked the fingers of his right hand through his short hair. Had something happened to the kid? Maybe he’d slipped and snapped a bone, Jensen worried, or some kind of predator had attacked and killed the kid.

“I knew I should have gone with him,” he cursed under his breath as he debated about chucking the slats of their bed aside to take one of the longer saplings with him as a staff. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” he muttered.

“Hey there,” Jared called out and Jensen whipped around in time to see the younger man come into view.

Jensen gripped one of the support trees from their lean-to and let out a noisy exhale. The kid was fine. Getting his breathing back under control, body still thrumming from the adrenalin dump, Jensen took several, deep breaths so that the first thing he did wouldn't be to chew Jared a new one for worrying him. When he heard the kid crash through the last of the bush beside their campsite, he was pretty sure he had himself under control. And then he got a better look at the younger man.

Jared had taken off his shirts and was bare from the waist up. His long hair was smoothed back, revealing his face completely. The kid had a broad forehead with those surprisingly delicate eyebrows above his golden, jackal eyes. A strong jaw gave way to a cleft chin and his lips, while not as full as Jensen’s, were plush enough and a pretty pink. With that mop of chestnut locks temporarily slicked back, Jensen counted a half-dozen moles doting the younger man’s face. He was beautiful. And that beauty didn't stop there.

Letting his gaze skim down the long, tantalizing bared neck, Jensen was taken aback by the kid’s torso. Although he knew Jared wasn't as built as he himself was, there was no missing the defined six-pack or the cut of the kid’s hip bones. He might not have Jensen’s mass, but he was no slouch in the physical fitness department. Jensen licked his bottom lip before he knew what he was doing and then berated himself for objectifying the younger man. Jared was not a hooker and, more importantly, not his. And why that last part made him sad, Jensen had no logical explanation.

“What took you so long?” he snapped and then kicked himself when he saw the smile slip from the kid’s lips. “I was worried,” he added hastily, wincing at how it sounded despite it being the truth.

But it was the right thing to say, judging by the way Jared’s smile returned, broader than before.

“Aw, shucks. You were worried about little, ole me?” he quipped in an exaggerated drawl.

“Yes, ass,” Jensen retorted and wished he had something handy he could have thrown at the kid just then. Jared, perhaps sensing as much, didn't hand him back his walking stick, but made a show of driving into the ground so it stood upright by itself. It was then that Jensen noticed the kid had a strange, dark brown ball in his left hand.

“What’s that?” Jensen asked, pointing to the odd thing. “And why aren't you being eaten alive?” he added, when it became obvious that the half-naked, river nymph standing in front of him was decidedly not being swarmed by a cloud of mosquitos like Jensen was.

Hefting up the brown object, about the size of a basketball and pitted with odd holes all over its surface, Jared proclaimed, “Termites.”

“What?” Jensen demanded, taking an involuntary step backward like a tormented child on a playground about to have his face rubbed in something gross.

Jared’s grin deepened and he moved forward, like an evil bully on said playground, waving the strange ball at Jensen. “Termites,” he repeated, like that explained everything.

“I heard you the first time, kid.” Jensen had backed up against the bed and, rather than lose his balance and look like a fool, he promptly sat down. Jared dropped to his knees in front of him and held the ball up.

“This,” he explained and although his grin had diminished, it hadn't disappeared, “is a termite nest.”

“And why did you feel the need to bring it here?”

“Watch,” Jared instructed him. He then proceeded to split off a chunk of the ball, which crumbled along the edges like it was merely dried mud. The honeycomb piece the younger man held up for his inspection teemed with insects, as they darted and scurried about. Holding the smaller chunk in one hand, Jared caught some of the insects up in his other. He dropped the broken piece on the ground beside the larger chunk, smashed his hands together and then rubbed them briskly. When he was done, he opened them and practically shoved the mess under Jensen’s nose.

“Smell,” he told the actor and while Jensen’s first reaction was to flinch, he held his ground.

“Citrusy,” he admitted with surprise after a hesitant sniff.

“Mm hmm and a natural mosquito repellant,” Jared agreed. “Here,” he said and went to smear the gunk (Jensen tried not to think of it as bug guts) on Jensen’s palm, but paused when he spotted the duct tape bandage. “On second thought,” he paused and held up his hands, “may I?”

“Sure,” Jensen replied softly, touched by the consideration.

Jared lowered his head and proceeded to rub the stuff around first Jensen’s injured hand, paying special heed to the wound, and then his good one. Now, Jensen had had his fair share of manicures and they often ended in a soothing hand massage, but they had never felt like this – like there was actual care involved. Watching the kid smooth the gunk over all the exposed skin of his hands and forearms, Jensen smiled when he spotted Jared’s tongue peek out as he did so. But he schooled his expression into something serious when the kid finally looked up.

“Uh,” Jared swallowed and licked his lips, “it would be a good idea to have this on your face, too.”

Jensen knew very well he could manage it himself, but he decided he was enjoying the kid’s touch too much. “Would you help me with it?” he asked as he held up his gimp hand by way of an excuse.

“S-sure,” Jared stammered. He collected more termites and ground them up in his palms. When he held up his hands, Jensen saw the tremble in them and didn’t want the kid poking him in the eye accidentally with the stuff, so he slowly let his lids shut and tried not to smirk when he heard the younger man’s sigh.

With shy, tentative touches, Jared spread the repellant (Jensen refused to think of it as insect corpses and the lemon smell definitely helped maintain the illusion that it was something else) evenly over Jensen’s face. The rasp of the kid’s thumbs against his burgeoning stubble seemed louder than the jungle noises around them and Jensen thought Jared’s fingers lingered around his chin and jaw longer than absolutely necessary. By the time the younger man was smoothing his long, slender fingers down Jensen’s neck, both of them were breathing harder than strictly necessary.

“Done,” Jared choked out, clearing his throat roughly.

When Jensen opened his eyes, Jared had ducked his head and was fiddling with the termite nest. “If you want to clean up or anything, you should probably hurry,” he said quietly.

“Good idea,” Jensen finally agreed and stood, discreetly glancing down to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass the kid or himself with an inappropriate (decidedly not inappropriate after all that stroking) erection.

“Oh, could I have some of your dental floss?” Jared asked before Jensen began his trek down to the stream.

He cocked an eyebrow and then decided he didn’t want to know. “Sure thing, kid,” he said and tossed the small container over. Jared caught it easily enough and then began to rummage around the campsite, already absorbed in whatever he had planned next. Chuckling to himself, Jensen uprooted his stick and started off back towards the stream, focusing on making sure he didn’t run into any pit vipers along the way. As he thrashed at the bushes with extra vigor, he noticed an absence of buzzing near his head. Jared’s goop had done the trick. He couldn’t help but smile. That kid was something else, he mused to himself.

As he aimlessly trailed the fingers of his left hand down his throat, he felt the phantom pass of slimmer, longer fingers in their place and he shivered, missing their touch. Maybe snakes weren’t the only thing in the jungle he needed to watch out for.

Chapter Text

When Jensen eventually returned from the stream, cooled off as best he could and no longer thirsty, he smiled at the sight that greeted him.

Jared, who – much to Jensen’s regret – had redressed, was hunched over while he furiously sawed away. He was somehow holding a stick upright over what looked like a section of wood and peeled bark. In his right hand, he had a crudely fashioned bow. Jensen recognized the string.

Now I know why he wanted the floss, Jensen told himself. Clever kid.

Although he hated to admit it, as he watched Jared work the bow drill until a small tendril of smoke appeared, Jensen was a little disappointed that he obviously hadn't been missed. The kid definitely had tunnel vision as he worked the fire starter, not unlike the way he'd been on the plane while writing.

“Twenty-nine minutes,” Jared said without looking up. “You were gone twenty-nine minutes.”

Huh. Guess he was missed after all.

“Another minute longer and I’d have gone after you.” Jared still hadn't raised his head, working his drill faster and faster.

The warmth that unfurled in the pit of Jensen’s stomach at those words had nothing to do with the humidity and everything to do with the fact that Jared had been keeping track of him despite his focus on the fire he was trying to start; he'd worried about him.

Grinning, Jensen quipped, “And yet I see you managed to keep busy.”

Jared kept his eye on the wisps that were curling up from the slim hunk of wood braced against his left foot, only pausing his rapid bowing to blow encouragingly on the growing pile of blackened sawdust his spindle created on the strip of wood resting on the bark. Jensen was familiar with the concept, having practiced a few survival skills with one of his stuntmen once, but he'd never had the chance to test those particular ones out. It appeared Jared had done this before.

“Mm hmm,” the kid hummed, still laser-focused on the task at hand. “I’ve got enough tinder,” he jerked his head toward a small pile of shavings and cotton-like fluff. Jensen had no idea where that stuff came from, but given how damp everything was there, that stuff was definitely a godsend. “But maybe you could gather some more wood to last us through the night?”

“Sure thing,” Jensen agreed, eager to help.

“Don’t go too far, though,” he said suddenly, lifting his head and staring directly at Jensen. “Sun’s almost gone and that's when a whole, new slew of critters come out to play. And take my knife.”

Jensen had a smart-mouthed reply at the ready, about how he was a grownup after all, but the sincerity in Jared’s eyes shut him up. And stoked that growing warmth in his core. “I won’t,” was all he said instead as he grabbed Jared’s knife. “Promise.”

That was apparently the right thing to say because the kid let his head fall like it weighed a ton, but not before Jensen caught a telltale flush spread across his face. Jared’s hair had mostly dried while Jensen was down by the stream, but it had done so in riotous clumps and curls, making it harder for the boy to use as a shield. Jensen saw the blush even from where he was standing. And that made him inordinately pleased for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely.

True to his word, Jensen didn't stray far. Like Jared mentioned, sunset was imminent and the always gloomy jungle floor was rapidly fading to black with frightening speed. He made sure to keep Jared within sight, not trusting his iPhone to provide much illumination if he needed to resort to relying on it. He proceeded to hack and saw his way through fallen trees and such that appeared dry enough to be useful, which was no easy feat because there was a level of dampness to absolutely everything. He took off his overshirt and tied it around his waist as he proceeded to work up a sweat that had nothing to do with the environment. By the time he returned, he had a huge armful of logs and was rather chuffed with himself. He grew more pleased when he noticed the way that Jared was staring at his arms and maybe made slightly more of a show of flexing his biceps as he dumped the wood beside their lean-to than was strictly necessary.

“T-that’s a lot of wood,” Jared gulped.

“I aim to please,” Jensen shot back cockily.

“Well, yes…” the kid swallowed. “You should probably put your long-sleeved shirt back on before something eats you alive,” he suggested helpfully.

“You think something might like to eat me?” Jensen smirked, one eyebrow cocked. Jared didn't reply, but proceeded to blow vigorously on the small coal he had transferred over on the strip of bark to his tinder pile. He snuck another peek at Jensen and then fanned the smoldering clump of detritus harder. Before Jensen had a chance to tease the younger man further, the fluff caught and a small flame erupted from his efforts.

“Hey,” Jensen exclaimed. “You did it.”

Jared bobbed his head his head like it was nothing, but Jensen was certain the kid’s blush deepened.

“What is that cotton fluff stuff you found?” he asked.

“That’s the innards from kapok seeds,” Jared told him, hooking a thumb toward a couple of brown, shriveled seeds about the size of bananas nearby. Jensen recognized them as the things he spotted floating in the stream when he first found the water source.

“They come from ceiba trees like the one you found me in. The locals use the fluff for mattresses and pillows and even flotation devices,” Jared went on before placing more on the smoking pile.

“This is always the tricky part,” he explained, “because the temptation is to add stuff right away since you’ve got fire. But you need to coax it and go slowly.” And he added small twigs sparingly, constantly fanning or blowing on his growing fire.

“Sure it's not too close to the cot?” Jensen asked, figuring if they had to move it, now would be the time.

“Not too much of a chance of anything else catching fire. And we’ll want it near for two reasons: the smoke will help with the mosquitos and we’ll want it under cover so it burns through the night.”

Jensen glanced over his shoulder and took in the gathering gloom. It was hard to see much of the sky above, thanks to the dense trees, but he did notice some clouds. “Rain, huh?” He untied the sleeves of his shirt from around his waist and slipped it back on.

“They don't call it a rainforest for nothing,” Jared joked. “Sorry. That was pretty lame even for me.”

“True, though,” Jensen agreed, bothered by the kid’s deprecating manner. Trying to lighten the mood, he asked, “So, did you take some kind of survival class or something? Extreme Boy Scouting? I mean, I know about bow drills myself, but that was for a movie project I was involved in once,” he nodded to the bow Jared had tucked under the cot. “I've never even had the chance to try it out camping.”

Like I've had the time to go camping in the last, few years, he groused internally.

Still slowly feeding the budding flames, Jared replied, “One of my undergraduate classes at BU. ‘Ancient Technologies’ with Professor Omundson, actually. We called it ‘Basket Weaving 101’ between ourselves.” And the kid giggled. The action lit up his whole face.

Jensen dropped down on the ground on the other side of the fast-growing fire, adding small twigs as well. “Did you really weave baskets?” He was curious, but he also wanted to keep that smile on Jared’s face, too.

“Yup,” Jared grinned, his chestnut bangs hanging in thick strands and half-obscuring his eyes, “and nets and hammocks.” In the encroaching darkness, the orange flicker made his unusually colored eyes sparkle. “Also, we practiced flint knapping, smelting ore and a few other skills.”

“Wow,” Jensen exhaled, genuinely impressed.

“I never figured I would get much of a chance to use any of the skills,” Jared admitted. “I just figured, like everyone else, it would help me identify artifacts and things like that in the field. In fact,” he added, dropping back to sit on his rear since the fire was pretty well established, “I think I saw something by the stream that might come in handy, too.”

“What’s that?” Jensen wondered, getting comfortable as well. He couldn't help but notice that Jared had covered the ground under their lean-to with the leftover palm fronds. They made for a slick carpeting and he slid a little on it.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow,” the kid smiled. “I’ll surprise you.”

“You already have,” Jensen replied softly. He wasn't sure he had meant to say that out loud. Rummaging around in his pocket, Jensen pulled out the handful of packaged snacks he had grabbed while onboard. It seemed a lifetime ago already. “Here,” he announced as he tossed a bag of salted nibbles to the younger man. “Since you did all the housework,” he joked, “the least I can do is buy you dinner.”

Jared caught the bag one-handed against his chest. Holding it up, he inspected the label. “Just so you know,” he told Jensen as he used his teeth to tear into the packaging, “I don’t put out on the first date.”

You don't put out at all, Jensen told himself, if that little slip-up from earlier was any indication.

“Well, you're not catching me at my best,” Jensen retorted as he carefully ripped his package open by hand. Too many hours in a dental chair kept him from risking his pearly whites needlessly. He shook out the stiff, foil pouch, watching the pretzels, cheese bits and other unidentifiable shapes tumble into his hand. He reminded himself to eat very slowly. “I'm usually a better date than this.”

“The salt should do us some good,” Jared mumbled over his crunchy chewing, flustered all over again. The kid was too easy to mess with and Jensen decided to dial it down a notch.

“You're probably right.” As he savored each morsel, Jensen added, “Wish I would have grabbed more.”

Popping his fist against his open mouth, Jared downed the last of his bag. “I'm just really grateful you grabbed what you did.” He licked the inside of his hand, obviously trying to get every last flake of salt, but watching his tongue lave his palm like that was doing things to Jensen that were entirely inappropriate given their predicament. And why the hell couldn't he keep his mind off of sex? Now was neither the time nor the place. He blamed the sticky heat for his preoccupation with it and near constant state of semi-arousal around Jared.

The kid threw the first real piece of wood onto the fire. “I think we’ve got it,” he chirped gleefully.

Staring into the expanding, orange glow, Jensen agreed. “You did good, Jared.”

Crinkling his empty bag as he stuffed it into a pocket, Jared smiled shyly. “I’m sure you could have come up with something.”

“Maybe,” Jensen shrugged, holding out his hands towards the fire. He wasn't cold yet although he suspected the dampness would eventually make him chilly now that it was night; there was just something about a fire that made him want to do that. It was comforting and familiar. “But I don’t think I would have been this efficient.” And he rolled his head over to acknowledge the lean-to before facing the younger man again.

“Dude,” Jared scoffed, “you survived falling out of a plane. You would have managed.”

Jensen found himself smiling at Jared’s earnestness. This wasn't a fan sucking up to a star, but a person who was impressed with Jensen for what he had done. Granted, surviving a fall like that was pretty damn stunning, but the kid had done the same thing.

“You did, too,” he shot back.

“Nah,” Jared replied, fussing with the fire. The flames were cheerfully crackling, so Jensen suspected his fiddling had more to do with nervous shyness than anything else. “I got lucky and woke up in a tree. You,” he lifted his head and looked Jensen right in the eyes, “saved yourself. I can't even imagine what must have been going through your mind as you did that.”

Jensen let out a long sigh. When you got right down to brass tacks, it was kind of incredible what he’d managed to pull off. And the wide-eyed admiration was honestly flattering, but he found he didn’t want Jared to think of him as larger-than-life. That was too close to his Hollywood persona. “Mostly, I think I was screaming ‘shit’ at the top of my lungs,” he chuckled and Jared joined in. Soon enough, they were laughing at the top of their lungs. When they calmed down, he continued seriously, “We were both so damn lucky.”

Poking at the fire, Jared said quietly, “Maybe the pilots got lucky, too.” From somewhere nearby, frogs began to peep relentlessly.

“Maybe,” Jensen echoed the sentiment. He tried not to think about what he couldn't change, though. And those men, if they had survived, were currently on their own. There was no way they could help the men in the dark, without a clue as to where they were. He swatted a mosquito that hummed nearby. “I can’t believe I'm saying this,” he huffed, wanting to change the subject, “but I think I need more bug guts.”

The kid gave him an odd look before realizing what Jensen was referring to. “I’ve got a better solution for tonight,” he smirked and crawled over to the larger chunk of the termite nest. Once he retrieved it, he knee-walked back to the fire and held the mound over the flames until it started to blacken and smolder. Like he had done with the tinder, Jared pulled it close and blew on the charred area until it began to smoke in earnest. Holding it up, Jared judged which way the slight breeze was blowing and then placed the nest upwind of them. “That should do for the night,” he pronounced.

Jensen was about to ask him how, until he caught a whiff of the burning nest and was reminded of one of those mosquito-repelling, citronella candles. Quirking one corner of his mouth up, he praised, “Pretty slick, kid. They teach you that in Basket Weaving 101, too?”

Jared smiled wide enough that his dimples reappeared. Jensen very much approved of their return. “Not so much. I was part of a dig last summer at the Marcajirca site in Peru through a program with the University of Paris. Part of the excavations we had to do were in tombs so narrow, we had to dig bent over or lying down in the tightest ones.” Jared paused and shivered. Jensen, being over six feet tall himself, was able to sympathize with how uncomfortable that must have been for Jared, who had several inches on him. “Slapping at mosquitos was not an option and it got so stuffy in those catacombs that most of us were stripped down to the bare essentials. Having something effective at keeping the insects away without compromising the site was essential. One of our local counterparts on the dig showed us how to use the termites as a natural repellant.”

“Digging in tombs, huh? Guess that makes you more of an Indiana Jones than me at the end of the day. Fortune and glory,” he teased.

“Do I look like I'm rolling in dough?” Jared laughed as he indicated his state of dress.

“One day,” Jensen assured him. “You’ll make your big discovery and become famous.”

“Besides Fawcett, who you seem to know so much about, what other famous archaeologist can you name?” the kid quizzed him, crossing his arms over his chest. “And don’t say ‘Indiana Jones’.”

Sitting up straighter, Jensen began, “Well, there’s Howard Carter.”

“King Tut,” Jared nodded and motioned for Jensen to go on.

Pursing his lips, Jensen started to rack his brains. “Bingham. Hiram Bingham,” he announced proudly. “The guy who discovered Machu Picchu and fueled Fawcett’s obsession with lost cities.”

“All he did was announce its existence to the world,” Jared corrected him. “Local guides took him to the city. He didn't find it himself; he got escorted. Got anyone else?”

Try as he might, Jensen couldn't come up with any other names. He finally shook his head and admitted defeat.

“People who stick it out in this field don’t do it for fame,” the kid explained, “because we know there isn't going to be any.”

“Is it to be the first then?” Jensen saw the appeal in being a pioneer even if no one else outside their circle would appreciate it; there were few frontiers left to conquer and it had to be a rush to do so. “Is that why you do it? ‘To boldly go where no man has gone before’?” he threw in with a flourish and a Vulcan salute.

Jared frowned at him before he started to cackle. “Where in the world did you come up with a corny line like that?” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes, when he was finally able to catch his breath.

“It’s from…” Jensen started and then cut himself off, lowering his hand. There was little chance of Jared being a Trekkie. “Never mind.”

Jared shrugged easily. “Movie thing?”

“It didn't start that way, but it is now,” Jensen replied, watching somewhat fondly as Jared rocked back and forth, still clearly tickled by it all. “Ready to stop laughing at me? A guy could get a complex around you, kid.”

“Sorry,” Jared sputtered, sounding anything but apologetic if the gleam in his eye was an indicator. “I couldn't help it, though. What you said was just like Bingham. How can I possibly be the first if it was already there?”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Don't go getting all philosophical on me. You know what I meant.”

“I do,” Jared said, suddenly sober, “and that’s exactly it. I believe it has all been done before.”

Jensen put another stick on the fire, flinching back from the brief shower of sparks that erupted from it like angry fireflies. “You believe in reincarnation?” There was no mocking in his voice. Jensen had a deep respect for all religious beliefs, even if they weren’t his.

“Not reincarnation, but eternal recurrence,” Jared corrected him easily, like this was something he had done many times before. Jensen winced at his observation, recognizing the inherent joke in that thought, given the topic of their current discussion.

“Aren’t they the same thing?” he asked, not seeing a difference.

“They’re similar,” the kid conceded, “in that they both focus on the cyclical nature of existence. In the simplest of terms, reincarnation means being reborn in a different body after each biological death. Eternal return,” he continued with eyes shining in the firelight, “means that everything – the universe, all existence and energy – has always existed and will always exist, repeating itself over and over again with no knowledge of that repetition.”

“Sounds kinda like hell to me,” Jensen murmured thoughtfully. “Some inescapable circle, just going round and round? Isn't that sort of the same as that famous image of a snake like that, eating its own tail?”

The kid brought his fist up to his mouth and coughed into it. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed and was almost sheepish about it for some, unknown reason. “That snake is called the ouroboros and the alchemist-physicians of the Renaissance used it as the ultimate symbol for eternal return.

“For me, there are too many religions and groups that mention the concept for there not to be some truth in it. The Aztecs, Mayans, Egyptian and the Stoics,” Jared listed, “all believed in the cyclical nature of time to one degree or another.”

Nodding along, Jensen cocked his head to the side. “Okay, so I get the concept, but how does that lead to archaeology. Or, rather, how does that lead you to it?”

The kid’s smile deepened. “Have you ever heard of the philosopher George Santayana?”

Biting one corner of his full, lower lip, Jensen shook his head in the negative. “Don’t think so.”

“You probably have and didn’t know it was him. He's the one who often gets quoted as saying ‘Those who don’t remember history –”

“Are doomed to repeat it,” Jensen finished obligingly.

“It’s close to what he was saying,” Jared nodded. “He had been talking about progress and how it had less to do with change than retentiveness.” As the kid talked, Jensen noticed that he waved his hands around in grand gestures, like there was a direct link between them and his mouth. Jensen wondered if he were to pin Jared’s hands to his sides, would the kid be rendered mute?

“How so?” he asked instead, keeping that delightful fantasy to himself.

“He said that when change remained absolute, there was no being to improve and no direction for improvement. When you don’t retain experience, then you're stuck in perpetual infancy. The exact quote was ‘Those that cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it’.”

Jared watched Jensen expectantly and didn't say anything more. Jensen considered what the younger man had been talking about and drew a few connections of his own. “So by studying the past and bringing it to light, you think you can break the cycle?”

Jared turned away and scratched at his long neck. From where he was sitting, Jensen watched a single bead of sweat start to meander down that long, vulnerable expanse. The kid swiped it away without a thought, not knowing how mesmerized Jensen had been by its trail. “I don't really believe that we’re trapped in a circle of Dante’s Hell, per se,” he awkwardly elaborated, “but I do believe history shows us not only where we came from, but how similar we all are – how we’re connected. And we do historically fall into these patterns of behavior. And these patterns repeat themselves again and again.”

He paused to lick his lips and Jensen was amazed to see how intense the kid became when he spoke about the subject.

“If we can see those patterns, we can learn from ourselves and do better. All these civilizations that came before us,” and he flung a hand out toward the darkness, “failed for one reason or another. If we can learn what didn't work then, we can do better this time.” His eyes were alight with excitement and Jensen was enchanted. “It was Einstein who said that definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. If I can help people see those patterns throughout history, then they can break them once and for all.”

Before he had a chance to comment, a deep, menacing groan tore through the relative calm of the night. The guttural sound was followed by a series of shorter grunts before the drawn-out scream returned. It was a sound straight out of every low-budget horror film ever made and the hairs on Jensen’s neck stood straight out.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, eyes straining to see into the surrounding dark, reaching for Jared’s knife once the sound tapered off.

“Howler monkey,” Jared offered too quickly. “Two, maybe three feet tall at most. Omnivores who prefer nuts and fruits.”

Jensen tried to will his thudding heart to slow down with that information. “That scared the crap out of me. Accurate name, though,” he joked nervously, still breathing hard.

“The first time I heard one, I almost peed my pants,” the kid smiled.

“Well, I almost did something worse,” Jensen confessed and then stopped. Unwillingly, he could already picture the TMZ caption. “A-lister Jensen Ackles has a Code Brown while in the Amazon – fellow survivor tells all”. Harvey would have a field day with that tidbit. He cut his eyes towards the kid with no small amount of trepidation.

But Jared was smiling easily and reached across the fire to smack his shoulder. “If you didn't do it falling out of the sky, you never will,” he intoned sagely. “Besides, your secrets are safe with me.”

Jensen found himself smiling in return. There was no reason to trust Jared. His time with Misha had taught him that lesson too well. And yet, he did trust the kid, without any rhyme or reason for it other than a feeling deep in his gut that reassured him the guy was more real than anyone he'd met in the last, few years. Somehow, he didn't doubt himself over this when he had every reason to do exactly that.

“Thanks, man,” Jensen smiled hesitantly, scratching at the back of his neck.

With the howler monkey’s silence, cicadas rushed to fill that absence of sound with their song as though they were in direct competition with the frogs’ chirping. Both he and Jared found themselves staring into the fire, suddenly aware again of where they really were. Shaking his head, Jensen was amazed that he and the kid had gotten into a philosophical discussion in the middle of the jungle, like their situation was one of choice and not dire circumstances. For a few minutes, Jensen had actually forgotten how screwed they both were.

“Kind of forgot where we were,” the younger man offered quietly, like a mind reader.

“Me, too,” Jensen confessed. He was about to say something else when he caught the kid trying to hide a yawn. “Maybe we should turn in,” he suggested as the day began to catch up with him as well. He fought not mirror the yawn.

“Probably right,” Jared agreed. “Should we take turns or something keeping watch? Sleep in shifts?”

Jensen scrubbed at his face and thought about it for a moment. Part of him recognized that it might be a good idea, but another part wondered why they should bother. What could they really do against a lethal predator? “What’s out there to worry about?” he asked.

Now that the topic of sleep had been brought up, Jared didn't hide his subsequent yawns. “Jaguars, snakes, wandering spiders, wild pigs –”

“Ok, ok,” Jensen huffed, waving his hands for Jared to stop. Apparently, there was plenty to worry about.

“But the fire should deter most of them,” the kid continued, ignoring Jensen. “You brought back enough wood for it to keep burning through the night. We’re probably as safe as we can be.”

“Six of one and a half dozen of the other then,” Jensen replied. He could feel sleep tugging at him pretty fiercely. If either of them tried to stay up, he had a feeling they'd fail anyway. “We might as well stoke the fire up now and both turn in. Whoever wakes up during the night can keep feeding it.”

The kid nodded tiredly, eyes suddenly drooping as if he'd only been waiting for permission to fall asleep. “Take your boots and socks off,” he mumbled.

Jensen blinked at the non sequitur. He figured it would be best to keep as much on as possible if they needed to make a hasty exit for whatever reason. “Uh…why?”

Jared ignored him and began unlacing his own boots. He placed them close to the fire and then yanked off his socks. The kid definitely had a pair of proportionately sized feet, but Jensen was struck by how slender they appeared in the flickering light, much like his hands – long and refined. He shook his head at himself getting hung up over the shape of a guy’s foot. Unaware of being watched, Jared draped his socks over his boots. He wiggled his toes and sighed.

“You want to get your socks and boots as dry as possible,” he finally said. “You don't want to take the chance of developing tropical ulcers on your feet, so they need to be your top priority every night.”

Jensen grimaced at the mention of the sores, having seen photos of WWII POWs with them. He didn't hesitate to mimic the kid and was soon peeling out of his sodden socks as well. In the meantime, Jared had retrieved his foot powder and was liberally coating his feet with it before rolling on a new pair of socks from his stash. Scrunching up his freshly covered toes, he sighed happily. “Much better.”

Jensen checked his feet over in the firelight, but didn't see any blisters or broken skin. Other than letting his feet air dry, there wasn't much else he could do for them. And then Jared surprised him by tossing him the powder and another clean pair of socks. He almost didn't catch them, his gimp hand having tightened up during the evening, and he hissed softly.

“Oh, geez,” Jared fretted immediately. “I'm so sorry. I completely forgot about your hand.” The contrite kid scooted closer and grabbed up the powder and socks, batting away Jensen’s good hand. “I am not entirely sure what all is in the powder, but it’s definitely not organic. We should try and keep that wound as clean as we can. Gimme,” he fluttered the fingers of his free hand at Jensen’s feet.

“No, that’s not –” Jensen tried to argue but the kid wasn't having any of it and when Jensen took too long, he went ahead and pulled Jensen’s feet right into his lap.

“Now hold still,” Jared warned him before generously sprinkling both his feet with the powder. Setting the container aside, he slowly and methodically worked the stuff in and around each of Jensen’s toes, not missing a spot. Jensen stretched his arms behind himself and leaned back on them, thoroughly enjoying the attention. Jared’s sure fingers worked and rubbed his feet, which were more sore than he realized from his slog through the jungle and he couldn't hold back an appreciative sigh. Jared jerked his head up, most of his face obscured by his hair and the shadows from their fire, but Jensen didn't miss the pleased look on the kid’s face. He massaged Jensen’s feet for a few minutes longer and then slid the spare socks over them.

Reluctantly, Jensen folded his legs back and off of Jared’s lap. But he couldn't keep the smile from his face and it did not go unnoticed.

“Feels good, huh?” the younger man inquired knowingly. Still smiling, Jensen bobbed his head up and down. It felt decadent, to be honest. Jerking his chin once, Jared added, “It’s really the little things that make all the difference, I think.” He readjusted their boots and socks a touch, making sure they were under the cover of the lean-to. “These should be nice and dry by morning so we can get ‘em wet all over again.”

“Tomorrow,” Jensen said. “Why don't we both try and catch a few hours’ sleep?” he suggested as he hauled himself up. As he moved to sit down on their cot, he noticed Jared had lashed the sticks that formed their mattress together so they didn’t slip around too much. He must have done it while Jensen was down by the stream. The kid was pretty amazing. Sitting on it, he shifted towards the back side of the lean-to so that Jared would have the spot between him and the fire. If the fire kept the critters away, Jensen figured any attack would come from the back and that’s where he would be.

Stretching out, Jensen was pleasantly surprised to find the cot damn comfortable. Of course, he was exhausted. That probably played a part in his appreciation of it, too. Laying there on his back, he methodically began to contract and relax his muscles, stretching anything that felt tight. Eventually, he turned his head towards their fire, where Jared still sat. The kid seemed a million miles away and Jensen let him be, giving him time and space to work out whatever was going on in his head. Rolling onto his side, Jensen propped himself up on one elbow to study the younger man unobserved.

Jensen couldn’t deny that there was something atavistic about the picture Jared made, with his long hair partially obscuring his face. The firelight painted strange highlights on his skin and the shadows licked across his face, his cheekbones more defined in the half-light. He remembered their earlier conversation about the way that Jared viewed their world and he still wasn't sure if it was a depressing or hopeful way to look at it. He'd heard the old adage more times than he cared to recall that there were only seven original stories in the entire world and, after his years in Hollywood, he had to agree with that. So maybe that was the same as Jared’s eternal recurrence. People told the same stories again and again because everything was repeating over and over. Huffing to himself, he was amazed that he was suddenly so hung up on a philosophical point given where they currently were. On the other hand, he rationalized that there was nothing else to do right now and after a near-death experience, people were bound to question their belief systems. What would panicking serve in the moment? Jared and he were dry and as comfortable as could be, give their circumstances. The kid was incredibly resourceful and Jensen was lucky to be stranded with him.

“Thank you,” Jared offered softly from his spot by the fire, not turning to face him.

“For what?” Jensen wondered, rolling more onto his side.

“For finding me,” he replied, twisting his head towards Jensen. But the shadows swallowed up his face and Jensen had no idea what expression the kid was wearing.

“You would have been fine,” he assured the younger man with a grin. “Other than some salty pretzels, I haven't really contributed a damn thing to all of this.” And maybe a small part of him was rankled by his uselessness, because Jared would have been all right.

“No, if it wasn't for you, I would still probably be stuck up in that tree,” Jared insisted quietly. “Afraid to come down,” he added with something that sounded like bitterness. That wouldn't do.

“C’mere,” Jensen coaxed, patting the crude mattress. “We're both beat and need some sleep.” When Jared didn't reply, Jensen pushed himself into a sitting position. Changing tactics, Jensen said, “I’m going to need your help tomorrow if we're going to get out of here and I'm going to need you sharp. Let's get some shut eye.” He tried to infuse some authority into his voice for the last part. It must have struck a nerve, because Jared added another branch onto the fire and finally stood up.

“When you put your boots on in the morning,” he instructed Jensen as he brushed his hands off on his pants, “be sure to shake them out really thoroughly.”

“Ok,” Jensen agreed as Jared sat on the edge of the cot.

“Banana spiders wander during the night and like to hole up in dark places come morning.”

Spiders. Great.

“Poisonous?” Please don't be poisonous.

“Mm hmm,” Jared sighed as he lay down. “But usually not fatal. Weird side-effect of the toxin is that you feel like cobwebs are slowly dragging across your face. I got bit by one last year and spent a whole day swatting at my cheek over something that wasn't there.”

Settling down as well (and leaving a respectable space between them), Jensen answered, “I'll be sure to check.”

“Good,” Jared sighed and rolled away to face the fire. “You have to be careful.”

Jensen cocked an eyebrow at the change in the kid. Gone was excited student, eager to talk about his theories and a stoic worrier had replaced him. As he settled back down, Jensen contemplated over the differences and believed the reality of the day was catching up with Jared, too. They might be okay right this minute, but they were no closer to getting out of here than they had been earlier. Hell, other than probably being in Brazil, they didn't have the vaguest clue where they were. Any kind of help might be hundreds of miles away. A stronger breeze pushed a large whiff of that lemony scent of burning termites over them just then. Jensen was suddenly reminded that he hadn't been bit by a single mosquito the entire evening and he smiled.

Take the little victories where you can, he told himself.

That had been his mantra throughout his career when he lost more roles than he won at the beginning and there was no reason to stop believing it now – the mindset kept him going. They’d both survived a devastating accident with minor injuries and, despite all odds against it, found each other in the middle of an endless, green expanse that was teeming with life and not all of it friendly. They were safe and together right now and that had to mean something. Shifting over onto his side so that he could see the kid’s back, he allowed himself a moment of fancy.

If what Jared believed was true, it meant that through all of time and space, they always found each other. He smiled gently despite the outrageousness of the thought.

“Worse than a Harlequin romance,” he chuckled lowly.

“Hmm?” Jared murmured.

“Nothing, kiddo,” he soothed and reached out to rub his right hand down the length of the younger man’s spine. As he continued to stroke up and down the knobby trail, he felt Jared gradually relax under his touch.

“I'm scared,” Jared whispered.

“Me, too,” Jensen told him. “But we’re going to be okay.” Jensen had no idea where that promise came from, but he meant it. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, so get some rest, kid.”

“’Kay,” he said softly. And then, even softer, “Thank you, Jensen.”

“You’re welcome, Jared.”

He kept his hand on the kid’s back for a while, silently measuring his breathing, feeling how each breath got longer and deeper until he was sure the kid was out. He rolled onto his back, but swapped out his right hand with his left, needing to keep the connection. Soon enough, between the snap of the fire and the buzz of the cicadas, he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, Jensen’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Above him at a crooked angle was an odd, green ceiling and he tried to remember what kind of hotel Chad had booked for him. It took him a moment to realize where he actually was and that it was decidedly not the Jungle Suite at the Hilton. Smacking his lips, Jensen rubbed at his chin with his good hand. Something soft and wispy was tickling it and he had a moment of panic when he remembered Jared’s warnings about spider bites and their creepy effects. But as he glanced down, he started to grin. Sometime after he’d fallen asleep, Jared had rolled over and tucked himself into Jensen’s side. The kid had one very long leg tossed across his and his left hand fisted into Jensen’s shirts. For his part, Jensen had wrapped his left arm around the kid’s shoulders and had held him in place, chin resting on the top of Jared's head. Peeking over his still-sleeping companion, Jensen saw that the fire was going strong, so Jared must have gotten up at some point and fed it without rousing him. Lying there, Jensen wondered what it was that had woken him up and then he heard it – the gentle patter of rain on the lean-to.

Staring up at the roof, where shadows danced about, Jensen shook his head. Both they and their fire were safe from the showers that were slowly picking up. The sound of the water hitting the lean-to was reminiscent of the times he had gone camping with his dad when he was young. Those trips were the highlight of his summer vacations, when it was just “the men” going off to brave the wilderness for a weekend. He’d curl up deeper in his sleeping bag and listen to the plap-plap-plap of the rain against the tent for hours, feeling like he and his dad were the only two people in the world. Instead of terrifying to him as a child, that feeling had been comforting somehow. As he curled his arm tighter around Jared, carefully tucking a few of the kid’s bangs behind his ear, Jensen realized that feeling hadn't changed. He fell back to sleep with a smile on his face as the rain continued to fall.

Chapter Text

Sighing, Jensen flopped over onto his stomach. He wasn't sure what it was exactly that had woken him up. It might have been the chatter of the birds or the odd call of a primate or maybe it was the empty space next to him on the cot, but his eyes suddenly snapped open. Heart thudding, it took him a minute to orient himself as he scanned the green around him. He was still in the jungle, still God knew how many miles from civilization, but there was something even more disturbing – a certain, tall kid was decidedly missing from the picture. As he swung his legs onto the ground, he called out, “Jared?” There was no reply.

He had one boot in hand when he noticed two things on the cot: a piece of paper and Jared’s watch. Scrubbing gingerly at his face with his gimp hand, Jensen picked up the paper, noting its odd texture and frayed edge. It must have been torn from that tiny notebook of Jared’s.

Went down to the stream around 6:00 a.m. Might take me an hour or two to finish up my project, so don’t worry.

-Jared

P.S. Don't forget about the spiders!

Jensen let the boot drop and shook his hand in case one of the dreaded, killer, banana spiders had somehow crawled onto him. When he was reasonably certain he was arachnid-free and not going to die (despite the assurances from the kid that their poison wasn't usually lethal), Jensen picked up Jared’s watch. It read 8:17, but Jensen took comfort in the fact that the younger man was considerate enough to leave it for him so that he could conserve battery power in case they got a chance to use his phone. Rubbing the face of the rectangular timepiece thoughtfully, Jensen took a moment and studied it closely. He was a bit of a collector when it came to watches, appreciating the intricacies of the mechanics and the history of the various pieces. This one appeared pretty special. 

He was fairly certain the unassuming, rectangular timepiece in his hands was a Cartier Tank watch, probably from the WWII era. Of course the name “Cartier” was visible (and spelled correctly), but any good fake would have that. It was the smaller details, like the Roman numerals, the blued steel hands and the sapphire cabochon on the crown that all but assured its authenticity. Jensen suspected the case was platinum, making the piece extremely rare. In this condition and obvious, working order, a collector would easily pay fifteen to seventeen thousand for it. Flipping it over, Jensen noticed there was an engraving on the back.

J-

We all have undiscovered history.

-O

“J” was probably Jared. More than likely, the watch was a family heirloom that got passed down to him, judging by that inscription. He pocketed it very carefully, not wanting anything to happen to what must have been a treasured item of the kid’s. Jensen remembered the way Jared had smiled when he'd held the watch up to his ear after the crash and discovered it was still ticking.

Giving his boots a very thorough inspection and appreciating the green carpeting Jared had provided for them, which would have highlighted any unwanted guests that weren't that particular shade of Kermit the Frog, he donned his gear as quickly as possible. Rising to his feet, Jensen was surprised to find he wasn't nearly as sore as he expected to be, given their accommodations. Getting a relatively full night’s sleep was sure to have helped. He tried not to think that the company had as well, but it was hard to forget how good Jared felt pressed up beside him. Considering how tangled their limbs had been, he was mildly surprised the kid had managed to extricate himself without rousing him. Doubtless years of sleepovers with his buddies had honed those skills. Given his happy-go-lucky demeanor, Jared probably had gone to plenty growing up. He struck Jensen as the type who must have had tons of friends, unlike Jensen, whose mother had determined when he was at a young age her son was going to be a star and raised him accordingly. While his classmates had spent summers at waterparks and places like that, Jensen had been hustled from one casting call to another. Only the occasional, weekend, camping trips with his dad had been normal fun. Jensen shook himself out of his morose trip down memory lane. There was no point lingering there  

Grabbing his walking stick, he thoroughly thrashed the brush not far from the camp before unzipping his pants. He needed to piss like a racehorse, but he wasn't about to risk having some creature launch itself out of the shrubs and attack his dick. On an intellectual level, he knew he was being overly dramatic and nothing was going to really latch onto his junk, but he still peed cautiously. The gray gloom of the jungle floor did nothing to quench the sweltering, humid heat that was already like a physical wall he had to push through. The rain had passed for the moment, but it hadn't cooled a thing down; instead, it was only steamier. Already small streams of sweat were winding their way down his spine. He shook himself off, dick still thankfully intact, tucked himself in and headed down to the stream.

Like he had recounted to the kid, the stream wasn't more than ten minutes from their camp – a place Jensen already held in a nostalgic light – and soon enough he was able to spot Jared through the foliage. The kid had stripped off his shirts, with the long-sleeved one tied around his waist and the other tucked into his pants at the small of his back, hanging down like a loincloth. He was squatting, with his back towards Jensen, and working methodically on something Jensen couldn't quite make out. To be honest, the actor wasn’t all that concerned about what it was. He was too busy appreciating the way Jared’s back and shoulders flexed and moved with each methodical stroke of his arms. His lean muscles rippled and slid under his pale skin. And then Jensen noticed a dark pattern on the kid’s back, high up between his shoulder blades.

A tattoo.

Moving a little closer and keeping quiet, Jensen got a better look at the design. About six inches across, the design was of two snakes swallowing their tails (ouroboros, his mind supplied, using the word Jared had the night before). They were connected sort of like the Olympic Rings. Tilting his head to one side, Jensen noticed the snake on the left had slick, black scales while the one on the right was a bleached skeleton. And the point where the two snakes intersected formed a figure eight. Jensen wondered if it still represented infinity upright like that. And because of the way they’d tangled, each snake was actually swallowing the tail of the other instead of their own. It was a beautifully intricate design, full of meanings on a variety of levels. The artistry was top notch. And Jensen was surprised to discover he might have had a tattoo kink.

When Jared paused whatever it was he was doing to drag a forearm across his forehead, Jensen took the opportunity to alert the younger man to his presence. “Hey there,” he called out easily, trying not to startle him, but failing all the same.

Jared whipped around so abruptly that he lost his footing and ended up with his ass in the stream and legs akimbo. “Oh, hey,” he replied from where he sat, glasses glinting in the shafts of sunlight that cut through the canopy above. “I didn't hear you.”

Biting back a laugh at the drowned puppy expression the kid was wearing, Jensen said, “I got your message. Thanks for that, although you should have woken me up.” He knew he sounded severe then, voice dipping lower, but the kid should have woken him up. What if something had happened to him while Jensen was snoring away? Seeing the chagrined expression on the already forlorn face tugged at his heart, so he lightened his tone. “So, what was the secret project all about?”

Still wiping sweat from his face with his left arm, Jared slowly smiled as he lifted his right out of the stream. In his hand was a crude machete. “This,” he proclaimed proudly.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jensen exhaled as he walked the last, few feet to the stream. Leaning over, he offered his good hand to the kid, who swapped the knife from his right to his left and clasped Jensen’s proffered one. He hoisted Jared up easily enough. The kid might be taller than Jensen, but was definitely lankier.

Handing it over for Jensen’s perusal, he explained. “I was finishing up and sharpening the edge.” Jared jerked his head over to the large rock he had been hunched over. Scattered all over the top of the smooth stone was a fine, white, powdery substance.

“What’s sprinkled all over it?” Jensen asked as he tested the weight and heft of the blade.

“A kind of local quartz I smashed and ground up with a hammer stone. I was using it and the water to work on the edge.”

“This was from the plane wreckage, wasn't it?” The actor recognized the long piece of metal from the day before. But today it was shaped into a useable blade. “And this handle…” Jensen brushed the aforementioned part in astonishment.

Scooping a handful of stream water up and sluicing himself off with it, Jared shook his hair out afterwards, further cementing the image of a wet puppy in Jensen’s mind. An attractive, wet puppy that Jensen wanted to take home with him. “Found a clump of bamboo not too far downstream,” and Jensen’s scowl returned, not pleased one bit with the idea of Jared trekking off any distance alone, “and there was a dead one that I sawed that section out of,” he continued, unaware of Jensen’s displeasure. “I split the six inch piece in half and then placed each part on one side of the hammered base there.”

“And what’s this?” Jensen decided to let his momentary anger go, but planned on later warning the kid not to leave his side again. He thumbed the snug wrapping that bound the two halves of bamboo into a perfect handle.

“Peeled the bark off of a liana and wrapped it up,” Jared finished proudly. He pulled his t-shirt free and dunked it thoroughly before slipping it back on. The dark material, made darker still by the water, clung to the kid’s chest and abs in a way that left nothing to the imagination and Jensen thought it made Jared appear sexier than when he'd been naked from the waist up. Unbeknownst to the scrutiny, the younger man plucked his glasses off and careful returned them to their hard shell case.

“Why do you need glasses?” Jensen asked as the kid pocketed his spare pair. “Farsighted?”

“Yup,” Jared admitted. “I've got a touch of hyperopia. I can get by without them for most everything, but for specialty work like examining artifacts…”

“Or fabricating a rudimentary lathe,” Jensen joked, still testing the feel of the machete.

Jared scrunched up his pointy nose and Jensen was struck once more with how young that gesture made him appear. “I haven't made one of those,” he paused and scratched at his head. His hair was already drying into tangled curls, thanks to the humidity. “I’m not sure we’d even have the basic components to make one.”

Jensen sighed softly. Of course a Galaxy Quest quote would mean nothing to the kid. “It’s just a dumb line from a movie,” he dismissed and made to hand the machete back, but Jared waved his hands furiously.

“That’s for you,” he explained. “I've still got my knife and it's probably for the best that I don't carry anything larger than that.” As if to prove a point, he stepped out of the stream and lost his footing. Without thinking, Jensen grabbed him around the bicep with his bad hand and couldn't help the small yelp of pain that slipped out when he did.

“I'm so sorry,” Jared mumbled once he had his footing in place.

“S’okay,” Jensen assured him, shaking out his hand. “I should probably clean this out again if you’ve still got some duct tape left.” He placed the machete down and fished around for the open bottle of whiskey in his pocket.

“Sure I do,” Jared piped up happily. He pulled out that same card with the tape wrapped around it. “I should have enough left on this one to replace that bandage two more times. Hopefully, it will have healed up enough that we can leave it uncovered by then.” And he began to unwind the tape.

While Jensen tore away what might have been the last, clean patch from his mostly soiled wife-beater, he noticed the distinctive red and white of the card the kid used as a tape dispenser. It was a Netflix gift card. “Why do you have one of those?” he asked, pointing to the plastic rectangle. It didn't make much sense for someone who seemed to abhor all things theatrical.

“Hmm?” Jared hummed as he carefully cut a piece of tape off.

Tunnel vision, Jensen reminded himself with a laugh.

“The Netflix card? Why do you have one of those? Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

“Oh, it was a gift from a fellow colleague on our last dig. Stephen said I need to do that ‘and chill’,” he finished, making awkward air quotes with his hands while still holding onto a section of duct tape. Motioning Jensen to come closer, Jared put his glasses back on one-handed and peered at Jensen’s wound. “Looks good,” he said as he flushed the healing cut with the airplane bourbon. It burned less than before, which Jensen took that as a good sign.

“Why didn't you take him up on it?” Jensen teased as he gave him the fresh material to replace the soiled piece of fabric.

The kid fumbled and nearly dropped it while he kept his gaze down. “I'm sure he didn't mean for us to do it together.” He sounded shocked by the suggestion and, for the life of him, Jensen couldn't figure out why. “Stephen is this blond-haired, blue-eyed, muscular dude who could have anyone he wanted, so I doubt that was what he meant. He's nearly as good-looking as y-” Jared babbled before cutting himself off. Sucking in his lower lip viciously, Jared busied himself with wrapping the tape around Jensen’s palm, not raising his face once.

Jensen’s teasing grin grew wider at the kid’s inadvertent slip of the tongue. So he found Jensen attractive, did he? Over the years, he’d gotten used to hearing people go on about his eyes or his lips, most not shy about telling him exactly what they thought of his looks or acting coy or provocative about it all. But Jared’s innocent slip and subsequent behavior was the most genuine thing Jensen had experienced in years. And while it was his nature to flirt and banter with people as part of his “persona”, he couldn't bring himself to do that with Jared. It seemed like a disservice somehow.

“Thanks,” he said simply, flexing his hand when Jared was done. For his part, Jared seemed relieved that Jensen hadn't caught his verbal misstep or was willing to let it go without too much fuss. His color was slowly mellowing from its fire engine red of a minute ago to a calmer shade of pink, which, given the heat, was probably a good thing. The kid busied himself with untying and rewetting his overshirt while he grunted his acknowledgement. Apparently, he wasn't quite ready to meet Jensen’s eyes just yet.

Retrieving his machete and walking stick, Jensen decided to change the subject. “Want to double-check we didn't forget anything back at the camp?”

“Sure,” Jared agreed easily as he removed his glasses. They walked the short distance in relative quiet, with only the occasional cry of a distant bird and the buzz of insects to keep them company. Jensen quelled the urge to take a few practice swings with the machete after seeing how much effort Jared had put into sharpening the edge. He figured he'd have plenty of time to test out the craftsmanship soon enough.

Back at their camp, Jared retrieved their socks from last night and stuffed them into one of his many pockets. Jensen kicked dirt over the smoldering remains of their fire while the kid collected the last of their termites and began to coat himself in the impromptu, bug repellant. While Jensen secretly wouldn't have minded him smearing the stuff on him again if it meant he got to enjoy the feel of those long fingers against his face, Jensen suspected Jared was still a little embarrassed about his declaration by the stream, so he managed on his own. When he was finished, he noticed the younger man was looking at him kind of cockeyed.

“Uh,” Jared muttered, “you’ve got...well, you’ve got a partial termite stuck on your chin.”

Jensen slapped halfheartedly in the general vicinity where the kid had pointed.

“Still there,” Jared chuckled and reached up to brush against the side of Jensen’s jaw, like Jensen had been hoping the kid would. “There,” he pronounced a moment later. “It was caught against your stubble.”

Dragging a hand down the side of his face, Jensen winced at the rough burn. For some reason, his facial hair grew at a very rapid rate and after missing a few days of shaving before the flight, he felt his beard starting to really come in.

Jared stared oddly at him and he finally cocked an inquisitive brow in return. “Have I got one dangling on the end of my nose?”

‘What?” the kid mumbled. “Oh, no. It’s just red.”

“Huh?” Jensen grunted, not following immediately. “Ah, the beard.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jared blushed, apparently realizing he'd been staring. “I just thought you had brown hair,” he shrugged.

“Actually, it's blond. But over the years, it's darkened up quite a bit. And my beard is always kind of red, although I usually only sport one when I'm not in the middle of filming something,” he finished.

“Is that your urban camouflage?” Jared kidded.

“Something like that,” Jensen smiled. “It’s nice to not always feel like I'm on display,” he admitted honestly. Scratching at his stubble, Jensen wondered, “What should we do about the site?”

Jared scanned their small camp before he spoke. “Well, the Waodani ritualistically burn their camps when they move on.”

“The Waodani?”

“They're Amerindians from the Amazonian Region of Ecuador,” Jared explained. “When they move on because of soil depletion or scarce hunting, they burn their old camp to remove any trace that they’d been there, letting the jungle reclaim its own.”

Jensen was uncomfortable with the idea of starting a fire in the middle of the dense vegetation, despite the fact that everything was practically dripping with moisture, including himself. “I’m not so sure about that,” he finally said.

“They move after months of living in one spot,” Jared nodded. “I don't think ours would burn very well, seeing how fresh it is. Maybe we should dismantle it? Eliminate as much of our presence as possible?” He turned questioning eyes to Jensen, seeming to consider the older man as the one in charge. 

Again, a wave of nostalgia washed over him when he took in the small site. It was where, against impossible odds, he had found Jared. And then, he was reminded of their predicament. This could be a clue for someone who might eventually come searching for them. “I think we should leave a note,” he decided, “even if it doesn't survive for long and let people know we were here and where we’re heading.”

Bobbing his head in agreement, Jared pulled his small notebook out of another pocket. He scribbled something down rapidly and then slowly tore the sheet from the book. That must have been what he'd used to write the note for Jensen, which was saved in his pocket. Placing the note on the cot and then, using a rock to hold it in place, Jared said, “The paper is basically waterproof, so it will last for a while even exposed to the elements.” That explained the odd feel to it, Jensen realized. And it also reminded him of something else.

Unbuttoning his overshirt pocket, Jensen removed Jared’s watch from its secure spot. “Here you go,” he said to Jared, holding out the Cartier.

“Oh, thanks,” the kid smiled, fingers skimming Jensen’s as he reclaimed his watch. “Might as well save as much battery power as we can, right?” he grinned while he fastened the timepiece back on his wrist.

“Better safe than sorry,” Jensen agreed. “I guess we’re set.”

Jared stared up at the ceiba tree, which had probably saved his life, a final time. Jensen might have been mistaken, but he thought he saw the kid shiver. Walking over to stand beside him, Jensen clapped his hand on the younger man’s bony shoulder, not sure what words would be appropriate. When Jared turned his tip-tilted eyes back to him, Jensen found that words weren't needed – the kid’s heartfelt gaze said it all. “Let’s go,” Jared replied.

On the short walk back to the stream, Jared tripped a total of three times. When they reached the water, Jensen turned back and handed him his walking stick. “I think you need this more than me,” he said and made sure not to sound condescending. He hoped the stream would continue to widen as they followed it, but he wanted to make sure that Jared kept his footing along the way. His only immediate concern was snakes.

“So,” he started conversationally as they began to pick their way downstream, “is there any sure-fire ways to spot snakes around here?” He unconsciously tightened his grip on the machete as he asked the question.

After some thought, Jared answered seriously, “I only know of one method that almost never fails.”

“Ok, ‘almost’ sounds pretty good. What is it?”

“Make sure you have a guide in front of you who was born here,” Jared deadpanned.

Jensen whipped his head around and shot the kid a surly glare. For his part, Jared was unfazed. He shrugged one shoulder and added, “Only someone who’s lived their life here has a chance at spotting them all. The best we can do is watch our footing and not step over logs, but stand on top of them first, since they like to curl up in places like that. And check any brush where we might camp.”

“Great,” Jensen muttered. “Just great.” The actor was decidedly not reassured, but that was hardly the kid’s fault. He wiped his sweaty forehead against his shoulder and pushed on.

For a while, the two men were mostly quiet as they trudged along the stream, only walking in it if the ground alongside became too dense with roots or plants since the slippery rocks presented a different kind of challenge. While they might be silent, nothing else about the rainforest was. There was always a bird calling out or bugs flitting around. Even with the slightly gloomy atmosphere, everything was alive about them. And despite the sweat that ran freely down Jensen’s spine and pooled at the small of his back, there was an exhilaration coursing through his blood. The primeval setting sparked something deep inside him and as he swung Jared’s effective machete at a clump of clinging vines that blocked their path, he couldn't deny that he wasn't as frightened as he knew he should have been. All he saw was a challenge before him and he wanted to be tested.

“Do you think we might take a break for a few minutes?” Jared asked hesitantly.

Looking over his shoulder, Jensen noted the younger man was drenched in sweat. His wild hair, finally tamed by the humidity and their exertions, was plastered against his forehead and cheeks in dark hanks. He was sure he didn't look any better, but he could have easily carried on for longer if the kid hadn't spoken up. “Sure thing,” he exhaled. “How about there?” he pointed, spotting a smallish clearing a hundred yards downstream.

Jared didn't say anything, but jerked his head once in silent agreement. They reached the open space and, after thoroughly checking the surrounding brush, Jensen deemed it snake-free. Or as snake-free as a spot could be in the Amazon jungle. He winced as he watched the careful way that Jared lowered himself down to the damp ground. The kid might be younger, but part of Jensen’s job was staying fit and he took his job very seriously. He was in top condition. There was no hubris there. He dedicated a good chunk of each day to a strict regime of cardio and weight training and more than once he wondered how people found the time for it whose professions didn't depend on it. By no means was keeping fit an easy task – it was a job.

“How are your feet?” Jensen worried as he watched Jared absently rub at his left ankle.

“Not too bad,” he replied. “These are older boots, so I don't think I've got any blisters going, but I won't know for sure until tonight when I peel out of these gunboats,” he chuckled ruefully.

Jensen had to take Jared at his word. Before he could worry about anything else, there was a long, low grumble. Trying to figure out what could have made that sound, Jensen noticed Jared’s already flushed face grow rosier. “Sorry,” he blushed. “Guess I'm a little hungry.”

Smiling, Jensen rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out the last of the packaged snacks. He started to hand one over, but Jared refused. “Save it for later,” he explained quickly. Jensen, however, was having none of it and pressed the bag into the kid’s hands.

“You're hungry and we have these, so eat,” he ordered him. “Jared, we might find food along the way and we might not, but let's keep our strength up while we can, okay?”

Jared ducked his head, but couldn't hide behind his damp hair. “Okay,” he agreed and reluctantly tore open the small pouch. They both knew the tiny portion was hardly sustenance, but the salt would help replace what they were sweating out, which, taking another glance at Jared, was a lot. Jensen made a mental note to himself to keep track of that, because with the relentless humidity, heatstroke was definitely possibility for the kid.

Holding a hand partially over his mouth as he chewed, Jensen asked, “What time is it anyways?”

Tucking the now-empty wrapper back in a pocket, Jared glanced at his watch. “About noon.” Grinning sheepishly, he added, “When it comes to mealtimes, you can kind of set a watch by my stomach.”

Grinning crookedly, Jensen laughed. Nodding to the kid’s wrist, Jensen said, “I couldn't help but admire your watch. Cartier Tank, right? From the forties?”

Jared passed the fingers of his right hand over the timepiece affectionately. “Yeah, from ’45.”

Rolling his shoulders to stretch out the muscles, Jensen continued conversationally, “I'm fairly knowledgeable when it comes to watches. If the case is platinum, that’s a pretty rare one. Family heirloom?” He wondered if he should try to get in a couple dozen push-ups before they continued on. It took a minute for him to realize that Jared hadn't answered his question. He glanced over to the kid, but Jared had his head lowered and Jensen worried he had touched a nerve with his question. He thought it was innocent enough, but maybe somehow Jared had bought it and was insulted that Jensen thought he was without means.

“I just assumed because of how old it was,” he explained hastily, “and by the way it makes you smile.”

God, could he sound more lame? The way it makes you smile? He could have just mentioned it was the inscription on the back that had made him think it had been passed down, but Jensen felt guilty about having read it.

Jared didn’t know the mental flagellations Jensen was going through, however. He lifted his head and gave Jensen a deep smile, one that exposed his dimples fully and the knot of unease in Jensen’s stomach slowly unwound. “It does, doesn’t it?” he remarked to Jensen.

Taking in a deep breath, Jared slowly exhaled before he spoke again. “I usually just tell people my grandfather gave it to me. It's what they expect to hear and it makes me seem like everyone else, you know?” Jared cut his eyes nervously towards Jensen before looking away, like he was revealing a dark secret. And maybe he was. Jensen shifted imperceptibly closer to the kid, never taking his eyes off of him. If Jared wanted to share something personal, Jensen didn't want to miss a thing.

“I don't have a grandfather,” Jared said softly. “I mean…” he swallowed noisily, “I must have somewhere, but I never knew him. Or my grandmother. Or anyone really.” When he turned back to Jensen, his eyes were very bright, which made no sense given how feeble the light was. “I was abandoned right after I was born.”

Jensen didn't exactly know what to say to that. “It doesn’t matter” seemed too trite and “I'm sorry” sounded too condescending.

Sticking out his lower lip, the kid blew out a hot breath. “A worker at McDonalds was taking out the trash and spotted me in the dumpster behind the restaurant. Somebody had tossed me in there.”

And the idea of Jared being thrown away like garbage broke a piece of Jensen’s heart.

“Grew up in the foster system,” he said, lifting his shoulders and then dropping them.

And, honestly, Jensen had no idea what that must have been like. He’d seen the obligatory take Hollywood usually portrayed the system, but he knew well enough that wasn't necessarily accurate. But, then again, there was more than likely a kernel of truth to it.

“Can’t imagine no one wanting to adopt you. I’ll bet you were a damn, cute kid,” Jensen blurted out.

Jared regarded him sharply, as though checking for signs of mockery, before he eventually smiled softly. “I was born with a type of spina bifida,” Jared explained. “But I was misdiagnosed as having it with myeloschisis, which is the most severe form of myelomeningocele.” Jensen’s unfamiliarity with the condition must have been written all over his face as Jared elaborated, “With that kind of diagnosis, I would have been potentially looking at a life of partial paralysis, nerve dysfunction, deformed hips, knees or feet, not to mention bladder and bowel control problems and a good chance that the back portion of my brain would have been displaced into my upper neck. And that’s not even touching on all the medical procedures I would have had to face.”

“Wow,” Jensen breathed and reached out to put a tentative hand on the kid’s shoulder to reassure himself that Jared was upright, walking and fine.

The kid tilted his head and smiled at the gesture. “I suspect the medical bills alone were too daunting for anyone to take a chance on me. By the time I was properly diagnosed and had the necessary surgery to close the opening in my back and shove my spinal cord and nerve roots back in, I think I passed my ‘sell by’ date.”

Jensen’s hold had morphed into occasional squeezes as Jared’s story unfolded.

“I got lucky that I didn't need a shunt installed. I basically walked away from potential physical issues and learning disabilities mostly scot-free. Once I was no longer a potential, medical burden, I bounced around from foster home to foster home. Nothing really stuck, though.”

Licking his lips, Jensen just had to know. “Were they abusive to you?”

“Oh, no,” Jared laughed nervously, wiping his hands on his pants, “nothing like that. Most of them just used me for the paycheck, happy to veg out in front of the television while I went to school and did chores. I think that’s why I never got interested in t.v. shows and movies, you know? I sort of resented the way they all tuned me out, staring at a screen instead.”

Jensen knew he was nodding along, but was only half-listening as he processed the fact that at one point, part of Jared’s spine was outside his body. As he watched the kid poke at dead leaves with a small stick, he started to mentally replay the last, few hours. Did he push Jared too hard? Should he slow their pace down at all? He pulled his hand away, suddenly worried about unintentionally hurting him.

“Dude,” Jared jabbed him in the thigh with his stick, “stop trying to use your X-Ray eyes on me. I'm fine.” He emphasized the last word heavily.

“I wasn’t…” Jensen began, but didn't finish the sentence as Jared scowled at him.

“You totally were,” Jared shot back without any real annoyance to his voice. “The only sign I have to show for any of it is a scar between my shoulder blades. And you can’t even see that anymore because I got a –”

“Tattoo,” Jensen finished for him.

Slapping at the sweat trickling down his forehead with the back of his hand, the kid opened his mouth in obvious surprise.

“I caught a glimpse of it when I came looking for you this morning. Nice ink, by the way. Who did it?” Jensen asked.

“Mr. Tung. He has a small shop –” Jared started.

“Near Khao San Road,” Jensen grinned. “I thought I recognized his style.”

“I love that he only does freestyle work, meaning each piece is unique.”

“What were you doing in Bangkok? Another dig?” Jensen was beginning to think the kid had seen more of the world than he had.

“Yeah, the UW has an Archaeological Field School in Thailand and I took their course a few summers ago. There was some excavation work but they focused mostly on post-fieldwork skills like laboratory analysis, reporting and curation of data,” Jared said, tossing away his stick. “When we finished up, Stephen and I spent some time in Bangkok and I got my tat. He ended up getting one, too. A weird star thing on his chest.” And Jared grinned, caught up in the memory for a moment and a million miles away.

“Is this the same Stefan who wanted you to ‘Netflix and chill’ with him?” Jensen ground out, irrationally jealous over someone he hadn't met but who had apparently known Jared for years.

“Stephen,” Jared corrected him innocently, “was the TA for that Basketweaving class I took. He had a real affinity for making weapons, especially bow and arrows.”

“Well,” Jensen grumped, holding up Jared’s machete, “I’d say you’re no slouch in the tools department, either, kid.” He'd had enough of hearing about Stefan.

Jared’s smile deepened and the tip of his pink tongue poked out from between his teeth as he did. “Prof. O isn't going to believe I actually got to put some of his skills into practice.”

Jensen put the pieces together when he heard the name. “Is he the one who gave you the watch?”

“How did you know?” Jared marveled, before he did his own puzzle solving. “You saw the inscription.”

It was Jensen’s turn to blush. Rubbing briskly at the back of his sweat-soaked neck, he sheepishly admitted, “I wasn't trying to be nosy. Like I said, I’m a collector and I was curious.”

Jared didn't seem to take offense. “Don’t sweat it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the reality of their current condition hit them and they both cracked up. When he caught his breath, Jared continued, “Professor Omundson became my advisor after that class. And my mentor. My sponsor for the digs I’ve been on since doing my doctorate work.” He grew quiet and seemed almost embarrassed.

Jensen recalled how the inscription mentioned that everyone had undiscovered history and another chunk fell into place. “Part of why history fascinates you is because you wanted to understand your own, didn’t you?”

Jared’s head shot up at that and he eyed Jensen incredulously. When he finally spoke, his voice was halting and soft and Jensen had to strain to hear the kid over the hum of the cicadas. “The more I studied the past, the more I understood myself. I had no story but saw that everybody’s story could be mine. When it came time to graduate, the only person I had cheering for me was Prof. O. He gave me this,” the kid stuck out his wrist, “and I haven't gone anywhere without it since.”

“It's a wonderful gift, Jared,” Jensen told him sincerely. “He must think an awful lot of you to have done that.”

Jared fidgeted where he sat. “He means a lot to me, too,” he admitted quietly. “He's probably wondering what happened when I never showed up.”

With that, Jensen was reminded of their predicament. “I’ll bet he is.” And then the full import of Jared’s words sank in. “You were on the wrong flight,” he exhaled.

Shaking his head up and down, Jared agreed sadly. “For all he knows, I just disappeared in Caracas.”

Scowling, Jensen asked, “How did you end up on my plane?”

Jared looked at him timidly. “I told you…that squinty guy hustled me onboard.”

But something was niggling in the back of Jensen’s mind. He recalled Chad calling him up and then remembered the last thing Chad tried to tell him.

“Jensen, he’s not –”

He’s not the hooker was what Chad had been trying to tell him. If he had only let Chad finish speaking, he would have found out about the mix up and Jared would have gotten off the plane. Jared would never have been on their doomed flight. Instead, Jensen had ended the call and got them in the air immediately. It was his fault the kid was caught up in the mess they were in. Jensen thought he might be sick.

“Are you okay?” Jared worried, grabbing ahold of Jensen’s arm. “You got pale all of a sudden.”

Jensen clasped a hand over Jared’s. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, swallowing back a mouthful of saliva as bile crept up his throat. “My manager was trying to tell me that you weren't my…companion,” he tripped over the last word. Shaking his head and freeing himself from the kid’s grip, Jensen lurched to his feet. He paced around the small clearing distractedly. “It's all my fault that you're here.”

Jared sprang to his feet and tried to stop Jensen’s meandering, both physical and verbal. “It's not your fault,” he exclaimed, trying to catch Jensen's eye. “It was just bad luck.”

“No, Jared,” Jensen said as he jostled his shoulders to free himself from the kid’s hold. “If I hadn't been fucking petty about shit and wanting to teach Chad a lesson, you'd be safe right now.”

“Jensen, it's okay,” Jared tried to soothe him.

Shaking himself out of Jared’s reach, Jensen raked his good hand through his hair. “This is all my fault.”

Blocking Jensen’s path, Jared said, “Well then, it's just as much mine as it is yours.”

With his hand savagely kneading the back of his neck, Jensen regarded the kid. “And how's that?”

The kid swallowed so hard, Jensen saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. In a more subdued manner, Jared said, “I knew that plane was too nice for what Prof. O could have swung for me.”

Jensen stopped his pacing as he thought about the reality of that admission. The private jet would have been out of the price range for a university funded project. “So why didn't you say anything?”

Turning his head to the side, the kid shrugged. “You nodded to the empty seats, so…”

“So you decided to go with the flow?” Jensen prodded.

Another shrug. “Yeah. And,” he looked up before averting his gaze quickly. “I got a good look at you.”

“So you did recognize me,” Jensen sighed. The kid had been playing him all along. Once again, Jensen had been a sucker for a pretty face.

Jared carried on, apparently unaware of what Jensen had accused him of. “You just don't come across guys who look like you in my field very often.”

Jensen jerked his head back. Jared had taken a chance on a wrong flight and who knew how much future hassle and expense to straighten things out for himself all to spend time with him?

Rambling on, the younger man added, “It was a dumb move, but…And then you started spouting off that stuff about Fawcett and I thought I’d hit the jackpot.” Jared still hadn't turned back to face Jensen during his confession. Taking a deep breath, he spun around and flung his arms out. “So if this is your fault, it’s mine, too.” He was flushed and breathing hard and Jensen felt like a moron for doubting Jared’s honesty earlier.

“Well,” he told Jared, “however we ended up here, the only way we’re going to get out is by working together. Right?” He still felt guilt clawing at him, but he didn't want Jared to feel any worse than he already did. "And if what you said before about eternal return is true, we were always going to end up right here together."  

Jared rolled his lips inside his mouth and nodded. He didn't meet Jensen’s gaze and Jensen was sure that was because he was embarrassed by his earlier admission. In some ways, it was kind of cute that the kid lost his brain to mouth filter in the heat of the moment. It made Jensen believe he was a pretty honest and open person by nature. And it reminded Jensen that simply because he had spent far too many years around people who kept up façades for a living, not everyone was like that.

Wanting to smooth over Jared’s obvious discomfort, he asked, “How’d you even end up at that airstrip? It's kind of tiny and mostly used for private flights.”

Releasing the death grip he had on his lips, Jared shook his head. “I screwed up with the taxi driver. I must have said ‘Aeropuerto Caracas’ instead of ‘el aeropuerto de Caracas’. Rookie mistake," Jared replied glumly.

Jensen frowned. He was slowly coming to the realization that he didn't like to see the kid sad. He pushed aside wondering why as he cheerfully clapped Jared on the shoulder. “Let’s shake a leg, kiddo. The sooner we get a move on, the sooner we get out of here.”

Jared silently agreed and the two of them resumed their path along the stream. The kid was quiet for a long time and Jensen was bothered by it. In the course of only a day, he'd come to enjoy the cheerful exuberance the kid practically oozed from his pores and he was missing it now. He was about to say something inane in the hopes it would get Jared speaking again, when the kid spoke up on his own.

From where he was behind Jensen (the path was too narrow for them to walk abreast), he cleared his throat and asked, “What are your favorite movies? I mean,” he stuttered awkwardly, “of the ones you’ve been in. Which ones are you the most proud of?”

Jensen smiled at the question not because of the subject matter, but because Jared was talking again. He was coming to the conclusion a silent Jared was an unhappy one. Striking out with his machete to clear away some brush, he replied, “The one I'm most known for is The Miracle. It's where I played Sgt. Alan Magee in WWII. He survived an impressive fall into enemy lines during the war without a parachute. And, although it wasn't my favorite role to play, I have to say after everything that's happened recently, it's definitely risen in my esteem.” He twisted around to see Jared studying him intently. “Let's just say that some of the stuff I had to do for the film helped me when the plane broke apart.”

Jared’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Oh, wow. It helped when you were falling?”

“Yup,” Jensen answered, popping the “p”. “I don't think I would have made it otherwise.”

“Wow,” Jared repeated himself. “That's…amazing.”

Jensen dismissed Jared’s praise. “Same as you, kid,” and he waggled the machete in the air to make his point. When Jared remained silent, Jensen continued, “But I think the role I'm most proud of was a small one I had in a film about five years ago.”

“What was it?” The eagerness behind the question was hard to miss.

“It was a film about Nelly Bly,” Jensen explained.

“Elizabeth Cochrane Seaman?” Jared clarified and Jensen smiled. Of course the kid knew the woman’s real name.

“The one and only.”

“Was it about the exposé she wrote on the mental health field?”

God, the kid was smart. “Ten Days in the Asylum,” Jensen confirmed.

“Ew, you didn't play the doctor who ran the place, did you? I can't picture you not being the hero.”

Jensen laughed as he blotted the perspiration away from his eyes. “No, I had a small role and it wasn't one that existed in her story.”

“Mm hmm,” Jared huffed and Jensen recalled the dismissive way Jared had talked about movies during their flight, especially how he believed they exaggerated or got history wrong. Understanding him a little better after their last talk, he got why history being accurate was so personal for him.

“The directors took some liberties,” Jensen conceded, “with her story when they wrote the screenplay. And my character was completely fictional.” Jared stayed silent and Jensen resisted the urge to check and make sure he was still there. “But I think the point of the character’s inclusion was something very personal to The Wachowskis.”

“Who did you play?” Jared finally asked.

“I played one of the inmates at the asylum.”

“But it was a woman’s institution,” the kid sputtered. “How could you play a woman when you look so…”

“I did have to slim down a little,” Jensen smiled, secretly pleased that Jared thought he was too masculine. Early in his career, he was told more than once how “twinky” and “pretty” he was. Those twink days were long gone now. “I played a transgender woman who the medical profession didn't know how to accept, so I was sent to the asylum on Blackwell’s Island. They kept me in solitary and I only had one scene with Angelina Jolie, but I think it was some of my best work.”

“With who?”

Jensen shook his head fondly. This kid. “The actress who played Nelly. While she’s poking around the place one night, she comes across my cell and we have a rather revealing conversation.”

“Revealing? D-did you undress or something?” And there was no missing the choked way Jared had asked that last question. Was Jared picturing him naked on the big screen? His lips curved upwards.

He let the kid squirm for a minute before he put him out of his misery. “Nah. There was some talk about doing it that way, but, in the end, The Wachowskis decided that nothing could ever trump the big reveal in The Crying Game and anything else would be a poor copy. You only see Jolie’s reaction to me exposing my secret to her.” And then Jensen started to laugh. “What only a handful of people know is I was wearing this gag t-shirt underneath that was of a naked man’s torso with some extremely exaggerated anatomy. I think that’s what helped make her expression legitimately shocked when I undressed for her.”

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Jared trying to stifle giggles. Pleased with himself, Jensen turned back around. That part hadn’t really happened, but he figured he’d be forgiven the lie since it did what he hoped – make Jared laugh. He was about to mention another role when a sound startled them both. Slashing frantically at the vegetation blocking his view, Jensen clawed away at it with his free hand despite the discomfort.

“Is that…” Jared began, practically pressed up against Jensen’s back.

“Yup,” Jensen confirmed, as he peeled back some palm fronds. “It's a river.”

Chapter Text

“River” turned out to be a generous description for what was really more of a swollen creek. However, it was over a foot deep, several feet wide and definitely a clear sign they were heading towards a true river. And that would, hopefully, lead them to some type of settlement. Jared reassured Jensen once again that these were the only highways they were probably going to find. He continued to remind Jensen of that fact as they consistently did not find any kind of a clearing or break in the canopy wide enough to make considering a signal fire a viable option. Jensen wasn't one hundred percent sure that the kid didn't take a twisted satisfaction in that failure.

For two days, they followed along the slowly widening body of water. The snacks Jensen had pilfered from the jet didn't last, but they came across bananas that weren’t too green and Jared showed Jensen how to use the machete to harvest “heart of palm” from certain plants. The stuff was a bit tough to chew – reminding him of when he'd had raw sugar cane in Hawaii – and on the sweet side, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing at all. They continued to skirt diarrhea or any other type of intestinal bug so far, and he was determined to keep it that way, but with a diet of only water and unripe bananas Jensen didn't think their luck would hold out much longer. At least the availability of the water was not a problem and that was a damn, good thing considering how much the kid sweat out. Jensen was concerned about him not replacing the salt he was losing and his electrolytes going out of whack, but there wasn't much to be done about it other than to get their asses out of the jungle as soon as possible.

Both nights they set up a rough camp. The process came easier each time and each morning, Jensen woke first to find himself wrapped up in a cuddly octopus of a bedmate. Like clockwork, Jared’s eyes would flutter open and he would blush with embarrassment as soon as it dawned on him how tangled up their limbs had become during the previous night. Jensen brushed off Jared’s concerns, secretly quite happy with their sleeping arrangements. Whether it was the situation or something he wasn't ready to consider yet, Jensen was very content to hold onto the younger man as they lay together. Even if he needed to urinate, he clamped down on that need to spend as long as possible with Jared in his arms. And that had nothing to do with his irrational fear that something would attack his dick – a fear he found out was all too real a possibility, thanks to his helpful tour guide.

It was on their second, full day following the creek where he learned about the most terrifying creature of the Amazon. The waterway had deepened enough that both he and Jared found it was easier to wade along in the nearly waist-deep water rather than try to hack their way through the thick bush that flanked the burgeoning river. All types of green growth dripped into the shoreline as well as curved over their heads, branches and vines arching above them, giving the whole place an almost cathedral-like appearance, with the sparse sunlight shining through the leaves as though they were stained glass and casting emerald shadows on the silty water. The diffuse light was soft and gentle, the lapping of the water a soothing counterpoint to the hum of insects. Even the birds seemed to have calmed their continuous cacophony while the two men slogged their way through mostly clear and very slow moving currents. In the lead as usual, Jensen felt the rare urge to piss – a sure sign he was growing dehydrated – and was about to unzip his pants, when Jared spoke up behind him.

“Uh, Jensen?” he began.

“Yeah?” Jensen replied.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” the younger man warned him.

Jensen sighed, clearly put upon. “Kid,” he huffed, “I'm downstream of you and I don't think a little urine in the river is going to pollute it all that much.”

“No,” he heard Jared agree, “I don't think that will make much of an impact. But let me ask you just one thing. Have you ever heard of the Candiru catfish?”

Hand still on his fly, Jensen had grumbled, “Does piss kill them or something?” Seriously, Jared’s knowledge of the local flora and fauna had been invaluable, but if the kid was about to tell him not to pee in the pool, his patience was going to be stretched very thin. There was no easy place to climb out to do it.

“Not at all,” Jared assured him and Jensen was fairly sure the kid sounded chipper about it.

“So what’s the problem?” Jensen asked testily, hand slowly lowering his zipper. He'd take a leak and be done before the kid even noticed.

“In 1829,” Jared started and Jensen would have been jiggling his leg if he had been standing still, the need to piss was growing from orange to red alert, “a German biologist was warned about the fish from the indigenous people, who tied ligatures around their penises to protect themselves from the catfish.”

Jensen found himself zipping up his pants so fast that he almost caught some of his skin in the metal teeth. “Christ, d-do they attack dicks?” he demanded, not at all sounding scared or breathy. Nope, not one bit.

“Not like a piranha,” Jared assured him.

“Piranha fish attack dicks?” Jensen rasped. They'd discussed the fish in passing, along with caimans and other water hazards, before deciding to walk in the river anyway.

“Not normally,” Jared assured him. “And the Candiru are only about the size of a matchstick.”

“Oh,” Jensen sighed in relief, hand back on the metal slider. That didn't sound too bad.

“Anecdotal evidence suggests they’re attracted to urine streams in the water.”

Again, that didn't sound too bad a trade-off. One time, Jensen had been to a spa in Japan where he’d soaked his feet and calves in a pool full of “doctor fish” and the toothless carp had nibbled on any dead skin they found. The feeling had been weird, but hardly traumatic. He appreciated the kid’s warning, however, certainly not wanting to be surprised if something touched his junk unexpectedly.

“Ok,” he said aloud, freeing himself from his pants. “They’re pretty small, right?”

“Yeah,” Jared continued, “these little buggers are really tiny.”

Jensen didn't turn around, but nodded in acknowledgement as he pulled himself completely out. He really had to go and he couldn't bring himself to wet his already soaked trousers. He had an innate compulsion not to piss his pants despite the fact that he was submerged from almost the waist down and it wouldn't make much of a difference. He figured he’d be finished by the time the kid was done with his mini lecture.

“Anyway, evidence suggests that urine attracts them and they’re so small, they can and do swim right up your urethra while you’re peeing,” Jared chirped. “They don’t call ‘em the ‘toothpick fish’ for nothing.”

Jensen’s dick shriveled in his hand, as though it were trying to hide at that bit of disturbing information.

“And they have the coolest barbs,” the kid carried on, “in case something tries to pull them out, they flare out and catch onto whatever is around them and they do not budge an inch. The suckers dig in nice and tight, settling in for the long haul.”

Jensen’s dick had gone from shriveling to an all-out retreat.

“It takes surgical intervention to successfully remove them,” he finished, apparently unaware that Jensen had actually become unmanned. “Don’t pee in the water, okay?”

Jensen couldn’t zip his pants up quickly enough. “I don’t think that will be a problem,” he croaked. It wouldn't. After Jared’s little fauna tidbit of the day, Jensen was fairly certain he might never go again. In fact, his dick had probably left the building for the foreseeable future.

“Just thought I'd mention it,” the kid said helpfully and Jensen heard the shrug in his voice without having to turn around.

“Is there anything else ‘helpful’ like that that you can think of and want to share with the class?” Jensen demanded gruffly.

“Nothing else comes to mind right now,” Jared replied. “But I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

“You do that,” the older man groused.

Nothing else as terrifying had come to Jared and on their third day, they were back in the thick of things. Jensen was certain they’d made the right decision, dick-infiltrating fish aside, choosing to travel via the water rather than fight their way through the thick vegetation along the bank. The kid had only slipped a few times, but the walking stick had prevented him from suffering any serious injury. And Jensen’s hand continued to improve and avoid infection. Despite the small rations they’d been eating, both of them were doing fairly well. The minor pangs of hunger were not debilitating in the least and with water in ample supply, Jensen guesstimated that they had at least another week of operating under mostly full steam, assuming their luck held when it came to their intestinal tracts’ health.

They passed the morning talking about Jensen’s film roles and experiences in the industry, both desperate to keep their minds off of their slow-growing dread. While the widening waterway seemed like a path to escape, the continued lack of signs of another human’s presence was beginning to wear on their spirits. It was after another film anecdote of Jensen’s ended with him explaining how he would have handled it differently if he had been the director when Jared chimed in with an astute observation.

“Why don’t you direct?” he asked baldly.

“Because I'm an actor, kid,” Jensen shot back without thought, his knee jerk response to the rare times the question came up.

“So you can’t do anything else? Is that some kind of actors’ union rule or something?”

“I’ve been acting for a good chunk of my life,” Jensen retorted. “It’s all I know. It's what I'm good at.”

Jared snorted. “As if.”

Jensen sloshed around and gave the kid a perplexed look. Jared had just ducked his head under and was slicking it back off his broad forehead. Jensen winced, not at all comfortable with him submerging himself in water potentially infested with deadly dick fish and who knew what else.

Wiping his eyes free of the excess moisture, he continued, “I may not know much about movies,” and it was Jensen’s turn to snort, “or anything at all about what goes into making one, but you clearly have a drive to be the storyteller.”

“I have no talent for writing,” Jensen argued. “They’re the storytellers.”

“They’re part of the process,” the kid agreed, “but, in many cultures, the storyteller is who passes on the story; it doesn’t necessarily have to be his. It's up to him to engage and relay the message in a way that people pay attention to. Look how seldom authors do readings. It’s amazing when they do, but very seldom do they themselves bring their tale to life for an audience. And in the movies, it's the actors and the director who do it.”

Although he was forced by necessity to turn away to see where he was going, Jensen shook his head vehemently.

Either Jared didn't catch the gesture or chose to ignore it, because he carried on. “For the last day or so, I’ve listened to you as you literally deconstructed various scenes from projects you’ve been on, explaining to me where they succeeded and where they failed. It's clear you have an eye for it. You should find a subject you feel passionate about and go for it.”

“It’s not that simple, kid,” Jensen told him, even as the idea began to niggle at him.

“What is ever easy?” Jared replied.

“I'm good at acting,” Jensen said, wanting the uncomfortable conversation to be over.

“And you can only be good at one thing?” the kid quipped and Jensen heard the damn smirk in his voice.

“I could fail,” he finally admitted, shifting his machete from one hand to another. While still covered in duct tape, his left hand was healing nicely and only gave an uncomfortable twinge periodically.

“You wouldn't be the first or the last to,” the kid reasoned without judgement. “And wouldn't it be worth the risk?”

Jensen grew silent after that and, thankfully, the kid respected his unspoken need to collect his thoughts for a few minutes. All his life, he’d been pushed towards acting and, ego aside, he was damn good at his craft. However, from an early age, he had been intrigued by the other side of the camera. He’d literally grown up watching some of the best directors in the business work their magic and he had been enthralled by the process. And if he was honest with himself, he'd been envious, too. Only once had he vaguely hinted around at the idea with Chad when they'd been drinking heavily one evening not long after The Miracle had wrapped. Thinking back on that night, Chad hadn't teased him over the idea. The more he thought about it, the more he recalled that his manager and friend had been fairly quiet throughout his slightly drunken ramblings. Although he never brought it up again, Chad had never disabused him of the notion, either. Jensen wondered if Chad had been waiting ever since for him to bring it up again.

Dragging his free hand down his mouth and jaw, Jensen winced at the feel of how thick his beard was starting to come in. Too many days without basic amenities. Dreams of directing would have to be put on hold for the moment, because if he and the kid didn't find someone soon, there would be no future for them at all.

Always straining to hear another source of water, Jensen didn't notice anything other than the birds. One unexpected bonus of being in the water was a reduction of pestering insects. Jensen didn't know if it was because there was a current and all bugs here were like mosquitos and preferred standing water, but he'd take what he could get at this point regardless of the reason behind the reprieve. There was still the not-too-distant drone of crickets or cicadas or whatever they were, but it was removed enough to not be a vital part of the trance soundtrack that had haunted their every moment since waking up in the Amazon. Jared was still quiet, maybe lost in his own thoughts (or fears), maybe just wanting to give Jensen some measure of peace. Despite everything that had happened up until this very moment, neither one had gotten on the other’s nerves yet.

Jensen chalked some of that up to the situation. They needed each other and they needed each other to keep it together. But if Jensen had learned anything in his thirty plus years, it was that under duress, people’s true colors eventually shone through. And, so far, he hadn't seen anything he didn't like about the kid not four feet behind him. That scared him more than anything…even more than dick-eating fish.

Wanting to derail that train of thought quickly, Jensen cleared his throat and began, “Hey, kid?”

“Yes, Ginger?”

Jensen twisted around and threw a sour glance at Jared. “Very funny. So what does that make you? The Professor or Mary Ann?”

“Huh?” the kid huffed as he scratched his half-dry curls, bangs already falling across his eyes again after his impromptu dunking.

“No, I get it. Very apropos,” Jensen went on and began to sing, “‘the movie star’,” he paused and patted himself on the chest before hooking his thumb at Jared, “’the Professor and Mary Ann, here on’…” he trailed off as Jared’s face contorted into a mask of utter confusion.

“Are you feeling okay, Jensen?” he asked solicitously, wading closer to him. “Maybe we should find a small opening and sit down for a while.” And he began to scout around for a haul-out for them. “Not that I don’t like your singing. You have a very nice voice, but I think maybe –”

“Jared, I don’t have sunstroke or anything,” Jensen cut off his ridiculously cute rambling. “I figured you were making a half-assed reference to Gilligan’s Island.”

“I don't know what that is, Jensen,” Jared answered, apparently mollified that Jensen wasn't hallucinating or otherwise losing his marbles.

Jensen spent the next five minutes breaking down the iconic comedy of Sherwood Schwartz that was a mainstay of pop culture.

“Huh,” Jared admitted afterwards. “I guess that would make sense why you thought I knew about it.”

“If you’ve never seen the show, why’d you call me ‘Ginger’?” Jensen shot back.

Grinning lopsidedly, Jared answered, “Because of your scruff. All due respect to Mr. Schwartz, but I had Dickens in mind. From Our Mutual Friend, he wrote ‘too much ginger in his whiskers’,” the kid finished with a flourish. “So…Ginger,” he shrugged his shoulders as he motioned to his still ridiculously smooth jaw with one hand. “I always liked that term for people with reddish hair.”

And there was no denying that when it filled in, Jensen’s beard was more red – ginger did sound nicer – than any other color. Foot sliding into the tight, sucking grip of a muddy spot in the creek bed, he wrenched it free with a hard twist. “Watch it around here,” he warned the kid. “Ground’s kind of tricky.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Jared started to tumble. Jensen was ready, however, lunging back and catching him by his shoulders, holding the younger man until he was able to find more solid footing. “You okay?” Jensen worried, ducking his head at an odd angle, trying to catch Jared’s gaze. Clumps of his dark hair hung over them, making it difficult to actually see those exotic eyes. When he finally did lock onto them, he was jolted by the connection that zipped between them. The tip of Jared’s pink tongue peeked out between his lips to swipe at the lower one nervously. Jensen followed the movement with no small amount of envy, overcome with the sudden need that pulsed through him. He wanted to trace along the same path and find out exactly what Jared tasted like. He licked his lips in anticipation, leaning imperceptibly closer.

A strange gurgle startled them both and they stepped away from each other.

“Was that your stomach?” he asked the kid incredulously.

Jared’s head dropped and he flushed crimson. “Must be close to noon,” he mumbled and like that, the moment was lost. “Like clockwork,” he admitted, shamefaced.

“At least you're predictable,” Jensen chuckled and released his hold on the other man. “Careful,” he added needlessly when Jared regained his footing.

As they resumed their trek, Jared cleared his throat. “Uh, what was it you wanted to ask me before, Jensen?”

And for some inexplicable reason, Jensen missed the silly nickname of only five minutes earlier. He idly wondered if he'd scared Jared somehow and regretted whatever it was that made the kid’s tone shift to something more formal.

“Oh,” he began a little roughly, “uh…” and it took a second for Jensen to remember what it was he had meant to ask, “I know we've agreed to disagree about Fawcett and his motivations.” They had, too. After their little, verbal skirmish on the plane, they had continued their discussion yesterday about what, if any, religious drive was behind the colonel’s last foray into the wild. It hadn't ended with either man budging in their theories. “Something I haven't looked into much yet is what some of the elements of Brazilian mythology are.”

Jensen was curious, but his question was also meant to distract Jared. Nothing could be done about their current situation and hunger other than what they were doing, but he knew full well that if Jared was left to his own devices, he would worry needlessly. If he was talking (and about subjects that weren't as bone-chilling as dick fish), then he was in his element. It kept him distracted enough that he wasn't too frightened. And the fact that Jensen already knew that about the kid was something he didn't choose to examine too closely.

“That's a pretty diverse subject,” Jared exhaled and Jensen smiled, closing his eyes briefly. He knew he had the kid distracted for a good couple of hours, judging by the eager tone in his voice. That would carry them through their non-existent lunch straight until they needed to look for a campsite for the night.

He found himself letting Jared’s words wash over him, only paying attention to a small fraction of what the kid was actually saying about the nature of Brazilian mythology. It was incredibly diverse due to the addition of folklore imported by the Portuguese settlers, some African traditions brought over by those settlers’ slaves and devotional elements propagated by the Catholic Church. A few stood out to him, like the Cabeça Satânica, a creepy head with a devilish smirk that hopped or rolled towards its victim in the dead of night and the seemingly universal Lady in White, who was even featured in that television series he worked on with Sam Winchester. He kept his mouth shut when Jared talked about the Mapinguari, a jungle yeti that sounded like it shared a couple of attributes with the young archaeologist. He couldn't stop the scowl that spread across his face, however, when the kid went on and on about the Curupira, a male genie who hated lumberjacks and hunters. The fact that said genie had red hair was not lost on him and he wondered if Jared had made that up as a subtle jab at the earlier, Ginger incident. He did have to admit the fact that the creature had his feet twisted around so they were backwards to fool hunters with his tracks was kind of cool. When they got back to a city, he'd have to Google that and see if it was really true.

They probably passed three hours like that when the waterway descended sharply. Footing grew trickier, but there was also the telltale rush of a larger water source. As their creek twisted to the left, there was another drop and then it merged into a true river. Jensen hopped out along the bank and pulled Jared along with him, to keep them both from tumbling in. He had no idea how deep the river might be and decided they could both use a break. Alongside the river, the brush had thinned out, making walking alongside it a possibility again.

Sitting in the muddy dirt, both of them caught their breath. Jensen didn't bother to try and wipe his clothes clean any longer, resigned that he was going to either be sweaty and damp or sweaty and partially damp until this was all over. He was almost looking forward to the campfire at the end of the day for the few minutes he was dry with something resembling fondness.

“It's a good sign,” he said aloud.

“Yeah,” Jared replied distractedly. It wasn’t lost on Jensen.

“What’s going on in that big head of yours, kid? I can hear the wheels turning from here,” he smirked.

Flashing him a grin with dimples, Jared replied, “Well, we might consider building a raft and floating down now that the way’s wide enough.”

“You can make a raft?” Jensen marveled, stopping short of calling the kid Gilligan. Again.

Pushing his lower lip out, Jared shrugged. “It's not much different from making a sleeping cot.” He studied his surroundings more closely. “There’s not enough of the right sized trees around here, but it wouldn't take much to find what we need. We’d conserve our energy traveling that way and it would get us out of the water. We’ve gotten lucky so far, but traveling too long with wet feet is going to catch up with us sooner or later,” he finished grimly.

Jensen agreed. Eventually, they might both end up with jungle rot on their feet and then they'd really be done in. Rising, Jensen thrust out his hand, clasping the kid on his forearm and yanking him up. “Tell me how many and what size you need,” he replied and brandished his machete like a swashbuckler.

Before Jared had a chance to give him the details, his mouth fell open in shock. Whipping his head around, Jensen followed his line of sight and sucked in his breath sharply. Drifting along the current was a huge log, maybe as much as forty feet long and five feet wide. Both ends were cleanly cut.

“That tree was logged,” he inhaled sharply. Turning back to Jared, he repeated himself. “That was logged.”

“Yeah, it sure looks that way,” Jared agreed. “I mean, it might have rolled into the water by itself, but –”

“Someone still cut it down,” Jensen finished. “And with professional tools. Those cuts were too clean to be anything but a chainsaw of some kind.” He didn't notice the kid had rolled his lips in. Jensen’s mind was too busy firing over having seen proof that another human being was somewhere relatively near. Relief was practically cascading over him at the thought that they weren't alone any longer.

“I-I guess we just need to decide if we follow the river downstream or go up it,” he finished. Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, “Do they have people waiting downriver for the logs or do they have something set up to catch them? I mean,” he reasoned, “there definitely has to be someone dropping them into the water, don't you think?”

Jared was gnawing on his lower lip. “Probably, unless that one had been cut a while ago and rolled in accidentally. It might have been left up on a bank and the rains loosened the soil underneath it.”

Jensen supposed that was a possibility. He was unfamiliar with logging operations and figured that maybe some did get left behind. Before he could say anything else, another log came into view. “I don't think two would fall in accidentally, do you?”

“No, that seems too unlikely,” the kid agreed slowly. But he kept nibbling on his lip.

“What do you think? Better chance finding someone upstream or down?” Jensen asked him.

“No telling how far upriver we might have to go to find someone. I'm not sure what kind of collection process these guys use, but there’s usually jam crews stationed around the river choke points before the logs get removed from the water.”

“So that means potentially at least one group of people downstream,” Jensen reasoned.

“Yeah. Upriver would be the actual loggers and a larger group of men following the logs down. They'd be the rear crew,” Jared continued.

“Ok, so two upstream. I'm thinking the odds say follow the river back up if we want to find someone quicker,” he concluded. Even though it rankled him to head back in the general direction they’d come from, two chances of finding people seemed worth it. He just couldn't figure out why the kid didn't seem happy about the situation.

While Jared might have been deferring to Jensen throughout their trek, Jensen was no dictator. “What's not sitting right with you, kid? Talk to me.”

Jared fidgeted where he stood and had a hesitancy about him that was very unlike what Jensen had seen before. “Considering the equipment and manpower they’d need to transport, it's…unusual that they're driving the logs like this instead of using trucks.”

“Maybe it’s too difficult to get in and out with logging trucks. Those things are usually the size of tractor trailers, right?” Jensen offered.

“Yeah,” the kid replied and then swapped out his lip for his thumb and began to gnaw on it instead.

“What else could it mean, Jared?”

Jared flicked his eyes up and then away. “It could mean that these guys are logging illegally.” Stepping closer, as though they might be overheard, the kid nearly whispered, “They cut in restricted areas and then float the logs down to regions where it’s legal and bring them out on trucks from there.”

“This might be what…laundering?” Jensen asked, pointing his machete at the second log that was almost out of view.

“Exactly, Jensen. Whichever way we go, we should just be careful when approaching them. They might think we’re part of some reporting agency or something. If that’s the case, they won’t be welcoming us with open arms.”

“Or they might be completely legit,” he countered.

The kid bobbed his head up and down slowly. “They could be.”

Scratching at his burgeoning beard, Jensen was definitely on unsure ground.

“They’re still probably our best chance out of here,” Jared added, like he could sense Jensen’s dilemma. “I'm probably being overly paranoid.” And he laughed nervously.

“Given everything that's happened to us so far, I don't think a little paranoia is a bad thing, kid,” he reassured him in turn. Glancing up and down the riverbank, he added, “Upriver looks easier to walk.”

“Upriver it is,” Jared capitulated, but didn't sound all that eager.

For a while, they were both silent. Jensen wanted to believe it was because they were tired, but he knew he was listening extra hard for any hint of a chainsaw buzz or something along those lines. He didn't doubt Jared’s concerns, but, given how bedraggled they both looked, he thought that on the outside chance the loggers were there illegally, they would recognize him and Jared as two men clearly lost and not there to catch them red-handed. Hell, he figured even if the men weren't above board, the promise of a hefty reward would motivate them to be Good Samaritans.

It was Jared who broke their uneasy silence. “I'm probably biased about loggers and I really can't claim the moral high ground here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there have been quite a few significant finds over the last decade in regions like this all because of loggers. They’ve cleared away swaths of jungle that were untouched for centuries and uncovered things we might never have found otherwise.” He grew thoughtful again.

“Tough call,” Jensen admitted. “I know deforestation can be a dangerous thing for the ecosystem, but then something like that,” he paused and waved his hand at an imaginary city off to his right, “gets found and you potentially learn something invaluable from the discovery.”

“Yeah,” Jared agreed from behind him. Despite the fact that the bank along the river could accommodate them both, Jensen kept his machete handy and the kid safely tucked behind him. He was just more at ease like that.

“You know, Prof. O was in the Peace Corps,” Jared said out of the blue.

“Okay,” Jensen replied, elongating the “oh” sound, not sure where the kid was going with that.

“He graduated with a double major in archaeology and biology and applied for the Peace Corps,” Jared explained. “He got assigned to what was Zaire back then, working with fisheries because of his bio background. The people in that area suffered from Kwashiorkor.”

“Is that wet malnutrition?” Jensen interrupted him.

“Exactly. Not enough protein in the diet where the kids have the distended stomachs. So he was there to show them how to build diversion ponds and raise a specific type of hardy, local fish to counteract that protein deficit.”

“I'm not seeing the connection, kid,” Jensen pointed out, not unkindly.

Jared huffed. “It was hard work and they used tools no more advanced than machetes and small shovels to dig out these huge ponds, but the thing that bugged the Prof the most was that they had to cut down these giant, old-growth trees to clear space for the ponds. He guessed that some of those trees had to be over a hundred years old, if not older.

“It really tore him up, having to sacrifice the trees for the people, you know? He said it helped solidify the direction his career took, because he never wanted to have to choose between the environment and people ever again,” Jared finished quietly.

Jensen didn't know what to say to that. It was easy to take up a cause, like stopping deforestation to protect an endangered species of animal or plant, but what about the people? If it was down to a frog living or a kid getting a chance to grow up, how did you choose? On the other hand, when it was a question of a teak floor or the tree frog, Jensen would side with the critter every time.

“Ranchers and farmers are clear cutting a lot of the land, too,” Jared continued after a minute, “but they’re mostly looking for crops to export, not to feed the locals. So not only are the plants and animals being destroyed, the indigenous people are getting driven out of their hunting grounds and are caught out on all sides: loggers, who want the trees for the money and ranchers, who want the land for grazing. Both groups are killing off the Amazon Basin and everything that lives in it at a frightening rate. And here I am, somehow benefitting from it all.”

And the kid sounded incredibly morose just then. That didn't sit well with Jensen.

“It’s not like you’re encouraging the deforestation, kid,” he tried to console him.

“No,” Jared reluctantly agreed, “but I'm not doing anything to stop it, either. Sometimes…sometimes I think it's kinda cowardly of me to stick my head in the proverbial sand, you know?”

“But if you believe that, then every, single one of us should only be focused on saving the planet and not doing anything else. Do you think that’s remotely feasible?” he suggested.

“Not when you put it that way,” Jared grudgingly replied.

“I like to think I do my part, by donating a portion of my income every year to causes I believe in, but that’s about as hands on as I get. Maybe I should be doing more like attaching my name to a cause I feel strongly about. Push it on social media,” he finished and Jensen could have sworn that Jared snorted at the last part.

“Not a fan of the medium, I take it?” Jensen asked.

“I really don't see the point of it,” Jared replied.

Jensen slashed away at some of the underbrush, clearing the way for them. “Whether you want to admit it or not, social media can reach an awful lot of people,” Jensen huffed from the exertion.

“It doesn't mean they do anything about it, though,” the kid lobbed back.

“But sometimes it does.” Jensen wasn't about to let this one go. “When Boko Haram kidnapped those school girls, the Twitter hashtag trended enough that world leaders took notice.”

“Yeah. ‘Bring back our girls’, right?”

Jensen turned around and gave the kid an assessing look.

“I'm not a complete idiot when it comes to that stuff, Jensen. Stephen maintains the social media platforms related to our projects in an official capacity and he’s tried for years to get me to cave in. He's always showing me things that he thinks will tip me over the edge and get me to twit.”

“Tweet,” Jensen corrected him with a quirk of his lips.

“Same thing, I think. So, did it work? Did a bunch of people clicking keys on a laptop or phone bring them back?” There was nothing aggressive in his manner, but the implications unnerved Jensen nonetheless.

“No,” Jensen had to concede.

“No, after two years only a handful of women have been ‘rescued’ and that's more than likely an exaggerated description of the girls saving themselves and the Nigerian soldiers trying to save face. Where’s all the Twitter about them now? The problems don’t go away,” Jared remarked with a surprising amount of wisdom, “but the people do.”

And Jensen didn't have an answer for that. He started to rack his brain for an example that was more successful. “There was the Kony 2012 video that went viral,” Jensen eventually recollected. “That reached millions of people and even got the U.S. Senate to authorize troop movement into the Central African Republic to look for him.” He was about to add to that when he stumbled on a root system and swore softly.

“And they haven’t found him, have they?” For once, the kid didn’t trip.

Jensen suspected that Jared knew very well that they hadn't. “Not yet, but that doesn't mean the search isn't valid.”

“True,” the kid assented, “but Joseph Kony probably has a hundred followers at most and is so low on the pecking order of people who have committed human rights violations, it’s almost laughable. He’s definitely yesterday’s news. People felt good because they could click a button and think they were making a change.

“Did you know,” Jared carried on, “that twenty percent of every donation collected went to the Ugandan government, since the video led people to believe he was holed up there when anyone with a basic grasp of the political situation knew he'd flown the coop years before in 2006. Furthermore,” and it was obvious that Jared was working himself up, “did you know that Uganda’s president Museveni came into power partially through the use of child soldiers, the very crime all those YouTubers wanted Kony punished over? Or that like the other thirty-seven countries of the African continent that criminalize homosexuality, Uganda passed an Anti-Homosexuality Bill in 2014 that called for those ‘criminals’,” and he paused to make frantic air quotes, “to be executed? That’s where a good chunk of the money went.” And as quickly as he had worked himself up, he deflated. “Maybe some of those do-gooders would be happy to have had a hand in killing gay people, but I bet a lot wouldn't.”

And Jensen definitely had no response to that. How could he?

“Sorry,” Jared almost whispered, chest still heaving with the spent emotions.

“Don’t ever apologize for speaking your mind, Jared,” Jensen replied softly, stepping right up into the kid’s space. He got it. How could anyone support killing someone for who they loved? And with all the traveling Jared had done, of course he would know where being himself might have been dangerous. He wondered how much of the kid’s admitted abstinence had been by choice or simply self-preservation. How much did he live in fear?

“Don’t you ever,” he nearly hissed, gaze flicking back and forth between Jared’s amazing eyes. He was close enough that he could smell the kid, under the damp of the river and the heavy scent of the earthy plants that surrounded them. He reached out with his free hand without any, conscious thought and Jared held perfectly still. But before he could do whatever it was his body had been urging him to, there was the alien growl of machinery in the distance.

Jensen dropped his hand, as they both turned in unison toward the source of the sound.

“Chainsaw?” Jared asked, flushed and off-balance.

“Chainsaw,” Jensen confirmed. “That way, I think,” he surmised, gesturing a little off to the right. Jensen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s go get rescued,” he said with surprisingly less enthusiasm than that concept should have warranted.

Jared wrapped his long fingers around Jensen’s bicep and tugged him back. “Carefully,” he reminded the actor.

Jensen gave a sharp jerk of his chin once and pushed forward. He told himself it was only the prospect of rescue that had his heart pounding and nothing else.

In no time at all, the two of them crept up the slight hill. What they saw stole their breath.

As far as they could see, the jungle had been decimated, leaving nothing but reddish-brown earth exposed like dried blood. There was no other word to describe it. The late afternoon sun illuminated the raw, gaping wound, where almost nothing was left standing. After days of thick, verdant life all around him, Jensen had been hoping for an open space to try to signal for help, but he hadn't wanted this. He shook his head as if to clear his vision. He rationalized that this is what a deforested zone should look like, but couldn't reconcile himself with the sight. The scored land resembled a war zone after being napalmed. And he suddenly noticed that the only sound around them was the buzz of the saw. Everything else had fallen silent and after days of the ambiance of the Amazon, its absence was as jarring as the desolation in front of him.

From where they stood, still shielded by what brush was left, Jensen was able to make out a small shack – nothing more than a few walls and rusted, aluminum siding for a roof – off to the far right about a hundred yards' distance and several, beaten-up SUVs parked behind it. Beyond them was what must have passed for a road. Jared might very well be right and this was a highly illegal operation if they weren't hauling the logs out via trucks. He spotted one man, dressed in clothes not much better than theirs. He was the one sawing away at one of the remaining trees left upright amidst the wreckage. Jensen made no move to draw attention to him and Jared. In fact, he gripped Jared’s forearm and yanked him down into a crouch beside him. In silence and relative cover, they watched the giant tumble to the ground. That left only one tree.

The logger in the sleeveless overshirt set the gas-powered saw aside and shouted out something that Jensen thought might have been in Portuguese. As he stood there, two other men exited the small shack, but the second man had an odd hitch to his gait. When he heard a small animal wail, Jensen figured out why the second man was walking the way he was. Jensen’s stomach seized up.

The cry wasn't from an animal, but a small child that he was dragging alongside him. He didn’t look like he was older than nine or ten. The youngster was nude, with jet black hair in a simple, blunt cut. He was as tan as the loggers and had some colorful markings on his face. Jensen had a sinking feeling the boy must have come from an indigenous group of people. It was then that Jensen noticed the man in front was carrying some rope. Nothing good was going to come from this.

The guy beside the chainsaw said something that Jensen couldn't hear and then gestured to the last tree. The second man, with a scruffy face and battered, straw cowboy hat, dragged the boy over to it while the man with the rope proceeded to tie the crying child in place. All the while, Jensen was watching and calculating what they could do.

Three men against the two of them. The chainsaw might make for a formidable weapon, but it was large and unwieldy. And it wasn't running. Jensen had no idea what kind of abilities Jared might have, although the kid seemed too gentle a soul to be a proficient fighter, but his size alone was intimidating. He had the machete and the kid had his knife. And they had the element of surprise on their hands.

When Chainsaw guy tossed over a dented jerry can to Cowboy, Jensen was confused. Beside him, Jared sucked in a harsh breath. He was about to shake the kid in warning when Jared moaned, “Oh, God. Not again.” And he burst out of their hiding space, running on those long legs right towards the men, shouting, “Pare! Não toque!”

Stop. Don’t touch.

For a single instant, everything seemed frozen to Jensen. And in that surreal moment, it became crystal clear what the loggers’ intentions were with the jerry can of gas – they were planning to burn that boy alive.

He gripped the machete tight in his hand and, with a growl, threw himself after Jared.

Chapter Text

This was nothing like the movies.

There was no stunt coordinator standing off to the side with her watchful eye on everyone involved in the scene to prevent serious injury. The moves the men made weren’t the highly choreographed and practiced steps of trained professionals, but men who were surprised and threatened. Men who were about to burn a child to death. Jared’s foolish ambush had him practically on top of the loggers, while Jensen woefully lagged behind. Too far behind. But that might be to his advantage, Jensen’s mind calculated, since the others hadn't seen him yet.

If only Jared had waited a few moments, he cursed to himself, we could have done this together.

The three were all dumbstruck as a veritable giant had come screaming out of the jungle and landed in their midst, frantic and red-faced. The stupid kid shoved Cowboy and his gas can aside, fell to his knees before the boy and was hacking desperately at his ropes. At least he had managed to pull the blade out. That was something in his favor. The child had gone deathly silent while Jared spoke rapidly in what must have been Portuguese to the terrified captive. A small part of Jensen’s mind reasoned that the little boy more than likely didn't understand a word of it, but the concerned tone might seep in and strike a chord in his psyche. However, the bulk of Jensen’s thoughts focused on the fact that the men surrounding Jared hadn’t remained unmoving for long.

Just as Jared had slashed through one of the child’s bindings, Cowboy swung around and struck him hard across his shoulders and back with the jerry can. It was a direct hit and Jared pitched forward, grazing his head against the tree, barely getting a hand out to keep himself from face-planting into the ragged remains of the jungle floor. He tried to crawl on all fours, shaking his head rapidly like a wounded animal, but he couldn't move away quickly enough. The logger who had handled the rope kicked him in the ribs and Jared tumbled to his side, hands clutching at his wounded midriff. Chainsaw held back, apparently content to watch his cohorts have their fun. He crossed his sleeveless arms and watched from a few feet back. Jensen got to him first.

“Hey,” Jensen huffed, breathing hard from his short sprint. Chainsaw whipped his head around, shock lighting across his stubbled face. Without a second thought, Jensen fisted his mostly-healed hand and caught the much shorter man across the jaw. The logger dropped to his knees, cradling his face and moaning in pain. Not even taking a second to admire his handiwork, Jensen continued his charge forward. Cowboy had raised the gas can again, while the rope man stood beside Jared, and it was clear he planned to bring it down on the idiot kid’s head.

“Sonofabitch!” Jensen growled, because that was not going to happen on his watch.

Cowboy turned and changed the course of the can as soon as he spotted Jensen, arcing it towards him instead. Jensen brought up the machete and parried the impending blow. The impact jolted his arm badly, the force of it reverberating up past his elbow, but it stopped the can and even punctured the metal container. The bitter stink of gasoline was more pervasive than the rank odor of sweat as the volatile liquid dribbled down Cowboy’s arm, his dirty shirt hungrily lapping it up. Cowboy let the thing fall to the ground with a thud as he shook his damp hand and sleeve, head whipping from one side to the other as he studied the ground.

Although the move was one of the most clichéd tricks and he should have known better, Jensen let his gaze drop as well and then he saw it – the telltale glint of a lighter against the gray, smoldering earth. Swinging his jagged machete like a lazy, threatening pendulum, Jensen drove Cowboy back a few feet and he leaned down far enough to scoop the lighter up in his free hand. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Jared, from where he lay, struck out with both palms against the back of Rope Man’s knees, catching the logger completely unaware. The man tumbled to the ground. Unlike Jared, he wasn't able to protect his head from a small stump. When he hit the ruined land, he didn't get back up.

Jensen smiled grimly and flicked the lighter, waving it menacingly towards the man and his gasoline-soaked shirt, the threat implicit. The logger’s eyes widened and he began grumbling what Jensen thought meant “please” and “don’t”, but Jensen’s Portuguese was rudimentary at best. And he wouldn't have acknowledged his pleas anyway. Jensen kept advancing until the panicked man lost his footing and landed on his ass. He scuttled backwards like a crab, face pale, stumbling over roots and scorched soil, never taking his eyes off the trailing glow of the flame. His battered hat was crushed beneath him and abandoned. Jensen continued to move forward until he heard Jared groan. He turned away then, barely noticing how Cowboy scrambled to his feet and fled. The adrenaline was thumping through his body and Jensen’s heart skipped in a crazy beat as he focused on the kid.

Jared was pushing himself up and failing, not too far from the boy (who had cried silent tears throughout the entire ordeal). Jensen gave the little fellow what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but wondered what a sight he must have presented to the terrified youngster, brandishing a blade and a flaming lighter.

He kneeled beside Jared, who was barely sitting up on his own. Pocketing the lighter, he put his free hand to good use, grabbing what he hoped was the kid’s uninjured shoulder and helped him to sit up properly. “I will beat you senseless later for your fuckin’, stupid charge. Let’s get the boy and help ourselves to one of those SUVs. We can sort everything out later once we are far from here.” Unlike his voice, his hands were gentle wherever they touched the younger man.

With blood dripping down his forehead into his left eye and bangs plastered to his face, Jared was a macabre sight to behold. But he didn’t seem fazed by his predicament and grinned crookedly up at Jensen. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Don’t tempt me, kid,” Jensen groused, shaking his machete warningly, as Jared fumbled around, trying to find his knife.

Once he had it, Jared crawled over to the child, talking softly, and continued to cut through the remaining ropes that bound him to the tree. For his part, the boy kept his big, dark eyes fixed on Jared. His tears had stopped and while he wasn’t smiling, he didn't look deathly afraid any longer. Jensen couldn’t help but grin as Jared spoke smoothly and gently to the boy, who didn't seem to understand a word, but when the kid flashed the child a huge, dimpled smile, the boy made his first, hesitant one in return. He flicked his eyes in Jensen’s direction, but they widened immediately and he gasped loudly just as something slammed into Jensen’s back, causing him to drop his machete.

A bare arm wrapped around his throat, pressing relentlessly against Jensen’s windpipe. Still on his knees, Jensen managed to wrench his head to the side, shifting the pressure from his vulnerable trachea to the muscles and tendons of his neck instead. Before Jared had a chance to help, Jensen reached back and grabbed ahold of the man’s head and shoulder and gripped hard. With a fluid move, Jensen worked the leverage he had, bent forward and tossed him over his own shoulder. Chainsaw landed with a guttural grunt onto his back and didn't get up again. Jared’s mouth was hanging open.

“Two degrees away from a coral belt. Jiu-jitsu works every time,” Jensen panted as he verified that Chainsaw was out for the count. “Let’s shake a leg, kid.”

Jared nodded, wiping his forehead haphazardly against his shoulder, and finished cutting the child free. When the last of the ropes fell to the ground, the boy stood still. Jared opened up his arms and the frightened youngster accepted the gesture for what it was – an invitation. He all but threw himself into them. As Jared got to his shaky feet, the boy had wrapped himself so tightly around the kid that Jensen figured they’d need a crowbar to pry him off.

Retrieving his machete, Jensen kept his free hand on the younger man, needing the contact. At least two SUVs were parked behind the small shack. If they were lucky, the keys would be in one of them. If not, Jensen believed he might be able to hot-wire one. He'd seen a tech guy do it during one of his films and he hoped he remembered how it was done. They'd manage somehow.

Staying between Jared and the shack, the trio didn't get more than a few feet before Cowboy, bare chested, stepped out of the dilapidated shack. He’d done more than strip out of his gasoline-drenched shirt while in the shanty. He held a shotgun in his sweaty hands.

“Tente sua sorte contra isto!” he spat and swung the weapon up towards them.

Left without a choice, because shotgun trumped machete especially when a child was involved, Jensen yanked Jared around and the two of them, with the boy clinging tight, fled towards the untouched jungle. A cloud of dirt and dust exploded to his right as they ran past a bulldozer that had actual arrows embedded in its side. Jensen shoved Jared and his hitchhiker in front of him, trying to use the machinery and as much of his body as he could to shield them while they raced for the relative protection of the jungle. From a growing distance behind him, Jensen heard what must have been Cowboy shouting. Whether it was to them or his fallen cohorts, Jensen had no idea. Another shot went off, but when Jensen didn't feel any pain, he assumed it had gone wild.

Tumbling into the emerald arms of the jungle, Jensen breathed easier. For a short while, he doggedly remained behind Jared and the boy. The slap of glossy leaves was consistently followed by Jared’s colorful curses and hisses of pain. Necessity eventually forced Jensen to take the lead. The lianas and other undergrowth were proving too difficult for Jared to simply push aside, especially considering how full his hands were. Jensen swung the machete savagely without thought or concern about snakes or spiders or any natural threat. How they managed to avoid serious injury during their mad dash probably was due more to luck than anything else. Both men remained silent, straining to hear anyone in pursuit. But that luck was holding them in good stead and all either of them heard was the welcome drone of insects and raucous cries of birds. Those were good sounds. And the scent of ripe fermentation hung heavy in the moist air – a welcome change from the bitter taste of ashes of the logging camp, which clung to them like a second skin.

Jensen had no idea how long they stumble-ran, but eventually a sixth sense told him it was enough. Jared seemed to agree, not urging him on farther when they slowed down. The little boy was still quiet, but occasionally he peeked out from where he’d buried his head against Jared’s shoulder to regard the jungle before nestling back into the kid. Whatever red substance he had painted over his forehead and eyes was ruined and his face was as smeared as Jared’s. They matched in an odd way, what with the dried blood that still covered part of the kid’s forehead and dripped down over his eye.

“I think maybe we should stop soon,” Jared croaked. “We’re about out of daylight.”

Jensen surveyed the only patch of sky above them, saw how whatever color was there was leaching away by the second, and grunted in agreement. About the only thing they could do more foolishly would be to crash their way through the jungle at night. He didn’t think their good fortune would hold out for that and, like he’d feared before, a broken or twisted limb could be a death knell. And now there was the boy to consider, too.

“I don’t know if we should risk a full camp,” Jensen replied, keeping his voice low. He didn’t think the loggers had pursued them for long, but didn’t completely trust in that intuition yet.

“Probably not,” Jared murmured, “but a fire to keep away the bugs and the bigger critters is a necessity. We should collect what supplies we can in the light we have left.” And he hefted the boy from his left side to his right. The child didn’t say anything, but did let up on the death-grip his legs had around Jared’s waist enough to accommodate the move.  

“Want me to take him?” Jensen offered. The boy whimpered and held on tighter. “I guess not,” Jensen chuckled.

After another ten minutes, they found the smallest of clearings. It was mostly a space under a ceiba tree where nothing had been able to take hold underneath its massive shadow. Remembering Jared’s words, Jensen thoroughly slashed and poked at the crevices around the root structure, but, apparently, no one else had decided to take refuge there for the night just yet.

“Good call,” Jared approved. “The limbs will give us some cover from the rain.” And then he effortlessly shifted into Portuguese, whispering into the youngster’s ear. Jensen held onto his hunch that the boy couldn’t understand the words, but recognized the cadence that Jared used when speaking to him. He crouched down and gently urged the little fellow to stand on his own. With great reluctance, the boy did. Jared got to his feet slowly (a little too carefully, Jensen noted, like either his back or leg was bothering him) and smiled deeply. The boy watched with solemn eyes as Jared eventually towered over him. He shivered slightly, but didn’t seem afraid of them.

“You think he’s in shock?” Jared asked. He must have noticed the trembling as well.

“After what he almost went through, I wouldn’t blame him,” Jensen admitted. He shucked off his overshirt and held it out towards the youngster. But the boy only stared at him. For some reason, he wouldn’t grace Jensen with the same tentative smile he had Jared. Maybe, Jensen thought, it was because he had been the more physical of the two, doling out the brunt of the violence against the loggers. Maybe he was scared of Jensen, too.

“Isto é para você,” he said stiltedly, hoping he had gotten it right. “This is for you,” he repeated in English and gently waved the shirt at him. He looked helplessly at Jared, who was watching him with a fond expression on his face. “Save me,” he exhaled.

The kid’s smile grew wide enough that his dimples cracked his cheeks. He took the shirt from Jensen and spoke quickly in Portuguese while he started to cover the boy with it. Once again, Jensen noticed that Jared’s movements were off. He didn’t kneel, but bent over carefully instead. Before he could ask about it, Jared had coaxed the little guy into actually putting his arms through the sleeves. They swallowed his limbs up and while Jared fastened a couple of the buttons, the boy flapped his arms, admiring the way the material snapped with the motion. He placed three fingers against his mouth and made a cawing sound. Jared smiled and nodded vigorously, before shooting off more Portuguese. All that Jensen was sure he caught was the word for bird.

“Jared,” the kid said, tapping himself on his chest. He pointed to him and added, “Jensen.” Jensen smiled again when the boy tilted his head in obvious contemplation over that. “Jared,” he repeated, resting his hand on his chest before patting the youngster on his.

“Moipa,” he said proudly, before adding a string of words Jensen had no hope of understanding, since he barely had a grip on rudimentary phrases in Portuguese.

“Moipa,” Jared smiled and said a few words including the one for fire. Jensen tensed then, not knowing how the little fellow would react to that. But he didn’t need to worry as Moipa happily followed Jared in the gathering gloom to search out tinder and wood.

Fumbling in his pocket, Jensen extracted the logger’s lighter and flicked it again. It still worked. “I’ve still got the lighter, kiddo. It should be easier tonight.”

“Great,” Jared called back as he and Moipa foraged for kindling and such.

While the two did that, Jensen double-checked the immediate vicinity for snakes and other predators. With darkness practically smothering them, he soon switched over to wood detail as well, putting Jared’s machete to good use. Considering everything it had gone through today, the blade had held up surprisingly well. It needed sharpening, but was still serviceable. The chopping was rhythmic and soothing and, for a short time, Jensen didn’t relive what had almost happened. Or worry over the fact that they were more or less in the same situation they had first found themselves in, with the addition of a new member to their little troop. And he pointedly didn’t dwell on all the ground they had lost. He compartmentalized, because it was the only way he could see to get through the mess they were in.

“One thing at a time,” he mumbled as he stacked up the wood near the sheltering tree. He thought it would be enough to last through the night and since he suspected they would be sleeping in shifts, just in case the loggers had continued after them, one of them could always cut more if needed. Glancing around, he couldn’t see Jared or the boy and his heart rate started to ratchet up. Before he had a chance to call out, however, he heard Jared say something off somewhere to his right and then the youngster giggled. Jensen closed his eyes and exhaled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Within a couple of minutes, the two made their way back, each with their arms full. Jared had some medium-sized kindling, while Moipa had a load of kapok seeds and twigs in his.

As they dumped their haul in the area Jensen had marked with a ring of stones, Jared said, “Moipa did a great job finding the seeds. His eyesight is really sharp.” The boy in question hiked up Jensen’s shirt, which was long enough to be a dress on him, and squatted before his bounty. With what were clearly practiced moves, the child began opening the large seed pods and stripping them of their fluffy interiors. Jensen smiled at him and Jared stroked him along the back of his head. This time, when Moipa raised his head, he offered Jensen a hesitating smile, too.

With the aid of the lighter, which still frightened the boy for legitimate reasons, they got the fire started in record time. As though that was the cue, the familiar rumble of thunder in the distance rolled across the rainforest. “Just in time,” Jensen remarked.

Jared cut open a liana and both he and Moipa drank thirstily from it. Jensen spotted another close one and did the same, after testing its safety the way Jared had taught him. Dragging his arm across his mouth after, he realized how exposed he was to the insects without his long-sleeved shirt. But before he could even remark on it, Moipa said something to Jared and scampered off. The kid watched after him worriedly.

“What’s he doing?” Jensen wondered as he stood beside Jared. He had a not-so-irrational feeling that the younger man might run off after the child a second time and not come back.

Jared shrugged his shoulders and then bit his lower lip. The grimace of pain wasn’t lost on Jensen. “How’s your back?” he asked, remembering all too clearly how Cowboy had smashed that jerry can across the kid’s shoulders. And not knowing what kinds of lasting effects Jared’s spina bifida might manifest, his concern began to grow. Could his vertebrae be cracked? Would his legs stop working if the damage was too severe? His fear began to spiral outward.

“It’s okay,” Jared assured him, but Jensen wasn’t buying it. His look must have given him away. “It’s as okay as can be expected after having a mostly full gas can smacked into it,” he amended.

Jensen reached out with hesitant hands, not really aware he had done that, but was startled when Moipa popped back into the circle of light they were standing in. He held up two hunks of a termite nest proudly.

“Good work,” Jared told him in Portuguese. Jensen smiled and nodded at him, too.

He handed Jared one of the chunks and proceeded to place the other one partially in the fire, like Jared had done previously each night they had camped. The citronella smell was a welcome odor with its promise of mosquito relief. As Jensen liberally slathered the crushed insects along his bare arms and neck, he watched as Jared tried to rub the blood off of his face. “Why don’t you cut open another vine?”

The kid shook his head. “I’ll do it in the morning when it's light again. No use wasting the few closest to us over hygiene. Best to save them if we need to drink more tonight.”

Jensen saw the logic in the decision, but the sight of the flaking, crimson stains unnerved him. They hadn’t had a chance to check the injury during their escape and now the firelight wasn’t sufficient for a thorough exam. From experience, Jensen knew those kinds of wounds bled like a bitch and, since it had already stopped, he told himself Jared was probably as good as he was going to get, all things considered. There wasn’t much more they could do about it anyway. That reasoning didn’t make it any easier for him not to worry.

When they were all coated in the natural repellant, it didn’t take very long for Moipa to grab a couple of the large leaves Jared had also collected and make a place for himself by the fire. Without much ado, the youngster curled up and was soon asleep. Jensen shook his head ruefully, amazed that he could nod off so quickly after the day they had. He figured it spoke about the trust Moipa had that they would keep him safe. Or that he was a little boy who must have simply been plain tuckered out.

Jared spread out a few more leaves for him and Jensen and joined the child on the ground. Tossing a large piece of wood on their fire, Jensen settled cross-legged, like Jared, on the other side of Moipa. By unspoken agreement, they kept the little guy tucked safely between them. The smoke drifted over them, working its magic, and discouraged the mosquitos from lingering by them for a meal. The kid spat on a corner of his sleeve and tried to scrub his face again, but that only created strange stripes of clean skin here and there. In the ruddy, wavering light, Jared looked unreal. A few drops of rain pattered against the surrounding foliage and that, paired with the snap of their fire, was a hypnotic sound.

Now Jensen had the luxury to think about what had occurred and he wanted to be angry. He really did. What Jared did was foolish and reckless and his heart had seized up when he’d seen that heavy can coming down on the kid’s vulnerable back. But his rage and frustrations were draining away as had any remaining adrenaline in his system. He raked his hands through his hair before dragging his good one down his scruffy beard. There were a million things he wanted to say, and a few he didn’t. What ended up coming out of his mouth was, “How did you know?”

Jared cut his gaze towards Jensen and then let it drop to the dark head of the sleeping child. With infinite gentleness, the kid stroked the boy’s skull, long fingers cradling Moipa’s head completely. The boy didn’t exactly wake up, but wiggled around enough that his head ended up propped against Jared’s thigh. He settled down again.

With his hand still in contact with Moipa, Jared stared at the fire. “Back in the fall of 2011, I was in Maranhão. It’s a north-eastern state in Brazil.” The kid’s voice was low and halting. “I was on a dig, of course,” he paused as he gave Jensen a chagrined look, like he was embarrassed by his profession, “when we got word that a group of illegal loggers had attacked some of the Awá nearby. They only number three hundred and fifty people, give or take. Have you heard about them?”

“Aren’t they considered the most endangered people on earth?” Jensen asked, not meaning to interrupt, but he did recognize the name. Jared twisted his head around and cocked a surprised eyebrow at him.

“They are extremely endangered,” the kid agreed. “How did you know?”

“There was a campaign that went viral around...” and Jensen paused, tilting his head back as he tried to remember the exact date, “2012, I think, to force the Brazilian Minister of Justice into honoring the agreement they made two decades prior with the World Bank regarding protecting the land there in exchange for a loan.”

Jared went back to staring at the fire. “An actor named Colin Firth helped to promote the cause through Survival International,” Jensen finished. He remembered the video, vaguely, about how the loggers were killing the uncontacted Awá and wondered at the timing of the conservation efforts and Jared’s story.

“When we heard about the attack,” Jared continued thoughtfully, poking at the fire with a small stick, “we took our recording gear and went to investigate.” He snuck a peek at Moipa, as if to verify the boy was asleep and not listening in, despite the fact that he wouldn’t have understood a word being said. “It-it was worse than back there.” Jensen didn’t need for him to elaborate where he meant – Jensen would remember that for the rest of his life. “We went from the deep, living green to a blackened wasteland. The ground was still smoldering and everything was like this post-apocalyptic nightmare where almost nothing was left standing.” He dropped the twig he had been stabbing the coals with into the flames. “We discovered the charred remains of a little girl, probably about his age,” Jared whispered, stroking Moipa’s hair instead, “chained to a tree. We found out later that she’d wandered away from her people and the loggers caught her and burned her alive to drive away the others. They were the first white people she ever saw. And they wanted to teach her people a lesson.

“We ended up getting the film to the Catholic Indigenous Missionary Council, who were pressuring the government to take action. These kinds of crimes happened all the time, although there was little ‘proof’ of them.” He stopped for a moment and caught his breath, before continuing. “Well, we gave ‘em proof, all right. We ended up finding part of a village those loggers had destroyed and conducted a forensic dig at the site, getting everything we could to the CIMI to forward to the government.”

When Jared finally looked at Jensen, his eyes were bright with pooled tears. “Everything was so fresh,” he rasped. “I-I had never seen anything like it,” he murmured, before letting his head drop forward. A tear landed on his pants, a strange stain against all the dirt and mud that dusted his trousers. “Not much of a scientist, huh?” he asked with a rueful grin, but didn’t lift his face to meet Jensen’s shocked stare.

Apparently, Jared thought less of himself for being affected by what had to have been a gruesome find, like that spoke less of his abilities because he wasn’t dispassionate about it. Jensen couldn’t let it rest like that. Carefully stretching across the sleeping child, he reached over and placed his hand against the kid’s neck, fingers threading automatically through his twisted curls. He squeezed Jared there, not missing the tense, corded muscles and tendons under his rough hand. When the kid didn’t react, Jensen gave him a light shake. “You did the only thing that you could do,” Jensen told him sincerely. “More than that, you were instrumental in getting thousands of people to open their eyes to what was going on. What you brought to the CIMI started the whole campaign. How many people can say they made a difference like that?”

Jared chuckled wetly. “They’re still endangered. And they’re not alone.”

Jensen eyed Moipa and Jared’s reckless charge made sense suddenly. The kid saw it as redemption for what he couldn’t do back then. As he studied the little boy and remembered how easily the loggers had started out to murder the child, Jensen wondered what had happened to that campaign Firth had spoken on behalf of. How had Jared phrased it?

“The problems don’t go away but the people do.”

Clearly, the problem existed here, but Jensen saw the other side of the equation, too. How should the government keep a watch on someplace so large and remote? Some type of aerial surveillance? Drones? And once they noticed a hot spot, scrambling a land response wouldn’t be easy, given the challenging terrain. Short of having paratroopers constantly on patrol, it wasn’t an easy problem to solve. Of course, if it had been easy, it would already have been solved. He wasn’t even close to picturing a solution, but, as he pushed the thoughts back for the moment, he knew he wasn’t going to just let this go, either. Some things out there were simply too important.

Dragging his thumb slowly up and down the kid’s neck, Jensen noticed that Jared had tilted into the contact. He curled his fingers in and brushed his knuckles against the kid’s strong jaw, relishing the slight burn of stubble against them. “You’re not alone, either” he whispered, responding to the overall sorrow in Jared’s last pronouncement. The younger man startled at his words and twisted towards Jensen, which caused Jensen’s fingers to slide across the kid’s lips. They both studied each other carefully. With slow deliberateness, Jensen moved them back across his lips, opened up his hand and placed it firmly against Jared’s cheek before catching the kid’s jaw and neck, fingertips wrapping perfectly behind the bone. It was awkward with Moipa resting between them, but he tugged Jared closer as he leaned in.

For the longest time, the two stared at one another, eyes flickering back and forth like the firelight because of their proximity. It was almost too close to see the kid properly, but Jensen wasn’t complaining. Near enough to exchange breaths, he didn’t want to wait any longer. Moving slow enough so that Jared could turn away if it was too much or unwelcome, Jensen pressed his lips against the younger man’s. They were softer than he had expected and maybe a little chapped. Mouthing at the lower one, Jensen tasted the plump flesh for the first time, as he sucked and nibbled there softly. Jared inhaled and Jensen wasted no time in teasing that inviting opening with his limber tongue. Jared sighed into the deepening kiss and Jensen smiled when he felt Jared’s long fingers wrap around his tattered wife-beater, yanking him closer still.

As he tilted his head for a better angle, suddenly hungry to learn all of Jared’s flavors, Jensen realized that Moipa had shifted around. Both men broke apart, caught out by the little fellow. Jared ducked his head, but not before Jensen saw a deep rose stain his already dirty face. When Jensen smiled nervously down at the boy, uncertain what Moipa might make of their display of affection, he realized the youngster wasn’t looking at them at all. His dark eyes were pointedly fixed at something past the fire, in the darkness beyond. Following along that line of sight, Jensen grabbed Jared’s arm when he saw dozens of eyes glistening back, watching them.

Chapter Text

“Don’t,” Jared whispered, when Jensen instinctively reached out a hand to stop Moipa. The little boy had hopped up onto his feet, standing in front of the two men, with the hem of Jensen’s shirt catching on his scuffed knees. Jensen wasn’t sure what he was planning on doing, but he couldn’t quash the protective feelings he had over both his charges. Jared’s steady hand on his bicep, mimicking Jensen’s grip on his, was the only thing that kept him in place.

But the little boy held his spot, smiling happily as those circling eyes came closer, faces and bodies slowly materializing into shape within the golden circle of campfire light. Gaze darting from side to side, Jensen counted at least a dozen men surrounding them. Tightening his fingers in Jared’s shirt, Jensen saw at least half as many bows and two weapons that might have been blowguns all pointed at them. Before he even had time to try and come up with a halfway viable plan for his and Jared’s escape, Moipa began rapidly telling one of the dark-eyed men something. The boy waved his hands in that animated, breathless way a child explains an adventure (Jensen didn’t need to understand the words to guess the gist of what Moipa was saying – certain things transcended language and cultures). He swung his arms up and down, shirtsleeves flapping comically, as he recreated in a grandiose fashion what must have been their brawl with the loggers. All the while, he stayed where he was positioned in front of them, like he was shielding them from men who could only be his people.

The longer Moipa talked, the more the men began to slowly lower their weapons. They didn’t completely relax, but they no longer directly threatened him and Jared. For his part, the kid was absolutely riveted by Moipa’s extremely verbose discussion with the older man immediately opposite him. Jensen shook his head slightly, thinking that maybe Jared should be a little more worried about their current predicament than trying to pick up the local patois. But he hadn't let go of Jensen’s arm despite the fact that Jensen was no longer planning to restrain their little rescue, either. So Jared wasn’t completely oblivious to their tenuous situation.

Speaking of which, Moipa was kind of winding down. His words weren’t as rushed any longer and his movements less dramatic. As he made what appeared to be a final gesture back, indicating him and Jared, the child carefully picked his way around the fire. The man he had been directly speaking to kneeled down and opened his arms. Moipa skipped the last, few feet separating them and jumped into them. The man stood up and hugged him tight. When he finally pulled slightly away from the little boy, shifting Moipa so that he rested on the man’s hip, the older man rubbed at his chest and spoke softly. The loving, paternal tone was one Jensen was familiar with and, once again, no translation was necessary. The lilt and cadence of the language spoke far more clearly than any words could. They carried the worry and concern and absolute relief the father had to have his son back safely in his arms.

From the corner of his eye, Jensen noticed that all the weapons had been lowered and the men’s stances were at ease. Even Jared had loosened his fingers around Jensen’s arm, but hadn’t withdrawn them completely; he still seemed to need the contact. The man, who Jensen suspected as being the boy’s father, patted Moipa on his chest and then tested the buttons of his shirt, alternately tugging and then twisting them. He, like all the others that surrounded them, was completely nude except for a woven cord around his waist, where a pouch dangled against his right hip. Moipa told him something, rubbing the worn and dirty material of the shirt, and then pointed to Jensen. The older man’s eyes shifted over and he locked gazes with him. Whatever sense of growing safety that had been creeping over Jensen evaporated like morning fog in sunlight under that watchful stare. Suddenly Jensen had no idea where they stood with these people as the man spoke gruffly to his companions. Jensen shot a hopeful look at Moipa, thinking that he might be able to gauge what was going on by how the little boy reacted, but Moipa had turned his head into his father’s neck and had his small arms wrapped about his broad shoulders, one hand idly playing with the colorful necklace the man wore.

Two of the men (the ones with the blowguns, Jensen noted) came forward. One with slightly shorter hair – cut in a kind of bowl shape – uttered a guttural command. When neither he nor Jared budged, he sighed and waved his hands up and down quickly, clearly exasperated with their ignorance. Jared gave Jensen a quick look and he nodded back. Almost as one, they both stood. Once at their full height, Jensen felt a little like Gulliver, as he realized they both towered over the other men by at least a head, more so in Jared’s case. And that difference wasn’t lost on the others. With almost a collective sound of surprise, they moved closer and looked them up and down. Jensen tried not to squirm under their inspection, but it was like he was the one naked before them and not the other way around. If Jared felt the same, the kid didn’t show it, simply kept a poker face in place and let the men poke and touch him as they liked.

Jensen had no idea how long they might have gone on like that, but, apparently, Moipa’s relative did not have any patience for it and he appeared to be the leader with the others following his words. He snapped out something that had the others quickly composing themselves. The man who had initially instructed them to stand made an exaggerated motion with his hand, like he and Jared were particularly dense children, and urged them to move in the direction where Moipa was. Several of the men slung their bows over their shoulders, exchanging arrows for larger sticks from the quivers on their backs. Jensen tensed, heartbeat picking up as the ones with clubs approached them. He was about ready to make a break for it, yanking Jared along if he had to, blow guns be damned, when one of the men dipped the end of his “club” into their fire. With a pop and serpent hiss, it caught alight too easily to be untreated wood.

“Resin,” Jared whispered, reading his mind. “Tree sap.”

Nodding, Jensen’s suspicions were confirmed when the rest of the men with torches lit them one after the other as easily as the first had. He also realized that not all of the men had disarmed. Instead, those still with their bows ready paired up with men carrying a torch. One such couple took point, with Moipa and his father behind them. Jensen’s escort huffed and glared at him as if to say, “What are you waiting for?” Jared shrugged his shoulders and they fell into step a few paces behind Moipa. Jensen was willing to go along with them to a point. They did have weapons, after all, but if he believed he and Jared were in imminent danger, Jensen would do what he had to to get them away. Of course, as he eyed the way the hunting pairs had surrounded them, he wasn’t too convinced of their odds. With a last look over his shoulder, he watched as the final pair doused their fire, covering it with dirt until its light winked a final time and was snuffed out. Marched farther into the unknown, Jensen shivered despite the lingering heat of the day, sweat tickling a slim trail down his spine.

They walked for a long time in relative silence. No one spoke, but the rainforest felt no such compunction. It was alive around them and Jensen found himself studying the strange shadows they cast, which capered across the trees and shrubs they passed. Unlike their companions, he and the kid had to duck a lot as they moved deeper into the jungle. All of a sudden, Jensen understood how a shorter stature was beneficial to maneuvering through their current landscape. He and Jared weren’t built for life here, but these people were, right down to their very bones. Every once in a while, Moipa would lift his head from where it was resting to peek over the sturdy shoulder of his father and regard Jensen with big eyes. For some reason, the boy seemed fixated on studying Jensen’s legs while he walked and Jensen made a mental note to ask Jared later what the fascination might be. Since none of the men had spoken aloud, the kid had remained quiet and Jensen had followed suit. It was enough that Jared was by his side.

Even though they could only see a few feet around them, Jensen was impressed with how competently the men traipsed along. Not once did anyone need to clear the way beyond pushing leaves aside by hand. He wondered if they were on a formal path or if the people simply knew the jungle that well and navigated its earthly dips and twists like an experienced sailor at sea could the currents. Maybe it was because nothing sinister had happened since falling in their company that Jensen’s tension abated enough for him to almost enjoy their nocturnal trek through the forest or because the men were so adept. He almost forgot his worries over the hidden presence of snakes and spiders. Almost. Not sure how the men might react or how it would be viewed, Jensen nevertheless reached over with his bandaged hand and caught Jared’s. The kid stumbled slightly before he wrapped his longer fingers around Jensen’s in return. They stayed like that for as long as the path allowed them to walk abreast of one another.

Jensen wasn’t certain if it was resignation or exhaustion that continued to keep him quiet. He wasn’t paying close attention which direction the hunters marched them, which was probably a mistake. Without the aid of sunlight and no true view of the constellations above (and, in all honesty, Jensen had only taken one course on astronavigation years ago and didn’t remember much beyond how to locate the Big Dipper and Polaris and knowing it was many more than seven stars that made up the Pleiades cluster), there was no way in hell that he knew north from south. The only thing he was sure of was that they had moved away from the water. He squeezed Jared’s hand in his, relishing the immediate echo of pressure. They might be strangers in a strange land, but they were not alone. They had each other.

After an indeterminate time, the silent hunters around them began to mutter and murmur. Jensen had no idea what that might have signified. He tugged Jared closer, fully intending to whisper a question to the kid, when an ear-piercing shriek rent the natural rhythm of the forest around them, rendering everything else momentarily silent. He tensed involuntarily and Jared actually tripped himself up again. It was only Jensen’s bracing hand against the younger man’s sweaty chest that kept him from falling. Heart pounding, Jensen looked at the others, but none of the men seemed troubled in the slightest. In fact, Moipa’s head shot up and his teeth gleamed in the skittering torchlight.

“Nimu,” he laughed.

The man carrying him smiled and spoke quietly to the boy before bending down. Moipa nodded vigorously and dashed ahead into the darkness. Even though it wasn’t his place, Jensen flinched and made to stop him. But Jared brought him up short.

“He’s fine,” Jared assured him.

“How can you know that?” Jensen blustered, pulse still racing after that inhuman scream.

“Because they let him go,” Jared said with utter conviction, nodding to the man who had been carrying Moipa the entire time. And Jensen had to concede to the logic of the kid’s reasoning. It didn’t make him feel any better, watching the little boy swallowed up by the black forest like he'd never be seen again. But Jensen had to concede that he was the one frightened by the darkness and not Moipa, who only thought of it as home.

There was another one of those heart-stopping screeches, which suddenly cut short. Straining to hear anything in the ensuing silence, Jensen noticed the men carrying bows were now slinging them across their shoulders – in a sense, they were standing down. Wherever they were bringing him and Jared, he was fairly certain that they’d arrived. The point man with the torch motioned to a dense patch of foliage and his partner literally pealed the thick, glossy leaves aside like a magician pulling back a curtain for the reveal. And just like a feat worthy of David Copperfield, once the foliage was clear, the welcoming, orange warmth of hearth fires were exposed. It was much more pleasing a surprise than the last they'd stumbled across, with the smoking, scarred earth decimated by the loggers. And standing at the ready before the ruddy glow was a group of silhouettes, each perfectly delineated by the flames in sharp edges and contrasts. Some were noticeably taller than others, separating adults from children, and rounded curves identifying women from men. Like a last line of defense, the shadows remained silent before the flames, waiting and regarding. Jensen tightened his hold on Jared’s hand.

They were ushered through the living portal of green and Jensen found himself and Jared hustled over to the shadow at the center of the line. Jared and he were flanked by the men with torches and, when there was no more than two feet that separated them, Jensen was finally able to get a good look at the man they’d been brought before.

In the wavering light, with the shadows and lines of the man’s face illuminated in burnt gold, he immediately reminded Jensen of Frazetta’s cover for Howard’s Conan the Adventurer. There was age and wisdom in the deep lines of his face. Although much shorter than both Jensen and Jared, the man exuded power and authority even as he had to look up to study them. Like most of the other men, he had thick, black hair with blunt cut bangs. But that’s where the similarity ended, since the rest of his hair hung below his shoulders in ebony waves, longer than any other man’s. Like Moipa’s father, he wore a necklace, but it was larger and there was an unusual collection of items strung on it. Jensen noted a haphazard collection of shells as well as what appeared to be colorful bits of plastic and even animal claws dangling off the woven cord. He had a similar cord about his waist, with a pouch like Moipa’s father had. The elder man reached into it and pulled out a handful of dark powder and, before Jensen had a chance to react, took a deep breath and blew the contents at him and Jared.

Blinking and coughing a little at the strange cloud that drifted over them, Jensen wanted to say something but didn't want to chance breathing in any more of the strange substance than he already had. He pulled Jared behind him as much as he could, for all the good it did them. They were already covered in a fine dusting of whatever it was. However, Jensen’s heart rate returned to something closer to normal as the man proceeded to repeat the gesture with the rest of the party. Every man who had been with them held perfectly still as the elder huffed handful after handful of the stuff onto them. When Jensen turned worriedly towards Jared, he caught the kid actually tracing a finger over a smudge on his face and bringing that slender digit to his mouth, where the tip of his pink tongue already peeked out. Jensen smacked his hand away.

“You don’t know what that is,” he hissed.

With big, shocked eyes, Jared replied, “That’s what I was trying to figure out. Jensen,” he continued in what the kid probably figured was a reasonable tone, “if it was harmful, he wouldn’t have used it on the others, too.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me not to eat things that we’d seen the monkeys and birds eat because their systems had evolved to handle things ours couldn’t?” he retorted testily. It was just yesterday that Jensen had picked up a type of fruit he’d seen a howler monkey munching on, only to have Jared yank it out of his hand angrily and toss it aside. He’d then proceeded to spend at least ten minutes lecturing Jensen on various aspects of evolution.

Exasperated, Jared huffed, “But we’re all humans here.”

“And you don’t think it might be possible that the people here have a tolerance to whatever this is from repeated exposure that we don’t?” He brushed at his arms to little avail. The dark powder clung to the sweaty skin of his bare arms and he looked like he’d been dusted in cocoa. His reasoning was perfectly sound, he told himself. After all, hadn’t Westley built up an immunity to iocaine powder so that he could poison Vizzini? That could totally be the case here.

“I suppose,” Jared slowly admitted, ducking his head. But he peered through his stringy bangs at Jensen with a less than contrite gaze.

Feeling vindicated, Jensen jerked his head sharply in a “glad that you see it my way” manner and then glanced back at the man he assumed was in charge. What he didn’t expect to find was that severe leader grinning up at him.

As the others from their party were busy rubbing the unknown substance into their skin, spreading it over every inch of themselves, the older man began to speak to Jensen. His voice was deeper than Jensen expected to hear from someone of his stature, but with a roughness that hinted at an advanced age. He spoke carefully, although Jensen had no hope of understanding a single word. The way the man pronounced certain syllables reminded Jensen of his brief stay in Vietnam and how the language there sounded to him. However, this was not Vietnamese. He turned to Jared with a hopelessly lost expression, but the kid only shrugged his shoulders, equally as lost.

“Não falo bem português,” Jensen told him, although he knew the man hadn’t been speaking to him in Portuguese. It was, however, the closest he could come to something he might recognize.

The older man regarded him and then Jared with an inscrutable stare for what must have only been a minute, but seemed to drag on much, much longer. He turned abruptly and walked towards one of the only structures Jensen was able to discern in the meager light. He was practically shouting the entire time. The rest of the men from their party stepped away from Jared and Jensen and that only served to ratchet up his worry that he had committed some kind of cultural faux pas that wasn’t going to end well for them. He stepped closer to Jared and leaned his head towards the younger man.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what else to do with him looking at me like that.”

“That’s all right. You were actually very respectful, telling him you didn’t speak much Portuguese in Portuguese,” Jared emphasized, “instead of just spouting off English. I would have done the same thing.” That made Jensen feel marginally better. His concerns abated further when the elder returned with a young woman in tow. When he presented her to them, he repeated the word “Dayuma” and Jensen realized the man hadn’t been shouting in anger before, but calling her name.

The woman, like the others, was nude except for the cloth she had slung across her torso where a baby hung, undisturbed, within its folds. Jensen peered in and couldn’t help smiling at the sweet picture the infant presented. Tufts of black hair stuck up in all directions. His Cupid’s bow mouth was pursed in an adorable pout and he had a toy monkey curled around him. And then the toy monkey’s hand moved.

Jensen barely kept himself from jumping back in shock as the furry creature – obviously alive – shifted around and then settled back against the baby’s face and neck. He shook his head for foolishly thinking that the child had a stuffed animal with them, like there was a Toys ‘R Us around the corner or that Amazon shipped to the Amazon. It was an insane misconception, but, in his defense, it had been a very, very long day. He wondered if anyone noticed his embarrassed blush. When he cut his eyes to the side, he didn’t miss Jared grinning at him. Apparently, he’d been caught out.

The older man spoke rapidly to Dayuma and she nodded along. When he finished, she addressed Jensen very slowly. “Falo português,” she said softly and then added, “um pouco.”

He nodded to her, because he only spoke a little, too. “Fala inglês?” He figured the odds of her speaking English were long, but it was worth a shot. She shook her head from side to side, her long, straight hair swishing back and forth over her face. “Maybe you better take over,” Jensen ceded to Jared. He knew he was out of his depths.

The kid nodded and immediately introduced himself and Jensen through her to the elder. Jared spoke the way one should when using an interpreter – he addressed the target of the conversation instead of the person translating. Jensen was pleasantly surprised that he was able to follow along fairly well, but that was probably because Jared kept the concepts of the conversation as simple as possible, probably for all their sakes. It would be the best way to avoid an unfortunate miscommunication.

The elder returned the favor, pointing to his chest with his fist, and proclaimed, “Kampeti”. Jared and he repeated his name, both dipping their heads in acknowledgement. Dayuma explained that Kampeti wanted them to join him by the fire, but they had to do something first. Jensen wasn’t able to figure out what that was and said as much to Jared.

“He wants to make sure we rub the powder in really well first,” Jared explained softly, already scrubbing himself as best he could with it.

“But why?” Jensen asked, unable to completely trust that the substance wasn’t potentially harmful to them. He was already struggling to hold himself in check when all he wanted to do was stop Jared.

“It’s a kind of a topical astringent and disinfectant from the bark of one species of tree here,” he elaborated even as he bent over to brush at his pant legs. As he did so, he listed forward dangerously and Jensen caught him about his waist.

“Easy there,” he murmured as he helped right the kid.

“Sorry,” Jared flushed. “Guess my head’s still off.” And he pointed to where he’d smashed into the tree back at the loggers’ camp. Jensen nodded grimly.

More out of a desire to get the kid sitting down than anything else, Jensen proceeded to pat the powder into his skin. He noticed it tingled slightly where it contacted open scrapes, but he shrugged it off.

“This is their way of decontaminating us,” Jared added softly. “Many indigenous groups have been decimated by the germs we carry. A cold for us could mean deadly pneumonia for them.”

And that made sense to Jensen. It explained why all the men had been treated and how they hadn’t approached their loved ones until they had been. When they were done to Kampeti’s satisfaction, he walked over to the largest, outdoor fire and they followed.

“It can’t stop bloodborne pathogens like certain strains of malaria,” Jared continued, “but this leads me to believe they’ve had contact with outsiders before, to take this kind of precautions. And Duyma speaks Portuguese. At the very least,” the kid deduced, “they’ve traded or had dealings with other tribes.”

Jensen hummed noncommittally. He had an overwhelming urge to pull out his phone and see if there was a signal, as if being around people equaled civilization, which equaled wireless technology. It was a stupid impulse, but there nevertheless. He decided to hold off for the moment, not knowing how the device would be viewed. When they were seated on leaves spread around the large fire, Jensen noticed others joining them, but staying a respectful distance away. Moipa bound out of nowhere, carrying a large gourd, which he placed beside them. He motioned to the natural pot and his lips with a smile. Jared returned it and lifted the gourd to his mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing as he took several, long swallows. He handed the container to Jensen and then dragged the back of his hand across his lips.

“Obrigado,” he told Kampeti.

Jensen drank as well, albeit more hesitantly that the kid. The water tasted cool and soothed his dry throat and before he knew it, he had almost finished the container off. Sheepishly, he passed it back to Jared, but the kid held up his hand to stop him.

“At least use what’s left to clean up that blood,” Jensen ordered him gently, brushing a thumb across Jared’s wounded temple. Dried blood still lingered there and made for a disturbing sight.

As Jared pulled his sleeve over his hand and dipped it in the water, Kampeti spoke again. Jared cocked his head to the side as Dayuma translated for him.

“What did he say?” Jensen demanded worriedly.

Jared’s lips turned up on one side, a crooked grin. “He said that the forest had marked me so that I looked like them.”

Shifting his gaze around, Jensen noticed that many of the people had red painted from their foreheads down to below their eyes, like Moipa had. “That’s a good thing, right?” he hoped.

“I think so,” Jared smiled at him, blotting at his stained face. When he would have stopped, Jensen caught his wrist and helped him wipe the last bit off. In the brighter light, Jensen could see the extent of the damage and breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t appear to be too bad and he figured Jared’s dizziness would hopefully clear up after a good night’s sleep. He smiled back at the kid.

Kampeti huffed out a few words and Jared dipped his head slightly.

“What?” Jensen asked.

“He said that you take care of me,” Jared breathed out quietly.

“Damn straight,” Jensen told the older man. Kampeti only nodded in return, but Jensen thought he saw the hint of a grin there. “Is he their leader?”

Pushing out his lower lip, Jared shook his head. “If I’m understanding it correctly, he’s their shaman. They don’t really have a leader, per se, but they do look to him for guidance over unnatural occurrences.” He leaned closer, humid breath puffing against Jensen's ear. “That would be us.”

Jensen’s eye fluttered shut and he breathed sharply through his nose. This was the worst time to find that simple act arousing. When he opened them again, he asked seriously, “Will they help us find a way towards a larger village or something like that?”

Jared licked his lips, a quick dart of his tongue, before answering, “I’m gonna ask.”

And then Jared began to explain their situation as best he could to Kampeti. When he described how they ended up in the forest, there were many gasps and mutterings. Jensen supposed telling someone you fell out of the sky was bound to have that effect on them. Hell, it was still having an effect on him and he’d lived through it. Through Dayuma, Jared explained how they were trying to follow the river towards any kind of encampment or village where they might be able to then get to a larger town or city. Jensen wasn’t able to follow every word, but when he started to get lost, Jared would quickly whisper in English what it was that he’d said, so Jensen was always in the loop. Jared used his hands a lot when he spoke and his hazel eyes gleamed gold in the firelight. Jensen was mesmerized watching him. And it was probably a combination of factors besides the kid’s voice, but after a short while, Jensen had a hard time keeping his own eyes open. Moipa had refilled their water and brought a few bananas for them, too. With each passing moment, hunger and thirst a distant issue, Jensen’s tension drained away. He and Jared might not be much closer to a way out of the rainforest, but they were closer. He felt that certainty bone-deep. The gazes that followed his every movement weren’t threatening ones, but only darkly curious. While he might still be hesitant about the people whose company they had fallen into, he wasn’t afraid of them and he didn’t believe they were frightened in return. He might have fallen asleep right on the spot if Jared hadn’t let out an odd huff.

Instantly alert, Jensen straightened. “What’s up? Will they help us?”

“Well…” Jared hedged, “maybe.”

“Maybe?” Jensen repeated, eyebrows climbing. Their apparent reluctance surprised him, considering they had saved Moipa. He was about to say as much when Jared continued.

“He needs to consult first before he can make a recommendation to the others,” Jared elaborated.

“Ok,” Jensen exhaled noisily, “I guess that makes sense. You said he wasn’t the leader, so are they all going to have a town meeting or something? Do we have to go somewhere else in the mean time?”

The kid actually fidgeted where he sat cross-legged like Jensen. “Jared…” Jensen asked sternly, cocking his head to the side.

“He does need to ask his people,” Jared told him, “just not the ones...here.” The kid flicked his head to the side and Jensen thought he was deliberately trying to shake his bangs forward to hide behind again.

He wanted to grab Jared by his slim shoulders and give him a good rattle to get him to spit it out. The kid was lucky he’d taken a knock to the noggin…and that there were witnesses present who might not appreciate him roughing up someone “marked by the forest”.

“So there are others nearby?” He breathed through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, counting to five each time. Calm, he scolded himself. Calm.  If there were others nearby, maybe they could plead their case directly to them instead. Even if they didn't want to go near strangers, maybe they would be willing to give him and Jared a direction to follow and a few supplies. That didn’t seem like too much to ask. And while they didn’t have much to spare, Jensen thought the lighter might have some worth and they could trade it for the aid.

“Sort of.”

“Jared,” Jensen said tightly through a forced smile, nodding at Kampeti, “if you don’t start making some sense right now…” Jensen wasn’t exactly sure what he would threaten the kid with, but he'd come up with something.

“He needs to ask his ancestors,” Jared spit out in a rush and then lowered his head to fiddle with a small tear in his pants.

Jensen leaned back, lips parted. “’Ancestors’ as in ghosts?”

Bobbing his head up and down quickly, Jared continued, “These people are animists. They believe that there are spirits everywhere and not just of people. The forest, the animals, everything has one and they are always all around, just unseen. So Kampeti wants to consult with them to find out what they should do about us.”

“Is he going to do it now?”

“Oh, no,” Jared replied, like Jensen was foolish for thinking Kampeti could just speed dial them on the spot. “He needs to prepare. A spirit lodge needs to be built and he and the other hunters have to be in the correct state to hear the spirits.”

Dragging a hand over his mouth and through his rough beard, Jensen was almost afraid to ask. “And when can they do that?”

Jared turned to smile at Kampeti before facing Jensen again. “We’re really lucky. Tomorrow is the full moon, which is when they always hold the ceremony.”

Jensen blew out his breath. “That doesn’t seem too bad.” And as though he had been waiting for Jensen’s answer, Kampeti nodded without waiting for Dayuma to say anything and curtly rose to his feet. Jensen and Jared did the same.

“That’s it? We’re dismissed?” he asked Jared with only a hint of frustration.

“It’s not like we could have gone too far tonight anyway,” Jared said reasonably.

“I know,” Jensen huffed and then deflated. “I’m sorry.”

Jared rubbed his knuckles against the back of Jensen’s hand. “I want to leave, too. I understand. But we’d be better off with their help and one more day waiting isn’t going to kill us.”

Jensen took in the collection of people around them. He didn’t think anything bad would happen to them here. “I guess I figured that because we helped Moipa, they’d want to reciprocate.”

“That’s just it, Jensen. Kampeti believes we were sent here explicitly to do that.” After a thoughtful pause, Jared said, “I guess he wants to make sure that’s all we’re supposed to do for them before sending us on our way. Dayuma is going to show us where we can sleep tonight,” he added.

The woman, one hand alternately caressing the baby’s face and then the monkey’s, stood patiently waiting for them. The others had mostly scattered after Kampeti’s departure, with a few, notable exceptions like Moipa. The little boy was shifting from one leg to the other, staring pointedly at Jensen’s feet.

“Wait a second,” he said, grabbing Jared’s arm and stopping him. “Before we go anywhere else, do me a favor and ask Dayuma a question for me.”

“Of course,” Jared offered quickly.

“Ask her why Moipa is so interested in my feet, would ya?”

The kid took a look at the child and there was no way he could miss how Moipa was obviously gawking at Jensen’s calves and feet. He mentioned it to Dayuma. She, in turn, kneeled beside Moipa, careful not to jostle her babies too much, and spoke softly with him. Moipa kept his curious eyes fixed on Jensen as he mumbled out of the side of his mouth to the young mother. When he was done, he ducked his head and scampered off in the direction of the large structure on the other side of the fire.

Dayuma stood up and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. If Jensen didn’t know better, he would swear she was trying to keep from laughing. Unlike Moipa, she didn’t meet Jensen’s gaze. Instead, she spoke rapidly to Jared. The only thing Jensen kind of understood was the word “Curupira”. He couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before, but knew it was very familiar. He really was exhausted. Jared shot him an unreadable look before saying he’d explain once they were alone. There wasn’t much Jensen could do but nod as Dayuma took them to a smaller shelter, off to one side, but still located within the perimeter of what must have been their village. It wasn’t too different from the lean-to that he and Jared had fashioned every night, except for its size and that it was covered on both sides like a tent. As the woman led them inside, Jensen touched the palm fronds and felt how rough and dry they were, suggesting this structure had been here for a while.

As he ducked in through the opening, he noticed a fire burning in a small circle towards the other, partially open end, but centered enough that it would be fairly difficult for a stray spark to do any damage. That light allowed him to see various poles supporting the structure and what looked like a couple of hammocks slung between them. There were gourds near the “walls” and some other, miscellaneous items strewn about. “Did we force someone out of their home?” Jensen asked with concern.

Through Jared, Dayuma reassured Jensen that this was their equivalent of a boys’ clubhouse, where the younger children sometimes “camped” in preparation for when they might have to travel far for hunting. They got to be boys here and get up to all the mischief that children did without being obviously under their parent’s watchful eye every moment. That made sense. Considering how tall the trees were, a treehouse would kind of be out of the question, Jensen mused silently. This was the next, best thing.

“Obrigado,” he said aloud with a smile. Dayuma tilted her head and smiled in return before leaving them for the night.

He turned back to watch Jared test one of the hammocks uncertainly. “I don’t think this is going to end well for me,” he mumbled as he sat very warily in the center. The poles did creak ominously as they curved inward from the weight. Jared was by no means a big man, for all his height, but they were both significantly larger than their hosts and this was supposed to be for the children. The kid bounced once, experimentally, and then stretched out slowly. Or he tried to stretch out. The hammock couldn’t accommodate his mile-long legs and he eventually had to let one hang off each side to prevent himself from flipping over in the thing. The expression he shot Jensen was more mournful than a bloodhound’s.

“Better be careful, Gilligan. With stilts like those, you’re bound to get into trouble.” Jensen teased him and then began to laugh, deep and from his gut. What a day they’d had. As he sat carefully on the one closest to the main “door”, he heard Jared mumble something. “What was that?”

“I said,” the kid grumbled louder, “at least no one thinks my legs are on backwards, Ginger.”

“What?” Jensen asked as he lowered himself onto the hammock. He wasn’t in much better shape than Jared when it came to leg room, but he bent his knees slightly and crossed his ankles so that he could fit on the shaky bed. Sliding his hands underneath his head like he didn’t have a care in the world, he turned to face the kid.

Jared tried to mimic the action with his hands, but he jerked sharply with the hammock’s motion and almost upended himself. Jensen laughed again. Scowling, Jared said, “You wanted to know why Moipa was checking you out so much?”

“Mm hmm,” Jensen hummed contentedly. The hammock might not be the most comfortable thing he’d ever slept on, but right in that moment, he couldn’t recall anything finer. Eyes slipping closed, he muttered, “What was that all about?”

“He thought you were a Curupira,” Jared replied, like that should have explained everything.

There was that name again. It definitely was familiar. He was about to ask Jared what it meant, because Jared knew a lot. In fact, Jared was probably one of the smarter people Jensen had ever come across in his travels. And he was so young, too. And handsome, with soft lips that tasted sweet. He wanted to feel those lips against his again. He wanted to feel all of Jared against him again like he had when they’d slept together. That was probably the only drawback to the hammock, since it wasn’t built for two.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jared’s voice startled him enough that he realized his eyes had closed and he’d been halfway to dreaming very explicitly about the kid. “Sure, sure,” he hastily reassured Jared. “Heard every word.”

Moipa thought he was a Curupira. That explained it. “Wait a second,” Jensen replied, opening his eyes and rolling half onto his side to fully face Jared. “Isn’t that the redheaded genie you told me about?”

Sticking the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, Jared grinned wickedly. “Uh huh,” he agreed. “The redheaded genie.”

“That’s not too bad,” he answered, squinting at Jared, trying to figure out what had tickled the younger man so much. “Isn’t he the guy that protects people from loggers and poachers? I think that I kind of fit the bill even if I’m not really a redhead.”

“But you kind of are,” Jared disagreed, but his voice had gone soft and wistful. “Your beard is fairly red, although it’s more gold in the firelight.” And he stroked his chin thoughtfully, as though he was only noticing that for the first time.

“Yeah?” Jensen breathed.

“Mm hmm. Flecks of gold scattered all through it.” The kid trailed his slender fingers against his jaw.

Jensen suddenly wished that the hammocks were big enough to share or that he could come up with a reason for them to lie on the ground together. He was about to tell Jared that his eyes were golden, too, when what started the whole conversation rattled back around to the front of his brain. “What does being a redhead have to do with my legs? Man, I am beat. Did I say that out loud?” he winced.

Jared giggled almost drunkenly at him, but he looked so damn cute doing it, Jensen didn’t want him to stop even if it was at his expense. “He was worried about you. The Curupira have their feet on backward, to fool the hunters with their tricky tracks.”

That was it. He remembered Jared telling him about that and thinking it was a neat twist, no pun intended. Or maybe the pun was intended. He was so exhausted that he was becoming slaphappy. “But my feet aren’t on backwards,” and he strained his neck to double-check. Nope, both were pointed the right way.

Wiping at his tearing eyes, the kid continued, “No and that’s why he was worried. He figured that you didn’t want to scare him, so you’d turned them around. But he saw how bowed your legs were and wondered how you could walk comfortably like that.” And then Jared started laughing again.

“I am not bow-legged,” Jensen argued. All right, maybe a few people had pointed out over the years that his legs curved a little, but he was definitely not some cowboy fresh off of riding the range.

“Are too,” Jared chirped like a kid on the playground. “You’d probably be as tall as me if you stood up straight.”

“I’ll show you straight,” Jensen grumped and twisted around to try and sit up. But he over compensated and found himself flipped around and on the floor before he knew what had happened. Sitting there, blinking bewilderedly, he glared at Jared, somehow blaming his predicament on the kid.

Jared clapped his hands and threw his head back, laughing like a lunatic. But his mocking was cut short when he, too, overbalanced and when he tried to adjust, found himself in a heap on the ground just like Jensen. Pushing himself up off his stomach, all he could come up with was, “Huh?”

“Serves you right for laughing, Gilligan,” Jensen smirked.

Once again upright, Jared brushed at his shirt. “Somehow, I don’t think those things are good for my health.”

Jensen couldn’t agree more as he moved over to the fire before stretching out on the ground beside it. Propping his head up with one arm, he curled and uncurled the pointer finger of his free hand several times. “C’mere,” he said softly to Jared.

The kid blushed, but slowly crawled over on his hands and knees. And didn’t that sight push a few buttons Jensen didn’t even know he had? When he was next to Jensen, he sat up on his knees and pulled off his overshirt, balling it up and offering it wordlessly back to Jensen as a pillow they could both share. “’S not as comfortable as the hammock,” Jared whispered as he settled himself next to Jensen.

Jensen readjusted the shirt and spread open his arms. Jared didn’t hesitate, pressing close and tucking his head under Jensen’s chin. Mindful of the kid’s injured temple, Jensen pressed an open-mouth kiss to the top of his head. Jensen replied, “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be right now.”

As Jared smiled against his chest and almost immediately slipped off into sleep, Jensen was right behind him. The last thought he had was what he said had been the absolute truth.

Chapter Text

Wakefulness was sudden but not jarring for Jensen. As he unglued his lids, scrubbing the crust from his lashes with his free hand, he studied his surroundings more closely. The crick in his neck sharply reminded him of the reality that he had spent the night on the hard ground, but when he peered down his nose at what was curled up in his left arm, he also remembered it had been worth any aches.

Smiling at the rumpled and slightly drooling kid nestled against his side, Jensen hugged him close for a moment. Jared mumbled something into his pec before rubbing his nose up and down his torn wife-beater and settled back down into sleep. Judging by the gray light that was slowing seeping into their shelter, Jensen guessed it must have been not long after dawn. There was still a fire crackling away beside them and unless Jared had once again managed to extricate himself from Jensen’s hold, find wood and stoke it while he was asleep, one of Moipa’s people must have tended to it for them. He wondered what they thought of the two of them on the ground. And, for the first time, Jensen realized that they might have been offended by two people of the same sex in such an obvious state of affection. Unconsciously tightening his grip on Jared’s shoulders, he compartmentalized the issue until it became one to actually be concerned about.

Scratching at his itchy beard, Jensen noticed that they both had been so exhausted, they hadn’t even bothered to remove their boots and socks. And he could have slapped himself for not trying his phone. Careful not to jostle the kid too much, Jensen slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his iPhone. He powered it up, squinting against the brightness of the screen.

6:28 a.m. and no signal.

Thumbing it off and stuffing it back in his pants, Jensen sighed. He was expecting as much, but there was no denying that the presence of other people had taken the edge off of his constant, low-level anxiety about their situation and had made things seem almost normal. And, as such, a part of him assumed all the things he depended on would be back to normal, too.

Depended on?

That was a laugh. Like an electronic device slightly smaller than his hand was something to depend on. Not for the first time since the plane crash, Jensen had to question what his priorities were. He’d told Jared that people who survived life-or-death experiences often threw away their old habits and priorities after something like they had lived through and with good cause. The kid had joked about taking up skydiving and he’d let the matter drop. But Jensen was reevaluating, whether he meant to or not. The situation was definitely putting things into perspective and his eyes were opening to new possibilities. Jared shifted against him and sighed contentedly and Jensen found himself staring at the kid.

The kid.

Who was he fooling? Sure, Jared was younger than him, but he was certainly no child. Jensen had used the label as a way to distance himself from the younger man, like he was some gruff curmudgeon in boxers with a shotgun across his lap in contrast to Jared’s bright-eyed and dewy youth. He had a few years on him, but nothing insurmountable. The only reason he was trying to keep the kid at arm’s length (and look how well that was working out, he thought, as he hugged Jared tight) was because he was afraid. Chad had been right, although he’d almost rather face a Candiru catfish than admit that to his manager and friend. Almost. He wasn’t insane and he had a healthy urge to protect his man-bits.

He'd shut himself off emotionally and avoided any social situation like the plague after the Misha debacle. And, in the end, he had been the only one hurt by it. Objectively, he recognized he’d needed to do some emotional healing and closing himself off had probably been the better choice than going out on ragers like a frat boy loose in Daytona on spring break. He'd had time to lick his wounds, but now it was time to take the bandage off. Jared’s left leg, tossed over his, twitched in his sleep.

Reaching down with his right hand, Jensen traced the path of a chocolate curl plastered against Jared’s forehead. The younger man’s bangs had clumped into crazy waves overnight, thanks to the humidity that never really abated. Brushing it aside with his fingertips, Jensen checked where he had cut his head against the tree yesterday. Although there was some discoloration, the wound didn’t look too bad. In fact, it had closed up and already looked to be on its way to healing. He thought back to the powder Kampeti had used on them and remembered that Jared mentioned it had antiseptic properties. Appeared like he had been right. He thought it might not be too bad of an idea to have the shaman take a look at his hand while they were there.

“Mmm,” Jared hummed and snuggled his head against Jensen’s chest. He was on the verge of waking up, but wasn’t quite there yet. Jensen’s smile wavered as he felt the very noticeable hardness of the younger man’s erection pressing against his hip. He tried to dismiss it as a biological response. It was morning, therefore it was only natural to have that reaction. It was the same reason his was growing, too. Nature, pure and simple.

Right.

Running his hand along Jared’s cheek and jaw, Jensen nudged his head up. He suddenly needed to see the kid’s eyes on him. Rubbing his thumb along the delicate skin under Jared’s left eye, Jensen let it wander lower, brushing again and again against the mole beside his pointed nose. He was a little obsessed with the beauty mark. Jared sighed again and his eyes slowly opened. He batted his lashes rapidly as he came around, smiling once he focused on Jensen’s face, dimples shyly present.

“Hey there,” he rasped sleepily and then coughed to clear his throat. It made his whole body vibrate up and down Jensen’s, causing his erection to fatten up. There was no way to hide the way his body was responding to Jared and he realized he didn’t want to hide around him any longer.

“Mornin’,” he drawled, his Texas roots making themselves known this morning.

Jared’s dimples deepened. “Mornin’, cowboy,” he grinned.

Jensen didn’t hesitate. He tugged on Jared until the younger man took the hint and crawled the short distance up his chest, closing the space between them. “It is now,” Jensen exhaled, sliding his hand up into Jared’s hair, cradling his skull. He pressed his lips against the kid’s candy-pink ones, softly but with intent. Jared returned the gesture, nibbling gently on his lower lip. Rolling Jared on top of him completely with his left arm, Jensen used his tongue to tease Jared’s lips open. He obliged the request and Jensen dove in.

The kid’s breath was sour and humid, but so was Jensen’s. It didn’t take away from the moment in the slightest. While he surveyed the bumps and ridges of Jared’s sticky mouth, he pressed his left hand against the small of the kid’s back, making sure Jared felt exactly how aroused he was. When their cocks bumped against each other, Jared’s breathing hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he wove his long fingers into Jensen’s short hair, massaging his scalp along the way with his slightly ragged nails. Jensen moaned at the touch. He pulled Jared closer still and when that wasn’t nearly enough pressure, he rolled them over so that he was the one on top. Hips rocking in a slow, grinding pace, Jensen dragged his lips away from Jared’s and left a trail of kisses along his barely-stubbled cheek and jaw until his lips discovered the vulnerable lobe of the younger man’s ear. Without stopping, he sucked the little bulge of flesh into his mouth, gnawing and mouthing at it before he let it slip free. He breathed hotly into Jared’s ear and couldn’t stop his devilish smirk when Jared’s hips jerked helplessly up into his, blindly seeking friction after that warm puff of air.

“Jensen,” Jared exhaled, angling his head back and exposing the tantalizing length of his neck to him like a gift. Jensen wasn’t about to refuse the offer. Licking his way down, he paused to give Jared’s Adam’s apple the same treatment he had his ear. The younger man hissed and tilted his head back farther, eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain. The move only made the arch of his neck more prominent. Laving the sweetly sweaty skin, when Jensen found himself at the juncture where it met Jared’s shoulder, he couldn't resist. He pulled the loose collar aside and bit and sucked at the erogenous zone like a man starving.

“Jensen,” Jared moaned, clasping his shoulders and holding him in place. “Ah, Jensen.”

Mouth quirked, he lifted his head and replied, “Like that, Jared?” He returned to the reddening patch of skin and resumed his assault without waiting for an answer.

“Oh, Jensen,” a high-pitched voice that was decidedly not Jared wailed and Jensen whipped his head around. There, at the leafy doorway to the shelter, was Moipa and several of his cohorts. Two of the taller boys had their arms around each other, faces mashed together and were kissing, sort of, between fits of giggles and snickers and saying their names. Moipa, still wearing Jensen’s shirt, had a hand covering his mouth, the cuff dangling limply. His eyes were scrunched up with glee.

Jensen jerked back and Jared, who had been staring at the children upside down, rolled over onto his stomach, but didn’t pull away from him. “I can’t really stand up yet,” he whispered to Jensen from the corner of his mouth. Despite his growing mortification, Jensen subtly took the opportunity of their changed positions to lower himself down again and rub his erection into Jared’s firm backside. His eyes fluttered shut at how good those rounded globes felt against his cock. Ducking his head close, he exhaled, “And you think I can? The things you do to me…”

Rolling his hips back in unconscious response, Jared groaned, “Not helping.”

Taking pity on the younger man and slowly sobering up from the drunken arousal he was feeling, Jensen shifted off of Jared so that he was resting shoulder to shoulder with him instead. Casually keeping one arm draped across the younger man’s back, he waved to the boys with the arm he propped himself up on. Moipa was the first to answer, wiggling his fingers, which were swallowed up completely by the shirt sleeve. He elbowed his friends and the two that were kissing broke apart, laughing and waving, too. A tiny boy – barely old enough to stand – simply stared, while a spider monkey clung to part of his head like a starfish, spindly limbs splayed over the little boy’s head and part of his face.

“Oi. Bom dia,” Jensen called out. Jared pressed a smile into his shoulder at his attempt at Portuguese, but Jensen didn’t know what else to say.

“Bom dia,” Dayuma replied, stepping up behind the snickering horde of children. She did not have her baby with her this morning. “Tudo bem?” she asked while she shooed some of the older boys out of her way.

When Jared didn’t answer immediately, Jensen told her they were good. “Bem, obrigado.” Leaning into Jared, he whispered, “That’s about all I can say without sounding like an idiot.” Jared’s smile grew.

“Best way to learn a language is via immersion,” the younger man replied. He gingerly pushed himself upright and Jensen guessed his erection must have wilted enough to not be noticeable. He was in almost the same state now, too, and got to his knees. Although there wasn’t much point in it, he slapped briskly at his pants and ragged wife-beater, trying to shake off as much dirt as possible. Dayuma studied him critically before murmuring in Moipa’s ear. The little boy nodded and stepped forward while unbuttoning his shirt. His intentions were clear.

Jensen held his hands up and shook his head. “How do you say ‘no’? All I remember is the word I thought meant that it isn’t a negation like it is in English.”

Jared stood up alongside Jensen and told Moipa that the shirt was a gift and his. The child smiled and nodded after Dayuma had translated for him. She motioned for the men to follow her, tossing, “Café da manhã,” over her shoulder.

“Breakfast?” Jensen verified with Jared, stomach churning in the hopes of something substantial.

“Breakfast,” Jared agreed and, like he had told Jensen, his stomach chimed the hour. The boys, who had trailed close behind them, laughed uproariously over the sound. The kid lowered his head bashfully, but smiled all the same, too.

In the light of day, Jensen saw the village properly for the first time. There were a couple of large structures that Jared identified as “longhouses”, with a few, smaller ones scattered along the periphery, like the one they had passed the night in. The area was mostly devoid of trees, but unlike the barren scar of the loggers’ camp, the immediate lack of cover here was only to let in the light. As they approached the longhouse in the center, Jensen took a moment to stand still and let his head fall back, eyes slipping shut as he did. The sun was warm against his skin and he welcomed the light like a lost friend. He was rested, they were both with people who seemed extremely friendly and he was hopeful for the first time since finding Jared. It was a good day. When he opened his eyes again, he found Jared staring at him.

“You’ve got freckles,” he breathed softly, like it was a secret he was sharing with Jensen. And Jensen was well aware of them. Scattered about his nose and under his eyes, they'd been the bane of his existence as he’d gotten older, making him look far younger and more boyish than he’d wanted to appear. When not filming, Jensen covered them with concealer, but anything he had been wearing on the plane had long since worn off.

“They’re everywhere,” he replied and watched as Jared struggled to swallow.

“Really?” Jared croaked. “Everywhere?”

Before Jensen could come up with a response, the same scream that had scared the bejesus out of him the night before echoed out again, startling them both.

“Nimu,” Moipa chirped and dashed into the longhouse.

Looking around, Jensen wasn’t sure who or what Nimu could be and he was tempted to spout a Finding Nemo wisecrack when it dawned on him that it wasn’t much of a joke since it wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else.

When Moipa came back out, he was swinging a small, dark shape at the end of his arm. It took Jensen a second to realize that shape was a dead monkey. They both watched as the boy walked to the periphery of the village, where the trees stood guard, and slung the dead primate up into the closest one. A large, silvery-white figure appeared on a branch and snapped it up as it settled closer. The bird, which had to have been at least three or four feet tall, easily made a quick meal out of it using its impressive claws and beak. It resembled an eagle, but with strange feathers tufting out from the back of its head. What surprised Jensen, however, was how much it looked like…

“Fawkes,” he murmured.

Jared, who had been observing the bird closely, asked, “Guy Fawkes?”

“No,” Jensen shook his head. “Fawkes the Phoenix. It’s from –”

“Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,” Jared finished for him.

Jensen cocked an eyebrow at him. “I thought you didn’t go to the movies.”

Jared saw his cocked eyebrow and raised him what could only be described as a bitchface. “You do realize that there are these things called books, right? About this big,” he held up his hands, “full of paper with words written all over them?”

“Smart ass,” Jensen groused, smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “There’s a movie with the same title. You do know there are movies, right?” Two could play at this game. “You go into a dark room and there’s a screen in front where moving pictures appear. It’s almost like magic.” He waggled his fingers in the air like a drunken wizard.

“Ass,” Jared smirked and gave him a hip check in return.

“In the film version, they used an animatronic or CGI combo creature that looked an awful lot like that bird to play Fawkes, only it was reddish in color instead.” Studying the bird more closely, Jensen continued, “I wonder if they modeled it after this bird.”

“It’s a Harpy Eagle,” Jared explained. “Moipa’s people probably use it as an early warning system.”

Once he took a better look, Jensen saw the tether that kept the eagle in place. “They screech when strangers are near,” the younger man added, “like last night and this morning. It probably won’t do that for us any longer now that it’s seen us with them.”

Letting his gaze drift around, Jensen began to notice a variety of birds, both big and small, that were also tethered in different areas. A little girl snapped a banana apart and let the two halves dangle like saddlebags, by what was left of the peel, across a perch for a group of lovebirds to feed on. Turning around, Jensen realized the children, both boys and girls, were feeding the collection of animals.

“The Waodani have the children keep pets like this to learn about the forest,” Jared said. “Whoever these people are, they’re using the same techniques. The children will learn to imitate the calls of the birds and primates and even be able to differentiate animals by the smell of their urine over time. This,” he waved a hand at the children busy tending to their pets, “is school. And the older boys like Moipa are probably responsible for hunting for the food to feed ‘their’ pets.”

“Wow,” Jensen replied as he watched little fingers carefully offer food to their charges.

Dayuma gently reminded them about the longhouse and Jensen reluctantly followed Jared back into the semi-darkness of the enclosure; he wasn’t ready to leave the sunlight despite how warm he was becoming. Like their shelter, this one also seemed old, with dried fronds covering the exterior. Inside, there were four cooking fires near each corner, with groups of people gathered around them. No one did more than notice them in passing, which kind of surprised Jensen. He had expected gawking, staring and awkward silences, but that wasn’t what he was met with. Some raised their heads and smiled, one even waved at them, but for the most part, the people ate and talked and laughed and didn’t pay them any mind.

“Huh?” Jensen huffed.

“What?” Jared asked him as he dropped cross-legged onto the ground next to a woman who was nursing what Jensen suspected was Dayuma’s baby. Dayuma sat on the other side of her as she motioned to a place for Jensen to sit. She leaned against the other woman and brushed her fingertips gently along the baby’s fine hair, murmuring endearments to the child. Jensen joined them, whispering to Jared, “Nothing wrong. It’s just…nice.” And it was. A satisfied, warm feeling to be a part of something instead of standing aside. Lately, the only time he felt contentment like this was when he was filming. The smile Jared graced him with was beautiful.

“Fruta fresca,” Dayuma said as she passed them a large, hollowed out gourd full of bananas, papayas, mangos and other fruits that Jensen wasn’t completely sure of. But the assortment was a welcome sight. The tangy bite of pineapple alone reminded Jensen how much his body had been craving vitamin C and he greedily sucked the juice off of his fingers. Along with that selection, another person brought over a stack of thin pancakes. Jensen and Jared each grabbed a few. They were still hot and while there wasn’t much taste to them, both men gladly accepted seconds when offered. It was the first, warm food they'd had in days.

“What do you think they are?” Jensen asked around a mouthful of the crepes and papaya pieces he’d stuffed in there. He really didn’t care what the answer was, because he would have eaten most anything at this point that wasn’t an unripe banana.

“Probably manioc,” Jared mumbled with his hand shielding his chewing. “A tuber that’s kind of like a potato,” he explained when Jensen tilted his head. “You can make a lot of stuff out of it including a kind of pudding and flour, which is probably where these came from.”

At the closest fire, another woman poured batter over a relatively flat rock and the mixture sizzled on contact. “Griddle cakes,” Jensen smiled, thinking of breakfasts shared with his dad over the campfire. “É bom,” Jensen told Dayuma, when the young woman looked at him earnestly. She returned his grin and nodded, handing him more food. All around them was the low rumble of people talking. One of the older women reclined on a hammock while she laughed at what a child told her. Although the language was unknown to him, Jensen recognized the gist anyway. It was a family meal.

When he and Jared had eaten enough to be full without making complete pigs of themselves, they offered their profuse thanks. Dayuma and the other cooks brushed it off. She tried to explain it to Jared, but she admitted the language didn’t express the concept clearly. The best he could come up with was that she was trying to say that their generosity wasn’t a gift – it was something one simply did.

“I don’t see many of the men,” Jensen remarked to Jared and he was curious if the men ate separately.

“The men are doing their work this morning,” Dayuma said. Jensen was able to follow along enough to understand that. And she led them back outside to the other end of the “town square” as Jensen thought of the village. He recognized the area as the one where he and Jared had been brought to the night before to meet with Kampeti. The fire pit was still there, but to the right, several of the men were lashing together a tall structure, while others came and went, bearing fresh palm fronds.

When Jensen didn’t grasp the meaning of the name Dayuma gave it, Jared said, “She called it a hunting lodge. It’s for tonight’s ceremony. This is where they will go to speak to the spirits.”

“Do they need help?” Jensen offered. He was rested, well-fed and itching to do something.

Dayuma laughed before Jared could translate. She and Jared exchanged words and he bobbed his head before turning back to Jensen.

“We’re not supposed to touch that, since Kampeti didn’t bless us. But we’re welcome to spend the day with the others or rest if we’re tired.”

There was a part of Jensen that was sorely tempted with the idea of taking Jared back to “their” place and continuing where they left off. Even after their confrontation with the loggers, Jensen couldn’t dismiss the sense of safety and almost relaxation that had washed over him since they’d entered the village. He was certain that these people would help them find an established town soon enough and he wanted to take advantage of something he might not have again – this time with Jared. But, as he caught sight of Moipa and his friends slowly edging closer, he knew they would have no privacy. He couldn’t blame the kids, either. He was just as curious about them as they were of him and Jared.

“That all sounds good,” Jensen replied. “It would be stupid to go off on our own now if Kampeti will have an answer for us tonight. It’s not like they’re going to keep us,” he laughed and Jared grinned back.

“Doubtful,” he replied.

I’d keep you, he thought before shaking his head at the absurd notion. He didn’t know Jared and Jared certainly didn’t know him. Jared wasn’t his to keep.

“Are you all right?” Jared worried, hand on his shoulder.

“Absolutely,” Jensen shot back easily. “I think it just caught up with me for a second, you know?”

Sucking in his lower lip, the younger man silently agreed.

Dayuma, who had been watching them closely, asked a question. The only word he was able to make out was “clean” and Jensen was suddenly reminded how filthy they had become since yesterday’s insane race through the forest on top of everything else.

“Sim,” he answered before Jared could say a word. “Por favor.” He desperately wanted to get clean. Dayuma called Moipa over and gave him his instructions.

“I’m going to hang out here for a while. See what I can pick up,” Jared told him. “Moipa is going to take you to the water where you can clean up, okay?”

“You sure you’ll be fine here?” Jensen asked. He wasn’t truly worried, but he wanted to make sure that Jared didn’t mind being on his own, so to speak.

“I’m good,” he grinned, dimples like parenthesis around his smile and his hair hanging in his eyes. Without conscious thought, Jensen reached over and tucked a few strands behind his ear. The kid’s smile softened at his touch. They stared at each other for several moments until Moipa giggled. That broke the spell as an adorable, rosy flush colored Jared’s neck and cheeks. Jensen idly contemplated where else that blush might travel under the right circumstances. Food for thought.

Giving Jared a quick wink, he faced Moipa and said, “I’m all yours.” As the child and his crew led Jensen across the square, he tossed over his shoulder, “For now,” and was rewarded with Jared’s coloring deepening.

“Don’t forget about the Candiru,” Jared yelled out and Jensen’s smile evaporated.

“Why would you say that?” he called back. “Now I’m going to be worried about my dick the entire time!”

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to it,” Jared retorted with a cocky flip of his hair before leaning down to give Dayuma his full attention. Jensen was shocked for all of a minute before his grin returned.

Surrounded by the troupe of small boys, Jensen let them guide him out of the immediate circle of the village and back through the forest. He didn’t think it was the way they had come in, but he honestly wasn’t sure. Out of the direct light, Jensen was reminded of the humidity as sweat trickled down his arms and he peeled his shirt away from his skin with a foul expression. The path they took was well-used and Jensen was glad of that, since he hadn’t been given back his machete yet. It struck him then how he had completely lowered his guard since they’d arrived because he hadn’t even missed the tool until just that moment.

In short order, the path sloped downward and Jensen heard the familiar sound of running water above the insects and bird calls that he truthfully didn’t notice any longer. That noise had simply morphed into the background as part of the status quo. Picking his steps carefully while the boys practically skipped along, Jensen spotted the largest body of water he’d seen to date. One of the boys let out a whoop and leapt for a makeshift rope that hung from a tree limb that reached more than halfway across the small river. He caught it and clambered up until he sat, with legs dangling, on the branch. He leaned down and snapped the rope towards Moipa, who caught it easily enough. The child swung across and let go as he hovered over the deepest portion of the water. He made a ridiculous splash and came up sputtering with laughter and river water. Wiping his face with Jensen’s shirtsleeve, he spoke to one of the taller boys and seemed to be asking for something. Turning around, Jensen realized the boy in question was holding a gold-tinted, waxy block in his hand. He waited until Moipa had unbuttoned the shirt before tossing it to him.

“Soap,” Jensen said to himself as Moipa began to vigorously rub the block on the shirt and it sudsed up. Seeing how all the other children, who were mostly naked, had fearlessly entered the water, Jensen was pretty sure his junk was safe and sat down to untie his boots and yank off his socks. He made to enter the water a little less adventurously and with a few more articles of clothing than Moipa had when the boy in question shyly called out, “Jensen?”

When Jensen regarded him, Moipa was holding up the soap with one hand and pointing to Jensen with the other. He had to admit the temptation of soaping himself up was irresistible, so he smiled and reached for the block only to have Moipa pull it back and shake his head. The boy then pointed to the overshirt Jensen had given him and then back to Jensen’s chest.

“Oh, you want to clean this for me?” Jensen asked as he plucked at his wife-beater. It had definitely seen better days. Without hesitation, Jensen pulled it over his head and took a sniff. He made an exaggerated face and waved his hand in front of his nose. The children laughed at his antics.

Moipa climbed out of the water and pointed to his socks, which he’d draped over his boots. “You really want to touch those, too?” Jensen joked. “They stink worse than the shirt.” And he waved his hand faster after he motioned to the socks. But Moipa was undaunted and collected Jensen’s dirty laundry like it was treasure. He was about to wade into the river, when Moipa used his name again.

“Pants, too? You sure about that?” And Jensen hesitated. But as he glanced around, he was reminded that he was the only one wearing clothes. Some of the boys weren’t even paying attention, as they splashed at each other, simply being boys. Although Jensen had thought his pants might offer some protection against the dick fish (and damn Jared for putting the thought into his head to begin with), he reasoned if they weren’t worried about that, he shouldn’t be either. So he shucked off his jeans and boxer-briefs with only a cursory glance up the path to make sure they were truly alone, the habit of checking for paparazzi was too ingrained not to. There were no gasps of shock at his nudity, no camera flashes and Jensen shook his head ruefully.

“Man, my life is weird,” he muttered quietly, “worried that somebody from TMZ is going to pop out of the woodwork here.”

The water, although not completely clear, came up to nearly his waist. It didn’t offer much of a reprieve from the heat, which was already sitting heavy on the air, but it was still heavenly against Jensen’s skin. Back on the bank. Moipa scrubbed diligently at his filthy clothes. The littlest boy, monkey now sitting on his shoulder, was wandering along the edge and Jensen was momentarily concerned that he was unsupervised. Visions of pools with locked gates came to mind. But no sooner had he made a move to get to the little fellow than one of the tallest boys called out to him with his arms extended. The toddler took a few, unsteady steps into the river, while his primate hitchhiker migrated to drier real-estate at the top of his head. He awkwardly swam to the boy while the older one moved closer to him, opening his arms even wider. The little one dog-paddled to him and when he reached the older boy, was swung up onto his back, where he clung to him piggyback style. The older boy moved deeper into the river to rejoin the others, who were splashing each other with abandon. When one of them accidentally got Jensen, they all froze.

Jensen let out a roar as he skimmed both his arms across the water, spraying them all. It was game on. Between giggles and shouts, they splashed one another and eventually Moipa joined them. He handed Jensen the soap and Jensen gratefully accepted it. A quick sniff revealed the block smelled faintly earthy with a hint of vanilla, far better than any botanical shop in the U.S. could possibly offer. He dunked his head and proceeded to scrub his face and hair until he was no longer grimy. Jensen made a quick pass over the rest of his body, staying downriver of the children while he did so. When he’d rinsed himself clean, he handed the soap back to Moipa, adding a heartfelt, “Obrigado.”

Moipa carried the waxy chunk back to the river’s edge where, Jensen noted, he had propped up Jensen’s clothes along various sticks so that they stayed off the ground. He raced back to the water and did a rough version of a cannonball in the process. As Jensen looked around at all the smiling faces of the children, he had to repress a shudder at the vision that floated before him of Moipa chained to a tree while men prepared to burn him alive. Jensen closed his eyes and shivered anyway. A hesitant hand touched his arm and he opened his eyes to see Moipa pulling his fingers back with a small frown on his young face. Jensen shook his head, partially to reassure the boy everything was fine and, more importantly, to physically drive the image out of his head for the time being.

“Oi!” a woman called out, startling Jensen. Dayuma stood on the bank, waving them all in.

“Party’s over, boys,” Jensen told them because he knew that motherly look. He got behind them to herd them out of the water and maybe use them as cover in front of Dayuma until he could get to his pants. On the shore, the tall boy, who Jensen thought was named Nampa, crouched down so the littlest one could hop off and walk on his own. Dayuma patted them on their heads and shook her own good-naturedly. Jensen assumed that they must have taken too long and she had been worried or maybe important chores had been abandoned.

Nampa grabbed the hand of the boy he had been “kissing” that morning and they swung their arms together as they walked up the path. Moipa poked one of them and sped past them, Nampa in hot pursuit. As Jensen finished tying his boots, Dayuma, in Portuguese, muttered, “Boys will be boys.”

Jensen snickered and she turned around, holding out her hand. “Come,” she invited him, keeping her phrases simple.

“Thank you for…” and Jensen pointed over his shoulder to the river, not knowing the word for it.

“You are welcome,” she replied. Much like Nampa had, she swung their hands back and forth, humming under her breath as they returned to the village.

Jensen didn’t need to ask about Jared when he returned. The kid wasn’t more than a dozen feet from where he’d left him, but the sight he presented made it really hard for Jensen not to give in to laughter.

The older woman from the longhouse was deep in a conversation with him in what was definitely not Portuguese as she waggled her bony finger at his nose. It looked a little too much like someone chastising a puppy. As she lectured Jared, the only reason she was able to see eye-to-eye with him was because the younger man was perched awkwardly on a tiny, wooden stool that barely cleared the ground by a half dozen inches. Stretched out between two poles in front of them was a kind of netting and, although he had his back to Jensen, Jared was holding something in his right hand. He kept nodding and attempting to move it while the grandmother tsked and tutted. Jensen nodded to Dayuma with a smile and walked over to the two of them.

“Hey,” Jensen announced when he moved around to the other side of the netting. The kid had his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, gold rims catching the bright sunlight. In his hand, he held a spindly piece of wood, nothing more than a glorified splinter, and was attempting to follow the woman’s instructions with the weaving in front of him. He had the corner of his lower lip sucked painfully inside his mouth, forehead bunched up in concentration. He kept nodding to the lady and working the “needle” through the intricate pattern in front of him.

Tunnel vision, Jensen reminded himself with a smile.

The older woman snapped at him and he jerked his head up. “Huh?” he mumbled and then noticed Jensen. “Oh, you smell nice,” he stated baldly and then his face went crimson.

Deciding to give Jared a break, Jensen let that one slide. “The boys brought soap down to the water and Moipa went above the call of duty, washing my clothes,” he explained, pointing to his damp, but noticeably clean, trousers.

“Copaiba probably,” Jared remarked after another sniff. “Local trees that only branch out at the very top. The resin can be steam-diluted down to an oil that has a lot of uses, including treating wounds and binding soap. Good smell, like woods and amber.” The woman slapped at his shoulder and Jared, chagrined, twisted around to face her. To Jensen’s utter astonishment, he spouted off a few words that were definitely not Portuguese and handed back the needle.

“Did you seriously learn the language while I took a bath?” Jensen was amazed.

Dropping his head low enough to allow his lank bangs to cover his eyes, Jared tugged at his ear nervously. “Not the whole language, but a few words,” he admitted.

Jensen snorted. “A few words, college boy?” And he ruffled Jared’s head affectionately. “I suspect you’ll be having full-fledged discourses with them by tomorrow.”

He peeked up at Jensen, tongue poking out from between his lips. “Maybe not by tomorrow, but you never know. All right,” he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “I’m a failure at the design she’s trying to show me, but maybe I can redeem myself.”

Jared motioned to the stool with a gentlemanly gesture and the older woman sat down, deftly untying what Jensen suspected had been Jared’s handiwork. In the meantime, the kid ambled over to a young woman who was stripping fibrous material from a stack of fronds by her side. He selected a piece about three feet long and she nodded her permission for him to take it. Tying it into a single loop, Jared said, “They make their rope from this stuff. It’s amazing resilient.” A small group of young girls had gathered around as Jared sat on a fallen log that doubled as a bench. Jensen was just as intrigued and moved closer to see what Jared was up to.

The kid looped the cord closely around each of his hands and the motion triggered a faint memory for Jensen. When Jared plucked at the opposite palm with one of his long fingers and hooked the loop with it, Jensen remembered what it was.

“Cat’s cradle,” he smiled and Jared bobbed his head. When he had the Diamonds pattern, Jensen leaned over the girls and pulled Candles out. Jared then created the Manger and the girls crowded closer. They continued trading off until Jared produced the dead-end figure of the Two Crowns and the game was over. He then handed the cord off to the girl standing closest to him, showing her how to fashion the starting figure. Jensen shook his head as he watched the kid’s giant hands swallow up those of the little girl, amazed at how gentle his touch was. When he got another child to start plucking out patterns, he backed away.

“I may suck at hammock making, but I rule at Cat’s cradle,” he chuckled. He stood next to Jensen and cleared his throat.

“And here I thought you could do it all,” Jensen quipped, before adding, “What?”

“I think I’m going to have to track down that soap, because I reek. A bath would be awesome right about now.”

“I’ll help,” Jensen offered quickly and Jared gave him a scandalized look. “Showing you where the river is and stuff.” He was definitely not thinking about soaping up those lanky limbs or getting his fingers into the kid’s long hair. Nope. Nada. He just had to keep telling himself that enough times and then he would start to believe it.

“Oh,” Jared exhaled and he sounded the tiniest bit disappointed. As they walked around the village, and Jensen still couldn’t completely get over how not nonplussed the people were with their presence, Jared showed him a few things that he had learned while Jensen had been cleaning up.

“They have a fairly elaborate crop rotation in place,” he explained as he pointed out the cultivated gardens.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” Jensen remarked.

“Well, crop rotation isn’t unusual, but they’ve been at it for years. Unless I completely misunderstood Dayuma, of course,” he tacked on hastily. “That’s always a real possibility.”

Jensen didn’t miss the way the way Jared had emphasized the length they’d been at it. “I can tell something’s gnawing at you, so spit it out.”

“You can?” Jared stared at him, but pulled him aside. Lowering his voice, he continued, “From what I understand, most uncontacted people do roam within their territory. They do it partially as another form of crop rotation, but also so they don’t over-hunt an area. This,” and he was practically whispering now, “is really odd.”

Matching the kid’s volume despite the fact that no one spoke or understood English besides them, Jensen said, “The structure looked pretty old to me, too, but it’s not like I’m any kind of judge of that.”

“You’re right. Fronds do dry out fairly quickly, but even the structural support beams are old,” Jared agreed.

“Are you worried?” Jensen had to ask. He had been totally at ease here and despite the oddities Jared had mentioned, he wasn’t able to muster up any real sense of dread.

“I don’t think so,” Jared answered. “It’s just…odd, I guess.”

“And here I thought you loved puzzles,” Jensen joked to break the strange tension.

“I love ‘em. This one is just a doozy.”

“A challenge,” Jensen teased. “Oh, did you happen to find out what they call themselves? Are they one of the uncontacted people? Are we the first strangers to interact with them, because they don’t seem all that shook up about us.”

“That’s another thing,” and Jensen swore there was almost a whine to the kid’s voice. Seemed like he didn’t like challenges that took too long to figure out. “I know I only have a few words of their language under my belt, but Dayuma speaks Portuguese very well.”

“Another piece of the puzzle if they’ve never been around strangers, right?” Jensen interrupted.

“Yes,” Jared huffed, ruffling a strand of hair in the process. “I asked her their name.”

“And?” Jensen prodded him.

“She used the same word to describe us as she did them. And before you suggest it,” he held up his hand to stop Jensen from interrupting, “it wasn’t the word for ‘people’ or ‘human’ or anything like that. She recognized the names of other tribes from Brazil, but continued to tell me we all shared the same name.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Jensen wasn’t as worked up about it as Jared was. “Maybe they’ve adopted us, since we helped with Moipa.”

“Maybe,” Jared agreed, but it was a grudging acceptance at best.

“Hey,” Jensen clasped his shoulder and shook the kid gently, “you’ll figure it out sooner or later. Now go on and git,” he drawled, Texan to the bone. “You stink.”

Jared playfully stuck out his tongue, his serious mood broken for the moment. “I’ll see if I can rustle up a piece of soap so I can smell as purdy as you, pardner,” he hammed.

“You do that,” Jensen winked. “You do that. Maybe we can compare how clean we are later on.”

Jared tripped backwards, the wink throwing him off. But he caught himself and went off searching for soap. Jensen smiled at the easy way Jared bopped along as he walked. When he wasn’t stumbling, the kid had a happy rhythm to the way he moved. Shaking his head, he was startled to find Dayuma standing beside him. He had not heard her approach at all and he was flustered to be caught out staring at Jared like that. But all she did was smile in such a knowing way that Jensen wasn’t embarrassed for longer than a second or two.

“I like him,” Jensen said quietly and in English and was once again surprised when she nodded her head in agreement.

Before he had a chance to process that, Dayuma added in Portuguese, “Come and look.”

He followed her with a slight frown, but eventually dismissed her expression as a fluke. She probably reacted to the tone of my voice, he told himself.

Dayuma showed him the gardens, where they practiced their language skills naming different fruits. Jensen noticed several of the girls and the adult women were tending to their crops, but he didn’t spot any of the men. The lodge they had built that morning was already finished and stood about fifteen feet high, although it was only a rough square of about six feet per side. As he looked around, he realized that none of the men were in sight any longer and he wondered what they were doing.

“Only women do this?” he asked in halting Portuguese.

“Yes,” Dayuma affirmed his suspicions. “Women make life. This is what we do.”

“And men?” Jensen wondered. Dayuma burst out laughing.

“Men only know,” and she made a chopping gesture against the tree. “And they hunt. They can’t do this.”

Eventually, she had to excuse herself to take care of her baby. At least, Jensen thought it was hers. He had noticed as he moved around the village that the women appeared to share the nursing duties, even feeding one of the baby primates, too. He thought back to what Jared had said about the word they used to describe themselves and Jensen kind of liked the idea that they didn’t use one that implied exclusivity. He thought it was so much more forward thinking that they viewed everyone as one people, even their pets. He was probably romanticizing it too much, but he didn’t care at the moment.

A shout from the other side of the village had him hurrying over. It wasn’t Nimu’s piercing screech, but one of the boy’s. When Jensen cleared the main longhouse and the hunting lodge, he spotted Moipa and Nampa and most of the other boys gathered around a huge hunk of a termite mound. All of them, even the littlest one with the monkey sidekick, were taking turns stabbing at it with tiny spears. They laughed and shouted, breaking the chunk into increasingly smaller bits.

“They’re practicing their hunting skills,” Jared said from behind him and Jensen was hard-pressed not to jump. That was the second time somebody had snuck up on him today.

“Oh, yeah?” he hummed. When he turned around, he tried not to stare.

Jared’s still damp hair curled around his ears and the nape of his neck invitingly. His clothes were cleaner and he smelled very, very good. “What happened to your shirt?” Jared’s t-shirt was wet, stretched taut across his chest and Jensen was able to see how his little nipples had tightened up underneath. It was distracting, to say the least.

Jared grinned and hooked a finger over his shoulder. “Umi took a liking to it. And since she was such a nice girl to clean my things, well…” and he shrugged his shoulders.

The “girl” in question was more like a young woman, given her build. She had wrapped herself up in Jared’s long-sleeved shirt and was whispering with one of her sisters (or her friend – Jensen wasn’t sure) while the other woman passed her hand up and down her newly-covered arm. And Jensen wasn’t jealous that Jared had obviously been naked in front of her. That would be foolish considering how everyone lived here. It’s not like Jared was his. That’s what he kept repeating to himself even as a muscle ticked in his jaw. Jared wasn’t his.

“It wasn’t completely altruistic of me,” he whispered in Jensen’s ear. “I kind of needed the distraction it gave me. While she was trying it on, I practically jumped into my clothes. I know it’s no big deal to them, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve never been completely naked in front of anyone and –”

“No, I totally get it,” Jensen cut him off, now trying to get the idea out of his head that no one had ever seen Jared nude before. “I had my own little entourage,” he gestured to the boys, who had all but decimated the termite nest. “But mine were all children.”

“Yeah, I thought I had managed to slip away, but when I was in the water, Umi came down and offered to clean my clothes.” He paused and regarded his pants. “You should have seen me trying to tell her I had things in the pockets that I didn’t want to get lost as I stood in the middle of the river, protecting my modesty. Not an easy concept to explain with only hand signals,” he snickered at himself. “I think she’s concerned that I’m a little touched in the head.”

Jensen laughed loudly, the tension he didn’t know he was carrying easing away. Nudging the kid’s shoulder with his, he said quietly, “Next time, I’ll tag along. I’ll protect your virtue.” He waggled his eyebrows at Jared ridiculously and waited for the kid’s snappy comeback.

“Okay,” Jared exhaled. “I trust you.”

And Jensen didn’t expect to be as affected by those breathy words as he was. He rocked his head from side to side and licked his lips without meaning to. “Jared, I –”

A commotion from the other side of the square cut him off. Whatever it was, it had the rest of the village in an uproar. A small part of Jensen was grateful for the disturbance, suddenly second-guessing what he had actually been about to say to the younger man. But it was only a small part – the fearful fragment of himself that wasn’t quite ready to let go of old pains and fears.

“What now?” he muttered, reaching for Jared. Whatever it was, it would have to go through him first.

Chapter Text

It turned out that Jensen was defensive over nothing.

The women gathered near one of the paths, pointing and chatting excitedly. The children soon swarmed around them as well. Stepping closer to join them, Jared and Jensen saw that it was the men – marching along in single file – that caused the uproar. For a second, Jensen was confused by what he saw. It looked like the first three men had children clinging to their backs like Nampa had carried the little boy down by the river. As he got a better look, however, Jensen realized that it wasn’t children they carried, but dead animals lashed in place like morbid backpacks. They had caught several wild pigs.

“Peccary,” Jared corrected him. Jensen hadn’t realized he’d spoken the last bit aloud. “It’s like a pig," he added apologetically.

Jensen was almost embarrassed that his mouth was practically watering at the mention of anything remotely resembling pork right then. “I wouldn’t care if it was squirrel, to be honest.”

Jared raised his eyebrows. “I have to warn you that they’re known as the skunk pig, so it maybe is a good idea that you keep your expectations low.”

“Really? Eh, who cares. I bet it will be wonderful,” Jensen decided with a wave of his hand. He wasn’t about to look a gift skunk pig in the mouth or anywhere else, for that matter.  

The men marched past them, the women and children following like it was a parade. There was definitely a festive air to the proceedings, what with the way everyone was talking rapidly amongst themselves and laughing. Dayuma mare a point to stop beside them.

“It is good,” she declared. She said a little more, but Jensen didn’t follow what it was. She ran to catch up with the others, who had paused before the new hunting lodge. Jensen and Jared were both surprised to see a pair of hands part the fronds from the inside and reveal Kampeti standing within the lodge. They had no idea he had been there or for how long. The hunters presented themselves to him and he studied each man’s catch solemnly.

“Dayuma said they’ve never caught so many in one hunt before,” Jared murmured as he leaned close. Jensen hummed in acknowledgement, but couldn’t stop himself from inhaling the warm, sweet smell of the younger man’s skin. He picked out the notes of vanilla that the kid had mentioned, but it was infinitely better mixed with Jared’s unique scent. His breathing began to pick up. Trying to distract himself from the ill-timed and inappropriate way his body was responding to Jared’s proximity, Jensen scanned the rest of the people, but they seemed to be on edge as well. There was a sense of expectation weighing on all of them.

Kampeti lifted his hands and intoned what Jensen guessed might be a prayer as he briefly touched each peccary on its head as the men stood waiting. When he was done, he raised both his hands towards the sun and spoke again. When he was finished, everyone cheered. Jensen exhaled noisily, unaware he’d been holding his breath the entire time. Jared was grinning, easy and relaxed.

“I’m guessing Kampeti gave dinner his blessing?” Jensen kept his voice low, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“Looks like it,” Jared confirmed. Before Jared could say anything else, Kampeti motioned them over. The few people who had lingered parted for them and Dayuma, who then assumed a position beside the shaman and ready to translate whatever it was he planned to say to them.

Through her, the older man began, “We have never caught so much in one hunt before.” He raised an eyebrow and peered at Jensen. “I wonder if you are a Curupira after all. Your eyes are the color of the forest and the yaguareté.”

Jensen pulled back, shaking his head at the unfamiliar word.

“The jaguar,” Jared murmured. “Its name comes from Tupinambá, the Amazonian trade language. It literally means ‘true beast’.”

Kampeti grunted his agreement as Dayuma translated what Jared had said. “And you,” he turned to Jared, “have all the colors of the world in your eyes. I think, like the forest, you have answers to questions no one has thought to ask.” And he cut his eyes back to Jensen briefly before addressing them both. “Tonight we will all have answers and tomorrow we will know what to do.” With that, he stepped back inside the shelter, letting the vibrant, green fronds once again obscure him from sight.

“Okay then,” Jensen exclaimed as he clapped his hands. He was slightly unnerved, to say the least. The older man had looked right into him for a second and Jensen had never felt more exposed. Jared seemed shaken, too. “Sounds like we’ll be on our way tomorrow,” he said to Jared, hoping he sounded confident.

“It does,” Jared agreed before switching back to Portuguese to thank Dayuma.

“You are welcome,” she replied. “I must go help with cooking. You are welcome to…” and she made a sweeping pass with her outstretched arm towards the village, apparently giving them carte blanche.

“Thank you,” Jensen smiled. His command of the language wasn’t increasing in magical leaps and bounds, but, as Jared had said, immersing himself in it was definitely forcing him to try harder. And that made him wonder again how Dayuma knew the language so well. He asked Jared as much as soon as they had put a discreet distance between themselves and the hunting lodge.

“She’s probably from another tribe,” he conjectured. “Many uncontacted people have only been isolated from ‘civilized’ people,” and he hooked his long fingers in air quotes as he nearly sneered at the descriptor. “They can and do interact with other tribes, although that can be bloody.”

Jensen jerked his chin towards Nimu’s roost. “Hence the early-warning system?”

“Exactly. I suspect Dayamu’s from another tribe and came here through marriage. It’s just such a personal question, I haven’t asked her yet.” And he shrugged his shoulders weakly.

“No, I get it,” Jensen was quick to reassure him. “Just because we have all these questions, it doesn’t mean we have a right to demand the answers. After all,” he continued, “they’ve been awfully kind and generous to two very strange strangers.” And he chuckled as he considered how odd they did appear compared to Moipa’s people.

“What should we do?” Jared asked him, looking to him for guidance or maybe permission. And Jensen was again tempted to suggest a nap. He figured if this dinner was an important affair, that even the children might be tied up for a while and he and Jared could have some time to themselves. He was about to say as much when he took in the kid’s demeanor. The way his eyes darted around, scoping out everyone’s actions, it was obvious he was itching to observe them at work.

“We should probably take in as much of their everyday life as we can, right? I mean, chances like this don’t come around often. Or ever,” he added quickly.

The beaming smile Jared gifted him with was worth the sacrifice. The kid clasped his hand and proceeded to first drag him off to where the men were preparing the peccary.

“They’re probably removing the scent gland right now. You need to get that out pretty quickly after killing them to keep the meat from being tainted,” he explained in a rush.

Jensen grinned up at him, not really all that curious about the process, but enchanted with Jared’s endless inquisitiveness and enthusiasm. In fact, as Jared went from one area of the village to the other over the course of the afternoon, the only thing Jensen noticed was him. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone as open or as joyful as Jared. The closest that he’d come was in his friendship with Chad. Although the word “douchey” (if that was even an actual word) got thrown at him a lot, Chad was an honest guy. He might not use the smoothest phrases at times and he might be guilty of the occasional overshare, but you always knew where you stood with him. Over the years, Jensen had come to appreciate the value in that, especially in an industry where people made a living by pretending to be something they weren’t.

As he sat on the log and laughed at the way the children, finally free from their other chores, cajoled Jared into showing them new string games, Jensen was struck by how quickly he had fallen for the kid. And that speed frightened him, because it had happened the same way with Misha. Granted, he now had hindsight removing the blinders off of those memories. The attraction then had been electric and immediate between them, with Jensen believing it had been true love. Only after the debacle of the exposé did Jensen discover, thanks to the private investigator Chad had hired, that Misha had done his homework on Jensen before their “chance” meeting, going above and beyond to discover what made him tick so he’d be a perfect match for him. It had explained so much about their relationship, especially when Jensen considered they never once disagreed about anything. Jensen had believed in them partially because it had been easy, as though a loving relationship shouldn’t take work every now and then.  When he’d finally come to understand the truth, Jensen had felt stupid and used. What made matters worse was how apologetic Chad had been, as though it was all somehow his fault that Misha had slipped into Jensen’s life like a thief in the night. After that, Chad had been too invested in Jensen’s romantic entanglements, or lack thereof, culminating in the hiring of an actual escort. Funny how Jensen wasn’t able to muster up any indignation about that particular debacle, all things considered.

Jared’s barking laughter echoed out just then. He had his head thrown back, long neck exposed, as Moipa crowed victoriously over having beaten him at whatever game they were playing. The littlest toddler climbed up on his lap. Jared wrapped a protective arm around him, carefully holding on tight. The boy’s hitchhiker abandoned him for higher ground, scampering up Jared’s shoulder and onto his head. That made the other children practically scream with giggles and when Nampa tried to remove the spider monkey, he just fisted Jared’s wavy curls and hung on tight. Nampa gave up and the monkey settled atop Jared and began to groom the kid’s long locks.

Jensen dragged his hand over his bearded mouth and chin, the frayed duct tape catching against his whiskers. There was no denying it – he was falling in love with Jared. And that certainty was all the more frightening because Jensen now knew without a doubt what it was like to only be fooled into thinking it was love. Picking at the tape across his palm like a child with a scab, Jensen realized that in some respects he and Jared had that in common – they’d both never been in love before. At least, he assumed Jared hadn’t been in love if he he’d never even been “in lust” before. And that was another matter. Just thinking about how untouched the kid was, like the uncontacted people he knew so much about, was kind of driving him crazy. Worrying the end of the makeshift dressing, Jensen was shocked to discover that he had a virginity kink. Or, he did when it came to Jared. The idea that no one had had their hands on him before like that simply fanned the flames of his growing possessiveness. Visions of Jared letting him in, both physically and figuratively, were hard to ignore and scared him to the core.

“Please,” Jared asked softly, “let me.”

Jensen blinked, startled because he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real. Jared was on his knees before him, holding out his hands. It was only when he spotted the monkey still riding around on the top of the kid’s head did Jensen realize this was real, because there was no way there would ever be a third-party, voyeur or otherwise, in any fantasy he had about the kid. Jensen jerked his head abruptly and relinquished his hand to Jared.

The kid slowly unwound the tape with care and Jensen remembered how he had looked after his feet with the same gentle concern their first night together. Jensen liked having all of Jared’s laser focus pointed at him. It didn’t make him feel vulnerable and exposed in the slightest, like he thought it would. On the contrary, it made him feel cherished.

“This looks good,” Jared pronounced with a small smile. “I think you’re past the window for any infection sinking its hooks into you.”

“Thanks, doc,” Jensen teased gently and Jared blushed. “Hey,” he added, “you actually are a doctor, aren’t you?” Jensen leaned back, reluctantly reclaiming his hand in the process.

“Well, technically,” Jared admitted and if the kid had been standing, Jensen would have expected him to be dragging his toe through the dirt, given the “aw, shucks” way he sounded. In the gentle light of the fading afternoon, Jared looked especially young to him.

“Nothing ‘technical’ about it, Jared. Getting as far as you have at your age is nothing short of amazing,” Jensen reassured him. Jared rose abruptly to his feet, shoving the used bandage into one of his pockets. Cocking his head to the side, Jensen pondered over the reasons why Jared was embarrassed by the truth and then it dawned on him.

“No one tells you that, do they?” he realized as he stood as well.

Jared didn’t look up, fiddling with his watch instead. “Prof. O does, but that’s just because he’s responsible for me. Because he likes me,” Jared tacked on as he finally met Jensen’s gaze.

“I like you,” Jensen admitted in a low voice. “And even if I didn’t,” he continued while taking a step closer, “I’d still think you were amazing.”

“Really?” Jared whispered.

“Yeah, but something tells me I would always like you, no matter how we met.” There was hardly any space between them. And it wasn’t close enough for Jensen.

“Dinner,” Dayuma called out, making Jensen pull up short. He laughed roughly. Seemed Moipa’s people were bound and determined to come between them. He met Jared’s eyes, smirking ruefully. Jared took a step back, but his chest rose and fell unevenly. Jensen wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness and that mollified him a great deal.

“Later,” he exhaled into Jared’s ear as he followed Dayuma into the largest longhouse as the sun disappeared from the sky.

The distinctive aroma of roast pork greeted them the moment they stepped inside the communal building. Like breakfast, the four cooking fires were crackling madly, orange splotches of light bouncing along the walls of the structure. However, everyone was in attendance for the meal this time. Dayuma led them over to “their” spot, where there was a space between Moipa and Umi, both of whom were proudly wearing their new shirts. And Kampeti was also in attendance. His expression was as grave as ever, although it did nothing to dampen the playful mood of the others around their fire. When Jensen’s paternal grandfather had been alive, all it had taken was one scowl from him to silence the entire dinner table. That was most definitely not the case here. Kampeti was afforded respect without fear. Jensen, however, was still a little nervous around the severe man. There was an aura about the man he couldn’t quite explain and it set him on edge. Probably a natural reaction to believing his fate was in the man’s hand. Jensen shook his head at his own melodramatic line of thought. 

“Everything all right?” Jared murmured from beside him, perceptive as ever.

“Absolutely,” he assured the younger man. “I’m only worried my stomach is about to growl as loud as yours always does around mealtime.” And before Jared had a chance to offer a comeback, his stomach sounded off noisily. Everyone around their fire chuckled. Even Kampeti’s stony exterior cracked, the corners of his lips turning upwards like they had to fight gravity to do so.

When they were seated, they were both handed carved plates heaped high with the juiciest pork tenderloins Jensen had ever seen. The pale cuts of meat were covered in a piquant sauce that tickled Jensen’s nose hairs when he got a whiff of it. There was definitely heat to the sauce, balanced by the hunks of barbecued pineapple. At Kampeti’s nod, they practically dove into the food.

Between mouthfuls of the succulent pork, which did pack a kick with whatever spices had been added to the sauce, Jensen watched Dayuma pass around a large platter of what looked a hell of a lot like French fries. He was gobsmacked.

“French fries?” he asked Jared after he swallowed a mouthful of peccary.

Jared dragged the back of his hand across his lips. All that did was manage to smear the sauce across them, leaving them glossy and flushed from the heat of the peppers. “Probably yuka fries,” he mumbled, still chewing. “That’s from the edible portion of the manioc root.” He nodded encouragingly when the platter was presented to Jensen, so the older man helped himself to a handful as did Jared.

They were heartier than any steak fries he had eaten before and he was an instant fan. “Thank you very much,” he told Kampeti through Dayuma.

“We’re very grateful,” Jared added.

Kampeti dipped down his head, but not before his gaze rested on Moipa for a moment. There was no need for Dayuma to translate. The gratitude was returned in kind.

As the meal progressed, the festive air from earlier returned. Voices slowly rose in decibel and everyone was growing more excited for the ceremony that was set to follow. And, in keeping with that mood, another beverage besides water began to make its rounds amongst the people. When Umi returned to their circle with a large gourd, she handed it to Jared first. The kid smiled when he accepted it, but Jensen noticed the tiny frown that flitted across his face. Leaning against him, he peered into the container. The liquid was pale and cloudy-white, like watered-down, nonfat milk.

“What is it?” he whispered softly to Jared. The kid didn’t say a word, just took a hefty swig.

“Good,” he told everyone with a grin and handed it off to Jensen. Since the kid deemed it safe, Jensen had a small sip. He smacked his lips after the one swallow, feeling heat in his belly and the tell-tale tingle in his toes that indicated whatever he had drank was alcoholic in nature. But Jared wasn’t wrong; it was very good.

The gourd made its way around their “table” and when he thought no one was paying them any mind, he quietly asked Jared, “What was that about?”

“It’s palm wine,” he replied and Jensen had heard of that before. Given all the various trees around, he didn’t get what was weird about that and said as much.

Cheeks rosier than Jensen had ever seen them, Jared grinned lopsidedly. “It’s not weird, really. But no one has documented uncontacted people drinking the stuff.”

“They don’t have alcohol?” Jensen was surprised.

“No, they do, but no one’s ever recorded it as being palm wine. This,” he indicated as he took another healthy swallow since the community cup had come back to them, “is something you traditionally see amongst people on the African continent. Not South America.”

“Another something for you to puzzle over,” Jensen teased as he drank again. He, too, was growing warm and loose, and he knew that was only partially due to the wine. A bigger part was the food and the company. He smiled as Jared leaned against him comfortably, familiarly. Jared’s companion, who had sat patiently the entire time on the kid’s head, let out a squawk when Jared listed to the side.

“I think somebody’s hungry,” Jensen laughed.

“Oh, that was rude,” Jared chuckled. “I forgot he was there.” And he awkwardly waved a fried yuca piece over his head until the little monkey snatched it from his unsteady hand and began to gnaw across it like it was corn on the cob. Everyone nearby laughed or smiled indulgently. And it struck Jensen that he and Jared might be viewed as rude, too. They had saved Moipa, but the boy’s people had taken them in, fed them, sheltered them and would most likely lead them out of the rainforest tomorrow. He wanted to offer something by way of thanks, but didn’t really have anything of value with him. He briefly considered his phone and then discarded the idea. While the technology might have been amazing to them, he and Jared would probably still need that to get out. And then he remembered the lighter.

While Jared continued to feed the monkey, Jensen pulled out the lighter. Kampeti was instantly curious. Clearing his throat, he told the man through their interpreter, “I wish I had more to say ‘thank you’. But I want to give you this.” At least, he hoped that was what he had said in Portuguese. Then he made a point of flicking the lighter several times and extinguishing the flame to demonstrate how it worked. “This makes,” and he pointed to the fire, “easy.” And then he held it out for Kampeti to take. Even as he did, it dawned on Jensen that the lighter would eventually run out of fuel and become useless. “I am sorry it won’t last forever.”

The older man stared at Jensen for what seemed like a long time before he shook his head negatively and Jensen worried he had somehow insulted their host. He spoke to Dayuma, who, in turn, relayed his words, but they were beyond Jensen’s ability to translate. He turned to Jared, but the kid had his hand tangled up in his hair, apparently trying to help the monkey find the bits of manioc he had dropped there. “Jared,” he hissed, “what did Dayuma say?”

Jared’s face was more flushed than ever and his eyes were sparkling. The wine agreed with him. Figures the kid would be a lightweight. “Hmm?” he asked.

Dayuma repeated Kampeti’s words and Jared grew somewhat serious. Or as serious as a slightly inebriated person with a monkey on his head could be. “Kampeti said that they have the knowledge how to build a fire, which is enough for them.” He paused and scrunched up his nose as he tried to concentrate on his translation. “Everything is transient in life. But it is a wise and content person who is able to recognize what he can depend on.”

When Jensen turned his head back to Kampeti, he noticed the man was studying Jared closely before he nodded knowingly to Jensen.

The serious moment was broken when Dayuma giggled at the growing mess of Jared’s hair. “Let me,” she said and stood behind him to pull Jared’s “guest” free. Once again, the monkey was not about to give up his choice seat and screeched his displeasure, hanging onto Jared’s curls for dear life as Dayuma tried to work him loose. And then the monkey did what many animals would when stressed – he urinated. While he was mostly off of the kid, some of it did splatter the back of Jared’s shirt. Everyone, including Jared, laughed uproariously. Finally free, the monkey cried and yowled until the little boy showed up and he latched himself onto the toddler contentedly, Jared apparently forgotten.

“He marked you,” Jensen joked, “like you’re his favorite tree.”

“Who wouldn’t want to climb me?” he quipped, peering at Jensen through the tangle of his bangs, tongue a pink distraction caught between his teeth.

“Off,” Dayuma urged Jared, pulling at his newly-soiled shirt as she gave Umi some instructions. The younger girl jumped to her feet and made her way over to where the water that everyone had rinsed their hands with before eating was kept. Jared reluctantly allowed Dayuma to help him lift his t-shirt off and then crossed his arms self-consciously over his bare chest. Jensen used the opportunity to appreciate the view. In the ruddy glow of the fire, Jared’s muscles appeared ridiculously defined and Jensen was reminded of the lean, perfectly proportionate statues he had seen in a museum in Athens that followed the “golden ratio”. Between the wine and the embarrassment, Jared’s blush had travelled down his throat and seeped into the skin of his chest, deepening the color of his nipples. Although it wasn’t cold, they stood out in peaked attention. Jensen unconsciously licked his lips.

Umi’s startled gasp broke through his revelries, however. The young girl was standing directly behind Jared, speaking excitedly to Dayuma and pointing at the kid. Jared tried to crane his head and neck around, clearly confused by what was going on until Umi began to trace her finger along his back and then he stilled.

“My tattoo, I think,” he said to Jensen.

Kampeti snapped at Dayuma and Jensen had the fleeting suspicion that Moipa’s people were offended by the design. Jensen had seen firsthand the way they decorated their faces for certain occasions, so they weren’t strangers to markings, but maybe there was something about snakes that was taboo.

“Turn around,” Kampeti ordered through Dayuma and Jared reluctantly gave the older man an unrestricted view of his back.

“What’s going on, Jared?” Jensen wasn’t able to hide the worry in his voice as the shaman got up and moved over to the space Umi had vacated. Jensen was hard-pressed to keep his seat, but the older man waved his hand dismissively at him like Jensen was foolish to be concerned and the knot of tension twisting in his stomach unraveled then.

Kampeti asked Jared something and he nodded. The shaman dragged his wrinkled finger slowly along the length of the snakes, starting with the black one on the left and ending with the skeletal version on the right. He frowned as his finger passed over the nearly impossible to see bit of raised scar tissue hidden by the design.

Jensen tried his best to follow along without constantly asking Jared to translate, but he was getting lost. He guessed the kid was explaining his childhood condition to the man. When he got to the part about how his spine was partially outside his body, there was a collective gasp from everyone but Kampeti. He only looked thoughtful.

“Which one is you and which one is him?” was what Jensen thought he asked Jared then. Apparently, they all thought Jared and he were linked together and that there could be no other meaning to the design. Lost in his deliberations, Jensen hadn’t noticed that Dayuma had been silent.

Cutting his eyes towards Jensen briefly, Jared cleared his throat and sat straighter. “I am the one on the right. I am the one who collects the stories of our past,” Jared explained. Jensen thought that was a damn apt description for what the kid did. He cringed inwardly as he wondered how Jared would explain his profession to these people. There was no way it wouldn’t sound foolish and wasteful to them.

“Jensen is the one on the left. He’s the storyteller. He brings our past to life and shares it with the people.” And maybe Jensen’s mouth hung open unattractively just a tiny bit. It was such a beautiful way to explain his work and one he didn’t think it deserved. But Kampeti only grunted in approval.

“I think it is time,” the shaman announced suddenly and the women collectively left the longhouse, only to return minutes later carrying small bundles wrapped in banana leaves. A group of two to three women knelt by each fire as they unwrapped their packages, while other women entered holding necklaces of flowers and feathers – all red. The smaller bundles revealed sticky, coagulated lumps that they left near the fire. The ones carrying the cords with the flowers woven into the strands began to tie them around the men’s biceps. Even he and Jared were thusly adorned. A few of the older men were also given wreaths of flowers and feathers for their heads, while a crown of fronds was placed on Kampeti’s. The green spears of the leaves made him an imposing sight, like he wore a crown of gigantic thorns.

Jared mumbled something about his shirt, but the women paid no attention. Apparently, they wanted his tattoo to be on display for the ceremony. “They’re really taken with it,” Jensen mentioned, jerking his head in the direction of the kid’s back.

“Yeah,” Jared confessed, “although that surprised me.”

The women busied themselves, fussing with their contents. No one was paying attention to them, so Jensen asked, “Why?”

Jared pressed closer and lowered his voice. “Snakes are often feared here, but they’re revered in Pre-Columbian Maya mythology. They’re believed to carry the sun and stars across the heavens. And,” he lowered his mouth to Jensen’s ear, “the whole skin shedding has obvious ties to rebirth and renewal. Vision Serpents are the most important. They are a means for people to speak to the ancestor. In art, they are often depicted as having a human head emerging from their jaws.” And he gave Jensen a meaningful look.

“And you told them part of your body came out back there,” Jensen breathed.

Jared fidgeted nervously. “About as brilliant as telling them we fell from the sky. I think I put my foot in it this time.”

Jensen had to admit it was obvious in retrospect how things could be grossly misinterpreted. But there was nothing they could do about it and no one seemed insulted or angry. He told the kid as much, which did little to alleviate his discomfort. Jensen knocked his shoulder into Jared’s. “You just made us sound really cool. It’s what anyone does on a first date.” Jared’s lips quirked upward and Jensen counted it as a win. “Hey, what are they doing now?” he wondered.   

The lumps by the fire had apparently softened enough, allowing Dayuma and the others to use sticks to drag the gummy substance along the men’s wrists. They also painted trails along their chests and legs.

“Tree sap,” Jared announced, stuffing his watch in a pocket for safekeeping, since both he and Jensen had their wrists encircled with the stuff. Then, with delicate care, the women stuck downy, white feathers into the resin, decorating their bodies completely. Jensen only had his wrists lined with them, but Jared, still bare-chested, had his torso marked as well as his cheeks.

The women dotted the resin into most of the men’s hair and then affixed feathers there as well. They only skipped Kampeti, Jared and him when it came to that.  And Jensen noted that the women did not decorate themselves or the children in the slightest. He was dying to ask why, but the whole procedure had taken on such a reverent, serious tone, he was afraid questioning them would be disrespectful and kept quiet instead.

The final step was Dayuma placing the necklace Kampeti had worn when they had first arrived about his neck. Jensen was once again fascinated by the various pieces that dangled from it. Discreetly, he tried to get a better look at it by the firelight, curious what the oddly-shaped and brightly colored pieces were. They were unnatural beside the shells and stones that neighbored them.

“Are those plastic?” he whispered to Jared.

The kid flicked his eyes to the shaman’s necklace and then nodded. “Probably bits of pesticide containers.”

“What?” Jensen almost gasped, remembering to keep his voice quiet only at the last moment.

The kid shrugged sadly. “Like I mentioned before, loggers aren’t the only threat around here. I would take that,” Jared dipped his head slightly indicating Kampeti’s ornament, “as a clear sign that they’ve had run-ins with soy farmers.”

“God,” Jensen exhaled, “they can’t catch a break, can they? They can’t lose this,” he waved his hands around the longhouse but his gesture encompassed so much more. “There’s got to be something we can do.” The last part was said mostly to himself, but when Jensen glanced up, he caught Kampeti staring directly at him like he had understood every word Jensen had uttered.  

“Come, let us talk with our ancestors,” the shaman announced once he had torn his eyes away from Jensen.

One by one, they exited the longhouse. Night had enveloped the jungle in its comforting blanket of darkness. The women had apparently been extremely busy. Besides collecting the supplies to decorate the hunters, they had stoked the large fire near the hunting lodge, as well as created a circle of flames around it. The shape was comprised of puddles of resin they had lit up, surrounding the structure protectively. And cresting above the trees, the moon shone down on them. It was huge and bloated – a white whale in its black, velvet sea. Jensen shivered although it was by no means chilly.

Once all the people were outside, they began to chant. It wasn’t quite singing and it wasn’t quite shouting, but fell somewhere in the middle. Quiet and hesitant to start, the intensity of their sound quickly grew louder, insistent somehow, and the people began to sway to their strange tune. Slowly, the men started to move around the lodge, turning and stomping their feet in a simple dance to accompany the song. It was impossible to resist. Even Jared was shifting where he stood. The jungle had fallen silent around them, as though straining to listen, and their cries reminded Jensen of György Ligeti’s "Requiem". The dissonant chords of the chanting had unsettled him when he first heard them during Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 and they left him now with the same unease. The air around them was practically vibrating with the sound.  

“We will see our ancestors tonight,” Kampeti announced knowingly. “Like the animals and the forest itself, all our spirits are together in the sky. It is home and we are welcome.”

A few of the people wiped at their eyes, overcome with emotion. The whole scene was beautiful and terrifying in its intensity. Moipa’s father was the first to part the fronds of the narrow lodge and disappear inside. One by one, each man followed suit. Jared moved against his side, caught up in the spell of their prayers and Jensen found himself shifting in place as well. He didn’t know if it was the solemnity of the occasion or the alcohol he had consumed, but his heart rate steadily picked up in a strange excitement. As the lodge swallowed up the men, Jensen wondered what they saw inside. It was only when Jared made a small, imperceptible step forward that the spell was shattered for him. For no reason rooted in logic, he did not want Jared to go inside.

“Don’t,” Jensen insisted as he grabbed Jared’s hand. The younger man twisted around and Jensen was mesmerized by his eyes in the firelight. Kampeti had been right. All the colors of the world were in there. “Stay here with me.” And Jensen tugged him closer while another went inside the lodge.

“Yes,” Jared agreed and stepped back towards him. Over the kid’s shoulder, Jensen saw Kampeti smile.

“You two already speak with the spirits. Tomorrow, you will go home, too,” he announced.

Inexplicably nervous, Jensen licked his lips and nodded. He slung his arm around Jared’s slender waist and held him close. Vaguely, he was aware that more people had ducked into the lodge, which couldn’t possibly hold that many comfortably. He’d long lost track of Dayuma, so how had he understood the shaman so clearly? With Jared practically curled along his side, Jensen was overcome by the sweet aroma of the soap he had washed with along with the musky scent that was Jared’s alone. It blotted out every other care he had. Rolling his lower lip into his mouth, Jensen hooked his fingers around the kid’s neck and pulled his head down until Jared’s ear rested against his full mouth.

“Come with me,” he exhaled and Jared trembled against him.

“Yes,” Jared repeated without hesitation. “Of course.”

Jensen didn’t wait for him to say anything more. Tucking him against his side, Jensen steered them towards their shelter. Like the other longhouses, a fire burned inside, lighting the way with its siren call. He nudged Jared inside, before he stole a last look backward. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him, but Jensen swore Kampeti was the only person left outside the lodge, although the singing hadn’t stopped. If anything, it was louder and more vibrant. The shaman struggled with a large piece of wood and heaved it into the fire. A shower of sparks flew upwards, like a swarm of fireflies suddenly set loose into the heavens. With a last glance at Jensen, the shaman smiled and disappeared into the lodge. Jensen almost reluctantly went inside, but the promise of Jared, warm and beautiful, was too much to resist.

The kid hadn’t gotten much farther than the entryway. He was staring at a very large lump on the floor, placed near the crackling flames. It took Jensen’s eyes a moment to adjust to the change in lighting before he was able to identify what it was.

“I guess they felt bad about us sleeping on the floor,” Jared said lightly, using his toe to nudge the woven sack stuffed with kapok fluff. It was large enough to fit them both comfortably.

Giving the bedding on the floor a quick perusal (and it was not lost on Jensen that there was only one pallet), Jensen had to agree. “Is that the netting you were supposed to be weaving earlier today?” he asked with a smirk.

“Mocking my skills, Ackles?” Jared retorted, trying to puff up his chest.

If the kid had been aiming for Tarzan with the gesture, he had missed the mark by a mile. In the flickering light, decorated with flowers and feathers, he resembled a fey spirit instead. The shadows only enhanced the exotic tilt to his eyes and Jensen was enchanted.

Crowding into his space, Jensen threaded his fingers through Jared’s silky hair and drew him into a kiss. It was hesitant at first, almost shy, and Jensen was distantly aware of the fact that he had to raise himself up slightly on the balls of his feet to do it. The only other time that had ever happened was when he shared his first kiss with Sally Farber after Mr. Cranshaw’s math class in fifth grade. Sally was the tallest person in their class by a good, few inches. She had stood there, sunlight bouncing off her curls, explaining to him how to calculate the volume of a cylinder and Jensen couldn’t resist. It had been sweet and amazing in its inherently illicit nature – a stolen moment he had always cherished. This kiss was like that first one all over again, just as thrilling, making his heart pound.

He breathed against the younger man’s lips, dragging his mouth across the tender flesh, only the barest hint of pressure in the movement. It was like breathing more than anything else – primal and basic and necessary. Jensen sighed gratefully when Jared snaked his long arms around his waist and pulled him flush against his hard, young body. Jared’s growing erection rubbed deliciously against his own. He moaned into Jensen’s mouth and Jensen ate the sound up. Releasing his hold on the younger man’s hair, Jensen slipped his hands along the length of his throat before cupping them around Jared’s lean shoulders. He slowly walked him backwards, still kissing, until Jared’s feet bumped against the mattress Moipa’s people had left them.

“C’mon,” Jensen urged him once he released the kid’s lips, kneeling carefully down and guiding Jared with him in his descent. With Jared seated on the surprisingly soft pad, Jensen trailed his fingers across his nipples, delighting in the way the darker flesh puckered and stiffened under his touch. He traced the kid’s abs, following the faint line of feathers, and Jared’s breathing stuttered, muscles contracting and twitching under the gentle onslaught.

“So beautiful,” Jensen exhaled and Jared’s face heated up.

“Not,” he murmured, trying to hide behind his hair. There was no coquettishness in the declaration, no blatant request to hear more platitudes. This was a person who didn’t believe it.

Jensen gently chucked Jared under his lowered chin with a loose fist. “Yes, you are.” And to seal the words, he surged forward to kiss those swollen, candy-colored lips, which willingly opened up for him. When he finally pulled back, Jensen admired the swollen, spit-shiny mouth and Jared’s dazed expression. A feral possessiveness rose up in him at the sight of what he had done. With a great deal of difficulty, Jensen abandoned Jared’s lips and dragged his hands down the never-ending length of the kid’s legs. Keeping his eyes on Jared’s face, Jensen fumbled with the ties on the kid’s boots, almost mirroring the tender way that Jared had undone his that first night when his hand had ached. With more care than he thought he possessed at the moment, Jensen scooted away only long enough to deposit them, Jared's socks and his own footwear near the fire before hurrying back. Jared had only moved enough that he was leaning back on his elbows, eyes riveted on Jensen.

Licking his own lips, Jensen let his gaze crawl up and down Jared’s body, undecided where he wanted to begin tasting him. Their meal might have been sumptuous, but it had done nothing to quell a different kind of hunger Jensen was slowly becoming consumed with. He crawled the short distance separating them and stretched out alongside Jared, the firelight streaming between them, and propped himself up on one elbow. With featherlight touches, Jensen traced the curve and dip of the younger man’s collar bones with the seriousness of a man mapping out unchartered territories. Jared remained silent, although his breathing quickened. His exquisite eyes grew dark, like stormy seas, as he clearly became aroused.

“Jensen –” he started, but Jensen shook his head, softly dragging his finger down the line of Jared’s nose and tapping his mouth lightly. Reflexively, the younger man’s lips parted and Jensen let his finger rest against the plush pad of Jared’s lower one. Hesitantly, the tip of Jared’s tongue touched the digit and Jensen’s eyes fluttered shut, his mind bombarded with images of that tongue giving his straining cock kitten licks.

“I love you,” he blurted out when he opened his eyes again. A variety of emotions cascaded over Jared’s face. The most worrying were the ones that resembled fear and doubt. Jensen couldn’t stand that.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he continued. “I know that. Jesus,” he hissed and shook his head, sobered by the sincerity of his emotions. When he raised his eyes back up, Jared was gnawing at the corner of his lip. “I thought I was in love once before,” he confessed, brushing his thumb against the abused flesh to stop Jared. “It was quick and easy and I thought that made it real.” He paused and then combed the fingers of his free hand through Jared’s tangled locks, comforted by the heat of his skull against his palm. In the distance, thunder rolled across the sky and there was still the faint echo of singing.

“And maybe you’re thinking this is just a line and that I want to get laid.” Jared’s eyes flicked to the side briefly – a screaming tell. “I do want you, Jared. I want all of you.” He shifted closer, the crushed flowers around his biceps releasing the last of their rich perfume. “I want to know everything about you and I want a lifetime to find out all those things. I’d like easy, but I’m ready for hard. Because this,” he paused to lay wet, lazy kisses on Jared’s face, glad the downy tufts had already fallen off as he tongued that tantalizing mole near his nose, “will take work.” Jensen pressed dozens more along Jared’s jaw. “And trust, which doesn’t come easy to either of us, I suspect.” He rolled Jared underneath him as he nuzzled against the moist skin of the kid’s neck. As his beard scrapped against Jared’s throat, he felt Jared shudder, so he did it again to savor that vibration a second time. “But you are worth it.”

When he pulled back enough to see Jared’s face clearly, he noticed the kid’s eyes swimming in tears. “Hey now,” he soothed, dragging his thumb along the delicate skin under his eyes. “No tears.” He meant the words to sound like a command, but they came out a plea instead. Uncertain, hesitant fingers pressed against his broad chest, unconsciously seeking the skin hidden by his wife-beater.

“I think,” Jared croaked, “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Saving myself for this moment in time.”

Jensen studied his earnest expression, brushing wayward strands of hair out of his eyes. He pushed himself into a sitting position, straddling Jared’s narrow hips. He reached behind his shoulder and, with one hand, yanked his shirt over his head. He used it briefly to wipe the feathers that lingered around his wrists free, as well as the ones that insisted on clinging to Jared’s torso, before tossing the dirty thing off to the side. Jared’s eyes were fixed on him as he slowly undid the cords around his arms and he made a subtle show of flexing his biceps once the flowered armlets fell away. He had a hunch that Jared appreciated his muscular arms if the way he was licking his lips was any indication.

“Can I?” Jensen requested, before reaching down to undo Jared’s adornments, all the while subtly rocking his hips against the kid’s in a rhythm as old as time.

Nodding, Jared struggled to speak. When he finally found his voice, it was already wrecked. “Make love to me?” And his expression, as he peered up at Jensen, was earnest and heartbreaking.

Jensen paused in his task to nuzzle against his ear. “I am,” he exhaled against the hard flesh there.

Squirming in place (and that was doing terrible things to Jensen’s restraint), Jared shook his head almost violently side to side, hair tumbling back across his eyes. “No, I want you to…” and he trailed off, suddenly shocked at his own brazenness.

Jensen leaned back enough to get a good look at the kid, but not far enough away so that Jared would think he had changed his mind. “Jared,” he began softly, “we don’t have anything.” And Jensen didn’t think Jared would ever know how much that had cost him, because he wanted nothing more than to sink into him and feel that connection forged between them.

Looking up with what could only be described as mournful, puppy eyes, Jared admitted. “I’m clean. I mean, I’ve never been tested, but I’ve never,” and he wiggled a hand as if that explained everything. “Are you?”

And, yes, Jensen was clean. As soon as he had found out that Misha wasn’t who had made himself out to be, it had dawned on him that there might have been other lies between them. He’d gotten tested immediately and then repeated the test six months later, confirming that he was indeed disease-free. And he hadn’t been with anyone since Misha. He was very, very clean. And very, very hard.

“You’ve never?” was what came out of his mouth instead. “Not even,” and his eyes darted down below the waist of Jared’s pants before he looked up again, licking his lips.

Jared’s brow bunched up in a ridiculous pattern of wrinkles. Jensen had to hold back his laughter. He realized he liked riling the kid up. “I’m not some confused tween,” Jared huffed. “No sex means no sex. No one’s lips have been below my neck and mine haven’t been anywhere else either.” He even tried to cross his arms indignantly over his chest.

And Jensen wanted to see the humor in it all, but all that was rattling around in his head was that Jared was truly untouched. “Good boy,” he growled, lowering himself down enough to suck hungrily at those pouting lips. Jared all but melted against him, tentatively pressing his hands against Jensen’s bare chest, prodding and testing the hard muscles that shifted and flexed beneath his skin.

“No one but me,” he rasped when they finally broke apart, “gets to touch you like that.”

Glassy eyed, Jared nodded dumbly.

“But you’ve touched yourself, right?” Jensen was curious just how much Jared knew about himself.

“Yes,” he admitted, hunching up his shoulders bashfully.

It was a funny thing. Jensen didn’t think someone’s inexperience could be such a turn-on, but it was definitely winding him up. The first drops of rain hit their roof and muffled the last of Kampeti’s distant chants.

“How?” he prodded, pressing down enough that Jared’s hips stuttered of their own volition against the hot pressure bearing down on him.

“You know,’ Jared stammered, turning his head away, rosy in the firelight.

“So you’ve stroked yourself, huh?” he questioned, lips and tongue pulling sounds unbidden out of the younger man during the breaks in conversation.

“Of course,” and whatever indignance the kid had hoped to convey was lost in that breathy declaration.

Licking the curve of Jared’s ear, Jensen whispered, “Where else have you touched yourself, Jared? Because I know you have with those naughty, long fingers of yours. I bet you’ve rolled those beautiful balls of yours with them, haven’t you?” He punched his hips forward, almost against his will, and Jared tossed his head back with a long sigh.

“Yessss,” he hissed like a snake.

“And maybe you let your fingers wander farther?” Jensen held his breath, curious and excited. He’d had his fair share of sexual experiences in his life and while he had tried both ways, Jensen felt the most satisfied when he was the one inside his partner. He couldn’t deny he hoped Jared’s wants would mesh with his own. “Maybe you wondered what it would feel like for something to be inside you?”

“Yes,” Jared admitted.

“And?” Jensen prodded, one hand tripping down Jared’s taut stomach to caress the defined angle of his hipbone.

“And it wasn’t…” Jared huffed, trying to hide his face.

It wasn’t what he liked, Jensen mind filled in for him, trying not to be disappointed. It wasn’t what he wanted, it added unhelpfully.

But he needed to know. He needed to know what Jared needed – what made him happy. “It wasn’t what, sweetheart?”

“It wasn’t enough,” Jared finally snapped, snatching his hands back from their exploration of Jensen’s pectorals.

Jensen couldn’t hide his pleased smirk. He caught one of the kid’s nervous hands in his and urged him to press it against his insanely rigid cock. They both groaned at the press of flesh then. “Do you think that might be enough?” Jensen demanded, his voice strangled and strange in his own ears.

“Oh, God,” Jared mumbled, fingers scrabbling against the hidden length. “Yes.”

Jensen sat back enough to slowly, teasingly unzip his pants. It probably wasn’t as graceful or erotic as it could have been, but he managed to shuck both his trousers and his underwear off, baring himself completely before Jared’s fevered eyes. While he did so, he noticed the rain had picked up its familiar tempo, splattering against the roof, and that was all that he heard. The weather cocooned them in its solitude. It was like they were the only two in the world just then.

“May I?” Jensen requested, fingers dipping inside Jared’s waistband. The younger man dragged the back of his hand across his lips, but lifted up his hips in wordless invitation. Jensen’s hands shook as he practically yanked the pants and the threadbare boxers underneath free. He had no idea where he threw them in his haste to plaster his body against the long, lithe expanse of Jared’s. Sweat made them slippery as he rutted against Jared. Nothing had ever felt this good before.

 “So we can…” the younger man trailed off hopefully.

Jared might never understand how much Jensen’s answer cost him. “We can’t,” he admitted, settling himself along the younger man’s side, trying to regain a modicum of control.

Rolling onto his side, too, Jared practically whined, “Why not? Don’t you want me?”

“You have no idea how much, sweetheart,” Jensen exhaled, noticing how Jared, despite his frustration, beamed a little at the endearment.

“Then why not?” he whispered, edging closer to press a few kisses of his own along Jensen’s sweaty neck.

“Because,” he groaned at the loving touch, “we still don’t have anything.” It took everything in him to gently create space between them.

“Huh?” Jared hummed, with a cockeyed expression and Jensen was reminded how innocent Jared was.

“Lubrication, Jared,” he finally told him. “We don’t have any.”

Sucking along the juncture of Jensen’s neck and shoulder, Jared murmured determinedly, “But we can use spit, right?”

Jensen cupped the back of Jared’s skull in one hand, urging the kid closer. With his other hand, he grabbed furiously at his erection, squeezing himself at the base hard enough to stop the impending orgasm that threatened to incapacitate him with its blinding intensity.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his laughter rumbled out. When he had himself somewhat contained, he rolled them both back over so that Jared was tucked safely beneath him. Brushing the kid’s sweat dampened hair aside, he placed a surprisingly chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. The action was totally at odds with the throbbing heat between his legs.

“What?” Jared asked meekly.

“Spit only works if you want to hurt somebody or in badly written erotica. And I,” he placed another kiss on those blood-warmed lips of Jared's, “don’t ever want to hurt you. The first time can be tough and a little painful even if you have the right supplies. I won’t chance that with you right now. Our first time like that will be perfect and I will do everything in my power to make it good for you.”

Jared shimmied his body against Jensen’s, both their aching cocks bumping against one another. Twining his arms behind Jensen’s head, Jared tugged him closer and murmured wistfully. “Tell me how it will be.”

And staring into those stormy, tilted eyes of Jared, Jensen knew he’d never be able to deny him anything. He also knew there was more to lovemaking than penetration and he was going to give Jared what he could.

“Well,” he finally said, shifting over so that Jared’s body was completely exposed to his hungry eyes, “we would start off a lot like this, because I will never get tired of seeing all of you, open and willing, giving yourself over to me completely.”

Jared’s legs shifted restlessly and he tried to cover himself, suddenly sweetly shy.

“Uh uh, sweetheart,” Jensen chided him gently, capturing his hand and urging it back to his side. “I like to look at all of you, knowing that I’m the only one who ever gets this gift. And it is a gift,” he assured the younger man, stroking up and down his flank, partially to soothe and partially to excite him. He wanted Jared twisted up over the push and pull of affection versus desire. The younger man raised his hand to brush against Jensen’s jaw. He caught it, pressing his lips against Jared’s palm, before guiding it back down to rest beside his head.

“I’d ask you to hold as still as you can,” Jensen rasped, ducking down to lick a stripe up his throat, savoring the salty tang of the other man’s skin. “Because I know that will drive you crazy,” he continued when he tipped his head back to stare at Jared. “These long fingers,” and he gave Jared’s hand a soft squeeze, “are always in motion. You use them to communicate as much as you use your words and I know it will drive you to distraction to try and keep them in one place.”

“Why?” Jared gasped, Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to swallow.

“Because I like the idea of driving you crazy, darlin’,” he drawled. “You’re so smart,” he paused, fixing Jared with a serious stare so the kid wouldn’t even consider hiding from him, “and so collected all the time. I want to be the one to ruffle your feathers,” he smiled, brushing away the last traces of down from his chest, teasing a nipple along the way, twisting and tugging the turgid flesh. “Like that,” he confessed when Jared flinched and moaned at the touch. “I want to make you fall apart in every way, crack you open and slip inside, where no one else is invited.”

The kid’s hands clenched convulsively and Jensen knew it was a struggle for him to hold still. Swiping his tongue across his lips, Jared fought to get his breathing under control. “And then what would you do?” he demanded, rising to the challenge and it was Jensen who had to squeeze his eyes shut as he attempted to keep himself in check.

When he finally opened them again, Jared mouth was quirked up on one side. “Oh, I plan on spending a long time tasting every part of you, Jared. There won’t be a square inch of your skin that my tongue and lips won’t have mapped out and catalogued. Not,” he breathed wetly against Jared’s collarbone, “one,” he trailed his tongue lower, circling around the puckered flesh of one nipple, “square,” he paused his lavish attention on the one to roll the other nub between his thumb and forefinger, “inch,” he finished.

Jared’s hands practically clawed at their pallet and his hips stuttered upwards of their own accord. He was amazingly receptive to touch – his touch – and Jensen had to press his forehead against the other man’s shoulder to rein himself in. Both their cocks were weeping pre-come, sliding and bumping together with every pass and it was the most tantalizing torture.

Breathing harshly through his nose, grateful that the downpour would surely keep whatever sounds they made private, Jensen continued. “I would spend hours on these hip bones,” he promised, tripping his fingertips along their sharp edges before letting them wander along the cut of muscle and the faint trail of hair beyond. “And I’d tongue fuck your belly button until you were screaming.”

“Jensen,” Jared cried and he had to race to grip the kid’s hot length before he lost it. “Not yet, Jared,” he rasped in his ear, squeezing the base of his own cock, nearly losing it himself. Jared was firm and heavy in his hand, soft skin wrapped around unyielding iron. “God, you feel so good,” he growled, voice low and gravel-rough. He didn’t recognize himself.

“I’d eventually move on to this,” he panted, stroking Jared’s cock, spreading the pre-come up and down its angry length. The slide grew easy and he jerked Jared a few times before maddeningly coming to a halt. Jared moaned long and low.

Jensen shimmied down and brought the flared, mushroom tip close to his mouth. “You taste so good, Jared,” he sighed as he licked over the entire, purple head before sucking it into his mouth.

Jared whipped his head from side to side and he was practically screaming Jensen’s name. Releasing his cock with a juicy slurp, Jensen once again grabbed for the base to keep Jared from coming.

Blinking back tears, Jared pleaded, “Please. Oh, God, please.”

“I’m gonna make you wait, Jared,” he soothed, “because I want you to come when I've finally pushed inside you. Trust me, it will be worth it. I’m making myself wait, too, darlin’.”

Jared sighed desperately, legs twisting and flopping.

“After giving your pretty cock the attention it deserves,” he continued and he wondered where in the hell his control was coming from. His dick was practically drooling, hanging heavy between his thighs and he thought his balls were going to explode. Forgetting what he was going to say next, he maneuvered Jared, who was a writhing mess, like a rag doll on the pallet. He scooted lower, spreading those long legs wide, and settled between them. Pushing the knobby knees up towards the kid’s chest, he guided Jared’s hands to grip the back of his thighs.

“Hold tight,” he rasped. Jared mindlessly obeyed, exposing himself utterly to Jensen. His swollen cock slapped against his defined abdomen invitingly. He was too far lost in desire to let himself worry or feel inadequate, which was exactly where Jensen wanted him to be.

Nestled between the globes of his firm, pert ass was the most intimate part of the younger man. Jensen was in awe of the tiny, pink furl that fluttered helplessly as Jared’s body shook with want. “Just like that,” he croaked and ducked down to lick over the twitching opening. Jared tasted earthy, with lingering hints of vanilla from the soap and it was a struggle not to bury himself there, wanting to appreciate every nuisance of that unique flavor.

“I will spend so much time here it will leave you in tears, Jared,” he promised darkly.

“Jensen,” Jared begged, voice barely audible and Jensen took pity on them both. He rushed up, his own nipples grazing the boy’s stomach and chest as he did, causing both of them to quiver. Jared was strung out like a drug addict craving his next fix, hair matted against his forehead. Jensen knew, as he speared his tongue into the kid’s mouth, that the heat he found within would pale in comparison to what waited for him between Jared’s thighs. He began to rock against Jared, his cock sliding effortlessly in the groove of the younger’s man hip.

“I would lick up inside you, pressing against those velvet walls of your ass with my tongue, Jared,” he snarled into the kid’s ear. “Get you good and wet just from me before I drizzled so much lube inside you, you’d be dripping with it. But I need to get you sloppy wet,” he huffed, snapping his hips forward, “so that when I pushed my thick fingers inside, the only thing you’d feel is blinding pleasure, sweetheart.”

Jared dropped his thighs and flung his arms around Jensen’s broad shoulders while he wrapped those insanely long legs around his waist, urging Jensen’s hips to rock harder.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he begged Jensen and the older man couldn’t refuse, picking up the tempo of his thrusts.

“I’d curl them just right and rub up against your prostate,” he panted, blinking sweat out of his eyes. “Stars would shoot behind your eyelids, darlin’, and you’d beg me for my cock, knowing it was the only thing that could satisfy you then. And I would give you what you wanted, sliding in slow and careful, torturing us both with the pace. And like my fingers, it would find that magic bundle of nerves, hammering you until you came so hard, you’d pass out.”

Jensen lost the last semblance of control he had, rutting madly against Jared’s strong body, having driven himself as insane as he had the kid.

“Oh!” Jared screamed as he came, thick strands of come pulsing between them in time with his heart, making the glide of their bodies as smooth as silk. When Jensen’s balls pulled up tight, he forced open his eyes to lock them on Jared.

“I love you,” Jared croaked and that was it for Jensen. He came in ridiculous amounts, body no longer responding to his commands, while Jared crossed his ankles against his ass and egged him on. Blissfully spent, he collapsed on top of Jared, both of their chests heaving from the exertion, absently petting the kid’s hair.

When he eventually had a semblance of his wits about him, Jensen lifted back enough to smile down at Jared. The kid’s hands restlessly roamed up and down his arms and shoulders, idly tracing nonsensical patterns on his skin, but his smile was slow and lazy. Jensen ducked back down and gave him a long, languorous kiss, which Jared responded to as best he could. The kid was nearly unconscious, pliant and sated beneath him.

“Love you,” Jensen whispered when he reluctantly ended the kiss. He still pressed one to each, closed lid before he moved enough to grab Jared’s newly-cleaned shirt, which someone had kindly returned, and used it to wipe up their combined release as best he could. The younger man barely roused, spent and trusting throughout it all, murmuring a mostly unintelligible complaint about it being his shirt. Jensen tossed it aside, stoked their fire, and lay back down next to Jared.

The younger man curled against his side, resting his cheek over Jensen’s heart, head tucked under his chin.

“Love you, too,” he mumbled before falling asleep. Jensen wrapped his arms tight and held Jared close, pressing his mouth against the kid’s hair. The rain pounded harder and Jensen drifted off, content in a way he’d never been before in his entire life.

Chapter Text

Absently, Jensen brushed his fingers against his nose. He wasn’t quite awake, but the soft, wispy touches were vaguely annoying, like the feel of insects dancing back and forth against his skin. He tried again to swat them away without success. He didn’t want to wake up. He was warm and comfortable and he didn’t want to let that dream go. Grumbling under his breath, Jensen heard a gentle giggle and reluctantly opened one eye, scrunching the other tight at the same time. Looming over him was Jared’s sweet, smiling face framed by his sleep-tangled hair. Despite his jumbled awareness, Jensen couldn’t help but respond in kind.

Leaning down, Jared’s strands tickled across his face with butterfly whispers as he tilted his head from side to side, teasing him with the surprisingly erotic caresses and Jensen suddenly understood what had woken him. He reached up and guided Jared so that he shimmied completely on top of him. “I’m not much of a morning person,” he rasped, voice clogged and sticky with sleep, “but a man could get used to that kind of wake-up call, sweetheart.”

Jared tried to duck away, face flushing at the name, but Jensen wouldn't stand for it. “C’mere, darlin’,” he drawled, winding both his hands into that aggravatingly silky head of hair to urge Jared closer. The kid shifted his legs so that they fell on either side of Jensen’s hips, both their wide-awake cocks pressed against each other. Jared’s restless fingers tapped along the sides of his throat and shoulders as he lowered his mouth to Jensen’s obligingly, putting everything he had into the kiss.

When they broke apart breathlessly, Jared dropped his head down to Jensen’s shoulder. He sucked little kisses along their curve, tongue occasionally darting out to lick along the muscular tract of skin.

“What are you doing?” Jensen husked, hips bucking up against Jared’s when he felt the deliberate trail Jared made.

“Tasting those cinnamon freckles,” Jared whispered in his ear. “I couldn’t see them all last night,” he murmured as he continued to connect them with tongue and saliva. Jensen grabbed Jared by his shoulders and pulled him back up to his face so that he could kiss those pretty lips.

Mouths pressed together, Jensen tugged harder, causing Jared to lose his balance and collapse completely against his wide chest. Jensen loved the solid weight pressed against him. It meant Jared was real and his and right there. “God, I love you,” he husked. Their hips were already rocking against each other with the familiarity of longtime lovers.

“I-I need,” Jared stuttered. “I need you. Love you,” he gasped.

By sheer force of will, Jensen rolled them onto their sides. He wanted to fill Jared up as desperately as Jared wanted it, but this would have to do for the moment. He licked his right palm and slipped it down between their already sweaty bodies to catch ahold of their twin erections. Clumsily, he swiped his thumb over their heads, adding the pre-come to his hasty lubrication and slid his hand up and down their combined lengths. The sweat slicked them up quickly enough.

Jared’s head sagged back. “Uh,” he moaned lowly, growing stiffer by the second.

Working their hot cocks almost desperately, Jensen urged, “Look at me, Jared. Please, baby, look at me.”

Struggling as though his head was a giant boulder, Jared managed to meet Jensen’s intense gaze. Like he was drunk, the younger man fumbled his own hand down and joined him, wrapping his sinfully long fingers over Jensen’s. Together, they stripped their joined members in a frantic race to finish each other off. Jensen’s balls drew up tight and he struggled to keep his eyes fixed on Jared’s, which were half-lidded in desire and want. Jensen was so focused on him that his orgasm still managed to surprise him. His come added to the sticky mess and Jensen kept up the rhythm even as his cock wilted against Jared’s. When the younger man’s lips parted in a groan, Jensen smashed his full mouth against them, devouring each and every sound Jared made as he came. He let his own cock slip free, now ridiculously oversensitive, and continued to pump Jared’s to make sure he wrung every, last bit of pleasure out of him. Jared’s hand fell away uselessly while his release pumped out in thick spurts. He slumped onto his back, eyes slipping shut, breathless and spent.

Jensen gentled his frantic motions, carefully releasing Jared’s softening cock. “So beautiful,” he whispered as he moved to cover the younger man’s body with his own. He traced one of Jared’s eyebrows with the thumb from his clean hand, marveling at the connection he felt stretch between them, taffy sweet and endless.

He still rocked his body against Jared’s, unable to completely stop the soundless dance between them, not that he wanted to in the slightest. He stared at the younger man’s face, mesmerized by the flutter of his lashes like sooty smudges against his skin. Jared raised rubbery arms (and Jensen had done that, made Jared weak and boneless) to start that restless path his fingers followed along Jensen’s body again. He was coming to realize that Jared was perpetually in motion. Even in sleep, Jensen discovered there was an almost frenetic, mad energy to his boy. He wondered what it would take to truly exhaust the kid, a devilish smirk teasing his lips as he began to imagine all the ways he could try. He was definitely up for that challenge.

Jared smiled beneath him. “Penny for your thoughts,” he asked.

Jensen licked his lips, stole a quick kiss and pressed a second to the beauty mark beside Jared’s nose before pulling back enough to focus on Jared’s face clearly. “Contemplating all the ways I’m going to make you scream, darlin’,” he promised wickedly, pleased with the darkening flush that bled from Jared’s cheeks down his throat.

Jared cut his eyes to the side, uncertain and shy. “I want that,” he admitted quietly.

“I’ll give you anything you want, Jared,” Jensen confessed sincerely, all teasing aside.

Jared looked up into Jensen’s eyes, fingers playing nervously with the shortest hairs at the nape of his neck. “I just want you,” he replied. “The good, bad and in-between parts. Everything that makes you the man you are, okay? Will you give me that?”

Jensen was shocked by the sudden burn of tears in his eyes. “I can do that, sweetheart,” he croaked. “I can definitely do that.” Brushing Jared’s stringy bangs aside with his fingertips, he eventually dragged them lower until he circled that enticing mole of his.

Jared bunched up his shoulders bashfully. “You sure do like that,” he finally said.

“I do,” Jensen confirmed and bent down to lick it. “Almost as much as I like the one on your left ass cheek.”

Jared’s mouth fell open in a gasp of surprise and he looked downright scandalized. “Jensen,” he hissed.

Jensen rolled his hips lazily against Jared’s, enjoying how easy it was to work the younger man up. “Didn’t think I noticed, did you?” He pressed his lips against the kid’s ear. “If we had more privacy, I’d show you exactly how much I like it,” he promised.

Jared’s eyes slammed shut and he practically threw his head back even as his hips bucked upward, his body shuddering out of control. Jared was so God damned responsive that Jensen wanted to devote years discovering every reaction he could tease out of his body. “Gonna spend a long time on that beauty mark, licking and sucking it while you push that pretty, little ass up into my face, begging me for more. If I didn’t think somebody would walk in on us, I’d flip you onto your stomach right now for a preview of coming attractions,” he practically snarled.

It was the mention of an interruption that cooled both their ardors. Jared pried open his eyes unwillingly, blinking furiously as he tried to focus on the opening of their shelter, pinned upside down as he was. Jensen had to grudgingly admit their luck couldn’t hold out indefinitely and he decidedly did not want to see Moipa or Nampa’s interpretation of what they were currently doing replayed over and over again like the kissing was yesterday. He stretched his arm out and grab Jared’s shirt, once again wiping them up as best he could, with Jared giving him epic stink-eye.

“I have to wear that, you know. It’s the only shirt I’ve got left,” he grumbled.

“Then you shouldn’t have given up your other one to the first pretty girl that saw you naked,” Jensen winked as he sprang up to his feet, subtly flexing for Jared’s viewing pleasure. He figured since they’d mentioned it aloud, it was only a matter of minutes before the boys would come bursting in, looking for them. He found his pants and underwear in a careless heap off to the side and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he recalled why they were tossed aside with such abandon. As he sat down to slip on his socks and shoes, he also noticed their machete near the fire. Whoever had brought back Jared’s shirt must have returned their tool as well. It made sense, he mused as he tied his laces, if they were going to leave today; they’d probably need it. He rolled his head back and forth, working out a few kinks in his neck. Their mattress had been a wonderful surprise, but over the course of the night, it had flattened tremendously. Jensen wondered if it was all the rain and humidity that had caused it to deflate so noticeably. By morning, it had been little better than sleeping straight on the ground, although he wasn’t complaining. The gesture alone was touching. And the company was, bar none, the best he’d ever had.

He turned around in time to watch Jared’s nose wrinkle in dismay at his t-shirt and tried not to find the expression too adorable. “These are not going to pass for sweat stains,” he pouted.

Slipping on his own torn wife-beater, Jensen raked his fingers through his short locks before suggesting, “Then let’s duck out to the river and rinse it off. We can be back before anyone misses us,” he said.  Sticking his head outside, Jensen didn’t see anyone out and about and figured the light, early-morning rain and last night’s celebration were keeping everyone indoors, probably nursing hangovers and whatnot.

“Ok,” Jared agreed.

When Jensen turned back around, Jared was hopping in place as he tugged his pants up around his slim waist, buttoning them hastily. In the pale light, Jensen spotted a few love bites scattered about the kid’s chest and he couldn’t help puffing up in pride at those marks of ownership on display for anyone to see. He shook his head, surprised by the possessive feelings he’d never had for anyone before.

“You okay?” Jared asked solicitously, one hand on his arm, the other holding the balled-up shirt.

Jensen licked his lips and met Jared’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, it’s just,” and he paused before barreling on ahead, “I like seeing my fingerprints all over you, knowing that you’re mine. And I’m not like this usually,” he added honestly.

Jared lowered his head enough to let his bangs shadow his eyes and shield him. Jensen recognized the defensive nature of the gesture and hoped that eventually Jared wouldn’t feel the need to hide from him. “I like them, too” he admitted, skating his slender fingers over the marks, pausing to press at one or two. “I like knowing that I belong to somebody – to you.” The last part was said low enough that Jensen almost missed it. But he understood. Jared had a lifetime of believing that no one wanted him. It only made sense that a physical reminder would be something he treasured. Jensen was already picturing how Jared would react when he offered him a ring and was shaken by how natural and not terrifying in the least that vision was.

Jensen wiggled his fingers behind the waistband of the kid’s pants and tugged until Jared was flush against him. “You do belong to me,” he said, looking up into Jared’s indefinable eyes, “and I will make sure everyone knows it.” Combing through the kid’s unruly hair with his other hand, Jensen continued, “So strong and competent, but you just want someone to treasure you, don’t you? See you for what you’re worth.”

Chewing on the corner of his lip, Jared pushed himself up against Jensen. “I see you,” he whispered, “past all the masks you wear like a second skin. From the beginning, I’ve seen all of you.”

Jensen tugged Jared into another kiss, all teeth and tongue, wanting to consume the younger man because no one had ever said that to him before. “Sonofabitch,” he growled when he finally wrenched his lips away from Jared. “We are never going to get out of here if you keep talking like that, sweetheart. C’mon,” he practically snarled, clutching one of Jared’s hands in his. He paused by the doorway, but the coast was still clear.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, pulling Jared along behind him as they ducked out of the shelter and practically ran towards the river, giggling like schoolchildren playing hooky as they stumbled and skipped down the slippery path. The river was noticeably swollen from the previous night’s rain. While they didn’t have any soap this time, the current was strong enough that Jared worked most of the stains out of the material. While he stood along the bank, discreetly relieving himself because he had not forgotten about those damn fish, Jensen momentarily thought about grabbing the rope that the boys had used and swinging over to Jared like Tarzan. But, as he was zipping himself up, he noticed it wasn't really a rope, but one of the lianas that littered the rainforest.

“Huh?” he remarked to himself. He had been sure it had been a rope yesterday, but he shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t feel as confident trusting it with his weight and decided to pass, no matter how appealing playing Tarzan to Jared’s Jane might be.

He stood and appreciated the view as Jared squirmed into the wet shirt, the material clinging to his little nipples provocatively.

“All set, princess?” he joked, splashing water on his face and threading his damp hands through his hair. Although his cheeks had stopped itching, he was still dying to get rid of his beard and find out firsthand the feeling of dragging his bare face all over Jared’s body.

“Yes,” Jared scowled, slapping absently at a mosquito. The bugs had returned with a vengeance after the heavy rain and it was the first time since they’d arrived in the village that Jensen actually noticed the pests’ presence.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Jensen coaxed, holding out his hand. Jared’s frown melted away as he tangled his fingers with Jensen’s.

They walked back up slowly, enjoying the last moments of privacy they were sure to have for the rest of the day. Back in the village, where there was still no sign of anyone, Jensen noticed the lodge was gone and said as much.

“They probably burned it last night,” Jared shrugged. “Remember I mentioned that the Waodani burn their camps in a ritual when they leave them behind. These people probably share similar habits.”

Jensen scanned the area. The heavy rain from last night had all but tapered off, leaving everything soaking and dripping in its wake. “I don’t think they could have last night. Look,” Jensen pointed to the main longhouse. Part of its roof had collapsed, probably from the weight of the water. “If it was wet enough to do that, I seriously doubt they could have burned the lodge.”

“Dismantled then,” Jared amended, but Jensen noted the hint of uncertainty in the kid’s voice. As they walked past the burnt-out fire pit, they still didn’t spot a single person. When Jensen glanced over to Nimu’s perch, the giant eagle was nowhere to be seen; her tether a shredded length dangling from the large branch. Turning around, Jensen noticed that all the pet birds were gone. He unconsciously tightened his grip on Jared’s hand and led him wordlessly over to the main longhouse, which was oddly silent.

He stepped in first, keeping Jared close behind, but there was nothing to shield him from. The narrow, elongated structure was empty. Moreover, the way some of the fronds had collapsed inward and the absence of all but one or two cracked gourds on the ground by the walls lent a somber and abandoned air to it all.

“Where is everyone?” Jensen asked quietly, afraid to raise his voice and disturb something.

“Maybe they all go somewhere special after a ritual? Like a traditional cleansing or something?” Jared offered, but his suggestions were weak even to himself, judging by his expression.

“I think they went somewhere special, all right,” Jensen exhaled, remembering the tears in their eyes when Kampeti said they were going home, “and it wasn’t the river for a bath.”

“They didn’t just disappear,” Jared announced determinedly. And he ducked around the crooked doorway to march back toward the village center. Jensen gave the place a last glance, momentarily superimposing his memories of the lively, chatting families huddled together around the now-burnt out fire pits. The familiar faces already seemed like ghosts and a shiver tickled down his spine.

“Hey, wait up,” he called out, a few of the warnings from Scream ridiculously playing in his head about never saying, “I’ll be right back” and how splitting up was a no-no. He was not about to lose sight of Jared.

Back out under the overcast sky, it took Jensen a full, heart-clenching minute to find the kid. He finally spotted him along the periphery of the village, next to the gardens. “It’s a damn, good thing you’re so tall,” Jensen started, ready to berate Jared for wandering off, when he got a good look at the vegetable patches. “They’re gone,” he said. That phrase was starting to become a theme this morning.

“The rains were really heavy last night,” Jared mumbled. “They must have washed most of this away,” he waved his hand in the direction of the muddy plots, covered in fallen fronds and other detritus from the storm. “There’s a logical explanation for this,” he informed Jensen. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

And Jensen heard the scientist speaking then. The man who catalogued and studied and made sense out of unlikely patterns. “Okay,” Jensen agreed. “But before we go any further, let’s go back and get the machete,” he told Jared. When the kid appeared likely to object, Jensen reasoned, “They know we have it. They returned it to us, so I don’t think they’ll view it as threatening if we have it with us.”

Jared let out a breathy exhale and deflated. “You’re right,” he agreed, acknowledging the practicality.

Jensen took his hand and they walked back to their shelter. In the light of day, it, too, seemed shabbier than only a day ago. Their mattress, soft and fluffy last night, was as flat as a pancake this morning, showing more wear and tear on it than their activities could have caused. Jensen scooped up the machete, and found that the weight was comforting in his palm. As an afterthought, he jammed his other hand in his pocket, rummaging around for a moment before coming up empty.  

“What?” Jared prodded him in a small voice, but he didn’t sound like he actually wanted to know the answer to his question.

“The lighter’s gone,” he replied.

“Probably fell out when you threw your pants away,” Jared tried to smile. “It’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“Probably,” Jensen agreed. There were, after all, a million ways he could have lost it. But everything else was still there, including his phone.

Jared walked out, Jensen immediately behind him. “What do we know?” he prodded the younger man, wanting him to focus.

Jared turned around in place, studying everything with a critical eye. “The pets have all been released, the materials used to make the lodge are nowhere in sight, and there isn’t a single person here. After what was a very severe storm,” he added.

Jensen nodded along with Jared’s assessment and while he was a little frightened, he couldn’t deny a thrill of excitement, too. There was a hint of the supernatural in the strange turn of events, a mystery that might not have an answer and he was a part of it. “They disappeared, Jared, without a trace.”

Jared’s prominent forehead wrinkle and all its little clones appeared between his brows when he said that. “Without a trace? What do you call all this?” he stated, whirling around with his arms outstretched.

“All right,” Jensen agreed, flashing back to their conversation a thousand years ago on the plane. Jared had been quick to discount anything out of the ordinary back then, so Jensen shouldn’t have been surprised that he would be resistant now. “Just exactly who was here, Jared?”

The kid took a deep breath and then released it in a great whoosh. “I don’t know.” He dropped his arms and turned his head away slightly.

Jensen cocked an eyebrow, confused by the kid’s defeatist attitude. There was an honest-to-God mystery and they were smack dab in the middle of it. As someone who had devoted his life to ferreting out mysteries from the past and making sense of it all, Jared should have at least been intrigued by the possibilities. But he only looked betrayed.

“They said they’d help us, Jensen. Why would they do that and then just abandon us?” he admitted quietly, shamefully.

Abandoned.

Of course. Jared’s greatest fear.

Jensen set his machete on the ground and stepped over to wrap Jared up in his arms. “Hey, now,” he cajoled when Jared hid his face against Jensen’s neck. “It’s going to be all right. We’re gonna be fine,” he promised the kid, hugging him tight. He didn’t begrudge Jared his vulnerability. They’d had a reprieve from reality of their situation for a day or two and now it was all crashing in around them again.

When Jared finally lifted his head back up, his eyes were red and wet. “Sorry for being such a baby about this,” he sniffed. He tried to pull away, but Jensen wasn't having any of it and held him firmly in the circle of his arms.

“Jared,” he said, staring up into Jared’s eyes earnestly, “if I didn’t have you with me right now, I’d be a fuckin’ disaster. Seriously. You,” and he cinched his arms tighter around Jared’s waist, “keep me grounded. We’re in this together. And I’m not going anywhere,” he promised the younger man.

A tiny smile blossomed along Jared’s lips. “Okay,” he replied softly.

Reluctantly, Jensen let Jared move backwards. “We’ve got some options here to consider,” he began, giving Jared some time to collect himself. “One – we know where there’s water,” he jerked his head back in the direction of the river. “We can go ahead with our original plan and follow along until we come across someone else.”

“That didn’t work out quite like I’d hoped,” Jared confessed and Jensen had to admit that the idea of stumbling across other loggers was not a pleasant one.

“Well,” he tried to lighten the morose mood, “it did and it didn’t. Two,” he said, trying to sound upbeat, “we can wait until things dry out and try lighting signal fires right here. This is a fairly open space,” Jensen paused, momentarily letting his head drop back as the sun slowly won the battle over the clouds, “and that was something we had initially considered, right?”

Jared nodded, sucking his lower lip in past the line of his teeth.

“Three,” he continued, trying not stare at Jared’s mouth and kind of failing, “we scout around here and see if we can find Kampeti and the others. I vote for option three, actually.”

“Seriously?” Jared asked hopefully.

“I’m not really keen on coming face to face with loggers again, even with this awesome thing,” Jensen confessed as he retrieved Jared’s homemade machete. “Everything is too wet right now to make a fire the size we’re gonna need. What’s it going to hurt if we prowl around here for a few hours?” He didn’t really believe Kampeti’s people would be found, but their potential firewood did need to dry out and, most importantly, Jared needed to burn off some of his worried energy doing something.

Collecting himself, Jared nodded eagerly. “Let’s do it.”

“Which way do you want to start?” Jensen asked him, tossing the ball back in his court. He figured giving the kid some control over the situation and acknowledging his expertise would be the fastest way to help calm him. “You pick and I’ll be right there behind you.” He shot Jared his cockiest grin, bending his arm so that the flat of the machete’s blade rested against his shoulder.

“You look like the cover of a pulp magazine. Like Doc Savage,” Jared grinned, blushing despite their situation.

The smile Jensen gave the kid was downright filthy and he couldn’t resist flexing his arms. “The Man in Bronze, maybe?” he quipped and Jared bobbed his head up and down.

“All right,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, Jared was composed again. “There are four paths that I know of. That one,” he pointed to the one they had come from, “leads to the river. We already know that’s a dead end of sorts. The one this way,” he indicated to the east, “is the one they brought us here by.”

“And away from the loggers,” Jensen finished. “Pass.”

“I agree,” Jared exhaled. “The one to the north is where the men came back from their hunt and the one that way,” he jerked his head westward, “goes somewhere I have no idea. I never saw anyone use it while we were all together.”

Jensen pursed his lips and tilted his head. “All right. ‘Go west, young man’,” he quoted.

“Horace Greeley. Really?” Jared snarked.

“It’s manifest destiny, then. Better?” he retorted.

“Oh, much,” Jared rolled his eyes. “American imperialism and entitlement at its finest.” He turned to head off in the direction of the fourth path and Jensen smirked at the kid’s stiff back. He knew that comment would get under his skin and distract him from his legitimate worries.

As they walked past the ruined gardens, Jensen whistled. “They really did get washed away, didn’t they? It’s like they were never here to begin with.”

“Yeah,” Jared concurred sadly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. They’d been rotating crops for an exceptionally long time. This was bound to happen eventually.” His footsteps squelched wetly as he trudged by the former manioc patch, which was nothing more than a mud pit now. “People and cities historically disappear around here because of deforestation, overhunting and flooding. We’ve got a perfect trifecta here,” he sighed.

And Jensen had to admit that theory did sound like a logical reason why Kampeti’s people pulled up stakes. Except for leaving them behind. That didn’t fit at all and he said as much.

“True, but we could have done something unintentionally to anger or insult them,” Jared admitted. “Back in 1955, a group of American missionaries air-dropped gifts and whatnot to the very isolated Waodani. They got gifts in return and so at the beginning of January the following year, after months and months of tentative but positive contact, five of them set up camp and interacted with the tribe directly. They filmed and photographed their time together and when you view the footage, it looks like everyone got along fine.”

“Why do I have a feeling this doesn’t end well?” Jensen murmured as they neared the unknown path.

“Because it doesn’t. Five days later, the hunters speared and killed all five men. Every indication led the Americans to believe it was all good between them and then they did something that got them slaughtered,” Jared finished. “Maybe we were offensive,” and he snuck a glance at Jensen. “Maybe we shouldn’t have –”

“Hey now,” Jensen caught him by the arm and stopped him in his tracks. “It wasn’t that,” he emphasized, gentling his hold, but not letting go entirely. Jared wouldn’t meet his eyes, looking very young and uncertain. Jensen had to remind himself that the kid had seen too many cultures where same-sex relationships were not only reviled, but punishable by death. “Moipa and the others made it very clear to everybody what we were doing and no adult shunned us. Kampeti went so far as to assume that tat of yours was of the both of us.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly against Jared’s wrist bone, circling the knobby protrusion along the outside. “They didn’t have a problem with that, sweetheart. Okay?”

Jared smiled enough that his dimples peeped out. “Yeah, okay,” he caved. He turned to face the path, momentarily thoughtful. “Funny,” he finally said, “how universally cultures revere the four points of the compass. And Kampeti’s people placed themselves at the center.” Jared took a deep breath and kept going.

Funny didn’t begin to cover it, Jensen thought.

It didn’t take more than a minute or two along the way for Jensen to subtly (or not, judging by Jared’s barely smothered chuckle) take the lead, despite the path’s relative innocuousness. That was somewhat surprising to Jared, since, as he himself had pointed out, he’d not seen anyone from the village use it, but it was well-maintained and easy to walk.

“Well, we were only with them for a full day,” Jensen pointed out. “We didn’t learn all their secrets.” He was dead certain of that.

“I know. It just seemed longer, didn’t it?”

And Jensen, as he turned to take in Jared’s face, could only nod. “Like a lifetime,” he whispered.

Jared’s eyes widened and he pointed at something over Jensen’s shoulder. “Jensen, look!”

Whipping his head around, machete raised, Jensen tried to see what had gotten the kid agitated. At first, he didn’t see anything beyond the green forest. Then, he caught the flash of another color, slightly out of place, against the ubiquitous green. “Is that my shirt?”

Both men hastened their pace and there was no denying that Jensen’s overshirt – his gift to Moipa – was dangling on the end of a low-hanging branch. Jensen snatched it up. The shirt was clean and undamaged. Jensen quashed the momentary urge to call out. The threat of loggers was still fresh enough in his mind, however, that he wasn’t sure who might respond to his shout.

“They were here,” Jared exclaimed. “Come on,” he said and surged ahead.

“Jared,” Jensen snapped, struggling to put it on without letting go of the machete. “Stay close.”

The path narrowed, growing windy as he hurried after Jared. Catching up easily enough, Jensen warned Jared, “Don’t take off like that, okay? We need to stay together.”

A little breathlessly, Jared frowned. “I’m sorry. But that,” he tugged at Jensen’s sleeve, “means they were here. Why is it dry?” he wondered, rubbing the material between his fingers and screwing up his face like he’d eaten something sour.

“Dunno,” Jensen huffed, patting his free hand up and down its front, checking its dryness himself. Before either one could remark further on the strange condition of the shirt, Jensen held his head to the side. “Hear that?”

Jared twisted his head like a bird. “Water?”

Sharply jerking his head in agreement, Jensen wordlessly resumed his position in front. Sure enough, the path began a gentle decline, an obvious sign they were headed towards water. The chatter of birds and primates increased as well, like someone had turned the volume back up on an ambience soundtrack. Jared only managed to stumble once as they descended, but Jensen caught him easily enough. Holding Jared close, angling the machete in his fist safely away from their bodies, he stole a quick kiss before settling him on his feet again. Jared leaned forward, chasing after Jensen’s lips, but he pulled away, blatantly stealing one of Han Solo’s best lines.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a wink, “I haven’t got time for anything else.”

Jared huffed and slapped him lightly on his shoulder and then pinwheeled his arms comically, nearly losing his balance all over again. Jensen snatched him up again with his free arm, bodies pressed flush.

“See?” Jared teased, swooping in and stealing the kiss he’d wanted. “I knew you’d be back.”

“Always,” Jensen promised him seriously. “Now be careful, you little faker.” And he lightly slapped him on his perfectly rounded ass before he let him go.  

The path continued to slope downward and the sound of moving water was louder. Eventually, it opened up and the men found themselves standing along the riverbank. The sandy embankment was almost free of obstructions, leaving them room to walk along. The rain, which had been little more than a fine mist, had completely disappeared and shafts of late-morning sun stabbed through the canopy roof with blades of gold. The damp and dripping greenery sparkled, rays bouncing off fat, glossy leaves like fairy lights.

In both directions, the riverbank only remained walkable for about a hundred yards, give or take, before it crowded over with trees and shrubs, meaning they’d have to enter the water to go farther.  Jensen thought it was a genuine toss-up which way they should head.

“Which direction do you think they would go, Jared? Upstream or downstream?”

Jared merely shook his head. “Nothing about today has been logical,” he groused. “Might as well toss a coin.”

Jensen peered along the bank, thinking Jared was right, when he noticed something fluttering downstream along the bank just before the foliage thickened up again. “What’s that, eagle-eye?” Jensen pointed.

Jared stepped up behind him, hands resting on the curve of his shoulders as he stared down the length of Jensen’s machete-wielding arm. “Is that my shirt?” the kid gasped.

“Guess we go that way,” Jensen mumbled as Jared hurried ahead of him.

As they got closer, Jensen noticed something odd about the way the trees bunched up over the shallow river. From a distance, he had assumed the branches from the opposite sides of the water had crossed and tangled with one another like he’d seen many times already. But when they neared, he saw that tangle was thicker and more elaborate than he had imagined. He was staring up at the structure, because there was no other way to describe it, and walked right into Jared’s back.

The kid barely huffed. He was slipping on his shirt with all the vitality of someone sleepwalking, head craned back, too engrossed in studying what was in front of him to notice Jensen had plowed into him.

“It’s like a suspension bridge,” Jensen breathed out.

There, spanning what must have been a thirty-foot width, was a bridge. But it was like nothing Jensen had ever seen. Mirroring each other, two gigantic trees had somehow entwined to span the distance with a root system more elaborate than a New York subway map. And lianas had snaked up and around the roots like reinforcing, suspension wires. Some of the vines had sprouted leaves, like bits of green ribbon tied along the sides. It was breathtaking in its complexity.

“Did that grow around a bridge?” Jensen asked softly. There had to be a formal structure underneath it all – a skeleton of man-made construction that was the bones for this living thing.

Jared, shucking on his shirt like he was still operating on autopilot, stepped around a log and found the “stairs” to climb up on it. Once he stood at one end, he lovingly caressed the natural railings with his hands. “No, this is the bridge,” he declared, with all the awe of a child on Christmas morning, staring at the gifts Santa had left him. He took a slow step forward, before whipping around. “The only area in the world where you see this is the Indian Subcontinent, Jensen. This kind of architecture takes hundreds of years to fashion and no one there remembers how it was done.” He opened his mouth in a huge, wondrous smile. “No one has ever found anything like this here, even though there are more than enough species of plants and trees with aerial root systems to do this and so much more. There should be structures like this here, though. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

As Jensen was torn between staring at the beauty of the bridge versus that of Jared’s glowing face, he remembered their impassioned discussion on the plane.

“C’mon. Manuscript 512 was a group of adventurers’ attempt to get financial backing for another treasure hunt. A city with stone arches and whatnot? They were just playing up on Greek ruins and other symbols in our collective memories.”

“What do you mean?” Jensen asked, leaning forward. He was genuinely curious what Jared’s “research” had led him to.

“Common misconceptions most people have about archaelogy – all ruins are made up of stones and rocks. You know that,” he tilted his head encouragingly. “Rock in that quantity is simply not found in the Mato Grosso. That region is earth and trees and living things. If there is a city there, it’s not made out of stone. At least, not in the quantity they described.”

This is exactly what Jared had predicated. “Hey, wait up!” Jensen called, unnerved when he noticed the kid’s eager march across to the other side. He flashed back to the lodge from last night.

“C’mon, Jensen,” Jared practically whined and he saw the kid was vibrating in excitement like a Lab ready to chase after a ball, only waiting for his owner to release him.

Jensen carefully climbed up the natural (or maybe not) indentations that formed the stairs to the bridge. He took a hesitant step, despite the fact that Jared was already more than halfway across with no problem. It was sound. Some fifteen feet in the air, he had a slightly better view downriver, where the current picked up and he saw the beginnings of actual rapids churning the water. Waving absently to clear a cloud of insects, Jensen hurried to catch up with Jared, but the kid was already on the other side.

“Jensen,” he gasped, straining his neck to see beyond the end of the bridge, edging farther along. “There’s something here. There’s something really big here.” His voice was low enough to hardly be heard.

Jensen sprinted across. “Wait for me,” he ordered the kid. “You wait right there.”

When he was within a yard of Jared, Jensen slowed down. He tried to calm himself. He was fine. The kid was fine. So why was his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest?

Jared’s face was flushed like he’d had too much palm wine as he stood on the other side of the bridge. “Jensen, there’s a city here,” he grinned. “There’s a city.”

“What?” Jensen asked, one corner of his mouth climbing high in a crooked smile.

Jared grabbed his hand and tugged him over. “There,” he pointed, “is a street and you can see the beginnings of buildings all along the side there.”

And Jensen strained to see what Jared was talking about. His “street” was little more than a wide path, not unlike the one they had traveled to get here, and his Main Street was a glorified hill buried in trees and vines. But when he squinted, Jensen did notice openings in the hill that weren’t completely natural. And he wondered if what he was seeing was really a hill at all. He didn’t doubt, on close examination, that they would be exactly what Jared said they were.

Drifting farther away, Jared pushed back a clump of plants. “My God,” exclaimed. “It’s magnificent.”

Jensen had no idea if it was his motion or his raised voice that startled them, but dozens and dozens of butterflies flew up and surrounded Jared at that moment. They were like nothing Jensen had ever seen. Barely longer than his thumb, what was extraordinary about them was that they were completely transparent save for a splash of pink on their hind wings. Each vein was perfectly visible, as was everything behind their glass-like wings. The swarm encircled Jared, sunlight glinting off their wings. He threw back his head and laughed as they fluttered around him, seemingly as delighted with him as he was of them.

Not giving a damn about the battery, Jensen dropped the machete and scrambled to grab his phone. Switching it on, Jensen swiped across the screen to bring up the camera function and started to snap away. He’d never seen a more mesmerizing sight in his entire life than what was right in front of him at that moment. The butterflies swirled around Jared as he turned in counterpoint to their mad dance, just as joyful. Jensen couldn't stop the laugh that escaped as he watched happiness bubble out of Jared.

“Jensen, we found it,” he giggled, holding out his hand and frantically waving Jensen over.

Jensen paused to flip through his photo album, wanting to make sure he’d gotten at least one, decent picture before going closer. As he was studying his pictures of Jared, he spotted something else on his phone that froze him in place.

“Jensen, what’s wrong?” Jared asked.

Raising his head, eyes wide, Jensen wordlessly held his phone out in Jared’s direction. “We’ve got signal bars,” he finally whispered.

The butterflies floated up and up then, their translucent bodies making it seem like they’d disappeared into the sunlight. One lingered, its pink blush the only thing Jensen could still see against the patch of blue sky above and he remembered the last thing Kampeti had said to them.

“Tomorrow, you will go home, too.”

Seemed that they hadn’t been abandoned after all.

Chapter Text

Jensen flopped down in the chair beside his desk with a grateful sigh. That sound had to compete with the low whine of the creaky chair. The leather was chipped and cracked, the stuffing in the cushion long since flattened, the wooden arms scarred and nicked, but Jensen loved the thing. It still smelled like his father’s cigars (one of the man’s few vices that Jensen had not stopped hoping to break one of these days) and when his dad had remodeled his office a few years back, Jensen had practically begged him for the ratty thing. His dad had laughed his ass off, but he hadn’t denied him and it was a guilty pleasure Jensen indulged in whenever he was home.

Stretching back, listening to both the chair and his spine pop in the process, Jensen smiled. He was happy to be home. It had been one of the longest stretches between visits, nearly nine months this time. In fact, the last time he’d been here was the week before his insane flight out of Venezuela, just before, as those horrible advertisements for pivotal television episodes always promised, “everything changes”. He leaned forward and grabbed for his iPhone, which was charging in its cradle. Pressing the home button until it unlocked (and, boy, did he miss swiping it open – some habits were hard to break no thanks to iOS 10 point whatever), Jensen’s smile deepened when the wallpaper was revealed. He’d cropped a picture of Jared and those butterflies and continued to use it to this day. If Webster or whatever dictionary online ever needed an image to exemplify “joyful”, this was it. Up in the right-hand corner, only two bars were visible. Jensen had to chuckle over the absurdity of that as he sat in the lap of “civilization”, when he’d had a full count in the middle of the Amazon.

“Jared, what should I dial?” Jensen asked, when it finally sank in that they had an actual, fuckin’ signal.

Jared hurried back to his side, a mixture of residual delight and shock dancing across his expressive face. “Uh…” he dragged his hand through his wild hair, “start with 190 and just keep working your way up from there until somebody answers,” Jared eventually said.

Jensen didn’t need to go further than 191 before he got a static-laced, “Alô?” followed by what he thought was, “Polícia Rodoviária Federa”. Jensen thumbed on the speaker mode and looked hopefully up at Jared.

“Temos uma emergência,” Jared exhaled nervously. “Eu sofri um acidente,” he continued, before adding, “Você fala inglês?”

“Yes,” the feminine voice crackled. “A little. You’ve been in an accident? Do you need assistance?”

“God, yes,” Jensen exclaimed. “Our plane crashed and we’re in the middle of I don’t know where and need help.”

“Are you injured?” she inquired evenly, the tapping of a keyboard mingling with the intermittent static.

“No, me and my companion are okay, but we need help getting out,” Jensen said in a rush. “I don’t know where the hell we are.”

“I am triangulating your signal now, sir. I should have a rough location in a matter of a minute. You say you were in a plane crash? Are there other survivors beside yourself, sir? And what is your name, please?”

“My name is Jensen Ackles, ma’am, and my companion is Jared Padalecki. I don’t know if the crew survived because we were thrown from the plane before the crash,” he spoke into the phone. Both he and Jared were staring down at the device like it might burst into flames at any moment, in awe and terrified of it simultaneously.

“Mr. Ackles, I have narrowed down your location to a two-mile radius. I am dispatching a helicopter from our Divisão de Operações Aéreas in Brasília, which is the closest to you. Beside the pilot and operator, there will be a doctor and nurse onboard. It will take them approximately two hours to reach you. This is very important. Is there a clearing big enough to accommodate a landing zone and can you signal them in some way to help them in pinpointing your exact location?” the dispatcher asked with what must have been years of experience to speak with such calm.

“We can definitely do that and there is a spot big enough for an LZ,” he assured her, grabbing Jared’s hand tight with his free hand. “We’ll have a fire going. Do you need me to stay on the line? I-I don’t know if the battery will last that long.”

“No, sir. I have your number. I will call you back when the crew is within range and will stay on the line with you until I have confirmation that you are safe then. Let me give you my direct number, so we can keep the emergency lines clear,” she said before reciting her number off to them. Jensen instantly committed it to memory.

“Thank you,” Jensen told her gratefully before ending the call. He barely had the presence of mind to pocket his phone before he gathered Jared up into his arms. “They’re on their way,” he whispered between kisses that were enthusiastically returned. When they broke apart, Jensen grabbed Jared’s hand and stooped down to pick up the machete.

“C’mon, we’ve got to collect wood and get a fire going,” he said, pulling Jared along behind him.

Jared, however, dragged his feet and looked longingly over his shoulder. “But, Jensen,” he reasoned, “why don’t I stay here and catch up with you?”

Jensen stopped in his tracks and whirled around. He didn’t miss how crestfallen Jared was at the thought of leaving his discovery behind. Jensen could get a fire going solo, but there was also no way in hell he was going to let the kid out of his sight now. “Sweetheart,” he started softly. Letting go of Jared’s hand, he palmed his cheek, turning the younger man’s head away from the city, “that isn’t going anywhere and I’m not going to chance you getting lost in there somehow while I’m playing Paul Bunyan, all right?”

“I guess,” Jared said, exhaling dramatically.

“I know how you feel,” Jensen started and then corrected himself. “Okay, I think I have an idea how you feel about this, but it isn’t going anywhere. We have pictures,” he patted his pocket where his phone was, “and they have GPS data embedded in them. We know exactly where this place is and we’ll come back as soon as we can.” He clasped Jared’s hand and gave a gentle tug. “C’mon, sweetheart. The sooner we get rescued, the sooner we’ll be back.”

Jared ducked his head a little, peering at Jensen through his bangs. “’We’?” he asked, whisper quiet.

“Yeah, ‘we’,” Jensen grinned, “as in you and me. You know,” he carried on conversationally as he pulled Jared along behind him, “for a college boy, you’re pretty slow on the uptake sometimes.”

As they hiked back to the village, Jared, who had been mostly quiet since leaving that tantalizing glimpse of a city behind, spoke up. “It’s odd, you know?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question, Jensen mused to himself. “What’s that, sweetheart?” In no way whatsoever did it warm Jensen’s heart when he heard Jared’s stuttered breath behind him. Nope, not one bit. It didn’t mean a thing that his words alone could affect the younger man like that.

The kid cleared his throat. “The Waodani believe the trail to the afterlife runs from the West to the East, like this one does.”

“Huh?” Jensen huffed, mostly focusing on getting them back in one piece and getting that fire started.

“Yeah,” Jared continued, “so it’s interesting that going from that city to the village would fall in the same direction.”

“So this is the way to heaven?” Jensen joked.

“Not always,” Jared answered, serious as ever. “The spirits, or souls if you prefer, travel along the path until they come to a giant anaconda. If they haven’t been good, or their job isn’t finished, the snake will turn them into something else or not let them continue their way and they have to start the cycle again until they get it right.”

“So we’re back to your eternal return again?” Jensen remarked.

“This is more like reincarnation. They keep coming back until they get it right. Until they’re finished with their journey,” Jared explained, “not repeating the same cycle again and again.”

“And it’s a snake that decides? No wonder the people here were so taken by your tat.”

“There are only two animals the Waodani refuse to hunt: the snake and the jaguar,” he told Jensen.

“Hey,” Jensen exclaimed, twisting his neck to look at him over his shoulder, “Kampeti said I had –”

“The eyes of a jaguar,” Jared breathed. “I remember.”

“Is the jaguar a judge, too?” Jensen asked, turning back to pay attention to their footing. So close to rescue, it would be a real dick punch if one of them was to get seriously hurt now. The empty village was within sight soon enough.

“Their shamans identify with the jaguar. A Waodani can become a shaman at any age, but he has to be chosen. If that shaman has a close connection with the jaguar, they can even become a jaguar themselves. And they believe,” Jared continued on, “the jaguar can travel through space and time, connecting and communing with any Waodani and even any shaman, no matter where or when in the world they exist.”

“Wow,” Jensen breathed. “So they might think I could communicate with anyone at any time?”

Jared started to nod, but nearly jumped when the tinny sounds of Lion Babe’s “Wonder Woman” began playing. 

“Chad?” Jensen gasped, scrambling to fish his phone out.

Jensen barely had unlocked it when his friend’s angry voice echoed out.

“Motherfucker,” he shouted.

“Chad?” Jensen replied, cringing at his manager’s screeches and relieved at the same time.

“You goddamned, cocksucking sonofabitch,” he ranted. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

Jensen grinned at Jared, easing some of the younger man’s obvious anxieties over the foul-mouthed obscenities he was being subjected to secondhand.

“It’s good to hear you, too, man,” Jensen cut in, the last of his tension draining away. If Chad was on the phone, it was all real. They’d been found.

There was a long pause and Jensen pulled the phone away from his ear, worried the connection had dropped, despite the strong signal indicator. “I thought we’d lost you,” Chad said, much more sedately than his previous rantings.

“I thought I was lost, too,” Jensen admitted and then coaxed Jared near. “But I got found,” he smiled as Jared blushed prettily.

“The PRF just got ahold of me,” Chad continued. “It’s like a fucking dream come true, Jensen. When I saw what was left of your plane…”

“They found the plane?” Jensen interrupted.

“Yeah, the black box sent out a clear signal right away. The crew was sure you were dead,” he replied.

“They’re okay?” Jensen gasped. The men were alive.

Chad let out a long and noisy sigh. “Dude, they’re both fine. Well,” he paused, “as fine as they can be, all things considered. The co-pilot has a fractured pelvis and some broken ribs and the captain got a busted collar bone, twisted knee and sprained wrists. He wouldn’t leave his co-pilot’s side the entire time.”

There was another long silence as Jared and he slowly entered the deserted village. “They said you both got torn out of the plane, man,” and Jensen was sure he heard a sniff. “I thought you were gone.”

Jared’s expression softened at the sound of Chad’s genuine distress and patted Jensen on the shoulder. He pointed to the trees and mimed cutting wood as he prized the machete out of Jensen’s other hand, giving him a moment alone with his friend. Jensen nodded gratefully.

“Me, too, buddy,” he breathed. “Me, too.” And for one minute, Jensen let himself lower his guard and acknowledge all the frightening ways it could have played out but didn’t. He rubbed nervously at the nape of his neck. “I still can’t quite believe I’m actually talking to you.”

“You can thank Ericsson for that,” his manager snorted.

Keeping an eye on the kid as he collected firewood, Jensen shook his head. “The Swedish phone company?”

“Yeah,” Chad huffed. There was still a quiver in his voice, but the longer he spoke to Jensen, the stronger he sounded. “Apparently, as it was explained to me, they set up a pilot program back in ’12 near a tributary of the Madeira river, putting up towers so that the villages there could access the Internet and phone each other. Wherever you are exactly, you’re close enough to those towers to get a signal.”

“Wow,” Jensen gasped.

“Tell me about it,” his manager chuckled. “So you’re really okay, Jen?”

Jensen warmed himself in the sincerity of that last question. “Yeah, buddy. I really am. Jared and me both,” he added with a grin, appreciating the view of Jared’s backside as the kid bent over to pick up the wood he’d cut down.

There was that dead air again, before Chad nervously cleared his throat. “Jensen, he’s not –”

“No,” Jensen agreed as he waved to the kid, “he’s not what you thought.” Jensen paused, breathing deeply. When he spoke again, it was from the heart. “He’s everything, Chad.”

Jensen, smile etched permanently on his face, put the phone down and opened up his Mac Book. He navigated over to one of the few folders on the desktop (he never understood the propensity for some people to clutter the Dock up with stacks of shortcuts, because, seriously, they stopped being shortcuts when there were a hundred of them). He opened it up to see dozens and dozens of video file thumbnails. He found the one with the most recent timestamp and selected it. The lush green of the Amazon filled his screen, but the natural beauty of the location didn’t hold a candle to what was center stage on the screen – Jared.

“As you can see here,” his confident voice announced, “we’ve barely begun to scrape at the surface of what most likely is one of the largest and most significant finds of the decade.”

The camera panned back to take in both Jared, off to the left, and the bits of their city that had been painstakingly revealed by months of meticulous work at the site. Jensen knew he should be paying attention to the overall lighting and angles, but he was drawn inexorably to Jared.

Dressed not too differently from how he had been when Jensen had first seen him (and to refer to the look as shabby chic was probably being too kind), the diffuse sun glinted off the gold of his wire rimmed glasses and the tiniest bit of gold that gleamed around his neck. Jensen brushed his fingers against the screen’s version of Jared’s throat.

“…of course, the continued threat to not only this find, but countless, inhabited villages throughout the Amazon Basin posed by illegally logging and over-farming of soy is devastating. All this,” Jared motioned to the city and the rainforest in one, fell swoop, “will disappear if we don’t take action now. If we sit back and hope someone else will tweet or reblog or ‘like’ the problem and that will fix it all, our past and our future will be lost forever.”

The passion was evident in every line of Jared’s lean body. Jensen indulged himself for a few minutes and let the cadence of the words wash over him while he stared at Jared with a completely uncritical eye.

“…the shade of green here is like almost nothing else in the world,” Jared explained, fingers bushing against part of the entryway to a structure that might have been a community space for gathering like a town hall of sorts.

“Except maybe for someone’s dreamy eyes, hmm?” a tall, blond man interjected, ruining the shot.

Onscreen Jared scowled, even as the corners of his lips twitched. He leaned over and smacked the other man on the shoulder. The movement caused the chain around his neck to shift and for the simple, gold band that hung from it to briefly swing into view.

“Stephen, now they’re going to have to whatsit…cut and reshoot?” Jared said with some uncertainty, staring directly into the camera.

“We are now,” huffed a disembodied voice, although the camera kept filming.

Stephen laughed and hip checked Jared, and Jared shoved him hard. “Sorry about that,” Stephen apologized, blue eyes twinkling, addressing the unseen owner of the voice.

“That’s all right,” the director said. “We can all probably use a break.”

“Come on, Jay. The director has spoken. Besides, I need your help with a bit of translation. I still don’t know how you managed to crack that word, but…” and he dragged Jared by the hand out of camera range. The camera, however, continued to track Jared until the last, possible moment, zooming in on the way his trousers stretched across his perfectly-shaped ass.

“That better not be in the final cut,” Jared practically squeaked in indignation.

Jensen smirked and tipped his head back against firm, abdominal muscles of the warm, moist body standing behind him.

“Maybe for a director’s special cut,” he teased, admiring Jared’s upside down face. Still damp from his shower, clouds of humid air wafting around him, Jared smelled like vanilla and cedar wood. The scent went straight to Jensen’s groin with dizzying speed. “Good shower, darlin’?”

Skin already flushed from the wet heat, it deepened further with Jensen’s endearment. Nine months later and nothing had changed. His boy blushed like a virgin whenever Jensen called him one of his favorite nicknames. But that was the only thing still virginal about him. The first chance they had to be alone after their rescue and Jensen had made good on every, single promise he had made to Jared back in that shelter.

Smiling sinfully, Jensen surged up to his feet and rolled the chair separating them away with a simple shove. Hair lank and curling at his ears and nape, a single, white towel draped haphazardly around his hips, Jared was irresistible. “After months out in the field with a bucket? What do you think?” he laughed, hands playing restlessly with one edge of the Turkish bath towel.

Tilting his head, Jensen pretended to assess Jared seriously. Finally, he reached over and gave the corner of the towel a hard yank, exposing all of Jared to his hungry eyes. “I think I need a closer look,” Jensen growled and gathered Jared up into his arms, letting the towel fall away in a damp heap on the floor. He nosed along the tender skin of Jared’s throat before sucking a kiss into the moist skin. Jared clutched at his shoulders and his cock slowly rose to nudge demandingly against Jensen’s hip.

“Ready for round two?” Jensen breathed into Jared’s ear after he reluctantly released the sucking hold he had on his neck.

“Y-yes,” Jared gulped, eyes already losing focus slightly.

“Let me just shut this down,” he jerked his head toward his laptop and gave Jared’s ass an affectionate pat, nudging him in the direction of their bed.

“I thought we agreed not to bring work into the bedroom,” the younger man pouted as he turned around.

“Like you haven’t been making notes in your iPad,” he countered good-naturedly, powering his laptop down, “at all hours of the night.” He closed his eyes and smiled when all he heard were mutterings from Jared. Kid couldn’t argue with him on that one and win.

Turning around, Jensen had a chance to admire one of his favorite views. The glide and bunch of Jared’s lean muscles under his skin when he moved was erotic. The warm light from the candles scattered throughout the room only highlighted the satin gleam of his still-drying skin. Jensen’s gaze roamed everywhere freely, but lingered on the tattoo that almost seemed to writhe as Jared leaned over to pull aside the comforter covering the mission style bed that dominated the room.

Unable to resist, Jensen hurried over and pressed himself against Jared’s back, running his hands over every bit of skin he could comfortably reach. Jared melted back into him, body pliable and yielding to his deft touches.

“Wouldn’t this be easier if you were naked, too?” he joked breathlessly.

“We’ll get there,” Jensen hushed him. He knew he was torturing them both by limiting himself to only his hands when he wanted all of his skin glued to Jared’s. Holding Jared’s shoulders steady, Jensen traced the path of the snakes with his tongue. Goosebumps crested across Jared’s flesh and he shivered at the touch.

“I like the new addition,” Jensen murmured as he pressed open-mouthed kisses across the design.

“It-it seemed appropriate,” Jared moaned and he scrabbled to pull one of Jensen’s hands down to his straining erection. “Please, Jensen,” he begged.

Stroking Jared’s hard length with one hand, Jensen was determined to lick his way around the butterfly that now rested across the center of Jared’s tattoo. It covered the portion of the snakes’ bodies that were intertwined, but because the butterfly was transparent, that union was still visible.

Neither one of them could agree on what had happened months ago in the rainforest. Sticking to his science and reasoning, Jared believed that Kampeti’s people had moved on. They’d overstayed their time in one spot, most likely because of the way they’d been hemmed in by illegal loggers on the one side and the soy farmers on the other. The storm had forced their hand when their vegetable plots had been washed away. Moipa’s abduction had probably also tipped the scales for them since they were no longer safe where they were. And Jensen had to grudgingly admit, it all sounded very viable on paper. Except Brazil’s National Indian Foundation had no record of any indigenous group having occupied that area and, given the length of time Jared estimated they’d been in the same location, it seemed unlikely that they would have remain undiscovered. But FUNAI had checked and rechecked their records, coming up empty after each search.

Jensen had other notions. Jared labeled them fanciful, but he’d also remarked that that was the sign of a good storyteller and that Jensen just couldn’t help himself. Of course, days later, Jensen noticed that Jared had multiple tabs on his browser open, all dealing with butterflies. Jensen had glanced through them, startled by how many different cultures equated butterflies with souls and did some research for himself. Aristotle named the butterfly psyche, the same Greek word for a soul. The Aztecs believed butterflies were the happy dead returning to visit the living, while the Goajiro of Columbia thought them their ancestors. And the Irish had an old proverb that butterflies were the souls of the dead, waiting to pass through Purgatory. The theme of death and rebirth, exquisitely exemplified by the butterfly, had been embraced by the ancient Egyptians and early Christianity, too. The list went on and on.

It had been food for thought and Jensen had been famished. He found himself believing those creatures were the villagers, finally released from their endless duty of protecting the city that Jared and his team had only begun to excavate. That the two of them had been judged and hadn’t been found wanting of such a great responsibility as safeguarding the city was a heady thought. And Jared could naysay all he wanted. The marks on his skin were enough to prove that it did mean something to him, too.

“You coming to bed?” Jared asked and there was the hint of concern in his voice.

Jensen blinked several times. He’d been lost in thought long enough for Jared to have slipped beneath their midnight blue sheets. One corner of his mouth tugged up as he appreciated all that pale flesh set against the deep, jewel-toned bedding. Jared had pulled the sheets up past his waist and rolled onto his side, one arm folded and hand tucked under his cheek. His hair tumbled aimlessly into his eyes. There was a demure quality to him that Jensen was intoxicated by.

“Absolutely,” he grinned, shucking off his shirt quickly. When he caught the way that Jared was trying not to stare and failing miserably, he lingered over his pants, thumbing the button and slowly opening his fly. He practically basked in the attention, knowing that Jared was aware of nothing else in the room but him. Jensen made a show of flexing his buttocks and thighs as he bent over to pick up his discarded trousers and boxers before tossing them across the bed bench. He even managed to slip in a yawn, making sure to stretch his arms and expand his chest with the motion. He knew Jared had a thing for his arms, especially after the way he had pinned him up against a wall one time and fucked into him slow and sweet until Jared had been a quivering, begging mess and had come twice before he had let him go.

Finished with his teasing, Jensen lifted up the sheet and slid in beside Jared. He wove a few fingers into Jared’s wayward bangs, gently tucking the strands behind an ear. When the buckle of his watch grazed against the sensitive skin behind Jared’s ear, he hastily took it off.

“Here you go,” he apologized as he handed Jared back his Cartier. It had become a habit between them that when they separated, Jared insisted Jensen carry it with him until they were reunited.

“You’re the only one I trust to keep it safe,” Jared said, like he always did when Jensen returned the timepiece to him. He twisted his long torso and deposited the watch on top of his iPad, brushing his fingers across the framed picture of the two of them, which rested on the night table, along the way. When he rolled back over to face Jensen, he smiled softly at the way Jensen stared at him.

“It was a good day,” Jensen whispered, opening his arms.

“The best,” Jared agreed, slipping into the welcoming embrace and snuggling close.

The first, few months after their rescue had been unbelievable. The movie studio and producers gladly insisted Jensen take a few days off to recuperate, but once he was deemed healthy by their physicians, it had been back to filming. The production had fallen behind with his brief disappearance, but the studio heads also recognized a gold mine when they saw it and the chance to generate even more buzz for the film by tying it to Jensen’s near-fatal accident and amazing, archaeological find was too good to be true. They had been chomping at the bit to push forward, eager to make sure they stayed ahead of Pitt’s Lost City. Recognizing the way the honchos had been salivating at the prospect of exploiting the situation, Jensen had made his move.

He told them in no uncertain terms that he would give no interviews regarding the accident and the discovery of the “lost” city if certain conditions weren’t met. Since no provisions for any scenario like this were spelled out in his contract, Jensen had them right where he wanted them. He spent a day holed up in the finest hotel in Rio with Jared (in bed), where he worked out his plan and made sure that Jared approved before he laid it out for Chad to spin to the execs. Jensen would provide them with exclusive interviews they could use for promotional purposes, have access to some of the photos he had taken (excluding the ones with Jared in them) and a few, other perks in exchange for having his stipulations met.

He wanted financial backing for a short he would direct about the site and the plight of the indigenous people of Brazil. Furthermore, he wanted a guarantee in writing that the short, if finished to their mutual satisfaction and on time, would run before each and every showing of Manuscript 512. And if the short met with their approval, he had first right of refusal to direct a feature-length documentary of the site and the dig for National Geographic, one of their subsidiaries. When he threw in that he wanted a percentage of his box office take be redirected to a non-profit fund set up to assist indigenous peoples and that the studio could market the fact that a portion of every ticket purchased went to a worthy cause, he had them eating out of the palm of his hand.  

Jensen had hurled himself back into the role with renewed vigor. Spielberg himself had commented that Jensen's acting was “breathtaking” and “inspired”, which was high praise indeed. He approached the role with a new perspective after all his talks with Jared regarding Fawcett and his potential motivations. While Pitt’s version (according to intel Chad had acquired and Jensen never questioned its validity) painted Fawcett as a gentlemanly figure who was rocking the boat by implying there was a non-white culture more sophisticated in existence long before any in Europe, an idea that would have been viewed as shocking as the theory of evolution at the time, Spielberg and Jensen crafted a more human and ultimately more relatable figure by exposing his flaws. Jensen found a way through expression and body language to display the obsessive arrogance that drove Fawcett to success and his potentially less than admirable motivations for bringing his son along with him, since he believed a group of advanced, white people inhabited that fabled city and his son was the next messiah. On film, it played out more like a version of Apocalypse Now than an episode of genteel Masterpiece Theater.

But it hadn’t been easy, separating from Jared so soon after finding him. What lessened the pain was the mutual respect and admiration they each held for the other and their work. They understood each other’s drive. They Skyped whenever possible and although he was the slightest bit jealous of Stefan, Jensen had been immensely grateful the man had shown Jared how to do that. And there were apparently a few, other tricks he taught Jared as well. Jensen had laughed out loud the day he got a notification about a new follower of his on Twitter: @theRealJayPad. Jensen had returned the favor, having the honor of being Jared’s first follower, and after a full day of filming, he’d had to calm Jared down when his boy’s inbox had blown up with notifications and he’d called in a panic. Jensen’s fans hadn’t missed the addition to the limited list of people he followed, and a good portion of his five million followers had gotten curious. After a long conversation that night, Jared decided it would be for the benefit of the dig if he let Chad manage his Twitter feed and leverage it to their benefit. He’d flat out said that if Jensen trusted him, then he did, too.

When filming for Manuscript 512 had wrapped, Jensen had gathered his equipment and team that Chad had helped put together and flew (with only a smidgen of trepidation) back to where it had all begun for Jensen. He was nervous and uncertain and while Chad supported him one hundred percent, his manager also wasn’t shy about pointing out that starting with a documentary was no cake walk, since the majority was shot on location and not in the controlled environment of a movie set. “There was a reason why Hitch hated filming outdoors,” Chad gleefully reminded him when their first day was literally a wash, thanks to an unexpected downpour. Jensen squared his shoulders and said it gave them the opportunity for additional pre-production and Chad had kept a straight face for all of ten seconds before he had laughed, “Just go spend the day with your boy, will ya?” And Jensen hadn’t argued with that logic.

Jensen found that working with Jared was relatively easy, since the younger man was focused and serious about the subject. He was a consummate professional, but spoke in a way that didn’t alienate the audience or require “translation”. The only challenge was that Jensen had to coax him on more than one occasion to speak directly to the camera. When Jared had trouble with that, Jensen simply told him, “Then talk to me. Tell me everything, sweetheart.” There hadn’t been any issues after that except from some occasional teasing from Stefan.

As they wrapped up the short, an unexpected opportunity presented itself. Chad had gotten word that a demonstration was planned in front of the state parliament building of the western state of Mato Grosso do Sul. A large, ecumenical group, led by the Igreja Episcopal Anglicana do Brasi, planned to protest the nearly four hundred Guarani-Kaiowá and Terena people that had been brutally murdered and the more than five hundred who had committed suicide in the past twelve years as part of a nefarious campaign to remove indigenous families from their homelands to make way for agri-businesses. Jensen thought that would be the perfect ending for his short and had flown down with his team and Jared to film the demonstration.

It had been an emotional, but non-violent day, honoring Achilles Clodiodi Rodrigues de Souz, the twenty-three-year-old, indigenous health worker who had been killed two months prior by armed men more than likely in the employment of farmers and ranchers engaged in the systematic and organized attacks designed to drive the indigenous people from their land. Jensen had been especially moved considering that Clodiodi hadn’t been much younger than Jared and even with heightened interest in the new dig, there had been no shortage of threats to the site, either.

The day culminated when a spokesperson for the IEAB held up a photo of the health worker’s grave, which was the spot where he had been murdered, and offered a moving statement. “As a church,” he had begun, “we commit to advocate for the indigenous people in Brazil and abroad. We hear the plea of people who are Brazilian – a plea which bounds us to the struggles of all humanity to preserve our style of life, our lands, and our beliefs.” It was a powerful message to end the short on, Jensen felt. He had become caught up in the protests as well, shoulder to shoulder with Jared and church members and Guarani-Kaiowá in traditional garb. In the end, the church and Guarani-Kaiowá representatives had been granted a sit-down with the state’s attorney general. It had been a start.

As the crowds had begun to disperse, Jensen had found out that the Anglican Episcopal Church of Brazil was an inclusive one with openly gay clergy and one of the few that offered a blessing ceremony for same-sex civil unions. With Chad and Prof O (as Omundson had insisted Jensen call him after bringing Jared back safely) there, it was perfect. He’d dug out the ring he’d been carrying since returning to the site and dropped down on one knee to propose. Chad filmed it with his phone while Jared stuttered and blushed and whispered a “yes”. Prof O had pried off his wedding ring and handed it to Jared, who had wanted to refuse.

“It’s just a placeholder,” he had assured Jared as he patted him on his shoulder. Together, the ragtag group managed to wrangle a marriage license and an officiant to bless their union right there on the state parliament steps. As Jensen enfolded Jared in his arms for their first kiss as a married couple, Chad preserved the moment for posterity and it was that photo that graced Jared’s side of the bed.

“The best day,” Jensen agreed, glancing over Jared’s shoulder to look at it again.

“This is a pretty good day, too,” Jared said shyly, skating his fingers up and down the left side of Jensen’s stomach to end at the small of his back.

Rolling his hips against Jared, Jensen murmured, “Now that you mention it, it is a pretty good one.” He leaned in and placed a series of slow, wet kisses along Jared’s mouth and jaw, finally nibbling around the outer shell of his ear. “How long do I have you this time?” he asked, exhaling hotly and delighting in the shivers that elicited.

“A week,” Jared practically moaned, “before I have to get back.”

“Can’t Stefan handle things without you for a little longer?” he half-teased.

“Stephen…oh,” Jared gasped as Jensen cupped his ass and pulled him flush against Jensen’s stiff cock. “That’s not fair,” he moaned.

“Never said I played fair,” Jensen growled, pushing Jared back into the softness of the mattress and rolling completely on top of him. They rocked against each other and Jensen ducked down to breathe in the warm, candy-smell of Jared’s skin. When a breeze from the open window flickered every candle, it was like they were back in their village again. Jared framed Jensen’s jaw with the long fingers of his hands. Jensen twisted his head and placed a kiss on the inside of one palm, nuzzling the wedding band there. “Love you,” he murmured.

And like every time Jensen said the words, he watched in awe as Jared’s face cracked open and he saw inside the other man. “I love you, too, Jensen.” And he wrapped his mile-long legs around Jensen’s waist.

It required a little contortion on Jensen’s part to wrestle a pillow under Jared’s narrow hips, but he managed while they laughed and stole kisses from each other in the process. When he stretched across to grab the bottle of lube on his bedside table, Jared caught his wrist.

“Don’t need it,” he exhaled. “I-I’m still…you know,” Jared stuttered, “loose from before.”

Jensen bent down and kissed him on the end of his pointy nose. “Better safe than sorry, angel,” he replied, tossing the bottle within reach. Then he set about worshiping every, square inch he could get his mouth and hands on, while Jared did his best to return the favor.

Later, when they were both spent and wrung out, Jared struggling to keep Jensen inside him as best he could, unwilling to let that connection of the flesh end yet, Jensen huffed a laugh out between the lazy kisses they exchanged.

“What?” Jared rasped, voice wrecked.

“Just can’t help thinking about the crazy way we met,” he admitted, rolling them onto their side. He pressed a half dozen more kisses against Jared’s lax lips, swallowing his whimpers of discontent as he sadly slipped free, no longer hard enough to stay wrapped inside Jared’s heat. “If it hadn’t been for that mix-up in the airport, we would have never met.”

And as if someone might swoop in and steal Jared away, Jensen clutched him tight against his chest. The thud of Jared’s heart was as soothing and familiar as his own. It calmed him in a way nothing in his life ever had.

“I like your way of thinking better,” he whispered, like he was sharing a secret.

Jared squirmed and wiggled his hands around Jensen, toying with the fine hairs at the base of his neck.

Always in motion, Jensen thought lovingly. He had to fight to keep his eyes open at those hypnotic touches.

“Eternal return,” Jared replied as reverently as Jensen had spoken.

“Yeah, that,” Jensen breathed against Jared’s mouth. He dragged his lips haltingly across it. The gesture could hardly be described as a kiss. It was an exchange of breath and yet so much more. “Because without you, sweetheart,” Jensen caressed Jared’s face with one hand, thumb playing with the mole beside his nose, “without you,” he sighed and Jared kissed him back, licking against Jensen’s ample lips. Their tongues tangled and demanded, Jensen eventually winning the round and plunging into Jared’s willing mouth. What was heated mellowed into gentle brushes once again. It summed them up exquisitely – a dance where the tempo changed, but they always moved in perfect sync.

“We would have always met,” Jared declared breathlessly, reluctantly breaking their kiss.

“God, I hope so. Because without you,” Jensen repeated as Jared smiled back at him, “I’d be lost.”

Chapter Text

Prologue

Somewhere nine months ago…

“Don’t even, Chad,” Jensen hissed. He stormed ahead of his manager-cum-friend, his footfalls echoing angrily along the museum corridor.

“It’s not my fault the plane had to turn back, Jensen,” the blond frantically explained. “I didn’t whip up that storm.”

Jensen stopped so abruptly that Chad practically walked into him. Whirling, he jabbed his finger into the other man’s chest. “And why was our takeoff delayed, hmm? Because if we hadn’t had to hang around on the ground and clear up that snafu, we would have left on time and stayed ahead of it.”

“Jensen –” Chad started.

“Don’t ‘Jensen’ me, pal.” Jensen cut his eyes from side to side to confirm they were alone. “I’m not the one who ordered up a hooker. Just what the hell were you thinking?” he continued in a hushed tone.

Chad stepped closer, laying a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. Because he was his friend first, Jensen didn’t knock it aside. “I tried to explain it yesterday.”

Jensen pursed his lips. “I don’t want to hear it again. Don’t,” he held up a warning hand, “mention his name again.”

“Right there,” Chad hissed, stepping up into Jensen’s personal space, “is part of the problem, man. Why can’t you say his name if it’s all good now, huh?”

Jensen’s right hand clenched and unclenched. He wanted to rail at Chad, but couldn’t. “I-I’m not ready yet, all right? Happy now?” he scowled, resuming his way down the hall without waiting for an answer.

The younger man caught up and touched Jensen’s arm. “No,” he said in an unnervingly gentle voice. “I’m not. And neither are you. You haven’t been happy for a long time.”

“Now’s not the time, Chad,” Jensen insisted, pausing as they came to Professor Omundson’s office. “Can we please focus?”

“Fine,” Chad huffed. “But the time is coming, Jensen. You can’t hide forever.”

Jensen gave him a jerk of his head and drew himself up to knock sharply on the door.

“Come,” a deep voice invited.

Jensen tugged his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles and then opened the door. Although he would never admit it, he had practically been beside himself when he found out the studio had arranged a chance for him to actually handle the manuscript the film was based on. Granted, he knew it would be under supervision, wearing gloves and other, protective measures taken, but he felt like a kid on Christmas morning. It was perks like this that made his job the best in the world.

“Professor Omundson, I presume?” Jensen half-joked as a man his height but maybe some half-dozen years older rose and stepped around his desk. His salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a wild ponytail and he resembled a mad scientist more than a scholar to Jensen.

“Mr. Ackles,” he replied jovially, a wicked twinkle in his sky-blue eyes. “A pleasure.”

Clasping the proffered hand, Jensen appreciated the strength there as they shook. “Please, let me offer my personal apologies regarding the lateness of the visit, sir.”

Idly twisting the end of an impressive moustache, the man waved him off. “Not a problem. To be honest, your employers are paying too generously for me to complain even if I wanted to.”

“I am sorry, though,” Jensen apologized.

Shaking Chad’s hand, the professor said, “You’re not the only one. I’m actually waiting on my research assistant. Apparently, he missed his flight out of Venezuela yesterday, too.”

“Huh?” Jensen murmured, vaguely interested. “What a coincidence.”

“Seems the dear boy ended up at the wrong airport and then, if you can believe it, had his taxi appropriated by an irate Californian who had been booted off his plane. By the time he got a ride sorted out, he’d missed his flight,” Omundson chuckled. “He’s always falling into mischief, that one.” Sobering, he added seriously, “But you’ll never come across someone who can pronounce or translate the 18^th century dialect of Manuscript 512 better than him.”

Before anyone had a chance to remark on that, the door was flung open and a tall, gangly youth burst in. “Prof O, I am so sorry –” he began and then his foot caught on a stack of boxes beside the threshold. He tumbled forward and it was only Jensen’s quick reflexes that had him darting forward, saving him from crashing to the ground.

Jensen, arms wrapped around the kid’s slim waist, was almost shocked by how right it felt to hold the stranger close. Easing him carefully to his feet, Jensen was reluctant to let him go. Standing taller than him, the kid shook his head, shaggy, chocolate hair flying, and revealed the most mesmerizing eyes Jensen had ever seen. Not quite brown or green or blue, they were an odd mix of all them. When he fixed them on Jensen, the younger man gasped, hands still pressed gingerly against Jensen’s chest.

“Always one with the grand entrances, Dr. Padalecki,” Professor Omundson quipped, hiding a sardonic smirk behind the hand brushing his moustache and beard.

“Dr. Padalecki?” Jensen asked, impressed that someone as young as the person before him would already hold a doctorate. He tried not to frown when the other man withdrew his tentative fingers. Wanting to prolong the contact, he offered his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, surprisingly himself by actually meaning the platitude. “Jensen Ackles,” he tacked on, smiling when those slender fingers wrapped around his.

“Mr. Ackles,” he echoed, tossing his head as a few, thick strands of hair fell into his eyes.

“Jensen, please,” he corrected him, squeezing the hand he still held onto and was rewarded by an actual blush pinking up the kid’s high cheekbones.

Dipping his head slightly, the tip of his tongue caught between the white line of his teeth, the younger man peeped at him through his unruly bangs and smiled in return. “Jared,” he offered.

“Jared,” Jensen said again, slowly shaking his hand. And as he looked up into those impossible eyes, Jensen felt something stir to life inside him.

For the first time in years, he was hopeful.