More Than Ever | J2 AU NC-17 | Epilogue

[fufaraw]

More Than Ever Epilogue

[Warnings on Master Post]

Jared was at Whitley Hospital for six weeks. Dr. Tilley admitted him for observation and treatment for twenty-eight days, the first week of which he was allowed no visitors.

Jensen met with her, anxious for news of Jared, on one hand wanting desperately to see him, and on the other, dreading it.

"He needs to adjust to the routine and the environment, Jensen," she said, kindly but implacably. "We need to clear his system of whatever he's been using to self-medicate, and see what we're dealing with. And then we need to adjust and tailor his meds to maintain his equilibrium. He'll be in therapy sessions, group and individual, and even if he avoids some of them, he'll attend some, too. It's a structured environment, and it should help him get his balance back."

That was what Jensen was most worried about. "It's an institution," he said. "He's spent a lot of time locked up, doing what other people tell him. I'm not convinced this is what's best for him."

She nodded. "I'm aware that both of you have doubts – and I certainly admit Jared's background gives reason for those doubts. But I'm positive that this experience will help him.

"He's obviously not managing his life well." As Jensen started to speak, she added, "And it's not your job to manage his life for him."

He nodded, reluctantly, and she continued. "It robs him of agency, he depends on you. And then he resents you, both for the limits you try to impose, and for his dependence on you. We've seen how badly that worked, for both of you. It's time to try something different."

When Jensen was finally allowed to visit Jared, it broke Jensen's heart to be hugged by a bright and animated version of his husband, doing his best to impress Jensen. "I'm all better now, see? Let's go home. Take me home, Jensen."

When Jensen told him he would have to stay awhile, Jared started to unravel, first promising to be good, and then lashing out at Jensen for "keeping him locked up." He went from angry to sobbing, wrapped around Jensen and begging, in seconds. "I don't want to be locked up, Jensen. Get me out, please. I'll be good, I promise."

Jensen was in tears himself, and at a loss as to what to do. An orderly close by stepped forward and took Jared out of Jensen's arms. "It's time for Mr. P's afternoon therapy session, and then a little nap. He'll feel better afterward." He smiled at Jensen, and then addressed Jared directly. "Are you ready, Mr. P?"

Jared nodded meekly, and let himself be led away. Jensen started to follow, but a hand on his arm stopped him. "Best let him go, for now," the nurse said. "Come back tomorrow. He'll be feeling better then."

Week by week, almost day by day, Jared got stronger. His sense of humor re-emerged, and if it was a little sharper-edged, a little less kind than it had been, well, Jensen couldn't fault him for that. Jared interacted with other patients, and with staff. He didn't twitch and cower when someone passed close by. He initiated conversations and made cheerful comments. He seemed – happy. He was ready to talk about his group therapy and what he was learning there, about other patients and about himself. He even spoke a little about his personal sessions with Dr. Tilley, and shortly before his twenty-eight day confinement was finished, he suggested to Jensen it might do him some good to stay longer.

Dr. Tilley was in favor of it. "It will help him build on the good start he's made. He's doing good work here. Another two weeks will be good for him."

Jensen agreed. He missed having Jared at home, but he wanted what was best. And Jared getting better was good for both of them. "I'm kicking him out after that, though," Dr. Tilley told him. "Any longer, and he'll become dependent on us, rather than taking what he's learned and moving on."

Jared asked if Jensen would agree to a joint session with Dr. Tilley. Jensen wasn't sure why he hesitated. He had private sessions with her too – it wasn't as if she didn't know a lot about him, and about his and Jared's relationship. He wasn't sure why he was uncomfortable. Maybe he was afraid of hearing Jared's side of things? But if it would help Jared, help them, then he would do it gladly.

* * *

Jared was at home, now, for a couple of months. He was calmer, much more himself than he had been since he had been recovered. He had started working at some drawings, with an eye to maybe designing architecture again. He was making some attempts at reconnecting with old friends, and he had even gone out with Jensen and the members of the band, and some of their friends. He seemed to be taking life as it came, now, and enjoying it, for the most part.

"Hey," Jared stood a few feet away from the dining table where Jensen was working on a new lyric. He was backlit by the westering sun through the windows, his silhouette outlined in light. "You busy? Got a minute?"

Jensen just looked at him for a few seconds. God, that was a handsome man standing there. That was his husband. He shoved the chair back, stood and stretched. "Yeah, sure. Want a soda?"

He started for the kitchen, but Jared put out a hand to stop him. "No, wait. There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Sure, okay," Jensen said. "Have a seat."

"There's things I've been remembering for a while," he said, settling into a chair. "I think I've got a handle on it now, I've been dealing with them pretty well." He cast a curious eye at Jensen, who nodded agreement.

"I want to tell Morgan about Roberts." He said it in something of a little rush, and then sat very still, waiting for the reaction.

Jensen just breathed for a beat or two, and then, slowly, he asked, "If you're sure?" Jared nodded.

"Then yeah, I think you should." His face darkened, his expression grim. "The bastard needs to pay."

"There might have been...others. Others like me." Jared's voice was shaky, but his jaw was determined. "I couldn't live if I thought he got away with what he did."

Jensen was in total agreement. "As long as you're going to be okay with this, then I say go for it. I'm with you."

It was Malik who met them at the airport. He took one look at Jared and swept him up in a back-pounding hug.

"Dude, you look a hundred times better than the last time I saw you." He slanted a glance at Jensen. "You've been taking real good care of our boy."

Jensen smiled and shrugged. "He's worked really hard." He shook the hand Malik offered. "I don't think I ever said thanks," he began, but Malik cut him short.

"No need, man. All part of the job."

Beaver was waiting when they arrived at the office, and Morgan joined them as soon as they were settled around the conference table. "Now, I understand you have some new information for us?" Morgan asked.

Jared shrugged. "Not new. But I finally got to the place where I can tell people about it." He exchanged a small smile with Jensen, and launched into the harrowing account of the things Roberts had done to him in the name of "love."

There was a lot of quiet in that room while Jared spoke. Jim made notes from time to time, and Malik made a couple of his own. When he finished speaking, there were a few silent moments, before Morgan cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Jared, well done. We've already had corroborating testimony from at least two witnesses who were detained with you at different facilities." Morgan didn't offer names; it was doubtful they would mean anything to Jared anyway. "I understand how difficult it is going over all this again, but I can't tell you how important this information is."

Jared looked up, and Morgan nodded. Jared appeared to relax a little, knowing he wasn't the sole accuser. Morgan continued. "There's already a federal warrant for his arrest, and an ongoing manhunt for Theodore "Teddy" Roberts. We'll get him. And this," he tapped the recorder with a forefinger. "Will put him away."

The meeting was over. They shook hands all around, and Morgan promised to keep them informed about the case against Roberts.

The nightmares didn't stop. Of course they really hadn't expected Jared's confession to magically put an end to them. It was Jensen he wanted, Jensen he reached for when he woke screaming in panic. But during the day, most of the time he was better, he was fine on his own.

They shared a bed, and there was occasional cuddling. But Jensen refused to make the first move toward sex, and Jared was, so far, incapable of initiating it himself. Jensen spent extra time in the shower, often ruefully remembering the epically long showers their sons were fond of during their teenage years.

Morgan called to let them know Roberts had been arrested, was being held without bail. Jared put him on speaker so Jensen could hear, too. There was a grim sort of triumph in the look they exchanged.

"Jared, it's a federal case in a closed courtroom, just so you know. We probably have more than enough to convict without your testimony, so I don't want to pressure you. If you don't want to confront him in court, we can take your deposition to be read into the record.

"It's up to you. You just have to let us know what you want to do, so we can put this bastard away for good."

Jared looked to Jensen for guidance, but Jensen knew it wasn't his decision to make. "Mr. Morgan, can Jared call you tomorrow with his decision on that?" he asked. "He needs a little time to think about it."

"Of course," Morgan answered, as Jared nodded his thanks. "I'll look forward to hearing from you."

Jared talked it over with Jensen and decided, ultimately, that it had nothing to do with bravery or overcoming anything if he decided not to be in court when Roberts was tried. Jensen supported him completely, and was there when he called to give his decision. Morgan was fine with it. He would call back in a week or two to set up a place and time for Jared to give his deposition.

They still saw Dr. Tilley, individually and as a couple. It was a joint session today, and she had a surprise for them. "I've booked you both for a week," Dr. Tilley said, looking from one to the other. Jared squirmed in the chair beside his, and Jensen spoke.

"I don't really think – "

"No, Jensen, it's okay," Jared addressed him directly before turning to the psychiatrist. "I really want to work on this."

She gave him a nod of approval, and looked to Jensen. "Jensen, don't you want to work on recovering some of the closeness in your relationship?"

He stared at her in disbelief; why had he been coming here for weeks, if not for just this reason? He straightened in his chair and nodded without looking at Jared. "Of course."

"Then this retreat will give you both a chance to focus on each other, and the relationship you share, without distractions." She smiled encouragingly. "I think it will do you both a world of good. It's the next step, and it's a good thing you're both ready to take it."

And what steps are there after that, if this one doesn't work, Jensen wondered, though he kept that to himself. Because nothing so far seemed to be working for them. At least, not in this area.

Jared had always been tactile – in fact, it was Jared who had overcome Jensen's inhibitions when it came to physical demonstrations of affection. Jared always seemed to be touching the people he loved: two-armed hugs, getting pulled into that warm wall of chest, or simply an arm about a waist or shoulders, his hand on them somewhere, back or arm or face. He didn't have a sense of personal space, but somehow having Jared in your space was so easy and natural it was completely nonthreatening, even for someone like Jensen, whose family had not been as physically demonstrative.

The loss of Jared's impulse to touch with affection, to stroke one's hair or face, to hug, had been an aching gap, ever since Jensen had gotten him back. Jensen had attempted to bridge it with physical touch of his own, only to feel Jared withdraw from an offered touch, to stiffen and still within a hug. In the aftermath of nightmares, Jared sought Jensen's reassuring embrace, his touch. But once anchored again in reality, he shrugged it off, as if it felt oppressive and hard to endure. Jensen could feel the tension in him rise the more prolonged the touch. So he backed off, gave it time, waited it out.

But things with Jared hadn't changed, didn't seem to be changing. As Jared got stronger, found himself again and learned to stand on his own, he needed Jensen, and Jensen's reassuring touch, less. The lack of physical affection was just a part of the distance between them now, but Jensen had run out of ideas of how to break that barrier between them, how to close that distance, how to touch Jared and have his touch welcomed.

It was harder every day for Jensen not to be touched. He missed being wrapped up, surrounded by Jared. There were times when he had felt near suffocated by his husband's demonstrativeness, but now he craved it, now when it seemed like he would never feel it again.

So if there was any way to get even a fraction of that kind of closeness back, yes, he would go with Jared on this "couples' retreat."

* * *

They were packing for their trip when Jared's phone rang.

"Morgan," he told Jensen, and put it on speaker.

"We're here, Mr. Morgan."

"Guys, I've got some news." The agent sounded tired. "I guess it's up to you whether it's good news or bad news."

"What is it, sir?" Jensen was unsettled by the lack of animation in Morgan's voice.

"I'm just gonna come out and tell you, Roberts is dead."

"Dead?" Jared was unbelieving.

"Yeah. We read him the list of charges. He asked if you would be at his trial, and he acted upset when we told him you wouldn't be there."

Jared's face twisted, but he didn't speak. Jensen stood close, put a hand on his shoulder, while Morgan went on.

"We didn't have him on suicide watch, I see now we should have. He hung himself in the shower – he knotted the leg of his jumpsuit around his neck and tied the rest of it to the showerhead, and just – "

Morgan seemed to have finished, and clearly Jared didn't know what to say. Jensen spoke into the silence. "Mr. Morgan, thank you for telling us. Is there anything you need from us? From Jared? Would you still like him to give his deposition, for the record?"

"Yes, that's a definite. But we'll arrange that in a week or two. I just thought you both would like to know."

"Yes, sir," Jensen answered. "Thank you." The line went dead.

Jared stared, wide-eyed, at nothing, and it was freaking Jensen out. "Jared!"

Jared focused on him, and shrugged. "It's kind of – anticlimactic, right? I don't know, Jensen. Should I feel cheated?"

"What do you think, Jared? Do you feel cheated that he wasn't punished for what he did?"

Jared thought for a few minutes, and then gave a faint little smile. "I think dead is dead," he said, finally. And actually, Jensen was okay with that.

* * *

The facility was set in rolling hills carpeted with grass that many golf courses would envy. There was the main building, some industrial mogul's former estate, now converted to the Psychology Center. Other buildings were scattered around the property, but they were for the most part discreet and unobtrusive. The several-acre campus was graced with massive live oaks of a respectable age, and walking paths followed the rise and fall of the gentle hills, complete with a couple of small stone bridges arching over a stream that wound through the grounds.

Their suite was in the main building, and though the corridor boasted original 1920s millwork baseboards, door casings, and paneled doors, their rooms were simply but comfortably furnished, a bedroom and a small sitting room with comfortable-looking chairs, a bookcase, a flatscreen TV on the wall, and a games or small dining table and chairs near the window. Floor-length curtains looped back with simple bands, and the windows themselves were open to the sunny spring morning, the rustle of leaves, the conversation of passersby, and the distant hum of traffic lending signs of life to the empty room.

There were classes and seminars, and exercises in communication: by eye contact, by voice, by gesture and body language, and finally by touch. Jensen felt a little foolish, and he was sure Jared probably did, too. But this was supposed to help, so they followed the plan, and spent nearly every hour in each other's company, with a group of strangers.

There was an old three-seater metal glider set in the shade of one of the live oaks on the grassy lawn, and Jensen found himself there one sunny afternoon, rocking gently. He felt a little guilty for seeking solitude, a peaceful moment to himself, rather than staying where Jared was and working on recovering their relationship, what Jared had lost – what Jensen himself had lost, and was beginning to despair of ever getting back. What they had both lost.

He stared from the green depth of shadow out into bright sunshine, distance and inattention blurring the movement and sound that went on outside this pocket of peace. The glider lurched, and resettled into its rhythm as Jared sat down on the other end. He didn't look at Jensen, he didn't speak, but suddenly he lay down, folding himself small to fit, with his knees poking out at a ridiculous angle off the seat, and lowered his head to rest on Jensen's thigh. Jensen's hand had lifted out of the way in reflex, and it hovered in the air as Jared settled, and Jensen could feel and hear him release a little sigh. His hand lowered tentatively to touch Jared's hair where it stirred in the breeze, and Jared settled further, reaching over Jensen's lap in a one-armed hug.

Tears prickled as Jensen tried to understand, to accept this gift of contact, this voluntary touch and willingness to be touched, as he stroked Jared's hair, working through it to rub gently at Jared's scalp.

Jared hummed in pleasure and seemed to relax and settle against him even more, as Jensen's foot kept the glider moving at the same soothing pace. Jensen didn't dare speak, didn't want to interrupt or disturb this peace between them, this gift of closeness, of touch offered, accepted, and returned. He was very near to being overcome with emotion, but for the sake of the physical contact they had not shared for the weeks, months, since Jared had been recovered, Jensen blinked back the tears and kept the words, the questions, behind closed lips. He sat still, felt the warmth and the welcome weight of his husband willingly lying against him, and reveled in the privilege of touching him back as his fingertips stroked soothing circles into Jared's scalp.

"How much did you hate me, at first?" Jared asked, and it took a moment to register that he had spoken at all. Jensen caught the words a second later, but wasn't sure what he was being asked.

"What?"

"When you had your freedom taken away," Jared continued. "When you became dependent on me for whether or not you got to eat, what clothes – if any – you got to wear, what kind of conditions you lived in, whether or not you were beaten." Jensen felt Jared's breathing hitch as he forced out the next words. "When I raped you."

Jensen's hand fell to Jared's shoulder and he leaned forward, trying to meet his gaze. But Jared turned his face into Jensen's leg, unwilling to be seen, or to look at him – either, or possibly both. Jensen sat back and let that go. But he risked cupping Jared's shoulder gently. "Jared – "

"I thought about you a lot," Jared went on, determined to make this confession. And Jensen let him. It was time Jared got some of this out, and if he could help, then this was good.

"How horrible it had been for you. I mean, I knew that, intellectually. I had accepted responsibility that it had been done to you, and to the others, and that I had benefitted from the practice. That was one of the reasons I wound up working for the movement. I felt guilty, and I wanted to atone."

Jared held himself very still; Jensen could feel his muscles stiffen before he forced out the next words. "But when I had those things taken away, when I had no defense, no recourse, no way to fight it, when it just happened, no matter why, or what I wanted, I finally really realized what I had done to you."

His breath hitched where he lay pressed against Jensen, and it might have been a little sob. "And I just wondered," he went on, and Jensen could feel the dampness of tears soaking into his jeans. "How much you hated me, and how you ever got over it. Did you get over it?"

Jared sat up, and met Jensen's gaze, his own eyes blazing with a welter of emotions. "How can you love me when I did that to you? Do you love me? Did you ever?"

Every bit of control was dissolving, every barrier he had tried to keep his emotions contained behind was falling, and Jensen folded him tight in his arms and rocked him like a child.

Between all the emotion and Jensen's rocking and the unsteady motion of the glider, things got a little swimmy there for a moment, but Jensen planted both feet firmly and stilled the glider, pulled Jared tighter and just hung onto him while the terror, rage, and sorrow of the past four years found an outlet at last. Jared wept himself into exhaustion, clinging to Jensen, who just held him through it, strong enough to withstand it all, until both of them were silent and spent, swaying from reaction, in each other's arms.

"Jared, I lost you once, but I got you back." He pushed Jared upright so he could look him in the face, shook him a little. "Look at me." When he did, Jensen continued. "You've come this far, man, and it's such a very long way from where you've been. And we'll work on getting you back the rest of the way." Jensen put every ounce of love and belief in his eyes and voice. "I promise you. I'm not going to lose you again."

It took Jared a few moments to gather his courage, but he raised his chin and met Jensen's eyes, and nodded, almost in spite of himself.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

fin

Author's Note:
Once again, wendy and thehighwaywoman deserve medals for the organizing and catherding they do to make this challenge fun, as well as successful. You verily and truly rock, ladies.

This fic would be a poor pitiful thing without the world's best beta, spn_j2fan. She knows this saga as well as I do, sometimes better, and when I'm out in the weeds looking at shiny things, it's she who gets me back on track, and headed in the right direction. Up with sloppy storytelling she will not put, and she keeps me on my toes. One of my (many) failings is a tendency to list things, instead of write about them. It's entirely thanks to her there are few lists herein. She's not just my beta, she's my wonderful friend. I'm so grateful to have her help, and you should be grateful, too.

I have a small but dedicated support group, chief among them my head cheerleader and reaction-reader, meus_venator. I love it when the top of her head blows off. It's fun to make that happen. She is also a tech diva, and I'm eternally grateful for her kind escort of me and this story through the mysterious, confusing paths to posting. You should thank her, too. Otherwise we'd all be looking at gibberish code.

angstpuppy received a very sketchy and primitive first draft, plus a few "milestone" scenes to be included in the final version. In mere days, I opened an email from her, and promptly burst into tears. She had put together a playlist, with the sound file, which just blew me away. But it was the first glimpse of the cover that utterly wrecked me. She absolutely got where the story was going, and if that had been all, I would have been thrilled. But there was *more*. Please go to her art post and tell her how wonderfully evocative and haunting her artwork is.

More Than Ever isn't an easy story to read. It certainly wasn't an easy one to write. But I do thank you for coming along on the journey.

Comments? Master Post  | Art Post - show angstpuppy some love for all her hard work!

Comments

[dinkwerks.livejournal.com]

I had to go back and reread the first story to get back into this one. I loved it...will not lie...made me cry in places...for both of them..I don't know if you will continue with this series (or if this is the last one) but I hope you will.

[fufaraw]

That's two pretty heavy stories, right there. Both of them made me cry while writing, too.

Thanks for letting me know this one affected you. I can't promise what the future holds. But I appreciate your investment in the 'verse.