Who'da thought, baby? We're civilians. (dugindeep) wrote,
Who'da thought, baby? We're civilians.

Christmas Ficlet Numero Uno: Trainstamp

800ish words for zubeneschamali from this poll here.

Every half minute or so, Jensen looks over his shoulder, waiting to see all of Jared’s tallness ambling down the aisle but he never comes. Jensen checks his watch for about the tenth time and cringes as the second hand creeps closer and closer to departure.

Another five minutes and he simply gives up, resigned to Jared working late even when his late-afternoon email had relayed the fact that he would not.

Jensen pushes his legs out under the seat in front of him, rolling his head to stretch the muscles in his shoulder and neck. It’d been a rough day, one like no other; he was bitter at starting the day more than an hour early and working right through lunch, but he’s now grateful to have left at five.

Though, he can’t decide if he’s happier being on his regular train or pissed off at not seeing Jared.

As the train gets going, chugging forward, he’s a little thankful to be heading home. He sees just a light glow of daylight lingering outside as the train exits the station. It’s darker than he’d like; but at least he’s not stuck inside four walls with a phone plastered to his ear.

Just as always, Jared alarms him. Crashing into the seat in a huff, dropping his messenger bag to the ground, and panting for dear life.

Jensen looks around, over his shoulder and forward, and then back to Jared. He hesitantly brings his hand up, setting it at Jared’s back where it’s hunched with Jared resting his forehead to the seatback in front of them.

“Uhh,” Jensen says dumbly.

Jared’s shoulders rise high on a deep breath then drop as he sits back and lightly shakes his head. White flakes are just starting to melt, making his hair and face damp where they’re not littered with traces of snow.

Biting into his lip, Jensen watches and waits for Jared to speak.

Slowly, Jared turns his head. His eyes meet Jensen’s with warning even as his mouth seems to twist in amusement. “You say anything and I swear …”

At Jared’s miserable state, Jensen coughs on a laugh. Then he can’t stop, chest tight with the surprising hilarity of what a sight Jared makes right here.

“Thank you,” Jared complains as he shakes out his hair. “So much.”

As Jensen comes down off his laughter, his hand slides to Jared’s neck and squeezes. “I didn’t say anything,” he argues lightly.

“Smart ass.”

Jensen hums in return.

“I ran,” Jared says with a hint of bitterness. “For a mile. In the snow. I ran all the way here to sit next to you, and you’re laughing at me.”

For a moment, Jensen calms himself and considers how little he’d care to be in this situation. How much he’d bitch and moan and glare at Jared, as if it were the guy’s fault that Jensen’s ever caught in bad weather during his commute. But then he considers that fact that it’s not him, and for all the times Jared mocks him in his tragic transit experiences, Jensen decides this is his moment.

And he grins.

“Sure, laugh it up,” Jared grumbles as he pushes a hand through his hair, swiping wet hair away from his cheeks and forehead. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Because tomorrow, I’m sure you’re gonna be miserable if and when the tracks freeze up and you’re late to work.”

Jensen halts at the thought. “Why the hell you gotta jinx me like that?”

Jared smirks at him. “Because I can. Because you’re superstitious about the train and you’re laughing at me.”

He straightens himself out and settles back in the seat comfortably, foot easily winding with Jared’s when they’re both stretched out. “Yeah, well, I owe you about twenty ‘grin-and-bear-it’ speeches.”

Jared takes his turn to hum.

After Jared relaxes with a few deep breaths, Jensen glances over. “Do you have to work late tomorrow?”

“Depends,” Jared returns, distracted with brushing flakes off his jacket.

Jensen looks out the window, watching fat, white clumps fill the air as the wind whips the snow every which way. “If it sticks, we should check out the park.”

Jared rubs his hand over Jensen’s knee, pats at his thigh, and then leaves his hand there in a soft touch. “You’re adorable.”

The corner of Jensen’s mouth tips up. “Who’d have thought?”

“Certainly not me,” Jared chuckles.
Tags: the way to really fly

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