Hollow Years: Prologue



It's ten minutes 'til the bell rings and everyone's talking, arms waving in the air, the usual late afternoon drowsiness forgotten. Mr. Ackles is leaning against his desk with an amused smile on his lips, green eyes flittering from one group to another. He'd dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt, unusually casual for a teacher, but then Mr. Ackles is a very unusual teacher.

He inspires passion in his pupils, passion for his subject and not only for his person, even though he gets his fair share of that too. With a face like his he could be a movie star and his full lips has inspired more than one bad poem among his students. He treats everyone that same though, nice but professional, never letting anyone get close.

The bell rings and the students start piling out of the classroom making an unholy lot of noise. Jared lingers, he always does, takes his time to gather up his books, the pen he dropped on the floor and his bag until he's the only one left in the classroom. Some of the girls sometimes try to outstay him, but they never manage, no matter how many times they give Jensen the dewy eyes, or how deep their cleavages are.

"You were quiet today," Mr. Ackles says, picking up a bunch of papers from the desk.

Jared shrugs as he walks up aisle between benches, clutching his books to his chest. "The others were talking for me."

Mr. Ackles purses his lips and leans back against the desk. "Do you agree with them? About Romeo and Juliette's undying love and devotion?"

"They seemed pretty damned dead to me," Jared says, looking at the floor before his feet. "I mean... It's so pointless."

"Some would say it's romantic."

"They were like what? Fourteen? Fifteen? Who finds love at that age? Really? I mean... At least one of them could have had some sense. It was probably just the thrill of the forbidden anyway."

Mr. Ackles chuckles. "Jared Padalecki, sixteen going on eighty-five."

Jared smiles shyly, glancing at Mr. Ackles through his bangs. "That did sound a bit old fashioned, didn't it?"

Mr. Ackles reaches out with a hand, but stops himself and lets it hover inches away from Jared's face. "Yeah," he says, letting the hand drop. "But it's a valid point. The forbidden's always thrilling."

Jared's stomach does that flip flop thing it likes to do when Mr. Ackles is near and he looks down at his dusty sneakers. He knows he's misreading things; that Mr. Ackles isn't really talking about them, but his stomach doesn't agree clenching almost painfully.

"You should get going," Mr. Ackles says. "You'll be late for class."

Jared nods, keeping his face averted as he walks out of the classroom. He can't help but to feel as if he's been sent away like a naughty child, even though he knows Mr. Ackles means well. It's not like he can read Jared's mind and see the hopeless crush he has on him. If he could he probably wouldn't be nice to Jared anymore and start treating him with the same kind of pointed distance as he treats all the girls fawning over him.

Jared swallows and gathers his books tighter to his chest, keeping his head down as he walks towards his locker. Over the years he's perfected the art of not being noticed, keeping close to the walls and bothering no one. Some would say it's like a superpower, going anywhere you want without anyone noticing, but to Jared it feels like a curse. Like he's going to wake up one morning and not be able to see himself in the mirror.

Someone's written 'fag' on his locker in red marker, the letters glaring at him when he raises his hand to the lock. They're crude, edgy, like whoever wrote them had the calligraphy skills of a two year old. He swallows, ducking his chin and glancing around to see who noticed. Greg Silber is leaning against the wall a few feet away, grin firmly planted on his face. Jared looks away, ignores him, and opens his locker.

He can feel Greg's eyes on his back, eating into his flesh like he's trying to suck the life out of Jared's body. Maybe he should be grateful that someone sees him, but he isn't. It's not like Greg ever wanted anything but to hurt him, humiliate him; make him pay for being the one that survived.

Greg was Jonathan's best friend, his partner in crime. The two of them were always together. They grew up together, hunted girls together, made the football team together, went to school together, until that fateful night one year ago when Jonathan was hit by a drunk driver while walking Jared home from the library. The car had come out of nowhere, skidding over the road and getting both of them with its bumper, sending them crashing to the ground.

Jared had sustained a head injury and spent two weeks in a coma. Jonathan had been killed in an instant. In one fatal accident Jared lost his big brother, the love of his parents and whatever semblance of security Jonathan's presence had given him. It wasn't like the two of them had been close, in all honesty they'd never really understood each other, but Jared still misses him.

Jonathan was the perfect son, the athlete, any parents dream. Jared was the other one, the smart one that no one paid any attention to because they just assumed he could figure it out on his own. Now Jared is the shunned one, the one no one ever really sees, not even his parents. The only person who ever makes Jared feel as if he matters is Mr. Ackles and he's just a teacher, not a friend; he doesn't really care.

~*~




"Did you read it yet?"

Jared looks up from the computer screen, blushing slightly when he meets Mr. Ackles eyes. He wasn't expecting to see Mr. Ackles in the computer lab; he always seemed to be a bit technologically impaired.

"Yeah, I did," he murmurs, ducking his chin and pretending to focus on the screen again.

"So... Did you like it?"

Jared glances up again. "It was... tedious."

"You think The Iliad's tedious?"

"Yeah, I mean... Not the story. The story is... captivating, but the meter's kind of..."

"Tedious."

Jared smiles shyly. "It's not like I didn't appreciate it, because I really did, but... reading it kind of made my head ache. You know... I kinda... Never mind..."

Mr. Ackles leans against the desk next to him, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, tell me."

"You wouldn't understand," Jared mutters, staring at the keyboard underneath his fingertips. No one ever understands.

"Try me."

Jared looks up again. Mr. Ackles is smiling at him, little crinkles spreading from the corners of his eyes. Jared wants to reach up and touch them, to see if they're really as soft as they look.

"It's... You know... The meter has a pattern but it's not... It's not complete. It wasn't meant to be read in English and every mistake jarred. It's kinda hard to explain, but I see patterns, like the text was highlighted by it and... I don't know. Maybe I'm just crazy."

Mr. Ackles shakes his head. "I don't think you're crazy, Jared. I just think you're very, very smart."

Jared smiles a little, a blush creeping up his cheeks again. "Maybe," he mumbles, licking his lips.

Mr. Ackles squeezes his shoulder for a moment and Jared's breath catches in his throat. He can't even remember the last time someone touched him like that, simple and caring.

"See you in class," Mr. Ackles says and then he's gone.

Jared stares emptily at the screen for another ten minutes before he can breathe right.

~*~


"You wanted to see me."

Mr. Ackles looks up from his papers and smiles. "Jared, come in."

Jared slips through the door, closing it silently behind him. He's never been in Mr. Ackles office before, it's tiny and he feels like a giant where he's standing just inside the door. Mr. Ackles motions towards the lone chair next to his desk and Jared sits down, licking his lips nervously.

"I wanted to talk to you about this," Mr. Ackles says, holding up a binder with Jared's name on it.

Jared recognizes it; it's the short story he gave Mr. Ackles in class last week even though short might not have been the right word. "Oh," he says, looking down on his hands. "You read it."

He gave it to Mr. Ackles because he wanted an honest opinion, but looking at it now, clutched in Mr. Ackles hand it doesn't seem like such a good idea. Jared's father always says that writing is for dreamers and Jared never really was a dreamer. He's more of the practical type who knows not to reach for what he'll never get.

"Yeah, I did," Mr. Ackles says, putting the folder down on the desk. "First I have to ask you Jared... Did you really write this?"

A cold lump appears in Jared's stomach, making it hard to breathe right. "Yeah, of course... Mr. Ackles, I wouldn't..."

"Calm down," Mr. Ackles says with a smile. "And you can call me Jensen."

"Jensen," Jared says dumbly, wrapping the name around his tongue.

Mr. Ackles, well Jensen, smiles again, or maybe he never stopped. "You might not want to use it in class though. High school girls can be vicious."

Jared snorts, like he doesn't know that already. "I won't."

"So... this story." He pats the folder. "It's amazing. Honestly... I was blown away."

Jared smiles shyly. "Really?"

Suddenly he feels all warm inside, like someone lighted a fire in the pit of his stomach.

"I love the plot and the language you use... It's way, way above high school level. If I were you, I would seriously consider a writing career."

Jared's smile dims a little and he looks away, studying the books on the shelf lining one wall. Most of them classics, like Oliver Twist, Jane Eyre and Moby Dick, but here and there something different peeks out, some Asimov and Eddings and a few biographies.

"I have an obligation to society," he mutters, quoting his dad.

"What?"

"With my brain... I have an obligation to society. I can't afford to spend my most formative years, writing and daydreaming. I need to stay focused."

Jensen blinks. "Jared... What on earth are you talking about?"

"Did you ever read my file Mr.... Jensen?"

Jensen shakes his head. "I don't believe words on a paper say anything about who a person really is."

"Maybe you should," Jared says, before pushing himself up from the chair. "Thanks for reading my story. Can I have it back please?"

"Yes, of course," Jensen says, handing Jared the folder. "But..."

"I have to go."

Jared slips out the door as silently as he entered, walking quickly down the hallway, as he turns the corner into the main hall he drops the folder into a trash can. There's no use in dreaming about what he can never have.

~*~


"Jensen, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Jensen looks up from the paper he's grading to find Principal Smythe in the doorway.

"Yes, of course," he says, putting his pen down.

"So... how do you like it here? Is the office big enough?"

"Yes, indeed Sir," he says carefully.

Principal Smythe steps in and closes the door behind him, looking around. Not that there is very much to look at, the place really isn't all that big. In the few months Jensen's been at the school he's hardly seen the Principal, he's not the type to visit his teachers for social calls, so he wonders what this is about.

"The talk says you're pretty friendly with young Padalecki," Principal Smythe says, studying Jensen over the rims of his glasses.

"You mean Jared? Yeah, we talk sometimes."

Principal Smythe purses his lips. "I suppose I don't have to remind you teacher, student relationships is strictly forbidden."

Color rises in Jensen cheeks. "Sir... I would never..."

"That's good, Jensen, lets keep it that way, shall we. Dr Padalecki is a valuable contributor to the school and he's very adamant about what kind of education he wants his son to have. Jared is, as you are well aware, a very special boy. His IQ is off the charts and he will graduate come summer with straight As in all subjects even though he's only sixteen. I'm afraid though... that he's... impressionable."

Jensen swallows, looking down at the paper before him, the letters swimming before his eyes. "What are you saying, Sir?"

"Nothing. I'm saying nothing," Principal Smythe says, but when Jensen looks up there is a hard glint in his eyes. "Just don't give the boy any ideas."

Principal Smythe slips out and closes the door after him, making Jensen feel as if he's suffocating in the cramped room. He stares at the paper on his desk, the one he was grading before Principal Smythe showed up, but the words mean nothing to him. They want him to stop being nice to Jared, stop putting ideas in his head as Principal Smythe would say, ideas like the fact that he can be anything he wants.

It makes him feel sick inside, to know that people are trying to run Jared's life for him, push him along a path he might not want, but fighting it could mean Jensen's job. It's not like he didn't hear the threat even though something so crude would never pass over Principal Smythe's thin lips. That little bypass about student teacher relationships told Jensen exactly what he has to look forward to if he doesn't play by their rules.

In this time and place even a vaguely worded accusation would be enough to put Jensen out of his job and stop him from ever working as a teacher again. There is nothing that scares parents as much as the thought that some vile teacher might be putting his filthy paws on their precious little angels. Jensen knows that if the Principal wanted to, he could easily get any of the young women Jensen's turned down to accuse him of something.

The problem is that he's not ready to turn his back on Jared, not now, not ever. He can't explain it, and he knows that it's wrong, but he just feels at ease in Jared's company. There's desire hidden there, sure there is, desire he would never act upon, but it's not the only thing. He genuinely likes Jared, likes talking to him, and if things were different he knows they could be friends. It's not like Jensen is in any way starved of attention, or like he doesn't have friends. He just likes Jared way more than he should and he know Jared likes him back.

Turning his back on Jared now would hurt and make him feel like a weak person, but he'd be okay in the end. Jensen's not so sure what it'd do to Jared though. He knows Jared doesn't have any friends, he's noticed the way the other students don't even look at him and chances are most teachers ignore him too. It's scary to have a sixteen year old in your class that's smarter than you, but Jensen just sees it as a challenge.

Jensen's grandpa always used to say you can't save everyone, so just save the ones that matters and Jensen firmly believes that Jared matters and the person he needs to be saved from is himself, or maybe his parents. Jared's too smart, too compassionate to be put in a box at the age of sixteen, he should be able to become the man he wants to be.

~*~


"Wow, you really have it in for that pencil, don't you?"

Jensen looks up from the pencil he's been vigorously sharpening for the last five minutes and smiles sheepishly. "You noticed, huh?"

"Yeah." Jared smiles back and leans against Jensen's desk. "It doesn't matter though; you won't be sharpening any more pencils today."

Jensen blinks, tilting his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"What?"

"About the pencils."

"Huh?"

"You said I won't be sharpening any more pencils today."

"I did? Jeez, I guess they put LSD in the cafeteria food again."

Jared shakes his head, like he's trying to shrug something off and Jensen reaches out, touching the hand that's resting on the desk.

"Jared... Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I just need to... Yeah. I'm fine."

He leaves without another word, shoulders hunched and mouth set into a thin line. He brings his hand up to rub at his temple like he's got a headache and Jensen's about to run after him when Principal Smythe appears in the doorway.

"Everything okay?" he asks, sounding concerned but his eyes are cold.

"Yeah," Jensen says, plastering a fake smile on his face. "Everything is fine."

"I hope so," Smythe says. "I don't want any trouble."

"No trouble here," Jensen says, smiling so hard his face hurts.

"Good. Keep it that way."

Smythe disappears from the doorway and Jensen gets up to close the door behind him. He's got a few minutes before his next class and he needs to think things over.

"Watch out." The shout comes from the corridor and Jensen reflexively sidesteps as a basketball shoots through the door, skidding across the desk with a clatter and bouncing off the wall.

"Sorry." Greg Silber comes jogging up the corridor with a sheepish smile. "Josh didn't catch."

"No basketball in the corridors," Jensen says, looking at Greg as he picks the ball up. "You know the rules Silber."

"Yeah." Greg licks his lips, backing out of the room. "Sorry bout your sharpener, man."

He's gone before Jensen can ask what he means and when he turns back towards the desk his sharpener is on the floor, cracked open with shavings spread out around it. A chill runs down his spine as he stares at the mess. He won't be sharpening any more pencils today.

~*~


"Jared... Do you have a minute?"

"Mr. Ack... Jensen. Of course." Jared looks up and down the street, but there's no one else around. He glances towards his house, but it seems quiet, no one behind the curtains. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. About earlier."

Jared bites his lips and looks down. "What about earlier?"

Jensen looks around too, making a face. "Can we talk somewhere more... private?"

Jared swallows. "Uh... Okay."

He starts walking down the street towards the closest cemetery. It's not the safest place to hang out at night, not in Sunnydale the freak town, but he's not scared, not with Jensen trailing after him.

"Did you ever notice the insane number of cemeteries around here?" Jared asks. "It's crazy, really."

"Yeah," Jensen murmurs. "Crazy."

Jared closes his eyes. He doesn't really remember what he said earlier, to Jensen, but he's guessing that whatever he said came true. The headache says it did. It's not something he wants to talk about, ever, but it's different with Jensen. He doesn't know why, or how, but it is. Maybe it's one of those things he just knows.

He walks through the half open gate and into the cemetery. There are so many graves, so many people resting under their feet, it chills him. His family moved to Sunnydale four years ago from San Antonio. He doesn't remembers much of how, or even why, but he remembers crying the entire car ride, crying while they unpacked their things, crying his first day in school. Moving here hurt and he thinks, maybe, he knows why now.

Jensen grabs his wrist and pulls him over to a bench, sitting down and pulling Jared with him. He goes easily, letting himself slide down on the cold wood, staring at the grass beneath his feet.

"It never snows here, not anymore, but it did once. It was a beautiful night and the slayer danced with an angel," he says, frowning as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He's really doing a cracking job at coming off as sane and normal.

"You can see the future," Jensen says, his voice sounding odd.

"And sometimes, apparently, the past." He laughs but it's empty, ringing hollow even to his ears. He's insane that's what he is. Crazy. And he promised once he wouldn't talk about this again.

"You told me I wouldn't sharpen anymore pencils today."

"Yeah."

"And then my sharpener broke."

"Oh." He snorts. "You'd think that if you're able to see the future it ought to be about important things. Big things. Not broken sharpeners."

Jensen shakes his head and laughs. "You can see the future. Christ. And here I thought you were just a genius."

"I don't think that's it. I mean... I don't think I am, not really. I think it's something else... Actually, I think I'm insane, you shouldn't be encouraging me."

"No Jared, you're not. There is a lot more between heaven and hell than most people ever imagined and many things you may be, but you're not insane."

"You're still holding my wrist," Jared says, unsure as what to say next. He never really had anyone believe him before.

"Do you mind?"

He looks down to where Jensen's hand is curled around his wrist, his fingers warming Jared through his shirt. He shakes his head. Jensen slowly lets his hand slide lower until it's covering Jared's and when he looks up, Jensen's smiling at him.

"You're my teacher," he whispers.

"Yeah. This," Jensen nods towards their hands. "Is all we'll ever have. All I can let us have. You understand, don't you?"

Jared nods, but he doesn't understand, not at all. Jensen's hand is warm on top of his, spreading heat into his numb fingers. He's been cold all day, ever since that moment in the classroom where he opened his mouth and the future came out. It hasn't happened for over a year, not since Jonathan, and he prayed it wouldn't ever happen again.

At least this time he didn't speak about death, unless sharpeners count and he's grateful for that. He almost thought he'd lost the gift, if that's what you'd call it. Almost thought he wouldn't ever again open his eyes to that skeptic look in someone's eyes and a blinding headache. It ought to mean something that it's happening again, but he doesn't know what.

Last time, he lost Jonathan, his brother, what will he lose now?

~*~


Jensen's appalled by the thrill that goes through him when he curls his hand over Jared's, repulsed by his own desire. Jared's a kid and his student, it doesn't matter that he's a genius and can see the future. He doesn't know about the ghost, the vampires and the monsters in the closet, he doesn't know his darkest nightmares can come true at any moment, but Jensen knows and he cares. Cares enough to not corrupt a kid, no matter how right it feels.

Jensen's family is not what you'd call your average family, in fact there's not that many left. He was raised to fight the dark, the monsters and the things in the closet. His grandfather was a demon-hunter, his mother a slayer and his best friends are a warlock and a werewolf. He came to Sunnydale to fight evil on top of the Hellmouth, to help put darkness off for as long as he's able and to make as many kids as he possibly can fall in love with literature.

Nothing about him is what it seems to be and still he's got no clue how a sixteen year old kid managed to short circuit his libido. His grandfather, who was full to the brim with helpful proverbs, used to say there's someone for everyone, but he never imagined it would be like this.

"You'll be dead in a week," Jared says suddenly. "You'll be dead, but you'll keep on living. Don't worry, Steve got it right, the only human you'll ever kill is me."

Jensen pulls his hand away from Jared's suddenly cold inside. He'll kill Jared. At some point in the future, maybe next week, he'll kill Jared.

"No," he whispers. "No, that can't be. I wouldn't. Ever. I wouldn't. Not you."

"Jesus," Jared gasps, raising both hands to his temples. "Jesus, Jensen, what did I say? What did I say?"

"Nothing important," he says weakly. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Jared turns to look at him, his eyes wide with pain. "I don't want to be like this. Jensen, please, make it go away."

He jumps up from the bench, slowly backing away. "Don't ever ask me for that. Anything but not that," he whispers before he turns on his heel and runs.

He doesn't stop running until he's home, his lungs burning and every breath catching in his throat. His fingers fumble with the lock and he can't stop looking over his shoulder, half expecting it to happen now. The door finally comes open and he stumbles inside, reaching for the phone even though he's not sure he's got enough breath left to speak.

Steve picks up on the second ring, sounding sleepy and out of it. "Jen?"

"It's happening. I found him, or he found me."

"Shit, you sure?" He can hear growling in the background, low and menacing.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

"Fuck. I can't... I can't leave right now, but tomorrow? Yeah?"

"Tomorrow might be too late," he whispers, the phone slipping from his fingers. There is a sound behind him and he turns around. "You," he says, and then everything goes dark.

Read Part Two of Seven plus Epilogue of Hollow Years by Jeyhawk