Chapter Text
Summary: At the age of thirty-one award winning author Jensen Ackles has everything he could possibly want but nothing that he needs. Suffering from burn out and unable to write he takes off to a woodland hideaway to try and get his mojo back. When he meets the reclusive hermit, Jared for the first time he can’t possibly imagine the extent to which their lives are already inextricably entwined. Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s just coincidence. Maybe together they can journey out of the dark.
All the art is by the amazingly talented mini_moue
Out of the dark - big bang 2009
She felt the tremors begin to rack her whole body as the terror began to overwhelm her. This was it, the end, there was no hope left. As he began to approach she began to sob once more, calling out for her mama and trying to twist herself out of the bindings until the blood ran in crimson rivulets down her arms.
“Cry all you like little girl, no one can hear you.” His voice is a harsh, distorted whisper, the sound only serving to increase her distress as she realized that his terrible, twisted visage was the last face she’d ever see.
His knife flashed and danced in front of her eyes and she increased her panicked screaming as he carefully began to peel the skin from her face.
(Extract taken from the debut novel “Raven’s Ravings” by Jensen Ackles, the award winning horror author and Oscar winning screen play writer).
Ackles (31) and still single, is one of the finest young writers of generation X. Sadly Jensen says with a wry smile and a twinkle in his gorgeous green eyes that he’s not available, he’s still getting over a bad break up from last year. Doesn’t that just make us want to love him more? When you’re ready to start dating again, Mr Ackles, there’s one reporter here who’s heading up the line!
Jensen can’t really remember when he first started telling stories, the words were so much a part of him it was a struggle to try and isolate the moment when he’d first been able to share his gift with other people. He guessed it was probably when Mac was little; she was always pestering him and Josh to do stuff with her. Bribing her with the promise of bedtime stories had been one way to get five minutes peace. He’d created a magical world for her and peopled it with characters from her toy closet, talking bears had frolicked with a one-armed monkey and a purple frog.
As they got older he and Josh used to lie in bed at night huddled under the quilts with a flashlight and try to scare each other with the urban legends that were always doing the rounds at school. The hookman who grabbed couples out of their car or the mad old lady who lived in the ramshackle house down the road and who’d bake kids into pies on Halloween.
The first time he knew for sure that he was any good at it was scout camp when he was eleven. They’d had a competition telling scary stories round the campfire; his story had his fellow campers shivering with fear as he drew out the tale of a madman creeping between the trees to snatch them all one by one. He’d been unanimously declared the winner and awarded a real Swiss army knife that he still treasured more than any of his other accolades.
It was a story the press pulled out every time they wanted to interview him – boy wonder of the horror novel, the bright, new face of the dark side with his wholesome freckles and All-American roots.
He had grown up in Texas. Part of an average family doing normal stuff, middle son of three children, little league, boy scouts, Church on Sundays. He was often asked where he got his ideas from – how some one as happy and uncomplicated as he was could delve with such frightening intensity into the very darkest recesses of the human psyche. He’d just shrug his shoulders and flash his charming smile and say “Well I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
The, usually female, interviewers would simper, laugh and flirt their way through the interview and afterwards would try and angle for a date. Jensen would be personable but distant and the interviews, when they appeared would always be glowing. The accompanying photo shoots would show Jensen looking rumpled but attractive working at his desk, or posed with one of his many literary awards. They would often feature the shot of him receiving his Oscar for best screenplay with Kripke when they made the movie of his first novel.
Thirty-one years old and he’d already made enough money to never have to work again but somehow the need to write still drove him. He remained fairly reclusive, staying on the fringes of the literary world, going home to his family when the media interest got too much. He avoided the usual round of opening nights and A-list parties preferring to stick with the same tight knit group of friends that he’d grown up with. They kept his feet on the ground and took no notice of his fame. The one time he’d got close to an outsider he’d ended up hurt badly so now he kept himself to himself. He spent his days in a strict routine of writing and his evenings hanging out with his friends.
His friends and colleagues all knew and respected that Jensen liked his privacy which made it all the more unusual when his agent called him up and invited him to go to the opening night of an art exhibition with her. At first he demurred before finally allowing himself to be talked into it, Sophia could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.
Dutifully he picked her up dead on time and escorted her through the paparazzi and up the Gallery steps. Although the event was a low key affair featuring a number of lesser known artists the opening night was a charity event and so many of the local celebrities were out in force. The exhibition was showcasing the work of several artists and Jensen feared it would all be too high-brow for his taste. When he saw that the first sculpture was entirely made up of empty cigarette packets formed into the shape of Mount Rushmore he reached for the champagne and drained a glass rapidly before reaching for another one.
“Jesus, Sophia! Why did we have to come and see this crap anyway?” he hissed. She smiled serenely and tweaked at his tie. “It’s good for people to see you out and about occasionally,” she purred. “Anyway, there’s some work here by an artist who doesn’t have an agent yet, Kim wanted me to check his work out for the firm and you can give me your opinion.”
“Come on Sophia, cut the bullshit! I don’t know jack about art.”
“And that’s why I need you, if the firm wants to represent this guy he’s got to have popular appeal. If you like it, I’ll know its good – not just trendy. Now, I’m gonna go circulate because I actually like people and you can look round the gallery and get an impression of what you like.”
Jensen snorted softly before setting out to do as he was told. Sophia could be hard sometimes but she was scrupulously honest and respected his desire to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. She’d protected him from the fallout over the whole Collins incident so he owed her big time. As far as agents went he felt he was pretty lucky, Sophia worked hard to do the best for him and she rarely asked him to do more than the bare minimum of public appearances.
He wandered round looking at the exhibits and sipping the champagne, it was expensive and fizzy and he would have given anything to swap it for a nice, cold beer.
Much of the work was in the same vein as the first sculpture, trendy junk that seemed to be trying too hard, he was almost ready to give up when he found a little room to the side of the main gallery. It contained nothing but half a dozen huge photographs, all were intensely detailed showing scenes of breath taking beauty, or close ups of wild creatures from unusual angles.
One that particularly caught Jensen's eye showed the bank of a small creek and focused on the twisted patterns created by tree roots where they twined with each other just above the surface of the water. The light dappled the water through the trees making an unusual effect of light and shade on the surface of the water.
The whole picture was alive with light and movement and Jensen found himself entranced by it. He had never really considered photography to be an art form before but now he realized that it must have taken hours to set this picture up, waiting for the light to be perfect just as the shoal of tiny fish swam beneath the roots.
Jensen checked with a Gallery PA who was hovering discretely with a little roll of red stickers and found that the pictures were really reasonably priced. He bought his favorite one on the spot and asked her to call him if any of the others were still available at the end of the exhibition.
Every time he looked at the photographs he found some tiny, perfect detail, a dragonfly hovering over the surface of the water or a tiny skeletonized mouse in the corner of a picture of a nesting bird. When he could finally drag himself away he went to find Sophia who was deeply engrossed in a conversation with two other young women about the lack of straight, male talent these days. He tapped her on the shoulder and she dragged her attention away from her friends and turned to see what he wanted.
“’Kay, honey I’ve done what I was told, can I go now? Steve and Chris are playing in a bar downtown; I might just catch the end of their set if I can get a cab now?”
She patted his cheek fondly, “Okay, sweetie. Thanks for coming. What did you think of the art?”
He leaned in close so that no one else could hear. “It was all crap!” he stated bluntly, grinning at the way she tried to hide her reaction. “The only thing worth a second look was the photographer in the side room, Tristan Padalecki, I’ve bought one already. Right I’m off.” He kissed her cheek fondly.
“That’s my guy!” she chuckled, “I’ll get Sera on to it in the morning. I’ll call you about your next publicity tour too, ‘Dark Mirror, Dark Soul’ comes out on the 14th and coincides with ‘Shadow Man’ coming out in paperback so I want to get you on a couple of covers the week before.” He nodded and threaded his way through the crowd, eager to get back to a place where he’d feel more comfortable.
The bar where his friend’s were playing was cozy and dark; anyone in there who knew who he was didn’t care. Art Galleries and A-listers were soon forgotten as he stuck his tie in his pocket and headed for the comfort of anonymity once more.
Chad and Jason greeted him with a beer, Steve gave him a nod before he and Chris launched into another song and everything else was forgotten but friendship and the closest thing to a family he had here.
Six months down the line and Jensen was starting to feel worried. The latest novel was on the shelves but for the first time ever there wasn’t a new one in the pipelines, he was fresh out of ideas. His laptop stared accusingly at him from his desk but he couldn’t even come up with ideas bad enough to scrap.
Unable to write he felt lost, time dragged heavily. He had mounted the photograph from the Gallery above his desk and he would spend hours staring at the picture. He had the strangest feeling that the ideas were all hidden under the peculiarly dappled light, just out of reach beneath the water or in the mossy recesses of the tree branches.
He had spent weeks wandering moodily round his penthouse apartment but couldn’t settle to anything. He spent hours cooking complicated meals that he barely picked at and ran for miles every day but nothing seemed to help. He knew he didn’t have to write but not having to and not being able to were two totally different things. In his bleaker moments he felt as though the darkness was building up inside him and if he didn’t write it out of his system he would be taken over by it. He lay awake at night, kept all the lights on all the time but he felt like the words he should be writing were threatening to drown him.
In despair he called his Mama and rambled at her on the phone for an hour, pouring out his despair and his sense of failure despite all he had achieved.
When he finally calmed down enough for her to get a word in edgeways she said, “Well, honey, you know you’re always welcome to come back home but I don’t know if that’s what you need right now. Do you remember when we used to have the cabin in the forest? You should go somewhere like that; escape the noise and the pollution and it never getting dark at night. The darkness is what you write about so I’m not surprised you’ve run out of inspiration where you are.”
Knowing that she was, as always, right, Jensen lost no time in getting on to Sophia and saying he was going to be out of circulation for a while, she grumbled for a bit but soon agreed that the break would do him good.
When he asked his Mama where the holiday cabin had been he found it was in the same region as his photograph had been taken. It seemed like an omen, and although he’d never believed in them before he couldn’t deny that they were one of the mainstays of his books. Omens and portents always served him well as a literary tool; maybe it was time to start using them as a life tool too. Chris and Steve would so kick his ass if he said anything like that out loud though.
It felt right to him to find a cabin in the area. Well, to ask Sophia to find him one anyway. If nothing else he could write a journal of his life in solitude or write his autobiography if he was feeling really desperate but he fervently hoped he’d get his mojo back or fix whatever existential crisis was giving him this writer’s block.
It was late in the afternoon when Jensen finally pulled his truck to a halt outside the general store. It seemed to be the only public building in the tiny town with two gas pumps on the forecourt as well as signs advertizing coffee and food. It looked old but clean and in good order, which he was glad to see because this was to be his only contact with civilization for the next three months at least. The closest large town was a three-hour drive away and he had no plans to be making that journey anytime soon.
He rubbed the grit from his eyes but only succeeded in irritating his contact lenses more. Coffee – that’s what he needed before he attempted the last leg of his journey. Locking the truck he climbed up the steps to enter the building.
Inside, the store was well stocked with a good selection of staples and a few luxuries. It was divided into two main areas – the provisions and hardware taking up a good three quarters of the space, with the remainder being a small dining area. A pot of coffee gave off a tantalizing aroma and a plate of delicious looking home baked pastries sat beside it on the counter. Two middle-aged men were playing chess and drinking coffee and as he entered they both turned to look at him. The older one had a grizzled, graying beard and wore a baseball cap but his eyes twinkled kindly, the younger one gave him a smile that was friendly enough but Jensen felt he was being appraised by a professional eye and the man still exuded a dangerous air.
“Hey there, boy,” the older man drawled. “You’re a long way off the beaten track, you lost or road tripping while you find your inner self?” he chuckled at his own joke.
Jensen smiled politely, if he was going to be living here for a while then it wouldn’t do to antagonize the locals. “No sir. I’ve rented a cabin alongside the lake for a few months, I was just calling in to get a few supplies and collect the keys, are either of you Sam? I was told he’d be here with them.”
“Nope I’m not Sam and he ain’t neither!” obviously the more garrulous of the two, the older man spoke again. “Well then, neighbor I guess we’d better introduce ourselves. I’m Jim, I own the only garage round here, if your truck needs work or if you’re still around when we need snow chains I’ll sort you out.”
Thank you, sir. I’ll bear that in mind. I’m not sure how long I’ll be around though.”
“My friend here is JD; he just does whatever needs doing. If you need anything fetching or the cabin needs work doing on it he’ll be your man for that.”
“Hey JD... Jim, good to meet you both. Uh – I’ve been on the road all day and I’d be grateful if you could tell me where I could find this Sam guy.”
Finally the dark haired JD grinned, flashing perfectly even, shiny, white teeth which seemed in contrast to his weather beaten face and worn flannel shirt. “Maybe I’d better call him for you.” He raised his voice, “Sam, Sam honey. You have a visitor!”
A tall, good-looking woman emerged through a side door wiping her hand on a dishtowel. JD grinned again, “This is Sam, my wife Samantha. Sam this is . . . Oh! You didn’t give us your name.”
“JD, don’t you tease, you know darn well that this is Jensen Ackles so don’t go pretending otherwise. We may be out in the woods Mr Ackles but it ain’t the dark ages. We’ve read all your books but no one here will bother you about it.”
Jensen stammered and blushed his way through an introduction, “Please just call me Jensen,” feeling like he’d been completely wrong footed by his misunderstanding over the woman’s name and not sure of the intentions behind the two men’s teasing.
She waved his apologies away with a smile and poured him a steaming mug of coffee as she began pulling packages and tins from the shelves and packing him a box of supplies. “Now if you need anything at all you just come to me, Jim and JD may act like they take turns with the brain cell but they can be quite helpful if they’ve a mind to be. Now, I’ve got a lovely cherry pie cooling on the side for you, I’ll go get it and the keys and I’ll point you on your way.”
Jensen drank his coffee gratefully as the woman bustled round organizing things. When she disappeared into the kitchen he risked a glance at the two men who were once again involved in their card game which seemed to need two packs of cards and a fair amount of cursing. “She’s sure got everything under control,” he observed genially.
“Yeah” Jim agreed. “Didn’t think anyone could tame my sister until JD came along.”
“I wouldn’t say tamed,” JD smirked. “No one else would put up with her mad coot of a brother,”
“Or her bossiness,” Jim observed.
“Got no problem with that,” JD countered. “If you don’t want to get bossed around don’t marry a nurse!”
Jensen began to relax and enjoy the banter that was obviously a practised part of their relationship.
“So boy, you ever been here before?” Jim asked.
“Not really, sir. We used to have a cabin on the other bank of the lake when I was a boy but I haven’t been back in years. Anything I should look out for?”
“Well, no bears round here so unless you’ve a racoon phobia you should be fairly safe,” JD observed dryly.
“There’s the wild man of the woods,” Jim noted.
Feeling his leg was being pulled again Jensen grinned, he was beginning to enjoy these two and was glad that there would be company available if he decided he needed it.
“I ain’t joshing, boy. You never heard the stories? About Sasquatch, the wild hairy ape-man who roams the woods feeding off . . .”
“You stop that right now, James Beaver!” Samantha’s eyes flashed dangerously as she stood hands on hips and glared “Poor boy! He don’t need no silly stories or tall tales! You two have been sitting around under my feet all afternoon, it’s time you did some work. Jim, you go sort out Mr Jones’ Chevy, he’ll be back tomorrow. JD, I made another batch of pies, you can take ‘em out to the freezer.” She smiled at Jensen as the two men hurriedly finished their coffee and left, muttering goodbyes as they went.
“You know what they say, the devil finds work for idle hands, and if he won’t, I will.”
Jensen laughed and thanked her again as he carried the generous box of groceries out to the truck and she pointed out the way he had to travel.
“You take care now,” she said. “You need anything you just come on over. Cell phones don’t work round here but you’ll always be welcome. There’s no bar in town but folks turn up here most Friday nights for a drink and a chat. I’ll be expecting to see you.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Jensen smiled back at her, already totally charmed by the friendly welcome he’d been given. He even found himself whistling as the truck rattled along the dirt track towards his new home, he felt better already.
As he carried in the box of groceries from the truck to the cabin Jensen had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. He peered anxiously through the dark undergrowth but nothing moved so he hurried inside and set the box on the table. It didn’t take him long to bring in the rest of the things he’d brought with him, just a duffel of clothes, his wash things and his laptop.
As Sam had promised the cabin was basic but cozy and well enough equipped to suit his needs. Jensen unpacked and made himself at home, he plugged in his laptop and opened a blank document. He had nothing to write in it yet but just having it ready gave him hope here; whereas in the city it had made him feel worse than ever.
It was completely dark now and Jensen took his mug of coffee with him to stand out on the porch. The moon was a couple of nights away from being full but it was very bright and lit up the trees with an eerie glow. If he couldn’t find inspiration here he wouldn’t find it anywhere. There was a sharp crack as a dry twig snapped somewhere and he expected to see some small creature startle out of the undergrowth but there was nothing.
Shivering slightly he finished his drink and peered out into the night once more. A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye and he spun round but already everything was still again. Smiling to himself he went back inside, his imagination was obviously kicking in already.
He slept early and easily, filled with good food and exhausted by his journey. His sleep was dreamless and refreshing and when he woke in the morning he was filled with purpose. He didn’t want to push himself with trying to write just yet, instead he planned to spend the day hiking through the woods and exploring his new surroundings, maybe he’d feel like making a start when he got back.