Word count: 1700
Notes: written for all_the_damned as part of the spnspringfling exchange, and probably the least anonymous thing i've ever, ever written. massive thanks to gojyochan for the last minute read through! warning: jensen is a serial killer, with all the attendant murder and gore that implies.
Summary: The papers call him the Smilemaker. Jensen calls himself a copycat.
It's not right. Nothing about it is right. Not the angle of upswung lips or the shape of the teeth underneath them. The manufactured dimples are still bloody. Slashed crooked with an unsteady hand on the scalpel. The man's eyes stare up at the ceiling like mirrors slowly going cloudy.
The papers call him the Smilemaker. Jensen calls himself a copycat, although his creations are a pale imitation of the original.
"I'll do better next time," he promises the formerly animated sack of flesh at his feet. "I have to." Jensen pockets the money that got the guy to follow him here in the first place.
Outside, under the streetlamp, he notices three drops of blood on the hem of his baby-blue hospital scrubs. Dot dot dot, like Orion's belt. Jensen doubts anyone will notice. It's a rare person who gets past his cocksucking mouth, but if they do, he'll shrug it off to a bad night at work. It's done the trick before.
Jared works the night shift in the hospital basement, where they take the people who aren't breathing anymore. Writes names on toetags, keeps track and makes sure the dearly departed are kept safe from all manner of sick fucks. His days are spent studying for a grad degree in social work, and he's just so nice. So goddamn nice.
Ghost-like, Jensen haunts the hallway. His shoes are silent and the coffee in his hand is burning his fingers. Through two fob-locked sets of double doors, Jensen watches Jared hunched over the desk, a textbook open at one elbow and a dog-eared notebook at the other. Jared pushes his hair out of his eyes. It falls back into them so he does it again, chews on the cap of his pen and something liquid happens to Jensen's knees for a moment.
With the back of his hand, Jensen taps the buzzer, waits for Jared to hit the electric locks. He doesn't want to spook Jared. Things can get strange down here at night.
"Heya, doc," Jared says, handing over his crooked, grateful grin. It's one of Jensen's favorites. He's memorized them all, has a mental catalogue of each quirk and variation. He just can't reproduce them.
"It's Jensen. Just Jensen," he corrects Jared like he always does, and slides onto the corner of the desk.
"Quiet night up there?" Jared asks. He sips the coffee Jensen brought him, hums a soft thank you.
"So far." A car crash victim who's gonna survive the injuries but probably not the DWI. A dog bite. A couple of sprained ankles. Primates being primates. A Tuesday like any other Tuesday. "Quiet down here?"
"No zombies." Jared smiles again and Jensen smiles back. It's an inside joke. A secret thing, and Jensen shouldn't like it so much that they have one. It fills up the empty spaces inside his heart and for a little while, Jensen is a real boy. It's unsafe.
Jensen caps the syringe. The blade in the scalpel is new, and so is the file resting beside it. If Jensen had known his fixation was going to take this shape, he might have studied dentistry instead.
Another broken down building and another broken down boy spread out before him. Shaggy, dark hair. Tall enough that he'd fallen like a redwood. A precious pink mouth open and waiting for Jensen to ruin it.
Jensen's hands are steady this time. Two decisive flicks of the scalpel at the corners of the mouth and the grin turns wide enough, matches the pictures Jensen keeps in his head. Next time, he'll have to get a file that's finer, able to take the exact right nip out of the lateral incisor. As it stands, it's close. The closest he's ever been, and Jensen goes dizzy from it. Floats for a while.
It's a two-hour ride from his playground back to his place, and Jensen replays every instant of the night over and over in his head.
The sloppy wet spot on the front of Jensen's scrub pants isn't blood this time.
Three in the morning is when Jared takes his break, so that's when Jensen takes his, too. The cafeteria is nearly empty, most of the action happening around the coffee pots. Jared joins him at his table and Jensen likes that he doesn't wait for an invitation anymore.
Everything on his tray is the same vague shade of washed out yellow. Soupy macaroni and cheese, applesauce, those dry vanilla cookies he likes so well.
There are dark thumbprints under Jared's eyes and he's staring at the florescent lights with big, subterranean blinks.
"Haven't been sleeping?" Jensen asks. He's aware of the answer, knows where Jared lives, the names of his roommates.
"Not enough time," Jared tells him. It's not a complaint, more like a statement of fact.
Jensen pushes his coffee across the table with two fingers. Jared empties a fistfull of sugar into it and replaces the lid, puts his mouth where Jensen's mouth was a few minutes ago and Jensen starts to sweat.
"Didn't know you liked it sweet," Jensen says. It's another thing he files away.
"I'll take it however you give it to me." Jared blushes, offers Jensen the flirty, shy smile this time. "Anyway, you keep this up and you're gonna start to turn my teeth yellow."
He says it like it's nothing, like it doesn't make Jensen excuse himself in a voice that's strangled and weak. Hide behind the nearest bathroom door and jack his dick raw, dreaming of permanent smiles and yellow-stained teeth and the way Jared's throat works when he swallows.
Everything is red. The blood-stained bone in a halo around the experiment's head. The edges of Jensen's vision. The sole of his shoe from kicking this stupid, fucked-up mouth in over and over.
He's getting too close. Not close enough.
Jensen's leaning over the counter at the nurse's station, wasting the last five minutes of his shift idly skimming a magazine. Thirty-three ways to drive your man crazy in bed. He recognizes Jared's breathy laugh before he looks up.
"Don't try twenty-four," Jared warns him, and Jensen wants to sink his fingers into his dimples. Jensen wants.
"I'll keep it in mind," Jensen says.
"I've been thinking," Jared starts, shifts from foot to foot like he's nervous, and Jensen feels a twist in his guts, daring to hope. "I was gonna ask you to breakfast, but I really just want you to take me home."
"I hardly spend any time here." Jensen's place is small, even smaller with Jared in it, taking up all the space in the room, all the space in Jensen's chest. A chair, a table, one of those fancy coffee pots on the counter. All of Jensen's prized possessions are hidden under a false drawer in his dresser.
Jared doesn't look around, his gaze stuck on Jensen as he pulls him down onto his flophouse mattress, drills into him like he's intent on fucking Jensen right through it. Jensen learns what that smile feels like against his mouth, his stomach, the inside of his thigh. His ass, when Jared pushes his knees up and eats him out, sucks him clean and pushes his pasty, come-stained tongue into Jensen's mouth, fucks Jensen all over again and makes him howl and think that god is something more than just an abstract concept.
Jared sleeps like he's dead. Jensen keeps his wrist to his lips the whole time, counts each flutter of his heartbeat under thin skin, making sure. Jensen blanks out sporadically. Under no circumstances can he be trusted.
There's no movement as Jensen traces the shape of Jared's mouth, worms a fingertip inside to touch the ridges of his teeth. Only a soft sigh when Jensen tastes the sweat gathered in the hollow of Jared's throat.
It's the first time Jensen has seen him in daylight. Gold streaks through Jared's hair. His grin is even brighter and broader and Jensen's afraid his primate mask slips a little at the hint of yellow in the back.
Jared drags him through the open-air farmer's market, and Jensen feels like his name might be in the credits for some sorta rom-com movie montage. Jared's eating a banana upside down, swears that most humans do it wrong. He's got a canvas bag with avocados and tomatoes, and promises Jensen he's gonna make him the best guac he's ever had, keeps giving Jensen shit about the fact that he has nothing to eat in the house. Jensen's holding Jared's hand. He's never done that before. Their secret smiles are out in the open for everyone to see.
A quick sidestep, and Jared yanks Jensen under an out of the way awning, pushes him up against the wall. He smells like sweat and sunshine and bitterly of Jensen's come. Jared kisses him, allows Jensen to suck on his tongue. Jensen doesn't like banana-flavored things, but he does like Jared-flavored things.
Someone cat-calls them, tells them to get a room and Jensen breaks away from Jared. He stares at the man, takes in his preppy button down and shorts an eye-wrenching shade of pink. Jensen lets what's always inside of him break through to the surface, doesn't pull it entirely back as he takes Jared's earlobe between his teeth.
If it comes right down to it, Jensen would die for him. Better yet, he'd kill for him.