Chapter Text
For the past two weeks, Jared has worried about attending his first-ever fan convention.
He incorrectly shelved an indeterminate amount of books while working the aisles at Mayhue's Bookstore because of this convention. His body may have been at work, but his mind certainly wasn't. He kept rephrasing exactly what he would say during his photo op with the headlining celebrity, Jensen Ackles.
Every one of Jared's coworkers predicted he would lose his nerve by backing out or throwing up.
He still doesn't necessarily disagree with them, because anxiety got the best of him--he packed two changes of clothes just in case. Jared enjoys preparing for the worst... sometimes at the expense of enjoying the moment. But this is his (belated) high school graduation and eighteenth birthday present, so he's determined to take every possible precaution. He would have chartered a private jet from Smithville--the sleepiest town in Texas--to Dallas, except for the fact that he makes only slightly above minimum wage. In any case, he prefers the six hour ride on the Amtrak, as it provides him with ample people watching, time to read, and more legroom than the Greyhound option.
On the Texas Eagle, Jared reworks his planned remarks and finally lands on the perfect words to say as he steps up for his photo op. He writes them down, over and over, so as to commit them to memory. When the train arrives in Dallas, he follows his carefully planned travel itinerary and finds the right bus. The last leg of his journey, the bus takes fifteen minutes and deposits him smack dab in front of the convention center.
Slightly intimidating in its size--far larger than any public space he's ever been to--he came prepared to tackle the convention center and its throngs of people. He manages to make his way to the hotel, check in, and find his room without too much trouble. Thankfully, he arrives at the con a day before his photo op, and takes the opportunity to decompress from the trip, check in with his mother, text his friends, and shower. Time passes all too quickly, cooped up in his modest hotel room, where he fusses over the selection of clothes he packed until the last minute. His friends helped him put together the few outfits that fit in his carry-on bag.
On Saturday morning, he wakes up early and sits through a few fan panels, then takes a stroll through merchandise alley. With a little bit of spending money his momma gave him before he left, he buys two prints and a t-shirt. Surrounded by the enthusiasm of thousands of people, Jared walks with a bounce in his step. He returns to his room with revitalized energy--and his ever-constant state of anxiety.
In the bathroom mirror, Jared attempts to look at himself in the most objective way possible. He's tall, that's for sure, and his momma figures he'll top out somewhere around six foot four. That's three inches to go. What will the world look like from that perspective? He makes a wish that as he grows taller, he'll fill out, because one of the most fitting words to describe himself is "lanky."
He runs a finger down his nose, then pokes the dimple that frames his mouth. Tiny moles dot his face, instead of the freckles he so desired in grade school. It seemed like all the cool kids had freckles. He rolls his eyes at his assessment of self, then hopes his chin-length, wavy-at-the-ends, cinnamon brown hair looks somewhat decent--not floppy or messy. It's fine. He is fine. Everything will be fine.
However, for all of his planning, worrying, and overthinking, he can't help sweating bullets as he joins the long, winding photo op line in the convention center's lower level. He joins the line just as it snakes past a pop-up bar, and helps a fellow convention attendee when she spills her drink and stains her carefully crafted cosplay. They each miss the moment when bodyguards in suits walk past, collectively forming a wall around Jensen and leading him to the photo op room. The entire line stays on its best behavior, but lets out a loud cheer.
Back in line, Jared rocks back and forth on his feet. He's here. This is it. In about thirty minutes, all of his hard work at the store will pay off. He doesn't make much at Mayhue's--it's just enough to help his momma with expenses--but he worked hard to save up and pay half of the cost for this experience. He understands the value of a dollar earned and the meaning of a dollar spent. It's how his momma raised him.
If only she had also taught him how to stay calm in front of the movie star, TV star, celebrity, model, breathtakingly handsome human being known as Jensen Ackles.
Don't throw up. Don't throw up.
The line inches forward at a steady pace and leads everyone into a large conference room. Handlers instruct people to please place any purses or backpacks on the large table in the middle of the room, then shout out further instructions. One or two people maximum per photograph, unless they purchased an additional ticket. No inappropriate or sexually suggestive poses, signs, or props. Keep the line moving.
Taller than most people, Jared gets an early glimpse of Jensen. Oh, fuck. He catches a glimpse of Jensen's outfit--black, fitted jeans and a lightweight sweater the color of smoke from a controlled fire. Perfect. Meanwhile, Jared stumbles over his own feet as the line inches forward. Good Lord, he thinks, chewing on his bottom lip, how is this man even human?
Five people away--Jared's heart thumps so hard against his chest that it might suffer permanent damage.
Four people away--he starts mentally rehearsing what he will say.
Three people away--he can’t stop fidgeting.
Two people away--he takes off his protective hoodie and wraps it around his waist. It’s hot in this tiny room and there are at least three hundred people crammed into the conference room for the same purpose.
One person away--he holds his hoodie close to his chest as a security blanket.
The handler who directs to move forward offers to hold his hoodie. Jared accepts and hands it over. This is it.
Jared steps towards Jensen, and he doesn’t trip. That's the first win. His smile widens to full capacity. That's the second win. Jensen slings his arm across Jared's shoulders, the flash goes off, and it's done. He did it. He made it all the way through without making a fool of himself or breaking down. That's the third and best win. He can hardly believe any of it when he’s outside the photo op room, holding his hoodie and a ticket with details on where to pick up the printed out copy of his photo-op in an hour.
That. Was. Amazing.
He pulls on his hoodie, and tucks the ticket--the most sacred item ever--into the front pouch. After a deep breath, he double checks he has everything before heading up to his room for the rest of the afternoon. He promised his mother he would not wander around Dallas after sunset. Even if he wanted to, he'd only be teasing himself in the process. He has enough money left to order room service for the night and that's it. He'll be back on the Texas Eagle tomorrow at seven in the morning. On his way back to his room, he checks the back pocket of his jeans to make sure he has a tip to give whoever delivers his food. What he finds is definitely not cash.
It’s a simple business card, J. Ackles printed on the front.
On the back, there's a neatly written phone number--Jensen Ackles' personal cell phone number.
Jared grapples with the thought that tomorrow, he may miss his train ride home.