Release Me 7
Title: Release Me
Author: 3rd-leg
Rating: 14 for now
Disclaimer: Don't even own the horse I rode in on.
Pairing: J2. Sick!Jensen, Stressed to the gill!Jared
Summary: Jensen's finally reaching the start line, and Jared's about to run off the track.
A/N: It's been forever, and I'm so sorry. Was going to post this as one thing but ended up having people talk me into posting what I had worked on towards the ending! I hope this was worth it....but maybe it's not! lol
Jared fights the heavy lull of his head and wonders if there’s a Guinness world record for most continuous days without sleep. He’d win. Hands down world champ. He bets he’d get a medal or something, like super shiny. Maybe gold. Wait. A trophy. That’d be cooler.
“Yeah,” somebody agrees aloud, and Jared laughs ‘cause see he’s not the only one. He laughs again when he shifts in the chair just the right way to create the perfect waft of Eau de PadaYucky. Showers are overrated, and so is shaving for that matter. Well, pretty much anything other than sitting his ass in the plastic chair and watching Jensen like a mother fucking hawk.
It’s working though. His laser stare, it’s damn better than any heat vision Clark Kent could cook up. Jared’s already made up for the two small times he missed the Jensen eye flutter/roll millisecond ‘cause of…okay, the hole in the men’s bathroom wall two floors down sums up how well he’s coping with that betrayal. He’s got a plan that involves him and Jensen and maybe that SWAT gear from the bank episode to enact their revenge though. Seriously, it’s on paper.
So, whatever, his point is that Jensen’s woke up just for him, so Jared’s made up for not being there the first few times. Its intermittent minutes of quasi alert, but still its worth noting.
Jared yawns and leans forward, craning his neck to see if the nurse’s coffee station has a fresh pot or not. God, the cafeteria should be open 24 hours at a fucking hospital. His blurry vision almost misses the smallest of green peeking out under Jensen’s eyelashes.
“Dude!” Jared shrieks like a damn teenager, and yeah, okay, it is what it is. Deal with it.
Jensen blinks, slow, as if it takes every fiber in his being to do just that. His eyes roll lazily, peeking in and out from half-mast eyelids. He’s still on the ventilator, still ghoulishly pale, still fighting the fading remnants of a fever, but dammit, Jared thinks Jensen never looked better. “Hey. Hey, Jensen.”
Jared’s fingertips brush the side of Jensen’s forehead, tracing the hairline gently. The touch is electric, the feel of skin under skin, free from static Nitrile glove safety precautions. “Morning, sunshine.”
And there it is that damn manic laugh. Jared twitches and swallows it back down. Jensen’s watching him, sort of. Jared doesn’t get how Jensen’s eyes can be focused on him, watching him move, but then, still look so empty. So not-Jensen.
There’s an uncomprehending groan trapped in Jensen’s throat, and his quick head jerk sums up how he’s feeling about what’s going on. Jared grabs hold of Jensen’s hand and squeezes tenderly, but firmly. He’s hoping Jensen gets the message. They’ve played this game a lot of times in the past few days. Jared’s frankly getting a little tired of Jensen’s reluctance to participate. “C’mon, dude, you gotta give me…us something.”
Jared quickly glances at the clock-2:42-and sighs. “Okay, well, your mom and dad are living in your apartment. Told you not to hide your porn in old DVDs.” Jensen’s eyes narrow and Jared would swear on his grandpop’s grave that’s a fucking neon sign Jensen’s paying attention.
For the life of him, Jared can’t remember what he talked about until 2:56 when Jensen cast him a small side glance before falling asleep. Fourteen minutes. Jared pulls the wadded cafeteria napkin out of his jean pocket and shuffles over to the counter. He snags the ballpoint pen from its place next to the tower of bendy straws. Don’t ask.
Crumpled paper presses against the counter top as he shakily writes down the time range at the bottom of today’s numbers. Fourteen minutes. Jared smiles so hard his chin quivers. Jensen’s setting some records of his own.
XXXXX
“Could be nothing. Just been out a long time so it takes a long time waking up. Registering things.” Jared mumbles to no one in particular although makes sure it’s damn loud enough for Alan and Christian to hear in the far corner of the room.
Alan inhales sharply. “Doctor also said it could be brain damage.”
Chris wisely stays silent, but Jared keeps mumbling.
“He’ll be fine. He’s fine. Nothing wrong. You’ll see.”
XXXXX
They pull the tube out on Wednesday. It’s lodged free, and Jensen sits there, propped up and audience enraptured. He doesn’t do a damn thing.
The doctor places himself directly in Jensen’s line of sight, blocking his view of Jared and his nail biting parents, dramatically sucking in a deep breath. The graying man holds it for a long second before exhaling loudly. Jensen tilts his head. The doctor repeats the action. It feels like eons, but then, it clicks.
Jensen drags in a raw shallow bit of air. He’s coughing uncontrollably on the exhale, but everyone else in the room looks about ready to tackle him with pride, so maybe it counts for something. It wears him out, and he hesitates, struggling to grasp what could knock him on his ass so bad. It doesn’t come, and he reminds himself to take another breath.
XXXXX
“Whatcha looking at?” Jared asks, studying the heavy lull of Jensen’s head as it’s drooped down, chin to chest, as Jensen’s eyes roam.
Jared leans forward and kneels beside the bed. His long, thin fingers brush the side of Jensen’s face. Jensen never looks up, but Jared follows his line of sight, grinning in pride as he watches Jensen’s chest rise and fall in steady rhythm.
He lightly lifts Jensen’s head and wavers slightly when Jensen’s giving him the far off, barely aware stare. He lets go tentatively, terribly afraid Jensen’s heads just gonna roll. It doesn’t, thank God. “Good to know you’re doing it yourself, huh?”
Jensen blinks. Jared sighs and tenderly shakes Jensen’s hand, playfully gripping the fingers.
He nearly screams for joy when he feels the shaky clasp of Jensen’s IV hand in return.
XXXXX
Jensen’s not clear on why his momma is draped across his chest, sobbing worse than the time he told her he was moving out. He thinks maybe he should hug her, comfort her, but his arms aren’t really cooperating. Nothing is, to be entirely honest. It bothers him, almost as much as the three IV needles piercing his arms.
“’S okay, ma,” the strained whisper startles his momma, and she sits up.
“You-You, oh, you know me? You’re okay?”
His dad grips his shoulder tightly in fatherly affection and digs in his front pant pocket for the handkerchief Jensen knows has always been there.
Alan hands Donna the stitched cloth and smiles, but Jensen can see the watery film over his eyes. What the fuck happened? “Glad you finally joined the land of the living there, son.”
Jensen clears his throat with a grimace. His hope that he managed to hide it better than the last time is nulled when his mother is face to face with him all ready to airplane him an ice chip off a spoon. He takes it none the less, letting the cool ice momentarily dispel the dry, sour taste in his mouth. “Must’ve been a hell of a week, eh?”
Donna ducks her head, busying herself with reorganizing the ice in the Styrofoam cup. Alan simply nods, but he’s scratching his face. Jensen knows that tell like he knows Chris hums when the guy’s been dealt a good poker hand. Something’s not right.
He has ever intention of calling them on it, but his fucking useless body launches an attempt to pull him back under. Jensen’s given up on fighting it, because what’s two more minutes if it’ll make him sleep an extra hour to make up for it.
He wishes he would’ve tried to stay awake when he catches sight the Jared’s back in the corner. He looks thinner, Jensen thinks. Jared’s staring at the clock, scrawling something down, and that settles it. Jensen knows they’re all hiding something.
XXXXX
Alan sinks heavily into the plastic waiting room chair with a sigh. “I’m just saying it’d be better if we-“
“Lied to him.” Jared interjects, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets and purposefully avoiding Chris’ frustrated glance.
Donna places her right hand on Jared’s knee and her left hand caresses Jared’s stubbled chin, directing him to look at her. “Jensen’s been through a lot. We all have. I just want him better. And if that means we keep a few details to ourselves for a while, then…”
Jared grits his teeth, his voice hissing through the tight clench. “He’s not an idiot and he’ll be more pissed later.”
“I’d rather him be pissed and able to handle it, then overdo it and relapse,” Alan replies with an air of finality. Donna and Chris both nod their agreement and Jared bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. “You don’t have to like it, but please, for now, respect it.”
Jared rolls his shoulders back, fingers tapping the arm rest in rapid staccato. His eyes dart back and forth between the three people in front of him. And that’s it. Jared’s certain another moment in this room and his skin is going to crawl off. Thankfully, this time no one tries to stop him as he stalks out the door.
XXXXX
“I fucking told you not to call me again!” the booming voice makes Jensen’s ears ring. He’s gotten so used to gentle whispers. He blinks awake and furrows his brow when he sees Jared huddled in corner, peering through the curtain like he’s on a covert mission, cell phone to his ear.
Jensen works to turn his head and sighs when the large bay window doesn’t reveal anything but pitch black. Jared snaps to attention, turning toward Jensen, his expression morphing between pissed and happy. “I gotta go. No, I’m hanging up.”
And he does. Jensen follows the phone’s trajectory as it flies from Jared’s hand to land with a dull thud on the side chair. He feels Jared’s hand in his, and Jensen’s arm tremors to complete the action of returning the grip. He knows the best he did was maybe move his fingertips, but Jared grins, his eyes soft. “You’ll get there. Doctor says that he wants to start physical therapy before Friday. Have you running around in no time. You’ll see.”
“How long?” Jensen murmurs softly, testing his sore throat. All systems sense no problem and he repeats himself, stronger this time. “How long?”
“Seven hours,” Jared replies, and turns to sit down on the edge of the bed. He never releases Jensen’s hand, but if Jensen’s not going to comment on it then Jared sure ain’t.
Jensen shakes his head. “No. How long?”
“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” Jared frowns, but slides closer. He playfully ruffles Jensen’s hair. “You need a hair cut.”
“No, you know-” Jensen starts accusingly, he breathes deep and his stomach tosses at the sharp smell radiating from Jared. He shuts his eyes, breathing steadily to fight the nausea back.
“Jensen.” It’s hesitant, and Jared swallows back panic at the pained features of his friend. “Jensen, open your eyes.”
Jensen acquiesces a moment later, and feels the throbbing pulse of his blood in his ears. “Found my cigarettes, huh?” Jared’s chin quivers and that’s so not what Jensen expected. “Jay?”
Jared looks away, forehead scrunching and lips forming a tight line. Jensen knows that save face look. He hates it. “Already got the lecture, man.”
“Not what…Jay, you know that’s not where I was going,” Jensen heaves a deep inhale. Note to self: attempting longer sentences leaves him breathless. He feels Jared pull his hand away. Jensen reaches, or rather feels the burn of his shoulder and forearm muscles in the attempt. Maybe he made some progress because Jared’s at least looking at him again and regains contact. “W-why?”
Jared doesn’t answer right away. He peers into Jensen’s eyes with a blinkless stare. Jensen shifts, unnerved by the lingering gaze. “Uh…Sandy and I broke up.”
Jared says it likes it doesn’t affect him one damn bit and Jensen’s fingertips dig into Jared’s hand because he’s seen Jared try to block it all out before. It sucks that’s all he can do ‘cause really everybody needs a hug after something like that. Especially if hugs are a main way said person communicates in the first place.
“Sorry, man. I mean,” a short inhale and a loud cough, “Wouldn’t have guessed how she acted about you coming to see her the other day.”
Jared drops his head and lets out a shuddering breath that visibly racks his chest. Jensen shifts nervously. “What? It’s okay I can handle it.”
“No,” Jared mutters bitterly, releasing Jensen’s hand. “You can’t, Jen.”
“You look like shit too,” Jensen retaliates as haughtily as he can manage. Granted, he hasn’t really seen himself in the mirror yet, but he can guess at how bad he must look just off of how he feels. Jared, on the other hand, Jensen can see Jared and either his friend’s gone on anorexic and forayed into black eye liner or Jared’s struggling and taking it just as well as him.
“A lots happened. That’s all.” Jared murmurs, grabbing the cup of ice chips on the bed tray and stabbing the plastic spoon into the cup again and again.
“Like what?” Jensen snaps his mouth shut in defiance when Jared tries to shut him up with a spoonful of half-melted ice.
Jared shrugs and watches the ice slide off the spoon and plop back into the cup. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to fix it. It’s done. Just thought you should know.”
Jensen nods, and does his best to slide over in the bed. He pats the freed space next to him. Jared smirks and slides into the bed, knees twisted and feet hanging off the edge. Fire spreads all over Jensen’s arm, shoulder, and chest as he tries to lift his arm.
He gets maybe a centimeter off the sheets, but Jared helps him the rest of the way. It’s uncomfortable, his arm draped over Jared’s shoulders. The IV lines pull in disagreement and his muscles scream for relief, but all it takes is one look at Jared’s trembling body and tear stained cheeks for Jensen to decide he’s never moving from this spot.
“It’ll be alright.” Jensen whispers, and Jared shuts his eyes. “You’ll see.”
“It already is,” Jared murmurs into Jensen’s chest.
This time, Jensen fights the exhaustion. He doesn’t give in until he hears Jared’s soft snoring.
XXXXX
Author: 3rd-leg
Rating: 14 for now
Disclaimer: Don't even own the horse I rode in on.
Pairing: J2. Sick!Jensen, Stressed to the gill!Jared
Summary: Jensen's finally reaching the start line, and Jared's about to run off the track.
A/N: It's been forever, and I'm so sorry. Was going to post this as one thing but ended up having people talk me into posting what I had worked on towards the ending! I hope this was worth it....but maybe it's not! lol
Jared fights the heavy lull of his head and wonders if there’s a Guinness world record for most continuous days without sleep. He’d win. Hands down world champ. He bets he’d get a medal or something, like super shiny. Maybe gold. Wait. A trophy. That’d be cooler.
“Yeah,” somebody agrees aloud, and Jared laughs ‘cause see he’s not the only one. He laughs again when he shifts in the chair just the right way to create the perfect waft of Eau de PadaYucky. Showers are overrated, and so is shaving for that matter. Well, pretty much anything other than sitting his ass in the plastic chair and watching Jensen like a mother fucking hawk.
It’s working though. His laser stare, it’s damn better than any heat vision Clark Kent could cook up. Jared’s already made up for the two small times he missed the Jensen eye flutter/roll millisecond ‘cause of…okay, the hole in the men’s bathroom wall two floors down sums up how well he’s coping with that betrayal. He’s got a plan that involves him and Jensen and maybe that SWAT gear from the bank episode to enact their revenge though. Seriously, it’s on paper.
So, whatever, his point is that Jensen’s woke up just for him, so Jared’s made up for not being there the first few times. Its intermittent minutes of quasi alert, but still its worth noting.
Jared yawns and leans forward, craning his neck to see if the nurse’s coffee station has a fresh pot or not. God, the cafeteria should be open 24 hours at a fucking hospital. His blurry vision almost misses the smallest of green peeking out under Jensen’s eyelashes.
“Dude!” Jared shrieks like a damn teenager, and yeah, okay, it is what it is. Deal with it.
Jensen blinks, slow, as if it takes every fiber in his being to do just that. His eyes roll lazily, peeking in and out from half-mast eyelids. He’s still on the ventilator, still ghoulishly pale, still fighting the fading remnants of a fever, but dammit, Jared thinks Jensen never looked better. “Hey. Hey, Jensen.”
Jared’s fingertips brush the side of Jensen’s forehead, tracing the hairline gently. The touch is electric, the feel of skin under skin, free from static Nitrile glove safety precautions. “Morning, sunshine.”
And there it is that damn manic laugh. Jared twitches and swallows it back down. Jensen’s watching him, sort of. Jared doesn’t get how Jensen’s eyes can be focused on him, watching him move, but then, still look so empty. So not-Jensen.
There’s an uncomprehending groan trapped in Jensen’s throat, and his quick head jerk sums up how he’s feeling about what’s going on. Jared grabs hold of Jensen’s hand and squeezes tenderly, but firmly. He’s hoping Jensen gets the message. They’ve played this game a lot of times in the past few days. Jared’s frankly getting a little tired of Jensen’s reluctance to participate. “C’mon, dude, you gotta give me…us something.”
Jared quickly glances at the clock-2:42-and sighs. “Okay, well, your mom and dad are living in your apartment. Told you not to hide your porn in old DVDs.” Jensen’s eyes narrow and Jared would swear on his grandpop’s grave that’s a fucking neon sign Jensen’s paying attention.
For the life of him, Jared can’t remember what he talked about until 2:56 when Jensen cast him a small side glance before falling asleep. Fourteen minutes. Jared pulls the wadded cafeteria napkin out of his jean pocket and shuffles over to the counter. He snags the ballpoint pen from its place next to the tower of bendy straws. Don’t ask.
Crumpled paper presses against the counter top as he shakily writes down the time range at the bottom of today’s numbers. Fourteen minutes. Jared smiles so hard his chin quivers. Jensen’s setting some records of his own.
XXXXX
“Could be nothing. Just been out a long time so it takes a long time waking up. Registering things.” Jared mumbles to no one in particular although makes sure it’s damn loud enough for Alan and Christian to hear in the far corner of the room.
Alan inhales sharply. “Doctor also said it could be brain damage.”
Chris wisely stays silent, but Jared keeps mumbling.
“He’ll be fine. He’s fine. Nothing wrong. You’ll see.”
XXXXX
They pull the tube out on Wednesday. It’s lodged free, and Jensen sits there, propped up and audience enraptured. He doesn’t do a damn thing.
The doctor places himself directly in Jensen’s line of sight, blocking his view of Jared and his nail biting parents, dramatically sucking in a deep breath. The graying man holds it for a long second before exhaling loudly. Jensen tilts his head. The doctor repeats the action. It feels like eons, but then, it clicks.
Jensen drags in a raw shallow bit of air. He’s coughing uncontrollably on the exhale, but everyone else in the room looks about ready to tackle him with pride, so maybe it counts for something. It wears him out, and he hesitates, struggling to grasp what could knock him on his ass so bad. It doesn’t come, and he reminds himself to take another breath.
XXXXX
“Whatcha looking at?” Jared asks, studying the heavy lull of Jensen’s head as it’s drooped down, chin to chest, as Jensen’s eyes roam.
Jared leans forward and kneels beside the bed. His long, thin fingers brush the side of Jensen’s face. Jensen never looks up, but Jared follows his line of sight, grinning in pride as he watches Jensen’s chest rise and fall in steady rhythm.
He lightly lifts Jensen’s head and wavers slightly when Jensen’s giving him the far off, barely aware stare. He lets go tentatively, terribly afraid Jensen’s heads just gonna roll. It doesn’t, thank God. “Good to know you’re doing it yourself, huh?”
Jensen blinks. Jared sighs and tenderly shakes Jensen’s hand, playfully gripping the fingers.
He nearly screams for joy when he feels the shaky clasp of Jensen’s IV hand in return.
XXXXX
Jensen’s not clear on why his momma is draped across his chest, sobbing worse than the time he told her he was moving out. He thinks maybe he should hug her, comfort her, but his arms aren’t really cooperating. Nothing is, to be entirely honest. It bothers him, almost as much as the three IV needles piercing his arms.
“’S okay, ma,” the strained whisper startles his momma, and she sits up.
“You-You, oh, you know me? You’re okay?”
His dad grips his shoulder tightly in fatherly affection and digs in his front pant pocket for the handkerchief Jensen knows has always been there.
Alan hands Donna the stitched cloth and smiles, but Jensen can see the watery film over his eyes. What the fuck happened? “Glad you finally joined the land of the living there, son.”
Jensen clears his throat with a grimace. His hope that he managed to hide it better than the last time is nulled when his mother is face to face with him all ready to airplane him an ice chip off a spoon. He takes it none the less, letting the cool ice momentarily dispel the dry, sour taste in his mouth. “Must’ve been a hell of a week, eh?”
Donna ducks her head, busying herself with reorganizing the ice in the Styrofoam cup. Alan simply nods, but he’s scratching his face. Jensen knows that tell like he knows Chris hums when the guy’s been dealt a good poker hand. Something’s not right.
He has ever intention of calling them on it, but his fucking useless body launches an attempt to pull him back under. Jensen’s given up on fighting it, because what’s two more minutes if it’ll make him sleep an extra hour to make up for it.
He wishes he would’ve tried to stay awake when he catches sight the Jared’s back in the corner. He looks thinner, Jensen thinks. Jared’s staring at the clock, scrawling something down, and that settles it. Jensen knows they’re all hiding something.
XXXXX
Alan sinks heavily into the plastic waiting room chair with a sigh. “I’m just saying it’d be better if we-“
“Lied to him.” Jared interjects, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets and purposefully avoiding Chris’ frustrated glance.
Donna places her right hand on Jared’s knee and her left hand caresses Jared’s stubbled chin, directing him to look at her. “Jensen’s been through a lot. We all have. I just want him better. And if that means we keep a few details to ourselves for a while, then…”
Jared grits his teeth, his voice hissing through the tight clench. “He’s not an idiot and he’ll be more pissed later.”
“I’d rather him be pissed and able to handle it, then overdo it and relapse,” Alan replies with an air of finality. Donna and Chris both nod their agreement and Jared bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. “You don’t have to like it, but please, for now, respect it.”
Jared rolls his shoulders back, fingers tapping the arm rest in rapid staccato. His eyes dart back and forth between the three people in front of him. And that’s it. Jared’s certain another moment in this room and his skin is going to crawl off. Thankfully, this time no one tries to stop him as he stalks out the door.
XXXXX
“I fucking told you not to call me again!” the booming voice makes Jensen’s ears ring. He’s gotten so used to gentle whispers. He blinks awake and furrows his brow when he sees Jared huddled in corner, peering through the curtain like he’s on a covert mission, cell phone to his ear.
Jensen works to turn his head and sighs when the large bay window doesn’t reveal anything but pitch black. Jared snaps to attention, turning toward Jensen, his expression morphing between pissed and happy. “I gotta go. No, I’m hanging up.”
And he does. Jensen follows the phone’s trajectory as it flies from Jared’s hand to land with a dull thud on the side chair. He feels Jared’s hand in his, and Jensen’s arm tremors to complete the action of returning the grip. He knows the best he did was maybe move his fingertips, but Jared grins, his eyes soft. “You’ll get there. Doctor says that he wants to start physical therapy before Friday. Have you running around in no time. You’ll see.”
“How long?” Jensen murmurs softly, testing his sore throat. All systems sense no problem and he repeats himself, stronger this time. “How long?”
“Seven hours,” Jared replies, and turns to sit down on the edge of the bed. He never releases Jensen’s hand, but if Jensen’s not going to comment on it then Jared sure ain’t.
Jensen shakes his head. “No. How long?”
“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” Jared frowns, but slides closer. He playfully ruffles Jensen’s hair. “You need a hair cut.”
“No, you know-” Jensen starts accusingly, he breathes deep and his stomach tosses at the sharp smell radiating from Jared. He shuts his eyes, breathing steadily to fight the nausea back.
“Jensen.” It’s hesitant, and Jared swallows back panic at the pained features of his friend. “Jensen, open your eyes.”
Jensen acquiesces a moment later, and feels the throbbing pulse of his blood in his ears. “Found my cigarettes, huh?” Jared’s chin quivers and that’s so not what Jensen expected. “Jay?”
Jared looks away, forehead scrunching and lips forming a tight line. Jensen knows that save face look. He hates it. “Already got the lecture, man.”
“Not what…Jay, you know that’s not where I was going,” Jensen heaves a deep inhale. Note to self: attempting longer sentences leaves him breathless. He feels Jared pull his hand away. Jensen reaches, or rather feels the burn of his shoulder and forearm muscles in the attempt. Maybe he made some progress because Jared’s at least looking at him again and regains contact. “W-why?”
Jared doesn’t answer right away. He peers into Jensen’s eyes with a blinkless stare. Jensen shifts, unnerved by the lingering gaze. “Uh…Sandy and I broke up.”
Jared says it likes it doesn’t affect him one damn bit and Jensen’s fingertips dig into Jared’s hand because he’s seen Jared try to block it all out before. It sucks that’s all he can do ‘cause really everybody needs a hug after something like that. Especially if hugs are a main way said person communicates in the first place.
“Sorry, man. I mean,” a short inhale and a loud cough, “Wouldn’t have guessed how she acted about you coming to see her the other day.”
Jared drops his head and lets out a shuddering breath that visibly racks his chest. Jensen shifts nervously. “What? It’s okay I can handle it.”
“No,” Jared mutters bitterly, releasing Jensen’s hand. “You can’t, Jen.”
“You look like shit too,” Jensen retaliates as haughtily as he can manage. Granted, he hasn’t really seen himself in the mirror yet, but he can guess at how bad he must look just off of how he feels. Jared, on the other hand, Jensen can see Jared and either his friend’s gone on anorexic and forayed into black eye liner or Jared’s struggling and taking it just as well as him.
“A lots happened. That’s all.” Jared murmurs, grabbing the cup of ice chips on the bed tray and stabbing the plastic spoon into the cup again and again.
“Like what?” Jensen snaps his mouth shut in defiance when Jared tries to shut him up with a spoonful of half-melted ice.
Jared shrugs and watches the ice slide off the spoon and plop back into the cup. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to fix it. It’s done. Just thought you should know.”
Jensen nods, and does his best to slide over in the bed. He pats the freed space next to him. Jared smirks and slides into the bed, knees twisted and feet hanging off the edge. Fire spreads all over Jensen’s arm, shoulder, and chest as he tries to lift his arm.
He gets maybe a centimeter off the sheets, but Jared helps him the rest of the way. It’s uncomfortable, his arm draped over Jared’s shoulders. The IV lines pull in disagreement and his muscles scream for relief, but all it takes is one look at Jared’s trembling body and tear stained cheeks for Jensen to decide he’s never moving from this spot.
“It’ll be alright.” Jensen whispers, and Jared shuts his eyes. “You’ll see.”
“It already is,” Jared murmurs into Jensen’s chest.
This time, Jensen fights the exhaustion. He doesn’t give in until he hears Jared’s soft snoring.
XXXXX