Misplaced Childhood -Part 2: Chapter 4
Jensen knows, as soon as he’s out of the shower, that things are going downhill quickly. He tries to dress himself, but his hands are shaking badly. It's so hard to concentrate that he ends up sitting on the closed toilet lid, his damp towel barely covering his dick and thighs. A rush of saliva fills his mouth, his stomach starts hurting -the ache feels like it’s trying to digest itself.
He has the dread feeling that he’s going to die from the need. A dose, even a light one, would settle everything. Please, he thinks, please I need…
“Jensen?”
The knock on the door makes him jump. Maybe he said the words out loud.
Doesn’t matter. At this point, he feels too bad to protest.
“Can you help me?” he asks, and it hurts his irritated throat, the clear snot that isn't dripping out of his nose sliding into the back of it.
“Of course, I’m coming in.”
Jared pushes the door open and walks in, his huge, comforting presence calming the aches in Jensen’s mind. Jared’s gonna take care of you, he thinks dully. Always does.
“What do you need?” Jared asks, concerned, while crouching in front of him.
“I think I should take some Dramamine right now while I still can keep it down,” Jensen explains, trying to prevent his teeth from chattering. “It’s okay, it’s… For nausea, Chris bought some.”
“Yeah, I know, he told me about it. Wait here, I’ll be back.”
And he’s quick, or maybe Jensen is just losing it, because suddenly two pills are pressed into his hand and a bottle of Gatorade handed to him.
Jensen has a hard time swallowing the stuff, his stomach clearly not happy with the blue Gatorade, but still. He’ll keep it down.
“Thanks,” he says in a tired voice.
“You’re shivering,” Jared says, concerned. “Want me to help you get dressed?”
Jensen tries to smile, but the effort hurts and forces the muscles to tense up. He just nods instead.
It goes smoothly. Jared starts with the socks and then the boxers and the sweatpants. He helps Jensen up, still silent, and tells him to hold on to his waist while he gets everything pulled up. Jensen’s legs are shaking by the time he’s done. He’s happy to sit back and let Jared manhandle him into his t-shirt.
“There,” Jared tells him, shoving a bunch of tissues in his hand.
And yeah, Jensen’s nose is running constantly now. He blows it as much as he can, but it still feels full and wet afterward. And his head starts to hurt.
“You don’t want to put on a sweatshirt? You’re still shivering,” Jared asks.
“I want a cigarette, and I want to lie down and sleep for three days, and I want the blanket and maybe a fire in the fireplace.”
Jared smiles at him. “Okay, your bed or the couch?”
“Couch.”
“That can be arranged.”
Jared helps him up and keeps a hand around his waist while walking him to the couch. He tucks the blanket around him, brings him his cigarettes and an ashtray. Jensen smiles and feels a little better despite all the aches and pain, despite the need. A moment later, there is a fresh box of Kleenex next to him, and Jared is bending down in front of the fireplace.
“Hey, Jay. I was joking. I’m cold, but it’s warm in here. You’re going to be too hot if you make a fire.”
“I can deal,” Jared replies.
Time is strangely twisted, and Jensen lets his misery overtake him. The shivers, the aches, his stomach churning, his sinuses blocked. Anxiety comes and goes in waves, the need as well, like bouts of nausea that don't evolve in anything more.
The fire is crackling. Jensen doesn’t know how long Jared has been at it, but it’s getting dark outside.
He looks at the flames, at Jared’s tall frame standing next to them. His eyes are watering. He rubs them absentmindedly with a Kleenex and sighs, hiccupping a dry sob that drags Jared’s attention back to him.
“How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should hydrate yourself, with all that sweating you could dehydrate quickly. I’ll get you some Gatorade.”
“No. Just… plain water. Gatorade makes me nauseous.”
“Okay.”
Jared comes back with a pitcher full of water and his laptop. He settles the items on the coffee table in front of him. “There’s no TV here,” he explains, pouring Jensen a glass and handing it over to him. Jensen takes it with both hands, careful not to spill. The condensation on the glass makes his mouth water. He sips a couple of mouthfuls and puts the glass back on the table, careful not to upset his stomach too much.
“I have movies we could watch on my laptop, help us pass the time. I remember you like those old, black and white ones so I uploaded a couple before I left.”
“Really?”
Jared doesn’t forget anything, ever. It makes Jensen wanna cry again, and he swallows loudly, trying to keep it together. This is the withdrawal: everything is raw, painful, acute. It’ll pass.
It will pass. Jensen has been through this before.
“So, I have… Creature from the Black Lagoon, The Mummy’s Tomb, The Blob, the Fly-“
“That old one with Vincent Price?”
“Well…” Jared frowns, “it’s in black and white, so-“
“Definitely The Fly.”
Jensen lights up a cigarette and tries to settle as comfortably as he can while Jared queues the movie up. He then sits very upright, careful not to touch Jensen. Jensen tries to concentrate on the movie, but he needs Jared to be closer. He needs to feel safe. Doesn’t know how to ask for it. He’s feeling too bad to give it much thought, though, so he stumps his cigarette out in the ashtray and gets closer to Jared, until they’re sitting with their hips and thighs touching.
“You want me to hold you?” Jared asks simply.
“Yes,” Jensen croaks.
Jared smiles at him and wraps his arm around Jensen’s shoulders. He sighs and tries to relax his body as much as he can, letting his head rest on Jared’s chest, tucking his legs under himself. Jared rearranges the blanket over him and relaxes too, Jensen can feel it. When Jared’s hand starts running through his hair, fingers stroking his short bangs softly, Jensen feels the misery recede a little. He’s sleepy because of the heat and the Dramamine, and the black and white movie has a soothing effect on him.
::: :::
The film is boring. Jared has never been a fan of horror movies, let alone old ones. He’s hot enough to be sweating almost as much as Jensen, but he doesn’t move. His friend is drifting in and out of a light sleep as he is tucked against him. He’s not completely relaxed, but it’s good enough for Jared.
He feels himself drifting off as well, doesn’t fight it.
He dreams of Benton Glass, of the TV interview he’d given a few years ago to this stupid journalist from behind bars, wearing the typical orange uniform. Jared had never listened to the entire thing, but he doubts what he’s hearing is anything but his own subconscious speaking. “I’ll get the both of you, Jared. You, and my little angel. You can’t have him, nobody can but me, boy.”
Jared knows he’s dreaming. That’s a technique he’s learned from Misha Collins: being a conscious dreamer. It allows him to escape his nightmares more easily, to turn them around sometimes. He silences Glass with all the will he can gather, but his lips are still moving, his eyes shining with sick pleasure, then a disgusting sound comes out of his mouth, like he’s…
Retching.
Jared blinks, immediately awake in the dark. The fire has died down. He’s half sitting, half lying on the couch, sweaty and sore from remaining in the uncomfortable position for too long.
The laptop is in sleep mode.
Then there is the noise again, and Jared knows it’s Jensen. He stands up and tries to stretch a little, looking at his watch. It’s almost one a.m.
The bathroom light is on, the door open as well. Sure enough, Jared finds Jensen kneeling on the floor, gripping the toilet bowl with both hands as he throws up violently, his entire body shaking with the force of it. Sweats drips down his face to the tip of his nose, his cheeks are red, the rest of his face a pasty white.
Jared grabs a towel from the set of drawers and wets it with cold water. He kneels next to Jensen and presses the towel to the back of his neck, making him tense and jerk.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Thanks,” Jensen hiccups before another bout of nausea wracks his body. He spits in the toilet bowl and flushes with a shaking hand.
“Feeling better?” Jared asks softly, wiping the young man’s face as delicately as he can.
“Not really,” Jensen rasps, leaning back against him.
The shivers are intensifying. In between, Jensen’s body is lax, not because he’s relaxed, but because he's visibly exhausted. Jared keeps on wiping his face, hair and neck, holding him steady. “Should have woken me up,” he says after a few minutes of silence.
“Didn’t really have the time,” Jensen murmurs. “I don’t feel good, Jared. I can’t do this… It hurts everywhere.”
“I’m sorry. What can I do?”
Jensen tilts his head up to look at him. All the color has drained from his face: his green, scared eyes seems even larger than usual. His lips are dry, cracking. Maybe this has gotten out of control, Jared thinks, even though he knows, deep down, that this is what withdrawal is. This is what it does to someone. It’s something hard to go through, but it’s doable.
Not life threatening. As long as the person isn’t dehydrated, this isn’t life-threatening, Jared repeats to himself.
“… Jay, please.”
“What? Jensen, what, tell me.”
“I need some fucking morph, I need some now… You can… call Christian. I think I have a couple left back in my apartment.”
Jensen’s voice isn’t angry, or demanding. It’s barely a frail wail coming through his chapped lips, like pushing the air out of his lungs is too much right now. Still, Jared feels like a jerk when he states firmly. “No. I know you’re getting to the worst part, Jen, but it will pass. It will, I swear. Remember what you told me. If you start using again, it means he wins. Glass wins.”
“Fuck you,” Jensen sobs. “Fuck you, Jared.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that,” Jensen cries, tears sliding down his cheeks. “You don’t understand, the pills, that’s what keeps him away. Without them he’s always there, always…”
“No, he isn’t. He’s in jail. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“But he does!” Jensen protests with a little more vigor. “He’s in my dreams, he’s hiding in dark corners, his voice, Jay, his voice, I don’t want to hear it anymore… I’m crazy, fuck, I’m losing it.”
“No, you aren’t. “ Jared tries to keep his own emotions under control, rocking Jensen back and forth, the movement as comforting for his friend as it is for him. This he knows, this he’s familiar with. The fear. “I’m scared too, Jensen. It isn’t always easy to keep all of this at bay, but you can do it. I swear it’s possible.”
“It hurts,” Jensen moans. “Bad. Don’t let me down, okay, please, Jared, I… I need you, don’t go…”
“I’m not going anywhere. See? I’m right here.”
Jensen nods and cries in silence for some time, letting Jared rock him to sleep, or to some kind of exhausted unconsciousness. After some time, Jared guesses he’d be more comfortable in bed. He can’t bring himself to leave Jensen alone on the cold bathroom tiles while he gets his room ready, so he stands up, dragging him with him. Jensen lets out some painful noises, but his eyes remains shut. He doesn’t fight when Jared slides one arm under his legs and lifts him in a bridal carry. Jared’s back muscles are straining a little, but he’s still surprised at how light Jensen feels in his arms.
“I’ve got you, okay?” he murmurs when Jensen blinks at him.
“I know,” Jensen mumbles.
He doesn’t move until Jared deposits him gently on the bed. Then he sighs, a long, hiccupping one, and turns on his side, his hands shoved between his thighs. He’s still shivering, even if the worst of it seems to have subsided. Jared folds a part of the comforter he’s laying on over him.
“Don’ leave,” Jensen slurs.
“I’m not. Not going anywhere.”
::: :::
He’s drifting in and out of sleep, or really a stupor. He’s not sure. He knows Jared is there, he knows it hurts, he knows he needs.
God, he needs the drugs so much.
Sometimes Glass is there, standing at the bottom of his bed, rubbing his hands with the slippery, transparent substance he would sometimes use before going down on him.
Lube, Jensen realizes for the first time. He barks out a laugh, but then his head explodes and he’s back in the bathroom, retching painfully, with Jared holding him, soothing him with soft words, refreshing him with a towel. Jared holds him at the surface of the madness, wets his lips with water, changes his sweat-drenched clothes.
For a while, there is no time anymore. He’s strangely lucid, if anything he thinks he sees has any sense of reality. He's reached the worst part. He’s going through this, with Jared by his side, his body screaming for release, his mind crying for the dull sleep of his artificial cocoon.
I’m doing this, he thinks again, and it’s a wonder, it’s a wonder… He’s doing this. Getting rid of everything that's gone wrong in his life. He tells Jared so much, feels himself being dragged back to bed, and when he asks if the Bad Man is there, under the bed, or in the closet, Jared looks for him. He’s a bright presence in the dark maelstrom of the pain and hallucinations.
He knows, this lucid side of him that's watching from a distance, he knows Glass isn’t there, can’t be.
Holds on to Jared. Jared’s real. Jared’s going to take care of you.
“Stay, please,” his voice, broken and raw, utters, and Jared does. He lies down near to him and speaks. The words aren’t important. Just like it was at the beginning. Jensen and Jared, tucked together, Jared telling him about this old grumpy uncle receiving a visit from his niece, refusing to give her anything to cook a nice meal, and the niece, Daisy, boiling water and dropping a single button in it.
“The Disney version,” Jensen realizes, tossing and turning, lodging himself into Jared’s arms.
“The button soup,” Jared agrees. “The book cover was bright yellow. My mom used to read it to me. Daisy Duck was the niece, Scrooge McDuck was the uncle. He had all this delicious food stored in different parts of his house, and finally, Daisy was able to trick him into giving it to her to improve the button soup…”
And Jared speaks, still not moving, while Jensen hangs on to him, sweats and coughs and retches and fights with everything he has to just accept the withdrawal, to invite it, for he has to break in a thousand pieces if he ever wants to put himself together again.
::: :::
Jensen wakes up in a jolt, curling in on himself as a stomach cramp flashes through him, pain exploding behind his eyes in white strikes.
“You okay, Jen?”
He blinks. He’s not sure of anything right now. Chris’s face is looking back at him, frowning in concern.
“No,” Jensen utters. “Thirsty.”
Chris helps him sit up. The world shifts and everything seems too bright suddenly. Jensen holds Christian’s arm with an iron grip.
“Okay, okay, easy,” Chris whispers, lifting a glass to him. There is a straw in it. Jensen is glad. He’s not sure he could’ve managed all the effort needed to drink without it.
He traps the straw between his teeth and sips three mouthfuls of water, wanting more, needing more, but Chris gets the glass away from him. “We’ll see if you can keep this down to begin with.”
Jensen nods and tries to ground himself somehow. He stinks, that much he knows. He’s undressed down to his boxers and socks, his skin is still sticky with sweat. The acrid taste of vomit is still there at the back of his throat. His head hurts, his legs too, although the cramps seems to have receded a little. His nose still feel stuffed, and he tries to sniff back, which is a mistake because he ends up sneezing painfully, his head snapping forward, and it feels like his eyes are going to come out of their sockets.
“Fuck,” he moans, pressing his hand to his eyes.
“Yep, looked like it hurt.”
“It did, motherfucker.”
“Shut up, sissy.”
“Jerk.”
“Ass hat.”
A smile threatens to lighten Christian’s face. It’s good, seeing him smile. He doesn’t allow it often.
Jensen falls back on the pillows, casting a look outside. He doesn’t have any idea of the time… or even the day, to tell the truth.
Then he remembers Jared.
“Where’s Jared?” he asks, unable to hide the panic in his voice.
“He’s alright, don’t worry. I sent him to bed.”
“Wha’?”
“Okay, you have no idea, right?”
“Start with the day… and hour.”
“It’s… almost three o’clock in the afternoon, Saturday.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Chris nods, patting Jensen’s thighs. “You’ve been kind of in and out since last night. I called this morning, Jared told me he had everything under control, but I figured the poor guy could use some rest. I arrived around noon. Jared told me you were calmer and out for the count. I sent him to bed.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, Jensen,” Chris repeats with insistence. “He didn’t even want to leave you, I had to use my scary voice. So, are you up for a shower?”
Jensen winces at the thought of holding himself up long enough. “Don’t think I can.”
“Alright, so, I’ll sit you on the toilet and give you a nice sponge bath, princess,” Christian grins.
Chris helps him up, holding him steady next to him. Jensen feels his stomach protest at the motion, but even though the water is making a worrisome bubbling sound, it stays where it is.
Jensen just concentrates on walking, one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t think about anything else, is too sick and tired to even try. He wonders if the worst is behind him, then lets the worries float away at the back of his mind.
“I need a cigarette,” he croaks.
“And I need to drag your sorry ass to the bathroom, so it’ll have to wait,” Christian replies.
::: :::
Jared finds some coffee in the pantry, nothing close to the strong espresso he needs -instant, as a matter of fact- but he figures it will do the job. He stretches and sniffs at himself, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He needs a shower badly. He’d stayed in bed with Jensen for most of the night and the following morning, ready to help him to the bathroom whenever he needed, to comfort him when sudden bouts of panic would take hold of him, or just stay there, holding him close, hoping his presence could sooth the pain, both physical and psychological.
Just like so many years ago. Maybe it’s a sign, maybe nothing has really changed; like if Jensen could go through his withdrawal, it would be just like coming out of the basement afresh. Only now he'd have a chance to heal, and this time, Jared wouldn’t leave his side. Ever.
Maybe this, right there, is Jensen’s second chance at life. And god, Jared wants to be there to witness it all.
He’s surprisingly peaceful as he goes to sit outside. Walking by the bathroom, he can hear Christian’s quiet voice and Jensen’s even quieter answers. Good.
It’s a rainy day, although the weather is still warm. Jared sits on the stairs and opens his cell phone, dialing Misha Collins’ private number. His therapist answers on the second ring, grumbling his name and excusing himself while he swallows whatever he’d been eating. Then he asks how Jared is doing.
“It’s hard, but I’m okay. I called because I needed to ask you something.”
“Jared?” Misha’s tone is already suspicious. Jared had always thought of their relationship more like friendship than a doctor/patient one. Misha had always insisted that Jared call him by his first name, and took him fishing twice, saying it was part of the therapy. When Jared had asked if he did this with a lot of his patients, Misha had shaken his head, looking ridiculous with his fishing hat on. “I’ve never done this before. Now, please be silent. You’ll scare the fishes.”
So Jared doesn’t feel nervous about what he wants to ask. Not nervous as he should be.
“I want you to help Jensen.”
“Help Jensen.” Misha seems to ponder. His tone is perfectly neutral. “What do you mean?”
“After the withdrawal, Mish. I want him to come back home with me and I want you to see him. I’ll pay for-“
“Stop. Right now.”
“Misha, please hear me out-“
“Jared. I understand your friend is in great distress right now, and you must be very emotional, but you have to think about what you’re actually saying to me. We go back to the whole imaginary responsibility you think you have toward Jensen.”
“No, Misha. I’m a grown man and I know what I’m doing. And don’t laugh your ass off, because of the whole asexuality thing, but I’m in love with him.”
There is a long, long silence at the other end of the line. Enough for Jared to worry he might have pushed too far.
“Of course you are,” Misha says slowly, very softly.
“Is this sarcasm?”
“No.” Misha sighs. “It’s love, of course it is. I’m not going to tell you what to feel, Jared. The relationship you’ve had with Jensen through the years is unique because of the circumstances surrounding your first meeting. I’m not saying it’s… healthy, but it’s not my place to judge either.”
“I need you to help him,” Jared pleads. “He needs help, he needs me… And I need to be close to him.”
“What about Jensen?”
“I didn’t ask him yet. He’s still in withdrawal, and he has enough problems to deal with as it is right now. But he’s going to accept this, I know.”
“So, what, you’re planning to take him home with you? When?”
“Well, the worst of the withdrawal should be over by tomorrow. I thought I could drive back with him on Monday.”
“Hum.”
“What does that mean?”
“I… Shit, Jared, you put me in a difficult position. I have ethics, personal and professional. Nothing about this is regular. You are my patient, and what you’re asking me…”
Jared waits. He’s used to Misha Collins’ sudden bouts of silence. The man can spend two or three minutes staring into nothingness after Jared had asked a question.
“Okay, I’m coming over,” is what Misha finally says.
“What?”
“You heard me. I’ll be there tomorrow, probably around noon. Can you give me the exact coordinates of the place you guys are staying at?”
“Whoa. Misha, it’s-“
“Jared. I can’t accept what you’re asking of me without meeting with Jensen and assessing his situation-hell, both of your situations. You can’t just steal him away from his current life because you think I might be able to help. It would be unprofessional for me act in any other way.”
“But-“
“Plus, Alaina would kill me if I didn’t give this a try.”
Jared is still too overwhelmed to know what to say, or how to react properly. He gapes at the phone, then stutters a barely audible “okay.”
“I’m serious, Jared. I’m coming.” Misha says again, like he wants to anchor Jared in reality.
“Yeah, I heard you.”
::: :::
He’s back on the couch, clean and dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He’s smoking a cigarette, sipping at a bottle of Gatorade and trying to calm the turmoil in his mind while Christian busies himself doing some cleaning and Jared takes a shower. The pain in his muscles comes and goes, but as far as those symptoms are concerned, the worst is behind him. His stomach is still churning, cramping, trying to digest the pepto Chris has given him, plus the Dramamine. His headache is the worst, just like last time, and he feels completely empty, like he’s too light and drained to do anything more than lie there, trying not to think of the bliss he would feel from taking some Oxy, cocaine, alcohol -hell, even pot, he’s not picky.
It’s like a silent scream in his head, the sensation of coming back to reality, while his body works to get rid of the habit. It’s an almost unbearable feeling of rawness and despair. He just wants to keep the panic at bay: right now, that's all he can do, and it’s hard not to succumb, not to yell or burst into tears because hell, what’s the point of all this? What’s the fucking point?
“Can you make another fire?” he asks Christian.
He’s cold to the bones, despite the blanket wrapped around him.
“You sure? It won’t get too hot in here?” Chris asks, already walking toward the fireplace.
“I’m cold,” Jensen murmurs.
“Okay, I’m on it.”
Jensen puts the Gatorade back on the coffee table and drops his still-smoking cigarette in the ashtray. He slides his arms inside the blanket, lays his head back on the couch armrest and closes his eyes.
He’s drifting off again, the sound of the logs crackling and the smell of the first drafts of smoke the only thing keeping him grounded.
Maybe not so much. He comes back from the light sleep state he’s slipped into, hearing Jared and Christian speaking in low voices. He opens his eyes to slits, sees them both sitting at the kitchen table, eating.
“You okay there, Jen?” Christian asks, looking back at him.
Jensen groans. No, he’s not okay, but what is the point to actually stating it. Too much effort.
The shivers are back. His teeth are chattering. Fuck, he’s just so tired of it all.
“You think you could eat something?” Christian goes on.
The bare thought of trying to swallow anything but water and Gatorade makes him feel sick. He shakes his head, turning his attention to the flames dancing in the fireplace. The heat comes to him in waves. It’s the only thing that feels good right now.
He must have drifted off again because the next time he opens his eyes, Christian is sitting on the couch, shaking his shoulder lightly.
“You should drink a little more,” he says, giving him the bottle of Gatorade.
Jensen doesn’t protest. He sips a tiny mouthful. The sweet taste doesn’t sit well. He’ll ask for some water instead. As soon as he can gather the energy to do so.
“I think I’ll go back home for the night,” Christian says. “If it’s okay with you.”
Jensen nods, looks at Jared who’s still sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a coffee. “You’re not tired of my bullshit yet?” He tries to joke, but it comes out needy, shaking with nervousness.
“I’m not,” Jared answers. He smiles, a real one.
::: :::
It’s night again, and Jensen feels like time is slipping through his fingers, as if he's trying to hold the remains of a broken hourglass. The fire is still burning. Jared is sitting at the other end of the couch, looking like he’s lost in his thoughts. Jensen clears his throat and stretches a hand to grab a glass of water waiting for him on the coffee table. He doesn’t remember asking for it. Doesn’t care that he doesn’t remember.
The water is pure bliss sliding down his scratchy, swollen throat. “I have trouble,” he croaks, “staying awake.”
“It’s good, you need the rest.”
“What time ‘sit?”
“Almost nine. You okay? Do you need the bathroom?”
“I… yeah. Give me five minutes, though.”
“You look a little better.”
“I don’t feel a little better,” Jensen replies, aware that he sounds like a child.
“Jensen.” Jared bites his bottom lips and gets closer, sitting at the edge of the couch so that he can bend over him and run a hand through his damp hair.
“Yeah?”
“I called my therapist this afternoon.”
Jensen looks at him fondly. Jared and his psychologist. He always found it kind of funny the way his friend had held onto his therapy sessions. “Okay, why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to come back with me to Rhode Island. I want Misha to be your therapist, help you with the aftermath of the withdrawal.”
“What?”
“I… have this huge condo, there is a guest room and and… Christian says you can take all the time you need, that he’ll always have a job for you if you want to go back to Chicago and-“
“You talked about this with Christian?” Jensen asks in disbelief.
His stomach cramps suddenly, painfully. He tries to get up on his own but ends up swaying on his feet, sure he’s going to face plant right there. Jared is up too, holding him, his arms strong and steady. “Gonna be sick,” Jensen croaks.
They barely make it to the bathroom in time. Feeling the first acid reflux rising in his throat, Jensen pushes Jared away and collapses in front of the toilet. There is nothing to throw up except water and stomach fluids. It burns all the way up to his throat and his sinuses. He moans, tears escape his eyes, and Jared is all over him with his wet towel and apologies about how he didn’t want to shock him and what an idiot he is.
“Shut up,” Jensen pants, closing the toilet lid and resting his head on it. “Water to rinse my mouth would be great.”
When he’s done, he settles himself carefully, his back against the bathroom wall. Jared is crouched in front of him, biting his lips nervously.
“I didn’t puke because of what you told me,” Jensen murmurs, gathering whatever forces he can mustered. “Withdrawal, remember? Don’t… I’m not mad at you or anything.”
“Good.” Jared lets out a breath of relief and sits in front of him, his legs crossed, like some giant kid.
“Jared you can’t just… Put all of your life on hold because of me. And… and I don’t have any money, I can’t-“
“I have money. I have everything you’d need.”
“Stop,” Jensen snaps with irritation. “You’re not hearing me out. You think that by tomorrow I’ll be cured from my addiction and in perfect mental health? This is barely the beginning, Jared. I know how tough it is when I’m off the drugs. I can’t stand it. I don’t have the faintest idea how I’m going to manage it this time.”
“I know that. Chris told me you were going to find a shrink, that you knew you’d need help afterward. Misha is good. And he knows about you because, well… I’m his patient.”
“Oh, well, everything is perfect then,” Jensen says in a derisive tone. “It’s not about this. It’s about you, giving up whatever you have right now to watch over me and-“
“You’re wrong,” Jared cuts him out, and his eyes are shining with determination, and maybe a bit of anger. “I’m doing this because I don’t want to be away from you anymore. I’ve told you: there isn’t a single day I haven't thought about you since you left. I need you too, Jensen. I know you can’t see that right now, but I do, I always have. This, what I’m doing, it’s selfish, alright? It’s me, asking for you to come because I want you to. I need you to.”
“Don’t do this, please,” Jensen murmurs, and tears are welling up in his eyes once again. He curses, wipes them away, but they keep coming. “Don’t… because you know I’ll say yes, fuck, you know I’m that messed up. I… Jared…”
Jared takes Jensen’s face between his hands, looking straight into his eyes -damn it, into his soul. It’s too much to bear, but Jensen can’t close his eyes. Not when Jared is doing this.
“I meant it, when I said I loved you. And I know, this isn’t the kind of love you’re looking for… Shit, I don’t have any idea of what you’re looking for, but I do love you, Jensen, as much as I’m capable of loving someone. You have to let me help because seeing you like this, it breaks my heart, always has. We never got the chance to get together more than a few days at a time, and I always wanted more.”
“I’mma screw you up, Jay,” Jensen hiccups, because apparently he’s in full-on crying mode now.
“I am screwed up. In a different way, that’s all.”
“I don’t care about your asexuality, or sex in general. Sex is bad for me. What’s scares me, though…”
Jensen tries to take a deep breath. It’s not an easy thing to say, or even think. “What if I don’t get better… ever?”
“You’re already better. I’m not talking about the last few days, I’m talking about years. When you’d come to visit me, I would see how you were struggling. I mean, I was a child, and you were too, but still I’ve always known you were unhappy. And over the last two days, I’ve learned more about you than during all these years because we’re both adults now. There are things… Things we couldn’t understand about ourselves before.”
Jensen doesn’t want to fight anymore, not this particular need. Of course, it’s probably as messed up as the rest, as unhealthy, but the drugs, he can bear the thought of living without them. He cannot live without them and Jared, though, and as screwed up as it might seems, the need of Jared’s presence next to him, he doesn’t want to fight.
Chapter 5
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