Open Heart Dentistry // chapter 1
Jared Padalecki’s no coward, oh no Sir. He spent most of his time in elementary school putting his neck on the line for his best friend Chad, could easily run a marathon (well, after some training) and already won a bar fight (though he didn’t start it and sincerely considered starting his marathon training right the fuck then).
He’s a tough guy - height and muscle intimidating, heart brave and mind sharp.
So, no. Certainly no pussycat.
Except when he is.
Dr. Jensen Ackles’ no insensitive guy. He’s socially well adjusted and reasonably compassionate.
It isn’t his fault that, obviously, his father tended to employ only mentally unstable cry-babies. Rearranging the shiny dental instruments himself and stubbornly ignoring the silent, reproachful gazes Misha’s shooting him, he waits until the bang of the door and the dental assistant’s wailing stopped echoing through the doctor’s office.
“It should be possible to correct an employee when she’s doing something wrong,” he mumbles petulantly.
None of the remaining two assistants say something, the darn mutineers. Back in Kunduz they’d been given short shrift, Jensen thinks but doesn’t say it. That’s how socially versatile he is, thank you very much.
Before Jensen can break the awkward silence, Misha paints quotation marks in the air and says: “A man broadcasts the sins of others without thinking, but he hides his own sins as a gambler hides his extra dice.” He pauses to let the words sink in, then adds reverently, “His Holiness the Dalai Lama.”
His overcast blue eyes stare at a point on the wall above Jensen’s head, lost in his own thoughts. During the first few days, Jensen had followed his only male nurse’s gaze, wanting to know what’s to see on the bright yellow walls, but soon realized that whatever there was to see was visible only to Misha’s enlightened mind.
Jensen sighs, promising to himself to do the long overdue drug screening. Well, as soon as he’ll have new, efficient employees in prospect to replace his father’s sissy hippie staff, that is.
It begins with a miserable night spent over the toilet bowl and Jared trying to puke his guts out. It doesn’t work, whatever makes Jared’s lower abdomen ache stays stubbornly lodged there, making Jared curl up on the cold tiles whenever he isn’t regurgitating bile.
A sound kick to his shoulder and Chad stumbling over his pale body wakes Jared up in the morning. His roommate instantly bursts into curses but one look at Jared covered in cold sweat, curled up and shaking, shuts him up.
It’s a close call. They arrive at the emergency only twenty minutes later but nearly too late to administer Jared the antidote in time. In the end, he gets off with a slap on the wrist.
“Dude, told you can’t pop that stuff like peppermints,” Chad tells Jared when he’s conscious and out of the worst, lying boneless and weak in the hospital bed. Despite his growling stomach he ignores most of his dinner expect the pudding.
“It was only Tylenol.”
“Yeah. One an hour. 24/7. For how many weeks now? No, wait, months. One more day and your liver would look like one of these Russians’ living off vodka distilled of old car tires. You were severely intoxicated, Jay.”
“It hurts.” Jared whines, carefully touching his left cheek with his fingertips and making a face the moment skin meets skin.
Chad nods, working hard not to roll his eyes and call Jared a stupid, stupid douche. But it’s a sensitive topic and he knows that Jared’s not accessible to reason when it comes to this.
“I know. But most pain killers are off limits for weeks after you nearly got yourself killed. You’re lucky your liver’s not damaged permanently. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re out of options.”
Watching Jared’s shoulders sag and his giant body literally shrinking until he’s looking like a frightened little kid, Chad steels himself for the inevitable. He can do this. Somebody has to.
“I already made an appointment for you. It’s the doc I told you about. My whole family’s been under his treatment for years. Trust me, he’s a great old guy. Very compassionate. A bit new-age-y maybe but hey, he doesn’t stint on the anesthetization and that’s all that counts, huh?”
Hands worrying the edge of the crisp hospital sheet until it’s creased, Jared nods. Chad’s tempted to look the other way, afraid his best friend will start to cry every moment.
“And there’s no other way?”, Jared asks meekly, voice trembling.
Chad sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, buddy. Tomorrow at 2 pm, right after leaving the hospital, Ackles DDS.”
Jared swallows, hard, and considers another overdose.
By lunch time, Jensen’s filled four carious teeth and made one patient cry. It’s not that bad, he thinks self-contentedly. During his first two weeks it was the other way around.
After ordering Samantha to place a new job advertisement to substitute the deserted nurse, Jensen enters one of the dentist’s rooms, mechanically reciting the polite greetings Misha’s noted down for him after his first day but hesitates when he sees the man lying on the dental treatment chair.
He swallows. Hopes that it’s not as loud as he thinks it is. Stops breathing. Blushes. Breathes again, definitely too loud. Coughs.
Nobody asked, he tries to calm himself, fiddling with his gloves. Nothing to tell. But damn, the guy’s scorching hot. Huge. Shoulders like a bulldozer, arms made to crush stone (or manhandle horny dentists, a tiny voice in Jensen’s head provides helpfully), jeans stretched obscenely tight over brawny thighs while hanging casually low on the man’s narrow hips.
He smiles nervously at one of the nurses. Jensen’s heart sinks. Dimples. Fuck. How the hell is he supposed to work like that?
As soon as Jensen sits, the patient - Jared Padalecki according to the medical record -startles.
Blushing, he mumbles a sheepish “sorry” and flashes those dimples again.
Oh my, Jensen thinks. Years in the field and he’s struck down by an overzealous Musculus Zygomaticus Major. That’s fucking biological warfare. Kinda.
Padalecki saves Jensen from finding out if asking “how may I help you” is even possible or if he’ll stutter like a lovesick 11-year-old when the nervous patient starts to babble. It’s loud and fast and startles Jensen out of his fantasies of those enormous strong hands on his body and of fighting with each other until their sweaty, shimmering skin makes it hard to get a grip on muscles made of steel.
“Huh?” he asks, dazzled, trying to fit the pieces together.
“Childhood trauma”, Padalecki repeats, watching Jensen doubtfully, as if pondering if he’s trustworthy. “Had this big thing when a tooth didn’t want to come out and the dentist had to chisel it out of the bone and God, that hurt so fucking much and he just didn’t stop and I cried but nobody helped me and the noises, oh God the noises, like--. Like my jawbone broke in two, that grating sound and I couldn’t stop staring into the light, which is what they always warn you not to do, right, stare into the light and--.”
“Don’t walk into the light.” Jensen corrects him, a little puzzled. “It’s, don’t walk into the light.”
“Whatever. So maybe, I’m a little, a wee, tiny, little bit afraid and uh,” the giant swallows hard before he directs a set of big damp eyes at Jensen, “please, don’t hurt me?”
The nurses make soft sounds of sympathetic rapture and ovulate spontaneously. Two sets of hands fly to squeeze Padalecki’s impressive forearms reassuringly.
Jensen sighs and the nice, tingling feeling in his belly subsides to make room for irritation.
Great. A wuss.
Jensen is, in general, pro human rights. He really is. He’s risked his life for them, after all. But this? It’s not some kinky fantasy that makes him want to tie Padalecki up and pacify the gigantic wussy (“restrain” is such an ugly word, Jensen’s been told more than once by his superiors when his scientific training had seduced him into forgetting the official terms).
6”4 of pure muscle, spermatic cords and floppy hair writhe on his chair, uttering strange animalistic sounds of distress every time Jensen does something - anything - and this is just the anamnesis, no dental drills involved in any way.
It’s the collapse of about every secret sexual fantasy Jensen’s ever had.
When Jensen’s finished, Padalecki’s covered in sweat from tip to toe, knuckles white and it’s been a long time ago that his vocal utterances could be called anything but pathetic whining.
Translating the flow of letters and numbers into a verdict, Jensen translates the inventory into plain English without addressing his patient or sparing him as much as a single glance.
“5 carious teeth so far, two of them with multiple attacks. Surprisingly, hardly no dental calculus and no periodontitis. Misha, X-ray him.”
In the end, it’s 7 decayed teeth, including 2 endodontic treatments. In dollars: presumably 6 fillings and 3 inlays plus PTC. It’s good money, on the one hand.
On the other, it’s approximately 7 more dates with the overgrown aspen leaf, maybe more.
It’s then and there, that Dr. Jensen Ackles finally admits to himself that coming back and taking over his father’s dental office after the old man’s heart attack was the worst decision Jensen’s ever made.
Being a good son is fucking overrated.
When Jared doesn’t show up on his first appointment, it’s a godsend for the poor bastard who woke up with a cheek the size of an orange and in so much pain he considered to draw the sore tooth himself with a pair of rusty pliers.
The second time, he’s screwing up patient-scheduling and wasting Jensen’s time and money. Mumbling something unintelligible about payroll-costs and fucking pussies, the dentist picks up the phone himself to call his lily-livered fugitive, stealing himself to stay polite when he itches to ream Padalacki’s ass like some snot-nosed private pissing his pants in the presence of the enemy.
Somewhere in a restaurant kitchen not all that far from the Ackle’s practice, Lady Gaga’s on the Edge of Glory. Glancing at his cell phone, hands sticky- white with a mixture of flour and vanilla sugar, Jared drops the bowl he’s been holding. Stares at the dental office’s number in the blue-ish display, horror-stricken. Feels his muscles stiffen and his mouth go dry. Gaga’s still on the edge. Every single tooth in Jared’s mouth flares up in pain and his face contorts grotesquely and he. Just. Can’t. Move.
The song’s stopped for a minute before Jared’s able to regain control over his frozen body, the sound a faint terrifying echo in his aching head.
Jared sighs. Great. Now he needs a new ring tone.
One week later, on a rainy Tuesday, the bombs in his head expel Jensen from his warm bed far too early. It’s still dark outside, only a sad handful of tired pedestrians hurrying down the street, huddled in their scarves up to the tips of their noses. Jensen’s cold, his bad leg comments the sudden change of weather with burning pain, he’s out of coffee and, regarding the time of day alone, ready to kill. Not literally, of course, he’s a doctor after all, but he seriously reconsiders it when he sees the man waiting in front of the office.
Padalecki’s hugging his upper body, his shoulders are slumped and despite his height, he’s looking small and fragile, like an abandoned dog at a rest stop the moment it realizes his human pack won’t come back for him.
“Hey Dr. Ackles,” he slurs, handicapped by the obvious swelling of his right cheek.
“You missed your appointment,” Jensen replies, not looking at the other man as he unlocks the door. “Twice.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“You could have called,” Jensen says and damn, why is he sounding like a pouting 50ies housewife with an overcooked roast in the oven? Trying to sound a little menacing, he adds “I could charge you, you know.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s fine, I guess. I just really need your help ‘cause my teeth hurt down to my toes and my head feels like fucking bursting, and my jaw, it feels like, like needles, billions of tiny, sharp needles, like those spearheads soaked with poison on the discovery channel-- ”
If you don’t shut up and pronto I’m gonna show you what a needle is, Jensen thinks - very decisively staying in the medical part of the wide variety of pointy, penetrative objects -, wishing the whining would stop as the man follows him inside the office, his infliction rivaling a professional wailer’s keening.
“… or a cluster bomb, detonating in my jaw again and again and ag-“
“Shut up!” Jensen yells, turning around as fast as he can and poking a finger at the big baby’s chest, which is… very firm, Jensen’s downstairs brain informs him enthusiastically. Not firm enough to defuse his anger though. It’s the shocked expression on the other man’s face that finally does the trick and makes Jensen break the contact, mumbling a defiant “sorry”.
It’s awkward. The kind of awkward that makes Jensen wish himself back to his little corner in the med tent, the soft sound of the ever stuttering Diesel engine in the background and loose, soft sand palpable underneath the tent’s ground.
Both men stare at the tips of their shoes, in dire need of a pebble to kick away, anything, when finally, Jared whispers “please?” and the stone pumping blood through Jensen’s body gives a disconcerting twitch.
“Fine,” he growls, “but we have to wait for the nurses to come in.”
Jared whimpers. “Can’t you call someone to start working a bit earlier? This really is an emergency.”
“And there I thought I was the doctor deciding what’s an emergency and what’s not,” Jensen mumbles and waves Jared to follow him and lay down in the treatment chair while he leaves to change into scrubs, lab coat and mask.
Letting his gloves snap, Jensen sits down and looks expectantly at his patient. Jared stares back. There’s much too much white visible in his eyes.
“You gotta open your mouth,” Jensen explains slowly.
Jared nods. Sweat beads glisten on his tense forehead. His lips stay sealed.
Showing how to do it, Jensen opens his mouth, says “like that” and does it again.
Jared stares at the mask in front of Jensen’s mouth and Jensen clears his throat. Right.
So his patient’s in a state of shock. Fine. Jensen can work with that. After all, he’s had to peel a lot of foreign bodies (well, parts of them) off his traumatized patient’s faces before he could start maxillofacial surgery. Then again, none of these soldiers ever looked as shocked as this guy.
Cursing under his breath, Jensen throws caution to the wind - this is a fucking save dental office and not the front lines for fuck’s sake - and places his index finger on Jared’s lower lip, carefully but determinedly pushing it down. Startled, Jared swallows and, instead of opening his mouth, sucks Jensen’s latex-clad finger inside.
Jensen stares at those beautiful pink lips wrapped around his finger, thinks warm and more, until, suddenly, he realizes Jared’s still panicked but mainly puzzled gaze on his flushed face.
Jumping up, Jensen pulls his finger free and flees the room.
Padalecki’s right, he thinks. This is a fucking emergency.
Misha arrives in less than 15 minutes after Jensen’s call which compels respect even from Jensen. He’s annoyingly cheery though, wearing his ever present enraptured smile like a natural armor. For once, Jensen doesn’t want to wipe it right off his face.
Jensen stops Misha before he can enter the dentist’s room, trying to find the right words. Misha smiles at him encouragingly.
“I uh,” Jensen begins, “he--. You remember him, right? My Little Pony in the body of The Incredibly Hulk? He’s been alone in there for the last,” Jensen pretends he has to look at his watch, “quarter-hour. Seemed to be a little out of it so I thought, hey, no reason to stress him out even more, right? Maybe you could have a look at him before we get going just to be sure he uhm- “ …didn’t have a panic attack / jumped out of the window and broke his neck / isn’t crying…, “is Okay.”
Misha raises an eyebrow, making Jensen hold his breath in anticipation of the well deserved berating look. But Misha gets a grip on himself faster then Jensen can blink and nods, smiling again.
“I like My Little Pony, too,” he says with a sweet, ambiguous grin directed right at Jensen and turns on his heel.
It takes Jensen some seconds until his brain computed what just happened but when he finally manages to say “I’ve got nieces!” the door’s already fallen shut behind the nurse.
Jared’s first real treatment is more stressful to Jensen Ackles DDS than his first air strike to the Army Dental Officer of the same name.
Firstly, there are the sounds. It’s whining and cheeping and whimpering and sighing and God knows what, basically like Jensen imagines a tortured squirrel to sound. It’s annoying.
Mostly because Jensen’s dick obviously didn’t get the memo that nope, undeniable physical attraction aside, Jensen wasn’t into that kind of man (despite the mean little voice in his head that tells him that a guy that big a pussy probably really takes it up the ass. Which he, J.R. Ackles, never did and won’t ever do, mind that).
So, despite everything, Jensen’s body misinterprets some of the more throaty sounds, wishing bedroom and fuck yeah, and sending copious amounts of blood south until the next all too squirrelly squeak lets him go completely flaccid again so fast Jensen can literally count the rate of his heartbeats going down. It’s exhausting.
And then there are Padalecki’s teeth. Or the ruins that once were his teeth. Jensen can say that the guy wasn’t completely derelict in his oral hygiene - at least until it must have become too painful to brush and floss big parts due to the pain that makes even Jensen cringe in sympathy when he realizes that one of the teeth he had hoped he could rescue was a lost case. It isn’t exactly sexy. Even if one wouldn’t know what‘s behind these astoundingly normal looking front teeth, the subtle smell of decay and ignited flesh doesn’t exactly seem all too inviting to get one’s tongue in there.
And still…
The tides in Jensen’s cock are stopped dead in their tracks when he tells his patient that he has to draw the offending tooth now and Padalecki starts to hyperventilate.
Misha’s there with a paper bag in the blink of an eye, massaging the panting giant’s biceps comfortingly and once again, Jensen’s torn between lust and disgust. Throw in some jealousy (what the hell did they do alone in the treatment room for more than half an hour before Misha called Jensen to join him and a nervous but at least not shell-shocked Jared?!?) and the result is the man that makes it so fucking hard to live with 24/7 even for Jensen himself.
“I don’t need this, you know,” he growls, throwing one of his gloves to the ground and there she is again, the pouting cliché of a house-wife with her damn roast. The moment he realizes what he’s doing, Jensen bites his bottom lip. Instantly, he feels anger rising due to years of being teased for his all too pretty, girly pout. “I’m not forcing you to let me treat the stinking wreckage in your mouth. If you wanna go - that hole in the wall over there’s the door.”
For a second it looks as if Jared would run, still panting nervously into the paper bag. In fact he probably would if Misha hadn’t interfered, making cooing sounds, whispering soothing nothings and holding on to Jared’s tense upper arm.
Frustrated to the bones, Jensen leaves the room, only to be greeted by the rest of the staff staring at him with thinly veiled reproach.
Regarding the sad, pitying glances they shoot him before they part, “I could fire you all” probably was the wrong thing to reply.
In the end, because there’s nowhere else to go and Jensen Ackles is not one to run away (not when he’s on duty) Jensen goes back, slaps on a false smile, promises the local anesthesia for a small elephant and draws the decayed tooth without further ado. He doesn’t apologize.
Squishing his eyes shut, Jensen’s generously drugged, completely pain-free patient decides to shout as if Jensen had torn all of his ten finger nails out at once when he thinks the extraction happens. By then, the actual removal was thirty seconds ago and the instrument in Jared’s mouth is nothing but a mirror.
Feeling at least twenty years older, Jensen asks Misha to explain the next steps to Jared - as soon as the latter stops shaking violently, that is, and takes a breather in the storage room to prepare for the next patient waiting for him already. Briefly, just for one second, he considers to just leave. To put his finger on a random point on the map and buy a ticket, start all over again somewhere new now that he can’t go back either.
Jensen knows before he hears the laughter from the reception area. His father’s first visit after his discharge comes not only much earlier than anticipated, Jensen is also perfectly sure that this is nothing but an intervention, regarding the fiasco the day before. Or, maybe, the days before that, starting from the first step Jensen had taken into his father’s dental office after all these years away.
He doesn’t lie to himself anymore about what he's doing in the storage room, fiercely missing his own office room, something his father had given up years ago in favor of the big, friendly rec room for the whole team and a study at home. Okay, so he isn’t making sure that Samantha is on top of supplies but hiding in here and now that he’s able to admit it to himself? Who’s to tell him he can’t stay a little longer?
After ten minutes, Jensen caves. Shielding himself with a clipboard, he joins the happily chatting and laughing group surrounding his father, offering his hand and getting pulled into a bear-hug instead.
“There's my boy,” Alan Ackles laughs and pats his son’s back while his other arm’s still slung around Samantha Ferris, his first nurse, friend and, if you’d ask Jensen, the scariest woman walking the earth. “We’ve got a table at Ruby’s in ten minutes so hurry up, I’m hungry.”
While his father scans the menu, humming quietly, Jensen steals himself for the upcoming inquisition, wondering who ratted him out, Samantha being on top of the list but closely followed by every single other employee.
“OK, dad, lay it on me, what did they tell you?”
Alan looks up, puzzled and pretending not to know what his son’s talking about.
“Dad,” Jensen growls and Alan sighs, closing the menu.
“I want you to be happy, Jen, you know that, right?”
Jensen just looks at him, hardly blinking. “I am. I’m just having a rusty start, that’s all. It’ll take some time until everybody’s used to me and after all, this won’t be forever.”
“Let’s be open, Jensen, I’ve heard you’re having some problems to tend to the more sentient patients and to be completely honest, I’m a little worried.”
“There may have been some hypersensitive cases,” Jensen admits but is interrupted by his father instantly.
“There’s no such thing as hypersensitive, Jen. Nobody’s happy to have to come to us. People deliver themselves up as soon as they sit down in the chair. They open up for instruments they know could severely hurt them, and sometimes, we have to do just that to prevent them from worse. And if they do that anyway, they give us one of the biggest gifts one human being can give another: they give us their trust. It’s precious and something we should cherish by showing our patients the utmost respect, gentleness and patience. In my eyes, that’s what makes a really good dentist. Empathy. Our patients--“
When the waitress shows up, Alan Ackles pauses to place his order, leaving Jensen with a cold, hollow feeling in his chest.
“So, what I wanted to say-“
“I know,” Jensen mumbles. “I know.” He runs a hand over his face and, without looking at his father, says “I’m sorry to disappoint you. You knew that I never wanted to absorb the office. I’m just not a people person, you know that.”
“You’ve never been a disappointment to me, Jen. Don’t you ever think that. I just don’t get why… you need to love other people, let them close, you know. It’s what makes life worth living.”
“I’ve risked my life for other people for years,” Jensen replies, having a hard time to stay calm. “I became a doctor, just like you, hoping-whatever. I’ll get this right. You just take your time to recover and I will-“Jensen shakes his head, not exactly sure what he can do to change tack.
“Just accept some help. Listen to Sam and Misha, they’d love to support you in any way.”
Before Jensen can embarrass himself by petulantly mumbling “they hate me”, the food arrives and his father changes the topic, enjoying his meal and chatting about Jensen’s mom’s latest plans to renovate and his niece’s shenanigans.
“You don’t actually want to eat this?” Jensen asks as he lays his napkin down, spotting the artfully arranged chocolate desert in front of his father.
“Well, I’d take a bath in it, if I could, but they just won’t serve helpings that big. It’s a shame indeed.”
“You just had a heart attack, dad. Plus, you know exactly what this will do to your enamel.”
“Oh loosen up, Jenny boy.” Alan shoots his son a wink and a mischievous smile over the invidious childhood pet name. “Besides, it only was a very small heart attack. Fit in a matchbox. But if it taught me one thing? It’s to enjoy the living hell out of every single second I’ve got and share my happiness as much as I can.” He takes a spoonful of the sinfully sweet looking dessert, sighs contentedly, and smiles at the waitress, asking her to send him the pastry-cook.
“Now what? You wanna thank them for bringing you one step closer to an early grave?”
“If anything for making my last days on earth a gustatory explosion. You really should try this - it’s sensational.” He turns to look at the source of the shadow that’s just fallen over Jensen. “Ah, there you are. I’ve got to tell you, that chocolate soufflé was a revelation.”
When Jensen looks at the cook, his gaze meets dimples and an insecure, closed-mouth smile.
Jensen swallows. FML.
“Thank you,” Jared lisps, one cheek swollen and blue, and shoots Jensen a gaze that’s hard to read but could definitely be fear.
Please don’t cry… please don’t cry…, Jensen prays, waiting for the inevitable disclosure.
“Dental problems, huh?” Dr. Ackles senior asks and Jared nods, big fists hidden in the pockets of his chef’s uniform. “You should see my son here the next time, he’s an excellent dentist.” He pats Jensen’s shoulder jovially. “Like father, like son. I bet you wouldn’t have to suffer from that bad a swelling if he’d treated you.”
Jensen clears his throat and Jared lisps “he did.”
“Oh,” Alan says.
“Yeah,” Jensen nods and fiddles with his napkin, not looking at Jared.
“Well, some people swell more than others. I guess it’s quite fresh?”
“Yesterday,” Jared provides and Alan nods. “I see. I um, I guess I heard about that. Did Jensen already tell you about our program regarding dental anxiety? We’re making fantastic experiences with hypnosis. In fact, one of my staff members is an expert in this field, his success rate is astounding. We’ve got a lot of patients who needed only a few sessions right before the treatment until they lost their fear forever though a lot of people decide to use it again to relief the general feelings of stress most patients experience right before a treatment. In fact, 46% to 75% of the general population suffers from dental anxiety, it’s perfectly normal.” Alan smiles warmly at Jared. “You are perfectly normal. There’s help. It doesn’t have to be like that, I promise.”
Jared shoots Jensen an angry look, the veins in his neck suddenly standing out much too clearly for Jensen to feel comfortable with. “No, he didn’t.”
“Jenny, that’s important! Didn’t Misha tell you? He told me he did. Twice.”
“I’m not exactly sure. Maybe?”, Jensen mumbles, not looking up. Alan looks at his son reproachfully, making Jensen feel all but five years old again. And yes, probably Misha did but Jensen kind of zoned out every time the nurse began to rhapsodize about his damn, ridiculous New Age-shit.
“Yes, why didn’t you, Jenny?” Jared growls, drawing the name out. The air’s so thick with tension Jensen’s having problems to breathe.
Stepping in, Alan gets up, one hand squeezing Jared’s shoulder and catching his gaze. “You know what? The next time you have an appointment you bring some extra time, about an hour, and Misha will hypnotize you. On the house. He’s a really-“
“Yeah, I know him,” Jared smiles so wide he’s showing a hint of tooth gap, lightening up considerably. “I don’t think it was hypnosis but he calmed me down, really helped me when I was close to freaking out. Told me he wanted to talk about different novel therapies after the treatment but then I was so out of it I may not have gotten it.”
“Understandable,” Alan agrees and lets Jared’s arm go. “So we have a deal?”
Jared nods, showing off his dimples. They say good bey like old friends, Jared ignoring Jensen completely. After two steps, he turns around, addressing Alan. “You don’t happen to take new patients?”
“Sorry,” Alan says, “I don’t practice at the moment. But I can guarantee you that you’re in the best hands.”
Jared grins crookedly, doubt written all over his face and Jensen’s stomach clenches painfully.
“So,” Alan asks as he turns back to his son, “what do you know about hypnosis…”
As it turns out, hypnosis is fucking awesome. What they start with is hardly more than a disgrace for America but after barely an hour alone with Misha, Jensen’s got perfectly quiet, maybe a little dopey looking but extremely docile patients. They’re still there and aware enough to follow simple orders like “open” or “rinse” but they hardly seem to realize Jensen’s even there. And the best? Most of the time, when he’s done, he can sneak out without having said more than five words directed at his patients. Most of them just stare at him sleepily as he says goodbye. It’s even better than the curt, jovial small talk about news from home and rations back in the field. Actually, awesome doesn’t even come close to describing it.
In hindsight, remembering all the patients whom Jensen simply considered to be only reasonably chill, Misha may not have spent all those work hours Jensen didn’t know where he was smoking weed in the toilet but hypnotizing Milquetoasts. Or maybe he was sharing his pot with them. Frankly, Jensen doesn’t care anymore. It’s the result that counts.
With Padalecki though it’s a whole different ball game. At the beginning, it’s just, well, awesome. Having the giant pussy just lying there all relaxed and hand-tame, miles of muscle pliant under Jensen’s hands, already too disconnected from reality to react to Jensen or the last time they met in the restaurant, takes a load the size of a M1 Abrams MBT off Jensen’s mind.
At least until he begins to flinch and Misha steps in, calmly remembering Padalecki of his “special place”, “the sunshine” and “the things that feel good” in a low, intimate voice and Jared begins to fucking moan. It’s quite but still loud enough to drown out the slurping noises of the saliva ejector and the sprayvit. Jensen freezes, blood rushing downwards so fast it nearly accumulates in his toes instead of his dick before it re-navigates. He’s dizzy, nearly dropping the rose-head burr he just reached for.
Samantha shoots him one of her trademark looks, the one that says you’re not half the dentist your father is, then exchanges a grin with Misha when Jensen looks away, dirty enough to make him blush though he’s hardly seen all of it. Fucking renegades.
Hardly an hour later, Jensen studies the x-ray of what can only be called a text-book root canal treatment. It’s a thing of beauty.
“See,” he tells Jared who’s just returning from a trip to the bathroom he’s taken after his x-ray, still a little insecure on his big-ass feet while slowly coming back from his Misha-induced trip down sissy lane, “nothing to worry about.” Backing away on his roll stool, Jensen reveals the light box for Jared to see the picture of the needle still sticking inside his tooth.
“If you look closely, you can see all those tiny barbed hooks on the file going aaaaaaaaaaall the way down,” Jensen explains, his index finger tracing the elegantly curved arch of the size 20 broach file snugly fit inside Jared’s root canal, “to the tip of the root.”
He beams at Jared, showing off his own, perfect teeth, and Jared stares at the tiny negative in front of him, drool trickling down his chin because of the device preventing him from closing his mouth. His eyes are huge like saucers, acres of white again and Jensen feels the concerned looks of Samantha and Misha bombarding him.
Fine. Explain what you’re doing and the patient will realize that there’s no reason to be afraid. Easy as pie.
Reaching for the tablet where the tiny, bloody string of pulp tissue still waits to be disposed of, and then holding it right in front Jared’s nose so he can see it better, Jensen soldiers on despite the color leaving Jared’s skin. “See, that’s the nerve we removed from the root canal, just scraped it out so the little bastard can’t bug you anymore.”
He smiles encouragingly at his patient, who stares at the x-ray, then at the pathetic thread of tissue on the tablet, crimson-red smear on white cellulose, back to the x-ray of the needle penetrating his now dead molar from open crown to the root deep inside his numb jawbone, filigree handle sticking out on top. A drop of saliva lands on his gray Henley.
“Now all we have to do is-fuck!”
Probably they should have seen it coming but when the nurses finally move, it’s already too late. Jared doesn’t sway, he doesn’t roll his eyes in warning, he just falls like somebody pulled the rug from under his feet. Jensen tries to catch him but it’s friggin’ 180 lbs. or more (not that Jensen had ever speculated about what all that muscle must weight, let alone the hair) crashing down on him. The rolls of his stool give him absolutely no leverage and he slips, the stool careening to the other side of the room as Jensen’s buried under the other man’s huge body, punching every last bit of air out of him.
Laying flat on his back, his bad knee twisted painfully, Jensen sighs tiredly as the other two try to lift the unconscious man off their boss.
Scowling at Misha, Jensen mumbles “I hope you made sure he’s not pregnant before you x-rayed him.”
When Jensen opens the door that evening, eyes still heavy with sleep, he’s greeted with slanted eyes hardly visible behind a bouquet of flowers.
“Hey,” the flowers say and Jensen blinks. Weird.
“I brought you flowers.” Jared says, lowering the bouquet and shoving them against Jensen’s chest.
“Obviously,” Jensen replies and shoots the gaudy bouquet a disdainful glance. What is he, a damsel in distress or what?
“So sorry for your knee,” Jared adds, embarrassed. “I wanted to see if you’re fine but Misha told me you went home after you were discharged from the hospital after, um… I fainted. I kind of coaxed your address out of him, don’t give him shit for it, okay? Did I mention that I’m sorry? For falling on you, that is. And thanks for getting that needle out of my tooth before the ambulance arrived despite you not being able to stand and being in pain and all.”
“Not your fault my knee was affected. It’s an old injury, just had it checked to make sure. I’ll be back on duty tomorrow.” Jensen’s voice is still a little scratchy and he slowly begins to realize he’s standing there barefoot in an old, ratty tee and pajama bottoms with little mice on them. Granted, it’s army mice with guns bigger than themselves but well, it’s mice. Damn little sisters and their silly Christmas presents.
“Good, good,” Jared laughs, relieved. “Great to see you’ll live to torture your patients a little more.”
Jensen stares at him, still not reaching for the flowers, and opens his mouth but before he can start to protest, Jared cuts him off.
“No, I mean--. That came out wrong. I mean, help your patients, obviously ‘cause that’s what you do, right? Help people. In a total friendly, non-torturous way. Not that you’d despise your patients or get off on hurting them or anything…” he trails of, voice getting softer the longer he speaks and his own words slowly sink in. “Obviously.” He coughs. “My mouth’s kinda faster than my brain here, huh? It um… it happens. It’s a filter thing.” Jared pushes the flowers a little harder against Jensen’s chest, eyes begging Jensen to take them already. “Sorry. Again.”
Jensen scowls, teeth clenched. He’s too angry to answer instantly, so instead they stare at each other, until Jensen gets a grip on himself and slams the door shut.
“I’m sorry!” Jared yells through the door.
Fucker.
“You really don’t know when to just leave things alone, do you?” Jensen asks when he finally opens the door after a minute of heavy door bell attack. It’s only an hour later but at least this time, he’s had time to change into dignified clothes. Plus, Jared seems to have lost the flowers on the way.
Jared seems to ponder the question a few seconds, then says “no, I guess not.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and nods.
“But you are my dentist and I’ll be at your mercy again next week so…,” he hands Jensen an expensive looking wooden box and this time, Jensen instinctively takes it. “It’s one of the best Single Malt Scotch Whiskeys available, 20 years old, bottled by Samaroli and-“.
“You think you have to bribe me so I don’t hurt you on purpose?” Jensen’s stunned. “Seriously?”
Jared shrugs, smiling insecurely.
Seething internally, Jensen manages a tense smile.
“You know, maybe I won’t be miserly with the anesthetics the next time. Well, if the Whiskey’s up to my standard, that is.” And with that, enjoying Jared’s unhappy face for a moment, Jensen closes the door - as much as is possible with Jared’s foot wedged between, that is.
“I’m a nice guy!” Jared says.
“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Jensen answers and kicks Jared’s foot. It doesn’t budge.
“I really don’t know why you hate me so much.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t even care enough about you to hate you. You are just… annoying.” Jensen shoves his full weight against the door, squashing Jared’s foot.
“Ouch!” Jared yells, “dude, that hurts.”
“I’m off duty now, I don’t have to coddle you big baby. Now leave!”
“No!”
“Leave!”
“This is ridiculous,” Jared scoffs but retreats and the door shuts with a bang.
Back slumped against the door, Jensen sighs. Fine, so he damn well knows why he “dislikes” Jared that much but there’s hardly anything he can do about it. It’s no justification for acting unprofessionally though and so Jensen swallows hard, gets over himself for a second and steps in the hallway.
“Padalecki,” he calls and the other man turns around, a mixture of anger and resignation written all over his face.
“Peace?”, Jensen asks, still barefoot and with the box in his hands.
Jared watches him doubtfully, then grins, dimples full on showing. “Only if we seal it with a drink. Otherwise you’ll never find out what an amazing specimen of man I am and how important it therefore is to keep me happy and pain-free.”
Acutely aware of the bottle of Whiskey in his hand, Jensen wants to protest ‘cause he sure as hell won’t invite this man into his condo to get drunk with tall, dark and handsome when he’s all tall, dark and handsome and not some pathetic whiner. On the other hand, can one drink really hurt?
“There’s a sports bar down the road, meet me there in ten?” Jensen suggests before Jared can get ideas.
“Cool, and don’t forget to bring the mice trousers. There are very few man who can pull that off.” Jared winks and turns around, leaving Jensen with a burning face.
Pain-free my ass.
Going for a drink with that Padalecki guy (Jay) easily ranges among the three dumbest things Jensen’s ever done, only rivaled by that one godforsaken incident in the weapons tent and replacing his father in the office. It all seems like a closely knit string of disasters within a few months, one leading to the other, all of them designed to make Jensen even more miserable than before, if that’s even possible.
So it turns out that, besides being a wuss and built like some Greek marble statue, Padalecki is a decent guy. A bit dorky, maybe, but funny and with his heart in the right place. His political views are grotesque, of course, typical pansy-resting-his-lazy-ass-on-the-couch-liberal and there’s not a single opinion he’s stated Jensen didn’t fight tooth and nails over a constantly growing row of empty beer bottles. But somehow, Padalecki managed to justify his twisted view on life in a way Jensen grudgingly had to respect (albeit not accept). Not that he would admit that out loud, naturally.
A few hours later, with hardly four hours of sleep, and the worst hangover since that first week of heavy drinking after his home coming when nobody knew he was back already, Jensen’s back to hating Padalecki again - ‘cause he kind of really likes him. Which sucks. Big time.
Changing into his scrubs, even Jensen feels bad for his next patient.
// chapter 2