Fanfiction: Healing takes time - Time to stop
Title: Healing Takes Time - Time to stop
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pooch, Jolene, Julie and his therapyst had coalized
Warnings: Heavy spoilers for the end of the comics. Fix-it fic.
Author Note: This is the third one of a series of I still don't know how many ficlets. This is un-betaed for now but hopefully it will get beta-ed by emocezi sooner or later (when I'll send it to her)
Credits and thanks: The Losers do not belong to me. They belong to DC and Dark Castle Entertainment plus Warner Bros Pictures. I am not making any money off this fic.
Inspired by a request from emocezi this turned into a monster of more than (for now) 8000 words (for now) that's not even finished yet. Many thanks to emocezi for letting me spam her with this.
Follows:
[Time to wake up]
[Time to move on]
Two years later Roque was five years old and as silent as his father was chatty. He loved his father hat, one that Jensen had bought on a whim at the Tijuana airport, and would do anything to get the permission to wear it, nonplussed by the hat being too large for his head.
Jensen let him sleep with it, because his dreams were quieters and his sleep longer if he did, and tried not to feel the ache in his heart whenever his son played with it. It had been a really dark grey but Jensen had died it black at the first occasion, a long lasting die who had costed him a fucking lot but was long lasting and didn't ruined when a toddler clamped sucked on the brim in his sleep.
He told the nanny to let him keep it and steeled himself, getting out of the apartment he had buyed not even two months before.
Pooch, Jolene, Julie and his therapyst had coalized, apparently, and all four of them had stopped with the hints and just told him to confront the phantom of Cougar. His therapyst was telling him to do as much since Jensen had seen him the first time but recently Pooch and Julie had hinted, in the beginning, and the flat out told him that he needed to stop running and let the man come to him.
Really, the way they talked it could have almost seemed that Cougar was still alive. Jensen had told them as much in his last email to the both of them before cutting off all the contacts a few weeks prior.
Barcelona hadn't stopped his PTSD-induced hallucinations. They had followed him there and then to Paris, St. Petersburg, London, Kilkenny in Ireland and now to the city of Trieste, on the border between Italy and ex-Jugoslavia. Not even stopping with the famous cities had helped.
So Jensen was going to go and tell Cougar to fuck off and leave him be. He had a son, a five years old, and he was going to start school coming September so Jensen had two months to get over his PTSD and straighten himself up to be a good parent.
He could do it, he had to do it, and since he had seen Cougar in the supermarket that morning he knew that his time there was either coming to an end or he was going to man up and, stone-cold sober as he was since the day Roque mother had showed up on his doorstep, talk to his hallucinations.
If he was going to do it, though, he was going to do it on his terms which meant he was going to do it in the place he was most at ease at.
In the garden of the Miramare Castle.
It was big, 22 ectars of trees and grass, and full of little discreet places that you could discover going around them, maybe with your son on the shoulders when both of you were sick of the sea and in need of a picnic.
If it was a little romantic, because there were spots from where you could see the sea, well sue him. He hadn't talked with Cougar in five years and the last time it had been in a room smelling like oil and Cougars blood.
He had earned himself a better settings for their second last talk.
Fuck anyone who would say otherwise.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pooch, Jolene, Julie and his therapyst had coalized
Warnings: Heavy spoilers for the end of the comics. Fix-it fic.
Author Note: This is the third one of a series of I still don't know how many ficlets. This is un-betaed for now but hopefully it will get beta-ed by emocezi sooner or later (when I'll send it to her)
Credits and thanks: The Losers do not belong to me. They belong to DC and Dark Castle Entertainment plus Warner Bros Pictures. I am not making any money off this fic.
Inspired by a request from emocezi this turned into a monster of more than (for now) 8000 words (for now) that's not even finished yet. Many thanks to emocezi for letting me spam her with this.
Follows:
[Time to wake up]
[Time to move on]
Two years later Roque was five years old and as silent as his father was chatty. He loved his father hat, one that Jensen had bought on a whim at the Tijuana airport, and would do anything to get the permission to wear it, nonplussed by the hat being too large for his head.
Jensen let him sleep with it, because his dreams were quieters and his sleep longer if he did, and tried not to feel the ache in his heart whenever his son played with it. It had been a really dark grey but Jensen had died it black at the first occasion, a long lasting die who had costed him a fucking lot but was long lasting and didn't ruined when a toddler clamped sucked on the brim in his sleep.
He told the nanny to let him keep it and steeled himself, getting out of the apartment he had buyed not even two months before.
Pooch, Jolene, Julie and his therapyst had coalized, apparently, and all four of them had stopped with the hints and just told him to confront the phantom of Cougar. His therapyst was telling him to do as much since Jensen had seen him the first time but recently Pooch and Julie had hinted, in the beginning, and the flat out told him that he needed to stop running and let the man come to him.
Really, the way they talked it could have almost seemed that Cougar was still alive. Jensen had told them as much in his last email to the both of them before cutting off all the contacts a few weeks prior.
Barcelona hadn't stopped his PTSD-induced hallucinations. They had followed him there and then to Paris, St. Petersburg, London, Kilkenny in Ireland and now to the city of Trieste, on the border between Italy and ex-Jugoslavia. Not even stopping with the famous cities had helped.
So Jensen was going to go and tell Cougar to fuck off and leave him be. He had a son, a five years old, and he was going to start school coming September so Jensen had two months to get over his PTSD and straighten himself up to be a good parent.
He could do it, he had to do it, and since he had seen Cougar in the supermarket that morning he knew that his time there was either coming to an end or he was going to man up and, stone-cold sober as he was since the day Roque mother had showed up on his doorstep, talk to his hallucinations.
If he was going to do it, though, he was going to do it on his terms which meant he was going to do it in the place he was most at ease at.
In the garden of the Miramare Castle.
It was big, 22 ectars of trees and grass, and full of little discreet places that you could discover going around them, maybe with your son on the shoulders when both of you were sick of the sea and in need of a picnic.
If it was a little romantic, because there were spots from where you could see the sea, well sue him. He hadn't talked with Cougar in five years and the last time it had been in a room smelling like oil and Cougars blood.
He had earned himself a better settings for their second last talk.
Fuck anyone who would say otherwise.