The Few, The Proud, The Broken 1/?
Title: The Few, The Proud, The Broken
Author: krebsbach
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Summary: Jensen is a Marine suffering PTSD who just wants to be left alone. Jared is the Psychologist trying to help him.
Beta’d by: orvida
Warning: NC-17, POW Torture,
Notes: Watched a local news story about returning vets that got me thinking about PTSD.
Disclaimer: as usual my twisted brain has the boys doing
naughty things to each other.
The days heavy mist had turned into a down pour by the beginning of the evening rush hour. The usual gridlock of commuters traveling home from their daily toiling for the ‘MAN’ was hampered further by the rain. The sound of traffic hummed echoing along the down town streets. Pedestrians were scattered and huddled under umbrellas, briefcases or soggy news papers. Trying mostly without success to stay dry. Everyone was in a hurry, no one noticing the other person who could be just inches from them.
Anonyminity of the city suited him just right. No one noticed him slipping past them with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up the edges obscuring his face the collar of his leather jacket up. He brushed by stepping onto the train no one even looked at him. He kept his head down not drawing attention by doing his own looking. But not looking didn’t mean he didn’t see everything. He did. He always did.
Being hyper aware of his surroundings was a skill the US military had given him. Just like they had trained him to track a man through the scope of a sniper rifle and make a kill shot at a thousand yards like it was second nature. They gave him the skills of a killer and when he couldn’t do the job anymore they sent him home with a Bronze Star, Purple Heart,a fucked up trigger hand, a permanent limp and PTSD.
A bottle of Jack Daniels tucked into the inner pocket of his coat jumbled against his chest as the train jerked forward. He curled his hand around the bottle through the inner lining of his pocket. If it wouldn’t get him arrested he would have started drinking from the bottle as soon as he left the liquor store. Nothing killed the dreams like Jack, Jim or Jose did.
The next stop more commuters’ got onto the train cramming in like sardines. One of them caught his attention mostly because he had to duck to step onto the train and stood a good two feet taller than anyone else on the train.
The broad width of the man’s shoulders almost spanned the distance between the sliding doors of the train car. A shaggy mop of milk chocolate hair fell in the man’s face as his attention was on the cell phone in his large hand. A wide platinum wedding band glinted on the man’s ring finger as he shifted the weight of the laptop case slung over his shoulder. A smile creased the man’s face at something he read on the tiny phone screen flashing a glimpse of one dimple. Another lurching stop sent everyone swaying forward. The doors slide open and the tall man stepped off the train.
Two more stops went by before his stop. Only a handful of passenger’s got on. The rain had once again faded to a mist. The street lights lining the way illuminated the wet pavement like spilled diamonds with the occasional twinkle of a red or blue neon business signs thrown in the gem mix. His building was only three blocks from the terminal. Those blocks lined with three abandon commercial buildings, one pay by the week motel, check cashing/payday loan place, pawn shop and a gas station convenience store.
His apartment building was an old brown and red brick three story walk up. As usual his landlord was sitting on the front stoop smoking his thin brown chicory smelling cigar. Tonight he sat under an umbrella.
"Good evening Major Ackles." The older man said giving him a slight nod of recognition.
"Good evening Mr. Corelli." He gave the man a reciprocal nod as he made his way up the steps. It always made him smirk just a little at how the old man always called him by his military rank. His wife always called him Jensen dear and gave his cheek a light motherly pat with her snarled liver spotted hand.
His key barely hit the lock of his second floor apartment when the sound of a fighting spilled out from the apartment adjacent from his. Shaking his head Jensen pushed his door open. Setting the bottle of Jack down grabbing a glass from the cupboard. He poured a generous amount of the amber liquid before gulping it down. Tossing his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair Jensen snagged the bottle heading into the living room.
The light on his phone flashed alerting Jensen that he had voicemail’s waiting for him. Checking the caller ID told him his mother called three times, the CVS Pharmacy. The last number was the shrink from the VA Dr. Michael Rosenbaum. Pressing the button Jensen erased all the messages without listening to them.
Dr. Jared Padalecki twisted his brother’s wedding band around his finger as he read the case file Dr. Michael Rosenbaum had sent home with him. Jared’s older brother Jeff had been a Gulf War Vet who came home from the war different. He suffered mentally and physically with the scars left by combat. Jeff had killed himself and his wife one night after he had a horrible flashback. Jeff was the reason Jared went into mental health medicine. He did his doctorate thesis on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Jared wore his brother’s simple platinum band in memoriance of Jeff and all the other veterans that were lost once they came home.
Major Jensen Ross Ackles was a Marine Sniper and stationed mostly in Afghanistan and Pakistan. He was injured in an explosion inNorth Waziristan, Pakistan after his unit was ambushed by a faction of the Taliban. The Major was held captive for three weeks when he was rescued after a team of Navy Seal’s hit the compound he was being held at. There was an explosion which left shrapnel in Ackles hip and leg. His right hand been smashed and had nerve damage ending his sniper career.
Most of Michael’s notes were from Ackles stay at Walter Reed Facility. Ackles had been mostly uncooperative in his own treatment especially anything that had to do with talking about his time in captivity. From some nurses notes Ackles suffered from extreme nightmares and often would stay up all night looking out the window in his room. His physical therapy had gone rough Ackles was often frustrated at his slow progress which came out in violent episodes.
After being released from the hospital Ackles had missed appointments with both Michael and the physical therapist Jeffrey Dean Morgan. The only prescription he had refilled was the Oxicodin for pain. If Jared was to guess Ackles was self medicating for sleep with booze or street drugs. That was what Michael thought also. That was why he called Jared in. He specialized in cases where the patient had serve PTSD and attitude problems.
The dreams always started in the alley behind the mosque inWaziristan. Jensen was set up in a cart beneath some rags and baskets. His rifle was set he was waiting for his target, the leader of the Taliban faction to leave the mosque. He could feel the tenseness in his body as he waited. In a flash he was in that dark dirty room, striped to the waist his trigger hand tied down to a stone table. The man that was his target was holding a mallet with a large heavy black rubber head.
"Fuck!" Jensen swore sitting up. Sweat poured down his face, his heart slammed inside his chest. Looking down Jensen forcing his right hand into a fist gritting his teeth as pain shot through his hand up his arm.
TBC>>>>