FIC: Don't Fight With Your Pillow, Part 1
Title: Don't Fight With Your Pillow
Authors: balefully and setissma
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Words: 14,053
Summary: Jensen breaks his arm, Jared is a mother hen, and everything ends in sex.
Disclaimer: Only the product of our fevered imaginations.
A/N: The lovechild of Tai and me, this fic is hopefully a pretty accurate amalgamation of our writing styles. It was tons of fun to write, NOT so much fun to edit, and has awakened me to the fact that punctuation is a much more open-ended artform than I ever realized. Title from the poem "Don't Take Your Troubles to Bed" by Edmund Vance Cooke. Also, it should probably have a warning for intense schmoop. :">
Part 1 | Part 2
Don't Fight With Your Pillow
The whole thing is stupid. It's really, really stupid.
There are four steps to Jensen's trailer, making up a total height of maybe three feet on a gradual incline. No one has trouble with the steps to Jensen's trailer. Jensen's pretty sure his grandmother wouldn't have trouble with the steps to his trailer.
Which is why it's seriously pathetic when he misses the first step, slides a little on some ice on the second, and falls flat on his face, spilling coffee all the fuck over and generally making a complete mess of things. His first thought is that it's going to be a pain in the ass to change costumes, but then Jensen goes to move and realizes that he's probably going to have bigger problems than that, because the snap he heard definitely wasn't the coffee cup.
He can actually see his arm bone underneath the skin, and moving his arm about an inch to the left convinces him that it would be a really, really good idea not to move, possibly ever. He almost blacks out twice trying to get up, which is why when Jared finds him, five minutes later, he's still lying in front of the steps.
What happens next is kind of a blur, but featuring prominently amidst the haze of pain is Jared's unbelievably lame "worried" face. Jensen makes a mental note to tell Jared he looks like a total pussy the next time he gets a chance, although he's kind of hoping that he won't even remember any of this extraordinarily embarrassing experience by then. Jensen's pretty sure Jared is somehow involved in getting him into the ambulance when it arrives, but he figures it might be an elaborate hallucination brought on by bodily trauma or something, because Jared doesn't usually pick him up and carry him around like a ragdoll. At least, not very often.
"It's all gonna be okay, Jen," Jared soothes. He's sitting next to the stretcher, fingertips just touching Jensen's shoulder as the ambulance jostles around on the way to the ER. And he sounds like he's talking to a terminally ill child, which is definitely pissing Jensen off.
"I broke my arm, Jared. I'm not exactly dying, here," Jensen points out. It hurts like a motherfucker and he is not in the mood for Jared's attempts to calm him down.
"You could go into shock, or have a concussion or serious internal injury you don't even know about!" Jared says. He sounds panicked, belying his earlier assertions. Jensen just stares at the IV bag hanging from the pole by his head. This is beyond ridiculous.
Not to mention how ridiculous it is to call an ambulance for a broken arm in the first place, but apparently there are perks to being an actor. Unfortunately, they won't let him shove Jared out of the ambulance, which would really make the whole thing worth it.
The best part, though, is that once he gets to the hospital, they move him out into the waiting room; apparently an attempted suicide and a case of appendicitis take precedence over his broken arm. Jensen's totally cool with it; they gave him Vicodin, and he's maybe even thinking about taking a nap on one of the sofas, when Jared starts freaking out.
"Dude," he says, pacing over by the racks of Highlights for Children and Parenting Today, "you have a broken arm. They should be putting a cast on and taking care of you!"
"I'm fine," Jensen says. He's definitely fine. The fluorescent lights are fascinating, and if he stares at them long enough, it's totally possible they'll start communicating with him in Morse code.
"I think you should at least get priority over the guy who tried to slit his wrists," Jared mutters. "That's self-inflicted."
Jensen wants to point out that his broken arm is the self-inflicted result of stupidity and an inability to walk, but Jared paces off before he can say anything.
One of the triage nurses comes out a couple minutes later, and she crouches down beside him. "Are you in pain?" she says.
"I'm fine," Jensen says. They've got his arm in a little splint, and he's got the lights and an enormous fake plant for company. Plus, Jared's not pacing in front of him anymore. Everything is fucking fantastic. Except the plant kind of needs a good dusting, but Jensen doesn't like to judge.
"We're a little backed up, but would you like to be moved to a room?" she offers.
Rooms are interesting. Jensen would have to leave the plant, but it might be worth it. He could take a nap.
"Okay," he agrees. "I kind of lost my-" he gestures. "Jared."
Jared's usually pretty hard to lose, owing to the fact that he's a freakish giant, but Jensen's not entirely sure where he is.
"Don't worry," the nurse says, sounding slightly amused. "We'll make sure to send him back."
Jensen thinks it's really nice that Jared's making friends with the nurses, but if he's trying to get any phone numbers, Jensen is going to have to draw the line. He can't have his primary caregivers preoccupied with Jared's boyish charms. "Okay," he says, and lets her wheel him back to one of the curtained rooms.
Jared appears all of two minutes later, looking triumphant. Probably because he scored Mindy the Triage Nurse's digits.
"You're not allowed to smile at them," Jensen says. Because that's probably how Jared reels in unsuspecting nurses. His smile is just so shiny and bright, and Jensen wonders if maybe Jared could communicate with the fluorescent lights using his teeth.
Jared stops smiling in order to look confused, and Jensen tries not to be too disappointed. "Smile at who?"
"Mindy," Jensen says. Obviously. Although now that he thinks about it, her name might not actually be Mindy. She was taking blood from a guy who looked exactly like Mork, though, so it's pretty much the same thing.
Jared sits gingerly on the edge of Jensen's bed. "Are you delirious? Is that normal? I just left to bully someone into giving you a room," Jared says in a rush. He looks worried and maybe guilty and Jensen isn't sure when he got so good at reading Jared's face, but the guy's like a freaking book. A very large, very upset book.
"Seriously. I had Vicodin. You didn't need to." Not that Jensen isn't grateful for the opportunity to nap, but it would be much easier to sleep without Jared hovering.
"Maybe I should call someone," Jared says, and Jensen gives up and grabs his sleeve with his free hand.
"I'm fine," he says, for what feels like the five hundred and seventh time. He nudges Jared toward the magazine rack. "There's Time."
Jared likes Time Magazine. Jensen's pretty sure.
"Okay," Jared says, getting entirely the wrong idea, "do you want me to read to you?"
"Uh," Jensen says. Jesus, his costar is even more of a girl than Sam Winchester, and that's really saying something.
"There's an article on the globalization of Japan," Jared says.
At least it'll put him to sleep.
Jensen drifts off half way through details about the job market-at least Jared's voice is soothing-and barely manages to wake up for radiology and the x-rays. He doesn't really bother to keep track of the doctor sticking photos of his arm bones across a lighted screen, largely because Jared appears to have mostly calmed down and is handling things, which Jensen's pretty grateful for. It means he can sleep.
He has to wake up when they realign his arm bones, though, which is just a pain in the ass.
The enormous needle in his arm isn't that bad, especially since what's left of the pain goes away a couple minutes later, but watching all his bones slide into place when they straighten his arm out again is more than a little creepy.
"It's a complete fracture of the ulna," the doctor says, "but there isn't much tissue damage, so we're just going to put a cast on."
Jared squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. Jensen doesn't actually feel much better.
It doesn't help that after the doctor steps out, the physician's assistant applying Jensen's cast keeps eyeing him, then opening her mouth and closing it again before she can say anything. It's kind of reminiscent of a fish, when he thinks about it. A really annoying fish.
"Mr. Ackles, your insurance provider is based in the states, I see. Los Angeles," she finally says. "I thought you looked familiar."
She's blushing. Jensen can't believe this is actually happening to him, and Jared isn't even attempting to steer the conversation in a direction that won't eventually end up in embarrassing Days Of Our Lives territory; he's just standing there exuding support and trying to bore a hole in Jensen with his eyes. Or something. Jensen hates him a lot right now.
"Yeah," Jensen says, trying to put as much exasperation and annoyance in one word as he possibly can.
"I was so in love with Eric Brady," she says, steamrolling over him. Now Jared's grinning, like this is the most fun he's ever had. Jensen kind of wants to smack them both, but he just stays silent and hopes that everyone leaves him alone.
The PA finishes wrapping Jensen's arm in cotton and starts applying wet strips of fiberglass or whatever they make casts out of these days, and Jensen thinks he's in the clear. He isn't.
"I never would've guessed you were. You know," she says, a little awkwardly. Jensen sighs. He doesn't have the faintest fucking idea what she's talking about, he's tired, and his arm hurts. The PA grins appreciatively at Jared. "But it's so great you have such a caring and attentive partner to look out for you. I heard the nurses saying he wouldn't rest until they got you a room."
Jared coughs loudly and takes his hand off Jensen's shoulder. "Uh," he starts.
Jensen is totally and completely taking advantage of a beautiful opportunity for revenge.
"Oh, yeah," he says, giving Jared what he hopes is a very affectionate smile. "He's great. Aren't you, baby?"
Jared goes a shade of red that totally makes up for how much of a pain in the ass he is, and coughs again. "I'm just-going to go get some coffee," he says, gesturing toward the door. "I'll-uh, bring you some."
Jared flees. Jensen feels pretty damn triumphant, until he realizes that he's now left alone with his biggest fan and an incomplete cast. And the Vicodin's wearing off. Life sucks.
By the time Jensen finishes getting his cast on and Jared finishes filling out twenty-seven pages of paperwork because Jensen can't write, he's completely exhausted and seriously irritable. His arm hurts, his head hurts, and Jared's back to being obnoxiously attentive, which is substantially more annoying now that Jensen's not on drugs. He just wants to go back to his apartment and sleep.
Luckily, Jared made sure to call their driver to come pick them up. If he's going to be obnoxious, Jensen figures it's probably good that he's obnoxious in a useful way.
Half an hour and two traffic jams later, Jensen is not outside his hotel, and he is not happy. "Thanks for making sure we drop me off last, even though I'm closer to the hospital," Jensen mutters as they pull up to Jared's hotel.
"What?" Jared says, hopping out of the van to open Jensen's door for him. "You're not going back to your place, man. You're staying here tonight."
Jensen rolls his eyes as he ignores Jared's proffered hand and gets out himself.
"I'm not on suicide watch. I think I can manage-"
"Seriously, Jen. I've broken my fair share of bones, and we can just skip the part where you piss and moan about being able to take care of yourself, because it's a lot faster if you just give in now and let me help you, rather than waiting until you realize how hard it is to do shit with the wrong hand after you spill or break everything in your place."
Jared slams the van door behind Jensen, waving briefly as the driver pulls away. Then he opens the front door for Jensen, calls the elevator, and just generally makes a nuisance of himself. Again.
"Whatever," Jensen says, leaning moodily against the wall as Jared fumbles with the swipe card to his place. He knows he probably sounds like a teenager, but he can hear Harley and Sadie barking already, and he's still got a bitch of a headache.
Jared has a suite on one of the upper floors, with a kitchen and living room and two bedrooms, the second of which Jared converted into an office. It's currently full of a ridiculous amount of paperwork. Jared shuts the dogs in the kitchen and Jensen's pretty sure he might actually fall asleep on his feet, which is why he kind of jumps when Jared nudges a hand to the small of his back.
"Come on, you can have the bed," he says, and Jensen decides that as annoying as Jared can be, maybe he's right about staying here.
He's less sure when Jared wakes him up four times in twenty minutes: first for a pill, then in case he needs a blanket, then for a glass of milk because he might not have eaten recently enough and painkillers are bad on an empty stomach, and finally just to ask if he's okay.
"Dude," Jensen says, so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open, and hurting. "If you want to stay, just stay, but I'm going the fuck to sleep."
Jared's face softens, and Jensen feels kind of bad for snapping. He stretches out on the other side of the bed, and Jensen's almost asleep again when he realizes Jared's completely rigid and trying really hard not to move.
"M'cold," Jensen manages, and yeah, maybe it's not brilliant, but it's the best thing he can think of under the circumstances.
"Do you want another blanket?" Jared says, sitting up, all intent and concerned. "Or maybe some coffee-"
"No, just," Jensen says, and makes room beside him, reaching out to pull Jared down with his free hand. "You're big. And warm."
Really, he's not cold, but if Jared's going to stay and keep an eye on him, Jensen wants him to nap too, largely because the prospect of Jared staring at him for a couple hours is a little creepy and the guy is too uptight to read a magazine or something. He settles his cast between them, nudging the tips of his fingers into Jared's shirt where it's warm-one of Sam's obnoxious button downs; he didn't stop to change-which makes his arm feel a little better, and presses a knee up against Jared's, closing his eyes.
"Sleep tight," Jared murmurs, and Jensen falls asleep pretty much immediately.
Some time later, Jensen slides back into consciousness without opening his eyes, safe and comfortable despite the dull ache of his arm. He can feel Jared's breath light and warm on his neck, and thinks maybe he should be surprised that Jared's nose is pressed gently into the short hairs of Jensen's temple, or maybe annoyed at the damp heat or Jared's broad palm flat on his shoulder. He isn't, though.
Jared sighs a little, his lips grazing the soft skin just behind Jensen's ear, and Jensen gives a full-body shiver, goose bumps spreading up his arms. He inhales slowly, focuses on the dry press of Jared's mouth instead of on the pins and needles in his fingers, and tries not to think much of anything at all. It doesn't matter what time it is, or where he is, or why. Just that he is, and that Jared is asleep next to him, and that everything will be fine.
Just as Jensen is about to nod off again, Jared snuffles, tucks in closer, chest flush against Jensen's bicep. He can feel each individual button on Jared's shirt as it presses into his skin, and deliberately stays silent when Jared's hair tickles against his throat.
That's when Jared wakes up. Or at least, Jensen assumes that's when Jared wakes up, because he suddenly tenses all over, hissing out a breath as he jerks back from Jensen, almost managing to fall off the other side of the bed in his haste to roll away.
Jensen's confused as hell, but Jared's not exactly known for his sensible behavior, and even if freaking nuzzling him in his sleep is definitely pushing the boundaries of Jared's usual quirks, there are plenty of rational explanations. Jensen's best bet is that he was dreaming about somebody else-Sandy, maybe. They haven't been broken up very long, after all; maybe Jared's subconscious didn't get the memo.
He can't exactly explain away how good it felt, but Jensen knows how much pain can mess with your endorphin system, and that's logical. Definitely logical. He gives it a minute and then rolls over, letting his eyes open slowly, like he's just coming out of really deep sleep. It's not too hard to fake, especially considering he's used to doing it on camera, and Jared relaxes a little.
"Hey," Jensen says, feigning drowsiness, and winces when he tries to move his arm. He's definitely going to need another painkiller.
"Morning," Jared says, clearing his throat, still a little flushed, but he leans in when Jensen makes a face, obviously concerned. "Do you need more Vicodin?" he says, voice deep and throaty with sleep. He's already stumbling up, making his way to the pills on the dresser before Jensen can even say anything.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt. So to speak," Jensen mumbles. "And it's not really morning," he adds, checking the clock. He needs to remember never to injure himself ever again, because Jared being fidgety and uptight and actually blushing just feels wrong on almost every level.
Jared brings him a pill and refills the glass of water on the nightstand. "I'll be back in just a second. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge, and you need something to eat with that," he says, trying to prop Jensen up with pillows stuffed awkwardly behind his back and around his arm while Jensen just sort of stares at him incredulously. He figures it's easier just to let Jared get on with it and re-do it himself afterwards than to argue.
Jensen is still pulling and pushing at the pillows one-handed, trying to wriggle into something resembling a comfortable position, when Jared comes back with a big white plate on a folding tray. "Waffles?" Jensen laughs.
Jared looks contrite. "All I had was Eggos and a six-pack. And while it would be pretty damn hilarious to see you after you've mixed Vicodin and Corona, I don't think now's the time for that experiment," he explains, setting the tray down across Jensen's thighs. There's a big glass of orange juice, too, suggesting Jared isn't telling the entire truth. But Jensen really loves Canadian syrup, and Jared used a liberal amount on the waffles, so he's hardly going to complain too much.
"It's nine o'clock at night, and I just woke up from a three-hour nap to waffles and juice," he says around a mouthful. "My internal clock is going to be so fucked up."
Jared just shrugs. "Kripke says you're not due back on set for the rest of the week at least, so you can keep whatever hours you want." He's still fidgeting, though, so Jensen's pretty sure there's more. "I have to. You know, I need to be at work at six tomorrow morning, but you can sleep here and I guess I'll go sleep on the couch tonight so I don't wake you when I get up. I'm going to call someone to bring over all the crap you'll need for a least a couple days." Jared goes to his closet and rummages around, pulling out a worn t-shirt and a pair of old knit lounge pants. "You can change into these if you want. They're kinda small on me, but they're clean, since I just washed them."
Jensen's still wearing Dean's clothes, and they're more than a little gross from the coffee he spilled on them and the mud he was lying in, but changing is going to be a pain in the ass he doesn't want to deal with at the moment, especially since "kind of small on Jared" translates into probably close to too big on him. He'll most likely need help, and Jared's being fussy already.
"Sure," he says, between bites of food, because apparently he's starving, "but you can stay in here, I don't want to kick you out of your bed."
The truth is, Jensen's still pretty fucking exhausted, and he just wants to sleep off the worst of the pain. The Vicodin's going to knock him out anyway-Jared doesn't have to worry about waking him up at six because he's going to be down for the count.
Jensen holds up a forkful of waffle, glancing up at him. "Did you even get dinner?"
"Well, you know. Those were the last waffles, and I'm not really all that hungry," Jared says, and his stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble dramatically. Jensen just raises an eyebrow.
"Right."
Jared rolls his eyes and strides back out to kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Fine, I'll order some Chinese! Happy?"
Jensen kind of is, actually, underneath the annoyed, the sleepy, and the hurting. "Get me some sesame chicken, bitch!" he shouts back. At least he'll have something to eat tomorrow, even if it is cold leftover Chinese and beer. It's actually pretty typical of Jared's place, so it's not like he can complain too much.
Jared's practically bustling around his apartment while waiting for his food to show up. He takes Jensen's tray away, and is actually loading the dishwasher for the first time in recent memory when Jensen pads out to kitchen.
"So, uh," Jensen starts, "I'm not sure I can do this myself." He gestures vaguely back in the direction of the clothes on the bed, helpless, and tries to pretend he isn't more than a little humiliated.
Jared drops what he's doing-washing a saucepan, apparently, although Jensen didn't even know Jared owned a saucepan-and ushers Jensen back into the bedroom.
"No problem," he says, sitting Jensen on the edge of the bed.
It's not that he can't get his jeans undone one handed, but getting out of them without some serious contortion is pretty much impossible at this point, and Jensen tried already; twisting too much jars his arm, and that hurts like hell.
He's trying really hard not to blush as Jared undoes his fly, more from abject mortification than anything else, but it's not really that bad.
"No big deal, just stand up," Jared says, sliding an arm around Jensen's waist to keep him upright as he-oh, Christ this is embarrassing-undoes the zipper and nudges his jeans down.
Jared smiles, reassuring, and Jensen steps away from Dean's jeans, letting Jared find the sweatpants so he can step into them.
"I had to get Sandy to help me get dressed for the first week after I broke my hand," Jared says, laughing softly, and lets Jensen tug them the rest of the way up, keeping a hand against his shoulder to keep Jensen's arm still. "I barely ever managed to get my damn clothes on."
"Thanks," Jensen says, dryly. "Now I feel violated and depressed that I'm stuck with you instead of your hot ex-girlfriend."
Jared laughs and shoves at him a little, grinning. "Come on, Sam was a totally hot nurse that one time. I'll bring back those white scrubs from the costume department tomorrow and then you have no basis for complaining."
Jensen makes a face-it's true, though his head isn't ever quite going to go there because it's Sam-but Jared's already focused on pulling off his t-shirt.
"Lift," he says, and Jensen manages to get his good arm free. He ducks his head out, careful, and Jared braces his shoulder again before sliding the t-shirt off.
"Maybe we should go for something you can get off yourself," Jared suggests, looking at the other t-shirt, and lets go of Jensen to go poke in the closet.
He comes back with an older one of the patented Jared Padalecki Button Downs, all of which are patterned with some of the weirdest designs ever and some of which Jensen's pretty sure he stole from Sam's wardrobe, or possibly vice versa. Jensen would protest, except it's not like he has very many other options at the moment, and-as much of a girl as it probably makes him-Jared's clothes make him feel a little better. Obviously it's because they must have healing properties, since Jared's known for having broken a truly ridiculous number of body parts in a truly ridiculous number of ways.
"Just slide in," Jared says, stepping behind him so Jensen can reach back into the shirt.
He's warm and solid and right there, and Jensen has to drag his train of thought away from how close he was when they woke up together. Probably the Vicodin again. Jared nudges him around and buttons him into the shirt, which is way too big but at least allows for his cast, and rolls up the cuffs.
"All done," Jared says, in too close, grinning down at him, and Jensen kind of wants to take a step forward and-
The doorbell rings.
"Chinese food!" Jared says, happily, and nudges against Jensen's shoulder before he goes to get his wallet.
Jensen really can't figure out what's going on with his head, but the drugs are starting to kick in, and Jared is sure to be intensely involved with his food for at least ten whole minutes, so Jensen just ignores everything and gets in bed, burrowing under the covers.
The sheets kind of smell like Jared, and Jensen vaguely thinks that maybe that should be weird or gross, but it isn't; it's kind of nice, actually, and he lets himself take a few deep breaths as he drops back to sleep.
When Jensen wakes up the next morning, it's to a dog licking at his cast where it hangs over the side of the bed. Sure enough, Jared left for work at six without waking him, and as he pushes Harley away gingerly and sits up, Jensen realizes it's already half past eleven. "Crap," he says to himself, and tries to jam his fingers under the edge of the cast to scratch at his itchy forearm.
Harley trots back out to the kitchen, where Jensen can hear him pawing at his food bowl and whining. Jared probably wouldn't be too happy if his babies starved while was away, so Jensen manages to pull himself out of bed-Jared's bed, he thinks absently-and follows.
Jared left a multi-page Post-It stuck to the refrigerator, and Jensen isn't really surprised. He pours himself some orange juice and takes a pill as he reads; he's suddenly really glad that Jared's so goddamn attentive, because if he hadn't left the lid to the Vicodin halfway off, Jensen probably wouldn't have been able to get past the child-proofing one-handed.
Jen,
Don't worry about the mutts-I fed them plenty before I left and they can wait until I get home to go out again. I got some more food and stuff for you last night, so help yourself to whatever you want. Take your pills, but don't screw the lid back on or you'll never be able to get it off again. Watch some TV, sleep as much as you can, and I'll see if I can con Manners into letting me leave by five or so.
- J
Jensen laughs to himself and pockets the note before going on a hunt for the toaster.
Armed with his bottle of painkillers, sustenance, a thick blanket from the linen closet-apparently Jared also has a linen closet, which Jensen can't help but assume was somehow Sandy's doing-and Jared's almost completely unironic collection of horrible chick flicks on DVD, he settles on the couch for a long day of doing fuck-all. Sadie hops up next to him and drops her head unceremoniously in his lap, content to be his partner in idleness. Normally Jensen would probably shove her off the couch, citing dog hair and slobber on his jeans as the main reasons dogs should not be allowed on the furniture, but he's wearing Jared's clothes. Sadie is really warm and seems to like him a lot, so he just leans back and lets her stay, occasionally scratching behind her ears.
Which is how Jensen wakes up, the DVD menu of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days on constant loop, six PM having come and gone if the clock on the TV is actually right; he must have fallen back asleep after that second pill.
At first he isn't really sure what woke him, assuming Sadie barked in her sleep, but the dog is dead to the world, curled up against Jensen's side. When he sits up, though, he sees Jared leaning against the doorjamb, lips curved into a small smile, just watching.
"Hey," Jared says, quiet. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." He brushes his bangs out of his eyes and slips his hands into his pockets with an apologetic shrug, still smiling softly. "Feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Jensen says, rubbing his free hand over his face. "The drugs are knocking me out." He nudges a hand through his hair, a little absently. It's gross; there's still gel in it from two days ago, and Jensen makes a face.
"It's good that you're sleeping," Jared says, crossing the room to settle in next to him.
"No, I need a-" Jensen realizes suddenly that there's no way he's going to be able to shower for the next couple days, at least until his arm stops hurting so badly, and he's got no idea if it's even possible to clean up. "How did you-" he gestures with his free hand. "Wash your hair?"
"Sandy did it in the sink," he says, hitting play on the DVD, and then glances over at Jensen. "Do you want me to give you a hand?"
On the one hand, the idea of Jared washing his hair is more than a little weird. On the other, the prospect of actually being clean is ridiculously appealing.
"You're still not as good as a hot nurse," Jensen says, with a grin, shrugging out of the blankets. "But okay."
"Just wait until the sponge bath," Jared says, dryly, and gives Jensen a hand getting to his feet.
Jared finds a trash bag to make sure his cast doesn't get wet, and Jensen manages to get his shirt off, covering his shoulders up with a towel so he doesn't get water all over, watching as Jared turns on the sink, testing the temperature.
Jensen's kind of dubious when Jared pulls a chair up and gestures for him to sit down, but Jared rolls his eyes when he hesitates.
"Feel free to try to stand bent over a sink for ten minutes with that thing," he says, gesturing, and Jensen grudgingly sits down and tilts his head back.
Ten seconds later, when Jared starts wetting down his hair, he's willing to admit that the chair was an excellent idea, because it feels so good there's no way he'd ever have stayed upright.
Jared laughs at him. "You can reserve the sex noises for the actual hot nurses," he says, voice low and amused. There's something else there, too, but Jensen really can't be bothered to figure out what the fuck it is, especially once Jared goes for the shampoo and starts actually washing his hair.
It turns out his freakishly large hands are good for more than really inappropriate jokes. And that Jared was maybe a hair stylist in a past life, because he's fucking awesome at this. Jensen doesn't even have the wherewithal to mock, he's so loose and comfortable.
Jared's fingers make strong, soothing circles, and Jensen breathes deep to smell the shampoo, something orangey that he recognizes. Which is probably because it's Jared's, and Jared smells like it, and really Jensen shouldn't be thinking so much about what Jared smells like. It's becoming a disturbing trend.
Much too soon, Jared's finished rinsing the suds down the drain, and pulls the towel from around Jensen's neck to dry his dripping hair. "All done, man," he says, giving Jensen's bare shoulder-the good one-a smack.
"How the hell am I supposed to wash the rest of me?" Jensen asks, trying not to sound too pathetic.
"Give yourself a sponge bath?" Jared suggests, laughing and boosting himself up onto the counter, toes almost touching the floor. "A one-handed sponge bath."
Jensen sighs dramatically. "You really should have hired me an actual hot nurse while you were out today. You're completely useless."
"Absolutely," Jared agrees, shifting a little, and then he slides down off the counter. "I, uh." He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking a little flushed. "I didn't get a chance to shower before I came home, so I'm going to go do that."
"Sure," Jensen says, using one of the washcloths Jared brought in to clean his face. It's a little bit awkward one-handed, but he's managing, so he waves Jared away and rinses off, careful not to get his cast wet.
He's halfway through heating up some Chinese food in Jared's stupidly complicated microwave-easy to do one handed-when he hears a thump and a high-pitched noise from the bathroom.
Jensen figures it's not going to be great if both of them manage to break their arms in the same week, so he abandons his reheated sweet and sour chicken and goes to knock on the bathroom door.
"If you're dead, I'm going to kill you," Jensen says, through the door.
There's a really long pause-one in which he starts thinking Jared might have actually fallen and died-and then Jared finally responds. "No, I'm-uh, fine," Jensen hears.
It's kind of muffled, but Jared sounds weird-his voice is way too high, and Jensen's about to ask if Jared's okay when he finally realizes what weird noises in the shower probably mean.
"Maybe we should've hired the hot nurse for you," he says, snickering, and goes back to his chicken.
Jared doesn't give any sign of having heard him, and he comes out of the bathroom about ten minutes later, padding around in his sweatpants and a wifebeater-it's stupidly tight-with his hair dripping everywhere. Jensen, however, is resolutely perusing the Classifieds by then, hoping for an ad from a sexy hospice worker or something-clearly not admiring the effects of his coworker's training regimen.
But Jared's got that look in his eyes that means he's probably about to give someone a wedgie, or maybe crank call Chad for the billionth time, so Jensen isn't all that surprised when Jared corners him against the counter and shakes his head like one of the dogs, spraying Jensen and the leftover Chinese liberally with shower water.
"Jared!" Jensen heaves, trying to shove Jared off with one arm and failing miserably. Jared pushes right back, like it's nothing, and rubs his sopping hair all over Jensen's face and neck and bare chest while he laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. It's freaking cold, is what it is, and Jensen yelps inelegantly and almost falls over.
Jared immediately jumps back, still stifling snorts of laughter, and grabs Jensen, presumably to keep him from breaking his other arm. The floor is all wet and slippery under Jensen's toes now, and he's suddenly very far from too cold. "Sorry, you were looking way too intense," Jared says, finally letting go to grab one of the beers from the fridge. He's still smiling all big and broad, like he's not a complete ass way down under all that good will.
"And dry, apparently," Jensen manages, grabbing a paper towel and feeling particularly glad he hadn't worked up the energy to put his shirt back on yet.
"Aw," Jared says, leaning against the counter, still grinning. "Too much for you, baby?"
"Shut up," Jensen mutters, and goes to find a real towel.
Jensen's pretty sure the next couple days can officially be classified as boring, except for the fact that he spends most of the time sleeping, so he can't complain too much. The swelling goes down and his arm hurts a lot less, but he's still perpetually exhausted, which leads to several really embarrassing instances of falling asleep on Jared.
Sharing an apartment with Jared should be weirder than it is; it's probably stupid to start getting attached to a routine, but Jensen likes having someone to eat dinner with, and considering it's January, having Jared on the other side of the bed keeps things a hell of a lot warmer.
Not that he actually stays on the other side.
Jensen's used to getting up at five-thirty, and even with the drugs and general exhaustion, his body still usually wakes him up. It's not like he can't get back to sleep, but he's starting to think that something needs to be done about getting Jared a girlfriend, because he wakes up three out of four mornings with Jared pressed up against his back, an arm wrapped around his waist.
It's predictable-so predictable, in fact, that when Jensen wakes up and Jared isn't sprawled out over him, he's a little unhappy, which lasts until he realizes Jared isn't in bed at all, and there are low voices coming from the living room.
Jared's on the phone, arguing.
"He needs to rest," he says, and Jensen's pretty sure they're talking about him.
"I know you changed the script," Jared says, "but it's only been five days. It was a pretty nasty break."
"Hey," Jensen says, keeping the blanket wrapped around him.
Jared looks really pissed off for a minute, and Jensen blinks. "Now you've woken him up," Jared says, and hangs up on whomever he's talking to.
His face softens pretty substantially. "Sorry," he says. "Go back to bed, it's not important."
"I could go in with you tomorrow," Jensen says, and crosses the living room to nudge his good hand against Jared's shoulder when Jared starts to frown. "Just for the morning. I'll take it easy."
Jared reluctantly agrees, batting at Jensen's hand. "I guess you could get some dialogue looping done, at least." He shrugs and goes back to the kitchen, brushing up against Jensen even though there's plenty of space to pass. "But it wouldn't take too long, and you could be back here in the afternoon to sleep it off. You just get so tired, man."
Jared is preaching to the choir. "I know. It'll be fine, really," Jensen says, and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he goes back to bed. Watching Jared pace around the kitchen while he waits for his coffee to brew is making Jensen nervous.
After yet another day of sleeping and ridiculous romantic comedies, Jensen welcomes the manila envelope Jared brings home with him from set. It's got a list of scenes he needs to dub and lines they want to change or re-record, plus the sides for the scenes he'll be shooting as soon as he starts back on a regular schedule; Jensen is pretty much thrilled that he's finally got something useful to do again.
Jared's got lines to run, so Jensen helps him out with that, cross-legged on the couch while Jared stretches out on the floor of the living room, body practically spanning the entire thing from one wall to the other. Jensen thinks that maybe Jared has some sort of growth hormone defect, or like, a tumor on his pituitary like that Chinese basketball dude who was seven-foot nine and died when he was twenty-five.
"Shit," Jared mumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face, short sleeves pulling tight over his biceps. He's forgotten Sam's cue four times in a row.
"Don't die this year, okay?" Jensen says. He didn't really mean to mention it, but it's too late now. And maybe it wasn't such a good idea to chase his last Vicodin with a can of Budweiser. "If you ever get like-headaches and your joints start hurting or whatever, or your hand-eye coordination gets really bad, go see a doctor."
Jared pulls his hands away from his face to stare at Jensen, nonplussed. "What?'
"Nothing, never mind." Jensen turns back to the script, reading Bobby's lines and thinking about how much he needs to start working again. He's clearly going insane.
Which is what he has to remind himself of the next morning when Jared shakes him awake at five AM, hand closed warm over Jensen's shoulder.
"Hey, c'mon Jen, wake up," Jared says, eyes still half-closed, before rolling out of bed and shuffling into the bathroom.
They're both dressed and on their second cups of coffee when the driver pulls up outside the hotel and calls Jared's cell to let them know he's there. Jensen answers it, grabbing both their bags on the way to the door. "Be right down," he says as Jared follows him out.
Their ride to set today is just like every other time: good-natured ribbing, running lines and drinking coffee while pumping each other up for a long day. Jensen feels like it's been a lifetime since he's done this, but it's really only been a week.
"Good to have you back, dude," Jared says after a comfortable silence, their van just about to pull up to their trailers.
"Whatever," Jensen says with a grin. "I'll see you when you get home. Bring food." Jared ruffles his hair before he takes off, and Jensen squawks indignantly, trying not to laugh, then heads over to the soundstage and Don's mixing booth, ready to be Dean again.
It's a ridiculously long day, and even though he only works until noon, he's completely exhausted. Jensen's supposed to dub two more scenes, but there's just no way he's going to be able to stay awake, which is why he ends up in Jared's trailer just after lunch-he doesn't trust the steps of his own, and anyway, Jared always gets better fruit baskets and usually has mounds of candy just lying around for anyone to take.
He wakes up at five on one of the sofas, underneath a blanket, with Jared's hand against his shoulder.
"Hey," Jensen says, drowsy and a little disoriented, and Jared smiles from where he's crouched down next to him.
"You want to go home?" Jared murmurs, sliding a hand behind his back to help him sit up, and Jensen yawns, leaning in against him.
"Yeah," he says, smiling back. "Yeah, that'd be good."
The next couple days are pretty much the same-without Jensen passing out in Jared's trailer and forcing Jared to hunt him down-but after three or four more days of recording, the director decides it's high time to start filming again, and Jensen's right back into it after Dean's (apparently) very violent fight with a poltergeist.
"So you probably want to head back to your place soon, don't you?" Jared says one night at dinner, and Jensen realizes that he hasn't been home in a week and a half and that Jared probably wants his house-and his bed-back.
"Yeah," Jensen says, and it's really stupid to not want to go back to his apartment, so he doesn't give into it, "I wouldn't want to keep wearing your hideous shirts forever." He has his own clothes, sure, but Jared's shirts were just lying around, and big enough on him that they fit over his cast much better, and that was really the only reason he wore them.
"Hey," Jared says, indignant, "I like my shirts," and then he throws a piece of bread at Jensen, and Jensen forgets all about it until the next day, when Jared puts his bag in the back of the van.
"I figured you might not be able to pack too well," he says, looking kind of awkward and unhappy, and Jensen feels abruptly guilty for having overstayed his welcome.
"Thanks," he says, stilted, as he gets in. Part of him thinks he ought to hug Jared, or at least manage some sort of goodbye, but he doesn't, just slams the door and watches Jared wave as the van pulls away. The drive to his hotel seems a lot longer than he remembered.
Jensen's place smells different somehow, probably just because he's so used to the atmosphere of dogs, orange-scented shampoo, and obnoxious purple fabric softener that permeates Jared's entire suite. He checks his messages (only five, and they're all from people who also called his cell), throws out some expired food left in his fridge, and sorts the small pile of mail on his kitchen table.
He's already read through everything he needs for the next few days' shoots, and he really doesn't feel like going grocery shopping, which is the only other thing he can think of that needs doing. He'd have to get someone to help him carry bags, and he's just not in the mood.
After about an hour sitting on his couch playing Halo, Jensen sighs and falls back against the cushions, bored out of his mind. His DVD collection is depressingly light on crappy movies, none of the games he has are good for one person, he's already checked his email eight times, and he can't for the life of him figure out what the hell he used to do all night when he wasn't working or hanging out with Jared. It only took him a week to get completely dependent on living with a roommate-pathetic.
He finally resorts to reading the stack of dusty magazines on the shelf under the coffee table while listening to Steve's latest tracks on his laptop. Around ten, he gives up on an article about helmets designed to prevent concussions in order to keep football players from getting irreversible brain damage-after seriously considering getting one for Jared to wear full time-and heads to bed.
Jared must have accidentally shoved some of his own stuff in with Jensen's when he was packing Jensen's bag, because Jensen's makeshift pajama shirt of the past week and a half falls out of one of the legs of his sweatpants when he's pulling them on. He frowns and shakes it out, slipping into it with a sigh. It's a lot harder to get dressed on his own.
Brushing his teeth in his own bathroom is nice. He knows where everything is and doesn't knock over all of Jared's stuff left scattered all over the sink. He smells like his own soap again when he finally gets in bed, and when he presses his nose into his pillow, there's no trace of Jared. It's good, or so Jensen keeps repeating to himself over the next two hours as he completely fails to fall asleep.
It's midnight, and he's still staring unblinkingly at the clock on his nightstand. He counted sheep, he had a nightcap, he played soft music, and he even tried that sinking-into-the-mattress relaxing technique his theatre teacher in middle school taught him, but nothing worked. Jensen sighs, and recites old dialogue in his head, eyes closed, picturing running lines with Jared.
At one, he decides enough is enough, and goes to his medicine cabinet for some sleeping pills. He's making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water to down the pills with when he hears the phone. Jensen leaps for it, answering on the first ring.
"Hey," Jared says. He sounds pretty shitty, but Jensen's glad to hear from him anyway.
"Hey," Jensen says, smiling. He isn't sure how, but he knew it'd be Jared.
"Did you remember to use that moisturizer stuff under the edges of your cast?" Jared asks, and Jensen can hear him tapping his fingers nervously against the phone.
"Yeah," Jensen says.
"Did you take your pills?"
"Yeah," he says again. It's stupid, but he seriously can't stop grinning.
"Do you have any food at your house? Did you have any trouble getting everything done tonight?" Jared sounds like he's maybe relaxing a little, knowing Jensen hasn't had some sort of spontaneous catastrophe.
"Only some, and not really, respectively," Jensen answers.
"So you're okay?" Jared's voice is soft.
Jensen hesitates for a second. "I can't really sleep," he finally says. Jared probably doesn't need to know that it's most likely because Jensen misses him.
Jared is silent for a long moment, and Jensen's pretty sure he can hear him shifting around under the covers. "It's weird without you in my bed," he murmurs, barely audible.
It's Jensen's turn to fall silent. He can practically hear Jared blushing over the phone, realizing what he just said. The thing is, it is weird, and Jensen doesn't really know what he's supposed to do now. "I think I left one of my refills there," he blurts.
"I think I packed one of my shirts in your bag," Jared says at the same time.
They laugh awkwardly for a second before Jared continues, "I'd better bring your pills back. And I can get my shirt while I'm there."
Jensen doesn't mention that it's one AM, and even if he did leave a bottle of pills of Jared's house, he certainly doesn't need it right this second.
It takes about a half an hour for Jared to get to his place, and Jensen is trying desperately to scratch the itchy, dry skin under his cast when he hears the knock. "Just a sec," he shouts, tripping to the door. As he passes the kitchen counter, he sees his missing bottle of pills at the back of the sink.
"Hi," Jared says. He isn't holding a pill bottle, but he's smiling wide. "Sorry, I couldn't find-"
"I actually have it," Jensen says sheepishly, ushering Jared in and pointing in the vague direction of the kitchen with his cast. "I just didn't remember where I put it when I unpacked."
Jared shrugs, leaning against the counter, all hips and legs. "Well, you know. I thought I should, uh. Come over anyway. Get my- " he trails off, blinking at Jensen.
"What?" Jensen says, feeling his face. "Do I have something on my-"
"You're wearing it," Jared says.
"I'm wearing-oh," Jensen says, looking down at himself. He still has Jared's shirt on. "I couldn't find anything else that fit over my cast."
Jared stills his hand with an audible swallow as Jensen goes to unbutton the shirt, fingers loose around his wrist. "It's not exactly urgent," he says, mouth turned up in a funny little smile.
"Right." Jensen pulls away and goes to pour himself a glass of water from the Brita pitcher in the fridge. "You want anything? I have some beer if you want it." He slides Jared a cold one. "You could crash here tonight if you're not up for driving home. It's kind of late, anyway."
Jared opens the bottle on the countertop, a trick Jensen is absurdly proud of having taught him. "Yeah," he says. "Might be dangerous, you know?"
Jensen definitely doesn't point out that it hasn't gotten any more dangerous in the ten minutes since he drove over.
They shoot the shit for a little while, until Jensen yawns hugely and Jared laughs at him, pushing him into the bedroom. "Guess I'm boring enough to cure even the worst insomnia," Jared cracks, leaning against the open door.
"My couch is minute compared to yours," Jensen says around another yawn. He smacks the other side of the bed invitingly. "The bed's not that big, either, but it'll probably be more comfortable."
Jared rolls his eyes and shucks off his jeans and button-down, climbing into Jensen's bed wearing his boxers and undershirt. He smells like dog, and orange-scented shampoo, and obnoxious purple fabric softener. Jensen takes a deep, relaxing breath.
Part 2
Authors: balefully and setissma
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Words: 14,053
Summary: Jensen breaks his arm, Jared is a mother hen, and everything ends in sex.
Disclaimer: Only the product of our fevered imaginations.
A/N: The lovechild of Tai and me, this fic is hopefully a pretty accurate amalgamation of our writing styles. It was tons of fun to write, NOT so much fun to edit, and has awakened me to the fact that punctuation is a much more open-ended artform than I ever realized. Title from the poem "Don't Take Your Troubles to Bed" by Edmund Vance Cooke. Also, it should probably have a warning for intense schmoop. :">
Part 1 | Part 2
Don't Fight With Your Pillow
The whole thing is stupid. It's really, really stupid.
There are four steps to Jensen's trailer, making up a total height of maybe three feet on a gradual incline. No one has trouble with the steps to Jensen's trailer. Jensen's pretty sure his grandmother wouldn't have trouble with the steps to his trailer.
Which is why it's seriously pathetic when he misses the first step, slides a little on some ice on the second, and falls flat on his face, spilling coffee all the fuck over and generally making a complete mess of things. His first thought is that it's going to be a pain in the ass to change costumes, but then Jensen goes to move and realizes that he's probably going to have bigger problems than that, because the snap he heard definitely wasn't the coffee cup.
He can actually see his arm bone underneath the skin, and moving his arm about an inch to the left convinces him that it would be a really, really good idea not to move, possibly ever. He almost blacks out twice trying to get up, which is why when Jared finds him, five minutes later, he's still lying in front of the steps.
What happens next is kind of a blur, but featuring prominently amidst the haze of pain is Jared's unbelievably lame "worried" face. Jensen makes a mental note to tell Jared he looks like a total pussy the next time he gets a chance, although he's kind of hoping that he won't even remember any of this extraordinarily embarrassing experience by then. Jensen's pretty sure Jared is somehow involved in getting him into the ambulance when it arrives, but he figures it might be an elaborate hallucination brought on by bodily trauma or something, because Jared doesn't usually pick him up and carry him around like a ragdoll. At least, not very often.
"It's all gonna be okay, Jen," Jared soothes. He's sitting next to the stretcher, fingertips just touching Jensen's shoulder as the ambulance jostles around on the way to the ER. And he sounds like he's talking to a terminally ill child, which is definitely pissing Jensen off.
"I broke my arm, Jared. I'm not exactly dying, here," Jensen points out. It hurts like a motherfucker and he is not in the mood for Jared's attempts to calm him down.
"You could go into shock, or have a concussion or serious internal injury you don't even know about!" Jared says. He sounds panicked, belying his earlier assertions. Jensen just stares at the IV bag hanging from the pole by his head. This is beyond ridiculous.
Not to mention how ridiculous it is to call an ambulance for a broken arm in the first place, but apparently there are perks to being an actor. Unfortunately, they won't let him shove Jared out of the ambulance, which would really make the whole thing worth it.
The best part, though, is that once he gets to the hospital, they move him out into the waiting room; apparently an attempted suicide and a case of appendicitis take precedence over his broken arm. Jensen's totally cool with it; they gave him Vicodin, and he's maybe even thinking about taking a nap on one of the sofas, when Jared starts freaking out.
"Dude," he says, pacing over by the racks of Highlights for Children and Parenting Today, "you have a broken arm. They should be putting a cast on and taking care of you!"
"I'm fine," Jensen says. He's definitely fine. The fluorescent lights are fascinating, and if he stares at them long enough, it's totally possible they'll start communicating with him in Morse code.
"I think you should at least get priority over the guy who tried to slit his wrists," Jared mutters. "That's self-inflicted."
Jensen wants to point out that his broken arm is the self-inflicted result of stupidity and an inability to walk, but Jared paces off before he can say anything.
One of the triage nurses comes out a couple minutes later, and she crouches down beside him. "Are you in pain?" she says.
"I'm fine," Jensen says. They've got his arm in a little splint, and he's got the lights and an enormous fake plant for company. Plus, Jared's not pacing in front of him anymore. Everything is fucking fantastic. Except the plant kind of needs a good dusting, but Jensen doesn't like to judge.
"We're a little backed up, but would you like to be moved to a room?" she offers.
Rooms are interesting. Jensen would have to leave the plant, but it might be worth it. He could take a nap.
"Okay," he agrees. "I kind of lost my-" he gestures. "Jared."
Jared's usually pretty hard to lose, owing to the fact that he's a freakish giant, but Jensen's not entirely sure where he is.
"Don't worry," the nurse says, sounding slightly amused. "We'll make sure to send him back."
Jensen thinks it's really nice that Jared's making friends with the nurses, but if he's trying to get any phone numbers, Jensen is going to have to draw the line. He can't have his primary caregivers preoccupied with Jared's boyish charms. "Okay," he says, and lets her wheel him back to one of the curtained rooms.
Jared appears all of two minutes later, looking triumphant. Probably because he scored Mindy the Triage Nurse's digits.
"You're not allowed to smile at them," Jensen says. Because that's probably how Jared reels in unsuspecting nurses. His smile is just so shiny and bright, and Jensen wonders if maybe Jared could communicate with the fluorescent lights using his teeth.
Jared stops smiling in order to look confused, and Jensen tries not to be too disappointed. "Smile at who?"
"Mindy," Jensen says. Obviously. Although now that he thinks about it, her name might not actually be Mindy. She was taking blood from a guy who looked exactly like Mork, though, so it's pretty much the same thing.
Jared sits gingerly on the edge of Jensen's bed. "Are you delirious? Is that normal? I just left to bully someone into giving you a room," Jared says in a rush. He looks worried and maybe guilty and Jensen isn't sure when he got so good at reading Jared's face, but the guy's like a freaking book. A very large, very upset book.
"Seriously. I had Vicodin. You didn't need to." Not that Jensen isn't grateful for the opportunity to nap, but it would be much easier to sleep without Jared hovering.
"Maybe I should call someone," Jared says, and Jensen gives up and grabs his sleeve with his free hand.
"I'm fine," he says, for what feels like the five hundred and seventh time. He nudges Jared toward the magazine rack. "There's Time."
Jared likes Time Magazine. Jensen's pretty sure.
"Okay," Jared says, getting entirely the wrong idea, "do you want me to read to you?"
"Uh," Jensen says. Jesus, his costar is even more of a girl than Sam Winchester, and that's really saying something.
"There's an article on the globalization of Japan," Jared says.
At least it'll put him to sleep.
Jensen drifts off half way through details about the job market-at least Jared's voice is soothing-and barely manages to wake up for radiology and the x-rays. He doesn't really bother to keep track of the doctor sticking photos of his arm bones across a lighted screen, largely because Jared appears to have mostly calmed down and is handling things, which Jensen's pretty grateful for. It means he can sleep.
He has to wake up when they realign his arm bones, though, which is just a pain in the ass.
The enormous needle in his arm isn't that bad, especially since what's left of the pain goes away a couple minutes later, but watching all his bones slide into place when they straighten his arm out again is more than a little creepy.
"It's a complete fracture of the ulna," the doctor says, "but there isn't much tissue damage, so we're just going to put a cast on."
Jared squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. Jensen doesn't actually feel much better.
It doesn't help that after the doctor steps out, the physician's assistant applying Jensen's cast keeps eyeing him, then opening her mouth and closing it again before she can say anything. It's kind of reminiscent of a fish, when he thinks about it. A really annoying fish.
"Mr. Ackles, your insurance provider is based in the states, I see. Los Angeles," she finally says. "I thought you looked familiar."
She's blushing. Jensen can't believe this is actually happening to him, and Jared isn't even attempting to steer the conversation in a direction that won't eventually end up in embarrassing Days Of Our Lives territory; he's just standing there exuding support and trying to bore a hole in Jensen with his eyes. Or something. Jensen hates him a lot right now.
"Yeah," Jensen says, trying to put as much exasperation and annoyance in one word as he possibly can.
"I was so in love with Eric Brady," she says, steamrolling over him. Now Jared's grinning, like this is the most fun he's ever had. Jensen kind of wants to smack them both, but he just stays silent and hopes that everyone leaves him alone.
The PA finishes wrapping Jensen's arm in cotton and starts applying wet strips of fiberglass or whatever they make casts out of these days, and Jensen thinks he's in the clear. He isn't.
"I never would've guessed you were. You know," she says, a little awkwardly. Jensen sighs. He doesn't have the faintest fucking idea what she's talking about, he's tired, and his arm hurts. The PA grins appreciatively at Jared. "But it's so great you have such a caring and attentive partner to look out for you. I heard the nurses saying he wouldn't rest until they got you a room."
Jared coughs loudly and takes his hand off Jensen's shoulder. "Uh," he starts.
Jensen is totally and completely taking advantage of a beautiful opportunity for revenge.
"Oh, yeah," he says, giving Jared what he hopes is a very affectionate smile. "He's great. Aren't you, baby?"
Jared goes a shade of red that totally makes up for how much of a pain in the ass he is, and coughs again. "I'm just-going to go get some coffee," he says, gesturing toward the door. "I'll-uh, bring you some."
Jared flees. Jensen feels pretty damn triumphant, until he realizes that he's now left alone with his biggest fan and an incomplete cast. And the Vicodin's wearing off. Life sucks.
By the time Jensen finishes getting his cast on and Jared finishes filling out twenty-seven pages of paperwork because Jensen can't write, he's completely exhausted and seriously irritable. His arm hurts, his head hurts, and Jared's back to being obnoxiously attentive, which is substantially more annoying now that Jensen's not on drugs. He just wants to go back to his apartment and sleep.
Luckily, Jared made sure to call their driver to come pick them up. If he's going to be obnoxious, Jensen figures it's probably good that he's obnoxious in a useful way.
Half an hour and two traffic jams later, Jensen is not outside his hotel, and he is not happy. "Thanks for making sure we drop me off last, even though I'm closer to the hospital," Jensen mutters as they pull up to Jared's hotel.
"What?" Jared says, hopping out of the van to open Jensen's door for him. "You're not going back to your place, man. You're staying here tonight."
Jensen rolls his eyes as he ignores Jared's proffered hand and gets out himself.
"I'm not on suicide watch. I think I can manage-"
"Seriously, Jen. I've broken my fair share of bones, and we can just skip the part where you piss and moan about being able to take care of yourself, because it's a lot faster if you just give in now and let me help you, rather than waiting until you realize how hard it is to do shit with the wrong hand after you spill or break everything in your place."
Jared slams the van door behind Jensen, waving briefly as the driver pulls away. Then he opens the front door for Jensen, calls the elevator, and just generally makes a nuisance of himself. Again.
"Whatever," Jensen says, leaning moodily against the wall as Jared fumbles with the swipe card to his place. He knows he probably sounds like a teenager, but he can hear Harley and Sadie barking already, and he's still got a bitch of a headache.
Jared has a suite on one of the upper floors, with a kitchen and living room and two bedrooms, the second of which Jared converted into an office. It's currently full of a ridiculous amount of paperwork. Jared shuts the dogs in the kitchen and Jensen's pretty sure he might actually fall asleep on his feet, which is why he kind of jumps when Jared nudges a hand to the small of his back.
"Come on, you can have the bed," he says, and Jensen decides that as annoying as Jared can be, maybe he's right about staying here.
He's less sure when Jared wakes him up four times in twenty minutes: first for a pill, then in case he needs a blanket, then for a glass of milk because he might not have eaten recently enough and painkillers are bad on an empty stomach, and finally just to ask if he's okay.
"Dude," Jensen says, so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open, and hurting. "If you want to stay, just stay, but I'm going the fuck to sleep."
Jared's face softens, and Jensen feels kind of bad for snapping. He stretches out on the other side of the bed, and Jensen's almost asleep again when he realizes Jared's completely rigid and trying really hard not to move.
"M'cold," Jensen manages, and yeah, maybe it's not brilliant, but it's the best thing he can think of under the circumstances.
"Do you want another blanket?" Jared says, sitting up, all intent and concerned. "Or maybe some coffee-"
"No, just," Jensen says, and makes room beside him, reaching out to pull Jared down with his free hand. "You're big. And warm."
Really, he's not cold, but if Jared's going to stay and keep an eye on him, Jensen wants him to nap too, largely because the prospect of Jared staring at him for a couple hours is a little creepy and the guy is too uptight to read a magazine or something. He settles his cast between them, nudging the tips of his fingers into Jared's shirt where it's warm-one of Sam's obnoxious button downs; he didn't stop to change-which makes his arm feel a little better, and presses a knee up against Jared's, closing his eyes.
"Sleep tight," Jared murmurs, and Jensen falls asleep pretty much immediately.
Some time later, Jensen slides back into consciousness without opening his eyes, safe and comfortable despite the dull ache of his arm. He can feel Jared's breath light and warm on his neck, and thinks maybe he should be surprised that Jared's nose is pressed gently into the short hairs of Jensen's temple, or maybe annoyed at the damp heat or Jared's broad palm flat on his shoulder. He isn't, though.
Jared sighs a little, his lips grazing the soft skin just behind Jensen's ear, and Jensen gives a full-body shiver, goose bumps spreading up his arms. He inhales slowly, focuses on the dry press of Jared's mouth instead of on the pins and needles in his fingers, and tries not to think much of anything at all. It doesn't matter what time it is, or where he is, or why. Just that he is, and that Jared is asleep next to him, and that everything will be fine.
Just as Jensen is about to nod off again, Jared snuffles, tucks in closer, chest flush against Jensen's bicep. He can feel each individual button on Jared's shirt as it presses into his skin, and deliberately stays silent when Jared's hair tickles against his throat.
That's when Jared wakes up. Or at least, Jensen assumes that's when Jared wakes up, because he suddenly tenses all over, hissing out a breath as he jerks back from Jensen, almost managing to fall off the other side of the bed in his haste to roll away.
Jensen's confused as hell, but Jared's not exactly known for his sensible behavior, and even if freaking nuzzling him in his sleep is definitely pushing the boundaries of Jared's usual quirks, there are plenty of rational explanations. Jensen's best bet is that he was dreaming about somebody else-Sandy, maybe. They haven't been broken up very long, after all; maybe Jared's subconscious didn't get the memo.
He can't exactly explain away how good it felt, but Jensen knows how much pain can mess with your endorphin system, and that's logical. Definitely logical. He gives it a minute and then rolls over, letting his eyes open slowly, like he's just coming out of really deep sleep. It's not too hard to fake, especially considering he's used to doing it on camera, and Jared relaxes a little.
"Hey," Jensen says, feigning drowsiness, and winces when he tries to move his arm. He's definitely going to need another painkiller.
"Morning," Jared says, clearing his throat, still a little flushed, but he leans in when Jensen makes a face, obviously concerned. "Do you need more Vicodin?" he says, voice deep and throaty with sleep. He's already stumbling up, making his way to the pills on the dresser before Jensen can even say anything.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt. So to speak," Jensen mumbles. "And it's not really morning," he adds, checking the clock. He needs to remember never to injure himself ever again, because Jared being fidgety and uptight and actually blushing just feels wrong on almost every level.
Jared brings him a pill and refills the glass of water on the nightstand. "I'll be back in just a second. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge, and you need something to eat with that," he says, trying to prop Jensen up with pillows stuffed awkwardly behind his back and around his arm while Jensen just sort of stares at him incredulously. He figures it's easier just to let Jared get on with it and re-do it himself afterwards than to argue.
Jensen is still pulling and pushing at the pillows one-handed, trying to wriggle into something resembling a comfortable position, when Jared comes back with a big white plate on a folding tray. "Waffles?" Jensen laughs.
Jared looks contrite. "All I had was Eggos and a six-pack. And while it would be pretty damn hilarious to see you after you've mixed Vicodin and Corona, I don't think now's the time for that experiment," he explains, setting the tray down across Jensen's thighs. There's a big glass of orange juice, too, suggesting Jared isn't telling the entire truth. But Jensen really loves Canadian syrup, and Jared used a liberal amount on the waffles, so he's hardly going to complain too much.
"It's nine o'clock at night, and I just woke up from a three-hour nap to waffles and juice," he says around a mouthful. "My internal clock is going to be so fucked up."
Jared just shrugs. "Kripke says you're not due back on set for the rest of the week at least, so you can keep whatever hours you want." He's still fidgeting, though, so Jensen's pretty sure there's more. "I have to. You know, I need to be at work at six tomorrow morning, but you can sleep here and I guess I'll go sleep on the couch tonight so I don't wake you when I get up. I'm going to call someone to bring over all the crap you'll need for a least a couple days." Jared goes to his closet and rummages around, pulling out a worn t-shirt and a pair of old knit lounge pants. "You can change into these if you want. They're kinda small on me, but they're clean, since I just washed them."
Jensen's still wearing Dean's clothes, and they're more than a little gross from the coffee he spilled on them and the mud he was lying in, but changing is going to be a pain in the ass he doesn't want to deal with at the moment, especially since "kind of small on Jared" translates into probably close to too big on him. He'll most likely need help, and Jared's being fussy already.
"Sure," he says, between bites of food, because apparently he's starving, "but you can stay in here, I don't want to kick you out of your bed."
The truth is, Jensen's still pretty fucking exhausted, and he just wants to sleep off the worst of the pain. The Vicodin's going to knock him out anyway-Jared doesn't have to worry about waking him up at six because he's going to be down for the count.
Jensen holds up a forkful of waffle, glancing up at him. "Did you even get dinner?"
"Well, you know. Those were the last waffles, and I'm not really all that hungry," Jared says, and his stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble dramatically. Jensen just raises an eyebrow.
"Right."
Jared rolls his eyes and strides back out to kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Fine, I'll order some Chinese! Happy?"
Jensen kind of is, actually, underneath the annoyed, the sleepy, and the hurting. "Get me some sesame chicken, bitch!" he shouts back. At least he'll have something to eat tomorrow, even if it is cold leftover Chinese and beer. It's actually pretty typical of Jared's place, so it's not like he can complain too much.
Jared's practically bustling around his apartment while waiting for his food to show up. He takes Jensen's tray away, and is actually loading the dishwasher for the first time in recent memory when Jensen pads out to kitchen.
"So, uh," Jensen starts, "I'm not sure I can do this myself." He gestures vaguely back in the direction of the clothes on the bed, helpless, and tries to pretend he isn't more than a little humiliated.
Jared drops what he's doing-washing a saucepan, apparently, although Jensen didn't even know Jared owned a saucepan-and ushers Jensen back into the bedroom.
"No problem," he says, sitting Jensen on the edge of the bed.
It's not that he can't get his jeans undone one handed, but getting out of them without some serious contortion is pretty much impossible at this point, and Jensen tried already; twisting too much jars his arm, and that hurts like hell.
He's trying really hard not to blush as Jared undoes his fly, more from abject mortification than anything else, but it's not really that bad.
"No big deal, just stand up," Jared says, sliding an arm around Jensen's waist to keep him upright as he-oh, Christ this is embarrassing-undoes the zipper and nudges his jeans down.
Jared smiles, reassuring, and Jensen steps away from Dean's jeans, letting Jared find the sweatpants so he can step into them.
"I had to get Sandy to help me get dressed for the first week after I broke my hand," Jared says, laughing softly, and lets Jensen tug them the rest of the way up, keeping a hand against his shoulder to keep Jensen's arm still. "I barely ever managed to get my damn clothes on."
"Thanks," Jensen says, dryly. "Now I feel violated and depressed that I'm stuck with you instead of your hot ex-girlfriend."
Jared laughs and shoves at him a little, grinning. "Come on, Sam was a totally hot nurse that one time. I'll bring back those white scrubs from the costume department tomorrow and then you have no basis for complaining."
Jensen makes a face-it's true, though his head isn't ever quite going to go there because it's Sam-but Jared's already focused on pulling off his t-shirt.
"Lift," he says, and Jensen manages to get his good arm free. He ducks his head out, careful, and Jared braces his shoulder again before sliding the t-shirt off.
"Maybe we should go for something you can get off yourself," Jared suggests, looking at the other t-shirt, and lets go of Jensen to go poke in the closet.
He comes back with an older one of the patented Jared Padalecki Button Downs, all of which are patterned with some of the weirdest designs ever and some of which Jensen's pretty sure he stole from Sam's wardrobe, or possibly vice versa. Jensen would protest, except it's not like he has very many other options at the moment, and-as much of a girl as it probably makes him-Jared's clothes make him feel a little better. Obviously it's because they must have healing properties, since Jared's known for having broken a truly ridiculous number of body parts in a truly ridiculous number of ways.
"Just slide in," Jared says, stepping behind him so Jensen can reach back into the shirt.
He's warm and solid and right there, and Jensen has to drag his train of thought away from how close he was when they woke up together. Probably the Vicodin again. Jared nudges him around and buttons him into the shirt, which is way too big but at least allows for his cast, and rolls up the cuffs.
"All done," Jared says, in too close, grinning down at him, and Jensen kind of wants to take a step forward and-
The doorbell rings.
"Chinese food!" Jared says, happily, and nudges against Jensen's shoulder before he goes to get his wallet.
Jensen really can't figure out what's going on with his head, but the drugs are starting to kick in, and Jared is sure to be intensely involved with his food for at least ten whole minutes, so Jensen just ignores everything and gets in bed, burrowing under the covers.
The sheets kind of smell like Jared, and Jensen vaguely thinks that maybe that should be weird or gross, but it isn't; it's kind of nice, actually, and he lets himself take a few deep breaths as he drops back to sleep.
When Jensen wakes up the next morning, it's to a dog licking at his cast where it hangs over the side of the bed. Sure enough, Jared left for work at six without waking him, and as he pushes Harley away gingerly and sits up, Jensen realizes it's already half past eleven. "Crap," he says to himself, and tries to jam his fingers under the edge of the cast to scratch at his itchy forearm.
Harley trots back out to the kitchen, where Jensen can hear him pawing at his food bowl and whining. Jared probably wouldn't be too happy if his babies starved while was away, so Jensen manages to pull himself out of bed-Jared's bed, he thinks absently-and follows.
Jared left a multi-page Post-It stuck to the refrigerator, and Jensen isn't really surprised. He pours himself some orange juice and takes a pill as he reads; he's suddenly really glad that Jared's so goddamn attentive, because if he hadn't left the lid to the Vicodin halfway off, Jensen probably wouldn't have been able to get past the child-proofing one-handed.
Jen,
Don't worry about the mutts-I fed them plenty before I left and they can wait until I get home to go out again. I got some more food and stuff for you last night, so help yourself to whatever you want. Take your pills, but don't screw the lid back on or you'll never be able to get it off again. Watch some TV, sleep as much as you can, and I'll see if I can con Manners into letting me leave by five or so.
- J
Jensen laughs to himself and pockets the note before going on a hunt for the toaster.
Armed with his bottle of painkillers, sustenance, a thick blanket from the linen closet-apparently Jared also has a linen closet, which Jensen can't help but assume was somehow Sandy's doing-and Jared's almost completely unironic collection of horrible chick flicks on DVD, he settles on the couch for a long day of doing fuck-all. Sadie hops up next to him and drops her head unceremoniously in his lap, content to be his partner in idleness. Normally Jensen would probably shove her off the couch, citing dog hair and slobber on his jeans as the main reasons dogs should not be allowed on the furniture, but he's wearing Jared's clothes. Sadie is really warm and seems to like him a lot, so he just leans back and lets her stay, occasionally scratching behind her ears.
Which is how Jensen wakes up, the DVD menu of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days on constant loop, six PM having come and gone if the clock on the TV is actually right; he must have fallen back asleep after that second pill.
At first he isn't really sure what woke him, assuming Sadie barked in her sleep, but the dog is dead to the world, curled up against Jensen's side. When he sits up, though, he sees Jared leaning against the doorjamb, lips curved into a small smile, just watching.
"Hey," Jared says, quiet. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." He brushes his bangs out of his eyes and slips his hands into his pockets with an apologetic shrug, still smiling softly. "Feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Jensen says, rubbing his free hand over his face. "The drugs are knocking me out." He nudges a hand through his hair, a little absently. It's gross; there's still gel in it from two days ago, and Jensen makes a face.
"It's good that you're sleeping," Jared says, crossing the room to settle in next to him.
"No, I need a-" Jensen realizes suddenly that there's no way he's going to be able to shower for the next couple days, at least until his arm stops hurting so badly, and he's got no idea if it's even possible to clean up. "How did you-" he gestures with his free hand. "Wash your hair?"
"Sandy did it in the sink," he says, hitting play on the DVD, and then glances over at Jensen. "Do you want me to give you a hand?"
On the one hand, the idea of Jared washing his hair is more than a little weird. On the other, the prospect of actually being clean is ridiculously appealing.
"You're still not as good as a hot nurse," Jensen says, with a grin, shrugging out of the blankets. "But okay."
"Just wait until the sponge bath," Jared says, dryly, and gives Jensen a hand getting to his feet.
Jared finds a trash bag to make sure his cast doesn't get wet, and Jensen manages to get his shirt off, covering his shoulders up with a towel so he doesn't get water all over, watching as Jared turns on the sink, testing the temperature.
Jensen's kind of dubious when Jared pulls a chair up and gestures for him to sit down, but Jared rolls his eyes when he hesitates.
"Feel free to try to stand bent over a sink for ten minutes with that thing," he says, gesturing, and Jensen grudgingly sits down and tilts his head back.
Ten seconds later, when Jared starts wetting down his hair, he's willing to admit that the chair was an excellent idea, because it feels so good there's no way he'd ever have stayed upright.
Jared laughs at him. "You can reserve the sex noises for the actual hot nurses," he says, voice low and amused. There's something else there, too, but Jensen really can't be bothered to figure out what the fuck it is, especially once Jared goes for the shampoo and starts actually washing his hair.
It turns out his freakishly large hands are good for more than really inappropriate jokes. And that Jared was maybe a hair stylist in a past life, because he's fucking awesome at this. Jensen doesn't even have the wherewithal to mock, he's so loose and comfortable.
Jared's fingers make strong, soothing circles, and Jensen breathes deep to smell the shampoo, something orangey that he recognizes. Which is probably because it's Jared's, and Jared smells like it, and really Jensen shouldn't be thinking so much about what Jared smells like. It's becoming a disturbing trend.
Much too soon, Jared's finished rinsing the suds down the drain, and pulls the towel from around Jensen's neck to dry his dripping hair. "All done, man," he says, giving Jensen's bare shoulder-the good one-a smack.
"How the hell am I supposed to wash the rest of me?" Jensen asks, trying not to sound too pathetic.
"Give yourself a sponge bath?" Jared suggests, laughing and boosting himself up onto the counter, toes almost touching the floor. "A one-handed sponge bath."
Jensen sighs dramatically. "You really should have hired me an actual hot nurse while you were out today. You're completely useless."
"Absolutely," Jared agrees, shifting a little, and then he slides down off the counter. "I, uh." He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking a little flushed. "I didn't get a chance to shower before I came home, so I'm going to go do that."
"Sure," Jensen says, using one of the washcloths Jared brought in to clean his face. It's a little bit awkward one-handed, but he's managing, so he waves Jared away and rinses off, careful not to get his cast wet.
He's halfway through heating up some Chinese food in Jared's stupidly complicated microwave-easy to do one handed-when he hears a thump and a high-pitched noise from the bathroom.
Jensen figures it's not going to be great if both of them manage to break their arms in the same week, so he abandons his reheated sweet and sour chicken and goes to knock on the bathroom door.
"If you're dead, I'm going to kill you," Jensen says, through the door.
There's a really long pause-one in which he starts thinking Jared might have actually fallen and died-and then Jared finally responds. "No, I'm-uh, fine," Jensen hears.
It's kind of muffled, but Jared sounds weird-his voice is way too high, and Jensen's about to ask if Jared's okay when he finally realizes what weird noises in the shower probably mean.
"Maybe we should've hired the hot nurse for you," he says, snickering, and goes back to his chicken.
Jared doesn't give any sign of having heard him, and he comes out of the bathroom about ten minutes later, padding around in his sweatpants and a wifebeater-it's stupidly tight-with his hair dripping everywhere. Jensen, however, is resolutely perusing the Classifieds by then, hoping for an ad from a sexy hospice worker or something-clearly not admiring the effects of his coworker's training regimen.
But Jared's got that look in his eyes that means he's probably about to give someone a wedgie, or maybe crank call Chad for the billionth time, so Jensen isn't all that surprised when Jared corners him against the counter and shakes his head like one of the dogs, spraying Jensen and the leftover Chinese liberally with shower water.
"Jared!" Jensen heaves, trying to shove Jared off with one arm and failing miserably. Jared pushes right back, like it's nothing, and rubs his sopping hair all over Jensen's face and neck and bare chest while he laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. It's freaking cold, is what it is, and Jensen yelps inelegantly and almost falls over.
Jared immediately jumps back, still stifling snorts of laughter, and grabs Jensen, presumably to keep him from breaking his other arm. The floor is all wet and slippery under Jensen's toes now, and he's suddenly very far from too cold. "Sorry, you were looking way too intense," Jared says, finally letting go to grab one of the beers from the fridge. He's still smiling all big and broad, like he's not a complete ass way down under all that good will.
"And dry, apparently," Jensen manages, grabbing a paper towel and feeling particularly glad he hadn't worked up the energy to put his shirt back on yet.
"Aw," Jared says, leaning against the counter, still grinning. "Too much for you, baby?"
"Shut up," Jensen mutters, and goes to find a real towel.
Jensen's pretty sure the next couple days can officially be classified as boring, except for the fact that he spends most of the time sleeping, so he can't complain too much. The swelling goes down and his arm hurts a lot less, but he's still perpetually exhausted, which leads to several really embarrassing instances of falling asleep on Jared.
Sharing an apartment with Jared should be weirder than it is; it's probably stupid to start getting attached to a routine, but Jensen likes having someone to eat dinner with, and considering it's January, having Jared on the other side of the bed keeps things a hell of a lot warmer.
Not that he actually stays on the other side.
Jensen's used to getting up at five-thirty, and even with the drugs and general exhaustion, his body still usually wakes him up. It's not like he can't get back to sleep, but he's starting to think that something needs to be done about getting Jared a girlfriend, because he wakes up three out of four mornings with Jared pressed up against his back, an arm wrapped around his waist.
It's predictable-so predictable, in fact, that when Jensen wakes up and Jared isn't sprawled out over him, he's a little unhappy, which lasts until he realizes Jared isn't in bed at all, and there are low voices coming from the living room.
Jared's on the phone, arguing.
"He needs to rest," he says, and Jensen's pretty sure they're talking about him.
"I know you changed the script," Jared says, "but it's only been five days. It was a pretty nasty break."
"Hey," Jensen says, keeping the blanket wrapped around him.
Jared looks really pissed off for a minute, and Jensen blinks. "Now you've woken him up," Jared says, and hangs up on whomever he's talking to.
His face softens pretty substantially. "Sorry," he says. "Go back to bed, it's not important."
"I could go in with you tomorrow," Jensen says, and crosses the living room to nudge his good hand against Jared's shoulder when Jared starts to frown. "Just for the morning. I'll take it easy."
Jared reluctantly agrees, batting at Jensen's hand. "I guess you could get some dialogue looping done, at least." He shrugs and goes back to the kitchen, brushing up against Jensen even though there's plenty of space to pass. "But it wouldn't take too long, and you could be back here in the afternoon to sleep it off. You just get so tired, man."
Jared is preaching to the choir. "I know. It'll be fine, really," Jensen says, and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he goes back to bed. Watching Jared pace around the kitchen while he waits for his coffee to brew is making Jensen nervous.
After yet another day of sleeping and ridiculous romantic comedies, Jensen welcomes the manila envelope Jared brings home with him from set. It's got a list of scenes he needs to dub and lines they want to change or re-record, plus the sides for the scenes he'll be shooting as soon as he starts back on a regular schedule; Jensen is pretty much thrilled that he's finally got something useful to do again.
Jared's got lines to run, so Jensen helps him out with that, cross-legged on the couch while Jared stretches out on the floor of the living room, body practically spanning the entire thing from one wall to the other. Jensen thinks that maybe Jared has some sort of growth hormone defect, or like, a tumor on his pituitary like that Chinese basketball dude who was seven-foot nine and died when he was twenty-five.
"Shit," Jared mumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face, short sleeves pulling tight over his biceps. He's forgotten Sam's cue four times in a row.
"Don't die this year, okay?" Jensen says. He didn't really mean to mention it, but it's too late now. And maybe it wasn't such a good idea to chase his last Vicodin with a can of Budweiser. "If you ever get like-headaches and your joints start hurting or whatever, or your hand-eye coordination gets really bad, go see a doctor."
Jared pulls his hands away from his face to stare at Jensen, nonplussed. "What?'
"Nothing, never mind." Jensen turns back to the script, reading Bobby's lines and thinking about how much he needs to start working again. He's clearly going insane.
Which is what he has to remind himself of the next morning when Jared shakes him awake at five AM, hand closed warm over Jensen's shoulder.
"Hey, c'mon Jen, wake up," Jared says, eyes still half-closed, before rolling out of bed and shuffling into the bathroom.
They're both dressed and on their second cups of coffee when the driver pulls up outside the hotel and calls Jared's cell to let them know he's there. Jensen answers it, grabbing both their bags on the way to the door. "Be right down," he says as Jared follows him out.
Their ride to set today is just like every other time: good-natured ribbing, running lines and drinking coffee while pumping each other up for a long day. Jensen feels like it's been a lifetime since he's done this, but it's really only been a week.
"Good to have you back, dude," Jared says after a comfortable silence, their van just about to pull up to their trailers.
"Whatever," Jensen says with a grin. "I'll see you when you get home. Bring food." Jared ruffles his hair before he takes off, and Jensen squawks indignantly, trying not to laugh, then heads over to the soundstage and Don's mixing booth, ready to be Dean again.
It's a ridiculously long day, and even though he only works until noon, he's completely exhausted. Jensen's supposed to dub two more scenes, but there's just no way he's going to be able to stay awake, which is why he ends up in Jared's trailer just after lunch-he doesn't trust the steps of his own, and anyway, Jared always gets better fruit baskets and usually has mounds of candy just lying around for anyone to take.
He wakes up at five on one of the sofas, underneath a blanket, with Jared's hand against his shoulder.
"Hey," Jensen says, drowsy and a little disoriented, and Jared smiles from where he's crouched down next to him.
"You want to go home?" Jared murmurs, sliding a hand behind his back to help him sit up, and Jensen yawns, leaning in against him.
"Yeah," he says, smiling back. "Yeah, that'd be good."
The next couple days are pretty much the same-without Jensen passing out in Jared's trailer and forcing Jared to hunt him down-but after three or four more days of recording, the director decides it's high time to start filming again, and Jensen's right back into it after Dean's (apparently) very violent fight with a poltergeist.
"So you probably want to head back to your place soon, don't you?" Jared says one night at dinner, and Jensen realizes that he hasn't been home in a week and a half and that Jared probably wants his house-and his bed-back.
"Yeah," Jensen says, and it's really stupid to not want to go back to his apartment, so he doesn't give into it, "I wouldn't want to keep wearing your hideous shirts forever." He has his own clothes, sure, but Jared's shirts were just lying around, and big enough on him that they fit over his cast much better, and that was really the only reason he wore them.
"Hey," Jared says, indignant, "I like my shirts," and then he throws a piece of bread at Jensen, and Jensen forgets all about it until the next day, when Jared puts his bag in the back of the van.
"I figured you might not be able to pack too well," he says, looking kind of awkward and unhappy, and Jensen feels abruptly guilty for having overstayed his welcome.
"Thanks," he says, stilted, as he gets in. Part of him thinks he ought to hug Jared, or at least manage some sort of goodbye, but he doesn't, just slams the door and watches Jared wave as the van pulls away. The drive to his hotel seems a lot longer than he remembered.
Jensen's place smells different somehow, probably just because he's so used to the atmosphere of dogs, orange-scented shampoo, and obnoxious purple fabric softener that permeates Jared's entire suite. He checks his messages (only five, and they're all from people who also called his cell), throws out some expired food left in his fridge, and sorts the small pile of mail on his kitchen table.
He's already read through everything he needs for the next few days' shoots, and he really doesn't feel like going grocery shopping, which is the only other thing he can think of that needs doing. He'd have to get someone to help him carry bags, and he's just not in the mood.
After about an hour sitting on his couch playing Halo, Jensen sighs and falls back against the cushions, bored out of his mind. His DVD collection is depressingly light on crappy movies, none of the games he has are good for one person, he's already checked his email eight times, and he can't for the life of him figure out what the hell he used to do all night when he wasn't working or hanging out with Jared. It only took him a week to get completely dependent on living with a roommate-pathetic.
He finally resorts to reading the stack of dusty magazines on the shelf under the coffee table while listening to Steve's latest tracks on his laptop. Around ten, he gives up on an article about helmets designed to prevent concussions in order to keep football players from getting irreversible brain damage-after seriously considering getting one for Jared to wear full time-and heads to bed.
Jared must have accidentally shoved some of his own stuff in with Jensen's when he was packing Jensen's bag, because Jensen's makeshift pajama shirt of the past week and a half falls out of one of the legs of his sweatpants when he's pulling them on. He frowns and shakes it out, slipping into it with a sigh. It's a lot harder to get dressed on his own.
Brushing his teeth in his own bathroom is nice. He knows where everything is and doesn't knock over all of Jared's stuff left scattered all over the sink. He smells like his own soap again when he finally gets in bed, and when he presses his nose into his pillow, there's no trace of Jared. It's good, or so Jensen keeps repeating to himself over the next two hours as he completely fails to fall asleep.
It's midnight, and he's still staring unblinkingly at the clock on his nightstand. He counted sheep, he had a nightcap, he played soft music, and he even tried that sinking-into-the-mattress relaxing technique his theatre teacher in middle school taught him, but nothing worked. Jensen sighs, and recites old dialogue in his head, eyes closed, picturing running lines with Jared.
At one, he decides enough is enough, and goes to his medicine cabinet for some sleeping pills. He's making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water to down the pills with when he hears the phone. Jensen leaps for it, answering on the first ring.
"Hey," Jared says. He sounds pretty shitty, but Jensen's glad to hear from him anyway.
"Hey," Jensen says, smiling. He isn't sure how, but he knew it'd be Jared.
"Did you remember to use that moisturizer stuff under the edges of your cast?" Jared asks, and Jensen can hear him tapping his fingers nervously against the phone.
"Yeah," Jensen says.
"Did you take your pills?"
"Yeah," he says again. It's stupid, but he seriously can't stop grinning.
"Do you have any food at your house? Did you have any trouble getting everything done tonight?" Jared sounds like he's maybe relaxing a little, knowing Jensen hasn't had some sort of spontaneous catastrophe.
"Only some, and not really, respectively," Jensen answers.
"So you're okay?" Jared's voice is soft.
Jensen hesitates for a second. "I can't really sleep," he finally says. Jared probably doesn't need to know that it's most likely because Jensen misses him.
Jared is silent for a long moment, and Jensen's pretty sure he can hear him shifting around under the covers. "It's weird without you in my bed," he murmurs, barely audible.
It's Jensen's turn to fall silent. He can practically hear Jared blushing over the phone, realizing what he just said. The thing is, it is weird, and Jensen doesn't really know what he's supposed to do now. "I think I left one of my refills there," he blurts.
"I think I packed one of my shirts in your bag," Jared says at the same time.
They laugh awkwardly for a second before Jared continues, "I'd better bring your pills back. And I can get my shirt while I'm there."
Jensen doesn't mention that it's one AM, and even if he did leave a bottle of pills of Jared's house, he certainly doesn't need it right this second.
It takes about a half an hour for Jared to get to his place, and Jensen is trying desperately to scratch the itchy, dry skin under his cast when he hears the knock. "Just a sec," he shouts, tripping to the door. As he passes the kitchen counter, he sees his missing bottle of pills at the back of the sink.
"Hi," Jared says. He isn't holding a pill bottle, but he's smiling wide. "Sorry, I couldn't find-"
"I actually have it," Jensen says sheepishly, ushering Jared in and pointing in the vague direction of the kitchen with his cast. "I just didn't remember where I put it when I unpacked."
Jared shrugs, leaning against the counter, all hips and legs. "Well, you know. I thought I should, uh. Come over anyway. Get my- " he trails off, blinking at Jensen.
"What?" Jensen says, feeling his face. "Do I have something on my-"
"You're wearing it," Jared says.
"I'm wearing-oh," Jensen says, looking down at himself. He still has Jared's shirt on. "I couldn't find anything else that fit over my cast."
Jared stills his hand with an audible swallow as Jensen goes to unbutton the shirt, fingers loose around his wrist. "It's not exactly urgent," he says, mouth turned up in a funny little smile.
"Right." Jensen pulls away and goes to pour himself a glass of water from the Brita pitcher in the fridge. "You want anything? I have some beer if you want it." He slides Jared a cold one. "You could crash here tonight if you're not up for driving home. It's kind of late, anyway."
Jared opens the bottle on the countertop, a trick Jensen is absurdly proud of having taught him. "Yeah," he says. "Might be dangerous, you know?"
Jensen definitely doesn't point out that it hasn't gotten any more dangerous in the ten minutes since he drove over.
They shoot the shit for a little while, until Jensen yawns hugely and Jared laughs at him, pushing him into the bedroom. "Guess I'm boring enough to cure even the worst insomnia," Jared cracks, leaning against the open door.
"My couch is minute compared to yours," Jensen says around another yawn. He smacks the other side of the bed invitingly. "The bed's not that big, either, but it'll probably be more comfortable."
Jared rolls his eyes and shucks off his jeans and button-down, climbing into Jensen's bed wearing his boxers and undershirt. He smells like dog, and orange-scented shampoo, and obnoxious purple fabric softener. Jensen takes a deep, relaxing breath.
Part 2