Misplaced Childhood -Part 2: Chapter 5
The night isn’t as bad as the one before, but Jared can barely sleep a couple of hours, max. Jensen’s stomach seems to have settled down enough, even though he can’t swallow anything but water and Dramamine.
Now, though, he's agitated. He refuses to go to sleep if Jared doesn’t lie down with him, and even though he seems to fall asleep quite easily, his sleep isn’t deep or peaceful. It’s restless. He jolts awake every hour or so, and his nightmares make him scream and plead and cry. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness, and the only way to calm him down is to hold him tight and speak to him constantly.
When morning comes, they’re both drenched in sweat, tangled in the sheets. Jensen asks for a shower. He’s unsteady and weak, needs Jared to undress him and to stay nearby, but it seems to do him some good. Afterward, he takes some more Dramamine and drinks half a bottle of Gatorade. Jared settles him on the couch, and this time he sleeps soundly, not even twitching or moaning, out for the count. Jared sits in the rocking chair next to him and nods off too. They both wake up around ten.
Jensen seems a little better this time, despite the dark circles around his eyes and the waxy aspect of his skin. The tremors aren’t as intense, the nasal congestion has almost completely disappeared, and he isn't sweating as much. His voice is hoarse from the screaming and crying during the night, but calm. He asks for Jared to help him to the bathroom, then walks back to the couch by himself, lighting up a cigarette.
His eyes seem hollow and haunted. This is Jensen without the drugs, all of him, struggling to come out of it, to face reality as it is. In a way, it’s even harder to witness this than when he’s high.
Jared cuts an apple into thin slices and takes it to him. Jensen doesn’t grimace. He takes the plate and starts munching on a slice.
“You feel a little better, right?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Jensen murmurs, staring into nothingness. “Your psychologist, Collins, he’s going to be here soon?”
“Yes, why?”
“Kind of sick of being here. And then what, you’re going to drive us back all the way to Providence?”
“That’s the plan. We’ll go to your place first, I’ll help you pack.”
Jensen shakes his head. “Don’t want to go back there. I should call Christian, tell him to bring me my stuff. It’s not like I own much anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
Jensen smiles sadly. “This place is where I really lost my shit -not Christian’s fault, though. He did everything he could. The man I’ve been while I was there -I don’t want to be him anymore.”
Jensen calls Christian himself. His friend seems to understand, judging from what Jared hears. The conversation is short. Still, when Jensen hangs up, he looks exhausted. “He says he’ll come by later this afternoon, wants to give us some space while your shrink is here.”
Jared lets Jensen rest while he cleans up a little. When he goes outside to welcome Misha Collins, he's surprised to see how warm and bright it is. Spending two days locked inside with someone in withdrawal kind of gives you the impression the whole world is grey and cold.
“Nice family place,” Collins says, looking around.
He's wearing some ugly long shorts with a square pattern and a t-shirt that proclaims he’s the king of ping pong. The ensemble is completed by a light travel bag with a palm tree pattern. It’s like he’s a family man that left the camping site to come rescue one of his patients.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Yeah.” Misha nods. “Where’s your friend?”
“Inside. Resting. I think the worst of the withdrawal is over.”
“Well, it would fit, but withdrawal is not over -far from it. Just the most acute symptoms. Shall we?” Misha asks, waiting in front of Jared who’s standing in front of the door.
“Hum. Yeah. I thought you would have more questions for me.”
“No.” Collins waits patiently.
“I’ve talked with Jensen. He agreed to come live with me, and to have you as a shrink.”
“Good, but I need to speak to him about all this, not you, Jared.”
Jared frowns, but opens the door for the psychologist. When Misha is in one of those moods, focused and absorbed, trying to talk him out of it is useless.
Misha goes straight for the couch. Jensen is lying there, wrapped tightly in his blanket. He’s not asleep, though, because as soon as Misha comes close, he sits up. Jared makes the introductions while Misha sits in front of Jensen, on the coffee table.
“Hi, Mr. Ackles.”
“Jensen,” the younger man rasps, trying somewhat to compose himself by running an unsteady hand in his drab hair.
“Well, okay, I’m Misha, then. That’s what Jared calls me anyway. Do you agree for me to be your psychiatrist?”
“Huh… Yeah I huh… I agree.”
“Now, let’s start with a quick physical examination. You’ve been clean since Friday morning, right?”
“Yes. Only took some Dramamine and Pepto.”
Misha smiles softly and opens his bag, taking out a blood pressure cuff, a stethoscope and some other instruments Jared is used to seeing in any doctor's office.
“Wait… Are you a shrink or a doctor?” Jensen asks.
“Well, both, actually. I am a psychiatrist, which means I have a medical license, but I am also a psychologist and practicing therapist. One stop shopping. Tell me, would you mind taking off your t-shirt?”
“No.” Jensen blushes and casts a silent look at Jared for help. He steps in, eases Jensen’s shirt off of his arms and neck. His friend is breathing quickly; his ribs are visible under his too-white skin. Maybe it’s because of Misha’s presence, or the fact that he’s retreated to a spectator role instead of active helper, but seeing his therapist taking Jensen’s blood pressure and temperature, looking into his mouth, ears and nose, listening to his breathing with the stethoscope, makes Jared’s heart ache. He can see how uneasy and nervous Jensen is, how unhealthy he looks. Misha speaks to him with a soft voice, almost a murmur, a tone he’s never used with Jared, who feels his respect for the man growing yet a little more.
“Okay, we’re done,” Collins says, and Jensen nods, simply drawing the blanket over his chest.
“You can smoke if you want to,” Misha adds.
“Yeah, I must smell like tobacco, and sweat,” Jensen says, going for an anxious smile.
“Mostly, yeah. So… When was the last time you saw a doctor -a medical doctor, I mean.”
“There was this resident at the community clinic who got me tested for Hep and HIV six months ago. Before that, I think I must have been twelve, caught the flu. S’about it.”
Jared sits on the couch next to Jensen, trying to hide his shock, hearing about HIV and Hepatitis. Of course, if Jensen’s been sleeping around, not being careful, or too drunk or high to really care, he'd be at risk. Jared must live so hidden from the real world in his bubble of control and comfort that he's never even had to think about it. And Jensen hasn’t even answered yet.
“I guess the results of the tests were negative, or you would have told me,” Misha Collins says, casting a quick look at Jared.
“Yeah, they were. I‘ve been lucky, is all.”
“Well, okay, Jensen. From what I can tell, you’re probably suffering from a light anemia, and must been missing some vitamins and stuff -nothing that can’t be fixed, alright? You must feel ready to come out of your skin, third day of opiates withdrawal will do that to you. But you’re not dehydrated, which was my principal concern so, all and all, you’re coping well.”
“Think so?” Jensen asks, rising a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Yes, I think so. Now, Jensen, as I understand, Jared and you have been talking about some stuff.”
“Stuff,” Jared interrupts with irritation. “Like Jensen coming back to Providence with me, is that what you mean?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant, Jared,” Misha says, way too calmly. “And now I need to speak with my patient. In private. Is that alright with you, Jensen? Just you and me for a minute?”
Jensen shrugs, looking at Jared in search of his approval. Jared nods. As much as he wants to remain close and protect him from any arm that could come to him, he knows Misha well enough not to try to interfere.
“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Jensen finally murmurs.
“I’m going to wait on the porch, if that’s alright,” Jared says, wanting Jensen to know he’s going to stay close.
“Good,” Misha nods to him, silently thanking him for his co-operation.
Jared grabs a can of soda, his laptop, and leaves the house. For a moment, he ponders with the idea of writing an email to Felicia, explaining to her what he’s about to do, but he feels tired already, thinking of all he’d have to explain and how it would feel like he’s justifying himself. So he drinks his soda and watches the lake. Some people are kayaking; a couple of kids are swimming under the supervision of their parents. Everything seems so simple and good out there, like life is nothing but a long holiday waiting to be enjoyed. How could it seem so different, while in the closed space of the cabin there is so much misery and sadness, enough for a lifetime, enough for all these families enjoying the lake to share so that Jensen wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.
Jared waits. The chair he’s sitting on is resting back against the window. He can actually hear the combined murmurs of his therapist and Jensen; not make out the words, he wouldn’t spy, but it's still reassuring.
Misha talks with Jensen for a long time. At some point, Jensen starts crying. It’s tough for Jared, hearing more of the raw, hiccupping sobs he’s already witnessed over the course of the last days. Jensen must be exhausted, drained.
He cries for a long time too, but at some point, it seems to finally recede. It’s been more than an hour since Jared has left them alone, and when Misha opens the door, he’s up in a second, impatient to get to Jensen.
“He’s okay,” Misha says. “He’s just very tired.”
Jensen is still on his couch, his eyes so swollen they’re merely slits, his cheeks red and still wet. He’s smoking, his chest still ravaged by the last hiccupping breaths of his crying fit. He tries to smiles at Jared but fails miserably, and he ends up catching his lower lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling.
“I think he should rest for a few hours. I’ve given him a light anxiolytic. It will allow him to relax a little,” Misha tells him.
“Okay, I’ll help him to bed. Are you alright with this, Jen?”
“More than,” Jensen croaks.
Jared helps him up, sliding an arm around his slim waist. Jensen doesn’t start walking yet. He turns toward Misha Collins and utters a “thank you” that's almost inaudible.
This time, Jared doesn’t take Jensen back to his room: despite the cleaning he’s been doing, it still smells like sickness and sweat. Jensen needs a fresh bed. He settles him in his own, the one he hasn't even used during the past two days. The sheets are clean and fresh to the touch. Jensen sighs, letting his head drop on the pillow. “Feels good,” he trails off, smiling at Jared.
“Want me to stay with you?”
“No. Wanna sleep. Whatever your shrink gave me, it’s… it’s good,” Jensen whispers, raising an uncertain hand to brush Jared’s hair away from his face. “Thank you, for doing that for me.”
Jared brushes it off, shrugging. “Now, Misha hasn't been too hard on you?”
“No. But you should go back to him. I told him I wanted him to explain to you what our private conversation was about.”
“You sure?”
“Too tired to do it myself.”
Jensen’s eyes are already closing. With a sigh, Jared raises the comforter over him and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Misha is waiting for him, sitting at the kitchen table. Jared offers him a coffee, which he accepts. While he boils the water, Misha is silent, scribbling some notes down. He does smile at Jared, though, when he sits in front of him -a sincere, wide smile.
“No need to be nervous.”
“Seriously? Because I’m pretty sure you didn’t plan on flying to Chicago this weekend,” Jared sighs, brushing his hair away from his face.
“I’m not angry at you, Jared. I’m a big boy, I can make my own decisions. Jensen told you he wanted me to tell you what our conversation was about?”
“Yes,” Jared clears his throat. “But I’m not sure…”
“He wants you to know,” Misha interjects. “I believe it’s important for him.”
“Okay, alright.”
“First thing I want to say is that I accepted helping him mostly because he’s ready, psychologically. I mean, quitting cold turkey like he did is one thing, but it’s no use if the person doesn’t really wish to quit and can’t see it as a long-term goal. The fact that Jensen really wants to put all of this behind him? That's good. That’s where it’s supposed to start.”
“Good.”
“By his own admission he clearly needs professional help. He’s scared of being clean because he’s always used the drugs as a way of keeping his memories and feelings at bay, regarding the kidnapping and physical abuse. Plus people who’ve used opiates for quite some time will most probably go through a long period of anxiety and depression after they quit.”
“Yes, that’s why he needs you,” Jared says eagerly.
Misha smiles reassuringly. “And that’s why I’m going to help him. Now, it appears that after you and he were saved from Glass, he lacked the psychological support you were provided.”
“Yes, I told you. His mother stopped him from seeing Alaina soon after,” Jared reminds him, his whole body tensing with anger at the bare mention of Donna Ackles.
“Not only that, but he was forbidden to talk about it. He had to shove all of his fears and painful memories inside. Asking that of a kid so young can have serious psychological consequences.”
Jared crosses his arms and tries to remain calm. When he’d been younger, his feelings toward Jensen’s mother were confused, at best. He was a boy who loved his mommy, and received so much love in return, that it was hard to believe that a mother could cause harm to her own child voluntarily. Misha knows all this. There is not much Jared hadn’t talked about since he began to meet with him, six years ago.
“Why?” he asks. “Why would a mother do this to her son?”
“Well, this, I’ll need to talk about with Jensen to have a better understanding, but what I can say is that people react differently when something like this happens to their loved one. I believe Jensen’s mother thought she was doing the right thing, that she was protecting him-“
“That’s bullshit.”
“Well, you’re not a mother whose child has been hurt. You don’t know how you would react. I’m not saying what she did was right. I’m saying she probably had no idea that what she was doing could hurt her child.”
“I’ll need more than your theories to forgive her,” Jared murmurs, looking down at his hands, jaw clenched.
“Yes, but this isn’t about you, Jared. It’s about Jensen, and the issues he has with his mother will be addressed. Another thing that bothers him is his… promiscuity. He told you a little about this, right? Sleeping around is another way for him to seek some relief from the physical pain. It isn’t any different from self-harm, and that’s what worries him the most.”
Jared remembers that time when he had seen cuts healing on his friend’s arm, and doubting that it had been caused by an accident at school, like Jensen had told him. Over the course of the last two days, he’s had the occasion to look at his friend’s body, and he’d been searching for any clue that he’d still been doing it, but except for some tiny white scars he’d noticed inside of his arms, he had been relieved not to see any recent marks.
“I think he did it, when he was young,” he trails off, shivering at the thought.
“Well, not only when he was young. It’s been a coping mechanism for him through the years. He still did it as a teenager, and when he tried to quit drugs last year, it came back. He’s scared he won’t be able to help himself. Self-harm can be caused by a variety of reasons, and for people doing it, it can be a way to punish themselves, or deal with a pain they can’t make better by replacing it by another kind of pain. A pain they believe they can control. I’m just theorizing right now, because I’ll need to discuss this with him in depth.”
“If he’s scared it will come back, it means he doesn’t want it to come to that point -it means he really wants to get better, right?”
“I believe so. This, and the fact that he’s never really had suicidal thoughts, despite his self-destructive behavior, tells me Jensen really has a chance here. During all those years when he'd been a drug user, when he had a very active sexual life, there are still some lines he’s never crossed. He always used protection -well, as much as he can remember, and he never switched from pills to injections, while doing drugs. This means, he still kept a sense of self-preservation.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean…”
Misha takes a sip at his coffee, makes a face, and pushes the mug away. “He wants to live, Jared. He just doesn’t know how to do it without all the pain. That’s why, after we discussed it, we decided it would be good for him to be hospitalized for a short term period… maybe two weeks or so.”
“He agreed?”
Misha smiles. “Well, he wasn’t very enthusiastic at the idea of being admitted in a rehabilitation center, so we made a compromise. I know this convalescent home near Rhode Island Hospital. People who’ve had serious illnesses or surgery can go there for up to a month after getting released from the hospital. It’s like a transition between hospital care and home. The medical staff is lower profile but very competent, every patient has his own room, and Jensen won’t be amongst psychologically distressed people -which wouldn’t necessarily be bad for him, you know, but it’s a very different atmosphere than a rehabilitation center, and I think it would be better than nothing.”
“I can visit?”
“Yes, you can visit, as long as you want. There are no restricted hours. This place isn’t cheap, though. It’s like a hotel, with nurses, and doctors who make visits.”
“Money is not a problem.”
“I know it isn’t, that’s why I suggested it.”
Jared sighs. Everything Misha told him seems to be good news, all things considered. The psychiatrist doesn’t seem to be unhappy with him, even though Jared had had the impression he had dragged him into his mess, forced his hand. The fact that Jensen clearly wants to be helped and is ready to follow him to Providence is a relief, even though he had already said so much to Jared. He believes Misha would have noticed if it wasn’t really what he’d wanted, or needed.
“Thank you, so much -thanks for helping him, thanks for doing this,” he tells his friend.
“I'm helping because I believe he wants me to help,” Misha answers. “But yeah, there’s this part where I do this for you as well, because you’re still my patient, Jared, and I truly believe you need this.”
The man rummages through his bag and gets out a prescription bottle with two small white pills inside. He plays with for a moment, switching it from hand to hand and smiling to himself. “You were right, Jared,” he murmurs. “He’s heart-breaking, this poor kid… Never had the slightest chance to live a normal life. I’m telling you this in a very unprofessional way. I’m really glad you called me.”
Jared blushes and nods. He doesn’t know what to say, except he kind of wants to hug his therapist in his arms but it probably would be awkward as hell.
“I’m flying back to Providence tonight. I asked Jensen if he wanted to accompany me, but he prefers to ride with you. You drove all the way here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so I suggest you wait until tomorrow morning to leave if that’s possible. He needs the rest. Those pills are for anxiety, they’re the same as the one I gave him. It's not for long term use, because Jensen could become addicted to them quickly, and the best choice for him, I think, is to start a low-dose anti-depressant, but I’ll work on that later. For tonight, though, and tomorrow morning, he should take them. It will help. I’ll arrange everything at Hudson Convalescence Center for Jensen to have his room ready when you guys will get back. I’ll find him a general practitioner too, to run some blood tests and see if he has any other health issues. Sounds like a plan, right?”
“Sounds like an awesome plan,” Jared breathes out, feeling like a weight has been taken off his shoulders.
“That’s because I’m an awesome guy.”
::: :::
Christian comes back for dinner. He brought steaks, only for Jared and him, knowing there is no way Jensen will be able to eat one. He’s quiet. Jensen wonders if he feels betrayed, in some ways, because he’s leaving, leaving his friend who’s always been there for him, not matter what shit he had to put up with over the course of the last five years. Christian has taught him the only job he knows, Christian never asked why Jensen was so messed up until Jensen decided to tell him. Five years ago, he’d saved Jensen's life, taking him in.
Jensen contemplates those ideas from the couch that has become his home for the last three days. He’s drinking one of those instant soup-in-a-cup, slowly but surely. He knows he’ll be able to keep it down.
The conversation he’s he had with Misha Collins has drained him. It was painful on many levels, but the pain had been necessary, like treating an infected wound, and the tiredness he now feels is a good one, like he’s scrubbed his head clean. He knows the anxiety pill helps him keep calm. He knows this is only the beginning and there are many bad, difficult days ahead of him, but he can’t bring himself to care right now.
Moving away from Chicago doesn’t scare him; following Jared, letting Jared take care of him doesn’t scare him either. Collins had been very clear. This was something Jared wanted, not an impersonal charity act. “He says he loves you and I believe him, Jensen. I don’t know what kind of love this is or where it will lead you guys, but trust me, you’re everything but a burden to Jared.”
No, the only thing twisting Jensen’s guts is leaving Christian behind.
He’s still contemplating this idea when Christian comes back inside. He and Jared had been hovering over the grill for the last hour.
“So, I think I can trust Jared with the steaks,” Christian tells him, rubbing his hands together.
He looks at the table. There is bread and a salad. Christian is a good cook, although he would probably punch anyone in the face who’d risk saying that out loud, hurting his man-pride.
“We just have to wait for the meat,” Christian adds, joining Jensen on the couch. “Hey, how are you doin’?”
“I’m… fine, I guess,” Jensen answers, unable to look him in the eyes.
“Yeah, right, and I’m Martha Stewart. Seriously, Jen, tell me. Do you feel the need? Is it bad?”
Jensen shakes his head. “It’s there, but it’s not bad, and I’m okay, Chris, s’just… Fuck, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say what?”
“I’m… sorry?”
Christian looks at him quizzically. “Why?”
“After what you did for me, I’m leaving you behind and it’s-”
“Hey, whoa. No. Don’t go there,” Christian cuts him off with an imperative voice. “Listen, Jensen, don’t ever think that what you’ve decided to do could hurt me. We’re friends, and a true friend knows better than to put his own, selfish desires in front of true needs. I want you to go with Jared because I think that’s what you need. I’ll miss my best tattoo artist, sure, and maybe kicking your ass once in a while, but I know the decision you made doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Still…” Jensen trails off, ridiculously close to tears all over again.
“No, man, don’t go all emotional on me, it’s not like we won’t see each other again, alright? Believe it or not, I can drive up to freaking Rhode Island whenever I want. I told you, there will always be a job for you at my place, but it’s not what’s important.”
“Shit,” Jensen smiles through his tears. “How can you ask me not to be emotional when you’re saying all those things?”
“Be a man, you sissy,” Chris jokes, turning his head away because his chin is starting to do this strange wobbly thing.
“Jackass.”
“That’s lame,” Chris replies, still carefully looking in the opposite direction.
Jared pushes the door open at this moment, holding a plate with two steaming steaks. His face is beet red, he reeks of smoke and smiles proudly, all dimples out.
“Steaks are ready,” he announces.
And Jensen smiles back. Because he loves the guy, loves him so freaking much it hurts. Jared is still there, seventeen years after, holding his hand, just like in Glass’ prison; Jensen’s private sun, bright and warm.
Maybe something good can come out of all this.
Chapter 6
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