In Distortion Lies Beauty Part One

[captcrashfic]

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3



“Yeah, I'm on my way there now, Jim. Hey, I'd be there sooner if they let us use a red light to get on scene like the cops.” Jared sees a gap in the traffic ahead of him and slips past two cars before their drivers get a chance to make a move. “I'm about five blocks out, so it's gonna be like...twenty minutes until I can even get inside the perimeter.” He hits the button on the dash and the radio switches from synching his phone to blaring the local NPR station.

"For those of you just joining us, the evening commute has become much more difficult.”

“I think that's the understatement of the year.” Jared says with a smirk, weaving his way through traffic.

“Earlier, we received calls about what passersby believed was a bomb taking out the old Dupuis high rise on the north end of James Boulevard in Midtown. We're now being told that, while the building was scheduled for demolition, something has gone horribly wrong. At least nine members of the group contracted to take down the building are trapped inside the rubble, and the collapse has knocked out power, including traffic lights. City police have closed down a four block area surrounding what's left of the building, and traffic is being diverted along Front Street and the 110. You'll want to avoid the whole, area if possible. Those caught in Midtown, it looks like you're going to lose at least 45 minutes to an hour."

Fire, EMS, Police, Homeland Security and Haz Mat were all first responders after the calls started pouring into dispatch. Once they established there was no bomb, and no threat to national security, Homeland Security released the scene to the fire department. There are currently two aerial units and a host of firefighters manning hose lines snaking away from tankers and hydrants, alike. Police are putting up barricades to keep curious civilians and news reporters from getting under foot, but they can't get a helo up fast enough to box out the media choppers circling the site like sharks after so much chum. Simply put, the scene is chaos as Jared pulls his SUV up alongside the team's Command Center.

"What do we have, Kline?" Jared asks, climbing down out of his Avalanche. He props open the back door and checks over the items in his Go Kit.

"Besides a damn mess? Owner says they've got at least seven guys trapped in there. Another two are unaccounted for, but they weren't part of the team that went in to investigate the faulty charges along with all the others. There's a gas main running under the building that wasn't shut off, and you can bet these guys are going to get in trouble for that one, after all is said and done, so the fire department is trying to wet down the surrounding area while the city cuts off the supply. Once the natural gas issue is resolved, they'll be able to douse the fire.”

“Witness statements so far,” Jared asks, strapping himself into his flack vest.

“The only thing the rest of the crew had to say is that they heard a sound like a freight train barreling by, and then another section of building came down. They tried to hail the guys who went into the building, but so far there's been no response. That's when they called us."

"Christ, what a nightmare.” Jared rubs at the headache he can feel starting behind his left temple. This job isn't going to be easy by any means. “Okay, who's in charge of the demo?"

"Al Conroy. He's the guy in the green shirt with the sour look on his face." Jared smiles and smacks Jim on the shoulder.

"Find out from the fire captain how long they think it's going to take before they can put that fire out and get the rest of the team up to speed. I'm going to have a chat with Conroy and hopefully get some blueprints with the locations of all the charges they planted. I don't need the floor falling out under my feet, 'cause these knuckleheads were careless." As Jared walks over to speak with the job foreman and the owner of the company, he runs down a list of possible outcomes in his head. He's hoping that things will end with all members of the demolition team accounted for and safe.

"Mr. Conroy?"

"That would be me. How can I help you get my guys out of that mess?"

The older man is still wearing a sour look on his face, but it seems to lighten just a bit when he reads the "team leader" badge over Jared's right vest pocket. It's a reaction that Jared sees more than he'd like: that look of 'Oh thank God, someone else is here to come up with all the answers.' He supposes it's a normal human reaction to a crisis. You're either the one with the clear head trying to figure out a good plan or you're the one rocking back and forth in the corner waiting for the first guy to devise an exit strategy. It's why he started his search team to begin with - he wanted to put at least some part of his training to good use since the government didn't seem to want or need his skills anymore.

"We'll need to see any plans you have and any information on where your guys were at the time of the collapse." Another hour passes before the fire department is able to put out the flames, giving Jared and his team ample time to plan, but also shortening the survival window for anyone trapped. If they're going to get everyone out safe, they have to be quick and thorough.

"Jim, take Miller and Barnes with you and check out the southwest corner of the building. Conroy thinks his crew was headed in that direction when the shit hit the fan. The charges on all floors above the fifth have gone off, and I'm told they sent the team in to disable the rest. We don't know how far they got, so be very careful. The minute something feels wrong, get the hell out. I don't want to add to a body count. Cooper and I will go through what's left of the southeast corner and work towards the middle until we get to you. Fire captain said the fire's out, but some of the exposed steel and concrete is still going to be hot, and there are still places where we'll find standing water. There shouldn't be any exposed electrical or power going to the site, but then again, the gas main wasn't supposed to be hot either.” He takes a breath and watches as the rest of the team uses the pause to center themselves.

“Alright, now that we've gotten the lecture out of the way, everyone check your equipment, and let's get started."



"Do you really think we're going to find these guys alive?" Cooper asks, slightly out of breath.

They're covered in concrete dust, soot and sweat as they climb further into the remains of the building. Jared wants to be anywhere else, but they've got a job to finish before he can even think of climbing into his shower. The steam coming off the still-smoldering support beams is starting to make Jared feel like he's in a rain forest. Only thing they're missing is a giant snake slithering through the rubble and plotting to eat them.

"I hope so, but we gotta be prepared for anything. How's Angie doing? She ready to have that baby yet?"

"She's been ready for the past three months, man. Hates being home on bed rest, not to mention feeling like everyone thinks she's as big as our house." Cooper laughs and ducks under a hanging section of ventilation conduit.

"Couple more weeks, and it'll all be worth it, Coop. You guys thought of a name, yet?" Jared asks. He's not usually one for inane conversation when they're on the job like this, but he can tell Cooper is spooked. He figures, if he can keep Cooper's mind on something other than the hellish space they're currently in, it's worth it.

“Ya know, Jared is a pretty strong name for a kid.” Jared jokes, smiling at Cooper over his shoulder.

"How 'bout you, Jared?" He's in the middle of crawling over a large chunk of what he assumes was a stairwell when Jim's voice comes over the radio. A glance back shows that Cooper is about five feet behind, something underfoot catching his attention.

"I'm here, Jim. What's up?"

"We got all seven of our guys here. One's pretty busted up, but we got lucky this time." He's not sure why, but instead of being elated by the news, his stomach feels uneasy. Delays aside, something about this mission has seemed too simple up to this point.

"Finally, something goes our way. Alright, Cooper and I are heading in your direction. You and Miller work on getting everyone out and send Barnes to get a medic for the injury."

"You got...boss. See...the flip..." The feedback in Jared's ear is enough to make a dog twitch.

"Jim? You guys okay?"

"Jesus! Jared, look out!"

"Boss!" Everyone starts yelling over the comms link at once, and the hair on the back of Jared's neck stands on end.

"Cooper!" He turns around in time to see the floor beneath Cooper give way, before the dust clouds his vision and he starts his own free fall.



Lot's of things in life are painful, and Jared's pretty sure he's felt his fair share. There were the normal bumps and bruises of a hyperactive childhood as well as the sprains and concussions thanks to high school sports. Black eyes and busted knuckles were the companions of his bar fighting days and the odd collection of knife and bullet wounds come courtesy of the War on Terror's finest. But the pain he feels settling deep into his bones the further his brain climbs towards consciousness...this pain definitely takes top honors.

His chest feels like it's on fire, and he's pretty sure from the pain lancing his right side every time he takes a breath, he's got at least one broken rib poking into his lung. He can deal with pain, though. It gives him something to focus on, something to keep him from freaking out completely and going into shock.

Looking around, Jared can't pinpoint where exactly he is in the rubble, only that he's laying half under a slab of concrete. Last he remembers, he was on what was left of the third floor when the yells came over the radio, and the world beneath his and Cooper's feet ceased to exist. After that, he couldn't hear anything over the rush and roar of crumbling concrete and steel. Now, all he can hear is the rasping of his own breath and the occasional piece of debris scraping down from above. The air around him is eerily calm in a way he hasn't felt since he was in Kandahar before the first IED of the ambush blew right in front of their Humvee.

“Time to assess the situation, Padalecki. Gotta give them enough information to be able to find you in this mess.”

There are remnants of support beams that the demo group had tagged with explosive locations, but most of them are lying on the ground around him, useless in helping him pinpoint his whereabouts. His comm link is spotty, so he can't even guarantee that once he figures out where he is the rest of the team will be able to hear him if he uses the radio.

His last hope is the GPS beacon tucked into his pocket. It's not until he's got the device pulled free and activated that he realizes he never felt his fingers groping for it in his pocket; he can't feel anything below the broken ribs moving against each other in his chest. His breathing speeds up and black spots begin to edge out the light spaces in his vision. A noise penetrates the fog in his brain and he turns his head to the left. He sees what might be the shape of a work boot closing in on his temple before it all goes black.



Jared wakes in stages throughout the course of a day.

Sound is the first thing to penetrate the haze of drugs and confusion. Machines beep and whir around him, and their constant white noise lulls him back into unconsciousness.

The second time he wakes, it's to the hushed voices of his parents speaking to who he assumes is hospital staff. He tries to open his eyes, move a finger, do something to get their attention, but his body isn't ready to expend that kind of energy, at the moment. His mind again slides towards unconsciousness just as easily as it surfaced.

By late afternoon, Jared is finally able to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. He's in a bland hospital room like any other with its pastel painted walls, floral décor and cheerful sign-age meant to put patients at ease while giving them a chance to recover. His mother is sitting next to the window, reading through an old copy of Good Housekeeping, and looks almost swallowed up by the sheer number of flowers, cards and balloons wishing him well. It's been months since he's seen his parents, but Jared's sure his Momma didn't have those worry lines ingrained on her forehead before.

"Ma." When he speaks, his voice grates like a rusty hinge, but his Momma acts like it's the greatest thing she's ever heard. Then again, if he looks anything like he feels, Jared thinks maybe there's a good reason for the look on her face. She's across the room and at his bedside faster than Jared's eyes can track her.

"Oh thank God! Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?"

"Hurts..." She smiles at that and presses the call button for a nurse.

"That was a stupid question wasn't it, baby? We'll ask the nurse if you can have anything more for the pain when she gets here." His Momma sits on his bed. Her fingers are stroking idly at an exposed area of skin in a soothing gesture, when it hits him. He can see her hand on his knee - is watching her move her back and forth without thought.

He just can't feel them.

He inhales sharply, too much air at once forcing his lungs to expand painfully under ribs still healing. The pain steals his breath, becomes a blinding hot ball of pressure in his chest as his doctor and a nurse rush into the room. Above the noise of his doctor shouting orders and the screech of alarms, he can hear his mother's concerned voice. He has enough time to think he'd rather be deaf than paralyzed before the searing pain draws him back into oblivion.

The next time Jared wakes, his doctor explains that they've kept him heavily sedated for a week to allow his myriad of broken bones to begin the healing process.

”Now that you're awake and aware, I'd like to speak to you about your injuries and current condition. Do you mind if I have a seat?” Dr. Adams snags the chair Jared's Momma has appropriated as her own for the duration of Jared's stay at the hospital. Jared gives him a blank look before turning his attention back toward the view outside his window.

“Do what you want, Doc. I certainly won't be able to stop you.”

“We were able to repair the damage to your right leg. It took us a few pins and a titanium rod, but it should heal completely and be fully functional when it does.”

Jared snorts and shakes his head upon hearing that oh so optimistic news. “Fully functional? Good one, Doc. Did you forget that I can't seem to feel a damn thing below my belly button?”

“Your spinal cord is completely intact, Jared. I've spoken with my colleagues and the general consensus seems to be that you're suffering from temporary paralysis due to severe nerve compression. Your MRI films show total collapse of most of the disks in your lower back. Considering the ruins where you were found, you're very lucky the crush injuries weren't worse. Surgery to remove the portions of the disks pressing against the nerve root seems like a very viable option now. We wanted to wait until you were healed and had enough control of your faculties to make an informed decision.”

“Why even wait to ask me? Why not just go ahead and fix things when you were already rooting around in my leg fixing that? Seems to me like it'd make more sense to do everything at once.”

“It's not that simple, Jared. At this point, the disks could recover on their own. If we were to perform a procedure on this scale and something went wrong, the paralysis could become permanent. We'd much rather the patient in question make an informed decision after they've been told about the risks and benefits.”

“If I choose not to have the surgery, what are my chances of spontaneous recovery?” Jared asks, though he's fairly certain he already knows the answer.

“With an injury as traumatic as yours, I'd say less than ten percent. Removing the portions of disk causing the problem greatly increases your chances of recovering motor function.”

“Consider this me giving you my informed consent. I'd like to go ahead with the surgery.” Jared replies.

So there's a titanium rod in his right leg where his femur used to be, he's scheduled for yet another major surgery, and it still hurts to breathe too deeply, but Jared's lucky to be alive.

That's what they all tell him.

Lucky he was standing in the one part of the building where the charges beneath his feet malfunctioned. Lucky he wasn't any closer to Cooper than he actually was. Dr. Adams explains that it was quick, and he didn't feel a thing - likely never knew what was happening. While he's thankful that Cooper didn't experience any pain, Jared highly doubts that he was completely unaware. If the platitude is a hollow comfort for him, he's sure that it's worse for Cooper's wife. He feels like it's almost better he missed the services, because if he were Angie, he'd definitely be blaming himself for Cooper's death.



Eight weeks after the accident and Jared's broken bones are well on their way to being completely healed. The body cast his Momma nicknamed Yurtle the Turtle is no longer his constant companion. He's positively itching to get out of the damned hospital and back to his apartment, surrounded by his own things. He's also pretty sure the dogs are going nuts wondering why he hasn't come home. Jared wouldn't put it past Harley to eat all his furniture out of spite for abandoning him, and he can just imagine the forlorn look on Sadie's face. Dr. Adams was in just that morning to speak to Jared about his time table for release, but the information he shared wasn't exactly what Jared wanted to hear.

"You're healing up amazingly well considering the accident that brought you here. You'll have to take it easy on your ribs and that leg for a while longer, but I have no doubt they'll be fully healed soon enough." Dr Adams says, flipping through Jared's chart and making notes

"While that's all well and good, Doc, I'm more interested on when you think I'll be up and walking again."

"I'll be straight with you, Jared. If the swelling goes down and there is a minimal amount of scar tissue formation, then yes, you'll be able to walk again. The discs in your back took a beating and even though we were able to stabilize the worst of the damage, everything is still swollen. The compression of the nerves in your lower spine will very likely cause permanent nerve damage. Temporary paralysis is tricky and rarely heals itself like we think it should. Can it happen? Yes, but, your range of motion could be limited and you'll most likely have a very pronounced limp for the rest of your life. It doesn't change the fact that you'll still need to learn how to get around and do everyday tasks with the help of a wheelchair since it's your main mode of transportation. I'm going to set you up at Green Haven. The staff there is better suited to working with the younger set in need of intense physical rehab."

"What's the point of going to rehab if everyone thinks I'm going to be a cripple the rest of my life?"

"I get that you're angry, Jared - "

"Don't you dare tell me that you get it! You have no idea what this is like...to have your own body fail you like this. You're perfectly capable of walking out of this room and going home to your normal life. I can't even make it to the bathroom to piss by myself." Jared snaps back, well aware that he's almost shouting.

"Like it or not, this is your life now, Jared. I'm not trying to be harsh, but you need to understand that your life as you knew it before is gone. Your body can only heal so fast and so far. The therapists at Green Haven are your best bet to getting part of your previous life back. I've arranged for a transport to pick you up this afternoon so that you can see the facility and decide if you want to keep with the program. In my professional opinion, this is your best option."

A small part of him knows that Adams is right, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. When the orderly comes around a few hours later, Jared grudgingly accepts his help sliding into his designated, albeit hated, wheelchair.



"Hospital set up a new patient appointment for you this afternoon. Referring doc thinks you may be the only one here to get through to the guy." Deacon says in lieu of a normal greeting as Jensen waves his badge at the card reader.

“Great, just when I was hoping to have an easy day.” Jensen knows he shouldn't be thinking that way, but at eight o'clock, it already feels like it's been a long morning. He was late getting in to work because his normal train was late getting into the station. Something about problems earlier that morning further up the track setting everyone back half an hour. Nodding at the guard on duty, Jensen tucks his badge into his bag while trying not to spill his coffee.

"Why am I always the miracle worker here? I think it's about time you all start picking up the slack." Jensen says it jokingly, but there's some truth to it. Jensen gets an awful lot of cases that are emotionally trying. Then again, Deacon is right. A lot of the guys they see here are soldiers sent to their doorstep when places like Walter Reed can't or won't help them anymore because a new shipment of broken men have arrived home. They feel a kinship with Jensen once they hear the story that brought him to the facility. Director Shepard has told him over and over that it's not necessarily a good idea to get emotionally invested with the patients that move through these halls, but he can't help it. Sometimes you just have to trade battle scar stories to crack the ice. And Jensen's always believed that healing the body isn't helpful if the mind controlling it is still twisted and broken.

"Regular comedian you are, Ackles," Deacon says, sliding the new guy's chart across the desk. Jensen spends the next forty-five minutes reading through the stack of notes from various doctors and psychiatric consultants.

Padalecki, Jared, thirty-four-year-old former Army Green Beret. Given an honorable discharge after a mission in Kandahar went sideways and injuries damaged peripheral vision in his right eye. Was part of a SAR mission gone wrong when the recent injuries happened: three broken ribs, a punctured lung, shattered right femur and knee, compression of the lower spine resulting in the bulging of all five lumbar disks against the spinal cord. Adamantly refuses to speak with his appointed psychiatrist.

There is a note scribbled at the bottom of the patient's chart by the doctor referring him to Green Haven stating that he'd like for Jensen specifically to work the case due to "patient's attitude problems." He's definitely going to have his work cut out for him on this case. The injuries to the right leg alone are enough to make therapy a challenge.



Jensen's sitting at his desk closing out patient files when a knock on his office door startles him. By the way his stomach was growling, he half expects it to be Deacon asking him if he's ready to hit the deli down the street for lunch. A quick glance at the clock tells him lunch passed by about two hours ago.

"Mr. Ackles? There's a patient by the name of Jared Padalecki waiting for you in the consult room." It's his secretary, Mrs. Sylvia Titherington. Jensen is the only staff member allowed to call her by anything other than her full name. Deacon claims it's because Sylvia is just waiting for the right moment to ditch Mr. Titherington and run away with Jensen. Jensen knows it's because he makes sure to leave a package of sugar-free Andes Mints on her desk every Monday morning.

"Thanks, Syl." Jensen replies. "Could you show him to room three and tell him that I'll be there in a few minutes? I've just got a couple things to finish here."

"No problem." Sylvia tells him, walking back towards the outer office. Jensen uses the few minutes he's bought himself to wolf down a power bar and look over Jared's file again. The first visit is usually spent asking what happened to lead the patient to him and what goals they'd like to set as far as recovery is concerned. If he's honest with himself, he doesn't think that they'll be setting any benchmarks today. Jensen has a pretty good feeling that he's going to have to convince Jared rehab is a good idea. Closing the folder, Jensen stands up and stretches out his legs, skin pulling taut over cramped muscles that have spent too much time in one position. By the time he walks the thirty odd yards from his office to the consultation room, the limp in his gait is hardly noticeable.

He stands outside the door for a few moments before making his presence known and takes the time to study his new patient. His brown hair looks rather unkempt, but that could just be a function of nature as much as it could be the result of Jared simply not caring about his appearance. His broad shoulders are curled in and Jensen is pretty sure that the spot on the floor his new patient is staring at isn't that exciting. Even with Jared slumped down in the wheelchair, Jensen can tell the dude is tall and lanky.

“It's a wonder the guy can control those long limbs on a good day.” Jensen thinks. He takes a deep breath and knocks gently before entering the room. Jared lifts his head at the noise, and Jensen has to tell himself not to cringe at the listless look on the other man's face. His hazel eyes are devoid of any emotion, and his lips are pressed into a grim line.

"Good afternoon, you must be Jared," Jensen says, letting the door close behind him with a near silent click.

"You usually make a point of stating the obvious?"

“This is going to be a blast,” Jensen thinks, ignoring the remark, and sits down on the stool across from Jared's chair.

"My name is Jensen -- "

"Great, so we know who we are. Is there a point to this?" Jared asks, voice full of anger and annoyance while his expression never changes. Jensen stands abruptly, tossing the manila folder down onto the counter with a loud thwack.

"Do you want to be here, Jared, or are you just here because Dr. Adams made the appointment and told you to come? I'm here to help you, man, but you've got to want to get better." Jensen tells him, just barely resisting the urge to pace in the small room.

"Better...right. Cause you giving me some trite pep talk is going to make me normal again. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a cripple. I can't feel my legs and I'm pretty sure that means I won't be getting better any time soon. I think my doctor just sent me here as a last ditch effort to pacify me and force me to learn how to get around in this chair. From where I'm stand... From where I'm sitting, that's not really getting better. That's just making do." Jared says angrily. At least his reply lets Jensen know Jared's capable of showing emotion and isn't completely apathetic.

"You were on a mission in Afghanistan when you were injured the first time, correct? Debris damaged your right eye?" Jensen asks with a sigh, feeling like he running out of ways to get through to this particular patient. Jared cocks his head and looks at Jensen a long moment before answering.

"Yeah, I was. I don't see what this visit has to do with my time overseas, though." Jared responds. Jensen motions Jared out of the consult room and waits as he slowly maneuvers the chair into the hall.

“This way,” Jensen says walking a few steps behind Jared, ready to guide the chair if need be, as they slowly make their way down to the center's weight room. He holds one of the swinging double doors aside as Jared wheels through and lets it swish closed behind them.

"How many soldiers did you see torn apart by enemy fire?" Jensen asks, and the puzzled look on Jared's face slides into anger before Jared again masks all emotion.

"That's not really something I care to talk about."

“Of course not,” Jensen thinks, “no one ever really likes talking about that aspect of war.”

“Look around and tell me what you see, Jared.” Jensen says in a quiet tone, almost as if he doesn't want to speak too loudly for fear of interrupting the people working around them.

“I see people using exercise equipment. Do I get a gold star every time I give you the right answer?” Jared asks, defiant look firmly in place.

Jensen huffs out a breath and shakes his head.

“If I promise to give you a pony, will you actually do what I ask instead of being a jerk for the sake of being a jerk?” He waits while Jared pokes at the tire of his chair before finally nodding his head, yes.

“Good, now look and tell me what you actually see going on around you.”

There's a woman on the far side of the room running on an elliptical, prosthetic leg not slowing her down in the slightest. Two guys are in front of the mirrors lifting free weights, one of them is missing the last two fingers of his left hand; the other is missing an eye. Every person working in the room is sporting the closely cropped hair of the armed services, and Jared realizes they're all either active duty or veterans.

“Walking wounded,” Jared whispers to himself.

“You think anyone here calls themselves 'cripple'? Unfortunate? Yes. Wounded? You bet. You wanna know what most of them say when we ask them to sum up what they are?” He steps up beside Jared, arms crossed over his chest and catches Jared's eye in the mirror facing them. “Survivor.”

“I get that a really shitty thing happened to you, Jared. I honestly do. But you can't keep thinking your life from here on out is going to suck royally. Dr. Adams sent you for physical therapy to help you learn to live with your injuries. He didn't suggest it because he wants you to think that you're a cripple who's never going to get a normal existence back. We can help you out, Jared, but you have to want the help. Stop being afraid that your life ended when your legs stopped working.” Jared's gaze slides away from Jensen's in the mirror and settles on the carpeting. It reminds Jensen of the look his brother used to get when his Grandmother caught Josh sneaking cookies off the cooling rack.

“You don't need to decide anything right now. I know that Doc Adams is looking to keep you at the hospital for at least the rest of the week. You think you want to go through with therapy, we'll have a room waiting for you. It's a lot to take in all at once; that's why he just sent you over for a consultation, right now.”

“You gonna be behind me every step of the way?” Jared asks, looking up and Jensen is happy to see that his eyes have lost the dull sheen of not caring.

“If you decide that you want to do therapy here, you're going to be stuck with me. As of right now, I'm your sole caseworker. Think you can deal with that?”

“Yeah...yeah, I think I can deal just fine,” Jared replies. Jensen smirks, hand coming up to rest on Jared's shoulder as he leans down to speak directly in his ear.

“Good to hear, soldier, 'cause I've been told I'm a hard ass. You're not getting off lightly.”



Spending the afternoon at Green Haven is one hell of a wake up call for Jared. Much as he hates to admit it, everyone's been right about his bad attitude. The therapist assigned to him for the length of his stay at Kingston Regional told him it was normal to feel angry about his situation. That it's difficult to learn your independence has been taken away in the blink of an eye. Jared told her he thought she was full of shit, and just trying to tell her appointed patients what most of them wanted to hear to make themselves feel better made her a rather horrible therapist. Not surprisingly, he hasn't seen her since. And really, it was never his intention to make her cry; that was just an added bonus. One that made him feel slightly better while at the same time making him feel worse since his Momma heard about the incident.

His parents have been his only visitors at the hospital for the past few weeks, and most of the staff members spend as little time as humanly possible in his room tending to his needs. They liken him to a large bear with a trap stuck firmly on one paw. His father calls him an ornery son of a bitch. He's willing to bet that if he were an eighty-year-old man, they'd just be calling him stubborn and offer him more jello just to shut him up.

“You gonna sit in a corner and sulk for all eternity now?” Jared tenses up at the voice and turns to face its owner, sub par hospital dinner forgotten on the tray in front of him.

“Jim? What the hell are you doing here, man?” This is the first time Jared's seen Jim since the day of the accident. He knows, mainly because his Momma told him, that Jim stopped by a couple times during the first few days Jared was in the hospital, but he was still in and out of consciousness at the time.

“Well I figured since my business partner wasn't answering any of my calls, I'd have to come down and speak to him, face to face. You know, like real men do? But hey, if you'd rather eat your green jello in the dark, that's all up to you.” Jim says, leaning against the door to Jared's room with a look on his face that's a mixture of pissed off and concerned.

“I'm really not much of a partner anymore, am I, Jim? I can't be there with you in the field. I just, I don't have anything to offer the team.”

“Bullshit! You've got the most experience and expertise out of all of us and you know it. You're hiding behind your injury and your misplaced guilt that you're somehow responsible for Cooper. Newsflash, Jared! The demolition company is responsible for what happened to the two of you. Course, if you'd have answered any of the fifty or so phone calls I made, you'd know that already,” Jim says angrily.

“Conroy can't be held responsible for the faulty charges his supplier gave him.” Jared counters.

“There wasn't a damn thing wrong with the charges. You remember the head count they gave us when we showed up that day, Jared? Two men unaccounted for and another seven that were sent to figure out what went wrong? We all just assumed that something had happened to the other two guys. Turns out they have a nasty history with other contractors and probably sabotaged the job for someone who wanted that bid.”

Jared shakes his head, hand running over his face in a weary gesture. It's been a long day and all he wants right now is to sleep. “I know there's more we need to talk about, Jim, but can it wait 'til tomorrow or something? It's been a really long day, and I'm not sure I can wrap my head around half the stuff you're trying to tell me right now.”

“Naw, it's alright, Jared. I understand. Just don't go into total radio silence again.” Jim reaches out, clapping a hand down on Jared's shoulder. It's a move that reminds Jared of his father when Jared woke up stateside for the first time after the IED attack. Neither Jared nor his father realized at the time how much that comforting and grounding touch was needed. Jared thinks Jim feels the same way.



He's standing in the midst of all the wreckage, looking at the same piece of stairwell and trying to decide the best way over it when he hears something scuff the ground behind him.

“I thought this was supposed to be a recovery mission, Boss?” He turns around to find Cooper standing behind him: at least who he assumes is Cooper. His neck is sitting at an unnatural angle, his right cheekbone sunken into his face, the eye bloodshot and distorted in its socket.

“Cooper. God...”

“Everyone goes home safe, right? That's the way it was supposed to go. Guess you got that one wrong, huh? Went and added to that body count, anyway. Even after you said to get the hell out if something didn't feel right.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“You're sorry? What the hell makes you so damn special? I had a family depending on me! But you're the one who went home. Why?”

“I don't...I don't know, Cooper.” Jared takes a step back as the figure before him steps closer, and Jared hears a soft click, like that of a pressure sensor on a land mine.

“Quit fucking up your second chance, Jared. You best get your shit together before the big guy upstairs decides he was wrong about you.”

Jared wakes up in a cold sweat and reaches for the lamp on his bedside table. It's too bad the last vestiges of his dream can't be banished by the flood of light around the room as easily as the shadows.



Every morning, it's the same routine.

Alarm goes off at five, screeching the morning traffic report into his ear before his hand slips out from under the sheets to smack at the snooze button. Six times out of seven, he's successful at silencing the noise and slipping right back into nine more minutes of blissful slumber. Today is not one of those days.

His bladder and the alarm clock have teamed up against him to get him out of bed at five sharp. He walks to the bathroom half asleep, fumbles his dick out of his boxers, one-handed, and aims for the toilet. His other hand lazily scrubs at his five o'clock shadow, contemplating if he can get away with not shaving this morning. Shepard would probably have a fit, because he showed up to work looking less than clean cut, but he can't really bring himself to care at this point. If he skips shaving and takes an incredibly quick shower, he can crawl back into bed to get another twenty minutes of sleep.

"Dude, you communing with the toilet gods or something? Cause other people have to piss, and you're standing in the way." Jensen jumps at the voice behind him and smacks his shin off the porcelain bowl. You'd think it would be rather difficult to forget that he's not the only one needing to use the bathroom in the morning. He's only had a roommate for the last two years. He should be used to sharing his space.

Truth is, he still hasn't completely grasped the concept. His shrink had warned him it might take a while for his subconscious to fully accept having someone else living with him. Much as Jensen loves having Deacon around, sometimes it just drives him nuts having a person not Jensen living in his little corner of the world.

"Son of a bitch! Deacon, what did I tell you about sneaking up on me?"

"I can't help it, man.” Deacon replies. “You make it so easy sometimes. Now get the hell out of my way or I'll piss on your feet." Jensen shakes off and elbows Deacon out of the way, reaching into the shower to turn the tap.

"I need to rethink this whole roommates thing again, don't I? I should have listened to my sister when she told me it was a bad idea." Jensen grouses, shucking his boxers and tossing them towards the hamper. He climbs under the spray before the water has a chance to warm completely.

"She only told you it was a bad idea because you had to open your mouth and tell her we used to sleep together. This is all on you." And Jensen knows that Deacon has a point. There was a time not too long ago that Jensen and Deacon had a completely different kind of relationship. One that Jensen hadn't even realized he needed until it happened. Now though? It's all friendship, even if Jensen can't figure out why they get along so well.

"Hey, you don't shut your mouth, I'm calling INS and having them deport your little Puerto Rican ass, Deac." Deacon flushes the toilet and Jensen yelps as the water turns down-right frigid.

"Too bad for you I'm a full fledged US citizen. But hey, threaten all you want, man. I like it when you're feisty. Breakfast's, in twenty so if you're going to shave and rub one out, make it quick. I have no problem letting your bacon get cold." Jensen's not sure what it says about their relationship that he's neither surprised by the comment nor the slap on the ass he receives as Deacon makes his way out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen.

Reaching for the shampoo, Jensen realizes that his brain didn't send him into a completely overblown fight or flight reaction when startled out of its train of thought by Deacon. Lathering up his hair, Jensen thinks that maybe he's making more progress than he originally thought. A few years ago, he'd be hard pressed to even let someone else into his personal space.

"Post traumatic stress disorder isn't something only soldiers and abuse victims get to deal with. Even though you weren't the intended target, the car bombing and your subsequent injuries have caused a stress reaction and coping mechanisms to develop in your subconscious. That need you feel for complete control? It's tied to the fact that you didn't have control over the explosion or what happened to you directly after. It's not unheard of for someone to develop obsessive compulsive type habits. Developing a strict routine is calming for the mind because there is a definite order to it. It's something that you've planned and that you can choose to alter. The hope here is that therapy will help you decrease the need for these habits."

Jensen makes a mental note to tell his therapist about this little breakthrough.



February 2007

First night by himself in his new city found Jensen staring at the empty walls of his apartment. He'd gotten the okay from the Super to change it the way he liked, but he felt he needed to set the place up before he decided on paint colors. Not such a great idea, in hindsight. He was stuck painting around his furniture and hoping he didn't spill anything on his hard wood floors where his bath towels, turned makeshift drop cloths, couldn't cover.

He met Deacon completely by chance that night, when one of his neighbors on the fourth floor thought it would be a good idea to smack around his wife. All of Jensen's training kicked in, when he heard the first yell for help, and he ran up the flight of stairs to see what could be done. He was surprised to find someone already there banging on the door and trying to get the husband's attention. Fortunately, the police showed up right after Jensen, and the situation was diffused. But statements had to be given, and, while they were waiting, small talk was made. Jensen found out Deacon lived in a crappy duplex across town and just happened to be apartment sitting for a friend, Mark, who lived across the hall from the guy in need of anger management courses.

“Not that I mind doing it, though, because the bank's about to foreclose on my building, since my landlord would rather spend his money supporting his crack habit than actually paying the mortgage on his property. I'm telling you, man, if I had the capital, I'd totally buy the place out from under him and fix it up right. Guess it's just not in the cards for me, at this point. So, long story short, I'll be homeless within the next three months, and I can't find a new place to save my life. I'll probably just end up sleeping on Mark's couch until something in my price range opens up. How long have you lived here? I don't think I've seen you in the building before?” Jensen laughs softly, shaking his head at the word-vomit that just left the other man's mouth.

“I finished moving in my stuff two days ago. I was trying to figure out what to do with my boring white walls when the shit hit the fan up here. I'm Jensen, by the way. Jensen Ackles.” He offers his hand, and, while Deacon grasps it, Jensen can see a flicker of recognition on his face.

“Ackles, huh? You wouldn't happen to start working over at Green Haven on Monday, would you?”

“Yeah, why? You a patient there or something?” Jensen's slightly confused now and more than a little suspicious thanks to all those years spent with the Diplomatic Security Service.

“Or something. See you around, Jensen.” Deacon smirks, drops Jensen's hand, and turns back towards his borrowed apartment, where one of the officers is waiting for him.

“Hey, do I even get a name?” The door closes in Jensen's face as another officer asks to speak with him about what he saw. It's not until a week later that Jensen finally gets to find out who Deacon actually is.



Jensen's spent most of his day planning out Jared's PT regimen for the next month at Green Haven. He's got a good balance between strength training and expansion of motion range, but things may shift once Jared meets his body's limitations. God knows Jensen figured out his own pretty quickly after the accident. While Jared isn't the only patient in his care at the time, he will require the most extensive use of Jensen's energy and skill. Luckily, most of Jensen's patients are at the point where they're ready to transition to Deacon's department for therapy of the preventative maintenance variety.

His stomach growls rather loudly, and he looks up at the clock, realizing that he missed not only lunch, but dinner as well. Jensen finishes the last bit of paperwork required to get Jared set up in his room, tucks his things into his messenger bag, and grabs his keys. Once his office is locked, he just needs to drop the stack of papers off with the duty nurse, and he'll be home free.

“Jensen, could I talk to you for a minute?” He's almost out the door when Shepard's voice reaches him. He turns around, and finds her standing just outside her office. She's wearing what Jensen and Deacon call her 'You've been a bad puppy and now I need to discipline you by rubbing your nose in it' face. That doesn't usually bode well for anyone, and Jensen has a feeling he knows what this little tête à tête is going to entail.

“Sure, Director.” He slowly makes his way into her office and swears she makes a point of brushing up against his ass as he squeezes by her in the doorway. He watches as she closes the door and walks around her desk, waiting to sit until after she motions toward the chair across from her.

“Sylvia tells me you've taken on a new patient.” Shepard says in a grating tone.

“And here we go.”

“I did. Dr. Adams sent the referral to me, and after seeing the kid, I think I can help him. I already feel like I got through to him yesterday afternoon. He just needed a little push to see that being stuck in a wheelchair isn't all gloom and doom.” Jensen replies, already trying to figure out a way to end this meeting as quickly as possible.

“I'm concerned by the way you form such attachments to the patients here, Jensen. Surely there is a way that you can provide adequate therapy and care without becoming the best of friends with every case you work.”

“With all due respect, Director, I don't believe me forming a bond with the patients in my care in any way undermines their treatment. I thought the whole point of this center was to help these people get their lives back after sustaining an injury. Don't you think seeing a friendly face when you come here for therapy would make you want to come back and stick with the program? Especially on days when you feel like it's not going to get any better?”

“To the best of my knowledge, Jensen, your degree is in physical therapy and physiology, not psychology.” Jensen bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that her degree is in business management and nothing more. His Blackberry chirps from its place in his bag, and Jensen makes a grab for it, happy to see that it's Deacon, wondering what he wants to do for dinner. It's as good an excuse as any to get the hell out of his current conversation.

“If you have no formal objection to me taking on this patient, then I'm going to assume that this meeting is over, and I can leave. I have an appointment I need to keep across town.” Without waiting for a reply, Jensen stands, collects his bag, and makes his way out of Shepard's office. He turns back when he reaches the door.

“Like it or not, Director Shepard, the Board hired me because of my ability to connect with and understand tough patients: something this facility was lacking after you decided to let go of my predecessor.” The fake smile leaves her face instantly. Satisfied that his little barb met its intended target, Jensen leaves Shepard alone to nurse her wounded pride. He makes a mental note to speak to the Board members later in the week. He's going to have enough on his plate getting Jared settled into his new routine. The last thing he needs is Shepard breathing down his neck, because he just called her out on over stepping her bounds. Pulling the Blackberry out of his bag, Jensen thumbs through his contacts list until he reaches Deacon's number and tells it to dial. He doesn't wait long before the call connects on the other end.

“Deacon? Yeah, it's Jensen. Man, do I have a story for you. You mind going down to Ken's and picking up a sixer of Long Trail? Blackberry Wheat would be awesome if they have it. I'll stop at the store to get fixings for steak and homemade onion rings. Alright, I should be there in about 45 minutes if the trains are running on time. Don't drink all the beer before I get there, heathen.”



An hour and a half later finds Jensen and Deacon sprawled in the living room, empty plates and drained beer bottles on the coffee table in front of them. They're sitting on the couch watching the Yankees and Red Sox duke out yet another game in their eternal grudge match when Deacon's curiosity gets the better of him.

“So what's this story you have for me? And what the hell did you do to Shepard to make her hate you so much?”

“I swear, I'm so ready for this week to be over.” Jensen says, happy to just watch the game and keep his mind off this conversation completely, but Deacon won't let it go. To be fair, he still needs to tell Deacon about his confrontation with Shepard earlier in the evening.

“I mean, honestly. She acts like you piss in her Wheaties every morning. If I didn't know better, I'd think you two had history together.” Deacon continues, not giving Jensen a chance to switch the subject.

“Okay, that's just wrong. I'd appreciate it if you stopped thinking that, right now.” Jensen says with a shudder that's only partly for show.

“Fine. Tell me the real reason she's such an uptight bitch around you and I'll stop thinking that it's because she tried to get into your pants but failed to tap your cute little ass the right way.” Deacon persists. Jensen sets down his beer, turning his head towards Deacon and the game is forgotten.

“She's worried that she's going to lose her job to me. When Pearce first called to offer me a position at Green Haven, he gave me a choice between signing on as a therapist and signing on as Assistant Director. He didn't like the way Shepard was running things and was hoping he could groom me into taking over for her. I didn't want to play the middle management game, so I took the therapist route. Now she's trying to show that I “form inappropriate relationships with my patients that are detrimental to their recovery and well being.” So yeah, I guess you could say I pissed in her Wheaties without even trying. She cornered me as I was leaving the center this evening. Called me into her office like she was the principal and I was the student in need of a stern talking to.” Jensen huffs out a breath and runs a hand over his hair in a frustrated gesture.

“I politely tried to tell her that the Board of Directors gave me the position because they needed someone who wasn't either emotionally stunted or lacking the training to be a therapist. Maybe she feels threatened because she actually wants my job and knows that she'd never be able to do it. Fuck if I know.”

“Can I just say that I'm glad you decided against being my boss? It would have made the whole sleeping together thing just a bit difficult. I'd have grounds for sexual harassment.” Deacon says with a wink and Jensen reaches over to swat him upside the head.

“If I remember correctly, you're the one who backed me into the Men's room at that crap bar over on University and shoved a hand down my pants. I think that qualifies as sexual harassment no matter who's asking.”

“Dude, you can't count that at all since your reaction to my ball handling skill was to shove your tongue down my throat.” Deacon replies, making Jensen throw his head back with a laugh.

“Ball handling skill? Really? That what the kids are calling it these days Deac? I claim innocence due to being under extreme sexual duress. You just play a flat out dirty game of pool.”

“Aw, poor little corrupted Jensen. It was so much fun while we were at it, though. You have to at least give me that.”

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3