Nightmares... (fanfic)
Title: Nightmares… (Part 4 of Five Conversations)
Fandom/Genre: J2, angst, hurt/comfort
Pairing/Characters: Jared/Jensen, with mentions of Michael Weatherly, Jason Manns, Joanna Krupa, Christian Kane, OCs
Warnings: intense depiction of panic attack & PTSD, graphic violence, graphic language (of the hate-speech variety)
Rating: NC-17 (for violence and language)
Word Count: 5,135 (22,890 for all of Five Conversations)
Disclaimer: I own nothing; the characters belong to themselves, and this doesn’t reflect anyone’s true sexual orientation or any events that really happened; purely for entertainment purposes; no money is being made.
A/N: Part of my reallymet!verse; will be rather confusing if you haven’t read “The Story of How We (*really*) Met since this story references events of that story quite heavily. While some real people are portrayed as villains that is only for the purposes of this story. I bear them no ill-will and am sure they’re really quite nice and wonderful in real life. Also, I’m not a doctor, so I apologize for any medical mistakes in advance. Online research can only get one so far.
Summary: Most of the time these days Jensen’s got his panic disorder and PTSD under control. Except when he doesn’t, and then Jared takes care of him.
Nightmares… (Early September 2006)
Jensen was confused, unsure of where he was. The lights were harsh around him, sending down flashes in a rainbow of colors, but the room was dark. Dark, hot, sticky, with hundreds maybe thousands of bodies around him, jostling and writhing and humping to the music that was pounding and throbbing through the floor. It felt like the air was pulsating around him. Jensen felt naked, dressed only in torn jeans and a thin, mesh tank. He never dressed like this, not since, well… not since the first few times he’d gone to clubs in high school, slipping in with a fake ID still hating himself but desperate for anyone to make him feel like he was ok.
The bodies were pressed too close, no matter which way Jensen moved he couldn’t seem to get any space to himself. First they were just bumping him. Hips colliding with his, shoulders brushing, hands occasionally rubbing into him. But then it got more intense, someone rubbing up behind him, someone bigger, taller, their erection pressed tight against Jensen’s ass, prodding at the thin fabric of his jeans. Someone else’s ass was in his face, or it felt that way. There were other bodies closing in around him, squeezing tighter and tighter, closer and closer until he felt like there was no escape. If he was supposed to be having fun (that was what you did at clubs, no?) he sure wasn’t. Jensen felt trapped and claustrophobic. He could feel his stomach getting sick and his skin starting to crawl, could feel his pulse racing, his breath coming in shuddered gasps.
He lashed out, or close too it. Jensen was pushing at the bodies around him trying to shove them out of the way. He had almost gotten free when the man behind him’s arms closed around his waist, pulling Jensen back by the hips and holding him flush against the larger man’s body. The man’s hands made an unwanted pass at his crotch and stayed there, threatening Jensen with unwanted arousal if he stayed still, but pain if he moved.
A hot wet tongue worked its way up the back of his neck and breath felt heavy against his ear. “Where do you think you’re going, you little whore?” Michael’s voice sneered. “You’re mine to do with as I please, ‘cause you’re not worth anything to anyone else, you filthy, dirty little slut.”
Jensen froze. No, not Michael, not now… not here, where? Why am I with Michael… Jensen’s mind raced, unable to make sense of the circumstances or his surroundings. He could feel Michael’s breath on his neck, his sweat permeating the near nonexistent material of Jensen’s shirt. Strobe lights started flashing from somewhere making Jensen dizzier. He had to get away. Get away. Run. He didn’t belong here. He… there was somewhere better, safer, happier. He knew it. There was, wasn’t there? He had moved beyond this trap?
Michael’s hands pulled Jensen tighter to his body, one hand reaching up to squeeze Jensen’s nipples through the mesh, the other working at his belt struggling to cram itself down the front of Jensen’s jeans.
Jensen couldn’t take it any more, he twisted and thrashed, trying to pull away. The hands gripped him tighter, pulling, hurting, and he heard Michael’s voice shout after him, “run and I’ll release those pictures of you looking like the little home-wrecking faggoty slut you are.”
Jensen finally pulled free, feeling the mesh of his shirt tear on something-maybe Michael’s watch?-leaving Jensen feeling terribly exposed and naked. He pushed through the bodies around them, slipping in the sweat and spilled drinks that seemed to cover the floor, losing his balance when the strobe lights made it difficult to see. People kept slamming into him, tripping him, sometimes grabbing, sometimes shouting. Over the din he heard Michael’s voice, twisted to sounding almost evil like a monster shout after him.
“You know I hired that photographer! There was never anyone really blackmailing us except for me. I needed an excuse to get rid of you, but then you ruined my relationship to Jessica anyway. You manipulative little twink; you’re not worth anything, anything you hear me!?”
Jensen moved faster twisting and pushing and slipping his way through the crowd until he reached a door. He was pretty sure Michael kept on screaming, but his ears just couldn’t take in anymore. Fuck Michael, he didn’t care what he said, he didn’t care whether Michael had hired the photographer or not. He was worth more, he wasn’t going to listen to… He had shoved the door open with a bang and discovered it opened into a dark, damp alley. Rain was pouring down running in little rivulets along the pavement next to the building. There were a few large steel dumpsters to the left of the door, and some discarded bottles littering the ground. It all felt so crushingly, paralyzingly, terrifyingly familiar. I’ve been here before… This is where…
Jensen couldn’t finish processing the thought, because somehow his legs had carried him out of the door, and the door had closed behind him with a resounding clang. He was standing in the alley way, and the world seemed to be spinning around him. “No, no, no, no, no, not here, it can’t be, why…” Jensen was only vaguely aware of his murmuring. Nothing seemed right. How could he be back here again? Why was he with Michael? How could-
Slam!
Something hit Jensen’s head, but seemingly from the left this time. This wasn’t how it had happened, he had been with Jason and there had been…
Flash!
A camera flashed somewhere near him. It was just so suddenly bright he couldn’t see, the entire night sky seemed to light up with the flash. Then there was another. Another. Little flash recharging sounds coming from all around him. The light was on all sides, there wasn’t just one photographer, but dozens, maybe hundreds? He still couldn’t see his attacker.
Something hit Jensen again, slamming into his back. He tripped forward. Then someone else, someone with very, very pointy shoes kicked the back of his knees, sending him tumbling to the pavement on his hands, knees scraping through the tears in his jeans as he landed.
“You fucking liar! You don’t even know who you are… leading me on!” The words were bitter, high pitched, screaming, and followed by the distinct slimy wet feeling of spit landing in his eye. Joanna, that was her voice, and she wore high heels like that. But why…
“You didn’t listen to me Jensen. If you’d just been a good little cocksucker and done as I’d told, you’d have the whole world convinced you were a big, strong, straight man. Instead, you’re weak, and you embarrassed your poor dear grandmother. You’re going to be ruined!” That was Paula’s voice. Jensen could just barely make out her face through the flashing light. Her eyes were large and bloodshot, hair disheveled, her teeth bared, spittle flying, face almost purple with rage-absolutely terrifying. She was swinging something-a whiskey bottle-at his head, Jensen raised his arms to try to protect himself and felt the sharpness of glass slice through his arms, blood starting to flow towards his elbows, the impact knocking him over onto his side.
“No, wait, stop. I’m not like that. I’m sorry if I hurt you, sorry if I disappointed you, but I’m better now. It was a mistake,” Jensen heard himself pleading as he struggled to get to his feet. It felt like unseen attackers were punching and kicking at him from all directions. His head felt woozy, and he couldn’t focus from all the bright lights. He lashed out trying to kick and punch, attempting to deflect the blows with his bleeding arms. Everything hurt. It was all pain and bright and he wanted it to stop… but not like that, he wanted to get out of there. But there was no one coming to help him. He could feel his throat getting raw as he screamed for help, begging and pleading, but either no one heard him, or they all just wanted to watch.
“No, Jensen, no one’s going to help you. You deserve this for abandoning me when I most needed you, you selfish prick!” Jason loomed before him, hate in his eyes that Jensen had never seen before, not even at their lowest moment-then it had been disappointment and a hint of betrayal, but this was pure, unabashed hatred.
“I’m sorry, Jason, I’m sorry… I never meant to hurt you,” Jensen murmured. This didn’t make sense, hadn’t they apologized and forgiven each other, made up as friends? Jensen didn’t have much time to think though, because sheer terror gripped him, making his stomach roll and the blood chill in his veins. Jason was wielding a baseball bat and swinging it at Jensen. He dodged back, narrowly avoiding the first blow, feeling the swish of the air from the bat whizzing by. Too close. Too close. He dodged back again and again, each time the bat just missed. He was pretty sure he was still babbling and pleading for Jason to stop, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice over the pounding of blood in his ears. Finally, Jensen had backed himself all the way into the wall, by the dumpster, pinned, no where to retreat, just like it had been when he and Jensen had been bashed. Only this time Jason was attacking him, and there would be no way he could dodge… Jason raised the bat with disappointment and disgust in his eyes. Then it was swinging towards Jensen, bearing down with the force of a freight train, aimed smack at his head, as it hit, he screamed out…
And woke with a start, blood-curdling scream tearing itself from his throat. He sat bolt upright, completely disoriented.
He was alive, he was ok. Jensen looked down at his arms, no cuts or scars, just healthy, whole skin. His torso was naked, no remnants of torn mesh shirt in sight. He was wearing flannel pyjama bottoms which were now drenched with sweat, completely soaked through and clinging to his shaking frame. He could see tremors still racing up and down the muscles of his legs. Beyond that everything was fuzzy-because he wasn’t wearing his glasses. There were soaking wet sheets tangled around his knees and under his but, and he felt an equally damp pillow poking at his lower back. His pulse was racing, heart flip-flopping against his ribs, his breath coming in wheezy, strangled gasps, his head pounding in rhythm with his pulse. Everything felt numb and tingly. Panic attack. Nightmare, his mind oh-so-helpfully supplied. It had felt so real, so incredibly, incredibly real. He struggled to get his breathing under control, to relax against the tightness and pain in his chest, but it seemed almost impossible.
The world came back to him little by little, and he realized someone was calling his name, “Jen, Jen, baby, sweetie, Jensen, Jen, let me know if you’re ok, Jen,” a mantra repeated over and over again over his left shoulder. Who was? Jared, his panic-addled mind supplied. You’re in your bedroom with Jared, and you just had a nightmare. He swore his subconscious wanted to call himself an idiot.
He shakily raised a hand to acknowledge Jared’s calls, and then he felt his boyfriend crawling up next to him, his clothes seemingly drenched too, long limbs all folded up as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Jensen’s shaking body. Jensen still couldn’t make out what Jared was saying, but felt something scratchy being thrust against his shaking hands. His vision was tunneling, full of black spots, which on top of the lack of glasses was making it impossible to focus on anything. He tried to take a hold of whatever it was, but his fingers were too numb.
“Here, let me,” Jared murmured against his ear. Then Jared’s hands were pulling something scratchy to his face and covering his nose and mouth and Jensen was even more terrified-was Jared trying to smother him? He already couldn’t breathe.
“Jensen, it’s a paper bag, bag, breathe into it, breathe, just breathe baby. You’re hyperventilating,” Jared said, sounding panicky as he wrapped his larger frame around Jensen’s and held him steady. As Jensen’s breathing began to even out, he felt himself sagging against Jared’s warm, strong form. He felt drained, completely sapped of energy, even as the tingling numbness started to recede from his fingers and toes. The more he breathed into the bag the less dizzy he became, but everything still felt off, tilted, uneven.
“Are you with me?” Jared whispered into his ear.
Jensen nodded, not trusting himself to speak out loud.
“Ok,” Jared responded, nodding against Jensen’s shoulder. He paused his hands fluttering as if they wanted to wrap tighter around Jensen, but he was afraid.
Jensen thought back to what he now knew was the nightmare. Hands wrapping around him from behind, him lashing out… Oh god, did I hurt Jared? he wondered. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hurt someone during a nightmare, but that didn’t erase any of the guilt. And as far as he knew he’d only kind-of kicked Jared once from a nightmare, nothing that would make Jared hesitant to hold him. He knew deep down that it wasn’t his fault, that he had no control over how his unconscious mind perceived threats, but he felt so… dangerous, violent, damaged, wrong… He pulled Jensen’s arms around him with the hand that wasn’t clutching the paper back to his face. It was a small gesture but…
“It’s ok, baby, we’re ok, you’re ok,” Jared began repeating as his arms pulled Jensen closer.
Jensen finally felt safe, loved. He finally felt his heart rate start to slow down, some of the horrible pain and tightness loosening from his chest, making it easier to breathe. He was shaking all over, but Jared just let him lean on him, gladly taking all his weight.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, five, maybe ten until Jared was taking the bag away from Jensen’s face, “don’t want you to suffocate,” and encouraging him to keep breathing, deeply, slowly.
When he felt strong enough, which still wasn’t very strong, Jensen tried to twist around in Jared’s arms, needing to see that Jared was all right and not injured. “Let me,” Jensen panted. “I need to see you,” he finally managed to get out.
Jared helped him turn, easing Jensen’s still-wobbly body around until he was facing Jared.
Jensen gave a little gasp when he saw Jared. There was a purple bruise blossoming on Jared’s cheekbone and his bottom lip was split. There was also pink spot on Jared’s chest that could have been made by an elbow and two small bruises forming on Jared’s shins. “Did I do that? God baby, I’m so sorry, sorry,” Jensen cried. His first instinct was to pull away, run away (even though his legs probably wouldn’t hold him) so that he couldn’t hurt Jared again.
“Jensen, don’t, stay, it’s ok, you didn’t hurt me,” Jared reassured him, steadying Jensen and keeping him from bolting. Jared’s hands petted up and down his sides, soothing him. “Breathe, baby, just breathe.”
Jensen realized he was starting to hyperventilate again, so he carefully slowed his breathing.
Jared reached up and wiped tears off of Jensen’s cheeks. “Any idea why…”
Jensen racked his brain trying to figure out why he’d have such a bad nightmare and panic attack. He’d been feeling fine the night before, relaxed, happy he couldn’t think of anything that would have set him off. It was just a nice three-day weekend, Labor Day (or Labour Day) to be exact… “Oh crap,” Jensen realized aloud. A year ago today he’d found out about Joanna lying about him to the press and had gone on a bender and wound up in the hospital… to put it mildly.
“Yeah, it’s September 3rd,” Jared confirmed. “I didn’t think of it either, but Chris realized right away when I called him.”
“You called Chris?” Jensen asked, confused.
“I couldn’t wake you, and I couldn’t get you to calm down, I haven’t seen a nightmare that bad… well actually, I don’t think any of the nightmares I’ve seen were that bad. And I tried to reassure you the way that usually works to bring you out of it, and I got hit, and you were screaming… I was scared. Couldn’t figure out if I should call 911, so Chris was the first person I thought of, and I called,” Jared explained in a rush, pulling Jensen close to him.
Jensen glanced over at the bedside clock which was now perched somewhat haphazardly at the edge of the side table. Great, I must have smacked that too. It read 3:00am. “You called Chris at three in the morning on a Sunday?”
“Yeah, and he was awake, I think he was expecting something like this to happen. I just… well, I felt really bad that I didn’t anticipate it sooner,” Jared admitted sheepishly.
“Don’t feel bad, baby, I didn’t think of it either,” Jensen soothed. And maybe that was a good thing. It sucked that the panic attack had taken him without preparation or warning, but wasn’t it an improvement that he wasn’t dwelling on the past, that Joanna’s betrayal wasn’t weighing on his mind?
Jared smiled and kissed Jensen’s still-shaking hand where it had slipped up to caress Jared’s cheek. “OK, I’m going to ask you this, and I want an honest answer. Do you need to go to the hospital? ‘Cause if you do, I can take you right now, no problem,” Jared said seriously.
Jensen thought about it for a moment, Jared’s question snapping him back to reality. His soaked pyjamas and the damp sheets around him did worry him, but was his body chemistry likely to be that off that he couldn’t wait to see a doctor in the morning? He just felt tired and boneless and wanted to get somewhere dry and warm and just collapse. The thought of going to the hospital just heightened his anxiety causing his breath to hitch and speed up.
“Calm down, I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” said Jared. “Let’s get you out of these clothes and into the tub. Do you think you can soak for a while without passing out? I want to get the sweat cleaned off you and warm you up, but I don’t want you drowning while I go to change the sheets,” Jared added gesturing at the bed beside them.
“Thanks,” Jensen said, suddenly dreading the trip to the bathroom. He was really that exhausted. “I think I’ll be ok, in the tub, just,” he shrugged.
“Don’t worry, and don’t even think of trying to get there under your own steam,” Jared half-scolded. “Chris told me what to do, and I’m following his instructions to the letter.” Jared’s expression softened. “By the way, babe, I think we might need to talk about what to do when you have a panic attack a little more, ‘cause I know you don’t get them often, but I felt like a moron not knowing what to do tonight… and that’s not a reflection on you, I should have asked, and I didn’t.” Jared rambled on. He slid to the edge of the bed keeping one arm around Jensen’s back. It felt solid, reassuring, an anchor in a storm of uncertainty. “Here we go,” Jared said with a grunt as he slipped his other arm under Jensen’s knees and rather unceremoniously picked him up, cradling Jensen to his chest once he was standing.
“Jay,” Jensen managed to whisper, “I think if you just help me…”
“Baby, you’re shaking so bad you can’t even keep your hands still, there’s no way you’re gonna walk over there even with me to lean on,” Jared said gently as he carried Jensen across the room. Jensen’s instinct was to feel embarrassed, but Jared spoke to him and carried him with such genuine concern that Jensen pushed the feeling away, choosing instead to take Jared’s support as it was offered.
When they reached the en suite bathroom, Jared carefully lowered Jensen to sit on the closed toilet seat. Jared knelt next to the tub and began adjusting the water flow and temperature before flipping the stopper into position.
“I’m gonna let this bath fill for a few minutes while I go get you some dry clothes and find new sheets. Are you alright there for a minute?” Jared asked with concern.
“Yeah, I’ll be ok,” Jensen murmured. He was vaguely aware of Jared leaving the room and making puttering noises in the bedroom. Drawers opening and closing. Cabinets shutting. Jensen’s mind drifted, dwelling on his dream. It was still so vivid, he could see the strike of the bat coming at him whenever he closed his eyes. He was sure Marc would help him to work through the images and the underlying issues they might signify, but in the meantime, he was left with the feeling of utter terror, the knowledge of certain death that came every time he saw the baseball bat swinging towards his head, a guise of hatred on his ex-boyfriend’s face. Was that his own guilt, his own self-loathing reflected back at him? Did he still hold that much anger inside?
“Oh god, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Jared exclaimed coming back into the bathroom rushing to Jensen’s side, dropping a pile of something puffy and fluffy on the floor as he did so.
Jensen hadn’t realized it but sure enough, he was shivering, goosebumps raised all over his arms and back, his teeth starting to clatter together.
“Bath’s ready,” Jared said as he pulled Jensen too him, lifting him off the toilet lid. “Ok, let’s get you set up over here,” he murmured as he set Jensen down again, this time balanced-with Jared’s help-on the side of the tub. Boy was Jensen glad his condo had a tub, because there was absolutely no way he could stand in a shower right now. “Let’s get these off of you,” Jared added, tugging slightly at Jensen’s soaked pyjama bottoms.
Jensen got the message and was able to half lift himself so that Jared could work the offending clothing off. He heard rather than saw Jared toss the pants in the direction of a hamper where they landed with a wet smack. Then Jared was lowering him into the water, carefully so that Jensen didn’t slip under. The water was so hot on Jensen’s over-cooled skin that he let out a gasp of surprise.
“Are you ok? Is it too hot baby?” Jared asked frantically, turning Jensen’s head to face his so that he could catch his eye.
“It’s fine, just took me by surprise,” Jensen managed, finally relaxing into the warmth of the water and letting out a long sigh.
Jared tipped him back against the edge of the tub where Jensen felt a towel or something placed on the rim for him to rest his head on. “It’s not as good as a real pillow, but we don’t have a bath pillow, so it will have to do,” Jared apologized. “Now, can you stay above water, don’t drown or anything? I’m going to go get the bed ready.”
Jensen nodded. Jared left again, and Jensen heard more puttering noises. He just focused on trying to stay calm, on rinsing off the sweat, and on breathing-deeply, slowly, in and out, in and out. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, the water was still warm, but no longer near-scalding, but his fingers and toes weren’t yet wrinkled, when Jared reappeared, holding a fluffy bath sheet-the ones Jensen’s mother had gotten them that were so froofy that they never used them; Jared must have rescued it from one of the bedroom closets, Jensen reasoned.
“Do you think you can stand if I help you?” Jared asked smiling down on Jensen with what looked like relief.
“Uh, yeah,” Jensen answered, realizing that his limbs were no longer shaking or numb. Everything was still a bit blurry since he didn’t have his glasses, but his vision was no longer tunneling or filling with black spots. Jared reached his hand down to Jensen and pulled Jensen to his feet, swooping in with the towel and wrapping it around Jensen as he helped take some of Jensen’s weight. Jensen’s legs still felt very wobbly but with Jared’s assistance he was able to step out of the tub and resituate himself on the toilet, this time wrapped nearly from head to toe in fluffy towel.
“You changed,” Jensen noticed aloud, taking in Jared’s now pyjama-clad figure. He couldn’t quite make out the pattern on Jared’s clothes just that he was now wearing something that looked vaguely blue with a t-shirt-y top and flannel or similarly soft bottoms.
“Yep, now let’s get you into something warm,” Jared answered, presenting Jensen with a pair of green flannel pyjamas as one might present clothes to a child.
It could have been offensive, but Jensen was just grateful. So incredibly grateful that he had a boyfriend who cared about him this much. He thought back to the handful of times he’d had really bad panic attacks when he was living by himself-it had been scary and lonely and miserable, and had inevitably involved an incredibly weary Chris on the other end of the telephone. This is a definite improvement, he thought as Jared wiggled him into the pyjamas while keeping him mostly seated.
“Ok, now just a few more things,” Jared murmured, recapturing Jensen’s attention. Jared was reaching over to the sink where Jensen could vaguely make out the outlines of some stuff propped there. Jared picked up a few of the items and crouched back in front of Jensen. “Now Chris said to tell you not to argue with me about this or he’ll fly up here first thing tomorrow and kick your ass,” Jared repeated doing an imitation of Chris’s voice.
“How would he know?” Jensen retorted.
“’Cause I promised to call him back once I’ve got you back in bed,” Jared said seriously.
Jensen nodded-that sure sounded like Chris, annoying, but life-saving best friend that he was-and looked down at what Jared was holding out to him. There was a small pill in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.
“Xanax and a bottle of Gatorade to take it with,” Jared explained.
“I hate fucking pills,” Jensen whined, “and can’t I just drink some water?”
“Yeah, but if you don’t take this, you won’t sleep and you could have another panic attack, and that, I’m afraid, would mean a trip to the hospital,” Jared sighed. “And the Gatorade is because sweating like that fucked up your electrolytes, and we’re kinda trying to avoid any more kidney damage here, babe.”
Grudgingly, Jensen reached out and took the proffered pill and the bottle and chugged it down. He knew Jared (and Chris) were right, and he really didn’t want to wind up more fucked up than he already was, so he choked down the slightly salty-tasting liquid until it was all gone.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Jared murmured, smoothing Jensen’s mostly dry hair with the back of his hand. “Here’s some water to clear out the taste,” he added as he handed Jensen a small cup of water.
Jensen quickly swallowed the water and handed the cup back to Jared before surging to his feet… or rather attempting to surge to his feet because he got about three-fourths of the way vertical and his knees gave out. He would have crashed back down on the toilet, but Jared caught him, big, strong arms wrapped around his waist taking his weight and pulling him to Jared.
“Easy tiger, let’s not overdo it,” Jared babbled. “Why don’t I carry you back, my treat.” He leaned into Jensen’s ear and whispered, “I love it when I get to pick you up.” He gave a little peck to Jensen’s earlobe and then scooped him up in his arms without further ado.
Soon Jensen was being lowered into the newly-changed sheets and warm, fluffy blankets of their bed. Jared busied himself with switching off the light and making a quick call to Chris. Jensen let his mind wander until he felt the mattress dipping beside him and Jared pulling the covers over them both as he wrapped his arms and legs around Jensen, holding him close.
“Tomorrow’s a holiday, so we’ve got the day off, and I’m going to call Kripke first thing in the morning to make sure we both get Tuesday off too,” Jared babbled.
Jensen was going to protest and suggest Jared go to work before he remembered the rather painful looking bruise on Jared’s cheek.
“Hey, hey, none of that. Not your fault. My cheek will be fine. Most important thing is you being fine, so I’ve got you appointments with Marc and your nephrologist, uhh Dr. Styles, tomorrow,” Jared continued in a soothing tone.
Jared really had thought of everything, Jensen marveled.
“Now, before the Xanax nocks you out, do you need to talk about the dream at all? ‘Cause I’m here to listen,” Jared added, placing a soft kiss on Jensen’s forehead.
Jensen burrowed closer to Jared. “Thank you,” he said, and proceeded to recap the most salient details of the nightmare to Jared as he felt sleepier and sleepier and less and less panicky.
All the while Jared held him, offering words of support whenever Jensen hesitated and being very, very patient.
“I just don’t understand why I dreamed about Jason and Joanna and Paula as the attackers, or why I put Michael there,” Jensen finally concluded.
“Well, baby, that’s probably a question for Marc, but honestly, it sounds like it’s a combination of all your biggest fears and things you see as failures. You’re literally beating yourself up over choices you think you should have made differently,” Jared suggested. “Don’t do that. I know it’s not that simple, but…” He pressed a kiss to Jensen’s lips. “I love you for everything you are and everything you’ve done, and I don’t want you tearing yourself up inside. You really need to forgive yourself.”
“I’ll try, really, I’ll try,” Jensen answered, hugging Jared tight, unable to suppress a yawn, the desperation from earlier seeming to wash away the more tired he got.
Jared hugged him back, and they soon drifted off to sleep intertwined, buried to their chins in soft sheets and fluffy blankets, the nightmare quickly becoming only a memory.
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