The Breathing Rose
Title: The Breathing Rose
Summary: Jared's asthma acts up, resulting in a really bad day. Jensen helps.
Characters: Jared, Jensen
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3,508
Disclaimer: NONE OF IT IS REAL, OKAY? IT'S ALL FAKE! No, seriously. Borrowing likenesses for fun and no profit. Obviously these are not the real people whose names I used, there is no relation whatsoever claimed here, and certainly no claim to factual accuracy. It's fake-fake-fake. Faker than a three-dollar bill.
Warnings: A wee bit of mild swearing. Fluff. Oh, and I gave Jared asthma, for the hell of it.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: This idea popped into my head a few weeks ago, and apparently not even interacting with the real boys at a convention (however briefly) could make it let go. So, yeah. I dunno, I got nothin', except that apparently I wrote RPF again. /o\
Neurotic Author's Note #2: The title of this story is taken from a quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes: "But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold." I don't know, I thought it was nice. :)
Neurotic Author's Note #3: Totally unbeta'd. I'm just playing around, trying to get the writing juices flowing again.
The thing is, Jared's not usually an unreasonable guy. He likes to think of himself as being equipped with his fair share of common sense, as being a down-to-earth sort of person. He also likes that he's got the reputation of being approachable and laid-back, of being low-maintenance. The Teflon Man, who can let pretty much everything slide off, who only gets attention because he's being smiley and bouncy and exuberant. It's the part of himself that he likes, that he can turn it on and off, be the centre of attention only because he wants it. The flip side to that coin being, of course, that Jared doesn't actually like having all eyes on him when he hasn't been in control of that decision.
He doesn't remember when he made the decision, probably never made it consciously, but when he does bother to think about it -which isn't often at all- he figures it probably started at the same time as the asthma, when teachers and parents fussed over him and drew the attention of his classmates. It's not like it happens anymore, hasn't happened in years, but it never fails that he feels like all eyes are on him whenever he gets short of breath and starts coughing or wheezing or both, and the only thing he wants to do is crawl into a hole with his inhaler until it all just goes away. The net result is that Jared is the most compliant asthma patient ever. He takes his pills every day like clockwork, carries his rescue inhaler discreetly in a pocket and just prays that he doesn't have to use it in public. Mostly, it works for him.
Then there are the days when, no matter what he does, things just turn out kind of shitty. Vancouver in the summer plays havoc with his allergies, and unfortunately it always coincides with filming season. Since there's nothing he can do about it, he just buckles down and keeps his fingers crossed and hopes no one pays too much attention to him. So it doesn't come as a surprise when he wakes up early one morning feeling like there's an elephant making a nest on top of his chest. He's reaching for his inhaler on the night stand before his eyes even open fully, and it helps, but not really enough, and his shoulders slump in defeat. It's just going to be one of those days. At least it's Friday, he comforts himself, which means that he'll have the whole weekend to do nothing but lounge around, if that's what it takes.
Showering helps a little more, the steam soothing the inflammation in his bronchial tubes, and he dutifully takes his pills and an extra dose of Benadryl, which goes a long way to making him feel better. Not for the first time he's thankful that Jensen isn't a morning person at all and doesn't notice that he's quieter than usual at breakfast, nor that he's having a lot more coffee than usual. If it's a choice between talking and breathing, well, Jared's going to pick breathing. It's not that Jensen doesn't know about the asthma -it's not something that can really be kept a secret, after all- but Jared's always managed to downplay it around him and the crew, has always sneaked off when it gets really bad in order to just take care of things himself. The on-staff medics know about it, and he figures some of the producers and such must know too, since it's one of those liability things. Otherwise, no one else really knows just how bad it can really get, and that is just fine with Jared.
Still, being in the dark doesn't make Jensen a complete idiot. He nudges Jared in the shoulder in the car on the way to work as Jared tries to stifle yet another coughing fit. "Hey, you okay?"
Jared nods, rubs at his sternum in a vain attempt to make it feel less as though there's a vise tightening slowly around his chest. "Yeah. Allergies are screwing with me, is all."
Jensen's face screws up in sympathy. "That sucks. You take anything?"
"Yup. All dosed up."
"Okay," Jensen claps him on the shoulder, apparently satisfied with that answer. "Let me know if you start feeling too shitty, okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Jared thinks this might be the first time he's ever directly lied to Jensen, but it's a white lie, so it can't be all that bad.
The whole day sucks. No two ways about it, it's just a shitty day. It's hot and muggy, and Jared could swear they're pumping more dry ice than usual onto the set. Jared can't even remember the last time he had to use his inhaler more than once in a day -most days now he doesn't even need it anymore, just carries it as a precaution- but today it feels like a lifeline. It's obvious that at least some of the crew have noticed something's amiss. They're all too polite to say anything, but he catches more than a few concerned glances directed at him, and even Jensen is looking really worried by the time lunch rolls around. Jared shakes him off with a forced smile, retreats to his own trailer and all but collapses on the sofa, letting his head fall back. He's pathetically grateful for the few minutes he can allow himself to feel like utter shit and cough to his heart's content without worrying that he's wrecking the scene or attracting too much attention.
He starts a little when there's a sharp knock on the door to his trailer, and for a second he's worried that he lost track of the time and that it's already time to go back. He's sweating more than usual -the girls in wardrobe are going to hate him- he still can't breathe right, and to make matters worse he's starting to feel a little light-headed. A glance at the clock tells him that he's still got some time, much to his relief. He pushes himself to his feet, wondering if it would be really all that bad if he took more than the recommended dose of his corticosteroids, makes his way slowly to the door to find Jensen on the steps to his trailer, his expression anxious.
"Hey, you kind of disappeared on me. You okay?" Jensen's tone is neutral, but Jared can see the worry in his eyes. He forces himself to nod and smile.
"Yeah. I needed a break for a few minutes, that's all," he manages, wishing he didn't sound so hoarse from his inhaler. It's clear Jensen isn't buying it, either.
"Look, I can maybe talk to the director, see if we can't shuffle some of the scenes around or something, if you're feeling sick. No offense, but you look like shit."
Jared feels his smile turn even more brittle. "No, man, it's fine. It's only a few more hours, and then I'll crash early when we get home. I'm not sick, it's just allergies."
Jensen sighs. "Yeah, okay. I'll just leave you to it, then. Catch you on set?"
"Yeah, sure."
Jared's a little surprised at the feeling of disappointment as he watches Jensen turn his back and leave, but he tells himself sharply to shake it off. Having his asthma act up always seems to make him regress to a needy six-year-old, which he hates. He gives up early on trying to fake being in a good mood, just keeps his head down and tries not to cough too hard between takes before he totally wrecks his voice. By the time they wrap for the day his mouth tastes coppery, he's even more sweaty and light-headed, and all he wants to do is go home and curl up in a foetal position and wait for death. Instead he uses his remaining energy to smile and wish people a good night, thank the crew who still have to break down some of the sets and clean up, and crawls into the back of the car where Jensen's already waiting for him.
"Yeah, so you still look like shit," Jensen tells him. "Why don't you let me take the dogs out when we get home, and you take a shower?"
For a second Jared considers refusing, but honestly he feels just as shitty as he looks, and so he nods, trying to ignore the pang of guilt at shirking his responsibilities. The betrayed looks he gets from both dogs doesn't help at all, but by then it's all he can do to just drag himself upstairs, drop his clothes on the floor and step gratefully into the scalding spray of the shower. The steam helps, but not as much as before, and by the time he's done he's coughing so hard he has to sit on the closed toilet lid for a few minutes, the heels of both hands pressed to his eyelids. If he had the breath left to swear, he's pretty sure he'd be letting loose with a string of profanities.
He hears the front door open and close again, along with the tell-tale sound of dog nails clicking on the floor as they head into the kitchen for their post-walk snack. If Jared knows Jensen, he'll be settling down on the sofa for a while to watch TV and just switch off his brain for a few hours before going to bed. That means Jared has plenty of time to pull out his nebulizer and try to take care of this once and for all. It's been a while since he's had to use it, but it's depressingly easy to remember how to set it up. He clears most of the junk off the night stand, sits cross-legged on the bed, fumbles a little with the spacer in-between coughing fits before he's able to put it in his mouth.
He's focusing on keeping his breathing slow, holding every breath for a couple of seconds, so much so that he doesn't even hear Jensen coming up the stairs, and starts a little when he raps on the open door.
"Jay? You okay? I could still hear you coughing... oh." Jensen stops short when he looks into the room, then takes a step forward after a brief hesitation. "Jesus, I didn't realize it was that bad. No," he flaps a hand when Jared reaches to switch off the machine so he can talk. "It's fine, don't talk, just finish up. I can come back when you're done. That okay?"
Jared shrugs, torn between wanting to be left the hell alone the way he always likes it, and the weird feeling he got the first time Jensen left during their lunch break. It's stupid, he tells himself, stupid and pathetic and needy and clingy, and it's just better if Jensen goes. Jared's a grown man, he can damned well organize his own asthma treatment without having his hand held. To his surprise, though, Jensen comes over and sits beside him.
"Or, you know, I could sit and keep you company. If that's okay with you. I kind of feel like we haven't talked all day. Probably 'cause we haven't talked all day. You mind?"
It's stupid to feel this relieved, and Jared blinks hard a few times to get rid of the sudden stinging sensation in his eyes before nodding. His chest tightens again, reminding him forcefully that he actually needs to breathe for the treatment to work. A moment later he feels a slight pressure between his shoulder blades, and warmth seeps through the thin cotton of the t-shirt he wears to sleep as Jensen rubs his thumb in small circles over his spine, and Jared feels tension he didn't even know was there bleed slowly away.
"Hey," Jensen says softly, "it's okay. I'm guessing you had a pretty shitty day, huh?" When Jared nods, he rubs a little harder. "You know you can talk to me about this sort of thing, right? You don't have to be Superman, Jay. No one's going to think less of you if you're not feeling good. Next time, just say something."
There's no good way to explain this, and definitely not when he's still trying to figure out what should be an autonomic function. So he just shrugs again and tries not to cough, and Jensen leaves his hand right where it is, which feels a lot better than it really should. Finally the machine sputters loudly, and he reaches over to switch it off. For a moment, there's silence, and Jared has to work up the nerve to break it.
"Um, thanks. You know, for staying."
"Anytime. Did it help? The treatment, I mean."
Jared nods. Even though it still sort of feels like he's trying to breathe through a straw, everything's loosened up considerably, and it's stopped hurting, which is such a relief that he's pretty much willing to overlook anything else. Jensen puts out his hand.
"Here, let me wash that off for you. You look done in, and it'll only take me a couple of minutes."
It would take too much energy to argue. Jared just lets himself flop back on the bed and sink against his pillows while Jensen takes away the nebulizer to wash out the mouth piece and cup in soapy water. He's asleep long before Jensen comes back, doesn't even waken when Jensen gently pulls the covers up over his shoulders. When he does open his eyes again it's pitch-black in the room, and it feels like someone has lit his chest on fire. He tries to pull in a breath, only to end up coughing painfully, curling in on himself on the bed. Dimly he's aware of the dogs pacing anxiously in the room, and thinks he hears Sadie whine quietly nearby.
He forces himself up onto his elbow, to slide out of bed and staggers a little. This is bad, he can tell it's bad, but it's fixable. All he has to do is make it out of here and find Jensen, he tells himself. It's not that far, it's just down the stairs, except that there are stars and dark spots playing tug-of-war in front of his eyes and his chest feels like it's trying to turn inside-out. The dogs stay out of his way, mercifully, and he does make it to the top of the stairs, coughing harder than ever. He has to lean against the wall on his shoulder so as not to tumble all the way to the bottom. He's almost there, he just has to make it as far as Jensen's room. It's right there, really not that far.
"Jared?"
For a moment Jared feels horribly guilty for waking him, even though that's precisely what he was going to do a moment from now anyway. The light flicks on in the hallway, and the next thing he knows Jensen is at his elbow in a flurry of anxious questions, and Jared has to stop himself from clutching at him like he's drowning.
"ER. Can you drive me? Please."
Jensen steers him backward until he's sitting on the stairs. "You want an ambulance, Jay?"
He shakes his head. "No. Just... wanna go."
"Okay, you got it. Give me thirty seconds to grab my keys and shoes."
Jared loses track of things then. It feels like he can't quite keep his head on his shoulders, like the whole world is closing in until there's nothing but him and darkness and the clenching pain that keeps trying to spread. Intellectually he knows he's not in immediate danger of dying, not while he's still coughing, but it certainly feels like it, like he's never going to get enough air ever again, like he's going to drown without ever going near the water. Then there's pressure on his leg, the fingers of Jensen's right hand digging into his knee, solid and reassuring.
"Easy, Jay. We're almost there, okay? I just need you to take as deep breaths as you can, keep 'em as even as you can. I got you, I'm not going to let anything happen, okay? But you gotta work with me a little here. Come on, breathe for me, nice and easy..."
Weirdly enough, it helps. Jared feels the blind panic recede a little, just enough that it doesn't feel like he's in free fall anymore, that it's not quite as awful as it usually is when he gets packed onto a gurney and wheeled away, the bright neon lights flashing above his head in a rhythmic blur. Distantly he hears a voice -probably a doctor- explaining something about treatment, but it's all coming through garbled and warped, like he's underwater. He knows all about this, after all, so he just tries to nod in what sounds like the right places and quashes the instinct to struggle when a mask is strapped over his face. Instead he closes his eyes and imagines Jensen's voice, telling him to breathe. Easy as that.
"Mr. Padalecki," a voice breaks into the darkness what seems like only a moment later. "Your friend is asking about you. Would you like us to let him in?"
Jared blinks a little, his thoughts still a confused mess, but he nods, and what feels like seconds later Jensen is next to him, leaning anxiously over the bed.
"Hey," he says, and Jared thinks he might be trying to smile and is failing spectacularly. "How you doing?"
Jared is actually feeling kind of awesome now that Jensen is here and he's not alone in the dark, but he can't figure out how to breathe and talk and wear his mask at the same time, so he settles for trying to pat Jensen's hip. Jensen huffs a laugh, catches his hand in both of his.
"Yeah, okay, I get it, no talking. You scared the shit out of me, Jay. They're keeping you at least overnight, maybe longer depending on your oxygen levels. They've got a private room that they're setting up for you, so we'll get you set up in no time. No arguing, you got me?"
Jared's too tired to argue, but there are a million thoughts swirling confusedly in his head, and he finds he doesn't really like the idea of spending the night here on his own in a hospital room. He shifts uncomfortably on the too-small bed, and when Jensen tries to pull his hands away he forgets himself for a moment and tightens his grip. He releases Jensen a minute later, heart thumping painfully against his ribs and hoping to God he isn't blushing, because it feels like his whole face has heated up. Then Jensen lays his hand back over Jared's, leans in until his face is only inches away.
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. There's no way I'm leaving you in this place unsupervised. God only knows what sort of crap you'd get up to if I wasn't sticking around to make sure you behave," he says, grinning, and Jared feels himself breaking into a matching grin under the mask.
"That's more like it," Jensen nods encouragingly and squeezes his hand. "Your job right now is to keep breathing, let the treatment do its thing, and then once they've got you on oxygen you'll get transferred to the room, where your job will be to continue breathing. Think you can manage that?"
Jared's pretty sure that if Jensen asked him to fly around the room right now, he might well be able to manage it. He nods, keeps smiling under his mask, and doesn't let go of Jensen's hand until much later, when they come to transfer him to his room. Even then Jensen keeps pace with him, talking quietly the whole time, keeping him grounded, and doesn't venture too far away when the nurse shoos him away from the bed to make sure that Jared's IV and mask are still in place. When she's done Jensen is right back by Jared's bed, dragging a chair with him.
"I know that face," he says, giving Jared a look that's half-teasing, half-serious. "If you could talk, you'd be telling me to go home. Luckily for you, you can't talk, so you get no say. Like I'd pass up a chance to hang out with you without worrying about scheduling for a while. Hey," he gives Jared's knee a squeeze when Jared tries to motion to him. "None of that. I'm staying, and that's the end of it. Got it?"
It might just be the drugs finally taking effect the way they're supposed to, but the remaining tightness in Jared's chest disappears, and he relaxes against his bed, suddenly unable to keep his eyes open a second longer. Jensen's hand is back, holding his again, warm against his skin, and reassuring. The last thing Jared hears is Jensen's voice, like a caress.
"You go on to sleep. I'm going to be right here."
Summary: Jared's asthma acts up, resulting in a really bad day. Jensen helps.
Characters: Jared, Jensen
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3,508
Disclaimer: NONE OF IT IS REAL, OKAY? IT'S ALL FAKE! No, seriously. Borrowing likenesses for fun and no profit. Obviously these are not the real people whose names I used, there is no relation whatsoever claimed here, and certainly no claim to factual accuracy. It's fake-fake-fake. Faker than a three-dollar bill.
Warnings: A wee bit of mild swearing. Fluff. Oh, and I gave Jared asthma, for the hell of it.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: This idea popped into my head a few weeks ago, and apparently not even interacting with the real boys at a convention (however briefly) could make it let go. So, yeah. I dunno, I got nothin', except that apparently I wrote RPF again. /o\
Neurotic Author's Note #2: The title of this story is taken from a quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes: "But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold." I don't know, I thought it was nice. :)
Neurotic Author's Note #3: Totally unbeta'd. I'm just playing around, trying to get the writing juices flowing again.
The thing is, Jared's not usually an unreasonable guy. He likes to think of himself as being equipped with his fair share of common sense, as being a down-to-earth sort of person. He also likes that he's got the reputation of being approachable and laid-back, of being low-maintenance. The Teflon Man, who can let pretty much everything slide off, who only gets attention because he's being smiley and bouncy and exuberant. It's the part of himself that he likes, that he can turn it on and off, be the centre of attention only because he wants it. The flip side to that coin being, of course, that Jared doesn't actually like having all eyes on him when he hasn't been in control of that decision.
He doesn't remember when he made the decision, probably never made it consciously, but when he does bother to think about it -which isn't often at all- he figures it probably started at the same time as the asthma, when teachers and parents fussed over him and drew the attention of his classmates. It's not like it happens anymore, hasn't happened in years, but it never fails that he feels like all eyes are on him whenever he gets short of breath and starts coughing or wheezing or both, and the only thing he wants to do is crawl into a hole with his inhaler until it all just goes away. The net result is that Jared is the most compliant asthma patient ever. He takes his pills every day like clockwork, carries his rescue inhaler discreetly in a pocket and just prays that he doesn't have to use it in public. Mostly, it works for him.
Then there are the days when, no matter what he does, things just turn out kind of shitty. Vancouver in the summer plays havoc with his allergies, and unfortunately it always coincides with filming season. Since there's nothing he can do about it, he just buckles down and keeps his fingers crossed and hopes no one pays too much attention to him. So it doesn't come as a surprise when he wakes up early one morning feeling like there's an elephant making a nest on top of his chest. He's reaching for his inhaler on the night stand before his eyes even open fully, and it helps, but not really enough, and his shoulders slump in defeat. It's just going to be one of those days. At least it's Friday, he comforts himself, which means that he'll have the whole weekend to do nothing but lounge around, if that's what it takes.
Showering helps a little more, the steam soothing the inflammation in his bronchial tubes, and he dutifully takes his pills and an extra dose of Benadryl, which goes a long way to making him feel better. Not for the first time he's thankful that Jensen isn't a morning person at all and doesn't notice that he's quieter than usual at breakfast, nor that he's having a lot more coffee than usual. If it's a choice between talking and breathing, well, Jared's going to pick breathing. It's not that Jensen doesn't know about the asthma -it's not something that can really be kept a secret, after all- but Jared's always managed to downplay it around him and the crew, has always sneaked off when it gets really bad in order to just take care of things himself. The on-staff medics know about it, and he figures some of the producers and such must know too, since it's one of those liability things. Otherwise, no one else really knows just how bad it can really get, and that is just fine with Jared.
Still, being in the dark doesn't make Jensen a complete idiot. He nudges Jared in the shoulder in the car on the way to work as Jared tries to stifle yet another coughing fit. "Hey, you okay?"
Jared nods, rubs at his sternum in a vain attempt to make it feel less as though there's a vise tightening slowly around his chest. "Yeah. Allergies are screwing with me, is all."
Jensen's face screws up in sympathy. "That sucks. You take anything?"
"Yup. All dosed up."
"Okay," Jensen claps him on the shoulder, apparently satisfied with that answer. "Let me know if you start feeling too shitty, okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Jared thinks this might be the first time he's ever directly lied to Jensen, but it's a white lie, so it can't be all that bad.
The whole day sucks. No two ways about it, it's just a shitty day. It's hot and muggy, and Jared could swear they're pumping more dry ice than usual onto the set. Jared can't even remember the last time he had to use his inhaler more than once in a day -most days now he doesn't even need it anymore, just carries it as a precaution- but today it feels like a lifeline. It's obvious that at least some of the crew have noticed something's amiss. They're all too polite to say anything, but he catches more than a few concerned glances directed at him, and even Jensen is looking really worried by the time lunch rolls around. Jared shakes him off with a forced smile, retreats to his own trailer and all but collapses on the sofa, letting his head fall back. He's pathetically grateful for the few minutes he can allow himself to feel like utter shit and cough to his heart's content without worrying that he's wrecking the scene or attracting too much attention.
He starts a little when there's a sharp knock on the door to his trailer, and for a second he's worried that he lost track of the time and that it's already time to go back. He's sweating more than usual -the girls in wardrobe are going to hate him- he still can't breathe right, and to make matters worse he's starting to feel a little light-headed. A glance at the clock tells him that he's still got some time, much to his relief. He pushes himself to his feet, wondering if it would be really all that bad if he took more than the recommended dose of his corticosteroids, makes his way slowly to the door to find Jensen on the steps to his trailer, his expression anxious.
"Hey, you kind of disappeared on me. You okay?" Jensen's tone is neutral, but Jared can see the worry in his eyes. He forces himself to nod and smile.
"Yeah. I needed a break for a few minutes, that's all," he manages, wishing he didn't sound so hoarse from his inhaler. It's clear Jensen isn't buying it, either.
"Look, I can maybe talk to the director, see if we can't shuffle some of the scenes around or something, if you're feeling sick. No offense, but you look like shit."
Jared feels his smile turn even more brittle. "No, man, it's fine. It's only a few more hours, and then I'll crash early when we get home. I'm not sick, it's just allergies."
Jensen sighs. "Yeah, okay. I'll just leave you to it, then. Catch you on set?"
"Yeah, sure."
Jared's a little surprised at the feeling of disappointment as he watches Jensen turn his back and leave, but he tells himself sharply to shake it off. Having his asthma act up always seems to make him regress to a needy six-year-old, which he hates. He gives up early on trying to fake being in a good mood, just keeps his head down and tries not to cough too hard between takes before he totally wrecks his voice. By the time they wrap for the day his mouth tastes coppery, he's even more sweaty and light-headed, and all he wants to do is go home and curl up in a foetal position and wait for death. Instead he uses his remaining energy to smile and wish people a good night, thank the crew who still have to break down some of the sets and clean up, and crawls into the back of the car where Jensen's already waiting for him.
"Yeah, so you still look like shit," Jensen tells him. "Why don't you let me take the dogs out when we get home, and you take a shower?"
For a second Jared considers refusing, but honestly he feels just as shitty as he looks, and so he nods, trying to ignore the pang of guilt at shirking his responsibilities. The betrayed looks he gets from both dogs doesn't help at all, but by then it's all he can do to just drag himself upstairs, drop his clothes on the floor and step gratefully into the scalding spray of the shower. The steam helps, but not as much as before, and by the time he's done he's coughing so hard he has to sit on the closed toilet lid for a few minutes, the heels of both hands pressed to his eyelids. If he had the breath left to swear, he's pretty sure he'd be letting loose with a string of profanities.
He hears the front door open and close again, along with the tell-tale sound of dog nails clicking on the floor as they head into the kitchen for their post-walk snack. If Jared knows Jensen, he'll be settling down on the sofa for a while to watch TV and just switch off his brain for a few hours before going to bed. That means Jared has plenty of time to pull out his nebulizer and try to take care of this once and for all. It's been a while since he's had to use it, but it's depressingly easy to remember how to set it up. He clears most of the junk off the night stand, sits cross-legged on the bed, fumbles a little with the spacer in-between coughing fits before he's able to put it in his mouth.
He's focusing on keeping his breathing slow, holding every breath for a couple of seconds, so much so that he doesn't even hear Jensen coming up the stairs, and starts a little when he raps on the open door.
"Jay? You okay? I could still hear you coughing... oh." Jensen stops short when he looks into the room, then takes a step forward after a brief hesitation. "Jesus, I didn't realize it was that bad. No," he flaps a hand when Jared reaches to switch off the machine so he can talk. "It's fine, don't talk, just finish up. I can come back when you're done. That okay?"
Jared shrugs, torn between wanting to be left the hell alone the way he always likes it, and the weird feeling he got the first time Jensen left during their lunch break. It's stupid, he tells himself, stupid and pathetic and needy and clingy, and it's just better if Jensen goes. Jared's a grown man, he can damned well organize his own asthma treatment without having his hand held. To his surprise, though, Jensen comes over and sits beside him.
"Or, you know, I could sit and keep you company. If that's okay with you. I kind of feel like we haven't talked all day. Probably 'cause we haven't talked all day. You mind?"
It's stupid to feel this relieved, and Jared blinks hard a few times to get rid of the sudden stinging sensation in his eyes before nodding. His chest tightens again, reminding him forcefully that he actually needs to breathe for the treatment to work. A moment later he feels a slight pressure between his shoulder blades, and warmth seeps through the thin cotton of the t-shirt he wears to sleep as Jensen rubs his thumb in small circles over his spine, and Jared feels tension he didn't even know was there bleed slowly away.
"Hey," Jensen says softly, "it's okay. I'm guessing you had a pretty shitty day, huh?" When Jared nods, he rubs a little harder. "You know you can talk to me about this sort of thing, right? You don't have to be Superman, Jay. No one's going to think less of you if you're not feeling good. Next time, just say something."
There's no good way to explain this, and definitely not when he's still trying to figure out what should be an autonomic function. So he just shrugs again and tries not to cough, and Jensen leaves his hand right where it is, which feels a lot better than it really should. Finally the machine sputters loudly, and he reaches over to switch it off. For a moment, there's silence, and Jared has to work up the nerve to break it.
"Um, thanks. You know, for staying."
"Anytime. Did it help? The treatment, I mean."
Jared nods. Even though it still sort of feels like he's trying to breathe through a straw, everything's loosened up considerably, and it's stopped hurting, which is such a relief that he's pretty much willing to overlook anything else. Jensen puts out his hand.
"Here, let me wash that off for you. You look done in, and it'll only take me a couple of minutes."
It would take too much energy to argue. Jared just lets himself flop back on the bed and sink against his pillows while Jensen takes away the nebulizer to wash out the mouth piece and cup in soapy water. He's asleep long before Jensen comes back, doesn't even waken when Jensen gently pulls the covers up over his shoulders. When he does open his eyes again it's pitch-black in the room, and it feels like someone has lit his chest on fire. He tries to pull in a breath, only to end up coughing painfully, curling in on himself on the bed. Dimly he's aware of the dogs pacing anxiously in the room, and thinks he hears Sadie whine quietly nearby.
He forces himself up onto his elbow, to slide out of bed and staggers a little. This is bad, he can tell it's bad, but it's fixable. All he has to do is make it out of here and find Jensen, he tells himself. It's not that far, it's just down the stairs, except that there are stars and dark spots playing tug-of-war in front of his eyes and his chest feels like it's trying to turn inside-out. The dogs stay out of his way, mercifully, and he does make it to the top of the stairs, coughing harder than ever. He has to lean against the wall on his shoulder so as not to tumble all the way to the bottom. He's almost there, he just has to make it as far as Jensen's room. It's right there, really not that far.
"Jared?"
For a moment Jared feels horribly guilty for waking him, even though that's precisely what he was going to do a moment from now anyway. The light flicks on in the hallway, and the next thing he knows Jensen is at his elbow in a flurry of anxious questions, and Jared has to stop himself from clutching at him like he's drowning.
"ER. Can you drive me? Please."
Jensen steers him backward until he's sitting on the stairs. "You want an ambulance, Jay?"
He shakes his head. "No. Just... wanna go."
"Okay, you got it. Give me thirty seconds to grab my keys and shoes."
Jared loses track of things then. It feels like he can't quite keep his head on his shoulders, like the whole world is closing in until there's nothing but him and darkness and the clenching pain that keeps trying to spread. Intellectually he knows he's not in immediate danger of dying, not while he's still coughing, but it certainly feels like it, like he's never going to get enough air ever again, like he's going to drown without ever going near the water. Then there's pressure on his leg, the fingers of Jensen's right hand digging into his knee, solid and reassuring.
"Easy, Jay. We're almost there, okay? I just need you to take as deep breaths as you can, keep 'em as even as you can. I got you, I'm not going to let anything happen, okay? But you gotta work with me a little here. Come on, breathe for me, nice and easy..."
Weirdly enough, it helps. Jared feels the blind panic recede a little, just enough that it doesn't feel like he's in free fall anymore, that it's not quite as awful as it usually is when he gets packed onto a gurney and wheeled away, the bright neon lights flashing above his head in a rhythmic blur. Distantly he hears a voice -probably a doctor- explaining something about treatment, but it's all coming through garbled and warped, like he's underwater. He knows all about this, after all, so he just tries to nod in what sounds like the right places and quashes the instinct to struggle when a mask is strapped over his face. Instead he closes his eyes and imagines Jensen's voice, telling him to breathe. Easy as that.
"Mr. Padalecki," a voice breaks into the darkness what seems like only a moment later. "Your friend is asking about you. Would you like us to let him in?"
Jared blinks a little, his thoughts still a confused mess, but he nods, and what feels like seconds later Jensen is next to him, leaning anxiously over the bed.
"Hey," he says, and Jared thinks he might be trying to smile and is failing spectacularly. "How you doing?"
Jared is actually feeling kind of awesome now that Jensen is here and he's not alone in the dark, but he can't figure out how to breathe and talk and wear his mask at the same time, so he settles for trying to pat Jensen's hip. Jensen huffs a laugh, catches his hand in both of his.
"Yeah, okay, I get it, no talking. You scared the shit out of me, Jay. They're keeping you at least overnight, maybe longer depending on your oxygen levels. They've got a private room that they're setting up for you, so we'll get you set up in no time. No arguing, you got me?"
Jared's too tired to argue, but there are a million thoughts swirling confusedly in his head, and he finds he doesn't really like the idea of spending the night here on his own in a hospital room. He shifts uncomfortably on the too-small bed, and when Jensen tries to pull his hands away he forgets himself for a moment and tightens his grip. He releases Jensen a minute later, heart thumping painfully against his ribs and hoping to God he isn't blushing, because it feels like his whole face has heated up. Then Jensen lays his hand back over Jared's, leans in until his face is only inches away.
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. There's no way I'm leaving you in this place unsupervised. God only knows what sort of crap you'd get up to if I wasn't sticking around to make sure you behave," he says, grinning, and Jared feels himself breaking into a matching grin under the mask.
"That's more like it," Jensen nods encouragingly and squeezes his hand. "Your job right now is to keep breathing, let the treatment do its thing, and then once they've got you on oxygen you'll get transferred to the room, where your job will be to continue breathing. Think you can manage that?"
Jared's pretty sure that if Jensen asked him to fly around the room right now, he might well be able to manage it. He nods, keeps smiling under his mask, and doesn't let go of Jensen's hand until much later, when they come to transfer him to his room. Even then Jensen keeps pace with him, talking quietly the whole time, keeping him grounded, and doesn't venture too far away when the nurse shoos him away from the bed to make sure that Jared's IV and mask are still in place. When she's done Jensen is right back by Jared's bed, dragging a chair with him.
"I know that face," he says, giving Jared a look that's half-teasing, half-serious. "If you could talk, you'd be telling me to go home. Luckily for you, you can't talk, so you get no say. Like I'd pass up a chance to hang out with you without worrying about scheduling for a while. Hey," he gives Jared's knee a squeeze when Jared tries to motion to him. "None of that. I'm staying, and that's the end of it. Got it?"
It might just be the drugs finally taking effect the way they're supposed to, but the remaining tightness in Jared's chest disappears, and he relaxes against his bed, suddenly unable to keep his eyes open a second longer. Jensen's hand is back, holding his again, warm against his skin, and reassuring. The last thing Jared hears is Jensen's voice, like a caress.
"You go on to sleep. I'm going to be right here."