Summer Days - Day 2
Title: Summer Days - Day 2
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, H/C
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Mentions of: Drug use
Word Count: ~ 4000
Disclaimer: The events described in this story are purely fictional.
A/N: Sequel to A Summer Day and Summer Days - Day 1
Summary: Jensen's first day in the hospital.
Summer Days
"If you are going through hell, keep going."
~ Winston Churchill
Day 2
Jared
Jared’s clock reads 0:42. He’s utterly exhausted, but strangely not even a little tired. Steeling himself, he pushes open the door to Jensen’s room. It’s relatively narrow but rather deep. The walls are high, painted a stark white. The light is dimmed, for which Jared’s eyes are grateful. The far wall is taken up by a large window. The curtains are open and the image of the star filled night sky would be beautiful, if not for the bars blocking the view. There’s a second bed, near the window. It’s empty, though. Unused. Jensen is completely alone in the cold room. With it’s metallic bed, the white, ironed linen and the sterile cleanness, it looks like an inverted version of the dark room at Johnny’s. Jensen looks as out of place here, as he did there.
His black velvet shirt hangs over the backrest of a wooden chair. The only personal item in the room. A second chair and a small table line the remaining empty wall. A sad looking, plastic flower sits in a dry vase.
Jensen’s eyes are rimmed red and purple. He looks twice as exhausted as Jared feels. But he’s not sleeping either, nor does he seem to want to. Dr. Withley warned him that Jensen might not be able to. They put him on Suboxone to ease the heroin withdrawal symptoms but it’s not going to eliminate them entirely. Jared doesn’t even dare thinking about the second round of withdrawal symptoms that’ll start when they ease him of the opiate substitute.
Jensen rests propped up in his bed. He has tossed back the covers. Only his lower legs and feet are still hidden beneath. He looks like he’s sweating harshly, but he’s also notably shivering. His gaze is transfixed on a TV. In his hand he’s got a remote, uses it to idly zap through the channels. On the screen flickers George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. Jensen stops zapping.
“Look,” he says, eyes trained on the movie. “I’m on TV.”
Jared exhales, wearily, “Don’t say that,” and walks from his spot in the doorframe to Jensen’s bed. Sits down on the edge. The sheets around Jensen are damp.
Jensen sighs and turns off the TV. Glances at him, expressionless.
“Can I see it?” Jared asks.
Jensen shrugs. Then inches his hospital shirt up and the waistband of his pants down. Slowly he reveals a dark spot, about the size of a mini disk. The surface is black, framed by pale skin. It’s slightly cracked and hard looking, like callus.
“That doctor lady said it’s dry gangrene,” Jensen says. “That means dead cells because they get no blood.” He straightens his clothes again. Curls his hands limply over his sunken belly. “’s weird. There used to be good veins there. Right under the skin.”
Jared nods. “Yeah, and you probed them one too many times. Dr. Withley said it’s been the eleventh hour. Didn’t you feel any pain?”
Jensen shrugs lopsided. “Some, I guess… I dunno…”
“One of the perks of heroin, huh?”
“I guess,” Jensen says, hesitantly. “But probably not so much, now, right?”
Jared gives a noncommittal tilt of his head. He’s just blue.
Jensen takes his hand. “Can ya’ be there when they cut it out in the morning?”
Jared entwines their fingers. “I’ll be with you as long as you want me to.”
“For the rest of my life, then?” Jensen asks. His breath hitches, but he works up a smile. “It ain’t gonna be that long.”
“Shut up!” He snaps. Jensen flinches. Then squeezes his hand and mumbles, “Sorry. I know it ain’t funny, but…” He trails off, shrugs.
Jared just shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over the back of Jensen’s hand then pulls back. Stands up. He paces the narrow room, feeling like a caged animal.
“What did she tell ya’?” Jensen asks.
He throws up his hands, exasperated, “Everything, Jensen. She told me everything.”
“Even about Titties B and C?” He asks.
Jared stares at him, blankly. Then a hysteric laugh escapes him. Jensen smiles, tentatively. It hits Jared then. He freezes. “It’s called Hepatitis. But you know that, right? You’re just playing the fool.”
Jensen’s fingers curl in the covers. He averts his eyes. “I ain’t liking it when ya’ look sad.” He gives a lopsided shrug. “I got the AIDS and the fucked up heart. But you ain’t havin’ it. So ya’ don’t need to be sad.”
The frustration about Jensen leaves him as fast as it hit him. He sits back down on the bed. Softly, he brushes a drop of sweat form Jensen’s brow. “They only call it AIDS because you have Hep B and C.”
“So what,” he mumbles. “That doctor lady said the only good thing’s I have no symptoms. For now. She told me it might hit me bad any moment. It’s all just racing the clock with my heart to see who of ‘em kills me first.”
“You’ll get better,” Jared says firmly.
“Ya’ can’t know that,” Jensen retorts.
“You can’t know the contrary, either.” He waves a the IV bag. “They’re pumping you full of all kinds of medicine. Your CD4 count will go up again! Hell, it hasn’t even dropped into the AIDS level.” It’s above it by meager 50 T-cells, but it is above it. And their numbers will rise further. They just have to. Breathing harshly, he continues, “The doctors will cut off that damn necrotic flesh before it becomes an infected wet gangrene. They’ll give you stuff for your infected liver. They’ll manage it!” Jensen can get better. Not completely well, Jared’s not stupid, but better. He firmly believes in that. If not, then what’s the point?
Jensen blinks. Then gives a soft grin. Says, “Smartass.”
Jared sucks in a much needed breath. Returns Jensen’s grin with a gentle smile. “So are you.”
A fragile, comfortable silence settles over them. That is, as comfortable as it can be, considering. He picks up Jensen’s hand and feels for his pulse on his wrist. It’s steady and strong. Jared sighs. Fighting over the severity of HIV - it’s stupid. He never thought he’d opt for that. But here he is… because it’s something he can deal with. It’s something that can be dealt with. But Jensen’s heart… it only leaves him feeling helpless. Powerless. The worst is that it doesn’t feel at all as if it would give out soon.
“Can I lay down with you?” He asks.
A hesitant but hopeful smile tugs a Jensen’s lips. “Ain’t ya’ scared you’ll catch something?”
“You’re not bleeding and we’re not having unprotected sex, so I should be fine.”
The smile comes out full force. Jensen scoots a bit to the side, making room for him. Jared kicks off his shoes then stretches out on his side. Faces Jensen. Gently, he reaches out. Splays his hand over Jensen’s chest. Once more feels for his heartbeat.
Jensen glances down. Cups his hand. “It don’t feel damaged and tired to me…”
“No… It doesn’t feel like that to me either, but…” He exhales a deep breath. Bites his lip against the burn in his eyes. “But your heart had to endure a lot.”
“Because I smoke and did H?”
Jared shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not just because of that. Because of what everyone put your heart through.”
“Everyone but you,” Jensen mumbles. Rolls into him. “’m cold. ‘s this okay?”
Jared just smiles and lifts his arm. Lets Jensen position himself as the little spoon. Then he loosely but protectively wraps his arms around him.
“She said maybe six months… if they get that HIV and Hepatitis stuff controlled,” Jensen says.
“Yeah,” he croaks. Hugs him closer, just to feel as much of him as possible.
“’t really sucks…” Jensen mutters, idly spider-walking a hand up Jared’s arm. “My birthday‘s in eight.”
Jensen
He’s lying on his side without any pants. Just some green sheet’s covering his legs. There’s a cut out over his zombie hip. He can’t see it. They put up a screen right below his chest so he won’t be able to look. He can only feel it. For now. Soon he won’t be able to anymore. Is what the black doctor said, anyway. Jensen’s not so sure. He’s been aching pretty badly since this morning. He’s not sweating as much anymore, but instead he’s feeling a thousand tiny pricks all over his body. Especially in his hands and feet. He can also feel that Doc rubbing cold, wet stuff on his back. Knows the guy’s prepping his back for a huge ass needle.
“Ya’ sure that’s where it goes?” He asks, trying to sound light. “I’m sure I can find some vein where it won’t hurt as much.”
The doctor chuckles. “I’m afraid a vein won’t be the right spot for a spinal anesthetic.”
“Ya’ sure?” He asks. “H got me numb pretty much from any spot I used it.”
“This is a bit stronger stuff, and we don’t want your whole body numb.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” he whispers.
“It’s too risky in your condition,” Doc says.
“I know,” he says. They’ve been over this. “’m jus’ saying.” He stares at the light blue tiles. The chrome furniture. It looks hard and cold. There’s an assortment of tools on a movable stand. Knifes and scissors and lots of pointy things. “Ya’ gonna use all that?”
No one answers him, but a guilty looking, young nurse appears in his line of vision. She pushes the tray out of his sight.
“Does that mean ‘yeah’?” He asks. Again, no one answers him. He curls and uncurls his fingers for something to do. Jared appears before him. Hunches down and picks up one of his hands.
“Aren’t you supposed to be relaxed?” He asks. He’s dressed in a gown like the doctors. Wears a hair net and a mask, too. Unlike the doctor’s his stuff’s all pink, though.
Jensen chuckles. “’s not ya’ color.”
“Shut up,” he huffs. But his eyes are soft. He’s smiling.
“How are you feeling?”
He hitches one shoulder. “Sick, achy, restless…” Having to just lay here’s not so good. “I could really use,” - a hit - “a smoke.”
Jared’s eyes glitter with compassion. He leans forward and places a peck on Jensen’s forehead. Jensen can feel that ten times as strong, too, but it’s much nicer than the prickly touch of the doctor.
“It sucks,” Jared concedes. “But this will be over soon. I know you can do this.” He pauses, smiles. “After all, you’re probably the toughest guy I know.”
Jensen exhales deeply and returns the smile. He ain’t sure about that, but if Jared says so. He gives a faint nod. Now or never. “Ya’ can start now, Doc,” he says. “’m ready.”
He’s not sure why, but it earns him chuckles from the whole room.
“Alright,” Doc says. “I’ll administer the drug now. You may experience some discomfort.”
“No shit,” he drawls. “This ain’t a SPA? Ya’ screwed me.”
More chuckles. And then white hot pain. He gasps a laugh.
Jared squeezes his hand. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I ain’t pretending,” he snaps, then bites his lips. “I ain’t a crier.” That damn doctor is jus’ givin’ him a fuckin’ shot. He’s had worse. Felt worse. This is peanuts. And yet, he can’t seem to keep his hands from white knuckling Jared’s.
Jared
The air conditioning in Jensen’s room whirrs bravely. For all it’s achieving it might be off. The afternoon sun beats unrelenting through the window. Even with the windows closed and curtains drawn the air in the room feels like a wet blanket. Jared’s clothes are soaked through, clinging to his weary body. Jensen’s off even worse. His sheets are soaked. His hospital gown discarded, converted to a sheet barely covering his privates. And yet, he insisted on putting his black shirt back on right after surgery. Jared straightens it out, but it’s not doing much. The fabric’s glued to Jensen’s pale skin. At two sizes too wide, it refuses to fall right. His skinny body is a mocking accusation to Jared’s heart.
Tenderly, Jared picks up Jensen’s hand. He can barely hold it. It’s swimming between his palms. Keeps slipping constantly.
Jensen’s breathing is faint, his mouth slightly agape. His blood pressure has dropped, the oxygen level right along with it. A side effect of the anesthesia. Jensen had to be attached to oxygen tubes. In his bed, he’s propped up high to give his lungs more room. Ease his breathing.
Jared sighs. Presses his forehead against Jensen’s fingers. There’s still a faint blue tint to the tips. They’re limp. Exhaustion has claimed Jensen a couple hours ago. Won out over his withdrawal induced insomnia and restlessness. And still, he’s shivering even in his sleep. Minutely, but permanently. Softly, Jared massages his hand. Whispers, “It’ll be okay, it’ll all be okay.”
A knock on the door startles him. He straightens up. Calls “Yes?” and the door opens. Revealing Johansson and Keller.
“Hey,” they greet. Jared works up a faint smile.
“How is he?” Keller asks.
He hitches a shoulder, helpless. “They say he’s doing okay,” he says. “Considering.” Weary he brushes a hand over his face. “I’ve got no idea what that actually means.”
Silence settles over them. Jared watches as Johansson and Keller take a seat at the small table. Then Johansson picks up an empty glass, dried leftovers of Jensen’s protein shake still clinging to it.
“Liquid nutrition, huh?” He asks, glances at Jensen. “Pretty weird seeing him like this, when yesterday he was still…” he trails off. “Eating a burrito,” he says, eventually, but Jared knows what he meant to say. He’s had the same thought.
When Johansson sets the glass back down, Jared can’t help but to chuckle, though. “He loves chocolate. Said everything tastes good with chocolate.” He pauses. More solemn, “Everything.”
“Everything?” Keller asks, skeptical.
He nods, slowly. “Yeah… I don’t really know what that means… if that includes…” he trails off. “I don’t want to know.”
Keller nods. “I guess.” A beat. Then, “By the way, we were at your office earlier. Sorted out the paperwork with your secretary. For the most part, at least. She said a signature from you is still needed.” He pauses, holds his hands up, palms forward. “But no hurry, just wanted to let you know. And I left the SD card with her.”
Jared nods. His lips twitches in a barely there smile. “Thanks.”
“So,” Johansson asks. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” Jared gasps. Looks in two solemn faces. They expect an answer. Problem is, he never stopped to think about it.
Jensen
His mouth is dry. Tongue glued to the roof. It feels like cotton. He groans. Smacks his lips. They’re dry, too. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open. Blurry shapes waver in front of his eyes. He squints but they don’t take on form.
Then a white glob steps closer. A person. Bare arms, rolled up sleeves. Glasses are set on his nose. They slip a little.
He blinks as the world comes into focus. “Johansson?” It comes out hoarse. His throat feels like sandpaper. He coughs.
“Yeah,” Johansson says. Points over his shoulder. “Keller’s here, too.”
He glances past him. Spots a bulky man with short blonde hair. The camera guy from the other day. He has poured him a plastic cup off water. Grateful, Jensen wraps his hands around it. Tosses it back. The smooth liquid’s a wonder against his throat. But his gut churns. Too fast. He hiccups. Can’t help the burp that follows. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then places the cup on his overbed table. Glances in the round. “Jared?”
“He’s gone home for a little while,” Johansson says.
“Oh,” he says. Tugs at his shirt. “Guess he had to, right?”
Johansson nods. Keller adds, “We’ll keep you company until he’s back, alright?”
He mumbles, “’kay…” Sucks in a breath. Closes his eyes then blinks them back open. Slowly gets a grip on things. “How long did I…?”
“About 4 and a half hours, from what I know,” Johansson says. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugs, lolls his head to the side. Feels the wet sheets against his skin. “Like warmed up roadkill… Sweaty, itchy… kinda sick…” He trails off. “But not that sick, ya’ know?” He pauses. “Ya’ guys know what I got?”
They both nod, averting their eyes. An awkward silence settles over them. Then Keller clears his throat. “I brought you a get well gift. It’s nothing special, but maybe it helps against the boredom.” From his pocket he pulls an Mp3 Player. “It’s my old one, there’s still music on it… pretty much a bit of everything. I got a new one with more storage space but this one’s still a-okay. Thought I’d ask if you want it before I sell it on eBay.”
Jensen takes the offered item. Brushes a thumb over the smooth surface. The buttons and display. “Cool,” he says, smiling. “Thank you, ‘s awesome.”
Keller nods, politely. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh, I jus’ remembered,” Jensen says, lifting a weary hand to point at Johansson. “An eye doctor will come by tomorrow. I’ll get my own glasses, soon. Ya’ can have back yours then.”
Johansson smiles and nods. “No hurry.”
Smiling faintly, Jensen adds, “I’ll probably get new teeth, too.”
“That’s great,” Keller says. “How about a heart?”
Jensen blinks. Then shrugs.
“Dude,” Johansson groans. “He’s got AIDS. It’s virtually impossible to get him on a list for a donor heart.”
“It ain’t just about the aids,” Jensen says, quietly.
“It’s not?” Johansson asks.
Jensen nods. “Just HIV wouldn’t be so bad, but I’ve got other infections and stuff, too.” Jared told him he asked Dr. Whitley for a new heart right away. But he probably ain’t getting one. Not in time, anyway. Dr. Withley said she’s trying to get him on that list, but he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Jensen finds he’s not all that upset about it. His heart ‘s not the best, but it’s the one that beats for Jared. He doesn’t wanna replace that.
Jared
With a heavy thump the closet hits the ground.
Jared exhales a tense breath. Straightens up. Pleased, he brushes a hand over the beech wood.
“Thanks,” he says, still a little winded. “I really appreciate it, man.”
“No biggie,” Chad says. Stretches his scrawny arms. Every time Jared’s surprised anew by how much strength is hidden in that lean body.
“I gotta get back, though.” Chad motions at his watch.
“Yes, of course,” he says quickly. “Sorry for calling you during work.”
“Nah,” Chad shakes his head. “It’s what friends are for, right? You’d do the same.”
“Absolutely,” Jared says, smiling gratefully.
Chad gives him his trademark smirk. Shrugs then turns to leave. But in the door he halts, asks. “When’s this Jensen guy being released, anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” Jared sighs. “A couple days, maybe. Depending on how he adjusts to the meds and recovers from the surgery.”
Chad looks at him. Works his jaw, thoughtful then says, “I don’t mean to be rude, but… are you really sure about this?”
Jared nods, decidedly. “I owe him and even if I didn’t…” he trails off. Shrugs and smiles helpless. “I just want him close. Want to know he’s safe.”
Chad gives a contemplative tilt of his head, rasps his knuckles against the doorframe. “I see… Best of luck then. Let me know if you need anymore help.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
Chad smiles, shakes his head. “This was on the house.” He salutes, then lets himself out.
Jared takes a deep breath when he hears his front door fall shut. Plucks his phone from his jeans. “Thanks for nothing,” he mutters, as he types the words. Picks his brother Jeff as the receiver and hits send. Then he turns and takes a glance around the room. Formerly the guest room. Now it’s going to be Jensen’s room. He smiles at the thought.
He opens the closet door to air out the interior. He put it in the attic about a year ago, when he realized it wasn’t used in the guest room anyway. He had every intention to sell it, but never quite got around to actually doing it. It used to bother him sometimes, but now he’s just glad he didn’t sell it.
He turns to the king size bed. It rests in a light wooden frame. A black, leather coated headrest marks the top. He smoothes out the covers. Knows he’ll change them with some freshly washed ones, even though they’re clean and unused, but still…
At the right, a nightstand and a small lamp. Simple, but it’ll do for starters. Most of the light shines in through the wide double window. One side is open to let in some fresh air. A faint breeze sends the light curtains fluttering about. They paint a picture of dancing warm light and smooth shadows on the bed. For a moment he enjoys the peaceful image. Something is still missing, though. A personal touch. Jensen’s personal touch. He grins to himself. Can’t wait for Jensen to fill this room with life. He allows himself one more moment of dreaming about the future. Then with a sigh he shuts the window again. Freezes the dancing rays of sunlight as the curtains die.
He brushes a hand through his hair and pushes off the windowsill. Heads out of the room. In the hallway he steps on a squeaky chew toy. He picks it up. Squeezes the rubber rat. With a pang he’s reminded of his dogs. For now his sister is taking care of them. Carefully he puts the toy back into Harley’s crib in the downstairs hallway. Makes a mental note to ask Dr. Withley what it means to have AIDS and be around dogs. He doesn’t dare wondering if he’ll have to make a decision between them and Jensen.
***
An hour later, he’s back in the hospital. Slowly walking down along the hallway to Jensen’s room. He trails his fingers over the wall. Feels the texture against the tips. Cold, rugged cement, painted with a pastel color that makes the surface feel smooth to the touch. Print copies of famous art pieces line the hall. A colorful copy of Warhol’s ‘Goethe’ at the far end.
He sighs. “If only…” Thinks of Faust. A deal with the devil. But there’s no Mephistopheles for him. Only Keller and Johansson are waiting outside Jensen’s room.
He opens his mouth, but Johansson’s faster. Nods at the door, “His doctor’s in there. Checking up.”
Eyes widening, he snaps his mouth shut. Knocks briefly, simultaneously opening the door. The first thing his eyes find is Jensen. He has sunken down in his bed. His skin is glistering with sweat. The shadows around his eyes have deepened, despite the sleep. His eyes are trained on Dr. Withley. The chart she’s holding in one hand. The notes she’s making with her other. Jensen’s clinging to his black shirt like Peanuts’ Linus to his blanket. Scared and lost.
Dr. Withley glances up at Jared, when he enters. “Mr. Padalecki,” she says. “Good, I need to talk to you.”
When Jared steps up to him, Jensen picks up his hand. Entangles their fingers. Jared squeezes his hand reassuringly. Then, working up a smile, he turns to Dr. Withley. Tries to ignore the fact Jensen’s still hooked up to his oxygen tube. That the numbers on his patient monitor don’t look all that different from when he left. “What do you want to talk to me about?” He asks, going for light. Knows he’s utterly failing.
Dr. Withley sets down the chart, folds her hands above it. “I want to talk about Mr. Ackles’ release.”
Day 3
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, H/C
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Mentions of: Drug use
Word Count: ~ 4000
Disclaimer: The events described in this story are purely fictional.
A/N: Sequel to A Summer Day and Summer Days - Day 1
Summary: Jensen's first day in the hospital.
Summer Days
"If you are going through hell, keep going."
~ Winston Churchill
Day 2
Jared
Jared’s clock reads 0:42. He’s utterly exhausted, but strangely not even a little tired. Steeling himself, he pushes open the door to Jensen’s room. It’s relatively narrow but rather deep. The walls are high, painted a stark white. The light is dimmed, for which Jared’s eyes are grateful. The far wall is taken up by a large window. The curtains are open and the image of the star filled night sky would be beautiful, if not for the bars blocking the view. There’s a second bed, near the window. It’s empty, though. Unused. Jensen is completely alone in the cold room. With it’s metallic bed, the white, ironed linen and the sterile cleanness, it looks like an inverted version of the dark room at Johnny’s. Jensen looks as out of place here, as he did there.
His black velvet shirt hangs over the backrest of a wooden chair. The only personal item in the room. A second chair and a small table line the remaining empty wall. A sad looking, plastic flower sits in a dry vase.
Jensen’s eyes are rimmed red and purple. He looks twice as exhausted as Jared feels. But he’s not sleeping either, nor does he seem to want to. Dr. Withley warned him that Jensen might not be able to. They put him on Suboxone to ease the heroin withdrawal symptoms but it’s not going to eliminate them entirely. Jared doesn’t even dare thinking about the second round of withdrawal symptoms that’ll start when they ease him of the opiate substitute.
Jensen rests propped up in his bed. He has tossed back the covers. Only his lower legs and feet are still hidden beneath. He looks like he’s sweating harshly, but he’s also notably shivering. His gaze is transfixed on a TV. In his hand he’s got a remote, uses it to idly zap through the channels. On the screen flickers George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. Jensen stops zapping.
“Look,” he says, eyes trained on the movie. “I’m on TV.”
Jared exhales, wearily, “Don’t say that,” and walks from his spot in the doorframe to Jensen’s bed. Sits down on the edge. The sheets around Jensen are damp.
Jensen sighs and turns off the TV. Glances at him, expressionless.
“Can I see it?” Jared asks.
Jensen shrugs. Then inches his hospital shirt up and the waistband of his pants down. Slowly he reveals a dark spot, about the size of a mini disk. The surface is black, framed by pale skin. It’s slightly cracked and hard looking, like callus.
“That doctor lady said it’s dry gangrene,” Jensen says. “That means dead cells because they get no blood.” He straightens his clothes again. Curls his hands limply over his sunken belly. “’s weird. There used to be good veins there. Right under the skin.”
Jared nods. “Yeah, and you probed them one too many times. Dr. Withley said it’s been the eleventh hour. Didn’t you feel any pain?”
Jensen shrugs lopsided. “Some, I guess… I dunno…”
“One of the perks of heroin, huh?”
“I guess,” Jensen says, hesitantly. “But probably not so much, now, right?”
Jared gives a noncommittal tilt of his head. He’s just blue.
Jensen takes his hand. “Can ya’ be there when they cut it out in the morning?”
Jared entwines their fingers. “I’ll be with you as long as you want me to.”
“For the rest of my life, then?” Jensen asks. His breath hitches, but he works up a smile. “It ain’t gonna be that long.”
“Shut up!” He snaps. Jensen flinches. Then squeezes his hand and mumbles, “Sorry. I know it ain’t funny, but…” He trails off, shrugs.
Jared just shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over the back of Jensen’s hand then pulls back. Stands up. He paces the narrow room, feeling like a caged animal.
“What did she tell ya’?” Jensen asks.
He throws up his hands, exasperated, “Everything, Jensen. She told me everything.”
“Even about Titties B and C?” He asks.
Jared stares at him, blankly. Then a hysteric laugh escapes him. Jensen smiles, tentatively. It hits Jared then. He freezes. “It’s called Hepatitis. But you know that, right? You’re just playing the fool.”
Jensen’s fingers curl in the covers. He averts his eyes. “I ain’t liking it when ya’ look sad.” He gives a lopsided shrug. “I got the AIDS and the fucked up heart. But you ain’t havin’ it. So ya’ don’t need to be sad.”
The frustration about Jensen leaves him as fast as it hit him. He sits back down on the bed. Softly, he brushes a drop of sweat form Jensen’s brow. “They only call it AIDS because you have Hep B and C.”
“So what,” he mumbles. “That doctor lady said the only good thing’s I have no symptoms. For now. She told me it might hit me bad any moment. It’s all just racing the clock with my heart to see who of ‘em kills me first.”
“You’ll get better,” Jared says firmly.
“Ya’ can’t know that,” Jensen retorts.
“You can’t know the contrary, either.” He waves a the IV bag. “They’re pumping you full of all kinds of medicine. Your CD4 count will go up again! Hell, it hasn’t even dropped into the AIDS level.” It’s above it by meager 50 T-cells, but it is above it. And their numbers will rise further. They just have to. Breathing harshly, he continues, “The doctors will cut off that damn necrotic flesh before it becomes an infected wet gangrene. They’ll give you stuff for your infected liver. They’ll manage it!” Jensen can get better. Not completely well, Jared’s not stupid, but better. He firmly believes in that. If not, then what’s the point?
Jensen blinks. Then gives a soft grin. Says, “Smartass.”
Jared sucks in a much needed breath. Returns Jensen’s grin with a gentle smile. “So are you.”
A fragile, comfortable silence settles over them. That is, as comfortable as it can be, considering. He picks up Jensen’s hand and feels for his pulse on his wrist. It’s steady and strong. Jared sighs. Fighting over the severity of HIV - it’s stupid. He never thought he’d opt for that. But here he is… because it’s something he can deal with. It’s something that can be dealt with. But Jensen’s heart… it only leaves him feeling helpless. Powerless. The worst is that it doesn’t feel at all as if it would give out soon.
“Can I lay down with you?” He asks.
A hesitant but hopeful smile tugs a Jensen’s lips. “Ain’t ya’ scared you’ll catch something?”
“You’re not bleeding and we’re not having unprotected sex, so I should be fine.”
The smile comes out full force. Jensen scoots a bit to the side, making room for him. Jared kicks off his shoes then stretches out on his side. Faces Jensen. Gently, he reaches out. Splays his hand over Jensen’s chest. Once more feels for his heartbeat.
Jensen glances down. Cups his hand. “It don’t feel damaged and tired to me…”
“No… It doesn’t feel like that to me either, but…” He exhales a deep breath. Bites his lip against the burn in his eyes. “But your heart had to endure a lot.”
“Because I smoke and did H?”
Jared shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not just because of that. Because of what everyone put your heart through.”
“Everyone but you,” Jensen mumbles. Rolls into him. “’m cold. ‘s this okay?”
Jared just smiles and lifts his arm. Lets Jensen position himself as the little spoon. Then he loosely but protectively wraps his arms around him.
“She said maybe six months… if they get that HIV and Hepatitis stuff controlled,” Jensen says.
“Yeah,” he croaks. Hugs him closer, just to feel as much of him as possible.
“’t really sucks…” Jensen mutters, idly spider-walking a hand up Jared’s arm. “My birthday‘s in eight.”
Jensen
He’s lying on his side without any pants. Just some green sheet’s covering his legs. There’s a cut out over his zombie hip. He can’t see it. They put up a screen right below his chest so he won’t be able to look. He can only feel it. For now. Soon he won’t be able to anymore. Is what the black doctor said, anyway. Jensen’s not so sure. He’s been aching pretty badly since this morning. He’s not sweating as much anymore, but instead he’s feeling a thousand tiny pricks all over his body. Especially in his hands and feet. He can also feel that Doc rubbing cold, wet stuff on his back. Knows the guy’s prepping his back for a huge ass needle.
“Ya’ sure that’s where it goes?” He asks, trying to sound light. “I’m sure I can find some vein where it won’t hurt as much.”
The doctor chuckles. “I’m afraid a vein won’t be the right spot for a spinal anesthetic.”
“Ya’ sure?” He asks. “H got me numb pretty much from any spot I used it.”
“This is a bit stronger stuff, and we don’t want your whole body numb.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” he whispers.
“It’s too risky in your condition,” Doc says.
“I know,” he says. They’ve been over this. “’m jus’ saying.” He stares at the light blue tiles. The chrome furniture. It looks hard and cold. There’s an assortment of tools on a movable stand. Knifes and scissors and lots of pointy things. “Ya’ gonna use all that?”
No one answers him, but a guilty looking, young nurse appears in his line of vision. She pushes the tray out of his sight.
“Does that mean ‘yeah’?” He asks. Again, no one answers him. He curls and uncurls his fingers for something to do. Jared appears before him. Hunches down and picks up one of his hands.
“Aren’t you supposed to be relaxed?” He asks. He’s dressed in a gown like the doctors. Wears a hair net and a mask, too. Unlike the doctor’s his stuff’s all pink, though.
Jensen chuckles. “’s not ya’ color.”
“Shut up,” he huffs. But his eyes are soft. He’s smiling.
“How are you feeling?”
He hitches one shoulder. “Sick, achy, restless…” Having to just lay here’s not so good. “I could really use,” - a hit - “a smoke.”
Jared’s eyes glitter with compassion. He leans forward and places a peck on Jensen’s forehead. Jensen can feel that ten times as strong, too, but it’s much nicer than the prickly touch of the doctor.
“It sucks,” Jared concedes. “But this will be over soon. I know you can do this.” He pauses, smiles. “After all, you’re probably the toughest guy I know.”
Jensen exhales deeply and returns the smile. He ain’t sure about that, but if Jared says so. He gives a faint nod. Now or never. “Ya’ can start now, Doc,” he says. “’m ready.”
He’s not sure why, but it earns him chuckles from the whole room.
“Alright,” Doc says. “I’ll administer the drug now. You may experience some discomfort.”
“No shit,” he drawls. “This ain’t a SPA? Ya’ screwed me.”
More chuckles. And then white hot pain. He gasps a laugh.
Jared squeezes his hand. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I ain’t pretending,” he snaps, then bites his lips. “I ain’t a crier.” That damn doctor is jus’ givin’ him a fuckin’ shot. He’s had worse. Felt worse. This is peanuts. And yet, he can’t seem to keep his hands from white knuckling Jared’s.
Jared
The air conditioning in Jensen’s room whirrs bravely. For all it’s achieving it might be off. The afternoon sun beats unrelenting through the window. Even with the windows closed and curtains drawn the air in the room feels like a wet blanket. Jared’s clothes are soaked through, clinging to his weary body. Jensen’s off even worse. His sheets are soaked. His hospital gown discarded, converted to a sheet barely covering his privates. And yet, he insisted on putting his black shirt back on right after surgery. Jared straightens it out, but it’s not doing much. The fabric’s glued to Jensen’s pale skin. At two sizes too wide, it refuses to fall right. His skinny body is a mocking accusation to Jared’s heart.
Tenderly, Jared picks up Jensen’s hand. He can barely hold it. It’s swimming between his palms. Keeps slipping constantly.
Jensen’s breathing is faint, his mouth slightly agape. His blood pressure has dropped, the oxygen level right along with it. A side effect of the anesthesia. Jensen had to be attached to oxygen tubes. In his bed, he’s propped up high to give his lungs more room. Ease his breathing.
Jared sighs. Presses his forehead against Jensen’s fingers. There’s still a faint blue tint to the tips. They’re limp. Exhaustion has claimed Jensen a couple hours ago. Won out over his withdrawal induced insomnia and restlessness. And still, he’s shivering even in his sleep. Minutely, but permanently. Softly, Jared massages his hand. Whispers, “It’ll be okay, it’ll all be okay.”
A knock on the door startles him. He straightens up. Calls “Yes?” and the door opens. Revealing Johansson and Keller.
“Hey,” they greet. Jared works up a faint smile.
“How is he?” Keller asks.
He hitches a shoulder, helpless. “They say he’s doing okay,” he says. “Considering.” Weary he brushes a hand over his face. “I’ve got no idea what that actually means.”
Silence settles over them. Jared watches as Johansson and Keller take a seat at the small table. Then Johansson picks up an empty glass, dried leftovers of Jensen’s protein shake still clinging to it.
“Liquid nutrition, huh?” He asks, glances at Jensen. “Pretty weird seeing him like this, when yesterday he was still…” he trails off. “Eating a burrito,” he says, eventually, but Jared knows what he meant to say. He’s had the same thought.
When Johansson sets the glass back down, Jared can’t help but to chuckle, though. “He loves chocolate. Said everything tastes good with chocolate.” He pauses. More solemn, “Everything.”
“Everything?” Keller asks, skeptical.
He nods, slowly. “Yeah… I don’t really know what that means… if that includes…” he trails off. “I don’t want to know.”
Keller nods. “I guess.” A beat. Then, “By the way, we were at your office earlier. Sorted out the paperwork with your secretary. For the most part, at least. She said a signature from you is still needed.” He pauses, holds his hands up, palms forward. “But no hurry, just wanted to let you know. And I left the SD card with her.”
Jared nods. His lips twitches in a barely there smile. “Thanks.”
“So,” Johansson asks. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” Jared gasps. Looks in two solemn faces. They expect an answer. Problem is, he never stopped to think about it.
Jensen
His mouth is dry. Tongue glued to the roof. It feels like cotton. He groans. Smacks his lips. They’re dry, too. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open. Blurry shapes waver in front of his eyes. He squints but they don’t take on form.
Then a white glob steps closer. A person. Bare arms, rolled up sleeves. Glasses are set on his nose. They slip a little.
He blinks as the world comes into focus. “Johansson?” It comes out hoarse. His throat feels like sandpaper. He coughs.
“Yeah,” Johansson says. Points over his shoulder. “Keller’s here, too.”
He glances past him. Spots a bulky man with short blonde hair. The camera guy from the other day. He has poured him a plastic cup off water. Grateful, Jensen wraps his hands around it. Tosses it back. The smooth liquid’s a wonder against his throat. But his gut churns. Too fast. He hiccups. Can’t help the burp that follows. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then places the cup on his overbed table. Glances in the round. “Jared?”
“He’s gone home for a little while,” Johansson says.
“Oh,” he says. Tugs at his shirt. “Guess he had to, right?”
Johansson nods. Keller adds, “We’ll keep you company until he’s back, alright?”
He mumbles, “’kay…” Sucks in a breath. Closes his eyes then blinks them back open. Slowly gets a grip on things. “How long did I…?”
“About 4 and a half hours, from what I know,” Johansson says. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugs, lolls his head to the side. Feels the wet sheets against his skin. “Like warmed up roadkill… Sweaty, itchy… kinda sick…” He trails off. “But not that sick, ya’ know?” He pauses. “Ya’ guys know what I got?”
They both nod, averting their eyes. An awkward silence settles over them. Then Keller clears his throat. “I brought you a get well gift. It’s nothing special, but maybe it helps against the boredom.” From his pocket he pulls an Mp3 Player. “It’s my old one, there’s still music on it… pretty much a bit of everything. I got a new one with more storage space but this one’s still a-okay. Thought I’d ask if you want it before I sell it on eBay.”
Jensen takes the offered item. Brushes a thumb over the smooth surface. The buttons and display. “Cool,” he says, smiling. “Thank you, ‘s awesome.”
Keller nods, politely. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh, I jus’ remembered,” Jensen says, lifting a weary hand to point at Johansson. “An eye doctor will come by tomorrow. I’ll get my own glasses, soon. Ya’ can have back yours then.”
Johansson smiles and nods. “No hurry.”
Smiling faintly, Jensen adds, “I’ll probably get new teeth, too.”
“That’s great,” Keller says. “How about a heart?”
Jensen blinks. Then shrugs.
“Dude,” Johansson groans. “He’s got AIDS. It’s virtually impossible to get him on a list for a donor heart.”
“It ain’t just about the aids,” Jensen says, quietly.
“It’s not?” Johansson asks.
Jensen nods. “Just HIV wouldn’t be so bad, but I’ve got other infections and stuff, too.” Jared told him he asked Dr. Whitley for a new heart right away. But he probably ain’t getting one. Not in time, anyway. Dr. Withley said she’s trying to get him on that list, but he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Jensen finds he’s not all that upset about it. His heart ‘s not the best, but it’s the one that beats for Jared. He doesn’t wanna replace that.
Jared
With a heavy thump the closet hits the ground.
Jared exhales a tense breath. Straightens up. Pleased, he brushes a hand over the beech wood.
“Thanks,” he says, still a little winded. “I really appreciate it, man.”
“No biggie,” Chad says. Stretches his scrawny arms. Every time Jared’s surprised anew by how much strength is hidden in that lean body.
“I gotta get back, though.” Chad motions at his watch.
“Yes, of course,” he says quickly. “Sorry for calling you during work.”
“Nah,” Chad shakes his head. “It’s what friends are for, right? You’d do the same.”
“Absolutely,” Jared says, smiling gratefully.
Chad gives him his trademark smirk. Shrugs then turns to leave. But in the door he halts, asks. “When’s this Jensen guy being released, anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” Jared sighs. “A couple days, maybe. Depending on how he adjusts to the meds and recovers from the surgery.”
Chad looks at him. Works his jaw, thoughtful then says, “I don’t mean to be rude, but… are you really sure about this?”
Jared nods, decidedly. “I owe him and even if I didn’t…” he trails off. Shrugs and smiles helpless. “I just want him close. Want to know he’s safe.”
Chad gives a contemplative tilt of his head, rasps his knuckles against the doorframe. “I see… Best of luck then. Let me know if you need anymore help.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
Chad smiles, shakes his head. “This was on the house.” He salutes, then lets himself out.
Jared takes a deep breath when he hears his front door fall shut. Plucks his phone from his jeans. “Thanks for nothing,” he mutters, as he types the words. Picks his brother Jeff as the receiver and hits send. Then he turns and takes a glance around the room. Formerly the guest room. Now it’s going to be Jensen’s room. He smiles at the thought.
He opens the closet door to air out the interior. He put it in the attic about a year ago, when he realized it wasn’t used in the guest room anyway. He had every intention to sell it, but never quite got around to actually doing it. It used to bother him sometimes, but now he’s just glad he didn’t sell it.
He turns to the king size bed. It rests in a light wooden frame. A black, leather coated headrest marks the top. He smoothes out the covers. Knows he’ll change them with some freshly washed ones, even though they’re clean and unused, but still…
At the right, a nightstand and a small lamp. Simple, but it’ll do for starters. Most of the light shines in through the wide double window. One side is open to let in some fresh air. A faint breeze sends the light curtains fluttering about. They paint a picture of dancing warm light and smooth shadows on the bed. For a moment he enjoys the peaceful image. Something is still missing, though. A personal touch. Jensen’s personal touch. He grins to himself. Can’t wait for Jensen to fill this room with life. He allows himself one more moment of dreaming about the future. Then with a sigh he shuts the window again. Freezes the dancing rays of sunlight as the curtains die.
He brushes a hand through his hair and pushes off the windowsill. Heads out of the room. In the hallway he steps on a squeaky chew toy. He picks it up. Squeezes the rubber rat. With a pang he’s reminded of his dogs. For now his sister is taking care of them. Carefully he puts the toy back into Harley’s crib in the downstairs hallway. Makes a mental note to ask Dr. Withley what it means to have AIDS and be around dogs. He doesn’t dare wondering if he’ll have to make a decision between them and Jensen.
***
An hour later, he’s back in the hospital. Slowly walking down along the hallway to Jensen’s room. He trails his fingers over the wall. Feels the texture against the tips. Cold, rugged cement, painted with a pastel color that makes the surface feel smooth to the touch. Print copies of famous art pieces line the hall. A colorful copy of Warhol’s ‘Goethe’ at the far end.
He sighs. “If only…” Thinks of Faust. A deal with the devil. But there’s no Mephistopheles for him. Only Keller and Johansson are waiting outside Jensen’s room.
He opens his mouth, but Johansson’s faster. Nods at the door, “His doctor’s in there. Checking up.”
Eyes widening, he snaps his mouth shut. Knocks briefly, simultaneously opening the door. The first thing his eyes find is Jensen. He has sunken down in his bed. His skin is glistering with sweat. The shadows around his eyes have deepened, despite the sleep. His eyes are trained on Dr. Withley. The chart she’s holding in one hand. The notes she’s making with her other. Jensen’s clinging to his black shirt like Peanuts’ Linus to his blanket. Scared and lost.
Dr. Withley glances up at Jared, when he enters. “Mr. Padalecki,” she says. “Good, I need to talk to you.”
When Jared steps up to him, Jensen picks up his hand. Entangles their fingers. Jared squeezes his hand reassuringly. Then, working up a smile, he turns to Dr. Withley. Tries to ignore the fact Jensen’s still hooked up to his oxygen tube. That the numbers on his patient monitor don’t look all that different from when he left. “What do you want to talk to me about?” He asks, going for light. Knows he’s utterly failing.
Dr. Withley sets down the chart, folds her hands above it. “I want to talk about Mr. Ackles’ release.”
Day 3