Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 14/? (WIP)
Title: Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / OFC
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted... I am writing on this, but really, it took on a mind/life of it's own, and it's sorta festering at upset!Jared and a Jensen who's entirely unsure what to do... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help.
Spoilers: Nothing to see here, folks...
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Chapter Fourteen: Breaking Point
Rating: PG-13 might be pushing it, but better to be safe than sorry, and adult themes still the status quo here…
Pairing: Jensen/Jared… I know, I promised and I’m not delivering! Still not yet, folks, but really, we are working towards it… slowly.
Word Count: 2,346
Breaking Point
I wake, groggy and still tired, to the sound of my alarm blaring in my left ear, and drag myself to the shower, knowing if I hit the snooze button I’ll sleep through the alarm when it goes off a second time. I put on jeans and a fleece, figuring they’re only going to re-outfit me on set anyway, take a skintight sweater in case I go out after filming, and wear the Prada shoes-aside from trendy and classy, I think they’re the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn. Well worth the money. I’ve tried to get Jared into a pair, but he sticks with his cowboy boots and unsightly sandals or flip-flops in the summer. I can’t fault him on the boots at least. If I didn’t have Pradas, I’d wear my cowboy boots day in and day out too.
I buy coffee at the local Tim Hortons on my way to the set, manage not to burn myself while drinking it in the car. Once I get to the set, the first place I go is to the costume trailer, where I’m handed battered jeans that are a tighter fit than what I’d like, a tee shirt, the red flannel that’s appeared in three episodes already, and Dean’s customary leather coat. After changing in my trailer, it’s on to see Cindy, who makes me look my best-or worst, depending on what scenes we’re filming.
When she calls in assistants I settle in for the long haul. An hour later, they’re putting on the finishing touches, and Kripke’s come in to go over the finer points of what my makeup will accomplish and how I’m expected to play the scene.
Our props team outfits me with a hunting knife and an SIG. The shotgun is already on the set, along with Jared’s knives and a rifle. “Jared’s here?”
I guess I sound more surprised than I really am, because they look at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Of course he is.”
Kripke walks with me to the set. “Listen to me. We’re going to run this scene with the two of you, but Jared’s sick. If he can’t go, we can do the scenes with just you today so at least the day’s not wasted.”
I nod, curse the writers for the two episodes they’ve written where there are at least ten scenes from each that focus solely on Dean Winchester. If Jared’s too sick to work, on set filming is the last place I’m going to want to be-especially given recent events. There’s little else I can do but nod, though, and I follow Eric over sodden ground to the warehouse where they’ve set up scenery and furniture, props and indoor sets. The lighting is bright, nearly blinding in areas, dim and dark in others. I’m pointed towards a corner set, where a cameraman is setting up.
Jared’s already there, sitting in the cast chair near the wall, sipping what I assume to be coffee from a cardboard diner cup. There’s a tremor to his hands, a flush to his cheeks and pallor to the rest of his skin that not even Cindy’s magic can hide… His eyes are glassy even from afar, and I’m not sure the dark circles beneath his eyes are Cindy’s handiwork or not.
I take my seat in the casting chair next to him, pick up a copy of the script and do a quick run-through of the scene and my lines, watching as finishing touches are put on the set.
“Positions!” That’s Eric-we’re ready to go.
Jared holds up a hand as he steps out of position to hack up a lung. Someone from the crew hands him a napkin that he holds to his mouth for a minute and I really hope he’s not spitting out blood or lung particles.
I eye him with a mix of concern and annoyance as he tosses the napkin and rejoins me on the set. It films without hitch, Jared hits all his lines perfectly, and the puppy-dog eyes at the end of the scene-the scene that’ll be the cut to commercial once it goes to television-cut me to the core. Jared makes it through a few more scenes before having to sit down, drink some water, and hack up another part of his lung.
I sit next to him, let my knee tap his. When he doesn’t react, I let my knee tap his harder, nudging after the contact. “Jare.”
He turns his head to look at me, and the way he looks, if he weren’t sitting down already, I’d be afraid he would fall over. Beneath the layer of makeup I can see now I’m this close to him, the flush of fever already shines through, and I can see now the dark under his eyes isn’t eyeliner or shadow applied by Cindy. He blinks, as if to focus on me, and I don’t doubt that’s probably what he’s doing-focusing. “Jare…”
He stands, leans against the chair when his knees buckle. “Jensen, please… stop.”
I look around the warehouse for Eric, and find him standing with a few members of lighting, discussing how he wants the next scene to film. As I get up, despite being relatively sure Jared’s not going anywhere, I look at him, tell him, “…don’t go anywhere.” I don’t wait for a response before heading over to Eric to let him know I’m taking twenty minutes with Jared.
I motion towards Jared, who still leans against his chair, and is looking sicker by the minute, and Eric nods before returning his attention to the crew members. I jog back to Jared’s side, and it doesn’t matter what others might think, doesn’t matter that I know he thinks of me that way-Jared needs help and he clearly hasn’t gotten it from anyone else-and I tell myself that as I hesitate just slightly before sliding my arm around him. That he doesn’t argue this time when I help him speaks volumes about his condition.
Once we’re outside, I push him against the sheet metal wall of the building and lay my hand over his forehead. He’s hot, even under the layers of foundation and makeup. “Jare… when was the last time you took your temperature?”
He shakes his head weakly, shrugs my hand away as he shrinks away from me. “At your apartment... didn’t have a thermometer.”
“You’ve been coughing like this the whole time since you left?” I ask as he folds over, violent coughs making his body spasm and breath hitch.
He nods as he spits phlegm onto the dirt, yellow-green in color, tinged with a deep red-blood?-and I’m reminded of when I had pneumonia when I was a teenager. The symptoms are eerily similar with Jared, though his fever is higher than mine ever was, and I don’t recall vomiting as much, if at all.
I get him back to my trailer, which is located slightly closer to the set warehouse than Jared’s, and Jared near-collapses on the cot as I look through the contents of the medicine cabinet. I pull out the Tylenol and am about to give up the hunt for anything more useful when I find an obsolete mercury-base thermometer-which is better than nothing at all, I suppose. I rinse the bulb under water, and sit at the edge of the cot-bed.
Jared shifts so his head rests near my leg, his eyes closed, and he lets me slide the thermometer into his mouth when I touch the still-wet and cool metal bulb to his lips without a word. I get a bottle of water from the refrigerator, grab the makeup remover from the ledge and start gently wiping makeup from Jared’s face.
I take the thermometer after a minute or two, see it’s still hovering around 102, and gently shake Jared’s shoulder. “Jare… come on… gonna take you to the hospital.”
His resistance is minimal as I wrap him in my hoodie, guide him out the door of my trailer, and help him navigate the two steps down to the ground. I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye, an odd expression on his face, as though he wants to ask me something but doesn’t have the words. Before I can ask him about it though, he looks away and a sickly glaze and floppy light brown hair hide the emotion in his blue-green eyes.
I get him settled in the car, and as I’m pulling onto the highway, I call Eric on the set.
“Jensen, where are you? You said twenty minutes. And where’s Jared?”
I glance over at my half-asleep and very sick co-star, change lanes with one hand on the wheel. “Jared’s with me.” I say after taking a breath. “I’m taking him to the hospital, Eric. He’s running a fever...” I could tell him there’s no way Jared can continue filming today, but I think that’s fairly obvious, and I’m not sure what else I should tell him-that Jared’s been running a fever for the last couple days? That his cough has only gotten worse? That he’s been throwing up everything he eats?
Eric sighs-he’s not pleased. “Call me, tell me what they say.”
I nod as a response, even though Eric can’t see me, and end the phone call, toss the cell phone in the center console after flipping it to ‘vibrate’. I pull into the parking lot of the hospital, and haul Jared from the passenger seat and through the Emergency Room doors of Vancouver General.
Orderlies get him settled on a stretcher, and I find myself waiting in an uncomfortable green plastic chair in a sterile white tiled room with a schoolroom style industrial clock on the wall as doctors examine him, run blood work and send him for a chest x-ray.
A doctor with a yellowed name tag-Dr. Harris, it reads-comes up to me nearly two hours later. “Mr. Ackles?”
I look up from the magazine-I’ve managed to read five lines in those two hours-and toss it aside. “That’s me…”
“Mr. Padalecki is asking for you. He’s in room 518. Fifth floor, up that set of elevators.” He points towards a far grouping of elevators, faux wood surrounded by black metal, little shining arrows indicating their direction of transport above each on the wall.
I stand, pushing off my legs, and for a split-second, it flickers to mind that I should have changed into the Armani’s and put on my sport coat before I’d left the trailers. But Jared had been-and is-more important. “How is he? When can I take him home?”
“He has pneumonia.” Dr. Harris talks, and his next few words go in one ear and out the other as a particularly hot nurse walks by, her hips swaying beneath the white skirt and hose she wears. I entertain the thought of her in heels for a minute, push the thoughts from my mind and focus again on Dr. Harris.
I’m told I can visit with him now, can stay until six-the end of visiting hours-if I’d like, and that I can take him home tomorrow morning. He’s dehydrated, and they’ve got him on an IV drip to get fluids and nutrients in him.
Dr. Harris asks if anyone will be with him, and without really thinking about it first, I tell him that Jared “…will be staying with me.”
Dr. Harris tells me what I’ll need to do to take care of him, beyond what I already know. Pedialyte and water to keep him hydrated, Tylenol to reduce the fever, light foods if he can handle them… He notes that there’s a prescription at the nurse’s station for antibiotics along with a paper detailing home care for patients with pneumonia that we can pick up when I take him home tomorrow.
Eric’ll be more than pissed-but I have no intention of going back to the set without Jared, which has nothing to do with the fact that I have yet to figure out how to put to rest the demons between us and everything to do with the fact that I know Jared, know what he needs. He needs someone to be with him when he’s sick, to take care of him. I could call his mother or his sister, I’m sure either (or both) would fly up, but I don’t have the space at my place for both Jared and his mom or sister, and he can’t be alone.
I think of the best way to break this to Eric as I ride the elevators to the fifth floor, check room numbers and find my way down the hallway towards room 518. I hear Jared before I find his room-he’s still coughing-and the minute I see him, I know I’m making the right decision to take off work until he’s healthy, to keep him with me so I can take care of him.
Something breaks inside of me at the sight of him, so thin and weak and tired, pale even against the stark white of the hospital linens. We’re not okay, but without talking, we’re about as okay as we’re going to get at this minute, because I know I have to put aside everything I think and feel about him and events of the recent past so I can give him what he needs to get well.
I also know that we’re going to have to talk, because if we don’t, he probably won’t agree to stay with me (and if he doesn’t stay with me, where else is he going to go?), won’t let me help him get better, and Jared’s health-that’s the main concern here.
I stand in the door-he hasn’t noticed my presence yet-and watch as he picks idly at the sheet covering his hospital-nightgown covered body with one hand, covers his mouth as he coughs with another.
“Jared?”
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Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / OFC
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted... I am writing on this, but really, it took on a mind/life of it's own, and it's sorta festering at upset!Jared and a Jensen who's entirely unsure what to do... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help.
Spoilers: Nothing to see here, folks...
-------------------------
Chapter Fourteen: Breaking Point
Rating: PG-13 might be pushing it, but better to be safe than sorry, and adult themes still the status quo here…
Pairing: Jensen/Jared… I know, I promised and I’m not delivering! Still not yet, folks, but really, we are working towards it… slowly.
Word Count: 2,346
Breaking Point
I wake, groggy and still tired, to the sound of my alarm blaring in my left ear, and drag myself to the shower, knowing if I hit the snooze button I’ll sleep through the alarm when it goes off a second time. I put on jeans and a fleece, figuring they’re only going to re-outfit me on set anyway, take a skintight sweater in case I go out after filming, and wear the Prada shoes-aside from trendy and classy, I think they’re the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn. Well worth the money. I’ve tried to get Jared into a pair, but he sticks with his cowboy boots and unsightly sandals or flip-flops in the summer. I can’t fault him on the boots at least. If I didn’t have Pradas, I’d wear my cowboy boots day in and day out too.
I buy coffee at the local Tim Hortons on my way to the set, manage not to burn myself while drinking it in the car. Once I get to the set, the first place I go is to the costume trailer, where I’m handed battered jeans that are a tighter fit than what I’d like, a tee shirt, the red flannel that’s appeared in three episodes already, and Dean’s customary leather coat. After changing in my trailer, it’s on to see Cindy, who makes me look my best-or worst, depending on what scenes we’re filming.
When she calls in assistants I settle in for the long haul. An hour later, they’re putting on the finishing touches, and Kripke’s come in to go over the finer points of what my makeup will accomplish and how I’m expected to play the scene.
Our props team outfits me with a hunting knife and an SIG. The shotgun is already on the set, along with Jared’s knives and a rifle. “Jared’s here?”
I guess I sound more surprised than I really am, because they look at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Of course he is.”
Kripke walks with me to the set. “Listen to me. We’re going to run this scene with the two of you, but Jared’s sick. If he can’t go, we can do the scenes with just you today so at least the day’s not wasted.”
I nod, curse the writers for the two episodes they’ve written where there are at least ten scenes from each that focus solely on Dean Winchester. If Jared’s too sick to work, on set filming is the last place I’m going to want to be-especially given recent events. There’s little else I can do but nod, though, and I follow Eric over sodden ground to the warehouse where they’ve set up scenery and furniture, props and indoor sets. The lighting is bright, nearly blinding in areas, dim and dark in others. I’m pointed towards a corner set, where a cameraman is setting up.
Jared’s already there, sitting in the cast chair near the wall, sipping what I assume to be coffee from a cardboard diner cup. There’s a tremor to his hands, a flush to his cheeks and pallor to the rest of his skin that not even Cindy’s magic can hide… His eyes are glassy even from afar, and I’m not sure the dark circles beneath his eyes are Cindy’s handiwork or not.
I take my seat in the casting chair next to him, pick up a copy of the script and do a quick run-through of the scene and my lines, watching as finishing touches are put on the set.
“Positions!” That’s Eric-we’re ready to go.
Jared holds up a hand as he steps out of position to hack up a lung. Someone from the crew hands him a napkin that he holds to his mouth for a minute and I really hope he’s not spitting out blood or lung particles.
I eye him with a mix of concern and annoyance as he tosses the napkin and rejoins me on the set. It films without hitch, Jared hits all his lines perfectly, and the puppy-dog eyes at the end of the scene-the scene that’ll be the cut to commercial once it goes to television-cut me to the core. Jared makes it through a few more scenes before having to sit down, drink some water, and hack up another part of his lung.
I sit next to him, let my knee tap his. When he doesn’t react, I let my knee tap his harder, nudging after the contact. “Jare.”
He turns his head to look at me, and the way he looks, if he weren’t sitting down already, I’d be afraid he would fall over. Beneath the layer of makeup I can see now I’m this close to him, the flush of fever already shines through, and I can see now the dark under his eyes isn’t eyeliner or shadow applied by Cindy. He blinks, as if to focus on me, and I don’t doubt that’s probably what he’s doing-focusing. “Jare…”
He stands, leans against the chair when his knees buckle. “Jensen, please… stop.”
I look around the warehouse for Eric, and find him standing with a few members of lighting, discussing how he wants the next scene to film. As I get up, despite being relatively sure Jared’s not going anywhere, I look at him, tell him, “…don’t go anywhere.” I don’t wait for a response before heading over to Eric to let him know I’m taking twenty minutes with Jared.
I motion towards Jared, who still leans against his chair, and is looking sicker by the minute, and Eric nods before returning his attention to the crew members. I jog back to Jared’s side, and it doesn’t matter what others might think, doesn’t matter that I know he thinks of me that way-Jared needs help and he clearly hasn’t gotten it from anyone else-and I tell myself that as I hesitate just slightly before sliding my arm around him. That he doesn’t argue this time when I help him speaks volumes about his condition.
Once we’re outside, I push him against the sheet metal wall of the building and lay my hand over his forehead. He’s hot, even under the layers of foundation and makeup. “Jare… when was the last time you took your temperature?”
He shakes his head weakly, shrugs my hand away as he shrinks away from me. “At your apartment... didn’t have a thermometer.”
“You’ve been coughing like this the whole time since you left?” I ask as he folds over, violent coughs making his body spasm and breath hitch.
He nods as he spits phlegm onto the dirt, yellow-green in color, tinged with a deep red-blood?-and I’m reminded of when I had pneumonia when I was a teenager. The symptoms are eerily similar with Jared, though his fever is higher than mine ever was, and I don’t recall vomiting as much, if at all.
I get him back to my trailer, which is located slightly closer to the set warehouse than Jared’s, and Jared near-collapses on the cot as I look through the contents of the medicine cabinet. I pull out the Tylenol and am about to give up the hunt for anything more useful when I find an obsolete mercury-base thermometer-which is better than nothing at all, I suppose. I rinse the bulb under water, and sit at the edge of the cot-bed.
Jared shifts so his head rests near my leg, his eyes closed, and he lets me slide the thermometer into his mouth when I touch the still-wet and cool metal bulb to his lips without a word. I get a bottle of water from the refrigerator, grab the makeup remover from the ledge and start gently wiping makeup from Jared’s face.
I take the thermometer after a minute or two, see it’s still hovering around 102, and gently shake Jared’s shoulder. “Jare… come on… gonna take you to the hospital.”
His resistance is minimal as I wrap him in my hoodie, guide him out the door of my trailer, and help him navigate the two steps down to the ground. I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye, an odd expression on his face, as though he wants to ask me something but doesn’t have the words. Before I can ask him about it though, he looks away and a sickly glaze and floppy light brown hair hide the emotion in his blue-green eyes.
I get him settled in the car, and as I’m pulling onto the highway, I call Eric on the set.
“Jensen, where are you? You said twenty minutes. And where’s Jared?”
I glance over at my half-asleep and very sick co-star, change lanes with one hand on the wheel. “Jared’s with me.” I say after taking a breath. “I’m taking him to the hospital, Eric. He’s running a fever...” I could tell him there’s no way Jared can continue filming today, but I think that’s fairly obvious, and I’m not sure what else I should tell him-that Jared’s been running a fever for the last couple days? That his cough has only gotten worse? That he’s been throwing up everything he eats?
Eric sighs-he’s not pleased. “Call me, tell me what they say.”
I nod as a response, even though Eric can’t see me, and end the phone call, toss the cell phone in the center console after flipping it to ‘vibrate’. I pull into the parking lot of the hospital, and haul Jared from the passenger seat and through the Emergency Room doors of Vancouver General.
Orderlies get him settled on a stretcher, and I find myself waiting in an uncomfortable green plastic chair in a sterile white tiled room with a schoolroom style industrial clock on the wall as doctors examine him, run blood work and send him for a chest x-ray.
A doctor with a yellowed name tag-Dr. Harris, it reads-comes up to me nearly two hours later. “Mr. Ackles?”
I look up from the magazine-I’ve managed to read five lines in those two hours-and toss it aside. “That’s me…”
“Mr. Padalecki is asking for you. He’s in room 518. Fifth floor, up that set of elevators.” He points towards a far grouping of elevators, faux wood surrounded by black metal, little shining arrows indicating their direction of transport above each on the wall.
I stand, pushing off my legs, and for a split-second, it flickers to mind that I should have changed into the Armani’s and put on my sport coat before I’d left the trailers. But Jared had been-and is-more important. “How is he? When can I take him home?”
“He has pneumonia.” Dr. Harris talks, and his next few words go in one ear and out the other as a particularly hot nurse walks by, her hips swaying beneath the white skirt and hose she wears. I entertain the thought of her in heels for a minute, push the thoughts from my mind and focus again on Dr. Harris.
I’m told I can visit with him now, can stay until six-the end of visiting hours-if I’d like, and that I can take him home tomorrow morning. He’s dehydrated, and they’ve got him on an IV drip to get fluids and nutrients in him.
Dr. Harris asks if anyone will be with him, and without really thinking about it first, I tell him that Jared “…will be staying with me.”
Dr. Harris tells me what I’ll need to do to take care of him, beyond what I already know. Pedialyte and water to keep him hydrated, Tylenol to reduce the fever, light foods if he can handle them… He notes that there’s a prescription at the nurse’s station for antibiotics along with a paper detailing home care for patients with pneumonia that we can pick up when I take him home tomorrow.
Eric’ll be more than pissed-but I have no intention of going back to the set without Jared, which has nothing to do with the fact that I have yet to figure out how to put to rest the demons between us and everything to do with the fact that I know Jared, know what he needs. He needs someone to be with him when he’s sick, to take care of him. I could call his mother or his sister, I’m sure either (or both) would fly up, but I don’t have the space at my place for both Jared and his mom or sister, and he can’t be alone.
I think of the best way to break this to Eric as I ride the elevators to the fifth floor, check room numbers and find my way down the hallway towards room 518. I hear Jared before I find his room-he’s still coughing-and the minute I see him, I know I’m making the right decision to take off work until he’s healthy, to keep him with me so I can take care of him.
Something breaks inside of me at the sight of him, so thin and weak and tired, pale even against the stark white of the hospital linens. We’re not okay, but without talking, we’re about as okay as we’re going to get at this minute, because I know I have to put aside everything I think and feel about him and events of the recent past so I can give him what he needs to get well.
I also know that we’re going to have to talk, because if we don’t, he probably won’t agree to stay with me (and if he doesn’t stay with me, where else is he going to go?), won’t let me help him get better, and Jared’s health-that’s the main concern here.
I stand in the door-he hasn’t noticed my presence yet-and watch as he picks idly at the sheet covering his hospital-nightgown covered body with one hand, covers his mouth as he coughs with another.
“Jared?”
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