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tamingthemuseTitle: Every Breath You Take [18/?]
Fandom: CW RPS – J2
Prompt: 354 – mummy
Warnings: AU.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1500+
Summary: Jared's recovery is a long, difficult, frustrating road. He's preparing to move halfway across the country for a chance at better treatment, but he's afraid he won't see Jensen again before he goes.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.
oxoxo
Doctors are everywhere, all the time, after he wakes up. There are a lot of scans and tests, a lot of poking and prodding like he's just this... curious thing to be studied and not a real human being. He's started on different drug cocktails and speech therapy and physical therapy, and time starts to blur the days together.
He's rarely left alone, between Aldis and Matt helping him with his physical therapy; Sandy or the night nurse Genevieve checking his vitals and talking to him about the most random things from the news to the weather to the bands playing at local music festivals; and his parents, brother, and sister visit frequently. Not to mention Dr. Ferris and Dr. Tal, who seem to bring a never-ending stream of other doctors and specialists to see him, study him, always remarking on his recovery, throwing around words like impossible and miracle, talking about his brain function and coma versus minimally conscious state.
There's one person who has yet to visit him again since he regained full consciousness. One afternoon almost a week after he woke up, during a rare moment alone with his mother, she's holding his hand and going on about Halloween decorations, his father's toilet paper mummy dissolving into mushy, wet lumps after a thunderstorm, when he interrupts her. “Jen,” he says, surprising himself with the difficulty to just get the word out.
Of course, after that, he's scheduled for more time with Julie, his pretty speech therapist, and every day is an exhausting struggle.
Weeks become months and Jared watches them pass in the changing of seasons outside his window, crisp, cool days of autumn turning dreary and short with the onset of winter then brightening to blue skies and rainy days of spring before becoming the bright, long, warm days of summer. Months pass and it's frustrating. His progress is slow. He understands what happened to him, how his brain doesn't quite function how it used to and might never be the same, but it doesn't change how it makes him feel.
His body doesn't do what he wants it to, mind fighting muscles to get them to move in PT when Matt and Aldis carefully help him into a wheelchair and take him down to the rehab center when he gets strong enough and coordinated enough that his arms and legs and hands slowly respond as he wants them to. He doesn't see anyone else like him on their trips to the facility, sees athletes, burn victims, amputees, men and women his grandparents' age, kids with walkers and braces.
Eventually, months of work culminate in Jared being able to sit up by himself, move his legs. It takes even longer to gain some semblance of his fine motor control back. He relearns how to grip things, like the bars in PT so he can keep his balance when he stands.
Every day is a variation of the same. Doctors, nurses, tests, physical and speech therapy, getting bathed, getting fed, seeing visitors, sleep.
At the beginning of July, his parents come into his room while Sandy helps him with his lunch, and they're wearing the biggest smiles he's seen since he started speaking in short, but full, sentences. “What?” he asks, lowering his hand with the spoon that Sandy strapped to it back down to his bowl of applesauce.
“There's a group of doctors at Johns Hopkins,” his dad says, settling a hand on his shoulder. “They offered to take over your treatment.”
“For free,” his mama adds, eyes damp.
Jared knows that all the therapy and tests and just being kept at the hospital has to be expensive, but he thought he'd been doing really well here, with all these people that have been taking care of him for years. “What's wrong with here?” he slowly asks.
Sandy smiles at him from her chair next to his and squeezes his knee. “Johns Hopkins is the best hospital in the US, Jared. They have access to neurological specialists and groundbreaking treatments that we don't. This is really, really good news. Couldn't have happened to anyone who deserves it more.”
“Thanks, Sandy,” he says, offering her a smile of his own. His control of his facial muscles has been getting better and he can feel his lips stretch as the corners of his mouth lift. He turns back to his parents. “When?”
“We'll leave after your birthday, give everyone a chance to stop by and visit, have a big party with all the family,” his mama tells him.
“Can you call Jensen?” Jared asks hopefully. It hasn't quite been a year, nothing compared to the eight Jared spent barely conscious believing Jensen was the one in the coma, but he still hasn't seen or heard from Jensen.
“Of course, JT,” his dad says.
His mama grins and kisses his forehead. “Now, finish your lunch and don't give Sandy too much trouble.”
“Never do,” he tells her before making a show of scooping up a spoonful of applesauce.
As fun as a birthday party sounds, and as much as he's been looking forward to seeing Jensen again, Jared's exhausted by the time his birthday rolls around two weeks later. In the days leading up to his party, he's forced to visit with aunts and uncles and cousins, some he barely remembers, many he doesn't even know. Conversations are awkward and strained, and Jared knows he's doing really good, much better than anyone ever thought possible, but some of his relatives look at him like... like they pity him. He tries to ignore it, finds refuge in his brother and sister's company, Chris Kane's when he makes a surprise visit the day before his birthday.
“Like I'd miss your birthday,” he says, faking offense. “It's really good to see you, man.”
“You, too,” Jared says, reaching for his hand.
Chris slaps it away and hugs him instead. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he pulls away. “Didn't think I'd see the day.” He shakes his head and grins at Jared. “How're you doin'?”
“Good. Better every day.”
“That's great! And you'll only get better at Johns Hopkins, right?”
“Hopefully,” Jared shrugs. “It's s'posed to be the best hospital... for people like me.”
“That's somewhere on the east coast?”
Jared nods. “Maryland. Never been that far from Texas.”
Chris grins at him, pats his shoulder. “You'll be fine. Especially if your mama's gonna be there, holdin' your hand.”
Jared does his best to curl his hand into a fist and punch Chris's arm, unspeakably grateful that his old friend isn't coddling him like almost everybody else he's come into contact with over the past couple of days. “You heard from Jensen?”
“Yeah,” Chris says, nodding. “I talked to him a couple of days ago.”
It's hard for Jared to ignore the way his heart pounds at that. “Did he say if he... was going to come?”
“Said he might. That he was thinkin' 'bout it.”
“Think he will?”
“I think he's scared.”
“Why? About what?”
“Everything, maybe. Seeing you. He still blames himself for not being able to protect you.”
“Wasn't his fault. Erik... Erik made a choice.”
“I know, Jay. I know. But Jensen... He spent eight years without you, thinkin' it was gonna be the rest of his life and that all of it was 'cause of him.”
“But it wasn't. And I'm okay.”
“Doesn't mean he's just gonna let go of all that guilt.”
“Guess not. If he came, though... He'd see I'm okay.”
“He could still show. You want me to try callin' him?”
Jared shakes his head. “No, but thanks. If he wants to be here... he will be.”
“Okay. Well, I heard your mama made ribs, so-”
“Go,” Jared laughs, pushing at Chris's arm. “Save some for the rest of us.”
“I make no promises. See you in a bit, Jay.”
He watches Chris go, takes the moment by himself to breathe and think about Jensen. Jared understands what he's going through, felt the same things when he'd believed the situation was reversed.
A few minutes later, his mama puts a gentle hand on his shoulder as she walks up behind him, squeezing lightly as she moves to stand in front of him. “JT? I found somebody outside that wanted to see you.”
Jared braces himself for yet another borderline-painful conversation with a cousin he hasn't seen since high school or a great aunt he last talked to at a funeral. When he looks up, though, the last person he expected to see is with his mother, looking terribly uncertain and uncomfortable. Jared can't hold back his smile, flails blindly for the edge of the table to turn his chair around. “Jensen.”
Jensen's nervous smile wavers, then his whole face crumbles as he steps forward and hesitantly pulls Jared into a hug. “Jay,” he sighs.
Jared lifts his arms and wraps them around Jensen's waist, holds him tight, close, shuts his eyes and breathes him in. “I missed you.”
Jensen shakes against him, shudders out a breath, and doesn't let him go. “Missed you, too.”
Fandom: CW RPS – J2
Prompt: 354 – mummy
Warnings: AU.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1500+
Summary: Jared's recovery is a long, difficult, frustrating road. He's preparing to move halfway across the country for a chance at better treatment, but he's afraid he won't see Jensen again before he goes.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.
Doctors are everywhere, all the time, after he wakes up. There are a lot of scans and tests, a lot of poking and prodding like he's just this... curious thing to be studied and not a real human being. He's started on different drug cocktails and speech therapy and physical therapy, and time starts to blur the days together.
He's rarely left alone, between Aldis and Matt helping him with his physical therapy; Sandy or the night nurse Genevieve checking his vitals and talking to him about the most random things from the news to the weather to the bands playing at local music festivals; and his parents, brother, and sister visit frequently. Not to mention Dr. Ferris and Dr. Tal, who seem to bring a never-ending stream of other doctors and specialists to see him, study him, always remarking on his recovery, throwing around words like impossible and miracle, talking about his brain function and coma versus minimally conscious state.
There's one person who has yet to visit him again since he regained full consciousness. One afternoon almost a week after he woke up, during a rare moment alone with his mother, she's holding his hand and going on about Halloween decorations, his father's toilet paper mummy dissolving into mushy, wet lumps after a thunderstorm, when he interrupts her. “Jen,” he says, surprising himself with the difficulty to just get the word out.
Of course, after that, he's scheduled for more time with Julie, his pretty speech therapist, and every day is an exhausting struggle.
Weeks become months and Jared watches them pass in the changing of seasons outside his window, crisp, cool days of autumn turning dreary and short with the onset of winter then brightening to blue skies and rainy days of spring before becoming the bright, long, warm days of summer. Months pass and it's frustrating. His progress is slow. He understands what happened to him, how his brain doesn't quite function how it used to and might never be the same, but it doesn't change how it makes him feel.
His body doesn't do what he wants it to, mind fighting muscles to get them to move in PT when Matt and Aldis carefully help him into a wheelchair and take him down to the rehab center when he gets strong enough and coordinated enough that his arms and legs and hands slowly respond as he wants them to. He doesn't see anyone else like him on their trips to the facility, sees athletes, burn victims, amputees, men and women his grandparents' age, kids with walkers and braces.
Eventually, months of work culminate in Jared being able to sit up by himself, move his legs. It takes even longer to gain some semblance of his fine motor control back. He relearns how to grip things, like the bars in PT so he can keep his balance when he stands.
Every day is a variation of the same. Doctors, nurses, tests, physical and speech therapy, getting bathed, getting fed, seeing visitors, sleep.
At the beginning of July, his parents come into his room while Sandy helps him with his lunch, and they're wearing the biggest smiles he's seen since he started speaking in short, but full, sentences. “What?” he asks, lowering his hand with the spoon that Sandy strapped to it back down to his bowl of applesauce.
“There's a group of doctors at Johns Hopkins,” his dad says, settling a hand on his shoulder. “They offered to take over your treatment.”
“For free,” his mama adds, eyes damp.
Jared knows that all the therapy and tests and just being kept at the hospital has to be expensive, but he thought he'd been doing really well here, with all these people that have been taking care of him for years. “What's wrong with here?” he slowly asks.
Sandy smiles at him from her chair next to his and squeezes his knee. “Johns Hopkins is the best hospital in the US, Jared. They have access to neurological specialists and groundbreaking treatments that we don't. This is really, really good news. Couldn't have happened to anyone who deserves it more.”
“Thanks, Sandy,” he says, offering her a smile of his own. His control of his facial muscles has been getting better and he can feel his lips stretch as the corners of his mouth lift. He turns back to his parents. “When?”
“We'll leave after your birthday, give everyone a chance to stop by and visit, have a big party with all the family,” his mama tells him.
“Can you call Jensen?” Jared asks hopefully. It hasn't quite been a year, nothing compared to the eight Jared spent barely conscious believing Jensen was the one in the coma, but he still hasn't seen or heard from Jensen.
“Of course, JT,” his dad says.
His mama grins and kisses his forehead. “Now, finish your lunch and don't give Sandy too much trouble.”
“Never do,” he tells her before making a show of scooping up a spoonful of applesauce.
As fun as a birthday party sounds, and as much as he's been looking forward to seeing Jensen again, Jared's exhausted by the time his birthday rolls around two weeks later. In the days leading up to his party, he's forced to visit with aunts and uncles and cousins, some he barely remembers, many he doesn't even know. Conversations are awkward and strained, and Jared knows he's doing really good, much better than anyone ever thought possible, but some of his relatives look at him like... like they pity him. He tries to ignore it, finds refuge in his brother and sister's company, Chris Kane's when he makes a surprise visit the day before his birthday.
“Like I'd miss your birthday,” he says, faking offense. “It's really good to see you, man.”
“You, too,” Jared says, reaching for his hand.
Chris slaps it away and hugs him instead. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he pulls away. “Didn't think I'd see the day.” He shakes his head and grins at Jared. “How're you doin'?”
“Good. Better every day.”
“That's great! And you'll only get better at Johns Hopkins, right?”
“Hopefully,” Jared shrugs. “It's s'posed to be the best hospital... for people like me.”
“That's somewhere on the east coast?”
Jared nods. “Maryland. Never been that far from Texas.”
Chris grins at him, pats his shoulder. “You'll be fine. Especially if your mama's gonna be there, holdin' your hand.”
Jared does his best to curl his hand into a fist and punch Chris's arm, unspeakably grateful that his old friend isn't coddling him like almost everybody else he's come into contact with over the past couple of days. “You heard from Jensen?”
“Yeah,” Chris says, nodding. “I talked to him a couple of days ago.”
It's hard for Jared to ignore the way his heart pounds at that. “Did he say if he... was going to come?”
“Said he might. That he was thinkin' 'bout it.”
“Think he will?”
“I think he's scared.”
“Why? About what?”
“Everything, maybe. Seeing you. He still blames himself for not being able to protect you.”
“Wasn't his fault. Erik... Erik made a choice.”
“I know, Jay. I know. But Jensen... He spent eight years without you, thinkin' it was gonna be the rest of his life and that all of it was 'cause of him.”
“But it wasn't. And I'm okay.”
“Doesn't mean he's just gonna let go of all that guilt.”
“Guess not. If he came, though... He'd see I'm okay.”
“He could still show. You want me to try callin' him?”
Jared shakes his head. “No, but thanks. If he wants to be here... he will be.”
“Okay. Well, I heard your mama made ribs, so-”
“Go,” Jared laughs, pushing at Chris's arm. “Save some for the rest of us.”
“I make no promises. See you in a bit, Jay.”
He watches Chris go, takes the moment by himself to breathe and think about Jensen. Jared understands what he's going through, felt the same things when he'd believed the situation was reversed.
A few minutes later, his mama puts a gentle hand on his shoulder as she walks up behind him, squeezing lightly as she moves to stand in front of him. “JT? I found somebody outside that wanted to see you.”
Jared braces himself for yet another borderline-painful conversation with a cousin he hasn't seen since high school or a great aunt he last talked to at a funeral. When he looks up, though, the last person he expected to see is with his mother, looking terribly uncertain and uncomfortable. Jared can't hold back his smile, flails blindly for the edge of the table to turn his chair around. “Jensen.”
Jensen's nervous smile wavers, then his whole face crumbles as he steps forward and hesitantly pulls Jared into a hug. “Jay,” he sighs.
Jared lifts his arms and wraps them around Jensen's waist, holds him tight, close, shuts his eyes and breathes him in. “I missed you.”
Jensen shakes against him, shudders out a breath, and doesn't let him go. “Missed you, too.”
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 09:09 am (UTC)