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Entry tags:
Add a Sprinkle of Love, a Dash of Hope, and Stir; 1/1; Jared/Jensen; PG
Title: Add a Sprinkle of Love, a Dash of Hope, and Stir
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, sort of
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2100
Spoilers/Warnings: A/U, also contains mentions of brain tumor, implied cancer and treatment.
Disclaimers: I've never met them, I don't know them, they're not mine.
A/N: A small storybit I've had hanging around for a while that I decided to take out and work on tonight. It feels both finished and unfinished to me, in that I believe this segment is complete and stands on its own, but I'm not sure if Jared's done telling his story. I may have to poke around in this universe some more, at some point. The story is kind of melancholy, but in my head it felt very sweet, very hopeful. Hopefully it'll feel that way to y'all, as well.
Summary: When Jared is seventeen, all he wants is to get to finish growing up. Beyond that, he doesn't care.
Prologue
When Jared is five, he's going to be the "bestest cook in the whole, wild world!" His momma tells him it's 'wide', not 'wild', but daddy says considering it's Jared, wild probably fits. Whatever, Jared just wants to cook, and spends the next several months shadowing momma in the kitchen, standing up on a stool that's just for him, helping her stir eggs and mix things, and laughing with her when he gets flour smudged all over his face and shirt.
At seven, he wants to be a ballerina. He doesn't care when Jeff and Josh laugh at him and tell him "only girls are ballerinas". He makes them come inside and watch Mikhail Baryshnikov with him, sticking his lip out a little when all they do is snicker. Jensen is nicer about it, pointing out that the guy is a really good dancer, whatever he's called, and Jared smiles and smiles at Jensen.
The summer Jared turns ten, he goes to soccer camp, and swim camp, and starts keeping a journal. He doesn't tell anyone about the journal because by now he knows older brothers – even when they're not his -- will stop at nothing to tease and tease and tease.
When Jared is fourteen, he wants to be a writer. Actually, he is a writer, according to Mrs. Grabowski, who teaches Advanced Freshman English at his high school. She praises the work he turns in and offers to sponsor him the following spring, during the state competition for prose and poetry. Mrs. Grabowski also runs the Creative Writing Club, and Jared joins that as well as the yearbook staff. He's happy to have something to throw himself into when Jensen leaves, heading off to college and a new life, leaving San Antonio and Jared behind.
It's not like they were boyfriends or anything, but Jared had hopes. Dreams.
Some of his writing takes a definite turn toward erotic – okay, it's porn, whatever – after Jensen leaves, while Jared sorts out his thoughts and feelings. He never shares it with anyone, but it helps him figure some things out.
The headaches start a couple months before his seventeenth birthday. Nothing big, just constant enough that Jared wonders if he maybe needs glasses. Advil and 'resting his eyes' usually helps, at least at first.
A month or so after they start, they become migraines; huge waves of pain and pressure building and building and never going anywhere, until Jared wants to scream, wants to punch a hole in his head, wants to do anything that might relieve some of it. With the migraines comes nausea, and then he starts stumbling over his feet and falling into walls, weak-limbed and uncoordinated. Momma takes him to the doctor, and she pronounces it nothing more than bad migraines, and puts him on some medication to help stave them off, and gives him some other medication to help the pain when he does get one.
He misses the first day of his senior year because his head hurts too badly to get out of bed. He misses the next day because he's back at the doctor's office, getting tests done and referrals to a neurologist, and after that, to an oncologist.
When Jared is seventeen, all he wants is to get to finish growing up. Beyond that, he doesn't care.
~~~~~
It's cold in here, a chill settling over him in spite of the warm blanket a nurse draped over his legs and torso. Jared hugs himself, arms tight against the cold, against the fear creeping up over him.
I want my Momma, he thinks, and blinks against the tears prickling his eyes. He's not going to cry. He's not a baby, he's almost eighteen – okay, his seventeenth birthday was just a few months ago, but still. He's not a little baby, to cry just because things are kind of scary.
He's not.
Momma and Dad were with him this morning right up until the nurses came in to take him to pre-op. Jared smiles, thinking of how tight Momma held his hand, walking along beside the bed, how her lips were warm when she kissed him on the cheek, then on his forehead. Dad didn't kiss him, but he hugged him tight and whispered "love you, son", and now—
Now Jared sniffles and blinks fast and wishes he'd never heard phrases like cerebral astrocytoma, or grade of tumor. That he didn't know that some cancers spread and some don't, and the odds of survival, and recurrence, and what staging is.
He kind of wants to throw up, too, though there isn't anything in his stomach to throw up. The medicine he's been given to help the nausea and headaches doesn't always help, and right now is one of those times. The anticipation of his surgery isn't helping, either, and Jared really, really wishes someone would show up, even if it's just to stick a needle in him, because if he's alone much longer he's going to start crying and probably never stop.
Momma says that God works in mysterious ways – though she's said it a lot less since his cancer was diagnosed – and Jared has to agree with her on that one, because right after he wishes someone would come in, the door swings open and a nurse – he guesses it's a nurse – walks backward through the door, arms piled high with what Jared hopes are more warm blankets.
"Got some more blankets for you, 'cos I know it's cold in here—Jared? It's you here for surgery?"
The voice is achingly familiar, and the face that peers around the pile is even more so; familiar and loved, and Jared can't hold back the tears this time. They leak out slowly, sliding warm and wet down his face, into what's left of his hair.
"Jensen," he manages, and the blankets land in a soft thud on his legs, sudden warmth moving through him that has nothing to do with heated cotton and everything to do with an old, badly missed friend Jared hasn't seen in a couple of years. "Jen," he whispers, and then he's caught up in a hug, big, warm hands smoothing over his back, up over his head, fingertips tracing the spot that's barely healed from the biopsy a few weeks ago.
"I had no idea," Jensen's saying, tightening his hold on Jared before backing up just enough to smooth his thumbs over Jared's face, wiping the tears away. "I wasn't supposed to be working today, but the regular surgical nurse got sick, so I got called in…" He trails off when Jared sniffles, and looks around for some tissues.
"'M glad," Jared mutters, after blowing his nose. He lays back and watches Jensen shake the blankets out and cover him gently. "If I gotta be here—glad I'm not. Alone."
Jensen makes a face. "I could go get your mom or dad, if you want." He's busy setting stuff out, getting things ready. Ready for surgery.
Jared shakes his head. "The doctor told them they couldn't come in for the pre-op stuff."
"I guess, technically. It sucks, though, for you." He gives Jared a small smile. "I'd bend the rules for you, if you want me to."
"Don't want you to get in trouble." Jared hisses at the cold scrub of alcohol pads, and looks away when Jensen straightens his arm out, obviously looking for a vein. "Just—don't leave? Please?"
"Not gonna, Jay. I'm your surgical nurse, dude. You're stuck with me." He clucks at the sad state of Jared's veins, and turns his arm over, looking at Jared's hand critically. "You've been someone's favorite pincushion lately, haven't you?"
"Unfortunately." Another scrub and then Jensen's warning him, "hold still for me," and Jared's holding his breath against the cold sting of the IV needle sliding into his hand. "Ow."
"I know, man. Sorry." Jensen hangs the IV bag, then gives Jared's other hand a brief squeeze. "You okay?"
"Sick to my stomach, but I'm pretty used to that." His shivering has started back up, and Jared feels pathetically grateful when Jensen squeezes his hand again and says, "let's see what I can do for that, okay?"
He disappears out the door, but is back in a flash, before Jared even has a chance to miss him. Jensen gives him a smile and says, "this should help," and then he's adding something to the IV before reaching for some more tape to secure the line snaking downward into Jared's hand.
The quiet buzz of clippers Jensen turns on sounds loud, echoing around and back into Jared's head, and he sighs. His hair was just starting to grow back from the last time, and now the cycle's going to start all over again.
"Just a little off the top," he mutters, and Jensen laughs.
"Highest-paying barber job anywhere." He's gentle, though, hands carefully, deftly shifting Jared's head to cause a minimum of discomfort, and he's done so quickly Jared's surprised when the buzzing stops.
It's only a few more minutes before his nausea decreases some, and Jared blinks slower and slower while he watches Jensen move around the room. It's been so long since he's seen him, and he hadn't realized until now just how much he's missed Jensen. He drifts in and out of a doze, thinking about the years he spent growing up playing with Jensen, idolizing him, crushing on him.
"Y'were my first kiss," Jared murmurs, thinking about it, and he hears Jensen laugh softly. There are words, too, but Jared's feeling sleepy and relaxed, and not sick any more, and he dozes again, the gentle cadence of Jensen's voice and the warmth of his hand against Jared's a soothing, calming comfort.
"Jared? Hey, sleepyhead."
It's not Jensen's voice, though Jared still feels Jensen's hand in his. He struggles to open his eyes, and sees Dr. Kripke, the anesthesiologist, smiling down at him. "I'm going to get the anesthesia started, so we can get this show on the road. Sound okay to you?"
Jared blinks again, then manages a nod, squeezing tight on Jensen's fingers.
"You doing okay, Jared? Any questions? Anything you want to know before the surgery starts?"
Jared has a lot of questions: Will they get the whole tumor? Will I have to have chemo? Radiation? What if it doesn't go away? What if I die, later? What if I die during the surgery? But he knows Dr. Kripke and Dr. Manners don't know the answers to those questions – some, they'll probably know the answers to, after the surgery, but not all of them. Instead, he shakes his head.
"I'm okay. Just kinda—nervous." He squeezes Jensen's hand again, getting a squeeze back in return.
"Totally understandable." There's some movement beside him, and the IV tubing shifts slightly as another medication is added to the bag. "But no questions?"
Jared shakes his head again. Dr. Kripke is a little guy, and he likes to wear polka-dotted scrub caps, or whatever they're called. It makes him look like he has little dots dancing over his head, and Jared blinks at him and snickers, feeling a sudden rush of warmth moving through him. "Think 'm high," he slurs, and snickers again.
"I think you are." Dr. Kripke motions toward Jensen, and suddenly they're moving, the ceiling overhead changing changing not changing, the lights moving forward and back.
"Jen--?"
"I'm right here, Jared." Jensen's voice is behind and to his left, and Jared reaches up, waving his hand around slowly until Jensen catches it. "Gotcha, Jay. I told you, I'm not going anywhere."
"Mmmm." Jared licks his lips, dry and chapped from too long in the hospital, and blinks his eyes closed against the bright light over the table. He hangs on to Jensen when he's shifted from the gurney to the table, and then there's something coming down over his face and Dr. Kripke and his dots are telling him to breathe deeply and count backward from one hundred.
Jared breathes in slowly, deeply, thinking of warm, hungry kisses exchanged one summer night, the smell of fresh-cut grass mingling with sweat and chlorine, and the sound of crickets all around. He wants to ask Jensen to kiss him again, right now, but his tongue feels too big, and his mouth won't work. His eyes are sliding shut, he can't keep them open any longer because they weigh as much as elephants.
Last thing he sees is Jensen's eyes smiling at him above the surgical mask, warm as that summer night, and just before falling into dreamless sleep, Jared knows he hears him say, "See you soon."
He's going to hold Jensen to that.
~fin~
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, sort of
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2100
Spoilers/Warnings: A/U, also contains mentions of brain tumor, implied cancer and treatment.
Disclaimers: I've never met them, I don't know them, they're not mine.
A/N: A small storybit I've had hanging around for a while that I decided to take out and work on tonight. It feels both finished and unfinished to me, in that I believe this segment is complete and stands on its own, but I'm not sure if Jared's done telling his story. I may have to poke around in this universe some more, at some point. The story is kind of melancholy, but in my head it felt very sweet, very hopeful. Hopefully it'll feel that way to y'all, as well.
Summary: When Jared is seventeen, all he wants is to get to finish growing up. Beyond that, he doesn't care.
When Jared is five, he's going to be the "bestest cook in the whole, wild world!" His momma tells him it's 'wide', not 'wild', but daddy says considering it's Jared, wild probably fits. Whatever, Jared just wants to cook, and spends the next several months shadowing momma in the kitchen, standing up on a stool that's just for him, helping her stir eggs and mix things, and laughing with her when he gets flour smudged all over his face and shirt.
At seven, he wants to be a ballerina. He doesn't care when Jeff and Josh laugh at him and tell him "only girls are ballerinas". He makes them come inside and watch Mikhail Baryshnikov with him, sticking his lip out a little when all they do is snicker. Jensen is nicer about it, pointing out that the guy is a really good dancer, whatever he's called, and Jared smiles and smiles at Jensen.
The summer Jared turns ten, he goes to soccer camp, and swim camp, and starts keeping a journal. He doesn't tell anyone about the journal because by now he knows older brothers – even when they're not his -- will stop at nothing to tease and tease and tease.
When Jared is fourteen, he wants to be a writer. Actually, he is a writer, according to Mrs. Grabowski, who teaches Advanced Freshman English at his high school. She praises the work he turns in and offers to sponsor him the following spring, during the state competition for prose and poetry. Mrs. Grabowski also runs the Creative Writing Club, and Jared joins that as well as the yearbook staff. He's happy to have something to throw himself into when Jensen leaves, heading off to college and a new life, leaving San Antonio and Jared behind.
It's not like they were boyfriends or anything, but Jared had hopes. Dreams.
Some of his writing takes a definite turn toward erotic – okay, it's porn, whatever – after Jensen leaves, while Jared sorts out his thoughts and feelings. He never shares it with anyone, but it helps him figure some things out.
The headaches start a couple months before his seventeenth birthday. Nothing big, just constant enough that Jared wonders if he maybe needs glasses. Advil and 'resting his eyes' usually helps, at least at first.
A month or so after they start, they become migraines; huge waves of pain and pressure building and building and never going anywhere, until Jared wants to scream, wants to punch a hole in his head, wants to do anything that might relieve some of it. With the migraines comes nausea, and then he starts stumbling over his feet and falling into walls, weak-limbed and uncoordinated. Momma takes him to the doctor, and she pronounces it nothing more than bad migraines, and puts him on some medication to help stave them off, and gives him some other medication to help the pain when he does get one.
He misses the first day of his senior year because his head hurts too badly to get out of bed. He misses the next day because he's back at the doctor's office, getting tests done and referrals to a neurologist, and after that, to an oncologist.
When Jared is seventeen, all he wants is to get to finish growing up. Beyond that, he doesn't care.
It's cold in here, a chill settling over him in spite of the warm blanket a nurse draped over his legs and torso. Jared hugs himself, arms tight against the cold, against the fear creeping up over him.
I want my Momma, he thinks, and blinks against the tears prickling his eyes. He's not going to cry. He's not a baby, he's almost eighteen – okay, his seventeenth birthday was just a few months ago, but still. He's not a little baby, to cry just because things are kind of scary.
He's not.
Momma and Dad were with him this morning right up until the nurses came in to take him to pre-op. Jared smiles, thinking of how tight Momma held his hand, walking along beside the bed, how her lips were warm when she kissed him on the cheek, then on his forehead. Dad didn't kiss him, but he hugged him tight and whispered "love you, son", and now—
Now Jared sniffles and blinks fast and wishes he'd never heard phrases like cerebral astrocytoma, or grade of tumor. That he didn't know that some cancers spread and some don't, and the odds of survival, and recurrence, and what staging is.
He kind of wants to throw up, too, though there isn't anything in his stomach to throw up. The medicine he's been given to help the nausea and headaches doesn't always help, and right now is one of those times. The anticipation of his surgery isn't helping, either, and Jared really, really wishes someone would show up, even if it's just to stick a needle in him, because if he's alone much longer he's going to start crying and probably never stop.
Momma says that God works in mysterious ways – though she's said it a lot less since his cancer was diagnosed – and Jared has to agree with her on that one, because right after he wishes someone would come in, the door swings open and a nurse – he guesses it's a nurse – walks backward through the door, arms piled high with what Jared hopes are more warm blankets.
"Got some more blankets for you, 'cos I know it's cold in here—Jared? It's you here for surgery?"
The voice is achingly familiar, and the face that peers around the pile is even more so; familiar and loved, and Jared can't hold back the tears this time. They leak out slowly, sliding warm and wet down his face, into what's left of his hair.
"Jensen," he manages, and the blankets land in a soft thud on his legs, sudden warmth moving through him that has nothing to do with heated cotton and everything to do with an old, badly missed friend Jared hasn't seen in a couple of years. "Jen," he whispers, and then he's caught up in a hug, big, warm hands smoothing over his back, up over his head, fingertips tracing the spot that's barely healed from the biopsy a few weeks ago.
"I had no idea," Jensen's saying, tightening his hold on Jared before backing up just enough to smooth his thumbs over Jared's face, wiping the tears away. "I wasn't supposed to be working today, but the regular surgical nurse got sick, so I got called in…" He trails off when Jared sniffles, and looks around for some tissues.
"'M glad," Jared mutters, after blowing his nose. He lays back and watches Jensen shake the blankets out and cover him gently. "If I gotta be here—glad I'm not. Alone."
Jensen makes a face. "I could go get your mom or dad, if you want." He's busy setting stuff out, getting things ready. Ready for surgery.
Jared shakes his head. "The doctor told them they couldn't come in for the pre-op stuff."
"I guess, technically. It sucks, though, for you." He gives Jared a small smile. "I'd bend the rules for you, if you want me to."
"Don't want you to get in trouble." Jared hisses at the cold scrub of alcohol pads, and looks away when Jensen straightens his arm out, obviously looking for a vein. "Just—don't leave? Please?"
"Not gonna, Jay. I'm your surgical nurse, dude. You're stuck with me." He clucks at the sad state of Jared's veins, and turns his arm over, looking at Jared's hand critically. "You've been someone's favorite pincushion lately, haven't you?"
"Unfortunately." Another scrub and then Jensen's warning him, "hold still for me," and Jared's holding his breath against the cold sting of the IV needle sliding into his hand. "Ow."
"I know, man. Sorry." Jensen hangs the IV bag, then gives Jared's other hand a brief squeeze. "You okay?"
"Sick to my stomach, but I'm pretty used to that." His shivering has started back up, and Jared feels pathetically grateful when Jensen squeezes his hand again and says, "let's see what I can do for that, okay?"
He disappears out the door, but is back in a flash, before Jared even has a chance to miss him. Jensen gives him a smile and says, "this should help," and then he's adding something to the IV before reaching for some more tape to secure the line snaking downward into Jared's hand.
The quiet buzz of clippers Jensen turns on sounds loud, echoing around and back into Jared's head, and he sighs. His hair was just starting to grow back from the last time, and now the cycle's going to start all over again.
"Just a little off the top," he mutters, and Jensen laughs.
"Highest-paying barber job anywhere." He's gentle, though, hands carefully, deftly shifting Jared's head to cause a minimum of discomfort, and he's done so quickly Jared's surprised when the buzzing stops.
It's only a few more minutes before his nausea decreases some, and Jared blinks slower and slower while he watches Jensen move around the room. It's been so long since he's seen him, and he hadn't realized until now just how much he's missed Jensen. He drifts in and out of a doze, thinking about the years he spent growing up playing with Jensen, idolizing him, crushing on him.
"Y'were my first kiss," Jared murmurs, thinking about it, and he hears Jensen laugh softly. There are words, too, but Jared's feeling sleepy and relaxed, and not sick any more, and he dozes again, the gentle cadence of Jensen's voice and the warmth of his hand against Jared's a soothing, calming comfort.
"Jared? Hey, sleepyhead."
It's not Jensen's voice, though Jared still feels Jensen's hand in his. He struggles to open his eyes, and sees Dr. Kripke, the anesthesiologist, smiling down at him. "I'm going to get the anesthesia started, so we can get this show on the road. Sound okay to you?"
Jared blinks again, then manages a nod, squeezing tight on Jensen's fingers.
"You doing okay, Jared? Any questions? Anything you want to know before the surgery starts?"
Jared has a lot of questions: Will they get the whole tumor? Will I have to have chemo? Radiation? What if it doesn't go away? What if I die, later? What if I die during the surgery? But he knows Dr. Kripke and Dr. Manners don't know the answers to those questions – some, they'll probably know the answers to, after the surgery, but not all of them. Instead, he shakes his head.
"I'm okay. Just kinda—nervous." He squeezes Jensen's hand again, getting a squeeze back in return.
"Totally understandable." There's some movement beside him, and the IV tubing shifts slightly as another medication is added to the bag. "But no questions?"
Jared shakes his head again. Dr. Kripke is a little guy, and he likes to wear polka-dotted scrub caps, or whatever they're called. It makes him look like he has little dots dancing over his head, and Jared blinks at him and snickers, feeling a sudden rush of warmth moving through him. "Think 'm high," he slurs, and snickers again.
"I think you are." Dr. Kripke motions toward Jensen, and suddenly they're moving, the ceiling overhead changing changing not changing, the lights moving forward and back.
"Jen--?"
"I'm right here, Jared." Jensen's voice is behind and to his left, and Jared reaches up, waving his hand around slowly until Jensen catches it. "Gotcha, Jay. I told you, I'm not going anywhere."
"Mmmm." Jared licks his lips, dry and chapped from too long in the hospital, and blinks his eyes closed against the bright light over the table. He hangs on to Jensen when he's shifted from the gurney to the table, and then there's something coming down over his face and Dr. Kripke and his dots are telling him to breathe deeply and count backward from one hundred.
Jared breathes in slowly, deeply, thinking of warm, hungry kisses exchanged one summer night, the smell of fresh-cut grass mingling with sweat and chlorine, and the sound of crickets all around. He wants to ask Jensen to kiss him again, right now, but his tongue feels too big, and his mouth won't work. His eyes are sliding shut, he can't keep them open any longer because they weigh as much as elephants.
Last thing he sees is Jensen's eyes smiling at him above the surgical mask, warm as that summer night, and just before falling into dreamless sleep, Jared knows he hears him say, "See you soon."
He's going to hold Jensen to that.
~fin~