“Jensen,” Mrs. Kane says softly. Jensen looks up sharply and takes in her red, puffy eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. K, please don’t send me back,” Jensen says pleadingly, voice breaking. His hands are shaking in his lap, and the only thing he can think of on a loop is the memory of Chris’ leg breaking .
A look of something that too-closely resembles pity crosses her face and she opens her arms out to him.
Jensen’s lived with the Kane family for nine months, two weeks, and three days, and has never let this decent, loving woman hug him.
With a sob, he pitches forward and falls into her arms.
***
“This is some good shit, man,” Chris mumbles with a grin, pressing the button to release the morphine several times in a row.
Jensen scratches his neck, not knowing what to say really. He’s sitting next to Chris’ hospital bed, and he knows that it would be so easy to just reach out and put his hand on that broken bone. All the pain, all the hurt, gone like a forgotten memory.
Chris has never been one to let one-sided conversation with Jensen bother him, and stoned Chris was even more boisterous.
“Did you see the way I hit that tree? That was badass, man, you can’t deny it.”
Jensen’s fingers twitch, and he puts them between his bony knees and holds them tight.
“It was like—CRACK! Think I’m gonna have a scar? Damn, I hope I have a cool scar.”
Jensen doesn’t have any scars. His skin is as smooth and unblemished as the day he was born.
He itches his wrists at the phantom pain.
“Although I can’t believe I puked on myself, but you gotta admit that bone sticking out was kind of gross.”
Jensen can’t take it anymore. “Just shut up, Chris, shut up!”
Chris blinks a few times, hazy eyes not quite understanding what was happening. “What’s wrong, Jen? You’re not the one with the broken leg.”
Jensen presses the meat of his palms to his eyes. Pictures the way his own side was shredded open, muscle and the fire of viscera. Pictures the way his skin stitched itself up again before Mr. Kane could even get the EMTs to check him out.
Jensen, are you bleeding, son? Jensen, are you hurt, too? Tell me, boy, let us help you.
“No,” he had said. All of Jensen’s wounds are on the inside and no one can help him.
“I could touch you right now, Chris. One touch and I could fix you right up, brand new,” Jensen tells him, voice a mere whisper that Chris has to gingerly lean over to hear.
Chris’ eyes clear slightly and realization hits. Jensen thinks he probably forgot about his ability in all the excitement and adrenaline.
“But you won’t, right, Jen? You can’t,” Chris replies. There is no judgment in his voice, no recrimination or desperation to end his own suffering. Just pure understanding, and Jensen wants nothing more than to grab onto that broken bone and stitch it back together with the sheer power of his gratitude.
Jensen doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. His shoulders shake.
“It’s okay, Jen,” Chris says sleepily, closing his eyes and clicking the button a few more times. “You’re still my buddy.”
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“Jensen,” Mrs. Kane says softly. Jensen looks up sharply and takes in her red, puffy eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. K, please don’t send me back,” Jensen says pleadingly, voice breaking. His hands are shaking in his lap, and the only thing he can think of on a loop is the memory of Chris’ leg breaking .
A look of something that too-closely resembles pity crosses her face and she opens her arms out to him.
Jensen’s lived with the Kane family for nine months, two weeks, and three days, and has never let this decent, loving woman hug him.
With a sob, he pitches forward and falls into her arms.
***
“This is some good shit, man,” Chris mumbles with a grin, pressing the button to release the morphine several times in a row.
Jensen scratches his neck, not knowing what to say really. He’s sitting next to Chris’ hospital bed, and he knows that it would be so easy to just reach out and put his hand on that broken bone. All the pain, all the hurt, gone like a forgotten memory.
Chris has never been one to let one-sided conversation with Jensen bother him, and stoned Chris was even more boisterous.
“Did you see the way I hit that tree? That was badass, man, you can’t deny it.”
Jensen’s fingers twitch, and he puts them between his bony knees and holds them tight.
“It was like—CRACK! Think I’m gonna have a scar? Damn, I hope I have a cool scar.”
Jensen doesn’t have any scars. His skin is as smooth and unblemished as the day he was born.
He itches his wrists at the phantom pain.
“Although I can’t believe I puked on myself, but you gotta admit that bone sticking out was kind of gross.”
Jensen can’t take it anymore. “Just shut up, Chris, shut up!”
Chris blinks a few times, hazy eyes not quite understanding what was happening. “What’s wrong, Jen? You’re not the one with the broken leg.”
Jensen presses the meat of his palms to his eyes. Pictures the way his own side was shredded open, muscle and the fire of viscera. Pictures the way his skin stitched itself up again before Mr. Kane could even get the EMTs to check him out.
Jensen, are you bleeding, son? Jensen, are you hurt, too? Tell me, boy, let us help you.
“No,” he had said. All of Jensen’s wounds are on the inside and no one can help him.
“I could touch you right now, Chris. One touch and I could fix you right up, brand new,” Jensen tells him, voice a mere whisper that Chris has to gingerly lean over to hear.
Chris’ eyes clear slightly and realization hits. Jensen thinks he probably forgot about his ability in all the excitement and adrenaline.
“But you won’t, right, Jen? You can’t,” Chris replies. There is no judgment in his voice, no recrimination or desperation to end his own suffering. Just pure understanding, and Jensen wants nothing more than to grab onto that broken bone and stitch it back together with the sheer power of his gratitude.
Jensen doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. His shoulders shake.
“It’s okay, Jen,” Chris says sleepily, closing his eyes and clicking the button a few more times. “You’re still my buddy.”
Jensen cries silently as Chris finally sleeps.