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By the time Jensen gets to the Green Room, it’s all over. Jared’s had his shoulder reduced right there on the floor next to yesterday’s crab cakes (so much for only his fucking elbow, Daniella), Osric’s looking shell-shocked, and the big guy is up in his suite on “bed rest” for the remainder of the day. Which, yeah, that’ll work.
“But he’s okay, right? No hospital or anything?” Jensen is talking quietly to Daniella in the corner.
“Absolutely. The doctor was here really quickly.”
Jensen nods, aware of glances coming his way. He seeks out Osric and makes sure he’s smiling when he walks over.
“Jeez. You felled him, finally. Only took you two years.” A nervous laugh–relief mostly-echoes in the room as Jensen claps his hand on Osric’s shoulder and shakes him.
Osric’s smile is more of a grimace. “Man, I am so sorry. We were goofing around and he lost his footing on a bunch of stupid papers.” He runs a hand through his hair. “They’re going to kill me, aren’t they? Out there, I mean. He’s missing his panel as we speak.”
Jensen ruffles his hair. It really isn’t Osric’s fault that Jared jumps on people in spaces he shouldn’t. “Nah. We’ll spin you as the hero and him as the dork that he is. No sweat. Really. It sounds like he’s fine.”
And it does, but still...
He beckons Daniella over. “I need 20 minutes. What’s my schedule right now?”
“Well, autograph sessions have been pushed back but you and Misha were due on stage ten minutes ago, so I really don’t think...”
Jensen looks at her. She’s a cool lady, but that first part wasn’t a question.
She nods quickly. “Of course. I’ll take care of it.”
“Fine.” The way Jensen figures, Misha owes him.
****
Jensen opens the adjoining suite door and glances around the sitting area. Clothes and crap everywhere, but no Jared. Probably sacked out in the bedroom, then.
“Jared?” Not too loud, just in case, but he’s not expecting Jared to be asleep, no matter what the doc gave him. The man has the tolerance of a tree when it comes to pain meds.
“In here.”
Jared is stretched out on top of the bed, right arm resting across his ribs. Every pillow they have is piled up behind him.
“Hey, Jensen.”
A little stoned, then, but not asleep.
“Hey,” says Jensen, sitting carefully on Jared’s left side, eyes assessing the damage. Jared has only toed off his shoes, so it’s hard to see under a t-shirt and a shirt, but he’s definitely holding his arm tight and still across his body. Jensen puts out a careful hand and rests it on Jared’s wrist, feels the tension there.
He looks at him, shakes his head. “The hell, Jay?”
“I know, right?” replies Jared, way too loud. “Fuckin’ tiny Green Room.”
“Yeah, let’s blame the room." He holds up a black and white trim sling. "Uh, dude, shouldn’t you be in this?”
“Nah. Doc said it’s okay, ‘s long as I’m still.”
“Uh-huh. What they give you?”
“Vicodin? I think.” Jared tilts his head toward the bedside table and the small plastic bottle there. Jensen stretches over him to pick it up. Sure enough, Padalecki-strength Vicodin. Jensen puts the bottle down, but only pulls back enough to lay his right hand on the mattress next to Jared’s bad shoulder. With one hand either side of him now, he leans in, resisting the urge to smooth Jared’s bangs off his face. Haircut or not, Jared is currently being way too slow blinking and adorable for his own good.
The Vicodin is clearly doing something, but Jared’s face is drawn and pale under the scruff of beard he so proudly grew just for Rome.
“You gonna lie here and let it work?” Jensen asks quietly.
“What? No. No way, man. I gotta... Just give me...”
It’s not until Jared wince-sigh-groans that Jensen realizes the idiot wasn’t so much fidgeting to get comfortable, as trying to get up.
“Oh my God. For fuck’s sake lie down, Jared.” A gentle hand flat on his good shoulder is all it takes to topple him back onto the pillows, which have gone every which way in the brief struggle.
Jensen sets to sorting them, trying to keep Jared upright and as still as possible while he does. Jared has other ideas, turning his face as much as he can to keep it in Jensen’s.
“They reduced my shoulder, Jensen.”
“I know, buddy.” Jensen has one hand on Jared’s back, one on a pillow.
“Right there. On the...on the floor. Next to... y’know, people.”
“You don’t say. Where’s the—”
“Hurts.”
“—remote.” Jensen stops fussing with pillows. Jared is a Texan through and through when it comes to pain. Jensen remembers the two shots it took to reset a nasty break in his arm way back when. A break and a cast that hadn’t even kept him off set for a full day, let alone flat on his back surrounded by room serivce. Jensen is tempted to make a crack about age and spoilt act-ors, but now is not the time. He lowers Jared onto the pillow nest he’s created, keeping a careful hand on the the back of his neck until he seems comfortable.
“Hurts, Jensen,” says Jared again on an exhale. As if Jensen is somehow missing the point.
This time Jensen does brush the bangs from his face, keeps his palm there a moment, too. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you wrestle someone in a confined space, you moron.” He flicks Jared’s nose, waits until he gets a faint smile and yet another slow blink, and then he sits up. He looks at his watch. Shit, he really should get going.
He stands and looks around the room to make sure Jared’s phone, water, etc, is within reach. “Look, I have to leave you in the capable hands of...” he squints at the muted TV “...Battlestar Galactica. So give in, sleep, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You need anything, you phone Daniella, okay?” He waits, gets no answer. “Jared?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming out with y’all tonight, though, right?”
“Only if you sleep from now until then.”
Jared tilts his head, as if seriously considering his options, which Jensen will find hilarious later.
“’Kay. Just...help me?” Jared’s hips come off the bed as his left hand goes to the button on his jeans. “Too fuckin’ hot in here to sleep.”
Jensen goes back around the bed to Jared. Fuck it, Misha can carry things a while longer downstairs.
He eases Jared’s jeans off, leaving him in boxers and socks. Which looks ridiculous, so he takes the socks off, too. He gestures at Jared’s shirt. “What do you think? You want that off?”
Jared smiles, warm and loopy. “Oh I want it off, baby.”
Oh god. “Sit still, okay? Let me...”
Jensen tries to get him out of the right sleeve as painlessly as possible, while Jared nuzzles his neck and rubs Jensen’s hip with his good hand. He remembers this now, how Jared on any kind of pain medication drapes all over the nearest surface once the pain starts to ebb.
A wince and a hiss and Jensen freezes. Jared pants, warm and damp onto his neck. “Sorry,” Jensen says, rubbing a couple of slow circles on Jared’s back before continuing.
“Okay. All done.”
Satisfied, he helps Jared lie down again, arranges yet another pillow under his elbow to help take the pressure off and shit, now he really has to go.
Jared’s eyes are closed, his breathing more even, so Jensen holds his breath and moves quietly to the door.
“Jensen?”
....aaaaaand Jared is still awake. And reaching.
Which Jensen cannot resist, dammit.
“Jared. I gotta go. Your adoring fans are storming the gates by now.”
“Fuck ‘em. Stay here, you smell nice.”
Jensen would be lying to say he’s not tempted. Jared is loopy and affectionate, two minutes away from sleep, and Jensen’s jet lag wants him to kick off his shoes and stretch out on this bed so badly...
But people have bought tickets, expensive tickets. They’ve gotten on planes, saved up money, and as always, with one of them down, the other really has to pick up the slack.
Reluctantly, Jensen disentangles himself. “Gotta go, man.”
Jared smiles, and it’s the smile of the truly stoned. He grabs a fistful of Jensen’s shirt, keeping him close. ”Kiss me, then go,” he tells him solemnly.
Jensen rolls his eyes. He is so using this later. He leans in, kisses him quickly. “There you go, Romeo. Can I go now?”
“Nuh-uh. A real kiss.”
Jensen shakes his head, but does as asked. Feels Jared’s mouth open under his when he slides his hand into Jared’s hair. He leaves it there, fingers scritching lightly as he rubs a thumb back and forth against Jared’s temple. His tongue curls against Jared’s, and this time they’re both a little breathless when it ends.
“Real enough?” asks Jensen, smiling.
Jared nods, releases his shirt.
Jensen walks to the door, but turns back at the doorway. It’s a dislocated shoulder, so the tug he feels to stay is stupid. He knows that.
“What?” asks Jared, still looking at him.
“Nothing,” says Jensen. He makes his face stern, points a finger. “Sleep.”
Jared makes a kissy noise, but obediently closes his eyes. “Fuck off and let me, then,” he manages.
“Brat,” says Jensen softly.
*****