Archive of Our Own

The view out the window of Jensen's trailer was gorgeous--trees bright with fall colors and clear blue mountain skies. He would have appreciated the view a lot more if it hadn't been for the stomach flu or whatever that had made itself known on the drive up from Vancouver. The ride had been quieter than usual--Sam and Dean were split up for a good chunk of the episode, so Jared was cooling his heels at the studio in Burnaby, recording some voice tracks with the techies. Jensen shared the ride with Clif, quiet as usual in the driver's seat, and Misha who seemed to be in the middle of something with his wife, texting back and forth, Misha swearing quietly when a bump in the road made his thumbs slip on the tiny keyboard of his phone.

Jensen was glad to be out of the van, but even without the rhythmic rise and fall of the tires on the road his stomach still hurt, churning and threatening to climb up his throat. He pressed a hand between the waistband of his jeans and his skin, letting the pressure outside calm the pressure inside for just a moment. Jensen leaned against the wall of the trailer, letting his eyes unfocus so that all the colors outside blended, the edges of everything softening. He startled at the sound of a knock on the door.

"Jensen?" Mandy the PA, one of the new kids who was still a little starstruck and nervous around anybody she recognized from TV. "They need you in five."

"Yeah, okay," he called out, swallowing down another wave of nausea. "Thanks!"

Jensen twisted to try to relieve some of the tightness in his back and gasped at a new surge of pain from his midsection. Not cool, very very not--for once Jensen was glad that everything inside the trailer was so close to everything else. In four steps he was inside the tiny bathroom, on his knees on the cold linoleum floor, heaving up his guts for the second time since they'd arrived.

When he figured out who gave him this bug, Jensen was going to get some serious revenge.

~~~

Misha ran over his lines for the scene one last time while the director sent another PA to go get Jensen. Five minutes late to set was nothing on some shows, but the Supernatural cast normally tried to keep things rolling to keep costs down, and Jensen was a stickler for professionalism. Joking around and playing pranks on his own time was one thing, but he didn't dick around with filming.

Jensen showed up two minutes later, looking tired and a little washed out under his makeup, and Misha figured he must have just crashed out for a nap in his trailer and forgot to set an alarm. Misha couldn't blame him--he didn't know how Jared and Jensen kept up with their schedule nine months out of the year. One of the women from the makeup department jumped in to sponge some more color onto Jensen's face, and then the cameras were rolling. Misha put his head in Castiel-space and let everything else go.

He liked the Castiel-space in a weird way--all the normal things in his life seemed so tiny in relation to a war between heaven and hell, divine orders, angelic conspiracies. Jensen understood, sinking into Dean the way he did, and having that to act against made everything easier.

Or it usually did. Jensen was having trouble hitting his marks, and it was harshing Misha's calm. When the director finally called cut and gave them five to get it together, Misha pulled himself out of Castiel's head and really looked at Jensen. Despite the cool of the day, there were beads of sweat sitting up on top of the makeup around Jensen's hairline, and his jaw was held tight, clenched up worse than Jensen would hold it for Dean in the kind of scene they were working on.

And his body--one of the first thing Misha had noticed about Jared and Jensen was how comfortable they both were in their bodies--strong and healthy and sure of what their bodies could do for them. Jensen especially had good alignment, even if he was probably tight as hell in his hips. But now he didn't look comfortable at all. His alignment was all fucked, his torso tipped to the side and his shoulders curling in like he'd be fetal if only he weren't standing.

Misha wrapped a hand around Jensen's bicep and squeezed lightly. "Hey, you feeling okay?"

"Eh, I'm all right." Jensen grimaced, the expression making a lie out of his words. "Think I got a touch of stomach flu or something."

"You know there's no such thing as stomach flu?"

"Some kind of bug." Jensen shook his head, annoyed. "Whatever."

"Okay, man. Just checking." Misha let go of Jensen's arm and took half a step back. "You look like crap, that's all."

Jensen covered his eyes with one hand and moved the other hand against his stomach. "Sorry. Sorry, I feel like crap, and it makes me a bitch. Just ask Jared."

Misha pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Jay know you're sick? I could ask him that." It hadn't taken too long, spending as much time on set with them as he did, to figure out there was more going on between the two of them than platonic friendship. They kept it cool in public, but the energy between them was unmistakable, and once he made it clear to Jensen that he was straight but not narrow and all that they'd stopped trying to hide it from him. Jared could be like an overprotective mama dog when it came to Jensen, and Misha wasn't sure if Jensen was lucky or unlucky to be away from that protective gaze when he wasn't feeling up to par.

Jensen pulled his hand away from his face and registered the phone in Misha's hand. "Aw man, he doesn't need to get all worried because I ate a bad hot dog or something."

"You sure that's all this is? You want to get the medic to take a look at you?"

"Naw. We'll be getting a break soon so they can change the set up. I'll drink some tea or something, settle my stomach."

"Tea?" Misha smirked. "Are you my grandmother in disguise?"

"Shut up, hippy boy."

Misha laughed, and when the director got them going to finish up Dean's coverage on the scene Jensen was more or less back to normal, even if Misha could still see the stiffness in the lines of Jensen's body and all the ways it was different from Dean's usual body language.

~~~

The break finally came, half an hour for Jensen to relax in his trailer while the cameras and lights were set up to get Misha's coverage. Misha was heading to the catering tent, but Jensen turned down the invitation to join him. The thought of food--just imagining what might be available to eat sent a surge of bitter bile up Jensen's throat. He didn't waste any time walking across the lot, pushing himself up the few stairs and then back to the bathroom. He hung over the toilet and heaved up the air that had been sitting in his throat for fifteen minutes, but there was nothing else left inside his clenching stomach. If this damn bug made him burst a blood vessel in his eye he was going to fuck up shooting for sure.

When Jensen's stomach finally settled down to the point where it ached but wasn't absolutely rolling with nausea, Jensen dragged himself out to the couch and laid down. The pain and sickness were wearing him out, and they were only halfway through the day. Curled on his side on the couch, Jensen almost felt okay, his stomach still, the pain bumped back a few notches. Somebody would come wake him up when the cameras were ready to roll again. Sighing and wishing Jared were there to curl up with him, Jensen drifted into a haze of not-sleep, focusing only on trying to make the pain in his gut go away.

When the phone in his back pocket buzzed, Jensen wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he hoped like hell that it was Jared, not somebody bugging him to get back onset. Twisting around to reach his hand into his pocket hurt, and he had to stop and breathe for a moment, long enough for the call to roll over to voicemail, but Jensen didn't bother waiting, just hit the button to call Jared back.

"Hey man," Jared answered. "Not an emergency if you're in the middle of a scene or something."

"Naw, just too slow getting to my phone."

Jared was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"Can't I just be clumsy?" Jensen winced, hating for once how well Jared knew him.

"Did you get hurt? That new stunt guy, did he--"

"No, no, relax. Just a touch of a bug or something." The pain in Jensen's stomach picked that moment to stab at him, making him curl up more tightly on the couch.

"You sure?" Jared sounded ready to commandeer a truck from the studio and drive out to check up on Jensen in person.

"Totally sure. Hey, they're knocking on my door now, gotta get back to set," Jensen lied. "You doing okay back there?"

"Yeah, just bored. These guys are too uptight, makes me feel bad if I mess with them."

"Aw, my heart bleeds for you."

"Yeah. Love you too, asshole." Jared laughed, and Jensen wished again that he didn't have to feel like crap on a day they were working apart.

"Love you." Jensen hung up and closed his eyes. He tried to think about the positives--he didn't feel as nauseous as he had earlier, though the thought of food was still spectacularly unappealing. The pain was still hanging around, but at the moment it was a low throb that he could work through. The knock at his trailer door came for real then, and Jensen reminded himself that they only had five more hours of filming and then he could sack out on the ninety minute ride back to town.

He could hack it.

~~~

When they'd gotten back to set, Misha'd been glad to see Jensen looking better--still pale around the edges of his make-up but his face more relaxed, less pain showing in the lines of his body. An hour later, after several takes of jogging through the woods, Jensen was once again looking like pure, unadulterated crap.

"Jensen." Misha grabbed Jensen's arm, and he could feel the heat of his skin, the tension running through his shoulders. "You need to cut out this macho shit and take a break, get the medic to take a look at you. That's what they're here for."

"And we're here to do our job," Jensen snapped, pulling away from Misha's hold. "Let's do it again," he called out to the director.

If Jensen wasn't going to take care of himself, Misha didn't figure there was a whole lot he could do about it. He forced his concern away, letting himself drop down into Castiel's detached calm. Three takes in, and Jensen shattered that calm as he gasped out a ragged scream. Misha blinked for a second as he saw Jensen's knees buckling, his face twisted with pain, and then they were both on their knees.

The ground was cool under Misha's legs as he held onto Jensen's shoulders, but Jensen didn't seem to notice any of it. He just curled tight around his belly, panting out breaths in between low moans.

Misha looked up at the crew standing around them, some frozen with shock, others in motion. "We need the medic!"

"She's on her way." Jerry dropped to his knees beside them and laid a hand on Jensen's iron-tense back. "What the hell happened?"

"He's been sick all day, I don't know." Misha shook his head. "Stubborn dumbass."

Jerry stood up, moving out of the way of the medic who was approaching with her overstuffed duffel bag of paraphenalia. "Give me some information here, folks."

"He said he had a stomach bug or something. He said he was okay, but then he just went down." Misha gestured at Jensen's bent figure.

"Okay." She positioned herself in front of Jensen and tried to get in his line of sight. "Jensen, my name is Martha, and I'm the set EMT today. I need you to lay down for me, okay?"

Jensen shook his head, reacting to something other than his own pain for the first time since he collapsed.

"Come on, we'll take it slow." She looked over at Misha. "You think you coud take off that coat, put it down for his head to rest on?"

Misha stood up and hurried to take off Castiel's trench coat. He bundled it up into a makeshift pillow as Martha pushed Jensen's shoulder to tip him over onto his side. Jensen moaned and pulled his knees up closer to his chest.

"Jensen, I need you to open up a little so I can see what's going on with you." She pressed on his legs, drawing his knees away from his belly. "Did you get hurt in the last couple days?"

"N-no," Jensen coughed out.

"Good. When did you start feeling sick?"

"This morning," Jensen breathed. "I guess."

"Okay, now I'm just going to push your shirt up, but I'm not trying to get fresh." She slipped one hand under the hem of Dean's henley and whatever she did then was not good. Not good at all. Jensen pulled in one rough, stuttering breath and then let it out in a weak shout. His eyes rolled up, his lashes fluttering against his pale skin for a moment before he lay still.

"Shit," Martha murmured. She pulled her phone out of its belt clip and pressed the button on the side. "Joe?"

"What's your status?"

"We need Medevac up here ASAP. The patient's got an appendix ready to go. We don't have time to drive him in."

"Okay, hold on." The line went quiet, and Misha watched as Martha checked Jensen's pulse and breathing. The phone beeped again a minute later. "ETA in 20. What's the landing situation?"

"There's a big field about a hundred yards away. Just get here, we'll be waiting."

"Sounds good."

Marsha reached into her bag and pulled out a silvery space blanket. She spread it over Jensen and then checked his vitals again, recording them on a PDA.

"Should we move him somewhere?"

She looked up at Misha, startled out of her focus on her patient. "No, they'll bring a stretcher to carry him on. That's safer and more stable than moving him by hand."

"Okay." Misha didn't know what he was supposed to do. Most of the crew had cleared off, busy packing up the equipment and the set since the shooting day was clearly over. The worried gazes they cast over at Jensen every time they passed by betrayed how close most of the cast and crew of Supernatural were, but they still had a job to perform. Misha knew he could head to his trailer, get out of costume, but it didn't feel right, leaving Jensen alone with somebody they didn't know well.

Jensen stirred then, not awake but not unconscious anymore either, and Misha was relieved until he saw Jensen's face twist with pain again. Jensen reached his hand out, closing his fist around some of the grass he lay on and called out quietly, his voice low and tense, "Jared?"

Misha felt sick, knowing how much he'd want Vicki with him if he were this sick. Martha worked above him, efficient and impersonal as she kept track of his vitals, but Jensen looked lonely all the same. Misha knelt back down next to him and took Jensen's grasping hand in his own.

"Jared?" Jensen asked again, his eyes still pressed closed in pain.

"You'll see him soon. But you're not alone, okay?" Misha squeezed Jensen's hand and looked up at the sound of a helicopter approaching. "You're not alone."

~~~

Jensen could remember the pain in his side getting worse. He remembered concentrating more on keeping his shit together than on doing a good job in the scene, and after that mostly just an overwhelming wash of the pain taking over, taking him down. He could recall a vague sense of hands making things worse, making him move and the pang of wanting comfort, wanting Jared, and then feeling a hand in his own until everything got loud and then disappeared under the wave of pain.

Before he opened his eyes, Jensen knew he was in a hospital. He could feel the strange, plasticy bed and crappy pillows under him, a haze over his thoughts that spoke to some kind of good drugs, and long, strong fingers wrapped around his hand. When he opened his eyes, he saw Jared just where he knew he'd be--folded into a too-small chair next to Jensen's bed with his eyes closed and his big, shaggy head tipped back against the wall.

"Jay." Jensen swallowed against the dryness in his throat and opened his mouth to try again, but just then Jared woke, jerking his head forward and blinking his eyes open.

"Jen. Hey, man." Jared squeezed Jensen's hand and stood up. "How're you feeling?"

Jensen made a face that he hoped communicated something to the effect of 'crappy but okay' and cleared his throat to try talking again. "What happened?"

"You had appendicitis. Like, your appendix almost burst inside you. Why the hell didn't you tell anybody you felt that bad?"

Jensen moved his free hand under the blanket, careful not to dislodge the attached IV, and felt the bandage on his stomach. Whatever Misha had said about stupid macho crap, he'd apparently been right. Jared looked like he'd spent the day being scared half to death, and that just wasn't cool. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Jared squeezed Jensen's hand tighter and then relaxed, rubbing his thumb over Jensen's skin. "You're okay." Jared bent over, leaning closer as he reached his free arm around Jensen, his fingertips ghosting over Jensen's side.

"You seriously don't want to kiss me," Jensen rasped out. "Taste like ass."

Jared frowned and then leaned his forehead against Jensen, pressing their faces together until he could feel Jared's warm breath on his cheek and the side of his neck. Jensen's arm felt heavier than a needle and tubing could be responsible for, but he managed to lift it far enough to cup his hand behind Jared's neck. Jensen could feel pain and exhaustion hovering just out of reach like impatient visitors, but they would wait a few minutes more.

Just a few minutes.