As promised, Jared made pancakes for breakfast. Hectoring Jensen to take his pills took less effort than expected; Jared only needed to set the little bottle down on the table before Jensen was self-medicating with whateverthefuck.

It was only after he threw a handful of blueberries into the creamy breakfast mix that Jared realized Jensen was staring at him. It was pretty fucking weird. He'd never played pillow for a gay man before. Was there some kind of etiquette involved? Maybe they were supposed to slap each other's asses and be done with it.

All right, best not to think of Jensen's ass at such an early hour. A topic best saved for a post breakfast hand job in the shower.

Pale fingers curled lightly around his wrist, startling his thoughts out of NC-17 to the here and now. Jensen was biting his lip, eyes darting wildly about the kitchen.

"Thanks." He said. The word was so quiet it was barely a whisper, but Jared heard it all the same.

Jared blinked, sighed, and burned their breakfast.

*****

David was waiting when Jared pulled his truck into Jensen's drive. The morning was the same as a hundred others in LA, bright, warm. Bland. Jared killed the ignition as David opened the passenger door. Unlike the last time he had pulled Jensen from Jared's truck, there was infinite care in his touch. He held Jensen's elbow as if he was made of fine glass. Jensen sighed and slid into his embrace.

With his cheek resting against Jensen's hair, David cast a grateful look in Jared's direction. "Thanks, bro."

Without being asked, Jared followed them inside. Sam leant against the hall wall, casual in everything except the look in her eyes.

Jared felt her watching him, but was unable to take his eyes off David and Jensen. He stood transfixed as his best friend guided Jensen to the foot of the stairs, then without thought or question, scooped the sleepy young man up into his arms and carried him towards what Jared could only presume to be their bedroom. It was only after he heard the door close behind them that Sam's loud and repeated clearing of her throat was acknowledged by his brain.

"Coffee?" She asked politely.

Jared rolled his shoulders, joints shrieking in protest at his unorthodox sleeping positions. "Whiskey?"

"Irish coffee."

"Perfect."

*****

Jared lasted all of five minutes before he blurted out the question that had been on his mind all night. In all fairness, he'd lasted a whole four minutes longer than expected.

Maybe three and a half minutes longer than Sam had expected. Mug in hand -and Jared was sure the fingers she had used to measure the whiskey must have belonged to giants- she took a long sip. "It's called Ménière's." She explained.

Jared recognized the word, and kicked himself for not looking into things in advance. He'd been so convinced of Jensen's serial killer status that he'd forgotten rule numero uno: know thy enemy. Of course, Jensen was now less an enemy, more a fellow Monster Movie Enthusiast…even if he had slept through the entire marathon.

"And that is…?"

Sam was obviously used to explaining things. Her smile was patient. "It's a disease that affects the ear. Think of it as a giant spirit level. So long as it's on a level surface, the fluid inside is steady, balanced. Tip it up, or fill it too full, and everything gets a little screwy."

"So Jensen's head is screwy?" Like he hadn't known that before…

She snorted and took another sip of medicated coffee. "The mean age of onset is usually around 39 years old, but there are dozens of documented cases in children as young as seven. Jensen was diagnosed with the disease when he was ten."

The bubble of foreboding that had been slowly building in Jared's belly hit boiling point. Seventeen years. Jensen had been dealing with some god-awful sickness for the best part of two decades.

"Jesus." Jared whispered.

Sam nodded. "Mary and Joseph. Yeah, I know. Pretty shitty, huh?" Her lips quirked into a smile that was entirely humorless.

Jared figured that was putting it mildly. He took a long drag of coffee, ignoring the scalding burn as the bitter liquid hit his tongue. "What…what is it?"

Sam's long hair shifted, falling in waves over her shoulder as she shrugged. "It's a bitch, that's what it is. Traditionally, it consists of a combination of symptoms, the most common being violent attacks of vertigo and nausea that can last for hours at a time. Fluctuating hearing loss is another major symptom, as is Tinnitus or pressure in the inner ear." She smiled ruefully. "Imagine strapping an activated police siren to your head for a day, then flying without popping your ears."

"Ouch." Jared grimaced. Nas.ty. He popped his ears unconsciously in sympathy, and cast a fugitive look towards the stairs. "Wait, wait…fluctuating hearing loss? So he's not deaf deaf. Just, what…semi-deaf?"

Silently, Sam refilled both their mugs, something Jared took as a bad sign. It was a good five minutes before she answered, and Jared had begun to twitch nervously. "I started working for Jensen when he was eighteen. I love him as if he were my own boy." She cast a smile towards the stairs…towards Jensen. And David. "I didn't much like your buddy when they first started dating."

Jared blinked, a little dumbstruck. Everyone liked David. It was practically Cosmic Law.

"Now you gotta understand something here, Jared. Ménière's is a bitch of an illness, but it's also very diverse. Not everyone suffers from the same symptoms. Some don't suffer from any of the symptoms at all. Jensen is both unfortunate, and incredibly lucky."

Okay and the prize for best oxymoron of the day goes to… more whiskey, please.

"The guy just had to be carried up his own stairs. You want to tell me how that's lucky?" It was hard to keep the bitterness from his voice, but somehow Jared managed it. This wasn't his sickness, after all. Jensen wasn't his to worry about.

Sam met his gaze head on, unflinching and utterly serious. "He doesn't get drop attacks, for a start."

Jared was getting pretty tired of all the technical terms. He knew he should have done what his brother had done and become a doctor. "What?"

"His grandmother used to get them. Looked like someone just went and pulled a rug out from underneath her. One minute it was all apple pies and candy, the next she was flat on her back, smacking her head off of any hard surface close by."

Okay…ouch. Yeah, maybe Jensen was lucky in that respect. Suddenly all the wide, open spaces in the house made a little more sense.

Floorboards creaked upstairs, Jared's mind wandering of its own volition. Annoyed with himself, he snapped back into the conversation. "So how is he unlucky?"

Sam regarded him intently for a moment, before her shoulders sagged. "He was one hell of a musician when he was younger." She smiled fondly, the affection she felt as clear as stars over a desert sky. "Used to sing, play the guitar, the piano. Was real good at it too. I remember how frustrated he'd be after an attack. He'd not have the energy to crawl, but all he wanted to do was come down here and play a song. After a week or so, he'd get his energy back, and he'd play and play until his fingers bled. "

Jared had seen the grand piano, pushed against the wall in the sitting room. It was still lovingly cared for, dusted, oiled and polished. Jared wondered if it would be tuned. That sick feeling was back in his gut. The Jensen he knew wouldn't have been able to recognize Blues from Pop if it played on the radio.

"I guess that changed." He said darkly.

A small nod from Sam, and then she said, "Ménière's usually starts out in one ear. In Jensen's case, it was his right. In about forty percent of those diagnosed, the disease will spread to the other ear after long periods of ailment."

Jared winced, and wondered if seventeen fucking years constituted as long periods.

"Now the hearing loss associated is degenerative. Low pitch sounds go out the window pretty fast. It gets worse over the years, but between attacks, most sufferers retain an adequate level of hearing." For a moment, she looked terribly sad. Her hands were white around the mug, and without thinking, Jared clutched his own mug tighter. "By the time Jensen was twenty, he had the disease in both ears. He was wearing hearing aids at twenty-one, and at twenty-six, about a month after he and David started dating, he had the worst attack I've ever seen him have. It usually took a few days for his hearing to return. We're still waiting on it."

Twenty-six…and Jensen was what? Twenty-seven…close to twenty-eight? There's infinite fucking patience for you. Or desperation. Jared wasn't sure which.

"Is there a cure?" He asked. Science could fix damn near everything these days. If it could clone a fucking sheep, it could fix Jensen's screwy head.

Sam shook her head. "Not as such. No. It can be controlled to a certain degree. Low sodium diet, medication, that sort of thing."

No cure…yet. Crap.

"These attacks…what causes them? How often does he get them?" Details. With details, he could plan a counter attack.

"All sorts. Stress. Climate. Diet. Hell, the television can trigger an attack. Standing up too fast, temperature, closing your damn eyes. They can happen at any time, with little to no warning. It's pretty much impossible to predict."

Okay…fuck. David's little HeMan routine didn't seem so unjustified any more. Jesus…they might as well wrap Jensen in cotton wool and lock him in a box right now.

He rubbed his eyes, remembering the circles of weariness David wore on his face and sympathizing. "How often?" He repeated the question, aware of Sam's scrutiny, and all the more uncomfortable for it.

"It can vary. Some people have them three or four times a week." A week? Jesus Christ. "Some only get them a few times a decade. Jensen usually can expect an episode four or five times a month. Most are pretty mild. The vertigo will last about half an hour, and he'll be fine after a day in bed."

Jared nodded. He remembered catching Jensen when he stumbled on Jared's front porch, and the feel of him, warm and soft as he slept.

"He had one yesterday, didn't he?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Nothing major, but he walked right into a door. It was quite spectacular."

Hence the bruise. Jesus.

"What about surgery? Doctors can fix anything these days." Jared returned to the idea of science. Logic was the best course of action in any situation. If science couldn't cure Jensen, then maybe it could help him.

"Sure." Sam nodded. "Surgery is an option. His ENT's been suggesting a transcanal labyrinthectomy for the past three months now."

A what huh? Jared shook off the question. He was going into info overload. His brain couldn't take much more.

"He's going for it, right? I mean…it's not like he can't afford it." He waved a hand around, taking in the understated elegance of Jensen's home.

"A transcanal labyrinthectomy is a very invasive procedure. It would destroy any chances of him hearing again."

"What, he thinks it's gonna come back? Could that happen?"

"Honestly? No. His surgeon doesn't expect it to, I don't expect it to. But Jensen…he holds onto in like a life raft." Sighing, she moved from the table, rinsing the two mugs in the sink and stacking them up on the wooden draining board.

Jared nodded slowly.

*****

By the end of the week, Jared was ready to keel over and die. Or at the very least, crawl under his covers and not emerge for the next decade or so. Preemptive training had turned out to be Kripke code for roughing it with a group of trigger-happy ex-soldiers in the middle of the fucking desert. His legs hurt. His back hurt. His floating rib hurt.

And that, apparently, was just the beginning. By the time he and Marc checked out of the Kripke School of Being a Tough-Ass, they'd be ready to invade China with just a toothpick and a bottle of Gatorade.

"Sadistic fucker." Jared grumbled, tripping over an errant shoelace as he juggled his mail in one hand, and his backpack 'o crazy shit in the other. He'd gone and signed his soul over to the Devil. A dozen letters spilled over onto his side table when he dropped his bag and evaded a mutt attack. Two were from his mom, a postcard from his sister in…Nice? Nice. Four were from his agent. Insurance forms blah blah blah, contracts- to be signed in the blood of a virgin sacrificed on a full moon- and a long, thin package that had barely fit in his box.

Curious, he dropped the contracts, and slid the twine from around the smooth brown packaging. Inside, without greeting or decoration, was a single rose, deep pink, and almost as soft as Jensen's hair.

Read Part Six Subtext in the Louder Than Words 'Verse by SplashPink