If Monty Python was right, and life really was one huge joke, then Jared's was something out of a 2 dollar Christmas cracker. One that came with the novelty jigsaw puzzle that was missing half the pieces.

"It's not fair." Jared damn near snarled, one hand nursing his delicate head, the other entwining Jensen's limp fingers. Jensen had already been under by the time Jared had blackmailed Marc into driving him to the hospital.

That was nearly five days ago.

"Life never is." Sam said kindly from her perch on the end of Jensen's bed.

Carefully, Jared raised Jensen's pale hand to his lips, fever flushed skin bone dry against his. "This is going to kill him." Jared finally voiced the fear that had been harboring in his belly for days now. "You know how much he wants to get better. He wants to be normal."

Sam laughed quietly, her face oddly gentle. "No, sweetie, he doesn't. He's put up with this damn illness for more than half his life. He wants to give you normal."

Jared bit his lip, "How could they let him do this?" He demanded, clinging on to Jensen's hand tightly. His eyes couldn't help but drift to Jensen's hair, shaved short above his ear. The incision behind his ear was smaller than Jared expected, and if he hadn't known about the big fucking drill some asshole doctor had take to Jensen's head, then he might not have been so worried.

"His surgeon wouldn't have done it if he thought Jensen was going to be in any real danger?" Sam reassured him gently.

"And how often as he treated someone like Jensen? Someone as bad as Jensen?" Jared snarled angrily. "Not only has he lost any chance of ever hearing again, for all we know he might never be able to get out of this bed." There was the hitch. The catch 22. The severity of Jensen's condition meant that both ears were heavily affected by the disease, but only the worst, his right, had been subject to surgery. The Labyrinthectomy had resulted in the removal of the inner ear bone on his right side. They had then done something with nerve stems, his spine, and abdominal fat that had made Jared entirely queasy. His left ear, they hoped, would respond better to aggressive chemical treatment once he a recovered from the operation.

Jensen had been in an out of consciousness all week. When he was awake, he couldn't move his fingers or toes. Or his face. He'd fixed Jared a look so full of terror it had cost him everything he had not to charge down to the nurse's station and demand blood. The paralysis was temporary, he had been reassured, but all Jared could see was Jensen, unable to hear and now unable to even smile at him.

"The menagerie sends their love," Jared whispered. It didn't matter to him that Jensen couldn't hear him. The steady, unconscious stream of talk was all that was keeping Jared from breaking down and crying. "The dogs have taken over our bed. Sadie likes your pillow; I think it is softer than mine."

He didn't look up when Sam squeezed his shoulder, vanishing into the ward in search of coffee. Or valium.

The bed was a regular size, but it made Jensen look small. He had always felt smaller in Jared's arms, frailer, weaker than he did when there was space between them both. More often than not it was Jensen's never ending enthusiasm that made him seem larger than he actually was his inner strength more than making up for what the illness robbed him of. Laid out on the white sheets, his skin not much darker, every part of the Jensen Jared loved had been stolen. There was no spirit there to love, and the shell of the man left behind barely even looked like his Jensen. They'd cut his hair and taken his glasses. His lips were dry and cracked, his cheekbones sharp.

Mindful of the IV, Jared eased himself down onto the bed and gently lifted Jensen into his arms. He might feel even more fragile there, but at least Jared would be able to catch all the pieces if he shattered.

Read Part Twenty Five Be the change in the Louder Than Words 'Verse by SplashPink