Not The Jensen We Know

Written for the prompt: Learning to communicate with gestures

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Not The Jensen We Know

He'd been a mess when they airlifted him out. Cougar hadn't been much better, but at least he was conscious and able to catalog both sets of injuries for the med-evac team. Clay leant back against the side of the chopper and ran through all the things they could have done differently, all the ways he could have got his team out in one piece.

It didn't take long. The long and short of it was there weren't any.

Roque was already back in the US with a broken ankle. Clay and Pooch were fine, scuffs and bruises aside. What little they had was from going in to retrieve Jensen and Cougar. It had all been a disaster. He was sorely tempted to believe it was a set up, that someone had sold them out. It was the only explanation that seemed to fit with everything that had gone down.

He watched as Jensen and Cougar were both hooked up to IVs and prayed that they'd both be okay.

So the silence was unnerving for the rest of them and frustrating for Jensen, when he was awake long enough. To be fair, they'd still got him strung out on heavy duty painkillers and the kid looked like he needed them. Jaw wired together and damage to his throat from the mistreatment that he couldn't describe to them. Even typing wasn't bringing him much joy with only one hand to work with; the fingers of his right hand swollen and splinted.

So far they'd got a few gestures down that they were all certain what he was saying – 'Fuck off and leave me alone to die' being the one that was coming through loud and clear. It was pretty closely followed by 'what the fuck are they doing to me?'

He'd mastered 'Where's the TV remote?' and Clay got his frustration with that one and thought that it was pretty cruel of Pooch to keep hiding it, but at the same time, it did seem to be bringing about a 'Jensen-like' response as opposed to the apathy and dejection that are his clear companions the rest of the time.


Three days had passed and Jensen was getting more and more reluctant to join in with any kind of conversation. Anyone speaking to him just got flipped the bird and Jensen wouldn't even look at them when it was a direct order. Clay was at a loss for ideas. He wanted to make this right for all of them and he was failing.

Jensen was curled awkwardly on his side facing the wall and trying to ignore that there was anyone else in the room with him when Pooch said, "Seriously man, even Cougs would have something to say about you being like this. . ."

There was no mistaking the fury now as Jensen, struggled to turn and threw anything he could reach at Pooch, incoherent sounds of pain, anger and loss, all escaping the distraught man on the bed and that . . . that was when Clay realized what the real problem was.

They had all split their time between visiting Jensen and visiting Cougs and Roque where they were holed up together a few corridors over, but in the lack of real conversation with Jensen and the younger man's extreme reaction to the least thing, not one of them had mentioned the missing team mates and Jensen hadn't dared ask.

So now here they were, with Jensen breaking down in front of them and Clay was rushing over to calm him, hold him down carefully before he damaged something worse than it already was in the first storm of tears. He'd sent Pooch out with the order to try and see if there was any way they could get Cougar here. Days they'd spent together, captured with no word from the outside. Jensen drifting in and out of consciousness, getting weaker and weaker by the hour, his only lifeline, Cougar.

Then he'd woken up here with no sign of the one person who was there with him through it all and he'd jumped to all the wrong conclusions and none of them had set him right.

Jensen was a wreck and it could all have been avoided if they'd just thought past the silence, but it was so out of character that not one of them knew how to handle this Jensen but now . . . now at last Clay knows how to start fixing his team.