Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jensen started feeling it five miles away from the Collins’ house. It was just fidgeting at first, wringing his hands in his lap as Misha rambled on about the construction down the block. He was going on and on about how tearing down the playground to make room for a tennis court was wrong. 

“How many four-year-olds do you know that play tennis?!” Misha yelled as he turned onto the quiet street he and his wife, Vicki lived on. 

Jensen squeezed his thighs together tightly, trying to ignore the growing pressure in his bladder. Misha turned to his passenger, saw him biting his lip. 

“Hey, you okay over there?” 

Jensen grunted, “Huh?”

Misha chuckled, though his brow was creased with concern. “I said, are you okay over there?” 

“Oh! Uh, yeah. ’m fine. Jus’ uh, wish I stopped at the ba’ room before we left.” 

Once again, the driver diverted his attention from the road. This time, so he could squint at his inebriated cohort. “...you did .” 

Jensen smoothed a hand over his jean-clad thigh. Another wave of urgency crashed over him, he winced. Gritting his teeth, he started rocking in his seat. When he managed to gain control, he realized the other man was staring at him.

“Wha' re you lookin' a'?  

Misha pulled the minivan into the driveway, coasted to a stop. Jensen immediately began fumbling with his seatbelt. He whimpered when he couldn’t get it unlatched and searched out Misha’s eyes, begged him silently. 

Misha reached over, easily clicked the button to release the buckle. Shaking his head, he walked around the car to help his drunk friend open the door. 

Panting was making Jensen’s head spin. He desperately wanted to get inside the house. Bathroom-- if he could just make it to the bathroom… 

“I swear,” Misha chuckled, “ you, Jensen Ackles, have the smallest bladder on the planet. You just went at the bar and now, here you are doing the potty dance not fifteen minutes later.” He grasped the door handle and pulled, freeing Jensen from the confines of the van. 

“‘m not doing the p-” Jensen had to pause when he bent over with his hands shoved into his crotch, “-- potty dance .” 

Misha steadied him as they slowly made their way up the driveway then over to the porch. He snorted, “Could’ve fooled me…” 

Jensen huffed then reluctantly freed one of his hands so he could grip the railing. He was drunk enough that three steps could easily do him in and he had no desire to piss himself in full view of the street.

… it was only two steps. 

He flailed, trying to regain his balance. Misha grabbed him around the waist to keep him upright. Jensen’s stomach jerked inside of him. He moaned, squeezed his eyes closed, praying that his sudden vertigo would pass so he could get inside. 

“Woah! Easy does it, man. One step at a time. Almost there,” Misha coached him as they crossed the four feet to the front door. 

Jensen’s stomach gave a loud whine--he swallowed back the familiar taste of rye whiskey. His vision swam before instinct urged him to bend over with his hands on his knees as his mouth filled with saliva. 

Misha had been trying to open the door but looked back when he heard Jensen groan. “No, no, no!” He abandoned the keys in the lock so he could rush over to him. “Not on the porch,” he pleaded, tugging on Jensen’s sleeve. “C’mon. There’s a nice clean bathroom right down the hall!” 

Jensen’s face paled. “... oh no- ” 

The gush of liquid spilled from Jensen’s lips to splatter onto the welcome mat. Misha sighed before grabbing the back of the drunk man’s shirt. He tried again to maneuver him through the door and into the house. Although his stomach seemed satisfied after decorating the porch, Jensen didn’t move. 

Instead, his face heated as he clenched the wet fabric of his jeans. Tears in his eyes, he admitted, “Mish- I can’ stop…” 

Misha looked down and immediately saw the reason why Jensen refused to move. His jeans were dark, pee still running down his legs to pool at his feet. Misha shook his head with a sigh. They had no choice but to wait until Jensen was done relieving himself. 

When he heard a great sound of relief from Jensen, Misha rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You ready to come inside, get cleaned up?” 

Jensen stood up, slapped his hand onto the doorframe to steady himself. “Uh, yeah... Shit, I feel soooo much better…” He smiled lopsidedly as his brow creased. “Hey, Mish?” 

Misha had finally gotten the key to turn in the lock. He stepped inside to turn the light on before answering, “Yes, Jensen?”

“I uh, feel so much better…  but uh, I don’ feel so good…” the drunk man’s statement was followed by a loud burp that Jensen stifled with his fist.   

“Okay, here we go.” Misha singsonged, holding the glass door open with one hand and guided Jensen through with the other then quickly herded him down the hall to the guest bathroom. 

---

Jensen woke up the next morning on the Collins’ living room couch. He vaguely remembered going out for a drink after his fight with Danneel, then there was a blur of whiskey, shots of tequila? and a tall-ish brunette with blue eyes who took his drunk ass home. 

His head was pounding. When he lifted it from the floral cushion, the room spun around him. He groaned, placed an arm over his eyes. It took about ten minutes before he was able to swing his feet to the floor and lean forward to drop his head in his hands. As he carefully squinted one eye open, he caught sight of the abstract painting Vicki hung above the mantle. The chaotic arrangement of lines and circles made him dizzy. He gulped sickly, ducked his head. On the table in front of him, Jensen found a bottle of ibuprofen as well as a tall glass of water and his phone. 

He took the pills with a large drink of water then unlocked the screen on his iPhone so he could check his messages. His wife had texted him three times and called twice. He sighed. Great . Just what he needed after almost winning the argument last night. 

Misha walked into the room with a wave. “Morning! How are you feeling?” 

“Head’s killing me.” Jensen rubbed between his eyebrows then leaned back into the cushions after taking another sip of water. “What uh, what happened last night?”  

Misha sat down on the arm of the armchair, grinning at him. “You called and asked me to come to get you around one-thirty. We made it back here-- you threw up, wet yourself, and passed out on the bathroom floor.” 

Jensen cringed. It wasn’t like he’d never been on the other side of that scenario. He’d been responsible for drunk Jared more times than he could count… Still, as much fun as it was to be the one cleaning up, it was worse to be the drunken idiot who made the mess.  “Jesus…sorry about all that.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Misha said with a shrug. “I’m glad you called instead of trying to drive home. You know you can crash here anytime. No harm, no foul.” Other than the porch, which would never fully be clean again… 

Jensen carefully stood up. “Why don’t you point me in the right direction and I’ll clean up.”

“No need. I already took care of it.” 

“Aw, shit. Mish... you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Jensen, seriously. It’s fine. Besides, I’m pretty sure you have more important things to worry about right now.” Misha nodded toward the doorway where a woman with long auburn hair was standing with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. 

Immediately wilting under his wife's annoyed glare, Jensen ducked his head. “... hi, honey...”

Chapter Text

“Jensen, dude, slow down,” Jared chuckled. 

Jensen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dumped the last little bit of water in the bottle over his head. He ran his hands through his hair to spread it evenly throughout then pulled his t-shirt away from his sweaty skin. 

“It’s like a hundred degrees out here, Jare. How are you not dying?!” 

Jared shrugged, “I dressed for the occasion.” 

“Really? Cause I would say you’re a little too covered to fit in with the rest of the crowd. Hell, I feel overdressed!” He gestured to his jeans. 

“Nah. This shirt has some fancy cooling technology so I don’t sweat in it. Plus, the headband isn’t just for looks, man. It helps.”

Jensen rolled his eyes and adjusted his hat hoping to keep the sun off his face. His arms were already a little red and he could feel the heat coming off the back of his neck. He grabbed the second bottle of water at his feet, twisted the top off. 

Jared glanced at him, shook his head, “Don’t come crying to me when you have to run out halfway through the set.” 

“Thanks, mom . I’ll be fine,” Jensen snarked before drinking the rest of the cool water. He wrung the empty bottle in his hands, tossed it into a nearby trash bin. He nodded to Jared. “C’mon, let’s see if we can get closer.” 

The concert was awesome even though the setting sucked. The number of people should’ve been smaller due to the heatwave currently making its way through Texas, but both he and Jared agreed that there seemed to be more sweaty bodies than last year. 

They’d managed to stay somewhat cool during the last three hours by standing beneath a large tree. Both men had kept on each other about staying hydrated, limiting themselves to one beer each. The rest of the time, they made do by refilling their bottles at the convenient watering stations. 

But all that water had to go somewhere and Jensen’s bladder was begging him to find a bathroom. Now . 

Even though he’d started to squirm about half an hour ago, he’d ignored it and continued to guzzle water. Because last year, he and Jared had both dehydrated during the festival and neither of them wanted a repeat this year. Jensen had no intention of making a repeat performance. He’d spent forty-five minutes in the med tent puking his guts out before he fainted-- uh, passed out.  

So, they’d been reminding each other to keep sipping water since the concert started. But, now, almost four hours in, Jensen was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to drink one more drop without relieving some of the pressure first. 

Of course, this far out from the main gates, his only option would probably end up being a Port-A-Potty but at that moment, Jensen didn’t care. As soon as there was a lull in the music, he informed Jared that he was going in search of the facilities. Jared smirked but followed him. 

Jensen paused in the middle of the grassy walkway that separated the food trucks from the musicians’ booths and bent over shoving a hand against his groin. Jared stopped beside him, placed a soft hand on his shoulder, “You okay, dude?” 

Jensen gritted his teeth, gave a tight nod. “Yup, I’m good.” He straightened back up and they continued walking. 

Realizing how badly the other man needed to go, Jared did his best to distract Jensen from his desperation by chatting about the artists they still wanted to see, the smells wafting from the food pavilion, and asking about Jensen’s plans for the rest of their week off. 

“Umm--” It took Jensen a few minutes to convince his fuzzy brain to work. “Oh, uh, since we don’t have any press to do, Dee wants to take the kids down to see her f--” He trailed off. “ Fuck me... ” 

Jared turned to see what had Jensen dropping the sudden f-bomb.

Although there were a total of twelve outhouses, there was a line of at least fifteen people in front of each ‘restroom’. 

Jensen started bouncing on the balls of his feet and shoved a hand in his front pocket so he could covertly cup himself. 

“Well, shit, dude. Do you think you can make it that long?” Jared asked as he searched for the shortest line. 

Jensen suddenly froze as a spurt of pee escaped. No longer caring whether everyone there could see him, Jensen crossed his legs and shoved both hands into his crotch. 

His voice was higher pitched when he finally answered Jared, “I’m gonna go with no.” 

Jared didn’t disagree with him. It was obvious the older man was barely hanging on. “Okay, so what do you want to do?” 

When he turned around, he saw Jensen quickly walking away.  

“Jensen! Where are you going?” Jared called out, jogging after him.

Jensen had one goal at this point: find a place that he could drop trou and let loose the flood that was threatening to burst at any moment. Breathing heavily as he fought his body, Jensen finally found what he needed. Just beyond what seemed to be an accumulation of the weekend’s trash was a double stack of two-by-fours. Each pile stood at least six feet high and if Jared stood just behind him, he would be obscured from view. 

Now that he had a specific destination in mind, Jensen altered his course, hoping Jared would follow. 

Thankfully, he did. 

“Jensen, where the hell are you-- Oh, gotcha. Okay, do what you gotta do, man. I’ll keep watch.”

Jensen quickly undid his belt, yanked his zipper down. He was so desperate that urine started to dribble from his cock before he could fully pull it out. But then… 

...Pssssssss...  

He couldn’t hold back his groan when he was finally able to give in and let go. He felt almost lightheaded from the rush of relief-- steadied himself with one hand against the stack of lumber. 

Now that his brain was functioning past ‘ Must Find A Bathroom Need A Bathroom!’ , he wondered why the stack was there in the first place. After all, it was an odd spot to just dump a bunch of wood. 

After a good minute of powerful pissing, the stream finally died down. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jensen shook off then tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up. 

He turned around to inform his impromptu watchman, “Okay, I’m good. We can go.” 

Jared looked down at the ground then back at Jensen. “Actually, uh, do you think we could switch? I kinda need to go too.” 

Jensen couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure thing, man,” he said, slapping Jared on his shoulder. 

Chapter Text

Jensen knew this was a bad idea. 

He tried again to rearrange his legs into a more comfortable position, but the fact was that Rob’s minivan simply wasn’t made to carry this many big guys at once.  He glanced over at Jared, who was sitting next to him. The lucky bastard had somehow fallen asleep despite Rich’s continuous commentary and the bickering going on between Matt and Osric in the backseat. 

On the way to the venue, Jensen had been allowed to seat in the front seat in an effort to curb his motion sickness, but apparently, the other guys had either forgotten about it now that they were on their way back, or assumed he was drunk enough that it wouldn’t matter. Which was ridiculous because he’d only had three beers. 

However, Jensen’s current dilemma had nothing to do with the motion of the car. No, the problem was that the road they were on--and would be for another three hours-- had no rest areas. And while Jensen would have no qualms about taking a leak on the side of the dark road, Rob’s van was finicky and he refused to stop unless it was absolutely necessary. 

He’d already asked twice if they could stop, but once he’d assured them no, I’m not gonna puke , they’d dismissed his request. 

By this point, Jensen had already surveyed the van for anything he could use--should it come to that-- but the only thing he thought might work was Osric’s Gatorade bottle...which he was still drinking. 

“Ackles?” Jared whispered, leaning towards the other man. He yawned, checked his watch. “You okay, man?” 

Knowing he wasn’t driving tonight, Jared had enjoyed the alcoholic offerings tonight, probably more than anyone else in their group. Although- Jensen thought as he looked at the backseat- Matt was a pretty close second.

“For now,” Jensen answered him, making an ugly face in Rob’s direction. 

Jared laughed, “What’d Rob do?” 

“He won’t fuckin’ pull over… ” Jensen said, raising his voice. 

Rob looked over his shoulder to reply. Rich smacked him. “C’mon, Robby-- Eyes on the road!”

“Will you kindly inform Jensen that if he isn’t bleeding to death, he will just have to be a big boy and hold it like the rest of us?” 

Rich nodded. “I can do that.” He turned around in his seat to face Jensen. “Jensen, Robert would like you to know that--” 

“Yes, I know,” Jensen said with a saccharin smile before snarling, “-- Because I can fucking hear him!” 

“What are you guys arguing about now?” Osric asked, poking his head over the seat. 

“Master Chao, this does not concern you,” Rich said, doing his best to bow while still buckled. 

A low groan came from the man sitting beside Jensen. He lifted his head from his hand--he’d been massaging his temple, hoping to prevent his headache from worsening-- to look at Jared. One glance told him everything he needed to know. 

“Rob-- where do you keep the bags?” 

Though caught off guard by Jensen’s question, Rob answered him, “In the trunk…” 

Jensen cursed under his breath, “Why in the hell would you keep barf bags in the trunk?” 

Rob frowned, “We don’t. Those are under the seats. I thought you were talking about suitcases…” 

“Suitcases…? Robby, why would anyone ask where you keep suitcases?” Rich said, looking at his friend in amazement. 

From the backseat, Matt piped up, “Why do you need the bags?” 

“...to pick up dog shit.” Jensen deadpanned as he felt around beneath his seat for a plastic grocery sack. “Why do you think, genius?” 

Rob had already begun looking for someplace to pull over even as he said, “Are you going to puke?!” 

“Not me-- Jared,” Jensen replied, laying one bag in another and then handing it to Jared. 

“Don’t puke in the car! I’ll pull over!” Rob yelled, frantic. 

“It’s too late for that,” Jensen informed him as Jared pitched forward and vomited. He reached over to hold Jared’s hair back with one hand. 

“Oh, gross…” Osric commented, sitting back in his seat. He glanced at Matt when he heard him swallow loudly. “Oh great...not you too…” 

“Oh shit!” Rich yelled from the front seat, “Os, grab him a bag, would ya!” 

Osric leaned down to fish a bag from under his seat and handed it to Matt, who immediately doubled over it with a loud retch. 

“Alright, man,” Jensen was saying, coaching Jared through the worst of his nausea, “Just breathe… it’s almost over…” He wasn’t one hundred percent sure that was true, but he sincerely hoped it was because his own stomach was starting to churn. 

“Did they puke on the seats?!” Rob yelled, trying to look back while still keeping his eyes on the road. 

Rich attempted to calm him down. “Robby, hey, chill, man. It’s okay. Jensen and Osric are handling it. You don’t have to worry…” 

The strong smell of regurgitated alcohol was starting to get to Jensen. He turned his face away, tried to breathe through his mouth. 

The van rumbled onto the shoulder when Rob looked away too long. Jensen gagged. 

“Oh, for the love of…” Osric mumbled, grabbing another set of bags to hand to Jensen. 

Jensen accepted the bags but didn’t make any move to use them. He wasn’t worried about puking-- as long as someone rolled a window down soon, he’d be fine. 

When they’d driven off the road, he’d been jostled in his seat and the seatbelt had latched painfully, pressing tightly on his bladder. 

Jared was spitting into the bag, trying to clear his mouth. Jensen spoke to Osric, “Hand me your bottle of Gatorade.” 

“What? No way.” 

“Dude, hand me your fuckin’ bottle.” 

“Jesus, Jensen...you’re mean when you’re drunk…” Osric said, finally relinquishing his not-quite-a-fourth-full sports drink. 

Jensen thrust it at Jared while keeping one hand pressed against his crotch. “Here. Rinse and spit.” 

Jared did as he was told, slowly becoming aware of Jensen’s desperation. When he was done, he handed it over to Matt, who finished it off. Matt then tied to give it back to Osric, but Jared snatched it from his hand. 

Jensen undid his seatbelt and scooted to the edge of the seat, unzipping his jeans while Jared waited with the bottle. Once he had his dick out, he grabbed the empty bottle and positioned the tip of his dick just inside the rim. 

Pale yellow liquid began filling the bottle almost immediately. Jensen groaned, panting as he fought to keep himself steady, the stream from filling it too quickly. Jared was holding onto the back of his shirt to help hold him still. 

Rich looked back as the sound of Jensen’s relief filled the van. “What’re you--Are you actually pe--You are. You’re pissing in a bottle.” 

Rob turned to Rich with shock and horror on his face. “What?! He can’t pee in the car! It’ll go everywhere!” 

“He’s fine,” Jared said, making sure the tied bag in his lap wouldn’t spill when he set it on the floor.  

Though his bladder was still far from empty, Jensen forced himself to stop just before he got to the top of the container. Very carefully, he lifted the piss-filled bottle so he could screw the lid back on then set it down between his feet. 

“I asked you to pull over, Robby. The hell else did you want me to do? It’s not like you have a lot of options in here...” Jensen said, tucking himself back into his jeans before securing his seatbelt. 

“You-- you-- you could’ve..” Rob trailed off when he realized Jensen was right. He had asked, no, begged Rob to pull over twice … He sighed. “Just, please tell me you didn’t... spill.” 

Jensen dramatically placed his hand over his chest. “I can aim ... fuck you very much.” Beside him, Jared snorted. His head was laid back and his eyes were closed, but Jensen knew he’d heard every word. 

“Uh, guys? Unless we have another empty bottle handy, I think we really are going to have to pull over…” Matt said. 

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Rob yelled, removing one hand from the wheel to toss it up in exasperation. 

“Robby, I hate to say this,” Rich said, smiling wryly at the exasperated man. “But uh, I could use a pit stop too.” 

“Me too…” Osric called out. 

Jared didn’t open his eyes when he said, “Ditto.” 

“Fine! We’ll stop! But if I can’t get her started up again, I’m forcing you all to push her to the nearest gas station!” 

Jensen hadn’t said anything since Matt spoke up but he was grateful they were going to pull over. He still had to go pretty badly. And on top of that, Rob had started swerving the van while he ranted so Jensen was feeling sick, too. 

As soon as the wheels rumbled onto the shoulder, Jensen opened the door and got out. He walked the few feet over to the weeds then bent over with his hands on his knees, coughing. A familiar hand rested on his back as he fought to keep his stomach under control. 

He burped wetly just as Richard walked over. 

“Mr. Ackles, I do believe you may be in the running for Worst Passenger…” he laughed and slapped Jensen on the back, causing him to lurch forward, beer and the remains of his dinner raining down onto the grass. 

Jared sighed at Rich, “‘ya happy now?” 

Rich gave him a sheepish smile and a shrug then walked away to take care of business, like the other three--yes, Rob as well-- were already doing.

Once Jensen was able to spit without triggering his gag reflex, Jared moved a few steps away. He fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, but eventually got them undone then pulled his cock out. 

Jensen, who was still doubled over and feeling a bit lightheaded, flinched when Jared’s stream hit the dirt about five inches from his left boot. “Don’t you dare piss on my boots, Jared Padalecki. There will be hell to pay.” 

“I would never…” Jared assured him then swiveled his hip to hit the spot just in front of Jensen. 

“Son of a--” Jensen yelped, awkwardly shuffling over until he was out of range. The myriad sounds of his friends’ loud pissing finally convinced him to stand up so he, too, could take care of business before Rob forced everyone back into the van. 

Despite the blackness that surrounded them, Jensen was still surprised to feel a hand grope his bare ass. It palmed the flesh slowly, methodically before the fingers drifted to his crack. One long finger eased its way between his cheeks to rub his taint before slipping inside. 

Jensen bit his lip to keep from crying out. Jared’s fingers were long enough to stroke over his prostate with no trouble, but the lack of lubrication would be a bitch, come morning. 

“Alright, finish up, and then, let’s get back on the road! I’d like to get back to the hotel before two…” Rob grumbled as he returned to the van. He crossed his fingers, hoping it would actually start up. 

Shortly after Rob’s announcement, Jared removed his hand and zipped up his jeans. When he turned back to the van though, Jensen heard the distinct sound of him sucking on his fingers. 

Jensen shivered as he remembered that he and Jared were sharing a room thanks to a mix-up with the agency. There were two beds, of course, but they didn’t have to use both…  With a smirk hidden by the cloud-covered night sky, Jensen risked a slap to Jared’s ass as he passed by him.

Oh, yeah… This was going to be a fun weekend. 

Chapter Text

As a little kid, Jensen hadn’t been very good at ‘holding it’... As an adult, his capabilities haven’t improved much-- Which is why, on the hottest day of the year, in the middle of a teeming mass of sweaty festival-goers, he’s had four beers but only two bottles of water. They've been here for four hours. 

However, due to a negligent lack of availability, even if Jensen wanted to stay hydrated while he and Jared are at the ACL music festival, it would be rather hard to do. 

They’ve been trying to hold out for their friend Kaleo’s set, which is supposed to start a little after six, but it's just now three o'clock and Jensen’s at his limit. He feels miserable, thoroughly drenched in sweat despite his thin t-shirt and shorts. He’s currently lying on the grass beneath a large tree, fanning himself with their map of the grounds, while Jared sits nearby, doing the same with the performance schedule. They moved to their current spot about fifteen minutes ago when Jensen suddenly started feeling queasy. 

“We should have brought more water…” Jared says, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his face. "Or not drank all those beers..."  

Jensen nods. “Wha' kind of idiot doesn’t provide water for the- the people... spending money... to wash the bands?" He's finding a little difficult keeping his thoughts straight and he can hear himself slurring his words, but he's pretty sure neither is the alcohol's fault. "Or at leas' set the- the stage up... um, somewhere where there's... shade...”

“I know, man--" Jared says, shaking his head "I assumed they’d at least have those uh, water bottle thingies...” 

“The idiot seems to have forgotten those, too,” Jensen says, groaning. He’s been resisting the urge to peel his shirt off due to the abundance of cellphones already out in the audience, but it’s getting to the point that he doesn’t give a shit.  His arms and neck are rosy with sun-exposure and even though his shirt looks like it, he’s no longer sweating which leads him to assume he’s severely dehydrated. 

When Jensen attempts to sit up, the grassy field in front of them, where the main stage is set up, blurs. “Jar 'd,” he slurs, using the wide trunk to pull himself up. His legs shake so badly he almost ends up right back on his ass. He can feel the beginnings of a cramp in his right calf. 

“Yeah…?” Jared replies, his eyes closed. 

“I think...maybe...shou' go... tothe...t' the me--” Jensen’s words cut off abruptly as a wave of nausea washes over him. Panting harshly through his nose, he leans into the tree, moans sickly. 

Jared opens his eyes when Jensen moans. When he sees the other man leaning heavily on the tree trunk for support, he scrambles up. "Jensen!" Jared's head spins, but he pushes through it.  “You okay, man?” he asks, slinging one arm around Jensen’s waist. 

No longer able to speak, for fear of vomiting on himself, Jensen shakes his head. Oh, he does not feel well...

 “Alright, buddy, I gotcha. C’ mon, let’s head over to the medical tent and see if they can help…” 

Jensen’s movements are uncoordinated as they make their way towards the front of the fairgrounds to the bright red tent with a white cross on it.  By the time they make it inside, his head feels like it’s going to bust out of his skull and he knows he’s going to be sick...

One of the staff members comes over to the pair, takes one look at Jensen, and points to a free cot. “Looks like heatstroke. Take him over there and have him lay down. I’ll get a bag of saline ready so we can get some fluids into him.” 

Jared follows the woman's instructions, depositing the other man onto the cot a little harder than he anticipated. Looks like Jensen isn’t the only one struggling with the heat...

A second nurse, who's name tag Jared can't quite make out, comes over to jot down their names, addresses, and phone numbers -in case they need further medical attention then the staff can provide- then fetches Jensen a bucket and Jared a cool washcloth. 

Within ten seconds of it being set down in the grass beside the cot, Jensen makes use of the bucket. The last bit of water he’d drunk splashes into the bottom. Followed by the beer he had with lunch and then his lunch. Jensen quickly comes to the conclusion that corn dogs and smoked turkey legs taste much better going down then they do coming back up.  

Jared looks away, fighting his own stomach now that he’s heard Jensen get sick. But either the nurse is a mind-reader or Jared’s face must pale because she quickly grabs a second bucket for him.  He rests his arm on the plastic rim, keeping his eyes closed so he won’t see the empty container just waiting to be filled. Slow breath in...slow breath out…  

Jensen belches loudly, ending with a loud splattering sound that makes Jared’s stomach churn ominously. Adjusting himself so his face is centered in the opening of the bucket, Jared echoes him, burping up a mouthful of watered-down beer.  

Once he gives in to his body’s desire to purge, Jared is left helpless, clinging to the hard plastic as his stomach contents pour into it. 

For fifteen minutes, the loudest sound in the medical tent is the two large men sitting side-by-side who can’t seem to stop vomiting. The nurses watch over them, doing their best to cool them down with bags of ice placed between their legs and under their armpits, replacing the wet rags on the back of their necks every few minutes. 

Jensen is the first to somewhat recover, though the sound of Jared getting sick next to him won’t allow him to lay still for more than five minutes before he’s puking up the water one of the nurses keeps forcing him to drink. 

When she checks his temperature and tuts, he feels like a little kid being chastised by his mother.  “How much have you had to drink today?” she asks him. 

He thinks hard... his brain fuzzy. “Uh…” 

She holds up the half-full bottle of water sitting on the ground beside his cot. “Did you drink any of these?” 

“Uh...yeah?...I think?” 

“How many do you think you had?” 

Jensen’s tummy gurgles unhappily so he hauls himself up, leans his head over the edge of the cot. The bucket is thankfully empty, so he doesn’t have to stare into the previous expulsions while waiting to be sick again. 

When he’s done, he lays back down with one knee propped up and an arm tossed over his eyes. There’s a fan running in the corner of the tent, but it’s just circulating more hot air onto his heated skin. He suddenly wishes he was back home so he could jump in the pool...

Jared groans on the other cot. Jensen turns his head to look over at him. He's pale instead of rosy, but Jensen can’t remember which is better.

“Mr. Ackles?” 

“Huh?” Jensen mumbles, turning to his to the left to see the nurse. She asked him something, didn’t she? “Uh, wha's the question?” 

“I asked how many of these bottles of water you’ve had today.” She makes a note on his chart that he's possibly intoxicated. 

“Oh...right. Um two, I guess? Three withum...with tha' one.” His head hurts and he feels hot.... way too hot. Is he sick? Does he have a fever...?

“Mr. Ackles, do you know how hot it is today?” The nurse asks as she sets up the equipment for his IV. The other nurse is doing the same thing for Jared.

“Uh, a hunderdandsumthin'?” he guesses as she presses her thumb down near his elbow, trying to find a vein.  

“One-hundred-and-two-point five with a heat index of one-hundred-and-eight actually...” She smiles at him as she lines up the needle. “Here we go-- Little poke...” 

Jensen hisses when it punctures his skin. 

“Okay, now, we’re going to get you two set up with a saline drip to get some fluids in you. But I want you to stay lying down until I come to check on you in about fifteen minutes. Okay?” 

Jensen nods. “Yes 'm.” 

“Good.” The nurses leave the pair to doze while they check on a guy who needs stitches thanks to a broken beer bottle and his friends’ drunken encouragement and a girl who had stayed out in sun long enough to give herself second-degree burns on both of her arms and the tops of her legs. 

Jensen and Jared have been lying in the med tent for about half an hour, letting the IVs do their thing, but now, Jensen is ready to leave. He’s no longer on the verge of passing out and his vision isn’t blurry anymore. His stomach isn't trying to crawl out of his throat and the tent walls are stationary except for the summer breeze.

He slowly sits up on the cot, careful not to dislodge the IV in his arm. He waits a few minutes then places his feet on the ground. 

“Well, well... looks like somebody’s feeling better…” Linda- Jensen can finally read her name tag- sings as she walks over to check on him. She takes his temp again, hums, and then asks him a bunch of questions. 

“How are you feeling?” Better, not so dizzy. 

“Any nausea?” No.

“Any pain in your arm?” Only a slight pull when I move.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Three. Two. Four. Two. 

“Can you read the label on that bottle for me?” Isopropyl alcohol.

“Very good…” Linda says, taking another look at his chart before jotting down a few comments. She pauses, however, when she sees him squirm on the cot. “Mr. Ackles, do you need to use the restroom?” 

Jensen blushes deeply, mortified to be a thirty-six-year-old man caught doing the potty dance. “Uh, yeah… kind of,” he says, turning his face away. 

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, honey, that’s a very good sign. It means the rehydration therapy is working. Although, I will warn you that if you urinate, we’ll have to resume the treatment for another fifteen to twenty minutes...” 

Jensen licks his lips, feeling a familiar twinge in his bladder. “That’s, uh, that’s fine. Do you have somewhere I can…” 

“Of course. There’s a Port-O-John just through those flaps there,” Linda says, pointing towards the back of the tent. She removes the IV from his arm then goes to speak with Jared while Jensen uses the facilities.

When he steps inside the small plastic outhouse, he immediately realizes where they’ve been emptying the buckets all day-- the intense smell of vomit makes his eyes water. Pulling his shirt up over his nose, he undoes his shorts and pulls his dick out of his briefs. He only looks down once- to make sure he’s aiming correctly- then averts his eyes while he drains his bladder.  

It’s a good minute to minute-and-a-half before he’s finished but even then, his gut feels bloated and tight. Rubbing the taut skin to try to soothe the painful stretch, Jensen leaves his pants undone while he washes his hands in the tiny sink, only zipping up before he exits. 

When Jensen gets back to his cot, he finds Jared sitting up with a clean bucket positioned between his legs. “Aw, man, you still feeling sick?” he asks, sitting down so he can properly tie his shoes. He'd only slipped them on so he didn't have to walk into the outhouse in only his socks... 

Jared shrugs before burping into his fist. “A little…” 

Jensen pulls his phone out of his front pocket, pulls up the messaging app, and sends a text to Kaleo, letting him know they won’t be able to make his performance that evening. 

He settles back down on the cot when Linda comes over to readminister his IV. “Don’t worry, man. Once you’re feeling okay enough to be in the car, I’m driving us straight home.”