#ive basically kept every pants ive gotten in the last 10 years

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

With You By My Side - Three

A/N: I have no schedule for when I’m posting this, I will just post whenever a chapter is ready. Its planned out to the end, so all I really have to do is type it up, but I have a lot on my plate these days so I will make no promises. Thanks for all the feedback you all give me on this, that is always appreciated. And thanks to my beta @thorne93, you are the best. 

Characters: Jensen, Reader. 

Warnings: Angst, self doubt, cancer, language. 

Wordcount: 1837

You can catch up HERE

*not my gif*

The two of you sat in your backyard as you walked him through what your doctor had told you, everything from the surgery the upcoming Monday to remove both your breasts, the way the cancer had spread to your liver and how you were to start chemotherapy as soon as your body was strong enough after the surgery.

“But if they want to start you on chemo, it must mean they think you have a shot right?” he asked hopefully. He had hardly spoken a word since you dropped the news on him, he just sat there with your hand in his, giving you his full attention as you talked.

The slight glimmer of hope that rose in his eyes and voice damn near shattered you. You wanted so badly to wrap your arms around him, to tell him everything would be alright, but you had never been capable of lying to him, even how much you wanted to in this moment. “The chemo is to stop the spreading. There are very few cases of breast cancer where it spreads to the liver, and mine is rapid, it's spreading fast and the only way to slow it down, or prevent it from spreading any further is chemo.”

A single tear escaped Jensen's eyes and made its way down across his face. “How long?” he asked in a thick voice.

“They don't know until they see how my body reacts to the treatment, but around 18 months, maybe less.”

**

Jensen didn't leave your side before he had to go back to Vancouver on Sunday evening, and if you hadn't driven him to the airport yourself he wouldn't have gone at all. The thought of you going through that surgery with no one by your side didn't sit right with him, especially after you had made him swear not to tell anyone what was going on.

When you had told him that you wanted to see him, to talk to him, he thought maybe you had changed your mind about breaking up, or maybe hoped was more like it. He, for one, had walked through your doors ready to ask you to come back to him, he was ready to do everything in his power to get you back, but right now you needed a friend so that was what he was going to be for you.

It was late Monday evening before your name flashed across the screen on his phone. “Y/N?”

“Hey, Jay,” you said in a groggy voice. “I just got back to my room.”

“It's so good to hear your voice, sweetheart.” He hadn't been able to concentrate all day. He kept messing up his lines and missing his cues. Finally they had decided to call it a day and he could retreat to his trailer, where he had been pacing back and forth, checking his phone every two minutes. “How did the surgery go?”

“I haven't seen my doctor yet, but my boobs are gone so I guess it went as planned,” you chuckled, which made you wince in pain. In reality this wasn't funny at all. You had always thought that if push came to shove and you had to remove your breasts it wouldn't be a big deal, but now that it was a reality it was so much different. You felt ashamed, which was stupid because you hadn't really seen anyone yet, except from the overly chipper nurse that supplied you with morphine.

“How are you doing then?”

“I'm alright. They put some pretty kickass pain meds in my IV.”

“I hate that I'm not there with you,” he said, running a hand over his face.

“I know, but there isn't anything you could do here anyway so.”

“I'll be there Thursday. And if you want to talk, you just call me, doesn't matter what time it is.”

The two of you said your goodnights and hung up the phone after you had convinced Jensen you were doing fine.

Tuesday and Wednesday went by in a blur of morphine, doctors visits, cat scans and bandage changes. Normally you would have been released from hospital the day after surgery, but because of the cancer your immune system was basically non existent you had to stay a couple of days extra.

Thursday morning your regular, chipper nurse came into your room. “You ready to go home today?” she asked, flashing you all of her pearly whites. Had the circumstances been different you would probably have appreciated her light hearted spirit, but in your state her bubbly nature did nothing to comfort you.

“I guess so.” You shrugged.

“Great. The doctor will be in in a little while to walk you through everything about your release and I was thinking that you and I could change your bandages now, that way you’re good to go once you have spoken with him,” she informed.

You sat up in bed and threw your legs off the edge like you had done during the previous changes, fixing your eyes on a spot at the wall so that you didn't have to watch her do it.

“Today I thought we could do it in the bathroom so you can watch and learn. They have to be changed every other day and I bet you don't want to come in here to do it.”

No, no, no. You weren't ready yet. One thing was to know that they were gone, another thing was to see it, to feel it. She probably noticed the panic in your eyes, because her face clouded over with compassion. It took a while for her to convince you to stand in front of the mirror, but somehow she had gotten through to you.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as she helped you out of your robe and bandages, your heart pounding a million miles an hour, a lump forming in your throat as you felt the cool air hit your bare chest.

“It's time to open your eyes, sweetie,” the nurse said in a soft voice. “You can do this.”

You eased your eyes open, trying to fix them on anything but the reflection in the mirror. It took a few moments before you mustered up the strength to look at yourself. Tears flowed down your cheeks as your eyes traced the two horizontal lines across your now flat chest. It looked disgusting, a swollen red line with stitches across it. Your hands flew up to wrap around yourself as you turned away from the mirror. Sobbs raced through your body and you hunched over trying to focus on keeping your breath steady. The nurses warm hands were on your shoulders as she said things like ‘it's okay’ and ‘just let it out’ in a comforting voice, but you didn't find it comforting at all. A part of your identity was gone, was that a silly way to feel? Like you had been stripped of your femininity? It really didn't matter if it was silly because it was how you felt.

“I look hideous,” you said after you and the nurse had gotten you wrapped up and changed into an oversized hoodie and a pair of loose pants.

“You look gorgeous.” She smiled at you through the mirror. “It might take some getting used to, but I have no doubt that you'll be just fine. Besides, it will look a whole lot different when the swelling goes down and the stitches come out,” she assured. God bless her and her positivity, even if it did little to comfort you right now.

You wiped your eyes one last time making sure all the tears were gone before you went back into your room to face the doctor that was there waiting for you.

He walked you through the procedure you had been through, told you a little bit about what to expect in the next few days regarding pain and mobility and such. You were still very sore, and lifting your hands above your chest hurt like a son of a bitch. “And when you come in to remove your stitches in 10 days, we will see if we can start you on chemo. The sooner the better,” he informed. “Any questions?”

“How sick will the chemo make me?”

“That varies from person to person. That being said, chemotherapy has come a long way in the last few years. You may experience some nausea, fatigue, lack of appetite and so on.”

“Will I lose my hair?” With your breasts being gone, you couldn't stand the thought of losing anything else of what made you you. It sounded so juvenile and superficial in your mind, but your body was sick, slowly killing you from the inside, you felt like you needed it not to be visible. Like if you couldn't see it it wasn't as real.

“Not everyone does. Some lose all their hair, some lose the hair on their head, some lose the hair on their legs and arms… there really isn't any guarantee.”

You were pleased with your doctor. He was a very professional man, straight to the point. He handed you the release papers for you to sign, shook your hand and then left the room, almost colliding with Jensen in the door.

A wide grin appeared on Jensen's lips as he saw you. He stretched out his arms to hug you as he came closer to the bed where you were sitting, but you placed a firm hand on his chest to stop him from wrapping you in his arms. If he gave you one of those tight, comforting hugs that he was known to give, you would be pressed up against him and he would be able to feel that you were different, and you were not ready for that.

He furrowed his brows for a brief second before he shrugged it off, you were probably in pain he thought. “Ready to head home?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Thanks for picking me up,” you said with a half hearted smile as you got up from your bed. You couldn't look at him, you couldn't let him see you like this, the large hoodie you wore was the only thing that gave you any comfort at this point.

The car ride back to your house was spent in silence, Jensen didn't know what to say to you, or, he knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't get any words out. You noticed the glances he stole from the driver's side and how his mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to talk, but your mind was occupied elsewhere.

Since the day you were diagnosed all you had thought about was getting through this surgery, this was the first stop on a long road of treatments. Somehow you had managed to forget what comes next, somehow you had managed to forget that your life was about to come to an end and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

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