A/n: Yeah... Sorry this took me two years to write. :/ I appreciate that people actually enjoyed the first chapter.


It takes all of a second for his shout of pain to ring in the room with the shots still bouncing off the walls. No one's panicked yet, except maybe Jensen who can't seem to catch his breath properly. He's rolled himself far enough behind the crumpled remains of the half wall to drop his guard. Instinctively he reaches for his abdomen, craning his neck to asses the damage.

It's a clean shot through the far left side of his body which brings little relief because he knows there are organs under there and the pain is so bad he sees white on the edge of his vision.

The silence of the room is sudden and deafening around Jensen's loud panting and groaning.

He's staring hard at the ceiling because he knows he's gotta be awake for his team if he wants to make it out alive.

Pooch is there first, bending down with a sort of steeled look on his face. Jensen doesn't say anything. He sucks in a breath and nods minutely before Pooch's hands are pushing too rough against his side.

He blacks out.

"Jensen, you idiot wake the hell up," Pooch's voice is two levels above his normal volume which is the only give away that he's nervouswhen Jensen opens his eyes and looks at him.

"Alright buddy, Clay's clearing the way. We gotta move." Jensen flops his arm towards Pooch. He struggles to pull Jensen's weight up and even though Jensen wants to help he can barely stop himself from shouting at the pull of his side.

"- and there could be organ damage." He catches the tail end of Pooch's sentence into the comm.

Clay's voice is sharp. "Roque, double back." A quick confirmation and they're moving. Jensen truly tries his best to carry his own weight but every step is a level of all consuming pain he's never known before. His mind wisely reminds him that it'll all be over sooner or later, but his body stumbles and takes them both down. When the cold floor meets them too quickly, too suddenly, Jensen screams and feels more warmth on his side.

"Hey, hey," Pooch's soothing voice is complete bullshit and Jensen groans reaching delicately for the bullet hole knowing that touching it won't help but feeling the urge anyway.

Pooch takes his hand and shoves his palm hard against the wound, "hold it."

His gaze suddenly lifts to the door and his gun quickly following.

"It's me," Roque says stepping around the frame, "let's get this wimp outta here."

Jensen manages a tiny grunt before they're bustling him back to his feet, which are virtually useless. Pooch takes over the task of holding the wound even as he carries nearly half of Jensen over his shoulder. Jensen's head hangs against his chest. He tries to lift his feet but only manages to put any significant amount of weight on them every few yards . By the time they've made it to the stairwell his face is wet with tears of pain and his mouth won't stay closed around the moist panting he can't stop himself from making.

"Jesus Jensen," Roque says breathlessly, "you weigh as much as a fucking elephant."

He can't find enough energy to respond.

Pooch grips the wound tighter and even that doesn't cause any reaction. Jensen is just beginning to hope that the pain is probably at it's worst and nothing can make it any worse when they reach the first step and everything is pure agony.

He doesn't remember much after that but knows his throat is getting raw from the guttural groans and that he's quickly starting to feel a chill that starts at his fingertips.

"We're almost there," Pooch's voice is shaking despite the fact that his hand is still steady against the wound. Jensen had long since given up trying to support himself and those few reassuring words make him push a foot uselessly forward.

There are no more stairs. Someone pushes Jensen's head back, it's Clay. He pries open one of Jensen's eyes.

"Load him up," Clay's pinched words would probably have scared Jensen if he wasn't shivering and grunting when the movements cause the wound to pull.

It takes all of them to lift his weight into the van. Cougar's voice asks something from behind the wheel before they're driving off at full speed and the first bump is enough for Jensen to shout and let go of consciousness.

He wakes up to a warm cloth against his forehead. The pain is still agonizing but he can't bring himself to do anything except grip at whatever it is in his hand. Another person's hand? He's not sure but he grips it as hard as he can.

"We are almost there," the voice is saying with an accent. Jensen knows it's Cougar.

As if in response someone says from the front of the van, "we called in a favor. Got a doc in the next city over who owes me."

Jensen never opens his eyes, but he releases his grip and shivers once before sinking back into darkness.

When he wakes again it's because he's sure he'll die. He doesn't stop himself from gasping or cursing or throwing a weak punch. There are too many hands on him, he's too cold, in too much pain, and too afraid.

Vaguely he feels the sting of a needle against his skin and several seconds later all of the pain fades to nothing.

Good God, he's floating. It feels kinda nice until there is a twinge of pain on his side. He hears the activity first and pries open his eyes to glance towards the soft noises. There's a worn cowboy hat just at the edge of his vision.

Jensen lets his eyes travel up and down the length of Cougar's fingers as they tap, slide, and roll out cigarette after cigarette. He's pretty sure that Cougar's been at it longer than he's been awake, but he can't remember between when he opened his eyes and when he heard the soft crinkle of paper.

"I didn't know you smoked," Jensen croaks and has to swallow several times to moisten his throat.

Cougar's fingers don't pause their rolling but he grunts, shifting in his chair so that Jensen can see the corner of his eye.

It's enough to make Jensen smile which he immediately regrets when he feels his lip crack at the corner. He remembers too late why he's so parched. It's a painful overflow of a flashback, but he grinds his teeth to keep himself grounded.

"Cougs?" He doesn't wait for a response, "you remember the first time you ever shot a man?"

Cougar's fingers flutter almost imperceptibly. Jensen blinks and thinks he might have imagined it.

"I was sixteen," Jensen says after the pause goes on long enough, "it was a .357 magnum, silver and brown. Obviously not custom since it'd totally be glow in the dark if I designed it."

Jensen licks his lips when Cougar's hat bobs with a silent snort. It's all Jensen needs as encouragement, "found it under the seat of my mom's car and used it when he had his back turned. He never knew it was comin'."

Cougar stops rolling his paper and turns to look Jensen in the eyes. There's sympathy and a pinch of understanding. Jensen lets out a hard chuckle, "fucker deserved it." He feels his eyes moisten, but it's not for his dead father who'd been holding his mom's thin neck in both of his hands at the time. He's not really sure why, but his throat tightens even more than it already is and he reaches for the glass that he only just noticed next to his table.

"Here," Cougar stands and lifts the glass from Jensen's shaking fingers.

"Thanks man," Jensen says after he's had a few large gulps, nearly finishing off the glass, "I 'preciate it."

Cougar sets the glass down, runs his finger to the tip of his hat, and resumes his seat, face turned towards Jensen ever so slightly. It takes all of Jensen's strength to avoid asking him to join him in bed. Although what for he's not entirely sure.

Clay rips him a new one when he gets back from whoever the fuck he'd been doing. Jensen learned to tune it out some time after the fiftieth one sided shouting match, but he sees Cougar's chin twitch just above his unkempt beard and he knows it was bad.

When he leaves, Cougar's up instantly shoving his newly wrapped cigarettes into a box. He takes off his hat and tugs his long hair, now thick dreadlocks, into a pony tail with a rubber band.

"You consider shaving it yet?" Jensen asks and is rewarded with a special bird, "cause dude, I can smell it from here and not all of my senses are set to 100 yet. Give me a computer and I'll be at… 98." He goes to sit up and feels the painful pull of injured soft tissue on his side just before he falls back again, "make that 78."

Cougar turns to glare at him, "Pendejo. I'll be back soon."

"Great man cause I can't really feel enough of my toes to get up yet," Jensen jokes, but Cougar's jaw visibly tightens. Compromising