A/N: So I know I said it might take awhile, but…it didn't, so enjoy! Also, still taking requests if anyone wants them, though I'm not too good at slash or romance of any kind.

xxxx

Jensen looked over at Pooch and grinned.

"Hey Pooch, can I drive today?" He asked, eyes wide with excitement. Pooch snorted.

"Are you seriously asking me?" He demanded, one eyebrow raised.

"Nah, man, I was just messing," Jensen answered hastily.

"You'd better be. What is it I told you?"

"The Pooch owns the van. The Pooch drives the van. The Pooch kills anyone else who touches the van."

"Damn straight. Now get in." Pooch smirked as Jensen ducked into the passenger seat, looking suitably chastised.

"Am I that bad of a driver?" Jensen asked as Pooch sat down in the driver's seat.

"First of all, I'm the extraction expert. You're the comm./tech expert. The extraction expert is awesome. He can fly helicopters and drive like Vin Diesel. The comm./tech expert can play with little computers. They are not interchangeable. Secondly, you're like, the worst driver I've ever seen."

"What?" Jensen demanded, glaring at Pooch. "The worst driver you've ever seen? No way in hell."

"Okay, what happened last time you tried to drive a van?"

"So I might have crashed a little bit, but nobody got hurt and it wasn't really my fault."

"Fine. What happened last time you tried to drive a humvee?"

"You saw that! Dude had a missile launcher, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let him shoot us."

"So instead you ran over him and crashed into a building."

"Fine. I get it. Whatever, Pooch." Jensen turned sulkily, facing the passenger seat window, arms folded petulantly in front of him.

Pooch shook his head and laughed as he turned the van on, listening to the rumbling of the engine.

"There it is. I knew this girl still had some life in her," he said with a grin. Jensen didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken. "Clay thinks we need a new van. I told him that I'd get this one working no problem, and voila, working van. The Pooch delivers once again."

Jensen grumbled something under his breath, probably about Pooch talking in the third person, but Pooch cheerfully ignored him, cranking up the music in the van as they headed out.

"Are you seriously going to avoid talking to me until we pick up Clay and Cougar?" Pooch asked incredulously. "Cause you know that that's a 20 minute drive, and then we have to wait for them to get out of the building."

Jensen remained quiet. Pooch turned the music up. Two minutes later, Jensen was unable to stay quiet any longer.

"Did I ever tell you about the difference between cats and dogs?" Jensen asked, and Pooch rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Jensen, you did."

"Fine," Jensen huffed. He was quiet for a second before speaking up again. "Hey Pooch, what's brown and sticky?"

Pooch took his eyes off the road for a second to glare at Jensen.

"Is this a race joke?" He demanded. Jensen threw his hands up in the air as if in surrender.

"No! Hell no! Just a joke."

Pooch eyed him for another minute. "Okay. What was the question again?"

"What's brown and sticky?"

"Shit."

"Seriously Pooch? A stick, dumbass."

"A stick? A stick? And you're calling me a dumbass? Jensen, that's the stupidest joke I've ever heard!"

"Well I like it!" Jensen yelled. "It's hilarious!"

"Hilarious? Yeah, maybe if you're a 5 year old!"

"Well you're just being a jerk! You know it's funny but you just don't want to admit that I'm-"

Whatever Jensen had been about to yell was abruptly cut off by a whooshing sound and then a sudden explosion that rocked the van onto its side before sending it rolling off the road and down a hill. It finally rolled one last time before standing still and miraculously upright.

Inside, it was completely silent.

xxxx

Jensen had no idea how long he'd been out when he came around. He blinked slowly, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. The van's windows had all blown in, and his door was shredded, barely still attached to the frame.

Pooch wasn't moving.

"Pooch. Pooch!" Jensen yelled, wincing in pain. Something in his chest was moving around, a couple ribs out of place, probably, and yelling exacerbated it to the point that he thought he was going to pass out.

"Pooch, come on," he said more quietly, a bit more breathlessly. Pooch was lying slumped against the steering wheel, blood pouring down the right side of his face.

"Shit man, wake up," Jensen pled, shaking Pooch's shoulder and hissing in pain. Something in his abdomen was spiking in pain too. Just what he needed.

"Okay, okay, you can do this Jensen. This is a piece of cake," he said to himself before pushing himself up and over towards Pooch. He nearly screamed in agony as he moved a few scant inches.

Then he heard something that sounded an awful lot like someone sliding down the hill toward them. Jensen was grateful that he'd remembered to carry his piece for once and quickly pulled his gun out, flicking the safety off. Whoever was coming was being cautious, and seemed to be taking forever, of maybe that was just because Jensen's head was pounding and his belly ached and every breath felt like a stab of ice hitting between his ribs.

The man finally got close enough that Jensen could see him from around the battered doorframe of the van. He was holding a rocket launcher in one hand. Jensen kept his head behind the frame, took as deep a breath as he could manage and grit his teeth, then turned and fired twice in close succession.

Bam, bam. Double tap to the head. The man collapsed soundlessly, bonelessly.

Jensen collapsed back against the seat, breathing in shallow pants.

"Got 'em, Pooch. Nailed that bastard." He wanted Pooch to wake up, to say something snarky about Jensen's shooting skills, but his friend remained frighteningly still.

"Okay, that's okay Pooch. I'm going to check on you, okay?" Painstakingly, Jensen dragged himself to Pooch's side, ignoring the tears that pricked at his eyes. "Just gonna make sure you're still here," Jensen said, resting two bloodied fingers on Pooch's even more bloodied neck.

"Well, you're alive," he said with a small sigh of relief. You probably knew that though, huh? Damn, this is a real shithole of a situation. I think I'm gonna have to move you. I know I shouldn't do that if you have a head injury, but I'm going to try to drive this thing out of here, and you're kinda in my way. Okay? Pooch?"

Pooch remained still and quiet.

"Fine. Be that way," Jensen said, but he could feel his composure starting to slip. "Any time you want to wake up and yell at me would be fine."

Gingerly, Jensen lifted his friend up, groaning in pain through gritted teeth. By the time he'd gotten Pooch shifted over, his head resting fairly comfortably against the shredded seat, he was sweating, yelling in pain.

"Okay. Okay. You're okay, Jensen. Just breathe." Breathing hurt like a bitch, and he was heaving in shallow gasps that left him craving more. "Damn it," he whispered, cradling his ribs painfully. His fingers encountered something wet and sticky.

"You're losing more blood than I thought, Pooch," Jensen murmured. He pulled out his knife, one that had once belonged to Roque, and cut up Pooch's shirt, slowly tying it as tightly as he could around the other man's bleeding head.

"Okay. We're gonna go now, if I can get this piece of shit started."

Jensen turned the key once, twice, with no result.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath. "Damn it! Come on!" On the fourth try, the engine sputtered and then flared to life, sounding a bit like an asthmatic lion, but definitely working. Jensen chuckled in relief and rested his head against the steering wheel for a minute before sitting up again.

"Okay. Here we go, Pooch. I'll try not to mess your baby up anymore than she is already." Jensen knew it was strange to be talking to Pooch as if he was conscious, but somehow it helped him stay grounded, so he continued talking to his unconscious teammate as he maneuvered the van onto the road. He had no idea how to get back up to the road they had been initially driving on, so he drove in the same direction, even as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He swore the whole time as his position put more pressure on his already aching ribs, but he managed to get it out.

"Bingo," he muttered, noting his position on the GPS and then Clay's. "We can do this, Pooch. We got this."

Pooch didn't say anything, but Jensen thought that he might've shifted his head slightly.

"You waking up, man? Keep it up, Pooch. You're gonna be okay."

He drove as fast as he could get the battered van to move, trying to ignore the feel of Pooch's blood on his shirt, of the pounding headache he had, of the shallow breaths that were all he could manage but that still hurt.

"Pinball, do you copy?"

His comm. crackled suddenly, and Jensen jumped. He'd honestly forgotten that he even had one in.

"Umm, roger Alpha. I copy."

"What's your status, Pinball? And where's Mojito?"

"Umm, Mojito is out of commission right now, and I'm driving. Someone knew we were coming, shot us with a rocket launcher. We're about five minutes out, taking a different route."

"Copy." Jensen thought that he could detect worry and anger in Clay's tone. "Where's the man who shot at you?"

"I took him out."

"Copy that. How's Mojito?"

"He's unconscious at this time."

"And you?"

Jensen licked his lips.

"I'm fine."

"Okay, Pinball, get here as soon as you can."

"Copy that. Pinball out."

Clay would give him hell for the white lie later, but for now Jensen was more concerned about getting to rendezvous and taking care of Pooch than of getting reamed out.

Besides, it wasn't that much of a lie.

Right?

xxxx

Clay shook his head as he signed out. Of course something would happen; he should have known better than to send Pooch and Jensen together. They were perpetually getting in trouble alone, so putting them together was just asking for disaster.

"Clay?" Cougar asked as Clay clamped his jaw.

"Pooch's down," Clay answered.

Cougar nodded once.

"And Jensen's driving."

Cougar swore under his breath.

The unmistakable rumbling of an approaching vehicle bit off whatever else was going to be said, and both men raised their weapons, then sighed in relief when their van, beat up and looking more dead then alive, rolled up the drive.

"Pooch!" Clay yelled, immediately heading for the passenger seat. Cougar helped him maneuver the limp extraction expert out of the front seat and into the back, though the walls were dented. Pooch roused slightly as they lay him down, and Clay grinned.

"Good to have you back, soldier," he said. Cougar had left the back so that he could take over driving from Jensen.

"You know where you are?" Clay asked. Pooch squinted.

"Van. Rocket launcher and we crashed- shit, Jensen!"

"He's okay. He's here, drove you guys here."

"Kay."

"I'm gonna get you strapped in, and then we'll get you out of here, okay?"

"Kay."

Pooch definitely had a concussion, Clay noted, and they'd have to keep an eye on him to make sure it wasn't anything more severe; the laceration on his forehead would probably need stitches. But overall, it could have been way, way worse.

xxxx

Cougar walked swiftly toward the front of the van, letting out a sigh of relief when he heard Pooch's voice drift up from the back.

"Jensen," Cougar said, leaning into the front window. There were shards of glass all over the cab, and he could see some glinting in Jensen's hair.

"Hey Coug," Jensen said, and Cougar knew immediately that something was wrong. The hacker's eyes looked a bit distant and glassy, and he was pale. His breathing was coming in short gasps.

"What is wrong?" Cougar asked, wrenching the door open.

"M' ribs hurt a little," Jensen answered with a lopsided grin.

"That is all?" Cougar said.

"Maybe m' head. A little."

Cougar shook his head in worry. If Jensen wasn't complaining about it, then he was probably hurting a lot worse than he was letting on.

"There is blood on you," he said, suddenly noticing the red stain on Jensen's shirt.

"Nah," Jensen said, looking down. "Pooch's."

"Are you certain?" Cougar asked, frowning.

"Yeah, sure," Jensen answered, but he looked pale and unwell.

Clay came up behind them and looked at Jensen, raising an eyebrow.

"Jensen? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jensen answered. it didn't escape Clay's notice that Jensen had yet to move at all since he'd gotten there.

"Okay, then why don't you get out and let Cougar take over the driving?"

"Right," Jensen said. He gingerly eased himself forward, inching out of the van. He managed to get his feet under him and stood up, the color draining from his face.

"Jensen, maybe you should-"

"'M okay," he interrupted. "'M fine."

He managed two steps toward the back of the van before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"Damn it, Jensen, what the hell?" Clay cried, falling to his knees next to Jensen's prone form. Jensen was already rousing, looking up at Clay in confusion.

"Clay?" He mumbled. "Wha's going on?"

"You passed out, dumbass. You said you were fine."

"I am."

Clay raised an eyebrow and lifted up Jensen's shirt. A good-sized shard of glass was protruding from his abdomen.

"Shit, Jensen," Clay murmured.

"Huh," Jensen said, paling suddenly.

"Jensen?"

"Dizzy," Jensen said. Cougar knelt next to Clay and pressed a bandanna up against Jensen's wound, carefully wrapping it around the glass.

"That would be blood loss, Jensen. Cougar, let's get him in the back."

"I can do it," Jensen protested. Cougar rolled his eyes and clay ignored him as they each slipped a shoulder under his arms. Jensen took a few halting steps but was unable to walk, and he ended up being carried to the back of the van with his feet dragging in the dust.

"Jensen?" Pooch said, looking up in confusion as Clay settled the hacker next to him in the back. Cougar went up front to drive and Clay sat in the back next to Pooch and Jensen.

"You still with me?" Clay asked Pooch as he pressed firmly against Jensen's abdomen. The hacker groaned and writhed under his hand a bit, eyes cracking open.

"Yeah," Pooch answered. "Whassup with Jensen?"

"Idiot got hurt and didn't say anything."

"Was kinda busy," Jensen slurred. He groaned again, his back arching and the veins in his neck popping.

"Hang on, kid, we'll get you to a hospital soon."

"'Kay," Jensen grunted, an arm curling protectively around his ribs. Clay watched him with worriedly, clenching his jaw, as Jensen struggled to stay conscious. His eyes started rolling as he fought to stay awake, and Clay shook his shoulder gently.

"Hey now, none of that," he said firmly. "You can't sleep yet, buddy."

"Hurts," Jensen whispered.

"I know, kid, I know," Clay answered.

"Breathing," Jensen gasped, "hurts."

Clay helped ease the hacker up to a semi-sitting position so that he was leaning against the side of the van. His panting eased up slightly, but it was far from optimal.

"Almost there," Cougar called back, and Clay nodded. He pulled out the fake IDs that they had taken to carrying with them, grateful that Aisha's contact had done such a thorough job with them.

"Hear that, Jensen? Almost there, kid. How you doin' Pooch?"

Pooch flashed him a thumbs up.

"How 'bout you, Jensen? Jensen?" Clay felt his stomach sinking as the hacker remained unresponsive. Jensen's skin was a dull gray color, his lips the lightest shade of blue. His blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage, and Clay felt a stab of fear.

"Jensen! Did you jostle that glass? Jensen!"

Jensen remained still, but the bandage was getting steadily redder, blood dripping onto the floor of the van now.

"Shit, I think it nicked the aorta," Clay muttered, pressing as hard as he could against the wound. "Cougar, step on it!"

Two minutes later, they pulled up to the hospital, Cougar blatantly ignoring the man telling him he couldn't park there (he went so far as to yell 'no hablo ingles' rather loudly a few times)and wrenched open the back of the van.

It didn't take long to get someone's attention, between their yelling and their blood-drenched clothes, and then Jensen was wheeled away and then Pooch was led to a back room, and then Cougar and Clay were all alone.

"I hate this part," Cougar muttered. "I cannot do anything."

"Hey, they're both tough bastards. They'll be okay."

An hour later found Pooch drugged to the gills on pain meds, sleeping in the cot in Jensen's room, Cougar curled up in the chair next to his bed, and Clay sitting on the windowsill.

Jensen still looked like shit, all bandages and pale skin and oxygen canulas and a line of blood running to his arm from an IV, but he would be okay with a few weeks' rest. Pooch would be too.

And while the mission hadn't gone to plan (when did they ever?) it could have been ten times worse than it was. They would be okay, and ultimately, that's what mattered.