J2's Excellent Supernatural Adventure
Dec. 8th, 2017 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberdreamsI was lucky enough to snag an awesome prompt to pinch hit for in the 
spn_reversebang - I mean, how could I resist the chance to work with the famous 
cassiopeia7, or this fabulous and fun picture? :D
This is the original prompt - you'll need to visit the art masterpost to enjoy the full glory! (Link coming soon!)
Title: J2’s Excellent Supernatural Adventure
Artist :cassiopeia7
Words : ~6700
Rating : R (for swearing)
Characters/pairing : AU Jensen, AU Jared, with eventual J2 hinted at, Amara, Chuck, Bobby, Rufus
Summary : Across the multiverses, Sam and Dean Winchester’s story has a significance they are blissfully unaware of. In one of those many universes, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are preparing to audition for parts in a brand new show called Supernatural.
A big smoochy thank you tozara_zee and firesign10 for speedy last minute beta jobs! All remaining errors are down to me.
Jensen scanned the script for the umpteenth time. He moistened his lips, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break, then wished he’d remembered to shove some lip balm in his jacket pocket.
Joint lead in a new show. It was such a great opportunity. Jensen was sweating with nerves as well as from the baking LA heat when he stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk outside the WB studio. The script, still clutched in his somewhat damp hand, was looking a bit grubby round the edges from his obsessive reading and re-reading. Sure, he was enjoying playing Jason Teague, but even though Tom was a friend and was perfectly cast as Clark Kent, there was still a niggling regret that Jensen had had a chance at the Kent role and had failed. He really, really didn’t want to fail again.
Plus this script was good. Jensen had read for the part of Sam Winchester first, but his agent had told him that the creator, Eric Kripke, thought he’d make a better Dean. When Jensen read through the pilot for the umpteenth time, he was inclined to agree. Sure, the focus of the story was supposed to be on Sam, but something about Dean Winchester resonated with Jensen. It had been surprisingly easy to switch his point of view from the younger to the older brother.
So today’s audition was important, and having some tall, skinny kid disrupting his concentration with inane chatter was the last thing Jensen needed. The kid, name of Jared Padalecki apparently, had bounded over to shake Jensen’s hand before Jensen had even had time to close the waiting room door behind him. Padalecki then introduced himself, and hadn’t stopped talking since.
Jensen took a seat by the window and tried to scan his lines. It was impossible.
“You’re reading for Dean Winchester, right? I’m hoping to get Sam Winchester. Such a great script, isn’t it? So you were on Days, right? My mom used to love that show, even more than Gilmore Girls, and where’s the loyalty in that, huh? You’d think your own mom would at least lie a little and tell you she loved your show best.” Jared took a breath to laugh, too loud, before continuing in the same vein for the next ten minutes.
Jensen kept glancing at the closed door in desperation, willing it to open, but whatever Kripke and company were doing in their office, they were evidently in no hurry to see their two potential leads just yet. Padalecki alternated between sitting on the edge of the big leather couch, his knee jigging constantly in frantic counterpoint to his tumbling words, or striding around the small room, all legs, like a nervous giraffe. Except a giraffe wouldn’t have been so noisy or annoying, or going round the place picking up stuff and putting it back in the wrong places. The woman at the reception desk eventually gave up giving Padalecki dirty looks and told him to cut it out before he broke something. Jensen nearly cheered.
The net result was that when Kripke and Gamble finally called the two of them in, the read-through was an unmitigated disaster.
“No, no, no!” Kripke interrupted, his balding brow a mess of scribbled frown lines. “This really sucks, boys. It’s not the dynamic I’m looking for at all.”
Jensen froze with his mouth half open, then realised he must look utterly absurd. He shut it with an audible click of teeth. Padalecki still grasped a handful of Jensen’s shirt from the last scene they’d tried, and didn’t appear to have enough sense in his hairy head to let go. Jensen helped out by stepping backwards and physically pulling loose. There was a ripping sound and a button pinged off Jensen’s shirt to bounce onto the floor.
“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m such a klutz sometimes,” Jared said, big hands reaching for Jensen who took another hurried step backwards. Shit. That was his best shirt too.
Kripke was still talking and Jensen was having a hard time hearing what he was saying over the pounding of his heart and Padalecki’s nonsense babble of apologies for the shirt and the poor read-through.
Goddamn it, Jensen didn’t know why getting this part was so important to him, but it really was, and that giant oaf Padalecki was messing everything up.
It took Jensen a few seconds to realise an uneasy silence had fallen, and that Kripke, Gamble and Padalecki were all staring at him. Kripke looked disapproving, Gamble hovered between shock and amusement, while Padalecki…oh fuck. Those oddly compelling foxy eyes were bright with unshed tears.
Jensen swallowed. “I said that out loud, didn’t I,” he mumbled, his face heating as shame washed over him. “I’m sorry, I…” but Jared’s hand was already on the door handle and then the door was swinging shut on the rest of Jensen’s half hearted apology. “…didn’t mean it.”
::::
After a suitably chastened Ackles left the building, Eric Kripke and Sera Gamble sat back in their chairs. Kripke cracked open the fresh bottle of thirty-year-old malt and poured two generous measures.
“That went well, brother,” Sera said, rolling her eyes. “Please tell me I can change back now?” She didn’t wait for an answer before morphing slow as molasses into her preferred form, all plunging neckline and angular cheekbones. She stretched, catlike, watching while Kripke followed suit, shrinking his stature. She wondered afresh why her brother chose that particular human form – though in this instance there wasn’t much to choose between Chuck’s Lord of the Rings dwarf or the balding writer/producer he’d been impersonating. Sometimes she thought she’d like him better with armour, an axe and an aggressive attitude.
Then again, maybe she’d spent too much time inside Dean Winchester’s head.
“I guess we’ll just have to try my contingency plan,” Chuck said, stroking his beard with an expression that managed to combine rueful and worried. Amara rolled her eyes and gave an overly dramatic sigh.
“Remind me again why we’re wasting our precious leisure time hopping from one reality to the next, chasing different versions of the Winchesters?” Amara asked, leaving unsaid that every version they’d met so far fell short of her Dean. She took a sip and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth as the warmth of the whisky travelled down her throat. She hummed appreciatively. At least the trekking from ‘verse to ’verse meant she got to sample the best liquor each world had to offer.
Chuck tapped a nervous finger on the rim of his glass instead of savouring the taste, and Amara considered (not for the first time since their reconciliation) that if Chuck were not her beloved brother and the better half of her soul, she would have taken great pleasure in turning him to dust. Or maybe into a frog, or a locust, or some other nervous jumping creature that could be easily stepped on. With an effort she pulled her attention away from these amusing imaginings to what Chuck was saying. He had tried to explain what they were doing several times before and Amara had found herself drifting off each time. She supposed she really should make the effort this time.
“I need to make sure everything will run smoothly once we withdraw ourselves from the temporal plane. Some of these realities could potentially end up with situations that would lead to…,” Chuck hesitated, searching for the right word, “…undesirable outcomes.”
“Undesirable being?”
“One where you and I, er, end up destroying each other in our version of reality? I mean, I’d find that a bit unpleasant, wouldn’t you?”
Now she was paying attention, Amara was intrigued. “So what happens in this time and dimension could affect the world where Dean Winchester showed us that you and I were meant to be together?”
Where Amara might have expected irritation that she’d only just grasped the concept, Chuck practically bounced in his large swivel chair.
“Yes, yes!” He said, beaming at her. Amara couldn’t help thinking he was adorable to be so delighted by the small things in life, even while part of her was crying inside. She had fallen so far from Darkness into Chuck’s light.
“We need the right two actors to make this show. It needs to be even more successful here than my books were in Dean and Sam’s dimension. The power of the fandom here will effectively create a tulpa-like bridge across the worlds and keep the real Winchesters on the right track. We need at least twelve seasons here in order to make this happen.”
“Very well,” Amara said, bowing to the inevitable. “What is this contingency plan of yours to get Supernatural onto this world’s television screens?”
:::::
Jensen’s cell buzzed angrily at him before he’d even made it back to his apartment, indicating multiple emails received. He scrolled down while he fished in his pocket for the taxi fare, then nearly dropped both wallet and phone when the meaning of what he was reading sank in. He was being offered a second chance - but only if Padalecki agreed.
His heart soared then plummeted, all in the same breath. He’d just been insufferable to the man. It was really doubtful Padalecki would ever agree to being in the same room as Jensen again, let alone sign up for a twenty episode season of intense filming.
He read the email again and groaned, disturbing Mrs Hartley’s highly-strung Chihuahua, who burst into a frenzy of barking. Jensen fled, taking the stairs two at a time. The last thing he needed was an angry Mrs Hartley berating him for upsetting her precious pooch.
Jensen only needed one look to etch Kripke and Gamble’s emailed instructions into his brain. They were to return to the studio in three days and run through their scenes again, this time making everyone believe they were two brothers, estranged but bound so deep they’d die for each other. If they failed to convince Kripke and Gamble, the pair would ensure that their careers would be over. Jensen wished he was famous enough to brazen it out and dismiss the threat but he wasn’t that delusional. His dreams that night were haunted by a future filled with bit parts in daytime soaps and voice-overs for adverts.
He woke the next morning more tired than when he’d gone to sleep. He staggered into the shower and turned the dial to cold, spluttering as the icy water hit his nightmare-sweaty skin. The chilly wake-up did its job. He stepped out of the bathroom filled with resolve. First he needed to find Jared Padalecki and then face the real challenge – persuade him they needed to work together on this. There was one major drawback to this plan - Jensen had no idea how to achieve either of those tasks.
He needn’t have worried on the first count. Padalecki found him.
Around eleven the door intercom buzzed, catching Jensen in the middle of a rather awkward phone conversation with his irate agent, who wanted to know how Jensen had manage to fuck up so badly.
Phone tucked under his ear, Jensen flipped the intercom on without looking at the vid screen.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you, Gayle, something about Padalecki just bugged me from the get-go…oh shit.” Jensen spotted Padalecki’s face on the intercom screen and realised he had the speaker button pressed. “I’ll call you back,” he said, hurriedly terminating the call. Padalecki was turning away, a look of hurt disgust on his face, and Jensen couldn’t believe he’d done it again. Talk about foot-in-mouth syndrome, he was the King of the Faux Pas.
“Hey, Jared, wait!” he yelled into the intercom, and he knew Jared heard him, because he saw him hesitate before he turned away. Jensen cursed worse than Hugh Grant at the start of Four Weddings and a Funeral as he scrambled to get his shoes on, grabbed his house keys and flew downstairs without a thought for health and safety.
He burst out of the communal doors and straight into Jared’s back, sending the pair of them crashing to the floor in a confused tangle of limbs.
::::
Jared didn’t know what he’d been thinking coming here. Evidently Ackles was every bit as big a dick as he’d first appeared, and Jared might as well just forget about this part – even though something about Sam Winchester exerted a pull like no other character he’d ever read for. Get a grip, Padalecki, you big girl. He turned to leave, dashing away the embarrassing tears that had welled up again. Struggling for emotional control, it was a couple of seconds and a couple of strides before Jared realised there was something not right with the scene in front of him.
For starters, it was snowing. In Los Angeles. In June.
Though Jared had to admit, this didn’t look much like LA. Jared stopped dead, his mouth dropping open.
“Wha…” Whatever Jared had been going to say was abruptly cut off when a ten ton weight barrelled into him, knocking him flat, then compounding the offense by landing on top of him. Being pressed into a heap of slush while someone stuck their knees and elbows variously into his ribs and kidneys wasn’t exactly fun, and Jared spluttered and swore until his unknown assailant tumbled to the side, allowing Jared to sit up and look around.
Of course the idiot who’d knocked him down was Jensen fucking Ackles. It figured. Warmed by a rush of righteous anger, Jared momentarily forgot about the weirdness surrounding them. He rounded on Ackles, ready with a few choice words about what a dick he was, but swallowed them down when he saw the stricken expression on Ackles’ white face.
Oh. Yeah. Perhaps they had more to worry about than not getting along, since they appeared to have been transported out of Los Angeles and dumped somewhere inclement like Nebraska or Minnesota or (worse) Canada, where everyone knows it was fucking cold all year round. Certainly, this nearly deserted podunk townscape, surrounded by mountains and pine forest, was nowhere Jared recognised. He was suddenly aware of the fact that the clothes they were both wearing were totally inappropriate for what felt like zero temperatures and snow, and that on top of that, Jared’s t-shirt was soaked through.
Jared jumped to his feet and offered Ackles a hand up. At least one of them had a momma who’d raised them right.
Ackles opened his mouth, but whatever he’d been about to say was pre-empted by the sound of two voices.
“I can’t believe you’ve done it again, Rufus. Why the hell do you never call for help on a Wednesday, or a Monday? But no, it’s always Fridays. Well, if there’s any driving to be done this Shabbat, I’ll be doing it.”
“Lucky for you, Bobby, we’re walkin’ this time. Hey, ain’t that your two boys over there?”
Startled, Jared jumped and let go of Ackles’ hand, dropping the other actor back on his rather fine ass (not that Jared was looking). From the sound of things, Ackles wasn’t too happy about getting his ass dumped in the snow, but Jared’s apologies were a little perfunctory, distracted as he was by the sight of two old guys approaching. Maybe they could help explain what was going on, because there had to be a rational explanation, right?
A craggy white guy, who was wearing the dirtiest ball cap Jared had ever seen, stopped right in front of them and watched with a look of incredulity at Jensen’s attempts to gain his footing. An African American guy, whose earring combined with a grizzled goatee gave him a vaguely piratical air, came up behind and clapped a hand onto Ball Cap Guy’s shoulder.
“I know I said this was a four man job, Bobby, but I ain’t convinced these two clowns will be any use if they can’t even keep their feet on a bit of slush,” Pirate Guy said, watching with impartial curiosity as Jensen made it onto his feet but wavered when his sneakers failed to grip. Jensen flailed wildly for a second until Jared came to his senses. Jared grabbed hold of Jensen before he ended up on his ass a third time in so many minutes. Jensen promptly threw off Jared’s support the moment he was steady, giving Jared a death glare of epic proportions.
Okay then. Jared took a furtive shuffle sideways, out of reach of Jensen’s ire.
The other old guy – Bobby – tilted his cap back and scratched his receding hairline.
“I don’t know who these two idjits are, Rufus, but they ain’t Sam and Dean.”
With shocking speed, Rufus had a vicious-looking knife in his hand, and a steely glint in his dark eyes that had both Jared and Jensen stepping backwards. “So what’d’ya think then? Doppelgängers? Shifters?”
Jensen surprised Jared by stepping in to try and take control of the situation, hands held up, placating. “Whoa, hey, no need for violence. I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’re just two actors from LA. Not doppelshifters or whatever. And as you can see, we don’t have any money or anything valuable on us, so why don’t you two - um – gentlemen just go about whatever your business is and let us find a phone?”
Jared might not like Jensen very much, but he thought that was pretty brave. He thought any reasonable person would be convinced by Jensen’s arguments too. However Rufus didn’t lower the knife, while Bobby was now scratching at his beard, which had Jared wondering if the old hobo had lice or something. Which - ew.
“They might not be the Winchesters, but they must be here for a reason,” Bobby declared, and in spite of their mini-feud Jared and Jensen exchanged identical looks of surprise. Winchesters? Jared mouthed and Jensen shrugged helplessly. “So first things first,” Bobby continued, “let’s get them dressed in something that ain’t going to leave them freezing their balls off here, hey? What’cha got in your truck that would fit either of these two delicate flowers?”
Rufus wrinkled his nose, still disapproving, but thankfully the knife had disappeared. “Huh. I ain’t convinced they’re really here, Bobby.” The old guy reached out and poked Jared hard in the middle of his chest. Jared gave an unmanly squeak and jumped backwards.
“What? That hurt!” Jared protested when he caught Jensen’s eye roll. “Dude’s got bony fingers.”
“Okay, so they’re corporeal. But we ain’t got no time to babysit a pair of pansy-ass actors, Bobby. We need the Winchester boys to help us take this poltergeist down before it kills again. Four cardinal points, four hunters, you know the drill.”
Bobby ignored Rufus in favour of ransacking a battered old Chevy truck, presumably belonging to Rufus. Bobby gave a grunt of triumph and threw a large hoodie at Jared, who snatched it out of the air. He wasted no time in pulling it on. It was a little short in the arms, but that was nothing new. The extra warmth was such a relief, he doubted he’d have cared if it stank of dead dog, but he had to admit he was pleasantly surprised when all he could smell was fresh laundry. His head popped out of the neckline just in time to catch the look on Jensen’s face when Bobby came back from an old rust-bucket of a car to hand over a Christmas sweater with a red-nosed moose on the front. Jensen reluctantly pulled it on 0ver his expensive Callaway polo shirt. The resulting ensemble was baggy and saggy and so, so kitsch.
The incongruously cheery sweater paired with Ackles’ expression was so freaking awesome that Jared couldn’t help laughing. Seriously, the Internet’s Grumpy Cat had nothing on Jensen Ackles right now. By the time Jared had stopped giggling, Bobby had a cell phone pressed to his ear, and Jensen was at Bobby’s shoulder, reaching for the phone with the kind of desperation Jared reserved for gummi bears. Rufus was looking at Jensen like the knife might make an appearance again, but Jared needn’t have worried; Bobby quelled Jensen with a look.
“Hold up, boy. Don’t think your situation’s gonna be fixed by a phone call anyhow.” The old man continued with his call and Jensen backed off, though he and Jared carried on listening with undisguised curiosity.
“Dean? Yeah, it’s me. Listen, we’re here in Big Falls, where the hell are you?” There was a pause then Bobby held up a hand. “Hold up, boy, I’mma puttin’ you on speaker for Rufus.”
A deep male voice sounded out, presumably Dean (Winchester? Really?), and Jensen and Jared followed Rufus in huddling closer to Bobby to listen. Apart from which, huddling was warmer, Jared reasoned, wishing he’d at least put on cargo pants instead of board shorts this morning.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout this, Bobby, but me and Sammy are in the middle of a bit of a situation here.” There was some background noise that sounded like a restaurant, and had Bobby raising an eyebrow, then things quietened down and Dean was back on, this time speaking quieter.
“We got ourselves a god-gathering, straight up, you wouldn’t believe who’s here! Kali, Odin, you name it…all right, gerroff, Sammy! I am getting to the point, okay?” Jared couldn’t help glancing at Jensen, because though Dean sounded older, that voice could belong to Ackles. He couldn’t help wanting to hear what Sam Winchester sounded like now, and he got his wish when Sam must have taken the phone of Dean and came on the line.
“Bobby? It’s Sam. What Dean’s trying to say is, we’re in Muncie, Indiana, and we can’t get over to help you and Rufus because we’ve got a real chance of ganking Lucifer, here and now. Gabe is here with a bunch of the old gods from all over, and none of them want this apocalypse, so-—”
Sam broke off with a huff that indicated Dean had taken charge again.
“Yeah, so they want to use us, the archangel condoms, as bait to lure Luci in. If it works then me and Sammy’re gonna leg it out of here and leave them to their god-blood-bath. Hopefully. So wish us luck, old man. We’ll call you—uh oh, gotta go, looks like it’s kicking off—”
“Balls!” Bobby said and lowered the cell phone, the lines on his face suddenly more pronounced. Jared thought - he really cares about these Winchesters. Then - apocalypse?
Jensen nudged him out of his reverie, those eyes wide and wow, so green. “Did you hear how much Sam sounded like you?” he whispered, and Jared had to agree. It was one more disconcerting pebble to add to the mountain of weird that they seemed to have landed on top of. Sam and Dean Winchester as real people, and not just hunting ghosts, oh no – trying to trap the Devil and stop the freaking Apocalypse, no less. What the ever-loving fuck?
Fortunately for Jared, there was no time to flounder because Rufus took charge.
“So, no Winchesters. Right, that leaves us with the Chuckle Brothers. Let’s hope they’re more than just pretty faces.” He took what looked like a small hessian bag out from his pocket and handed it to Jensen. Then he thrust another into Jared’s hand. “Come on, Bobby, get that lock picked so we can go and finish this job.”
Jared stared at the innocuous-looking bag. “What’s this?”
“Hex bag,” Rufus said, watching as Bobby knelt (slowly, with much muttering about dodgy knees) on the porch of the isolated clapboard house that was the only building on this road. Bobby fiddled with something – oh shit, lock picks, yeah. This was getting more and more bizarre by the minute and Jared’s only comfort was that Jensen looked just as nonplussed as he was.
“But what are we supposed to do with these?” Jensen asked, then when he realised there might be a more important question, followed up with, “Hold up! Are you breaking and entering? I mean, wherever we are; whatever – magic, trickery – brought us here, that can’t be right. I don’t wanna get arrested. I’ve got my whole career in front of me. I’m—”
“Talking too much, son,” Bobby said, shoving Jensen bodily through the now open front door of the dark, silent house. Jared’s grin at Ackles getting put in his place didn’t last long. About one second, to be precise. It vanished the moment Rufus grabbed his arm and yanked him inside too.
::::
Being a Texan, Jensen liked to think he was pretty macho, but standing in the dark hallway of a house that looked exactly like the set for the Amityville Horror, he was shit-scared. Embarrassingly, he jumped like a cat faced with a cucumber when all the lights suddenly went on, then hastily tried to pretend he was just looking round, casual-like; just exploring his new surroundings like a normal person, yup.
“At least it’s a bit warmer out of the snow, right?” Jared said, with a weak smile, and Jensen immediately felt a little better at hearing the slightly tremulous note in Jared’s voice. Jensen nodded and smiled back reassuringly. Was it just him or was the lanky actor kind of cute in that too small hoodie?
Without realising it the two of them moved closer until they were nearly touching shoulders. It was strange that neither of them was talking about getting out of there and back to LA – it was as if they’d both accepted that this situation was something they needed to allow to play out.
And Jared was right, it was much more pleasant inside the house. Jensen had been afraid the place would be dirty and dark and stinking of mildew; instead it was well lit (now), with shiny wooden floors and smelled mainly of polish. Jensen hoped his slush-soaked slacks might have a chance of drying out, though sadly it wasn’t warm enough to ditch the dreadful Christmas jumper. Who keeps this sort of monstrosity as a handy spare anyway? He glanced at Bobby’s frayed baseball cap and ancient army-surplus jacket over layers of plaid, and there was his answer. Jensen gazed mournfully at his reflection in the hall mirror. The cross-eyed moose on the bright red hand knit looked grumpier than Jensen before coffee. Jensen was distracted from the beady-eyed gaze for a second when he thought he saw something large and dark looming in the shadows down the hall behind him.
“What was that?” Jensen spun round in panic, but there was nothing there, just Bobby and Rufus with their heads together making plans sotto voce, and Jared, who was now looking round nervously.
“What was what?” Jared asked, the quiver in his voice reminding Jensen how much younger than him the big guy was. Jared’s height and breadth of shoulders disguised the fact he was only twenty-two, not much more than a kid, really. Jensen felt a new rush of shame at the way he’d behaved with Jared at the audition. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
“Nothing, I guess. I thought I saw something, but I must have been mistaken. Look, Jared, I just wanted to apologise for what I said yesterday, I was just really wound up—” Jensen was rudely interrupted by the Odd Couple, who, it appeared, had finally agreed on a course of action.
“Enough of the bleeding hearts caring and sharing, you two,” said Bobby. Jensen was starting to think the man’s default setting was brusque. “The sooner we plant these hex bags the sooner we can all go home.”
Home sounded good, so Jensen listened carefully to their instructions. Apart from it being slightly insane – poltergeists? Hex bags? Who believes in that crap? – it all seemed straight forward enough. He was to go with Jared to the basement under the front of the house and literally plant the small cloth bag, digging in a hole in the floor in the eastern corner, while Jared was doing the same in the west corner. Rufus and Bobby would be placing their bags at the back of the house inside the walls, as the basement didn’t go the whole width of the building.
“What’cha waiting for then, ya idjits? Git!” Bobby and Rufus were already halfway down the hallway when Bobby yelled his parting remarks, and both Jensen and Jared twitched nervously.
“Okay, then,” Jensen said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s do this. Whatever this is.”
The door to the basement was under the wide sweep of the staircase, and Jensen was more relieved than he’d admit that there was an electric light switch right at the top. The basement was like the rest of the house, clean, tidy and nearly empty, apart from a stack of cardboard boxes and assorted household junk. There was only one snag – there didn’t look like there was anything to dig a hole with, and the floor surface was packed down hard. Jensen stamped a foot on the earth and grimaced.
“Shit, this stuff is pretty solid,” he observed. He hoped it wasn’t frozen too.
“Oh great,” Jared said. “What now?”
“Maybe it’ll be looser in the corners where we’re suppose to stick these stupid bags,” Jensen said, and walked over to his designated corner to investigate.
The light flickered and buzzed and Jensen shivered as the temperature plummeted.
“Remember the script?” Jared said, low and scared, and Jensen did remember. If this was the Winchester’s world they’d landed in, ghosts brought cold with them. This was not a good sign.
“Better get these bags buried and quick!”
Thankfully the soil was indeed looser where it met the walls of the basement, so Jensen didn’t waste any time looking for a tool to dig with, just started scrabbling at the earth with his fingers. He didn’t think it was possible for it to get any colder, but his breath was misting in clouds so thick in front of his face that he could hardly see what he was doing. The next moment that obscured vision became immaterial as the light bulb exploded and the whole room was plunged into darkness so total it felt almost tangible.
“Oh shit,” came from the direction of Jared’s corner, and Jensen had to agree with that assessment. He carried on digging blind, his shoulders tensed against the unknown terrors of the dark, ignoring the cold biting into his fingers and his nails splitting. It was hard to tell how deep his hole was, whether it was enough to cover the whole bag, so he kept going until Jared cried out in pain. Crap, crap, crap! Not being able to see what was going on was killing him.
Jensen shoved his bag into the hole and cursorily dragged some soil back over it before jumping to his feet. Disorientated in the blackness, he momentarily lost his sense of direction, his heart thudding and adrenaline racing with nowhere to go. Then Jared cried out again and Jensen ran in the direction of the sound with arms stretched out in front, reckless and uncaring.
“Jared!”
His hands hit something smooth and hard, a wall, and there was a thump and a grunt somewhere to his right. Keeping one hand in contact with the wall, Jensen went in the direction of the sound and nearly fell flat on his face when he stubbed his foot on something solid but yielding. Jared moaned and Jensen dropped to his knees, groping wildly to find the kid curled up on himself on the ground.
“Jared, shit, are you hurt?”
“M’okay, Jensen,” Jared mumbled, not sounding at all okay, but after a few seconds of a confused tangling of limbs and clothing, their hands touched and fingers entwined. Jared pressed a small lumpy something covered in rough textile into Jensen’s hand. His hex bag. “The hole’s dug, I just couldn’t bury it before the—thing—chucked me about. Take it, quick, you can do it.”
“Got it. Right,” Jensen closed his fist over the bag and patted where he thought Jared’s arm might be before standing up again. The wall was on his left; he thought Jared had come from behind him (maybe). He turned and kept the wall under his trailing right hand, hoping he was heading for the correct corner, and that he’d get there before the poltergeist came back.
He nearly made it.
He had just registered the join of his wall with another and was internally celebrating – the corner of the room, yay! – when something that felt like icy fingers, so cold they burned his skin, gripped the back of his head. Before he’d had time to register the mother of all ice-cream headaches the touch induced, a massive shove from behind smashed his forehead into the wall. The blackness exploded into a veritable Fourth of July display, but even as he fell, sliding down the wall like a cartoon character, he managed to hold onto the damn hex bag in his left hand.
The blood running down his face was hot in the poltergeist-created cold, but thanks to the general blackness, the fact that it was running into his eyes and stinging like hell didn’t impede his groping progress in finding the hole Jared had dug. A bone-crushing grip latched onto his ankle and yanked him backwards. He bit back a scream. He couldn’t waste one iota of his concentration when he could still feel the edge of the hole. With a mighty effort he reached his hand out and stuffed the remaining hex bag into the shallow pit.
“Fuck you, ghost!” he yelled and the room exploded into silence.
::::
The first thing Jared noticed was a car horn blaring and sirens in the distance. The second and third things were someone yelling and the fact that he couldn’t see anything – not because it was too dark, but because the sunshine was dazzling, making his eyes water. He rolled over onto his knees and staggered to his feet, cradling his injured wrist. Jensen. Where was Jensen?
In the time it took for his eyes to adjust to the bright light, his nostrils were assaulted with a familiar miasma of different deodorants, exhaust fumes and hot pavement; the typical smog of LA. He looked around in confusion, which seemed to be becoming his natural state lately, until finally his gaze landed on a familiar figure.
Jensen was lying face down, one arm outstretched in front of him and Jared realised it was Jensen’s voice he’d heard. On wobbly legs Jared rushed over and grabbed Jensen by the shoulder. At Jared’s touch Jensen flailed wildly, just missing hitting Jared’s nose with his fist.
“Hey, hey, Jensen! It’s me, Jared,” He tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible and after a it seemed to be working. Jensen calmed down, sitting up and looking around through a startling veil of blood. “Oh shit, Jensen,” Jared exclaimed, just as a passer by noticed the blood and started screaming.
The next few moments were spent trying to calm the woman down and persuade her that, no ma’am, nobody needed either an ambulance or the LAPD; everything was fine; they were both fine; they’d just bumped into one another running for a bus; yes, in a Christmas jumper and an ill-fitting hoodie, they were actors (in LA that explained most weirdness); and if she’d just back off they’d go right back to Jensen’s apartment and clean themselves up and everything would be right as rain.
In a joint effort, they finally reassured the woman and made it to the apartment. Jensen ushered Jared into the bathroom and they took it in turns to check each other over. Jensen’s head wasn’t too bad, just a tiny cut that Jared closed up with steri-strips, amazed there was so much blood. Jensen would probably have a hell of a headache and should probably be on concussion-watch, just in case, but Jared was happy to volunteer for that. Somewhat to Jared’s surprise, Jensen didn’t protest, and actually looked pleased at the offer. The damage to Jensen’s ankle was much nastier, he was virtually branded with an unnaturally long-fingered handprint. After staring at the injury with a mixture of horror and wonder, they decided to lather the red blistered marks with antiseptic and leave the wound uncovered, unsure whether to treat it like frostbite or a burn. Jared’s wrist was tender but it didn’t feel like anything was broken, plus he had a lovely purple bruise coming up under his left eye, so he ended up with two ice packs.
When they were done with the first aid, they sat on Jensen’s sofa and stared at each other.
“I can’t believe we ended up right back outside your front door,” Jared said, while at the same moment Jensen said: “I can’t believe we took out a real life poltergeist!”
“I know right?” Jared said, grinning. “I’d high five you but there isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t hurt right now.”
Jensen grinned back and Jared was struck by how fucking gorgeous Jensen was, especially when he smiled and got those little crinkles at the corners of those huge green eyes. He was sad when Jensen’s smile faded to be replaced with a pensive look. His stomach sank a bit and he tensed himself for the inevitable ‘it was fun while it lasted but we hate each other so you’d better leave’ speech. He hung his head, letting his bangs shield his face from Jensen’s view.
“So, we still have two days left before our second audition. If you’re okay with this whole concussion-watch thing, then you can stay over and we can start rehearsing together first thing tomorrow morning. Working together on the script, I’m sure we’ll knock this Supernatural audition out of the park this time. Kripke and Gamble won’t know what hit them. What do you say?”
Jared was so convinced that it was a rejection coming, it took him a moment to comprehend what Jensen was actually saying.
“Jared?”
He looked up in time to see the spark of enthusiasm fade in Jensen’s eyes. He realised he’d do just about anything to put it back.
“Jensen Ackles, you are so on. We are going to be AWESOME.”
Jensen’s smile could have lit up a room, and certainly lit up Jared’s heart.
::::
The audition on the Friday went perfectly, and the contracts were being drawn up even before Ackles and Padalecki had left the building.
::::
“Well, that went well,” Amara said. Chuck did a double take, but his sister actually meant it this time. She was smiling, and he had to admit, he was pretty happy with the outcome. This universe’s Supernatural had been set on the right track, and he was happy to call it a day in this world. Time to move on. He took a moment to enjoy the warm glow of a job well done as he watched Jared and Jensen walk down the street outside the studio. Jared flung a long arm round Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen leaned into the embrace instead of flinching away.
“I bet their off-screen chemistry is going to be as good as their on-screen,” Amara said, full of a rather worrying smugness. Chuck stared at her.
“What have you done?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just made a tiny tweak to their sexual inclinations to spice things up a bit.”
Amara arched an eyebrow at Chuck’s shocked expression. “What? They were so boring in that last universe you dragged me through, with those ridiculous egos getting in the way of the fun, and this will bring in a huge female audience, believe me. It will be the making of the show. I bet they’ll call them J-squared.”
Chuck’s head thunked on Kripke’s desk, once, twice…
spn_reversebang - I mean, how could I resist the chance to work with the famous cassiopeia7, or this fabulous and fun picture? :DThis is the original prompt - you'll need to visit the art masterpost to enjoy the full glory! (Link coming soon!)
Title: J2’s Excellent Supernatural Adventure
Artist :
cassiopeia7Words : ~6700
Rating : R (for swearing)
Characters/pairing : AU Jensen, AU Jared, with eventual J2 hinted at, Amara, Chuck, Bobby, Rufus
Summary : Across the multiverses, Sam and Dean Winchester’s story has a significance they are blissfully unaware of. In one of those many universes, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are preparing to audition for parts in a brand new show called Supernatural.
A big smoochy thank you to
zara_zee and firesign10 for speedy last minute beta jobs! All remaining errors are down to me.Jensen scanned the script for the umpteenth time. He moistened his lips, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break, then wished he’d remembered to shove some lip balm in his jacket pocket.
Joint lead in a new show. It was such a great opportunity. Jensen was sweating with nerves as well as from the baking LA heat when he stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk outside the WB studio. The script, still clutched in his somewhat damp hand, was looking a bit grubby round the edges from his obsessive reading and re-reading. Sure, he was enjoying playing Jason Teague, but even though Tom was a friend and was perfectly cast as Clark Kent, there was still a niggling regret that Jensen had had a chance at the Kent role and had failed. He really, really didn’t want to fail again.
Plus this script was good. Jensen had read for the part of Sam Winchester first, but his agent had told him that the creator, Eric Kripke, thought he’d make a better Dean. When Jensen read through the pilot for the umpteenth time, he was inclined to agree. Sure, the focus of the story was supposed to be on Sam, but something about Dean Winchester resonated with Jensen. It had been surprisingly easy to switch his point of view from the younger to the older brother.
So today’s audition was important, and having some tall, skinny kid disrupting his concentration with inane chatter was the last thing Jensen needed. The kid, name of Jared Padalecki apparently, had bounded over to shake Jensen’s hand before Jensen had even had time to close the waiting room door behind him. Padalecki then introduced himself, and hadn’t stopped talking since.
Jensen took a seat by the window and tried to scan his lines. It was impossible.
“You’re reading for Dean Winchester, right? I’m hoping to get Sam Winchester. Such a great script, isn’t it? So you were on Days, right? My mom used to love that show, even more than Gilmore Girls, and where’s the loyalty in that, huh? You’d think your own mom would at least lie a little and tell you she loved your show best.” Jared took a breath to laugh, too loud, before continuing in the same vein for the next ten minutes.
Jensen kept glancing at the closed door in desperation, willing it to open, but whatever Kripke and company were doing in their office, they were evidently in no hurry to see their two potential leads just yet. Padalecki alternated between sitting on the edge of the big leather couch, his knee jigging constantly in frantic counterpoint to his tumbling words, or striding around the small room, all legs, like a nervous giraffe. Except a giraffe wouldn’t have been so noisy or annoying, or going round the place picking up stuff and putting it back in the wrong places. The woman at the reception desk eventually gave up giving Padalecki dirty looks and told him to cut it out before he broke something. Jensen nearly cheered.
The net result was that when Kripke and Gamble finally called the two of them in, the read-through was an unmitigated disaster.
“No, no, no!” Kripke interrupted, his balding brow a mess of scribbled frown lines. “This really sucks, boys. It’s not the dynamic I’m looking for at all.”
Jensen froze with his mouth half open, then realised he must look utterly absurd. He shut it with an audible click of teeth. Padalecki still grasped a handful of Jensen’s shirt from the last scene they’d tried, and didn’t appear to have enough sense in his hairy head to let go. Jensen helped out by stepping backwards and physically pulling loose. There was a ripping sound and a button pinged off Jensen’s shirt to bounce onto the floor.
“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m such a klutz sometimes,” Jared said, big hands reaching for Jensen who took another hurried step backwards. Shit. That was his best shirt too.
Kripke was still talking and Jensen was having a hard time hearing what he was saying over the pounding of his heart and Padalecki’s nonsense babble of apologies for the shirt and the poor read-through.
Goddamn it, Jensen didn’t know why getting this part was so important to him, but it really was, and that giant oaf Padalecki was messing everything up.
It took Jensen a few seconds to realise an uneasy silence had fallen, and that Kripke, Gamble and Padalecki were all staring at him. Kripke looked disapproving, Gamble hovered between shock and amusement, while Padalecki…oh fuck. Those oddly compelling foxy eyes were bright with unshed tears.
Jensen swallowed. “I said that out loud, didn’t I,” he mumbled, his face heating as shame washed over him. “I’m sorry, I…” but Jared’s hand was already on the door handle and then the door was swinging shut on the rest of Jensen’s half hearted apology. “…didn’t mean it.”
::::
After a suitably chastened Ackles left the building, Eric Kripke and Sera Gamble sat back in their chairs. Kripke cracked open the fresh bottle of thirty-year-old malt and poured two generous measures.
“That went well, brother,” Sera said, rolling her eyes. “Please tell me I can change back now?” She didn’t wait for an answer before morphing slow as molasses into her preferred form, all plunging neckline and angular cheekbones. She stretched, catlike, watching while Kripke followed suit, shrinking his stature. She wondered afresh why her brother chose that particular human form – though in this instance there wasn’t much to choose between Chuck’s Lord of the Rings dwarf or the balding writer/producer he’d been impersonating. Sometimes she thought she’d like him better with armour, an axe and an aggressive attitude.
Then again, maybe she’d spent too much time inside Dean Winchester’s head.
“I guess we’ll just have to try my contingency plan,” Chuck said, stroking his beard with an expression that managed to combine rueful and worried. Amara rolled her eyes and gave an overly dramatic sigh.
“Remind me again why we’re wasting our precious leisure time hopping from one reality to the next, chasing different versions of the Winchesters?” Amara asked, leaving unsaid that every version they’d met so far fell short of her Dean. She took a sip and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth as the warmth of the whisky travelled down her throat. She hummed appreciatively. At least the trekking from ‘verse to ’verse meant she got to sample the best liquor each world had to offer.
Chuck tapped a nervous finger on the rim of his glass instead of savouring the taste, and Amara considered (not for the first time since their reconciliation) that if Chuck were not her beloved brother and the better half of her soul, she would have taken great pleasure in turning him to dust. Or maybe into a frog, or a locust, or some other nervous jumping creature that could be easily stepped on. With an effort she pulled her attention away from these amusing imaginings to what Chuck was saying. He had tried to explain what they were doing several times before and Amara had found herself drifting off each time. She supposed she really should make the effort this time.
“I need to make sure everything will run smoothly once we withdraw ourselves from the temporal plane. Some of these realities could potentially end up with situations that would lead to…,” Chuck hesitated, searching for the right word, “…undesirable outcomes.”
“Undesirable being?”
“One where you and I, er, end up destroying each other in our version of reality? I mean, I’d find that a bit unpleasant, wouldn’t you?”
Now she was paying attention, Amara was intrigued. “So what happens in this time and dimension could affect the world where Dean Winchester showed us that you and I were meant to be together?”
Where Amara might have expected irritation that she’d only just grasped the concept, Chuck practically bounced in his large swivel chair.
“Yes, yes!” He said, beaming at her. Amara couldn’t help thinking he was adorable to be so delighted by the small things in life, even while part of her was crying inside. She had fallen so far from Darkness into Chuck’s light.
“We need the right two actors to make this show. It needs to be even more successful here than my books were in Dean and Sam’s dimension. The power of the fandom here will effectively create a tulpa-like bridge across the worlds and keep the real Winchesters on the right track. We need at least twelve seasons here in order to make this happen.”
“Very well,” Amara said, bowing to the inevitable. “What is this contingency plan of yours to get Supernatural onto this world’s television screens?”
:::::
Jensen’s cell buzzed angrily at him before he’d even made it back to his apartment, indicating multiple emails received. He scrolled down while he fished in his pocket for the taxi fare, then nearly dropped both wallet and phone when the meaning of what he was reading sank in. He was being offered a second chance - but only if Padalecki agreed.
His heart soared then plummeted, all in the same breath. He’d just been insufferable to the man. It was really doubtful Padalecki would ever agree to being in the same room as Jensen again, let alone sign up for a twenty episode season of intense filming.
He read the email again and groaned, disturbing Mrs Hartley’s highly-strung Chihuahua, who burst into a frenzy of barking. Jensen fled, taking the stairs two at a time. The last thing he needed was an angry Mrs Hartley berating him for upsetting her precious pooch.
Jensen only needed one look to etch Kripke and Gamble’s emailed instructions into his brain. They were to return to the studio in three days and run through their scenes again, this time making everyone believe they were two brothers, estranged but bound so deep they’d die for each other. If they failed to convince Kripke and Gamble, the pair would ensure that their careers would be over. Jensen wished he was famous enough to brazen it out and dismiss the threat but he wasn’t that delusional. His dreams that night were haunted by a future filled with bit parts in daytime soaps and voice-overs for adverts.
He woke the next morning more tired than when he’d gone to sleep. He staggered into the shower and turned the dial to cold, spluttering as the icy water hit his nightmare-sweaty skin. The chilly wake-up did its job. He stepped out of the bathroom filled with resolve. First he needed to find Jared Padalecki and then face the real challenge – persuade him they needed to work together on this. There was one major drawback to this plan - Jensen had no idea how to achieve either of those tasks.
He needn’t have worried on the first count. Padalecki found him.
Around eleven the door intercom buzzed, catching Jensen in the middle of a rather awkward phone conversation with his irate agent, who wanted to know how Jensen had manage to fuck up so badly.
Phone tucked under his ear, Jensen flipped the intercom on without looking at the vid screen.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you, Gayle, something about Padalecki just bugged me from the get-go…oh shit.” Jensen spotted Padalecki’s face on the intercom screen and realised he had the speaker button pressed. “I’ll call you back,” he said, hurriedly terminating the call. Padalecki was turning away, a look of hurt disgust on his face, and Jensen couldn’t believe he’d done it again. Talk about foot-in-mouth syndrome, he was the King of the Faux Pas.
“Hey, Jared, wait!” he yelled into the intercom, and he knew Jared heard him, because he saw him hesitate before he turned away. Jensen cursed worse than Hugh Grant at the start of Four Weddings and a Funeral as he scrambled to get his shoes on, grabbed his house keys and flew downstairs without a thought for health and safety.
He burst out of the communal doors and straight into Jared’s back, sending the pair of them crashing to the floor in a confused tangle of limbs.
::::
Jared didn’t know what he’d been thinking coming here. Evidently Ackles was every bit as big a dick as he’d first appeared, and Jared might as well just forget about this part – even though something about Sam Winchester exerted a pull like no other character he’d ever read for. Get a grip, Padalecki, you big girl. He turned to leave, dashing away the embarrassing tears that had welled up again. Struggling for emotional control, it was a couple of seconds and a couple of strides before Jared realised there was something not right with the scene in front of him.
For starters, it was snowing. In Los Angeles. In June.
Though Jared had to admit, this didn’t look much like LA. Jared stopped dead, his mouth dropping open.
“Wha…” Whatever Jared had been going to say was abruptly cut off when a ten ton weight barrelled into him, knocking him flat, then compounding the offense by landing on top of him. Being pressed into a heap of slush while someone stuck their knees and elbows variously into his ribs and kidneys wasn’t exactly fun, and Jared spluttered and swore until his unknown assailant tumbled to the side, allowing Jared to sit up and look around.
Of course the idiot who’d knocked him down was Jensen fucking Ackles. It figured. Warmed by a rush of righteous anger, Jared momentarily forgot about the weirdness surrounding them. He rounded on Ackles, ready with a few choice words about what a dick he was, but swallowed them down when he saw the stricken expression on Ackles’ white face.
Oh. Yeah. Perhaps they had more to worry about than not getting along, since they appeared to have been transported out of Los Angeles and dumped somewhere inclement like Nebraska or Minnesota or (worse) Canada, where everyone knows it was fucking cold all year round. Certainly, this nearly deserted podunk townscape, surrounded by mountains and pine forest, was nowhere Jared recognised. He was suddenly aware of the fact that the clothes they were both wearing were totally inappropriate for what felt like zero temperatures and snow, and that on top of that, Jared’s t-shirt was soaked through.
Jared jumped to his feet and offered Ackles a hand up. At least one of them had a momma who’d raised them right.
Ackles opened his mouth, but whatever he’d been about to say was pre-empted by the sound of two voices.
“I can’t believe you’ve done it again, Rufus. Why the hell do you never call for help on a Wednesday, or a Monday? But no, it’s always Fridays. Well, if there’s any driving to be done this Shabbat, I’ll be doing it.”
“Lucky for you, Bobby, we’re walkin’ this time. Hey, ain’t that your two boys over there?”
Startled, Jared jumped and let go of Ackles’ hand, dropping the other actor back on his rather fine ass (not that Jared was looking). From the sound of things, Ackles wasn’t too happy about getting his ass dumped in the snow, but Jared’s apologies were a little perfunctory, distracted as he was by the sight of two old guys approaching. Maybe they could help explain what was going on, because there had to be a rational explanation, right?
A craggy white guy, who was wearing the dirtiest ball cap Jared had ever seen, stopped right in front of them and watched with a look of incredulity at Jensen’s attempts to gain his footing. An African American guy, whose earring combined with a grizzled goatee gave him a vaguely piratical air, came up behind and clapped a hand onto Ball Cap Guy’s shoulder.
“I know I said this was a four man job, Bobby, but I ain’t convinced these two clowns will be any use if they can’t even keep their feet on a bit of slush,” Pirate Guy said, watching with impartial curiosity as Jensen made it onto his feet but wavered when his sneakers failed to grip. Jensen flailed wildly for a second until Jared came to his senses. Jared grabbed hold of Jensen before he ended up on his ass a third time in so many minutes. Jensen promptly threw off Jared’s support the moment he was steady, giving Jared a death glare of epic proportions.
Okay then. Jared took a furtive shuffle sideways, out of reach of Jensen’s ire.
The other old guy – Bobby – tilted his cap back and scratched his receding hairline.
“I don’t know who these two idjits are, Rufus, but they ain’t Sam and Dean.”
With shocking speed, Rufus had a vicious-looking knife in his hand, and a steely glint in his dark eyes that had both Jared and Jensen stepping backwards. “So what’d’ya think then? Doppelgängers? Shifters?”
Jensen surprised Jared by stepping in to try and take control of the situation, hands held up, placating. “Whoa, hey, no need for violence. I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’re just two actors from LA. Not doppelshifters or whatever. And as you can see, we don’t have any money or anything valuable on us, so why don’t you two - um – gentlemen just go about whatever your business is and let us find a phone?”
Jared might not like Jensen very much, but he thought that was pretty brave. He thought any reasonable person would be convinced by Jensen’s arguments too. However Rufus didn’t lower the knife, while Bobby was now scratching at his beard, which had Jared wondering if the old hobo had lice or something. Which - ew.
“They might not be the Winchesters, but they must be here for a reason,” Bobby declared, and in spite of their mini-feud Jared and Jensen exchanged identical looks of surprise. Winchesters? Jared mouthed and Jensen shrugged helplessly. “So first things first,” Bobby continued, “let’s get them dressed in something that ain’t going to leave them freezing their balls off here, hey? What’cha got in your truck that would fit either of these two delicate flowers?”
Rufus wrinkled his nose, still disapproving, but thankfully the knife had disappeared. “Huh. I ain’t convinced they’re really here, Bobby.” The old guy reached out and poked Jared hard in the middle of his chest. Jared gave an unmanly squeak and jumped backwards.
“What? That hurt!” Jared protested when he caught Jensen’s eye roll. “Dude’s got bony fingers.”
“Okay, so they’re corporeal. But we ain’t got no time to babysit a pair of pansy-ass actors, Bobby. We need the Winchester boys to help us take this poltergeist down before it kills again. Four cardinal points, four hunters, you know the drill.”
Bobby ignored Rufus in favour of ransacking a battered old Chevy truck, presumably belonging to Rufus. Bobby gave a grunt of triumph and threw a large hoodie at Jared, who snatched it out of the air. He wasted no time in pulling it on. It was a little short in the arms, but that was nothing new. The extra warmth was such a relief, he doubted he’d have cared if it stank of dead dog, but he had to admit he was pleasantly surprised when all he could smell was fresh laundry. His head popped out of the neckline just in time to catch the look on Jensen’s face when Bobby came back from an old rust-bucket of a car to hand over a Christmas sweater with a red-nosed moose on the front. Jensen reluctantly pulled it on 0ver his expensive Callaway polo shirt. The resulting ensemble was baggy and saggy and so, so kitsch.
The incongruously cheery sweater paired with Ackles’ expression was so freaking awesome that Jared couldn’t help laughing. Seriously, the Internet’s Grumpy Cat had nothing on Jensen Ackles right now. By the time Jared had stopped giggling, Bobby had a cell phone pressed to his ear, and Jensen was at Bobby’s shoulder, reaching for the phone with the kind of desperation Jared reserved for gummi bears. Rufus was looking at Jensen like the knife might make an appearance again, but Jared needn’t have worried; Bobby quelled Jensen with a look.
“Hold up, boy. Don’t think your situation’s gonna be fixed by a phone call anyhow.” The old man continued with his call and Jensen backed off, though he and Jared carried on listening with undisguised curiosity.
“Dean? Yeah, it’s me. Listen, we’re here in Big Falls, where the hell are you?” There was a pause then Bobby held up a hand. “Hold up, boy, I’mma puttin’ you on speaker for Rufus.”
A deep male voice sounded out, presumably Dean (Winchester? Really?), and Jensen and Jared followed Rufus in huddling closer to Bobby to listen. Apart from which, huddling was warmer, Jared reasoned, wishing he’d at least put on cargo pants instead of board shorts this morning.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout this, Bobby, but me and Sammy are in the middle of a bit of a situation here.” There was some background noise that sounded like a restaurant, and had Bobby raising an eyebrow, then things quietened down and Dean was back on, this time speaking quieter.
“We got ourselves a god-gathering, straight up, you wouldn’t believe who’s here! Kali, Odin, you name it…all right, gerroff, Sammy! I am getting to the point, okay?” Jared couldn’t help glancing at Jensen, because though Dean sounded older, that voice could belong to Ackles. He couldn’t help wanting to hear what Sam Winchester sounded like now, and he got his wish when Sam must have taken the phone of Dean and came on the line.
“Bobby? It’s Sam. What Dean’s trying to say is, we’re in Muncie, Indiana, and we can’t get over to help you and Rufus because we’ve got a real chance of ganking Lucifer, here and now. Gabe is here with a bunch of the old gods from all over, and none of them want this apocalypse, so-—”
Sam broke off with a huff that indicated Dean had taken charge again.
“Yeah, so they want to use us, the archangel condoms, as bait to lure Luci in. If it works then me and Sammy’re gonna leg it out of here and leave them to their god-blood-bath. Hopefully. So wish us luck, old man. We’ll call you—uh oh, gotta go, looks like it’s kicking off—”
“Balls!” Bobby said and lowered the cell phone, the lines on his face suddenly more pronounced. Jared thought - he really cares about these Winchesters. Then - apocalypse?
Jensen nudged him out of his reverie, those eyes wide and wow, so green. “Did you hear how much Sam sounded like you?” he whispered, and Jared had to agree. It was one more disconcerting pebble to add to the mountain of weird that they seemed to have landed on top of. Sam and Dean Winchester as real people, and not just hunting ghosts, oh no – trying to trap the Devil and stop the freaking Apocalypse, no less. What the ever-loving fuck?
Fortunately for Jared, there was no time to flounder because Rufus took charge.
“So, no Winchesters. Right, that leaves us with the Chuckle Brothers. Let’s hope they’re more than just pretty faces.” He took what looked like a small hessian bag out from his pocket and handed it to Jensen. Then he thrust another into Jared’s hand. “Come on, Bobby, get that lock picked so we can go and finish this job.”
Jared stared at the innocuous-looking bag. “What’s this?”
“Hex bag,” Rufus said, watching as Bobby knelt (slowly, with much muttering about dodgy knees) on the porch of the isolated clapboard house that was the only building on this road. Bobby fiddled with something – oh shit, lock picks, yeah. This was getting more and more bizarre by the minute and Jared’s only comfort was that Jensen looked just as nonplussed as he was.
“But what are we supposed to do with these?” Jensen asked, then when he realised there might be a more important question, followed up with, “Hold up! Are you breaking and entering? I mean, wherever we are; whatever – magic, trickery – brought us here, that can’t be right. I don’t wanna get arrested. I’ve got my whole career in front of me. I’m—”
“Talking too much, son,” Bobby said, shoving Jensen bodily through the now open front door of the dark, silent house. Jared’s grin at Ackles getting put in his place didn’t last long. About one second, to be precise. It vanished the moment Rufus grabbed his arm and yanked him inside too.
::::
Being a Texan, Jensen liked to think he was pretty macho, but standing in the dark hallway of a house that looked exactly like the set for the Amityville Horror, he was shit-scared. Embarrassingly, he jumped like a cat faced with a cucumber when all the lights suddenly went on, then hastily tried to pretend he was just looking round, casual-like; just exploring his new surroundings like a normal person, yup.
“At least it’s a bit warmer out of the snow, right?” Jared said, with a weak smile, and Jensen immediately felt a little better at hearing the slightly tremulous note in Jared’s voice. Jensen nodded and smiled back reassuringly. Was it just him or was the lanky actor kind of cute in that too small hoodie?
Without realising it the two of them moved closer until they were nearly touching shoulders. It was strange that neither of them was talking about getting out of there and back to LA – it was as if they’d both accepted that this situation was something they needed to allow to play out.
And Jared was right, it was much more pleasant inside the house. Jensen had been afraid the place would be dirty and dark and stinking of mildew; instead it was well lit (now), with shiny wooden floors and smelled mainly of polish. Jensen hoped his slush-soaked slacks might have a chance of drying out, though sadly it wasn’t warm enough to ditch the dreadful Christmas jumper. Who keeps this sort of monstrosity as a handy spare anyway? He glanced at Bobby’s frayed baseball cap and ancient army-surplus jacket over layers of plaid, and there was his answer. Jensen gazed mournfully at his reflection in the hall mirror. The cross-eyed moose on the bright red hand knit looked grumpier than Jensen before coffee. Jensen was distracted from the beady-eyed gaze for a second when he thought he saw something large and dark looming in the shadows down the hall behind him.
“What was that?” Jensen spun round in panic, but there was nothing there, just Bobby and Rufus with their heads together making plans sotto voce, and Jared, who was now looking round nervously.
“What was what?” Jared asked, the quiver in his voice reminding Jensen how much younger than him the big guy was. Jared’s height and breadth of shoulders disguised the fact he was only twenty-two, not much more than a kid, really. Jensen felt a new rush of shame at the way he’d behaved with Jared at the audition. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
“Nothing, I guess. I thought I saw something, but I must have been mistaken. Look, Jared, I just wanted to apologise for what I said yesterday, I was just really wound up—” Jensen was rudely interrupted by the Odd Couple, who, it appeared, had finally agreed on a course of action.
“Enough of the bleeding hearts caring and sharing, you two,” said Bobby. Jensen was starting to think the man’s default setting was brusque. “The sooner we plant these hex bags the sooner we can all go home.”
Home sounded good, so Jensen listened carefully to their instructions. Apart from it being slightly insane – poltergeists? Hex bags? Who believes in that crap? – it all seemed straight forward enough. He was to go with Jared to the basement under the front of the house and literally plant the small cloth bag, digging in a hole in the floor in the eastern corner, while Jared was doing the same in the west corner. Rufus and Bobby would be placing their bags at the back of the house inside the walls, as the basement didn’t go the whole width of the building.
“What’cha waiting for then, ya idjits? Git!” Bobby and Rufus were already halfway down the hallway when Bobby yelled his parting remarks, and both Jensen and Jared twitched nervously.
“Okay, then,” Jensen said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s do this. Whatever this is.”
The door to the basement was under the wide sweep of the staircase, and Jensen was more relieved than he’d admit that there was an electric light switch right at the top. The basement was like the rest of the house, clean, tidy and nearly empty, apart from a stack of cardboard boxes and assorted household junk. There was only one snag – there didn’t look like there was anything to dig a hole with, and the floor surface was packed down hard. Jensen stamped a foot on the earth and grimaced.
“Shit, this stuff is pretty solid,” he observed. He hoped it wasn’t frozen too.
“Oh great,” Jared said. “What now?”
“Maybe it’ll be looser in the corners where we’re suppose to stick these stupid bags,” Jensen said, and walked over to his designated corner to investigate.
The light flickered and buzzed and Jensen shivered as the temperature plummeted.
“Remember the script?” Jared said, low and scared, and Jensen did remember. If this was the Winchester’s world they’d landed in, ghosts brought cold with them. This was not a good sign.
“Better get these bags buried and quick!”
Thankfully the soil was indeed looser where it met the walls of the basement, so Jensen didn’t waste any time looking for a tool to dig with, just started scrabbling at the earth with his fingers. He didn’t think it was possible for it to get any colder, but his breath was misting in clouds so thick in front of his face that he could hardly see what he was doing. The next moment that obscured vision became immaterial as the light bulb exploded and the whole room was plunged into darkness so total it felt almost tangible.
“Oh shit,” came from the direction of Jared’s corner, and Jensen had to agree with that assessment. He carried on digging blind, his shoulders tensed against the unknown terrors of the dark, ignoring the cold biting into his fingers and his nails splitting. It was hard to tell how deep his hole was, whether it was enough to cover the whole bag, so he kept going until Jared cried out in pain. Crap, crap, crap! Not being able to see what was going on was killing him.
Jensen shoved his bag into the hole and cursorily dragged some soil back over it before jumping to his feet. Disorientated in the blackness, he momentarily lost his sense of direction, his heart thudding and adrenaline racing with nowhere to go. Then Jared cried out again and Jensen ran in the direction of the sound with arms stretched out in front, reckless and uncaring.
“Jared!”
His hands hit something smooth and hard, a wall, and there was a thump and a grunt somewhere to his right. Keeping one hand in contact with the wall, Jensen went in the direction of the sound and nearly fell flat on his face when he stubbed his foot on something solid but yielding. Jared moaned and Jensen dropped to his knees, groping wildly to find the kid curled up on himself on the ground.
“Jared, shit, are you hurt?”
“M’okay, Jensen,” Jared mumbled, not sounding at all okay, but after a few seconds of a confused tangling of limbs and clothing, their hands touched and fingers entwined. Jared pressed a small lumpy something covered in rough textile into Jensen’s hand. His hex bag. “The hole’s dug, I just couldn’t bury it before the—thing—chucked me about. Take it, quick, you can do it.”
“Got it. Right,” Jensen closed his fist over the bag and patted where he thought Jared’s arm might be before standing up again. The wall was on his left; he thought Jared had come from behind him (maybe). He turned and kept the wall under his trailing right hand, hoping he was heading for the correct corner, and that he’d get there before the poltergeist came back.
He nearly made it.
He had just registered the join of his wall with another and was internally celebrating – the corner of the room, yay! – when something that felt like icy fingers, so cold they burned his skin, gripped the back of his head. Before he’d had time to register the mother of all ice-cream headaches the touch induced, a massive shove from behind smashed his forehead into the wall. The blackness exploded into a veritable Fourth of July display, but even as he fell, sliding down the wall like a cartoon character, he managed to hold onto the damn hex bag in his left hand.
The blood running down his face was hot in the poltergeist-created cold, but thanks to the general blackness, the fact that it was running into his eyes and stinging like hell didn’t impede his groping progress in finding the hole Jared had dug. A bone-crushing grip latched onto his ankle and yanked him backwards. He bit back a scream. He couldn’t waste one iota of his concentration when he could still feel the edge of the hole. With a mighty effort he reached his hand out and stuffed the remaining hex bag into the shallow pit.
“Fuck you, ghost!” he yelled and the room exploded into silence.
::::
The first thing Jared noticed was a car horn blaring and sirens in the distance. The second and third things were someone yelling and the fact that he couldn’t see anything – not because it was too dark, but because the sunshine was dazzling, making his eyes water. He rolled over onto his knees and staggered to his feet, cradling his injured wrist. Jensen. Where was Jensen?
In the time it took for his eyes to adjust to the bright light, his nostrils were assaulted with a familiar miasma of different deodorants, exhaust fumes and hot pavement; the typical smog of LA. He looked around in confusion, which seemed to be becoming his natural state lately, until finally his gaze landed on a familiar figure.
Jensen was lying face down, one arm outstretched in front of him and Jared realised it was Jensen’s voice he’d heard. On wobbly legs Jared rushed over and grabbed Jensen by the shoulder. At Jared’s touch Jensen flailed wildly, just missing hitting Jared’s nose with his fist.
“Hey, hey, Jensen! It’s me, Jared,” He tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible and after a it seemed to be working. Jensen calmed down, sitting up and looking around through a startling veil of blood. “Oh shit, Jensen,” Jared exclaimed, just as a passer by noticed the blood and started screaming.
The next few moments were spent trying to calm the woman down and persuade her that, no ma’am, nobody needed either an ambulance or the LAPD; everything was fine; they were both fine; they’d just bumped into one another running for a bus; yes, in a Christmas jumper and an ill-fitting hoodie, they were actors (in LA that explained most weirdness); and if she’d just back off they’d go right back to Jensen’s apartment and clean themselves up and everything would be right as rain.
In a joint effort, they finally reassured the woman and made it to the apartment. Jensen ushered Jared into the bathroom and they took it in turns to check each other over. Jensen’s head wasn’t too bad, just a tiny cut that Jared closed up with steri-strips, amazed there was so much blood. Jensen would probably have a hell of a headache and should probably be on concussion-watch, just in case, but Jared was happy to volunteer for that. Somewhat to Jared’s surprise, Jensen didn’t protest, and actually looked pleased at the offer. The damage to Jensen’s ankle was much nastier, he was virtually branded with an unnaturally long-fingered handprint. After staring at the injury with a mixture of horror and wonder, they decided to lather the red blistered marks with antiseptic and leave the wound uncovered, unsure whether to treat it like frostbite or a burn. Jared’s wrist was tender but it didn’t feel like anything was broken, plus he had a lovely purple bruise coming up under his left eye, so he ended up with two ice packs.
When they were done with the first aid, they sat on Jensen’s sofa and stared at each other.
“I can’t believe we ended up right back outside your front door,” Jared said, while at the same moment Jensen said: “I can’t believe we took out a real life poltergeist!”
“I know right?” Jared said, grinning. “I’d high five you but there isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t hurt right now.”
Jensen grinned back and Jared was struck by how fucking gorgeous Jensen was, especially when he smiled and got those little crinkles at the corners of those huge green eyes. He was sad when Jensen’s smile faded to be replaced with a pensive look. His stomach sank a bit and he tensed himself for the inevitable ‘it was fun while it lasted but we hate each other so you’d better leave’ speech. He hung his head, letting his bangs shield his face from Jensen’s view.
“So, we still have two days left before our second audition. If you’re okay with this whole concussion-watch thing, then you can stay over and we can start rehearsing together first thing tomorrow morning. Working together on the script, I’m sure we’ll knock this Supernatural audition out of the park this time. Kripke and Gamble won’t know what hit them. What do you say?”
Jared was so convinced that it was a rejection coming, it took him a moment to comprehend what Jensen was actually saying.
“Jared?”
He looked up in time to see the spark of enthusiasm fade in Jensen’s eyes. He realised he’d do just about anything to put it back.
“Jensen Ackles, you are so on. We are going to be AWESOME.”
Jensen’s smile could have lit up a room, and certainly lit up Jared’s heart.
::::
The audition on the Friday went perfectly, and the contracts were being drawn up even before Ackles and Padalecki had left the building.
::::
“Well, that went well,” Amara said. Chuck did a double take, but his sister actually meant it this time. She was smiling, and he had to admit, he was pretty happy with the outcome. This universe’s Supernatural had been set on the right track, and he was happy to call it a day in this world. Time to move on. He took a moment to enjoy the warm glow of a job well done as he watched Jared and Jensen walk down the street outside the studio. Jared flung a long arm round Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen leaned into the embrace instead of flinching away.
“I bet their off-screen chemistry is going to be as good as their on-screen,” Amara said, full of a rather worrying smugness. Chuck stared at her.
“What have you done?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just made a tiny tweak to their sexual inclinations to spice things up a bit.”
Amara arched an eyebrow at Chuck’s shocked expression. “What? They were so boring in that last universe you dragged me through, with those ridiculous egos getting in the way of the fun, and this will bring in a huge female audience, believe me. It will be the making of the show. I bet they’ll call them J-squared.”
Chuck’s head thunked on Kripke’s desk, once, twice…
— fade to black on the sound of skull on wood
—and CUT!
End Credits
—and CUT!
End Credits
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2017-12-09 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-12-13 10:23 pm (UTC)