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apocalypsos) wrote2007-09-14 03:47 am
apocalypsos) wrote2007-09-14 03:47 am
Entry tags:
Fic: This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (CW RPS, PG-13)
Guess who finally wrote something?
THIS BITCH RIGHT HERE.
*twirls*
I would have made it longer but ... hell, fuck it, it's been like two months since I've written anything more than a sentence long. Winner. \o/
Title: This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: CW RPS
Pairing: None
Summary: Crack AU! I was going to write a Dirty Jobs crossover where Mike Rowe rides along with the Winchesters (*flings plotbunny at ... uh, ANYBODY ELSE*) and somewhere along the line this line that I cracked during some internet discussion about an actor signing up for a movie slipped into my brain where I said something like, “Oh, no, you don't get the character's superpowers until AFTER you make the movie.” And then I wrote this. *dances*
Author's note: Blaaaaaaaargh. *smacks writer's block around a little*
*
This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
*
He listens to the message about the new show about two minutes after he stumbles through the front door, covered in grave dirt and blood (most of it not his) and reeking of dead things. Or one dead thing in particular, really, 'cause that's what happens when a ghoul just kinda drapes itself over you and drools.
He's still wringing the drool out of his T-shirt – and how fucking gross is that? -- as his messages ring out from the speaker of his phone. His dad giving him a head's up about a job. A hunting buddy from Minnesota with some information on a case.
And then the voice he hadn't expected to hear.
“Jensen, pick the hell up one of these days, would you? It's your agent. Supernatural's been picked up. We need to talk.”
Jensen freezes in mid-wring.
“Huh,” he says.
*
Before he ever shook hands with the kid in that office in Los Angeles, Jensen had known damn well who Jared Padalecki was. Jared once hauled him out of a haunted mansion in Louisiana and threw his half-on-fire ass into the nearest bayou. Jensen had stunk of festering mud and that green shit floating on the surface of the water for a week, and Jared had laughed at him for about as long.
The next time he'd seen Jared – a zombie infestation outside of San Antonio, of all places; Jensen spent the next few days at the Padalecki house letting Jared's mom stuff him full of barbecue – he'd made sure to knock him into an open grave.
What? It was only fair.
Fast-forward a few years and a handful of shared hunts later, and the two of them sit in a Vancouver coffee shop putting dark circular stains all over a pair of scripts and making bets on who sold their story to some production company for quick cash.
“I'll bet it was Danny Kemp, that jackass,” Jared says. “He would pull a stunt like this.”
Jensen shakes his head, picks at the corn muffin he's barely eaten. “Nah, he'd sell his mother for a buck but he isn't smart enough to pull this shit off.”
Jared makes a face, fidgets in his seat and drums his fingers on the cover of the nearest script all at once. Jared's all over the place like that sometimes. It's funny, actually. Jensen's always thought Jared must twitch in his sleep like a dog dreaming about chasing a rabbit.
“But ... I mean, the rock salt? The grave desecrations?” Jared takes another swig of his peppermint mocha. “It's really accurate, is all I'm saying.”
Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “You think Kripke's out killing monsters on the weekends?”
The two of them stare at each other for a long moment. Somewhere else on the planet, Eric Kripke gets just a little bit dorkier, balder, and out of shape.
“Nah,” they both say in unison.
*
The problem with getting a lead role in a show, or any role in a show, is that it makes hunting a hiatus-only pastime. When they're not hunting, they're slowly going rusty – that's the way Jared puts it, anyway, and Jensen can't help but agree – so they both develop their own ways of keeping up their training while keeping up appearances.
Jared plays a shitload of video games, which sucks comparatively for keeping up hand-eye coordination but it's not something anybody's going to question. It's not like one of the PAs is going to catch him killing zombies in Dead Rising and tell Kripke he's gone fucking method on them all.
Jensen thinks about it for a while, says, “Fuck it,” and two days later is throwing knives at a dartboard in his trailer when Kim walks in with a distracted rap on the door.
When Jared comes over later he finds Kim holding up a mirror and laughing hysterically as Jensen throws knives at the dartboard while standing with his back to it.
Later on, Jared smacks Jensen upside the head. He probably asked for it.
*
When Chris gets drunk, the evil hand makes him call Jensen. Especially if it's two in the morning and he's got a six a.m. call.
Jensen really fucking hates the evil hand.
“I'm going to cut that damn thing off, I swear to Christ,” is the first thing he says when he picks up the phone, grumbling through his tenuous grasp on the deep sleep he'd just been wallowing in. It's either pick up the phone the first time or let Chris call him nonstop for the next four hours. For some reason the evil hand is happy enough to wake him up just the once, probably because it knows he'll just spend the next four hours groaning into his pillow and trying in vain to be unconscious all over again.
“You wouldn't,” Chris slurs. As usual, he almost sounds hopeful.
“I have a machete,” Jensen mutters, and hangs up.
Three hours later, he stares bleary-eyed at a half-empty bowl of Fruity Pebbles and a Mythbusters rerun and could swear he hears the evil hand cackling with malicious glee from hundreds of miles away.
*
During the summer hiatus after season one finishes up, Jared suggests they invite Mike and Tom along on a hunt.
“Oh, hell, no,” Jensen says.
Jared frowns as he packs another box of ammunition in the trunk of the Impala. Before the show Jensen had gotten used to taking this dumpy little pickup on hunts, packing up the back just so and throwing a tarp over the weapons. He'd taken one look at the car (and the expansive trunk) that first day of filming, considered it a good fucking suggestion and snapped up the first Impala he could get his hands on.
“Why not?” Jared asks.
Jensen glares at him for so long Jared starts to squirm and grabs one of the shotguns so that he can have something to awkwardly fiddle with.
“Okay, so maybe not,” Jared mutters.
“Dude, where's the fun in hauling along the indestructible guy?”
“Hey, they're your friends,” Jared points out as he puts the shotgun back.
Jensen nods and slams the trunk shut. “Yeah, and that's why they stay here,” he says. “You really want to be around when Tom has to shoot Mike in the ass with his eye lasers or whatever the fuck they are to keep his evil ass in line?”
“All right, so you might have a point.”
“Might?”
“Shut up.”
*
In season two Jared breaks his wrist during a --
“Bar brawl?!”
Kripke turns red when he says it. Like, bright goddamn red, like all of the blood is about to leak out of his pores. It's hilarious in a weird way, like Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory if Violet had chewed the cherry pie gum instead. There's also a lot of handwaving and dramatic eyerolling, although most of it is probably sarcastic.
He rambles on for a little while about Jared and Jensen being irresponsible idiots and how he should totally call the tabloids and tell them his lead actors are clinically deranged. Jared and Jensen sit through it with well-practiced poker faces, Jared absently trying to stick a finger between the cast and his skin to scratch. The stupid thing itches. Also, he thinks he dropped some salt in there when they had to go back to the graveyard and set that corpse on fire and it's just making the itching worse.
When Eric stops to take a breath, Jensen blurts out, “Sam could always break his wrist getting jumped by that dead chick.”
Jared makes a weird coughing sound and glares over at Jensen.
“Dead chick?” he hisses.
Jensen waits until Eric starts rambling again before whispering to Jared, “What? I didn't tell, dumbass. It's in the script for next week.”
“... oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
THIS BITCH RIGHT HERE.
*twirls*
I would have made it longer but ... hell, fuck it, it's been like two months since I've written anything more than a sentence long. Winner. \o/
Title: This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: CW RPS
Pairing: None
Summary: Crack AU! I was going to write a Dirty Jobs crossover where Mike Rowe rides along with the Winchesters (*flings plotbunny at ... uh, ANYBODY ELSE*) and somewhere along the line this line that I cracked during some internet discussion about an actor signing up for a movie slipped into my brain where I said something like, “Oh, no, you don't get the character's superpowers until AFTER you make the movie.” And then I wrote this. *dances*
Author's note: Blaaaaaaaargh. *smacks writer's block around a little*
This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
*
He listens to the message about the new show about two minutes after he stumbles through the front door, covered in grave dirt and blood (most of it not his) and reeking of dead things. Or one dead thing in particular, really, 'cause that's what happens when a ghoul just kinda drapes itself over you and drools.
He's still wringing the drool out of his T-shirt – and how fucking gross is that? -- as his messages ring out from the speaker of his phone. His dad giving him a head's up about a job. A hunting buddy from Minnesota with some information on a case.
And then the voice he hadn't expected to hear.
“Jensen, pick the hell up one of these days, would you? It's your agent. Supernatural's been picked up. We need to talk.”
Jensen freezes in mid-wring.
“Huh,” he says.
*
Before he ever shook hands with the kid in that office in Los Angeles, Jensen had known damn well who Jared Padalecki was. Jared once hauled him out of a haunted mansion in Louisiana and threw his half-on-fire ass into the nearest bayou. Jensen had stunk of festering mud and that green shit floating on the surface of the water for a week, and Jared had laughed at him for about as long.
The next time he'd seen Jared – a zombie infestation outside of San Antonio, of all places; Jensen spent the next few days at the Padalecki house letting Jared's mom stuff him full of barbecue – he'd made sure to knock him into an open grave.
What? It was only fair.
Fast-forward a few years and a handful of shared hunts later, and the two of them sit in a Vancouver coffee shop putting dark circular stains all over a pair of scripts and making bets on who sold their story to some production company for quick cash.
“I'll bet it was Danny Kemp, that jackass,” Jared says. “He would pull a stunt like this.”
Jensen shakes his head, picks at the corn muffin he's barely eaten. “Nah, he'd sell his mother for a buck but he isn't smart enough to pull this shit off.”
Jared makes a face, fidgets in his seat and drums his fingers on the cover of the nearest script all at once. Jared's all over the place like that sometimes. It's funny, actually. Jensen's always thought Jared must twitch in his sleep like a dog dreaming about chasing a rabbit.
“But ... I mean, the rock salt? The grave desecrations?” Jared takes another swig of his peppermint mocha. “It's really accurate, is all I'm saying.”
Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “You think Kripke's out killing monsters on the weekends?”
The two of them stare at each other for a long moment. Somewhere else on the planet, Eric Kripke gets just a little bit dorkier, balder, and out of shape.
“Nah,” they both say in unison.
*
The problem with getting a lead role in a show, or any role in a show, is that it makes hunting a hiatus-only pastime. When they're not hunting, they're slowly going rusty – that's the way Jared puts it, anyway, and Jensen can't help but agree – so they both develop their own ways of keeping up their training while keeping up appearances.
Jared plays a shitload of video games, which sucks comparatively for keeping up hand-eye coordination but it's not something anybody's going to question. It's not like one of the PAs is going to catch him killing zombies in Dead Rising and tell Kripke he's gone fucking method on them all.
Jensen thinks about it for a while, says, “Fuck it,” and two days later is throwing knives at a dartboard in his trailer when Kim walks in with a distracted rap on the door.
When Jared comes over later he finds Kim holding up a mirror and laughing hysterically as Jensen throws knives at the dartboard while standing with his back to it.
Later on, Jared smacks Jensen upside the head. He probably asked for it.
*
When Chris gets drunk, the evil hand makes him call Jensen. Especially if it's two in the morning and he's got a six a.m. call.
Jensen really fucking hates the evil hand.
“I'm going to cut that damn thing off, I swear to Christ,” is the first thing he says when he picks up the phone, grumbling through his tenuous grasp on the deep sleep he'd just been wallowing in. It's either pick up the phone the first time or let Chris call him nonstop for the next four hours. For some reason the evil hand is happy enough to wake him up just the once, probably because it knows he'll just spend the next four hours groaning into his pillow and trying in vain to be unconscious all over again.
“You wouldn't,” Chris slurs. As usual, he almost sounds hopeful.
“I have a machete,” Jensen mutters, and hangs up.
Three hours later, he stares bleary-eyed at a half-empty bowl of Fruity Pebbles and a Mythbusters rerun and could swear he hears the evil hand cackling with malicious glee from hundreds of miles away.
*
During the summer hiatus after season one finishes up, Jared suggests they invite Mike and Tom along on a hunt.
“Oh, hell, no,” Jensen says.
Jared frowns as he packs another box of ammunition in the trunk of the Impala. Before the show Jensen had gotten used to taking this dumpy little pickup on hunts, packing up the back just so and throwing a tarp over the weapons. He'd taken one look at the car (and the expansive trunk) that first day of filming, considered it a good fucking suggestion and snapped up the first Impala he could get his hands on.
“Why not?” Jared asks.
Jensen glares at him for so long Jared starts to squirm and grabs one of the shotguns so that he can have something to awkwardly fiddle with.
“Okay, so maybe not,” Jared mutters.
“Dude, where's the fun in hauling along the indestructible guy?”
“Hey, they're your friends,” Jared points out as he puts the shotgun back.
Jensen nods and slams the trunk shut. “Yeah, and that's why they stay here,” he says. “You really want to be around when Tom has to shoot Mike in the ass with his eye lasers or whatever the fuck they are to keep his evil ass in line?”
“All right, so you might have a point.”
“Might?”
“Shut up.”
*
In season two Jared breaks his wrist during a --
“Bar brawl?!”
Kripke turns red when he says it. Like, bright goddamn red, like all of the blood is about to leak out of his pores. It's hilarious in a weird way, like Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory if Violet had chewed the cherry pie gum instead. There's also a lot of handwaving and dramatic eyerolling, although most of it is probably sarcastic.
He rambles on for a little while about Jared and Jensen being irresponsible idiots and how he should totally call the tabloids and tell them his lead actors are clinically deranged. Jared and Jensen sit through it with well-practiced poker faces, Jared absently trying to stick a finger between the cast and his skin to scratch. The stupid thing itches. Also, he thinks he dropped some salt in there when they had to go back to the graveyard and set that corpse on fire and it's just making the itching worse.
When Eric stops to take a breath, Jensen blurts out, “Sam could always break his wrist getting jumped by that dead chick.”
Jared makes a weird coughing sound and glares over at Jensen.
“Dead chick?” he hisses.
Jensen waits until Eric starts rambling again before whispering to Jared, “What? I didn't tell, dumbass. It's in the script for next week.”
“... oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
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