The Play Nice Proviso: Three
I’m not denying, we’re flying above it all
When filming for Season Two resumed, it was bearable, once Jensen had gotten over his qualms about having to go through another year of this shit, and upon learning that Padalecki could apparently be professional when the situation called for it. Who knew, right? None of them were sure what the future held, but they were all certain that they were making something amazing here. The show was good and he felt it had the potential to become something he could really be proud of, which was really saying something. For Jensen never watched the shows he had acted in, except maybe to critique himself once in a while; hell, he’d probably never even have watched the handful of movies he had been in if it weren’t for producers forcing him to attend premieres and press junkets.
Things were different with Supernatural, though. Now, he had an overwhelming yearning to see what the fuck that imaginary beastie-of-the-week looked like.
Or so he tells himself.
It didn’t have anything to do with the insatiable curiosity, the intrinsic fucking need, to see what the hell he and Padalecki look like on screen.
Because the Network Minions were right: their chemistry was tangible. It really was sparkles and crackling or however the fuck they had described it. Sometimes, watching a particular scene with Dean and Sam gave him goosebumps. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the two of them when they shared a scene, the more intense, the better. There was something to be said for their enmity in real life; it was translating into a whole new ball game on screen. Frankly, it gave Jensen the creeps, and that weird feeling under his skin that was becoming all too familiar; that undeniable, indelible, inexplicable something that flickered and flared between them - could that really be chalked up to just chemistry? It was like, while Sam and Dean were polarized against each other, a study in contrasts, they were also united - inherently connected... bound to each other in ways that transcended both genetics and their bat-shit crazy ghost-busting lives. It made no sense to Jensen how he and Padalecki could achieve that on screen and loathe each other in real life.
No sense at all.
He frowned as he shoveled some food in his mouth, when suddenly there was a massive paw in his face, and absurdly long fingers smoothed his frown lines away. He looked up, and up, goddamn it, expecting to, and finding, the huge smirk on his co-star’s face. Idiot. He knew full well nothing pissed Jensen off more than someone touching him and getting into his personal space. Especially when that someone was Jared Padalecki.
A growl rose unbidden in Jensen’s throat, a warning for a less foolhardy person but Padalecki just flashed him his trademark dimpled grin, and tapped him on the nose with his index finger.
“Uh-uh, Jennybean, play nice.” Without thought, Jensen’s mouth snapped and bit the other man’s finger - hard - holding fast with his teeth so that his co-star was effectively ensnared. Padalecki yelped like a little girl, eyes rounding in shock, his lower lip actually quivering. Loser. “That’s not nice!”
Jensen, acting under the influence of that imp of mischief who had apparently taken up permanent residence on his shoulder, wrapped his mouth around the long digit and sucked on it, lips pursing and cheeks hollowing before he let go with an obscene popping sound.
Padalecki looked so completely freaked out, that he tripped over his own two feet trying to make a hasty getaway, and landed on his ass. He hastily scrambled to his knees, pausing at the look on Jensen’s face.
“That’s right, bow down to me, asshole.” And then Jensen smiled. And it was evil.
Padalecki drew himself up, frowning angrily, and Jensen rose right alongside him, staring him down; well, up. Padalecki shoved him. He shoved back. Before they knew it, they had one another’s shirts fisted in their grasps and they were scuffling, their strengths evenly matched, neither of them doing anything to escalate the contact into an outright fight just yet, but still: their bodies were flush against each other; hot, heavy breaths fanning each other’s faces; eyes flashing heat, their gazes locked in challenge. The skirmish left Jensen breathless, uncomfortable and almost feverish; like his skin was suddenly too tight where it stretched across his chest.
Needless to say, he was glad for the interruption just seconds later, because he honestly had no idea what would have happened otherwise. They both drew in deep, calming breaths as Eric suddenly appeared beside them, flanked by none other than the Network Minions and a really hot brunette in a power suit.
And seriously: why did the Universe derive such great pleasure in conspiring against him?
“Hey guys,” Eric chirped cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just come across his two stars ready to drop gloves and beat on each other à la Canada’s national past-time.
Neither he nor Padalecki spoke a word as they carefully extricated themselves from each other’s grip, strangely and intuitively in synchrony. As Jared walked over to the woman and gave her a hug, Jensen felt the tension slowly seep out of his body.
“Hey, Isabelle. You didn’t mention you weren’t coming here alone.”
“Jared,” she returned his greeting staring at him in exasperation. “Today’s the deadline to sign your contract and they’ve made some last minute addendums. Their presence here just expedites everything. And what the hell were you doing just now?” He shrugged at her and she rolled her eyes.
The Minions squinted shrewdly at them, Two stepping forward. “Gentlemen, as Ms. Ignacio mentioned, today is the deadline for your contract renewal.”
Jensen stifled a groan. Matt had already gotten in touch with him about this - in fact, he had already signed his contract and returned it - so why was he here?
As if reading his mind, Two continued. “We have, of course, received your signed contract, Mr. Ackles; thank you. However, there has been a new development that we will discuss with you shortly. Right now, we are just here to inform you, Mr. Padalecki, of significant changes to your contract.”
“What do you mean, significant changes?” Padalecki ground out, looking at Isabelle.
“Did you read the documents I couriered to you yesterday?” Isabelle asked.
“I skimmed through the contract. It was fine.”
“Did you read the other envelope I sent? The one marked Urgent: Read Now?”
“No. That sounded like it needed some concentration, so I was going to do it when we had a break in filming later.”
“Oh, Jared.”
“Hello, Isabelle, filming for eighteen hours straight here! You try digesting legal mumbo-jumbo after a day like that. Besides, that’s why I hired you.”
“Ms. Ignacio, if you will please allow me?” Two interrupted. Jared’s lawyer sighed and deferred to him. “As you well know, Mr. Padalecki, the ‘Play Nice’ Proviso,” he used air-quotes, “was added to Mr. Ackles’ contract. We are now adding it to yours as well.”
“What?” Padalecki exclaimed angrily, rearing back as if to attack. Jensen smirked, very much enjoying the show. “Why? He’s the one with the fucking problem!”
“Language, Mr. Padalecki. There is a lady present,” One admonished, much to Jensen’s amusement, because damned if his co-star didn’t look like a recalcitrant student brought up in front of the principal; if Jensen didn’t abhor him so much, he would have thought it was cute. “And yes, while Mr. Ackles does appear to have an issue or two with you, you do nothing to help alleviate the tension. In fact, you appear to derive great joy in exacerbating the situation.”
“I... what? It’s because he... he... goddamn it! An issue or two? If I was a sovereign state, he would have declared war on me!” Padalecki looked so pissed off that Jensen chuckled. That earned him a death glare.
“It’s in the best interests of the show, Mr. Padalecki. At least this way, we can ensure that both of you have nothing to gain by violating the stipulations set forth by the Proviso,” One explained seriously.
“Secondly,” Two took over the reins of the conversation, “we are adding Mr. Ackles’ Vancouver Abode Addendum to your contract as well. We want you both to be equal in all things, and so if Mr. Ackles’ gets a Network-funded stand-alone abode, then so too should you, Mr. Padalecki; it will be much more cost-effective for the Network than the hotel suite you are currently residing in.” The man turned to include Jensen in the conversation. “In fact, this is what we wanted to inform you about, Mr. Ackles. We are moving you both out of your current domiciles, effective one week hence.”
“What?” Jared exclaimed at the same time as Jensen, amusement vanishing, yelled, “You can’t do that!”
“On the contrary, Mr. Ackles. It’s well within your new contractual agreement. It is the up-grade to your accommodations that your lawyer negotiated on your behalf. Now, we have deemed it appropriate that you both be moved, this weekend if possible, into your new dwellings which, for your information, have increased security, so that should assuage any concerns you may have about your safety. We have already arranged for all the furnishings and they should be in place as we speak. All that remains are your own personal belongings. There will be crew of movers at your disposal; they will deal with any packing and heavy lifting should you wish to avail of their services. We hope you will enjoy your new living arrangements.”
“Yeah, well I hope you enjoy my foot up your...” Jared’s mouth was smothered shut by Jensen’s hand slapping over it none too gently.
“Don’t help,” Jensen gritted out at him. “Unless you’re planning on not renewing your contract?” He asked hopefully as he lowered his hand before Padalecki could bite it.
His co-star leveled a nasty sneer down at him. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
“Guys! Guys!” Eric had the grace to look a little guilty. They glared at him. “I didn’t know about the moving-this-weekend thing! But I did know the move was coming...”
“We just wished to make the move as smooth as possible with minimal stress to our two stars,” One assured Eric.
“Yes, yes of course. You just should have checked with them first!” Eric huffed at the Minions and looked apologetically at them. “What they didn’t tell you was that the new digs are roomier and more stylish, you know? Decorated and shit. It’s pretty sweet.”
“So you’ve seen them?” Jared asked.
“Er... not personally, no.”
“Actually, Mr. Padalecki,” One continued. “We decided on the addition of the Vancouver Abode Addendum to your contract in deference to your needs.”
“My needs? I didn’t ask for this!” Jared sputtered.
“What we meant was, it was only recently brought to our attention that you have rather big dogs. We thought that perhaps you would appreciate living in a house with a big back yard where they could... er... do whatever it is dogs do.”
“Yeah? Huh. Well, jeez. An actual house?” The fight seemed to go out of Padalecki as soon as his dogs were mentioned. “Thanks, man. I mean, wow! And the dogs do do lotsa doggie stuff; they’d love a big back yard.”
Jensen couldn’t help it. He chuckled, recalling Paley-fest. “You said do do.”
Padalecki stared at him for a split second before he grinned. “I did say do do.”
“That’s awesome.”
“You’re awesome. Wait. What? No! No, you’re so not.”
“You already said it, dude. Can’t take it back.”
“Walked right into that one.” They smirked at each other before simultaneously recalling that they didn’t do playful banter without a big audience. Almost identical frowns firmly in place, they turned back to face Eric and the Minions. Huh, Jensen thought randomly, that was a good name for a band.
“All right, fine.” Jensen acquiesced. The Minions smiled at him. Or at least, that’s what Jensen hoped those identical facial expressions meant; it could have been constipation.
“Mr. Padalecki?” Two asked.
“Yeah, whatever. If he can deal with the Play Nice Proviso, so can I.”
“Excellent. I believe Ms. Ignacio holds the contract. If you will be so good as to sign it, Mr. Padalecki, then production can resume, since as you well know, you cannot legally film without a valid contract.”
“Yeah, yeah, all right. Isabelle?” Padalecki and his lawyer exchanged a hushed conversation and any qualms he had had were apparently eased by the end of it. He signed and the contracts were handed over to Two.
“Excellent. Oh, and there’s one more thing, in the interest of full disclosure,” Two stated, almost off-handedly, as the three men smirked at them, and oh boy, did Jensen suddenly have that feeling of impending doom again. He and Padalecki exchanged a look that could only be described as frightened. “The house has two master bedrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. Since both of you will be living there for the foreseeable future, we suggest flipping a coin to see who gets what floor. And don’t forget, your new home is Network property, so all sections of the ‘Play Nice’ Proviso will need to be upheld at all times. Have a good night, gentlemen. We bid you adieu.”
And after dropping that nuclear bomb, the Minions, sneaky fuckers that they were, disappeared before either of them had regained the ability to form coherent sentences.
Three days and several phone calls to their lawyers later and there was still no way around or out of it; the Minions had royally screwed them over.
In a weird way, Jensen now felt he had company against the great vendetta the Universe had against him. He was pissed off and Padalecki was pissed off, but for the first time since this whole debacle started, they weren’t pissed off at each other. He supposed he could have opted out of the Network-funded accommodations, but he stubbornly refused to give in while Padalecki got a free ride, or a free house, as the case was.
He was jerked back to the present when Padalecki poked him in the ribs, alerting him to Eric and Phil Sgriccia, another of their producer/directors, approaching them. “Yeah, okay guys. We have some issues to deal with,” Eric said, looking sheepish when he saw the distinctly unamused looks on both their faces.
“Spit it out, Eric,” Jensen practically snarled.
“The Network is releasing Season One on DVD,” Eric paused and then tried to practically gnaw his own bottom lip off.
“Yeah, so?” Padalecki asked, darting a look at Jensen, both of them obviously curious as to why a conversation over something so mundane as the DVD release of their first season could put such an incredibly uncomfortable look on Eric’s face.
“We... er... decided that it would be better... more enjoyable, you know, if we had a gag reel to go with it,” he stammered out.
“A gag reel?” Jensen repeated incredulously. Because he remembered filming the first season, and he remembered the strained atmosphere in between takes despite the existence of the ‘Play Nice’ Proviso. There had been nothing even remotely funny about that. At least not when he and Padalecki had shared the screen.
Apparently the same thought also occurred to co-star. “Unless you’re planning on writing out a script and getting us to act out what passes for a gag reel, dude, you’re gonna be right the fuck out of luck.” Eric flashed them a guilty look.
“Oh, my God! You wrote a fucking script for the gag reel?” Jensen sputtered in indignation. “Lemme guess, Phil’s directing it and we’re doing it today?” Both Eric and Phil nodded. “Perfect. Just perfect. This may just be the lowest point of my entire acting career,” he muttered angrily, glowering at Padalecki to ensure that his co-star knew who he was blaming for this shit, and then stalked away to the make-up trailer, Padalecki following quietly a few paces behind him.
So maybe it was a little unfair of him, but in light of this new development, there was only one conclusion: they were both pretty damn pathetic.
Luckily, Jeffrey Dean Morgan had been a good sport about the whole disaster and done a couple of fake outtakes with them that had actually been fun to film. Then there had been the whole bit with the Canadian accents, which Jensen had to admit was pretty funny on film if you were drunk and squinted just right. So all in all, it wasn’t a colossal waste of time, and he knew that the fans would eat that shit up. And in the end, Eric ended up using a lot of outtakes featuring Padalecki and guest star Taylor Cole, and a couple with the supporting cast.
As they all watched the final edit of the gag reel that night, however, Jensen noted one particular outtake where his co-star and Taylor had been goofing off, flubbing lines while Jensen sat stoically in the background, not even cracking a smile.
Jesus.
Is that what he looked like on set? He almost didn’t recognize the humorless man he saw on the screen. This is what this goddamn feud had reduced him to? He kind of hated it. And all right, so he had let Padalecki get to him. Christ. He was just one man - one man - up against the living embodiment of a humanized puppy with a predilection for sugary snacks and making people as ridiculously happy as he was.
Jensen was fast reaching the end of his rope. Either he had to let this stupid pissing contest they had going on end, or he had to get himself to a doctor to make sure he wasn’t developing a fucking ulcer.
It took him a week to call and schedule an appointment with his physician.
The move was handled so efficiently by the moving company that Jensen hardly did anything. He drove his SUV to his - their - new house and pulled into the driveway in front of the three-car garage just as Padalecki pulled up next to him.
The neighborhood seemed exclusive. It was a gated community, with large houses on big lots. It was late when they got there, so he couldn’t actually tell what the neighbors were like, but it seemed family-oriented and quiet. He accepted his copy of the keys from the one of the movers and he and Padalecki turned to follow them into the house, someone turning on the outside lights in the front garden as they rounded the garage and started up the front walkway.
Jensen froze, Padalecki banging into his back at his sudden stop when he saw the house. So there was such a thing as love at first sight, Jensen thought.
“She’s beautiful,” his co-star and soon-to-be housemate whispered from somewhere over his right shoulder.
“She sure is,” Jensen agreed wholeheartedly.
“The Minions have surprisingly good taste.”
“Well, Satan’s always done hedonism right, you know? Figures his Minions would too.”
Padalecki chuckled as they took in the wide front porch with its two solid cedar Adirondack chairs. The front yard and walkway leading up to the stone steps leading up to the house was tastefully landscaped and well-lit. No flowers, though, but it was too cold for flowers anyway; come spring, it could be really pretty. The front, white steel double-doored entry into the house - it would have been easy for the movers to get the big stuff inside, Jensen thought absently - had a matching stained glass panel taking up half the length of each door. The design on the glass was geometric, like a sunburst, in red, yellow, orange, green and blue. It was actually a really nice touch.
Then they went in and as much as he had loved the house from the outside, from the inside - he hated it.
It was obviously a professional interior design job, but likely the designer had been one of those pretentious types who thought that monochromatic colors and steel looked cool. It did look cool, maybe for a magazine shoot, but who could live in a house like this? It was so cold and clinical.
“Are you hating this as much as me?”
Jensen debated lying to Padalecki just to be contrary, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Maybe more. It doesn’t feel like home.”
“And dude, I have dogs. I’m kind of glad I left them at the kennel tonight. The furniture’s white, the walls are white; Jesus, total turn off.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re actually going to be doing much more that sleeping here with the hours we work,” Jensen said reasonably. After all, he and Padalecki were not going to start hanging out together in this lifetime, so as long as his bedroom was all right, and he would totally change things until it was all right, he didn’t really mind. “All I care about is the bedroom and kitchen. If those are good, I don’t give a damn about the rest of it. We’re sure as hell not going to be hosting any dinner parties anytime soon.”
“Aw, baby, you don’t wanna throw a house-warming and invite all our friends?” Jared asked playfully and Jensen just barely resisted the urge to whack him upside the head. “Hey, you’re not going to mind having the dogs around are you?”
“Nah, I’ve seen them on set. They’re cool. It’s their owner I have an issue or two with, remember?”
And with that parting shot, he went off to explore the rest of the house.
The thing about getting picked up for their third season was that it meant people not only watched the show, but they also kept tuning in week after week. Plus, you throw two hot guys on a show, add an awesome set of wheels, some sexy babes and their target demographic pretty much included everyone from giddy fangirls, who foamed at the mouth at the thought of seeing the Winchester boys in the flesh, and nerdy fanboys, who devoured the mythologies like Homer Simpson at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
So of course the Network wanted the show’s creators and lead actors to pander to the fans - again - and that meant more conventions over their second summer off.
Terrific.
Admittedly, these were the people who were keeping Jensen employed, so really, he couldn’t bear them any ill will. He appreciated their interest and their enthusiasm, he really, truly did. What he didn’t appreciate, however, was the fact that they seemed to not be able to think of Jensen and Jared as separate people.
No, it was JensenandJared or JaredandJensen.
And apparently, playing nice in the public eye had somehow garnered them the dubious distinction of the being bestest friends in the history of best friends. And that’s all people wanted to hear about. Their friendship.
Goddamn.
And Padalecki fucking lapped it up. If Jensen was so inclined, he would actually be impressed by the man’s ability to lie so compulsively, so naturally. Heck, sometimes Jensen had to remind himself that there was no truth behind it all. That he hadn’t suddenly been hit on the head and gotten amnesia and forgotten stuff and really was joined to Padalecki at the hip. Of his own free will. Instead of just being accosted and molested by the man at every single public event or interview they did together.
Sweet Jesus, but Jared Padalecki had pissing off Jensen Ackles down to a fucking art form.
So Jensen (because hell, an Ackles always gave as good as he got) decided to fight fire with fire. At the conventions. In front of hundreds of screaming fans with cameras and camcorders and in spite of the existence of the fucking internet, which let anyone post any damn thing they liked, so his stupidity was there, for everyone to see, over and over again if they so chose, until Kingdom Come.
If he could have kicked his own fucking ass, he would have.
In Chicago, Padalecki took great pleasure in announcing that they were now living together. Of course, their deliriously giddy fans then wanted to know the gory details.
"Oh, we dance and cook and clean," Padalecki informed them with an affectation that would have put most gay men to shame.
Jensen merely contemplated the microphone in his hand and wondered if he could somehow stab his co-star with it.
“So who takes longer to get ready in the morning?” The next fan up asked.
They both pointed at each other, but Jensen knew better. “Everyday,” he bemoaned, “I wait. I could write a book and call it: Waiting on Jared,” he told the fans over his co-star’s attempts to talk.
Padalecki shook his head. “I have dogs that I have to shuffle out the door, and I lock up and set the alarm, and I work out more, so…” the fans hooted at this and Jensen just barely refrained from rolling his eyes as Padalecki pandered to their audience, “then I have to shower and I’m all glistening and…”
“And I’m in the car… waiting.”
“So Jared’s the girl,” an amazingly, wonderful woman in the front called out. Jensen beamed at her before glancing sideways at his nemesis.
“I didn’t say it,” Jensen really wanted to hoot in laughter but he restrained himself, looking at the fan who spoke. “What gave you that impression? Was it his luscious locks?”
A smile played about the corners of his co-star’s mouth, his cheeks dimpling. “I work out, I’ve got dogs - so Jared’s the girl?” He turned that look on Jensen, and Jensen resolutely ignored him, smiling at the fans instead.
“Makes sense to me.”
During their chat session with the fans in Los Angeles, Jensen wore a Sam Winchester t-shirt when he joined his co-star on stage.
As the stage-hands moved around behind them getting their chairs in place, Jensen savored the blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment where Padalecki just froze, his gaze trained on Jensen’s chest. He looked so dazed that Jensen turned to the fans, showing off his attire with a smirk.
“I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do right now,” he remarked, over the din of cat-calls.
“I’ve never been more attracted to your torso,” Padalecki retorted, still looking at him with barely concealed fascination. Jensen’s smirk turned smug, and he quickly looked down at himself so that he wouldn’t laugh out loud as his on-screen brother tried to get comfortable in his chair.
But of course, Padalecki knew him too well. “Did they give me a short chair? Did you ask them to give me a short chair?”
Jensen sniggered, smiling at the fans. “It’s all coming together.”
Padalecki shot him an exasperated look and tried to get back to discussing fan questions. Jensen though - well, he wasn’t quite done yet.
“This is fantastic,” he declared, sparing another glance at his shirt, although his eyes barely wavered from the man next to him, “I’m not taking this off.”
“I’m not letting you,” Padalecki stated, and the tone of his voice made Jensen’s breath catch for second.
He covered it up with a quip. “I’m going to fly on the plane with you today, and I’m going to wear this.”
Padalecki threw back his head and laughed. “You know you’re opening a bad can of worms, Jensen, don’t go there,” he teased, smirking at Jensen. “Don’t make me show them what’s tattooed on my chest.”
And so it continued, par for the course when it came to them being on stage together. Ten minutes later, Jensen was still grinning when someone asked them how they enjoyed the wrap party. Neither of them had made it to the wrap party, both of them having hurried to catch their flight stateside instead, Padalecki told the audience, his tone and manner of speaking making them sound so much like a freaking married couple, that Jensen found he had no control over his mouth or the speech centers in his brain.
Or apparently, his impromptu wardrobe choices, he thought, glancing at his chest again only to see an upside-down emo Sam staring back at him.
“Yeah, Jared and I had our own wrap party last night,” he muttered without really thinking, his words not even resonating in his own head until he said them out loud. “That’s why I was having a hard time moving this morning.”
He would have sworn later that, over the cacophony of giggling fangirls, he had heard a dull thud as his co-star’s jaw dropped to the stage in shock.
Meanwhile, the next fan stepped up to the microphone to ask her question. Jensen smirked and tried not to squirm under the weight of his co-star’s gaze.
This question is for both of you: What is your greatest fear?
Jesus. He let Padalecki field the question while he thought of an appropriate response. Then he actually heard what Padalecki was saying.
“My greatest fear?” he repeated the question, obviously buying himself some time. Then he looked up and grinned. “Probably waking up and seeing that poster of Jensen,” he said pointing to a poster where Dean looked menacing and kind of sexyhot, if Jensen said so himself. “Would be a bit too much to bear.”
Jensen didn’t miss a beat. “I could arrange that.”
Padalecki glanced over at him, a challenge in his eyes. Game on, Ackles, that look said. The words out of his mouth, however, were: “And you would.”
“Hell, yeah,” Jensen drawled, supremely self-assured. Bring it, Padalecki, his smirk said, and his co-star just blinked stupidly at him for a second, his face reddening.
“Umm...” Apparently, that was his big comeback.
“What is your greatest fear, Jared?” Jensen pushed cockily, enjoying himself a little too much.
“That’s a good question. What is my greatest fear? Umm...” Jesus, Jensen thought to himself, it was like taking candy from a giant baby.
Then some fan (who Jensen could have freaking kissed, for her freaking brilliant thought and timing) piped up loudly: “Dean or Jensen?”
It took all his willpower not to jump from his seat, fucking pump his fist in the air, and crow victoriously. Owned, douchebag, his smug look informed his co-star, who looked like he would give up an appendage to wipe that look right off Jensen’s face.
Instead, he smiled prettily, like the goddamn princess that he was, and pretended to lean in to give Jensen a hug. The smugness but not the smile fell right off Jensen’s face at the first sign of movement; Padalecki, coming into his personal space again, but it was enough and the loser smirked at him in triumph. He hadn’t even made contact. Prick. Jensen really needed to get over his stupid uncomfortableness - God, was that even a word? - whenever Padalecki came within touching distance. Idiot fucker. Always in his space and crowding into him with his freaking huge body which radiated heat like a freaking huge furnace and made everything hot and yeah, uncomfortable, for Jensen.
Perhaps he should realign his priorities and just be grateful that the moron hadn’t tried to almost-kiss him again. Of course that was when Padalecki reached out and fiddled his t-shirt, under the pre-text of admiring his on-screen alter ego, and Jensen had to suppress a shiver at the brush of those long fingers through the layers of cotton he was wearing.
It was revulsion, he told himself as he drew in a calming breath, nothing else.
Jensen tuned back in to hear his co-star give the token response to the question, which had been what exactly? Oh yeah, their greatest fears. “It’s hard living so far away from our families. It’s the same for both of us. Missed calls from a brother or sister, not being able to see them again...,” he shrugged before cocking an eyebrow at Jensen. “And Jensen’s is... being without me.”
Jensen made no attempt to disguise the eye-roll this time. “Greatest fear,” he mockingly acknowledged.
It all went downhill from there, especially in Vacouver, where they had breakfast with the fans.
Jensen was not, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, a morning person. So yeah, interacting with fans first thing in the morning? Not exactly on his list of favorite things to do. Interacting with his co-star first thing in the morning? Torture. Pure and unadulterated. And he should know, he did it every goddamn day. Especially when said co-star was most definitely a morning person, and an afternoon, evening and night person, and for that matter, also a twilight, dusk and dawn person, and Jensen just hated that he had first-hand knowledge of that.
He really needed to be hooked up to a caffeine i.v. right the fuck now.
His ears perked up when he heard Padalecki say the stupidest thing ever: “I’m a sweat-er person. That’s what I do on set: I eat, I sweat.”
Genuine mirth bubbled up unbidden inside his chest, and Jensen actually had to cover his face with his hand to keep from laughing out loud. His eyes caught and somehow got tangled in Padalecki’s gaze and something, Jesus, something heated that had his breath hitching in his throat, spiked between them, like a match sparking into flame.
Jensen most assuredly did not dwell on the thought or the feeling, instead shoving them very firmly into the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind.
They blinked as one and the strangeness ebbed.
Then Padalecki took two steps in his direction and wiped his sweaty face on Jensen’s sleeve. He took a deep breath, but other than bending over to pick up a napkin and handing it to his co-star, he did nothing but slide his game face into place.
“This is so not how I envisioned this going,” he mock-complained to the fans.
“This is exactly how I envisioned this going,” came the quick response.
“Aww, you’re still taking care of him,” some random chick yelled out, looking at Jensen. Jensen nodded obligingly, ducking his head with a shy smile, milking the moment for everything it was worth, while Padalecki pretended to be affronted.
Jensen really liked this back-and-forth easy rapport they had with the fans. He was prone to grumble about it but the genuine enthusiasm the fans had for them and the show in general was gratifying. Unless, of course, the questions veered off into... er, questionable... territory.
Like when someone asked Padalecki: “Who’s the hottest person you’ve ever made out with?”
“That would have to be Jensen,” he answered without hesitation, while the bottom dropped out of Jensen’s stomach and his heart did this weird flip in his chest.
“You wish,” Jensen responded, thankfully quick on his feet while he tried not to think about the mechanics of making out with his co-star.
The fans were, predictably, laughing their collective asses off, and for fuck’s sake, he needed to pay attention, he reminded himself. God only knew what the moron would say next.
“I’m not sure I can pull off pink.” O-kay. Jensen had no idea in what context that had been said, but he couldn’t resist the dig, even though he should have known better after that ridiculous eyelash story that his co-star had fabricated.
“Sure you can. Absolutely.” Yeah, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was a bad idea. Padalecki flashed him a beatific smile, walked two steps over and fucking hugged him, tucking his big head into the crook of Jensen’s neck, his soft, shaggy hair brushing Jensen’s jaw and triggering weird, fluttery sensations all across his skin. What? He was ticklish there! Jensen looked off to one side and kept his damn hands in his damn jeans pockets before they could reach up and strangle his damn co-star.
“And that’s not gonna be on YouTube tomorrow from like, four hundred different angles,” he huffed dryly, and tried not to glower at the fan who yelled at Jared to do it again. For fucking posterity apparently, so that future generations could look back at this moment and mock Jensen into eternity.
Padalecki of-fucking-course moved in to oblige her request.
“Don’t do that to him,” Jensen pleaded mockingly. “He’s gets all excited and starts sweating again. It’s not pretty.”
Padalecki nodded in earnest agreement. “I’m nervous just standing this close to him,” he told them with his trademark grin and endearing bashfulness. The corners of Jensen’s mouth twitched.
Idiot.
Yeah, the show was going from a cult hit to a mainstream sensation. Even he was flying high with all the positive buzz they were generating but of course, Newton had it right when he figured that what went up had to come down at some point.
And, somehow over that summer hiatus, all hell had broken loose (in more ways than one) and spewed demonic fangirls out at them, along with fire and brimstone otherwise known as rumors and innuendo... and fan-fiction.
Ah, the fictional pursuits of their rabid fan base.
It had been bad enough to find out that fans got all hot and bothered at the thought of Dean and Sam together, but now apparently, there were stories floating around out there about him. About Padalecki. About the two of them together. As in, together, together: Jensen slash Jared. He would have given anything to have remained blissfully ignorant, but with a friend like Rosenbaum - and really, why the fuck was he still friends with the man? - the word on the internet had reached him.
The fangirls were squee-ing. Whatever the fuck that meant.
Catch-words like Wincest and Padackles and J-fucking-Squared were fast becoming Google-able. Not that Jensen ever did that. Mike, though, was another story. Good God, it was so embarrassing.
He was fucked and it was his own fucking fault. Well, Padalecki’s too. In fact, the whole damn everything was his fucking fault.
Jensen should have known that it did not bode well for Season Three when he returned to Vancouver and fell headfirst into a fight with his co-star over a pudding cup.
A pudding cup.
Apparently, ignoring each other’s existence while they were at home was not going to work so well this season. Why? He had no idea, but he was on edge and so was Padalecki. Every little thing seemed to set them off. Tempers were lost so often, you could set your watch to the outbursts. Voices were raised so often it was upsetting the dogs. Doors were slammed so often, that it was a miracle that the house was still standing. So, he supposed it was safe to say that the unofficial tentative truce that they had declared after first moving in together had somehow been lost by the wayside, while cabin fever settled in for the long haul.
Yeah, gravity was an evil witch, and Jared Padalecki was her fucking flying monkey.
