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Fic: Upon My Liar's Chair (6/?) WIP
Title: Upon My Liar's Chair
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
avid_slacker
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability
He was an ass. There was no excuse for snapping at Jeff like that. He'd invited Jeff and Bisou to stay, and you didn't treat a houseguest like that.
You didn't treat a friend like that. Jensen only hoped that Jeff still would apply that term to him.
He wheeled out into the living room the next morning, and looked for Bisou. Normally, she was right there to greet him, but maybe Jeff was walking her.
A white card on the table caught his eye, and he rolled over, dread suddenly clenching in his stomach.
Hey, you were asleep, so I didn't want to wake you. The realtor called with a house not far from here that was open for immediate occupation. I've gone over to take a look. There's oatmeal in the crock-pot. -Jeff
Yeah, the realtor had called right after Jeff had called and begged for somewhere to stay, most likely. Jesus. He sucked.
And when had he gotten a crock-pot? Fucking Jeff. Always had to be the savior of the world. You would think a beer bottle upside the head would have broken him of it.
His phone shrilled, blaring the ring that he'd assigned to important people. producers, directors, that sort of thing. With a sigh, he pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jensen,” Eric murmured. “How are you doing?”
Aw, crap. Time to put on a show. “I'm doing okay. Y'know, good days and bad days,” he said quietly. “But not bad. What's up?”
“I wanted to discuss the show, if you don't mind.”
“Okay,” Jensen said warily. “What about it?”
“Well, we had an idea, and I wanted to run it by you. We were thinking that since there's only another four episodes for this season, and we've already been renewed, we could let Jared do a couple of solo eps, have you get kidnapped by a demon or whatever.”
“Sounds reasonable.” And then, next season, he can find my broken dead corpse, Jensen added silently.
“Jeff's agreed to give us a hand, too. He's going to do the last ep with Jared, and a few eps next season,” Eric said.
“That's great,” Jensen said, pain tightening his stomach. It was good. The show must go on, after all. He didn't want to be the reason that their crew couldn't feed their families, after all.
“There's just one problem,” Eric said, shrugging.
“What's that?”
“Jared's balking. He says that he doesn't want to do it if you're not there.”
“Oh for-” Jensen broke off. “I'll talk to him.”
“We're not moving on without you,” Eric said flatly. “It's just the best way we can think of to write your injury into the show.”
“Eric, even if I get some mobility back, it's probably not going to be a hundred percent.”
“I know. Doesn't matter. The show's about the Winchester brothers. Not the Winchester brother. We'll work it out.” Eric sighed. “Okay, I'll let you go. I just wanted to let you know what was going on.”
Jensen hung up and stared out the back door. It was raining again. Fuck. As he started towards the coffee pot, the front door opened and a slightly damp Bisou darted over to give him kisses.
Jeff followed a little later, running a hand through his rumpled hair. “Morning,” he said quietly. “God, it's shitty out. Cold and rainy.”
Jensen shrugged. “Yeah.”
Silence stretched uncomfortably for a long moment before Jensen blurted “I'm sorry I was a dick yesterday.”
Jeff shrugged. “S'okay, dude. I was probably being kind of insensitive, acting like you couldn't take care of yourself.”
Jensen matched his shrug. “No big. I still overreacted.”
“Want some oatmeal?”
Jensen blinked at the non-sequitur, but nodded.
Unsurprisingly, Jeff made oatmeal the old-fashioned way, with a metric shit-ton of cream and brown sugar. Jensen's stomach snarled as the smell wafted up to him. “Jesus, I can feel my arteries hardening. How do you stay so fucking skinny?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” Jeff shrugged, settling across from him.
“So, I hear that our dead Daddy's coming back to life,” Jensen ventured.
“That's the plan. I know Jare's not sure about things yet, though.”
“Why? Can't you talk to him?” Jensen said. “It's the best thing for everyone.”
“I think he wants to make sure it's the best thing for his best friend. Who isn't talking to him much these days.”
Jensen gritted his teeth. “I've called him.”
“Mmm.”
The spoon clattered back in the bowl as Jensen glared at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for
avid_slackerWarning: Character injury, permanent disability
He was an ass. There was no excuse for snapping at Jeff like that. He'd invited Jeff and Bisou to stay, and you didn't treat a houseguest like that.
You didn't treat a friend like that. Jensen only hoped that Jeff still would apply that term to him.
He wheeled out into the living room the next morning, and looked for Bisou. Normally, she was right there to greet him, but maybe Jeff was walking her.
A white card on the table caught his eye, and he rolled over, dread suddenly clenching in his stomach.
Hey, you were asleep, so I didn't want to wake you. The realtor called with a house not far from here that was open for immediate occupation. I've gone over to take a look. There's oatmeal in the crock-pot. -Jeff
Yeah, the realtor had called right after Jeff had called and begged for somewhere to stay, most likely. Jesus. He sucked.
And when had he gotten a crock-pot? Fucking Jeff. Always had to be the savior of the world. You would think a beer bottle upside the head would have broken him of it.
His phone shrilled, blaring the ring that he'd assigned to important people. producers, directors, that sort of thing. With a sigh, he pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jensen,” Eric murmured. “How are you doing?”
Aw, crap. Time to put on a show. “I'm doing okay. Y'know, good days and bad days,” he said quietly. “But not bad. What's up?”
“I wanted to discuss the show, if you don't mind.”
“Okay,” Jensen said warily. “What about it?”
“Well, we had an idea, and I wanted to run it by you. We were thinking that since there's only another four episodes for this season, and we've already been renewed, we could let Jared do a couple of solo eps, have you get kidnapped by a demon or whatever.”
“Sounds reasonable.” And then, next season, he can find my broken dead corpse, Jensen added silently.
“Jeff's agreed to give us a hand, too. He's going to do the last ep with Jared, and a few eps next season,” Eric said.
“That's great,” Jensen said, pain tightening his stomach. It was good. The show must go on, after all. He didn't want to be the reason that their crew couldn't feed their families, after all.
“There's just one problem,” Eric said, shrugging.
“What's that?”
“Jared's balking. He says that he doesn't want to do it if you're not there.”
“Oh for-” Jensen broke off. “I'll talk to him.”
“We're not moving on without you,” Eric said flatly. “It's just the best way we can think of to write your injury into the show.”
“Eric, even if I get some mobility back, it's probably not going to be a hundred percent.”
“I know. Doesn't matter. The show's about the Winchester brothers. Not the Winchester brother. We'll work it out.” Eric sighed. “Okay, I'll let you go. I just wanted to let you know what was going on.”
Jensen hung up and stared out the back door. It was raining again. Fuck. As he started towards the coffee pot, the front door opened and a slightly damp Bisou darted over to give him kisses.
Jeff followed a little later, running a hand through his rumpled hair. “Morning,” he said quietly. “God, it's shitty out. Cold and rainy.”
Jensen shrugged. “Yeah.”
Silence stretched uncomfortably for a long moment before Jensen blurted “I'm sorry I was a dick yesterday.”
Jeff shrugged. “S'okay, dude. I was probably being kind of insensitive, acting like you couldn't take care of yourself.”
Jensen matched his shrug. “No big. I still overreacted.”
“Want some oatmeal?”
Jensen blinked at the non-sequitur, but nodded.
Unsurprisingly, Jeff made oatmeal the old-fashioned way, with a metric shit-ton of cream and brown sugar. Jensen's stomach snarled as the smell wafted up to him. “Jesus, I can feel my arteries hardening. How do you stay so fucking skinny?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” Jeff shrugged, settling across from him.
“So, I hear that our dead Daddy's coming back to life,” Jensen ventured.
“That's the plan. I know Jare's not sure about things yet, though.”
“Why? Can't you talk to him?” Jensen said. “It's the best thing for everyone.”
“I think he wants to make sure it's the best thing for his best friend. Who isn't talking to him much these days.”
Jensen gritted his teeth. “I've called him.”
“Mmm.”
The spoon clattered back in the bowl as Jensen glared at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
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This is story is going to be the end of me.
♥
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