Method, Man for moushkas
Aug. 11th, 2012 12:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_summergenTitle: Method, Man
Author: Jeanny
Recipient: moushkas
Rating: PG-13 – see warnings
Warnings: Crack!fic. Spoilers up to 6.15, some mild language. And while this fic is definitely gen, an allusion to slash is within.
Author’s Note Some dialogue is not mine, it was borrowed from 6.12. Any butchering of it is wholly mine, however.
Summary: An AU additional scene in 6.15 The French Mistake. Dean may wish to be done with the acting, but it isn’t done with him.
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
The Winchester brothers sat in their actor counterparts’ canvas chairs, jaws slack and bodies heavy with exhaustion. Sam shook his head slowly.
“That was…” he murmured.
“Yes, yes it was,” Dean concurred with a slow nod. “You know, give me a ghost or a demon or even a douchebag angel to fight any day, that would be easier than this acting crap. No wonder these guys are getting paid so much!”
“If it’s any consolation it looks like it was as hard on them as it was on us.” Sam offered, gesturing with his chin towards the production crew who looked just as shell-shocked as he and his brother felt.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s possible,” Dean rebutted, slouching lower in his seat and swiping a hand over his face. “We gotta get moving on that spell, we have got to get out of this place before we have to do any more of that!”
“Um, yeah, okay, well we’ve got everything we need-uh oh…” the brothers paled as they saw the white-haired man who had been screaming at them for the past few hours making a cautious approach with an insincere smile. His gaze was full of uncertainty and no small measure of fear. Dean inclined his head towards Sam in silent acknowledgement that his assessment of their current adversaries seemed to be correct.
“Hey, Jensen?” Singer called out gingerly. Dean blanched, stricken with dread as he cleared his throat and waved his hand vaguely towards the set they had just fled.
“Please tell me we’re done with that,” Dean begged and the gray-haired man coughed.
“I think we…got all we can for that scene. It was…those were some interesting choices, guys. Way to keep it fresh in Season Six!” The director offered a disingenuous chuckle, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Look, guys, I realize you two are going through…a thing, and you know I want to help any way I can, but you see, Jensen, the thing is we’ve got one more little scene we’ve just got to get in the can today.”
“Oh, it’ll be in the can alright,” Dean muttered and Singer brightened, slapping him on the back.
“That’s the pro we know! Knew I could count on you! I’ll need you guys on the basement set in five, okay?” Seeing Sam pale, Bob Singer hastily assured, “Not you, Jared, you just, uh, rest and take it easy, alright?” Bob gave the taller Winchester a strained pat on the shoulder and moved off shouting orders to the crew. The look of relief on his brother’s face would have amused Dean if not for the pit of dread in his own stomach.
“If I’m not with Sa-Jared, who am I doing this with?” he shouted after the rapidly retreating director, and then tensed as a voice came from behind.
“Looks like it’s you and me, J! Gotta keep the Destiel camp happy, right?” Misha placed an arm around Dean’s shoulders making the older Winchester jump and stare at the offending arm. Sam coughed, not quite covering his amusement and earning a glare from his brother. The younger brother wisely retreated with the express box held as a shield.
“So while you’re...I’ll just go ahead and get set up for...later.”
“Sammy!” Dean whispered harshly, then added in a louder voice to his rapidly retreating brother, “I mean Jared! Don’t you start without me,” Dean called in a low voice, barely hearing his brother’s reassurance before turning to the fake angel with a frown.
“What the hell is a Destiel?”
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
Dean looked around the new set he had been led to once he had finally broken free from the swarm of production assistants, makeup people and – most disturbingly – a chattering fake Castiel. Where he was standing looked remarkably like Bobby’s basement just outside the panic room, and he gave a bit of a shudder. Little if anything good ever came of this place. He’d learned from his most recent experience that not knowing what was going on just made everything take longer. He supposed he could find out the answers by reading the script, but he didn’t have time and this set hadn’t been used for anything he’d glanced at so far. He grimaced as he snapped his fingers at the dark-haired actor’s face to get his attention.
“Hey, uh, you, Misha, what’s this all about?” Misha’s eyes widened in a very not-Cas way and he gave a nervous giggle.
“We’re doing a pickup for, um, eleven? Wait, um, shoot, what was the number…?” Misha began flipping through papers until Dean grabbed them out of his hand, leafing through them rapidly as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. He gave up with a huff of frustrated breath.
“Never mind, just give me a quick lowdown here, okay? We in the panic room?”
“What? Oh, uh, no, Sam is actually, but that’s not what we’re shooting…now…” Misha trailed off before peering up into Dean’s face. “Jensen, I know we’re not…and you and Jared seem to have partied a bit too hard last night and you’ve like got dead people parts waiting, which is a new one and I don’t think I want to know, but you’re just…you’re being really…not you right now.”
“What? I haven’t got…there’s no…we’re not…I’m just…I’m just trying to think like Dean, right?” Dean took an involuntary step back as the excitable actor grabbed his arms, eyes shining.
“OMG, J, you’ve gone method? Since when?”
“Oh, it’s…recent…” Dean muttered, managing to shake himself loose just as Bob Singer approached.
“Okay, guys, I appreciate your cooperation here, we’ve got to get this one done. Remember Sam’s unconscious, just got his soul back, and Jensen…yes, you’re already giving me fear and panic, awesome, save it for the camera. Let’s get this done, people.” Grabbing Dean’s arms and placing him on his mark with a thumb’s up, Singer moved away with a face palm and a prayer as the crewmember with the slate board moved into position.
Dean looked over at the dark-haired actor who mouthed, “Method!” at him and gave him a grin and a quick thumbs up. Dean ran his hands through his hair, huffing out a breath. His mind was whirling as he tried to remember that argument with Cas from weeks ago. He crossed his arms reflexively to keep from shuddering. His brother’s condition was still all too precarious and, unlike this basement, real.
“And…action!”
“I’m sorry Dean,” the fake Cas said, suddenly standing chest to chest with him and staring into his eyes. Dean frowned; did Cas usually stand so close? “but I warned you not to put that thing inside him.”
“You, um, you did? You did,” Dean stammered, backing up a bit before the memory of the actual argument he’d had with Cas came back to him in a rush. “Well, what was I supposed to do, huh, Cas? Let T1000 walk around and hope it didn’t open fire?” Dean grinned proudly; he couldn’t wait to tell Sam how this acting thing was no longer kicking his ass.
“Cut!”
“What? That was right!” Dean called over to Singer, before looking at Misha nervously for confirmation. “Right? That was right?”
“Just about, but I think the smiling was kind of…probably not what they were looking for there…”
“Oh…right…sorry, my bad!” Dean called out, schooling his features to an expression of exaggerated tragedy. He thought he heard someone moan near the director’s chair, but he clenched his jaw in grim determination, he just had to get through a few lines and he and Sam were home free. He was Dean Winchester, dammit. He could do this.
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
“Supernatural, Scene 1, Take 5.” clap
“Action!”
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing inside him.”
“What was I supposed to do…?” Dean waved to Singer. “Um, this isn’t what happened before, I mean Castiel was way too pissed off to stand this close to me, I mean Dean.”
“Cut!” Singer’s tired voice responded. “Jensen?”
“Before?” Misha asked timidly, before making his own case to the director. “Does he mean the last take or the one before that?”
“I…meant the book! I mean all of this is based on those novels Chuck, I mean Carver Edlund wrote, and I mean this scene is all wrong…”
“I hadn’t realized you’d read the novels, Jensen, but as you know we look at them more as …jumping off point,” Singer replied with strained patience, “Now let’s go again.”
“Supernatural, Scene 1, Take 6.” clap
“Action!”
“I’m sorry, Dean-“
“Dude, could you at least get him a breath mint or something then?”
“Cut! What is happening??”
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
It was this Misha guy’s fault. That and this screwed up universe with its obsession with watching the crappiest days of his life.
“Supernatural, Scene 1, Take 29.”
For entertainment! These people were sick! He just wanted to get through this scene, Sam had to be wondering what the hell had happened to him by now.
“Action!”
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing inside him.”
Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. The breath mints weren’t cutting it anymore and he couldn’t help wondering if a punch to the jaw might end this. He was so lost in contemplating hitting the man he almost forgot to say his line; that had happened more than a few times already.
“What was I supposed to do, Cas? Let T1000 walk around, hope he doesn't open fire?”
In truth Dean was no longer sure if it was Misha or Cas who was in need of punching, living out this moment over and over again was driving him batty and if he had to do it again he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to make it. Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to just hang in for a few more moments, bracing himself for the pain of hearing Cas’ hurtful words once more.
“Let me tell you what his soul felt like, Dean…”
Must…not…punch
“…it felt like it had been skinned alive…”
Must…not…
“…if you wanted to kill your brother…”
Must…
“…you should have done it outright-ow! Hey!”
Misha grabbed at his calf, looking balefully at the older Winchester as he started to hop. Dean looked down at his own leg like he’d never seen it before. He’d been concentrating so hard on the not-hitting he’d never even thought to think of not-kicking. Huh.
“Cut! Oh for the love of…”
“No no no no!” Dean babbled desperately at the director. “I just…Dean would so have kicked him, I just got caught up in the…I’ve gone method!”
Singer looked at Misha, somehow managing to hop and tweet at the same time. He looked at his wild-eyed, possibly psychotic and probably drugged out star. He looked at his director of photography, who sighed and shrugged.
“Yeah, okay, I think we got what we need, Jensen.”
“Yes! I rock!” Dean cried, fist pumping the air, before looking at Singer like a school boy looking for a hall pass. “So this means I can…?”
“Of course, you. Go. Please,” the harried director waved him off, before calling out, “Can we get a medic for Misha please?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling mildly embarrassed now that the relief was settling in.
“Um, so, man, I didn’t mean…well okay I did, but it was because you were Cas and I was Dean and Cas was being a dick.” Seeing the actor hadn’t looked up from his phone, Dean looked around at a sea of confused, disbelieving or just plain irritated faces. “Um, yeah, so…gotta go!”
The production crew watched their star retreat, some shaking their heads in disbelief as they heard him call out for ‘Sammy.’
“I think we should discourage the method acting,” Singer murmured. Misha looked up from him phone as the medic stilled his hopping trying to get a look at his injury.
“You might want to nix the black market organ thing too while you’re at it, Bob.”
Bob Singer buried his face in his hands. When had it all gone so wrong? Season Six…
“Black market…what is happening??”
THE END
Author: Jeanny
Recipient: moushkas
Rating: PG-13 – see warnings
Warnings: Crack!fic. Spoilers up to 6.15, some mild language. And while this fic is definitely gen, an allusion to slash is within.
Author’s Note Some dialogue is not mine, it was borrowed from 6.12. Any butchering of it is wholly mine, however.
Summary: An AU additional scene in 6.15 The French Mistake. Dean may wish to be done with the acting, but it isn’t done with him.
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
The Winchester brothers sat in their actor counterparts’ canvas chairs, jaws slack and bodies heavy with exhaustion. Sam shook his head slowly.
“That was…” he murmured.
“Yes, yes it was,” Dean concurred with a slow nod. “You know, give me a ghost or a demon or even a douchebag angel to fight any day, that would be easier than this acting crap. No wonder these guys are getting paid so much!”
“If it’s any consolation it looks like it was as hard on them as it was on us.” Sam offered, gesturing with his chin towards the production crew who looked just as shell-shocked as he and his brother felt.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s possible,” Dean rebutted, slouching lower in his seat and swiping a hand over his face. “We gotta get moving on that spell, we have got to get out of this place before we have to do any more of that!”
“Um, yeah, okay, well we’ve got everything we need-uh oh…” the brothers paled as they saw the white-haired man who had been screaming at them for the past few hours making a cautious approach with an insincere smile. His gaze was full of uncertainty and no small measure of fear. Dean inclined his head towards Sam in silent acknowledgement that his assessment of their current adversaries seemed to be correct.
“Hey, Jensen?” Singer called out gingerly. Dean blanched, stricken with dread as he cleared his throat and waved his hand vaguely towards the set they had just fled.
“Please tell me we’re done with that,” Dean begged and the gray-haired man coughed.
“I think we…got all we can for that scene. It was…those were some interesting choices, guys. Way to keep it fresh in Season Six!” The director offered a disingenuous chuckle, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Look, guys, I realize you two are going through…a thing, and you know I want to help any way I can, but you see, Jensen, the thing is we’ve got one more little scene we’ve just got to get in the can today.”
“Oh, it’ll be in the can alright,” Dean muttered and Singer brightened, slapping him on the back.
“That’s the pro we know! Knew I could count on you! I’ll need you guys on the basement set in five, okay?” Seeing Sam pale, Bob Singer hastily assured, “Not you, Jared, you just, uh, rest and take it easy, alright?” Bob gave the taller Winchester a strained pat on the shoulder and moved off shouting orders to the crew. The look of relief on his brother’s face would have amused Dean if not for the pit of dread in his own stomach.
“If I’m not with Sa-Jared, who am I doing this with?” he shouted after the rapidly retreating director, and then tensed as a voice came from behind.
“Looks like it’s you and me, J! Gotta keep the Destiel camp happy, right?” Misha placed an arm around Dean’s shoulders making the older Winchester jump and stare at the offending arm. Sam coughed, not quite covering his amusement and earning a glare from his brother. The younger brother wisely retreated with the express box held as a shield.
“So while you’re...I’ll just go ahead and get set up for...later.”
“Sammy!” Dean whispered harshly, then added in a louder voice to his rapidly retreating brother, “I mean Jared! Don’t you start without me,” Dean called in a low voice, barely hearing his brother’s reassurance before turning to the fake angel with a frown.
“What the hell is a Destiel?”
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
Dean looked around the new set he had been led to once he had finally broken free from the swarm of production assistants, makeup people and – most disturbingly – a chattering fake Castiel. Where he was standing looked remarkably like Bobby’s basement just outside the panic room, and he gave a bit of a shudder. Little if anything good ever came of this place. He’d learned from his most recent experience that not knowing what was going on just made everything take longer. He supposed he could find out the answers by reading the script, but he didn’t have time and this set hadn’t been used for anything he’d glanced at so far. He grimaced as he snapped his fingers at the dark-haired actor’s face to get his attention.
“Hey, uh, you, Misha, what’s this all about?” Misha’s eyes widened in a very not-Cas way and he gave a nervous giggle.
“We’re doing a pickup for, um, eleven? Wait, um, shoot, what was the number…?” Misha began flipping through papers until Dean grabbed them out of his hand, leafing through them rapidly as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. He gave up with a huff of frustrated breath.
“Never mind, just give me a quick lowdown here, okay? We in the panic room?”
“What? Oh, uh, no, Sam is actually, but that’s not what we’re shooting…now…” Misha trailed off before peering up into Dean’s face. “Jensen, I know we’re not…and you and Jared seem to have partied a bit too hard last night and you’ve like got dead people parts waiting, which is a new one and I don’t think I want to know, but you’re just…you’re being really…not you right now.”
“What? I haven’t got…there’s no…we’re not…I’m just…I’m just trying to think like Dean, right?” Dean took an involuntary step back as the excitable actor grabbed his arms, eyes shining.
“OMG, J, you’ve gone method? Since when?”
“Oh, it’s…recent…” Dean muttered, managing to shake himself loose just as Bob Singer approached.
“Okay, guys, I appreciate your cooperation here, we’ve got to get this one done. Remember Sam’s unconscious, just got his soul back, and Jensen…yes, you’re already giving me fear and panic, awesome, save it for the camera. Let’s get this done, people.” Grabbing Dean’s arms and placing him on his mark with a thumb’s up, Singer moved away with a face palm and a prayer as the crewmember with the slate board moved into position.
Dean looked over at the dark-haired actor who mouthed, “Method!” at him and gave him a grin and a quick thumbs up. Dean ran his hands through his hair, huffing out a breath. His mind was whirling as he tried to remember that argument with Cas from weeks ago. He crossed his arms reflexively to keep from shuddering. His brother’s condition was still all too precarious and, unlike this basement, real.
“And…action!”
“I’m sorry Dean,” the fake Cas said, suddenly standing chest to chest with him and staring into his eyes. Dean frowned; did Cas usually stand so close? “but I warned you not to put that thing inside him.”
“You, um, you did? You did,” Dean stammered, backing up a bit before the memory of the actual argument he’d had with Cas came back to him in a rush. “Well, what was I supposed to do, huh, Cas? Let T1000 walk around and hope it didn’t open fire?” Dean grinned proudly; he couldn’t wait to tell Sam how this acting thing was no longer kicking his ass.
“Cut!”
“What? That was right!” Dean called over to Singer, before looking at Misha nervously for confirmation. “Right? That was right?”
“Just about, but I think the smiling was kind of…probably not what they were looking for there…”
“Oh…right…sorry, my bad!” Dean called out, schooling his features to an expression of exaggerated tragedy. He thought he heard someone moan near the director’s chair, but he clenched his jaw in grim determination, he just had to get through a few lines and he and Sam were home free. He was Dean Winchester, dammit. He could do this.
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
“Supernatural, Scene 1, Take 5.” clap
“Action!”
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing inside him.”
“What was I supposed to do…?” Dean waved to Singer. “Um, this isn’t what happened before, I mean Castiel was way too pissed off to stand this close to me, I mean Dean.”
“Cut!” Singer’s tired voice responded. “Jensen?”
“Before?” Misha asked timidly, before making his own case to the director. “Does he mean the last take or the one before that?”
“I…meant the book! I mean all of this is based on those novels Chuck, I mean Carver Edlund wrote, and I mean this scene is all wrong…”
“I hadn’t realized you’d read the novels, Jensen, but as you know we look at them more as …jumping off point,” Singer replied with strained patience, “Now let’s go again.”
“Supernatural, Scene 1, Take 6.” clap
“Action!”
“I’m sorry, Dean-“
“Dude, could you at least get him a breath mint or something then?”
“Cut! What is happening??”
~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~SPN~~
It was this Misha guy’s fault. That and this screwed up universe with its obsession with watching the crappiest days of his life.
“Supernatural, Scene 1, Take 29.”
For entertainment! These people were sick! He just wanted to get through this scene, Sam had to be wondering what the hell had happened to him by now.
“Action!”
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing inside him.”
Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. The breath mints weren’t cutting it anymore and he couldn’t help wondering if a punch to the jaw might end this. He was so lost in contemplating hitting the man he almost forgot to say his line; that had happened more than a few times already.
“What was I supposed to do, Cas? Let T1000 walk around, hope he doesn't open fire?”
In truth Dean was no longer sure if it was Misha or Cas who was in need of punching, living out this moment over and over again was driving him batty and if he had to do it again he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to make it. Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to just hang in for a few more moments, bracing himself for the pain of hearing Cas’ hurtful words once more.
“Let me tell you what his soul felt like, Dean…”
Must…not…punch
“…it felt like it had been skinned alive…”
Must…not…
“…if you wanted to kill your brother…”
Must…
“…you should have done it outright-ow! Hey!”
Misha grabbed at his calf, looking balefully at the older Winchester as he started to hop. Dean looked down at his own leg like he’d never seen it before. He’d been concentrating so hard on the not-hitting he’d never even thought to think of not-kicking. Huh.
“Cut! Oh for the love of…”
“No no no no!” Dean babbled desperately at the director. “I just…Dean would so have kicked him, I just got caught up in the…I’ve gone method!”
Singer looked at Misha, somehow managing to hop and tweet at the same time. He looked at his wild-eyed, possibly psychotic and probably drugged out star. He looked at his director of photography, who sighed and shrugged.
“Yeah, okay, I think we got what we need, Jensen.”
“Yes! I rock!” Dean cried, fist pumping the air, before looking at Singer like a school boy looking for a hall pass. “So this means I can…?”
“Of course, you. Go. Please,” the harried director waved him off, before calling out, “Can we get a medic for Misha please?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling mildly embarrassed now that the relief was settling in.
“Um, so, man, I didn’t mean…well okay I did, but it was because you were Cas and I was Dean and Cas was being a dick.” Seeing the actor hadn’t looked up from his phone, Dean looked around at a sea of confused, disbelieving or just plain irritated faces. “Um, yeah, so…gotta go!”
The production crew watched their star retreat, some shaking their heads in disbelief as they heard him call out for ‘Sammy.’
“I think we should discourage the method acting,” Singer murmured. Misha looked up from him phone as the medic stilled his hopping trying to get a look at his injury.
“You might want to nix the black market organ thing too while you’re at it, Bob.”
Bob Singer buried his face in his hands. When had it all gone so wrong? Season Six…
“Black market…what is happening??”
THE END
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