The great thing about working with Jared and Jensen was that they kept Jeff on his toes. Which was a rare thing in this town. After almost 40 years on the planet and roughly fifteen years acting, it would have been easy to become jaded, hard, especially given the shit he'd put up with during his time. But he'd managed to keep his head and live well, had his fair share of adventures and war wounds, been lucky and unlucky both in love and business, knew the value of a good friend over a good fuck, and had reached a point in his life where he could pretty much figure out what made anyone tick. But Jared and Jensen were unlike anyone he'd ever met. *** "Coming to the wake tonight?" The wake, of course, was the wake for the Impala. Totaling her had felt a bit like losing a member of the family, especially for Jared and Jensen, and throwing a proper wake (even though neither of them were Irish) for the demise of the 'sexiest member of our cast' had been Jared's idea. The black armbands the entire cast and crew had been sporting all day had been Jensen's. By now, Jeff took any scheme the two of them concocted in stride. Especially after the incident with the string cheese and the bowling ball pins. He was pretty sure Kim still hadn't forgiven them, although it had been totally worth it. "Well, you coming or not?" Jensen repeated, as he flopped in the director's chair next to Jeff. He stretched his legs out, already dressed in Dean's standard issue jeans, t-shirt, button-up and ever-present jacket. Jeff wasn't due in wardrobe for another hour, but he liked watching his progeny work, so he'd come to the set early. Should be getting some sleep, but he knew he'd have plenty of time for that over the summer. "Well, that depends," he replied, and grinned, flipping his shades down. "There gonna be free beer?" "Dude, are you kidding?" Crinkles lit the corners of Jensen's eyes when he smiled. Made his freckles stand out even more. "This is us. Texas boys. Of course there'll be beer." "Then I guess I could be persuaded to make an appearance." "Oh you guess so, do you?" "Jen, are you hogging Dad all to yourself again?" Jared asked, trademark wide as the Rio Grande grin already in place as he settled in the chair next to Jensen. It hadn't taken Jeff long to figure out that Jared tended to just appear places, in spite of the fact that he was about seven foot tall and about as graceful as a bull in a china shop. Jensen was fond of saying, loudly and in Jared's hearing most of the time, that it wasn't so much that Jared snuck up on a person, it was just his strides were so damn long that he ate up twice as much space as a normal man. "Not hogging, just inviting him to the gig tonight," Jensen replied. "Why'd ya need to invite him?" Jared wanted to know. "Of course he's gonna be there, it's his damn car." "That he gave to Dean." "And has regretted it ever since." "Fuck off, man, Dean loves that car." "Then he should have taken better care of it, right, Dad?" In spite of the fact that Jeff made a point of telling both Jared and Jensen that he really wasn't old enough to be their father (well, technically speaking, he could be Jared's), they both insisted on calling him Dad. All the time. He'd learned to roll with it. "Well, I think," he drawled, looking at both of them with a small smile, "that it's a moot point, seeing as how Kim's done smashed the shit out of it." "I'm telling ya, man, vision. Psychic boy's having one of his little episodes and it ain't happened yet. Dean and Dad'll McGuyer 'em out of trouble," Jensen laughed. Jared tapped Jensen across the back of the head with the flat side of his hand. "You only wanna believe that because you don't want to be stuck driving an Audi next season." "Dean wouldn't be caught dead in anything so suburban." "Well, y'know, he might be dead..." "Boys, am I gonna have to separate you two?" Jeff asked, giving his most fatherly stare. "Damn, dude, you're getting way good at that," Jensen chortled and stood, patting Jared on the shoulder. "C'mon, Kim's heading this way, we should get in place." Jared gave Jeff one of his best puppy-dog looks. Jeff found himself wanting to scratch Jared behind the ears. "You will be there, right?" "I'll be there." "And if you have a cowboy hat, bring it," Jared added, exchanging an indecipherable look with Jensen. "Musical guest might appreciate it." "But you gotta make sure you wear it right," Jensen laughed, and they walked off before Jeff could ask what the hell they were talking about. Musical guest? *** The other, uh, interesting, thing about working with Jared and Jensen, besides the number one rule of never, ever looking Jared's way when you're about to deliver any sort of emotionally charged line, was that, after awhile, the crazy shit they concocted constantly started to make sense. Which was why Jeff didn't even bat an eyelash when he showed up at the food tent after having showered and changed into his best pair of black jeans and matching black t-shirt, and found that the boys had transformed it into a cemetery. Complete with headstones and a fog machine and the Impala sitting at the entrance in all her crushed to hell glory, with a big black bouquet of lilies on what was left of the hood and a giant condolence card signed by Eric and Kim and the rest of the crew. There was a DJ set up in the corner spinning 'The Monster Mash' as he made his way to the makeshift bar. Everyone was also dressed in funereal black – Eric, he noted, had come as the Grim Reaper – all holding goblets of something that the bartender called 'Motor Oil Afterlife'. It looked like grape Kool-aid, but tasted like Captain Morgan's, so Jeff figured he was safe. It was also the only thing being served. So much for the promise of beer. "Why's my truck out there?" he asked when he caught up with Jared, who was wearing a suit with a tie that sported a pattern of little silver coffins. He decided he didn't want to know where Jared had gotten it. "Figured the truck needed to pay its respects, too. They'd been through a lot of shit together," Jared replied, and clapped Jeff on the back. "Glad you made it, man. You try the punch yet?" Jeff held up his goblet. "A bit Jonestown for you two, innit?" Jared frowned a little in confusion. "Jonestown?" "Yeah, y'know, Reverend Jim Jones, Guyana, don't drink the grape Kool-aid..." "Whatever, dude," Jared grinned, shaggy bangs falling into his eyes. Made him look like that St. Bernard that was in all those old cartoons. "Never mind," Jeff sighed, feeling the sixteen year gap between them like it was a moat. Most days he tried to tell himself that the banter between him and Jared and Jensen was more sibling than father and son, but then there were times like this. "So..." He glanced around again. "You boys went all out." Jared's smile cleared. "Well, she deserves it." They tapped their goblets together for a toast. "What was this about a musical guest?" Jeff asked, taking another look around. "Yeah, you remember Jen's friend Chris, right?" "Maybe? Surfer dude that came up a few weeks ago, brought some really good weed with him?" "Nah, that's Steve, Chris' better half," Jared grinned. "Better half?" Not that Jeff was judging – far from it – but he didn't remember catching that sort of vibe off of Steve. "Not like that." Jared grinned again, wicked and wide. "Pervert." "Kettle." "Hey, anything Jen or Sandy has told you is a vicious lie." Jared put his hand over his heart to emphasize his innocence. It didn't work. "Anyway, Steve's the other half of Kane, the band that him and Chris started. Jen's known 'em both forever, man, and they've done some crazy-ass shit, you should hear the stories." "I'm shocked, Jensen doing crazy shit," Jeff muttered, smiling into his goblet. Jensen actually reminded Jeff a lot of himself at Jensen's age – that whole shy act that held a wealth of perversity, young, dumb, full of come and ready to party with the best of 'em. "Yeah, I know, huh." Jared nudged Jeff with his elbow. "Cowboy hat, swagger, five o'clock shadow. That's Chris." Jeff obligingly looked. His first thought was dangerous, followed quickly by authentic. He'd known a lot of men in his time that played the part of outlaw, but wouldn't know how to break rules without a script and a director telling them their every move. This Chris guy, though? Looked like he broke rules just to see if he could, if he even bothered with rules at all. From the beat to hell faded jeans tucked inside a pair of worn cowboy boots to a wife beater stretched tight across a muscular chest under a blue plaid shirt to an obviously broken-in cowboy hat tilted low, everything about him screamed outlaw. "Sorta puts the rest of us to shame, huh?" Jared grinned. "Yeah, I guess," Jeff said, chuffing out an embarrassed laugh. He was too old to be caught looking, especially by someone as puppy-obvious as Jared. "Don't worry though, great thing about hanging with Chris is that there's pussy everywhere, man, it's insane..." "Thanks, but I can find my own dates." Jared tilted his head down and gave Jeff a disbelieving look. "You even gone out with anyone since –?" "Haven't had time," Jeff interrupted quickly. Last thing he wanted to do was bring up Sarah tonight. Or to get a lecture from a man that really was practically young enough to be his son. Technically speaking. Not that he thought about that...well, much. "Uh huh," Jared nodded, then staggered forward, off-balance, when Jensen came flying across the room and launched himself at Jared's back. Jeff stepped well out of flailing distance, more out of concern for his drink than anything else, and watched the two of them wrestle around like monkey-children. "Just like kids, huh," Eric commented on his way past, and Jeff nodded, smiling indulgently. He imagined he looked just like a parent, and the thought shouldn't have made him feel so damn old. *** Turned out that Chris, the 'musical guest', was also an actor and had been up in the area to shoot something or another, and had decided to drop by to – in his words – 'make sure Jensen hadn't wound up in jail yet'. Jeff figured there had to be a story, but he knew he wasn't going to get Jensen alone to ask him. Jared seemed to know it, though, which didn't surprise Jeff in the least. Jared and Jensen had only been working together for about nine months, but already they were acting like the best and oldest of friends. Jeff wondered what would have happened if he'd been here from the beginning himself. Not that everyone hadn't been open and giving right from the start, far from it. But a lot of the time, he felt like he was one step behind on a lot of the jokes and the banter. The Jonestown Special, as Jeff had taken to calling the punch (and at least Kim and Eric had gotten the joke), got more potent as the night wore on, or maybe the bartender started putting more rum in it. Hard to tell. But, after awhile, the edges of Jeff's vision blurred rather nicely, took the edge off the fact that, for all he knew, he was essentially hanging out at his own wake instead of the car's. No way the show could afford to keep him on from a storytelling point of view, no matter what anyone said or assured him. He'd been around too long, been in too many TV shows not to know how it worked. He was expendable; the boys weren't. It was as simple as that. But damn, it'd be nice to play a character on a TV show that wasn't dead or gonna die. He jolted when Jensen draped an arm around his shoulders, leaning heavily into him. "You know," Jensen observed, in a slightly thick voice, "if you were brooding any harder, you could be a teenager again." Jeff laughed in spite of himself. He wondered how much Jensen'd had to drink. "Think so, huh?" "I do." Jensen nodded. "You know what you need?" "I feel certain you'd tell me anyway." "Probably." Jensen's grin lit his eyes like a Christmas tree. "What you need is to get your mind off things." Jeff held up the cup. "The punch is helping." "Yeah, but you're still thinking. What you need is a sing-along." He twisted, pressing his chest against Jeff's arm, and craned his neck. "Chris, man, getcher kuntryass over here and play some tunes!" "You forget what your Mama told you about flies and vinegar?" But Jeff noted that Chris, who'd been in conversation with John up to that point, was making his way towards the makeshift stage set up next to the DJ booth. Well, swaggering, really. Jeff didn't even know that men knew how to swagger anymore. "Please, if you don't mind favoring us," Jared said, strolling up. He elbowed Jensen in the ribs. "Some of us have manners." "The hell do I need manners around Chris for?" Jensen griped, and Jeff had to laugh at the little boy, petulant look. Chris unpacked his guitar and strapped it on, strumming out a few notes as he tuned the strings with wide, callused fingers. "Should make you come up and sing with me," he said, settling himself on the stool. For the first time, Jeff noticed that Chris wasn't really all that big – he just carried himself like a linebacker. "Later," Jensen said. "Gotta get him drunker first," Jared grinned. "That's more drunk, you retard." "Hey, whose mom teaches English?" "You were obviously asleep in class, then." "Am I singing or are you two yahoos just gonna bitch at each other all night?" Chris asked, tipping his hat back just enough to give Jared and Jensen a long, level look. They both snapped their mouths shut. "Wow, it worked," Jeff said, not quite softly enough, and found himself on the receiving end of a wide grin that made Chris look less like a brawler and more like his five year-old nephew. "Just gotta let 'em know you mean it," Chris replied, and bent back to his guitar. When he started to sing, in a low, but clear voice, the crowd responded, crowded the stage. Conversations stopped. Or maybe it was just that Jeff couldn't hear them anymore over the slow, bluesy tune that seemed to speak to Jeff's soul, to all of his insecurities and loneliness. It was a song written by a man who'd lived life and had a few regrets – and was sung with the same quiet conviction. This definitely wasn't some pretender who played a few drunken gigs on the odd weekend, or some ego trip for an actor with an over-inflated sense of self-importance. "Good, isn't he?" Jared muttered, keeping beat by tapping on his thigh. Jeff could hear Jensen singing along in a soft voice. "Yeah..." Jeff couldn't tear his eyes away. "Real good." *** The set, if it could be called such, was only about four songs, a couple of them rowdy crowd pleasers, then Chris declared that he needed to wet his whistle and he might be back later. Jeff stood to the side of the stage, unable to move and not quite knowing why. Not like this was the first time he'd ever gotten blown away by a good song or a good band or music in general. Hell, he'd seen a lot of people in his time, more talented than Chris. It was probably the booze talking, anyway. Jeff never thought of himself as a melancholy drunk, but maybe that's what age did to you. Turned you introspective. The thought was enough to make him want another drink. He watched in bemused envy as, just as Jared predicted, Chris found himself surrounded by every single female on crew, from nineteen year-old starry-eyed P.A.'s to mid-forties makeup artists with more mileage than Jeff. Every single one of them (including a few that Jeff could have sworn were lesbians) looked like she'd be willing to strip down and throw down on the buffet table if Chris just said the word. Who in samhill was this guy? He was still staring when Jensen strolled back up, cup overflowing with more punch. He took a loud slurping sip, following Jeff's gaze. "You waiting for an introduction, dude?" Jeff jumped, then shook his head, the motion fast enough to give him vertigo. "No, I –" "Naw, man, don't be shy, he's always got girls hanging around, that's just Chris," Jensen smiled, and pushed between his shoulder blades, propelling him in Chris' direction. "No, really, I'm good." Jeff dug in his heels. "I'll find him later, thank him for the set." "Whatever, dude, if you're pussying out just because Chris is..." "I'm not being a pussy, alright, I...just." Instantly Jensen backed away, one hand held up in apology. "Hey, man, it's cool. No worries." Jeff didn't know what was worse – the sympathy in Jensen's smile, or the sincerity. "Yeah. Think I'm gonna go and get some air." "Sounds like a plan. But don't take too long, though, I expect at least one dance." The smile wasn't Jeff's usual easy one, but at least it was genuine. "Like I'd let you near my feet." *** The air was crisp and had just enough bite to it that Jeff could feel it settle in his lungs with each breath. His feet swung from the edge of the truck bed as he stared down at the ground, then up at what few stars he could see. He could pick out the North Star, but that was about it – astronomy was more Jared's thing. He could hear the noise of the party, the clink of glasses, laughter and music spilling from the tent and something deep inside him ached in a way it hadn't for years. His sweeping gaze took in the smashed Impala, now just a hunk of metal waiting for the junkyard. No longer useful. John Winchester's car, now obsolete, much like how he imagined John himself would be soon. Jeff hoped like hell it wasn't an omen for the rest of his career, or his life. Damn those songs anyway, for putting him in this mood. "Mind if I join you?" Speak of the damn devil. Christian Kane himself, sporting that same, wide grin that he'd given Jeff earlier. He shook his head and scooted over. His mama'd raised him to be polite. "Nah, dude, plenty of room." Chris settled next to him. He wasn't wearing the hat, and, for the first time, Jeff noticed that Chris' eyes were a sharp, all-seeing blue. "Name's Chris," he said, and stuck out a hand. "Jeff." Chris' handshake was as good ole boy as the rest of him, strong and firm and solid as oak. Jeff thought he was probably the type that settled things on a handshake and considered his word his bond. "Nice night," Chris commented, then grinned again. "Bet you probably need the peace and quiet from working with those two." Jeff laughed, the tension between his shoulders easing. "Yeah, they can be...uh...rambunctious." "Like dogs," Chris said, and held up a long, fat joint. "Feel like sharing?" "Man, you just became my new best friend," Jeff smiled, and waited for Chris to light up and take the first toke. They smoked for a few minutes in companionable silence, which struck Jeff as a little odd, seeing as how they'd just met, but he wasn't about to look the gift horse in the mouth. If Chris wanted to be out here smoking his weed with Jeff instead of Jensen or Jared, Jeff couldn't complain about it. "Sometimes," Jeff paused to blow a smoke ring, the words coming out of nowhere, "I wonder why the hell either of 'em hang out with me." Chris, to his credit, rolled with the abrupt conversational shift with ease. "Why'd you say that?" "We're different generations. I remember the 70s, they barely remember the 80s." "Yeah, I know how that goes." Jeff snorted, and took another long, sweet drag of the joint. When he spoke, his voice was smoke-raspy and low. "Yeah, I'm sure they make you feel real old there, Grandpa," he said, giving Chris an exaggerated once-over. Chris laughed and bumped Jeff's knee with his own. "Hell, Jared's enough to make everyone feel old. Boy's got more energy than a retriever on steroids." Jeff chuckled. "Yeah, I guess he does at that." He glanced sideways at Chris. "How long've you known Jen, anyway?" "Few years now. Steve introduced us." Steve again. The better half, although, at this moment, Jeff didn't think so. "I've met Steve. Good guy." "The best. And the best fucking songwriter I know. Guy's got game, and I'm the lucky sonofabitch that gets to work with him." "Guess we're both lucky," Jeff muttered, thinking of this past year, and how hectic everything had been...and how he wouldn't have changed it for the world, no matter what the outcome. No matter how old he sometimes felt, the truth was, he'd made it in a way a lot of his peers hadn't. Needed to remember that. "Damn right." Chris passed the joint back, his fingers brushing lightly over Jeff's, and Jeff's breath caught. Pot was definitely doing its job. "Look, seriously, here's what you gotta understand about dealing with the two of them." "Thanks, but –" Last thing Jeff wanted was a lecture about wanting what he couldn't have. Especially since he didn't even really want want it. He wouldn't change anything. That was the point. "No, listen, man. It's alright." "What is?" "Them. And you. It's alright." Jeff thought he must be stoned, because Chris was making sense. "You have your thing, and they have theirs, and it's all good." "Yeah...it is." Jeff thought about it again for another minute. About how their age differences never really seemed to bother the boys, how they'd just accepted him and moved on, laughing at his jokes, even when they didn't get 'em. "You're alright, Christian Kane." "Chris'll do." He smiled, and it just sort of...happened. Jeff leaned in, then Chris leaned in, and there was some awkward confusion over who went where and a moment of bumping noses, but then Chris' lips were on his, surprisingly soft and dry, and Jeff went with it. Chris tasted like beer and pot, sort of sweet, but with a malty bite, and Jeff followed Chris' lead eagerly enough, slipping his tongue in past Chris' teeth for a better taste. When Jeff pulled back, Chris kept his eyes closed for another moment. Jeff thought Chris' eyelashes might just be as long as Jensen's. "I..." He stopped, unsure of what he was even going to say. He wasn't sorry. "Anyone ever tell you that you think too damn much?" Chris asked, in a gentle voice that teased as much as it chastised. "Constantly." The second kiss was easier than the first, but no less potent. By the time they pulled apart, they were both short of breath. They were still staring at each other when Jared loped out, Jensen hot on his heels. "Look at you two, all cozied up like best friends," Jensen chortled, throwing an arm around Jared's shoulders. Jeff thought it was more for balance than anything else. "Do I smell pot?" "Yeah, but you got out here too late," Chris replied, smile easy and wide, like he hadn't just been kissing Jeff senseless. "Since when do you only keep one joint on you?" "Since when do you need me to score weed for you?" Jensen nodded, the motion a little wobbly. Jeff wondered if there was any punch left. "This is a good point." "You two coming back inside or what?" Jared asked. "Couple of girls were asking about you." "Me or him?" "Both. So, c'mon, man, can't let the trail get cold." Chris gave Jeff a sidelong glance. Jeff shrugged, the smile soft and private. "Yeah, alright," Chris said quietly, then gave Jeff a pat on the knee that promised later before jumping off the edge of the truck bed. "Girls, huh," he grinned, keeping pace with Jared and Jensen as he beckoned Jeff to catch up. Jeff spared one last glance at the Impala, then the North Star, before jogging after them.
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