Operation G.A.S. (and what happened thereafter), Pt. 1

[wanderamaranth]

Title: Operation: G.A.S. (and what happened thereafter)

Fandom: Supernatural RPS

Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): Jensen/Misha, mentions of Jensen/Danneel, Misha/Vicky, Jared/Genevieve

Spoilers: Yes, for late S6 and what we've heard about early S7.

Warning(s): language, sexual content, drinking, bad puns, adultery (kinda—I guess it depends on how you look at it? But the main characters are married to people who are not each other in this fic)

Word Count: 10,036 (Split into two parts for posting) Summary: Misha wants to see the perfect Mr. Jensen Ackles drunk. Just once.

Written for quantum_witch , on the occasion of her birthday. This is what you get, bb, when you indulge in the online gigglefests with me. This was supposed to be a short little PWP (because who doesn't like pr0n for their birthday?) but it got away from me. I feel like I should apologize, so...sorry?

This is my first RPS story.

Disclaimer: In no way do I mean to insinuate that the events, thoughts, or actions of the personages in this story are true. I don't know them, and I know absolutely nothing (well, not absolutely nothing, but very very little) about their personal lives. No copyright infringements are intended, either.

“This may be the best idea you've ever had.”

“Thank you. I like to think that every idea I have is greater than the one before. So yes, I'll agree with you: this is the best idea I've ever had. Will be right up until I have the next.”

“Or it could be the worst.”

Misha narrowed his eyes but then shrugged. “Improbable.”

Jared couldn't help the slip of a grin from sneaking onto his face. “Not impossible?”

“Of course not,” Misha snorted. “Nothing's impossible.”

“So you're saying that impossibility is impossible in and of itself?”

“I...” Misha closed his mouth with a snap. “Shut up.”

Jared simply laughed. “Come on, you practically hand delivered that one to me.”

“Yes, yes, you're very clever,” Misha grumbled, waving a hand as if it could encompass all of Jared's boundless, obnoxiously smug enthusiasm. “Can we get back to Operation: G.A.S.?”

“That's a terrible code name. Not very stealthy.”

“I sincerely doubt that anyone who might just happen to be listening outside your trailer door is going to hear G.A.S and automatically think Of course, that stands for Get Ackles Smashed! They'll think it has something to do with you and burritos and want to stay far, far away.” Sniffing, Misha said, “Besides, I didn't hear you making any better suggestions.”

Spreading his hands wide in a peace-making gesture, Jared said, “Okay, fine. G.A.S it is, then. Only...” he hesitated, and at Misha's expectantly raised eyebrows, said, “I just don't see how getting Jensen drunk is going to improve things, Misha.”

“Could it make it worse?”

Biting his lip before answering, Jared admitted, “Unlikely.”

“Well, then, what have we got to lose? This season's storyline is tough enough for the both of us without having to worry about how Jensen's going to play Dean off our characters. Well, that is, if the Winchester's Lord and Master makes a reappearance after episode two.”

While perhaps sounding a bit harsh, this was a true assessment going into Season 7. Jared and Misha were both handed extremely challenging roles: Misha as God!Castiel, Jared as a Sam who didn't know what was reality and what was a hallucination. Comparatively, Jensen's role as a Dean torn by his decisions of the past season should have been easy, but he seemed to be having difficulty tethering Dean to an attitude or mood. In some scenes he played him off as tetchy and volatile; in others, Misha could swear he could see that Dean was a hairline fracture from a sobbing breakdown. As someone who pulled his character's motivations and behaviors from real-life experiences, Jensen's portrayal of Dean was growing to be worrisome to his co-stars (especially Jared, as he'd apparently not spoken to him in over two weeks, which was highly unusual behavior), to the point where Misha declared that an intervention needed to be staged. The only problem with this was that Jensen was largely unwilling to talk about whatever-it-was that was bothering him, even with Jared, whom he usually told everything. And when Misha had tried to broach the subject with Danneel on one of the days she visited the set when Misha happened to be there, too, her response to him had been frosty, to say the least.

“You could just leave him alone, Misha. That would actually help a lot,” she'd said, eyes cold. Without further explanation she'd turned and walked away, water bottles in hand, presumably en route to make-up, where Jensen was getting ready.

Sighing at Jared's Look, (and such a Look it was, it deserved Capitalization) Misha said, “Hey, he's not talking to you, he's certainly not talking to me, and something's wrong. You've said it yourself. So I say let's take him drinking.”  

*~*~*~*

It was simpler than it should have been, getting Jensen drunk. All it really took was a cooperative bartender, an open tab (on Jared's account, thank you very much—he insisted that if they were going to trick Jensen, it should be on his tab, as he was more likely to forgive Jared than Misha if they were found out, and reluctantly Misha agreed because hey, Jared was the one with steady employment now) and a few antics to distract Jensen from his constantly-refreshed beer. Jensen had a strict three-beer limit, claiming that anything over that and he couldn't remember exactly how much he'd drank, and he'd keep on going. The trick, Misha had declared to Jared while forming their plot, would be in getting Jensen to accidentally-on-purpose drink over that limit.

So they paid the bartender to switch out Jensen's bottles.

A bit of a drawn-out process, sure, because they had to time it exactly right to make sure that Jensen wouldn't notice when his bottle was replaced with a slightly-fuller one, but by the time what Jensen thought was his second bottle was drained (and really, in volume, was his third) Misha felt confident enough in the success of their scheme that he waved the helpful bartender away, and allowed Jensen to drink what he believed to be his third beer without the swapping. If Jensen had been anything approaching his normal self he would have noticed what was going on (or at the very least felt himself getting tipsy) and stopped, but he wasn't, so he didn't. All that just convinced Misha that what he and Jared had planned was necessary, possibly bordering into the “right thing to do”.

Jared didn't seem to agree with the operation's simplicity or righteousness.

“Are we sure about this?” he asked, staring at the flush climbing his best friend's cheeks.

“We may not be certain about this, but I am. Besides, it's a little late to stop now, don't you think?”

“No,” Jared replied. “We could always get him home, wait for him to sober up and simply ask him what's going on. Which maybe we should have done to begin with.” At Misha's patented version of the hairy eyeball, Jared relented with, “Okay, fine. Jensen is a bit...withdrawn, right now. But it just seems like there should be a less complicated way here.”

“True,” Misha nodded. “We could have just roofied him, but where's the challenge in that?”

Jared laughed, but subsided at Misha's serious face. “Okay, so. Not gonna lie. The idea that you actually thought about doing that is kinda scary.” Sipping from his own beer, Jared leaned a bit closer into Misha's space and said, “I know we talked about how Jensen needs to get over whatever's eating him, but I almost get the feeling that there is more to what's going on here tonight than that.” It was his (not very) subtle way of probing Misha's motivations.

Misha shrugged. “Two nights from now could be my last on a Supernatural set. I think I've seen every single member of the crew drunk, from Sera to the set designers. Some of them several times—hell, I've had to peel your hung-over carcass off my trailer floor plenty of times. The only person I haven't seen is Jensen.”

“So this is a curiosity thing?”

Misha shrugged again. It was as good a reason for Jared to believe as any.

A lot was said in the Supernatural fandom about Jared's large (moose like) frame or his (ridiculously) floppy hair, but what most fans missed in favor of Jared's physical assets was that, while not an intellectual in the traditional sense of the word, he had an innate instinct for people. Misha had watched Padalecki (literally) charm the pants off his future wife while they were filming Season 4 simply by intuiting what would impress Genevieve most and playing to her desires. He shouldn't have been surprised by what the man said next.

“We'll all still be your friends, Misha,” the big man gently told him with a nudge of his elbow. “It's not like when you leave we're all just going to forget about you.” Misha plastered a smile on his face (he wasn't an actor for nothing) and said, “Of course you won't, Jared. Like any of you could forget a face as handsome as mine?” Jared laughed, just like Misha expected him to. But what Misha was really thinking was:

It'd be nice to think so, but things change. You might keep in touch, Jared, but not everyone will.

Misha doesn't say this because then he'd have to explain why he thinks Jared would be the one to keep in touch and not anyone else (Jensen). He doesn't want to tell his friend that he knows that Jared probably isn't (realistically) going to 'go places' after Supernatural ends, not the way that Jensen will, and that's why Jared subconsciously was opening even more to their co-stars while Jensen was already distancing himself (which is what, Misha had realized before their excursion to the bar that evening, Jensen had been doing since the start of the season). Saying such a thing would feel like Misha was being mean and petty and slightly bitter, even with it being something he truly suspected.

This wasn't a random hypothesis, though—Misha had pieced together the differences in Jensen's behavior from when filming had resumed to how he had acted every other season until last May's wrap, had recognized the pattern of withdrawal. Skipping out on a lunch here, (not very) casually drifting away from the craft table when Misha approached there—they all added up to tell Misha that Jensen was distancing himself from Supernatural (Misha), getting ready for bigger and better things. Everyone's contracts were up in the air after this season, and everyone was whispering that they didn't know if Jensen would want to stay on the show.

Misha couldn't deny to himself those small slights and what they represented hurt

He fancied he could see the future of his career, stretching out in front of him: He and Jared being the headliners of joint panels (instead of J2) for conventions in venues of decreasing size, trying to milk the one project that brought either one of them any sort of notoriety while Jensen was off either filming or directing; Misha and Jared, meeting for coffee in the same Vancouver shop they frequented now, discussing whatever bit part they'd managed to snag for the current cult tv show or the (gaggingly) bad plot to their latest SyFy Channel film adventure while Jensen walked an awards show carpet with his wife; Misha and Jared doing a 'celebrity' reality show on VH1 where they're in rehab, or at a weight loss camp (Misha supposed they'd both have to gain weight first for that one, but it shouldn't be that hard), or looking for a (skanky) date, while Jensen sat in his (city of the moment) home and looked through his pile of offers.

Just having a friend (especially one as awesome as Jared) through this parade of semi-celebrity horrors should have been enough for Misha; despite what he sometimes claimed, he had no desire to take over the world with either fame or a diabolical plot. It's not though. It's really not. He felt like the worst sort, to wish, even a little, that Jensen was the one willing to reach out to Misha, to let him know that they would all still be friends and one or the other of them wasn't going to run off and be a bigger star, to be the one willing to give him more than professional courtesy dictated.

Friends were difficult to come by for Misha. Oh sure, he could be gregarious and charming and have everyone (nearly anyone) tell him they loved him during the climax of a party—but true friends, those that stuck around for the long haul (like Vicky)...they were almost impossible for him to hang onto. (And he'd been so thankful for Vicky and her understanding that he'd married her, because it had just been such a wonderful and foreign thing to him at the time, to have someone want to be around him for more than a few weeks.) He was too weird, too changeable, too impatient, people said. It seemed Jared, though, was settling in to be a long haul friend, and Misha was grateful for that, he really was, but...

So yeah. Misha wanted to see the perfect Mr. Ackles drunk and confused at least once before he was deep-sixed from the man's life. If that made him petty? Then Misha was petty.

*~*~*~*

One thing Misha hadn't expected from this whole exercise was how tactile a drunk Jensen appeared to be. His third (really fourth) beer in and he was laying his head on Misha's shoulder and rubbing his hand down his thigh.

“I'm going to get us more drinks,” Jensen said, like a man declaring one of the secrets of the universe, like he was expecting a reaction of shock and awe.

Misha patted him on top of his head. “You do that, buddy.” Such cheeky behavior would usually earn Misha a smack, but Jensen gave him this (indecipherable) look and tripped away from the booth they'd migrated to and back to the bar. When Jensen returned, he had six shot glasses cupped in his hands of a clear booze.

Jared's eyebrows were nearly in his hairline, but all he said when Jensen sat was, “So what'd you get us?”

“Vodka,” Jensen said, with satisfaction. He picked up a shot and downed it, making a screwed up yuck-face after. Misha exchanged a look with Jared.

“What kind of vodka, Jen?” Misha asked, slightly amused.

“Don't know. Just said vodka and this is what I got.”

Misha couldn't stop his flicked brow. Jensen nudged a shot in his direction, saying, “What? This must be the stuff people drink, if he's serving it, right? So drink.”

“Yes, but usually...” Jared stopped talking, shrugged and took a glass. He downed it, made the same face Jensen had after drinking his, and mouthed the word 'horrible' to Misha, with a slashing motion across his throat.

“I'm going to regret this, aren't I?” Misha sighed. With a glance heavenward, he titled his own shot back.

He was right; he regretted it almost immediately. Whatever the bartender had given Jensen, it wasn't top shelf, but it would get him drunk fast, Misha was sure. He wondered if it was the same one that had been in on his and Jared's little game and looking over, sure enough, it was the same guy. He gave Misha a thumb's up and an exaggerated wink. Misha dredged up a smile and let Jensen press another shot into his fingers. After seeing that Misha had the glass, Jensen snagged the last filled glass, and Misha was actually tempted to take it from the man, but instead let him knock it.

Jensen was drinking, it was what Misha had wanted...but the sight of the now-empty shot glasses made him wonder if the game had turned in mid-play, if something had shifted that Misha was unaware of. He'd wanted to see Jensen lose some of his perfect control, sure. Maybe sing loudly and off key, dance with a few ugly chicks, the sort of things someone (Jared) could take embarrassing pictures of to pass around. The way Jensen was leaning into Misha's side, though, and the ferocity with which he was losing himself to the alcohol now...Misha hadn't wanted that.

“I'm gonna...” Jared made a shoo-ing motion towards the man's room, and Misha nodded. He'd be fine at the booth for a little while with Jensen. Or at least he thought he would be, until Jensen pressed him closer to the wall, the hand that had been on his thigh earlier returned and with an alarming upward trajectory.

“Hey! Hey,” Misha said, picking Jensen's hand up and setting it on top of the table. Jensen's response was to move in closer still, his nose nestling into Misha's neck.

“Ok!” Misha squeaked, putting his hands on Jensen's shoulders and pushing him slightly back. Misha was pleasantly buzzed, but Jensen's reasoning behind careful drinking was rapidly becoming apparent. To Misha, Jensen had the glazed eyes and flushed face of the truly drunk.

“Was'sa matter?” Jensen slurred, and yup, Misha thought, definitely drunk. (Mission accomplished?) “Isn't this what people do?” Jensen pressed. “Aren't you havin' fun?” He appeared distressed at the idea that Misha wasn't.

“Yeah, Jen, yeah I am,” Misha assured him. “Lots of fun.” Which, all things considered, Misha should have been. He'd accomplished what he set out to do, and winning was always fun. The only problem was that the completion of this particular goal didn't feel the way a win usually did.

“Good,” Jensen smiled dopily at him, green eyes slipping half shut. “Because I want you to be happy, Misha.” One of Jensen's hands came up and pawed at the side of Misha's face. “Always happy,” Jensen said as he began to pet Misha. The smile died abruptly on Jensen's face as he said, “You haven't been happy lately.” They were so close to one another that Misha could see every freckle on Jensen's face, even in the dimly lit bar.

Rational speaking with the drunk is an exercise in futility, but Misha tried anyways. This might be, after all, his last opportunity to speak with Jensen, (because despite what the fans wanted, he wasn't holding out hope for Castiel's return) and he wanted the conversation to be candid.

“I lost an awesome job, Jensen. Of course I'm not happy.”

“But you need to be happy,” Jensen insisted, voice rising in pitch, and okay, where the hell was Jared? Misha tried to look over Jensen's shoulder, but the man grabbed his face with both hands and smooshed their faces together, so they were staring at one another, nose to nose. “You...need...to...be...happy,” Jensen demanded, shaking Misha's face a little bit to punctuate each word.

“Okay! Happy!” Misha yelped, prying Jensen's hands away from his face. He was beginning to feel a little bit freaked out. He forced a gummy smile. “See,” he said through his bared teeth, “happy!”

Jensen pulled away from him, and Misha allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “No, you're not,” Jensen pouted, actually stuck out his lower lip and pouted. Damn it, the sight of his (former) co-star sticking out his lower lip like a petulant child should not make him hard (Misha thought he'd successfully quashed any and all such desires for Jensen a long, long time ago, only trotting them out to play when Castiel needed to look at Dean in a particularly soulful manner), but damn it again, he was straining his jeans at that little display.

Leaning his head back against Misha's shoulder (which did not help the hardness Issue at all) Jensen sighed, his moist breath skating gustily along Misha's pulse point as he said, “Me drinking was supposed to make you happy. But it hasn't and now all that's gonna happen is I'm gonna get sick.”

Alarmed, Misha tried to pull away from Jensen, but the other man had slipped his arm around Misha's waist in a moment of inattention. Did alcohol turn Ackles into an octopus? “Who told you that?” Misha asked, too surprised for subterfuge. “Jared?”

Jensen snorted. “Nope. Bar man.”

Piqued, Misha glared over at the bartender, who was obliviously wiping down his counter and laughing at whatever his co-worker was saying.

“Thought you were gonna take adv...advan....”

“Advantage?” Misha gently prompted.

“Yeah, that. Of me.”

That hadn't been the plan, but with the way Jensen kept wriggling closer, Misha was beginning to think maybe it should have been. He looked around once more for his co-conspirator, but Jared was no where in sight.

“I wouldn't do that to you, Jensen,” Misha settled for saying. Large green eyes looked up at him through a fringe of lashes, and Misha swallowed.

“I know. Told 'em.” Misha assumed Jensen meant the bartender. “That's why he gave me the shots,” Jensen said, a bit proudly.

“Because you told him?”

“Yeah,” Jensen breathed. His lips brushed Misha's neck as he spoke, and the older actor tried to suppress the full body shudder that wanted to wrack his frame. “You should be happy,” Jensen insisted, and yeah, Jensen's obsession with Misha's happiness was past just a little strange.

“I told you, Jensen,” Misha said slowly, “I'm just a little upset about leaving Supernatural.”

“Leaving?” Jensen pulled away just enough that Misha could see the alarm on his face. “Leaving leaving?”

How this could be news to Jensen, Misha had no idea whatsoever, and chalked it up to the alcohol currently swimming through his brain. He was officially ready for Jared to get his ass back here so they could leave, now.

“You've gotten at least the roughs of the first eight episodes of the season,” Misha said. “Have you seen Castiel in any of the episodes after the first two?”

“But if they call you back, you'll come, right?”

Misha couldn't give Jensen an answer to that. He hadn't really decided one way or the other himself; it wasn't like he could afford to turn down any offers that came his way on the off chance Sera and company decided they needed Castiel, though. Misha's silence seemed to be all the answer Jensen needed.

Jensen's entire face crumpled. “But I don't want you to leave!"

Could this, Misha thought blankly, be the root of Jensen's estrangement? Not that he wanted to distance himself from dead weight, but that he was dreading the separation? That he'd actually...miss them? Miss him, Misha?

“Jensen, I don't really have a choice in the matter,” he choked out.

He shoved his face right up into Misha's again. “I don't want you to leave,” Jensen repeated, pulling out the Dean growl.

Then Jensen kissed him.

“Mmrmph!” was Misha's witty response.

It was...pretty horrible, actually. Jensen's lips just smashed up against Misha's mouth, rubbing against Misha's lips like he was trying to exfoliate them with his own. There was too much (alcohol-soured) saliva and a sloppy tongue flopping against his lower lip. Jensen made an unattractively desperate, low noise in the back of his throat, causing Misha's already wilting erection to completely deflate, and that was it, enough, Misha was done, thank you very much.

He tried pushing Jensen away gently, but the only reaction he got was Jensen somehow taking advantage of his preoccupation by thrusting his tongue past Misha's clenched teeth. So Misha pushed harder and was finally able to extricate himself from the clinging man by shoving him off with all his strength. Jensen reached for him immediately, apparently having realized that no really meant no in this case, babbling apologies.

Misha looked up to see Jared standing at the end of their booth looking utterly gobsmacked.

“Took you friggin' long enough,” Misha grumbled. “Jensen here was just about ready to take me in a manly fashion.”

Jared didn't say anything, just continued to stand there with his mouth hanging open. During this time Jensen was able to attach himself to Misha again, mouthing a slippery trail up the side of his neck.

“A little help?” Misha squeaked.

Jared shook himself. “Yeah. Oh, man... Yeah.”

Somehow between the two of them they were able to get Jensen back to Jared's house (Gen was out of town on an audition, and Danneel had gone with for moral support, so at least there wasn't anyone at home wondering where Jensen was) and onto the sofa. Jensen whimpered when Misha pulled away.

“Stay, I don't want you to leave.”

“I'll be right here, Jensen,” Misha said soothingly. “Go to sleep, okay.”

Satisfied with this simply reassurance, Jensen's head lolled to one side and he began snoring softly. Misha sighed and ran a hand down his face. Unlike Jensen, he was already (completely, damnit) sober again, but that didn't make him less bewildered or exhausted.

“What the hell happened, Misha?” Jared asked, staring down at the slumped form of his best friend.

“I have no idea,” Misha said. “You left and Jensen started going on about how he wanted me to be happy.”

“...Happy.” A smirk twitched at the corner of Jared's lips. “I'd say he was trying to make you happy.”

“Jared!” Misha hissed.

“Sorry,” Jared said, not sounding sorry in the least.

Turning his focus back on (kind of adorably) passed out Jensen (mouth slightly open, lips looking like a soft smear of pink against his Dean-worthy stubble), Misha said, “You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it almost seemed like Jen is suffering from serious character bleed. He was disproportionately upset with the idea that I'm not going to be on set anymore. ”

“Disproportionate to what?”

“Hmm?” Misha hummed, jerking away from staring at Jensen, feeling like he'd been caught doing something criminal.

“Disproportionate to what?” Jared repeated, sounding amused.

“Oh. To how he should be, I guess.” Misha shrugged. “He was almost as upset as Dean was when he realized what Castiel had done.”

Jared made a fascinated sound, and Misha looked up at him.

“What?”

“It's just interesting that you say that,” Jared said, with the slow cadence of a teacher trying to lead a student into making a realization.

“Why is that interesting?” Misha wanted to know.

“It's...” Jared twisted his lips as if he was trying to figure out the best way to say something, then said, “It's just what Jensen did is to you is what a lot of the fans said Dean should have done to Castiel.” Jared's wide shoulders twitched upwards in an aborted shrug (Gen disliked the habit, and Jared was trying to break it for her).

“What, kiss me?” Misha was incredulous. He'd poked around online a little bit right after “The Man Who Would Be King” aired, curious about the fan reaction to the first episode he'd basically carried, he'd mostly stuck to reviews, and then gotten too busy with his son and scheduled engagements to really sift through the majority of the fallout from “The Man Who Knew Too Much”.

“Well, yeah,” Jared said. “Take a chance, not let him leave without...” Making a frustrated sound, Jared said, “Tons of people claim that if Dean had just manned up and kissed Castiel, then the whole finale would have played out differently. That maybe Castiel would have chosen to listen to Dean. To stay with him.” Giving Misha an odd look, Jared added, “You haven't heard about this?”

Misha shook his head. “No, I've been busy with the cons and West and...no.”

“Huh.” Jared scratched at his chin contemplatively. “It's all Jensen could talk about for like a week, I swear.” Taking a good, long look at the Jensen, Jared blinked slowly and turned back to Misha. “I think you guys need to talk in the morning.”

“What? No!” Misha said. “No talking. I plan on not being here in the morning. In fact, I plan on being wherever the opposite of here is.”

“Mish, you're not going to be able to avoid Jensen forever.”

“Really? Because I think after episode one is in the can, I'm probably not going to have any reason to be around him. Avoidance should be easy.”

“Misha,” Jared said firmly. “How about this. I'm not going to let you avoid Jensen forever.”

Misha swallowed. When in doubt, bravado it out. “How're you going to stop me?”

(Very) seriously, Jared loomed close and said, “It's become very clear to me that you're more important to Jensen than either one of us realized. He's my best friend; I will lock both of you in a closet if I have to.”

Misha didn't doubt that Jared would.

“A storage closet,” Jared added. “On set.”

“Fine,” Misha conceded with bad grace. “I'll stay until morning.”

“And talk to Jensen?” Jared stressed.

“And talk to Jensen,” Misha grumbled.

Jared's smile turned bright and sunny. “Great!” he enthused. Then he giggled. Misha just wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep so he could pretend that night hadn't happened for a few hours, but he still asked, “What?”

“It's just...” Jared giggled again. “Misha, your face. You should have seen it, when Jensen--”

“Annnnnd I'm going to go to sleep now,” Misha cut him off, standing up and hurrying towards the stairs. “Going to your guest room, night Jared!”

“Night, Misha,” Jared sang after him. PART TWO