![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
biffyOK so I wasn't going to post this yet but things are going to be ridiculously busy here over the next few weeks and I'd rather not have this sitting on my hard drive for too long!
Title: This Still Life / Chapter 1 of Theatre 'verse
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
biffyhouse
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, mentions of OCs.
Verse: Theatre 'verse
Summary: Jensen is trying to block out memories of his past and Jared's just starting to find way in the world.
Rating: R for a bit of language and brief mention of ... naughty stuff.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a slightly wonky imagination, a box full of plot bunnies and a very big bag of procrastination.
A/N : Thanks totrinaweena for acting as beta *hugs* Title for this chapter comes from 'Hide and Seek' by Imogen Heap. Feedback muchly appreciated because it'll motivate me to write more :D
There was a sharp knock on the door.
“Five minutes Mr Ackles!”
Jensen stared at the reflection in his dressing room mirror and tried to see some resemblance to the man he knew he was inside.
It wasn’t just the heavy makeup that he was forced to wear. Under the harsh lights illuminating every shadow and line on his face, Jensen could see that he looked a mess.
Taking another hefty swig from the bottle of whiskey on the dressing table, he dabbed a little more powder onto his sweaty forehead with shaking hands. After five years in the business, Jensen figured he should probably have got over his nerves. But each night he still sat in this position, staring at his reflection and repeating the same thing over and over again like a mantra:
“This it all just an act. You go out there, you put on a show. The people love it. You act like you love them loving it. But none of this is real. It is all just an act.”
If you ignored the whiskey, this was the only way Jensen could face going out on stage in front of hundreds of people. By convincing himself that none of it was real, and that he was just one insignificant man with no real part to play in life. Just a part to play on a stage.
If he was a religious man, Jensen might have put his faith in God. The world was one big stage and God was the director. But Jensen didn’t believe in God. What he mostly believed in was scotch.
Sometimes Jensen wondered if he had done the right thing in pursuing a career in theatre. After all, becoming an actor doesn’t seem like the most obvious choice for someone so painfully shy, and who hated being the centre of attention. But in some contradictory way it was perfect. When he got out on that stage he wasn’t Jensen Ackles anymore. He was Albert Messler, or Jack Harding, or whoever the hell else they wanted him to be that week. He could hide completely behind the character, immersing himself in their problems and daily dramas in order to escape his own.
Swallowing another scorching gulp of scotch, Jensen sighed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. These last minutes before he left the dressing room were the worst. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t block out the voices inside his head, or the horrifying visions that accompanied them. Every night was the same. He drank to try and block out the memories, yet the farther he got down the bottle, the more vivid they became.
His mother sitting crying at the kitchen table, nursing a black eye while his brother loomed in the background.
His sister running away from home at 15 to escape the beatings. Jensen was beaten twice as hard in her absence.
But the vision that haunted Jensen most was of his father. The man who had taken him fishing every Saturday morning. The man who had helped him build a magnificent tree house in the old oak at the bottom of the yard. The man who picked him up and dusted him down every time he skinned a knee. And the man who put him to bed every night because his Mama was too drunk to do it herself. His own father, who chased him out of the house with a rifle after finding him in his bedroom giving head to another boy.
His father didn’t want to listen to any of Jensen’s explanations, didn’t care that Jensen had nowhere else to go. He simply said in a menacingly quiet voice that Jensen was “a fucking sicko and wasn’t welcome in this family anymore”. When Jensen had tried to reason with him, that was when his father had grabbed the rifle and ran him out of the house. Jensen had nothing more than the shirt on his back and five dollars in his pocket. He never did find out what happened to the boy he left in his bedroom all those years ago in Texas.
That was how Jensen came to find himself in a damp and dreary dressing room in downtown LA, hiding in a life he never wanted, from the life he knew he’d never be able to live.
There was another knock at the door.
“You’re on in two Mr Ackles!”
Jensen jerked right back to the present. A final nip to try and settle his nerves and he strode from the room with a confidence that definitely wasn’t his own. Jensen Ackles was left behind in the dressing room. It was show time.
~~~~~~
Jared paused outside the dressing room door, his hands nervously twisting together before he knocked twice, a little too hard, a called out, “Five minutes Mr Ackles!”
His voice broke as he said the name.
Scurrying away again before anyone could see how much this part of his job affected him; Jared tried to breathe deeply and waited for his heart rate to return to normal. It was lucky he had something to keep his hands occupied; sorting through the costumes for the change at the interval, otherwise the other assistants would have been able to see just how much they were shaking.
Why was it always him who had to give Jensen his final calls? Did his boss know how much he idolised the man and was doing this on purpose as some kind of sick punishment? Jared sure as hell hoped not. He could potentially lose his job over something like this. Jared cursed himself for being so stupid to develop a major crush on the older actor.
Jared was only 20 years old and had managed to get himself a job as production assistant with the help of his father, who was an old friend of the theatre’s owner. The pay was terrible and the hours long but Jared didn’t care. It meant he got to be near his hero, Jensen Ackles, on an almost daily basis. That was what kept him going on those long, lonely nights when he lay awake for hours, trying to ignore the scuttling cockroaches in the corner of the apartment he shared with two other assistants from the theatre.
As he lay awake, his eyes tracing the cracks in the plaster on the ceiling, Jared’s mind would often wander back to the first time he had ever seen Jensen, which was also the only time the actor had ever spoken to him.
Jared had gone along to the theatre with his father to meet with Mr Kripke, the owner and stage manager, and ask about some kind of work experience for the summer. Mr Kripke had been very busy that day with the first dress rehearsal of a new show so Jared and his father trailed along after him while he rushed around, checking scripts and props, yelling at PAs and giving words of encouragement to the cast.
Jared tried to pay attention to everything that was going on around him. He’d wanted to be an actor for as long as he could remember and if only he could get some kind of job here at the theatre that would be a start. He dreamed of someone noticing his talent and giving him his big break.
As he followed his father and Mr Kripke along the back of the stage, Jared tried peering past the backdrop curtain to get a glimpse of what was going on the other side. Unfortunately, someone else was doing the same coming the opposite way and Jared bumped shoulders with him, nearly sending him sprawling. Jared thought he had barely touched the guy but knew that sometimes he didn’t know his own strength. The man grabbed onto the stage backdrop curtain for support, whilst clutching the bag he was carrying bag protectively to his chest, as if it contained something breakable. Jared stooped to help the man up, an apology ready on his lips.
Then the man looked up and Jared’s heart nearly stopped.
The man was beautiful. Stunningly, achingly beautiful.
Jared stared. The man had picked himself up by now, still clinging to the curtain and swaying slightly as if dazed.
“Wanna watch where you’re goin’ kid,” he drawled, and stalked away from a still dumbstruck Jared, muttering under his breath and peering into his bag.
“I’m so sorry sir!” Jared called to the man’s retreating back and scurried to catch up with his father who was standing next to Mr Kripke with an amused look on his face.
“You’re gonna break somethin’ one of these days, son. You gotta be more careful when you start your new job here next week.”
Jared gaped at his father, then at Mr Kripke. “Really? You mean I can come work for you? Oh thank you so much Mr Kripke, sir, you won’t regret it!”
Mr Kripke nodded. “We’ll see shall we? Be here 8am sharp on Monday. And try to keep outta the way of Jensen there; he’s a little cranky before opening night.”
Jared’s mouth formed into an ‘O’ as he realised who he had just knocked over. Jensen Ackles. Oh my God.
He’d heard all about him from his friends, about how amazing an actor the guy was. But no one had told him how damn fine the man looked! Jared couldn’t believe his luck that he would actually be working in the same theatre as Jensen Ackles, THE Jensen Ackles. This was definitely something to put in his journal.
That was three weeks ago and tonight was the fourth night of the show. Jared hadn’t noticed how cranky Jensen had been because he’d been too busy gawping at him secretly and developing the biggest crush of his life. And now he had to go knock on Jensen’s door again and try not to squeak so much this time. Easier said than done.
Not allowing himself to pause this time Jared rapped hard on the door.
“You’re on in two Mr Ackles!”
Jared stepped back from the door and stood in the shadows as he always did, waiting for a glimpse of that perfect face on its way out to dazzle the audience. The door swung open and Jensen stepped out into the corridor, straight backed and totally focussed. Jared watched as he strode away down the corridor towards the stage and marvelled at how confident he looked.
If it were me, I’d be a bundle of nerves, Jared thought. If only he knew the truth.
Title: This Still Life / Chapter 1 of Theatre 'verse
Author:
biffyhousePairing: Jensen/Jared, mentions of OCs.
Verse: Theatre 'verse
Summary: Jensen is trying to block out memories of his past and Jared's just starting to find way in the world.
Rating: R for a bit of language and brief mention of ... naughty stuff.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a slightly wonky imagination, a box full of plot bunnies and a very big bag of procrastination.
A/N : Thanks to
trinaweena for acting as beta *hugs* Title for this chapter comes from 'Hide and Seek' by Imogen Heap. Feedback muchly appreciated because it'll motivate me to write more :DThere was a sharp knock on the door.
“Five minutes Mr Ackles!”
Jensen stared at the reflection in his dressing room mirror and tried to see some resemblance to the man he knew he was inside.
It wasn’t just the heavy makeup that he was forced to wear. Under the harsh lights illuminating every shadow and line on his face, Jensen could see that he looked a mess.
Taking another hefty swig from the bottle of whiskey on the dressing table, he dabbed a little more powder onto his sweaty forehead with shaking hands. After five years in the business, Jensen figured he should probably have got over his nerves. But each night he still sat in this position, staring at his reflection and repeating the same thing over and over again like a mantra:
“This it all just an act. You go out there, you put on a show. The people love it. You act like you love them loving it. But none of this is real. It is all just an act.”
If you ignored the whiskey, this was the only way Jensen could face going out on stage in front of hundreds of people. By convincing himself that none of it was real, and that he was just one insignificant man with no real part to play in life. Just a part to play on a stage.
If he was a religious man, Jensen might have put his faith in God. The world was one big stage and God was the director. But Jensen didn’t believe in God. What he mostly believed in was scotch.
Sometimes Jensen wondered if he had done the right thing in pursuing a career in theatre. After all, becoming an actor doesn’t seem like the most obvious choice for someone so painfully shy, and who hated being the centre of attention. But in some contradictory way it was perfect. When he got out on that stage he wasn’t Jensen Ackles anymore. He was Albert Messler, or Jack Harding, or whoever the hell else they wanted him to be that week. He could hide completely behind the character, immersing himself in their problems and daily dramas in order to escape his own.
Swallowing another scorching gulp of scotch, Jensen sighed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. These last minutes before he left the dressing room were the worst. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t block out the voices inside his head, or the horrifying visions that accompanied them. Every night was the same. He drank to try and block out the memories, yet the farther he got down the bottle, the more vivid they became.
His mother sitting crying at the kitchen table, nursing a black eye while his brother loomed in the background.
His sister running away from home at 15 to escape the beatings. Jensen was beaten twice as hard in her absence.
But the vision that haunted Jensen most was of his father. The man who had taken him fishing every Saturday morning. The man who had helped him build a magnificent tree house in the old oak at the bottom of the yard. The man who picked him up and dusted him down every time he skinned a knee. And the man who put him to bed every night because his Mama was too drunk to do it herself. His own father, who chased him out of the house with a rifle after finding him in his bedroom giving head to another boy.
His father didn’t want to listen to any of Jensen’s explanations, didn’t care that Jensen had nowhere else to go. He simply said in a menacingly quiet voice that Jensen was “a fucking sicko and wasn’t welcome in this family anymore”. When Jensen had tried to reason with him, that was when his father had grabbed the rifle and ran him out of the house. Jensen had nothing more than the shirt on his back and five dollars in his pocket. He never did find out what happened to the boy he left in his bedroom all those years ago in Texas.
That was how Jensen came to find himself in a damp and dreary dressing room in downtown LA, hiding in a life he never wanted, from the life he knew he’d never be able to live.
There was another knock at the door.
“You’re on in two Mr Ackles!”
Jensen jerked right back to the present. A final nip to try and settle his nerves and he strode from the room with a confidence that definitely wasn’t his own. Jensen Ackles was left behind in the dressing room. It was show time.
Jared paused outside the dressing room door, his hands nervously twisting together before he knocked twice, a little too hard, a called out, “Five minutes Mr Ackles!”
His voice broke as he said the name.
Scurrying away again before anyone could see how much this part of his job affected him; Jared tried to breathe deeply and waited for his heart rate to return to normal. It was lucky he had something to keep his hands occupied; sorting through the costumes for the change at the interval, otherwise the other assistants would have been able to see just how much they were shaking.
Why was it always him who had to give Jensen his final calls? Did his boss know how much he idolised the man and was doing this on purpose as some kind of sick punishment? Jared sure as hell hoped not. He could potentially lose his job over something like this. Jared cursed himself for being so stupid to develop a major crush on the older actor.
Jared was only 20 years old and had managed to get himself a job as production assistant with the help of his father, who was an old friend of the theatre’s owner. The pay was terrible and the hours long but Jared didn’t care. It meant he got to be near his hero, Jensen Ackles, on an almost daily basis. That was what kept him going on those long, lonely nights when he lay awake for hours, trying to ignore the scuttling cockroaches in the corner of the apartment he shared with two other assistants from the theatre.
As he lay awake, his eyes tracing the cracks in the plaster on the ceiling, Jared’s mind would often wander back to the first time he had ever seen Jensen, which was also the only time the actor had ever spoken to him.
Jared had gone along to the theatre with his father to meet with Mr Kripke, the owner and stage manager, and ask about some kind of work experience for the summer. Mr Kripke had been very busy that day with the first dress rehearsal of a new show so Jared and his father trailed along after him while he rushed around, checking scripts and props, yelling at PAs and giving words of encouragement to the cast.
Jared tried to pay attention to everything that was going on around him. He’d wanted to be an actor for as long as he could remember and if only he could get some kind of job here at the theatre that would be a start. He dreamed of someone noticing his talent and giving him his big break.
As he followed his father and Mr Kripke along the back of the stage, Jared tried peering past the backdrop curtain to get a glimpse of what was going on the other side. Unfortunately, someone else was doing the same coming the opposite way and Jared bumped shoulders with him, nearly sending him sprawling. Jared thought he had barely touched the guy but knew that sometimes he didn’t know his own strength. The man grabbed onto the stage backdrop curtain for support, whilst clutching the bag he was carrying bag protectively to his chest, as if it contained something breakable. Jared stooped to help the man up, an apology ready on his lips.
Then the man looked up and Jared’s heart nearly stopped.
The man was beautiful. Stunningly, achingly beautiful.
Jared stared. The man had picked himself up by now, still clinging to the curtain and swaying slightly as if dazed.
“Wanna watch where you’re goin’ kid,” he drawled, and stalked away from a still dumbstruck Jared, muttering under his breath and peering into his bag.
“I’m so sorry sir!” Jared called to the man’s retreating back and scurried to catch up with his father who was standing next to Mr Kripke with an amused look on his face.
“You’re gonna break somethin’ one of these days, son. You gotta be more careful when you start your new job here next week.”
Jared gaped at his father, then at Mr Kripke. “Really? You mean I can come work for you? Oh thank you so much Mr Kripke, sir, you won’t regret it!”
Mr Kripke nodded. “We’ll see shall we? Be here 8am sharp on Monday. And try to keep outta the way of Jensen there; he’s a little cranky before opening night.”
Jared’s mouth formed into an ‘O’ as he realised who he had just knocked over. Jensen Ackles. Oh my God.
He’d heard all about him from his friends, about how amazing an actor the guy was. But no one had told him how damn fine the man looked! Jared couldn’t believe his luck that he would actually be working in the same theatre as Jensen Ackles, THE Jensen Ackles. This was definitely something to put in his journal.
That was three weeks ago and tonight was the fourth night of the show. Jared hadn’t noticed how cranky Jensen had been because he’d been too busy gawping at him secretly and developing the biggest crush of his life. And now he had to go knock on Jensen’s door again and try not to squeak so much this time. Easier said than done.
Not allowing himself to pause this time Jared rapped hard on the door.
“You’re on in two Mr Ackles!”
Jared stepped back from the door and stood in the shadows as he always did, waiting for a glimpse of that perfect face on its way out to dazzle the audience. The door swung open and Jensen stepped out into the corridor, straight backed and totally focussed. Jared watched as he strode away down the corridor towards the stage and marvelled at how confident he looked.
If it were me, I’d be a bundle of nerves, Jared thought. If only he knew the truth.
