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“So what the fuck is it about Canada and booze, man?” Jensen slurred before taking another swallow of his Molson.
“Huh?” Jared took a sip of his own beer, wishing he had some clue what was going on with Jensen these days. He was on his game when they were working, no doubt, but between takes and after hours he swung back and forth between space-case weirdo and keyed-up freak with a stick up his ass the size of a boom mic.
“You know,” Jensen continued theorizing. “Canadian beer, Canadian Whiskey. Canada Dry, huh? Mixer? And there’s Canadian vodka, isn’t there? Goose something?” Jensen looked doubtful. “I dunno.”
“Uh, so?”
Jensen slammed back the rest of his drink and then signaled to the waitress for another round. “So, so it’s like a theme, you know? Like there’s nothing to do up here but drink and work and fuckin’ forget.”
“Forget what?” Jared really wished he had the Cliff’s Notes here.
“Huh?” Jensen froze and cut his gaze away from Jared. He’d said something he didn’t mean to say. But what did it mean? “Nothin’. Never mind.”
“Man, what the fuck is going on with you?” The weird thing was that Jensen had been fine when they’d started shooting this season. His usual goofy self, shy with the fans sometimes, yeah, but normal. Jensen-normal.
“Goin’ on with me?” Jensen slurred.
“Yeah, you! It’s like since--what? Middle of August?--you’ve been like weirdo-world dude. Whatever crawled up your ass and died, man, just crap it out and get over it.”
Jensen quirked up an eyebrow and forced out a laugh. “Crap it out? What the fuck?”
“Whatever. We used to have a lot of fun, remember? The two crazy J’s? And then the three crazy J’s?”
The crew had taken to calling them that toward the end of the first season, putting out the Crazy J alert when they were having trouble working together without cracking each other up.
“Three Crazy J’s,” Jensen snorted dismissively. “Might as well forget about that; forget about Jeffrey Dean fuckin’ Morgan.” He laughed bitterly, then repeated it to himself, more quietly. “Fuckin’ forget Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Forget fuckin’ Jeffrey Dean Morgan.” He knocked back the shot the waitress brought with his beer and called out to the whole bar. “Forget FUCKIN’ Jeffrey Dean Morgan!”
“Dude!” Jared reached out his uncasted hand and clamped it across Jensen’s mouth. “Shut up! That’s your problem? Jeff?”
Jensen wrenched away and stood up from the table. “What? No problems here. What would make you think that, Jay?”
Jared stood up, using his height to loom over Jensen the way Sam did over Dean. “Geez, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you haven’t been yourself for the last couple of months? That you’re here getting trashed and shouting about Jeff in the middle of a bar?”
Jensen turned away, and when he peered back up at Jared the look of honest confusion in his face made Jared’s breath catch in his chest. “Who am I then? If I’m not myself?”
“What?”
“Who am I? Can you tell me that, Jay, ‘cause I sure as hell wish I knew.”
Jared wrapped his good hand around Jensen’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “You’re Jensen Ackles, the prettiest geek in Vancouver. Just who you always were. And, you know, the asshole I like to think of as my friend.”
Jensen’s eyes went liquid and shiny as he stared back at Jared, and Jared held his gaze, feeling like Jensen was searching for the truth in his words.
“Yeah? Well, uh, thanks man.” Jensen pulled away from Jared’s grip and turned around.
Jared watched Jensen take a couple of unsteady steps away. “Where are you going?”
“The bar,” Jensen called out over his shoulder. “I gotta find out what other kinds of booze they make here in Canada. Feel like tryin’ them all.”