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Title: Because Dr. Phil says so or Château Padackles Rule #7
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: Jensen/Jared. However, since there is nothing explicit it can also be read as Jensen & Jared friendship.
Word Count: 1,293
Warnings: None, unless the thought of Dr. Phil being Jensen's 'guilty pleasure' disturbs you.
Disclaimer: The names are the same but everything else is made up.
Summary: When Jensen moved in with Jared it didn't take them long to realise, no matter how well they get on, they were going to need rules. Every now and then it's necessary to add to those rules.
Author's Note: Last week I found out that Jensen's guilty pleasure is Dr. Phil. I posted a scan of the magazine article here and this story came about due to popular request. Well, two requests, from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bobbinrob and kros_21, to be more precise. Beta'd at very short notice and without any warning by munibunny. Thank you!
This is the first fanfic I've ever written and pretty much the first thing I've written since high school.
Hope you enjoy it.
The first time it happens is two weeks and three days after Jensen moves in. Jared is poking around the bookcase in the lounge room looking for his first edition copy of Stephen King’s The Shining.
“Who the hell put The Hobbit under K?” he asks, picking up the offending paperback and slotting it back into its rightful place.
“I saw Sadie lying in the hammock reading Return of the King the other day. Could’ve been her,” Jensen offers helpfully from his current position stretched out on the couch.
A copy of the latest script is laying on Jensen’s chest, still open at page two, but he passed the point of pretending to read it hours ago. He hit the jackpot when he discovered there was a Dr. Phil marathon on, and when Dr. Phil is on, everything else comes a very distant second.
“Hmm, could’ve been,” Jared agrees.
Jared finally spots the book he’s looking for. It’s under M. Perhaps he should have another go at teaching Sadie the alphabet. Jared settles on the other couch, opens the book and promptly starts sneezing. And he keeps sneezing. Seven sneezes in a row. He’s broken his own record.
“You know,” Jensen says, “Dr. Phil was just talking about sneezing and why people sneeze. It’s not just allergies. It can be an infection or a virus. Apparently there is a rare strain of the flu heading our way this winter. Hey, Jared, have you had your flu vaccination?”
Jared raises his eyebrow in Jensen’s direction.
“Thanks for your concern, Jen.”
Just because he sneezes seven times in a row doesn’t mean Jared has contracted some exotic strain of influenza previously thought not to have existed this side of the equator. It just means Jared has to make sure Jensen does a better job when he dusts.
The second time it happens it’s the morning after the night before. Jared wakes up with the mother of all headaches, and after ten minutes of lying with his head buried in his pillow he accepts, that the world isn’t going to disappear no matter how hard he wishes it would. He finally drags himself out of bed and downstairs.
Jensen is in the kitchen looking as bright and cheerful as he usually does first thing in the morning which, for Jensen, isn’t all that bright and cheerful but Jared still thinks it’s unfair. He’s got inches on Jensen in height and across the chest and everywhere else it counts but Jensen has always been able to hold his drink better than Jared.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Jensen says, sipping at his cup of coffee.
“M’ head hurts,” Jared mutters taking a seat at the table and gingerly lowering his head to the cool surface. “Hangovers suck.”
Chuckling to himself, Jensen opens the cupboard above the fridge and retrieves the box of Aspirin for the second time that morning. He makes a mental note to put Aspirin on the shopping list as he pops two of the remaining four tablets from the box of 96 into Jared’s waiting hand. It doesn’t occur to him to make a mental note for him and Jared to drink any less.
“You know, on Dr. Phil the other day he was talking about headaches and all the causes. Are you sure it’s a hangover, Jay? I mean, you did drink less than me. Perhaps it’s a… “
“It’s not a tumour,” Jared quips, doing the very best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation he can muster under the circumstances. Jared’s a funny guy after all and even in his current condition he’s got a reputation to maintain.
“I’m just saying…”
“Shut up, Jensen”
Just because Jared has a headache, it doesn’t mean that Jared has developed a debilitating neurological disorder or anything like that. It just means Jared shouldn’t let Jensen drag his sorry ass to yet another bar in downtown Vancouver looking for that elusive perfect beer.
The third time it happens is while their full-time bodyguard and part-time chef, Cliff, is taking a well earned vacation down in Miami. The studio has provided them with a temporary bodyguard who is big and mean and scary looking but, unlike Cliff, can’t cook for shit.
As it turns out, neither can Jensen or Jared.
After pushing the slop, which the packet promised would resemble Spaghetti Bolognaise, around their plates for five minutes both boys give up any pretence of eating it.
Jensen reaches for the phone and the menu from their favourite Thai take-out at the same time as Jared scrapes their plates into Sadie and Harley’s bowls. Sadie takes one sniff, turns her nose up and strolls back to her doggy futon. Harley, never one to bother with ceremony, wolfs down the entire contents of both bowls.
Ten minutes later, he returns the entire contents of both bowls to the kitchen floor.
“Awww, poor baby. It’s okay, boy. You’re okay...” Jared coos, all the while trying to pull Harley away from the mess and stopping him from repeating the whole process again.
“You know,” Jensen yells from where he has escaped into the next room for fear of retching in sympathy with Harley. “You know, on Dr. Phil the other day he was talking about why people throw up. It’s not always because of bad food. There is any number of things…”
“Jensen?”
“Yeah…”
“Shut up.”
Just because Harley throws up doesn’t mean Harley is suffering from a stomach ulcer or anything equally bad. It just means Jared shouldn’t let Jensen, or himself, near a kitchen to prepare any food other than breakfast cereal or toast.
The fourth time it happens is 45 minutes after the third time. Jensen and Jared are sitting in the lounge room watching the Spurs take on the Pistons. Take out food containers cover the coffee table in front of them and Jared carefully stacks his plate high with a sample of every dish available. He’s a big boy and it takes a lot to fill those extra inches.
He pauses momentarily, contemplating what to try first. Settling on the Gai Pad Kro Prao, he scoops some onto his fork and brings it too his mouth. His last coherent thought before his face burns red, his eyes start watering, and his body is wracked by a coughing fit is, ‘Ooh, spicy...’
“You know,” Jensen says, watching Jared with a frown. “On Dr. Phil the other day he was talking about what causes people to cough and… ”
Jared’s coughing and spluttering eases and he is up and off the couch and making a bee line for the kitchen before Jensen has the chance to say another word. Jared rips the piece of paper off fridge, causing the little magnet holding it in place to go flying across the tiled floor. He grabs a Sharpie from the utility draw and sits himself at the table. The piece of paper contains a handwritten list. Jared very carefully adds another item to the list.
CHÂTEAU PADACKLES RULE #7:
Jensen must never use any medical knowledge gained from Dr. Phil to attempt to diagnose any illness, psychological or physiological, which Jared, or his dogs, may or may not have.
Satisfied with his penmanship, Jared retrieves the magnet and reattaches the list to the fridge before making his way back to the lounge room to finish his dinner.
Two days later, Jared picks up his first edition copy of Stephen King’s The Shining from beside the couch, where it has been since the day he took it off the bookcase. He flicks through the pages looking for the beginning of chapter one and promptly sneezes seven times in a row.
Jensen, from his position on the other couch, says nothing.
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: Jensen/Jared. However, since there is nothing explicit it can also be read as Jensen & Jared friendship.
Word Count: 1,293
Warnings: None, unless the thought of Dr. Phil being Jensen's 'guilty pleasure' disturbs you.
Disclaimer: The names are the same but everything else is made up.
Summary: When Jensen moved in with Jared it didn't take them long to realise, no matter how well they get on, they were going to need rules. Every now and then it's necessary to add to those rules.
Author's Note: Last week I found out that Jensen's guilty pleasure is Dr. Phil. I posted a scan of the magazine article here and this story came about due to popular request. Well, two requests, from
bobbinrob and kros_21, to be more precise. Beta'd at very short notice and without any warning by munibunny. Thank you! This is the first fanfic I've ever written and pretty much the first thing I've written since high school.
Hope you enjoy it.
The first time it happens is two weeks and three days after Jensen moves in. Jared is poking around the bookcase in the lounge room looking for his first edition copy of Stephen King’s The Shining.
“Who the hell put The Hobbit under K?” he asks, picking up the offending paperback and slotting it back into its rightful place.
“I saw Sadie lying in the hammock reading Return of the King the other day. Could’ve been her,” Jensen offers helpfully from his current position stretched out on the couch.
A copy of the latest script is laying on Jensen’s chest, still open at page two, but he passed the point of pretending to read it hours ago. He hit the jackpot when he discovered there was a Dr. Phil marathon on, and when Dr. Phil is on, everything else comes a very distant second.
“Hmm, could’ve been,” Jared agrees.
Jared finally spots the book he’s looking for. It’s under M. Perhaps he should have another go at teaching Sadie the alphabet. Jared settles on the other couch, opens the book and promptly starts sneezing. And he keeps sneezing. Seven sneezes in a row. He’s broken his own record.
“You know,” Jensen says, “Dr. Phil was just talking about sneezing and why people sneeze. It’s not just allergies. It can be an infection or a virus. Apparently there is a rare strain of the flu heading our way this winter. Hey, Jared, have you had your flu vaccination?”
Jared raises his eyebrow in Jensen’s direction.
“Thanks for your concern, Jen.”
Just because he sneezes seven times in a row doesn’t mean Jared has contracted some exotic strain of influenza previously thought not to have existed this side of the equator. It just means Jared has to make sure Jensen does a better job when he dusts.
The second time it happens it’s the morning after the night before. Jared wakes up with the mother of all headaches, and after ten minutes of lying with his head buried in his pillow he accepts, that the world isn’t going to disappear no matter how hard he wishes it would. He finally drags himself out of bed and downstairs.
Jensen is in the kitchen looking as bright and cheerful as he usually does first thing in the morning which, for Jensen, isn’t all that bright and cheerful but Jared still thinks it’s unfair. He’s got inches on Jensen in height and across the chest and everywhere else it counts but Jensen has always been able to hold his drink better than Jared.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Jensen says, sipping at his cup of coffee.
“M’ head hurts,” Jared mutters taking a seat at the table and gingerly lowering his head to the cool surface. “Hangovers suck.”
Chuckling to himself, Jensen opens the cupboard above the fridge and retrieves the box of Aspirin for the second time that morning. He makes a mental note to put Aspirin on the shopping list as he pops two of the remaining four tablets from the box of 96 into Jared’s waiting hand. It doesn’t occur to him to make a mental note for him and Jared to drink any less.
“You know, on Dr. Phil the other day he was talking about headaches and all the causes. Are you sure it’s a hangover, Jay? I mean, you did drink less than me. Perhaps it’s a… “
“It’s not a tumour,” Jared quips, doing the very best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation he can muster under the circumstances. Jared’s a funny guy after all and even in his current condition he’s got a reputation to maintain.
“I’m just saying…”
“Shut up, Jensen”
Just because Jared has a headache, it doesn’t mean that Jared has developed a debilitating neurological disorder or anything like that. It just means Jared shouldn’t let Jensen drag his sorry ass to yet another bar in downtown Vancouver looking for that elusive perfect beer.
The third time it happens is while their full-time bodyguard and part-time chef, Cliff, is taking a well earned vacation down in Miami. The studio has provided them with a temporary bodyguard who is big and mean and scary looking but, unlike Cliff, can’t cook for shit.
As it turns out, neither can Jensen or Jared.
After pushing the slop, which the packet promised would resemble Spaghetti Bolognaise, around their plates for five minutes both boys give up any pretence of eating it.
Jensen reaches for the phone and the menu from their favourite Thai take-out at the same time as Jared scrapes their plates into Sadie and Harley’s bowls. Sadie takes one sniff, turns her nose up and strolls back to her doggy futon. Harley, never one to bother with ceremony, wolfs down the entire contents of both bowls.
Ten minutes later, he returns the entire contents of both bowls to the kitchen floor.
“Awww, poor baby. It’s okay, boy. You’re okay...” Jared coos, all the while trying to pull Harley away from the mess and stopping him from repeating the whole process again.
“You know,” Jensen yells from where he has escaped into the next room for fear of retching in sympathy with Harley. “You know, on Dr. Phil the other day he was talking about why people throw up. It’s not always because of bad food. There is any number of things…”
“Jensen?”
“Yeah…”
“Shut up.”
Just because Harley throws up doesn’t mean Harley is suffering from a stomach ulcer or anything equally bad. It just means Jared shouldn’t let Jensen, or himself, near a kitchen to prepare any food other than breakfast cereal or toast.
The fourth time it happens is 45 minutes after the third time. Jensen and Jared are sitting in the lounge room watching the Spurs take on the Pistons. Take out food containers cover the coffee table in front of them and Jared carefully stacks his plate high with a sample of every dish available. He’s a big boy and it takes a lot to fill those extra inches.
He pauses momentarily, contemplating what to try first. Settling on the Gai Pad Kro Prao, he scoops some onto his fork and brings it too his mouth. His last coherent thought before his face burns red, his eyes start watering, and his body is wracked by a coughing fit is, ‘Ooh, spicy...’
“You know,” Jensen says, watching Jared with a frown. “On Dr. Phil the other day he was talking about what causes people to cough and… ”
Jared’s coughing and spluttering eases and he is up and off the couch and making a bee line for the kitchen before Jensen has the chance to say another word. Jared rips the piece of paper off fridge, causing the little magnet holding it in place to go flying across the tiled floor. He grabs a Sharpie from the utility draw and sits himself at the table. The piece of paper contains a handwritten list. Jared very carefully adds another item to the list.
CHÂTEAU PADACKLES RULE #7:
Jensen must never use any medical knowledge gained from Dr. Phil to attempt to diagnose any illness, psychological or physiological, which Jared, or his dogs, may or may not have.
Satisfied with his penmanship, Jared retrieves the magnet and reattaches the list to the fridge before making his way back to the lounge room to finish his dinner.
Two days later, Jared picks up his first edition copy of Stephen King’s The Shining from beside the couch, where it has been since the day he took it off the bookcase. He flicks through the pages looking for the beginning of chapter one and promptly sneezes seven times in a row.
Jensen, from his position on the other couch, says nothing.
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