do you miss cockles week already? Because I do. Also are you pumped to see stuff from SDCC? I'm dying to see the sneak peek clip!
Oh god! I was seriously just looking over the Cockles Week blog like an hour ago … just sighing and reminiscing and wishing that there were more Cockles fics to read.
We should really make it a Cockles year!
And yes! The SDCC stuff needs to get posted soon, although … I must admit, I don’t follow comic con too closely, so I don’t know exactly who from SPN was there or what to expect, but really … I don’t care. Any bit from them is awesome!
So, I know Cockles Week is technically over but I am still counting this because it’s not midnight yet, and damnit ... I said I was going to have three stories done this week, and that’s what I fucking did!
So, this prompt was given to me approximately eight billion years ago by earthdragon1. I hope you like it, my dear.
The strings on his guitar cut into his fingers, telling him it’s been too long since he played. Jensen bites the inside of his lip as he presses harder—working in new callouses, trying to find the right chords … still failing. It’s been a long day of filming and they’re finally done; but it seems even his means of relaxing want to stress him out.
He’s ready for bed.
He’s ready to go home.
He’s even kind of ready for the season just to be over.
Something about this day … something about this week, it’s draining him and he just wants it to end.
The guitar is soon leaned up beside him on the couch, sitting there like an estranged friend who randomly popped in for a visit. They stay in anxious silence a bit longer before Jensen finally gets up and walks away, needing to make some kind of noise to inch out the ones in his head— Danneel’s laugh. The sound of their dog growling as he chews on his toys—the tiny thump of his baby’s heartbeat when he presses his ear to the beautiful curve of his wife’s belly. The sounds are tainted now with distance—fading cruelly into the sky. He takes some long strides towards his fridge, quickly opening it and grabbing a couple of beers—knowing he’ll finish the first quickly, and won’t want to move again for the second. The bottles clink in his hand, already dulling some of the echoes between his ears. He heads back to the tiny living area in his trailer, sitting down in a chair that faces away from the couch and that old friend who just doesn’t want to sing for him. With a twist of his wrist, another friend makes a timely appearance—pressing to his lips with warmth and welcome.
The world outside his trailer starts to slip away. Every inch of wire and every clunky piece of equipment all diminish with his vision. The set singes around the edges—curling into itself like a note on fire. That old, busted prop bus’s wheels fill once more with air and it rolls away … taking with it every other portion of this place; this place that was created for a week—for this episode … for millions of eyes—but not his.
Jensen wriggles down in his chair, squeezing his lids tighter as he tries to imagine that he’s home … no longer needing to play up his fear and his hurt for the sake of Dean Winchester. He knows it’s not real—it’s only acting, but the well he has to tap is all too of this world; and when it drains, the only place left for the muck to rush is through his mind—drowning out all the current feelings that make him want to smile. The images of Jared in a hospital bed flash across his recent memory. Misha—looking sad and dejected, turning away from him and leaving for good … himself, not being able to stop any of it—it’s real somehow. At the time, they were Sam and Cas, but right now, as he struggles against the sloshing fluxes of his reminiscences, they’re his best friends and the emotions needed in order to make the scene—used their true names. It hit him hard. This whole, damn season is just hitting him hard.
His eyes burst open as he hears someone yelling outside. Jensen sits up as the sound grows nearer—soon, filling the air just beyond his door.
“Jared! I don’t know why you think this is helping, but it’s not! Put me down!”
“Not yet … almost there.”
“You are fucking insane! Did you learn empathy from a caveman? Put me the fuck down!”
He hears a hollow thud—the sound a body makes when colliding with a fist … something he hears a lot when he’s got his Dean-suit on.
“Ow! Stop it! I’m gonna put you down in a sec, just stop hitting me!”
“Stop wearing me like a scarf!”
His door rattles—quickly flying open after the latch is freed. Jensen’s face pinches with confusion as two feet enter first—floating in midair. The black loafers are trailed by a set of long legs, then a torso, bent like a hanger over Jared’s broad shoulder. The tall man presses inside, finally revealing the second half of Misha—looking defeated and exhausted at his back.
“Okay … here we go” Jared says while walking towards the couch. He reaches out for Jensen’s guitar, quickly grabbing its neck and handing it back to his confused friend.
Jensen takes it blindly—setting it on the ground next to his chair. His eyes are still glued on Jared as he flings Misha off his shoulder and onto the couch. The shorter man coughs as he hits the cushions—sounding like the wind had been knocked out of him.
Jared finally turns to meet Jensen’s eyes. “Hey, man” he says, sounding a little out of breath but happy—relaxed, and Jensen envies the tone.
“Umm … hey, guys. What’s going on?”
“Jared kidnapped me, that’s what’s going on!” Misha growls, kicking his feet round and sitting up on the couch in one, fluid motion. His head drops into his palms and he runs his fingers through his already messy hair—dragging them back down and rubbing his eyes. He leaves them there, as if hiding from any other attacks that could be awaiting him.
“Can you do something about this?” Jared asks, rounding back to Jensen after looking down, frowning at Misha’s crumpled form. His hand gestures over to the man and Jensen follows it.
“About what?”
“Nothing … your friend here is just being an intrusive idiot” Misha mumbles through his fingers—still keeping the world at a distance.
“No, I’m trying to be nice” Jared hisses, barely cocking his head in Misha’s direction. His eyes focus harder on Jensen. “I found him like this. I mean … he’s been off all week—you’ve noticed that, right? And then I go into the viewing room to grab something … and I find this guy—sitting in the dark, all hunched over like he is now. Obviously, something’s up with him.”
Jensen’s lips part as if he actually has words to say—but he has nothing. He turns to take a closer look at Misha as the man finally peeks out from his palms. His eyes are sunken in … and it’s not from the make-up on his face. The crystal blues are dulled and dirtied—coated with something he just can’t pinpoint. He almost seems pale. Is he sick? Jensen starts to feel his stomach churn with alarm. “You okay, man?” he finally asks, his worried heart aching as it cautiously pounds.
“I’m fine. Jared just has an over active imagination and wants me to play the part of the worst-case-scenario.” The angry fire that’s filling Misha’s glare burns Jensen by association, and he wonders how Jared’s hair isn’t smoking. “I’m just tired, and I was about on my way back to my trailer for a nap when this behemoth decided to attack me with questions … and then just attack me.”
Jared rolls his eyes. “Well, if you actually answered my questions, I wouldn’t have had to drag you over here.”
“If you would have just left me alone, you wouldn’t have felt compelled to drag me anywhere!”
“I’m not going to leave you alone if you’re depressed.”
Misha finally pulls his back into a straight line, squinting his eyes as he heatedly peers at the tree of a man standing between them. “I’m not depressed.”
Jared laughs sarcastically as he scans back to their friend. “I know what depressed looks like, man. It looks like you.”
Misha’s jaw clenches on restrained words before disappearing once more into the darkness of his hands.
“Anyway, can you do something about this, man? He won’t talk with me but I figured he probably would with you—and he needs to talk to somebody, or whatever is eating him is going to eat him completely, and I don’t want to see that happen.”
Jensen nods after a moment, still trying to wrap his head around it all. He’s honestly not sure what he can do—of course he wants to help, but he doesn’t feel like he can be much help to anyone right now. Misha’s sighs, deep and loud—drawing Jensen’s eyes back to him, curled on his couch. He looks miserable. I need to do something. He may not accomplish much, but he can at least try. “Yeah, man. I’ll talk to him. But … I think you better go before he strangles you.”
Misha peeks through his fingers, making eye contact with Jensen for the first time since he was dragged in … something seems to glow behind his irises.
Jared looks down at their messy headed co-star one more time before finally bobbing his head. “Yeah … okay, good idea. Let me know if you guys need anything. I think I’m gonna stay in the trailer tonight anyway, so I’ll be around.”
“Will do, bud. Thanks” Jensen offers, standing up with the last of his words.
Jared reaches out and collects him in a quick hug—that’s almost too full of feeling for its brevity. They pull apart and in another moment, one of the man’s heavy hands is clasping down on Misha’s shoulder. “Take care, buddy … and for what it’s worth … sorry if I pissed you off.”
Misha shrugs away the touch, grumbling some indecipherable curses without looking up.
“Okay … well, I’m off.” And with that, Jared turns and heads out the door—letting it slam behind him on squeaky hinges—shutting in his two best friends and all the words still left to be said.
“So …” Jensen begins after a quiet moment, hoping that Misha’s lips will unglue now that Jared is gone.
“So … if you don’t mind …” Misha whispers, uncurling his body again and turning his head towards the door. “I’m going to take my leave and try to get a nap in before I have to skype with Vicki.” The man doesn’t waste another moment and is soon pushing himself upwards, seeming almost uneasy on his own feet—rocking forward with his weight.
“Uh …” Jensen begins to panic a little—unsure if he should try and stop the guy. After all, it’s not every day that his best friend just drops someone on his couch—there has to be a reason. “Hey … well, I mean, you can stay, Mish. I don’t mind. I—I know you’re tired but, you could stay a bit … you know, if you wanna talk.” He rubs the back of his neck, gritting his teeth with his own, poor attempt.
Misha forces a smile—a much sorrier effort, especially from someone who usually puts his all into everything. “Thank you, Jensen, but I really am fine. Jared is just paranoid and a worrier. I know his heart is in the right place, but his means of helping people needs to evolve about fifteen thousand years.”
“Heh, yeah” Jensen agrees, even though he knows—there’s really no one better at listening than Jared. There’s no better friend in the world; which begs the question: why the hell did he bring Misha here? His distraction on the thought is stunted as Misha starts to walk away. Damnit! He bites down, cutting off his uneasiness at the base and trusting Jared’s instinct over everything else. He thinks Jensen can help … so he should help. “Man … I know … I know you’re fine, but um, I’ve been having a rough time lately. I don’t know. I’m really stressed out over all this soon-to-be dad shit, and then just all this travel and crap. Man, I’m fucking exhausted and … and I was just hopin’ we could talk about it, ya know? I mean—you get it. You’re doing it too.”
Misha stopped just shy of the door, staring at the handle as Jensen finishes his speech. He finally glances back, a look on his face that proves he knows what his friend is trying to do, but his words play along anyway. He lets out a heavy sigh and shifts around again to the inside of the trailer. “Sure, Jen … you know I’m always here if you need to talk.”
Jensen smiles weakly, already kicking himself for the lie. He doesn’t want to talk—he’s not a talker. He likes to be alone when he’s upset, or with Danneel; and even then, she will just lay his head in her lap and run her hands through his hair—giving him his time to work it out. His chest tightens with the thought … he wishes that’s where he could be right now. She is all he really needs.
Misha begins to move past him, shrinking with each step and seeming too close to breaking. But he needs someone too. The realization pushes the ache down, squelching it beneath the firm press of concern for his friend’s wellbeing. He watches as the man sits upon the couch for a second time, peering back to him in intervals—bouncing between expectant and anxious. Jensen turns a corner of his mouth up, watching as Misha mimics the action—knowing that neither one of them is fooling the other. With a labored breath, he finally moves over to the man’s side and sits a distance away—understanding that closeness would only make things more tense.
A minute passes with nothing said—save the words screeching through his brain, all seeming too random and fake to offer in this moment.
“So?” Misha finally starts, peeking over to Jensen and shrugging his shoulders.
“So ... um, yeah …” he gives himself a moment to figure out what to say “So—I’ve … I’ve been stressed, you know” Jensen stammers, knowing it’s true but wondering why he feels like he’s lying. “Just … life has been tough and filming … filming has been getting to me.”
“I know what you mean” Misha offers, leaning back against the pillows behind him—looking somewhat at ease for the first time since he was carried in here.
“Yeah, man … what is it about this season?” A comfort begins to brew within his words and he leans back as well—relaxing with his friend who is thankfully—starting to feel like one once more.
“I don’t know” Misha grumbles but Jensen thinks there isn’t much truth in that.
He decides to wait on pressing the matter further. “It’s seriously like every episode has been designed to be a total life-suck.”
An honest but strained chuckle spurts from Misha’s throat. “Yeah … I am starting to wonder if they’re just really trying to break us.”
“Maybe” Jensen considers out loud, not liking the part of him that believes it might be true.
“But … we just have to tough it out, I guess. It’s our job.”
Jensen turns and eyes his friend curiously. He’s never heard the man say something so generic—so easy. Misha is not one to offer up such a standard platitudes. He’s the opposite of standard. There’s nothing generic about him. He’s handmade—one of a kind, unique and unlabeled. Something must be really wrong. “Yeah … I guess.” Jensen takes a deep breath, feeling even more helpless now than he did before. “I just … I mean, I know it’s our job to basically fake everything; but … it always feels just a little wrong to put on a smile when you’re actually feeling miserable.” He sighs, turning away from the man beside him and setting his eyes to the stucco. “And it’s even worse when you have to fake the misery—but … it’s not really fake at all.” He sees Misha nod slowly from the corner of his eye. “I don’t even know why, but right now it’s like every scene we do is just hitting some raw nerve. It’s been fucking me up, man … you know? It’s like the entire script is trying to trudge up something.” Jensen rocks his head to the right once more to watch for Misha’s response; but only sees the man’s neck straining to turn away from him. Strangled noises squeak at random from his throat, and the barely-visible rim of his eye is glimmering with a tear. “Mish?”
Misha shakes his head—still wrenched opposite from Jensen’s concerned looks.
“Mish … you okay, man?”
More choked noises muscle past his chapped lips.
“Hey … hey, it’s alright …” Jensen begins to scoot closer, reaching out his hand to touch Misha’s shoulder, but it’s jerked away—somehow knowing that the fingers are looming there. “Mish …”
“No! I’m fine!” he spits, coughing to try to straighten out his voice—but it’s still worn-out with dents and pinches.
“I … I know you keep saying that, but it’s kind of obvious you’re not, man.” Jensen inches in more, chasing his friend until they’re both lop-siding the sofa.
“I am … I promise. I’m just … being stupid” Misha whispers, sniffling slightly and running his hand across his face.
Jensen sighs, looking over his friend’s back and wishing the guy would turn around. “Whatever this is …” he softens his voice and let’s his fingers finally connect with the man’s shoulder, sliding down the tensed arm slowly, and squeezing it tight “It certainly doesn’t seem stupid to you … not really.”
Misha breaks, hunching forward over the side of the couch and muffling his sobs with the heels of his hands. The top of his spine is soon warmed with Jensen’s touch—rubbing in comfort with a thumb as the body beneath quietly heaves and lurches.
“Talk to me, man … whatever it is, it’s okay to talk about it.”
Misha explodes, bouncing to his feet and turning around—his face is red and wet, but his eyes are burning—making him seem like a stranger … some other thing that Jensen has never met before. This isn’t the man he’s knows … at least, he doesn’t think it is. “It’s not okay! I don’t get to be upset about this! I have no right! I have no, fucking right, okay? I was lucky!”
Jensen tilts back, nodding out of fear and uncertainty. What is he talking about? “Okay … okay, Mish. I believe you …” he holds up an open hand, displaying his defenselessness. After a push, he begins to stand slowly, and Misha starts to back away, composing himself with each step. “But … can you … can you tell me what it is you’re talking about?”
Misha shakes his head again, looking more embarrassed than anything. “No … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry, Jensen.”
His heart cracks with the apology he neither needs nor wants. “Man, it’s fine. Really … nothing to be sorry for; I just—I want to help.” Jensen walks a little closer, backing the man into a corner and making him lean up against the wall.
“I—I told you, it’s stupid. I really am just being stupid. I don’t even know why this is getting to me. It never has before” Misha whispers, his eyes—finding solace in the ground beneath them.
“Just because it’s something that hasn’t bothered you before, doesn’t mean it can’t bother you now. I—I don’t know what all this is about, but I know you … you don’t make a big deal over nothing.”
Misha folds his arms across his chest, hugging himself and making Jensen feel guiltier that he’s not the one taking on the task.
He compromises; reaching out his hands and rubbing Misha’s shoulders, ducking his head down to try and catch the man’s eye. “Now, please … tell me what this is about.”
“All the … all the scenes with Cas … not having any place to go …”
“He’s homeless” Jensen finishes for him—the pieces finally clicking together in his mind. Cas is homeless—just like Misha was at one point. Shit. He feels even worse for not thinking of it on his own—for not asking the guy about how he would handle it when they first got the script. He knows about Misha’s past—not in great detail, because the man only ever shares the funny stories … but he knows; and he should have known better. Jensen kicks himself over and over, trying to whip his empathy back into shape—because, it’s obviously been lacking. “I’m sorry, Mish … these scenes must have brought back a lot of crap.”
Misha nearly growls, straightening out again and tensing beneath Jensen’s hands—making them fall from his shoulders. Their eyes meet in a cold stare. “It’s not the same though. I was lucky … it shouldn’t be bringing up crap because it’s not the same.” The quiet fury in Misha’s voice locks Jensen’s joints in place. “I don’t get to drown myself in pity I didn’t even earn.”
“I—I’m sorry … I don’t know what you mean” Jensen stutters, hoping an explanation won’t upset his friend more.
“I had people! Cas doesn’t have anyone, but I had people! I wasn’t alone! I was loved—am loved! I’m fucking lucky and have been all my life! I don’t get to let his story relate to mine! They’re not the same!”
Jensen’s mouth opens before he can catch the latch. “But … you were homeless too …”
Misha’s eyes steady on him and Jensen feels like he might have just said one of the dumbest things in history. “But … it’s different.”
He bites his tongue, wanting to ask how, yet—learning his lesson from a moment ago.
“It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. I just need to pull myself together” he sips between rattled breaths. “I told you … this is all just really stupid and I’m overreacting for some reason.”
The hinges on his jaw fail again—letting more thoughts rush out without being filtered. “Can you tell me about it?”
Misha stills, looking hard at Jensen’s face as he finally turns back to him. “About?”
Nervousness clenches his heart, but he presses on. “About how it’s different. I wanna know.”
“I don’t think now is—”
“Please, Mish?” Jensen begs, knowing that if he lets this go now, Misha will only get worse—he can’t let that happen.
“Jensen …” Misha looks down again—his eyes softening as more tears wash over their arches.
“Please.” He rests his hand once more atop the man’s shoulder, feeling him diminish with every second it remains there.
Misha nods pathetically.
“Thanks … thanks, man.” He exhales a breath he feels like he’s been holding for too long. “Okay … let’s sit back down, alright? Is that okay?”
Misha nods again—weaker than before.
“Okay, man … c’mon.” Jensen firms his touch and pulls Misha closer; leading him around his body and eventually nudging him back towards the couch. The man plops down in the middle—his eyes, glazed over with wet and hurt. Jensen sits right beside him—letting their sides press together and their knees touch. “So ... I mean … when—when did this all start getting to you?”
“The bus” Misha says flatly—his words so quiet, Jensen barely hears him.
“Oh …” He stalls—at a loss of what to say next. “Did … did that remind you of something?”
“We slept on one once. My brother, my mom and myself—but it was a nicer one. We found it unlocked, and it was really cold outside; but the bus had just been turned in for the night, so it was still warm and it was well insulated. We lucked out.”
Jensen nods, feeling himself choke up at the thought of a couple of kids and their mother—really having no other option than an unlocked bus. “Yeah …” he tries to play up his enthusiasm. “That was really good it was unlocked, man.”
Misha nods some more—obviously not willing to offer up too much without being compelled.
“So, it must have been weird … thinking about that again. I can see—I mean … I get why that might start to eat at you.”
The meager man beside him sighs, bending forward—placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “But it shouldn’t” he grumbles, seeming thoroughly aggravated with himself. “Cas was there because he was turned away by the people he loves. He’s lost and confused—alone and in constant danger. That wasn’t how it was for me. My mom was always there. I never for one moment felt like a burden to her—even though, I’m sure I was. I felt lucky—I was lucky … because I knew I could help her too by taking care of Sasha. We all had each other. We weren’t in danger of losing that … we wouldn’t allow it.”
Jensen nods, snaking his hand around Misha’s back and patting his side. “Yeah … I get that, I do—but I mean, how old were you then? You had to be young, man. That shit still must have been scary, even with your mom there. It’s understandable that those things would fuck you up because of scenes like that.”
He watches as Misha lifts his head and bites his lip—clenching his jaw as his eyes fill again. A watery glance is soon tossed in Jensen’s direction. “I—I didn’t want to be scared.”
Jensen pulls the man closer to his side. “No one wants to be scared, Mish. But it’s normal to feel that way when things aren’t in your control.”
The man’s blue eyes shake as more red etches into the white. “I couldn’t show it … you know, because of Sasha. If I was scared … he would be too. So—so I smiled when I wanted to cry. I—I made sure I joked around with him, and made him laugh … but sometimes it wouldn’t work. He’d still …” Misha’s voice cracks and he sucks in more air—as if there’s not enough for them both to breathe. “He’d still cry … he’d still cry and then my mom would have to hold him. I felt so useless!” His fingers shoot up and tangle into his own hair. “Fuck. I just didn’t want him to cry!” The sobs come in heaves—breaking him in half. Jensen flings his other arm around his front, wrapping him up and pulling him into his chest.
“He’s okay, Mish” he whispers, unsure if his friend can hear him over his own fits. “Sasha is okay—your mom is okay … everything you couldn’t do for them then, you can do for them now. And I know that you are … you’re still there for them.”
“But what if he remembers?” Misha gasps, letting more tears spill out onto Jensen’s shirt.
“Who? Sasha?” Jensen asks helplessly—wishing he knew more of the story beforehand so he could be of better help now.
“What if he remembers the cold? What if he remembers the sounds?” Misha grips at Jensen’s arms, as if he is trying to pull them closer—Jensen does it for him, and the man ducks his head into their hold.
“I … I don’t know …” Jensen shakes his head at himself, at very least, feeling grateful that Misha can’t see the panicked look on his face. “I—I’m sure he doesn’t remember much.”
“I didn’t think I really remembered! Not until the bus!” Misha counters, now—trying to pull away but Jensen holds him steady; and he’s not sure which one of them he’s really doing it for.
“Oh.”
“What if something happens and he remembers? There’s so much I don’t want him to think about …” His cries die down a little as he stops himself—apparently, not wanting his mind to go there either.
Jensen leans back, bringing Misha with him and pulling the man’s head onto his shoulder. “Mish … I—I can’t say for certain if he remembers or not. But … if you always tried to make him laugh, or you always tried to be the thing he focused on instead of all the bad stuff—I’m sure he remembers that more than anything.” He smiles slightly and lifts his hand, letting his fingers run through the tangles in Misha’s hair—gently undoing each one. “That’s what everyone remembers about you. That’s what makes you so amazing. People only think about how you make them happy—that’s all you leave room for.”
Jensen listens as the man leaning against him quiets—his chest, still jerking with rushing breaths, but obviously on the downhill portion of the race. He watches as Misha rubs at his eyes, trying to wipe away the mess. In another moment, Jensen is reaching behind him, blindly feeling around the sofa-table to find the box of tissues he normally keeps there. He nearly knocks over his wedding photo before he finds it, quickly stilling the frame and then grabbing hold of the box, bringing it round—handing it to his friend. Misha takes a few tissues and cleans himself off … blowing his nose and making Jensen chuckle with the trumpeting noise. He feels Misha give a small laugh as well—inhaling easier now and giving some peace to the room.
They sit quietly for a long while—watching the night spread across the window in gusts. One by one, crickets join in a chorus to give life to the dark—and behind them, tree frogs round out the bass, leaving the men with something to listen to as more words take their time to mature and grow. Misha had about quieted completely when Jensen added his own chords to the symphony—sounding somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.
“What?” he asks softly, nuzzling his head further into the curve of Jensen’s neck.
“I was just thinking …” Jensen begins, letting his tired mind off its leash—not caring how far it runs. “How you’d be a much better Dean than what we have now.”
Misha peels himself from his friend’s side, making Jensen shiver with his absence. Swollen blue eyes look him over in question, obviously not getting where he’s going with this.
Jensen sighs. “You have a little brother who you had to look after—even while you moved around … all over the place. I mean, you had to be brave for him—you tried to make sure he didn’t know about the dangers in the world—but I’m sure you still taught him how to protect himself too.” Jensen smiles and looks away towards the wall of photos that stands next to his door—over nine years’ worth of memories, all from the perspective of someone he had to train to be—meanwhile, Misha came by it all naturally. “You lived his story, man. I had to learn it, but you lived it.”
Misha shakes his head as he looks down at the small space between their bodies, pressing his lips together in a hard line. “I wouldn’t be a good Dean … I’d fall apart with every episode; you can attest to that.”
“That’s what I mean though.”
Misha glances back up—seemingly more puzzled than he was before.
“You’d be a better Dean. You wouldn’t brood and push people away. You would be honest and helpful.”
The worn out man laughs sarcastically. “Lest you forget Jensen, I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about sharing all this … I think I’m more like the current Dean than I would even care to admit.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No … I know that Dean. I know him really well. You’re not him.” He reaches out and pulls Misha against his side once more—closing his eyes and smiling as the man nestles down like it’s a habit—like it’s something they always do—a routine that offers mutual comfort without any question … without any concern. “That’s why it’s good that you’re Cas … you’re the better person that Dean can strive to be. I know Cas isn’t perfect—”
Misha scoffs. “Ain’t that the truth!”
Jensen nudges him with the side of his arm, laughing into the man’s hair as it tickles his chin. “But he’s the guy Dean can focus on—the one who makes him laugh when the night is too cold, and the noises outside are too loud. He’s the only protection Dean really has … and I’m telling ya, man … that means everything to him. Dean won’t ever forget that.”
Check out my other Cockles-Week fics:
“Seven Years in Debate” and “Tough and Muddy”
For other Cockles and Destiel stories, check out my Ao3!
spnon I hope you don’t mind me sharing this, but it was just so hilarious and sweet-- I felt compelled to!
Thank you so, so much! And, you’re right! Cockles is the most rewarding ship! Jensen’s heart eyes, their bickering ... the touches and their inside jokes! The curiously timed tweets and romantic photos ... the stories they tell about each other and the fond, far off look they take on afterwards ... Cockles is real, man. There’s just no doubt in my mind!
*sigh*
Anyway ... thank you again! We shall burn in this trash pile together!
The main reason Jensen likes to get Misha to laugh during takes is because Misha usually turns around once he cracks a smile ... and then Jensen can look at his perky, firm butt.
This was prompt given to me by deancasheadcanons for Cockles Week. I admit, this isn’t my best work, but I hope it’s at least decent and a little entertaining. The net one I have in the works is already turning out better, so don’t lose faith in me yet!
It was supposed to be a joke, like it was with Jared.
Just a “Hey, man … did you hear about this … ha-ha-ha” kind of thing.
That’s what guys do … that’s how they mess around with each other.
Everyone knows that.
Everyone except for Misha fucking Collins, as Jensen quickly found out.
It didn’t surprise him when they got halfway through the fourth season and fans started asking what was up with Dean and the angel. He honestly wasn’t surprised by much anymore—because between Supernatural and Supernatural fans’ imaginations … everything seems to have been covered. Hell, at one point they even thought Dean and Sam were getting freaky in all those motel rooms. Jensen cringed at that one—they’re brothers for Christ’s sake. But he shook it off, knowing that he couldn’t sway the minds of millions. In any event, him and Jared had a good laugh about it, and they will still joke around with the idea—both completely at ease because they know the other is just being an idiot.
But not Misha.
No … never Misha!
It was just an off the cuff comment—something worth a quick laugh and that should have been forgotten while waiting in line at the food truck. That’s all it was supposed to be, but when Jensen pulled himself close to Misha’s ear, deepening his voice—thoroughly getting into Dean mode, whispering “Hey there, if it isn’t the sexiest angel in the garrison” he wasn’t expecting it to start seven years’ worth of debates.
“What?” Misha mumbled, turning slowly to face Jensen head on.
The man laughed nervously, still unable to completely read his new friend’s deep, blue eyes. “Uhh … kidding. It was a joke … the uh, the fans … they think Dean and Cas are like … fucking or something. I just thought … sorry, man. I was just being stupid. It’s stupid.”
“Why is that stupid?” Misha asked, his voice—stern and still sounding like the angel’s after their last take.
Jensen raised an unsure hand to rub the back of his neck. “I—well, you know, because Dean and Cas … it’s obviously not anything. I mean, they’re friends at best. You’ve read the scripts.”
Misha put one hand on his hip, quickly placing the other on the side of the food truck. He leaned all his weight against it—shaking his head at his co-star and acting like there was a lecture to be had.
Jensen looked around them—wondering if anyone else was as confused by the guy’s reaction as he was.
“Yes, I read the scripts and I saw a lot between the lines. I can understand how the fans might infer something like that.”
Jensen’s mouth gaped. He took one last survey of the lot—expecting Jared to be giggling behind a corner, ready to let him in on the joke. No Jared. “Seriously?” he finally reeled, meeting back up with Misha’s intense stare.
“Of course … interpretation is a major part of any good show. If the writers didn’t leave room for it, you probably would be auditioning for something else right now.”
Jensen scrunched his face up, still wrapping his head around the fact that the two of them weren’t laughing hysterically over it all. “Really? So you think … you think Cas and Dean …”
“I think it’s possible” Misha interjected, “and I don’t think the idea is all that ludicrous. In fact, I hope that if the fans are looking for that sort of relationship in the show, the writers will be bold enough to explore it.”
Jensen’s eyes blew wide. “Woah! Hey now … I don’t know about you, but I’m not—”
“I wasn’t specifically talking about you and me, Jensen … or, well, Dean and Cas. I am just saying in general. There is not very much homosexual or alternative representation on television these days; and what is there—is either a punchline to a joke, or it’s the sole purpose for the show. I wish it could just be portrayed as a normal thing—not a big thing or something to gawk at, just normal. You know?”
“No!” Jensen spat, his head spinning uncontrollably from the sharp left turn that this all took. “I mean … well, yeah. That would be cool … I’m not homophobic or anything. I’m just not gay. I just don’t … ya know … I don’t want to be the one doing the representing.”
After a soft sigh, a smile returned to Misha’s face and he nodded—finally lowering his hand and standing straighter. “Fair enough. Well … we’re holding up the line. Better get a move on if we’re going to eat before the next scene.” And with that, the man rounded the corner to start filling up his plate.
Jensen remained in his spot on the warn blacktop—still staring blankly at where Misha had stood. “What the actual fuck?”
He just wanted to make the guy laugh.
-Three Years Later-
“Oh my God! That’s not what I’m saying at all!”
“What are you saying? Because it sure as hell sounds like you want this to be some romantic scene where Dean and Cas get busy in the back seat!”
“Guys?” Bob calls out, trying to catch the men’s attention, but Jensen and Misha are too far gone.
“No! I admit … the dialogue is out of character, and we should adjust it so it’s a better fit; but I don’t think we need to adjust what is being said or why” Misha hisses—adopting a haughty stance and clenching his fists on his hips.
Jensen throws out an arm in presentation of his friend, quickly looking around the set at the exhausted crew. “Can you believe this guy? Bob! Back me up here!”
“I don’t want to get into this again, guys.”
“What do you mean again? We just got the script yesterday! And you even said that this scene wasn’t adding up!”
“He said that it was worded weirdly and that some changes needed to be made—which, I agree with; but you want to take out the entire intention behind Dean giving Cas back his coat … you want to act like it doesn’t represent something, and it obviously does!” Misha barks, bringing Jensen’s eyes back to him.
“It can mean something, just not that something!”
“Why is it all or nothing with you? You realize that there are different levels of intimacy, right? There are different undercurrents to every relationship? Cas doesn’t need to be fucking Dean’s brains out to show that he cares about him more than anyone else.”
“Still …” Jensen pauses a moment, reaching over to grab a copy of the episode’s script from a nearby chair. He clears his throat, playing up a face that looks on the brink of tears. “I kept this … I guess—I guess I just always hoped you’d come back someday … I—I missed you.” His face straightens out once more, quickly looking fed up with it all. “Tell me that doesn’t sound like the end of every cheesy romance movie you’ve ever seen.”
“Of course it does, and like I said several times—the wording needs to change, but there is a reason Dean would keep Castiel’s coat. There is a reason he would have it folded and carry it with him everywhere! There is a reason that’s being eluded to here—either intentionally or not, but it’s there! You just need to realize it.”
“Oh, I realize it … the reason is Dean’s a sentimental guy and missed his buddy. His bu-ddy, and that’s it!”
“Oh my—you are the most closed minded son of a bitch I’ve ever met!”
A collective groan erupts from the crew—knowing exactly how Jensen is going to respond to such a comment—and knowing it’s going to make this argument carry on for another twenty minutes at least.
“Closed minded! Ha! I’m sure everyone seems closed minded to a guy who’s so open, he puts hippies to shame!”
“Oh you just never let anything go, do you? I tell you one time about some of the crazy things I’ve done, and then you just won’t ever let it go!”
“I didn’t force that information out of you, Mish. You offered it … it’s not my fault how I react.”
Misha’s hands toss up in the air. “See! That is exactly what I’m talking about! You act like your immediate response to things is the only way to respond and therefore, cannot be changed or controlled. That’s closed minded!”
“No, that’s normal.”
“Well … I’m sure as hell glad I’m not normal if that’s your definition.”
Jensen laughs too hard, seeming to force sarcasm through every pore in his skin. “Don’t worry, man. No one would ever confuse you for normal!”
“And no one would ever confuse you for accepting or understanding or pliant or willing to compromise or bend even just a little for anyone else ever!”
The men continue to rant, even as Bob gives the signal to wrap it up. There’s no use keeping everyone around for some excess shots that are neither necessary nor likely to happen at this point. Jensen and Misha are too deep in their weekly routine, and aren’t even fazed as the large lighting stands behind them get shut down, and the backdrop at their sides is stripped away. They continue debating as the crew works around their heated gestures, not noticing how each person’s mouth practically moves with theirs—the words, memorized from three years of hearing them over and over.
As the last of the equipment gets packed away, and as Jensen grabs the copy of the script again to shove in Misha’s face—Bob leans over to one of the PA’s beside him, muttering low enough that he knows the men won’t hear. “They do realize we aren’t even shooting that scene until tomorrow, right?”
***
Jensen’s phone jingles with a new text.
“When are you flying out?” It was Jared.
He smiles to himself, typing out a quick response and hitting “send” a moment later. “I leave in an hour. Should be there by nine.”
Another notification flashes across the glass. “Me too.” But this time, the reply is from Misha.
Jensen looks to the top of the screen, realizing that Jared had started a group chat between the three of them.
“What flight you on?”
“286J” Misha responds in no time at all.
Jensen walks over and looks at the boarding pass he’d printed earlier. 286J. He smiles, liking the fact that he won’t be making the eight hour trip alone this time. “Cool. Me too” he types, hitting another button and letting the message fly away.
“Boarding soon, so I guess I’ll see y’all there?” Jared asks, and Jensen finds himself wanting to tell the guy to switch his flight so they can all go together, but that’s an added hassle that his friend just doesn’t need right now. Jared’s been stressed out lately—with Gen pregnant and an overly stressful season, he has a lot on his plate. A flight together would be fun, but not at his expense.
“Sounds good. Fly safe” Jensen texts back.
“You guys, too.”
“Thanks, we will” Misha offers.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” Jared adds in after a few more seconds.
Misha shoots back a response before Jensen can even read what their co-star had written, “There is very little you wouldn’t do, Jared.” He adds a smiley face at the end with a tongue sticking out.
What a dork Jensen thinks—trying to figure out something witty to add, but his two best friends seem to have it all covered.
Jared tags another message to the conversation. “True, I have done a lot of stupid shit.”
“Yeah and now I want to find something you haven’t done, and do it—just to say I did” Misha jokes—at least, Jensen thinks he’s joking.
“I haven’t done anything to join the Mile High Club … but that’s not for the lack of trying” Jared returns, his message—tied up with a winky face.
“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about us beating you to that” Jensen finally replies, laughing at the thought of Jared trying to maneuver himself in one of those tiny bathrooms. It’d be hard enough for the man just to take a piss—none the less, get some.
“Speak for yourself, Jen” Misha throws in, making him do a double take.
“Figures” Jared follows.
“Seriously?” Jensen adds on, but he’s not really surprised. He can see Vicki initiating that one. She has the guy whipped, and she’s even crazier than he is.
“Finally, something I win at!” Misha cheers—or Jensen assumes by all the wide mouthed smiley faces he’s tacked to his message.
Jared’s text quickly follows “I admit, I’m jealous.”
“Haha” is all Jensen can think to contribute to the new subject—which is starting to make him feel awkward for some reason.
More of Jared’s words comes after a minute. “Well, at least I’ll probably still beat Ackles to it … unless you two decide to get freaky on the plane.”
Jensen’s palms start to sweat, making his phone slip in his hand.
“Don’t worry about that, Jared. I doubt even my best moves could work on the impenetrable Jensen Ackles.”
Jensen’s discomfort contorts into a wiry grimace “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jared is too quick to respond. “Oh shit … here we go again.”
“I’m just saying that you’re set in your ways … there’s no changing old man Ackles.”
The grimace morphs into a snarl. “I’m not old, and I am capable of doing new things.”
“So, are you saying you want my moves to work on you?”
Jensen freezes, realizing that is basically what he said. His fingers fly, trying to dig himself out of this hole. “No! We were talking about the fucking Mile High Club … I was just saying I’d try it, that’s all.”
“Oh lord” Jared chimes in.
“But only with Danneel, right?” Misha asks, but Jensen feels that the question is more rhetorical than anything.
“You act like that’s a bad thing. Yes, only with Danneel.”
Jared jumps in again “Why did I start this?” but Jensen ignores it.
Another text from Misha flashes onto his screen. “Not a bad thing, but you can’t even joke about doing anything else. It’s just a little uptight.”
“Uptight? Wanting to sleep with my wife is uptight?”
“This is no longer about the Mile High Club at all, is it?” Jared responds, basically texting to himself.
“No, as usual—Jensen’s homophobia steals the show.”
“Homophobia? What the fuck? Where did that come from?”
“Probably the usual places: sheltered upbringing, a conservative republican background … religion.”
“Dude … going too far” Jared warns, but Jensen is already red faced and gritting his teeth.
“I am not homophobic and I really resent that, Misha.”
A long pause follows—long enough that his screen turns black, making him set down his phone and think that that may be the end of it all. He suddenly wishes that he was still flying alone.
The cell lights up after another few minutes, and his stomach churns with nerves. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cross a line, Jen.”
“It’s my fault anyway, guys. I shouldn’t have joked about such a sore subject” Jared offers. He sends another text before anyone else can say a word. “Boarding. Take it easy guys … and play nice.”
“Wait, what do you mean ‘sore subject’?” Jensen asks, but a reply from Jared doesn’t come. He must have turned off his phone.
“I don’t know, that was weird. Anyway, I am sorry, Jen. I think I’m just tired, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
The anger slips away as easy as it came—he knows Misha would never purposely insult someone like that … but he still can’t figure out what Jared was talking about. “It’s okay, man. But I got to get ready. I’ll see you at the airport?”
“Yep. See you there.”
With a smile, he sets his phone back down on the counter and heads to his bedroom to finish packing for his week back on set—still wracking his brain, trying to figure out why the Mile High Club would be considered a sore subject for anyone.
-Four Years Later-
“It really has gotten out of hand.”
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s been that bad for years … but lately, it’s just been awkward. Painfully awkward.”
Jeremy, Bob and Robbie all sit around a large conference table, rough drafts for season 11 spread out in front of them—long forgotten once Robbie proposed the idea for a Dean/Cas pairing again. Jeremy had already started to shut him down—knowing how ugly the subject turns when Bob is in the room; but to both of their surprise, Bob wanted to hear the guy out. When asked why he was considering it now—the long discussion began about Jensen and Misha’s seemingly eternal dance that’s been pulverizing the entire crew’s toes.
“They start out bickering—they all bicker. They’re like the weirdest little family I’ve ever seen. I mean, you’ve at least seen that much, right?” Bob asks Jeremy—and the man nods, unimpressed so far. “Well, that’s how it starts, but then it just builds and morphs. At first it was almost angry. A few years back, it seemed like they would get close to decking each other when the subject got brought up. But now …”
“Now?” Jeremy asks, leaning forward with his curiosity.
“Now it’s like this weird, angry flirting. It’s a game of romantic chicken, but … while still pretending that that’s not what they’re doing.”
Jeremy raises an eyebrow, obviously confused by what the man is getting at. “I think you’re going to have to give me an example.”
Bob’s face heats up, not wanting to have to go into detail about this—he doesn’t like to use many words when he doesn’t have to, and really hates it when he has to. “Well … last month, we were filming their fight scene, you know. They were all bloodied up and for the most part—serious and staying in character. But then Misha said something …”
“Yeah?” Jeremy asks, looking over to Robbie who’s wearing a slight smile—as if he knows where this is all going.
“Misha says how Dean can’t kill Cas because killing his own soul mate would be too low—even for Supernatural’s standards.”
Jeremy can only scoff at the remark.
“Well, we all just rolled our eyes and continued about our business because they always do that sort of shit, and it’s not really new. But lately, Jensen hasn’t really been responding how he normally does … I mean, I guess for the past couple of years he has been getting more and more … flirtatious.”
“How do you mean?” Robbie asks, now grinning ear to ear.
Bob rolls his eyes a little, figuring the fan favorite-writer would be the one to get a kick out of all this. “Well, in this case—he walked up real close to Misha and leaned in and just whispered something in his ear … and then Misha pushed him away, laughing. And then they started bickering again—almost like normal. But then Misha went back up to him and put his arm around Jensen’s neck—kind of wrestling him, ya know? So Jensen wrestled back, all while saying how stupid the Destiel thing is and how the fans need to drop it since it’s been how-ever-many years with no evidence.”
Bob watches as Robbie’s smile falls.
“And then Misha goes off on his usual tangent about how there is plenty of evidence in the subtext—basically … everything we addressed in the 200th … but I mean, Jer … I’m telling you, these two are practically screaming at each other, right? Saying the same shit they’ve been saying at damn near every shoot for years. But now … now they’re just grinnin’ while doing it, and touching, and I mean … that time, with the fight scene—Jensen had literally wrestled Misha to the ground and was straddling him, leaning in really close—I mean really close—but still telling the guy that he wouldn’t ever go for the idea of Dean and Cas getting together. And they were just off in their own world, ya know? I mean, it was weird and awkward and we all just had to avert our eyes because it was all too much! It felt like we should have either left or told them to get a room.”
Jeremy holds up his hand, urging Bob to stop while he pinches the bridge of his nose with his other. “So …” he says with a sigh. “What are you getting at with all this, Bob? I mean …”
“We’re sick of it! We’re just sick of it, Jer! The entire crew, myself … even the other directors who are only there for one episode—they’re sick of it before we even wrap! We have been listening to them argue about the damn Destiel shit for nearly seven years now. And over the past two … it seems like it’s more just out of habit then out of actual disagreement.”
“So, you’re saying that you think they both want it to happen?”
Bob sighs. “I wouldn’t say they thought of it that way, but I’m saying that if it did get written in … I don’t think that Jensen would be nearly as up in arms about it as he claims, and it would finally give the rest of us a break from hearing about it over and over again.”
“You realize what you’re suggesting here, Bob … this is a bridge we can’t come back over once we cross it.”
Bob nods and looks down at the drafts for season 11—all filled with ideas that they’ve already done in some way or another. “I know, but it’s torture. I have to wait hours to get my shots to work around their arguing … and now, they mess up their hair and make-up and wardrobe with all their wrestling and touching … it makes directing—hell. I’m not saying we should make it some major focal point of the season, or that it even has to be anything more than heavily implied. But if we can at least tell the guys that we’re doing it—that it’s actually happening … it might just finally shut them up!”
***
They can still hear commotion out on the street. Jibcon was always crazy, but this year seemed extra nuts. Jensen could only smile as he sat across from Misha, watching the man sip from a mug of hot tea. He finally turned away from his friend and took a drink of his wine, enjoying how each gulp seemed to ease a new muscle.
“I think they’re going to be mad at us” Misha says suddenly, looking down at his mug as if he was in the middle of a conversation with it, and Jensen had only just started listening.
“What?”
“The fans … once they watch the finale, I think they’re going to be pretty upset.”
Jensen takes another sip of his wine and nods. “Yeah, it’s going to be an emotional one.”
Misha chuckles, shaking his head at his friend. “No, not that. About you and me … well, Dean and Cas.”
Jensen sits a little straighter, cupping the curve of his glass with his other hand and stroking his thumb along the side. “What about them?”
“Well, the last episode they saw … you—Dean, damn near killed me. And throughout the season, there seemed to be a lot of suggestions …”
A sigh carries out from his lips. He’s feeling too tired to debate this how he normally would. “I don’t think anything was really suggested this season, Mish.”
“There were some pretty big nods to you and me … Dean and Cas—having something deeper than friendship. The whole Collette thing, for one.”
Jensen watches as Misha clutches his mug, looking small somehow atop the overstuffed couch that he’s sitting on. The little room they’ve occupied is unique—a strange sort of common area next to one of the many kitchens in this old hotel. It’s private and cozy, and both him and his exhausted friend felt it would be a good spot to wind down after such a hectic weekend. He can’t help but smile as the man in front of him squirms, obviously getting really worked up over the idea of the fans being disappointed in anything. It’s nice somehow … knowing that he still cares so much even after all these years. It makes Jensen care more by association.
“I just hate feeling like we’re dragging them along … especially when we truly don’t have much say in the matter. We’re getting dragged along too … I don’t know” Misha finishes in a whisper, finally washing down the last of his nerve with the last of his tea.
One more sip, and his wine is gone too, leaving him free of care and full of will to go join Misha on the couch. After everything with Jared, he couldn’t stand another one of his best friends feeling upset over anything … even if it is something as ridiculous their characters hooking up. Misha looks to him as he walks over to his side—and his large, moon eyes sink down to the horizon with Jensen’s body. “Man … you have to remember, every year they think something big is going to happen with us … or, our characters. But it never ends that way. I know how you feel about all this—but you just need to accept at some point that it’s never going to happen … otherwise, this will keep happening.”
“I did accept it for the most part when they brought Felicia on. I began joking more openly about the Dean and Cas thing with the fans, because I knew they at least had her, and she was just an awesome character and really offered another level to the show. But now … well, you know, she’s gone and so is that gale force wind she brought with her. I mean, I know she’ll be back, but not regularly, so all that focus is on us again … and I kind of led everyone on with my smart ass comments here and there. I just feel bad that I went and did all that, and we won’t ever deliver.”
“You and your smart ass comments” Jensen laughs, clapping his hand on Misha’s back as he reclines in the seat.
Misha looks back at him with a smile, finally leaning back too once Jensen moves his arm. “Yeah, those always manage to come back and bite me in the ass, don’t they?”
“Yep. You think you’d learn.”
“I know. I think your stubborn, old man ways are starting to rub off on me.”
Jensen sours his face as gives Misha an askance glare. “There’s another one.”
“Well, that’s not a smart ass comment, that’s the truth.” Misha’s eyes glow with playfulness as he looks at his friend.
“You’re lucky I’m too worn out to kick your ass.”
Misha laughs and pats Jensen’s knee. “Oh, like you really could anyway.”
The challenge lights a new fire within him—making his eyes curve and smile, while his lips stay flat as to not give himself away. Jensen takes a deep breath, sitting up with the exhale and reaching out to grab the mug from Misha’s other hand. It’s soon placed on the end table beside him, and his co-star can only look on—confused.
“What are you doing?”
Jensen doesn’t respond, turning back to face Misha dead on.
“Jensen …” Misha asks again with his voice already plagued with worry.
The green eyed man pounces just as Misha tries to slide away—capturing him beneath his weight and pinning him to the couch. “I’m still too tired to kick your ass, but that doesn’t mean I can’t easily overtake you.”
Amused blues wriggle around—his body slowly following as it moves beneath the dense press of Jensen’s form. “This is your move … laying on me?”
Jensen groans, feeling more tired now that he’s prone. “Mhm, sleepy. Can’t do much else.”
Misha laughs beneath him, warming his skin and making his whole body vibrate. “And you wonder why people think there’s something going on between us.”
Jensen smiles, his head on his friend’s chest, still letting all his weight hold the man to the cushions. “I think that’s on you too … all your Jensen is the horse bullshit.”
“I’m not saying I didn’t do my part … but uh, this is pretty suspicious looking—you have to admit.”
He widens his eyes a little, thinking about what an outside view of them would look like right now. Yeah … probably not good. With another groan, Jensen begins to peel himself away, finally stilting his arms and propping his body up, hovering over his friend.
“Well—at least with this, I won’t have to feel like I’m lying when I talk about you being all over me” Misha laughs, seeming much more eased now than he was a moment ago.
Jensen chuckles. “Yeah … guess not.”
“Now, if you could only do that while in Dean-mode … I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about any of it.”
He squints his eyes, looking over his friend’s face—the humor filling the blue, but also, everything else. The man is so complete—there are no empty spaces inside him, nothing to wonder about or doubt … he’s got a bit of every corner of the world hiding under his skin, and Jensen can’t help but find it amazing that there could be room for guilt anywhere. “You really feel guilty about leading them on, don’t you?”
The humor dips down, letting something sadder peek through the cobalt rings. Misha nods—making Jensen’s stomach lurch, sloshing about the wine that’s drowned all his concern for what other people might say or think. His elbows bend, dropping his body forward—so quick, his mind is left spinning behind him. With his eyes closed and his inhibitions, still stateside, Jensen presses his lips to the corner of Misha’s mouth. In breath, he’s already pulling away—grinning wide with what he’s done, even though he’s not truly sure of what that is.
“Um …” Misha begins, eyes wide as his jaw starts to bounce. “Wh—what was that about?”
Jensen’s grin remains, even though he knows—it’s out of character for Dean. “Now you don’t have to feel guilty, Cas … you’re not lyin’ ‘bout nothin’.”
Misha cocks his head to the side, and Jensen isn’t sure if he’s actually confused or just playing his part. “Thank you … Dean” he finally mutters … but his voice isn’t low enough to truly be from heaven.
Shivers creep across his skin all the same—the way they did when he first heard the angel talk … and then again when Misha showed his true self to him. The contradiction, the entire spectrum—all confined in one man … it was enough to make Jensen gawk during that first day, and for many days after. He loses himself in the echoes in his head, not even realizing that he’s still close to Misha’s face—his lips, nor that the man below him has lifted his hand, letting his fingers grapple at the hanging fabric of Jensen’s shirt. He starts to come to as Misha pulls him down, and his heart begins to race when their lips meet again—this time, under his friend’s command. His mind retreats once more, only leaving the relentless shivers, and one fleeting, ironic thought—that even though he’s the one pinning the guy, Misha has still somehow overtaken him completely.
***
“I should probably tell Danneel about this.”
“I should probably tell Vicki … although, she’s going to ask me to record whatever happens next.” Misha’s jaw suddenly clenches and he looks away—his lips still tingling from the last five minutes and all of Jensen’s bites. “I mean … not that anything needs to happen. I don’t even know what I’m doing right now.” He finally looks back up as his friend’s heavy breath tumbles down, warming his chest. Jensen’s face is bright red, and Misha can tell—the man is on the verge of a panic attack.
“Yeah … uh … I don’t have a fuckin’ clue either.”
“I’m sorry, Jensen. I didn’t mean to push anything on you. I shouldn’t have … you know, done that.”
Jensen’s eyes are still looking towards the ground, but the fire in his face recedes, only smoldering in either one of his cheeks. “I … I didn’t … um … I didn’t really mind it.”
Misha feels himself freeze—his heart stopping completely and he wonders how he’s still even conscious now that all the blood in his body has turned solid. “Yeah?”
“Yeah …” Jensen confirms, glancing up at him quickly—deepening the blush that’s singeing his skin.
Misha grins, his heart finally deciding to beat again. “I … I didn’t really mind either.”
-Two Months Later-
“Okay, so when they get here, let me do the talking … everyone, just go about your business. I don’t want anyone staring and letting them know that something’s up.”
The handful of crew members that are there for the staging nodded, all seeming far too giddy for Bob’s liking.
“Hey now … this isn’t a sure thing yet. We still need their okay, overall … and if we don’t get it, well, we don’t really have a show, do we?”
The faces of the workers quickly sober, biting their lips and looking at one another with raised brows. A walkie talkie chirps out a static voice, announcing that Jensen and Misha had arrived.
“Alright everyone—scooch! Remember … act natural.” He turns just in time to see the two men walking through the large entryway, seemingly, not in any rush to get to the set— distracted and happily chatting and smiling to each other. At least they’re in good moods.
“Hi, guys. Can you … can you uh, come sit down with me for a sec? I wanna chat with you about something.”
Both the men lose their humor, glancing at one another before looking back at Bob—full of concern and curiosity. “Sure thing … what’s this about?” Jensen asks, his voice deepening with worry.
“Just … just come sit down.”
“We weren’t canceled, were we?” Misha tosses in with a chuckle, but Bob can tell that there’s something sincere in his words.
“Nah … no, nothing like that. Not yet at least” he attempts to joke, but neither of the actors is laughing anymore. They all finally reach a few director’s chairs that have been grouped together in a small circle—pre staged for this discussion. “Have a seat … do you guys want some water or something?” He cringes a little, knowing he’s sounding like a distant acquaintance, rather than someone who has known these boys for nearly a decade. He isn’t surprised when both Misha and Jensen shake their heads in refusal. “Alright, well … I will just cut right to it then. I had a meeting with Robbie and Jeremy, discussing what we were going to be doing for the coming season … and, we all came to an agreement on something that we know might not sit well with you two, well … one of you.” His eyes fall to Jensen, making the man straighten out in his chair.
“What did you guys agree upon?” Misha asks, being the inquisitive one as usual, whereas Jensen remains silent—looking more scared and confused as the seconds inch by.
“Well … we, we have given it a lot of thought, and we think …” he takes a breath, wringing his hands in his lap and trying to project the best way to escape his seat if Jensen decides to blow up.
“Yeah?” Misha urges, leaning forward a little, making the tall chair rock on its toes.
“Uh … well, you have to understand that this wasn’t an easy discussion to have. Jensen, I have been on your side of the matter for a long time; but we just feel … that with the story lines getting a little repetitive, and the fan-base getting upset by some of the turns we’ve taken—we just really needed to do something to throw it all back into balance. I mean—we are the show that takes everything to new levels.”
Jensen nods uneasily, gripping the armrests at his sides, so hard—his knuckles are turning white.
“Bob … you’re stalling. Just tell us what you all are planning” Misha demands, sounding more frustrated now that they’ve been sitting here a while.
Bob takes one final look at Jensen’s face before glancing around to the rest of the crew—they have all but stopped working, ears perked, waiting to see what comes from all this. He rolls his eyes, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to play it cool while witnessing such a show. His sights drop back down to his hands, finally squeezing them together—holding on as the words dance on his tongue. “We …” he sighs, knowing it’s now or never. “We are writing Destiel into the script.” He closes his eyes, waiting for the explosion.
A laugh meets his ears.
He looks up to see Jensen: head back—spewing giddiness towards the roof with force. Misha is grinning beside him, looking off into the distance, like the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders.
“Umm …” Bob begins, feeling more scared now with the unexpected reaction.
Jensen keeps laughing, finally composing himself after a few more seconds and wiping at his tearing eyes with the back of his hand.
“Is … is that alright with you boys?” Bob asks—his voice wavering with confusion.
Jensen reaches over and slaps his, knee, shaking his head as his eyes arc—carefree and happy. “Dude … I thought you were going to give us bad news. Jesus … don’t scare us like that!”
