Long Forgotten
Characters: Misha, Jensen, Jared, Gen, mentions of Maison and West, and the reader.
Pairing: Past!Misha and Reader
Misha’s Scent can be found @scentsfromthebunker
A/N: Have not written in forever- a year it seems- and this came to me in a dream. It’s based around the holidays; perhaps the drop in temperature here in NJ has me longing for Christmas.
Things change; time rolls on like dust bunnies under the couch of a forgotten past. Only when you accidentally bump into the couch or move it to reposition the rug, do you see them; the memories, the clutter, and dust of your past. This time, when you dropped the couch into its rightful place once again, you found tinsel from a holiday long forgotten.
Tinsel reminded you of the warmth of the hot cocoa splashed with a nip of Baileys, the gooey melted marshmallows, that never seemed to fill your mug. Tinsel reminded you of the mittens he had sewn from scratch, that he pulled from his own coat pockets, during the snowball fights.
Tinsel reminded you of Misha. His winter white speckled hiatus beard, the shaggy hair that just barely skimmed his thick lashes that hugged the sapphires of his eyes. Tinsel reminded you of the last time you made love; under the Christmas tree, scraps of wrapping paper; your makeshift blanket.
This year, however, your tree lay untrimmed, your hot cocoa was more Baileys than chocolate, and you were griping about the work party you feigned interest in. You loved your coworkers, the cast, how could you not? The Js tried their best to get you to participate in showtime shenanigans, but the strain of Misha and your breakup, put your acting chops on the literal block; they knew you were hurting. He knew too. You loved him like no other. No, you love him and you will always. That’s why you have the knitted cap of blues and greens, with that God awful cone shaped tassel; the tassel he chose himself, packaged in tissue paper and hidden in a gift bag in your hallway closet.
Each year, you figure, this will be the year you part with it; when you hand it to him sans emotion, without wanting anything in return. But like the dust bunnies under your couch, the year turns into a few, and a few more, and before you know it, you still love him, but he loves his family now instead. In a way, you love those two children of his as much as you would have loved your own.
If only you had told him you wanted a family too. If only.
Maison stuck to your side like glue, whenever she came to set. You tried your damndest to keep her at arm’s length, but how could anyone refuse those freckles that ghost her nose, the chipped front tooth, and those careless wisps of hair? She looked so much like her father, having her by you was enough to quell the longing for something long forgotten.
This year, the holiday party was for all the families of the actors, and Jared was holding the afterparty at his ranch-like estate outside of Vancouver. Plenty of rooms, what seemed like hundreds of air mattresses, and forts for the children. You agreed to sleep over, rooming with the kids, as usual; you were their “Auntie YN” afterall. With the amount of families sleeping over, the chances of you and Misha running into one another were far and few between.
If only.
It seemed no matter where you turned, Misha was chasing after West, or Maison was chasing them both, tinsel coming off her hands like webs out of Spidey’s wrists. Misha caught your eye as he flew past, his cinnamon and gardenia cologne, invading your nostrils, the coconut of his shampoo, bringing back all sorts of memories, that no matter how hard you tried to store them away, they came crashing about you, like hidden presents in your parents’ closet. He noticed you waver for a second and damn it, he knew he shouldn’t have, but you had tinsel hanging from your fringe. His fingers ghosted over your face, removing the offensive cellophane, and he felt it; a surge, a rush of adrenaline, a punch to the stomach, the inhalation of you, and he stumbled. Bodies collided, stutterings of “I’m sorry” and “Are you okay?” had you both chuckling at the insanity of it all. You were grown ups and were acting like gosh darn teenagers. Nodding you were okay, Misha pulled on his lips, and acquiesced with a nod of his own head, before scolding his children.
It was Gen who found you in the wine cellar, tossing back some Moscato Jared had hidden in the dankness for you personally; knowing very well you did not like the dry reds.
It was Gen who listened to you drunkenly profess how stupid you were for still loving him after a decade. It was she who used her own satin sleeve to wipe your tears, and it was you, promising her you’d pay for the drycleaning. Clinking her bottle to yours, you two made it back to the party, and the families had started to dwindle down to a few stragglers, not wanting the night to end; Misha, Jensen, and Jared, the stragglers three.
Gen bid you goodnight as the boys hugged you tightly, Jensen’s mouth grazing your ear, telling you to sleep tight, while Jared again insisted you have your own room, to which you shook your head negatively, “where’s the fun in that?” Misha watched as you hugged his friends- your friends goodnight and for the second, trillionth time that night, caught your eye.
It was you who motioned to the hall and he who nodded ever so curtly that he’d follow you in a few. “Tuckin’ the monsters into bed, give me ten?”
Agreeing, you almost made it towards the kids’ room, before Maison barreled into you, hugging your legs tightly. “Ma said we’re leavin’ early in the mornin’ and we’re havin’ a sleepover next to the fireplace, ‘stead of sleepin’ in the room with all the kids.”
Heartbroken, you didn’t let that phase you, as she squeezed tighter, “Goodnight, YNN,” she looked up from beneath mussed hair and you bopped her nose, “‘Night Kid.”
You grabbed the gift bag from your duffel, something you stole from the props department, and made way to the furthest side of the house. Sat under the tree, Misha found you. Silently, you handed him the bag, as he sat across from you, his pajama pants loose around his waist, and he hesitantly took the gift bag into his lap. Sorting through the tissue paper, his fingers grasped the knit hat, and as he pulled it out, he let out a slow chuckle, as the cone shaped tassel flitted to and fro.
“Merry Christmas, Mish,” your eyes moist, but your heart full. It was time to move on.
His throat constricted with bottled up emotions, he donned the hat, gave you that mischievous wink, and flicked the tassel, eliciting laughter, “Merry Christmas, YN.”
Passing on that hat was supposed to feel final; you were supposed to feel free. All you felt was longing and as you two parted from a hug, you watched him walk back to his family, you whispered to yourself, “I still miss you.”
Tagging: @d-s-winchester @castielspahdehrah omg I have no clue who likes Misha fics!
