I'm not terribly surprised to find Jensen sitting in my trailer. I usually do, when he finishes filming before I do, find him going over pages for the next day or texting Dani or Chris or Josh.
What does surprise me is that he sitting tense and still, not distracted, and even though he isn't in wardrobe, he wears Dean like an old coat.
And he's drinking, a microbrewery special that Misha introduced us to a few weeks ago. All of it combine to string nerves tight in my gut.
Jensen doesn't look at me as I strip out of Sam and step back into me. When I've shed my other self and fed Sadie, and shoved a beanie over my hair--I'll wash it later, when I've gotten home, I snag a beer from the fridge and drop across from Jensen.
“I kissed Misha,” he says, voice pitched low and dark against the carpet. The words dusting along my feet like a confession, one I can shake off or take up.
With Jensen, there has only ever been one choice--he's my brother and best friend and I will always take what he throws my way.
Green eyes flick to mine, curious that I'm not demanding more, like why but I just shrug.
“Last week. When he had us removed from set.”
I remember that. The mounting fury in Misha as I fucked with him, and Jackles laughed, the flare of hope when he got that single hopeful piece of advice.
Look at me.
And then, seeing it crushed out. The bewildered hurt that flooded Misha's blue eyes before they went cold. Get these sons of bitches out of here!
I remember that Jackles had been quiet and withdrawn after, like he was troubled with Misha's reaction.
And then, the unexplained ease the next day. Misha was all smiles and hectic energy, and half there glances at Jensen and fuck.
“What are you gonna do?”
Jensen explodes from his seat on the couch and there's Dean, in the prowling walk as he paces my trailer. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? It's fucking Misha, Jare.”
I nod, like that makes all the sense in the world because it does.
From the beginning, Misha Collins has been different. Special. He got to Jensen in a way I couldn't. I was jealous, at first, before I realized. It didn't take away from me. It was almost like, there was something missing in Jensen and I, until Misha arrived, and he completed us. Filled a hole we didn't know was there.
But for Jensen, Misha was a lifeline when he was drowning. They were close. He trusted the older man, and relied on their friendship.
They both did.
“Have you talked to him?” I ask, shifting and handing Jensen another beer.
“No. Every time I try, he shuts me down. We're fine, but that's like--off limits.”
I frown. Misha is eccentric and cryptic and impossible, but he doesn't dodge. “Have you talked to Daneel?” I ask, shifting gears a little.
His eyes are worried when they find mine. “I don't know what to tell her because he won't fucking talk to me.”
“That let's him make the choice. You have some say in this too, Jackles.”
He huffs a sigh and I lean back. Because this is the heart of things.
Jensen Ackles is one of the best men I know. He's honest to a fault, stupidly loyal and he's always known what he wanted: normal.
Hollywood, acting, all the fame aside. He loves normal and the idea of a woman wearing his name and ring and raising his baby. Daneel was all of that, wrapped up in a sexy package and tied up with a bow. And she was a good friend of mine, which didn't hurt.
Misha was everything Jensen had never looked for or expected.
“How fucking horrible am I if I want both of them?” he asks, his voice quiet, curled in question.
“Not horrible. If you can be honest with both of them.” I answer.
His eyes find me, and I see fear that startles me. “What if she doesn't want me and he doesn't want this?”
“What if they both do?” I ask, just as soft as his whisper. He shudders out a sigh and I toss him a fresh beer.
“She loves you. And Misha does too--he's your best friend. Don't throw this away because you're scared, man.”
He nods and settles across from me and Sadie leans against his knee, her head in his lap as he strokes her silky ears and we drink in silence. “It doesn't bother you?”
I blink at him, the beer and a long fucking day of filming working to exhaust me. “Why the hell would it? As long as you're happy, man, I don't give a fuck who or how many people you fuck.”
He relaxes a little, sinking fully into the chair and I realize that that was what this was about. Not completely, but it played into it. How I felt about this mattered to him.
I smirk into my beer.
And a sharp rap on the door jerks my attention up before the door is pulled open and Misha steps inside. “Why the fuck are we still here?” he grumbles, not commenting on the quiet he's shattered, or Jensen sprawled in his socks on the couch. He grabs one of the beers with a happy noise in his throat and settles next to Ackles on the couch.
“Because we have to be back in three hours and what the fuck is the point of leaving?” Jensen asks, a grin in his voice.
It's a good assessment. Which is why we stay, and drink. Low conversation humming between us as Misha sinks into the couch, until he's pressed against Jensen and both are almost asleep. I toss a blanket over them and blue bright eyes peer at me sleepily before he says something soft and wordless and sinks back against Jensen.
I call Sadie and ignore the way Misha is pressed against my brother and the way Jensen is wrapped, almost protective around him.
I smile as I leave them there. And I hope like hell that Jensen can have everything he wants.