Nobody Sees, Nobody Knows [Jensen Ackles + Misha Collins | Cockles | mxm]

Chapter Twelve

I sigh against the clink clink clink of ice tumbling into a glass, the crackle of the ice fracturing as the whiskey streams over it, pools amber at the base, and begins to rise.

The bartender turns away to fill another drink order, leaving me to stare at my glass and the polished bar and the melange of bottles occupying three tiers. 

Beside me, Osric downs his glass in two swallows and raps his knuckles on the wooden bar for another pour. I chuckle, wondering what happened to that girl he was with earlier.

Right on cue, the redhead from before tugs my arm lightly, pulling me after her.

"You're hot," she slurs; I roll my eyes but keep up.

About ten minutes later, I jump when my ringtone goes off in the middle of a dance.

"Excuse me," I mutter and rush off of the dance floor. I look at my screen; it's a call from Jensen.

Well shit.

I leave the bar and stumble out onto the sidewalk before accepting the call.

"Hello?"

The cool, crisp air is refreshing as I draw a hand wearily across my face.

"Hey." The voice on the other end isn't Jensen's. It's female, and sounds nervous. "Misha?"

"Who is this?" I frown, trying to pinpoint the familiar sound.

"I'm the girl from the bar," she confesses. "Amy. I'm sorry, this is super awkward..."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think through the mind-numbing haze of alcohol.

"Is Jensen okay? Where is he?"

"We're at his trailer," she replies in a rush. "He's fine. We were gonna, um... Well, we got here and he passed out. I don't wanna just leave him and I remembered your name from earlier when I went through his contacts and I thought you might be a friend and-"

"I'll be there immediately."

"Thank you so much," she babbles. "Again, I'm so sorry..."

But I don't hear the rest because I've ended the call and started jogging for my car.

Thank goodness I haven't had more to drink. I'm definitely not sober, but I should be able to get back to the studio in one piece.

I slide into the driver's seat and rev the engine.

Idiot. I'm not his babysitter...

With a sigh, I pull out of the parking lot surprisingly smoothly and then I'm on the road. The city lights are dazzling in the night sky, and I have to squint, already feeling a migraine coming on.

May I reiterate? Idiot.

But, really, I'm the idiot. I knew he was drunk; I shouldn't have let him go.

To my surprise, I make it back in record time and still very much alive.

Stumbling out of my car, I see Amy pacing outside Jensen's trailer. She looks up at the sound of the door slamming and my rushing feet.

"Is he inside?"

"Yeah, on the bed. Thank you so much, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't worry about it," I give her a tight-lipped smile. "Have a good night."

"If there's anything I can-"

"Goodnight," I cut her off gruffly, climbing the steps to the trailer door.

After a moment's hesitation, she leaves and I'm thankful that, in his drunken stupor, the moron left the front door unlocked.

"Oh, Jensen," I sigh as I enter the dark trailer. He's sprawled on the bed completely naked, drooling slightly on his pillow.

Gulping, I avert my gaze immediately - she could've at least made sure he was decent before dragging me up here - as heat creeps into my cheeks. This is the reigning shit situation champion of shit situations...

I close the door behind me and make my way towards him slowly.

"Jensen?"

I'm relieved to see his chest rising and falling lightly. He's fine.

I go into his bathroom and dampen a towel with cold water, then walk back to his bed.

With a sigh, I set the cool cloth on his hot, perspiring forehead and pull the covers up around him.

"You're such an idiot," I murmur ruefully, sitting on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees.

I'm so tired, and all I want to do is succumb to sleep. But it feels wrong getting into bed with him.

I rub my eyes despairingly. I can't just leave him, can I? I don't want him drowning in his own vomit in the middle of the night...

I cross to the window, stopping at the edge of a half-moon of light shining through the filmy curtains. It's beautiful, a perfect night. The moonlight's silvery glow illuminates the floor at the edge of my feet. The moon winks out from behind a cloud again, bathing the creamy cotton of Jensen's bedsheets in a pale glow.

I head back to his bathroom and splash cold water onto my face. My reflection in the mirror is despairing.

My hair is a dark, disheveled mess and there are prominent bags under my eyes that should give the makeup crew a run for their money tomorrow morning.

Run.

I have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to go running tomorrow. Fantastic. I groan, unsure if I'll be able to drag my sorry limbs out of bed in the morning.

My eyes drift back to Jensen, curled up like a baby under his blanket, and I smile. They say you look younger when you sleep, and it's true.

All ravishing good looks and witty charm in daylight, he looks like a little boy now: quiet and still, his bright energy muted. A smattering of stubble along his jaw, mouth slack. His lips, plump and pink and slightly parted, and the smooth gleam of his cheekbones in the moonlight, make him look so much younger than thirty-eight.

Before I can convince myself not to, I walk over to the empty side of the bed and pull back the covers before getting in.

Instantly, my muscles slacken with relief and my eyes shut.

I turn to face the wall, snuggling deeper against the pillows.

"Goodnight, Jensen," I manage to whisper over my shoulder before sleep claims me.