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

Chapter Forty

After Jared and I have had our fun imitating our own documentary satire over coffee, we leave his trailer for call time.

Production goes seamlessly all day, and at around 9:00 P.M. we call a wrap and both Jared and I are done all our scenes. I practice my lines for tomorrow in his bathroom mirror while he's out for his evening jog. My first is delivered sans prelude by yours truly after a few moments of silence in the Impala.

Clearing my throat, I school an impassive expression onto my face and peer at my reflection in the glass.

"Dean loves me," I offer nonchalantly.

The Impala veers off the road and screeches to a halt on the shoulder.

DEAN: Cas!

SAM [snorting]: No shit.

CASTIEL: I was...not aware that you knew, Sam.

DEAN [glaring daggers at first Castiel and then Sam]: Neither was I.

SAM: Please. You two have been Bonnie and Clyde since you met.

CASTIEL: I don't understand that ref-

DEAN: Okay, Sammy; you're knocking the shine off the moment just a little.

"Hey, Misha." 

Jared pokes his head into the bathroom. There's a gleaming sheen of sweat on his forehead and his black shirt is plastered to his torso with perspiration. "Rehearsing?"

"Yeah, I'll get out so you can shower."  I step around him and stuff my script papers into my bag. "How was your run?"

"Good, good," Jared calls. "You're welcome to stick around for a bit if you want to. I can call some of the others and see who's free to hang out..."

I hear the muted rustling of clothes slipping to the floor through the closed bathroom door.

"I'm actually gonna call it a day," I yawn. "Gonna check out, maybe get some sleep for once."

"'Kay, see you."

The shower starts and I let myself out of Jared's trailer, Clif locking up behind me.

Outside, I'm enveloped in a peaceful kind of silence, save for the slight rustle of trees and the quiet chirp of crickets. There's a velvety black, star-littered sky and a pale, silvery crescent moon and it is, in a word, picturesque. I have my face to the sky, soaking it up like a sponge, when I trip over something. Hard.

The momentum carries me forward, causing the left side of my body to connect with the solid edge of a trailer. I land with a grunt and have to lie there on the ground for a moment to catch my breath.

"Fuck," I hiss, stomach lurching. Well, it figures. The day was going almost too well.

I sit up, clutching my ribs, knowing there'll be an ugly bruise there in the morning. Warily, I scan my surroundings before rising slowly to my feet. I don't think anyone saw me fall, which is just as well because the cast and crew make fun of me enough as it is. That documentary I was thinking back on this morning was supposed to be a joke but I secretly love the shit out of it because it exposes some truths about the merciless teasing I endure.