That's When We Uncover [Jensen Ackles + Misha Collins | Cockles | mxm]

Chapter Thirty-Four

Richard and Rob only dropped by the studio to make the trip out to Jacksonville with us later, and aren't actually needed on set, so they leave shortly after my confession.

But not before a thorough crack session about oral skills and the etymology of Cockles. Which I survive against all odds.

All along, I thought my relationship with Misha was shrouded in mystery, courtesy of my unparalleled acting abilities. Turns out it was just the other actors, who've gotten really good at pretending not to notice.

The evidence was smeared all over my face, all these years. Also, the Internet helped. Rob advises me to check out Tumblr when I have the time.

On set, Jared and I work with the guest vampire of the week on fight scene choreography. Our stunt coordinator, Lou Bollo, leads us through blocking of the scenes, walking us through the steps, shifting the marks...the whole shebang. Then it's on to filming.

After I voiced my opinion, the director and script supervisor made the executive decision to scrap the Destiel angle, which changes the tone of the entire show. So the writers have had a run for their money these past few weeks, salvaging what they could of the old script and pulling the rest of the plot pretty much out of their asses. Doesn't make much of a difference to us actors how late we get our script copies, anyway, because we more or less ignore it until the last minute, cramming excessively right before the scheduled shoot.

The pre-Destiel buildup is still there in season 12, and traces of it will inevitably linger in the new script, but the intimate scenes have been removed.

The execs weren't sure the social climate was right for that kind of story arc, anyway. Still, if it weren't for the watertight NDAs that were signed, I'd have hell to pay for pushing their hand. Especially from Misha.

The script supervisor and director are, for once, pleased with our work this morning. We film tight angles, snippets of dialogue, reaction shots, everything we need. There's usually something in every scene over which those two disagree, but a combination of the time crunch and the cast being too hungover this morning for devious fuckery have them cooperating, much to everyone's satisfaction.

"Take five minutes," the director finally orders. "We'll look at the footage and let you boys know if we need anything else."

In between takes, I loiter in the doorway of the makeshift bunker and take the time to text Misha like a supportive husband. I know he's taken to jogging later in the day now, because the weather warms up around noon, and he doesn't have as many scenes to shoot as Jared and I.

Me: Run Mish. Run like I'm waiting for you at the finish line.

I chuckle to myself as I pocket my phone, knowing Misha won't be able to respond for at least another half hour. I'm totally getting him that shirt.

Still clad in the Winchester-esque ensemble that wardrobe crafted for me, I seek out Jared.

I find him reading over his lines in front of his trailer, immersing himself in the role of Sam.

"Hey, Jackles," he calls out, face instantly clouded by remorse. "Sorry again about this morning, man."

"It's fine." I thought I'd let him stew a little, but I don't have the heart.

"I wonder if Misha knows we know," he muses.

"I honestly don't think he gives a crap anymore."