Worse Than Being Blind Part 1
Part 1:
Drinking with Torri Higginson is a bad idea.
But the thing is, Misha just hadn’t known. She’d given him and Hill a coy smile and had said that she wanted to be one of the boys tonight because if she had to hear the director tell her to accentuate her accent while sober one more time, she was going to shoot someone. And it’s not like they haven’t been going out and getting drunk every night anyway. There’s only so much bad directing an actor can take and, while messing with the minions a bit is fun, Misha can’t exactly tell them how completely awful this movie is going to be.
Because he actually wants the movie to do well.
He knows it’s some campy made-for-tv-movie and that everyone is expecting it to be horrible anyway. He doesn’t actually think it’s any good. The script is ridiculous and the director has delusions of grandeur, but the cast is fantastic and they all take pride in their work just like Misha does.
Even if people think he doesn’t.
And it’s not like it’s as bad as Karla or anything. Although, Misha doesn’t think anything could ever be as bad as Karla and he still sometimes has nightmares of that director’s creepy ass gleam at the end of every stimulated rape scene. So, while it's campy, ridiculously bad scifi and the director seems to live by the motto that the bigger an actor says a line, the better, it’s never going to be that bad.
He’ll just deal with the director’s bad calls by drinking himself into complacency.
Not that he’s a huge drinker or anything. He’s not a lightweight, something he’s eternally grateful for because Jared really doesn’t need any more ammo than he already has. It’s just that he’s in a foreign place- okay, not that foreign because he still pretty much goes home to his apartment every night, but foreign can just be a state of mind- and, while Misha’s used to the nomadic lifestyle, digging up your roots every five weeks for something new, something possibly better, he’s sort of become used to the steady nature of Supernatural.
He thinks maybe he’s getting old.
It’s just that, after hard days on set where everything goes wrong and Misha can’t remember his lines for reasons other than Jared’s molesting him and Jensen gets that tight look around his eyes and the director of the week looks like he wants to shoot everyone. Sera or Eric or hell even Robert sometimes will call it quits and they’ll all get drunk and rag on who fucked up the most that day.
It’s usually Misha, but he takes it with grace and buys everyone a shot because Jim’s kind of a hilarious drunk.
It’s comfortable.
It’s not something Misha’s ever really experienced before. Movie sets are fleeting. The moment you get to know the people you’re working with, you’re already wrapping up production and you promise to keep in touch, but you never do. Mostly because careers go in different directions or you were just being polite in the first place. Misha’s pretty much always been a guest star on other television shows. The sets he’s been on have been filled with great actors who treated it like a job, coming in and out without so much as a wave.
It’s not like that with Supernatural.
He hides his love for it under sarcasm and fake contempt and nonchalance that it’s a job and it pays him so he’s sticking with it, but he really cares about it and, as extremely hokey as it sounds, they’re kind of like a family.
This is apparently something Hill can relate to.
Misha knows the guy works on CSI:New York because AJ couldn’t shut up about it when he found out Misha was doing a tv movie with Hill. There had been something in the haunted way Hill’s left eye had twitched when the director had yelled that he just wasn’t being villainous enough and could you please make your eyes wider. Misha knows all about how sucky paying your dues can be and, because he doesn’t have a grill or bad beer or Jensen’s drawling voice, drinking at some crummy dive bar is all Misha can offer the guy. So far, drinking their troubles away has worked pretty well.
Except, he’s probably not going to do it with Torri Higginson again.
If he lives through this time because he’s pretty sure he’s going to end up with alcohol poisoning and maybe die in some grotsy little hospital with a staff of questionable ethics.
Kripke’s not going to be happy.
On the plus side, this is Vancouver and there’s less likelihood that the ERs here will be in the organ selling business. And Kripke might get mad if Misha gets alcohol poisoning and misses the first day of shooting, but Misha thinks he’d get over it better than if Misha had any noticeable injuries.
Misha just has to be sure to keep his walking slow and coordinated so as to not break a foot or something in his drunken state.
Besides, there’s a friend in need. Hill’s day was pretty bad, like the kind of spectacularly bad that isn’t really any one person’s fault. It’s a series of unfortunate events where sound doesn’t work and you know you’ll be stuck in AVR hell. Where the extras get food poisoning and the on set medical professional swears they’ll be fine, but it’s going to take a day. Where the director gets that twitchy look that leads to shit traveling downstream and just because you’re an actor doesn’t mean you get to miss the shit storm.
Misha spent most of the day with the B team filming in a cushy, off-location set on a sound stage where very little went wrong, but still very little about the script was right.
So Misha’s comforting.
Comforting with lots of alcohol and Torri Higginson’s wild laugh and card shark ways. Misha’s already ridiculously drunk and down thirty dollars and Hill still isn’t feeling any better even though Misha made a big show of losing.
Now, he’s trying to listen to Hill’s complaints and not pass out and hit his head hard on the bar top.
“I went to Harvard Law school, man. I don’t know what made me think this movie was a good idea,” Hill says.
He takes a sip of his beer, something East Coast and dark looking. Apparently it’s Gary Sinise’s favorite.
“Love of the craft?’ Misha says jokingly.
Hill rolls his eyes.
“More like insanity,” Hill mutters.
“It’s not that bad.”
Hill shakes his head.
“It’s not the absolute worst thing I’ve ever been in, but if they tell me one more time that I have to go bigger with it.”
He lets his sentence trail off, his face twisted in frustration. Misha shrugs. Normally, he’d try to diffuse Hill’s angst with something ridiculous and off the wall.
Normally, he wouldn’t be so drunk he couldn’t feel his eyeballs.
“I was in the White House.”
Hill snorts.
“I know. You’ve told me.”
Misha frowns.
“I did?”
Hill looks up at him then, eyes still focused and Misha thinks he probably should have listened when Hill had said to stick with beer. Misha has no idea what’s in the drinks Torri’s been pushing in front of him the whole night other than copious amounts of alcohol. He’s been drinking them without much complaint because they were kind of tasty and her stories about set pranks remind Misha of his own.
Misha’s possibly gotten to the point in the evening where he’s getting maudlin.
That’s depressing.
He’s also pretty sure he’s never been this drunk before. Maybe once, when he was young and stupid enough to think it would be a good idea. If he has, he can’t remember, which could probably be contributed to the fact that his brain feels like it's leaking out of his ears.
“I didn’t think I had,” Misha says.
Hill snorts.
“Dude, your words are slurring so badly it’s not even funny.”
Misha frowns.
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
Hill just laughs and Misha tries to glare at him, but he finds it takes too much effort and settles for continuing his frown.
All that does is make Hill laugh harder.
“I…”
“So what are you boys talking about now?”
Misha looks over and sees Torri. He groans when he sees the alcohol in her hands. Her smile widens and Misha doesn’t understand how she doesn’t even look drunk. Sure, her face is kind of flushed, but her eyes look clear and she’s not wobbling at all. Which is just kind of unnatural because Misha swears he saw her drinking absinthe. He has no idea how she got her hands on absinthe except that maybe it’s not illegal in Canada.
“We were just sharing our various lifetime achievements. Also, Misha’s drunk.”
Torri’s eyes get that glimmering look and Misha has maybe only known her for a couple days, but he already knows that that is not a good look.
“I can see that.”
“’S your drinks,” Misha says petulantly.
Torri laughs, loud and boisterous and she hands Hill one of the drinks in her hand and tries to hand Misha another one. Misha tries to wave her off.
“No. No more alcohol. I can literally feel my liver complaining.”
She keeps laughing in his face and puts the drink down on the bar in front of him.
“Come on. This one is good. I swear.”
“They were all good, but very, very bad for me,” Misha says.
“What the hell is in this?” Hill asks.
Torri grins mischievously.
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s true,” Hill mutters.
She pushes his shoulder gently and shakes her head.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Not in my liver,” Hill says.
Misha nods empathetically and Torri sighs.
“This’ll be the last batch. I swear. You have to have these though. I had the bartender whip ‘em up special.”
Misha makes a mental note that he’ll probably forget in the morning that, if he were ever to drink with Torri Higginson again, not to go to a bar where she knows the bartender by name.
(He’ll later learn- much, much later when he decides that going drinking with Torri again is a good idea and forgets that her bar is evil- that there are various pictures of her and her cast mates from Stargate Atlantis plastered and doing cartwheels posted on the walls. It’ll be hilarious when he’s off his ass drunk again, but serve as an even greater reminder that drinking with Torri is just bad.)
“Is this Jell-O?” Hill asks.
Torri nods.
“Yup, they’re extra special Jell-O shots. So drink up boys.”
Misha watches as Hill shakes his head, sees the thought process play out on Hill’s face that means he’s decided to do it, what the hell. He watches as Hill brings the shot to his mouth, the lip of the glass at his lips and he watches as Hill tips the drink back and drinks it down. Misha looks ahead at his own shot and shrugs.
What the hell, he thinks.
That’s the last coherent thought he remembers from the evening.
He wakes up the next morning, somehow in his apartment, to the sound of his phone ringing.
“Hello?” he says when he answers it and somehow he can feel the pain of just that one word in his hair.
“Mister Collins, we’ve been waiting in front of your apartment for fifteen minutes now. You were supposed to be on set ten minutes ago,” the voice on the other end says.
Misha has never been more grateful for the free vehicle service to set more than he is in that moment. Even if he has made them- and himself- late.
“Uh, sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll be down in five minutes,” he says.
His voice has the painful Cas edge to it, like he’s been on the Supernatural set for hours reciting line after line. The person on the other line doesn’t seem to notice. They just make a humming noise and hang up.
Misha sighs and takes stock of his current state. He’s wearing one shoe and his shirt looks like it’s inside out and he doesn’t really want to know why. He’s also got a blank post-it note on his forehead and a headache that’s threatening to make his head explode.
There’s a bottle of water and some aspirin on his nightstand and Misha’s stupidly grateful for that.
He has no idea how he’s going to work today.
He manages to get up, get relatively clean and there’s a disturbing amount of vomit in his toilet bowl that takes three tries to flush down. His bathroom smells so horrible he thinks about getting a maid again. There’s nothing he can do about it now because he’s completely running late for work and he just doesn’t have the energy.
He’s glad that, even though it’s summertime in Vancouver, there’s not that much heat because if he left his apartment in the state it’s in while there were a heat wave, he’s pretty sure the place would have to be declared a biohazard. He throws on his best aviator sunglasses and doesn’t even try to change his clothes because his limbs still feel heavy, watered down and loopy.
At least his mouth doesn’t taste like ass anymore.
He makes it on set only a half hour late, which apparently isn’t so bad. Torri’s there, looking fresh and clean, like she got eight hours of sleep even though Misha’s pretty sure they were out until way past three in the morning. She grins at him and Misha thinks, not for the first time, that she’s evil.
And also kind of awesome.
He asks her how she’s so well put together after their night of binge drinking and she smiles and shrugs.
“Hair of the dog,” she says secretively.
Misha stares at her.
“Seriously.”
She shrugs again.
“Yeah, why not.”
Yeah, she’s kind of awesome.
Hill arrives on set two minutes after Misha does.
He doesn’t look much better, wearing the same kind of dark sunglasses that Misha has on and he’s drinking down his coffee like it’s vital to his continued existence.
Misha really wishes he had some coffee.
He figures he can get some from the food service truck or maybe one of the PAs, although all of them seem to be glaring horrible murder at him. He still has to make his way to makeup and wardrobe and pray the director doesn’t yell at him too badly for showing up late. It’s completely unprofessional and he hates it, but he’s so hungover right now, he probably can’t see straight.
He’d wish he were still drunk, but he’s almost positive he’s never drinking again.
Hill makes a kind of groaning noise when he walks into wardrobe while Misha’s there. They have a scene today, the one in the museum which is one of the only scenes they have together. Misha’s kind of grateful that most of the day will be spent with Hill because he’s not sure he could work with Torri today and not ask her how she doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.
“Rough night?” Misha asks.
He’s feeling kind of smug because Hill had sat there most of the night nursing the same beer and feeling superior to Misha’s drunken state.
“That was the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Hill says.
Misha nods.
“Yeah it’s pretty up there for me.”
“I don’t even know what was in that last drink but it had enough alcohol to make me wish I was dead today.”
Misha nods again.
“Yeah, me too.”
Hill smiles and they share a look of conspirators, brothers in arms against the dangerous threat that is alcohol and a loud movie set.
Misha just wants to make it through the day.
When they get on set, the director yells for a good ten minutes about how vastly unprofessional it is to show up late and how the budget for this movie is practically non-existent in the first place and he doesn’t care if Misha and Hill are popular television actors, he’s not going to put up with whatever diva behavior the networks do.
Misha wants to laugh.
He keeps it in, takes his lumps even though there’s a jackhammer at his temple and he’s still not quite sure he remembers what the hell he’s supposed to say in this scene today. Misha’s a professional and he will trudge through it, no matter whether or not he feels like dying.
Except when he accidentally slips into the Cas voice during dialogue.
And the director loves it.
Misha kind of hates his life at that moment.
~*~
And then his life decides to get weird.
Because he’s been filming for a week since that night that they all unanimously and, on unspoken agreement, decided is best never to bring up again. Torri promises not to get them so drunk that they need liver transplants by the end of filming and Hill vows to stay dry the rest of the time on set. Peter and David come out with them once, but Peter’s quiet and David seems to have a general distaste for the atmosphere. He spends the whole time trying to talk to an increasingly drunk Torri about Stargate and someone named Michael Shanks and lasers.
Peter and David don’t go out with them after that.
But, mostly, time on the set has been quiet. There are random bursts of energy where Torri decides everyone isn’t being lively and decides to change it. And there are times when Hill gets that pinched look on his face that means he’s counting to ten in his head.
(Misha remembers seeing the moment that Hill said fuck it. It had been so clear and sudden on his face, like a bright flash of brilliance and Hill decided that, if the director wanted big, then Hill was going to give the guy big. He was going to give the guy humongous and Misha was going to see the whites around Hill’s eyes for the duration of filming.)
AJ calls Misha and Hill separately to tell them that he doesn’t appreciate the drunk dialing or the messages where Hill and Misha attempt to sing the Ghostfacers theme song. But there’s this kind of giddiness in AJ’s voice that says maybe he is a little appreciative of them.
It’s a Tuesday morning when that changes.
Misha sort of feels their presence before he sees them. He sees the female PAs flutter, the happy excitement on their faces. He hears the murmur of talk from a few of the extras. He watches one of the producers come up to him and slap him on the back and utter the word crossover.
And then he sees them standing in front of his trailer.
Jared’s hair isn’t as long as he would have pictured, though Jensen’s is just as long. Misha thinks it may have something to do with the fact that Genevieve doesn’t want Jared to have hair as long as hers. This is summer hiatus and he’s heard them talk at enough conventions to know that they like to switch it up when they’re not playing Sam and Dean.
He seriously gets that.
“Hey,” Misha says when he gets in front of them.
He’s not sure what else to say.
Misha’s mostly confused because Jensen had made happy noises about going back to Texas this hiatus rather than spending it in the fake glitz and glamour of a movie set. Jared had made the same noises, all Texas twang and huge smiles. Jared had also said something about alone time with Gen, but Misha’s a gentleman and he’d totally tuned all that out.
Mostly.
“I thought you guys were down south grilling your eyebrows off.”
Jensen frowns and Jared pretends to be offended.
“Dude, I’m like the grill master.”
Misha snorts, but doesn’t say anything. Jared seems to live under the philosophy that burning something adds flavor to it. They’ve all come to a consensus that Jensen should grill when grilling needs to be done.
“Sure you are. So, back to the original question, what the hell are you guys doing here?”
Jared rolls his eyes.
“Shooting starts soon,” Jensen mutters.
Misha frowns.
“In like a month.”
Jared snorts and Jensen shrugs like it’s nothing. Misha knows better.
“My family had to cut the trip short. Not everyone can take months off in the middle of the year.”
There’s a sadness there that Jensen covers up with nonchalance and another shrug. Misha’s not a master at reading Jensen- he’s pretty sure that possibly no one is an expert in that- but Misha still sees it. Misha gets missing your family, so he nods.
“That sucks,” he says.
Jensen shrugs- again- and shakes his head.
“It’s cool. There’s always Christmas.”
“Yeah, there…”
Jared claps really loud and, not for the first time, Misha thinks he’s probably the most unsubtle person on the planet.
“Hey, so, different costume. That must be exciting,” Jared says because he doesn’t do awkward silences or serious conversations.
Misha looks down and nods.
“Yeah, it’s such a thrilling change. Even though I wear this the whole time. I’m thinking about stealing the shirt. It’s comfy.”
“Those pants look like something out of Jensen’s wardrobe.”
Misha smiles.
“I stole them from the set.”
Jensen frowns.
“This movie can’t afford a wardrobe department?”
Misha rolls his eyes.
“It can. I stole them a while back. I wore them here the first day and the director liked them, so they stuck. He said they went better with my character’s motivation than the khaki slacks.”
“Do you steal stuff from wardrobe a lot?”
“Only when I forget to bring an umbrella and I get soaked going from my trailer to my car.”
Jensen smirks.
“Bet that happens a lot.”
Misha snorts.
“Not a lot,” he says because he doesn’t actually have a good comeback for that one.
“So wait, those really are Jensen’s pants?” Jared asks.
“Yeah.”
Jared snorts.
“So you got into Jensen’s pants?” Jared asks and he’s got that manic gleeful look in his eyes that means he thinks he told the best joke ever.
Misha shakes his head.
“Technically I got into Dean’s pants and the fangirls have thought Cas has been doing that since he gripped Dean tight.”
He says it with a kind of filthy undertone and watches as Jared laughs so hard he snorts, holding his side. It’s the kind of stupid thing they say on set all the time, just to pass the hours and be ridiculous. It’s like relating con stories- though Jensen will probably always have the most outrageous, even if the minions are trying their hardest- or dirty limericks. It’s something they do because they’re guys and Jared loves innuendos and sex jokes. It keeps him entertained and from pulling pranks on Misha.
Jensen usually finds them amusing too. At least enough to warrant a small smile.
Apparently not this time.
Misha thinks Jared’s laughing enough for the both of them, though, so he tries not to let it get to him.
“We just wanted to stop by. Seemed like an interesting movie when you texted me about it,” Jensen says.
The subject change is weird, but then, Misha’s used to abrupt subject changes. He likes to think he’s become the master of them, even if no one wants to give him his credit. Jensen and Jared don’t usually jump around quite this much, but it’s okay, Misha can roll with it.
Mostly, he’s hoping it will lead to the real reason they’re here.
“Interesting, huh. Well I guess that’s one word for it.”
Jensen smiles, but it’s forced and he nods again.
“Yeah, you know. And you said we should come by if we found ourselves back in Vancouver and bored. Just, you know, to check things out, see you working in an environment where Jared can’t touch your crotch because security would tackle him.”
Misha nods. He doesn’t quite remember ever saying that, but he’s sent Jensen so many text messages over the last couple of weeks that it’s very possible he said it, as a joke because he never thought Jensen or Jared would be in Vancouver a minute before they had to be and because he’s pretty sure hanging around the set of a cheesy scifi movie isn’t high on anyone’s priority list.
Still, it’s easy to joke and be around Jensen, Jared too because you can’t leave Jared out. Jared won’t let you. His presence demands to be felt.
“Not even the security guards can stop our love,” Jared declares, loud and teasing.
Misha rolls his eyes.
“Will a restraining order?”
Jared pffts.
“Please. That’s just a piece of paper. What are you gonna do? Throw it at me. Oh, I’m real scared.”
Misha shakes his head.
“I could call the cops. It means you have to stay like a hundred yards away from me or go to jail. I’m not sure Genevieve would approve.”
“She’s totally up for it if you are.”
“That would make filming awkward. You know, if Jared had to stay a hundred yards away from you,” Jensen says.
He says it with a smile on his face, but not in his eyes.
“Yes, but then my virtue would remain intact,” Misha says.
Jared snorts again.
“Dude, what virtue?”
“It’s the name I gave to my dick. I think it’s ironic,” Misha says.
Jared laughs and slaps his hand down on Misha’s shoulder. Misha’s grown used to it, anticipating the sudden and harsh weight on his shoulder and he’s prepared, steadies himself even. He reaches a hand out, expecting feel the cold metal of the trailer, but instead he grabs Jensen’s arm.
Jensen’s eyes widen.
“You’re getting much better at that game. Anyway, ask Jensen to protect your virtue. I’m sure he wouldn’t object.”
If possible, Jensen’s eyes get wider and Misha wants to ask what’s wrong because Jared’s said much worse many times before. It’s not even that sexual, when you think about. Just kind of hokey, which Jared holds the crowns for.
“He can protect his own virtue,” Jensen mutters.
Jared pulls a face and Misha thinks it’s probably just because Jensen isn’t as good at Jared’s game of, what he likes to call, I Win.
(Misha’s not exactly clear on the rules of I Win, but he gets the basic jist. Which seems to be say something even more wildly inappropriate then the rest of the people around you. Jared comes up with some serious out of this world shit and Misha’s not exactly sure if anyone else actually ever wins when they play with him.)
“Yes, I am an independent and self-reliant man. I can kick you in the balls all by myself,” Misha says.
Jared shakes his head, long hair falling into his eyes and he laughs a bit and slaps Misha on the shoulder. It’s hard, like really hard and Misha wonders if it’s because Jared doesn’t know his own strength or if he does it on purpose.
“Gen might have something against you injuring Mister Happy.”
Misha frowns.
“You named your dick Mister Happy?”
Jared shakes his head.
“No, she did.”
Misha pauses.
“That was more than I needed to know about Genevieve ever.”
“That’s not even half as bad as the stuff I told you before the break. Like about how Gen likes to…”
“Seriously, Jared? Are you even a little bit of a gentleman?”
Jared shakes his head.
“Oh, right, because you didn’t overshare when you told us about the guy who liked rimming you.”
Misha shrugs. He’d done that to try and beat Jared at his I Win game, but Jared just came back with the awkward one nightstand he had where the girl wanted him to fuck her in the ass and call her Dean. She also called him Sam.
Yeah, Jared’s super great at this game.
“Yeah, that was… information,” Jensen says awkwardly.
Misha frowns and opens his mouth to ask Jensen if this is making him uncomfortable because Misha does actually have the wherewithal to realize when someone might be uncomfortable and actually be sensitive to it.
Sometimes.
Jensen shakes his head and doesn’t say anything and then he’s looking at Misha and they’re just staring at each other. It’s not awkward because they do it all the time, but Misha can’t help but feel like he’s missing something. Something big and possibly pink with purple polka dots and Misha doesn’t like it when he’s on the other end of this kind of thing.
“Okay, um… I’m gonna set up the Playstation,” Jared says.
“Playstation?” Misha asks.
Jared shrugs.
“It was easier than the Xbox and less cherished,” Jared says.
“You guys plan on staying here long?”
Jared pulls a duh face and Misha watches as he ambles off into Misha’s trailer. Jensen looks ready to follow and Misha grabs Jensen by the wrist before he can follow. Jensen looks down at their hands, Misha’s fingers curled around Jensen’s wrist and then back up at Misha’s face.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“What’s the real reason you’re here? No one’s dying right? Or dead? They haven’t spontaneously decided to cancel the fifth season of Supernatural to leave it on the most ridiculous cliffhanger known to man?”
“No,” Jensen says, shaking his head and he’s sort of smiling.
Or at least, moreso than he had been before.
“Okay, so, then why are you here?”
Jensen sighs.
“Couldn’t we just want to hang?”
“You could have called me and we could have hung out later. Why come to the set?”
“You invited us.”
“Yeah, jokingly. I didn’t think you’d come. I also sent you a text of the Grand Canyon and said we should do a road trip there, for Dean. I don’t see us packing up your pickup and heading out.”
“You’re in the middle of shooting a movie. That kind of stuff is frowned upon. You know, spontaneously taking off during a shoot. That’s Queen Diva Jared territory.”
“I can hear you dickweed,” Jared shouts from inside the trailer.
“You’re only angry because it’s the truth,” Jensen cranes his head to shout back.
When he turns back, he’s smiling and Misha gives Jensen an easy one of his own.
“So there’s not some great tragedy happening right under my nose? You just wanted to come and visit me.”
“Well, we figured there’d be no one as awesome as us on set. Maybe we were wrong,” Jensen says.
Misha huffs.
“Wait until you meet Torri. She will eat you alive.”
Jensen frowns.
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”
“She’s sort of gentle about it. When you ask really nicely.”
Jensen still doesn’t look convinced.
“Anyway, you’d tell me though, right? You’d tell me if there was something horribly wrong?”
Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I’d tell you if there was something horribly wrong. There isn’t. We really did just come to visit you. And you said the set was pretty open so I figured it wouldn’t be a problem. If it is…”
Misha shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine. I just… I feel like there’s more that you aren’t telling me.”
Jensen shakes his head and smiles. It’s one of Dean Winchester’s smiles, easy and charming and Misha sees right through it.
“Everything is fine, Misha,” Jensen says.
Misha wants to press it, but Jensen’s got that look that means he’s not going to say more and Misha knows better than to poke that. He’s gotta be on set anyway.
“Okay. Are you guys sticking around for long?” Misha asks.
Jensen shrugs.
“Yeah, why not? We were thinking about having dinner or something. Some beers.”
Misha nods.
“I guess. You mind Torri and Hill coming? I kind of like them. I think you will too.”
Something passes over Jensen’s face, so quick and microscopic that Misha couldn’t even begin to try and decipher it. Misha’s now more than sure he’s missing something huge here, but, sometimes, Jensen can give Dean Winchester a run for his money when it comes to not talking about his feelings.
“Yeah, why not?”
The conversation doesn’t last much longer than that. There’s awkward silence and Misha gets three separate texts from Hill about their phone scene. He’s supposed to meet up with Hill about it and Hill’s really insistent they go over it. Misha says bye and watches as Jensen scurries into Misha’s trailer to play with Jared.
When Misha meets up with Hill, Hill’s smirking.
“So, I heard your boyfriend’s on set,” Hill says.
Misha frowns.
“What?”
“The Jensen guy. And the other guy from your show. Jared, right? The female and some of the male PAs were talking about how dreamy Jared’s muscles are in person,” Hill says.
“Yeah. They showed up. They wanna do dinner. I asked if you and Torri can come. If you’re okay with that.”
Hill nods.
“Yeah, sure. But dinner. No drinks,” Hill says.
Misha nods. Hill keeps saying his liver hasn’t stopped protesting that one drunken night.
“Awesome. So, you wanted to go over the phone scene?”
Hill looks like he wants to say more and Misha’s getting that elephant in the room feeling again, but then Hill shakes his head and pulls out his script.
“Yeah. Just wanna make sure I got the reactions timed right.”
They start talking about the scene and how they’re going to say their lines and how they’re going to react and Misha doesn’t think about the elephant anymore.
Part 2