I stumble out of bed the next morning having slept like shit and unable to even give a crap about it anymore. I'm used to the insomnia in Misha's absence.

I yawn and adjust the waistband of my sweats before trudging sleepily down the dim hallway. Dani and my parents are still slumbering away.

I pause to linger outside JJ's door, watching her sleep through my hazy, blinking eyes. She's curled up underneath the blanket sucking her thumb, her pillow clutched to her chest like a makeshift companion.

I wonder if she misses the comforting warmth of Misha's arms like I do. He's rocked me to sleep often enough that I know how good, how safe, it feels drifting off in that man's arms. I never felt particularly unsafe before, but now I struggle to make it through the night without him.

I'm embarrassed to concede that JJ's been handling the separation from Misha far better than me. I've fared miserably thus far, waking up in a cold-sweat with bloodshot eyes and a hammering heart and an ache that won't dissipate until I dig out the clothing he left me and bury my whole face in it and inhale his presence back into me. Yes, he left me a few articles of his clothing. So I could function.

Just fuck this whole insomnia thing front and back; I'm finished.

Settling down in my office, I dedicate a few hours to communicating with the publicity team, discussing their latest "rebranding" ideas, then sorting out my trip back to BC on the phone with management. I'll be flying up to Vancouver again for filming in about a month. It will be frigid compared to Cali this time of year, but it boasts of one essential thing my home here lacks. Misha Collins.

I think back with longing on the nights we spent together in his trailer. So much has happened within the confines of those admittedly undersized walls, much of it unspeakably dirty.

But there were also moments of beautiful intimacy. After a long day on set, I would use the key Misha gave me to sneak stealthily into his trailer under the cover of darkness. His sleeping form would be barely visible in the dim moonlight, chest rising and falling under the covers, lashes fluttering softly against high cheekbones and making my heart swell with a surge of the affection and longing I'd repressed all day.

I'd finally be able to peel off my shirt, strip down to my boxers and crawl into bed with him. And when I'd pull his ass snugly against my crotch, it wouldn't be sexual, but rather completing, intimate, and just the comfort and reassurance I needed in my exhausted state.

I've never held anyone like that before.

Even though he's gone home, I can still see him standing in my kitchen cooking a gourmet meal, doing the laundry, reading with JJ. I can still see his unkempt dark hair, messy from tossing around in the sheets, hear his precious moans when I please him in bed, delight in the way his dark lashes cascade against his lightly-tanned skin and frame his sea-blue eyes when he looks at me. He looks at me like I'm the greatest thing in the world, like he'll never let me go. I can still hear the sound of my name molding itself on his tongue and flying past his lips over and over again with blazing passion, can almost feel the intense flurry of moist velvety tongues and hot breaths when I kiss him... I want to always remember these sensations, in glorious technicolor detail.

My eyes glaze over as I daydream about the Christmas gift I'm going to treat him to when I see him again. Suffice it to say that I will give him a good fucking night. I'm going to be on him like fucking white on rice, gonna give him the best orgasm of his life, make him come at exactly 11:59:59 PM on Year's Eve. I wouldn't want to start the new year off any other way.

"Jensen." Dani pops her head into the room.

"Babe," I greet, swivelling around in my chair. "Morning."

My wife is pinching my socks between her thumb and index finger. I remember tossing them carelessly on the floor when I woke up this morning.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop leaving your dirty clothes lying around," she sighs, holding the pair at arm's length away.

"I know, I know," I cringe submissively. "This is what we have a laundry room for. I'll go clean up-"

"It's fine, I took care of it."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." I drum my fingers against the deep cherry wood of the desk. "So have you eaten?"

"Yeah, I made breakfast with JJ. There are smoothies and eggs downstairs if you're hungry."

"Okay." I pause. "How's JJ been...acting?" Is it just around me that she acts up? Do I exude a more tolerant aura or something? I need to know if I'm the reason for her temper a tantrums or if Dani's noticed the behaviour too.

Dani's shoulders slump and her entire face drops with weary resignation.

"I don't know what to do with her anymore," she yields, leaning against the doorframe. "I've tried everything and nothing's worked. She just won't listen to me. I give up."

I rise from my seat and walk over to her. "Her outbursts are just so out of the blue; I never see them coming-"

"Hey, relax. It's okay." I grip my wife's shoulders consolingly, forcing her to peer into my eyes. "I'll take care of it," I smile reassuringly. "I'll talk to her on the way to school."

"Thanks, babe."

"No problem. I know you had plans with Olivia and the girls?"

"Yeah. I won't be home until late tonight. See if Christian can come over."

"It's been a while since we made plans. I'll ring him up." I've made more than a few friends on the acting circuit, some of them good. But Christian Kane and I have been close for years. "Mom and dad wake up yet?"

"Just your mom. She seems strangely happy. What'd she do, kill an orphan?"

"Dani," I warn playfully.

"What?"

"Just - go lie down while I drop JJ off."

Once JJ is dressed and ready to go, I pack her lunch and we head out to the car.

"So, sweetheart," I grunt, jabbing the key into the ignition. "Daddy wants to have a talk, okay?"

"I didn't do it," JJ responds flatly.

I chuckle, checking my rear as I peel out of the driveway.

"I know, sweetie. It's not - you're not being punished." I recall Misha's words as I pull out onto the main road behind a large semi. Reassurance, that's the most effective avenue. Not punishment.

"'Kay."

"JJ, you should know - we love you. You're gonna have a little brother and sister, but guess what? You'll still be special. Always."

JJ stares out the window, her feet swinging absentmindedly against the edge of the backseat.

"I want grilled cheese," she hums noncommittally.

I sigh and rake a hand through my hair, using the other to merge lanes.

"Sweetie, did you hear what daddy said?"

"Yes, daddy."

"So - you understand that nothing can make us stop loving you?"

JJ is silent for a moment.

"'Isha already told me that, silly," she giggles. I hear her rummaging through her little backpack, the rustle of sheets and crayons being produced.

So Misha picked up on the problem way before I even realized there was one and asked him about it. He's more perceptive than he lets on, so sensitive and caring and helpful. He's just what JJ needs. And he didn't try to undermine my role as her father by acting like a condescending expert, instead gently nudging my slow, oblivious ass in the right direction. I'm going to be giving a certain incredible man a fucking incredible blowjob when I return to Canada.

"When is 'Isha coming back, daddy?"

"He's not coming back, sweetheart. He doesn't live here." I bite my lip against a flood of longing and remorse. I miss him. And I love him. I want to remind him of this every day - when he wakes up in the morning, before he falls asleep at night, and every second in between. I want to hold him against me and give him hard, urgent kisses all the time, but we're so far apart.

"He's coming back," JJ chirps agreeably, back to swinging her feet. They hit the back of my seat periodically as she scribbles away in her colouring book.

"How do you know that, sweetheart," I chuckle, drumming my fingers on the wheel as I wait for the light to change.

"Grilled cheese," she whines belatedly. Then, "because."

"Because why," I ask patiently.

"Is 'Isha my second daddy," she queries instead.

I hit the gas, shooting through the intersection and almost wrapping around the semi.

"J-JJ," I stammer. "I'll make you grilled cheese when you get home, okay? Let's have quiet time now."

"Why won't you tell me," she whines.

"I-"

"Lie." JJ folds her arms across her chest, giving the back of my seat a particularly brutal kick for emphasis. "'Isha won't tell me either."

I gulp, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.

"Y-you asked 'Isha that question?"

JJ nods affirmatively, already distracted by the sight of an elderly lady crossing the street with her chihuahua.

"What - um...what'd he say?"

JJ just coos appreciatively at the small dog, no doubt planning how to blackmail her mother and I into buying her one. "What did 'Isha say," I press gently.

JJ just shrugs, going back to her colouring. It's a minute before she replies with a cryptic, "eyes."

"Eyes? What eyes?"

But JJ is too busy scribbling away in her book to pay me any attention. I sigh and return my full attention to the road. Toddlers.

I pull up in the school parking lot and help JJ out of her seat, swinging her backpack over my shoulder as we walk hand-in-hand toward the double-doors of the school's entrance.

I can't help but wonder just how much JJ knows. She's a little girl, too young to understand what's going on, but I know kids are smarter and more perceptive than they're generally given credit for.

I wonder how this affair will affect her growing up. What about the twins? What if they inherited some kind of infidelity gene from me and their relationships are doomed before they have a fighting chance? Fuck. I never wanted to have an affair. I never dreamed I would be the other man.

But if my relationship with Dani was the sustainable and legitimate marriage I thought it was, Misha wouldn't be able to get between us.

I love him more than I love myself, and I'll take anything I can get with that man. But maybe he won't. Not forever. I can already hear the words: Jensen, this isn't healthy. I hate myself for wanting more and that needs to stop. We have to stop because this is only hurting ourselves and our families. I can't take it anymore...

Then I'll fight for him. I'll do whatever it takes to keep him. I'll put up with the pain and constant fear, give him everything he wants sexually and otherwise, buy him anything he lays a damn finger on, lay my heart and soul and mind and body, my metaphorical sword and shield, down at his feet in surrender. And I'll love him. No regrets.

"Those eyes," JJ gasps excitedly. "See? Like that! Like your eyes right now except blue those eyes I told you daddy that's how 'Isha's eyes looked I told you!"

I do a double take, startled to realize we've reached the awning and JJ is tugging at my sleeve to get my attention. "That's how I know he's my second daddy," she hums smugly, then wheels around and dashes into the building.

I'm left gaping at the glass doors.

***

When Christian comes over, we immerse ourselves in the beautiful cinematics and surround sound of complex gameplay.

"Hey, buddy." I sling an arm around his shoulder. "Maybe you should go a little easier on me? I've only got one sniper left, and I get it, you're the reigning king of this shit."

He plucks my arm off his shoulder, unimpressed.

"Maybe you should stop sucking," he murmurs, eyes locked attentively on the TV screen.

Or in other words: fuck to the no.

I sigh, giving up. Christian reaches for the beer with the hand that isn't gripping his controller. I would take a swig myself, but Dani told me to stop drinking so much. She says I'm going to develop a beer gut, and if that persistent fluff is anything to go by she isn't wrong.

Christian beats me, whooptifuckingdo. At this point it's no longer satisfying for him; it's just sad. He jumps on the bed and lies back against the pillows.

"Fetch me your guitar," he yawns, folding his arms over his head. I roll my eyes but move to oblige. "Hurry up, slave."

Despite my celebrity status, Christian is one of few people who doesn't treat me like a star. I always found that refreshing about him, but it doesn't stop me from muttering about how I'm going to twist the lazy oaf's neck for pushing me around.

"Only if you promise to spank me too," he cackles. I slap the side of his head before shoving the guitar onto his lap. "Hit me, baby, one more time."

Still grinning idiotically, he brushes his thumb over the strings, positioning his finger on the neck.

"Puke bucket please," I scowl. "Why can't I have normal friends?"

"You know you love me."

"Yeah, and pigs can fly."

"Ever heard of swine flu?" He tunes the strings and proceeds to strum a few chords.

"Shut up."

Instead of listening, he proceeds to belt out the lyrics to every song known to man, so loudly and off-key that my dad pokes his head in to make sure everything's okay.

After an hour or so, Christian and I drive out to the local stables to do a little riding.

An azure sky has formed by the afternoon, and puffy, white clouds harbour flocks of chirping birds.

The winding driveway of the equestrian centre opens up to the main yard and three spacious, scarlet barns run alongside it, gleaming impeccably in the sun.

Horses are being led around in the main yard, their riders carrying lively conversations and the dazzling sunlight glinting off the collection of horse trailers. The pastures are rife with galloping horses, their strides eating up the lush green ground beneath them. The training rings are occupied by riders of various ages, the commotion and clattering of hooves contributing to a pleasant and inviting aura.

Christian and get out of the car and walk past a stable hand is in the process of unfastening the bolts on the ramp of the nearest trailer. He waves at us before going in through the side door to coax a bay gelding out by a lead rope.

Enormous skylights line the ceiling of the closest barn, and the aisle is wide and brightly-lit. We dodge a few horses cross-tied in the aisles and being groomed and part ways. I make my way swiftly to Scarlet's stall, the black filly I pay to ride on occasion. Her ears prick intelligently and she snorts as the trickling sunlight forms gleaming pools of gold on her sharp, black coat, bathing her in glory.

A pleasant, horsy fragrance fills the air, along with the crisp, sweet smell of hay and wood. I can hear voices and laughter, along with the occasional snort or whinny coming from one of the horses down the aisle.

In the tack room, I hoist the filly's English-style saddle over my arm and stroll back to her stall, humming to myself. Scarlet has her head hanging over her half door, and she whinnies shrilly in my direction.

I tack her up deftly and click to coax her or of the stall.

A mild breeze ruffles Scarlet's glossy, black mane as I rejoin Christian and a pretty dapple-grey mate in the yard. I swing expertly into the saddle, and lean down briefly to check my girth.

I can feel the powerful, black filly drive forward with her hindquarters as I click for a walk. With barely a nudge of my heels, the filly surges forward into an energized trot, her muscles rippling as she plods through the dirt of the trail.

For several minutes, I post evenly to Scarlet's trot. Then I push the horse into a brisk canter, enjoying the breeze on my face. I feel a sigh of contentment waft from my throat as the sunshine splashes my bare arms with warmth.

Scarlet whinnies shrilly, tossing her silken mane with the sheer delight of being on the trails again.

Leaning forward slightly, I sit deep in the saddle, my legs maintaining pressure around the horse's sides until Scarlet makes the smooth transition from a canter to a gallop and springs forward at breakneck speed, the trees rushing by in a blur. 

We tear across the grass as though released in a slingshot, Scarlet's muscles rippling through her glossy coat, neck arched and powerful muscles straining at the bit. The spreading trees that border the expanse of lush, verdant field zip by in a whirl of green.

Laughing, I tap Scarlet's sides with my heels, leaning farther over the horse's neck as I race Christian. The wind whips tears from my eyes and Scarlet's mane flaps in my face. We fly across the turf, the sweet melody of drumming hooves ringing in my ears. The filly's head bobs with each stride and her breath comes out in snorts as I squeeze her sides with my legs.

At the edge of the field, I sit deep in the saddle and maintain pressure on the reins until the horse slows down.

Shortening the reins, I beam as Scarlet whinnies and prances on the spot, her glossy mane ruffled by the soft breeze.

We let the horses walk on a long rein to stretch their neck muscles, absorbing the sun's warmth on her coat.

Eventually, the dirt begins to give way to sand and the trees became more and more sparse. In the distance, a sparkling band of azure water stretches out as far as the eye can see.

I inhale cool, crisp air deeply, relishing feel the warmth of the sun on my bare arms while Scarlet nickers beneath the saddle, still raring to go.

"Let's trot," I suggest.

We move out into a long, fluid gait, and I can feel Scarlet's energy in her powerful strides. The muffled thumping of the horses' hooves on the sand drowns out the screeching of the gulls gulls soaring overseas.

Christian guides us to the left, where the sand stretches out invitingly, and the waves crash against the shore, and proposes a canter. I lean over to shorten my stirrup leathers, feeling Scarlet arch her neck and shiver in anticipation.

Scarlet surges forward in a collected gait and I'm lost, breathless, as the rumbling hooves and splashing tide sing in my ears.

With a whinny of delight, Scarlet flies across the turf like a bullet leaving a pistol, her silken tail carrying on the breeze behind her. I guide the filly closer to the surf and laugh out loud as the water droplets fly around me, twirling and glistening like airborne crystals. Christian steers his ride towards us and the two horses draw neck and neck. They thunder around the bend in the track, kicking up sand as they gallop.

I can't help pausing to lift a rapt face to the sky above, feeling the warmth spill over me. It's been a while since I came here, but horseback riding was a passion of mine growing up.

I wish I'd brought Misha here, at least once, while he was over. But I don't know if he can even ride. I mean... I know he can ride, and damn well, but I don't know if he can ride. I mean - damnit - now I have a boner.