No Walls, No Strings (A Sort of Fairy Tale 3/14)

Title: A Sort of Fairy Tale
Chapter: Three: No Walls, No Strings
Fandom: SPN RPS
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Warning/spoilers: None.
Word Count: 1100
Rating: PG
Summary: Misha loves Jensen. Jensen is … getting there.
Chapter three summary: “What? You think I want to take your DNA and make the most beautiful clone army that ever was?”
Notes: Thank you to for beta.

day three: health

It astounds Misha sometimes that Jensen is willing to follow along with his idiosyncratic courtship. Misha gives him Pez, plays him mashups or Japanese drummers, tells him bedtime stories when he calls at night or when it’s two in the morning and they’re all dead on their feet but have to get that one more take. Then Jensen leans against Misha and closes his eyes, and Misha puts an arm around him and tells him about the little duckling who wanted to be a fireman and learned to carry a bucket in his beak.

In return Jensen plays guitar and gives Misha CDs he burns himself and shares the chalky, soapy-tasting Pez.

“What is this, middle school?” says Jared, and for his sarcasm Misha refuses to give him any of the Pez, even when he pouts.

Misha makes Jensen waffles with powdered sugar and sour cream. Jensen makes him Texas barbecue (which is very good) and cupcakes (which are undercooked in the middle and which Jensen frosted them too soon, so the frosting melted into the silver cup liners), and they share good Canadian beer and strong Belgian-brewed coffee.

Misha amuses Jensen with his very authentic Russian accent but refuses to watch “24” with him; instead he hides in another room while Jensen hoots, “Dude! You’re totally naked on TV!” In retaliation, Misha digs through YouTube and torments Jensen with that scene of Jensen dancing in a kimono.

When they go out, which is rare because who has the time or energy, they usually end up at the end of the bar, nursing drinks and talking, talking. Jensen is not a talker, in general, but Misha finds he will talk about his parents, his childhood, the early days on soaps and the ridiculous horror scripts he gets now, if Misha is just patient enough to listen. All it takes for anyone to talk, really, is interest and silence.

And it’s not just fairy tales that Misha tells Jensen. He increasingly tells Jensen the truth, about hard times and tough decisions and how he found himself in this life, and how sometimes, if you put enough good out there, good things come back to you.

All the other stories he tells Jensen are about the two of them, even when they’re under different names.


They aren’t quite as comfortable together as Jensen is with Jared, but Misha thinks that’s okay. He doesn’t want to be Jensen’s brother, after all. He’s thinking more playmate, partner in crime, sweetheart.

It is a bit like middle school, he reflects. It’s innocent.  It’s not much more than licking frosting from each other’s lips or let their knees rest against each other or letting a hand rest on a hip when setting up a shot when they play pool.  On one memorable occasion Jensen falls asleep on Misha’s chest and Misha stays on the sofa and lets him sleep, playing with his ears, stroking his back, not wanting to wake him anymore than he’d disturb a sleeping cat. Jensen wakes snorting and grouchy, and says, “Dude, what were you thinking, letting me sleep here all night?”

“I was thinking you were tired,” says Misha, and apparently those are the magic words because Jensen kisses him good morning before he clambers off the sofa. Misha lounges on the sofa and watches him stumble about the kitchen in search of coffee. Jensen grumbles that no one should be forced to grind beans at this time of the morning and Misha is glad he put the grinder away instead of leaving it on the counter, because that means Jensen will be in his kitchen that much longer.


They’re shivering under an umbrella and down jackets, hoping the misty Vancouver rain will let up enough to film, when Jensen says quietly, “I keep meaning to thank you,” as he squints into the distance.

“You thanked me for the coffee,” says Misha.

“I mean for everything else. For being patient.” He looks down at their feet, Misha’s wearing Castiel’s wingtips and Jensen’s wearing Dean’s boots, and steps a little closer so that his feet frame Misha’s. He’s so close Misha can smell his aftershave and the leather of Dean’s jacket.

Jensen’s head is still bent. Rain water dots the back of his neck. Misha decides not to let the opportunity pass and gently kisses his damp hair. He hears the soft huff of air that Jensen makes in response, but Jensen also doesn’t look up or move away.

Misha whispers to the top of his head, “When the time is right, when you’re ready, you’ll come to me.”

“What if I don’t?” Jensen looks up. “What if I never am?”

“Then you’ll have to give me back the Pez dispensers.” Jensen lowers his head again but he’s smiling, and Misha leans their temples together, hoping to keep him warm.


It was only a matter of time for someone to ask about his intentions, and because Jared is Jensen’s brother from another mother, this duty falls upon Jared. He is predictably blunt about it.

“So, once you have him, what are you going to do with him?”

They’re eating lunch, today from cardboard boxes. Misha takes the meat out of his sandwich and gives it to Jared, who adds it to his sandwich without a word. The boy needs all the extra protein he can get.

And it’s not lost on Misha that the people he normally eats with are sitting elsewhere, as if it were a crew-wide decision to let Jared handle this. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise him it that’s exactly what happened.

He says slowly, “I should probably stuff and mount him. Isn’t that what you do with trophies?”

“Dude,” Jared reproaches him.

Misha eats his sandwich, and it’s pretty good, really, cheese and vegetables and mustard, and the bread is hearty. He says when he’s swallowed, “I’m going to keep him. That’s as far ahead as I’ve planned. Besides, whatever happens, it’s pretty much up to him.”

“Seriously? You’re not just fucking around with him?”

“Not yet,” Misha says, and Jared groans.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

Jared shoves him, which is akin to being shoved by a John Deere tractor, and Misha shoves him back, and when it becomes an actual wrestling match they both take care to protect their sandwiches. Priorities.


“Jared asked me what my intentions toward you are,” Misha tells Jensen over the phone that night.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I hope you’ll want to be with me.”


“Yeah,” Misha says, surprised. “What? You think I want to take your DNA and make the most beautiful clone army that ever was?”

“Knowing you? I’d believe it.” Jensen is quiet. “No strings, huh?”

“No strings.” Misha is quiet too. “I want you to be happy. I think I’m up to the task.”

Softer than soft, “I think so too. Good night, Misha.”

“Good night,” says Misha, and he means it, he means it with all his heart.

When you’re ready
When you’re ready
When you’re ready
Come be with me

♪ “Come Be With Me”—Bird York

2 thoughts on “No Walls, No Strings (A Sort of Fairy Tale 3/14)”

  1. I’m already circling this fic in my arms. So much love. And I love that there’s (going to be) fourteen parts. Looks like it’ll be a slow progression (which is the best kind in any story, I think). As I said yesterday, can’t wait for more!

Leave a Reply