(no subject)
A Pretty Face Can Hide an Evil Mind
For phrenk's birthday, this is the AU about Mike Rosenbaum the supervillain, Misha Collins the secret agent, and Barack Obama the president of the United States.
Special Agent Misha Collins has been in many a sticky situation in his life. It comes with the territory of being a spy. He's like James Bond, but less English, and worse dressed. As far as Misha is concerned, there's no reason to wear a nice suit except to a formal event. He has much more luck blending in and getting into places without being suspected if people assume he's a hobo.
Misha might not be everyone's idea of a secret agent, but he gets the job done.
But then Dr. Rosenbaum comes onto the scene.
Misha assumes Dr. Rosenbaum is not actually a medical doctor, because med school is hard, and once you are a doctor, you actually get paid a lot. Misha is also technically a doctor, but he has a PhD in philosophy, so he makes no money in his day job. But he also isn't a supervillain, and he thinks there's no particularly good reason anyone else should be either.
He's been chasing Rosenbaum for what seems like months now. Every time he foils a doomsday device, there's a plague of locusts just waiting for him to take it out. He's not even surprised anymore when the president calls him every day with new missions, but he's getting tired. Even Misha needs some me time now and then.
"What is it now, Mr. President?" he asks, exhausted, on a Sunday night.
"That doesn't sound like you're happy to hear from me, Agent Collins," says Barack. He's upbeat, as always. If Misha didn't like him so much, it would make him sick.
"I'd rather it was your wife," says Misha with a grin. "How is my lovely Michelle?"
"She says I'll never be half the man you are," says Barack. "But enough about my cuckolding. We have work to do, Agent Collins."
"Let me guess," he says, "it's Dr. Rosenbaum again."
Barack sighs. "Isn't it always?"
"Remember when we had other supervillains?"
"I miss Chad," says Barack, sadly. "Chad was so much fun."
"Chad was fun. It's a shame his meth lab exploded like that."
"I hoped we could rescue him from the blast and use him on the team."
Misha snorts. "You have got to stop hiring your enemies, Mr. President."
"Padalecki's working out great."
"Padalecki was a henchman. A brainwashed henchman."
"Still," says Barack.
"So give me the details."
"Back to business, of course," says Barack. "We received a note from Dr. Rosenbaum twenty minutes ago. He's threatening to blow up New York City."
"With what?"
"I don't know. A laser of some kind."
"Of course. Always with the lasers. What are his demands?"
Barack looks him straight in the eye. "You, Agent Collins."
"Me?"
"Dr. Rosenbaum has asked for 'that spy who looks like a homeless guy' to be delivered to Mt. Rushmore at dawn, or he will destroy New York."
"Mt. Rushmore?"
"I don't make up the ransom notes, Agent Collins, I just pass them on."
Misha sighs. "Well, he might be bluffing, but I'll go."
"I expected more resistance."
"You and I both know I'm more useful in the villain's lair than I am outside it, Mr. President," says Misha. "Wherever Dr. Rosenbaum takes me, I can use it against him."
"Understood, Agent Collins," says Barack. "I'm sure you won't be allowed to keep any kind of communications device, so I'll just wish you luck now."
"I appreciate it, sir. If I don't return, tell Michelle I love her."
"God speed, Misha."
"Thanks, Barack."
*
Misha dresses up a little for his capture. Nothing with too many holes, nothing that smells like cheap vodka and/or Listerine, just a little breath of class. After all, Dr. Rosenbaum clearly knows he's not a hobo, so there's no need to keep up the charade.
He gets bored and falls asleep by the mountain and is roused by someone clearing their throat.
He looks up to see a tall man with brown hair, who looks kind of bored.
"You must be the secret agent," he says. "You really do look like a hobo."
Misha pulls himself up. "I am. You must be the henchman."
The guy shrugs. "It's a way to make a living. You can call me Mike."
"Pooh-Bear," says Misha.
Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's a crappy codename."
"I picked it myself," says Misha. "It's what Michelle Obama calls me when we make love."
"Well, everyone's got their kinks," says Mike. "I'm not here to judge. My car's over here."
He's got a green Prius, and Misha raises his eyebrows. "Not much of a villain car."
Mike shrugs. "I can't work for a supervillain and care about the environment?"
"Isn't Dr. Rosenbaum trying to destroy the planet?"
"No way! Dr. Rosenbaum is trying to save the planet. God knows the government isn't doing shit. Don't get me wrong, your man Obama? He's way better than Bush was, but still."
"Tell me about it," says Misha. "I went to grad school while Bush was in office. I couldn't work for him."
Mike gives him an appraising look. "Yeah? That's not bad."
Misha shrugs. "I do have morals. I was hired during the Clinton administration. I was an intern."
Mike looks him over. "I didn't think you were the type," he says, sounding a little impressed.
"I am," says Misha. He's always been free with his sexuality. "Although Bill wasn't really for me."
"Seriously?" asks Mike. "Man, I'd hit that."
"Where are you taking me? Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"
Mike shrugs. "Not really. This is our non-secret base. It'd be pretty stupid to take you to the secret one, right?"
"In my experience, villains are stupid."
"A lot of them don't have real doctorates," Mike agrees.
"But Rosenbaum does?"
"Top of his class at Northwestern," says Mike.
"Impressive. What are your boss's goals, anyway?"
"Environmental awareness. People sucking less. Free love. No war. Ruling with an iron fist."
Misha considers. "And the locusts?"
"Hey, people gotta remember, nature can kick their ass."
"That's true," says Misha.
Mike looks at him. "How'd you get into the secret agent business, anyway?"
Misha grins. "Wanted to save the world, of course."
"And Clinton recognized your skills?"
"They are many," Misha agrees.
"And how's that going?" Mike asks.
Misha considers this. He loves being a secret agent, but he has felt somewhat directionless recently. After all, the issues he really cares about, things like health care and the environment and world peace, aren't the things he's been getting jobs for. Sure, taking out people like Rosenbaum is fun, but it isn't like Rosenbaum has done much harm. His doomsday device, although he talked it up impressively, was actually made of Legos. Misha had honestly admired the ingenuity of it.
"Not as well as it had been," he says. He loves Barack, he does, but the man doesn't need his help much, when there aren't psychos like Rosenbaum around. Mostly they just play poker and get wasted.
"See, that's what I'm saying," says Mike. "Obama was supposed to be all change I can believe in or whatever, but there's too much fucking red tape, even for guys like you! What this world needs is a little anarchy."
Misha finds himself nodding. He thinks he's not supposed to agree with the villain's henchman, but it's not his fault the guy is so fun and charming.
"Haven't you ever wanted to raise a little hell?" asks Mike.
"Pretty much constantly," Misha admits.
"See, I knew it. I knew you weren't the kind of guy who could be really happy working for the man."
"What do you know about me?" asks Misha, suddenly cautious.
"A hell of a lot more than you know about me," says Mike. "Your name's Misha Collins, you're a published poet, you went to the University of Chicago to get your doctorate. In philosophy. Which is doing jack shit for you in the real world."
"You're very informed for a henchman," says Misha.
"I'm not a henchman," he says. "I'm Mike Rosenbaum."
Misha stares. "What?"
Mike shrugs. "I was never really the henchman type. You know, if you want something done right, do it yourself, right? I've pretty much memorized the Evil Overlord's handbook. Although I wouldn't consider myself evil. Just misunderstood."
"What do you want with me?" asks Mike.
"I might not be the henchman type," says Mike, "but I could use a partner in crime."
"And you want me?"
"I'd like someone smart, resourceful, and fun," says Mike. "Someone who understands the goals of my organization. And I don't mind some eye candy while I'm at it."
Misha stares. Finally, he says, "What did you get your doctorate in?"
"Gender Studies," says Mike.
"What's your next move?"
"I'm thinking of breaking a lot of animals out of the zoo and attempting to reintegrate them into the wild. I'm probably going to get my arm bitten off. I figure, I can get a prosthetic arm. It'll make me a better villain. Everyone needs a gimmick, right?" Mike grins at him. "So what do you say? Ready to join the dark side of the force?"
Misha should think about it more, but he finds that he doesn't need to. "Do you need a resume?"
"Nah," says Mike. "Just get me a letter of reference from Clinton and we'll be set."
*
"So you're switching teams?" asks Barack. He sounds unhappy, but not entirely surprised. "After all we've been through?"
"You know it's not you, Barack," he says. "I've just never been the guy to go through traditional means to change the world. And Dr. Rosenbaum has some good ideas."
Barack sighs. "Please try to rein him in a little, Misha. I have enough on my plate without another doomsday device."
"I'll do my best."
"Michelle will miss you terribly."
"I'll miss her too," says Misha. "But Dr. Rosenbaum has a monogamy kink that Michelle has never shared."
"I'll tell her you've given up women entirely. That should console her."
Misha laughs. "Yes. Tell her it's not her, it's me."
Barack sighs. "I'll miss you, old friend."
"When the new order rises, we'll save you a good seat."
"I'm counting on it."
Mike raises his eyebrows as the call disconnects. "You joke around about sleeping with his wife to his face?"
"Barack and I have a long history of friendship," says Misha.
"Should I be jealous?"
"Of course not," says Misha. "He's too tall for me. Now. Let's talk about world domination."
For phrenk's birthday, this is the AU about Mike Rosenbaum the supervillain, Misha Collins the secret agent, and Barack Obama the president of the United States.
Special Agent Misha Collins has been in many a sticky situation in his life. It comes with the territory of being a spy. He's like James Bond, but less English, and worse dressed. As far as Misha is concerned, there's no reason to wear a nice suit except to a formal event. He has much more luck blending in and getting into places without being suspected if people assume he's a hobo.
Misha might not be everyone's idea of a secret agent, but he gets the job done.
But then Dr. Rosenbaum comes onto the scene.
Misha assumes Dr. Rosenbaum is not actually a medical doctor, because med school is hard, and once you are a doctor, you actually get paid a lot. Misha is also technically a doctor, but he has a PhD in philosophy, so he makes no money in his day job. But he also isn't a supervillain, and he thinks there's no particularly good reason anyone else should be either.
He's been chasing Rosenbaum for what seems like months now. Every time he foils a doomsday device, there's a plague of locusts just waiting for him to take it out. He's not even surprised anymore when the president calls him every day with new missions, but he's getting tired. Even Misha needs some me time now and then.
"What is it now, Mr. President?" he asks, exhausted, on a Sunday night.
"That doesn't sound like you're happy to hear from me, Agent Collins," says Barack. He's upbeat, as always. If Misha didn't like him so much, it would make him sick.
"I'd rather it was your wife," says Misha with a grin. "How is my lovely Michelle?"
"She says I'll never be half the man you are," says Barack. "But enough about my cuckolding. We have work to do, Agent Collins."
"Let me guess," he says, "it's Dr. Rosenbaum again."
Barack sighs. "Isn't it always?"
"Remember when we had other supervillains?"
"I miss Chad," says Barack, sadly. "Chad was so much fun."
"Chad was fun. It's a shame his meth lab exploded like that."
"I hoped we could rescue him from the blast and use him on the team."
Misha snorts. "You have got to stop hiring your enemies, Mr. President."
"Padalecki's working out great."
"Padalecki was a henchman. A brainwashed henchman."
"Still," says Barack.
"So give me the details."
"Back to business, of course," says Barack. "We received a note from Dr. Rosenbaum twenty minutes ago. He's threatening to blow up New York City."
"With what?"
"I don't know. A laser of some kind."
"Of course. Always with the lasers. What are his demands?"
Barack looks him straight in the eye. "You, Agent Collins."
"Me?"
"Dr. Rosenbaum has asked for 'that spy who looks like a homeless guy' to be delivered to Mt. Rushmore at dawn, or he will destroy New York."
"Mt. Rushmore?"
"I don't make up the ransom notes, Agent Collins, I just pass them on."
Misha sighs. "Well, he might be bluffing, but I'll go."
"I expected more resistance."
"You and I both know I'm more useful in the villain's lair than I am outside it, Mr. President," says Misha. "Wherever Dr. Rosenbaum takes me, I can use it against him."
"Understood, Agent Collins," says Barack. "I'm sure you won't be allowed to keep any kind of communications device, so I'll just wish you luck now."
"I appreciate it, sir. If I don't return, tell Michelle I love her."
"God speed, Misha."
"Thanks, Barack."
*
Misha dresses up a little for his capture. Nothing with too many holes, nothing that smells like cheap vodka and/or Listerine, just a little breath of class. After all, Dr. Rosenbaum clearly knows he's not a hobo, so there's no need to keep up the charade.
He gets bored and falls asleep by the mountain and is roused by someone clearing their throat.
He looks up to see a tall man with brown hair, who looks kind of bored.
"You must be the secret agent," he says. "You really do look like a hobo."
Misha pulls himself up. "I am. You must be the henchman."
The guy shrugs. "It's a way to make a living. You can call me Mike."
"Pooh-Bear," says Misha.
Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's a crappy codename."
"I picked it myself," says Misha. "It's what Michelle Obama calls me when we make love."
"Well, everyone's got their kinks," says Mike. "I'm not here to judge. My car's over here."
He's got a green Prius, and Misha raises his eyebrows. "Not much of a villain car."
Mike shrugs. "I can't work for a supervillain and care about the environment?"
"Isn't Dr. Rosenbaum trying to destroy the planet?"
"No way! Dr. Rosenbaum is trying to save the planet. God knows the government isn't doing shit. Don't get me wrong, your man Obama? He's way better than Bush was, but still."
"Tell me about it," says Misha. "I went to grad school while Bush was in office. I couldn't work for him."
Mike gives him an appraising look. "Yeah? That's not bad."
Misha shrugs. "I do have morals. I was hired during the Clinton administration. I was an intern."
Mike looks him over. "I didn't think you were the type," he says, sounding a little impressed.
"I am," says Misha. He's always been free with his sexuality. "Although Bill wasn't really for me."
"Seriously?" asks Mike. "Man, I'd hit that."
"Where are you taking me? Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"
Mike shrugs. "Not really. This is our non-secret base. It'd be pretty stupid to take you to the secret one, right?"
"In my experience, villains are stupid."
"A lot of them don't have real doctorates," Mike agrees.
"But Rosenbaum does?"
"Top of his class at Northwestern," says Mike.
"Impressive. What are your boss's goals, anyway?"
"Environmental awareness. People sucking less. Free love. No war. Ruling with an iron fist."
Misha considers. "And the locusts?"
"Hey, people gotta remember, nature can kick their ass."
"That's true," says Misha.
Mike looks at him. "How'd you get into the secret agent business, anyway?"
Misha grins. "Wanted to save the world, of course."
"And Clinton recognized your skills?"
"They are many," Misha agrees.
"And how's that going?" Mike asks.
Misha considers this. He loves being a secret agent, but he has felt somewhat directionless recently. After all, the issues he really cares about, things like health care and the environment and world peace, aren't the things he's been getting jobs for. Sure, taking out people like Rosenbaum is fun, but it isn't like Rosenbaum has done much harm. His doomsday device, although he talked it up impressively, was actually made of Legos. Misha had honestly admired the ingenuity of it.
"Not as well as it had been," he says. He loves Barack, he does, but the man doesn't need his help much, when there aren't psychos like Rosenbaum around. Mostly they just play poker and get wasted.
"See, that's what I'm saying," says Mike. "Obama was supposed to be all change I can believe in or whatever, but there's too much fucking red tape, even for guys like you! What this world needs is a little anarchy."
Misha finds himself nodding. He thinks he's not supposed to agree with the villain's henchman, but it's not his fault the guy is so fun and charming.
"Haven't you ever wanted to raise a little hell?" asks Mike.
"Pretty much constantly," Misha admits.
"See, I knew it. I knew you weren't the kind of guy who could be really happy working for the man."
"What do you know about me?" asks Misha, suddenly cautious.
"A hell of a lot more than you know about me," says Mike. "Your name's Misha Collins, you're a published poet, you went to the University of Chicago to get your doctorate. In philosophy. Which is doing jack shit for you in the real world."
"You're very informed for a henchman," says Misha.
"I'm not a henchman," he says. "I'm Mike Rosenbaum."
Misha stares. "What?"
Mike shrugs. "I was never really the henchman type. You know, if you want something done right, do it yourself, right? I've pretty much memorized the Evil Overlord's handbook. Although I wouldn't consider myself evil. Just misunderstood."
"What do you want with me?" asks Mike.
"I might not be the henchman type," says Mike, "but I could use a partner in crime."
"And you want me?"
"I'd like someone smart, resourceful, and fun," says Mike. "Someone who understands the goals of my organization. And I don't mind some eye candy while I'm at it."
Misha stares. Finally, he says, "What did you get your doctorate in?"
"Gender Studies," says Mike.
"What's your next move?"
"I'm thinking of breaking a lot of animals out of the zoo and attempting to reintegrate them into the wild. I'm probably going to get my arm bitten off. I figure, I can get a prosthetic arm. It'll make me a better villain. Everyone needs a gimmick, right?" Mike grins at him. "So what do you say? Ready to join the dark side of the force?"
Misha should think about it more, but he finds that he doesn't need to. "Do you need a resume?"
"Nah," says Mike. "Just get me a letter of reference from Clinton and we'll be set."
*
"So you're switching teams?" asks Barack. He sounds unhappy, but not entirely surprised. "After all we've been through?"
"You know it's not you, Barack," he says. "I've just never been the guy to go through traditional means to change the world. And Dr. Rosenbaum has some good ideas."
Barack sighs. "Please try to rein him in a little, Misha. I have enough on my plate without another doomsday device."
"I'll do my best."
"Michelle will miss you terribly."
"I'll miss her too," says Misha. "But Dr. Rosenbaum has a monogamy kink that Michelle has never shared."
"I'll tell her you've given up women entirely. That should console her."
Misha laughs. "Yes. Tell her it's not her, it's me."
Barack sighs. "I'll miss you, old friend."
"When the new order rises, we'll save you a good seat."
"I'm counting on it."
Mike raises his eyebrows as the call disconnects. "You joke around about sleeping with his wife to his face?"
"Barack and I have a long history of friendship," says Misha.
"Should I be jealous?"
"Of course not," says Misha. "He's too tall for me. Now. Let's talk about world domination."