Candy Glass
Title: Candy Glass
Fandom: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Bobby Singer, Crowley, Castiel, Jim Beaver. Very mild implied Destiel.
Warnings: Cursing
Word Count: 8000
Summary: JP, JA and Misha are sitting around the set bickering about nothing important when they are suddenly sucked into the Supernatural universe. Like for reals and stuff.
Notes: I haven’t even tried writing RPF before, so forgive me for the suckitude.
“Marbles. In his car.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
Jensen eyed his best friend. Jared, who generally radiated sunny good humor, was never so bright-eyed and effusive as when he had just played an especially good prank on Misha, particularly one conducted in retaliation for yet another practical joke. In truth, Jensen no longer recalled which of the two idiots had started the current feud. Although he was grateful that he’d been on the sidelines for this particular exchange of unpleasantries, he also enjoyed egging on the separate parties.
“I wanna see. I want pictures!” he finally told Jared, who with a broad grin hastily whipped out his cell phone and began thumbing it.
Jensen sat back on the wooden bench. They were out on location today, in an abandoned town some miles north of Vancouver they sometimes used for filming main street scenes in what was to be this week's cursed small town. Due to some crossed signals, however, they had lost a lot of the morning while they waited for a couple of crew guys to replace the broad front window in one of the storefronts with candy glass, so they could perform a stunt there later. (Jensen wasn't exactly sure what the stunt would be as he hadn't actually yet read though all of the script: someone inevitably got thrown through a window in all probability.) While the second unit filmed nearby, Jensen and Jared had retired to sit out on the wooden porch near the newly replaced window, waiting for the stenciled on BROOKS GENERAL STORE lettering to dry.
“Jared.” The voice, though a full register higher than that of his character, was utterly unmistakable, and caused Jared to hastily pocket the offending cell phone and mold his features into a look of boyish innocence. “You know anything about my car?” asked Misha, whipping off his aviator shades like an officious cop in a terrible police procedural.
“Car? What car? Do you have a car?” answered Jared.
A pair of suspicious blue eyes slid over to glare at Jensen. Jensen held up his hands. “I know nothing about any of this.”
The eyes narrowed. “Any of what?”
“Uh, whatever?” tried Jensen.
Misha turned his attentions back to Jared. “Seriously? Seriously?”
“Dude, you sound like a Dr. Sexy extra,” giggled Jared.
Jensen looked his costar up and down. He was wearing jeans and flannel, topped by a down vest. “Why are you out of costume, anyway?” put in Jensen, thinking to steer the conversation to less treacherous territory.
“I’m done for the day. I was meaning to go home. You know, to my family?” He was now crowding into Jared’s space. Jared picked this exact instance to stand up, so instead of nose-to-nose they were more like nose-to-chest, which was not terribly impressive as a means of intimidation.
“So, uh, why can’t you go home, exactly?” wondered Jensen, who to be honest wasn’t entirely clear on the nature of the prank.
Misha drew in breath, ready for a god old fashioned rant. “Because my car-“
“Alright, ready for the stunt?” asked a huge, bull-necked man who had just wandered by. He was dressed like a crew member. The guy looked familiar, but or some weird reason, Jensen couldn’t place him. He definitely wasn't a regular member of the stunt crew. He squinted at the guy's badge, but it was reversed.
“Uh, what stunt?” asked Jared.
“I don’t have any stunts,” Misha told him.
“I thought you had a stunt,” Jared told Misha.
“No I don’t have a stunt.”
“You sure?”
“Naw, I just smite somebody.”
Jared laughed. “What?” asked Misha.
“Dude, you make the weirdest faces when you smite stuff.”
“Fuck off.”
Jensen, as he hadn’t yet completed reading the script due to being kept up nights by the howling of his adorable but somewhat fussy newborn daughter, did not have an opinion to offer.
“I thought you had a stunt, Mish,” Jared persisted.
“You’re probably thinking of 14,” said Misha. “I have a stunt in 14.”
“Oh, yeah. Where you get thrown by a guy.”
Misha rolled his eyes. “I always get thrown by a guy. At least I don’t get tortured again.”
“I like it when you’re tortured.”
“You’re a very troubled individual, Jared.”
Jensen frowned. The scripts this year - well, he'd already had a couple meetings about it. It seemed like they were wandering around instead of getting somewhere.
Jensen blinked. Quite suddenly he had several acres of stunt dude looming over him, blocking out the sun.
“Hey, dude,” said Jensen in warning.
“It’s time for your stunt,” said the guy. Worryingly, he was bigger than Jared, and he looked like he actually meant it. Jensen tried to catch Jared’s eye. Just in case he was up to anything uncool, it seemed like between the two of them they could hold him off, though he would probably reduce poor Misha to pixie dust. (Misha really needed to learn to fight some times: it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been on an action show for like the past six seasons.)
“We hadn’t heard about this,” said Jensen. “Maybe we better call-“
“Here we go!” said the guy, and then Jensen felt himself grabbed by the scruff of the neck and, along with Jared, tossed through the window as if he weighed no more than a freaking rag doll.
The candy glass shattered like it was supposed to, and Jensen, catlike, was back on his feet in a beat, just in time to be body-slammed by Misha, who had apparently been tossed in after them.
“Ow!” yelled Jared, who was trying to pick himself up. He also grabbed a piece of the shattered candy glass and started nibbling on it.
“What the fuck?” yelled Jensen, who didn’t confine himself to PG-rated swearing in real life. He heard a soft moan, and squatted down to take a look at Misha, who was now bleeding from a wound at his scalp line. “Mish! Dammit, he’s injured. Look what you did!” he yelled towards the window. “Now he’s gonna need stitches.”
“Can’t do anything but improve his looks,” laughed Jared. “Uhhh… Huh.”
“Huh … what,” demanded Jensen, hauling Misha up to stand, somewhat shakily, on his feet.
“Where did the stunt guy go?” Jared looked out the window, and then turned all the way around. “Does this even look like the same window to you?” he asked. He rubbed his head. “I wonder if I hit my head too?”
“What the hell?” asked Jensen. He now cast his attention away from Misha, who seemed pretty shaken up, to the broken window. Oddly enough, the midday sky outside had suddenly turned dark and threatening. “Jar, did you guys prank the crew or something? Are they fucking with us?”
Jared’s head was craned out the window, his long hair blowing in the breeze. Which begged the question of why there was now a breeze after a completely still, sunny afternoon. “I don’t think this is the crew’s doing, J.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I mean-“ But what exactly Jared meant was alas lost the ages, as just at that moment, there came a terrific howl behind them. The room lit up with a lurid, green light. The three men turned to see a rather terrific, well-rendered special effect of a ghostly spirit floating towards them.
“Whoa, that must’ve blown the budget,” said Jensen, looking it up and down. It was an old woman, flickering on and off like when a cable channel is going out. She had a wild, unhinged look in her eyes. Probably contact lenses, Jensen thought.
“Aw, you can tell it’s fake,” Jared told him.
“How?”
Jared drew nearer to the shimmering, greenish vision of a heavily made up female actress. “See? You can see the matte lines here.” He pointed to the edge of the vision, but then the vile old woman shrieked again, and, with a cry that was definitely not a girlie scream, Jared was thrown backwards.
Jensen tightened his grip on Misha as he felt his balls suddenly crawl back up into his abdomen. “Jar,” he said, backing up. “You OK, dude?” This prank was definitely getting annoying. He looked around, wondering where there must be a crew guy hidden, recording all of this on a hidden camera. “Hey, anybody? Not cool! We’ve got some guys hurt here.”
The special effect ghost rounded on Jensen. As he backed off, she seemed to surge forward, eyes boring into him.
And then, looming but a foot away, she opened her mouth to scream again.
“Don’t,” muttered Misha. “G’way.” Groggily, he waved his arm and ended up batting her in the nose. Instead of shrieking, she froze. Suddenly her eyes gave off sparks. And then the entire apparition was on fire, blazing in orange and red and yellow, and giving off the distinct smell of brimstone.
“J!” yelled Jared.
“What?”
“Run!” Jared dashed for the front door, wrenched it open and fled. Jensen followed along, half-carrying Misha with him. They all stopped outside on the porch, panting. It was dark, and looked like it would start raining any minute. “Hey, anybody!” Jensen called. But there was only silence in return.
“They're gonna be pissed of you ruin the take,” said Jared.
“Mish is hurt. Come on, he's gonna need stitches. You walk OK, dude?” he asked Misha, patting him on the stomach.”
“Yeah. I guess. I feel … weird,” Misha muttered.
“Like, weirder than usual?” Jared snarked.
“He looks pale,” Jensen worried. “You don't think he has a concussion, do you? You don't have a concussion, do you Mish? Let me see if your eyes are weird.” Jensen brushed Misha's hand away from his eyes and stared into them.
“Look, why don't you watch Old Cockeyes and I go get a guy,” Jared offered.
Jensen nodded and got Misha sat down on the bench next to him while Jared loped off. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Like you're gonna get an aneurysm?”
“Like when I fell off my bike going sixty,” moaned Misha. “Only sort of worse. Do you have aspirin?”
“I have Ibuprophin.”
“I don't like Ibuprofen. It's bad for your liver.”
“It's not your liver that's bleeding, dude.” Jensen pulled out his cell phone. He held it up and squinted at it.
“It could be bleeding!” Misha speculated, some color returning to his face. “Maybe I sustained massive internal injuries! Hey, that would be cool. Could I use your phone to tweet about this?”
“What happened to your phone?”
“My son dropped it in the toilet.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Why do kids do anything? Be thankful yours can't walk yet.”
Jensen was still frowning at his phone. “I can't get a signal.”
“Do you have AT&T?”
“No.”
“You should have AT&T.”
“Why are you lecturing me? Your phone is in the john!”
“Not any more. He flushed it.”
Jared had come back He did not look pleased. “Guys!”
“Jar, where's the guy?” asked Jensen.
“There is no guy.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Jared held up his hands. He looked genuinely perplexed. “I mean there's nobody here. They struck the set.”
“Wait, they already quit for the day? What the hell?” He looked back and forth between Misha and Jared. “You guys, what did you do?”
“We didn't do anything!” said Jared.
“You told me you did something,” said Jensen. “With the marbles!”
“Ah-ha!” declared Misha, who stood up to point an accusing finger at Jared. But then he put a hand on his head, groaned, and sank back down. “Ow.”
“That's another thing: the cars,” Jared told them.
“What about the cars?” asked Jensen.
There was a diner.
Of course there was a diner. There was always a diner.
A black 1967 Chevy Impala was parked outside. For whatever reason, it was the only car left on the lot. Fortunately, Jensen still had a set of keys in his pocket. Good thing he hadn't changed out of his Dean costume yet.
Misha was looking somewhat less pale. And because he was Misha, he had charmed the waitress into bringing him a big ziploc bag full of ice for the cut on his head. It didn't look so bad when you wiped the blood off. He was thumbing through the menu, looking in vain for something vegan. “I’m gonna catch hell when I get home if I smell like animal products.”
“Mish, we got bigger fish to fry,” Jensen told him.
“Fish!” said Misha. “You suppose fish would be acceptable? I mean, it’s fish!” he reasoned.
“How is fish vegan?” asked Jared, who was sitting opposite of them, folding a napkin into origami.
“It’s more vegan than a hamburger,” Misha reasoned.
“Are there degrees of vegan?”
“You guys,” said Jensen who was beginning to grow impatient with his companions. “We’ve got bigger problems here! How the hell are we gonna get home?” He and Jared and Misha had driven for an hour, unable to find the way back to Vancouver. None of their cell phones could get a signal, and it seemed like they were just driving around in circles.
“We got a car. We drive home,” shrugged Jared.
“Drive how? Where the hell are we? The GPS doesn’t work, and none of the signs make sense.”
“It’s a prank, J,” said Misha, who was scanning the seafood selections. “Hey, Jar! Get your foot off my balls!”
Jared whistled and tried to look innocent.
“We'll stop and ask for directions,” said Misha.
“We don't need to ask for directions!” Jensen insisted, his face turning a little red.
“What'll it be, honey?” asked the waitress, who had chosen this moment to reappear at the booth.
“I'll have the bacon burger with fries and a side of onion rings,” said Jared.
“Fish and chips,” said Misha. “With tar-tar sauce.”
“How is that vegan?” asked Jared.
“Hey, Jar. Fuck yourself,” muttered Misha.
“Oh, and I'll have an extra side of garlic fries. What?” Jared asked Jensen, who made a face. “All that driving around made me hungry.”
“I don't wanna drive with you after a bacon burger and onion rings, Farty McFartypants,” grumbled Jensen.
“And for you, doll?” the waitress prompted, looking at Jensen.
“Oh, uh.” Jensen had been so overwrought he had forgotten to take a look at the menu.
“He'll have the steak,” said Jared, pointing to it.
“Thanks, sweetie,” said the waitress, grabbing the menus and heading for the hills before Jensen could object.
“What?” asked Jared again. “You were gonna order the steak.”
Jensen pouted. “Maybe.”
“Jar, get your foot outta my balls,” Misha snapped. Jared giggled. “Hey, I mean it!”
“Make me,” said Jared.
Misha suddenly got a very strange look on his face. Strange, even for him. He reached down, and with two fingers, touched Jared's knee.
“God DAMN,” said Jared, who quite suddenly moved his leg.
“What happened?” asked Jensen, but Misha was looking slightly out of it. Jensen pulled up the tablecloth and peeked underneath the table. “Dude! Where did you pants go?” he whispered to Jared.
“Misha! What did you do to my pants?” Jared whispered to Misha. He was looking around frantically.
“Uh, I dunno,” said Misha. “What did I do?” Jensen pointed under the table.
Misha picked up the tablecloth took a glimpse. He broke into a smile. “How did I do that?”
“Give them back. Give me back my pants.”
“But I dunno how I did it.”
“Jensen!” Jared appealed.
“Can you give him his pants back? I don't wanna add arrest for indecent exposure to the list,” Jensen sighed.
Misha's brow was knitted with concentration. As Jared began to sweat, he reached down and touched two fingers to Jared's knee once again.
“Dude!” breathed Jared.
“OK,” said Jensen.
“What do you mean, OK?” asked Jared, bringing up one knee to reveal some bright red plaid polyester pants. “He put me in golf pants.”
Misha giggled.
“I'll kill you,” grumbled Jared. “I am sincerely gonna kill you. When I get back from the men’s room.” Aiming a glare at both Jensen and Misha, which got a “dude what did I do?” look in return from Jensen, he took off, the other two watching him.
They just managed to hold off a giggle fit until he was out of earshot. “They’re like six inches too short,” laughed Jensen. “So, how did you do that? Were they tearaway?”
Misha had stopped laughing, and was staring at his own hand. He sometimes did weird hippy shit like that, so it was no surprise. “I don’t know.” He placed his fingers on the napkin dispenser, and it started to glow. He withdrew his fingers.
“You sure you guys aren’t pulling a prank?” Jensen asked quietly. Misha shook his head. The guy looked honestly freaked out. Jensen slipped an arm around his shoulder. “Look, dude. Probably just something weird from being hit on the head.” Not that he really believed this at this point, but it seemed like a nice, calm thing to say.
“I can make pants disappear from a blow to the head? Shouldn’t I have turned into Superman that time I fell off my bike?”
“Mish, here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re gonna watch Jared stuff his idiot face with food, and then we’ll ask for directions, and then we’ll get back to town and maybe stop by an ER on the way if you’re still feeling weird. Right?”
Misha nodded and quietly sipped his tea. Jensen sorta wanted to order the guy something stronger. Hell, he wanted a beer for himself, but he was driving, and he didn’t want either of his idiot costars to put a dent in baby. Especially Jared: dude needed to work on his parallel parking.
He wondered again if it was Jar and Mish up to one of their weird pranks. Or maybe someone finally had it with all the practical jokes and was pranking them? That would explain why Misha seemed honestly freaked out. That ghost back on the set had seemed pretty real, but seriously, those crew guys had been taking forever, it would have given them time to rig up something.
It didn’t explain Jared’s pants though. Jensen had to stifle a snicker as he sat back down, still glaring. “They’re plaid, Misha!” he huffed.
“I thought you liked plaid,” said Jensen. Fortunately, Jared’s moping was interrupted by the waitress bringing out heaps of food.
“You gonna finish that steak?” Jared asked through a mouth full of burger and onion rings.
“She just put it down like five seconds ago,” Jensen told him, irritably shaking on steak sauce. Misha picked up a French fry and considered it morosely. “Here, have his fries,” said Jensen, handing one of Misha’s fries to Jared.
“He has his own fries,” grumped Misha as Jared greedily ate his dinner.
“You snooze, you lose!” said Jared.
The waitress was back with bottles of ketchup and mustard and various other thing. “Hey,” said Jensen. “You know the best way back to Vancouver?”
Misha and Jared got quiet and side-eyed her. “Vancouver?” she asked. She seemed a little mystified.
“Um, what’s the nearest big town?” asked Jensen, casually sawing into his steak.
She shrugged. “You mean Sioux Falls?”
Misha and Jared exchanged a glance.
“Hey, sure,” said Jensen, keeping his voice even. He wasn’t an actor for nothing. “We got kinda turned around out there. GPS not working.” Maybe he should have done improv?
She gave a set of directions to the interstate, and Jensen calmly thanked her.
Misha pushed his plate away. “Sioux Falls?” he whispered. “What the fuck?”
“This day just got even more fucked up,” said Jared, who hadn’t stopped stuffing his face.
“Look, I got an idea,” said Jensen. And, to be honest, he did. Sort of. “You guys go ahead and eat.” He pulled Misha’s plate back. “Come on. I’m not gonna have you bitching that you’re hungry at 2 am.”
Misha looked a little put out, but petulantly crammed a french fry in to his mouth and chewed. “Or if you’re not gonna eat, fix my damn pants,” grumbled Jared.
Misha glared, and then he stuck out two fingers.
“Wait - what?” said Sam.
That's when they heard a scream. And a crash.
“Get down!” somebody yelled.
The three men complied, crowding somewhat awkwardly under their table, Jared with a plate of onion rings. “What's happening?” he munched.
“Are they being robbed?” asked Misha.
Jensen, who was envisioning some kind of Pulp Fiction scenario, poked his head up. He sat back down looking pale. “What is it?” whispered Misha. “Do they have guns?”
“Guys, it's a ghost. Like back on the set.”
Misha and Jared looked at each other. “No fucking way,” said Misha.
Suddenly, there was a crash right beside their booth. They cringed as an entire table went flying across the diner. “Fucking way,” said Jensen. “And it's freaking out. Mish, you gotta do that burn out thing you did before!”
“I can't do a burn out thing! I'm an actor!” said Misha.
“Dude, you've been changing my pants,” laughed Jared, who reached up for another plate of food off the table and came back with Misha's fish and chips.
“That's my dinner,” grumbled Misha.
“You were being all emo about eating,” reasoned Jared.
“I wasn't being emo!”
“You two!” said Jensen. “We gotta deal with this shit right here.”
There was another crash, and some assorted terrified screaming.
“We're actors, J!” Misha pleaded. “We're just a bunch of dumb, overpaid actors.”
“Iron,” said Jared. “We need iron. Where do you get iron in a diner?”
“They probably have skillets in the kitchen,” sighed Misha.
“Jar, you distract it, Mish and I will head for the kitchen!” said Jensen.
“J, I'm an actor!” said Misha.
“Yeah, well, we're acting like ghost busters now. Come on!”
Jared, still holding the fish and chips, nodded and stood up in the booth. Misha followed Jensen towards the kitchen. “When something's strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call!” Jared sang in a wavering voice.
“Ghost busters!” came a bunch of answering voices. And then there was another crash, and Jared yelled, “Oh shit.”
“Those were my fish and chips,” muttered Misha as they entered the double doors to the kitchen.
There were several kitchen staff and wait persons cowering within.
“Hey, you guys know about that poltergeist?” asked Jensen.
“It's one of the fry cooks, man!” answered a guy in a chef's toque. “He comes back every once in a while.”
“Is he angry over something?” asked Jensen.
“Naw. He was just always kind of a jerk.”
Jensen looked around. Life was not TV. “We need cast iron.”
“Do you have an iron skillet?” Misha asked.
The chef and several others pointed. “We meant, one that's not being used,” said Jensen, as the skillet was sizzling on the burner.
Several chefs shook their heads. “Busy night, man.”
Jensen sighed. A moment later, when he and Misha burst out of the kitchen, he was holding tight to a big skillet with a couple of potholders. “Over here, butt-face!” he yelled as Misha cringed.
The angry spirit charged. As Misha ducked out of the way, Jensen swung, scattering fried rice everywhere.
The spirit popped out. Just like on the show. Sometimes life was like TV.
“Dude!” yelled Jared from over in the booth. “That was cool.”
“Ready the smiting thing,” Jensen told Misha. “There!”
The spirit popped back into existence, all greenish glow and malevolence. Gritting his teeth and scowling fiercly, Misha stepped forward and slapped a hand on its head.
The thing screamed, green going to red and orange, and finally dissolved into a few glowing cinders.
There was a moment of silence, and then the diner burst into applause. Misha, knowing not what else to do, shrugged and took a bow.
“Man, you make the weirdest faces when you're smiting,” said Jared, who had come to stand alongside him.
“Oh, fuck off,” Misha told him, grabbing a piece of fried fish off the plate Jared was holding.
In the end, the night manager gave them a 30% discount on their meal, plus directions to Sioux Falls. “Thank you, Jensen, Jared and....”
“Misha,” Misha supplied.
“Misha? That's a weird name,” said the night manager.
Jared giggled, and the next chance he had, Misha changed his pants into a sarong.
“Singer Salvage? There’s really one in Sioux Falls?” asked Misha.
“Guess so,” said Jensen, looking up at the sign.
Jensen wasn’t exactly certain how he had arrived here. Once they reached the Sioux Falls city limits he’s kind of “used the force,” and just turned where it felt right.
Jared shuffled out after them. In the past hour, he’d been through culottes, clown pants, a skort, a kilt, leggings, old fashioned bloomers, a princess dress (complete with petticoats), buckskin (those were kind of cool) and finally back to jeans: mom jeans, eighties style, stone washed, acid washed, Levi’s, Lee, Kmart brand, baggy, and finally something somewhat normal.
Somewhere around the time of the bloomers, Jensen, for one, had become convinced that this was something a little more serious than a prank.
He nodded at Misha, who placed two fingers on the padlock that fastened the gate. It unlocked with a click, and they pulled the gate open.
“You can angel-finger locks now?” asked Jared. Misha shrugged, and then cocked an eyebrow.
Jared covered his crotch. “Don’t even think it! Leave my pants alone!”
There was the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked. Jared and Misha turned.
Jensen was already holding up his hands. “Jim-“
“Who the hell is Jim?” asked the old guy who looked exactly like Jim Beaver.
Jared started to speak, but Jensen put in, “Bobby.”
“And why the Sam Hill are you two dragging along that one,” asked Bobby, pointing the weapon at Misha, who took a couple steps back. “You know damn well he’s working with Crowley!”
“Hey!” said Misha.
“Mid-season six,” said Jensen. “OK. Bobby, we need your help.”
“I don’t trust the angel,” growled Bobby.
“Aren’t there alternatives to pointing a shotgun?” asked Misha.
“Mish, angel-finger him,” said Jensen.
Misha pointed two fingers, and suddenly, Bobby wasn’t wearing pants.
“I meant get the shotgun!” said Jensen.
“You didn’t specify,” sniffed Misha.
“I can still put a hole in you without the pants!” Bobby cried.
“Look, just put his pants back on,” sighed Jensen.
“Naw, give him a kilt!” laughed Jared.
Misha did his angel thing. He replaced Bobby's pants, and now he was holding the shotgun. “Hey, cool!” he said.
“Be careful with that thing, it’s loaded,” Jensen warned Misha. He turned back to Bobby. “We need help, Bobby. We’re not who you think we are. I’m Jensen, this is Jared, and Misha.”
“Misha?” said Bobby. “What the hell kinda name is that?” Jared chuckled, and Misha scowled.
It was amazing: it looked just like the old set, with dusty books sitting around everywhere. Despite the circumstances Jensen really wanted to go upstairs, just to see what had been up there. He knew he had to visit the panic room at least before they left.
“And you're telling me you three are … actors?” Bobby asked. He downed a shot of really bad Scotch, and Jensen mimicked the gesture. Driving or not, they needed this guy’s help. And they’d all been put through the “demon - revenant - skinwalker” test, and Jensen’s arm ached where he’d cut it. Dammit, silver knives hurt!
“We got popped into an alternate universe somehow.”
“Why the hell would anyone watch a show about us?”
“People are stupid,” said Jared, who was spread out on the couch, blitzing Bobby’s cell phone.
“Are you getting anything on that?” asked Jensen.
“Naw. I get a signal, but none of my numbers work.”
“So, what are you doing?”
“Playing Words with Friends!”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “Bobby, we need a spell to get us back.”
“Well, I got spells. I got a whole damned living room full of spells. The question is, what kind of spell?”
“Angel,” said Jensen. “Angels popped us over to the other side. I mean, it happened on the show.”
“Sorry,” said Misha. He was sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table, and had been in sort of a moping mood. Jensen wasn’t exactly sure what was wrong. Bobby got up and returned with a stack of books, which he let drop in front of Misha.
“Here ya go. Got angel books, but they’re in Enochian.”
Misha was already thumbing through one. “Yeah, but who reads Enochian?”
“You don’t read Enochian?” boomed Bobby.
“Didn’t you do any research?” asked Jensen.
“Of course I did research,” sulked Misha.
“Even I read Enochian!” piped up Jared from his place on Bobby’s couch.
“Wait, what?” asked Jensen.
Jared sat up. “What? It takes like an hour.”
The other three exchanged a glance, and then the books were summarily dumped on the coffee table in front of Jared. “You!” said Bobby. “Find a damn spell.” He grabbed the phone away. “And quit running up my damn phone bill.”
“Wow, you’re just as crusty as your character,” said Jared, who was already contentedly flipping through a book.
“I’m not a character, ya idjit! I’m me.”
“What can I do, Bobby?” asked Misha, a little apologetically.
“You’ll be in charge of fetching ingredients, whenever this idjit gets us a spell.”
“But I don’t have my car,” said Misha.
Bobby turned on him. “You don’t drive, you use your wings.” He looked over at Jensen. “Wait, has this one learned to do anything but remove pants?”
Jensen shrugged. “Come on, let’s get outside and try to get you flying.”
“But, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Look at me! I’m king of the world!” yelled Misha, who was now standing on top of Bobby’s house. This was, for whatever reason, the very first place he thought he should fly to.
“All right, great. Now, come on down,” Jensen yelled. There was a wing-flapping sound, and Misha disappeared.
“Where the hell did he go?” asked Bobby.
“Hey, give me that!” came a yell from inside. “Misha, dammit!”
Misha appeared outside again, next to Jensen and Bobby, holding a sandwich. “This is really awesome!” he said, his eyes shining. And then he blinked out again.
“Where’s my sammich!” yelled Jared, who had just come running out the front door.
“Uh, I think Misha had it,” said Jensen.
“Imma kill that guy!” swore Jared.
“Go back inside and get me a spell!” Bobby chided.
“I think I got a spell,” said Jared.
Bobby and Jensen exchanged a glance. “Well then get back inside, kid!” urged Bobby.
“Will you make me another sammich, Bobby?” asked Jared, doing his very best puppy dog face.
“Yeah, yeah, just get back in there.” Jared nodded and went back inside.
“You work with those two? Every damn day?” Bobby asked Jensen. Jensen cracked a wry smile and nodded. “And you haven’t murdered them yet?”
Jensen shrugged, and Bobby marched back inside.
“Myrrh!” said Misha, who had just popped back.
Jensen jumped about five feet up in the air. “Uh, be careful doing that, OK?” he asked. “And, why did you get myrrh?”
“They always need it for spells on the show, right?” He brought it up to his nose and smelled it.
The front door banged open again. “Hey, we need myrrh!” yelled Jared.
Misha smiled, a “see I told you so” look on his face.
“All right, give Sandwich Boy his myrrh, and we’ll go gather the other stuff.” Misha made to walk, but then grinned and disappeared. “OK, you’re enjoying that way too much,” grumbled Jensen.
The evening passed quickly. Jensen translated, and Misha ended up popping in and out all over the world to get various weird ingredients. And then evidently he got a little bored or silly or however it was Misha's head worked, because then he went out to get them a round of tiki drinks from Maui, and he brought Jared a basketball (which he was gladly bouncing) and he got Bobby a puppy even though the guy swore he hated dogs (but Jensen spotted him feeding the little guy table scraps, so maybe Misha was using angel mojo to scan their souls or something?)
And then he got Jensen some Turtle wax, and Jensen decided his baby really needed a wash and a wax after all that driving, because Jensen or Dean Winchester, he loved that damned car.
After the Impala was buffed to perfection, Jensen was assigned to painting a giant trap of some sort on the floor out in one of the garage areas. Or at least he thought it was a trap. It was just squiggles really, but he guessed it was all something magical. Maybe they just wanted to keep him busy?
“You doin’ all right out here?” Bobby asked at one point. He’d come with beer, so Jensen took a break. He’d learned to flip the caps off the way Dean did it.
“How’s it going inside?” Jensen asks.
“That kid, Jared, plays Sam?”
Jensen smiled. “Yeah.”
“But, he’s nine feet tall, and he’s about as coordinated as a damn bull moose.”
Jensen spit beer. “Yeah, he broke his arm filming the show.”
“I don’t doubt it,” sighed Bobby. He leaned nearer. “Hey, could you tell me something?”
“Yeah.”
“From what I understand, you’re filming the show, but you’re a couple years ahead of us here?”
Jensen nodded, but he suddenly had a bad feeling.
“Well, I was just wondering about something. Now, you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. But you know that Jody Mills? She’s not half bad looking. Now, she’s had some terrible stuff happen to her, but we get along, and I’m not getting any younger….”
Jensen listened, having no idea what to say. Cas fucks up major league, and you get killed by a cheesy villain from season 7 who’s trying to make everybody fat?
“Will you unhand me, you insufferable oaf!” came a voice.
“Balls!” grumbled Bobby, who set down his beer and ran outside.
Wow, it was just like on the show. Jensen thought he’d have to tell Jim. Except how the hell was he going to explain all this crap to Jim? “Once we got pulled through a candy glass window and ended up in an alternate parallel universe where all this crap was real and we met you?”
Jensen heaved a sigh and followed Bobby outside. Jared was out there staring too.
This time Misha had brought back Mark. Only Mark probably wasn't Mark, he was probably Crowley.
Oh, fuck.
“Cas, you celestial asshole, what in the hellacious fuck do you consider yourself to be doing hauling this shitpile into my place?” asked Bobby, because there were no censors in this alternate parallel universe.
“My question precisely,” muttered Crowley, as Misha stood there holding him by his starched collar. “And what has gotten into him? His mind is even more adrift than usual!”
“I have to fix it, Bobby!” Misha told Bobby. “I made a bad mistake, and a lot of people got hurt, so I have to fix it while I'm here.”
“What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
Jensen put a hand on Bobby's shoulder. “I think I know,” he said quietly. “You and Jared go finish up.”
“What's going on?” demanded Crowley.
“Misha,” said Jensen. “Go panic room the king of hell, and then we'll talk.”
“Misha?” asked Crowley. “What the hell kind of name is that?” And then he and Misha winked out.
When Jensen found him, he was near tears.
They were standing outside, and it was getting dark and cold. “All right, talk,” said Jensen, leaning back against a scrapped car. He had an idea what this was about, but he wanted to hear it directly from his friend.
“I did something horrible, J,” said Misha. “I mean he did, but it was kind of me. And Bobby ended up dying! I mean, it was bad before, but now I've met Bobby, and I've given him a puppy and he's real! He can't die because of me! Or him, or … whatever it is!”
“Look, Mish. We've had a really fucked up day.”
“I know.”
“And I think you more than us, because you've got angel mojo somehow. I think it's making you upset.”
“I am upset! We need to fix things!”
“Misha. We've been friends a long time, right? I know what you want right now. You wanna get back to your family, right?”
“I do! I do. But....”
“But what?”
“Can't we just talk to him? I remember this. It was horrible. I was horrible, and then I died, and I got fired, and I didn't think I'd ever make it back, and it was awful!”
“But you got back,” said Jensen gently.
“But it was never the same! And I don't want him to do it, and I don't want Bobby to die. He has a puppy now!”
Jensen gritted his teeth, and thought about Dean dealing with crazy Cas. Would this mess things up? It was already weird, working some angel spell to get back.
“Please J.?”
“Look, I'll talk to Bobby, see if there's any way we can chat.” God, was he really agreeing to this. And then Misha was hugging him and sort of quietly sobbing. “It's all right. Hey, it'll be all right,” soothed Jensen.
Bobby's been right all along, I'm a idjit, he thought.
It was a really, really bad idea.
They had managed to conjure the angel. And had gotten him trapped.
But here was the thing about angels that people don't know: angels are fucking terrifying.
Jensen stared through the holy oil fire at the … being within. Misha had done a great job capturing Castiel's body language and gestures, but there was one thing missing from the performance, and you probably never could have conveyed this through film. This wasn't a man, this was like a freaking tornado that just happened to be centered around a man. The sheer presence was enough to make you go throw up everything you'd eaten for the past week or two. And then maybe crawl under your bed. How did Dean do it? Having this guy up in his face every week?
Jensen was standing off to the side with Bobby, wishing to god he could run away. What made things bad was that this Castiel creature kept looking over at him. It was like being stabbed through the heart with an icicle, every time he glanced over.
“Don't do it,” said Misha.
“Who are you?” said Castiel, and there was that rumbling voice. But now Jensen saw why the voice was like that, because that was the only way to capture the earthquake that tore through every time he spoke.
“I play you. I play you in our universe. I know you.”
“You know nothing.”
Against his better judgment, Jensen stepped forward. “Look, like we told you, we're just playing you, but we're ahead of you. We know what happens, and it's not pretty.”
The eyes were staring through him again. Jensen caught his breath.
“Jensen's right,” said Misha. “Cas, please: Bobby dies!'
Bobby jerked and looked at Misha. He turned to Jensen. “That true? That why you didn't wanna tell me?”
“Maybe.... Maybe it wouldn't happen like that,” Jensen pleaded.
“It may or it may not,” said Castiel. “I'm prepared to accept the consequences.”
“Consequences? Is that what I am to you, you prize asshole?” asked Bobby.
“I'm trying to stave off the apocalypse!” said Castiel. “There's a bigger picture here!”
“But Bobby's your friend!” said Misha. “Please. I know he is.”
“I don't have any friends,” Castiel insisted. He glanced at Jensen. Jensen's heart broke, just a little.
“Well I can see why!” said Bobby. “You're an asshole.”
“Enough!” said Jared. He was holding a bucket
“Jar, what are you doing?” said Misha. But Jared had already swung the bucket, pitching sand onto the holy oil fire.
“Jared! Fuck no!' said Jensen. The fire doused, breaking the circle.
Jared turned to Jensen. “J, that's not the way. Don't you guys see? You can't just trap him like that and make him listen. That's not how you do things!”
Although the circle was broken, Castiel remained still. “How do you do things then?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Look,” Jared told Castiel. “I don't want you to do it either. I messed up too. I mean, my character did. But sometimes you have to let people make their own mistakes.”
Castiel was staring at him. “You believe I'm making a mistake?”
“No, I know you are.” Jared waved at Jensen and Bobby. “But we'll be there for you, you know. After you mess up. It's the way things are. Look, I get it. You had to make a choice, and that isn't easy. I guess you have to do what you have to do.”
Castiel raised up two fingers, and touched Jared on the forehead. He disappeared.
“Where the hell did you send him?” demanded Jensen.
“Back to your reality,” said Castiel. He strode towards Misha.
“Please! Please at least think about what we've told you!” Misha pleaded.
“Misha,” said Castiel. “That's an odd name.” He smiled, and put two fingers on Misha's forehead, and Misha was gone too.
“Cas,” said Jensen.
Castiel touched Bobby, who collapsed to the floor. The angel knelt down and checked his pulse.
And then he approached Jensen, who tried very hard not to cringe back. He shivered, and tried not to run, not to burst out crying, not to curl into a ball. But Castiel just stood, nearly nose-to-nose, and stared. Was he looking into Jensen's soul? What was he seeing there?
“He'll be all right,” said Castiel.
“You'll- You'll deal with Crowley?” Jensen stuttered. “He's in-”
“In the panic room. I know.” He continued the uncomfortable stare.
“Personal space, dude,” Jensen whispered, trying to crack a smile.
“The resemblance is … striking.”
“I think...” Jensen muttered. Castiel continued to stare. “He can't say it. But I think... I'm pretty sure … he loves you,” Jensen finally said.
Castiel didn't reply, but nodded. And then he reached out his fingers, which he traced along Jensen's cheek.
He leaned forward, and very softly, pressed his lips to Jensen's forehead.
As it turned out, getting chucked back out of a window was almost as bad as getting thrown into a window in the first place.
Misha helped Jensen stand up, and they stared at the candy glass window that was, oddly enough, intact once again. “Damn,” said Jared, who was poking a finger at it. “I’m sort of hungry.”
“What, again?” laughed Jensen. He and Jared were both eagerly digging out cell phones.
Jared dialed and immediately said, “Hey, hon! We’re filming a little late today!” He started to wander off.
Jensen opened his phone and saw his screen saver: his fussy but utterly adorable infant girl. He glanced at his text messages, and then collapsed down on the wooden bench. It wasn’t just one perfect tear that fell, it was a whole bunch of them.
“Wife OK? Kid OK?” asked Misha softly. Jensen realized he was sitting next to him. Jensen nodded, wiping a sleeve over his eyes. “If I haven’t said it,” Misha told him, “you were really a trooper about all of this.”
Jensen nodded, and sniffled. “Can’t talk right now. You wanna borrow?” he croaked out.
Misha grabbed the phone and walked away, dialing. “Everything’s still OK?” Jensen asked Jared, who had wandered back.
“Your nose is red.”
“I know, dude.” Jensen sniffed again. “Everything all right?”
“Pretty much. Well, I’ve evidently got a llama now.”
Jensen paused for a long moment. “Wait, really?”
“Or maybe it’s an alpaca. I dunno.”
“We changed things?”
“Where the hell were you guys?” yelled Jim. At least it looked like Jim. It looked like Bobby too, but he was wearing really awesome eyeglasses. “We’re all waiting for-“ But he was interrupted by Jared sweeping him up into a great bear hug, capped by a smooch. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Just in a weird mood,” said Jared, putting him down.
“I didn’t know you were on call today,” said Jensen.
“I’m not on call,” said Jim. “Not until tomorrow. We gotta get to your dinner.”
“What dinner?” asked Jensen.
“To celebrate the damned Emmy nomination. I swear, what’s gotten into you? You already gotten jaded over the whole thing?”
“Emmy?” said Jensen, but then he was swept up into a monster Jared hug and moose smooch.
“Emmy!” roared Jared.
“Down!” Jensen managed to croak, and finally he was settled down on terra firma. “Bobby- I mean, Jim. We’ll be along, OK? Tell everyone.” Jim shrugged and shook his head, and left, no doubt to tell everyone that the stars had all turned into idjits.
“We changed things,” Jensen whispered to Jared.
“Looks like.”
Misha had wandered back. He handed Jensen his cell phone. His hand was shaking. “What?” asked Jensen.
Misha collapsed onto the bench. He looked confused.
“Everything all right?” asked Jensen. “Wife, kids?”
“Family is fine,” said Misha. “They're fine.”
“So?”
“I got nominated.”
Jensen looked up at Jared. “Hey, another Emmy?”
Misha was shaking his head. “Hell no. Someone.... Someone put my name in the nomination bucket for … a GLAAD Media Award.” He stared intently at Jensen for a long, oddly Cas-like moment. “I'm not sure what's going on...” he whispered. “I mean, on the show.”
Jensen stared back at him. And then he grinned. “Jared!” he yelled.
“On it!” Jared yelled back, even as he was bearing down on Misha.
“Jar- NO!”
After many moose kisses, they were all off to the party.
Though as it turned out, even in this shiny new universe, Misha still had a car full of marbles.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/142875.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Bobby Singer, Crowley, Castiel, Jim Beaver. Very mild implied Destiel.
Warnings: Cursing
Word Count: 8000
Summary: JP, JA and Misha are sitting around the set bickering about nothing important when they are suddenly sucked into the Supernatural universe. Like for reals and stuff.
Notes: I haven’t even tried writing RPF before, so forgive me for the suckitude.
“Marbles. In his car.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
Jensen eyed his best friend. Jared, who generally radiated sunny good humor, was never so bright-eyed and effusive as when he had just played an especially good prank on Misha, particularly one conducted in retaliation for yet another practical joke. In truth, Jensen no longer recalled which of the two idiots had started the current feud. Although he was grateful that he’d been on the sidelines for this particular exchange of unpleasantries, he also enjoyed egging on the separate parties.
“I wanna see. I want pictures!” he finally told Jared, who with a broad grin hastily whipped out his cell phone and began thumbing it.
Jensen sat back on the wooden bench. They were out on location today, in an abandoned town some miles north of Vancouver they sometimes used for filming main street scenes in what was to be this week's cursed small town. Due to some crossed signals, however, they had lost a lot of the morning while they waited for a couple of crew guys to replace the broad front window in one of the storefronts with candy glass, so they could perform a stunt there later. (Jensen wasn't exactly sure what the stunt would be as he hadn't actually yet read though all of the script: someone inevitably got thrown through a window in all probability.) While the second unit filmed nearby, Jensen and Jared had retired to sit out on the wooden porch near the newly replaced window, waiting for the stenciled on BROOKS GENERAL STORE lettering to dry.
“Jared.” The voice, though a full register higher than that of his character, was utterly unmistakable, and caused Jared to hastily pocket the offending cell phone and mold his features into a look of boyish innocence. “You know anything about my car?” asked Misha, whipping off his aviator shades like an officious cop in a terrible police procedural.
“Car? What car? Do you have a car?” answered Jared.
A pair of suspicious blue eyes slid over to glare at Jensen. Jensen held up his hands. “I know nothing about any of this.”
The eyes narrowed. “Any of what?”
“Uh, whatever?” tried Jensen.
Misha turned his attentions back to Jared. “Seriously? Seriously?”
“Dude, you sound like a Dr. Sexy extra,” giggled Jared.
Jensen looked his costar up and down. He was wearing jeans and flannel, topped by a down vest. “Why are you out of costume, anyway?” put in Jensen, thinking to steer the conversation to less treacherous territory.
“I’m done for the day. I was meaning to go home. You know, to my family?” He was now crowding into Jared’s space. Jared picked this exact instance to stand up, so instead of nose-to-nose they were more like nose-to-chest, which was not terribly impressive as a means of intimidation.
“So, uh, why can’t you go home, exactly?” wondered Jensen, who to be honest wasn’t entirely clear on the nature of the prank.
Misha drew in breath, ready for a god old fashioned rant. “Because my car-“
“Alright, ready for the stunt?” asked a huge, bull-necked man who had just wandered by. He was dressed like a crew member. The guy looked familiar, but or some weird reason, Jensen couldn’t place him. He definitely wasn't a regular member of the stunt crew. He squinted at the guy's badge, but it was reversed.
“Uh, what stunt?” asked Jared.
“I don’t have any stunts,” Misha told him.
“I thought you had a stunt,” Jared told Misha.
“No I don’t have a stunt.”
“You sure?”
“Naw, I just smite somebody.”
Jared laughed. “What?” asked Misha.
“Dude, you make the weirdest faces when you smite stuff.”
“Fuck off.”
Jensen, as he hadn’t yet completed reading the script due to being kept up nights by the howling of his adorable but somewhat fussy newborn daughter, did not have an opinion to offer.
“I thought you had a stunt, Mish,” Jared persisted.
“You’re probably thinking of 14,” said Misha. “I have a stunt in 14.”
“Oh, yeah. Where you get thrown by a guy.”
Misha rolled his eyes. “I always get thrown by a guy. At least I don’t get tortured again.”
“I like it when you’re tortured.”
“You’re a very troubled individual, Jared.”
Jensen frowned. The scripts this year - well, he'd already had a couple meetings about it. It seemed like they were wandering around instead of getting somewhere.
Jensen blinked. Quite suddenly he had several acres of stunt dude looming over him, blocking out the sun.
“Hey, dude,” said Jensen in warning.
“It’s time for your stunt,” said the guy. Worryingly, he was bigger than Jared, and he looked like he actually meant it. Jensen tried to catch Jared’s eye. Just in case he was up to anything uncool, it seemed like between the two of them they could hold him off, though he would probably reduce poor Misha to pixie dust. (Misha really needed to learn to fight some times: it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been on an action show for like the past six seasons.)
“We hadn’t heard about this,” said Jensen. “Maybe we better call-“
“Here we go!” said the guy, and then Jensen felt himself grabbed by the scruff of the neck and, along with Jared, tossed through the window as if he weighed no more than a freaking rag doll.
The candy glass shattered like it was supposed to, and Jensen, catlike, was back on his feet in a beat, just in time to be body-slammed by Misha, who had apparently been tossed in after them.
“Ow!” yelled Jared, who was trying to pick himself up. He also grabbed a piece of the shattered candy glass and started nibbling on it.
“What the fuck?” yelled Jensen, who didn’t confine himself to PG-rated swearing in real life. He heard a soft moan, and squatted down to take a look at Misha, who was now bleeding from a wound at his scalp line. “Mish! Dammit, he’s injured. Look what you did!” he yelled towards the window. “Now he’s gonna need stitches.”
“Can’t do anything but improve his looks,” laughed Jared. “Uhhh… Huh.”
“Huh … what,” demanded Jensen, hauling Misha up to stand, somewhat shakily, on his feet.
“Where did the stunt guy go?” Jared looked out the window, and then turned all the way around. “Does this even look like the same window to you?” he asked. He rubbed his head. “I wonder if I hit my head too?”
“What the hell?” asked Jensen. He now cast his attention away from Misha, who seemed pretty shaken up, to the broken window. Oddly enough, the midday sky outside had suddenly turned dark and threatening. “Jar, did you guys prank the crew or something? Are they fucking with us?”
Jared’s head was craned out the window, his long hair blowing in the breeze. Which begged the question of why there was now a breeze after a completely still, sunny afternoon. “I don’t think this is the crew’s doing, J.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I mean-“ But what exactly Jared meant was alas lost the ages, as just at that moment, there came a terrific howl behind them. The room lit up with a lurid, green light. The three men turned to see a rather terrific, well-rendered special effect of a ghostly spirit floating towards them.
“Whoa, that must’ve blown the budget,” said Jensen, looking it up and down. It was an old woman, flickering on and off like when a cable channel is going out. She had a wild, unhinged look in her eyes. Probably contact lenses, Jensen thought.
“Aw, you can tell it’s fake,” Jared told him.
“How?”
Jared drew nearer to the shimmering, greenish vision of a heavily made up female actress. “See? You can see the matte lines here.” He pointed to the edge of the vision, but then the vile old woman shrieked again, and, with a cry that was definitely not a girlie scream, Jared was thrown backwards.
Jensen tightened his grip on Misha as he felt his balls suddenly crawl back up into his abdomen. “Jar,” he said, backing up. “You OK, dude?” This prank was definitely getting annoying. He looked around, wondering where there must be a crew guy hidden, recording all of this on a hidden camera. “Hey, anybody? Not cool! We’ve got some guys hurt here.”
The special effect ghost rounded on Jensen. As he backed off, she seemed to surge forward, eyes boring into him.
And then, looming but a foot away, she opened her mouth to scream again.
“Don’t,” muttered Misha. “G’way.” Groggily, he waved his arm and ended up batting her in the nose. Instead of shrieking, she froze. Suddenly her eyes gave off sparks. And then the entire apparition was on fire, blazing in orange and red and yellow, and giving off the distinct smell of brimstone.
“J!” yelled Jared.
“What?”
“Run!” Jared dashed for the front door, wrenched it open and fled. Jensen followed along, half-carrying Misha with him. They all stopped outside on the porch, panting. It was dark, and looked like it would start raining any minute. “Hey, anybody!” Jensen called. But there was only silence in return.
“They're gonna be pissed of you ruin the take,” said Jared.
“Mish is hurt. Come on, he's gonna need stitches. You walk OK, dude?” he asked Misha, patting him on the stomach.”
“Yeah. I guess. I feel … weird,” Misha muttered.
“Like, weirder than usual?” Jared snarked.
“He looks pale,” Jensen worried. “You don't think he has a concussion, do you? You don't have a concussion, do you Mish? Let me see if your eyes are weird.” Jensen brushed Misha's hand away from his eyes and stared into them.
“Look, why don't you watch Old Cockeyes and I go get a guy,” Jared offered.
Jensen nodded and got Misha sat down on the bench next to him while Jared loped off. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Like you're gonna get an aneurysm?”
“Like when I fell off my bike going sixty,” moaned Misha. “Only sort of worse. Do you have aspirin?”
“I have Ibuprophin.”
“I don't like Ibuprofen. It's bad for your liver.”
“It's not your liver that's bleeding, dude.” Jensen pulled out his cell phone. He held it up and squinted at it.
“It could be bleeding!” Misha speculated, some color returning to his face. “Maybe I sustained massive internal injuries! Hey, that would be cool. Could I use your phone to tweet about this?”
“What happened to your phone?”
“My son dropped it in the toilet.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Why do kids do anything? Be thankful yours can't walk yet.”
Jensen was still frowning at his phone. “I can't get a signal.”
“Do you have AT&T?”
“No.”
“You should have AT&T.”
“Why are you lecturing me? Your phone is in the john!”
“Not any more. He flushed it.”
Jared had come back He did not look pleased. “Guys!”
“Jar, where's the guy?” asked Jensen.
“There is no guy.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Jared held up his hands. He looked genuinely perplexed. “I mean there's nobody here. They struck the set.”
“Wait, they already quit for the day? What the hell?” He looked back and forth between Misha and Jared. “You guys, what did you do?”
“We didn't do anything!” said Jared.
“You told me you did something,” said Jensen. “With the marbles!”
“Ah-ha!” declared Misha, who stood up to point an accusing finger at Jared. But then he put a hand on his head, groaned, and sank back down. “Ow.”
“That's another thing: the cars,” Jared told them.
“What about the cars?” asked Jensen.
There was a diner.
Of course there was a diner. There was always a diner.
A black 1967 Chevy Impala was parked outside. For whatever reason, it was the only car left on the lot. Fortunately, Jensen still had a set of keys in his pocket. Good thing he hadn't changed out of his Dean costume yet.
Misha was looking somewhat less pale. And because he was Misha, he had charmed the waitress into bringing him a big ziploc bag full of ice for the cut on his head. It didn't look so bad when you wiped the blood off. He was thumbing through the menu, looking in vain for something vegan. “I’m gonna catch hell when I get home if I smell like animal products.”
“Mish, we got bigger fish to fry,” Jensen told him.
“Fish!” said Misha. “You suppose fish would be acceptable? I mean, it’s fish!” he reasoned.
“How is fish vegan?” asked Jared, who was sitting opposite of them, folding a napkin into origami.
“It’s more vegan than a hamburger,” Misha reasoned.
“Are there degrees of vegan?”
“You guys,” said Jensen who was beginning to grow impatient with his companions. “We’ve got bigger problems here! How the hell are we gonna get home?” He and Jared and Misha had driven for an hour, unable to find the way back to Vancouver. None of their cell phones could get a signal, and it seemed like they were just driving around in circles.
“We got a car. We drive home,” shrugged Jared.
“Drive how? Where the hell are we? The GPS doesn’t work, and none of the signs make sense.”
“It’s a prank, J,” said Misha, who was scanning the seafood selections. “Hey, Jar! Get your foot off my balls!”
Jared whistled and tried to look innocent.
“We'll stop and ask for directions,” said Misha.
“We don't need to ask for directions!” Jensen insisted, his face turning a little red.
“What'll it be, honey?” asked the waitress, who had chosen this moment to reappear at the booth.
“I'll have the bacon burger with fries and a side of onion rings,” said Jared.
“Fish and chips,” said Misha. “With tar-tar sauce.”
“How is that vegan?” asked Jared.
“Hey, Jar. Fuck yourself,” muttered Misha.
“Oh, and I'll have an extra side of garlic fries. What?” Jared asked Jensen, who made a face. “All that driving around made me hungry.”
“I don't wanna drive with you after a bacon burger and onion rings, Farty McFartypants,” grumbled Jensen.
“And for you, doll?” the waitress prompted, looking at Jensen.
“Oh, uh.” Jensen had been so overwrought he had forgotten to take a look at the menu.
“He'll have the steak,” said Jared, pointing to it.
“Thanks, sweetie,” said the waitress, grabbing the menus and heading for the hills before Jensen could object.
“What?” asked Jared again. “You were gonna order the steak.”
Jensen pouted. “Maybe.”
“Jar, get your foot outta my balls,” Misha snapped. Jared giggled. “Hey, I mean it!”
“Make me,” said Jared.
Misha suddenly got a very strange look on his face. Strange, even for him. He reached down, and with two fingers, touched Jared's knee.
“God DAMN,” said Jared, who quite suddenly moved his leg.
“What happened?” asked Jensen, but Misha was looking slightly out of it. Jensen pulled up the tablecloth and peeked underneath the table. “Dude! Where did you pants go?” he whispered to Jared.
“Misha! What did you do to my pants?” Jared whispered to Misha. He was looking around frantically.
“Uh, I dunno,” said Misha. “What did I do?” Jensen pointed under the table.
Misha picked up the tablecloth took a glimpse. He broke into a smile. “How did I do that?”
“Give them back. Give me back my pants.”
“But I dunno how I did it.”
“Jensen!” Jared appealed.
“Can you give him his pants back? I don't wanna add arrest for indecent exposure to the list,” Jensen sighed.
Misha's brow was knitted with concentration. As Jared began to sweat, he reached down and touched two fingers to Jared's knee once again.
“Dude!” breathed Jared.
“OK,” said Jensen.
“What do you mean, OK?” asked Jared, bringing up one knee to reveal some bright red plaid polyester pants. “He put me in golf pants.”
Misha giggled.
“I'll kill you,” grumbled Jared. “I am sincerely gonna kill you. When I get back from the men’s room.” Aiming a glare at both Jensen and Misha, which got a “dude what did I do?” look in return from Jensen, he took off, the other two watching him.
They just managed to hold off a giggle fit until he was out of earshot. “They’re like six inches too short,” laughed Jensen. “So, how did you do that? Were they tearaway?”
Misha had stopped laughing, and was staring at his own hand. He sometimes did weird hippy shit like that, so it was no surprise. “I don’t know.” He placed his fingers on the napkin dispenser, and it started to glow. He withdrew his fingers.
“You sure you guys aren’t pulling a prank?” Jensen asked quietly. Misha shook his head. The guy looked honestly freaked out. Jensen slipped an arm around his shoulder. “Look, dude. Probably just something weird from being hit on the head.” Not that he really believed this at this point, but it seemed like a nice, calm thing to say.
“I can make pants disappear from a blow to the head? Shouldn’t I have turned into Superman that time I fell off my bike?”
“Mish, here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re gonna watch Jared stuff his idiot face with food, and then we’ll ask for directions, and then we’ll get back to town and maybe stop by an ER on the way if you’re still feeling weird. Right?”
Misha nodded and quietly sipped his tea. Jensen sorta wanted to order the guy something stronger. Hell, he wanted a beer for himself, but he was driving, and he didn’t want either of his idiot costars to put a dent in baby. Especially Jared: dude needed to work on his parallel parking.
He wondered again if it was Jar and Mish up to one of their weird pranks. Or maybe someone finally had it with all the practical jokes and was pranking them? That would explain why Misha seemed honestly freaked out. That ghost back on the set had seemed pretty real, but seriously, those crew guys had been taking forever, it would have given them time to rig up something.
It didn’t explain Jared’s pants though. Jensen had to stifle a snicker as he sat back down, still glaring. “They’re plaid, Misha!” he huffed.
“I thought you liked plaid,” said Jensen. Fortunately, Jared’s moping was interrupted by the waitress bringing out heaps of food.
“You gonna finish that steak?” Jared asked through a mouth full of burger and onion rings.
“She just put it down like five seconds ago,” Jensen told him, irritably shaking on steak sauce. Misha picked up a French fry and considered it morosely. “Here, have his fries,” said Jensen, handing one of Misha’s fries to Jared.
“He has his own fries,” grumped Misha as Jared greedily ate his dinner.
“You snooze, you lose!” said Jared.
The waitress was back with bottles of ketchup and mustard and various other thing. “Hey,” said Jensen. “You know the best way back to Vancouver?”
Misha and Jared got quiet and side-eyed her. “Vancouver?” she asked. She seemed a little mystified.
“Um, what’s the nearest big town?” asked Jensen, casually sawing into his steak.
She shrugged. “You mean Sioux Falls?”
Misha and Jared exchanged a glance.
“Hey, sure,” said Jensen, keeping his voice even. He wasn’t an actor for nothing. “We got kinda turned around out there. GPS not working.” Maybe he should have done improv?
She gave a set of directions to the interstate, and Jensen calmly thanked her.
Misha pushed his plate away. “Sioux Falls?” he whispered. “What the fuck?”
“This day just got even more fucked up,” said Jared, who hadn’t stopped stuffing his face.
“Look, I got an idea,” said Jensen. And, to be honest, he did. Sort of. “You guys go ahead and eat.” He pulled Misha’s plate back. “Come on. I’m not gonna have you bitching that you’re hungry at 2 am.”
Misha looked a little put out, but petulantly crammed a french fry in to his mouth and chewed. “Or if you’re not gonna eat, fix my damn pants,” grumbled Jared.
Misha glared, and then he stuck out two fingers.
“Wait - what?” said Sam.
That's when they heard a scream. And a crash.
“Get down!” somebody yelled.
The three men complied, crowding somewhat awkwardly under their table, Jared with a plate of onion rings. “What's happening?” he munched.
“Are they being robbed?” asked Misha.
Jensen, who was envisioning some kind of Pulp Fiction scenario, poked his head up. He sat back down looking pale. “What is it?” whispered Misha. “Do they have guns?”
“Guys, it's a ghost. Like back on the set.”
Misha and Jared looked at each other. “No fucking way,” said Misha.
Suddenly, there was a crash right beside their booth. They cringed as an entire table went flying across the diner. “Fucking way,” said Jensen. “And it's freaking out. Mish, you gotta do that burn out thing you did before!”
“I can't do a burn out thing! I'm an actor!” said Misha.
“Dude, you've been changing my pants,” laughed Jared, who reached up for another plate of food off the table and came back with Misha's fish and chips.
“That's my dinner,” grumbled Misha.
“You were being all emo about eating,” reasoned Jared.
“I wasn't being emo!”
“You two!” said Jensen. “We gotta deal with this shit right here.”
There was another crash, and some assorted terrified screaming.
“We're actors, J!” Misha pleaded. “We're just a bunch of dumb, overpaid actors.”
“Iron,” said Jared. “We need iron. Where do you get iron in a diner?”
“They probably have skillets in the kitchen,” sighed Misha.
“Jar, you distract it, Mish and I will head for the kitchen!” said Jensen.
“J, I'm an actor!” said Misha.
“Yeah, well, we're acting like ghost busters now. Come on!”
Jared, still holding the fish and chips, nodded and stood up in the booth. Misha followed Jensen towards the kitchen. “When something's strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call!” Jared sang in a wavering voice.
“Ghost busters!” came a bunch of answering voices. And then there was another crash, and Jared yelled, “Oh shit.”
“Those were my fish and chips,” muttered Misha as they entered the double doors to the kitchen.
There were several kitchen staff and wait persons cowering within.
“Hey, you guys know about that poltergeist?” asked Jensen.
“It's one of the fry cooks, man!” answered a guy in a chef's toque. “He comes back every once in a while.”
“Is he angry over something?” asked Jensen.
“Naw. He was just always kind of a jerk.”
Jensen looked around. Life was not TV. “We need cast iron.”
“Do you have an iron skillet?” Misha asked.
The chef and several others pointed. “We meant, one that's not being used,” said Jensen, as the skillet was sizzling on the burner.
Several chefs shook their heads. “Busy night, man.”
Jensen sighed. A moment later, when he and Misha burst out of the kitchen, he was holding tight to a big skillet with a couple of potholders. “Over here, butt-face!” he yelled as Misha cringed.
The angry spirit charged. As Misha ducked out of the way, Jensen swung, scattering fried rice everywhere.
The spirit popped out. Just like on the show. Sometimes life was like TV.
“Dude!” yelled Jared from over in the booth. “That was cool.”
“Ready the smiting thing,” Jensen told Misha. “There!”
The spirit popped back into existence, all greenish glow and malevolence. Gritting his teeth and scowling fiercly, Misha stepped forward and slapped a hand on its head.
The thing screamed, green going to red and orange, and finally dissolved into a few glowing cinders.
There was a moment of silence, and then the diner burst into applause. Misha, knowing not what else to do, shrugged and took a bow.
“Man, you make the weirdest faces when you're smiting,” said Jared, who had come to stand alongside him.
“Oh, fuck off,” Misha told him, grabbing a piece of fried fish off the plate Jared was holding.
In the end, the night manager gave them a 30% discount on their meal, plus directions to Sioux Falls. “Thank you, Jensen, Jared and....”
“Misha,” Misha supplied.
“Misha? That's a weird name,” said the night manager.
Jared giggled, and the next chance he had, Misha changed his pants into a sarong.
“Singer Salvage? There’s really one in Sioux Falls?” asked Misha.
“Guess so,” said Jensen, looking up at the sign.
Jensen wasn’t exactly certain how he had arrived here. Once they reached the Sioux Falls city limits he’s kind of “used the force,” and just turned where it felt right.
Jared shuffled out after them. In the past hour, he’d been through culottes, clown pants, a skort, a kilt, leggings, old fashioned bloomers, a princess dress (complete with petticoats), buckskin (those were kind of cool) and finally back to jeans: mom jeans, eighties style, stone washed, acid washed, Levi’s, Lee, Kmart brand, baggy, and finally something somewhat normal.
Somewhere around the time of the bloomers, Jensen, for one, had become convinced that this was something a little more serious than a prank.
He nodded at Misha, who placed two fingers on the padlock that fastened the gate. It unlocked with a click, and they pulled the gate open.
“You can angel-finger locks now?” asked Jared. Misha shrugged, and then cocked an eyebrow.
Jared covered his crotch. “Don’t even think it! Leave my pants alone!”
There was the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked. Jared and Misha turned.
Jensen was already holding up his hands. “Jim-“
“Who the hell is Jim?” asked the old guy who looked exactly like Jim Beaver.
Jared started to speak, but Jensen put in, “Bobby.”
“And why the Sam Hill are you two dragging along that one,” asked Bobby, pointing the weapon at Misha, who took a couple steps back. “You know damn well he’s working with Crowley!”
“Hey!” said Misha.
“Mid-season six,” said Jensen. “OK. Bobby, we need your help.”
“I don’t trust the angel,” growled Bobby.
“Aren’t there alternatives to pointing a shotgun?” asked Misha.
“Mish, angel-finger him,” said Jensen.
Misha pointed two fingers, and suddenly, Bobby wasn’t wearing pants.
“I meant get the shotgun!” said Jensen.
“You didn’t specify,” sniffed Misha.
“I can still put a hole in you without the pants!” Bobby cried.
“Look, just put his pants back on,” sighed Jensen.
“Naw, give him a kilt!” laughed Jared.
Misha did his angel thing. He replaced Bobby's pants, and now he was holding the shotgun. “Hey, cool!” he said.
“Be careful with that thing, it’s loaded,” Jensen warned Misha. He turned back to Bobby. “We need help, Bobby. We’re not who you think we are. I’m Jensen, this is Jared, and Misha.”
“Misha?” said Bobby. “What the hell kinda name is that?” Jared chuckled, and Misha scowled.
It was amazing: it looked just like the old set, with dusty books sitting around everywhere. Despite the circumstances Jensen really wanted to go upstairs, just to see what had been up there. He knew he had to visit the panic room at least before they left.
“And you're telling me you three are … actors?” Bobby asked. He downed a shot of really bad Scotch, and Jensen mimicked the gesture. Driving or not, they needed this guy’s help. And they’d all been put through the “demon - revenant - skinwalker” test, and Jensen’s arm ached where he’d cut it. Dammit, silver knives hurt!
“We got popped into an alternate universe somehow.”
“Why the hell would anyone watch a show about us?”
“People are stupid,” said Jared, who was spread out on the couch, blitzing Bobby’s cell phone.
“Are you getting anything on that?” asked Jensen.
“Naw. I get a signal, but none of my numbers work.”
“So, what are you doing?”
“Playing Words with Friends!”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “Bobby, we need a spell to get us back.”
“Well, I got spells. I got a whole damned living room full of spells. The question is, what kind of spell?”
“Angel,” said Jensen. “Angels popped us over to the other side. I mean, it happened on the show.”
“Sorry,” said Misha. He was sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table, and had been in sort of a moping mood. Jensen wasn’t exactly sure what was wrong. Bobby got up and returned with a stack of books, which he let drop in front of Misha.
“Here ya go. Got angel books, but they’re in Enochian.”
Misha was already thumbing through one. “Yeah, but who reads Enochian?”
“You don’t read Enochian?” boomed Bobby.
“Didn’t you do any research?” asked Jensen.
“Of course I did research,” sulked Misha.
“Even I read Enochian!” piped up Jared from his place on Bobby’s couch.
“Wait, what?” asked Jensen.
Jared sat up. “What? It takes like an hour.”
The other three exchanged a glance, and then the books were summarily dumped on the coffee table in front of Jared. “You!” said Bobby. “Find a damn spell.” He grabbed the phone away. “And quit running up my damn phone bill.”
“Wow, you’re just as crusty as your character,” said Jared, who was already contentedly flipping through a book.
“I’m not a character, ya idjit! I’m me.”
“What can I do, Bobby?” asked Misha, a little apologetically.
“You’ll be in charge of fetching ingredients, whenever this idjit gets us a spell.”
“But I don’t have my car,” said Misha.
Bobby turned on him. “You don’t drive, you use your wings.” He looked over at Jensen. “Wait, has this one learned to do anything but remove pants?”
Jensen shrugged. “Come on, let’s get outside and try to get you flying.”
“But, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Look at me! I’m king of the world!” yelled Misha, who was now standing on top of Bobby’s house. This was, for whatever reason, the very first place he thought he should fly to.
“All right, great. Now, come on down,” Jensen yelled. There was a wing-flapping sound, and Misha disappeared.
“Where the hell did he go?” asked Bobby.
“Hey, give me that!” came a yell from inside. “Misha, dammit!”
Misha appeared outside again, next to Jensen and Bobby, holding a sandwich. “This is really awesome!” he said, his eyes shining. And then he blinked out again.
“Where’s my sammich!” yelled Jared, who had just come running out the front door.
“Uh, I think Misha had it,” said Jensen.
“Imma kill that guy!” swore Jared.
“Go back inside and get me a spell!” Bobby chided.
“I think I got a spell,” said Jared.
Bobby and Jensen exchanged a glance. “Well then get back inside, kid!” urged Bobby.
“Will you make me another sammich, Bobby?” asked Jared, doing his very best puppy dog face.
“Yeah, yeah, just get back in there.” Jared nodded and went back inside.
“You work with those two? Every damn day?” Bobby asked Jensen. Jensen cracked a wry smile and nodded. “And you haven’t murdered them yet?”
Jensen shrugged, and Bobby marched back inside.
“Myrrh!” said Misha, who had just popped back.
Jensen jumped about five feet up in the air. “Uh, be careful doing that, OK?” he asked. “And, why did you get myrrh?”
“They always need it for spells on the show, right?” He brought it up to his nose and smelled it.
The front door banged open again. “Hey, we need myrrh!” yelled Jared.
Misha smiled, a “see I told you so” look on his face.
“All right, give Sandwich Boy his myrrh, and we’ll go gather the other stuff.” Misha made to walk, but then grinned and disappeared. “OK, you’re enjoying that way too much,” grumbled Jensen.
The evening passed quickly. Jensen translated, and Misha ended up popping in and out all over the world to get various weird ingredients. And then evidently he got a little bored or silly or however it was Misha's head worked, because then he went out to get them a round of tiki drinks from Maui, and he brought Jared a basketball (which he was gladly bouncing) and he got Bobby a puppy even though the guy swore he hated dogs (but Jensen spotted him feeding the little guy table scraps, so maybe Misha was using angel mojo to scan their souls or something?)
And then he got Jensen some Turtle wax, and Jensen decided his baby really needed a wash and a wax after all that driving, because Jensen or Dean Winchester, he loved that damned car.
After the Impala was buffed to perfection, Jensen was assigned to painting a giant trap of some sort on the floor out in one of the garage areas. Or at least he thought it was a trap. It was just squiggles really, but he guessed it was all something magical. Maybe they just wanted to keep him busy?
“You doin’ all right out here?” Bobby asked at one point. He’d come with beer, so Jensen took a break. He’d learned to flip the caps off the way Dean did it.
“How’s it going inside?” Jensen asks.
“That kid, Jared, plays Sam?”
Jensen smiled. “Yeah.”
“But, he’s nine feet tall, and he’s about as coordinated as a damn bull moose.”
Jensen spit beer. “Yeah, he broke his arm filming the show.”
“I don’t doubt it,” sighed Bobby. He leaned nearer. “Hey, could you tell me something?”
“Yeah.”
“From what I understand, you’re filming the show, but you’re a couple years ahead of us here?”
Jensen nodded, but he suddenly had a bad feeling.
“Well, I was just wondering about something. Now, you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. But you know that Jody Mills? She’s not half bad looking. Now, she’s had some terrible stuff happen to her, but we get along, and I’m not getting any younger….”
Jensen listened, having no idea what to say. Cas fucks up major league, and you get killed by a cheesy villain from season 7 who’s trying to make everybody fat?
“Will you unhand me, you insufferable oaf!” came a voice.
“Balls!” grumbled Bobby, who set down his beer and ran outside.
Wow, it was just like on the show. Jensen thought he’d have to tell Jim. Except how the hell was he going to explain all this crap to Jim? “Once we got pulled through a candy glass window and ended up in an alternate parallel universe where all this crap was real and we met you?”
Jensen heaved a sigh and followed Bobby outside. Jared was out there staring too.
This time Misha had brought back Mark. Only Mark probably wasn't Mark, he was probably Crowley.
Oh, fuck.
“Cas, you celestial asshole, what in the hellacious fuck do you consider yourself to be doing hauling this shitpile into my place?” asked Bobby, because there were no censors in this alternate parallel universe.
“My question precisely,” muttered Crowley, as Misha stood there holding him by his starched collar. “And what has gotten into him? His mind is even more adrift than usual!”
“I have to fix it, Bobby!” Misha told Bobby. “I made a bad mistake, and a lot of people got hurt, so I have to fix it while I'm here.”
“What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
Jensen put a hand on Bobby's shoulder. “I think I know,” he said quietly. “You and Jared go finish up.”
“What's going on?” demanded Crowley.
“Misha,” said Jensen. “Go panic room the king of hell, and then we'll talk.”
“Misha?” asked Crowley. “What the hell kind of name is that?” And then he and Misha winked out.
When Jensen found him, he was near tears.
They were standing outside, and it was getting dark and cold. “All right, talk,” said Jensen, leaning back against a scrapped car. He had an idea what this was about, but he wanted to hear it directly from his friend.
“I did something horrible, J,” said Misha. “I mean he did, but it was kind of me. And Bobby ended up dying! I mean, it was bad before, but now I've met Bobby, and I've given him a puppy and he's real! He can't die because of me! Or him, or … whatever it is!”
“Look, Mish. We've had a really fucked up day.”
“I know.”
“And I think you more than us, because you've got angel mojo somehow. I think it's making you upset.”
“I am upset! We need to fix things!”
“Misha. We've been friends a long time, right? I know what you want right now. You wanna get back to your family, right?”
“I do! I do. But....”
“But what?”
“Can't we just talk to him? I remember this. It was horrible. I was horrible, and then I died, and I got fired, and I didn't think I'd ever make it back, and it was awful!”
“But you got back,” said Jensen gently.
“But it was never the same! And I don't want him to do it, and I don't want Bobby to die. He has a puppy now!”
Jensen gritted his teeth, and thought about Dean dealing with crazy Cas. Would this mess things up? It was already weird, working some angel spell to get back.
“Please J.?”
“Look, I'll talk to Bobby, see if there's any way we can chat.” God, was he really agreeing to this. And then Misha was hugging him and sort of quietly sobbing. “It's all right. Hey, it'll be all right,” soothed Jensen.
Bobby's been right all along, I'm a idjit, he thought.
It was a really, really bad idea.
They had managed to conjure the angel. And had gotten him trapped.
But here was the thing about angels that people don't know: angels are fucking terrifying.
Jensen stared through the holy oil fire at the … being within. Misha had done a great job capturing Castiel's body language and gestures, but there was one thing missing from the performance, and you probably never could have conveyed this through film. This wasn't a man, this was like a freaking tornado that just happened to be centered around a man. The sheer presence was enough to make you go throw up everything you'd eaten for the past week or two. And then maybe crawl under your bed. How did Dean do it? Having this guy up in his face every week?
Jensen was standing off to the side with Bobby, wishing to god he could run away. What made things bad was that this Castiel creature kept looking over at him. It was like being stabbed through the heart with an icicle, every time he glanced over.
“Don't do it,” said Misha.
“Who are you?” said Castiel, and there was that rumbling voice. But now Jensen saw why the voice was like that, because that was the only way to capture the earthquake that tore through every time he spoke.
“I play you. I play you in our universe. I know you.”
“You know nothing.”
Against his better judgment, Jensen stepped forward. “Look, like we told you, we're just playing you, but we're ahead of you. We know what happens, and it's not pretty.”
The eyes were staring through him again. Jensen caught his breath.
“Jensen's right,” said Misha. “Cas, please: Bobby dies!'
Bobby jerked and looked at Misha. He turned to Jensen. “That true? That why you didn't wanna tell me?”
“Maybe.... Maybe it wouldn't happen like that,” Jensen pleaded.
“It may or it may not,” said Castiel. “I'm prepared to accept the consequences.”
“Consequences? Is that what I am to you, you prize asshole?” asked Bobby.
“I'm trying to stave off the apocalypse!” said Castiel. “There's a bigger picture here!”
“But Bobby's your friend!” said Misha. “Please. I know he is.”
“I don't have any friends,” Castiel insisted. He glanced at Jensen. Jensen's heart broke, just a little.
“Well I can see why!” said Bobby. “You're an asshole.”
“Enough!” said Jared. He was holding a bucket
“Jar, what are you doing?” said Misha. But Jared had already swung the bucket, pitching sand onto the holy oil fire.
“Jared! Fuck no!' said Jensen. The fire doused, breaking the circle.
Jared turned to Jensen. “J, that's not the way. Don't you guys see? You can't just trap him like that and make him listen. That's not how you do things!”
Although the circle was broken, Castiel remained still. “How do you do things then?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Look,” Jared told Castiel. “I don't want you to do it either. I messed up too. I mean, my character did. But sometimes you have to let people make their own mistakes.”
Castiel was staring at him. “You believe I'm making a mistake?”
“No, I know you are.” Jared waved at Jensen and Bobby. “But we'll be there for you, you know. After you mess up. It's the way things are. Look, I get it. You had to make a choice, and that isn't easy. I guess you have to do what you have to do.”
Castiel raised up two fingers, and touched Jared on the forehead. He disappeared.
“Where the hell did you send him?” demanded Jensen.
“Back to your reality,” said Castiel. He strode towards Misha.
“Please! Please at least think about what we've told you!” Misha pleaded.
“Misha,” said Castiel. “That's an odd name.” He smiled, and put two fingers on Misha's forehead, and Misha was gone too.
“Cas,” said Jensen.
Castiel touched Bobby, who collapsed to the floor. The angel knelt down and checked his pulse.
And then he approached Jensen, who tried very hard not to cringe back. He shivered, and tried not to run, not to burst out crying, not to curl into a ball. But Castiel just stood, nearly nose-to-nose, and stared. Was he looking into Jensen's soul? What was he seeing there?
“He'll be all right,” said Castiel.
“You'll- You'll deal with Crowley?” Jensen stuttered. “He's in-”
“In the panic room. I know.” He continued the uncomfortable stare.
“Personal space, dude,” Jensen whispered, trying to crack a smile.
“The resemblance is … striking.”
“I think...” Jensen muttered. Castiel continued to stare. “He can't say it. But I think... I'm pretty sure … he loves you,” Jensen finally said.
Castiel didn't reply, but nodded. And then he reached out his fingers, which he traced along Jensen's cheek.
He leaned forward, and very softly, pressed his lips to Jensen's forehead.
As it turned out, getting chucked back out of a window was almost as bad as getting thrown into a window in the first place.
Misha helped Jensen stand up, and they stared at the candy glass window that was, oddly enough, intact once again. “Damn,” said Jared, who was poking a finger at it. “I’m sort of hungry.”
“What, again?” laughed Jensen. He and Jared were both eagerly digging out cell phones.
Jared dialed and immediately said, “Hey, hon! We’re filming a little late today!” He started to wander off.
Jensen opened his phone and saw his screen saver: his fussy but utterly adorable infant girl. He glanced at his text messages, and then collapsed down on the wooden bench. It wasn’t just one perfect tear that fell, it was a whole bunch of them.
“Wife OK? Kid OK?” asked Misha softly. Jensen realized he was sitting next to him. Jensen nodded, wiping a sleeve over his eyes. “If I haven’t said it,” Misha told him, “you were really a trooper about all of this.”
Jensen nodded, and sniffled. “Can’t talk right now. You wanna borrow?” he croaked out.
Misha grabbed the phone and walked away, dialing. “Everything’s still OK?” Jensen asked Jared, who had wandered back.
“Your nose is red.”
“I know, dude.” Jensen sniffed again. “Everything all right?”
“Pretty much. Well, I’ve evidently got a llama now.”
Jensen paused for a long moment. “Wait, really?”
“Or maybe it’s an alpaca. I dunno.”
“We changed things?”
“Where the hell were you guys?” yelled Jim. At least it looked like Jim. It looked like Bobby too, but he was wearing really awesome eyeglasses. “We’re all waiting for-“ But he was interrupted by Jared sweeping him up into a great bear hug, capped by a smooch. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Just in a weird mood,” said Jared, putting him down.
“I didn’t know you were on call today,” said Jensen.
“I’m not on call,” said Jim. “Not until tomorrow. We gotta get to your dinner.”
“What dinner?” asked Jensen.
“To celebrate the damned Emmy nomination. I swear, what’s gotten into you? You already gotten jaded over the whole thing?”
“Emmy?” said Jensen, but then he was swept up into a monster Jared hug and moose smooch.
“Emmy!” roared Jared.
“Down!” Jensen managed to croak, and finally he was settled down on terra firma. “Bobby- I mean, Jim. We’ll be along, OK? Tell everyone.” Jim shrugged and shook his head, and left, no doubt to tell everyone that the stars had all turned into idjits.
“We changed things,” Jensen whispered to Jared.
“Looks like.”
Misha had wandered back. He handed Jensen his cell phone. His hand was shaking. “What?” asked Jensen.
Misha collapsed onto the bench. He looked confused.
“Everything all right?” asked Jensen. “Wife, kids?”
“Family is fine,” said Misha. “They're fine.”
“So?”
“I got nominated.”
Jensen looked up at Jared. “Hey, another Emmy?”
Misha was shaking his head. “Hell no. Someone.... Someone put my name in the nomination bucket for … a GLAAD Media Award.” He stared intently at Jensen for a long, oddly Cas-like moment. “I'm not sure what's going on...” he whispered. “I mean, on the show.”
Jensen stared back at him. And then he grinned. “Jared!” he yelled.
“On it!” Jared yelled back, even as he was bearing down on Misha.
“Jar- NO!”
After many moose kisses, they were all off to the party.
Though as it turned out, even in this shiny new universe, Misha still had a car full of marbles.
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