This started as a oneshot inspired by the gifset where Dean and Sam find Misha married to Jensen in the French Mistake. It turned into this multi chaptered saga about Destiel as well. Hope it's not too terrible.
ATTN: This begins set in the episode the French Mistake - therefore the use of real names (Misha, Jared, Jensen, etc.) have been used. If this is not your thing, then I suggest you turn back now. If it doesn't worry you, please continue and enjoy.
A/N: recently went through and fixed this story up a bit, just a few bits and pieces here and there. Hence the re-post.
That is it! Dean wanted out! And he wanted out now!
This was getting ridiculous. Well, it had been ridiculous in the first place, from the first resounding call of 'CUT' they'd heard around them. But now – now is was past preposterous.
Sam was full on smirking at him as he flipped around the laptop screen proving to Dean that his counterpart had in fact appeared on a soap opera. Dean didn't even like anything close to a soap opera (and never mind what little brothers had the tendency to say, Doctor Sexy didn't count dammit!). Weren't their equivalent personas in this reality supposed to reflect their own?
A soap opera? Seriously?! This was no longer just strange, it was downright offensive.
Dean slammed the laptop shut before his brother could make any further comments.
"Don't like this universe, Sammy. We need to get out of this universe."
Of all the insane things the two of them had been put through – and it was a hell of a long list – this had to at least make top five. An alternate universe where their faces remained the same but their entire lives changed? Their actual lives being made into some two bit television show.
Yeah, this definitely ranked as eccentric, even for them.
"Yeah. No argument here," Sam responded evenly, "But I don't think our – our prayers are reaching Cas."
Neither of them had even managed to lay eyes on this universes version of Castiel, never mind their own. Dean was reluctant to even think about what kind of person they'd have portraying the Angel.
"Well, I agree. I think we are definitely out of, uh, soul-phone range. But…" Dean frowned looking around the trailer for a piece of paper.
"What?"
"If we can reverse Balthazar's spell," Dean snatched up a pen and notepad, "I watched every move." Dean sketched the sigil Balthazar had constructed out quickly and flipped it around for Sam to see, "We just, get the ingredients, right, get back to the same window, and," Dean breathed deeply, "There's no place like home."
-/-/-/-
It was a good plan. Dean knew that. And it was not his fault that everything was fake.
The two of them were rummaging through Bobby's desk – No, it wasn't Bobby's desk, it was a goddamn film set! All of it was phony. Everything from the rubber backbone to the prop daggers and knives that were about as useful a weapon as a toy.
All the equipment that surrounded them, though it looked undoubtedly familiar, it was utterly useless.
Sam and Dean both trudged out of the studio disgruntled. Having no immediate access to the ingredients required to replicate Balthazar's spell really made it difficult to duplicate the process.
Dean almost lost it again as a crewmember all but dragged him out of his baby when he tried to drive away. But that was the same thing again, it wasn't his baby, his Impala, it was some prop that was being smothered in mud of all things.
Dean slammed the car door shut forcefully, "How the hell are we supposed to get out of here?"
The answer to Dean's question was in the form of a man who apparently was at their disposal to drive them wherever they pleased. Dean had already forgotten his name, Clem? Kyle? He didn't know, nor care anymore. Dean leaned heavily into the backseat of the SUV and clamped his eyes shut tightly. Maybe if he focused enough he'd realize he was dreaming and manage to wake up safe and sound in some random motel room.
No such luck came as Sam's voice washed over him as he spoke with the driver, "You know whereabouts you want me to drop you off Jared?"
"Uh, yeah, Clint."
"Clif." Clif! That was it!
"Yeah, yeah of course, obviously," Sam rushed over his words, "I'll just tag along with Jensen here." He clapped Dean firmly on the shoulder.
Clif raised his eyebrows at them in the rear view mirror, "Since when are you guys talking?"
Dean and Sam exchanged a look as Sam continued to stutter out, "Yeah, well, we're just gonna go back to his place and, you know, do some work."
"Work on out acting," Dean chipped in.
"Yeah."
"For our characters. For the show."
"Yeah," Sam agreed again, throwing a look across to his brother clearly trying to indicate that he really wasn't helping.
"Alright," their driver responded sceptically.
The rest of the drive was held in relative silence. Dean visibly cringed when he finally spotted a sign that had directions plastered across it. Vancouver. Canada? Really? They weren't even in America anymore.
Dean was surprised when their driver, Clif, pulled up along the curb of a regular looking suburban street. Dean peered out his window at the house they were positioned alongside. It didn't look like much, but it had a homely vibe to it.
Sam had to nudge him to get him moving out the door. They both muttered their thanks as they left the black car and traipsed up the driveway. The path was lined with well-kept rows of shrubs that bordered a neatly cut slopping lawn; Dean couldn't imagine himself ever putting that much effort into a garden.
Dean had to scrounge through a bag he took from Jensen's trailer to find a ring of keys, trying almost all of them until he found the correct one to open the front door. Anyone watching them would probably think they were trying to break into someone else's home. Dean figured it would have been quicker to just pick the lock.
The inside of the house was much like the outside. It felt like a home. Nothing overly flashy stood out, though it had modern furnishings. It wasn't overly tidy, but still well kept. A stack of what was probably mail lay unsorted on the kitchen table, a couple of bowls and glasses still sat unclean in the sink.
Dean figured, maybe, he could have lived in a home such as this. There were a couple more eclectic items here and there that Dean wasn't even aware the function of, but the place wasn't overly terrible. The biggest surprise was the jet black kitten curled contently on a corner of the couch, purring lightly in its sleep.
"Dean, dude, you have a cat! You're allergic to cats."
"Shut up, man." Dean mumbled. If a small cat was the worst thing here, he was sure they could deal with it for one night while they tried to figure this out.
"So you think you have a laptop somewhere?" Sam asked, glancing around the lounge room. There was a flat screen and sound system in one corner, a large collection of movies lining the wall next to it. A fireplace was built into the centre wall, a stack of neatly cut wood nearby ready to go. But no computer in sight.
"Maybe, who knows where though," Dean spared a glance to look, before casually going over to peek at the movie compilation.
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's easy distraction.
Both men froze when they heard someone fumbling at the front door. They shared a look at the obvious sound of keys turning in a lock. A light breeze swept through the room as the front door opened, a soft whistling tune following soon after.
"So I guess you don't live alone," Sam mumbled, as they waited for the house's newest occupant to come and find them.
"Jen? You home?" A distinctly male tone sounded through the walls.
Sam motioned that Dean should respond but he was having a difficult enough tome focusing on the fact that he apparently lived with a dude?
Dean and Sam were still arguing silently when the guy rounded the corner.
"Cas?!" Sam's instinctual reaction was immediate, the name slipping out before he could stop it.
'Cas' rolled his eyes, "Ah yes, Jared, cause that one never gets old."
Dean couldn't help his mouth falling open. Cas was in front of them, but he wasn't – because that was so not Cas.
The man who stood before them looked like Cas, from the messy dark hair, to his blue eyes and slightly stubbled jaw. But everything else seemed just, entirely, off. He was wearing a dark blue unzipped sweater, a lighter blue shirt underneath, over a pair of well-worn jeans. No holy tax accountant get up in sight. His stance was different, the set of his shoulders not so square and the crease to his brow not so stern. Even the armful of goods he carried didn't make sense; the few bags no doubt filled with groceries in one hand and a bunch of bright flowers in the other.
Dean's eyes had zeroed in on the cluster of flowers and his brain seemed to have lost its main functioning capabilities.
"Don't get prissy Jen, I know how much you don't like flowers, they're not for you." His voice was different too; higher than Cas', less like the man had been gargling with rocks his whole life, a more natural tone.
The man in front of them strode forward casually towards Dean, leaning up the slightest amount needed when he reached him, and with such an ease placed a peck of a kiss to Dean's cheek.
Dean felt his face flame red.
It might have been seconds or minutes before Dean registered Sam tugging at the sleeve of his jacket; he glanced across at him in panic, following his line of sight to a picture frame centred on the mantle of the fireplace.
It held a photo of him and Cas – No, not him and Cas, it was this Jensen guy and whoever that person was standing opposite them unknowingly wearing Cas' face. They had their arms wrapped firmly around one another, leaning into each other's weight as they grinned at the camera, hands grasped tightly together being held up to prominently show off rings.
"Dude! I married fake Cas?!"
"Actually it's Misha, just in case you chose not to read the marriage license when you signed it."
Dean's mouth dropped back open, "Misha?" The disbelieving attitude fell out before he could stop it.
"As always, you're both comedic geniuses." Misha said before turning on his heel and striding for the kitchen.
Sam and Dean heard him dump his parcels onto the bench before heading back toward them. Dean looked over at his brother still in a panic, what the hell was going on? Alternate universe just seemed to try and jump a few steps on the crazy ladder and reach straight for insanity. For Christ sake, he married fake Castiel!
And Dean's swirling turmoil was most certainly not being helped when his brother looked like he was trying everything he had not to burst into laughter.
Misha sauntered back into the lounge room with ease, scooping up the little bundle of fur that had remained curled on the couch as he passed. Misha let his eyes roam pointedly over Sam's frame and any smirk Sam had been sporting slid away.
"So the two of you are over your little spat then?"
Sam and Dean exchanged another look, bluffing their way through this just became so much harder. "Yeah," Dean shrugged, "Totally, it's forgotten and all that."
Misha fixed his stare onto Dean; Dean figured at least he had that soul gazing thing down. Misha flicked his eyes back over to Sam once he seemed satisfied. "So you staying for dinner Jared? I'm sure I could cook for three."
"Ah, if it's no trouble?" Sam managed to get out, shrugging over at Dean when Misha wasn't paying attention.
"Course," Misha nodded, "You okay Jen? You seem a bit out of it."
Dean snapped his mouth closed from where he'd been blindly watching Misha run his fingers around the kittens ear and tried to pull his mind back into 'faking it'. "Yeah, of course. Long day, you know? Acting and stuff." He was doing his best to try and ignore the tingling feeling he still felt on the side of his face where Misha had brushed his lips.
Misha let the first hints of a genuine smile linger across his mouth, "Did the two of you forget to go and change after the shoot? Or have you gone back to raiding the wardrobe trailers. I swear they're going to have to do more than put a padlock on those doors."
Dean tried to smile back at the obvious joke that he didn't quite understand, but was sure the action came off as more of a grimace. He was certain Misha was about to repeat if there was anything the matter with him but was saved the trouble as a phone started ringing. Dean turned to see his brother fumbling a fancy mobile, that certainly wasn't his, out of his pocket and swiping to answer the incessant ringtone.
Misha nodded his head towards the kitchen for Dean to follow him, no doubt to give 'Jared' privacy for his phone call. Sam shot him a shrug, as if to say 'just play along', before turning his full attention to the voice down the line.
Dean followed Misha into the kitchen, watching cautiously as the other man started unloading the few bags of groceries.
"What happened to 'Jared is an asshole and I'm never going to speak to him again'?" Misha asked. Apparently he wasn't the type of guy who messed around with small talk. Although they were married, maybe this was just the way married people spoke.
Dean cleared his throat, "I was being stupid. Overreacting." He stepped forward, feeling something akin to guilt that he wasn't helping unpack. Although he stopped himself before he started; it might look slightly strange if he didn't know where anything lived in his own kitchen.
Dean felt a hand rest gently on his forearm, his eyes snapping up to see blue ones staring at him closely, filled to the brim with concern, "You sure you're okay Jensen?"
Dean nodded, any words he could think of sticking in his throat.
Sam cleared his throat from behind them and Dean hastily moved away from Misha's warm hand.
"Afraid I'm gonna have to skip dinner," Sam stated.
Dean turned to him swiftly, "What? Where are you going?"
"That was, ah, Genevieve. I'm needed at home. Apparently." Misha seemed unfazed by the comment but Dean could clearly read the panic in Sam's wide eyes. "She's on her way to pick me up?" Sam finished more as a question than the statement it should have been. Who even knew who it was that was coming to lay claim to Sam. Great, just another obstacle they had to work their way around with the whole getting back to their own universe problem.
As far as Dean could tell they were well on their way to becoming royally screwed. They were supposed to be some hot shot actors who lived in Canada of all places, when they didn't know the first thing about acting or the lives that they supposedly lived. Now Sammy was about to walk out the door and leave him stranded with his theoretical husband, who looked like Cas but that seemed to be as far as the comparison went.
Sam gave him the best 'we can do this' look he could muster before a horn sounded from outside beckoning him to face his fate.
Sure, they could do this. They were the Winchester's, they could do anything. What was an alternate universe to the boys who knew how to navigate Hell?
It would be simple, right?
Once Sam disappeared through the front door Dean felt an arm sneak across his lower back, a hand hooking on his hip, curling around his waist to draw him closer.
Dean only knew one thing for sure; when they got back home – and they would – he was going to find Balthazar, and he was going to murder that stupid meddling sunnofa bitch.
