Dinner was awkward. Well, Dean felt awkward, Misha seemed content.

Dean was having enough trouble focusing on the continuous prattle streaming out of Misha's mouth even before he had to factor in that he was having difficulties comprehending any version of Cas being the one to cook him a meal and help him devour it. And then he was expected to make conversation in return? If he was being honest, it could have gone better.

"You sure you don't want any more Jen?" Misha asked slyly, "When I make stir-fry you generally leave nothing in the pot."

Dean smiled as best he could around his last mouthful, "Na, I'm good man. God, that was delicious though."

And it was delicious. Misha was an excellent cook. Dean had developed the feeling that Misha was the type of person who was good at everything they tried, someone who could accomplish anything.

Misha grinned over at him as he began to clear their plates away. "I'll help," Dean said automatically, starting to rise to his feet.

Misha placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly seated him back in his chair, "Don't be stupid. You've been working all day. It was a long shoot – one of the longer ones they've had in a while," Misha grinned, "And I got out of it." He gave a cheeky wink before turning away to continue his task.

Dean couldn't help but smile at his retreating back.

He knew the person with him right now wasn't Cas. Had no connection to Cas at all really. Hell, he shouldn't even be sitting at this table. Pretending to be someone else, even if they looked identical to you, it was all levels of wrong.

But there was something in the way that Misha smiled, something in the electric tone of his voice that drew Dean in. Something that caused Dean to laugh along at the outlandish exclamations that he made. It drew him in such a way that just for a moment he could imagine this life was his. The proper job, with his name in lights, coming home to someone who accepted him for nothing more than what he was.

It was something different for sure, but it wasn't necessarily bad different.

It wasn't until Misha resumed his seat at the table, leaning over towards Dean, and placing his hand on his knee and squeezing, that Dean remembered he wasn't sitting at a table with someone who was just his best friend. He was there with someone who thought he was his husband, and by immediate extension, his lover.

Dean instantly shot to the air, Misha's hand sliding off at the movement. "Let's watch something," Dean blurted in his attempt to keep Misha's mind off anything he might have had lurking around up there.

Dean made his way into the lounge room and wandered over to the extensive range of movies, trying to keep his actions calm and sure as if this was something he did every day. He pulled out a couple of titles he knew half-heartedly before the feeling of being watched made the back of his neck prickle.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Misha leaning in the doorframe, arms loosely crossed over his chest and a hint of a smile still lingering around his features.

"What's up with you, Jen?" Dean opened his mouth to repeat his excuses of nothing but Misha didn't allow him the chance, "You've been acting weird since you got home. Was it something Jared did?"

Dean shook his head, "Na, man, it's nothing like that."

"That's another thing, what's with this 'man', what happened to Mish?"

Dean rolled his eyes, how was he supposed to know what Jensen called his husband, "Sorry. Mish. Honestly, nothing's wrong. Just a -"

"Long day," Misha finished the sentence for him and nodded, "Okay, pick a film."

Dean turned back towards his options, choosing to think of the new glint in Misha's eye as his own victory instead of anything untoward Misha could be planning.

Relenting, Dean finally plucked Star Wars Episode Four off the shelf, figuring there could not possibly be any universe in which he didn't appreciate Solo. He tried to act as if this was normal for him, sliding into the space Misha had pointedly made on the couch beside him, willing his muscles to relax as arms twined around his waist to hold him close.

Barely ten minutes into the film Dean first felt the deliberate press of fingers rolling in small circles near his hip. He kept his eyes resolutely focused on the screen and did all he could to pay the soothing sensation no attention.

Misha was sly when it came to getting something he wanted, that much was certain about the man. But Dean held his resolve strong, it didn't matter how much Misha wanted to get into his husbands pants tonight, it wouldn't be happening. Mostly because his husband was actually god knows where, doing god knows what; although if he was in Dean's reality the most likely scenario was that he was busy fighting for his life.

It didn't matter that Misha's long fingers seemed exceptionally skilled in this area also, the patterns he was tracing becoming increasingly enticing. Dean ignored the thrum of guilt he felt upon realizing that curling up and watching a movie with Cas' look alike was in no way helping get them back to their own universe. Hopefully Sammy was having more luck wherever he was and Whoa! Wait a minute! When the Hell had those fingers transferred to the skin under his waistband?

Dean jerked away on instinct. Turning to greet Misha's innocently raised eyebrows, "What?"

"Mish," Dean began through gritted teeth, "I'm not in the mood." He refused to dwell on the thought that if Misha continued feeling him up it would probably put him in the mood very easily.

"Fine, fine, okay. I get it," Misha said, raising his hands in surrender, "I'll stop."

Dean nodded, before sinking back into Misha's side.

It was another handful of minutes and Misha's hand was absently twirling patterns into his skin again, when he grew confident enough to reach under the band of his jeans this time, Dean shifted but didn't stop him. It wasn't until Dean felt the solid press of lips against the side of his neck that he pulled away.

Misha's face didn't show false shock this time round, he looked genuinely worried, his eyes clouding over and a frown pinching between his eyes.

The look reminded Dean of Cas and he glanced away.

Maybe some nights Jensen played hard to get, but this was clearly too far out of character. It could have been possible to shake off Dean's silence as simple brooding after a long day of pretending to be someone else. It's easy to shrug off a couple of odd comments here and there and blame it on, what was that thing actors called it? Character bleed?

But even then there had to be limits – Limits Dean had apparently crossed.

Dean took a deep breath. Who'd he been kidding? Had he really thought Misha wasn't bright enough to realize when something was wrong with his husband.

He turned to face the blue eyed man scrutinizing him closely on the couch, he sighed again, and braced himself for the onslaught. "I can't do this," Dean began softly.

"I was getting that memo, Jen," Misha replied, an edge of defensive steel beginning to line his tone, "Mind explaining to me why?"

"I'm not who you think I am."

Misha raised his eyebrows, "Right," He paused, "So you're not Jensen Ackles. The man who stole my heart, my mind, my soul when I fell in love with him. The man who whisked my away to some beach so we could be joined in holy matrimony?" Misha's tone had turned to one of humour. He clearly believed he was currently the centre of a joke and needed to get his own back in return.

Dean went with it anyway, "Yes."

"What?"

"You're right, I'm not that person."

Misha removed his hand from Dean's waist in frustration, "So who the hell are you then?"

"Dean Winchester."

Misha nodded, clear concentration lining his face, it took a while for him to respond, "Jen, is this your way of telling me you wanna role play? Cause I thought you said you didn't want to go there with that."

"What, no!" Dean responded quickly, "I'm being serious."

"Serious about what? That you think you're 'Dean Winchester' now?" Misha chuckled, "I may be thick when it comes to you Jensen, but I'm not that thick."

Dean rolled his eyes, "My name isn't Jensen. I am Dean Winchester. I was born in Lawrence Kansas and I have a younger brother named Sam and we travel around hunting monsters that most of the world don't know exist. I could sit here and recite my life's story for you, but you know most of it. Me and Sam were transported here from our universe by the Angel Balthazar to keep something safe from Raphael in an attempt to help Castiel, the Angel you play on a television show."

Misha sat staring at him for awhile, the pinched look back to his face, "So you're telling me you've had a psychotic break?"

Dean groaned, turning away he leaned over to rest his head in his hands.

Maybe this wasn't his best idea. Now Misha just thought he was crazy. Great. Swell plan Dean, real top notch.

Dean felt Misha place a hand in the centre of his back, rubbing slow circles through the fabric of his shirt. "Jen, if you really don't wanna have sex tonight, that's fine. You don't need to go inventing stories. Just tell me, you know that."

Misha's words did the opposite of placate him. Frustration welled up inside of him and he sat up straighter, Misha's hand sliding off as he did. "I'm not making this up!"

"I know you think of me as your own little angel Jen, but you know you don't have to be Dean for that to be relevant."

Dean growled low in the back of his throat. Maybe Misha wasn't as great as he had been giving him credit for.

Misha leaned back at the sound, his face now contorted between disbelief and a flare of anger, "Right then, I'll bite. You're really Dean Winchester, and you were magically transported here by an Angel. Prove it."

Dean's face fell. Proof. He didn't have any evidence. He was currently stuck in a world where 'magic' didn't exist, how was he supposed to conjure up something that could possibly count as proof?

Dean was about to admit defeat to the smug look on Misha's face, laugh whole heartedly and pretend that he really was Jensen, just playing a prank on Misha for the fun of it.

But then he thought of it. Oh so simple, but completely solid, bona fide verification!

Dean stood up swiftly, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and beginning to pull it over his head.

"You strip for me on a fairly regular basis Jensen. I don't think it counts."

Dean didn't respond, yanking his shirt the rest of the way off and dumping it on the couch. He stood facing Misha, allowing blue eyes to roam completely over his torso.

"So? You didn't get makeup to remove the temporary tattoo today?"

Dean sighed, "It's not temporary." Dean scratched his nails harshly over the ink, showing it didn't fade.

Misha's face only faltered minimally. Dean figured he could give him this one. A tattoo was easy enough to replicate, something that Jensen could even go out and get done to himself, it was something still within the realm of possibility. Dean hadn't been banking on his tattoo to be the deal breaker anyway, not with someone as stubborn as Misha.

A tattoo could be faked. But this next one was different. The next one was concrete; literally one of a kind. No amount of makeup or counterfeit would ever be able to come close.

Dean held his smirk at bay as he turned to the side. Giving Misha a direct line of sight to his shoulder. And more importantly, the mark that was unmistakably burned into his skin.

Misha's eyes went saucer wide. Dean figured the dark haired man would have jumped to his feet had he still possessed the capability to move.

"But that's not – that's -"

"That's where the Angel, Castiel, marked my body and soul after he pulled me outta Hell." Misha remained seated, gaping up at the man above him, "It's the point where Cas' grace bound me back together. Sealing me back inside my body so I could be resurrected from the pit."

Misha finally regained some sense and managed to scramble to his feet, pushing himself away from the couch, "You – you're – you –"

"I am Dean Winchester. And this is where Cas gripped me tight and raised me from perdition."

Well, you can't fake that.