As Others See

By Jedishampoo T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.

Summary: A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

Author's Notes: This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. WARNING: Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later for sex. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some parts. You may hate it. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

x x x

Chapter 5: Realizations

The third time was not the charm. The door-powder spell had failed Howl once more, this time with an audience that included another wizard. Howl so very hated to appear foolish. Thankfully, if he left, he would never have to see these people again.

He stepped back from the invisible barrier yet again, and looked at the group eating lunch at the table. Sophie looked resigned. Lettie looked sad. Ben Suliman, however, looked impressed.

"You gave it a good go," the wizard told Howl between mouthfuls of bread and cheese. "If I didn't have an outsider's perspective, I'd have almost thought you were going to make it. Did you used to have a fire demon, too?"

"Yes," Howl said, and looked at the chalk on the floor. Another mess to clean up, and nothing to show for it except an outsider's perspective. He swept the floor, emptied the dustpan, and looked at his chalky, awful, gaudy clothing-- not appropriate for doing magic at all-- and had to concede temporary defeat.

"Natural talent too, just like Howl," Suliman added. He looked at Lettie and Sophie. "The resemblance, both physical and circumstantial, between two such fellows really is uncanny. And rather frightening." The girls just nodded in agreement.

Howl was tired of hearing how much he looked like Howl. He was tired of spells that didn't work. He was tired of being dirty. He was tired, period.

Still, he was nothing if not usually civil. "Did you say parts?" he asked Suliman. "How long do you think it might take to reverse this madness?"

"I can probably have something put together by tomorrow morning. We'll just need to plan a bit, of course. You'll need to tell me what to expect over there. If Howl's there, he'll know me, but I'll need to be prepared."

"True," Howl said. Just then the outside door opened, and Michael blew in, followed by yet another attractive female. She resembled Sophie and Lettie. This, then, must be Martha.

Michael's cheeks were pink and he was smiling like a bit of a fool. "Mr. Suliman! Am I glad to see you. And Howl's back! Wait, I'm sorry," Michael said, staring at Howl with a sheepish expression. "You're so alike that for a moment I thought maybe you'd done it."

"He certainly looks like Howl," the new girl said, staring as well. "Hello. I'm Martha."

"Hello," Howl told her, trying to smile. But he'd reached his limit with the whole resemblance issue. "Sophie, not to be rude, but I need to do something. Where's the bathroom?"

She flushed a bit and pointed across the kitchen to a door. Howl realized she'd gotten the completely wrong idea But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment; they'd all see soon enough. He had work to do.

"He acts weird, like Howl, too," he heard Martha say as he locked himself in the bathroom.

It was an impressive bathroom, too, Howl had to admit. It was fitted out like a bathroom in a palace, with a large mirror, a bathtub, shelves and shelves of potions, and lo and behold, a real shower. Howl tried the taps in the shower and was rewarded with a fine, misty spray of hot water. "Good going, Calcifer," he said, stripped, and went to look among the potions.

The shower wasn't as relaxing as a bath, but Howl decided he wasn't in the mood to soak. Something was bothering him; he felt jittery. So he found the potions he needed, did what needed to be done, and turned off the shower.

When he'd dried off he looked at the clothes on the floor. He hated to put them back on but he had nothing else to hand. How stupid was it, he thought, to have a bathroom on the ground floor and the bedroom upstairs? So he dressed again, hung a towel over his head, and exited to the main castle room. Only Sophie was there, cleaning up.

"Martha had to get back to work," she told him. "Michael went with her. Lettie went to help Ben. Our reputations are going to be in shreds after this. I hope you're happy."

"I'm not," Howl told her.

"Good," she said.

Howl looked at the stairs. The bedrooms were up there. He started up and then heard Sophie call out behind him.

"Where are you going?"

"To change," he said. "If you would please only tell me which door I need, I'll be out of your hair."

Sophie gasped. "But there are rules about Howl's bedroom."

"Well, what are they?"

"Don't touch anything."

"That's hardly helpful," he told her.

Sophie sighed. "I'll go with you, then, to keep an eye on you. But Calcifer is still here, so you just watch yourself."

Howl laughed, startling her again, and continued up the stairs. "I'd hoped you'd realized by now that I'm not going to try anything. I'm not a monster." At least, not anymore, he thought.

At the top of the stairs Howl found a short hallway. Sophie pointed to a door at its end, and Howl went in. And sneezed. He had to admit that the room was not as cluttered as his, but it was mightily dusty. Apparently even Sophie didn't come in here. Yet, he thought, eyeing her as she followed him in, and the ring she twiddled upon her finger.

"Well, if you're anything like Howl in more than looks, then you've probably got a reputation," she said in a prim little voice.

"Hmm," Howl answered, noncommittal. He couldn't exactly refute that particular statement, though he was faithful to his Sophie. He had no reason to look anywhere else, now. And there, it had been at least an hour since he'd thought about sex. The thought bothered him for some reason, but he couldn't fathom why. It was just another worry niggling at the back of his mind in a worrisome situation. He looked out the window at a grey-and-green scene that was somehow familiar. "Is that Wales?" he asked.

"Yes," Sophie said. "That's his sister's house."

"Sister?" Howl said, and felt very sad for a moment. "I always wished I'd had a sister. Or a brother."

"Oh," Sophie said, clearly uncomfortable, and stared at him. Her eyes were sympathetic. For a moment she almost seemed to be reaching out to pat his arm, but then her gaze became closed again and she brushed at some dusty books with nervous gestures. "Well, Megan is a bit of a bitch, if that makes you feel any better. And there I am, discussing personal things again. Curses."

Howl stepped back from the somewhat dreary scene at the window. "Well, it's about to become more personal, because I'm going to change clothes."

"Oh," she said again. She took a couple of steps back and twiddled her ring some more. "I'll turn around and stand by the door. And I'm leaving it open!"

"As you please," Howl said, and laughed at her silliness. He was not modest, and not interested in her. Well, not much, anyway, he thought, watching her graceful form as she glared at him and then spun to face the hallway.

He found the closet, and the most sober suit in it. He managed not to make any 'ick' noises at the mauve satin and lace suit, or at the awful sleeves on some of those shirts. He wondered, though, how this nice, black suit had survived among all the others. He put it on and found a mirror. The suit was slightly too large, and Howl felt pretty good about that, but it wouldn't do to look dumpy. He magicked it just enough to fit it properly, and ran a hand through his re-blackened hair. He looked pretty darn good, he thought, even if his eyes were still a little too green.

"Done," he announced to Sophie's back.

She turned and looked, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh! That's better. Mostly. You look less like Howl, at least Howl as he is now." She brushed at her skirts. "I can't believe I was in here while you changed clothes."

She looked, acted and sounded so much like Sophie in that moment that Howl didn't think before speaking. "Well, it's not like you've never-- Oh." The niggling worry from earlier grew from a pebble into a boulder, and slammed into his brain. He plopped onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust. "Oh. Oh, damn."

Sophie looked at him and her expression grew worried; she ran over to him and slapped his shoulder. "What? What?"

Howl thought dimly that he must look really terrible to have engendered that sort of a reaction from her. He glanced down at the dusty bed. It didn't help. "I just thought of something. Sophie-- ah. Sophie sleeps with me. If she doesn't realize-- you don't think he'd--?"

"She what?!" Sophie hit him on the shoulder again, harder this time. "But you're not even married. See! You are a lecher."

He barely heard her, the thoughts were tumbling about so in his brain. He himself wouldn't, he thought. But he tried as he had earlier to imagine himself in the other Howl's head. They'd said he was sly. He had a lovely fiancee who loved him, true; but this Sophie wouldn't tell him enough about Howl, except through her silences, and those were not encouraging. His head definitely hurt now, and he left it that way.

She hit him again. "Defend your actions, mister," she said.

Howl looked up at her. "I don't have to," he said. "I'm going to marry her. It's just." He hated to say it. "What if she doesn't know? Really-- do you think he'd…?"

"Argh," Sophie said in reply, and hit him on the shoulder one last time. "If he does, then it's your fault."

"That's not helping," he said. She was misdirecting her anger again, Howl somehow realized. She wasn't sure what her Howl would do, and so blamed him, Howl. He was beginning to understand her a little, but it still didn't make him feel any better.

"I don't care. And here I am alone with you, lecher, but I can't leave you in here. So come on!" With those statements she stomped to the door and held it open, and pointed to the hallway. "I think I hear Michael now."

"How fortuitous," Howl said to her in a somewhat sarcastic tone that was surprising even to himself.

"Oh! Pretending to be you. What I won't do to him when he gets back," she mumbled as she followed him from the room.

That definitely did not make Howl feel any better.

x x x

Howell strolled the bustling streets of Kingsbury, hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune from a song about shepherdesses and dukes. This was to conceal the fact that he was in a very bad mood.

Normally he might have considered his situation an adventure. There he was, in a world like one of his own, but slightly different. Gorgeous weather; the sun cast a happy light upon the city, glinting white flashes from freshly-cleaned windows as he passed, and brightening the yellow-and-red royal flags waving from every pole. There were plenty of odd and fascinating little vehicles about, chugging cars on the streets and little wasp-flyers in the air; his own Ingary didn't have such bizarre things and Howell was pretty certain that none of those had existed at any point on Earth, either, even in America.

And there were plenty of girls, pretty girls in pretty fall-colored dresses strolling arm-in-arm with fellows or each other, giggling and shooting coy glances at other fellows, himself included.

Still, Howell was not happy. He'd had no luck on his quest to find the Wizard Suliman. They'd been pretty damn surprised to see him at the castle. That was never a good sign. And after he'd climbed those endless, guard-bedecked stone steps, and spoken to at least a dozen identical retainers, he'd been informed that she-- she-- was out today but would return tomorrow.

So, therefore, would Howell. Unless someone rescued him first. He had no better plans at the moment.

Oh, he'd tried to rescue himself. But even after finding a chemist's and procuring some spell-ingredients (and wasn't it lucky he'd found those coins in the pockets of those damned tight pants), and finding a nice, secluded spot, he'd been unable to magic himself back home. He had several suspicions as to why this was happening-- the foremost being that since he and the other Howell had been the cause of this odd switch, then they would have to reenact the exact same events at the same time to reverse the mixup. But there was no way to get over there to tell the other bloke what to do, and vice-versa.

And to top off his unfruitful hours in Kingsbury, every moment he spent alone when he wasn't working magic he was experiencing guilt over his deception. He'd been eyeballing and kissing some other man's girl, one who wasn't his own fiancee to boot, no matter that she looked and smelled and felt like Sophie. She wasn't; she was a different person, a bit soft was how he might describe her, and she certainly didn't deserve to be so taken in.

Mostly, he was annoyed with the guilt. He'd never been burdened by it before. Maybe it was something to do with the heart, though rationality told him this was not so; a heart was merely an organ that moved oxygen through the blood, and was not connected with emotion in any way. Maybe it had more to do with being happier than he had in a long time (until he'd gotten stuck here, of course). He'd found a girl he still wanted once he knew her. And Sophie-- the one here, was not her. But too close for comfort.

There was no chance that something similar was happening in his own world. Even if the other Howell tried anything, Sophie would never allow it. She hardly ever let him get too close for too long-- more's the pity.

So there would be no cosmic justice, only his own worries about himself, and how he was to get home. And it was too late to reveal himself now. He'd just have to stick it out, and pretend to be someone who was nice and never teased anyone and probably wasn't much fun at all.

So Howell traced his steps back to the Kingsbury castle entrance, took his hands out of his pockets, pasted on a fake smile, and opened the door.

The silver-haired Sophie was there, and she turned and smiled at him when he entered. "Hello, Howl! You must have had a very good walk. You look so much better," she said, her grin as bright as the sunshine outside.

Fingers of guilt tickled at his gut again. Who'd have thought he could make her so happy by only smiling? If he'd walked into his own castle smiling like that, his Sophie would have scowled at him suspiciously and asked what he had to smirk about. That was how she showed she loved him. He missed her.

But this Sophie tripped over and greeted Howell without outstretched hands. Surprisingly, the warmth of her fingers and the delight in her grin made him feel welcome, even lightened his foul mood. Then a sharp ache reminded Howell that the love here wasn't his. For a few uncomfortable moments he wasn't sure what caused the ache more: missing what he had, or having what he couldn't.

"You've got the color back in your cheeks. I'm glad. Though your eyes still look strange," Sophie said, and her kindness broke Howell's odd moment. Except she looked like she might try to kiss him again, so Howell released her hands after only a quick squeeze.

"Mi-Markl," he called, looking around the strange airy castle room. The boy's red head appeared over the top of the couch. Howell tossed a half-empty bag of gol-powder at him. "Take this and put it away, would you?"

"Oh, good, Master Howl. We were almost out."

"Let me show you what I made," Sophie said, waving her hands. She walked to the couch and bent over to pluck something off the cushions. It was a hat, pink with rose ribbons and little white-and-green silk lilies-of-the-valley around the brim. She put it on and twirled, green skirt flying to show her shapely little calves. "It's the wrong season for these colors, but I don't think I care."

She seemed almost gleeful at the notion. "Pretty," Howell said, and meant it.

"Do you think? I finished something else but I'll show it to you later."

"Um. Okay," Howell told her, not knowing what else to say. He looked over to see the flabby old Witch staring at him.

"I still say he's all wonky," the hag said.

"He's fine," Sophie told her firmly. "And I prefer blue, but Howl, your eyes actually look well with that suit." She looked him up and down and then blushed again.

This time Howell recognized that blush for what it was. His Sophie sometimes did the same thing, though she tried to hide it. It was what gave him hope for their romantic and sexual future.

The similarities between this world and his own were as striking as the differences, and yet he was starting to get used to them. It was an adventure after all, Howell decided. He might as well relax and stop worrying; he wouldn't be able to do anything useful until tomorrow, anyway, when he returned to see Royal Wizard Suliman.

"Why, thank you," he told her, and smiled. The smile might have been a bit feral, but he couldn't be sure. He twirled for good measure. The old lady laughed.

Markl rolled his eyes. "When are we gonna eat?" he wanted to know.

Howl felt his stomach rumble. Something sure smelled lovely and he'd had a long walk in the fresh air. And climbed a lot of steps. "Dinner sounds wonderful," he said.

Everyone looked at him in some surprise. "It must have been a very good walk, if you've got an appetite," Sophie said. "Vegetables and ham?"

"Still sounds good," he said.

Dinner was as jovial as lunch had been. Sophie seemed to be everywhere at first, setting out dishes, serving, cutting food for Markl and the old lady, tossing scraps at Calcifer. Unlike his Sophie at times this one seemed very matronly, like a mother or a housekeeper. Or maybe it was just that silver hair, Howell thought. Then she took off her apron and tried surreptitiously to check her reflection in a window before sitting, and again she seemed like a young girl.

There was a lot of chatter. At first Howell just ate and tried to laugh at the appropriate moments, but after a bit he realized he was enjoying himself. His Sophie rarely ate dinner with him, not since she'd become his fiancee and moved out of the castle (a backwards sequence of events if Howell had ever seen one). She and a Lettie or a Martha might cook, but usually dinner was very bachelorified and over quickly. Every now and then this Sophie shot him an odd look and Howell wondered if he was expected to be more participatory.

After a short silence at the table, and one of these odd looks, Sophie said, "If you will not tell us of your day, shall I tell you of something amusing that happened last year around this time?"

Howell opened his hand at her. "Be my guest."

Sophie quirked her eyebrow at his tone (Howell wondered if it had been too ironic) and in a show of very bad manners, set her elbows on the table. "Making the hat reminded me. And I remember because it was only a few days before the King's Birthday-- which reminds me again, have you decided what you're going to do about that? It's already the fourth."

Howell realized she was talking to him. "Still working on it. It's a surprise," he prevaricated.

"Hmm. Well, anyway, Lettie had just started at Cesari's," she continued. "She had already met a young man, of course. They were to meet in the park and she wanted a hat covered with fresh flowers. She said she wanted to look like a flower garden to impress him, which seemed rather silly, because Lettie doesn't need such things to keep a man's attention. But she was very young then. And I told her the day was too warm and they would wilt, but she threw a tantrum and insisted. She wanted dahlias, and coneflowers, and marigolds. They all make very bad cut flowers for hats, you know. Chrysanthemums would have been better. I didn't even think about the-- well, anyway, she met her young man in the park, and of course it was a warm day, and the bees were terrible--"

"Ugh, bees," Markl interjected.

Howell smiled at the boy and looked back at Sophie, interested despite the utter femininity of the story. This was the most Sophie spoken since he'd arrived here, and her face was animated, brown eyes laughing, fingers weaving little patterns in the air as she told her tale.

"Bees. They followed her everywhere, of course, because she smelled so good. Her young man, thinking he was being gallant, swatted at them. One stung her on the nose, which swelled to twice its normal size. She ran home in tears and wouldn't leave her room for three days, just lay in her bed and wailed at me and said that if I had to be right all the time, then I could have at least remembered the bees."

Markl rolled his eyes, and the old lady cackled at the foolishness of young girls.

Howell laughed and leaned forward on his own elbows. "And are you always right, Sophie, dear?"

She flashed him an innocent expression. "Of course I am. You know that."

"Except when you are wrong?" Howell leaned further. He was rather surprised to find that he was flirting with her.

She leaned forward as well, until their noses were nearly touching. "But I am never wrong. It comes of being the eldest sister." She grinned. "Can you remember a time when I was not right?"

"Well," Calcifer began.

"But oh, Miss Prudence, I seem to remember--" Howell started to say, and then stopped himself just in time, remembering who he was talking to and who she wasn't, and the history he didn't know and couldn't ask about. "Wait, I've forgotten," he finished lamely.

Sophie laughed. "Of course you have," she said, and kissed him on the nose, and for a quick, brutal moment, Howell wanted to come clean. He wanted to stop deceiving them all, and he wanted to ask questions. Perhaps they could help, his desperate thoughts told him. But nearly as instantly, the feeling vanished. For what could they do but make his life more difficult? They were only a little boy and two ladies, one young and one old, neither of whom had any magical abilities whatsoever.

And he wondered again what the other Howell was like, and how big a milksop he might be, if he couldn't tease anyone and had a girl who was always right.

He scraped his chair back from the table and stood. He surveyed the cozy scene for a few moments; saw the golden glow cast over the wooden room by Calcifer's warm-colored flames, the open and friendly faces watching him, and smelled the smells of a normal home. It was more appealing than he'd thought it might be.

But relaxing was not an option after all, when he was prone to relaxing too much in front of this not-family. Howell patted his stomach and said in a hearty voice, "Wonderful food, but unfortunately I've a need to get some reading done." He looked at Markl. "Got to get that spell right, y'know."

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you, Howl?" Calcifer asked, little yellow eyes narrowed.

"I'm fine! Really," Howell said, and forced a laugh. "It's just been an-- exciting day. And I need to look through some of the books in my room."

"Of course," Sophie said. She looked at him closely, then shook her head and stood to begin clearing the dishes.

The Witch creaked to her feet and patted her own large stomach. "Well, I'm going out for a smoke. Help Sophie with the dishes, why don't you, young man?"

Howell froze for a second, trying to come up with a quick excuse, but then realized she'd been talking to Markl.

"All right," the boy said, and shoved another roll in his mouth before standing to help.

Howell breathed an inner sigh of relief, then realized that Calcifer was still staring at him. He needed to make his escape quickly. "Night, all," he said with a small wave, then made for the stairs.

x x x

End Chapter 5

Thanks AGAIN MUCH to those who have commented already, and thanks for reading! PLEASE comment, let me know what you think! Am I being consistent with characterization? If not, help:)

Next: Messing with everyone's heads. And more. The next couple are "half-chapters" (compared to these last couple of monsters, anyway) and if it doesn't go M next chapter, the one after that fer shure.