Jensen had been working himself up to jump in character, curling his voice how Dean would when saying "Oh yeah?". The actor's mask fell and he frowned. He'd run lines again and again with Jared and Misha, but the dialogue that had been written for Dean still didn't quite sit with him. He—Dean— was supposed to have an argument with Sam in which Castiel would make a poor attempt to mediate. The argument would get so heated that the brothers part ways—with Castiel tailing Dean. The majority of the episode would be a small tangent where Dean and Castiel would spend some more quality time working a case together while Castiel tries to steer Dean back to Sam.

It was ironic, he thought, since he didn't get along all that much with Jared in real life; it should've been no problem channeling his real aggression into the fight. But the subject of their quarrel was just asinine, and yes he'd been very forward with that particular word towards Robert Singer.

Not only that, but why were the writers glueing Cas on him again? Why not stick him on Sam for once? He understood the whole "profound bond" dynamic, but now it seemed like it was just getting overplayed. Sam barely got any one-on-one time with the angel so far. It was weirdly disproportionate to him, not to mention unfair, considering that Sam usually wound up with the short end of the stick to begin with. But, they'd already shot the fight scene, and Jared had been sent home for the day. It was done. Though now Misha had disappeared to God knows where and Bob and his little posse were on the verge of herniating–

There was a flurry of commotion. Jensen snapped out of character as crewmen were scuffling by him. On the other side of the way, he saw Bob and the posse rise from their chairs. Jensen picked up a light jog in their direction.

"Oh, god," he heard Bob say into his walkie when drawing close. Jensen pitched a brow.

"Bob? What's going on?"

"They found Misha," said co-producer Kevin Parks, and Jensen's attention turned to him. "He's been mugged— stabbed— I don't know-"

Jensen's face froze.

"...What?"

– – –

Misha Collins, ever the tweetaholic, was typing up his next tweet on the way to the restroom. A coy little grin played on his face as he eagerly finished a clever comment about how "More #DeanCas [was] to come in the near future. Stay tuned, mishamigos!" It was no secret that Misha supported the pairing which was gaining alarming popularity within the Supernatural fanbase. Of course, nowhere in the actual script was "DeanCas" being explicitly canonized; though there would be enough subtext to send rabid fangirls spiraling into next week. Now, what his followers did with that information was out of his hands. It was up to them entirely. The Boston native chuckled a bit to himself. He really enjoyed trolling his fans.

Almost immediately the retweets and favorites began to pile up. His grin broadened.

Misha found the men's room and without further ado, he pushed his way into male-exclusive domain.

A sudden snap of cold air jostled the actor and pulled his eyes from his cell phone. He stopped in his tracks entirely.

The door closed behind him, and he found himself having stepped out of the building onto a sidewalk flush with pedestrians. Misha blinked in disbelief, and his mouth hung slightly ajar. Nobody seemed to take him into account, and he wheeled back around, yanking open the door he had come out of. A startled woman gasped. She had been trying to leave by the same way, and he shallowly apologized, squeezing by her. He entered what appeared to be a café, which was clearly busy. Stunned by what he was seeing, his eyes scanned the room, and he resisted the urge to pinch himself.

"...Whoa'kay...," he said slowly to no one, still glancing about with wide eyes, "Note to self: Lay off on the-..."

As if a stroke of genius had been bestowed upon an prestigious artist, Misha found sudden inspiration for his next tweet. The phone came back up and, stepping precisely aside to unblock the doorway, he drawled each word to himself aloud as he typed:

"Whoa. This is wild. One sec I'm on set, next I'm in #dicksp8jr's-"

"Cas!"

Naturally, Misha responded to the name of his alter ego and looked up. Unfortunately, however, he failed to detect where it had come from.

Balthazar had seen his best friend enter the café, only to get stopped up for some indiscernible reason. While his friend stared about space, the blond angel had found himself a booth in a little niche tucked in beside the door. He noticed right away that Castiel's unmistakable beige coat was missing—a curious sight, but there were more pressing matters at hand. No room to ask. Balthazar watched his brother pull out a cell phone. To call the Winchesters-?

"Cas!" he hissed again, leaning out from his table. Misha heard his name—well, it was pretty much synonymous with "Misha" these days—and he looked over his shoulder. Surprise crossed his face and he was lured in.

"Sebastian?" he questioned in a voice unnaturally high for Castiel. Without being invited to sit, Misha slid into the booth, and noted Balthazar's untouched coffee while doing so. "I thought you were in Britain with your-"

"What?" Balthazar's face crinkled in confusion. Misha hesitated.

"–girlfriend."

This nearly disarmed Balthazar completely.

"...Are you mad?" he finally asked.

"No... but I'm really confused right now-"

"Are you mad?" the angel was nearly demanding to know, "We just escaped from Raphael, and I've been sitting here twiddling my thumbs like nothing's going on, waiting for your sorry arse to show up for nearly an hour—"

Oh. Sebastian was in character. It seemed the troll was being trolled himself. Misha cracked up once it dawned on him, throwing his head back as boisterous laughter rolled up from his chest, drawing a few eyes to them.

Balthazar couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

"Oh—! You really got me, Seb—," Misha was trying to collect himself but this whole situation was so absurd that he could think of no better way to respond. Balthazar was not amused.

"I thought they got you. I thought you were dead."

"Oh man, I gotta tweet this–" Again Misha returned to his phone, like a slave to his master. Really, Misha's social media addiction was quite disconcerting sometimes.

"What happened to you, Castiel...?" the angel asked quietly, stark concern inked on his features. Surely, the man before him was the embodiment of his brother in arms, the physical manifestation. But something was very wrong about him. Not only could Balthazar see it, he could feel it. Though he was still recovering from having gotten tazed by that banishment sigil, he pushed to project himself about the man sitting in front of him. A distinct lack of celestial presence left a hollowness in Balthazar's perception. This wasn't Castiel.

It was his vessel.

Balthazar lunged a hand forward and seized Misha's wrist. Misha flinched and the two of them locked eyes.

"...Sebastian, what are you doing-?" Misha was starting to become extremely put-off by his friend's facade once again. It had been a good laugh, but now he was starting to worry himself. Just what the hell was Sebastian playing at?

"Where is he?" Balthazar demanded, grip tightening, "Your angel, where is he?"

"Ow- OW!" Misha squeaked. "What-? What are you talking about-"

So he had no idea.

Balthazar dragged Misha from the booth, with the actor protesting and pleading for an explanation in a manner that was really just embarrassing, and in a blink they were both gone, with an outcry on the human's lips stifled as they departed.