[Castiel] Thursday's child has far to go. (childofthursday) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-01-16 13:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, castiel, dean winchester, gabriel |
Who: Meta!Misha Collins + Dean Winchester + Gabriel
What: Despite all appearances to the contrary, that’s so not Castiel (AU plot)
When: 01/16
Where: Dean’s Casless house.
Rating: pg 13
Status: Complete
Dean didn’t know when they’d rolled over. Usually he made a pretty crappy little spoon, but that mostly had to do with not liking anyone wrapping their arms around him outside his field of vision. That and Cas was just real good at being manhandled into cuddling.
He woke up to the feel of his husband’s hard dick pressed against and partially between his cheeks. Waking up the little spoon was definitely not such a bad thing, not when it came to making good use of time before Cas had to go to work. Shit, they’d managed to beat the alarm going off by a few minutes too. Dean was pretty sure he could do Cas one better on waking up (even numbered days were still Cas’ music) and reached over to flick it off. His hips rubbed back against Cas’, giving him some clearly much needed friction.
What? Cas wanted to work off everything they ate over the holidays. What better way to do that than by exercising first thing in the morning?
The response to all that new friction was nearly instantaneous -- a near giggle from the brunet, sleepy but fond. It was a rare day that Castiel laughed, let alone woke up so easily, but he seemed to be managing well with that today. "S'it that time already?"
He curled closer, fingers pressing against the dip of Dean's waist and then giving a slight pause. "Oh. Did we do that again? Hello and good morning."
Dean froze immediately. Every muscle went rigid and tense because his husband sure as hell was not a morning person until after either spectacular sex (and even then sometimes not) or two cups of coffee. Laughing first thing in the morning was not on the table.
That wasn’t even Cas’ voice really. Maybe if someone took all the gorgeous gravel out of his throat, but even then, Dean knew Cas wouldn’t be sounding like that. The moments when it was clear that Dean had needed to fight much of his life were fewer and far between these days. Now they came back to him full force as he managed to flip himself over to pin whoever this stranger was on his back. It helped that the bed they’d made off with at Christmas was slightly bigger than the last one.
“Who the hell are you and what did you do with Cas?” he growled, barely restrained fury in his green eyes as he glared down at a man who both was and wasn’t his husband. There better not be any fuckin’ weird rocks anywhere.
The only kind of rocks here were the ones that were meant to be gotten off. Of course, those weren't going to be sticking around long either with this kind of bizarro treatment. There was only so much cheer that could go around in the morning, even for him.
Not-Cas blinked bright blue eyes up at Dean, made a face that was somewhere between a pout and a frown and then offered a long pause before he laughed again. "Really? Really? Because this would never be part of the script, Jen." He paused, made a thinky-face. "I guess I can come up with something…"
He held tighter to those wrists like somehow he could will this to be Cas and not whoever the fuck this was. “Who the hell is Jen? What script? The fuck are you talking about?” The muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched with his annoyance as he ignored the naked, kind of delighted man under him. The one who looked just like his husband and in looking like Cas really wasn’t doing anything to kill the friggen alpha male boner Dean had going.
"Wait, what?" Not-Cas squinted in confusion but did not tilt his head to the side. He curled his fingers in on themselves and looked over to where Dean was holding him down. "Jesus, it's too early for this. Are you pranking me? I thought we agreed to no more naked pranks. The carpet burn alone…." It was all very conversational for someone who was being held down by a super sprung guy, but he was pretty sure he'd done weirder in his lifetime.
"Is Jared in on this?"
“Who?” Dean asked. The guy didn’t seem like he was going to fight him, didn’t...really seem like he was going to do much but stay exactly where Dean put him. He pushed off of those wrists and straightened up to sit over but not on this Cas-poster.
“I need to know what’s going on here and what the hell you did with my husband.” Would holy water help here? Was this the most cheerful of demons? Or...or fuck had Cas been right about that whole Jimmy Novak thing he was worried about? Shit. Dean was in bed with his husband’s empty vessel wasn’t he?
That made him pause, expression going wary and more than a little confused. "Your husband. Right. Because this is opposite day and you're not usually looking for Narnia in the far back of the closet." He waved his now free hands in a gesture for Jensen (Dean) to move, so that he could get up. Boners were cool, but this was awkward.
"Fine. I'll play. But this is beyond weird and I'm tweeting about it later. I'm Misha. You're Jensen. Jared is probably laughing about this from that bathroom over -- wait. Where are we?"
Dean got off of him, managing to both find his underwear easily on the floor where it’d gotten kicked in the middle of the night and to put it on. He tossed his wallet at this...Misha? Jensen? Jared? The fuck? What kind of messed up LA hippie names were going on here? “We’re in my house. You’re in my bed. And I really need to fuckin’ call Cas in at work because like hell are you leaving my sight.” Let the guy check out his drivers’ license if he didn’t believe his name sure as fuck wasn’t Jensen anything.
"Right," Misha said, somewhere between bemused and really actually just confused. Because this joke had gotten so bad it was possible that it had never actually been good. "Calling an angel in to work. Good one."
He opened up the wallet that was thrown at him and flipped through the useless parts until he got to the bit that held the ID. Dean Winchester. Orange County. That was… new? "Did you steal this from work?"
Dean raised one finger in the universal signal to just hang on a fucking second when Cas’ supervisor finally picked up. “Hey, Donna,” he said, all charm in contrast to the death glare he was currently giving the floor. “It’s Dean. Look uh, Cas and I went out for chinese last night and man the menu said no MSG but dude is just...puking up a storm. Yeah. Yeah all sweaty and pathetic. Thanks, Donna. Aww, come on we both know he’s gonna worry anyway. It’s Cas. He’s like made of worry. Yeah, I’ll let him know. Appreciate it.” He hit end on the call and first fired off a quick text to Gabe. Get your ass over here. Cas is not Cas and last time shit like that happened, I got carved up.
The sentiment was echoed perfectly in the voicemail he left Scud. “Hey man. Look someone stole Cas and replaced him with a lookalike… or dude got ejected from his vessel. I don’t fuckin’ know. Either way, I’m gonna need you to handle shit for me until I get it figured out. I’ll hook you up with some of those eclairs you like for it later.” Phone tossed back onto the dresser, he glared at Misha, arms crossed over his chest.
“What do you mean did I steal that from work? You want my military ID too? Passport? Birth certificate?”
Okay, all of that was crazy go weird and Misha bored with the wallet (and sitting politely through phone calls), tossed it to the side of the bed and crossed his arms. He looked surprisingly serious for being completely naked and in a bed he'd never been in before (although, frankly, it was comfortable). "Right. Were those all Jared? Does this mean you two are talking again?" The phone calls had been strangely convincing though, and now he really was starting to feel strangely about this.
"I kinda do, yeah. Because this isn't making sense. Also, I need to use a phone, because I should probably check in with Vicki."
“Who the fuck is Jared?” Dean asked, but he tossed Misha the phone anyway. He walked over to the nightstand and knelt to open the little door, grabbing the accordion folder Cas so painstakingly organized of vital documents. He sat down on the bed and laid everything out for him. His own vital records. His husband’s. All of it.
He leered at this alleged Misha guy. “Look, this isn’t gonna end with you stabbing me is it? Because I gotta say the last time that happened it didn’t end well for anyone and I really don’t wanna call the kid in here when you’re...not you. Might end up fucking his head up and he’s finally gotten over what happened the last time shit went weird like this.”
And yeah, okay, it was a little weird to see his own face staring back at him on all of this information. And Castiel Winchester was not something for the show. This was a little too much, a little too detailed to be a joke. Jared wasn't that invested, and Jensen was a good actor and all but -- well.
"Uh," he said, so awkwardly, before shaking his head. He didn't stab people; that was not a thing he did. He stood up, took a few steps back from the bed and all those papers and didn't care one second for his own nudity even as he dialed Vicki's number.
Which… only got him a wrong number error. And he knew it wasn't wrong. "What." It wasn't even a question.
“Yeah,” Dean said, busy getting dressed the rest of the way when this fake Cas abandoned the papers and he needed to avoid the husband-trained need to just put them away again immediately. He pulled his t-shirt over his head. “Look, Gabe’s on his way and we’re going to figure out what the fuck we need to be doing so that I don’t need to actually call in angels on this one.” Last time that happened, someone got dead. This guy was clearly not actually pretending to be Cas. He just looked like him. A lot. Dean scratched the handprint on his shoulder nervously, wanting nothing more than his husband back with him. Now.
"Gabe?" Misha frowned, dialed Vicki's number again, and ended up with the same error tone. Subsequently, he decided to dial every other number he knew off hand. Which was not many. None of them wielded results.
"Am I dreaming in television? This is not a real thing. Dean is a character. Not real, Jensen." Even if this guy was refusing to go by the name that was clearly his, didn't mean Misha was going to give up on it. He spotted a different phone sitting on the nightstand (since he was pointedly not watching Jensen dress anymore because this was awkward enough) and grabbed that one instead, because you never know, maybe… better signal?
“What the- I am Dean. For fuck’s sake, man. How much realer do you want to get? You are sitting there, maybe wearing my husband’s skin which is fucking gross and I just… I just want the weird shit to be over, okay? I want Cas back. I don’t want to have to think about Heaven or Hell or fuckin’ angels or demons or any of that bullshit.” Dean took a deep breath and looked away. “I want to have to stop worrying about which dreams are going to fuck my head on which night. If I’m going to wake up from Hell that is sometimes actually hell or sometimes running around the goddamn country chasing shit that just should not be real or if it’s just going to be a dozen years with the Marines coming back to bite me again.”
He practically stalked over to Misha, jerking Cas’ phone out of the other man’s hand. “Who the hell do I have to blow to get him back? Or fuck, who do I have to kill, because I swear to god, I am not leaving him stuck wherever he is.” Dean was intense, more intense than he thought he’d have to be ever again after the talking to he’d given his dad. This was the most he’d ever felt like the Dean he dreamed. “Help me out here. Please...Misha. I don’t know what to do.”
Now completely phoneless, Misha just stared at Jensen, (no, Dean) and looked completely lost over it all. No phone, no jokes or pranks, and his wife's number wasn't working on any phone. Possibly didn't even exist in this bizarro world.
And this guy was talking about tv stuff and the benefits of either murder or fellatio to get what he wanted. Which really wasn't all that normal. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then twisted his hands together awkwardly. "Man," he said, apologetic. "I'm not sure why you think I have these answers when I don't even have pants."
Dean sighed heavily and went to go get Misha some clothes. “Cas’ brother is coming over.” He tossed them on the bed for the guy. That look was wounded and baffled and too much like his husband. He looked over at Misha. “Look, there’s a guestroom if you wanna crash there but...if you don’t, I’m not gonna make you.” He took a deeper breath. “But you’re not getting out of my sight for...a lot. You wanna get in the car and go anywhere. Fine, I’ll take you, but if there’s any chance that he’s somehow in there with you… I can’t lose him. I really can’t.”
Wriggling into the pair of jeans, Misha just frowned to himself and went over the current (very confusing) facts. Jensen was not Dean. Dean was real and married to Cas, who looked just like him which made sense because Misha wasn't an angel, but he played one on tv.
Actually no, that didn't make sense. But it also did in that not at all way.
Tugging his borrowed shirt on, he wondered what exactly was wrong with t-shirts that he'd been given a button up, instead. "You're basically telling me I'm not exactly under house arrest, but I might as well be. Look, I get it. You're married and missing yours who looks like me, because I play him on tv or something - by the way? That's not normal. But I've got a wife and kid, so. You know. I can't just leave them either."
“I woke up with your dick practically in my ass,” Dean said. “Which, if you were Cas, it’d be fine. But you’re not. So at some point between me fucking the hell out of him last night and waking up, he’s gone and you’re here and I know my husband. He’d leave at least half a dozen notes in this room alone if he had to just leave while I was sleeping.” He heard the door open downstairs. “Upstairs!” he called out over his shoulder at what was presumably Gabe. “You wanna go see your wife and kid, fine. Where’re we driving?”
"Vancouver?" But it really was a question, because… well. The number hadn't been working, and this was crazy world and Jensen wasn't Jensen. Who was to say anyone he knew would be themselves or exist? The Castiel he played wasn't exactly the meticulous post-it note kind of guy either, so this was all getting a little much. He moved the paperwork to the side of the bed and plopped down on it just so that he wouldn't need to worry about swaying. "Huh," was all he could think to say. It didn't seem to matter because there was a clomping on the stairs and then they were joined by --
"Dick?"
Gabriel paused in the doorway, gaped, looked at Dean and then back at -- well. Not-Cas. Confused Cas? "Well, I do have one. I like it." he said, trying for cheerful. "Hey, kiddos."
Dean looked up at Gabe, leaning against the dresser again. “Gabe, this is apparently Misha who is very much not Cas and thinks I’m something called Jensen.” He looked flatly at his brother in law. “And barring a road trip to Vancouver, I got no clue what to do here other than keep an eye on his ass until we can figure out how to get Cas back.”
"I'd ask who names their kid Misha, but he normally goes by Castiel," Gabe muttered out, moving closer into the room as if squinting harder at his not-brother might help the matters somehow. "Why would you go to Vancouver?"
Misha huffed slightly, resisted the urge to throw his hands up in the air. Because he wasn't really sure how this couldn't be the world's most elaborate prank, still. "You were only in like four episodes," he told Dick, who was apparently his brother in this land. It was difficult not to begin to feel a bit distraught. "You shouldn't even be here."
Gabriel resisted the urge to either shoosh or pet his brother's hair. It was a little more than weird. "Okay… Well. First thing first. Check the network. If there's crazy, no one is gonna be shutting up about it." That was the OC trend, right?
“Depends on how new the crazy is,” Dean pointed out. “I mean if this is near the epicenter of the fucked up, it’s gonna take a while for the net to catch up.” He looked over at Misha sitting on his bed and then back at Gabe. “He thinks we’re on TV. Or actors on TV or some shit. This whole thing is fuck and we might go to Vancouver to I don’t know, fuckin’ verify that his family’s probably not there. Unless his family is there, in which case, I gotta rescue Cas from whatever a kid’s gonna do to him.” Of course knowing Cas, if he were there, he’d just fly the fuck back and it’d be fine.
“I got him cleared out of work for the next couple of days. Bullshit food poisoning excuse, but if this lasts longer…” Dean shrugged helplessly. The hell was he supposed to do here? Sam might know, but he didn’t want to drag his brother into this. The kid and Lucifer might know too, but Dean asking for help was like a crocodile deciding to go for a nice salad. Not gonna fuckin’ happen. Gabriel was pretty much all he had. “The fuck do we do here?”
Gabriel worried at his lower lip, staring at the brother shaped man on the bed who was not his brother. There were a lot of jokes he could offer -- he could ask if he looked ten pound heavier on tv. Or which side was his better one. Or… whatever. A lot of things.
Fact was though, he wasn't feeling too funny. Cas was his little brother after all, and he might not always act like it, but he was protective. So this was… bad.
"Shit," Gabe said, not amazingly helpful. "We're not going to Canada. Not yet. We could at least start with coffee, right?"
"Coffee. Yeah, good." Misha twisted his hands in his lap a little and then frowned over at not-Jensen. "I'm sorry. Did you just say you had to rescue a grown man from my child?"
Dean cleared his throat and motioned for Misha Stupid Name to follow him. “Yeah. Cas...Cas doesn’t do well with stress or surprises.” All of this weighed heavily on him as he descended the stairs. Making coffee was probably going to be more going through the motions and anything approaching actual breakfast...well, it might be to all their benefit for Gabe to just take over his kitchen with permission this once.
Which Gabe completely planned on doing. The reason for suggesting it wasn't his need for caffeine, but to move them all into a setting that was not as intimate as the bedroom. This was stressful enough without reminders of nude husbands and wives and…whatever else.
"Yeah," he went on, ushering Misha out too -- hand in between the man's shoulders as they moved. "Cas is a little jumpy. Luckily he can choose to just sit on top of buildings and watch the clouds instead of sticking around." That part was more for Dean's benefit than a real explanation.
“And if he could do that right now, don’t you think he’d be here?” Dean pointed out annoyed. The coffee went on. Dean sat heavily in his chair. “Kitchen’s yours,” he said to Gabe, defeat evident in his voice. He just wanted Cas. That was all. That was apparently too much for either life to let him have, right?
"Well maybe he can't flap his wings out of TV land," Gabe defended with a pout before inviting himself into the kitchen to dig through the fridge. He'd go for something intermediate just to settle some more nerves.
Misha sat himself down at the table and tapped his fingers against the wood grain of the table. "I need a computer," he said finally, because he was getting a little too weirded out by Not-Jensen and Not-Dick and the very idea that this predicament could be happening to someone else but in the exact opposite way.
Dean shoved his laptop over to Misha. He hadn’t password protected it. There didn’t seem to be a need, not when he and Cas were working so hard on not having secrets between them. “Knock yourself out, pal.” He was too worn thin to be able to do anything approaching adequately hiding the hurt and worry in his eyes, not from Gabe at least. He should have seen this coming, should have realized from go that he of all people wasn’t going to get a happily ever after.
Gabriel settled down two cups of coffee down on the table, one scooted close to Dean, the other the virtual stranger with Castiel's face. "It'll work out, okay? We'll figure this out and get everyone back where they need to be." He said it to the both of them, but wouldn’t lie -- it was mostly for Dean and himself. “We’ll be laughing about this soon enough.”
Misha offered a smile that wasn't quite watery as he looked up from the laptop. It was really awkward he thought, that he kept wanting to apologize.
Dean held onto that cup of coffee like it was the one thing keeping him grounded in reality, knuckles gone white around the blue ceramic. He gave his actual brother-in-law a very flat look. “I really can’t imagine us laughing about this ever.” What were they going to say? Hey honey, remember that time you got sucked into an alternate reality and stuck with a small child and someone’s wife and there were a lot of weeknights that I couldn’t make good on? Messed up. That coffee mug was dangerously close to ending up smashed against the wall. The only thing that kept it in one piece and in Dean’s hand was that there was still coffee in it. Well, that and that it was Cas’.
"It's not the funniest," Misha agreed, but he didn't even bother looking up from his laptop. He couldn't find himself, his wife or anyone else's pertinent information on the computer. It wasn't exactly giving up that made him update twitter instead (his face-twin's account, from the look of it), but he was feeling pretty dejected.
"Apparently I don't exist here."
Gabe wisely went back into the kitchen to stir at something on the range.
Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Sighing, he pulled it out only to see a twitter notif from Cas. Not Cas. Very much not Cas. Dean’s reaction was immediate and uncontrollable, the still half full coffee mug whipped forcefully against the wall in front of him, so hard that it didn’t spill a drop until it hit the wall just over Misha’s shoulder. He glared at his unwanted houseguest.
“Delete it,” he said lowly. “Delete it and shut the computer or so help me.” If there was going to be anything that was proof positive that this was Dean Winchester and not Jensen Ackles, it was that response right there, from the tone of his voice to the way his body tensed up with barely repressed self-loathing.
At least Gabe could vouch for the fact that if Dean had wanted to hit Misha with anything, he would have hit him. He didn’t miss.
Misha stared for longer than was necessary, back straight in his chair and fingers poised over the keyboard. After a moment, he clicked a few times on the trackpad before closing the computer. Slowly. Like possibly any too fast movements wouldn't go well. Not-Jensen was definitely not Jensen. But he might be a serial killer.
Gabriel reappeared, stared at the mess of coffee and mug on the floor and let out a calming breath before forcing cheer into his tone. "Okay. Let's all play nice. Stranger in a strange land. Nothing is anyone's fault here. I made pancakes but I'm thinking maybe we should go out and get breakfast instead."
“We’re taking my car,” was all Dean was going to say to that. He wasn’t really in the mood for pancakes anyway.
"I don't know why you hate my car so much," Gabriel said, still making light even as he ushered Misha up, stuck close to the poor guy who looked like he might bolt as soon as they hit open air. Gabriel knew absolutely that Dean was a willing shot some days, and that might be pushing it.
Misha was starting to look a little pale and wondered if he was, in fact, a captive. Was he to die in a Denny's?
“I don’t hate your car, mine’s just better,” Dean said, pulling the keys to the Impala out of his pocket as he locked up. He caught the way Misha was looking and let out a heavy sigh.
“Look, Misha,” and fuck did it pain him to say that name to that face, “nobody’s going to hurt you. Promise. You just…” He looked over at Gabe and then realized he didn’t care if his brother-in-law knew because Gabe’d probably already put two and two together. “There’s days when Cas is literally the only thing keeping me breathing. When one look or one text from him is enough to stop me from acting on the fucked up urge to put a bullet in my brain. He...he’s it for me. And it’s probably fucked up and codependant, but it’s how we survive.” Nobody was going to hurt Misha, because Dean didn’t have it in him to let anyone hurt Cas. “Do you get why I’m upset now?”
Huffing out a breath, Misha stood a little straighter and calmed his expression a bit until he was wearing Castiel's nearly blank expression. He knew the face because he'd developed it.
"Yes," he said with a little nod. "I get it. You're allowed your upset…Dean." God, wasn't that weird to say. "I'm allowed some upset too though. This is weird. But it's not my fault." And somewhere, Castiel was freaking out his child. Vicki was probably fine, though. That was good.
"We'll figure it out." Gabriel repeated, a bit moved. "Breakfast first, and then we'll check back in on the crazy network. They always have answers."
That look on almost Cas’ face was more distressing than Dean cared to acknowledge. “Not saying it’s your fault or that you’re not allowed to be upset. Just...needed you to know you were safe even if you can’t believe it.” He opened the garage and got in his car, popping the locks for the rest of them. “Back seat, Gabe.” Even creepy fake husbands still rode shotgun.
Snorting Gabe rolled his eyes and got into the car. The advantages being short weren't ever as noteworthy as when he was stuck into a back seat.
"Got it. And really… you know. Appreciated." Misha said, oddly not at all surprised to find the Impala in the garage. Likewise he would not at all be surprised to find out what was in the trunk of that car. Maybe once his brain had time to settle he could go over all the past scripts and figure out if maybe there was some kind of… summoning spell they could do.
Man, this was a really weird day.