A/N: A bit longer than the last chapter.
Dean's head was running hundred miles per minute. It was like he was in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. He had been forced into this messed up universe where he wasn't who he really was, and his real life had been twisted into this ridiculous TV-show. And the worst of it all; he was in a steady gay relationship. With Cas. Well, not so much with Cas, but with this guy, Misha, who just happened to look exactly like Cas. Dean stared terrified, at Misha's neck, as he walked few steps behind the fake-angel down the driveway, away from fake-Sam's mansion. They were headed "home". Where they most likely would be sharing a bed. Like most couples do. Dean felt his stomach turn. The mere idea of... doing the nasty with this Misha-guy who so inconveniently was wearing Cas' face, had Dean running off, screaming, to the closest bar to pick up as many girls as he just possibly could. So he tried not to think about it.
They finally reached the street, and were now standing in front of a this hurriedly parked, box like dark silver Toyota. Which Dean automatically labeled as a "Mom-car". He frowned.
"Dude, really? This is what you drive?" Somehow he just couldn't see Cas', or the Cas-look-a-like rolling around in a goddamn Toyota. Misha gave him an strange look before answering;
"No, this is what you drive, Jens, this is your car. But given how many beers you have obviously downed tonight, I'll drive us home."
Dean stared at the ugly little car, while Misha unlocked the doors, and climbed into the driver's seat. His nightmare was getting worse and worse by the second. Grieving, Dean too got into the car, slamming the door shut too hard on purpose. Misha turned the engine on, and started to drive away from Sam's place.
"Really? This? My car?" Dean couldn't let it go. He couldn't understand it, how someone, supposedly him, but just in another dimension could be so completely different from him. Have such a completely different taste in cars and in women. Well, not to have taste at all for women...
Dean felt somewhat betrayed.
"Would you quit the whining, I told you the Impala won't be shipped until next weekend!" Misha snapped at Dean, who was suddenly very intrigued.
"Impala?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up. Misha rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, by the way "Jensen", was behaving.
"YES! The Impala! The exact replica of the one Dean drives in the show, that I ordered for you three months ago, for your birthday! God, how drunk are you?" Misha turned to throw a half worried half pissed-off glance at Dean, who lowered his gaze, trying to remind himself to be more careful. But it was just too weird not to be asking all the questions. Like just now, when Misha had just casually thrown the word 'God' in his speech. Cas would have never used his Father's name in vain like that. And it was weird how Dean picked up on little things like that... This all was just messing with his head. This universe was definitely bad-touching him.
"I'm not drunk," Dean mumbled quietly, staring out the window. Misha stopped for a red light. Dean felt a hand on his thigh. It squeezed softly, reassuringly. Dean felt the little hairs in the back of his neck rise up at the touch. But he couldn't quite figure out if it was because he found the touch so unpleasant or... nice.
Dean turned to look Misha, who now had a completely worried look on his face.
"Jens, you sure, you're alright?" The gaze of the blue orbs were so intense, that Dean felt powerless to look away.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Like I said, just a bad... workweek," was all he was able to say.
Until he realized that Misha was leaning in, over the gearstick and handbrake, to kiss Dean again. Dean's brain locked itself, unable to process anything else besides the panic caused by the rapidly nearing man. And so he braced himself to relive the feeling of being kissed by a man. Being kissed by Cas...
A horrible noise of a car horn honking rippled through the tension in the car, startling Misha to lean back, and realize that the light had changed and to keep on driving, smiling apologetic smile to Dean, who was sitting so rigidly and tensed up on his own seat, that it was like he had the stick up his ass this time. The rest of the way went in silence, with Dean trying desperately to unlock the jam in his brains.
In few minutes, Dean saw them rolling onto the driveway of a small suburban house. He hadn't really been expecting anything but... this was so not what he had expected. It was a small, white normal house with a bit of a decayed tin roof, in the middle of the suburbia, with the white picket fences and all. It looked... nice. But then again, it was nothing compared to what fake-Sam had. Was Sam really the star of this show? Because Dean was ready to bet that he didn't have a solarium in his hallway or an alpaca out in the backyard like Sam did. But then again, Sam was married to fake-Ruby, and Dean was dating fake-Cas so... It just so seemed that this universe was really hating Dean.
Misha had apparently seen the way Dean was staring at the small house, because he turned off the engine and let out a small laugh when he got out of the car.
"I can't wait to finish up the shooting, so we can finally get back to the States and to our real home," he said casually, starting to walk towards the front door of the little house. Dean, left with no options, followed after.
Well, at least the situation was somewhat improving itself. So he was actually living in America. This was just some temporary home while filming the show, and in few days, he'd get his baby back. Or at least an exact replica of it. But then again, was he planning on staying here for that long? Well, right now he had no idea how to zap him and Sam back home, so he was stuck with this reality for now. Misha unlocked the door and led Dean inside the house. It had a narrow hallway, leading into a this sort of combined kitchen and livingroom. And at the back of the livingroom was a door, supposedly to a bedroom. Dean had shivers running down his spine.
"Are you hungry Jens? Or did you eat at Jared's?" Misha asked, kicking off his shoes, and walking towards the kitchen. Dean stood rigid at the doorway, watching Misha casually bustle around the small room, pulling out two beers from the fridge. Yes! That was the answer! Alcohol! Dean took few unsure steps into the kitchen.
"Umm, no, I'm not hungry," he said, reaching for the bottle Misha was offering to him. Dean popped the cap, and downed the whole bottle with two gulps, setting the bottle down on the counter. Misha raised his eyebrows at him.
"Seriously, man, what's up with you today? You seem so nervous all the time," Misha frowned at him. Dean just shook his head, wondering if he'd dare to ask for another beer, when Misha stepped closer to him. And Dean could smell him. That distant scent of ocean, forest and candle wax... and that something that in Dean's own world was probably left overs from Jimmy's cologne. Misha smelled exactly like Cas. And that stirred something dangerously inside Dean. Something he greatly hoped was just homesickness.
"Look at you dude, you're all tense!" Misha exclaimed, reaching out his free hand, the one not holding his beer bottle, to rub Dean's shoulder. It actually felt kind of good.
"I'm just tired, you know," Dean mumbled, definitely not leaning into the soothing touch. Misha smiled at him, retrieving his hand.
"Come," he gestured to Dean follow after him, into the livingroom, where he sat down on the puffy looking blue couch, setting his beer down on a glass coffee table.
"Sit," Misha commanded, gesturing the floor in front of him. Again, Dean felt the little hairs at the back of his neck rise with the awkward realization.
"You know what? I'm good, I think-" Dean started to ramble when Misha cut him off.
"Come on Jensen! I am actually for once, offering to do this. Just stop the bitching and roll with it." Misha smiled. He did that a lot. Dean could get used to it. So stiffly, he inched closer to the Cas-look-a-like, sitting down in front of him onto the floor. Misha's knees were on the both sides of his shoulders, holding him in place gently. Dean let his head fall forward trying so hard to not to think what part of Misha's body was drastically close to his neck. But all thoughts of discomfort and panic fled his body, when Misha started to massage the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. It felt heavenly.
It didn't even seem to bother him that much, how well Misha, how well this dude knew his way around Dean's aching body. He just let himself melt into the touch.
He literally felt the stress and the strain of having to sit in a car for hours per day, or being crouched down in a bad angle over a boring book for what felt like ages, slowly drift away from him.
If being in a steady relationship was like this, Dean could learn to enjoy it. Until he heard Misha's voice again, which was like a bucket of cold water to Dean. He had already kind of forgotten who it was massaging him. Hey, the dude had slim and feminine hands.
"Take off your shirt," Misha said, voice low. Dean's eyes shot open. He hadn't even realized they were closed. He felt nervous again.
"Umm, no thank you, I'm quite comfortable as it is..." he said, trying to slip away from under Misha's hands, but the other man just chuckled.
"Just take it off, so I can get to your back more easily."
And with that, Dean felt the slender fingers reach for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it gently up. Dean thought for a moment to put up a fight but then it was already too late, and he had been stripped of his shirt. Misha threw it somewhere behind the couch and laid his hands back on Dean's shoulders, letting them wander lower, rubbing and caressing Dean's back.
It took Dean a long time to admit it, and he still hated himself for it just a little bit, but he let a small moan of pleasure escape his lips. It felt good. It really did. And not just the massaging, but the feeling of someone else (not Sammy), being voluntarily that close to him, doing this just because they wanted it. And again, as if it was becoming a tradition, just when Dean was about to get used to this weird sign of affection showed to him by a dude, he felt Misha crouch down behind him, and a pair of thin, soft lips ghost over his neck. And again the realization of the lips belonging to a Cas looking like dude, hit him like ton of weight. Dean shifted slightly and cleared his throat, thinking about escaping when he heard the three little words from Misha every little boy dreams to hear.
"I love you," he whispered, kissing Dean's shoulder softly. Dean could feel the scratchy stubble against his skin. Okay, he was officially totally freaking out. Dean let out a small incoherent sound, not really sure what he wanted, or should have said. It was weird, hearing a man say that to him. A man, who sounded a lot like Cas. But then again, the words weren't really meant for him... That thought caused a small and quick stab of pain somewhere in the back of Dean's mind. So far back, he didn't even recognize it.
"Let's go to bed," Misha whispered, voice heavy, standing up, holding an expecting hand out to Dean. Okay, scratch that, now he was freaking out. Dean jumped up, not taking Misha's hand, not meeting his gaze.
"Umm yeah, sure, sure... why don't you... go head, I'll... I'll follow... right behind, there's this... Thing! That... I gotta do..." Dean stuttered, taking few steps back, looking probably a lot like a deer caught in headlights. Misha just smiled softly, either ignoring or not noticing Dean's jumpiness. He nodded and turned, walking to the bedroom. At the door, he called over his shoulder;
"Just hurry up dude!"
Okay. So now Dean had exited the calming realm of 'freaking out' and entering the terrifying realm of 'scared to shitless'. There was no way in hell, or heaven, that Dean was sleeping with a dude! With fake-Cas! When he saw Misha disappear into the bedroom Dean was on the move. He stormed to the kitchen, trying to think. Trying to get his heart to stop pounding against his ribcage so hard, that he could hear it. What was he going to do! Dean glanced furiously around himself, trying to come up with something. Before his eyes fell on a cellphone on the kitchen counter. It must be fake his. Sam! He'd call Sam for help.
After scrolling through his contacts-list, calling some wrong Sam twice, he remembered that here, Sam was Jared. And in his phone, the only Jared he had there had a frowning face after it. Man, they really must hate each other here. And Dean dialed. After a tormentingly long time Sam finally picked up.
"Dean?" his voice was tired and careful. Dean nearly sighed out of relief.
"Sammy! I'm in trouble!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down, preventing Misha from over hearing the conversation.
"What? What's going on?" Sam was on full alert, all tiredness gone from his voice. Dean swallowed, suddenly unsure of how he was going to tell Sam what was going on.
"Well... I find myself in a very... difficult situation."
"What situation, Dean what is happening?"
"Uhm..." Dean cleared his throat, pacing around the kitchen nervously. There was no way out of this. No way putting this graciously, and being able to remain some speck of self esteem. He had to just come out with it, and deal with any teasing Sam might throw in his direction for it.
"I think... I think this Misha guy wants... you know."
Okay, he maybe could've phrased it better, but somehow when he had to say it, his tongue felt three times bigger than normal. He just couldn't say it.
"No, I don't know. Dude, just tell me what the hell is going on!" Sam was getting annoyed. Dean sighed. Here goes nothing.
"He wants to have sex!" Dean hissed with a voice dripping ice. The phone line went dead silent for almost a whole minute.
"So... What are you expecting me to do about it?" Sam asked finally unsure. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I don't know man, help me out here! What am I supposed to do?"
"Jensen? You coming?" Dean heard Misha's voice from behind him. He spinned around, to stare at Castiel's naked chest. Well not really Castiel's, but still. Misha stood there, leaning on the bedroom door, without a shirt, and his pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his narrow hips. Dean had swallowed his own tongue and was currently trying to cough it back up to his mouth.
"Yeah, just a second... Misha," Dean finally stammered, voice almost an octave higher than normal.
"Hurry up," Misha whined, impatient, slipping back to the bedroom. Dean let out a wavering breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding back.
"Dude, you gotta help me, he's taken his shirt off! He's waiting for me in the freaking bedroom!" Dean yelped desperately to the phone. He was sure he could hear Sam try to stifle a laugh on the other end.
"I'm sorry man, but as I see it, you only got like... three options," Sam finally said, and Dean was more than eager to hear them, since he had come up with none.
"Well firstly, you could go in there and tell him you want to break up with him. That way you'd erase your whole problem," Sam stated matter of factly. Dean thought of it for a second, before his eyes laid on a picture taped on the fridge door. He hadn't noticed it before. It had him, or well, Jensen and Misha on it. They were standing by some small lake. Jensen had a some sort of fishing gear in hand, and he looked excited. Misha was standing next to him, smiling at his enthusiasm. They were just casually holding hands. It was your typical, cheesy couple photo, probably taken from some trip Jensen and Misha had taken together but something stroke at Dean whilst looking at the picture. Both of them, him, well Jensen and Misha, looked... happy. Dean sighed.
"No, don't think I can do that."
"Why?" Sam sounded surprised.
"Cause. I'm just borrowing this guy's life here Sammy. When we get back home he'll be zapped back here, and it's none of my business to go mess with his life and break up with his boyfriend. They're happy together Sammy. I don't wanna screw that up for them," Dean explained quietly, gently touching at 'his' smiling face on the photo, feeling a lot less scared, or freaked out than he had been a mere minute ago.
"Yeah, you're probably right... Well, then my next best suggestion is, that you just go in there, suck it up, and do it. Or well... you know. Him."
Sam's voice was neutral, it didn't give away anything, but Dean could still feel the hidden laughter in Sam's voice.
"Not actually a big fan of that option either Sammy!" Dean's voice was getting angrier.
"I don't really see why Dean, it's just sex. You've done it before, as I recall. Besides you like sex, so what's the big deal?"
Dean felt like banging his head against the wall. Or Sammy's.
"What's the big deal! What's the..! Just forget it, it's not happening, no way! Give me my last option."
"Well, the last one is that you go in there and kill him, cause I'm really out of ideas," Sam said with an apologetic but joking voice. Dean sighed, frustrated.
"Yeah, thanks Sammy, you're always such a great little helper," he spat out bitterly, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Look, I don't know what you should do, I've never been in that kind of situation! Tell him your head hurts or something," Sam tried, but Dean just hung up on him, throwing the phone violently on the kitchen counter, like this whole thing was its fault.
"Useless," Dean hissed into the empty, dark kitchen. He bit his lower lip and cursed softly. He was now officially out of options, so Dean guessed he had to go in there, and go with the feeble headache-plan.
His legs felt like they were made out of lead, when he began his walk of shame towards the bedroom. He reached the door, cracked it slightly open, and peeked inside.
Please be asleep, please be asleep, please be asleep...
Misha wasn't asleep. The bedroom was dark, but Dean could still see him laying on his back, arms pulled under his head, staring at the ceiling on a kingsized bed. The room was relatively small, it only had a tall wardrobe, a desk, and the big bed under a black curtained window. On the wall opposite of Dean was a door, probably to the bathroom.
Misha hadn't noticed Dean crouching at the doorway so he just laid there, covers pulled up to his waist leaving his upper body completely bare. Dean hadn't ever really imagined what Cas would look like naked, but seeing this, he could really think this was what Cas would've looked like. Lean but well muscled body. Not all pumped like Sam's or his but enough to reveal the fact that he had some hidden strength in him. Dean suddenly realized that he was staring at Misha. He averted his eyes quickly, blushing and clearing his throat nervously. That caught up Misha's attention.
"Oh, you got off the phone finally. Who'd you call anyway?" Misha asked, smiling again. He sat up slowly, staring Dean right into his eyes. For a moment, Dean forgot how to speak.
"Umm... Sa-I mean, Jared. Just Jared. About some... Work stuff," Dean mumbled. Stepping fully inside the bedroom, closing the door after him. He was at loss, what to do next, so he just stood there.
"Jared?" Misha frowned.
"Really Jens, what's going on? You're sort of freaking me out. I mean... You and Jared haven't even really spoken to each other in two years, and now all of a sudden your bff's?"
He had that worried look on his face again. Dean didn't like that look.
"It's no big deal, we're just... getting along again, I guess," Dean mumbled. Stiffly inching closer to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. Misha huffed quietly, crawling up behind Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's bare shoulders. Misha's naked chest was pressed against Dean's naked back. Skin to skin contact. For a moment Dean was on a brink of panic again, until he thought, screw it, he was too tired to deal with this crap right now. He let himself relax into the touch. And it felt kind of nice. Misha laid his forehead on the back of Dean's neck, and Dean could feel the hot breathing of the other man on his shoulders. It brought out the goose bumps on his skin. Misha hummed softly into Dean's neck and the only thought that pierced through his mind was that somehow, they fitted perfectly like this. And it freaked Dean out so little, that it actually freaked him out a great deal. It was really confusing.
"Well I guess that's a good thing then," Misha whispered. And then he kissed the back of Dean's neck softly. And no matter how comfortable, how weirdly safe Dean felt in the arms of this fake-Cas, surrounded by the scent of the real-Cas, a dude gently kissing his neck, was totally crossing the line.
He was about to say something, or to pull away from the embrace, he didn't really know, when Misha suddenly pulled him to lay down on the bed with him. Misha still had his both arms wrapped around Dean, but now, he hooked his other leg over Dean's both legs, practically folding himself around Dean. Misha had his face buried in Dean's neck, and he was softly kissing down on it.
Later Dean confessed, that if it hadn't been for the sharp scraping of Misha's stubble against his skin, he might have not said anything.
"Look, Misha, I'm really tired and it's getting late... Could we just... go to sleep?" Dean forced out quickly, stroking on a reflex, in a apologetic way, Misha's arm. Misha lifted his head, looking at Dean, smiling that soft smile of his, which made the corners of his eyes wrinkle, and nodded. For a second, Misha let go of Dean, to pull up the covers over them, before he wrapped himself around Dean again with a sigh of content.
"Goodnight Jens," Misha whispered with a low growling voice, that sounded almost exactly like Cas'. Shivers ran down Dean's spine.
"Yeah, night, Mish," the newly discovered nickname just rolled off Dean's lips before he even got to think about it. He felt Misha shift against him to find a better position. He was so close. Their bodies were practically touching from the toes to cheeks. And it wasn't as uncomfortable as Dean had thought. Actually, after few minutes of adjusting, Dean shifted his own arm, to wrap it around Misha's shoulders for a better angle and preventing the arm from falling asleep under the weight of the fake-Cas. And the weird thing was, it wasn't awkward at all. Misha fit perfectly to his side. Like he was made to be there. The man had already fallen asleep, breathing steadily against Dean's side, and Dean realized that his own chest was rising and falling in sync with Misha's. It was somewhat... comforting. It had been long, since Dean had been this close to anyone. And he meant that. Just close. No sex or anything. Just... this. Laying there, feeling totally and utterly safe and relaxed by the others touch and presence. And Dean had to admit, he enjoyed this feeling. It was not often he get to experience it. Actually, now that he looked back on it, never had he felt it this strongly. That may have freaked him out, but the steady feeling of Misha's breath on his skin lulled him to sleep before he got the chance to flip out.
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