Note: Although this story involves characters named for real people (primarily Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, with mention of Misha Collins, Genevieve Cortese, Jim Beaver, Robert Singer, Richard Speight Jr. and Jaci Hays), it is not in any way meant to portray the actual characteristics, circumstances, or activities of these people. The names are meant to reference fictional characters from an “alternate reality” as portrayed by Supernatural episode 6.15, “The French Mistake.”

***

He hit the ground a lot harder than he should have.  Pain slammed into his knees and wrists, the sting of something cutting into his skin registering a second later.  Glass.  It crunched under him even as he rolled, awkward without the mat.  The fuckers had put real glass in the window.

Jensen stumbled to his feet, gritting his teeth as he swung around.  It was too dark.  If they weren’t getting this because someone had screwed up the lighting then they could freeze frame it for all he cared.  He wasn’t going through this stupid stunt again.

“Where’d they go?” Jared demanded, his shoulder bumping up against Jensen’s when he turned.

“Maybe Balthazar zapped them out of here?”  He hated rain scenes.  He hated people who didn’t tell him they were changing the stunt.  And he hated doing these ridiculous lines with cuts trailing tiny webs of blood over his hands and probably his face.  “Or, hey, maybe Virgel killed him and decided to cut us a break.  Who knows.”

“No,” Jared said, and Jensen wanted to smack him for going off-script.  Did he want to shoot this again?  Where were the rest of the cameras, anyway?

“I mean,” Jared continued.  The words were quiet in a way that was real, not stage-whispered into a mike.  Almost drowned out by the rain.  “Seriously.  Where’d everyone go?”

Rain?  Jensen looked up and got a faceful of actual freezing cold rain falling from a darkened sky.  Trees bowed and bent in wind that didn’t come from any fan.  And he was standing, not on a concrete warehouse floor, but in the middle of mud and gravel and fragments of very real, very broken glass.

When he completed his circle, he found no cameras at all.  He found no lights except for the one crew guys had promised not to blow up during the angel-appearing scene.  And the only person in sight was Jared, as wide-eyed as Sam Winchester ever had been, looking like he would have grabbed Dean’s arm if he could be sure they were still rolling.

If they weren’t, then Sam and Dean didn’t exist and Jared and Jensen weren’t talking.  He didn’t know what was going on, but they weren’t screwing up two weeks of careful cover for a prank.  He settled for nodding at the window.  No reason to stand around in possibly authentic weather.

He saw Jared patting his pockets as they climbed back into the dubious shelter of the set.  Or the house.  The house?

Jensen glanced at Jared, who turned his hands palm-up and shook his head once.  Either he had no idea what was going on, or there was nothing in his pockets.  Possibly both.

Probably both.

Except he should at least have a key, right?

“Dude,” Jensen whispered, under the guise of being Dean.  “Where’s the key?”

“I had it when I went through the window,” Jared said, just as quietly.  “Where the hell are we?”

Jensen gave him a look, because obviously.  They were on the set.  Tripping the trip of the completely insane.

Jared shrugged helplessly, but he must have gotten the message because he shut his mouth.  Jensen checked his own pockets, just for something to do, and instead of the nothing he’d expected he found a scrap of paper.  “Veh un fam,” he muttered, squinting irritably at scrawls of calligraphy in the dim light.  “What the hell?”

The sudden rush of air made him pull back.  Toward Jared.  He felt that shoulder against his, solid and sure, even as Misha came out of nowhere to glower at him.  “What does deep cover mean to you?” he demanded, pushing into Jensen’s space with an almost palpable anger.  “Because to me it means don’t call me.”

“Misha.”  Jensen felt some of his pissiness evaporate, disappearing into the dark and leaving something like relief behind.  The guy tried so damn hard.  “They put you up to this?”

Misha’s eyes narrowed, gaze flicking to Jared and then back.  “Balthazar was here,” he said.  “And Virgel.  Are you all right?”

“No,” Jared snapped.  “We’re wet and cut up and cold, so cut the dialogue and someone get us some damn blankets!”

Misha’s expression didn’t change, but suddenly he was shoving blankets into Jensen’s arms.  “I need to get you out of here,” he said.  “If Virgel has found you, you’re in almost as much danger as I am.”

“Where –”  Jensen stared at the blankets, clutching them instinctively and they felt real.  But they hadn’t been here ten seconds ago.

“Father?”  There was a creak from the doorway, barely audible under the drumming of the rain, little footsteps in a hallway that shouldn’t exist.  There wasn’t anything but warehouse beyond that wall.  A girl appeared in the door anyway: tiny and unscheduled and who on the set had a kid that looked like that?

“I told you to go,” Misha growled, turning his head without stepping away from Jensen.  “If other angels appeared, you were to leave.”

Okay, this was definitely not in the script.

“I did,” the little girl said.  “Then I came back.”

“Who are you?” Jared demanded over his shoulder.  It was all Jensen could do not to turn and repeat, what the hell?  Because people were watching, and he and Jared weren’t talking.  But seriously: what the hell?

The little girl was staring at them in a really creepy way.  Which was totally typical for kid actors on this show, but now Misha was doing it too – also typical – and between the two of them it was just too much.  “What!” Jensen snapped.  “Fine, you got us.  Very funny.  Someone tell us what’s going on!”

“They’re not Dean and Sam,” the girl said.

The next thing he knew, Misha was shoving Dean’s jacket and shirt off his shoulder and yanking at the t-shirt underneath.  Jensen stumbled back, slamming into Jared, feeling the collar burn across the back of his neck as his sleeve tore free.  It wasn’t even that kind of a shirt; who could just tear cloth like – 

Then the world lit up and he couldn’t breathe for the rush of cold and fire and song.  It hurt, it helped, the floor fell out from under him and he grabbed hold of the only thing he could find.  The shock that ran through him was enough to freeze every nerve ending he had for the space of a heartbeat that went on forever.

“No,” Misha said.  His voice was deep and rough and he was holding Jensen up, hands under his elbows, unflinching as Jensen slumped against him.  He took the weight like it was nothing, hard and cold in a way Jared never was.  “They’re not.”

“Warn a guy,” Jensen wheezed, trying to shove him away and failing.  “Before you dose him with your shit, okay?”

“It’s Dean’s body,” Misha said.  He was right there, breath tickling Jensen’s chin, and when he was being serious everything about him was fucking adorable.  “There’s something wrong with his soul.”

When he was joking around he was quick and clever and dangerous.

“It’s not his,” that little girl voice said.

“No,” Misha repeated.  He set Jensen back, balancing him carefully on his own two feet and lifting a hand to his face.  Before Jensen could jerk away, warm fingers were trailing over his skin.  Blue eyes peered intently at him, never quite meeting his gaze, and they were definitely past the one-minute mark by now.

Sixty seconds was about as long as Misha could keep his composure in one of these scenes.  The fact that he was still staring, that he was still somehow Castiel with absolutely zero help from Jensen or Jared, was passing freaky and verging on the surreal.

Then Misha was picking up one of Jensen’s hands, running his fingers along the knuckles and turning it over to press his thumb against the palm.  Jensen winced in anticipation of pain.  Glass had done a number on that hand – but even as he glanced down he felt heat and sweet relief in the absence of a stinging ache.

He could only stare when Misha picked up his other hand and took away the cuts and bruising with another gentle brush of his fingers.  That wasn’t make-up and it couldn’t be magic – that was pain and then nothing, suddenly whole skin where he’d been bleeding just seconds before.

“Holy crap,” Jared said, staring over his shoulder.  “Is that real?”

“I can do the same for you,” Misha said.  “I assume you have no idea how you came to be here, or even where here is.  I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain.  You’ll need to –”

“We’re at Bobby’s,” Jensen interrupted.  “Right?  You’re Cas.  We’re not your guys, and I have no idea who that kid is, but I’m guessing something went really wrong when Virgel showed up.  That about cover it?”

They were all staring at him now.  He could feel Jared’s worry without looking, and they were really going to have to work on that.  They were actors, for crying out loud.  They couldn’t hide one stupid workplace affair?

“What do you know about Virgel?” Misha asked.

Only it wasn’t Misha, was it.  It was Castiel.  It was something imaginary and inhuman and undeniable.

He was holding hands with an angel.

Jensen yanked his hand back and Misha – Castiel – let it go.  He gave Jensen a quizzical look, and Jensen tried a smile, because if he smiled Misha always cracked.  Without fail.

Castiel didn’t.  He just kept staring.  Waiting.

“He’s in charge of heaven’s weapons,” Jared said.  “Right?  He’s, like, the keymaster, or something?”

“Did you see him?” Castiel demanded.  “Do you know what he did with Dean?”

“And Sam,” Jensen felt compelled to add.

“He, uh –”  Jared was looking at him, at Jensen, and he felt like maybe he could look back.  If things were already this whacked, they could just say they were playing along, right?  “Balthazar said Raphael was after us.  Them.  He painted some symbol on the window and shoved us through just as Virgel showed up.”

“He gave us a key,” Jensen offered.

“But we don’t have it,” Jared said quickly.  “I mean, I don’t think I have it anymore.  I lost it going through the window or something.”

“This key?” Castiel said, holding up a single silver key.

“Yeah?” Jared said.  Like it was a trick question.  “Maybe?  I don’t know; I didn’t study it or anything.”

“This key is useless,” Castiel said.  “A fake.  A prop, you would say.”

“Where we come from that window is a prop,” Jensen said.  “This room is a set.  And you don’t exactly have the healing touch, okay?  So sorry if we’re not really up to speed on all of this, but go back like two days.  You’re hiding?”

“No,” Castiel said grimly.  “You are.”

“Whoa.”  Jensen lifted his hand to knock Castiel’s away, because he knew that gesture.  “Unless you’re sending us back home, we’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s still possible we haven’t gone anywhere,” Jared muttered.

Jensen risked a look at him, fingers tightening on Castiel’s wrist when he felt it twitch in his grip.  “You think?”

“I think if anyone’s gonna put something in the water,” Jared said, “it’s Misha.”

“My name is Castiel.”  The man Jensen was holding onto sounded impatient and unimpressed and almost totally unlike Misha.  “If Balthazar was here, he must have been trying to hide you and the key together.

“Well, not you,” he added, in a way that did sound kind of like Misha.  If Misha never smiled.  “Dean and Sam.  He knows how important they are to –”  He broke off, frowning down at Jensen’s hand on his wrist.  “He must have gotten them away before Virgel could stop him.”

There was a pause.  Jensen let go of his wrist.

“Uh, okay,” Jared said.  “Whatever.  So where are we?”

Castiel looked up, and Jared had been the one to ask but it was Jensen he answered.  “An alternate reality.”  Jensen very carefully didn’t roll his eyes, but Castiel couldn’t have missed his expression.  “A universe similar to your own in most respects, but dramatically different in others.”

“Like Bizarro Earth,” Jensen muttered.  He’d read these pages too, and he didn’t like the way the script was going.  “Great.  That’s just great.  It’s like TV-land all over again.  Except this time it’s real.”

“This is no illusion,” Castiel said sharply.  “Your actions here have consequences.”

“And you think Sam and Dean – the real... Sam and Dean,” Jared said, “are somehow living our lives right now?  Like some sort of crazy body swap?  ’Cause we’ve done that episode too, and I don’t think it worked out well.  For anyone.”

“Episode?” Castiel repeated.  His frown lightened incrementally, and he nodded once.  “Of course.  You are familiar with the concept, then.”

“Wait,” Jensen said, just now getting it.  “You know who we are?”

“Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki,” Castiel said.  “Stars of the moderately successful ‘Supernatural.’  You’re not Dean,” he added, giving Jensen a look like this was an inexplicable personal failing.  “But you do play him on TV.”

“Uh,” Jared said.  “Possibly not for much longer, if Dean is walking around in his body right now.”

Jensen took a moment to contemplate this.  It took less time than it should have to conclude, “Oh, god.  He’s gonna kill someone.”

“Yeah,” Jared agreed.  “My wife.”

Gen.

Or... not Gen, to Dean.

“Ruby,” he said aloud.  He didn’t miss the way Castiel flinched.  “Nah,” he added, needing to reassure... someone, “that’s crazy, they won’t even run into each other.  I don’t –”

“Go home with me?” Jared finished, when Jensen stopped suddenly.  “Dean will.  And you can bet he’ll have found a gun by then.  Or a knife.  Something.”

“Dean will not act rashly,” Castiel said.  “I’m sure he will carefully consider whatever situation he finds himself in.”

Jensen eyed him skeptically.  “Have you actually met him?”

A flicker of color from the broken window made him look over.  The little girl stood there, blonde curls dancing in the wind, seemingly unconcerned by the rain.  He hadn’t seen her cross the room.  He’d forgotten she was there at all, and now she was staring out at the darkness, making a characteristically creepy pronouncement: “Someone’s coming.”

“Bobby,” Castiel said.  He didn’t hesitate, reaching for Jared this time, and Jensen shuffled hastily out of the way.  His torn shirt was obvious as soon as he moved, and he tried to shrug his jacket back into place without making it worse.  The cuts on Jared’s face were gone when he looked again.

“Shall I fix the window?” the little girl was asking.

“No,” Castiel said.  He waved a hand and the window was whole again, most of the water on the other side.  “We need to go before Virgel returns to look for the key.”

“Or Balthazar does,” Jared muttered.  “He seemed more worried about himself than he was about us.”

“Balthazar’s no hero,” Castiel said.  “But he knows Raphael will never take him back.”

Jensen wasn’t going to say it, but he did kind of get it where it came from.  He couldn’t help asking.  “And that’s good enough for you?”

Castiel didn’t shrug, but it was there in his tone when he said, “He knows I will.”

“Because you don’t have another choice,” Jared suggested, and Jensen shot him a dirty look.  Jared just smirked back at him.  The writers would be thrilled to know how right they were when it came to stupid conversations.

“Because in this case,” Castiel replied, “there is only one right choice.”

The rumble of Bobby’s truck was barely audible before it shut off.  Jim, Jensen thought.  Not Jim.  “What are we supposed to tell him?” he wanted to know.  “The actual, real, fake Robert Singer is gonna come in here, and we’re gonna be all, ‘hey.’  So what then?”

“Then we run,” Castiel said.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t kidding.

Castiel dropped them off at Dick’s cabin on a cliff, his ridiculous mountain dwelling on the outskirts of nowhere.  He didn’t stick around to explain, either, which meant the two of them were left to basically crash the guy’s retreat.  Or his... whatever.

“Uh,” Jensen said, on being greeted at the door by a woman who was definitely not Jaci.  “Hey.”

“Surprise?” Jared offered weakly.

“No,” the woman who wasn’t Jaci said.  “It’s really not.  If anything, I’m surprised he held out this long.”

Something about her voice was familiar, Jensen thought.

“Hi,” Jared said, holding out his hand.  “I’m Jared.  This is Jensen.  We’re really sorry to barge in like this, but a friend of ours thought you might have a place we could stay.”

If anything, the woman’s stare became more pronounced.  “Did he now,” she said.

“Dick,” Jensen blurted out.  “You sound like Dick.”  He tried to remember if Dick had mentioned having any sisters.  When would it have come up?

“And you sound like an asshole,” the woman replied, not missing a beat.  “I’m sure we’ll work well together.”

“Gabriel,” Jared said.  He’d dropped his hand, staring at her in shock.  “You’re... Gabriel.”

“Got it in one, kiddo.”  Just like that, a man was standing where the woman had been not a second before.  “Well, two or three.  You never were the sharpest tools in the shed.”

A man dressed like the trickster: judge, jury, and janitor, wearing Dick’s ever-present smirk.  And if Jared was right – if this wasn’t the most messed-up dream about work he’d ever had – they were standing in the presence of an archangel.  A rogue archangel, no less.

An archangel who was supposed to be dead.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Jensen asked.  He never knew what not to say.  There was a reason the press thought he was “shy,” and that reason was Jared Padalecki.  Jared talked all over him in interviews – specifically to keep Jensen from opening his mouth.

Gabriel – if it really was Gabriel – was giving him an odd look.  “Aren’t you supposed to be more insolent?  Did you have some kind of stroke?  Again?  If you ask me, Broward County didn’t happen so it doesn’t count.”

Jensen stared at him.  “What didn’t happen?”

“Yeah, funny story,” Jared said at the same time.  “We’re not Sam and Dean.”

“Right,” Gabriel said, folding his arms while he studied them.  “I’m getting that.

“Keep going,” he added, when Jared and Jensen just looked at each other.  “I’m very interested.”

“We’re from another reality,” Jared said.  “Supernatural’s just a TV show in our world.  And we’re... you know.  We play Sam and Dean.  On TV.”

Gabriel laughed.  It wasn’t a nice laugh, but it didn’t sound like “I’m going to turn you into dog food” either.  “Oh, boys,” he said, patronizing in a way Dick never had been.  “Only you.  I suppose you’re –”

He broke off, staring at Jensen’s shoulder as though he could see right through the sleeve of his coat.  “Yes,” he said.  “Castiel would have checked, wouldn’t he.  Bet that felt weird, huh?

“You might as well come in,” Gabriel continued, not pausing long enough for either of them to answer.  “What’s yours is mine, and all that.  I probably won’t make you entertain me.  It is personal and it is you; I’m sure you understand.  I hate to be disappointed.”

He did question them endlessly, but from what Jensen could remember of the trickster character, they were probably getting off easy.  He also made them sleep in the same room, which wasn’t exactly a hardship.  Breakfast the next day was lavish, even by Jared’s standards, and before they were done the little girl from Bobby’s house had shown up again.

“Virgel hasn’t returned,” she said.  Jensen looked around, but there wasn’t anyone with her and she’d obviously let herself in.  She looked like she was four years old.  Could she even reach the doorknob?

“Who cares,” Gabriel said, not looking up from his jenga tower made of french toast sticks.

“How did you get here?” Jensen asked.

The little girl considered that.  “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” she said.  “Castiel told me not to reveal my identity.”

“Can you at least tell us your name?”  Jared made his tone sound perfectly reasonable, like name and identity had nothing to do with each other.  

Annoyingly, it seemed to work.

“Maribel,” she said.  “I’m from an alternate reality too, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Kind of,” Jared said, smiling as he glanced at Jensen.  “That explains why there haven’t been any kids on the show lately, right?”

“Probably,” Maribel agreed.  “I think this Castiel’s too busy.”

“Too busy for what?” Jared asked innocently.

He wasn’t as good as he thought he was, because Maribel ignored this question entirely.  The stare she fixed on Jensen was disconcerting, even if he got the feeling she didn’t mean it to be.  “You should be nice to him,” she said.  “He doesn’t have anything nice here.”

It was like the bottom fell out of his world.  Like the way he’d felt when Castiel grabbed his shoulder the way before, like everything just going away, and he was looking at Jared before he thought.  Because they’d found it last night: Jensen had a handprint on his arm, an actual handprint, the kind of scar an angel gives you when they drag you out of hell, and Castiel had reached for it when he was looking for Dean.

Jared cleared his throat.  “Uh, is Dean...”  He pushed a strawberry around in the leftover maple syrup on his plate.  “Is he usually... nice?  To Castiel?”

“No,” Maribel said.  “Not here.”

“What about where you come from?” Jensen heard himself ask.  Like he wanted to know.  God, if the Dean/Cas shippers were right, they’d never heard the end of it.  Conventions were already a war zone.  He could only imagine what would happen if he or Misha accidentally said something that touched it off.

“Yes,” Maribel said.  “You took him out to get pie.”

Of course.  It would be pie.

“You mean, Dean did,” Jared said.

“Dean and Sam,” Maribel said.  “After they met Gabriel.  Castiel was sad, so they took him out for pie.  They started having dinner together after that.  It made everyone feel less lonely.”

“Aw,” Gabriel said.  “How heartwarming.  Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Hey,” Jared protested.  “We’re having a conversation, here!”

“I should go,” Maribel said.  “I’m supposed to be guarding Gabriel’s daughter back home.”

“Get out of here, brat,” Gabriel snapped.  “This is a safehouse, not a boarding house.”

“Castiel said he’d try to check on you later,” Maribel said.  She was walking around the table as she spoke.  When she reached the empty chair beside Gabriel, she climbed up onto it and Jensen thought she was going to take one of the coffee cakes.  Instead, she leaned against Gabriel’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek.  “Bye, Gabriel.”

He didn’t shove her off.  “Watch your back, kiddo,” Gabriel muttered.

She hopped down and headed for the door.  Gabriel didn’t look at any of them, pulling another french toast stick free with studied indifference.  Jensen and Jared exchanged glances.  Without a word, they both got up and followed Maribel, but she was gone by the time they turned the corner.

“Great,” Jared whispered.  “A creepy child.”

“Right?” Jensen murmured.  “Never seen that before.”

Jared grinned at him.  “Also, pie.”

“I know,” Jensen said, amused by the sheer predictability of it.  “Believe me, I know.”

“Your epic love story started with pie,” Jared said gleefully.  “I am gonna tell everyone about this.”

“Hey,” Jensen said.  “Is it my imagination, or does that kid look sort of like –”

“Mary?” Jared finished.  “Oh yeah.  You and the new ruler of heaven have a bastard angel baby.  The fangirls are gonna eat you alive.”

“Hey,” Jensen repeated.  He had no idea what made him say it, no idea why he hadn’t thought of it before.  “If I kiss Misha again, you think I could come over to your house?”

The smile drained from Jared’s face, and the silence behind this closed door was oppressive and terrifying.  “Jen,” he said.  And it was just like Gen, it had always been his name, but they’d all hit it off and no one had cared.  Until a stupid ring changed everything.

“Jen,” Jared was saying.  “Hey.  Jen.  You can come over anytime.  You hear me?  Whenever you want, it doesn’t matter.  Not to me.”

“To her,” Jensen muttered.

“No,” Jared said, very softly.  “To you.  We thought it mattered to you.”

Jensen snorted.  “You telling me Genevieve is fine with me just waltzing in and planting one on you?”

“Actually,” Jared admitted, “she’s kind of... mad at you, right now.  I mean, because she thinks – um.  We’re not talking?”

“Oh, and that’s my fault?” Jensen demanded.

“Well,” Jared said.  “She lives with me, so.  She’s not gonna say it’s my fault.”

“This is so messed up,” Jensen muttered.

Jared laughed, loud and happy and unexpected.  “This isn’t messed up,” he said, and his voice was fond and rueful at the same time.  “This –”  He waved at the walls around them, four of them, no place to wheel in a camera.  “This is messed up.  This is angels, actually fighting for control of heaven, and humans getting killed by monsters in their sleep.  This is demons and hell and crap that wants to skin you.  We’ve got nothing on this, man.”

“This isn’t real,” Jensen said.  Although, in fairness, that argument was getting harder and harder to make.

“To us,” Jared insisted.  “It’s real to them; they live it every day.  Just like our screwups are real to us.”

Their screwups were real, period.

“You know what the difference is?” Jared said quietly.  “Ours are easier to fix.”

“Yeah,” Jensen whispered.  He was staring at the door so he didn’t have to look at Jared, because who knew what that would make him say.  “Maybe.”  Then, when even that didn’t feel like enough, he muttered, “I need some air.”

“Okay,” Jared said.  “I’ll go help Gabriel clean up.  Yell if you need anything, all right?”

“Yeah,” Jensen repeated.  Before Jared could turn away, he added, “You know, I miss talking to you.”

Jared put a hand on his shoulder.  The right one, because of course he remembered and the left one was still weirdly sensitive after yesterday.  “Me too,” he said, squeezing a little.  “Next time, let’s pick a diversion that’s more fun.  This one sucks.”

“We could both kiss Misha,” Jensen said before he thought.

Jared just laughed, his thumb rubbing against Jensen’s collarbone before he let his hand fall.  “No one will ever want to work with us again.”

“Or everyone will,” Jensen said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Supernatural: the orgy,” Jared agreed, pretending to give the idea consideration.  “It has potential.”

“Misha should be all over it,” Jensen said.

“You’re a little focused on Misha, there,” Jared said with a grin.  “Please, just warn me before the pictures hit the internet, okay?”

“You think my magical powers can take on the internet?” Jensen retorted.  “You do have hero worship.”

“Okay, before I see them,” Jared amended.  “Can you do that?  Here’s a hint: when you hear Misha’s phone click, call me.  I think his camera instantly uploads to twitter.”

Jensen had to agree.  He’d seen the picture with the otters, and there was no way that had been on purpose.

Jared tipped his head back the way they’d come.  “I’ll just be...”

“Yeah,” Jensen said, smiling in what he hoped was reassurance.  “Thanks.”

They left him alone outside for the better part of an hour.  It was only when he tried to go back in that he realized how little “inside” and “outside” meant to an honest-to-god archangel.  The kitchen and the library remained, with the stairs off to the other side, but right down the middle was a chute that emptied onto a downhill ski slope.  An entire mountain yawned before him, packed powder and blinding sun and a fresh cold breeze.

He could feel the door behind him, and he fumbled for the doorknob.  It swung open again, and he leaned back... “outside.”  There were flowers blooming on the terrace.  A snowball thumped against the other side of the door.  He closed it carefully, turning into a faceful of parka and enthusiasm.

“Hey,” Jared said breathlessly, grinning down at him.  “Wanna race?”

It was pretty much the best thing he could have said.

Castiel didn’t come back until that night, and he didn’t have any good news.  Jensen was almost too tired to care at that point: so what if they couldn’t go home?  Going home would mean having to work, and right now he could barely lift his hand to turn the page.  Jared and Gabriel were out somewhere, tearing up a probably fake town with unreal shit like laser darts and exploding pool.  Youth.  Seriously.

“You should sit,” Jensen muttered, letting his hand flop toward the other end of the couch.  “Mostly so I won’t have to keep staring up at you, but.  Also ’cause you look like you could use it.”

“I have to go,” Castiel said.  “Virgel’s sudden absence bodes ill for Dean and Sam.”

“If anyone can take care of themselves,” Jensen told him, “it’s those guys.”

Castiel didn’t look convinced.

“Look,” Jensen tried again.  His book tipped toward his chest and he ignored it.  “There’s nothing you can do about it anyway, right?  If Virgel hasn’t found them, you can’t risk revealing yourself.  And if Virgel has found them, you can’t risk revealing yourself.”

“Has he?”  Castiel’s gaze was more intent than ever.  “You must know.  You know how this episode ends.”

Jensen shifted uncomfortably.  “We, uh.”  Something about having to let Castiel down was worse than the exhaustion.  “We haven’t shot the part at the motel yet?  I mean – me and Jared don’t usually memorize that far ahead.  So we haven’t exactly... read it yet.”

“I see.”  Castiel didn’t move, but his disappointment was unmistakable.

“Hey,” Jensen said.  “You don’t kill the main characters, okay?  They’re gonna be okay.”

Castiel just stared at him.  “Dean and Sam have both died several times.”

“Well...”  That was true.  “Not permanently, though.  Right?”

Castiel put his hands in his pockets and looked away.  It wasn’t an unfamiliar gesture, but Misha never managed to look quite so defeated.  “It’s not his death I fear,” he said quietly.  There was no doubt which “he” he was talking about.  “It’s his disapproval.”

Jensen didn’t move.  “You’re kidding,” he said.

Castiel’s gaze found his again, and, okay.  Not kidding.

Jensen was guessing the but you’re an angel argument wouldn’t go over very well right now, so he tried the one he used on Jared when Gen banished him to his side of the house.  “No one gets that mad unless they care,” he said.  “As long as he’s yelling at you, he’s not walking away, right?”

Castiel’s expression didn’t change.  “I’m tired of being yelled at.”

“Uh, yeah.”  Jensen was pretty sure that when someone like Castiel said he was tired of being yelled at, any reasonable person stopped yelling.  “I get that.  I mean, I would be too?”

No one had ever accused Dean Winchester of being reasonable.

Castiel sighed, sitting down on the couch in a smooth motion that belied the number of layers he was wearing.  He didn’t even fuss with his coat, the way a human would have, he just stared at the floor and ignored Jensen’s hasty effort to reposition his feet.  “I don’t have time for this,” he said.

“Common misconception,” Jensen said.  His foot slipped a little, touching Castiel’s knee, and pulling it back seemed more awkward than just leaving it there.  “All we have is time.  It’s what we do with it that makes us matter.”

Castiel turned his head a little.  Not enough to look at him – or at least, not at his face.  Jensen realized, somewhat uncomfortably, that Castiel was staring at his foot.  “You’re not very much like Dean at all,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jensen said.  “That’s why it’s called ‘acting’.”

He couldn’t see it very well, but the expression on Castiel’s face looked like the closest thing he’d seen to a smile.  It made him relax just enough, lying there in the quiet with a warrior of god.  Enough that he could let Castiel have this.  Some kind of fleeting peace in the chaos that must be his existence.

“I appreciate your effort,” Castiel remarked.

Jensen opened his eyes, only then aware that they’d been closed.  “Are you reading my mind?”

There was a noticeable pause.  “Dean has instructed me to lie in situations such as this,” Castiel said.

Jensen snorted.  “Has he.”  He didn’t find that hard to believe at all.  “Well, screw that.  You wanna read my mind, I figure you’re entitled.  Can’t be very exciting to an angel of the lord.”

“You’d be surprised,” Castiel said after a moment.

Jensen thought about that, but he could only come to one conclusion.  “You really do care what he thinks,” he said.  “Don’t you.”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply.

“Have you tried –”  He’d started before he thought it through.  “Uh... apologizing?

“Not that I’m saying you should,” Jensen added quickly.  “It’s just – Dean’s pretty self-centered, right?  One little ‘I’m sorry’ might go a long way with him.  Whether you mean it or not.”

“I tried that,” Castiel said.  “Once.  It was not well-received.”

Jensen wracked his brain, trying to come up with an apology Castiel might have given Dean that he should know about.  He couldn’t, but that didn’t really mean anything.  It was just his job, after all.  Not his life.

“Once?” he said aloud.  “You base your strategy on one trial?”

“I have not found any single strategy to be reliable when dealing with Dean,” Castiel said.

Jensen huffed out a breath in agreement.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I believe that.”

He stopped trying to give Castiel advice after that.  He ignored the warm pressure against his foot until it occurred to him that no one had said anything for... a while, maybe.  He wasn’t really sure.  And his eyes were closed again.  Which was fine, because it wasn’t like Castiel needed to be watched.

He did eventually realize that someone was rubbing his feet.  Castiel, probably.  He thought he should find that funny, but mostly it just felt nice.  “Thanks,” he mumbled.  “Feels good.”

When Jensen felt a hand on his shoulder, he managed to drag his eyes open again.  The air felt strange, like the light wasn’t quite right.  And the face hovering over him wasn’t the one he’d expected.  “Hey,” he said.  It sounded a lot rougher than it should have.  “M’awake.”

“Okay,” Jared agreed, smiling down at him.  “Time to get up and go to bed.”

Castiel was gone.  Jensen let Jared pull him up, his jacket falling from where it had been draped over his chest.  Because that probably counted as considerate in Winchester-land.  There was, he couldn’t help noticing, a perfectly good blanket draped over the back of the couch.  The fact that Castiel had ignored it kind of made Jensen want to write Dean a letter.

He never got the chance.  The next time they heard from Castiel it was on the motel room set, with a guy who looked disturbingly like “Virgel” lying unresponsive on the floor.  There was an eerie stillness around them: more than off-hours quiet, it was something deeper and wrong, somehow.

“This is your world,” Castiel told them, though he was nowhere to be seen.  “Misha’s dead.  Can you do without him?”

Jensen gaped, taken aback by the fall and the set and the disembodied voice – all too sudden and real.  “What?” he managed.  “What about Misha?”

“No,” Jared said.

“Very well,” Castiel replied.  “I can move you to the time and place you left.  Without Virgel’s interference, the days should pass less eventfully.”

They didn’t have time to say goodbye, let alone ask or argue.  They were back on the fall mat, the warehouse bursting into light and life around them, and though Jensen jerked around there wasn’t a tan trench coat to be seen.  He could hear clapping and congratulations.  The snap of the marker.

Just like that, the world they’d glimpsed was gone.

It’s only a TV show, he told himself.  His script was taped to the desk on the other side of that window.  The “broken glass” around them wouldn’t cut butter, let alone skin.  And there was no such thing as angels.

“Should we be freaking out?” Jared said under his breath.  He was staring straight ahead while Jensen watched their backs, keeping an eye on production while they argued about signal strength and freeze frames.  “Are we talking?” he added as an afterthought.  “I can stalk off.”

And freak out went unsaid.

“I’m talking,” Jensen said, completing his circle and bumping up deliberately against Jared.  Because this was normal... this was known.  And it wasn’t messed up at all, relatively speaking.  “What about you?”

“Yeah.”  Jared gave him a pleased smile and didn’t pull away.  “Definitely talking.”

Epilogue

Dean found Misha’s script crumpled in his back pocket when he fell into bed that night.  He needed something to distract himself from the sound of that apology ringing in his head, and the crinkling trash was it.  He yanked it free, ready to toss it in the wastebasket, when a line on the last page caught his eye.

CASTIEL: I’ll explain when I can.

And that was it.  He looked for the apology, he read the entire page, but it wasn’t there.  Not a single I’m sorry, let alone about all this.

Castiel had gone off-script.

Dean, it seemed, had not.  His words looked harsher in black and white, especially when they were surrounded by instructions like angry and demanding.  All Castiel’s said was weary.

Fuck it, Dean thought.  What could he do for an angel, anyway?

Misha had torn the pages when he threw them, and Dean found himself smoothing them out.  Reading.  Not the dialogue, or the stage direction, but the hand-scrawled notes on the back side of the last page.

Twitter minions, the blue pen had written.  Dean/Cas/pie.  Explain.

He stared at the words for a long time, but he couldn’t make any sense of them.  Hell, it wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep.  Surfing the internet couldn’t be worse for him than drinking.

Armed only with Misha’s cryptic tweet, Dean went looking for the laptop.