Chapter Text
Sam wasn’t surprised that he was the first one up, even if he’d technically been the last one to get to bed. Cas had been halfway to dreamland before he’d even gone into the bathroom with Dean’s permission to go ahead and use up all the hot water. It wasn’t an offer Dean typically made when they were staying in a crappy motel, and he’d be damned if he didn’t follow through with it. Then again, this was technically the crappy motel version of a luxury suite, and Dean had hogged the private bedroom for himself. Sam figured twenty gallons of hot water was a fair trade for the lack of privacy. It’s not like sharing the main room with Cas was such a burden anyway. The guy made a pretty unobtrusive roommate, especially compared to Dean.
Dean had shut himself into the second bedroom long before Sam had emerged from the steam-filled bathroom. When Sam woke up an hour after dawn, he expected Dean’s door to be open and Dean to have already showered, dressed, and cleared his stuff out to the Impala’s trunk. Maybe even gone out to fetch coffee and donuts by then. He’d said he wanted to take his time that morning since they agreed to let Rhiannon go on granting her weirdo wishes, but this was getting ridiculous.
Dean hadn’t slept more than six hours straight since that first week of hibernation after the Mark was gone. He’d also seemed pretty relaxed at the bar the night before, and it had been his idea to let Rhiannon go about her business and call off the hunt. All in all, Sam had been relieved that Dean was finally coming to terms with everything he’d been through. Now, with Dean still locked in his private room, Sam worried that he’d missed something, and Dean hadn’t really been dealing as well as he seemed to be. It wouldn’t have surprised Sam if his brother tried to keep that sort of thing from him, but it hurt to think he might’ve missed the signs in any case. Then again, Sam was sure he couldn’t have missed signs that big. There had to be another explanation.
Sam glanced over at Cas curled up under the blankets on the other bed, sleeping soundly, clinging like a limpet to the second pillow. He hated to wake the guy up until he absolutely needed to, and he figured Dean would be up and rattling around, pushing everyone to get back on the road sooner than later.
They were technically on vacation now, he supposed, and knowing Dean, he’d use that as an excuse to hang around in his room until Sam finally caved and made the coffee run for him. He’d probably have a laugh about tricking Sam into bringing him breakfast in bed. Sam snorted and shook his head. It was a lot easier to believe that than it was to worry his brother might be backsliding. With that resolved, he quietly slipped out of the room to get something to eat for all three of them. Just this once, he could let Dean have the win.
He didn’t have far to go, at least. One of the perks of staying at a place a few steps up from a dump was apparently a free breakfast buffet. It wasn’t brunch at the Four Seasons, but there were fresh muffins, bagels, donuts, cereal, fruit, and most importantly, coffee. Sam sat at one of the tiny tables in the motel’s lobby long enough to scarf down a bowl of Cheerios smothered in berries before stuffing his coat pockets with oranges and filling a tray with pastries. He topped off his own coffee and poured two more before heading back up to the room twenty minutes after he’d left. Even if Cas was still out cold, Dean would surely be up by now.
Dean was not up.
Sam sighed and carefully slid the overloaded breakfast tray next to his laptop on the room’s small dining table. He sat down to peel one of his oranges, hoping the sharp scent of citrus and the bitter aroma of coffee would at least be enough to lure Cas out of bed. He hadn’t expected them to rush right out to the highway before sunrise, but with the promise he’d made to let them have some time off before looking for a new hunt, there really wasn’t much for Sam to do-- no research, no interviews, and nothing to study. Hanging around in a slightly-above-average motel room sipping slightly-below-average coffee wasn’t exactly on his vacation bucket list.
He sat there eating his orange and scrolling through the local morning news headlines on his laptop. He had to admit to himself that there was one thing he wanted to do before they left town. Now that Rhiannon had moved on to fulfill her next wish, he was curious to know what she’d gotten up to. There was nothing unusual hitting the news wires yet, but it was only a matter of time. He figured it was definitely worth a stop by the diner they’d eaten at last night. They might overhear some gossip from the locals about the newest odd occurrence, not to mention the fact he’d promised Janelle he’d come back. For pie.
Okay, there were at least two things he wanted to do before they left town. Sure, Janelle had been well informed about the strange goings-on, but Sam wouldn’t go back on a promise if he could help it. Even if eating pie and flirting with waitresses was usually more his brother’s thing, Sam didn’t mind admitting that he’d really liked her. Dean wouldn’t complain about making one last stop for pie, either, and Sam figured he might have a legitimate enough reason for spending an hour there that Dean might not even harass him about just wanting to chat with the pretty lady again. He could hope, anyway.
Sam had just stood up to toss the remnants of his orange and his empty coffee cup in the trash when Cas finally stirred.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Sam said, walking back to his chair.
Cas squeezed his pillow a little tighter, making a strange groaning sound that almost immediately turned into what Sam could only describe as a squeak. Before he could wonder if anything was wrong, Cas sat up in a disarrayed state of bleary panic. “What the fuck? Where the hell am I? What the fuck are you doing here? And where’s Jen?”
Sam watched with something approaching awed shock as his friend’s distress progressed into a full-blown meltdown. He’d heard Cas curse a couple of times before. Hanging around with him and Dean was sadly rubbing off on the ex-angel in a few less-than-savory ways, but he’d never heard him say anything quite that colorful. Sam just sat there blinking at him, trying to figure out what had him so upset.
“You heard me, you little shit.” Cas said, slamming the pillow he’d just been cuddling with against the headboard, giving it a solid whack with his fist for good measure. “Or gargantuan shit. Are you trying to get us fired or something?”
“Fired?” Sam finally asked, completely lost now. Maybe Cas had been having a nightmare. Sam was used to dealing with people having nightmares. Remaining calm was key. “We’re not even working right now. Just chill. I promised to let you guys sleep in today, we’ve got nowhere to be. Remember?”
Cas glared back at him like he was trying to see through Sam’s skull to evaluate him for a possible brain injury, and then just shook his head. He looked around, and the second he saw the clock on the nightstand, he grabbed up the blankets and wrapped them around himself, leaped out of bed, and stormed around the room.
“Remember? I remember that we were supposed to be downstairs half an hour ago. I remember falling asleep in my own room, and I remember that it definitely wasn’t this room. I also remember another certain someone was with me, and if he is in on this little prank with you he’s gonna be sleeping on the fucking roof. For a month. What the hell?”
Absolutely nothing that just came out of Cas’s mouth made any sense whatsoever to Sam. It was more than a little terrifying, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d scooted back in his chair the same way Buddy had last night at the bar when they’d tried to explain that he’d been touched by a goddess. Luckily for Sam, Cas’s outburst had finally woken Dean, who ran into the room looking almost as ruffled as Cas.
Sam had about two seconds to wonder if maybe Rhiannon was responsible for Cas’s current state, but that didn’t seem quite right. Everyone she’d whammied had nothing but praises for their entire experience. Cas was not pleased in the least.
After those two seconds of rational consideration, Sam wondered if maybe he was somehow the one Rhiannon had cursed, but what he witnessed next left him utterly incapable of forming another coherent thought. Dean rushed to Castiel’s side and hugged him. Practically fawned over him.
“Fuck, Mish, what the hell is going on?” Dean said.
Sam couldn’t swear he heard that right. “Mish?” he squeaked out.
Now that he’d drawn their attention, Dean snapped around to glare at Sam. The look on his face flickered from worry to shock to anger to outright fury in the blink of an eye, and Sam found it even more disconcerting than Cas’s rage.
“What the hell, man, I even got breakfast!” Sam gestured at the tray of coffee and pastries as he rallied back against his brother’s accusatory glare. “Why is everyone so pissed at me this morning? I didn’t do anything!”
Dean sputtered out, still glaring at him, “Didn’t do anything? Then explain how the fuck we ended up,” Dean waved one hand around angrily, taking his first good look around the room, “Wherever the hell this is. Is this supposed to be some sort of payback for Italy? Is Gen in on this with you? Dammit, I thought we agreed to stop the fucking pranks. Because this one isn’t even funny.”
“I think you’re the ones pranking me here,” Sam replied, finally starting to feel his ire. He stood up and took one step toward his brother. “It was your idea to sleep in, so don’t try to blame me for that. And what was that about Italy?”
Dean and Cas shared a confused look that seemed to encompass one of their bizarre silent conversations. Whatever they were thinking, they seemed to have come to some sort of consensus, and then Cas shrugged and took a deep breath, turning back to Sam. He spoke calmly and carefully, as if now they were both convinced Sam had suffered some sort of head trauma.
“Last Saturday, in Rome,” Cas said, waving a hand between him and Dean. “You know, how we accidentally missed an autograph session? And you had to cover and make an excuse for us?”
Sam just stared back and forth between them, absolutely dumbstruck. After a second or two of watching him just stand there and gawp, Dean added, “What, did you think making us late two weeks in a row would somehow make that better?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Dean? Rome? What?”
Dean narrowed his eyes, and took one step toward him. “Oh, man, is that what this is about? You get some of the crew together, mock up a crappy motel room, and play Sam? Are they gonna use this for the gag reel or some shit? Because this ain’t funny, Jared.”
Jared. Oh, now everything was starting to click into place. Sam swallowed hard. At least Mish finally made sense… but would Rhiannon… could she? Do this?
He looked carefully around the room, searching for the proof he needed, and that’s when he finally spotted it on the dresser next to the small television. The little bronze statue taunting him with her upraised fist. In Buddy’s photos, she’d looked like she was charging into battle, but here, now, she looked more like she was celebrating his defeat. Sam’s knees went a little wobbly, and he groped around behind himself for his chair, settling down on it with a huff.
Dean and Cas, or he supposed Jensen and Misha, were still glaring at him impatiently, but he had to psych himself up for this little talk. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, wondering how to go about this. There really was no easy option, so he dove right in.
“You guys wanna have a seat? This is gonna be a long story.”
“Fuck that, Jared,” Misha said. “Just spill it.”
“My name is Sam Winchester, and I’m betting you two are actors, right?”
“Still not funny, Jared,” Jensen replied.
Sam shook his head, trying hard not to laugh. Laughing would not help matters. “I’ll bet you live in Canada, and film a show called Supernatural. But I’ve gotta say, I’m more than a little glad you’re still alive, Misha. Last time Dean and I traded places with actors, you… um…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Misha said, waving his hand in a little circle. “Pissed off angel slit my throat to make an interdimensional phone call. Season six. It’s called acting. Meaning it’s not real. You may have heard of it.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. But I swear, I am not acting now. I really am Sam Winchester, and I’ll bet every last donut on this plate here that Dean and Cas just woke up in your universe, thanks to a goddess with a really strange sense of humor.”
“Goddess,” Jensen said, wandering up to the table and picking up the two cups of coffee before returning to hand one to Misha. “Nice try. But this has gone on long enough. There’s a room full of people who paid good money to see us, and it’s not fair to them to keep this up.” He took one sip of the tepid motel brew, and made a face. “I was gonna thank you for the coffee, but this is actually terrible.”
Sam snorted. “Well, you could blame Dean for that, if he was here. He picked the motel. I wasn’t about to go driving to a coffee shop when they had free breakfast in the lobby.”
Misha wasn’t having any of this nonsense, and wrinkled his nose up as he chugged down the contents of the cup. “Caffeine is caffeine at this point,” he said, tossing the empty cup into the trash. “So, where exactly do you have us stashed? Basement of the hotel? Glorified storage closet?”
As he’d asked, Misha crossed to the front door and swung it open, revealing the second-floor outdoor walkway of Laramie, Wyoming’s finest slightly-better-than-average motel. Well, slightly-better-than-average on the Winchester Motel Rating Scale, which still wasn’t saying much.
Jensen rushed to his side, staring out at at the parking lot with one conspicuously parked 1967 Chevy Impala, bordered by a highway and the flat expanse of practically nothing else stretching off to the distant horizon, and made a garbled choking sound. Very slowly, he turned around and looked at Sam, eyes threatening to pop right out of his head. “Where the everloving fuck are we?”
Sam watched him, calmer than he’d felt all morning, and answered. “Laramie, Wyoming. Where were you expecting to be?”
Misha turned around and shut the door, speaking very slowly and quietly, and looking like the reality of this unbelievable situation was finally setting in. “Paris,” he replied. “The one in France.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open, as he looked between Jensen and Misha, and then it really hit him. “Oh my god. Dean and Cas in Paris.” Just imagining them having to spend the next three days in France, he broke out laughing.
While Sam tried to pull himself together, Jensen and Misha stood by the door staring at each other, having a hastily whispered conversation. It didn’t last long, but by the time Sam had recovered, they’d reluctantly settled down at the table and were picking through the platter of pastries.
“So,” Misha began, swallowing a bite of a bland and sticky blueberry muffin, “Unless I am actually unconscious somewhere and this is all an extremely vivid nightmare, we’re stuck here, in a motel room somewhere in Wyoming, since we’ve been swapped out with the characters we play on tv. This is a thing that has actually happened.”
Sam sat up straight and nodded. “Don’t worry, though. This is nothing like last time. We’re not hunting anything, nobody’s chasing us, and nobody you know is in danger. Well, unless someone puts Dean and Cas in front of a camera and tries to make them act.” Sam cringed a little at the thought. Dean had been awful enough last time, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t much better, but he couldn’t even imagine Cas trying to recite dialogue and hit his marks.
Jensen and Misha shared a look of wide-eyed terror, and Jensen said, “No, no acting. We were at a Supernatural convention.”
“Convention?” Sam choked out.
Seeing the look of horror on Sam's face, Jensen finally laughed. “It’s nothing like the one from the show… or, I guess the one from your life… that we did on the show.” His eyebrows had scrunched down a bit as he struggled to wrap his head around the entirety of their situation. Misha came to his rescue and filled Sam in.
“A lot of the actors are invited to speak to the audience, there’s autograph sessions, fans can have their picture taken with us.” He shrugged. “It’s fun, but yeah. Your boys got thrown in the deep end of the pool here. You said it was a goddess. Not some vengeful goddess, I hope?”
“It’s Rhiannon,” Sam said, pointing to the figure behind Jensen and Misha. “She’s, uh, taken up a hobby. She grants wishes, but she sort of does it with a purpose.”
He went on to tell them about the case, the strange things that happened around town, and the people who’d been nothing but grateful for what she did for them.
“So you’re saying she’s like a non-evil version of Gabriel, then,” Jensen offered.
“Gabriel wasn’t evil,” Sam said defensively. “He just had a skewed sense of humor and an overbearing personality.”
“Sounds like Richard,” Misha said, smirking at Jensen.
Jensen just snorted and shook his head.
“But yeah,” Sam said, addressing his question. “She sees it as a gift, a chance to learn something about yourself. At least, the people we interviewed felt that way. So last night we decided to call off the hunt, as long as she wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“And now what?” Jensen asked. “Since you decided to let her do her thing, she thought sending them to Paris was a nice consolation prize?”
It was Sam’s turn to shrug. “Yesterday was a banner day for decisions. We also agreed that this would be our last hunt for a while. Dean wanted to take a vacation.”
“He probably wasn’t thinking Paris, though,” Misha replied, but then leaned forward to get a closer look at Sam.“Unless there’s something we don’t know about him. Like why Cas was sent to France with him, but you weren’t.”
Sam shifted a little uncomfortably at Misha’s impish smirk. He wasn’t blind. He knew there was something more to Dean and Cas’s friendship that neither of them were willing or able to address. It had been going on for years, after all, and he’d mostly learned to tune it out for the sake of his own sanity. That, combined with the notion that Rhiannon seemed to be granting very specific wishes made him wonder what exactly each of their wishes had been.
It didn’t really bear thinking on too hard, and there was an easier explanation for why only the two of them seemed to have been granted a wish. After all, Sam could admit to himself that he didn’t have the first idea of what he would wish for. For the last few months, he’d just been grateful to have his brother back. Wishing for anything more than seeing Dean happily human again felt like pushing his luck. After a brief debate with himself, he decided to stick with the most obvious and least personally traumatizing reason behind Rhiannon’s motives, at least for now.
“We’ve been hunting nonstop for over a month, and with Cas human now, Dean’s been whining about taking a break. He thinks Cas should have a chance to do something fun. They’d just been sitting around the bunker watching movies and shit, but I think Dean wanted to take a proper vacation. You know, without monsters.”
Jensen looked at Sam critically, and grunted out a thoughtful little, “Huh.”
Sam just shrugged. “I have no idea why I wasn’t dragged along for the ride. Maybe Rhiannon knew you two would show up here, and would need some sort of chaperon to keep you from getting yourselves killed”
“Um,” Misha said, and narrowed his eyes at Sam. It was eerily Cas-like, but… not, somehow. “You just said you weren’t on a hunt, and that we’re not in any danger. Which is it? Are we actually in danger here?”
Sam sat up straight and held his hands out. He needed everyone to remain calm, despite their confusion and disbelief. “No, no. Nothing’s coming for us. At least, not any more than usual. But it’s probably safe to assume you’re gonna be stuck here for three days. If I hadn’t been here to explain what’s going on, what would you two have done when you woke up here?”
Jensen and Misha exchanged yet another long, considering look, and Jensen answered, “Fair point.”
“Plus, if you’d happened to run across a random monster, or angel, or demon who recognized you as Dean Winchester and Castiel,” Sam added, “Things might not… go well…” He trailed off.
Misha snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’ll buy that, for now. So I guess Jared, the Sam-equivalent from our universe, is probably having a similar surreal discussion with Dean and Castiel right now. I wonder how that’s going?” He turned to look at Jensen, all his sparkle and wry humor back in full force.
“Oh my god,” Jensen replied, before turning to Misha, leaning in close to bury his face against Misha’s neck and laughing hysterically. “Jared better fucking record that conversation.”
Misha wrapped one arm around Jensen’s shaking shoulders, grinning from ear to ear at Sam. Sam watched this whole scenario unfold, growing more confused and concerned by the second.
“What?” He finally asked. “You said they’re at a convention, right? What’s going on? I mean, what’s so funny about that?”
“Oh, they’re at a convention, all right.” Jensen said, as his laughter tapered off and he sat up, but still pressed to Misha’s shoulder. “And if they agree to play along and not spend the whole weekend hiding out and pretending to have food poisoning or something, they’re in for an experience.”
“A good experience?” Sam asked hopefully. The last thing Dean and Cas needed was more trauma.
“That depends,” Misha added, as Jensen broke into giggles again, “on how much they enjoy each other’s company.”
Sam shook his head, still not following. “You guys should know that. How long have you been playing them, anyway? They’re best friends.”
“Yeah,” Jensen said. “You said here in your universe we’re gonna be mistaken for Dean Winchester and Castiel, right? But in our world, everyone’s gonna assume they’re us.”
“So?” Sam asked. “You’re not wanted by the FBI or something, are you? Don’t have hit men after you? Crazed stalker fans?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Misha said, holding out his left hand. “Except we’re a little more than best friends.”
Sam looked at Misha’s hand, as Jensen held out his. They had identical rings on their third fingers. In a rush of dread, Sam finally figured out what they found so funny.
“Oh my god, are you two married?”
Sam watched in horror as Jensen and Misha dissolved in a fit of laughter.