Imagines

Misha Collins

yOOOoooOO its come to mind that the previous prompt meant auditioning for Supernatural, not a school  musical. I changed a few parts if that was the case.

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Your feet clap against the hard wood floor in rapid succession. You can practically hear the irritation coming from your friend, who was kind enough to accompany you to this audition.

"Y/N, would you stop pacing! I'm trying to get some work done!"

"Right, sorry!"

You stop pacing momentarily, only to start back up seconds later.

"Y/N!" Your friend shouts. She turns around and grabs you by the shoulders. "You. Will. Do. Fine. You know this role better than Eric freaking Kripke, now take a deep breath."

A million possibilities of things that could go wrong ran through your head, wrong lines, loss of voice, facial contortions, stroke. Anything and everything that could go wrong you thought of in that split second moment. You rolled your shoulders back and took a deep breath.

Nope. Didn't help. You looked at your friend with a pitiful glance.

"Worth the shot." She said, turning back around to the mechanics. With lighting fast speed, your annoyingly lovable best friend turned around and slapped you.

"MOTHER OF GOD. What in the BLOODY HELL WAS THAT FOR!"

"I spiked your adrenaline, helped the blood get moving."

"Oh, I am gonna..."

"Y/N! Y/FN Y/LN!" The directors voice cut through from behind the curtain.

You shot your friend a malicious look before making your way to the audition room. That little nut job was right, you felt much better. Damn science. 

You take your place on the ever so elegantly tape marked "X". You make a quick mental recap of your lines before taking a deep breath and waiting for the director to give you the go ahead. The director nods his head, indicating he is ready. Then, you become another person, in another world, another dimension.

You become Vendetta, a crossroads demon who is infamous for driving hard bargains. The small space in front of the table becomes an abandoned road, your worn out converses become black leather boots, your naturally sarcastic tone becomes a strict and commanding one. In that short moment, your are literally Vendetta. Every action, every word, every facial twitch is one of Vendetta.

The final line comes, and you pour the last of Vendetta into those final words. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, you think. You relax as your voice cuts off, and the audition is over. You look over to the director, whose face is completely blank. Damn, those heartless people are so good at not showing emotion. Emotion or not, you curstsied politlely before making your way off the stage. You couldn't help but look back at the audience one more time to see if the director changed his statueque face. The director had not, but there was a figure you recognized leaning up against the door to the audition room.

Misha Collins.

Oh god.

Misha Collins.

He was the weirdo of the Supernatural cast, disregarded and strongly loved all at the same time. He had a wonderfully goofy and light hearted personality, but he was serious when he needed to be. Not to mention he was smart. He knew every little thing about civics, government, religion, science, and mathematics. His brain drove you crazy, almost as much as his cerean blue eyes, which the cinematographers loved to showcase in the show.

Pink flushed into your cheeks as he gave an approving nod at you, and you hurried back towards your friend. She was currently on the phone with some important management dude, but you promised yourself to give her a good punch later

2 DAYS LATER

You sat in a booth in your favorite diner, pouring over your literature textbook. An empty milkshake and half-eaten hamburger lay at the end of the table, along with a few books scattered her and there.

You were scared out of your wits when a person slid into the seat across from you. You gave a friendly "Yo." figuring it was Y/BFN, but it was Misha Collins.

W H A T  W A S  H A P P E N I N G

"Hey, Y/N right? I saw your audition yesterday, and it was easily the best one I'd seen that day."

"Oh, thank you Mr.Collins."

OH god. How red were your cheeks? Firetruck, or ruby? Seeing someone perform is incredibly personal, and, wow. Just, wow.

"No problem" 

"If a may ask, why are you here?"

He chuckled. "Don't tell anyone," he leaned in close "but you got the part."

"Are you serious?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice down.

"Yeah, I snuck a look at the results, and sure enough, you are their top choice."

"Okay, assuming you are telling the truth, why are you telling me?."

"Well, Vendetta and Castiel have a, uh, partnership. So I thought we should get to know each other. You know, to best present the role."

You stammered. Misha Collins, the angelic sex god from CW's Supernatural, was asking to get to know you? This can't be happening.

"I would love to. Wow, this is, this is amazing!" At that moment, your phone buzzed.

Misha glanced at it, knowingly. Excitement buzzing in your nerves, you answered the phone.

"Y/FN Y/LN speaking." 

"Hello, Ms. Y/LN. We are calling to inform you that you have landed the role as Vendetta on CW's Supernatural. Would you like to accept this offer?"

You wanted to scream yes, explode into a yes shape, shout it into a megaphone.

But you responded calmly. 

"Yes, I would be honored."

"Awesome. We will email you a schedule of shooting days and the script."

The call dropped. You put down the cell. 

"A round of chocolate milkshakes for table 4 please!" Misha called out. 

"Holy smokes." You said, looking up at him in disbelief. 

"I guess we have some lines to run." He said, a devilish smirk playing onto his face.

I suppose we do." You said, clinking your icy milkshakes. 

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IM SORRY I WILL BE MORE VIGILANT WITH REQUESTS NEXT TIME