DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider. I do not own Supernatural. Any lines you recognize come from the show.

NOTE: The line breaks are meant to signify time—kind of like how the scene changes on the TV show. There are tons of them, which are really annoying, but I guess it can't be helped, haha.

WARNING: A bit of cursing. Actually a lot. Well, ish.

The French Mistake

"Alex! Perfect timing," called a deep voice from across the parking lot. Unmistakable beeps of life from trucks backing up and the shouts of actors from every which way tried to drown the voice out, but it persisted.

Alex turned to meet the person, "Yeah? Oh, uh, hi Ben."

The screenwriter was busy trying to shuffle out a wad of papers from a folder, "I need you to look at these—they're for the next episode. I'm not sure I got all my lore right, but that's what you're here for, huh?" The man chuckled, and Alex was forced to laugh painfully alongside him, "Anyway, can you edit this and get it back by, uh, the day after tomorrow?"

Alex groaned good-naturedly, "You're kidding me!" He accepted the papers anyway, "Dude, you do realize that I have to sit in almost every scene they film? I won't get home until one in the morning at the rate they're going."

Ben looked guiltily at him, and Alex couldn't help but roll his eyes and laugh, "Don't stress, man. I got it," his American accent was laid on thick, but no one seemed to notice it was fake. Alex mournfully reordered the papers as the screenwriter brightened and thanked him senselessly.

He jogged back into the studio, transcripts in hand. Someone handed him a cup of coffee and he accepted, thoroughly exhausted. He had gotten used to this life over the last couple of months. It wasn't pleasant, but he had to admit that it wasn't the worst mission that Mrs. Jones, head of MI6, had sent him on. He could manage.

Over the last couple of months, it had been quiet. No murders, no secret agents, no assassins. It worried Alex, but no matter where he dug his nose, nothing was popping out.

CRASH! Crunch.

Even though Alex was well versed in the art of not reacting, he still had trouble with the realistic sounds produced on set. He tensed in his place behind the directors, watching as Sam and Dean—or rather, Jared and Jensen, now that Bob had called 'cut'—scrambled up from the mats where they'd fallen.

"Jared! Jensen! Outstanding! That was just great!" Bob shouted, grinning at the two actors.

A crewmember stepped in front of Jared and Jensen, "Supernatural, scene one echo, take one. Tail slate. Marker!"

Alex took in the actors' bewildered faces, frowning. As Bob turned to the camera crew to get a playback, he kept his line of vision on the two, who were acting—no pun intended–very suspiciously. They were muttering to themselves. Alex couldn't hear what they were saying from his seat behind the producers, but it was suspicious enough. When had they started talking?

"Well, how much did we get?" Bob sounded agitated. He frowned, wringing his hands.

"About half. Gets us right up to where they -Just before they hit the window."

Bob was actively trying not to snap at the tech, "You know, the part where they hit the window is the good part."

"Well, we can clean up, reset the window, takes about 95 minutes, basically. So, we'd have to blow off the scene where they sit on the impala and talk about their feelings."

Alex watched the actors as the producers argued over what to do. Jared was inspecting the fake pieces of glass. He picked up a large shard and wobbled it, looking back at Jensen, bewildered.

"Moving on! That's a wrap on Jared and Jensen!" The guy shouted. Instantly, the crew began to swarm onto the set.

Alex watched as Jared was tugged off by an interviewer, and Jensen, by a makeup artist. There was definitely something up with those two. Bad acid trip, maybe? Jones had mentioned that there was a drug cartel active around the area. He would have to investigate.

For now though, Alex had a script to edit.

"Alex!" a familiar voice called, drawing out his name so that he sounded like he was hissing. Alex turned to see Misha, grinning at him, phone in hand, "Smile!"

A bright flash went off just as he was saying, "Wha-"

"Perfect!" Misha trilled, "Twitter worthy."

Alex sighed, placing a hand on his head. He began to massage his temples, "Is there something you wanted from me?"

Misha was busy typing onto his keyboard, his tongue stuck out in concentration, "Found… our script editor… looks… like he… was surprised! Smiley-face."

Alex waited patiently as the man hit a couple more keys, then looked up, "Right! I have a couple questions about the script and the one for next episode. Hey, let's go for a walk!"

The spy allowed himself to be pulled forward. He kept his eye out for more suspicious activity.

"Cas? Cas! Hey, Cas! Oh, thank god. What is all this, huh? W-w-what did Balthazar do to us?" Jensen and Jared jogged over, Jensen's features schooled into what was usually upon Dean's face. Alex frowned at the odd behavior. First they were speaking each other, and now they were rehearsing lines?

Misha paused for a moment, confusion flashing onto his face until he came to the same conclusion Alex had. He glanced over, gave a small shrug that went unnoticed by the other actors and replied with Castiel's gravelly voice, "To keep you out of Virgil's reach, he's cast you into an alternate reality, a universe similar to ours in most respects yet dramatically different in others."

"Like—like bizarro earth, right? Except instead of having Bizarro superman, we get this clown factory," Jensen leaned closer to Misha. Alex was mildly impressed. Up until now, he didn't think Jensen had a lot of acting talent.

"Um...Yeah," Misha fibbed. Alex barely repressed a snort, "Well...Anyway, no time to explain. Do you have the key?"

Obviously relieved, Jared replied, "Yeah," he handed the key over, "So, uh, what does this thing do, anyway?"

Misha took the key, looking somberly at the pair. Alex had the sudden urge to back away from their 'actor moment'. He didn't even remember editing these words.

"It opens a room," Misha told them, squinting his eyes.

"What's in the room?" Jensen asked, almost desperately. Alex's 'everything-is-about-to-go-wrong' senses were beyond tingling. They certainly didn't sound like these were only lines meant for a rehearsal.

"Every weapon Balthazar stole from heaven," Alex interjected, stealing Misha's line. At least he was sticking to the script. "He gave it to you to keep it safe until we could reach you. With those weapons, we have a chance to rally our forces."

The actors turned to him, and Alex studied the men's reactions. They took his words as a fact. The two were having surprisingly coherent delusions that they were Sam and Dean Winchester.

"Who the hell are you?" Jensen interjected, glaring at Alex suspiciously.

Alex played along, "Castiel's lieutenant. We need you to come with us." He had full intentions of taking them to the doctor's. He wanted to question them if they did test positive for drugs.

"Man!" Misha lost his 'Castiel' persona. He pulled out his script, "Did they put out new pages?"

Alex suppressed a groan. This was exactly why he liked to work alone. There was no one to mess it up.

"New what?"

"I mean, is this some kind of cosmic joke?" Jared questioned.

"Yeah, 'cause if it is, it's stupid, and we don't get it."

Alex's eyebrows rose, "Oh," he turned to Misha, "Hey, why don't you look at these lines," he shoved the partially edited script at him, "I need to talk to these two."

The actor was utterly bewildered, but he accepted the pages anyway.

"I think it's a prank," Alex added, patting Misha on the back.

The man's confusion cleared and he grinned, pulling out his phone, "You guys! You really punked me! I'm totally gonna tweet this one... 'Hola, mishamigos. J-squared... Got me good…'"

Alex left the actor to his own devices and pulled the two off to secluded area. As soon as he made sure that no one could see him, he rounded on the two, focusing his glare on Jensen, "Who did you get it from?"

"What?" Jensen spat back, just as aggressively, "Who are you? And don't give me that 'Cas' lieutenant' crap."

Alex swiveled his glare onto Jared, who awkwardly shuffled. He turned back to Jensen, deflating, "You know what? Never mind. It's not like I can get straight answers out of you right now. You're high."

They both spluttered indignantly, and Alex tensed once more, "Or not… What the hell is wrong with you guys? You can't be having a psychotic break at the exact same time."

"Look," Jared was staring earnestly at him now, his words soft, "You think you know us, but something… something weird is going on."

Alex scowled, "Yeah, no kidding. Just…" he looked around, his eyes landing on Jensen's trailer, "Let's go in here. We need to talk."

SPN*AR

"So, let me get this right," Alex said deliberately, taking a deep breath, "You come from a different reality where Supernatural isn't a T.V. show. It's your lives."

"Yes," Dean—not Jensen—said impatiently, leafing through the magazines on the small coffee table.

"And Balthazar send you through this… this portal thing," Alex clarified, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Yeah," Sam nodded along like it made perfect sense.

Alex took another deep breath. These people were absolutely insane, but Alex believed them. There were no tells when they spoke, so he knew they weren't lying. There were no discrepancies in their story.

"So how are you getting back?" Alex asked finally, leaning back in his seat.

"If we can reverse Balthazar's spell... I watched every move," Dean picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil and began drawing, "We just, uh, get the ingredients, right, get back to that same window, and... There's no place like home." He held up the finished sigil.

Alex gaped at the two, trying to gather his wits. He dealt with crazy before, but this was just beyond crazy.

He closed his mouth with a snap, "Right. Well, what do you need?"

"Well, first thing's first: we need to get back to Bobby's house. Maybe there's stuff we can use there—" Sam began rationally.

Alex interrupted, "They're all props. If you need the real thing, we have to get off set."

"Right," Dean exited the trailer, Sam following, hot on his heels. Alex frowned, tapping the hidden gun on his body to make sure it was still there. He stood and followed.

The two were about to board one of the dirty Impalas. Alex watched, amused as they drove, one of the set crew chasing after them, yelling.

A minute later, the hunters were storming back to him, frowns on their faces.

"Hem," Alex tried to stifle his laughter, "uh, you should probably call your chauffeur."

Alex settled in his usual seat the next day, a pen in hand and the scripts in his other hand. He had a feeling that he wouldn't need to take notes today, but he brought it anyway.

Next to him, on Dean's chair, there was a box. Alex didn't want to know what was in it, but he was sure it was something like the 'backbone of a lesser saint' or something equally as gross.

"Ooooh," Misha drew out the word, "'priority'. What's in it?"

Sam's face was a perfect deadpan, "I bought part of a dead person."

Misha didn't even bat an eye. He grinned, "oh, cool," and relaxed back into his chair, returning to his phone.

Alex gave Sam a look, mouthing, 'what the hell?'

"Uh, so, bad news," Dean was rubbing his hands nervously, "Uh...Looks like we're gonna have to do a little acting."

"What?"

Behind the producers, Alex was trying his best not to burst out laughing. The hunters were absolutely horrible at acting. Sam was too fidgety and stiff, often casting terrified looks at the camera. Dean was trying too hard. His gruff impersonation of himself was enough to make Alex collapse in laughter.

Alex felt a bad for Bob as he sighed and snapped for them to move on. And that was before the hunters crashed into the fake windows.

As they headed back to him, almost like pouting little children, Alex couldn't help but snark, "So, no dice, huh?"

SPN*AR

"Misha!" Alex called, jogging over to the man. He was still on his damn phone, and the spy wondered how desperate the actor would get if he took it stealthily and hid it, "You still okay with giving me a ride home?"

"Yeah, sure, little man!" Misha looked up and gestured to his car. They both got in. The man was still on his phone, obviously on Twitter. Alex wasn't sure how he handled the social media-obsessed man sometimes.

"'Ever get that feeling... Someone's in the backseat? Frowny—hey!" Alex snatched the phone away from the man.

"Stop tweeting!" Alex groaned, shoving the phone into the glove compartment.

A sudden movement behind them caught Alex's attention. A glint of silver and a knife was at Misha's throat.

"Drive."

Alex didn't dare make a move as they drove off of the set. He wasn't sure that he could take on the strange man from his angle. For one thing, he couldn't reach the man from his spot in the car. For another, he couldn't draw his gun out fast enough.

They drove in silence, Misha's panicked yelps occasionally breaking the silence.

"Stop," the man snapped as they passed by an alley, "turn into here. Get out."

The man let go of Misha, his knife pointed threateningly at the two. He wasn't showing any weaknesses, but Alex kept looking for them. He held the knife out expertly, his grip not too tight, yet not too loose either. He was completely at ease.

"Hey," Alex held his arms up in a peaceful manner, "Let's talk this out, okay? No need for violence."

The other man merely curled his lip in a disgusted manner, "How do you do it?" His eyes roamed over the dirty alley and the piles of trash.

"Please," Misha begged, despite the glare that Alex threw him.

"Live in this grubby, shabby desert? Nothing greater than yourselves. Nothing but dirt when you die. No power. No magic," the man growled. It was eerie. So this was one of the bad guys, Alex assumed. It was a good thing, because he was going to kill this son of a bitch.

"I'm so—I'm not following you at all," Misha attempted, his voice shaking.

Alex snapped at him, "Shut up!"

"There's no magic in your universe!" the man was evidently frustrated. He shook the knife, his eyes narrowing on the defenseless actor.

"Nothing but a bag of strings and pulleys. You should thank me for what I'm about to do," the man made a small movement, as if he were about to slash Misha's throat.

"What are you going to do?" Alex slid in front of Misha, hiding the terrified man.

"I need to make an important call. I pray to God that it even goes through," the man smirked, and Alex got the feeling that he was praying to God.

The man lunged forward, aiming for the soft part of Alex's neck. Alex knocked the man's arm away, which probably only moved because the man wasn't expecting the resistance.

"Go!" Alex shouted at Misha. He didn't look back to check on the man, and instead, whirled around to meet the man's next blow.

The man lunged forward again. Alex knew he wasn't going to fall for the same trick again. He dodged, lashing out with his legs in an attempt to unbalance the man. The man stumbled back, but didn't fall. Drawing his legs back again, Alex kicked in one of the man's patellae. The shout that the man gave was firesome, but he was relentless. He threw the knife with deadly accuracy and speed, directly at Alex's shoulder.

Alex was too slow to dodge completely. It clipped him directly above his shoulder, thankfully catching mostly on his shirt. Unfortunately, Alex had been standing with his back to the wall, and although the wall was brick, the force of the blade drove a good inch into the already crumbling façade. Alex hissed in pain, trying to grapple for the knife.

The man perceptibly relaxed, thinking the fight was over, but he clearly hadn't heard about who Alex bloody Rider was.

"You have fought bravely," he said lowly, moving forward slowly, like a predator. "You could rival some of my brothers, perhaps. But another time. I require your blood."

Alex gave up on trying to get the knife out from him. Instead, he reached for the gun concealed in his waistband. It took more effort and strained that wounded flesh on his arm, but Alex felt his hand wrap around it. He jerked it out from under his shirt and fired, almost blindly.

The man screamed. Alex fought wildly to get the knife off, but the more he moved, the more the pain gathered, and the more the blood began to gush down his arm.

The man stumbled away, limping back into the alley.

"Fuck!" Alex cursed, his American accent fading as the pain set in. "Fuck my bloody life!"

He managed to calm down with a couple of deep breaths, the haze across his vision fading. He reached for the blade, slowly and weakly drawing it out from the half-an-inch wound.

"I hate getting stabbed," he snapped peevishly, "fucking psychos."

Pattering footsteps and a vaguely familiar voice shouted, "Alex!"

Alex looked up to see Misha, running around from the dark depths of the alley. His hands were coated with blood, and Alex picked himself up, stumbling forward.

"I told you to leave!" Alex shouted, angrily, but his voice was weak. The fight had taken a toll on him. "Where is he? Did you see him?"

Misha shook his head frantically, "There was a homeless guy back there—the guy sliced open his throat with a bit of glass or something. He-he put all the blood in this bowl, and this-thi-this voice talked back to him!"

"Oh great," Alex said sarcastically, his voice biting. "And I suppose you didn't see where the fuck he went?"

Misha was obviously shaken, but he still responded with a half-whine of, "You don't have to be so mean."

Alex rolled his eyes, "Ju-just take me back to my place. I need a first aid kit, and a phone."

SPN*AR

The Winchesters met them at Alex's rented apartment, which was a whole ten minutes away from where Alex was stabbed. It was a good thing that Sam and Dean were good at stitching him up because Alex couldn't do it with one hand and Misha was a shaking mess.

"Calm down, dude," Alex told Misha for the twentieth time, impatient. He knew he was supposed to be more 'caring' and 'sympathetic', but nearly getting killed by a rampant angel, as the brothers had told him, wasn't exactly his idea of fun. "He only nicked me."

Misha was on the verge of hyperventilating, "You had a British accent!And you were going all ninja on him. Shot him like it was nothing!"

Alex huffed angrily, noting the suspicious glances that Sam and Dean gave him, "My dad was in the military—he taught me all the basics," he supplied, hoping to quell some of their suspicions. It seemed to work to appease Sam and Misha, but not Dean, who gave him a scowl.

"Okay," Alex put a steady hand on Misha's shoulder, "Tell them what you told me."

"Uh-um," Misha took a rattling breath, "Well, the dude, Virgil, he got a shard of glass and turned on this homeless guy. Slit his throat and gathered all of the blood—" he gagged at this. A moment later, he continued, "He said he needed to make a call, so after he got all the blood, he called the ninja turtle: Raphael. And this voice told Virgil to return tomorrow at the place where he crossed over, at the time of the crossing. Raphael would reach through the window and take him and the key home, whatever the hell that means."

The brothers exchanged significant looks, and Alex was quick to stand. He led Misha to his room, letting him take the bed. After the shaken man promptly passed out, Alex headed back to Sam and Dean.

"So," Alex rubbed his sore hands, "What's the plan?"

SPN*AR

Alex arrived early on the set the next day. Misha was still curled up on his bed when he'd left, and Sam and Dean were no doubt already there, preparing for Virgil to come.

His gun holstered in an easily reachable place, Alex was feeling the bit of pre-game jitters. Spy or no spy, he never experienced anything supernatural, and he really didn't want to either.

BAM. BAM. BAMBAMBAM.

Alex was instantly on the defensive, "Virgil."

The angel in question had a shotgun. He handled this weapon just as professionally as he did with the knife.

Alex raised his own gun, firing multiple times, hitting his mark every time. He was glad that nothing supernatural existed in his reality because that meant Virgil was dead–for real. The dead body had other ideas, of course, when it came crashing down. The weight of Virgil's finger, which was just pressing down as he died, triggered another bullet to be fired, which hit the ceiling. Something came crashing down, knocking into one of the sets.

Alex caught Sam and Dean's frozen expressions, and he shouted, "GO!" over the din.

The last thing he saw was the brothers crashing through the windows with no one else appearing on the other side.

Alex laid on the ground, his recently sliced wound sluggishly bleeding once more. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing, "Holy angel shit."

A/N: Hello, all! As you know, the summer is rolling around the corner, and school free us from our shackles! If you could all kindly hop over to my profile page for a poll, please. Would you guys like to have a SpyFest 2016, a Christmas in July fic exchange, or a Christmas fic exchange? I ask for which one you would like the most!

Another thing, I was thinking about writing an alternate ending to this, called the French Mistake and Other Resulting Catastrophes, but I would like to finish Season 6 before writing more, lol. Opinions? I know I'm working on The Children's Crusade, but since the summer is right around the corner, I figure it's probably okay.

I also learned this week that writing in existing episodes is really, really hard, so please forgive me if this seemed a little rushed, or if Alex wasn't included enough in certain scenes. I'm still trying to learn how to do this, haha, so any tips?

LOVE Y'ALL!

-Alice x