A/N: This fic has J2 as they were imagined by Supernatural during "The French Mistake." I don't think that J2 are really anything like the characters portrayed here and most of my information about their personalities is taken from context in "The French Mistake." Enjoy!

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Jared hadn't expected the glass to hurt. But, somehow, the gel prop had hardened and then shattered as he'd thrown his shoulder into it, sending sharp little shards flying into his hair, his eyes, his clothes. His side hurt like hell, he had a stabbing pain in his palm, and there was a hot trickle running down his forehead. He was going to launch a huge complaint about this. If this was some set design guy's idea of a joke, then it was going to be his last. Jared was going to raise Hell when he got patched up at the sick bay, maybe he'd even take the rest of the day off, he'd – Wait, why was it raining? Not only was it suddenly raining on the set, but the grass – yeah, that was grass beneath him and not the mattress he was expecting. In front of it, a yard full of mud and junked cars was laid out in front of him. It didn't look quite like anything he'd seen on set, but it was really familiar, kind of like something he'd seen on… TV. Oh, shit. This was what Bobby's house looked like when he watched himself on TV, after everything had gone to editing.

Beside him, he heard Jensen groan. "Oh God, my shoulder! What the fu-"

"Winchester!"

The actor playing that Virgil shouted and towered over Jensen, a look of fury on his face. Well, his acting had gotten better at least; it looked genuine. Problem was, the guy also didn't seem to realize that he was standing on actual mud and not a set, that they are all outside in the dark and the rain, and that the two men with him were genuinely injured. Jensen's face was cut above the eye, he had blood on his hands and there was a nasty shard of glass protruding from his bicep. Was this…was he hallucinating? He had to be. Something was very wrong; logically, he couldn't be anywhere but on the set. He had to be on set and was somehow hallucinating that he wasn't. Or maybe the hit had knocked him out.

"Hey!" Jared shouted over to the actor. Dammit, what the Hell was his name? Bryan – Ryan – Riley – Robert – oh, what the fuck did it matter? "Dude! Can't you tell that we're not acting! Cut! This is a cut!"

The guy was still staring intensely at Jensen and made no motion or acknowledgement that he'd even heard him. Instead he bent down and grabbed Jensen by the shirt collar. Jensen stared up at him with unfocused eyes. Great. Did he hit the window with his head? They probably both did. The man crouched by Jensen and thoroughly examined his face as if what he saw there was wrong and disgusting.

"You're not Winchester. Who are you?"

Jensen opened his mouth, but made no sound. The man stood, taking Jensen up with him as easily as if he was a child's doll and not a 6 foot tall, 170 pound man. Jared stared in open-mouthed horror and thought, holy shit, this guy is strong, quickly followed by holy shit, I should run while I have the chance.

"This…" Jensen croaked, "isn't in the script."

The rain was whipping around the man's face and the wind was pushing soaked hair into his eyes, but he stood still as if he hadn't noticed and instead just raised an eyebrow and studied Jensen as if he was the one who had gone insane. Jared saw his chance to exit and silently thanked Jensen for sacrificing his pretty-boy ass; he'd be sure to make a brief speech about it and then call for a moment of silence at Jensen's funeral. He slowly picked himself up, and began to crawl away on his hands and knees, flinching every time a knee hit the mud and sunk into it with a terrible sucking sound. He'd gotten as far as five feet when he was inexplicably flung against the side of the house beside the broken window. The force should have knocked the set down, but of course, this was some kind of concussion induced nightmare, so the house was plenty strong and holding him steadily in place. Whatever it was holding him there was excruciating; it felt like a hundred pounds of dumbbells had been dropped onto and then held against him everywhere. He wished the house would just give way so he could fly through it; the splinters and cuts would be nothing compared to this. If this was anything like what Sam felt whenever some bad mother threw him up against a wall, then he had not been acting up the pain nearly enough. The actor – or, whoever he was in Jared's psychotic Sam dream, – had an arm outstretched as if he was the one keeping him in place as he gave Jared that same appraising stare he'd given Jensen just seconds ago.

"Wait." He let go of Jensen's collar and Jensen dropped into the mud. The man took a few steps towards him, but stopped when Jared flinched away. "Who are you?"

"Jared." The guy just stared confusedly so he quickly added, "Padalecki."

The man squinted. "What is a Padalecki?"

"Um… Friday the 13th? House of Wax? Cry Wolf? No? None of them?" The man frowned and took another step toward him. Jared closed his eyes and hid his face. "I knew I should have asked for more money to play this gig."

"Play?"

A hand gripped his cheeks with surprising strength and made him face forward. Jared screwed his eyes tightly shut and waited for whatever pain that was about to come. But the hand left his face and then nothing happened. He opened his eyes and saw the maniac staring at him with flared nostrils.

"This is not your universe, is it, Padalecki?" The man screamed an angry and unintelligible noise and then the weight was released from Jared's body. He felt himself gratefully fall into the mud. "Balthazar!"

He heard the beating of wings and felt a gust of wind blow his hair back. Gone. The psycho maniac was gone. Oh thank God. He looked down at himself. His Sam costume was covered in mud, grass stains, and… Oh God. Blood. A wave of dizziness hit him hard; until he was 23 he had passed out whenever he even saw blood, and even now at 28 he wasn't much better with it, especially when it was his own. He looked down at his hands, saw the cuts on his right side from where he hit the glass, and felt as if he might faint.

Beside him, Jensen still laid in the mud, face down and groaning. Jared could kill for an on-site doctor to patch him up so he could just look away and think about his last vacation in Martha's Vineyard until it was over. Jensen raised his head and stared unseeingly at him. The cut above his eye looked pretty deep and blood was still rolling down his face. Jared dry-heaved. Wait! Oh God, his face! He could still feel the slow, hot trickle running his from forehead and down to his jaw and knew that he'd cut his face, too. He was pretty sure his face had gotten him parts in the last three movies he'd acted in. What would he do if he scarred it?

He clambered to his feet, soaked and muddied, and stepped through the open window and onto the worn-out, brown couch on the other side, leaving a boot print on the cushion. Whatever; the couch was already wet and ruined. The wind was blowing in hard enough that it was raining sideways into the room, destroying papers and knocking empty liquor bottles to the floor.

If this house was laid out exactly like Bobby's on the show, then there was a bathroom at the end of the hallway, by the kitchen. He was right. The room was small, cramped and grimy, perfect for that white-trash Bobby character, but Jared was still a little surprised when he saw it. If this was his dream, he would have expected himself to imagine the place as at least clean, a little bigger, and with just a little bit of chrome or gold on the faucet handles, if nowhere else. After all, he could make it look however he wanted; the bathroom's existence had always been implied, but no set was actually ever built. In front of him was an open medicine cabinet. He didn't want to touch anything without sanitizing it first, but that wasn't really an option at the moment, so he shifted his focus away from the dirt on the cabinet and steeled himself for what his face was going to look like when he saw it. Don't faint, don't faint, don't faint, don't faint. He closed the open medicine cabinet door, took one look at himself, and the entire world went sideways and then black.