He wasn't really in the mood for it, but frickin' Jensen had declared his intention to do the stunt himself and it wasn't like Jared was going to back off after that. At least it wasn't candy-glass this time; going through the fake window in the episode with Anna had gotten him a scratch that had smarted for days, because even candy-glass wasn't a hundred percent safe.
Even so, Jared was feeling pretty good about the stunt, right up until he came down on hard ground with no fall-mat and slivers of something under his hands. He still managed to roll with the landing; one thing a show as active as Supernatural taught you was how to fall. (Though usually that was more Jensen's schtick; Jared was the one who got to lean on things and pretend to be choking, because apparently the writers had decided that every creepy-crawly in the world had a thing for Sam's neck.)
Beside him, Jensen was cursing, and Jared looked over to see his co-star cradling his left hand in his right. "What the hell?" Jensen finally said to the world at large, looking up. "Who set this—" and then he stopped, dead, mouth still open for the next word, eyes going wide in a way that made Jared very nervous. He tore his gaze away from Jensen to look around the set, wondering suddenly why he couldn't hear the crew, why no one was coming to help them up.
There were no walls. There was no ceiling. There were piles of derelict cars, and the wall of a house whose window they'd just crashed through, and on the other side of the wrecked window a man was peering out at them. "Jim," Jared said, "I didn't know you were on set for this one. Did you get new pages?" He could hear his Texas accent creeping into his voice, a stress reaction he'd never been great at controlling—it was easy to be upset as Sam without it, since Sam wasn't from Texas, but in his own person it came out.
"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Jim asked, and Jared was suddenly unsure; that was Jim's Bobby voice, not his real one. "You two idjits wanna explain what you did to my damn window?"
"Not their fault," another voice said. Jim turned to look at the speaker, and Jared's eyes followed. There was Sebastian, in full costume and all of Balthazar's smarmy glory. Jared was positive he hadn't been standing there a second ago. "Now, children, I've led him off and I think he's gone to talk to his boss, but it would probably be prudent to vacate the premises."
Jim—or not Jim—sputtered something about vacating his own damn house, and that was when Jensen decided to get back into the swing of the conversation. "This cannot be what it looks like," he said, even as he started tentatively getting to his feet. Jared had heard that particular tone from Jensen on exactly one other occasion; it was the one in which Jen had said Is she OK? and then Is she gonna be OK? That was apparently Jen's panic voice, and Jared was suddenly scared out of his fucking mind.
"If it's not, I'm crazy too," he said, amazed at himself for getting the words out calmly. The entire world seemed a step away, and he had a strong suspicion this was shock. Sebastian, who was probably not actually Sebastian, looked back and forth between them with scorn he wasn't even trying to conceal, and drawled, "Right. I'd ask who's the brains in this version of the operation, but I have a feeling it doesn't matter." He clapped his hands briskly. "Let's all get our things, shall we? Time for a little trip."
"Yeah, hold your horses," not-Jim said. "First you're all gonna tell me what you know that I don't. Sam. You want to chip in here?"
Jared realized not-Jim was looking at him. Bobby was looking at him. "Oh crap," he whispered. His eyes met Jensen's, and though they hadn't talked past the bare minimum necessary for the show in nearly two years Jared suddenly felt sure Jensen was the only person here who understood how he felt. There was blood dripping from Jensen's fingers; he must've cut himself on the glass when they landed.
Because it was real glass, from a real window, from a real house in the middle of a real salvage yard in a real world in which they were Sam and Dean Winchester and Jared needed to sit down. So he did. The world went gray around the edges. He could hear people talking, but the voices were weird and echoey and didn't have any actual words in them.
That lasted until someone slapped him. Hard, but it was an open-hand slap, not a punch, and the physical shock of it dragged him out of the urge to sit there and rock with his arms wrapped around his knees. He blinked to discover it was Bobby (Bobby!) who'd hit him. Jensen was watching him with an expression that looked like concern for a moment, until it slid back into Jensen's usual bored indifference. "I get that you ain't from here, boy," Bobby said, as Jared focused on him, "but we ain't got time for this."
"Yeah," Jared said, and clamped down on the panic that was still trying to claw at him. He could do this. He'd just...he'd just be Sam for a while. He was Sam half the time he was awake anyway. "Yeah, OK. Are we going, or hiding?"
"Going," Sebastian-no-Balthazar said. "You've time to pack, I think, but we really shouldn't press our luck."
