An irreverent stab at all things Supernatural, and guaranteed to offend just about everyone.

Character names have been kept for obvious reasons – again, think outside the square!

Some strong language. Sense of humour advised.

Begins mid Season 2.

1. The Power Without

Jo observed her reflection in the full length mirror. Apart from the couch, it was all that remained in her trailer, other items like the coffee table, kettle, microwave, her small closet with all its contents, having mysteriously disappeared one by one over the past few weeks. Even her trailer, originally positioned within close proximity to the boys', had seemed to inch its way further and further from the set, so that she now found herself at the back of the lot with an unrivalled view of the trash bins. Any further away, and she'd be in the public parking lot. Had she not already felt completely paranoid about her role, this slow and deliberate ousting would have kept her analyst busy for months. As it was, she tried to remain philosophical. After all, nothing was ever as it seemed.

She tugged at her shirt and shucked the sleeves above her elbows. Nope. Nothing she did was going to make her look as cool as Dean. Ah, Dean! Talk about dangling a carrot. Even a blind man could see there was no way she was going to snag the show's stud. A chaste peck on the cheek was as close as she'd gotten and that was now such a distant memory she wasn't even sure it had happened. The carrot wasn't just hovering out of reach; it had been snatched away by the fans and eaten, stalk and all.

And then there was the Impala. The lack of weapons. Her mother. How could she project the image of a kick-ass hunter when all she was good for was running errands? Jo, get this. Jo, fetch that. Christ! She didn't even have her own car.

'Are you freaking nuts?' Eric had yelled when she'd broached the subject. 'The fans would lynch me if I let you drive that car. No-one – I repeat, no-one - drives the Impala except Dean and Sam!'

'And the stunt drivers!' she'd retorted bitterly.

'Oh, what? Now you want to be a stunt driver too? Sheesh!'

But in the face of her abject misery, he'd softened, patting her on the shoulder. 'Look, I'm not saying you won't get a chance. Just wait and see.'

And, true to his word, while he hadn't exactly let her drive it, Eric had finally given her a ride in the hallowed vehicle; in the backseat while her mother rode shotgun with Dean. Oh yeah, that had done wonders for her tough-girl persona.

So, no car, no real weapons, no freedom; all she had was a silly little knife and even Dean had scoffed at that. She reached into her back pocket and, pulling out the offending item, flicked open the blade. She brandished it at the mirror and slowly smiled. Well, if this was all she had to work with, she'd better make sure she could use it to good effect. After all, a girl could do a lot of damage with a knife – no matter how small.

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Sam nudged Dean. 'Don't look now but here comes your doppelganger.'

Dean grunted, and continued to spoon macaroni cheese onto his plate. The girl behind the servery watched, aghast.

'Dude, that stuff's gonna kill you,' Sam drawled.

'But what a way to go, eh?' Dean mumbled through a mouthful of garlic bread. He winked at the girl, who blushed with impure thoughts and quickly proffered a side serving of chili fries. Sam was pretty sure the girl would have offered herself too, given half a chance, but Dean settled happily for the fries and moved on.

A sharp tap on his shoulder brought him up short. He shot a glance at his brother, who shrugged helplessly.

'Warned you,' Sam muttered.

'Yeah, you're a regular wingman,' Dean hissed before whirling to face the girl behind him and feigning delight. 'Well look who's here! Mini Me!'

'Don't call me that!' Jo spat.

'Okay.' Dean sucked on his straw, raising a couple of fingers in salute. 'Hey Sis!'

'Don't be so childish.' Jo's arms were crossed in annoyance and one foot agitated the ground. Dressed in a blue flannel shirt over a grey tee, faded jeans that hugged her in all the right places and boots that Dean suspected were steel-capped, she really did look like his feminine alter ego. It was downright scary. Only her hair, curled long and gleaming gold, was a dead give-away. Dean sighed regretfully.

'Not my idea sweetheart. I'm at their mercy, same as you.'

Jo snorted. 'More than you know.'

'Wouldn't be the first time,' he said, shrugging. He felt sorry for Jo – who on the set didn't? – but he was beginning to see why the fans didn't like her. She was an itch he was no longer able to scratch, and it was bugging the hell out of him. So, he resorted to doing what he did best.

'Bitch!'

'Jerk!' Jo yelled, too quick for Sam.

'Hey!' he protested mildly. 'That's my line.'

Dean glanced around and commandeered a nearby table. He pulled up a couple of chairs, sat down and motioned quickly for Sam to do the same. 'Mind if we eat while you talk?' he asked Jo and was rewarded with one of Sam's shut-the-fuck-up glares.

'Er, Jo?' Sam asked carefully. 'What happened to your fingers?'

She whipped her hands behind her back, too late to hide the wad of bandages.

Dean shook his head. 'Tsk, Tsk. Been playing with knives again?'

'Shut up!' she hissed.

Dean chortled. 'Annie Oakley eat your heart out.'

Jo drew herself up to her full height, which had never been overly impressive and was less so now since her role had diminished. Even the extra lift in the boots did nothing to help. She lifted one bandaged paw and poked it at Dean's face.

'I can't be Annie Oakley!' she wailed miserably. 'They won't give me a gun!'

Dean cocked a philosophical eyebrow and chewed some more. 'Darlin', if you can do that to your own hands with one little knife, it's no wonder.'

'Bite me!' Jo challenged.

'Well Sis, I'd like to, but I'm pretty sure it's against the law,' Dean quipped. He paused, waving his fork in the air, then added, 'Except maybe in some parts of West Virginia.'

'Funny,' Jo said, rolling her eyes. Her anger was barely contained, and Sam recoiled from the impending explosion. His appetite now completely ruined, he poked morosely at his food.

Oblivious, Dean pointed his fork at Jo. 'Don't worry. I'm sure if you ask nicely, Props will give you a rubber knife to practice with.'

'Rubber this!' Jo shouted, flicking up her little finger, the only one not completely encased with cotton gauze. 'I'm sure you have one that fits!' And with that she stormed off, boots clicking furiously upon the pavement.

Dean gazed after her. 'Momma would be so proud.'

Sam pushed his plate away. 'You know Dean, she has a point.'

Dean bristled and shot a quick glance south. 'Hey man, nothing wrong with the size of…' He stopped, relieved. 'Oh, you mean about the sister thing.'

'Yeah. I mean she came in here expecting … well, expecting big things …'

Dean glanced at his groin again and grinned. 'Dude.'

Sam glared at him. 'Could we just try, for once, keeping the conversation at a level above your waist?'

Dean shrugged doubtfully. 'We can try.'

Sam sighed. 'Look, all I'm saying is it's not Jo's fault. You could cut her a bit of slack. I mean have you even bothered to read any of the stuff they're saying about her?' Sam shook his head in disgust.

'Sammy, I've told you before. You gotta stay away from the fandoms. They'll do your head in.'

He paused, eyeing Sam's half empty plate, before reluctantly dragging his gaze away. 'Look, I do feel sorry for Jo. You don't think I wanted big things for her too? And no, I don't mean it that way, so quit looking at me like that. It's like I said before, this is a rough gig, and this time Jo drew the short straw.'

'But Dean, don't you ever want to find someone and settle down? Don't you want to stop bed hopping? Don't you want to find happiness in the arms of one woman?'

Dean gazed at his brother in horror and pushed back his chair. He stood, scattering crumbs like confetti. 'Hell no! You've been reading fan fiction again, haven't you? Christ Sammy, you'll be the death of me one day.'

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Dean was bored. He fidgeted in the chair while Kristie buzzed around and dabbed at his face. She was quick, her movements deft and Dean knew when she finished he'd look like he'd just gone ten rounds with Tyson.

'Any truth to the rumour about Jo?' he asked finally. Sam's words were still plaguing him.

'Sit still,' Kristie commanded as she applied more blood to his face. 'Which rumour?'

'There's more than one?' He tried to turn his head in her direction, but she clocked him over the head. 'Ow!'

'Sit still!' Kristie eyed him critically. 'Well, there's talk that she's out after this episode. But then Babs – you know, from Wardrobe? – heard they were planning this big arc to resurrect her later on. And Sally swears she overheard Eric and Kim talking about Jo being possessed. Although if you ask me I'm not sure she isn't already.' She paused, and selected a different paint, before continuing. 'Ellen just wants her little girl back to tend bar, lazy cow. But Roger – he's one of the cleaners and gets to read all the confidential memos before anyone remembers to shred them - is pretty sure she'll be back for at least one more epi. And then there's all the talk by the fans.'

'What talk?' Dean asked guardedly. He wasn't sure he wanted confirmation. He was sick of Sam always being right.

'Oh, you know, the usual. That Jo should disappear and never return, preferably having died a grisly and horrible death. It's only a matter of time. We're all betting on how long she'll last. You want in?'

'Er, thanks, I'll pass. How're you doing?' Dean was intrigued, despite himself.

'I'm already down five hundred, so I sure hope I pull in the big one. Paul in Sets has some information he's not sharing with anyone, the bastard. Still, you gotta be in it to win it, right?' Kristie touched up his hair and stood back to survey her work. 'You're done.'

'So which rumour is true then?' Dean pressed for more information.

Kristie shrugged and replied cryptically, 'Depends on who you think's running this show.'

Strangely, Dean didn't find this at all comforting.

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'Hey Jo, wait up!' Dean called. He still hadn't removed his makeup since shooting his last scene, and though he looked like an accident victim just shy of his last breath, not a head turned on the lot. Dean wondered what would happen if someone really did need medical attention. They'd probably apply cold cream before ever considering CPR.

The girl turned in his direction and scowled. He couldn't be sure, but she looked even smaller than before. To be honest, Dean thought, she was lucky to be leaving now. If she stayed any longer they'd have her in pigtails and wearing a retainer. He tried not to think dirty thoughts.

'What do you want?' she asked.

Dean stood uncertainly before her. Now he had the opportunity, he wasn't quite sure how to begin. Apologies didn't come easily to Dean. She waited, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

'Look,' he muttered eventually. 'I'm sorry about the way things worked out between us.'

She dismissed his words with a head toss. 'Save it. Actually, I'm glad it's happened this way. I get my freedom and you … well, you get your fans.'

'Hey, just so you know, I was all for the original idea.' He grinned ruefully, regaining some of his bravado. 'You know me, any chance to screw … Oh, Shit!'

Jo stepped back and surveyed her handiwork, deep satisfaction having replaced her earlier misery. Dean hopped on one leg, cradling the other in his hands.

'You obviously haven't read the latest memo, have you?' she said sweetly. 'Bye Dean, and good luck. You're going to need it.'

'Christ!' Dean swore and rubbed his shin. He'd been right. The boots were steel capped. 'What memo?' he shouted at her back. 'What fucking memo?'

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It took Jo over an hour to locate her trailer, wedged behind the public lavatories just beyond the perimeter of the lot. Her mood wasn't improved by what awaited her inside or, more precisely, what didn't. The mirror was gone and her couch had been replaced with a bean bag.

tbc