We pulled up to the Padalecki mansion in total awe. Then we walked in, and the house was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside.
"Nice modest digs, Jay-Z," Dean joked.
Sam nodded. "Wow. I must be the star of this thing."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, right. Check it out." He nodded toward a tanning bed.
"What am I, Dracula?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, more like..." Dean approached the bed and opened it, exposing its immaculate condition. "George Hamilton Dracula." Then he pointed to a liquor cabinet. "Oh. Now we're talking." He quickly hurried over and looked through the bottles but was quickly distracted by something outside. "Dude, you have a camel in your backyard."
"It's an alpaca, dumbass," a familiar female voice said from somewhere in the house.
When we turned back, Ruby was standing on the balcony.
"Ruby?" Dean asked in shock.
Ruby rolled her eyes as she walked down the stairs. "'Ruby,' right. That one never gets old." She took a step toward Sam. "How was work today, hon?" She kissed him on the lips.
Dean and I gave each other an uncomfortable glance.
"Wait. You and Ruby?" Dean asked.
Ruby furrowed her brow at Dean. "Do you honestly think that's funny, Jensen?"
Dean paused for a moment. "Right. Right. 'cause you're not Ruby. You..." He looked at Sam for help, who just shrugged back. "I mean, how could you be? You... of course! You are the lovely actress who plays Ruby. And you are, uh, in... Jared's house... uh, because you two are..." He gestured to a wedding photo of Sam and Ruby on the fireplace mantle. "Married!"
A look of shock crossed Sam's face, and he quickly looked at the wedding photo.
Dean looked at Sam. "You married fake Ruby?"
Fake-Ruby shook her head and switched her attention to me. "What is she doing here?" She looked at Sam. "I thought we banned her from the house after what happened."
"Wha— What happened?" Sam asked awkwardly.
Fake-Ruby looked at him curiously. "She slapped you and called you—"
Sam nodded. "Uh, right, an oaf."
Fake-Ruby nodded. "An overgrown oaf... amongst other things." She gave me a look.
"Right, well, we made up," Sam said.
Fake-Ruby leaned in and whispered to Sam, trying to be discreet, even though I could still hear her. "Hon, what's going on? Just yesterday, you were telling me how awful she is— Is she blackmailing you?"
Sam pulled away from her. "What? No, no, we are fine. We're friends now... see?" he asked as he hugged me, and we awkwardly smiled at her.
Fake-Ruby looked at us suspiciously and then finally nodded. "Okay, well, what are you guys doing?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Work." He nodded. "Work."
"Yeah, just, uh, thought I'd pop in, say 'hey.'" Dean gave Fake-Ruby a friendly smile. "Hey." He looked at Sam. "Uh, and— and— and maybe run some lines. It's—"
Fake-Ruby shook her head. "You've never even been to our house."
Dean shrugged. "Well, now that I know there's an alpaca out back, I'm definitely coming back."
"Well, alpacas are the greenest animal," Fake-Ruby said.
Dean nodded. "Right. Right. That is so important."
Fake-Ruby turned her attention back to Sam. "Well, there's that thing I have to get to."
Sam nodded. "Oh, yeah. Of course, yeah. The thing."
Fake-Ruby raised her eyebrows. "The international otter adoption charity dinner?"
Sam nodded. "Oh."
Fake-Ruby shrugged. "Okay, well..." She kissed Sam awkwardly, giving him a look when she pulled away. "I'm glad you guys are talking, anyway."
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
We watched as Fake-Ruby left, and they both checked her out.
Dean shrugged. "Well, looks like you did all right."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. I should figure out her name."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We found a library in the mansion and got to work, trying to gather whatever we needed to reverse the spell.
Sam sat at a computer at a desk in front of a giant black-and-white portrait of himself as a cowboy. "'Wrist bone of saint and holy reliquary. Museum-quality, from a diocese in Oaxaca.' Looks legit."
Dean nodded. "All right." He gestured to the computer he was working on. "Auction house is in Mexico City. We could be there the day after tomorrow. We, uh, case it, yank it, be back here by the end of the week."
Sam shrugged. "Or we could just buy it."
I furrowed my brow at him. "How could we possibly do that?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, dude, that thing's over a hundred thou—"
Sam held up a black credit card.
Dean and I nodded, impressed.
Dean smiled brightly. "Hello, Jared Padalecki."
Sam called the number on the website and spoke to the person on the other end in Spanish.
I sat next to Dean as he ordered lamb blood. "Triple rush. No problemo." He smirked and winked at me and then typed the credit card number. "Because money is no obj—" Then a red error message popped up. "This baby's maxed." He tossed the card onto the floor and pulled a new card out of his wallet.
"Wow. They said it should be at the airport first thing in the morning," Sam said when he hung up.
Dean smiled. "Money, man. There is nothing like it." He clicked the order button and then closed the laptop. "All right. Couch. TV star. Beauty rest." He stood up and jumped onto an oversized black leather couch, where he laid down. "Ah." He groaned as he stretched.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next morning, Dean called Clif, and we headed to the airport to pick up our package. We waited for Sam to return from the exchange on the airport apron next to the airplane.
"So, I don't mean to pry, but, uh, why are we picking up packages at 8 AM that haven't cleared customs yet?" Clif asked nervously.
Dean shrugged. "Just saving time."
Sam approached the car with a box and climbed into the back.
Dean rubbed his hands together excitedly. "All right, here we go."
Clif turned to face us. "We're not doing anything illegal, are we?"
Sam glanced at us and then back at Clif. "Would it make you feel better if we said no?"
Clif shook his head. "No." He turned around and started driving away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We went back to "Bobby's study" and opened the box to set up the spell, but the lights came on when we did.
"Whoa. What?" Dean looked around, confused.
Then, the director and a group of men walked onto the set.
"What is this?" The director smiled proudly at us. "Here for the first run-through before anyone else?" He nodded, impressed. "Dedication."
"Uh, can I talk to you for a second?" Dean asked him, and Sam and I raced off the set with the box.
Cass/Misha was sitting on a chair next to a few other chairs labeled Jared, Rachel, and Jensen. So, we sat with him. I took my chair beside Misha, and Sam sat beside me. Misha fidgeted slightly, trying to move as far away from me as possible in his chair.
He took a peek around at the box in Sam's lap. "Oh, 'priority.' What's in it?"
Sam nodded. "I bought part of a dead person."
Misha's eyes widened. "Oh, cool."
Dean walked up to us sheepishly. "Uh, so bad news. Uh... looks like we're gonna have to do a little acting."
"What?" Sam and I asked in nervous unison.
"Dean, I— I— can't do that," I said nervously.
Dean put his hand on my shoulder. "Yes, you can because you have to."
Then, we were called to stand in "Bobby's study," a crew member jumped in between us and the camera with a clapboard. "Supernatural scene thirty-six, take one. Marker!" He clapped the board and jumped out of the way.
"Action!" the director yelled.
My heart pounded as we stood behind Misha, waiting for something to happen.
"Balthazar is no hero. But he knows Raphael will never take him back," Misha said, very Cass-like, and then he turned to us.
Dean stepped forward stiffly, looked down, and then moved forward to the right, following the tape marks placed for him.
"Cut!" the director yelled, looking at us, confused.
The crew member jumped back in with the clapboard. "Supernatural scene thirty-six, take eight. Marker!" Then he jumped out of the way, and the director yelled, "Action!"
We started the same thing. We were facing Misha's back, but Sam was fidgeting, folding, and unfolding his arms across his chest this time.
"Balthazar is no hero. But he knows Raphael will never take him back," Misha said again and then turned to us.
Dean looked at the script and read, "'Dean, grimly. And yet, somehow, you got no problem with it.'"
"Cut!" the director shouted as a loud bell rang.
We stumbled through that scene several times before moving on to the next.
"'That's because—'" Sam glanced at his script and looked directly at the camera. "That's because we have no other choice."
"Don't look at the camera," Dean whispered.
"What?" Sam asked, looking at him nervously.
"Look anywhere but the camera," Dean said.
Sam looked up at the ceiling. "That's because we have no other choice!"
"Cut!" the director shouted. "For the love of—" He rolled his eyes, sighed, and pushed us onto the next scene.
Sam stiffly raised his arm, a key in his hand. "If there's a key..." Then he stiffly raised his other arm. "There must also be a lock."
I glanced at my script and then gently elbowed Sam. "That's my line."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Oops."
"Cut!" the director yelled. "Hands to ourselves, Miss DiPillo!" He gave me a stern look.
"I'm sorry!" I shouted to him, feeling like a child being chastised. I then turned to face Sam and put my hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."
"Hands!" the director yelled, startling me.
I looked at Dean, wondering what to do, and he shrugged back, also unsure.
In anger, the director shook his head and face-palmed. "Let's go again." Then we started again.
"If there's a key..." Sam recited and then looked at me, waiting for me to say my line so he could continue.
I nodded and looked up at him. "Then there has to be a lock."
He nodded and cleared his throat nervously. "And when we find the lock, we can get the weapons, and then we can have the weapons. And the lock." He looked around nervously, carrying on lines that didn't exist in our scripts. "We'll still have the lock. I imagine because we've opened it and, of course, the initial key."
"We need to get all three of that crap," Dean said randomly.
"What?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged. "That's how he does it," he said, referring to Jensen.
Sam nodded. "Oh."
Dean looked out the fake window at the director. "Do we really need all these lines? I mean, I— I— I think we've covered it. Right?"
"Cut! What is happening? What's happening?! What's happening?!" the director, enraged. "Season six!" he said, shaking his head at the ceiling. Then, some of the other people moved in, and they started talking with him quietly.
Sam shook his head as he read the script. "Who wrote this? Nobody says 'penultimate!'"
"Gun, mouth." Dean gestured, shooting himself. "Now."
"Moving on!" one man yelled after speaking with the director.
"Thank god," Dean said in relief.
Misha walked away, typing furiously on his phone. Then the others cleared out, too, finally leaving us alone. So, we quickly unpacked the box and started assembling the spell before anyone could come back.
"All right, damn it. We earned this," Dean said, drawing Balthazar's sigil with the blood mixture on the window.
"That's it?" I asked.
Dean nodded. "That's it, Toto."
We all exchanged glances before leaping through the window, only to land on a soft pad surrounded by fake glass on the other side of the set.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We snuck into Jensen's trailer before anyone noticed what we'd done to the set.
"Maybe we did it wrong," I said.
Dean shook his head. "No. No, that— that spell was perfect. It should have worked."
"What if it can't?" Sam asked Dean, and I gave him a look. "Look, I was up all night looking online. There's no sign that anything like the apocalypse happened here. Ever. And as far as I can tell, monsters, ghosts, demons... they're all pretend."
"So, nobody's hunting them?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head. "No hunters." He shrugged. "Look, maybe that's why our spell didn't work, you know? May— Maybe here, there's no supernatural, no magic."
"No demons, no Hell, no Heaven, no— no God?" Dean asked.
"Something like. Even better..." Sam sighed. "No angels."
"So... we're stuck here?" I asked, feeling very sad about that news.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *