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"You’re not the Winchesters," said Castiel, looking Jared and Jensen up and down.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, yes, you’re right! We are not the Winchesters and I am so glad you can recognize that," said Jared, a look of relief passing over his face. Jensen sighed next to him.
"So, my guess is, you’re not Misha," said Jensen, but had barely gotten the words out when Castiel slammed both him and Jared to the ground, knocking the wind out of them. No stunt doubles. No cushy, blue pad to land on. And certainly no one to yell “Cut!" and bring them a mineral water.
"Who are you? Where did you come from? Where are Sam and Dean?"
Jared and Jensen screamed, a long litany of “oh God"s and “I don’t know"s and “I wanna go home"s.
"Why are you wearing makeup?" asked Castiel.
"For the show," whimpered Jensen. He’d always thought Castiel was nice. Strange, but nice, like Misha. Castiel was not nice. “We’re actors. Sam and Dean are characters. I play Dean and Jared plays Sam and Misha plays you, but none of it’s real and you were supposed to be our friend and I just never thought you would be so mean."
Castiel got up and shrugged off his jacket. “I apologize. I did not realize you were imbeciles. Or possibly mentally ill. I expect you’ve switched bodies by some magic." Castiel began to undo his belt.
"Oh, dude, no! No! If we could just keep the pants on…?" said Jared.
Castiel rolled up his sleeve. “I assure you, the pants will stay on. The belt is merely for your own comfort, to keep you from biting off your tongues. I’m going to need to take a closer look at your souls. Some discomfort is normal. Who would like to go first?"
Jared and Jensen clutched each other and screamed. They screamed like little girls.