The set for Jackass Number Two was already chaotic before the cameras even started rolling—but that was normal. Crew members moved around with barely contained laughter, knowing exactly how this stunt was going to go. In the center of it all stood Bam Margera, shifting on his feet, eyeing the massive industrial fan and the enclosed pen behind it with suspicion.

“Man… I don’t like this already,” Bam muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to play it off like he wasn’t already on edge.

From behind the camera, someone yelled, “Ready!”

The fan roared to life, the sheer force of it hitting Bam full-on and sending him stumbling backward. He tried to brace himself, boots scraping uselessly against the ground before he was blown straight into the horse pen with a loud clang. The second he landed, Chris Pontius—decked out as Party Boy—darted in, slamming the gate shut with a dramatic flourish.

“OH, YOU—” Bam started, already scrambling to his feet, gripping the bars.

Then it got worse.

From the side, David Weathers stepped forward, holding something that made Bam’s entire body go rigid—a king cobra.

“No. No, no, no—don’t you dare!” Bam’s voice shot up instantly, panic breaking through any bravado he had left.

The snake was placed inside the enclosure.

And Bam lost it.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he shouted, scrambling backward, eyes locked on the cobra as it shifted. His breathing turned sharp, uneven. In a split second decision fueled entirely by fear, he lunged for the gate, climbing it with zero hesitation, hands gripping the top as he hauled himself up and over.

The second his boots hit the ground on the other side, he bolted.

“Bam—!” you called, already moving.

Behind you, you didn’t even hesitate—your hand smacked the back of Chris’s head with a sharp thwack.

“Not funny!” you snapped, shooting him a glare before turning and running after your boyfriend.

Bam didn’t stop until he was well clear of the set, pacing fast, hands in his hair, breathing like he couldn’t catch it. His chest rose and fell rapidly, panic still gripping him tight.

“Hey—hey, Bam,” you said gently as you reached him, slowing your steps so you didn’t overwhelm him. “It’s okay. You’re out. It’s gone. You’re good.”

He shook his head, still wired, muttering, “Dude, I can’t—snakes, I can’t do that—what the hell were they thinking…”

You stepped closer, carefully placing a hand on his arm, grounding him. “Look at me,” you said softly. “You’re not in there anymore. You’re safe.”

It took a second—but his eyes finally met yours.

His breathing was still shaky, but it started to slow, just a little, as he focused on you instead of everything else.

“I hate that crap…” he mumbled, voice quieter now, the edge of panic starting to fade.

“I know,” you said, squeezing his arm gently. “You don’t have to do that one again.”

Behind you, the distant sound of laughter and shouting from the set carried through the air—but right now, none of that mattered.