Hello everyone! Yes, another story. I couldn't help myself. This is a style that I've never published before - real life people inserted into the story! My favorite kind, really, so I hope you enjoy. You may have noticed I changed the name from Stuff and Nonsense. Better Off Dead is a song by ZZ Ward and I think you need to hear it if you haven't already. You'll understand as soon as you hear it. Anywho, read on! If anyone has any suggestions, I'm always open. :3

"Pick apart… the pieces of your heart… Let me peer… inside…"

I swayed in front of the stove, singing along quietly to the music pulsing through the empty house. Donegal wouldn't be back until well after midnight, so I had the place to myself. We were house sitting for an old family friend in Golden, Colorado. The house was much bigger than I remembered. And oh was it gorgeous. The only downfall being that it was more or less in the middle of nowhere. Technically we were about a twenty-minute drive to town, settled out amongst the wild forest. It was completely isolated – no neighbors for miles, I guessed. Thus why I'd been playing music pretty much since she left the house.

I was feeling restless and my stomach was rumbling, so I found myself in the well-stocked kitchen cooking incessantly [a nervous habit of mine]. I couldn't stop. I just needed to keep myself busy. Marinated salmon was cooking in the oven while potatoes, mixed veggies, and macaroni and cheese boiled away on the stovetop. The rice cooker was going and I put lids on everything, pushing my bangs out of my face. The kitchen was massive, like all the other rooms in the house, and very well equipped. The countertops were dark granite and the cupboards were all made of a light, honey colored wood to match the floors. There was a breakfast nook between the kitchen and the living room, which I was currently perched on top of.

I muttered along to the new song coming on, kicking my feet and reading the back of a box of cake mix. The music boomed on around me. It was in rare moments like these that I really appreciated knowing someone with this kind of money. I wished I were staying here longer than a few weeks. I felt fancy just staying in a place like this. I laughed to myself and glanced across the room. The wall between the kitchen and balcony was more or less a giant window. It was a little unnerving not being able to see into the darkness that lie beyond, but I couldn't bring myself to shut them. It's not like the neighbors would be creeping in on us anyway.

I suppose in a way that was kind of what made me nervous. The isolation, that is. If anything bad happened, it would take ages for anyone to find us here. I shook those thoughts from my head and returned to the stove to stir everything. I watched too many horror movies. Using one of the spoons as a microphone, I spun around and started singing. I was feeling pretty peppy tonight. The sliding doors were open, nothing but the screen between me and the cool night outside. I pushed the long sleeves of the oversized t-shirt I was wearing up to my elbows, wiggling my hips and power sliding across the floor at all the good parts. I turned down the burners and slipped out onto the patio to smoke a cigarette.

I belted out the chorus, jamming my little heart out, making sure to "thank the forest" when I was through. I laughed to myself and lit the cigarette poised between my lips. I inhaled deeply and looked up at the moon shining brightly through the treetops. The forest was alive with the sounds of night critters chirping and hooting and croaking. It was peaceful. I searched the trees for any sign of things that might not belong, but everything seemed normal. I put my cigarette in a tin can by the door when I was finished and shut the screen door behind me. I drained the pasta and had sung and danced my way through another three songs by the time all the food was done. I sat on one of the barstools at the nook to eat, still humming to myself. I looked out past the balcony again. I couldn't see anything but black. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off. The little hairs on the back of my neck were prickling. I took my plate with me to the screen door. I could tell immediately that something had changed. I grabbed the remote for the stereo off the counter and turned it down a little. I returned to the door and strained my ears. I wasn't sure what I was listening for until I realized exactly what it was. The forest was silent. There were no more birds, no crickets, nothing. I blanched and took a step back, quickly shutting and locking the door. I hurried back to my seat at the nook, heart racing. I picked nervously at my plate without really eating much else. The fear that had jolted through my body had made my stomach twist and knot. I couldn't imagine why everything had gone quiet like that, but it couldn't be good.

"Are you sure we're at the right house?"

Sam looked over at his brother lounging in the driver's seat beside him. He was squinting out the window, disinterested but attentive.

"Positive," he replied. "He's been scoping out this house for days. Tonight the full moon is at its peak in the cycle. Trust me, he'll be here."

Dean sighed heavily looked back out his window to the house they were casing. The girl inside was back at the balcony door, looking out into the night. She was tall, though still shorter than him probably. Her short hair stuck out in unruly tufts, though she had to keep brushing her bangs back out her eyes. They were hidden from sight where they were now. He wondered if it was them watching her that was putting her on edge. Some music he didn't recognize was blasting from the inside the house, even after she had turned the volume down considerably.

"At least her taste isn't complete crap," he muttered sourly, stretching as best as he could in the confines of the car.

Sam smiled and shook his head, looking over the file in his lap. It was a little strange that they'd been camped out for almost four hours now and not seen anything - or heard anything, for that matter - that was out of the ordinary. He sighed and flipped it closed, rubbing his eyes. He was starting to second guess himself. After a few minutes, he looked up and frowned.

"You hear that?" Sam asked, looking over at his brother.

"Hear what?" Dean grumbled, head leaned back, eyes closed.

"Exactly. I don't hear a thing. Everything's gone quiet…"

Dean sat up, looking more alert. His eyes scanned the dark forest around them. He didn't see any signs of movement, but something had definitely changed in the atmosphere. When a long howl broke the silence, they looked at each other and quickly scrambled out of the car to make a mad dash for the house.

My eyes widened and I dropped my fork with a clatter. I knew I wasn't hearing things, but the howl that ripped through the night seemed unreal. I could hear it loud and clear over the music still playing. I jumped to my feet, looking around wildly. Were even there wolves out here in the first place? I didn't think so, but my ears weren't deceiving me. I was breathing hard, my heart beating frantically against my ribcage. The living room didn't have windows. There was only the wall of glass in the kitchen. When my eyes fell upon the small gun case on the wall, I didn't hesitate. I grabbed one of the shotguns and a case of shells. I turned off the music and tucked the remote into my pocket. I pressed myself against the wall beside the nook, giving myself a view of both the front door and the balcony. My breathing was coming out in short, gasping bursts. I loaded the gun in my shaking hands. Expecting the worst, I pulled the lighter out of my pocket. I quickly ran around the room lighting candles. That was how this usually worked in horror movies, right? As if on cue, the lights flickered with an electric buzz and went out. I leaned back into my niche, trying to breathe more quietly. If I was losing my mind, so be it. I was perfectly content to sit there clutching that gun all night long. There was a loud thud somewhere above me followed by vigorous scratching. Something was on the roof. I heard glass shatter and flinched. Oh God, it was in the house.

I tightened my grip on the rifle in my hands. Footsteps slowly walked across the room on the second floor. I kept my eyes on the hallway by the staircase. When I heard the stairs creaking, a low growl followed. I swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady myself. I raised the gun and pointed it at the door. When a figure came into sight, I wasn't quite as prepared as I had hoped. More so, I was incredibly confused by what it was that I was seeing. Granted I couldn't see very well in the dim lighting, but judging by the shape it looked… human. It was hunched over, arms hanging by its sides; sneaking almost. A flicker of candlelight caught its eyes. They reflected yellow and green like a cat's, glinting maliciously. Is that what was really making all those sounds? I inhaled sharply and made sure the gun was ready to fire.

"Who are you?" I asked quietly.

The only response I got was another bone chilling growl. I hesitated for a moment before firing. I missed, wood splintering off the doorframe behind it. It snarled viciously and came toward me. I fired again, catching it in the shoulder. I was a bit surprised, but I guess those trips to the gun range really did pay off. It only seemed to piss it off. I scrambled for more shells. The sound of the front door kicking in made me jump. The shells cascaded to the floor and scattered. I swore to myself and looked up. It was right in front of me. I could see the fangs, the claws. It still looked relatively human aside from that. It drew its arm back to slash at me. I pulled the trigger, but I could tell it wasn't my shot that had the real effect. Three more rounds after mine rang out and the creature let out a yelping whine before it hit the ground. I was still breathing in short bursts, gasps as the fear and adrenaline seeped into my veins. I looked down at it with wide eyes, at the blood pooling on the floor. I could feel it in splattered droplets across my face and body. I let out a strangled cry and covered my face with my left hand. This couldn't be real. I must have fallen asleep. This had to be a dream. I heard footsteps and looked up sharply. A tall figure was cautiously walking down the hallway toward me. I couldn't think. Leaning against the wall, I pushed myself to my feet. I raised my gun, despite the fact that I was shaking too hard to hold it steady.

"Get out," I croaked. "Get out!"

He raised his hands submissively at the frantic tone in my voice, putting the gun in his hand on the floor before proceeding.

"It's all right. We aren't here to hurt you," he said calmly.

Why did that voice sound so familiar? I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I couldn't stop glancing down at the body on the floor.

"W-Who are you?" I stammered, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. I looked back at him. "Who are you?"

The lights sizzled and came back on. I blinked hard, the bright light stinging my eyes. Someone else came through the door.

"I got the lights back on," another man said, his voice deeper than the first. "Everything okay in here?"

I frowned and squinted. I couldn't possibly be seeing things right. Yes, I was definitely dreaming. Granted it was extremely lucid, but that was the only explanation that made sense. I was beyond a doubt looking at Sam and Dean Winchester. Unless this was someone's idea of some kind of cruel joke, I was most definitely dreaming. I let out a shaky laugh and slid to the floor. The two of them glanced at each other like they thought I was mad. Maybe I was.

"Just put the gun down," Sam said calmly. "Relax. Let's talk this out okay?"

My sides cramped I was laughing so hard. My eyes were starting to water. I let the gun fall to the floor to hold my aching ribs. They exchanged looks, which I chose to ignore, and gave myself several long minutes to get it out of my system. Finally I pushed myself back to my feet, wiping my eyes.

"Oh, God… I had myself going for a minute there," I muttered, pushing up my sleeves. "You're dreaming, that's all. Just ride it out and everything will be fine. You've had stranger dreams than this, right?"

"Dreaming?" Dean said incredulously, letting out a low chuckle. "Yeah, you'll be wishing that a few days from now…"

I scrutinized them as I edged around the breakfast nook and into the kitchen.

"That's the only logical explanation for this," I replied, setting about putting away the leftovers. "I'm gonna wake up in the morning feeling very silly about giving myself a heart attack and you two will be long gone."

"Well you're right about one thing. We will be long gone. You, on the other hand, will still have a dead werewolf on your living room floor." He gave me a wry smile and crossed his arms.

"Dean," Sam said in warning, looking at him over his shoulder.

He glared back and shrugged. "What? She doesn't think it's real anyway."

I turned to face them, deadpanning. "I'm sorry, you said "werewolf"?"

Sam threw him a "nice going" look. I eyed him a moment longer before hesitantly hopping onto the counter. I peered over the edge. Now that I could see it clearly it wasn't nearly as intimidating, though it was still disturbing. The fingernails were long, curving into dangerous claws. Fangs peeked out from behind the man's pale, blood coated lips. I swallowed hard. If I were dreaming about a werewolf, I certainly wouldn't have made it look like this. I would've gone for the whole big, hairy beast thing. I should know, I'd dreamt of them before. I glanced over at the two men standing in the doorway. They looked real enough. I climbed down and went to stand in front of Sam. I narrowed my eyes as I looked up at him. They were both dressed casually; usual attire for them on the show. I moved to Dean, walking in a circle around him before stopping to look him in the face. He glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eyes. I raised my hand, hesitating a moment. I shrugged to myself mentally and poked him hard in the chest. He made a noise of indignation and took a step back.

"What the hell?" he asked.

I just tilted my head to the side. He felt solid, but dreams could easily feel real. I grabbed Sam's hand, turning it over in mine. He let me do so without pulling away. I let him go and shook my head, wandering my way back to the counter. I reached up to drag my hands down my face.

"This isn't real," I muttered under my breath. I spun around to look back at them, desperation in my eyes. "A-Am I being Punk'd or something? Because I have anxiety issues and you can't pull practical jokes like this on someone with problems like mine!" I started pacing, taking deep breaths trying to calm myself as I ran my fingers through my hair. I pointed an accusing finger at them. "Did my sister put you guys up to this? Where are the cameras? How much is she paying you to do this? WHERE IS SHE? WHY HASN'T THAT GUY GOTTEN UP YET?!"

Dean put his hands up and looked at Sam. "I'm... gonna let you take this bag of crazy."

"Don't fucking call me crazy! Who are you really? Why the fuck are you in my house?"

"It's okay, we're on the same side," Sam said quickly, taking a step back to give me some space. "I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. We came here tonight to.. well... to take care of that guy."

He gestured to the dead man on the living room floor. I leaned on the counter and looked down at my hands. I hadn't really noticed the blood on them until then. I was starting to shake again. I rubbed them together, trying to wipe it away. I pulled my shirt away from my body. It was still heavily coated with blood splatters. I was starting to panic. I shook my head again, taking a step back from the counter. I tripped over the body on the floor and slid on the blood, almost busting my ass. It finally started to sink in when I shifted my gaze to the grizzly scene one last time. Sam and Dean Winchester were actually standing here in the living room of this house and I was really covered in some poor schmuck's blood. I was starting to hyperventilate. I cringed and my stomach lurched.

"Oh God," I said quietly. "Oh God… I'm gonna be sick. Ew, ew, ew. Fuck. I need a shower."

I peeled off my shirt, struggling with the sleeves. I grumbled in frustration and flailed my arms, throwing it on the floor. It didn't do much good. I could still feel it all over my face and where it had seeped through the fabric onto my skin. I kicked off my slippers and held my hands away from myself as I practically ran past them. I stopped at the stairs and glared at them around the corner.

"Don't you two even think of leaving until you fix that fucking door," I snapped. "This isn't my house. Oh God, how am I going to explain this…"

I ran up the stairs to the bathroom, shimmying out of the rest of my clothes. I turned on the water and let my hair down before scrambling in. The hot water felt good on my skin. It burned a little hotter than I usually liked, but I'd stand anything to get the feel of that blood off me. When I was satisfied, I shut the water off and wrapped myself in a towel. I made a beeline for my room and dug out a gray racer back tank top, a pair of dark wash tattered denim shorts, and the necessities out of my suitcase. Fully dressed and converse tied, I paused in the hallway to collect myself. There had to be some way to explain what was happening. I just wasn't ready to accept the idea that this was actually happening.