AN: So this is my first Supernatural fic, I hope everyone likes it. Or not, it's opinions:) Enjoy!
Bree Harper looked around the pathetic looking kitchen with disdain. All there was around were half empty bottles of liquor and wrappers of take away and junk food. She let out an audible sigh at all the mess because she knew that she was the one that was going to have to clean it.
"Chuck! Would it kill you to clean up after yourself every once in a while? I'm not your maid, ya know," she yelled at the eccentric looking man who was hunched over his computer muttering to himself.
"I've been busy if you can't tell. You were hired to be my assistant, so assist!" Chuck yelled back while never taking his eyes off his monitor. Bree's face set into a glare that was fixed upon the man's back and if he had bothered to turn around then he would have quaked at her look, but then again maybe that was the reason he didn't. She sighed again as she got out the cleaning supplies from under the sink. She would clean the kitchen today and the living room tomorrow. One room at a time, Harper. One room at a time. As she was scrubbing the counters, she thought about what her life had come to.
She had applied for an internship at a local publishing house because she wanted to be an editor one day, that's what she was going to school for. However, the skinny bitch with the short hair never mentioned that her first assignment was going to be babysitting a full grown adult male. Chuck Shurley, was a whiny and self- absorbed man, but Bree still liked him. He reminded her of a lost puppy plus she got to read what he wrote. As his books stopped publishing, but he never stopped writing so she became his only audience. There were so many more adventures after Dean goes to hell which had Bree coming back and doing all of this shit for him. She wasn't originally into Supernatural, in truth she didn't even know it existed until she started working for Chuck. She picked up the first book one night while she was waiting for her cupcakes to bake and was completely hooked. She marathon read all of the books in a week while ranting to Chuck about it all. She needed to know what happens next and she was about to strangle him if he didn't let her read the other books.
That's when he came up with the deal that she would cook and bake for him and he would let her read what happens. Cooking and baking wasn't part of her internship, all she was supposed to do was assist with editing, or getting coffee for the man, but this worked out, too. Bree liked to cook and bake, but was rarely able to while living alone. Cooking and baking with no one to share it with was pretty sad and no fun. However, she still had to wonder when her life became so mundane. She was playing housewife to a man-child for goodness sakes. She was supposed to be doing great literary works, getting published, and becoming a top editor in the nation. Instead she was an intern and not foreseeing any advancement even with a degree. Her life was going nowhere fast and she didn't know how to stop it, or spice it up.
"Did you bring anything sweet for me, Bree?" Chuck asked as he made his way into the now mostly clean kitchen to pour himself another drink.
"Don't you think you should slow down, tiger? It's only three in the afternoon. Yes, I brought pie," she answered as she started washing the pile of dishes that she was sure about to sprout legs and walk away. She saw Chuck start to reach for the fridge where she had put it and splashed water at him. He spluttered and stared at her indignantly.
"Pie, which you will be allowed to have after dinner. What sounds good for tonight?" She asked pleasantly as if she hadn't done anything.
"That was very childish of you. Aren't you nineteen or something? Act your age," he reprimanded while pouting. Bree let out a sharp bark of laughter.
"You're a fine one to talk Mr. Man-child," she said while laughing some more. Chuck stuck his tongue out at her which only served to further amuse the auburn haired girl in front of him.
"Laugh all you want, but just remember I can take away your reading rights in a flash. Also, spaghetti sounds good with your meatballs," he replied as he walked back to his chair to continue typing.
"You can threaten all you want little man, but I have a key to your house. And if you stop letting me read, then I stop the cooking and the cleaning. I'll have to go to the store because you have nothing here except a few empty cereal boxes that look like they were chewed through by mice. I need mmm twenty dollars," Bree had finally finished the dishes and turned around. She checked the time on her phone and frowned. She had arrived at one forty and it was now three thirty, she needed to go to the store and back quickly if she wanted to be home before eight tonight.
"Okay okay, get my wallet, there should be a twenty in there. Pick up some ice cream for the pie, too."
"Will do," she said while heading out the door.
The store had been super packed. Bree was running around the entire store as fast as she could, but it still took her about an hour. Damn soccer moms. Those women had just stood around chatting and blocking the pathways and looked at Bree like she was being an inconvenience when she asked them to move politely.
But she had finally made it back to Chuck's where she parked behind a black car. An impala? Chuck doesn't have friends. She grabbed the bags from the back seat and made her way to the steps and saw the door was unlocked which made her start to panic. Chuck was very big on locked doors and "They are watching" shit. She pushed open the door all the way and saw two men standing over Chuck.
"Is this a misery thing? It is isn't it? This is a misery thing!" Chuck yelled while cowering.
"No, this isn't a misery thing! Believe me, we are not fans!" the shorter man yelled.
"Then what do you want?!" Chuck yelled back.
"I'm Sam and that's Dean," the taller one said calmly.
"Sam and Dean are fictional characters. I made them up. They aren't real!"
"What the hell is going on here?" Bree finally decided to make her presence known. She walked over to where everyone was huddled still holding the grocery bags.
"Why don't you go upstairs there sweetheart and let us talk to your boyfriend," the one claiming to be Dean said. Bree gently set down her bags and squared against them with her hands on her hips.
"One, he is not my boyfriend. Two, you are interrupting my dinner plans. If I get home late tonight, then I am blaming you. Three, y'all are crazy! Thinking you can assault this man with your nonsense about being his characters brought to life. Now, I want to know what happens next, so I am staying right here," she told them in a no argument tone.
"That's okay, but we really are Sam and Dean. Let us prove it to you, we want to know what is going on just as much you do," the 'Sam' one said still remaining calm. Bree looked back at Chuck and he shrugged from his prone position on the couch.
"Dammit Chuck! Is this what you do when I leave? Take your pants off? You knew I was coming back," she screeched at him when she saw his lack of clothes.
"Stop with the yelling woman, last I checked I am the boss, not you. Fine fine I'll let you try and prove it."
Bree followed behind them outside to the black Impala.
"A '67 Impala, okay so you have the car right," she said. "Dean" glared back at her sarcastic tone while she just smiled up at him. Goodness, he is tall. They opened up the trunk and flipped a hidden bottom compartment to show an array of guns and other assorted items.
"Are those real guns?" Chuck asked a little worriedly.
"Yup, this is real rock salt. And these are real fake ID's," Dean said while lifting a box to show fake ID's.
"Real fake ID's? That's an oxymoron," Bree quipped from behind "Sam". Damn, he was even taller!
Chuck was increasing in his twitchiness throughout the little show and tell, "Huh, I've got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans. That's awesome." He was sounding really nervous now.
"Hey I think we have some posters…" Bree said to try and steer the conversation away from the guns. Chuck was starting to walk back to the house and she followed warily keeping an eye on the men.
"Chuck, stop."
"Please, don't hurt me!" He started to plead. Typical, he only pleads for his life. She rolled her eyes while the other men became a little desperate to make him listen to them. They seemed genuine, but that still seemed a little farfetched. I mean, I know Chuck wrote himself into the story, but this has to be a coincidence.
"How much do you know? Do you know about the Angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?" Sam asked.
"How do you know about that?" Chuck asked a little stunned. Bree was too because those books haven't ever been published or mentioned outside of his house between the two of them.
"Question is, how do you?" the tough guy asked still with the barely concealed rage.
"Because I wrote it?"
"You kept writing?" the "Sam" one asked incredulously.
"Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt. But I'm the only one who has read them. Right, Chuck?" Bree answered now starting to freak out a little.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Chuck started to laugh, "Did Phil put you up to this?"
"I don't think it is a joke, Chuck," she said while staring intently at the agitated boys.
"It has to be, Bree. What other explanation is there?"
"Well, it is nice to meet you Chuck and Bree. I'm Dean Winchester and this is my brother Sam," Dean said with finality. She saw Chuck's face pale and his eyes widen.
"Last names were never in the books. I never told anybody that, I-I never even wrote that down," he stammered.
"Winchester? Like the rifle?" Bree asked deciding to be that cliché because she was sure they had been asked that many times before.
She guessed right as they sighed,"Exactly like the rifle."
They went back inside where Chuck immediately started to drink. He swallowed a few drinks before turning around to face the room where he started to freak out again.
"Oh,y-you're still there."
"Eyup," Dean stated.
"And you're not a hallucination."
"Nope."
Chuck sighed," Well, there is only one explanation."
"Enthrall us, little man,"Bree commanded dryly. This is going to be good.
"Obviously, I am a god," those words actually came out of his mouth.
"You are not a god," Sam said with amusement in his voice.
"How else do you explain it? I write things and they come to life. Yeah, definitely a god. A cruel, cruel capricious god. The things I put you through, the physical beatings alone," Chuck was starting to get worked up and Bree was trying not to laugh and failing miserably.
"We're still in one piece," Dean said a little defensively.
"I killed your father…" Chuck started again.
"Chuck!" She exclaimed. He needed to stop talking. He was about to go too far. But, he didn't listen.
"I burned your mother alive, and then you had to go through the whole horrific ordeal again with Jessica." God, he needed to stop talking.
"Too far, Chuck. You wrote about it, but they lived it. Show a little compassion, please?" Bree tried again to get him to shut his mouth.
"All for what?" She sighed knowing she clearly didn't get through to him.
"And he's not listening anymore…" She trailed off as he wound himself with more useless air to speak.
"The sake of literary symmetry. I toyed with your lives, your emotions for entertainment," more hurtful wasted air.
She saw Dean go rigid and Sam seemed to retreat into himself with every word Chuck spoke and felt an ache for the men she saw before her. They were truly hurting inside and they were really denying it.
"You didn't toy with us Chuck, okay? You didn't create us," Dean said while walking forward. I didn't know if he was simply walking forward, or about to aim a well-deserved punch.
"Did you really have to live through the bugs?" He asked. He still wasn't listening.
"Yeah."
"What about the Ghost Ship?"
"Yes, that too."
"I am so sorry. I mean horror is one thing, but being forced to live bad writing. If I had known it was real, then I would have done another path."
"Chuck you are not a god!" Dean finally snapped.
"You could just be psychic?" Bree threw out her theory. It made the most sense.
"Nah, if I were psychic do you think I would be writing? Get real, Harper."
"Dean and I thought you were, as well. It seems that you just focused on our lives," Sam explained.
"Yeah, laser focus," Dean emphasized," Are you working on anything right now?"
"Oh my god…" Bree whispered while sitting down on one of the many scattered chairs.
"What?" Sam turned to her and she looked up at his worried face and then back at Chuck.
He was looking at her stunned face uncomprehendingly," Chuck what was the last thing you let me read?"
Chuck's face turned into a dawning expression," Holy crap."
"What?" Dean reiterated a little more forcefully.
"The latest book, uh, it's kinda weird," Chuck began with his explanation.
"Weird how?"
"It's very Vonnegut..."
"Slaughterhouse Five Vonnegut, or Cat's Cradle Vonnegut?" Dean leaned in to ask intently. He reads. Hot.
"What?" Sam asked Dean with an adorably confused look. He sounded so surprised.
"What?" Dean asked defensively. They shared a look that Bree couldn't even decipher, but Sam looked impressed and Dean looked smug.
"No, uh, more of a Kilgore Trout Vonnegut. I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself at my house, confronted by my characters." All of us sat in a solemn silence.