The Mega Meta
I did not—I repeat—DID NOT write this originally. This was written by an anonymous writer and performed in the One Act Festival at my college theatre. It was too great not to share. I repeat—I did not write this. I merely adapted it to the show—rather poorly, but I couldn't resist with the show having several meta episodes already.
P.S. This is the most crack-filled story I have ever written.
Sam and Dean walked out of the theatre. Sam had suggested that they go to see a play. Dean had objected, but Sam pretty much forced him. Dean had given in, and they went to see a comedy show together. They were scheduled to fly to California for their next hunt, because it would take too long to drive. So, now they were headed to the airport for their flight. Dean had fought like hell to get Sam to change his mind about the airplane, but Sam had reasoned that someone could get hurt in the process. Dean had finally agreed.
(The camera follows in front of them as they walk. We, the viewers, watch as they head down the sidewalk at night, heading for the airport. We see that they are, of course, wearing their usual jeans and jackets and swaggers. It seems to be a normal, average episode, and we are, of course, waiting for Dean's snarky comments and Sam's nerdy attitude.)
"All I'm saying is that I hate self-referential theatre," said Dean as they walked out of the theatre doors. They began heading down the sidewalk, heading towards the airport. They hadn't driven the Impala to the show.
"Why, though?" asked Sam. "There's something really interesting in seeing people interact. If they're aware that they are being watched, it only heightens the entertainment value."
"How so?" asked Dean.
"Well, it's less creepy that way," said Sam. "If you take a normal play, it's a bunch of people going about their day to day lives while we, the audience, spy and eavesdrop on them voyeuristically."
"You know I never really thought of that," said Dean. "It would be weird if there was a room full of people just sitting there watching us here. I suppose if you choose to view plays as though the characters are aware of the fact that they are merely characters and are being put on display like a circus it would add an interesting touch."
"Viewing the characters as being aware of their existence as a subject of our entertainment adds a whole new layer of depth to the characters," said Sam. "I mean, if they know they are being watched, then what motivations do they have?"
"Ah, true," said Dean. "It would totally take context out of the equation. If these characters know they are not living their lives for themselves, but to entertain others, their actions would have to make sense in the context of the play."
"But who's to say that they ARE actually living their lives while the audience is truly spying on them," said Sam as they stopped walking for a moment. (The camera pauses with them.)
Dean hesitated, looking up at Sam. "…on us…"
"Wait," said Sam, also looking at him. "You think that…"
"Perhaps…" said Dean.
They both turned and looked directly at the camera. They are frowning at the camera, staring at it. Sam stepped forward a little, raising his hand to address the camera audience.
"Wait!" said Dean, stopping him. "The acting teachers always told me to not break the fourth wall."
(These next two lines are not part of the original dialogue.)
"You took acting classes?" asked Sam.
Dean shrugged. "Good way to meet girls."
Sam waved him off. "But there is no fourth wall. We are merely living. If anything is watching us, it is merely admiring us in our natural habitat."
Dean smirked, turning away from Sam. "Yeah, the stage."
"I refuse to believe that I am solely a character in a play," said Sam as they began walking again. (The camera moved with them again.) "Even if I was, I would argue that by creating my character, the playwright has brought me to life."
"So, in a way, the playwright is God?" said Dean.
"Yes, I suppose he would be the all powerful master of the world he created," said Sam. "That's usually how it goes."
"What about directors?" asked Dean. "Don't they play God as well?"
"The director is merely a prophet," said Sam. "They only interpret what God…uh…the playwright already made."
"Well, I would argue that God doesn't exist," said Dean.
"Only if he created you to do so," said Sam.
"Well, isn't that a puzzling thought," said Dean.
"I don't understand how a God could possibly create something as wretchedly evil as a human and give him free will," said Sam.
"Oh!" said Dean, smiling as he turned to Sam. "That reminds me of a play I saw once. I'll tell you about it later; this place gives me the creeps. I feel like I am being judged the whole time."
"It does have that 1984, big brother is watching, feel doesn't it?" asked Sam.
"Whoa!" said Dean. "Déjà vu…"
"I know what you mean," said Sam as they entered the airport.
"I don't think you do," said Dean.
"Of course I do!" said Sam. "Everyone has one once in a while."
"Well, yeah, but that's not to say that it was the completely same experience for everybody," said Dean.
Sam frowned. "I don't follow."
"Well, how can you communicate an idea when everything you say is perceived differently than your originally intended perception?" asked Dean. He looked over at a line nearby. "What are they waiting for?"
"God," said Sam. "Oh. I get what you're driving at; or rather, what I think is what you're driving at. What a Beckett-like point of view."
"Exactly," said Dean. "You know what? This place doesn't look familiar at all. I thought we were waiting to get on the plane."
"You know, me too," said Sam. "Leaving on a jet plane and all that."
"Don't know when I'll be back again," Dean smirked.
Sam pulled out his ticket. "Monday."
"What?" asked Dean, looking at him.
"Our return flight is Monday," said Sam. "At least that's what the ticket says." He noticed Dean's nervous fumbling as he eyed the gate. "We could just take the subway."
"Nah," said Dean. "I hate trains." Sam rolled his eyes. "What time do we leave?"
"8:30," said Sam. "Does anybody know what time it is?"
"Does anybody really care?" asked Dean.
"About time?" asked Sam.
"If so, I can't imagine why," said Dean. "Wait a minute." He frowned at Sam. "Did we just accidentally break into song?"
"Only if we are actually living and not performing for some weird audience folk," said Sam with a small glance at the camera.
"I hate when we do that," Dean muttered.
"Me, too," said Sam. "Unfortunately, it must be done sometimes."
"Too true," said Dean. "I just hate the awkward silence that always follows."
"Yeah, me, too," said Sam. "Everyone involved knows it's time to stop, but doesn't know what to say afterwards."
They both paused, staring at the ground awkwardly.
"Yet, we must say something," said Dean. "For if we don't, the audience will get restless." Dean leaned towards Sam with a furtive glance at the camera, whispering. "You never want an angry audience. It always ends badly."
"True," Sam whispered. He raised his voice to normal. "The audience always seems to be uptight and on edge. They are so picky."
"I am going to become a director and change the focus of plays away from the audience," said Dean. "They will no longer matter."
"That's a great plan in theory," said Sam.
"Why in theory?" asked Dean.
"You have any idea where we are?" asked Sam.
"I thought we already established the setting as an airport," said Dean. He looked at the camera. "Didn't we?"
"Stop!" said Sam, grabbing hold of Dean's arm. He glanced at the camera and smiled awkwardly, trying to appease the viewers. He looked back at Dean. "What are you doing?"
"Just asking a simple rhetorical question in that general direction over there," said Dean, gesturing in front of them (where the camera incidentally happened to be).
"Well, just be careful," said Sam. "You don't want to directly acknowledge anybody who may be watching. That would show them that we know they are there."
(From this point on, I do not have the other pages of the dialogue.)
"True," said Dean. He rolled his eyes. "Okay, come on. Let's get this over with."
Dean turned towards the terminal gate, freezing as he heard a plane take off. Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the gate.
"No," said Dean, trying to dig in his heels as Sam led him towards the gate.
"Come on," said Sam. "The faster we get on, the faster we get off."
Dean glared at him as he followed Sam. "Not funny, Sam."
The End