The Production

There wasn't a single word to describe the facial expression -

- one part shock, one part horror, one part fury, one part 'we are so effed.' He didn't know what to say when, two days later, the brothers arrived on his doorstep.

"Chuck - " guns drawn " - we need to speak with you."

It hadn't been his idea: The network went through his agent, and things had reached terminal velocity when news finally reached his ears. A TV show - his signature was a formality; things would've happened either way. Auditions, scripts, and TV trailers. At least - well, he figured. At least if he was involved, they wouldn't butcher things too badly.

- butcher. Funny word, that. He suspected -

- yes, that was a scythe in Sam's hand.

"Look, guys - !" he was backing up, feet shuffling against the wooden floor, arms raised in surrender. "It wasn't my idea!"

"Your idea?"

"Great. And you didn't think to warn us, Chuck?"

"What?" - and face the wrath? "Honestly - if I could've stopped it - " Not that it mattered.

Not that they cared.

"Chuck - "

"Seriously," his back bumped up against the wall. "It's in my contract - that bit that nobody ever reads."

"What?" - of course, coming from Sam. Sam the almost good boy. Sam the pre-law, who knew only morons signed contracts without fully understanding the fine print and jargon.

- in afterthought, it'd been stupid. His reimbursement cheque had been pitiful.

"Yeah - the publisher got the final word. I - really - didn't know until they were knocking on my door."

"Have you seen the show?"

"I - " well " - I spent some time with the director and writers."

"Let me repeat." Dean's pseudo-sweetness nearly sent him into fits. "Have you even seen the show?"

"Well - "

An instant later he was sitting on the couch, Sam's laptop on the coffee table in front, sandwiched firmly between the two brothers. - he wasn't surprised. Nothing surprised him - except the shotgun that had been purposefully placed against his ribcage. He wondered if it was loaded -

- the video took an eternity to buffer: The cost of stealing wireless signals from two houses down. It was favourited along the top bookmarks bar; he suspected that Sam had watched (and re-watched, and re-re-watched) it dozens of times over the past forty-eight hours.

"I could go make some popc - "

"Shut up, Chuck." - and he did.

Eventually, some painfully indeterminate amount of time later, the screen flashed. Black. "SUPERNATURAL" seizing across like some epileptic ghost. Cue: Lawrence, Kansas, twenty-two years ago. Happy family -

- Come on, let's say goodnight to your brother

- Good night Sam

- Good night, love

- Hey Dean.

- Daddy!

- Hey buddy! What do ya think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football?

Stanford, present day.

- We've got work to do.

Cut to credits.

Silence fell alongside the score, names and credits fading in-and-out; the MegaVideo eventually cutting out. Chuck felt his eyes watering.

"That was beautiful."

"Beautiful!" and Dean was standing, waving the gun in the air. Again, he wondered if it was loaded - "Chuck, do you have any idea?"

"It's - eerily accurate - " every muscle and tendon in Sam's body had tensed; Chuck couldn't believe his voice was so calm.

"It's freaking filmed in Canada!"

" - but the house looks exactly the same as our old one."

" - mom and dad - "

" - the car - "

" - the way the ghost acted - "

" - Jess's smurf PJs - "

" - Sam even talks that way."

"Well - " alright. maybe he'd done more than just talk with the producers and writers. Months on the dialog; weeks working with special effects teams, scouting out locations, making sure everything was just right.

" - but I do not look like that pretty boy."

"Actually - " and it was Sam's turn to hesitate. "There's a bit of a resemblance."

"Don't get me started, garganto."

The cast had been the hardest part: They were all obviously actors, but possessed a certain chemistry that Chuck found appropriate. - and, well, other similarities. Of course, Sam and Dean - the real Sam and Dean - were biological brothers, and the fact was undeniable. (Why, exactly, so many people believed the "FBI Special Agent Dunham, and this is my partner, Agent Forbes" line, Chuck would never know.) But - there was something in Ackles' bad-boy handsomeness; Padalecki's floppy hair and half-grin. The parallels were unmistakable.

"And you gave them our real names."

"Oh - well." Crap. "There's a lot of other Sam's and Dean's out there."

"Sure, oh, yeah - " Dean rolling his eyes. "Loads of Sam and Dean Winchesters - like the rifle."

"Who just happen to be brothers."

"And, by coincidence, have the same birthdays."

"Look the same."

"Act the same."

"And, oh yeah, have the same car, personal histories, and profession."

"Every hunter in the world is going to be on our tail - "

"Oh, I don't know." Oh. Crap. Holy Crap. "It probably won't even get to season two - "

"The show's gone viral, Chuck."

"No thanks to those stupid Mr Pretty Boys," Dean grumbled. "You - " he shuddered. " - you know what happened to us yesterday?"

"No." Did he even want to?

"We're sitting at Lou's Diner in Minnesota, hauling ass to get here - but figure we can afford a quick stop for breakfast and gas. Sitting there, minding our own business, when this sixteen-year-old fat chick starts to throw a fit."

"What?" Did he even want to know?

"Yeah, Chuck." - and Dean isn't happy. "She throws a fit because the real Sam and Dean Winchester - from the TV SHOW - are sitting at the booth beside her, and the real Imapala is sitting in the parking lot."

" - she ran out to check if it actually has a tape deck."

"Oh." Oh Holy Crap, Batman.

"Chuck, if they make T-shirts, I will personally drag you to Hell."

- oh.

September 12th, 2010. Edited: October 12th, 2010.