I was told to be at the door at 6AM and if "my pretty boy actor ass wasn't there, they were just going to leave me behind." And, honestly, I believe that. I was there, early mind you, just to make sure that they wouldn't' take off early and leave my ass behind just for good measure. I think Dean would do that, I'm pretty sure of it actually.
I got to the door and the brothers were arguing so loudly you could hear them outside. "I don't' even know why you let Chuck talk you into signing off on this TV thing?!"
"We wouldn't let him publish any more books…"
"Oh yeah, and this whole TV thing makes it less intrusive."
"But he needed the money, and honestly so did we."
"We do just fine Sam. And for God's sake he's a prophet, the dicks upstairs will figure out some way to keep him from starving."
"That's not the point…"
"Then what is the point Sammy? You hoping that Brad Pitt comes in to play you?"
"God. You are so frustrating."
"Then it's true! That's what you're hoping for. I knew you had to have a man crush on the guy."
"Dean. Chuck needed this gig. Needed it. We owe him."
"Owe him WHAT?! He's just been running around airing our dirty laundry. He owes us."
"Whatever. The thing is. WE agreed. And this Aaron guy seems to just want to get it right." There was a pause in the conversation. "Don't' roll your eyes at me Dean. You can't tell me that if he didn't come here and do exactly what he is doing right now…"
"You mean standing in front of the door listening to this entire conversation?" I stood there stunned, they knew. Sam opened the door, not looking at me, but continuing his argument with Dean.
"Well, yeah that and coming here and learning about us. If you were to turn on the television when the show came on and see it, and he didn't play you right, you would have a fit and you know it Dean."
"Whatever. You coming in or what?" Dean demanded. I hurried inside. "But seriously Sam, I can't believe you agreed to it in the first place."
"I got you to agree."
"I was drunk."
"But you said yes."
"That's cheating."
"Nope. You always know what you are doing even when you are drunk, so I don't buy that." Dean gave Sam a glare that would set most people on fire and went into the bathroom and slammed the door.
"The only place we get privacy is the bathroom, so slamming the door is equivalent to being a jerk."
"I heard that bitch!" I suppressed a laugh, something told me that I would live longer if I did. Sam shook his head and went back to his duffel and began putting clothes inside of it.
"The first thing you need to be more aware of, if you are going to be spending time with us, is the salt lines."
"What?"
"The salt line you broke as you walked into the room." I looked behind me and sure enough there was a thin line of salt on the floor just beyond the door's reach.
"What's the salt for?"
"Keeps the supernatural baddies out."
"You can't be serious, salt?" I asked. What? Was this yutz going to tell me that pepper and mustard mixed would cure cancer.
"Salt. It symbolizes purity…" The bathroom door swung open and Dean stood there and glared at his brother, took his toothbrush out of his mouth and mumbled.
"He doesn't care Sammy."
"But he needs to know."
"All he needs to know is that there are salt lines down for our protection and he needs to be careful of them. He doesn't need to know everything."
"Don't be like Dad." Sam said. And apparently that was an insult, because if Dean was seething earlier, now he was down right lethal.
"Low blow Sammy. Low blow." And the door slammed again.
"Just be careful of the salt." Sam said to me. I nodded. Note to self, don't piss Dean off and be careful of the salt.
Dean seemed to be over it when he came out of the bathroom and threw his toiletries bag inside his duffel. "You scan the room?" He asked Sam.
"Yeah."
"Let's get out of here." I followed behind Sam and they began to get inside the Impala. I went behind them and started for my car when Dean stopped me.
"Where in the hell do you think you're goin?"
"I'm getting into my car to follow."
"Nope. You are not following me in some prissy ass car. Get in the back pretty boy."
"My name is Aaron."
"Yeah whatever." I didn't move when he thought I should have and urged me, not so politely, to get a move on.
With my leather bag tucked neatly beside Dean and Sam's military issue duffel bags I encouraged to get in the back of the late 60s beast and the car took off at break neck speed with hard rock blaring. Mind you it was wasn't 6:30 yet. What a way to wake up.
The music, finally, blissfully stopped somewhere around 11, and the brothers began discussing whatever Sam had been looking at since we pulled away, and I pulled out my script to begin studying and getting ready for the first episode. Before I knew what was going on, a hand came and swiped my script out of my hand and threw it out of the window.
"Hey! What the hell?! That was my script!"
"This is the script pretty boy." Dean said and threw a file back at me. "Since you didn't listen to Sam's briefing, you better read up quick. We're going to be there in an hour."
"What briefing?"
"If you had been listening you would know. I suggest you just get busy reading pretty boy." And then the music blared again. Sam turned to face the window and I was effectively cut off from their inner circle. I looked down at the file in my lap and sighed.
I began reading and was oddly intrigued, a woman in the early 1900s had committed suicide in her home. Her name was Maggie Anderson, and she was 30 when she died. There wasn't a suicide note, or anything. After that, there seemed to be an odd death in the house ever ten years, in the month of April. Just like now.
"So," I yelled over the music. "Dean? Sam?" I yelled and waited. Dean visibly sighed and turned the radio down.
"What pretty boy?"
I did my best to ignore the nick name, took a breath and said, "So, you guys think this Maggie is causing people to die?"
"That's one thought." Dean said.
"How can someone who is dead do that?"
"She's a ghost genius." Dean said unceremoniously. "Ghosts get pissy and they do things like killing people."
"I still don't believe this."
"Oh, you'll believe it when you've been thrown back first into a book case half as many times as I have." Dean said.
And that my friends, explains Dean Winchester. Dean pulled up to the town, parked, and he and Sam went through the glove box and pulled out what looked like FBI wallets.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Acting. You should try it sometime pretty boy." Dean said with a smirk and got out of the car. My God is that man a son of a bitch.
