A/N This first chapter, is the setup. Please review and tell me if there is a genere that you absouletly must see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. I plan to update every monday. (pft, but i plan a lot of things). The Story is set up in the fourth season, before the huge amounts of spoilerly stuff was dumped on us. So as far contiuity goes, they just know there is a war and they have to stop it.
Disclaimer: Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own.
Chapter One: In which Jensen Ackles shuddered and stopped reading Fan Fiction
It was a normal day in the universe that occupied Sam and Dean Winchester. There was a war brewing up in the cosmos between angels and demons. With enough duct tape however, many were assured that the seals would no break. For back up, the Winchesters were kept appraised (mostly) of the situation. Still, it was not their main concern. They had larger issues in their day to day struggle against the forces of evil. In a Circus themed motel room, somewhere in Wisconsin, Dean was trying to reveal some important information to Sam. It was difficult and Dean was struggling for words. Sam was pacing, already unnerved by the clown bed sheets.
"Wait," Sam placed a hand on his temple, "you're trying to tell me that, that, no… that's impossible…"
"It's true Sam," Dean said digging through his weapons duffle, "our lives are controlled by fan girls."
"I don't see any hordes of screaming girls chasing us daily," Sam declared gesturing wildly. "When did you even arrive at this conclusion?"
"Look, Sam, they're here. It's just a matter of noticing these things," Dean said pulling out his gun, "I can even prove it."
With that, Dean quickly shot himself in the face. Sam barely had enough time to run to his side and deliver an angst ridden cry of, "DEEEAN!" before his brother sat up. Dean smiled and patted his wholly unscathed skull. "See? I'm telling you man, they'd never let us get hurt. They sit somewhere dictating out our lives!"
Sam slapped Dean on the side of his head. "I can't believe you just shot yourself in the face. Why not the shoulder?"
"They wouldn't heal it. Shoulder wounds are more angst and family stitching time." Dean shrugged.
Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe. But … alright, I need pie to handle this. And we came here for a case."
Dean snickered. "Why do you even think there is a case here? I mean, really, how many times can Wisconsin be haunted."
Sam shrugged as they grabbed their coats and once more walked out of the motel room and its creepy unicorn decorations. At the diner absorbed in obituaries, and loose papers, they failed to notice the two teenagers walk in. The girls got in to a corner booth and ordered milkshakes. One giggled incessantly, tugging on her ponytail. "Rebecca," she asked sincerely, "do you think this case will end well?"
Rebecca pushed some of her heavy black bangs from her heavily outlined eyes. "No, Erica, I do not think it will."
Both girls giggled, and started scratching ideas on their napkins. As discreetly as two hormonal teenagers can be, they, frequently and fervently, glanced at the Winchesters as often as they could.
"Hey," Sam looked up, "here's one. Eric Jennings, dies of heart attack, 26. Found in his house, among scattered bits of poetry and used tissues."
Dean furrowed his brow. Between mouthfuls of pecan pie he choked out, "So? What do we care if someone TAPed out?"
"Teen angst poetry?" It was a good lead, Sam thought, if this was even a case. He decided to neglect mentioning the growing amount of crumbs on Dean's face. "Well," Sam said brushing his hair aside, "his friends say that over the past forty-eight hours we went from melancholy, to sad, to depressed, to completely angst ridden."
"You think he died of an angst overload?"
"Yea, before this he was just a normal happy-go-lucky guy. It's been him and four others that have all had these kinds of heart attacks."
"Hmm. Well we might be invulnerable to this monster, then," Dean said thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?"
"An Angst Inducing Monster. I don't even think it's possible for us to overload," Dean smirked.
Rebecca looked at Erica and laughed. Sam stood up and paid the check. As they left Dean whispered in his ear, "Hey, I think those two girls have been watching us all during lunch."
"You're crazy," Sam hissed, "and we've got work to do."
To Be Continued...
