Alrighty! Here's chapter two! So basically, I've decided that this story is probably not going to be much longer than 5-7 chapters, but who knows, maybe I'll think of some super-exciting ideas. I'll have the interns brainstorm. (And by interns, I mean my 'editors'. One of them is ⅔ of the way through with supernatural, and the other hates this story idea and is only on season 1, so I'm thinking I need new interns.)

Also, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/followed already! I know that 3 reviews isn't a lot, but it made me really happy that three people thought the first chapter was good enough to beg me to write more. (1 in all caps)

And so, I proudly present, Chapter 2!
-Fox

"So, you can't help us out, not at all?" Dean asked, as he eased his foot off the breaks. The Impala roared back to life.

"Nope, you guys have to figure it out yourself," I replied, stretching out in the backseat.

"Not even a little hint?" Dean asked again.

"No, or something will go wrong." I let out a breath.

"So then what use are you?" Dean said, jokingly.

"Well, my fanfiction skills aren't shit, I can obsess for hours, and I can talk fast enough to be an auctioneer," I supplied.

"Speaking of fanfiction," Sam asked. "How popular is Supernatural?"

"Huge," I said, smiling. "Superwholock literally dominates tumblr."

"Superwholock?"

"It's a multi-fandom name. It's a combination of Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Basically, it's mostly teenage girls who rant and come up with head-cannons on tumblr, then write fanfiction about it."

"You said you write fanfiction?"

"Yup. I read my first fanfic when I was ten, wrote my first story about a year later. It was for this one anime my brother showed me. I had an account that I shared with a friend, except somehow, my mom found it. That was embarrassing..." I trailed off.

"You were eleven when you wrote your first fanfic?" Sam asked, skeptical. "Was it any good?"

"Well," I started. "A little cliche, but I've always been pretty good with grammar. Also, I accidentally watched porn when I was eight, so I knew about that... stuff, so when my mom found my stories that mentioned mature topics, she actually almost sent me to a therapist."

"Porn? At age eight?" Dean sounded legitimately shocked.

"Hey, you can't go far on YouTube without hearing someone talk about porn, and I've always been naturally curious."

"So, what's life as a... fangirl like?" Sam asked, curious.

"Well, when you have one thing that makes you really happy," I started, "everything else fades away. Life is better when your watching your favorite show, everything else is all just black and white."

"What do you guys do during hiatuses?"

"Cry, mostly. But lots of times, people start shows during hiatuses. Once, when I watched nine seasons of a show in six weeks, finishing about a month before the show's tenth season came out."

"How did you have all that time?"

"I don't sleep," I said. "Well, actually, I sleep from about four in the morning to noon. Either that, or from three to about five thirty."

"So you get either eight hours, or two? That doesn't seem super healthy." Dean grumbled.

"You two are one to talk," I said. "Don't you guys get like six hours of sleep per week?"

"True," they both agreed.

The conversation lulled, trickling out. I rested my head against the window, watching the scenery pass by. I wish I had my phone. It had all my music on it, and right now, I would kill for a little bit of a distraction. The silent car was beyond awkward, and I could tell both Sam and Dean were uncomfortable.

Then I remembered- my pajama shorts, tiny as they may be, we're amazing in many ways. Not only did they look adorable, as well as provided surperior comfort, they had weirdly deep pockets. I pulled them out of my backpack and dug through them, turning up a paper clip, a five-dollar bill, a pair of earbuds, and most importantly, my phone. I let out this little inhuman squeak when I saw it. It's one of the few things I have left from my old life, (not that I really want to go back) but it has all 500 of my songs on it. That, and the tumblr app might still be working.

I popped in the earbuds, closed my eyes, and let the world fade away to the sound of a piano.

After about twenty minutes, I pulled out one of the buds and turned the volume down. "Are we almost there?" I asked, trying not to sound like a whining toddler. We had been driving for three hours already, and my legs were starting to cramp up.

"About fifty more miles," Dean said, not taking his eyes off the road.

"With Dean driving, that means less than an hour," Sam supplied, answering my next question before I could ask it.

I nodded, then put my earbud back in my ear, turning up the volume, louder than before. I have always been able to lose myself in music. I can listen to the same song for hours on end. When I was younger, I was really depressed. The only thing that had kept me going was music. However, back then, I had wanted to be a pop star. Now, I just liked tuning out the rest of the world, being able to just think.

I thought about my life, back home. I thought about my parents, my brother, my dogs. I wondered- did they miss me? Did they think I ran away, or was kidnapped? Did they worry about my safety, and wish I were back home, with them? Did they care at all? Or did they just act like nothing had happened, like I had never even existed to begin with?

I thought about my friends. My friend group consisted mainly of me, three other girls, and two guys. I've known one of them for practically my whole life, and most of the others since I was in kindergarten. We didn't really hang out until about fifth grade though.

But would my friends miss me? Most of the time, I felt like the leader of our group. I had sort of united three different friend groups who wouldn't have really become friends if I hadn't pushed us together. But sometimes, I felt like my friends would talk about me behind my back, complaining about how rude, lazy, sarcastic, obsessive, and explicit I could be.

I send a lot of jokey insults at my friends, and sometimes it's hard to tell that they know I'm joking. One of my biggest fears was that one day, they'd all just leave me alone, tell me that they hate everything about me. For them to tell me that I'm annoying and bossy, and just a pain to be around.

So maybe they're all glad that I'm gone. No more Annie, stealing strawberries from people's lunches, and ranting about fictional characters. No more Annie, bossing everyone around, making a fool of herself. No more Annie, forcing her friends to read her mediocre fanfiction and having them watch the shows she's obsessed with. No more Annie.

Thoughts like this swirl around in my head, bumping against each other, for the rest of the ride. By the time we reached the motel, I was beyond ready to escape my own thoughts. As soon as the car stopped, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and hopped out of the Impala. I rocked back and forth on my heels impaitently, as I waited for Sam and Dean to collect themselves.

Once they were ready, I followed Sam inside as he booked the room. He handed me a room key, then headed back to Dean, to help him unload the Impala. I followed him out the door, but instead of returning to the car, I found our room, then unlocked the door, throwing my bag on the couch. The Winchesters came in a few moments later, dropping their bags on their beds. "Okay, you two go do your thing, I'll stay here and use Sam's laptop to watch Netflix and update my blog," I said, stretching out on the couch. "Oh, and tell Cas to get his feathery ass down here, he's supposed to be here for this one."

Surprisingly, niether complain. Sam hands me his laptop, then he and Dean take turns in the bathroom, putting on their suits. Within the hour, they're out the door again.

Once they're gone, I log into my Netfilx account, (which works, surprisingly) and I watch about six episodes of some show I've never heard of. None of the shows I actually like are in this universe, which sucks. Not only that, but tumblr doesn't exist in this universe either. Yet another drawback.

After another hour on Netflix, I decided I was hungry.

I pushed the white-hot laptop off my legs, then stood up off the couch, stretching my arms, cracking my back. I reach for the wad of twenties that Dean handed me before they left, then jotted a quick note on the desk.

I slipped the room key and my phone into my pocket, then headed out the door. As I walked away from the building, I felt a a strong breeze. I shivered a little, then pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

I walked along for about three blocks, until I reached what looked to be a bustling diner. I pushed open the door, hearing a bell jingle overhead. The hostess looked up from her little podium and smiled at me, flashing her pearly whites. "Just one?" She asked. I nodded, and she lead me to a seat at the end of the bar. I hoisted myself onto a barstool as she handed me a menu. "I'll send someone over to take your order in just a moment!" She said, smiling again. I smiled back, and then she was gone.

After I had placed my order, I leaned back on the stool, spinning a little. The decor here was really interesting, and it really felt like I had been sent back to the fifties. Amid the hustle and bustle, I thought I could hear a familliar voice, rising above the tangles of conversation around me. And sure enough, I managed to spot Team Free Will, sitting at a booth on the other side of the restaurant. They were discissing something, and I assumed they were working. I was about to get off my stool and walk over, just to say hello. But I figured if I showed up, it would throw them off. Even so, I was itching to yell, 'it's the damn doctor and your psychic friend!'

And so, I watched them. I know that sounds really stalkery, but it wasn't like that. It was like watching an episode of Supernatural, seeing them work, watching the realization flood into their eyes as they put two and two together. It was amazing. I still couldn't fully believe that I was here. When I was younger, I had imagined what it would be like to be whisked away to another world, where everything I had ever dreamed of was a reality.

The fantasy changed over the years. First, I was a princess. Then, a pop star. After that, a famous actress, then an author, then simply just rich. At one point, I wanted a TARDIS to show up at my door, take me away from school, stress, my family, and everything. But starting a few years ago, right after I started watching Supernatural, all I had wanted was to find myself in the Impala, hunting along side the Winchesters. At the time, I knew it was ridiculous. For one, that would never happen, fictional characters are just that. Fictional. That, and I was only thirteen, and Sam and Dean would never travel around with a thirteen-year-old girl.

After I had finished my burger, I left some cash on the table, then walked out of the restaurant. I was about to head back to the motel, but then I spotted the park in which I had arrived in. The sun was out, and it was a glorious day.

I headed for the park, slipping my jacket off my shoulders as I went. The day might not have been all that warm, but the sun was so strong, it was like walking past a heat lamp. I walked for a while, then I sat down on a park bench. I could hear birds chirping, dogs barking. Then, I felt a drip on my head. I looked up, there was nothing but blue skies overhead. Then, another drop of water fell, then another. Soon enough, it was a full-blown sunshower. I got up from the bench to see people rushing for cover, but I just stood there, tansfixed.

I felt the water running down the sides of my face, and I grinned. I loved sunshowers. Everything always looked so cool, shining and shimmering, refracting the sunlight.

I stood there, in the rain, for a good ten minutes. I would have been there longer, but out of nowhere, I heard a voice behind me.

"What are you doing out in the rain?"

I whirled around to see Cas standing behind me. "Cas?" I asked. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you standing in the rain?" He asked, ignoring my question.

"It's a sun shower," I said, as if that explained it.

"Well, yes, I suppose it is, but why are you out here? You're getting drenched."

"I suppose now is when you tell me I'll catch a cold?" I suggested.

"No," Cas said, confused. "Why would I do that?"

"It's a- nevermind." Explaining worried mothers to Cas wouldn't go over well. "I just like the rain," I said.

"But now, you're all wet," Cas stated.

"Well, that tends to happen when you stand in the rain."

"I don't understand humans," Cas muttered, then poofed away.

After the rain stopped, I headed back to the motel, where I proceeded to watch Netflix until Sam and Dean returned, several hours after I had seen them in the diner. When they opened the door, I woke from a half-trance that tends to happen to a person after they've been sitting in the same spot for six hours, watching a screen.

"Hi guys," I chirped, smiling. "How's the case going?"

"We think we might have something, we'll probably wrap it up tomorrow," Sam responded. "Except, you already knew that."

"Well," I said. "I know most of the story, but they only show so much in each episode, you know? I mean, they never show the car trips, or the bathroom breaks, or the sleeping, just the exciting bits. So, in all honesty, I don't know if you wrap up the case tomorrow, or in a week. I just know the answer, but the show never showed your work."

"Did you just make a metaphore to math class?" Sam asked.

"What?" I said, defensively. "Teachers are always yelling at us to show our work, it got ingrained in my mind."

Dean looked over to where I had been sitting when they had walked in. "Have you been sitting there all day?" He asked, gesturing towards the couch.

"I got lunch, and I stood in the rain, but other than that, yeah," I answered.

"But we've been gone for more than 12 hours," Dean said.

"Yeah? And?" I asked, laughing slightly.

"You sat there, and watched Netflix for 12 hours?"

"Bitch please, that's nothing new. 12 hours is nothing! My record is 16."

"How are you not 300 pounds if all you do is sit and watch TV all day?"

"Well, my summer sleep schedule messes up my metabolism. I can eat practically nothing and feel full somedays, and then as soon as school starts and I have to be awake early, I'm a bottomless pit."

"That's... nice?" And that ended our conversation. Sam headed to the bathroom, Dean lay down on his bed, listening to music, and I headed for the couch. I contemplated watching another episode, but I figured Sam would probably want to use his laptop. So I closed my eyes, and drifted off.

After a few days, the case was solved, and we were heading out of town. It was late, and I was laying down in the backseat, my eyes closed. I wasn't asleep, but I had been still for so long, it looked like I was. I was just drifting off when I heard Dean whisper, "Is she asleep yet?" The fog in my mind cleared instantly, but I stayed still.

I could hear Sam shift in his seat as he turned to check on me. He turned back, then responded, "Yeah, looks like it."

"What are we gonna do with her?" Dean asked quietly. "We don't have time to babysit." I felt a pang in my chest. Here it was, the dreaded conversation I knew was coming. They didn't want me with them. Of course they didn't, I told myself. Why would they?

"Well, we can't just leave her somewhere, we need to get her home," Sam countered.

"Sam, everyone around us dies, it's a fact," Dean remarked somberly.

"We could send her to Garth?" Sam suggested. I shuddered. That wouldn't be good, plus, he gets turned into a werewolf in a few months, I don't want to be part of that.

"Garth would get her killed," Dean stated flatly.

"We could teach her to hunt?" Sam tried. "She already knows a bunch of the basics, she's been watching us hunt for eight years." See look, Sam had been listening. I wasn't an idiot, I knew enough to stay inside the ring of salt.

"But look at her," Dean said, gesturing at me. "She's small, and probably weak." I couldn't take it anymore, so I sat up. I could take being thought of like an annoying child. I get it, they don't need me weighing them down. But just because I'm a girl does not automatically mean I'm weak.

"Excuse me?" I said. Both Sam and Dean jumped in their seats."I may not be a hunter, but don't ever mistake me for weak. When I was in elementary school, I had a reputation for kicking the crap out of people that pissed me off. Three kids on my bus were terrified of me! Once, I beat a kid with my shoe. I've had a whole lot of crap handed to me, and I'm still here, yelling at the world, and anyone who will listen. I am not weak."

"Okay, then what do you propose we do?" Dean asked.

"Let me help," I said. "Teach me some stuff, like how to shoot a gun, and what the most effective places to kick things are. Let me prove my worth."

"But you'll get hurt, you know that, right?" Sam said.

"I've watched enough to know that you two and people around you don't last very long. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I, honestly, don't even want to go home." I meant it.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. I nodded. "Alright, we'll begin training tomorrow."

Please review if you liked it? Even if you didn't?

-Fox