Notes: Oh, I had so much fun with this chapter. Writing the song was a bit difficult, but in the end I just made a long poem like thing. It's the last scene that I really liked the most XD Oh, and I think you all should know that I do a satanic dance every time a story's view count reaches 666...jk, not really.
Aguestus, thank you for the review! I literally squealed with delight at your comments . I am so happy that you are enjoying it so much, and I am more than happy to keep posting regularly for all of you awesome readers! I'm even more glad to hear that more people than just me think that the funny parts are actually funny! Hearts and hugs to ya!
Disclaimer: I wanna be a billionaire, so very bad. Buy all the fandoms I don't have... I wanna be the owner of both of these. So can I have them pretty please?
Warnings: This story contains religious themes and undertones throughout the whole story. No offense is meant. It is simply one single view/opinion that someone may have. It doesn't necessarily have to be the authors actual opinion, so if possible I would like to ask for no flames and if you are truly offended then feel free to private message me to share your thoughts and you can skip this story.
CHAPTER 3
The shellshocked crew all sat around one of the back tables of the small bar in town, each gripping their mugs a little tighter than usual to feel grounded again after their little discovery. Meg still wore a horrified and confused look on her face that had yet to slip even once. Chuck wore the exact same expression.
"Why…that can't be a statue of me. There is no reason for it."
"Can't argue with that," said Dean, staring into his own cup of…whatever, hoping to maybe find some answers in the foam. Next to him Balthazar had finally taken a sip of the only drink that this place offered and promptly started choking on it, is face turning a spectacular shade of purple.
"Zhe shi she me lan dong xi?!" (What kind of rotten food is this?)
He continued to cough and sputter as Bobby pounded on his back unhelpfully and Chuck sent an apologetic look.
"Sorry, I should have warned you. It's called "Mudder's milk". It's the only drink they serve in the compound. It's got all the protein, vitamins, and carbs of a full on feast, plus it's fifteen percent alcohol. It has quit a kick. First time I drank it I passed out for three days."
Dean cautiously sniffed and then sipped at his own beverage, gagging at both sensations, "Dude, this is nasty!" Meg sipped at hers once, and then downed the whole thing with a satisfied burp at the end and then proceeded to drink Balthazar's and Dean's abandoned cups with gusto, much to the disgust of the others. And Bobby treated his own like hot coffee. Nasty, bitter, too hot, or gross, to drink more than a sip at a time, but drinking it none the less.
"I believe Cassy told me about a similar practice among the ancient Egyptians. They would feed the slaves a special kind of beer that was basically liquid bread that would keep them from starving and would knock them out at night so they wouldn't try to run away or cause trouble…I think Gabriel tried that on us once when we were little, only he tried mixing night-time cold medicine in to our ice cream," Balthazar pondered out loud. Not for the first time Dean wondered how he and Cas survived growing up with Gabriel.
Then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A well-dressed individual had just entered the bar and was looking around as if trying to spot something. He stood out right away, and not just to Dean's crew, but everyone. In this place, even the Hawaiian shirts that Gabriel wore on a regular basis would look like a business suit compared to the mudders who wore torn and worn, threadbare clothes. But this guy, he was wearing some silk coat and shirt, his shoes so shiny that Dean could see the light reflected, even in the darkened bar. This guy was clearly not a part of the norm out here.
"Now what is a gussied-up fellow like you doing in a place like this?" he murmured to himself. He made a mental note to keep an eye on him.
Off to the side of their table was a pair of young teens staring wide-eyed at Chuck. As soon as the mechanic noticed their attention he started squirming in his seat, "Dean…Dean , they're staring at me."
"Relax, dear Chuck. They are probably just trying to figure out if you're a badly dressed alien, or just have no fashion sense," soothed Balthazar like he was trying to calm down a skittish cat. Dean payed them little mind because at the moment, the well-dressed man had spotted them and was making his way over to the crew.
"You wouldn't be looking for Kessler, would you?" He said by way of greeting, and hovered over Dean.
None of his crew reacted to the name, smart enough to not give away the game just yet. "We're just having a brew," Dean stated casually. The man bristled.
"I knew a Kessler. He was a good middleman. Low profile. Didn't filch. Last week, the factory foremand and his product crew heard he was moving contraband through town. Got into a peck of trouble for it, it seems." He said as if talking about the recent weather and inspecting his fancy leather gloves.
"What kind of peck was that?" asked Bobby. Dean had to give the Sheppard credit for playing this like an experienced criminal.
The man seemed to consider it a moment before answering, "The kind where they hacked off his hands and feet with a machete and rolled him into the bog."
Meg's lips twitched slightly, "Sounds like they peck pretty hard around here." They sounded like her kind of people.
At this point Dean knew that they were dealing with someone who knew something about there job and he didn't want to beat around the bush any longer, "Listen, my client offworld is waiting for his delivery. If the goods are gone…"he started sharply, but the other man sat down and waved off Dean's concern.
"Oh, not to worry. Your man's merchandise is here, safe in Kessler's hiding place. We've just got to figure out how to get it across town without being seen by the foreman and the prods. I advise we all lay low for a moment." He gave each of the members a hard look and handed Dean a piece of paper with contact information before he got up and left quickly before even more mudders saw him with the newcomers in town.
Dean turned back to his crew, "This day just keeps getting better and better," he said darkly.
Suddenly there was loud clapping as a mudder sat down in a stool on the small stage with a guitar that looked like it had seen better days. They figured that it would just been some light playing in the corner, But then the man on stage started to sing, and the Impala crew's mouths dropped open.
"Chuck! The man we call Chuck!
He looked upon our world of sadness,
Shook his head at all of the madness.
This isn't right, he said shouting out with might!
People suffering, screaming in the night.
Get up my brothers, get out of the muck!
The hero of Canton, the man they call Chuck!
Our hero saw the Mudder's backs breaking,
Our spirits low, our very souls aching.
But he gave us a vision, and with it the sight,
He told us to look up and put up a fight for what's right!
You have the power, you have the choice
Use your free will and each of you rejoice!
The singing continued in the background as Dean slowly turned back to Chuck, silently demanding an explanation for what was assaulting his ears. Chuck didn't even notice his glare, he was too transfixed to the performer.
"Um…Chuck?"
"Y-yes, Dean?"
"You have any light you'd like to shed on this development?"
Chuck's answer was a helpless shrug. Next to him Meg looked like she might just cry, "No. This must be what going mad feels like….I think I'll need to hug Castiel later."
The singing went on, this time all of the mudders in the bar started to sing along with serious gusto like it was an anthem to them. It was too much for Dean to handle and he grabbed Bobby's half finished milk and downed it in one go.
Get up my brothers, get out of the muck!
The hero of Canton, the man they call Chuck!
By word of this man we all joined hands,
Brought down the evil, and took back our lands.
"Ohhhhh, I'll be gorrammed. That's what happened! They read my book! Someone read my book! People have read my book!" He cheered to himself, a giant grin spreading over his face.
"Your book? I thought you haven't finished one yet."
Chuck looked a little bashful, "Well, I finished one. This one…a long time ago, but I thought it was a dud. It never sold a copy when I was here. I wonder if this means I get paid for it…." Chuck's attention was drawn back to the song about him, now eagerly awaiting to hear the rest like it was his first book review.
Dean snorted, "We gotta go to the crappy town where I'm the hero!" And turned back to the entertainment, not quite believing it was actually happening.
The man they call Chuck!
Castiel had been working non-stop since the others had left, but nothing he did seemed to be helping. In fact, he was pretty sure he had made it worse. He had been trying in vain to fix the mess that he had made of Bobby's bible, frantically trying to rub away the ink only to smear it in further. Then he had tried some of the correction paint over his added notes and drawings, but the white didn't match the yellowed pages so it had ended up looking like a bird had excreted over each page. And then in another attempt to get rid of the dye, he had gone to the laundry room where he remembered seeing a bottle there that said it got rid of stains, but it turned out that the substance of bleach did little more than make the leather wrinkle and smell foul and some of the pages dissolved at the corners.
His frustration was reaching epic and desperate proportions. He felt poorly about marking up Bobby's book and he wanted to set it right since the older man had been kind enough to try and make him feel better.
Finally running out of ideas, Castiel decided it was time to find his brother and ask him for assistance. He had helped him when they were children and Cas had broken his toy plane. He was a mechanic, and in Cas' eyes, his brother could fix anything.
He sent a pulse through the ship, trying to find an answering warmth from wherever Gabriel was. The return call and the additional flutter told him that Gabriel was in his room, and that Sam was also there. This was wonderful, Sam was also very smart and might also have some advice, thought Castiel and he walked to the crew's quarters holding the tattered and soggy bible in his hands.
Once in the hallway outside of the door, he started to hear odd noises coming from their room. Loud thuds, bumps, groans and gasps. It sounded to Cas like they were straining while trying to move furniture he concluded. Perhaps if I help them with the furniture, they will assist me in my project, he mused.
He knocked lightly on the door, "Gabriel. It is Castiel speaking to you. May I come in?" He asked.
There was more grunting and a long pause, then some more moans. Castiel was about to assume that they had not heard him when he heard his brother shout, "Yes!" very enthusiastically. Satisfied that he had gained permission to enter, Castiel opened the door and walked in, and then promptly screamed in terror, the pitch of his voice shattering several glass objects in the room before he darted out of the room, tossing the bible in the air as he went, the pages fluttering over the room.
From their spot on the bed, the naked Sam and Gabriel started to freak out.
"Castiel?!"
Lol! I laughed so hard writing that last scene. And when I was writing Chuck's excitement at knowing people read his book, I was totally relating. His reaction is the same as mine every time I get a review or I see the number of views on the story stats. Chuck, man. I feel ya bro. Next chappie up tomorrow super early because I will only have interweb access for the first few hours of the day XP