A/N: I don't own anyone but my OCs….though I wished I owned the guys….*sighs*

Sam feeling better but not 100% as his stomach continued to turn in tight knots. Dean entered with Brooklyn on his heels relieved to see him upright.

"So it lives!" Dean smirked. Sam shot him the finger while keeping his eyes on the screen.

"Sam did you find out anything?" Brooklyn handed him another bottle of Ginger ale.

"Thanks," he smiled briefly before taking a much needed drink. Brooklyn nodded and peeked over his shoulder.

"Yeah I found the name of the publisher and Edmund Carver is a pen name."

"Really?" Brooklyn found the newfound fact intriguing. Obviously this guy didn't want to know who he really was.

"Sammy you feeling up to a little visit?" Dean turned serious. Sam tried to stand but his body fell back on the mattress. His stomach remained volatile telling the hunter it wouldn't be a wise idea to go.

"No," he sprinted towards the bathroom where the silence was interrupted by the loud hard heaves of his stomach.

Brooklyn and Dean traded looks then headed out the door.

The publisher's house was strewn in posters of the Supernatural books. Brooklyn let out a low whistle seeing this gal was a die hard.

"So you published the books?" Dean asked.

"Yeah yeah, these books….never got the attention they deserved," she sighed running her hand over every volume on her shelf.

"All everybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap. You know Dr. Sexy MD? Right," she said with disgust.

"Right, which why we think our article will bring light to an underappreciated series," Brooklyn responded. She saw the publisher's eyes grow wide with excitement at the idea.

"Yeah! Yeah! I mean if we got a little bit of good press then maybe we could start publishing again!"

"No no god no," Dean said in protest, "I mean the series is so complete. Why would you wanna do that? With what Brooklyn going to Hell…."

"Oh that was one of my favorites because Brook was so strong and sad and brave…and Dean. I mean the best parts are when they cry. Like in Crossroads when Brooklyn cried and cursed the Heavens before making that deal and in Death along the Mississippi when Dean thought he had lost her when the werecat attacked Brook. The way he poured his heart out to her even as she lay unconscious…."

Brooklyn looked at Dean and mouthed "What the…."

"God if only real men would be so open and in touch with their feelings," she sighed.

"Real men?" Dean scoffed at the notion.

"Oh I mean no offense but how often do you cry like that hmmmm?" She looked pointedly at Dean.

"Well right now I'm crying inside," Dean thumped his fist on his chest for added effect.

The publisher tilted her head looking offended by his response, "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady this whole thing is funny," Brooklyn pinched and twist his bicep watching him yelp in pain.

"How do I know you two are legit?"

Brooklyn leaned across the desk looking hard at the woman, "Oh trust me we're legit."

The publisher moved forward until she met Brooklyn halfway across the desk, "Well I don't want some smart-ass article making fun of my hunters," she said firmly.

"Oh no we would never do that," Brooklyn said it with such calm and coolness that Dean saw the publisher relax and sit back in her chair. Brooklyn pushed back taking her place beside Dean before finishing her statement, "We're actually….really big fans."

"You've read the books?" The publisher asked with a note of skepticism. Brooklyn looked over at Dean knowing this was going to be easy.

"What's the year and model of the vehicle?" She asked.

"A 1967 Chevy Impala," Dean answered quickly. What was this Jeopardy!?

"What's January 24th?"

"Dean's birthday," Brooklyn responded with a sly grin then added, "August 20th is Brooklyn's."

The publisher nodded and knew she would have to try a harder question.

"When Brooklyn and Pastor Jim had a talk at his house what was she drinking?"

"Jim Beam," Brooklyn said with one breath. The publisher laughed and put her hands up in surrender.

"Okay just one more. What's the name of Dean's favorite song?"

"It's a tie," he started with a grin, "Between Zep's Rambin On and Travelin River Side Blues."

"Okay, okay I'll stop the interrogation! What do you want to know?"

"What's Edmund Carver's real name?" Brooklyn asked. The publisher's face fell and she started shaking her head.

"Oh….Oh no no I can't…." She started to say.

"We just wanna talk to him and get the Supernatural scoop directly from him," Brooklyn covered quickly.

"He's a very private man," she argued but Brooklyn continued to dig her heels in.

"Please? Like I said we are very very huge fans," Dean watched as Brooklyn turned around and pulled her shirt exposing the detailed pentagram tattoo on her lower back. She motioned to Dean with her eyes to show his. He rolled his eyes like a five year old and pulled his shirt down to reveal his. The publisher is stunned at first then grins like a kid at Christmas.

"Awesome! You know what? I got one too," Brooklyn and Dean stared wide eyed at the tattoo etched on her ass.

"Wow I guess you are a fan," Brooklyn gawked.

"Okay, his name is Chuck Shirley and he's a genius. Don't piss him off," she added as the hunters thanked her and left.

The Impala came to a stop at the ramshackle house. Brooklyn stepped out gawking at the house.

"This is where the so called genius lives?" She asked with trepidation.

"Only one way to find out Brook," Dean looked over. Feeling anxious over the whole thing, Brooklyn started to cross the road and up the creaky stairs. The only thing probably holding them up was the termites.

With forceful determination, Dean pushed the doorbell and the hunters waited. The sound of the lock turning made them look up as the door slowly opened. A man dressed in a white slightly dirty shirt, boxers and striped robe answered the door.

"You Chuck Shirley?" Brooklyn asked.

"The same Chuck Shirley who wrote the Supernatural books?" The man peered at them with narrow cautious eyes.

"Maybe….Why?" he asked.

"Well I'm Dean and this is Brooklyn. The same Dean and Brooklyn you've been writing about."

Chuck smirked and slammed the door in their faces. But still the hunters were undeterred and Brooklyn pushed harder on the doorbell keeping her finger there for several seconds. Chuck flung the door open shifting his gaze between them.

"Look I appreciate your enthusiasm, really I do. It's always nice to hear from the fans but for your own good I strongly suggest you two get a life," he started to close the door but Brooklyn rushed forward shoving her body against the splintered frame.

"See we do have a life, Chuck but you're using them for your damn books!" Brooklyn gathered her momentum and pushed the door open the rest of the way. Dean quickly stepped in and closed the door. Chuck backed away feeling like a caged animal.

"Now wait a minute! This isn't funny!" He was now flat against the wall.

"Damn right it isn't funny!" Dean snapped back. The thought of their pain and trials put on as some form of entertainment was downright offensive and in bad taste. Their lives weren't open books damn it!

"Look, all we wanna know is how you're doing it," Brooklyn replied calmly.

"I'm not doing anything!" Chuck frantically replied.

"Well then are you a hunter?" She asked. Chuck quickly shook his head.

"What? No, I'm a writer," he said defensively.

"Then care to explain how you know so much about demons, tulpas and changelings?" Dean crossed his arms and approached the trembling man. Chuck peeled away from the wall and stepped backwards until his calves slammed against the couch and fell off balance. He landed on the cushions but continued to scramble away.

"Is this some kind of Misery thing? That's what it is isn't it?"

"No it isn't some Misery thing, believe me, we are not fans!" Brooklyn snapped back angrily.

"Then what do you want?" Chuck prepared himself for the worst.

Brooklyn sighed and closed her eyes while pinching the bridge of her nose. After a few moments she looked over at the frightened man. A softer expression lit up her face.

"I'm Brooklyn and that's Dean," she found herself repeating herself.

"NO! Brooklyn Dean and Sam are fictional characters! I made them up!"

"Uh no," Dean shook his head, "You need to see something."

Chuck hesitated before following them out to the Impala. As his eyes gazed upon the classic car, Chuck's mouth dropped.

"You even drive one," he pointed at it.

"Drive one? Buddy this is the one and only Impala," Dean beamed with pride while popping open the trunk. The author's eyes went wide at the arsenal.

"Are those real guns?" Dean nodded.

"Yep and this is real rock salt and these," Brooklyn held up the small stack of id's, "Are fake id's."

She did a little hand gesture as if she were showing off something of value or importance which they were of course. Chuck let out a good natured laugh then whistled in amazement.

"I gotta hand it to you guys you are my number one fans. That's….that's awesome," he slowly backed away, "I think I got some posters inside the house…." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

"Chuck wait stop!" Dean hollered as Brooklyn latched onto his arm drawing back towards the hunters.

"Please don't hurt me…." He begged in desperation.

"How much do you know? Do you know about the angels? About Lilith breaking the Seals? About my father, the archangel Gabriel?" Brooklyn looked to him with a searching look in her eyes that blended with the look of despondency.

"Wait a minute, how did you know about that?" Chuck was dumbfounded.

"Question is how do you know?" Dean interrupted him.

"Because I wrote it."

"Wait a minute, you continued writing?" Dean heard the tiny surge of hope in Brooklyn's voice.

"Yeah after the publisher went bankrupt I kept writing. I couldn't stop to be honest. But those books never got published. Hey wait a minute, did Phil put you two up to this?"

Brooklyn and Dean looked at one another before Brooklyn took a small step forward.

"Well allow us to formally introduce ourselves. I'm Brooklyn Winchester and this is my husband Dean."

Chuck held up a finger and looked hard at them.

"I never mentioned the last names. I never told anyone about that. I never wrote them down," he was speechless.

Chuck rushed back inside seeking out his beloved bottle of booze. He took a good hard swig then spun around to see Dean and Brooklyn standing in the hallway.

"Oh, you two are still here," he sighed.

"Yep," Dean crossed the room and stood in front of the desk.

"You're not a hallucination," Chuck guessed.

"Nope," Dean simply said.

"Well, there's only one explanation," Chuck says. "Obviously I'm a god."

"You're not a god," Brooklyn stared hard at him.

"How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life?" Chuck says. "Yeah, no I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel capricious god. The things I put you through! The physical beatings alone! The way the Hellhound ripped you to shreds. How much pain Dean went through when he lost you….."

"We're still in one piece," Dean replies.

"I killed Brooklyn, then she came back. You two died at Ruby's hand and she made the deal with that demon. He took advantage of Brooklyn when she was at her most vulnerable."

"Chuck," Dean started but the man cut him off.

"All for what?" Chuck goes on. "All for the sake of literary symmetry? I toyed with your lives! Your emotions... for entertainment."

"You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay? You didn't create us," Dean says.

"Did you live through the Trickster and his 1000 deaths?"

"Yep," Brooklyn winced at the memories.

"And what about the dreamwalk with the African Dream Root?"

"That too," she replied.

"I am so sorry," Chuck says. "I mean horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing... If I would've known it was real, I would'vd done another pass."

"Chuck, you're not a god," Dean said loudly.

"We think you're probably just psychic, a medium perhaps" Brooklyn added.

"No. If I was psychic, do you think I'd be writing?" Chuck says, sitting down. "Writing's hard!"

"It seems that somehow you're just focused on our lives," Brooklyn noted.

"Yeah, like laser-focused," Dean adds. "Are you working on anything right now?"

"Holy crap," Chuck says.

"What?" Dean asks. Chuck picks up some papers. "The latest book... it's kinda weird."

"Weird how?" Brooklyn drawled.

"It's very... Vonnegut."

"Slaughterhouse-Five Vonnegut or Cat's Cradle Vonnegut?" Dean asked leaning forward.

"I wrote myself. In my house. Confronted by my characters," he explained. Brooklyn stared at him in disbelief refusing to hear what he was saying.

Next update soon.....