After some time the boys come back to pick me up. They had gotten an address off the publisher so we all head in that direction.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask, "I don't even know where to start with this…" I trail off as I glance towards the boys in the front seat.

"No idea." Is the only response I get from Sam.

Finally we pull up to a run down house. We all get out without a word and walk to the front door. Once there everything seems like a normal house, we glance at each other with shrugs and Dean rings the bell. When the door opens a short man in a dirty shirt and bath robe is reviled.

"You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asks.

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the Supernatual books?" Sam interjects as well.

"Maybe." The man pauses, "Why?"

"I'm Dean, this is Sam and Ari. The Dean, Sam and Ari you've been writing about."

With a nod this guy, Chuck, closes the door.

"Don't think he believed you." I tell Dean with a smirk.

Dean glares at me and hits the doorbell again.

The guy opens again, "Look uh… I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really I do. It's, uh, always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life."

He tries to close the door again but Dean stops him. "See, here's the thing. We have a life. You've been using it to write your books."

With that Dean shoves the door open and forces his way into the house.

Chuck starts backing up into the living room and seems to panic a little, "Now, wait a minute. Now, this isn't funny."

"Damn straight it's not funny." Dean growls and he follows in the house. Sam and I behind him.

"Look, we just want to know how you're doing it." Sam says, trying to calm the guy down.

His response is rushed, 'I'm not doing anything."

"Are you a hunter?" Dean asks.

"What?" this poor guy is so confused, "No, I'm a writer."

"Then how do you know so much about demons?" Dean starts to advance towards the guy who falls onto the couch trying to back away.

"And Tuplas? And Changelings?" Dean continues.

I put a hand on Dean's arm to stop his movement. "Dean, I don't think he knows what you're talking about" I say quietly. He seems genuinely terrified and confused.

"Is this some kind of misery thing?" He asks, "Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a misery thing!" The poor guy seems close to losing it.

Dean glances at us in confusion and frustration, "No, it's not a misery thing. Believe me, we are not fans."

"Well, then, what do you want?" Chuck yells.

Sam finally speaks up trying to approach this calmly, "I'm Sam. And that's Dean and Ari."

It didn't help, "Sam, Dean and Ari are fictional characters. I made then up!" He yells, "They're not real!"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Get up."

And with that he drags him to the door and then down to the car. Once there he opens the trunk of the impala, showing Chuck the arsenal inside. The poor guy looks shocked.

"Are those real guns?" He asks, probably more worried for his safety now then before.

"Yup. This is real rock salt, these are real fake IDs." Dean answers.

Chuck lets out a nervous laugh and glances at us, "Well, I got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans." He pauses to glance back into the trunk, "That's, that's awesome. So, I – I think I've got some posters in the house."

Chuck started to walk back to his house, probably for safety but Dean stops him.

"Chuck, stop."

"Please. Wait. Please, don't hurt me." He gave up all pretenses of playing along.

"How much do you know?" Sam asks, "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

"Wait a minute. How do you know about that?" That got his attention.

"The question is how do you?" I asked.

"Because I wrote it?" he tentatively said.

"You kept writing?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out." He pauses and we all glance at each other before Chuck laughs and continues, "This is some kind of joke, right? Did that, did Phil put you up to this?"

Dean was over this situation already, "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam and that is Ari."

Chuck was stunned, "Last names were never in the books. I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down."

The reality of the situation seemed to sink in then and we all went back into the house. Chuck pours himself a drink and gulps it down. When he turns around and sees us again he groans.

"Oh! Oh, you're still there."

"Yup" Dean replied.

"You're not a hallucination."

"Nope" I say.

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

"You're not a god." Sam says, trying to get this man to focus.

"How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life. Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god. The things I put you through, the physical beatings alone."

"Yeah, we're still in one piece." Dean interjects.

"I killed your father. I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica."

"Chuck…" Sam tries to stop him but he continues.

"And I orphaned you and you watched your family get killed! All for what? 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 said, stepping forward.

Chuck turned around, "Did you really have to live through the bugs?"

"Yeah." Dean replied.

"What about the ghost ship?"

"Yes, that too."

"I am so sorry. I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing… if I would have known it was real, I would have done another pass."

"Chuck, you're not a god!" Dean shouted, finally getting feed up.

"We think you're probably just psychic." Sam said.

"No. If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is hard."

Dean scoffs not believing we are having to deal with this.

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

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

Chuck gets a look like he just remembered something, "Holy crap."

"What?" Sam asks.

Chuck picks up some papers on his desk, "The, uh, latest book? It's, uh, it's kind of weird."

"Weird how?" Sam asks.

"It's very Vonnegut."

"Slaughterhouse-Five Vonnegut or Cat's Cradle Vonnegut?" Dean asks causing Sam and I to look at him strangely.

"What?" Sam asks surprised.

"What?" Dean gets defensive.

"It's uh, Kilgore Trout Vonnegut. I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself, at my house… confronted by my characters." He said.

"Okay, how about we all step back." I finally say. "This is a lot for Chuck to take in."

Chuck just absentmindedly nods.

I continue, "How about we just take these pages you have been working on and you go get some rest? I'll even leave my number incase you need to contact us."

He just nods and gets up and goes to the couch. I grab the papers I can and drag the boys out of the house. Dean was reluctant to leave but once outside I turned to him, "He just had a huge bombshell dropped on him. Give him a chance to come to terms with it okay?"

Finally I get them into the car and we head back to the motel.