April-ish 2009, Waynesboro, Tennessee, United States
Morning
Sam and Dean
It'd been a couple of weeks for Sam and Dean since they last saw their little sister—and wasn't that something amazing?—at Bobby's, beaten, scared, and then from Dean's own words and actions, downright broken. When they got to a nearby motel in Sioux Falls, Sam had confronted Dean on what he did to Maya, to their sister. Just like at Bobby's house, Dean hadn't been in a listening mood and argued back just as fiercely. Still holding on to the image he'd created of their father; the grief of his passing, and the rage at someone he had trusted.
Maya had killed John Winchester. Dean didn't care for the why, just that it had happened, and the weight of the Apocalypse was resting heavily on his shoulders. He didn't even get to say hello or at the very least good-bye. Maya had ripped the chance to get his father's help right out from under him.
Dean was absolutely livid with her—it!
His mind stayed closed as Sam pushed to call Bobby at least to get answers on what happened. Dean was sure that the daughter of the God of Lies—and a Winchester—no doubt lied to Bobby and conned him into believing she was the victim.
When Dean had told Sam that, Sam had looked at him like he was an idiot and couldn't comprehend where his brother came up with that idea. Sam then reminded Dean of how Maya looked.
How thin she was. How beaten up and injured she was.
Why would she try to take a lie, a ruse, a trick, that far?
Dean deflected and told Sam to shut up, he was tired. The emotional adrenaline he had been running on was wearing off. It was the same for Sam, but Sam promised that they weren't done. Not by a long shot.
Dean scoffed. Of course not.
So, the argument persisted. Dean refusing to listen and Sam trying to convince him otherwise of the half-Trickster's innocence, well, the theory she-it only did it in self-defense.
The argument had entered its second week mark a couple of days ago and Dean could feel and practically see the wedge that it was driving itself between him and his brother. Sam would not let up that their Dad would treat one of his kids—recently discovered and only half-human or not—like a monster or worse, and that half-Trickster wouldn't default to killing him if it didn't need to.
Dean disagreed and they remained at the dividing impasse. Both getting more and more testy with each other.
It didn't help either that Sam would disappear for a couple hours whenever Dean seemed to turn his back after one of their arguments.
Or that since they left it behind Dean's Hell nightmares started coming back full swing and he knows he's being an especially grumpy asshole. Sam commented on it off-hand, but Dean knew the son of a bitch knew something about it and wasn't telling him. Bastard.
Sam's face was set into the constant frown that he seemed to wear constantly these last couple of weeks as he followed his brother into the Golden Comics shop in Waynesboro, Tennessee. The bell above the door chiming their entrance. They were following up on some report of some sort of ghost activity in the store. When he'd thought back, the details were a little fuzzy regarding the case.
Sam shook his head and cast a side glance to Dean. Despite the steadily growing curtness between them they still had a job to do. No matter how much Sam wanted to punch him after another short argument they had a few minutes ago in the impala. Fuzzy case details forgotten.
They walked up to the cash counter where a bald heavy-set man with black square glasses sat, eyeing them curiously if a bit nervously. No doubt recognizing the Fed get-ups the brothers wore and wondering what they were doing in his comic store.
He put down the comic he was reading down, "Uh…can I help you?" The store owner watched as Dean pulled out the fake FBI badge from his black over coat brandishing like he was any other generic FBI agent.
"Sure hope so," Dean said seriously. "Agents DeYoung and Shaw. Need to ask you a few questions."
"Notice anything strange in the building, last couple of days?" Sam asked.
"Like what?" the man asked for clarity. He sometimes got strange characters walking in, LARPing for taking certain comic universes way too seriously.
"Well, some tenants reported flickering lights," Dean supplied in hopes to jog the comic man's memory.
The comic bookstore owner just eyed them with even more confusion. Why would FBI agents with old rock star names ask about flickering lights? He continued to look confused, as this encounter began stirring something loose from his memory. Something was very familiar about this situation, but he was having trouble trying to place it.
"Uh…I don't think so. Why?"
"What about noises?" Sam continued. "Any skittering in the walls? Kind of like rats?"
The man gave them an unbelieving and skeptical look, "And the FBI are investigating a rodent problem?" He was pretty sure now that this was some kind of hoax…a hoax though that felt very familiar somehow. Maybe from something he watched or read?
Oh, it was right at the edge of his working memory.
Sam didn't let his disappointment show and pushed forward, "What about cold spots? Feel any sudden drops in temperature?" Dean, however, was sure this guy didn't have the info they needed.
A dawning look of realization crossed the store owner's face.
For a brief moment Sam and Dean had the hopeful thought that this guy would have some pertinent information about the case they were working and that they were just chasing some conspiracy theory. A very fuzzy on the detail conspiracy theory.
"I knew it!" the owner said with a wide and impressed smile. "You guys are LARPing, aren't you?"
Dean looked at the excited man deadpanned. Nothing he said made a lick of sense to the experienced Hunter, "Excuse me?"
"You're fans," he told them, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Fans of what?" Sam asked, while Dean asked what LARPing was.
The comic book guy gave him a mischievously conspiratorial smile, "Like you don't know." But when neither Sam nor Dean 'broke character' and instead raised an expectant eyebrow—each—at him, he just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Live-Action-Role-Playing," he pointed and nodded at them in appreciation, "And pretty hard-core, too."
Sam and Dean both looked down at their outfits. Both utterly confused at this unexpected situation they've found themselves in. Dean mildly wondered if the man had been smoking some Ganja in the back or something.
Dean was the first to ask, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."
The comic book guy scoffed, "You're asking questions like the building's haunted. Like those guys from the books." He took in a ponderous face as he tried to recall the name of the book series, "What are they called? Uh…Supernatural."
Neither Sam nor Dean had any spark of recognition in their expressions, so the comic book shop owner expounded, "Two guys, use fake ID's with rock aliases, hunt down ghosts, demons, vampires."
Sam and Dean share a brief nervous look missed by the store owner as he got lost in trying to remember the characters' names. After a couple of wrong suggestions starting with 'S' and 'D' Sam offered, "Sam and Dean?"
"That's it!" the guy beamed, probably thinking Sam and Dean were finally breaking character, but they didn't.
"You're saying this is a 'book'?" Dean asked incredulously. This made no sense. Then it got worse.
"Books. It was a series. Didn't sell a lot of copies, though. Kind of had a more of an underground-cult following," he quickly got up and went over the bargain book bin. "Let's see…there!" he pulled out a book and handed it over to Dean who, along with Sam, had followed him over, "That's the first one, I think."
Dean looked at the cover of the book that contained illustrations of two men, one with long hair with their shirt off that was giving off raunchy romance novel vibes. There was a suggested haunted house in the background…and the beloved 1967 black Chevy impala. "'Supernatural by Carver Edlund'," Dean read and flipped the book over to the summary, "'Along a lonely California highway, a mysterious woman in white lures men to their deaths'."
Sam looked between the two his eyes widening as the first case he did with Dean—back when he was in Stanford with Jessica—jogged loose from his memory. "Give me that," Sam grabbed the book from Dean's hands and quickly opened and flipped through a couple of pages. He then saw the first page described his and Dean's reunion including their veiled exchange in front of Jessica…word for word.
Sam looked back up at the comic book guy, "We're going to need all the copies of Supernatural you've got."
.
Waynesboro, Tennessee, United States
Hurricane Inn
Couple hours later…
Sam and Dean had spent—after figuring out the case was a bust—pouring over all 25 books in the Supernatural series. Both getting more and more disturbed as intimate and private details of their lives unfurled on the pages. Their triumphs, their failures, their…pain, both physical and emotional.
Dean got a special treat when he was skimming over the book titled Route 666.
"This is freakin' insane," Dean commented as the book described in lewd detail what he'd gotten up to during that case. "How's this guy know all this stuff?"
"You got me," Sam answered as he searched the books online and finding the miniscule fanbase the books had accumulated.
"Everything is in here—I mean everything. From the racist truck to-to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, dude," Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam who had shot him a slightly disgusted look at that lovely imagery. "How come we haven't heard of them before?" Dean swung his legs over the bed and walked over towards his brother.
"They're pretty obscure," Sam answered with a shrug. "I mean, almost zero circulation. Uh, started in '05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt," he scrolled further down the fan site he had stumbled on. "And, uh, the last one—No Rest for The Wicked—ends with you going to Hell," Sam turned to computer towards Dean so he could take a look at the site.
Dean shook his head as he skimmed the list, shaking his head, "I reiterate—freakin' insane." Then he caught something in the sidebar, "Hey check it out. There's actually fans. There's not many, but still. Did you read this?"
Sam's lips and voice grew tight as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "Yeah." He knew exactly what Dean was about to discover.
"Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot. Listen to this—Sympatico says, 'The demon story is trite, cliched, and overall craptastic.' Yeah, well, screw you Sympatico. We lived it."
Sam chuckled, "Yeah. Well, keep on ready. It gets better." He was just waiting for Dean to get to the part he'd already stumbled upon by accident.
Dean started smiling at what he was reading so far. "There's Sam girls, Dean girls, Gol—" his smile fell as he grunted at the force of cutting himself off from saying her—its nickname.
Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, itching to bring that argument back up and to try round whatever-number-it-was-now to try and convince him of their sister's more self-preservation motives. Sam knew their Dad, without the hero worshiping blinders on. He reminded himself to call Bobby and finally ask what happened.
Dean coughed awkwardly as he eyed his brother, waiting for Sam to say something. Oh, he looked it, but he looked to be holding his tongue for now. "So, what's a slash fan?"
Sam sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, his lips tightening, either to hide the impending amusement at his brother's reaction or his own disgust it was hard to say. Vegas money on the later.
"As in Sam-slash-Dean. Together," Sam told him tensely as a look of unbelieving horror blossomed on Dean's face.
Dean cut a look at Sam, "Like, together-together?"
Sam nodded, "Yeah."
Dean looked back at the computer in trepidation, like it would have a disturbing pop-up window coming up any moment.
"They do know we're brothers, right?" he asked for clarification, because surely, they wouldn't pair them together if—
The small bit of hope was shattered when Sam told him, "It doesn't seem to matter. Look too long and you'll find some of them even pair us up with Maya individually, or as…as a three-way," Sam's face scrunched in disgust, while Dean tensed and barely suppressed a shiver of repulsion of his own. Sam wasn't sure if Dean's reaction because he was paired with the half-Trickster that betrayed him or because she was also their little sister. For Sam it was the later.
That's just a hard no.
Dean wasn't sure if Sam told him that to get a rise out of him or not, but either way he wasn't rising to it.
"Oh, c'mon. That…between us? That's just sick," Dean forcefully closed the laptop and pushed the computer away like a smallpox ridden blanket.
"Yeah and the underage pairing wasn't all that pleasant either," Sam added with a frown. Sure, the fans didn't know Maya was their sister, but it was clearly stated in the books her age, so it was blatantly clear that she was underaged. Sam also wanted to find the illustrator and publisher who thought it would be a good idea to design a cover where she was being overly sexualized.
Hell, in Stubborness: A Family Trait, they practically had her on the ground propped up mostly on one knee, the one leg extended looking up with a fearful pout to what he assumed was the ghost as a silhouette with a too low v-cut tank top that had her breasts barely staying in…it overly reminded Sam too much of one of Dean's pornos for his comfort. The Tall Tales cover wasn't much better with her suggestively licking a sucker.
Internal, grossed out, and angry shiver.
Dean eyed Sam. It was obvious that Sam wasn't just going to stop thinking or talking about…it.
"You can't just forget it for a day, huh?" he asked with a small shake of his head, walking away from Sam.
Sam scoffed, "What? Forget that Maya, our half-Trickster friend-slash-little sister obviously went through Hell on Earth with our Dad? Or you exploding on her and not giving her a chance to explain why she had to kill Dad? Because—"
"Shut up, Sam!" Dean said sternly, voice raised as he whipped back around glaring at his brother. "There was no reason for her to kill our Dad!"
"Dean, how far in denial can you be? No reason? Did you not know the man?" Sam asked as he quickly stood up, the legs from his chair scratching against the linoleum motel floor.
Was his brother really ready to be this hard-headed? This blind?
Yeah, Sam missed their Dad. And yeah, he was a bit mad at Maya for killing him and that would still take a while to get over. John was their Dad and despite everything, Sam loved the man…but Sam also knew if he saw him standing over Maya with a gun aimed at her…
Well, he felt like he wouldn't shoot to kill at least.
"Better than you. You went off to Stanford," he shot back angrily, bringing up the old pain. "You left us behind in the dust."
A tight calm overcame Sam as he flashed back to that night and the words his Dad had yelled at him as he left. "So, you don't remember how he asked you that if you couldn't save me then you had to kill me?" Sam's steely hazel eyes bored into Dean's own dark green ones, challenging.
Challenging Dean to deny that.
There was a tense and telling silence.
Dean couldn't.
Sam looked at him earnestly and soulfully, "Why wouldn't Dad make Maya's life a living Hell when he found out she wasn't completely human, if he didn't just kill her outright first?" When Dean went to open his mouth Sam tersely held up a hand and interrupted Dean before he could get a word out, "And don't use that he didn't know she was his kid bullshit. You heard Bobby; he knew. And it didn't matter. Like it didn't matter with me and he raised me."
They shared another meaningful stare. Dean looked away first as he ran a hand through his short sandy hair, breathing a breath out in frustration.
But there was doubt in his eyes…just not enough.
"Look, can we just drop it for now? We still need to track down this Carver Edlund clown and find out how he seems to know every gritty detail of our lives," Dean sighed, turning tense eyes back at his brother.
Just like every other time they started to have this fight.
Something always came up, derailing it.
"You can't stop this conversation from happening, Dean," Sam told him as he turned back to the table to grab his laptop. "I'll get you to either call Bobby or make you listen in while I call him. I've got a feeling it was either Dad or Maya coming out of that situation…"
Dean scoffed, "And you're what, glad it wasn't Dad?"
Sam paused after putting his laptop into his duffel, "Honestly? I don't think I'd have been happy either way. All I know is…I'd be pissed at Dad either way. Either he seriously abused our little sister, or he killed her. Would you honestly not be pissed at Dad for hurting her? Killing her?"
Dean looked away and forcefully changed the subject, "Carver Edlund, Sam. How we going to find him?" He couldn't shake the memory of crushed gold eyes looking up at him from a shallow face.
Sam shook his head, but he was curious about the author too, "Right… so no tax records, no known address. Looks like Carver Edlund is a pen name."
"Somebody's got to know who he is," Dean said as he started packing up his stuff.
Not the books though. Those could stay in the motel and rot for all he cared.
"Probably…the publisher," Sam grabbed his computer back out from his bag and quickly opened up the browser. "Got it."
"Great," Dean grunted as he hefted his duffel over his shoulder. "Where to?"
"Looks like a small town called, Henderson in Kentucky, 'bout a 4-hour drive," Sam answered, putting his computer back again.
"Great," Dean said sarcastically, just looking forward to that awkward car ride.
And it wasn't even noon yet.
.
Henderson, Kentucky, United States
Next day…
Sam and Dean wound up at the small publishing company head's house/office. It was a very, very small publishing company but the prominent professionally framed Supernatural book poster that hung in pride of place over the fireplace mantle told them that they had the right place. As well as all the other professionally framed and hung posters of other book covers of the Supernatural book series that littered the mottled dark red office space.
They decided to fake being part of some writing blog or book review website looking to shine a light on underappreciated book series. The dark-haired woman with blonde side bangs had been enthusiastic at the thought of getting some good press. Maybe even enough to start publishing again and was in the right frame of mind that she would've easily coughed up the location of the author, or at the very least his name.
But then Dean opened his mouth at the mention of continued publishing of the books that let complete strangers an intrusive look into their lives.
"No, no, no, no—" Dean saw her expression fall and realized his blunder and tried to back track. "I mean, why—why would you want to do that? Y'know, it's, uh, such a complete series, what with Dean going to Hell and all."
It was either the right or the wrong thing to say. The woman was obviously a…religious fan as she began gushing.
"Oh my god! That was one of my favorite ones, because Dean was so…strong…and sad and brave," she started tearing up a little, getting emotional over the perceived fictional characters. "And Sam…I mean the best parts are when they'd show their sensitive sides with Maya, their half-Trickster friend who they saw as a little sister? Like in Stubborness: A Family Trait when they tried to make sure she was okay as she suffered from anxiety over whether or not her Dad loved her…" the publisher released an emotional breath, not noticing the tension in Dean's shoulders at Maya's name. Or Sam's face grimace for a brief reflective moment when she mentioned the memory.
"Not to mention when they'd cry," now the woman's voice broke a little. "You know, like in—in Heart when Sam had to kill Madison, the first woman since Jessica he really loved," she mimicked the stabbing motion Sam had to do to kill said woman. Sam shifted awkwardly at the mention of the painful memory. "And in Home, when Dean had to call John and ask him for help," she sniffled as she turned her back on them, not seeing their uncomfortable looks they gave each other over her gushing.
"Gosh," she scoffed. "If only real men were so open and in—in touch with their feelings."
"Real men?" Dean spoke up in disbelief and thinly veiled insult. He did not remember a lot of tears the last couple years. Here and there, sure, but not as often as this woman was implying.
The publisher turned around realizing what she said and assumed he felt insulted as a man in general. "I mean, no offense. How often do you cry like that, hm?"
Dean's snarkiness won out over keeping his trap shut, "Well, right now, I'm crying on the inside."
That was definitely the wrong thing to say to this lady.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" she sounded like mom who just heard another parent vaguely insult one of her precious children.
Dean couldn't turn off the snark and was putting their little interview and information gathering in jeopardy and chuckled, "Lady, this whole thing is funny."
She gave him a more assessing and critical once over, not impressed, "How do I know you two are legit, hm?" She walked away from them and went around her desk to sit back down.
"Oh, we're legit," Dean said as he and Sam followed her a little to stand in front of her desk.
Dean and Sam couldn't be more 'legit' than anyone ever when it concerned these books that were literally written about their lives.
The publisher was still not impressed and possessively threatened, "Well, I don't want no smart-ass article making fun of my boys."
Dean and Sam quickly denied that they would ever, ever, do such a thing and that they were actually big fans themselves.
Still not convinced the publisher began quizzing them on obscure Supernatural series factoids than only true fans could possibly know.
They got it all right of course, getting a pleased and conceding chuckle from her, "Okay. Okay, what do you want to know?"
Yes! The opening they needed!
So, Sam asked right off the bat, "What's Carver Edlund's real name?"
The publisher's face immediately fell as she began to shake her head, "Oh, no. no. sorry. I can't."
"We just want to talk to him. You know get the Supernatural story in his own words," Sam pressed, sounding like an earnest yet friendly journalist.
"He's very private. Like Salinger," she denied again. Dean tried to connect the guy that practically wrote novels about their lives with romantic-esque cover art with Salinger…and what it spoke about the guy.
Sam on the other hand knew he had to go the extra step. She already thought they were big fans…
"Please. Like I said—we are, um…" Sam released an awkward chuckle as the buttons popped open on his dark shirt under his thick brown jacket and moved it to show the flaming pentagram anti-possession tattoo just under his left clavicle, "…big…big fans."
Dean saw what his brother did, rolled his eyes, then pulled his own shirt over to showcase his own tattoo.
The publisher bit her lip and giggled a little breathlessly at the sight of two handsome men wearing the tattoos, "Awesome." She got up from her red padded office chair, "You know what?" She then dropped something from under her dress and lifted it up enough for a clear view of the same tattoo branded on her left cheek, "I got one, too."
Sam, the gentleman looked, twitched awkwardly at the sight, and quickly looked away.
Dean on the other hand looked on unabashed and with an appreciative smile, "You are a fan."
She dropped the skirt of her dress back down with a chuckle and brought out a note pad and pen. "His name's Chuck Shirley and he's a genius," she started writing down the author's name and address, then threatened a bit more seriously, "So don't piss him off."
.
April-ish 2009, Baskett, Kentucky, United States
Next day…
Turned out Chuck Shirley either hadn't looked too far for a publisher, or the woman they met yesterday was the only one to see value in the books he was writing. Sam was of the notion that it was the later.
Sam and Dean stepped out of the impala as they came up upon the address of their quarry. Amongst the trimmed, clean lawns of white houses with coloured trims, the dark burgundy wood paneling and grey trimmed house was a stark contrast. The front yard was overgrown and wild with long dead grass and a small scraggly tree that barely had a leaf left on its bare branches. The tree was no more than a bike prop for a rusting bicycle that hasn't seen use in some time.
They walked up the steps of the front porch and shared meaningful looks between each other. Both wondered what they were going to encounter.
Dean rang the doorbell and a short scrawny man in a grey, black, and white striped bathrobe that showed the stained white shirt underneath that was turning slightly yellow and pale blue plaid boxers.
Chuck looked up at the two of them, grey eyes fliting back and forth in uncertainty at their presence.
"You Chuck Shirley?" Dean asked.
"The Chuck Shirley who wrote the Supernatural books?" Sam added for clarification.
Chuck came out more from behind his door and answered with a scratchy voice that could only come from disuse, "Maybe. Why?"
"I'm Dean, this is Sam," Dean introduce then went for the punchline. "The Dean and Sam you've been writing about."
Chuck gave them a strained smile and slight nod, then closed the door on them. Not believing them.
Sam cleared his throat, clenching his teeth while Dean sighed and rang the doorbell again.
Chuck resignedly opened the door once 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."
When Chuck began closing the door Dean quickly shot his hand out and slammed it against the mottled glass door window, preventing the door from closing on them again. Chuck started looking a little nervous.
"See, here's the thing," Dean said staring Chuck in the eyes. "You've been using it to write your books," Dean and Sam quickly strode forward, forcing Chuck to panic and back away instead of trying to shove the door on the impromptu home invaders.
Chuck stumbled as Sam and Dean followed him into his empty liquor bottle ladened living room/writing space/where-he-ends-up-sleeping-most-nights. Sam never took his eyes off the author as he swung the front door closed behind him, the door closing loudly with finality in Chuck's ears.
"Now-now wait a minute. This isn't funny," Chuck told them haltingly, eyeing them anxiously and wondering if he was about to get his ass beat.
"Damn straight, it's not funny," Dean said loudly and angrily.
Sam was a bit more amiable and diplomatic. No point scaring the man into silence. They needed answers, "Look, we just want to know how you're doing it."
"I'm not doing anything!" Chuck shrugged shaking a little.
"You a Hunter?" Dean demanded, eyes on Chuck like a predator, a Hunter. Just waiting for Chuck to pull some trick, or to show his hand.
The trick? Was that there was none.
Chuck said it best, "What? No. I'm a writer."
Dean took an aggressive step towards Chuck, making the poor man stumble further into the living room. "Then how do you know so much about demons," Dean and Sam stalked the stumbling man as Dean spoke, "Tulpas and changelings and Tricksters?"
Chuck's unseeing and backwards stumbling has the back of his legs hitting the blanket covered couch and falling back into it as his mind started racing, "Is this some sort of Misery thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a Misery thing!" Chuck's voice had gone a bit shrill as he tried to shimmy up the couch further away from Sam and Dean.
Dean looked back at Sam asking a silent seriously with his eyes before turning back to the quivering author, "It's not a Misery thing. Believe me, we are not fans."
"Well, then what do you want?!"
"I'm Sam. And that's Dean," Sam explained calmly, like it would make it true.
Chuck didn't believe a lick of it and quickly denied it, "Sam and Dean are fictional characters. I made them up! They're not real!"
Dean rolled his eyes, looked at Sam, and then they both hauled him up to his feet and marched outside to the impala and opened the empty trunk. Dean then opened the false bottom and showcased all their Hunting gear to the author.
Chuck blinked, "Are those real guns?"
"Yup," Dean bent over and started pointing things out. "And this is real rock salt, and these are real fake ID's.
Chuck gave a breathless and impressed chuckle, "Well, I've got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans." Chuck looked back down at the trunk, eyeing one of the sawed off, "That's—that's awesome." He started backing up, thumbing over his shoulder, "So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house."
Dean slammed the trunk seeing Chuck's backing up for what it was, running. "Chuck, stop!" he yelled.
"Wait. Please don't hurt me," Chuck begged, his shoulders became hunched and small.
"How much do you know?" Sam asked. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"
Chuck looked confused at Sam's questions and tilted his head at them curiously.
No one but him should know about that. He was still writing that!
"Wait a minute. How do you know about that?" Chuck asked, feeling more and more perturbed. Well, more than he already was.
"The question is, how do you?" Dean asked getting down to business and hopefully answers to this bizarre situation.
"'Cause I wrote it," Chuck answered honestly. How else would he know it?
"You kept writing?" Sam inquired a bit in disbelief. There were more books?
"Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out," Dean looked at Sam in annoyance when Chuck chuckled. "Wait a minute. This some kind of joke, right?" Chuck thumbed over his shoulder towards one of the neighbors' houses, "Did that—did Phil put you up to this?"
"Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam," Dean introduced with a sigh thinking they weren't getting anywhere with this jittery author who knew too much about their crap-tastic lives.
"And the half-Trickster, Maya, you wrote about is our baby half-sister," Sam added, sending Dean a quick glare when Dean sent him a look for it.
Chuck's face paled, "I only wrote about that in the last couple of chapters—not even published—and the last names…they were never in the books. I never even wrote that down."
Finally, some head way.
If only they'd introduced themselves with their last names earlier. Could've saved some time.
.
Chuck poured a shaky glass of beer and quickly downed the brown liquid, his eyes squinting at the carbonate burn down his throat. He turned around from his kitchen counter and exhaled sharply when he still saw Sam and Dean Winchesters still standing there behind his paper ladened workstation, "Oh! Oh, you're still here."
"Yup," Dean answered as he moved to lean against the archway. Sam leaned on the chair on the other side of Chuck's workstation and computer, or what-was-once-his-dining-room-table.
"You're not a hallucination," Chuck rubbed his face.
Dean then said, not being the least bit sympathetic, "Nope."
"Well, there's only one explanation," Chuck sighed and came to the only conclusion that made sense to his rattled mind. "Obviously, I'm a god."
Sam huffed a small laugh, "You're not a god."
"How else do you explain it?" Chuck asked seriously. It was the only thing that made sense to the poor author. Who else could and would write books that portrayed such horrible things happening to a couple of the least deserving men?
"I write things and then they come to life," Chuck continued, looking distressed. "Yeah, no. I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god. The things I put you guys and Maya through—the physical beatings alone."
"Yeah, we're still in one piece," Dean grouched.
"I killed your father. I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific thing again with Jessica," Chuck continued to ramble.
Sam had bowed his head at the mention of Jessica, his hands gripping the back of the chair tightly before looking up and trying to get his attention, his voice a little strained, "Chuck…"
But Chuck plugged on, pushing the guilty god/author bit, "And for what? All for the sake of literary symmetry." Chuck paced as he kept going, thinking of every horrible thing had had out them through, "I toyed with your lives—your sister's life—your emotions, for…entertainment."
Dean walked up beside Sam, "You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay?" He was done with the pity party the guy was throwing himself. "You didn't create us."
Chuck turned back to look at them, "Did you really have to live through the bugs?"
Sam and Dean shared a look. Looks like Chuck wasn't done.
"Yeah," Dean sighed.
"What about the ghost ship?" Chuck asked.
Sam nodded while Dean with a face that spoke with how done he was this all this answered verbally, "Yes."
"…And Maya and your—your…?" Chuck trailed off seeing the downright deadly look on Dean's face and quickly remembered that he was still in angry denial and refusing to listen to Sam. Chuck coughed and squeaked, "Heh, uh, right. Never mind."
Sam watched Chuck intensely. He knew what his Dad did to Maya. What she went through. Did he have it written down somewhere? Maybe Sam could get the chance to shove it in Dean's stupid face?
"Right, um, I am so sorry," that earned Chuck an incredulous look from Dean. "I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing…" Chuck paused with a sigh before continuing, while Dean just rolled his eyes at him, "If I would have known it was real, I'd have done another pass."
"Chuck, you're not a god!" Dean yelled, still upset at Chuck bringing up his Dad and…it.
Sam seeing Chuck's slightly stunned face from Dean's abrupt shout took his chance to move the conversation further along, "We think you're probably just psychic."
"No," Chuck denied with a curt shake of the head, his eyes landing on his computer. "If you think I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is hard," he sat down and slumped in his chair.
"It seems that somehow, you're just…focused on our lives," Sam tried to explain. It was better than thinking this guy somehow controlled their lives. And a lot more likely.
"Yeah, like laser-focus," Dean added his two cents in grouchily as he stared at Chuck who looked like he was zeroing in on whatever he had on his computer. "Are you working on anything right now?" he asked questioningly.
Chuck's eyes looked up from his computer as the memories of the current book he was working on and the odd turn it'd taken, "Holy crap."
"What?" Dean asked not liking the look on Chuck's face. Sam wasn't too thrilled either. Expressions like that never bode well.
Chuck picked up the few pages he'd printed off before the Winchesters knocked on his door with trepidation, "The, uh, latest book. It's, uh, it's kind of weird."
Oh, weird was never good.
"'Weird' how?" Sam asked, his face nervous.
Chuck smacked his lips while rubbing his trimmed beard, "It's very Vonnegut."
Dean leaned over the table, "Slaughterhouse-Five, Vonnegut or Cat's Cradle, Vonnegut?"
Sam looked over at Dean in confused surprise, "What?"
Dean looked up at Sam, "What?" Sam just gave him an impressed I-didn't-know-you-knew-that face. Dean turned his attention back to Chuck.
"It's, uh, Kilgore Trout, Vonnegut. I wrote myself into it," Chuck answered uneasily. "I wrote myself, at my house…confronted by my characters."
Sam and Dean shared a look.
.
Chuck
Chuck watched as the Winchesters left his house with the current pages of his most recent book—still untitled.
Once they were well down the road, He dropped the nervous writer façade, if only slightly. His children were keeping an eye on Him still after all. What with Him being a prophet and all, again. Since the Apocalypse started, He had to leave behind some of the sentimentality He picked up since He started this little parallel universe.
So far, it was the closest one to His main draft. More than His other versions, but unlike the other ones this one had one person that wasn't His creation. No carefully thought-out back story (He just observed it), no carefully selected character traits, no completely predictable reactions He could influence.
A true wild card.
Chuck thought that when Gabriel went to Maya after so long apart, she'd cave to the part of herself that couldn't hold a grudge. That wanted to forgive her father and curl up in his arms. To be fair, He should've expected the reaction she had since all those suppressing sigils were slowly breaking and that archangel rage had slowly started to glimmer through a little bit. He was enjoying watching her character flesh out the more and more she interacted with Sam and Dean and how she brought different sides of them out. She was even cluing in Castiel a little earlier than usual.
Chuck walked over to His pile of papers and folders and took out a buried folder of printed pages filled with edit notes. The title A Trickster's Daughter, Chapter 45: It Burns! underlined in the header of the pages. He hated orchestrating this and the previous chapter. Putting His granddaughter through such pain, but Sam wasn't following the script like he was supposed to. He needed His granddaughter in a little bit of peril to nudge Sam back on the path.
Not like demon blood would've done much to her. If anything, it added to the story and brought her closer to her powers being released from the cuffs!
Chuck flipped through the pages to Chapter 49: The Machinations of Heaven and grimaced at this chapter. He'd especially disliked this chapter and having John do all that this terrible stuff to her. Despite Sam being back on track, even Chuck had wondered if he'd stay on it. His motivation was good, but Maya…
Something about her loosened the strings of Fate He'd carefully woven into this parallel universe He'd spawned, like all others. Carefully laid out plots, twists, and details almost avoided, or actually changed.
Like Pamela. She wasn't supposed to have survived, but Maya unknowingly did something to change that.
It was both fascinating and slightly annoying. Pamela was a minor character, her being still alive wouldn't change much.
So, He'd leave it for now. He was more curious than anything.
Chuck circled back to the computer and opened the document for the next chapter of A Trickster's Daughter and started typing. As He typed, He also considered whether or not to give Sam the pages from The Machinations of Heaven to give to Dean or…wait till Dean learns He's a prophet. Or maybe something else will change?
Hmm.
Decisions. Decisions.
.
April-ish 2009, Baskett, Kentucky, United States
Chuck's House
Next morning…
Chuck had called Sam and Dean over in a tizzy and dropped the bombshell that Lilith was coming to town that night—for Sam. Sam was immediately alert and looked a little eager for a shot at Lilith. While Dean wasn't, and asked if she was just going to show up there. Chuck assumed he referred to his house, so read off the relevant page that involved Sam and Lilith in bed and 'sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion.'
That had Sam laughing at the outrageousness, but neither Dean nor Chuck were laughing. Sam didn't take it seriously at all. He wanted to kill Lilith, both for adverting the Apocalypse and keeping her away from Maya, so the last thing going through his mind was jumping into bed with the she-beast. So, he couldn't believe Dean and Chuck did.
Dean then asked for clarification because as far as they knew Lilith was a little girl, but now she was a comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana. He was relieved because if whatever Chuck wrote or saw came true—which it had so far—then when-if Sam slept with her it wasn't with the body of a little girl. One small mercy.
Chuck told Dean when he asked that he didn't know what happened after Sam's little demonic sex-capade. Sam refuted the idea of him and Lilith in bed again, but Dean just kind of glared at him to shut up and let him keep questioning the jittery writer.
So, Dean had Chuck explain his psychic trick which he interpreted as his 'process'. Mostly a killer headache that could only be cured with copious amounts of alcohol until he fell asleep.
"The first time it happened I thought it was just a crazy dream," Chuck admitted.
"The first time you dreamt about us?" Dean asked for clarification.
Chuck nodded shakily, "You two…Maya. Saw a lot of her life too a-and, and everything just-just flowed. It just kept flowing. It still does. I-I can't stop it, really."
Sam just scoffed, "You can't seriously believe—"
"Humor me," Dean cut Sam off and stood up from his chair in front of Chuck. "Look, why don't we just…" Dean looked over to see Chuck holding up the new pages for him to take. He took them and continued, "Take a look at these and see what's what."
Sam shook his head at Dean in his exasperation.
Dean sighed and looked down at the pages then back at Chuck, "You—"
"…knew you were going to ask for that. Yeah," he answered the unsaid question subduedly.
.
April-ish 2009, Baskett, Kentucky, United States
Sam and Dean
Afternoon
Dean and Sam had packed up their stuff and were making tracks out of town. Sam was still incredulous over Chuck's accuracy in his predictions and read off a couple of them as Dean drove the impala towards the only bridge that lead into and out of town. The second one Sam read involved Dean driving his beloved car with a tarp in the back window.
Dean acquiesced that perhaps Chuck might be wrong on some of the details, but also pointed out that neither of them were ready for a face-to-face death match with Lilith.
However, the plan to get out of dodge was thrown a major roadblock when the only bridge in or out of town was closed down to a surprise flash flood.
Yeah, real surprise.
Dean and Sam stopped at the mom and pop diner where Dean came up with another plan.
To play opposite day, using the pages as a roadmap. Hopefully to avoid meeting up with Lilith.
Sam on the other hand had a different take on it.
To use it as a way to get the jump on Lilith.
Dean did his best to bite back his anger when Sam suggested it, but it was opposite day so one of the things they can't do? Have a fight. There might've not been much angry shouting to indicate an obvious attention attracting fight, but with the tenseness in their voices?
It was definitely a fight.
Dean's jaw was as tight as he forced his voice to come out in a calm manner, "It frustrates me when you say such reckless things."
"Well, it frustrates me when you'd rather hide than fight," Sam retorted back with the same amount of forced calm, leaning slightly over their table keeping eye contact with Dean. Letting him know how serious he was.
There was an aggressive look in Sam's eyes that unnerved Dean. Usually he was the one that was all gung-ho when it came to face offs. Not Sam.
They broke their stare down when the waitress came with their food. Sam's cobb salad and Dean's regrettable tofu veggie burger.
When she left Dean was leaning over the table, "It's not hiding. It's being smart. It's picking your battles. And this is a battle we are not ready to fight."
Sam sighed and looked away. Dean gave him one more look before tucking into the tofu veggie burger he had to order for opposite day.
What Dean tasted wasn't what he expected. It was fantastic! Tasted just like a—
The waitress came back saying she accidentally gave him the bacon cheeseburger instead and apologized, taking the glorious thing away from Dean and saying she'd be back with his order.
Dean watched the burger go with a little bit of heartbreak. That was one of the best burgers he'd ever had, then he looked back at Sam with wide eyes when he realized he'd just followed what Chuck had written.
He'd had the bacon cheeseburger.
Looked like Opposite Day was going to be a lot harder to follow than he anticipated.
.
Baskett, Kentucky, United States
Toreador Motel
A Couple hours later…
Sam
After Dean left Sam in the hooker-and-charge-by-the-hour motel with Sam's laptop and the parting words, "Behave yourself. No homework. Watch some porn," Sam called up Chuck and asked him to come over. If Chuck was so entuned with his and Dean's lives, he wanted to know how much the guy really knew.
When Chuck knocked on the door Sam opened the pink door and stepped aside to let the man in.
Sam crossed his arms as he looked for the words for the question he wanted to ask.
"Um, I was just wondering how much you know…about me," Sam asked hesitantly.
Chuck squinted his eyes a little in confusion, "What do you mean?"
Sam swallowed thickly, "Have you seen visions of me when I'm not with Dean?"
Understanding filled Chuck's eyes as well as some apprehension, "Oh, you want to know if I know about the demon blood."
Sam gave a vague nod and asked, "You didn't tell Dean?"
"I…" Chuck hesitated as he thought over his answer as a writer that had visions of real future and current events. "I'm still waffling over writing it into the books. I-I've set aside some notes in case I decide to later. But even with Maya as a prime motivator, I'm afraid you're coming off as unsympathetic—"
"Unsympathetic?" Sam asked incredulous and a tad angry. What did Chuck know? He couldn't understand all the stress and pressure he was under.
"Yeah, come on, Sam. I mean, sucking blood? You got to know that's wrong," Chuck answered honestly.
Sam looked away, swallowing the thick lump in his throat before releasing a sigh, "It scares the hell out of me." He sat down in the pink and golden embroidered designed chair. "I mean, I feel it of inside me. I-I wish to God I could stop," he looked out of the blind covered window broodingly.
"But you keep going back," Chuck pointed out with a soft voice.
"What choice have I got?" Sam asked sadly. "If it helps me kill Lilith; keep Maya safe, and stop the Apocalypse—"
"I thought that was Dean's job to stop the Apocalypse," Chuck interrupted in confusion. "That's what the angels say, right? But going after Lilith like this…aren't you breaking your promise to Maya?"
Sam shook his head, "No, no. It's…It's different. I'm not doing this out of some obsessive need for revenge." He paused a moment, casting his eyes away from Chuck, "And Dean…Dean's not…he's not Dean lately. Ever since he got out of Hell, he needs help."
Chuck tilted his head with a curious glint in his eye, "So you got to carry the weight?"
"Well, he's looked after me my whole life," Sam looked back at Chuck with an offhand shrug. "I can't return the favor?" there was the smallest note of challenge in Sam's voice that had Chuck shrugging unoffensively.
"Yeah, sure you can," Chuck didn't want to offend, but he's seen everything that Sam had done behind closed doors without Dean. "I mean," he cleared his throat, "If that's what this is." He walked over to the empty chair and sat on the other side of the table away from Sam.
"What else would it be?" Sam asked, wondering if he really wanted to hear the author's answer. He'd thought he knew what it was all about with the demon blood and honing his powers enough to take on Lilith.
Chuck shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe the demon blood makes you feel stronger? More in control?"
Sam's worry faded as dread's icy claws gripped his insides. Chuck's words hit a little too close to what he'd been feeling every time he drank from Ruby, or the demon blood filled flask he carried with him.
He'd feel strong. He'd feel, finally, like he had some semblance of control over something when everything else kept slipping through his fingers.
Sam's lips thinned and he started denying it, "No. That's not true."
Chuck saw through the lie Sam told himself, "I'm sorry, Sam. I know it's a terrible burden—feeling that it all rests on your shoulders."
"Does it?" Sam asked the one person who probably knew or at least had an idea of such an answer. "All rest on my shoulders?" Sam swallowed thickly as he felt the pressure bearing down on him before Chuck even answered him.
"That seems to be where the story's headed," Chuck quietly confirmed, watching as Sam released a stress filled sigh.
Then a determined look overcame Sam's face, "Am I strong enough to stop Lilith tonight?"
Chuck gave a small shake of his head, "I don't know. I haven't seen that far yet."
Sam gave a small nod of his understanding and said, "Thanks, Chuck." His voice stressed and jaw tight. Then a speculative thoughtful look entered Sam's face, "You said earlier that you-you saw a lot of Maya's life?"
"Ah," Chuck said, his bearded lips becoming tight. "I want to point out that I am—apparently—but an unwilling observer—"
"Chuck," Sam interrupted the writer's nervous ramble. Chuck clearly didn't want to be on the receiving end of Sam's anger, and that just made Sam more nervous. "What did my Dad do to her?"
Chuck open and closed his mouth a couple of times before he clicked his teeth closed and rummaged around in his jacket pocket. He pulled out the pages for Chapters 48 & 49 of A Trickster's Daughter.
Sam and frowned and looked warily between Chuck and the innocent looking sheets of paper, before taking them. "Did you know I would ask?"
Chuck thinned his lips and stood up nervously, "Y-yeah, b-but I didn't want to-to…I didn't want to try and find the words to explain what she went through. Chapter 49 was the tough one. I like her. Usually when she was involved, she'd bring a levity to the main books. Show a different side of you and, uh…" Chuck trailed off at Sam's raised eyebrow.
Chuck chuckled nervously, "Right. Real people. Not tragic characters in my books. Heh heh, sorry." He coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, "I'll-I'll just go. Yeah." The writer beat a quick retreat before Sam started reading the chapter.
Sam watched as the writer scurried from the motel room in a hurry. He looked at the papers clutched in his hands. White pages with black printed text, each chapter numbered and stapled separately. Sam stared at the chapter cover page.
A Trickster's Daughter: Chapter 48
He flipped the page.
'It'd been a couple weeks since the whole…Alastair Catastrophe. They've had one simple ghost hunt about a week ago that went off without a hitch for once…
When Maya looked at Dean, she saw her big brother that needed some cheering up. Proof that not everything was doom and gloom. So, when Sam…'
Sam breathed a sigh of relief when the words showed Maya's ignorance of his activities with Ruby then huffed in fond annoyance at her insinuation that he did some…ahem…'bathroom polo' when she had waited for him and the ensuing teasing.
It was hard to keep the laugh from his lips when he read over the prank she had done on Dean with the make-up, mirror, and camera.
Sam glazed over the part when Maya decided to have her first one-night stand. Chuck did full frontal of Dean in one of his previous books that—thankfully—Sam was fortunate enough not to read. He didn't need to get scarred by reading something similar with his little sister.
Besides, that was one of his least favorite nights wondering and worrying the whole time about where the hell she'd disappeared to. One-night stand or not. Then prying into what happened and learning of the insensitive woman that dismissed her bisexual identity. It sucked that out of all the LGBT members she decided to spend a night with, it was one of the few that didn't recognize that sexuality as valid.
Sam then read the last morning they were all together before Sam and Dean were abducted to live very different lives for about 2-3 weeks.
He narrowed his eyes. Castiel saw her naked. Then leaving her on her own while demons were out to get her. Despite the angel's reassignment.
Unbeknownst to Sam, Chuck hadn't written down Castiel's conflict or his observation.
Sam knew it was getting close to when Maya must be meeting up with John Winchester—his Dad—when she got stranded in the desert after an alluded kick between a pervy gas station attendant legs.
Sam kept reading. Mentally begging the Maya within the pages to take the next bus towards Sioux Falls once his Dad got them to the next town. Even when Maya and John started hitting it off, or when Maya referred to Bobby as her Pa, Sam kept mentally preparing himself.
Dread filled his chest as the book described the already suspicious feeling's John was developing towards Maya about her parentage.
Then came the haunting case the two of them worked together.
One that had turned out to be a seal and not a haunting, but a couple of demons.
Sam read as Maya used every ounce of strength, she had to break the weakened—something Sam hadn't known—cuffs further and save John Winchester with her Trickster powers and supernatural dog.
The blood in Sam's face drained away after the demons were dealt with and John Winchester shot Puck and held his gun at Maya's head. Shooting Puck again as Maya cried out for her canine friend, dragging her by her hair, pistol whipping her…and unknowingly breaking the seal with her blood.
Sam felt his throat thicken as he continued reading—never knowing the conversation between Castiel and Zachariah had been omitted—into Chapter 49 and everything that happened between John Winchester and Maya.
The paper crinkled in his hands as he kept reading. All the pain, the torture, and emotional manipulation his father had put Maya through. Sam wasn't sure how to take John Winchester's reasoning of doing it all to figure out how she was affecting him and Dean. Thinking that whatever she did was keeping them from killing her and his Dad had been scared for them.
He was glad to see how much his Dad loved them, but…Sam never wanted it at the expense of Maya.
Sam even saw a glimpse of something he suspected a little bit of. That soothing energy he suspected she had that had been soothing Dean's nightmares. There was more to it. He read as something in Maya begged John to let go of his anger, his hate towards anything not human, and brought him to a precipice of a choice.
One where his Dad still decided to go ahead with his plan to weld chains to the suppression cuffs on her wrists causing her to scream in agony into the frigid night air.
Sam put the papers down and wracked his brain. The Mystery Spot debacle brought itself to the forefront of his mind when he was in that last cycle and lost himself…when he killed Maya for a bargaining chip. He remembered that last second of doubt in his mind when he found himself about to plunge the stake into her chest and paused for one brief second. But the thought of living without his brother…he'd turned away from that last vestige of light.
His head fell into his hands as the memory of purple ringed gold eyes looked at him in fear before the purple light faded with her life as it drained from her eyes. Sam's stomach twisted in his gut as he remembered what he'd been like and how far he'd been willing to go.
Sam looked through his fingers at his bag on the bed across the room. A bag that held some of the last vestiges of blood Ruby had given him.
'Maybe the demon blood makes you feel stronger? More in control?' Chuck's voice filtered through his head.
Sam shook his head mentally denying it once more. That he was doing it for Dean, for Maya. But something inside him twisted and heaved and rolled with doubt.
Was he?
'But if Maya saw him now with those same purple ringed eyes…what would she see now?' was the traitorous thought that shook him…but not enough to stop going to his bag and digging out the silver flask.
Sam took a shaky sip, his nerves steeling as he put it back in the bag and went back to the table.
'For Dean and Maya,' was the mantra that went through Sam's head, trying to reassure his reasoning behind everything he was doing with Ruby.
He sat back into the chair at the table and picked up the pages again and kept reading.
With more demon blood in his veins, Sam felt his simmering anger boil over, as he read when his own Dad tried to whore out Maya and thankfully failed; when he had used her as vampire bait and…and when she was dying…he had tried to finish her off.
Sam's hands shook as he forced himself to read the last couple pages.
As Castiel healed Maya—Chuck not including any of the angel's thoughts at the time—and how the wording was off. Sam felt something was missing from the pages, but he was furious at the angel that was supposed to watch over his sister and instead did nothing as John abused—
Sam's eyes roved down the page and saw a specific demon's name and his boiling rage turned to ice, his blood freezing in his veins. He hadn't even registered that Ellen and Jo had been the ones to carry Maya out.
Lilith.
Lilith…had almost gotten her. Had almost gotten his little sister.
Sam balled up the papers and tossed them into the trash bin. He plucked the first hex bag nearest to him and took out the lighter in his pocket and set it alight. He tossed the bag into the trash and watched the flames turn blue for a moment, before going for the other ones.
This ends now.
.
Couple hours later…
Dean
Dean wasn't sure how much strength it would take to crack one's own teeth with the force of their jaw clenching, but he figured he had a good shot of finding out with how badly he was clenching his.
It was supposed to be easy. Get off script avoid Lilith to plot and plan her murder for another day. Which meant parking Baby for the day while leaving his brother alone at the Hooker Inn and telling him not to research and instead to watch some porn.
Dean was too pissed off to enjoy that little sentence or the memory of his brother's annoyed face at the suggestion anymore.
Why, you may ask?
For starters, the minute he walked away from the impala some punk ass kids broke her back window to rob it. Then, as he shouted at them and went to kick some delinquent ass, he got hit by a minivan and knocked out. He came to a minute or two later seeing the dangling silver star earrings of the minivan soccer mom and finding pink flower band-aids all over the side of his face from her little girl's doctor phase.
He then spent the next hour purchasing a tarp, some duct tape…and patching up the back window with said tarp. Dean simmered angrily as he eyed the black tarp hatefully, his mind focusing on one thing.
It seemed that Chuck's predictions looked like they always came true…no matter how much you tried to avoid them. This was completely ridiculous. No psychics he's ever heard of could pull off crap like this.
It was time to kick some scrawny writer ass and get some answers.
Dean, with narrowed eyes, slid behind the wheel of his beloved impala and started driving towards Chuck's place. Sparse sunlight pierced the grey clouds catching some of the glass shards that covered the back seat. The tarp flapping loudly in the back window as he sped down the winding rural road kept his anger fueled for the whole trip.
.
Chuck's House
Dean lounged in the beat-up old recliner that—from the smell—had more than one can of beer spilled on it as he waited for Chuck to arrive. He maybe waited for about half an hour before the front door opened and Chuck walked in with a six pack of beer and paper bagged bottle of hooch.
When Chuck rounded the corner, he wasn't nearly as surprised as he should've been if he hadn't already had a vision of Dean waiting for him.
"Dean," Chuck said quietly.
"I take it you knew I'd be here," Dean said flatly and like usual not bothering with any preamble or tact.
Chuck shifted uneasily on his feet, "You look terrible."
"That's 'cause I just got hit by a minivan, Chuck," Dean stated flatly.
Chuck looked away and could only respond with a meek, "Oh."
Dean leaned forward in the chair, bracing his hands on his knees. "That's it? Every damn thing you write about me comes true, and that all you have to say about it is, 'Oh'!?" he demanded angrily, causing Chuck to grimace nervously and keep his eyes down.
"Please don't yell at me," Chuck asked as he went to put his beer and wine down.
"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling us?" Dean demanded as he got up from the recliner and stalked towards Chuck.
Seeing Dean's less than friendly approach had Chuck take shuffling steps backwards, "What wouldn't I be telling you?"
"How you know what you know for starters!" Dean demanded furiously.
"I don't know how I know. I just do," Chuck answered weakly, his voice going high from his nerves being on edge.
Chuck's nerves had every right to be on edge, when Dean growled out, "That's not good enough," and then grabbed the writer's jacket just when Chuck released a squeak in alarm.
"Eek! No wonder Maya saw your Dad when you came at her," Chuck commented nervously with acute mouth diarrhea, getting lost in character to hide His intentional pot stirring.
Fury blazed in Dean's emerald gaze, but it was no longer like a raging bull, it was like the center of a hurricane. A calm surrounded by the raging storm.
"You saw that too?" Dean's jaw clenched as he glared down at the trapped writer daring him to answer while he kept a firm grip on Chuck's jacket. Chuck didn't say anything as Dean continued, "Then you know she deserved it." He gave a shove at Chuck and walked away, pacing angrily as that night came back to him.
"Deserved what?" Chuck asked incredulous. "To-to be beaten, starved? Used as-as-as bait for any supernatural creature with a-a-a heightened sense of smell?"
Dean froze mid-step and looked at Chuck in angry confusion, "What?"
Chuck swallowed thickly; he really didn't want Dean shoving him up against the wall again. "John didn't have exactly the greatest…reaction when Maya had to out herself to save his life," Chuck pressed himself further back against the wall when Dean strode purposefully back towards him.
Dean stared at Chuck, his eyes narrowed and mouth in a grim line and tried to ignore the dread and doubt that welled up inside his chest. Remembering his brother's words, at the reminder of what his own Dad had asked him to do as he died.
Either to save Sam or kill him.
Dean shook his head and angrily tried to keep a hold of his denial, "No, he—!" He grabbed Chuck again and harshly pushed him up against the wall angrily. "How do you know all this?!"
Chuck was saved from whatever pain Dean's face promised when a voice all of a sudden came out of nowhere behind Dean and commanded, "Dean, let him go."
The Hunter dropped Chuck and quickly spun around to see Castiel standing there.
"This man is to be protected," Castiel told the Hunter flatly.
"Why?"
"He's a prophet of the Lord," Castiel revealed, much to Dean's quiet shock.
Chuck peered around Dean's shoulders at the familiar trench-coated angel. His voice filled with a quiet awe, "You…you're Castiel…aren't you?"
Dean turned his torso to look at Chuck with wide eyes, while Castiel himself peered around Dean to look at the prophet.
"It's an honor to meet you, Chuck," Castiel broke his stare and looked about the room, the blue eyes of his vessel seeing one of Chuck's published works. "I…admire your work," the angel walked over to the soft cover novel and began flipping through the pages sedately, reverently.
Chuck breathed out a sharp and nervous exhale.
Castiel told them that Chuck was merely a mouthpiece for the inspired word, for the Word of God. He had no control over what happened in Sam and Dean's lives.
Chuck was in similar disbelief as Dean over his newly confirmed 'prophet' status and hadn't thought to tell Sam and Dean about that particular dream because of the sheer arrogance at the thought of it. So, he quickly scurried from the room clutching a bottle of hooch like a lifeline.
Dean then readjusted his focus on Castiel for some answers.
Oh, Castiel had some answers. Just not any Dean wanted to hear.
Like how his and Sam's lives were going to become the new New Testament.
Or how what the 'prophet had written can't be unwritten', and 'as he had seen it, so it shall come to pass'.
So, the Sam-Lilith Love Connection was happening whether they wanted it to or not.
All that new information, especially the last tidbit, pushed what Chuck had told Dean about what happened between Maya and John to the back of his mind.
There was more immediate and pressing concerns to deal with.
.
Toreador Motel
Sam and Dean
Dean pulled up to the motel, night having fallen on his way back, and turned the impala's engine off in front of their motel room. As he looked up, the glaring red neon letters of the motel sign caught his eye. There were quite a few letters missing.
What it spelled now was…'The Red Motel'…like in Chuck's book. Chuck's future predicting, prophesizing book of the new written Word.
Dean quickly barged into the room as he mentally cursed the whole situation.
Prophet!
Fuck!
"C'mon we're getting out of here," Dean told Sam without preamble in the darkened motel room.
Sam reared his head back a little in surprised confusion, "What? Where?"
"Anywhere, okay?" Dean answered as he started getting his bag together. "Out of this motel, out of this town. I don't care if we have to swim. We are getting out," Dean turned back to his bag and noticed something missing from the nightstand beside the hooker bed.
One of the hex bags.
Dean froze for a moment, a pit of dread curling in his stomach as he began walking around to look about the room for the other hex bags.
Dean turned to look back at Sam, "Dude, where are all the hex bags?"
Sam glanced away for a moment before telling Dean, "I…burned them."
"You what?" Dean asked with wide disbelieving eyes. Surely Sam wouldn't be so—
"Look, if Lilith is coming, which is a big if—" Sam started, but Dean was quick to cut him off.
"Oh, no, no, no. It's more than an if," Dean sometimes really couldn't believe how such a smart guy could be so stupid. Prophet or not. "Chuck is not a psychic. He's a prophet," he informed Sam abruptly.
"What?" Sam asked, confused, wondering if Dean was being serious. He never knew if prophets were real, or some jumped up zealot disseminating their own gospel in their own favor.
"Cas showed up, and apparently Chuck is writing the gospel of us," Dean's displeasure over that was evident in his voice and face, even as Chuck's words over what John did to Maya hovered at the edges of his mind.
Dean pushed them aside. There was no time to deal with them, they needed to leave.
Sam blinked and had to shove his anger at the angel back down. He was still pissed over the angel just watching as his Dad had abused Maya. Pissed at Castiel, pissed at Lilith…he was all kinds of angry.
"Okay," Sam struggled out.
Dean didn't hear his brother's restrained anger, wanting just to get out of hell out of dodge before Lilith showed up. "Okay. Let's get the hell out of here," he went back to his bag to finish packing.
Sam sighed, "No." He had no intention of leaving.
Not without Lilith's head on a silver platter.
Dean threw down his bag back on the bed and turned back on Sam, "Lilith is going to slaughter you." He knew what Sam was thinking, but he also knew that they were not equipped to take on that demonic bitch.
"Maybe she will. Maybe she won't," Sam tried to reason as anticipation for the confrontation hummed in his veins. At a shot of getting rid of this demon that had killed Dean and now threatened Maya.
"So, what? You think you can take her?" Dean asked incredulous and annoyed. They needed to leave. Not have this argument, again!
"Only one way to find out, Dean, and I say bring her on," Sam said confidently as Dean shook his head in disbelief.
Dean couldn't believe—
"Sam—" Dean's voice started to rise only to be stopped by Sam.
"You think I'll do it, don't you?" Sam calmly accused knowing his brother's reservations over his demon begotten powers. "You think I'll go dark side."
"Yes! Okay?" Dean admitted in a shout. "Yes. The way you've been acting lately, the things you've been doing?!"
Dean gave Sam a hard knowing stare. Sam looked back with apprehension wondering how much his brother knew.
"How you ripped Alastair apart like it was nothing. Like you were swatting a fly," Dean said to Sam angrily before admitting, "Cas told me, okay."
Sam released a slow breath at the mention of the angel's name, clenching his jaw as he asked, "What else did he tell you?" He was both wary and pissed. He worried over what did the angel reveal to his brother. And, he was pissed that the angel stood by and did nothing as his Dad hurt Maya.
"Nothing I don't already know," Dean said steely. "That you've been using your psychic crap, and that you've been getting stronger. We just don't know why, and we don't know how," he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Sam felt a smidgen of relief at that. Dean didn't know about the blood.
"It's not what you think," Sam started carefully, still not sure how he was going to smooth this over and get Dean to help him, especially if he brought up Maya in his reasoning.
"Then what is it, Sam?" Dean asked not wanting to deal with whatever bull Sam was about to feed him. "'Cause, I'm at a total loss!"
They stared at each other in tense silence before Dean scoffed, going back to the bed and angrily grabbed his bag. Dean brushed past Sam, then stopped and turned around.
"Are you coming or not?" Dean asked, but he knew what Sam was about to say. He knew this kind of knuckle headed mindset his little brother could get into sometimes. The same stubbornness that helped him walk away from Dean and their Dad to go to college.
Sam turned to look at Dean, "No."
Dean took one more step towards the door before pausing. As much as Sam was a stubborn ass, he was still his little brother and he'd been doing his best to protect him since they were both small. As stupid as he was being…Dean wasn't going to leave him to face Lilith alone.
No matter how idiotically stupid he was being.
Dean angrily tossed the bag on the kitchenette chair beside him before storming out of the hooker-inn room and went to the pop machine down the way. Dean put a few coins in and tried to wrack his brain for a solution and the only thing he could come up with was…praying to the nerd angel.
So, he did.
But Castiel couldn't help. There wasn't anything Castiel could do, it was divine prophecy.
Oh, if that didn't piss Dean right off. He told Castiel to go screw himself; screw his God, and to forget coming to him the next time he needed his help.
Castiel wracked through his brain for a way to work around this, but the only thing he could think of was some pointed words. Hopefully it wouldn't draw attention to the angel. Castiel was still investigating up in Heaven.
"Dean. Dean!" Castiel called.
"What?!" Dean growled when he turned to look back at Castiel.
Castiel turned to face Dean, "You must understand why I can't intercede. Prophets are very special. They're protected."
"I get that," Dean said angrily.
"If anything threatens a prophet, anything at all, an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce. They're absolute," Castiel could see in Dean's eyes the wheels turning and his understanding. "They're Heaven's most terrifying weapon," Castiel finished gravely.
"And these archangels, they're tied to the prophets?" Dean asked speculatively.
"Yes."
Dean started walking back towards the angel, "So, if a prophet was in the same room as a demon…"
"Then the most fearsome wrath of Heaven would rain down on that demon," Castiel affirmed. "Just so you understand…why I can't help," he looked up towards the sky away from Dean, grateful that he didn't sense one of his Brothers nearby other than the archangel who paid him little mind, then gave Dean a pointed look.
"Thanks Cas," Dean said gratefully as a plan started forming in his mind.
"Good luck."
.
Toreador Motel
Hour or so later…
Sam
Sam didn't know where Dean had gotten to. He'd left his stuff behind so he was probably going to come back…but he wasn't sure if would be before Lilith showed up. It was probably for the best. One less thing to worry about…especially that whole bit Chuck wrote about the 'fiery demonic passion'. Prophet or not, Sam greatly doubted that little bit.
There was a knock at the motel door. Sam hesitated a moment before opening it to find no one there. Closing the door, he turned around to find a blonde, dark eyed comely dental hygienist smiling beguiling at him in a form hugging black dress.
"Hello, Sam," Lilith all but purred.
"I've been waiting for you."
Lilith's eyes rolled back into the back of her head, only her whites showing with a smirk before returning back to normal.
"Where's the knife, Sam?" Lilith asked.
"On the nightstand. By the bed," Sam said with a glare.
Lilith began walking over to the bed but eyed the thick and plush red rug. She crouched down and flipped the corner of the rug to find the edge of a devils trap spray painted on the floor beneath it. She brushed her fingers on the paint, lighting it up and breaking it.
Sam shifted on his feet trying to keep his nerves down. He was sure he could take her, but there was no point in making it harder for him to do it, hence the devils trap.
Lilith stood and turned, giving Sam an unimpressed look, "You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that."
"How about this?" Sam raised his arm and started calling forth his power. It rushed at Lilith, but all it did was blow at her blonde curls. She gave Sam an unimpressed look as he let out a gasp when he lost his grip on the power he tried to bring forth.
"You're strong, but you're not that strong. Not yet," Lilith stated with small shake of the head.
"So, why don't you throw me around then?" Sam demanded in frustration, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily.
"Because I can't and you know it," Lilith's voice was strained as she calmly stared Sam down. "You're immune to my charms," Lilith smirked as she said 'charms' like it was something more scandalous than Sam being unaffected by her demonic powers. "So, it seems that we're at a stalemate," she stalked towards Sam.
"Why're you here?" Sam glared; his body tensed the closer she got. Fists clenched as the memory of Lilith asking for Maya, of her sicking the hellhounds on Dean…and of Dean being torn to shreds in front of him by invisible claws and teeth.
"To talk," she said in an attempt to be beguiling.
Sam chuckled at her attempt, unaffected, "Yeah, well, I'm not interested."
Lilith hummed as she circled him, "Even if I'm offering to stand down…from the seals…the apocalypse…all of it?"
Sam eyed her, not believing a word she said. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Honestly? No," she gave a little shrug. "But you were always the smart one. You can end it, Sam," she tempted. "Right here, right now. I'll stop breaking seals, Lucifer keeps rotting in his cage. All you have to do is agree to my terms," she smiled at Sam seeing how tempted he was at the offer, but also the suspicion.
"Why would you back down? Why now?"
Lilith gave him a considering side eyed glance as she turned her back on him and took a couple purposeful steps away from him, "Turns out I don't survive this war." She turned on her heel, "Killed off, right before the good part starts."
"What do you want?" Sam demanded, an idea of where this was all going.
Lilith gave another little shrug with a demure smile, "For it to go back to the way it was. Before I had angels to deal with 24/7. The good old days when it was all baby blood all the time." She had a wistful look on her face, no doubt imagining said baby blood drinking times.
"What do you want in return?" Sam asked wondering what was making Lilith do a 180 on her stance of breaking seals. It was odd.
"Your head on a stick," she said flatly. "Dean's too. As a consolation prize."
"You think I'm stupid enough to fall for this?"
Lilith sent him an irritated look, "I make a deal I have to follow through. Those are the rules, and you know it." She eyed him; he was so close. "Or are you really so arrogant that you would put your life before the lives of 6 billion innocent people?" she then gave him another assessing look. Lilith grinned, hiding something behind her smile.
"Maybe it is all that demon blood pumping through your pipes that makes you so much like a man after my own heart. So, arrogant and selfish that you would watch even your own little sister burn along with the rest of the world," her grin became wide and toothy as Sam shot her an outraged look.
Sam clenched his teeth and schooled his face, but his blood was boiling as questions screamed through his head. "What are you talking about?" Sam tried to play it off, act confused. "I don't have a little—"
Lilith snorted, rolling her eyes, "Oh, but Sam. You do. I've been after her for a while now. You're little…half-Trickster friend." Malice shone in her eyes, "I've been desperately wanting to meet her…have a little fun with her." She leaned a little closer towards a quietly seething Sam, "I bet she'd be a fun possession. Not to mention having a full-on Trickster god at the end of a leash."
Sam scoffed as he tried to keep his anger in check, but it was hard. "Maya? She's not my sister. You really think John Winchester would sleep with that asshole, Loki?"
Lilith hummed speculatively, "Not knowingly, of course. But Loki is quite masterful at the art of shapeshifting." She chuckled lowly, "However, I heard daddy Winchester was less than understanding at finding out he spawned a freak like her."
Sam clenched his fists as the memory of words innocently written on white pages stained his mind with the images they conjured of Maya's treatment at John's hands.
"Gotta say though," Lilith hummed with a little sigh. "That has to be some kind of record, two out of three kids end up being freaks? That's impressive. And don't try to deny it. All that demon blood pumping in you says otherwise."
"You're not making a good case for wanting to make a deal with you," Sam gritted out.
Lilith loses the almost playful look she had had at her earlier taunting, "Fine. You and your brother's heads on a pike, in exchange for all the remaining seals and to sweeten the deal, I'll even leave your little half-breed in peace."
Sam stared at her, weighing the options. He sees something in her eyes, something less than confident.
"Going once…" she walked slowly away from Sam towards the bed. "Going twice…"
"Wait!" Sam shouted; Lilith stopped walking with her back to him. "Fine, but no demon on Hell or Earth goes after her."
Lilith rolled her eyes with a sigh and turned to look back a Sam with a satisfied smirk, "Swell. Oh, by the way. A contract with me takes more than kiss to seal the deal." Lilith started walking the last few steps backwards towards the bed, "A lot more."
Lilith patted the bed seductively.
Sam's mind raced as the lines Chuck had read to him and Dean that morning raced through his mind.
He walked towards her with heavy steps as he took in the scene, noticing the demon knife on the bed stand in his peripheral. Sam held back his revulsion as Lilith stroked up his side and flashed her white eyes at him. When he hovered over her as she laid under him he grabbed the knife and made to stab her.
But Lilith was quick to wrench the knife from his hand, switching their positions and was poised to stab his heart instead.
The door to the motel room crashed open and a squirrely, small man was shoved in by Dean. The squirrely man then shouted in a squeaky voice, "I am the prophet Chuck!"
The entire room started shaking and blinding white light was pouring in from the windows.
The terrible wrath of Heaven's most terrifying weapon—the archangel, Raphael—was charging up to smite-a-bitch levels.
"You have got to be kidding me," Lilith said deadpanned.
.
Empty Highway
Approaching midnight…
Sam and Dean
In the motel room Lilith had smoked out before the archangel that sat on Chuck's shoulder could rain its wrath down upon her.
It took a couple hours to pack up all their things and take Chuck home, although Dean offered to get him a room at the motel with an eyebrow waggle, and quickly got a wack upside the head from Sam. Chuck was a little too shaken from being threatened by Dean and coming face to face with Lilith to take him up on the offer.
Sam told Dean as the rain pounded the impala on the way out of town about the deal Lilith offered, even the part about Maya being left alone.
"Huh," Dean commented, earning a surprised look from Sam at the lack of vitriol at him bargaining for—as far as Dean was concerned—the half-Trickster that killed their Dad.
"I'm surprised you're not scoffing at me trying to protect her," Sam said eyeing Dean.
"Yeah, well, Chuck might've let a few things slip," Dean grumbled, trying not to let his guilt overtake him. He wasn't ready to process his thoughts…or that nagging doubt and guilt that was slowly building up and battering at his denial.
'No wonder Maya saw your Dad when you came at her…Deserved what?...T-to be beaten…starved?...Used as-as-as bait for any supernatural creature with a-a-a heightened sense of smell?' Chuck's small stuttering voice reverberated in Dean's head. 'John didn't have exactly the greatest…reaction when Maya had to out herself to save his life.'
Sam saw the conflict in his big brother's eyes, "What'd he say?"
"It doesn't matter. Chuck's writing the gospel of Us, the Winchester Gospel," Dean scoffed as he shifted uncomfortably.
Sam gave his own scoff, "Dean, you may try to refuse it but…she is a Winchester. She's our little sister."
Dean clenched his jaw and glared at the rain slicked road, not commenting on Sam's statement. He waited a couple moments before changing the subject by asking Sam if he would've taken the deal.
Sam sighed in disappointment at his brother and he wished he'd had the forethought to take the pages Chuck had given him from the trash bin before foolishly burning them along with the hex bags. It was obvious that Dean was still trying to hold onto some form of denial despite a prophet telling him what happened.
Maybe if he had the written Word to agonize over and all the details…he'd get his head out of his ass.
Sam scoffed at Dean's question and denied it, pointing out that Lilith would've found a way to wiggle out of it and all it would've cost was their lives.
"Besides that's not the point," Sam said as he looked broodingly out the window.
"Then what was the point?" Dean asked, side-eyeing Sam.
"The point is she's scared. I could see it," Sam stared determinedly out the front windshield. "Lilith is running."
"Running from what?"
Sam shrugged, "Don't know. But she was telling the truth about one thing."
"What's that?"
"She's not going to survive the apocalypse. I'll make sure of that," Sam told Dean.
Dean looked at his brother, worry tugging at him. Sure, the Hunter life could make you hard and even dark, but something was off about this, about Sam.
Something was wrong with Sam and Dean wasn't sure what it was…or where it was going to lead his little brother. Nowhere good, that's for sure.
AN: Here's another one guys!
I appreciate all the reviews and support as I go through a rough patch like many others are at this time! Next chapter will be a little more fluffy. Maya meets her angel stalker!
lolxxx: Zachariah is one lucky douchebag that's for sure. And honestly right now Bobby's like the only one holding his shit together, lol. I love him.
Sara Tatiana: Your review meant so much to me and thank you for your support. I hope your sessions help you. I'll try to write as much as I can and not let the monthly updates get to me or stress me out. I am also so glad my story helped you through some rough patches of your own. I didn't think it'd be that important to someone, but I guess it shows what I know. But it makes me smile to know that what I do makes a difference for someone else. Thank you so much for your review.
vrskaandrea: yes Gabriel has been missed by all. I can honestly tell you I was smiling when Bobby's trigger finger "slipped". He's honestly up there as one of my favourite characters when it comes to pseudo parent roles. He's awesome. Sadly it wasn't Castiel that was watching them this time, just Maya's own angel stalker who will be featured more heavily in the next chapter. Much to her horror and chagrin. Don't worry he'll win her over past her fear. Hard not to when he gives off baby angel vibes. Thanks for the offer and I'll definitely reach out when I get stuck again.
xenocanaan: I almost made it all better. Almost, but I needed the angst and heartbreak. Sigh.
VegasGranny: Yes, all hate onto the douche-ariah angel, the ass. Bobby is once again the best.
Eli Clark: Don't worry. It's okay. I probably took it too sensitively. But yes, Gabriel is the best!
Kitten: I guess we missed each other this time again, lol. I'm glad i can bring out different sides to well beloved characters. I've never seen my self a writer but I've had fun the last couple of years with this story and hope to continue. I'm thinking of writing a story for Transformers Animated or Prime on the side. A little break from writing exclusively Supernatural. Break it up a little.
