Song Remains the Same

Chapter 15 / Metafiction

"Fate is knocking at the door, but I don't live there anymore."
- Sonic Syndicate

Four Days Later

Alex rolled over on the motel bed onto her stomach, thoroughly engrossed in her book—after all, reading about your own life through someone else's eyes was fascinating, if not horrifying.

That morning the Winchesters had been blindsided by a strange discovery… a series of books, starring them.

On the other end of the room Dean and Sam were both laptops glued to their laptop screens, the books in question littering the table around them. The books included in specific and perfect detail all the things they had done for the past three or so years. Although they were dead set on finding out who this author Carver Edlund was and how they knew everything about the Winchesters' private lives, they'd gotten temporarily distracted after Sam had stumbled onto the Supernatural fandom online.

Dean was chuckling. "Whoa, check it out… these fans are not playing around. There are 'Sam girls' and 'Dean girls.'"

Alex looked up from the pages of Wendigo. She let loose an unladylike snorting, "Ha!"

Dean looked at her over his shoulder. "Why's that funny?"

"I'm an Alex girl, personally," she quipped.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer screen. "Hey, what's a 'slash fan'?"

Sam looked hesitant to answer, and Alex looked up in mild curiosity. "As in... Sam-slash-Dean," Sam said. "Together."

There was a short silence, where Dean and Alex were trying to figure out exactly what was being implied. "Like, together together?" Dean asked, his voice full of the beginnings of incredulous disbelief.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, drawing disgusted expressions from both of his siblings.

Alex had to force herself not to guffaw at the absurdity.

"They do know we're brothers, right?" Dean asked, sounding hopeful that there had been some kind of misunderstanding.

However, Sam shrugged. "Doesn't seem to matter. And there's also some… um… of all three of us. Together. And, there's also, uh... 'Twincest'? And… 'Deanlex'?" He looked at Alex and pulled a face.

Alex sat up, throwing her book down. "What is wrong with these people?"

Sam's chuckled. "A lot from what I can tell. I mean, I'm finding all this anti-Alex stuff in the fandom. Some fan named Axarell posted this just yesterday: 'The series is perfect except for the awkward addition of Alex, who undermines the entire story. Instead of being about brothers in arms, it's about these two brothers and their third-wheel sister—she's too talkative once she gets her voice back in the last few books. She's always crying and bitching. Alex ruins the entire series.'"

Alex made a face. "Geez, sorry for existing?"

"No no, this one's better," Dean said, reading from his screen. He clearly thought the whole thing was funny. "LisaMack wrote 'Alex Winchester is an unbelievable and flat character, and her mysterious, unexplained recovery from mutism is just too far-fetched. Wish she wasn't in the books; I also don't like how she gets so much time with my boys.'" Dean paused. "Her boys?" He scoffed. "What, we're personal property now?"

"I'm not believable?" Alex asked. "LisaMack isn't believable." Both of her brothers tried to hide their chuckles at her indignant comment. "It's not funny! I mean, don't these people have anything better to do with their time than complain about me?"

"Haters gonna hate," Dean said with a good-natured shrug. "There's nice ones too about you but why would I read you those? Hey!" He ducked a spare sock she threw at him and chuckled when she missed. He returned to reading out loud from his screen. "'Hey guys, please read my brofic, in which Sam and Dean hunt on their own. No Alex in this alternate universe. Please don't hate, I know brofic isn't everyone's cup of tea.'"

Alex pssh'ed loudly. "Like you two's life without me would be interesting at all."

Dean closed his laptop with a face. "Dude, this crap is just weird. Funny... but weird."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, closing his laptop too and leaning his elbows onto the table. "It's amusing, if not a little… uh, creepy, to say the least, but we really need to find out who wrote the series."

"Okay, so where do we start?" Alex slid off the bed and crossed the room to her brothers. "The name Carver Edlund turned up nothing on the databases or address searches."

"We go to the publisher," Sam said. "Carver Edlund is probably a pen name."

Dean was already standing up. "Well, what are we waiting for? Daylight's wasting."

"Dean, we just got here," Sam pointed out, sounding reluctant and weary. Alex couldn't say she was crazy about getting back into the Impala for another however-many hour drive either.

But Dean was grabbing his jacket. "And we're just leaving," he replied, his mind already made up.

The twins exchanged a mutually sympathetic glance. With no choice, they grudgingly got up and followed their brother. Yet again and as always, the Winchesters were on the move.

"Thanks for all your help!" Sam called as he sat back into the passenger side of the Impala. The publisher, Sera, waved from the front porch of her house, her expression a little starstruck.

"Did you guys really have to show her your tattoos? I think you turned her brain to complete mush." Alex was still shaking her head in chagrin at how the publisher had basically lost her crap when Sam and Dean showed her their anti-possession tattoos and subsequently shown off their bare chests.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" By the grin she could hear in his voice, she knew Dean thought it was funny too. "We got Carver Edlund's real name and address. All thanks to these handsome faces, bulging muscles, and irresistible sex appeal."

Dean and Sam chuckled as Alex leaned forward between their seats. "And long, flowing locks," she said, waving the title book, Supernatural at them—on which a shirtless Sam (who looked more like Fabio) had sandy hair to his shoulders blowing away from his face. The rest of the cover wasn't much better—Dean was in a sleeveless cutoff shirt and looked like a knock-off of a Street Fighter character—Alex was in the background, leaning seductively against the car in a tiny strapless shirt that clung to her ridiculously disproportionate body (no one's waist was that tiny). And for some reason her hair was platinum blonde.

"Did the guy who illustrated this cover even read the book?" Sam asked as Dean pulled the Impala out into the road. The ridiculousness of the book cover had them all giggling as they set off for Kripke's Hollow, the town where Chuck Shurley, a.k.a. Carver Edlund lived.

The Next Day
Kripke's Hollow, Iowa

The Winchesters approached the ramshackle house with trepidation—the lawn was overgrown and unkept. An old motorcycle with a busted axel leaned against crooked, peeling porch railing. This was the place where the author lived. What would they find inside? Why were their lives someone's entertainment hour? And how did Chuck Shurley seem to know everything about their life and times?

Dean led the way up the stairs and to the door where the three of them paused, trading apprehensive looks. Alex shifted the gun in her waistband so that it wasn't visible. Sam had the demon knife and nodded to Dean, who shrugged his eyebrows up. The sentiment was clear: Here goes nothin'. He pressed the doorbell and they waited.

The door creaked open to reveal a thirty-something man who squinted in the light of day—it wasn't early by any means, but he was still in slippers, boxers, a stained off-white tank top, and a ratty old robe. He looked disheveled and disgruntled, his wavy brown hair unstyled and poking up in places like he'd rolled out of bed that way.

"...You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the Supernatural books?" Sam quickly added.

"Maybe..." the man answered uncertainly, his eyes sliding across the three of them guardedly. "Why?"

Dean decided to cut to the chase. "I'm Dean. This is Sam. That's Alex." He paused for effect. "The Dean, Sam and Alex you've been writing about."

Chuck made to close the door—but Alex reached out and smacked her palm into the front of it even as she kicked the toe of her shoe out, stopping him from shutting them out. He was startled and she gave him a facetious little smile. "Rude."

"Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm," he said with nervous darting eyes. "Really, I do. It's, uh, it's always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life."

Again, he tried to shut the door, but Alex's foot was still in the way and Chuck looked mightily annoyed at it, too. "See, here's the thing," Dean said, drifting forward. "We have a life. You've been using it to write your books." With a push on the door, Dean walked straight into the house, forcing Chuck to back up into the dim interior.

"Now, wait a minute. Now, this isn't funny!" Chuck protested as the Winchesters crowded him back into his disgusting living room.

Dean had his most intimidating expression and tone out. "Damn straight it's not funny."

"Look, we just wanna know how you're doing it," Sam reasoned, more quiet and reasonable than Dean even though he was on edge, too.

"I'm not doing anything!" Chuck protested.

"Are you a hunter?" Dean asked.

"What?" Chuck looked like he'd never heard anything more ridiculous. "No. I'm a writer!"

"Then how do you know so much about demons?" Dean advanced on Chuck, whose face fell in fear—he backed up and fell down onto his couch as Dean continued demanding answers. "And Tulpas, and changelings?"

Cowering on the couch in just his underwear and a ratty tank top (his robe wasn't hanging around him as he laid there), the author looked pretty pathetic. "Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing?" Paranoia colored his features. "Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing! You're gonna make me rewrite everything then murder me!"

"Come on man, have some self-respect," Dean muttered at the sight of a grown man in his underwear close to blubbering. "Believe me, we're not fans!"

"Well, then, what do you want?!" Chuck demanded, refusing to move from his station on the couch.

Sam was getting pissy. "I'm Sam. And that's Dean. She's Alex."

Chuck only got more flabbergasted, looking at them like they were the crazy ones. "I heard you the first time. Sam and Dean and Alex are fictional characters. I made them up! They're not real!"

The Winchesters looked at each other for a minute, frustrated. Then Alex went over to Chuck, manhandling him up. "Get up, you look like an idiot."

Chuck grew strangely awed. "Whoa, you're pretty strong—" he said, seeming to see her in new light. "You work out? Lift weights? That was impressive!" Alex gave him a weird look.

"All right chuckles, enough," Dean said, grabbing Chuck by the arm. "Got something to show you."

Chuck protested vehemently, but Sam and Dean escorted him to the Impala, where Dean opened the trunk and began to show Chuck evidence.

Chuck stared down at the arsenal with wide eyes. "Are... those real guns?"

"Yup. And this is real rock salt, and these are real fake IDs." Dean showed him both things then let them fall back into the trunk and he crossed his arms as Alex picked up a couple things too and waved them at Chuck.

"Dad's journal," she said, then pulled out a dog-eared notebook that had been well-worn. "Some of my notebooks from when I couldn't talk."

Chuck was both impressed and flabbergasted. "Well, I, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans." He stared down at the guns again, his nervousness showing through. "That's, that's awesome, s-so..." he mumbled breathily, cleared his throat, and started backing up, jerking a thumb toward his house. "I-I think I've got some posters in the house, yeah, I… uh..." he began to scurry back up the way they'd come out.

"Chuck, stop!" Dean thundered, already following him.

Chuck turned and held his hands out in weak defense, panicking at the three Winchester's taller forms and imposing presences. "Please. Wait. Please, don't hurt me!"

Alex was exasperated. "We won't hurt you Chuck, so stop being such a little pansy." Clearly affronted by her words, Chuck went silent.

"How much do you know?" Sam asked intently. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

The author's face showed confounded surprise. "Wait a minute. How do you know about that?"

"How do you?" Alex challenged.

Chuck paused, baffled. "B-because I wrote it?"

"You kept writing?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowing.

The author's confusion was growing by leaps and bounds. "Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out." Suddenly, Chuck grinned, laughed, then crossed his arms and visibly relaxed. "Okay, wait a minute. This is some kind of joke, right? Did—did Phil put you up to this?"

Dean, Sam, and Alex shared brief glances, then Dean cracked a cynical, tight smile. "Not a joke. Like we've been telling you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam, our sister Alex."

Chuck's smile faded. "The last names were never in the books. I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down." He was overcome by shock. "You're real? The three of you are… are real?"

"In the flesh," Dean quipped humorlessly.

Chuck swallowed. "I… I need a drink."

Sam bracingly leaned down onto the kitchen chair back, staring at Chuck, who was gulping down a huge glass of whiskey, his back turned to the Winchesters. Dean paced behind Sam, and Alex gawked back further in the room, frowning at the discovery of a dirty shirt shoved in between some books on a shelf. There was an old pizza crust near it that looked hard as a rock. The guy's house was packrat heaven.

Chuck turned around and groaned at the sight of the Winchesters in his living room kitchen area. "Ah! You're still there."

Dean nodded once. "Yup."

"You're not a hallucination."

Dean shook his head once. "Nope."

A silence stretched out as Chuck stared at them with a slackened jaw. "Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously... I'm a god."

Alex shot over an entertained smirk. That was quite the leap.

Sam laughed softly. "You're not a god."

"How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life." Chuck sighed gustily. "Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god." His face twisted into confused self-loathing. "A cruel, cruel, capricious god." He looked at them all in turn as if he were horrified at himself. "The things I put you through! The physical beatings alone...!"

"Yeah, we're still in one piece," Dean muttered, obviously internally rolling his eyes at Chuck's dramatics.

"I made you mute, Alex!" he continued, horrified at himself. "I put you through terrible things—loneliness, a crazy dad, a twin who abandoned you?! A brother-sister relationship with Dean that most readers thought was incestual?!"

Alex felt put on the spot as she and Dean exchanged a very odd look indeed. "Uh…"

"But I mean to be fair, the SPN fandom is real weird," Chuck added on, and his face showed deep dismay and realization. He suddenly looked at Dean, then Sam as his realizations grew and grew. "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 cautioned, but the author kept going.

"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?" Dean asked impatiently. "You didn't create us."

Alex was now beside Sam, and all three of the Winchesters watched as Chuck crossed his arms and stared at them in worried interest. "…Did you really have to live through the bugs?"

"Don't remind me," Alex commented in a mutter as she shuddered.

"What about the ghost ship?"

"Yes, that too," Dean answered brusquely.

"I am... so sorry," Chuck apologized. "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, a few more drafts, maybe tried to—"

"Chuck, you're not a god!" Dean insisted a little loudly.

"We think you're probably just psychic," Sam explained, standing to his full height.

Chuck made a face. "No. If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing?" He made a pained face. "Writing is hard."

Sam and Dean exchanged a yeah right glance.

"Well for whatever reason, your psychic mumbo jumbo is… focused on our lives," Alex reasoned.

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

Realization came over Chuck's face. "Ho-oooly crap," he breathed.

"What?" Dean asked cautiously.

Chuck picked up a draft printout that was laying on the kitchen table next to his computer. "The, uh, latest book?" He tried to be casual. "It's, uh, it's kind of weird."

"Weird how?" Sam asked.

Chuck stared at the page blankly and took too long to answer.

"Weird how, Chuck," Alex asked in a louder, less patient voice than her twin had used.

Chuck winced. "It's very... Vonnegut?"

Dean studied Chuck intently. "'Slaughterhouse Five' Vonnegut or 'Cat's Cradle' Vonnegut?"

"What?" Sam asked in a startled, high-pitched voice—he was obviously shocked that Dean even know who Vonnegut was.

Dean looked at his brother defensively. "What?"

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

"Well, that was interesting," Dean commented wryly as they sped away from Chuck's dilapidated house. Sam chuckled and said something back, but Alex wasn't paying attention. In the back seat with a hefty manuscript draft, she was busy skimming the text with increasing attention. There was so much detail, and it described the past three days of their life perfectly… the way they had gotten zapped back to the motel, her apology to Cas, the burnt pancakes they had for breakfast, the long drive, the encounter in the comic book shop, the friendly spat Dean and Sam had gotten into over the music on the radio… how did Chuck know all of this?!

Not even he knew how. Shaken up and unable to provide them with any more solid answers, Chuck had sent them packing with the newest manuscript he'd been working on, telling them that he had no idea how he knew everything he did about them. Only that he had 'visions' and wrote what he saw.

The Winchesters were headed to find a laundromat until they could come up with something or figure out how exactly this Chuck guy was doing what he was doing. Alex flipped to a few pages further. This page took place earlier that morning on the road to Chuck's house. Her eyes got big as she read further.

SUPERNATURAL, The Monster at the End of this Book (working title), Page 14.

"Alex leaned tiredly against the window of the car, yet again letting her mind wander to a place she would never admit to anyone that it went. Castiel. Ever since she had apologized to him, she hadn't seen him. Not that she wanted to, she told herself. Even though she did. To Alex, Castiel was someone she was beginning to dare to trust. She wasn't sure if she would ever understand him very well, but after all he had done for her, she was beginning to think maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd originally thought. Maybe there was hope for him yet. And it didn't hurt that he was attractive, either... uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking, Alex forced herself to sit up, trying to banish the thoughts from her mind."

What the hell? Alex glanced up from the draft, first at Dean, then at Sam, and stealthily took that page of the manuscript and cleared her throat, shoving the page into the pocket of her jacket. That was the last thing she needed—her brothers knowing she found Castiel physically attractive.

Which, she didn't! Or at least, she didn't want to, and didn't think she should. He wasn't... a human. But human or not, she thought of the tousled wild hair, the eyes that could stare into her soul, the stern line of his mouth. The subtle ways his expressions shifted. The crinkles around his eyes when a smile crossed his face. The constant five o'clock shadow. The way her name sounded when he spoke it. The power and authority he wielded... Oh my god, Alex thought miserably as she finally gave up on trying to convince herself out of it. I'm the world's biggest idiot. Why couldn't I pick someone to like who I would have a chance with? I'm hopeless.

Dean pulled into the laundromat parking lot, the car bumping over the uneven pavement. A sudden, terrible thought came to Alex, and she hurriedly paged through the manuscript. The drive to Chuck's, the visit with Chuck—and there, staring back at her:

"Alex glanced up from the draft, first at Dean, then at Sam, and stealthily took that page of the manuscript and cleared her throat, shoving the page into the pocket of her jacket. That was the last thing she needed—her brothers knowing she found Castiel physically attractive."

Mortified, Alex took that page too, shoving it into her pocket with the other page. How had Chuck done that?! The second Dean stopped the car, she hopped out anxiously, hugging the draft to herself as she briefly thought about setting it on fire. This was weird, weird, weird! Alex thought in another moment she might have laughed at herself—a hunter who wasn't scared to face any kind of paranormal enemy, but turned into a dramatic thirteen-year-old girl when she thought her brothers might read her diary.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Dean asked as he got out of the car, giving her one of his narrowed-eyed stares.

"Just, uh, really stoked to do laundry!" Alex said, realizing that she overdid it, not quite managing to sound normal.

"Yeah, whatever, lemme see that," he said, motioning for the manuscript. She let him take it, unable to find a reason why not. "Weirdo," Dean muttered, and turned to go into the laundromat. Sam was grabbing all the bags out of the trunk, and Alex told herself to stop thinking and just start helping.

Dean settled down onto one of the counters, intently paging through the manuscript. The twins began working on the laundry, dumping everything out and sorting it into piles. Alex glanced at Dean every few seconds nervously. She wasn't sure why she was so freaked out. Maybe because being teased about that—her love life or lack thereof—would hurt too much. She wished she wasn't the way she was... that is, headed for spinster life. But past a certain age, she had kind of given up. She was pretty much a freak, and needed to just accept it. Her lifestyle didn't exactly leave her much in the way of meeting people or having a relationship. No wonder she was getting so desperate as to be attracted to an angel. No, stop thinking about him, she told herself, and glanced up at Dean again, then the stack in his hands.

"I'm sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself. My head hurts," Dean complained.

"There's gotta be something this guy's not telling us, right?" Sam gathered all of his darks into a huge pile.

"He's psychic," Alex said, throwing all the lights into one of the laundromat carts. "Has to be. Can you think of another explanation?"

"Well, no, but that doesn't mean there isn't one." He turned and tossed darks one of the machines.

Dean began to read from the manuscript. "Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth. Alex glanced at Dean, scowling."

Alex's scowl dropped in surprise. "Alex's scowl dropped in surprise," Dean read, chuckling a little now.

"Stop it, Dean," Sam said.

"'Stop it, Dean,' Sam said," Dean read, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Guess what you do next, Sam." Sam turned around, his expression unpleasant.

"'Sam turned his back on Dean, his face brooding and pensive.' I mean, I don't know how he's doing it, but this guy is doing it. I can't see your face, but those are definitely your 'brooding and pensive' shoulders."

Sam scoffed over his shoulder at Dean. "Ah, and now you just thought I'm being a dick," Dean said, reading from the manuscript again.

Sam turned around, reluctantly impressed. "The guy's good."

"He's scary," Alex corrected. "He's inside our heads."

"'He's inside our heads,' Alex said with her trademark sarcastic flair." Dean all but giggled. "Trademark sarcastic flair, I like that, Al. Sassy."

"Give me that." Alex grabbed the stack of paper from him and whacking him over the head. He threw up his hands in pitiful protest, still giggling.

The Next Day
Chuck's House

"This was all so much easier before you were real," Chuck said, pacing in front of them. His house was still dark and messy, littered with papers, empty bottles, dirty laundry, old pizza boxes, and more.

"We can take it; just spit it out," Dean said impatiently. "What does the new chapter you wrote say is gonna happen next?"

Chuck looked between all three of the Winchesters hesitantly. "It's Lilith. She's coming for Sam."

"What do you mean?" Dean moved closer to Chuck, whose eyes widened slightly. He was clearly intimidated by Dean. "Coming to kill him? When?"

"Tonight."

"Where?" Alex asked intently.

Chuck looked at her and nodded, muttered something, then sat on his couch and put on reading glasses. "Uh... let's see, uh… 'Lilith patted the bed seductively. Unable to deny his desire, Sam succumbed, and they sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion.'"

"Whoa!" Alex exclaimed. Dean's expression matched hers: a combination of disbelief and disgust.

Sam, however, was laughing. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Why are you laughing?" Alex demanded, not seeing the humor in the situation.

"Why aren't you?" Sam asked, and then seeing Dean's disapproving glare, his smile faded a little. "I mean, come on. 'Fiery demonic passion?'"

"It's just a first draft," Chuck said defensively.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait." Dean suddenly made realization. "Lilith is a little girl."

Oh yeah. All three Winchesters looked at Chuck, waiting for him to explain. "Oh, no, uh, this time she's a 'comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana.'"

"Well that makes it all better," Alex said with her trademark sarcastic flair. "You need to give us some context, here, Chuck. What happens before the… demonic passion?"

"Well, I don't really… I only got the… fiery part… I mean, I can let you guys read it, but it's really random. Just, basically, what you guys do all day after you leave here."

"Great. Perfect," Dean said wryly. "So then what happens after the fiery whatever?"

"I don't know, it hasn't come to me yet," Chuck said, shrugging shallowly.

"Geez, what good are you for?" Alex commented a little rudely.

But Chuck just looked at her, a little smile on his face, like he was fond of her. "You know, you're exactly how I imagined you. Even better, in fact."

Both of the brothers looked at Chuck strangely, and Dean grabbed Chuck by the shoulder, startling the writer. "Hey—keep the creepy flirty crap outta the equation. Got it?"

"Uh, yeah Dean," Chuck said, trying to act cool, but failing completely.

"Now, about this whole love scene between Sam and Lilith—"

Sam didn't let his brother finish. "Dean, look, there's nothing to worry about. Lilith and me? In bed?"

Alex looked at him sidelong, saying what everyone else in the room was thinking. "What's so crazy about that?"

"The name Ruby ring any bells, Sam?" Dean added, driving in the nail.

Sam's expression fell into something like chagrin or frustration and he looked down, saying nothing.

A Few Hours Later

"What color you want, honey?" the woman asked Alex, who looked up from her hands.

"I don't know. Red. Whatever color people get."

The woman tilted her head to the side, perplexed. "Lots of colors, honey. You pick one."

"Red," Alex repeated, quickly losing her patience. "Just paint my friggin' nails, lady!"

"Okay, okay," the lady said, offended but quickly complying.

Alex didn't know how people subjected themselves to this, but this is what Dean had ordered her to do: Sit in a nail shop. It was one of his more ludicrous plans. After leaving Chuck's, Dean had immediately declared that they were leaving town. As luck would have it, the only way out of town was flooded. So, back to the drawing board. After they scoured the newest chapter, Dean had the harebrained idea to do everything opposite of what they usually did in an attempt to avoid what was supposed to happen with Lilith that night.

That was why he sent Alex off, alone, and told her to do everything she normally wouldn't have—"you know, girl stuff… go get your nails done, I don't know!" Because if she could have chosen what to do with her free time, she would have wanted to go to a gun range or read a book in bed or lift weights, maybe sharpen her knives, go hiking, watch a movie marathon and get high. She was pissed that she was being subjected to this waste of time instead of doing something to stop Lilith. Honestly, she thought she should have stayed with Sam. But Dean had insisted this was the only way to avoid the outcome they didn't want. To separate from each other.

"You want design on here?" the nail tech asked, and Alex opened her mouth to say no, then remembered what Dean had said. Do the opposite of what you normally would.

"Yeah," she said, and the lady handed her a menu of options. Alex looked at the options, searching for the one she hated the most.

Alex returned to the motel room at dusk and entered sullenly. Sam looked up as she entered, then his face scrunched up. "Whoa… you look… weird."

Alex just crossed her arms. "I got my nails done. I got my hair done. I went window shopping at the mall, and then I let some old lady do a makeover on me. I'm exhausted, and I have literally done nothing."

"I mean, you look…"

"Ridiculous?" She'd done her best to do everything opposite, outfit included. She was wearing a short jean skirt, knee-high black boots, a dark red top, and a pleather crop jacket over it. Her hair had been curled and glossed; her nails were shiny red with cherries on them. And the makeup—dark eyeshadow, dark liner. If this wasn't the opposite of what she'd normally do, nothing would be. She felt like a clown.

At that moment, Dean burst in, and headed straight for his bag. "Come on. We're getting outta here."

"What? Where?" Sam asked, standing in surprise.

"How? I thought the bridge—" Alex asked, and Dean suddenly noticed her appearance and did a double take.

"The hell are you wearing?" He gaped at the very un-Alex outfit then dropped it. "Never mind. We're leaving this motel, this town. I don't care if we gotta swim, we're getting out. I tried doing everything backwards, but it still happened, just like Chuck said." He looked around, confused. "Dude, where are all the hex bags?"

Alex followed his gaze, realizing she hadn't noticed their absence.

"I burned them," Sam said.

"You what?" Dean asked dangerously.

"Sam!" Alex exclaimed.

Her twin was attempting to explain, his expression earnest if not defensive. "Look, if Lilith is coming, which is a big 'if'—"

"No, no, no," Dean growled. "It's more than an 'if.' Chuck is not a psychic. He's a prophet."

"Wait, a what?" Alex asked, looking at Dean in confusion.

Dean let out a short, frustrated breath, impatiently shoving stuff into his bag. "Cas showed up, and apparently Chuck is writing the gospel of us."

Alex's stomach dropped. "Cas showed up?"

"Never mind that, let's get the hell out of here," Dean said, and headed back to his bags.

Sam shut his eyes and wet his lips. "No."

Getting agitated, Dean threw down his bag. "Sam, Lilith is gonna slaughter you."

"Maybe she will, maybe she won't," Sam said evenly, trying to be calm and reasonable. "Only one way to find out, Dean, and I say bring her on."

"That does not sound like a good idea, Sam…" Alex said, her voice full of caution.

"You both think I'll do it, don't you?" Sam asked dispiritedly. "You think I'll go dark side."

"Yes!" Dean barked out. "Okay? Yes. The way you've been acting lately? The things you've been doing?"

Sam was startled, and Dean nodded grimly. "Oh, I know. How you ripped Alastair apart like it was nothing. How you killed him without batting an eye." Sam looked at Alex, hurt and betrayed. She just stared back without remorse as Dean continued. She had nothing to be sorry about—she'd told Dean the truth. "I know that you've been using your psychic crap, and you've been getting stronger. We just don't know why, and we don't know how."

"It's not what you think," Sam said, fumbling for words.

"Then what is it, Sam? 'Cause I'm at a total loss. Come on Alex, now." Dean grabbed his bag roughly off the bed and headed for the door. He turned back to Sam and Alex. "Are you coming or not?"

Sam didn't move. "No."

Dean's jaw clenched, and he stared at Sam unhappily for a couple beats, then threw his bag down and left, slamming the door behind him. The silence resounded for a couple seconds, and then Sam turned to look at Alex, his expression harsh. "Your favorite brother just left," Sam said. "Aren't you gonna follow him like you always do?"

Alex forced herself to ignore the jab. "Sam, just listen to reason," she said, receiving a soft, bitter laugh from him. Still, she forged ahead, trying to be gentle and reasonable. For his sake, not hers. "Confronting Lilith while knowing what Chuck said is going to happen—it's a bad idea. You know that. Let's dodge this bullet. Let's go while we still can."

"I'm not running away, for once, Alex. I'm gonna face this. With or without you and Dean."

Alex wished she knew how to tell her brother how scared she was for him. "It doesn't have to be you against the world, Sam," she said, coming closer to him, trying to get through to him. "Why can't we be on the same side?"

He shot her a dark look. "You're one to talk… I'm not the one who told Dean about Alastair."

Alex felt her expression sour. So, it was going to be like this. "No. You're not. And you should have been. But I knew you weren't gonna tell him." She felt a bitter smile on her face. "I knew you hoped I was too out of it to see what you did to Alastair. But I saw." She felt her smile fade. "I saw." Sam's expression was dark. Alex swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by sadness. She didn't have any ammo left and she had no idea how to get her brother to listen to reason or come with her. "Sam… can't we just back off this Lilith thing and figure out what's going on with you first? Please. I want you to be okay."

"I am okay," he replied acidly. His expression was unflinching. "And this time, I'm doing things my way. For once in my life, you and Dean can't do anything to stop me." His jaw was set. "The door's right there. Now leave me alone." He turned away, effectively ending the conversation.

Alex stared at his back feeling hurt, yeah, but mostly frustrated. She briefly contemplated whacking him over the head and dragging him out herself. But she gave up, leaving the motel room and exiting into the chill of night. She looked to her left, where she could see Dean, his familiar silhouette lit by the blue glow of the soda machine… he was brushing past another figure angrily. Was that…?

Alex approached. It was. It was Castiel. "You must understand why I can't intercede," he was saying to Dean intently. "Prophets are very special. They're protected." Castiel acknowledged her as she came to Dean's side. "Hello, Alex." He took in her appearance, and she could see that he was mildly perplexed by it.

She didn't give him time to comment. "What's going on?"

"Well our good buddy Cas here was just telling me why he can't interfere with the prophesy… or basically lift a damn finger to help us," Dean said angrily, staring down the angel wrathfully.

Alex shut her eyes for a couple seconds tiredly. Sounded familiar. "Okay. Well… what options does that leave us?"

"The hell if I know!" Dean exclaimed irately. "I'm about to go in there and knock Sam unconscious and tie him down if we don't come up with something." Alex made a face to herself. At least she wasn't the only one thinking it. He huffed a heavy breath out. "Come on, halo over here is fresh outta helpfulness," Dean said, shooting Castiel a glare and grabbing Alex by the arm, about to turn her away with him.

But Castiel spoke before he could. "You should both know… if anything threatens a prophet... anything at all… an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce. They're absolute." He lowered his chin, narrowed his eyes. "They're Heaven's most terrifying weapon."

Dean's head tilted slightly to the side. "And these archangels, they're tied to prophets?"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

Alex was beginning to understand, and looked at her brother to see if he was catching on too. He was. "So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon..." Dean began.

There was an oddly conspiratorial smile on Cas's face. "Then the most fearsome wrath of Heaven would rain down on that demon." The smile was still there. "Just so you understand... why I can't help." He looked at Dean and then Alex significantly. Alex felt a smile spreading over her face. Castiel was being tricky and clever. Her whole body felt lighter at the realization.

Dean was nodding, also understanding. "Thanks, Cas."

"Good luck."

Castiel's eyes left Dean and met Alex's. If Dean had noticed, he might have been puzzled at the intense nature of it, the way the angel and hunter silently seemed to be saying something to each other. But he was already heading for the car. "Come on Alex." She turned to look at Dean, then back at Cas—but he was gone.

Disconcerted, she jogged to catch up with Dean. "But shouldn't I stay with Sam?"

"No. I don't want you alone with him," Dean said, and looked at her over the top of the car, sadly. "We'll be back in time to save him."

They swung into the car, and the engine roared to life. Dean tore out of the parking lot. For a few minutes, the car was silent. Then, Alex turned slightly. "Dean, why would Cas help us like that?"

Dean didn't answer for a few seconds, and she could see that he was in deep thought. "Dunno. At first I thought he was… I dunno, a self-righteous asshole with wings." Dean chuckled, then grew pensive. "I owe the guy a whole hell of a lot. My life, your voice… this." Dean shifted his hand on the wheel, turning a shade more darkly thoughtful. "Maybe he wants something."

Alex glanced at him sidelong. In her experience, everyone had an ulterior motive. Still, she shook her head slowly. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Dean asked, sending a cursory glance her way.

"He's a freakin' angel," Alex said. "What the hell could he want from us? Flannel shirts? Rock salt?" She gave a weak laugh. "I mean, what do we have that anyone in their right mind would want?"

Dean chuckled. "Good point."

Alex thought about how Anna had wanted to be a human to experience love. How Cas had said he was her friend, back at the hospital. She grew reflective, wondering about the motivations of angels. "Maybe he wants friendship."

Dean made a face like he thought the idea was doubtful. "Interesting theory." He squealed to a halt on the sidewalk in front of Chuck's house. "We'll have to think on it later. Let's get this jackass and hightail it back to Sammy."

Dean hurried inside with Alex close behind. They found Chuck sprawled on his couch, wrapping up in a blanket and drinking. He sat up in surprise upon seeing them. "What are you doing here? I didn't write this. Hey!"

Dean was yanking him to his feet roughly. "Come on. I need you to come with us."

"What? Where?!"

"To the motel where Sam is," Alex said.

"But that's where Lilith is!" Chuck protested.

"Yeah, exactly," Dean said. "I need you to stop her."

"Are you insane?" Chuck demanded, yanking out of Dean's grip. "Lilith? I know what she's capable of, Dean! I wrote her!"

Impatiently, Dean seemed to realize he needed to stop and explain. "All right, listen to me. You have an archangel tethered to you, okay? All you gotta do is show up and boom! Lilith gets smoked."

"But I-I haven't seen that yet. Th-the story—" Chuck fumbled.

Alex smacked him in the back of the head. "Shut up, Chuck! Get yourself together!"

"Ow." He cowered away, holding his head. "B-but... I'm just a writer, I… I can't do anything!"

Dean grabbed him again. "This isn't a story anymore, man. This is real! And you're in it! Now, I need you to get off your ass and fight."

Chuck drew in a deep breath, and for a second looked like he was bracing himself to do just that. And then he shook his head. "No. No friggin' way."

Dean sighed, blinking a few times. "Okay, well, then, how about this—I've got a gun in my pocket, and if you don't come with me, I'll blow your brains out."

Chuck looked at Dean, slack jawed. "I thought you said I was protected by an archangel," he said timidly.

"Well, interesting exercise," Dean said, his voice lower. He had stepped a little closer to Chuck, who shrank back. "Let's see who the quicker draw is."

"You guys wouldn't shoot me…" Chuck said, trying to call a bluff.

At this point, Alex grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shoved him back a couple steps. "Chuck. Enough with the bullshit." He stared at her in a mix of awe and fear. "You know how Dean and I feel about Sam. We may fight ninety percent of the time, but I don't care about cutting you up a little to get you to do what I want… which is for you to help save my brother." She showed him the knife she had pulled out of her belt loop and his eyes widened. "Now, move." She let him go with a shove, putting the knife back in its sheath.

"Okay, yeah, okay." He was smiling now, a breathy laugh escaping his mouth. "Wow, that was kinda hot."

"Shut up," Dean said, smacking him in the back of the head.

Chuck cowered slightly, grabbing his head with both hands. "Ow! Would you guys stop doing that?!"

The unlikely three got into the Impala and Dean raced them back toward Sammy. Just as they entered the tiny downtown area, the engine puttered and choked. "Dammit!" Dean shouted, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. "Out of gas. I knew I was forgetting something!" Luckily they were close to a gas station, and Dean coasted in, making it to the pump on gas fumes. He jumped out of the Impala and pointed a threatening finger at Chuck, who sat in the back seat with Alex. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Chuck squeaked, smiling nervously then seeming to think better of it. He grimaced at himself and looked at his lap.

Alex looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then cleared her throat, spoke furtively. "Hey. So. Chuck. The way you were writing some of the last chapter was like… um, well, it made me think of a lead up to romance."

At that comment, the author smiled coyly, looked at her sidelong. "Read a lot of romance novels, huh?" He laughed nervously, then went quiet. "That was a rhetorical question. I know you do."

Alex gave him a surprised look which quickly became an evil eye. "Don't tell."

"Uh, well, it's mentioned in the books," Chuck said, flinching in anticipation of her reaction.

"Dammit Chuck..." Alex muttered, bringing her face into her palm. Her brothers knew, of course, but… she didn't want anyone else to know how soft she really was. How much of a dreamer.

"I'm sorry," Chuck apologized, leaning away a little, as if anticipating an attack. "Please don't cut me."

"Come on dude," Alex said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms while letting out a huff. "I wouldn't cut you." She paused. Well. "Unless I absolutely had to."

"That's… that's comforting," Chuck said.

"So no, right? I'm nuts to think that… there's some sort of romantic subplot happening in your books, right?"

Chuck's eyes seemed very soft and affectionate. "Well, I wouldn't write the possibility off, personally."

Her stomach flipped as her skin flushed with gooseflesh. She swore Chuck was teasing her. Shaking her head, she mumbled almost to herself: "How would that even work?"

Chuck had a soft smile. His eyes twinkled. "Check back with me later, huh? Let's see how the book ends."

Alex fell silent with a beating fast heart at the playful suggestion. Startling her, Dean yanked the driver's door open and slid back into his seat, slamming the door behind him. "Okay, let's go cut this fiery demonic passion short," he said, and burned rubber out of there.

Alex tried not to dwell, but she couldn't stop wondering if Chuck were being coy or not. It was a fantasy. Right? It was just because Castiel was one of the only men besides her father or brothers or Bobby who had said more than ten things to her. It was just because he had showed her a kindness by healing her voice. It was just because he was handsome and interesting and had eyes that carried the same heaviness that she recognized in herself. It was just her making something out of nothing.

…Right?

Later That Night

They rode away from the Red Motel under the cover of night, Sam in the back seat, Alex in the front, Dean driving.

"So lemme get this straight, you didn't think once about taking it?" Dean asked incredulously.

"You kidding me? Dude, you spent all day trying to talk me off the Lilith track," Sam said.

"I'm just saying… a deal to call off the whole thing… angels, seals, Lucifer rising, the whole nine?" Dean glanced at Sam in the rearview.

"Doesn't sound legit," Alex muttered. She heard Sam shift a little in the back seat.

"Yeah. And even if it were, she would've found some way to weasel out of it. And all it would have cost us was our lives. Anyway, that's not the point."

"What's the point?" Dean asked.

"The point is, she's scared," Sam said. "I could see it. Lilith is running."

"What would hell's most terrifying bitch be running from?" Alex asked doubtfully. "The archangel we brought over for a visit?"

"No. Something else. But she was telling the truth about one thing."

"Which was?" Alex prompted.

"She's not gonna survive the apocalypse. I'll make sure of that."

"We'll make sure of it," Dean corrected. "Together."

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Sam said. He went quiet.

Dean cleared his throat and cranked up the volume on the radio to cover over the silence. It was a familiar, upbeat classic rock song with a yowling guitar rift to die for.

"I've got a tombstone hand and a graveyard mind, I'm just twenty-two and I don't mind dying. Who do you love? Who do you love. I said-a who do you lo-oooove?"

Dean piped up and sang along, trying to make the mood in the car light after everything they'd been through that day. "Who do you loooove!"

"Stop before you break the windows," Alex joked, making a face.

"You love when I sing," he teased.

"I love when you stop singing."

In the back seat unnoticed by his siblings, Sam sank down a little in his seat, shame rolling over him like the incoming tide. If they only knew the things he was doing in the dark these days… Dean wouldn't say that he wanted to do anything together. And Alex would never give him a second chance ever again.

Oblivious in the front seat, Alex smiled in Dean's direction and grabbed her book from the floor of the car. She flipped open Wendigo, starting where she'd left off, reading in the dim light of passing streetlamps.

Dean looked back over his shoulder, checking to see that his little sister was still there—in the back of his mind, he always feared he'd look and Alex would be gone without a sound. He could never forgive himself if that happened. But she was there, in her worn out jacket and with the predictable messy hair, her expression leveled in attentive focus. Unlike almost everyone else present, she was not freaking out, not getting crazy, not drowning in fear. She just looked ready and determined. Dean almost smiled to himself out of how proud he was of his kid sister. She had something that could potentially hold her back in life—but it hadn't. That's just who she was. Strong despite having what others might label a weakness. Resourceful, clever, and always doing her best, never complaining. She carried a lot of sadness, but faced every day just like he did: ready to kick ass.

Alex looked up from the pages, a little smile on her face. She glanced at Dean sidelong, smiling. He caught her glance. "What?"

"It's… just a pretty good book," she said, smiling to herself. She glanced at Sam in the rear view. He looked off in another world. Deeply troubled. Her smile faded, and she remembered the harsh words traded earlier. She wondered how many more wounds their relationship could sustain before shattering completely. She wondered how someone who she had once been so close to could be so far away. Lately, the moments where they weren't at odds were less and less.

Once again troubled, Alex put the book down, lost in the dark places of her mind.