3. Treading the Boards

Eric paced the office nervously. Reaching across the desk, he buzzed the intercom again. 'Leslie? Are they here yet?'

'No, Mister Kripke. Not yet.' Leslie was a great PA, but not quite good enough to hide the annoyance in her voice.

For the umpteenth time, Eric wondered why he'd agreed to this charade. He, more than anyone, understood the validity of having a dedicated fan base, but the truth was the fans scared the hell out of him. Too sharp, too critical, too passionate; they were more demanding than an A list celebrity, but without the bankability.

He'd worked for years nursing his idea, from conception to birth. He'd put in the hard yards and the sleepless nights; he'd suffered through the teething problems, and changed thousands of shitty diapers. He'd nursed. He'd pampered. He'd clucked under the chin. He'd watched those first steps, heard those first words. And now, like some goddamn anonymous social worker armed with all the right forms, his supporters were questioning his parenting skills.

The door swung open and Leslie ushered in a small crowd. One man stepped forward, hand extended. 'Mr Kripke? Jim Manners.'

The introduction made, Jim motioned for the others to take their seats, while Eric returned to his helm behind the desk; even pretending to be in control was better than nothing. He eyed the men across from him. They were all much older and, well bigger than he'd anticipated, making his large office feel cramped and claustrophobic. All of them were dressed in army fatigues.

'I like the outfits,' Eric said conversationally.

Jim removed his Ray-Bans and stared at him grimly. 'It's a jungle out there. We believe in being prepared.'

'Oh, right,' said Eric, faintly. He had no idea what the man was talking about, and he feared to find out.

Jim assumed a casual stance – as casual as he was ever likely to get, Eric thought - legs apart, hands clasped behind him. His back, however, remained ramrod straight and his gaze was directed disconcertingly at a spot above Eric's head and slightly to the right. When he spoke it was with the monotony of an overly-rehearsed speech.

'In accordance with our brief, SNEAK successfully infiltrated a number of Supernatural online fandoms. This,' he indicated the men behind him, 'is the team.'

As Jim barked their names, each man stood to attention, adopting the same at-ease position as their leader. 'snookums666! angelwings! deansluv524! sammywammy69! SNsister! ImpaleMe!' He leaned forward and whispered, 'It was supposed to be ImpalaMe, but he hit the wrong key.'

Eric, completely bemused, pointed to two men still sitting in the far corner of the office. 'Um …you've missed a couple.'

Jim turned and motioned for the men to stand. 'RadicalThinker and I'mAlwaysRight are two of my best men. Both have degrees in Religious Philosophy, Ancient History and Anthropology, Masters in Comparative Religion and RadicalThinker speaks Ancient Greek and Latin fluently. We felt these were necessary requirements for successful infiltration into TWOP. As it turned out, we weren't even close.'

Jim waved a hand and, as one, all his men sat down again. Eric struggled to assimilate the absurd tags with each burly figure, but couldn't.

'And their real names..?' he asked.

Jim frowned. 'That's on a strictly need-to-know basis, Mr Kripke.'

'Right! Yes, I see,' Eric said, actually not seeing at all.

Jim cracked his knuckles loudly, making Eric cringe, and said, 'Okay, I'll begin. You're well aware of our success rate. SNEAK is a crack team and we've tackled some of the most insidious groups imaginable: terrorist cells, anti-establishment clusters, even the free-Paris-Hilton movement - a dark period in all our lives we'd prefer to forget. But I have to tell you that your fans are some of the toughest we've ever had to deal with.'

'Oh?' Eric began to feel queasy. 'How so?'

'Firstly, it appears that eighty-two point five six nine percent of your fan base is divided into two distinct camps: Sam supporters and Dean lovers.'

Eric frowned. While the percentage was a useful thing to know, this statement was hardly a revelation. He already spent a major part of every day trying to please both groups of fans, a task both exhausting and utterly thankless.

Jim went on. 'Of more concern to us is the steadfast passion that these two groups possess. Indeed, so daunting are some of your show's more serious viewers, we've actually decided to pull the team out altogether.'

Eric's queasiness had developed into outright nausea. He swallowed nervously, secretly glad that he'd had the foresight to use SNEAK in the first place. Better them than me.

'Please understand, Mr Kripke. My men are some of the most resilient you'll ever meet; resourceful, cunning, adaptable, professional. There is no job too difficult, no group too fearsome, and no ideology too sacred that will deter them from carrying out their work. That is, until we worked for you.'

Jim paused and sighed loudly. Eric debated buzzing Leslie and asking for a round of coffees, but he was already wanting this meeting to be over. Coffee, and all the social niceties that went with it, would only prolong his agony. So he sat on his hands and waited for the man to continue.

'When we took on this assignment, Mr Kripke, we treated it like any other job. We did our reconnaissance, built up our profiles, planned our entry and plotted our getaway. But nothing prepared us for the ambush awaiting us in those forums.

'Sammywammy69 was reduced to tears when he mistakenly entered a Dean chat group and posted a one line comment about Sam's destiny. SNsister is undergoing sex counseling after stumbling across a Wincest forum. Angelwings was given the task of peacemaker and flitted from thread to thread and forum to forum trying to unite the fanbase. Unfortunately his fence-sitting inspired so much mistrust he's now applying to enter the witness protection program. When Deansluv524 made the fatal error of starting his thread, 'Why I love the Roadhouse Crew', he was mercilessly attacked and forced to leave the fan forum. His username has since been deleted and all records of his existence, gone.'

Eric glanced at Sammywammy69. As wide as he was tall, hands like hams, his face inscrutable; Eric tried to imagine the man in floods of tears, and couldn't.

'This is a joke, right?' he laughed hopefully.

'I'm afraid not,' Jim growled. 'Snookums666 was given what we thought to be the easiest task of all: reading fan fiction. After deciphering and reviewing over five hundred pieces, a mandatory medical and psychological examination followed, during which it was discovered he'd lost thirteen percent of his vision and twenty-six percent of his intellect! He is now under review for early retirement.'

Yes, now that it had been pointed out, Eric could see the faint tremors in the man's hands, and a discernable twitch in his left cheek. The eyes were completely vacant however, and Eric wondered what sort of sedation Snookums was under and whether he could have any. His stomach now churned audibly.

'Is any of this sinking in, Mr Kripke?'

'No. I mean, yes!' Eric assured Jim, then added morosely, 'Actually, no.'

'I realize it's probably a shock. God knows, it was to us.'

'But it can't be that bad, surely?' Eric insisted, staring at Jim in disbelief. Oh God! Were those tears?

Jim rubbed his eyes and glared. 'You think? I'mAlwaysRight and RadicalThinker fared only slightly better at TWOP. Things began well enough; you know, the usual debates about the show: the acting, characterization, guest appearances, sets, realistic dialogue, urban myths, etcetera, etcetera. Only when - as instructed by you - they introduced the idea of more regular cast members and, based on social and anthropological merits, possible prolonged love interests for both Sam and Dean, did things get out of hand.'

Jim placed his hands on the desk and leaned over, eyeballing Eric. 'RadicalThinker was quick enough to redeem his persona. Transforming himself into a snarky pseudo-intellectual has now established him as one of that forum's leading members. Despite our misgivings, he's asked to stay on as your eyes and ears. You can expect fortnightly reports.

'Sadly, I'mAlwaysRight didn't make it. He was ripped to shreds in a grisly scene that rendered your show about as gruesome as a teddy bear's picnic.'

ImAlwaysRight – who clearly wasn't - hung his head in shame and Eric actually found himself feeling sorry for the guy.

There was a long silence. Eric was obviously supposed to say something, but he was still struggling to come to terms with the fallout from his little experiment. He now felt violently ill.

'So, that's it then?' he mumbled eventually.

Jim smiled grimly. 'Well, that's the worst of it anyway. But all is not lost. Despite the carnage, we did manage to corroborate a few things. The report will be sent through to you later this week.'

'Oh?' Eric perked up. 'Anything I need to know right now?'

'In a nutshell? Sam supporters want to see more of Sam. Dean supporters want to see more of Dean. The handful of Jo supporters are hoping she'll be brought back while the rest of the fans are still celebrating her not-so-subtle exit. More monsters, more Dean angst, more Bobby, less Ellen, explanation of Sam's arc, yellow-eyed demon resolution. John is to be resurrected – in his old body, despite the fact that it's charred beyond recognition; Mary's history should be explored further and where the hell is Meg and why did you have to kill off the actress who played her?' Jim paused. 'Oh, and nearly all the supporters – well, the vocal ones, at any rate – want to see the Roadhouse gone; erased, obliterated, annihilated, destroyed, expunged, wiped off the face of the earth-'

Eric held up a weary hand. 'Yeah, yeah. I get the idea.' He grimaced. 'And what about getting in some new characters?'

Jim stepped back and flicked a hand. His team, as one, stood up and began filing out the door. 'Mr Kripke, whether you intended to or not, you've created a monster. I would be very, very careful about what you feed it.'

Turning, he followed his men, leaving Eric sitting alone and suddenly very afraid. The problem wasn't finding the right ingredients to satisfy his monster's hunger; it was ensuring that, while slipping tidbits into the cage, he didn't get bitten.

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Sam closed the laptop gently. All it had taken was one post to bring him out of lurkdom and spark the addiction. Now there was no stopping. It hadn't been as scary as he'd thought. Some people were even interested in what he had to say. Like RadicalThinker. Sensible and articulate, she had a great sense of humour and, Sam was certain, was probably just as nice offline as she seemed to be on.

Really, he thought, all this nonsense about spies on the boards was getting out of hand.

tbc