FOUR

Days Of Our Lives

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The room heard Chuck make a squeak and looked over to see Dean's arm round the writer's far shoulder, both of them ostensibly smiling. However, Dean's fingers were digging into the smaller man's shoulder like starved dogs on a bone-hunt.

"So you see," Dean was saying very quietly, very politely, "we have more going on here than just your books. Now are you going to drop this TV thing and clear out, so we can kill whatever demons are stalking the execs in this place?"

Chuck looked up at him, his wide, piteous eyes begging to be believed. "I wish I could," he breathed as quietly as he could. "I really, really wish I could. But Becky…"

"Becky's leading you round by your nose now? Or something else?" Dean asked, noticing the way Chuck's wistful gaze leapt across the room toward the slight-looking girl made of fire and will.

"Look," Chuck said nervously. "You two guys - I know, your lives have been Hell. I know, really! But… you two look like you do, and you get girls all the time. Do you know what a complete smack upside the head it was for Becky to stop worshipping your brother and look at me like I was a real person?" he asked.

"That's great. Any other day of the week, I would not be the least judgemental about how you get laid. Really. But this is one step beyond, Chuck. You gotta see that. Right?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm so relieved you're only trying to make me see reason."

"Well you know, it was worth a shot. I still got a gun. Got it with me right now, as a matter of fact."

"Oh," he sighed. "In that case, maybe I'll have to reject the contract they offered us."

"Good man," Dean winked maliciously, patting his shoulder.

The doors opened again and an older man walked in, his dark grey suit shabby but respectable. Two blue-uniformed officers flanked him.

"Right everyone, here we go," he said loudly. "I'm Captain Manners, and these two nice young men here are going to take statements from you all. Then you can all go home. I take it this place will shut down for the afternoon?"

"Are you kidding?" Katie scoffed. "We'll be lucky to get away with a coffee break at four o'clock."

"Touching," Manners observed, somewhat sadly. "Well gents, do your job. Anyone want to go first?"

"I was not present," Castiel said, raising his hand. "Although I think the perpetrator was a dem--"

"Ahm - he's with us," Sam said quickly, crossing the room to the angel as one of the uniformed officers approached him. "He's not from round here. His English isn't so good," he added hastily.

"Oh, ok," the officer nodded. He turned to look at Castiel. "Um, sir," he said rather too loudly, staring into his eyes and nodding helpfully. "You - have - to - tell - us - what - you - saw," he stated clearly, as if, in a William Shatner kind of way, every word were its own sentence.

"Why is he talking like that?" Castiel inquired of Sam from the side of his mouth, his inscrutable manners preventing him from simply slapping the man to knock the strange pauses from his delivery.

"It's - ok - sir," the man continued.

Sam waved a hand at him, then pushed between them. "I'll handle this," he said to the officer confidently, turning the angel around and whispering in his ear. "He thinks you're from a different country. Whatever he says, only tell him the time."

"What?" Castiel managed.

"Trust me."

"I do," he said, and Sam drew his head back to look at him with disbelief.

He collected himself and cleared his throat, looking back at the police officer. "Ok officer," he said politely, "I think he understands now."

The man in blue nodded. "Thanks for your help." He looked at Castiel again. "So - sir. Did - you - know - Amy - Levus?"

Castiel stared for a moment. He looked at Sam, who nodded encouragingly. He looked back at the police officer. "Three o'clock," he nodded genially.

"Sir?"

"Yes."

"Amy - Levus? You - know - her?"

"Tuesday."

The officer huffed. He looked at Sam helplessly.

"He wasn't even on the eleventh floor when it happened," Sam said. "He was with me, and my cousin over there," he added, pointing to Dean across the room, "when we all heard this scream. We ran, ended up on this floor and then got pushed into this room. Honestly, we don't even know this Miss Levus."

"Ok, fine," the officer nodded. "You can go. Take your friend with you." He looked at Castiel again. "Thank - you - sir," he nodded in a loud voice.

"Lunchtime," Castiel nodded back with a suggestion of a smile.

The officer rolled his eyes and chucked a thumb over his shoulder. Sam put a hand on Castiel's shoulder and steered him away to the doors. He looked over at Dean but found him in some heated discussion with the other officer. He swallowed and guided Castiel out quickly.

Martin and Katie waited impatiently, trying to work out how much longer Mr Harry Harrison would be questioning the officer so they could go next and get it over with.

"Then just tell me what happened," Dean was saying. "Maybe I'll know what details you want if you'd tell me what went on today."

"I can't do that, sir. I just need to know what you know," the officer allowed patiently.

"That would take a lot more paper than you've got in your notebook," Dean snapped as he folded his arms. "Who was this girl? How did this guy kill her? Stabbing? Shooting? What?"

"Really, sir, I can't say--"

"Look, excuse me, Harry," Katie said tersely, "but if you'd just get on with it, we can all get back to work."

"Bite me," Dean said with an abruptness matched only by the appearance of that cliff edge heroes speed up to at fifty miles an hour in black and white detective films.

Martin raised a finger. "We have coffee and doughnuts in the staff room for when we're all done," he volunteered.

Dean looked at him for a second, then back at the police officer. "I was on the other floor, I got two witnesses, these two are next. We're done." He let his arms drop and walked off.

Katie turned and slapped her hand to Martin's shoulder. "You genius," she whispered in his ear. "Remind me to give you a raise."

Martin grinned, although, arguably, it had more to do with her hand on his shoulder than any promise of money.

"Yes, M-Miss Frye," he stammered.

She patted her hand before sliding it off. She turned to the officer. "Our turn?" she asked hopefully.

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Dean walked into the staff room to find people sprawled about. Girls were crying, others were patting them comfortingly, and some young men seemed to be talking at great speed on Bluetooth headsets hidden in one ear.

"Harry," came a voice from across the room, and Dean looked up see Sam and Castiel by the window. He wended his way through the people quickly, stopping between the two men and holding his hands out in query. "From what I hear, this Amy was killed with a knife," Sam said quietly, handing a waxed paper cup of black coffee at 'Harry'.

Dean took the coffee without question. "So I guess someone could be ganking demons here," he speculated. He looked at Castiel. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, conscious of the angel's expression of discomfort.

"So many people upset," he said faintly, his eyes ranging round the room. "This… Amy… must have been well liked."

"Nah," Dean said dismissively, sipping at the coffee and being pleasantly surprised by its smoothness, "they're probably just temp girls, in shock. It's not every day you see a murder."

"None of these saw the murder," Sam pointed out. "The only one who did was apparently someone called Traci, who was Amy's assistant. She came in the room just as the actor Bob Pattinson was stabbing Amy with what she thought was a machete."

"A machete?" Dean scoffed. "More like a big-ass demon knife."

"Well we know that. They don't," Sam allowed. "So this actor Bob Pattinson just stabbed her and then let himself get arrested? Not exactly MO for a hunter."

"Hmm," Dean murmured, eyeing his nearly empty cup of coffee. He looked at Castiel. "How about you, Harry Dresden? Still 'feel' any demons around this place?"

"No, nothing," Castiel replied, either ignoring or misunderstanding Dean's remark.

"I got an idea," Dean began, earning him looks of resignation and fear from the other two - both of which he ignored admirably, "it's a demon war. One demon stabbed another one, and let themselves get arrested cos they know they can jump hosts whenever they want."

"Plausible," Castiel nodded. "We need to find out who the other two victims were and how they came to be dead."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean said. He felt a hand on his back and turned quickly. "Oh, Becky. It's you," he said, rather uncomfortably.

"Chuck said you asked him not to make the TV show," she said bravely.

"No, I said if he did, I would shoot him," Dean said with an assertiveness that picked up her bravery and simply rammed it down over its raised knee, snapping its spine in half with ease.

"Oh. Well… Can't you just let him do this? He needs wide readership! He needs more money and fame and--"

"Prophets are not wealthy, nor are they famous until after they die," Castiel interrupted. Becky looked up at him as he took a menacing step toward her. "And if this TV show of his books ruins the message, the Winchester gospel he writes will be destroyed for all time. His works, his legacy, his gift to mankind - all of it will be brought down by his desire for earthly gains."

"Woah horsey, hold on there," Dean said quickly, holding him back. He looked down at Becky. "What he means is, this TV show is going to totally screw with his stuff. You think I, Robot was anything like the original short story?"

"I'm not stupid," Becky snapped, but it was clear she was fighting more than a little fear at the way the taller Winchester looked down his nose at her. "There are clauses in the contract so that Chuck controls everything. He has to approve actors, book adaptations, scripts, and eventually, when they run out of his books and want to write new material, he has to approve all new stories."

Dean's head tilted in curiosity. "That's very thorough of you," he observed. "Why do you care how it actually goes down?"

"Because it's Chuck's work," she stressed. "I know how much it pains him to write it, and I know how hard he works at it. No-one gives writers their proper due and it's about time the writers were allowed to have the show how they planned it, instead of how the network tries to twist it." She folded her arms, and although she appeared to be ready to shake with fear, she stood her ground. "I even added a clause about Chuck or his assistant - that's me - choosing the soundtrack. We're not having Lady Gaga, we're having AC/DC and Kansas."

Dean blinked. "Oh. That's--"

"I swore to myself that I would protect Chuck's work and him too, from all these evil network people because he's a good guy that deserves more than he's got. So I'm very sorry but if you get in our way, I will cut off those two dangling brain cells of yours!" She turned on her heel so fast her hair swung into his face. She stalked off.

Sam smirked from behind him, until Dean turned round and caught him at it.

"Someone's got issues," Dean grumped. Castiel was still watching the girl walk away toward the doughnuts. "Cas?" Dean prompted.

"Hmm," he grunted.

Dean noticed the angel's curious stare and cleared his throat quietly. "I think you're all out of luck - she's got more than a thing for Chuck," he said deliberately. "She doesn't even know you're an angel. Does she?"

"I wonder…" Castiel was murmuring.

"Wonder what?" Sam asked, a small, curious smile running amok on his lips.

"If she could be descended from an angel. She is very… righteous."

"I think you mean 'fangirl-ish'," Dean snorted. Sam nudged him and Dean looked up to see Katie and Martin appearing in the room.

They looked around and then walked straight up to the three of them.

"Ok," Katie said shortly. "Messrs Harrison, and Clarence from Switzerland - it's time you shared some information. Why are you here and what's going on between you and Chuck?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Dean sighed.

"Try me," Katie instructed, folding her arms.

Dean folded his arms in direct sarcastic imitation. "I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but you and me would never work out."

"Perfect," Martin nodded, taking out his pen and clicking the end. He opened his file and began scribbling.

"What is?" Dean grumped.

Katie turned to eye Martin and the amount of information he was getting down in perfect shorthand. "What is it?" she asked slowly, aware something of great import was going on.

"Height, build, attitude, pithy comebacks - everything matches. He's perfect," Martin nodded, clicking his pen again before inserting it back in his top jacket pocket.

"Excuse me?" Dean warned.

Martin almost shrank back a step. "Well we lost Bob Pattinson - he's been arrested, right? So we need to find a new actor for Dean," he nodded.

Katie grinned, turning back to look at Dean Winchester. "Mr Harrison," she said smoothly, stepping closer and putting a hand on the arm of his jacket and stroking slightly, "Harry. Have you ever worked in television?

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