Disclaimer: 'Supernatural' is the property of Warner Brothers, the CW, and other associated parties. I claim no ownership of the franchise, characters or settings, nor am I affiliated with the above parties in any way. The following is a fan-work, written for my amusement, and not for material or monetary gain. Please support the official releases. (I don't own this).
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Coalescence
By Payce D. Elui
Chapter 11: Chafing
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When they reached the town where Carver – Chuck - lived, the first place they hit was a comic book shop. The Winchester's bought every single copy of the Supernatural series the store held. Adam found it amusing at first- especially when Dean started to get shirty with the sales assistant. Adam hadn't found it as amusing when three big boxes of the books (that were not big sellers, apparently) were squashed into the back seats of the Impala with him because the trunk was too small to hold them all.
...The trunk of the Impala was big enough to hold dead bodies- that there wasn't enough space for all the books implied that their sales really were dire. He wondered how Max had even got into them.
Adam grit his teeth as Dean steered the car rather violently around the next corner and the boxes in the back piled into him.
... Seemed his snarking at the comic book shop had not gone unheard, if Dean's smirking at Adam's predicament was anything to go by.
† † †
"Name?"
"DeYoung, thanks."
Adam, who had been milling around with two of the book boxes in hand, looked up.
The concierge passed over a card machine and Dean pulled out a credit card.
The payment went through quickly enough and Dean was left with a receipt that he absentmindedly stuffed into his back pocket.
The exchange went amicably. Hell, it was the most amicable that Adam had ever seen Dean, though that might have had something to do with the concierge being a pretty little blonde.
Still, it was time to go. His arms were aching for relief.
Only Dean didn't get the key to the room straight off. He stayed to flash another grin at the receptionist, and Adam rolled his eyes as she slid a piece of paper with her number on it across the desk.
Two minutes and a lot of giggling later, Adam was at the end of his tether. Normally, he wasn't one to get in the way of someone trying to score, but he was getting progressively more and more uncomfortable playing the third wheel.
Adam cleared his throat. Loudly.
Dean threw him a dirty look, and Adam withheld a smirk as the concierge reddened, finally taking notice of him.
"Oh, of course! Here's your key-" she reached for a cupboard under the desk and thrust the key at Dean, who tossed it atop the boxes in Adam's hands.
"Oh, don't wait up for me- here, let me get the door for ya," he drawled.
He promptly shoved Adam out of the room.
"There we go, champ!"
"Bite me," Adam grumbled.
"It's room 28!" the concierge called after him.
Dean gave him a wink and a smirk, and then shut the door to the lobby in Adam's face.
Asshole.
Adam trudged along and Sam joined him along the way. The younger Winchester was carrying not two, but four boxes, with two tucked under each arm. He didn't look to be straining under the weight one whit.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
"Receptionist," Adam sighed.
"Ha, right." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Should have known."
Sam trotted up, falling into step with him. As covertly as he could, Adam side-eyed him.
He really didn't know them.
Sam didn't look it, but maybe under all the plaid, he was as ripped as the 'Supernatural' book's cover implied-
-and he stopped himself there. That was a mental image Adam did not need. He grimaced.
"All right?" Sam asked, noticing the change in expression.
"Uh- yeah," Adam said hastily. Sam did not need to know the thoughts that had just passed through his head. He hefted the boxes higher. "Heavy."
Sam smiled. If it wasn't just a little condescending, Adam would have eaten his own hat (if he had one). "You need any help?"
Adam look bemused. Now Sam was just showing off. "What- you gonna carry it on your head? I'd pay to see that, ya know." Sam's hands were already busy, after all.
"Ha- no," Sam laughed, "I-"
"We're here," Adam interrupted, setting his boxes down.
He grabbed at the keys and slid them into the lock, twisting and pushing the door open. Adam waved Sam in, bending down to pick up the boxes once again and then moving to join him in the room. His brow wrinkled as he took in the decor.
And then he realised the immediate problem that had arisen.
"Two beds?" he asked, dumping the boxes on the one closest to him.
"Hm?" Sam looked up. He was holding another of the books up, having cranked his own boxes open.
"I'll go get my own room?"
"What?" Sam looked confused. "Why?"
"There's two beds, Sam," Adam repeated, arching a brow.
"Yeah..." Sam said slowly in the tone of someone who failed to see the problem. "For me and Dean and-"
Adam could practically see the lightbulb go off above Sam's head.
"Oh."
Adam nodded. "Right. It's fine." He stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'm gonna go get my own room, then-"
"What's happening?" Dean strolled into the room, waving a piece of paper in Sam's direction with a smirk. Sam rolled his eyes, his lips quirking upward. Same old Dean.
"Two beds, Dean."
"Yeah, so?"
Sam stared at him, watching with satisfaction as Dean looked between him and Adam before his eyebrows drew up slightly in surprise.
Dean shrugged. "No rooms with three beds- can't be picky at a motel, man. Besides," he shrugged, "there's a couch."
"Or I could just get my own room," said Adam.
"No," Dean said quickly.
Adam frowned. "I'll get the one next door- it's no big d-"
"Yeah, no. You're staying in here, kid."
Seeing Adam's affronted expression, Sam's positively wilted. Yet another argument between his two brothers was going to kick off, it was disheartening.
"Then I hope you and Sam've made plans on spooning because I'm sure as hell not sleeping on that thing," Adam snapped.
"We'll swap out," Dean said roughly.
"Seriously, what the hell is your problem?"
"I got no problem. And I got no problem kicking your ass back to school if I have to, kid, so you-"
"Dean," said Sam softly.
Dean rolled his eyes.
"We agreed you'd do what we said if you were gonna come here," Dean said in a strained voice, "and we're saying you're staying here. House rules on a hunt- you stay together. Especially when you're worse than a rookie. It's safer."
"A family that 'slays' together stays together?" Adam quipped sarcastically.
"You got a problem with that then you're done here." Dean stared him down.
Adam looked between the two Winchesters, irritation plain over his face, before he let out a stilted breath and looked away. "You're taking the couch."
"Anything for you, sweetpea," Dean drawled.
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There were books lying all over the motel room come evening. Adam had pointedly stayed sitting on the bed, leaving the couch to Dean. It was childish, but the older man didn't say a word, too engrossed in the novel in his hands.
The Winchesters had taken a stack of books each to delve into them. The aim of the whole objective was to see how accurate they were in portraying their lives, and they had been most silent for the last three hours, aside from an irritated "huh" for Sam every now and then, or an exasperated "oh come ON" from Dean. Adam had taken to finishing the novel that Max had given him, and finished it, he had.
He looked up from beneath his lashes, staring at his mammoth of a brother across the room. So Sam had been content to leave the world of hunting behind until the same demon that got his mother got his girlfriend?
That was harsh. He swallowed, glancing between the two Winchesters. Personal tragedies, it seemed, ran in the family.
"This is freakin' INSANE!" Dean suddenly cried out. He tossed the book down in anger, glaring at it as if he had the power to set it aflame. A few hours prior he'd taken to surfing the web for more information when the information in the books got too much, and he slammed the lid to the laptop down in irritation. Sam had confiscated the machine then, and was perched by the window, researching.
"This guy- he has everything. And I mean everything. The racist truck- the sex- I'm full frontal here, dude." Dean shuddered. "I feel violated."
"Yeah, and you just took us down there with you, thanks buddy," Adam mumbled.
Dean spared him a Look.
"How the hell does he know this stuff?" Dean asked, sounding like a man at the end of his tether.
"Beats me," said Sam, sounding mildly amused at his brother's plight.
"How didn't we know about this?" Dean growled. "You'd have thought someone we know knew about this. This is our life!"
"Well dad did kinda keep himself to himself," Sam reasoned.
"The books have a pretty small following," Adam said, feeling like he should contribute. 'Small' was an understatement of gigantic proportions. He knew that much from his research back which he'd been waiting for the Winchesters. Hell, the fact Max even knew about them was surprising. They were one heck of a tiny niche.
"Yeah, almost zero publication," said Sam nodding at him. He was studied the laptop again for a moment, before sending Dean another 'subtle' look. "Last book published ended, ah-" he shot a quick look at Adam before looking back at Dean, "-right before we met Castiel?"
Dean's nostrils flared.
"No kidding."
Sam made a face.
"Lemme see that," said Dean, striding across the room and turning the laptop towards him.
Adam looked between the two brothers with a frown on his face.
"Who's Castiel?"
The Winchesters ignored him.
"We have fans?" asked Dean. "The books do, anyways." He was scanning the webpage intently, the laptop screen giving off a dim glow that trailed shadows over his face.
"Mm," Sam hummed noncommittally. "Not a lot of them, though."
"'The demon story line is trite, clichéd, and overall craptastic,'" Dean mumbled, reading over what he'd found. "Simpatico? Yeah? What a bundle of sunshine he is. Screw him, we lived it."
"Keep going," Sam prompted. Adam watched the two of them with detached interest. He grabbed book two from the top of a nearby pile of books.
"Sam girls? Dean girls?"
"No Adam girls, though," Sam said.
"Yeah, well story hasn't got to him yet," said Dean. "We're keeping it that way."
Adam raised a brow. "I dunno, having fans doesn't seem like the worst thing that could come out of this."
"Trust me, Adam, you don't want these kinds of fans," Sam mumbled.
"Slash fans?" Dean read. "What, like the rocker?" Dean tilted his head, nodding. "Could be worse." He moved the curser over a link and Sam made a face.
"What?" said Dean doggedly, his keen sense of danger flaring at the expression.
"Not that kinda slash," Sam muttered.
"Uh?"
"Slash as in Sam-slash-Dean. Together."
There was an awkward pause as the three of them took in that information. Suddenly Adam was exceedingly glad that no mysterious author had their hands on his life story. When this case was dealt with, they never would. As long as it wasn't happening to him, though... it was freaking hilarious.
He snickered.
Sam was the one who shot him a glare this time.
"As in... together, together?" asked Dean in the guise of a man who was hoping beyond belief that he was wrong.
"Yup."
"They- they do know we're brothers, right?"
"Doesn't look like that matters to anyone. They call it... Wincest."
"Ha, that's pretty clever," Adam said. This story was going from intriguing to pretty funny, pretty fast,
"Oh. Oh, come on," Dean said weakly, face losing colour. "That... That's just sick."
Adam lost it, laughing long and loud. It was too much for Dean, who slammed the lid of the laptop down again. Fortunately for Dean, Sam was much too preoccupied with his irritation to spare another glare for his wounded technology.
"We need to find this guy now," Dean growled.
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Armed with knowledge of the author's real name, it was easier enough to track down his address. Early Saturday morning, the three men traipsed over the still dewy lawn in front of a patch of utterly suburban houses and headed for the right one.
"Who's Castiel?"
Sam was deferring to Dean on that one- he looked a little guilty at withholding information- blatantly in front of Adam, anyway, but Dean brushed Adam off with a bland "no-one you need to worry about." Adam had no time to get irritated at that, for Dean was talking again.
"Right- you stay behind us, and don't call attention to yourself," Dean said, glancing around to survey the street. He double-checked the weight of the gun at his back, wincing when he pulled at a sore muscle; true to his word the night before, he'd taken the couch. Not that Adam had given him a choice- he'd resolutely refused to move an inch, and nothing short of manhandling him would have done anything.
"You alright, Dean?" Sam had asked, tucking down himself at some time around four in the morning. The question was one of concern, but the tone most definitely wasn't.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean had grumbled. The couch squeaked as he tried to get comfortable.
"Think he's a psychic?" Sam asked offhandedly.
"Who knows," Dean muttered.
"They actually exist?" Adam didn't know why he was so surprised.
"Hell yeah," Sam said. "Dean we should take him to see Missouri, I think she'd have fun with him." He paused. "Come to think of it, you'd have thought she would have mentioned-"
"We're not taking him to see Missouri," interrupted Dean.
"What if I want to meet Missoui?" said Adam.
Both Sam and Dean shot him doubtful looks at that.
"So, maybe a psychic," said Sam. "Maybe a hunter. Bobby heard anything?"
"Nope."
"Maybe you should just knock and- you know- see," cut in Adam, fed up once again, of the byplay. Dean frowned at him, sighed, and shot a look at Sam. Shrugging at one another, the Winchesters rang the doorbell.
A few moments later, the door creaked open and a peaky looking man in a bed robe peered out.
"Yeah?"
"You Chuck Shurley?" asked Dean.
"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the 'Supernatural' books?" asked Sam.
"Maybe," said the man, glancing between then, before shooting a quick look over between then at Adam. He pursed his lips. "Why?"
"I'm Dean. This is Sam," Dean said, pointing at himself and Sam respectively. "Yeah- the same Sam and Dean you've been writing about. Wanna explain that?"
Chuck rolled his eyes and slammed the door in Dean's scowling face.
"That went well," said Adam. He ignored the dig of the elbow Sam levered into him.
Dean ignored him, rapping on the door angrily. It swung open again.
"Look it's not that I don't appreciate hearing from the fans. Really, the enthusiasm is, uh... Something," the irritated looking Chuck mumbled, glancing between the three men in front of him, "but there's such a thing as taking things too seriously. I, uh... Strongly suggest you get a life." He made to shut the door once again, but almost quicker than Adam could process, Dean had forced his way through the doorway and into the house.
"Yeah, see, we were fine minding our own until you started writing about it," said Dean. Chuck had backed up, and was looking a little frightened. Adam didn't blame him, he was faced with two giant Winchester beefcakes towering over him.
"This isn't funny," Chuck tried.
"I look like I'm laughing?" Dean asked.
Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder, making him ease off a little. "Look man, we just wanna know how you're doing it. You a hunter?"
"What?" Chuck spluttered, "no!"
"Then who you been talking to? How is it that you know- everything? You better start talking pal," Dean said, the tone clearly implying that if Chuck didn't start talking, he'd be in for a world of pain.
"Look, I don't- I'm a writer. Get out of my house. Who are you people? Is this a misery thing?"
"We are not fans," Dean said loudly. "Believe me."
"Well then what do you want? Who are you?" There was a distinct air of panic wrapped around Chuck's voice, and Adam felt bad for him.
"I'm Adam," he said, giving a sardonic wave, coming up alongside Dean and deftly sliding between his brother and the panicked writer. Chuck sure as hell didn't look like he was anything supernatural, and Adam wasn't sure he was inclined on joining the Winchesters inflict pain on a human being. That definitely wasn't in the job description. Though, just to be sure…
"Christo."
Dean swore loudly. If anything, Chuck looked even more fearful.
"What is going on?!"
Adam turned to look at his brothers. "Not a demon. So no manhandling."
"No shit," Dean drawled. "Really?"
Adam rolled his eyes, turning back to Chuck. "So I'm Adam. Adam Milligan. I guess you know that, right? And this is Sam and Dean Winchester."
"They're fictional! They're not real!"
"Oh, we're real, buddy, and we ain't happy," Dean snapped.
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Chuck tried to bribe them with books, and then with signed posters, but it had been Dean wrangling him out to the Impala and popping the trunk that had started him on the track to believing. He was sitting in a weathered armchair, alternating between taking large gulps of whiskey, and staring owlishly at the three brothers. They stared back at him.
"So… I'm God?" Chuck asked suddenly, sitting straighter in his chair. "Because that's the only way this makes sense. I write things and I make them happen."
"You're not God," said Sam. "We've met angels. I think we'd know if you were God."
"You've met angels?" asked Adam. That was new information.
"Ah, so you've met Castiel… I haven't even published anything about him yet."
"Castiel's an angel?" asked Adam. "Angels are a thing too? You could have told me there was good with the bad, guys, that might have been nice to know."
"I wouldn't say they were good," Dean muttered.
"I am a cruel, capricious God," Chuck said, ignoring them all, and sounding devastated. "I've put you through so much. I killed your parents. I killed Sam's girlfriend. I killed Adam's mom."
"Just shut up, already," Adam snapped. "You're drunk. You didn't kill my mom. The ghoul did."
"Because I made it. I wrote it!" Chuck cried. "You're were real the whole time. I was gonna kill you too, you know, but-"
"Don't finish that sentence," Dean snapped. Sam was right at his back, his initial curiosity melting into something colder.
"-I changed my mind, figured it was bad writing, you know? Introduce a new character and then kill him off, oh, no-one's seen that before." Chuck didn't seem to realise the danger he was in. "So edgy. Enough with the angst, you know? I know the fans love it, but. Well. I changed my mind. New character, change things up, reconfigure the dynamic. Figured things were getting a bit stale."
Adam backed up. He felt sick. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Dean had heard enough, grabbing the scrawny man by the lapel and cutting him off. "Shut. Up."
"This isn't funny," said Adam quietly. "Did he kill my mom? Was he responsible?"
"No," said Dean.
"Yes!" said Chuck.
Dean pushed the inebriated man away in disgust. "You're not God."
"Probably just a psychic," added Sam, frowning at the man.
"I wouldn't be writing if I were a psychic. Writing is hard," said Chuck, grabbing a manuscript off of the table Dean had shoved him into. "Just. Look. I wrote this before you got here, right? I wrote this first, and you came here after. I'm God. It's the only explanation."
"That's not an explanation!" Adam snapped.
"Read it," said Chuck, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. He was back to ignoring them, and muttering to himself. "Such repetitive, bad writing. I made you guys live through that. I killed people. For entertainment! I'm a monster."
"For the last time," Sam said, through gritted teeth. "Chuck. You're not God."
† † †
"I'm kinda feeling like Chuck might be God," said Adam. "You know. From my limited experience of things."
"No," snapped Dean. He had yet to relinquish Chuck's manuscript. The three of them had left Chuck for the night, with a warning telling him not to go anywhere. They were planning on returning in the morning, giving the man a chance to sober up before they really went looking for answers.
"This is so wild," said Dean. "I'm sitting here in a motel room, reading about myself sitting in a motel room reading about myself. My head hurts."
"Sounds boring as hell," said Adam, from one of the beds. "If this is the kinda stuff you guys get up to, no wonder the books aren't selling well." He'd claimed it for himself as soon as they'd made it back to the room. He didn't really know what to think about this whole situation. It was easy to rely on sarcasm, simpler than thinking about what had occurred earlier. Chuck may have been drunk, but the words had set him on edge. "I was gonna kill you too." Like it all came down to a writing decision of some shoddy two-bit drunk.
"There has to be something that guy isn't telling us," said Sam, from somewhere across the room. Adam heard the other bed creak.
"Sam flipped his pillow, laying down for the night. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth." Dean looked up from the manuscript. "Ah?"
"Ok," said Sam. "That's just disturbing."
"Adam lay in his bed, ignoring his new relatives. He was still preoccupied with thoughts of Chuck's unintentionally cruel words, earlier that day. He was pulled from his thoughts, as he heard Dean mention his name in the manuscript. If Dean didn't stop narrating his thoughts as they occurred, Adam would– woah. Not cool, man," Dean said, glaring across at Adam, who had stiffened in his bed. "And really violent."
"Shut up, Dean," Adam said.
"Dean watched him brood, seeing echoes of Sam in this new found brother."
"DEAN." Both Adam and Sam were glaring at him now, and Dean held his hands up in surrender.
"I'm just saying. Even this guy notices it. The brooding, I mean."
He turned back to the manuscript. "… you both just thought I was a dick."
"Wow," said Sam. "He is good."
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A lot of this was lifted from the episode The Monster at the End of the Book, of course, credits to the original writers. This is a bit samey, because of the plot of this particular episode? The changes here and in the next chapter are a little more subtle than I'd hoped, and I can understand if that annoys you guys a bit. Trust me, I don't like canon rehash or novelisation too much either. But bear with me, next chapter is a lot more focussed on Adam, and after that, the changes should be more prevalent.
Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review or comment! I was so amazed to see so many returning readers, it's been really humbling. I really appreciate it, guys. Thank you.