Chapter 13

Then:

"The douchebag didn't say anything to you, did he?" Dean asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror, and I shake my head after a moment's hesitation.

"No. Not a thing."

"You sure you're okay?" Sam frowns at me. "You look a little pale."

"I'm okay," I insist and, changing the subject, ask, "So what did he do to you after the sitcom?"

The topic is welcome, apparently, as Dean launches into an angry retelling of their side of the story. Sam still watches me worriedly the entire time, but I nod and ask Dean enough questions to reassure him that I'm okay, even if I feel like my entire world's crashing down on me.

Now:

"Hey, Sam, can I borrow the laptop?" I ask as I enter the motel room. It's been a few days since T.V. Land, and my stomach still twists unpleasantly every time my mind decides to remind me of what I'd learned that day.

"Yeah, sure." Sam passes the laptop over and I suppress a flinch when our hands touch briefly. I can't get over the paranoia that Sam and Dean will piece together what Gabriel had told me, that they'd shove me away because of what I really am. That's why I waited this long to ask for the computer - so that Sam wouldn't suspect anything.

"Thanks." I take it back to the bed I'd claimed as mine. Dean would be taking the couch that night; we all take turns on who would take the couch and who would take the beds. Opening Google, I type in archangel ariel and submit the search.

525,000 results.

Careful not to let any expression show on my face so that Sam doesn't see, I open the first link, a Wikipedia article.

Ariel (Hebrew: אריאל, Ari'el, Arael or Ariael) is an archangel found primarily in Jewish and Christian mysticism and Apocrypha. The name Ariel, "Lion of God" or "Hearth of God," occurs in the Hebrew Bible (Isaiah 29:1-7) as a personification of Jerusalem, but as the name of an angel the earliest source is unclear.

Well, at least Castiel had been right on the origin of my name, not that I had expected him to be wrong. There isn't much on the article, just an explanation of where else the name had been found in scripture. John Milton had used the name "Ariel" as a rebel angel in Paradise Lost, and the Book of Enoch had mentioned the name only in passing.

"You look upset," Sam notes and I quickly minimize the window, forcing a smile despite my frustration.

"Nah, just practicing on the virtual piano again. It gets annoying." Sam nods and goes back to poring over a book he had borrowed from Bobby, allowing me to open the next link, where there's a little more detail.

Ariel is known as the angel of nature. She oversees the protection and healing of animals and plants, as well as the care of the Earth's elements (such as water, wind, and fire). She punishes those who harm God's creation. People sometimes ask for Ariel's help to: take good care of the environment and God's creatures (including both wild animals and pets) and to provide healing that they need, according to God's will (Ariel works with the archangel Raphael when healing).

Being associated with the elements is pretty cool, and I've always liked animals. Raphael, I recall, had been the archangel to smite Castiel at the end of the fourth season of Supernatural - which I guess hadn't been a real show after all, seeing as my entire life had been a lie. Raphael hadn't really seemed the "healing" type, but I guess war, angelic or not, has a way of changing people.

I wonder why the archangel Ariel had fallen from Heaven.

Clearing my browser history, I return the laptop to Sam, my mind churning with all the new information. Only minutes later, Dean bursts into the room.

"Just got a text from Chuck. We gotta go." Sam's on his feet immediately, packing his duffel bag quickly, and I'm slower to react, scrambling off the bed and slinging my backpack over my shoulder. Within ten minutes, we're on the highway.

It takes a day to get to the address Chuck had texted Dean. During the night, we take turns sleeping in the car while Sam and Dean alternate driving - Sam's only allowed to take the wheel when Dean almost passes out while driving - and my neck is killing me when we finally pull into the parking lot of the Pineview Hotel. I double-take at the multiple identical replicas of the Impala parked beside us when I get out.

"I think I'm in Heaven. The good kind, not the douchey kind." Dean follows my gaze and gapes at the cars.

"C'mon," Sam calls to us, waving us over to where we see Chuck pacing at the bottom of the steps to the hotel nervously. "Chuck! There you are!" The writer's head shoots up.

"Guys?!" He stares at me longest and I can feel the blood draining from my face when I remember that he's probably had a vision of me.

"What's going on?" Dean demands.

Chuck looks distinctly uncomfortable as he tears his pale eyes away from me. "Uhh, nothing. Just hanging around. What are you doing here?"

"You told us to come," I point out.

"No, I didn't." Chuck frowns.

"Uh, yeah, you did." Dean shows him the text.

"Life or death situation?" Sam adds, raising his eyebrows. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I didn't send that," Chuck protests.

"We drove all night!" Dean snaps. Clearly, those two hours of letting Sam drive had done nothing for his temper.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what could..." Chuck pales. "Oh, no."

"SAM!" a shrill voice screeches and we all turn to see Becky - damn it, I thought we'd gotten rid of her for good - at the top of the steps. "You made it!" She bounds down the steps and wraps her arms tightly around Sam's waist. He stiffens and scowls at me warningly when I stifle a giggle.

"Becky, right?" he asks awkwardly.

"You remembered!" Becky pulls back, beaming. "You were thinking about me!" Her voice lowers conspiratorially. "It's okay, I can't get you out of my head either." Sam looks terrified.

"More like he was traumatized by the last time you two met," I mutter, earning a glare from her.

"Becky, did you take my phone?" Chuck accuses.

Becky doesn't bother looking chagrined. "I just borrowed it. From your pants."

Even Dean has to hold back a snort of laughter at that as Chuck sighs. "Becky..."

"What? They're going to want to see it!"

"See what?" Sam and Dean ask in unison and Becky squeals.

"Oh my God, I love it when they talk at the same time!"

"Hey Chuck?" A man with a clipboard appears at the top of the steps. "Come on pal, it's showtime."

"Guys, I'm sorry," Chuck apologizes weakly, turning to us as Becky runs into the hotel excitedly, "For everything."

"That's not ominous at all," I deadpan as we follow him up the steps. When we enter the hotel, which is done in a wilderness lodge motif, a large man walks past us with a can of beer.

"Hey, Dean, lookin' good," he calls to Dean, who blinks.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Duh, I'm Dean, too." Sure enough, he's dressed just like Dean, down to the golden amulet around his neck.

"...I think I'm really in Heaven," I say when I realize where we are at last. Both Winchesters raise an eyebrow at me.

"Uh-oh. It's Sam and Dean. I'm in trouble now," a guy dressed up as a scarecrow laughs, waving his scythe mock-menacingly at us before walking away. Sam scowls after him before he and Dean begin looking around.

"It's a con, isn't it?" I guess, looking at Becky, who grins.

"It's awesome! A Supernatural convention, the first ever."

Sam looks on the verge of murdering someone while Dean still looks completely confused.

The opening panel is, without a doubt, the most hilariously awkward thing I'd ever seen. Chuck stammers his way through fans' questions while Sam and Dean make sure to glare at him every step of the way, the murderous intent behind said glares increasing exponentially when Chuck reveals that he plans to start publishing Supernatural again. The poor prophet is shaking by the time he gets offstage and the crowd disperses, eagerly chatting about future panels and the hunt that night.

We meet him in the bar later, where he's handing Becky a cocktail.

"So, I was wondering, uh...if you're not doing anything later..." he begins awkwardly, but Becky catches sight of Sam and beams widely.

"Hi, Sam!" I feel sort of bad for the poor author when he looks crushed.

Sam sighs. "Hi, Becky. Listen, can you excuse us?" Dean grabs Chuck's arm and yanks him over to a corner of the bar.

"In case you haven't noticed, our plates are kind of full, okay?" the older Winchester snarls, "Finding the Colt, hunting the Devil. We don't have time for this crap."

"Hey, I didn't call you!" Chuck protests.

"He means the books," Sam explains, scowling. "Why are you publishing more books?"

"Food? Shelter?" Chuck offers weakly.

"Who gave you the right to our lives?!" Dean snaps.

"An archangel, and I didn't want it!" At the mention of archangels, my stomach clenches with anxiety.

"Well, deal's off. No more books. Our lives are not for public consumption." Sam glances at Becky, who's listening to our conversation from her seat, uneasily before looking at Dean pointedly. Dean drops Chuck's arm, his jaw clenched, as the two walk away. Chuck rubs his arm, wincing, before looking at me nervously.

"So, um..."

"You saw it, didn't you?" I ask wearily and he nods reluctantly.

"Hard not to. Sorry."

"It's okay." I fiddle with the edge of my sleeve. "Don't tell them. Please."

"Wasn't going to, but you have to eventually, you know."

"I know," I agree, cold dread settling in my chest. A scream jolts me out of any response I might have added as I burst into a run, catching up with Sam and Dean in the hallway as we race up the stairs. A maid is crouched in the corner of the upstairs hallway.

Sam helps her up. "Are you okay?"

"I saw a ghost!" the maid exclaims.

A very deep, very fake voice behind us says gruffly, "A ghost? Could you tell us what it looked like?" We turn around to see the same Dean cosplayer from earlier there, a thin man dressed similar beside him.

"A woman. She was in an old-fashioned dress. Really old. Like a school marm, or something?" The maid's anxiety is fading, clearly faked as well, and I'm starting to figure out what's going on here as she grins. "Okay, gather around, everybody, for a terrifying tale of terror. I saw...a ghost!"

I roll my eyes as the pieces come together. "This isn't real. C'mon." I tug at Sam and Dean's sleeves until they follow me away from the crowd.

"Oh, good, the LARP's starting," Becky says as she approaches us.

"LARP?" Dean asks, bewildered.

"Live action roleplaying," I mutter, earning weird looks. I huff. "Look, I was part of Anime Club in high school, my friends were all into it."

"...okay, ignoring that Ariel's a total dork, what's LARP?" Dean asks again.

"It's a game. The convention puts it on," Becky explains, rolling her eyes as she hands Sam a paper.

He reads, "'Dad's Journal: Dear Sam and Dean, this hotel is haunted. You must hunt down the ghost. Interview witnesses, discover clues, and find the bones. First team to do so wins a $50 gift card to Sizzler. Love, Dad.'"

"Is it bad that the only disturbing part is the 'love' at the end?" I ask plaintively as Dean raises his eyebrows at the fake note.

"You guys are soooo gonna win," Becky says delightedly.

I can feel a headache coming on. "You know what, screw you guys. I'm gonna use my fake ID for something useful."

'Something useful' amounts to sneaking a cocktail from the bar.

"You shouldn't be drinking," Chuck scolds weakly as he hops up on the bar stool next to me.

"It's been a hell of a week," I tell him frankly as I sip the fruity concoction. It doesn't taste half-bad, actually. "I've earned a drink or two." Chuck wrinkles his nose, but doesn't scold me anymore. "So, anything else you know about me?"

Chuck shakes his head. "All I know is that you fell from Heaven not long after Lucifer did and Gabriel left."

"Hm." I swirl the cocktail around, watching the orange liquid swishing towards me as I tilt the glass to take another sip. There's not much alcohol in it, but it's enough to make my head just a little fuzzy. "So my entire life...my parents, my friends, my dog...was that all a lie?" Poor Jonesy. She'd been a good retriever puppy, too.

"Seems that way." Chuck's eyebrows knit together in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

I smile wryly. "'Sorry' won't make them real." I feel like I should miss my old world more than I do, though. It's as if the sharp pain that should be there is already a dull ache, even though I know I haven't grieved at all yet - like I've already come to terms with the fact that this is my real world, where I truly belong, and that's a scary thought that I've assimilated so quickly.

Chuck pats me on the back lightly, stirring me out of my thoughts.

"For what it's worth, I really am sorry this is happening to you."

"It's okay. Not like you can control it." I give him a weary smile. "So am I gonna be in the new books?"

"If you want to be." Chuck gives me a tremulous smile in return. "I think the fans would like a female character. They'd end up living vicariously through you or something."

I shrug. "Just don't turn me into a Mary-Sue." Chuck's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "An all-around perfect character with essentially no personality? Think Bella from Twilight."

"Insult to writers everywhere, that woman," Chuck grumbles and I pat him on the back with a chuckle.

"Now you're getting it."

"Are you getting drunk?" Dean's hand snakes over my shoulder and snatches away my drink.

"Hey, that's mine!" I complain as he takes an experimental sip and his expression scrunches up in disgust.

"This can't be alcoholic. Way too much fruit juice."

"No one's asking you to drink it," I snap back, reaching for the glass.

"Mean drunk," Dean teases with a grin as he gives it back to me.

"I'm not even tipsy!" Well, I'm pretty sure that's a lie, seeing as my head's spinning at least a little.

"Of course not, sunshine." Dean rubs my shoulder patronizingly and glances up at Chuck. "Keep an eye on her, man. She gets into trouble easily."

"I heard." Chuck grins nervously and I shoot him a warning look. Thankfully, Dean thinks nothing of the comment and wanders further down the bar to flirt with the actress playing the ghost in the LARP.

"I swear, if Dean puts two and two together because of your not-so-subtle hints," I mutter.

"You do have to tell them eventually," Chuck points out.

"Oh, and you saw that, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." Well, that steals my thunder. "It...didn't go well. You waited too long to tell them, and I have to be honest, they kinda flipped out."

"They'd flip out no matter when I tell them," I sigh, "Look, they're still pissed about Gabriel, and I just...we all need some time before I'm ready to face any flipping out."

Chuck looks uneasy, but nods. "It's your call."

"It's my call," I agree, because no matter what the angels in Heaven say, destiny doesn't make the choices anymore.

Gah, I'm like a day late with this chapter, I'd planned to do it yesterday but then writer's block hit and I have an exam on Monday, plus an exam the following Sunday. Ugh.

But here's the first part of The Real Ghostbusters, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter up within the next few days.

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