Chapter 15

Then:

"Look, guys. We all wanna find the bones, right?" Sam attempts to pacify the startled LARPers, "We just thought...it would go faster if we all worked together."

The skinny guy hesitates. "Ahem. We..ah...we get the Sizzler gift card."

"Sure," Dean agrees, rolling his eyes.

"And we get to be Sam and Dean," the LARPer prompts. Sam and Dean look at each other with identical long-suffering expressions.

"Fine," Sam agrees and the LARPers both fistpump in success.

I'm starting to understand why Dean's so annoyed.

Now:

"Hurry it up, Rufus, Bobby, Jo!" Damien - the Dean cosplayer, calls over his shoulder as we trudge over to the cemetery. On the way, I've learned his name and that the other guy's name is Barnes.

"Why do I have to be Jo?" I grumble, "I'm not even blonde."

"Just go with it," Sam advises quietly, rolling his eyes as Dean scowls at the LARPers' backs.

"So where were we?" Barnes asks Damien, who thinks for a moment.

"Asylum, right after Dr. Ellicott zapped your brain."

"Right, got it." Barnes clears his throat, rolling his shoulders before speaking in a low voice clearly meant to be an imitation of Sam's. "Why are we even here, Dean? You just following Dad's footsteps like a good little soldier? You that desperate for approval?"

"This isn't you talking, Sam," Damien replies in his attempt at Dean's voice.

Dean's shoulders are tense as his jaw clenches. Sam gives him a helpless look, as if begging him to keep his cool for a little longer.

"See, that's the difference between you and me. I got a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic." Ooh, I'd forgotten how many feels Asylum had given me.

"So what are you going to do, Sam? Are you going to kill me?"

"Man, I am so sick of you telling me what to do."

Dean cracks. "All right, you know what? That's it. That is it."

"What's wrong, Bobby?" Damien turns back to us, frowning.

Dean's mouth opens and closes a few times; he's gone speechless in his anger. Finally, he retorts, "I'm not Bobby, okay?! You're not Sam!" He points at Barnes. "And you're not Dean!" He gestures wildly at Damien. "What is wrong with you?! Why in the hell would you choose to be these guys?!"

Barnes blinks, breaking character to reply, "Because we're fans. Like you."

"No. I am not a fan. In fact, I think that the Dean and Sam story sucks." I quietly mock-gasp in horror and whisper a "how dare you," which goes largely unnoticed aside from Sam's lips twitching slightly. "It is not fun. It is not entertaining. It is a river of crap that would send most people howling to the nut-house. So you listen to me. Their pain is not for your amusement. I mean, do you think they enjoy being treated like circus freaks?!"

"Uh...I don't think they care, because they're fictional characters!" Damien snaps back.

"Oh, they care. Believe me. They care a lot." Dean storms past the LARPers, who give me and Sam bewildered looks.

"He, uh...he takes the story really seriously," Sam apologizes weakly before hurrying after Dean.

"Very emotionally involved," I add as I fall into step beside the LARPers. "So what are your favorite books?"

"Oh, we both like All Hell Breaks Loose best," Damien informs me with a shrug.

"So many feels," Barnes says solemnly, already looking teary at the memory, "Sam's death had me sobbing."

"Well, the author brought him back before the second series ended, at least," I point out as I see Dean glowering at me. An idea then occurs to me. "Hypothetically speaking, what would you guys think of a Supernatural T.V. show?"

"Oh my God, I would die," Barnes says immediately, wide-eyed with delight, "Best idea ever."

"I'm gonna kill you, Ariel!" Dean threatens me over his shoulder and I cackle triumphantly.

When we reach the cemetery, I shiver and zip up my jacket. It's only the middle of October, but the weather's already turning sharply cold, and the cemetery is technically haunted, anyway. I have a right to get shivers down my spine.

It doesn't stop Dean from rolling his eyes and calling me a wuss, though.

"I found the four boys," Sam calls and we join him at the four small tombstones. There's only about seven or eight years between their dates of birth and dates of death and my heart breaks for the young boys.

"And here's Leticia Gore," Dean says, pointing his flashlight at the larger tombstone nearby. He then looks up at Damien and Barnes, who are tip-toeing around the edge of the cemetery. "Uhh...what are you guys doing?"

"We're looking for bones, genius," Damien answers while in character, "They've gotta be around here somewhere."

"Well, bones are usually in the ground," Dean retorts as Sam drops his bag to the ground and pulls out three shovels. He hands one to Dean and one to me before taking one for himself.

"Yeah, I know that, I just...wait, you guys are serious?" Damien's voice squeaks as he breaks character.

"Deadly," Dean says as he accepts the shovel from Sam and shoves it into the ground.

"We're not really digging up graves, you guys, we're just playing a game," Barnes protests.

"Welcome to Supernatural," I tell the LARPers cheerfully, "How may we traumatize you today?"

Sam snorts as he pushes his own shovel into the ground, tracing an outline of the plot for us to dig in.

"Trust us," Dean reassures Barnes and Damien, though his cold smile is anything but reassuring, "You wanna win the game, right?" They gulp, but nod.

My arms burn and my back aches by the time we're more than halfway done digging. Noticing my slowing progress, Sam easily picks me up and pushes me out of the hole before climbing out himself to ready the salt and kerosene so that we can salt and burn the bones as quickly as possible.

"Those are real," Damien says dumbly.

"Good for you, you can recognize real salt," Dean grumbles from inside the hole just as his shovel hits something wooden. "Bingo." He yanks open the casket and Damien gags.

"That's not a plastic skeleton. That's a...a skeleton skeleton."

I bite my sarcastic remark back. "Yep."

"You just dug up a real grave," Barnes realizes.

"Yep," Dean echoes me.

"You guys are nuts."

Sam smirks. "Thought you guys wanted to be hunters."

"Hunters aren't real, man. This isn't real," Damien protests as he and Barnes turn to walk away.

"My God. You guys have seriously lost your grip on this-" Barnes turns back to us, but his eyes widen and he stops in his tracks.

Something cold brushes my arm and I turn to be faced with a translucent figure wearing a tattered old dress.

"Naughty, naughty!" she cackles and reaches for me as I yelp in surprise, stumbling and falling. My back hits the ground hard and I scramble for the container of salt. It topples into the grave instead, covering the skeleton with white crystals. Well, at least half the job is done. I can hear Damien and Barnes screaming as they turn and run away.

Sam rushes around the hole we'd dug to get to me, but Leticia Gore backhands him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Then I'm met with an icy sensation spreading through my body as the ghost plunges a hand into my chest. The cold quickly dissolves into pain and I scream, shutting my eyes. Then Leticia Gore screams, too, and blazing warmth replaces the cold before the only sensation I feel is the sharp wind against my slightly-damp face.

"Air?" Sam's at my side, lifting me into a sitting position as I gasp for air, leaning against him. "You okay?" He rubs my back gently as I nod, burying my face into his shoulder. Dean's standing at the edge of the grave, the skeleton inside smoldering away - he must have burned the bones while the ghost had gone after me.

Dean looks up at where Damien and Barnes are cowered on the other side of the cemetery, trembling. He smiles coldly at them. "Real enough for you?"

Damien whimpers.

"Quit coddling her, Sam," Dean scolds as Sam squeezes my trembling shoulders for the tenth time since we'd reentered the hotel. We're with the LARPers at the bar, Damien and Barnes tossing back shots to cope with what they'd just seen while I simply huddle against Sam's side, shaken by my own ordeal. I can still feel the ghost's freezing hand in my chest, and I shudder again. Sam holds me tighter. "If she's gonna learn to hunt, she's gotta get used to these things."

"Give her a break, Dean," Sam says quietly as he shifts so that I can press my face into his side. He grins then. "I seem to recall that you were the same when a ghost decided to play Operation with you for the first time."

I can't suppress a giggle as Dean stammers for a few seconds before retorting weakly, "Doesn't count, I was like, ten."

"It totally counts, so cut the kid some slack." Still, the story's got me feeling better, so I let Sam hold me for just a few more seconds before I sit upright again.

"Can we go now?"

"Sure. Round's on us, guys," Dean tells Damien and Barnes, who just stare at him blankly as we get up and head for the door. "Hey, Chuck, good luck with the Supernatural books and screw you very much," the older Winchester adds as we pass Chuck on the way out and I do my best to give the startled prophet a silent apology and a tired smile before we reach the doors.

Sam pushes on the handle, but the door doesn't open. Frowning, he moves to the other one, but it doesn't open, either.

"I feel like we've just stepped into a horror film," I say, my stomach sinking.

"Welcome to Supernatural, how may we traumatize you today?" Dean echoes my earlier words with a wry grin before trying the doors himself. They don't move.

"Can we panic?" I suggest.

"Not yet." Sam tries to open a nearby window, but it doesn't budge. "Every exit's locked. Like..."

"Like something's keeping us in," Dean says grimly and knocks on the window, frustrated.

"Panic now?" I say plaintively. Even if they say "no," the freaking out is setting in already.

"Yeah, panic now." Sam pats me on the shoulder absently as he looks at Dean. "This is bad."

"You think, Sammy?" I didn't know Dean could bitchface until now.

Suddenly, a woman screams and I groan as we begin running upstairs, towards the source of the sound.

"Not another ghost!"

"Sorry, Air." Sam gives me an apologetic look as the actress from earlier runs out of the library, looking over her shoulder. Dean catches her before she can run into us.

"Don't go in there!" she wails, her makeup streaking down her cheeks due to her tears.

"Get downstairs," Dean tells her, nudging her towards the stairs, "Go, go!" She runs downstairs and bracing myself, I follow the Winchesters into the library, sticking close to Sam's back.

"Why'd you do that? Why did you send my mommy away?" I peek around Sam to see the little scalped boy - Leticia Gore's son - frowning at us.

"Uh, maybe because of the high and tight she gave you, huh? How 'bout a little thanks?" Sam glares at Dean and clears his throat. "What? I mean a little gratitude might be nice once in a while."

"My mommy didn't do this to me." The little boy's eyebrows furrow even more, this time in confusion.

"What? Then who did?" Sam asks, but the boy flickers and disappears.

"Do all ghosts just give cryptic phrases and disappear?" I ask wearily.

"Usually," Dean sighs, but the moment of peace is broken by someone else screaming, this time a male voice.

"Oh, for the love of-!" I groan as we follow the source, but all complaints die in my throat when I see the limp body sprawled on the floor. It's one of the convention attendees - I remember him from the opening panel, dressed as the Hookman and speaking with a heavy German accent. His head is scalped, just as Gore's son's had been, and I shut my eyes, unable to look anymore.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, "We've gotta get to Chuck, make sure no one leaves the auditorium."

"I'm on it." Sam squeezes my shoulder. "C'mon, Ariel." I'm relieved to be away from the body as I follow Sam down to the auditorium. I wait backstage as he runs over to Chuck, who's wrapping up the panel, and whispers something into the prophet's ear.

"Holy crap," Chuck says in shock, earning gasps from the audience.

Sam covers the microphone before mumbling, "Life or death situation, Chuck, you've gotta keep everyone safe in here."

"For how long?"

"Long as it takes. Figure something out. Ariel's gonna be backstage, if you need help." Sam rejoins me backstage. "You gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah, I will. Just be careful." I hug him tightly and he squeezes my shoulders in return gently.

"I will." He leaves the auditorium and I settle in for Chuck's unexpectedly-extended panel.

"So, uh, good news. I got much more to tell you...I guess." The prophet throws me a helpless look. "For the next series, I've, um...got a co-writer, and I'd like to introduce her to you."

What?

"Please, uh...give it up for Ariel Evans." The amount of applause that greets me as I join Chuck onstage is startling, and I can see Becky scowling at me from the front row. Oh, God, there's over a hundred people there. I think I'm going to be sick.

I swallow back the nausea as I take my place at Chuck's side. "What're you doing?" I hiss at him through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "Just play along."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." One of the convention helpers hands me a wireless microphone. "Um, hi, I'm Ariel. So I guess if you guys have questions for me, feel free to shoot." A ton of hands shoot up and I'm only relieved that this'll keep us occupied while Sam and Dean get rid of the other ghosts. "Uhh, you with the fez." I point randomly.

"Are you even old enough to be a writer?" Fez-Guy demands, raising an eyebrow at me.

"What age is a writer supposed to be?" I ask, bewildered by the rude question, "I'm almost nineteen years old, and I've had that long to learn the English language. I think I'm qualified to write." Chastised, the guy sits down and ten hands go down with him. I guess they'd all planned on asking me the same question. "Okay, let's take another question. Anyone?" Becky's hand waves violently. "Anyone other than the creepy Sam-stalker?" I beg, but no one else seems to want to take their chances. I sigh. "Fine, go ahead, Becky."

She stands, scowling at me. "What makes you so special that you get to co-write the Supernatural series? What're you gonna bring to it that no one else can?"

Actually, that's a good question. Chuck's retreated offstage, so I'm pretty much alone there. "Um...well, Chu - Mr. Edlund and I have collaborated to create a much more realistic view on Supernatural that I don't think you guys have seen yet in the books." I'm pulling words out of thin air at this point. "Sam and Dean are people, not idolized heroes who can do no wrong. They make mistakes, they have emotions, and they're human. They deserve to be treated as such, and we plan to bring that into their personalities. I'm more of a developer, so I'll be adding more to their characters." I point at the scarecrow cosplayer.

"So does that mean you know everything about Sam and Dean?"

I concede, "I guess I know a lot about them. Within reason." Hey, living with them does have its upside: I've learned most of their habits and quirks.

That seems to be the magic answer, because at least twenty female hands shoot up, Becky's included. Oh, hell, I know where this is going.

"No, I don't know how big their man-parts are. Jeez, you crazy women, I said 'within reason.'" The hands all go down again, accompanied by groans of disappointment.

"What's Dean's favorite song?" a lanky guy about as tall as Sam asks.

That's easy; Dean sings it off-key every single time we're in the Impala. "Ramble On, Led Zep. He's totally tone-deaf, but he sings it at full volume in the car, anyway."

A girl wearing plaid raises her hand. "Does Sam still have demon blood in him because the yellow-eyed demon fed it to him as a baby?"

"Yeah, he does, and in the next series, um..." I glance at Chuck offstage, who shrugs, giving me permission to reveal details. "The demon blood's gonna have a pretty big role."

The questioning goes on for another twenty minutes, the queries ranging from the mind-numbingly stupid ("Like, why does Sam, like, never cut his hair?") to actually pretty good ("I don't understand why Dean sold his soul for Sam in All Hell Breaks Loose. I mean, their dad did the same thing for him, didn't he know what that would do to Sam?"). I answered them like I would have back in my old world, hoping that would be enough and praying my answers wouldn't somehow get back to Sam and Dean. Some things are really sensitive to them, and the demon blood and deals are definitely in that category.

Eventually, I've talked myself hoarse and Chuck comes to my rescue.

"So, uh, who'd like to know more about the upcoming series?" I retreat offstage, grabbing a bottle of water from a refreshment table and draining half of it in one gulp as I listen to Chuck stumbling his way through the rest of the panel. "What does the future hold for Sam and Dean? Well, how do you feel about angels?" My heart stops. "Yeah, because let me tell you, they're not nearly as lame as you think."

He's not talking about you, calm down, I scold myself, trying to relax again as I drop into a nearby chair. Still, now that angels have been mentioned, my senses are on hyper-alert. What if Chuck lets it slip somehow and Sam and Dean hear it? What if they hate me for keeping the whole archangel-thing from them? Chuck had said they would flip out, but would it be now or later?

Damn, I hate prophecies. They're too complicated.

Half an hour of Chuck's awkward answers and the audience is getting bored. The hotel manager heads for the door at one point.

"Uh, sir, you can't leave, please," Chuck stammers and I frown as I get to my feet, heading for the back of the auditorium to stop the manager. I'm too late; the manager breaks the salt line Sam and Dean had placed there and opens one of the doors. One of the ghost boys flicker into view, holding a rusty knife, and the audience screams as they all get up, scrambling back.

Chuck jumps off the stage and gets there before I do, dissipating the ghost with an iron bar and slamming the door shut. "I said nobody leaves, damn it! Someone salt this door!" I find the salt container the Winchesters had left behind and close the salt line once more. When I straighten, Becky's looking at Chuck with a predatory smile, just as she had once stared at Sam. What's worse, Chuck seems to notice her look, grinning dopily.

Oh, no.

"Okay, Romeo, back to the stage with you," I mutter, shoving the prophet's shoulder lightly. He blinks at me bemusedly before heading back to the stage. "Everyone calm down and get back to your seats!" I yell over the din of people talking worriedly. They scramble to obey, looking terrified. "We're just having a little ghost trouble, we'll get back to you momentarily!"

A few shaky laughs come from the people who clearly don't believe me. Well, good for them. Let them stay oblivious. I stay at the door so that no one else attempts to escape and break the salt line again.

Finally, blessedly, there's a muffled knock on the doors. I don't open them yet, though.

"Air, it's us," Dean says through the doors and I tug them open.

"We're done?"

"We're done," Sam confirms.

"Awesome. Hey, people!" I call, interrupting Chuck's random monologue about his lost virginity at sixteen (people look relieved at the interruption). "You're home free!" I dodge the stampede of people escaping and Sam tugs me out of the way.

"By the way, thanks for not telling them our dick sizes," Dean snarks at me and I make a face at him.

"I should've just given them a really small measurement for yours." He scowls back at me.

"There are some things none of us should know about each other," Sam tells his brother dryly and I can't help but laugh.

There are emergency vehicles and people in shock blankets everywhere. I'm half-tempted to quote the ending of A Study in Pink from Sherlock, but Becky's dramatic conversation with Sam is far more entertaining.

"We had undeniable chemistry. But like a monkey on the sun...it was too hot to live. It can't go on. Chuck and I, we found each other. My yin to his proud yang. And, well, the heart wants what the heart wants. I'm so, so sorry."

Chuck looks less apologetic. "Yeah. Sorry, Sam." He's grinning widely.

"Will you be all right?" Becky asks worriedly.

Sam bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he forces a miserable expression. "Honestly, I don't know. I'll just have to find a way to keep living, I guess."

"Bless you, you kind soul." Becky reaches up and pats Sam's cheek, earning a snort from me.

"Anyway, Chuck, if you really wanna publish more books, I guess that's okay with us," Sam tells Chuck.

"Really?" Chuck's eyes widen.

"No, not really." Sam's smile drops and his eyes narrow dangerously. "We have guns and we will find you."

"Shame, I was looking forward to co-writing the books," I deadpan and Sam's glare turns on me. Damn, sometimes I forget how scary he can be.

"Okay, no more books," Chuck agrees immediately.

"See you around." Sam squeezes my shoulder even as he turns and starts walking away. "C'mon, Air."

"Just a sec," I tell him even as Becky runs past me, calling for him. "Hey, um, thanks for not telling them," I mumble to Chuck, who gives me a weak smile.

"No problem."

I shuffle nervously. "Out of curiosity, um...what else do you know about the archangel?"

Chuck frowns. "She is you, you know."

"I know." And the thought of that just makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Well, I don't know where your Grace is, but it's definitely not on Earth. Someone would've found it if that were the case. And you, um...you didn't just fall."

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"I mean Michael cast you down and took your Grace from you. Whatever you did...it must have been awful."

That really doesn't make me feel better.

"Ariel, let's go!" Sam calls and I turn to see him heading over to the Impala, telling Dean something excitedly.

"Thanks, Chuck," I tell the prophet wearily, "For everything."

He pats my shoulder. "Take care, Ariel. I'm sorry you have to go through this."

"Mm." I nod and walk past Becky with a mumbled "later" in her direction, joining Sam and Dean at the car. "What's gotten your panties in a twist?" I ask.

"We've got a lead on the Colt," Sam informs me with a grin. "Becky just told me, apparently Bela Talbot didn't give it to Lilith. She gave it to a demon named Crowley."

"So now we've gotta find Crowley," I guess.

"It's the only chance we've got right now," Dean agrees, "I mean...it's a plan, right?"

"It's a plan." I force a smile as I get into the backseat. The Winchesters climb into the front and Dean starts up the car. Impulsively, I say, "Hey, guys?"

"Yeah?" Sam looks back at me, raising an eyebrow as Dean glances up at me through the rearview mirror.

I'm a fallen archangel. I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry. Please help me. The words are right there, but they die on the tip of my tongue when I look back up at the Winchesters. They've got enough on their plates to worry about. "Nothing. Never mind." Dean shrugs, dismissing my weirdness as he flips on the radio. Thankfully, it's Led Zeppelin and Dean's off-key belting of Ramble On distracts Sam from questioning me further.

I sink back against the seat, both relieved and disappointed in myself at the same time.

You know, I was going to have this done three hours ago. But then I accidentally the Sabriel tag on Tumblr and had many feels.

So that's the end of The Real Ghostbusters - thank God, as much as I love this episode, it was killing me to write it - and next comes Abandon All Hope. Now if Changing Channels is my all-time favorite episode due to its hilariousness, Abandon All Hope is my all-time favorite episode due to the amount of feels. So I'm looking forward to writing that.

Please leave reviews, and let me know how you're feeling about the story!