Sam, Dean and Mack entered a comic shop, the brothers dressed up in their FBI suits with long coats. Mack had made a comment about how they looked like Cas, just with black coats instead of brown. Sam had chuckled in amusement while Dean had looked appalled. Mack walked off to look at the shelves while Sam and Dean went to the man behind the counter, taking out their badges. "Uh... Can I help you?"
"Sure hope so," Dean replied. "Agents De Young and Shaw. Just need to ask you a few questions."
"Notice anything strange in the building, last couple days?" Sam asked.
"Like what?"
"Well, some of the other tenants reported flickering lights," Dean said, glancing over at Mack discreetly. She had reached a table labeled 'bargain bin' and seemed to be trying to grab something off of it. "Uh, I don't think so. Why?" the clerk drew his attention back to him. "What about noises?" Sam asked. "Any skittering in the walls? Kind of like rats." The man appeared to be skeptical. "And the FBI is investigating a rodent problem?"
"What about cold spots? Feel any sudden drops in temperature?" Suddenly, the clerk's face lit up in a giant grin. "I knew it! You guys are LARPing, aren't you?" Dean blinked, confused. "Excuse me?" The man didn't stop smiling, getting really excited. "You're fans."
"Fans of what?" Sam asked, just as confused as Dean was. "What is 'LARPing'?" Dean added. The clerk gave him a knowing smirk. "Like you don't know... Live-Action Role-Play! And pretty hardcore, too." Dean again discreetly looked past Sam at Mack. She had made an impressive stack of books, and he wondered what she was doing. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," he told the clerk.
"You're asking questions like the building's haunted. Like those guys from the books. What are they called? Uh... 'Supernatural'. Two guys, use fake IDs with rock aliases, hunt down ghosts, demons, vampires. What are their names? Uh... Steve and Dirk? Uh, Sal and Dane?"
"Sam and Dean?" Sam provided hesitantly. "That's it!" the clerk snapped his fingers. "You're saying this is a book?" Dean asked incredulously. "Books. It was a series. Didn't sell a lot of copies, though. Kind of had an underground cult following." As he spoke, Mack made her way over with her stack of books- which turned out to be a bunch of the 'Supernatural' books. She stood on her tiptoes, dumping them on the counter. "Look what I found," she smiled up at Dean.
"Yeah, there you go," the clerk nodded, surprisingly unphased that such a young girl had grabbed and brought over the books. Sam and Dean were gaping in surprise and horror at the collection Mack had found. "Uh... I think this is the first one." The clerk picked up one and handed it to Dean.
"'Supernatural' by Carver Edlund," Dean read from the cover, then flipped it over. "'Along a lonely California highway, a mysterious woman in white lures men to their deaths.'" Sam snatched the book out of his hand. "Give me that. We're gonna need all the copies of 'Supernatural' you've got."
Dean was reading an excerpt from the first book in the 'Supernatural' series, several other books strewn around him on the bedspread back at the motel. He had just gotten to the part where he was telling Sam about how he'd ended up with Mack.
Sam kept glancing back at the nearly one-and-a-half year old strapped into a car seat in the back of the Impala. "What the hell, man?" he asked his brother. "How'd you end up with a kid?" Dean glanced in the rearview mirror at his daughter, expression softening. Mack was babbling and grabbing her toes, the stuffed rabbit he'd bought her tucked into the car seat beside her. "It's a long story, Sam."
"We've got a long drive, Dean." Dean sighed, relenting. "Okay, fine. About a year ago, Dad and I were working a case in Greenville, South Carolina. We were at our motel doing research when there was this knock on the door..."
November 2004
Dean looked up from the various maps and other articles at the sharp rapping sound at the door. On the other side of the room, John didn't even bother turning from his own research, obviously expecting Dean to take care of it. The rapping sounded again, and Dean couldn't help but think it sounded desperate. Cautiously, he drew his gun and went to open the door, keeping the weapon hidden from view. On the other side was a woman with long dark brown hair and pretty blue eyes. She was carrying a car seat in one hand and a manilla envelope in the other, a diaper bag slung over her shoulder.
"Uh... can I help you?" Dean asked her. "Dean Winchester?" she asked, staring at him desperately. Dean swallowed, glancing over at his father who was studying him and the woman with a calculated expression. "Um... yeah, that's me. What do you want?" She slapped the manilla envelope against his chest and then set both the diaper bag and car seat at his feet. "She's your responsibility now."
"Wait!" he called, but the woman had already turned on her heel and left. Dean stood there, dumbstruck for a moment and wondering what had just happened. John walked over, grabbing the manilla envelope out of his hands and then went to sit on the edge of one of the beds while he looked through it. A shrill crying met Dean's ears, and he snapped out of it, looking down at the child in the car seat. He picked up the seat and diaper bag and brought them further into the room, closing the door behind him.
"What's that?" he asked his father. "Legal documents," John replied. He handed the packet to Dean to look at and then went over to continue his research. As he looked through the pile, he realized that, yes, this was all the legal documents necessary to identify the baby in the car seat. Birth certificate, social security, health insurance information, all of it. He got stuck staring at the birth certificate.
It identified the child as Mckinley Grace, born May 2, 2004 at 7lbs 6oz at 4:53 a.m. The mother was listed as Andrea Hudson and the father... Son of a bitch. His name glared back at him in bold print. He couldn't even remember who Andrea was or where he had met her. The baby- Mckinley- was still crying in her car seat. "Shut it up, son," John ordered, focused on his research.
Heart pounding out of his chest, Dean set down the documents and focused on getting his new daughter out of her car seat. She continued to scream, and he wrinkled his nose as he realized why she was so upset. John was glaring over at him, and so he grabbed the diaper bag and took it and Mckinley into the bathroom. "Alright," he muttered, setting the bag on the ground. "This is fine." He laid Mckinley's blanket down on the floor beside the diaper bag, sitting down in front of her.
She was still screaming like a banshee as he dug through the bag and found a diaper. Nose still wrinkled, Dean gagged as he undid her dirty diaper. He wrapped it up, tossing it in the trash nearby, then realized another problem- her bottom was raw and red and it looked like there were a few bleeding sores. "Oh, baby girl, I'm so sorry," he told her. He dug back into the diaper bag until he found an unopened box labeled 'Boudroux's Butt Paste'. Opening it up and squeezing some of the cream out onto his hand, he gently applied it to Mckinley's sore bottom.
"There you go, sweetheart," he cooed, grabbing the fresh diaper to put on her. As he was finishing up, the child stopped screaming, instead staring up at him with big hazel-green eyes. "Does that feel better?" he asked her, smiling a little. "I bet that feels a lot better." Mckinley babbled and blew little bubbles with her tongue in response. He laughed a little to himself, picking her up.
Her eyes found the light above the mirror and she babbled some more, reaching toward it with her tiny fist. "Do you like the pretty light?" he asked her, moving her closer to the mirror. "Huh? You like that, don't you?" She squealed in delight as he lifted her close enough to hit the bulb with her hand. "Just like a bug, aren't you? Daddy's little bug."
He pulled her back, cradling her in his arms and grabbing the diaper bag to exit the bathroom. John glared over at them when they came out. "You can't keep it," he told Dean bluntly. "She is my daughter," he replied, appalled at his father's reaction. John just kept glaring at him, clearly not willing to back down on the matter. "You don't even know that for sure. Birth certificates can be forged."
"Not this time," Dean shook his head, knowing in his gut that this little girl in his arms was his. His father was undeterred. "I don't know who that woman was, or how she found us here, but just because she gave you papers that claim you're that thing's father, doesn't mean it's true."
"I'm not giving her up. You can't make me."
"You're not hearing me, boy! We have no proof that that thing is actually yours! You cannot keep it!"
Mckinley had become fussy again during the argument, and Dean automatically started bouncing and swaying her in his arms to calm her down. He was mostly going off of instinct and what little he could remember from helping raise Sam. "What if I got a DNA test?" he asked, trying to find a way to make John agree to let him keep his daughter. "Then we'd have proof that she's mine." John paused, seeming to contemplate the idea. "And if it comes back negative?"
"Then we can discuss what to do with her. But if it comes back positive, she's staying. No arguments."
His father stared him down and he held his gaze, determined to stand his ground.
"Very well."
"So, Dad really didn't want you to keep her?" Sam shook his head. Dean sighed, nodding. "Yeah. But when the DNA test came back positive, he sucked it up and dealt with it. Still didn't act happy about it, though." Sam glanced back at his niece, who had stopped playing with her toes and had instead become interested in her rabbit.
"Dean!" Dean looked up from the book, blinking in surprise. He hadn't realized how sucked in to the story he'd gotten. "What I was saying," Sam said, giving him a pointed look, "it looks like the books are pretty obscure. I mean, almost zero circulation. Uh, started in '05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt. And, uh, the last one- 'No Rest for the Wicked'-" he turned his laptop for Dean to see, "ends with you going to Hell." Dean threw the book down after discreetly checking what page he left off on to check out the website Sam found.
"Friggin' insane," he muttered, shaking his head. "Check it out. There's actually fans. There's not many of them, but still. Did you read this?" Sam nodded, "Yeah."
"Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot. Listen to this- Simpatico says 'the demon storyline is trite, clichéd, and overall craptastic.' Yeah, well, screw you Simpatico. We lived it." Sam chuckled. "Keep reading. It gets better." Mack was staring curiously at the book Dean had been sucked into while she listened. She wanted to read some of the earlier books since she was too young to remember some of the stuff that happened back then.
"There are 'Sam girls' and 'Dean girls'," Dean mused, scrolling through the website, "and- what's a 'slash fan'?" He looked over at Sam curiously. "As in... Sam-slash-Dean. Together." Dean blinked. "Like, together together?"
"Yeah," Sam confirmed.
"They do know we're brothers, right?"
"It doesn't seem to matter."
"Oh, come on. That... That's just sick," Dean slammed the laptop shut. "We got to find this Carver Edlund."
"Yeah, that might not be so easy," Sam sighed. "Why not?" Dean demanded. "No tax records, no known address. Looks like 'Carver Edlund' is a pen name."
"Somebody's gotta know who he is."
That somebody turned out to be the publisher- a young, attractive woman with a short haircut and wearing a long sweater. She seemed eager enough to help them, albeit a little skeptical and nervous of their intentions. "So, you published the 'Supernatural' books?" Sam asked her. "Yep. Yeah. Gosh. These books... You know, they never really got the attention they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap. You know- 'Doctor Sexy, M.D.'" She scoffed. "Please."
"Right," Sam nodded. "Well, we're hoping that our article can... shine a light on an underappreciated series." The publisher's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yeah, yeah, because, you know, if we got a little good press then m-maybe we could start publishing again." Dean shook his head, immediately shooting that idea down. "No, no, no, no. God, no. I mean, why- why would you want that? You know, it's, uh, such a complete series, what with Dean going to Hell and all."
"Oh my God!" she cried, getting emotional. "That was one of my favorite ones, because Dean was so... strong... and sad and brave. And Sam... I mean, the best parts are when they'd cry. You know, like in- In 'Heart', when Sam had to kill Madison, the first woman since Jessica he really loved. And in 'Home', when Dean had to call John and ask him for help." She turned away from them. "Gosh... if only real men were so open and in touch with their feelings."
"Real men?" Dean echoed. The publisher turned back to look at him, realizing her mistake. "I mean, no offense. How often do you cry like that, hmm?" Dean couldn't help himself, replying, "Well, right now, I'm crying on the inside." She was not amused. "Is that supposed to be funny?"
"Lady, this whole thing is funny." Sam gave Dean a warning glance as the publisher glared. "How do I know you two are legit, hmm? Coming in here with a kid?" Dean scowled at her jab at Mack. "Oh, trust me," he said with forced calm, masking his anger. "We, uh... we're legit."
"Well, I don't want any smart-ass article making fun of my boys."
Sam stammered to cover for them. "No! No, no, no. Never. We- We are actually, um... big fans." The publisher eyed him. "Hmm. You've read the books?" Dean nodded. "Cover to cover."
"Mm-hm," Sam agreed. "What's the year and model of the car?" she asked. "It's a 1967 Chevy Impala," Dean said confidently. "What's May 2nd?" she fired off next. "That's my-" Sam caught himself, "Uh... that's Sam and Mack's birthday."
"January 24th is Dean's," Dean added with a smirk. "Sam's score on the LSAT?" Sam paused, thinking for a moment. "One... Seventy-four?" It was the right answer. "Dean's favorite song?" Dean's smirk grew. "It's a tie. Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues'." The publisher was pleased. "Okay. Okay, what do you want to know?"
"What's Carver Edlund's real name?"
"Oh, no," she shook her head emphatically. "I- No. Sorry, I can't do that." Sam pressed. "Please. Like I said- we are, um..." he unbuttoned his shirt, cringing a little, as he showed off his anti-possession tattoo, "...big... big fans." He shot a pointed look at Dean, and the elder Winchester rolled his eyes, but tugged down the edge of his collar to show off his tattoo as well. She licked her lips as she eyed their chests. "Awesome. You know what?" She turned around and Dean covered Mack's eyes as she hiked up her skirt, showing off her own tattoo. "I got one, too," she grinned. "Whoa, you are a fan," Dean smirked, hand firmly over his daughter's eyes. The publisher turned back around, grabbing a sticky note and a pen. "Okay. His name's Chuck Shurley. And he's a genius, so don't piss him off."
The Winchesters got out of the Impala, heading up to the house the publisher had written down as Chuck's address. When they got up to the front porch, the brothers looked at each other and shrugged. Then, Dean reached out, pressing the doorbell. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a mousy looking man in a yellowed tank top, boxers and slippers under a ratty old bathrobe. "You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asked him. "The Chuck Shurley who wrote the 'Supernatural' books?" Sam added. "Maybe," the man replied. "Why?"
"I'm Dean," Dean introduced, gesturing to Sam, "this is Sam, and this is Mack. The Dean, Sam and Mack you've been writing about." Chuck closed the door and Dean rang the doorbell again. It opened faster this time, Chuck obviously not having enough time to move away from the door. "Look, uh... I appreciate the enthusiasm. Really, I do. It's, uh, always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life." He tried to shut the door again, but Dean put out a hand to stop it.
"See, here's the thing. We have a life. You've been using it to write your books." He shoved the door open, entering the house and forcing Chuck to retreat. Sam followed with Mack just a step behind. "Now, wait a minute. Now, this isn't funny," the author protested. "Damn straight, it's not funny," Dean growled. "Look, we just want to know how you're doing it," Sam told him, in a slightly gentler tone than his brother. "I'm not doing anything!" Chuck protested. "Are you a hunter?"
"What? No. I'm a writer."
"Then how do you know so much about demons?" Dean advanced on Chuck further, causing him to fall back onto the couch. "And tulpas, and changelings?" Chuck stared up at him in terror. "Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? This is a 'Misery' thing." Dean glared with growing anger. "No, it's not a 'Misery' thing. Believe me, we are not fans!"
"Well, then what do you want?!"
"I'm Sam, this is Mack, and that's Dean," Sam told him again. Chuck shook his head furiously. "Sam, Dean and Mack are fictional characters! I made them up! They're not real!" Fed up, Dean grabbed him by the arm, dragging him outside to show him the Impala. Chuck yelped, protesting the entire way. Back at the trunk, Dean opened up the secret compartment to show off the arsenal. Chuck stared at it all in shock. "Are those real guns?"
"Yup. And this is real rock salt, these are real fake IDs," Dean touched each item as he listed them. "Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans," Chuck shifted nervously. "That's, that's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, starting to back up in that direction. "Chuck, stop."
"Please. Wait. Please, don't hurt me," Chuck cowered. "How much do you know?" Sam asked curiously. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?" Chuck blinked, straightening up. "Wait a minute? How do you know about that?" he questioned them. "The question is, how do you?" Dean shot back. "Because I wrote it?"
"You kept writing?" Sam stated incredulously. Chuck nodded. "Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out. Okay, wait a minute. This is some kind of joke, right? Did that- Did Phil put you up to this?" Dean took a step forward, smirking a little. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother, Sam, and my daughter Mack."
"The last names were never in the books. I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down." Back in the house, Chuck poured himself a large whiskey and gulped it down, then set the glass on the kitchen sink. He turned around, spotting the three Winchesters, and groaned. "Oh. Oh, you're still here."
"Yup," Dean nodded. "You're not a hallucination," Chuck muttered sorrowfully. "Nope." Chuck sighed, looking them dead in the eyes. "Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously, I'm a god." Dean rolled his eyes. "You're not a god," Sam told him. "How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life. Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god. The things I put you through- The physical beatings alone."
"Yeah, we're still in one piece," Dean replied, but Chuck was on a roll at that point. "I killed your father. I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica." He began to pace, Sam trying to cut in. "Chuck..." He was ignored. "All for what? All for the sake of literary symmetry. I toyed with your lives, with your emotions, for... entertainment." Chuck seemed really upset with himself and Dean had had enough. "You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay? You didn't create us."
"Did you really have to live through the bugs?" the author asked and Dean grimaced at the reminder. "Yeah," he confirmed. "What about the ghost ship?" Again, Sam and Dean winced at the reminder. "Yes, that, too." Chuck looked even more crestfallen. "I am so sorry. I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing... if I would have known it was real, I would have done another pass."
"Chuck you're not a god!" Dean shouted in frustration. "We think you're probably just psychic," Sam added at a regular volume. "No. If I were psychic, do you think I'd be writing? Writing is hard." The brothers remained undeterred. "It seems that somehow, you're just... focused on our lives," Sam said. "Yeah, like laser focused," Dean nodded. "Are you working on anything right now?"
Chuck's eyes widened in realization, "Holy crap." That didn't sound good. "What?" Sam asked. Chuck walked over, picking a stack of papers off a cluttered desk. "The, uh, latest book. It's, uh, kind of weird." Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "'Weird how?" The writer looked down at the pages in his hand then up at them nervously. "It's very Vonnegut."
"'Slaughterhouse Five' Vonnegut or 'Cat's Cradle' Vonnegut?" Dean questioned intently. "What?" Sam looked over at him in surprise. "What?" he echoed defensively. "It's, uh, 'Kilgore Trout' Vonnegut. I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself, at my house... confronted by my characters."
After reading the pages Chuck had written so far, the writer called them back to let them know he'd written more pages. "So... you wrote another chapter?" Sam pressed when Chuck just paced nervously, as if building up the courage to speak. "This was all so much easier before you were real," he muttered. "We can take it; just spit it out," Dean told him. "You especially are not going to like this," Chuck said. "I didn't like Hell," Dean deadpanned. Chuck took a deep breath, "It's Lilith. She's coming for Sam."
"Coming to kill him?"
"When?"
"Tonight," Chuck answered hesitantly. "She's just gonna show up? Here?" The writer sat down, putting on reading glasses and looking at the new pages in his hand. "Let's see..." he glanced over at Dean briefly, "you may want to cover her ears..." Dean raised an eyebrow, but complied, placing his hands over Mack's ears so she wouldn't hear whatever Chuck was going to say next. "Uh... 'Lilith patted the bed seductively. Unable to deny his desire, Sam succumbed, and they sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion.'" Sam couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his mouth. "You're kidding me, right?"
Dean glared over at his brother, still covering his daughter's ears. "You think this is funny?" he snapped. "You don't? I mean, come on. 'Fiery demonic passion'?" Chuck frowned, a little offended. "It's just a first draft," he defended quietly. "Wait, wait, wait, wait," Dean shook his head. "Lilith is a little girl." Chuck shook his head, eyes scanning further down the page. "No, uh, this time she's a 'comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana'."
"Great. Perfect. So, what happens after the... 'fiery demonic' whatever?" Chuck shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, it hasn't come to me yet." Sam still appeared amused by the whole situation. "Dean, look, there's nothing to worry about. Lilith and me? In bed?" Dean glared over at him, but addressed Chuck. "How does this whole psychic thing of yours work?" Chuck blinked. "You mean my process?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, your 'process'." Chuck took a deep breath. "Well, it usually starts with a headache. A really bad headache. Aspirin is useless, so... I drink. Until I fall asleep. The first time it happened, I thought it was a crazy dream." Dean blinked. "The first time you dreamt about us?" Chuck nodded. "It flowed. It just, it kept flowing. It still does. I-I can't stop it, really." Dean took his hands away from Mack's ears as Sam chuckled again. "You can't seriously believe-"
"Humor me," Dean snapped. He stood, setting Mack down on the chair he had been occupying with her on his lap and walked over to Chuck, who held up the manuscript pages. "Look, why don't we..." he grabbed the pages out of Chuck's hand, "take a look at these and see what's what. You-"
"... Knew you were gonna ask for that," Chuck nodded. "Yeah."