The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam //

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Dean Winchester
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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 8, 2015 18:21:23 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 8, 2015 18:21:23 GMT -5

ooc; SEASON FOUR. EPISODE EIGHTEEN.

The Winchesters entered a small comic book shop in their traditional black fed suits. There were a few kids mulling about but the place was mostly dead so the man behind the counter was flipping lazily through a comic book for something to occupy his time with. He looked up as the boys approached. "Uh... can I help you?" "Sure hope so" Dean replied cordially, taking out his current fake fed badge and flashing it. Sam beside him did the same while Dean introduced their aliases. "Agents DeYoung and Shaw. Just need to ask you a few questions." The man nodded agreeably and Sam jumped right in. "Notice anything strange in the building, last couple of days?" The cashier frowned. "Like what?" Dean tucked his badge away. "Well, some other tenants reported flickering lights." The cashier's frown deepened. "Uh...I don't think so. Why?" "What about noises" Sam wanted to know, ignoring the question and firing one back. "Any skittering in the walls? Kind of like rats?" The cashier looked his most baffled yet. "The FBI is investigating a rodent problem?" The boys swapped a look. "What about cold spots" Sam pressed. "Feel any sudden drops in temperature?" Dean let his eyes wander around the store but they were zapped pretty quickly back to the cashier, who was exclaiming, "I knew it" with a broad grin full of understanding. "You guys are LARPing, aren't you?" Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're fans" the cashier stated, still grinning. "Fans of what" Sam questioned at the same time Dean asked, "What is LARPing?" Both had pretty confused expressions. "Like you don't know" the cashier chided playfully, but when their expressions didn't change, he tacked on a brief explanation. "Live-Action Role-Play!" He gave their outfits a once-over and nodded impressively. "And pretty hardcore, too." "I'm sorry." Dean wasn't sure he'd ever been this confused in his life.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 8, 2015 20:22:18 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 8, 2015 20:22:18 GMT -5

"You're asking questions like the building's haunted" the cashier went on, looking between the brothers. "Like those guys from the books. What are they called? Uh..." He mulled it over for a minute and then snapped, arriving at the title. "Supernatural." Two guys, use fake IDs with rock aliases, hunt down ghosts, demons, vampires. What are their names again?" He frowned in deep concentration. "Uh... Steve and Dirk? No...maybe it was Sal and Dane? No..." Sam looked over at his brother in bewilderment before speaking up slowly, taking a wild guess. "...Sam and Dean?" The cashier nodded energetically. "That's it!" "You're saying this is a book" Dean clarified, looking as unsettled as Sam felt. "BookS" the cashier corrected, sliding off of his stool and leading them towards a large bin at the back of the store, marked "Bargain". "It was a series. Didn't sell a lot of copies, though. Kind of had more of an underground cult following." Rifling through the battered books for a few seconds, he finally emerged with a small, paperback book, holding it out for one of the two to take. "Here. That's the first one, I think." Sam simply stared at the book, so it was Dean who finally reached out to take it, reading the title and then the back cover's first line. "Supernatural, by Carver Edlund. Along a lonely California highway, a mysterious woman in white lures men to their deaths." Hearing these words, Sam un-froze, snatching the book from his brother's hands so quickly he nearly dropped it. "Give me that."

He thumbed briskly through the pages, catching sentence fragments here and there. Things like "Ok fine, so I WAS looking for a beer. But I found you instead. Or rather...you found me" which was word for word what his brother had said to him that night four years ago when he'd come to tell Sam their Dad was missing. And, their "jerk" and "bitch" exchange. All the way to the very last words on the very last page of "we've got work to do." Holding up the book with authority, he nearly hit the cashier in the face with it.

"We're gonna need all the copies of "Supernatural" you've got."

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 8, 2015 20:58:44 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 8, 2015 20:58:44 GMT -5

The store possessed a dozen of the possible 24 books. The boys bought them all and took them back to the motel room, completely forgetting the case they'd been working to find out everything they could about "Supernatural." They split the workload, Sam on his computer at the table and Dean speed-reading the 12 books they'd purchased. So for a solid two hours, there was no sound in the motel. Then, finishing up, Dean lowered the book in his hand, feeling so out of sorts it was scary. "This is freakin' insane" he remarked, breezing back through the pages he'd just read. "How's this guy know all this stuff?" "You got me" Sam mused, looking up from his computer screen and shrugging with an expression that mirrored Dean's. "Everything is in here" Dean pointed out, torn between being impressed and alarmed. "I mean everything. From the racist truck to – to me having sex." He closed the book, tossing it onto the pile at the end of his bed and standing. "I'm full-frontal in here, dude." Sam made a face. Dean crossed to stand beside his brother. "How come we haven't heard of them before?"

"Well, they're pretty obscure" Sam explained, letting his eyes dart back down to the website he'd been browsing. "I mean, almost zero circulation. Started in '05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt. And the last one – 'No Rest For The Wicked'" – He spun the laptop around so that Dean could see the list of book titles he'd pulled up. "- Ends with you going to hell." Dean lowered himself down into the chair opposite Sam and pulled the computer closer. "I reiterate. Freaking insane." Scrolling through the comment boxes, he raised an eyebrow. "Check it out. There’s actually fans. There’s not many of them, but still." He looked up. "Did you read this?" Sam gave a strained smile. "Yeah." Dean returned his eyes to the screen. "Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot" he observed. "Listen to this – Simpatico says "the demon story line is trite, clichéd, and overall craptastic." Yeah, well, screw you, Simpatico" he muttered in annoyance. "We lived it." "Yeah. Well, keep on reading" Sam advised with a sarcastic smile. "It gets better." Dean let his eyes wander down the page a bit more, taking in the back and forth arguments between a few of the more intense fans on which brother was better. "There are "Sam girls" and "Dean girls" and..." He paused with a frown, lost by the new comments. "What's a "slash fan"?" Sam made a face, looking physically ill. "As in... Sam-slash-Dean. Together." "As in...together, together" Dean asked in horror, confirmed by Sam's expression, followed up by a grim, "yeah." "They do know we're brothers, right" Dean stressed, feeling as queasy as Sam looked. Sam made another face. "Doesn't seem to matter." "Oh, come on" Dean griped, closing the laptop with a look of disgust. "That...That's just sick."

Shuddering slightly, he tried to put that idea far, far out of his mind, switching subjects quickly. "We got to find this Carver Edlund." "Yeah, that might not be so easy" Sam informed him regretfully. "No tax records, no known address. As far as I can tell, it looks like "Carver Edlund” is just a pen name." Dean narrowed his eyes in determination.

"Somebody’s gotta know who he is."

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 9, 2015 19:56:22 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 9, 2015 19:56:22 GMT -5

Sam considered Dean's statement for a few minutes, running all possibilities through his mind. "Well there is one option" he said finally, landing on the most promising one. Dean beckoned. "Let's hear it." "Well books don't just appear out of thin air, right" Sam pointed out, reaching for his jacket and shrugging into it. "They have to be printed and sold. So...let's see if the publisher knows anything." "Fair enough." Dean shrugged and followed Sam out the door.

The publisher's office was surprisingly only a few blocks away from the motel and every spare inch of the walls were decked out in posters depicting the multiple Supernatural books. Dean looked like he was going to be sick and Sam couldn't say he felt very differently. This whole thing was just too bizarre for words. The publisher herself was a young blond woman who seemed both nervous and excited at the same time when the boys introduced themselves as local journalists. "So you published the "Supernatural" books" Sam wanted to know with a professional smile. "Yeah. Gosh. These books...You know, they never really got the attention they deserved" she gushed, running one finger down the spines of the books which were set up in order on her bookshelf. "All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap. You know – "Doctor Sexy, M.D."?" She turned away from the books to face the boys again, scoffing. "Please." "Right" Sam agreed, keeping a straight face. "Well, we're hoping that our article can... shine a light on an...underappreciated series."

That actually wasn't what they were hoping at all.

Last Edit: Sept 9, 2015 19:57:48 GMT -5 by Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester
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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 9, 2015 20:20:09 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 9, 2015 20:20:09 GMT -5

The publisher's eyes lit up at Sam's words. "Yeah, yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press then m-maybe we could start publishing again." "No, no, no, no. God, no." The words were out of Dean's mouth before he could reign them in. Sam shot him a pointed look, the publisher looked confused, and Dean hastened to add, "I mean, why – why would you want to do that? You know, it's, uh, such a complete series the way it is, what with...Dean going to hell and all." He smiled weakly. Saying his name aloud like that just added to the oddity of this entire situation.

Her eyes widened emotionally. "Oh, my god! That was one of my favorite ones, because Dean was so... strong... and sad and brave." Her voice trembled. "And Sam..." She teared up a little. The boys exchanged a baffled look behind her back as she turned away to compose herself. "I mean, the best parts are when they cry" she was saying as she turned back around. "You know, like in – In "Heart," when Sam had to kill Madison, the first woman since Jessica he really loved." Dean snuck a sideways glance at his brother whose expression tightened. The publisher did not notice this however, as she was still rambling away about her favorite scenes. "And in "Home," when Dean had to call John and ask him for help." Now it was Dean's turn to set his jaw, doing everything in his power to keep his expression neutral.

"Gosh... if only real men were so open and in touch with their feelings" the publisher complained, sighing heavily. "Real men" Dean echoed, staring. The publisher, mistaking Dean's tone for an offended one, held up her hands quickly, apologizing. "I mean, no offense. But how often do you cry like that, hmm?" "Well, right now, I'm crying on the inside" Dean deadpanned, unable to stop himself. "Is that supposed to be funny" she snapped, looking upset. Dean shook his head, at a complete loss.

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 9, 2015 20:47:13 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 9, 2015 20:47:13 GMT -5

The publisher eyed them skeptically as she moved around to sit down at her desk. "How do I know you two are legit, hmm?" "Oh, trust me" Dean promised with a wry smile. "We, uh... we're legit." Sam nodded his agreement. "Well, I don't want any smart-ass article making fun of my boys" the publisher informed them briskly, causing Sam to stammer, "no! No, no, no. Never. We – We are actually, um... big fans." "You've read the books" the publisher asked them doubtfully. "Cover to cover" Dean assured her confidently. After a brief pause, the publisher challenged, "what's the year and model of the car?" Sam let Dean field that question proudly. "It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala." "What's May 2?" "That's my"- Sam cut himself short, adjusting the end of his answer deliberately. "Uh...that's Sam's birthday." "January 24th is Dean's" Dean pitched in with a shrug just for bonus points.

The publisher seemed to be searching for harder questions. She finally smiled triumphantly. "Sam's score on the LSAT?" Dean immediately looked to Sam, who was struggling to remember his score at the moment. "One..." He furrowed his brow in deep thought. "Seventy four" he finally threw out, relieved to hear no objection or amendment from the publisher which must have meant he remembered it correctly. "Dean's favorite song" she asked next. Sam turned the tables, staring over at Dean the way Dean had just done to him when he'd been in the spotlight. Dean smiled easily. "It's a tie. Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues'." The publisher had apparently exhausted her questions. She leaned back in her chair, gesturing at the boys with a satisfied smile. "Okay. What do you want to know?" "What’s Carver Edlund's real name" Sam demanded without wasting any time.

The publisher shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. I – No. Sorry, I can’t do that." "We just want to talk to him" Sam explained patiently. "You know, get the "Supernatural" story in his own words." "He’s very private" she returned apologetically. "It’s like Salinger." "Please" Sam begged. "Like I said – we are, um..." He unsnapped the first few buttons of his overshirt, then pulled that and the collar of his tee-shirt down a few inches to reveal his anti-possession tattoo.

"Big fans."

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 9, 2015 22:41:42 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 9, 2015 22:41:42 GMT -5

The publisher and Sam both looked over to Dean expectantly, waiting. Dean rolled his eyes and tugged down his own tee-shirt collar to show off the matching tattoo. The publisher looked beside herself with joy. "Awesome" she breathed, standing and lowering her skirt. A similar styled tattoo was clearly visible on her butt. "I got one too." Dean stared, transfixed. "Wow. You are a fan." "So...Carver Edlund's name" Sam prompted, probably just to get Dean to snap out of his daze. The publisher pulled her skirt back up and reached for a post-it note from her desk, which she used to scrawl a name and address down on. "His name's Chuck Shurley. And he's a genius, so don't piss him off." Dean couldn't make any promises.
~~~

The brothers approached the ramshackle house with trepidation, trading soulful looks as they climbed the rickety porch steps. What exactly were they hoping to discover here? What secrets were hidden inside these walls? And did they want to know them?

Dean finally took charge, reaching up with determination to press the bell and hold it for a few long seconds. And after a few more seconds a very disheveled looking man in a bathrobe came to the door, squinting at them. "You Chuck Shurley" Dean wanted to know aggressively. "The Chuck Shurley who wrote the "Supernatural" books" Sam elaborated in a much friendlier tone. "Maybe" he hedged, looking between the two. "Why?" "I'm Dean. This is Sam" Dean introduced stiffly. "The Dean and Sam you've been writing about." Chuck gave them an incredibly familiar "you guys are nuts" look before closing the door in their faces. Dean jabbed the bell again. This time Chuck only opened the door part way. "Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm" he began slowly, still looking like he'd like to commit them to a mental hospital. "Really, I do. It's, uh, it's always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life." He tried to close the door again but Dean was too fast for him, slamming one flat palm against it to prevent this from happening. "See, here's the thing" he countered irritably. "We have a life. You've been using it to write your books." With that said, he pushed the door open, forcing himself into the house. Chuck backed up several paces, nearly tripping over his robe. "Now, wait a minute. This isn't funny." "Damn straight, it's not funny" Dean agreed hotly, continuing to advance.

"Look, we just want to know how you're doing it" Sam added, following the pair of them into the living room. "I'm not doing anything" Chuck insisted, stumbling backwards another step, holding up his hands. "Are you a hunter" Dean demanded. "What??" Chuck took a momentary break from looking terrified to look baffled instead. "No, I'm a writer." "Then how do you know so much about demons" Dean challenged, backing Chuck into the couch's arm rest, which he hit and toppled over awkwardly. "And Tulpas, and changelings?" "Is this some kind of "Misery" thing??" Chuck cowered behind his arms. "Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a "Misery" thing!" "No, it's not a "Misery" thing" Dean snapped in frustration. "Believe me, we are not fans!" Chuck peered around his arms. "Well, then, what do you want?!" "I'm Sam" Sam cut in before an irate Dean could flare up again. "And that's Dean." "Sam and Dean are fictional characters" Chuck exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. "I made them up! They're not real!" Dean smiled humorlessly. "We disagree."
~~~

Outside by the Impala, Dean lifted her trunk, both the regular lid and false bottom, propping the latter up with one of the many stored shotgun barrels like usual. Chuck's eyes widened. "Are those real guns?" "Yup." Dean nodded confidently, moving one hand over the large bag of salt and then their box of fake IDs, narrating as he went. "This is real rock salt, and these are real fake IDs." Chuck took a step backwards, rambling nervously. "Well, I got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans. That’s, that’s awesome. So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house." He hooked his thumb over one shoulder before turning to escape. Dean closed up the Impala's trunk, both parts, and stepped back onto the sidewalk, calling after him in a commanding tone, "Chuck stop." "Please. Wait. Please, don't hurt me" Chuck babbled in plain terror. "How much do you know?" Sam stepped up beside his brother, facing Chuck with genuine curiosity. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?" Chuck stared at them in confusion. "Wait a minute. How do you know about that?" "The question is how do you" Dean countered flatly. "...because I wrote it" Chuck informed them, still looking just about as confused as the boys had felt at the comic store that morning. Sam frowned. "Wait. You kept writing?" "Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out" Chuck explained, his gaze bouncing between the brothers like a ping pong match. "Okay, wait a minute" he finally added with a weak smile. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did that – Did Phil put you up to this?" Dean sighed heavily, finding most of his anger with Chuck deflating. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam." He pointed first at himself, then Sam. And this one simple act caused Chuck to lose the rest of the color in his face. "The last names were never in the books" he whispered, shell-shocked. "I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down." The boys exchanged a somber look. Chuck at last seemed to believe them.
~~~

Once back inside his house, Chuck made a bee-line for the alcohol. After a large gulp of whiskey and rubbing his eyes, he turned back around to face where he'd left the boys standing in his living room, and jumped. "Oh god, you're still here." Dean, from his position leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, nodded tightly. "Yep." "You're not a hallucination" Chuck determined, looking unsettled by this fact. Dean's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "Nope." Chuck swallowed hard. "Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously I'm a god." "You're not a god" Sam objected patiently. "How else do you explain it" Chuck wanted to know, filling his glass with more whiskey. "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..." "We're still in one piece" Dean reminded him tonelessly. "I killed your father" Chuck went on, ignoring Dean. "I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica, Sam." The younger Winchester's face closed off emotionlessly. Chuck barreled on, speaking more to himself than anyone else by this point. "All for what? All for the sake of literary symmetry. I toyed with your lives, your emotions, for... entertainment." He made a disgusted face, downing the rest of his whiskey and adding more.

"You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay" Dean insisted, pushing off of the wall and moving closer. "You didn't create us." "Did you really have to live through the bugs" Chuck asked abruptly. Dean glanced over at Sam, trading a mental shudder at the memory. "Yes" was Dean's simple confirmation. "What about the ghost ship?" Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, that too." "I am SO sorry" Chuck apologized, making a face. "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 path." "Chuck, you're not a god" Dean exclaimed loudly, trying to make him hear each word this time. "We think you're probably just psychic" Sam added kindly. "No." Chuck shook his head in denial of this suggestion, dropping down into the chair at his desk. "If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is hard." "It seems that somehow, you're just... focused on our lives" Sam pointed out, ignoring Chuck's dismissal of his idea. Dean glowered.

"Yeah, like laser focused."

Last Edit: Sept 26, 2015 17:48:13 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 10, 2015 9:40:48 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 10, 2015 9:40:48 GMT -5

Sam shot Dean a "not helping" look and the older Winchester sighed, adding a useful comment to the end of his quip. "Are you working on anything right now?" Chuck's face, which had regained most of its color by now thanks in large part to the whiskey, drained once again. "Holy crap." "What" Sam demanded with interest. Chuck picked up a handful of typed pages from the desk in front of him and swallowed. "The, uh, latest book? It's, uh, it's kind of weird." "Weird how" Sam prompted when Chuck said nothing more. Chuck considered this for a minute before answering. "It's very Vonnegut." ""Slaughterhouse-Five" Vonnegut or "Cat's Cradle" Vonnegut" Dean wanted to know, causing Sam's eyebrows to shoot towards his hairline in surprise. "What??" Dean being able to reel off different books by an author...especially an author like Vonnegut...was not something that happened every day.

Dean shrugged defensively, keeping both eyes on Chuck, who was answering the question. "It's, uh, "Kilgore Trout" Vonnegut. I wrote myself into it." He tossed the pages down, looking thoroughly spooked. "I wrote myself, at my house... confronted by my characters." The three of them exchanged a long, silent look. This just kept getting weirder by the minute.
~~~

The boys left Chuck at his house, heading for the local Laundromat to get some of their overdue dirty clothes washed. They'd taken the last couple of chapters from Chuck's latest manuscript with them and Dean was perusing it while Sam got first dibs on the machines. "I’m sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself" Dean pointed out, looking up after a few minutes and making a face. "My head hurts." Sam gathered up a load of his darks, something about this whole thing not sitting well with him. "There's got to be something this guy's not telling us" he muttered, tossing the clothes into the washing machine. Dean looked back down at the pages and recited, "Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth." Sam straightened up, turning to face Dean irritably. "Stop it" he ordered, followed by Dean's recitation from the pages of, "Stop it" Sam said." Grinning, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Guess what you do next." Sam turned away from Dean again, scowling.

This was no deterrent for Dean who simply read off, ""Sam turned his back on Dean, his face brooding and pensive." I mean, I don't know how he's doing it, but this guy is doing it" Dean finished, sounding impressed. "I can't see your face, but those are definitely your "brooding and pensive" shoulders." Despite the odd nature of what was going on, Dean seemed to be enjoying himself at least a little. "Dick" Sam thought in exasperation. "You just thought I was a dick" Dean piped up behind him, sounding as though he was waiting for a denial of this fact. Sam turned around one more time, looking impressed.

"The guy's good."

Last Edit: Sept 27, 2015 11:08:31 GMT -5 by Sam Winchester

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 10, 2015 12:01:29 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 10, 2015 12:01:29 GMT -5

They'd just finished up their laundry and returned it to the motel room when Chuck called, asking them to come back over. He sounded panicked. When they reached his house, Chuck was pacing the living room floor anxiously, clutching some more pages in both hands. Sam leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms loosely, and Dean perched on the couch's arm rest, both facing him expectantly. And for a few minutes that's all that happened. Silence filled the room.

Then, finally, Dean nodded subtly at Sam, implying he should say something to get the ball rolling. So Sam, after another minute of silence, prompted, "So... You wrote another chapter?" Chuck stopped pacing, clutching the pages tightly. "This was all so much easier before you were real" he informed them, looking ill. "We can take it" Dean assured the nervous writer, with no expression. "Just spit it out." Chuck faced Dean, frowning. "You especially are not gonna like this." "I didn't like hell" Dean reminded him flatly. So Chuck collected himself, exhaled slowly, and said, "It's Lilith. She's coming for Sam." Sam straightened up. Dean felt his blood run cold. "Coming...to kill him?" "When" Sam demanded, almost eagerly. Dean glanced his way, as Chuck answered the question. "Tonight." Dean slowly returned his focus to Chuck. "She's just gonna show up?? Here?" That seemed a little brazen, even for Lilith.

Chuck cleared his throat, sinking down onto the couch and reading from his pages. "Lilith patted the bed seductively. Unable to deny his desire, Sam succumbed, and they sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion." Sam burst out laughing, the concern erased from his features. "You're kidding me, right?" "You think this is funny" Dean demanded sharply. "You don't??" Sam raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I mean, come on. "Fiery demonic passion"?" "It's just a first draft" Chuck reminded them, looking almost insulted. Dean waved his hands in front of him suddenly, realizing something. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. Flag on the play. Lilith is a little girl." Chuck shook his head, shuffling through the pages. "No, uh, this time she's a comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana." Dean set his jaw. "Great. Perfect." This was just their luck. "So what happens after the... "fiery demonic" whatever" he wanted to know. "I don't know, it hasn't come to me yet" Chuck apologized. Sam pushed off of the wall, stepping closer to the other two with an incredulous expression. "Dean, look, there's nothing to worry about. Lilith and me? In bed??" While staring hard at Sam, Dean addressed Chuck. "How does this whole psychic thing of yours work?" "You mean my process" he clarified and Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes. Your process."

"Well, it usually starts with a headache" Chuck explained. "A really bad headache. Aspirin is useless, so... I drink. Until I fall asleep. The first time it happened, I thought it was just a crazy dream, but it flowed. It just, it kept flowing. It still does. I-I can't stop it, really." "You can't seriously believe" Sam exclaimed, but Dean cut him off. "Humor me" he insisted grimly, rising to his feet. "Look, why don't we, we just..." He trailed off. He'd been about to ask Chuck for the manuscript pages but Chuck was already holding them out. Taking them in one hand, he finished his thought. "Take a look at these and see what's what." After a beat, he turned to Chuck. "You" – "Knew you were going to ask for those, yeah" Chuck finished. Dean gave a strained smile.
~~~

"Dean come on" Sam scoffed, looking up from Chuck's pages. They were in the Impala, headed for any town but the one they were in, Dean behind the wheel and Sam next to him, reading passages from the latest chapter. "The minivan accident wasn't that bad, but Dean was still seeing stars. He scratched absently at the pink flower Band-Aids on his face." Dean didn't bat an eyelid. "So?" "So, I've seen you gushing blood" Sam reminded him. "You'd use duct tape and bar rags before you'd put on a pink flower Band-Aid." That may have been true but Dean, rather than admitting this, simply challenged, "what's your point?" "My point is this – all of this – is totally implausible" Sam pointed out, holding the pages up. "It's nuts." "He's been right about everything so far" Dean stressed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "You think he's just gonna ground out at first now?" Sam lowered his eyes to the pages again, scoffing at what he saw, then reading it aloud. "Dean slid behind the wheel of his beloved Impala and drove off, the plastic tarp on the rear window flapping like the wings of a crow." "A tarp" Dean echoed. Sam nodded. "Yeah. On the rear window. And you drive it like that." "Well, he might be wrong about the details" Dean admitted. "But that doesn't mean he's wrong about the end result." Sam dropped the pages into his lap without reading further. "So we're just going to run?" "Dude, we are a long way from ready for a face-to-face death match with Lilith" Dean insisted with passion, turning the corner and noticing a roadblock up ahead. He slowed as the Impala inched closer.

One of the many officers standing around approached the car. Dean rolled down his window. "What seems to be the problem?" "Bridge is out ahead" the officer announced. "We're just trying to get out of town" Dean explained, trying to keep the desperation from creeping into his tone. The officer shrugged. "'Fraid not." "Is there a detour or a side road that takes us to the highway" Dean pressed. "To get to the highway, you have to cross that river." The officer pointed. "To cross the river, you have to take that bridge." "How deep's the river?" Dean was not ruling out swimming if it meant getting them both out of dodge before Lilith arrived. "Sorry. Afraid you boys are gonna have to spend the night in town." The officer didn't actually look all that sorry as he wandered away. Dean wasn't sure what worried him more. The fact that they were stuck in town or the fact that Sam did not appear bothered by this notion.
~~~

After turning around at the roadblock, the boys had decided to get some lunch while trying to figure out their next move. Sam was reading the menu while Dean was buried behind Chuck's pages, scrutinizing them. "Hey, this could be a good thing" he finally realized. "I mean, if this is what puts us on the path to Lilith, then all we got to do is get off the path." Sam closed his menu. "How do you mean?" "It's a blueprint of what NOT to do" Dean elaborated, flipping through the chapter. "I mean, if the pages say that we go left"- "Then we go right" Sam finished, catching up. "Exactly." Dean nodded confidently. "If we get off-book, we never make it to the end. It's opposite day." Squinting at the top sheet in front of him, he added, "Ok, so it says that we, uh, we get into a fight. So, no fighting." Sam nodded agreeably. Dean kept talking. "No research for you." "No bacon cheeseburger for you" Sam countered with an expression that plainly read he didn't think Dean could handle that. "Yeah, no problem" Dean agreed after a minute of silence in which he looked put-out, having not thought about this minor problem. "I'll just...order something else." He consulted the menu as their waitress came over to take their orders. "What's good here" Dean wanted to know, hoping for some suggestions. The waitress smiled. "Well, if you like burgers, Oprah's girlfriend said we have the best bacon cheeseburgers in the country." Of course she did.

Sam laughed, holding up his menu for the waitress to take. "I'll just have the cobb salad please." "I'll have the..." Dean tried to smile, keeping his eyes on Sam as if to say "I told you I could do it" while finishing the order. "Veggie tofu burger. Thanks." The waitress took their menus and headed for the kitchen. Sam looked impressed for a second. Then he sighed and shook his head. "This whole thing's ridiculous." "Lilith is ridiculous" Dean challenged, narrowing his eyes. "The idea of me hooking up with her is" Sam corrected. Dean gave his brother a pointed look. "Right. 'Cause something like that can never happen." He vividly remembered the night Sam had gotten all honest on him and recounted a couple of his and Ruby's "extracurricular activities" in those four months he'd been in hell.

Dean returned his focus to Chuck's work, searching for other clues. After a few seconds of silence, Sam addressed him. "Dean, for the first time, we have warning that Lilith is close." Dean lifted his eyes slowly. "So?" Sam looked like he was choosing his words carefully. "So... we've got the jump on her. If we know when she's coming, we know where she's..." Trailing off, he tried a different approach. "This is an opportunity." Dean leaned forward aggressively. "Are you"- Stopping himself shot, he took a deep breath and forced himself not to get angry. They had to avoid fighting at all costs. When he spoke again, his tone was measured. "It frustrates me when you say such reckless things." Sam stared back, a muscle twitching in his jaw that suggested he was fighting just as hard to remain calm. "Well, it frustrates me when you'd rather hide that fight." "It's not..." Dean stopped mid-objection as the waitress re-appeared with their food, placing a plate in front of each of them. He waited until she'd moved off again before leaning in closer and finishing the original thought. "It's not hiding. It's being smart. It's picking your battles. And this is a battle that we are not ready to fight." He picked up his burger with finality, putting a period on the end of their "non-argument".

Studying the burger bravely for a minute, he shrugged and took a bite, prepared for anything. At the first taste, his eyes widened. "Oh, my god. This is delicious" he declared in joyful relief, preparing to take another large bite. "Tofu is amazing!" "I am so sorry." The flustered waitress hurried up just then, looking apologetic. "I gave you the bacon cheeseburger by mistake." Dean stared in longing as she removed the plate, returning to the kitchen with it. Then a more pressing matter became apparent. He'd eaten some of the burger which meant they were still on the path to Lilith. But it didn't matter. Just because one little thing happened the same way Chuck had predicted didn't mean everything was going to.

He would make sure of it.

Last Edit: Dec 28, 2015 16:38:18 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 10, 2015 19:11:31 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 10, 2015 19:11:31 GMT -5

After lunch, Dean drove them both around in the Impala for practically forty-five minutes, looking for a motel. The one he finally found, a relatively sleazy looking joint named 'Toreador Motel', gave Sam pause. "Dude, this place charges by the hour" he pointed out as Dean pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. "Yeah, well, the book says Lilith finds you at the Red Motel" Dean reminded him. "Hence, the uh, hooker inn." They exited the car, taking in their surroundings for a minute before heading for the proper room. Dean entered first. "It's opposite day, remember?" Sam looked off to one side, silently counting to five to relieve his frustrations. When he looked back in Dean's direction, the older Winchester was placing a few string-tied bags at key locations around the room. "What are you doing?" "Couple of hex bags ought to Lilith-proof the room" was Dean's brief explanation, placing a final bag by the window.

The frustrations he had just barely managed to sweep under the rug began to surface again. "So, what? I'm supposed to just hole up here all night?" "That's exactly what you're gonna do" Dean commanded with authority. "And no research. I don't care what else you do – use the Magic Fingers or watch Casa Erotica on Pay-Per-View." Standing beside Sam's computer bag, he reached down to pull the laptop free, causing Sam to shake his head in protest. "Dude, come on." Dean held up his laptop free hand to ward Sam off. "Just call it a little insurance." "Well what are you gonna do" Sam demanded, both eyes longingly on his computer which was tucked under one of Dean's arms. "The pages say that I spend all day riding around in the Impala" Dean explained, using his free hand to pull the keys from one pocket. "So I'm gonna go park her." He paused on route to the door and glanced back at Sam sternly. "Behave yourself, would you? No homework. Watch some porn." "Dean-" Sam called out in exasperation but it was too late. Dean closed the door behind him firmly, leaving a quietly fuming Sam alone. But Sam did not do as ordered and watch porn or use the magic fingers. He needed answers.

So he called Chuck.

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 10, 2015 19:25:17 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 10, 2015 19:25:17 GMT -5

Dean locked Sam's computer carefully in the trunk of the Impala, then drove her out to a remote location a few miles from the motel and parked her in an empty lot. Pocketing the keys, Dean began to stroll away. However, he'd barely crossed the street, when he decided, like any good parent, to look back and check on his baby, and saw two hoodlum teenagers trying to break her windows. "Hey" he barked, stepping off the curb angrily. Where he got hit.

By a mini-van.

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 11, 2015 13:59:44 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 13:59:44 GMT -5

Sam paced the length of the motel room floor until Chuck arrived. He stood on the other side of the door, looking nervous. "You wanted to see me?" Sam nodded, looking around shiftily as he gestured for Chuck to enter. "Yeah, come on in." After closing the door, Sam tried to figure out the best way to begin going about getting the answer he wanted. He stalled for time by saying, "thanks for coming" with a small smile. Chuck shrugged amicably, still looking uncertain. "Ah, yeah, sure, no problem." Sam bit his lip. "Um... I was just wondering how much you know. About me." He added the last two words after a pause. Chuck frowned. "What do you mean?" Sam looked off to one side, only returning his focus to Chuck when he'd finished the whole question. "Have you seen visions of me when I'm not with Dean?" "Oh..." Chuck's face fell with understanding. "You want to know if I know about the demon blood." Which answered the question.

"You didn't tell Dean." It was more of a statement than question. Sam knew that if Dean had any inkling at all about what Sam and Ruby were up to behind his back he would not shy away from saying something about it. Loudly. Dean was not one to hold back his feelings, especially about Ruby. But Sam trusted her implicitly. And she was helping him get strong enough to kill Lilith. So Dean was just going to have to stay in the dark about this particular "hobby". "I didn't even write it into the books" Chuck was saying in response to Sam's non-question. "I was afraid it would make you look unsympathetic." "Unsympathetic" Sam echoed harshly, offended. Chuck frowned apologetically but didn't back down. "Yeah, come on, Sam. I mean, sucking blood? You got to know that's wrong." Sam felt the fight drain from him instantly, sinking into the closest chair and staring out the motel room's grungy window. "It scares the hell out of me" he admitted hollowly. "I mean, I feel it inside of me." It was almost like the demon blood pumped louder and stronger than his own human blood. Some days it was all he could hear. He swallowed hard. "I... I wish to god I could stop."

"But you keep going back" Chuck pointed out softly, taking the seat opposite Sam and watching him carefully. Sam's face crumpled miserably. "What choice have I got" he wanted to know in desperation. "If it helps me kill Lilith and stop the apocalypse"- "I thought that was Dean's job" Chuck broke in casually. "That's what the angels are saying, right?" Sam looked down. "Dean’s not... he's not Dean lately." He felt terrible saying these things...and for not the first time either...but it was true. "Ever since he got out of hell" Sam finished, lifting his gaze again. "He needs help." Chuck tilted his head to the side curiously. "So you got to carry the weight?" "Well, he's looked out for me my whole life" Sam explained, shrugging. "I can't return the favor?" "Yeah, sure you can" Chuck agreed quickly, before pausing and then adding at a slower pace, "I mean, if that's what this is." "What else would it be" Sam challenged, genuinely wondering.

"I don't know." Chuck studied him thoughtfully. "Maybe the demon blood makes you feel stronger? More powerful and in control? Maybe even...better than your brother?" "No." The word erupted from Sam's mouth before the question had time to sink into his subconscious. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "No" he repeated at a much calmer rate. "That's not true." "I'm sorry, Sam" Chuck apologized after a long silence. "I know it's a terrible burden – feeling that it all rests on your shoulders." "Does it" Sam asked quietly, but with great intensity, his heart thudding. "All rest on my shoulders?" Chuck wrung out his hands anxiously. "That seems to be where the story's headed." Sam glanced off to one side, his gaze landing on one of Dean's prepared hex bags. Bringing his focus back to Chuck, he set his jaw with determination. "Am I strong enough to stop Lilith tonight?" "I don't know" Chuck admitted apologetically. "I haven't seen that far yet." Sam leaned back in his chair, thinking hard. And when Chuck left, he got up, gathered all the hex bags together, took them outside...

And destroyed them.

Last Edit: Sept 11, 2015 22:08:23 GMT -5 by Sam Winchester

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 11, 2015 16:36:27 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 16:36:27 GMT -5

Dean's head was throbbing from where it had hit the pavement. He opened one eye and then the other, feeling groggy and out of it. A woman's voice was babbling, "Oh my god. Just take it easy, you’re gonna be okay." As Dean squinted through his half opened eyes, he became aware of shiny silver stars dancing across his vision, which upon closer inspection were the dangling earrings of the woman kneeling beside him. "Stars" he muttered incoherently, remembering the bit in Chuck's latest chapter about Dean seeing stars after a mini-van accident. "What did you say" the woman wanted to know as Dean blinked a few times and tried to raise his head. "I'm so sorry" she exclaimed. "I just didn't see you. Are you okay?" Dean sat up slowly, wincing. The woman kept right on talking, despite Dean having ignored her first two comments. "And sorry about...well, you know...my daughter's going through a "doctor" phase." "What are you talking about" Dean muttered, still highly disoriented. "You're all better now" the young girl beside her mother piped up cheerfully. Dean blinked a few more times, his vision slowly coming back into focus. And what he saw over the woman's shoulder made his heart drop like a stone. "Oh no" he muttered in dismay, scrambling to his feet. The Impala's back window had been completely smashed in.

As he walked briskly back towards his baby, he could hear the curious, alarmed onlookers who'd stopped to see if he was ok, start to break the huddle up and go about their own directions again. Dean ran one hand over the Impala's sleek roof, checking for other damage. And what he saw made his sunken heart skip a beat, though it had nothing to do with the car. Rather, it had something to do with the pink flowered band-aids scattered across his face, that the little girl must have applied...yet another piece of Chuck's nonsense manuscript coming true. Fuming, Dean snatched up an abandoned tarp from the far end of the lot, which he then secured over the Impala's shattered back window, flapping like the wings of a crow as he drove off at illegal speeds towards Chuck's house. He needed answers and Chuck was going to give them to him.
~~~

The house was empty when Dean reached it, which was no real big obstacle for him. So by the time Chuck was entering his own living room with a bagged bottle of whiskey, fresh from the liquor store, in one hand, Dean was waiting for him. "Dean." Chuck tipped his head in nervous greeting, not appearing all that surprised to find him sitting in the room's only armchair with crossed arms. "I take it you knew I'd be here" Dean stated, uncrossing his arms. "You look terrible" was Chuck's answer, avoiding the actually question, though it wasn't too hard to tell from his expression that Dean had hit the nail on the head. "That's cause I just got hit by a mini-van, Chuck" Dean reminded him tonelessly. Chuck shuffled his feet, looking down. "Oh." "That it?" Dean leaned forward very slowly, an almost dangerous edge to his voice. "Every damn thing you write about me comes true; and all you have to say is "oh"?!" "Please don't yell at me" Chuck begged, backing up a pace. Dean got to his feet at the same slow speed he's been speaking in, and advanced on the retreating Chuck. "Why do I get feeling there's something that you're not telling us?" "What wouldn’t I be telling you" Chuck stammered, clutching his whiskey bottle for all he was worth. "How you know what you know, for starters" Dean snapped in exasperation, at the end of his rope. Chuck shook his head rapidly, his voice cracking with nerves. "I don't know how I know, I just do!" "No, that's not good enough" Dean argued, grabbing Chuck by the collar of his shirt and slamming him forcefully into the wall, pinning him there with one arm across his windpipe. "How the hell are you doing this?!"

"Dean let him go" came Castiel's sudden commanding order from about two feet behind him. "This man is to be protected." Dean released Chuck's collar and took a step back, pivoting to face the angel with a highly suspicious expression. "Why?" Castiel, as was his usual deal, did not mince words, getting straight to the point. "He's a Prophet of the Lord."

The silence in Chuck's living room seemed to stretch on for about an hour, but in reality was probably only about two minutes. Then Chuck was asking in breathless awe, "you... you're Castiel... aren't you?" "It's an honor to meet you, Chuck" Castiel praised in a monotone. "I... admire your work." He picked up one of the many Supernatural books scattered around the room and began paging through it. Dean was still trying to work through the momentous 'Chuck is a prophet' news. "Whoa, whoa, what? This guy, a prophet?? Come on, he's – he's... he's practically a Penthouse Forum writer." Chuck scoot by Dean, heading for the armchair with his head down, which gave Dean a sneaking suspicion that he voiced incredulously. "Did you know about this??" "I, uh, I might have dreamt about it." Chuck cracked open the bottle of whiskey and poured a generous amount into the glass sitting on the nearest end table. Dean's level of incredulousness doubled. "And you didn't tell us??" "It was too preposterous" Chuck exclaimed, looking guilty. "Not to mention arrogant. I mean, writing yourself into the story is one thing, but as a prophet? That's like M. Night-level douchiness." Exhausting his ability to speak, Chuck downed most of the glass' contents in one go. Dean addressed Castiel with a quiet level of disbelief. "This is the guy who decides our fate?"

"He isn't deciding anything" Castiel corrected, still flipping through the book in his hands. "He's a mouthpiece – a conduit for the inspired word." "The word" Dean repeated slowly in dawning comprehension. "The word of god? What, like the new new testament?" Castiel closed the book and raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "One day, these books – they'll be known as the Winchester gospel." Dean stared. Chuck stared. Then, at the same time, they both spoke. "You got to be kidding me." Castiel put the book back on its pile, his expression pure seriousness. "I am not... kidding you." "If you'd both please excuse me one minute..." Chuck got to his feet and hurried past them on his way to the stairs, still clutching his whiskey bottle. The second he was out of sight, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Him?? Really??" "You should have seen Luke" Castiel responded with something close to an actual smile.

"Why'd he get tapped" Dean wanted to know, glancing back towards the staircase Chuck had disappeared up. "I don't know how prophets are chosen" Castiel admitted. "The order comes from high up on the celestial chain of command." "How high" Dean wanted to know. "Very" was the simple answer. Dean brushed this aside. "Well, whatever. How do we get around this?" Castiel frowned in confusion. "Around what?" "The Sam-Lilith love connection" Dean cleared up, feeling sick just mentioning it. "How do we stop it from happening?" "What the prophet has written can't be unwritten" Castiel recited grandly. "As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass." Which Dean basically took to me "tough luck" in angel speak.
~~~

Back in the car once more, Dean sped through the streets on his way to the motel where he'd left Sam. As there was apparently no way around this problem, they were simply going to hightail it out of there. At least Lilith still thought they were at the 'Red Motel' Dean consoled himself. Not the Toreador. That gave them a little extra time. The car wheels squealed as he skid to a halt in the motel's parking lot. Grabbing up a half-empty duffel bag, Dean headed for room number three. Halfway there he froze, his gaze on the large overhead sign projecting the motel's name for all to see. It was a cheaply budgeted sign and a few of the neon letter lights had flickered out. The T, O, A, O, and R. Leaving just the R...E...and D.

The Red Motel.

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 11, 2015 18:45:28 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 18:45:28 GMT -5

Sam sat at the kitchen table in their motel room in quiet contemplation, waiting. For Dean or Lilith, whoever showed up first. And Dean was the winner, striding into the room with purpose. "Come on. We're getting out of here." He began throwing things at random into the duffel bag he'd brought in with him. Sam got to his feet, looking around, almost expecting someone to be chasing Dean with the amount of panicked speed he was packing. "What?? Where?" Dean shook his head dismissively. "Anywhere, okay? Out of this motel, out of this town. I don't care if we got to swim, we are getting out." He reached automatically to the spot on the windowsill he'd left one of the hex bags but his fingers closed around nothing. Sam watched him scan the room, waiting. The question came pretty quickly. "Dude, where are all the hex bags?" "I burned them" Sam replied simply and Dean's eyes widened. "You what??" Sam sighed heavily. "Look, if Lilith is coming, which is a big "if" – "No, no, no" Dean interrupted hastily. "It's more than an "if." Chuck is not a psychic. He's a prophet." Sam blinked, caught off-guard by this announcement. "What?" "Yeah, Cas showed up, and apparently Chuck is writing the gospel of us" Dean explained, zipping the duffel closed. "...ok." Sam still wasn't sure why they were hauling ass to get out of there so fast. The old Dean would have stayed and fought. Not run away.

"Ok" Dean echoed confidently. "Let's get the hell out of here." He shouldered the bag and headed for the door. Sam stayed where he was. "No." Dean stopped walking, turning to face Sam with a slack-jawed expression. "Lilith is gonna slaughter you." "Maybe she will, maybe she won't" Sam hedged evasively, internally a little stung by Dean's lack of faith and confidence in him. "So what? You think you can take her" Dean challenged, again sounding just a smidge too doubtful for Sam's liking. They were brothers. Dean was supposed to be boosting him up, not tearing him down. But aloud, all Sam said was, "only one way to find out, Dean, and I say bring her on." Dean closed his eyes, appearing to be counting to five, then opened them. "Sam..." "You think I'll do it, don't you" Sam challenged tightly. "You think I'll go dark side." He was expecting a denial of this accusation so Dean's exasperated answer of "yes" caught him by surprise. He looked up, startled, as Dean dropped his duffel bag onto the nearest chair and barreled on. "Yes, okay? Yes. The way you've been acting lately?" His tone darkened. "The things you've been doing?" Sam rapidly beating heart slammed to a full stop. "Oh I know" Dean went on, taking his cues from Sam's petrified silence. "How you ripped Alastair apart like it was nothing, like you were swatting a fly." Sam let out a somewhat strangled breath, finally able to relax at least a fraction. If Dean had known about the demon-blood-drinking, he would have put that first. So it seemed Sam's secret was still safe.

Dean mistook Sam's continued silence for wondering how this had come to light as was evident by his next statement. "Cas told me, okay?" "What else did he tell you" Sam whispered, taking deep, measured breaths to calm himself back down. He couldn't make it too obvious there was more to be spilled or Dean would catch on. Fortunately, the older Winchester seemed perfectly content with just sticking to the previously mentioned information. "Nothing I don't already know" he remarked coldly. "That you've been using your psychic crap, and you've been getting stronger. We just don't know why, and we don't know how." "It's not what you think" Sam promised desperately. He would give anything to be able to sit down with Dean and talk to him reasonably about why he was consuming demon blood. About why he was using his powers instead of letting them lie dormant. But when it came to his baby brother, Dean was never reasonable. He would throw a bitch fit, sort of like he was doing now, while snapping, "then what is it, Sam?? 'Cause I'm at a total loss!" Sam stared calmly back at his brother, saying nothing. Dean stared searchingly into his eyes for a few extra seconds, then turned abruptly, snatched up his abandoned duffel bag and marched towards the door. "Are you coming or not" he demanded roughly. Sam stood firm, his jaw clenched.

"No."

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The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam // Sept 11, 2015 20:51:46 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 20:51:46 GMT -5

Dean would have given almost anything to be strong enough to just walk out the door, get in the Impala and drive away, leaving Sam there to deal with this mess as he claimed he could. But it just wasn't in him. No matter how infuriating he was, Sam was still his little brother. He couldn't abandon him. So instead, after standing stiffly with his back to Sam for a few seconds, he threw down his duffel bag with a thud, wrenched open the door and stepped outside to cool off. He walked the entire perimeter of the parking lot, his brain racing at about 1000 miles an hour, trying to come up with a plan that would get them both out of there safely. And nothing came to him.

After half an hour of restless walking, he slowed by the beverage vending machine and shoved a couple of quarters into its coin slot. He jabbed the 'coke' button but instead of reaching down to receive his drink, he took a few steps away from the machine and spoke to the air around him. "Well, I feel stupid doing this. But... I am fresh out of options." He threw up his hands in defeat. "So please. I need some help." No response. Sighing, Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back slightly. "I'm praying, okay? Come on. Please." "Prayer is a sign of faith." Castiel's voice rang out from behind Dean, sounding pleased. "This is a good thing, Dean." Dean turned to face the angel hopefully. "So does that mean you'll help me?" Castiel lifted his shoulders and let them drop again uncertainly. "I'm not sure what I can do." "Drag Sam out of here, now" Dean demanded, pointing in the general direction of their room. "Before Lilith shows up." Castiel gave his head a singular shake. "It's a prophecy. I can't interfere." Dean took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You have tested me and thrown me every which way" he reminded the angel tensely. "And I have never asked for anything. Not a damn thing. But now I'm asking. I need your help." His voice shook with a slight tremor of desperation. "Please."

Castiel looked skyward momentarily and then lowered his gaze to Dean again. "What you're asking, it's... not within my power to do." "Why" Dean mocked, placing air-quotes around the next part of his question. "'Cause it's "divine prophecy"?" Castiel remained impervious to the sarcasm and simply answered the question. "Yes." Dean exhaled in frustration. "So, what – We're just supposed to sit around and, and wait for it to happen?" "I'm sorry" Castiel apologized, though it was a little robotic. "Screw you" Dean snapped flatly in return. "You and your mission. Your God." With a disgusted shake of the head, he declared, "if you don't help me now, then when the time comes and you need me... don't bother knocking." He brushed past Castiel roughly, feeling their shoulders touch on the way past. "Dean." Castiel's voice was quiet, barely audible over Dean's furiously pumping heart. Dean ignored him. "DEAN." This time it was louder. Harder to ignore. So he pivoted sharply, his annoyance plainly written all over his face. "What??!" Castiel had an odd look on his face. "You must understand why I can't intercede" he said finally. "Prophets are very special. They're protected." "Yeah I get that" Dean acknowledged, unsure why this was helpful. Castiel looked directly at Dean with an expression that seemed to be trying to get a point across with his next words. "If anything threatens a prophet, anything at all, an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce. They're absolute. They're heaven's most terrifying weapon." Something started to click for Dean. "And these archangels, they're tied to prophets" he clarified slowly. Castiel nodded firmly. "Yes." Dean's annoyance with the angel gone, he took a step closer. "So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon" he theorized. And Castiel finished with, "then the most fearsome wrath of heaven would rain down on that demon." Castiel allowed another almost smile, shrugging innocently. "Just so you understand...why I can't help." Dean felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him. He had never liked anyone as much as he liked Castiel right that second. "Thanks Cas." He bestowed a grateful smile upon the angel, already heading for the car, a new destination in mind. Castiel's voice reached him at a distance. "Good luck."
~~~

"What are you doing here" Chuck asked in alarm as Dean banged through his front door at top speed, heading directly for him. "I didn't write this." Dean reached down and grabbed Chuck by the arm, manhandling him towards the door. "Come on. I need you to come with me." "What? Where?" For a few seconds Chuck was too sleepy and baffled to object and simply allowed himself to be propelled along. Until Dean said, "to the motel where Sam is" that is. Then he put on the breaks, making it much more challenging for Dean to push him forward. "That's where Lilith is" he pointed out. "Yeah, exactly" Dean confirmed. "I need you to stop her." Chuck ducked out from under Dean's slackened grip, practically running in the opposite direction. "Are you insane??! Lilith? I know what she's capable of, Dean. I wrote her." "All right, listen to me" Dean coaxed reassuringly. "You have an archangel tethered to you, okay? All you got to do is show up and boom!" He slapped his palms together like he was squishing a bug to illustrate the image. "Lilith gets smoked." "But I-I haven't seen that yet" Chuck stammered, looking frightened. "Th-the story"- Dean dropped both arms to his side, his expression growing twisted with defeat and exhaustion. "Chuck...you're the only shot I've got left" he pleaded. "But... I'm just a writer" Chuck pointed out, looking downcast. "This isn't a story anymore, man" Dean cried in exasperation. "This is real! And you're in it!" He placed a hand on Chuck's shoulder, using the other to make a fist encouragingly. "Now, I need you to get off your ass and fight. Come on, Chuck." Chuck walked a few paces away, looking for a second like he might reconsider, but then he gave his head a terrified shake. "No friggen way." Dean let out a sharp breath, trying a different approach. "Okay, well, then, how about this – I've got a gun in my pocket, and if you don't come with me, I'll blow your brains out." "I thought you said I was protected by an archangel" Chuck reminded him slyly. "Well, interesting exercise." Dean gave a wry smile.

"Let's see who the quicker draw is."

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

The Monster At The End Of This Book. // Sam //

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 13:59:44 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 16:36:27 GMT -5

Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 18:45:28 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 11, 2015 20:51:46 GMT -5

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