❛ ━━━━━━･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

SHE DIDN'T GO on hunts for two weeks. She couldn't even look at herself in the mirror, let alone leave the Impala or whatever motel room they were staying in. Her brothers were worried, the guilt was clearly weighing on her.

To them, they had lost a friend, but Eleanor had lost a mentor too. Not only that, but had she gone straight to the car and back, Pamela would still be alive.

Dean couldn't ignore the dark circles under his younger sister's eyes, nor the way they always had a glazed and red sheen, like she had just been crying. She was spiraling, and he knew it. He'd seen it in himself, in Sammy, in most other hunters.

Failing to save someone was never easy, but something about this time was different. He couldn't pinpoint it. Something on her drive that night had sent her even further into a downward spiral, but she wouldn't tell them what had happened.

He was beginning to feel it too, the heartache of losing friends and the weight of the apocalypse on his shoulders. Castiel and Uriel whisked him away to torture Alastair, without giving him much choice in the matter.

He had warned them that they wouldn't like what came out of that warehouse when he was done. He didn't know how true that would be. The apocalypse was his fault. He wasn't strong enough, he started all of this.

He silently dropped his bag by the door and went to the fridge for a beer. He needed something stronger, something to make him stop feeling, but beer would have to do for now. He cracks it open and sits on one of the beds.

Eleanor lay curled up on the other bed, drowning in a sea of thin motel blankets. Her head lifts, hearing the sound of the bag hitting the floor. Her eyes trail Dean to the fridge, then to the bed.

He looked terrible, maybe worse than she did. Her eyes raked over him, looking for any sign of injury. If she could focus on him and his pain, she wouldn't have to deal with her own. "Dean?" she asks softly.

His gaze turns to her, tinged with red and exhaustion. "Hey Ellie, how're you feeling?"

She sits up and drags a hand through her hair. Her finger snags on a knot and she draws in a sharp breath. She ties it up into a quick ponytail and shrugs. "Been better." She pauses, scanning his face. "Something's wrong. What happened? Where's Sam?"

"Sam's fine. He didn't come back last night?" His eyebrows furrow.

"What are you talking about?"

"Eleanor, I was in the hospital last night. Sam didn't come to check on you?"

She shrugs. "He might have. I was probably sleeping. Are you okay?" She looked at him like she was scared he might break. As if him having a conversation with her was enough to kill him.

"No." He stood and walked over to the edge of her bed. She flinched away from him at first, before pretending like it didn't happen. He saw it anyway and frowned. "I started the apocalypse."

"What?"

He didn't want to say it out loud, let alone talk about it but he had to put his own feelings aside. He knew she needed to help him to work through the mess in her own head. And maybe part of him needed someone to tell him it was okay. Or to yell at him, hate him, like he deserved.

"All of this, the apocalypse, it's my fault. 'The first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.'" Alastair's words tasted bitter in his mouth.

"This was all my fault. I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't stand it anymore. It took thirty years, Dad lasted over a hundred. It was supposed to be him but I-" his voice catches, words dying in his throat.

Eleanor reaches out to touch his shoulder. "Dean Winchester, you're the strongest person I know. You lasted thirty years of torture. That's more than most people would have."

"Still, I should have just...I should have just held on. I could have stopped all of this." He downs the rest of his beer.

"Dean," she says firmly. "You can't dwell on the past. What happened, happened. And I know that sounds easier when you haven't lived it and I know I can never understand what you're going through, but the best thing you can do now is help us stop the apocalypse."

"And what about you? Are you going to take your own advice?" He didn't want to talk about himself anymore, he was too overwhelmed, he needed to shift the focus.

"What do you mean?" Her eyebrows furrow and she frowns.

"Blaming yourself for Pamela's death. It's been two weeks Elle, you look like you've barely slept even though you're constantly sleeping. We're worried about you. I'm worried about you."

"Her death was my fault. If I hadn't...If I had just..." she started getting choked up again, unable to process the words she wanted to say, let alone get them out without crying.

"You can't dwell on the past. What happened, happened. The best thing you can do is help us stop the apocalypse," Dean repeats her words back to her. "We miss you, Eleanor. And we really need your help. Don't let Pamela's death be in vain."

"I hate that you just used my own advice against me," she sniffs. "Maybe...maybe I'll go on the next hunt with you guys. Just to help with research. I don't know if I'm ready to fight monsters again just yet."

"I'd like that, and I know Sammy would too." He holds out an arm and she leans against him. Wrapping his arm around her, he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. They sat in silence, taking comfort in the fact that they weren't alone.

"Hey Dean?" Eleanor asks softly.

He turns to face her. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Ellie."

･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･

SHE AGREED TO go on their next case, only intending on interviewing witnesses and doing research. It was a simple haunting at a comic book shop.

The trio of hunters walked in, dressed as FBI agents. The bell rings overhead as they open the door, causing the man behind the counter to look up. They walked up to the counter and took out their badges.

"Uh... can I help you?" he asks as they approach.

Dean flashes him a grin. "Sure hope so. Agents DeYoung, Shaw and Lavenza," he introduces. "Just need to ask you a few questions."

The man nods to them, signaling they could ask him questions. "Notice anything strange in the building, last couple of days?" Sam asks.

The man frowns, eyebrows furrowed. He glances around the store. "Like what?"

Eleanor flips open her notebook. "Other tenants reported flickering lights, something like that," she cuts in.

He shakes his head. "Uh, I don't think so. Why?"

"What about noises? Any skittering in the walls? Kind of like rats?" Sam continues.

"And the FBI is investigating a rodent problem?" He asks skeptically.

"What about cold spots? Feel any sudden drops in temperature?" he presses.

The man behind the counter breaks into a wide grin. "I knew it! You guys are LARPing, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Dean asks. At the same time, Eleanor lets out a confused, "What?"

The man continues on, ignoring their confusion. "You're fans."

"Fans of what?" Eleanor questions. She couldn't think of anything the man could think they were possibly fans of. Criminal Minds, maybe but they didn't typically look into the supernatural.

"What's LARPing?" Dean asks.

He scoffs. "Like you don't know." He notices their confused expressions and explains. "Live-Action Role-Play! And pretty hardcore, too," he tells them, looking over their outfits.

Dean's eyebrows furrow. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're asking questions like the building's haunted. Like those guys from the books. What are they called? Uh... Supernatural. Two guys, sometimes a girl, use fake IDs with rock and pop culture aliases, hunt down ghosts, demons, vampires," he explains. "Though the girl isn't usually with them...What are their names? Uh... Steve, Dirk and Emma? Uh, Sal, Dane and Elizabeth?" He frowns, deep in thought.

The siblings exchange a look. "Sam, Dean and Eleanor?" Sam tries.

The man snaps his fingers. "That's it!"

They exchanged another look before Dean speaks up. "You're saying this is a book?" Disbelief was clear in the eldest's voice.

"Books," he corrects. "It was a series. Didn't sell a lot of copies, though. Kind of had more of an underground cult following." He leads them to a table labeled 'Bargain Bin.'

He flips through the books. "Let's see. Um... Ah. Yeah." He hands Dean a book. "That's the first one, I think."

"Supernatural by Carver Edlund," Dean reads aloud. He flips the book over and reads the back cover. "Along a lonely California highway, a mysterious woman in white lures men to their deaths."

Sam snatches the book from him. "Give me that." He turns to the man. "We're gonna need all the copies of 'Supernatural' you've got."

They bought ever copy of the 'Supernatural' books at the store and returned to the motel room to do some research.

Dean flipped one of the books on one of the motel beds. "This is freakin' insane. How's this guy know all this stuff?"

Sam looks up from his laptop. "You got me." He was seated at the table, younger sister beside him, researching on her own laptop.

"Everything is in here. I mean everything. From the racist truck to...to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, guys."

"Gross," Eleanor murmurs, not looking up.

"How come we haven't heard of them before?" he asks, standing and walking over to them. He drops the book on the table and takes a seat in one of the remaining chairs.

"They're 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, Lazarus Rising, ends with you getting back from hell." Sam flips the laptop so Dean can see.

"I reiterate. Freaking insane." He scrolls through the website. "Check it out. There's actually fans. There's not many of them, but still. Did you read this?" His eyes scan the screen and he scoffs. "Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot. Listen to this – Simpatico says 'the demon story line is trite, clichéd, and overall craptastic.' Yeah, well, screw you, Simpatico. We lived it."

"That's not very simpatico of them," Eleanor says.

Sam sighs. "Yeah. Well, keep on reading. It gets better."

"There are 'Sam girls' and 'Dean girls.' Apparently there's also 'Elle girls' but not many. What's a 'slash fan'?" Dean asks.

Sam clears his throat uncomfortably. "As in... Sam-slash-Dean. Together."

"Like, together together?" He asks, horrified. Sam nods. Dean pales. "They do know we're brothers, right?"

"Doesn't seem to matter."

"Oh, come on. That... That's just sick." He closes the laptop, disgusted.

"It gets worse. There's Sam/Dean/Eleanor fans too. Apparently we're an... ot3, whatever that means. And people write stories about us." Eleanor wrinkles her nose in disgust and begins to read from the screen. "An innocent Eleanor needs her brothers to teach her a few things about-" She slams laptop shut. "Ew! I'm going to throw up."

She stands quickly, like the computer had burned her. "I need eye bleach and I didn't even read the whole thing."

Dean gives her an odd look but ignores the eye bleach comment. "We got to find this Carver Edlund."

"Yeah, that might not be so easy. 'Carver Edlund' is a pen name."

"Well, somebody's gotta know who he is."

･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･

IT WAS ELEANOR's idea to meet with the publisher. They told her they were journalists, and she seemed both excited for the press and skeptical of their intentions.

"So you published the "Supernatural" books?" Sam asks

She nods. "Yep. Yeah. Gosh. These books... You know, they never really got the attention they deserved," she says, a bit starry eyed. "All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap. You know – 'Doctor Sexy, M.D.'? Please," she scoffs.

"I hear you, romance books are overrated," Eleanor says seriously.

"Right. Well, we're hoping that our article can... shine a light on an underappreciated series," Sam says, trying to keep them on topic before they could go on a tangent about romance novels.

"Yeah, yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press then m-maybe we could start publishing again." Hope seeped into her voice.

Dean pales. "No, no, no, no. God, no," he says quickly. "I mean, why – why would you want to do that? You know, it's, uh, such a complete series, what with Dean coming back from hell and all," he corrects.

The publisher began to go on a rant about how real men aren't in touch with their feelings and her favorite sad moments in the series. Eleanor's eyes wandered around the room, growing uninterested in the conversation.

"How do I know you three are legit, hmm?" she questions.

"Oh, trust me. We, uh... we're legit," Dean reassures.

"Well, I don't want any smart-ass article making fun of my boys."

"Great, my brothers are famous," Eleanor mutters with a small eye roll as they stutter replies that they aren't going to make fun of the fictional Sam and Dean.

"We – We are actually, um... big fans," Sam lies.

The publisher hums, considering it. "You've read the books?"

"Cover to cover," Dean says with a fake smile. His siblings nod in agreement.

She squints at them suspiciously. "What's the year and model of the car?"

"It's a 1967 Chevy Impala," Dean answers quickly.

She continues to ask questions about the fictional Sam and Dean. Eleanor's 'character' had only appeared a few times, so there were no questions she could answer.

"Okay. Okay," the publisher says finally. "What do you want to know?"

Eleanor's eyes return to the woman from where they had been wandering around the room. She goes to speak, but Sam beats her to it

"What's Carver Edlund's real name?" he asks.

"Oh, no. I – No. Sorry, I can't do that."

"We just want to talk to him. You know, get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words," Sam presses.

"He's very private. It's like Salinger."

"Please. Like I said – we are, um..." He cringes and begins unbuttoning his shirt, ignoring his siblings' confused looks. He shows her his anti-possession tattoo. "... big... big fans."

He gives Dean a pointed look. The oldest sibling rolls his eyes and shows the publisher his own tattoo. The woman licks her lips. Eleanor rolls up her sleeve and reveals the tattoo on her forearm, though the publisher wasn't paying any attention to her.

"Awesome. You know what?" She turns around and pulls up her skirt. An identical anti-possession tattoo was located too far down her back to be considered a back tattoo. "I got one, too."

Eleanor glances at the tattoo. "Jesus Christ, lady," she mutters.

Dean eyes it appreciatively. "Whoa. You are a fan."

She fixes her skirt and turns. "Okay. His name's Chuck Shurley." She scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to them. "And he's a genius, so don't piss him off."

･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･

"Sam, Dean and Eleanor a̶p̶p̶r̶o̶a̶c̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶u̶n̶-̶d̶o̶w̶n̶ approached the ramshackle house with trepidation."

The siblings pulled up in front of an old looking house. They got out of the Impala and walked up to the door.

"Did they really want to learn the secrets that lay beyond that door?"

They reached the door and hesitated.

"Are you sure we should do this?" Eleanor asks softly.

"Sam, Dean and Eleanor traded soulful looks."

They traded a look, seemingly communicating in a single glance. Sam shrugs and Eleanor nods.

"Then, with determination, Dean pushed the doorbell with forceful... determination."

Dean rings the doorbell. They wait a few seconds before a disheveled looking man in a bathrobe opens it.

"You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asks.

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the 'Supernatural' books?" Sam adds.

He squints at them suspiciously. "Maybe. Why?"

"I'm Dean. This is Sam. That's Eleanor." He points to his siblings as he introduces them. "The Dean, Sam and Eleanor you've been writing about."

Chuck closes the door in their faces.

"So much for th-" Eleanor was cut off by Dean ringing the doorbell again.

He opens the door again. "Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm. 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 tries to close the door again, but Dean stops him, putting a hand on the door to keep him from shutting it.

"See, here's the thing. We have a life. You've been using it to write your books." He shoves the door open, backing the author into the house.

"Now, wait a minute. Now, this isn't funny." Chuck's eyes dart around nervously.

"Damn straight, it's not funny."

"None of us are laughing," Eleanor says flatly.

"Look, we just want to know how you're doing it," Sam tells him calmly, trying a different approach.

"I'm not doing anything."

Dean squints at him. "Are you a hunter?"

"What? No. I'm a writer."

"Then how do you know so much about demons?" He advances on the author, causing him to fall back into the couch. "And Tulpas, and changelings?"

Chuck laughs nervously. "Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing?" He looks between them. "Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing!"

"No, it's not a 'Misery' thing. Believe me, we are not fans!" Dean exclaims.

"Well, then, what do you want?!"

Sam sighs heavily. "I'm Sam. And that's Dean and Eleanor."

"Sam, Dean and Eleanor are fictional characters. I made them up! They're not real!"

Eleanor pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh my God! We're going in circles. Come with me."

She leads them to the Impala and opens the trunk, revealing the array of weapons. She gestures to them with a dramatic wave of her arm. "This is real."

"Those are real guns?" Chuck asks, eyes wide.

"Yup. This is real rock salt, these are real fake IDs," Dean says, pointing them out as he does.

"Well, I got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans."

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Again, not fans."

Chuck didn't seem to hear her. "That's, that's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house."

"Chuck, stop," Dean says, stopping him from rambling further.

"How much do you know? Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?" Sam asks. He closes the trunk, hiding the weapons.

The author falters, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait a minute. How do you know about that?"

"The question is how do you."

"Because I wrote it?" Confusion seeped into his tone.

"Wait a minute, you're saying you never stopped writing?" Eleanor asks.

"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 scoffs. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam and my sister, Eleanor Cassidy."

Chuck's eyes fill with alarm, as if the situation was finally hitting him. "The last names were never in the books...I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down."

With that, he turns and dashes into his house. The siblings exchange a look and follow him.

They walk in on Chuck pouring himself a large whisky and downing it quickly. He turns and spots them. "Oh! Oh, you're still there," he groans.

"Yup," Dean confirms.

"You're not a hallucination."

Eleanor shakes her head. "Not a hallucination," she confirms.

"Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously I'm a god." He laughs to himself, on the verge of a breakdown.

It was Sam's turn to shake his head. "You're not a god."

"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," he rambles.

"Yeah, we're still in one piece." Dean raises his arms for emphasis.

"I killed your father. I burned your mother alive," he looks from Dean to Sam. "And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica." His attention turns to Eleanor. "And your dad tried to kill you.

"All for what? All for the sake of literary symmetry. I toyed with your lives, your emotions, for... entertainment," he continues.

"You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay? You didn't create us," Dean interrupts.

He begins to ask them about hunts Eleanor had only heard about in stories.

"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."

"No offense, but I really don't think you're a god and if you could just shut up so we can figure this out logically, that would be helpful," Eleanor cuts in flatly.

"We think you're probably just psychic," Sam tells him.

"No. If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is hard."

"It seems that somehow, you're just... focused on our lives."

"Yeah, like laser-focused." Dean looks around the room. "Are you working on anything right now?"

Chuck's eyes widen in realization. "Holy crap..." He picks up a stack of papers. "The, uh, latest book? It's, uh, it's kind of weird."

Sam narrows his eyes. "'Weird' how?"

"I wrote myself, at my house... confronted by my characters."

･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･

ELEANOR SAT CROSS-LEGGED on top of the washing machine next to the one Sam was using. Dean sat on a bench across from them, reading the manuscript Chuck had given them.

"I'm sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself. My head hurts," he complains.

"There's got to be something this guy's not telling us," Sam says as he throws some clothes into the washing machine.

"Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth," Dean reads aloud.

"Stop it."

"'Stop it,' Sam said. Guess what you do next." Dean's smirk causes Sam to scowl and turn away. "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. I can't see your face, but those are definitely your 'brooding and pensive' shoulders," he comments.

Eleanor snickers and Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. Dean looks at the papers. "You just thought I was a dick."

"The guy's good," Sam says, impressed.

Eleanor uncrosses her legs, letting them dangle over the edge of the washing machine. "This is stupid."

"Hey, it says you say that. 'This is stupid,' Eleanor said as she reached a hand into her pocket. With everything going on, she was really craving a cigarette."

"I am not craving a cigarette," she scoffs but guiltily pulls her hand out of her pocket, hoping they don't notice.

They had noticed, but Dean's phone dings before they could comment. Chuck had another vision.

❛ ━━━━━━･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

AUTHOR'S NOTE: sorry for the wait !! hope you enjoyed <3
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