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Stephen Moffat, Eric Kripke and George R. R. Martin walked into a bar.
It could be a joke and from certain point of view it actually was one. But from most points of view this was probably kingdom come. The end of the world as we know it.
Few people turn to them, some of them were capable of realising who at least one of them was, about two people managed to name all three of them.
One teenage girl in corner started to cry, mumbling something about Starks, Winchesters and Ponds. To clear it up to you, it wasn’t about Tony Stark, nor the Winchesters who invented the riffle and definitelly not about lakes.
Eric Kripke ordered himself a shot of vodka.
“I still think I do it better than you two,” Kripke continued in dialog they had before they entered the bar.
“Nobody does it better than me,” answered Martin, who started to sip Martini he just recieved from bartender.
“Beg your pardon?” raised Moffat a brow and with the glance of englishman he is he ordered himself a glass of wine. “I am the one who killed the Doctor about a billion times. I think I am the one with the highest killcount.”
“I don’t think this is about killcount,” oposed him Kripke. “It’s about making people cry. You may have killed the Doctor billion times, but what from that when you can’t keep him dead? What is dead should stay dead.” He stopped for a moment and added. “At least one season.”
“I think I get your point, Eric,” started R. R. out of nowhere. “The point is, Steven, that even when you kill your characters, your fans don’t believe that they will stay dead and that makes them feel less pain. But when I kill my character, they stay dead… ish.”
“You mean except the army of undead and Jon Snow?” giggled Moffat.
“You know what? I am the HBO best seller. I created the universe. You just continued in 50 years old sci-fi.” started Martin a bit rushly.
“Really? Me and Russel, we ressurected Doctor Who. We brought it to whole new dimension. So, shhh. You just borrowed your plot from war of the Roses.” frowned Stephen and sipped his wine.
“I can’t deny it.” nodded Martin. “But when I’ll talk just about the show, I killed Ned Stark in the end of first season.”
“I killed John Winchester in the very beggining of the second season and to be honest, nobody expected that .” mumbled Kripke.
“True,” nodded Stephen. “I thought you’ll keep him alive for a little more. I didn’t expected that.”
“But some of your plot twist are just… nuts. I mean, Angels?” smiled Martin.
“I planned that.”
“I have a feeling that you didn’t.” continued Martin in his try to make Kripke agree that it wasn’t the original plan.
But Kripke isn’t the type who easily give up. “I have a feeling that YOU aren’t the one to preach me about planning, mister George R. R. I don’t know how to end it because my characters are too complex Martin.”
Silence fell, disturbed only by silent sobbing coming from that poor girl in corner.
“Rory Williams.” Started Moffat after few minutes. “I guess that made people really cry, even when they knew he’ll come back.”
Kripke nodded.
George R. R I don’t know how to end it because my characters are too complex Martin was still offended, so he just mumbled something.
“You know, there is this thing about you two,” started Martin. “I am the only one here capable of writing real sex scenes. Not just these ‘I wanna see shirtless Jared/Jensen/insert name here’ you do, Eric.” Martin triumphaly smiled.
“Well, I am not the one who writes sex scenes in my show, I know. But I have fandom which does it for me and probably even better than I could ever do.” Kripke smiled.
Moffat giggled. “When it comes to fandom I guess Kripke is right, although all our fandoms are amazing. Sherlokians. Whovians. How are your fans called, George?”
“Humankind.” answered R. R., self confident as always.
“Meh,” looked away Kripke, because he had no argument against that.
“Well, yet here we are. Don’t you think this may cause some Timey Wimey paradox?” smiled Moffat, who had enough of this ‘who is better’ nonsence.
“Maybe we’re here to start the apocalypse, you know. The three of us. What do you think, George?” continued in light joke Eric Kripke, Showrunner of Supernatural.
“Maybe our existence don’t have any higher purpose and we’re all just gonna die.” joined their theme Martin.
“Maybe. But before that, let’s kill few other characters.” raised Kripke his glass.
“Yeah. Let’s give our fans what they want.” smiled Moffat.
“Death and misery?” raised glass Martin.
“Death and misery,” agreed both showrunners and all three men drank. Girl in the corner stopped crying and now she just stared into a wall.
“It’s actually funny. When I wrote incest into my story, lots of people had problem with that. But your fans” he pointed at Kripke “Were actually angry that you didn’t write the incest into your lore.”
Eric Kripke nodded. “They keep surprising me all the time. First time I heard about Wincest I thought it was just a joke. But they are creative, Supernatural family.”
“When I killed Sherlock,” thought Moffat outloud “I gave them two years and they came up with so many theories that I didn’t have the heart to tell them they were wrong so I rather didn’t tell anything.” He giggled and for a second he thought about Tumblr and what he read there.
“Or you didn’t know how he survived?” added Kripke who just ordered himself another shot.
“Look, it doesn’t matter how he survived. The only thing that matter is…”
“That he has romantic relationship with John Watson?” finished Moffats sentence Kripke and rolled his eyes. “For heavens sake I am starting to think like my fandom.”
“You two and your fandoms. It’s actually funny, but I haven’t seen so many slash fanfictions in my fandom.” Smiled Martin, but his two companions started to laught.
“You just weren’t digging on the right places.” laughted Moffat and high fived Kripke.
“I don’t think I wanna dig,” answered R. R. and drank.
“You really don’t want to,” Kripke laughted.
“Well at least we know what we have.” Steven Drank too. ” And we can work with that. When you know what the audience want…”
“You don’t give it to them,” laughted Martin. “Like their OTPs kisses, am I right, Kripke?”
“I can’t just make Castiel and Dean kiss, jesus. I can’t. It’s same like Steven said. I can’t give it to them because they already have like billion better first kisses.”
“Or you are just two dorks who won’t give their fandoms what they want. Like me. But I don’t hide it.”
“You can’t give that to them. If John and Sherlock kissed, they would ruin that ‘Are they really gay’ atmosphere that makes that show so interesting.” Moffat claimed.
“And are they really gay?” Kripke asked, interested.
“I am not JK to make such statements.” Steven smirked and all three writers laughted.
Girl in the corner somehow managed to calm herself and now just stared at them.
“Do you think they love us or they hate us?” Martin looked at the poor girl.
“Probably both. We’re like their drug dealers. They hate us for hurting their feelings but they don’t hate us enough to stop watching.” Moffat smiled.
“I’d call it Stockholm syndrom. Like, beauty and the beast. We gave them what they want, we hurt them but they still stay.” Continued Eric.
Martin just laughted. “But it’s not just about killing, right?”
“It’s also about painful plottwists. Like Dean really going to Hell. Sam letting Lucifer free. Trickster actually being Archangel.” agreed Kripke.
“Like when I really killed Ponds? Or when I came out with Eurus? Or when I killed Mary?”
“I also killed Mary. In first episode.” laughted Kripke at Stevens answer, because he started to be a bit drunk. Moffat found it funny too and highfived him again.
“Team killing Mary!” raised Eric his glass.
“Team killing Mary!” Moffat did the same and they drank.
“The funniest part is that both of your Marys left their husbands with little baby.” commented R. R. newly created Team killing Mary and drank too.
Steven and Eric looked at each other when they realised it and started to laught again.
“Fine I want to join a team too. What’cha got there?”
Moffat thought. “I don’t know. You already are in a team. Team killing everyone.”
Kripke chuckled. “Some of them even more than once.”
They sat silently for few minutes.
Meanwhile, girl in the corner stood up and politely asked all three of them for signature.
They all signed.
“What would you two say to going somewhere calm and read some fanfictions?” proposed Kripke who wouldn’t say such think if he wasn’t a bit drunk.
“That could be fun,” chuckled Martin.
“That will be fun. I want to show you one I read last week. Doctor met his younger self and…” he stopped. That’s not a thing he wanted to say outloud.
“They are clever, these fans of ours,” nodded Kripke, paying and leaving bar with his companions.
“What would we be without them, right?” smiled Martin and followed him.
“Nobody. We would be nobody.” nodded Moffat and left with them, going to read some great fan works.