Work Text:
“Erica!”
My mother’s voice came from the doorway, and as the music pounding from my stereo had been much too loud (what can I say, I like the bass to sound realistic) she startled me. “What the--?!” I yelped; flinging the pencil I had been tapping against my sketchbook to the beat of the drums at her. As my aim has never been the best, it hit the wall a foot from her head, bounced off and disappeared into the depths of my room.
“Mom! What the hell!” I yelled over the vocalist’s growled lyrics. She stared at me before replying by mouthing the word I recognized as dinner. Rolling my eyes, I turned down the volume of the music before switching the bass boost off and then turning the system off. No need to blow out the speakers by a sudden need for music. Heaving my legs over the edge of my bed, I stood and trotted to the doorway my mother had just vacated, shutting the door behind me. Walking down the hall with a pat on my dog’s head, I lifted and swung open the gate to enter the kitchen. Sitting at the table and eating dinner took all of forty minutes—then it was my favorite time of a Wednesday night. 9 o’clock, on the CW channel. Supernatural. My favorite television show, for a multitude of reasons that may or may not include Jensen Ackles, the actor who plays Dean, is HOT. H-O-T hot. I watched enraptured as the intro played and the title card flashed with its pentagram and bleeding colors. Reaching blindly for a pillow and blanket sitting folded on the edge of the couch, I snagged the pillow by chance and managed to drag the blanket with. Pulling the pillow into my lap and raising my knees to my chest with the pillow in between, I threw the blanket over my shoulders and tucked the blanket in between my knees and under my feet, a sufficient cocoon of comfortableness.
All the while my eyes never left the screen. The 1967 black Chevy Impala roared down an old interstate somewhere in the middle of the United States. Sam was passed out in the passenger seat; the lanky yet muscular man lounged in the seat, head resting on the window, dark brown hair falling into his face. By contrast, Dean was wide awake and listening to one of the few radio stations they managed to get on the classic car’s player. Bobbing his head to some classic Survivor, the elder brother’s face was set in an easy, small smile. It was nighttime, and Sam and he had been researching a few cases and found one in the center of the country—where most of them were, admittedly, but this one was different. There had been no strange activity beyond hovering lights with no sounds, and fields of corn mowed down without the stalks being broken. Just bent over, and that was strange, as it was damn near impossible to do that.
The sandy brown haired man gazed at the endless road with a feeling of, while usually at ease, almost slight apprehension. This was nothing they had ever encountered before. The crop circles and hovering lights, they pointed to aliens. Aliens weren’t real. Demons, ghosts, spirits, wendigos, doppelgängers, vampires, werewolves, Tricksters, angels, poltergeists, skin walkers… They were all real; Dean had fought them all daily and come out on top. But…Aliens? Creatures from another planet, little green men? The smile slipped into a smirk as he ruefully shook his head. Not real. On the radio, a voice crackled into life suddenly, over the song. I leaned closer, as I had the volume turned lower so the growl of the car wouldn’t rumble the walls. It was a news bulletin… In the middle of nowhere? Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Sam’s chest with one fist, causing his younger brother to startle awake. “What the hell, Dean! I was sleeping!”
“And now you’re not.” Snarked the elder brother, causing Sam to roll his eyes and moodily glare. “Stop PMSing and listen.” Dean gestured to the radio, causing Sam to lean closer to it while Dean fiddled with the volume dial to turn it up. The man’s voice was unassuming—not gravelly, not highly pitched, not special in any way—but it caused both brothers to stare at the radio, as he sounded experienced and wise in all ways possible.
“And tonight reports are pouring in from the town of Broken Bow, Nebraska. These reports are of strange flying lights on the interstate and circles carved into the cornfields of local farmers. As these lights have been hovering for a few hours now, cars have stopped on the interstate and people are out on the road watching them. These lights make no noise and we have identified it as a U.F.O. – an unidentified flying object. Our contacts within the local airports and air bases have confirmed that these objects are not appearing on any type of radar that they have. Please do not place any further calls to the emergency line 911 as the numerous reports have begun to overload their system and this is not an emergency. Keep the emergency lines open for emergencies, please. Do not be alarmed. These crop circles and hovering lights on the U.F.O. point to no harm imminent and please do not be alarmed.”
Toward the end of the bulletin, the radio had started to crackle and slowly, a high pitched whine filled the car. Sam happened to look up through the windshield, and his yell of alarm to Dean caused Dean to look as well. Dean slammed on the brakes with a curse, and Sam clung to the door as the car’s wheels locked and they slid sideways, skidding. The car came to a rest pointing the way they were headed, and both brothers stared at the black sky. In the sky, there was a series of pulsating red, white, green, blue—all colors you know and so many you don’t—lights. The lights hovered in the air, maybe 2 miles straight up, not 200 yards from the hood of the Impala. The high pitched whine increased in pitch and volume, causing both brothers to clamp their hands over their ears and wince. “Turn it off, Dean!” The oldest brother slammed on the button with a violent finger, causing sudden silence to fill the car. But the silence was almost scarier than the screeching. Not that it was scary to the Winchester brothers, of course, but to me, even sitting on my couch with that noise was terrifying.
“And they say that those lights aren’t harmful!” Hissed Dean, and the man flung open his driver’s side door to get out and move to the back of the car. Popping the trunk, he eyed the sparse contents of the space inside, before reaching down and yanking on the carefully concealed handle. The false bottom folded up, and Sam came around the side of the car to place a piece of wood under the false bottom to hold it up. Dean reached in for a shotgun, but knew that would do little to help in a fight against an object 2 miles up. Sam glanced up at it and noticed it was lowering.
“Dean…” He murmured, causing his brother to mutter about ballistics before grabbing a rifle for the both of them, tossing Sam one as he let the false bottom drop back in place, slamming the trunk as both brothers advanced on either side of the car.
It was strange, actually, that there was no commercial breaks yet in this show. Usually there was one shortly after the title sequence, and by now—a few minutes into the show, there should have been another. My eyes hadn’t left the screen until now, when I glanced at the clock. What? It was barely five minutes in? So much had happened—my eyes rolled back to the screen when a bright white flash occurred on screen. I heard Dean shout, “Erica!” And my eyes widened. What? He had said…My name? There was no one named Erica on the show, no one named Erica even in the vicinity of the area the two characters were in. Panic ensued as, in my brief glance away from the screen, clearly something important had happened. The flash cleared and Sam and Dean stood looking at each other. The object in the sky was gone. Dean cursed aloud, running to the back of the Impala to sling the rifle into the secret trunk, slamming and locking the trunk before slinging himself into the driver’s seat. Sam followed suit, but he got into the passenger side. “Dean, what was that? And who is Erica?” He exclaimed, but the other man just said to hold on as he slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The classic car’s wheels squealed on the pavement before it tore off down the road, fishtailing in Dean’s haste to get away from that area. Dean blew through multiple towns, but the law enforcement was clearly too focused and busy on the U.FO.s to worry over minute—albeit, easily speeds over 100 in a 55 mile per hour zone—speeding infractions.
“Dean!” Sam yelled. “Dean, slow down! What’s wrong?” But his handsome elder brother revealed nothing, and never slowed down until they reached their destination: Broken Bow, Nebraska. Dean spun the car 90 degrees exactly to stand up and stomp on the brakes with both feet, face set in determination as they happened to parallel park at the only open spot in front of the only open motel room. Dean sighed, shifting the car into park as he fiddled with the keys before turning the idling car off with a quick flick of the wrist to the key. The silence that rushed into the car, even with the windows wide open, was eerie. Sam sighed into the silence, muttered something about demons possessing of his brother’s body and then got out, slamming the door to show his distaste for Dean’s getaway driving skills. The younger brother stalked into the motel’s main lobby to order them the room they had landed in front of. Dean, meanwhile, sighed and leaned back to stare at the ceiling of the car.
“Dean!” His brother rapped on the door of the Impala, causing Dean to snap at him in the familiar irritation of harm plausible to his car.
“Sam, what have I told you? You don’t hit my baby!” Sam rolled his eyes as Dean scowled at him while rolling up both windows, collecting both of their duffel bags from the backseat—and Sam’s precious laptop—before climbing out of the car. Shutting the door and accepting the room key from his brother, the elder Winchester locked his beloved Impala to go to the door and unlock the room. Swinging open the door and striding in, the brothers Winchester threw their bags onto one of the two single beds. Sam, however, did not throw the bag containing his laptop onto the bed, he clung to it like a baby a bottle for it was one of their most prominent ways to research. Dean glanced around the room before taking his bag and choosing the bed further from the door, leaving Sam the one closest. Upon this decision, Sam and Dean looked at each other when both of their stomachs began to growl angrily in opposition to not having eaten food in the last 2 hours.
“I want a burger!” Dean’s exclamation was cheerful and petulant at the same time, and his bright smile brightened further as he came to a thought. “With bacon!” Sam’s grimace and eye roll of disgust made Dean smirk. “Just because you don’t like healthy food, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”
Sam snorted and retorted, “Hamburgers with cheese and bacon and all kinds of other monstrosities are not healthy! A salad, one that had tomatoes and lettuce, is healthy! You are not healthy—I don’t know how you hunt what we hunt the way you eat!” Sam’s eyes turned to the camera, looking straight at me through the television as he continued remarking. “And no, chocolate covered in chocolate is not healthy either.”
My face was startled, as those were the words I had just said out loud. But…Dean, Dean didn’t eat things like that usually. This was clear to even watchers of the show not obsessed when Dean looked at Sam with an odd expression, but decided to not contest it. Yet Sam agreed to find food, probably in one of the small town diners all towns have. Except for Rhode Island. In Rhode Island, especially near Providence—no diners to be found, not any open ones at least. However bad the food in the diners was for your health, it was usually good. And so the two brothers left their motel room to reenter the Impala and drive further into the town. Finding a respectable enough looking place, the brothers parked the car and entered it. Dean flashed an easy smile at the young waitress, and her flirtatious glance toward him gained them a good booth where they could see the exit and the Impala. Sam set his laptop up on the table, turned it on, opened a webpage and searched: Broken Bow Nebraska aliens. A general enough search to yield any number of results that were in the category he was looking for. Dean, meanwhile, flirted with the waitresses and ordered them both the food that they usually got in these diners.
It was shortly after their food came and Dean had begun to stuff his face that the first commercial break came on. The children on the TV began to sing of Pillow Pets, and my interest wandered. I got up, got a glass on water, came back and curled up again. I began to ponder, in the way that my sometimes paranoid brain did; what if Sam and Dean were talking to, or of, me? Dean had said my name. Sam had mentioned something that I loved, not something that Dean did. I shrugged my shoulders and decided it just must be my brain playing tricks on me. Not so long after I decided this, the generic voice on TV welcomed us back to Supernatural as the picture cut to Sam and Dean eating their food as Sam studied the laptop screen.
Dean was now wondering where their resident Angel was. Castiel was the Angel that had raised Dean from hell a while back. Since then, Cas has always been around. Not 24/7, as he was a creature of Heaven and of course had duties to attend to, but whenever Dean had needed him, he had been there. So perhaps soon Dean would have to call on his own personal Angel.
“Dean.” His brother’s voice shook him from his reverie. Dean glanced at him, eyebrows raised to convey acknowledgement as he had just taken a large bite of bacon burger. Sam sighed at this, but continued. “Look at this. The reports all started from this one man—the first crop circle was in his field, and he was the first one to see the lights. He’s also been claiming that he was abducted.” Dean nodded at this, waiting for Sam to go on. “And it gave his address. Think we should pay him a visit?”
Dean thought for a moment. Then he nodded, causing Sam to nod as well. It was mutually decided then, without speaking, that they would pay the man a visit after their lunch was over with. It was just what they always did when starting an investigation. Enter town, rent a room, get food and start with witnesses. Dean and Sam both turned to the camera, and both asked at the same time, “What do you think?” My eyes widened. How unusual. What was this, Dora the Explorer? No, this was Supernatural. A show about hunting the bad things in the world, about hunting the demons, not talking to the camera and acting like they actually cared what people they couldn’t hear had to say. My mind snapped back to the TV show when they stood up, paid and exited the diner to enter the Impala. But again, it was strange, because Sam paused to pull the open the back door, as if for a third person. He quickly shut it, and Dean didn’t seem to notice. But suddenly, weirdly, there was a change in plans without them ever talking about it. They went back to the motel and switched on the TV.
I gasped when the title card on the show they landed on said Life with Erica. What the hell? I stared at their tiny TV set, watching as the events that had unfolded in my life recently were played for all to see, and then it zoomed to a shot of me currently, watching Supernatural. I leaned close to the TV set, and almost immediately there was a bright white flash of light. My voice lifted in a scream as I was sucked into the television set, and thrown out the other side… Into Supernatural.
“What in the name of—”
“What the hell—”
Brothers Winchester exclaimed, as I fell through the TV set. Dean cursed as he stumbled backward toward their bag of weaponry they brought inside and selected a shotgun, sliding two cartridges into the double barrel, as he tossed a second similarly outfitted one to Sam. I looked up and yelped my fright at having two fully loaded double barrel shotguns being pointed at me by two of the most awesome men on the planet.
“Who are you!” Growled the older Winchester, and I gasped, stammering for breath at this. How could I respond when I was suddenly in the world of Supernatural? The younger seemed to notice my trouble breathing and looked slightly concerned, and just as he was about to speak up there was a roaring in my ears and everything turned black.
While I was unconscious, the Winchesters were shocked and wary. They got to work securing me, then ensuring I was not a supernatural creature that might caught them harm. Upon realizing this, Dean thought it a good idea to call Castiel. And so, he did. “Castiel!” He shouted, and then settled in to wait. Sam got on his laptop to further research.
“Yes, Dean?” With a flicker of light and the rush of feathered wings in their ears, Castiel walked from seemingly thin air out of the corner. The elder Winchester yelled, still not used to this no matter how many times it occurred. “Son of a—” Sam cut him off by gesturing to the girl on one of the beds. “Cas, she fell out of the television.” The angel’s head tilted to the side, and he studied the girl (me!) before declaring “She is of no ill will toward either of you. Nor is she even a supernatural creature. How… quaint.” Dean’s eye twitched at Castiel’s strange phrasing, but chose not to correct him. The angel wore his usual trenchcoat with the suit underneath (minus jacket) and in this getup he leaned against the wall of the motel room.
“I will wait with you until she wakes up.” He stated, blue eyes serious and hair just slightly mussed so. It would be an hour or two before that actually occurred.
When I came to, I was sitting on one of the beds, my wrists duct taped to either side of the headboard, legs bound together. Sam startled at my sudden movement and yelled for Dean, and both brothers came to stare at me while Castiel looked on from his perch ear the wall. “Who are you.” Dean snapped once more, looking no less apprehensive at me being tied up safely than he had at me being free before. Castiel chose this moment to come forward, sitting on the bed at my shoulder to rest one hand on my head. I had seen this on the show, he was reading my memories and thoughts. I chose to ignore him in favor of answering the eldest Winchester, for he seemed very nervous.
“Um, my name is Erica. And, see, in my world you’re a TV show, but I guess in your world I’m a TV show?” Wow. Who would ever believe that. But of course, this was Sam and Dean Winchester, human vessels of Michael and Lucifer, sons of John and Mary Winchester. Castiel, well, he was an Angel of the Lord, as he so loved to proclaim. Of course they would believe me.
“But you aren’t a demon or an angel, nor a vampire, werewolf, ghost, skin walker, doppelgänger—we checked for any of the signs and tested you while you were out. What are you?” Sam inquired, looking truly curious. I looked down sheepishly before replying.
“I’m just a human, but because you guys are a TV show, I know all about you guys and what’s happened for all of your lives… So…Um…Yeah.” Dean gave Sam an incredulous look, but Castiel seemed to believe me. He had stood and removed his hand, moving to stand near Sam. But then Dean shrugged and began to grill me on various facts or hunts in their lives. I answered all correctly, causing them to believe me… I was from another world, where their lives were a TV show. A terrifying prospect, to be sure, that these two hunters’ lives were entertainment for all to see—but all truth.
The three quickly got adjusted to moving around a fourth person in both their lives and their hunt, as I tended to help rather than hinder. We went to the various witnesses and collected the information necessary to conduct a successful hunt. Upon chasing down the U.FO., however, we realized it was more than we could handle when it landed not two hundred yards from us.
“Sam, Cas, Dean! Stay close!” All of us had the proper weaponry to take on, and possibly take down, these so-called aliens… But we were not sure if that was even exactly what we were up against. Our suspicions were confirmed when the U.F.O. began to transmit a bright, white beam in our direction. Then a strange voice, much like that of the new bulletin announcer from earlier, declared.
“We come in peace. We wish only to take a few of your native plants and creatures so we may further our encyclopedia of the universe. Is this permission granted, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Erica of the 2014 Earth and Angel of the Lord Castiel?”
I was surprised that the aliens had acknowledged my existence, but still I declared my agreement. Dean glanced at Sam, and Sam looked back at Dean, and then the Winchester telepathy kicked in for they both agreed as well. Castiel was still warily eyeing the flying object, but when Dean nudged him with an elbow the angel tersely nodded his consent.
The U.F.O.—no, the spaceship—slowly began to rotate and the lights began to pulsate once more. It wasn’t long before the object was floating up and above our heads, disappearing into the sky on its mission. And so, our hunt was over. We had sufficiently found and eradicated the problem, even if only for now. The aliens, this type, were of a peaceful sort and for that I was glad, and I was doubly glad that we had found a way to combat any type of alien. So we placed the new weaponry back into the false trunk, shut the real trunk and all got into the car. Except for Castiel, who needed to report back to his superiors and do his real work, as being absent from Heaven’s ranks for a week and more was no thing to be taken lightly. He smiled at me and Dean, nodded to Sam, and then in a rustle of feathers and flash of light the angel was gone from this plane of the Earth.
Dean switched the radio back on after days of just listening to the rumble of the Impala’s engine (one of my favorite sounds, actually) and we heard the man (alien?)’s voice on the radio. He exclaimed,
“It’s been confirmed that the aliens have landed. U.F.O.s have been landing all over the continental United States, and the creatures inside have been beaming up plants, animals, buildings and other itemry. We had said they caused no harm and now we have evidence; the U.F.O.s have left Earth’s atmosphere to the best of our knowledge. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.”
Dean glanced toward Sam with a smirk, and then looked back at me. At the same time, the two of us yelled, “Milkshakes!” Sam, the giant health freak he is, rolled his eyes but did not argue we deserved them for our services to humanity. So Dean fired up the Impala and we drove back to the motel, picking up delicious milkshakes along the way. As soon as we entered the motel, the TV set flickered to life, causing all three of us to pause and stare at it.
“It’s not supposed to do that, is it…?” I glanced to Dean for confirmation, but he looked at Sam, so I did too. Sam shook his head, and I crept closer to turn it off. A white, pulsating glow emitted from the set, and I launched myself back from it. “It’s trying to take me back to my world!” I cried, and the Winchesters eyed each other.
“At least finish your milkshake before you leave.”
I thought, and agreed. It was best for me to go back, but no reason not to finish my milkshake. Sipping on it, I sat with the Winchesters in their motel room and we chatted about old hunts, this most recent one, each other and life. Always, life. As we drained the cups, I stood to give two of my newest and closest friends hugs. I promised to return one day if I could, and then I turned to the TV and walked close. A heavenly white flash filled my vision, and when it cleared I was sitting on the couch the way I had been before it all started. Nothing had changed, not even the time on the clock. No one had realized my at least week long absence… But I suppose I was never really gone. I was just sucked into the TV, so absorbed in the happenings I couldn’t help but not notice anything else.
From then on, religiously now (rather than being okay with it to watch on the DVR) every Wednesday at 9 PM East Coast time, I would tune into the CW on my television, and talk to the TV like my three best friends could hear me.
And sometimes, I would really believe they could.