Work Text:
The high school of such a small town was the last place you expected to find the infamous prophet Sam and Dean had told you about. While they were sketchy on the details of what this prophet had done, you imagined it must have been pretty big for them to be so tight-lipped about it. Whenever you asked they would exchange a glance, clear their throats and move on. But now that the prophet, Chuck, had sent the brother’s an SOS text you knew you were finally going to find out the truth.
You just didn’t think it should be in an old high school, with a large “SUPERNATURAL CONVENTION” banner hanging over the gymnasium doors. You arched a brow at it, a brother on either side of you.
“Is this like a psychic convention?” you asked. “I went to one of those with my mother and I’m pretty sure they’re all fakes. At least the ones that go to conventions are…”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Dean said with a sigh. You could hear voices from the other side of the door, the idle chatter making your stomach turn. It didn’t matter how many times you went on a case with the Winchester’s, it always made you nervous. Sometimes they were nothing, a simple human murder, and sometimes they were a simple ghost murder. And sometimes they were an all out war between angels or demons. No matter how the case started out, you knew it could go very bad, very fast. And no matter how much you denied the danger, your stomach would always do flips.
Sam looked down at you, the only one aware of your nerves. “Come on,” he said, “this is probably nothing.”
“Just don’t ask too many questions,” Dean reminded you. He’d said that five times on the drive over, and then another five when you asked why there were so many Impala’s parked outside the school.
You rolled your eyes. “Like that’ll happen.”
A huff of a laugh came from his lips and he put his hands on the doors, giving them both a shove. They flew open and you all walked through, letting them swing shut behind you.
Your mouth gaped. You stared at the unbelievable sight before you, a gather of…you weren’t even sure how to put it. Plaid and leather and jeans and boots—cropped hair and long hair, and anti-possession tattoos. You blinked, thinking that the room was filled with hunters but realizing you were wrong. You’d met other hunters before, and while many of them did prefer leather to just about any other material, that wasn’t quite what this was. These people were all dressed like Sam and Dean.
“Y/N,” Dean said low, “welcome to the Supernatural book convention. Starring us.”
“I don’t get it,” you said.
“Chuck has visions,” Dean tried to explain.
“Yeah, I know that,” you replied.
“Of us,” Sam clarified. “Before he knew he was a prophet he was a…writer.” Sam turned to the small white-clothed table beside you and picked up a book, showing you the cover. A shirtless man with long hair adorned the cover, with another man in the background looking into the distance. Lightning struck across the sky, and beyond the two very muscled men was a black car.
“Supernatural, the series?” you muttered, reaching for the book. Before you could get your hands on it Dean grabbed it from Sam and tossed it onto the floor letting it slide beneath the table.
“Let’s just find Chuck and get the hell out of here,” Dean demanded. He was surly, and looking around you could see why. There were numerous variations of himself, short and tall, skinny and fat. Most of them did very well mimicking his look, and as pleased as you were to see his ego get taken down a peg or two you nearly tripped over yourself as you spotted someone that wasn’t dressed as Sam or Dean.
They were dressed like you. You looked down at yourself and then back up, noticing more and more people were wearing your signature look. Same coat, same jeans, shoes, hairstyle. You cursed the few that did the look better than you. Beginning to feel uncomfortable with so many you’s around, you said, “Let’s.”
You began to work your way through the crowd to the stage at the front, a small disheveled man standing there. Dean was bulldozing over people to get there, while you trailed slowly behind, distracted by everything you saw.
Booths were set up to sell art, some of it official and most of it not. There were images of Castiel and Dean together, doing things you weren’t going to forget, and there were quite a few drawings of you, too. You thought it was so strange to be looking at fan art of yourself, because you didn’t consider yourself much of anyone. Sure, you helped out Sam and Dean with research, but they did most of the heavy lifting. They did the actual killing. Dean had been showing you how to properly use a gun since you first met, but it just wasn’t sticking. And his rule was once you could shoot five cans off a fence from twenty feet, then you could join them on the bigger hunts.
And yet despite how minor a character you thought you were, your face—or variations thereof—was plastered all over the place.
“Oh my God, your cosplay is so accurate!” someone cried. Two girls jumped in front of you and Sam. “Are you couple cosplaying? Because it’s awesome.” They each gave you a thumbs up.
“Pardon?” you asked, dazed.
“Cosplaying is when—” Sam began but you cut him off.
“I know what it is.” You frowned at the girls, each of them dressed like you. “But uh…thanks.” You tried to fake a smile, finding it difficult.
“I guess it’s safe to say you think Y/N belongs with Sam, right?” one girl asked, eyeing Sam behind you with a decisive eye. Even though you were about to walk around them you had to stop.
“Belongs with Sam?” you asked.
Sam pressed a hand to your back. “I think Dean is waiting over there with Chuck so why don’t we—”
You held up a finger to silence him. You asked the girls, “What do you mean?”
They exchanged a confused glance. “Uh, Y/N is totally in love with Sam, and he’s in love with them. Can’t you read the subtext?”
Dean finally noticed that you and Sam weren’t right behind him and came back. “Excuse us ladies but we need to talk to the author.”
One girl squealed when she saw Dean. She pressed a hand against his shoulder. “FBI Dean, so hot.”
Normally Dean would do that annoying smirk he always did around women, but instead he scowled and looked to you and Sam. “You coming?”
“Yes,” Sam replied.
“I’m going to talk to my new friends,” you declared, “since we have the same taste in characters.”
Sam leaned in to tell you something but you shoed him and his brother away with a wave of your hand.
“Fine,” Dean agreed, “you’re on your own. Don’t cry to us when you get glomped.”
Before you could ask anything he and Sam walked over to who you assumed was Chuck standing by the main stage.
“So,” you began, “you guys like Y/N?” Man, that sounded weird to say.
“Everyone does,” the girl on the left replied. “Y/N is like, the fan-fav. I’m not sure anyone is capable of hating them.”
You could think a few people that did but you nodded.
The second girl asked, “I think they belong with Dean though. More chemistry than with Sam—just look at how much they argue. And they always get mad when Dean hooks up with some random chick.”
You opened your mouth to argue but the first girl did it for you. “Excuse me? Y/N is clearly in love with Sam. And he totally loves them—he’s always trying to protect them and make sure they’re comfortable—unlike Dean. He always leaves them at bars while Sam takes them to places they like.”
“Like cafes,” you stated, thinking of all the times Dean wanted to get a drink and Sam always suggested a cafe or diner instead. You’d never realized that was for your benefit—you thought he disliked the bar scene as much as you. Were these girls telling the truth? Did Sam do that just for you?
“Sam is always trying to protect Y/N,” the second girl stated, crossing her arms and sticking her nose in the air. “Dean is trying to teach them to protect themselves—and wasn’t that scene with him wrapping his arms around Y/N to show them to use a gun so romantic?”
You thought of when that happened, not finding it the least bit romantic. Did they not recall the squirrel you nearly took out? Or how that had started the biggest argument between you and Dean? The girl added, “Dean only gets mad when Y/N is reckless, anyway. He cares about them so much and he just doesn’t know how to show it.”
“He does? I mean—I’m not—I mean, Y/N is reckless?” You crossed your arms now, your eyes drifting to the real Sam and Dean. They each kept glancing over at you, worry on their features. Whether it was worry for you or worry of what you might find out, you didn’t know. You looked back to the girls.
“Yeah, they go off on their own a lot,” the first girl told you. She shrugged. “Creates good conflict though—and they’re just trying to help. That’s why everyone loves them.”
A smile twitched at you lips and the girls began to argue again about who you belonged with. Your eyes fell onto the fan art of yourself, and you stifled a giggle. You stepped over to the booth, a skinny guy with two arms full of tattoos looked up at you. “How much for that one?” you asked, pointing at a drawing.
“Twenty,” he replied. You stuffed your hand into your pocket and pulled out a wrinkled bill, passing it to him. He happily took it, and then passed you the drawing. As you began to walk towards Sam and Dean he called, “Cool costume, by the way. Looks way more real than everyone else.”
“Thanks!” You looked down at the picture in your hand, finding it had the most accurate features of yourself, Sam, and Dean. It was through the windshield of the Impala, with Dean in the driver’s seat, Sam on the passenger’s side and you in the back, placed right between the brother’s.