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“Oh, I’m glad to see that you’re all here!” Becky exclaimed.
There were grumbled moans of indifference and even hate.
“Well, it’s my birthday! And I can’t wait to start reading these delicious stories you all wrote for me!” Becky beamed.
There was a commotion not so slowly arising out of the crowd.
“I didn’t write this for you so much as to get you off my case. You were blowing up my phone.” Crowley muttered. “Changed my damn number four times too. Damn kids and their internet hacking skills”
“She didn’t drug us all into coming here, did she?” Sam asked Dean warily.
“I don’t think so, I mean no one seems that into it. Let’s just leave before we regret everything.”
Dean stood up to go and several others thought this seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.
“Thank you, Dean!” Becky beamed. “But I was planning on doing a dramatic reading of your stories. You can take a seat.”
“WHAT?” Dean exclaimed.
“You don’t have to read your own story unless you really want to . . .” Becky said, “But I was planning on recording my readings and uploading them as podfics to ao3, with your signed consent of course, and--”
Dean sat down in silent shock.
Everyone else remained seated as well.
“Well I’d like to thank everyone for being part of my captured audience tonight.”
“Did she just say . . . captured?” Claire asked.
Becky coughed. “Captive. I meant captive audience.” she said as she looked around the room, not at the ‘friends’ she invited to her party, but at the decorations.
“Aw, fuck.” Dean said when he realized what Becky was looking at. “She’s magically sealed us all in the bunker.”
“It’s just until I read all the stories . . .” Becky said, bottom lip quivering.
“Fine!” Dean said, exasperated. “Read the damn stories so we can leave.”
“Great!” Becky chirped, instantly cheerful again. “Let’s start with Dean’s!”