Title: How Becky Totally Saved the World Without Becoming a Mary Sue or: PLEASE R&R OR I'LL NEVER WRITE ANOTHER CHAPTER
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this story, to my dismay.
A/N: Thanks forever and ever to tassosss for the beta. Any mistakes left are totally my doing.
Summary: The upside of living with a prophet was the forewarning of the apocalypse. And the fic.
The world ends on Friday, which really sucks because that's the only day that everyone on the production team can be online to discuss SupernaturalCon 2.0: Bigger, Better, with Fewer Real Ghosts.
Of course Marshall is complaining that the ghosts weren't real in the first place, just a couple of LARPers that got a little out of hand. Becky would totally tell him about Sam and Dean being real, except that he's already trying to destroy her credibility with the con production team and also trying to take over the morethanbrothers.com archive.
But, as she logs in, fire starts falling from the sky, her computer blacks out, and her TV turns on.
"Do not be alarmed," the man on the screen says. He looks very sad. He's also wearing the tackiest suit she's ever seen, like an Elvis LARPer who couldn't afford rhinestones.
"Do not be alarmed," he repeats. "This is not the end of the world. My name is Lucifer. I am the Morningstar, and I am here only to rescue the world. If you see this man, please call our hotline. You can save the world."
The picture of Sam was about four years old and a little grainy. Satan said more stuff, but to be honest, Becky'd already read the transcript: Chuck wrote it last month in a drunken stupor.
"Chuck!" she yells, already at the hall closet, pulling out her pre-packed suitcases. "Chuck, wake up! It's the end of the world!"
Chuck almost falls down the stairs, stumbling and clinging to the banister. He's clutching new pages in one hand, his rabbit in his hoodie pocket, and a half-full bottle of vodka under his arm. He hasn't shaved in a few days, but personally Becky loves the starving/desperate artist look, and at least he bathes regularly which was more than her last DnD loving boyfriend did.
Chuck, when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, appears to be crying.
"Oh, god," he moans. "We're all going to die."
"Don't be ridiculous," Becky says. "You wrote about this a month ago, remember?"
Confused, Chuck looks up at her. He is still drunk, and she sighs, taking his bunny from his pocket and putting it into the traveling carrier she purchased as soon as she learned about the end of the world.
"What is all this stuff?" Chuck asks, pointing to the suitcases.
With a put-upon sigh, Becky opens the front door and begins lugging the bag full of weaponry out to the car. "Get with the program, Chuck. We have to help Sam save the world."
Dean looked at Sam, his eyes full of masculine tears, one hand on his shotgun, the other reaching for his brother. Sam, equally emotional, buried his head in his hands.
"Dean," Sam said, quietly.
"Don't, Sam," Dean responded. "We've got each other, and that's enough."
"We need the Colt." Sam stared out at the wasteland that used to be Los Angeles. An entire city wiped off the map.
"We'll find it. Together," Dean said. "We have to do this together, Sam."
"Dean, we'll cover more ground apart. You know that. We'll never find Crowley like this."
Dean grasped his brother's face and growled, "Together, Sam."
And then they kissed and it was hotter than any brimstone.
Chuck looks up from the page in his hand. He is looking marginally more sober but is still wearing sunglasses in the car.
"I don't think I wrote this," he says. He looks down at the page. "I mean – I didn't, did I?"
"Well, I had to add some stuff before I could post it to morethanbrothers," Becky admits. "You know gen fic never gets any comments."
"Other people have read this?" Chuck begins rifling through all 298 pages.
"Well, since you weren't publishing." Becky makes a left hand turn onto a dirt road.
"...Did they like it?" Chuck asks.
"You are such a comment whore," Becky says. She points to the manila envelope at the bottom of the stack. "I printed all the comments out."
After a moment, she admits, "I posted it under my pseudonym because I'm a BNF and I wanted as many people to read it as possible."
By the time they reach the house, Chuck hates as much as she does.
"That scene was not completely unnecessary!" He looks handsome when he's outraged, she notes.
She's already parked and pulling out suitcases when he moves on to the passive-aggressive comments.
"'Great, loved it, except the Dean/Sam seemed to come out of nowhere!'" he reads. "Why comment at all if you aren't going to say something nice?"
Becky huffs an affirmative, dumping the suitcases in the living room.
Chuck follows her inside. "Where are we?"
"Well, as soon as I read that Satan was going to win, I bought us a cabin and came up with a Plan B." She begins unzipping the weaponry suitcase, pulling out salt, salt shot-gun rounds, iron pokers, and as many guns as a blonde twenty-three year old could get. It turns out that a push-up bra made all the difference when purchasing deadly weapons.
"Plan B?" Chuck asks.
"Don't worry about it," Becky says.
Squinting at the stacks of annotated Supernatural books she pulls out of a suitcase, Chuck opens his mouth to speak when the radio in the living room begins to squawk.
"All Your Base, come in, this is Belong To Us."
Picking up the transmitter, Becky says, "Good to hear you, Belong To Us. Has I Haz Cheeseburger checked in?"
"That's a negative," Belong To Us says. "LOLCats checked in an hour ago; Plan B is in motion."
Nodding, Becky begins stripping. "Thanks, BTU. AYB out."
Down to her underwear, she begins putting on the waterproof latex that, when he bought it, Chuck swore he didn't find kinky solely because of an early exposure to X-Men comics as a child. Once she has her swim cap and goggles on, she turns to Chuck.
"Listen, I have to go summon an angel, but there's a devil's trap on the ceiling of every room in the house, so..." she pauses, frowning. "Just... just keep writing and if anyone calls on the radio, let me know."
The upside of being a BNF is that when she posts something mysterious on her livejournal about being sad and needing help, she immediately gets offers of help.
Of course, it was fandomwanked to death when made an open post about someone pulling a Cassandra Clare, but she could go suck it. Becky was totally not going to invite a hater into her saving the world filter.
The "Don't Harsh My Squee" wank is still ongoing as of the apocalypse.
Becky is halfway through the ritual when Chuck comes barreling out of the cabin.
"Becky!" he says, stopping just short of the edge of her summoning circle.
Finishing the Latin chant, she cuts open her hand and allows a few drops to seal the circle. Then she steps outside of the circle, careful to not disturb any of the blood. It takes over two gallons of cow blood to summon an angel, and Becky had used four just to be on the safe side.
"I found your checklist!" Chuck says. He seems honestly more alarmed than the situation warranted. "You're... You're summoning an angel! And kidnapping an actor! And Cheeseburger checked in and said that she had the Colt!"
"Oh, good," Becky says. "I wasn't sure how we'd do this without it."
"Becky, you can't... how do you even know Latin?"
Stripping off the blood-covered latex bodysuit, Becky begins changing back into her normal clothes. "I was a dual major, remember? Business and Classics? Relax, Chuck, this isn't any worse than defending my honors thesis."
Just then, the angel appears.
"Hi, Gabriel!" Becky says. She frowns, disappointed. "You're a lot shorter than you are in the books."
Cell phones could totally be tapped, but Becky has totally thought of that.
"Angel phone?" Chuck asks. "You kidnapped an angel so you could make a telephone call?"
"Well, Gabriel can tap into Sam's dreams and tell him he needs to come here to find the Colt. It'd be stupid to let Satan know what's going on." Becky finishes the circle and smiles. Big enough for two men to fight to the death, absolutely.
"I don't understand," Chuck says.
"It's ok," Becky assures him. "You retconned the Colt back to Earth in the last book, and then retconned the Mary thing a few chapters ago. Don't you remember what you wrote about God?"
"No," Chuck says, miserably. He pets his rabbit with a shaking hand.
"She's walking the earth," Becky says.
"I'm not sure... did I really write God as a woman?"
"I had to change the gender before I posted," Becky says. "You wrote her as a man, but if I'd posted like that, there'd be all sorts of creepy Dean/God slash popping up."
"And that'd be creepy," Chuck says, slowly, like she's missing something.
Becky makes a face, "He's a little..."
"I know," Danielle, aka Belong To Us, says. "Where do you want him?"
"In the circle," Becky says. "I'll go call Satan. Chuck! Help Danielle move the body!"
Clutching his rabbit to his chest, Chuck says, "He's not dead, is he?"
"No, I knocked him out. Lucky, too, because we got out of Vancouver right before the demons destroyed it," Danielle says. "I mean, he looks a little like Sam, right?"
She hefts him under his arms, leaving Chuck to grab the feet. "Who is he?"
"Jared Padelecki. From Gilmore Girls?" Danielle drops him heavily in the middle of the circle. "He kind of looked like Sam on camera."
"Hi," Becky says into her cell phone. "This message is for Satan? We have Sam Winchester, and we'll give him to you if you stop trying to you know, wipe out humanity. I'm texting you a picture."
Snapping a quick photo, she begins to text.
"So," Chuck says, conversationally. "What do you do?"
"Oh, I'm getting my PhD in chemistry," Danielle says. "I really like your books, by the way."
Weakly, Chuck says, "Thanks, it's always nice to meet fans."
"'And then Dean leaned his forehead against the Impala and let a single, manly tear fall,'" Gabriel reads. "TEARS! SHOT!"
"I think it's your turn," Chuck says.
"No, no," Gabriel slurs. "I did the last one."
Nodding, Chuck downs the vodka. "Keep reading."
"'The Impala was finally rebuilt, and gleamed black in the sunlight. Its doors still creaked as they opened, its motor rumbled like a well pleased cat. It had taken three coats of paint and every ounce of effort Dean had, to mold the car back into its perfect, road-eating shape.'" Gabriel pauses, forehead scrunched.
"Car porn," Chuck says, miserably. "Shot."
Sighing explosively, Becky looked up from arranging the layout in front of the cabin. "Stop drinking, Chuck. We don't have time to take you to the hospital. It'd ruin the pacing."
Dean and Sam show up after Satan, but that was totally fine; Becky's planned for that contingency. Laura had already shown up with the Colt and it's a lot more impressive in the books than in real life.
"Becky?" Dean says, incredulously taking in the scene in front of them.
Satan glares, trapped in flaming Holy Oil. He is actually taller than Chuck had written him, and looks like all he wants is a hug. Becky couldn't resist giving him some of the chocolate she was saving for the after-party.
Both Chuck and Gabriel wave at the Winchesters. "Hey, there, guys," Chuck smiles.
There's a moment that she isn't sure if Dean is going to step into her carefully constructed circle of Holy Oil, and then they'd have to skip all the way to Plan G: knock him over the head and toss him in with Satan. On the other hand, Chuck's fight scenes are sometimes clunky, but always filled with detail. By now, she totally knows how the brothers move.
Dean takes two steps into the Holy Oil circle as Sam stays where he is, watching Dean's back. It's so romantic it almost breaks her heart.
"I'm so sorry, Sam," she says, and drops a match on the Holy Oil.
"Dean!" Sam yells.
Dean frowns, trying to step out of the circle and finds himself trapped. "What the fuck is going on?"
"He's so handsome," Danielle says, licking her lips.
"Don't you dare embarrass me," Laura elbows her.
"Ok," Becky says. "This is plan B. Satan, Michael, you two are going to either come to a truce or fight each other, and then Sam will have to shoot one of you."
Sam inches towards her, and Becky swings the Colt to aim at him. "Sam," she says, her voice breaking unexpectedly. "This hurts me a lot more than it hurts you."
"Uh," Dean glares. "Not to burst your little psycho bubble, but I never said, 'yes' to Michael."
"You didn't have to," Becky says. "In the Back to the Future epilogue, Mary meets God while she's pregnant with you. God asks her for a favor. Not to get all exposition-girl here, but you've always been Michael."
Gabriel toasts them all, "Mom always did like the fucking dues ex machina."
"I don't get it," Chuck says.
"Don't worry, Chuck, Sam's going to save the world." Becky finds herself staring at Sam. He's so hot when he's in agony.
"Fucking Sam-whumper," Danielle rolls her eyes. "It's why her fic is like the same story over and over again."
And then Sam pulled the battered and bloody Dean to his chest, the still-hot Colt dropping from his fingers.
"I love you. You can't die, Dean. Michael. Whoever you are." Sam's tears fell on Dean's bloody cheeks.
Dean reached up for his brother's hand. "Sam. Sam. I don't... I've always loved you. You're my brother. This doesn't change that."
And then Sam and Dean totally kissed because it was almost the end of the world.