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Free Supernatural Fanfiction – Chapter Summary:

A prophet, a convention, and a haunted hotel collide as Analina discovers her life might soon be published—and the ghosts aren’t just in the books.

Rating: PG-13
Contains:  Supernatural themes, mild language, and comedic awkwardness

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:  
Convention

BEFORE WE COULD DO ANY SORT OF TRAINING, we received a message from a man named Chuck. He texted that it was a life-or-death emergency and for us to come right away. We hurried, packed, and headed out. On the way, Sam and Dean explained to me that Chuck was a prophet who, at first, didn’t realize what he wrote was true. Eventually, he met Sam and Dean, and they realized his visions were connected to their lives. He had sold a series of books—Supernatural—not knowing he was a prophet. He went by the pen name Carver Edlund.

The text contained the address where he was staying—the Pineview Hotel. It took us all night to get there, but we made it. Parking the car, we quickly got out and made our way to the hotel itself.

“Hey, come on,” Sam said, looking back at Dean.

I turned around and noticed Dean staring at several 1967 Chevy Impalas.

“Car convention, maybe?” I mumbled as he caught up beside me.

He scratched his head. “Maybe.”

A scruffy-looking man paced in front of the hotel steps. He looked nervous. I assumed this was Chuck.

“Guys?” the man asked in surprise.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked.

Chuck fumbled a little. “Ah, nothing. You know, I’m just kind of hanging. What are you guys doing here? Is this… Analina?”

He eyed me for a moment. It was a little unnerving how he knew me right off.

“Yeah, this is Analina. Analina, Chuck. Chuck, Analina,” Dean introduced us quickly. “You told us to come.”

“Hi,” he said to me, then turned back to the guys. “Ah, no, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did. You texted me. This address, life-or-death situation. Any of this ringing a bell?” Sam countered.

“I didn’t send you a text.” Chuck seemed just as confused and adamant about the situation.

“We drove all night!” Dean said, exasperated.

I just stood there. I noticed a blonde girl in a green sweater vest on the porch, taking in the situation. I was going to suggest we move, but they didn’t give me a chance.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what could… Oh no.”

I looked back to Chuck. Did he notice we had an eavesdropper?

“What?” Dean asked.

“Sam! You made it!” the blonde girl exclaimed.

I looked at Sam, then Dean, and back up at the girl again. She ran over to the top of the steps.

Sam looked completely uncomfortable. “Oh, ah, Becky, right?”

Becky ran down the steps. “Oh, you remembered.” She lowered her voice and spoke to Sam only, “You’ve been thinking about me.”

Sam was flustered. He obviously didn’t want to hurt this girl’s feelings. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Becky replied quickly. “I can’t get you out of my head either.”

Dean and I exchanged glances and almost laughed.

“Who’s this?” Becky swung her head in my direction, clearly threatened by my presence. I actually took a step back.

“This is Analina,” Sam answered.

Becky looked between Sam and me a few times. She got a suspicious gleam in her eye. “Are you and her…”

Sam bristled again. “No, uh, no. We’re just friends.”

Dean moved forward and placed an arm around my shoulders. “She’s with me.”

“Oh,” Becky said, then smiled. “Hi.”

I guessed I no longer posed a threat. It was almost comical—but poor Sam.

Chuck stepped forward. “Becky, did you take my phone?”

“I just borrowed it from your pants.”

“Becky,” Chuck started.

“What?” she asked. “They’re going to want to see it!”

“See what?” Sam and Dean asked together.

“Oh my God. I love it when they talk at the same time!” she exclaimed.

Clearly, this person should be on some sort of medication, I thought. I wondered how she knew them. Probably through Chuck?

A dark-haired man with a clipboard appeared at the top of the steps. “Hey, Chuck? Come on, pal. It’s showtime.”

Showtime? I felt like I’d stepped into another reality.

Becky ran up the stairs, thrilled by this news. We looked back to Chuck, who would probably be the sanest person to tell us what was going on.

“Guys. I’m sorry. For everything.”

That was all he said before walking up the stairs. We followed at a distance.

We entered the hotel and looked around. Crowds of people were everywhere in what seemed to be… costumes?

“Hahaha. Hey, Dean, looking good.” A large man walked past us with a stein of beer.

Dean looked back, confused. “Who the hell are you?”

The man turned around and said, “I’m Dean, too. Duh!”

Dean looked back at Sam, who was just as confused. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say these people were dressed up like things from Sam and Dean’s lives—including Sam and Dean.

A scarecrow came by. “Have fun, you guys.” He jiggled his scythe in Sam’s face before walking away. “Aaah!”

I jumped at the giggle coming from behind me.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Becky, what is this?” Sam questioned.

“It’s awesome! A Supernatural convention. The first ever.”

Supernatural convention? I glanced around at the booths. They had Impalas on coffee cups and books. I went over to a table and picked one up. Supernatural looked like the first book in the series. The Impala looked the same, but Sam and Dean… definitely not. I almost laughed aloud. They had books about their lives? Really! How could I have not known about this?

Dean came up behind me.

“You have a book series?” I asked, holding up said book. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed this series, considering I had a book blog.

He grabbed the book from my hand, grimaced, and pushed it back on the table. “Don’t ask.”

He turned away to say something to Sam.

“Want to buy something…? Who are you supposed to be?” the young, skinny guy at the booth asked. He wore a Supernatural T-shirt and baseball cap. I took a double take and noticed he had yellow eyes. Must be pretending to be the demon that killed Sam and Dean’s parents and Jessica, I thought.

“I’m myself,” I said. “And actually, I think I’ll buy some of these books.”

He gave me a weird look as he took the books from my hands.

“No, you’re not buying that,” Dean said, coming over. He gave the Supernatural T-shirt wearer a smirk and pulled me away.

“Oh, so you must be Cassie!” the guy called back at me. “You don’t look anything like her from the descriptions in the books.”

“Cassie?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Dean.

“Um, she was… don’t worry about her,” he muttered, ushering me over to Sam, who waited by a double set of doors. People were filing into a large room.

For a convention, it wasn’t as crowded as I thought it would be. Must be a smaller fan base, I thought. However, I’d never actually attended a convention myself, so it was hard to tell.

Sam and Dean remained standing in the back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had books?” I asked.

“That’s sort of how we met Chuck,” Sam said with a sigh. He watched the manager talk to Chuck on the side of the stage.

“And you conveniently left that part out when you were explaining how you met Chuck,” I said, looking up at Dean.

He shrugged uncomfortably.

“I’m definitely going to read them,” I promised.

“No, you’re not. If you want to know something, just ask,” Dean said.

“Oh, right. Who was Cassie again?” I half teased, but I was a little curious. Probably a prior girlfriend or old flame in the context of this situation. Yeah, maybe I didn’t really want to know that much.

He glared down at me. “She was an old girlfriend who I made the mistake of telling our family’s secret to. Happy?”

“I wouldn’t say happy, but yeah.”

The microphone screeched. “Welcome to the first annual Supernatural Convention. At 3:45 in the Magnolia Room, we have the panel—‘Frightened Little Boy: The Secret Life of Dean.’ And at 4:30, there’s ‘The Homoerotic Subtext of Supernatural.’”

Seriously? I looked over to Sam and Dean. Dean’s eyebrows had shot up into his hairline, and Sam just furrowed his brows. I was slowly coming to the conclusion that I hadn’t been written into the books yet. I wondered how far they went.

“Oh, and of course, the big hunt starts at 7 p.m. sharp,” the manager continued.

“Where did the last book leave off?” I asked while the audience erupted into applause and cheers.

“Dean goes to Hell,” Sam answered quietly.

Wow, that was like—what—no, almost two years ago. Okay, I was definitely not in this series, but obviously Chuck was still having visions or he wouldn’t have known me. I started to relax more when I realized I wouldn’t be known in this room. Not that these people knew what they read was real. I didn’t think they’d be that excited about it.

“But right now, right now, I’d like to introduce the man himself. The creator, the writer of the Supernatural books. The one. The only. Carver Edlund!”

The audience cheered and clapped louder. Chuck, looking really uncomfortable, walked out onto the stage. I felt Dean tense beside me and could only assume Sam did the same.

As if sensing Chuck’s uneasiness, the microphone let out feedback, causing the audience to cringe.

“Okay. Okay, good. This isn’t nearly as awkward as I…” He cleared his throat. “Dry mouth.”

He walked over, took the bottled water on the little stand, and chugged it. No one moved or said anything. Walking back to the center of the stage, he started again.

“Okay. Uh… ahem. So, I guess… Questions?”

Almost every hand in the room went up—except ours in the back. Chuck looked like a deer in headlights. If I had to picture a prophet of the Lord, it was safe to assume Chuck would not be my immediate image.

Chuck picked a skinny-looking young man in the front. He jumped up like he’d won the lottery.

“Hey, Mr. Edlund. Uh… big fan. I was just wondering, where’d you come up with Sam and Dean in the first place?”

Chuck glanced back at us. They tilted their heads in response. Telling the audience that you were really a prophet and not a fiction writer would probably not work out very well.

Chuck hesitated. “Oh, ah. I… It just came to me.”

Dean was about to comment but held back, pursing his lips instead. He was not having a good time here. I, on the other hand, found everything very interesting.

“Okay, yeah. The hook man,” Chuck pointed.

The man had a heavy German accent. “Ah, yeah. Why in every fight scene are Sam and Dean having their guns knocked away by the bad guy? Why don’t they keep it on some kind of bungee?”

“I… Yeah, I really don’t know,” Chuck answered.

“Ja, follow-up. Why can’t Sam and Dean be telling that Ruby is evil? I mean, she is clearly manipulating Sam into some kind of moral lapse. It’s obvious, nein?”

I noticed Sam tensed up at that, and Dean looked smug as he glanced over at him.

Suddenly, Becky stood up and briskly walked down the aisle toward the German hook man. “Hey! If you don’t like the books, don’t read ’em, Fritz!”

“Okay, okay, just… Okay, it’s okay,” Chuck said on stage, trying to defuse the tension. “So, next question… Yeah, you.”

“Yeah, at the end of the last book, Dean goes to Hell. So, what happens next?”

I knew this answer, which meant I might be in trouble now.

“Oh, well, there lies an announcement, actually. You’re all going to find out.”

Chuck looked back at us briefly before continuing. “Thanks to a wealthy Scandinavian investor, we’re going to start publishing again.”

The room burst into shouts of joy, and people jumped out of their seats with enthusiasm.

“Does this mean I’m going to be in the future books?” I asked, a little shell-shocked.

“You got it, sweetheart,” Dean said sarcastically. He noticed my expression. “Not so excited about the books now, are you?”

I grimaced.

This was so not good. It was fine when I wasn’t involved, but I don’t see how I wouldn’t be now. That seemed to end the Q&A, and everyone went to the bar or booths until the panels opened up.

Sam pulled at Dean’s arm before he could walk away to the bar. “Dude, we’re not going to let him publish more books, are we?”

“Hell no,” Dean replied and started toward the bar. Sam and I shared a glance and followed him.

BECKY AND CHUCK sat at one of the small tables with their drinks. Chuck was talking to Becky, but once she saw Sam, her attention was only on him.

“Oh, hi, Sam!” she called out.

“She really likes you,” I said, holding back the smile that threatened to spread. I shouldn’t make fun.

Sam nodded at Becky in response.

“She’s his number one fan,” Dean said with a chuckle. He slapped Sam on the back and walked over to the table.

“Excuse us,” he said to Becky. Dean turned to Chuck. “In case you haven’t noticed, our plates are kind of full, okay? We don’t have time for this crap.”

Becky, in the meantime, was trying to flirt with Sam—in her own kind of way. I had no idea what she was doing. Sam averted his eyes so he didn’t have to respond.

“Hey, I didn’t call you,” Chuck said defensively.

“He means the books, Chuck. Why are you publishing more books?” Sam explained.

“Um… for food and shelter?”

Dean leaned over Chuck’s chair. “Who gave you the rights to our life story?”

“An archangel. And I didn’t want it!”

Sam tried to defuse the tension. “Well, deal’s off, okay? No more books. Our lives are not for—” he glanced at Becky before looking back at Chuck, “—public consumption.”

Becky turned to stare at Chuck. That would be a blow for her if he stopped writing.

“Ah… Becky? Would you excuse us for just a second?” Chuck asked.

She nodded quickly. “Uh-huh.”

We made our way to the hallway.

“Do you guys know what I do for a living?” Chuck asked.

“Yeah, Chuck, we know,” Sam replied.

“Then could you tell me? ’Cause I don’t, alright? I’m not a good writer. I’ve got no marketable skills. I’m not some hero who can just hit the road and fight monsters, okay? Until the world ends, I’ve got to live, alright? And the Supernatural books are all I’ve got. What else do you want me to do?”

Guilt tactic. Suddenly, a woman screamed. Sam and Dean ran toward the sound.

“No, guys… Wait!” Chuck called.

I heard Chuck, but Sam and Dean were too far ahead.

“What?” I asked. I stopped and faced him.

“It’s part of the convention. They’re starting the role-playing,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said and started to walk back the way we came. I grinned. “Sam and Dean are going to be pissed.”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah.”

“So tell me something. If you’re a prophet, didn’t you see us coming to this?” I asked.

“It doesn’t really work like that. I don’t see everything, and I certainly don’t have control over it.” He rubbed his face.

“Sorry, Sam and Dean didn’t tell me that much about you, and they never even mentioned the books. I’m actually very curious about reading them,” I said, feeling a little sorry for the guy. He seemed to be having a rough day.

“That’s okay,” he gave a small smile as reassurance. “I can give you a copy. You know, just because I’ll probably ruin your life with them, too.”

“Uh… yeah, thanks,” I said. “You’re—you’re not really going to write about me?”

“I don’t really have a choice when I get the visions. I don’t realize what I write until I wake up.”

I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “Oh… H-how far in advance do you usually see things?”

He shrugged, and we walked back to the bar, realizing Sam and Dean weren’t coming back down the way they came.

“I can’t really say. It varies.” He paused for a moment. “You are a little different than what I’m used to.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s sometimes hard to see you in my visions. It’s like I know you’re there—well, obviously you’re there because you’re now with Sam and Dean—but it’s… sometimes hard to make out what happens when you’re intricately involved.”

“Okay?” What?

“It’s like there are holes in the story when I write. Not big holes. Just small gaps where I can usually figure out what happened.”

“Why is that?” I wondered.

“Hell if I know. I don’t even know why me with all of this,” Chuck said, going to the bartender. “Want something?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks,” I said, still puzzled.

“Yellow Eye cocktail, please,” he told the bartender.

“Have you seen the part about the anam cara?” I asked.

The bartender handed him his drink. He sipped at it. “That was really sketchy for me. It means soul mates, right?”

“Y-yeah, pretty much. What do you mean sketchy?”

“That’s the thing. When I get visions like that, I don’t get the full thing like I used to. It’s like something is partially blocking you from me.”

“Now that is weird,” I mumbled. I sort of felt something—like a spirit had appeared nearby—but with all the people around me, it was hard to tell.

“Hey, is this hotel really haunted?” I asked.

“I think… I… Why? Do you see something?” Chuck asked, looking around.

“I’m not exactly Jennifer Love Hewitt. I thought I might have, but it’s hard to tell with everyone here. There are too many emotions tangled up.”

I noticed Sam and Dean walking into the room. They stopped and stared at a pair of themselves talking—or maybe acting out some lines from a book.

“There they are,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to go see what Becky’s up to,” Chuck said. “Excuse me.”

I smiled. I guessed he was a little intimidated by them, and I thought he had a thing for Becky.

Dean and Sam said something to each other and looked up at the bar. Seeing me, they started toward me.

“False alarm?” I asked as they settled in beside me.

“It was LARPing,” Dean said, then ordered his drink.

“LARPing?” I asked.

He grinned. “Live action role-playing.”

“And do you LARP often?” I hoped I used that term right.

He gulped his shot down. “No.”

Sam stared at his beer.

“Did you know this hotel is supposed to be really haunted?” I asked.

“Is that right?” Dean asked. He looked around. “Oh wait. I see one.”

Dean leaned down over the bar toward a woman dressed clearly as a ghost.

“How are you doing?” he asked her.

“Busy,” the ghost replied, without looking up from her cell phone.

Dean being Dean, he continued, “Well, you sure look lovely tonight—especially for a dead chick.”

She still didn’t look up, and I held back a laugh.

“Buddy, I’ve heard that line seventeen times tonight, okay? And all from dudes wearing MacGyver jackets.”

She looked up and noticed Dean dressed just as she described. I held my mouth with my hand. Dean just stared at her, and she smiled.

“But you seem different,” she commented.

“How so?” he asked.

“Well, you don’t seem scared of women.”

He smirked and turned back to Sam and me. “The ghost seems fine. There’s a scavenger hunt going on. We can go find Leticia Gore and burn her bones. Win a gift card for the Sizzler.”

“Funny, Dean,” I said.

A commotion started behind the woman.

“For the last time, I’m not making this up, okay? She’s upstairs—a real live dead ghost,” the guy said.

“Told ya,” I whispered. Dean gave me a look, and we went over to the bickering fans.

“I’m sure it was just one of the ghost actors,” his friend was telling him.

“Who beat the hell out of me and then vanished?”

“You saw something?” Sam asked.

The guy turned to Sam. “This isn’t part of the game, jerk.” He turned back to his friend. “Look. I’m getting out of here, and you should do the same.”

The guy started to walk away.

“Alex, wait. Hey, come back!” his friend called after him.

“What do you think?” Sam asked.

“I don’t think that guy’s a good enough actor to be acting,” Dean replied. He turned to me. “Do you feel anything?”

I tried to reach out. “It’s hard to say. I think so. Probably more than one, if I’m right. But not down here—upstairs somewhere. There are just too many people, and with them being excited, it’s sort of hard to go through all of that.”

“Well, let’s see what we can find out,” Dean said.

WE WALKED TO THE FOYER where the hotel registry would be located. We passed by a group. The manager of the convention was saying, “Why yes, Agents Jagger and Richards, as manager of this fine establishment, I can assure you it is indeed haunted.”

We continued past them and went to the front desk.

“Excuse us, mind if we ask you a few questions?” Dean asked.

“Look, I don’t have time to play Star Wars, guys. Go ask the guy in the ascot,” the hotel manager said with some attitude.

Dean slid a fifty-dollar bill across the desk. “Actually, we ah… really want to talk to you.”

The manager looked at the bill. “Okay. You guys are really into this.”

“You have no idea,” Sam commented.

The manager took the fifty. “What do you want to know?”

“All this stuff they’re saying—this place being haunted, Leticia Gore. Any truth to it?”

“We generally don’t like to publicize this to… normal people… but yeah. In 1909, this place was called Gore Orphanage. Miss Gore killed four boys with a butcher knife, then offed herself.”

“And is tonight really her anniversary?” Dean asked.

“Yep. Guess your convention folks want authenticity.”

“There been any sightings?” Sam asked.

“Yep. Over the years, a few maids have quit, saying they heard the boys or saw them. A janitor even saw Miss Gore once.”

Dean questioned, “Where did Miss Gore carve up the kids?”

The manager was getting annoyed. “Look, I don’t want you stomping all over the joint. A lot of this place is off-limits to nerds.”

Dean slid another fifty across the desk.

The manager softly answered, “The attic.”

That explained the feelings I got upstairs—and there was more than one ghost. We walked away and headed toward the attic.

“Do you think they’ll cross over on their own?” Sam asked me.

“Heh, when do these things work out that easy?” I scoffed. “I might be able to get the boys, but if Miss Gore is still vengeful then…”

“We’ll fry her extra crispy,” Dean finished. “Here we go. The attic.”

Being away from all those people, I was able to sense things better. A spirit was up here. Maybe one of the boys? I told them as much, and we started to go through the attic.

“Great. We got a real ghost, and we got a bunch of dudes pretending to be us poking at it,” Dean complained.

“No way this ends well,” Sam agreed.

“Yeah, well, serves them right,” Dean muttered.

“Dean,” Sam chided.

“I’m just saying,” Dean said in defense.

“Guys, it’s coming. I think one of the little boys? He’s getting closer,” I interrupted.

Sam and Dean looked around with their flashlights.

“My mommy loves me.”

We turned around to find a little boy crouched in the corner, holding his head.

“I said my mommy loves me.”

“I’m sure she does,” Sam said uncomfortably.

I was about to talk to him when the little ghost child said, “My mommy loves me this much!” He removed his hands to reveal a scalped head. Then he disappeared.

They looked around.

“He’s gone.”

“That’s just sick,” Dean said. “We need to take this bitch out.”

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