Supernatural: Sing, Heavenly Muse
Title: Sing, Heavenly Muse
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Chuck, Clio (the muse), OCs
Genre: CRACK, humor, fandom!verse
Rating: PG-13 for Sexual Content and Language
Word Count: 2,649
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt #165 - Crushed. Beta’d by the glorious wutendeskind. This plot bunny came from the awesome coyotesuspect who mentioned it in a post and kindly allowed me to build it a home (after I demanded it, foaming at the mouth). The bunny was:
Sam and Dean have to hunt down a "muse" that's been sucking people dry by making them forget everything else (food, sleep, friends) in the name of their art. She/he/it could also randomly decide to ditch the artist and leave them feeling broken and depressed because ~zomg~! Their inspiration has disappeared.
Title taken from the opening of Milton’s Paradise Lost because it felt capital A Appropriate. This is also payback; my muse has been a total bitch so far this month. Also, as much as I wish I was making it up, the given location for Chuck’s house really is Kripke’s Hollow, so that’s where I *have* to set my story. Oh, and this is supposed to be set right after 4x18-it’s not future reconciliation fic, it is just not epic enough. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting something that’s making artists commit suicide. Can they find out how to stop it before it gets Chuck? Also, MOAR WINCEST WRITERS-BWHAHAH.
”This is not a case.”
“Dean, Chuck said-“
“I don’t care what Chuck said. Chuck’s kind of a whack job-even if he’s a whack job prophet. There’s no case here. He saw a girl kill herself. It happens! That does not make a case.”
“But Dean, Chuck only gets visions about things that have to do with us. It’s got to be a warning. There must be a reason she did it, it’s at least worth looking into.”
Another fifteen minutes of stubborn refusal and finally Dean agrees. The truth is: he doesn’t doubt that there’s a case if Chuck says there’s one. But Dean is tired of the things Chuck says coming true, none of it has turned out well for him. Dean just doesn’t want to know.
“No, nothing. She was just a normal student like anyone.”
“You’re sure she never acted strange, not even in the time leading up to her death?”
“Look, I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t know. I hadn’t seen her in weeks.”
“Were you and Jane fighting?”
“Nothing like that. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t just me. She hadn’t hung out with any of us in like, a month. I don’t know what happened. At first we thought she was trying to ditch us but then we heard from her roommate that she never went out anymore, not even to eat. Jane was always a good artist, but she was kind of lazy. Kim said she started painting nonstop out of nowhere.”
“And you don’t know of anything that could have made her want to kill herself? Nothing at home or on campus, maybe?”
“There was another suicide about a week ago, some guy named Peter. He was in a few of her classes, but I don’t think they were close. It’s a small school, though; everyone was kind of shaken up, but I can’t imagine it upsetting her that much.”
“Do you know his last name?”
“Thompson, I think. Anything else, officer?”
“No, we’ll let you know if we need to talk to you again. Thanks.”
Sam nods at the purple-haired art student and the girl takes her cue to leave.
“Well, I guess we have to find out about this Thompson kid, now,” Dean sighs. It’s pretty obvious from the one interview alone that there’s something going on after all.
“I guess so.”
Unsurprisingly, Peter’s story is about the same. According to his roommate, he had been feeling pretty down on his sculptures ever since his girlfriend had dumped him and, all of a sudden, all he wanted to do was make art. He had even begun to be recognized by the local off-campus artistic community and had been offered a chance to show some pieces at one of the most prestigious art exhibits in the county. He was not in the kind of situation people usually killed themselves over.
“So what, these people produce themselves to death? Do you think it was like that family that had been touched by sloth only in reverse? Some weird demon of productivity?”
“I don’t know, Sam. They’re not dying because of the productivity, neither of them starved to death or dropped from exhaustion. They killed themselves.”
“Alright, let’s see if there are any other suicides in town and figure out if we can make sense of it.”
Eight suicides in the last two weeks are far too many for a hippie art town the size of Kripke’s Hollow. Sam and Dean have no clue what’s causing it, but it is pretty clear something supernatural is going on. All of the victims were artists of some kind: the two art students, a ballet instructor, a writer of children’s books, two members of the same band (one was a drummer, the other played bass), and a singer/songwriter who had just been signed the week before her death.
Only one victim doesn’t fit pattern; a med student home for break named Daphne Graves. Her parents insist that she had absolutely no artistic bent whatsoever, that she had nearly broken their hearts when she left home to study medicine. Sam is sure she’s the key to figuring out the whole case, so he insists they go back to her house after the parents leave for work the next day instead of dismissing it as a genuine, unrelated suicide.
“Should we check her laptop?” Dean asks as soon as they walk into the girl’s room and Sam nods distantly.
“Just let me know if it needs to be hacked,” he replies, distracted as he shuffles through her school notes.
Daphne’s computer isn’t password protected, so it’s still Dean sitting at the laptop when the wallpaper pops up. He makes a shocked sound and Sam looks up.
“What happened?”
“Daphne’s a fan,” Dean says, exasperated.
“A fan of wha-oh.”
Dean turns the laptop to face his brother and Sam sees an admittedly well-drawn image of what he can tell is supposed to be him and his brother, if the tattoos on their bare chests are any indication.
“Well, that’s just lovely.” Sam turns back to the papers he was looking through as if they’re actually likely to be useful and uses them to hide his face. He’s blushing because, well, he’s a little turned on. At any rate, he is definitely planning to try that position if he and Dean ever have sex again (it’s been a month and a half now and Sam is getting worried).
“Oh God, no way. Dude, she has a folder called ‘fandom’.”
“Will you leave that stuff alone and try to be useful?”
“This could be useful.” Sam hears Dean clicking into the file.
“Writing folder.” Dean clicks. “Wincest.” another click. “Bingo. I’ve discovered our mystery talent, Sam.”
“That doesn’t count, Dean. Writing creepy stuff about something someone else thought up does not an artist make.”
“And you’re some authority on the matter?” Dean scoffs defensively. Sam decides the best policy is to ignore him and find the girl’s real hidden talent.
Forty five minutes later, Sam still has nothing, but Dean has been surprisingly quiet.
“Did you have an aneurism?”
“Shut up, Sam, I’m finally getting to the good part.”
“WHAT?”
“The story, Sam. This stuff is genuinely good. I mean, great even. Come read some. It may be creepy, but the kid had talent.”
“Dean, you can’t be reading that! It’s about us for crying out loud.”
“Seriously, if you’re not going to read it, give me a few minutes. This sex scene is going to be incredible.”
“Dean, seriously? Seriously?”
“Remember the night after the bank robbing shape-shifter? With the SWAT outfits?”
“Mmm, that was hot,” Sam muses before realizing what he’s agreeing to. “That doesn’t change the fact that you can’t be reading it.
“It didn’t quite happen like this, do you think it would be unethical to make changes? I mean, the real thing was hotter.”
“Would you listen to yourself? You are editing a dead girl’s porn about us.”
“It’s not editing. It’s betaing.”
“What?”
“I’m just leaving her notes.”
“How do you even know that?”
Dean blushes.
“She saves her e-mails in her fandom folder, too,” Dean replies evasively. “I can totally get this to her beta and have her post it.”
Sam glares.
“I can also tell you why she killed herself and how it all happened, but since it’s such a problem that I’m wasting my time on this…”
“Alright, alright, point taken. Will you please just tell me so we can get out of here?”
“Well, she’s got like twenty different people she’s talking to at once about all of her issues. Her beta and her have been e-mailing back and forth for months, it looks like about three weeks ago, Daphne, samordeath as her friends know her, suddenly got about a million plot bunnies and just could not stop writing them. She wrote like 75,000 words last week alone and according to hesmybrother669, it’s all been the best stuff she’s ever written. I believe it, too. The little I’ve looked at has been some quality stuff.”
“What’s a plot bunny?”
“It’s not important. Point is, two days before her suicide, Daphne started sending these desperate e-mails to anyone and everyone. She’s got awful writer’s block, she can’t get a word down on paper, she’s crushed. She says she has nothing to live for if her art fails her and it gets worse with every e-mail. She’s already pretty desperate; I can see how this state-of-mind would lead to suicide in a few hours.”
“Ok, so this case is officially too weird for me.”
Bobby has nothing, which basically never happens. He promises to see what he can dig up and Sam and Dean decide the best way to go at this point is to talk to Chuck and see if he’s had anymore prophetic dreams.
“Hello?”
The first thing Sam and Dean notice is that Chuck is in a worse mood than usual. He’s even less put-together than the first time they met, his house looks like a wreck behind him, and he smells like something’s rotting. He’s hostile before he even sees them, and they don’t improve his mood.
“Look, guys, it’s not a good time. I’m having an epiphany, okay?”
Chuck begins to close the door on them and Sam stops it with one giant hand.
“That’s what we’re here to talk about. Did you have another vision?”
“No, I did not have another vision,” Chuck replies testily. “I am writing original fiction of my own invention, thanks very much. Not everything is about you guys.”
Again he attempts to close the door but is no match for Sam.
“I didn’t know you wrote anything else?”
“I didn’t know writing about you guys was more like taking history notes than being a real author. Now I have to prove myself, and I have a limited time on Earth to do it, so if you wouldn’t mind.”
This time Sam is too thrown to stop him from slamming the door.
“Hey Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it just me, or does Chuck seem to be-“
“Yeah, I don’t think that vision he called us about was a warning for us. I think it was a warning for him.”
As Sam and Dean make their way back to the side walk, they see a pretty brunette approaching the house with a large basket.
“Good morning, there, are you boys friends of Chuck’s?”
“Kind of, are you here to see him? Because he’s not really a ray of sunshine today.”
The girl throws her head back in a happy, musical laugh.
“He’s been like that all week! I live next door. We-my sisters and I-got so worried when he didn’t leave the house for four days that I came to check on him. I’ve been bringing him some snacks ever since, otherwise I don’t think he would be eating. I’m Clio, by the way. And you are?”
“I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam. We’d sure love to talk to you about Chuck if it’s not too much trouble? We’re awfully worried about him ourselves.”
“Of course, let me just give him the basket and we can talk over at my house.”
Dean was completely charmed by Clio, but Sam was suspicious. Chuck had greeted her pretty warmly compared to the reception they’d gotten and something about her was just…off.
“You said you live here with your sisters?” Dean asked, taking a generous sip of lemonade.
“Yes, the other girls are out working. I’m taking the day off, I guess you could say. And you boys? Are you artists like most of the people around here?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Hmm, that’s a shame. But I know you’re telling the truth, otherwise you’d be acting pretty differently right about now.”
“Why’s that?”
“The lemonade, boys. I would have expected you to know better, but no harm done. You’re not ours, so we can’t affect you. Still, you have no business here. You’re wasting your time trying to solve this case, you can’t hunt us. Chuck is mine; you aren’t going to save him.”
“Clio!” Sam says as if he’s just been hit over the head with a bat. “You’re the muse of history.”
“Yes, and Chuck is a great historian. He’s dying for his art and he’s going to produce some of the greatest works of our time.”
“Then why are you going to kill him?”
“I can’t stick to one person forever! It hurts me, you know, crushing my children by leaving them, but I have to move on, inspire others. All of us do.”
“Your sisters, they’re the other muses? That’s why all kinds of artists have been dropping since you got here?”
“Outstanding! Are you sure you aren’t interested in history, Sam? I could make you great.”
“Try and do whatever you do to Sam and I’ll ventilate you so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
“You can’t, dear. There’s no way to kill a muse, and besides, if I die, so does my art. You can’t really believe that would be very beneficial to anyone.”
“So what, you’re going to keep killing people?”
“We’re almost done here. Once every thousand or so years, we just have too much inspiration. We have to get rid of it, so we hype a few people up to the point where they become nothing but their art, and then when we’re back to normal levels, we move on. We each only kill one person, and besides, what would artists be without something to mourn?”
“That’s all fine and well, but you can’t kill Chuck. If you leave him like this, I promise someone’s going to end you.”
“And that someone would be you, hot stuff?”
“No, that someone would be an archangel. Chuck’s not just recording history freakishly fast, lady. He’s a prophet.”
Clio’s mouth hangs open for a long minute.
“Shit,” she finally manages to choke out.
“So if there’s any way to reverse what you’ve started, I’d get on that, and I’d clear out of this town and get back to normal inspiration levels, just in case the angels are already ticked off at you. After all, you’ve got him writing something that’s not about us-“
“Which we actually appreciate,” Sam interjects.
“-and that’s not what they want him to be doing.”
“I can make him go back to normal. My sisters and I are mostly done here. If I go, do you promise to protect us from the angels?”
“As much as we can,” Dean promises.
“Then I’ll leave. Once I’m gone, my sisters will follow me.”
“Ok, but before you go, I have a question. You’re the muse of history?”
“Yes.”
“And someone else deals with creative fiction, right?”
“Obviously.”
“So then why did you make Chuck start writing his own stuff?”
“Chuck’s writing a novelistic retelling of The War of the Roses, he just doesn’t know it because he never studied it.”
Like that she was gone, Kripke’s Hollow was saved, and Sam and Dean got to amuse themselves by breaking the news to Chuck that he could not get out of the nonfiction box, even when his visions were hundreds of years late. Chuck had taken it pretty well, thanking them for saving him and going off to shower for the first time in over a week. Sam and Dean returned to their motel to try out some of the suggestions they’d gotten from their deceased fan, and the Supernatural community mourned the loss of one of its greatest writers.
“It’s such a shame,” deansother_ride was later heard telling w1ncestvampliz at a convention. “That last story was the best thing she ever wrote. I mean, that sex scene? That was totally how it happened.”
[2]
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Chuck, Clio (the muse), OCs
Genre: CRACK, humor, fandom!verse
Rating: PG-13 for Sexual Content and Language
Word Count: 2,649
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt #165 - Crushed. Beta’d by the glorious wutendeskind. This plot bunny came from the awesome coyotesuspect who mentioned it in a post and kindly allowed me to build it a home (after I demanded it, foaming at the mouth). The bunny was:
Sam and Dean have to hunt down a "muse" that's been sucking people dry by making them forget everything else (food, sleep, friends) in the name of their art. She/he/it could also randomly decide to ditch the artist and leave them feeling broken and depressed because ~zomg~! Their inspiration has disappeared.
Title taken from the opening of Milton’s Paradise Lost because it felt capital A Appropriate. This is also payback; my muse has been a total bitch so far this month. Also, as much as I wish I was making it up, the given location for Chuck’s house really is Kripke’s Hollow, so that’s where I *have* to set my story. Oh, and this is supposed to be set right after 4x18-it’s not future reconciliation fic, it is just not epic enough. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting something that’s making artists commit suicide. Can they find out how to stop it before it gets Chuck? Also, MOAR WINCEST WRITERS-BWHAHAH.
”This is not a case.”
“Dean, Chuck said-“
“I don’t care what Chuck said. Chuck’s kind of a whack job-even if he’s a whack job prophet. There’s no case here. He saw a girl kill herself. It happens! That does not make a case.”
“But Dean, Chuck only gets visions about things that have to do with us. It’s got to be a warning. There must be a reason she did it, it’s at least worth looking into.”
Another fifteen minutes of stubborn refusal and finally Dean agrees. The truth is: he doesn’t doubt that there’s a case if Chuck says there’s one. But Dean is tired of the things Chuck says coming true, none of it has turned out well for him. Dean just doesn’t want to know.
“No, nothing. She was just a normal student like anyone.”
“You’re sure she never acted strange, not even in the time leading up to her death?”
“Look, I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t know. I hadn’t seen her in weeks.”
“Were you and Jane fighting?”
“Nothing like that. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t just me. She hadn’t hung out with any of us in like, a month. I don’t know what happened. At first we thought she was trying to ditch us but then we heard from her roommate that she never went out anymore, not even to eat. Jane was always a good artist, but she was kind of lazy. Kim said she started painting nonstop out of nowhere.”
“And you don’t know of anything that could have made her want to kill herself? Nothing at home or on campus, maybe?”
“There was another suicide about a week ago, some guy named Peter. He was in a few of her classes, but I don’t think they were close. It’s a small school, though; everyone was kind of shaken up, but I can’t imagine it upsetting her that much.”
“Do you know his last name?”
“Thompson, I think. Anything else, officer?”
“No, we’ll let you know if we need to talk to you again. Thanks.”
Sam nods at the purple-haired art student and the girl takes her cue to leave.
“Well, I guess we have to find out about this Thompson kid, now,” Dean sighs. It’s pretty obvious from the one interview alone that there’s something going on after all.
“I guess so.”
Unsurprisingly, Peter’s story is about the same. According to his roommate, he had been feeling pretty down on his sculptures ever since his girlfriend had dumped him and, all of a sudden, all he wanted to do was make art. He had even begun to be recognized by the local off-campus artistic community and had been offered a chance to show some pieces at one of the most prestigious art exhibits in the county. He was not in the kind of situation people usually killed themselves over.
“So what, these people produce themselves to death? Do you think it was like that family that had been touched by sloth only in reverse? Some weird demon of productivity?”
“I don’t know, Sam. They’re not dying because of the productivity, neither of them starved to death or dropped from exhaustion. They killed themselves.”
“Alright, let’s see if there are any other suicides in town and figure out if we can make sense of it.”
Eight suicides in the last two weeks are far too many for a hippie art town the size of Kripke’s Hollow. Sam and Dean have no clue what’s causing it, but it is pretty clear something supernatural is going on. All of the victims were artists of some kind: the two art students, a ballet instructor, a writer of children’s books, two members of the same band (one was a drummer, the other played bass), and a singer/songwriter who had just been signed the week before her death.
Only one victim doesn’t fit pattern; a med student home for break named Daphne Graves. Her parents insist that she had absolutely no artistic bent whatsoever, that she had nearly broken their hearts when she left home to study medicine. Sam is sure she’s the key to figuring out the whole case, so he insists they go back to her house after the parents leave for work the next day instead of dismissing it as a genuine, unrelated suicide.
“Should we check her laptop?” Dean asks as soon as they walk into the girl’s room and Sam nods distantly.
“Just let me know if it needs to be hacked,” he replies, distracted as he shuffles through her school notes.
Daphne’s computer isn’t password protected, so it’s still Dean sitting at the laptop when the wallpaper pops up. He makes a shocked sound and Sam looks up.
“What happened?”
“Daphne’s a fan,” Dean says, exasperated.
“A fan of wha-oh.”
Dean turns the laptop to face his brother and Sam sees an admittedly well-drawn image of what he can tell is supposed to be him and his brother, if the tattoos on their bare chests are any indication.
“Well, that’s just lovely.” Sam turns back to the papers he was looking through as if they’re actually likely to be useful and uses them to hide his face. He’s blushing because, well, he’s a little turned on. At any rate, he is definitely planning to try that position if he and Dean ever have sex again (it’s been a month and a half now and Sam is getting worried).
“Oh God, no way. Dude, she has a folder called ‘fandom’.”
“Will you leave that stuff alone and try to be useful?”
“This could be useful.” Sam hears Dean clicking into the file.
“Writing folder.” Dean clicks. “Wincest.” another click. “Bingo. I’ve discovered our mystery talent, Sam.”
“That doesn’t count, Dean. Writing creepy stuff about something someone else thought up does not an artist make.”
“And you’re some authority on the matter?” Dean scoffs defensively. Sam decides the best policy is to ignore him and find the girl’s real hidden talent.
Forty five minutes later, Sam still has nothing, but Dean has been surprisingly quiet.
“Did you have an aneurism?”
“Shut up, Sam, I’m finally getting to the good part.”
“WHAT?”
“The story, Sam. This stuff is genuinely good. I mean, great even. Come read some. It may be creepy, but the kid had talent.”
“Dean, you can’t be reading that! It’s about us for crying out loud.”
“Seriously, if you’re not going to read it, give me a few minutes. This sex scene is going to be incredible.”
“Dean, seriously? Seriously?”
“Remember the night after the bank robbing shape-shifter? With the SWAT outfits?”
“Mmm, that was hot,” Sam muses before realizing what he’s agreeing to. “That doesn’t change the fact that you can’t be reading it.
“It didn’t quite happen like this, do you think it would be unethical to make changes? I mean, the real thing was hotter.”
“Would you listen to yourself? You are editing a dead girl’s porn about us.”
“It’s not editing. It’s betaing.”
“What?”
“I’m just leaving her notes.”
“How do you even know that?”
Dean blushes.
“She saves her e-mails in her fandom folder, too,” Dean replies evasively. “I can totally get this to her beta and have her post it.”
Sam glares.
“I can also tell you why she killed herself and how it all happened, but since it’s such a problem that I’m wasting my time on this…”
“Alright, alright, point taken. Will you please just tell me so we can get out of here?”
“Well, she’s got like twenty different people she’s talking to at once about all of her issues. Her beta and her have been e-mailing back and forth for months, it looks like about three weeks ago, Daphne, samordeath as her friends know her, suddenly got about a million plot bunnies and just could not stop writing them. She wrote like 75,000 words last week alone and according to hesmybrother669, it’s all been the best stuff she’s ever written. I believe it, too. The little I’ve looked at has been some quality stuff.”
“What’s a plot bunny?”
“It’s not important. Point is, two days before her suicide, Daphne started sending these desperate e-mails to anyone and everyone. She’s got awful writer’s block, she can’t get a word down on paper, she’s crushed. She says she has nothing to live for if her art fails her and it gets worse with every e-mail. She’s already pretty desperate; I can see how this state-of-mind would lead to suicide in a few hours.”
“Ok, so this case is officially too weird for me.”
Bobby has nothing, which basically never happens. He promises to see what he can dig up and Sam and Dean decide the best way to go at this point is to talk to Chuck and see if he’s had anymore prophetic dreams.
“Hello?”
The first thing Sam and Dean notice is that Chuck is in a worse mood than usual. He’s even less put-together than the first time they met, his house looks like a wreck behind him, and he smells like something’s rotting. He’s hostile before he even sees them, and they don’t improve his mood.
“Look, guys, it’s not a good time. I’m having an epiphany, okay?”
Chuck begins to close the door on them and Sam stops it with one giant hand.
“That’s what we’re here to talk about. Did you have another vision?”
“No, I did not have another vision,” Chuck replies testily. “I am writing original fiction of my own invention, thanks very much. Not everything is about you guys.”
Again he attempts to close the door but is no match for Sam.
“I didn’t know you wrote anything else?”
“I didn’t know writing about you guys was more like taking history notes than being a real author. Now I have to prove myself, and I have a limited time on Earth to do it, so if you wouldn’t mind.”
This time Sam is too thrown to stop him from slamming the door.
“Hey Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it just me, or does Chuck seem to be-“
“Yeah, I don’t think that vision he called us about was a warning for us. I think it was a warning for him.”
As Sam and Dean make their way back to the side walk, they see a pretty brunette approaching the house with a large basket.
“Good morning, there, are you boys friends of Chuck’s?”
“Kind of, are you here to see him? Because he’s not really a ray of sunshine today.”
The girl throws her head back in a happy, musical laugh.
“He’s been like that all week! I live next door. We-my sisters and I-got so worried when he didn’t leave the house for four days that I came to check on him. I’ve been bringing him some snacks ever since, otherwise I don’t think he would be eating. I’m Clio, by the way. And you are?”
“I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam. We’d sure love to talk to you about Chuck if it’s not too much trouble? We’re awfully worried about him ourselves.”
“Of course, let me just give him the basket and we can talk over at my house.”
Dean was completely charmed by Clio, but Sam was suspicious. Chuck had greeted her pretty warmly compared to the reception they’d gotten and something about her was just…off.
“You said you live here with your sisters?” Dean asked, taking a generous sip of lemonade.
“Yes, the other girls are out working. I’m taking the day off, I guess you could say. And you boys? Are you artists like most of the people around here?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Hmm, that’s a shame. But I know you’re telling the truth, otherwise you’d be acting pretty differently right about now.”
“Why’s that?”
“The lemonade, boys. I would have expected you to know better, but no harm done. You’re not ours, so we can’t affect you. Still, you have no business here. You’re wasting your time trying to solve this case, you can’t hunt us. Chuck is mine; you aren’t going to save him.”
“Clio!” Sam says as if he’s just been hit over the head with a bat. “You’re the muse of history.”
“Yes, and Chuck is a great historian. He’s dying for his art and he’s going to produce some of the greatest works of our time.”
“Then why are you going to kill him?”
“I can’t stick to one person forever! It hurts me, you know, crushing my children by leaving them, but I have to move on, inspire others. All of us do.”
“Your sisters, they’re the other muses? That’s why all kinds of artists have been dropping since you got here?”
“Outstanding! Are you sure you aren’t interested in history, Sam? I could make you great.”
“Try and do whatever you do to Sam and I’ll ventilate you so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
“You can’t, dear. There’s no way to kill a muse, and besides, if I die, so does my art. You can’t really believe that would be very beneficial to anyone.”
“So what, you’re going to keep killing people?”
“We’re almost done here. Once every thousand or so years, we just have too much inspiration. We have to get rid of it, so we hype a few people up to the point where they become nothing but their art, and then when we’re back to normal levels, we move on. We each only kill one person, and besides, what would artists be without something to mourn?”
“That’s all fine and well, but you can’t kill Chuck. If you leave him like this, I promise someone’s going to end you.”
“And that someone would be you, hot stuff?”
“No, that someone would be an archangel. Chuck’s not just recording history freakishly fast, lady. He’s a prophet.”
Clio’s mouth hangs open for a long minute.
“Shit,” she finally manages to choke out.
“So if there’s any way to reverse what you’ve started, I’d get on that, and I’d clear out of this town and get back to normal inspiration levels, just in case the angels are already ticked off at you. After all, you’ve got him writing something that’s not about us-“
“Which we actually appreciate,” Sam interjects.
“-and that’s not what they want him to be doing.”
“I can make him go back to normal. My sisters and I are mostly done here. If I go, do you promise to protect us from the angels?”
“As much as we can,” Dean promises.
“Then I’ll leave. Once I’m gone, my sisters will follow me.”
“Ok, but before you go, I have a question. You’re the muse of history?”
“Yes.”
“And someone else deals with creative fiction, right?”
“Obviously.”
“So then why did you make Chuck start writing his own stuff?”
“Chuck’s writing a novelistic retelling of The War of the Roses, he just doesn’t know it because he never studied it.”
Like that she was gone, Kripke’s Hollow was saved, and Sam and Dean got to amuse themselves by breaking the news to Chuck that he could not get out of the nonfiction box, even when his visions were hundreds of years late. Chuck had taken it pretty well, thanking them for saving him and going off to shower for the first time in over a week. Sam and Dean returned to their motel to try out some of the suggestions they’d gotten from their deceased fan, and the Supernatural community mourned the loss of one of its greatest writers.
“It’s such a shame,” deansother_ride was later heard telling w1ncestvampliz at a convention. “That last story was the best thing she ever wrote. I mean, that sex scene? That was totally how it happened.”
[2]