The publisher's house was a bizarre mix of antique gothic décor and a shrine to both Supernatural and Fighter, with posters, figurines, and memorabilia plastered all over the walls. Nadia could feel the woman's unease as they stepped inside, the weight of skepticism hanging in the air.

"So, you published the Supernatural books?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual as he glanced at the shelves, which were overflowing with Supernatural volumes.

"Yep. Yeah," the woman said, her eyes flicking between them as she gestured to the entire series. "Gosh. These books... you know, they never really got the attention they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You know, Doctor Sexy, M.D.? Please."

"Right," Nadia agreed, playing along. "Well, we were hoping our article could shine a light on how underrated it is."

The woman's eyes widened in excitement, her short hair bouncing as she quickly moved toward her desk. "Yeah, yeah! If we got some good press, maybe, just maybe, we could start publishing again." Her voice cracked slightly as she clutched the edge of the desk. "I mean, these books have a real story to tell!"

"No, no, no, no. God, no," Dean blurted out without thinking.

She froze, her face dropping. "What?" she asked, the hopeful expression on her face quickly turning to confusion.

Dean quickly caught himself, taking a few steps forward. "I mean, why—why would you want to do that? It's... uh, such a complete series. You know, with Dean going to hell and all."

"Oh my god!" The woman began to get emotional, clasping her hands to her chest as tears welled up. "That was one of my favorites! Dean was so... strong, and sad, and brave. And Sam..." She shook her head, her voice breaking. "I mean, the best parts were when they'd cry. You know, like in Heart, when Sam had to kill Madison, the first woman since Jessica he really loved."

Dean shot a glance at Sam, who couldn't suppress his eye-roll.

"And in Home, when Dean had to call John and ask him for help..." She trailed off, her voice shaking as she turned away from them, dabbing at her eyes.

"What the—?" Dean mouthed to Sam, his brow furrowing. He looked over at Nadia, who was staring at the woman with undisguised distaste.

The publisher wiped her eyes, oblivious to their discomfort. "Gosh, if only real men were so open and in touch with their feelings."

"Real men?" Dean raised an eyebrow, the edge of his voice sharp with disbelief.

She turned back toward him, her tone now slightly judgmental. "I mean, no offense, but -

She narrowed her eyes. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Honey, this whole thing is funny," Nadia muttered, losing her patience. She felt a knot tighten in her chest. They'd come to solve a case, but instead, they were stuck talking to someone obsessed with their lives in a way that felt borderline invasive. "You want to know if we're legit?"

The woman shifted her gaze, crossing her arms defensively. "Of course. I don't want any smart-ass article making fun of my boys."

"Your boys?" Nadia chuckled lightly, raising an eyebrow at the possessiveness in the publisher's tone. "Fine, I get it." She sighed, leaning against the desk. "Ask us anything."

"Okay, okay," the woman said, settling into her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "What's the year and model of the car?"

"It's a 1967 Chevy Impala," Dean answered, clearly amused at how easily this was about to go.

"What kind of pistol does Nadia—"

"Beretta 92 FS," Nadia cut in, not even giving her a chance to finish. "It's gold, flower-engraved, and has a CNA charm in memory of her mother."

The publisher looked impressed but didn't miss a beat. "Dean's favorite song?"

Dean smirked, obviously enjoying this.

"It's a tie. Between Led Zeppelin's Ramble On and Traveling Riverside Blues."

The woman smiled in satisfaction, clearly pleased with their responses. "Okay. Okay, you're definitely the real deal. What do you want to know?"

Sam took a deep breath. "What's Carver Edlund's real name?"

The publisher's face immediately fell, her eager expression replaced by a guarded look. "Oh, no. I—No. Sorry, I can't do that."

"We just want to talk to him," Sam pleaded. "You know, get the Supernatural and Fighter story in his own words."

She shook her head quickly. "He's very private. It's like... like Salinger. He keeps to himself."

"Please," Sam pressed, his voice softening. "Like I said, we're, um..." He unbuttons his shirt, cringing as he reveals the demon-protection tattoo on his chest. "...Big fans."

Dean stared at him, deadpan for a moment. He didn't want to do it, but when the woman looked at him expectantly, he had no choice. With a sigh, he pulled his collar down slightly, revealing the tattoo on his shoulder.

Nadia fought an eye roll, and pulled her jacket off her shoulder, tugging down her collar to reveal the tattoo on her upper back.

The publisher's eyes gleamed as she leaned forward, licking her lips with a grin. "Awesome," she giggled, her tone dripping with excitement. "You know what?" Without warning, she stood, yanked her pants down, and propped her pale ass up on the desk to reveal an anti-possession tattoo.

"You've got to be joking," Nadia muttered, her face a mask of incredulity. The boys were too stunned to look away.

Nadia elbowed Dean in the gut, making him look away with a sniff of his nose.

Excited that she wasn't the only one with a fan obsession, the publisher grabbed a sticky note and scribbled something down. "Okay. His name's Chuck Shurley. And he's a genius, so... don't piss him off."

Nadia stared at the sticky note for a moment, her mind racing. "Chuck Shurley..." she repeated, processing the name.

It felt like déjà vu the minute they turned onto Chuck's street. Nadia couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been here before, driven past these houses, and seen this exact neighborhood. Even Chuck's house felt oddly familiar. It was a brown two-story with black accents, the front yard a disheveled mess.

The grass was dead, the trees and shrubs scattered in all the wrong places, their twisted forms littering the yard like debris. A motorcycle leaned on its side next to the stairs, and the mailbox beside the front door was overflowing with unopened letters.

Nadia stood frozen in the driveway, staring up at the house, squinting, trying to tap into some long-buried memory. It hurt—literally. A sharp, aching pain in her head, as if something was blocking her from seeing it. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose with a quiet sigh.

"Robin," Dean said, gently touching her arm. "What's wrong?"

"This place... it's familiar. But every time I try to think about it, my head aches." She shut her eyes again, her frustration mounting.

Sam was standing on the porch, waiting patiently, his eyes fixed on Nadia.

"Well, stop thinking about it," Dean said, voice light, though he looked concerned.

She shot him a glare.

"For now, I mean," he quickly amended. "Let's meet the guy first. Maybe something will come to you. Okay?"

Nadia nodded, though her thoughts were still tangled. She followed the boys onto the porch, her eyes briefly lingering on the yard.

"You okay?" Sam asked softly.

She just nodded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Dean rang the doorbell.

A man answered, wearing a striped robe, a wife-beater, and underwear. His brown curly hair was a mess, and his scruffy beard suggested he hadn't bothered to shave in days—probably hadn't showered either, judging by the smell that wafted out as he opened the door.

He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the door, then blinked in confusion as he focused on Nadia. His gaze faltered, and he gulped.

Nadia tilted her head, trying to place him. He looked familiar, but she couldn't connect the dots.

"You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asked.

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the Fighter and Supernatural books?" Sam added.

Chuck squinted again, this time avoiding Nadia's eyes entirely.

Dean stepped forward, introducing them. "I'm Dean. This is Sam, and that's Nadia. The ones you've been writing about."

Without warning, Chuck closes the door in their faces.

"Should have expected that," Sam muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat, glancing at Dean, who rang the doorbell again.

Chuck opened the door once more. "Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do. It's nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life."

Dean stopped him from closing the door. "See, here's the thing. We have a life. You've been using it to write your books." He shoved the door open, sending Chuck stumbling backward.

The boys pushed past him and invited themselves in. Nadia hesitated for a moment, then stepped over the threshold, her gaze flicking to the white staircase ahead of her.

As she followed the boys, she couldn't shake the strange, unsettling feeling that she had been here before. She eyed the house skeptically, taking in its cluttered, lived-in feel as they forced Chuck into the living room.

"Now, wait a minute. This isn't funny," Chuck said, his voice trembling as he glanced around in panic.

"Damn straight, it's not funny," Dean spat, his expression hard.

Sam, ever the calm one, took over. "Look, we just want to know how you're doing it."

"I'm not doing anything," Chuck said quickly, backing up a step.

"Are you a hunter?" Dean asked, advancing on him.

Chuck laughed, incredulous. "What? No. I'm a writer."

"Then how do you know so much about demons?" Dean pressed. "And Tulpas, and changelings?"

Chuck backed into the couch, tripping over the arm in his terror. "Is this some kind of Misery thing?" he asked, his voice rising. "Ah, it is, isn't it?" His eyes grew wide as he started to panic. "It's a Misery thing!"

"It's not a Misery thing," Nadia said calmly, stepping forward. She gently pulled Dean back by the shoulder, her gaze fixed on Chuck. "We're not fans, Chuck. We are far from it."

Chuck was momentarily silent, taking in her words. "Well, then, what do you want?" he asked, his voice filled with both fear and confusion.

"This is Sam," Nadia said, gesturing to him. "That's Dean, and I'm Nadia."

"Sam, Nadia, and Dean are fictional characters." Chuck shook his head. "I made them up! They're not real!"

Nadia exchanged a quick glance with the boys, a silent communication between them. They both seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Get up," Dean said, grabbing Chuck by the arm.

"W-where are you taking me?" Chuck asked, his voice shaky.

"Shut up," Dean muttered, dragging him outside.

When they reached the Impala, Dean popped open the trunk and showed Chuck the arsenal inside.

"Yup," Dean said, nodding as he pointed to the weapons. "This is real rock salt, and these," he gestured to a few fake IDs, "are real fake IDs."

Chuck gasped. "No way..." Then, a nervous laugh escaped his lips. "Well, I've got to hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans."

Nadia watched Chuck, taking in every inch of him, skeptically. Her gaze found his wrist, where she noticed something. a beaded friendship bracelet.

Her stomach dropped as the memories tried to surface, but the wall was still there. She could feel it, but couldn't break through. She squinted, trying to focus on it, but before she could say anything, Chuck quickly pulled his sleeve down, hiding it. His face flushed, and he took a few cautious steps back.

"That's... that's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house."

"Chuck, stop," Nadia said, stepping forward as Dean slammed the trunk down.

"Please... wait," Chuck begged, his arms outstretched in front of him. "Please, don't hurt me."

"How much do you know?" Sam asked, his voice low and serious. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

Chuck furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute. How do you know about that?"

"The question is, how do you?" Dean retorted, his voice sharp.

"Because I wrote it," Chuck said, almost sheepishly.

"You kept writing?" Nadia asked, her voice soft with disbelief.

"Yeah," Chuck nodded, his face darkening. "Even after the publisher went bankrupt. But those books never came out."

The three of them exchanged a look, stunned into silence.

"Okay, wait a minute," Chuck said with a nervous laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did Phil put you up to this?"

Dean licked his lips, glancing at the others before stepping forward. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam, and this is my girlfriend Nadia Turner."

Chuck looked at Nadia; she gave a small, casual wave. His jaw dropped, and for the first time, he seemed to realize that something was deeply wrong.

"The last names were never in the books," he murmured. "I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down."

Nadia's eyes flashed, glowing with a faint, otherworldly light. Chuck's eyes bulged in shock.