#insufferable snob katie hopkins

[butiaintgonnaloveem]

One for the Tropey Case

Characters: Sam, Dean, The Reader, others - just go with it

Warnings: SNARK, language

Word Count: Approx. 3k

A/N: Friends, I write this with nothing but love. I’ve been inspired by my dear friend (and Tumblr Wife - it’s legit) @seenashwrite and her Nope saga. You should also read this one. My mind just kind of went off the rails, won’t you come with me? I hope this jump starts me back into writing, I’ve been feeling pretty out of it lately. This is also hopefully acceptable for @kathaswings Lina’s Chiliad Challenge. Thanks for the bonus time. Love me some feedback and all that constructive criticism, too!

A hole would be something, but this was nothing...

“I think we’re good to hide out in here for a while. Man, I needed a break, I’m telling you all this Valentine’s Day stuff is killing me. I’ve been Mr. Right Now more than my body can handle, I’m getting dehydrated…” The deep voice echoes off the ragged rock walls.

“Dean, shut up. You hear that? Hello?”

I glance around in the near darkness trying to locate the source before I call back, “Hello?”

Footfalls tap along the damp floor, growing louder as they move closer. “Yo! Someone there?”

A gentle light illuminates the area as they move closer. I recognize them immediately, a nervous grin making my lips twitch as I lean against the car.

They glare at me, eyes scanning for anything suspicious.

“It’s not my fault,” I defend, throwing my hands up in the air. “I don’t know what this is either.”

“The Upsidedown?” Sam suggests.

“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean sneers, eyes scanning the shadows around us.

“Is that...you?” I direct them to look at a rough painting on the wall.

It’s primitive, but still clear - the two of them stretched out across the seats of the Impala. Dean’s eyes dart over the details for only a moment until he’s pulled away to another part of the wall with another painting - the two of them standing before a funeral pyre. I follow his movements as he takes in all the walls around them, each covered in another painted moment from their lives, some tragic, some triumphant. It makes me spin, pointing out each memory as I recall them, stopping once I realize their eyes are focused on something behind me. Only when I hear the low growl do I finally go quiet. Sam and Dean both shrug, Dean’s face flexes between alarmed, and confused until he finally takes a chance and speaks to the creature.

“Who are you?”

Glowing eyes appear, smooth pale skin flashes in the light. “I am G’mork.” It growls back, shockingly clear for a creature that doesn’t appear to have lips.

“Um okay, well...nanu nanu? G’mork? Sorry for the interruption, but, we’re just heading on out. So, if you wanna send us in the right direction, we’ll just...go.” Dean points and spins around him.

“You cannot go.” It growls.

“The hell we can’t.” Dean growls back.

“There are no boundaries, no doorways, no portals here. There is nowhere for you to go.”

“Then how did we get here?”

“Foolish giants. Don’t you you know anything about Fanfiction? It’s the world of human fantasy. Every road, every cheap motel, every half empty bottle of whiskey in it, is a piece of the dreams and desires of fanfiction writers. Therefore, it has no boundaries.”

“So where is everything then? Where’s the cheap motel? The crappy, run-down bar? Hell, the bunker? This? This is….it’s nothing.” Dean gestures vaguely.

“Exactly.” Thunder booms in the darkness, the ground shakes beneath us.

“What’s going on?”

“The Nothing is growing stronger.”

“The Nothing? What’s that?” I ask as I step closer to stand between the broad shoulders of the towering Winchesters.

The creature inches forward slightly, revealing itself more in the light and alarming me with the lack of features on its face, “It’s the emptiness that’s left. It’s like a despair, destroying this world, and I have been trying to help it.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Dean asks, pleadingly, his face etched with crinkles of disbelief, “I’ve seen the shit they come up with. I’ve been there. In all of it. How I’ve not exploded from pie, I don’t know, but there’s like new shit they’re pulling us into - All. The. Time.”

“Yeah, I mean,” Sam pauses to huff a little bit, annoyed with the creature, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve managed to graduate from law school, or tied girls to my bed to-”

He trails off at Dean’s double-chin look of ‘whatwasthatnow?’

“Point is,” he throws a hand up at Dean to tell him ‘not now’ before addressing the creature again, “there’s plenty there. What emptiness are you talking about?”

“Exactly!” G’Mork hisses, “How many times have you gone gooey from meeting your soulmate, or shown up drunk and bloody on a doorstep and comforted with sex and stitches? How many times have you hate-fucked after a fight or cried when your hunter/girlfriend died while trying to protect you and made you promise to let her go? How many times? It’s the tropes, the repetitiveness, the predictability of it all.”

We all glare at the monster, angry at it for its honesty.

“The writers - because they’ve begun to lose their creative energy, they’ve used the same tropes over and over. They’re losing their hopes, forgetting their dreams. And so, The Nothing grows stronger.”

The ground shakes and rocks crumble from the walls around us. “But why?” I cry out.

“Because people who have no hopes are easy to control, and whoever has control has the power!”

The paintings crack as another rumble shakes the ground, lightning streaks across the sky. We all lose our balance for a moment until the earth settles. I glare at the creature, anger burning through my veins.

“Who are you, really?”

It offers a sinister chuckle, then sighs as the Winchesters join in the glaring, “I am the servant of the power behind The Nothing. I am sent to kill the motivation of those who could destroy The Nothing. I lost one of them in the Inbox Full of Chain Messages, her name was Nash.”

“Nash?!” The three of us ask in unison. Sam and Dean continue with a synchronised, “Shit.” while I mumble out a “Thank Chuck.”

They both tilt their heads in a silent “Really?”

“What? If she’s not stuck in the Swamp of Eternal Writer’s Block, then we’re probably okay.”

“But...but - no. She’s not the hero, she is a pain in the-”

“Dean, she’s probably gonna find out about whatever you’re about to say, so speak carefully,” Sam reminds him.

Dean puckers his lips, biting back whatever he was about to blurt and drawing a deep breath through his nose. “Fine. Let’s deal with this douchebag and move on.”

“Douchebag? That’s the best you’ve got? No wonder no one likes you.”

“Wh - I - huh?” Dean splutters.

I narrow my eyes at the shadows around the beast. “Well, if this is the end, I’d rather go out fighting. Show yourself, stop hiding.”

“If you insist.” It groans as it crawls out from the darkness, the grotesque troll body illuminated and off-putting, but nothing quite prepares me for the stark contrast of the face, white and round - no mouth, no nose, only a pair of glasses to indicate where the actual face might be.

“Oh god, what the hell is that?” Sam turns his face away, covering his mouth and nose with his hand in disgust.

“It’s an Anon.” I answer flatly. “If we ignore it, it loses its power. Turn around.” I grab their shoulders and face them away. “Don’t talk about it, don’t respond to it, don’t look at it. Especially you, Dean, I know about that McDonald’s pie incident.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I can pretty much punch my way through anything.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never even seen Lore on this thing. How do you know?”

“I just know. I’ve seen things. Now shut up.”

It goes quicker than I could have imagined. The creature tries every trick possible to regain our attention, but the attempts grow weaker with each dismissal until finally, it crawls back into the hole it came out of, withered, weak, whimpering.

“See? Toldya.”

“Nice one. Okay, so now what?”

We search around us, still not seeing any way out, any change in the scenery, nothing else appears to assist us. Instead, the ground crumbles even more and part it of falls away into a void of black.

“Sonofabitch! I thought we beat it!”

“I don’t know!” I reply, panic making my voice high and squeaky.

The walls begin to shake apart, rocks and dust falling everywhere before getting sucked away, leaving nothing but blackness. Dean’s hands reach for Baby, her paint gleaming in sourceless light. “No, not Baby. Not my car!”

He holds the door as tight as he can, but there’s nothing he can do as the paint flakes away, the metal shifts and breaks apart beneath his palms, and it disappears. He turns to me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, eyes glassy. His shoulders slump in defeat while he stares at the smears of dirt left on his skin.

“I tried. I couldn’t hold onto her. The Nothing pulled her right out of my hands. I failed.” Sam and I stare blankly at him. “They look like big, good, strong hands, don’t they?”

“Uhh, yeah, they sure do, Dean.” I turn to Sam with wide eyes, silently begging him to help his brother get a grip.

“I’ll just sit here and let it take me away too.” He whines. At that, Sam finally steps in, hugging his brother and holding him upright.

It’s all gone, blackness surrounds us except for the mysterious light the somehow illuminates us. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to work with, it’s just…

“The Void!” I shout.

“Huh?” they return with the Winsync.

“Oh, maybe you don’t know about that yet. Okay, well, it’s just what it sounds like, but we can get out of it. Sam, leave Dean alone.”

“Why? He’s my brother!” He clenches his jaw, eyes narrowed at me with anger and suspicion.

“Because, we need to annoy our way out of here, and there’s not much more annoying than a man whining and upset like a spoiled brat. I mean,” I suck in a hiss through my teeth, preparing for the backlash, “It’s just a car.”

Sam jumps away to avoid the swing of Dean’s arms as he whirls around on me. “Just a? How dare you! That car is the most important object in the history of the universe…”

He goes on and on, animated by anger and pride, his voice going deeper and louder as he details every repair he lovingly made, about all the grease stains in his clothing, about how he discovered how much he enjoyed washing her in a tiny pair of cut-offs. “...I mean, I’m pretty damn sure I was conceived in that car. The errant bodily fluids soaked in there must be-”

He gets hushed by a figure appearing from nowhere, a finger over his plump mouth, “Do NOT finish that thought,” she orders. He squints at her, but obeys.

“And you aaarre?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m a Plot Device. What’s more important, is who you are.”

“Huh?” Our trio of voices sound out.

“What’s it matter? We failed. Even without the Anon, The Nothing still took everything,” Dean points out.

“That’s not true,” her sugar-sweet voice croons. She pulls a laptop out from behind her back, the screen blaringly bright from the open blank document. “A single blank document. This is all that remains of my vast empire.”

“So now what? We gotta write some of that fanfiction crap?” Dean whines out, an uneasy look on his face.

“Sam? I know that look - I’ve never been able to figure out how your mind works, but I know when it works.”

I can practically hear the whirring of wheels in Sam’s mind, “Okay. That’s not so bad. I remember what we learned from those high schoolers. There’s ah, Destiel, Sam-no Sastiel? I don’t know which is right. Uh..”

“No. None of that will do. You’ve had the solution with you the whole time.” Her smug little smile makes us all shift.

“What does that mean?”

“You brought her here. The Reader Insert. She was with you when you slept in the Impala. She was with you when you hustled that game of pool, just as she’s been with you this whole time.”

“But thats. Not. Possible. If there was someone else with us, we’d know it.”

I smack them both on the shoulder as I clear my throat. “Hello? What am I, invisible?”

They both scrunch up their faces in confusion, looking like they’re not sure if I’m certifiable or some kind group hallucination.

“That. That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam argues, “If she’s been with us this whole time, then why did all this happen? Why’s it all falling apart?”

“The Anon wasn’t lying. The tropes,” she rolls her eyes to display her exasperation, “I just can’t. You know? It’s like ‘Oh no. Another vampire or witch.’ Been there, done that. Things gotta get amped up a bit. So, here we are. We must rebuild Fanfiction.”

“But how? I don’t know what you need me to do!” I cry, the flood of emotion and nerves causing my voice to waver.

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“Then what? Tell us!” Sam roars at the woman emitting an ethereal, soft-lens glow.

The rumble returns, the laptop screen goes black for a split second, “Oh no, you have to hurry!”

“What do we have to do?” Sam’s voice softens again, concern lacing the low gravel sound of it.

“You have to give her a name! You’ve already chosen it, you just need to call it out!”

“But she’s the Reader Insert! For the sake of inclusiveness, we don’t know her name!”

Dean shakes his head and slices a hand through the air, “You know what? NO! None of this is real. This is all fanfiction bullshit.”

The world shakes around us again.

“Please, Dean! Sam! DO it! Do what you dream! Call. Out. My. Name!” I plead through tears.

When the laptop screen glitches again, the Empress of the Plot Device begins to beg on my behalf as well, “Call out her name, it can be anything! Call her Mary if you need to.”

“Ew! No,” Dean looks as though he’s been burned.

“Chanticlellenora!”

“What? What the fuck kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know, I’m giving you options, maybe you wanted something unique?”

Even though we’re surrounded by a void, it seems to be growing smaller around us, making panic rush through us all.

“Come on guys! Just say a fucking name!”

They turn to each other, giving the look I recognize at the “silent Winchester conversation” and a sense of relief eases my muscles. It’s clear by the look of determination they both wear as they turn to me.

“We got this.” Sam assures.

“Hell yes.” Dean agrees, a smirk picking up the corner of his mouth before he parts his lips to speak again.

“Yyuuuhhhnnnnuuhhhh.” He groans slowly, eyes wide.

“Dean! What the hell?” Sam scolds. “That’s not what we agreed on.” He pushes him out of the way.

“Yuhhnuhh.” He blurts, his shoulders twitching with shock at himself.

The Empress and I stare at them, unimpressed. “Seriously guys? You’re just vocalizing the y slash n thing.”

“Yuh-” Sam stops himself, “Look, I don’t think we can help it.”

“Try something else. Let’s loophole this.” I try to encourage them.

Sam and Dean confer, I hear them mumble places like Austin and Paris, then other spots like Brooklyn and India until they nod in agreement, Dean steps forward again.

“We got it.” He claps his hands together then opens them, palms up for the delivery. “Yyyyyyeeuhnuh.”

He rubs at his throat with a look on his face as though it betrayed him. “Why could we say it to each other, but not to her?”

“That’s because it’s not related to a place.”

“So no geographical names, I guess.”

Sam starts to call out random words Dean suggests that could pass as names - Lily, Sandy, Chandelier.

“Try Arrow!” Dean shouts.

The Empress and I do our best Winsync impression, sharing a stare of confusion. Sam tries every suggestion, but continues to spew out the same sound, just with different intonations.

“This isn’t working! What else can we do?”

I breathe out a heavy sigh, closing my eyes as I prepare myself for what I’m about to say. “You guys aren’t gonna like it.”

“Oh no. Nope nonono no.”

“But I think we should-”

“Don’t bring her into this,” Dean warns.

“-try to summon Nash.” I finish despite his warning. We end up caught in a staring contest as we will each other to give in. I suck in a breath, ready to call her, “Na-”

“Wait!” Sam interrupts.

“What now, Sam? We don’t have time for you to pore over the Lore!”

He looks to Plot Device, “What if we don’t give her a name?”

“You mean,” she gulps, “Not write it in second person?”

“Yeah,” he jumps at her like an excited puppy, “Exactly! We could give her a nickname or just be general when calling her name. It can be glossed over, can’t it?”

Plot Device scrunches her face in thought, bringing a perfectly manicured nail to tap on her lips as she does so. “I guess that could work. Is that what you wish?” She looks at me.

“Will fanfiction survive? Can it be rebuilt?”

“It can be anything you wish, though you still lack a name, you are without limits.”

“My limit does not exist,” I mumble. “That’s grool.”

“So grool,” she smiles.The ground stops shaking, the darkness begins to lighten, the gleaming paint of Baby shines in the distance and Dean swoons in relief. “Now, off with you. Go on and create new adventures. Subvert those tropes, surprise me. Surprise us all!” She waves us away like a parade float queen.

“We will,” we assure her, and turn to walk to the Impala, Dean drapes his arm over me. “Well, where do we go from here?”

“The only bar in town?” Sam suggests.

“That sounds about right. But after that...we’re changing things up.”

Dean squeezes my shoulder, “You got it. Now about that nickname, a lot of people seem to like it when I call them ‘Swee-’” I silence him with a slap to the face.

“I will call Nash, you know better.”

“Message received.” He lowers his head as he heads to open the creaky driver’s side door. “Is Yuhnnuh really that bad? It almost works…”

I death glare him. “Was the last time not enough for you? Who knows what else she could come up with. Oh, maybe you’ll willingly trade Baby for a minivan, or, no I got it, a Fiat. I should make notes…”

Random narrator that suddenly appears: The reader made many other requests and had many other amazing adventures before finally returning to the ordinary world. But that’s...another story.

Tags:

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