Rating: R for language
Summary: A conversation between a SPN fangirl and her best friend. Spoilers for season 6 in general.
A/N: Yeah, I know, this is not my typical type of fiction. Story inspired by and title ripped off from Bree Sharp’s ultimate fangirl ballad, the David Duchovny song. If you don’t know it, go find it. It’s awesome.
“For God’s sake, Suzanne, why do you do this to me?” I complained, for the twentieth time, probably.
“You don’t have to show up, Lori, you know. Plenty of other shit you could be doing on a Friday night.”
“I guess, but…whatever, fuck it, this makes you happy. You like it, you want to share it, we’ve been best friends since second grade…”
“Right, so you love me and you want to be part of something else that I love”, Suzanne replied with a self-satisfied grin.
“Yeah, I do. But that doesn’t mean I can always keep up. I know you watch all the episodes and read the fanfiction”, (insert eyeroll here), “and watch the YouTube videos and whatever else, but I still need a little help.”
“All right, then.” Suzanne pressed pause on the DVR. “What do you need to know?”
I sighed, and catalogued the information I’d managed to store over the past few months while we had a Supernatural-IV hooked into our veins. “So, the tall one-”
“Sam. OK. So Sam doesn’t remember everything that happened while he was with his other family, but now he’s starting to remember a little bit. On account of he conned that angel-”
“Yes, he conned Castiel into telling him stuff that the brother-”
Oh my fucking God. “Stuff that Dean didn’t want Sam to know. But know he knows some of it, but not all of it.”
“Right. Yes. Exactly.”
“But that deputy they just saw, he looks just like the guy that the tall guy” I stopped myself at Suzanne’s sharp look, “that Sam beat the crap out of in his flashback. And then Detective Skinner dude-”
“Samuel Campbell. Sam’s mother’s father.”
I bit back another sarcastic comment or sigh or eyeroll or some shit. “Yes, that guy, another inexplicably ‘back from the dead’ guy, whatever, he seemed really freaked out by it in the flashback thingy.”
“He didn’t know Sam before he came back from Hell without his soul, but he didn’t expect his grandson to be so cold and violent.”
“This whole thing is violent! Everything they do is violent! There’s enough blood and gore on this show to move it to HBO, for chrissake!!”
“Doesn’t matter. You saw the early seasons, you know Sam’s no cold-blooded killer. I don’t know how his grandfather came to whatever conclusions he had, but that’s not important. What matters here is that Sam’s got his soul back and now he’s remembering things he’s not supposed to remember.”
“Right. I remember that part. Don’t scratch the wall, that creepy dude who was super cool anyway.”
“Yeah. Anyway, this is what I’m trying to figure out. If he’s having flashbacks, does that mean the wall thing doesn’t work? Is it user error or is it, like, defective or something?”
“Well, fuck if I know, Lori, we’re not even ten minutes in to the episode! There is no way to figure out what’s next on this show, you’d think after mainlining five and a half seasons you’d at least have figured out that much!”
“All right. All right, fine. Just hit play again, I saw a little piece of flashback where he was fucking some girl up against a bathroom sink, that has to be good.”
“It was so sad for him to be soulless, but he was still pretty freaking hot like that. Remember the one with the shirtless pullups?”
“Christ, Suzanne, even I couldn’t forget that shit. At least now I know where that tattoo on your ankle came from”, I responded, giving her a look that clearly broadcasted the fact that despite her protests that she just thought it was a pretty design, she got the fucking thing because of these pretend Winchester guys.
“Whatever, shut up. Can we just watch now?”
“In a sec. I gotta know. Please. That fanfiction – do you…you know, like that blonde girl from a while back-”
“Nevermind. Tell me the truth. Do you just read them? Or do you write them too?”
Suzanne got that look, like the one she gave me the time I asked her if she’d gone behind the school with Joey Everett when we were in eighth grade. “So what if I do?”
“So nothing if you do! I’m just asking.”
“Yeah, I write some. I mean, I’ve written a couple…”
She blew out a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “Eighty seven. I’ve written eighty seven, okay?”
I had to take a second there, so I busied myself with my Dr. Pepper and a handful of kettle corn. But I couldn’t resist. “The dirty kind?” I asked, knowing I was smirking, but I really wanted to know.
“Fuck, Lori! I can’t keep anything private!”
“Hey, you’re the one who dragged me into this whole Supernatural thing. Don’t whine when I ask questions.”
After a moment of hesitation, she finally admitted it. “Yeah, the dirty kind. So?”
“So nothing. I was just curious.”
“Can we turn the damn show back on now? Please?”
“Sure, hon”, I responded, snuggling next to her and sharing the popcorn. “Let’s just watch. I’ll bother you about reading your filthy smutty porn later.”
Her look was something similar to (and Christ, how did I know this?) Castiel’s smitey-face, but she just hit play and we lapsed into silence, catching up on the latest in the adventures of tall guy, brother from Days of Our Lives, random extras and Detective Skinner.