I have no idea where this idea came from. I blame my evil plot bunnies of doom – and their plot bunny babies! Anyhoos. Supernatural – that ain't mine. Charisma Matthews… she is. You can borrow her if you like, but I get the feeling no one will. (:p)
Ok, so, keep with me on this one. It's going to be short (as in one chapter!). It's something of a parody. And yeah, she is something of a Mary Sue. She's supposed to be! And I realise the boys have already encountered hellhounds. But these are my hellhounds! (:p)
The Curse of the Prima Donna.
© Axellia, July 2007
Sam Winchester was an understanding guy. He had to be really, considering he had spent the past year on the road with his brother. Dean was something of a pig – he never cleared up after himself, and lord, watching him eat was a trial. Sam was frequently kicked out of his bed and told to get another room whilst Dean brought back the woman of the evening, and to top it all off, Dean had a habit of playing childish pranks. Being called Sammy all the time didn't help matters either.
He wasn't surprised, therefore, to see Dean in action at that night's bar.
Sam looked up from the web page he had been reading and took a swig of his beer. Dean, as always, had decided that the best method of research was to communicate with the locals, whilst Sam trusted the trusty internet. He nearly choked on his beer as he noticed the woman Dean was flirting with. How'd he managed to find her in there, considering how empty the place was, was beyond him.
She was about an inch shorter than Dean, wearing a pair of killer heels (well, not that Sam wore heels, but he was pretty certain that if he did, they would be murder on his feet). That being said, the four inch chrome stilettos, when combined with the knee high leather of the boot made her legs look… well, damn fine. He followed the slim, yet muscular, tanned legs further up to the short cerise and black tartan skirt they were barely hiding under. The pleats of the skirt fell softly, showing off her perfect rear.
Not wanting to tear his eyes away from that sight, he forced them higher. The bottom of the cerise camisole she was wearing had ridden up slightly and was showing off perfectly toned stomach muscles. Further up, the top was low cut enough for Sam to appreciate the woman's amazing curves further.
And he wasn't disappointed when it came to her face. Just as tanned as her legs, the woman had the face of an angel – soft and graceful with full, red lips – but her sea green eyes spoke of a life that had witnessed a lot. Finishing her off, framing her face like a halo, was the golden hair – thick and perfect like the rest of her.
Sam took another swig of his beer. He's never seen anyone so perfect – it was like staring at an angel… albeit a somewhat sexy one. Damn.
Charisma Matthews smiled at her companion. "So Dean, what brings you to Climax Springs, Missouri?"
Dean licked his lips, "it's all in the name."
Charisma arched her eyebrows in a manner that Dean was finding somewhat seductive. "There's a reason why it's called that," she responded throatily.
Dean threw the rest of his beer down his neck, "really?"
Charisma leant forward, "want to find out?"
Dean's eyes practically bulged out of his head, "you don't have to ask me twice."
Charisma smiled and headed for the door. She had barely taken three steps outside when Dean's mouth was on hers, his lips crushing down. The two stumbled forwards (or in Charisma's case, backwards) lips still locked, until Charisma felt her back collide with a car.
Dean pulled away and glanced down at the car, "mine's over there," he told her.
Charisma smiled, "it's alright. This one's mine."
Dean glanced back at the car and did a double take as he realised they were leaning on a red, 1964 Ford Mustang Convertible. "Damn," he whistled.
Charisma leant forward, "built her from scratch," she told him before nibbling on his ear.
Her reward for this titbit of information was for Dean to start kissing at her neck. She let out a moan and moved his lips back to hers, allowing his hands to start roaming. And then she froze.
"What's the matter?" Dean asked her, pulling away.
Charisma cursed under her breath, "I was hoping to have a night off," she muttered.
Dean frowned in confusion, "what?"
"Dean," Charisma started, forcing a smile, "just give me a minute."
She didn't give him time to respond as she flipped him around so that his back was flung against the car. Using the movement as momentum, she kicked, connecting with the snarling head of a dog which was flying through the air towards them. It was sent reeling to the side with a whine.
"What the hell?" Dean cried in alarm, as Charisma righted herself and turned so she was standing in front of him, her knees bent slightly as she fell into a defensive stance. Dean peered around her and was startled to find the dog she had kicked rejoining its two companions. Only the dogs had glowing red eyes. "Charisma, I think you should slowly back away from the dogs."
Charisma gently shook her head, "they're hellhounds."
"Hellhounds?" Dean repeated. How the hell did this chick know about hellhounds?
"So now is probably not the best time to have this conversation," she hissed at him, "but the majority of things you see in horror movies – they're real. And that's living proof," she told him as one of the dogs phased out and suddenly phased back in closer to them.
Dean lowered his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, quickly dialling Sam, "Sam, get outside now!"
"I am not leaving now for you to tell me I've got to-"
"There are hellhounds," Dean hissed at him, dropping his phone as one of the hellhounds leapt at Charisma. He pushed her to the side, barely seeing her roll effortlessly to her feet as he tried to keep the hound from ripping his throat out.
One of the dogs charged towards Charisma. She jumped into the air and flipped over it, spinning in the air so she was facing it as it skidded to a halt. As the second one leapt at her, she dropped to the floor into the splits and as the hound sailed over her head, tossed it towards the first one that had charged at her. Whilst the two were trying to untangle themselves, and whilst the third was still occupied with Dean, she dashed over to her car, leant in, and pulled the glove box open, extracting the handgun which was in there, along with a clip of ammo.
From the porch of the bar, Sam watched in amazement as Charisma, in two swift movements, had released the clip in the gun onto the backseat of her car, and replaced it with the one in her hand just in time for her to swing it towards the hound which had phased onto the hood of her car. She shot one bullet, it meeting its target directly between its eyes. The hellhound exploded into a puff of black dust.
Charisma dashed around to the other side of the car and shot one more bullet, this one also hitting the hellhound, that was still trying desperately to kill Dean, between the eyes.
Dean rolled over as the hellhound exploded and stared in amazement at Charisma, but she was still holding her gun out, looking around her. "What was that?" he asked her.
"Where's the other one?" Charisma demanded.
"There was a third one. Where's it gone?"
"Maybe you scared it off?"
There was a bang behind them and both whirled around in time to see the third hellhound explode into dust, Sam behind it, his gun still smoking.
Charisma frowned at them, "not that I'm not grateful, but who are you to keep a gun loaded with silver bullets?"
"I think we could ask you the same question," Sam responded as he joined them, eyeing her in a mixture of awe, amazement, and suspicion.
Charisma looked behind them at the bar, "not here."
A while later, the three of them were in Dean and Sam's motel room. Dean stretched out on a bed, Sam at the table, and Charisma leaning against the counter of the small kitchenette.
"How do you know what hellhounds are?" Sam asked her.
Charisma shrugged. "I hunt them. I hunt other things too."
"How?" Dean asked in amazement.
"I track patterns of weirdness, keep an eye on the internet and papers-"
Dean shook his head, "not how. How? How do you know about them."
Charisma sighed and bowed her head. "You'll think I'm crazy."
Sam arched an eyebrow, "you just took out two hellhounds, and I took out the third. I think we're beyond crazy."
Charisma nodded, "my mom."
"Your mom's a hunter?"
Charisma sighed deeply, "My mom is dead. She died when I was a baby. In a nursery fire. Only, it wasn't an ordinary fire. It was caused by a demon, and my dad and I had been trying to find it since I was old enough to clean a gun."
Sam nearly fell off his chair, "you're a psychic?"
Charisma whipped her head around and stared sharply at him, "how the hell do you know about that?"
"Because he's one too," Dean told her, sitting upright.
Charisma continued to stare at Sam who nodded his response. "I have these visions. They started just over a year ago."
Charisma nodded, "I sense things. Not way in advance, but enough to block any punch that's thrown at me… like uber-fast reflexes. I tend to heal quite quickly too."
"You're like a real life Buffy?" Dean chuckled.
"Laugh all you want, but… yeah."
The room fell silent.
"I guess we're after the same thing then," Sam mused, eventually breaking the silence.
"You should come with us," Dean piped up.
Sam shot a questioning glare at his brother. Since when did he allow something like that, that quickly?
It took Sam three nights to work out that answer. Three weeks later and the three of them were on the road, and had taken on several hunts. Charisma was indeed a very talented hunter, and it probably took her less time to kill the demons and supernatural beings then it would have done with just the two of them.
But that had been in the beginning. From day one, Charisma insisted they get two rooms. At first Sam had agreed – she was a girl who needed her privacy (and so did they) – only every morning he awoke to being the only one in his room. Which was fair enough – he was glad he wasn't getting thrown out of his bed at stupid o'clock in the morning, even though he was slightly surprised that his brother was now defining himself as in a relationship… especially since he didn't do relationships.
It wasn't until the middle of the first week that Sam began to get suspicious. That was when Dean no longer had eyes for any other female – not even Jessica Alba, who he had frequently told Sam was the hottest female on the planet. If it wasn't for the fact Charisma and Dean were practically always… eating each other (for lack of a better descriptive term), he would have thought that Dean had been neutered.
By the end of the second week, Sam was muttering Christo under his breath every five minutes because a) Dean was now feeding Charisma, and b) not even noticing that Sam was muttering under his breath. And the only way Dean would allow either of the two to happen, would surely be because he was possessed. Only he wasn't.
By the end of the third week, Sam was definitely convinced something was wrong. But he still couldn't work it out. Dean was now putting off hunts, instead suggesting 'nights in.' (Which obviously meant him and Charisma – Sam wasn't included in that equation… thankfully.)
But when Sam came in, his arm dripping with his own blood where a ghost had ripped a nice chunk out of it, and Dean barely responded longer than to say "first aid kit's in the trunk," Sam knew there was definitely something wrong.
So he pulled out his laptop and did some research.
Sam rubbed his eyes and stared at the screen. He'd found his answer, only he was having trouble getting himself to believe it.
He shut his laptop, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the adjoining room Charisma and Dean were currently inhabiting.
"You're the most perfect person in the world," Dean was cooing into Charisma's ear.
Charisma, from her entangled position with Dean, kissed his nose, "no, you are the most perfect person in the world."
"No," Dean disagreed, kissing her back, "you are."
Sam stared, mouth open, at the scene in front of him. It was if he had walked into a scene from one of the worst chick flick's known to man. He watched the pair continue their lovey-dovey argument over who was the most perfect until he felt his stomach churn. "Actually, Charisma," he interrupted them, making them both actually peel their eyes away from each other, "you're not perfect."
Charisma visably shuddered, "yes I am, aren't I, Deanie-poos?"
"Of course you are," Dean cooed back.
"No," Sam disagreed, "the hair – it just doesn't do it for me. It looks like a cake decoration. And that ass? Bend over and I'd be scared of the world going dark."
Dean stared in amazement at his brother – that was far from the case!
"And damn, if your legs were any more tanned, you'd be orange," Sam continued as he watched the girl shudder more violently with every statement he made.
And then she turned on the tears, "Deanie," she whined, "your brother's being mean."
Well, that was all it took. Dean was up in a shot, charging at Sam, who not expecting that reaction, was tackled to the floor, as Dean threw the first punch.
Ignoring the blood that had started gushing from his nose, Sam flipped his brother over and punched him back, "sorry," he muttered as Dean slumped back, dazed. Sam climbed off him and turned back to 'the girlfriend.'
"Those low cut tops? They don't do nothing. Personally, I'd suggest a baggy t-shirt, and then you can kill two birds with one stone and hide that fat stomach of yours."
With a final shudder, Charisma rose into the air so she was hovering above the bed, her hair floating around her. "What are you doing?" she hissed as her green eyes went black.
"As for that rust bucket you call a car out there? I'd stop calling it a classic and admit that the best place for it is the scrap heap – and I can give you a number to help you out with that!"
'SHUT UP!" Charisma roared, clutching at her head, which was beginning to… crack – light shining out from the cracks.
"And as for the tortured teen, trained to fight to avenge your mom? Keep training, because the only thing you're any good for is cover when you bend over and block out all the light!" Sam shouted at her, over the screams she was now emitting, and anything that could scream like that was definitely not human!
"And finally, Charisma, that name? My god, I've heard more originality from Paris Hilton's choice of dog names!"
And then she exploded into a ball of white light.
Sam was back at his laptop, reading, when Dean let out a groan and rolled over. Sam looked up and watched his brother open his mouth and stretch his jaw muscles.
"Why does it feel like someone took a ten-by-four to my face?" he glanced over at Sam and spotted the blood which Sam had missed when trying to clean up the blood, as well as the nice bruise his nose was now sporting. "What the hell were we fighting?"
Sam sighed, "that ten-by-four was my fist."
Dean gaped at him, "you what?!"
"It was to save your life!"
Dean suddenly flicked his eyes around the apartment, "where's Charisma?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're welcome."
"Where is she?" Dean repeated.
Sam shook his head in disbelief. "I killed her,' he told him calmly.
"You what?!" Dean leapt to his feet.
"I had to. She was going to kill you?"
"She was sucking your life force dry. You'll thank me for it in a couple of days when you return to normal."
"Sucking my life force? What the hell was she?" Dean stared in amazement.
"A Mary Sue."
Sam turned his laptop around, "a Mary Sue. She's a fictional character made up to fit into the universe of a show or book, or something along those lines."
Dean walked over to the table and sat down, staring at the screen in front of him, "so how the hell did she end up in my bed?"
Sam gave him a pointed look.
Dean rolled his eyes, "fine, how did we end up meeting her? I mean, who created her? We're not exactly the Brady Bunch."
"All fiction is based on fact. You remember the tulpa? It's the same principle – not that people are reading stories about us, but Mary Sue's do exist and people write about them. Take a look at this story," he clicked on something and a story appeared, which Dean briefly flicked his eyes over.
"You're going to have to give me the Sparknotes version."
Sam sighed impatiently, "they all follow the same format – perfect girl, troubled past, perfect at everything they do – often with some superpower, usually ends up bedding the hero, and he usually-"
"You just called me a hero," Dean grinned.
Sam leant over and punched his brother. "And turns them into some sappy, snivelling wreck, who can't do anything other than make out with his new girlfriend."
"You just called me a hero," Dean repeated.
"I can call you Deanie-poos if you prefer."
Dean's jaw hit the floor, "oh my god, you saved me from a Mary Sue."
Sam smiled, "you're welcome."
Dean took a deep breath and pulled the laptop towards him, "so these stories."
"Fan fictions," Sam corrected him.
"Fan fictions," Dean pulled a face at him, "they got any Gilmore Girls ones."
Sam shot him his best death glare, "I don't know, Deanie-poos. I think you're going to have to look for yourself."
"Shut up, Sammy."
"It's okay, Deanie-poos. I can handle Sammy. Besides, Deanie-poos is just the beginning. She was here for three weeks."
Dean glared at him, knowing full well he was right. After a moment's pause, "Bitch."
Sam smiled. His brother was back.
On the off chance you've skipped to the bottom to tell me she's a Mary Sue… she's supposed to be, so calling her one will bring me much joy. Speaking of, if you do decide to leave a review (and please do!) then make sure you're not anonymous because I would love to reply!