as i sit typing in my scriptwriting program, i realize that someone is standing right behind me.
just standing there. breathing.
Me: Dean, that is really distracting.
Dean: Yeah, I know.
Me: Do you want to come out of this story in one piece or not?
Dean: I want to make sure you get it right, that’s all.
i keep typing. he's clearly reading over my shoulder.
Dean: Oh, come on, you’re not really going to make me say that, are you?
Me: Dude, it's not half as cheesy as what I could make you say and still be within the bounds of canon. You just don’t want to.
Dean: Because I’m not that big a wuss. In canon.
a damp beer bottle raps against the back of my head.
Sam: Dean, leave her alone.
Me: (sotto voce) Thank you.
Dean: Dammit, Sammy, you don’t have to worry about this script. You’re not the one she’s--
Sam: (amused) I think you can deal.
Dean: (in my ear) I’ll be watching you.
they move away. someone sits quietly at the table next to me and waits for me to finish the sentence i'm working on.
Me: You're a sight for sore eyes. Although, Larry would be better. Is he avoiding me?
Megan: (subdued) He's not feeling too social yet. And speaking of Larry . . .
Megan: Could you go easier on him this time around? It's not your fault, the position we're in, but I hate to see him so confused.
Me: You and me both. I'll try to make sure neither of you comes out of this fic worse off than you went into it. Okay?
Megan: Well, that's not saying much.
but she smiles at me before getting up to leave.