The Wheels On The Bus Chapter One

AU that takes place in the Property Damage universe. Belphegor hasn't betrayed them, Michael and Adam have crawled out the Cage after Hell got opened, and Jack has been yeeted back onto Earth by Billie and The Empty. The Rupture never happened and Rowena is alive because I say so, and the rift hasn't been closed yet.

i.

Adam sets down his latest stack of books. One of the few luxuries they’re allowed is being able to borrow books from any library Sam and Dean can drive to in about four hours. 

“I’ve got a theory,” Adam says.

“Oh, you can get one of those?” Belphegor asks, lowering his glasses to look up at him with his empty eye sockets. 

“Yeah, and maybe you’ll get one if you try hard enough,” Adam says smoothly. Jack raises his eyebrows in surprise. Michael just sips his coffee, amused. “Anyway, so, which of everyone we know do you think are the main characters?”

Belphegor blinks. “Excuse me, Milligan, are you okay?”

“I’m serious, Belphegor, look - ” Adam grabs a chair and sits down. They’re alone in the bunker today. Sam, Dean and Cas are working a case, and they’d gladly sat this one out just to get out of the way of whatever argument might break out between Cas and Dean again.  “The way they talked about the whole encounter with Chuck, or God, or whatever - he described it as a story, right?”

Belphegor picks up the book that’s on top of Adam’s pile. The title reads The Rest of Us Just Live Here. 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “He was talking about a finale, or something.” 

Belphegor glances up at him, a slight tilt of the head that Jack’s always been able to read as concern, whatever goes for concern for Belphegor anyway. He’s wearing Jack’s original body, after all, the very same one that lived through a smiting from Chuck, when aforementioned conversation happened. 

“Okay, so, we gotta think about this in terms of a story,” Adam says. Belphegor lifts up another book. It’s a collection of Norse myths. Another. It’s titled American Gods. “What does a story have?”

“Leads,” Michael says, looking down at his coffee. He’s apparently decided sixteen sugars isn’t enough as he reaches for the bowl beside him to drop yet another sugar cube into the drink. Nobody wants to know what it tastes like. “Plot. Conflict. Side characters.”

Adam points to him. “This is good. We have you, you were backstage when all of this began.”

“You’ve lost me,” Belphegor says.

“Imagine we’re in a production,” Adam says, motioning with his hands. “In a production, there’s a stage. There’s a script. There’s lights and there’s everyone who’s involved who’s making this a production.”

“Okay,” Belphegor says. He reaches over for Michael’s sugar bowl and snatches a cube. He pops it into his mouth before Michael can slap his hand away. “And?”

“Usually, everyone knows what they’re doing, because otherwise, the play wouldn’t work,” Adam says. “But in this scenario, think as if the whole play is just ad lib. Nobody in the cast has a script, but everyone’s put into all sorts of situations by the crew. Like the angels making sure who’s gotta be born is born - it’s like the lighting crew making sure who needs to be seen is seen.”

Belphegor nods, indicating he’s listening, although Jack isn’t sure if he really is.

“They’re given a situation and they just gotta make choices based on what they know, and then if they go way off script, more things happen to push them back on track,” Adam says. “Now, think again to what makes a story. Leads and side characters and conflict and plot. The conflict and the plot would be provided by the people backstage, like the script writer and the crew.”

“Aaaand the production would be carried by the leads and the side characters,” Belphegor says. 

“Exactly, but who’s the focus?”

“The leads.”

“What do the side characters do when the leads take the stage?” Adam says. 

There’s a pause. Adam leans forward, folding his hands together, dramatic. 

“It’s a theory, but,” he says. “Michael, there’s millions upon millions of people on Earth, but who have the angels been in charge of manipulating and watching over?”

“The people essential to the story,” Michael says. “Everything had to lead up to the end, or what was supposed to be the end, anyway.”

“What changed your dear old dad’s mind, anyway?” Belphegor asks.

Michael quiets. Adam looks to Belphegor with a tight look very slowly, like he wants to punch him but is refraining from doing so because Belphegor hasn’t really done anything to earn the punch.

“I don’t know,” Michael says. “I was in the Cage for years.”

Belphegor pauses. “...yeah, my bad, man, I think I forgot.”

“No harm done.”

Adam coughs. “So,” he says. “They’re his favorite story, right? Everyone else just - ” He shrugs.

“Lives here?” Belphegor jokes. 

“In a way. I had a normal life before I was dragged into Sam and Dean’s lives. I bet everyone does unless they’re in some way connected to the Winchesters, even loosely. Even if they show up for only one chapter or one paragraph of the goddamn Winchester gospels,” Adam says. “I bet if we took a map of everyone’s lives in the world, the only people who even know about this supernatural stuff are the ones who have connections to the Winchesters, or had some sort of backstory contributions for the Winchesters to be where they are now, even in the faintest way.”

“Oh my g - whatever, whoever,.” Belphegor leans back in his seat, putting his hands to his head. “That’s so messed up to think about. Oh wow.”

“It’s a little cool, kinda,” Adam says. “If you take a step back but then you realize, oh, the story is us, and then it’s not fun anymore.”

Jack thinks about this for a moment. And then he goes really quiet too, and because he’s around three of his only other friends - maybe they’re his best friends now, really - they notice and they get quiet as well and turn to him. 

“Jack?”

“My mom,” Jack says, and everyone understands. Even Michael’s usual hard stare softens. 

“And just for finale 2.0,” Belphegor mumbles. 

“Everyone else just exists,” Adam says, jumping back into topic before everyone can get uncomfortable. “But the leads are always living conflict-laden lives. What about the supporting cast?”

Jack doesn’t know much about stories, so he turns to Michael.

“Usually kept busy somewhere until they need to interact with the leads,” Michael says, lifting a shoulder. “That’s the way we did it, anyway.”

“Put on a bus,” Belphegor says.

“Yes, exactly,” Adam says, “With their normal lives or their normal-ish lives.”

“And what does that have to do with us?” Jack asks.

“Well,” Adam says. “We’re not with Sam and Dean right now, because let’s face it, they’re the leads and everyone else is just an add-on.”

Belphegor makes a face. “Oof.”

“But, let’s assume that everyone who directly interacts with Sam and Dean are then part of what is the meat of the story,” Adam says. “It means we’re on the bus right now.”

Jack frowns. “We’re - ”

“I think it’s an expression,” Michael says.

“It means we’re backstage. We’re not doing the lights or the curtains, but we’re not acting. We’re just sitting waiting for our parts. No one is watching us,” Adam says. “This is a play for an audience of one.”

Belphegor leans forward suddenly. “And if no one is watching us - ”

“It means we can still directly affect the play but no one would be able to stop us,” Michael says.

“Exactly,” Adam says, smiling proudly.

“I love it when our brain cells collide. Up top, Milligan.” Belphegor holds up a hand. Adam smacks it. Belphegor holds out the same hand to Michael, who just stares at it.

Belphegor takes it back awkwardly.

“So if we’re...backstage,” Jack says. “We can mess with the Winchester gospels?”

“We can damn well try. Everyone who’s backstage has the biggest chance of interfering,” Adam says. “We can push it as offbeat as possible.”

“Wait,” Jack says. “How do we know we’re not playing any roles right now?”

Everyone pauses, thoughtfully. 

“I don’t think we’ll ever do,” Michael says. “The Winchester gospels have continued even without interference from Heaven - direct ones, I mean - so we can rule out angelic or demonic manipulation.”

“So we could still be on stage and not know it,” Jack says. 

Belphegor makes a finger gun at Adam, and not in the fun way. “Well, I ain’t taking any chances.”

“Turning on each other won’t help, you do not go against the pawns of a chess game, you go against the player,” Michael says.

“I’m sending that to Hallmark and asking for royalties,” Belphegor says.

“Our best bet of identifying if something is part of the main story is if it has something to do with Sam and Dean,” Adam says. “Anything aside from that is fifty-fifty, anything incredibly mundane and ordinary is backstage.”

“What does researching about stories and talking about pushing a story off-beat count as?” Jack asks.

Belphegor looks up the ceiling. “Uuh, fifty-fifty.”

“Aren’t we pushing off-beat the Winchesters’ story?” Michael points out.

“Oh. Right.”

“Even if we could push the story off-beat, what would we do?” Michael asks. “Assuming this is, in fact, backstage, what’s our plan?”

“You’re good with plans,” Adam says, smiling brightly, knowing full well that Michael would smite anyone but someone he’s spent eternity in Hell with, and Adam just happens to fit the exception requirement. 

“I’m not good with thinking for myself.”

“Ah - well, that’s where - I - wait.” Adam pauses. “Yeah, okay, I got nothing. I was going to say that’s what you have me for, but I was planning to push making the plans onto you. Nevermind.”

“That’s sad, Mike,” Belphegor says.

Michael frowns. “Don’t call me that.”

“So we’re like trying to ruin the play,” Jack says. “But we don’t know if we’re in the play or if we’re outside of it.”

“Basically,” Adam says. 

“And we have no idea how to tell which is which,” Belphegor says.

The room stands another long pause.

“Are we gonna try anyway?” Jack asks.

“We aren’t proven bastards for nothing,” Adam says. “At this point, what do we have to lose? Being guinea pigs or being bastard guinea pigs?”

“You would make a good salesman,” Belphegor says. “I’m always down for being a bastard.”

“You’ve always been one,” Michael says.

Belphegor, being Belphegor, throws his shoe at him. Michael smites it before it can hit his face.

-

“It has been two days,” Belphegor says. “I say we’re on the bus.”

“But we’re talking about it again, so there’s a chance we’re off the bus,” Jack says.

“Say something stupid.” Belphegor turns to him. “Quick.”

“What?”

“Say something so, so stupid and random that not even Chuck himself could even think about it.”

“Uhhhh onion-scented lotion?” 

Belphegor takes a moment to think, and then nods. “Yeah, that’s stupid enough, we’re on the bus.”

“My Immortal sucks.”

“Fuck you, but we’re definitely on the bus,” he says. He gets off the couch, leaving behind the stolen PS4 he’s nabbed from a kid yesterday. They’re allowed out the bunker up to a certain distance and as long as they observe curfew. 

Jack snickers. Belphegor grabs his arm and drags him to the kitchen.

“Come on, boys, we are on the bus!” Belphegor loudly announces. Michael and Adam look up from the flour they’re carefully measuring. 

“I’m making pancakes,” Adam says. 

“You look like you’re trying to find a cure to vampirism.”

“Excuse me for forgetting how pancakes work because I’ve spent several centuries’ worth of vacation in Hell,” Adam says. Then, to Michael. “I think that’s enough.”

Michael dumps the flour into the bowl.

“Look, I know you’re making pancakes, but - hello? We’re on the bus. We never know when the next stop is, let’s go,” Belphegor says.

“We need a plan first. What do we do?” Michael asks. Adam is opening a carton of eggs. He picks one up and stares at it intently.

“I dunno, make a mess,” Belphegor says. “Jack?”

“I think we should stop whatever The End is?” Jack says. “Only, we don’t know how to do that.”

“Anything pertaining to The End will be part of the main story,” Michael says. 

Adam drops the whole egg into the bowl of flour. Belphegor shuts up in the middle of opening his mouth. He flounders like a fish for a few seconds. 

“Why would you - why did you - ”

Adam turns to him. “Do you not…”

“No.”

“Oh,” Adam says, sharing a look with Michael. “I was wrong about the vinegar too, wasn’t I?”

“Milk, Milligan, you put milk in pancakes, not vinegar,” Belphegor says, storming over to them and taking the bowl of flour from the counter. He puts it in the sink. “But, matters at hand. How do we affect the plan by not actually jumping into the plan?”

Adam looks at the flour bowl sadly.

Belphegor clears his throat.

“We can mess with the lights?” Jack offers.

Michael looks up for a moment, but then looks away. 

Belphegor notices, of course. “Mike? You got something?”

“Don’t call me that. I was thinking that if Heaven isn’t involved, we could do something with them,” he says. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“We could fix it,” Jack says. “I think it’s steadied ever since you got here, but you’ve been hiding and you don’t…”

“Feel the same,” Adam says.

Michael nods. “Heaven will have steadied from both Adam and I getting out of the Cage, but again, what would we do with that?”

Belphegor looks thoughtful. 

“The rat has an idea,” Adam says. “What’ve you got, Bel?”

“Vinegar in the pancakes.”

Adam rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“No, no, look - the apocalypse is the pancake,” Belphegor says. “But it’s still cooking, so, if we mess it up by ruining whatever ingredients can be put into it, it’s just gonna be bad.”

“Please realize that ruining the actual plan is not the same as ruining the analogical plan; if we ruin it badly enough, we can push a story offbeat, but ruin an entire universe,” Michael says.

Jack thinks about his mother again. He looks to Belphegor.

Belphegor sighs. “Okay, good point.”

“It’s still a good idea,” Adam concedes. “If we can mess with what goes into the apocalypse without directly interfering with it, somehow, we can stall it. Maybe even put a stop to it, but that’s a Hail Mary. Our biggest bet is achieving a domino effect.”

“I’m not good with that,” Belphegor says. “I’m not good with anything regarding connections.”

“Like with everything else,” Michael says, rolling up the opened portion of the bag of flour they’d been using. He sets it up on the cupboard above them. Belphegor sneers at him. 

“We can map it out, maybe,” Jack says. “Or find someone who is good with connections?”

There’s a loud clunk in the distance. The door’s opening.

“It’s the Winchesters,” Michael says.

“Off the bus,” Jack says.

“We’re off the bus,” Belphegor says, and then holds up a finger. “But as soon as we’re on it again, we’re talking about this.”

They hear the Winchesters’ heavy footsteps going down the steps. They’re back onstage. Time to pretend they’re not conspiring.