Fear Itself

“Wow, this place looks like something out of my Winter 2053 collection!” Chandler gasped as the elevator opened to reveal the marvelous, technological wonder called the Hangar. “Except it hasn’t won any awards. Hm.” He took two steps out into the room and nodded as he examined his surroundings. When Dean stepped up to his side, Chandler gave him a hearty pat on the back. “I’ll print you out a gold star later.”

It didn’t take long for Chandler to make himself at home, either, not that we really expected him to. He pulled over the rickety table that once held Avery’s stack of legos left when he was a child and turned it into a station of suitcases and garment bags (all of which Dean and I had to carry in, and several more groups were sent above ground to gather the rest). Everyone has been ushered into their respective rooms or offices, and if they didn’t have one, they were shoved into other rooms, and they remained there while we helped Chandler set up his “work space.” I didn’t question it. Dean had briefed me earlier on how to deal with Chandler, and one of the biggest points was that I shouldn’t question him, ever. Just nod and smile. It would make things go a lot smoother for everyone.

Once everything was in order and Chandler had his area organized, everyone was allowed out. The selected group for the mission gathered around Chandler’s table for measurements. Casper would pose as my manager, Larson and Avery as bodyguards, Shane as my sound technician, Lola as my agent, and Alex as my roadie.

Cas was so giddy over even being in Chandler’s presence that he couldn’t keep still, and I thought he might break down and cry, even though Chandler berated him consistently, telling him to keep still. Shane and Lola’s fittings went by unhitched. Alex, despite Chandler’s qualms over his eyebrows, got measured without any problems. Larson’s fitting wasn’t problematic. Avery didn’t have issues either… but maybe that was only because Chandler didn’t notice the wary way Avery’s eyes followed him the entire time.

I was last and also possibly the longest. I was also possibly the most awkward fitting of the day. Chandler had me stripped down to my underwear, and while most people had found it so uncomfortable that they had to leave, the core group remained. Avery, Dean, and Alex remained. Cas was so overwhelmed and starstruck that he had to relieve himself and retire to his room. In the meantime, Chandler had me trying on various outfits out of the three different suitcases he had brought down, as well as pieces from the garment bag. I needed five outfits: one for each song I was going to sing at the gala, songs Chandler promise he would teach me later. As most would imagine, none of these outfits were particularly conservative.

“Could she be wearing any less clothes?” Alex huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Like, the skin… it’s kind of excessive, don’t you think?”

Chandler stopped dead in his tracks, stopped fidgeting with the outfit he had put on me. He let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” he snapped. His head swiveled, looking at no one in particular in his frenzy. “Who let him in here? Who let this gremlin in my studio?” Almost like he was on cue, Sam emerged from his office (affectionately dubbed “the Cave” by most of us), and Chandler’s eyes fell upon him. “Who the hell are you?”

“S-s-s-sam,” he stammered, frozen on the spot like a deer staring into a pair of headlights.

“Oh my word,” Chandler murmured, turning to Dean. “That’s… your brother.” Dean gave him nod, trying to fight off the laughter by puckering his lips. Chandler’s face fell in utter disappointment. “You said it was bad, but I never imagined it would be like this.” He grimaced.

“I actually, I just, I…” Sam stammered, but his face soon hardened and he cleared his throat, walking in a hurried gait over to his younger brother. “D-dean,” he said. “This probably isn’t a g-good time, but D-dad—“

A groan immediately sounded from Dean’s throat. Chandler’s grip tightened on the hem of the skirt he put on me. I knew he was listening; he was always listening. Chandler was much more observant than most gave him credit for, it seemed. Dean huffed, “Like I’ve got the time to waste on our father, the lying scum—“

With a complete lack of hesitation, Chandler whirled around smacked the back of his right hand across Dean’s face, sounding with a loud crack and leaving a stinging, red handprint on Dean’s left cheek.

“Ow! Fuck!” Dean exclaimed, clutching his face and rubbing it.

“Serves you right,” Chandler huffed, turning back to me. “You watch your tongue before a lady, Dean Cassidy. Your wife is present.”

Dean fell silent, grumbling hums as he rubbed his stinging cheek. I heard Avery chuckling off to the right, absolutely not caring whether or not Dean could hear him. I didn’t have time to look because Chandler grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me to face him.

“You think you can handle this?” he asked me, and I gave him a nod.

“I suppose so,” I told him, though I wasn’t quite sure of myself.

“Look at it this way,” Chandler began, clearing his throat. “You have an entire entourage to back you up. Plus, Dean and I will be sitting with the board, listening in on everything. We’ll be the first to know everything. All you have to do is get up on the stage and look like your adorable, little self.” He gave me a sweet, reassuring smile. “It’ll be a piece of cake, mon amie, just watch.”

“Right,” I sighed quietly and nodded. My eyes drifted off as Sam and Dean both took seats at the table. “So, you guys still haven’t told me exactly what’s supposed to be happening at this thing, you know.” I waited a few moments, but nobody answered me. They all looked away, at least the people I thought would know. Sam and Dean wouldn’t look at me. Alex got up and walked away. Avery shrugged as though to tell me he didn’t quite know himself. “Chandler?” I asked, hopefully.

“Don’t look at me, sweetie,” he chuckled just before he stuck a sewing needle between his teeth. “If I knew, I’d be the first one to tell you, trust me.” Before I could respond, I heard the American voice of Casper Collin’s from just feet behind us.

“What don’t you get?” he asked, laughing. “We’re killin’ Kennedy.”