19. TV Land (Part 2)

I had to say, wanting to be a doctor, let alone a nurse, was never an aspiration of mine. What Sam, Dean, and I were undergoing right now definitely made me want to stay away from a medical profession. I'd stick to history books.

The three of us, along with a few other medical staff, were in an operating room. I was just a roaming helping hand. Dean laid stomach-first on the table. For some strange reason, nobody put him under for this. Too bad—I would have requested it instantly.

Sam put something absorbent against Dean's wound, held down with a pair of tweezers. He then handed off the tweezers to the nearest doctor and added on a blood-stained cloth to the injury.

"BP is eighty over fifty and dropping," the blonde doctor informed us.

"Doctor," said Dr. Wang, holding a scalpel out to Sam.

"What?" he said. He wasn't taking the scalpel.

Dr. Wang and the blonde doctor just looked at each other.

"Sam," I hissed. "Do something. Come on."

"I don't know how to use any of this crap."

"Figure it out," came Dean's voice from below. Sam smiled awkwardly at those present. "Sam. Come on. I'm waiting."

"Okay. Um. I need a penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needles, and a fifth of whiskey." The others just stared at him. "Stat!"

Everyone but myself started moving, gathering the necessary supplies. Even I had to question the supply list. But hey, I guess Sam knew what he was doing. He wouldn't just make up a strange list and try to pull something out of his ass...I hoped.

Once all the materials were collected, the rest of us kind of hovered as Sam did his patchwork. Sometimes I almost couldn't bear to watch. I barely stomached House, MD whenever it was on. All the more reason to not want to go into the medical field. Too much gore.

Sometime later, with bloody, gloved hands, Sam finished up stitching Dean's wound. He snipped the excess floss from the stitches.

"We okay?" I heard Dean whisper. "How's it looking?"

"You'll be fine," I said thickly.

Things went in a one-eighty direction. One minute, we were through an operation, and the next, the colors, the noises, everything started to change rapidly, so rapidly that I didn't fully understand what was going on until things settled down.

There were bright colors and different loud noises. The setting was different, far from a hospital operating room. We had somehow shifted from weird doctor drama to a Japanese gameshow. The lights were hot and bright, obscuring my view. In front of me were Sam and Dean, in usual clothing, but not the outfits they wore before we got into the warehouse. They seemed to be stuck in some contraption, one that I couldn't figure out.

I looked down at my attire and blushed deeply. How in the hell did I go from medical scrubs to a skimpy red outfit? I looked to my left to see a Japanese woman on the other side of the doors. Doors to what?

Blue smoke began to pool around my ankles. I fidgeted as a Japanese man burst through the doors. The audience burst into cheers, and the host—I assumed the man was the host—began talking in Japanese.

"Let's play Nutcracker!" he declared.

What the...? I can understand him? What the hell? It was as if he spoke perfect English, no translation needed. I looked around to see a big LED display with 20 on it. It had to be a timer.

I wasn't really paying attention to what the host said next; everything was so distracting. I picked up on the silence.

"Sam Winchester," said the host. "What was the name of the demon you chose over your own brother? Countdown!"

"What?" Sam asked, totally confused. "Uh, what am I supposed to say?"

"You think I know?" Dean retorted.

"Uh, I, I don't, I don't understand Japanese."

"What was the name of the demon you chose over your own brother?" the host repeated.

"Is he screwing with me? I, I, I, can't speak Japanese."

"He's asking about Ruby!" I shouted.

"Kota, I don't know what you're saying!"

"You can't understand me?"

A loud buzz interrupted us. The time went to zero.

"The answer is...Ruby!" the host announced. "I'm sorry, Sam Winchester."

"Sorry? For what?" Sam asked.

The host mimed hiding his laughter.

"Dean? Dakota?"

I gasped in shock as a pole with a ball shot up and hit Sam in the crotch. I visibly cringed along with Dean. I could feel that from where I was standing. The crowd seemed to be fueled from Sam's pain; they cheered.

"Nutcracker!" the host exclaimed.

Now I understood the game. Good thing I wasn't a part of the competition. Not that it wouldn't hurt me if the ball decided to hit me there. Though I had different nether parts, it'd still hurt.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam made an incomprehensible noise. I ignored the Japanese woman as she went to the host, and they began to advertise for something called Shrimp Chips. I hated that I understood everything that was being said right now. What I hated even more was the fact that, apparently, I couldn't speak English!

"You okay?" Dean asked his little brother.

Sam gave him a look that summed up his pain. Dean realized he was stuck in the same contraption. He's going to be next. But I can't stop it. Or can I? Is it even worth the risk?

The doors began to light up again.

"Oh now what?" Dean complained.

The doors opened to reveal a sight for sore eyes.

"Cas!" I exclaimed. The angel looked pretty confused as to why we were all here.

"Is this another trick?" Sam asked.

"It's me," Cas assured us. "Uh, what are you doing here? And why is Dakota speaking Japanese?"

"Us? What are you doing here?" Dean returned.

"Looking for you. You've been missing for days."

"Days?" I choked.

"So get us the hell out of here, then!" Sam ordered.

"Let's go." Cas tried to get us all out of here, but then he exploded into static. I screamed as the host came back to center stage.

"No, no, no, no," he tutted. "Mr. Trickster does not like pretty-boy angels."

"I'll give Mr. Trickster something he doesn't like," I muttered, very tempted to flip off everyone in this place.

The host pulled out another card, switching back to Japanese. "Dean Winchester. Would your mother and father still be alive...if your brother was never born? Countdown!"

The time had restarted itself from 20 and started to count down. I replayed the question in my head. What happened to their parents? That was a question I'd get an answer for, definitely in the future.

"What do I do, what do I do?" Dean panicked, looking to his little brother for the answer.

"What?"

"I don't wanna get hit in the nuts."

"I don't know, I, I, uh, just, uh—wait."

"What?"

"In, uh, in Doctor Sexy I played a doctor. I operated."

"So?"

"So I played the role the Trickster wanted me to play. Maybe we should just go along with it."

"Go along with what?"

"With the game! You know, we're on a game show, right? So just answer the question!"

"In Japanese?"

"Yeah!"

"I don't know Japanese!"

"Dakota doesn't either, but she seems pretty fluent in it now. Try, Dean!"

"I don't want to be!" I protested.

"Dammit!" Dean hit the button in front of him. The timer stopped with just a few seconds to spare. "The answer is...yes?"

The host repeated the last few syllables, and Dean repeated them once more. Apparently the answer was correct. Dean looked relieved.

"Dean Winchester, Nutcracker champion!" the host cheered.

"How did you do that?" I heard Sam ask.

"I have no idea."

"So that's it," I said. "We play our roles, we survive."

"Hey, look who's speaking English again!" Dean rejoiced. I stuck my tongue out at him. "Yeah, but play our roles for how long?"

"Good question."

Dean had his back to me, but he waved to the crowd.

I would spare myself the pain of going through the next roles in quick detail. The Trickster took great pleasure in forcing us into roles of our next part. Of all the things, it was a commercial for genital herpes. Dean got the better end of the stick compared to Sam and myself. The best part about the commercial was that I had my native language back. Unfortunately, since we had to stick to our damn roles, we had to grudgingly say we had genital herpes.

Needless to say we were all relieved once that torturous commercial ended.

I quickly picked up on our next scene quickly. The colors were as vividly bright as the Japanese gameshow, but I knew this was a sitcom we were in. This was getting tiring really fast. We'd been through three grueling phases. This fourth needed to be the last.

Sam and I were paired together, entering the motel room that looked strangely like the one we had been in before the warehouse. The colors here were much brighter, more TV-like if that even sounded possible. A loud applause track played somewhere upon our entrance. I hid my disgust behind a faux mask.

"Hey there, Sam, Dakota," said Dean. On the table he had one hell of a tall sandwich piled. "What's happening?"

"Oh, nothing," I said nonchalantly.

"Just the end of the world," Sam finished. A laugh track shot off. "You're gonna need a bigger mouth."

I almost frowned as the laugh track sounded off a second time.

"Hey, uh, have you done your research yet?" I inquired.

Dean got this look on his face, a look of pure guilt. "Oh, yeah. All kinds of research. All night."

"Yeah?" I raised an eyebrow.

Across the room, the bathroom door opened. I fumed instantly upon seeing the woman clad in a bikini. Wolf whistles sounded off, making my temper rise even further. This was getting old really fast.

"Oh, Dean..." the woman purred.

Sam and I stared the woman down. Dean turned around.

"We have some more research to do," he said.

"Dean..." I said warningly. Once again, the laugh track sounded off.

"Son a bitch!"

I curled my hands into balls at the laugh track. Sam went over to the strange woman, looking over at Dean disapprovingly.

"Um, I am really, really, very sorry," he said, "but, uh, we've got some work to do." Sam kindly escorted the woman towards the door. He was doing it in a nice manner. Had it been up to me, I would have been rougher.

"But we did do work!" the woman complained. "In depth."

I moved towards Dean as the laugh track went off again. I swore my mind was doing this to torture me instead of the Trickster himself. Sam shut the door once the woman left, shaking his head.

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Dean asked through a forced smile.

"I don't know," Sam answered.

For a change, there was applause. Not much better.

"Maybe forever?" I said grimly.

Cue the laugh track.

"We might die in here."

Another laugh track.

"How was that funny?" Dean said. "Vultures."

I exhaled loudly as another laugh track went off.

The door swung open, and Cas came through with minor injuries to him. Cue the applause track.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"I don't have much time," he told us.

"What happened?"

"I got out."

"From where?"

"Listen to me. Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

"What thing—the Trickster?" Dean asked.

"If it is a Trickster."

"What do you mean?" Sam butted in.

I stumbled back as Cas was thrown backwards into the nearest wall by an unknown force. I looked into the doorway to see the Trickster had made his appearance.

"Hello!" he announced. Naturally, the applause track went off. I rolled my eyes. Cas got up. Somehow, he'd managed to get duct tape on his mouth. "Thank you. Thank you, ladies." He winked right at me. "Hello again, cupcake." His eyes then settled on Cas. "Hi, Castiel!"

"Damn it!" I cursed as Cas once again disappeared in an explosion of static.

"You know him?" Sam asked the Trickster.

"Where did you just send him?" Dean demanded.

"Relax, he'll live," the Trickster assured us. "Maybe."

I bit my tongue as yet another laugh track went off. I didn't even treat this like a sitcom anymore. I was absolutely done with this game!

"All right, you know what?" Dean roared. "I am done with the monkey dance, okay? We get it."

"Yeah? Get what, hotshot?"

"Playing our roles, right? That's your game?"

"That's half the game."

"What's the other half?" I demanded, tapping my foot impatiently.

"They play their roles out there, of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Now I had my arms crossed.

"Oh, you know. Sam starring as Lucifer. Dean starring as Michael. Their celebrity death match. They play their roles."

"You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" Sam snarled.

"Hells yeah," said the Trickster. "Let's light this candle!"

"We do that, the world will end."

"Yeah? And whose fault is that? Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hm? Look, it's started. You started it. It can't be stopped. So let's get it over with!"

I stared at the Trickster pointedly.

"Heaven or Hell, which side you on?" Dean asked.

"I'm not on either side."

"Yeah, right. You're grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer. Which one is it?"

"You listen to me, you arrogant dick. My apologies for my language, sugar," the Trickster addressed me. "I don't work for either of those S.O.B.s. Believe me."

"Oh, you're somebody's bitch."

The smile got wiped clean off the Trickster's face. He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the nearest wall. Sam held me back as I tried to intervene.

"Don't you ever, ever presume to know what I am," the Trickster hissed. "Now listen very closely. Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

"And if they don't?" I asked.

The Trickster looked at me and grinned. "Then you'll stay here in TV Land. Forever. A shame that you have to be trapped too, cupcake. Three hundred channels and, uh, nothing's on."

With a snap of his fingers, the Trickster transported us to our next torture.

**Let me start off by saying I was seriously tempted to write out Herpexia, I really was. But considering the book is long enough, I decided to cut it. Sorry, folks. 

However, since I didn't want you all to not have it, I put it in the media of this chapter so you can all relive that funny experience. Just add Dakota in and let the comedy run wild!

Oh, and, anybody liking Kota's new nicknames? They were sorta easy to write up.**