Sam stood impatiently at the other side of the door. This was the most ridiculous hunt that he and Dean had been on by far. That included all their past encounters with The Trickster who, as far as Sam was concerned, was probably the biggest jackass in all the universe. Multiple universes, even. Whatever the case, Sam was ready to take this Chuck guy on. He was expecting a cocky, overconfident sort of man to answer the door. Someone that would have proudly declared that the books were part of some major plan to sabotage the Winchesters and, in association, the world. That was how it usually went, wasn't it? Sam didn't have the ability to expect much else when he generally felt so damned pessimistic about things. Lately, at least. What with Lilith being at the top of his to-do list, he couldn't help but feel irritated by this case. Like they needed more crap to deal with. Arms folding over his chest, Sam shot Dean and annoyed sort of look. He knew that Dean was just as exasperated by the situation as he was - after all, what part of being written into a book would either of them find appealing? It was stupid. This was all very stupid.
On the verge of stating as such to his brother, Sam turned and opened his mouth...only to clamp it shut immediately afterward, the sight of Chuck Shurley's front door swinging open being the one thing that prevented him from speaking. Mouth twisting into an unpleasant frown, Sam bit back a stern glare and gave him a once-over. He was a tiny man. Very tiny, in that he was much smaller than Sam was himself. He had a beard, a bathrobe, and hardly appeared to fit the role of the devious creature that had been looking to destroy the world. Brow furrowing in slight confusion, Sam stared at the man uncertainly for a long moment before he drew in a short breath, released it, and said, "Are you Chuck Shurley?"
The man looked more like a genuine writer than an actual threat. Sam wanted to believe that he was, but the twinge of hesitance burning away inside him kept Sam from putting himself in a relaxed state of mind yet. He had to be careful. They still didn't know what they were dealing with here. "If so," Sam glanced over at Dean, that stern look returning in a flash, "we need to talk." They'd talk all right, whether he wanted to or not. Sam didn't care if they had to drag this guy back into his house by the scruff of his beard, tie him down to a chair, and spent the next day and a half interrogating him. They were going to get some answers. There was just no way that they could turn their backs and walk away when there was someone out there who knew so much about their lives.
[ooc: The sooner we get Chuck in, the better! We'll finish our little Sam n' Dean chat/entrance up there, but starting this bit right off was a good plan. ;)]