You got it.

I still cannot believe that I got a part in my favorite show. This is so unreal. I must be dreaming. I must be.

It is currently ten-thirty in the pm and I am lying in bed, trying not to think about all the ways I could ruin this, all the ways I could get kicked off the set as someone else gets my part.

I cannot do that. I absolutely have to do this right. Starring in an episode of this show, or any show for that matter, has been a life long dream of mine, and now that I got it, I will not let it slip away from me.

When I was nine years old, I still had not uttered my first words. It was the autism, forcing me not to think about using my mouth to make noises, to form words. My mom desperately awaited the first sound of my voice, but it never came.

Until one day, when I was sitting in front of the television screen playing with one of my many multi-colored toys, which were supposedly going to help with my brain development.

I had gotten a hold of the remote, and started pressing buttons on it, flipping through many channels. I stopped on Supernatural, and my eyes locked on the screen.

I had no idea at the time, but that moment would impact my life forever. I kept my eyes glued on the screen as Bela slipped away with Dean's winning lottery tickets. It was season three, I now know.

When Dean noticed the lotto tickets were missing, he realized that Bela had taken them, and he yelled his catch phrase, 'son of a bitch!' I'm sure you are familiar with it.

I thought that this phrase was funny, not just the words, but the way he said it. Mocking his tone, I shook my head in a spazzy way and repeated it, my first words taking my mother by surprise.

She went to turn it off, since she did not want me to view the gore and violence and swearing that came with this show, but I held the remote away from her in a childlike way. She shrugged it off and let me finish watching it.

I kept on watching it from that day on, learning about human interactions by observing the way Sam and Dean communicate. I eventually learned how to strike up a conversation, and a year later, it was very common for me to blabber daily. My mother was very proud.

But as I continued to watch it, my personality developed into one that was oddly similar to Dean and Sam's. Occasionally, I would mouth off like the elder Winchester but I was also very understanding and perspective about situations like Sam is.

Now, my ways have sort of derailed and I have become something else.

An anxious wreck.

I suppose the Winchesters get stressed out, too, but probably not about every single thing, like me. It's very irrational and unnecessary. Also, I now tend to keep my crude comments to myself rather than blurt them out like I used to.

Jason has noticed a drastic change in my attitude. It's there, I know. Earning a spot on a show has turned me into twice the shaky, nervous person I was before. Now, I feel like I have this pressure on my shoulders, like everyone is expecting me to fail. Like I am here simply for their amusement.

Jared said that I will get the script in a few days. I will be starring in the fourth episode of season twelve, and I was very happy to find out that Sam is fine, but he was kidnapped. I was very relieved to find that out, because it wasn't exactly a comfort to end the eleventh season with Sam getting shot.

It's eleven now, and my phone is vibrating. I feel for it in the dark, the glowing screen helping me end my search quickly. Recognizing the picture on the cover, I answer it and push it to my ear.

"Hey," I greet, my voice groggy as a result of my sleep deprivation. I rub my eyes in an attempt to wake up a little better. It does not help.

"Did I wake you?" asks Jason on the other end of the line. I smile at hearing his voice.

"No," I answer. "Why are you still up?" Jason is always at the restaurant earlier than me, so I know if he doesn't go to sleep soon, he will be super tired in the morning.

He sighs deeply. "I miss you." I grin sheepishly, my heart doing that rare thing where it skips a beat.

"No, seriously," I chuckle a little, but he responds thusly.

"Seriously." My heart does that thing again as I hear the sincere concern for me in his tone. He really does miss me. "I know I just saw you a few hours ago, but I do. I like seeing you, and I like being with you."

"Oh, god," I groan, rolling my eyes. "Are you gonna recite Shakespeare now?" No one has ever been openly honest about their feelings for me since I met Jason, and it's still so hard to believe. But he's slowly breaking through the walls I built around my heart.

"Shut up," he responds playfully. "I bet you don't even like Shakespeare." He bet correctly. I did read Romeo and Juliet in ninth grade, and I was not too crazy about it.

"Hey, you're gonna do great, you know," Jason says out of nowhere, throwing me off guard. I was hoping that he bought my little facade today. I acted like everything was fine.

"You don't know that," I deadpan. "I could totally ruin this whole thing. Then somebody else could get my part." My behavior surprises me. Maybe I'm being honest with him because he was honest with me, and I could tell.

"Don't do that to yourself, sweetheart," he says, and a blush rises to me cheeks. I try to ignore the nickname he gave me. "You're going to be great. Just do your best." My hands are sweaty now.

"What if my best isn't enough?"

"It will be, Charlie," he answers. This conversation is giving me the need to see him again. I want him to be here with me, comforting me face to face instead of over the phone. But it's far too late; it will just have to wait until tomorrow.

"Just try and get some sleep, okay?" He says, disrupting my thoughts. I nod, then realize he can't see me.

"Yeah, okay." We say our good nights before hanging up and drifting off to sleep.

•••

Sometime over the course of the next few days, I receive the script for the episode I will be in. Shortly after, I gave it a quick once over before really getting into it.

I was relieved when I got to the end and discovered that my character does not die, she just parts ways with the boys. Maybe I will get to star in more episodes in the future.

"Charlie," Jason says, snapping me out of my daze. I must have zoned out in the middle of the work shift, which I now feel guilty about. "Your hands are shaking," he points out, looking at my hands, which are in fact trembling. I clench them into fists and move them out of Jason's sight, looking at the floor in shame as I turn away and take a sip from my water bottle.

"Charlie—"

"Forget about it, Jason," I snap, but he doesn't take it like he should. He scoffs in disbelief, eyebrows shooting upwards.

"I will not," he says firmly. I stroll towards the kitchen so I'm away from him, but he follows me anyways. My hammering heart, dizziness, and shaky hands must not have a good effect on me because I fall to the floor, using the wall for support as I go down.

"Charlie!" Jason says in shock, rushing to my side as he enters the kitchen. I try to push him away, but he doesn't budge.

"Go away," I mumble, hiding my face against his chest as I realize that people in the kitchen are staring. Jason notices, too, and helps me up, hauling me out the back door and outside.

"What the hell was that?" He asks, trying to sound intimidating with the cursing, but it does not work. He's like a big old teddy bear with glasses and a British accent.

"Don't know. Guess I freaked out." This time I am lying. I know I was right on the verge of having an anxiety attack, but I really do not want to tell him that.

"Freaked out?" He says in disbelief. "I've seen people freak out. That wasn't freaking out. You were not freaking out."

"Are you freaking out?" I ask jokingly, because the way he is rambling on makes me think so. He does seem genuinely worried, so maybe I owe him a little crumb of the truth, at least. "Look, I told you I have problems," I say, trying to hint to him what's wrong. He furrows his eyebrows, though, he doesn't get it.

I do not want to have to tell him, but I would be willing to tell him which of his guesses were right, if he took a shot at it.

"What kind of problems?" He asks, and I do nothing except put a finger to my temple, as if pointing to my head. It's not much, but it's something, right? I'm trying to hint to him that my mind is messed up, and he understands a little now, I think. His expression softens as I remove my finger and gaze at the ground again, probably in shame.

Upon hearing footsteps, I lift me head and look at Jason approaching me. He hesitantly comes forward and wraps his arms around me, embracing me tenderly yet firmly.

I bury my face into his shoulder and hug him back, a single tear slipping down my face.

For the first time in a while, I'm not alone.