#(( gosh every single time i write this fucker i realize how much of a BIG annoYANCE he is

[dreamboytranscripts-blog]

Ep. 1- Goodbye, Esmerelda Part 1

DANE: The milky way galaxy. Planet Earth. Cleveland, Ohio. Twelve-year-old Esmerelda looks out the window of her father single-engine airplane.

All of Cleveland is rolling underneath her. The trees look just like broccoli, she thinks. And the lake looks like one of her mom’s silver plates and it’s getting bigger in her eyes. And she smiles.

Now, little Esmerelda doesn’t know this probably, but a hundred years ago or so her great great grandfather John Stonefall, the oil tycoon, bought all the land currently rolling under her for a suspiciously small sum. But rather than build on the land like everyone expected, he instead had it all dug up. Leaving mounds of dirt everywhere, much to the chagrin of the locals. Petitions were signed, ladies groups had lunches. Finally, as a compromise, Stonefall filled most of the holes, built a summer home on a small piece of the land, and donated the rest of the city of Cleveland for parks.

The Stonefalls ended up liking it in Cleveland. Despite the controversy, they were happy there and they breed like rabbits becoming more and more cousins with cleaner and cleaner money. And that money eventually thinned and settled, becoming locked up in foundations, orchestras, zoos. Many of these cousins left Cleveland, but a few stayed. Their lives buoyed by the steady pumping of old trusts.

And it was one of these cousins, a guy named Roger Parring. A man made foggy from a life of never having had to know that he had never really had, who took his little daughter, Esmerelda Parring, for a ride in their single-engine airplane. Now, later on that night they will show their flight path on the news. A single red line that ends abruptly in the solid blue section at the top of the map graphic. Apparently, their engine began to malfunction as they were right over Pepper Heights and people on the news later will say they could hear it.

A sound like a saw in the sky.

But while that plane was still in the air above Pepper Heights, I didn’t hear it. I was far below, sleeping late in an old bed in my friend’s guest room. Huge white clouds were racing through the sky, making the light in my bedroom change from bright to dim to bright to dim. But I didn’t notice that either. I was deep in a dark dream.

Now, my dreams are pretty fucked up usually. Like me and my mom are astronauts and she’s floating away and I can’t do anything about it. Or like the train car I’m on is full of a thousand big, fat slow black flies landing on everybody's face and lips and they don’t notice because everyone is reading their Kindles that sort of thing. And I don’t dream about sex that often but, when I do it’s always something really awful. Like I’m at the deli and the guy behind the counter is making me fuck my cousin, Bryan, in front of a line of old ladies waiting for their hams and I can’t get hard and everybody is waiting.

Anyway, ever since I got to Cleveland I’ve been having this strange recurring dream. It always starts the same. I’m in the water. Hanging suspended and it’s deep water. And it’s dark, I can’t see anything. The water is the same temperature as my body. It feels pleasant. My hair’s just gently swaying. And then I feel a little bit of cold on my legs. And at first, I think it feels sort of nice. And then a little bit more cold and then slowly I realize, that’s something huge is moving underneath me.

I start to freak out and I start to try to get away but I can’t get anywhere. The water isn’t moving and I feel the coldness coming up more and more cold like the thing is getting closer. So I start to crash and I open my mouth to scream but the icy water rushes in. It hits the back of my throat and zooms down into my stomach. I feel it fill me up. And then it zigzags it’s way through my intestines like a cold knife and just before it gets to the back of my asshole, I wake up.

And I throw off the covers and I look down. And my dick is rock hard. Like so hard that it’s actually like bobbing up and- oh fuck I am late for work. I jump out of bed, I throw on my faded red Zenarc Corporations t-shirt and I tuck my boner into my shorts as best I can. I run downstairs and grab a pop tart and I dump a glass of water on the counter somewhere near the plants and then boom I’m out the door.

I usually walk through the neighborhood, Woodshire to York to Willowbrook to Cedar Ridge and then I cut through the woods. But not I have to run right down the main street area of Pepper Heights, Rivington Road, because I’m running late.

I get to the four-way stop and people in Ohio are way too polite for four-way stops so everyone just of sort sits there going:

“No, you go first” “Nah you go first” “No please I insist” “No please”

So I just run diagonally right across screaming. [sounds of screaming and honking cars] Now the thing about Rivington Road is that it’s a busy little street. There’s all these different kinds of food: Indian, Ethiopian, a Ramen place, a Sushi place, a Chinese food place, a toy shop, an independent bookshop, records, second-hand clothes, Peruvian imports, A head shop, a couple of bars, and even a gay bar. All in like a few blocks and it’s always crowded.  And there are so many different types of people and outside of New York, I’ve never ever seen anything like Pepper Heights. It was such a mix of people. People from every country, every income bracket. All living in the same neighborhood. It felt like some sort of lefty public tv fantasy. All these different kinds of lovely humans right here on Rivington but not a single fucking one of them knows how to walk at the right speed. “MOVE!”

I turn the corner right by the mirror store and boom. I see a truck, I almost run into it. Some sort of utility truck. It’s like parked half on the grass and half in the street. And I hear cussing coming from somewhere close.

“Cock sucker motherfucker son of a bitch”

And it sounds like it coming from above me so I look up. And there is a sort of crane coming up from the utility truck to bucket and there is a man in the bucket fiddling with the light pole but I can’t really see him because he is silhouetted by the sun but he’s just cussing up a storm. I have never heard some cuss so blatantly and out in the open and I mean this is a neighborhood. There’s like old ladies and like little kids-

[child's voice] “Move fucker!"

DANE: “Hey!”

A little girl comes out of no where she almost runs me over on her bike. Jesus. Okay, just a few more blocks. And I don’t have to run anymore I think I can just walk briskly, I don’t want to be a complete sweaty mess when I get there. And I’m only…..13 minutes late that’s not so bad. That’s close to ten minutes, it's almost ten minutes late. Okay.

I get to the side entrance, this big metal building and above the door, there is a sign that says “Zenarc Corporation: Shuttle Bay Five.” I stop for a minute. I take a breath. And then I open the big metal door. The cold air instantly hits me. The security guard gets up from his chair and blocks the hallway. He crosses his arms and stands in front of me. His eyes narrow as he demands to see my id badge.

“Really I’ve worked here for three weeks and I’m late.”

After a ridiculous amount of looking at me up and down, looking at my badge then looking back at me looking at my badge again, he lets me pass. Four more heavy metal doors and finally, I’m in the shuttle bay.

VOICE FROM OVERHEAD: “Mission Log 10182135 - Project Objective: To survey the 69 known moons of Jupiter for possible helium2 deposits. You are to report any signs of helium2 directly to your superiors at Zenarc Corporations upon debriefing. All 69 target moons are classified as lifeless but nonetheless, you are advised to keep your scanners on. Be safe and happy hunting miners.”

DANE: Okay, hold on for a second. I know what you are thinking.

Cleveland? Why Cleveland? Why did I go to Cleveland?

Well, I went to Cleveland… because I was tired. Tired in- tired in like a cosmic sense. Like a big sense. Not like a day to day tired. Not like ‘I need a nap tired’ but like ‘I need a 6-month soul nap’ tired. And my friend Emily was going to be gone for 6 weeks so she said ‘Come stay in my house, water my plants, and you can be alone’ and I thought ‘Alone. Alone time. That sounds great. What a gift to somebody who's been living in New York, especially a musician.’ So I thought ‘I’ll write an album.’ And so I went. I took my keyboard, I set it up in her living room, I turned it on, I sat on the bench and Grindr-ed. And ate my way through an Amazon shipping error of Doritos but every once in a while my free hand would reach out blindly and finger a random cord.

Grindr for some people, I think, is fun. Like they can just pop into it and then pop right back out of it whenever they’re done. But for me, I’ve never been able to stop having fun. But not in like a- not in like a ‘I’m always having fun’ kind of way. But in like a- like ‘There’s so much fun that it hurts’ kind of way. Uh, it just eats all of my time, obsessively. But after three days, I still hadn’t gotten laid and all of my white keys were orange. So I deleted Grindr again, and started looking for a job. But after literally walking into a mirror while dropping off my application at the American Apparel and being given what I thought was a rather gosh but nonetheless classic runaround by the assistant manager at the Chipotle, I was running out of options within walking distance. But I finally scored a late season job working at this tiny little neighborhood amusement park. It’s called the Pepper Heights Zoo. This place has been a risk free tax haven since before plastic was invented. It was like a nursing home for the old oil money and the zoo part was a motley collection of creatures gotten cheap for various reasons. But the most popular attraction by far, the animal on all the lunch boxes, the star, was an elderly zebra named Zoe.

Now, I don’t have any experience with animals myself so they gave me a job as a ride attendant on one of the few rides. This large indoor roller coaster called ‘Jupiter’s Lifeless Moons.’ It was right next to Zoe’s exhibit. Everyone just referred to it as ‘The Moons.’ It was a pretty tame ride actually, with a rider minimum height of only 48 inches. 44 if you had an adult. The whole idea was that it was a space shuttle that took space prospectors out to the moons of Jupiter to look for helium2 deposits. My job as an employee of the fake space prospecting company, the Zenarc Corporation, was to unload the kids, instruct them them to report any helium2 deposits during their debriefing in the next room and I had to use my most official sounding voice. And the park did a pretty good job making it all seem spacey and fun, there were flashing lights and space props. And in line, you heard a robot voice saying the mission objective on loop.

[Overhead voice plays again]

There was even, like, space adventure music playing from hidden speakers during the ride itself. That was the cool thing about the Pepper Heights Zoo. They piped in music all over the park like specifically made for the park. A lot of it was recorded years ago by these three ladies. They were sisters. The sherggeburg- the something sisters. I- I don’t know but you can buy their CD in the gift shop.

[Music fades in]

Dreamboy

Dreamboy

You’re my only dream boy

Dreamboy

Dreamboy

You’re my only dream boy

Dream fade into the night

But rather than die away

Why don’t you stay

Dreamboy

Dreamboy

You’re my only dream

Dream

[Music end]

But they also recorded a theme song for Zoe

[Upbeat(Kind of crazy) music starts]

[Sisters laughing]

Zoe, Zoe

The most amazing zebra

Zoe, Zoe

She’s our favorite friend!

La la la la..

[Music fades to background]

And since the ride shares it’s huge metal building with part of Zoe’s exhibit I did have to listen to that on loop for my entire shift. Other than that it was a pretty easy gig though, I just had to stand behind my podium and say my one line into this rank microphone that jesus smelled like a hundred summer’s worth of spit.

“Attention all miners aboard Shuttle Five. Please report your helium2 findings in the debriefing room.”

The lap bars clank open and the kids scramble out. They all run into the next room, the debriefing room but one girl lags behind. She stands there beside the track. I realise slowly that I recognize her. She has ridden the ride several times this week and she’s dressed like a Catholic school or-or I don’t know what I think they dress like. The lap bars slam down automatically on the coaster behind her but she doesn’t jump. The empty car disappears into the dark tunnel to pick up another batch of kids in the next room, leaving us alone.

“Are you okay?”

GIRL: “I’m perfectly fine.”

DANE: “O-Okay. Um, you need to report to debriefing.”

GIRL: “Please. I’m nearly 60 inches tall.

DANE: “O-oh um…”

GIRL: “I know it’s all pretend.”

DANE: “Okay, well you still have to leave before the shuttle comes back though okay?”

GIRL: “I know. I just thought I’d wait till they clear out a little. The other kids.”

DANE: She nodded towards the debriefing room but she wasn’t really looking at it. She wasn't looking at me either and she spoke like a small adult.from the 1960’s in that creepy way that kids who are raised by their grandparents sound. Her eyes settle on a far door. I instinctively step out from behind podium. Then another door opens and a man enters. He walks quickly towards me. His nice suit makes him look completely out of place but he stops when he notices the little girl.

MAN: “Oh! Hello there!”

DANE: He winks at me as he walks over to her and bends down to her eye level.

MAN: “So, tell me. Do you have any helium deposits to report?”

DANE: She says nothing. She just glares at him. It’s the kind of glare that stays anchored on his face as she walks around him and disappears into the debriefing room behind him.

MAN: “Awww. That’s a great age.”

DANE: This man is Eli Critch, the director of the Pepper Heights Zoo.

ELI: “Hello Dwayne.”

DANE: “It’s um..it’s Dane, actually.”

ELI: “Oh yes of course. I’m sorry, Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane.Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. Dane. I knew that! Dane. Dane. How are you liking it over here at the moons?”

DANE: “Um, it’s fine.”

Somewhere else in the building the old roller coaster car makes a turn and the whole building responds with a soft metallic groan.

[Kind of a aggressive groan from the building]

ELI: “Okay. Well, I just wanted to give you an updated set of keys. Changed the locks last night. Can’t be too careful. What with the current...rigamarole situation.”

DANE: He sets a key ring on the podium. Two shiny new keys on it.

ELI: “That’s the broom closet, that’s the front of the ride and that should do ya’”

DANE: Then he smiles and there is an awkward moment where he is just smiling at me. And then the smile turns off like a neon sign and he walks away. But he stops short in the middle of the Shuttle Bay and turns back around. That green shuttle approaching light flashing on his nice suit.

ELI: “Oh, indeed. You do know that door leads to Zoe’s night time enclosure, yes?”

DANE: He points at the far door. I nod slowly.

[music change to softs casual music]

Now I’ve always loved the grocery store at night. Like a 24-hour grocery store is like my church. And it’s mostly because there are no people, yeah sure but, also because everything has been restocked and straightened and it’s perfectly neat. There’s just row upon row of brightly colored boxes with little cartoon faces all peeking out the same way. And I think it’s because everything is so neat and there are no people moving around and there’s this bouncy music playing, that if you look for it you can really glimpse the shape of a terrible screaming skull behind the gorgeous face that the grocery store. And it hits you. You are standing in a warehouse of death. A plant and animal morgue.

Tonight I want a pie. But the bakery section of the store is dark. Like the lights were out in just that corner and also the pie case, I know exactly where it’s at, I can see it from here, but it has a shorted light tonight. And it’s blinking randomly. Giving the whole bakery section sorta bad part of town feel. Now… I’m maybe a bad boy, maybe not a bad boy, depends on who you ask, but I’m certainly not afraid of the dark and I mean… sort of a rebel. I even have the cart with a squeaky wheel. So, I like squeak right over to that bakery section.

CART: “Squeaky. Squeaky. Squeaky. Squeaky. Squeaky. Squeaky. Squeak.”

Dane: And as soon as I cross the threshold, I see them. Sitting in shadow. Three little girls. Girl Scouts maybe, behind a table. About 12 years old, give or take. They had doll eyes. Over thin smiles.

GIRL: “Good morning.”

DANE: “Oh! Go-But it’s just after midnight.”

GIRL: “Technically morning.”

DANE: “Oh. That’s uh… That’s pretty by the book.”

GIRL 2: “There are enough lies.”

DANE: They’re all wearing matching uniforms? And they all have different patches and I recognize the one girl from the ride easier. It’s the girl that lagged behind and she recognizes me. And the other two are twins but with, different hair.

“Uh… Are you selling something?”

GIRL:“No. But if you would like to donate we would be most appreciative.”

[wrenwritesometimes]

Supernatural

A/N: This shouldn't have taken as long to write as it did... curse my procrastinating soul to Hell. 

This is for the lovely @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms for her “Shit My Patients Say” challenge! My prompt was “My friends said I couldn't do it so I had to prove them wrong”.

Thanks, yet again and always, to @imnoaingeal, my beloved writing-sister, for reading this over! ❤️

Warnings: Cussing, and that's pretty much it... gosh, I have a foul mouth...

You must be… insane.

Insane. Absolutely insane.

You were - what - twenty-something? Following through with a fucking triple-dog dare??

Props, Y/N. Props. 

You had a flashlight - good job. You had some food - good ‘un. You had a knapsack with other supplies - so proud of you. You had mace - at least you’ll have a fighting chance.

“Ugh,” you groaned as you sat on the dusty, half-rotten floor of the abandoned and condemned mansion.

It was terrifying being here - but that may be the monophobia talking. The house itself reminded you of both the Munster and Addams’ family houses mashed up into one hybrid.

And you loved antiques. Which is what brought upon you this unpleasant spotlight.

“Ha! I bet Y/N would have a fucking ball up there!” “Ohhoho, yeeah! She could get real chummy with the ghosts and ancient clocks or some shit!”

You honestly hated your friends’ boyfriends. They constantly picked on you when they spent time with their girlfriends - your best friends. It had become a whole thing… your best friends jumping in on it too, egging you on in a way that only started when they started dating those assholes.

All three of you had shacked up together to get through college, and both of ‘em got boyfriends dumber than rocks. You were joyfully single, free of assholes plaguing your judgment.

Obviously, being the stubborn mule you were - you were too angry to back down from jackshit.

You sighed and gagged slightly at the heavy-scented musty atmosphere of the house as you looked around the living room of the mansion.

This sucked.

But really, though, you were gushing over the condemned antiques and the leftover deteriorating furnishing!

There were paintings everywhere; the big, long portrait kind you'd see at the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. The fireplace in the living room looked like it could indeed be a gateway to hell… was big enough for it.

You had only timidly explored the foyer, the entry hallway, and the living room; and had poked your head into the dining room.

There was too much to discover for one night, but you were up and you doubted you'd be able to get to sleep.

You had set up camp in the living room, setting your knapsack against the sheet-covered couch and sitting next to it.

"Just one night,” you mutter under your breath. “Only one night.”

Who knew what was upstairs… squatters, murderers, junkies…

You felt unnerved again, and you immediately got up, grabbing the mace from the easily accessible front pocket of the knapsack.

Glaring at the stairs across the living room and foyer, you decided. You’d rather go down with a fight than be raped and murdered in your sleep.

You were gonna go upstairs; you were gonna make sure you were alone.

“Oh, fuck,” you hissed to yourself as you stood a foot away from the steps leading up to the next three floors. You weren’t expecting to feel so… nervous. You were vibrating. Your shoulders were tense.

Taking quick, shallow breaths, you made your right foot meet the first step.

“Phhhftew…” You had your left foot join your right foot. “Okay.”

You looked up the daunting stairs, your vision seemingly tunneling. You blinked rapidly and looked to your feet and decided to only focus on the steps.

Since when did you get this… unnerved? You liked to think you were a little ballsy - I mean, how else did you muster up the courage to hop the eight-or-so foot tall chain link fence?

... Something was wrong.

The hair on your neck was standing up.

The breath before you was visible; your skin prickling as cold embraced you.

“Nope, absolutely fuck this,” you spat furiously, practically leaping away from the staircase to grab your stuff, because fuck leaving your shit with whatever ghost was about to murder your ass.

You were furious at this situation. Furious at how you were in this situation in the first place. Furious at how you allowed yourself to fit this stereotypical “haunted house dumbass bimbo getting murdered” trope.

You knew better. You read the Supernatural series. This was a ghost. This was bad. You had to leave.

You snatched your shit quickly, giving the area a flustered once-over before turning to run out of the door; but immediately you roared “shit!”, and leapt back a full foot.

There in the two-door, doorless doorway of the living-room-to-the-foyer stood… fuckin’ something. Something with an axe.

 “Fucking seriously?!” You seemed to reach another frequency before ultimately deciding to throw the knapsack over your shoulder and sprint and slide - noticing that the throbbing pain that would normally accompany that action was totally nonexistent right now - toward the antique fire poker. You needed iron.

Grabbing it, you sprinted for the kitchen, no longer mindful of the timid fear you had felt earlier about approaching any other room.

You bumped into every wall possible on your way to the kitchen - an open-floor plan seemed to be far from the brain of the designers of the century-old mansion, as the “help quarters” came into view obviously by the small hallways.  You slid on the smooth floor of the kitchen, and cursed obscenely as you crashed into the island of the larger space, the stainless steel making just as obscene of a noise.

“Salt,” you barked to yourself, searching wildly - hoping wildly - that there would be salt left from previous owners.

No such luck, you noted with desperate dismay. You heaved a distressed sigh and brandished your fire poker with vigor, looking like either a Knight worthy of the Round Table, or an amateur high school softball batter - which was... actually what you were just a few years ago in high school…

 You were fine… all you had to do was leave. That's why it was mad and wanted to murder you! You just had to leave.

… But the adrenaline was gone, and you couldn't move. The mere idea of running for the door - or anywhere out of this kitchen - made you tremble and breathe shakily.

 “Shit shit shit” was your mantra, as if the word itself would materialize before you and protect you...

For fuck’s sake, it might as well have. A man as tall as your expectations for men itself (thanks Marvel) burst through the back door you were facing swiftly, making you yelp and panic, making you lower your weapon-of-choice momentarily; long enough for a slightly less tall, but equally swift man to come from behind you and grab your poker, lowering it so you wouldn't hit them.

That contact unfortunately made you panic more, and you struggled to spin around and swing, gasping for breath.

You managed to trip on your own feet - they felt like lead - and you stumbled into Shorty’s chest. You felt the other man behind you - the taller one - manhandle the poker completely out of your grasp, and the two of them together escorted you out of the house via the back-porch door.

You were panting loudly and as soon as both men’s hands left your person, you bolted away a few yards, grabbing your mace from your pocket.

You turned back to them, eyes wide and teary, yelling, “Who the fuck are you guys!!”

They moved forward a pace, but halted and lifted their hands in surrender as you raised your mace, panicked.

They shared a weary glance.

“Look, uh, no offense… sweetheart…” shorty lowered his hands, “but… we just saved your ass.” The shorter one - the one that you had faceful of pectoral - had a rough, deep voice that sounded like he was trying too hard to sound tough.

But, the fucker had a point. You lowered your mace, glancing cautiously at the two men; the tallest one had yet to speak, but he still had his hands up placatingly.

“You can put the mace away, okay?” The tall one attempted. You shook your head vehemently. “No can do, gigantor,” you muttered, holding your mace with an iron grip. “Who the hell are you two? And what the hell was that inside?? Was it what I think it was?”

The shorter of the two scoffed lightly. “A better question: what the hell are you even doin’ here; campin’ in a forsaken mansion?”

Why give ‘em an excuse?

Flatly, you retorted, “My friends said I couldn’t do it, so I had to prove them wrong.”

The two men glanced to each other; one with raised eyebrows and one with furrowed.

“Really?” said the shorter one, head pivoting back to you, eyes squinted. “You're - what? - twenty?”

You worked your jaw and glared at the shorter one.

“Yeah, and?” you bit back, feeling ballsy once more.

The short one laughed and settled back on his heels condescendingly. “It didn't occur to you how dumb it would be to do something like this? Have you not seen any horror movie ever?”

The taller one glanced briefly at the shorter one and muttered a chastisement. “Dean,” he scolded.

Dean, huh?

“Yeah, Dean, I'm not a fucking dumbass, I know how fucking stupid it was to come in here.” You huffed. “It didn't fucking occur to you that maybe it's none of your fucking business where I am and where I go, especially if you are not government or local officials?”

Dean and the taller one recoiled in surprise at your small outburst, but while the taller one seemed amused, the shorter one - Dean - looked furious.

“No, actually, Miss,” authority was becoming clear in his voice. “It is my fucking business where dumbasses go - especially places like this!” He gestured toward the house. “Where you can get yourself killed by something like you just saw!”

You had no retort… so you just stood there for an awkward moment, trying desperately to keep arguing.

But, the adrenaline left like a rush of caffeine again and you realized - wait, these guys just toted my sorry ass outta there when I couldn't...

“You're right,” you muttered in disbelief, the adrenaline seeping out of your body still, and you were back to normal. Back to standing shyly and timidly. “What… what was that thing…?” you repeated.

The men both looked surprised by your complete one-eighty… but responded.

“Uh…” the taller one began. “Ghost. Vengeful spirit?”

“Sam,” it was Dean’s turn to scold. He was glancing warningly at his brother--

“Wait...”

You hadn't realized you said it out loud, but their stares didn't unnerve you any more.

“Are you actually fucking kidding me?” You were not amused. You were not all fluttery. You were mad. “Not only are ghosts real, but Carver Edlund’s Sam and Dean Winchester are real too?”

You were too busy glaring petulantly at the dead grass beneath to notice how dead still and seriously miffed the two men before you had become.

Finally, you looked up, studying them. “Y’all look different from your book covers.” Dean let out a groan that more so sounded like a moan; breathy. Sam just glared off into the distance, breathing heavily.

“I thought we told Chuck to stop those fucking books,” Dean muttered into his palm, glancing at his brother.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “I trust he did,” Sam muttered back. “I think he really took to our threats...” You blanched in disbelief as they spoke to each other. Threats?? “Maybe she found them in some hole-in-the-wall bookstore.”

“I don't think you guys understand,” you deadpanned. “I not only saw a ghost inside this godforsaken mansion, but I was physically manhandled by my two favorite superheroes...”

You glanced between them sternly. “I think I'm fangirling,” you said flatly.

Sam and Dean glared at you, only Sam’s glare being semi-playful. He recognized your satirical delivery then. Dean seemed legitimately peeved.

“You need to leave here,” he said. “It's not safe, and we need to gank this thing.”

“Oh my god, you actually say gank??” You cackled. “I thought that was just a running gag! Do you say ‘awesome’ a lot to??”

Sam nodded from his place beside his brother, mumbling under his breath: “Yes, he really does.”

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed, facing his brother, his eyes squinted in disbelief. “This isn't happening right now! We have to finish this!”

Sam sobered up quick and looked to you. “Please, go home,” he said. “Forget about this, okay?”

“I doubt I will,” you fired back. “I think I need you two to autograph my books.”

Sam stared at you blankly, but Dean’s glare coulda killed you. You were only half joking… No, yeah, you wanted those autographs.

“...For real; I'm being serious.”

Dean grunted and stomped off to the house, leaving Sam to deal with you.

“We’re staying at the only motel this town has,” Sam announced begrudgingly, edging his way to the door awkwardly. “Bring what you want and at least I’ll sign ‘em.”

Your heart swelled and you nodded. “Good luck, Sammy,” you giggled.

Sam’s lips pursed and he took a breath; probably to tell you not to call him Sammy… but he only shook his head and charged through the door after his brother.

You left immediately to grab your favorite copies of Supernatural.

Tags:

@notnaturalanahi