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"Eating After Midnight or How To Survive When You Find Yourself In A Horror Movie"
Title: Eating After Midnight or How To Survive When You Find Yourself In A Horror Movie
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: PG (language/horror themes)
Category: Dean,Sam (gen - angst/humor)
Words: 2,034
Disclaimer:, Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: Use of S2 character.
Notes: For my final![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_halloween prompt. Dean and Sam face off against a horde of angry Gremlins.
“What’s that?”
Sam had entered the motel room to find Dean sprawled across one of the beds, something small and fuzzy in front of him head first in a box of chocolate biscuits with only two small hind legs waggling in the air.
“Some old guy asked me to watch his puppy for ten minutes,” Dean shrugged. “Little guy looked hungry so I’m just letting him munch out.”
Sam came further into the room, eyeing the jigging box carefully, noting that what he had taken to be two hind paws actually looked like little feet, toes and everything, covered in caramel, black and white coloured fur.
He’d seen that kind of fur somewhere…
“Oh my god, that’s not a puppy!” Sam cried, snatching up the box and dumping the little creature out. It landed on the mattress with a squeak of surprise and Dean scooped it up, looking at Sam like he was crazy.
“What is wrong with you? Of course it is,” Dean protested.
Sam smacked Dean across the face sharply and Dean rolled to his feet, face flushing with anger. “Just what in the hell was that for?” he growled.
“Look at what you’re holding again and tell me it’s a puppy,” Sam said.
Dean dug the small critter out from under his shirt and then yelped, tossing it in the direction of the bathroom, the door rebounding and closing behind it. “What the hell is that?”
“I leave the room for two minutes and you get whammied into babysitting a mogwi and feed it,” Sam looked at his watch and then groaned, “After midnight?”
“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded, rubbing his temples which were starting to ache. “I… someone whammied me?”
There were high-pitched growls and splashing noises coming from the bathroom and Sam slapped a hand to his face. “Tell me there wasn’t water in the sink?”
“I was shaving when the guy… when whoever it was knocked on the door.”
Sam grasped Dean’s shoulders, spun him about and aimed him at the motel room door, mindful that all the weapons were still in the Impala because Sam had been going to unpack the trunk when he got back from getting them dinner. “We gotta go,” he said, yanking his mobile out of his pocket and groaning when it flashed low battery at him.
Dean went, still scratching at his head. “Someone whammied me?” he grumbled again just as the thumping started on the bathroom door.
000
“Dude, what is wrong with you? Have you never seen Gremlins?” Sam snapped, punching coins into the payphone on the other end of the motel complex. Dean dug around in his jacket and came up with their Dad’s journal.
“I’m sorry I haven’t memorised this like you brainiac. Just tell me what page-“
“No, the movie,” Sam corrected, snatching the journal out of Dean’s hands and shoving it back into his jacket then turning to dial.
“What? No,” Dean said, blinking.
“I thought you liked horror movies,” Sam said, pausing in his dialling to look at Dean for a beat. Dean shook his head, shrugging.
“Why would you think that? I get enough blood and guts in real life and dude, if I wanted to see boobs, I could catch those live too.”
“Hey Ellen?” Sam said into the phone, putting a hand up to Dean. “Yeah, it’s Sam. Look, I was wondering if there were any Hunters in tonight?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at him as Sam listened patiently. “Yeah, ok, there’s a town about two hours away called North Haven. They’re about to have a…” Sam grimaced. “Gremlin problem.”
Sam held the phone away from his ear and Dean could hear the tinny sound of Ellen laughing on the other end. When the laughing died down, Sam put the phone back to his ear. “Yes, I’m serious,” he sighed, rubbing his other hand over his eyes. “No it wasn’t… well, yes it might’ve been us but… how did you know that?” Sam looked at Dean who frowned at him. “No, he hasn’t seen it,” Sam said and Dean’s frown deepened. “Yeah, thanks.”
“What was that all about?” Dean demanded as soon as Sam had hung up the phone.
“We need help,” Sam said, his face grim.
“What, for the fuzzy little not-puppy in the motel room?” Dean snorted, but the smile fell off his face when a snarling, spitting wave of green bodies poured from their motel room.
“No, for them.”
000
“I’m glad everyone is having so much fun with this,” Dean grumbled, sitting on the roof of the Impala with his rifle across his lap. Every now and again a truck or older style car would bounce past, fairly bristling with men, women and guns, all hooting and catcalling as they spotted the Impala sitting at the city limit sign.
Dean was fighting the powerful urge to take potshots at their tyres.
“C’mon Dean, you gotta admit, it’s pretty funny. It’s like Hunter’s Christmas.” Sam paused to wave good-naturedly as another car load buzzed past, blaring their horns.
“Oh c’mon, there’s no way these are all Hunters,” Dean complained, waving a hand at the tail lights as they faded into the darkness.
“No, I’d say not. Ellen’s probably put the word out to every good ol’ boy she knows. In the dark Gremlins would look like big ugly lizards.”
“That can handle knives?” Dean quirked an eyebrow, remembering with a shudder on their way out of town as one fairly industrious critter had launched itself at the Impala, landing on the windshield and brandishing of all things, a pocket knife.
Sam had leaned out of the Impala window and had shot it off the car, leaving a smear of green guts across the glass. Dean had only lightened up about that when he’d found one of Sam’s t-shirts in the back seat and had used it to clean the offensive goop off. What had cheered Dean even more was that Sam hadn’t noticed what he was using and had also missed when Dean tucked the now rank shirt into the bottom of Sam’s duffle.
“Hold on, there’s another one,” Dean sighed, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder. As he looked down the scope at a rambling old truck bouncing and zagging all over the road towards them, out of the town, Dean took a breath in and out and then pulled the trigger.
Three more shots and the front end of the truck exploded, the whole thing flipping end over end as it rambled into a ditch, belching flame and smoke into the night sky. Sam turned the spotlight on the Impala towards the flaming mess and picked off the couple of small green creatures that managed to pull themselves from the wreckage.
“Oh, and have figured out how to drive,” Dean added, unslinging the rifle and resting it across his knees again. ‘So, tell me again how this works?”
Sam sighed, pulling himself onto the roof next to Dean, goosebumps chasing up and down his arms as the heat of the truck reached them and chased the chill of the night away. “Dude, you dent my baby with your bony ass and we’re going to have a problem,” Dean said, nudging Sam in the side with the butt of his rifle.
“On All Hallow’s Eve, the veil between the realms of the living and the dead, magic and reality is at its thinnest,” Sam explained, ignoring his brother. “We have trick or treating and the demon world has something similar. Considering the greatest pranksters and tricksters are demons, it’s unsurprising that they try to outdo each other on the night where we mere mortals celebrate them.”
“Who you callin’ a mere mortal?”
“Anyway, it’s one thing to trick someone unsuspecting but the greatest prize is to play a trick on someone who is open to the darkness.”
“You’ve seen the movie. How do we kill them all?”
“W don’t really need to,” Sam said, sitting back with his hands gripping the top edge of the window on the other side of the car. “The magic keeping them here should burn off with the sunrise.”
“Should?”
“In theory.”
“Why all this then?” Dean said, waving a hand towards themselves and then the road.
“Keep them occupied and within the town limits till then. Plus, we don’t really want a whole bunch of townsfolk being killed in their sleep.”
“Sammy, I don’t think anyone’s going to be sleeping through what’s happenin’ in town.”
“True,” Sam grimaced. He leaned over and reached into Dean’s jacket and Dean tried to slap his hands away but Sam came back with a flask and grinned, uncapping it and tipping some of the contents into his mouth. His brow furrowed and he looked from the flask to Dean and back again.
“Holy water, dufuss,” Dean chuckled, pulling a small mini-bar bottle of scotch from another pocket. When Sam made a gimme gesture, Dean grinned before draining the remainder of the bottle and tossing it out into the night.
“You’re an ass,” Sam sighed.
“Next time, bring your own booze.”
000
Dean awoke with a crick in his neck, sun in his eyes and a grizzled old guy looking down at him.
“You Winchester?” the man asked and Dean sat up. He’d fallen asleep still clutching his rifle but on the hood of the Impala, resting back against the windshield. Dean was tempted to say no because the man was looking at him with one eye pulled closed by a horrendous scar that cleaved his face almost in two, but then Dean realised that the man was actually grinning.
“Yeah, Dean,” he admitted and the guy’s grin grew wider and he walloped Dean on the back, nearly pitching Dean off the Impala.
“Well goddamn son, that was a helluva good time. If I see you in Ellen’s I’ll buy you a beer,” he crowed. He shouldered his own sawn-off and slid back into the driver’s seat of a beat-up looking blue pick-up. Dean noticed Sam unfolding from the passenger side and rounding the truck, thumping the tailgate with a hand as it peeled away. Sam held up two brown bags and two Styrofoam cups with a grin.
“Breakfast in bed?” he quipped and Dean rolled his eyes.
“Everything clear?”
“Yeah, apart from a lot of damage and quite a few superficial injuries, everything’s good,” Sam nodded, handing over one of the coffees and letting Dean inspect the choice of bagels, disappointment evident on his face that the breakfast option didn’t involve something with icing.
“So how is it I didn’t know about this whole thing with the pranking demons?” Dean asked, voice muffled because he’d shoved half of his bagel into his mouth.
“To be honest I have no idea how I know. I just saw a real live Mogwi in our room and something clicked.”
“You think Dad mentioned it in his journal?”
“Maybe Elkins did,” Sam mused. “I’ve read that more recently and his info goes back further.”
“Maybe,” Dean nodded, who made a play for Sam’s coffee, which was scooped aside and protected, leaving his bagel unguarded which Dean snagged and Sam was pretty sure was the true target.
Dean was many things, but he was good.
“So, next Halloween, we find some cabin out in the middle of nowhere, lock all the doors and windows and wait it out.” Dean noticed the way Sam’s shoulders stiffened and sighed. “I mean, I’ll come and get you wherever you happen to be at the time and we’ll… do that,” he amended.
Sam was many things and being a realist was at the top of that list.
“I’m sure whatever crappy hotel room we’re in at the time will be fine, I just won’t leave you alone,” Sam said and he could tell Dean was genuinely pleased because he was handed half of his bagel back.
“Or we could head to Bobby’s,” Dean allowed. “I’m sure he’s got all kinds of anti-prank wards up.”
“Yeah, or we could do that,” Sam agreed, letting the morning sun seep into his bones as he lay back on the Impala’s hood and finished his breakfast.
By:
kellifer_ficFandom: SPN
Rating: PG (language/horror themes)
Category: Dean,Sam (gen - angst/humor)
Words: 2,034
Disclaimer:, Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: Use of S2 character.
Notes: For my final
spn_halloween prompt. Dean and Sam face off against a horde of angry Gremlins. “What’s that?”
Sam had entered the motel room to find Dean sprawled across one of the beds, something small and fuzzy in front of him head first in a box of chocolate biscuits with only two small hind legs waggling in the air.
“Some old guy asked me to watch his puppy for ten minutes,” Dean shrugged. “Little guy looked hungry so I’m just letting him munch out.”
Sam came further into the room, eyeing the jigging box carefully, noting that what he had taken to be two hind paws actually looked like little feet, toes and everything, covered in caramel, black and white coloured fur.
He’d seen that kind of fur somewhere…
“Oh my god, that’s not a puppy!” Sam cried, snatching up the box and dumping the little creature out. It landed on the mattress with a squeak of surprise and Dean scooped it up, looking at Sam like he was crazy.
“What is wrong with you? Of course it is,” Dean protested.
Sam smacked Dean across the face sharply and Dean rolled to his feet, face flushing with anger. “Just what in the hell was that for?” he growled.
“Look at what you’re holding again and tell me it’s a puppy,” Sam said.
Dean dug the small critter out from under his shirt and then yelped, tossing it in the direction of the bathroom, the door rebounding and closing behind it. “What the hell is that?”
“I leave the room for two minutes and you get whammied into babysitting a mogwi and feed it,” Sam looked at his watch and then groaned, “After midnight?”
“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded, rubbing his temples which were starting to ache. “I… someone whammied me?”
There were high-pitched growls and splashing noises coming from the bathroom and Sam slapped a hand to his face. “Tell me there wasn’t water in the sink?”
“I was shaving when the guy… when whoever it was knocked on the door.”
Sam grasped Dean’s shoulders, spun him about and aimed him at the motel room door, mindful that all the weapons were still in the Impala because Sam had been going to unpack the trunk when he got back from getting them dinner. “We gotta go,” he said, yanking his mobile out of his pocket and groaning when it flashed low battery at him.
Dean went, still scratching at his head. “Someone whammied me?” he grumbled again just as the thumping started on the bathroom door.
“Dude, what is wrong with you? Have you never seen Gremlins?” Sam snapped, punching coins into the payphone on the other end of the motel complex. Dean dug around in his jacket and came up with their Dad’s journal.
“I’m sorry I haven’t memorised this like you brainiac. Just tell me what page-“
“No, the movie,” Sam corrected, snatching the journal out of Dean’s hands and shoving it back into his jacket then turning to dial.
“What? No,” Dean said, blinking.
“I thought you liked horror movies,” Sam said, pausing in his dialling to look at Dean for a beat. Dean shook his head, shrugging.
“Why would you think that? I get enough blood and guts in real life and dude, if I wanted to see boobs, I could catch those live too.”
“Hey Ellen?” Sam said into the phone, putting a hand up to Dean. “Yeah, it’s Sam. Look, I was wondering if there were any Hunters in tonight?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at him as Sam listened patiently. “Yeah, ok, there’s a town about two hours away called North Haven. They’re about to have a…” Sam grimaced. “Gremlin problem.”
Sam held the phone away from his ear and Dean could hear the tinny sound of Ellen laughing on the other end. When the laughing died down, Sam put the phone back to his ear. “Yes, I’m serious,” he sighed, rubbing his other hand over his eyes. “No it wasn’t… well, yes it might’ve been us but… how did you know that?” Sam looked at Dean who frowned at him. “No, he hasn’t seen it,” Sam said and Dean’s frown deepened. “Yeah, thanks.”
“What was that all about?” Dean demanded as soon as Sam had hung up the phone.
“We need help,” Sam said, his face grim.
“What, for the fuzzy little not-puppy in the motel room?” Dean snorted, but the smile fell off his face when a snarling, spitting wave of green bodies poured from their motel room.
“No, for them.”
“I’m glad everyone is having so much fun with this,” Dean grumbled, sitting on the roof of the Impala with his rifle across his lap. Every now and again a truck or older style car would bounce past, fairly bristling with men, women and guns, all hooting and catcalling as they spotted the Impala sitting at the city limit sign.
Dean was fighting the powerful urge to take potshots at their tyres.
“C’mon Dean, you gotta admit, it’s pretty funny. It’s like Hunter’s Christmas.” Sam paused to wave good-naturedly as another car load buzzed past, blaring their horns.
“Oh c’mon, there’s no way these are all Hunters,” Dean complained, waving a hand at the tail lights as they faded into the darkness.
“No, I’d say not. Ellen’s probably put the word out to every good ol’ boy she knows. In the dark Gremlins would look like big ugly lizards.”
“That can handle knives?” Dean quirked an eyebrow, remembering with a shudder on their way out of town as one fairly industrious critter had launched itself at the Impala, landing on the windshield and brandishing of all things, a pocket knife.
Sam had leaned out of the Impala window and had shot it off the car, leaving a smear of green guts across the glass. Dean had only lightened up about that when he’d found one of Sam’s t-shirts in the back seat and had used it to clean the offensive goop off. What had cheered Dean even more was that Sam hadn’t noticed what he was using and had also missed when Dean tucked the now rank shirt into the bottom of Sam’s duffle.
“Hold on, there’s another one,” Dean sighed, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder. As he looked down the scope at a rambling old truck bouncing and zagging all over the road towards them, out of the town, Dean took a breath in and out and then pulled the trigger.
Three more shots and the front end of the truck exploded, the whole thing flipping end over end as it rambled into a ditch, belching flame and smoke into the night sky. Sam turned the spotlight on the Impala towards the flaming mess and picked off the couple of small green creatures that managed to pull themselves from the wreckage.
“Oh, and have figured out how to drive,” Dean added, unslinging the rifle and resting it across his knees again. ‘So, tell me again how this works?”
Sam sighed, pulling himself onto the roof next to Dean, goosebumps chasing up and down his arms as the heat of the truck reached them and chased the chill of the night away. “Dude, you dent my baby with your bony ass and we’re going to have a problem,” Dean said, nudging Sam in the side with the butt of his rifle.
“On All Hallow’s Eve, the veil between the realms of the living and the dead, magic and reality is at its thinnest,” Sam explained, ignoring his brother. “We have trick or treating and the demon world has something similar. Considering the greatest pranksters and tricksters are demons, it’s unsurprising that they try to outdo each other on the night where we mere mortals celebrate them.”
“Who you callin’ a mere mortal?”
“Anyway, it’s one thing to trick someone unsuspecting but the greatest prize is to play a trick on someone who is open to the darkness.”
“You’ve seen the movie. How do we kill them all?”
“W don’t really need to,” Sam said, sitting back with his hands gripping the top edge of the window on the other side of the car. “The magic keeping them here should burn off with the sunrise.”
“Should?”
“In theory.”
“Why all this then?” Dean said, waving a hand towards themselves and then the road.
“Keep them occupied and within the town limits till then. Plus, we don’t really want a whole bunch of townsfolk being killed in their sleep.”
“Sammy, I don’t think anyone’s going to be sleeping through what’s happenin’ in town.”
“True,” Sam grimaced. He leaned over and reached into Dean’s jacket and Dean tried to slap his hands away but Sam came back with a flask and grinned, uncapping it and tipping some of the contents into his mouth. His brow furrowed and he looked from the flask to Dean and back again.
“Holy water, dufuss,” Dean chuckled, pulling a small mini-bar bottle of scotch from another pocket. When Sam made a gimme gesture, Dean grinned before draining the remainder of the bottle and tossing it out into the night.
“You’re an ass,” Sam sighed.
“Next time, bring your own booze.”
Dean awoke with a crick in his neck, sun in his eyes and a grizzled old guy looking down at him.
“You Winchester?” the man asked and Dean sat up. He’d fallen asleep still clutching his rifle but on the hood of the Impala, resting back against the windshield. Dean was tempted to say no because the man was looking at him with one eye pulled closed by a horrendous scar that cleaved his face almost in two, but then Dean realised that the man was actually grinning.
“Yeah, Dean,” he admitted and the guy’s grin grew wider and he walloped Dean on the back, nearly pitching Dean off the Impala.
“Well goddamn son, that was a helluva good time. If I see you in Ellen’s I’ll buy you a beer,” he crowed. He shouldered his own sawn-off and slid back into the driver’s seat of a beat-up looking blue pick-up. Dean noticed Sam unfolding from the passenger side and rounding the truck, thumping the tailgate with a hand as it peeled away. Sam held up two brown bags and two Styrofoam cups with a grin.
“Breakfast in bed?” he quipped and Dean rolled his eyes.
“Everything clear?”
“Yeah, apart from a lot of damage and quite a few superficial injuries, everything’s good,” Sam nodded, handing over one of the coffees and letting Dean inspect the choice of bagels, disappointment evident on his face that the breakfast option didn’t involve something with icing.
“So how is it I didn’t know about this whole thing with the pranking demons?” Dean asked, voice muffled because he’d shoved half of his bagel into his mouth.
“To be honest I have no idea how I know. I just saw a real live Mogwi in our room and something clicked.”
“You think Dad mentioned it in his journal?”
“Maybe Elkins did,” Sam mused. “I’ve read that more recently and his info goes back further.”
“Maybe,” Dean nodded, who made a play for Sam’s coffee, which was scooped aside and protected, leaving his bagel unguarded which Dean snagged and Sam was pretty sure was the true target.
Dean was many things, but he was good.
“So, next Halloween, we find some cabin out in the middle of nowhere, lock all the doors and windows and wait it out.” Dean noticed the way Sam’s shoulders stiffened and sighed. “I mean, I’ll come and get you wherever you happen to be at the time and we’ll… do that,” he amended.
Sam was many things and being a realist was at the top of that list.
“I’m sure whatever crappy hotel room we’re in at the time will be fine, I just won’t leave you alone,” Sam said and he could tell Dean was genuinely pleased because he was handed half of his bagel back.
“Or we could head to Bobby’s,” Dean allowed. “I’m sure he’s got all kinds of anti-prank wards up.”
“Yeah, or we could do that,” Sam agreed, letting the morning sun seep into his bones as he lay back on the Impala’s hood and finished his breakfast.