Never say that you'll be right back, because you won't.
Sam had been gone for twenty minutes.
He'd just gone to take a piss, he said.
Wouldn't be but a second, he said.
Dean had tried to tell him that they needed to stay together, and that Sam could take a piss and powder his nose when they'd found the bottled remains of Dr. Strangelove the necrophiliac, or whatever the hell his name was, but Sam had just gotten pissed and stormed off.
Getting pissed while on a hunt was the easiest way to get hurt. Dad had told both of them that, multiple times, but Sam just loved playing the rebellious card. Hated listening to whatever their father had to say. In Dean's opinion, the kid never should have gone off to college. He came back all ... independent. Not that it was a problem or anything ... except that it ... was. Independence and hunting didn't necessarily gel together. When a guy really needed to take orders, follow instructions, do what he was told, a strong desire to put his foot down and run the other way was likely to get a guy killed.
Hopefully, Sam hadn't suffered that fate yet, because it would deny Dean the chance to smack him silly for being such a dumbass. "Sam! Where are you, man?" he called, walking down the hall toward the bathroom. Why did the vengeful spirits always have to pick the rickety old houses without any working lights? Why couldn't they haunt a nice hotel in Boca, or something ritzy like that?
Of course not. Because Sam could never make anything easy.
"Come on, Sammy! Shake off, zip your fly, and get your giant Sasquatch ass out here! We got shit to do, man!"
Finally, Dean sighed heavily and kicked the door down, announcing as an afterthought, "I'm comin' in!"
It was obvious, before he even got in, that something was wrong. If Sam was alright, he would have responded before now. There would have been some answer, some shouted insult, something. "Sammy!" he bellowed.
Something bumped into his forehead.
A sneaker, hanging loosely from a limp leg.
He looked up, and then he couldn't help but wail his little brother's name.
Listen closely to the sound track and pay attention to the audience, since they are usually far more intelligent than you could ever hope to be.
"Hey, did you hear that, Zach?" Chris asked me, with an odd expression on his face. Sleep-addled as I was, I just looked at him askance. "The ... music. I think. Is there a classical concert in the park or something tonight? Some old geezer blasting their radio too loudly?"
It was 11:30 on Halloween, and I'd been awake for the past few days. Between Angels and Chris' visit, there just hadn't been time to lay my head down for more than an hour or so at a time. If any of my other cast members noticed, they were going to have my head, but what could I do? My boyfriend was in town, and let's just say we didn't have much time for sleeping.
"No, I don't hear anyth-- oh. Yeah. I'unno. Let's just go home and get some rest, kay? M'tired." There it was, the low climbing cello line. It sounded like something straight out of a horror movie. How ironic -- thriller music on Halloween. "Oooh, the scary monster's gonna come get us!" I exclaimed, wiggling my fingers in Chris' face and leering at him.
"Man, you really are sleepy. Let's get you off to bed, okay?" His hand gripped my elbow, and together we started to walk back toward my apartment from the small lobby we'd been sitting in. "Is it getting louder, or is that just me?"
It wasn't just him: there were violins now, too, playing a slow and keening melody that was getting louder, faster, higher by the second. "It's gonna get us!" I moaned, tossing my hand over my forehead dramatically. "Two young lovers, cut down in their prime by the evil Halloween monster!"
"Have you been drinking?" Chris used his spare hand to unlock the door, ignoring the ever-crescendoing music that had followed us down the hall. I shook my head and stared into the room.
From behind us, someone whispered loudly, Don't go in there! It's a trap! The chorus continued. "Shush! I'm gonna go into my apartment and you can't stop me!"
As I stepped over the threshold, Chris gave me a sort of odd look. "Who were those people?" I shrugged. "This is weird, man. I don't like this. Let's go get some coffee from that 21-hour-a-day shop downstairs and come back later. All that dramatic music and shit doesn't sit well with me."
"What a wimp!" I laughed, before crashing down onto the bed and sighing. "You've just got the Halloween jitters."
The door slammed shut, leaving Chris out in the hall.
"Come on, I was just teasing you! Come back here!" But the door stayed shut.
Something was creeping out from behind the curtain.
It had a large, gleaming butcher's knife in its right hand.
I barely had time to scream.
A/N redux: Just these two for now. More tomorrow, though, perhaps. Hope you enjoyed these little ficlets and feel free to give ideas for pairings, or your favorite rule that you'd like to see chronicled in dramatic ficlet form!