It's A Terrible Life. // Dean //

Sam Winchester
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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Aug 30, 2015 17:05:20 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Aug 30, 2015 17:05:20 GMT -5

ooc; SEASON FOUR. EPISODE SEVENTEEN.

Sam Wesson woke with a jolt, covered in a light sweat. He'd just been involved in a dream so intense, he could have sworn it was real. But it couldn't have been. Because in the dream, he and some guy he'd never met before had saved a friendly grim reaper...which was just bizarre...from demons...which was even more bizarre. He wished he could say this was a one-off deal, but ever since he'd started working at Sandover three weeks ago, it was like something in his brain had flipped a switch, turning him crazy. Because this had been happening almost every single night. And the dreams all revolved around the same kind of bizzaro supernatural topics and they all had this one strange guy in them. He glanced over at his alarm clock and groaned, rubbing his eyes.

It was time for work.

Last Edit: Aug 30, 2015 17:34:56 GMT -5 by Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester
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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Aug 30, 2015 17:29:06 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Aug 30, 2015 17:29:06 GMT -5

Dean Smith woke fresh from a perfect eight hour night sleep. He brewed himself a cup of coffee, then dressed in a crisp suit and tie while it was cooling off. After finishing his refreshing beverage, he scooped up his briefcase and headed downstairs to the front of the apartment complex where his silver Toyota Prius was waiting. The first thing he did upon starting it up was switch the radio station from the blaring rock and roll song that hurt his ears over to the morning news station, before driving the speed limit all the way to his new job of three weeks at Sandover.

He worked steadily all morning, typing away at his computer, and taking calls on his Bluetooth. He took a ten minute lunch break to eat his salad, then returned to the grind. With about an hour left to go in the day, his boss poked his head in the door, pointing at him with pride. "Dean." Dean inclined his head politely. "Mr. Adler." "Good stuff" Mr. Adler praised. "Big things. Good stuff." He gave Dean a thumb's up, then continued on his way, and Dean continued with his work.

"Oh I hear you." Dean spoke into his phone at the end of the day while fiddling with a golf club, perched on the edge of his desk. "No, I haven't been to the gym in ages. Carrying a little bloat around myself. It's a sedentary lifestyle, my man, no two ways ab-" He stopped mid-sentence, hearing impressively about the new weight loss cleanse his friend was on. "All right, tell me one more time. You said lemon and—what was it? Cayenne and maple syrup, are you serious? And how much did you lose?" He scribbled the ingredients down on a post-it note, said his farewells, packed up his briefcase, and headed for the elevator.

Focused on returning some emails from his phone, Dean entered the elevator with his head down. When he finally looked up, there was a man in a yellow tech support tee-shirt staring at him. "Do I know you" the other man asked, continuing to stare in a way that made Dean feel kind of uncomfortable. "I don't think so" he answered politely just the same. The IT guy shook his head with a bemused expression. "I'm sorry, man, you just look really familiar." Dean's politeness was wearing thin.

"Save it for the health club pal."

Last Edit: Sept 25, 2015 15:30:33 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 8:19:28 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 8:19:28 GMT -5

The next day Sam was at his cubicle in the tech support office, poking at his vampire bobblehead with a pencil and listening to some hysterically frustrated woman ramble about her printer not working three hours before her big presentation. "Well, did you try turning it off and then on" he asked as was standard procedure. "Okay, go ahead and turn it off" he instructed when she admitted that no she had not done so. "No no no, just, just off" he added when she asked if she should start it up immediately again. "All right, give it a second." Sam counted to three. "Turn it back on. Okay, is it printing now? Great. Anytime." He pressed a button on the base phone then took off his headset and tossed it aside.

He hadn't even been working there a month and already he hated it. He supposed his mood could have something to do with not getting a decent night sleep or even his recent horrible break-up with his fiancé Madison but a large part of it was definitely the job.

As he sat there staring at his computer blankly, Ian rolled up beside him from the opposite cubicle, dressed, as he usually was, in a rumpled tee-shirt rather than the company polo shirt. "Hey." Sam inclined his head. "Yo." "What do you think of Mimi" Ian wanted to know, glancing towards her cubicle across the room. Sam shrugged. "She's ok." Ian raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Might have to hit that." Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, dude, that's totally age-inappropriate." "Experience" Ian pointed out. "Trifocals" Sam argued. "There's a MILF there, Sam" Ian insisted, grinning. "I just know it. Maybe a GMILF." Sam rolled his eyes again, trying to repress a gag. "Dude, come on." Ian just went right on grinning, though to his credit, he did change the subject. "Coffee break?" "For sure" Sam agreed in relief, standing and stretching his long legs.

Sam and Ian passed by Paul's cubicle on the way to the break room and, as was their usual routine, stopped to let him know it was time for coffee. "Paul. Time for a refuel, buddy" Ian announced. "Sorry, no time" Paul informed them hastily without removing his eyes from the screen. Sam and Ian swapped a befuddled look. "Since when" Ian demanded. "Dude, we get paid by the hour." "Working" Paul insisted, still not looking up. Ian held up his hands in surrender. "Ok." He and Sam headed for the break room. Sam glanced over his shoulder as they walked. "Wow, Paul seems really stressed." "He's probably just freaked because he got busted surfing porn on the Internet" Ian suggested, chuckling. Sam did a double-take. "What? No way! When?" "Got sent up to HR yesterday" Ian explained. "Guess they put the fear of God in him." He made a quick pit stop at the supply closet, taking a few boxes of pencils out and stashing them in his pants pockets. Sam rolled his eyes, something he felt like he did a lot of in Ian's presence. "Ian, dude." "Just doing a little shopping" Ian returned defensively with a grin. "Running low at home." He closed the supply closet and met Sam over by the coffee pot with a look of anticipation. "So Sam...any more of those dreams lately?" Sam turned away to pour a cup of coffee without saying anything. Ian pretended to pout. "What? Don't be like that. Come on. It's the highlight of my day." While Sam could easily believe that, he was starting to have regrets about confiding in Ian. "I never should have told you in the first place" he pointed out, handing the poured cup of coffee over to his co-worker.

"They're genius" Ian exclaimed, accepting the cup and taking a sip. "Don't hold out on me, dude. Share with the class." Sam poured himself a cup next. "You're just gonna be a dick about it." "What? No way. I won't say a word. Total respect. Go." Ian pretended to zip his lips closed, staring eagerly at Sam, who finally sighed heavily and informed him in a monotone, "I dreamt I saved a grim reaper named Tessa from demons." And right on cue, Ian burst out laughing. "Classic" he finally managed to choke out through the laughter. "How much D&D did you play when you were a kid?" He tried to calm himself down, speaking with forced politeness and sincerity. "Oh, my—okay, so you—rescuing the Grim Reaper. That's—you're a hero." It didn't last long. "I mean, thank God we got Harry Potter here to save us all from the apocalypse." Sam shook his head, trying not to smile and pointed at Ian. "Dick." Ian pointed back. "Wizard!"

As they made their way back to their cubicles, Sam tried to forget about the dreams. They were just dreams after all. Nothing more.

Right?

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 8:52:11 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 8:52:11 GMT -5

Dean finished yet another efficient work day and headed for the elevator, ready to make his way home. He was tired and just wanted to catch the first elevator that came along but after stepping aboard and finding that strange guy from the prior evening already there, he would have gladly taken the next one. But he was stuck. And after only one floor, the other two members got off, leaving just the two of them. Dean pulled out his phone again, trying to appear busy. But this didn't deter the other man, whose name tag read 'Sam', from addressing him. "Can I ask you a question." Dean's smile was strained. "Look, man, I told you yesterday, I'm not into the, uh-" "Oh dude, come on, I'm not either" he promised, waving this aside. "I just wanna ask you ONE question." He held up one finger, illustrating this point. Dean looked around desperately but, as they were in a moving elevator, there was no escape. "Sure" he finally agreed with a sigh and nod.

"What do you think about ghosts?" "Ghosts" Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't seen that coming. "Do you believe in them" Sam wanted to know with genuine curiosity. Dean chuckled awkwardly. "Uh, to tell you the truth, I've never given it much thought" he admitted. "Vampires" Sam pressed quickly, unsatisfied with Dean's answer. "Why are you asking this" Dean wanted to know, baffled. "Because I've been having some weird dreams lately" Sam explained evasively. "You know what I mean?" Dean stared at him. "No. Not really." "So...so you've never had any weird dreams" Sam wanted to know, almost desperately. Dean lowered his phone, trying to keep the annoyance from his tone. "All right, look, man, I don't know you, okay? But I'm gonna do a public service and, uh, let you know that—that you overshare." He exited the elevator.

He didn't even care that it wasn't the correct floor.

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 9:15:30 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 9:15:30 GMT -5

Sam was back at his cubicle the next day, talking into his headset. "Did you turn it off, then on? All right, well, let's try that" he instructed, doodling vampires on a blank sheet of paper in front of him. "No, no, it's fine, I'll wait." While he waited, he pulled up a search engine on his computer and typed in the word 'vampires', coming up with a whole schlew of information and pictures. "Is it printing now? Oh, that's great. Anytime." He pressed a button on the phone and pulled the headset down to rest around his neck, continuing the scan the articles until Ian's voice over one shoulder startled him. "Whatcha doing?" "Nothing" Sam lied quickly, minimizing everything on his screen.

"You get an email from Human Resources" Ian wanted to know, frowning. Sam shook his head. "No. Why?" Ian sighed and made a face. "Damn it. Guess it's just me, then. I'm supposed to, quote, report to HR, unquote." He made air quotes with his fingers while speaking. "They're probably finally busting you for snaking all those office supplies" Sam pointed out. "Ooh, I hope they spank me." Ian grinned, pushing back his chair and standing. Sam rolled his eyes, waited for Ian to leave, and then returned to his vampire search.

He'd only been at it for another few minutes however when he heard Paul's distressed voice saying repeatedly, "no, no, please. Come on. Don't do this to me. Please." Sam took off his headset and stood, leaning over the divider in their cubicles. "Hey man, you ok?" Paul gestured wildly to his computer screen. "It froze." "They're crap, Paul" Sam couldn't help pointing out with a small laugh. "They freeze all the time." Everyone in the office knew that. "You don't understand" Paul babbled anxiously. "When I, when I rebooted, everything was gone. A whole day's work deleted." "Paul, it's ok man" Sam assured him, wondering if all this strange new behavior was only because he'd been sent to HR. "These things happen."

Sam returned to work for a few more hours, then packed up to go home. Paul, still trying to recover his lost work, was still there when he left. And he was still there the next morning when Sam arrived.

But he wasn't alive.

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 9:27:43 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 9:27:43 GMT -5

The next morning when Dean arrived at work, there was a very big commotion occurring on the third floor in the IT office. Apparently some guy had killed himself there the previous evening by sticking his head in the microwave and cooking it. The paramedics were just wheeling his sheet-covered corpse off when Dean arrived on the scene. He stood among the suited members of Sandover. Across the room were the yellow polo-shirt wearing tech staff, also watching the activity. Dean caught sight of Sam who was staring after the gurney intensely. And for a brief moment, their eyes met.

Then, Dean turned away, addressing one of his fellow managers. "Something about this seem not right to you?" "Uh, yeah, try the whole thing" he replied shuddering. "I'm telling you, man, I'll never eat popcorn again." Dean nodded his agreement, muttering, "yeah" distractedly, still trying to put his finger on what about this situation bothered him more than just a man committing suicide.

Back in his office, he pulled up Paul Dunbar's personal file on his computer, looking for anything of interest. A little note to all employees of Sandover popped up, reminding everyone that Paul's retirement celebration would be held in...Dean blinked, doing a double-take.

"Two weeks??"

Last Edit: Sept 2, 2015 9:27:38 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 9:48:39 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 9:48:39 GMT -5

Sam couldn't get over how weird this all was. He sat at his cubicle, mulling everything over for awhile before deciding to bounce some ideas off of Ian. So he rolled back in his chair to Ian's cubicle with a furrowed brow. "Hey. Why would someone kill themselves two weeks before they were supposed to retire? I mean, Paul was two weeks from freedom. He should have been happy, right?" "I don't have time for this, Sam" Ian insisted tightly, typing away at his keyboard. Sam laughed. "That's very funny." He turned to face Ian and felt his jaw drop. Ian was sitting up rod-straight in his chair, his hair slicked back, wearing the yellow polo-shirt. "What's with you" Sam asked in open bafflement. "I'm working" Ian explained without looking up. "It's important." "HR bust your balls or something??" Sam gestured at Ian's attire with a scoff. "You're wearing the shirt! And..." He squinted closer. "Did you shave?"

Ian ignored him, picking up the ringing phone next to his computer instead. "Tech support, this is Ian." He paused, listening. "Be right up." Hanging up the phone, he stood and smoothed down his shirt. "Gotta go up to twenty-two, speak to a manager." With a brisk nod, he took off. Sam stared after him, his head tilted to one side.

Something was definitely going on here.

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 20:22:19 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 20:22:19 GMT -5

Dean sat at his desk, waiting for the tech support employee he'd phoned to arrive. He was trying to put everything that had happened that morning out of his head. He was just being paranoid because of that conversation about ghosts and vampires he and Sam had had in the elevator. There was nothing going on here other than a sad tragedy in the fact that a man had taken his own life.

There was a timid knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts. Dean half-rose from his chair, nodding in greeting. "Hi. Ian, is it? Yeah, come on in." He lowered himself back into his desk chair, picking up a piece of paper from the top drawer. "Yesterday you filled out a 445-T and no problem, just a few errors...I mean, we did just switch over to Vista. So I'm sure you're used to filling out the dash-R's, am I right?" He smiled encouragingly but Ian looked as though he'd been punched in the face. "Oh no." "No no no, it's fine" Dean assured him quickly, pulling a blank copy from another desk drawer. "I just need you to redo one today so I can get the show on the road with the invoicing." Ian stared at the paper in Dean's hand, transfixed with horror. "Oh my god...I can't...I can't believe I did this" he whispered, his face pale. "No, it's fine" Dean repeated, watching Ian closely, starting to realize something was off here. "Just refile it and we're square." "No, no. It affected profits. It—I screwed up. I—I can't—I can't—I am so sorry." Ian was losing more color by the minute, rambling away in a choked up voice. "I—how could I do that? I failed Sandover. I failed the company." Dean rose to his feet, forgetting the paper in lieu of the more serious problem that had arisen, which was Ian's odd behavior. "All right, why don't you sit down, Ian" he suggested patiently, gesturing to his now vacant chair. "No." Ian shook his head resolutely, then turned and bolted from the office.

"Ian?" Dean took off his Bluetooth, tossed it down onto his desk and followed Ian down the hall into the nearest bathroom. Ian was standing by the row of sinks, staring into the long mirror and breathing deeply as though he'd just run a marathon. Dean held up his hands calmly. "Ian, hey. Just chill out, man. Okay?" Ian turned his blank eyes from the mirror to Dean, simply staring at him. Then, suddenly, all the sinks and soap dispensers in the whole bathroom turned on by themselves, slowly starting to flood the place with sticky pink soap and warm water. Dean exhaled sharply, his breath visible, and then gestured at Ian with his still raised hands. "Ian, hey, maybe we should get out of here, huh?" Ian didn't move. Instead he looked back at the mirrors thoughtfully. "Come on" Dean insisted. "Ian. Look at me."

When Ian finally turned around again, Dean noticed that he was holding a pencil. Before he could question him on that, Ian was taking said pencil and jamming it into his own throat. Dean stared with wide eyes full of panic as a stream of blood spurted from the wound and Ian collapsed, twitching and jerking around on the ground. "Ian!" Rushing forward and nearly slipping in the combination of blood, water and soap, Dean knelt at the other man's side, frantically looking around for something to stem the bleeding. Instead, he found himself looking straight into the eyes of an old man in the mirror, who when Dean turned around, was no longer there. Dean swallowed hard and bellowed, "somebody help me" as Ian took his last breath.
~~~

Half an hour later, the curious crowd was starting to disperse while a plain clothes officer was finishing up his routine questioning with Dean. "What happened next sir?" "I followed him into the bathroom" Dean explained in a quiet voice, feeling sick. "He was, uh—he was standing there in front of the mirror, and then..." He trailed off, having spotted a familiar face in the sea of onlookers. Sam was watching the gurney with Ian on it being wheeled away. And just like at Paul's death scene, their eyes met briefly. Then the cop was prompting Dean to continue and Sam was moving on. "And he stabbed himself in the neck. I'm sorry, that's all I know" Dean apologized, keeping his eyes on Sam's retreating form.

When he was back in his office a few minutes later, his shaking hand grabbed up the phone, punching in the correct digits to get Sam's cubicle number. He answered after two rings. "Tech support this is Sam." "I need to see you in my office" Dean barked, barely holding it together.

"Now."

Last Edit: Sept 8, 2015 12:18:44 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 21:24:45 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 21:24:45 GMT -5

Sam knocked twice on Dean's half-open door, unsure of what to expect. "Come on in" Dean invited from the far side of the room where he was buttoning up a fresh, un-bloodied shirt. "Shut the door." Sam did as requested, entering the spacious office further. "Who the hell are you" Dean demanded finally, crossing his arms. "I'm not sure I know" Sam admitted honestly, earning only a blank "what the hell does that mean" from Dean. Sam waved this off and answered the original question. "Sam Wesson. I just started here three weeks ago." "All right." Dean gave a curt nod, beginning to pace. "Well you cornered me in the elevator talking about ghosts. And now..." "Now what" Sam prompted when Dean seemed unable to continue. "Now nothing" was the answer finally given after a few deep breaths, followed by a subject change. "I, uh...so you started working here three weeks ago, huh?" Sam nodded without saying anything. Dean smiled weakly. "Me too." He took a few more deep breaths, unscrewing the lid of a bottle from his desk while doing so. "It's the Master Cleanse" he explained. "You tried it? Phenomenal. Detoxes you like nobody's business." Sam made a face, politely declining the offer of a sip.

Dean took a long gulp himself, still looking unsettled. Something started to click for Sam, who asked slowly while watching Dean's expression, "when you were in that bathroom with Ian, did you see something?" Dean set the still open bottle down on his desk, finally turning to look directly at Sam. "I don't know" he admitted, looking spooked. "I don't know what I saw." "Wait." Sam stared. "Are you saying that—did you see a ghost?" "I was freaking out" Dean exclaimed without actually answering Sam's question. "I mean, come on, the guy penciled his damn neck." "You did, didn't you" Sam answered for him eagerly. "Okay, listen." He threw out a theory that he'd been working on. "What if these suicides aren't suicides? I mean, what if they're something not natural?" Dean frowned skeptically. "So, what, ghosts are real? And they're responsible for all the dead bodies around here? Is that what you're telling me?" The pair of them each took a seat in unison. Sam nodded, looking slightly wary of Dean's reaction to his next words. "I know it sounds crazy. But yes. That's what I'm telling you."

"Based on what" Dean wanted to know. Sam searched his brain for an answer, finally coming up with, "instinct." He knew it sounded lame. But it was just a gut feeling he couldn't shake. Dean studied him without saying anything for a minute and then nodded somberly. "I've got the same instinct." Sam's eyes lit up in relief. "Seriously? You know those dreams I was telling you about" he went on, leaning closer. "I was dreaming about ghosts. And then it turns out that there's a real ghost!" Dean wrinkled his brow. "So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions and you're some kind of psychic?" "No" Sam chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity of this idea. "I mean, that would be nuts. I'm just saying something weird is definitely going on around here, right? We both agree on that. So I've been digging around a little. And I think I found a connection between the two guys." He pulled two folded sheets of paper from his back pocket, unfolded them, and passed them over to Dean, who scanned them both with a raised eyebrow. "You broke into their email accounts?" Sam couldn't tell from the tone if he was in trouble or not. "I...used some skills that I happen to have to satisfy my curiosity" he explained, rephrasing the accusation. Dean's expression was impassive for another second before breaking into an impressed smile. "Nice." Sam grinned broadly as well. "Thanks. Okay. So it turns out Ian and Paul both got this same email telling them to report to HR, room fourteen forty-four." "HR's on seven" Dean pointed out, frowning in confusion. Sam nodded once. "Exactly."

"Should we go check this out" Dean wondered, putting down the emails. Sam raised an eyebrow. "Like right now?" Dean tried not to look disappointed. "No. No, it's getting late. You're right." He rubbed his eyes as if trying to illustrate the late hour. Sam leaned closer still.

"I am DYING to check this out right now."

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 21:45:38 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 21:45:38 GMT -5

Dean's disappointment melted away, replaced by an eager smile. "Right??" He was so glad Sam wanted to follow up on this clue immediately rather than sit around and wait for a more convenient time. So they headed out. Dean felt his heart beating with anticipation, wondering what they'd find upon reaching their destination. They couldn't possibly be chasing a ghost, could they?? It was ludicrous. But he couldn't shake that image of the old man who disappeared. Nor could he shake the gnawing instinct he'd told Sam about.

Room 1444 was an old office no longer used by anyone that had been turned into a storage room. When the boys approached it, they could hear someone shouting for help inside. The lights were flickering wildly and, when tested, the doorknob refused to budge. Dean looked around wildly for something to help that process along, but Sam took a much faster, more direct approach, lifting one foot and slamming it into the door so hard that it splintered, busting wide open. Dean stared. "Whoa." Through the now open door they could see that just up ahead of them, a yellow polo-shirt wearing techie was trapped beneath a fallen shelf. Sam and Dean rushed forward to help him, ignoring the sudden drop in temperature. However, before either of them could lift the shelf and free the man, Dean felt himself being grabbed by the shoulders. The next thing he knew he was flying through the air, crashing into a pile of books and toppling to the ground, winded. As he scrambled to his feet, breathing deeply, Dean saw with a lurch of the stomach that the old man was standing over Sam, his fingers crackling with blue electricity, preparing to strike.

Grabbing up a wrench from the nearest tool box, Dean sprung into action, swinging that wrench as hard as he could into the ghost who dissipated in a wisp of gray smoke instantly. The lights ceased their flickering, the room's temperature returned to normal, and all the buzzing electronic equipment faded to black. Dean, still breathing deeply, though more from adrenaline than pain or feat at this point, tossed the wrench aside and joined Sam, who was also breathing pretty hard, in helping the third man out from under the fallen shelf. "How'd you know how to do that" Sam wanted to know, looking in awe at Dean. Dean shook his head, completely baffled.

"I have no idea."

Last Edit: Sept 8, 2015 12:27:40 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 22:08:09 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 22:08:09 GMT -5

Sam followed Dean to his luxury apartment, where the first words since room 1441 were spoken. "Holy crap, dude." Dean grabbed up a new bottle of the master cleanse and took a long sip. This sentiment pretty much echoed what was running through Sam's brain. He nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I could use a beer." "Oh, sorry, man" Dean apologized, walking over to his refrigerator and pulling out a water bottle. "I'm on the Cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house." He made his way back over to where Sam was perched up against the arm of a couch and offered the bottle. Sam accepted it but didn't take a drink yet. "Hey. How the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches" he wanted to know instead, still massively impressed with that little stunt.

"No idea" Dean admitted, looking just as impressed with himself. "Something just told me to grab it. Crazy, right? And nice job kicking that door too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?" "No" Sam exclaimed with a bemused shake of the head. "I have no clue how I did that." He frowned pensively. "It's like...we've done this before." Dean raised a curious eyebrow. "What do you mean, before? Like Shirley MacLaine before?" Sam shook his head dismissively. "No. I—I just can't shake this feeling like I—like I don't belong here. You know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle." "I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way" Dean pointed out with a wry smile. "It's more than that" Sam insisted, letting the cubicle jab slide by. "Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town." He picked at the collar of his yellow polo shirt with distaste. "I don't like my clothes. I don't even like my own last name" he exclaimed, trying to put words to the way he'd felt so out of place lately. "I don't know how else to explain it, except that...it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different." He sighed heavily and looked at Dean with interest. "What about you? You ever feel that way?"

Dean considered this for a brief minute before answering with a firm, "I don't believe in destiny. I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though." It was the best he was going to get, Sam supposed. "Alright, so what do we do now" he wondered, having never actually hunted a ghost before. "We do what I do best, Sammy" Dean explained, standing. "Research." "Okay." Sam nodded, before the full weight of Dean's words had hit him. "Did you just call me Sammy?" Dean had already begun to move over to his desk to turn on the computer stationed there but paused at Sam's question. "Did I?" Sam did a quick replay of the sentence in his mind. "I think you did. Yeah." He made a face.

"Don't."

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 2, 2015 23:21:49 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 2, 2015 23:21:49 GMT -5

"Sorry." Dean shrugged sheepishly as he settled down at his computer to try and figure out this whole ghost hunting business. Sam took a seat on the couch with one of Dean's spare laptops. And for awhile it was quiet. Then Dean stumbled upon a pretty helpful website and whistled. "Jackpot." Sam looked up. "What you got?" Dean clicked on the videos tab. "I just found the best site ever. Real, actual ghost hunters." Sam rose from the couch and crossed to stand behind Dean. "These guys are genius" Dean went on, bringing up the first and longest of the instructional videos. "Check it out."

Two guys wearing white lab coats sitting at a table with multiple strange pieces of equipment covering it popped onto the screen. "We know why you're watching" the first one said. "You've got a problem" the other added. For the next few lines, they just went back and forth like a tennis match. "A ghost problem." "A ghost-related problem. A ghost—it's like a ghost-adjacent pr—it's like a problem that's—and the ghost is—" "Whatever. You've come to the right place. The only decent place, really, because the Ghostfacers know how to solve it. And ONLY the Ghostfacers. Period. Better than ANYONE." It seemed as though they were trying to prove a point or had some competition going, not that Sam or Dean really cared since it had nothing to do with them. They continued watching. "The first step in any supernatural fight: figure out what you're up against."

Dean paused the video and the two of them moved over to Sam's open laptop to do some research on the mysterious man. "That's him" Dean announced after awhile of searching, pointing to an article about Sandover's death with an attached picture. "That's the ghost." "P. T. Sandover" Sam read off. "Died 1916. Devoted his life to his work. No wife, no kids." Sam scanned more of the article, reading passages as he went. "Used to say he was the company, and his very blood pumped through the building." "Wow, okay. So slight workaholic" Dean pointed out, peering over Sam's shoulder. "Maybe he's still here, you know, watching over the company, even killing for it." "Plus, turns out this isn't the first time people started killing themselves in the building" Sam added knowingly, flipping to another article. "In 1929-" "Lots of guys jumped off lots of high rises that year" Dean interrupted with a valid point. "How many companies had seventeen suicides" Sam asked rhetorically. Dean's eyes widened marginally. "Wow. Okay, so P. T. Sandover, protector of the company. His ghost must wake up and become active during times of grave economic distress." Sam nodded understandingly. "Well, I mean, the worst time we've seen since the Great Depression"- "Is now" Dean finished glumly. "Yeah, now sucks. My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even wanna talk about it."

Sam stared at him for a minute and then steered the conversation back onto point. "So Sandover's helping the bottom line"- "By zapping some model employees." Dean finished Sam's thought again. Sam didn't seem to mind. He just kept orally working through things. "Yeah. I mean, Ian and Paul...it was like he turned them into different people." "Perfect worker bees, exactly" Dean agreed. "So devoted to the company that they would commit hara-kiri if they failed it." Sam tilted his head to one side, reaching the end of the article. "One more interesting fact" he piped up with before Dean could wander away. "The building wasn't always this high. Used to be fourteen floors. And the room where the ghost attacked, fourteen forty-four?" He smiled knowingly. "Once upon a time, that was the old man's office." Dean nodded approvingly. That certainly seemed like a decent amount of information for the first step the Ghostfacers had given them. So it was time to get back to the video.

The skinnier of the two was the one to give them the next and most important step. "Once you've got that thing in your sights, you kill it! Using special ghost-hunting weapons." The chubby one spoke next. "First, salt. It's like acid to ghosts." Dean grabbed a full container of salt from his kitchen and packed it into a duffel bag while listening to the next instruction. "Next up, iron." "That's why the wrench worked" Sam realized aloud, nodding at Dean, who nodded back. The Ghostfacers were still talking, returning to their back and forth exchanges. "Next little trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags..." "That we hate." "The Winchesters." "Gun." One of them held up a gun, the other a shell. "Shotgun shell. Pack it up with fresh rock salt." "Very effective." "VERY effective." They both sounded upset by this fact as was evident in their next words. "Winchesters still suck ass, though." "Affirmative. Suckage major."

"Where do we even get a gun" Dean wanted to know in the video's lull while he packed a few fireplace poker irons into the duffel bag. Sam shrugged uncertainly. "Gun store?" "Isn't there like some kind of waiting period or something?" Dean was just throwing out things he'd heard on tv. He knew nothing about guns. Sam's face fell. "I think so." "Well then how in the hell" Dean began in frustration, cut off by Sam's helpless, "I don't know. Seems pretty impossible, honestly." The chubby Ghostfacer was talking again, holding up a lighter. "The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains." "Okay, this next part gets a little gross" his partner added, making a face. "Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry." "It's illegal in some states" the chubby one announced, corrected by his partner's, "all states." "In possibly all states" he edited. "Sandover was cremated" Sam pointed out in dismay. "So what do we do now" Dean exclaimed, worried. But no sooner had the words left his mouth than the skinnier Ghostfacer was saying, "Now, if the deceased has been cremated, don't panic." "Just gotta look for some other remains" the chubby one explained. "A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth. Genetic material. You know what we're talking about. So go get it." The screen faded to black, signaling the end of the video.

Dean zipped up his duffel bag and slung it over one shoulder. "Well I guess we're as ready as we're ever going to be" he pointed out, suddenly not feeling so confident. After all, a ghost is already dead. Killing something that was already killed just seemed a bit redundant. And hard. Maybe it would have been different if they actually knew what they were doing. Like those Ghostfacers or the Winchesters they'd been going on about.

But they didn't.

Last Edit: Sept 2, 2015 23:23:26 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 8, 2015 9:10:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 8, 2015 9:10:57 GMT -5

"I guess we are" Sam agreed, his own level of assuredness taking a major hit after watching the Ghostfacers video and learning of all the challenges they'd be facing while hunting Sandover's ghost. "Set your cell phone to walkie-talkie in case we get separated" Dean suggested wisely as they rode the elevator back down to the fourteenth floor. "How the hell are we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper" Sam complained, fiddling with his phone's settings. "Well, that creepy storeroom used to be Sandover's office, right" Dean pointed out, gesturing down the hall as they stepped off the elevator. Sam shrugged. It was as good a place to start as any.
~~~

They'd only been scouring the office for about an hour, covering perhaps a third of the spacious room, when a loud, angry voice bellowed, "What the hell are you doing here?" Sam gave a start and looked wildly over one shoulder to where a grumpy security guard was standing, arms crossed. "Nothing" he insisted quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. "I just"- "Come with me" the guard interrupted, taking Sam by one arm and propelling him towards the door. "Man, listen. Look. It's okay. I—I work here." Sam tried to protest, looking around subtly to make sure Dean had hidden himself without the guard noticing, which seemed to be the case as the guard's words were only directed at him. "Tell it to the cops buddy." Sam sighed heavily and let himself be led towards the elevator, just glad they both hadn't been nabbed. At least Dean could keep searching, trying to make head-way on this ghost problem. As for himself, he would just have to come up with some kind of believable lie between now and when he spoke to the police. He wasn't sure what that was, but hopefully some sort of innate lying ability would make itself known just like his ability to kick in doors had earlier. He still had no idea where that had come from.

Once in the elevator, the guard let go of his arm and pressed the 1st floor button. The elevator began its descent. Sam was lost in his thoughts, but only a few floors down, it gave a horrible lurching motion, coupled with a grinding sound and a sudden drop in temperature that reminded Sam of the storeroom right before Sandover had made his appearance. His breath caught in his throat, his heart-rate increasing. The guard looked around, frowning, then used his keys to pry open the elevator doors about a foot. Wide enough for a thin-enough human to wriggle through. Which seemed to be the guard's plan. He gestured at the gap. "Come on." Sam stared. "What?" "Last time this happened, it took them two hours to get here" the guard explained. "Let's just wait" Sam suggested, having a bad feeling about this. The guard ignored him, hoisting himself up and through the doors, nearly kicking Sam in the face. Once outside, he turned back around, waiting for Sam to join him expectantly. "Seriously, I'll wait" Sam assured him, holding up his hands and refusing to move. "Look, I don't have the rest of my life" the guard snapped impatiently, getting on all fours and reaching through the doors to grab at Sam's arm.

And, with a sickening crash, the elevator jerked downwards abruptly, cleaning severing the guard's neck, decapitating him with a splash of blood that coated Sam's shirt, neck, and face. Sam's eyes widened, swallowing hard and staring in unblinking horror at the scene that had unfolded in front of him. "Hey." Dean's concerned voice floated up to his ears from the phone clipped to his belt. "You ok?" Without removing his eyes from the headless corpse dangling between the doors, Sam lifted the phone to his lips. "Call you back."
~~~

After mopping the blood from his face to the best of his ability and climbing from the elevator with the upmost care, he headed for the stairs, still rather shaken. "Dean, you there" he asked into his phone while on the move. "Yeah, listen, I think I got it" Dean informed him confidently. "Meet me on twenty-two." "Okay, yeah" Sam agreed. "Just, uh..." He made a face.

"Take the stairs."

Last Edit: Sept 8, 2015 12:43:12 GMT -5 by Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 8, 2015 10:00:40 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Sept 8, 2015 10:00:40 GMT -5

While Sam had been taken away by the guard, Dean had continued his search of Sandover's office and had finally discovered that there was an exhibit dedicated to Sandover up on the twenty-second floor, which included the old man's actual gloves. And it was the glass case containing those gloves that Dean was studying when Sam arrived, the collar and torso of his shirt covered in dried blood. There was a slightly red hue to his neck as well that suggested he'd cleaned up more of the blood. Dean's eyes widened. "Whoa. That's a lot of blood." Sam nodded, looking unsettled. "I know." Dean nodded, then gestured at the glass case. "In there." "P.T. Sandover's gloves" Sam asked curiously. Dean nodded wisely. "Yeah, how much you wanna bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two? Something." Sam gave an understanding nod, catching up to Dean's logic. "Right. So...you ready?" Dean's brow furrowed in uncertainty. "I have no idea" he admitted, kneeling to unzip the duffel bag at his feet. "Me neither" Sam assured him, holding out one hand to accept the iron poker Dean was offering. Dean exhaled slowly, getting focused, as he pulled a second poker and a container of salt from the bag next.

Suddenly, as Dean was straightening, the room's temperature dropped about twenty degrees, causing their breath to appear in little visible wisps. Then, without warning, Dean felt someone grabbing his shoulders and flinging him across the room to where he collided with the far wall and crumpled to the ground, losing his poker and salt container mid-flight. Through half-closed eyes, feeling very disoriented, Dean could just make out Sandover's form approaching Sam, who'd been thrown in the opposite direction, his fingers crackling with blue electricity. Dean struggled to his feet, wanting to help. But before he could get there, Sam was grabbing up the fallen salt container and tossing a handful in Sandover's face. He disappeared instantly. "It works" Sam breathed in awe, looking up to meet Dean's gaze. Dean gave him a thumbs up, breathing deeply himself. "Nice."

They'd only been recovering for less than a minute when Sam's expression grew alarmed. "Dean!" Scooping up the poker, he tossed it to Dean, who caught it instinctively and then, in one seamless gesture, swung around to swing it forcefully through Sandover, who disappeared again. "Nice catch" Sam praised, looking impressed. Dean looked down at the poker he was gripping, feeling majorly impressed himself. "Right" he exclaimed with a grin, swinging it around a couple of times in a figure-eight pattern. Sam got to his feet and picked up the second poker, glancing at it with consideration. Dean did the same with his.

With a flicker, Sandover re-appeared between the boys who simultaneously struck him with their pokers. No more than a second later, he was forming behind Dean, who poker-ed him quickly, then Sam, who did the same. Then he appeared between them again, throwing them effortlessly into the walls once more. Dean felt his head collide with the bricks and a shooting pain erupted in his skull. Blinking through the pain, Dean saw Sandover approaching, his fingers crackling with that same blue electricity. Dean pressed his back up against the wall, unable to do anything else, and threw up one arm as protection. But nothing happened.

After a few seconds of tense anticipation, Dean lowered his arm to see Sandover going up in flames with a twisted look of pain on his face. And Sam was standing by the shattered glass case, P.T Sandover's gloves at his feet, also going up in flames. Dean used one hand to push himself up off the floor into a standing position, not taking his eyes off of the smoldering gloves. He made his way over to Sam, finally lifting his eyes. "Wow." Sam nodded vehemently. "That was awesome." Dean had never agreed so much with anything in his life. "Right??" And then, just because he could think of nothing else to say, he repeated it.

"Right??!"

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

It's A Terrible Life. // Dean // Sept 8, 2015 10:52:30 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sam Winchester on Sept 8, 2015 10:52:30 GMT -5

"Man, I gotta tell you, I've never had so much fun in my life" Dean declared as the two of them entered Dean's office a few minutes later, still pretty riled up from the whole adventure. "Me neither" Sam agreed, taking a seat opposite Dean's desk, his heart-rate only just starting to come down off of its adrenaline high. Dean rummaged through the top drawer of his desk, surfacing with a first aid kit, which he opened and began to search. "Was a hell of a workout too, wasn't it?" Sam couldn't remember ever feeling this happy or alive. He didn't want the feeling to end. "We should keep doing this" he suggested suddenly, the idea filling him with pleasure. "I know" Dean replied distractedly, probably not paying full attention to Sam's words, as he pulled two strips of gauze and two bandaids from the kit, offering one of each to Sam. Sam took the medical supplies but set them on his chair's armrest rather than use them, too caught up in this new plan of his. "I mean it" he insisted seriously. "There's gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people."

"Right, we'd be like the Ghostfacers" Dean joked, still apparently not understanding just how serious Sam was being about this. "No, really." Sam locked eyes with Dean intensely, not an ounce of humor on his face. "I mean, for real." Dean's smile faded, at last understanding this was not a joke. "What? Like, quit our jobs and hit the road?" Sam nodded eagerly. "Exactly." "How would we live" Dean challenged, catching Sam off-guard. He hadn't really thought it all the way through. "Uh..." "You gotta be kidding me." Dean shook his head, setting the first aid kit aside and perching on the edge of his desk. "How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?" That actually didn't sound too horrible to Sam but instead of saying this, he brushed the whole things aside. "Those are all just details." "Details are everything" Dean insisted, looking almost offended. "You don't wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance!" Sam sunk backwards in his chair, studying the ground for a second before looking back up at Dean sheepishly. "All right. Um. Confession." Dean raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, but prompting Sam to continue with a simple nod. "Remember those dreams I told you about with the ghosts?" Dean nodded again, still saying nothing. Sam bit his lip. "Well I was fighting them. With you. We were these, like, hunters, and we were friends." He thought back over the dreams, remembering the interactions and smiled fondly. "More like brothers, really. I mean, what if that's who we really are?" Dean looked unsettled but Sam kept going. "You saw us back there, working together. We were a natural team."

Dean opened his mouth but Sam was on a roll. "The ghost was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?" "That's insane" Dean argued quickly, as though he was afraid to let himself think otherwise. "Is it" Sam challenged, staring Dean down. "Think about it for just one second. What if we think this is our life, but it's not?" Dean pushed off of his desk, holding up his hands as a sort of "slow down" gesture. "Hey, man, the ghost is dead and we're still standing. I mean, I'm sorry, but"- "Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be" Sam insisted heatedly, having felt like this for as long as he could remember, but now finally having a reason to believe that feeling.

Dean shook his head patiently. "No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo." Sam narrowed his eyes. "When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them?" Ignoring this, Dean tried to calm Sam down. "Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused and"- Sam rocketed to his feet. "Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number yesterday and I got a damn animal hospital!" "Okay so what are you saying? Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories" Dean scoffed, looking away. "Come on." Sam knew how ridiculous it sounded. But he also knew he couldn't shake the way he felt. "Look, all I know is, I got this feeling in my gut" he explained, fixing Dean with a hard stare. "And I know—I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else." He gave Dean a once-over, gesturing at the crisp dress shirt. "You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you." His expression and tone were closing in on desperate. "I know you."

Dean's expression closed off. "Know me? You don't know me, pal." He pointed to the door stiffly. "You should go." Sam, for a minute, considered arguing this fact, but he could see from Dean's stance and expression that it would do no good. So he left.
~~~

The next morning, donned in a fresh, un-bloodied yellow polo shirt, back in his cubicle, Sam listened to the multiple ringing phones from every direction. He looked down at the multiple blinking lights on his own phone, waiting for someone to answer. He couldn't do this anymore. Not when he knew what was out there and how much better it made him feel than this stupid, boring, cubicle work did. If Dean didn't want to help him, he'd just do it on his own. So he slowly picked up the poker he'd brought with him from their ghost hunting adventure, glaring daggers at his phone. Rising to his feet, he then proceeded to smash the crap out of it, swinging that poker with every ounce of power he possessed. Everyone in the office stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Sam tossed the poker to the ground, his energy spent.

"I quit."

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