[SPN/Gossip Girl] Spotted on the Upper East Side, 1/3
Title: Spotted on the Upper East Side
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural/Gossip Girl
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam, Chuck
Spoilers: Vague for season 1 of Gossip Girl
Summary: The Winchesters investigate the haunting of a New York hotel.
Author’s Notes: For katie__pillar ♥.
Spotted around town: Chuck Bass - whatever the reason for his sudden disappearance to Monaco, it’s clearly not an issue any more. Rumour has it he spent Christmas with Nate Archibald, and secrets were flowing as quickly as the alcohol. What will the New Year hold for this merry band? Whatever happens, you can be sure it will be at the Palace Hotel - I hear tell that some very funny things are going on there. Maybe it will be Chuck to the rescue? XOXO, Gossip Girl
“Dude.” Dean Winchester’s voice was pained. Sam ignored him, flicking looks up and down the ornate corridor before inserting his staff keycard into the hotel room door. The light blipped green, and Sam slunk inside. Dean, resplendent in a doorman’s uniform, tugged uselessly at the bottom of the hated jacket, and followed on behind.
As the door closed behind them, granting a reassuring, if specious, feeling of security, the two brothers looked around. Dean whistled.
“Nice digs.” Sam was already on the move, EMF detector in his hand. Dean let him check around the room, preferring to take stock of the more… tangible elements. “Hey, Sam - satin sheets. Seriously.” He opened a cabinet. “Heh - now this is what I call a video collection.” He crouched down, inspecting the titles. “I mean, Sammy, there are some classics here! I didn’t even know there was a sequel to Blonde and Busty in Bondage.” When, disappointingly, this elicited no response from Sam, who was still waving around the EMF gadget, Dean reluctantly abandoned the well-stocked porn cabinet, and started randomly opening drawers and closets.
“I’m telling ya, Sam, this is the way to live. Hey, d’you s’pose there’s a bathroom in here? There’s bound to be, right? Oh, man, can you imagine what the bathroom’s like in a place like this?” He opened a door enthusiastically, and then mutely waved at the enormous closet space. Sam rolled his eyes, and carried on with the job at hand.
“Ghosts, Dean. Remember?”
Dean waved a hand. “Oh, the whole fucking world’s haunted, Sam.” He bounced on the bed. “This is a… I mean, you could… Hey! Cookies!” Distracted by an elegant china pot on the nightstand, he lolled on the satin-sheeted-bed, scattering crumbs willy nilly. Something else caught his eye, and he grabbed the remote from the other side of the bed. A flick of a button, and the TV flared into life. A quick scroll through the channels, and Dean was sitting pretty, cookies in his lap, head rested in the crook of his elbow, a game on TV.
Sam threw the EMF detector at him, face as pissy as he knew how.
“There’s nothing here. Let’s move onto the next room.”
“Saaaam,” whined Dean. Sam showed no signs of budging.
“Do you know how many rooms there are in this hotel, Dean?” Dean mimed along. Bitchy Sam was his least favourite side of his brother.
“No, Sam. But something tells me you’re about to say. Gee, am I the psychic one now?”
“Over a five hundred. This is the fourth we’ve done. So, unless you want to be in that uniform for the rest of the year…”
Dean climbed off the bed, scowling. “Fucking uniform. ‘S’ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous,” came a voice which clearly did not belong to anyone bearing the name Winchester, “is what you two clowns think you’re doing in my suite.”
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Dean, opting, a little unwisely in Sam’s view, to go on the offensive.
“I am Chuck Bass,” said Chuck Bass, “and this is my hotel.”
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural/Gossip Girl
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam, Chuck
Spoilers: Vague for season 1 of Gossip Girl
Summary: The Winchesters investigate the haunting of a New York hotel.
Author’s Notes: For katie__pillar ♥.
Spotted around town: Chuck Bass - whatever the reason for his sudden disappearance to Monaco, it’s clearly not an issue any more. Rumour has it he spent Christmas with Nate Archibald, and secrets were flowing as quickly as the alcohol. What will the New Year hold for this merry band? Whatever happens, you can be sure it will be at the Palace Hotel - I hear tell that some very funny things are going on there. Maybe it will be Chuck to the rescue? XOXO, Gossip Girl
“Dude.” Dean Winchester’s voice was pained. Sam ignored him, flicking looks up and down the ornate corridor before inserting his staff keycard into the hotel room door. The light blipped green, and Sam slunk inside. Dean, resplendent in a doorman’s uniform, tugged uselessly at the bottom of the hated jacket, and followed on behind.
As the door closed behind them, granting a reassuring, if specious, feeling of security, the two brothers looked around. Dean whistled.
“Nice digs.” Sam was already on the move, EMF detector in his hand. Dean let him check around the room, preferring to take stock of the more… tangible elements. “Hey, Sam - satin sheets. Seriously.” He opened a cabinet. “Heh - now this is what I call a video collection.” He crouched down, inspecting the titles. “I mean, Sammy, there are some classics here! I didn’t even know there was a sequel to Blonde and Busty in Bondage.” When, disappointingly, this elicited no response from Sam, who was still waving around the EMF gadget, Dean reluctantly abandoned the well-stocked porn cabinet, and started randomly opening drawers and closets.
“I’m telling ya, Sam, this is the way to live. Hey, d’you s’pose there’s a bathroom in here? There’s bound to be, right? Oh, man, can you imagine what the bathroom’s like in a place like this?” He opened a door enthusiastically, and then mutely waved at the enormous closet space. Sam rolled his eyes, and carried on with the job at hand.
“Ghosts, Dean. Remember?”
Dean waved a hand. “Oh, the whole fucking world’s haunted, Sam.” He bounced on the bed. “This is a… I mean, you could… Hey! Cookies!” Distracted by an elegant china pot on the nightstand, he lolled on the satin-sheeted-bed, scattering crumbs willy nilly. Something else caught his eye, and he grabbed the remote from the other side of the bed. A flick of a button, and the TV flared into life. A quick scroll through the channels, and Dean was sitting pretty, cookies in his lap, head rested in the crook of his elbow, a game on TV.
Sam threw the EMF detector at him, face as pissy as he knew how.
“There’s nothing here. Let’s move onto the next room.”
“Saaaam,” whined Dean. Sam showed no signs of budging.
“Do you know how many rooms there are in this hotel, Dean?” Dean mimed along. Bitchy Sam was his least favourite side of his brother.
“No, Sam. But something tells me you’re about to say. Gee, am I the psychic one now?”
“Over a five hundred. This is the fourth we’ve done. So, unless you want to be in that uniform for the rest of the year…”
Dean climbed off the bed, scowling. “Fucking uniform. ‘S’ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous,” came a voice which clearly did not belong to anyone bearing the name Winchester, “is what you two clowns think you’re doing in my suite.”
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Dean, opting, a little unwisely in Sam’s view, to go on the offensive.
“I am Chuck Bass,” said Chuck Bass, “and this is my hotel.”