Fic: Twelve Days 9/12 | Gen pg-13
Title: Twelve Days
Authors: princess_schez & mlebayre
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone’s been reenacting a beloved holiday song, but with a very dark twist.
Authors Notes: Set during S2. Banner by princess_schez
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me, eleven pipers piping…
Dean had just pulled out onto the highway when his phone went off. He pulled to the side of the road, hitting the breaks at the same time. “Sammy,”
He heard a groan then Sam’s voice, “Dean…I…” Sam hissed in a breath and Dean could almost see the wince that went with it. “Head hurts.”
His brother’s voice was drowned out by the blare of bagpipes.
There was scratching and scuffling and Devon’s voice screamed through the phone. “Now you’re going to know how I felt!”
The line went dead.
A carnival. Great. Dean had a vision of midgets dressed like clowns blasting Sam with bagpipe music, and not very well played to boot. Groaning, Dean pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal.
The Impala roared under the stress, but sped down the road. Dean sighed, as trees and scenery went whizzing by. It seemed the whole world needed a good long therapy session….
-0-
The carnival showed serious signs of neglect. Peeling paint and broken windows did nothing to enhance the décor. The place seemed like something straight out of a cheesy horror flick, the cliché not lost on him.
Pulling out his gun, he checked the ammo, grabbed whatever supplies he thought he would need, and proceeded to head into the abandoned carnival.
“Sam?” he called. Nothing. His only response was a cold breeze. The place was freaking huge, and he worried he wouldn’t find Sam in time.
Until he heard the faint sounds of music in the distance. Bagpipes. His heart started pounding loudly in his chest as he rushed in the direction the music sounded like it was coming.
The horrid sound of out of tune bagpipes grew louder as Dean drew nearer a building that, in is heyday, had once proudly showcased live stage shows.
The door hung haphazardly on the frame as Dean pushed through, the squealing noise slicing through him.
“Sam?” he called again through the cacophony of bagpipes.
If Sam couldn’t hear him, it was no wonder. He needed to find the source of the music and kill it. For his own sanity at least.
The music was coming from overhead, through speakers that didn’t look as though they should still be working. Dean found a side door, leading to the sound room. The music was coming from eleven toy pipers playing next to a long microphone that the length of was wrapped around a security guard’s neck. One by one, he turned them off, the ringing still in his ears.
“Someone needs anger management,” Dean commented to himself.
He pushed on, hoping to find Sam.
“Sam!” he called again. “Damn it, where are you?”
He could hear something large and heavy moving in the distance. It was faint, but it filled him with hope. Hurriedly he followed the sound to outside the building. Around the back of the building he saw a bloody handprint on the crumbling stucco and…
“Sam!” Dean yelled.
In response, a faint, “D-Dean!” carried over to the elder Winchester.
It sounded like it came from further behind the theater; he rushed over in the direction of the sound, to where twelve huge decrepit-looking drums sat. His heart sinking as realization set in.
Kneeling down, he tried to pry open one of the drums. The sounds of footsteps from behind made him spin around on his knees, just in time to see the form of a teenage girl looking menacing and larger than her age would’ve suggested.
Authors: princess_schez & mlebayre
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone’s been reenacting a beloved holiday song, but with a very dark twist.
Authors Notes: Set during S2. Banner by princess_schez
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me, eleven pipers piping…
Dean had just pulled out onto the highway when his phone went off. He pulled to the side of the road, hitting the breaks at the same time. “Sammy,”
He heard a groan then Sam’s voice, “Dean…I…” Sam hissed in a breath and Dean could almost see the wince that went with it. “Head hurts.”
His brother’s voice was drowned out by the blare of bagpipes.
There was scratching and scuffling and Devon’s voice screamed through the phone. “Now you’re going to know how I felt!”
The line went dead.
A carnival. Great. Dean had a vision of midgets dressed like clowns blasting Sam with bagpipe music, and not very well played to boot. Groaning, Dean pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal.
The Impala roared under the stress, but sped down the road. Dean sighed, as trees and scenery went whizzing by. It seemed the whole world needed a good long therapy session….
-0-
The carnival showed serious signs of neglect. Peeling paint and broken windows did nothing to enhance the décor. The place seemed like something straight out of a cheesy horror flick, the cliché not lost on him.
Pulling out his gun, he checked the ammo, grabbed whatever supplies he thought he would need, and proceeded to head into the abandoned carnival.
“Sam?” he called. Nothing. His only response was a cold breeze. The place was freaking huge, and he worried he wouldn’t find Sam in time.
Until he heard the faint sounds of music in the distance. Bagpipes. His heart started pounding loudly in his chest as he rushed in the direction the music sounded like it was coming.
The horrid sound of out of tune bagpipes grew louder as Dean drew nearer a building that, in is heyday, had once proudly showcased live stage shows.
The door hung haphazardly on the frame as Dean pushed through, the squealing noise slicing through him.
“Sam?” he called again through the cacophony of bagpipes.
If Sam couldn’t hear him, it was no wonder. He needed to find the source of the music and kill it. For his own sanity at least.
The music was coming from overhead, through speakers that didn’t look as though they should still be working. Dean found a side door, leading to the sound room. The music was coming from eleven toy pipers playing next to a long microphone that the length of was wrapped around a security guard’s neck. One by one, he turned them off, the ringing still in his ears.
“Someone needs anger management,” Dean commented to himself.
He pushed on, hoping to find Sam.
“Sam!” he called again. “Damn it, where are you?”
He could hear something large and heavy moving in the distance. It was faint, but it filled him with hope. Hurriedly he followed the sound to outside the building. Around the back of the building he saw a bloody handprint on the crumbling stucco and…
“Sam!” Dean yelled.
In response, a faint, “D-Dean!” carried over to the elder Winchester.
It sounded like it came from further behind the theater; he rushed over in the direction of the sound, to where twelve huge decrepit-looking drums sat. His heart sinking as realization set in.
Kneeling down, he tried to pry open one of the drums. The sounds of footsteps from behind made him spin around on his knees, just in time to see the form of a teenage girl looking menacing and larger than her age would’ve suggested.