TM #293 News Story
[293: Talk about a News Item]
Story comes from here and here
The flashlight played over the paintings, pausing every now and then before moving on. The store was closed up, yellow crime scene tape still across the door.
“You sure this is the right place, Sammich? Wife didn’t take the painting home and hang it over her fireplace?”
Sam nodded. “No. She never took possession of the painting but I’m not sure which one we’re looking for. I thought they’d be of people…like the last painting we did.”
“Yeah ‘cause the world needs more friggin’ creepy ass family portraits,” Dean smirked as he searched the other side of the room. “Who the hell paints with someone’s ashes? You ask me, artist deserved to be wasted.”
The artist had been the spirit’s first victim followed by the spirit’s wife before it started working its way down the artist’s client list. The freakiest thing about the whole deal was how long that list actually was.
Sam glared at Dean then shrugged. “At least they’re landscapes and not weird little girls with razor blades.”
Dean chuckled at that. “Guess we caught a break. S’not like we’re gonna get hit a tsunami.” He nudged a beach scene on the floor.
“Dean…seriously?”
“What?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Sam. “We’re dealing with vengeful spirits not pissed off oceans.”
“Yeah but-“ Sam’s protest turned into a wail as he was knocked off his feet. He landed hard on his back, breath driven out of him. Claws slashed at his chest, shredding his tee shirt. Blood welled up and the sound of a shoutgun made Sam’s ears ring. The smell of gun powder and burned rock salt was comforting.
“Sammy, you okay?” Dean asked, crouching next to him, arm going underneath his brother’s shoulders to help him sit up and then get to his feet.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” Sam assured him in a gasping breath, his hand going to his bleeding chest.
“Okay. You know what? This is bullshit. We’re lighting the whole damn place on fire.”
“Dean, you can’t-“ Sam started and Dean cut him off with a glare. A painting hurtled at forehead height made both Dean and Sam duck.
“Sam! Go get the gas,” Dean yelled as another painting smashed against the wall. Dean fired the shotgun and ducked behind a counter to reload. Sam got tagged in the head as he went out the door. He stumbled and fell against the door frame making a worried Dean pop up from his hiding spot.
“Son of a bitch,” he yelled as he fired another round of rock salt. “SAM! Gas! Now!”
The further urging wasn’t really necessary Sam was already getting the gas can out of the trunk. He was on his way back when Dean met him at the door, grabbing the gas can out of Sam’s hands and shoving the shotgun into his hands. Sam rolled his eyes and took point while Dean splashed gas around the store, taking the more dangerous job. The spirit took its rage out on Dean, scraping across his cheek and his back, smashing paintings against his shoulders and it was furious. Despite all its efforts, the shop was engulfed in flames within five minutes. The brothers dashed out the backdoor, coughing up some of the smoke they’d inhaled in the process.
“Next time, we do it my way,” Dean told Sam as they got in the Impala.
“Alright…so maybe we should have just set the place on fire,” Sam admitted reluctantly.
“What I tell you, Sammy, I’m always right,” Dean beamed at him. “Got me thinking though…next time I die just paint my baby with my ashes. Stick to classic black but she could use a fresh coat.”
“That’s so gross.”
“You just don’t want me haunting your ass. Throwing shit at you when you try making her all girly and bitchy.”
“Girly and bitchy?” Sam asked one eyebrow quirking up.
“You heard me and you know exactly what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Sam rolled his eyes as he slumped down in the seat. Dean grinned that idiot’s grin at him, reached over and turned up the music until BOC Fire of Unknown Origin blared out the speakers.
Story comes from here and here
The flashlight played over the paintings, pausing every now and then before moving on. The store was closed up, yellow crime scene tape still across the door.
“You sure this is the right place, Sammich? Wife didn’t take the painting home and hang it over her fireplace?”
Sam nodded. “No. She never took possession of the painting but I’m not sure which one we’re looking for. I thought they’d be of people…like the last painting we did.”
“Yeah ‘cause the world needs more friggin’ creepy ass family portraits,” Dean smirked as he searched the other side of the room. “Who the hell paints with someone’s ashes? You ask me, artist deserved to be wasted.”
The artist had been the spirit’s first victim followed by the spirit’s wife before it started working its way down the artist’s client list. The freakiest thing about the whole deal was how long that list actually was.
Sam glared at Dean then shrugged. “At least they’re landscapes and not weird little girls with razor blades.”
Dean chuckled at that. “Guess we caught a break. S’not like we’re gonna get hit a tsunami.” He nudged a beach scene on the floor.
“Dean…seriously?”
“What?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Sam. “We’re dealing with vengeful spirits not pissed off oceans.”
“Yeah but-“ Sam’s protest turned into a wail as he was knocked off his feet. He landed hard on his back, breath driven out of him. Claws slashed at his chest, shredding his tee shirt. Blood welled up and the sound of a shoutgun made Sam’s ears ring. The smell of gun powder and burned rock salt was comforting.
“Sammy, you okay?” Dean asked, crouching next to him, arm going underneath his brother’s shoulders to help him sit up and then get to his feet.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” Sam assured him in a gasping breath, his hand going to his bleeding chest.
“Okay. You know what? This is bullshit. We’re lighting the whole damn place on fire.”
“Dean, you can’t-“ Sam started and Dean cut him off with a glare. A painting hurtled at forehead height made both Dean and Sam duck.
“Sam! Go get the gas,” Dean yelled as another painting smashed against the wall. Dean fired the shotgun and ducked behind a counter to reload. Sam got tagged in the head as he went out the door. He stumbled and fell against the door frame making a worried Dean pop up from his hiding spot.
“Son of a bitch,” he yelled as he fired another round of rock salt. “SAM! Gas! Now!”
The further urging wasn’t really necessary Sam was already getting the gas can out of the trunk. He was on his way back when Dean met him at the door, grabbing the gas can out of Sam’s hands and shoving the shotgun into his hands. Sam rolled his eyes and took point while Dean splashed gas around the store, taking the more dangerous job. The spirit took its rage out on Dean, scraping across his cheek and his back, smashing paintings against his shoulders and it was furious. Despite all its efforts, the shop was engulfed in flames within five minutes. The brothers dashed out the backdoor, coughing up some of the smoke they’d inhaled in the process.
“Next time, we do it my way,” Dean told Sam as they got in the Impala.
“Alright…so maybe we should have just set the place on fire,” Sam admitted reluctantly.
“What I tell you, Sammy, I’m always right,” Dean beamed at him. “Got me thinking though…next time I die just paint my baby with my ashes. Stick to classic black but she could use a fresh coat.”
“That’s so gross.”
“You just don’t want me haunting your ass. Throwing shit at you when you try making her all girly and bitchy.”
“Girly and bitchy?” Sam asked one eyebrow quirking up.
“You heard me and you know exactly what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Sam rolled his eyes as he slumped down in the seat. Dean grinned that idiot’s grin at him, reached over and turned up the music until BOC Fire of Unknown Origin blared out the speakers.