SPN Fanfic: Laundry Day 2/8
Title:Laundry Day - 2/8
Characters: Sam, Dean, OC
Classification: Humour, multi-part, gen
Rating: PG13? K+? Nothing that couldn't have been televised.
Warnings: None. Smatterings of spoilers for Season 1 episodes up to and including "Nightmare"
Word Count: 1777 words
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. Not even a t-shirt.
Timeline: Set between the Season 1 episodes "Nightmare" and "Benders"
Summary: The Winchester boys do their laundry. Sounds boring, doesn't it... Sam and Dean can only wish it was.
Originally posted May 22, 2006 at fanfiction.net
Laundry Day - Part 2
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
A quick trip to the car later, Dean crouched in front of the dryer, looking at the squeaking, flashing former Walkman in his hand. "More than just background interference from the motors and stuff in this place, but not a lot more... three lights..."
"So that's a definite maybe then?" Sam said, arms crossed, watching the attendant. The small, balding man was pushing a mop around the floor on the other side of the laundromat. He glanced up at the two of them, looked back down quickly when he saw Sam watching him, and moved another six inches further away, dragging the mop around near the door. Much more of that and he'll end up outside, mopping the sidewalk.
"It's a definite something, and if nothing else, it gets you off the hook for wrecking my clothes," said Dean, stowing the EMF reader and looking up at Sam. "Whaddaya think?"
"I think that patch of floor over there is getting way too much attention."
"Hm." Dean stood. "Time to grill the help?"
"Uh huh." Sam said, uncrossing his arms and ambling over. Dean grabbed his crayoned t-shirt and followed.
The attendant seemed to be trying to rub a hole through the tiles near the door, perhaps to disappear into.
"Excuse me..." began Sam, tapping the ardent mopper on the shoulder.
The attendant jumped and turned to face Sam. "Machines-are-used-at-the-customers-risk-staff-is-not-responsible-for-damage-to-clothing-from-use-of-the-machines!" the man said all in one breath, looking up at Sam with a tense panicky smile and backing away a step. He gripped the mop like he was prepared to defend himself with extreme incompetence.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "I'm gonna take a wild guess here and say you get a lot of complaints?" Dean ventured.
"There's some that do, uh, take extreme exception to these things when they happen. Like the bikers last month..." He looked from Dean to Sam and back to Dean again. "You used dryer seven B, right? It's, uh... not as reliable as the rest."
"Didn't see any out of order sign."
"We-ell..." the attendant drew the word out, "we put them up but they just don't stay on. There's a lot of traffic, lots of kids running around. And it only does this every so often, about once every ten loads or so. Locals know not to use it unless they're desperate or feeling lucky."
Dean held up the shirt in one hand. "And us non-locals can play laundry roulette?"
Still holding the mop between himself and the brothers, the attendant looked at them guardedly. "Most non-locals are coming from camping or fishing at one of the parks by the lake. They don't usually care what colour their laundry comes out as long as it's got the mud and fish guts off."
"Why don't you just get it repaired then?" Sam said, doing a bit of fishing himself by asking the obvious.
"You think we haven't tried? Management won't put anymore money into trying to fix it when all the repair guys say there's nothing wrong with it, and they won't remove it all together because..." The man shrugged, still keeping a grip on his mop. "It's fine most of the time, still makes money. They already replaced the whole thing back in 2001."
"Hold on, lemme get this straight," said Dean, frowning. "The thing's been replaced and the new one is messing up people's clothes the same way as the old one did?"
"Not always the same way. Weird colours, waxy deposits, rips and tears, oily spots... It's just..." he shrugged, "...quirky."
"Quirky." Dean repeated sourly, looking at Sam.
"Yep," said the attendant, almost cheerfully.
"And no one has any theories on why it's doing this?"
"Nope, all the repair guys say it's all perfectly fine, just like the one it replaced." The attendant laughed. "Though I guess some of the locals say it's cursed or haunted or something."
"Really," said Sam, fishing again. "Why's that?"
"We-ell... Some kid died in the laundromat back in the eighties, before the chain bought it out. Dunno much about it, but some people say the kid's ghost is still around..."
"Hunh."
"... but they're usually the same people that leave their annotated copies of the 'Weekly World News' behind."
"Heh. Yeah. Look, um..."
"Carl."
"Carl, me and my brother are..." Sam tried not to let a slight mental wince show on his face, "...appliance repair technicians. Mind if we take a look at the dryer for you?"
"I told you, management won't pay for-"
"No charge." Dean added, backing Sam's play. "Sort of a public service. Keep other people from having the same problem we did. You want to keep your customers happy?" He gave the attendant a grin with lots of teeth.
"Sure, I guess... as long as management doesn't find out," Carl shrugged, "but every repair service in Alger County has had a look at that thing, so I don't know what you'll be able to do."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Dean.
"We just need to go get our tools and, ah, technical data," said Sam, "Probably be back in an hour or so."
"Okay, whatever makes you happy, but don't worry too much about it if you find nothing wrong with the dryer. And you're doing this entirely at your own risk." He pointed to the large sign on the wall that re-iterated in two inch tall Arial Black the laundromat policy of not being responsible for anything that might happen to customers or their clothing on the premises, then walked away, rolling the mop and bucket and mumbling about tourists.
"Nice to see customer service isn't a lost art," Dean muttered sarcastically as they went back to the folding table to gather up their gear.
- - -
The local library turned out to be a two room storefront less than a block away, and relatively noisy thanks to a story-time circle of preschoolers. Sam flicked through pages of the local paper on the library's only microfiche reader, wishing, not for the first time, for a context-sensitive search function.
Sam glanced over at Dean, "Thought you were in a rush to get to Minnesota?"
"There's something we have to do here now. Minnesota can wait a day," said Dean, leaning back in a chair, feet up on the table. "Got anything yet?"
"People's laundry getting screwed with doesn't exactly make the front page, even in a place this size."
"I thought you checked this town out, Sam?"
"I did. No unusual deaths, strange animal sightings or cases of sudden insanity recently anywhere here or within the next three counties we're passing through, and Dad never flagged the area for anything." Sam looked over at Dean from the fiche reader. "Wouldn't hurt you to do some research once in a while."
"Hey, I was checking stuff out at the library in Iowa!"
"Yeah, mostly that junior librarian."
Dean grinned. "I tell you, if all librarians were that hot..."
"I repeat, spare me." Light from the fiche reader flickered across Sam's face "Here we are... April 18th, 1983. Seven-year old Michael Hussman found dead inside a dryer... According to witness reports he was left unattended in the laundromat... Playing in a dryer, someone started it up without checking... Ruled an accidental death by authorities... Laundromat owners will pay for burial in Pine Grove Cemetery."
"Ah, there's that great customer service again." Dean brought his feet down off the table. "Gotta love a laundromat that'll pay for a kid's funeral."
"That looks like all there is," Sam scrolled forward. "Small funeral announcement the following week, laundromat up for sale the week after that. Nothing else."
"So, it's like the guy said, a kid died in the dryer?"
"Back in 1983."
"One kid. On his own, nobody murdered him, dead by stupidity?"
"Sounds like."
"So what's he doing still hanging around turning my underwear pink?"
Sam leaned back and studied the screen. "I don't know, maybe he just hasn't figured out he's dead yet."
The story-time circle broke out in raucous shrieking at some part of the book being read. Both the Winchesters looked toward the double handful of giggling children sitting around the librarian.
"You're sure no one else died in the laundromat, Sam? No one hurt or gone insane?"
"Nothing in the papers."
Dean looked down at the floor for a second before he looked back at his brother. "Okay then. Where's the kid buried?"
Sam twiddled the knob on the fiche reader. "Maybe we don't need to take this one out. He's not hurting anyone."
"So far. What if the kid gets bored, decides to do something else, start a fire, maybe take a couple little playmates..."
"It's just... I dunno, Dean. The usual salt and burn treatment seems a bit... harsh."
"You're only saying that cause he didn't mess with your underwear."
"Come on Dean, you have to admit, so far this is probably the nicest ghost we've run across."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"What?" Sam said, "I mean it's not killing people, it's not driving anyone crazy-"
"'Cept me."
"-And now me by association. It's just pulling some relatively harmless pranks."
"Ya know, I'd agree with you, Sam, except for what he wrote on my shirt." Dean leaned forward slightly and met Sam's eyes. "The kid wants help, and if you and me don't help him, who the hell else will?"
"Hm," said Sam, falling silent. "What about something else, to just put the kid to rest?"
"What do you mean, some kind of ritual maybe?"
"Yeah. Since he's asking for help, he won't be fighting to hang around."
"Neither would I if I'd spent the first twenty-three years of my afterlife stuck in a dryer." Dean rubbed at a scuff on the table, thinking. "He's kinda poltergeisty... what about that stuff we used in Lawrence?"
"Hm. I don't think it's the same thing here, but it could probably be adapted."
"Call Missouri, see what she thinks?"
Light flickered on Sam's face as he watched the fiche re-spool into its case. "Maybe." He took the spool from the machine and put it back in its box. "I took notes though, they're probably good enough to start from. I know it used angelica root and van van oil for sure."
"Sounds like a shopping trip," said Dean, standing.
"You go ahead, I'll see what else I can find that might work and text you," said Sam, turning around and putting the laptop on the table, frowning.
"What is it?" said Dean, noting Sam's expression.
"I just..." Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just seems... Nothing." He looked up at Dean. "Best bet in this area would be a health food store."
"No, really? I was just gonna stop by the Seven-Eleven on the corner. I heard Van-Van Oil is the slushie flavour of the month. You sure you're okay?"
"Bite me."
"Fair enough," Dean smirked, "Want me to pick you up some wheat-grass and pomegranate juice at the health food store? Maybe a tofu smoothie?"
In deference to being in a library, Sam did not throw anything at the departing Dean.
"Just feels like we're missing something..." Sam murmured as the laptop booted.
- - -
(Part 1) (INDEX) (Part 3)
Characters: Sam, Dean, OC
Classification: Humour, multi-part, gen
Rating: PG13? K+? Nothing that couldn't have been televised.
Warnings: None. Smatterings of spoilers for Season 1 episodes up to and including "Nightmare"
Word Count: 1777 words
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. Not even a t-shirt.
Timeline: Set between the Season 1 episodes "Nightmare" and "Benders"
Summary: The Winchester boys do their laundry. Sounds boring, doesn't it... Sam and Dean can only wish it was.
Originally posted May 22, 2006 at fanfiction.net
Laundry Day - Part 2
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
A quick trip to the car later, Dean crouched in front of the dryer, looking at the squeaking, flashing former Walkman in his hand. "More than just background interference from the motors and stuff in this place, but not a lot more... three lights..."
"So that's a definite maybe then?" Sam said, arms crossed, watching the attendant. The small, balding man was pushing a mop around the floor on the other side of the laundromat. He glanced up at the two of them, looked back down quickly when he saw Sam watching him, and moved another six inches further away, dragging the mop around near the door. Much more of that and he'll end up outside, mopping the sidewalk.
"It's a definite something, and if nothing else, it gets you off the hook for wrecking my clothes," said Dean, stowing the EMF reader and looking up at Sam. "Whaddaya think?"
"I think that patch of floor over there is getting way too much attention."
"Hm." Dean stood. "Time to grill the help?"
"Uh huh." Sam said, uncrossing his arms and ambling over. Dean grabbed his crayoned t-shirt and followed.
The attendant seemed to be trying to rub a hole through the tiles near the door, perhaps to disappear into.
"Excuse me..." began Sam, tapping the ardent mopper on the shoulder.
The attendant jumped and turned to face Sam. "Machines-are-used-at-the-customers-risk-staff-is-not-responsible-for-damage-to-clothing-from-use-of-the-machines!" the man said all in one breath, looking up at Sam with a tense panicky smile and backing away a step. He gripped the mop like he was prepared to defend himself with extreme incompetence.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "I'm gonna take a wild guess here and say you get a lot of complaints?" Dean ventured.
"There's some that do, uh, take extreme exception to these things when they happen. Like the bikers last month..." He looked from Dean to Sam and back to Dean again. "You used dryer seven B, right? It's, uh... not as reliable as the rest."
"Didn't see any out of order sign."
"We-ell..." the attendant drew the word out, "we put them up but they just don't stay on. There's a lot of traffic, lots of kids running around. And it only does this every so often, about once every ten loads or so. Locals know not to use it unless they're desperate or feeling lucky."
Dean held up the shirt in one hand. "And us non-locals can play laundry roulette?"
Still holding the mop between himself and the brothers, the attendant looked at them guardedly. "Most non-locals are coming from camping or fishing at one of the parks by the lake. They don't usually care what colour their laundry comes out as long as it's got the mud and fish guts off."
"Why don't you just get it repaired then?" Sam said, doing a bit of fishing himself by asking the obvious.
"You think we haven't tried? Management won't put anymore money into trying to fix it when all the repair guys say there's nothing wrong with it, and they won't remove it all together because..." The man shrugged, still keeping a grip on his mop. "It's fine most of the time, still makes money. They already replaced the whole thing back in 2001."
"Hold on, lemme get this straight," said Dean, frowning. "The thing's been replaced and the new one is messing up people's clothes the same way as the old one did?"
"Not always the same way. Weird colours, waxy deposits, rips and tears, oily spots... It's just..." he shrugged, "...quirky."
"Quirky." Dean repeated sourly, looking at Sam.
"Yep," said the attendant, almost cheerfully.
"And no one has any theories on why it's doing this?"
"Nope, all the repair guys say it's all perfectly fine, just like the one it replaced." The attendant laughed. "Though I guess some of the locals say it's cursed or haunted or something."
"Really," said Sam, fishing again. "Why's that?"
"We-ell... Some kid died in the laundromat back in the eighties, before the chain bought it out. Dunno much about it, but some people say the kid's ghost is still around..."
"Hunh."
"... but they're usually the same people that leave their annotated copies of the 'Weekly World News' behind."
"Heh. Yeah. Look, um..."
"Carl."
"Carl, me and my brother are..." Sam tried not to let a slight mental wince show on his face, "...appliance repair technicians. Mind if we take a look at the dryer for you?"
"I told you, management won't pay for-"
"No charge." Dean added, backing Sam's play. "Sort of a public service. Keep other people from having the same problem we did. You want to keep your customers happy?" He gave the attendant a grin with lots of teeth.
"Sure, I guess... as long as management doesn't find out," Carl shrugged, "but every repair service in Alger County has had a look at that thing, so I don't know what you'll be able to do."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Dean.
"We just need to go get our tools and, ah, technical data," said Sam, "Probably be back in an hour or so."
"Okay, whatever makes you happy, but don't worry too much about it if you find nothing wrong with the dryer. And you're doing this entirely at your own risk." He pointed to the large sign on the wall that re-iterated in two inch tall Arial Black the laundromat policy of not being responsible for anything that might happen to customers or their clothing on the premises, then walked away, rolling the mop and bucket and mumbling about tourists.
"Nice to see customer service isn't a lost art," Dean muttered sarcastically as they went back to the folding table to gather up their gear.
- - -
The local library turned out to be a two room storefront less than a block away, and relatively noisy thanks to a story-time circle of preschoolers. Sam flicked through pages of the local paper on the library's only microfiche reader, wishing, not for the first time, for a context-sensitive search function.
Sam glanced over at Dean, "Thought you were in a rush to get to Minnesota?"
"There's something we have to do here now. Minnesota can wait a day," said Dean, leaning back in a chair, feet up on the table. "Got anything yet?"
"People's laundry getting screwed with doesn't exactly make the front page, even in a place this size."
"I thought you checked this town out, Sam?"
"I did. No unusual deaths, strange animal sightings or cases of sudden insanity recently anywhere here or within the next three counties we're passing through, and Dad never flagged the area for anything." Sam looked over at Dean from the fiche reader. "Wouldn't hurt you to do some research once in a while."
"Hey, I was checking stuff out at the library in Iowa!"
"Yeah, mostly that junior librarian."
Dean grinned. "I tell you, if all librarians were that hot..."
"I repeat, spare me." Light from the fiche reader flickered across Sam's face "Here we are... April 18th, 1983. Seven-year old Michael Hussman found dead inside a dryer... According to witness reports he was left unattended in the laundromat... Playing in a dryer, someone started it up without checking... Ruled an accidental death by authorities... Laundromat owners will pay for burial in Pine Grove Cemetery."
"Ah, there's that great customer service again." Dean brought his feet down off the table. "Gotta love a laundromat that'll pay for a kid's funeral."
"That looks like all there is," Sam scrolled forward. "Small funeral announcement the following week, laundromat up for sale the week after that. Nothing else."
"So, it's like the guy said, a kid died in the dryer?"
"Back in 1983."
"One kid. On his own, nobody murdered him, dead by stupidity?"
"Sounds like."
"So what's he doing still hanging around turning my underwear pink?"
Sam leaned back and studied the screen. "I don't know, maybe he just hasn't figured out he's dead yet."
The story-time circle broke out in raucous shrieking at some part of the book being read. Both the Winchesters looked toward the double handful of giggling children sitting around the librarian.
"You're sure no one else died in the laundromat, Sam? No one hurt or gone insane?"
"Nothing in the papers."
Dean looked down at the floor for a second before he looked back at his brother. "Okay then. Where's the kid buried?"
Sam twiddled the knob on the fiche reader. "Maybe we don't need to take this one out. He's not hurting anyone."
"So far. What if the kid gets bored, decides to do something else, start a fire, maybe take a couple little playmates..."
"It's just... I dunno, Dean. The usual salt and burn treatment seems a bit... harsh."
"You're only saying that cause he didn't mess with your underwear."
"Come on Dean, you have to admit, so far this is probably the nicest ghost we've run across."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"What?" Sam said, "I mean it's not killing people, it's not driving anyone crazy-"
"'Cept me."
"-And now me by association. It's just pulling some relatively harmless pranks."
"Ya know, I'd agree with you, Sam, except for what he wrote on my shirt." Dean leaned forward slightly and met Sam's eyes. "The kid wants help, and if you and me don't help him, who the hell else will?"
"Hm," said Sam, falling silent. "What about something else, to just put the kid to rest?"
"What do you mean, some kind of ritual maybe?"
"Yeah. Since he's asking for help, he won't be fighting to hang around."
"Neither would I if I'd spent the first twenty-three years of my afterlife stuck in a dryer." Dean rubbed at a scuff on the table, thinking. "He's kinda poltergeisty... what about that stuff we used in Lawrence?"
"Hm. I don't think it's the same thing here, but it could probably be adapted."
"Call Missouri, see what she thinks?"
Light flickered on Sam's face as he watched the fiche re-spool into its case. "Maybe." He took the spool from the machine and put it back in its box. "I took notes though, they're probably good enough to start from. I know it used angelica root and van van oil for sure."
"Sounds like a shopping trip," said Dean, standing.
"You go ahead, I'll see what else I can find that might work and text you," said Sam, turning around and putting the laptop on the table, frowning.
"What is it?" said Dean, noting Sam's expression.
"I just..." Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just seems... Nothing." He looked up at Dean. "Best bet in this area would be a health food store."
"No, really? I was just gonna stop by the Seven-Eleven on the corner. I heard Van-Van Oil is the slushie flavour of the month. You sure you're okay?"
"Bite me."
"Fair enough," Dean smirked, "Want me to pick you up some wheat-grass and pomegranate juice at the health food store? Maybe a tofu smoothie?"
In deference to being in a library, Sam did not throw anything at the departing Dean.
"Just feels like we're missing something..." Sam murmured as the laptop booted.
- - -
(Part 1) (INDEX) (Part 3)