XVII - Hell House

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[RICHARDSON, TEXAS]

Inside the impala, everything was pleasant.

As usual, you sat in the backseat and were currently reading The Great Gatsby, but had trouble getting into the book and continued to struggle to connect with the characters. Sam slept soundly in the front passenger seat, head tilt back and mouth open allowing for tiny snores. Dean drove.

Why Dean felt the urge to rustle Sam's feathers, you didn't know and thought about now.

"What are you doing?" you ask Dean in not a whisper but not loud enough to wake Sam.

Dean digs around in the glove compartment and pulls out a white plastic spoon. Dean shows you the spoon proudly, a wide grin on his face. Carefully, Dean puts the spoon in Sam's mouth.

Your face falls and you shake your head as Dean snaps a photo of how ridiculous Sam looks. Dean laughs and cranks up the volume. He screams along with the song and Sam sits up, eyes dazed and wide with the spoon still hanging from his mouth.

He slaps at his mouth, the spoon falling into his lap, and a sour burns on his face. You watch, astonished, as Dean drums on the steering wheel and Sam glares out the window, still wiping his lips.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," Sam says, voice plain and annoyed, and turns down the radio.

Dean chuckles, his boyish grin unable to leave his face. "Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas--you kind of got to make your own," Dean remarks, then laughs to himself once more.

"Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean," Sam replies agitatedly. "We're not gonna start that crap up again."

"Start what up?" Dean asks innocently.

"That prank stuff," Sam spats. Your eyes land on the boy, eyebrow cocked. "It's stupid, and it always escalates."

"Aw, what's the matter, Sammy? You afraid you're gonna get a little nair in your shampoo again, huh?" Dean asks his brother, impersonating concern.

Your eyebrows shoot up. You've heard of many of the boys' pranks but not this nair one. "Oh, Dean, that's horrible!" you say, sympathetic for young Sammy, and run a hand through your hair.

Dean chuckles deeply. "I know."

"All right," Sam sighs, set for vengeance. "Just remember, you started it."

"Oh-ho, bring it on, Baldy," Dean replies, eyes flashing excitedly.

"Do me a favor and keep your pranks well away from me," you remark. "I don't think I can pull off a bald head and I don't want to."

"Noted," Sam replies. He gazes out the window at the rolling corn fields. "Where are we, anyway?"

"A few hours outside of Richardson," Dean replies. "Give me the lowdown again, Y/n."

"Right," you sigh, grabbing the articles you printed off. "About two months ago, this group of kids goes poking around in the local haunted house--"

"Haunted by what?" Dean asks.

"Apparently," you flip to the next page of the article, "a misogynistic ghost. Like, very misogynistic, according to this article. Legend says it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anywho, this group of kids find a dead girl hanging in the cellar."

"Anyone I.D. the corpse?" Sam asks.

"Ah, you stole my punchline," you reply with a sigh. "No, they didn't I.D. the corpse because by the time the cops got there, the body was gone. So now, the cops are saying these kids were just calling wolf."

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