SPN Fanfic: Laundry Day 6/8
Title:Laundry Day - 6/8
Characters: Sam, Dean
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: 1551 words
Disclaimer: Je ne own le Supernatural pas, c'est un production de Kripke et le WB/CW. Merde.
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 June 25, 2006 at fanfiction.net
Laundry Day - Part 6
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
"So," said Sam, "Michael's mom told him to hide and not come out until she came and got him."
"Yep."
"He hid in the dryer, died, and she never came back for him. So he's still waiting there for his mom to come back?"
"That's what I figure," Dean re-evaluated the contents of the toolbox, taking out the thermal scanner and putting it back in the trunk. "She also asked Amanda to watch Michael."
"From what you said, it sounds like Amanda took the majority of the blame for Michael's death, even from her own family. The way they covered it up, it doesn't matter if she was at fault or not, she still looks guilty."
"Amanda comes back after her death to protect Michael, and prove herself innocent after the fact. Or defend her honour 'coz no one else did." Dean frowned into the trunk. "Something. Same result."
"Basically, Amanda is now haunting Michael, who's haunting the dryer he died in, and is protecting him, also until his mom comes back?"
"Yep. Like you said, both waiting for the same thing, which in this case is Michael's mom. And short of us grabbing her and dragging her into the place, that ain't happening." He pulled the EMF reader out of his coat pocket and put it in the trunk as well.
"Because you pissed her off."
"Dude," Dean said flatly, "you didn't see her. I'm pretty sure she came pre-pissed. Besides, you weren't there to use your puppy-dog charm on her."
"I do not have puppy-dog charm, Dean!"
"Right. Sorry, Benji. Must be the hair." He flashed a grin. "But honestly, I don't think it would really have helped. She's not going there unless she's dragged kicking and screaming, and I don't think the townsfolk would take kindly to that."
"Well. Great. So now what."
"Back to plan A." He picked up the slightly damp and very smelly paper sack and tossed it to Sam. "Sock of wonder sludge."
Sam rolled up the moist bag and stuffed it into the toolbox. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dean, but this won't help Amanda's ghost."
Dean lingered over the rock-salt-loaded shotguns, grimacing. "Her, we're probably going to have to do the old fashioned way, after we deal with Michael."
Sam frowned. "If we're right, then Amanda's not evil either. She's just trying to keep Michael safe. She's probably come to the fore now because of what we did at the graveyard. Michael's hold on his spectral presence here weakened enough that to her it seemed like he'd disappeared."
"And she figured she'd failed to protect him, like she was accused of before she died and whammo. Enraged spirit. The whole unjust accusation thing all over again. But now she's a ghost so she does something about it."
"Tearing the laundromat apart."
"And Mikey isn't there to put on the brakes. Well, not all there, anyway."
"I'm beginning to think we haven't done this town any favours, Dean."
"We aren't doing the town a favour, we're trying to help one dead kid that asked to be helped. Only it's actually two dead kids and one of them has an understandable chip on her shoulder. We aren't done yet." Dean put in a canister of salt next to the sock bag and closed the otherwise empty toolbox. "But, uh... when Michael's completely gone, things with Amanda could go south real fast."
"And this makes things better how?"
"It doesn't, I'm just sayin' to watch out."
- - -
Dean unlocked the front door, and the Winchesters went inside. The lights in the laundromat were off, and with the security blinds shut it was gloomy, but there was still enough light to see by. The floor was wet, and powdered laundry soap was strewn around in slowly moistening drifts. Wet clothing drooled from a couple open washing machines. The air was warm, muggy and a hint of ozone overlay the pervascent smell of cleaning products. Something dripped irregularly towards the back of the laundromat. Nothing moved except the two brothers.
Dean turned from locking the door behind them. "Definitely poltergeisty."
"It could be worse," Sam ventured, "No screaming, nothing's on fire."
"Yet." Dean put the toolbox on the floor. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
Sam pulled the sock full of ghost-repellent out the toolbox and out of the paper bag. He headed over to the bank of dryers slowly, watching for sudden apparitions or movement. Dean looked sourly at the cardboard salt canister for a second. "Remind me to start bringing a slingshot for these gun-free, broad daylight, middle of town gigs."
Sam grinned over his shoulder, "Yeah, sure, and packets of salt from resta-"
"Duck!"
Years of reflex dropped Sam below the fast-swinging dryer door. The air displacement ruffled his hair and the door hit the dryer next to it with a crack. Sam fell backwards as the lower dryer door flung open, narrowly missing whacking him in the knees. A washer door directly opposite clacked open and flung wide, missing his nose by inches. Soapy water and wet laundry vomited out of the full washer and onto the floor.
"Sam?" Dean clambered up onto the island of washing machines in the center of the laundromat, looking down into the dryer aisle. Washer and dryer doors whipped back and forth above Sam, lying flat on his back on the soapy wet floor, keeping the ghost-repellent sock out of the water, and looking bemused.
"I'm fine."
"Taking a nap there, Sammy? Or maybe a bath?"
"Sam. And shut up." Sam began worming his way squishily backwards underneath the swinging doors.
Dean grinned and shook some salt down into the aisle from his perch on the washing machines, but the renewed rush of water from the opened washer sluiced it away as fast as it landed. He looked across at the dryers as Sam squirmed along the aisle.
"Hey, if-" was as far as Dean got. A geyser of water erupted from the machine he stood on, through the hole on top for adding detergent, straight up Dean's chest and into his face. He staggered back a half step, coughing and spluttering, as the salt canister hit the ceiling next to a light fixture in a spray of foaming water. The geyser cut off and the remains of the falling cardboard container was whapped by one of the flinging dryer doors. It hit the back wall with a sodden splut.
"You okay there?" Sam said, wriggling clear of dryer door range and getting to his feet.
"Great." Dean said from the top of the washer, shaking off water and suds. "Just friggin' peachy."
One by one the dryers fired up, heating the air in the already warm room. The squeaking rumble of dryer drums turning became a soft female voice, repeating, You can't have him, you can't have him. The waving doors gusted hot air at Dean.
Dean dripped and looked quizzically at the dryers. "I think we've just been mooned, Sam."
Sam tilted his head to the side, listening. "The attendant, he said he heard 'I've lost him', right?"
"So, she found Mikey again."
"He's not slowing her down much, though."
"Doesn't look like."
"Can you see dryer 7B from there?"
Dean scanned down the row of bottom dryers for the dryer Michael had died in. It wasn't difficult to spot, it was the only one with the drum not rolling, and its door wasn't moving. Even with the erratic motion of the dryer doors surrounding it, the door of 7B remained completely motionless, open about a handspan.
"It's not running and it's open about that far." Dean held his hands about six inches apart, then clapped them together. "Toss me the sock, I'll chuck it in."
Sam pitched the muck-filled sock at Dean, who caught it easily. "Throw me the keys, I'll go get the big salt can out of the car. I don't know why you didn't bring it in the first place."
"'Coz somebody wanted to play 'Maytag Repairman' for the locals, and the big can doesn't fit inside the toolbox," Dean tossed the keys to Sam.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam headed for the door while Dean roamed around the top of the washing machines, trying to find an angle on dryer 7B relatively clear of interference from the other doors swinging and not standing over a potential geyser.
Sam was a yard away from the door when he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. He spun and blocked with a forearm... Good Housekeeping? The magazine didn't quite hit the floor before it flapped up in front of Sam again. Three Reader's Digests, a Vogue, and a Field and Stream flurried in from tables in the waiting area. He swatted at the attacking magazines, feeling more than a bit like King Kong.
Dean looked back at Sam's struggle with the storm of wayward reading material with a hint of a grin, then glanced up as the dripping overhead lights flickered and flared with a fat snap of electrical arc. That wasn't just an ordinary short circuit. Electrical energy crackled along the fixtures, arcing between them. Dean realized he was soaking wet, currently the highest point in the room, and standing on a row of large metal objects. He spun to jump down, but his foot caught a soapy wet patch and he went down with a thud on top of the washing machines.
"Dean!" shouted Sam, whacking a Reader's Digest into a wall, "Get off there!"
Dean felt a horrible sense of deja vu as the light fixtures arced brightly above him.
- - -
(Part 5) (INDEX) (Part 7)
Characters: Sam, Dean
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: 1551 words
Disclaimer: Je ne own le Supernatural pas, c'est un production de Kripke et le WB/CW. Merde.
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 June 25, 2006 at fanfiction.net
Laundry Day - Part 6
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
"So," said Sam, "Michael's mom told him to hide and not come out until she came and got him."
"Yep."
"He hid in the dryer, died, and she never came back for him. So he's still waiting there for his mom to come back?"
"That's what I figure," Dean re-evaluated the contents of the toolbox, taking out the thermal scanner and putting it back in the trunk. "She also asked Amanda to watch Michael."
"From what you said, it sounds like Amanda took the majority of the blame for Michael's death, even from her own family. The way they covered it up, it doesn't matter if she was at fault or not, she still looks guilty."
"Amanda comes back after her death to protect Michael, and prove herself innocent after the fact. Or defend her honour 'coz no one else did." Dean frowned into the trunk. "Something. Same result."
"Basically, Amanda is now haunting Michael, who's haunting the dryer he died in, and is protecting him, also until his mom comes back?"
"Yep. Like you said, both waiting for the same thing, which in this case is Michael's mom. And short of us grabbing her and dragging her into the place, that ain't happening." He pulled the EMF reader out of his coat pocket and put it in the trunk as well.
"Because you pissed her off."
"Dude," Dean said flatly, "you didn't see her. I'm pretty sure she came pre-pissed. Besides, you weren't there to use your puppy-dog charm on her."
"I do not have puppy-dog charm, Dean!"
"Right. Sorry, Benji. Must be the hair." He flashed a grin. "But honestly, I don't think it would really have helped. She's not going there unless she's dragged kicking and screaming, and I don't think the townsfolk would take kindly to that."
"Well. Great. So now what."
"Back to plan A." He picked up the slightly damp and very smelly paper sack and tossed it to Sam. "Sock of wonder sludge."
Sam rolled up the moist bag and stuffed it into the toolbox. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dean, but this won't help Amanda's ghost."
Dean lingered over the rock-salt-loaded shotguns, grimacing. "Her, we're probably going to have to do the old fashioned way, after we deal with Michael."
Sam frowned. "If we're right, then Amanda's not evil either. She's just trying to keep Michael safe. She's probably come to the fore now because of what we did at the graveyard. Michael's hold on his spectral presence here weakened enough that to her it seemed like he'd disappeared."
"And she figured she'd failed to protect him, like she was accused of before she died and whammo. Enraged spirit. The whole unjust accusation thing all over again. But now she's a ghost so she does something about it."
"Tearing the laundromat apart."
"And Mikey isn't there to put on the brakes. Well, not all there, anyway."
"I'm beginning to think we haven't done this town any favours, Dean."
"We aren't doing the town a favour, we're trying to help one dead kid that asked to be helped. Only it's actually two dead kids and one of them has an understandable chip on her shoulder. We aren't done yet." Dean put in a canister of salt next to the sock bag and closed the otherwise empty toolbox. "But, uh... when Michael's completely gone, things with Amanda could go south real fast."
"And this makes things better how?"
"It doesn't, I'm just sayin' to watch out."
- - -
Dean unlocked the front door, and the Winchesters went inside. The lights in the laundromat were off, and with the security blinds shut it was gloomy, but there was still enough light to see by. The floor was wet, and powdered laundry soap was strewn around in slowly moistening drifts. Wet clothing drooled from a couple open washing machines. The air was warm, muggy and a hint of ozone overlay the pervascent smell of cleaning products. Something dripped irregularly towards the back of the laundromat. Nothing moved except the two brothers.
Dean turned from locking the door behind them. "Definitely poltergeisty."
"It could be worse," Sam ventured, "No screaming, nothing's on fire."
"Yet." Dean put the toolbox on the floor. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
Sam pulled the sock full of ghost-repellent out the toolbox and out of the paper bag. He headed over to the bank of dryers slowly, watching for sudden apparitions or movement. Dean looked sourly at the cardboard salt canister for a second. "Remind me to start bringing a slingshot for these gun-free, broad daylight, middle of town gigs."
Sam grinned over his shoulder, "Yeah, sure, and packets of salt from resta-"
"Duck!"
Years of reflex dropped Sam below the fast-swinging dryer door. The air displacement ruffled his hair and the door hit the dryer next to it with a crack. Sam fell backwards as the lower dryer door flung open, narrowly missing whacking him in the knees. A washer door directly opposite clacked open and flung wide, missing his nose by inches. Soapy water and wet laundry vomited out of the full washer and onto the floor.
"Sam?" Dean clambered up onto the island of washing machines in the center of the laundromat, looking down into the dryer aisle. Washer and dryer doors whipped back and forth above Sam, lying flat on his back on the soapy wet floor, keeping the ghost-repellent sock out of the water, and looking bemused.
"I'm fine."
"Taking a nap there, Sammy? Or maybe a bath?"
"Sam. And shut up." Sam began worming his way squishily backwards underneath the swinging doors.
Dean grinned and shook some salt down into the aisle from his perch on the washing machines, but the renewed rush of water from the opened washer sluiced it away as fast as it landed. He looked across at the dryers as Sam squirmed along the aisle.
"Hey, if-" was as far as Dean got. A geyser of water erupted from the machine he stood on, through the hole on top for adding detergent, straight up Dean's chest and into his face. He staggered back a half step, coughing and spluttering, as the salt canister hit the ceiling next to a light fixture in a spray of foaming water. The geyser cut off and the remains of the falling cardboard container was whapped by one of the flinging dryer doors. It hit the back wall with a sodden splut.
"You okay there?" Sam said, wriggling clear of dryer door range and getting to his feet.
"Great." Dean said from the top of the washer, shaking off water and suds. "Just friggin' peachy."
One by one the dryers fired up, heating the air in the already warm room. The squeaking rumble of dryer drums turning became a soft female voice, repeating, You can't have him, you can't have him. The waving doors gusted hot air at Dean.
Dean dripped and looked quizzically at the dryers. "I think we've just been mooned, Sam."
Sam tilted his head to the side, listening. "The attendant, he said he heard 'I've lost him', right?"
"So, she found Mikey again."
"He's not slowing her down much, though."
"Doesn't look like."
"Can you see dryer 7B from there?"
Dean scanned down the row of bottom dryers for the dryer Michael had died in. It wasn't difficult to spot, it was the only one with the drum not rolling, and its door wasn't moving. Even with the erratic motion of the dryer doors surrounding it, the door of 7B remained completely motionless, open about a handspan.
"It's not running and it's open about that far." Dean held his hands about six inches apart, then clapped them together. "Toss me the sock, I'll chuck it in."
Sam pitched the muck-filled sock at Dean, who caught it easily. "Throw me the keys, I'll go get the big salt can out of the car. I don't know why you didn't bring it in the first place."
"'Coz somebody wanted to play 'Maytag Repairman' for the locals, and the big can doesn't fit inside the toolbox," Dean tossed the keys to Sam.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam headed for the door while Dean roamed around the top of the washing machines, trying to find an angle on dryer 7B relatively clear of interference from the other doors swinging and not standing over a potential geyser.
Sam was a yard away from the door when he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. He spun and blocked with a forearm... Good Housekeeping? The magazine didn't quite hit the floor before it flapped up in front of Sam again. Three Reader's Digests, a Vogue, and a Field and Stream flurried in from tables in the waiting area. He swatted at the attacking magazines, feeling more than a bit like King Kong.
Dean looked back at Sam's struggle with the storm of wayward reading material with a hint of a grin, then glanced up as the dripping overhead lights flickered and flared with a fat snap of electrical arc. That wasn't just an ordinary short circuit. Electrical energy crackled along the fixtures, arcing between them. Dean realized he was soaking wet, currently the highest point in the room, and standing on a row of large metal objects. He spun to jump down, but his foot caught a soapy wet patch and he went down with a thud on top of the washing machines.
"Dean!" shouted Sam, whacking a Reader's Digest into a wall, "Get off there!"
Dean felt a horrible sense of deja vu as the light fixtures arced brightly above him.
- - -
(Part 5) (INDEX) (Part 7)