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Ghosts are jerks

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Ghosts are jerks

The Winchesters have lived in the bunker for years now. There was every book that ever existed on things of supernatural nature, there was every weapon that could kill the above mentioned creatures. Sam and Dean have dedicated their lives to hunting these things and saving as many people as they could. Over the years, their beliefs have changed, opened their minds to new things both good and evil. They have changed as people, as brothers, and even more so as hunters. Despite changes, there were always surprises.

It was late in the day, the sun had begun to set. Sam was seated in the main room with his laptop with a stack of books next to it. He heard the entrance door to the bunker open with a creak, followed by a few swears, and finally the door slamming shut. “Dinner's here.” Dean called from the top of the stairs, balancing two pizzas on his arm as he was locking the door with the other.

“You know pizza isn't a food group right, Dean?” Sliding the boxes across the table Dean scoffed and mentioned that Supreme pizzas have vegetables on them. Sam raised an eyebrow and opened one of the boxes despite his complaint.

They had gotten back to the bunker not too long ago from getting rid of a vampire nest a few cities south of where they were. It had been an easy hunt but a long day. “I plan on eating pizza, drinking a beer or two, then falling into my memory foam.” Dean's eyes were already heavy, Sam nodded in agreement.

Dean shut his bedroom door, slipped out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. He turned Netflix on and closed his eyes and sighed. After awhile of auto play, Netflix asked if he was still watching, so there was a few minutes of silence. Before he could select 'Continue watching' he heard loud banging in the kitchen. “Knock it off Sammy!” He yelled hoping his voice would carry to the kitchen. More banging and noise. “Ugh, can't a guy get some sleep for a change?” He asked himself rhetorically, feeling rather annoyed and grumpy at all the noise Sam was making.

He pulled on a random pair of pajama pants and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Pots and plates were scattered everywhere, some even smashed on the floor. “What the hell...” He took a few steps backwards and looked out of the corner of his eye into the library. It was trashed. The old books were knocked off their shelves, some even had pages torn out, floating to the ground. “Sammy!” He barked

Sam came stumbling out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What?”

“What do you mean 'what' your eyes!” Dean threw out his arms gesturing to the mess throughout the rooms.

“Huh...I thought all that noise was you and Cas.”

“Well it freakin' wasn't. Any idea how the hell all this happened?”

“Ghost?” Sam jokingly suggested.

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Groaning, Dean turned around and looked at Sam with sleep still in his eyes. “I'm way too tired to deal with this. In the morning, after coffee.”

Sam heard Dean slam the door shut. Rolling over partially onto his side with with his face still planted on the feather fluffed pillow, with one eye opened eyeing the empty spot on the bed, still slightly warm, then hearing the bedroom door open and Dean flopping down on the bed, pulling the covers up to his neck. “What's going on out there?”

Dean mumbled something incoherent, turning onto his side facing Castiel. “Dunno'. Kitchen's a mess. Too tired.” He closed his eyes before he could finish the sentence. Castiel spread out his wings using one of them to cover Dean out of habit by now. There was a very soft, faint 'mmm' noise of satisfaction as he felt the feathers cover him.

It felt like the sun came up brighter this morning. Dean hadn't fully woken up yet but he felt Sam's over sized hand on his shoulder and furrowed his eye brows. “Sammy, this better be important or I'm shooting you in the shoulder.” He hadn't drank his first cup of coffee this morning yet, he wasn't ready for thinking or even talking right now. He finally kicked off the covers expecting to see Sam. He opened his eyes and nothing. Laying on his back waiting for his eyes to adjust and focus in to where he was. Any day that he woke up in the bunker was a good day, it was an even better day when he wasn't sore from a black eye or something broken, cut, or fractured.

He pulled on the jeans he had worn yesterday. Dean's logic was, If it doesn't smell or have blood on it, it's clean. Running his hands through his hair, still fumbling through the dresser drawer for a t-shirt, there was a soft knock at the door.


Castiel's head peered through the crack of the door he had opened, shyly glancing at Dean from the waist up having inappropriate thoughts for a single second, finally making eye contact. He cleared his throat. “Sam said breakfast is ready.”

“Why didn't he tell me when he was in here being a creeper?” Dean pulled his shirt over his head, his hair still a mess of bed head.

“Uhm...” He watched Dean pull his shirt down and he had the strongest desire to want to run over and run his fingers through that messy brown hair, “Sam hasn't been in here.”

Dean gave the statement a thought and considered telling Castiel but for now, decided against it and shrug it off as a dream. He walked towards the door, grabbing Castiel by the wrist, pulling him along behind him.

“It's always good when Sammy cooks. I know you uhh...don't eat...but still, you and your dirty trench coat is sitting with me.” Stumbling behind to keep up with Dean he still smiled and his heart skipped a beat. Pulling out a chair Dean gently pushed Castiel into it, placed his hands on his shoulders and scooted him in. Dean lifted his nose into the air enjoying the smell of meat and cheese scrabbled eggs. He joined Sam in the kitchen, starting to prepare the coffee maker. “You want some, Mr. Creepy?” Sliding the coffee pot under the coffee machine, peering over Sam's shoulder taking a peek at the upcoming food.

“What are you talking about? I've been in the library and here all morning?” Sam arched an eyebrow and gave a rather confused look, not sure if he was serious or just being the jerk that he is.

“Huh...” Dean poured himself a mug of coffee and left it at that.

Skimming through articles of various websites on his laptop Sam heard a large thump coming from the library. He knew for certain Dean wasn't in there, books were his kryptonite. He stopped reading for a moment to make sure he really had heard anything or if it was just one of the many creaks the bunker had for being so old. He was right, this time it was louder like it was intentional. Sam closed his laptop and headed to the library, carefully peaking his head in, unsure of what might be in there.


Well nothing except books and papers on all things supernatural. Slowly taking a step forward and after one step, he stopped cold. “Dean!” Sam heard the door to Dean's room fly open, his boots thudding through the bunker as quick as he could after hearing Sam screaming his name. Shoving Sam aside he stood in the doorway, gun aimed.

Dean scanned the room and noticed nothing but books on the floor. “What the hell Sam? You called me for falling books?” Dean turned his back to the library, facing Sam. “Books?!” He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband.

“No! I mean yes, but I didn't do this!” Sam couldn't think of a way to explain what happened here. “Like what happened in the kitchen last night! They just fell off the shelves like this, all I was doing was reading articles on my laptop!” He motioned over to the desk where his laptop was sitting, the lights on, and various research books stacked on top of each other.

Sam finally had a moment of his mind coming back to Earth. He noticed the frustrated look on Dean's face; flushed, his hair a mess, and his jeans unbuttoned. Sam cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes. Dean realize the look and scoffed. “What? Long night, didn't feel like changing after we got home.” They both knew that was a lie.

Before Sam could respond to this lie, a book as thick as the Bible hit Dean on the back of the head with quite a bit of force. “What the hell?” He scowled and turned, not knowing what to expect. By the time they had both looked back into the room, there was nothing left but a gray mist, closer to looking like deep fog. They both sighed.

“Ghosts...” It was said in a tone of impatience and annoyance rather than fear and shock like most people. Sam walked to the kitchen and grabbed a container of salt, throwing it over to Dean. He poured the salt onto the entrance of the library.

“At least keep the son of a bitch contained until we figure out who it is this time. I thought we warded this place Sammy.”