Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sam or Dean. More like the other way around…
Rating: T (for Dean's potty mouth)
A/N: I'm pretty sure this qualifies for P.L. Wynter's Stupidest Monster challenge. I blame the entire fic on my Chinese food...I'm fairly certain it was laced with something. And I'm calling it "Humor" because "On crack" wasn't listed as an option.
"Dude, you have GOT to get some new cassettes."
"You wouldn't know good music if it bit you in the ass."
At that, Sam ripped Boston from the Impala's tape player and dangled the cassette out the passenger side window.
"Give me my fucking tape back or I swear to God, I'll shove it up your ass tonight while you're sleeping."
"How are you gonna do that if I drop it on the highway?"
"Don't be a dick."
"Then let me pick the music for a change."
"Fine, princess. But make sure it's still mullet rock. I don't want any of those pussy stations infecting my baby's speakers."
"And I'm the dick?"
Sam fiddled with the dials that lined the Impala's dash, stopping every-so-often when Celine Dion or some other equally as dreadful artist could be heard. The horrified expression on Dean's face was enough to make the younger brother keep up the annoyance for several more minutes.
"Would you just pick a goddamn station? You're making my ears bleed."
Sam played with the knob a bit more until a smile played across his features. "There! I love this song."
Dean glared at the radio and turned his gaze to his brother. "Journey, Sam? Are you kidding me? I thought we agreed on mullet rock!"
"Steve Perry had a mullet."
"So did Michael Bolton, but you don't hear me blasting his shit."
"Maybe not, but I'm pretty sure I heard a few notes of 'When a Man Loves a Woman' coming from the shower last night."
Dean was utterly horrified. Time to change the subject. Subtle, Dean. Think subtle. "Uhh, so tell me about this gig again?" Oh yeah, Dean. Real subtle.
"Wow. That was subtle, dude. And besides, I told you this morning."
"Sam, only you and Kelly fucking Ripa are that peppy in the morning. Some of us don't comprehend until at least noon."
Sam ignored the barb. "Uhh, Jackson, New Jersey. According to the articles I read last night, there's been some activity at the amusement park they have there."
"Really? Which park?"
Sam shuffled through his notes, pausing to try and decipher whatever the hell he'd jotted down while perusing the internet the previous night. Clearly, Sam had inherited the handwriting gene from dear old dad. "Umm, it's a Six Flags. There have been complaints about an elderly man stalking the park and attacking people."
"Uhh, Sam? A senile old guy isn't exactly our kind of gig, ya know?"
"I know, but get this. A few of the reports I read explained exactly how he attacks. Apparently, he approaches them wearing a tuxedo --"
"Yeah, a tuxedo. It also says he carries some kind of giant radio. Each time he attacks, he sets the radio down and dances around his victims to some kind of horrible techno music, you know, like that shit you hear in clubs."
"Sammy? Clubbing? I'll believe it when I see it."
"Anyway, when his victims get up to dance with him, that's when he strikes."
"You're tellin' me an old guy like that can dance? I mean, really dance?"
"Well, that's the thing. Witnesses claim it's like there's a young guy in the old man's body."
"You thinking possession?"
"It almost has to be. Nothing else could cause a seemingly fragile old man to go all Fred Astaire like that."
"Nevermind. How far?"
Dean glanced at the clock. "We should be there by 2. What time does the place close?"
"Not until 8."
"Good. I wanna check out that new roller coaster after we exorcise gramps."
"What did you say this guy looked like again?"
"Dean, he's an old man in a tuxedo. What more do you need to know?"
"I just wanna be sure I don't off somebody's grandpa, that's all." The older brother maneuvered the Impala into the Six Flags parking lot and headed for the trunk. Sam grabbed their father's journal and followed.
"Okay, well, besides the tuxedo thing, all of the witnesses have described him as wearing Coke-bottle glasses. Like, really, really thick --"
"I know what Coke-bottle glasses are, numb nuts. But I'm sure lots of old guys wear those. What else?"
"Uhh, he's bald." Oh yeah, real helpful, Sam.
"Oh, that's helpful." Could this kid be any more vague?
"Come on, Dean. How many bald old men could be roaming around this place wearing a tux, thick glasses, and carrying a boom box?"
"A boom box? Dude, it's not 1993."
"I'm just saying, I think it's pretty evident who we're looking for."
"So…what's this guy's MO? He plays that shitty song and gets people to dance with him?"
"Pretty much. It's like they're mesmerized by him. They go to join him and that's when he goes after them. So whatever you do, don't stare at the guy. Just throw some Holy water on him and I'll read the exorcism."
"Hey, don't tell me. You're the one with the Shining. You even glance at him once and you'll probably be all grinding on him and shit."
"Funny. Let's just get this over with, okay?" Sam removed a bottle of Holy water from the trunk and placed it inside his jacket next to their father's book.
Dean removed his pistol from the hidden compartment and made sure to click on the safety before tucking it in the back of his jeans. He wouldn't be of much help to Sam if he wound up blowing his own ass off.
They made their way towards the entrance, all the while keeping their eyes and ears peeled for any sign of the crazy old man with a dancing fetish.
Four hours, three corn dogs, and one very cranky Dean later, the boys had decided to call it quits.
"I told you this whole thing was bullshit, Sam. There's no way some dancing old man--" The older brother's words were cut short by the bony elbow in his ribcage. "Ow! What the hell, Sam?"
"Listen. Do you hear that?"
"Yeah, that's some shitty-ass music. Who the fuck listens to --"
"Dean, it's him!" And the next thing the older brother knew, Sam was charging full speed ahead with the bottle of Holy water in one hand and their dad's journal in the other.
"Sam!" Dean followed after his brother, stopping dead in his tracks when he spotted the younger man.
The kid stood completely still, seemingly enchanted with the sight before him. There, flailing around in the middle of the theme park, was the old man. In a tuxedo. With a…boom box?
"Huh," Dean sighed aloud. "It is a boom box."
There would be time to ponder that later. Right now, Dean had more pressing matters to deal with, like keeping his susceptible little brother from becoming the next victim of this…monster?
"Hey!" Dean shouted. "Get your wrinkled ass away from him!"
The old man turned towards the older brother and began to wave his arms as if he were an extra on the set of Saturday Night Fever.
"Uh-uh, don't you pull that shit on me." The older hunter pulled out his pistol and cocked it.
And the music seemed to get louder.
By now, a small crowd had gathered to take in the spectacle. Shit. It wouldn't be long now before someone succumbed to the spell this creepy old man had seemingly cast on the amusement park, and with the way Dean's luck had been going lately, it was a safe bet that that person would be Sam.
Too bad Sam was the one holding the Holy water.
"Sam?" Dean tried but failed to shout over the music. Oh, that music.
"SAM!" Jesus Christ, that fucking music. Dean looked fiercely at the old man, pure venom lacing his words.
"Listen to me, you piece of shit. You're gonna let my brother out of whatever fucking stupor you've got him in, and then you're gonna take your…your boom box and your bow tie and go straight back to Hell. And for the love of God, turn off that fucking music!"
And Dean shot the boom box dead.
A collective gasp emerged from the crowd and Dean looked up to find that the old man had ostensibly disappeared. He looked over at Sam and followed his brother's gaze to the concrete. There, in the very spot where the old man had been gyrating, was a smoking pile of tuxedo.
"Dean? What happened? Did you exorcise him?"
"N..no. I just…I killed his boom box."
"You killed his boom box?"
"…and then he just…evaporated."
"Huh. You think it was the music that caused everyone to be entranced by him?"
"I guess. Dude, you should've seen your face. You were this close to jumping in there and dry humping the guy."
"I was not!" Shit. Was he?
"Whatever, kid. I saved your ass. You so owe me."
More than you know, big brother. "Owe you?"
"Totally. You can start by humoring me on that roller coaster. And then you can buy me another corn dog. And after that, I'm enforcing a strict No Journey rule for the next hundred miles. And when we pass a barber shop, you're so getting a haircut."
"What! No way!" Sam happened to like his long hair, thank you very much.
"You look like a fucking sheepdog. How do you even see?"
"Do you wanna go on that roller coaster or not? 'Cause I'm this close to grabbing your car keys and cranking up the Journey."
"I'd like to see you try, Shaggy."
And as Sam chased his brother through the food court, neither seemed to notice the seven foot tall Renaissance man of royalty peeking out from behind the Burger King.
Please review! Whether it's good, bad, or a question about my supply of crack, I'd love to hear from you. The silence scares me. :)