Summary: Pirates of the Caribbean xover! Dean and Sam are being haunted by Captain Jack Sparrow.
Disclaimer: Neither Supernatural nor Pirates of the Caribbean are mine.
The night was filled with singing.
It certainly didn't sound like angel's singing. It wasn't a chorus. It didn't even add up to the racket that was Dean's music. In polite terms, it was awful. The drunk guy could at least get the words right.
"Yo ho ho. A pirate's life for me..."
Sam groaned pulling his pillow over his head. He could hear Dean get out of his own bed, his steps sure.
"...and my lady fell into the bed..." Tapping followed his words.
Sam supposed he should check on Dean, make sure he didn't kill himself.
"...Bonnie lies over the ocean."
Then again, dying seemed like a pretty good alternative at the moment. Sam tightened the pillow around his ears. Dean would be fine. It's not like was going to - .
Sam shot up in bed. Dean stood in front of the table. There was a hole in the wall by the bathroom. Flecks of salt could be made out around the edges. Somebody pounded angrily on the wall by Sam's head. Dean calmly laid down the shotgun. "I dropped something!" he shouted at the wall. He laid back down, rolled onto his stomach, and closed his eyes.
Sam stared at him for a full minute before he opened one eye. "Go to sleep," he ordered.
Sam fell back in bed. Oh, well. The guy had it coming.
He woke to a bad smell. "Damn't!" The guy was leaning next to his bed, his eyes red and his face inches from Sam. Dean threw his pillow at the guy's head. It went straight through to smack into Sam's chest. Then, he turned over and went back to sleep, using his arm as a pillow. Sam glared at the ghost. "What the hell?"
The guy held up his flask, the only corporal thing he could get his hands on. "I'm outta' rum." He shook the flask. It made a faint sound. He added, "Almost."
Sam got in his face. "You've been almost out of rum since you died. It's always gonna' be there."
The guy moved his head back. "There's no need to get pissy, mate. I'mmmm bored. Turn on the telly."
"How do you even know what a television is?" Sam asked, even as he leaned over to get the remote. The television was the only thing that kept this guy occupied for any length of time...besides rum.
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow. I know everything."
That got Dean's attention. He flipped in the bed. "We've been looking for you're name for a freakin' week! Why the hell didn't you say anything?"
Jack stood up. "You didn't ask, mate." He took a step away from them, stopped, and threw his flask at Dean's head. He ignored Dean's curse. "You shot me." He paused again. "There is rum in there." He picked it back up off the bed. "Samuel, put on the three lovely ladies."
"It's Sam." Sam had flipped to the same channel every morning for the past week. He tossed the remote back on the bedside table.
"We got his name," said Dean, looking relieved. Sam snorted. Dean closed his eyes. "What?"
"He was a pirate. Probably got a pauper's burial - if he didn't die at sea."
There was more singing. There was always more singing at the beginning. "...human and I need to be loved. Just like..."
Sam grit his teeth. "This is all your fault."
"No, it's not."
"You stole it."
"They should've put a warning. 'Take it, you'll be followed by an annoying ass spook'."
"It was a museum, dumbass! You weren't supposed to take anything!"
"I gave it back! Why won't he get the hell out."
Sam thought about that. It was a good question, really. There was no reason for Jack to stay. "Maybe, he's trying to punish you."
"You did try and take his rum."
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